The Art of Writing and Other Essays


google search for The Art of Writing and Other Essays

Return to Master Book Index.

Page
18 19 20 21 22

Quick Jump
1 22 44 65 87

alliteration; and the advice was sound, in so far as it prevented  
daubing. None the less for that, was it abominable nonsense, and  
the mere raving of those blindest of the blind who will not see.  
The beauty of the contents of a phrase, or of a sentence, depends  
implicitly upon alliteration and upon assonance. The vowel demands  
to be repeated; the consonant demands to be repeated; and both cry  
aloud to be perpetually varied. You may follow the adventures of a  
letter through any passage that has particularly pleased you; find  
it, perhaps, denied a while, to tantalise the ear; find it fired  
again at you in a whole broadside; or find it pass into congenerous  
sounds, one liquid or labial melting away into another. And you  
will find another and much stranger circumstance. Literature is  
written by and for two senses: a sort of internal ear, quick to  
perceive 'unheard melodies'; and the eye, which directs the pen and  
deciphers the printed phrase. Well, even as there are rhymes for  
the eye, so you will find that there are assonances and  
alliterations; that where an author is running the open A, deceived  
by the eye and our strange English spelling, he will often show a  
tenderness for the flat A; and that where he is running a  
particular consonant, he will not improbably rejoice to write it  
down even when it is mute or bears a different value.  
Here, then, we have a fresh pattern--a pattern, to speak grossly,  
of letters--which makes the fourth preoccupation of the prose  
writer, and the fifth of the versifier. At times it is very  
delicate and hard to perceive, and then perhaps most excellent and  
2
0


Page
18 19 20 21 22

Quick Jump
1 22 44 65 87