f. Does the skeleton of the argument show through unnecessarily? g. Are the transitions from point to point skillful? h. Is the language of the argument forceful? i. Is the argument interesting enough to hold the readers' attention? Is it vivified with concrete examples? j. Is the proportion of the argument good? What ought to determine proportion in an argument? k. Have you proved what you set out to prove? CONCLUSION a. Does the conclusion suffer because it contains matter not included in the argument? b. Is the summary complete? Does it show that the argument is a unit? c. Does the conclusion make a definite appeal? CHAPTER IX - DESCRIPTION I. THE FIELD OF DESCRIPTION A. THE NATURE OF DESCRIPTION PERHAPS no other terms connected with composition are so loosely used as "describe" and "description." It is common to hear one person ask another to describe how a thing is done, when he really wants some general process explained; it is still more common to hear some one request a description of what happened, when a mere recounting of events is desired. In fact, the word "describe" is often used carelessly to mean no more than "give an account of" or "tell about," a meaning which is plainly too inclusive and too vague to permit any discrimination between the explanation of something general and the picturing of something particular, between the transcript of mental images and the recording of occurrences. Even when carefully restricted in accordance with rhetorical usage, description shows a wide and somewhat baffling variety. A description may be less than a line long or it may fill many pages. It may reproduce still life, or it may show objects in motion. It may record how things look to the eye, or it may go beyond color and form and record sensations of sound, taste, smell, and touch. It may be done with all possible exactness to serve as a means of identification, or it may be intended simply to suggest a passing impression. On the one hand is the scientist's matter-of-fact memorandum, and on the other the poet's rapturous picture. And yet in it all there is one common purpose: to reproduce mental images of things sensed. Unlike exposition, description deals with particular objects or scenes, and appeals largely to the imagination; unlike narration, it is concerned with recording sense impressions rather than with recounting events. B. THE RELATION OF DESCRIPTION TO OTHER FORMS OF COMPOSITION Although description holds a large place in the world's writing, it rarely exists independently. It is a significant fact that no important literary forms are distinctly descriptive. Occasionally, to be sure, we come upon a vignette or a pastel in prose; but these can scarcely be called well-developed forms. Then, too, there is the sketch; but it ordinarily contains quite as much narration as description. Certainly we have no descriptive forms comparable, let us say, with such narrative forms as the novel, the romance, the tale, the short story, the drama, or the news story. Nor is the reason hard to find. Ordinarily the isolated description cannot justify itself. Stevenson's oftquoted remark that no human being ever spoke of scenery for more than two minutes at a time is essentially true. It is not natural to describe a person or a place unless some occasion demands it; and the occasion comes almost inevitably in connection with some narrative or some explanation. Consequently, description seldom stands by itself. But, as we all know, it is very useful in helping the reader to visualize the particular things treated in some other kind of writing. In a previous chapter we have noted the value which description may have in making exposition effective, and in the next chapter we shall see that a narrative with no description of the place where the events occur and the manner in which the characters act would be altogether bare. Indeed it is fair to say that description, although it seldom appears independently, is indispensable in making the other forms of composition vivid and real. C. THE KINDS OF DESCRIPTION Through all description there is traceable the line which separates instrumental writing from æsthetic. Some description serves the definitely useful end of giving information; some does no more than give imaginative pleasure. In those descriptive pieces where the attempt is to present a clear, distinct image that will serve to identify the object described, the method employed is that of careful delineation. By enumerating a comparatively full number of details the writer appeals almost as much to his reader's understanding as to his imagination. He writes with little or no feeling. On the other hand, where the attempt is to give only one's general impression of some object or scene, or to convey a mood which some object or scene induces, the method is that of rapid suggestion. By choosing a few details which are especially characteristic, the writer can call up in the imagination of his reader a vivid image and one which at the same time reflects his own state of feeling. The distinction is clear if we contrast such a description of a daffodil as a botanist would write with a poet's picture of this same flower. The one sets down numerous details of color, form, odor, and habits of growth; the other chooses a few details which especially appeal to him personally. When Shakespeare writes "daffodils That come before the swallow dares and take or when Wordsworth speaks of the "golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze," we hardly get information that will lead to the sure identification of the flower, but we do get a vivid impression of how it stirred a poet's sense of the beautiful. Perhaps the essential distinction between the two kinds of description is all contained in the penetrating remark of Henri Frédéric Amiel: "Look twice to see accurately. Look only once to see beautifully." It is not to be supposed, however, that all description conforms strictly to one or the other of these types. If we except such bare work as appears in auction notices or guidebooks, few descriptive pieces are entirely without warmth and suggestive ART WRIT. ENG. - 20 ness. The description of the scientist, when at its best, gives some imaginative pleasure as well as accurate information. Similarly the most effective description of the artist will combine distinctness with beauty. Good descriptive writers mingle the two methods with all freedom; and their work is essentially instrumental or æsthetic according to the purpose or method which predominates. II. THE DESCRIPTIVE PROCESS A. THE POINT OF VIEW 1. Time and place. With this brief survey of the field, we are now ready to study the fundamental process which is common to all description. The first step in this process is the fixing of a point of view. Of course a writer does not always do this consciously and literally. He may take an actual stand somewhere, as does the photographer when he sets up his camera at a given distance from a monument or a waterfall. He may introduce a distinct time element, as in a Sunday morning sketch or a record of April odors. Or he may specify no particular place and time, when these can be taken for granted. But in any case, if he hopes to preserve unity at all, he must regard his material steadily in one way, so far as position and time are concerned. If he is to describe a scene on some college campus, he must know whether he is doing it at midday or at twilight, in May or in December, and whether he is showing the campus as viewed from the main entrance, from a window in one of the college buildings, or from a hill outside the college town. Likewise, if he wishes to describe a cat as it lies before the fire, he must know definitely where it lies and how the lights fall. Otherwise he would have no means whatever of limiting the details; his description would be a jumble of things large and small, near and remote, which would be utterly confusing, if not actually ridiculous. Nor would he have any means of showing the relations between details. For all sense impressions change with distance, not only details of size, but |