to attract congenial material, and as a sieve to select or leave. The material thus gathered seasons and strengthens your own thinking, and fills up the gaps. Of its utility in the general outfit of a writer, there can be of course no question.

The books that require such consultation by topics are the works of exhaustive research, yet whose subject-matter is more in the form of materials for literature than the finished literature itself; such are specialized treatises, reports, documents, and in general the original sources of minute and thorough information. To read such works through would be a positive disadvantage, to say nothing of the labor. Their subject-matter is in too diffuse and chaotic form for that. They are therefore merely to be interrogated on those particular points which in other reading, or in the process of thought, have revealed themselves as in need of greater fulness or corroboration.

The art of reading by topics is the art of finding what one wants, and disentangling it, and letting the rest go. A simple seeming process this, yet requiring a mind very sharply trained and intensely directed. It calls for the possession, first, of a defined idea of what is wanted; secondly, a swift instinct to select out what will serve your purpose; and thirdly, quickness to expand suggestions, turns of phrase, hints, implications. It is but one more application of the sharpness of mind engendered by disciplinary reading and meditation, the habit of ready and accurate analysis.1

1 "I have been surprised many times, after I have diligently gestated a subject myself and then have started out into my library for the say-so of other men on that subject, to notice not merely in what a lightsome and expert way I handled them, but also in what a swift facility I utilized their many volumes;-sometimes one glance will answer - and if I encounter a book wherein the entire subject is opened out profoundly and in a complete treatment, considerable portions of the book I catch up with a touch and go, and the denser parts cannot very long delay me. This sounds boastful, but it is not. Almost any man may make the experiment for himself. And I advise you all to make it and to keep making it so long as you live." BURTON, Yale Lectures, p. 51.

The man who reads by topics has an eye for the make-up of books. From an index, or table of contents, or preface, he can guide himself unerringly to the main or minor point that gives the consultation present significance. He comes naturally, by this ability, to have touch with bibliographical matters, to know what is reputable in book-making, to have acquaintance with publishers and their specialties, to discriminate between the authoritative and the second-hand in authorship. In addition to the knowledge he already possesses he comes insensibly to be aware where knowledge is to be looked for and found.1 He is at home in a library, and can accumulate rapid information from a large number of books as easily as from one. Books, in short, become his companions and

familiar friends.

IV.

Disposal of Results. As one's meditation and reading become more quickened by the inventive spirit, some method of preserving results is naturally sought. This leads to the taking of notes, the devising of indexes for reference, the preserving of cuttings, the keeping of commonplace books, and the like. The tendency to such things, and the ability to carry on a system once adopted or to profit by what is thus

1 "No sooner had we made our bow to Mr. Cambridge, in his library, than Johnson ran eagerly to one side of the room, intent on poring over the backs of the books. Sir Joshua observed, (aside),' He runs to the books, as I do to the pictures: but I have the advantage. I can see much more of the pictures than he can of the books.' Mr. Cambridge, upon this, politely said, ' Dr. Johnson, I am going, with your pardon, to accuse myself, for I have the same custom which I perceive you have. But it seems odd that one should have such a desire to look at the backs of books.' Johnson, ever ready for contest, instantly started from his reverie, wheeled about, and answered, 'Sir, the reason is very plain. Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it. When we enquire into any subject, the first thing we have to do is to know what books have treated of it. This leads us to look at catalogues, and the backs of books in libraries.'" - BOSWELL, Life of Johnson (G. B. Hill's edition), Vol. ii, p. 417.

Some read and meditate stores of information in

preserved, is so largely a matter of temperament that nothing whatever can be prescribed for all. for immediate use, and carry their more or less digested form in memory. Others trust much to accumulated materials and to systematic storing. As in style and planning, so here, every one must evolve his own best way, from his powers and habits of mind.

Some practical remarks may, however, here be given, especially to indicate the relation of these customs to invention. Taking Notes. Two objects, in the main, are had in view in the taking of notes: the recording of suggestions that come to one's own mind at times when finished composition is not practicable; and the securing, in abstract or in particular data, of material read or heard. This latter material may best be cared for in the same system as are references and citations, to be mentioned presently; it belongs like them to the unworked data of the writer's mind. The former, the record of one's own thoughts, is of special value as a stimulus and practical support to one's processes of thought; a tangible means of developing the habit of seeking clearness and order. A note-book may thus be a workshop, where lines of thought have their germination and first shaping, and where currents of obscure meditation run themselves clear. Of course one is continually outgrowing such a record; but this is one great element of its value, the inventive mind is thus kept in a state of growth, and has something to outgrow.

An important feature of utility in the taking of notes is this notes should not be heedlessly taken, or consist merely of catchwords. They should have all the finish that the time permits. Then if they are referred to afterward, they will be formed enough to yield their original flavor without painful and doubtful supplementing from memory; and further, the very putting of them down will have marked a step forward in composition. It is doubtful if an original note which does

not represent the author's best is worth preserving; doubtful, too, if the inventive ardor will continue to attend it if the note-taking evinces less than the high water mark of his thinking at the time.

References and Citations. The keeping of some kind of index rerum, for fugitive notes, references, and citations, is sure to commend itself at some time in a writer's career; and not unlikely many starts and failures may be made before the writer finds his most practicable method. This perhaps cannot well be avoided, nor is it necessarily a reproach. It will probably be found, however, that the method that works, best at last is the simplest. To plan for as little machinery as possible has the best promise of success; even though the plan adopted may be very imperfect, as compared with others advocated.

Whatever the system, the success of it depends mainly on the writer's closeness of touch with it. For this reason the kind of material preserved is most fitly such as belongs to the writer's most specialized sphere of study, the kind of fact and truth with which his mind is most constantly occupied.

Commonplace books, on account of the labor of transcribing passages, are much more liable than any other undertaking to be discontinued. The same value attaches to them as to indices rerum; there is the necessity also of keeping in touch with them, in fact, more good comes, probably from the making of them than from their contents when they are made. For this reason no one can make a commonplace book for another; it must have something of the personal quality of a journal intime. Like a note-book, a commonplace book is speedily outgrown; but likewise it may when wisely used be made a practical instrument. Its value consists in keeping one's readings vital; and this is undeniably great.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE COMPOSITION AS A WHOLE.

BEFORE entering upon the discussion of the specific forms that invention may adopt in literary discourse, we need to note the typical framework, or inventive system, that, with whatever modifications, exists under all forms. The principle of this has already been anticipated on the smaller scale of the single paragraph'; it remains here to consider the prob lems and procedures that come into view when the field of operations is broader.

In two opposite directions invention, as a devising act, works to bring its design to pass. It is first concentrative; it thinks its material inward to one controlling, comprehensive proposition, which we call the theme. Then, secondly, it is distributive from this theme as a centre it thinks outward along the various lines and radiations of the thought, in other words, it makes the outline or plan. So much for the inventive process in its severe narrow sense. But, having proceeded thus far, this same devising activity, still at the work of rounding its design, takes to its aid imagination, emotional glow, and the sense of style, in the finishing process called amplification. Here at last the artistic enterprise is complete; invention and style, no longer separate, have united in one vital yet ordered product.

These three stages of work determine the articulation of the present chapter.

1 See The Paragraph in Structure, pp. 364 sqq., above.