Almost every English boy can be taught to write clearly, so far at
least as clearness depends upon the arrangement of words. Force,
elegance, and variety of style are more difficult to teach, and far
more difficult to learn; but clear writing can be reduced to rules. To
teach the art of writing clearly is the main object of these Rules and
Exercises.

Ambiguity may arise, not only from bad arrangement, but also from
other causes--from the misuse of single words, and from confused
thought. These causes are not removable by definite rules, and
therefore, though not neglected, are not prominently considered in
this book. My object rather is to point out some few continually
recurring causes of ambiguity, and to suggest definite remedies in
each case. Speeches in Parliament, newspaper narratives and articles,
and, above all, resolutions at public meetings, furnish abundant
instances of obscurity arising from the monotonous neglect of some
dozen simple rules.

The art of writing forcibly is, of course, a valuable
acquisition--almost as valuable as the art of writing clearly. But
forcible expression is not, like clear expression, a mere question of
mechanism and of the manipulation of words; it is a much higher power,
and implies much more.

Writing clearly does not imply thinking clearly. A man may think and
reason as obscurely as Dogberry himself, but he may (though it is not
probable that he will) be able to write clearly for all that. Writing
clearly--so far as arrangement of words is concerned--is a mere matter
of adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions, and auxiliary verbs, placed
and repeated according to definite rules.[1] Even obscure or illogical
thought can be clearly expressed; indeed, the transparent medium of
clear writing is not least beneficial when it reveals the illogical
nature of the meaning beneath it.

On the other hand, if a man is to write forcibly, he must (to use a
well-known illustration) describe Jerusalem as "sown with salt," not
as "captured," and the Jews not as being "subdued" but as "almost
exterminated" by Titus. But what does this imply? It implies
knowledge, and very often a great deal of knowledge, and it implies
also a vivid imagination. The writer must have eyes to see the vivid
side of everything, as well as words to describe what he sees. Hence
forcible writing, and of course tasteful writing also, is far less a
matter of rules than is clear writing; and hence, though forcible
writing is exemplified in the exercises, clear writing occupies most
of the space devoted to the rules.

Boys who are studying Latin and Greek stand in especial need of help
to enable them to write a long English sentence clearly. The periods
of Thucydides and Cicero are not easily rendered into our idiom
without some knowledge of the links that connect an English sentence.

There is scarcely any better training, rhetorical as well as logical,
than the task of construing Thucydides into genuine English; but the
flat, vague, long-winded Greek-English and Latin-English imposture
that is often tolerated in our examinations and is allowed to pass
current for genuine English, diminishes instead of increasing the
power that our pupils should possess over their native language. By
getting marks at school and college for construing good Greek and
Latin into bad English, our pupils systematically unlearn what they
may have been allowed to pick up from Milton and from Shakespeare.

I must acknowledge very large obligations to Professor Bain's treatise
on "English Composition and Rhetoric," and also to his English
Grammar. I have not always been able to agree with Professor Bain as
to matters of taste; but I find it difficult to express my admiration
for the systematic thoroughness and suggestiveness of his book on
Composition. In particular, Professor Bain's rule on the use of "that"
and "which" (see Rule 8) deserves to be better known.[2] The ambiguity
produced by the confusion between these two forms of the Relative is
not a mere fiction of pedants; it is practically serious. Take, for
instance, the following sentence, which appeared lately in one of our
ablest weekly periodicals: "There are a good many Radical members in
the House _who_ cannot forgive the Prime Minister for being a
Christian." Twenty years hence, who is to say whether the meaning is
"_and they_, i.e. _all the Radical_ members in the House," or "there
are a good many Radical members of the House _that_ cannot &c."?
Professor Bain, apparently admitting no exceptions to his useful rule,
amends many sentences in a manner that seems to me intolerably harsh.
Therefore, while laying due stress on the utility of the rule, I have
endeavoured to point out and explain the exceptions.

The rules are stated as briefly as possible, and are intended not so
much for use by themselves as for reference while the pupil is working
at the exercises. Consequently, there is no attempt to prove the rules
by accumulations of examples. The few examples that are given, are
given not to prove, but to illustrate the rules. The exercises are
intended to be written out and revised, as exercises usually are; but
they may also be used for _vivâ voce_ instruction. The books being
shut, the pupils, with their written exercises before them, may be
questioned as to the reasons for the several alterations they have
made. Experienced teachers will not require any explanation of the
arrangement or rather non-arrangement of the exercises. They have been
purposely mixed together unclassified to prevent the pupil from
relying upon anything but his own common sense and industry, to show
him what is the fault in each case, and how it is to be amended.
Besides references to the rules, notes are attached to each sentence,
so that the exercises ought not to present any difficulty to a
painstaking boy of twelve or thirteen, provided he has first been
fairly trained in English grammar.

The "Continuous Extracts" present rather more difficulty, and are
intended for boys somewhat older than those for whom the Exercises are
intended. The attempt to modernize, and clarify, so to speak, the
style of Burnet, Clarendon, and Bishop Butler,[3] may appear
ambitious, and perhaps requires some explanation. My object has, of
course, not been to _improve upon_ the style of these authors, but to
show how their meaning might be expressed more clearly in modern
English. The charm of the style is necessarily lost, but if the loss
is recognized both by teacher and pupil, there is nothing, in my
opinion, to counterbalance the obvious utility of such exercises.
Professor Bain speaks to the same effect:[4] "For an English exercise,
the matter should in some way or other be supplied, and the pupil
disciplined in giving it expression. I know of no better method than
to prescribe passages containing good matter, but in some respects
imperfectly worded, to be amended according to the laws and the
proprieties of style. Our older writers might be extensively, though
not exclusively, drawn upon for this purpose."

To some of the friends whose help has been already acknowledged in
"English Lessons for English People," I am indebted for further help
in revising these pages. I desire to express especial obligations to
the Rev. J. H. Lupton, late Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge,
and Second Master of St. Paul's School, for copious and valuable
suggestions; also to several of my colleagues at the City of London
School, among whom I must mention in particular the Rev. A. R. Vardy,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.

