It should be stated at the outset, and afterward borne in mind, that the peculiar form of poem under consideration is a product of a remote time and land. Could one be transported to Italy, and the last six centuries be restored to future time, the sonnet might be heard as a snatch of song, sentimental, witty, or amorous, trolled by dusky Neapolitans or Florentines for the amusement of themselves, or their loves or lovers. It is this ancient relic of melody, recalling by its chiming rhymes the throb of its old companions, stringed instruments, which forms the present study. As we glance over its history, world-renowned names, varying ages and literatures, poems lofty, exquisite, tender, will rise before us to demonstrate that the sonnet is a word to conjure with.

Let the novice, if there be such, first form a sympathetic acquaintance with the sonnet, and afterward he will feel the greater interest in tracing its career. To acquire this appreciation, there is no better mode than that of a friendly introduction to a sonnet, such as this one by Longfellow, the acknowledged master among American poets of this style of stanza:

A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA.

The sun is set, and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.
From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams,
The street lamps of the ocean; and behold
O'erhead the banners of the night unfold;
The day hath passed into the land of dreams.

O summer day beside the joyous sea!
O summer day, so wonderful and white,
So full of gladness and so full of pain!
Forever and forever shalt thou be
To some the gravestone of a dead delight,

त

To some the landmark of a new domain.

It will be seen at once that this lovely little poem has fourteen lines; that it is written in iambic pentameter, or ten-syllable verse, the accent falling on the second and each alternate syllable. Next it will be noted that the first eight lines have but two rhymes, the first, fourth, fifth, and eighth rhyming together; while the second, third, sixth and seventh lines iterate and reiterate the other rhyme. So far, all the distinctions noted are absolutely necessary to the formation of a true sonnet, that is, the Petrarcan type. The arrangement of the rhymes in the sestet, or last six lines, is often varied, and almost any arrangement is now accepted, and the poem called a sonnet, if the octave, or first eight lines, be only in proper form. This looseness of requirement that is tolerated regarding the sestet is a serious mistake, however, and has led to the deterioration of many sonnets. The arrangement of rhymes in the sestet of the sonnet quoted is to be preferred, because most symmetrical and subtly musical as a balance to the octave. That it is the favorite arrangement with an artist like Longfellow, appearing in most of his best sonnets, is alone a strong indorsement. But it may be added that it is one of the oldest arrangements. The rhymes, it will be seen, rhyme in tercets, as, three. This forms

one, two, three; one, two, an echo-like repetition of

sounds, just indistinct enough in nowise to obtrude on the thought, which here in the sestet should be at its height, alluring the reader by some halfseen suggestion toward the full idea of the writer, which is, in the last line, to flood the whole path with a transfiguring light. This delicate rhymerepetition should strike on the reader as birdnotes in the tree-tops do on a rapt and eager traveler.

Another musical, as well as frequent, arrangement of the sestet is to have but two rhymes, rhyming interwoven couplets, as, one, two; one, two; one, two. Still another form of the sestet is to write the first four lines as an alternate-rhymed quatrain, like a stanza of "Gray's Elegy," and to make the last two lines an independent-rhyming couplet. This style cannot be highly recommended, as the quatrain and couplet jar on the reader after becoming accustomed to the Petrarcan style of the octave; while the two changes in rhyme-arrangement in the sestet give an unpleasant surprise. The rhyming couplet also has the effect of isolating the last two lines, they having no rhyme connection with the rest, while they give so undeserved an emphasis to the last two rhyme-words that it obtrudes on the thought, or at least unpleasantly intrudes the mechanism of the verse. If any further objection need be made to this style of sestet, it is that the favorite way of describing the effect of the last two lines is to say, as many writers have, that it "clinches" the sonnet. Certainly one wants no "clinching" about a poem, if it is to be poetical.

Still another way of writing the sestet is to

write the first four lines as a Petrarcan quatrain, the first rhyming with the fourth, second with third, the two last as a couplet. This seems, if anything, still more objectionable. The Petrarcan quatrain has done full duty in the first eight lines, and to continue it is to make it monotonous, and detract from the beauty of the octave by the repetition.

But

For any who like to give "infinite variety when writing the sestet, it may be stated that there are eighteen different ways in which it may be arranged with the two or the three rhymes. Dante Gabriel Rossetti is said to have preferred the rhymes of the sestet in the following order, when it could be fortunately contrived so as not to hamper the thought; namely, one, two; two, one; two, one. This gives something of the "dying fall" effect. One of the faintest of rhyme-values is obtained by writing the sestet with rhymes as follows: one, two, three; three, two, one. there is risk in expecting much value from rhymewords separated by more than three lines, unless the same rhyme is continued otherwise, and given a cumulative effect. The eighteen possible rhyme arrangements of the sestet, allowing that no terminal lacks its fellow rhyme-word, may be easily worked out or noted in the examples in this book. It may be remarked that the most of these irregular arrangements are of doubtful value, and they should only be adopted by writers when the rhyme exigencies demand it, and when the unusual strength of lines so arranged atone for the irregularity. A single strong objection to irregularity in the sestet is that it disappoints one who is accustomed

to expect one of the few favorite arrangements, and causes one instinctively and apprehensively to "feel his way" for the rhyme when he should have all his attention concentrated on the essential thought. Such sestets are often productive of unsupported couplets and far-sundered rhyme-words, which operate against the symmetrical unity characteristic of a model sonnet. It may be said that, without a rhythmical order or musical arrangement of the succession of rhymes, the latter lose half their value.

When we remember that we are considering the national type of poem of a most musical, artistic, and poetic people, it seems absurd to suppose that at this late day we can better the sonnet structure. Guittone, who wrote in the thirteenth century the first regular Italian sonnets, perfected it; for, though most of his sonnets have the octave with lines rhyming alternately on two rhymes, he also wrote a number with the regular arrangement, current to-day, and successively indorsed by the practice of Dante, Petrarch, Milton, and Wordsworth. It is only natural that a form that was educed by the aid of the mandolin and lute, to which sonnets were sung in Italy, should be as harmoniously perfect as possible.

Having mastered the rhyme requirements of the sonnet, and learned their preferred arrangement, let us see what else is necessary to a good sonnet. Certainly (as regards form), good, strong, flexible, rightly-accentuated iambic pentameter verse is indispensable. In the sonnet, especially in the octave, it is a great beauty to have a strong move