ingly, it shall be the main task of this second part to exhibit and exemplify these organic laws, as they appear both in the general structure of a work, and in the particular aspects of the various literary types.

Of the eight chapters that make up the second half of this book, the first two are devoted to a discussion of the principles that belong to any literary work; and the remaining six to the particular applications of them, as seen in the leading forms of dis

course.

CHAPTER I.

THE BASIS IN MENTAL APTITUDES AND HABITS.

IN discussing the general principles of literary invention, we must begin far back of the immediate occasion, and consider the writer's endowments, as bestowed by nature, and as developed by education and experience. For the author is both born and made; and what he writes, if it has true worth, is a genuine expression of his affluence of mind and life, as well as of his acquired constructive skill. Therefore each writer needs first of all to interrogate himself, and become aware of the nature, direction, and limits of his inborn aptitudes, in order that by obeying these his literary activity may follow its most congenial bent; and upon these he needs to build habits of thought and self-culture which shall be a perpetual feeder to his inner resources, keeping them full and ready for use; his mind not at the mercy of moods or subject to periods of barrenness, but alert, keen, quickly compliant to his will.

I. INVENTION AS A NATURAL GIFT.

The laws of literary invention are simply the laws of logical activity practically applied in transmitting ideas from one mind to others, with accompaniment, as occasion may dictate, of emotion or appeal. Such work as this, however, cannot be merely mechanical, nor can it result from training alone. It requires, to begin with, some degree of special aptitude: there must exist in the writer an originating and combining power as truly inborn as is the musician's natural ear for melody, and the artist's natural eye for form and color.

However proficient he may become in acquired ability, therefore, each writer must obey primarily a native ideal and individu

ality of origination and combination; his success can be achieved only as he educates and disciplines what is already in him. Thus nature develops along the line of its own perfecting, into art; and the art itself is nature. "Art," says Professor Wilkinson,1 “in the sense in which we are now using it, that is, to denote the pains bestowed by the artist on his work, is merely nature giving attention to itself. It is nature in a mood of self-consciousness. Thus, to speak like a mathematician, it is limited to yield a higher power of nature."

Marks of the Inventive Aptitude. More deeply seated than its individual peculiarities, we discern two native tendencies especially characteristic of the inventive mind.

1. First of all, it is a natural ability to grasp facts and ideas in such combinations as give them organism and significance. To such a mind nothing is seen as isolated; there are no disjecta membra in the sum of its thinking. Every fact has a relation and a suggestiveness by which it is allied with other facts and finds its place in the fabric of a greater unity. In such a mind things seem to fall into such order and proportion that a new interest is lent to them. This natural inventiveness is recognized in popular speech, when people are described as having "the gift to set out a story," or as being able to "get at the gist of a thing."

2. But we discern here more than the merely constructive faculty. The inventive mind also habitually views facts and ideas as adapted to have power on others. It does not construct for itself alone; it seeks by a natural instinct to conform its thinking to the capacity and standards of the people addressed. The inventive mind has a tact to get into the ways of other minds and direct their thoughts and interests. Thus we may say authorship starts from the desire in some degree to form and mold the minds of men; it is this implicit desire that we trace most deeply in the skill and fine calculation that constitute the felicity of literary form.

A person with such an aptitude is recognized not only by the

1 Wilkinson, "A Free Lance in the Field of Life and Letters," p. 200.

literature he makes, but by his whole manner of looking at things. He has an independence and individuality of view that makes men take interest in his utterances.

Analogy with the Painter's Art. The man of inventive aptitude possesses by nature, and of course develops to greater power and unerringness by experience, the same sense of a subject's adaptability to literary treatment that the artist has of the fitness of a scene, in combination and balance of parts, for a picture. The parallel is thus drawn by Walter Bagehot: '

"There should be a word in the language of literary art to express what the word 'picturesque' expresses for the fine arts. Picturesque means fit to be put into a picture; we want a word literatesque, fit to be put into a book.' An artist goes through a hundred different country scenes, rich with beauties, charms, and merits, but he does not paint any of them. He leaves them alone; he idles on till he finds the hundred-and-first

a scene which many observers would not think much of, but which he knows by virtue of his art will look well on canvas, and this he paints and preserves. Susceptible observers, though not artists, feel this quality too; they say of a scene, 'How picturesque !' meaning by this a quality distinct from that of beauty, or sublimity, or grandeur meaning to speak not only of the scene as it is in itself, but also of its fitness for imitation by art; meaning not only that it is good, but that its goodness is such as ought to be transferred to paper; meaning not simply that it fascinates, but also that its fascination is such as ought to be copied by man. . . . Literature

...

...

the painting of words has the same quality, but wants the analogous word. The word 'literatesque' would mean, if we possessed it, that perfect combination in the subject-matter of literature, which suits the art of literature. As a painter must have not only a hand to execute, but an eye to distinguish — as he must go here and there through the real world to catch the picturesque man, the picturesque scene, which is to live on his canvas so the poet must find in that reality the literatesque man, the literatesque

1 Bagehot, "Literary Studies," Vol. II. p. 341.

scene, which nature intends for him, and which will live in his page."

Thus to apply the above analogy we may say the mark of the inventive mind is an aptitude to discern literary capabilities in a subject, a native endowment of imagination and skill which intuitively chooses such facts as are effective and groups them in interesting combinations. Such endowment profits indefinitely by discipline, but its beginning is deeper than any discipline can reach.

NOTE. — An interesting example of what an inventive mind can make of a subject apparently meagre and commonplace in itself, may be seen in Irving's sketch of The Stout Gentleman in his "Bracebridge Hall." The sketch, which is certainly charming, owes absolutely all its interest to invention.

Kinds of Inventive Ability.—The implication of the above is that there are many who have no inventive gifts; and this is doubtless true; but the lack is not so common as a hasty judgment might conclude, nor is it to be argued from a comparison of one mind with another. For inventive talent may be of infinitely varied kinds. No two persons would develop the resources of a subject in exactly the same way. Differences in plan, in illustration, in argument, would evince minds moving in different regions of thought and feeling. Each mind must have its own world, dwell in its own congenial region, in order to see truth clearly and represent it with sincerity. So doubtless there is discoverable some range of ideas in which every man who may be educated at all may be to some extent an effective writer. But this he must find for himself; no other can prescribe it for him.

Thus, to exemplify the kinds of invention. One writer deals most naturally with simple, concrete facts; his impulse is to make a plain, unembellished statement, with clearness and method, of what he has seen and heard. A good example of this is found in the Personal Memoirs of General Grant, a book which, in its valuable characteristic of striking directly for the important points, saying neither too much nor too little, shows inventive ability of a high order. Another writer thinks spontaneously in figures, cov