the fundamental definition: not merely the ordering of "events," but "of events that in their entirety constitute a transaction." That is, the mere setting down of details is not sufficient. Narrative, as Professor Baldwin has stated it in his Manual of Rhetoric, must not only move, it must move on. To take again as illustration the first part of the simple Bible chronicle of Naaman: the goal, the objective of all the details, is the healing of the leprous captain by the prophet. The first step of the episode is the leading away of the Israelitish maid into captivity. Through her, some time later, was communicated the fact (2) that in Samaria dwelt a mighty man of God who could, were he approached, heal her master of his leprosy. This chance remark was then (3) communicated by another servant to Naaman himself or to the Syrian king, who at once (4) despatched a letter to the king of Israel by the hand of his captain. Hereupon and in consequence, (5) the king of Israel was filled with despair, suspecting in the message merely the excuse for a quarrel and the spoliation of his kingdom. Hearing of Jehoram's despair, (6) Elisha sent for the Syrian to come to him, and in answer to the summons (7) Naaman speedily appeared at the prophet's door. Then follow in rapid succession, chronological and causal as well, (8) Elisha's message to Naaman as to bathing in the Jordan; (9) Naaman's scornful rejection of it; (10) his departure in a rage; (11) the appeal of his servants; (12) Naaman's final surrender to their common-sense protest; and (13) the culmination of the story, the miraculous healing. Here is the destination, the "arrival" of the narrative, to which it has steadily "moved on." Then succeeds the episode next in order, still bound by a logical link of causation as well as of temporal succession, the awakening of Gehazi's

cupidity and the infliction of punishment by the outraged prophet.

Climax

"Climax," from its derivation (κλípa, a ladder), implies ascent to a higher plane, progress toward an intellectual or an emotional goal. Examples of intellectual climax appear in expository or argumentative writing: the thesis or the forensic attains its climax when the writer succeeds in enabling the reader to occupy the same plane of knowledge with himself. Emotional climax is secured at the moment of greatest tension, just as a mystery, it may be, is about to be cleared, or at the moment when conflicting forces are in equilibrium, or at the turning-point of a career. Climax connotes upbuilding, culmination. All details contribute to it; it stands at the apex. In historical writing this culmination has to do mainly with the completion of the action, with the totality of effect; in dramatic and story narrative, with the tension attendant upon a crisis. Take, for example, a record of Walpole's administration from 1715 to 1742, unified by what, according to Macaulay, was the controlling motive of the great Prime Minister: lust of power. Such a record would differ from argumentation or exposition in that the writer's purpose is not to establish a proposition or to make clear a fact, but to set in order definite historical data, all knit together by the alleged motive. Every narrative detail would contribute to the completeness of this chronicle, and the culmination would come only with the conclusion. On the other hand, in Flute and Violin the narrative is directed to a crisis in the hero's career and to its ultimate effects upon his character. This crisis- the death of little David - is the common

centre of all the narrative threads, the culmination of the story; all that precedes this incident leads up to it, and all that follows branches away from it.

The following brief undergraduate theme affords a definite example of what is meant by climax as defined:

For the last two days of the voyage the sea had remained calm. Far over the horizon hung the smoke of an eastbound liner, the Philadelphia, I heard one of the stewards tell a man. Now that all motion had practically ceased, the deck once again became popular, and strange figures that hitherto had remained below now appeared on the promenade, laughing and joking in the sea breeze.

A ship is like a great hotel, yet unlike a hotel in that each passenger, feeling the boat to be a little world, becomes eager to know his fellows. One has, therefore, little difficulty in picking up acquaintances that may last far longer than those gained similarly on land. It was with this fact in mind that I approached the chair of a young lady whom I had already noticed on several occasions, and who seemed to be traveling alone.

She looked up with a start; then, seeing who it was, she smiled and invited me to sit down. As I have said, she was young, ridiculously young, it seemed, to be dressed in heavy mourning; yet there was about her something that indicated a rather unusually strong personality. She conversed with ease and assurance, and ultimately told me considerable of herself. "My husband," she said, “was a wine merchant, and expert taster for the importing house of We were married in America, and went to England last April on our wedding trip. We were so happy, - I cannot tell you how happy we were, until "here she stopped, and, as I looked out over the water, I could hear her catch her breath.

Well, to make a long story short, her husband had died only a few weeks before, and now she was bringing back his remains. After this, we had several little talks, and I came to know quite a bit of her life.

When the declarations were handed about, I went over to

help her with hers. She smiled sadly and said, “Why, I have nothing to declare. I am bringing nothing in but – she stopped and hid her face in her hands.

and here

As I went away down the deck, I asked myself why this girl always recalled the fact of her husband's death in this rather marked manner. There was something unnatural about it, yet I could not specify what. All the people who had met her seemed to like her. Why should I, and without any reason, question her actions?

All was hurry and bustle on the dock as the baggage was lowered down the side. As no one was there to meet the girl, some of the passengers went to see her through the customs. The Inspector came along, holding her declaration marked "Nothing."

"Would you be good enough to let me have the key to the casket?" he asked.

At this the girl took a step backward, and began to cry. A gentleman, stepping up, demanded what the man meant by such an outrageous request. But the Inspector was insistent, and added that unless the key were forthcoming he would break open the box.

At length with great reluctance she handed him the key. He knelt down, turned the key in the lock, and threw back the heavy leaden cover.

The casket was filled to the top with ivory billiard balls!

An examination of narrative structures seems to indicate three rather clearly differentiated types of coherent method, distinguished from one another by their respective relations to the climax and its position in the complete work. These may be classified as (1) the method of chronicle; (2) the method of drama; and (3) the method of story.

(a) The Method of Chronicle

In the method of chronicle the climax is to be found in the completion of the detailed action as a whole, as

illustrated in the case of the Walpole sketch. Any succinct biography offers illustration of this method. The various episodes follow in coherent series and combine in the climactic effect of a complete historic event. No single crisis in the hero's life stands as a point for the complication of the various strands; rather the complete pattern itself represents the culmination of the narrative process. For example, we may take the biography of Alice Freeman Palmer. It may, in a sense, be said that her election to the presidency of Wellesley marked the climax of her career, but this does not constitute the narrative climax, or culmination. It was indeed an important event in her life-story, it marked the climax of her educational career, but with the attainment of this honor there did not come the attainment of that greater end, the perfect maturing of a great woman. This last was the goal ever in the mind of the biographer, and this is attained only with the close of the life; only at the end did her life culminate. Before final judgment could be pronounced, the narrative had to spread out in its entirety and include the useful years from 1887 to 1902, after the duties of the presidency had been laid aside. It is in connection with this first method of ordering plot material the method of chronicle that we may note a real difference between the words succession and series. Succession connotes the mere sequence of chronological occurrence without necessary implication as to any chain of causation or other logical bond. It is typified in those lack-lustre tabulations annually published on December 31, wherein appear ordered lists of the events of the preceding twelve months. The want of coherence in such statistical narrative outlines becomes immediately apparent if one attempts to weave them together into a pattern: the necessary bond is wanting.