finable way, an idea of the purity and innocence too high and too subtle to be defined.

It may be asked, then, why the reader needs to have his attention called to Connotation, since its appeal to the imagination is instantaneous, and doesn't have to be worked out like a problem in geometry. True, it doesn't: but I wanted to impress upon you that authors use words deliberately to touch the imagination; and, furthermore, I would convince you that while you can dig out the facts in books of information, the appeal that literature makes comes only to those who gaze and gaze. To catch the glory of one great line of poetry is forever to be poetic. It is experience we seek in literature, not knowledge; it is the joy, the ecstasy, the delight of sharing with an artist his vision of what most mortals would not see without him. You can't be examined on what is best in literature, on the soul of things; you can only like or dislike; appreciate or ignore.

But I have dwelt on Connotation so long to show you that, although it appeals to us directly, without study (when we know the denotation), we must dwell, we must come with open mind, leisurely, for pleasure's sake; not frivolously, nor yet with the contracted brow of the philosopher; but in a mood, shall I say? pleasantly serious, or seriously playful.

Revelatory as the discussion of Connotation has been, it has merely emphasized what we have always known: that words are suggestive, and that they stir us emotionally. But have we not learned the greatest of all lessons in connection with the study of litera

ture? learned that it can't be taught: that it can only be presented to you for your acceptance or rejection? You have come to see that it appeals not to the practical or scientific side of your nature, but to the imaginative; that its purpose is to give you "delight," as Lowell says, through the arousal of the emotions; and Connotation is the most important element in stirring the imagination and arousing the feelings. Your "delight" is in the pictures, ideas, thoughts, characters, music, of the verse and prose which is called literature. You have come to see now that without denotation the connotation may escape you entirely; and, best of all, you see that all you know of life, art, history, science, nature, the wider will for you be the connotation of literature.

There are no "Review Exercises" in this chapter. Every illustration in the book has exemplified Connotation, and much of the pleasure and advantage you have derived from your study has been connotative; but I purposely avoided calling your attention to it earlier because I wanted you to discover it for yourself, even though you never called it by that name. You were richly rewarded (were you not?) for the time you spent in studying Grouping and Punctuation and Central Idea, and the rest; but you little thought what wealth to you that study had brought in Connotation.

And it is the connotation that makes literature great. David did not sing, "The Lord is my shepherd," and "As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, O God"; Milton

did not sing, "Eyeless, in Gaza, at the mill, with slaves”; nor did Shakespeare sing his thousand thousand melodies-to give us facts for class study! They saw the beauty of the universe and sang it for us.

It is the beauty about us in man and nature that stirs the artist's heart and is the impulse to create. It is what the ordinary man fails to see that moves the artist's soul and urges him to expression, whether he be painter or sculptor or poet. To arouse deep feeling-of joy or pity or indignation or love-that is art's mission. Everything in literature depends upon the connotation. And the connotation depends upon our experience, our temperament, our education. What moves me may not move others, and what stirs them may leave me cold. But the greatest artist is he whose appeal is most nearly universal, to all peoples and to all times.

CHAPTER XV

EMOTION

In The Merchant of Venice Antonio, who hates Shylock, frequently calls him "a dog.". Later Antonio asks Shylock to lend him money, and the latter says, "Hath a dog money?" It is not difficult to understand what Shylock means, but how he feels is quite another matter. He may be merely bitter; or again, he may be smiling his sarcasm; or, he may be deeply angered. Read the passage according to the suggested markings:

Hath a dog money? (as a simple, unemotional question).

Hath a dog money? (with a smile, sarcastically). Hath a dog money? (angrily, and with a sneer). In all cases the denotation is the same, but the copnotation is radically different every time you read it, the difference depending on Shylock's feeling; and unless we understand that and, in fact, enter to some degree into it, we do not understand the passage in the true sense of the word.

Astonishment and anger blend in the speech of Cassius to Brutus when he describes the weakness of this Caesar who now, according to Cassius, wishes to be king of Rome:

He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly,

And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan;
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world
And bear the palm alone.

-Julius Caesar, I, ii.

How cold and meaningless, then, would be all such passages if they were read without emotion! And more than that, I repeat, it is extremely doubtful whether one can be said really and fully to grasp them unless he does get the emotional value. A problem in chemistry or a proposition in geometry would be ridiculous if read with emotion. These are essentially unemotional; but contrariwise, how spoiled would be Whitman's beautiful and touching poem on the death of Lincoln if the emotional element were lacking in the reading. Read it aloud:

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

But heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,