but the points of difference rather than the points of resemblance are brought out. And quite evidently, points of unlikeness will often be more significant in individualizing an object than points of likeness. Stevenson, for instance, in characterizing the "voice of the Pacific," says, "The sound of the sea still follows you as you advance, like that of wind among the trees, only harsher and stranger to the ear." And Ruskin uses this same device more elaborately in his description of St. Mark's, where he develops in detail the differences between the grim cathedral of a quiet English town and the splendid cathedral in Venice. It is not at all necessary, however, to combine contrast with comparison or to work out the contrast explicitly. In fact, the more usual way is simply to bring unlikes into juxtaposition. By placing certain details in sharp contrast with certain others, some important feature of the thing described can be made to stand out distinctly. Just as the jeweler gives a foil to a stone, and the painter uses a spot of brilliant color in the midst of dull hues or a spot of light against heavy shadows, so a writer may well seize every fair opportunity of increasing the vividness of his image by means of contrasts. Thus in the midst of an altogether comfortless and forlorn scene Irving introduces "a crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle," and in the description of St. Mark's mentioned above, Ruskin leads up to his picture of the magnificent cathedral with a picture of a narrow alley filled with the din of petty business. C. SUGGESTION BY EFFECTS A third special means of making description adequate is what might be called the mirror method. Instead of giving the reader a direct delineation of the object, the writer may arrange for him to see the effect which this object has on some one else. Thus in daily life we get some impression of the taste of medicine by the facial expression of the person swallowing it, or of the activities outside a classroom by the attitude of the students seated near the windows or door. In like manner, a writer may hold up a mirror, as it were, and let the reader catch the image by suggestion. It might seem that such a method is unnecessarily indirect and uncertain; and of course very often it is less desirable than one which is more direct and definite. Yet there are some problems that the most skillful writer can best meet in this way. In presenting the matchless beauty of Helen, for example, both Homer and Marlowe suggest her appearance by the unusual effects which her beauty had on others. Irving tells us that whenever the village people cast eyes on Rip Van Winkle they invariably stroked their chins; and in depicting the horrible ugliness of Mr. Hyde, Stevenson tells us that one look at him brought out the sweat like running. Similarly, there is probably no better description of Niagara Falls possible than that which shows the hushed awe which comes over everyone who beholds the wonderful scene. Indeed the wise writer will hardly risk making direct description convincing when he has to depict any extraordinary person or scene. He will prefer to depend on suggestion, and thus let each reader call up an image of his own which will be for him one of extraordinary beauty, or ugliness, or grandeur. Moreover, this description by effects may be particularly useful in relieving the writer from certain limitations which are inherent in his chosen point of view. Thus in Treasure Island, when Stevenson needs to describe what goes on in two parts of the island at the same time, but is held to the point of view of the boy who is concealing himself in some brush near one of the conspirators, he very skillfully uses the movements and sounds of the birds to suggest what is going on in the more distant spot. D. NARRATION Finally, it is possible to secure good descriptive results by narration. This sounds paradoxical at first, perhaps, and yet it is easy enough for a writer to tell us what a certain person or object does in such a way that we form an image of it rather than see the successive events as parts of a transaction. There are several instances of this in the Iliad, but none better than the account of Achilles's shield; we read what Vulcan did to make it, and get a good image of the finished weapon thereby. Likewise, the following passage from a narrative of travel, when taken by itself, has primarily descriptive value: At last there was a clicking of flint and steel, and presently there stood out from darkness one of the tawny faces of my muleteers, bent down to near the ground, and suddenly lit up by the glowing of the spark, which he courted with careful breath. Before long there was a particle of dry fiber, or leaf, that kindled to a tiny flame; then another was lit from that, and then another. Then small, crisp twigs, little bigger than bodkins, were laid athwart the glowing fire. The swelling cheeks of the muleteer laid level with the earth, blew tenderly at first, and then more boldly, upon the young flame, which was daintily nursed and fed, and fed more plentifully when it gained good strength. At last a whole armful of dry bushes was piled up over the fire, and presently with loud, cheery cracking and crackling, a royal tall blaze shot up from the earth, and showed me once more the shapes and faces of my men, and the dim outlines of the horses and mules that stood grazing hard by.1 Indeed it is even possible for a whole narrative to exist for purposes of description. An account of what a little girl and her big brother did in making a playhouse in their yard may well give us a mental picture of the house rather than tell us a real story. Yet ordinarily this device of description through narration is useful rather in connection with narratives than in any piece with purely descriptive purpose. Its full value in this way will appear in the next chapter, where the necessity of avoiding anything which obstructs the progress of the action in a narrative is pointed out. IV. EFFECTIVENESS IN DESCRIPTION With an analysis of the general descriptive process, supplemented by these four suggestions about special means which may be employed in some cases, we have about completed our 1 Alexander W. Kinglake, Eothen, p. 100. ART WRIT. ENG.- 21 survey of descriptive technique. Some matters connected with the problem of making description effective still remain, however, and, as in the case of exposition, it will be simpler to discuss them under the separate heads of instrumental and æsthetic. Since these two kinds of description are more or less different in purpose and method, we cannot measure their effectiveness by exactly the same standards. A. EFFECTIVE INSTRUMENTAL DESCRIPTION What, then, makes instrumental description effective? When is a scientist's description of a bird, or a playwright's account of a stage setting, or a real estate agent's advertisement of a country home effective? Evidently it cannot fulfill its purpose if it does not in the first place give the reader a clear, accurate image of details. But a mere inventory or catalogue of details about a person, a building, a town, will never do; not only is it utterly devoid of individuality and interest, but it also fails to produce a distinct image in the reader's mind. He may know in a purely intellectual way what is there, but he will not see the object as a whole nor see it vividly. Some suggestiveness, some appeal to the imagination, some regard for effects, is necessary if the description be truly successful. This does not mean that the naturalist's description of a flower or a bird may compromise scientific accuracy or intellectual clearness, nor that the publicity agent may substitute the workings of a lively imagination for definite facts. Indeed, every descriptive writer who undertakes to give information must be most discriminating in his selection of significant details, most careful in his arrangement of these details, and most exact in his use of words. But it does mean that he must realize that full effectiveness here, as in all instrumental writing, calls for more than bare accuracy and clearness. Almost any of the work of such men as Gilbert White and Mr. John Burroughs shows the possibilities of literary quality in scientific description. As specimens of this larger success let us consider the following: (1) Such a cavity makes a snug, warm home, and when the entrance is on the underside of the limb, as is usual, the wind and snow cannot reach the occupant. Late in December, while crossing a high, wooded mountain, lured by the music of the fox-hounds, I discovered fresh yellow chips strewing the new-fallen snow, and at once thought of my woodpeckers. On looking around I saw where one had been at work excavating a lodge in a small yellow birch. The orifice was about fifteen feet from the ground, and appeared as round as if struck with a compass. It was on the east side of the tree, so as to avoid the prevailing west and northwest winds. As it was nearly two inches in diameter, it could not have been the work of the downy, but must have been that of the hairy, or else the yellow-bellied woodpecker. His home had probably been wrecked by some violent wind, and he was thus providing himself another. In digging out these retreats the woodpeckers prefer a dry, brittle trunk, not too soft. They go in horizontally to the center and then turn downward, enlarging the tunnel as they go, till when finished it is the shape of a long, deep pear. (2) When spring pushes pretty hard, many buds begin to sweat as well as to glow; they exude a brown, fragrant, gummy substance that affords the honey-bee her first cement and hive varnish. The hickory, the horse-chestnut, the plane-tree, the poplars, are all coated with this April myrrh. That of certain poplars, like the Balm of Gilead, is the most noticeable and fragrant, -no spring incense more agreeable. Its perfume is often upon the April breeze. I pick up the bud scales of the poplars along the road, long brown scales like the beaks of birds, and they leave a rich gummy odor in my hand that lasts for hours. I frequently detect the same odor about my hives when the bees are making all snug against the rains, or against the millers. When used by the bees, we call it propolis. Virgil refers to it as a "glue more adhesive than bird-lime and the pitch of Phrygian Ida." Pliny says it is extracted from the tears of the elm, the willow, and the reed. often have serious work to detach it from their leg-baskets, and make it stick only where they want it to. The bees May Day the scales have The bud scales begin to drop in April, and by fallen from the eyes of every branch in the forest. an inner wrapping that does not fall so soon. In the hickory this inner wrapping is like a great livid membrane, an inch or more in length, thick, fleshy, and shining. It clasps the tender leaves about as if both protecting and nursing them. As the leaves develop, these membranous wrappings curl back, and finally wither and fall. In the plane-tree, or sycamore, this inner wrapping of the bud is a little pelisse of soft yellow or tawny fur. When it is cast off, it is the size of one's thumb-nail, and suggests the delicate skin of some golden-haired mole. The young sycamore balls lay aside their fur wrappings early in May. The flower tassels of the European maple, too, come packed in a slightly furry covering. The long and fleshy inner scales that |