in the first part of this chapter, learn to describe persons, objects, and scenes by the orderly grouping of definite details. It is not to be expected that he will attain much skill in the art of describing by suggestion that has been so fully illustrated in the second part. People differ widely in their natural ability in this respect. It is to be hoped, however, that whether the student acquires skill in the process or not, he will learn to appreciate the value of description by this means. To it literature- and especially poetry owes much of its charm, and he who learns to love literature and to appreciate the art revealed in it is an educated man, whatever else he knows or is ignorant of. It is suggested, therefore, that the student, in his daily reading of good literature, keep his eyes open for description. He will not often find it standing by itself, for it is a necessary adjunct of narrative. Wherever it occurs, let him try to realize vividly the picture it presents and to judge how successful it is in its attempt. By taking account in this way of the effect of literature upon him, he will learn to value it more justly to cherish good literature and to understand, to a great extent, the difference between good literature and bad.

CHAPTER IV

NARRATION

24. NARRATION. 25. THE ESSENTIAL ELEMENTS.-26. THE ACTORS. EXERCISE 12.-27. THE CIRCUMSTANCES. — EXERCISE 13. - 28. ACTION: IN SHORT NARRATIVES. - EXERCISE 14.-29. THE AIM OF A NARRATIVE.-30. ACTION: IN LONGER NARRATIVES. EXERCISE 15.-31. NARRATIVE IN LITERATURE. — 32. SUMMARY OF A NARRATIVE. EXERCISE 16.

24. Narration. Much of our composition, as well as of our conversation, consists of narration. The aim of narration is simply to produce in the reader's mind images of a series of real or imaginary events, and to comment, if necessary, on their cause, importance, or relation to each other. The reader, with the eye of the imagination, sees what the narrator says has taken place, much as if he were watching the ever-changing pictures of a kinetoscope. The narrator, unlike the kinetoscope, is powerless to make us really see with our own eyes that which actually happened; he can, on the other hand, do three things which the kinetoscope cannot: he can select, from a series of acts, those which seem to him most significant; he can at will transport the reader from one scene to another, or from one part of a scene to another; and he can, if he chooses, continually add comments which express his judgment of the impor

tance or relation of the various acts. Macaulay's History of England, Boswell's Life of Johnson, Franklin's Autobiography, Scott's Ivanhoe, Tennyson's Idylls of the King, and Milton's Paradise Lost are typical narratives.

25. The Essential Elements. Three elements are essential to narrative: (1) the actors in the events to be mentioned; (2) the circumstances under which they act; (3) the acts or events themselves. The value and the interest of good narrative depend upon our understanding clearly (1) who the persons were who did such and such things; (2) under what circumstances of cause or effect or environment they did them; (3) what were the things which they did. 26. The Actors. It is important, in almost any narrative, that we should have a clear impression of the character, and often of the appearance, of those who take part in it. Sometimes, of course, in very simple narratives - such, for example, as Æsop's Fables we are satisfied with the statement that the actors in the tale are merely a fox and a stork or a man, knowing that, to get the effect of the story, all that we need to do is to keep in mind the general characteristics which all foxes or storks or men have in common. But if the narrative is more than the merest fable or parable, it owes in all probability much, or at least part, of its effect to the knowledge, on the part of the reader, that it was to persons of such and such a sort that such and such things happened. In a composition on "How We Climbed Mt.

Washington," for example, the whole point of the narrative may come from the fact that "we" were women, or that one of us had a weak ankle, or was fat, or lazy, or venturesome. One of the great

charms of narrative, too, lies in its giving a series of clear or vivid pictures. A dull historical work often describes the character of the actors sufficiently well for us to understand why under such and such circumstances they did such and such things. It is dull because it does not allow us to form distinct images of the looks and ways of the persons involved, and thus to see them distinctly before us as they take their parts in the series of events related.

As has been shown in the preceding chapter, information as to the appearance—and even of the character of persons is sometimes conveyed, indirectly, by suggestion, and especially by inference from what they do. It is often wise, however, at the very outset of a narrative to give, plainly and clearly, such information of this kind as is absolutely necessary for the proper appreciation of what follows. A good illustration of this method is to be found in extract (1), on page 53, from Mr. Crawford's Via Crucis. Here the author evidently feltwhat is indeed the fact that a great part of the effect of the narrative would be lost if the reader did not obtain, as early as possible in the story, a distinct conception of the appearance and bearing of one at least of the chief actors. His description deals largely with the physical characteristics of the person, but

throughout runs the implication that the mental characteristics are closely allied. Of the illustrations given below, (1) and (3) deal largely with mental characteristics; (2) introduces one of the famous heroes of romance by calling attention to his great size and his harmless vanity; (4) takes the mental and physical characteristics, both of Uncle Remus and the little boy, and of Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit, largely for granted.

(1) "England's one hope lay in the character' of her Queen. Elizabeth was now in her twenty-fifth year. Personally she had more than her mother's beauty; her figure was commanding, her face long but queenly and intelligent, her eyes quick and fine. She had grown up amidst the liberal culture of Henry's court a bold horsewoman, a good shot, a graceful dancer, a skilled musician, and an accomplished scholar. She studied every morning the Greek Testament, and followed this by the tragedies of Sophocles or orations of Demosthenes, and could 'rub up her rusty Greek' at need to bandy pedantry with a Vice-Chancellor. But she was far from being a mere pedant. The new literature which was springing up around her found constant welcome in her court. She spoke Italian and French as fluently as her mother-tongue. She was familiar with Ariosto and Tasso. Even amidst the affectation and love of anagrams and puerilities which sullied her later years, she listened with delight to the Faery Queene, and found a smile for Master Spenser' when he appeared in her presence. Her moral temper recalled in its strange contrasts the mixed blood within her veins. She was at once the daughter of Henry and of Anne Boleyn. From her father she inherited her frank and hearty address, her love