he desire to be accurate in expression
drives a writer to be accurate in thinking. To think is the highest
that man can hope from education. Anything that contributes to this
highest attainment should be undertaken with joy. Whether planning a
story or constructing an argument; whether excluding irrelevant matter
or including what contributes to the perfection of the whole; whether
massing the material so that all the parts shall receive their due
emphasis; whether relating the parts so that the thought advances
steadily and there can be no misunderstanding,--in all this the
student will find arduous labor. Yet after all this is done,--when the
theme, the paragraphs, and the sentences contain exactly what is
needed, are properly massed, and are set in perfect order,--then comes
the long labor of revision, which does not stop until the exact word
is hunted out. For upon words, at last, we are dependent for the
expression of our observation and thought. He is most entirely master
of his thoughts who can accurately express them: clearly, that he
cannot be misunderstood; forcefully, that he will not be unread; and
elegantly, that he give the reader joy. And this mastery he evinces in
a finely discriminating choice of words.

* * * * *

CHAPTER X

FIGURES OF SPEECH

Figurative Language.

There is a generally accepted division of language into literal and
figurative. Language that is literal uses words in their accepted and
accurate meaning. Figurative language employs words with meanings not
strictly literal, but varying from their ordinary definitions.

Much of our language is figurative. When a person says, "He is a
bright boy," he has used the word "bright" in a sense that is not
literal; the use is figurative. In the following there is hardly a
sentence that has not some variation from literal language.

"Down by the river there is, as yet, little sign of spring.
Its bed is all choked with last year's reeds, trampled about
like a manger. Yet its running seems to have caught a
happier note, and here and there along its banks flash
silvery wands of palm. Right down among the shabby burnt-out
underwood moves the sordid figure of a man. His hat is
battered, and he wears no collar. I don't like staring at
his face, for he has been unfortunate. Yet a glimpse tells
me th