hat all men have
learned."

What, then, is the essential training necessary to the nice handling of
words? The idea is quite general that an extensive vocabulary alone
makes thought flow exactly off the tip of one's tongue or pen. But is
this true? One should have a command of words, to be sure; one should
know more descriptive words than "awful, fierce, fine, charming"--terms
used in an unthinking way by people who do not concern themselves with
specific adjectives. But to know how to use a vocabulary is of even more
importance than to possess one. Indeed, merely to possess a vocabulary
without the ability to weave the words into accurate, characterized
designs on an effective background is ruinous to the success of any
talker or writer. To employ an extensive vocabulary riotously is worse
than to own none.

When the poet Keats wrote those well-known lines,

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever
Its loveliness increases,"

the first line stood originally:

"A thing of beauty is a constant joy."

The poet knew that this was the thought he wanted, but he felt that it
had not the simple, virile swing he coveted. And so the line remained
for many months, "A thing of beauty is a constant joy," in spite of the
author's many attempted phrasings to improve it. Finally the simple word
"forever" came to him, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Then he had
it, and he knew he had it--the essential note, the exact word. Certainly
the word "forever" was a part of Keats's vocabulary; he undoubtedly
knew this simple word. It was not the word, but adroitness in using it,
which made Keats's lines complete in their polished and natural
perfection.

One of the world's worshiped piano virtuosi, who has quite as
intellectual a comprehension of words as of music, was asked by the
editor of a magazine to contribute biographical data and photographs for
an article on musical composers. The pianiste had published no
compositions, and the gracious answer swung readily into line: "If your
article is to deal exclusively with musical composers, I cannot be
included. I have never published any of my compositions because I feel
that they cannot add anything to my reputation as a pianiste, of which I
am----" Just here, as with Keats's line, vocabulary could not serve the
purpose. The pianiste could have said "of which I am proud." No, a
modest phrase must express honest pride--"my reputation as a pianiste
which I guard sedulously,"