The following selections afford considerable variety in rate:

Exciting Canoe Race, VII, 79. Those Evening Bells, VII, 340. Charge of the Light Brigade, VII, 147. Marco Bozzaris, VIII, 90.

c. Quality. The quality of the voice is almost entirely dependent upon the emotions. Tenderness, love, joy, awe, fear, all produce their effect upon the voice. In an unemotional state the person speaks in normal quality and in the tone that is natural to himself. If the same person is frightened or if his animosity is aroused, he speaks in an aspirated tone; if he feels harshly toward anyone or is angry, his voice possesses that guttural quality which indicates the severer and harsher emotion; when he is moved by grandeur and sublimity, his voice naturally takes a full, round quality.

d. Force. The quantity of mental energy the person possesses usually regulates the force of his utterance, and that mental energy is stimulated by his emotions. If he feels thoroughly in earnest in what he is trying to accomplish, his voice becomes loud and full of force. It is then a natural force and is usually agreeable, unless the emotion which causes it is of an unpleasant type.

But it is often true, particularly of teachers who have been long in service and those persons who have talked under unfavorable conditions to large numbers of people, that their voices have become too loud and too much strained to be pleasant to the ear. A soft, pleasing voice, loud enough to be distinctly audible, is always better than a strident, forcible utterance that compels attention whether one will or not.

Extremes of force may be found in the following selections:

Sweet and Low, VI, 122. To a Waterfowl, VII, 395. The Destruction of Sennacherib, VI, 141. Little Red Riding Hood, I, 79.



CHAPTER XIII

LITERATURE AND ITS FORMS

It is not everyone who can tell readily what is meant by literature, nor can anyone in a few words define it. What the study of "literature" (only the adult's manner of saying "reading") is expected to accomplish was aptly described by Cardinal Newman when he wrote: "The object of literature in education is to open the mind, to correct it, to refine it, to enable it to comprehend and adjust its knowledge, to give it power over its faculties—application, flexibility, method, critical exactness, sagacity, address and expression." Reading at home and in the public schools as well as in the high school and colleges helps to accomplish these ends to a great extent.

Many persons fail to understand what literature is, and if they do realize its importance they do not comprehend the great variety of its forms nor the significance of each. To help such persons to a more comprehensive knowledge and a deeper insight into the functions of literature this chapter is written.

In its widest sense the word literature covers nearly every kind of printed matter, but it is in its more restricted meaning that the term is used here. Only that which is beautiful in form and expression, inspiring and helpful in spirit, noble and righteous in sentiment can be called literature as we are considering it. There may be weak and frivolous books, well-meaning but inept books, and really bad books, but none of them can be classed as literature.

Literary masterpieces are either prose or poetry, and in print the two are easily recognizable by their difference in form. Coleridge once said that prose consisted of words in their best order, while poetry was the best words in their best order, a poetic definition that does not convey a very accurate knowledge of the distinction. Poetry differs from prose not only in the choice and arrangement of words, but also to a lesser degree in sentiment and feeling. However, much verse, though faultless in form, can never be considered real poetry, while much prose has real poetic beauty.

Prose

The great bulk of the writings of the world is in prose. It is the medium of hard sense, of practical knowledge, of argument and of dialogue. Yet often it appeals to the imagination, charms with its beauty and inspires to heroic deeds.

It seems to be generally accepted that four methods of expression are to be found in prose: narration, description, exposition and argumentation. Narration deals with things in action, description with the appearance of things, exposition explains the relations ideas bear to one another, and argumentation not only does this, but tries at the same time to convince. Theoretically, this distinction is very easy to make, for action is the life of narration, appearance the theme of description, explanation and exposition are synonymous, and no one argues but with the hope of convincing. What can man do more than to tell what has been done, tell how a thing looks, show how one thing follows from another or is related to it, and endeavor to bring another person to the same state of mind?

The accuracy and completeness of the classification is most evident until one attempts to apply it practically to existing literature, and then he finds that no literary masterpiece belongs entirely to any one of the classes, but that these mingle and unite, one or the other usually predominating. This ruling element, the one which is proportionately greater, will govern the classification of a selection. In any story, narration and description meet at every turn, and not infrequently exposition is found freely intermingled; while novels have been written with the avowed sole purpose of changing the beliefs of a people. Uncle Tom's Cabin is a story of intense dramatic activity, and abounds in vivid descriptions of places and persons. It is generally dealing with incidents relating to the characters of the story, yet it really makes an exposition of the evils of slavery, and certainly was no small factor in stirring the American people into vigorous action against the slave dealers. Yet no one would classify the book otherwise than among the narratives. Although into Burke's Conciliation other elements enter, yet everyone will admit it to be argumentative in the highest degree. So while it is well to classify the selections read, yet fine theoretical distinctions should be abandoned. It is not so necessary to classify and name as it is to compare and distinguish.

Narratives have been classified variously, but not more satisfactorily than have other forms of literature. A narrative is true or fictitious, and there appears the first principle of classification. Truthful narratives are personal when they are the simple account of the deeds of some person or thing, biographical when they show a clear and evident purpose to detail the events in the life of the person, historical when they deal with larger and more complicated questions and when the actors are as numerous as the actions are various. Fictitious narratives comprise short stories and novels. One prominent writer notes the following types: (1) The realistic novel that is true to actual life and often enters into the discussion of important questions of record. (2) The novel of life and manners which is largely descriptive and in which the exigencies of the plot give way to the study of customs. (3) The novel of incident in which the plot is everything and description and character study are avoided or subordinated to action. (4) The romance which usually deals with things as they were in days long past and with actions that little concern the present. Marvelous and even supernatural incidents crowd its pages. (5) The idealistic novel which paints the world as it should be and makes its actors more nearly perfect than the world accepts as typical. (6) The novel with a purpose which seeks to convert its readers by the vividness of its portraits rather than by argument, though by means of many detailed conversations its theories are often freely discussed and fully substantiated. Many great reforms have been brought about by novels of this character.

Description deals with the individual and not with the class. A fine description is a work of art in its highest sense and is closely allied to painting, than which it is even more delicate and refined; for while the painter lays his color on the canvas and our eyes see the entire picture in all its minutest detail, the writer can only suggest the idea and stimulate the imagination to create for itself the picture in the mind of the artist. Yet such is the marvelous power of words when handled by a master that one can see by them almost as vividly as by the sense of sight. The reader is transported to far-away lands, strange men and animals surround him, the skies glare above him, silver lakes sparkle in the sun, brooks murmur against their fern-covered sides, and birds move the soul with their sweet music. Evening draws on, and the landscape glimmering fades away; the stars come out one by one and by and by the moon steals slowly up the sky. Peace and quiet reign over the darkened world. Neither sculpture nor painting can depict these changes; it rests with the magic of words. But the reader must do his share. He must give time to his reading, must yield himself gently to its influence, must not force himself into the writer's mood but must receive and accept. Then descriptive literature will yield its keenest pleasures.

Exposition deals with the class, and is abstract. So the demands made upon the reader are infinitely greater. It assumes that the concrete examples and specific instances necessary to interpret the abstract are already in mind and that the barest allusion to them will be sufficient. So exposition naturally follows narrative and description.

Successful argumentation depends upon proof and persuasion. It is addressed to the reason or to the emotions. Burke and Webster endeavor to establish their respective positions by irrefutable arguments. When Beecher addressed the people on the slavery question he appealed strongly to their emotions and sought to make them act because of their intense feeling. One characteristic of all literary masterpieces is unity, but in none is this of more importance than in the expository and argumentative types.

As we study it, literary material may be grouped as fiction, essays, speeches (orations), and dialogue (drama). No classification can be rigid or exact, for one may blend into the other. At the same time in any one may be found the four forms, description, narration, exposition and argument. For our purposes, however, the following definitions will answer: Fiction is a term covering those narratives which are either wholly or in part events that never happened and acts of individuals that never lived. Fiction is the work of the imagination, based upon the facts of life and observation. It appears as stories, in narrative poems or epics, and in novels.

Essays deal with all subjects and in such a variety of ways that any attempt to classify them meets with difficulty. Originally an essay was an attempt, a mere outline or plan intended to be filled out at greater length or to be used in different form. It is in this sense that Bacon uses the word and his essays are condensed to the highest degree. In later years essays have come to be of the most highly finished type of literature and some of the most beautiful passages, the noblest thoughts, the most inspiring utterances, are to be found in them. Almost every conceivable topic is treated: there are biographical essays which do little more than narrate the facts of a man's life; there are descriptive essays whose only function is to make their readers see something as the author saw it; there are argumentative and didactic essays and essays on science, art, religion, and literary criticism. Some writers have given their whole time and attention to this form of composition, and the modern magazine has become their distributing agency. Much of the deepest, of the brightest, of the best of recent work has come to its readers through this medium.

The essay shows more of the author's self than any other form of literature. It is apt to be sincere, to be the deliberate expression of the writer's own views formulated with the desire to convince another. In the purely literary type this last characteristic is not so strikingly prominent, though it appears rather under the surface. In no form of literature is the artistic element more manifest. The prose writer makes of his essay what the poet does of his lyric—the most finished and beautiful expression of his thought. The thought is the writer's chief concern, but upon his manner of expressing it depend the force and value of his work. Accordingly he gives to his style his most careful attention and fits and polishes it with all his skill. The result is that in the essay are to be found the best examples of prose style. While the essay frequently appeals to our humorous sense and sometimes arouses our sympathy by its pathetic touches, yet no such opportunity is offered for emotional effect as that given by the novel or the drama.

The essay is written to be read, the oration to be heard; the essay is to please, to entertain, perhaps to instruct, sometimes to convince; the oration is to arouse the feelings, to carry conviction, to stir the public to action. It is a formal production, addressed directly to its hearers; it is in form or meaning in the second person. Even when descriptive or eulogistic, it is a direct address. The orator says, "These are my opinions and my reasons for so thinking. Will you not accept my view and act accordingly?"

The oration naturally divides itself into three sections. There is an introduction, in which the speaker clears the way, opens the question and lays down the principles he proposes to advocate, or indicates the course of his argument. The body follows. Here the principles are elucidated, the arguments advanced and properly established or the descriptions elaborated and finished. The last section is the conclusion, which may consist of a brief review or summary of the inferences drawn, or of a plea for belief and for action in accordance with the principles of the speaker.

Before the art of printing was invented, public opinion was molded almost entirely by public speaking, and for a great many years afterward the orator was the greatest of leaders. By the magic of his eloquence he changed the views of men and inspired them to deeds of valor. The fiery orations of a Demosthenes, of a Cicero; the thrilling words of a Peter the Hermit or a Savonarola; the unanswerable arguments of a Burke or a Webster, have more than once turned the course of history.

But when the newspaper first found its way into the hands of thinking men the power of the orator felt the influence of its silent opponent and began to wane. Today, it is not often that multitudes are swayed by a single voice. The debates and stump-speeches of a political campaign change but few votes. The preacher no longer depends wholly upon the convincing power of his rhetoric to make his converts. The representatives of a people in a parliament or a congress speak that their words may be heard through the newspapers by their constituents more than with the expectation that their speech will carry a measure through the House they are addressing.

Yet we will listen with pleasure to a fervid speaker whose earnestness of manner carries the conviction of his sincerity, and even against our will we are moved by elegant sentences and pleasing tones. The orator will continue to be a power, though in a different way. Conditions have changed, and the ponderous periods and elaborate figures that characterized the orators of classic epochs are giving place to the plain, lucid diction and the simple, true-hearted tones of the modern speaker.

The drama is objective, the author keeping himself out of sight as much as possible. His characters appear, speak their parts and vanish with no explanatory words from him except the occasional stage direction limited to the fewest possible words. There is no description, except when the actors give an account of something that does not occur upon the stage. There is little of narration, except to explain what does not appear upon the scene or to give clearness to the action. Argument is not infrequent, though it is usually in the form of a moving appeal to the emotions rather than to the reason. The play often leads to exposition, and many dramas are written with the evident intent of teaching a deep and forceful lesson.

The drama shows man in action and develops his character before the reader, but it is by acts and speech and not by direct description from the author. It deals with all human interests and frequently supernatural manifestations are introduced and become important factors in the plot, particularly when they are believed in by the people who appear in the drama. But in general it is a study of life and character.

Primarily the drama is to be heard, not read, and consequently its style is usually clear and its meaning easily apprehended, but the complexity of its incidents and the intricacies of its plot make it difficult to follow. The rapidity of its action, the necessity of gathering the meaning from a single hearing, and the intensity of feeling aroused would all unite to confuse the hearer were it not for the skill of the actor and the appropriateness of the stage settings. By the aid of these, understanding is in most cases not difficult. The changing scenery, the dress of the actors, their movements, the tones of their voices, and the expression of their faces all aid the hearer. But the interpretation then becomes that of the actor, so that the listener is once removed from the author. Moreover, to the actor everything is subservient to dramatic effect, and the study of an Othello descends into an effort to excite an audience rather than to portray correctly the shifting passions of the jealous Moor. The poet's creation is adapted to the actor's use by the omission of scenes, changes of scenes, and additions of scenes, by such verbal alterations and phrasal transpositions that one does not see Shakespeare's Shylock demanding his pound of flesh but watches Irving's Shylock whetting his savage knife; Hamlet is lost in Booth, and Juliet weeps in the tears of Mary Anderson.

But the pleasure a person derives from listening to their thrilling utterances is as distinct from that which comes to the appreciative reader as the pleasures of the palate differ from those of the eye. To the reader everything is his own. He carries his own theater with him. The scenery he must himself construct and he may alter it at will; the costumes and personal appearance of the characters are the creations of his own mind; his thunder has no metallic sound and his lightning always flashes. He may bring his favorites back with many an encore and may show his disapproval with hisses that would drown the gallery. He may linger over the passages he loves and find new encouragement in his defeats and ever fresh joys for his hours of gloom. He is never hurried: the lights never go out, the curtain is never rung down.

Poetry

The reality of poetry is its beauty, its power of inspiration, its truth. Its beauty lies in its choice of words, in its figures of speech, in its music and in its sentiment. Any definition that is not purely formal is hard to give. Professor Shairp defined the soul of poetry when he wrote: "Whenever the soul comes vividly in contact with any fact, truth, or existence, which it realizes and takes home to itself with more than common intensity, out of that meeting of the soul and its object there arises a thrill of joy, a glow of emotion; and the expression of that glow, that thrill, is poetry."

The Structure of Poetry

The form and structure of poetry should be studied, but not to so great an extent as to blind the eye or deaden the appreciation of its beauty and sentiment. Brown, who wrote the beautiful story Rab and His Friends, has said, "It is with poetry as with flowers and fruits. We would all rather have them and taste them than talk about them. It is a good thing to know about a lily, its scientific ins and outs, its botany, its archaeology, even its anatomy and organic radicals; but it is a better thing to look at the flowers themselves and to consider how they grow."

If one reads poetry aloud he soon becomes sensible of a certain rhythm or regular recurrence of accented syllables that gives a measured movement to the lines. It is a recognition of this rhythm that makes a child read in a "sing-song" tone, as natural a thing as it is to sing. If we hear constantly repeated at frequent and regular intervals any noise, there is a tendency to group these separate sounds and measure them off regularly. The clock ticks with always the same force and with the same space of time between the ticks, yet we hear tick-tack, tick-tack; we can prove the difference to be in our ear, for it requires but little effort to hear tick-tack or tack-tick, tack-tick. The ticking has not varied in the least.

The poet takes advantage of this rhythmical tendency of nature and by using accented syllables at regular intervals compels us to recognize the swing of his lines. When he reduces this to a system he has established the meter of his production. The poetical accents sometimes fall on unaccented syllables and sometimes on monosyllabic words that are not emphatic, but usually the metrical accent of any given word corresponds to its logical accent. The accentuation of a syllable tends to lengthen the time used in the pronunciation of that syllable, and so we call it long, although the sound of its vowel may be short. Short syllables are those which are unaccented, even though the vowel has the long sound.

Verse appeals to the ear by its melodious combinations of sounds and also by the regular recurrence of similar sounds in rhymes. These usually occur at the ends of verses. In order that a rhyme may be perfect the two rhyming syllables must both be accented, the vowel sound and the consonants following must be identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel must be different. For example, fate and late rhyme; fat and late do not; fate and lame do not; debate rhymes with relate, but not with prelate. Double rhymes occur frequently, as in the words bowlders, shoulders.

Take this stanza from Hood's Song of the Shirt:

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread— Stitch! Stitch! Stitch! In poverty, hunger and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "song of the shirt."

Here the first and third lines are unrhymed, the second and fourth, the fifth and seventh, and the sixth and eighth lines rhyme alternately in couplets. If the beginnings of the verses are noticed it will be seen that the indentations of the lines correspond with the rhymes.

Rhymes are not always used in poetry. Most of Shakespeare's plays are written in blank verse, which is unrhymed iambic pentameter, called heroic verse. Hiawatha and Evangeline are not rhymed, the former being trochaic tetrameter and the latter largely dactylic hexameter.

Frequently appeal is made to the ear by a similarity of sound at the beginning of words. This is known as alliteration. In early English poems this was of prime importance and subject to rigid rules, but more recently it has been used without rule, subject merely to the author's will. This is seen to a marked degree in many writers. Here are several lines taken from Poe's The Bells:

What a world of merriment their melody foretells, What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells. In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire.

In many cases alliteration is very skilfully handled, as where Whittier uses the liquid consonants to make more smooth and harmonious to the ear the line that tells the friendliness of the brooklet whose murmurings could not be heard in winter, but—

"The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship"

during the long summer days.

The number of verses in a stanza varies from two to an indefinite number. When there are two verses the stanza is called a couplet; a three line stanza is called a tercet; a four line stanza, a quatrain. The five line stanza is not common, but six is a frequent number.

Kinds of Poetry

Poems may be classified as epic, lyric and dramatic.

The word epic is by some writers restricted in its application, but it is preferred here to use it in a broad sense to include various forms of narrative poetry, and to use the term greater, or heroic, epic to designate the smaller class of narratives which the older writers knew as epics. Thomas Arnold's definition of the greater epic is: "The subject of the Epic Poem must be some one, great, complex action. The principal personages must belong to the high places of the world, and must be grand and elevated in their ideas and in their bearing. The measure must be of sonorous dignity, befitting the subject. The action is carried on by a mixture of narrative, dialogue, and soliloquy. Briefly to express its main characteristics, the epic treats of one great complex action, in grand style, and with fullness of detail."

Under such a definition there can be but few really great epics in any language. Comparatively few poets have cared to undertake so great a task and many of those who have been willing to make the attempt have failed conspicuously in the execution. But most of the great languages of the world have each one surpassing epic which has held the interest of its readers and established an immortality for itself. Homer gave the Greeks the grandeur of his Iliad; Virgil charms the Latin race and every cultivated people since with the elegance of his Aeneid; Dante with Virgil for his model and Beatrice as an inspiration wrote in Italian the Divina Commedia, in which he described with all-powerful pen the condition of the dead in the Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise; and our Milton after years of preparation, from the dark realm of his own blindness, produced the sublime measures of Paradise Lost. These are the Greater Epics, greater by far than anything else written by man. With them this course does not concern itself to any great extent.

The term lesser epic includes the numerous forms of narrative poems from the old-time ballad to the modern story-telling poem. The epic is essentially different from the lyric. While in the latter the personality of the author is always apparent, and properly so, in the epic the intrusion of the poet's self is usually a defect. The lyric is subjective, the epic objective. To tell a story effectively and well is the prime motive, to tell it beautifully and in a way to excite the imagination and move the feelings of the reader is the contributory poetic impulse. Of the lesser epics groups might be set apart. The ballad is the oldest form. It was originally the production of wandering minstrels or glee-men and was not reduced to writing and kept in permanent form. Being passed from mouth to mouth there naturally came to be great variations in its form, and even the incidents were modified to suit the taste of the singer. After poetry came to be a study of the cultured and refined, the minstrel's power declined, though he was a welcome guest at the feasts of the wealthy, where his song added to the gayety of the occasion or gave dignity to the host as his deeds were sung by the hireling bard. In the sixteenth century these singers disappeared from view in the blaze of the Elizabethan Age.

The highest type of literary expression is poetry, and the most perfect creation of poetic imagination is the lyric. Technically a lyric is a song, a short poem that can be set to music. But this must be interpreted in a wide sense, for though all the songs that are sung are lyrics, the greater number of lyrics were never intended to be fitted to the closer requirements of vocal harmony. They deal with all subjects and have few requirements of form, though form is an essential element and a matter of great importance, for to the perfection of form much of the intense effect of the lyric is due. Like the essay the lyric is a subjective composition; it is confessedly the expression of the poet's personal emotion and his own experiences. His mind, his soul, speak to us; he does not interpret the thoughts and feelings of another. The lyric is usually contemplative and full of the choicest results of the poet's meditations. It influences action indirectly through direct appeals to the emotions.

Songs form a class of lyrics as varied in content as the possible subjects in life. One might consider them as sacred and secular and under the former recognize the psalms, which our poets have many times rendered into metrical form, not infrequently detracting from the sublimity of the originals. "The Lord is my Shepherd" needs no change, no remodeling from the biblical version to make it a true lyric, but that it may be sung to the tunes of our churches it has more than once been paraphrased.

Hymns are religious songs expressing devout reverence for the deity, displaying confidence and faith in the goodness of God, breathing a prayer for help in hours of difficulty and distress, or for consolation in the hour of affliction. Our literature is full of these noble poems, and their lofty sentiments, clothed in beautiful words sung to the thrilling music of other inspired composers, have been potent factors in culture and refinement.

Secular songs are written upon nearly every conceivable topic of human interest and are more numerous than any other form of literature, but so many of them are inferior in composition and so dependent upon the jingle of the tunes to which they are sung that their life is little longer than the time consumed in their production. But a large number are conceived in the true spirit of art and are as worthy of immortality as anything we read.

There are comic songs that sparkle with wit and whose music laughs with the hearer; sentimental and love songs whose sensuous cadences intensify the passion of their words; convivial songs where toasts are drunk to the accompaniment of the clinking glasses; and patriotic songs that roll with the ringing cheers of thousands and the tramp of armed men.

There are still three large classes of lyrics each distinct in itself, though, as we see if we try to draw the lines closely, shading off into one another. Usually these are in the nature of a direct address to some person, place, or thing, and are distinguished one from another by the nature of the subject or the rules of form. All are in a greater or less degree complimentary to the thing addressed and show interest, respect, admiration or love. The ode and elegy have most in common, although the latter is a tribute to the dead. The sonnet partakes deeply of the nature of the others, but is set off by very arbitrary limitations of form.

There are no rules governing the form of the ode; the poet is at liberty to select whatever form seems best adapted to his purpose. The length of the stanza, the meter, the rhyme, may be as varied as his fancy dictates, but the ode is an address direct and personal, an address with praise for its object. The subject may be a flower, a piece of pottery, a person, a bird or a nation, but some definite inciting object is necessary. The ode is subjective in that the poet expresses his own feeling of admiration or reverence. Often there is an acknowledgment of a benefit conferred, a lesson learned, or affection returned. From these conditions, namely, the liberty of form, the direct and powerful inspiration, the sincere desire to return a favor, a poet might naturally be expected to produce his choicest work, and so he has done.

A mournful song, in stately measure, praising the dead for his virtues, full of the grief that remains with the living, believing in the happiness of the departed and hoping for a blessed reunion in the hereafter: this is the typical elegy. On the one side it shades off into the ode, some poems being susceptible of classification in both groups; on the other it may take the form of sonnets, many of which answer every requirement of the dirge. Many poems are therefore elegiacal that are not strictly elegies. A rigid classification is never necessary, but an association of these beautiful pieces, all thoroughly impregnated with the personal grief of the author, gives to each a greater power, a more thrilling significance. They arise from the deepest emotion and so are the offspring of divinest inspiration; love is in the heart of the writer and so the flight of song is best sustained; they are intended to show to the world respect and admiration for the one whose virtues they celebrate and so they are refined and polished to the last degree. Where grief, love and a hope to give earthly immortality to the object of his affection move the poet, we expect the finest efforts of his genius. These elegies include some of the grandest, the most perfect productions of poetic skill.

When man sees his loved one laid away forever, he naturally longs to preserve the memory of the departed to succeeding generations, to erect some permanent memorial. Funereal monuments are characteristic of every race and have proved the most enduring records of the past. The inscriptions upon these tombs are early records of the elegiac spirit.

The epitaph is elegy in miniature. "To define an epitaph is useless; everyone knows it is an inscription on a tomb. An epitaph is indeed commonly panegyrical, because we are seldom distinguished by a stone but by our friends," says Dr. Johnson.

This epitaph was written by Robert Wilde in the seventeenth century:

Here lies a piece of Christ; a star in dust; A vein of gold; a china dish that must Be used in heaven, when God shall feast the just.

The sonnet may be addressed to any person or thing and is the direct personal expression of the author's feeling. It is like the ode, and also partakes of the general nature of the elegy, but it differs from both in the rigidity of the rules of form that govern it. Sonnets originated in Italy, and the genuine Italian sonnet is very exacting in form. It must consist of exactly fourteen lines of iambic pentameter. These lines are divided into two groups, one of which consists of eight lines or two quatrains, the whole known as the octave. The remaining six lines constitute the sestet. The first and last line of each quatrain rhyme together, while the middle lines of each form the second rhyme. In the sestet usually the first line rhymes with the fourth, the second with the fifth and the third with the sixth. As a whole the sonnet contains one idea, which in the octave is general, in the sestet specific, for the sestet expresses the conclusion of the octave.

The difficulties of composition under such arbitrary limitations are evident, and it is not to be wondered at that even famous poets have utterly failed when they have essayed to write in this form. The sonnet has met with severest criticism, some writers failing to see any beauty in it. Coleridge says: "And when at last the poor thing is toiled and hammered into fit shape, it is in general racked and tortured prose rather than anything resembling poetry." Though Lord Byron wrote a few himself he defined the sonnet as "The most puling, petrifying, stupidly Platonic composition."

But this is hardly fair to the many exquisitely beautiful lyrics that in this form grace the English language. Those "little pictures painted well," those "monuments of a moment" are among our most graceful poems, and the reader who has not learned to delight in a beautiful sonnet has missed the most refined pleasure English literature has to give.

The following exquisite sonnet, Victor and Vanquished, by Longfellow, is formed on the Italian model:

As one who long hath fled with panting breath Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, I turn and set my back against the wall, And look thee in the face, triumphant Death. I call for aid, and no one answereth; I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, For thou art but a phantom and a wraith; Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, With armor shattered, and without a shield, I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; I can resist no more, but will not yield. This is no tournament where cowards tilt; The vanquished here is victor of the field.

How many verses in this sonnet? What is the meter? What is the rhyme scheme? Through how many lines is the rhyme scheme the same as that followed in the Italian sonnet?

Is there a unity of thought in this sonnet? Does the poet consistently allude to some one thing? Was Longfellow old or young when he wrote this? What does Longfellow represent himself to be? Why does he "set his back against the wall"? In these days of Mauser rifles would it do any good to set one's back against the wall for protection against an approaching enemy? Was it ever an advantage? Who is the foe that follows him? How can Death be "but a phantom and a wraith" and at the same time follow the poet triumphantly? What do his weapons and his armor indicate as to what he represents himself? What is the "broken sword"? Who fight in tournaments? What is there appropriate in the word "tilt"? How can the one who is vanquished be victor still? Is the figure of medieval knighthood well sustained?

The earliest European dramas of which we have any record were the plays performed in ancient Greece five hundred years before Christ. There were very few characters introduced, sometimes only one or two, and a chorus was the most important part of the representation. This chorus served to fill the gaps in the action, to state what had preceded and at times even to comment upon the actors, to exhort or to praise or condemn their behavior. The Greek dramatists carefully followed the so-called rule of three unities: unity of time, whereby the action must be compressed into one day; unity of place, by which only one place must be represented; and unity of action, whereby the movement of the piece must be continuous, all the incidents be connected so as to form one main line of thought. The rule of three unities was followed very closely by the French dramatists up to comparatively recent times; but in England, beginning with the Elizabethan era, no restraint was placed upon dramatic technique except unity of action, which still remains essential.

During the Middle Ages the drama was represented by miracle and mystery plays dealing with sacred history. They differed in subject only. The miracle plays represented the lives of saints and their miraculous deeds; the mysteries, the mysterious doctrines of Christianity and various biblical events. During an age when preaching was unusual, the clergy reached the souls of their people by means of these rude plays which were at first given in churches; but later, when the town guilds and trade organizations began to present them, the stage was a traveling cart, roughly fitted up with rude scenery. Still later, before theaters were built, the wandering players acted in inn yards or courtyards. Female parts were always taken by boys, and it was not until after Shakespeare's time that women appeared on the stage.

In the reign of Henry VI the mysteries were in part superseded by the morality plays, although the former did not wholly go out of style until the time of Elizabeth. The passion play given every ten years at Oberammergau, Bavaria, is a survival of the old mystery play. The moralities personified the virtues and vices common to man, and attempted to teach moral lessons by allegorical representations. When popular interest in these dramas began to lag, current topics were introduced into the dialogue, and characters from real life appeared on the stage for the first time. Early in the sixteenth century John Heywood invented a farcical composition called The Interlude to relieve the tiresome monotony of existing plays. But it was in 1540 that the first comedy appeared, and it is not too much to say that this play marks the beginning of modern English drama. Nicholas Udall, head master of Eton College, being accustomed to write Latin plays for his boys, concluded to try his hand at an English drama. The result was Ralph Royster Doyster, the first comedy. In 1562 Queen Elizabeth was entertained by the presentation of the first English tragedy, a play entitled Gorboduc, by Thomas Sackville.

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries amateur dramatic productions called masques were presented. Sometimes even nobles and members of the royal family took part. These plays were accompanied by music, dancing, and spectacular effects. The literary character of the masque developed into the compositions of Ben Jonson, and culminated in Milton's Comus. During the reign of Elizabeth the productions of Kyd, Peele, Greene, Marlowe, and Beaumont and Fletcher raised the drama to such a lofty plane that only the genius of a Shakespeare could surmount it.

There are two distinct classes of modern dramas—tragedies and comedies. In the former, events crowd irresistibly on to some terrible conclusion, usually resulting in the death of the principal characters. An atmosphere of gloom surrounds it, and the flashes of light serve but to intensify the general darkness. Even when the soul of the reader recognizes the justice of the end it rebels against the horrors of the situation. The deeper and darker passions predominate; love is swallowed up in hate and happiness drowned in grief. The comedy is in a lighter and happier vein; its situations may be trying but they end happily; the sun shines and the air is clear; if storms appear they are the showers of a summer day, not awful tempests. The comedy descends through various forms to the travesty and farce whose purpose is solely to excite laughter by ludicrous scenes and absurd incidents. The melodrama abounds in thrilling situations and extravagant efforts to excite emotions, but its final outcome is a happy one, and the villain is punished and virtue is comfortably rewarded.

Dramas may be written in prose or in poetic form. The tendency is toward prose in comedy and poetry in tragedy, though in the same play both prose and poetry are sometimes used. The most common form for the poetic composition is the unrhymed iambic pentameter or blank verse (heroic measure). Rhymes are in use but usually their purpose is definite and specific and they may occur occasionally in plays which are otherwise in blank verse. Lyrics are often introduced, and in them both rhyme and meter are varied at the pleasure of the author.

Journeys Through Bookland contains numerous illustrations of the facts of this chapter and plentiful examples of every form of literature except the sonnet, of which a type has just been given. The outline which follows will summarize this chapter and show a few of the examples that may be formed.



LITERATURE

I. PROSE. 1. Forms of Prose Composition. A. Narration. The Pine Tree Shillings: IV, 192. A Christmas Carol: VI, 244.

B. Description. Brute Neighbors: VII, 260. The Alhambra: VIII, 153. Children's Books of the Past: V, 101.

C. Exposition. Imitation of Christ: VI, 134. The Cubes of Truth: VII, 406. Reading History: V, 394.

D. Argument. Poor Richard's Almanac: VI, 407.

2. Kinds of Prose. A. Fiction. Aladdin: III, 288. Tom Brown at Rugby: V, 469. The Adventure of the Windmills: VII, 438.

B. Essays. Childhood: VI, 124. Dream Children: VIII, 335. The Vision of Mirza: IX, 285.

C. Orations. The Gettysburg Address: IX, 321. Abraham Lincoln: IX, 324.

II. POETRY. 1. Structure of Poetry. A. Rhyme. The Country Squire: VI, 474. To My Infant Son: VI, 478.

B. Meter. The Daffodils: VII, 1. The Old Oaken Bucket: VII, 11. Bannockburn: VII, 15. Boat Song: VII, 17.

2. Kinds of Poetry. A. Epics. a. Heroic Epics. Death of Hector: IV, 364. Wooden Horse: IV, 383. b. Lesser Epics. Saint Nicholas: II, 202. Pied Piper of Hamelin: III, 384. Incident of the French Camp: IV, 174. Sohrab and Rustum: VI, 173.

B. Lyrics. a. Songs. (1) Sacred. Nearer Home: IV, 126. Lead, Kindly Light: V, 110. (2) Secular. Annie Laurie: VI, 119. Auld Lang Syne: VI, 228. Those Evening Bells: VII, 340. (3) Patriotic. Battle Hymn of the Republic: V, 399. America: VIII, 60. b. Odes. To the Fringed Gentian: VII, 4. Ode to a Skylark: VII, 275. To H. W. L.: IV, 84. c. Elegies. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard: VI, 360. d. Sonnet. e. Drama. The Tempest: VIII, 364.



CHAPTER XIV

JOURNEYS THROUGH BOOKLAND IN ITS RELATION TO THE SCHOOL

Reading and Language

These books were prepared expressly for home readings, but as has been said elsewhere, they were prepared with a definite purpose to make them a living adjunct to school work and a strong helper in bringing the home and the school together. To accomplish this result it was necessary that all the studies offered in Journeys should be after the most approved methods and that there should be no selections that could not with propriety be used in any school in the land. This principle of selection made it necessary to exclude some selections that might have been pleasing but at the same time were not universal in their acceptance. Again, it was necessary to include literature that was in a sense technical, that would apply to every class that young readers have in school. This does not mean that there are a great many things that are purely geographical or purely historical or that deal directly with the study of language and literature. It means that the reader of Journeys will find selections that he can use in nearly every class in school and that those selections are in the highest degree literary. In no way does a child learn more thoroughly that geography and history are worth study in themselves than by meeting them clothed in the beauty of fine writing. In no way will he be led more quickly into a love for nature in all her manifestations and into a keen desire to study nature than by the hand of literature. Language takes on a new interest when it becomes evident that it is a real and necessary help to writing as the great writers do.

Accordingly when the selections were chosen for Journeys, a tabulation of school subjects was made and under each head were placed the things that would be most helpful in school work. It was not decided finally to keep that arrangement in the books, for a different and a better system of grading and classification was selected. Nevertheless the selections are there, and the object of this and the few following chapters is to show what those selections are, how they may be used in school and how their use at home helps in the school work of every reader.

In the grades below the high school the following subjects are considered most important, viz.: reading, language, arithmetic, geography, history and nature study. At the first thought one would say that a set of books such as Journeys can be of no use in the arithmetic class, and of course their usefulness in that direction would not justify their existence. However, there are selections in Journeys that have a decided arithmetical flavor, such as, for instance, Three Sundays in a Week (Volume VI, page 453) and The Gold Bug (Volume IX, page 232). Even among the nursery rhymes is one that is purely arithmetical (Volume I, page 41). We may, however, disregard the arithmetic in Journeys, but we must not lose sight of the fact that the method of reading discussed under the title Close Reading is exactly the method of study that every person must pursue if he is to make any success in mathematics. In no other branch is there a call for such close reading, and only he who can get all the meaning out of the statement of a problem can be certain of his solution. One of the reasons that so many children have trouble with the problems in their arithmetic classes is that they do not read intelligently. Many a good teacher of mathematics will tell you that a large part of her success is due to the fact that she has spent much of the time in the class in teaching her pupils to read understandingly. Many another could make a vast improvement in her methods of teaching if she would spend a part of the time of each recitation in teaching her pupils to read problems till they thoroughly understand them before beginning to work out the formulas. It follows then that every child who masters the art of close reading will be helped in a great measure in all his work in mathematics. The value of Journeys in this connection is that it makes that method of study clear and leads a child to its mastery almost without the recognition of what he is doing. It will teach him to think before he acts and to acquire the habit of looking for the full meaning of everything he reads.

In this and the two following chapters will be given studies of the most important subjects studied in the grades, showing the correlation of the Journeys material. These subjects will be treated in the following order: Reading, Language, Nature Study, Geography and History.

A. Reading

As for the other studies with which Journeys is correlated, we shall take them up one by one and at greater length. First in importance is reading. This is always first in importance in school, for every other study depends upon it. In fact the prime motive of Journeys is to teach reading, and it will teach reading in the school and in the home. The child who has read what these books have to offer in the way that these books teach will have a power that cannot be taken from him, and his position in class and elsewhere will be raised immediately. Besides the fund of information he will have acquired he will have made for himself a habit that will always benefit him. Every study in the books from the first page to the last is a help in reading, and all the lessons of this volume are directed to reading. But there are three or more long chapters in this volume which take up the different methods of reading and apply them to selections on all conceivable subjects dealt with in Journeys. To these chapters on reading the teacher and the parent who wants to be informed are directed. The treatment is simple and not above the effort of anyone, and the method will appeal to all high school students of literature, for it is the method of the best teachers of that subject.

B. LANGUAGE

There are two distinct phases of the teaching of language: pupils must be taught to speak and to write with ease, fluency and correctness. There are very few children who do not like to talk. It is as natural to them as to breathe. But as soon as they begin to speak we begin to correct their speech. Much of our criticism is given publicly, at least before other children, some of whom are known to speak more fluently and correctly than those whose errors are being criticized. In consequence, the children begin to doubt themselves, to hesitate, and gradually to lose their desire to talk. In fact, so timid and reluctant do they become that by the time they have been in school a few years many teachers find their greatest difficulty in getting pupils to recite well or to talk naturally. Perhaps before and after school and at recess they will converse freely and delightfully, but as soon as their classes are called they become reticent and ill at ease. Not all of this lack of spirit is due to the teacher, but some of it is. In any event it is an unfortunate condition, and the teacher is anxious to remove it.

At home a similar condition prevails. If the parents are themselves accurate in speech and alive to the importance of making their children good talkers and users of correct English they will be ready with criticism, and unless they are careful will do their share to repress the natural frankness of child nature. Parents who have been teachers are quite as liable to err as others are to remain in ignorance in attempting to understand the psychology of the child mind. Freedom of conversation on topics of interest where correct models of speech are always before the child will accomplish more in making cultivated speech than will twice as much direct instruction. If only parents will read the things that the children are reading and affect an interest in those things they can be certain of giving the best training, while they themselves will grow in happiness and nearness to their offspring. In the fields of literature they can stray together with the consciousness that with all the beauty there is nothing to corrupt.

In a lesser degree, perhaps, the same facts are true in written language, in composition. But in lessons of this type the instructor will not find conditions so favorable: Talking is natural, writing is artificial; to speak is instinctive, to write is an art of difficult attainment. In the first place, a child must be taught to form strange characters with his hand. After he acquires facility in that, he must think, put this thoughts into words in his mind, and then laboriously transfer his words, letter by letter, to the paper before him. Many a child who talks well cannot write a respectable letter. His thoughts outrun his hand, and by the time the first labored sentence is written his ideas have fled and he must begin again. Is it any wonder that his sentences are disconnected, his thought meager?

Just think what it means to a child to write you a letter, or even a brief paragraph! Suppose he wants to tell you about a dog he has at home. He begins by thinking: "My dog, Ben, is a pretty little woolly fellow with bright eyes and long silky ears," and then his thoughts run off vaguely into the general idea that he is going to tell you about some very cute tricks Ben can perform. The child is all enthusiasm and he begins writing and thinking something like this: "My (that word must begin with a capital letter) dog ('Ben' must begin with a capital, too) Ben is a (is that 'pritty' or 'pretty'? It's pronounced 'pritty' anyhow) pritty (that don't look right. Scratch it out!) pretty (well, that don't, I mean doesn't look right either, but I'll leave it) (For goodness sake, how do you spell it? 'Wooly'? 'wolly'? 'woolly'? I guess I had it right at first) wooly fellow (where shall I put the commas? I'll leave 'em out. Teacher can put them in if she wants them.) with bright eyes and long slicky (no, no, that isn't right! How funny! Scratch it out.) silky ears. (I nearly forgot the period. Now what was I going to say next?)." When he is through, his first sentence is like this: "My dog Ben is a pretty little wooly fellow with bright eyes and long silky ears." He looks at his work with doubt and disgust as he scratches his head for the next idea. He has wholly forgotten what he intended to tell about! Later, his work, wholly unsatisfactory to himself comes to you for criticism and you take your blue pencil or your pen with red ink and put in the marks if any are needed, indicate the misspelled words and sigh as you say, "Will Charlie ever learn to write a decent composition?" Certainly he will, when his writing becomes mechanical, when his hand makes the letters, puts in the marks, and his lower brain spells the words for him, without disturbing the higher cells which are occupied with his ideas.

These are the diverse problems that confront anyone who tries to teach language to a child. We cannot solve them all, but most certainly we can lend some assistance.

1. Oral Lessons

Success in oral language lessons rests primarily upon interest. If you can secure interest, the children will talk freely; if you retain interest, you can criticize freely and with good effect.

Criticisms should not be too severe and should always be impersonal. It is not John and Mary who are being corrected, but the mistakes that John and Mary make. You have heard both parents and teachers say, "John, why will you persist in saying, 'I done it'? Don't you know that is wrong? You must correct yourself." Such criticism is wholly bad. If John says "I done it," it is because he has heard the expression and become habituated to its use. He cannot be taught differently by berating him. When he says, "I done it," repeat after him in a kindly inquiring voice, "I done it?" or say in a kindly way, "I did it." In either case John will give you the correct form willingly, and when he has done so times enough he will forget the wrong form and cease to use it.

Everyone must remember that children have heard slang and incorrect speech almost from infancy; that the playground, the street and the home have been steadily teaching, and that the minds of even primary children may be filled with not only loose forms of speech, but even with profane and indecent expressions. One of the natural correctives for such things is the reading and telling of attractive stories, full of dramatic power, calculated to stimulate right feeling, couched in clear and forcible English. Elsewhere in this volume under the title Telling Stories are suggestions and good models.

From the standpoint of the language lesson, children must reproduce the story, must "tell it back" to make it valuable to them. The instructor's part in this reproduction may be summed up as follows:

1. Be an interested audience for the child.

2. Secure clearness. Do it by a gentle question or a remark now and then: "I am not sure that I understand you." "Do you think I would know what you mean if I had never read the story?" "If you were telling the story to your playmate would she understand that?"

3. Encourage the child to use his own words, when he follows too closely the phraseology that was given him, yet remember that one of the objects of the exercise is to give the children the use of a wider vocabulary and to make them appreciate and use beautiful and forcible expressions.

4. Be reasonably content with freedom of expression at first, and do not expect too rapid improvement. You are moving against fixed habits.

5. Vary the character of the exercise. Sometimes permit one child to tell the whole story; at other times, call upon other children, or continue the story yourself.

6. If the story is a difficult one, do not ask for its reproduction until it is thoroughly understood. Make its meaning clear by skilful questioning, which with the answers makes an extremely valuable conversation lesson.

7. Encourage the use of beautiful expressions, of fine figures of speech. Do it by using such expressions yourself and by pointing them out in the story or poem you are using.

8. Beware of spoiling a beautiful poem or an elegant prose selection by poor reproduction. After the story has been related and the meaning made clear have the original read several times exactly as it is written and encourage the children to commit it to memory.

There are in Journeys Through Bookland many selections suitable for these oral lessons. For the little folks there are some of the Nursery Rhymes, of Volume I, like the following:

Little Boy Blue, Page 33. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, Page 30. Ladybird, Ladybird, Page 12. Little Bo-Peep, Page 9. Jack and Jill, Page 27. Poor Robin, Page 16. There Was a Jolly Miller, Page 47. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, Page 44.

In the same class may be included those beautiful poems by Stevenson and Field, poems that every child loves and will be delighted to talk about. For instance, the following from the same volume:

The Swing, Page 67. Singing, Page 83. The Rock-a-by Lady, Page 94. My Bed is a Boat, Page 126. Foreign Lands, Page 130. Little Blue Pigeon, Page 133. The Land of Counterpane, Page 144. Norse Lullaby, Page 246. Where Go the Boats? Page 256. Wynken, Blynken and Nod, Page 262. Keepsake Mill, Page 349. The Duel, Page 384.

The last list, however, includes many of those poems which must not be spoiled by childish re-telling. Use them for conversation subjects and then for reading or recitation.

The fables will be found to provide excellent material, and there need be no fear of ruining their effect as literature:

The Lion and the Mouse, Volume I, page 75. The Wolf and the Crane, I, 96. The Lark and Her Young Ones, I, 131. The Cat and the Chestnuts, I, 142. The Sparrow and the Eagle, Volume II, 8.

Certain of the fairy stories are excellent; so are anecdotes concerning men of whom the children should know; historical tales, and stories about plants, birds and other animals. Among the great number of selections that might be included under this head, some of the best are the following:

1. Fairy Tales and Folk Stories: Silverlocks and the Three Bears, Volume I, 101. The Hardy Tin Soldier, I, 148. Cinderella, I, 224. The Ugly Duckling, I, 414. Why the Sea is Salt, II, 484. The Pied Piper of Hamelin, III, 384.

2. Biographical Stories: Robert Louis Stevenson, Volume I, 128. Eugene Field, I, 242. George Rogers Clark, VI, 422. Pere Marquette, VIII, 121.

3. Myths: The Wonderful Gifts, Volume I, 368. The Chimera, II, 173. The Story of Phaethon, II, 206.

4. Historical Tales: Robert Bruce and the Spider, Volume V, 314. The Fall of the Alamo, VIII, 141. Herve Riel, VIII, 168.

5. About Flowers and Plants: The Daffodils, Volume VII, 1. Trees and Ants That Help Each Other, VII, 306. A Bed of Nettles, VIII, 209.

6. About Birds: Who Stole the Bird's Nest? Volume II, 399. Owls, IX, 229.

7. About Other Animals: Elephant Hunting, Volume VI, 385. The Buffalo, VII, 96. The Pond in Winter, VII, 280.

The longer stories you will abbreviate in telling, and the children will still further shorten them. Try, however, to retain the spirit of each. Do not try to tell all that is contained in the longer articles mentioned above. Select interesting portions, a single anecdote, a few facts that will hold attention.

At times vary the exercise by giving a very simple theme and ask the children to make up a story to fit it. If they have difficulty, help them to think and talk. When they see what you want some will surprise you with their vivid imaginations and picturesque modes of expression. Suppose you have in mind the fable The Wind and the Sun (Volume I, Page 95). You might present the idea to them in this form: "The Wind and the Sun each tried to make a man take off his coat. The Wind tried and failed, then the Sun tried and succeeded. Can you tell me a story about that?" If you meet with no satisfactory response, begin questioning somewhat in this style, and perhaps the child will answer nearly as indicated:

Question. You don't know what I mean? Then let us tell it together. How do you think the Wind would try to make a man take off his coat?

Answer. He would try to blow it off.

Q. How would he blow?

A. He would blow hard.

Q. Can you think of another word besides hard to show how he would blow?

A. Fierce.

Q. Fiercely. Yes, "fiercely" is a good word. How fiercely would he blow?

A. Very fierce.

Q. Yes, very fiercely. Did you notice I said "fiercely," John? Now can't you think of a comparison with something else that is fierce, so that our story will sound well and people will like it?

A. A lion is fierce. We could say, "He blew as fiercely as a lion."

Q. But a lion does not blow. What does he do?

A. He tears his prey when he captures it.

Q. That's good. Now tell me how the Wind tried to make the man take off his coat.

A. The Wind blew fiercely as a lion tears his prey.

Q. Good. Did the man take off his coat?

A. I don't think he did. I think he would try to keep it on.

Q. How hard do you think he would try?

A. As hard as he could.

Q. Did he lose it?

A. No. No matter what the Wind did I think the man would keep on his coat.

Q. Will you please tell the story as far as we have gone?

A. The Wind and the Sun tried to make a man take off his coat. First the Wind blew as fiercely as a lion tears his prey, but the man clung more closely to his coat and would not let it go.

Q. That is good, but it does not satisfy me yet. I want a longer, prettier story. Let us make believe the Wind and the Sun are two men. Make them talk so they will seem real to us. Can't you start us?

A. One day Mr. Wind and Mr. Sun got to talking. Each one thought he was stronger than the other. They saw a man walking along the road. He had a big overcoat on and Mr. Wind said that he—

Q. Tell us exactly what Mr. Wind said.

A. Mr. Wind said, "I am stronger than you are. I can make that man take off his coat. You can't!"

Q. That is a fine start. Tell us what the Sun said.

A. The Sun said that he—

Q. "That he?"

A. The Sun said, "I can make him take off his coat, and I can do it quicker than you can."

Q. Good. Go on.

A. So they tried. Mr. Wind began. He blew as hard as he could and whistled around the man. He blew as fiercely as a lion tears his prey, but the man wouldn't take off his coat.

Q. What would the man do to his coat?

A. I think he'd hold on to it, button it up, draw it close around him.

Q. Good. Very good. Now tell the story as well as you can.

A. Begin at the beginning?

Q. Yes.

A. One day Mr. Wind and Mr. Sun got into a quarrel about who was the strongest. While they were at it, a man in a heavy overcoat came walking along the road. When Mr. Wind saw the man he said, "Now see that man down there. I can make him take off his coat, but you can't." Mr. Sun replied, "I don't believe you can do it, but I can, though," then Mr. Wind said, "Well, I'll show you, you conceited thing!" So the Wind blew and blew, fierce and loud like a lion attacking his prey, but the man wouldn't take off his coat. He drew it around him and buttoned it up and hung on to it.

Q. I like your story. But how many people were talking?

A. Two.

Q. Did you mean to say "strongest"?

A. Stronger.

It is not necessary to continue this farther, for enough has been written to show how a story may be developed and improved with each retelling.

The same style of work, perhaps to even better advantage, may be done from the pictures so numerous in Journeys Through Bookland. In this volume, under the title Pictures and Their Use, will be found plentiful suggestions that will be helpful in conversation lessons.

2. Written Lessons

A. Introduction.

The demands of written composition are so much more severe than those of oral composition that we must be careful not to ask more than the child can execute with comparative ease. Before he begins to write, he should have clear ideas of what he intends to write and should have those ideas so arranged that they will not be confused in the process of writing. Moreover, a child must become quite familiar with writing as an art before he can be expected to originate ideas or forms of expression for the purpose of writing them. It follows, then, that some of the early written work in language may profitably consist of copying selections of various kinds.

The titles given under the preceding section (Oral Lessons) will lead to many excellent exercises for this purpose. Insist on perfect accuracy of copy. Spelling, capitalization and punctuation must be correct. If the original is prose, insist upon proper paragraphing; if poetry, upon exactness in the arrangement of the lines, especially in the matter of indentation. Children will quickly see the relation that indentation bears to rhymes. By following with exactness, the child learns unconsciously to observe the general rules. By occasionally calling attention to the reasons for forms, children are taught to act intelligently and to decide for themselves when they come to original composition.

Rhythm is as natural as breathing, and rhyming is easy for children with quick ears and quick thought. You will be surprised the first time you try the exercise to see how quickly they will imitate a rhythm with which they are familiar, and the skill they show in making rhymes. Try it first as an oral exercise, and later ask for written lines. Much of such work may not be profitable, but it serves well to give variety. Making simple parodies is amusing and stimulating to thought. Sometimes you will help by suggesting rhymes or by giving hints as to the subject to be parodied.

Take the nursery rhyme There Was an Old Woman (Volume I, page 36) for a model. Suggest bird and nest as ideas for new rhymes and keep helping until you get something like this:

There was a sweet birdie Who built a fine nest, A beautiful birdie With a very red breast.

Use the same meter many times over till all become familiar with it. Similar exercises prove highly interesting to children of all ages.

Although this is not a treatise on written language lessons, a few general suggestions may not be out of place:

1. Be sure that the children have something interesting about which to write.

2. Be sure that they have a good stock of ideas on the subject, or that they know how and where to get information and can get it without great difficulty.

3. Be sure that they write an outline of their composition or have one thoroughly in mind before they begin on the essay itself.

4. Give plenty of time for the writing.

5. Show a decided interest in their preparation and in their compositions.

6. Do not be severe in your criticisms. Give encouragement. Concentrate your efforts on one or two errors at a time. Let other mistakes pass till a more convenient time.

7. a. Watch for errors:

(1) In the use of capital letters.

(2) In the use of punctuation marks; first of terminal marks, then of the marks within a sentence.

b. See that every sentence is complete, with subject and predicate.

c. See that verbs agree with subjects, and pronouns with antecedents.

d. Insist that the work be paragraphed.

e. Watch for errors in case among the pronouns. The objective case is troublesome.

f. Look for adjective forms where adverbial forms are correct.

8. Require care in all work. Neatness and legibility are essential.

9. Mark errors, do not correct them. Let the children do that. A simple system of marks will enable you to indicate the nature of the error.

10. When the mistakes have been corrected, have a neat copy made and preserved.

11. Try sincerely to work with your children and to secure a genuine spirit of co-operation.

B. Literature in Written Lessons.

Indirectly, all that is said on the teaching of reading in this and other volumes bears upon language, and you are earnestly urged to consider it all carefully in that light. More directly, what has been written herein on the subject of conversation lessons and oral language is a necessary preliminary to any discussion of written work and should be used freely in the assignment and preparation of subjects for written exercises. The outlines for study in reading and the outlines of the oral lessons are easily modified to become very satisfactory outlines for compositions. The selections recommended for oral lessons are all adapted to written work.

NARRATION. As in other instances, however, it here seems wise to give a few suggestions specifically for the written exercises, and as a basis for such suggestions we will take selections from Journeys Through Bookland.

Robin Hood has been an interesting character for many generations of schoolboys, and among the ballads concerning him (Volume III, page 436) are several good selections for reading aloud. Most children know something about Robin Hood and many of them have read full accounts, yet probably the old ballads are not familiar. The note on page 436 gives information about the ballads and tells what it is necessary to know about Robin Hood himself. Suppose we take as a subject the ballad on page 444, Robin Hood and the Stranger. The notes explain peculiar expressions and give the meanings of obsolete words. There is a manly, rough-and-tumble spirit in the ballad that boys like, and it is clean and wholesome, as well.

Read the ballad to the children, explaining the more obscure words and phrases as you go along. Encourage the children to ask questions whenever they do not fully understand. Talk freely until you have made everything clear and have secured interest. Then read the whole ballad without interruption. Read with expression and enthusiasm. Show the spirit and virility of the men.

Then by questions bring out the facts of the narrative in logical order as they appear, and have each child copy them for himself. They constitute the outline each is to write. Adapt the outline to the age and acquirements of the child; make it as full or as brief as you please, but make it logical and complete. Let it be similar to the following:

1. Robin Hood goes hunting.

2. He meets a well-dressed stranger.

3. The stranger kills a deer by a remarkable shot with his bow.

4. Robin Hood invites the stranger to join his company.

5. The stranger threatens Robin Hood.

6. They prepare to fight with bows.

7. Robin Hood thinks it a pity that either should be slain, and proposes to fight with broadswords.

8. Robin Hood strikes a heavy blow which the stranger returns with interest.

9. Robin Hood feels great respect for the stranger's power, and asks who he is.

10. The stranger proves to be Robin Hood's only nephew.

11. They meet Little John, who wants to fight young Gamwell.

12. Robin Hood compels peace, makes Gamwell second to Little John and names him Scarlet.

Talk to the children freely after you have made the outline; advise them to make the story interesting, dramatic, and not too long. Show them that it is better to use direct discourse; that is, to make the characters seem alive. The result will be a good narration, the simplest and most common form of written discourse.

DESCRIPTION. To so describe a scene to another person that he may see it clearly and vividly is high art. It is necessary in narration and often lends strength to description and exposition. Accordingly, it is one of the most important forms of composition. In no direction, perhaps, can Journeys Through Bookland be of greater assistance.

I. In the first place, the pictures are a mine of subjects for description. The pictures themselves may be described, and many of them will suggest other subjects for similar tasks. For instance, in Volume V, on page 219, is a picture of Sir Galahad when the Holy Grail appears to him. Some of the topics for description are the following:

1. The picture, Sir Galahad. (For suggestions as to the description of pictures, etc., see the topic Pictures and Their Use, in this volume.)

2. The trees in the forest.

3. The armor of Sir Galahad and the trappings of his horse.

Again, in Volume V, on page 17, is the picture of Gulliver's Journey to the Metropolis, which gives us these topics:

1. The picture.

2. The cart on which the Lilliputians transport Gulliver. (Read the account in the story for further facts.)

Facing page 116 in the same volume is the halftone of King Arthur in armor. To write a minute description of the armor would be an excellent exercise, requiring close observation and not a little reading, if the children wish to name the pieces of armor the king wears.

II. Many of the stories contain beautiful descriptive passages, which may be studied with profit, and some of the selections are almost wholly descriptive. An excellent example of the latter type and an exceedingly interesting article for children is Some Children's Books of the Past (Volume V, Page 101).

The King of the Golden River (Volume II, page 405) and A Christmas Carol (Volume VI, page 244) are especially rich in material of this kind. On page 408 of the former selection the King is described at his first appearance. An analysis of the paragraph is to be found on page 445 of the same volume, under the title First Appearance. By comparing the analysis and the descriptive paragraph it will be seen that the former gives the facts only, while in the latter there are comparisons and descriptive words that make the whole vivid and artistic.

The outline is a good description of an imaginary person. After the children have studied paragraph and outline, give them another outline like this:

1. General statement, or introduction. 2. Nose. 3. Cheeks. 4. Eyes. 5. Beard. 6. Hair. 7. Height. 8. Clothing. a. Hat. b. Coat. c. Vest. d. Trousers. e. Shoes.

Require each child to follow the outline and to write a smooth, readable description of a man whom he knows. Vary the exercise by asking the children to describe some man whose picture you show; some man whom all have seen, or, if it can be done in the proper spirit, one of the other children who is willing to pose. Then ask them to describe some fanciful character about whom you make a general statement, as, for example, "He was the most amusing man I ever saw in my life," or, "He was certainly the most dignified man in appearance and the best-dressed man I ever saw." A comparison of the descriptions given by the different members of the class will be amusing and instructive. Try to secure descriptions which in style are in harmony with the subject.

III. In many of the selections the authors have not tried to describe things very fully. In such cases you have fine opportunities to train the imagination by asking the children to supplement the descriptions. For instance, On the Receipt of My Mother's Picture (Volume VII, page 331) raises among other subjects for descriptive writing the following:

1. Describe Cowper's mother. 2. Describe the picture he received. 3. Describe the home of his infancy. 4. Describe the "well-havened isle."

Children should be taught to look through the entire poem for facts that bear on the topics. When writing, they must not misrepresent these facts nor give others that contradict those in the poem. Where nothing is said, the child may see what he likes. Such exercises tend to make children appreciate good literature, and, when they are reading, to visualize the things to which allusion is made.

EXPOSITION. In Volume IV, beginning on page 14, is the story of Martin Pelaez, the Asturian, which will offer good material for a composition of another kind. The introduction to Cid Campeador, page 9, will give you information you are likely to need to answer questions.

As in the exercise just given, begin to read and make such explanatory comments as are needed to show clearly the character of Martin. You will, of course, need to make the story lucid to the children. Show that—

a. Pelaez was a Spanish grandee of great strength and noble form.

b. He was a coward at heart.

c. Twice he ran from the enemy and avoided battle.

d. Both times he was asked by the Cid to sit with him at the table, and not with the noblest knights.

e. The first time Martin thought it an honor to himself; the second time, he saw it to be a grave reproof.

f. Thereafter he fought nobly, was seated with the great knights, and became one of the Cid's most favored friends.

When these points have been fixed in mind, proceed to develop an outline for the composition. It may be something like this:

a. The character of Martin as we first meet him in the story, with instances to prove the nature of it.

b. His character after he was changed by the Cid, with evidences to show it. Exemplified:

1. He was a coward. We know it from— (a) His flight during the first battle. (b) His retreat during the second battle. (c) The fact that he was large, strong and well versed in arms yet would not fight. (d) The fact that he hoped to escape the notice of the Cid.

2. He was teachable. We know it because he needed but two lessons.

3. He was brave. We know it from his conduct in battle.

4. He had many noble characteristics. We know it because be became the trusted friend of the Cid.

Put into the form of a composition, we might expect something like this:

"Martin Pelaez, when we first knew him, was an arrant coward, for though strong, well-formed and versed in the use of arms, he more than once fled before the enemy. He had other traits of a coward, as we may know from his actions in hiding in his tent and hoping to escape the eye of his master and unfairly gain the reputation of a brave knight.

"Later, however, under the wise treatment of the Cid he was made ashamed of his cowardice, conquered it and became a courageous warrior. In fact, he was one of the bravest and most powerful knights in the army of the Cid.

"More than that, Martin Pelaez developed all the traits of a gentleman. He became a good keeper of secrets, was wise in counsel and brave in action."

The foregoing is a good example of exposition, the third of the four forms of prose composition.

ARGUMENT. The Boston Massacre by Nathaniel Hawthorne (Volume IV, page 217) offers several good questions for debate. We may select the decision of the judges (page 223) as the one furnishing the best opportunity. Hawthorne says, "The judges told the jury that the insults and violence which had been offered to the soldiers justified them in firing at the mob."

To bring the question into a form for debate we might write it, "Were the judges right in their decision?" This leaves the question evenly balanced, with no prejudice against either side. It might be put more formally: "Resolved. That the judges were right in their decision." The effect of stating the question in the latter form is to throw the "burden of proof" on the negative. In other words, if the question is in the latter form and the arguments are equally balanced, the decision would have to be that the judges were right.

Having determined the form of the question, the children may be separated into two groups, as nearly as possible equal in ability, and one group may be appointed to take the side of the judges and one the side of the soldiers.

Having arranged the preliminaries, converse with the children freely, bringing out points equally in favor of both sides. Avoid any appearance of favoritism. If one side is manifestly stronger than the other, however, you may put them on a level by showing a few arguments to the weaker side. Do this openly, so that all may understand your action.

Encourage the children to study both sides of the question and to be fair-minded. In fact, the ordinary debate where children are appointed to argue upon a certain side of the question does not bring into play the same good methods of thought and judgment as the free debate, in which each child studies both sides of the question, determines which side he thinks the right one, and then argues for that side.

In this question urge the children to study the subject in their histories or in any reference books that may be handy. Help them to get at the truth of the matter. Hawthorne may show prejudice. Does he? We may feel a bias in favor of one side or the other. Do we? Then to the extent of that bias we are liable to be unfair and to fail in making a sound argument.

After the children have read what they can find on the subject, ask them to arrange their arguments in parallel columns, for and against the judges. Something like the following may appear:

FOR AGAINST

1. The Americans 1. The English had were the subjects of the oppressed the colonists English, and subjects by unjust taxes and in should be loyal. other ways (mention them) until the time for loyalty had ceased.

2. The colonists 2. If these colonists were not an organized were a mob they were body, acting legally. justified in their acts. They were a wild mob, It was an insult and and mobs must be worse to quarter troops quelled or lives and upon them and they property cannot be protected. naturally resented it. They had had no time to organize and make laws. They had to act at once.

3. The mob was 3. It is always the composed of wild young men who lead. young men, and most In most great movements of the colonists did not it has been the approve of their acts. young men who were right.

4. The mob called 4. The soldiers forgot the soldiers "lobster-backs," their discipline and "red-coats," and called the colonists "rebel other insulting names rascals" and threatened before the soldiers to use bayonets. spoke.

5. The mob crowded 5. The soldiers the soldiers off the should have kept to their sidewalk, threw snow barracks, but they paraded and lumps of ice at the streets and them. The young men pricked the townspeople dared the soldiers to with their bayonets. fire, threatened to drive them to their barracks and to beat them down.

6. Captain Preston 6. Captain Preston was acting under orders, was unwise, irritating, and he warned the colonists overbearing, and by his that he would preserve attitude provoked the order at any risk. colonists beyond human endurance.

7. The firing was a 7. Captain Preston mistake. It was not by ordered his men to fire Captain Preston's orders. on the colonists.

8. The first shot was 8. A British sympathizer fired by a masked man in a mask fired who appeared on the into the crowd of unarmed balcony of a house and colonists. fired at the soldiers.

9. The British soldiers 9. By withdrawing were soon withdrawn the troops the British and everything confessed that they were done to make the colonists in the wrong. feel right about the affair. This showed that the British were still very friendly to the colonists, and desired their good will.

10. Judges who were 10. The judges were supposed to be honorable British appointees, not men heard all the in sympathy with the evidence and would not colonists and too much be liable to make any prejudiced to be able to mistake. decide fairly.

11. The judges 11. The judges knew were so thoroughly they were wrong and convinced that the soldiers were afraid to leave the were not guilty question to the jury. that they told the jury what verdict to give.

The "points" given above show some of the really minor debatable topics that arise under the larger question. They show, too, how differently the same incidents may appear to different eyes. Perhaps some of the "points" are stated unfairly, to give strength to the argument. Bare assertions are not proofs and some of the "points" are nothing but assertions. Opinions are not arguments. Some of the statements would need to bolstered up by facts and "authorities" before they could be accepted as real arguments.

Most debates are oral, but, for our purpose, they are to be considered as written language lessons. Hence, when the arguments are marshalled as above, the child should select the side he feels to be right and compose his argument in proper form. Teach him to see the three parts to his argument, namely, the introduction, the body of his argument, and the conclusion. Tell him to make his style personal, clear, concise, logical, strong, persuasive and convincing. Show him what each characteristic in the above list means.