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John Muir - "The Grand Canon of the Colorado"

R.W. Church - "Occasional Papers"

W.W. Jacobs - "The Constable's Move"

Fred Brandt and Andrew Y. Wood - "Fascinating San Francisco"

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English Prose by Frederick William Roe (edit. and select.)

F >> Frederick William Roe (edit. and select.) >> English Prose



ENGLISH PROSE

A SERIES OF RELATED ESSAYS FOR THE DISCUSSION AND PRACTICE
OF THE ART OF WRITING

SELECTED AND EDITED

BY

FREDERICK WILLIAM ROE, PH.D.

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN

AND

GEORGE ROY ELLIOTT, PH.D.

OF BOWDOIN COLLEGE

1913



PREFACE


The selections in the present volume, designed primarily for the
discussion and practice in college classes of the art of composition,
have been arranged under a scheme which the editors believe to be new.
There are nine related groups. Each successive group represents a
different phase of life, beginning with character and personality, and
concluding with art and literature. The whole together, as the table of
contents will show, thus presents a body of ideas that includes
practically all the great departments of human thought and interest.

It is evident that certain ideals of teaching composition underlie the
scheme. The editors believe heartily with Pater that "the chief stimulus
of good style is to possess a full, rich, complex matter to grapple
with". Instruction in writing, it is to be feared, too often neglects
this sound doctrine and places an emphasis upon formal matters that
seems disproportionate, especially when form is made to appear as a
thing apart. Form and content go together and one must not suffer at the
expense of the other. But a sustained interest in the ways and means of
correct expression is aroused only when the student feels that he has
something to express. Instructors often contend indeed that the ideas of
undergraduates are far to seek, and that most of the time in the
class-room is therefore best spent upon formal exercises and drill. The
editors do not share this view. They believe that there is no class of
people more responsive to new ideas and impressions than college
students, and none more eager, when normally stimulated, to express
themselves in writing. They have therefore aimed to present a series of
related selections that would arouse thought and provoke oral discussion
in the class-room, as well as furnish suitable models of style. In most
cases the pieces are too long to be adequately handled in one class
hour. A live topic may well be discussed for several hours, until its
various sides have been examined and students are awakened to the many
questions at issue. The editors have aimed, also, to supply selections
so rich and vital in content that instructors themselves will feel
challenged to add to the class discussion from their own knowledge and
experience, and so turn a stream of fresh ideas upon "stock notions".
Thus English composition, which in many courses in our larger
institutions is now almost the only non-special study, can be made a
direct means of liberalization in the meaning and art of life, as well
as an instrument for correct and effective writing.

The present volume therefore differs from others in the same field. Many
recent collections contain pieces too short and unrelated to satisfy the
ideals suggested above--ideals which, the editors feel sure, are held by
an increasing number of teachers. And older and newer collections alike
have been constructed primarily with the purpose of illustrating the
conventional categories,--description, narration, exposition. Teachers
of composition everywhere are becoming distrustful of an arrangement
which is frankly at variance with the actual practice of writing, and
are of the opinion that it is better to set the student to the task of
composition without confining him too narrowly to one form of discourse.
The editors have deliberately avoided, however, the other extreme, which
is reflected in one or two recent volumes, of choosing pieces of one
type to the exclusion of all others. In collections of this kind variety
in form and subject-matter is fully as important as richness of content.
Instructors who believe in the use of the types of discourse as the most
practicable means of instruction, will find all the types liberally
represented in the present volume. And in order to meet their
requirements even more adequately, the editors have included two short
stories at the end, as examples of narration with a plot.

Much attention has been given to the suggestions at the end of the
volume with the aim of making them practically serviceable and, at the
same time, as free as possible from duplication of class work. This aim,
the editors came to believe, could best be attained by providing for
each group of selections definite suggestions of theme-subjects to be
derived by the student from supplementary readings closely related to
that group.

F.W.R.
G.R.E.

MADISON, WISCONSIN,
May, 1913.



CONTENTS


I. THE PERSONAL LIFE.

1. Self-Reliance...............RALPH WALDO EMERSON

2. Early Education
at Herne Hill.............JOHN RUSKIN

3. A Crisis in My
Mental History............JOHN STUART MILL

4. Old China...................CHARLES LAMB

II. EDUCATION.

5. What is Education?..........THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY

6. Knowledge Viewed in
Relation to Learning .....JOHN HENRY NEWMAN

7. Literature and Science......MATTHEW ARNOLD

8. How to Read.................FREDERIC HARRISON

III. RECREATION AND TRAVELS.

9. On Going a Journey..........WILLIAM HAZLITT

10. Regrets of a Mountaineer....LESLIE STEPHEN

IV. SOCIAL LIFE AND MANNERS.

11. Behavior....................RALPH WALDO EMERSON

12. Manners and Fashion.........HERBERT SPENCER

13. Talk and Talkers............ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

V. PUBLIC AFFAIRS.

14. The Social Value
of the College-bred.......WILLIAM JAMES

15. The Law of
Human Progress............HENRY GEORGE

16. The Morals of Trade.........HERBERT SPENCER

VI. SCIENCE.

17. The Physical Basis
of Life...................THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY

18. Mental Powers of
Men and Animals...........CHARLES DARWIN

19. The Importance of Dust......ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE

VII. NATURE.

20. The Battle of the Ants......HENRY DAVID THOREAU

21. A Windstorm
in the Forests............JOHN MUIR

22. Walden Pond.................HENRY DAVID THOREAU

23. Extracts from
Modern Painters...........JOHN RUSKIN

VIII. CONDUCT AND INNER LIFE.

24. The Stoics.. .............WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY

25. Enthusiasm of Humanity......JOHN ROBERT SEELEY

26. Loyalty and Insight.........JOSIAH ROYCE

IX. LITERATURE AND ART.

27. Poetry for Poetry's Sake.... A.C. BRADLEY

28. Greek Tragedy................G. LOWES DICKINSON

29. Shakespeare..................THOMAS CARLYLE

30. Charles Lamb.................WALTER PATER

31. Dr. Heidegger's Experiment...NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

32. Markheim.....................ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON


SUPPLEMENTARY READINGS.

With some topics for Discussion and Composition.



ENGLISH PROSE




SELF-RELIANCE[1]

RALPH WALDO EMERSON


I read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which
were original and not conventional. Always the soul hears an admonition
in such lines, let the subject be what it may. The sentiment they instil
is of more value than any thought they may contain. To believe your own
thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is
true for all men,--that is genius. Speak your latent conviction, and it
shall be the universal sense; for always the inmost becomes the
outmost--and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of
the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the
highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that they set at
naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men, but what they
thought. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light
which flashes across his mind from within, more than the luster of the
firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his
thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own
rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated
majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than
this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with
good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on
the other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good
sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall
be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.

There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the
conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he
must take himself for better for worse as his portion; that though the
wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to
him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given
to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and
none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until
he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes
much impression on him, and another none. It is not without
preestablished harmony, this sculpture in the memory. The eye was placed
where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray.
Bravely let him speak the utmost syllable of his confession. We but half
express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us
represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good
issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work
made manifest by cowards. It needs a divine man to exhibit anything
divine. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his
work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise shall
give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the
attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no
hope.

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the
place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your
contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so,
and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying
their perception that the Eternal was stirring at their heart, working
through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now
men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny;
and not pinched in a corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution,
but redeemers and benefactors, pious aspirants to be noble clay under
the Almighty effort let us advance on Chaos and the Dark.

What pretty oracles nature yields us on this text in the face and
behavior of children, babes, and even brutes. That divided and rebel
mind, that distrust of a sentiment because our arithmetic has computed
the strength and means opposed to our purpose, these have not. Their
mind being whole, their eye is as yet unconquered, and when we look in
their faces, we are disconcerted. Infancy conforms to nobody; all
conform to it; so that one babe commonly makes four or five out of the
adults who prattle and play to it. So God has armed youth and puberty
and manhood no less with its own piquancy and charm, and made it
enviable and gracious and its claims not to be put by, if it will stand
by itself. Do not think the youth has no force, because he cannot speak
to you and me. Hark! in the next room who spoke so clear and emphatic?
Good Heaven! it is he! it is that very lump of bashfulness and phlegm
which for weeks has done nothing but eat when you were by, and now rolls
out these words like bell-strokes. It seems he knows how to speak to his
contemporaries. Bashful or bold then, he will know how to make us
seniors very unnecessary.

The nonchalance of boys who are sure of a dinner, and would disdain as
much as a lord to do or say aught to conciliate one, is the
healthy attitude of human nature. How is a boy the master of
society!--independent, irresponsible, looking out from his corner on
such people and facts as pass by, he tries and sentences them on their
merits, in the swift, summary way of boys, as good, bad, interesting,
silly, eloquent, troublesome. He cumbers himself never about
consequences, about interests; he gives an independent, genuine verdict.
You must court him; he does not court you. But the man is as it were
clapped into jail by his consciousness. As soon as he has once acted or
spoken with eclat he is a committed person, watched by the sympathy or
the hatred of hundreds, whose affections must now enter into his
account. There is no Lethe for this. Ah, that he could pass again into
his neutral, godlike independence! Who can thus lose all pledge and,
having observed, observe again from the same unaffected, unbiased,
unbribable, unaffrighted innocence, must always be formidable, must
always engage the poet's and the man's regards. Of such an immortal
youth the force would be felt. He would utter opinions on all passing
affairs, which being seen to be not private but necessary, would sink
like darts into the ear of men and put them in fear.

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and
inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in
conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a
joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing
of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture
of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is
its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and
customs.

Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather
immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must
explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity
of our own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the
suffrage of the world. I remember an answer which when quite young I was
prompted to make to a valued adviser who was wont to importune me with
the deaf old doctrines of the church. On my saying, What have I to do
with the sacredness of traditions, if I live wholly from within? my
friend suggested,--"But these impulses may be from below, not from
above." I replied, "They do not seem to me to be such; but if I am the
devil's child, I will live then from the devil." No law can be sacred to
me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily
transferable to that or this; the only right is what is after my
constitution; the only wrong what is against it. A man is to carry
himself in the presence of all opposition as if every thing were titular
and ephemeral but he. I am ashamed to think how easily we capitulate to
badges and names, to large societies and dead institutions. Every decent
and well-spoken individual affects and sways me more than is right. I
ought to go upright and vital, and speak the rude truth in all ways. If
malice and vanity wear the coat of philanthropy, shall that pass? If an
angry bigot assumes this bountiful cause of Abolition, and comes to me
with his last news from Barbadoes, why should I not say to him, "Go love
thy infant; love thy wood-chopper; be good-natured and modest; have that
grace; and never varnish your hard, uncharitable ambition with this
incredible tenderness for black folk a thousand miles off. Thy love afar
is spite at home." Rough and graceless would be such greeting, but truth
is handsomer than the affectation of love. Your goodness must have some
edge to it,--else it is none. The doctrine of hatred must be preached,
as the counteraction of the doctrine of love, when that pules and
whines. I shun father and mother and wife and brother when my genius
calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post, _Whim_. I hope
it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in
explanation. Expect me not to show cause why I seek or why I exclude
company. Then, again, do not tell me, as a good man did to-day, of my
obligation to put all poor men in good situations. Are they _my_ poor? I
tell thee, thou foolish philanthropist, that I grudge the dollar, the
dime, the cent I give to such men as do not belong to me and to whom I
do not belong. There is a class of persons to whom by all spiritual
affinity I am bought and sold; for them I will go to prison if need be;
but your miscellaneous popular charities; the education at college of
fools; the building of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many now
stand; alms to sots, and the thousandfold Relief Societies;--though I
confess with shame I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, it is a
wicked dollar, which by-and-by I shall have the manhood to withhold.

Virtues are, in the popular estimate, rather the exception than the
rule. There is the man _and_ his virtues. Men do what is called a good
action, as some piece of courage or charity, much as they would pay a
fine in expiation of daily non-appearance on parade. Their works are
done as an apology or extenuation of their living in the world,--as
invalids and the insane pay a high board. Their virtues are penances. I
do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is not an apology, but a
life. It is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it
should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it
should be glittering and unsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and
not to need diet and bleeding. My life should be unique; it should be an
alms, a battle, a conquest, a medicine. I ask primary evidence that you
are a man, and refuse this appeal from the man to his actions. I know
that for myself it makes no difference whether I do or forbear those
actions which are reckoned excellent. I cannot consent to pay for a
privilege where I have intrinsic right. Few and mean as my gifts may be,
I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of
my fellows any secondary testimony.

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This
rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for
the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder
because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty
better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the
world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the
great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect
sweetness the independence of solitude.

The objection to conforming to usages that have become dead to you is
that it scatters your force. It loses your time and blurs the impression
of your character. If you maintain a dead church, contribute to a dead
Bible Society, vote with a great party either for the Government or
against it, spread your table like base housekeepers,--under all these
screens I have difficulty to detect the precise man you are. And of
course so much force is withdrawn from your proper life. But do your
thing, and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce
yourself. A man must consider what a blindman's-bluff is this game of
conformity. If I know your sect I anticipate your argument. I hear a
preacher announce for his text and topic the expediency of one of the
institutions of his church. Do I not know beforehand that not possibly
can he say a new and spontaneous word? Do I not know that with all this
ostentation of examining the grounds of the institution he will do no
such thing? Do I not know that he is pledged to himself not to look but
at one side, the permitted side, not as a man, but as a parish minister?
He is a retained attorney, and these airs of the bench are the emptiest
affectation. Well, most men have bound their eyes with one or another
handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these communities
of opinion. This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars,
authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars. Their every truth
is not quite true. Their two is not the real two, their four not the
real four: so that every word they say chagrins us and we know not where
to begin to set them right. Meantime nature is not slow to equip us in
the prison-uniform of the party to which we adhere. We come to wear one
cut of face and figure, and acquire by degrees the gentlest asinine
expression. There is a mortifying experience in particular, which does
not fail to wreak itself also in the general history; I mean "the
foolish face of praise," the forced smile which we put on in company
where we do not feel at ease, in answer to conversation which does not
interest us. The muscles, not spontaneously moved but moved by a low
usurping wilfulness, grow tight about the outline of the face, and make
the most disagreeable sensation; a sensation of rebuke and warning which
no brave young man will suffer twice.

For non-conformity the world whips you with its displeasure. And
therefore a man must know how to estimate a sour face. The bystanders
look askance on him in the public street or in the friend's parlor. If
this aversation had its origin in contempt and resistance like his own
he might well go home with a sad countenance; but the sour faces of the
multitude, like their sweet faces, have no deep cause,--disguise no god,
but are put on and off as the wind blows and a newspaper directs. Yet is
the discontent of the multitude more formidable than that of the senate
and the college. It is easy enough for a firm man who knows the world to
brook the rage of the cultivated classes. Their rage is decorous and
prudent, for they are timid, as being very vulnerable themselves. But
when to their feminine rage the indignation of the people is added, when
the ignorant and the poor are aroused, when the unintelligent brute
force that lies at the bottom of society is made to growl and mow, it
needs the habit of magnanimity and religion to treat it godlike as a
trifle of no concernment.

The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a
reverence for our past act or word because the eyes of others have no
other data for computing our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath
to disappoint them.

But why should you keep your head over your shoulder? Why drag about
this monstrous corpse of your memory, lest you contradict somewhat you
have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you should contradict
yourself; what then? It seems to be a rule of wisdom never to rely on
your memory alone, scarcely even in acts of pure memory, but to bring
the past for judgment into the thousand-eyed present, and live ever in a
new day. Trust your emotion. In your metaphysics you have denied
personality to the Deity, yet when the devout motions of the soul come,
yield to them heart and life, though they should clothe God with shape
and color. Leave your theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the
harlot, and flee.

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by
little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great
soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his
shadow on the wall. Out upon your guarded lips! Sew them up with
packthread, do. Else if you would be a man speak what you think to-day
in words as hard as cannon balls, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow
thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said
to-day. Ah, then, exclaim the aged ladies, you shall be sure to be
misunderstood! Misunderstood! It is a right fool's word. Is it so bad
then to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates,
and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and
every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be
misunderstood.

I suppose no man can violate his nature. All the sallies of his will are
rounded in by the law of his being, as the inequalities of Andes and
Himmaleh are insignificant in the curve of the sphere. Nor does it
matter how you gauge and try him. A character is like an acrostic or
Alexandrian stanza;--read it forward, backward, or across, it still
spells the same thing. In this pleasing contrite wood-life which God
allows me, let me record day by day my honest thought without prospect
or retrospect, and, I cannot doubt, it will be found symmetrical, though
I mean it not and see it not. My book should smell of pines and resound
with the hum of insects. The swallow over my window should interweave
that thread or straw he carries in his bill into my web also. We pass
for what we are. Character teaches above our wills. Men imagine that
they communicate their virtue or vice only by overt actions, and do not
see that virtue or vice emit a breath every moment.

Fear never but you shall be consistent in whatever variety of actions,
so they be each honest and natural in their hour. For of one will, the
actions will be harmonious, however unlike they seem. These varieties
are lost sight of when seen at a little distance, at a little height of
thought. One tendency unites them all. The voyage of the best ship is a
zigzag line of a hundred tacks. This is only microscopic criticism. See
the line from a sufficient distance, and it straightens itself to the
average tendency. Your genuine action will explain itself and will
explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing.
Act singly, and what you have already done singly will justify you now.
Greatness always appeals to the future. If I can be great enough now to
do right and scorn eyes, I must have done so much right before as to
defend me now. Be it how it will, do right now. Always scorn appearances
and you always may. The force of character is cumulative. All the
foregone days of virtue work their health into this. What makes the
majesty of the heroes of the senate and the field, which so fills the
imagination? The consciousness of a train of great days and victories
behind. There they all stand and shed an united light on the advancing
actor. He is attended as by a visible escort of angels to every man's
eye. That is it which throws thunder into Chatham's voice, and dignity
into Washington's port, and America into Adams's eye. Honor is venerable
to us because it is no ephemeris. It is always ancient virtue. We
worship it to-day because it is not of to-day. We love it and pay it
homage because it is not a trap for our love and homage, but is
self-dependent, self-derived, and therefore of an old immaculate
pedigree, even if shown in a young person.