Climax.—The principle of climax demands that in a series of related terms the weaker degree should precede the stronger. Southey says of Lord Nelson’s being permitted to live to hear the news of his great victory: “That consolation, that joy, that triumph, was afforded him.” By these three nouns the reader ascends, as if by a ladder—climax is merely Greek for ladder. Endeavor to discover the original order in which the following sentences were written to secure climax. Changing them by slight omissions, weave them together into two sentences.
“The most triumphant death is that of the martyr. The most splendid death is that of the hero in the hour of victory. If the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson’s translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. The most awful death is that of the martyred patriot. He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but an example which will continue to be our shield and our strength, and a name which is our pride—an example and a name which are at this hour inspiring hundreds of the youth of England.”
Which of the sentences quoted on [pages 107, 108], have climax of thought?
CHAPTER VII
ON ORGANIZING THE THEME
Different Ways of Planning.—There are various kinds of composition,—description, narration, argument, and others. These will be treated one by one in later chapters. Each kind has laws of its own. Each has its own vocabulary, which may well be studied apart from other vocabularies. So, too, each type calls for special methods of organization. For the present, only a few principles of planning, applicable to all types alike, need be considered.
The Growth of a Thought.—When a thought is first conceived, it is always misty, dim, nebulous.[26] When we speak of having a “general notion,” a “vague notion,” we usually mean that a thought is just beginning. If it receives attention, it emerges from the nebulous condition and forms into several definite thoughts. Or, to change the figure, it grows and branches. Suppose that the mind awakes to the vague notion that the room is getting cold. Cold is the undeveloped root from which may presently branch off such thoughts as these: “Yes, it is really cold. In fact, I feel cold all over. My hands are blue, and I am shivering. Besides, Horace over there is standing with his back to the radiator, and so he too must be cold.” The thought has grown into several sentences. Cold branched into I am cold all over, and this also sent off two shoots—My hands are blue, and I am shivering. Then the mind stopped this line of branching, and out from the stock sprang a new branch: Horace is standing with his back to the radiator; and then this sends off the branch and so he too must be cold. Try to draw a picture to represent the process that has gone on.
Now, the whole growth of a thought—stock and branches—can sometimes be expressed within the limits of one grammatical sentence. If there are too many thoughts for this, they are put into separate sentences, and the whole is called a miniature composition, or isolated paragraph.
Exactly as a paragraph grows, so a long composition may grow out of one vague idea. Some ideas have in them only enough matter to be developed into a paragraph. Others are germs from which whole books might grow. “That apple looks good” would probably develop into a short paragraph; but, “it is strange that that apple should fall to the earth instead of away from it” might blossom into a great system of natural philosophy. If a nebulous idea has in it the making of a long theme, it will develop into main parts if the attention be fixed keenly upon it. These are paragraph nebulæ, which will subdivide into sentences. Or, to vary the figure, the main thought will send out main branches (paragraphs) which will send off lesser ones (sentences).