emory just as the parts of a painting coexist under our
eye. This becomes next to impossible if the description of
one definite object last over fifteen minutes of reading.
The longer it is, the more obscure it becomes. The
individual features fade away in proportion to the number
which are presented; and for this reason one might say that
we cannot see the forest for the trees. Every description
which is over fifty lines ceases to be clear to a mind of
ordinary vigor. After that there is only a succession of
fragmentary pictures which fatigues and overwhelms the
reader."[8]

These, then, are the principles that guide in the choice of materials
for a description. First, the point of view, whether fixed or movable,
should be made clear to the reader; it should be retained throughout
the description, or the change should be announced. By regard for it
the writer will be guided to the exclusion of matters that could not
be observed, and to the inclusion of such details as can be seen and
are essential. Second, the writer will keep out matters that do not
contribute to his purpose, and will select only those details which
assist in producing the desired impression. Third, the limitations of
the reader's powers advise a writer to be brief: five hundred words
should be the outside; two hundred are enough for most writers. These
principles will give to the whole that unity of materials and of
structure which is the first requisite of an effective description.

The next matter for consideration is the arrangement of the materials.
The arrangement depends on the principles that guided in narration,
Mass and Coherence.

Arrangement of Details in Description.

After we have looked at any object long enough to be able to write
about it, one feature comes to assume an importance that sets it far
above all others. To a writer who has looked long at a man, he may
shrink to a cringing piece of weakness, or he may grow to a strong,
self-centred power whose presence alone inspires serenest trust.
Hawthorne, standing in St. Peter's, saw only the gorgeous coloring;
proportions, immensity, and sacredness were as nothing to the
harmonious brilliancy of this expanded "jewel casket."[9] Stevenson,
thinking of the beast of burden best suited to carry his great
sleeping sack, discarded the horse, for, as he says, "she is a fine
lady among animals."[10] The description of a horse which foll