of Professor Genung. "Rhetoric," he says, "is the art of adapting discourse, in harmony with its subject and occasion, to the requirements of a reader or hearer." More briefly still it may be defined as the art which deals with the effective communication of thought and emotion by means of words.

1

2. Rhetoric distinguished from grammar. - The ability to write well presupposes the ability to use language in accordance with the laws of grammar. To communicate thought, the language used must be intelligible, - that is, the words and the constructions in which they are employed must be such as are familiar to those addressed. If the mere communication of thought were all that the writer concerned himself about, the use of familiar words and the observance of the rules of grammar would be the only things required of him. Seldom, however, is the writer content with the mere communication of his thought. Ordinarily, he wishes to do more than that, to influence, move, or persuade his readers. In doing this, he will find that some words and some ways of arranging them, within the limits set by the rules of grammar, are better than others. To produce a given effect, therefore, he must study the means required for producing that effect. Here is where rhetoric comes to his aid. Grammar gives him simply the facts of language; rhetoric goes further and teaches him how he may use those facts for the purpose of producing a given effect.

1 The Working Principles of Rhetoric, p. 1.

Rhetoric, therefore, in no way takes the place of grammar. On the contrary, it presupposes grammar. Its use is to serve as a sort of supplement to the latter. Grammar concerns itself solely with the forms of words and their constructions in sentences. A knowledge of these facts is necessary in order to be able to write intelligibly; but that knowledge, though necessary, is not of itself sufficient to enable one to write well. Language may be grammatical, yet at the same time ineffective in communicating thought. Thus the sentence, "Brutus assassinated Cæsar because he wished to be king," is grammatically faultless, but rhetorically bad, because it fails to make clear who wished to be king.

The rules of grammar derive their authority entirely from usage, and are therefore purely conventional. A change in usage necessitates a change in its rules. To a certain extent, this is true of rhetoric also. In the choice of words, for instance, we are largely governed by taste, and taste changes from time to time. But for the most part the fundamental laws of rhetoric are invariable. They depend upon the laws of mind, and these laws never change.

3. Rhetoric concerned only with the manner of discourse. Rhetoric concerns itself properly with the manner, not with the matter of discourse. It takes for granted that the writer has something to say before it offers to help him in expressing his thought. The first duty of one who would learn to write is, therefore, to think. Unless one thinks, indeed, it

is scarcely worth while trying to learn to write. The mere repetition of what has already been expressed is not composition. Composition is a positive building up process, and requires as its material either new thought finding expression for the first time, or old thought needing new and fresh expression.

4. The use of models in learning to write. In learning to speak, we learn by imitating those whom we hear speaking; and if we are daily in the company of those who speak grammatically, we learn to speak grammatically too, because we have good models to imitate. It is much the same with writing: we learn to write by imitating good models. We may not always be conscious of this imitation, to be sure, any more than a child is conscious that it is imitating its elders when it tries to form words; but the tendency to imitate is none the less in us. Had we not models to pattern our discourse after, indeed, we should be as blind men groping for the way. "The obvious truth is," as Professor Minto says, "that a man who writes well must learn to do so by example, if not by precept. In any language that has been used for centuries as a literary instrument, the beginner cannot begin as if he were the first in the field. Whatever he proposes to write, be it essay or sermon or leading article, history or fiction, there are hundreds of things of the same kind in existence, some of which he must have read and cannot help taking more or less as patterns or models." 1

1 See Principles of Prose Composition, pp. 8, 9.

5. Precept and practice in writing. — If we could be constantly in the society of good writers and have the advantage of their advice whenever we wished it, we should, possibly, be in the very best way towards acquiring a good style, provided we put their precepts into practice. The proviso is an important one. Precepts are, of course, useful, but the main. reliance must always be on practice. We learn to write by actually writing, not by committing to memory rules for the guidance of writers. The beginner should come to a realization of this fact as early in his career as possible, and make up his mind to the drudgery it entails. The art of writing, like any other art, must be cultivated; and with many it demands hard study and much practice. Such a master of style as Robert Louis Stevenson, for instance, attained his mastery of the pen, as he tells us, only by dint of constant and severe practice.

"All through boyhood and youth," he says, “I was known and pointed out for the pattern of an idler; and yet I was always busy on my own private end, which was to learn to write. As I walked, my mind was busy fitting what I saw by the roadside. I would either read, or a pencil and a penny versionbook would be in my hand, to note down the feature of the scene or commemorate some halting stanzas. Thus I lived with words. And what I thus wrote was for no ulterior use, it was written consciously for practice. It was not so much that I wished to be an author as that I had vowed that I would learn

to write.... Whenever I read a book or a passage that particularly pleased me, in which a thing was said or an effect rendered with propriety, in which there was either some conspicuous force or happy distinction in the style, I must sit down at once and set myself to ape that quality. . .

"That, like it or not, is the way to learn to write."

Not all good writers have learned their art in precisely this way, but it is safe to say that few writers have attained distinction without taking infinite pains with their work. Hard work intelligently directed is the main secret of success in almost any undertaking. Certainly it is so in writing; and success here is success of a kind worth striving for. "Ability to express one's thought clearly, forcibly, and with a degree of elegance that is ability to write good English — is perhaps the highest test of mental cultivation." It is the accomplishment which gives highest value to all other accomplishments.

SUGGESTED SUBJECTS FOR THEMES

1. My first day at college.

2. The campus.

3. The English course in my high school.

4. Athletics in my high school.

5. My favorite study.

6. What I look fo ward to in my college course.

7. A boarding-house at meal-time.

1 See A College Magazine.

2 B. A. Hinsdale, Teaching the Language Arts, p. 127.