Discourse written for Public Delivery. Although the ideal of spoken discourse is that its expression be extemporaneous, a large proportion of such discourse is, and will continue to be, written and read or recited in public. With some literary tasks, as for instance public lectures, this is indeed almost a necessity; and doubtless the temperament and habits of thought of a great many public speakers are such that they can represent themselves better by written and read discourse than by purely extemporane ous utterance. The chief motive for writing a spoken discourse in full beforehand is thus expressed by Ruskin in one of his lectures on art: "Do not think I am speaking under excited feelings, or in any exaggerated terms. I have written the words I use, that I may know what I say, and that you, if you choose, may see what I have said." The thing most necessary to be remembered, and yet oftenest disregarded, in such writing, is, that it must subject itself unreservedly to the standard of spoken discourse. The quiet mood of the writer in his study must be conquered and replaced by the vigorous mood of the orator in the presence of his audience. Sentences must be simple and pointed; the distance between pauses should be short; and the hearer should not be made to carry a burden of thought in mind waiting for its result or application. The same need exists for judicious repetition as in purely spoken discourse. Irregularities of style, and especially the exaggeration due to intensity, are naturally considerably toned down; for the audience, seeing the writer's manuscript before him, will unconsciously require of him the well-considered utterance of written discourse. The following, from one of Cardinal Newman's sermons, well illustrates the simplicity, the directness, the skillful repetition and amplification of thought necessary, that a hearer may receive and understand it at one hearing. "There are two worlds, 'the visible and the invisible,' as the Creed speaks, - the world we see, and the world we do not see; and the world which we do not see as really exists as the world we do see. It really exists, though we We see it not. The world that we see we know to exist, because we see it. have but to lift up our eyes and look around us, and we have proof of it: our eyes tell us. We see the sun, moon and stars, earth and sky, hills and valleys, woods and plains, seas and rivers. And again, we see men, and the works of men. We see cities, and stately buildings, and their inhabitants; men running to and fro, and busying themselves to provide for themselves and their families, or to accomplish great designs, or for the very business' sake. All that meets our eyes forms one world. It is an immense world; it reaches to the Thousands on thousands of years might we speed up the sky, and though we were swifter than the light itself, we should not reach them all. They are at distances from us greater than any that is assignable. So high, so wide, so deep is the world; and yet it also comes near and close to us. It is everywhere; and it seems to leave no room for any other world. stars. And yet in spite of this universal world which we see, there is another world, quite as far-spreading, quite as close to us, and more wonderful; another world all around us, though we see it not, and more wonderful than the world we see, for this reason if for no other, that we do not see it. All around us are numberless objects, coming and going, watching, working or waiting, which we see not: this is that other world, which the eyes reach not unto, but faith only." II. The Diction of Written Discourse. - Three characteristics, in which writing differs from spoken discourse, may here be named. 1. It must be more exact than speech. The words chosen must express neither more nor less than the thought; and often statements must be guarded and qualified in order to be kept safe within the bounds of truth; for the writer needs to say only what he can stand by, having no opportunity of oral explanation or correction. 2. It must be less unguarded and elliptical than speech. It is more sparing in the use of such contractions as don't, can't, it's for it is, he's for he is, I'll for I will, and the like. It must often be scrupulous in supplying particles where conversation is freer to omit them; as, "At what hour will the train start?" It must also discard many of the short, elliptical, inexact phrases used in speech. 3. Writing is less varied in construction, and at the same time more complex, than speech. Less varied, because it must keep, for the most part, to one tone of discourse; hence interrogation, exclamation, and other means of variety and vividness, are less natural to writing. More complex, because suspensive structure, long sentences, and involved modifications of the thought, can be more safely employed, since the written or printed page is there, to be studied at leisure. NOTE. Such a long-jointed sentence as the following from Dickens, would be intolerable in spoken discourse; the speaker would be constantly out of breath between pauses, to say nothing of the involutions of clauses and phrases. "The storm had long given place to a calm the most profound, and the evening was pretty far advanced—indeed supper was over, and the process of digestion proceeding as favorably as, under the influence of complete tranquility, cheerful conversation, and a moderate allowance of brandy and water, most wise men conversant with the anatomy and functions of the human frame will consider that it ought to have proceeded, when the three friends, or as one might say, both in a civil and religious sense, and with proper deference and regard to the holy state of matrimony, the two friends (Mr. and Mrs. Browdie counting as no more than one), were startled by the noise of loud and angry threatenings below stairs, which presently attained so high a pitch, and were conveyed besides in language so towering, sanguinary and ferocious, that it could hardly have been surpassed, if there had actually been a Saracen's head then present in the establishment, supported on the shoulders and surmounting the trunk of a real, live, furious, and most unappeasable Saracen." Some great writers, notably Burke, have contemned the idea of any difference between spoken and written diction, and maintain that everything written should conform to the standard of speech. But it must be remembered that Burke's speech, being the utterance of an extraordinary mind, is hardly to be taken as the representative of average speech; and further, that the acknowledged defect of his great addresses lay precisely in the fact that they were too much like written discourse; they exacted so much thought and were so rich in imagery that they were heard with comparative indifference, while in their printed form they became English classics. It would have been better, therefore, at least for his immediate purposes, if Burke had been more observant of the liberties and limits of the two kinds of discourse. But while as matter of fact there are real differences between writing and speech, it is precarious for the writer to count on them so far as to excuse negligence in his written style. He needs to keep careful and constant watch over the life and interest of his diction; for if it becomes pedantic or over-involved, the reason is likely to be that he has unconsciously surrendered himself too freely to the liberties of his pen, and needs simply to turn anew toward the standard of the spoken word. III. Antique, Foreign, Colloquial, and Dialect Diction. Of these irregular varieties of diction the details must be left, of course, to the writers who make them a specialty, inasmuch as each writer must for the most part make the laws that he observes. A word may be said, however, concerning the universal principle that conditions such work. In work of this kind two features are to be observed and reconciled with each other. First, there must be faithfulness to the usage portrayed; and this is maintained not by the employment of catch-words and tricks of style, but only by thorough absorption of the thought and spirit of the age, people, or language with which the style is connected. But secondly, this faithful representation must be modified by the claims of present intelligibility; a literary art must be superimposed which shall make the style readable in this day and land. Literary reproductions of this kind, therefore, are not absolute but relative; they must be toned down for the use of average readers. A similar reconciliation of opposing claims must be made in constructing or reporting dialogue. On this point the words of Anthony Trollope, describing his own art, may perhaps best be quoted. "The ordinary talk of ordinary people," he says, "is carried on in short, sharp, expressive sentences, which, very frequently, are never completed, the language of which, even among 1 Anthony Trollope's Autobiography, p. 216. educated people, is often incorrect. The novel-writer, in constructing his dialogue, must so steer between absolute accuracy of language - which would give to his conversation an air of pedantry and the slovenly inaccuracy of ordinary talkers — which, if closely followed, would offend by an appearance of grimace as to produce upon the ear of his readers a sense of reality. If he be quite real, he will seem to attempt to be funny. If he be quite correct, he will seem to be unreal. . . . In all this," he says a little farther on, "human nature must be the novelwriter's guide. But in following human nature he must remember that he does so with a pen in his hand, and that the reader who will appreciate human nature will also demand artistic ability and literary aptitude." IV. ... Maintenance of the Tone of Discourse.—This is a point of great importance, and calls for the constant exercise of a cultivated taste. Every literary work strikes a certain keynote, elevated or colloquial or humorous or severe; and while it is often an elegance and advantage to rise on occasion into a higher strain, it is unfortunate to fall unadvisedly below the adopted standard. This is most noticeable, perhaps, when prosaic words and turns of expression occur in a passage of poetry. "Prose on certain occasions," says Landor, "can bear a great deal of poetry : on the other hand, poetry sinks and swoons under a moderate weight of prose." So also the sudden appearance of a slang or colloquial expression in a severe discourse, or of a commonplace passage in a sublime discourse, produces an effect as of a flatted note in music, difficult to describe in words but instantly felt by every cultivated reader. NOTE. In the following stanza of poetry, we feel the decidedly prosaic tone of the italicized lines, as compared with the rest : "So from the sunshine and the green of love, We enter on our story's darker part; |