private, that instinctively we veil them. Yet the great writer, far from concealing his emotions, puts his very heart into his work, thus exposing to all readers that which makes up the most precious element of his individuality. Hence it follows that anyone who will but learn to read may become intimately acquainted with the intellectual men and women of all times. Let his station in life be what it will, the door stands wide open for him; he may become an aristocrat, associating intimately with great souls and sharing their finest emotions. Second idea Passing now to the word pleasure, we are reminded that thought and feeling to endure must be properly expressed. Literature worthy of the name is a fine art, not the product of bunglers. Our pleasure in reading is due but in part to the thoughts and feelings revealed; it is in no small degree due to the artistic skill displayed in expressing these thoughts and feelings. A very simple idea, or an emotion which all have felt, becomes beautiful when beautifully phrased. This pleasure derived from the skill with which authors clothe their thought increases with maturing years, if we are wise enough to make companions of great writers. In time we grow impatient of what is termed cheap literature, where little or no skill is displayed, and impatient of our own ways of crude expression. Here is a third definition, by Henry Morley. Literature comprises "all books-and they are but few-where moral Morley's definition truth and human passion are touched with a certain largeness, sanity, and attractiveness of form." This is less clear than the others and calls for careful study. Reading it over and over and thinking it through and through as one must where much is condensed into a few words, we at length discover two important ideas. The first is that it is the mission of lit First idea erature to elevate and inspire through bringing the reader face to face with the great moral truths of life. The masters reveal not only their own emotions but the emotions-the passions-of all humanity; they unveil not alone their own hearts but the heart of the world-yours, mine, every man's. They help us to understand ourselves and to look with truer, more sympathetic eyes upon the various complex emotions which make up the real history of the world. Second idea The second idea, a simpler one, emphasizes the limited field of pure literature. Much that is written has little to do with moral truth or with human passions. It is not concerned with joys and sorrows. Many books serve merely to impart knowledge. They interest but a limited number and for a limited time. Moral truth and human passion, the same thousands of years ago as they are today, are of permanent interest to all because they concern all. These only are the raw materials out of which poems and plays and romances are made. A dictionary definition Finally, here is a long, detailed, scientific definition from the Standard Dictionary, less attractive than the ones already considered, yet not without merit. No explanation follows it, that the student may have the pleasure of accepting the challenge offered by its difficulty, and may master it step by step, seeking for ideas which are not emphasized in the briefer definitions. "Belonging to the sphere of high art and embodying thought that is power-giving, or inspiring and elevating, rather than knowledge-giving (excluding thus all purely scientific writings); catholic, or of interest to man as man (excluding writings that are merely technical, or for a class, trade, or profession, or the like, only); esthetic in its tone and style (excluding writings violating the principles of good taste); and shaped by the creative imagination, or power of artistic construction (excluding all writings that are shapeless and without organic unity).” New conceptions With these four definitions well in mind, perhaps some will think the library building, as imagination may have pictured it at the beginning of this chapter, unnecessarily large, but none too stately. Better still, it may be that through following the lines of thought suggested by these definitions, our respect for the great masters whose works are far more than mere books has been increased, and we shall be less likely to grow vain over our own feeble compositions. CHAPTER XIII KINDS OF LITERATURE: POETRY AND PROSE Prose and poetry There are four kinds of composition: narration, description, exposition, and argument. Since literature is but composition, it may be said that there are four kinds of literature. But should we wish to arrange the books for which, in the preeeding chapter, our imagination provided a building, it would, manifestly, be impossible to group them under these heads, since the four forms of discourse are seldom found separate but rather in combination, all of them sometimes appearing in a single paragraph. Of the many possible systems, the simplest classification would be one dividing the books into two broad groups, poetry and prose; yet even this simple scheme might present some difficulties. What is poetry? How does it differ from prose? Perhaps rhyme is the first word to arise in the mind of one attempting to answer these questions. Prose does not rhyme; most poetry does, though much that Rhyme Shakespeare and Milton and the lesser poets have written is rhymeless. On the other hand mere rhyme cannot make poetry, for there are the senseless jingles which every child makes-jingles and nothing more. Next to suggest itself is, it may be, rhythm. Each line beats out a little tune produced by the recurrence of stressed syllables separated by syllables un stressed. Good prose, it is true, contains Rhythm something of rhythmical swing, but the swing is not metrical; that is, it does not conform to established rules. That there are such rules, hard and fast, we see as we turn the leaves of such a collection as the Oxford Book of English Verse. The poet neatly fits his words to a mould, as it 'were. His stanzas are made to pattern, each line containing a definite number of stressed syllables and all the rhymes coming in their proper places according to a preconceived plan. In the third place we note, if the ear be sensitive, a sound-harmony. The words are so chosen and arranged Soundharmony that succeeding sounds harmonize, like colors skilfully blended. This too is found in prose; at least the skilled writer of prose is careful to avoid disagreeable sound combinations. But poetry is preeminently harmonious. Carlyle calls it "musical thought." It is song. In earlier times it was intended to be sung, the voice, often accompanied by some instrument, interpreting the feeling and bringing out the melody. Since the invention of printing and the rapid growth of the reading habit, poetry enters the mind not through the ear alone but through the eye. Nevertheless it sings its way in; for as the eye runs from word to word on the printed page, imagination, or memory, helps us to catch the intended harmonies. We cannot think the words without, in imagination, hearing them. Since poetry is melody, it follows that the vocabulary of poetry cannot be quite the vocabulary of prose. There are words too harsh for the poet, and words Vocabulary of so many syllables that they defy all metrical arrangement. Melody aside, how many words there are which are too coarse and commonplace in what they suggest to be of service. They are not beautiful. Yet we shall try in vain to say which words are poetical and which are not; we can but wonder at the great masters' skill in selecting that which in sound and suggestion is appro |