Lpuls J. O'Brien 
 
A 
 GRAMMAR OF RHETORIC, 
 
 AND 
 
 POLITE LITERATURE ; 
 
 COMPREHENDING THE 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF LANGUAGE AND STX'LE, 
 
 THE 
 
 ELEMENTS OF TASTE AND CRITICISM; 
 WITH 
 
 RULES 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 STUDY OF COMPOSITION AND ELOQUENCE: 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BY APPROPRIATE EXAMPLES, 
 
 SELECTED CHIEFLY FROM THE 
 
 BRITISH CLASSICS, 
 
 FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, OR PRIVATE INSTRUCTION 
 
 By ALEXANDER JAMIESON. 
 
 THE FIRST AMERICAN, FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION. 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY A. H. MALTBY & CO. 
 
 1820. 
 
m 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THIS Grammar of Rhetoric iydesigned to succeed, in the course 
 qf education, the study of English Grammar. At that period, the 
 young student is most likely to enter with vigour upon the study 
 of a branch of education, which has been deemed essential, in our 
 public seminaries, to form the mind for engaging in the active con- 
 cerns of life. It is then that he should be taught, that a minute 
 and trifling study of words alone, and an ostentatious and deceitful 
 display of ornament and pomp of expression, must be exploded 
 from his compositions, if he would value substance rather than 
 show, and good sense as the foundation of all good writing. The 
 principles of sound reason, must then be employed to tame the im- 
 petuosity of youthful feeling, and direct the attention to simplicity, 
 as essential to all true ornament. 
 
 (n prosecution of this plan, the Author has, throughout this work, 
 first laid down the. principles or rules of legitimate Rhetoric ; he 
 has then given popular illustrations of these principles or rules; he 
 has next confirmed his views, in the illustrations, by appropriate ex- 
 amples; and, finally, as these examples, or illustrations, furnished 
 analyses or corollaries, he has endeavoured to make them tend to 
 the improvement of the student's good taste, and of true ornament 
 in composition. 
 
 Rhetoricians have usually introduced their pupils to a knowledge 
 of their art, by some history of the origin and progress of language. 
 Accordingly, in this volume, the Author has followed a precedent, 
 which the world has long approved. The FIRST BOOK treats of the 
 origin and structure of those external signs, which are used, as 
 names, attributes, or actious of objects ; or to denote the various 
 operations of the mental faculties, with which it ia our business to 
 become acquainted. 
 
 The SECOND BOOK treats of the principles of GENERAL GRAM- 
 MAR ; or, in other words, of the principles upon which philosophical 
 grammarians have attempted to discriminate and classify the com- 
 ponent parts of human speech, whether spoken or written. An ex- 
 amination of THE NATURE AND CHARACTER OF THE USE WHICH 
 GIVES LAW TO LANGUAGE, naturally followed the 1; Principles of 
 General Grammar," and led to the development of THE NATURE 
 AND USE OF VERBAL CRITICISM, with Us principal rules or can" 
 ons, by which) in all our decisions, we ought to be directed. And in this 
 branch of the subject, the object has been to exercise the understand- 
 ing and natural sensibility of the pupil, by the exhibition of what has 
 
IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pleased or displeased critics in the perusal of the best models of lit- 
 erary composition. It is presumed, that young minds will thus begin 
 to think and feel for themselves ; and, by the directions th^y receive, 
 acquire confidence in their own powers, of approving or disapproving 
 whatever Ail Is under their genera] reasonings, in the higher qualities 
 of composition. Trne criticism will teach the student, how he 
 may escape (hose errors and mistakes, to which he may be exposed, 
 *uher from not understanding, or from misapplying her establish- 
 ed rules. But to render her assistance most effectual, the Author 
 has dwelt very fully on the principles of GRAMMATICAL PURITY, 
 as it respects barbarisms, solecisms, idictisi/is, vulgarisms, nn/>fu- 
 " r ii/ in ph rusts, and as it teaches precision of expression insj eeeh 
 or writing. 
 
 THE NATURE AND STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES, THE GENE- 
 RAL tfJ'INCIFLES OF PERSPICUITY, AND THE HARMONY OF 
 
 PERIODS, which are illustrated in BOOK THIRD, have unfolded i.u- 
 jjiercu.^ errcr? U> s>e avoided in the structure of sentences, and the ar- 
 ra. . . it. i.igie words. The qualities of VKITY and STRENGTH, 
 in the structure of sentences, have gathered around them a series of 
 Ttt'es, which, if applied to the exercises that the pupil should be re- 
 quired to write, cannot fail to enlighten his mind, and govern hi3 
 judgment, in the principles and practice of composition. It was 
 necessary, however, to show, how much PERSPICUITY of LAN- 
 GUAGE and STYLE contributed to the elegance of classical compo- 
 sitions and eloquence ; and, accordingly, this matter is treated pre- 
 cisely as Dr. Campbell has treated it, in his u Philosophy of Rhet- 
 /'* No writer has yet excelled Dr. Blair, in luminous views of 
 the u Harmony of Periods ;' and these views we have embodied in 
 this Grammar. 
 
 In BOOK FOURTH, the principal ct Rhetorical Figures," are treat- 
 ed at great length, and illustrated by copious examples, without, 
 however, encumbering the mind of the pupil with catalogues from 
 the ancient critics, of other figures partly grammatical and partly 
 rhetorical, which would have furnished little instruction, and less 
 amusement. For it is, perhaps, not the least task on the part of 
 the instructors of youth, to render their precepts engaging, by viva- 
 city of imagination, and the charms of genuine ornament. This, 
 however, is an inferior merit, when compared with the chasteness 
 and morality which should distinguish examples and illustrations, 
 selected for youih. The principles of virtue and honour, of delica- 
 cy and refined taste, are, it is hoped, inculcated throughout these 
 examples, with that assiduity, which will entitle the Author to the 
 humble reputation of having laboured to improve in those for whom 
 he wrote, the important habits of a religious education. 
 
 In BOOK FIFTH, the NATURE OF TASTE, and THE SOURCES OF 
 
 ITS PLEASURES, compiled partly from Dr. Blair's Lectures, partly 
 from .Lord Kames's Elements of Criticism, and agreeably to Alison's 
 t; Essays on Taste," have been set in such lights, as may enable the 
 youthful mind to attain some practical acquaintance with the pro- 
 ductions of genius, in Poetry, Sculpture, or Painting. A correct 
 
INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 perception of the excellencies of composition and eloquence, is 
 closely connected with a knowledge of the productions in the fine 
 arts. The young student, on being made acquainted with the prin- 
 ciples which reguiale the standard of taste, so far from learning to 
 suspend the exercise of his own judgment, is taught to investigate 
 the grounds upon which those principles are supported, and in com- 
 paring thejn with the simple dictates of his own mind, to form, from 
 the various sources which reading and reflection may afford him, the 
 elements of rearing for himself a standard of taste, to which, in more 
 matured life, he may refer such productions of the fine arts, or of 
 polite literature, as fall tinder his observation. 
 
 BOOK SIXTH, appropriated to the general characters of style, 
 treats, first, of the diffuse and concise styles of composition ; secondly, 
 of the dry, plain t neat, elegant, and flowing styles ; thirdly, of the 
 simple, affected, and vehement styles; and then, gives directions for 
 forming style. Of what importance the illustrations and examples 
 of these several styles must be in the composition of themes, it is 
 superfluous here to speak. The remaining chapters of Book VI. 
 are devoted to " The Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts ;" 
 to " Historical Writing"" Annals Memoirs,"-" Biog- 
 raphy,"" Philosophical Writing,"" Dialogue," and " Episto. 
 lary Correspondence." 
 
 In BOOK SEVENTH, the origin and different kinds of Poetry are 
 handled more with a view to form the pupil's taste for the study 
 of Poetry, than to inspire him with the thirst of reaping fame in the 
 doubtful field of poetic composition. Yet, to those whose genius 
 may lead them that way, the principles of poetic composition, of its 
 several styles, and of the ornaments which it admits, cannot fail to 
 prove useful. 
 
 The conclusion 'of the work treats of pronunciation, or delivery, as 
 it respects, chiefly, public speaking ; and here, as in Book VI. and 
 VII. the labours of the Author's predecessors have chiefly furnished 
 principles and illustrations. 
 
 London^ August 24, 1818, 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 OF LANGUAGE AND STYLE AS THE FOUNDATION OF 
 > ELOQUENCE. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAPTER I. Of the Rise and Progress of Language in the 
 
 Structure and Composition of Words - - 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. Of the Rise and Progress of Language in the 
 
 "Manner of uttering and pronouncing Words 
 
 :;HA~~ 
 
 CHAPTER III. Of the Progress of Language in the Style 
 
 and Character of Speech - - '- - 8 
 
 CHAPTER IV. Of the Rise and Progress of Language, as 
 
 respects the Order and Arrangement of Words in Sentences 11 
 Conclusion - - - - - -15 
 
 CHAPTER V. Of the origin and Progress of Writing 16 
 
 CHAPTER VI. A Comparison of spoken with written Lan- 
 guage ; or of Words uttered in our Hearing, with Words 
 represented to the Eye - -20 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 OF THE STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE ; OR THE PRIN- 
 CIPLES OF GENERAL GRAMMAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. Of the several Parts of which Speech or Lan- 
 guage is composed - - 22 
 Of Nouns 23 
 Of Number ..... 25 
 Of Cases - - ibid 
 Of Gender - 26 
 Of Articles * 27 
 Of Pronouns - - 28 
 Of Adjectives - - ibid 
 Of the Verb - - 29 
 
 Of Tenses 30 
 
 Theory of Moods - 
 
 Auxiliaries 
 
 The Infinitive Mood 
 
 t>i the Adverb i - - - - 35 
 
CONTENTS. vu 
 
 PAGE 
 
 prepositions - ofc 
 
 Conjunctions - - 37 
 
 Interjections - ... ibid 
 
 CHAPTER IL- The Nature and Character of the Use which 
 
 gives Law to Language - - ibid 
 
 Language mainly a Species of Fashion 3 
 
 Use, or the Custom of Speaking, the sole original standard of 
 Conversation, as far as respects the Expression ; and the 
 Custom of Writing the chief standard of Style - ibid 
 
 Reputable Use - 39 
 
 Vulgarisms ... ibid 
 
 Authors of Reputation 40 
 
 National Use - ... ibid 
 
 The English Language, properly so called - 41 
 
 Professional Dialects ... ibid 
 
 National Use, as opposed to Foreign - - ibid 
 
 Present Use - , - - 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. The Nature and Use of verbal Criticism, 
 with its principal Rules or Canons, by which in all our Decis- 
 ions, we ought to be directed 44 
 Good Use - - ibid 
 The divided Use .... ibid 
 Canon the First, when Use is divided as to any particular Word 
 
 or Phrase - . - - 45 
 
 Canon the Second. In doubtful cases, regard ought to be had, 
 
 in our decisions, to the analogy of the Language - 46 
 
 Canon the Third, prefers what is most agreeable to the Ear ibid 
 Canon the Fourth, allows simplicity to determine our choice ibid 
 Canon the Fifth, prefers what is most conformable to ancient 
 
 Usage - . ibid 
 
 Every thing favoured by good Use, is not on that Account 
 
 worthy to be retained - - 47 
 
 Canon the Sixth, points out such Words and Phrases as merit 
 
 degradation - - - - 48 
 
 Criteria, by which we may discriminate the objectionable 
 
 Words from all others - - ibid 
 
 Canon the Seventh, points to Words that require dismission 50 
 Canon the Eighth, respects Words become obsolete - ibid 
 
 Canon the Ninth, enables us to detect solecisms and idiomatical 
 
 phrases - - 51 
 
 Canon the Tenth, regards the Suppression of a significant 
 
 Term, which hath come into good Use - 52 
 
 CHAPTER IV. Of Grammatical Purity S3 
 
 Pure English Composition ... ibid 
 
 The reproach of barbarism may be incurred in three different 
 ways : 1st. By the Use of Words entirely obsolete ; Sndly. 
 By the Use of Words entirely new ; or, 3dly. By new Form- 
 ations and Compositions, from simple and primitive Words in 
 present Use - - - 54 
 
 By the Use of obsolete Words - ibid 
 
Vifi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Use of new Words inundates a Language 55 
 
 By the Use of good Words new modelled - - 56 
 
 The Solecism - 57 
 
 The Impropriety - . - 59 
 
 Of Improprieties arising from a similitude in Sense - 60 
 The Idiotism ... m ibid 
 
 The Pleonasm - 61 
 The Vulgarism - - - ibid 
 
 Impropriety in Phrases 62 
 
 Precision - 64 
 
 Of Words reckoned Synonymous ^ 69 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 ON THE NATURE AND STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES, 
 
 THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF PERSPICUITY, 
 
 AND THE HARMONY OF PERIODS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. Of the Nature of Sentences and Periods 74 
 
 Simple Sentences - 76 
 
 Complex Sentences - 77 
 
 Short sentences .... 78 
 
 The full Period - 79 
 CHAPTER II. Of the Errors to be avoided in the Structure 
 
 of Sentences, and the arrangement of Single Words 80 
 
 The Arrangement of the Agent, the Action, and the Subject 82 
 Of the Arrangement of the other Parts of Speech, Pronouns, 
 
 Participles, Prepositions, and Conjunctions 83 
 
 CHAPTER III. On the Structure of Sentences 84 
 
 The distinction of long and short ones 85 
 
 The Properties most essential to a perfect Sentence - 86 
 Clearness and Precision - ibid 
 In the Position of Adverbs - ibid 
 
 to Circumstances in the middle of a Sentence - 87 
 Tn the proper Disposition of the relative Pronouns, who, which, 
 
 what, whose - - ibid 
 
 Unity - . - - 89 
 
 Strength - - 9i 
 Redundant Words, redundant Members, new Ideas, new 
 
 Thoughts .... 92 
 
 The Copulative Particle - 94 
 
 Disposition of the capital Word, or Words 96 
 The Members of Sentences rising and growing in their Impor- 
 tance above one another 
 
 Oratorical Climax - 99 
 CHAPTER IV. Perspicuity - 
 Obscurity. The obscure from defect 
 y?ojn bad Arrapgemeat 
 
CONTENTS, IK 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The same Word used in different Senses . . 106 
 
 From too artificial a structure of the Sentence , ibid 
 
 Technical Terms . . . .107 
 
 CHAPTER V. The double Meaning- . . ibid 
 
 Equivocation ..... 108 
 
 CHAPTER VI. Ambiguity ... 110 
 
 In Adjectives . . . 112 
 
 In the Use of Substantive Nouns . . . 113 
 
 Ambiguity in using the Conjunctions . . , ibid 
 
 In a particular Clause or Expression . . 114* 
 
 The squinting Construction . . . ibid 
 
 CHAPTER VII. Of the Unintelligible . . 115 
 
 The Unintelligible from Confusion of Thought . . ibid 
 
 The Unintelligible from Affectation of Excellence . 116 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. The various Species of the Unintelligible 1 18 
 The Unintelligible from want of meaning in the Writer . ibid 
 The Puerile .... ibid 
 
 The learned Nonsense . . . .119 
 
 The Profound .... 120 
 
 The Marvellous ..... ibid 
 CHAPTER IX. Of the Harmony of Periods 
 How a melodious Structure is formed . . . 123 
 
 The Distribution of the several Members . . 125 
 
 The close or cadence of the whole Sentence . . 126 
 
 A falling off at the end always injurious . . 127 
 
 Vivacity and Strength of Composition promoted; various 
 
 Measures . . . . .128 
 
 All Appearances affecting Harmony, are disagreeable . ibib 
 The Current of Sound adapted to the Tenon r of a Discourse " 130 
 CHAPTER X. Resemblance between Sound and Sense In- 
 
 ver in. . . . 131 
 
 Inversion ..... 136 
 
 The Inversions of modern Languages . 137 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 OF FIGURES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. Of the Character and Advantage of Figures 140 
 Figures of Words . ibid 
 
 Figures of Thought .... ibid 
 
 Tropes, or Figures .... 141 
 
 Table of Figures, which, among related Objects, extend the 
 
 Properties one to another . . . 144 
 
 Table of Subjects expressed figuratively . . 145 
 
 Table of Attributes expressed^ figuratively . . 147 
 
 CHAPTER II. Metaphor . . 148 
 
 All Metaphor imports Comparison, and, is, in that respect, a 
 
 Figure of thought .. 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of all the Figures of Speech, none comes so near to painting as 
 
 Metaphor .'...- 149 
 
 Metaphors must be suited to the Nature of the Subject of which 
 
 we treat . . 150 
 
 'I'he Choice of Objects from whence Metaphors, and other 
 
 Fgures, are to be drawn . 151 
 
 Metaphors drawn from' Objects of Resemblance which is the 
 Foundation of the Metaphors, be clear and perspicuous, not 
 far-fetched, nor difficult to discover . 152 
 
 In the Conduct of Metaphors, we are never to jumble meta- 
 phorical and plain Language together 
 
 Never make two different Metaphors meet on one Object 154 
 
 Addison's Rule for examining the Propriety of Metaphors 156 
 
 Metaphors must not be tdb far pursued . . 157 
 
 CHAPTER II!. Comparisons or Similes 159 
 
 The Difference between Comparisons or Similes . ihid 
 
 All Comparisons may be reduced to the following Heads 160 
 
 Explaining Comparisons .... 161 
 Embellishing Comparisons . . 162 
 
 Comparisons employed to elevate or depress the principal ob- 
 ject ..... 163 
 Comparisons should not be instituted between Objects, the Re- 
 semblance of which is either obscure, faint, or remote 164 
 Comparisons should not be deduced from Objects which rise 
 
 much above the primary Object . . 165 
 
 Comparisons destitute of dignity, transfer insignificance to the 
 
 principal Object . . . .ibid 
 
 Comparisons aVe censurable when they prompt Feelings dis- 
 cordant with the aim of the principal Object, or wheu they 
 suggest Sentiments painful or disagreeable . . 166 
 
 Comparisons should never be founded on Resemblances which 
 are too obvious and familiar, nor OR those which are imagin- 
 ary ..... 167 
 Extended Similes may be introduced with advantage on various 
 
 Occasions .... ibid 
 
 Improper Occasions on which circumstantial Similes make 
 
 their Appearance . .169 
 
 Short Similes appear in the most passionate Scenes , 170 
 
 CHAPTER IV. Personification . . 171 
 
 Descriptive Personification . . . .172 
 
 Passionate Personification . . 174 
 
 The English Language possesses a singular Advantage in 
 
 marking Personification . . . 176 
 
 A capital Error in Personification, is to deck the Figure with, 
 
 fantastic and trilling Circumstances . . ibid 
 
 Personifications should not be introduced when the Subject of 
 
 Discussion is destitute of dignity . J77 
 
 CHAPTER V. Allegory . . . 178 
 
 Allegory ornamental . . . . 180 
 
 Allegories communicate Instruction . . . ibid 
 
CONTENTS, XI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Allegory of a moral Species 
 
 The Allegory of Prodicus . * . J V* 
 
 The Tabulature of Cebes 
 
 Allegories calculated both for Ornament and Instruction . lo^ 
 
 Homer personifies Prayers ... 
 
 CHAPTER VI. Apostrophe 
 
 Picturesque Apostrophe . 
 
 Apostrophes class ihe offspring of deep Agitation 
 
 A principal Error in the Use of Apostrophe, is to deck the 
 
 Object addressed with affected Ornaments . .187 
 
 Another frequent Error is, to extend this Figure to too great 
 
 length ... ihl ^ 
 
 Apostrophe frequently appeared in the Oratory of Antiquity 18! 
 Apostrophe in modern Oratory 
 CHAPTER VII. Hyperbole 
 
 This Figure Peculiarly graceful and pleasant . *k| 
 
 Ali Discourse and Writing admit Hyperbole 
 Errors in the Use of Hyperbole . 
 Hyperboles are not properly introduced till the Mind of the 
 
 Reader is prepared to relish them . 194 
 
 Hyperboles improper, when they may be turned against the 
 
 Argument of the Author who uses them ibid 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. Climax or Amplification . 195 
 
 The effect of this Figure .... ibid 
 Climax appears with grace in the calmer parts of Oratory 196 
 It is consistent with moderate Agitation . . ibid 
 
 CHAPTER IX The Antithesis . . 197 
 
 Antithesis makes the most brilliant Appearance in the Delinea- 
 tion of Characters, particularly in History 
 
 Unsuccessful Attempts have been made to acquire it . 199 
 
 A Climax and Antithesis conjoined and carried on through 
 
 several Sentences .... 200 
 
 CH AFTER X.-Interrogation, Repetition, Exclamation, Irony, 
 
 and Vision . . . . . ibid 
 
 Interrogation gives Life and Spirit to Discourse . 201 
 
 Interrogation used to rouse and awaken the Hearers . ibid 
 
 Interrogation commands with great emphasis . ibid 
 
 Interrogation denotes plaintive Passion . . 202 
 
 Repetition is significant of Contrast and Energy . ibid 
 
 Exclamations the Effect of strong Emotions of the Mind . ibid 
 Vision proper only in animated and warm Compositions 203 
 
 Vision in Tragedy . . . 204 
 
 n y .... jbid 
 
 Exclamations and Irony are sometimes united . . 205 
 
ill CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF TASTE, AND THE SOURCES OF 
 ITS PLEASURES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. Taste . . 208 
 
 Taste is possessed in different Degrees by different Men . ibid 
 Taste, an improvable Faculty, and refined by Education 209 
 
 Exercise is the Source oflmprovement in all our Faculties, in 
 our bodily, in our mental Powers, and even in our external 
 Senses . . . ibid 
 
 The Improvement of Taste, from the Application of Reason 
 and good Sense, to Works ol Composition, and Productions 
 #f Genius . . . . .210 
 
 Delicacy and Correctness the Characters of Taste, when 
 
 brought to its most improved State . . 211 
 
 Correctness of Taste .... 212 
 
 Delicacy and Correctness of Taste, mutually imply each other ibid 
 The diversity of Tastes, which prevails among Mankind . ibid 
 Standard of Taste .... 214 
 
 Uniformity of Taste and Sentiment resulting from our Convic- 
 tion of a common Standard . . . 216 
 CHAPTER II. Criticism . . . .217 
 Transgressions of the Laws of Criticism . . 220 
 CHAPTER III. Of Genius . . . ibid 
 This talent improve^ by Art and Study . . 221 
 A Genius for any of the fine Arts, always supposes Taste ibid 
 CHAPTER IV. The Sources of the Pleasures of Taste 222 
 The Pleasures of the Imagination . . . ibid 
 The Pleasure which arises from sublimity or grandeur 223 
 Of external Grandeur .... ibid 
 The terribly Sublime, Darkness, Solitude, and Silence 225 
 The moral, or sentimental Sublime . . . 226 
 Hiffh Virtue the most natural and fertile Source of this moral 
 
 Sublimity . . . . .227 
 
 CHAPTER V, The Sublime in Writing - 229 
 
 The sacred Scriptures afford us the highest Instances of the 
 
 Sublime - 230 
 
 Homer greatly admired for Sublimity - ibid 
 
 The Works of Ossian abound with Examples of the Sublime 231 
 Conciseness and Simplicity essential to sublime Writing ibid 
 
 Milton, an Author, whose Genius led him eminently to the 
 
 Sublime - - 233 
 
 Strength is another necessary requisite in sublime Writing 234 
 The Sublime depends upon a just Selection of Circumstances 235 
 The Faults opposite to the Sublime, are chiefly two ; first, the 
 
 frigid ; and, secondly, the bombast - - 237 
 
 CHAPTER VI Beauty, and other Pleasures of Tasve 238 
 
CONTENTS, Xii* 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Colour, the simplest Instance of Beauty -^ - 239 
 
 Figure opens to us Forms of Beauty complex and diversified ibid 
 
 Regularity a Source of Beauty - - 240 
 
 Hogarth's Analysis of Beauty - ibid 
 Motion, another Source of Beauty 
 
 The Beauty of the human Countenace - - 242 
 Beauty arising from the Perception of Means being adapted to 
 
 an End - 243 
 This Sense of Beauty, in fitness and design, has an extensive 
 
 Influence over many of our Ideas ibid 
 Of Beauty as it is applied to Writing or Discourse 
 Novelty 
 
 Imitation is another source - 
 
 The Pleasures of Melody and Harmony 246 
 Wit Humour, and Ridicule, open a variety of Pleasures to 
 
 Taste - - ik^ 
 
 Wit - - ibid 
 Humour 
 
 Ridicule - - - 247 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 THE GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. The Diffuse and Concise styles 249 
 
 A diffuse Style generally abounds in long Periods - - 253 
 The Nervous and the Feeble of the same Import with the 
 
 Concise and the Diffuse - - ibid 
 
 CHAPTER II.- Of the Dry, Plain, Neat, and Flowry Style 255 
 
 A dry Manner - - - ibid 
 
 A plain Style - - 256 
 
 A neat Style ibid 
 
 An eleeant Style - - 257 
 
 A florid Style 258 
 
 CHAPTER III. The Simple, Affected, and Vehement Styles 259 
 
 Simplicity of Composition ------ ibid 
 
 Simplicity of Thought -_----- ibid 
 
 Simplicity opposed to Ornament, or pomp of Language - 260 
 Simplicity respecting the easy and natural Manner in which 
 
 our Language expresses our Thoughts - ibid 
 
 The highest Degree of this Simplicity - 261 
 
 Simplicity in general -.---... 262 
 
 Simplicity, 1be great Beauty of Archbishop Tillotson's Manner ibid 
 Sir William Temple another remarkable Writer in the Style 
 
 of Simplicity ---.---. ibid 
 
 Addison the most perfect Example of this Style - - 263 
 
 An Author may write simply, and yet not beautifully - 265 
 
 Of the Vehement ..---.- ibid 
 
 Lord Boliagbroke's Style 26S 
 
 B 
 
ItjV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. Directions for forming Styte - - 26*31 
 The Foundation of all good Style, is good Sense, accompanied 
 with a lively Imagination ------ ibid 
 
 in order to form a good Style, the frequent Practice of Com- 
 posing indispensably necessary - 268 
 With respect to the Assistance that is to be gained from the 
 
 Writings of others 270 
 
 Danger of a servile Imitation of any Author - ibid 
 
 Style must be adapted to the Subject, and to the Capacity of 
 one's Readers -------- 271 
 
 CHAPTER V. Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts Intro- 
 duction, Division, Narration, and Explicaton - - 272 
 The Exordium, or Introduction, common to all Kinds of public 
 
 Speaking - 273 
 
 First, to conciliate the Good-will of the Hearers - - ibid 
 Secondly, to raise the Attention of the Hearers - - ibid 
 The Introduction should be easy and natural ... 274 
 Introductions should not be planned, till after one has meditated 
 
 in his own Mind the Substance of his Discourse - - ibid 
 Correctness should be carefully studied in the Expression - ibid 
 Modesty is another Character which it must carry - - ibid 
 An Introduction should usually be carried on without Vehe- 
 mence and Passion ..---- 275 
 
 Introductions must not anticipate any material Part of the 
 
 Subject -......_- ibid 
 
 The Introduction ought to be proportioned, both in length, and 
 
 in kind, to the Discourse that is to follow - ibid 
 
 The Proposition or Enunciation ----- 276 
 
 The Division -.-..--- ibid 
 
 First, the several Parts into which the Subject is divided must 
 be really distinct from one another .... ibid 
 
 Secondly, in Division, we must lake care to follow the Order of 
 
 Nature 277 
 
 Thirdly, the several Members of a Division ought to exhaust 
 
 the subject --____-- ibid 
 
 Fourthly, the Terms, in which our Partitions are expressed 
 
 should be as concise as possible - > - - - - ibid 
 Fifthly, avoid an unnecessary Multiplication of Heads - ibid 
 
 Narration, or Explication ibid 
 
 To be clear and distinct, to be probable, and to be concise, 
 
 a,re the Qualities which Critics chiefly require in Narration 278 
 Of the argumentative or reasoning Part of a Discourse 279 
 
 The aiutiytic, and the synthetic Methods of Reasoning - ibid 
 Avoid blending Arguments confusedly together, that are of a 
 
 separate Nature ------- 281 
 
 The three great Subjects of Discussion among Mankind are, 
 
 Truth, -Duty, and Interest - ibid 
 
 With regard to the different Degrees of Strength in Arguments, 
 the general Rule is, to advance in the Way of Climax - ibid 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Observe not to extend Arguments too far, and multiply them 
 
 too much 282 
 
 The Pathetic, in which, if any where, Eloquence reigns - ibid 
 Consider carefully, whether the Subject admit the Pathetic, and 
 render it proper ; and it it does, what part of the Discourse is 
 the fittest for attempting it ------ 283 
 
 Never to set apart a Head of a Discourse in form, for raising 
 any Passion -------- ibjj 
 
 The difference between showing the Hearers that they ought to 
 
 be moved, and actually moving them - ... 284 
 The only effectual Method is, to be moved yourself - ibid 
 Attention to the proper Language of the Passions - - ibid 
 Avoid interweaving any Thing of a foreign Nature with the pa- 
 thetic Part of a Discourse - - - - - - 285 
 
 Never attempt prolonging the Pathetic too much - - ibid 
 Concerning the Peroration or Conclusion ... 286 
 
 CHAPTER VI. Historical Writing .... 287 
 
 Historical Composition comprehends Annals, Memoirs, Lives ibid 
 In order to fulfil the end of History, the Author must study to 
 trace to their Springs the Actions and Events which he re- 
 cords 283 
 
 The first Virtues of historical Narratioa, are Clearness, Order, 
 and due Connection ..... ibid 
 
 Gravity must always be maintained in the Narration . 289 
 The Embellishment of Orations . . . 290 
 
 The drawing of Characters one of the most splendid, and at the 
 same time, one of the most difficult Ornaments of historical 
 Composition ..... ibid 
 
 Sound Morality should always reign in History . . 291 
 
 Memoirs . . . . . . ibid 
 
 Biography ...... 292 
 
 Great Improvement of late Years introduced into historical 
 Composition . . . . . 293 
 
 CHAPTER VII. Philosophical Writing, Dialogue, and Episto- 
 lary Correspondence . . . ibid 
 Epistolary Writing ..... 295 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. The origin and Progress of Poetry 298 
 
 CHAPTER II. Verification ... . . .303 
 
 Feel and Pauses the constituent Parts of Verse . . 304 
 
 Of poetical Feet . . . . jhicj 
 
 The Nature of the principal Feet . . . 306 
 
 Secondary Feet ..... 310 
 
 Blank Verse ...... 312 
 
 CHAPTER III. Of Pastoral Poetry . 313 
 
Xvi CONTENTS. 
 
 TAGK 
 
 Theocritus and Virgil . . . . .314 
 
 Pope's Pastorals ..... 315 
 Sheostone's Works . . . . .316 
 
 The Amynta of Tasso ..... 317 
 
 Pastor Fido of Guarini . . . ibid 
 
 The Gentle Shepherd of Allan Ramsay ibid 
 
 M. Gesner's Pastoral Compositions . . . 318 
 
 CHAPTER IV. Lyric Poetry .... ibid 
 
 The Odes of Pindar, Sappho, and Anacreon . . . 319 
 The English Lyric Poets, are Dry den, Pope, Addison, Gray, 
 
 and Akenside . . . . . . . ibid 
 
 CHAPTER V. Didactic Poetry 321 
 
 The Essay on Man ... 4 ... 322 
 
 Satirists 323 
 
 CHAPTER VI. Descriptive Poetry .... 325 
 
 Thomson's Seasons ..... ibid 
 
 Milton's Allegro ..... 326 
 
 Penseroso ..... 327 
 
 Parnel's Hermit ..... ibid 
 
 CHAPTER VII. Epic Poetry . . 329 
 
 Episodes ...... 332 
 
 The Unity of the epic Action .... 333 
 
 Personages proper to the Poem . , . 336 
 
 Poetic Characters are general and particular . . ibid 
 
 The Machinery of the Epic Poem . . . 337 
 CHAPTER VIII. On Pronunciation, or Delivery 
 
 Distinctness of Articulation . . . . 340 
 
 Emphasis, Pauses, Tones, and Gestures . . 341 
 
 Emphatical Pauses ..... 342 
 
 Tones in Pronunciation consist in the Modulation of the Voice, 
 
 and the Notes or Variations of Sound . . 343 
 
 Of Gesture * 344 
 
A 
 
 GRAMMAR OF RHETORIC 
 
 OF LANGUAGE AND STYLE AS THE 
 FOUNDATION OF ELOQUENCE* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE IN THE 
 STRUCTURE AND COMPOSITION OF WORDS. 
 
 ^JLJANCUAGE may be defined, the art of com- 
 municating thought, or the ideas of the mind, by cer- 
 tain articulate sounds, which are used as signs of 
 those ideas. 
 
 Illustration. Articulate sounds are those modulations of simple 
 > oice, or of sound emitted from the thorax, which are formed by 
 means of the mouth, and its several organs, the teeth, the tongue, 
 the lips, and the palate. 
 
 2. The connexion between words and ideas is ar- 
 bitrary and conventional, owing to the agreement of 
 men among themselves. 
 
 Illus. Different nations have different languages, or a different 
 set of articulate sounds, which they have chosen, or framed, for 
 communicating their ideas. 
 
 3, When we consider written language as a symbol 
 
 B 
 
C J Of the Rise and Progress of Language 
 
 of spoken, and spoken language as a representation 
 of our icleeis, and observe also how little relation sub- 
 isTists beiween letters and sounds, and again between 
 -founds anti tt/etfs, we shall be satisfied that much ar- 
 tifice and singular efforts of ingenuity were at first 
 employed in the construction of language, that it 
 might accomplish the purposes of communication. 
 
 Corollary. As speech must have been absolutely necessary previ- 
 ous to the formation of society, the language of the first men, would 
 be barely adequate to their present occasions : but they would en- 
 large and improve it as their future necessities required. 
 
 4. The cries of passion, accompanied with such 
 motions and gestures, as are further expressive of 
 passion, are the only signs which nature teaches all 
 men, and which all understand. (Art. 30. and 31.) 
 
 Il.his. Cries indicative of fear, and gestures expressive of peril, 
 would be used by him who sought to warn his neighbour of danger. 
 
 Corol. Those exclamations, therefore, which have obtained the 
 r<aine of INTERJECTIONS, uttered in a strong and passionate man- 
 ii pp, were, beyond doubt, in the rudest ages of the world, the first 
 elements or beginnings of speech. Names began to be assigned to 
 objects, when more enlarged communications became necessary. 
 
 5. The invention of words arose from the imita- 
 tion, as nearly as it could be carried, of the nature or 
 quality of the object which was named, by the sound 
 of the name which the object or its quality received. 
 
 Illus. As a painter, who would represent grass, must employ a 
 rreen colour ; so in the beginning of spoken language, the man who 
 gave a name to any thing harsh or boisterous, would employ a 
 harsh or boisterous sound in the pronunciation of that name. He 
 could not do otherwise, if he meant to excite in the hearer the ide:. 
 of that thing which he sought to name. (See Art. 16, 17, and 18.) 
 
 Corol. The desire of men to paint, by speech, the objects which 
 they named, in a manner more or less complete^ according as the 
 vocal organs had it in their power to effect this imitation, ^must 
 have been the general motive which led men to the assignation of 
 one name to a particular object rather than another.. (See the Il- 
 lustrations to Art. 7.) 
 
 6. Whatever objects were to be named, in which 
 sound, or noise, or motion, was concerned, the imi- 
 tation by words was abundantly obvious. Nothing 
 was more natural, than, by the sound of the voice, to 
 
in the Structure and Composition of Words. 3 
 
 imitate the quality of the sound, or noise, or motion, 
 which the external object made ; and to form its name 
 accordingly. 
 
 Illus. Thus, in all languages, we find words constructed upon 
 this principle. A certain bird is called (he cuckoo from the sound 
 which it emits. The analogy between the word and the thing sig- 
 nified is discernible, when one sort ef wind is said to whistle, and 
 another to roar, when a serpent is said to hiss, a fly to buzz, and fall- 
 ing timber to crash, when a stream is said tojlow 9 thunder to roar, 
 and kail to rattle. 
 
 7. This analogy becomes more obscure in the 
 names of objects which address the sight only, where 
 neither noise nor motion is concerned, and still more 
 in the terms appropriated to moral ideas ; but even 
 here it is not altogether lost ; and throughout the ra- 
 dical words of all languages some degree of corres- 
 pondence may be traced with the object signified. 
 
 Illus. 1. The terms significant of moral and inlellectual ideas, 
 are derived from the names of sensible objects to which they are 
 conceived to be analogous. 
 
 2. The most distinguishing qualities of sensible objects, pertain- 
 ing merely to sight, have, in a great variety of languages, certain 
 radical sounds appropriated to the expression of those qualities. 
 The organs of voice assume but an obscure resemblance to such 
 external qualities as stability and fluidity, hollowness and smoothness, 
 gentleness and violence, yet are these words painted by the sound 
 of certain letters or syllables, which, have some relation to those 
 different states of visible objects. 
 
 3. Words formed upon si, usually denote firmness and strength, 
 analogous to the Latin slo ; as, stand) stay, staff, slop, stout, steady, 
 stake, stamp, stallion, stately, &c. 
 
 4. Sir, in the beginning of words, intimates violent force and 
 energy, analogous to the Greek rfgowrqui ; as, strice t strength-, 
 struggle, stride, stress, stretch, strike, stripe, c. 
 
 5. Thr, implies forcible motion ; as, throw, thrust, throb, through, 
 threaten, thraldom, &c. 
 
 6. Wr, denotes obliquity or distortion ; as, wry, ivrest, icreslle, 
 wreath, it-ring, wrong .wrangle, wrath, ivrarl\ <k<;. 
 
 7. 6'w, indicates silent agitation, or lateral motion ; as, sway* 
 Dicing, sircrce, swerp* swim, c. 
 
 8. SI, implies a gentle fall, or less observable motion ; as, slide, 
 slip, sly, slit, slow, slack, sling, &c. 
 
 9. Sp, intimates dissipation or expansion ; as, spread, sprout* 
 sprinkle, split, spill, spring, c. 
 
 10. Terminations in ash indicate something acting nimbly ancf 
 sharply ; a?, crash, gash, rash,flash.^ l;uh, slash, &c. 
 
4 Of the Rise a/id Progress of Lu.ng< 
 
 11. Usk in t he ending of words, implies something actinr: 
 ol>1n e <']y or dully : as, crush, brush, hush, gush, blush, &c.--' : 
 
 / rat 'ion. These significant roots have been considered as a 
 peculiar beauty or excellency of our native tongue, -which, beyond 
 iii others, expresses the nature or qualities of the objects that it 
 names, by employing sounds sharper, snfjer, weaker, stronger, more 
 vbsrm-e, or more stnidulous, according as the idea requires which is 
 to n< 
 
 8. The immense field of langaage, in every na- 
 *ion, H, however, filled up by numerous fanciful and 
 irregular methods of derivation and composition. 
 
 CoroL Words, there/ore, cpme to deviate widely from the primi- 
 
 tive character of their roots, and frequently lose all analogy or re- 
 
 spmblanrein sound to the thin? .signified. Taken generally, as we 
 
 fjow employ them, words may be considered as symbols, not as imir 
 
 as ftrljiirfffi!) or instituted, not natural signs of ideas. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF TOE RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE 1ST THE 
 
 MANNER OF UTTERING OR PRONOUNCING WORDS. 
 
 9. A SECOND character of language, in its early 
 state, is drawn from the manner in which mankind at 
 first pronounced or uttered words. 
 
 Illas. 1. Interjections or pas?ioaate language being the first ele~ 
 roents of speech, (Carol. ArL. 4.) men would labour to communi- 
 cate their feelings to one another, by those expressive cries and ges- 
 tures, which they were taught by nature. (Art. 4. I Hits.') 
 
 2. Language in its infancy., picturesque but barren, would be in- 
 termixed with many exclamations and earnest gestures. Us scanfy 
 vocabulary rendered these helps necessary for explaining the con- 
 ceptions of uncultivated men. 
 
 3. Tones, rouirh and unmusical at first, and significant gesticula- 
 tions would supply the temporary absence of the few words which 
 men knew ; and by these supplemental methods they would endeav- 
 
 * The President Des Drosses has very ably examined this subject 
 in his work, entitled " Traite de la Formation Mechanique ties 
 
: litnner of pro.uo tinting Words:* 5 
 
 or lo make intelligible to others what they themselves understood. 
 (Jrl. 46. Corol.) 
 
 Coral. It may hence be assumed as a principle, that pronuncia- 
 tion, in the earliest languages, though learnt from the uninterrupted 
 use of gutterel sounds, was accompanied with more uesticuiatioi.s 
 than are used when men become refined by civilization, arts and 
 science*. 
 
 10. What had arisen from necessity continued to 
 be used for ornament, after language became more 
 extensive and copious. Wherever there was much 
 fire and vivacity in the genius of nations, the imagi- 
 nation was gratified wit-k a great deal of action ; and, 
 as their ear acquired delicacy and sensibility, their 
 language would gradually attain softness and melody 
 of tones in conversation, or public discourse. 
 
 Iflus. Upon this principle men spoke by action. Jeremiah in 
 sight of the people of Israel, breaks a putter'? vessel 1hro\vs :-i 
 book into the Euphrates puts on bonds and yokes, and carries out 
 his household stuff. The Indians of North America, also, (ice hue 
 their meaning, and explain themselves by belts and strings of warn- 
 pani) as much as by their discourse with all its iignificant but flowe- 
 ry modes of expression, (lilies. Art. 10 ) 
 
 11. Some nations have found it easier to express 
 different ideas, by varying the tone with which they 
 pronounced the same word, than to contrive words 
 for all their ideas. 
 
 lllus. Thus, the number of original words in the Chinese lan- 
 guage is not great, but, in speech, the sound of each word is varied' 
 on no fewer than five different tone?. The same word may there- 
 fore signify five different things ; and be expressed by five differ- 
 ent characters. Hence arises their unweildy alphabet, or lexicon. 
 This melody, or varying the sound of each word so often, is a proof 
 of nothing, however, but of the fine ear of that people. (Corol 
 Art. 13.) 
 
 12. When the harsh and dissonant cries of speech 
 have become gradually polished, they pass into more 
 smooth and harmonious sounds (Art. 1.0.) ; and hence 
 is formed what grammarians call the prosody of a 
 language. 
 
 Obs. Without attending to this we shall be at a loss to understand 
 al parts of the Greek and Roman classics, which relate to 
 
 B2 
 
j Of the Rise and Progress of Language 
 
 public speaking, and the theatrical entertainment of the ancient? 
 (I Has. drt. 13.) 
 
 13. When the Greek and Roman languages be- 
 came flowing and harmonious, the pronunciation of 
 both became melodious in a very high degree. It 
 does not, however, appear that the languages of any 
 cultivated nations have ever been regulated by any 
 musical principles. As the copiousness and accura- 
 cy of speech keep page with civilization and improve- 
 ment, its melody corresponds to the refinement of 
 .he public ear. (Illus. Art. 11.) 
 
 Illus. 1. The declamation of the Greek and Roman orators, and 
 the pronunciation of their actors upon the stage, were not : .:ideed 
 subjected to a geometrical scale of proportion, as the notes of mus- 
 idare; but the melody of their periods was artfully regulated by 
 
 iperior refinement of their ear. 
 
 2. The sounds of speech and music are regulated by different 
 :a!es, both in point of length and elevation. In point of length, 
 the sounds of speech are only t\vo, the one double tiie othej: ; for all 
 words consist of syllables either long or short, and the long syllable 
 
 variably double the length of the short one. The sounds of mu- 
 sic being measured by a geometrical scale of proportion, may be 
 extended as far as the composer pleases. In respect of elevation 
 and depression the sounds of speech are subject to no rule : their 
 distances are neither equal nor great. The speaker may divide 
 them according to his inclination, and the utmost compass of ordi- 
 nary speech seldom extends beyond the distance of a few notes in 
 music. It is not so with the tones of music : their distances are all 
 determined by rule, and the elevations and depressions though some- 
 times very considerable, are adjusted with the greatest nicety of 
 geometrical science. 
 
 3. Aristotle considers the music of tragedy as one of its chief and 
 essential parts ; but he does not assuredly mean that the Greeks 
 : poke in recitative, or that part of the word, or part of the sen- 
 
 . nee, was uttered in the ordinary tones of conversation, while the 
 remaining part was pronounced in tones of music. The whole of 
 an oration, or tragedy, might be accompanied with musical instru- 
 ments ; but the language of passion is inconsistent with recitative. 
 The tones of music are not the language of passion, and the lan- 
 guage of nature is the same in all ages and countries, (4r!. 10* 
 Jllus. and also Art. 11.) 
 
 4. Dionysiusof Halicarnassus, in his book on composition, that 
 treats professedly on the melody of language, is at great pains to il- 
 lustrate his sentiments from the compositions of Demosthenes, and 
 to point out how artfully that great orator had consulted the melo- 
 dy of his periods, by inserting in his cadences, many dactyles, spon- 
 
in the Manner of pronouncing Worth* 7 
 
 dees, iambics, and other agreeable metrical feet. The introduc- 
 tion of these feet he calls u writing rhythmical," or melodious 
 prose." 
 
 5. Jt is plain also from the orator of Cicero, that the Romans 
 did not speak in tones of music, or recitative. He informs us that 
 numerus or rhythm was not employed except in the most splendid 
 parts of an oration ; and that it ought not to be long continued lest 
 the artifice of the orator should be detected, and his aim to impress 
 his hearers defeated. 
 
 C. Uionysius, however, proceeds further than Cicero, and con- 
 trasts the harmonious examples extracted from Demosthenes, 
 with specimens adduced from the -writings of Polybius, "the 
 harshness of whose periods," he asserts, " is owing to the neglect 
 of rhythm." 
 
 Coral. 1. Therefore the melody of a language is a proof of no- 
 thing but of the fine ear of the people who use it, (lllus. Art. 11.) ; 
 other evidence is necessary to shew that it was spoken in what the 
 Italians call recitativo. 
 
 2. The py9/uoff, then, of the Greeks, and the numerus of the 
 R-omans, expressed nothing that is now either unintelligible or un- 
 known, and afford no evidence that the ancients either spoke com- 
 monly in recitative, or intermixed notes of music with the tones of 
 speech. 
 
 3. And, hence, the modern languages of Europe, abounding with 
 long and short syllables, are susceptible ofrhythm^ as well as the 
 Greek and Latin ; and the assemblages of these long and short syl- 
 lables, in what the ancients called feet, are n^t confined to the poe- 
 try of our native isles, but are actually introduced by our best pro=e 
 writers. Yet no one expects to hear the plays of Shakespeare sung, 
 and we did not hear Pitt and Sheridan speak in recitative. 
 
 14. Strong tones, and animated gestures, go al- 
 ways together ; hence action is treated by all the 
 ancient critics, as the chief quality in every public 
 speaker. 
 
 Illu-s. 1. We learn from Cicero, that it was a contest between him 
 and Roscius, whether he could express a sentiment in a greater va- 
 riety of phrases, or Roscius in a greater variety of intelligible and 
 significant gestures. 
 
 2. When gesture came to engross the Roman stage wholly, the 
 favourite entertainment of the public was pantomime, which was 
 carried on, as it stiil is, entirely by mute gesticulation. Uuder the 
 reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, the people were moved and wept 
 at it, as much as at tragedies. 
 
 Carol. All speculations concerning the fixing of a living language 
 are, therefore vain and nugatory. And when the good taste of a na- 
 tion has prevailed universally, writers of established reputation 
 become its authorities, 
 
8 Of the Progress of La 
 
 CHAPTER I!!. 
 
 OF THE PROGRESS OP LANGUAGE IN THE STYLE 
 ASD CHARACTER OF SPEECH. 
 
 15. FROM what has been said in the preceding 
 chapters, it appears that men at first uttered their 
 words, and maintained conversation, in a strong and 
 expressive manner, enforcing their imperfectly con- 
 ceived ideas by cries and gestures ; and there is abun- 
 dant evidence to shew that the language which they 
 used was little else than a torrent of figures and met- 
 aphors, not correct indeed, but forcible and pictu- 
 resque. (Art. 19. Illus.) 
 
 Carol. Figures of speech are, therefore, not the invention of orators 
 and rhetoricians ; but the language of mankind, when they had hard- 
 ly any words for expressing their meaning. 
 
 1G. The want of a distinct name for every indi- 
 vidual object, obliged the first speakers to use one 
 name for many objects. (Art. 5. Illus. and Corol.) 
 
 Carol. They would, thence, express themselves by comparison"?, 
 metaphors, allusions, and all those substituted forms of speech, 
 which render language figurative and picturesque. 
 
 17. As the names with which they were most con- 
 versant, were those of the sensible, material objects 
 around them, names would be given to those objects 
 long before words were invented for signifying the 
 dispositions of the mind, or any sort of moral or intel- 
 lectual ideas. (Art. 48.) 
 
 Corol. Hence, the early language of man being entirely made 
 up of words descriptive of sensible objects, it became, of necessity, 
 extremely metaphorical. Every desire or passion, every act or 
 fetiliiiiC of mind, to which no precise expression had been appropri- 
 ated, would be painted by allusion to those sensible objects which 
 had most relatioa to it, and which, in some manner, could render 
 it visible to others. (Art. 10.) 
 
 18. In the infancy of society, men are muck 
 under the dominion of imagination and passion: and 
 
hi the Style and Character of Speech. 9 
 
 these are the parents of a figurative style, of exag- 
 geration and hyperbole. (Art. 19. Him. 1. and 3.) 
 
 Iltus. In this period of society, men lived scattered and disper- 
 sed. They are unacquainted with (he course of things ; they are 
 daily meeting with new and strange objects. Fear arid surprise, 
 wonder and astonishment, are their most frequent passions. Their 
 language partakes of tills character of their agitated and expanding' 
 minds. They will he prone to exaggeration and hyperbole. Where 
 all is marvellous, the imagination will riot in the luxuriance of an 
 unbounded picturesque. (Art. 10. Illus.) 
 
 Carol. Wherever strong exclamations, tones and gestures, enter 
 much into conversation, the imagination is always more exercised; 
 a greater effort of fancy and passion is excited. Consequently, 
 the fancy kept awake, and rendered more sprightly by this 
 mode o-f utterance, operates upon style, and enlivens it with the 
 strongest colours, and the most vehement expressions of untamed 
 passion: (slrt. 15. Carol.) 
 
 19. Undoubted facts confirm these reasonings, 
 The style of all the earliest languages, among na- 
 tions who are in the first and rude periods of society, 
 is found, without exception, to be full of figures ; 
 and to be hyperbolical and picturesque in a high 
 degree. (Art. 5. and 10.) 
 
 Illus. 1. The American Indian languages are known to be figu- 
 rative to excess. The Iroquois aad Illinois cary on their treaties and 
 public transactions with bolder metaphors, and greater pomp of 
 style, than we use in our poetical productions-.* 
 
 2. In the Old Testament, -the best specimen of oriential style, 
 constant allusions to sensible objects characterize the language of 
 the various writer?. Thus, guilt is a spoiled garment ; iniquity is 
 ike treasures of darkness ; a sinful life is a crooked path; misery 
 drinks the cup of aston .ishm&nt ; vain persuits are seen feeding on 
 ashes; innocence is known by its while robes : wisdom is a lighted 
 candle; and royal dignity \% purple and a Brown. 
 
 3. In the poems of Ossian, too, figures of speech abound; pictur- 
 esque descriptions are as " the sons of sons'," for number ; or as 
 the heroes' u breasts of steel, 1 ' for strength of expression; or as 
 the " meteors of death," for the illusions they create in a reader's 
 mind ; and all the violent expressions of passion uttered about 
 " the white-bosomed lave of Corinac ;" or about Fingal "of the 
 noble deeds ;" him who ct flew like lightning over the heath ;" or 
 "slowly moved as a cloud of thunder, when the sultry plain of 
 summer is silent," whose " bword is before hira terrible as the 
 streaming meteor of night " confirm the position, that this sort of 
 
 * See CadwaHader Coldeu's c History of the Five Indian Nations? 
 
10 Of the Progress of Language 
 
 style is common to all nations in certain periods of society and 
 language. A narration is condensed into a fe\v striking Cir- 
 cumstances, which rouse and alarm: the account of a battle 
 is as rapid as the wounds of a warrior, and the deaths he 
 inflicts ! 
 
 20. Magnanimity and delicacy characterize strong- 
 ly the poetry of rude nations, who, in the use 
 of metaphors and similes, make little or no al- 
 lusions to the productions of the arts. (Art. 29. 
 Illus.) 
 
 Illus. Magnanimnify and delicacy are nearly, if not necessarily, 
 connected with all the strong ancfviolent emotions of the mind; 
 and these are the natural produce of an early, if not of a savage 
 state of society. Strong emotions constitute the chief ingredient 
 in magnanimity ; and it requires only one addition to give them 
 the polish of delicacy. 
 
 Corol. It is not improbable, that particular circumstances may 
 prompt the latter sentiment, long before the introduction either of 
 philosophy or of the arts. Those who are acquainted with human na- 
 ture, and the analogy which subsists among its feelings, will there- 
 fore allow the uncommon magnanimity and delicacy of Ossian, 
 ct king of songs," to be no strong objections against the antiquity 
 Qf his productions. 
 
 21. From what has been said, it plainly appears 
 that k the style of all languages must have been origin- 
 ally poetical; strongly tinctured with that enthusi- 
 asm, that descriptive metaphorical expression, and 
 that magnanimity and delicacy, which distinguish 
 poetry. (Art. 30. Illus.) 
 
 Obs. But these points will be further discussed when we come to 
 treat u of the nature and origin of poetry." 
 
 22. As language, in its progress, began to grow 
 more copious, it. gradually lost that figurative style, 
 which was its early character. (Art. 31. and 32.) 
 
 Illus. Proper and familiar names for every object, both?ensible 
 and moral, pushed out of discourse the use of circumlocutions. Sfvle 
 became more precise, and, of course, more simple, in proportion 
 as society advanced in civilization, and reason subdued the imagin- 
 ation of mankind. The exercise of the understanding now rarely 
 permitted that of the fancy ; and frequent aLd extensive intercourse 
 among mankind obliged them to signify their meaning to each 
 other by clearness of style. In place of poets, philosophers became 
 the instructors of men ; and in their reasonings on all different sub- 
 
in the Arrangement of Words in Sentences. 1 1 
 
 jecls, introduced that plainer and simpler style of composition, 
 which, at this day, we call Prose. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE, AS RESPECTS THE 
 ORDER AND ARRANGEMENT OF WORDS IN SEN- 
 TENCES. 
 
 23. THE imagination and the understanding are 
 the powers of the mind, which chiefly influence the 
 arrangement of words in sentences. The grammat- 
 ical order is dictated by the understanding ; the in- 
 verted order results from the prevalence of the im- 
 agination. (See the Theory of Arrangement, art. 
 24.) 
 
 Illus. I. In the grammatical order of words, it is required that 
 the agent or nominative shall first make its appearance ; the agent 
 is followed by the action or the verb ; and the verb is succeeded by 
 the subject or accusative, termed, in English Grammars, the ob- 
 jective case, on which the action is exerted. In this logical order, 
 an English writer, paying a compliment to a great man, would say : 
 44 It is impossible for me to pass over in silence such remarkable 
 mildness, such singular and unheard of clemency, and such unusual 
 moderation, in the exercise of supreme power." Here we have 
 first presented tons the person who speaks, u It is imposible for 
 me;" next, what that person is to do, "impossible for him to pass 
 over in silence;" and, lastly, the object which moves him to do so, 
 "the mildness, clemency, and moderation of a man in tht exercise of 
 supreme power." 
 
 2. The inverted order is prompted by the imagination, a keen 
 and sprightly faculty, which attaches itself strongly to its objects, 
 and to those the most that affect it most forcibly. A sentence con- 
 structed according to this faculty, presents the subject or accusative 
 tirst, the agent or recipient next, and the action of verb last. The 
 order of the Latin language gratifies the rapidity of the imagina- 
 tion ; and accordingly, Cicero, from whom we have translated the 
 words in the former illustration, follows the natural order : " Tan- 
 tarn mansuetudinem, tarn inusitatem inauditamque elementiam tan- 
 turnque in summa potentate rerum omnium modum, tacitus nullo 
 
1$ Of the Progress of Language 
 
 modo practerire possum*." The object, that which was the ex- 
 citing idea in the speaker's mind, is placed first, and the senteace 
 concludes with the speaker and hi? action. 
 
 3. The other parts of speech, consistino- of adjectives, adverbs, 
 conjunctions, and prepositions, are in both those modes of arrange- 
 ment, intermixed with these capital parts, and are associated with 
 them respectively according as they are necessary to restrict or 
 explain them. 
 
 24. From these illustrations, the following simple 
 and natural theory results, relative to the arrange- 
 ment of words in sentences, unless their order be dis- 
 turbed by considerations respecting melody and ca- 
 dence, of which we shall hereafter take notice ; that 
 in all periods of society, and in all countries in 
 which men are guided more by the influence of ima- 
 gination, than by the cool dictates of reason, lan- 
 guage adopts an inverted order or arrangement; but 
 that inversion is diminished in proportion as imagina- 
 tion subsides, and reason gains the ascendant ; and 
 that among people addicted to research and philoso- 
 phical investigation, it in a great measure disappears. 
 (Art. 30. Illus.) 
 
 Obs. We have seen that the arrangement in a Latin sentence is 
 the more animated ; the English construction is more clear and dis- 
 tinct. The Romans generally arranged their words according to 
 the order in which the ideas rose in the imagination : we marshal 
 them according to the order in which the understanding directs 
 those ideas to be exhibited in succession, to the view of another. 
 
 Corol. Our arrangement, therefore, appears to be the conse- 
 quence of greater refinement in the art of speech ; as far as 
 clearness in communication is understood to be the end of speech. 
 
 25. In the early periods of society, and even in 
 the early part of life, we observe the mind disposed 
 to inversion ; because in these times the imagination 
 is more vivid and active, and the powers of reason 
 are more languid and ineffectual. (Art. 30.) 
 
 Illus. If a person of a warm imagination, a savage or a child, be- 
 held an object, suppose any kind of fruit, as an acorn, which he 
 was anxious to possess, and to obtain it, he were to express himself 
 in the order prompted by the immediate feelings of his mind; the 
 
 Orat. pro. Marcell. 
 
in the Arrangement of Words in Sentences. 13 
 
 first thing that would excite his attention, nnd which, consequently, ' 
 he would first name, is the acorn ; himself, who was to enjoy the 
 fruit, would next engage his attention; and the action that which 
 was to gratify his wishes would finally attract his consideration, 
 His arrangement would therefore be that, which, in similar cases 
 is authorized by the sprightly languages of Greece and Rome, 
 ii ^AAJtvcv fAoi <Tc?," a Glandem mihi prtebe ;" not that which the 
 more phlegmatic and philosophical tongue? of modern Europe 
 would require, and which the strict grammatical order of our own 
 language demands " Give me the acorn ;" or "Give the acorn to 
 me.'' 
 
 26. -Though the vivacity of the genius of the 
 Greeks and Romans, might incline them to prefer 
 the poetical and inverted arrangement of their words, 
 they owed to the structure of their languages, the 
 possibility of indulging this disposition. 
 
 Illus. The numerous inflections of their declinable parts of 
 speech ; the correspondence, for example, between the verb and 
 its nominative, so obviously pointed out by the terminations of the 
 former, as to supersede, inmost cases, the necessity, and even the 
 propriety of using the latter ; the palpable relation between the ad- 
 jective and the substantive, indicated by the invariable agreement 
 of the former with the latter, in gender, number, and case ; the va- 
 rious cases of their substantives, which, on many occasions, suppli- 
 ed the place of prepositions ; all contributed to leave the Greeks 
 and Romans at liberty to gratify their feelings, or to consult the 
 melody of their periods, by the arrangement of their words in sen- 
 tences, without incurring the risk of diminishing the perspicuity of 
 their compositions. 
 
 27. The inflections of the modern languages <are 
 few, and preclude the arrangement which the tongues 
 of antiquity found so much to the gratification of the 
 imagination and of the ear. And hence the first rule 
 of good writing or speaking, is, to preserve perspi- 
 cuity, which on no account can be sacrificed to any 
 secondary consideration. 
 
 Obs. This indispensible law demands, that the arrangement of 
 modern languages, should proceed nearly in the grammatical order ; 
 because juxta-position is almost the only means by which they can 
 imitate the mutual relation of the several words in a sentence to one 
 another. 
 
 28. All the cultivated modern languages, the 
 French, the Italian, the Spanish, the German, and 
 
Of (he Progress of Language 
 
 the -English, are extremely circumscribed in point of 
 inflection ; but the English more than any of the rest. 
 There is not, perhaps, to be found in any age, a pol- 
 ished language of greater simplicity, the Hebrew itself 
 not exec pled. 
 
 I lli>s. We have no genders but those of nature, the .male and the 
 frinale ; cu? substantives have no more cases than two; and only a 
 few of our pronouns have three : oilr adjectives have neither gender, 
 nor number, nor case ; and all the infections of our verbs, do not 
 perhaps exceed half a dozen. 
 
 Ohs. In point of precision and accuracy, our own language, in the 
 hands of a writer of genius, appears to be superior to the Latin, and 
 r-qual to the Greek. The great end of language is to communicate 
 ht with ease and expedition, for the improvement and happi- 
 ness of human life ; and, considering the importance of this commu- . 
 nication, the language which is least liable to equivocation, is a most 
 valuable acquisition. For the purposes Of business, and the research- 
 es of philosophy, our own language merits every praise ; and though 
 interior to the language of Greece and Home, in works addressed 
 to the irna initiation and the heart, it yields to neither of them, nor to 
 any modern language, in its qualifications to do justice to the most 
 kublime conceptions on the capital subjects of genius. 
 
 29. The prevalence of imagination and passion in 
 the early stages of society, accounts also, satisfacto- 
 rily, for the poetical inversions of style, which are 
 found in these periods, and, of course, for the priority 
 of poetry to prose compositions. (Art. 21. and 22.) 
 
 Illus. The attachment of love, gratitude to a deliverer, or to the 
 with whom the creed of infant society replenished the skies, 
 admiration of the works of nature, in the splendour of summer, or 
 the grandeur of winter, in the beauties of spring, or the abundance of 
 autumn, would early prompt the sentiments and language of poetry. 
 The invention of versification woulc! quickly follow the possession of 
 poetical ideas ; and its apparent ingenuity would contribute to its re- 
 rommendation. Though it is a mope artificial mode of expression 
 than prose, yet it is not to be doubted that it was first introduced ; 
 and the history of Homer's composition*, or the Poems of Ossian, in- 
 duce a belief that it preceded even writing. (Art. 23. Illus. 1. 
 and 3-, atso Art. 33.) 
 
 30. Though poetry is the more artificial mode of 
 composition^ it is not perhaps the more difficult. 
 Composition in prose could not be well executed, till 
 writing was invented : and writing is ^.modern iiwen- 
 
in the Arrangement of Words in Senten'ces. 15 
 
 tlon, in comparison of speaking. The appearance of 
 good prose, is therefore posterior to that of good 
 poetry ; and excellence in the former, is among the 
 latest attainments of polished nations. Good poetry 
 is perfectly consistent \rith no high degree of precis- 
 ion of thought, or accuracy of expression. (Art. 20. 
 Cor.) 
 
 llbis. The period most favourable: for porfica! exertions, i? situ- 
 ated betiveen the decline of the .. !u< nee of the powers of 
 imagination on society, and the general cultivation of the faculty of 
 reason, by science and philosophy : it is then that the poet has the 
 best chance of possessing the greatest compound quantity of the pow- 
 ers of imagination and judgment he can ever attain. Such, it 
 seems, were the periods which produced Homer, Virgil, and Milton, 
 ' (Art. 22. 'fttw.) 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 3.1. From what has been said in the preceding 
 chapters, a foundation has been laid for many obser- 
 vations, both curious and useful. It appears, that 
 language was, at first, barren in words, but descrip- 
 tive by the sound of those words ; and expressive in 
 the manner of uttering them, by the aid of significant 
 tones and gestures. Style was figurative and poeti- 
 cal ; arrangement was fanciful and lively. In all the 
 successive changes which language has undergone, 
 as the world advanced, the understanding has gained 
 ground on the fancy and imagination. The progress 
 iguage, in this respect, resembles the progress 
 man. The imagination is most vigorous 
 ,'redominant in youth ; with advancing years, the 
 imagination cools, and the understanding ripens. 
 
 . Thus language, proceeding from sterility to 
 usness, hath, at the same time, proceeded from 
 vivacity to accuracy ; from the fire of poetical enthu.- 
 siasm, to the coolness of philosophical precision* 
 Those characters of early language, descriptive 
 sound, vehement tones and gestures, figurative style, 
 and inverted arrangement, all hang together, have 
 
16 Of the Progress of Language* 
 
 a mutual relation on each other : and have all 
 ally given place to arbitrary sounds, calm pro- 
 nunciation, simple style, plain arrangement. Lan- 
 guage is become, in modern times, more correct in- 
 deed, and accurate; but less striking and animated : 
 in its ancient state, more favourable to poetry and 
 oratory : to its p rsent, more adapted to reason and 
 philosophy. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 OF THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF WRITING, 
 
 33. NEXT to speech, WRITING is, beyond doubt, 
 the most useful art which men possess. It is plainly 
 on improvement upon spoken language, and there- 
 fore must have been posterior to it in order of time. 
 
 Illus. At first, men thought of nothing more than communicating 
 their thoughts to one another, when present, by means of words, 
 or sound.?, which they uttered. Afterwards, they devised, by means 
 of marks or characters, presented to the eye, and which we call 
 writing, this further method, when absent, of mutual communication 
 one with another, 
 
 34. Written characters are of two sorts: they are 
 either signs for things, or signs for words. The pic- 
 tures, hieroglyphics, and symbols, employed by the 
 ancient nations, are signs, of things* and belong to 
 the former r lass : the alphabetical characters, now 
 en:- ployed by all the Europeans, are signs for words. 
 and belong to the latter class. 
 
 . Picture's wen?, undoubtedly, th- '!'- writing 
 
 frail*.?: -J to man ; children copy or trace the likeness or" 
 
 ec <. c , bt'forc lU-y <:uii signify the mr 
 
 written character?. The savage, to intimate that his faliier had van- 
 quished an enemy, would draw the figure of one m-ui stretched upon 
 the earth and of 'another standing over him with a i -pori iu 
 
 .;:'xuma, their 
 the bay of Can)! 
 
' Of the Origin mid Progress of Writing. 17 
 
 scratched pictures of the men, horses, and a r tillcry that they had 
 seen, and conveyed these to their monarch. The chieftain under- 
 stood them, and immediately dispatched an embassy to meet the 
 Spanish commander. 
 
 Obs. "Historical pictures are, however, but extremely imperfect 
 records of important transactions. They do, indeed, delineate 
 eyternal events; but they cannot transmit their memory through a 
 long succession of as^es ; and they fail entirely to exhibit such qual- 
 ities as are most viable to the eye, or to convey, by description, 
 any idea of the dispositions or words of men. 
 
 35. This rude attempt towards writing, was, in 
 process of time, improved by the invention of what 
 are called hieroglyphical characters. These may be 
 considered as the second stage in the art of writing 
 as they represented intellectual conceptions, or those 
 not suggested by any external or visible object?* 
 The analogy or resemiance which such symbols were 
 supposed to bear to the objects, was conventional, but 
 liable to forced and ambiguous allusions. 
 
 I lias. Thus an eye was the hieroglyhic symbol of Lnowlc^e ; a 
 circle, of eltrnily^ which has n-cither beginning nor end ; 
 was denomiated by a viper; imprudencd, by a/';/; uisdoin,, by an 
 ant; victory, by a hawk; a dutiful child, by a stork] and a icnirii 
 a man universally shunned by an ee/, which is not to be found in 
 company with other fishes. 
 
 Carol. But these .properties of objects were merely imaginary; 
 and the conjunction, or compounding of the cai acters, rendered 
 them obscure, and expressed indistinctly the connections and rela- 
 tions of the objects which they represented. Hence, this * pecies of 
 \vriting could be no other than enigmatical, and confused in the 
 highest degree ; and must have been a very imperfect vehicle of 
 knowledge of any kind. 
 
 Obs. Therein no reason however to suppose that the priests of 
 Egypt, among whom hieroglyphical characters were first found, and 
 who were also the instructors of their countrymen, introduced and 
 employed them for the purpose of concealing their knowledge from 
 the vulgar. The latter arc little troublesome about the acquisition 
 of useful knowledge in any state of society; and the former were 
 too enlightened not to know, that one of the principal pleasures and 
 honours attending the possession of knowledge, is to instruct oth- 
 ers. 
 
 36. As writing advanced, from pictures of visible 
 objects, to hieroglyphics, or symbols of things invis- 
 ible ; from these latter, it advanced, among some na- 
 tions, to simple arbitrary marks > which stood for ob- 
 
18 Of the Progress of Writing 
 
 jects, but without any resemblance or analogy to the 
 objects signified. 
 
 Illus. 1. Of this nature, was the method of writing practised a- 
 niong 1 the Peruvians. They'made u?e of small cords of different col- 
 ours ; and upon these, by means of knots of various sizes, and differ- 
 ently ranged, they contrived signs for giving information, and com- 
 municating their thoughts to one another ; but this invention afford- 
 ed less security against freqnent and gross mistakes, than the hiero- 
 glyphic architypes of abstract ideas. (Carol. Art. 35.) 
 
 2. The use of hieroglyphical characters still exists in China, 
 where they have been brought to greater perfection than in any 
 other quarter of the globe. But every idea is expressed by a sepa- 
 rate character. The characters, it is said, amount to upwards of 
 70,000. An acquaintance with the means of communicating knowl- 
 edge, is, therefore, the business of a whole life, and must greatly re- 
 tard the progress of all science. In short, science in China is always 
 in a state of infancy. 
 
 3. Our arithmetical figures, which we have derived from the Ara- 
 bians, are significant marks, precisely of the same nature with the 
 Chinese characters. They have no dependence on words; but 
 each figure denotes an object ; denotes the number for which it 
 stands, (lilus. 5.) 
 
 4. The Japanese, the Tonqmnese, and the Coraeans, speak differ- 
 ent languages from one another, and from the inhabitants of China, 
 bul use, with these last people, the same written characters ; a 
 proof that the Chinese characters are like hieroglyphics, indepen- 
 dent of language. 
 
 5. fn like manner the Italians, French, Spaniards, and English, 
 speak different languages, but the Arabic characters 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. 
 are, on being presented to the eye, equally understood by those four 
 nations, as" signs of things, not of words. Thus, 4 may be four 
 ships) four men, four trees, four years ; in short four things. (Illus. 3.) 
 
 37. A combination of sounds forms, in various 
 ways, all the variety' of words in spoken language. 
 These sounds are few, and are continually recurring 
 for repetition in discourse. They would lead to the 
 invention of an alphabet of syllables. A sign, or 
 mark, for each of these syllables, would form an al- 
 phabet of letters. The number of these marks, or 
 characters, would be equal to the number of sounds* 
 or syllables. These sounds reduced to their simple 
 elements of a few vowels and consonants, indicated 
 l>y a particular sign to each, would form what we 
 now coll letters. Some happy genius taught men 
 
in the -Invention of an Alphabet. 19 
 
 how, by the combinations of these letters, to put in 
 writing all the different words, or associations of 
 sound, which were employed in speech. 
 
 Qhs. Such seem to have been the introductory steps to the art ot 
 writing ; but the darkness of remote antiquity has concealed the 
 great inventor's name of this sublime and refined discovery, and de- 
 prived him of those honours which, were it known, would still be 
 paid to his memory, by all the lovers of knowledge and learning. 
 
 38. The universal tradition among the ancients is, 
 that letters w,ere first imported into Greece by Cad- 
 mus, the Phoenician, at least 3000 years ago ; and 
 from Greece dispersed over the western part of the 
 world. The alphabet of Cadmus consisted only of 
 sixteen letters, but it comprehended all the original 
 sounds, which are said to be only thirteen. The re- 
 maining letters were afterwards added, according as 
 signs for proper sounds were said to be wanting. 
 
 Illus. The Roman alphabet, which obtains with us, and with 
 most of the European nations, is, with a few variations, evidently 
 formed on that of the Greeks. And nil learned men observe, that 
 the Greek characters especially, according to the manner in which 
 they are formed in the oldest inscriptions, have a remarkable con- 
 formity to the Hebrew or Samaritan characters, which, it is agreed, 
 are the same with the Phoenician or alphabet of Cadmus. 
 
 39. The most ancient method of writing seems to 
 have been in lines running from right to left. This 
 method is still retained in the Hebrew language. 
 
 Obs. The Greeks improved upon this method, and wrote in lines 
 alternately from the right to the left, which was called Bouslrophe- 
 don ; or writing after the manner in which oxen plough the ground. 
 About the time of Solon, the Athenian legislator, the custom is 
 said to have been introduced, and which still prevails, of writing in, 
 lines from left to right. 
 
 40. The writing of antiquity was a species of en- 
 graving. Pillars, and tables of stone, were first em- 
 ployed for this purpose, and afterwards, plates of 
 the softer metals, such as lead ; or tables-of wax and 
 skins of parchment. A polished point of iron called 
 a stilus was used to scratch letters on the wax; but 
 the writing on parchment was performed with pen 
 and ink. (Art. 41. Illus. I. and 2.) 
 
20 Comparison of spoken with written Language. 
 
 Obs. 1. On the parchment were written books and records, and 
 every kind of composition which its author wished to preserve ; on 
 the tablets of wax temporary matters of business, and epistles that 
 were not designed for the inspection of a third person's eyes. The 
 writing on parchment was the most expensive, but the most perma- 
 nent ; that on wax, the cheapest and readiest, but the least dura- 
 ble. (Illus. 1. Art. 41.) 
 
 2. Our present method of writing on paper, is an invention of no 
 higher antiquity than the 14th century ; and the invention of print- 
 ing was reserved for an obscure monk in the beginning of the 15th. 
 This inventor might probably receive a hint toward this invention, 
 from the Roman practice of carving letters on boards of wood, and 
 of employing them to abridge the trouble of writing', by stamping 
 names and inscriptions on parchment and wax. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A COMPARISON 
 
 OF SPOKEN WITH WRITTEN LANGUAGE; 
 
 OR 
 
 Of Words uttered in our hearing, zoith Words repre- 
 sented to the Eye. 
 
 41. THE advantages of writing above speech are, 
 that writing is both a more extensive, and a more 
 permanent method of communicating our thoughts to 
 mankind. 
 
 Illus. 1. More extensive, as it is not confined within the narrow 
 circle of those who hear our words ; but, by means of written char- 
 acters, we can send our thoughts abroad, and propagate them 
 through the world ; we can thus lift our voice, so as to speak to 
 those to whom, in our own country, we may not have access, and 
 to men of the most distant regions of the earth. (Obs. 1. Art. 40.) 
 
 2. More permanent also, as it prolongs the voice to the most dis- 
 tant ages ; and gives us the means of recording- our sentiments to 
 futurity, and of perpetuating the instructive memory of past trans- 
 actions. (Obs. 2. Art. 40.) 
 
 3. It likewise affords this advantage to snch as read, above such 
 as hear, that having the written characters before their eyes, they 
 can arrest the sense of the writer ; they can pause and resolve, and 
 compare at their leisure, one passage with another ; whereas the 
 voice is fugitive in passing ; you must catch the words the 
 
 thej are uttered, or you lose them for ever. 
 
Comparison of spoken with written Language, 21 
 
 42. But although these be so great advantages of 
 .. written language, that speech, without writing, would 
 have been very inadequate for the instruction of man- 
 kind : yet we must not forget to observe, that spoken 
 language has a great superiority over written lan- 
 guage, in point of energy and force. 
 
 Jllus. I. The voice<)f the living speaker makes an impression on 
 the mind, much stronger than can be made by the perusal of any 
 writing. 
 
 2. The tones of the voice, the looks and gestures, which accom- 
 pany discourse, and which no writing can convey, render speech, 
 when it is ingeniously managed, infinitely more clear, and more ex- 
 pressive than the most accurate writing. For tones, looks, and ges- 
 tures, are natural interpreters of the mind. They remove ambi- 
 guities they enforce expressions they operate on us by means of 
 Sympathy. 
 
 3. And sympathy is one of the most powerful instruments of per- 
 suasion. Our sympathy is always awakened more by hearing the 
 speaker, than by reading his works in our closet. 
 
 Carol. Hence, though writing may answer the purposes of mere 
 instruction, as the symbolical language of Algebra does the mathe- 
 maticial science all the great and high efforts of eloquence must be 
 made by means of spoken, not of written, language : and thus have 
 we traced from their origin, through different stages of improve- 
 ment, language and style as the foundation of eloquence 
 
OF THE STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE: Oil 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF GENERAL GRAM- 
 MAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE SEVERAL PARTS OF WHICH SPEECH OR 
 LANGUAGE IS COMPOSED. 
 
 43. THE structure of language is extremely artifi- 
 cial ; and there are few sciences in which a deeper, 
 or more refined logic is employed, than in grammar. 
 
 Obs. Without discussing the niceties of language in the several 
 parts of speech of which it is composed, we shall- now take a popu- 
 lar, but philosophical view of the chief-principles, and component 
 parts of speech, as far as they are necessary to illustrate general. 
 grammar, and to ascertain the maxims of correct taste and elegant 
 composition. 
 
 44. The essential parts of speech are the same in 
 all languages. There must ever be some words 
 which denote the names of objects, or mark the sub- 
 ject of discourse ; other words, which denote the 
 qualities of those objects, and express what we a 
 concerning them : and other words, which point out 
 their connexions and relations. 
 
 Cor. The most simple and comprehensive division of the parts of 
 speech, is, therefore, into substantives, attributives, and connectives. 
 
 45. The common division, or arrangement of all 
 the words of our own language, comprises the 
 
 ARTICLE, 
 
 NOUN, 
 
 PRONOUN, 
 
 VERB, 
 
 PARTICIPLE, 
 
 ADVERB, 
 
 PREPOSITION, 
 
 INTERJECTION, 
 
 CONJUNCTION: 
 
 Ot.>\ But the following paragraph will instruct us to dire* 
 attention chiefly to the noun and the verb, as a few observations 
 
The Principles of general Grammar. 23 
 
 will illustrate those other parts of speech, to which our ears have 
 been familiarized. 
 
 46. Every thing about which our minds can be 
 employed in thinking, every thing which can be the 
 subject of our knowledge, must relate to substances 
 that exist, eithep in reality, or in the imagination ; 
 or to actions, operations, and energies, which these 
 substances produce on themselves, or on one another. 
 
 Corol. Language communicates knowledge ; its divisions of 
 words, therefore, correspond with the divisions of our knowledge ; 
 its chief business is consequently reduced to two heads : 
 
 First, to exhibit names for all the substances with which we are 
 acquainted, that we may be able to distinguish and recognize them, 
 when they are mentioned by ourselves or others : and 
 
 Secondly, to denote the actions, operations, and energies, which 
 these substances generate upon themselves, or on one another. 
 
 47. NAMES are expressed by what grammarians 
 call Nouns ; OPERATIONS are denoted by what they 
 call Verbs : the other parts of speech explain, modify, 
 extend, restrict, connect, or disjoin, the noun and the 
 verb. 
 
 Cor. The two former are, therefore, the essential ingredients, or 
 the columns of language ; the latter are only occasional ingredients, 
 or appendages of these pillars of the fabric. (Art. 44.) 
 
 48. The first process in the communication of 
 knowledge is to contrive names for all the substances 
 about which our knowledge is conversant, and by 
 common consent to impose the same names on the 
 same substances. (Art. 17 and 18.) 
 
 Illus. As substantives are the ground-work of all language, a Jan*- 
 guage is perfect in respect of them, when a name has been given to 
 every material or immaterial substance about which the people who 
 use the language have occasion to speak or write. As their knowl- 
 edge enlarges^ as. they obtain more ideas of substances than thuy 
 have names to express, new names will be imposed on these new 
 substances, which will consequently throw into their vocabulary as 
 many new substantives, as may render their language adequate to 
 the purposes of ready communication.. 
 
 Corol. Hence, if every su.bstance in nature required a particular 
 name to distinguish it from all other substances ; every mineral, 
 plant, animal, and every part of every animal, should obtain a dis- 
 "tinct name, which would increase the substantives of a language 
 
24 Classification of Substantives into Genera, &c. 
 
 beyond all compulation. But nature has reduced her productions 
 into classes : the individuals of every class, resemble one another, in 
 many particulars ; and therefore it is that language hath not as- 
 signed a name to every substance. Even her different classes are 
 formed with some common properties ; and thus, in some particu- 
 lars, the different classes resemble one another. Thus, the generic 
 word plant, expresses the common qualities of all vegetables ; ani- 
 mal, the common qualities of all living creatures. 
 
 49. These GENERA are divided into what we terra 
 species, and these species are again divided into infe- 
 rior species, or become genera to other species. 
 
 Illus. Thus, the word plant is a general term, which indicates 
 trees, shrubs, grasses, and all vegetables which spring from a root, 
 and bear branches and leaves. And under the comprehensive term 
 animal, we range men, horses, lions, sheep, and, in short, all living 
 creatures. But trees are again divided into oaks, pines, palms ; 
 and men into white, black, tawny, &c. 
 
 50. This arrangement abridges the number of 
 nouns, and gives names only to classes of substances, 
 compelling one name to point out a whole class. 
 
 Illus. Thus, tree expresses a whole genus of plants ; each of the 
 words oak, pine, palm, denotes a whole species. But language 
 stoops not to give a name to ever}- oak, .and she hath left it to be- 
 ings of a sentient nature, to particularize each other. (Carol, dirt* 
 48.) 
 
 51. To characterise individuals by names, lan- 
 guage departs from its ordinary analogy. 
 
 Illus. This necessity a mere refinement in the communication of 
 thought extends to countries and cities, to all the individuals ojf 
 the human race, and sometimes to the inferior animals. 
 
 For example : Italy, Rome; Greece, Athens ; Alexander, Bu- 
 cephalus, are all individuals ; and the particular names which we 
 appropriate to each of them, prevents ambiguous and disagreea- 
 ble circumlocutions, or descriptions, to make it known. 
 
 52. We deduce, from these observations, the 
 meaning of the grammatical division of nouns into 
 COMMON and PROPER. The COMMON NOUNS are, (by 
 the Illustration to Article 50) the names of classes of 
 individuals. The PROPER NOUNS, (by the Illustra- 
 tion and Example of Article 51), are all names of in- 
 dividuals. 
 
 53. The noun tree denotes any individual of the 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 2j 
 
 whole species in the singular number; and, in the 
 plural, all the individuals of the species. Alexander, 
 on the contrary, is a particular name, and is restrict- 
 ed to distinguish him alone. 
 
 Jllus. On this principle, are all common nouns susceptible of nuih- 
 ber, singular or plural, as they denote one, or more than one, of a 
 species ; and hence, alto, it appears plain, why proper nouns do not 
 take a plural form, except in some instances, when they express 
 more than one individual of a species, and of the same name ; as 
 " the twelve Caesars," u the Henries of England." 
 
 Carol. The only nouns of language are, therefore, common nouns ; 
 proper nouns being local and occasional, appropriated to persona 
 and places, make no part of general communication. (Compare 
 Art. 52. and the Jllus. to Art. 50 and 51.) 
 
 54. NUMBER, which distinguishes objects as singly 
 or collectively, must have been coeval with the very 
 infancy of language, because there were few things 
 which men had more frequent occasion to express, 
 than the difference between one and many. 
 
 Obs. The distinctions of number are sonified, in most languages, 
 by some change in the terminations of the nouns, and it purely 
 happens that the change is extended further than to denote, wheth- 
 er one individual, or all the individuals of the species, be under- 
 stood. The Greek dual is not more necessary for the purposes of 
 communication, than a triple, a quadruple, a centuple, or any- 
 other plural number, where the richness of a language would fur- 
 nish it, to denote a given number of individuals of the species. 
 
 55. Substantives are susceptible of other conco- 
 mitant circumstances, besides their capacity to de- 
 note difference of number. These circumstances are 
 the variations of the terminations, and are called 
 CASES. 
 
 Illus. 1. This peculiarity of substantives or nouns, is a necessary 
 provision for expressing the circumstances attending them, and has 
 been accomplished in two ways, either by varying their termina- 
 tions, or by preferring auxiliary words. The ancient languages 
 employed the former of these methods ; the modern languages ac- 
 complish the same end, by prefixing particles or prepositions. 
 
 2. These methods are perhaps nearly equal, in respect of per- 
 spicuity ; but that of antiquity is preferable, in point of melody. 
 Particles and prepositions aro mostly monosyllables, and the fre* 
 quency with which they must be used, impairs the modulation of 
 language. 
 
 D 
 
26 Of Gender and Number. 
 
 3. The Greek language has five cases in the singular, two in the 
 dual, and Tour in the plural number. 
 
 4. The Latin tongue has sometimes six, but generally five, in 
 the singular, and lour in the plural. 
 
 5. No cases appear in the Italian, the French, and the Spanish 
 languages ; and there are not more than two in (he English. 
 
 56. GENDER, another peculiarity of substantive 
 nouns, in the grammatical structure of language, a- 
 rises out of the difference of sex, discernible only in 
 animals* It will therefore admit of two varieties, the 
 MASCULINE and FEMINIZE genders, agreeably to the 
 distinction of living creatures into male and female. 
 All other substantive nouns ought to belong to what 
 grammarians call the neuter gender, which is a nega- 
 tion of the other two. * 
 
 Illus. 1. In the structure of language, a remarkable singularity 
 hath obtained with respect to this distribution. In most languages, 
 men have ranked a great number of inanimate objects under the 
 distinctions of masculine and feminine. This is lemarkably the 
 case in the Greek and Latin languages, which admit this capricious 
 assignation of sex to inanimate objects, from no other principle 
 than the casual structure of those languages, which refer to a cer- 
 tain gender, words of a certain termination; yet even termination 
 <}oes not always govern this distribution into masculine and femi- 
 nine, but many nouns in those languages are classed, where all of 
 them ought to have been classed, under the neuter gender. 
 
 2. In the French and Italian tongues, the neuter gender is whol- 
 ly unknown ; and all their names of inanimate objects are put upon 
 the same footing with living creatures, and distributed, without 
 exception, into masculine and feminine. 
 
 3. In the English language, there obtains a peculiarity quite op- 
 posite. In the English, when we use common discourse, all sub- 
 stantive nouns, that are not names of living creatures, are neuter 
 without exception. He^ she, t/, are the marks of tlu- three gen- 
 ders; arid we always use i7, in speaking of any object where there 
 is no sex, or where the sex is not known. In this respect, our own 
 language is pre-eminently philosophical in the application of its 
 genders, or of those words which mark the real distinctions of male 
 and female. Yet the genius of the language permits us, whenever 
 it will add beauty to our discourse, to make the names of inani- 
 mate objects masculine or feminine in a metaphorical sense ; and 
 when we do so, we are understood to quit the literal style, and to 
 ue what is termed a figure of speech. By this means, we have it 
 in our power to vary our style at pleasure. By making a very 
 slight alteration, we can personify any object we choose to intro- 
 duce with dignity ; and by this change of manner, we give warn- 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 27 
 
 in? that we are passing, from the strict and logical, to the orna- 
 mental, rhetorical style. 
 
 4. Of this advantage, not only every poet, but every good wri- 
 ter and speaker in prose, avails himself ; and it is an advantage 
 peculiar to our own tongue; no other language possesses it. Eve- 
 ry word in other languages has one fixed gender, masculine, femi* 
 nine, or neuter, which cannot on any occasion he chansred : APSTC, 
 ibr instance, in Greek; virtus in Latin; and la rerlu in French ; 
 are uniformly feminine. She. rnut al \vavs be the pronoun answer- 
 in.c: to the word, whether you be \vrii in;; in poetry or in prose, 
 whether you he using the style of reasoning, or that of declama- 
 tion ; whereas, in English, we can either express ourselves with the 
 philosophical accuracy of giving no gender to things inanimate ; or, 
 by giving them gender, and transforming them into persons, we 
 adapt them to the style of poetry, and, when it is proper, we en- 
 liven prose. 
 
 5. On this general principle, we give the masculine gender to 
 those substantive noims used figuratively, which are conspicuous 
 for the attributes of imparting or commimicating ; which are by 
 nature strong and efficacious, either to good or evil, or which have 
 a claim to some eminence, whether laudable or not. Those again 
 we make feminine, which are conspicuous for the attributes of con- 
 taining and of bringing forth, which have more of the passive in 
 their nature, than of the active ; which are peculiarly beautiful or 
 amiable ; or winch have respect to such excesses, as are rather 
 feminine than masculine. 
 
 57. ARTICLES arc little words prefixed to substan- 
 tives, or to other parts of speech, used as substan- 
 tives, to enlarge or circumscribe their meaning. 
 
 Illus. I. When we survey any object we never saw before, or 
 ?peak about an object with winch we are not intimately acquaint* 
 cd, the first thing which we do to distinguish or ascertain it, K to 
 refer to its species, or to class it with some other objects of its spe- 
 cie, of which we have, some knowledge. (./?//. 49. Jllus.) 
 
 Jl.r.cf.mple. VYe would Fay, a tree, a house, a horse, a man, when 
 we wished to denote any individual of these classes which we had 
 never seen before, and of which, from its appearance, wo knew 
 nothing, hut its specie*. These objects are individuals of the spe- 
 cies called trees, //or.sr,?, houses, or men ; and must therefore pos- 
 sess the common qualities of their respective species. (Art. 50, 
 Illus.} 
 
 !2. But, on surveying 1 the same objects a. second tirm, and recol- 
 lecting our former acquaintance, with them, or their own particular 
 properties, we would not express? -mr sentiments of them in the 
 same language, in which we did at r a t. Besides referring them 
 to their specif??, we would now signify {he additional ideas of hav- 
 ing formerly seen them, and of having been made acquainted with 
 
28 Of Articles. Pronouns, and Adjectives. 
 
 their nature, or distinction ; and would therefore employ the fol- 
 lowing phraseology " the tree, //-^ house, t/ie horse, the mun. 
 
 Corol. 1. The article a is called indefinite, because it refers the 
 object to its specif s only, and denotes our conceptions of h no fur- 
 ther tii an the common qualities of the specie? extend. 
 
 . The article t'ie is called definite, because it discriminates 'he 
 object to which H i.* prefixed, from all others of the same species, and 
 denotes our previous acquaintance with it, or its own particular 
 characteristics. 
 
 58. PKONOUXS are the class of words most nearly 
 related to substantive nouns ; being, as their name 
 imports, representatives, or substitutes, of nouns. 
 
 lllus. /, tkou, he. she, it, are pronouns, and they are no other 
 i 'han an abridged way of naming the persons or objects with which 
 *ve have immediate intercourse, or to which, in discourse, we are 
 ! 'n>quently obliged to refer. 
 
 Corol. They are thence, with substantive nouns, subject to the 
 *-rn modifications of number, gender, and case. 
 
 Obx. 1. As the pronouns of the first and second person refer to 
 persons who are present to each other when they speak, their sex 
 must appear, and therefore needs not to be marked by a masculine 
 or feminine pronoun. But as the third person may be ab?*?nt, or un- 
 known, the distinction offender there becomes necessary ; and ac- 
 ^ordingiy. ?n English, the third person hath a!l the three genders be- 
 :. -rising to it ; he, she, it. 
 
 '2. In English, most of our grammarians hold the personal pro- 
 
 t-.> have two cases, besides the nominative : a possessive or 
 
 >, and an accusative /, mine, me; than, tkine., t'.'ee ; he, 
 
 im; who, .*/;/$, whom; ice, ours, us; ye, yours, you; they, 
 
 ADJECTIVES, or terms of quality, suo-h as 
 --.'//. little, black, white, are the plainest and sim- 
 plest ot' all that class of words which are termed at- 
 n-irMitive. (Art. 44 Corol.) 
 
 1. Tlvy arf j ibivnd in all languages ; and, in all lang-uagee, 
 been very early invented, as objects could not be di-tio- 
 ;::.ji=hi."i from one another, nor coukl any inlc rcourse bo carried on 
 .'-r.cerning them, till names were given to their different qualities. 
 
 :; adjectives and participles there is no difference, ex~- 
 ftft.r"; alun^ with their primary aignification, denote the 
 idea of time. Both serve to notify the qualities or attri- 
 -. ati-} to define and illustrate the meaning of substantives. 
 v>. V res which" demote qualities susc'eptible of augmen- 
 
 !ul aiinost all the qualities which are so, are 
 rison. 
 i I'l.ou^h the de-ireee of augmentation of which a quality is 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 2& 
 
 eeptible, may be almost infinite, yet the framers of languages have 
 been content with parking two stages only of these degrees. 
 
 5. By the former is signified that of two quantities compared, one 
 is greater than the other ; by the latter is understood, that of any 
 larger number of qualities than two compared, one is the greatest 
 among them. 
 
 6. The- ancient languages express their degrees of comparison, 
 chiefly by adding terminations to the adjectives ; the modern lan- 
 guages, incline more to signify them by auxiliary words. 
 
 60. The VERB is by far the most complex of the 
 whole class of words which are called attributive. 
 The chief characteristic of the verb is action or en- 
 ergy. The combination of ideas which it is thence 
 employed to express, unavoidably renders it the 
 most intricate of all the parts of speech. 
 
 Carol. Verbs, therefore, from their importance and necessity in 
 speech, must have been coeval with men's first attempts towards 
 the formation of language. (Art. 54.) 
 
 61. Of the various circumstances which must be 
 communicated by the word denoting action, the chief 
 refer to time and manner. 
 
 Illus. In relating an action it is requisite to notify whether it is 
 finished, is finishing, or will be finished. And it i.s no less important 
 to communicate also the manner in which the action has been per- 
 formed, is performing, or will be performed. Whether the agent 
 operated with deliberation, confidence, and resolution, or with em- 
 barrassment, hesitation, and suspicion ; whether he commanded the 
 performance of the action, or signified only his Inclination that it 
 should be performed. 
 
 Corol. Hence arose the necessity that the verb along with the 
 signification of action, should likewise express time, and that, will* 
 the signification of action and time, it should also denote manner. 
 Here, then, \ve find the origin of moods and tenses. 
 
 62. As it was necessary that the circumstances of 
 lime and manner should attend the signification of ac- 
 tion ; the next important step, in the formation of lan- 
 guage, was, to determine by what means this com- 
 bined communication should be accomplished. 
 
 Illus. One of two methods, it seems, must have been adopted j 
 either to vary the terminations of the verb, or to conjoin with it 
 auxiliary words, so as to convey these additional circumstances. 
 The former of these methods, with a mixture of the latter, in the pas- 
 sive form of their verbs, was employed by the Greeks and 
 
 D2 
 
30 The Structure of the Fcrb. 
 
 The latter method, with a mixture of the former, in the active fi n<v 
 f>f their verb.s, has been adopted by the English, the French, and 
 the llaiians. 
 
 63. The structure of the verb was rendered still 
 more complicated, because it was found requisite that 
 along with the signification of action, time, and man- 
 ner, it should also denote person and number, to 
 adapt it for corresponding with the persons and num- 
 bers of nouus and pronouns with which it might be 
 connected. 
 
 Ohs. To combine so many important articles in one word, requi- 
 red a degree of ingenuity, which nothing could supply but the dis- 
 cernment and experience of ages. 
 
 64. Experience, doubtless, proved that the division 
 of time into present, past, and future, was not suffi- 
 cient for the purposes of communication. 
 
 lllis.s. 1. The fleeting nature of present time made any subdivis- 
 ion of it both difficult and unnecessary ; hence, all polished langua- 
 ges have, in any mood, ope tense only appropriated to express pres- 
 ent time. 
 
 2 A similar opinion ?erms to have guided the construction of lan- 
 guages for expressing future time, which, including a long duration, 
 v.-fL"? divisible into parts ; but the total ignorance in which mankind 
 are involved concerning actions th^ may take place in that period, 
 must hnve divested them of all disposition to mark differences of 
 future time, or to provide language with tenses for that purpose. 
 Hence, all polished languages, except the Greek, have also been 
 contented with one tense, expressive of future time. The paulo post 
 futurism of the Greeks is a specimen of their ingenuity to cultivate 
 and improve their language, rather than as requisite for the commu- 
 nication of knowledge, smce by this tense they intended to signify 
 that the action was future, but would not be long so, because the 
 time of its execution would quickly arrive. 
 
 3. The pa*t, then, is the time which the framers of all languages 
 have been chiefly anxious to subdivide. Most of the actions which 
 rould be the subject of discourse or writing, must have taken place 
 :n past time ; and to render the accounts of them more conspicuous 
 &nd intelligible, it must often have been requisite to specify the pro- 
 gress, or stages of their execution. Hence the various divisions of 
 past time, and the different tenses significant of them with which all 
 languages, even the most imperfect abound. Of polished langua- 
 ges, the least complete, in this respect, have three divisions : 
 
 First, a pluperfect tense, by which is signified that the action 
 s finished, and that some time has intervened since it was coto- 
 ykfed, 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 31 
 
 Secondly, a perfect, which denotes that (he action is finished, but 
 that very little, or no time has elapsed since its completion. 
 
 Tltirdly, an imperfect, which signifies that the action had been go- 
 ing; on but had not been completed. The language of ancient. Rome 
 possessed only these tenses significant of past time. 
 
 4. But the Greek language, the English, and the French, besides 
 these tenses, employ another, which the Greeks called an *4om/, 
 and which denotes only that the action is completed, without distin- 
 guishing in what division of past time the completion took place, 
 or whether the execution was pluperfect, perfect or imperfect. 
 
 5. In the usual course of speaking and writing", this state of an 
 action frequently occurs ; and, therefore, a tense adapted to express 
 it, is of singular convenience and advantage. When the completion 
 of the action is the only circumstance of consequence to be commu- 
 nicated, the proper tense to be empJoyed is the dorist. The Latin 
 language hath its ambiguous amavi, but the sense of the context on- 
 ly enables the hearer or the reader to discover whether it denotes the 
 aorist sa/M^a, faimai, I loved; or, the perfect past Tr-ttt^xx^fai 
 dime, I have loved. 
 
 65. The xise of moods is to denote the manner in 
 which an action is performed, together with the dis- 
 positions and feelings entertained by the agent rela- 
 tive to its performance. 
 
 Illas. 1. The capital views of an action relative to manner or 
 inood, refer either to its actual performance, or to the power, incli- 
 nation, or obligation of the agent to perform it; or to the authority 
 or right of the agent to entreat or command the performance; or, 
 fmaly, to the exhibition of the action, without any consideration of 
 the agent, or of the sentiments that lie may entertain concerning the 
 performance. 
 
 2. These circumstances comprehend every general view of an 
 action, that human affairs can well be supposed to suggest. For, 
 
 First, the agent may either. possess power, inclination, or obliga- 
 tion, to perform the action, and actually perform it. 
 
 Or, Secondly, he may possess power, inclination, or obligation to 
 perform the action, and without being able to put them in execu- 
 tion. 
 
 Or, Thirdly, he may have a right, or authority, to entreat or 
 command the power or inclination of some other agent to perform 
 the action. 
 
 Or, Finally, the situation of the action may require only its bare 
 exhibition, withont any regard to the capacity, the duty, or the 
 performance of the agent. 
 
 Carol. Hence, from these views, we readily discern the origin of 
 the four moods of verbs commonly employed by polished languages* 
 
 1. The indicative denotes the actual performance of the action. 
 
 2, The subjunctive expresses the power, inclination, or obligation 
 
The Structure of the Verb. 
 
 oftlie an;ent to perform the action, but leaves the performance t* 
 he decid<-d by circumstances not yet come into existence ; on ac- 
 count of which, it is called the conditional mood. 
 
 3. The imp era fire exhibits the agent as entreating or commanding 
 the performance of the action. 
 
 4. The infinitive represents the action in general, without con- 
 nection with any agent, or reference to him, or any powers or dis- 
 positions depending upon him. 
 
 lllus. 1. / write is an indicative assertion, because it denotes an, 
 action in actual performance. 
 
 2. / may write is subjunctive, because it denotes disposition or 
 capacity only, and communicates nothing with respect to perfor- 
 mance. 
 
 3. / have written i* indicative, because it denotes performance 
 already past. 
 
 4. I might hare written is, subjunctive, because it communicates 
 part, capacity, inclination, or obligation, but signifies nothing about 
 performance. 
 
 5. Write thou is an imperative, because it does not necessarily 
 infer performance, and imports nothing more than that the action of 
 writing should be performed 
 
 66. Theory of moods. In the present and past ten- 
 ses, therefore, the indicative denotes performance; 
 the subjunctive, intention or disposition; the im- 
 perative is susceptible of no time but the .present, 
 when it also expresses disposition. But, in respect 
 of future time, even the indicative cannot denote per- 
 formance ; and the subjunctive must be destitute of 
 this tense altogether. 
 
 lllus. 1. For, as an action can have no real existence, till the time 
 of its execution arrive ; so language can express nothing concerning 
 it, but the present views and dispositions of the agents, who may 
 foretell performance, or promise to perform. / shall write is sig- 
 nificant only of prediction or intention, the execution of which must 
 be future ; and therefore, in the future tense, the indicative approach- 
 es the nature of the subjunctive and imperative, and expresses chief- 
 ly disposition. The main difference between them seems to be this, 
 That the future of the indicative, along with the signification of dis- 
 position, conveys something positive or affirmative with regard to 
 execution. If the two other moods imply at all the execution of the- 
 dispositions which they denote, they hold it forth as altogether con- 
 tingent or conditional. 
 
 2. All the sentiments which can exist, or be expressed, relative 
 to ' 'ture actions, must refer either to the views of them which the 
 agent formerly entertained, or now indulges. Of the appearances 
 which these actions will assume when they come into existence, or 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 33 
 
 of the sentiments which will he entertained concerning them, he caa 
 know nothing; and, therefore, these appearances and sentiment*, 
 can neither be the subjects of thought nor of language. Hence, 
 since past and present intentions and dispositions are the only cir- 
 cumstances with which we either are or "an be acquainted, it is 
 evident that a mood, limited to express intention an'd disposition, 
 cannot admit a future ten?e, because no ideas of future intentions 
 and dispositions exist in the mind of man, which it may commu- 
 nicate. 
 
 3. The tense / shall hare loved commonly called " the future of 
 the subjunctive," has no participation with the usual import of the 
 other tenses of that mood ; for it is expressive of no sentiment that 
 is future and conditional as to its execution, but is equally positive 
 and affirmative with / shall love, the tense commonly called the fu- 
 ture of the indicative. They both signify intention relative to future 
 action ; and the only difference between them is, that, taking the 
 execution of both to refer to some fixed point of time, the action of 
 the former will be finished, when the action of the latter will be 
 finishing. 
 
 67. THIS THEORY of the moods, then, gives to the 
 indicative seven tenses, and to the subjunctive not 
 more than four. 
 
 Jllus. 1. The indicative will, exhibit PRESENT TIME, denoted by 
 the tenses present &nd perfect present; as, 1 love, 1 have loved 
 <ptf.so>, 7r*qu\wji amO) amavi : PAST TIME, by the imperfect and plu- 
 perfect tenses, / was loving, I had lovedr-wt\Kv, +7rt$njiMn ama- 
 bam, amaveram : FUTURE TIME by the tenses stiled the future of the 
 indicative, and the future of the subjunctive^ I shall love, I shall have 
 lored GIMICT, <bi\'4Tt l ui amobo, atnavcro : and the whole of past 
 time denoted by the Aori ft t, / loved tQiMiorx,. 
 
 2. The subjunctive will exhibit. PRESENT TIME, divided into 
 /vt^7;/ and perfect presepit ; as. / mm/ lore, 1 ni'u/ hare loved <JJA~, 
 ,rt$t>.};zte~amein, am amaverim : and PAST TIME divided fato perfect 
 aiid pl:fj> :rfect) I could love, 1 cuu.ll hace loved amarem, amavisaem. 
 
 68. Tenses and moods, in the Greek and Latin lan- 
 guages, are generally discriminated by different in- 
 flexions of the verb ; in the modern languages they 
 ore chiefly denoted by AUXILIARIES. 
 
 f.'ins. 1. The auxiliaries of the indicative mood are. have, had, 
 st'fli, will. 
 
 H tr.-e and had mark time ; the former denoting 1 that, the action 
 h finished just now ; the latter that some interval has elapsed since 
 it was completed. 
 
 Sh<-rl and will expre=> fuMiriiv. but with it some affection or dis- 
 poiiiinn of the agent. Thi)*. in \\\P f:rst person, shall barely fore- 
 tell?, or predicts performance : a*, 1 shall ;;:alk ; " hereafter 1 am to 
 
34 T7te Structure of the Verb. 
 
 perform the action of walking.'-? IFill implies promise or engage- 
 ment ; / will walk; u I am determined hereafter to walk. 7 ' In the 
 second and third persons, these auxiliaries exchange their addition- 
 al sighificihonp; and shall denotes promise or engagement; as, thou 
 sJialt read : will expresses futurity ; a.s, he will run : that is to pa}', 
 according to promise or engagement, " thou shalt read ;" and u he 
 will hereafter run/' 
 
 2. The auxiliaries of the PRESENT of the subjunctive are may 
 and can ; and of the PERFECT, might , could, would, should. 
 
 May and can denote capacity or ability ; as, / mat/ rr/./e, / can 
 read.. Might and could express the perfect time of may and can; 
 and like them are significant of ability or capacity ; but the execu- 
 tion depends on circumstances which have not yet come into exis- 
 tence. Thus, " I might see him," and " I conldtell him," express 
 that my capacity to see and tell him is complete, and I only wait for 
 an opportunity to put it in action. 
 
 Would denotes iclination, should obligation, but the performance 
 hangs upon some incident, or power, not under the controul of the 
 agent ; as. " I would read, if I had a book ;" u I should walk, if I 
 had leave." 
 
 3. The auxiliary to be, usually called a substantive verb, because 
 it is confined to the signification of existance only, is generally and 
 naturally an auxiliary of the passive form of the verb. In this case 
 it is always attended with the perfect participle of (he same form ; 
 as, "7' am loved," U I have been loved," "I shall be. loved." 
 But added to the present participle of the active form, and support- 
 ed by the other auxiliaries, there is not a mood or tense of the. ac- 
 tive form of the verb, which to be may not denote; as, u I am lov- 
 ing." 11 I may be loving," " Be thou loving,"" To be loving," 
 are expressions equivalent to, I love, I may love, love thou, to 
 love. 
 
 69. THE INFINITIVE HOOD requires no agent lobe 
 prefixed or understood in the form of a nominative. 
 The infinitive, thus disengaged from all connexion 
 Tvith person or number, and significant of action in 
 general, without consideration of any agent, ap- 
 proaches the nature of a substantive noun, and in ail 
 languages is frequently substituted in its place. The 
 infinitive farther, used as a substantive, is nearly 
 equivalent to the present participle, employed in the 
 same manner. 
 
 Example. Thus, to hear, is nothing more than Ihe action of hear- 
 ' ing ; and every such participle, in English, may be converted into 
 a substantive, by prefixing one of the articles, the usual character- 
 istics of substantives. (Arl. 57.) 
 
The general Principles of Grammar. 35 
 
 Obs. 1. The occasions on which it is requisite to express action 
 without reference to any agent are very numerous, and the use of 
 the infinitive is, of course, very frequent. Its relation to the other 
 moods is similar to that of abstract substantives to the adjectives 
 from which they are formed ; c*s, goodness from u good." (.4rf. 
 59. Obs. 2.) 
 
 But good denotes a quality inherent in the particular sybstance 
 to which it is applied ; and goodness expresses a quality common to 
 all the substantives to which it is competent to apply the adjective. 
 
 2. In like manner, the finite moods exhibit always seme action, 
 performed by an agent, either specified or understood, as the nomi- 
 native to the verb. The infinitive denotes the action, without re- 
 ference to any particular agent ; but the action is practicable only 
 by the agents who may be made nominatives to the /mite moods. 
 
 Thus, as goodness denotes a quality common to all objects that 
 are good,' so to read denotes an action which can be performed by 
 all agents who have learned letters. 
 
 3. The infinitive also, like the participle, retains so much of its 
 verbal quality, in denoting action, as to be susceptible of time ; and 
 it possesses variations to express the three great divisions ofpast, 
 present, and future. It seldom, however, introduces a sentence, 
 but depends most commonly on some verb that precedes it ; hence, 
 the time which it assumes is to be reckoned from that of the ante- 
 cedent verb. 
 
 4. Taking, then, the time of the antecedent verb, as a fixed 
 point, in computing the time of the infinitive, we employ the pres- 
 ent, the past, or the future tense, according as the action which it 
 denotes happens to.be of the same, of prior, or of posterior time, 
 to that of the antecedent verb ; as^ I am happy to see him," u - 1 
 am happy to have seen him," u I am happy to be about to see 
 hiui.*' 
 
 70. OF THE ADVERB. The chief use of the ad- 
 verb, as its name imports, is to modify the verb. 
 The circumstances of action expressed by tenses 
 and moods are all of a nature too general, to be suf- 
 ficient for the purposes of communication. It is of- 
 ten necessaiy to be much more particular in ascer- 
 taining both the time and the manner, but particular- 
 ly the place of the action. The important office of 
 the adverb is to accomplish these ends. 
 
 Illus. 1. Though tenses display a great degree of ingenuity in 
 their formation, they rarely descend farther than to denote per- 
 formance in past, present, or future time. But we find it necessa- 
 ry to be often much more minute, and to signify whether the action 
 was done yesterday, lately, long ago ; or is to be done now, imme- 
 diately, instantly ; or will be done quickly, presently, hereafter ; 
 or will be repeated often, seldom, daily, once, twice, thrice. 
 
36 Adverbs, Prepositions, and Conjunctions. 
 
 2. All the circumstances communicated by moods are of a very 
 general nature. The indicative expresses performance only ; the 
 subjunctive and imperative denote bare intention or disposition ; 
 while the infinitive (scarcely descends farther than the name of the 
 action, without specifying its nature. 
 
 3. The very varied and numerous situations of society, demand- 
 ed the signification of many circumstances of action much more 
 particular ; and to express these a large class of adverbs was de- 
 vised. 
 
 These adverbs indicate quality and manner, either simply, as 
 wifely* prudently, cautiously ; or positively, as truly, certainly, un- 
 questionably ; or contingently, as perhaps, probably* possibly; or 
 negatively, as no, not, erroneously ; or conjointly, as together, gene- 
 rally* universally ; or separately, as apart* soldi/, solitarily. Some- 
 times they denote magnitude, as wholly* altogether, exceedingly ; or 
 comparison as preferable ; or passion, as angrily* lovingly, furiously* 
 valiantly ; or merit, as leanitdh/, prudently, industriously. 
 
 4. The circumstances of action relative to place are imparted by 
 knoth&r copious class of adverbs. The principal views which they 
 exhibit are, whether the action is performed in a place, or in mov- 
 ing to it, through it, or from it. Of the first sort are here* there, 
 where, within* without ; of the second, hither* thither* and the com- 
 pounds of the syllable ward, as toward* forward, backward, upward, 
 downward; of the third, nowhere, elsewhere, everywhere; of the 
 fourth, hence, whence* thence. 
 
 5. Of the adverbs which signify time and manner, two, one from 
 each class, often attend on the same verb, by an analogy similar to 
 the appearance of every verb, both in a tense and a mode, on the 
 Fame occasiou. The adverb significant of time is generally placed 
 before the verb, and after it is placed the adverb significant of man- 
 ner. That which precedes circumscribes the time expressed by 
 the tense, and that which follows limits the manner expressed by 
 the mood. 
 
 6. Adverbs are susceptible of comparison, sometimes regular, as 
 noon, sooner, soonest; but oft.ener irregular, as readily, more readi- 
 ly, most readily. One adverb is frequently employed to qualify 
 ft Mother, as too confidently, very seldom. And, finally, they are of- 
 ten applied to circumscribe adjectives, as unmercifully severe^ 
 highly criminal, superlatively excellent. 
 
 71. PREPOSITIONS are words prefixed to substan- 
 tives, to denote the various relations which they bear 
 to one another, 
 
 Illus. In English they are generally monosyllabic words, chiefly 
 employed to supply the deficiency of the inflections commonly call- 
 ed cases But in the Welsh language they undergo inflection wilk 
 the cases of nouns. In English they occasionally lend their aid to 
 furnish compounded verbs, as foretell* undervalue ; and in all case* 
 
The Nature and Character of, &c. 37 
 
 they act as proportional ingredients of composition, by adding to 
 it the full import of iheir powers. 
 
 72. CONJUNCTIONS are used to connect single sub- 
 stantives, clauses of sentences, or members of peri- 
 ods. 
 
 lllas. Conjunctions are divided into various classes, copulative, 
 disjunctive, and adversitive ; but their most useful distinction re- 
 lates to the correspondence which they have to one another in dif- 
 ferent clauses or members of a period ; and in the right management 
 of which, both the perspicuity and propriety of language are riot a 
 little concerned. 
 
 Obs. We sometimes find pronouns connecting sentences as well 
 as conjunctions ; and the latter not unfrequently, by a violent ellip- 
 sis, performing the substance office of the former; but in this case 
 the conjunction is usually connected with an indefinite relative, as 
 sc Let such as presume,' 5 for u Let them w/io presume." 
 
 73. INTERJECTIONS indicate those impressions 
 which so suddenly and violently affect the mind of 
 the speaker or writer, as to burst gsunder the regu- 
 lar train of his thoughts and expressions, and thence 
 demand immediate utterance. 
 
 Obs. This definition demonstrates that the proper use of these 
 words must be extremely limited ; and experience proves that the 
 incidents which excite such vehement agitation are not very-Com- 
 inon. (JLrt. 4. Corot.) 
 
 Illus. Interjections are sparingly used even in the glowing and 
 animated languages of antiquity ; and they appear less seldom with 
 grace, in the more tame and phlegmatic tongues of modern times. 
 They rarely occur with us but when they interrupt, not language, 
 but silence ; and there are few persons who court those seasons of 
 high passion when their sentiments are too violent for communica- 
 tion by words, and with difficulty admit utterance, at intervals, by 
 sighs and groans. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NATURE AND CHARACTER OF THE USE WHICH 
 GIVES LAW TO LANGUAGE. 
 
 74. ELOQUENCE has a particular connexion with 
 language, as its intention is to convey our sentiments 
 
38 The Nature and Character of the 
 
 into th^ minds of others, in order to produce upon 
 them a determinate effect ; and language is the only 
 vehicle by which this conveyance can be made. 
 
 . The art of speaking, then, is not Jess necessary to the ora- 
 tor than the art o!' thinking. Without the latter the former could 
 n*t have existed. Without the former, the latter would be irief- 
 ".-<!. And the operations of the latter 2:0 on by means of words, 
 '^re is no evidence that we think without language. 
 
 7.5. LANGUAGE is mainly a species of fashion,* in 
 which, by the general but tacit consent of the peo- 
 ple of a particular state or country, certain sounds 
 come to be appropriated to certain things, as their 
 Mgns, and certain ways of inflecting and combining 
 ttiose sounds come to be established, as denoting 
 il-e relations which subsist among the things signi- 
 fied. (hap. I. Book I. and Chapel. Book II.) 
 
 Uliis. 1. The philosophical view which we hare taken of the 
 
 f principles and component parts of speech (drt. 48. Obs.) 
 
 ,hew us plainly that it is not the business of grammar to give law to 
 
 the fashions which reguJate our speech. From its conformity to 
 
 these it derives its authority and value. 
 
 2. Grammar, therefore, is nothing else than a collection of gene- 
 ral observations methodically digested, and comprising all the 
 modes previously and independently established, by which the sig- 
 Lincations, derivations, and combinations of words in that language, 
 are ascertained. For. these modes and fashions have no sooner ob- 
 tained and become general, than they are the laws of the language, 
 and the grammarian's only business is, to note, coliect > and metho- 
 dise them. 
 
 3. But this truth concerns alike those comprehensive analogies 
 and rules, which affect whole classes of words, and every individual 
 word, in the inflecting or combining of which, a particular mode 
 hath prevailed. 
 
 Corol. Hence, every single anomaly, though departing from the 
 rule assigned to the other words of the same class, and on that ac- 
 count called an exception, stands on the same basis, on which the 
 rules of the tougue are founded, custom having prescribed for it a 
 separate rule. (Art. 52 and 53.) 
 
 76. UsEj or the custom of speaking , is, then, the 
 sole original standard of conversation, as far as res- 
 pects the expression ; and the custom of writing is 
 the chief standard of style. (Art. 86. Illus.) 
 
 * Campbell Phil, of Ret. b. ii. c. 1. 
 
Use which gives Lazv to Language. 39 
 
 Ci./-f>i'. In every grammatical controversy, we are. conse 
 as a last resort, enlilitd to appeal from the laws and the decisions 
 6f, the grammarian^ to tlit tribunal of use, as to the supreme air-' 
 tlior* -y, (drt. 7t>. Illus.) 
 
 Oby. 1. The conduct of our ablest grammarians proves that this 
 order of subordination ou^ht never, on any account, to be. reversed. 
 
 2. But if use be of such consequence in this matter, before ad- 
 vancing any farther, let us endeavour to ascertain precisely what it 
 is, as it would otherwise be erroneous to n^r* e about the name. 
 while we differed about the notion that we assigned to it. 
 
 77. REFUTABLE USE, sometimes called general 
 use, implies, not only currency but vogue, and may 
 be defined, whatever modes of speech are authorised 
 as good by the writings of a great number, if not the 
 majority of celebrated authors : it is properly re- 
 putable custom. (Art. 80. Illus. and 86. Obs. 2.) 
 
 Illus. The good use of language has the approbation of those who 
 have not themselves attained U/ It is the fate of those who, l>y 
 reason of their poverty and other circumstances, are deprived of 
 the advantages of education, to hear words of which they know not 
 the meaning, ajid consequently to produce and misapply them. An 
 affectation of imitating their superiors, is, then, the great source of 
 those errors of the illiterate, in respect of conversation and the ap- 
 plication of words, which are beyond their sphere. 
 
 78. VULGARISMS arc those terms and phrases 
 which, notwithstanding a pretty uniform and exten- 
 sive use, are considered as corrupt, and like coun- 
 terfeit money, though commoiij not valued. 
 
 Illu*. Their use is not reputable, because we associate with them 
 such notions of meanness as suit those orders of men among whom 
 chiefly the use is found. If we use them we do not approve them, 
 and negligence alone suffers ihwn to creoji into our conversation or 
 writing, except when they are put into the mouths of characters 
 'whom we are describing. 
 
 Corul. Their currency, therefore, is without authority and with- 
 out weight. 
 
 79. We always take the sense of the terms and 
 phrases belonging to any elegant or mechanical art 
 from the practice of those who are conversant in that. 
 art; in like manner, from the practice of those who 
 have had a liberal education, and are, therefore. 
 presumed to be best acquainted with men and things, 
 we judge of the general use of language, 
 
40 Tht and Character of the 
 
 JUi'S. But in what concerns words themselves, their construc- 
 tion ct;:d application, authors of reputation are. by universal con- 
 sent, in actual possession of that standard which is authority; as to 
 . ibunal, to which ail have access, when any doubt arises, the 
 ;-.! is always made. (Cor. <A-rl. 76.) 
 
 CnroL The source, therefore, of that preference which distin- 
 guishes gotod use from hod, in language, is a natural propensity of 
 the human niir.d to believe, that those are the best judges of the 
 proper signs of speech, and of their proper application, who under- 
 stand bestthe tilings which they represent. (Art. 77. and 7/Zws.) 
 
 80. AUTHORS of reputation have been chosen 
 rather than good authors for two reasons : 
 
 First, because it is more strictly conformable to 
 the truth of the case. Though esteem and merit usu- 
 ally go 'together, it is solely the public esteem, and 
 not their intrinsic merit, which raises AUTHORS to this 
 distinction, and stamps a value on their language. 
 
 Secondly, this character is more determinate than 
 the other, and therefore more extensively intelligi- 
 ble. Between two or more authors, as to the pre- 
 ference in point of merit, different readers will differ 
 exceedingly, 'who agree perfectly as to the respective 
 places which they hold in the favour of the public. 
 Persons may be found of a taste "so partic.ular. as to 
 prefer Parriel to Milton, but none will dispute the 
 superiority of the latter in point of fame. 
 
 . Hy authors of reputation, we mean, not only in regard to 
 knowledge, but eif re-pecis the talent of communicating that knowl- 
 edge, tvrkftrg who, *>.:-. concerns the first, have been de- 
 Eervrcl 1 . public, butv. ho, on account of a si: : 
 deficiency if. the i-ecoiu!, arc c< n-idi R-i of no authority 
 ?nage. V-" suppose that their writings are in the 
 -Euclid. d of composition;, in prose 
 and vtrse, Vro-us, grave and familiar. 
 
 8J. N.r USE presents itself in a twofold 
 
 view, as it stands opposed to provincial and to for- 
 eign. (Jlrt. So. and 88.) 
 
 JUits. Every provir.c- triiiss of dialect, which af- 
 
 fect not merely 1! :.'.cewt, but even the inflec- 
 
 tioa^nd coBibmatioii ' , thus that the idiom of one 
 
 'Ji.-.tric-f, i- di?<i'i at of the nation, and from 
 
 ot!:-. r province. The uarrcwntss of the circle tc 
 
Use which gives Law to Language. , 41 
 
 which the currency of the words and phrases of such dialect? is 
 confined, sufficiently discriminates them from that which, com- 
 manding- a circulation incomparably wider, is properly staled the 
 language of the country. 
 
 Carol. Hence, we derive one reason, why the term use, on this 
 subject, is commonly accompanied with the epithet general. (Art. 
 79.) 
 
 82. The ENGLISH LANGUAGE, properly so called, 
 is found current, especially in the uppr.r and middle 
 ranks of life, over the whole British Empire. 
 
 Ilhts. Thus, though the people of one province ridicule the idiom 
 of another province, they all vail to the English idiom, and scruple 
 not to acknowledge its superiority over their own, 
 
 83. Of all the idioms subsisting among us, that to 
 which we give the character of purity, is the most 
 prevalent, though the language be not universally 
 spoken or written with orthographical and grammaU 
 
 ical purity. 
 
 Carol. The faulty idiom? do not jar more with true English than 
 they do with one another, and their diversity, therefore, subjects 
 them to the denomination of impure. 
 
 84. Professional dialects, or the cant which is 
 sometimes observed to prevail among those of the 
 same handicraft, or way of life, must be considered, 
 with little variation, in the same light with provincial 
 dialects. (Art. 81. Illus.) 
 
 Illus. The currency of the former cannot be so exactly circum- 
 scribed as that of the latter, whose distinction is purely local ; hut 
 their use is not on that account either more extensive or more re- 
 putable. Thus : advice, in the commercial idiom, means u infor- 
 mation," or " intelligence ;" nervous, in open defiance of analo- 
 gy, denote?, in the medical sense, u having weak nerves ;" and 
 the word turtle^ though pre-occupied time immemorial by a spe- 
 cies of dove, is employed by sailors and gluttons, to signify " a 
 tortoise." 
 
 85. NATIONAL USE, as opposed to foreign, is too 
 evident to need illustration ; for the introduction of 
 extraneous words and idioms, from other languages 
 and foreign nations, cannot be a smaller transgression 
 against the established custom of the English tongue, 
 than, the introduction of words and idioms peculiar to 
 
42 Prtttnt Usage, of tkt English 
 
 r^ome counties or shires of England, or at least some- 
 where current within the British pale. 
 
 Gbs. The only material difference between them is, that the one 
 is more usually the error of the learned, the other of the unlearned. 
 But if, in this view, the fo/mer is entitled to greater indulgence, 
 Irom respect paid to learning ; in another light, it is entitled to leas, 
 from its being more commonly the result of affectation. 
 
 Carol. Thus, two. essential qualities of usage, in regard to lan- 
 guage, have been settled, that it be both reputable and national. 
 
 8G. PRESENT USE is that which falls within the 
 knowledge or remembrance of men now living, and 
 \vhich, in fact, regulates our style. (Art. .76.) 
 
 Ill as. 1. If present use is to be renounced for ancient, it will be 
 necessary to determine at what precise period of antiquity, we are 
 to obtain our rule* of language. But one mi;ht be inclined to re- 
 move the standard to the distance of a century and a half, while 
 another may, with as good reason, fix it three centuries back- 
 wards, arid another six. Now as the language of any one of these 
 periods, if judged by the use of any other, would, no doubt, be 
 found entirely barbarous ; either the present use must be the stand" 
 crd of the present language, or the language does not admit of any 
 wandard ; but experience proves, that critics have not the power 
 jviving at pleasure old fashioned terms, inflections, and combi- 
 Lation?, and of making such alterations on words, as will bring 
 them nearer to what they suppose to be the etymon ; and hence 
 we infer, that there is no other dictator here but use. Nor will it 
 ever be the arbitrary rules of auy man, or body of men whatever, 
 that will ascertain the language ; yet words are by no means to be 
 accounted the worse for being old, if they are not obsolete ; neither 
 is any word the better for being new. On the contrary, the sover- 
 eign dominion of custom over language, evinces, that some time is 
 absolutely necessary to constitute that custom or use, on which the 
 establishment of words depends. Yet it is certain, that when we 
 are in search of precedents for any word or idiom, there are cer- 
 tain mounds, over which we cannot leap with safety. The authori- 
 ty of Hooker or of Raleigh, how great soever their fame be, will 
 not now be admitted in support of a term or expression, not to be 
 found in any good writer of a later date. 
 
 2. But the boundary must not be fixed at the same date in every 
 species of composition. Poetry, which hath ever been allowed a 
 -wider range than prose, enjoys, in this respect, a singular indul- 
 gence, to "compensate for the peculiar restraints which she is laid 
 under by the measure. And this indulgence is fraught with a two- 
 fold advantage ; convenience to the poet, and gratification to the 
 reader. Diversity in the style relieves the ear, which hath little 
 delight from sameness of metre. But still there are limits to this 
 diversity. The authority of Mijton and Waller remains 
 
Present Usage of the English Language. 43 
 
 t-ioned ; and our best poets of the present day rarely venture to in- 
 troduce words or phrases, of which no example could be produced, 
 bince the times of Spencer or Shakspeare. 
 
 3. And even in prose, the bonds are not the same for every kind 
 of composition. In matters of science, for example, the terms of 
 which, from the nature of the subject, are not capable of such ac- 
 curacy as those which belong to ordinary compositions, and are 
 within the reach of ordinary readers, there is no necessity of con- 
 fining an author within a narrow circle. But in composing pieces 
 which come under this last denomination, as history, romance, trav- 
 els, moral essays, familiar epistle^ and the like, it is safest for an 
 author to consider those words and idioms as obsolete, which have 
 been disused by all good writers, for a longer period than that to 
 which the age of man extends. 
 
 Obs. 1. The expressions, recent use, and modern use, have been 
 purposely avoided, because they seem opposed to what is ancient; 
 and the word present has been chosen, because, in respect of t place, 
 it is opposed to absent, and in respect of time, to past, or future, 
 which have now no existence. When, therefore, the phrase 
 present use occurs ia this volume, its proper contrary is obsolete, 
 not ancient. 
 
 2. Though we have acknowledged language to be a species of 
 fashion or mode, as doubtless it is* ; ytt being much more perma- 
 nent than those things to' which the words fashionable and modish 
 are applied, the former phrases are not meant to convey the ideas 
 of novelty and levity, but recur to the standard already assigned, 
 (Art. 77. Illus. and 80. Illus.} ; the writings of a plurality of cele- 
 brated authors. Thus have we established, as general principles, 
 
 I. That use is the sole mistress of language. 
 
 II. That her essential attributes are reputable, national, and 
 present. 
 
 III. That grammar and criticism are but her ministers ; and 
 though, like other ministers, they would sometime impose upon the 
 people, the dictates of their own humour as the commands of their 
 sovereign, they are not so often successful in such attempts, us to 
 encourage a frequent repetition of them. 
 
 IV. That what has been said of the English, applies to every 
 tongue whatever; it is founded in use or custom, 
 
 - - - - - - - Whose arbitrary sway, 
 
 Words and the forms of language, must obey t. 
 
 And, V. That it is not by anciefnt, but by present use, that the 
 vityle of every language must be regulated. 
 
 * " Phil, of Rhet." vol. i, book ii. chap. 1. 
 
 t Usu 
 
 Quern penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi. 
 
 Hor. dc di-tc Poet, 
 
44 The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NATURE AND USE OF VERBAL CRITICISM, WITH 
 ITS PRINCIPAL RULES OR CANONS, BY WHICH, IN 
 ALL OUR DECISIONS, WE OUGHT TO BE DIRECTED. 
 
 87. ALL the various qualities of elocution, have 
 their foundation in PURITY, and the great standard of 
 purity is use. (Art. 76, 77. and 86.) 
 
 Obs. I/ The essential properties of use, as regarding language, 
 have been considered and explained in the preceding chapter; and 
 in this we purpose to establish certain canons or rules, whereby the 
 student may be enabled to detect the fallacy of that fluent and spe- 
 cious, but artificial method, of verbal criticism, which passes cur- 
 rent for a deliberate examination, into the principles on which the 
 structure and genius of our language are built. (I lias. 1. Art. 86.) 
 
 2. Grammar and criticism jfrthoagh in a different sphere, are of 
 similar benefit to language, that a succinct, perspicuous, and faith- 
 ful digest of the laws of the Empire is to society, in comparison of 
 the labyrinths of statutes, reports, and opinions, which have ema- 
 nated, through a long succession of ages from legislators, counsel- 
 lors, and judges. (///. p. 47.) 
 
 3. The grammarian compiles the laws, which custom gives to 
 language ; the critic seasonably brings before the public tribunal 
 the abuses of innovation. The one facilitates the study of our na- 
 tive tongue, advances general use into universal, and gives at least 
 a greater stability, if not a permanency, to custom, the most muta- 
 ble and capricious thing in nature ; the other, stigmatizing every 
 unlicenced term, and improper idiom, teaches us to suppress them, 
 and to give greater precision, and consequently "more perspicuity 
 and beauty to our style. (Obs. 1. and 2. Art. 76.) 
 
 88. GOOD USE, which for brevity's sake, shall 
 hereafter include reputable, nalional, and present use, 
 is not always uniform in her decisions.' 
 
 Illus. 1. Whenever a considerable number of authorities can 
 be produced in support of two different, though resembling modes 
 of expression, for the same thing, there is always a divided use, 
 and he who conforms to either side, cannot be said to speak bar- 
 barously, or to oppose the usage of the language, (drt. 80. and 
 ' 
 
 89. This DIVIDEND USE hath place sometimes in 
 single words, sometimes in constructions, and some- 
 times in arrangement. In all such cases, there is 
 
The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism. 45 
 
 scope for choice ; and it belongs, without question, to 
 the critical art, to lay down the principles, by which, 
 in all doubtful cases, our choice should be directed. 
 (Art. 76. Corol.) 
 
 I llus. 1. There are, indeed, some difference? in single words, as 
 isle, for " island," mount ^ for "mountain," which ought still to be 
 retained. They are a kind of synomics, and afford a little variety, 
 without occasioning any inconvenience. 
 
 2. In our arrangement- too, it certainly holds, that various man- 
 ners suit various style?, as various styles suit various subjects, and 
 various sorts of composition. For this reason, unless when some 
 obscurity, ambiguity, or inelegance, is created, no disposition of 
 words which hath obtained the public approbation, ought to be al- 
 together rejected. 
 
 3. In construction, the case is somewhat different. Purity, 
 perspicuity, and elegance, generally require, that in this there be 
 the strictest uniformity. Yet differences here are not only allowa- 
 ble, but even convenient, when attended with correspondent differ- 
 ences in the application. 
 
 Corol. In those instances, therefore, of divided use, which gives 
 scope for option, the authorities on the opposite sides, in order to 
 assist us in assigning the preference, ought to be equal, or nearly so. 
 When those on one side greatly preponderate, it is in vain to oppose 
 the prevailing usage. Custom, when wavering, may be swayed ; 
 but when reluctant, she will not be forced. 
 
 90. CANON THE FIRST. When use is divided as to 
 any particular word or phrase, and the expression 
 used by one part hath been pre-occupied, or is in any 
 instance susceptible of a different signification, and 
 the expression employed by the other part never ad- 
 mits ax different sense, both perspicuity and variety 
 require, that the form of expression be preferred, 
 which, in every instance, is strictly univocol. 
 
 Examples. By consequence, meaning consequently, is preferable 
 to i; of consequence," as this expression is often employed to de- 
 note that which is momentous or important. Ecside.s and bcfide, 
 serve both as prepositions and conjunction*. Cur- tern assiv 
 -eparate province ; and good write::- humour her, byei:. 
 !r- : : unly the former as a conjunction, and the latter as a preposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Obs. The improper use of adverbs for adjectives, and vice vcrsd, 
 offends against precision, and thu authority of present use. In 
 those verb?, also, which have for the participle pas.-ive, both the 
 preterite form, and one peculiar, the peculiar form ought to have 
 the preference. For the same reason, some are inclined to proler 
 
46 ^ The Nature and Use ef Verbal Criticism. 
 
 thatu.se which makes ye^ invariably the nominative plural of- the 
 personal pronoun thou, and you, the accusative, when applied to an 
 actual plurality. When used for the singular-number, custom hath 
 determined tiiat it shall be you in both cases. 
 
 91. CANON THE SECOND. In doubtful cases, re- 
 gard ought to be had, in our decisions, to the analo- 
 gy of the language. 
 
 Examples. By this canon, contemporary is preferable to u co- 
 
 lenipyrarjr ;" because in words' compounded wilh the inseperable 
 
 -it ion co//., tke n is retained beiore a consonant, but expungrd 
 
 a vowel, or h mule; ci. co/i-comituni, cu-inridc, co-h c ir. 
 
 rtntf is, probably, 'he otily exception. But in dubious case-?, 
 
 we are guided by the rule, not by the exception. The principle of 
 
 analogy prefers afterwards and homewards^ to " afterward" and 
 
 "homeward ;" and would God, is preferable to u would to God," 
 
 though both these* last phrases plead the authority of custom.- 
 
 92. CANON THE THIRD. - When the terms or ex- 
 pressions are, in other respects, equal, that ought to 
 be preferred, which is most agreeable to the ear. 
 
 Obs. This rule liath perhaps a greater chance of being observ- 
 ed than any other, it having been, since the days of Ad.i?on, the 
 general aim of our public speakers and writer?, to avoid harsh and 
 unmusical periods. Nay, a regard to sound hath, in some Instances, 
 controuied the public choice, to the prejudice of both the former 
 canons, which, one would think, ought to be regarded as of more 
 importance. 
 
 Example. Thus the term ingenuity hath obtained, in preference 
 to " iti^eniousaes??," though the former cannot be deduced, analogi- 
 cally, from ingenious; and had beside?, been'pre-occupicrd, and con- 
 sequently would be equivocal, being a regular derivative from the 
 term ingenious, if the newer acceptation had not, before now, entire- 
 ly supplanted the other. 
 
 93. CANON THE FOURTH. In cases wherein none 
 of the foregoing rules gives either side a foundation 
 of preference, a regard to simplicity, in which we in- 
 clude etymology, when manifest, ought to determine 
 our choice. 
 
 Under the name simplicity, we comprehend also brevity ; foi 
 is always the simplest, which, with equal purity anc 
 ' e briefest. 
 
 ral active verbs, which ere 
 ith cr without a preposition; as 
 .-impie form is pr. 
 
 94. CANON THE FIFTH. In the few cases wh 
 
The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism. 47 
 
 neither perspicuity nor analogy, neither sound nor 
 simplicity, assists us in fixing our choice, it is safest 
 to prefer that manner, which is most conformable to 
 ancient usage. 
 
 Obs. Tliis rule is founded on a very plain maxim that in Ian- 
 guage, as in several other things, change itself, unless when it is 
 clearly advantageous, is ineligible. On this principle, some \\riters 
 follow the authority of Milton, in preferring that usage, which dis- 
 tinguishes ye, as the nominative plural ofthou. (Obs. Canon First.) 
 
 Quotations from Simkspeare, on the side of authography, are not 
 much to be minded, because his editors have shamefully abused his 
 ancient orthography. 
 
 95. Every thing favoured by good use, is not on 
 that account worthy to v be retained, though no term, 
 idiom, or application, that is totally unsupported by 
 her, can be admitted to be good. 
 
 Obs. This position is necessary in order to establish rules for 
 ascertaining botli the extent of the authority claimed by custom., 
 and the rightful prerogatives of criticism. 
 
 lllns. 1. Though nothing can be good in language from which 
 use withholds her approbation, there may be many things to which 
 she gives it, that are not in all respects good, or such as are worthy 
 to be retained and imitated. In some instances, custom may very 
 properly be checked by criticism. 
 
 2. The latter enjoys a sort of negative, though not a censorian 
 power of instant degradation. She hath the privilege of remon- 
 strating, and, by means of this, when used discreetly, of brin-ring 
 what is bad into disrepute, and so cancelling it gradually: but "the 
 hath no positive right to establish any thing. 
 
 3. Her power too is like that of eloquence ; she operates on us 
 purely by persuasion, depending for success, on the solidity, or, at 
 least, the speciousness of her arguments ; whereas custom hath an, 
 unaccountable anxl irresistabie influence over us an influence 
 which is prior to persuasion, and independent of it, nay, sometimes 
 even in contradiction to it. 
 
 96. Of different modes of expression, that which 
 comes to be favoured by general practice, may be 
 demoninated best, because established ; but it can- 
 not always be said with truth, that it is established, 
 because best, 
 
 I Has. 1. Time and chance have an influence on all things human, 
 and on nothing more remarkable than on language ; and the best 
 forms of speech do not always establish themselves by their ow* 
 ^operior excellence ; for we often see, that of various forms, those 
 
48 The Nature and Use of Ferial Criticism. 
 
 will recommend themselves, and come into general use, which, if 
 abstractly considered, are neither the simplest, nor the most agree- 
 able to the ear, nor the most conformable to analogy. 
 
 2. Though of any expression which has obtained the sanction of 
 good use, we cannot properly say that it is barbarous, we must ad- 
 mit, that in other respects, it, may be faulty. To get rid of those 
 gross improprieties, which, though authorised by practice, aught 1o 
 be discarded, nothing more is necessary than to disuse them. And 
 to bring us to disuse them, both the. example and the arguments of 
 the critic have their .weight. 
 
 3. The difference is obvious between the bare omission, or rather 
 the not employing of what is used, arid the introduction of what is 
 unusual. The former, provided what you substitute in its stead be 
 proper, and hav< the authority of custom, can never come under the 
 observation, or at least the reprehension of the reader ; whereas 
 the latter shocks our ears immediately. 
 
 Carol. 1. Here therefore, lies one principal province of criticism, 
 to point out the characters of those words and idioms which deserve 
 to be disfranchised and consigned to perpetual oblivion. It is by 
 carefully filing off all roughness and inequaleties, that languages, 
 like metals, must be polished. This indeed is an effect of Taste. 
 Jjul when criticism hath called forth to this object the attention of 
 a people improving in arts and sciences, there is a probability 
 that the effect will be accellerated, and that their speech will not 
 only become richer and more comprehensive, but, that it will be- 
 come highly refined, by acquiring greater precision, perspicuity, 
 and harmony. (Art.&land3&y 
 
 2. It is, however, no less certain, on the other hand, that in the 
 declension of taste and science, language will unavoidably degene- 
 rate ; and though the critical art may retard a little, it will never be 
 able ultimately to prevent this degeneracy. 
 
 Obs. As no term, idiom, or application that is unsupported by 
 use, can be admitted to be good, the following Canons, in relation 
 to those words or expressions, which may be thought to merit de- 
 gradation from the rank which they have hitherto maintained, will 
 enable us to ascertain whether every term, idiom, and application, 
 that is countenanced by use, is to be esteemed good, and therefore 
 worthy to be retained. 
 
 97. CANON THE SIXTH. All words and phrases 
 which are remarkably harsh and unharmonious, and 
 not absolutely necessary, may justly be judged to 
 merit degradation. 
 
 Definition. We call a word or phrase absolutely necessary, when, 
 in the event of a dismission, we have none synonimous to supply its 
 place, or in any way to convey properly the same idea, without the 
 aid of circumlocution. 
 
 Obs. There are, however, criteria, by which we may discrimin- 
 ate the objectionable words from all others. 
 
Ttic J\*aturt and Use of 'Verbal Criticism* 49 
 
 98. Criterion first. A term composed of words al- 
 ready compounded, of which the several parts are 
 not easily, and therefore not closely united, is always 
 heavy and drawling, and withal so ill compacted, that 
 it has not more vivacity than a periphrasis, to com- 
 pensate for the defect of harmony. 
 
 Example. Such are the words b&ri-facedness, sKame.-face.d-ntss, 
 ttn-iuccess-fu II- n ess, dis- in terest- ed-nens, wro?ig-h ead-cd-ncss. 
 
 99. Criterion second. When a word is so formed 
 and accented, as to render it of difficult utterance to 
 the speaker, and consequently disagreeable in sound 
 to the hearer, it may be judged worthy of the fate 
 prescribed by the canon. (Art. 97.) 
 
 Hilts. This happens in two cases ; first, when the syllables which 
 immediately follow the accented syllable, are so crowded with 
 consonants, as of necessity to retard the pronunciation ; as gwe.v/.-'on- 
 l/,ss, remembrancer ; secondly, when loo many syllables follow the 
 accented syllable, a similar dissonance is found ; as, primarily^ 
 peremptorily. 
 
 100. Criterion third. When a short or unaccented 
 syllable is repeated, or followed by another short or 
 unaccented syllable very much resembling it, the 
 pronunciation partakes the appearance of stammer- 
 ing. 
 
 Example. This happens when we add the adverbial termination 
 to words ending in (y ; askjiilij; or when the participial termina- 
 tion ing, is added to a noua ending in er ; as,/ifrrzen'n, soldier- 
 ing. 
 
 Scholium. Beside the cases which come under the foregoin^ 
 criterion, we know of none that ought to dispose us to the total 
 disuse of words really significant. A little harshness by the collis- 
 ion of consonants, which, nevertheless, our organs find no difficulty 
 in articulating, and which do not suggest to the hearer the disagree- 
 able idea either of precipitation or of stammering, is by no means 
 a sufficient reason for the suppression of ao uselul term. It does not 
 do well to introduce hard and strong sounds too frequently ; but 
 when they are used sparingly and properly, they have e-yen a geod 
 effect. Variety of sound is advantageous to a language ; and it is 
 convenient that we should have some sounds that are rough and 
 masculine, as well as some that are liquid and feminine*. 
 
 * Those languages which are allowed to be the most su?cepfible 
 of dll the graces of harmony, have admitted many ill eounding 
 
50 The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism. 
 
 101. CANON THE SEVENTH. When etymology 
 plainly points to a signification different from that 
 which the word commonly bears, propriety and sim- 
 plicity both require the dismission of every such 
 word. 
 
 IHas. The \VOTflptainlg i* used in this canon, because no regard 
 :',-. c'uid he had to the etymology, when it is from an ancient or for- 
 eign language, or from obsolete roots in our own language, or when 
 -cure or doubtful. The ease is different, when the roots ei- 
 ther nre, or strongly appear to be, English, and, in present use, 
 clearly suggest another meaning. 
 
 Kxatnyle I. Be/widen implies 4C obliged," or u indebted." As 
 the passive participle of the verb to behold, which it is analogical- 
 ly, it conveys a sense totally different. Not that we consider the 
 term as equivocal ; for in the last acceptation, it hath long since 
 been disused, having- been supplanted by beheld. 
 
 Carol. Every word, therefore, whose formation is as analogical 
 as this, has at least, the appearance of impropriety, when used in 
 a sense that seems naturally foreign to its radical signification. 
 
 Example 2. The verb to unloose should analogically signify u to 
 tie," in like manner as to untie signifies " to loose." 
 
 Corel. All considerations of analogy, propriety, and perspicuity, 
 unite in persuading us to repudiate the preposterous application of 
 every term which includes the impropriety of conveying a sense, 
 the reverse of that which its etymology naturally suggests. 
 
 102. CANON THE EIGHTH. When any words be- 
 oome obsolete, or at least are never used, except as 
 constituting parts of particular phrases, it is better to 
 dispense with their service entirely, and give up the 
 phrases. 
 
 Illus. First, because the disuse, in ordinary cases, render? the 
 term somewhat iodeunite, and occasions a degree of obscurity ; 
 
 words : such are in Greek ff7r*oL%ing*a'&<ti 9 psfAtfAHftem ; such are 
 also in Latin spississimus^ percrebrescebantque : and in Italian > in- 
 crocicchiare^ spregiatrice. The first Greek word hisses worse than 
 any English word ; the last presents a dissonant recurrence of the 
 same letter, to a degree unexampled with us, though the mixture of 
 long and short syllables prevent* that difficulty of utterance, pointed 
 Qut in the example of Criterion third. The first Latin word hisses in 
 pronunciation like an adder roused from its slumbers ; the second 
 is as rough as any ef those in the example of Criterion first. And 
 the two Italian words, from the most musical of all languages, sound 
 harsh and jarring even to us, who are accustomed to a Dialect bois- 
 terous like our weather. 
 
The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism. oi 
 
 secondly, because the introduction of words, which never appear 
 but with the same attendants, gives an air of vulgarity and cant, 
 to a style which might otherwise be wholly unexceptionable. 
 
 Kxumple. Dial of argument, for u strength of nri;ument;" 
 not a ii~h.it belter, for u no better ;" -pro and con, for u on both 
 sides ;" with many similar phrases, .will never be used by those 
 who observe the eighth canon. 
 
 103. CANON THE NINTH. All those phrases, 
 which." when analysed grammatically, include a sole- 
 cism, (Art. HI.) and all those to which use hath 
 affixed a particular sense, but which, when explained 
 by the general and established rules of language, are 
 susceptible either of a different sense, or of no sense, 
 ought to be discarded altogether. 
 
 I Hits. We shall distinguish this phraseology by the epithet idio- 
 mal-icul ; and since it is the offspring partly of ignorance, and part- 
 ly of affectation, it divides itself into several examples. 
 
 First, that which includes a solecism, is the phrase, " I had 
 rather do such a thing,' 2 for, u I would rather do it." This ex- 
 pression is irregular, ber.ause the auxiliary had joined to the infini- 
 tive active do, is a gross violation of the rules of conjugation ; and 
 it is unnecessary, because we can supply its place by a phrase 
 purely English. Good use cannot therefore protect it from being 
 branded with the name of a blunder. 
 
 Secondly. Phrases, which, when explained grammatically, lead 
 to a different sense from what the words in conjugation commonly 
 bear ; as, " he sings a good song," for ;i be sings well." A good 
 song may be ill sung, and therefore the plain meaning'of the words, 
 as they stsnd connected, is very dilTr rent. So also, " he plays a 
 good fiddle," for u be plays well on the fiddle," involves a sole- 
 cism. 
 
 A fourth impropriety is, a river's emptying itwlf. But to empty 9 
 is u to exhaust," or " to evacuate." Now passing the word rivcr^ 
 as a metonymy for channel, is this ever ki evacuated or exhausted ?" 
 when it is, it ceases to be a channel, and becomes a hollow or vai - 
 ley. A river falls into the sea, and a ship a fa lib down the river," 
 as the motion is no other than a tall down a real, though gentle de- 
 clivity. 
 
 The fifth sort are those vile but common phrases, which can 
 scarcely be considered as conveying any sense; as, currying fa- 
 vour, dancing attendance* 
 
 Sixth. The idiornatical use that is sometimes made of certain 
 verbs, renders their application reprehensible ; as, * : he stands 
 upon security," for " he insists ;" and take, for u understand ;" 
 as, you take, me," and " 1 take it ;" and hold for u continue ;" 
 as * ; he does not hold long m cue mind." 
 
52 The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism. 
 
 Seventh. The worst are those, in which the words, when con- 
 strued, are not susceptible of any meaning ; as, " there were seven 
 ladie? in the company, every one prettier than another ;" which 
 cican c , that they were a!! very pretty. But one prettier, implies, 
 Ih.-t (here is another less pretty. Now vvhrre every one is prettier, 
 there can he none less, and consequently none more pretty. 
 
 Corol. Ambitiously to display nonsensical phra.-c? of this sort, 
 uuder the ridiculous notion of a familiar and :->asy manner, is not to 
 set off the riches of a language, but to expose its rags. As such 
 idioms, therefore, err alike against purity, simplicity, perspicuity, 
 ai;d elegance, they are entitled to no quarter from those who may 
 ikvm the foregoing canons of any weight in the art of composition. 
 
 &ch,Stli.uin, The first, five of these canons are intended to suggest 
 ll.e principles by which our choice ought to be directed, in cases 
 tvhereiii t.sc itself i? wavering ; and the four last, to point out those 
 further ii7;provemen(s of construction, which verbal criticism, with- 
 out exceeding her legal powers, may assist in producing. There 
 is a dajiger, however, lest OUT improvements this way be carried 
 too far. and our mother tongue, by being too much impaired, be 
 impoverished^ and so more injured in copiousness and nerves, than 
 all our refinement will ever be able to compensate. For this rea- 
 son, there ought, in support of every sentence of proscription, to be 
 an evident plea from (he principles of perspicuity, elegance, and 
 larmooy. 
 
 104. The foregoing reasoning furnishes a TENTH 
 CANON. Whatever be the opinion of some gramma- 
 rians, the want of etymology cannot be reckoned a 
 sufficient ground for the suppression of a significant 
 :crm, which hath come into good use. 
 
 Ols. It were as unreasonable to reject, on this account, the as- 
 r-jstance of an expressive word, that opportunely offers its service, 
 vfhen perhaps no other word would so exactly answer our purpose, 
 as to re-fuse, in common life, the needful aid of a. proper person, 
 because he could give no account of his family or pedigree. 
 
 lltus. Though what is called cant, is generally, not necessarily, 
 aor always without etymology, it is riot the defect, but the base- 
 ness of the use, which fixeth on it that disgraceful appellation. No 
 absolute monarch hath it more in his power to ennoble a person ot 
 obscure birth, than it is in the power oi' good use to exalt words of 
 low or dubious extraction. 
 
 Examples. Fib, banter, fvp, fudge, have arisen from hovels no 
 one knows how ; and/iw?s,y, from the cant of a workshop. 
 
 Corol. It is never from attention to etymology, which would fre- 
 quently mislead us, but from custom, the only infallible guide in 
 this matter, that the meanings of words in present use must be 
 learned. (Art. 76. and 77.) 
 
Grammatical Purity , &c. 53 
 
 105. What has now been said on this topic, re- 
 lates only to such words as bear no distinguishable 
 traces of the baseness of their source ; the case is 
 quite different in regard to those terms, which may 
 be said to proclaim their vile and despicable origin ; 
 and that either by associating disagreeable and un- 
 suitable ideas, or by betraying some frivolous humour 
 in their formation. 
 
 Examples Belli/timber, thorowstitch* and dumbfound^ are of the 
 former ; and transmogrify, bamboozle, hcltcrsktlter, are of the lat- 
 ter class. Yet most of these words are to be found in a WALKER'S 
 Critical Pronouncing Dictionary." 
 
 Obs. These may find a p.lace in burlesque, but ought never to 
 show themselves in any serious performance. A person of no birth, 
 as the phrase is, may be raised tc the rank of nobility, and, v. 1 irh 
 is more, may become it ; but nothing can add dignity to that man, 
 or fit him for the company of gentlemen, who bears indelible marks 
 of the clown in his look, gait,~and whole behaviour. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF GRAMMATICAL PURITY, 
 
 106. PURE ENGLISH composition implies throe 
 things : (Art. 87.) 
 
 First, that the words be English. (Art. 82.) 
 Secondly, that their construction, under which, in 
 
 our tongue, arrangement also is comprehended, be in 
 
 the English idiom. (General Principles, p. 44.) 
 Thirdly, that the words and phrases be employed 
 
 to express the precise meaning, which custom hath 
 
 affixed to them. (Art. 76.) 
 
 Obs. In the foregoing definition, we have substituted the phrase, 
 " pure English," for grammatical purity ; and (his we have done 
 for two especial reasons : 1st. Because it is the language in which 
 we write ; and 2dly. Because the language of Britain is capable of 
 that grammatical purity, and those higher qualities- of elocution, 
 and oratorical excellence, which give grace and energy to discourse, 
 
 107. Since purity implies three things, it may be 
 violated in three different ways : 
 
 F 2 
 
^i Grammatical Pu/-itj\ 
 
 First, the words may not be English. 
 
 This fault is denominated a barbarism. 
 
 Secondly, the construction of the sentence may not 
 be in the English idiom. 
 
 This fault hath gotten the name of solecism. 
 
 Thirdly, the words and phrases may not be em- 
 ployed to express the precise meaning, which custom 
 hath affixed to them. 
 
 This fault is termed an impropriety.* 
 
 108. The reproach of BARBARISM maybe incurred 
 
 in three different ways : 
 
 1st, By the use of words entirely obsolete ; 
 2dly. By the use of words entirely new ; or, 
 3dly. By new formations and compositions, from 
 
 simple and primitive words in present use. 
 
 lllus. 1. By (he use of obsolete words. Obsolete words are not 
 BOW English, though they might have been so in the days of our 
 forefathers. We cannot therefore introduce them. Foreign 
 phrases have as much claim to be Introduced as those antiquated 
 words, without risking the charge of affectation. Thus, Thomp- 
 son in his *' Castle of Indolence" has dragged from their obscurity 
 many words which were almost wholly unknown except in Spen- 
 ser's " Fairie Queene." 
 
 Examples. Anon, behest, fantasy, deped, erst, uneath, whilom ^ 
 tribulation, erewhile, ivhenas, peradventure, selfsame, offend more 
 or less against Article 86, and its Illustration. 
 
 C 2, Poets claim exemption from this rule of never using any words 
 hut those which are English, particularly on account of the pecu- 
 liar inconveniences to which the laws of versification subject them, 
 (Illus. 2. Art. 86.) 
 
 3. Besides, in treating some topics, passages of ancient story, 
 lor instance, there may sometimes be found a suitableness in the in- 
 troduction of old words. 
 
 4. In certain kinds of style when used sparingly and with judg- 
 ment, they serve to add the venerable air of antiquity to the narra- 
 tive. 
 
 5. In burlesque also they often produce a good effect. But purity 
 requires that those words only shall be employed which are of clas- 
 sical authority ; and they who are ambitious to speak and write 
 
 * This distribution is agreeable to Quintilian, Instit. lib. 1. cap. 
 ">. " Deprehendat quee barbara, quse inipropriaj quse contra legena 
 'oqueadi composita, 17 
 
as it respects Barbarisms* 55 
 
 with elegance, will select as their guide.*, in conversation and ora- 
 tory, speakers of the best elocution, and authors of the most cor- 
 rect taste, solid matter, and refined manner, will form their pat- 
 terns in writing. Classical authority, the standard hy which our 
 practice must be regulated, is none other than the example of such 
 speakers and writers. (Art. 80. Illus.} 
 
 109. The use of new words inundates a language 
 with a numerous tribe of barbarisms. A licentious 
 affectation of novelty rather than any necessity to 
 avoid circumlocutions, overwhelms our language 
 with foreign words. (Art. 85.) 
 
 Examples. Kumerosity, cognition, irrefragibility, tffiuxion, are 
 from the Latin, and convey no new meanings, which had not been 
 pre-occupied by other words of established reputation. And among 
 our French imports we have dernier resort, beaitx arts* belles ledrcs, 
 and a legion besides, which some of our own writers, otherwise 
 respectable, have fancied so many gems, capable of adding a won- 
 derful lustre to their works. 
 
 Obs. 1. But this is a false brilliancy, which dazzles only those 
 who forget that the Greeks branded a foreign term, in any of their 
 writers, with the odious name Q{ barbarism. Besides, the rules of 
 pronunciation and orthography in French, are so different from 
 those which obtain in English, that the far greater part of the 
 French words yearly introduced, constitute so many anomalies with 
 TIB, which, by loading the grammatical rules with exceptions, 
 greatly corrupt the simplicity and regularity of our tongue,* 
 
 Carol. Two considerations ought to weigh with writers, and 
 binder them from wantonly admitting into their performances such 
 extraneous productions. One is, if these foreigners be allowed to 
 settle amongst us, they will infallibly supplant the old inhabitants. 
 Whatever ground is given to the one, is so much taken away from 
 the other. No writer, therefore, ought to foment an humour of in- 
 novation which tends to make the language of his country still more 
 changeable, and consequently, to render the style of his own writ- 
 ings sooner obsolete. 
 
 2. The other consideration is, that if he should not be followed in 
 the use of those foreign words which he hath endeavoured to usher 
 into the language, if they meet not witn a favourable reception from 
 the public, they will ever appear as spots in his compositions. 
 Whether, therefore, he be, or be not imitated, he will himself 
 prove a loser in the end. Moreover, as borrowing naturally ex- 
 posethtothe suspicion of poverty, this poverty will much more 
 readily, and more justly too, be imputed to the writer than to the 
 language. 
 
 * sec " Principles of English Pronunciation," prefacing "Walk- 
 *.?** Dictionary." 
 
56 Grammatical Purify, 
 
 fn words, as fashions, (he same rule will hold ; 
 A*ike fantastic, if too new or old : 
 Be not the first by whom the new are tried, 
 Nor yet the last to lay Ihe old aside.* 
 
 110. JBy the use, of good words new modelled. The 
 third species of barbarism, is that produced by new 
 formations and compositions from primitives in pres- 
 ent use. 
 
 Illns. 1. Greater liberty ought to be given on this article than on 
 the former, provided the English analogy be observed in the com- 
 position, and the new modelled word be wanted in the Jane;ua2:e. 
 (Art. 104. and its Illus.} 
 
 2. Never, on the plea of necessity, patronize frivolous innova- 
 tions ; nor the collision of word? which are naturally the most unfit 
 for coalescing, and wherejhe analogy of the formation exhibits only 
 an obscure meaning tittTt be analysed. Rest assured this jargon 
 will not creep into vogue in the charter language of the present ae;e, 
 (Art. 77.<mrf86.) 
 
 3. Another modern refinement is, the alteration that has been 
 made, by some late w r riters, on proper names, and some other words 
 of foreign extraction, and on their derivatives, on pretence of bring- 
 ing them nearer both in pronunciation and in spelling, to the original 
 names, as they appear in the language from which those words were 
 taken. But (his hath been the custom of all nations. \Vhen the 
 Grecians and Romans introduced a foreign name into their lan- 
 guages, they made such alterations in it, as might facilitate the 
 pronunciation to their own people, and render it more analogous to 
 the other words of their tongue. 
 
 4. Another set of barbarisms, which also comes under this class, 
 arises from the abbreviations of pollysyilablf s, by lopping oif all the 
 syllables except the first, or the first and second. 
 
 Examples. Hyp for u hypochondriac," ult for " ultimate," extra 
 for u extraordinary." 
 
 Scholium. The two classes of barbarisms last mentioned, com- 
 prehending new words, and new forrantions, from words .still car- 
 rent, offend against use, considered both as reputable and as na- 
 tional. (Art. 77. and 35.) A writer who employs antiquated or 
 novel phraseology, must doit with design : he cannot en- from in- 
 advertence as he may do it with respect to provincial or vulgar ex- 
 pressions. He cannot be habituated to antiquated or novel words 
 and phrases. It is habit that renders it so difficult to avoid those 
 which are provincial or vulgar. How much soever folly or vanity 
 may actuate the herd of scribblers, whose greatest struggle is to in- 
 sinuate a favourable opinion of their errudilion* the writer of true 
 genius and taste will not expect to obtain reputation by such arti- 
 
 * Pope's Essay on Criticism, 
 
as it respects Solecisms. 57 
 
 nrr<5. He \viil neither discolour his style by the faint tinge of^anti- 
 quity or noveUy, nor by the coarse daubing' of provinciality and 
 vulgarity. 
 
 111. THE SOLECISM. The transgression of any 
 of the syntactic rules is a solecism ; and there are 
 various ways in which almost ever^ rule may be 
 transgressed. 
 
 Illus. 1. Leaving it to grammarians to exemplify and class the 
 flagrant solecisms which be! ray ignorance in the rudiments of the 
 lan?ur.ge ; we proceed to take notice of a few less observable, which 
 writers of reputation, and even ofcriticul skill in the language, have 
 slklden into through inattention. 
 
 2. Solecism? are more excusable than barbarisms; the former 
 are usually reckoned the effect of negligence, the latter of affectation. 
 Negligence, often the consequence of a noble ardour in regard t 
 sentiments, is, at the worst, a venial trespass, and sometimes it is 
 not even without energy ; affectation is always a deadly sin against 
 the laws of rhetoric. ^(Obs. Art. 85.) 
 
 3. Much greater indulgence, in the article of solecisms, is given 
 to the speaker than to the writer; and to the writer who proposeth 
 to persuade or move, greater allowances are made, than to him 
 who proposeth ha rely to instruct or please. The more vehemence 
 is required by the nature of the subject, the less correctness is ex- 
 acted in the manner of treating it. Nay, a slight deficiency in this 
 respect is not nearly so prejudicial to the scope of an oration, as a 
 scrupulous accuracy, winch bears in it the symptoms of study and 
 art. 
 
 Corol. Grammatical inaccuracies ought to be avoided by a wri- 
 ter, for two reasons : First, because a reader will much sooner 
 discover them than a hearer, how attentive soever he may be. 
 Secondly, as wilting implies more leisure and greater coolness than 
 speaking, defects of this kind, when discovered in the former, will 
 be k-ps excused than they would he in the latter. 
 
 Of the various solecisms which may be committed, we have 
 
 1. A mistake of the plural number for Iho singular. 
 
 II. Inaccuracies in the construction and application of the degress 
 of comparison suggest the following rules: 
 
 lilus. 1. The comparative degree implies commonlly a compari- 
 son of one thine with one other thing; the superlative, on the con- 
 trary, always implies a comparison'of one thing with many others. 
 The former consequently requires to be followed by the singular, the 
 latter by the plural, yet in the .sentence. u He is wiser than we," the 
 comparative is rightly followed by a plural. 
 
 2. In a comparison of equality, though the positive degree on- 
 ly is used, the construction must be similar to that of the com- 
 parative, both being followed by conjunctions which govern no 
 case. 
 
 3. The participles, as after the positive, and than afler the com- 
 
58 Grammatical Purity, 
 
 parafive, are conjunctions and not prepositions. For example, "I 
 eslcc-m you more than they" is correct ; and so is the sentence, " I 
 esteem you more than them," but in a sense quite different from the 
 former, since in the one case it expresses their tslctmfor you^nd in 
 the other my esteem fur them. 
 
 Corol. The second canon, {Art. 91.) which teaches UP to prefer 
 what is most agreeable to analogy? lead* us to decide that than is a 
 conjunction. 
 
 4. The superlative, followed by the singular number, is an error 
 which may be corrected by substituting the comparative in room of 
 the superlative. 
 
 III. Possessive pronouns must always agree in number and person 
 with their antecedents. 
 
 IV. Mistakes in the tenses of the verbs suggest many rules. 
 Rule. 1. When in two connected clauses the first verb is in the 
 
 present or the future, the second, which is dependent on it, cannot 
 be in the past. 
 
 2. On the contrary, when the first verb is in the preterite, the 
 second ought to be so too. 
 
 3. When the first verb is in the preterperfedt, the second may be 
 in the preterimperfect. 
 
 4. In expressing abstract or universal truths, according to the 
 idiom of our language, the present tense of the verb ought always 
 to be used ; because the verb, in such cases, has no relation to 
 time, but serves merely as a copula to the two terms of the propo- 
 sition*. 
 
 5. When speaking of a past event which occasions the mention of 
 some general truth, never use the same tense in enunciating the gen- 
 eral truth, with that which had been employed in the preceeciing 
 part of the sentence. 
 
 6. The construction of two verbs, both under the regimen of 
 the same conjunction if, requires both the verbs to bo iu the sub- 
 nnftive mood. 
 
 7. Never omit, in a subsequent part of a sentence, the par- 
 ticiple which makes part of the complex tense, from an idea that 
 the occurrence of the verb in a former clause of the sentence will 
 supply the defect. 
 
 8. Never couple words together, and assign to them a common 
 regimen, when use will not admit that they be construed in the same 
 manner. 
 
 I II us. " Will it be urged that the four gospels are as o&?,' or even 
 elder than traditiont." The words as uld and older cannot have a 
 common reairnen. The one requires to be followed by tbe conjunc- 
 tion 05, the other by than. 
 
 V. The connexion between the preposition and the noun or pro- 
 
 * In logic the Copula is the word which unites the subject and 
 predicate of a proposition. 
 
 t Boiinb. Phil. Ecc, IV. e. 19. 
 
as 'it respects Solecisms. ol) 
 
 noun governed by it, is so intimate, that there cannot be a refer 
 eace to the one without the other. The words to which are rightly 
 construed with the passive participle, but. the construction is which, 
 with the active verb. 
 
 VI. The repetition of the relative, in all sentences, makes the 
 insertion of the personal pronoun necessary. 
 
 I lias. Both these rules are transgressed in the sentence, u few 
 talents to which most men are not born, or at least may not ac- 
 quire," which ought to run thu?, u or which at least they may 
 not acquire." 
 
 Corol. A part of a complex tense means nothing without the rest 
 of the tense; therefore the rest of the tense ou?ht always to be 
 found in the sentence. 
 
 V{f. In the syntax of nouns, expressions which can only be rightly 
 construed with a preposition, should never be without their proper 
 regimen. 
 
 VI II. As regularity in the management of prepositions implies a 
 proper choice of these particles, their omission is a great blemish 
 when their presence is required. 
 
 The wrong choice of prepositions, suggests the necessity of not 
 u sin 2; as synonymous such as rarely admit the same construction. 
 
 IX. Inaccuracies in the applications of the conjunctions and ad- 
 verbs, arise from want of attention to those little things which ought 
 not to be altogether disregarded by any writer. 
 
 Corol. The words of the language constitute the materials with 
 which the orator must work ; the rules of the language teach him by 
 what management those materials are rendered useful. But purity 
 is using rightly the words of the language by a careful observance 
 of the rules. It is, therefore, justly considered as essential to all 
 the other graces of expression. Hence, not only perspicuity and vi- 
 vacity, but even elegance and animation derive a lusture. 
 
 112. THE IMPROPRIETY is the third and last class of 
 faults against purity. The barbarism is an offence 
 against etymology, the solecism, against syntax, the 
 impropriety against lexicography. 
 
 Ohs. The impropriety, then, may be in application of single 
 words, or of phrases ; but as none but those who are grossly i^ao- 
 rant of our tongue, can misapply the words that have no affinity to 
 those whose place they are made to occupy, we shall only take no- 
 tice of those improprieties, into whih a writer is apt unwarily 
 to be seduced by some resemblance or proximity in sound, or sense, 
 or both. 
 
 I. By proximity of sound some are misled to use the word ob- 
 servation for u observance." When to observe signifies "tore- 
 mark," the verbal noun is observation, when it signifies ** to 
 obey," or u to keep," the verbal is observance. 
 
 II. Endurance (or "duration." The former properly signifies 
 
GO Grmmatical Purity ^ 
 
 " patience" as applied to s-itjfering ; the latter means " lasting" a 
 applied to time. 
 
 111. Ceremonious and <( ceremonial" are distinguished thus : they 
 come from the same noun ceremony, which signifies both a form of 
 civility* and a religions rite The epithet expressive of the first 
 signification is ceremonious, of the second ceremonial. 
 
 IV". When genius denotes mental abilities, its plural is " ^enius- 
 rs." and not genii, a term which denotes spirits or demons, good or 
 Lad. 
 
 113. Of improprieties arising from a similitude in 
 sense, we have, 
 
 I. Feme //j/, used for "reality." In strict propriety the word is 
 only applicable to persons, and signifies not physical, but moral 
 truth. 
 
 II. Invention, for " discovery." One discovers truth; another 
 invents fnlse/ioods. A macltinisl invents, an observer discovers. 
 
 III. f'erdict, for "testimony. 7 ' A witness gives his testimony ; 
 \\wjvry give their verdict. 
 
 IV. Ris-ibie, for " ridiculous." The former hath an active, the 
 latter a passive signification. Thus, we say, ' man is a risible an- 
 inial." " A fop is a ridiculous character." 
 
 V. The word together often 'supplies the place of successively. 
 The resemblance which continuity in time bears to continuity in 
 place is the source of this impropriety. When the Spectator says, 
 u 1 do not remember that I ever spoke three sentences together in 
 my whole life.,' propriety teaches his reader to substitute succes- 
 sively for " together." 
 
 VI. Everlu sting for " eternity." The only proper sense of the 
 former word is time without e?id', the latter denotes time without be^ 
 ginning. ' 
 
 VII. Apparent , for "certain," " manifest," is often equivocal. 
 I>y analogy, seeming is opposed to real; visible to concealed. And 
 hence, also, u to n. >ke appear," for to prove, to tcince, to shou^ is 
 improper. A sophist may make a thing appear to be what it is 
 not ; but this is very different from showing what it is. 
 
 114. THE IDIOTISM, or the employing of an En- 
 glish word in a sense which it bears in some provin- 
 cial dialect, in low and partial use. or which perhaps 
 the corresponding word bears in some foreign tongue, 
 but unsupported by general use in our own language, 
 belongs to the class of improprieties now under con- 
 sideration. (Art. 102.) 
 
 I. Impracticable for " impassable," when applied to roads, is a 
 application which suits the French, but not the English idiom. 
 
 II. Decompound, for "analyse." To decompound is ci to com- 
 pound of materials already compounded :" to analyse is to resolve a 
 compound into its first principle?. 
 
as ii respects the Vulgarism. 61 
 
 III. To arrive for " happen." We arrive at a place, but misfor- 
 ///?<.? happen to man. 
 
 IV. To hold should never be employed for u to use ;" nor to give 
 into for u to adopt, 1 ' 
 
 Obs. Gallicisms, Latinisms, arid vulgarism , result from affecta- 
 tion, pedantry, and ignorance. (O6*. Arl. J.-5.) 
 
 V. THE PLEONASM, coupled with ambiguity, is the highest de- 
 gree ofidiomatical expression ; a, " the general reports, that lie 
 should have said ;" for, u that he said." What a man sS'rf, is ofu-n 
 very different from what he should have said ; hence the pleonasm 
 of the auxiliaries, iu should have," conveys also an ambiguity. 
 
 Obs. These remarks on the idiot ism, do not extend to satire and 
 burlesque, (Obs. Art. 105.) in which a vulgar, or even what is call- 
 ed a cant expression, will sometimes be more ernphatical than any 
 proper term whatever ; as in these lines of Pope : 
 
 Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, 
 If folly grows romantic, I must paint it. 
 
 VI. The derivatives falseness, falsity, falsehood, from the root 
 jfalse^ are often by mistake employed for one another, though in the 
 
 best use, they are evidently distinguished. 
 
 Illns. 1. Falseness is properly used in a moral sense fora want 
 of veracity, and applied only to persons : the other two are applied 
 only to thii v ; . 
 
 2. Falsity denotes that quality in the abstract, which may be de- 
 fined contrariety to truth, as an error arising in a demonstration 
 from false premises in the proposition. 
 
 3. Falsehood is an untrue assertion. 
 
 VII. Negligence is improperly used for "neglect." The former 
 implies habit, the latter denotes act. 
 
 Vlil. Conscience, for "consciousness." The former denotes the 
 faculty, the latter a particular exertion. 
 
 IX. Sophism, for u sophistry." 7'he former denotes a fallacious 
 argument the letter fallacious reasoning. 
 
 X. Remember, for u remind." We are reminded by others : we 
 remember of ourselves . 
 
 XI. Plenty, for " plentiful." The latter is an adjective, the for- 
 mer, a noun. The misapplication of either is a gross vulgarism. 
 
 XII. Doctrines, for "precepts." The former are credcnda, 
 which we are required to believe ; the latter, we are called on to 
 obey, as rules of life. 
 
 115. THE VULGARISM springs from an affectation 
 of an easy, familiar, and careless manner of \vriting ; 
 but it is an error to imagine, that the less pains one 
 bestows upon style, it must appear the more natural, 
 
 O65. 1. Ease is one thing, carelessness another ; and the former 
 i.s most commonly the result of the greatest care. It is Jike ease iii 
 
 G 
 
C2 Grammatical Purity, as it respect* 
 
 motion, which, though originally the ciTpct of disriplh.e, when once 
 it hath become habitual. Las a more simple and more natural ap- 
 pearance, than is to be observed in any manner which untutored na- 
 i ture can produce. 
 
 But ease in writing flows from art, not chance ; 
 As those move easiest who have learned to dance.* 
 
 U6**The love of novelty, and a fondness for va- 
 l :/^/, arc the two sources whence flow those numer- 
 2 ' ous inadvertencies, with which the style of many 
 writers is chargeable. (Art. 78. Ilhts.) 
 
 liius. 1 . The former, when excessive, tends directly to misguide 
 j;s, by ranking us disdain the beaten track, Tor no other reason hut 
 because it is the beaten track. The idea of vulsarity, in the im- 
 aginations of those who are affected with this principle, is connect- 
 ed with every thing that is conceived as customary. The genuine 
 issue of this extreme, is, not only improprieties, but even absurdi- 
 ties, and fustian and bombast. 
 
 2. The latter, to wit, a fondness for variety, produceth often 
 the same effect, though more indirectly. It begets an immoderate 
 dread of becoming tedious, by repeating too frequently the same 
 sound. In order to avoid this, a writer resolves, at e ij rate, to 
 diversify his style, let it cost what it will. But this fancied excel- 
 lence usually costs more than it is worth ; for to it, very often, pro- 
 priety and perspicuity are both sacrificed. 
 
 Obs. From these illustrations, we derive the following criteria : 
 Crit. I. The mind is fatigued by the frequent recurrence of the 
 same idea : that performance which grows dull as we advance, is 
 chargeable with excess of uniformity. 
 
 Carol. If, therefore, there be a remarkable paucity of ideas, a 
 diversity of words will not answer the purpose, or give to the work 
 th& appearance of variety. 
 
 II. On the contrary, when an author is at great pains to vary 
 his expressioos, and for this purpose ever deserts the common road, 
 he will, to an intelligent reader, but the more expose his poverty, 
 the more he is solicitous to conceal it. You will discover this pe- 
 nury, when an author is always recurring to such words as custom 
 haih appropriated to purposes different from those for which we use 
 them. 
 
 117. IMPROPRIETY IN PHRASES is ascertained, 
 when the expression, on being grammatically ana- 
 lysed, is discovered to contain some inconsistency. 
 Illus. 1. Such is the phrase, of all others, after the superlative 
 
 * Pope's Imitations. 
 
Impropriety in Phrases and Precision. 63 
 
 degree, which, when interpreted by the rules of English syntax, 
 iiaplies a thing different from itself; a- it t; celebrates the phufi h 
 of England as the mast perfect of all others."* Proper!/, either 
 u as more perfect than any other ; r or, " as the most perfect of 
 all churches." 
 
 2 On this principle, Milton falls into an impropriety in these 
 words : 
 
 - - - - - - - - Adam, 
 
 The comeliest man of men since born 
 llissoiix. The fairest of liar daughters, Eve.t 
 
 The loveliest pair 
 
 .That ever since in love's embraces met. if 
 
 3. The general laws of the language, which constitute the. most 
 extensive and important use, may be pleaded against these ex- 
 pressions. Now it is one principal method of purifying a language, 
 to lay aside suc.li idioms as are inconsistent with its radical princi- 
 ples and constituent rules ; or as, when interpreted by such prin- 
 ciples and rules, exhibit manifest nonsense. Nor does the least in- 
 convenience result from this conduct, a? we can be at no. los? to find 
 expressions oi 'our meaning altogether as natural, and entirely uu- 
 exceplionable. 
 
 4. u Than the rest of our neighbours," is an impropriety which 
 may be corrected by omitting the words in Italics. And when 
 Swift, in his voyage to Brobdignag, says, *' I had like to have 
 gotten one or two broken head? ;" one unavoidably asks, " how 
 many heads he had on his body ?" That t(> once or twice" he h;id 
 like to have got his head broken for his impertinence, one can easi- 
 ly conceive. 
 
 5. One thing may be cut into two or more j but it is inconceiva- 
 ble, that by cutting, two or more things should be made one. We 
 cannot therefore speak of shortening discourse, u by cutting poly- 
 syllables into one."$ 
 
 6. A wrong, wilfully committed, is no mistake. The words 
 used in the following sentence, are therefore incompatible : u I 
 have not wilfully committed the least mistake. "|| 
 
 7. A pufe limpid stream cannot also befoul with stains ; there- 
 fore the following linos, 
 
 So the pure limpid stream, when/ow/ with stains, 
 Of rushing torrents and descending rains. IT 
 
 involve in them an absurdity, rather than an impropriety. 
 
 8. When an author says one tiling, and means another, his fault 
 
 * Swift's Apology for the Tale of a Tub. t Paradise Lost. 
 \ Ibid. b. iv. & u Voyage to Luputa." || Swift's a Remarks on 
 the Barrier Treaty." If Addis ouVCalo. 
 
4 Grammatical Purity, 
 
 may be classed with impropriety in phrases ; or it may come under 
 the article tf perspicuity. 
 
 9. It is an incongruity in the combination of words, to speak of 
 -i falling into a man's conversation ;"* and to "/a// into conversa- 
 tion with a man,"t is little better than the impropriety in another 
 dress; for grammatical purity, the most essential of all the virtues 
 $f elocution, would teach another construction. 
 
 118. PRECISIO.V is the last ingredient of perspi- 
 cuity. Precision means, that all redundant phra- 
 seology shall, without hesitation, be expunged ; and 
 lhat no more words and phrases, however pure and 
 proper, shall be employed, than are necessary to 
 convey the meaning. 
 
 The exact import of precision, may be drawn from the 
 etymology of the word. It comes from u praecidere," to cut off: 
 imports retrenching all superfluities, and pruning the expression so 
 as to exhibit neither more nor less than an exact copy of his idea 
 who uses it. It is often difficult to separate the qualities of style 
 from the qualities of thought ; and it -is found so in this instance ; 
 for, in order to write with precision, though this be properly a 
 quality of style, one must possess a very considerable degree of 
 distinctness and accuracy in his manner of thinking. (Art. 74. 
 CVoJ.) 
 
 119. The words which a man uses to express his 
 ideas, may be faulty in three respects : they may 
 eitiier not express that idea which the author intends, 
 but some other which only resembles, or is a-kin to 
 it; or, they may express that idea, but not quite 
 i'uiiy and completely ; or, they may express it toge- 
 ther with something more than he intends. 
 
 lib is. 1. Precision stands opposed to all these three faults ; but 
 . -hicrly to the last. In an author^ writing with propriety, his being 
 free from the two former faults seem? implied. The words which 
 he uses are proper ; that is, they express that idea which he in- 
 f ends, and they express it fully ; but to be precise, signifies, that 
 they express that idea, and no more. There is nothing in his words 
 which introduces any foreign idea, any superfluous, unseasonable 
 accessory, so as to mix it confusedly with the principal object, and 
 thereby to render our conception of that object loose and indistinct. 
 This requires a writer to have, himself, a very clear apprehension 
 of the object he means to represent to us ; to have laid fast hold 
 
 Spectator, No. 49. t Campbell's Phil, of Rhet. Vol. 1, Book 
 hdp. iii. 
 
as it respects Precision. 65 
 
 of it in his mind ; and never to waver in any one view he takes of it: 
 a perfection to which, indeed, few writer:? attain. 
 
 2. The following examples possess all the ingredients now speci- 
 fied. " Those who live in the world, and in good company, are 
 quick-sighled with regard to every defect or singularity in behav- 
 iour; the slightest irregularity in motion, in speech, or in dress, 
 which, to a peasant, would he invisible, escapes not their obser- 
 vation. " u The very populace in Athens, were critics in pronun- 
 ciation, in language, and even in eloquence ; and in Rome at pres- 
 ent, the most illiterate shop-keeper is a better judge of statues and 
 of pictures, than many persons of refined education in London. 1 '* 
 No word or phrase is wanting ; no word or phrase is superliuous; 
 all are pure and all are proper. 
 
 120. The use and importance of precision, may be 
 deduced from the nature of the human mind. It can 
 never view, clearly and distinctly, above one ob- 
 ject at a time. If it must look at two or three toge- 
 ther, especially objects among which there is a re- 
 semblance or connection, it finds itself confused and 
 embarrassed. It cannot clearly perceive in what 
 they agree, and in what they differ. 
 
 Illus. Thus, were any object, suppose some animal, to be pre- 
 sented to me, I would desire all its trappings to be taken off, I 
 would require it to be brought before me by itself, and to stand 
 alone, that there might be nothing to distract my attention. The 
 same is the case with words. If, when you would inform me of 
 your meaning, you also tell me more than what conveys it ; if you 
 join foreign circumstances to the principal object; if, by unneces- 
 sarily varying the expression, you shift the point of view, and make 
 me see sometimes the object itself, and sometimes another thin* 
 that is connected with it ; you thereby oblige me to look on several 
 objects at once, and I lose sight of the principal. You load the 
 animal you are shewing me, with so many trappings and collars, 
 and bring so many of the same species before me, somewhat resem- 
 bling, and yet some what differing, that I see none of them clearly. T 
 
 121. This forms what is called a loose style ; and 
 is the proper opposite to precision. It generally 
 arises from using a superfluity of words. Feeble 
 writers employ a multitude of words to make them- 
 selves understood, as they think, more distinctly ^ 
 and they only confound the reader* 
 
 A Lord Kame's Elements of Criticism, t Blair's Lect. onRhet 
 Vol. 1. 
 
 G-2 
 
uU Grammatical Purity, 
 
 Illus. They ^re sensible of not having caught the precise expres- 
 sion, to convey what they would signify ; they do not, indeed, con- 
 ceive their own meaning very precisely themselves ; and, therefore, 
 help it out, as they can, by this and the other word, which mayj 
 as th^y suppose, supply the delect, and bring you somewhat nearer 
 to their idea : they are always going about it and about it, but nev- 
 er just hit the thing. The image, as they set it before you, is al- 
 way* seen double ; and no double image is distinct. When an au- 
 thor tdls me of his hero's courage in the day of kattle, the expres- 
 sion is precise, and I understand it fully. But if, from the desire 
 of multiplying words, he must needs praise hi? courage and fortitude ; 
 at the moment he joins these words together, my idea begins to wa- 
 ver. He means to express one quality more strongly : but lie is, 
 in truth, expressing two. Courage resists danger ; fortitude sup- 
 ports \.:.\n. The occasion of exerting each of these qualities is dif- 
 ferent; and being led to think of both together, when only one of 
 them should be before me, my view is rendered unsteady, and my 
 conception of the objects indistinct. 
 
 Corol. From what has been said, it appears that an author may, 
 in a quali6ed sense, be perspicuous, while yet he is far from being 
 precise. lie uses proper words, and proper arrangement ; he gives 
 you the idea as clear as he conceives it himself; and so far he is 
 perspicuous ; but the ideas are not very clear in his own mind ; they 
 are loose and general ; and, therefore, cannot be expressed with 
 precision. All subjects do not equally require precision. It is suf- 
 ficient, on many occasions, that we have a general view of the mean- 
 Ing. The subject, perhaps, is of the known and familiar kind ; 
 and we are in no hazard of mistaking the sense of the author, though, 
 every word which he uses be not precise and exact. 
 
 122. Precision is frequently violated by the intro- 
 duction of supernumerary words and phrases, (Illus. 
 1. and 2.) ; but chiefly by the accumulation of those 
 which are either nearly synonymous, or which, though 
 not synonymous, include the signification of one ano- 
 ther. (Art. 123.) 
 
 Illus. I. " I should be glad to know what intervals of life such 
 persons can possibly set apart for the improvement of their minds."* 
 The adverb pvssibly, is superfluous. It suggests no meaning not im- 
 plied in the auxiliary can, which denotes all the power or capaci- 
 ty of an agent. 
 
 2. u The pleasures of imagination are more preferable than those 
 of sense or intellect.'^ 4 ' The very slightest singularity."^: More 
 is superfluous, when added to preferable, and very is the same when 
 added to slightest. Preferable, and slightest, express every idea 
 contained in more preferable, and very slightest. These reduadaft- 
 
 * Swift. t Addison. :f Elements of Criticism. 
 
at it reyjci't* P.recisityi, 67 
 
 eie? are derivfd from conversation, the vulgariles and inaccuracies 
 of which frequently insinuate them>elves insensibly into our wniUTi 
 language. 
 
 123. The more frequent violations of precision, 
 those indeed more difficult to be avoided and cor- 
 rected, are of the second class, and appear when 
 words or phrases are introduced, which have their 
 meaning anticipated by the general sense, or by other 
 words of the sentence. 
 Illus. 1. Horace himself is not altogether unexceptionable. 
 
 " Quod si me vatibus Lyricis inseres, 
 
 Sublirni feriam sidera vertice." 
 
 The adjective sublimi is perfectly agreeable in sound, nay, necessa- 
 ry to complete the versification, but it is superfluous in communi- 
 cating the sense ; because, after acquainting us, that his head would 
 strike the stars, the poet had no need to add, that it would be 
 raised very high. 
 
 2. Addison begins the tragedy of Cato with a series of tautolo- 
 gies. 
 
 44 The dawn is overcast, the morning low'rs, 
 
 And heavily in clouds brings on the day, 
 
 The great, the important day, big with the fate 
 
 Of Cato and of Rome." 
 
 In the first two lines, the same sentiment is three times repeated is 
 different words. u The dawn is overcast," means no ^more than 
 " the morning lowers," and both these phrases denote exactly the 
 same sense with the line that follows, " and heavily in clouds brings 
 OB the day." Three synonymous words appear in the third line ; 
 " the great, the important day, big with fate." The author might 
 as well have repeated any one of these words three times, had it 
 not been for the sake of the measure, 
 
 3. What is farther remarkable, is, that this example points out 
 one of the classical sources from which Addison derived many of 
 the splendid sentiments of this work. Lucan introduces the day on 
 which the battle of Pharsalia was fought, in terms, which leave no 
 room to doubt, that Addison had the description in his i4 mind's 
 eye," when he began the tragedy of Cato. 
 
 " Segnior oceano quam lex eterna vocabat, 
 Luctificus Titan, nunquam rnagis rethera contra 
 Egit equos, currumque, polo rapiente, rHorsit. 
 Defectusque pati voluit, raptxque laborcs 
 
08 Grammatical Purity. 
 
 ,' ' 
 
 Lueis ; et attraxit nuhes, non pabula flammue ; 
 Sed lie Thessalico purus luceret in orbe.'* 
 
 It was unlucky thnt Addison could appropriate no circumstance 
 of this magnificent description, hut the one he has selected: the 
 darkness of the morning, resulting from the quantity and thickness 
 of the clouds, which induced him, perhaps, to dweli on it to excess 
 
 Obs. 1. Cicero, in his orations to the people, seems to have beeR 
 guided by the opinion, that full, flowing, and copious diction, was 
 most congruous to the taste, and best adapted to lead the resolu- 
 tions, of a popular audience ; but, that it was less correct in it- 
 self, that it was unsuitable to the oratory of tl>e senate, and that it 
 was still more discordant with the style of his philosophical and 
 critical works. 
 
 2. His great master, Demosthenes, in addressing similar audi- 
 ences, never had recourse to a similar expedient. He avoided re- 
 dundancies, as equivocal and feeble. lie aimed only to make the 
 deepest and most efficient impression ; and he employed for this 
 purpose, the plainest, the fewest, and the most emphatic words. 
 li Supernumerary words may swell the period, or captivate the ear, 
 but they must diminish the effect upon the understanding or the 
 heart."* ^- P- 66.) 
 
 Illus. 1. In support of these remarks, we shall select some pas- 
 sages Crom the orations of Cicero against Cataline, addressed to the 
 people. 
 
 u Multi saepe honores diis immortalibus, justi, habiti sunt, ac de- 
 biti; sed profecto justioree nunquam. Erepti enim ex crudeiisimo 
 ac miserrimo intentu, et erepti sine csede, sine sanguine, sine exer- 
 citu, sine diniicatione, me uno, togato duce etimperatore, vicistis." 
 
 The words, " ca?de, sanguine, exfcrcitu, dimicatione;" are not 
 synonymous, yet do they virtually include the meaning of one anoth- 
 er, and therefore multiply words, without impressing or extending 
 the meaning, without completing or embellishing the picture. 
 
 A^ai'i. If there was no slaughter, it was unnecessary to add, 
 that no blood was shed ; and if there was no army, there could be 
 neither slaughter, blood, nor fighting. He might as well have sub- 
 joined many other puerilities ; a?, " without marching, without 
 swords, without dust, without fatigue." Besides the quantities of 
 supposing himself a general u without an army, 3? expressed in the 
 clause, u Hie uno, togato dace et imperatore," duce and impera- 
 tore are .perfectly synonymous', and one of them is therefore super- 
 iluous. 
 
 2. " Neque nos unquarn, dum ille in urbe hostis fuisset, tantis 
 periculi? rtm publican), tanta pace, tanto otio, tanto silentio, liber- 
 assemus." Tije words, u otio, silentio, pace," like those speci- 
 fied in the preceding example, all imply the signification of one 
 another : they swell the period ; they detain the same idea in view ; 
 but the} 7 convey no additional information. 
 
 * Barrow. 
 
as it respects Precision. Q9 
 
 3. Tillotson is among the most remarkable of English writers of 
 reputation, for the profuse use of synonymous terms ; as ? for exam- 
 ple, the following. 
 
 " Acquiesce, and rest satisfied with." "Upon the testimony and 
 relation of others."-" Governed and conducted." " Corruption 
 and degeneracy." " Embroiled and disordered." " Wavering 
 and unsettled." ''Apprehensions and fears." "Support and, 
 bear up." " Positive and peremptory." " Special and particu- 
 lar." 
 
 4. Even some late authors of great eminence, will not perhaps, 
 be admitted to be altogether exempt from reprehension. U I am 
 certain and confident, that the account I have ;;iven is true." 
 "Many excursions, fortuitous and unguided, have been made." 
 4; A word is unfamiliar by disuse, and unpleasant by unfarailiarity." 
 
 In the first of these examples, the words, u certain" and " confi- 
 dent ;" in tne second r " fortuitous" and " unguided ;" and in the 
 third, " disuse" and " unfamiliarity,"*will be held by nice critics, 
 to be either too nearly synonymous, or to include too much the 
 meaning of one another, to permit, with propriety, their being pla- 
 ced in juxta-position in the same sentence. (Art. 113. VII.) 
 
 Scholia 1. It is observed by Barrow, that these accumulations of 
 words may perhaps appear, in part, to result from the deficiency of 
 language, which supplies not a pertinent word for every idea ; but 
 they are much more the offspring of indistinct apprehension in the 
 authors. When our ideas are not clear, our expression savours of 
 similar embarrassment. As we do not perceive completely what 
 we intend to communicate, we multiply words, concluding most er- 
 roneously, that the meaning is more fully and accurately expressed, 
 and that the chance is greater of our being better understood. We 
 do not attempt to remove the origin of the error the obscurity of 
 our thoughts ; we do not attend to this fact, that the deepest im- 
 pression is made when no more words are employed than are neces- 
 sary to convey the sense, and that eve r y superlluous expression 
 contributes to confound, not to enlighten the understanding. " Ob- 
 slat quioquid non adjuvat*." 
 
 2. But a considerable number of words, either synonymous, or 
 nearly so, in a language, is so far from being a blemish, or a cause 
 of disorder, that they are a source of much conveniency, and even 
 of some pleasure. They enable us to infuse variety into style; and 
 to prevent the monotony which arises from the too frequent recur- 
 rence of the same sound. These changes of words, and modula- 
 tion, constitute the richness of a language, and the writer possesses 
 important advantages, who finds his endeavours to improve his 
 composition, seconded by the structure of the tongue which he em- 
 ploys. 
 
 3. Yet the number of synonymous words is not so great in any 
 language as is commonly supposed. Few people are at much pains 
 to ascertain the meaning of the words they use ; or to inquire 
 
 * Quinctilian. 
 
70 'Grammatical Purity 
 
 whether the sense which they affix to any word, is the most pertin- 
 ent, or adopted by the most accurate judges. Even authors fre- 
 quently assign their own meaning to their words, without inquiring 
 scrupulously, whether it. is the most classical, or the most proper. 
 Tlhiy generally infer, that tiie reader's opinion will coincide \vilh 
 their o.vn, or thai lie will easily perceive the difference ; so thai no 
 ambiguity shall arise. 
 
 4. For these reasons, synonj'mous words are supposed more nu- 
 merous than they are, and much more so than ni :e(y of err. ie ism 
 will admit. Authors, on one hand, are careless in the meanings 
 which they affix to words. The critics, on the other, are too re- 
 fined, in establishing meanings, which even accurate authors neither 
 remember nor apply. The labours of the ciilic may excite atten- 
 tion, and diminish improprieties ; but they cannot expect that 
 practice will realize in any language, the nice distinction?, or 
 refined varieties, which they may have endeavoured to introduce. 
 
 124. The instances which are given in the follow- 
 ing illustrations, may themselves be of use ; and they 
 will serve to shew the necessity of attending, with 
 care and strictness, to the exact import of words, if 
 ever we would write with propriety or precision. 
 
 ] llus. 1. Austerity, severity, rt'gour. Austerity relates to the 
 manner of living ; seventy, of thinking ; rigour, ef punishing. 
 To aus erity, is opposed effeminacy ; to severity, relaxation ; to 
 rigour, clemency. A hermit is austere in his life ; a casuist, se- 
 vere in his application of religion or law ; a judge, rigorous in his 
 sentences. 
 
 2. Custom, habit. Custom, respects the action ; habit, the actor. 
 By custom, we mean the frequent repetition of the same act; by 
 habit, the effect which that repetition produces on the mind or 
 body. By the custom of walking often in the streets, one acquires 
 a habit of idleness. 
 
 3- Surprised, astonished, amaz?d, confounded. 1 am surprised, 
 with what is new or unexpected ; I am astonished, at what is vast 
 or great ; I am amazed, with what is incomprehensible ; I am co:.- 
 founded, by what is shocking or terrible. 
 
 4. Desist, renounce, quit, havt off. Each of these words implies, 
 some pursuit or object relinqui-hed ; but from different motives. 
 We desist, from the difficulty of accomplishing. We renounce, on 
 account of the disagreeanleness of the object or pursuit. We quit, 
 for the sake of some other thing which interests us more; and we 
 leave off, because we are weary ofthe design. A politician desists 
 from his designs, when he finds they are impracticable ; he renoun- 
 ces the court., because he has been affronted by it ; he quits ambi- 
 tion for stuclj or retirement ; and leaves oil his attendance on the 
 great, as he becomes old and weary of it. 
 
a& it respects Precision. 71 
 
 5. Pride, vanity. Pride, makes us esteem ourselves ; vanity, 
 makes us desire the esteem of other?. It is just to say, as Demi 
 Swift iias done, that a man is too proud to be vain. 
 
 6. Haughtiness, disdain. Haughtiness, is founded on the high 
 opinion we entertain of ourselves ; disdain, on the low opinion we 
 have of others. 
 
 7. To distinguish, to separate. We distinguish, what we do not 
 want to confound with another thing ; we separate, what we want 
 to remove from it. Ohjects are distinguished from one another, 
 by their qualities. They are separated, by the distance of time or 
 place. 
 
 8. To weary, to fatigue. The continuance of the Fame thing 
 wearies us ; labour fatigues us. I am weary with standing ; I ata 
 fatigued with walking. ; A suitor wearies us by his perseverance ; 
 fatigues us by his importunity. 
 
 9. To abhor, to detest. To abhor, imports, simpiy, c trcng dis- 
 like; to detest, imports also, strong disapprobation. One abhors 
 being in debt ; he detests treachery. 
 
 10 To invent, to discover. We invent things that are new ; we 
 discover what was before hidden. Galileo invented the telescope ; 
 Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood. 
 
 11. Only, a l ne > Only, imports that there is no other of the 
 same kind ; alone, imports being accompanied by no other. An 
 only child, is one who has neither brother nor sister ; a child alone, 
 is one who is left by itself. There is a difference, therefore, in pre- 
 cise language, betwixt these two"phrases, " virtue only .makes us 
 happy ;" and, "virtue alone makes us happy." Virtue only makes 
 us happy, imports, that nothing else can do it. Virtue alone makes 
 us happy, imports, that virtue, by itself, or unaccompanied with oth- 
 er advantage?, is sufficient to doit. (Corol. Art. 150') 
 
 12. Entire, compute. A thing is entire, by wanting none of its 
 parts ; complete, by wanting none of the appendages that belong 
 to it. A man may have an entire house to himself; and yet not 
 have one complete apartmen'. 
 
 13. Tranquillity, peace, calm. Tranquillity, respects a situation 
 free from trouble, considered in itself; peace, the same situation 
 with respect to i"ny causes that might interrupt it ; calm, with re- 
 gard to a disturbed situation going before, or following it. A good 
 man enjoys tranquility, in himself: peace, with others ; and calm, 
 after the storm. 
 
 14. A difficulty, an obstacle. A difficult}' 1 , embarrasses ; an ob- 
 stacle, stops us. We remove the one ; we surmount the other, 
 Generally, the first, expresses somewhat arising from the nature 
 and circumstances of the affair ; the second somewhat arising from 
 a foroign cause. Philip found difficulty in managing the Athenians, 
 from the nature of their dispositions ; but the eloquence of Demos- 
 thenes was the greatest obstacle to his deeigns. 
 
Gramma I ica I Pu n ty 
 
 15. Wisdom prudence. Wisdom, leads us to speak and act what 
 is most proper. Prudence, prevents our speaking or acting imj rop- 
 rrly. A wise man employs the most proper mean? for success ; a 
 prudent man, the safest means for not being brought into danger. 
 
 16. Enough, sufficient. Enough, relates to the quant it)- which 
 one wishes to have of any thing; sufficient, relates to the use that is 
 to be made of it. Hence, enough, generally imports a greater 
 quantity than sufficient does. The covetous man never has enough ; 
 although he has what is sufficient far nature. ($ VII. p. 65.) 
 
 17. To arou\ to acknowledge, to confess. Each of these words 
 imports the affirmation of a fact, but in very different circumstances. 
 To avow, supposes the person to glory in it ; to acknowledge, sup- 
 poses a small degree of faultiness, which the acknowledgement com- 
 pensates ; to confess, supposes a higher degree of crime. A patriot 
 avows his opposition to a had minister, and is applauded ; a gentle- 
 man acknowledges his mistake, and is forgiven ; a prisoner con- 
 fesses the crime lie is accused of, and is punished. 
 
 18. To remark^ to observe. We remark, in the way of attention, 
 in order to remember ; we observe, in the way of examination, in 
 order to judge. A traveller remarks the most objects he sees ; a 
 general observes all the motions of his ememy. (y I. p. 65.) 
 
 19. Equivocal, ambiguous. An equivocal expression is one which 
 Las one sense open, and designed to be understood ; another sense 
 concealed, and understood only by the person who uses it. An am- 
 higuous expression is one which has apparently two senses, and 
 leaves us at a loss which of them to give it. An equivocal expression 
 is used with an intention to deceive ; an ambiguous one, when it is 
 used with design, is, with an intention not to give full information. 
 An honest man will never employ an equivocal expression ; a con- 
 fused man may often utter ambiguous ones, without any design. I 
 shall give only one instance more. (Art. 113.) 
 
 20. With) by. Both these particles express the connexion be- 
 tween some instrument, or means of effecting an end, and the ae~ent 
 who employs it ; but with) expresses a more close and immediate 
 connexion ; %, a more remote one. We kill a man with a sword ; 
 he dies by violence. The criminal is b* tind with ropes by the exe- 
 cutioner. 
 
 The proper distinction in the use of these particles, is elegantly 
 marked in a passage of Dr. Robertson's History of Scotland. When 
 one of the old Scottish kings was making an inquiry into the tenure 
 by which his nobles held their lands, they started up, and drew their 
 sw r ords : tl By these," said they, " we acquired our lands, and with 
 these we will defend them." tfc By these we acquired cur lands," 
 signifies the more remote means of acquisition by force and martial 
 deed ; and, a with these we will defend them," signifies the imme- 
 diate direct instrument, the sword, which they would employ in 
 their defence. (5 Vlll. p. 64.) 
 
 Obs. These are instances of words in our language, which, br 
 
as it respects Precision. 13 
 
 careless writers, are apt to be employed as perfectly synonymous, 
 and yet are not so. Their significations approach, but are not pre- 
 cisely the same. The more the distinction in the meaning of such 
 words is weighed, and attended to, the more clearly and forcibly 
 shall we speak or write*. 
 
 * The Abbe Girard's Synonymes Francoises, contains a large col- 
 lection of such apparent Synonymes in the language. The Abbe 
 shews, with much accuracy, the .difference in their signification. 
 Nothing would contribute more to precise and elegant writing, than 
 attention to the force of words ; and to the several distinctions be- 
 *wixt terms accounted synonymous in our own language. 
 
 H 
 

 ON THE NATURE AND STRUCTURE OF 
 SENTENCES, THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES 
 OF PERSPICUITY, AND THE HARMONY 
 OF PERIODS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE NATURE OF SENTENCES AND PERIODS. 
 
 125. HITHERTO we have investigated the nature 
 of words detached and unconnected, in the same man- 
 ner as an architect selects and prepares the materi- 
 als of an edifice. We are now, like the same artist, 
 to delineate the plan of execution, or to point out the 
 most proper conjunction and adaptation of the mate- 
 rials to accomplish the end in view. 
 
 Obs. As the best materials for building will not form a convenient 
 and elegant habitation, unless they are adjusted on a proper plafi, 
 FO the purest and best chosen words will not constitute a perspicu- 
 ous and beautiful sentence, unless they are properly arranged. But 
 before we take up this branch of the subject, it is requisite to pre- 
 mise some observations on the nature of sentences and periods, and 
 to unfold the principles which should regulate their composition. 
 (SIX. Cor. p. 59.) 
 
 126. The terms sentence and period are nearly sy- 
 nonimous, both denoting the quantity of words or 
 members comprehended between two full points, in 
 writing or printing ; and conveying a complete sense 
 of themselves, independent of the words that either 
 precede or follow them. Illus. 2. Art. 130. and 
 139.) 
 
 Illus. 1. Both the sentence and the period may consist of sub- 
 divisions, clauses, or members ; which are commonly separated 
 rom one another ; these more closely connected, by commas, those 
 more slightly, by semicolons. 
 
Simple and complex Sentence?. 75 
 
 2. In every sentence or period, (here must be an agent, an ac- 
 tion, and a subject on which the agent operates ; that is, in the lan- 
 guage of grammarians, there must be a nominative, a verb, and an 
 accusative ; as, Caesar ainavit Juliarn," u Alexander conquered 
 Darius;" unless the verb be of the class called intransitive, which 
 requires no subject to act upon, the action being exhausted on the 
 agent ; as, u Cicero declaimed." 
 
 127. If there be two classes of agents, actions, and 
 subjects in the sentence, one class depending on tho 
 other, the sentence will consist of two members, which 
 are commonly separated from one another by a com- 
 ma. (///MS. 3. Art. 130. and 1 37.) 
 
 Illus. 1. u If Julius Caesar had employed as much policy and 
 cruelty as Augustus, he might have prevented the conspiracy form- 
 ed against his life." 
 
 128. If there be three classes of agents, actions, and 
 subjects, the sentence will consist of three members, 
 separated by semicolons. 
 
 Illus. ct If Julius Cassarhad employed as much policy and cruel- 
 ty as Augustus; if he had proscribed every suspicious person under 
 his government :; he might have prevented the conspiracy formed 
 against his life." 
 
 129. If there be four classes of agents, actions, 
 and subjects, the sentence will consist of four mem- 
 bers, separated by semicolons. 
 
 Illus. u If Julius Caesar had employed as much cruelty and poli- 
 cy a.s Augustus; if he had proscribed every auspicious person under 
 his government ; he might have prevented the conspiracy formed 
 against his life ; and he might have lived, like that emperor, to oid 
 age. Mattered, obeyed, and adored by the Roman people." 
 
 Carol. Hence it is apparent, th/it though the presence of an 
 agent, an action, and a subject, be requisite to constitute a mem- 
 ber, yet they do not prohibit the attendance of explanatory word?, 
 particularly of adjectives or participles, which denote some quality 
 or property of the agent or the subject. Accordingly, in the last 
 member of the last example, " he might have lived, like that Em- 
 peror, to old age, flattered, obeyed, and adored by the Roman peo- 
 ple ;" the participles flattered, obeyed, adored, encroach not on the 
 unity of the member, but tend merely to modify or illustrate its 
 principal parts. (See Illus. 2. Art. 119.) 
 
 130. When a sentence contains one member only, 
 it is called simple ; when it contains more members 
 than one it is called complex ; when it contains three. 
 
76 Of Sentences and Periods. 
 
 four, or more members, it generally takes the name 
 of period. (Art. 139.) 
 
 ] lias. 1. The ancient rhetoricians applied the name of period to 
 
 ;i complex sentences, consisting of two or more members, but most 
 
 frequently to those of four members. " Habet," says Qiiinctilian, 
 
 " periodus membra minimum ciuo. Medius nuiiierus videtur qua- 
 
 tuor, sed recipit frequenter et plura." 
 
 2. To the period, according to Cicero, were given the different 
 Dames of ambitus, circwtus, comprthensio, continuatio, circuniscrip- 
 rio, which seem all to have been derived from the Greek appelia- 
 t-ion, 7r- f r i:^ 
 
 3. To single sentences were given the names of comma/a, artic- 
 itti,incisu; the same names by which were denoted the members of 
 periods ; because, perhaps, they coincide with them, in containing an 
 3 gent, an action, and a subject. 
 
 131. SIMPLE SENTENCES are best adapted to ex- 
 press the controversial and reprehensive parts of an 
 oration, The period is adapted to the more splen- 
 did and pathetic parts, particularly the introduction 
 and the peroration. 
 
 132. A sentence is the smallest quantity of words 
 which can express one entire proposition ; that is, 
 which can exhibit an agent as performing some ac- 
 tion, or which can convey the affirmation of some 
 truth. (Illus. 3. Art. 130.) 
 
 I V.us. If, for example, the verb be intransitive, and be preceded 
 by its nominative, a proposition will be expressed, and a sentence 
 will be formed ; because an agent will be represented as perf-'-rrn- 
 ng an action, and a complete meaning will be communicated. 
 4 The sun rises ;" u the morning lowers ;" ' I eat, drink, walk/ 1 
 Ac. 
 
 133. But if the verb be transitive, the nominative 
 ind the verb will not form a sentence, a proposition, 
 or a complete sense ; because a subject will be want- 
 in* on which the action must be exerted. 
 
 n 
 
 Jllus. 1. Thus the words, Cato killed, Cicero banished, exhibit 
 -sufficient actions, and incomplete senses. They leave the miad 
 'ualiy in suspense, till the subjects are subjoined on which the ac- 
 ji^jis, killed, and banished, are exerted. 
 
 2. But if we say. Cato killed himself, Cicero banished Catiline, 
 ive present entire sentences, and communicate knowledge and infor- 
 mal ion. 
 
 :j. A$ain, if I assert " that the three angles of a triangle are equal 
 to" [ exhibit an incomplete proposition, or an imperfect affirmation 
 
The Structure of complex Sentences. 77 
 
 till T add the words, "two right angles, 1 ' which furnishes an entire 
 affirmation, and a perfect proposition. 
 
 Carol. Hence it appears, that the essence of a sentence is, to 
 convey one proposition, and one only ; that it generally contains an 
 agent,* an action, and a subject, and must contain an agent and an 
 action. This constitutes what is called the unity of a sentence. 
 (Art, 149.) 
 
 134. In constructing COMPLEX SENTENCES, which 
 consists of different classes of agents, actions, and 
 subjects, the unity will be preserved, arid only one 
 proposition, with all its circumstances, will be ex- 
 pressed, if such sentences, however complex, be pro- 
 perly composed. To accomplish this end, the dif- 
 ferent members of a simple sentence, or the different 
 classes of agents, actions, and subjects, so depend on 
 one another, that the sense is not fully communicated, 
 till they are all properly arranged and conjoined. 
 (Art. 133. Illus. 3.) 
 
 I Ibis, 1. The following member, for instance, " If virtue con- 
 stitutes the supreme good," conveys no complete sense, and the 
 hearer continues in suspense, till it is added, u all wise men \\i\\ 
 prefer it to every other acquisition;" when the sentence, thus com- 
 pleted, exhibits two classes of agents, actions, and subjects, but 
 contains only one full meaning, or one proposition. 
 
 2. Again, c; If virtue constitutes the supreme good ; if it can com- 
 municate the most substantial comfort and support ;'* still these 
 two members leave the sense imperfect, and the mind hessitates, 
 till it is added, " all wise men will prefer it to every other acquisi- 
 tion ;" this completes both the proposition and the meaning. 
 
 3. The inconclusive members may be further augmented : " If 
 virtue constitutes the supreme good ; if it can communicate the 
 most substantial comfort and support ; if it can procure the appro- 
 l>a,tion of all good men in this world, and the favor of heaven here- 
 after ; still the sense is incomplete, till the efficient member is sub- 
 joined, "all wise men will prefer it to every other acquisition ;" 
 which produces aa entire proportion, fully satisfies the mind, arid 
 preserves the unity of the period. (CoroL Art. 133 ) 
 
 Corol. From these observations it is apparent, that the unity of 
 a sentence is not impaired by its length, and that it will naturally be 
 longer or shorter as the leading agent or member is attended with 
 more or fewer dependent or explanatory agents, or members. No 
 jnore members must ever be accumulated, than are consistent with 
 unity and perspicuity ; but neither should the meaning nor the ca- 
 dence be interrupted by a frequent recurrence of abrupt sentences 
 of one or two members. The sense is the main regulating principle 
 of the length, the sound is only a secondary consideration j if, how- 
 H 2 
 
'# Of Sentence* and Periods, 
 
 ev^r, the former he preserved, the latter may be consulted, by a 
 variety of modulation as great as possible. (Scholium, Art. 130.) 
 
 135. SHORT SENTENCES impart animation and en- 
 ergy to style. They are contrasts to periods, they 
 are simple and perspicuous, and the ideas which they 
 convey are usually lively, forcible, or dignified. 
 They are also employed chiefly to deliver maxims of 
 wisdom and sublime sentiments, which, supported by 
 their natural importance and elevation, spurn the 
 pomp and ornaments of language. (Art. 142.) 
 
 Obs. The intermediate sentences of two or three members parti- 
 cipate (he vivacity of short sentences, or the force and cadence of 
 periods, according as they approach nearer to the one OF the other. 
 Their business is to convey the greater part of the sentiments which 
 'rriir in the course of a long woVk, and which can be neither very 
 lively or very forcible. 
 
 136. All complex sentences are not equally con- 
 nected, nor are their members equally dependent on 
 one another. The members, are often conjoined by 
 a simple copulation, and the relation, in respect of 
 meaning, amounts to little more than juxta-position. 
 They contain different views of the same thought; 
 or the succeeding members explain, illustrate, ex- 
 tend, or restrict the preceding. (Art. 134.) 
 
 lllus. The following example will elucidate these remarks. 
 " Every one is in some measure master of the art which is general- 
 ly distinguished by the name of physiognomy, and naturally forms 
 to himself the character or fortune of a stranger, from the features 
 and lineaments of his face*." Expunge the copulative, resume the 
 agent every one, and two complete sentences will appear ; so loose is 
 the connection. (See A rt. 121.) 
 
 137. Sentences, also, which contain the corres- 
 pondent conjunctions, seldom admit more than two 
 members. (See Art. 127.) 
 
 Example. u As the secrets of the Ugly Club were exposed to the 
 public, that men might see there were some noble spirits in the 
 world, who were not displeased with themselves upon considerations 
 they had no choice in ; so the discourse concerning idols tended to 
 lessen the value which people put upon themselves for personal ac- 
 complishments, and gifts of nature!." The reader need not be told, 
 that the conjunctions here are, as and so. 
 
 *Addison. tlbid. 
 
Of Sentences and Periods. 79 
 
 138. THE FULL PERIOD of several members pos- 
 sesses most dignity and modulation, and conveys al- 
 so the greatest degree of force, by admitting the clos- 
 est compression of thought. The members are gen- 
 erally conditional, and denote supposition or con- 
 trast. 
 
 I tins. 1. By supposition is understood, that the preceding mem- 
 bers furnish a foundation, on which the conclusion is built ; or that 
 they operate as a climax, by which it is raised to the highest eleva- 
 tion. 
 
 2. By contrast is understood, that the preceding members are op- 
 posed to the concluding member, which, notwithstanding, possesses 
 such energy, that the contrast takes place with irresistible effect. 
 
 3. If, besides, such periods are properly constructed ; if the mem- 
 bers are so formed, as to swell one above another in sound, as well 
 as in sentiment ; the impression will become so exceedingly power- 
 ful, as not to escape the most inattentive observer. 
 
 Example 1. Cicero supplies a beautiful period of the former spe- 
 cies, in his oration for the Manilian law. " Quare cum et bellum 
 ita necessarian sit, ut neglegi non possit; ita magnum, ut accura- 
 tissime sit administrandum ; et cum si imperatorem preesicere possi- 
 tis, in quo sit e-ximia belli scientia, singularis virtus, clarissima 
 auctoritas, egregia fortuna; dubitabitis, Quirites, quin hoc tan- 
 tum boni, quod vobis a diis irnmortalibus oblatum et datum est, 
 in rempublicam conservandarn atque amplificandam conferatis. 7 ' 
 
 Illus. The members present a striking gradation in the sentiment. 
 The war is absolutely necessary, and of great magnitude; Pompey 
 is the greatest, the bravest, the most successful general ; he must 
 therefore be preferred, to secure the favour of the gods, and the 
 safety of the empire. An analogous elevation is discernable in the 
 :-ound. The members rise above one another, both in length and 
 modulation. The pleasure of the ear powerfully concurs to recom- 
 mend and impress the sense. 
 
 Example 2. The subsequent period will supply an example of the 
 latter species. u Though the people should riot, and project insur- 
 rection ; though the tyrant should rage, and threaten destruction ; 
 though the hurricane should lay open the bed of the sea, and the 
 earthquake should tear the globe in pieces ; though the stars should 
 fall from their spheres, and the frame of nature should be dissolved ; 
 yet, according to Horace, virtue will protect her votaries, and the 
 good man will remain tranquil amid the ruins of the world." 
 
 Illus. A similar gradation is perceptible, as in the preceding in- 
 stance. The members increase both in extent and cadence. The 
 rising series of contrasts convey inexpressible dignity and energy to 
 the conclusion. 
 
 Scholium. The proper union of sentences, also, is a matter of 
 considerable importance to the effect of a composition. It seems, 
 indeed, to be difficult, if not impracticable, to assign any rules rela- 
 
80 Of Errors to be avoided 
 
 live to the proper intermixture of sentences expressive of strong, or 
 even of moderate passion, as feelings on such occasions supersede aM 
 the dictates of theory,- and the considerations of sound. (7/>" . . 
 Art. 73.) But in grave and extended compositions, where the 
 chief aim of the author is to instruct and amuse, the practice best 
 supported by reason and experience, is, to intermix short, long, and 
 intermediate sentences, in such a manner as to introduce as great 
 variety as possible of cadences. Great care, however, must be 
 taken to conceal all attention to art. If it become apparent, it dis- 
 gusts the reader, and generally loses its effect. The specie? of sen- 
 tence preferred by the writer should always seem to be the most 
 proper and natural he could have employed. Its length should be 
 determined always by thesenae, never by the punctuation. (lUus. 
 Corol. and Art. 147.) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 * 
 
 OF THE ERRORS TO BE AVOIDED IN THE STPJJC- 
 TLIRE OF SENTENCES, AND THE ARRANGEMENT 
 OF SINGLE WORDS. 
 
 139. WE derive little light from the names, ambi- 
 tus, circuitus, compre.hen&io, circumscriptio, employed 
 by Cicero, and approved by Quinctilian, as defini- 
 tions of a period. These names are manifestly deri- 
 v-ed from the Greek term vreptaks ; and the Latin crit- 
 ics have not ventured to proceed farther than their 
 masters. (Illus. 2. Art. 130.) 
 
 Obs. Without having recourse to the meaning of a period, or the 
 species of dependence that subsists among its members, to explain 
 its nature, they have been satisfied with some indefinite speculations 
 about its length, and the artificial measure in which it ought to be 
 composed. They tell u?, it should seldom exceed the length of 
 four hexameter verses, or require more time to pronounce it than is 
 requisite for one complete respiration of a full-grown man*. But 
 the practice of the most perfect orators of antiquity frequently trans- 
 gresses these rules. 
 
 140. If two or more leading thoughts or agents, 
 which have no natural relation to one another, nor 
 any dependence on one another, and which concur 
 
 * Cicc Orat, chap. 66. Quinct. lib. IX chap. 4. 
 
in the Arrangement of Words. 81 
 
 not in pointing toward any one object, are introdu- 
 ced into a sentence, they will destroy its unity. This 
 is a frequent and gross error in the structure of sen- 
 tences. 
 
 Example. u As much as the fertile mould is fitted to the tree, as 
 much as the srong and upright trunk of the oak or elm is fitted to 
 the twining branches of the vine or ivy, so much are the very leaves, 
 the seeds, and fruits of these trees fitted to the various animals ; 
 these, as;ain, to one another, and to (he elements where they live, 
 and to which the} r are as appendices, in a manner, fitted and join- 
 ed ; as either by wings for the air, fins for (he water, feet for the 
 earth, and by oilier correspondent inward part?, of more curious 
 frame arid texture*." 
 
 IUus. This long and involved period presents two agents ; trees 
 lead the first member, animals the second and the third. It should, 
 therefore, it seems, be divided into two, or perhaps three sentences, 
 with the proper agents prefixed. In this view, the first member may 
 remain as it is, but the second and third members will assume the 
 following appearance. " Animals, again, are fitted to one another, 
 and to (he elements where they live, and to which they are as ap- 
 pendices. They are adapted by wings for the air, fins for the wa- 
 ter, feet for the earth, and by other correspondent inward parts, of 
 more curious frame and texture." 
 
 141. Errors are frequently committed in the ex- 
 lent of periods, which are sometimes swelled to too 
 great length ; at other times formed too short or ab- 
 rupt. 
 
 Obs. A long period, perfectly clear and well constructed, is al- 
 ways beautiful and pleasant if it be not so prolonged as to exhaust 
 the patience and attention of the reader. But it is extremely diffi- 
 cult to compose such periods; and for this reason, a great many of 
 them are ungraceful and obscure. 
 
 142. It is, perhaps, more necessary at present, to 
 remonstrate against a deviation to the opposite ex- 
 treme. The style of many of our present writers is 
 too short and abrupt. (Art. 135.) 
 
 Illus. An affectation of sprightliness, or of oracular wisdom, 
 seems to have infected some of our authors, and to have tempted 
 them to employ that Laconic diction, which is very current with 
 our neighbours the French, and which is generally supposed most 
 correspondent to this species of composition. The appearance of 
 such a style is however no symptom of the general corruption of the 
 public taste and ear. But when we recollect the progress and rev- 
 olutions of literature, both in Athens and Rome, we cannot be too 
 
 * Shaftsbury. 
 
82 The, Arrangement of Words. 
 
 quick-sited in apprehending danger. The manner of the author* 
 wi}o succeeded the most flourishing; sera of the Grecian eloquence, 
 undoubtedly displayed the strongest attachment to this mode of 
 styie ; and many of the most conspicuous writers of Home, pos- 
 terior to the Augustan age, furnish examples of the same kind oi 
 composition. 
 
 143. The arrangement of tbe AGENT, the ACTION, 
 and the SUBJECT, the chief ingredients in all members, 
 sentences, and periods, is almost invariable. The 
 agent appears/^ the action succeeds, and the sub- 
 ject, if there be one, takes its station last.* 
 
 Illus. If (ho agent or the subject be modified or illustrated by ad- 
 jectives, or the action be extended or restricted by adverbs, the 
 dependent words assume their stations in juxta-position to their 
 principals, the adjectives to their substantives, and the adverbs to 
 their verbs. The adjective is placed before its correspondent substan- 
 tive, when it has no circumstance depending on it ; but it is situated 
 after its substantive when it is followed by Some, modification. u A 
 wi=eman." tc A good book." " A spacious apartment." Butue 
 say, ; A -man wise for himself.' ' A book good for amusement,'' "An 
 apartment convenient for company." Adverbs generally follow neu- 
 ter, hut precede active verbs. u Cassar fought .bravely. 91 u Pom- 
 pey rashly engaged him at Pharsalia." Oui- adjectives have no in- 
 flexion?, and therefore can be arranged only on the principle of 
 juxta-position. ($ //. p. 57.) 
 
 144. Though in every member of a sentence, there 
 must be an agent, an action, and a subject, unless the 
 action be intransitive ; there are to be found in many 
 members two, in some three, classes of agents, ac- 
 tions, and subjects, that explain, restrict, or otherwise 
 depend on the primary class, by which the member 
 is discriminated. 
 
 Example. u It is usual," says Addison*, 4; for a man who loves 
 country-sports, to preserve the game on his own grounds, and di- 
 vert himself on the grounds of his neighbors. My friend Sir Roger 
 generally scoes two or three miles from his own house, and gets into 
 the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about fora hare or a par- 
 tridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where he is always ture 
 of rinding diversion, when the worst comes to the worst." 
 
 Illus. In the former of these sentences, there is one class only of 
 agents, actions, and subjects, u A man who loves country-sports ;" 
 but there are no fewer than three such classes, in the first clause of 
 the latter sentence : " Sir Roger generally goes two or three miles ; 
 he gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about for a 
 
 ^Spectator No, 131, 
 
The Arrangement of Words. 83 
 
 hare or a partridge." These dependent classes, like dependent 
 words, adjectives, and adverbs, are arranged on the principle of 
 juxta-position, as near to the primary class as is consistent with the 
 intimacy of their relation, (Illus. Art. 143.) 
 
 145. Of the arrangement of the other parts of 
 speech, pronouns, participles, prepositions, and con- 
 junctions, no directions can be given, that will not be 
 liable to many exceptions. The following princi- 
 ples seem to include every thing which can, with any 
 confidence, be advanced on the subject. 
 
 Illus. 1. Pronouns have no other use in language, but to repre- 
 sent nouns ; and, of course, they are commonly c iled to occupy the 
 stations of the nouns they represent. They should, therefore, be 
 marshalled agreeably to the stations in which their principals would 
 appear. OF/, p. 59. and Art. 71.) 
 
 2. The chief office of prepositions, is, to denote the relations of 
 substantives to one another ; they are, therefore, placed generally 
 between the related objects, immediately before the one that bears 
 the relation, and as near as possible to the other, to which the rela- 
 tion is borne. " A man of virtue." a Success to industry." 
 " Genius with judgment." 
 
 3. Participles, in general, assume the situations of adjectives, of 
 , the nature of which they very much partake ; but they are also em- 
 ployed frequently to introduce clauses dependent on preceding 
 verbs. "A loving father." "A learned man." "He passed 
 through life, adored by his friends, and respected by all good men." 
 (Illus. 2. Art. 59.) 
 
 4. Conjunctions are often introduced to connect single substan- 
 tives, bill more commonly to conjoin clauses of sentences. From 
 their nature they require a situation between the things of which 
 they form an union. (Art. 72.) 
 
 5. The interjection, finally, in a grammatical sense, is totally 
 unconnected with every other word in a sentence. Its arrangement, 
 of course, is altogether arbitrary, and cannot admit of any theory. 
 (Art, 73.) 
 
 6. If two adverbs attend upon a single verb, one significant of 
 place or time, the other of some modification of the verb, the for- 
 mer is generally situated before the verb, the latter, more intimately 
 connected with the verb, is placed immediately after it, to the ex- 
 clusion even of the subject, when some circumstance depends upon 
 the subject. " Caesar often reprehended severely the ingratitude 
 of his enemies." " He every where declared publicly his inclina- 
 tion to preserve the constitution of his country." (Art. 70.) 
 
 7. If one auxiliary attend a verb, along with one adverb, the ad- 
 verb is generally placed between the auxiliary and the verb. 
 u Folly has always exposed her author" "Wealth may often 
 make friends, but can never produce true ? peace of mind." 
 
p 
 b 
 
 ^4 On ike The Structure of Sentence*. 
 
 8. Iflhere be two auxiliaries, the adverb is commonly situated 
 between them. " He should certainly have come." "He might 
 easily have known." In passive sentences, however, the adverb is 
 placed after both the auxiliaries ; as, u He will be uncommonly a- 
 gitated." " I shall be completely ruined." (Art. 70. I Urn. 5.) 
 
 9. If there be three auxiliaries, when the sentence must again be 
 assive, the adverb is placed after them all. " I might have been 
 etter informed." " He might have been completely educated in 
 
 that branch of science." " It should have been well authentica- 
 ted." 
 
 10. If two adverbs, with two auxiliaries, attend upon the same 
 verb, the adverbs will be intermixed with the auxiliaries. u I have 
 always been much embarrassed by these inconveniences." u He 
 can never be sincerely disposed to promote peace." u He might at 
 Jeast have plainly told him." 
 
 1 1. In the arrangement of two or more propositions, the relation 
 of concomitance seems to be the most intimate,* and, therefore, 
 takes the precedency of all others. " He went with him to France ; 
 he came with him from Rome ; he lived with him at Naples, and 
 faught with him in Flanders ; he contended with him for fame, but 
 faught with him against his enemies." The relation denoted by 
 /ro/?2, precedes that signified by to. u He came from Rome to Pa- 
 ris, and from Paris to London." u From a beginning very un- 
 promising, he rose to great influence and wealth."" " Society pro- 
 ceeds from barbarity to refinement, from ignorance to knowledge, 
 from wealth to corruption, -and from corruption to ruin." 
 
 Scholium. These principles are supported by the practice of our 
 purest writers. It is our duty, therefore, to form our style on the 
 most correct models before us, if we would avoid that fluctuating 
 and unsettled immitation which is observable, when the ear is our 
 chief guide, and its dictates are always variable, not seldom whim- 
 sical. In a matter of so much consequence, we may, it seems, fol- 
 low with most confidence the example of the best writers and 
 speakers, explained and supported by the analogies of grammar 
 and of perspicuity. (Art. 80.) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 146. THOUGH PERSPICUITY be the general head 
 under which we are at present considering language, 
 we shall not confine ourselves to this quality alone, in 
 sentences, but enquire also, what is requisite for their 
 grace, and beauty. 
 
The Position of Mdvcrks* 85 
 
 Obs. Aristotle defines a sentence to be a form of speech which 
 hath a beginning and an end within itself, and is of such a length as 
 to he easily comprehended at once*. This, however, admits of a 
 great latitude. For a sentence, or period, consists always of com- 
 ponent parts, which arc called its members ; arid as these members 
 may be either few or many, and may be connected in several differ- 
 ent ways, the same thought, or mental proposition, may often be 
 cither brought into one sentence, or split into two or thro*-, without 
 the material breach of any rule. (,lrt. 141. and 142.) 
 
 147. The first variety that occurs in the considera- 
 tion of sentences, is, the distinction of long and short 
 ones. The precise length of sentences, as to the 
 number of words, or the number of members, which 
 may enter into them, cannot be ascertained by any 
 definite measure. At the same time, it is obvious, 
 that there may be an extreme on either side. 
 
 I Hits. Sentences, immoderately long, and consisting of too many 
 members, always transgress some one or other of the rules which are 
 necessary to be observed in every good sentence. In discourses that 
 are to be spoken, regard must be had to the easiness of pronuncia- 
 tion, which is not consistent with too long periods. In composi- 
 tions where pronunciation has no place, still, however, by using 
 Jong periods too frequently, an author overloads and fatigues the 
 readers attention. For long periods require, evidently, more atten- 
 tion than short ones, in order to perceive clearly the connection of 
 the several parts, and to take in the whole at one view. At the 
 same time, in too many short sentences also, there may be an ex- 
 cess, by which the sense is split and broken, the connection of 
 thought weakened, and the memory burdened, by presenting to it a 
 long succession of minute objects. (Obs. 2. Art. 148.) 
 
 Corol. According to the nature of the composition, therefore, and 
 the general character it ought to bear, the one or other may be pre- 
 dominant. But, iu almost every kind of composition, the grea 
 rule is to intermix them. For the attention tires of either of them 
 when too long continued : whereas, it is gratified by a proper mix- 
 ture of long and short periods, in which a certain sprightlifcess is 
 joined with majesty of style. " It is not proper always to employ a 
 continued train, and a sort of regular compass of phrases; but style 
 ought to be often broken down into smaller numbers!. 1 ' 
 
 148. This variety is of so great consequence, that 
 it must be studied, not only in the succession of long 
 
 * AsZic t<%cv<ret ctpftnv xot-i ttwrttv x<9' awm, nut fttytQo? suwvoTrrw. 
 
 t"Non semper utendum est perpetuitate, et quasi conversione 
 verborum; sed saepe carpenda membris miuutioribus oratio est." 
 Cicero. 
 
 < I 
 
oG On the Structure of Sentence*. 
 
 and short sentences, but in the structure of either spe- 
 cies of these sentences. 
 
 Jllux. 1. A train of sentences, constructed in the same manner, 
 p.nd with the same number of members, whether long or short, 
 should never be allowed to succeed one another. However musical 
 ouch of them may be to a reader, it has a better effect to introduce 
 oven a discord, than to cloy the ear with the repetition of similar 
 sound? : for, nothing is so tiresome as perpetual uniformity. (Art. 
 116. Illus. 1, 2. Crit. I. and II.} 
 
 1 49. The properties most essential to a perfect sen- 
 t.cnce, seem to be the four following : 1. Clearness and 
 precision. 2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony. 
 Each of these we shall illustrate separately, and at 
 
 some length. 
 
 Iltus. The least failure in clearness and precision, which we con- 
 sider the first essential properties to a perfect sentence, the least 
 negree of ambiguity, which leaves the mind in a sort of suspense as 
 to the meaning, ought to be avoided with the greatest care ; nor is 
 it so easy a matter to keep always clear of this, as one might, at 
 iirst imagine. Precision has already been considered ; we shall here 
 consider ambiguity as it arises either from a wrong choice of words, 
 or a wrong collocation of them. In Chapter IV. this subject will 
 be handled in its most extensive signification. 
 
 Carol. Hence a capital rule in the arrangement of sentences is, 
 ihatthe words or members most nearly related, should be placed in 
 the sentence, as near to each other as possible ; so as to make their 
 mutual relation clearly appear. This is a rule not always observed 
 as strictly as it ought to be, even by good writers. It will be neces- 
 sary to produce some instances, which will both shew the impor- 
 tance of this rule, and make the application of it understood. 
 (Art. 121.) 
 
 150. First, in the position of adverbs, which are 
 used to qualify the signification of something that ei- 
 ther precedes or follows them, there is often a good 
 deal of nicety. (Art. 121. and Illus.) 
 
 Illus. c c The Romans understood liberty, at least, as well as we*." 
 These words are capable of two different senses, according as the 
 emphasis, in reading them, is laid upon liberty, or upon at least. In 
 the first c ase, they will signify, that whatever other things we may 
 understan d better than the Romans, liberty, at least, was one thing 
 which the y understood as well as we. In the second case, they will 
 import, that liberty was understood, at least as well by them as by 
 us; meaning, that by them it was better understood. If this last, 
 
 * Swift 's Project for the advancement of Religion. 
 
The Position of Pronouns. 87 
 
 as I make no doubt, was Dean Swift's own meaning, the a&biguity 
 would have been avoided, and the sense rendered independent of 
 the manner of pronouncing, by arranging the words thus : '' Tho 
 Romans understood liberty, as well, at least, as we." (Art. 70. 
 lllus. 5.) 
 
 Carol. With respect, then, to such adverbs, as, only % wholly, fit 
 hast, and the rest of that tribe, which we use in common discourse, 
 the tone and emphasis with which we pronounce them, generally 
 serve to shew their reference, and to make their meaning clear ; 
 and hence, we acquire a habit of throwing them in loosely in the 
 course of a period. But, in writing, where a man speaks to the 
 eye and not to the ea-r, he ought to be more accurate ; and so 
 to connect those adverbs with the words which they qualify, as to 
 put his meaning out of doubt upon the first inspection. (Illus. 11. 
 Art. 124.) 
 
 151, Secondly, When a circumstance is interposed 
 in the middle of a sentence, it sometimes requires at- 
 tention how to place it, so as to divest it of all am- 
 biguity. 
 
 Illus. a Are these designs, which any man, who is born a Bri- 
 ton, in any circumstances, in any situation, ought to be ashamed 
 or afraid to avow !"f Here we are left at a loss, whether theso 
 words, u in any circumstances, in any situation," are connected 
 with u a man born in Britain, in any circumstances, or situation,*' 
 or with that man's u avowing his design?, in any circumstances, or 
 situation into which he may be brought? 17 If the latter, as seems 
 most probable, was intended to be 'he meaning, the arrangement 
 nirht to have been conducted thus : cc Are these designs, which 
 any man who is born a Briton, ought to be ashamed or afraid to 
 in ;.:ny circumstances, in any situation ?" But, 
 
 152. Thirdly, Still more '.attention is required to 
 the proper disposition of the relative pronouns, who, 
 which, what, whose, and of all those particles which 
 
 . express the connection of the parts of speech with 
 one another. As all reasoning depends upon this con- 
 nection, we cannot here be too accurate and precise. 
 A small error may overcloud the meaning of the whole 
 sentence ; and even where the meaning is intelligi- 
 ble, if these relative particles be out of their proper 
 place, we .always find something awkward and <!i- 
 jointed in the structure of the sentence. 
 
 i Bolingbroke's Dissert, on Parties. 
 
88 On the Structure of Sentences. 
 
 IVus. 1. a This kind of wit was very much in vogue among our 
 countrymen, about an age or t\vo ago, who Hid not practise it ibr 
 any oblique reason, but purely for the sake of being witty."* We 
 are at no loss about the meaning here ; but the construction would 
 evidently be mended by disposing of the circumstance, ll about an 
 age or two ago," in such a manner as not to .separate the relative 
 irk o from its antecedent our countrymen. Thus, u about an age 
 ^r two ago, this kind of wit was very much in vogue among our 
 countrymen, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, but 
 \ for the sake of being witty." 
 
 J. Of the like nature is ihe following inaccuracy of Dean Swift. 
 He is recommending to young clergymen to write their sermons 
 :"-!l!y rind distinctly. " Many," says he, " act so directly contra- 
 ry to tills method, that from a habit of saving time and paper, 
 v.-hich they acquired at the university, they write in so diminutive 
 a manner, that they can hardly read what they have written." He 
 Certainly does not mean, that they had acquired time and paper at 
 the university, but that they had acquired this habit of saving both 
 time and paper there; and therefore his words ought to have run 
 thus : " From a habit which they have acquired at the university 
 of saving time and paper, they write in so diminutive a manner." 
 
 Scholia. Several other instances might be given ; but those 
 which we have produced may be sufficient to make the rule under- 
 stood. 
 
 I. Namely, that in the construction of sentences, one of the first 
 things to be attended to, is, the marshalling of the words in such 
 order as shall most clearly mark the relation of the several parts of 
 Ihe sentence to one another. 
 
 Particularly, that adverbs shall always be made to adhere close- 
 "y to the words which they are intended to qualify. 
 
 II. That, where a circumstance is thrown in, it shall never hang 
 !oose in the midst of a period, but be determined by its place to 
 one or other of the members in that period. 
 
 III. And that every relative word which is used, shall instantly 
 present its antecedent to the mind of the reader, without the least 
 obscurity. 
 
 In these threr; cases are contained some of the most frequent oc- 
 asions of ambiguity creeping into sentences. (But sec Chapters 
 IV, V, VI, VII, and VIII, of this book.} 
 
 153. With regard to relatives, we must farther 
 observe, that obscurity often arises from the too fre- 
 quent repetition of them, particularly of the pronouns 
 :<7*o, and they, and them, and theirs, when we have 
 occasion to refer to different persons. 
 
 Illus. 1. " Men look with an evil eye upon the good that is in 
 
 Spectator, Xo. 54. 
 
others ; and think that their reputation obscures them, and their 
 commendable qualities stand in their light ; and therefore they do 
 what they can to cast a cloud over them, that the bright shining of 
 their virtues may not obscure them."* 
 
 This is altogether careless writing. It renders style often obsure, 
 always embarrassed and inelegant. "When we find these personal 
 pronouns crowding too fast upon us, we have often no method left, 
 but to throw the whole sentence into some other form, which may 
 avoid those frequent references to persons who have before been 
 .mentioned. 
 
 2. All languages are liable to ambiguities. Quinctilian gives us 
 some instances in the Latin, arising from faulty arrangements. A 
 man, he tells us, ordered, by his will, to have erected for him, 
 after his death, " Statuam aurearu hastam tenentem ;" upon which 
 arose a dispute at law, whether the whole statue 3 or the spear only, 
 was to be of gold ? 
 
 3. The same author observes, very properly, that a sentence is 
 always faulty, when the collocation of the words is ambiguous, 
 though the sense can be gathered. If any one should say, "Chre- 
 uietem audivi percussisse Demeam ;" this is ambiguous both in 
 sense and structure, whether Ch retries or Derueit gave (he blow. 
 
 CoroL Hence, to have the relation of every word and member of 
 a sentence marked in the most proper and distinct manner, gives 
 not clearness only, but grace and beauty to a sentence, making 
 the mind pass smoothly and agreeably along all the parts of it. 
 (CoroL Art. 149.) 
 
 1 54. UNITY is the second quality of a well-arranged 
 seatence. This is a capital property. In every 
 composition, of whatever kind, some degree of unity 
 is required, in order to render it beautiful. There 
 must be always some connecting principle among the 
 parts. Some one object must reign and be predomi- 
 nant. 
 
 Obs. This holds in history, in epic and dramatic poetry, and in 
 all orations. But most of all, in a single sentence, is required the 
 strictest unity. For the very nature of a sentence implies one propo- 
 sition to be expressed. It may consist of parts, indeed; but these 
 parts must be so closely bound together, as to make upon the mind, 
 the impression of one object, not of many. Now, in order to pre- 
 serve this unity of a sentence, the following rules must beobserve-il. 
 
 155. In the first place, during the course of the 
 sentence, the scene should be changed as little as 
 possible. We should not be hurried by sudden transi* 
 
 * Tillotson, Vol. I. Serm. 42, 
 
 i 2 
 
^0 On the Structure of Sentence** 
 
 lions from person to person, nor from subject to sub- 
 ject. There is commonly, in every sentence, some 
 person or thing, that is the governing word. This 
 should be continued so, if possible, from the begin- 
 ning to the end of the sentence. 
 
 I lias. Should I express myself thus : u After we came to anchor, 
 they put me on shore, where I was welcomed by all my friends^ 
 who received me with the greatest kindness." Though the objects 
 contained in this sentence, have a sufficient connection with each 
 other, yet, by thi? manner of representing them, by shifting so of- 
 ten both the place and person, *re, and they, and /, and n-Ao, they 
 appear in such a disunited view, that the sense of the sentence is 
 almost lost. The sentence is restored to its proper unity, by turn- 
 ing it after the following manner : " Having come to an anchor, I 
 vras put on shore, where I was welcomed by all my friends, and rc- 
 teived with the greatest kindness." Writers who transgress this 
 rule, for the most part transgress, at the same time. 
 
 156. A second rule; never crowd into one sen- 
 tence, things which have so little connection, that 
 they could bear to be divided into two or three sen- 
 tences. The violation of this rule never fails to injure 
 the style, and displease the reader. Its effect, indeed, 
 is so disagreeable, that of the two, it is the safer ex- 
 treme, to err rather by too many short sentences, than 
 by one that is overloaded and embarrassed. 
 
 lllus. 1. Examples abound in our own authors. We shall pro- 
 duce some, to justify what we have said. "Archbishop Tillotson," 
 says an Author of the History of England, " died in this year. He 
 v/us exceedingly beloved both by King William and Queen Mary, 
 who nominated Dr. Tennison, Bishop of Lincoln, to succeed him." 
 "VVho would expect the latter part of this sentence to follow, in con- 
 sequence of the former ? u He was exceedingly beloved by both 
 King and Queen," is the proposition of the sentence : we look for 
 some proof of this, or at least something related to it, to follow : 
 when we are on a sudden carried off to a new proposition, u who 
 nominated Dr. Tennison to succeed him." 
 
 2. The following is from Middleton's Life of Cicero : " In this un- 
 easy state, both of his public and private life, Cicero was oppress- 
 ed by a new and cruel affliction, the death of his beloved daughter 
 Tullia ; which happened soon after her divorce from Dolabella, 
 whose manners and humours were entirely disagreeable to her." 
 The principal object in this sentence is, the death of Tullia, which 
 was the cause of her father's affliction ; the date of it, as happening 
 soon after her divorce from Dolabella, may eater into the sentence 
 
Strength. 91 
 
 with propriety ; but the subjunction of Dolabella's character is for- 
 eign to the main object, and totally breaks the unity and compact- 
 ness of the sentence, by setting a new picture before the reader. 
 (drl. 149.) 
 
 3. The following sentence, from a translation of Plutarch, is still 
 \vorse : speaking of the Greeks under Alexander, the author says. 
 " Their march was through an uncultivated country, whose savage 
 inhabitants fared hardly, having no other riches than a breed of 
 Jean sheep, whose flesh was rank and unsavory, by reason of their 
 continual feeding upon sea-fish." Here the scene is changed upon 
 us again and again. The march of the Greeks, the description of 
 the inhabitants through whose country they travelled, the account 
 of these people's riches lying wholly in sheep, and the cause of their 
 sheep being ill-tasted food, form a jumble of objects, slightly relat- 
 ed to each other, which the reader cannot, without much difficulty, 
 comprehend under one view. (Cor. Art. 149.) 
 
 157. A third rule, for preserving the unity of sen- 
 tences, is, to avoid all parentheses in the middle oi 
 them. On some occasions, they may have a spirited 
 appearance ; as prompted by a certain vivacity ol 
 thought, which can glance happily aside, as it is go- 
 ing along. (Art. 187.) 
 
 Obs. For the most part their effect is not always spirited : nay, 
 sometimes it is extremely bad. They seem a sort of wheels within 
 wheels ; sentences in the midst of sentences ; the perplexed method 
 of disposing of some thought, which a writer wants art to introduce 
 in its proper place. It were needless to give at.y instances, as they 
 occur so often among incorrect writers. 
 
 158. The fourth and last rule for the unity of a 
 sentence, is, to bring it always to a full and perfect 
 close. Every thing that is one, should have a begin- 
 ning, a middle, and an end. An unfinished sentence is 
 no sentence at all, according to any grammatical rule. 
 
 Obs. But we vry often meet with sentences, that are, so to 
 speak, more than finished. When we have arrived at what we ex- 
 pected was to be the conclusion, when we are come to the word on 
 which the mind, by what went before, is naturally led to rest ; un- 
 expectedly, some circumstance appears, which ought to have been 
 omitted, or to have been disposed of elsewhere; but which is left 
 lagging behind, like a tail adjected to the sentence. This looks to 
 the rhetorician's eye, as does to the naturalist's the prodigious tail 
 v/hich the rude hand of early astronomy has given to the constella- 
 tion Ursa Major. 
 
 159. The third quality of a correct sentence, is 
 
92 On the Structure of Stnlcnc??. 
 
 STRENGTH. By this is meant such a disposition of the 
 several words and members, as shall bring out the 
 sense to the best advantage ; as shall render the im- 
 pression which the period is designed to make, rno.-t 
 full and complete ; and give every word, and every 
 member, its due weight and force. (Example. Art. 
 175.) 
 
 Obs. The two former qualities of perspicuity and unity, are, no 
 doubt, absolutely necessary to the production of this effect; but 
 more is still requisite. For a sentence may be clear enough, it may 
 also be compact enough in all its parts, or hare the requisite unity ; 
 and yet, by some unfavourable circumstance in the structure, it 
 may fail in that strength or liveliness of impression which a more 
 happy arrangement would have produced. 
 
 160. The first rule for promoting the strength of 
 a sentence, is, to divest it of all redundant words. 
 These may, sometimes, be consistent with a consi- 
 derable degree both of clearness and unity ; but they 
 are always enfeebling. (See Art. 121.) 
 
 I lias. It is a general maxim, that any words which do not add 
 some importance to the meaning of a sentence, always spoil it. 
 They cannot be superfluous, without being hurtful. All that can be 
 easily supplied in the rnind, is better left out in the expression. 
 Thus: " Content with deserving a triumph, he refused the honour 
 of it," is better language than to say, u Being content with deserv- 
 ing a triumph, he refused the honour of it." 
 
 Corol. One of the most useful exercises of correction, upon re- 
 viewing what we have written or composed, is therefore to con- 
 tract that round-about method of expression, and to lop off those 
 useless excressences which are commonly found in a first draught. 
 Here a severe eye should be employed ; and we shall always find 
 our sentences acquire more vigour and energy when thus retrench- 
 ed ; provided always, that we run not into the extreme of pruning 
 so very close, as to give a hardness and drynesa to style. For here, 
 as in all other things, there is a due medium. Some regard, though 
 not the principal," must be had to fulness and swelling of sound. 
 Some leaves must be left to surround and shelter the fruit. 
 
 161. As sentences should be cleared of redundant 
 words, so also of redundant members. As every word 
 ought to present a new idea, so every member ought 
 to contain a new thought. Opposed to this, stands the 
 fault with which we sometimes meet, of the last mern- 
 
Strength. 93 
 
 ber of a period being nothing else than the echo of 
 the former, or the repetition of it in a different form. 
 j, For example ; speaking of beauty, 
 
 lllus. Mr. Addison says, u The very first discovery of it, strikes 
 f!ie mind with inward joy, and spreads delight through all its facul- 
 ties*." And elsewhere, u It is impossible for us to behold the di- 
 vine works with coldness or indifference, or to survey so many beau- 
 ties, without a secret satisfaction and complacency!." In both 
 these instances, little or nothing is added by the second member of 
 the sentence to what was already expressed in the first : and though 
 the free and flowing manner of such an author as Mr. Addi-on, 
 and the graceful harmony of his periods, may palliate such negli- 
 gences ; yet, in general, it holds, that style, freed from this prolix- 
 ity, appears both more strong and more beautiful. The attention 
 becomes remiss, the mind falls into inaction, when words are mul- 
 tiplied without a corresponding multiplication of ideas. (See Crit. 1. 
 and 2 p. 62.) 
 
 162. After removing superfluities, the second rule 
 for promoting the strength of a sentence, is, to attend 
 particularly to the use of copulatives, relatives, and all 
 
 y tlue particles employed for transition and connection. 
 
 lllus. These little words, but, and, which, whose, where, fee. are 
 frequently the most important words of any ; they are the joints or 
 binges upon which all sentences tun, and, of course, much, both of 
 the gracefulness and the strength of sentences, must depend upon the 
 proper use of such particles. The varieties in using them are, in- 
 deed, so numerous, that no particular system of rules can be given 
 respecting them. Attention to the practice of the most accurate 
 writers, joined with frequent trials of the different effects, produced 
 by a different usage of those particles, must here direct us. (Art. 
 145. lllus. 111.) 
 
 163. What is called splitting of particles, or sep- 
 arating a preposition from the noun which it governs, 
 is always to be avoided. (lllus. 11. Art. 145.) 
 
 IUus. u Though virtue borrows no assistance from, yet it may 
 >flen be accompanied by, the advantages of fortune." In pronoun- 
 ring this instance we feel a sort of pain from the revulsion, or vio- 
 lent separarion of two things, which, by their nature, should be 
 closely united. We are put to a stand in thought ; being obliged to 
 ';.-t for a little on the preposition by itself, which f at the same time, 
 arries no significancy, till it is joined to its proper substantive 
 noun. 
 
 * Spectator, No. 412. t Ibid. No. 413, 
 
94 On tho Structure of Sentences. 
 
 164. Some writers needles-sly multiply demonstra- 
 tive and relative participles, by the frequent use of 
 such phraseology as the following : 
 
 Jllus. " There is nothing which disgusts us sooner than the empty 
 pomp of language." In introducing a subject, or laying down a 
 proposition to which we demand particular attention, this sort of 
 style is very proper; but in the ordinary current of discourse, it is 
 belter to express ourselves more simply and shortly : tk Nothing dis- 
 gusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language." 
 
 165. Other writers make a practice of omitting the 
 relative, by adopting a phraseology of a different kind 
 from the former. This error springs from the absurd 
 supposition that, without this omission, the meaning 
 could not be understood. 
 
 Illus. " The man I love." u The dominions we possessed, and 
 the conquests we made." But though this elliptical style be intelli- 
 gible, and allowable in conversation and epistolary writing, yet, in 
 all writings of a serious or dignified kind, it is ungraceful. There, 
 'he relative should always be inserted in its proper place, and the 
 construction filled up : as, " The man whom I love." " The 
 dominions which we possessed, and the conquests which we made." 
 
 166. With regard to the copulative participle, 
 and, which occurs so frequently in all kinds of com- 
 position, several observations are to be made. First, 
 it is evident, that the unnesessary repetition of this 
 participle enfeebles, style. It has much the same 
 effect as the frequent use of the vulgar phrase. 
 and so, when one is telling a story in common con- 
 versasion. 
 
 llius. 1. We shaU, for one instance, take a sentence from Sir 
 VViliiam Temple. He is speaking of the refinement of the French 
 language : " The academy set up by Cardinal Richelieu, to amuse 
 the wits of that age and country, and to divert them from raking in- 
 to his politics and ministry, brought this into vo^ue ; and the French 
 \vils have, for this last age, been wholly turnetfto the refinement of 
 their style and language : and, indeed, with such success, that it can 
 hardly -je equalled, 'and runs equally through their verse and their 
 prose." Here are no fewer than eight ands in one sentence. Thi = 
 agreeable writer too often makes his sentences drag in this manner- 
 by a careless multiplication of copulatives. 
 
 2. It is strange that a writer .so accurate' as Dean Swift, should 
 have stumbled on so improper an application of this participle, a,^ he 
 lias made in the fol!ov>*in'x sentence : i; There is no ta!-.: 
 
Strength. 96 
 
 towards rising in the world, or which puts men more out of the reach 
 of fortune, than that quality generally possessed by the dullest sort 
 of people, is, and in common language, called discretion ; a species 
 of lower prudence, by the assistance of which*," c. By the in- 
 sertion of, and z>, in place of, which w, he has not only clogged the 
 sentence, but even made it ungrammatical. 
 
 167. But, in the next place, it is worthy of obser- 
 vation, that though the natural use of the conjunction, 
 and, be to join objects, and thereby make their con- 
 nection more close ; yet, in fact, by dropping the con- 
 junction, we often mark a closer connection, a quick- 
 er succession of objects than when it is inserted be- 
 tween them. 
 
 Illus. 1. Longinus makes this remark ; which, from many instan- 
 ces, appears to be just : " Veni, vidi, vicit," expresses with more 
 spirit the rapidity and quick succession of conquest, than if connec- 
 ting participles had been used. 
 
 2. So, in the following description of a rout in Ccesar's Commen- 
 taries, the omission of the connective participle gives great force to 
 the sentence : " Nostri, emissis pilis, gladiis rem gerunt ; repente 
 post tergum equitatus cernitur ; cohortes aliae appropinquant. 
 Hostes terga ; vertunt; fugientibus equites occurrunt ; fit magna 
 caedesj." Bell. Gall. 1. 7. 
 
 168. On the other hand, when we seek to prevent a 
 quick transition from one object to another when we 
 are making some enumeration in which we wish that 
 the objects should appear as distinct from each other as 
 possible, and that the mind should rest, for a moment, 
 on each object by itself, copulatives may be multipli- 
 ed with peculiar advantage and grace. 
 
 Ittus. As when Lord Bolingbroke says, "rfuch a man might fall 
 a victim of power; but truth, and reason, and liberty, \vould fall 
 with him." 
 
 In the same manner, Caesar describes an engagement with the 
 Nervii : 4t His equitibus facile pulsis ac proturbatis, incredibile ce- 
 
 * Essay on the Fates of Clergymen. 
 
 t " I came, I saw, I conquered." 
 
 \ " Our men, after having discharged their javelins, attack with 
 sword in hand : of a sudden the cavalry made their appearance 
 behind ; other bodies of men are seen drawing near ; the enemies 
 turn their backs ; the horse meet them in their flight ; a great slaugh- 
 ter ensues," 
 
96 On the Structure of Sentences. 
 
 ^eritate ad flymen decurrerunt ; ut pene uno tempore, et ad sylva.- el 
 in flumime, et jam in manibus nostris, hostes viderentur*." Bell. 
 Kail. 1. 2. 
 
 Here, although he is describing a quick succession of events, yet 
 as it is his intention to shew in hovr many places the enemy seemed 
 to be at one time, the copulative is very happily redoubled, in or- 
 der to paint more strongly the distinction of these several places. 
 
 Sckolia. This attention to the several cases, when it is proper to 
 o/w?7, and when to redouble the copulative^ is of considerable impor- 
 tance to all who study eloquence. For it is a remarkable peculiar- 
 ity in language, that the omission of a connecting particle should 
 sometimes serve to make objects appear more closely connected ; 
 and that the repetition of it should distinguish and separate them in 
 some measure from each other. Hence, the omission of it is used to 
 denote rapidity ; and the repetition of it is designed to retard and to 
 aggravate. The reason seems to be, that, in the former case, the 
 mind is supposed to be hurried through a quick succession of object?, 
 withont gaining leisure to point out their connection ; it drops the 
 copulatives in its hurry ; and crowds the whole series together, 
 us if the objects were but one. Whereas, when we enumerate, with 
 a view to a^s;ravate, the mind is supposed to proceed with a more 
 slow and solemn pace ; it marks fully the relation of each object to 
 lhat which succeeds it ; and by joining them together with several 
 copulative?, makes us perceive, that the objects, though connect- 
 ed, are yet, in themselves, distinct ; that they are many, not one. 
 Observe, for instance, in the following enumeration, made by the 
 apostle Paul, what additional weight and distinctness are given to 
 each particular by the repetition of a conjunction. U I am persua- 
 ded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, no/- 
 powers, nor things present, nor things to coine, nor height, nor 
 depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate as from the 
 love of Godt." So much with regard to the use of copulatives. 
 
 169. A third rule for promoting the strength of a 
 sentence, is, to dispose of the capital word, or words, 
 in that place of the sentence, where it or they will 
 make the fullest impression. 
 
 Him. Every one mus* see, that there are in every sentence such 
 capital words, on which the meaning principally rests ; and it is 
 equally plain, that these words should possess a conspicuous and 
 distinguished place. But that place of the sentence where they will 
 rnake^the best figure, whether the beginning or the end, or some- 
 
 * u The enemy, having easily beat off and scattered this body of 
 horse, ran down with incredible celerity to the river, so that, al- 
 most at one moment of time, they appqared to be ia the woods, and 
 in the river, and in the midst of our troops." 
 t Rom. viii. 38, 39. 
 
Strength. '",' 
 
 fc even the middle, cannot perhaps be ascertained by any precise 
 rule. This must vary with the nature of the sentence. 
 
 . 170. Perspicuity must ever be studied in the first 
 place, and the nature of our language 'allows no great 
 liberty in the choice of -collocation. For the most 
 part, with us. the important words are placed in the 
 beginning of the sentence. 
 
 >/?/<>. u The pleasures of the imagination, taken in thoir full ex- 
 tent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as those of the 
 understanding*.* 1 And this, indeed, seems the most plain and nat- 
 ural order, to place that in the front which is the chkrf object of the 
 proposition w-e are laying down. Sometimes, however, when we 
 intend to give weight to a sentence, it is of advantage to suspend the 
 meaning for a little, and then bring it out full at the close : " Tims," 
 says Pope, " on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what prin- 
 cipally strikes us, is his wonderful invention!. " 
 
 171. The Greek and Latin writers had a consid- 
 erable advantage above us, in this part of style. By 
 the great liberty of inversion, which their languages 
 permitted, they could choose the most advantageous 
 situation for every word ; and had it thereby in their 
 power to give their sentences more force. 
 
 Obs. Milton, in his prose works, and some other of our old Eng- 
 lish writers, endeavour to imitate them in this. But the forced con- 
 structions which they have employed, produced obscurity ; and the 
 genius of our language, as it is now written and spoken, will not 
 admit such liberties. Gordon, who followed this inverted style, in 
 his translation of Tacitus, has, sometimes, done such violence to the 
 language, as even to appear ridiculous ; as in this expression : " Into 
 this hote thrust themselves, three Roman senators." He has trans- 
 lated so simple a phrase as, Nullurn ca tempestate beiluin," by 
 46 War at that time there was none.' 7 
 
 172. However, within certain bounds, and to a lim- 
 ited degree, our language does admit of inversions ; 
 and they are practised with success by the best 
 writers. 
 
 We shall just glance at one example here, as inversion will be 
 treated subsequently to harmony. (See Chapter X.) 
 
 Illus. Pope, speaking of homer, says, " The praise of judgment 
 Virgil has justly contested with him, but his invention remains yet 
 unrivalled," It is evident, that, in order to give the sentence'its 
 
 * Addison. t Preface to Homer, 
 
 K 
 
98 On the Structure of Sentences. 
 
 due force, by contrasting properly the two capita) \vorc! si, "judg- 
 ment and invention, 17 this is a happier arrangemeut than if he had 
 1'ollcnved the naturai order, whirl, was, u Virgil has justly cr./esfed 
 with him the praise of judgment, but his invention remains yet un- 
 rivalled." 
 
 Obs. Some writers practise this degree of inversion, which our 
 language hears, much more than others ; Lord Shaftesbury, for 
 instance, much more than .Mr. Addisoa ; and to this sort of ar- 
 rangement, is owing, in a great measure, that appearance of 
 strength, dignity, and varied harmony, which Lord Shaftesbury's 
 style posses.-e*. 
 
 173. But whether \v. practise inversion or not, 
 and in whatever part of the sentence we dispose of 
 he capital words, it is always a point of great mo- 
 ment, that these capital words shall stand clear and 
 disentangled from any other words that would clog 
 them. 
 
 Illus. Thus when there are any circumstances of time, place, or 
 other limitations, which the principal object of our sentence requires 
 to have connected with it, we must take especial care to dispose of 
 them, so as not to cloud that principal object, nor to bury it under 
 a load of circumstances. 
 
 Example. Lord Shaftesbury, speaking of modern poets, as com- 
 pared with the ancient, says : u If, whilst they profess only to please, 
 they secretly advise, and give instruction, they may now, perhaps, as 
 well as formerly, be esteemed, with justice, the best and most hon- 
 ourable among authors." This is a well constructed sentence. It 
 contains a great many circumstances and adverbs, necessary to 
 qualifiy the meaning; only^ secretly, now, perhaps, as well, former- 
 b/i with, justice ; yet these are placed with so much art, as neither 
 to embarrass nor weaken the sentence ; while that which is the 
 capital object in it, viz. " Poets being justly esteemed the best and 
 most honourable among authors," comes out in the conclusion clear 
 and detached, and possesses its proper place. 
 
 174. A fourth rule for constructing sentences with 
 proper strength, is, to make the members of them go 
 on rising and growing in their importance above one 
 another. 
 
 Illus. This sort of arrangement is called a climax, and is always 
 considered as a beauty in composition. From what cause it pleas- 
 es, is abundantly evident. In all things, we naturally love to ascend 
 to what is more and more beautiful, rather than to follow toe retro- 
 grade order. Having had once some considerable object set before 
 us, it is, with pain, we are pulled back to attend to an inferior cir- 
 cumstance. " Care must be taken that our composition shall not 
 fall off, and that a weaker expression shall not follow one of more 
 
Strength. 99 
 
 strength ; as if, after sacrilege, we should bring in theft ; or, having 
 mentioned a robbery, we should subjoin petulence. Sentences 
 ou:rht always to rise and grow*." 
 
 2. Of this beauty, in the construction of sentences, the orations 
 of Cicero furnish many examples. His pompous manner naturally 
 led him to study it ; and. generally in order to render ihf. climax per- 
 fect, he makes both the sense and the sound rise together, with a 
 very magnificent swell. 
 
 3. The following instance, from Lord Boiingbroke, is beautiful: 
 t; This decency, this grace, this propriety of manners to character, 
 is so essential to princes in particular, that, whenever it is neglect- 
 ed, their virtues lose a great degree oflusture, and their defects ac- 
 quire much aggravation. Nay, more ; by neglecting this decency 
 and this grace, and for want of a sufficient regard to appearances, 
 even their virtues may betray them into failings, their failings into 
 vices, and their vices into habits unworthy of princes, and unworthy 
 of merit. " 
 
 175. This sort of full and oratorial climax, can nei 
 ther be always obtained, nor ought it to be always 
 sought after. Only some kinds of writing admit such 
 sentences ; and to study them too frequently, espe- 
 cially if the subject do not require much pomp, is af- 
 fected and disagreeable. But when sentences are ap- 
 proaching to a climax, the following is a general rule 
 which we ought to study. 
 
 Illus. 1. A weaker assertion or proposition should never come 
 after a stronger one:): ; and when our sentence consists of two mem- 
 bers, the longest should, generally, be the concluding one. There is 
 a two-fold reason for this last direction. Periods thus divided, are 
 pronounced more easily ; and the shortest member being placed 
 nr=t, we carry it more readily on otir memory as we proceed to the 
 Second, and see the connection of the two more clearly. Thus, to 
 say, ic when our passions have forsaken us, we flatter ourselves 
 v/ith the belief that we have forsaken them," is both more graceful 
 and more cl^ar, than to begin with the longest part of the proposi- 
 ':on, and say : u We flatter ourselves with the belief that we have 
 );s;iken our passions, when they have forsaken us.'' 
 
 2. In general, it is always aggreeable to find a sentence rising up- 
 
 * " c Cavendum est ne decrescat oratio, et fortiori subjungatur 
 vtliquid infirmius ; sicut, bacrilegio, fur; aut latroni petulans* Au~ 
 jjeri eniui debent seutentix et insurgere." QuinCtilian. 
 t Idea of a Patriot King. 
 
 i u Ne decrescat cratio, et ne fortiori subjungatur aliquid infir- 
 onus." Quinctiliair 
 
100 On the Structure of Sentences. 
 
 on u?, and growing in its importance to the very Vast word, when 
 this construction can be managed without affectation or unseasona- 
 ble pomp. " If we rUe yet higher," says Addisoo, very beautifully, 
 4i and consider the fixed stars as so many oceans of flame, that are 
 each of them attended with a different set of planets; and still dis- 
 cover new firmaments and new lights, that are sunk farther in those 
 unfathomable depth? of aeiiier ; we are lost in such a labyrinth of 
 suns and worlds, and confounded with the magnificence and immen- 
 sity of nature*." Uence foiio\vs clearly, 
 
 176. A fifth rule for the strength of sentences ^ 
 which is, to avoid concluding them with an acfocrb, 
 a pfcpositipfy r u*iy inconsiderable word. Such con- 
 viusions are always enfeebling and degrading. 
 
 06.?. Thore are sentences, indeed, whore the stress and signifi- 
 ancy rest chiefly upon some words of this kind. In this case they 
 are not to be considered as circumstances, but as the capital fig- 
 ire- ; an i on : /;ht, in propriety, to have the principal place allotted 
 ih.r*:u. ISo fault, for instance, can be found with this sentence : " In 
 5?uir prosperity, my friends shall never hear of ine ; in their adver- 
 a it>". always!." Where nerer, and always, being ernphatical words, 
 were to be so placed, as to make a strong impression. But we 
 -prak now of those inferior parts of speech, when introduced as cir- 
 "Minslanres, or as qualifications of more important words. In 
 ?uch a case they 'should always be disposed of in the least con- 
 spicuous parts of the period ; and so classed with other words 
 of greater dignity, as to be kept in their proper and sec: 
 station. 
 
 177. Agreeably to this rule, we should :.iVays 
 avoid concluding with any of those particles which 
 mark the cases of nouns ; as, of, to, from, wjth, by. 
 
 lll'ts. For instance, it is a great deal better to say, " Avarice is 
 a crime of which wise men are often guilty," than to ?ay, b< Ava- 
 rice is a crime which wise men are often guilty of"' This last is a 
 phraseology that, with reason, ail correct writers shun: for, be- 
 #idc* the Want of dignity which arises from those mono^rllables at 
 l!;e end, the imagination cannot avoid resting, for a little, ca the 
 import of the word that closes the sentence " and, as prepositions 
 
 any picture in the fancy. 
 
 178. For the same reason, verbs which are used in 
 a compound sense, with some of ihe prepositions, are 
 
 * Spectator. No= 420, t Bolingbroke, 
 
Strength. 1 l 
 
 not beautiful conclusions of a period. Such verbs as, 
 bring about, lay hold of, come over to, dear up, and 
 many other of this kind, ought to be avoided, if we 
 can employ a simple verb, which will always termin- 
 ate the sentence with more strength. 
 
 Obs. Though the pronoun /<*, has the import of a substantive nou ll > 
 and indeed oi'ten forces itself upon us unavoidably, yet when we want 
 to give cirnily to a sentence, this pronoun shoutd, if possible, be- 
 avoided in the conclusion; more especially when it is joined with 
 some of the propositions, as, wittt it, in it, to il. 
 
 179. Besides particles and pronouns, any phrase, 
 which expresses a circumstance only, always brings 
 up the rear of a sentence with a bad grace. 
 
 Jllus. We may judge of this, by the following sentence from Lord 
 Bolingbroke: " Let me therefore conclude by repeating, that di- 
 vision has caused all the mischief wo lament ; that union alone can 
 retrieve us ; and that a great advance towards this union was th 
 coalition of parties, so happily '>egun, *o successfully carried on, 
 and of late so unaccountably neglected ; to say no wi>rsr*. w This 
 last phrase, to say no worse, occasions a sad falling off at the end ; 
 ao much the more unhappy, as the rest of the period is conducted 
 after the manner of a climax, which we expect to find growing to 
 the last. 
 
 Obs. 1. The proper disposition of such circumstances in a sen- 
 tence, is often attended with considerable trouble, in order to ad- 
 just them so, that they consist equally with the pe rppiruity and the 
 grace of the period. Though necessary parts, they are, however, 
 like unshapely stones in a building, which, to place them with the 
 least offence, try the skill of an artist. u Let them be inserted 
 wherever the happiest place for them can be found ; as, in a struc- 
 ture composed of rough stones, there are always places where the 
 most irregular and unshapely may find some adjacent one to which 
 :.t can be joined, and some basis on which it may resit." 
 
 2. The close is always an unsuitable place for them. When the 
 ?ense admits their arrangement, the sooner they are dispatched, 
 generally speaking, the better ; that the more important and sig- 
 nificant words may possess the last place, quite disencumbered. It 
 is a rule too, never to croud too many circumstances together, but 
 rather to intersperse them in different parts of the sentence, join- 
 ed with the capital words on which they depend ; provided that 
 
 * Letter on the State of Parties at the Accession of King: 
 George I. 
 
 t " Jungaatur quo congruunt maxime ; 'sicut in structure, saxo- 
 rum rudium, etiam ipsa enormitas invenit cui applicari, et in quo, 
 prssit iusistere," Quinctilian. 
 
 K2 
 
'^~ On 'the Structure of Sentences* 
 
 care be taken, as was before directed, not to clog those capital 
 words witli them. 
 
 180. The last rule, which we have to offer, rela- 
 ting to the strength of a sentence, is, that in the 
 members of a sentence where two things are compar- 
 ed or contrasted with each other; where either a 
 resemblance or an opposition is intended to be ex- 
 pressed ; some resemblance, in the language and con- 
 struction, should be preserved. For, when the things 
 themselves correspond to each ether, we naturally 
 expect to find the words also corresponding. We 
 are disappointed when it is otherwise; and the com- 
 parison, or costrast, appears more imperfect. 
 
 Illus. The following passage from Pope's Preface to his Homer, 
 fully exemplifies the rule we have now given : " Homer was the 
 greater genius ; Virgil the better "artist ; ia the one, 
 mire the man ; in the other, the work. Homer In: PCS ES with a 
 commanding impetuosity ; Virgil leads u with an attrrn.-tivc run' 
 esty. Homer scatters with a generous profusion : Vir^u bestow- 
 with a careful magnificence. Homer, like the Nile, pours out his 
 riches with a sudden overflow ; Virgil, like a river iu its bank*, 
 
 with a constant stream. And when we look upon their machines, 
 
 Homer seem? like his own Jupiter in his terrors shaking Olympic 
 scattering the lightning 5 , and firing the heavens ; Virgil, like the 
 .-ame power in his benenevolence, counselling with the gods, laying 
 v-Jans for empires, and ordering his whole creation." 
 
 Corol. Periods thus constructed, when introduced with propriety, 
 and not returning too often, have a sensible beauty. But we must 
 beware of carrying our attention to this beauty too far. It ought 
 only to be occasionally studied, when it is naturally demanded 
 i/y the comparison or apposition of objects. If such a construction. 
 us this be aimed at in ail our sentences, it leads to a disagreeable 
 u'tiformity ; produces a regularly returning clink in the period, 
 which plainly discovers affectation, and tires the ear like the chime 
 of jingling verse. 
 
 Scholia. The fundamental rule for the construction of sentences, 
 and into which all other rules might be resolved, undoubtedly is, to 
 communicate, in the clearest and most natural order, the ideas 
 which we mean to transfuse into the minds of our hearers or readers. 
 Every arrangement that does most justice to the sense, and ex- 
 presses it to most advantage, strikes us as beautiful. To this point 
 have tended all the rules that we have givrn. And, indeed, did 
 men always think clearly, and were they, at the same time, fully 
 masters of the language in which they write, there would be occa- 
 sion for few rules. Their sentences would then, of course, acquire 
 all those properties of precision, unity, a.od strength, which we hare 
 
Perspicuity. 1 0^ 
 
 recommended. u For we may rest assured," says Dr. Blair,* 
 u thai, wXnever vt? express ourselves ill, there is. besides the 
 mismanagement of language, for the most part, some mistake in 
 our manner of conceiving the subject. Embarrassed, obscure, and 
 feeble sentences, are generally, if not alvvaj *. the result of embar- 
 rassed, obscure, and feeble thought. Thought and language act 
 and re-act upon each other mutually. Logic and rhetoric have 
 here, as in many other cases, a strict connection ; and he that is 
 learning to arrange his sentences with accuracy and order, is learn- 
 ing, at the same time, to think with accuracy and order ;" an ob- 
 servation which alone will justify all the care and attention which 
 we have bestowed on this subject. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PERSPICUITY. 
 
 181. PERSPICUITY originally and properly sig- 
 nifies transparency, such as may be ascribed to air, 
 glass, water, or any other medium, through which 
 material objects are viewed. From this original and 
 nroper sense, it hath been metaphorically applied to 
 language, this being, as it were, the medium, through 
 which we perceive the notions and sentiments of any 
 speaker or writer. 
 
 lllus. I. Now, in natural things, if the medium through which we 
 look at any object, be perfectly transparent, our whole attention is 
 fixed on the object. If, for instance, we look tl rough the panes of 
 glass in any window, we are scarcely sensible that there is a medi- 
 um which intervenes, and can hardly be said to perceive the medi- 
 um. But if there be any flaw in the glass, if we see through it but 
 dimly, if the object be imperfectly represented, or if we know it to 
 be misrepresented, our attention is immediately taken oft' the ob- 
 ject, and turned to the medium. We are then desirous to discover 
 the cause, either of the dim and confused representation, or of the 
 misrepresentation of things which the medium exhibits, or that the 
 defect in vision may be supplied by judgment. 
 
 2. The case of language is precisely similar. A discourse, then, 
 excels in perspicuity, when the subject engrosses the attention of the 
 hearer, and the direction is so little minded by him, that he can 
 scarcely be said to be conscious that it is through this medium he 
 fiees into the speaker's thoughts. 
 
 * Lectures on Rhetoric, Lect. Xir 
 
104 
 
 3. On (he contrary, the least obscurity, ambiguity, or cor 
 
 in the style, instantly removes the attention from the sentiment to 
 tiie expression, and the hearer endeavour?, by the aid of reflection, 
 to correct the imperfections of the speaker's language. Whatever 
 application he must give to the words, is, in fact, so much deducted 
 from what he owes to the sentiments. Besides, the effort which 
 the speaker thus requires his hearer to exert in a very close atten- 
 tion to the language, always weakens the effect, which the thoughts 
 were intended to produce in the mind of the hearer. 
 
 4. Perspicuity i=, of all qualities of style, the first and most es- 
 senlial. Every speaker does not propose to please the imagination, 
 nor is every subject susceptible of those ornaments, which conduce 
 to this purpose. . Much less is it the aim of every speech, to agitate 
 the passions. There are some occasions, therefore, in which va- 
 riety, and many in which, animation of style, are not necessary : 
 nay, there are occasions on which the last especially would be im= 
 proper. But whatever be the ultimate intention of the orator, to 
 inform, to convince, to please, to move, or to persuade, still he 
 must ?peak so as to be understood, or he spea'ks to no purpose. If 
 he do not propose to convey certain sentiments into the minds of his 
 hearers, by the aid of signs intelligible to them, he may as well de- 
 claim before them in an unknown tongue. This prerogative the in- 
 tellect hath above all the other faculties, that, whether it be or he 
 not immediately addressed by the speaker, it must be regarded by 
 him either ultimately or subordinately ; ultimately, when the di- 
 rect purpose of the discourse is information, or conviction ; subor- 
 dinately, when the end is pleasure, emotion, or persuasion. 
 
 5. Besides, in a discourse wherein either vivacity or animation 
 is requisite, it is not every sentence that requires, or even admits, 
 of either of these qualities ; but every sentence ought to be per- 
 spicuous. The effect of all other qualities is lost without this. But 
 this being to the understanding, what light is to the eye, ought to 
 be diffused over the whole performance. And since perspicuity is 
 more properly a rhetorical than a grammatical quality, we shall 
 point out the different ways in which a writer may fail to produce 
 a style 1 which shall answer the conditions of the definition we have 
 given of perspicuity. 
 
 6. A man may, in respect of grammatical purity, speak unex- 
 ceptionably, and yet speak obscurely and ambiguously; and though 
 we cannot say, that a man may speak properly, and at the same 
 time speak unintelligibly ; yet this last case falls more naturally to 
 be considered as an offence against perspicuity, than as a violation 
 of propriety. (*4rt. 112. 117. and 124.) For when the meaning is 
 not discovered, the particular impropriety cannot be pointed out. 
 In the three different ways, therefore, just now mentioned, perspi- 
 cuity may be violated. 
 
 182. The obscure, from defect, is the first offence 
 against perspicuity, and may arise from elliptical ex- 
 
The Obscure, from Defect. 105 
 
 s prcssions. This is the converse of precision. (Art. 
 118.) 
 
 Illus. In G reek and Latin, the frequent suppression of the substan- 
 tive verb, and of timpoj-scsiiive and personal pronouns, furnishes 
 instances of ellipse?, which the idiom of most modern tongue?, 
 English and French particular'}', will seldom admit, (lllus. '2. 
 Jrl. 119.) 
 
 183. Often, indeed, the affectation of conciseness, 
 often the rapidity of thought, natural to some writers, 
 will give nsc to still more material defects in the ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Example. u He is inspired with a true sense of that function^ 
 when chosen from a regard to the interests of piety and virtue."* 
 
 Analysis. Stnse^ in this passage, denotes an inward feeling, or 
 the impression which some sentiment makes upon the mind, Now 
 a function cannot be a sentiment impressed or felt. The expression 
 is therefore defective, and ought to have read thus : " He is inspired 
 with a true sense of the dignify, or of the importance, of that func- 
 tion." 
 
 Gbs. Obscurities iu style arise not merely from deficiency, but 
 from excess of expression, and often from the bad choice of words, 
 (.S'6Cv2r/. 118, 119. a?irf!23.) 
 
 134. Bad arrangement is another source of obscu- 
 rity. In this case, the construction Is not sufficiently 
 jiear. One often, on first hearing the sentence, ima- 
 gines, from the turn of it, that it ought to be con- 
 strued one way, and on reflection finds that it must 
 be construed another way. (Jlrt. 143, 144, and 145.) 
 
 Example. " I have hopes, that whan WILJ, confronts him, and 
 ell tke ladles in whose behalf he engages him, cast lund looks and 
 >vi-!iC3 of success at their champion, he will have some shame. "t 
 
 vln'ili/sis. It is impossible n,A to imagine, on hearing the [}r>.t 
 part of this sentence, that WILL is (o confront all the indies ; though 
 afterwards we find it necessary to construe this clause with the fol- 
 lowing verb. This confusion is removed at once, by repeating the 
 Lid verb when. 
 
 u I have hopes, that when WILL confronts him. and when all the 
 ladies cast kind looks," &c. 
 
 Carol. Bud arrangement may be justly termed a conrtrucl-ire am- 
 biguity. The words are so disposed in point of order, as would 
 render them really ambiguous, if, in that construction, which the 
 expression first suggests, any meaning were exhibited. As this is 
 
 * Guardian. No. 53, t Spectator, No. 20, 
 
106 Perspicuity. 
 
 not the case, the faulty order of the words cannot properly be con- 
 sidered, as rendering the sentence ambiguous, but obscure. 
 
 185. The same wgrd used in different senses in the 
 same sentence, is another source of obscurity. 
 
 Example. " That he should be in earnest, it is hard to conceive ; 
 since any reasons of doubt, which he might have in this case, would 
 have been reasons of doubt in the case of oilier men, who may give 
 more, but cannot give more evident^ signs of thought, than their 
 fellow-creatures."* 
 
 dnulytis. This errs alike against perspicuity and elegance. The 
 first wore], more, is an adjective, the comparative oC many ; in an 
 instant it is an adverb, and the sien of the comparative degree. As 
 the reader is not apprised of this,~the sentence must appear to him, 
 on the first glance, a flat contradiction. (Art. 122. lllus. 1. a??d2) 
 
 Correction. u Who may give more numerous, but cannot give 
 more evident signs :" or thus, u Who may give more, but cannot 
 give clearer signs." 
 
 186. It is but seldom that the same pronoun can 
 be used twice or oftener in the same sentence, in 
 reference to different things, without darkening the 
 expression. The signification of the personal, as 
 well as of the relative pronouns, and even of the ad- 
 verbs of place and time, must be determined by the 
 things to which they relate. To use them, therefore, 
 with" reference to different things, is. in effect, to em- 
 ploy the same word in different senses ; which, when 
 it occurs in the same sentence, or in sentences closely 
 connected, is rarely found entirely compatible with 
 perspicuity. (See Art. 152. filus.) 
 
 Example " One may have an air which proceeds from a just suf- 
 ficiency and knowledge of the matter before him, which may nat- 
 urally produce some motions of his head and body^which might be- 
 come the bench better than the bar."t 
 
 Analysis. The pronoun which is here thrice used in three several 
 s-enses ; and it must require reflection to discover, that the first de- 
 notes air, the second, sufficiency and knowledge, and the third, r,i<^ 
 'ions of the head and body. 
 
 187. From too artificial a structure of the sent* 
 obscurity may arise. This happens when the struc- 
 ture of the sentence is too much complicated, or too 
 
 * Bolinbroke's Ph. Ess. I. Sect. 9, t Guardian. JS'o. IS 
 
Artificial Structure and technical Terms. 107 
 
 artificial ; or when the sense is too long suspended 
 by parentheses. (Scholia, p. 88.) 
 
 Obs. A short parenthesis, introduced in a proper place, will not 
 in the least hurt the clearness, and may add both to the vivacity, 
 and to the energy, of the sentence. (See Art. 167.) 
 
 188. Technical terms, injudiciously introduced, is 
 another source of darkness in composition. (See 
 Art, 84. Illus.) But in treatises on the principles of 
 any art, they are not only convenient, but even ne- 
 cessary. In ridicule too, if used sparingly, as in 
 comedy or romance, they are allowable. (Obs. F 
 Art. 114.) 
 
 189. Long sentences may be justly accounted lia- 
 ble to obscurity, since it is difficult to extend them, 
 without involving some of the other faults before 
 mentioned. And when a long period does not appear 
 obscure, it will always be remarked, that all its prin- 
 cipal members are similar in their structure, and 
 would constitute so many distinct sentences, if they 
 were not limited, by their reference to some com- 
 mon clause in the beginning or the end. (See Art. 
 138.) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DOUBLE MEANING, OR EQUIVOCATION. 
 
 190. THE double meaning. Perspicuity may be 
 violated, not only by obscurity, but also by double 
 meaning. (Art. 119.) 
 
 Illus. The fault in this case is not that the sentence conveys 
 darkly or imperfectly the author's meaning, but that it conveys 
 also some other meaning which is not the author's. His words are 
 susceptible of more than one interpretation. When this happens, 
 it is always occasioned, either by using some expression which is 
 equivocal ; that is, which hath more meanings than the one which 
 the author affixes to it ; or by ranging the words in such an order, 
 that the construction is rendered equivocal, or made to exhibit dif- 
 
108 P 
 
 fereat senses. The former we term equivocation, the latter aiiiU- 
 guity. (See DC fin. 19. 7;. 72.) 
 
 191. Equivocation. When the word denotes in 
 composition, as in common language it generally de- 
 notes, the use of an equivocal word, or phrase, or 
 other ambiguity, with an intention to deceive, it dlf- 
 i'ers not essentially from a lie. 
 
 This offence falls under the reproof of the moralist, not the cen- 
 sure of the rhetorician. 
 
 192. Again, when the word denotes, as agreeably 
 it may denote, that exercise of wit which consists in 
 the playful use of any term or phrase in different 
 senses, and which is denominated pun, it is amena- 
 ble, indeed, to the tribunal of criticism, but it cannot 
 be regarded as a violation of the laws of perspicuity. 
 
 It is neither with the liar nor the punster that we are concerned 
 at present. 
 
 193. The only species of equivocation that comes 
 under reprehension here, is that which takes place, 
 when an author undesignedly employs an expression 
 susceptible of a sense different from the sense he in- 
 tends it should convey. 
 
 Obs. This fault hath been illustrated in Articles 113. 121,122, 
 and 123. 
 
 194. The equivocation may be either in a single 
 word, or in a phrase* 
 
 lllus. 1. The preposition of denotes sometime? the relation which 
 any affection bears to its subject* ; sometimes the relation which it 
 bears to its object. 
 
 Example. 1. Hence this expression of the Apostle has been ob- 
 served to be equivocal : lt I am persuaded that neither death nor 
 hfe shall be able to separate us from the love of Godt." By the 
 love of God, say interpreters, may be understood, either God's love 
 to us, or our lone to God. 
 
 2. As the preposition of sometimes denotes the relation of the 
 effect to the cause, sometimes that of the accident to the subject ; 
 irom this duplicity of signification, there will also, in certain circum- 
 stances, arise a double meaning, " A little after the reformation uf 
 Luther^," is a phrase which suggests as readily a change wrought 
 
 * That is, the person whose affection it is. t Rom, viii. 38, &c* 
 t Swift's Mechanical Operations. 
 
The double Meaning* 109 
 
 mi Luther as a change wrought by him. But the phraseology is in- 
 te'iiaible when we apply the tern) reformation to the schism which 
 Luther produced in the Catholic Church. 
 
 Jllu.s.. 2. The con/it fictions shall furnish our second illustration. 
 
 Example. ;i They were both more ancient among the 'Persians 
 than Zoroaster or Zerdusht*.'* 
 
 Analysis. The conjunction or is here equivocal. It serves either 
 as a copulative to synonymous words, or as a disjunctive of differ- 
 ent things. But Zoroaster and Zerdusht mean the same person, 
 therefore the sentence is equivocal. 
 
 Carol. 1. If the first noun follows an article, or a preposition, or 
 both ; the article, or the preposition, or both, should be repeated 
 before the second, when the two noun* are intended to denote dif- 
 ferent things ; and should not be repeated, when they are intended 
 to denote the same thing. 
 
 2. If tiiere be neither article nor preposition before the first, and 
 if it be the intention of the writer to use the particle or disjunctive- 
 ly, let the first noun be preceded by either, which will infallibly as- 
 certain the meaning. 
 
 3. On the contrary, if, in such a dubious case, it be his design to 
 use the participle as a copulative to synonymous words, the piece 
 will rarely sustain a material injury, by omitting both the conjunc- 
 tion and synonym a. 
 
 liiuf. 3. Pronouns may also be used equivocally. 
 
 Example. " She united the great body of the people* in her and 
 their common interest!." 
 
 Analysis. The word her may be either the possessive pronoun, or 
 the accusative case of the personal pronoun. A very small al- 
 teration in the order totally removes the doubt. Say, u in their 
 and her common interest." The word thus connected, can only be 
 the possessive, as the author doubtless intended it should be in the 
 passage quoted. 
 
 Jllas. 4. Substantives are sometimes used equivocally. 
 
 Example. u Your Majesty has lost all hopes of any future excises 
 by their consumption^.." 
 
 Analysis. The word consumption has both an active sense and a 
 passive. It means either the act of consuming, or the state of being 
 consumed. 
 
 Correction. u Your Majesty has lost all hopes of levying any fu- 
 ture excises on what they shall consume." 
 
 Illus. 5. Adjectives also are used equivocally, 
 
 Example. " As for such animals as are mortal or noxious, we have 
 a right to destroy them. 
 
 A nalysis. Indeed ! all men are liable to death, and all men are an- 
 imals, but we have no right to destroy each other. The word mor= 
 
 * Bolingbroke's Substance of Letters to M. de Pouilly . 
 t Idea of a Patriot King. Guardian, No. 52, 
 I Ibid, No. .61. 
 
110 Ambiguity. 
 
 i'.-L therefore, in (his sentence might be justly considered as improper 
 . 7 -'. 1 17. Jlhis. 3.) ; for though is sometimes means destructive, or 
 i i! using death, H i then almost invariably joined with some noun 
 ^xpressive of hurt or danger. 
 
 ///us. 6. Verbs often present a false sense more readily than the 
 true. 
 
 Example. " The next refuge was to say it was overlooked by one 
 .nan, and many passages wholly written by another*." 
 
 Analysis. The word overlooked sometimes signifies revised, and 
 .-ometimes neglected. But the participle is used here in the former 
 sense ; therefore the word revised ought to have been preferred. 
 
 Jilus. 7. In the next quotation the homonymous term may be 
 either an adjective or an adverb, admits a different sense in each ac- 
 ceptation. 
 
 Example. " Not only Jesuits can equivocate!." 
 
 Analysis. If the word only is here an adverb, the sense is, u to 
 equivocate is not the only thing that Jesuits can do." This inter- 
 pretation, though not Dryden^s meaning, suits the construction. 
 The proper and unequivocal meaning:, though a prosaic expression s of 
 <his sense, is, u Jesuits can not only equivocate." Again, if the 
 word only is here an adjective (and this doubtless is the author's 
 meaning) the sense is, " Jesuits are not the only persons who can. 
 equivocate." 
 
 Illus. 8. Equivocal phrases are such as, not the least, not the 
 smallest, which may signify " not any," as though one should say, 
 not even the least, not so much as the smallest ; and sometimes again 
 a, very great, as though it were expressed in this manner, far from 
 being the least or smallest. Now since the}- are susceptible of two 
 significations which are not only different, but contrary, they ought 
 *o be totally laid aside. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AMBIGUITY. 
 
 194. THE double meaning arises, not from the use 
 of equivocal terms, but solely from the construction ; 
 and is therefore distinguished by the name ambiguity, 
 (See Art. 190. and Illus. also Art. 151.) 
 
 Illus. In the use of pronouns, the reference to the antecedent 
 should be so unquestionable, that no false meaning could possibly be 
 suggested by the manner of construing the words, of which a sen- 
 tence may be composed. 
 
 * Spectator, No. 19, t Dryden's Hind and Panther, 
 
Perspicuity. Hi 
 
 Examples. " Solomon, the son of David, who built the temple at 
 Jerusalem, was the richest monarch that ever reigned over the Jew- 
 ish people, 1 ' arid " Solomon, the son of David, ic/io was persecuted 
 by Saul, was the richest monarch." 
 
 Analysis. In these two instances, the who is similarly situated ; 
 yet, in the former, it relates to the person first mentioned ; in the 
 latter, to the second. And some previous knowledge of the history 
 of those kintrs is necessary to enable any reader to discover this re- 
 lation to the' one or to the other. 
 
 Correction. il Solomon, the son of David, and the builder of the 
 temple of Jerusalem, was the richest monarch. 1 " 
 
 Example 2. The following quotation exhibits a triple sense, ari- 
 sing from the indeterminate use of the relative. 
 
 tl Such were the centaurs of Ixion's race, 
 Who a bright cloud for Juno did embrace*." 
 
 Analysis. Who embraced the cloud, the cenlaurs, Ixlon, or his 
 race ? The relative ought grammatically to refer rather to the ctr.- 
 taurs. than to either of the two, and least of all to to'ew, to whcin it 
 v/as intended to refer. 
 
 195. The relatives who, which, that, whose, arid 
 ^honi, often create ambiguity, even when there cats 
 be no doubt in regard to the antecedent. 
 
 Ilhis. I The;,: pronouns are sometimes explicative, sometimes 
 determinative. They are explicative when they serve merely for 
 thu illustration of the subject, by pointing out cither some property, 
 or some circumstance belonging to it, leaving it, however, to be un- 
 derstood in its full extent. 
 
 Examples. *' Man, who is born of a woman, is of few days, 
 find full of trouble." u Godliness, which with contentment is 
 great gain, has the promise both of the present life, and of the fu- 
 ture." 
 
 Analysis. The clause, u who is born of a woman," in the first 
 example, and ;t which with contentment is great gain," in the 
 ^econd, point to certain properties in the antecedent, but do not 
 . estrain their signification. For, should we omit these clauses alto- 
 gether, we could say with equal truth, c; Man is of few days, and 
 full of trouble," a Godliness has the promise both of the present life, 
 and of the future. 
 
 Jllus. 2. On the other hand, these, pronouns are determi.v 
 .vhen they are employed to limit the import of the antecedent. 
 
 Examples. u The man that endureth to the end shall he saved. 
 The remorse, which issues in reformation, is true ivj.enlance."' 
 
 Analysis. Each of the relatives here confines the signification of 
 its antecedent to such only as are possessed of the an:t]i!!" iiou men 
 
 : Denham's Progress of Learning, 
 
i i 2 Atnbiguity. 
 
 tioned. For if is net affirmed of every mnn that he shall be saved ; 
 nor of all remorse, that it is true repentance. 
 
 196. From the above examples, it may fairly be 
 collected, that with us the definite article .is of great 
 7ise for discriminating the explicative sense from 
 the determinative. In the first case it is rarely 
 used, in the second, it ought never to he omitted, 
 unless when something still more definitive, such as 
 a demonstrative pronoun, supplies its place. (Art. 57* 
 Illus. 
 
 Example. " I know that all words which are sign? of complex 
 ideas, furnish matter of mistake and cavil*." 
 
 Analysis. As words, the antecedent has neither the article nor a 
 demonstrative pronoun to connect it with the subsequent relative* 
 it should seem that the clause, "which are signs of complex 
 ideas," was merely explicative, and that the subject words was to 
 be understood in the utmost latitude. This could not be the noble 
 writer's sense, as it would be absurd to affirm of all words, that 
 'hey are signs of complex idea?. 
 
 Correct/on. u I know that all the words Vvhich are signs of com- 
 plex ideas ;" or, " I know that all (hose words which are sign?." 
 Either of these ways makes the clause beginning with the relative 
 serve to limit the import of the antecedent. 
 
 197. In numberless instances we find the pronouns 
 Ids and he used, in like manner, ambiguously ; and the 
 latter especially when two or more males happen to 
 be mentioned in the same clause of a sentence. 
 
 Obs, In such a case, we ou^hf always either to give another turn 
 'o the expression, or to u*e the noun itself, and not the pronoun; 
 ; or when the repetition of a word is necessary, it is not offensive. 
 (Illus. 3. p. 109. and Art. 152.) 
 
 198. There is in adjectives especially, o great risk 
 of ambiguity, \vhen they arc not joined to the substan- 
 tives to which they belong. (Illus. 5. p. 109,) 
 
 Ju'is. \. This hazard arises, in our language, from our adjective? 
 /laving no declension, by which rase, number, and gender are dis- 
 tinguished. Their relation, therefore, is not otherwise to be ascer- 
 tained than by their place. (Illus. $ //. ;;. 57.) 
 
 Lxamplr.. ** God heapeth favours on his servants ever liberal and 
 faithful.*'' 
 
 Analysis. It is God or his servants that are ever liberal and 
 
 * Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties } Lect, 12- 
 
Ambiguity. i 13 
 
 .1 ? If the former, then the sentence should run thus ; u God s 
 ever liberal and faithful, heapelh favours on his servants." If the lat- 
 ter, then ' God heapeth favours on his ever liberal and faithful ser- 
 \ants," or u his servants who are ever liberal and faithful." 
 
 lllus. 2. Two or more adjectives are sometimes made to refer to 
 the same substantive, when, in fact, they do not belong to the same 
 thing, but to diiferent things which, beings of the same kind, are 
 expressed by the same generic name. 
 
 Example. u Both the ecclesiastic, and the secular powers con- 
 curred in those measures." 
 
 Anal. Here the two adjectives, ecclesiastic and secular, relate 
 to the same substantive powers, but do not relate to the same indi- 
 vidual things ; for the powers denominated ecclesiastic are totally 
 different from those denominated secular. This too common idiom 
 luay be avoided either by repeating the substantive, or by subjoin- 
 ing the substantive to the first adjective, and prefixing the article to 
 the second as well as the first. 
 
 Correction. " Both the ecclesiastic powers, and the secular con-' 
 cur red in those measures," or, " Both the ecclesiastic powers, and 
 the secular powers ;'" but the former is perhaps preferable. 
 
 199. The construction of substantive nouns is some- 
 times ambiguous, (lllus. 4. p. 109.) 
 
 Example 1. " You shall seldom find a dull fellow of good educa- 
 tion, but (if he happen to have any leisure upon his hands) will turii 
 his head to one of those two amusements for all fools of eminence, 
 politics or poetry*." 
 
 Analysis. The position of the words politics or poetry makea 
 one at first imagine, that along with the terms eminence, they are 
 affected by the preposition q/", and construed \\\\\\ fools. The rep- 
 etition of the to after eminence would have totally removed the am* 
 biguity. 
 
 Example. 2. " A rising tomb the lofty column boret." 
 
 Analysis. Did the tomb bear the column, or the column the 
 tomb ? But this fault is frequent, in the construction of substan- 
 tives, especially in verse, when both what we call the nomina- 
 tive case and the accusative are put before the verb. As in nouns 
 those cases are not distinguished either by inflection, or by preposi- 
 tions, so neither can they be distinguished in such instances by ar- 
 rangement. 
 
 200. Ambiguity in using the conjunctions. 
 
 Example. u At least my own private letters leave room for a pol- 
 itician, well versed in matters of this nature, to suspect as much, as 
 a penetrating friend of mine tells me." 
 
 Analysis. The particle as, which in this sentence immediately 
 precedes the words a penetrating friend, makes frequently a part of 
 these compound conjunctions as muck as, as well as, as far as. It 
 
 * Spectator, No. 43. t Pope's Odyssey, Book 12, 
 L2 
 
114 Ambiguity. 
 
 will, therefore, naturally appear at first to belong to the word* aj- 
 much) which immediately precede it. But as this is not really the 
 case, it ought to have been otherwise situated ; for it is not enough 
 that it is separated by a comma, these small distinction's in tne 
 pointing being too frequently overlooked. 
 
 Correction. u At least my own private letters, as a penetrating 
 friend of mine tells me, leave room for a politician well versed in 
 matters of this nature to suspect as much." 
 
 201. Sometimes a particular clause or expression 
 is so situated, that it may be construed with different 
 members of the same sentence, and thus exhibit dif- 
 ferent meanings. (Illus. 8. p. 110. and Art. 151.) 
 
 Example. u It has not a word but what the author religiously 
 thinks in it*." 
 
 d nali/sis. One would at first imagine the author's meaning to be, 
 that it bad not a word which the author did not think to ht in it- 
 Alter a little the place of the last two words, and supply the ellipsis, 
 and the ambiguity will be removed, 
 
 Correction. a It has not a word in it, but what the author reli* 
 piously thinks it should contain." 
 
 202. The squinting construction] , another fertile 
 source of ambiguity, is, when a clause is so situated 
 in a sentence, that one is at first at loss to know 
 whether it ought to be connected with the words 
 which go before, or with those which come after. 
 
 Example. " As it is necessary to have the head clear as well as 
 the complexion, to be perfect in this part of learning, I rarely min- 
 gle with the men, but frequent the tea tables of the ladies:):." 
 
 Analysis. Whether, u to be perfect in this part of learning, is it 
 necessary to have the head clear as well as the complexion ; or, u to 
 be perfect in this part of learning, does he rarely mingle with 
 the men, but frequent the tea tables of the ladies ?" which ever 
 of these be sense, the words ought to have been otherwise arran- 
 ged. 
 
 * Guardian, No, 4. t Construction louche^ it is called by 
 French, 
 
 + Guardian, No. 10, 
 
The Unintelligible, fyc. A 1 ..- 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE UNINTELLIGIBLE. 
 
 203 UNDER the article precision, Chapter IV. of 
 Book II. but more particularly in II his. 6. Art. 181, 
 it was observed generally, that a speaker may ex- 
 press himself obscurely, and so convey his meaning 
 imperfectly to the mind of the hearer. In Chap- 
 ter VI. of this book it was shewn, that he may ex- 
 press himself ambiguously, and so along with his own 
 convey a meaning entirely different. In this Chap- 
 ter, we shall shew that he may even express himself 
 unintelligibly, and so convey no meaning at all. This 
 fault arises, 
 
 1st. From great confusion of thought, accompa- 
 nied with intricacy of expression : (Art. 121. Illus.) 
 
 %dly. From affectation of excellence in the dic- 
 tion : 
 
 3dly. From a total want of meaning. 
 
 First. The unintelligible from confusion of thought. 
 
 204. Language is the medium through which the 
 sentiments of the writer are perceived by the reader. 
 (Art. 181.) And through the impurity, or the gross- 
 ness of the medium, will render the image obscure or 
 indistinct, yet no purity in the medium will suffice for 
 exhibiting a distinct and unvarying image of a confu- 
 sed and unsteady object*. 
 
 Illus. There is a sort of half-formed thought, which we some- 
 times find a writer impatient to give the world, before he himself 
 
 * The distinctions in some departments of this Grammar of rheto- 
 ric, are so nice that they differ not in kind, hut in degree from one an- 
 other; yet if the intermediate steps, by which we have passed from 
 the one to the other, be removed, we shall at once perceive how 
 necessary they were to a full developement of the a*t. Without at- 
 tending to this remark, they who have but superficially glanced at 
 this chapter, would be ready to consider it a repetition of the 
 article precision, yet it is totally distinct, as very little sagacity 
 say soon discover. 
 
116 From Confusion of Thought. 
 
 is fully possessed of them. Now, if the writer himself rf-rrievt 
 confusedly and imperfectly the sentiments which he would com- 
 municate, it is a thousand to one, the reader will not perceive them 
 at all. 
 
 Example. 1. In simple sentences. Sir Richard Steele, though a 
 man of sense and genius, was a great master in this style ; s\* 
 of some of the coffee-house politicians, u I have observed," &&.VS he. 
 i; that the superiority among these, proceeds from an opinion of gal- 
 lantry and fashion*." 
 
 Analysis. This sentence, considered in itself, evidently conveys no 
 meaning. First, it is not said, whose opinion, their own, or that of 
 others ; secondly, it is not said what opinion, or of what sort, fa- 
 vourable or unfavourable, true or false, but in general an opinion of 
 gallitntni and fashion, which contains no definite expression of any 
 meaning. With the joint assistance of the context, reflection and 
 conjecture, we shall perhaps conclude that the author intended to 
 say, that ths rank among these politicians, was determined by the 
 opinion generally entertained of the rank in point of gallantry and 
 fashion that each of them had attained. 
 
 Example 2. Of a complex sentence, which conveys indeed the 
 dullest species of the unintelligible. " The serene aspect of these 
 writers, joined with the great encouragement 1 observe is given to 
 another, or, what is indeed to be suspected, in which he indulges 
 himself, confirmed me in the notion i have of the prevalence of am- 
 bition this wayt." 
 
 Analysis. Was it the serene aspect of these writers that confirm- 
 ed him in the notion he had of the prevalence of ambition? And if 
 o, was the prevaler.ee of this ambition a prevalence to obtain, or to 
 preserve, a u serene aspect ? or to become writers ?" Again, was 
 great encouragement given to another man to assume a serene as- 
 pect, if he had none, or to preserve it if he had such a thing? Join- 
 ed to the great encouragement given to another, to do what ? "In 
 \vhich he indulges himself." In what? this encouragement, or a 
 serene aspect r~ In short, the wri'er talks downright nonsense, for 
 the sentence admits not of decomposition. 
 
 205. Secondly. The unintelligible from affectation 
 of excellence. In this there is always something figu- 
 rative ; but the figures are remote, and things hetero- 
 geneous are combined. 
 
 Example 1. In a simple sentence. The Guardian, speaking of 
 meekness and humility, says, " This temper of soul, keeps our un- 
 derstanding tight about us$." 
 
 Analysis. This is an incongruous metaphor. The understanding 
 i= made a girdle to our other "mental faculties; for the fastening of 
 which girdle, meekness and humility serve as a buckle. 
 
 * Spectator, No, 49. t Guardian, No. 1. t Ibid, 
 
The Unintelligible. 117 
 
 Example 2. Yet when that flood in its o\vn depths was drowr.Vl, 
 It left behind it false and slippery ground*. 
 
 Analysis. Tlie first of these linos is marvelously nonsensical. It 
 informs, us of a prodigy never heard of before, a drpwa&d ftoxJd ; 
 nay, which is still more extraordinary, a flood that wets .6 exces- 
 sively dcrp, that -after leaving nothing else to drown, it turned fcio- 
 </e-. p e, and drowned itself. And doubtless^ if a flood can be ID dan- 
 '.' \\ning itself, the deeper it is, the danger must.be the 
 r. So far, at least, the author talks consequently. T!;e first 
 Jine itself has no meaning ; but the author intended to e-ay, ''When 
 the waters of the deluge had subsided." 
 
 Example 3. In a complex sentence. " If the savour of things lies 
 cross to honesty, if the fancy be florid, and the appetite high towards 
 the subaltern beauties and lower order of worldly symmetries and 
 proportions, the conduct will infallibly turn this latter wayt." 
 
 Analysis. Here we have lofty images and high sounding words, 
 but where shall we find the sense? The meaning, where there is a 
 meaning, cannot be said to be communicated and adorned by the 
 words, but is rather buried under them. The French critics call 
 this species of writing 1 , or oi figure, galimatias ; the English call it 
 bombast ; and vre may properly define it the sublime of nonsense. 
 
 Etxample 4. u But what can one do ? or hmv dispense with these 
 darker disquisitions, and moon-light voyagers, when we have to 
 deal with a. sort of moon-blind wits, who, though very acute and 
 able in their kind, may be said to renounce day-light, and extin- 
 in a manner, the bright visible world, by allowing 1 us to 
 know nothing beside what we can prove, by strict and formal ae 
 monstratioTii." 
 
 Analysis. It must be owned, that the condition of those wit? is 
 truly deplorable ; for though very acute and abic in their kind, yet 
 being moon-light blind, they cannot see by night ; and having re- 
 nounced day-light, they will not see by \\-\y : so that, rbr any usr 
 ; ioy have of their eyes, they ore no i<'jtk:i than stone l-!i:ui. It is 
 astonishing too, that the reason for rendering a moon- light voyage 
 indispensable, is, that we have mcon-bHnd persons only f< 
 company, the very reason which, to our on'innrv und^rstaoding, 
 would render such a voyage irnpr 
 
 O ! quanta species, inquU, as-t e-^rij 
 
 * Drydon's Panegyric on t ; > 
 Characteristic^ Vol. 1H - 
 t Ibid. Misc. IV. 
 
118 The UnintelligibleThe Puerile. 
 
 * CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE VARIOUS SPECIES OF THE UNINTELLIGIBLE. 
 
 206. THE UNINTELLIGIBLE, from want of mean- 
 ing in the writer, proceeds from vacuity of thought. 
 Here the sentence is generally simple in its structure, 
 and the construction easy. 
 
 Illas. Lei us contrast this with the unintelligible proceeding from 
 confusion of thought, accompanied with intricacy of expression. In 
 this last, you hesitate at certain intervals, and retrace your pro- 
 gress, finding yourself at loss in the terms, and at a loss for the 
 meaning:, you then try to construe the sentence, and to ascertain 
 the signification of the words. By those means, and hy the help of 
 the, context, you will possibly come at last at what the author 
 would have said. In the unintelligible, from went of meaning* \ ro- 
 \ided words, glaringly unsuitable, are not combined, you proceed 
 Yrithout hesitation or doubt. You never suspect, that you do not 
 understand a sentence, the terms of which tue familiar io you, and 
 of which you perceive distinctly the grammatical order. But if, 
 by any means, you are induced to think more closely on the sub- 
 ject, and to peruse the words a second time more attentively ; you 
 will then begin to suspect them, and at length discover, that they 
 contain nothing, but either a.n hldentical proposition, which conveys 
 KG knowledge, or a proposition of that kind, of which you cannot 
 .so much as affirm, that i.~ cither true or false. Sometimes pompous 
 metaphors, and sonorous phrases, are injudiciously employed to add 
 dignity to the most trivial conceptions; sometimes '.hey are made 
 the vehicles for nonsense. In madmen, there is as great a variety 
 of character, as in those who enjoy the use of their reason. In like 
 manner, it may be said of nonsense, that, in writing it. there is as 
 ^reat scope for variety of style, as there is in writing sense. 
 
 207. First, the PUERILE, which is always produced 
 when an author runs on in a species of verbosity, 
 amusing his reader with synonymous terms, and 
 identical propositions, well turned periods, and high 
 sounding words ; but, at the same time, using > 
 words so indefinitely, that the reader can either affix 
 DO meaning to them at all, or he may almost aillx any 
 meaning, that he pleases. 
 
 Example. " Whatever renders G period sweet and pleasant, 
 makes it also graceful ; a good ear 5^ the gift of Nature, it may be 
 much improved* hut not acquired hy art ; whoever is po^e- c ed o" 
 
The learned .Nonsense. i H 
 
 it, Trill scarcely need dry critical precepts to enable him to judge 
 of a true rythmus, and melody of composition : jut numbers, accu- 
 rate proportions, a musical symphony, magnificent figures, and that 
 dtcorum, which is the result of all these, are unison to the human 
 mind; vre are so framed by nature, that their charm is irresistible. 
 Hence all ages and nations have been smit with the love of the 
 Muses*." 
 
 Analysis. Through the whole paragraph, the author proceeds in 
 the same careless and desultory manner, affording at times some 
 glimmerings of sense, and perpetual ringing the changes in a few 
 favourite words and phrases. 
 
 Example 2. From harmony, from heavenly harmony. 
 This universal frame began ; 
 From harmony to harmony, 
 Thro' all the compass of the notes it ran, 
 The diapason closing full in mant. 
 
 Analysis. This is of the same signature with the former ; there 
 Is not even a glimpse of meaning through all the compass of the 
 words ; but in writings of this stamp, we must except ol sound, in- 
 stead of sense, being assured, at least, that if we meet with little 
 that can inform the judgment, we shall find nothing that will offend 
 the ear. 
 
 208. The LEARNED nonsense is another species of 
 the unintelligible : and scholastic theology is consid- 
 ered the most fruitful source of this species of non- 
 sense, unless, perhaps, we include also antiquarian 
 researches. The more incomprehensible the subject 
 is, the greater scope has thedeclaimer to talk plausi- 
 bly, without any meaning. Also the deeper any 
 speculation be buried in the darkness of remote anti- 
 quity, the wider the field for most excellent matter of 
 contemplative amazement. 
 
 Illus. To both these styles of the unintelligible, the lines of the 
 bard, addressed to the patroness of sophistry, as well as duJness, 
 are admirably adapted. 
 
 u Explain upon a thing till all men doubt it ; 
 And write about it, Goddess, and about itj, 
 
 * Geddes on the composition of the Ancients, Sect. 1, 
 t Dryden's Ode for St. Cecilia's Day. 
 t Dunciad. 
 
1!>0 The Unintelligible. 
 
 Example u Nothing is there to come, and nothing pasij 
 But an eternal now does always last.*" 
 
 Analysis. "What an insatiable thirst hath this bastard philosophy 
 for absurdity and contradiction ! In these school metaphysics, a now 
 that lasts ; that is, an instant which continues during- successive in- 
 stants ; an eternal now; an instant that is no instant, and an eter- 
 nity that is no eternity, is a mere figment of human imagination, a 
 rhapsody of the transcendent unintelligible. 
 
 109. The third species we shall denominate the 
 profound. It is most commonly to be met with in 
 political writings. No where else, in the present day, 
 do we find the merest nothings set off with an air 
 of solemnity, as the result of very deep thought and 
 sage reflection. But let us hear a politician of the 
 old school. 
 
 Example, c *'Tis agreed, that in all governments, there is an ab T 
 solute and unlimited power, which naturally and originally seems to 
 be placed in the whole body, wherever the executive part of it lit;?. 
 This holds of the body natural ; for wherever we place the begin- 
 ning of motion, whether from the head, or the heart, or the animal 
 spirits in general, the body moves and acts by consent of all its 
 parlst." 
 
 Analysis. The first sentence in this passage contains one of the 
 most hackne} r ed maxims of the writers on politics ; a maxim, how- 
 ever, of which it will be more difficult than is commonly imagined, 
 to discover, not the justness, but the sense. The illustration from 
 the material body, contained in the second sentence, is indeed more 
 glaringly nonsensical. It is utterly inconceivable to affirm what it 
 is that constitutes this consent of all the parts of the body, which 
 must be obtained previously to every motion. Yet the whole par- 
 agraph from which this quotation is taken, has in it such a specious- 
 ness, that it is a question, if even a judicious reader will not, on the 
 first perusal, be sensible of the defect. 
 
 210. The marvellous is the last "species of non- 
 sense that we shall exemplify. It is the characteris- 
 tic of this kind, v that it astonishes, and even confounds, 
 by the boldness of the affirmations, which always 
 appear flatly to contradict the plainest dictates of 
 common sense, and thus to involve a manifest ab- 
 surdity. 
 
 * Cowtey's Davideis, Book I. 
 
 t Swift's Discourse of the Contents and Dissections in Athens 
 and Rome. 
 
Tut Itarnwny of Periods* 3 
 
 i.ytlc. c<: Nature in hcr c e!f is unseemly, and lie who copies l,er 
 f'Tvilely, and without artifice. \vi!l uivvay? produce something poor, 
 f>nd of a m'nri taste. What is called load in co'oisrs and 
 lights, is an admirable i.'idiistry, which makes the painted 
 object* appear moro true, if I may say so, than the real one?. If) 
 this ssnse, it may be asserted, that in Reubens' pieces, art is a- 
 l)ove nature, and nature only a copy of that gmat master's 
 work?."* 
 
 Analysis. What a strange subversion, or inversion, if you will, 
 of all the most obvious, and hitherto undisputed, truths. Not sat- 
 isfied with affirming the unseemliness of every production of Nature, 
 whom this philosopher has discovered to he an arrant bungler, and 
 the immense superiority of human art, whose humble scholar dame 
 Nature might be proud to be accounted he rises to asseverations, 
 which shock all our notions, and utterly defy the powers of appre- 
 hension. Painting is found to be the original ; or rather Reubens* 
 pictures are the original, and Nature is the copy ; and indeed very 
 consequentially, the former is represented as the standard by , 
 which the beauty and perfections of the latter are to be estimated. 
 Nor do the qualifying phrases, "iff may say so," and "in this 
 sense it may be asserted," make here the smallest odds. For as 
 this sublime critic has no where hinted what . c en=e it is. which he 
 denominates u this sense," no reader will he able to conjecture, 
 what the author might have said, and not absurdly said to the same 
 effect. When the expression is stripped of the absurd meaning, 
 (Art. 204.) there remains nothing but balderdash, an unmeaning 
 jumble of words, which at first seem to announce some great dis- 
 covery. 
 
 Example 2. Witness, as another specimen of the same kind, the 
 famous prostration of an heroi : lover, in one of Dryden's plays: 
 My wound is great, because it is so small. 
 
 Analysis. The nonsense of this was properly exposed, by an ex- 
 tempore verse of the Duke of Buckingham, who, on hearing this 
 line, exclaimed, in the house, 
 
 It would be greater, were it none at all. 
 
 Conclusion. Thus have we illustrated, as far as example can il- 
 
 * " La Nature est ingrate d'elle meme, et qui s'attacheroit a la 
 copier simplement comme elle est, et sans artifice, feroit toujours 
 quelque chose de pauvre et d'un tres petit gout. Ce que vous no in- 
 mez exagerations dans les couleurs, et dans les lumieres, est une 
 admirable industree que fait paroitre les objects peints plus verita? 
 bles, s'il faut ainsi dire, que les veritables memes. C'est ainsi que 
 les tabeleaux de Rubens sout plus beaux que la Nature, laquelfe 
 semble n'etre que la opie des ouvrages de ce grand-homme." Re- 
 ceuil de divers ouvrage sur ia peinture et le coloris, ParM.de 
 Piles, Paris, 1755, p. 225. 
 
 H 
 
/ 2~ The Harmony of Periods. 
 
 tusfraf", soirui of l!>.e principal vnriofies to he remarked in uuiiHran- 
 ing sentences Of npnfeiwf ; the puerile, the iearnc-d, the profound, 
 nnd (!>c m:rvellou> ; together with those other classes of the unin- 
 t.eilieiMle, K rising; either (Venn confusion of thought, accfwpanH'd 
 \\iili intricacy of expression, or from an excessive aim at excellence 
 *M (he style and manner. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE HARMONY OF PERIODS. 
 
 . il. IN the HARMONY OF PERIODS, two things may 
 be considered. First, agreeable sound, or niodula- 
 ion in general, without any particular expression : 
 next, the sound so ordered, as to become expres- 
 sive of the sense. The first is the more common ; 
 ihe second, the higher beauty. 
 
 Ofo. Agreeable sound, in general, is the property of a well-con- 
 structed sentence. This beauty of musical construction in prose, 
 -.iepi-nds upon two things ; the choice of words , and the arrangement 
 of them. 
 
 212. Those words are most agreeable to the ear 
 which are composed of smooth and liquid sounds, 
 ,\ here there is a proper intermixture of vowels and 
 consonants ; without too many harsh consonants 
 grating upon each other ; or too many open vowels 
 in succession, to cause a hiatus or disagreeable aper- 
 ture of the mouth. (Illus. Art. 13.) 
 
 Illns. It may always be assumed as a principle, that, whatever 
 -ounds are difficult in pronunciation, are, in the same proportion, 
 harsh and painful to the ear. Vowels give softness ; consonants, 
 strength to the sounds of words. The music of language requires a 
 just proportion of both ; and it will be hurt, and rendered either 
 grating or effeminate, by an excess of either. Long words are 
 commonly more agreeable to the ear than monosyllables. They 
 please it by the .composition or succession of sounds, which they 
 present to jt ; and accordingly, the most musical languages abound 
 most in polysyllables. Among words of any length, those are the 
 most musical, which do not run wholly either upon long or short 
 syllables, but are composed of an intermixture of them ; such as, 
 t^ produce, velocity, celerity, independent, impetuosity. 
 
The Harmony of Periods. 123 
 
 213. The harmony which results from a proper 
 arrangement of the words and members of a period, 
 is complex, and of great nicety. For let the words 
 themselves be ever so well chosen, let them sound 
 ever so well, yet, if they be ill disposed, the music of 
 the sentence is utterly lost. (Scholium^ p. 79. Art. 
 138.) 
 
 lllus. 1. In the harmonious structure and disposition of periods, 
 uo writer whatever, ancient' or modern, equals Cicero, lie had 
 studied this with care ; and was fond, perhaps, to excess, of what 
 he calls the u plena ac numerosa oratio." We need only open his 
 writings to find instances that will render the effect of musical lan- 
 guage sensihle to every ear. 
 
 2. As an instance of a musical sentence, in our own language, 
 we may take the following from Milton's Treatise on Education ; 
 u We shall conduct you to a hill-side, laborious, indeed, at the 
 Jirst ascent ; but else, so smooth, so green, so full of goodly pros- 
 pects, and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orphe- 
 us was not more charming n 
 
 Analysis. Every thing in this sentence conspires to promote the 
 harmony. The words are happily chosen; full of liquids and soft 
 sounds ; laborious, smooth, green, goodly, melodious, charming : 
 Mid these words so artfully arranged, that were we to alter the 
 Allocation of any one of them, we should, presently, he sensible 
 of the melody's suffering. For, let us observe, how finely the mem- 
 bers of the period swell one above another. t; So smooth, so green, 1 ' 
 t; so full of goodly prospects, arid melodious sounds on every 
 --ide ;" till the ear, prepared by this gradual rise, is conducted to 
 nat lull close on which it rests with pleasure : ;i that the harp of 
 ; Jrpheus was not more charming. " 
 
 214. The structure of periods, then, being suscep- 
 tible of a very sensible melody, our next inquiry 
 should be, how this melodious structure is formed; 
 what are the principles of it, and by what laws is i ? 
 regulated? (Art. 13%. Illus.) 
 
 Obs. The ancient rhetoricians have entered iulo a very minute 
 and particular detail of this subject ; more particular, i 
 into any other that regards language. 
 
 lilas. They hold, that to prose, as well as to v< 
 certain numbers, le^.- strict indeed, yet such as cau he nscer 
 by rule. They go so far as to specify the feet, as they nt\-. ettllfd. 
 that is, the succession of long arid short syllables, which should en- 
 ter into the diiferent members of a sentence* and to shew whut the 
 effect of each of these will be. Wherever Ihw tr^at 
 
1 24 Ttie Harmony of Periods. 
 
 ture of sentences, it is always the music of them that makes the 
 principal object. Cicero and Quinctiiian are fuli of thi=. The 
 other qualities of precision, unity, and strength, which we 
 consider as of great importance, they handle slightly; but when 
 they come to the "ju?ic!ura el nunifnisj* the modulation and har- 
 mony, there they are copious. Dionysus, of Halicarnossus, one 
 of trie most judicious criiics of antiquity, wrote a treatise on the 
 Composition of Words in a Sentence, u hich is altogether confined 
 to their musical effect. Ke wmkes the excellency rt~ a sentence to 
 consist in four things; first, in the sweetness of single sounds ; sec- 
 ondly, in thf composition of sounds; that is, the numbers, or feet ; 
 thirdly, in change or variety of sounds; and, fourthly, hi sound 
 suited to the sense. On all these points, he writes with great accu- 
 racy and refinement, and is very worthy of being consulted. 
 
 2. The ancient languages of Greece and Rome, were much more 
 susceptible, than our language is, of the graces and the powers of 
 melody. The qurtnti ies of their syllables were mere fixed and de- 
 i-j rmined ; their words were longer and more sonorous ; their meth- 
 od of varying the terminations of nouns and verbs, both introduced 
 a greater variety of liquid sounds, and freed them from that multi- 
 plicity of little auxiliary words which we are obliged to r-mploy ; 
 and, what is of the greatest consequence, the inversions which tl. 
 
 .jagcs allowed, gave them the power of placing their words in 
 whatever order was most suited to a musical arrangement. All 
 these were great advar.t -ges } which they enjoyed above us 5 /'or ha: 
 mcny of period. 
 
 215. The doctrine of the Greek and Roman cri 
 :ics, on this head, has misled some to imagine, th:. 
 might be equally applied to our tongue ; and that 
 our prose writing might be regulated by spondees 
 and trochees, raid iambuses and paeons, and other 
 metrical feet, 
 
 06.5, 1. But, first, our words cannot be measured, or, at Jea?f t 
 c aii be measured very iioperfgctlj tjr any feet of this kind. For, 
 the quantity, the length and shortness of our syllables, is far from 
 being so fixed and subjected to rule, as in the Greek and Roman, 
 tongues ; but very often left arbitrary, and determined only by the 
 ?mphasis and the sense. 
 
 2. Next, though our prose could- admit of such a metrical regula- 
 tion, yet from our plainer method of pronouncing every species of 
 discourse, the effect would not be at all so sensible to the ear, nor 
 be relished with so much pleasure, as among the Greeks and Ro- 
 mans. 
 
 3. And lastly, this whole doctrine about the measures and num- 
 bers of prose, even as it has been delivered by the ancient rhetori- 
 cians themselves, is, in truth, in a great measure, loose and uncer- 
 tain, It appears, indeed, that the melody of discourse was a, mat- 
 
 i 
 
Harmony of Per, 
 
 infinitely more attention to them, than ever it has been to the 
 moderns. But though they write a great deal about it, they have 
 never been able to reduce it to any rules which could be of real use 
 in practice. 
 
 Illus. If we consult Cicero's Orator ^ where this point is discusser! 
 with the most minuteness, we shall see how much these ancient cri- 
 tics differed from one another, about the feet proper for the conclu- 
 sion, and other parts of a sentence ; and how much, after all, was 
 left to the judgment of the ear. Nor, indeed, is it possible to give 
 precise rules concerning: this matter, in anv language ; as all prose 
 composition must be allowed to run (oo.se in its numbers ; and, ac- 
 cording as the tenour of a di.-courie varies, the modulation of sen- 
 tences must vary infinitely. 
 
 216. But though this musical arrangement cannot 
 be reduced into a system, every one who studies to 
 write with grace, or to pronounce in public with suc- 
 cess, will find himself obliged to attend to it not a little,. 
 But it is his ear, cultivated by attention and practice, 
 that must chiefly direct him. For any rules that can 
 be given on this subject, are very general. There 
 are some rules, however, which may be of use to form 
 the ear to the proper harmony of discourse. 
 
 217. There are two things on which the music of a 
 reritencc chiefly depends. These are, the proper 
 distribution of the several members of the sentence 5 
 :md, the close or cadence of the whole. (Art. 134.) 
 
 218. First, the distribution of the several members* 
 h is of importance to observe, that, whatever is easy 
 ?iiid agreeable to the organs of speech, always sounds 
 grateful to the ear. While a period is going on, the 
 termination of each of its members forms a pause, or 
 
 ia pronouncing : and these rests should be so 
 distributed, as to make the course of the breathing 
 easy, and, at the same time, should fall at such dis- 
 tances, as to bear a certain musical proportion to each 
 other. (Art. 144.) 
 
 Example 1. a This discourse concerning the easiness of God's 
 commands, does, all along, suppose and acknowledge the difficul- 
 ties of the first entrance upon a religious course ; except only in 
 those persons who have had, the happiness to be trained up to reli-- 
 
 -M2 
 
i2(J T/'te tiarmony of Periods. 
 
 >ion by the easy and insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous edu- 
 cation'. 1 '* 
 
 Jl/ialysis. Here there is no harmony ; nay, there is some decree 
 ofhar.s!iness and unpleasant .ness : owing principally to this, that 
 there :.=, properly, no more than one puuse or rest "in the sentence, 
 falling betwixt the two members into which it is divided; each of 
 which is so iong, as to occasion a considerable stretch of the breath 
 in pronouncing it, 
 
 Example 2. Observe, now, on the other hand, the ease with 
 which the following sentence, from Sir William Temple, glides along, 
 and the graceful intervals at which the pauses are placed. He is 
 speaking sarcastically of man : "But, God be thanked, his pride 
 is greater than his ignorance, and v/hat he wants in knowledge, he 
 supplies by sufficiency. When he has looked about him as far as he 
 can. he concludes, there is no more to be seen; when he is at the 
 end of his line, he is at the bottom of the ocean ; when he has shot 
 his best, he is sure none ever did, or ever can, shoot better or be- 
 yond it. His ovni reason he holds to be the certain measure of truth ; 
 and his own knowledge, of what is possible in naturet." 
 
 Analysis. Here every thing is, at once, easy to the breath, and 
 grateful to the ear ; and, it is this sort of flowing measure, this reg- 
 ular and proportional division of the members of his sentences, which 
 .; aders Sir William Tenple's style always agreeable. We must ob- 
 oerve, at. the same time, that a sentence, with too many rests, and 
 these placed at intervals too apparently measured and regular, is 
 apt to savour of affectation. 
 
 219. The next thing to be attended to, is the close 
 or cadence. or n the whole sentence, which, as it is al- 
 ways the part most sensible to the ear, demands the 
 greatest care. " Let there be nothing harsh or ab 
 L'upt in the conclusion of the sentence, on which the 
 mind pauses and rests. This is the most material 
 
 * Tiilotson. 
 
 I Or this instance. He is addressing himself to Lady Essex, up- 
 jii the death of her child : " I wus once in hope, that what was so 
 violent could not be long : but, when I observed your grief to grow 
 dtronger with age, and to increase, like a stream, the farther it ran ; 
 when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and to 
 threaten no less than your child, your health and your life, I could 
 no longer forbear this endeavour, nor end it without begging of you, 
 for God's sake and for your own, for your children and your friends, 
 your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon, 
 yourself to a disconsolate passion ; but that you would, at length, 
 awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or, at least, roase 
 the invincible spirit of the Percys, that never yet shrunk at any 
 disaster." 
 
T/ie Harmony of Periods* 127 
 
 part in the structure of discourse. Here every hearer 
 expects to be gratified ; here his applause breaks 
 forth*." 
 
 220. The only important rule that can be given 
 here, is, that when we aim at dignity or elevation, 
 the sound should be made to grow to the last ; the 
 longest members of the period, and the fullest and 
 most sonorous words, should be reserved to the con- 
 clusion. 
 
 Example. " It fills the mind (i, e. sight) with the largest variety 
 of ideas; converses with its objects at the greatest distance ; and 
 continues the longest in action, without being tired or satiated with 
 its proper enjoyments!." 
 
 Analysis. Every reader must be sensible of a beauty here, both 
 in the proper division of the member's and pauses, and the manner 
 in which the sentence is rounded, and conducted to a full and har- 
 monious close. The sight fills the mind with the largest variety of 
 ideas, and it converses with them. To sentient natures, this is a 
 pleasure ; but it converses with them at the greatest distance, and 
 znust necessarily increase this pleasure. For what can be more 
 agreeable than the commerce of communication with distant objects; 
 but how is this aggreeableness heightened, by its being kept long in 
 action, and that too without being tired or satiated with its proper 
 enjoyment ? 
 
 221. The same holds in melody, that was observ- 
 ed to take place with respect to significancy ; that 
 & falling off at the end is always injurious to the ob- 
 ject which the speaker has in view. For this reason, 
 particles, pronouns, and little words, are as ungra- 
 cious to the ear, at the conclusion, as we formerly 
 shewed they were inconsistent with strength of ex- 
 pression. (Art. 176, 177, 173, and 179.)' 
 
 Obs. The sense and the sound have here a mutual influence on 
 each other. That which hurls the ear, seems to mar the strength 
 of the meaning ; and that which really degrades the sense, in conse- 
 quence of this primary effect, appears also to have a bad sound. 
 
 Example. How disagreeable is the following sentence of an au- 
 thor, speaking of the Trinity ! u Jt is a mystery which we firmly 
 
 * " Non igitur durum sit, neque abruptum, quo animi, velut, res- 
 pirant ac reficiuntur. Haec est sedes orationis ; hoc auditor expeo 
 tat ; hie laus omnis declainat." Quinctilian, 
 i Addison. 
 
The Harmony of Period... 
 
 believe the 4 ruth of, and humbly adore the depth of." And how 
 easily might it have been mended by this transposition ! u It is a 
 mystery, the truth of which we firmly believe, and the depth of 
 which we humbly adore." 
 
 Carol. In general, it seems to hold,, that a musical close, in our 
 language, requires either the last syllable, or the last but one, to be 
 along syllable. Words which consist mostly of short syllables, as, 
 contrary* particular, retrospect, seldom conclude a sentence harmo- 
 niously, unless a train of long syllables, before, has rendered them 
 agreeable to the ear. 
 
 222. Sentences, so constructed as to make the 
 sound always swell and grow towards the end. and to 
 rest either on a long or a penult long syllable, give a 
 discourse the tone of declamation. The ear soon be- 
 comes acquainted with the melody, and is apt to be 
 cloyed with it. If we would keep up the attention of 
 the reader or hearer, if we would preserve vivacity 
 and strength in our composition, we must be very at- 
 tentive to vary our measures. 
 
 I Hits. This regards the distribution of the members, as well a? 
 ence of the period. Sentences constructed in a similar man- 
 ner, with-the pauses falling at equal intervals, should never follow 
 one u Mother. Short sentences should be intermixed with long and 
 s, to \\ ijcl.LT discourse sprighlly, as well as magnificent, 
 > introduced, abrupt sounds, departures from 
 
 rvsr'ihir cadence, have sometimes a e,oc-d effect. Monotony is the 
 great ;",u,'v into which writers are apt to fall, who are fond of har- 
 monious arrangement ; and to have only one tune or measure, is not 
 much heller Ujfin ho -.ins none ut all. *A very vulgar ear will ena- 
 ble a wviicr to catch sumt: one melody, and to form (he run of his 
 ^entences according to it. '1 hU soon proves disgusting. But a just 
 and correct ear i requisite for varying and diversifying the melody, 
 ;-;nd hence we seldom meet with author, who are remarkably hap- 
 py in this respect. 
 
 223. Though attention to the music of sentences 
 must riot be neglected, yet it must also be kept with- 
 in proper bounds : for all appearances of an author's 
 affecting harmony, arc disagreeable ; especially when 
 the love of it betrays him so far, as to sacrifice, in any 
 instance, perspicuity, precision, or strength in senti- 
 ment, to sound. (Example I. Art. 206.) 
 
 Illus. 1. All unmeaning words, introduced merely to round the 
 period, or fill up the melody, are great blemishes in writing. They 
 are childish and puerile ornaments, by which a sentence always 
 
The Harmony of Periods. 129 
 
 loses more in point of weight, than it can gain by such additions to 
 the beauty of its sound. 
 
 2. Sense has its own harmony, as well as sound ; and, where the 
 sense of a period is expressed with clearness, force, and dignity, 
 the words will almost always strike the ear agreeably ; at least, 
 a very moderate attention is all that is requisite for making the ca- 
 dence of such a period pleasing : and the etVect of greater attention 
 is often no other, than to render compositions languid and enervated. 
 
 3. After all the labour which Quinctilian bestow* on regulating 
 ihe measures of prose, he comes at last, with hi* u-ua! good sense, 
 to this conclusion : u Upon the whole, I would rather choose, that 
 composition should appear rough and harsh, if that he necessary, 
 than that, it should be enervated and effeminate, such as we find the 
 styls of too many. Some sentences, therefore, which we have stu- 
 dio-Lily formed into melody, should be thrown loose, that they may 
 not seem too much laboured ; nor ought we ever to omit any prop- 
 er or expressive word, for the sake of smoothing a period*." 
 
 4. Cicero, as we have elsewhere observed, is one of the most re- 
 markable patterns of a harmonious style. His love of it, however, 
 ;s too visible ; and the pomp of his numbers sometimes detracts from 
 hi 3 strength. 
 
 5. That noted close of his, esse ridcatur, which, in the oration 
 Pro Lege Manilia, occurs eleven times, exposed him to censure 
 among his cotempararies. We must observe, however, in defence 
 of this great orator, that, in his style, there is a remarkable union 
 
 harmony with ease, which is always a great beauty; and if his 
 nony were studied, that study appears to have cost him but 
 little trouble. 
 
 8. Among our English classics, not many are distinguished for 
 
 musical arrangement. Milton, in some of bis prose works, has very 
 
 finely turned periods ; but the writers of his age indulged a liberty 
 
 >i inversion, which would now be reckoned contrary to purity of 
 
 ; e : and though this allowed their sentences to be more stately 
 
 : sonorous, yet it gave them too much of a Latinised construe- 
 
 ' jn and order. 
 
 7. Of English writers, Lord Shnftesbnry is, upon the whole, the 
 most correct in his numbers. As his ear was delicate, he has at- 
 tended to music in all his sentences ; and he is peculiarly happy in 
 this respect, that he has avoided the monotony into which writers, 
 who study the grace of sound, are very apt to fall, and has diversi- 
 iivd his periods with great variety. 
 
 8. Addisonhas also much harmony in his style ; more easy and 
 ,mooth, but less varied than Lord Siiaftesbury. Sir William Tem- 
 ple is, in general, very flowing and agreeable. Archbishop Tillot- 
 
 % " In universum, si sit necesse, duram potiiis atque asperam 
 compositjonem malim esse, quarn effemlnatam ac enervem, quails 
 apud multo?. Ideoque, vincta quredam de indusfria sunt solvenda, 
 ne laborata videantur ; neque ullum idoneum aut aptura verbum 
 prseternaittarnus. gratia leriitatis." Lib. ix. c. 4. 
 
130 The Hrrmony of Periods. 
 
 son is often careless and languid ; and is much outdone by Bishop 
 Atterbury in the nn:^ic of his periods. Dean Swift despised musi- 
 cal arrangement altogether. Burke excels in harmonious periods. 
 Johnson's style is generally pompous, sometimes lofty, andalwaya- 
 Latinisffd. 
 
 Carol Hitherto we have considered agreeable sound, or modula- 
 tion, in general. It yet remains to treat of a higher beauty of this 
 kind ; the sound adapted to the sense. The former was no more tha'ri 
 u simple accompaniment, to please the ear ; the latter supposes a 
 peculiar expression given to the music. We may remark two de- 
 grees of it : first, the current of sound, adapted to the u-nour of a 
 discourse: next, a particular resemblance effected between some 
 object, and the sounds that are employed in describing it. 
 
 224. First, the current of sound may be adapted 
 to the tenour of a discourse. Sounds have, in many 
 respect?, a correspondence with our ideas partly natu- 
 ral, partly the effect of artificial associations. Hence 
 it happens, that any one modulation of sound contin- 
 ued, imprints on our style a certain character and ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Illus. Sentences constructed wifh the Johnsonian fullness and 
 swell, produce the impression of what is important, magnificent, 
 sedate ; for this is the natural tone which such a course of sentiment 
 assumes. But they suit no violent passion, no eager reasoning, no 
 familiar adJiess. These always require measures brisker, easier, 
 and often more abrupt. And, therefore, to swell, or to let down the 
 periods, as the subject demands, is a very important rule in oratory ._ 
 No one tenour whatever, supposing it to produce no bad effect from 
 satiety, will answer to all different compositions ; nor even to aR 
 the parts of the tame composition. It were as absurd to write 
 a panegyric, and an invective, in a style of the same cadence, 
 as to set the words of a tender love-song to the air of a war-like 
 
 Core-/. What is requisite, therefore, is, that we previously fix, irt 
 our mind, aju^tidea of the general tone of sound which suits our sub - 
 ject; that is, which the sentiments we are to express, m,st natu- 
 rally asuriie. J i( ':'i :n which they most commonly \pnt themselves ; 
 whether round and smooth, or stately and solem:: ; o 
 quick, or interrupted ^mi abrupt. 
 
 225. But. besides the general correspondence, o< 
 the current of sound \\ ilh the current of thought, there 
 may be a more particular expression attempted, oi 
 certain objects, by means of resembling sounds. 
 This can be sometimes accomplished in prose com- 
 osition : but there ou!y i: n^inf decree: 
 
between koutid and Sense* 131 
 
 i* it there so much expected. In poetry, chiefly, it 
 is looked for ; when attention to sound is more 
 demanded, and where the inversions and liberties of 
 poetical style give us a greater command cf euphony. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN SOUND AND SENSE-- 
 INVERSION. 
 
 226. THE sounds of words may be employed for 
 representing, chiefly, three classes of objects 5 first, 
 other sounds ; secondly, motion ; and, thirdly, the 
 emotions and passions of our mind. 
 
 Illus. Though two motions have no connection, j'ct in many par- 
 ticulars they may be said to have a resemblance. The motions of 
 a vortex and a whirlwind are perfectly similar. A!) mankind have 
 feit the analogy between dancing and music. All quick, or slovr, 
 or difficult motions, though performed in different circumstance?, 
 and by different agents, may in loose phraseology be said to resem- 
 ble one another. Spoken language is a collection of successive and 
 significant sounds, uttered by the speaker; composition is a certain 
 series of those sounds, indicated by a particular sign to each (*3ri, 
 37.) which can be run over by the reader and it is obvious, that 
 the motion of the voice of the speaker or the reader may resemble 
 most other motions, at least in the ereneral properties of quickness, 
 slowness, ease, or difficulty. This is the foundation of the resem- 
 blance that takes place between the sound and the sense, in the con- 
 struction of language. 
 
 227. Words or sentences consisting chiefly of short 
 syllables, and of course pronounced with rapidity, 
 bear an analogy to qmck motion, and may fairly be 
 said to form a resemblance of it ; as, impetuosity ', pre- 
 cipitation. 
 
 Example 1. Virgil describes ahorse at full galJop, in the following 
 picturesque line. 
 
 41 Quadrupedanta putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum." 
 
 Example 2. The same author paints the rapid flight of a pigeon 
 hastening to her nest 
 
132 Resemblance between Soutid and Setitc. 
 c * P.adit itrr iiquidum ccleres neque coramovet a'as. 1 ' 
 
 223. The English heroic verse affords not a proper 
 picture of quick motion. It is limited to ten sylla- 
 bles, while the hexameter may extend from thirteen 
 to seventeen. The hexameter acquires this advan- 
 tage by the admission of five feet of dactyles. which 
 throw into the line a large proportion of short sylla- 
 bles : and the preceding lines of Virgil are pertinent 
 examples. The English heroic verse cannot augment 
 the. number of its syllables, and preserve its measure. 
 The only resource left to our poets in this case is, to 
 employ an Alexandrine line, consisting of twelve 
 syllables. 
 
 Ilius. Pope ha? frequently adopted this expedient, but with lit- 
 tle success ; for of all the poetical lines v;e have, the Alexandrine 
 is perhaps the slowest, as it consists generally of monosyllables, 
 which, to be understood, must be slowly pronounced. This was 
 Pope's own opinion; /or, he observes, in his Essay on Criticism, 
 that 
 
 cc A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 
 And like a wounded snake drags its slow length along. 
 
 Example,. But Pope, notwithstanding, makes use of this verse to 
 describe quick motion. 
 
 u Not so when swift Camilla scours <he plain, 
 Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main." 
 
 Analysis. His probable, that this great poet sacrificed, on this 
 and some other similar occasions, a portion of his own taste to grati- 
 fy the public ear. He was conscious the verse was faulty, but 
 perhaps concluded, that many of his readers would take for a beau- 
 ty, what was really a blemish ; that those who could discern the 
 error, would discern also the proper apology for it ; or would al- 
 low him, when he could not imitate a quick motion, to approach 
 it as near as possible, by substituting in its place the continuance of 
 a slow one. 
 
 229. A word consisting of long syllables, or a sen- 
 tence of monosyllables, may resemble solemn, harsh, 
 or difficult motion, as forewarn, mankind. 
 
 Example 1. Thus Pope, in his Essay on Criticism, 
 
 " But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
 The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar." 
 
Resemblance between Sound and Sense. 133 
 
 Example 2. Again, 
 
 tc With many a weary s*ep, and many a groan, 
 Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone." 
 
 Analysis. The last line possess? uncommon beauty ; for, besides 
 that the words are all monosyllables, which renders a pause neces- 
 sary after each of them in the pronunciation, the artful repetition of 
 the aspiration paints very forcibly the loss of breath under which 
 Sisyphus might be supposed to labour from the violent exertion of 
 his force. This circumstance is not in the original, which also pos- 
 sesses extraordinary merit. Homer fixes his attention on the mus- 
 cular exertions, and the motions of Sisyphus, He has, however, the 
 advantage of bis translator, by the superiority of his language gives 
 Mm, in contrasting the slow and difficult motion upwards, with the 
 rapid and furious motion downwards*. 
 
 230. Pope employs again the Alexandrine to des- 
 cribe the motion downward. 
 
 Example. c The huge round stone resulting with a bound, 
 
 Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. 1 
 
 231. Easy or smooth motion may be painted by a 
 succession of soft and harmonious sounds. 
 
 Example. u Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 
 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows." 
 Pope's Essay on Criticism. 
 
 23*2. Virgil describing the gay and easy motion of 
 .the nymph JEgle, says, 
 
 Example. u Addit se sociam, timidisque supervenit ^^le. 1 " 
 
 Ecloga VI. Silemt*. 
 
 233. Pope has been very successful in contrasting 
 the two kinds of motion last mentioned. In the first 
 four lines of the following quotation, he ridicules the 
 affected pomp and harshness of the versification of 
 
 * The lines in the original run thus : 
 
 " K&t [AW 2/cri/pcv c-Js-7<fsv K/>AT/ ? atxsys f^ovrat 
 AuatV /3tcrsicvTcl TTt^upiott et{4$GTtf>* f rlV 
 
 HfOt Q fAM [A'JLXZ. O-XttTPTO^vC*^ ftSfrtV Tg TTCrW t 
 Anit.V &Vto w&STXS 7TCTI X&COV, A' OT </SAXO/ 
 
 A*pov vTretG&xx&iv, TOT' ATrt^-^a.a^ HCttrati; 
 
 vAim? 6T5/TA TTtfcvh KVXtvftrQ 
 
 N 
 
134 Resemblance between Sound and Sense. 
 
 Sir Richard Blackmore. In the last four lines, he 
 opposes to his solemnity and harshness the inanimate 
 but smooth composition of the writers of panegyrics. 
 
 " What, like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and fierce, 
 
 With arms, and George, and Brunswick, crowd my verse ; 
 
 Rend with tremendous sounds your ears asunder, 
 
 With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thunder? 
 
 Then all your muses softer arts display : 
 
 Let Carolina smoothe the tuneful lay ; 
 
 LuH'with Amelia's liquid name the nine. 
 
 And sweetly flow o'er aU the royal line." 
 
 234. Violent or slow motions may be imitated by 
 abrupt and heavy, or harsh words and lines, as horrid* 
 harrow, hoarse. 
 
 Example. Again, Pope : 
 
 *' Loud sounds the air, redoubling strokes on strokes, 
 On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks 
 Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, 
 Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down." 
 
 ' First march the heavy mules securely slow, 
 
 O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er craggs, o'er rocks they go." 
 
 liliad XXIII. 1XL 
 
 " When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
 The line too labours, and the words move slow." 
 
 Essay on Criticism, 370. 
 
 235. Virgil, Ascribing the efforts of the Cyclops 
 in forming the \hunder, thus sings : 
 
 " Illi inter sese magna vi brachia tollunt." (Geor. 4.) 
 
 236. Words may be so modulated, that their sound 
 shall be expressive of the dispositions and emotions 
 of the mind Accordingly, a verse or line, composed 
 mostly of monosyllables, or of long syllables, and of 
 course slowly pronounced, prompts the notion of 
 dignity and solemnity. Pope thus describes Nes- 
 tor : 
 
Inversion. 1 36 
 
 i; Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage." 
 
 " Next Comus, reverend sire, went footing slow." Millon. 
 
 t: Olii sedato respondit corde Latiiius." J&ntiH. 
 
 i * Incedit tiirdo molimine subsidendo." Ibid. 
 
 237. Harsh and disagreeable sounds suggest the 
 same emotions, which arise from beholding any exer- 
 tion performed imperfectly, or with difficulty : 
 
 ;i When they list their lean and flashy songs, 
 
 Harsh grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw. 1 ' 
 
 Milton* s Lycidas. 
 
 238. Virgil, with much modesty, thus character- 
 ises his own poetry in his Eclogues. 
 
 ; " Nam neque adhuc Varo videor, nee dicere Cinna 
 Digna, sed argutos inter strepere anser olores." 
 
 239. The frequent repetition of the letter r in the 
 last verse is very descriptive of the rudeness and 
 harshness of bad verses. Thus, Pope : 
 
 " Just writes to make his barrenness appear, 
 
 And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a-year." 
 
 Letter to Jlrbu'Jmot, 
 
 240. Smooth and easy verses generate an emotion 
 allied to joy and vivacity. It is difficult to decide 
 whether the sentiment, or the versification of the fol- 
 lowing example is more sprightly. 
 
 " Bright as the sun her eyes the grazers strike ; 
 And like the sun they shine on all alike. 
 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride 
 Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide, 
 If to her share some female errors fall, 
 Look on her face, and you'll for^e* them all.'' 
 
 Rape of the Lock* 
 
 241. The slow and solemn sound of the subse- 
 quent verses prompts an emotion similar to melan- 
 choly. 
 
136 Inversion. 
 
 u Jn these deep solitudes and awful cells, 
 
 Where heavenly pensive contemplation dwells, 
 
 Aad ever-musing melancholy reigns. n Efaisa to Alclasd. 
 
 242. INVERSION is a branch of ornament, and of 
 that species of it which belongs both to the sound and 
 the sense* It belongs to the sound, because by trans- 
 posing the natural and grammatical order of the words, 
 arrangements may be formed more agreeable to the 
 ear than could otherwise be obtained. It is connect- 
 ed with the sense, because by suspending the appear- 
 ance of some capital word or circumstance, curiosity 
 may be excited, and artfully prolonged, till the con- 
 clusion of the period discloses the mystery, and im- 
 presses the sense deeper on the mind. 
 
 I Hits. 1. The object of inversion, then, is to attain some beauty 
 or impulse that cannot be obtained by preserving the natural or- 
 der. This attainment :s the same with that of grammatical per- 
 spicuity ; and hence avit-es an invariable principle, to limit the ex- 
 tent of inversion ; naively, it must seek no embellishment which 
 would be bought too dear ; it must admit no modulation which may 
 produce obscurity. 
 
 2. Different kinds of composition, and different languages, admit 
 different decrees of inversion. All discourse addressed to the under- 
 standing, seldom permits much inversion. More of it is allowed iu 
 works addressed to the imagination, and most of all in those produc- 
 tions which are intended to rouse and interest the passions and emo- 
 tions of the heart. The cool and philosophical construction of mod- 
 ern languages, also, renders them much lets susceptible of inversion 
 than the ancient. (Art. 2430. and 171.) 
 
 243. There are several words, however, in all lan- 
 guages, which cannot easily be separated from one 
 another, and which cannot therefore admit much 
 inversion. 
 
 Illas. One substantive depending on another is seldom, in prose 
 'U least, in any lan^ua^c, disjoined from it. u The beauty of virtue,'* 
 * via virtutis,' { &<T a^m?.' But in the poetry of Greece and iionic ? 
 such words are frequently separated. 
 
 ;t Anna virumque cano Trojae qui primus ab oris." 
 " Mv;v ctsih &SA zrAj;/*ete* A<A J *." Ilias, 1. i 
 
 * See Example 1. Art. 249. 
 
Inversion. 137 
 
 3. A preposition is seldom disjoined from its substantive. From 
 east to west; O.VA srlpnTw ; ex serstentia. {Art. 71.) 
 
 3. An a.djective is almost always associated with its substantive 
 in the modern languages, and very frequently in the ancient. {Art. 
 69. andlUus. 143.') 
 
 4. An adverb is generally adjoined to its verb or adjective both 
 in ancient and modern languages, because, having no inflection, 
 juxta-position only can denote its relation. (Art. 145.) 
 
 Carol. These observations circumscribe the subject of inquiry 
 within certain jjmits, and discriminate the parts of speech, in the 
 imposition of which we have most reason to expect inversion. It 
 apoears, thnn, that they are the principal part? of sentences, the 
 a; ent and tl)e action, or the nominative and the verb. (Art. 144. 
 and 134.) 
 
 5. In the languages of Greece and Home, it seems perfectly arbi- 
 trary in what part of the sentence the nominative is placed. We 
 find it in the beginning of the sentence, or separated by half, some- 
 times by the whole sentence, from the verb it governs. (Art. 143. 
 lllas. 2. A rt. 23.) 
 
 6. The verb undergoes the same variety of positions. It stands in 
 the beginning-, sometimes in the middle, but most frequently in the 
 
 end of the sentence. 
 
 Obs. Of these positions examples are so numerous, that we shall 
 not produce any. The variety of terminations which inflection 
 furnishes to the ancient languages is sufficient, in all these circum- 
 stance-;, to distinguish the relations of the agent and the action and 
 to pr.vcrve p-.T?pifiiity. 
 
 244. The inversions of modern languages are much 
 less frequent and violent, and the following are the 
 most common of which our language is susceptible. 
 
 245. A circumstance is sometimes situated before 
 the nominative. 
 
 Example. " la order," says Addison, a to set this matter in a 
 clear light to every reader, I shall, in the first place, observe, that 
 a metaphor is a simile in one word." This arrangement is more 
 agreeable, and perhaps more perspicuous, than the natural one. u I 
 shall, in the first place, observe, in orde- to set this matter in a 
 clear light to every reader, that a metaphor is a simile in one word." 
 
 246. Sometimes a circumstance is inserted after the 
 nominative, and before or between the auxiliary and 
 the verb. (Illus. 7. and 3. p. 83.) 
 
 Example. u 1 have formerly, with a good deal of attention, con- 
 sidered the subject upon which you commanded me to communicate 
 my thoughts." This is, perhaps, not inferior to the natural order, 
 " I have formerly considered, with a good deal of attention, thesub< 
 ject on which you command me to communicate my thoughts," 
 N 2 
 
138 Inversion. 
 
 247. The nominative is placed after the verb. But 
 this inversion is restricted almost entirely to poetry, 
 where it has often a pleasing effect ; witness the fol- 
 io wing examples frora the fourth Book of Paradise 
 
 Lost/ 
 
 " Swiet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet 
 With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower 
 Glist'ring with, dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft showers, and sweet the coming oa 
 Of grateful everting mild." 
 
 248. The placing of the nominative after the verb 
 Is one of the must easy inversions of which our lan- 
 guage is susceptible ; and, as it affords an agreeable 
 variety, and is perfectly consistent with perspicuity, 
 it should not be permitted to fall into disuse. It was 
 formerly frequent in prose, and still appears in that 
 species of composition with dignity and grace. 
 
 Example t. a There exists not in nature a more miserable ani- 
 mal, than a bad man at war with himself." 
 
 2. u in splendid robes appeared the Queen." 
 
 3. The following quotations are found in Hume's History of Eng- 
 land, Speaking of Charles I. u He had formed one of the most 
 illustrious characters of his age, had not (he extreme narrowness of 
 bis genius in every thing but war sullied the histure of his other tal- 
 ents." " Had the limitations on the prerogative been in his time 
 quite fixed, his integrity, had made him regard as sacred the bounda- 
 ries of the constitution." 
 
 249. Another very frequent inversion, in poetry, 
 stations the subject in the beginning of a sentence, and 
 sometimes throws in a circumstance between the sub- 
 ject and its verb. 
 
 Example 1. The first verses in the Iliad are thus translated by 
 Pope: 
 
 i; Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring 
 Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly Goddess, sing." 
 
 Example 2. Paradise Lost opens in a similar manner ; 
 
Inversion. 139 
 
 " Of maii 1 s first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe 
 with loss of Eden, till one greater man 
 Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 
 Sing, heavenly muse I 11 
 
 Example 3. Thomson's Autumn commences in the following: 
 strain : 
 
 *' Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, 
 While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, 
 Comes jovial on, the Doric reed once more 
 Well-pleas'd I tune." 
 
 Illus. This inversion, though proper and beautiful in poetry, ap- 
 pears scarcely tolerable in prose. (See Art. 171. in the example, 
 from Gordon's Translation of Tacitus.) 
 
 250. A noun preceded by a preposition very fre- 
 quently appears before a verb. 
 
 Example. u By these we acquired our liberties," said the Scotch 
 nobles, laying their hands on their swords, kt and with these we will 
 defend theui*." 
 
 Analysis. This order is much preferable in point of emphasis to 
 the natural one. How tame is the natural order ! i4 We acquired 
 cur liberties bv these, and we will defend them with these." (Ste. 
 Art. 124. I lias. 20. p. 72.) 
 
 Schol. 1. These inversions deviate little from the order of ideas, 
 or the grammatical order of the words ; and, though they suspend 
 the meaning, they hurt not the perspicuity. This analogy between 
 the succession 01' ideas, ana the arrangement of word?, is one of the 
 principal beauties of modern languages, which the ancients relinquish 
 in order to attain other beauties in point of melody ; and it is per- 
 haps impossible to propose any general principle by which the pre- 
 ference of these beauties may be decided. (Obs. Art. 27.) 
 
 2. The ancients would complain, perhaps, of the tameness and 
 simplicity of our arrangement, while we might reprehend the artifice 
 and obscurity of their inversion. They would reprobate pur neglect 
 of harmony, while we might expose their apparent attachment to 
 sound more than to sense. Such, at least, is the power of habit, 
 that a period of Latin or Greek, arranged in grammatical order, 
 would excite disgust, and a period of English in the order of Greek 
 or Latin would appear ridiculous or unintelligiblet. 
 
 * Robertson's History of Scotland. 
 
 t In conjunction with these articles on Inversion^ the student 
 should peruse Chapter IV, Book I. 
 
OF FIGURES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE CHARACTER, AND ADVANTAGES OF 
 FIGURES. 
 
 251 . FIGURES, in general, may be described to be 
 that language, which is prompted cither by the ima- 
 gination, or by the passions. (Chapter III. B. /.) 
 
 252. Rhetoricians commonly divide them into two 
 great classes ; Figures of words, and jigures of 
 thought. 
 
 253. Figures .f word?., arc commonly called 
 TROPES. A trope consists in a word's being employ- 
 ed to signify something that is different from its ori- 
 ginal and primitive meaning ; so that if you alter the 
 word, you destroy the figure. 
 
 I lias. Thus, in the sentence ; " Light arieeth to the upright in 
 darkness :*' the trope consists in " light urut darkness," being 
 not meant literally, but substituted for comfort and adversity, on -c- 
 cotint of some resemblance or analogy which light and darkness 
 are supposed to bear to these conditions of life. (See Illus. 2. 
 Art. 19.) 
 
 254. Figures of thought, suppose the words to be 
 used in their proper and literal meaning, and the 
 figure to consist in the turn of the thought. They 
 appear in exclamations, interrogations, apostrophes, 
 and comparisons ; where, though you vary the words 
 that are used, or translate them from one language 
 into another, you may nevertheless, still preserve the 
 same figure in the thought. (Illus. 3. Art. 19.) 
 
 Obs. This distinction, however, is of no great use ; as nothing can 
 be built upon it in practice ; neither is it always very clear. It is 
 
Figures. 141 
 
 of little importance, whether we give to some particular mode of 
 expression the name of a trope, or of zjigtire ; provided we remem- 
 ber, that figurative language always imports some colouring of the 
 imagination, or dome emotion of passion, expressed in our style ' 
 and perhaps, figures of imagiji&fiuTi, and Jigures of passion, might 
 be a more useful distribution of the subject. But, without insist- 
 ing on any artificial divisions, it will be more useful, that we inquire 
 into the advantages which language derives from Jigures of speech. 
 
 255. First, TROPES, OR FIGURES, enrich language, 
 and render it more copious. By their means, words 
 and phrases are multiplied for expressing all sorts of 
 ideas ; for describing even the minutest differences ; 
 the nicest shades and colours of thought; which no 
 language could possibly do by proper words alone, 
 without assistance from tropes. (Art. 21.) 
 
 256. Secondly, they bestow dignity upon style. The 
 familiarity of common words, to which our ears are 
 much accustomed, tends to degrade style. When we 
 want to ad*)t our language to the tone of an elevated 
 subject, we should be greatly at a loss, if we could 
 riot borrow assistance from figures ; which, proper- 
 ly employed, have a similar effect on language, with 
 tvhat is produced by the rich and splendid dress of 
 a person of rank ; to create respect, and^to give an 
 air of magnificence to him who wears it. Assist- 
 ance of this kind is often needed in prose composi- 
 lions; but poetry could not subsist without it. Hence, 
 figures form the constant language of poetry. 
 (Art. 21.) 
 
 liius. 1. To say, that u the sun rise?," is trite and common ; but 
 H becoLTius a magnificent image when expressed, as Thompson has 
 doue : 
 
 But yonder comes the powerful king of day, 
 
 Rejoicing in the east. 
 
 2. To say, that u All men are subject alike to death," presents 
 o/ily a vulgar idea ; but it rises and fills the imagination when paint- 
 ed thus by Horace : 
 
 Pallida mor* oequo pulsat pede, pauperum tabej'naa 
 Ragumque tunes*. 
 
 * With equal pace impartial fate 
 
 Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate, 
 
Figures, 
 
 Or, 
 Omnes eodem cogimur ; omnium, 
 
 Versatur urna, serins, ocyus, 
 Sors exitura, et nos in a^ternurn 
 
 Exilium impositura cymbal. 
 
 25?. In the third place, FIGURES give us the pleas- 
 ure of enjoying two objects presented together without 
 confusion, to our mew ; the principal idea, that is the 
 subject of the discourse, along with its accessory, 
 which gives it the figurative dress. We see one thing 
 in another, as Aristotle expresses it ; which is always 
 agreeable to the mind. For there is nothing with 
 which the fancy is more delighted, than with com- 
 parisons, and resemblances of objects ; and all tropes 
 are founded upon some relation or analogy between 
 one thing and another. 
 
 Illus. When, for instance, in place of "youth." we say, the 
 44 morning of life ;" the fancy is immediately entertained with all the 
 resembling circumstances which presently occur between thp.se tsvo 
 objects. At one moment, we have before us a certain period of hu- 
 man life, and a certain time of the day, so related to each other, that 
 the imagination plays between them with pleasure, and contemplates 
 tvvo similar objects, in one view, without embarrassment or confu- 
 eion. Not only so, but, 
 
 258. In the fourth place, FIGURES are attended 
 with this farther advantage, of giving us frequently a 
 much clearer and more striking view of the principal 
 object, than we could have if it were expressed in sim- 
 ple terms, and divested of its accessory idea. 
 
 Illus. 1. This is, indeed, their principal advantage, in virtue of 
 which, they are very properly said to iUmtralt a subjecL or throve 
 iight upon it. For they exhibit the object, on which. they are em- 
 ployed in a picturesque form ; they can render an abstract concep- 
 tion, in some degree, an object of sense; they surround it with such 
 circumstances as enable the mind to lay bold of it steadily, and to 
 contemplate it fully. 
 
 Example. u Those person?," ?ays one, i who cain the hearts of 
 most people, who are chosen ar> the companions of their softer hours, 
 and their reliefs from anxiety and care, are seldom person? of shining 
 
 * We all must tread the paths of fate ; 
 
 And ever shakes the mortal urn, 
 Whose lot embarks us, soon or fate, 
 
 On Charon's boat; ah I never to return. Francis, 
 
Figures. 1 43 
 
 qualities, or strong virtues : it is rather the soft green of the soul on 
 which we rest our eyes, that are fatigued wiui beholding more 
 glaring objects." Here, by a happy allusion to a colour, the 
 whole conception is in one word conveyed ciear and strong to the 
 mind. 
 
 Illus. 2, By a well chosen figure, even conviction is assisted, and 
 the impression of a truth upon Hie rnind made more lively and for- 
 cible than it would oiherwise he. 
 
 Examples. " When we dip too deep in pleasure, we always stir 
 a sediment that renders it impure and noxious :"* " A heart boil- 
 ing with violent passions, will always send up infatuating fumes to 
 the head." An image that presents so much congruity between a 
 moral and sensible idea, serves, like an argument from analogy, to 
 enforce what the author asserts, and to induce belief. 
 
 Illus. 3. Besides, whether we are endeavouring to raise senti- 
 ments of pleasure or aversion, we can always heighten the emotion 
 by the figures which we introduce ; leading the imagination to a 
 train, either of agreeable or disagreeable, of exalting or debasing 
 ideas* correspondent to the impression which we seek to make. 
 When we want to render an object beautiful or magnificent, we bor- 
 row images from all the most beautiful or splendid scenes of nature ; 
 we thereby, naturally throw a lustre pver our object ; we enliven 
 the reader's mind, and dispose him -to go along with us, in the gay 
 and pleasing impressions which we give him of the subject. This 
 effect of figures is happily touched in the following lines of Dr. Aken- 
 side, and illustrated by a very sublime figure : 
 
 - Then the inexpressive strain 
 
 Diffuses its enchantment. Fancy dreams 
 
 Of sacred fountains and Eiysian groves, 
 
 And vales of bli*s, the intellectual Power 
 
 Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, 
 
 And smiles. Pleasures of Imagination^ I. 124. 
 
 iilium. What we have now explained, concerning the char- 
 acter and advantages of figures, naturally leads us to relied on the 
 wonderful power of language ; nor can we reflect on it without the 
 highest admiration. What a fine vehicle is it now become for all 
 the conceptions of the human rnind ; even for the most subfile and 
 delicate workings of the imagination! What a pliant and flexible 
 instrument in the hand of one who can employ it skilfully; prepar- 
 ed to take every form which he chuses to give it ! Not content 
 with a simple communication of ideas and thoughts, it paints those 
 ideas to the eye ; it gives colouring and re'-iero. even to the most 
 abstract conceptions. In the figures which it. uses, it sets, mirrors 
 before us, where we .may, a second time, behold objects in their 
 likeness. It entertains us, as with a succession of the most splendid 
 * Dr. 
 
144 Table of Figures, 
 
 pictures; disposes, in the most artificial manner, of the light and 
 shade, for viewing every thing to the best advantage ; in fine, from 
 being a rude and imperfect interpreter of men's wants and necessi- 
 ties. "it has now passed into an instrument of the most delicate arid 
 refined luxury. 
 
 259. All TROPES arc founded on the relation which 
 one object bears to another ; in virtue of which, the 
 name of the one can be substituted instead of the 
 name of the other; and by such a substitution, the 
 vivacity of the idea is commonly meant to be in- 
 creased. These relations, some more, some less inti- 
 mate, may all give rise to tropes. 
 
 260. To illustrate these relations, we have con- 
 structed the following 
 
 Table of jFYg-wes, which, among related objects, ex- 
 tend the properties to one another. 
 
 I. An attribute of the cause, expressed as an attribute of the 
 effect. 
 
 ...... To my adventurous son?, 
 
 That with no middle flight intends to soar. Paradise Lost. 
 
 II. An attribute of the effect, expressed as a,n attribute of the 
 cause. 
 
 No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height. Par. Lo&t, 
 
 III. An effect expressed as an attribute of the cause. 
 
 Jovial wine Musing midnight 
 
 Giddy drink , Panting height 
 
 Drowsy night Astonished thought. 
 
 And the merry bells ring round, 
 
 And the jocund rebecks sound. jQlegro* 
 
 IV. An attribute for a subject bestowed upon one of its parts ot 
 members ; ae, longing arms. 
 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.* 
 
 V. A quality of the agent given to the instrument, with which it 
 operates. 
 
 Why peep your coward swords half out of their shells ? 
 
 VI. The means or instrument conceived be the agent. 
 
 A broken rock the force of Pirus threw. 
 
 VII. The chief circumstance conceived to the patient. 
 Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days.t 
 
 * Romeo and Juliet, Act IIF, Scene 5. t Jane Shore. 
 
Table of Ft guv es* 145 
 
 VIII. An attribute of the agent given to the subject, upon which 
 it operates. 
 
 High-climbing hill. Milton. 
 
 IX. A quality of one subject given to another. 
 
 When shapeless age, and weak feeble limbs, 
 
 Should bring thy lather to his drooping chair. Skakspeare. 
 
 By art, the pilot through the boiling deep, 
 
 And howling tempest, steers the fearless ship. Iliad, xxiii. 385. 
 
 X. A circumstance connected with a subject, ex- 
 pressed as a quality of the subject. 
 
 'Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try. Iliad, i. 301. 
 
 261. The several relations upon which figures of 
 speech are commonly founded, are epitomized in the 
 following two tables : one of subjects expressed figu- 
 ratively, and one of attributes. 
 
 FIRST TABLE. 
 
 Subjects expressed figuratively. 
 
 1. A word proper to one subject, employed figuratively, to ex- 
 press a resembling subject. 
 
 I Hits. 1. There is no figure of speech so frequent, as that which 
 is derived from the relation of resemblance ; as, morning of life, for 
 youth, (lllus. Art. 257.) 
 
 Analysis. The life of man resembles a natural day, in several 
 particulars : the morning is the beginning of day ; youth the be- 
 ginning of life ; the morning is cheerful ; so is youth, &c. 
 
 2. By another resemblance, a multitude of troubles are, a sea of 
 trouble ; and a bold warior is, the thunderbolt of war. 
 
 Corol. This figure, above all others, affords pleasure to the mind 
 by variety of beauties. It possesses, among others, the beauty of 
 a metaphor, or oi a simile A figure of speech, built upon resem- 
 blance, always suggests a comparison between the principal snb- 
 ject and the accessory. Hence, by this figure, every good effect of 
 a metaphor, or simile, may be produced in a short and lively man- 
 ner. 
 
 II. A word proper to the effect, employed figuratively, to ex- 
 press the cause ; as, shadow, for cloud ; glittering tower, for helmet ; 
 umbrage or shad&w, for tree. 
 
 Where the dun umbrage hangs. Spring. 1. 1023. 
 
 A wound is made to signify an arrow. 
 
 Vulnere non pedibus te consequar. Ovid. 
 Analysis. There is a peculiar force and beauty in this ; the worcfj 
 o 
 
MG Table of Figures. 
 
 which signifies figuratively the principal subject, denotes it to be a 
 <:uuse, by suggesting the effect. 
 
 III. A word proper to the cause, employed figuratively to express 
 the effect ; as, grief, sorrow, for tears. 
 
 Again Ulysses veil'd his pensive head ; 
 Again, unmanned, a show'r of sorraio shed. 
 Streaming grief his faded cheek bedewed. 
 
 Blindness, for darkness. 
 
 COECIS erramus in nudis. JEneid, iii. 200. 
 
 Analysis. There is a peculiar beauty in this figure, similar to 
 that in the former: the figurative name denotes the subject to be 
 an effect, by suggesting its cause. 
 
 IV. Two things being intimately connected, the proper name of 
 the one employed figuratively to signify the other. 
 
 Illus. Day, for light. Night, for darkness ; and hence, a sudden 
 night. Winter, for a storm at sea : 
 
 Interea magno misceri murmure pontum, 
 
 Emissamque Hyemem sensit Neptunus. ^ncid, i. 128. 
 
 V. A word proper to an attribute, employed figuratively to de 
 note the subject. 
 
 Youth and beauty shall be laid in dust 
 .Majesty, for king ; as in Hamlet, Act. i. Scene \. 
 What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, 
 together with that fair and warlike form, 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march ? 
 
 Analysis. The peculiar beauty of this figure arises from sug- 
 gesting an attribute that embellishes the subject, or puts it in a 
 stronger light. 
 
 VI. A complex term, employed figuratively to denote one of the 
 component parts ; &s,funus, for a dead body ; burial, for a grave. 
 
 VII. The name of one of the component parts, instead of the 
 complex term ; as, the east, for a country situated east from us. 
 Jo-vis vestigia serrat, for immitating Jupiter, in general. 
 
 VIII. A word signifying time or place, employed figuratively to 
 denote what is connected with it. 
 
 Illus. Clime, for season, or for a constitution of government : 
 hence the expression, .merciful clime, fleecy winter, for snow, secu- 
 lum felix. 
 
 IX. A part, for the whole ; as, the pole, for the earth ; the head, 
 for the person. 
 
 Triginta minas pro eapite tuo dedi. Plautus. 
 Analysis. The peculiar beauty of this figure consists is marking 
 that part, which makes the greatest figure. 
 
 X. The name of the container to signify what is contained. 
 
Table of Figures. 147 
 
 lllus. Grove for birds in it ; as, vocal grove. Skips for the sea- 
 men ; as, agonizing skips. Mountains for 1he sheep pasturing 
 on them ; as, bleating mountains. The kettle for the water ; as, the 
 kettle boils, 
 
 XI. The name of the sustainer, to signfy what is sustained. 
 
 1 Hits. Altar, for sacrifice ; jidd. for the battle fought upon it ; as, 
 well-fought^JeW. ($. X. p. 145.) 
 
 XII. The name of the materials, to signify the things made 
 of them ; as, hemp, for rope ; cold steel, for a sword ; lead, for a 
 bullet. 
 
 XIII. The names of Gods and Goddesses, employed figuratively, 
 to signify what they patronize. 
 
 lllus.. Jove for the air, Mars for war, Venus for beauty, Cupid 
 for love, Ceres for corn, Neptune for the sea, Vulcan for fire. 
 
 This figure bestows great elevation upon the subject ; and therefore 
 ought to be confined to the higher strains of poetry. 
 
 SECOND TABLE. 
 
 ft 
 
 Attributes expressed figuratively. 
 
 1. When two attributes are connected, the name of the one may 
 he employed figuratively, to express the other. 
 
 IHus. Purity for virginity. These are attributes of the same per- 
 son or thing ; hence the expression, virgin snow, for pure snow ; 
 "virgin gold, for gold unalloyed. 
 
 II. A word signifying properly an attribute of one subject, em- 
 ployed figuratively to express^ a resembling attribute of another 
 subject. 
 
 lllus. 1. Tottering state, imperious ocean, angry flood, raging 
 *erapest, shallow fears. 
 
 My sure divinity shall bear the shield, 
 
 And edge thy sword to reap the glorious field. 
 
 Odyssey ) xx. 61. 
 
 2. Black omen, for an omen that portends bad fortune : as, ate? 
 odor. Virgil. 
 
 Obs. The peculiar beauty of this figure, arises from suggesting a 
 comparison. 
 
 III. A word proper to the subject, employed to express one of i'.s 
 attributes. 
 
 lllus. Mind, for intellect ; mind, for resolution. 
 
 IV. When two subjects have a resemblance by a common qual- 
 ity, the name of the one subject may be empjoyed figuratively, 
 to denote that quality in the other ; as, summer, for agreeable life, 
 
 V. The name of the instrument, made to signify the power, of err: 
 ploying it. 
 
 ----- Melpomene, cui liquidam pater 
 Vocem cum cithara, dedit. 
 
 Scholium. The ample field of figurative expression., displayed in 
 
148 Metaphor. 
 
 ihe-e fables, afford? 2,-reat scope for reasoning, as we shall find in the 
 subsequent ANALYSES of figurative language. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 262. METAPHOR is a figure founded entirely on the 
 resemblance which one subject bears to another. 
 Hence, it is much allied to simile, or comparison ; and 
 is indeed no other than a comparison, expressed in an 
 abridged form. (Art. 260.) 
 
 Illus. When of some great minister it is said, u that he upholds 
 Hie state, like a pillar which supports the weight, of a whole edi- 
 fice," a comparison i* made ; but when it is said of such a 
 minister, " that he is the pillar of the stale/' it is now become a 
 metaphor. 
 
 Analysis. The comparison betwixt the minister and a pillar, is 
 made in the mind ; but is expressed without any of the words that 
 denote comparison. Th^coftiparrsortis.only insinuated, not express- 
 ed : the ofitt object is supposed to he so like the other, that, without 
 formally drawing the compan?v;:.t. ihe name of Die one may be put 
 in the place of the name of the other. u The minister is the pillar of 
 the. state." This, therefore, is a more lively and animated manner 
 of expressing: the resemblances . m traces among 
 
 objects. There is noiliiu^ that delights the fancy more 'hail this 
 act .of comparing things together, discovering resemblance? be- 
 tween them, and doscribine: them by their iik.< e mind 
 finis employed, : d without being fatigued; and is grat- 
 ified with the consciousness of its own insreiiuiiy. (</ 
 p. 147.) 
 
 263, Though all metaphor imports comparison, 
 and. therefore, is, in that respect, a-fgure of thought ; 
 vet, as the words in a metaphor are not taken liter- 
 ally, but changed from their proper to a figurative 
 sense, the metaphor is cnmmoniy ranked among tropes 
 or figures of words. (Example, Art. 245.) But, pro- 
 vider the nature of it be less understood, it signifies 
 very little whether we call it a figure or a trope. 
 (Obs. Art. 254.) 
 
 1. We ha ve confined it to the expression of resemblance 
 
Metaphor. 14 V J 
 
 between two objects. We must remark, however, that the word 
 metaphor is sometimes used in a looser and more extended' sense ; 
 for the application of a term in any figurative signification, whether 
 the future be founded on resemblance, or on some other relation 
 M'hirh two objects bear to one another. 
 
 Example. For instance ; when grey hairs are put for old age, as, 
 u to brinsj one's a;rey hairs with sorrow to the grave ;" some wri- 
 ters would call this a metaphor, though it is not properly one, but 
 what rhetoricians call a metonymy ; that is, the effect put for the 
 cause; ($. II. p. 145.) u grey haira " being the effect of old age, 
 but not bearing any sort of resemblance to it. 
 
 264. Of all the figures of speech, none comes so 
 near to painting as metaphor. I Is peculiar effect is to 
 give light arid strength to description ; to make Intel- 
 lectuaf ideas, in some sort, visible to the eye, by giv- 
 ing them colour, and subs-tance, and sensible qualities. 
 In order, however, to produce this effect, a delicate 
 hand is required ; for, by a very little inaccuracy, we 
 are in hazard of introducing confusion, in place of 
 promoting perspicuity. (Art. 257.) 
 
 Illus. Several rules, therefore, are necessary to be given for tin; 
 proper management of metaphor. But, before entering on these, 
 we shall give one instance of a very beautiful metaphor, that we 
 shew the figure lo full advantage. We shall take our instance from 
 Lord Bolingbroke's Remarks on the History of England. Just at 
 1he conclusion of his work, he is speaking of the behaviour of 
 Charles 1. to his last parliament : " In a word,'" says he, " about a 
 month after their meeting, he dis?olved them : and, as soon as he 
 had dissolved them, be repented ; but he repented too late of his 
 rashness. Well might he repent, for the vessel was now. full, 
 and this last drop made the waters of bitterness overflow." 
 " Here," he adds, cc we draw the curtain, and put an end to our re- 
 marks." 
 
 Analysis. Nothing could be more happily thrown off. The meta- 
 phor, we see, is continued through several expressions. The vessel 
 is put for the state or temper of the nation already/^//, that is, pro- 
 voked to the highest by former oppressions and wrongs ; this last 
 drop, stands for the provocation recently received by the abrupt 
 dissolution of the parliament; and the overflowing of the ivaters of 
 bitterness, beautifully expresses all the effects of resentment let 
 loose by an exasperated people. 
 
 Scholia. Nothing forms a more spirited and dignified conclusion 
 of a subject, than a figure of this kind happily placed at the close. 
 We see the effect of it in this instance. The author goes off with 
 a good grace ; and leaves a strong and full impression of his subject 
 on the reader's miod. A metaphor has frequently an advantage 
 
 o 2 
 
150 Muiphor< 
 
 above a formal comparison. How much vvould the sentiment here 
 have been enfeebled, if it had been expressed in the style of a regu- 
 lar simile, thus : u Well might tie repent ; for the state of the nation, 
 loaded with grievances and provocation, resembled a vessel that 
 was now full, and this superadded provocation, like the last dvop 
 infused, make their rage and resentment, as waters of bitterness, 
 overflow." It has infinitely more spirit and force as it now stands, 
 in the form of a metaphor. u Well might he repent ; for the ves- 
 sel was now full ; and this last drop made the waters of bitterness 
 overflow. 11 
 
 265. The first rule to be observed in the conduct 
 of metaphors, is, that they be, suited to the nature of 
 the subject of which we treat : neither too many, nor 
 too gay ; nor too elevated for it ; that we neither at- 
 tempt to force the subject, by means of them, into a 
 degree of elevation which is not congroous to it; nor, 
 on the other hand, allow it to sink below its proper 
 dignity. (Art. 258. Jllus. 3.) 
 
 Illus. 1. This is^ a direction which belongs to all figurative lan- 
 guage, and should be ever Kept in view, borne metaphors are al- 
 lowable, nay, beautiful in poetry, which it would be absurd and 
 unnatural to employ in pro ; some may be graceful in oration*, 
 which would be very improper in historical or v.-lnlosoj.'hical com- 
 position. 
 
 2. We must remember that figures arc the dress of our senti- 
 ments. 
 
 ,-j. As there is a natural congruity between dress and the charac- 
 ter or rank of the person who wears it, a violation of this ccngruity 
 Lever fails to be injurious to the person ; the same holds precisely 
 as to the application of figures to sentiment. 
 
 4. The excessive or unseasonable employment of them is mere 
 foppery in writing. It gives a boyish air to composition ; and in- 
 sicad of raising a subject, in fact, diminishes its dignity. For, as in 
 li/e, true dignity must be founded on character, not on dress 
 and appearance, so the dignity of composition must arise from 
 sentiment and thought, not from ornament. The affectation and 
 parade of ornament, detract as much from an author, as they do 
 from a man, (Art. 128.) 
 
 Coral. 1. Figures and metaphors, therefore, should, on no occa- 
 sion, be struck on too profusely; nor should they ever be such' as re- 
 fuse to accord with the strain of our sentiment. 
 
 2. Nothing can be more unnatural, than for a writer to carry 
 on a strain of reasoning, in the same sort of figurative language 
 which he would use in description. When he reasons, we look 
 only for perspicuity ; when he describes, we expect embellish- 
 ment ; when he divides, or relates, we desire plainness and sim- 
 plicity. 
 
Mdapkor. 151 
 
 Scholia. One of the greatest secrets In composition b. to know 
 when to be simple. This always gives a heightening to ornament, 
 in its proper place. The right disposition of the shade makes the 
 lisht and colouring strike the more. " He is truly eloquent who 
 can discourse of humble subjects in a plain style, who can treat 
 important ones with dignity, and speak of things which are of a 
 middle nature, in a temperate strain. For one who, upon no occa- 
 sion, can express himself in a calm, orderly, distinct manner, when 
 he begins to be on fire before his readers are prepared to kindle 
 along with him, has the appearance of raving like a madman among 
 persons who are in their senses, or of reeling like a drunkard, in the 
 midst of sober company*. " This admonition should be particularly 
 attended to by young practitioners in the art of writing, who are 
 apt to be carried away by an uudistinguishing admiration of what 
 is showy and florid, whether in its place or not.t 
 
 266. The second rule which we give, respects the 
 choice of objects, from whence metaphors, and other 
 iigures, are to be drawn. 
 
 lllus. 1. The field for figurative language is very wide. All na- 
 ture, to speak in the style of figures, opens its stores to us, and 
 admits us to gather, from all sensible object?, whatever can illustrate 
 : me I lcci.ua I or moral ideas. Not only the ^ay and splendid ob- 
 jects cf sense, but the "rave, the terrifying 1 , and even the gloomy 
 and dismal, may, on d'uTcrerit occasions, be introduced into iigures 
 with propriety. 
 
 2. But we must beware of ever using such allusions as raise in 
 the mind disagreeable, mean, vulgar, or dirty ideas. Even when 
 metaphors are chosen in order to vilify and degrade any object, an 
 
 * cc Is enirn est eloquens, qui ethurnilia subtili'er, et magna grav- 
 itur, et mediocria temperate, potest dicere. Nam qui nihil potent 
 tranquille, nihil leniter, nihil definite, distinctc, potest dicere, is, 
 cum non praeparatis auribus in Mamma re rein ca j pit, furere apud 
 sanos, et quasi inter sobrios bacchari terauientus videtur." Cicero. 
 
 t What person of the least taste can bear the following passage 
 in an historian? He is giving an account of the famous act of par- 
 liament against irregular marriages in England : u The bill," says 
 he, " underwent a great number of alterations and amendments, 
 which were not effected without violent contest." This is plain, 
 language suited to the subject ; and we naturally expect, that, he 
 should go on in the same strain, to tell us, that after these contests, 
 it was carried by a great majority of voices, and obtained the royal 
 assent. But how does he express himself in finishing the period ; 
 ' At length, however, it was floated through both houses on the tide 
 of a great majority, and steered into the safe harbour of royal ap- 
 probation." Nothing can be more puerile than such language. 
 Smollett's History of England, quoted ia the Critical Review for 
 Get. 1761, p. 251. 
 
152 Metaphor. 
 
 author should study never to be nauseous in his allusions. But, ft: 
 subjects of dignity it is an unpardonable fault to introduce mean 
 and vulgar metaphors. 
 
 Obs. }. In the treatise on the Art of Sinking, in Dean Swift's 
 works, there is a full and humourous collection of instances of this 
 kind, wherein authors, instead of exalting, have contrived to de- 
 grade their subjects by the figures which they employed. 
 
 2. Authors of greater note than those which are there quoted ^ 
 have at times fallen into an error. Archbishop Tillotson, for in- 
 stance, is sometimes negligent in his choice of metaphors ; as, when 
 speaking of the day of judgment, he describes the world, aa 
 u cracking about the sinnerrf ears." 
 
 3. Shakspeare, whose imagination was rich and bold, in a much 
 greater degree than it was delicate, often fails here. 
 
 Example. The following is a gross transgression ; in hi* Henry 
 V., having mentioned a dung-hill, he presently raises a metaphor 
 from the steam of it ; and on a subject too, that naturally led to 
 much nobler ideas : 
 
 And those th-at leave- their valient bones in France, 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dung-hills, 
 They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall greet them, 
 Aixl draw their honours reeking up to heaven. 
 
 Acl IV. Scene 8. 
 
 267. In the third place, as metaphors should be 
 drawn from objects of some dignity, so particular 
 care should be taken that the resemblance, which is 
 ihe foundation of the metaphor, be clear and perspic- 
 uous, not far-fetched, not difficult, to discover. The 
 transgression of this rule makes, what are called 
 harsh or forced metaphors, which are always dis- 
 pleasing, because they puzzle the reader, and instead 
 of illustrating the thought, render it perplexed and 
 intricate. 
 
 I lias. With metaphors of this kind Cowley abounds. He, and 
 >ome of the writers of his age, seemed to have considered it as the 
 perfection of wit, to hit upon likenesses between objects which no 
 other person could have discovered ; and, at the same time, to pur- 
 sue those metaphors so far, that it requires some ingenuity to follow 
 them out, and comprehend them. This makes a metaphor resem- 
 ble an enigma ; and is the very reverse of Cicero's rule oo this 
 head : " Every metaphor should be modest, so that it may carry 
 the appearance of having been led, not of having forced itself, 
 into the place of that word whose room it occupies ; that it 
 
Mvtaphor. 153 
 
 may seem to have come thither of its own accord, and not by 
 constraint*. 1 " 
 
 C 2. To be new, and not vulgar, is a beauty. Trite and common 
 resemblances should indeed he avoided in our metaphors. But 
 when they are fetched from some likeness too remote, and lying 
 too far out of the road of ordinary thought, then, besides their ob- 
 scurity, they have also the disadvantage of appearing laboured, 
 and, as the French call it, u recherche." Metaphor*, hke all 
 other ornaments, lo.se their whole grace, when they do not seem 
 natural and easy. 
 
 3. It is but a bad and ungraceful softening, \vhich writers some- 
 times use for a harsh metaphor, when they palliate it with the ex- 
 pression, as it were. This is but an awkward parenthesis ; and 
 metaphors, which need this apology of an as it were, would, gene- 
 rally, have been better omitted. (See Art. 166.) Metaphors, 
 too, borrowed from any of the sciences, especially such of them as 
 belong to particular professions, are almost always faulty by their 
 obscurity. (Art. 84. Illus.) 
 
 263. In the fourth place, it must be carefully at- 
 tended to, in the conduct of metaphors, never to 
 jumble metaphorical and plain language together ; 
 never to construct a period so, that part of it must 
 be understood metaphorically, part literally : this 
 always produces a most disagreeable confusion. 
 
 : i'tple 1, Long to my joys my dearest Lord is lost, 
 
 His country 's buckler, and the Grecian, boast ; 
 Wow from my fond embrace by teiupests torn, 
 Our other column of the state i. borne, 
 Nor took a kind adieu, nor sought consent, t 
 
 Odyssey IV. 962. 
 
 ITf-re, in one line, her son is figured as a column; and 
 ,-'. Uic; next, he returns to be a person, to whom it belongs to take 
 adieu, and to ask consent. This- is inconsistent. The poet should 
 either have kept himself to the idea of man, in the literal sense ; 
 tr, if he figured him by a column, he should have ascribed nothing 
 
 * u Verecunda debet esse, translatio ; ut deducta e?se in alienum 
 ":ocum non irrui^e, atque ut voluntario non vi vtni.-.se videatur. "'* 
 :.)e Oratore, lib. iii. c. 53. 
 
 t In the original, there is no allusion to u column, and the meta- 
 phor is regularly supported : 
 
 t' cT" M> TTAl^ CtyA'/rKTZV U.VHf'Sl'^StV'TG 
 
154 Metaphot. 
 
 to him but what belonged to it. He was not at liberty to ascribe 
 to that column (he actions and properties of a man. Such unnatur- 
 al mixtures render the image indistinct ; leaving it to waver, in our 
 conception, between the figurative and literal sense. 
 
 Example 2. Pope, elsewhere, addressing himself to the King, 
 says, 
 
 To thee the world its present homage pays, 
 The harvest early, but mature the praise. 
 
 Analysis. This, though not so gross, is a fault, however, of the 
 same kind, His plain, that, had not the rhyme misled him to the 
 choice of an improper phrase, he would have said, 
 
 The harvest early, but mature the crop : 
 
 and so would have continued the figure which he had begun. 
 Whereas, by dropping it unfinished, and by employing the literal 
 word, praise, when we were expecting something that related to 
 the harvest, the figure is broken, and the two members of the sen- 
 tence have no proper correspondence with each other: 
 The harvest early, but mature the praise. 
 
 .Example3. The works of Ossian abound with beautiful and cor- 
 rect metaphors : such as that on a hero : *' In peace, thou art the 
 gale of spring ; in war, the mountain storm." Or this, on a woman : 
 u She was covered with the light of beauty ; but her heart was the 
 house of pride." 
 
 Exception. They afford, however, one instance of the fault we 
 are now censuring : " Trothal went forth with the stream of his 
 people, but they met a rock : for Fingal stood unmoved, broken 
 they rolled back from his side : nor did they roll in safety ; the 
 spear of the King pursued their flight." 
 
 Analysis. At the beginning, the metaphor is very beautiful. The 
 stream, the unmoved rock, the waves rolling back broken, arc 
 expressions employed in the proper and consistent langu- 
 figure ; but in the end, when we are told, k4 they did not roll in 
 safety, because the spear of the King pursued their flight," the 
 literal meaning is improperly mixed with the metaphor ; they ars, 
 at one and the same time, presented to us as wares that roll, and 
 men that may be pursued, and wounded with a spear. 
 
 269. In the fifth place, never make two different 
 metaphors rnce't on one object. This is what is called 
 mixed metaphor, and is indeed one of the grossest 
 abuses of this figure; such as Shakspeare's expres- 
 sion, u to take arms against a sea of troubles." This 
 makes a most unnatural medley, and confounds the 
 imagination entirely. 
 
 Illus. Quinctilian has sufficiently guarded us against it t4 We 
 
Metaphor. 153 
 
 ruust be particularly attentive to end with the same kind of meta- 
 phor with which we have begun. Some, when they begin the fig- 
 ure with a tempest, conclude it with a conflagration ; which forms 
 a shameful inconsistency."* 
 
 Example i . The charm dissolves apace, 
 
 And as the morning steals upon the nig|it 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. Tempest. 
 
 Analysis. What an inconsistent groupe of objects is brought to- 
 gether in this passage, which professes to describe persons recov- 
 ering their judgment after the enchantment, that held them, was 
 dissolved : so many ill-sorted things are here joined, that the mind 
 can see nothing clearly ; the morning stealing upon the darkness, 
 and, at the same time, melting it ; the senses of men chasing 
 fumes, ignorant fames and fumes that mantle. 
 Example 2. So again in Romeo and Juliet : 
 
 as glorious, 
 
 As is a winged messenger from heaven, 
 Unto the white upturned wondering eyes 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air, 
 
 Analysis. Here, the angel is represented as, at one moment, be- 
 striding the clouds, and sailing upon the air ; and upon the bosom 
 of the air too; which forms such a confused picture, that it is iin- 
 iosp'ihle for any imagination to comprehend it. 
 
 Example 3. More correct writers than Shakspeare sometimes 
 
 ll into this error of mixing metaphors. 
 
 I bridle my struggling muse with pain, 
 That longs to launch into a bolder strainct 
 
 Analysis. The muse, figured as a horse, may bebridled; but 
 when we speak of launching, we make it a ship ; and by no force 
 of imagination, can it be supposed both ahorse and a ship at one 
 moment; bridled, to hinder it from launching. Were we to try 
 this metaphor by Addison's own rule, namely, to suppose ihejigurc 
 painted, it would appear more grotesque than any of Hogarth's 
 subjects. That the muse, from her connexion with the winged 
 'horse Pegasus, might sometimes require the bridle, is not perhaps 
 very unnatural. But were she painted in an attitude in which the 
 bridle prevented her from launching or jumping into the sea; or 
 
 * u Id imprimis est custodiendum, ut quo genere cceperis transla- 
 tionis, hoc finias. Multi autem cum initium a tempestate sumse- 
 runt, incendio aut ruina finiunt; qua3 est inConsequentia rcrum 
 foadissima." 
 
 t Addison. 
 
166 Metaphor. 
 
 X 
 
 were a picture to exhibit a ship launched, not into the sea, hut 
 opoo a sheet of paper, or into a song, the spectator would feel 
 something of the disposition inspired by trie monster oi Horace, 
 
 Spectatum admissi risum teneaiis amu.i. 
 
 But the muse is a goddess. Now to bridle a goddess is no very 
 delicate idea. But why must she be bridled ? because she longs to 
 launch; au act which was never hindered by a bridle. And whi- 
 ther will she launch ? into a nobler strain. She is in the first line a 
 goddess, or a /torse, in the second a boat or a javelin (for both may 
 be launched) and the care of the poet is to keep his horse, or his 
 boat, or his spear from singing. 
 
 ^70. Addisorrs rule is a good one for examining 
 the propriety of metaphors, when we doubt whether 
 or not they be of the mixed kind ; namely, that we 
 should try to form a picture upon them, and consider 
 how the parts would agree, and what sort of figure 
 the whole would present, when delineated with a 
 pencil. By this means we should become sensible, 
 whether inconsistent circumstances were mixed, and 
 a monstrous image thereby produced, as in all those 
 faulty instances which have been given ; or whether 
 the object was throughout presented in one natural 
 and consistent point of view. 
 
 271. As metaphors ought never to be mixed ; so, 
 in the sixth place, we should avoid crowding them 
 together on the same object. Supposing each of the 
 metaphors to be preserved distinct, yet, if they be 
 heaped on one another, they produce a confusion 
 somewhat of the same kind with the mixed metaphor. 
 
 Example i. 4; There is a time, when faction??, by the vehe- 
 mence of their fermentation, stun, and disable one another."* 
 
 Analysis. The nobie author represents factions, first, as discor- 
 dant fluids, the mixture of which produces violent fermentation ; 
 but he quickly relinquishes this view of them, and imputes to them 
 operations and effects, consequent only on the supposition of their 
 being solid bodies in motion. They maim and dismember one 
 another by forcible collisions 
 
 Examdle 2. u Those whose minds are dull and heavy do not ea- 
 sily penetrate into the folds and intricacies of an affair, and there- 
 fore can only scum off what they find at the top."t 
 
 * Bolingbroke. t Swift. 
 
Metaphor. 15? 
 
 Analysis. That the writer had a right to represent his affai?*, 
 whatever it was, either as a bale of cloth or a fluid, nobody ca/i 
 deny. But the laws of common sense and perspicuity demanded 
 of him to keep it either the one or the other, because it could not 
 be both at the same time. It was absurd, therefore, after he had 
 penetrated the folds of it, an operation competent only on the sup- 
 position of its being some pliable body, to speak of scumming off 
 v/hat floated on the surface, which could not be performed unless it 
 was a fluid. 
 
 272. The only other rule concerning metaphors, 
 which we shall add, is, that they be not too far pur- 
 sued. If the resemblance on which the figure is 
 founded, be long dwelt upon, and carried into all its 
 minute circumstances, we make an allegory instead 
 of a metaphor ; we tire the reader, who soon becomes 
 weary of this play of fancy ; and we render our dis- 
 course obscure. This is called, straining a meta- 
 phor. 
 
 Critickl. Cowley deals in this to excess; and to this error is 
 owing, in a great measure, that intricacy and harshness, in his 
 figurative language, which we before remarked. (Art. 207.) 
 
 2. Lord Shafteshury is sometimes guiity of pursuing his meta- 
 phors too far. Fond, to a high degree, of every decoration of 
 style, when once he had hit upon a figure that pleased him, he was 
 extremely loth to part with it. 
 
 3. Dr. Young also often trespasses in the same way. The merit, 
 however, of this writer in figurative language is great, and deserves 
 to be remarked. No writer, ancient or modern, had a stronger 
 imagination than Dr. Young, or one more fertile in figures of every 
 kind. His metaphors are often new, and often natural and beau- 
 tiful. But his imagination was strong and rich, rather than deli- 
 cate and correct. Hence, in his Night Thoughts, there prevail an 
 obscurity, and a hardness in his style. The metaphors are fre- 
 quently too bold, and frequently too far pursued ; the reader is 
 dazzled rather than enlightened ; and kept constantly on the stretch 
 to keep pace with the author. 
 
 4. Of all the English authors, none is so happy in his metaphors 
 as Addison. His imagination was neither so rich nor so strong as 
 Dr. Young's ; but far more chaste and delicate. Perspicuity, 
 natural grace, and ease, always distinguish his figures. They are 
 neither harsh nor strained ; they never appear to have been studied 
 or sought after ; but seem to rise of their own accord from tbe 
 subject, and constantly embellish it. 
 
 Scholia 1. Metaphors expressed by single words may, it seems, 
 be introduced on every occasion, from the most careless effusions of 
 conversation, to the highest and most passionate expression of 
 
 P 
 
158 Metaphor. 
 
 tragedy ; and on all these occasions they are, perhaps, the most 
 beautiful and significant language that can be employed. There is 
 r.o doubt of the justness of this observation with regard to any spe- 
 cies of speaking or writing, except that which denotes violent pas- 
 sion, concerning which the practice of the most correct pei formers 
 is not uniform ; some of them rejecting, others admitting, the use 
 of such figures. 
 
 2. Short metaphors appear with perfect propriety in oratory, 
 memoirs, essays, novels, but partiularly in history. The historian 
 is scarcely permitted to indulge in hunting after comparisons ; he is 
 seldom allowed to introduce the more elevated and poetical figures 
 of apostrophe and personification ; he is not even at liberty to 
 amuse with metaphors extended to many circumstances of resem- 
 blance, but to those expressed in single or few words, he has the most 
 approved access. Such ornaments are the proper impliments of a 
 vigorous and decisive mind, which has leisure only to ssatch a ray 
 of emballishment from a passing object, without turning aside from 
 its capital pursuit. The superior attention of the historian to the 
 matter of which he treats, the dignity and gravity ef his style, 
 which ought to correspond to the importance of his matter, call up- 
 on him to communicate his thoughts in the most correct, perspicu- 
 ous, and forcible language ; and such, in a serene state of the mind, 
 is the language of short metaphor. 
 
 3. Both Shakspeare and Otway conceived short metaphors to be 
 perfectly consistent with the most violent agitations of passion. It 
 is vain to appeal to the authority of other tragic poets. They are 
 unanimous for the use of similar situations. Many of them, indeed, 
 have so overloaded their pathetic scenes with this brilliant ornament, 
 that it obscures the meaning, diminishes the impression, and some- 
 times disgusts the reader. 
 
 4. But extended metaphors, which chiefly amuse the imagination 
 fcy a reat variety of pretty and pleasant resemblances, are much 
 more "circumscribed in their appearance. They are too refined to 
 occur in conversation, or on any occasion that allows not time for 
 recollection, and for tracing similitudes which are at least so remote 
 and unexpected as to surprise and captivate. They present them- 
 5-<slves with perfect grace, in pulpit-oratory, in political writings, in 
 %vorks of criticism, and in essays. But their peculiar province is 
 descriptive poetry, and the dispassionate parts of epic. They are 
 inconsistent with violent passion, and ar.s seldom introduced with 
 success into tragedy. They are calculated entirely to please the 
 imagination. They interfere with all the strong feelings of the 
 heart. The mind that can either utter or relish them may be gay 
 and elevated, but must be composed and tranquil. Under the 
 pressure of deep distress, they are disgusting and intolerable. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 COMPARISONS OR SIMILES. 
 
 273. COMPARISONS or similes differ chiefly from 
 metaphors in the vigour of imagination with which they 
 are conceived. In the use of metaphors, we suppose 
 the primary object transformed into the resembling 
 one. In the use of comparisons we soar not so 
 high, but content ourselves with remarking similitude 
 merely. 
 
 Ilhis. 1. In r ; ; comparisons, there should be found something 
 pew or surprising, in order to please and illustrate. There is no- 
 thing new or surprising in the resemblance of the individuals of the 
 Fame species, as when we say, one man, or one horse, or one oak, 
 is like another ; because these individuals are formed by nature 
 similar, and no comparison instituted between them can he supposed 
 to prod nee any novelty or surprise. To find, then, resemblances 
 which are new or surprising, and which consequently may produce 
 pleasure or illustration, we must search for them where they are 
 not commonly to be expected, between things of different species. 
 
 Exam/ile. If, for instance, I discover a resemblance bet \veen a 
 man and a horse in swiftness, between a man and an oak in strength, 
 or between a man and a rock in steadiness, such resemblances, 
 heing new, and generally unobserved, excite surprise and pleasure, 
 and improve ray conceptions of the swiftness, strength, and stead- 
 iness of the man. 
 
 Corol. Hence results the first genera] principle concerning good 
 comparisons of resemblance : they must be drawn from one jjxcie-s 
 of tilings to another, and never instituted between things of the 
 same species. 
 
 llhts. 2. Again, when we p. ace a great object opposite to a liftle 
 one, a beautiful picture to an indifferent one, or one .-hade of the same 
 colour to another ; we are surprised to find, that things which seem- 
 ed so much alike differ so widely. We conceive the beauties and 
 defects of the objects contrasted greater, perhaps than they really 
 arc, at least much greater than they appear when surveyed apart, 
 
 Corol. Hence is derived the second principle respecting com- 
 parisons, that contrasts must be instituted between things -,f the 
 same species, because no pleasure or illustration can result from 
 finding dissimilitude between things naturally different. 
 
 Illus. 3. As it is necessary there should he 1 resemblance in ai! 
 comparisons, it is obvious that Iho objects of diiTeiont sen?''- 
 cannot furnish foundation for them. There is no resemblance 
 between a sound and a colour, a smell and a surface of YO!> 
 
1GO Comparison. 
 
 Corul. Comparisons, then, must farther fake place between thf, 
 objects of tlie same senc ; and. as the sijrht is the unM lively and 
 t of a!i the senses, and the ides it communicates make 
 the deepest impression on the mind, the most beautiful and striking 
 comparisons are deduced from the objects of this tense. ('See the 
 K&impk and Analysis to Art. 218.) 
 
 Jilns. 4. But though the far greater part of comparisons result 
 from the resemblance of the qualities of H-risible objects? alone, yet 
 :*:: sometiiiies instituted between the qualities of 'ensibie and 
 iiiteiiecluai chjccis. 
 
 JL&iimple. Thus, Shakspeare compares adversity to a toad, and 
 slander to the bite of a crocodile. 
 
 tichclium. In all these cases, however, the abstract or intellectual 
 object is personified, and the comparison is founded on the supposed 
 resemblance which the qualities of the intellectual object bear to 
 those of the sensible object, after the former also has become a sen- 
 sible object. 
 
 Illu-s. 5. In addition to the kinds of similes already explained, 
 there is another that frequently occurs, in which the effects only of 
 (wo objects are compared. The same analogy takes place with 
 regard to them, which was formerly observed to appear in the re- 
 semblance of the sound of words to their sen?e. (Jlrt. 225.) The 
 objects compared are not perhaps similar in their qualities, at least 
 iie merit of the figure does not depend on this circumstance, but up- 
 on the similarity of the impressions or emotions they produce in the 
 mind. 
 
 Examples. Upon this principle, the following comparisons suc- 
 cessfully framed. 
 
 1. ci Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of former 
 times on my soul*." 
 
 2. " The music was like the memory of joys that are past. 
 pleasant and mournful to the soult." 
 
 3. " Sorrow, iike a cloud on the sun, shades thn soul of Clessa 
 
 . 
 
 4. ' Pleasant are the words of the pong:, and lovely are 1) .. 
 of other un:e?. T!;( - are iik^ (he de*v of the morning; on the. hill cf 
 . v.-hen (be sisn is faiut on its side, and the lake is settled and 
 blue in the vale?." 
 
 Analwis. There is no resemblance betv-^en K<, evpmne; sun and 
 the memory of pa*st joys, between sorrow and o cioud, or between 
 the words of the sons; and the dew of (fie morning ; but every per- 
 ion must perceive, that by these objects similar impressions or emo- 
 tions are excited in the minJ. 
 
 274. All comparisons may be reduced to the fol- 
 lowing heads. I. Those which improve our concep- 
 tions of the objects they are brought to illustrate. 
 
 t 1'r: 
 
Comparison, 161 
 
 we call explaining comparisons. IT. Those which 
 augment the pleasure of imagination by a splendid 
 assemblage of other adjacent and agreeable objects, 
 we call embellishing comparisons. III. And, finally, 
 those which elevate or depress the principal object, 
 an operation often requisite in writing, but more par- 
 ticularly in speaking, we call comparisons of advan- 
 tage, or of disadvantage. 
 
 275. All manner of subjects admit of explaining 
 comparisons. Let an author be reasoning ever so 
 .strictly, or treating the most abstruse point in philos- 
 ophy, he may very properly intruduce a comparison, 
 merely with a view to make his subject better under- 
 stood. 
 
 Example. Of this nature is the following in Harris's Hermes, em- 
 ployed to explain a very abstract point, the distinction between the 
 powers of sense and imagination in the human mind. tl As wax," 
 fcays he, u would not be adequate to the purpose of signature, i! it 
 had not the power lo retain us well as to receive the impression, the 
 same holds of the soul with respect to sense and imagination. Sense 
 is its receptive power ; imagination its retentive. Had it sense 
 without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as water, where 
 though all impressions be instantly made, yet as soon as they are 
 made they are instantly lost." 
 
 lllus. In comparison of this nature, the understanding is con- 
 cerned much more than the fancy : and therefore the only rules 
 to be observed, with respect to them, are, I. That they be clear; 
 11. That they be useful; III. That they tend to render our 
 conception of the principal object more distinct ; and IV. That 
 they do not lead our view aside, and bewilder it with any false 
 light. 
 
 276. The most vigorous imagination can scarcely 
 be supposed to have conceived more striking compar- 
 isons, or better adapted to improve our conceptions 
 of the principal object, than the following ones of 
 Shakspeare. Describing the effects of concealed 
 love, he makes this happy comparison : 
 
 " She never told her love, 
 But let concealmant, like a worm in the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought, 
 And with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 
 p 2 
 
162 Comparison* 
 
 She sat, like patience on a monument. 
 Smiling at grief.*" 
 
 277. Embellishing comparisons, those with which 
 \ve are chiefly concerned at present,' as figures of 
 speech are introduced not so much with a view to 
 inform and instruct, as to adorn the subject of which 
 we treat; and they are those, indeed, that most fre- 
 quently occur. 
 
 Illas. Resemblance is the foundation of this figure. We must not 
 however, take resemblance, in too strict asen.se, for actual simili- 
 tude and likeness of appearance. Two objects may sometimes be 
 very happily compared to one another, though they resemble each 
 other, strictly speaking, in nothing ; only, because they agree in (he 
 effects which they produce upon the mind ; because they raise a 
 train of similar, or, what may be called, concordant ideas; so 
 that the remembrance of the one, when recalled, serves to strengthen 
 the impression made by (he other, (lllus. 5. drt* 273.) 
 
 Example 1. To describe the nature of soft and melancholy music, 
 Ossian says, " The music of Carry! was, like the memory of joys 
 that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul." 
 
 Analysis. This is happy and delicate. Yet surely, no kind of 
 music has any resemblance to a feeling of the mind, such as the 
 memory of past joys. Had it been compared to the voice of the 
 nightingale, or the murmur of the stream, as it would have been by 
 some ordinary poet, the likeness would have been more strict ; but, 
 by founding his simile upon the effect which CarryPs music produ- 
 ced, Ossian, while he conveys a very tender image, gives us, at the 
 ssme time, a much stronger impression of the nature and strain of 
 that music : " Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and 
 mournful to the soul." 
 
 Example 2. Homer introduces a most charming night-scene, while 
 his main object is only to illustrate the state of the Grecian camp af- 
 ter a battle. 
 
 a The troops, exulting, sat in order round, 
 
 And beaming fires illumin'd all the ground. 
 
 As when the moon, resplendent orb of night, 
 
 O'er heaven's pure azu*e shed her sacred light ; 
 
 When not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene, 
 
 And not a breath disturbs the deep serene ; 
 
 Around her throne the vivid planets roll, 
 
 And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole ; 
 
 O'er the dark trees a yellow verdure spread, 
 
 And tipt with silver ev'ry mountain's head. 
 
 Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
 
 A flood of glory bursts from all the skies. 
 
 * Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc, 4, 
 
, Comparison. 163 
 
 The conscious swain?, rejoicing in the night, 
 Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. 
 So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, 
 And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays I 
 Analysis. This simile needs no comment to display its Ix a a ties. 
 Not only is the primary object, the Grecian fires, elucidated by the 
 splendid resemblance of the glowing stars, but the imagination is 
 farther captivated by a delightful collection of connected objects, 
 which together concur to form an extensive and interesting picture. 
 Scho. JjfuchjComparisons not only supply the most striking illus- 
 trations of the objects they are brought to illuminate, but embellish 
 also the general prospect by occasional openings into beautiful ad- 
 jacent fields. They operate like episodes in a long work, which relax 
 and regale the mind, without distracting it from its capital persuit. 
 They produce an effect similar to what happens to the traveller, 
 from surveying iu his course unexpected and surprising scenes of 
 nature or of art. He turns aside a moment to contemplate them, 
 and then resumes his journey with redoubled ardour and delight. 
 
 278. The third sort of comparisons are employed to 
 elevate or depress the principal object. 
 
 Example. 1. The following example must aggrandize our concep- 
 tions of the valour of Hector, howsoever great we can suppose it to 
 have been in reality, 
 
 *' Girt in surrounding flames, he seems to fall 
 Like Hire from Jove, and bursts upon them all ; 
 Bursts as a wave, that from the clouds impends, 
 And svvelPd with tempest o'er the the ship descends. 
 White are the decks with foam ; the winds aloud 
 Howl o'er the masts, and ring through every shroud. 
 Pale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears, 
 And instant death in every wave appears. 
 So pale the Greeks the eyes of Hector meet, 
 The chief so thunders, and so shakes the fleet." 
 Example, 2. The following quotation will explain the* manner in 
 which comparisons operate to depress the primary object. Millon 
 has employed a most expressive and successful figure to vilify the 
 courage and resistance of the fallen angels : 
 
 fc< Gabriel as a herd 
 
 Of goats, or tim'rous flock, together thronged, 
 Drove them before him, thunder-struck, pursued 
 With terrors and with furies, to the bounds 
 And crystal wall of heaven." 
 
 Example 3. Shakspeare could not have devised a more effectual 
 method of exposing the character of a fop, than by contrasting him 
 with his most valorous hero, Hotspur. The passage supplies a per- 
 tinent illustration of the natur,e of contrasts, and of their powers to 
 diminish or depress, Hotspur thus addresses the king about the 
 
164 Comparison. 
 
 prisoners whom he had taken, and whom he had heen accused of 
 
 refusing to surrender. 
 
 a r\jy Liege, I did deny no prisoners ; 
 
 But I remember, when the fight was done, 
 
 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 
 Came there a certain ]ord, neat, trimly dre>s'd, 
 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new re&p'd 
 
 Shav'd like a stubbie-land at harvest home. 
 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 
 And 't'.vixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 
 A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
 
 He gave his nose. And still he smiPd and talk'd ; 
 
 And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 
 Me caird them untaught slaves, unmannerly, 
 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 
 Wuh many holiday and lady terms 
 
 He questioned me. Among the rest demanded 
 
 My prisoners in your Majesty's behali': 
 
 i, al! smarting with my wounds, being gali'd 
 
 To be j>o pestered with a popinjay, 
 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 
 Answer'd negiectingiy ; I know not what; 
 
 lie should, or he should not ; for it made rne mad. 
 
 To see him shine so bright, and smell so sweet, 
 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 
 
 Of guvs, and drums, and wound:-. 
 
 And telling me, the sovereigu'st thing on earth 
 VVas paraiacety for an inward bruise ; 
 A ad that it was a pity, so it was, 
 That this villainous salt-petre should be diggM 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
 So cowardJy ; and but for these vile guns, 
 He would himself have been a soldier." 
 
 Obs. Having explained the nature of comparisons, and illustrated 
 the purposes which they are calculated to serve, to guard the stu- 
 dent against errors, we shall enumerate the capital mistakes com- 
 mitted in the use of these figures ; and then conclude the chapter by 
 some remarks on the propriety of the occasions in which they may 
 be introduced. 
 
 279. Comparison should not be instituted between 
 objects, the resejnblance of which is either obscure, faint, 
 or remote. 
 Example. The following simile was intended by Milton to illus- 
 
Comparison. 165 
 
 Irate the anxiety with which Satan traversed the creation, in order 
 to find out subjects oflfestnictioo and revenge. 
 As when a vulture on Irnau.s breed, 
 Whose snowy ridge the rovingLTartar hounds, 
 Dislodging from a region scarce of prey, 
 To gorge the flesh of iambs or yearling kid?, 
 On hills where Slocks are fed, flies to the ppringa 
 Of Ganges or Hyrlaspes Indian streams, 
 But in his way lights on the barren plains 
 Of Sericana, where Chinese* drive 
 With sails and wind their cany waggons light ; 
 So on this windy sea of land, the fiend 
 Walk'd up and down alone, bent on his prey." 
 Analysis. The objects contained in this comparison are so little 
 known, even to those who claim the character of being learned, and 
 they are so totally unknown to the greater part of readers, that it 
 has (he appearance of a riddle, or a pompous parade of erudition, 
 rather than of a figure to illustrate something less conspicuous and 
 striking than itself. Many of the similes, also, which were frequent 
 and beautiful among the Greeks and Romans, as those drawn from 
 the lion, the tiger, the wolf, the sphinx, the griffin, animals with the 
 characters and properties of which they were supposed to be well 
 acquainted, are retained by modern poets with much impropriety. 
 To the learned they are destitute of novelty, an essential ingredient 
 in every good comparison ; to the unlearned, they are involved in 
 much greater obscurity than the subjects they are brought to illu- 
 minate. 
 
 280, Comparisons should not be deduced from ob- 
 jects which rise much above, or fall much below the pri- 
 mary object ; nor should they suggest feelings discord- 
 <mt with the tone of the emotion which the object 
 prompts. If a comparison soar too high, it throws; 
 ridicule, instead of embellishment, on the object it is 
 intended to adorn ; the latter suffering from contrast. 
 Instead of being elevated by similitude. 
 
 Example 1. The subsequent comparison is reprehensible in this 
 vicsv. Homer paints the noise of opening the great lock of the re- 
 posiu>rjes of Ulysses, by a comparison that borders on burlesque. 
 44 Loud as a bull make? hill and valley ring, 
 
 ?o roar'd the lock when it released the spring." 
 
 281. If, again, a comparison be destitute of. dignity, 
 .some portion of its insignificance is transferred to the 
 
 principal object. 
 
1G6 Comparison. 
 
 Example. Milton describes the surprise of the fallen angels by a 
 -irmlitude which savours of levity. 
 
 " They her.rd, and were abash'd, and up they sprung 
 Upon the wing ; as ujfcen men wont to \vatr.h 
 Od duty, p'eepiu^ fouml by whom they dread, 
 Rouse and bestir themselves ere ueii awake." 
 
 Analysis* Milton did not intend to ridicule the uppearance of fall- 
 en angels by this comparison ; il he had so intended, he would have 
 deserved applause, for every reader feels how successful he would 
 have been. 
 
 Example 2. Houner paints the equality of the contest between the 
 Greeks and Trojans, in a well-fought field, by the equilibrium of a 
 balance destined to weigh wool. 
 
 u As when two scales are charg'd with doubtful load?-, 
 From side to side Ihe (rembling balance nods, 
 fWbife some laborious matron, just and poor, 
 With nice exactness weighs her wooly store), 
 Till pois'd aloft, the resting beam suspends 
 Each equal weight; nor this nor that descends. 
 So stood the war ; till Hector's matchless might, 
 With fates prevailing;, turnVl the scale of flight. 
 Fierce as a whirlwind up the wall he flies, 
 And fires his host with loud repeated cries." 
 
 Scholium. Similes like these not only degrade the principal object, 
 but they hurt it in another point of view, they disgust the imagina- 
 tion by a reversal of that order of ideas which is the most pleasant. 
 In transitions from one object to another, the most agreeable succes- 
 sion is, to rise from the less to the greater. The mind inclines to ex- 
 tend its views, and to enlarge the sphere of its gratifications. In 
 reversing this order of succession, it holds an opposite course. It 
 is obliged (o retrench its views, and to circumscribe its enjoyments ', 
 an operation manifestly unpleasant. 
 
 282. But comparisons are still more censurable, 
 when they prompt feelings discordant with the aim of 
 the principal object, or when they suggest sentiments 
 painful or disagreeable. 
 
 Example. Addison, speaking of the later Greeks 7 poems, in the 
 shape ofeggs, wings, and altars, introduces the following similitude: 
 * c The poetry was to contract or dilate itself according to the mould 
 in which it was cast ; in a word, the verses were to be cramped or 
 extended to the dimensions of the frame prepared for them, and to 
 undergo the fate of those persons whom the tyrant Procrustes used 
 to lodge in his iron bed ; if they were too short, he stretched them 
 on the rack ; and if they were too long, he chopped off a part of their 
 body, till they fitted the couch he had prepared for theiw." 
 
 Analysis. The comparison is abundantly pertinent, but the lone 
 
 
Comparison. 167 
 
 of it is totally discordant with that of the subject which it is brought 
 to illustrate. The pleasantry inspired by the foolish eilV.rs of the 
 minor poets is extinguished by the horror excited at the conduct of 
 Procrustes. 
 
 283. It is to be observed, in the last [lace, that 
 comparisons should never be founded on resemblances 
 which are too obvious and familiar, nor on those which 
 are imaginary. 
 
 Jllus. 1. To compare love to a fire, violent passion to a tempest, 
 Virtue to the sun, or distress to a flower dropping its head, are all 
 similes, either so obvious or so trite, as long ago to have, lost all 
 power of pleasing-. 
 
 Him. 2. In comparisons founded on imaginary resemblances, the 
 literal sense of the comparison bears an analogy to the metaphorical 
 sense of the primary object. Thus chastity is cold metaphorically, 
 and an icicle is cold naturally ; and for this whimsical reason, a 
 chaste woman is compared to an icicle. The best poets have either 
 indulged in, such exceptionable similes, or have inadvertently 
 adopted them. 
 
 Examples. Thus Shakspeare, in Coriolanus : 
 
 " The noble sister of Poplicola, 
 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as an icicle 
 That's curPd by the frost from purest snow. 
 And hangs on Diana's temple.'' 
 
 Example. 2. Lord Bolingbroke supposes a similitude between 
 the discovery of truth, from comparing the accounts of different his- 
 torians, and the production of fire by the collision of flint and steel : 
 "Where their sincerity as to fact is doubtful, we strike out truth by 
 a confrontation of different accounts, as we strike out sparks of fire 
 by the collision of flint and steel." 
 
 Analysis. To illustrate the futility of such comparisons, let us 
 change the expression of the last example, and the shadow of re- 
 semblance will vanish : *' Where historians differ in their accounts 
 of the same transaction, whether prompted by insincerity, or any 
 other reprehensible disposition, we discover the train by comparing 
 them, and making them correct one another, and we generate fire 
 by the collision of flint and steel." As the act of comparing differ- 
 ent authors can scarcely be called collision, so different authors have 
 no analogy with flint and steel. The word strike, used figuratively 
 in the first member of the sentence, and literally in the second mem- 
 ber, seems to have prompted the author to employ this imaginary 
 comparison. 
 
 284. Extended similes may be introduced with ad- 
 vantage on various occasions. They are consistent 
 with abstract disquisitions, and with perfect coolness 
 
168 Comparison* 
 
 and composure of mind. Such gentle appeals to the 
 imagination, even in philosophical composition, al- 
 ways relieve and amuse the reader, and often add illus- 
 tration to pleasure. 
 
 25. There remains another species of composition, 
 in which long and circumstantial comparisons fre- 
 quently appear ; it is that placid and feeble compo- 
 sition which can scarcely be said to instruct, for it 
 contains little research or argument, but which has 
 for its capital aim, to amuse the imagination by a 
 number of pretty or familiar resemblances. 
 
 Obs. Though simiies are often the work of the boldest and most 
 fervid fancy, yet none of the ornaments of language are perhaps 
 more allied to deficiency of genius and taste, both in the writer and 
 the reader. 
 
 286. Long comparisons ^can scarcely be admitted 
 with propriety into other productions than those we 
 have enumerated. History, in the hands of all wri- 
 ters of genius has rejected them with disdain, though 
 it admits short similitudes restricted to the mere prov- 
 ince of illustration. 
 
 Example. Hume thus characterises Shakspeare : u There may 
 remain a suspicion that we over- rate the greatness of his genius, in 
 the same manner as bodies apear more gigantic, by their being dia- 
 proportioned or mis-shaped." 
 
 Obs. If any one chooses to learn from experience the repugnance 
 between the spirit of history and circumstantial comparisons, he 
 may have recourse to Strada, author of the History of the Belgic 
 War. He will there find, that the too frequent use of this ornament 
 diminishes the dignity and the credibility of the performance, and 
 communicates to a relation of truth much of the levity and frivolity 
 of a romance. 
 
 287. Oratory, for a similar reason, repudiates 
 lengthened similes, though it admits short ones, and* 
 abounds with other figures ; particularly interroga- 
 tion, metaphor, and personification. 
 
 I Has. In the more animated orations of Cicero, thefe is scarcely 
 to be found a single comparison ef any extent. Demosthenes, still 
 more ardent, more rarely indulges in the use of them. The mind? 
 of these illustrious orators were too deeply engaged with their mat- 
 ter, to be attentive to beauties calculated only to please. They 
 
aimed at the instruction and conviction of their hearers, not fo cap- 
 tivate their imaginations. They would have been ashamed to ap- 
 pear to have spent their time in ransacking nature for resemblance, 
 however pertinent and brilliant, if not Absolutely necessary. Th-? 
 ardour and penetration of their minds would not have been, perhaps 
 very favourable to their success, had they condescended to hunt 
 for such puerile and declamatory ornaments. 
 
 288. But of all improper occasions on which cir- 
 cumstantial similes can make their appearance, the 
 most improper are the tender scenes of tragedy ; and 
 yet such inconsistencies present themselves in sonir 
 dramatic productions of no small reputation. 
 
 Illus. Addison was endued with much sensibility in respect of 
 sublime sentiments and the peculiarities of manners ; but he seems 
 to have been incapable of conceiving any high degree of pass-ion, 
 His characters, accordingly, in the tragedy of Cato, display m a- 
 ny of those splendid and dignified conceptions which he had im- 
 bibed in perusing the orators and poets of ancient Rome, but a;; 
 savour of the Stoicism of Cato- ; and when they attempt to utter 
 the language of passion, they deviate into declamation, or adopt 
 tr.c- frigid expression of tame spectators. The scene between Lu- 
 cia and Portius, in the third act, will afford ample proof oi the 
 illness of these remarks. 
 
 Example 1. When Portius, from preceding behaviour and ac- 
 knowledgment on the part of Lucia, had every reason to believe 
 he was favoured with her love, and was anticipating the satisfac- 
 tion of such a connection, in the most unexpected change of dispo- 
 sition, she informs him that she had made a vow never to marry 
 him. Never was a man thrown more suddenly from the pinnacle 
 of felicity, into the abyss of despair. How does he express him- 
 self in such a critical situation ? He introduces a comparison in 
 the language of a spectator, descriptive of the attitudeTn which his 
 agitation had placed him, without uttering a single sentiment of 
 passion : 
 
 " Fixt in astonishment, I gaze upon thee, 
 Like one just blasted by a stroke from heaven, 
 Who pants for breath, and stiffens, yet alive 
 In dreadful looks, a monument of woe," 
 Example 2. Lucia replies in the same language of description : 
 
 " Oh ! stop those sounds, 
 
 Those killing sounds ; why dost thou frown upon oae ? 
 My blood runs cold, my heart forgets to heave, 
 And life itself goes out at thy displeasure." 
 Analysis. One would imagine, that the author of the Rehearsal 
 had in view such unnatural composition. But we cannot help be- 
 ing surprised that Addison did not profit by his remarks. " .Now, 
 
170 Comparison. 
 
 fcere she must make a simile," says Mr. Bayes. : * Where's 
 
 the cecessity of that ? replies Mr. Smith. " Because she's sur- 
 prised ; that's a general rule ; you must ever make a simile when 
 you are surprised ; His the oew way of writing." 
 
 289. But although such deliberate and highly fin- 
 ished comparisons are inconsistent with every vio- 
 lent exertion of passion, yet short similes, adapted 
 entirely to the purpqse of illustration, may appear in 
 the most passionate scenes. 
 
 Jllus. There is scarcely a tragedy in any language, in which pas- 
 sion assumes so high a tone, and 'is so well supported, as in the 
 Moor of Venice ; and yet, in one of the most passionate scenes of 
 that passionate tragedy, no reader can hesitate about the propriety 
 of introducing two similes, besides several bold metaphors. 
 
 Example. Othello thus deliberates, in the deepest agitation, a- 
 jbout the murder of his wife, on account of her supposed infidelity : 
 " It is the cause, my soul, 
 
 Let me not name it to you ye chaste stars ! 
 
 it is the cause ; yet I'll not shed her blood, 
 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster ; 
 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 
 Put out the light, and then put out thy light. 
 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 
 I can again thy flaming light restore, 
 
 Should 1 repent ; but once put out thy light, 
 
 Thou cunningest pattern or' excelling nature, 
 
 I know not where is the Promethean heat 
 
 That can thy light relumine. 
 
 When 1 have pluck'd thy rose, 
 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 
 It ne%s must wither." - - 
 
 Analysis. The comparisoas of the skin of Desdemona to snow in 
 point of whiteness, and to alabaster in point of smoothness, are ad- 
 mirably adapted to improve our ideas of her beauty, and conse- 
 quently to heigten the tide of th Moor's distress, in being obliged 
 to put to death, from principles of honour, a woman he had so 
 much reason to admire. The meditation on the resemblance be- 
 tween her life and the light of a taper is striking and melancholy; 
 and the comparison between her death and the plucking of a rose is 
 perfectly concordant with the same sentiments. 
 
 CoroL Short similes, which aid the impression by rendering our 
 conceptions , more vivid aad significant, are therefore consistent 
 with the highest swell of passion. 
 
Personification. 171 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 290. PERSONIFICATION, or Prosopopeia, is a figure 
 which consists in ascribing life and action to inani- 
 mate objects. It has its origin in the influence that 
 imagination and passion have upon our perceptions 
 and opinions. 
 
 Illus. If our perceptions and opinion? were dictated and regu- 
 lated entirely by the understanding, nothing could appear more 
 whimsical and absurd than to cenfound so far one of the capital 
 distinctions in. nature, a? to interchange the properties of animated 
 and inanimated substances, and to ascribe =entiment and action, 
 not only to vegetables, but to earth, fire, water, and every other 
 existence most remote from activity and sensibility. Strange, how- 
 ever, as this practice may appear to renson, such is the ascendan- 
 ancy of imagination and passion, .that nothing is more frequent and 
 meritorious with several sorts of writers, particularly orators and 
 poets. 
 
 Example 1. Antony, in Shak?peare, thus addresses the dead 
 body of Caesar : 
 
 " O pardon me, then bleeding piece of earth ! 
 2. "The sxvord of Gaul,' 11 says Ossian, " trembles at his side^ 
 and longs to glitter in his hand." 
 
 3. u Ye woods and wilds ! whose melancholy gloom 
 Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth 
 The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart." 
 
 Lady Randolph. 
 
 291. Not only the inanimate parts of nature are 
 personified, but the qualities and members of the bo- 
 dy ; even abstract ideas have sometimes conferred 
 upon them the same important prerogative. 
 
 Illus. Thus, hope and /car, love and hatred, the head, the handt^ 
 theyee/, prosperity and adversity, are often addressed as independent 
 living agents. 
 
 Scholium. Human nature is a very compounded constitution, of 
 which the several parts strongly influence one another. All man- 
 kind have remarked the singular power which affection and pas- 
 sion assume over our actions and our opinions. When we wish to 
 believe any relation, or to perform any action, we seldom want 
 reasons to persuade us that our opinions are well founded, and that 
 *vsj conduct is right* Aifection, or interest, guide our notions aud 
 
1 72 Personification. 
 
 behaviour in the affairs of life ; imagination and passion affect the 
 sentiments that we entertain in matters of taste. 
 
 ^92. These faculties suggest a division of personi- 
 fication into two kinds ; the first called descriptrct, 
 which is addressed chiefly to the imagination ; the 
 second, passionate, the object of which is to afford 
 gratification to the passions. 
 
 /llus. 1. The conception thai, we entertain of the former of these 
 
 -. amounts not to conviction that life and intelligence are really 
 
 couiwuaicated to the personified object ; hut the" conception we 
 
 i the latter seem. 1 ? to amount to conviction, at least for a 
 
 me. 
 
 nen TJiomfon personifies the seasons, when Milton calls 
 
 eare/anf^'-scriild, when the ocean is said to smile^ and the 
 
 i to roar, the most delicate imagination is not so far misled 
 
 ide that there is any thing; real in these supposifions. 
 
 ^i'3 figures conjured up entirely to gratify the imagination ; 
 
 and for that reason, examples of this sort are denominated descrip- 
 
 tive r. ^ ; because they are concordant with the tone of 
 
 :ed by description. (lllus. Art. 35.) 
 
 3. But, in two of the instances already quoted, where the per- 
 
 :-o personify are agitated by real passion, when Antony ad- 
 
 dresses the dead body of Caesar ; and Lady Randolph converses with 
 
 *he uoods and wilds ; the mind is affected in a much more sensible 
 
 manner, and conceives for a moment that the deception is corn- 
 
 As soon as passion subsides, and reflection recovers ascend- 
 
 ancy, the delusion disappears, and the fiction is detected. But as 
 
 momentary gratification is highly agreeable, <:Ld even the rt~ 
 
 fl< ctionupon it is attended with pleasure, it is proper it should be 
 
 distinguished from the former specfes of personification ; and for this 
 
 i-jaon it hus been called passionate. 
 
 293. As descriptive personification is derived from 
 .he disposition of the imagination to indulge in such 
 ws of nature and art, as tend most to gratify itself; 
 so life and motion are capital sources of pleasure, in 
 the contemplation of the objects with which we are 
 surrounded. 
 
 Illus. 1. We feel a superior satisfaction in surveying the life of 
 
 ':im!s, than that of vegetables ; and we rec.Kve more gratificatioa 
 
 iu contemplating the life of vegetables, than those parts of nature 
 
 Vv hich ure commonly doomed inanimate. We receite even higher 
 
 t.surf in belioiriin^ those animals of the same species, which are 
 
 - ed with greater decrees of life and motion. 
 
 a word, in ult cicws of uaturo at rest, as ia landscapes; and 
 
Pars on Ifica t io n . IT 3 
 
 in ail ricxs of nature, innr.'iion ; the more numerous the oojects 
 are, either possessed of life, though not in motion, or possessed of 
 hie,'. and actually in motion, the greater, in proportion, is the pow- 
 er of the view to charm the imagination, and to captivate the 
 spectator. It is this tendency of the imaginaion, to delight itself^ 
 not only with the contemplation of life, but of -uebest species of 
 life, that of intelligence, which induces it to extend this property 
 as widely as possible, because, by doing so, it extends the sphere 
 of its own enjoyment. It is not content, accordingly, with the 
 contemplation of all the real life and action which fall under its 
 observation ; it makes vigorous exertions to communicate these 
 valwahlt'. qualities to many other objects to which Providence has 
 denied them ; to vegetables^ to ideas, and even to matter totally 
 inert. 
 
 294. The influence of this figure is so general and 
 powerful as to constitute the very essence of compo- 
 sitions addressed to the imagination. 
 
 IHus. Strip the Seasons of Thomson, and the Georgies of Vir- 
 gil, of this sprightly ornament, and you will reduce the two most 
 beautiful didactic poems the world ever saw, to dry, uninteresting, 
 uni.'-istriictive details of natural history. You cannot open either 
 of these performances without meeting examples; i present the 
 firs? that occurred to me. 
 
 Exam/tie i. Thus the author of the Seasons : 
 
 ;i Now vivid stars shine out, in brightening file?, 
 And boundless JEther glows, till the fair moon 
 Shows her broad visage in the crimson'd East; 
 Now stopping seems to kiss the passing cloud, 
 Now o 7 er the pure cerulean rides sublime. 
 Nature, great parent ! whose directing hand 
 Rolls round the seasons of the changing year, 
 How mighty, how majestic, are thy works ! 
 With what a pleasant dread they swell the soul, 
 That sees astonished, and astonished sings ! 
 You too, ye winds, that now begin to blow 
 With boist'rous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 
 Where are your stores, you viewless beings, say? 
 Where your aerial magazines reserved 
 Against the day of tempest perilous?" 
 2. The elegant Virgiliau muse thus sings : 
 
 c; Interea Dryadum sylvas, saltusque sequamur 
 Intactos, tua Maecenas haud rnollia jussa. 
 Te sine nil altutn, mens inchoat ; en ! agesegncs 
 Rumpe rnoras ; vocat ingenti clamore Citheron 
 Taygetique canes, doinitrixque Epidaurus equoruniy 
 Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit, 11 
 
174 Personification. 
 
 Analysis. Every reader will perceive how much these passages 
 are enlivened by* the personifications with which they abound. 
 Every thing: appears to live and act, and the imagination is charm- 
 ed with a succession of vivid pictures. 
 
 Obferv. Essays of all kinds admit the use of this figure, and even 
 history on some occasions. It is frequently found in oratory, par- 
 ticularly that of the ancients; and it is sometimes discovered in 
 moral discourses among the moderns. 
 
 295. Passionate personification results from the 
 momentary conviction which the violence of passion 
 is qualified to inspire, is that the inanimate objects 
 which engage its attention are endowed with sensi- 
 bility and intelligence. 
 
 Illus. The passions assume the most decisive influence over our 
 opinions and actions, and, on some occasions, totally discompose 
 and perplex the mind. They pull down- reason and conscience 
 from their throne, and usurp such an absolute dominion in the hu- 
 man frame, that the waves of the sea in a storm are not more com- 
 pletely subject to the turbulence of the winds. 
 
 2. If the passions are capable of producing these prodigious ef- 
 fects, we will not hesitate to allow them that sway which is requi- 
 site to account for passionate personification. But in whatever 
 manner we shall account for the phenomenon, we cannot doubt of 
 its reality : and that all passions, when excited to extremity, pos- 
 sess this power, is evident from the high relish which we entertain 
 for such examples, when properly exhibited. 
 
 Example 1. Fear prompts this figure; Milton, speaking of the 
 *&Jing of the forbidden fruit, thus sings : 
 
 " Earth trembled from her entrails, as again 
 In pangs, and nature gave a second groan : 
 Sky low'rd, and muttering thunder, some sad drops 
 Wept at completing of the mortal sin." 
 
 Example 2. Grief in solitude naturally assumes a similar phrase- 
 ology. Thus Almeria, ia the Mourning Bride : 
 
 " O Earth ! behold I kneel upon thy bosom. 
 Open thy bowels of compassion, take 
 Into thy womb the last and most folorn 
 Of all thy race. Hear me, thou common parent 
 I have no parent else. Be thou a mother, 
 And step between me and the curse of him 
 Who was, who was, but is no more a father." 
 3. Attachment utters itself in a similar manner. Sakepeape 
 makes Richard II. vent his feelings to the following purpose, after 
 landing in England from his expedition in Ireland : 
 
 " I weep forjoy 
 To stand upon my kingdom once agaia j 
 
Pe rs onifica tion . 1 7 
 
 Dear earth ; I do salute thee with my hand, 
 Tho' rebels wound thee with their hores' hoofs; 
 Asa long parted mother with her child 
 Plays fondly, with her tears, and smiles in meeting ; 
 So weeping 1 , smiling, greet I thee my earth." 
 
 4. Hatred takes hold of the same species of expression. Satan 
 thus addresses the sun, in Paradise Lost. 
 
 " O thou ! that, with surpassing glory crown'd, 
 Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god 
 Of this new world, at whose siijnt all the stars 
 Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call, 
 But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 
 
 Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 
 That bring to my remembrance from what state 
 ! fell. How glorious once above thy sphere I" 
 
 5. Joy also delights in personification. Adam's exultation at his 
 first interview with Eve is beautifully painted by Milton. All na- 
 ture is alive to share their happiness. 
 
 44 - - - - To the nuptial bow'r 
 
 1 led her, blushing like the morn ; all heaven, 
 And happy constellations, on that hour 
 Shed their selectest influence ; the earth 
 Gave signs of gratulation, and each hill ; 
 Joyous the birds, fresh gales, and gentle airs 
 Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings 
 Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub 
 Disporting! Till the amerous bird of night, 
 Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star 
 On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp." 
 
 6. The impatience of Adam to know his origin, is supposed to 
 prompt the personification of all the objects he beheld, in order to 
 procure information. 
 
 " - - - Thou Sun, said I, fair light ! 
 And thou enlighten'd earth, so fresh and gay .' 
 Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures tell, 
 Tell, if you saw, how came ! thus, how here ?- 
 Scholium. These examples evince, that a great part of the most 
 expressive language of passion is personification, and that it is pe- 
 culiarly adapted to the more interesting scenes of life, where the 
 passions are wound up to the highest pitch. We should indeed 
 naturally expect this consequence from the violent disorder of the 
 mind in which it can be relished ; for without ascending to that de- 
 rangement which infers lunacy and distraction, reason can scarcely 
 offer a greater sacrifice to passion, than to admit the order of na- 
 ture to be reversed, and inanimate existence to be endowed with 
 life and intelligence. 
 
1 76 Personification. 
 
 Example 7. All the best tragedies^ all the most passionate scenes 
 in the most finished epic poems, bear ample testimony to its truth. 
 We shall exhibit only another quotation from the most perfect play 
 of the most complete painter of the language of passion. King 
 Lear, in the height of his distress, personifies, and rails against the 
 elements, which he considers as combined with his daughters to 
 procure his destruction. 
 
 " I tax not you. ye elements, with unkindne.ss, 
 
 I never gave you kingdoms, calPd you children : 
 
 You owe me no subscription ; then let fall 
 
 Your horrible displeasure. Here I stand your brave ; 
 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man I 
 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 
 r l hat have, with two pernicious daughters, joined 
 
 Your hi^h engendered battles 'gainst a head 
 
 So old and white as this." 
 
 298. In treating of gender, (Art. 56. Illus. 3. and 
 4.) we took notice, that the English language pos- 
 sessed a singular advantage in marking personifica- 
 tions ^ by employing the pronouns significant of sex. 
 T:i all other cases, inanimate objects must be denom- 
 inated by the neuter pronoun ; and, in other langua- 
 ges, no distinction of gender can take place in per- 
 sonifications, because the genders of their nouns are 
 invariable. But a writer in English is left at liberty 
 to adopt either the male or fern tie sex ; and it is of 
 some consequence to attend to this circumstance, be- 
 cause improprieties are not uncommon. 
 
 Example. Milton has chosen unsuitable genders for the follow- 
 ing personifications. Of Satan, he sings, 
 a - - - - - N His form 
 Had not lost all her original brightness, 
 Nor appear'd less than archangel ruin'd." 
 
 Analysis. If the personification of the form of Satan was admis- 
 sible, it should certainly have been masculine. A female form, 
 conjoined to the person of a male, seems to approach the ridiculous. 
 (See Anal. Ex. Art. 297.) 
 
 297. A capital error in personific alien , is to deck 
 the figure with fantasiic arid trifling circumstances. 
 A practice of this sort dissolves the potent charm 
 which enchants and deceives the reader, and either 
 leaves him dissatisfied, or excites, perhaps, his risi- 
 bility, 
 
Personification. 177 
 
 Example. Shakspeare will furnish an example of this sort. 
 u She shall he dignified with this, hi<>h honour, 
 To hear ray lady's train ; lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
 And of so great a favor growing proud, 
 JDisduin to root the summer smelling flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly." 
 
 Analysis. Mere the earth, which we usually call " our mother," 
 (Ex. 2. Art. 295.) is degraded by being termed " base." (Ex. 3. 
 Art. 205.) On the supposition that the earth is a person, it was 
 
 competent to the poet to give her lips 4i to steal a kiss." 
 
 But then to fancy (he earUi " growing proud" of this u favour," 
 and disdaining u to root the summer smelling flower," is a rid- 
 ieuie of all figurative communication ; since, as flowers would em- 
 bellish her bosom, she prefers, to the pomp of dress, the pleasure 
 of a kiss. But we may surmise that the poet personifies the earth 
 as a male, since it is rather a masculine prerogative u to steal a 
 kis?." Now, " so great a favour," in place of cooling his heart, 
 wn? calculated to inflame it ; therefore to imagine that the effect 
 woiiKl be " to make rough winter everlastingly," murks something 
 more than a defective taste in the poet. 
 
 298. Another error, frequent in descriptive per- 
 Bonifications ) consists in introducing them when the 
 subject of discussion is destitute of dignity, and the 
 reader is not prepared to relish them. 
 
 Example. One can scarcely peruse the following quotations with 
 ^otiposure. Thomson thus personifies and connects the bodily ap- 
 i't-tites, and their gratifications, 
 
 "Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst 
 Produce the mighty bowl ; 
 Nor wanting is the brown October drawn 
 Mature and per !?..;, frcm his dark retreat 
 Of thirty years ; and i.-ow his honest front 
 Flames in the light refulgent." 
 
 Example. 2. Shakspeare, sometimes great in errors as in beau- 
 "ties, far outdoes Thomson. Speaking of Antony and Clecpatru : 
 
 i: - - . The city cast 
 
 Ms people out upon her; and Antony, 
 
 Enthroned ia the market-place, did sit alone, 
 
 Whistling to the air, which but for vacancy 
 
 Had gone to gnze on Cleopatra too, 
 
 And made a gap in nature." 
 
 >:'f ? . So also, addressing the several parts of one's 
 body, as if they were animated, is not congruous to 
 the dignity of passion. 
 
178 Allegory. 
 
 Example. For (his reason, we must condemn the following pas- 
 sage, in Pope's, very beautiful poem of Eloise* to Abelard : 
 u Dear fatal name ! rest ever unreveaPd, 
 Nor pass these lips in holy silence seaPd. 
 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, 
 Where, mixM with God's, his lov'd idea lies : 
 Ohl write it not, my hand ! his name appears 
 Already written : blot it out my tears I" 
 
 Analysis. Here are several different objects and parts of the bo 
 dy personified ; and each of them is addressed or spoken to; let us 
 consider with what propriety. The first is, the name of Abelard : 
 " Dear fatal name ! rest ever," &c. To this, no reasonable objec- 
 tion can be made. For, as the name of a person often stands for 
 the person himself, and suggests the same ideas, it can besr this 
 personification with sufficient dignity. Next, Eloise speaks to her- 
 self; and personifies her heart for this purpose: u Hide it, my heart, 
 within that close," Ac. As the heart is a dignified part of the hu- 
 man frame, and is often put for the mind or affections, this also 
 may pass without blame. But, when from her heart she passes to 
 her hand, and tells her hand not to write his name, this is forced 
 and unnatural ; a personified hand is low, and not in the style of 
 true passion ; and the figure becomes still worse, when, in the last 
 place, she exhorts her tears to blot out what her hand had written. 
 *' Oh ! write it not," &c. There is, in .these two lines, an air of 
 epigrammatic conceit, which native passion never suggests ; and 
 which is altogether unsuitable to the tenderness which breathes 
 through the rest of that excellent poem. 
 
 300. In prose compositions, this figure requires to 
 be used with still greater moderation and delicacy. 
 The same liberty is not allowed to the imagination 
 there, as in poetry. The same assistances cannot be 
 obtained for raising passion to its proper height by 
 th6 force of numbers, and the glqw of style. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ALLEGORY. 
 
 301. ALLEGORY is a species of writing, in which 
 one thing is expressed, and another thing is under- 
 
 * Her country calls her Eloise, Pope Eloisa : I write the orthogra- 
 phy of either. 
 
Allegory. 179 
 
 stood. The analogy is intended to be so obvious, 
 ;hat the reader cannot miss the application, but he is 
 Jeft to draw the proper conclusion for his own use. 
 
 Illus. It is for this reason employed chiefly when a writer de- 
 sires to communicate some important intelligence or advice, but is 
 not permitted to deliver it in p.'ain terms. It is also used for orna- 
 ment, or to convey instruction so as to interest the imagination, 
 and flatter the understanding, by giving the reader the appearance 
 of instructing himself. 
 
 Example 1. A finer and more correct allegory is not to be found 
 than the following, in which a vineyard is made to represent God's 
 people the Jews. l; Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou 
 hast cast out the heathen, and planted it. Thou preparedst room 
 before it, and didst cause it fo take deep root, and it filled the 
 land. The hills were covered with tue shadow of it, and the boughs 
 thereof were like the goodly cedars She sent out her boughs unto 
 the sea, and her branches unto the river. Why hast thou then 
 broken down her hedges, so that all they which pass by the way do 
 pluck her ? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild 
 beast of the field doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O 
 God of hosts ; look down from heaven, and, behold, and visit 
 this vine ; and the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted, and 
 the branch that thou madest strong for thyself."* 
 
 2. Prior's Henry and Emma contains another beautiful example, 
 :n which human life, is the primary object, and a voyage also the al- 
 legorical one. Any reader of discernment will easily trace the ap- 
 plication. Emma addresses Henry : 
 
 " Did I but purpose to embark with <hee 
 On the smooth surface of a summer's sea, 
 While gentle zephyrs play in prosperous gales, 
 And fortune's favour fills the swelling sails, 
 But would forsake the ship, and make the shore, 
 "When the winds whistle, and the tempests roar ? 
 No, Henry, no." 
 
 Scholium. From these examples it will appear, that allegory 
 partakes of the nature of metaphor and comparison in respect of rc- 
 Mrnblance, though it is not altogether a resemblance of the same 
 kind. In allegory no supposition is made, even for a moment, that 
 the primary object is converted into the resembling one ; as is done 
 in the case of metaphor. Nor is the similitude between the prima- 
 ry and resembling object pointed out, as is performed when com- 
 parisons are employed. We are left to discover the application, 
 and to make the proper inference. We are satisfied with discern- 
 ing the general purpose of the allegory, without inquiring with 
 minuteness into the interpretation of every particular circunastauice, 
 
 * Psalm Ixxx, 
 
180 Allegory. 
 
 because circumstances are sometimes added, to adorn or complete 
 the picture, without being intended to infer any application. Alle- 
 gory differs from metaphor and ?imife in another point. .A IN 
 fiie subjects of allegory are personified ; and these consist sometimes 
 of things mamma mes oi' abstract ideas. Few metaphors 
 
 or similes admit personification. 
 
 302. Allegories may be divided into three kinds : 
 first, those calculated for ornament : secondly, those 
 designed for 'instruction : and, thirdly those intended 
 both to adorn and instruct. 
 
 Example. Akenside employs a beautiful allegory, of the orna- 
 mental kind, to communicate a very familiar sentiment, that indus- 
 try is necessary to acquire reputation in every line of life, though 
 some men are more susceptible of culture than others. 
 
 - - . . . . " In vain, 
 
 Without fair Culture's kind parental aid, 
 
 Without enlivening suns and genial show'rs, 
 
 And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 
 
 The tender plant should raise its blooming head, 
 
 Or yield the harvest promised in its spring. 
 
 Nor yet will every soil with equal stores 
 
 .Repay the tiller's labour, or attend 
 
 His will obsequious, whether to produce 
 
 The olive or the laurel." 
 
 Analysis. The chief merit of this example appears to be situated 
 entirely in the expressiou. 
 
 303. The principal purpose of the second sort of 
 allegories, is to communicate instruction. 
 
 Example. Quinctilian informs us, (lib. 8.) that the following reply 
 of the Lacedaemonians, to Philip, king of Macedon, demanding com- 
 pliance with some unreasonable requisition, and threatening hostili- 
 ties in case of reluctance, was famous over all Greece. To the re- 
 quisition of Philip, the Lacedaemonians returned this laconic, answer, 
 that " Dionysius was at Corinth." 
 
 Analysis. Philip knew well the history of Dionysius, and they 
 left him to make the application. You will understand the import 
 of this answer,, when you are informed, that Dionysius was king of 
 Syracuse, in Sicily ; that he was banished from his country and 
 crown, on account of his tyranny ; and that to procure subsistence, 
 he had been obliged to submit to the humiliating employment of 
 teaching a school ia Corinth. 
 
 304. Besides these specimens of allegory, the an- 
 cients frequently employ a moral species, in order to 
 recommend the principles and practice of virtue to 
 
Allegory. 1 8 1 
 
 the imagination, as well as to the understanding. The 
 moderns sometimes follow them in this. 
 
 Illus. The address and knovvledgt; of human nature displayed by 
 this contrivance merit much commendation. 1 he authors ol an- 
 rient Greece, in ail popular writings, both political and morai, 
 discover much attachment to allegorical composition. The Socra- 
 tic morals, of which Plato and Xcnophon have iul't us so many spe- 
 cimens, abound with figurative allusion* to the arts and occupations 
 of life ; and the greater part of the arguments they contain arc dedu- 
 ced from analogy. All these specimens have much merit; but the 
 writings which we have particularly in view, are the beautiful *3lle-- 
 gory of Prodwtu, preserved by Xenophon, in his Memorabilia So- 
 cratis, and the pleasant picture of human life exhibited in the Tabu- 
 lature of Cebes. 
 
 305. THE ALLEGORY OF PRODICUS proceeds upon 
 the supposition that Hercules, before he undertook 
 the career of life, retired to deliberate, whether he 
 should take the route which conducted him to the man- 
 sions of Pleasure, or the path which led to the temple 
 of Virtue. 
 
 Illus. In this critical situation, he is accosted by the goddesses of 
 these temples, under the allegorical names of Minerva and- Venus, 
 who by turns persuade him to accompany them to their respective 
 abodes. The person, the dress, the manners of the goddesses, are 
 picturesque and characteristic. .Pleasure addresses him first, and 
 hastens her pace to anticipate her rival. She iuvites him to partake 
 all those enjoyments, which the most luxuriant imagination caa 
 figure ; and her rival listens with patience till she enumerates the 
 gratifications she had to bestow. Virtue then accosts him in a 
 modest, but decisive tone. She acquaints him, that no true fame, 
 happiness, or gratification, is to be procured without great designs 
 and good deeds ; and that merit alone can secure the respect and 
 rewards both of gods and men. Having explained her views, it 
 Was necessary she should expatiate on the vanity and futility of the 
 enjoyments promised by Pleasure ; and the author has admirably 
 preserved the delicacy of the piece, and the modesty of Virtue, bjr 
 making Pleasure interrupt the speech of her rival, and begin the at* 
 tack. Pleasure attempts to infer, from the confession of Virtue 
 herself, the labour and fatigue which awaited her votaries. Virtue 
 retorts with severity and justice. She triumphs over her rival; 
 and prompts Hercules to undertake these great and meritorious 
 achievements, wkich have rendered him the object and admiration 
 olf ail ages. 
 
 306. THE TABULATURE OF CEBES is constructed 
 on a larger scale, and leads to allusions much more 
 
 R 
 
1 82 Allegory. 
 
 particular. It proceeds from the supposition, that 
 some uncommon painting, alluding to the rarity of the 
 knowledge and practice of virtue, of which few people 
 understood the meaning, had been suspended in the 
 temple of Saturn. 
 
 Illus. 1. The painting consisted of three compartments ; one 
 very large, comprehending the other two. The first compartment 
 represented human lire, into which all men enter ; the other two 
 compartments denote the division of men into good and bad, the 
 larger containing the bad, and the lesser the good. Error and igno- 
 rance appear at the gate of the first compartment, and of their'cup 
 s)l men drink some portion. Prejudices, predilections, and pleas- 
 ures, next succeed in the garb of harlots, to seduce ; and by them, 
 also all mankind are, more or less, misled. Jf they are followed too 
 far, they conduct their votaries into the larger compartment, and 
 consign them to Extravagance, Luxury, Avarice, or Flattery, who 
 soon commit them to Sorrow, Remorse, Punishment, and Despair. 
 After wandering for some time in the regions of Folly, their ruin is 
 completed, unless, by accident, they encounter the great physician 
 Repentance, who, if they are willing to submit to his directions, un- 
 dertakes their cure, and finally conducts them to the small compart- 
 ment, and the happy abodes of Wisdom. 
 
 2. But though some men reach the regions of Wisdom by this 
 route, it is not the most potent path ; that path, much less frequent- 
 ed than it ought to be, stretches up an eminence so steep, that 
 many travellers approach and survey it, but never attempt to 
 surmount it. On thi, Temperance and Moderation have occupied 
 stations, and are ready to succour every candidate who needs their 
 assistance. Fortitude and Activity soon join them, after ascending 
 the eminence, and lead them to the abodes of Wisdom and Happiness. 
 Here they meet with Prosperity, Tranqullity, Satisfaction, and 
 Health, in the first place ; and afterwards, with a great group of 
 the most pleasant and happy companions, Integrity, Contentment, 
 Friendship, Knowledge, Wealth, Dignity, Fame. They are, in a 
 word, rendered superior to the greater part of those misfortunes, 
 which so much disturb the happiness of mankind ; and expe- 
 rience as much of the enjoyments of gods as is competent to mortal 
 men. 
 
 Carol. Such views of human life are, extremely captivating, par- 
 ticularly to young minds. They array virtue in the most charming 
 colours. They engage the imagination, and even the passions, OD 
 her side, and form the most powerful bulwark against the encroach- 
 ment of Iniquity and Folly. 
 
 307. The third sort of allegories are calculated 
 both for ornament and instruction ; and of this species 
 may be accounted the allegorical personifications 
 
Allegory. 183 
 
 which are often introduced into epic poetry, and 
 sometimes into tragedy. 
 
 Example. 1. No picture can more forcibly impress the' imagina- 
 tion, no reasoning can so eiicctuaJjy excite the aversion of the heart, 
 as the aileffories of Sin and Death, m Paradise Lost. The poet 
 pninl?, fir=T3in, and then Death, guarding the gates of heii at the 
 Jail rJ'Adam and Eve. 
 
 4 < Before the gates there sat, 
 On either side, a formidable shape. 
 The one seern'd woman to the waist, and fair, 
 But ended foul in many a scaly fold 
 Voluminous and vast, a serpent armM 
 With mortal sting ; about her middle round 
 A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing 1 , bark-d 
 With wide Cerberean mouths, full loud, and rung 
 A hideous peal ; yet when they list, would creep 
 If bu^ht disturbed their noise, into her womb, 
 And 'kennel there ; yet there still barked and howPd 
 Within, ULsetn." 
 
 " The other shape. 
 
 If shape it might be calPd that shape had none, 
 Or substance might be calPd that shadow seeru'd, 
 For each seern'cl either ; black it stood as night, 
 Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 
 And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head 
 Trie likeness of a kingly crown had on."' 
 
 Analysi.s. These allegorical figures are strongly marked, and the 
 resemblance of their characters to their effects produced in life is too 
 obvious to need any comment. The picture whit h Virgil exhibits of 
 Fame, in the fourh JUneid, possesses similar nieiit, arid is deduced 
 j'roirt the s.ime principles**. 
 
 Example. 2 The subsequent picture of Slander resembles that of 
 
 ' But VirgiP? Fame is a mixed allegorical composition, which will 
 stand the te^t ci' criticism in poetry ; because, in writing, the alle- 
 gory can en- '.ingui?hed from the historical part. No per- 
 son mistakes VirgiPs Fame for a real being. Nor is the Tabuiaturc 
 of Cebes considered otherwise than a supposed picture. But in the 
 History of Mary de Medicis, painted in some pictures, which (in 
 1817) I have seen, decorating the gallery of the Louvre, a perpetual 
 jumble of real and allegorical personages, that produce a discord- 
 ance of parts, and ac obscurity upon the whole, is before the specta- 
 tor's eyes. Real personage?, Nereids and Tritons, fiction and 
 reality, are mixed in the same group; a monstrous composition, 
 only outdone by Louis XIV. 's enormous chariot, intended to repre- 
 sent that of the sun, surrounded with men and women, representing 
 the four ages of the world, the celestial signs, the seasons, the 
 hoursj fee. ! , 
 
284 Allegory. 
 
 Fame in Virei!, and is drawn with ?reat vigour of imagination, 
 and much allegorical merit. It is found in Shakspeaie's Cyiu- 
 beline. 
 
 " No, 'tis Slander, 
 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue 
 Qutvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth helie 
 All corners of the world, kings, queens, and states, 
 Maids, matrons ; nay, the secrets of the grave." 
 
 308. All the great poets have indulged in this spe- 
 cies of figure. Homer personifies prayers, and con- 
 verts them into amiable beings, under the feigned ap- 
 pellation of " Jove^s daughters," who are concern- 
 ed for the happiness of mankind ; and recommend 
 attachment to the worship and service of the gods, 
 as the best means of recovering or preserving that 
 happiness. 
 
 Scholia 1. Allegory is not. very common, either for purposes of 
 ornament or instruction. An extraordinary share both of ingenuity 
 and imaghmtioD is requisite to ensure success ; and the rising 
 genius, of generous heart, and promising parts, who feels an inclin- 
 ation for allegorical writing, must guard against quaint ornaments, 
 and the extending of allusions to too great minuteness. Let him 
 iilways study brevity, and remember, that resemblances which 
 have cost him much time to devise, are likely to cost the reader as 
 much lime to perceive ; the consequences of which need no illus- 
 tration. 
 
 2. As allegories are in a great measure the work of imagination, 
 they cannot be admitted into any species of writing: much calculated 
 to interest the passions. All the arguments against, long metaphors, 
 apply \viih double force against aiVgoriea of the second and third 
 fc/arf*, which seldom ran be formed with suilicient brevity for their 
 admission. But the first species of allegories, which elevate and 
 adorn a common sentiment, are of general use ; and in employing 
 them, care should be taken that the phraseology be all figurative, 
 that the attributes of the primary and the secondary subject be not 
 confounded and interchanged. 
 
 Example 1. The most correct writers are sometimes faulty in 
 this particular ; even Fforace and Boiieau are not exceptionable, 
 Horace, io the following example, applies f wo epithets to the 
 subject of the allegory, which can be applicable only to the primary 
 subject, 
 
 u Ferus et Cupido, 
 
 semper ardentes a( uens sagittus. 
 
 Cote cruenta. 1 * 
 
Apostrophe. 1 85 
 
 Analysis. " Ardentes" is intelligible when applied to love, the 
 primary subject, which in a figurative sense, is often said to burn ; 
 but it has no* meaning when applied to an arrow, which is never sup- 
 posed to be hot. " Cruenta," also, may be significant figurative^- 
 of the distress of unsuccessful love, but nobody ever heard of a 
 bloody whetstone. No admirer of Horace would defend him, by 
 alledging the epithet was proper, because the stone made sh*rp the 
 arrow which drew the blood. Horace himself would have betft 
 ashamed of such a defence. * 
 
 Example 2. Boileau has introduced a strange mixture oTfigura- 
 live and literal signification iu ifae subsequent example : . 
 
 " Pour moi sur cette mer, qu'ici has nous courons 
 Je songe a me pouvoir d'esquif et d'avirons 
 A regler mes de.-irs, a prevenif Porange, 
 Et sauver s'il se peut, ma raison du naufrage." 
 
 , Analysis. These lines exhibit human life under the notion of a 
 voyage at sea ; but instead of adhering to this view of the subject, 
 the author changes the allegorical to the literal meaning, and, with 
 abundance of inconsistency, speaks of preparing a boat and oars, to 
 Regulate his passions, and to save his reason from shipwreck. Rea- 
 son can be shipwrecked figuratively only. The hypothesis, there- 
 fore, of a man's understanding taken up at sea, and saved from 
 drowning in a storm, is somewhat more ridiculous ; it is not a little 
 absurd. (Ste Analysis Ex. 3. Art. 260.) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 309. APOSTROPHE is a turning off from the regular 
 course of the subject, to address some person 01* 
 thing. Apostrophe, derived from the same source 
 with personification, is the joint work of imagination 
 and passion, but demands not generally so bold an 
 exertion of those faculties as personification. (Art. 
 290.) 
 
 Illus. 1. It is commonly satisfied with addressing living objects 
 that are absent, or dead objects with which we are familiar while 
 they were in life. Some of its boldest efforts exhaust the essence 
 of personification, and call up and address the inanimate objects of 
 nature. 
 
 2. A well-chosen comparison, an extended naetaphor 3 or allegory, 
 R2 
 
186 Apostrophe. 
 
 will p-ease both the imagination and the passion?, when greatly- agit- 
 ated. But let the passions rie to violence, arid the gratifications of 
 the imagination will yield them no satisfaction. 
 
 f>. On this account. APOSTROPHES addressed to the imagination, 
 art frequently extended to considerable length, and are not by be- 
 ing so the less agreeable ; while those addressed to the passions 
 must al! be short, to correspond to the desultory and distracted con- 
 dition of the mind. 
 
 310. Our arrangement, then, of examples, will 
 naturWy fall into two classes ; first, those more length- 
 ened and picturesque apostrophes, in which the pleas- 
 ure of the imagination has chiefly been consulted : 
 and, secondly, those expressive of the violence of pas- 
 sion. 
 
 311. The bold and vigorous genius of Ossian de- 
 lights in this figure, and affords many beautiful exam- 
 ples of the first species. 
 
 Example. Mis address to the moon, is one of the most pleasant 
 pictures of this sort, which, perhaps, any language can supply. It 
 excites melancholy emotion, and charms the fancy, but it aims not 
 to rouse strong passion. 
 
 " Daughter of heaven, fair art thou 4 the silence of thy face is 
 pleasant : thou comest forth in loveliness ; the star<- attend thy blue 
 steps in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O Moon ! and 
 brighten their dark-brown sides. Who is like thee in heaven, 
 daughter of the night ? The stars are ashamed in thy presence, and 
 turn aside their sparkling eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy 
 course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows ? Hast thou 
 thy hall like Ossian ? Dwellest thou in the shadow of grief ? 
 Have thy sisters fallen from heaven ? and are they who rejoiced 
 with the at night no more ? Yes, they have fallen, fair light! arid 
 often dost thou retire to mourn. But thou thyself shalt one night 
 fai! and leave thy blue path in heaven. The stars will then lift 
 their heads ; they who in thy presence were astonished will rejoice." 
 
 Analysis. The solution of the change of the moon, founded on the 
 opinion that she retired from her course to lament the loss of her 
 sisters, adds sympathy to the picture, and captivates the heart 
 from the resemblance between her melancholy situation and that of 
 the poet. In this example, the objects are striking, and tender, and 
 elevated, and excite correspondent emotions in the mind, but they 
 cannot be said to agitate it with passion. 
 
 312. The apostrophes of the second class are the 
 offspring of deep agitation; and the subsequent in- 
 stances will illustrate the nature of their influence and 
 operation. 
 
Apostrophe. 187 
 
 Example. In the tragedy, of Douglas, Lady Randolph thus ac- 
 counts for the loss of her son : 
 
 i; That very night in which my son was horn, 
 My nurse, the only confident 1 had, 
 Set out with him to reach her sister's house ; 
 But nurse nor infant have I ever seen, 
 Nor heard of Anna, since that fatal hour. 
 My murdered child ! had thy fond toother fearM 
 The loss of thee she had loud fame defied, 
 Despised her father's rage, her father's grief, 
 And wander'd with thee through the scorning world." 
 Analysis. The apostrophe of the mother to the child, as soon as 
 it was mentioned the exaggerated supposition, that the unfortunate 
 nurse had murdered it, and made her escape to save henself the 
 resolution of the mother to have run every risk, had she suspected 
 any part of the misfortune that happened are all the expressions 
 of nature, and of genuine passion. 
 
 3 1 3. A principal error in the use of apostrophe, is 
 to deck the object addressed with affected ornaments. 
 It is by these ornaments that authors relinquish the 
 expression of passion, and substitute in its stead the 
 language of fancy. 
 
 Example. What opinion will the reader of taste form of the fol- 
 lowing quaint and laboured address of Cleopatra to the serpent, 
 with which she was about to poison herself. It is taken from Dry- 
 tetf* All for Love. 
 
 " Welcome, thoa kind deceiver, 
 Thou best of thieves, who, with an easy key, 
 Dost open life, and, unperceived hy us, 
 Ev'n steal us from, ourselves, discharging so 
 Death's dreadful ofike, better than himself, 
 Touching our limbs so gent!y into slumber, 
 That Death stands by, deceiv'd by his own image, 
 And thinks himself but sleep."' 
 
 Analysis. Such conceits would scarcely be endured in the most 
 cool descriptive poem. They cannot be supposed mere improper 
 than where they are. They resemble some of the obscure and 
 forced allusions of allegorical writers, which the reader has diincul- 
 ty to understand. 
 
 314. Another frequent error is, to extend this 
 figure to too great length. The language of violent 
 passion is always concise, and often abrupt. It 
 passes suddenly from one object to another. It often, 
 glances at a thought, starts from it, and leaves it UB 
 
188 Apostrophe. 
 
 finished. The succession of ideas is irregular, and 
 connected by distant and uncommon relations. 
 
 CoroL On all these accounts, nothing is more unnatural than 
 long speeches uttered by persons under the influence of strong pas- 
 sions. Yet this error occurs in several tragic poets of no inferior 
 reputation. 
 
 315. Apostrophe frequently appeared in the ora- 
 tory of antiquity. Demosthenes abounds in a figure 
 so bold, and so suitable to the ardent tone of his own 
 inind. 
 
 Illus. He often turns abruptly from the judges and his argument t 
 and addresses himself to his antagonist, or the person accused. He 
 seldom, however, personifies an inanimate object. 
 
 316. Cicero also affords many examples of every 
 species of apostrophe. 
 
 Illus. 1. In his Oration for Ligarius, be addresses Tubero, the 
 prosecutor, with vehemence, and paints in strong colours the crimi- 
 nality of hi? conduct, the partiality and animosity of his intentions. 
 He personifies and addresses the sword of Tubero, and puts him in 
 mind of being in arms against Caesar at Fharsalia, ifLigarius, 
 whom he accused of treason, had borne arms against Caesar in 
 Africa.* 
 
 2. In his speech, against Catiline in the senate, one of the most 
 ardent and eloquent of all his orations, he bursts forth abruptly 
 like a torrent, with an apostrophe to Catiline himself, who had 
 the impudence to enter the senate-house, while the subject of his 
 conspiracy wa.s to be debated. 
 
 3. Never did an oration commence in a higher tone ; and it 
 needed all the genius and fire of one of the greatest orators to sup- 
 port a correspondent spirit in the sequel of the speech. Cicero, 
 however, effected it. He was deeply interested in the suppression 
 of a conspiracy, which his office of consul, his honour as an orator, 
 and the safety of his country, demanded of him. He was in. the 
 prime of life, elated with the highest fame of civil honours and ora- 
 torical ability ; all concurred to prompt this great effort of elo- 
 quence. 
 
 317. Apostrophe has seldom made its appearance 
 in modern oratory, except with some French preach- 
 
 * " Quid enim districtus ille tuu<* in acie Pbarsalia gladius agebat ? 
 cujus latus ilieinucro petebat ? qui sensus erat anoorurn ? quse tua 
 men?? oculi,' manus ? ardor aninai f Quid cuniebas ? quid outa- 
 
189 
 
 er^, and some enthusiasts of that character among 
 ourselves. 
 
 Illus. A French orator may address the cross of Christ, and im- 
 plore the patronage and intercession of St. Louis with success, on 
 account of the peculiarity of the national faith of his countrymen; 
 but such eloquence could expect.no better reception in this island 
 than ridicule or contempt. 
 
 318. The British House of Parliament are at 
 present the best theatres in the world for the display 
 of eloquence ; but many causes concur to render its 
 appearances there less bold than it was among the 
 ancients. 
 
 Illus. The abstract political or commercial nature of a great 
 part of the subjects on which it is employed; the ambition of 
 modern orators to reduce legislation and common law to the cool 
 principles of equity and justice ; their superior attention, on that 
 account, to facts and arguments, than to the phraseology and 
 figures of pathetic eloquence ; and, finally, the insensibility, per- 
 haps, of British constitutions, and their greater indifference, on 
 that account, to the pleasures of imagination and passion ; all co- 
 operate to repress the more passionate exhibitions of oratory. 
 
 319. At Athens and Rome, the existence of the 
 state sometimes depended on an oration ; the most 
 successful speaker was sure to gain every honour and 
 advantage the public had to bestow. 
 
 Illus. He addressed large bodies of men, who had no established 
 principles to direct their judgments, little knowledge of the theory 
 of government, little impartiality, little discernment, little expe- 
 rience. Even the senate of Rome in latrr times, hardly merited a 
 better character, and the assemblies of the people deserved a much 
 worse one. They were factious, fickle, ignorant, partial, inter- 
 ested, and violent. They had no guides, but their appetites aod 
 passions, and the orator?, to manage them, were obliged to impress 
 these guides. 
 
 Curol. Apostrophe is, on the whole, a figure too passionate to 
 gain much admittance into any species of composition, except 
 poetry and oratory. 
 
190 Hyperbole. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HYPERBOLE. 
 
 320. HYPERBOLE is also the offspring of the influ- 
 ence cf imagination and passion over our opinions, and 
 its purpose is to exalt our conceptions of an object 
 beyond its natural bounds. 
 
 lllus. 1. Our passions magnify the qualities of objects to which 
 they are attached, and diminish the qualities of those they disap- 
 prove or dislike. We exaggerate the good qualities of our friend?, 
 and under-rate those of our enemies. We estimate higher a pos- 
 session of our own, than a similar property of our neighbor. It is 
 not insincerity that actuates us, and prompts us to impose on oth- 
 ers while we are conscious of the error. Our attachment to every 
 thins; connected with ourselves, dictates the partial judgments we 
 form of it ; the want ot that attachment with respect to the things 
 of our neighbor, or the opposite of it, aversion, with respect to the 
 thing* of our enemy, make our opinions of them, in like manner, 
 deviate from truth. 
 
 2. The purpose of hyperbole, is to gratify these predelict 'ions and 
 antipotfties* which it is impossible to eradicate from the minus of 
 the most enlightened part of mankind, and which often extinguish, 
 in the less cultivated part, every spark of justice and candour*. 
 
 321. This figure is peculiarly graceful and pleas- 
 ant, when we C!Q not accurately perceive thelimits of 
 the subject we exaggerate ; because we most easily 
 believe a thing is very great, when we do not know 
 exactly how great it is. 
 
 lllus. Hyperbole, in such a case, resembles the beautiful decep- 
 tion of the risins; moon, when her orb appears uncommonly large, 
 because seen indistinctly through ail the mysts and vapours of tbo 
 horizon ; or that, other deception in the phenomena of vision, by 
 rhich a small object, placed in a shade, passes for a great one situ- 
 ated at a distance. 
 
 322. All discourse and writing admit hyperbole. 
 Though the offspring of the most violent passion, it is 
 also consistent with composure of mind. It some- 
 
 * " Est autem in nsu vulgo quoque, et inter inerudifos, et apud 
 rusticos ; videlicet, quod natura e?t omnibus augendi res vel minu- 
 endi cupiditas iusila, iiec quisquam vero contentus est" Quinctil- 
 ian. 
 
Hyperbole. 191 
 
 times affords high enjoyment to the imagination, and 
 indulges this faculty with the most magnificent exhi- 
 bitions of nature and art. It shines, however, with 
 most conspicuous lustre in the higher kinds of poe- 
 try and oratory. It appears chiefly in tragedy during 
 the first transports of passion ; and in all these cases, 
 it may be employed to diminish, as well as to mag- 
 nify. 
 
 Example. 1. The fear of an enemy augments the conceptions of 
 the size and prowess of their leader. Thus the scout in Ossian, 
 seized with this propensity, delineates a dreadful picture of the en- 
 emy's chief. 
 
 u I saw their chief, tall as a rock of ice ; his spear, the blasted fir ; 
 his shield, the rising moon ; he sat on the shore, like a cloud of mist 
 on the hill." 
 
 Example 2. Admiration of the happiness of successful love exag- 
 gerates conceptions of the lover. Shakspeare supposes the eleva- 
 tion of the lover's mind so great as to counteract the natural laws 
 of gravity respecting his body. 
 
 " A lover may bestride the Gossamer, 
 That idles in the wanton summer air, 
 And yet not fall so light is vanity." 
 
 Example 3. Horror of treason and oppression prompts the naost 
 frightful notions of the traitor and oppressor. Cicero, on this feel- 
 ing exhibits a striking view of the enormities of Antony. u Quae 
 Charybdis tarn vorax ? Charybdira dico? Quaesifuit animal unum, 
 Oceanus, medius fidius, vix videtur tot res tarn dissipatas, tarn dis- 
 tantibus in locis positas, tarn cito absorbere potuisse." 
 
 Example 4. The irksome feeling suggested by the sight of lean 
 cattle tempts us to conclude, that the parts of their bodies have no 
 bond of union but the ;kin. Virgil accordingly says of such anim- 
 als, by way of diminution, 
 
 " Vix ossibus haerent." 
 
 Example 5. Envy also diminishes its object ; and upon this prin- 
 ciple Shakspeare introduces Cassius vilifying the behaviour of Ce- 
 sar in a fever. 
 
 u He had a fever when he was in Spain ; 
 
 Arid when the fit was on him, 1 did mark 
 
 How he did shake. >Tis true, this god did shake ; 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly ; 
 
 And that same eye whose bend did awe the world, 
 
 Did lose its lustre ; I did hear him groan, 
 
 Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him, and write hiss-peaches m their books, 
 
192 Hyperbole. 
 
 Alas ! it cry'd Give me some drink, Titimus, 
 
 As a sick girl." 
 
 Example 6. The resentment of Hamlet against the ignominious 
 marriage of his mother, makes him Itsstn the time she had remained 
 a widow : 
 
 " That it should come to this ! 
 
 But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not two. 
 Within a month, 
 
 A little month, or e'er those shoes were old, 
 
 With which she followed my poor father's body, 
 
 She married." 
 
 Example 7. Fame exaggerates the person, as well as the quali- 
 ties, of a hero. " The Scythians, impressed with the fame of Al- 
 exander, were astonished when they found him a little man." 
 Kames. 
 
 323. In the speeches of ancient generals to their 
 armies, many beautiful instances are to be found of 
 both kinds of this figure; exaggerations on the one 
 hand, of the number, force, courage, and hopes, of 
 their own troops; and, on the other, diminutions of 
 those of their enemies, in order to inspire that confi- 
 dence of success, which in these times was one of 
 the surest means of victory. 
 
 Example. Longinus mentions a diminutive concerning a peice of 
 ground, the property of some poor man ; and Quinctilian another of 
 Varro on the same subject. The former represents the property as 
 " not larger than a Lacedaemonian letter," which consisted some- 
 times of two or three words. Varro figures it to he as small as a 
 sling-stone ; nay, he supposes it may even fall through the hole in 
 the bottom of the sling*. Both these examples seem to belong to 
 ridicule. 
 
 324. The errors frequent in the use of hyperbole, 
 arise either from overstraining or introducing it on 
 imsuitable occasions. 
 
 Example 1. Dryden, in his poem on the Restoration of King 
 Charles the Second, compliments that monarch at the expence of 
 the sun himself : 
 
 " That star that at your birth shone out so bright, 
 Itstaia'd the duller sun's meridian light." 
 
 Example 2. Prior supposes the fire of a lady's eyes to outshice 
 
 * " Fundum Varro vocat. quern r-os^ina mittere funda ni tamen 
 exciderit, quiecava funda patet." 
 
Hyperbole. 193 
 
 of Home when, lighted up by Nero ; and the music of 
 her lute, to surpass the fabulous miracles of Amphion, in building 
 the city of Thebes. She would have rebuilt Rome faster than it 
 could have been destroyed by the fires of Nero : 
 
 u To burning Rome, when frantic Nero play'd, 
 
 Viewing thy face, no more he had survey M 
 
 The racing flames, but, struck with strange surprise. 
 
 Confessed them less than those in Anna's eyes. 
 
 But had he heard thy lute, he soon had found 
 
 His rage eluded, and his crime aton'd ; 
 
 Thine,~like Amphiou's hand, had wak'd the stone, 
 
 And from destruction call'd the risin ; town. 
 
 Malice to music had been forc'd to yield, 
 
 Nor could he burn so fast as thou could'st build." 
 Example 3. Shakspeare, in magnifying the warlike character of 
 his heroes, sometimes exaggerates beyond all bounds of probability. 
 The description of the river Severn hastening to the reeds, to hide 
 his head from the sight of combatants so funous as Mortimer and 
 Giendower, can scarcely be read with gravity. 
 
 u In single opposition, hand to hand, 
 
 He did confound the best part of an hour, 
 
 In changing hardiment with great Giendower. 
 
 Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink 2 
 
 Upon agreement, of swtft Severn's flood ; 
 
 Who, then affrighted with their bloody looks, 
 
 Ran fearfully among ttte trembling reeds, 
 
 And hid his crisp'd head in the hollow bank. 
 
 Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.' 1 
 Example 4. Guarini, who perhaps excels all poets in studied ex-= 
 travagance, makes a shepherd thus address hismistrecs : " If all the 
 sticks in the world were made into pens, the heavens into paper, and 
 the sea into ink, they would not furnish materials sufficient to des- 
 cribe the least part of your perfections." 
 
 Example 5. Again, the same poet says, " If I had as many 
 tongues, and as many words, as there are stars in the heavens, and 
 grains of sand on the shore, my tongues would be tired, and my 
 words would be exhausted, before I could do justice to your im- 
 mense merit*." 
 
 Example 6. An English poet converted the circumstances of the v 
 former of these extravagant compliments into a satire no less ex~ 
 aggerated : 
 
 "Could we with ink the ocean fill, 
 
 * u Si tante lingue havesse, et tante voce, 
 
 Quant' ochil il cielo, e quante arene il mare, 
 Perderianjtutte il suono, e la favella, 
 Nel dir a piea le lostre lodi immense." 
 
 Pastor Fido, Act, V. Scene 2, 
 
1 94 Hyperbole. 
 
 Were earth of parchment made ; 
 Were ev'ry single stick a quill, 
 
 Each man a scribe by trade ; 
 To write the tricks of half the sex x 
 
 Would drink that ocean dry. 
 Gallants beware, look sharp, take care ; 
 
 The blind eat many a fly." 
 
 325. Hyperboles should never be introduced till 
 the mind of the reader is prepared to relish them. 
 The introduction of such bold figures abruptly, puts 
 the reader on his guard, and excites his reflection, 
 which commonly dissipates the delusion, and defeats 
 the purpose of the writer. 
 
 Example. No passion ever spoke the language which grief is 
 made to assume in the following unnatural exaggeration. The fig- 
 ure and the tone of sentiment are totally discordant. King Rich- 
 ard If. deeply distressed on account of the calamities of the nation, 
 thus addresses his cousin Aumerle, who was under much affliction 
 from the same cause : 
 
 ** Why weepest thou, my tender-hearted cousin ? 
 
 We'll make foul weather with despised tears ; 
 
 Our sighs, and they shall lodge the corn, 
 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land." 
 
 326. HYPERBOLES are improper, when they may 
 be turned against the argument of the author who uses 
 
 them. 
 
 lllus. Isocrates, it is said, had employed many years in compos- 
 ing a panegyric on the Athenians, to assert their pretensions to pre- 
 cedency in the management of the affairs of Greece. It was delir- 
 ered at the Olympic games, attended by citizens from all the states 
 of that country ; and in the beginning oi it he introduced the sub- 
 sequent exaggerated compliment to eloquence : 
 
 Example. u Eloquence can reverse in appearance the nature of 
 things. It can impart to illustrious deeds the air of lowliness and 
 insignificance, and exhibit inconsiderable, and even trifling actions, 
 with the dignity of magnificence and heroism. It can bestow on 
 antiquity the garb of novelty, and attire novelty with the respect 
 and veneration due to antiquity." 
 
 Analysis. Longinus pertinently remarks, the author did not ob- 
 serve, that by this unseasonable encomium he was dispersing a- 
 mong bis hearers an antidote against the operation of all the argu- 
 ments he had to advance in behalf of his countrymen, the Atheni- 
 ans. Would the other Greek states be persuaded to do what they 
 disliked, by an orator who had told them that his eloquence could 
 reverse in appearance the nature of things ? Might they not, in do- 
 ing what he advised, perform tke very opposite of what was right , ; 
 
or Amplification* 195 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CLIMAX, OR AMPLIFICATION. 
 
 327. CLIMAX, OR AMPLIFICATION, is nearly related 
 to hyperbole, and differs from it chiefly in degree. 
 The purpose of HYPERBOLE is to exalt our conceptions 
 beyond the truth ; of CLIMAX, to elevate our ideas of 
 the truth itself, by a series of circumstances, ascending 
 one above another in respect of importance, and all 
 pointing toward the same object. 
 
 Illus. This figure, when properly introduced and displayed, affords 
 a very sensible pleasure. It accords with our disposition to enlarge 
 our conceptions of any object we contemplate ; it affords a gratifi- 
 cation similar to what we receive on ascending an eminence situated 
 in the centre of a rich and varied landscape, where every step we 
 proceed presents a grander and more extensive prospect. \ 
 
 Example, Shakspeare exhibits specimens of almost every poetical 
 beauty, and is not deficient in instances of climax. 
 
 " The cloud-capt tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all that it inhabits, shall dissolve, 
 And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 Leave not a wreck behind. 1 " 
 
 328. The effect of this figure is peculiarly pleasant, 
 when the gradation of the sentiment is denoted by 
 members, which rise with an analogous swell in point 
 of sound ; and in this view the following examples 
 from Cicero have much merit. 
 
 Example. Speaking of the power of language, in the first book 
 De Oratore : 
 
 " Quae vis alia potuit, aut disperses homines unum in locum 
 congregare ; aut a i'era agrestique vita ad hunc humanum, cuitum 
 civiiemque de deduces ; aut jam constitutes civitatibus, leges' 
 judicia, jura describere,*' 
 
 329. Examples are sometimes found of an anti- 
 climax, that is of a gradation downward in the senti- 
 ment ; and if the expression also presents a corres- 
 pondent descent in the sound, the sentence will pos- 
 sess uncommon merit., 
 
296 Climax, or dniplification. 
 
 Example. Horace affords a pertinent and carious instance in the 
 following line : 
 
 ** Farturiunt montes, nascotur ridiculus rnus." 
 
 Jl nab/sis. The sinking in the sentiment, from the labour of the 
 mountain to the birl/Loi'ihe mouse, is admirably imitated by a sirn- 
 /'/; expression of the words. The verb the most dignified word both 
 in meaning and sound, is placed first, contrary to the common 
 i.rran^j-ment. The merit of the words in point oF sound decreases 
 to the lnst t which is the most diminutive in the sentence, partly on 
 account of its being a monosyllable, and almost a repetition of the 
 last syllable of the preceding word, but chiefly on account of the 
 Contrast between the insignificance of the word, and the dignity of 
 the situation it occupies. 
 
 330. Climax appears with grace in the ralrner parts 
 of oratory, in essays, and in all compositions which 
 address the imagination, but attempt not much to in- 
 terest the passions. 
 
 I tins. It is employed by the orator with advantage, in impressing 
 the hearers with strong- conceptions of a cause ; in procuring favour 
 to the argument he espouse? ; or in exciting disapprobation of that 
 of his antagonist. It is also convenient in conrur.nnicating sentiments 
 that arc striking or sublime, but it is too artificial to express any 
 high dcLT^e of passion. The. time and reflection necessary to 
 arrange the. ^e.n;iatents according to their importance; the minirte 
 attention requisite to form the expression corresponding to the ele- 
 vation of the thought, are all operations of a composed frame of 
 mind, very diferehtfrom that tumultuary state which is the attendant 
 of violent passion. 
 
 331. It is, however, consistent with moderate agit- 
 ation ; and accordingly Lontjinus takes notice of the 
 utility of it in managing a low degree of passion with 
 address. In this case, however, the artificial arrange- 
 ment of the words is relinquished. The swelling 
 passion seizes the expressions most proper to denote 
 it, and the phraseology is altogether artless. The 
 best tragedies afford examples. 
 
 Example 1. Oronooko thus utters his recollection of past happk 
 ness : 
 
 <c Can you raise the dead ? 
 Pursue and overtake the wings of time? 
 And bring about again the hours, the days$ 
 The years that made me happy > 
 
Antithesis. 197 
 
 2. Almeria, in the Mourning Bride, expresses a similar sentiment 
 in a similar manner : 
 
 " How hast thou charm'd 
 The wildness of the waves and rocks to this? 
 That thus relenting, they should give thee back 
 To earth, to light and life, to love and me.*' 
 
 3. Another example in (he same tragedy exhibits a beautiful 
 picture of the gradual influence of passion, in prompting the mind lo 
 believe what it wishes to be true. 
 
 u Let me not stir or breathe, lest I dissolve 
 That tender lovely form of painted air, 
 So like Almeria. Ha ! it sinks, it falls. 
 I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade : 
 'Tis life, His warm, His she, His she herself." 
 Analysis. The apparition is first painted air, and has some resem- 
 blance to Almeria. It descends, and appears to be sei/eabie. It 
 gets life, animal life, it is * she herself.* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ANTITHESIS. 
 
 332 As the design of a climax is to improve our 
 conceptions of an object, by placing it at the head of 
 a rising series ; so the business of ANTITHESIS is to 
 produce a similar effect, by placing one object in op- 
 position to another of the same kind. 
 
 I lias. 1. Comparison is one of the capital operations which the 
 understanding performs upon its ideas, and is a prelude to the ar- 
 rangement of them in different classes, or the deducting from them 
 important conclusions. When we communicate our thoughts, or 
 hear, or read the thoughts of others, we receive pleasure, if similar 
 ideas are exhibited in similar expression, and dissimilar ideas in 
 contrasted expression ; and in all cases of the latter kind, antithesis 
 is the most natural and proper phraseology. Antithesis possesses all 
 the advantages of climax or amplification, with which different 
 things of the same kind impress the mind when placed in juxta- 
 position ; and it adds to these the pleasures derivable from unex- 
 pected difference and surprise. Periods constructed to denote by 
 their arrangement these oppositions of the thought, are generally 
 the most agreeable, a well as the most perspicuous. They possess 
 the original light derived from the natural melody and propriety o 
 
 s2 
 
293 Antithesis 
 
 the words ; and they are further illuminated by the additional fay* 
 reflected from their contrasted members. (Art. 212. Ex. and 
 
 2. The same rule must be observed in the use of antitheses 
 which was found necessary in jood comparisons resulting from co- 
 trast. They must take place between things of the same species. 
 Substantives, attributes^ qualities, faculties of the same kind must bz 
 set in opposition. To constitute aa antithesis between a man and 
 a lion, virtue and hunger, a figure and a colour, would be to form 
 a contrast where there was no opposition. But to contrast <me 
 irian with another, virtues with virtues, Jigures with figures, is per- 
 tinent and proper, because in these cases there may be striking 
 opposition, 
 
 Example 1. Lord Bolingbroke furnishes the following beautiful 
 example: " If Cato may be censured, severely indeed, but justly, 
 for abandoning the cause of liberty, which he would not, however, 
 survive ; what shall we say of those, \\ iio embrace it faintly, pursue 
 it irresolute! y, grow tired of it when they have much to hope, and 
 give it up when they have nothing to fear?" 
 
 Analysis. The capital antithesis of this sentence is instituted be- 
 tween the rec^ofCato for liberty, and the indifference of some others 
 of her patrons. Cato abandoned liberty, but he could not live 
 without her ; and even with a!! this merit he deserved censure. 
 How different the conduct of other politicians, who pretend attach- 
 ment to her, though they are never resolute to support her ; who, 
 instead of risking inconvenience or detriment, relax their efforts 
 when they have no danger to apprehend. But, besides the leading 
 antithesis, there are Uvo subordinate ones in the latter member: 
 u Grow tired of it when they have much to hope, and give it up 
 when they have nothing to fear." The chief fault of this example 
 is the neglect of opposition in the construction of the members which 
 denote the contrast. 
 
 Example 2. This species of merit is discernable in other quo- 
 tations from the same author. u He can bribe, but he cannot 
 seduce ; he can buy, but he cannot gain ; he can lie, but he cannot 
 deceive." 
 
 Example 3. speaking of the materials of his Letters on Patriotism : 
 * { The anecdotes here related were true, and the reflections made 
 on them were just, many years ago. The former would not have 
 been related, if he who related them had not known them to be 
 true ; nor the latter have been made, if he who made them had not 
 known them to be just ; and if they were true and just then, they 
 Baust be true and just now, and always." 
 
 333. ANTITHESIS makes the most brilliant appear- 
 ance in the delineation of characters, particularly in 
 history. 
 
 Illus. The historian, in the performance of this delicate part of 
 5iis tasjtj has a good opportunity of displaying his discernment and 
 
Antithesis. 199 
 
 knowledge of human natuce, and of distinguishing those nice shades 
 by which virtues and vices run into one another. It is by such col- 
 ours only that a character can be strongly painted, and antithesis 
 is necessary to denote these distinctions. 
 
 Example. Pope's character of Attieus, supposed to be Addison^ 
 dictated by the keenest resentment against the improper part 
 which the Essayist was then represented to have acted relative to 
 the translation of Hoiner, is an example that cannot tail to attract 
 attention. 
 
 u Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
 Bear, like a Turk, no brother near his throne ; 
 View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
 And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise. 
 Damn with faint praise, || assent with civil leer, 
 And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer. 
 Willing to wound, || and yet afraid to strike, 
 Just hint a fault, ]| and hesitate dislike ; 
 Alike resolv'd to blame, or to commend, 
 A timorous foe, [) and a suspicious friend ; 
 Dreading e'en fools, || by flatterers besieg-'d, 
 And so obliging |j that he ne'er oblig'd. 
 Who would not smile, if such a man there be ? 
 Who would not weep, if Atticus were he* ? 7 ' 
 
 334. The beauty of genuine antithesis is so consid- 
 erable, that we cannot wonder that many unsuccess- 
 ful attempts have been made to acquire it. Lord 
 Bolingbroke, though frequently happy in the use of it, 
 is sometimes unfortunate. 
 
 Example 1. His Treatise oa Patriotism contains the subsequent 
 example : 
 
 " Eloquence that leads mankind by the ears, gives a nobler 
 superiority than power, which every dunce may use ; or than 
 fraud, which every knave may employ, to lead men by the nose.'' 
 
 Analysis. The antithesis is instituted between leading men by the 
 ears, which is the business of eloquence, and leading them by the 
 nose, which is said to be the office of power or fraud. That eloquence 
 should lead by the ears, is natural and intelligible, but where is the 
 connection between fraud or power and the nose ? To make out 
 the figure, the author h obliged to have recourse to a vulgar and 
 metaphorical sense of the words u leading by the nose," iu which 
 they denote leading in an ignominious manner, without conviction. 
 Deny this resource, and the antithesis vanishes, or consists merely 
 in words. 
 
 ^, Shakspeare, in the Merchant of Veniee, . furnishes 
 
 * Pxologue to the Satire, 
 
200 Interrogation. 
 
 another instance merely verbal : u A light wife doth make a heavy 
 husband." 
 
 Analysis. There is in the thought not only no opposition, but, 
 on the contrary, a very close connection, that of cause and effect ; 
 because it is the folly of the wife which produces the dejection of 
 the husband. Put words significant of these ideas instead of light 
 and heavy, and the shadow of a figure vanishes ** A foolish wife 
 afflicts a good husband. 7 ' 
 
 335. A climax and antithesis are sometimes con- 
 joined and carried on through several sentences. 
 
 Example. Thus Pope, in the Essay on Man : 
 4t Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, 
 MEN would be ANGELS, | ANGELS would be gods ; 
 Aspirin? to be GODS, | if ANGELS fell, 
 Aspiring to be ANGELS, | MEN rebel." 
 
 Scholium. No figure has, perhaps, been so anxiously sought, and 
 with so little success, as antithesis. It is much suited to impose on 
 an unskilful reader. An author is very apt to employ it, who 
 abounds not with solid and important matter. Many readers con- 
 sider the surprize and brilliancy it presents as certain marks of 
 genius ; and they are inclined to believe that they have been amus- 
 ed and instructed, because they have been made to wonder. It is 
 not easy in an enlightened age to shine in writing, by solidity and 
 noveUy of matter, and by simplicity and elegance of manner. 
 Much reading, much reflection, much practice, and much irksome 
 criticism, must be employed before this important end can be at- 
 tained. Authors who possess, perhaps, some genius, seem to wiph 
 to take a shorter path to fame; and to compensate for the slight- 
 ness of their matter, they endeavour to dazzle by the smartness of 
 their style ; and if we may judge from the history of ancient litera- 
 ture, an attachment to ornaments of this sort, forms the first stage 
 toward the corruption of taste. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 INTERROGATION, REPETITION, EXCLAMATION, IRO" 
 NY, AiND VISION. 
 
 336. INTERROGATION. The unfigured and literal 
 use of interrogation is to ask a question : but when 
 men are strongly moved, whatever they would affirm 
 or deny, with great earnestness, they naturally put 
 
Repetition. 201 
 
 in the form of a question. The strongest confidence 
 is thereby expressed of their own sentiment, by ap- 
 pealing to their hearers for the impossibility of the 
 contrary. 
 
 Example. Thus Balaam expressed himself to Balak. u The 
 Lord is not a man that he should lie, neither the son of man that 
 he should repent. Hath 1. said it? and shall he not doit? Hath 
 he spoken it ? and shall he not make it good ? 
 
 337. Interrogation gives life and spirit to dis- 
 course. 
 
 Example. We have an illustration of this position in the ani- 
 mated, introductory speech of Cicero against Catiline. " How 
 Jons: will you, Cataline, abuse our patience ? Do you not perceive 
 that your designs are discovered ?" 
 
 Analysis. He might have said, u You abuse our patience a long 
 while. You must be sensible that your designs are discovered." 
 But it is easy to perceive how much this latter mode of expression 
 falls short of the force and vehemence of the former. 
 
 338. Interrogation may be used to rouse and 
 weaken the hearers. 
 
 Example. Demosthenes, addressing himself to the Athenians, 
 asks them : " Tell me, will you still go about, and ask one another 
 what news ? What can be more astonishing news than this, that 
 the man of Macedon makes war upon the Athenians, and disposes 
 of the affairs of Greece? Is Philip dead? No; but he is sick. 
 What signifies it to you whether he be dead or alive ? For, if any 
 thiug happens to this Philip, you will immediately raise up another." 
 
 Analysis. All this delivered without interrogation, had been 
 faint and ineffectual ; but the warmth and eagerness which tins 
 questioning method expresses, were calculated to awaken the 
 Athenians to a sense of their pupineness, and strike them with much 
 greater force on the folly of disunion immediately raising up another 
 .Philip, Again, their simplicity about the news of Philip's health 
 is excellently exposed in the question, u h he dead?" And the 
 hope of safety expressed by the person to whom such a question was 
 put by hi? neighbour, is most humourously satjrized in the answer ; 
 k4 No ; but he is sick." 
 
 339. Interrogation sometimes commands with great 
 emphasis, 
 
 Example. Thus Dido, enjoining the departure of JEneas to be. 
 stopped : 
 
 ^ : Non arma expedient, totaque ex urbe se^uentur ? 
 Deripientqiie rates alii, nuvaiibus? 
 
202 Exclamation. 
 
 340. Interrogation sometimes denotes plaintive 
 pass-ion. 
 
 Example. Thus Almeria, in the Mourniog Bride. 
 
 " Alphonso ! O Alphonso ! 
 
 Thou too art quiet, long hast thou been at rest-, 
 Both, both father and son, are now no more. 
 Then why am I ? O when shall I have red ? 
 Why do I live to say you are no more ? 
 Is it of moment to the peace of heaven, 
 That I should be afflicted thas ?" 
 
 341. REPETITION seizes some emphatical word 
 or phrase, and, to mark its importance, makes it 
 recur frequently in the same sentence. It is signi- 
 ficant of contrast and energy. 
 
 Example 1. It also marks passion, which wishes to dwell on the 
 object by which it is excited. Virgil pathetically describes the 
 grief of Orpheus for the Joss of Eurydice, in the fourth Georgic : 
 u Te, dulcis conjux, te, solo in littore serum, 
 Te, veniente die, te, decedente canebat." 
 So also Catullus, de Passere mortuo Lesbias : 
 Passer mortuus est meae Puellae, 
 Passer deliciae meae puellce. 
 Quern plus ilia oeulis suis amabat. 
 
 2. Pope, to heighten compassion for the fate of an unfortunate 
 Jady, reiterates the circumstance of her being deprived in her dis- 
 tress of the sympathy of her friends : 
 
 *' By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, 
 Bv foreign hands <hy decent limbs composed; 
 By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, 
 By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd." 
 
 3. Dryden, in Alexander's Feast, supplies one of the most beau- 
 tiful examples of this figure. He thus paints the sad reverse of 
 fortune suffered by Darius : 
 
 u Deserted, at his greatest need, 
 
 By those his former bounty fed, 
 He sung Darius, great and good, 
 
 By too severe a fate, 
 Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
 Fallen from hi? high estate, and welt'ring in his blood." 
 
 342. EXCLAMATIONS are the effect of strong emo- 
 tions of the mind; such as surprise^ admiration^ joy^ 
 grief, and the like. 
 
Vision. 203 
 
 -lllus.l. Exclamation like interrogation is oftcs prompted by 
 sympathy. Sympathy is a very powerful and extensive principle 
 in our nature, disposing us to enter iuto every feeling and passion, 
 which we behold expressed by others. Hence a single person com- 
 ing into company with strong marks, either of melancholy or joy, 
 upon his countenance, will diffuse that passion in a moment through 
 the whole circle. Hence, in a great crowd, in an assembly of 
 people on some public and pressing emergency, passions are so 
 easily caught, and so rapidly spread, by that powerful contagion 
 which the animated looks, and cries, and gestures of a multitude 
 never fail to impart. 
 
 2. I shall take the liberty to give one instance, which is known 
 to all, and well calculated to illustrate the figure now under con- 
 sideration. Turn with me, reader, turn thy mind back to the 
 morning on which we heard it announced that her Royal Highness 
 Princess Charlotte of Saxe Cobourg was no more ! Have ye heard 
 the news? said every Briton to his friend. News? what news? 
 The Princess Charlotte's dead ! Dead ! the Princess Charlotte 
 dead ! did ye say ? Yes ! and her infant son too. Good God ! 
 both mother and son ! Such was the language of our heart such 
 the species of interrogation, repetition, exclamation, which we used 
 that doleful morn. 
 
 Scholium. Though interrogations may be introduced into close 
 and earnest reasoning, exclamations only belong to strong emotions 
 of mind. When judiciously employed, they agitate the hearer or 
 the reader with similar passions ; but it is extremely improper, and 
 sometimes ridiculous, to use them on trivial occasions, and on 
 mean and low subjects. The unexperienced writer often attempts 
 to elevate his language, by the copious display of this figure ; but it 
 is seldom that he succeeds. He frequently renders his composition 
 frigid to excess, or absolutely ludicrous, by calling on us to enter 
 into his transports, when nothing is said or done to demand emo- 
 tion. 
 
 343. VISION, another figure of speech, proper 
 only in animated and warm compositions, is produced 
 when, instead of relating something that is past, we 
 use the present tense of the verb, and describe an 
 action or event as actually passing before our eyes. 
 
 Example. Thus Cicero, in his fourth oration against Catiline, 
 pictures to his mind the execution of the conspiracy : " I seem t* 
 myself to behold this city, the ornament of the earth, and the capi- 
 tal of all nations, suddenly involved in one conflagration. I see be- 
 fore me the slaughtered heaps of citizens, lying unburied in the 
 midst of their ruined country. The furious countenance ofCethe- 
 
204 Irony. 
 
 s;u5 rises to roy view, while with a savage joy, he is triumphing ia 
 your miseries."* 
 
 Scholium. This manner of description supposes a sort of enthusi- 
 asm, which carries (he person who describes, in some measure, out 
 of himself; and when well executed, must needs, by the force of 
 sympathy, impress the reader or hearer very strongly. But in or- 
 der to be successful, it requires an uncommonly warm imagination, 
 and such a happy selection of circumstances, which shall make us 
 think that we see before our eyes the scene that is described. 
 
 344. In tragedy, vision is the language of the most 
 violent passion, which conjures up spectres, and 
 approaches to insanity. 
 
 Example 1. The author of Phaedra and Hyppolitus makes the 
 former address the latter in the following strain : 
 
 41 Then why this strain ? Come, Jet us plunge together, 
 
 See hell sets wide its adamantine gates ! 
 
 See through the sable gate* the black Cocytus, 
 
 In smoaky whirl.?, rolls its fiery waves ! 
 
 How huge Megara fctalks ! 
 
 Now, now, she drags me to the bar of Minos." 
 
 2. The horrors of the mind of Macbeth, after murdering the King 
 and Banquo, are artfully and forcibly painted by the same figure : 
 
 " Methougbt I heard a voice 
 
 Cry, sleep no more ! Macbethy doth murder sleep." 
 
 3. He is still more violently distracted, and fancies he sees the 
 -ghost of the murdered King: 
 
 u Avaunt, and quit my sight ! 
 
 Let the earth hide thee ; thy bones are marrowless, 
 Thy blood is cold ; thou hast no speculation 
 In those eyes which thou dost stare with. 
 Hence, horrible shadow ; unreal mockery, hence." 
 
 -345. IRONY. When we express ourselves in a 
 manner contrary to our thoughts, not with a view to 
 deceive, but to add force to our observations, we are 
 then said to speak ironically. 
 
 Illus. Irony turns things into ridicule, in a particular manner ; 
 it consists in laughing at a man, under the di&guise of appearing to 
 praise or speak well of him. 
 
 Example. u By these methods, in a few weeks, there starts up 
 
 * " Videor enim mihi hanc urbem videre, lucem orbis terrarum 
 atque arcem omnium gentium, subito uno incendio concidentem ; 
 cerno animo sepulta in patria raweros atque insepultos aspectus 
 Cethegi, et furor, in vestra coede bacchantis." 
 
Irony. 
 
 many a writer, capable of managing the profoundest and most 
 universal subjects. For what, though his head be empty, provided 
 his common-place book be full ? And if you will bate him but the 
 circumstances of method, and style, and grammar, and invention ; 
 allow him but the common privileges of transcribing from others, 
 and digressing from himself, as often as he shall see occasion, he 
 will desire no more ingredients towards Jilting up a treatise, that 
 shall make a very comely figure on a bookseller's shelf, there to be 
 preserved neat and clean, for a long eternity, adorned with the 
 heraldry of its title, fairly described on the label; never thumbed 
 or greased by students, nor bound to everlasting chains of dark- 
 ness in a library ; but when the fulness of time is come, shall happi- 
 ly undergo the trial of purgatory, in order to ascend the sky."* 
 
 346. The subjects of irony, are vices and follies 
 of all kinds ; and this mode of exposing them is often 
 more effectual than serious reasoning. 
 
 Illus. The gravest persons have not disdained to use this figure 
 on proper occasions. 
 
 Example 1. Thus Elijah challenged the priests of Baal to prove 
 the truth of their deity. u Cry aloud, for he is a god : either he is 
 talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he 
 sleepeth, and must be awakened." 
 
 2. To reprove a person for his negligence, one might say, tc You 
 have taken great care indeed." 
 
 347. Exclamations and irony are sometimes 
 united. 
 
 Example. Thus both are united in Cicero's oration for Balbus, 
 where the orator derides his accuser, by saying, " O excellent in- 
 terpreter of the law ! master of fcntiquity ! corrector and amender 
 of our constitution !" 
 
 Scholium. Besides these, there are several other figures, partly 
 grammatical, and partly rhetorical ; but as an account of them 
 would be attended with little instruction, and less amusement, we 
 shall refer those who may be led farther into this field, to the writ- 
 ings of the ancient critics, where they will find them explained. II 
 only remains to point out the general principles which should guide 
 our practice in the use of figures ; and this is a matter of greater 
 importance, as errors in this article are very common, and as 
 young writers particularly are apt to entertain improper notions of 
 such ornaments. 
 
 348. Remember that the first law of good writing, 
 is to attend principally and closely to the mattery 
 
 * Tale of a Tub, Sect. 7. 
 
206 frony. 
 
 and that even the highest ornament is of much inferior 
 consideration. 
 
 Jllus. Good sense dressed in plain language, will always gain ap- 
 probation : though ornament may add to its impression, it can nev- 
 er supply its place. A figurative style, without important matter, 
 may dazzle and captivate the untutored mind, and procure a tem- 
 porary reputation ; but reason and truth will, in time, triumph over 
 prejudice and show, and consign to oblivion such ill-supported 
 claims to fame. " Sunt qi neglecto rerum pondere," says Quinc- 
 tilian, u et viribus sententiarum, si vel inania verba in figuras de- 
 pravarint, summos se judicent artifices ; ideoque non desinunt eas 
 nectere ;quas sine sententia sectari, tarn est ndiculum, quarn quae- 
 rre habitura gestumque sine corpore." 
 
 349. Figures should never have the appearance of 
 being anxiously sought, or of being forced into the 
 service of a writer. 
 
 lllus. Affectation is the bane of beauty on all occasions, but par- 
 ticularly in composition. If attention to ornament cannot be con- 
 cealed, it had better be relinquished. The appearance of art will 
 injure reputation more with every reader of taste, than that repu- 
 tation could be promoted by the most successful use of figures. 
 
 350. As figures should not be axiously sought, so 
 neither should they be lavishly employed. Orna- 
 ments of all sorts interfere with elegance, unless ap- 
 plied with taste. In literary compositions they may 
 serve to display a richness of mind, they may impart a 
 gaudy semblance, and may evidence a bold imagina- 
 tion, but they will never strike with the charms of gen- 
 uine beauty. If, on the other hand, discernment be 
 discovered in the use of them, if they are introduced 
 with moderation, and communicate real and perma- 
 nent delight, they will be sure to gain approbation. 
 
 lllus. The ornaments of writing particularly, are of a nature so 
 refined, that the richest imagination cannot always supply them ; 
 nor can the reader continue long to relish them. They are like 
 delicacies of the palate, they sooner pall upon the taste than ordina- 
 ry food. Figures too closely interspersed, interfere with their own 
 impression ; they exhaust the sensibility of the imagination by too 
 frequent exertion ; and they excite disgust by attempting too much 
 to please. 
 
 351. An author should not attempt figures without 
 being prompted by his imagination* He will read- 
 
Irony. 207 
 
 ily discover, whether he has received from nature 
 any considerable portion of this lively faoulty, by the 
 relish he entertains for works of genius, toward the 
 composition of which she has liberally contributed. 
 
 1 lists. 1. If oratory and poetry attract his attention, and com- 
 municate pleasure ; if lie feel inferior gratification in perusing pro- 
 ductions of science, or in abstract inquiry, he has reason to con- 
 clude he is endued with some share of the mental power that has 
 adorned the productions to which he is attached. If he feel this fa- 
 culty so prevalent as to tinge insensibly the colour of his early com- 
 positions, he may hope, by proper culture, to attain eminence in 
 the use of ornament. 
 
 2. But without such favourable presages, ornament ought not to' 
 be attempted. It is not admissable info many reputable species of 
 composition. It is rejected in the greater part of scientific disqui- 
 sitions. It is despised by some writers and readers ; and in every 
 kind of composition except poetry, good sense, and important mat- 
 ter, conveyed in a simple and natural style, will be entitled to high 
 praise. They will oblain higher praise than can be procured by 
 attempting ornament without success. 
 
 Finally. Without a genius for figurative language, none should 
 attempt it. Imagination is a power not to be acquired ; it must be 
 derived from nature. Its redundances we may prune, its devia- 
 tions we may correct, its sphere we may enlarge ; but the faculty 
 itself we cannot create; and all efforts towards a metaphorical or- 
 namented style, if we are destitute of the genius proper for it, will 
 prove awkward and disgusting. Let us satisfy ourselves, however, 
 by considering that, without this talent, or at least with a very 
 small measure of it, we may both write and speak to advantage. 
 Good sense as has been said, clear ideas, perspicuity of language, 
 and proper arrangement of words and thoughts, will always" com- 
 mand attention. These are indeed the foundations of all solid mer- 
 it both in speaking and writing. Many subjects require nothing 
 more : and those which admit of ornament, admit it only as a se- 
 condary requisite. To study and to know our own genius well ; to 
 follow nature ; to seek to improve, but not to force it ; are distinc- 
 tions which cannot be too often given to those who desire to excel 
 ia the liberal arts. 
 
OX THE !s ? ATURE OF TASTE AND THE SOURCES OF 
 ITS PLEASURES. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 TASTE. 
 
 352. TASTE is that faculty or power of the human 
 mind, which is always appealed to in disquisitions 
 concerning the merit of discourse and writing; it is 
 the power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of 
 nature and art. 
 
 fllus. 1. The word taste, under this metaphorical meaning, has 
 borrowed its name from the feeling of that external sense by which 
 \ve receive and distinguish the pleasures of food. 
 
 2. This faculty is common, in some degree, to all men ; for the 
 relish of beauty, of one kind or other, belongs to human nature gen- 
 erally. Whatever is orderly, proportioned, grand, harmonious, 
 new or sprightly, pleases alike, but in different degrees, the philoso- 
 pher and the peasant, the child and the savage. Regular bodies, 
 pictures, and statues, develope in children the rudiments of taste ; 
 and savages, who pride themselves in their ornaments of dress, their 
 war and their death songs, their harangues and their orators, evince 
 that they possess, with the attributes of reason and speech, some 
 discernment of beauty, and the principles of taste, deeply founded 
 in the human raind. 
 
 353. TASTE is possessed in different degrees by dif- 
 ferent men. Its feeble glimmerings appear id some ; 
 in others it rises to an accute discernment, and a live- 
 ly enjoyment of the most refined beauties : the former 
 have but a weak and confused impression of this pow- 
 er, as they relish only beauties of the coarsest kind ; 
 the latter have a certain natural and instinctive pos- 
 session of this faculty, which may be improved by 
 art, and which discovers itself in their powers and 
 pleasures of taste. 
 
 Obs. This inequality is partly oweing to the different frame of 
 
Taste. 209 
 
 our natures, to nicer organs, and finer internal power?, with which 
 one is endowed beyond another : but still more to education, and a 
 higher culture of those talents, which belong only tf the ornamental 
 part of life. 
 
 354. TASTE'isan improved faculty, and refined by 
 education, gives to civilized men an immense supe- 
 riority above barbarians, and, in the same nation, t 
 those who have studied the liberal arts, above the rude 
 and untaught vulgar. 
 
 Obs. Thus, two classes of men are far removed from each other, 
 in respect to the powers and pleasures of taste ; and, for this differ- 
 ence, no other general cause can be assigned, than culture and 
 education. 
 
 355. Exercise is the source of improvement in all 
 our faculties, in our bodily, in our mental powers, and 
 even in our external senses. 
 
 Illus. 1. TOUCH becomes more exquisite in men, whose employ 
 raent leads them to examine the polish of bodies, than it is in others, 
 whose trade engages no such nice exertions. 
 
 2. SIGHT, iu discerning the minutest objects, acquires a surpri- 
 sing accuracy in microscopical observers, and those who are accus- 
 tomed to engrave on precious stones. 
 
 3. CHEMISTS, by attending to different flavours and tastes of 
 liquors, wonderfully improve the power of distinguishing them, and 
 tracing their composition. 
 
 356. Placing internal taste, therefore, on the footing 
 of a simple sense, frequent exercise, and curious at- 
 tention to its proper objects, must ia the first instance, 
 greatly heighten its power. 
 
 Illus. 1. Thus, nothing is more improveahle than that part of 
 taste which is called an ear for music. At first, the simplest and 
 plainest compositions only are relished. Our pleasure is extended 
 by use and practice, which teach us to relish finer melody, and by 
 degrees enable us to enter into the intricate and compound pleasures 
 of harmony. 
 
 2, So an eye for the beauties of painting, is never acquired all 
 at once ; nor by him who prefers the Saracen's head upon a sign- 
 post, before the best tabulature of Raphael. It is gradualy formed 
 by being conversant among pictures, and studying the works of the 
 best masters. 
 
 3. And the man who has cultivated the beauties of regularity 9 
 order, and proportion, in Architecture, will never prefer 
 Gotbic lower, before the finest Grecian kuikU&g, 
 
210 Taste. 
 
 357. Precisely in the same manner, with respect 
 to the beauty of composition and discourse, attention 
 to the most approved models, study of the best au- 
 thors, comparisons of lower and higher degrees of 
 the same beauties, operate towards the refinement of 
 taste. 
 
 Illus. The sentiment that attends a reader's first acquaintance 
 With works of genius, is obscure and confused. The several excel- 
 lences or blemishes of the performance which he peruses, cannot be 
 pointed out, because he is at a loss on what to rest his judgement ; 
 but allov/him more experience of the subject, and his taste becomes 
 more exact and enlightened : the character of the whole work, the 
 beauties and defects of each part, are perceived, and his praise or 
 blame is at length pronounced firmly, and without hesitation. Thus, 
 in taste, considered as mere sensibility, exercise opens a great source 
 of improvement. 
 
 358. But reason and good sense have sa extensive 
 an influence on all its operations and decisions, that 
 a thorough good taste may well be considered as a 
 power compounded of natural sensrbility to beauty, 
 and of improved understanding. (Art. 365.) 
 
 Illus. 1. The greater part of the productions of genius, are no 
 other than imitations of nature ; representations of the characters, 
 actions, or manners of men. The pleasure we receive from such 
 imitations, or representations, is founded on mere taste ; but to 
 judge whether they be properly executed, belongs to the under- 
 standing, which compares the copy with the original. 
 
 2. In reading such a poem as Paradise Lost, a great part of the 
 pleasure we receive, arises from the plan or story being well con- 
 ducted, and all the parts joined together with due connexion ; from 
 the characters, being suited to the subject, the sentiments to the 
 characters, and the style to the sentiments. 
 
 3. We feel or enjoy by taste, as an internal sense, the pleasure 
 Which arises from a poem so conducted ; but the discovery of this 
 conduct in the "poem, is owing to reason ; and our pleasure will be 
 the greater, the more that reason enables us to discover such pro- 
 priety in the conduct. 
 
 4. Our natural sense of beauty yields us pleasure ; but reason 
 shews us why, and upon what grounds, we are pleased. Whenever, 
 in works of taste, any resemblance to nature is aimed at, whenever 
 there is any reference of parts to a whole, or of means to an end, 
 as indeed there is in almost every writing and discourse, there the 
 understanding must always have a great part to act. 
 
 359. A SECCWP, and a very considerable source of 
 
Taste. 21! 
 
 the improvement of taste, arises from the application 
 of reason and good sense, works of composition, and 
 productions of genius. 
 
 lllus. Spurious beauties, such as unnatural characters, forced 
 sentiments, and affected style, may please for a little ; but they 
 please only, because we have not examined or attended to their 
 opposition to nature and good sense. The illusion is dissipated, 
 and these false beauties cease to please, as soon as we are shewn 
 how nature might have been more justly imitated or represented, 
 and how the writer might have managed his subject to greater ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 360. From these two sources then, first, the fre- 
 quent exercise of taste, and next, the application of 
 good sense and reason to its objects, TASTE, as a power 
 of the mind, receives its improvement. 
 
 Obs. In its perfect state, it is undoubtedly the result both of 
 nature and art. It supposes our natural sense of beauty to be 
 refined by frequent attention to the most beautiful objects, and at 
 the same time to be guided and improved by the light of the under- 
 standing. 
 
 361. One material requisite to a just taste, besides 
 a sound head, is a good heart : for moral beauties, in 
 themselves superior to all others, exert an influence, 
 cither more nearly, or more remotely, on a great va- 
 riety of other bjects of taste. 
 
 Illus. The affections, characters, and actions of men, frequently 
 afford the noblest subjects to genius. Without possessing the virtu- 
 ous affections, no man, where those affections, character?,' or actions, 
 are concerned, can exhibit their just and touching description, nor 
 have any thorough feeling of the beauty of that description. He 
 whose heart is indelicate or hard, who has no admiration of what 
 is truly noble or praise-worthy, nor the proper sympathetic sense of 
 what is soft and tender, must have a very imperfect relish of the 
 highest beauties of eloquence and poetry. 
 
 362. DELICACY and CORRECTNESS are the char- 
 acters of taste, when brought to its most improved 
 state. 
 
 Ilius. 1, DeHeaey of taste respects principally the perfection of 
 that natural sensibility, on which taste is founded,. It implies those 
 finer organs or powers, which enable us to discover beauties that lie 
 hid from a vulgar eye. A person of delicate taste, both feels strongly, 
 and feels accurately. He sees distinctions and differences, where 
 
212 Diversity of Taste. 
 
 others see none ; the most latent beauty does not escape him, and he 
 is sensible of the smallest blemish. 
 
 2. Correctness of taste respects chiefly the improvement which that 
 faculty receives through its connection with the understanding. 
 Counterfeit beauties never impose on a man of correct taste, be- 
 cause he carries in his mind that standard of good sense, which he 
 employs in judging of every thing. 
 
 33. DELICACY of taste is judged of by marks sim- 
 ilar to those which we use in judging of the delicacy of 
 an external sense. 
 
 Illus. As the goodness of the palate is not tried by strong fla- 
 vours, but by a mixture of ingredients, in which, notwithstanding 
 the confusion, we remain sensible of each ; in like manner, delicacy 
 ef internal taste appears, by a quick and lively sensibility to its 
 finest, most compounded, or most latent objects. 
 
 364. CORRECTNESS of taste is juded of by the esti- 
 mate which a man makes of the comparative merit of 
 several beauties, which he meets with, in any work 
 of genius. 
 
 Illus. When he refers these to their proper classes, assigns 
 with propriety the principles, as far as they can be traced, whence 
 their power of pleasing flows ; and is pleased himself in that 
 degree, in which he ought, and no more ; we say that his taste is 
 correct. 
 
 365. Delicacy, and correctness of taste, mutually 
 imply each other. No taste can be exquisitely deli- 
 cate, without being correct; nor thoroughly correct, 
 without being delicate. But still a predominancy of 
 the one or the other quality in the mixture is often 
 visible. 
 
 Illus. 1. The power of delicacy is chiefly seen in discerning the 
 true merit of a work ; the power of correctness, in rejecting false 
 pretensions to merit. Delicacy leans more to feeling ; correctness^ 
 more to reason and judgment. The former is more the gift of na- 
 ture ; the latter, more the product of culture and art. 
 
 2. Among the ancient critics, Longinus possessed most delicacy ; 
 Aristotle, most correctness. Among the moderns, Addison is a high 
 example of delicate taste ; and had Dean Swift written on criticism) 
 he would perhaps have afforded the example of a correct one* 
 Campbell, Kames, Allison, and Dugald Stewart, are examples of 
 correct and delicate taste. 
 
 366. THE DIVERSITY OF TASTES, which prevails 
 mankind, does aot in every case infer a cor* 
 
Diversity of Taste. 213 
 
 ruption of taste, or oblige us to seek for some stand- 
 ard, in order to determine who are in the right. 
 
 Illus. 1. The tastes of men may differ very considerably as to 
 their object, and yet none of them be wrong-. One man relishes 
 poetry, while another takes pleasure in nothing but history. One 
 prefers comedy ; another, tragedy. One admires the simple ; 
 another, the ornamented style. The young are amused with gay 
 and sprightly compositions ; the elderly are more entertained with 
 those of a graver cast. Some nations delight in bold pictures of 
 manners, and strong representations of passions ; others incline to a 
 more correct and regular elegance, both in description and senti- 
 ment. Though all differ, yet all pitch upon some beauty which pe- 
 culiarly suits their turn of mind ; and therefore no one has a title to 
 condemn his neighbour. 
 
 367. In questions of mere reason, there is but one 
 conclusion that can be true ; and there is some foun- 
 dation for the preference of one man's taste to that of 
 another. 
 
 I lias. Truth, which is the object of reason, is one ; beauty, which 
 is the object of taste, is manifold. Taste, therefore, admits of lati- 
 tude and diversity of objects, in sufficient consistency with its good- 
 Bess or justness. 
 
 368. This admissible diversity of 4 tastes, can only 
 have place where the objects of taste are different. 
 When one condemns as ugly what another admires as 
 beautiful, there is no longer diversity, but direct op- 
 position of taste. One must be right and the other 
 wrong. 
 
 Illus. 1. One man prefers Virgil to Homer ; another, admires 
 Homer more than Virgil; yet there is no reason to say that their 
 tastes are contradictory. The one is more struck with the elegance 
 and tenderness of Virgil ; the other with the simplicity and fire of 
 Homer. As long as neither of them denies that both Homer and 
 Virgil have great' bean ties ; their difference falls within the compass 
 of that diversity of tastes, which is both natural and allowable, 
 {Art. 366.) 
 
 2. But if a third man should assert that Homer has no beanties 
 whatever, and that Virgil is devoid of elegance and tenderness, 
 that he holds the one to be a dull spiritless writer, and the other to 
 be amerecopiest, that in distinction to the JEneid he would as ?oon 
 peruse Robinson Crusoe', or Jack the Giant Killer to the Iliad : 
 both the other men would pronounce him void of ail taste, or ex- 
 claim that his taste was corrupted in a miserable degree. 
 
 3, Or if either of the two men who disputed about the preemiu- 
 
214 Standard of Taste. 
 
 ence of Virgil of of Homer, should evince the same disposition as 
 the third man shewed ; his antagonist would appeal to whatever he 
 thought the standard of taste to shew him that he was in the wron^ 
 
 369. A STANDARD properly signifies that, which, 
 being fixed by convention, is of such undoubted 
 authority as to be the test of other things of the banie 
 kind. 
 
 Illus. 1. Thus a standard weight or measure is that which 
 is appointed by law to regulate all other weights and measures. 
 
 2. Thus, also, the Court is said to be the standard of good breed- 
 ing ; and the Scripture, of theological truth. 
 
 370. In all cases where an imitation is intended of 
 some object that exists in nature, as in representing 
 human characters and actions, nature is the standard 
 of taste, because conformity to it affords a full and 
 distinct criterion of what is truly beautiful. 
 
 Obs. Reason hath in such cases full scope for exerting its author- 
 ity, for approving or condemning ; by comparing theccpy with the 
 original. But there are innumerable cases in which this rule cannot 
 be applied ; and conformity with nature is an expression frequently 
 used, without an}' distinct or determinate meaning. The standard 
 of taste must therefore, be something which is clear and precise, 
 without any imperfection, irregularity, or disorder. 
 
 371. The general sentiments of mankind must be 
 considered the standard to which the ultimate appeal 
 must ever lie, in all works of taste. 
 
 Illus. If and one should maintain that sugar was bitter, and to- 
 bacco sweet, no reasonings on his part could avail to prove this 
 position ; mankind would infallibly hold the taste of such a person 
 to be diseased, merely because it differed diametrically from the 
 taste of the species to which he belonged. In like manner, with 
 regard to the objects of sentiment or internal taste, the common 
 feelings of men carry the same authority, and become an universal 
 standard to regulate the taste of every individual. 
 
 372. There is nothing but the taste, as far as it 
 can be gathered, of human nature, of sufficient au- 
 thority to be the standard of the various and opposite 
 tastes of men. 
 
 Illus. That which men concur the most in admiring must be 
 reckoned beautiful. His taste must be esteemed just and true which 
 coincides with the general sentiments of men. He who, in any dis- 
 pute, appeals to the common sense of mankind as the ultimate rulfe 
 
Standard of Taste. 215 
 
 OF standard by which he will be judged, evinces a conviction of a 
 common standard to which his taste is right or good if conformable, 
 while that of his opponent must be wrong or bad, if disconforrnable. 
 The taste of a whole people, guided by reason and virtue, must ?en- 
 erally be exquisite and just, their internal senses unerring "and 
 sure. He who allows submission to be due to the determinations 
 ef all mankind, acknowledges a perfect standard for the taste of 
 all others. 
 
 373. But besides the approbation of the majority, 
 there are principles of reason and sound judgment 
 which can be applied to matters or taste, as well as 
 to the sujects of science and philosopy. 
 
 Jllus. He who admires or censures any work of genius, is always 
 ready, if his taste be improved, to assign some reason foi his decis- 
 ion. He appeals to principles, and points out the grounds on which 
 be proceeds. Taste is, therefore, a sort of compound power, in 
 which the light of the understanding always mingles, more or less, 
 with the feelings of sentiment. 
 
 374. The ultimate conclusions to which our rea- 
 sonings lead, in judging concerning works of taste, 
 refer at last to sense and perception. 
 
 I this. 1. Just reasonings concerning propriety of conduct in a 
 tragedy, or an epic poem, will correct the caprice of unenlightened 
 taste, and establish principles for judging of what deserves praise, 
 These reasonings, in the last resort, appeal always to feeling. 
 Their foundation is deeply laid in whatever has been found from 
 experience to please mankind universally. 
 
 2. Upon this ground, we prefer a simple and natural, to an arti- 
 ficial style ; a regular and well-connected story, to loose and scat- 
 tered narratives ; a catastrophe which is tender and pathetic, to 
 one which leave*? us unmoved. 
 
 Corol. It is from consulting our own imagination and heart, and 
 from attending to the feelings of others, that any principles are 
 formed which acquire authority in matters of taste. 
 
 375. When we refer to the concyrring sentiments 
 of men as the ultimate test of what is to be accounted 
 beautiful in the ants, this is always to be understood 
 of men placed in such situations as are favourable to 
 the proper exertions of taste. 
 
 Illus. The sentiments of mankind in polished and flourishing na- 
 tions, where arts are cultivated, and manners refined, where works 
 of genius are subject to free discussion, and taste is improved by 
 8cteo.ce and philosophy, become the principles of authority which 
 
216 Standard of Taste. 
 
 must necessarily be decisive of every controversy that can arise 
 upon matters of taste. 
 
 376. We conclude, therefore, that taste is not an 
 arbitrary principle subject to the fancy of every indi- 
 vidual, and admitting no criterion by which to deter- 
 mine whether it be true or false. Its foundation is the 
 same in all human minds. It is built upon sentiments 
 and perceptions which belong to our nature ; and 
 which in general operate with the same uniformity as 
 our other intellectual principles. 
 
 Obs. When these sentiment? are perverted by ignorance and pre- 
 judice, they are capable of being rectified by reason. Their sound 
 and natural state is ultimately determined, by comparing them with 
 ttie general taste of mankind. 
 
 " 377. In every composition what interests the heart, 
 pleases all ages and all nations. There is a certain 
 string to which, when properly struck, the human 
 heart is so made as to answer. 
 
 7 to. 1 . Hence, the universal testimony which the most improv- 
 ed nations of the earth have conspired, throughout a Jong succession 
 of ages, to give to some few works of genius; such as tbt Iliad of 
 Homer, and the ^neid of Virgil. 
 
 <J. Hence the authority which such works have acquired as stand- 
 ards, in some degree, of poetical composition ; since from them we 
 are enabled to collect what the sense of mankind is, concerning 
 those beauties which give them the highest pleasure, and which 
 therefore poetry ought to exhibit. 
 
 378. Uniformity of taste and sentiment resulting 
 from our conviction of a common standard, leads to 
 two important final causes ; the one respecting our 
 duty, the other, our pastime or amusement. 
 
 Obs. Barely to mention the first, shall be sufficient, because 
 it does not properly belong to the present undertaking. Unhap- 
 py it would be for us, did not uniformity prevail iu morals : that 
 our actions should uniformly be directed to what is good and 
 against what is ill, is the greatest blessing of society ; and in order 
 to uniformity in action, uniformity of opinion and sentiment is in- 
 dispensable. 
 
 379. With respect to pastime in general, and the 
 fine arts in particular, the following illustrations make 
 the final cause of uniformity abundantly obvious. 
 
Criticism. 217 
 
 Ife, 1. Uniformity of taste gives opportunity ibr sumptuous 
 and elegant building?, for fine gardens, and extensive establishments 
 which please generally. 
 
 2. The reason is obvious : \vithoutunifornaUy of taste, there could 
 not be any suitable reward, either of profit or honour, to encourage 
 men of genius to labour in such works, and to advance them to 
 perfection. 
 
 3 The same uniformity of taste is equally necessary to perfect 
 the arts of music, sculpture, and painting, and to support the expense 
 \vhich they require after they are brought to perfection. 
 
 4. Nature is, in every particular, consisted with herself: we 
 are framed by nature to have a high relish for the fine arts, whicli 
 are a great source of happiness and friendly in a high degree to 
 virtue : we are at the same time, framed with uniformity of taste 
 to furnish proper objects for that high relish ; and if uniformity 
 did not prevail, the'fine arts would never have made any figure. 
 
 380. Another final cause no less obvious, is the 
 separation of men into different classes, by birth, 
 office, or occupation. How much soever this sepa- 
 ration might tend to relax the connexion that ought 
 to subsist among the members of the same state, its 
 effects are prevented by the access of all ranks of 
 people to public spectacles and amusements. These 
 assemblages of people of one country are best en- 
 joyed in company. In this common fellowship every 
 one partakes of the same pleasures. Such meetings 
 are, therefore, no slight support to the social affep- 
 lions * and to uniformity of taste. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CRITICISM. 
 381. TASTE, criticism and genius, are words cur- 
 
 * On works of taste, the student may now consult Dr. GerrctrtPs 
 Essay on Taste D^Alemberfs Reflections on the use and abuse of 
 Philosophy in matters which relate to taste Reflections Critiques 
 sur la Poesie ct sur !a Peinture Kctme^s Elements of Criticism - 
 Hume's Essay on the standard of Taste Introduction to the 
 Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful Blairs LecUres, and Allison 
 on Taste. 
 
 V 
 
218 Criticism. 
 
 rently employed, without distinct ideas annexed to 
 them. 
 
 Definition. True criticism is the application of taste and of good 
 *en.<e to the several fine arts. The object which it proposes is, to 
 distinguish what is beautiful and what is faulty in every performance ; 
 from particular instances to ascend to general principles ; and so to 
 form rules or conclusions concerning the several kinds of beauty in 
 v/orks of genius. 
 
 Jllas. The rules of crticism are not formed by any induction, 
 priori,, as it was called ; that is, they are not formed by a train of 
 abstract reasoning, independent of facts and observations. Criti- 
 cism is an art founded wholly on experience ; on the observations 
 of such beauties as have come nearest to th standard which we 
 before established ; that is, of such beauties as have been found to 
 please mankind most generally, (drt. 371.) 
 
 2. For example ; Aristotle's rules concerning the unity of action 
 in dramatic and epic composition, were not first discovered by 
 logical reasoning, and then applied to poetry ; but they were rules 
 drawn from the practice of Homer and Sophocles : they were 
 founded upon observing the superior pleasure which mankind re- 
 ceived from the relation of an action which was one and entire, be- 
 yond what they received from the relation of scattered and uncon- 
 nected facts. 
 
 3. Such observations taking their rise at first from feeling and 
 experience, were found en examination to be so consonant to 
 reason, and to the principles of human nature, as to pass into estab- 
 lished rules, and to be conveniently applied for judging of the excel- 
 lency of any performance. This is the most natural account of the 
 origin of criticism. 
 
 382. A masterly genius, it is true, will of himself, 
 untaught, compose in such a manner as shall be 
 agreeable to the most material rules of criticism ; for 
 as these rules are founded in nature, nature will often 
 suggest them in practice. 
 
 Illus. It is more than probable that Homer was acquainted with 
 no systems of the art of poetry. Guided by genius alone, he com- 
 posed in verse a regular story, which all posterity has admired. 
 But this is no argument against the usefulness of criticism as an art. 
 For as no human genius is perfect, there is no writer but may receive 
 assistance from critical observations upon tha beauties and faults of 
 those who have gone before him. No observations or rules cau 
 indeed supply the defect of genius, or inspire it where it is wanting. 
 But they may often direct it into its proper channel ; they may 
 correct its extravagances, and point out to it the most just and 
 proper imitation of nature. Critical rules are designed chiefly to 
 shew the faults that ought to be avoided. To nature we must 
 
Criticism. 219 
 
 be indebted for the production of eminent beauties. (See Corol. 1. 
 p. 48.) 
 
 383. From what has been said, we are enabled to 
 form a judgment concerning those complaints which 
 it has long been fashionable for petty authors to make 
 against critics and criticism. 
 
 Illus. 1. Critics have been represented as the great abridgers of 
 the national liberty of genius ; as the impcsers of unnatural shackles 
 and bonds upon writers, from whose cruel persecution they must 
 fly to the public, and implore its protection. Such supplicatory- 
 prefaces are not calculated to give very favourable ideas of the 
 genius of the author. For every good writer will be pleased to 
 have his work examined by the principles of sound understanding, 
 and true taste. 
 
 2. The declamations agaiust criticism commonly proceed upon 
 this supposition, that critics are such as judge by ru!e, not by feel- 
 ing. This is so i'ar from being true, that they who judge after this 
 manner are pedants, not critics. For all the rules of genuine criti- 
 cism will be found to be ultimately founded on feeling ; and taste 
 and feeiing are necessary to guide us in the application of these rules 
 to every particular instance. 
 
 3. As there is nothing in which all sorts of persons more readily 
 affect to be judges than in works of taste, there is no doubt that the 
 number of incompetent critics will always be great. But this affords 
 no more foundation for a general invective against criticism, than 
 the number of bad philosophers or reasoners affords against sound 
 philosophy and logic. 
 
 384. An objection more plausible may be formed 
 against criticism, from the applause that some per- 
 formances have received from the public, which, when 
 accurately considered, are found to contradict the 
 rules established by criticism. 
 
 Illus. Now, according to the principles laid down in the last 
 chapter, the public is the supreme judge to whom the last appeal 
 must be made in every work of taste ; as the standard of taste is 
 founded on the sentiments that are natuial and common to all men. 
 But with respect to this, we are to observe, that the sense of the 
 public, is often too hastily judged of. The genuine public taste does 
 not always appear in the first applause jriven upon the publication 
 of any new work. There are both the great vulgar, and the small 
 vulgar, who are apt to be catched and dazzled by very superficial 
 beauties, the admiration of which in a Jitte time passes away : ar;d 
 sometimes a writer may acquire ^reat temporary reputation merery 
 by his compliance with the passions or prejudices, with the party - 
 snirit or superstitious notions, that may chance to rule fora time' 
 
220 Of Genius. 
 
 almost a whole nation. In such cases, though the public may SP era 
 to praise, true criticism may with reason condemn ; and it will in 
 progress of time guia the ascendant : for the judgment of true criti- 
 cism, and the \oice of the public, when once become unprejudiced 
 and dispassionate, will ultimately coincide. 
 
 385. There are some works, that contain gross 
 transgressions of the laws of criticism, which, never- 
 theless, have acquired a general, and even a lasting 
 admiration. 
 
 I lias. 1. Such are the plays of Shakspeare, which, considered as 
 dramatic poems are irregular in the highest degree. But then they 
 have gained the public admiration, not by their being irregular, not 
 by their transgressions of the rules of art, but in spite of such trans- 
 gressions. They possess other beauties which are conformable to 
 just rules ; and the force of these beauties has been so great as to 
 overpower all censure, and to give the public a dagree of satisfaction 
 superior to the disgust arising from their blemishes. 
 
 2. Shakspeare pleases, not by his bringing the transactions of 
 many years into one play ; not by his grotesque mixtures of tragedy 
 and comedy in one piece, nor by the strained thoughts, and affected 
 witticisms, which he sometimes employs. These we consider as 
 blemishes, and impute them to the grossnesa of the age in which he 
 lived. Bat he pleases by his animated and masterly represen- 
 tations of characters, by the liveliness of his descriptions, the 
 force of his sentiments, and his possessing, bej r ond all v. liters, the 
 natural language of passion : beauties which true criticism no 
 less teaches us to place in the highest rank, than nature teaches 
 us to feti. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF GENIUS. 
 
 386. TASTE and GEXIUS are two words frequently 
 joined together; and therefore, by inaccurate thinkers, 
 confounded. Taste consists in the power of judging ; 
 genius, in the power of executing. 
 
 lllus. 1. One may have a considerable degree of taste in poetry, 
 eloquence, or any of the fine arts, who has iittle or hardly any 
 genius for composition or execution in any of these arts ; but 
 genius cannot be found without including taste also. Genius, 
 therefore, deserves to be considered as a higher power of mind 
 than taste. 
 
Of Genius* Ml 
 
 2. Genius always imports something inventive or creative ; which 
 does not rest in mere sensibility to heauty where it is perceived, 
 but which can., moreover, produce new beauties, and exhibit them 
 io such a manner as strongly to impress the minds of others. Ke- 
 finod taste forms a good critic; but genius is farther necessary to 
 form the poet, or the orator. ^ 
 
 3. Genius is a word, which, in common acceptation^ extends 
 much farther than to the objects of taste. It is used to signify that 
 talent or aptitude which we receive from nature, for excelling in any 
 one thing whatever. Thus we speak of a genius for mathematics^ 
 as well as a genius for poetry; of a genius for war, for politics, or 
 for any mechanical employment. 
 
 387. This talent or aptitude for excelling in some 
 one particular, is what we receive from nature. By 
 art and study, no doubt, it may be greatly improved ^ 
 but by them alone it cannot be acquired. 
 
 I Has. I. As genius is a higher faculty than taste, it is ever, ac- 
 cording to the usual frugality of nature, more limited in the sphere 
 of its operations. It i? not uncommon to meet with persons who- 
 have an excellent tasle in several of the polite arts, such as music, 
 poetry, painting, and eloquence, all together : but, to rind one who 
 is an excellent performer in all these arts, is much more rare ; or 
 rather, indeed, such an one is not to be looked for. 
 
 2. A sort of universal genius, or one who is equally and indiffer- 
 ently turned towards several different professions and arts, is not 
 likely to excel in any. Although there may be some few excep- 
 tions, yet in general it holds, tbat when the bent of the mind is ex- 
 clusively directed towards some one object, there is the fairest pros- 
 pect of eminence in that, whatever it be. The rays must converge 
 to a point, in order to g!ow intensely. This remark is the more 
 necessary, on account of its great importance to young people; ia 
 leading them to examine with care, and to pursue with ardour, the 
 current and pointing of nature towards those exertions of genius ia 
 which they are most likely to excel. 
 
 388. A genius for any of the fine arts, always su- 
 poses taste ; it is clear, that the improvement of taste 
 will serve both to forward arid to correct the opera- 
 tions of genius. 
 
 Illus. 1. In proportion as the taste of a poet, or orator, becomes 
 more refined with respect to the beauties of composition, it will cer- 
 tainly assist him to produce the more finished beauties in his work. 
 Genius, however, in a poet, or orator, may sometimes exist in a. 
 higher degree than taste ; that is, genius may be bold and strong, 
 when taste is neither very delicate, nor very correct. 
 
 2. This is often the case in the infancy of arts : a period when 
 genius frequently exerts itself with great vigour, aod executes with 
 
222 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 much warmth; while taste, which requires experience, and im- 
 proves by slower degree?, hath not yet attained to its full growth, 
 
 3. Homer and ^bakspeare are proofs of what is here asserted. 
 In the admirable writing? ofthoM; two reat poets are found instan- 
 ces of rudeness and indelicacy, which the more refined taste of la- 
 ter writers, of far inferior genius, would have taught them to avoid. 
 
 4. As all human perfection is limited, this may very probably be 
 the law of our nature, that it is not given to one man to execute 
 with vigour and fire, and, at the same time, to attend to all the les- 
 ser and more refined graces that belong to the exact perfection of 
 his work : while, en the other hand, a thorough taste for those infe- 
 rior graces is, for the most part, accompanied with a diminution of 
 sublimity and force. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SOURCES OF THE PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 389. HAVING now explained the nature of taste, 
 he nature and importance of criticism, and the dis- 
 tinction between taste and genius : we are now to 
 consider THE SOURCES OF THE PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 Qi'S. Here opens a very extensive field ; no Jess than all the pleas- 
 iur%s t.f the imagination^ as they are commonly called, whether af- 
 forded us by natural objects, or by the imitations and descriptions of 
 them. But it is not necessary to the purpose of this Grammar, that 
 ail these should be examined fully ; the pleasure which we receive 
 j'rom discourse, or writing, being the main object of them, so far as 
 rhetoric is concerned. All that is proposed, is to give some open- 
 ings into the pleasures of taste in general ; and to insist more par- 
 ticularly upon sublimity and beauty. 
 
 Illus. 1. It is difficult to make a full enumeration of the several 
 objects that give pleasure to taste ; it is more difficult to define all 
 those which have been discpvered, and to reduce them under pro- 
 per classes ; and, when we would go farther, and investigate the 
 efficient causes of the pleasure which we receive from such objects, 
 here, above all, we find ourselves at a loss. 
 
 2. For instance ; we all learn by experience, that certain figures 
 of bodies appear to us more beautiful than others. On inquiring 
 farther, we find that the regularity of some figures, and the grace- 
 ful variety of others, are the foundation of the beauty which we 
 discern in them ; but when we attempt to go a step beyond this, 
 and inquire wha*.js the cause of regularity and variety producing ia 
 fftir minds the sedation of beauty, any reason we can assign is ex* 
 
The Pleasures of Taste. 2-23 
 
 treinely 'mperfect. These first principles of internal sensation, na- 
 ture seems to have covered with an impenetrable veil. 
 
 3. Although the efficient cause be obscure, the final cause of those 
 sensations lies in many cases more open: and, in entering on this 
 subject, we cannot avoid taking notice of the strong impression 
 which the powers of taste and imagination are calculated to give us 
 of the benignity of our Creator. 
 
 4. By endowing us with such powers, he hath widely enlarged 
 the sphere of the pleasures of human life ; and those too of a kind 
 the most pure and innocent. The necessary purposes of life might 
 have been abundantly answered, though our senses of seeing and 
 hearing Had only served to distinguish external objects, without 
 conveying to us any of those refined and delicate sensations of beau- 
 ty and grandeur, with which we are now so much delighted. 
 
 5. This additional embellishment and glory, which, for promo- 
 ting our entertainment, trie Author of nature hath poured fourth up- 
 on his works, is one strikU^' testimony, among many others, of I j is 
 benevolence and goodness. 
 
 6. This thought, which Mr. Addison first started, Dr. Akenside, 
 in his poem on the Pleasures of the Imagination, has happily pursu- 
 ed. 
 
 . - . . - Not content 
 With every food of Jife to nourish man, 
 By kind allusions of the wondering sense, 
 Tnou mak'st all nature, beauty to his eye, 
 Or music to his ear. - - - - - 
 
 390. First, then, we begin .with considering the 
 pleasure which arises from sublimity or grandeur. 
 
 Iliac. It is not easy to describe, in words, the precise impression 
 which great and sublime objects make upon us when we behold 
 them, but every one has a conception of it. It produces a sort of 
 internal elevation and expansion ; it raises the mind much above 
 its ordinary state ; and fills it with a degree of wonder and aston- 
 ishment, which it cannot well express. The emotion is certainly- 
 delightful ; but it is altogether of the serious kind ; a degree of aw- 
 fulnes? and solemnity, even approaching to severity, commonly at- 
 tends it when at its height ; very distinguishable i'rom the more gay 
 and brisk emotion raised by beautiful objects. 
 
 391. The simplest form of external grandeur ap- 
 pears in the vast and boundless prospects presented 
 to us by nature ; such as wide extended plains, to 
 which the eye can see no limits ; the firmament of 
 heaven ; or the boundless expanse of the ocean. Al! 
 yastness produces the impression of sublimity. 
 
 Illus. It is to be jemarkcdj however, that space, extended ib 
 
2^4 ' The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 'length, makes not so strong an impression as height or depth. 
 Though a boundless plain be a grand object, yet a high mountain, 
 to which we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we 
 look down on the objects which lie below, is still inure so. 
 
 2. The excessive grandeur of the firmament arises from its 
 height, joined to its boundless extent; and that of the ocean, not 
 from its extent alone, but from the perpetual motion and irresisti- 
 ble force of that mass of waters. Wherever space is concerned, 
 it is clear, that amplitude or greatness of extent, in one dimension 
 or other, is necessary to grandeur. Remove all bounds from any 
 object, and you presently render it sublime. 
 
 Curul. Hence, infinite space, endless numbers, and eternal dura- 
 tion, Gil the mind with great ideas. 
 
 31)2. But vastriess, or amplitude of extent, is not 
 alone the foundation of all sublimity; because many 
 objects appear sublime, which have no relation to 
 space at all. 
 
 lllu*. Such, for instance, is great loudness of sound. The burst 
 of thunder or of cannon, the roaring of winds, the shouting of mul- 
 titudes, the sound of vast cataracts of water, are ali iucontestibiy 
 grand objects. In general we may observe, that great power anil 
 force exerted, always raise subiirae ideas; and perhaps the most 
 copious source of these is derived from this quarter. Hence the 
 grandeur of earthquakes and burning mountains ; of great confla- 
 grations ; of the stormy ocean, and overflowing waters; of tem- 
 pests of wind ; of thunder and lightning ; and of all the uncommon, 
 violence of the elements. 
 
 2. Nothing is more sublime than mighty power and strength. 
 A stream that runs within its banks is a beautiful object ; but when 
 it rushes down with the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it pre- 
 sently becomes a sublime one. From lions, and other animals of 
 strength, are drawn sublime comparisons in poets. A race-horse 
 is looked upon with pleasure ; but it is the war-horse, lk whose neck 
 K clothed with thunder," that carries grandeur in its appearance, 
 or our idea of the animal. 
 
 3. The engagement of two great armies, as it is the highest ex- 
 ertion of human might ; combines a variety of sources of the sub- 
 lime ; and has accordingly been, always considered as one of the 
 most striking and magnificent spectacles that can either be presen- 
 ted to the eye. or exhibited to the imagination in description. 
 
 Example. "Like autumn's dark storms, pouring from two echo- 
 ing hills, towards earh other, approached the heroes; as two dark 
 streams from high rocks, meet and roar on th^ plain, loud, rough, 
 and dark in battle, meet Lochlin and Inisfail. Chief mixes his 
 strokes with chief, and. man with man : steel sounds on steel, and 
 helmets are cleft on high ; blood bursts, and smokes around : strings- 
 murmur on the polished yew : darts rush along the sky : spears fail 
 like sparks of flame that gild the stormy face of night* 
 
Grandeur and Sublimity. 225 
 
 As the noise of troubled ocean when roll the waves on high, as 
 the last peal of thundering heaven; such is the noise of battle. 
 Though Cormacs 1 hundred bards were there, feeble were the voice 
 of a hundred bards, to send the deaths to future times ; for many 
 were the deaths of the heroes, and wide poured the blood of the 
 valiant." Fingal. 
 
 Analysis. Never were images more awfully sublime, employed 
 to heighten the terror of a battle. 
 
 393. For the farther illustration of this subject, it 
 is proper to remark, that all ideas of the solemn and 
 awful kind, and even bordering on the terrible, tend 
 greatly to assist the sublime : such as darkness, soli- 
 tude, and silence. 
 
 lllus. 1. What are the scenes of nature that elevate the mind in 
 the highest degree, and produce the sublime sensation ? Not the 
 gay landscape, the flowery field, or the flourishing city ; but the 
 hoary mountain, the solitary lake ; the aged forest, and the torrent 
 falling o*er the rock. 
 
 2. Hence, too, night-scenes are commonly the most sublime. 
 The firmament, when filled with stars, scattered in such vast num- 
 bers, and with such magnificent profusion, strikes the imagination 
 with a more awful graudeur, than when we view it enlightened with 
 all the splendour of the sun. 
 
 3. The deep sound of a great bell, or the striking of a great 
 clock, are at any time grand ; but, when heard amid the silence 
 and stillness of the night, they become doubly so. 
 
 4. Darkness is very commonly applied lor adding sublimity to 
 all our ideas ef the Deity. " lie maketh darkness his pavillion; 
 fie dwelieth in the thick cloud." 
 
 So Milton : 
 
 - - ' - - How oft, amidst ^ 
 
 Thick clouds afjd dark, does Heaven's all-ruling Sire 
 Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, 
 And, with the rhajesty of darkness, round 
 Circles his throne Par. Lost, Book II. 263, 
 
 394. OBSCURITY, we are farther to remark, is not 
 unfavorable to the sublime. Though it render the 
 object indistinct, the impression, however, may be 
 great ; for as an ingenious author has well observed, 
 it is one thing to make an idea clear, and another to 
 make it affecting to the imagination ; and the imagin- 
 ation may be strongly affected, and, in fact, often is 
 so, by objects of which we have no clear conception. 
 
 Jliue. Thu* we see, that almost all the descriptions sfsveu us of 
 
226 
 
 the appearance of supernatural beings, carry some sublimity, 
 though the conceptions which they afford us be confused and indis- 
 tinct. Their sublimity arises from the ideas, which they always 
 convey, of superior power and might, joined with an awful obicu- 
 rity. 
 
 Example. We may see this fully exemplified in the following no- 
 ble passage of (he book of Job : ; ' In thoughts from (lie visions of 
 the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, fear came upon me, 
 and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit 
 passed before my face ; the hair of my flesh stood up : it stood still ; 
 but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before my 
 eyes ; there was silence ; and I heard a voice shall mortal man be 
 more just than God*?" 
 
 Scholium. No ideas, it is plain, are so sublime as those taken 
 from the Supreme Being ; the most unknown, but the greatest of 
 ail objects; the infinity of whose nature, and the eternity of whose 
 duration, joined with the omnipotence of his power, though they 
 surpass our conceptions, yet exalt them to the highest. In gener- 
 al, all objects that are greatly raised above us, or far removed from 
 us, either in space or in time, are apt to strike us as great. Our 
 viewing them as through the mist of distance or antiquity, is favour- 
 able to the impressions of their sublimity. 
 
 395. As obscurity, so disorder too, is very com- 
 patible with grandeur; nay, frequently heightens it. 
 Few things that are strictly regular, and methodical, 
 appear sublime. 
 
 Illus. We see the limits on every side ; we feel ourselves confined ; 
 there is no room for the mind's exerting any great efibrt. Exact 
 proportion of parts, though it enters often into the beautiful, is much 
 disregarded in the sublime. A great mass of rocks, thrown togeth- 
 er by the hand of nature, with wildness and confusion, strike the 
 mind with more grandeur than if they had been adjusted to one an- 
 other with the most accurate symmetry. 
 
 Obs. In the feeble attempts which human art can make towards 
 producing grand objects, (feeble, doubtless, in comparison with the 
 physical powers of nature), greatness of dimensions always consti- 
 tutes a principal part. No pile of building can convey an idea of 
 sublimity, unless it be ample and lofty. There i.s too in architec- 
 ture, what is called greatne-s of manner ; which seems chiefly to 
 arise from presenting the object to us in one full point of view ; 50 
 that it shall make its impression whole, entire, and undivided, upon 
 the mind. A Gothic cathedral raises ideas of grandeur in our 
 minds, by its tize, its height, its awful obscurity, its strength, its an- 
 tiquity, and its durability. 
 
 396. There still remains to be mentioned one class 
 of sublime objects, which may be called the moral) oc 
 
 * Job, IV. 15. 
 
Grandeur and Sublimity. 227 
 
 sentimental sublime / arising from certain exertions of 
 the human mind ; from certain affections, and actions, 
 of our fellow-creatures. 
 
 lllus. These will be found to be all, or chiefly of that class, which 
 comes under the head of magnanimity, of heroism ; and they pro- 
 duce an effect extremely similar to what is produced hy the view of 
 grand objects in nature ; filling the mind with admiration, and ele- 
 vating it above itself. 
 Example 1. 
 
 Somerset. Ah ! Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, 
 We might recover all our loss a^ain. 
 The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power ; 
 Even now we heard the news. Ah ! could'st thou jfly ! 
 Warwick* Why then I would not fly. 
 
 Third Part of Henry VI. Act. V. Scene 2. 
 Analysis. Such a sentiment from a man expiring of his wounds, 
 is truly heroic ; and must elevate the mind to the greatest height 
 that can be done by a single expression. 
 
 Example 2. Porus, taken prisoner by Alexander, after a gallant 
 defence, and asked, How he wished to be treated ? answered, 
 li Like a king." 
 
 Caesar chiding the pilot, who was afraid to set out with him in a 
 storm. <l Quid times f Ceesarem vehis ; is another good instance of 
 this sentimental sublime. 
 
 Corol. Wherever, in some critical and high situation, we behold 
 a man uncommonly intrepid, and resting upon himself; superior to 
 passion and to fear ; animated by some great prif ciple to the con- 
 tempt of popular opinion, of selfish interest, of dangers, or of death ; 
 there we are struck with a sense of the sublime. (6'ee Scholia 2, 
 Art. 419.) 
 
 397. High virtue is the most natural and fertile 
 source of this moral sublimity. However, on some 
 occasions, where virtue either has no place, or is but 
 imperfectly displayed, yet if extraordinary vigour and 
 force of mind be discovered, we are not insensible to 
 a degree of grandeur in the character ; and from the 
 splendid conqueror, or the daring conspirator, whom 
 we are far from approving, we cannot withold our 
 admiration. 
 
 Example. The sublime in natural, and the sublime in moral ob- 
 jects, are brought before us in one view, and compared together, ia 
 the following beautiful passage of Akenside's Pleasures of the Ima- 
 gination : 
 
 Look then abroad through nature ; to the range 
 
228 The Pleasures of Tasit. 
 
 Of planet?, suns, and adamantine spheres. 
 
 Wheeling, unshaken, through the void immense ; 
 
 And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene, 
 
 With half that kindling majesty, dilate 
 
 Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 
 
 Refulgent, from >he stroke of Cesar's fate, 
 
 Amid the croud of patriots; and his arm 
 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
 
 "When guilt brings down the thunder? call'd aloud 
 
 On Tully'sname. and shook his crimson steel, 
 
 And bade the father of his country hail ! 
 
 For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust ; 
 
 And Rome again is free. Book I. 
 
 Scholia 1. We have now enumerated a variety of instance?, both 
 in inanimate objects and in human life, where the sublime appears. 
 In all these instances, the emotion raised in us is of the same kind, 
 although the objects that produce the emotion be of widely different 
 kinds. 
 
 2. A question next arises, whether we are able to discover some 
 one fundamental quality, in which all these different objects agree, 
 and which is the cause of their producing an emotion of the same 
 nature in our minds ? Various hypotheses have been formed con- 
 cerning this. 
 
 3. Some have imagined that amplitude or great extent, joined 
 Tvitb simplicity, is either immediately, or remotely, the fundamental 
 quality of whatever is sublime; but we have seen that amplitude is 
 confined to one species of sublime objects ; and cannot, without vio- 
 lent straining, be applied to them all. 
 
 4. Again, terror has been supposed the source of the sublime, and 
 that no objects have this character but such as produce impressions 
 of pain and danger. It is indeed true, that many terrible objects are 
 highly sublime ; and that grandeur does not refuse an alliance with 
 the idea of danger. But then this seems to stretch the theory too 
 far ; for the sublime does not consist wholly in modes of danger, or 
 e>f pain. The proper sensation of sublimity appears to be distin- 
 guishable from the sensation of either of these ; awd, on several oc- 
 casions, to be entirely separated from them. 
 
 5. In many grand objects, there is no coincidence with terror at 
 a!l ; as in the magnificent prospect of wide extended plains, and of 
 the starry firmament ; or in the moral dispositions and sentiments, 
 which we view with high admiration ; and in many painful and terri- 
 ble objects also, it is clear, there is no sort of grandeur. The am- 
 putation of a limb, or the bite of a snake, are exceedingly terrible ; 
 but are destitute of all claim whatever to sublimity. 
 
 6. Mighty force or power, whether accompanied with terror or 
 not, whether employed in protecting or in alarming us, has perhaps a 
 better title than any thing that has yet been mentioned, to be the 
 fundamental quality of the sublime ; as, after the review which we 
 have taken, there does not occur any sublime object, into the idea of 
 
The Sublime in Writing. -22$ 
 
 which, power, or strength, or force, does not enter, either directly, 
 or, at least, intimately fcssociated with the idea, by leading our 
 thoughts to some astonishing power, as concerned in the production 
 of the object. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SUBLIME IN WRITING. 
 
 398. HAVING treated of grandeur or sublimity, in 
 external objects, the way seems now to be cleared, 
 for treating, with more advantage, of the description 
 of such objects ; or, of what is called the sublime in 
 writing. The foundation of the sublime in composi- 
 tion, must always be laid in the nature of the object 
 described. 
 
 Illus. 1. Unless it be such an object as, if presented to our eyes, 
 if exhibited to us in reality, would raise ideas of that elevating, that 
 awful, and magnificent kind, which we call sublime ; the descrip- 
 tion, however finely drawn, is not entitled to come under this class. 
 This excludes all objects that are merely beautiful, gay, or ele- 
 gant. 
 
 2. In the next place, the object must not only, in itself, be sub- 
 lime, but it must be set before us in euch a light as is most proper 
 to give us a clear and full impression of it; it must be described 
 with strength, with conciseness, and simplicity. This depends, 
 principally^ upon the lively impression which the poet, or orator, has 
 of the object which he exhibits ; and upon his being deeply affected, 
 and warmed, by the sublime idea which he would convey. If his 
 own feeling be languid, he can never inspire us with any strong emov 
 tion. Instances, which are extremely necessary on this subject, will 
 clearly shew the importance of all the requisites which we have just 
 now mentioned. 
 
 399. It is, generally speaking, among the most an- 
 cient authors^ that we are to look for the most striking 
 instances of the sublime. The early ages of the 
 world, and the rude unimproved state of society, are 
 peculiarly favourable to the strong emotions of sub- 
 limity. 
 
 Illus. The genius of men is then much turned to admiration and 
 astonishment. Meeting with many objects, to them new and 
 
 V 
 
330 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 strange, their imagination is kept glowing, and Iheir passion? are 
 often raised to the utmost. They think, and express themselves 
 boldly, and without restraint. In the progress of society, the gen- 
 jus and manners of men undergo a change more favourable to accu- 
 racy, than to strength or sublimity. (See Art. 31 
 
 400. Of all writings, ancient or modern, the sacred 
 Scriptures afford us the highest instances of the sub- 
 lime. The descriptions of the Deity, in them, are 
 wonderfully noble; both from the grandeur of the 
 object, and the manner of representing it. 
 
 Example 1. What an assemblage, for instance, of awfuljand sub- 
 lime ideas is presented to us, in that passage of the 18th Psalm, 
 \>here an appearance of the Almighty is described? 
 
 2. " In my distress I called upon the Lord : he heard my voice 
 out of his temple, and my cry came before him. Then the earth 
 shook and trembled ; the foundations also of the hills were moved ; 
 because he was wroth. He bowed the heavens and came down, 
 and darkness was under his feet ; and he did ride upon a cherub, and 
 did fly ; yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made 
 darkness his secret place ; his pavilion round about him were dark 
 waters, and thick clouds of the sky." 
 
 Analysis. Here, agreeably to the principles established in Chap- 
 ter IV. {Art. 394.) we see, with what propriety and success the 
 circumstances of darkness and terror are applied for heightening 
 the sublime. 
 
 Example 3. So, also, the prophet Habakkuk, in a similar pas- 
 sage : " He stood, and measured the earth ; he beheld, and drove 
 asunder the nations. The everlasting mountains were scattered ; 
 the perpetual hills did bow; his ways are everlasting. The moun- 
 tains saw thec; and they trembled. The overflowing of the water 
 passed by. The deep uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands, 
 on high." 
 
 4. There is a passage in the Psalms, which deserves to be men- 
 tioned under this head : u God stilleth the noise of the seas, the uoise 
 of their waves, and the tumults of the people." 
 
 Analysis. The joining together two such grand objects, as the 
 raging of the waters, and the tumults of the people, between which 
 there is so much resemblance as to form a very natural association 
 in the fancy, and the representing them both as subject, at one mo- 
 ment, to the command of God, produces a noble effect. 
 
 401. Homer is a poet, who, in all ages, and by all 
 critics, has been greatly admired for sublimity ; and 
 he owes much of his grandeur to that native and un- 
 affected simplicity, which characterises his manner. 
 
 Xllut. His descriptions of hosts engaging ; the animation, the fire, 
 
The Sublime in Writing. 231 
 
 and rapidity, which he throws into his battles, present to every 
 reader of the Iliad, frequent instances of sublime writing. His in- 
 troduction of the gods, tend? often to heighten, in a high degree, the 
 majesty of his warlike scene?-. 
 
 Example 1. liencje Lonirinus bestows such high and just commen- 
 dations ca that passage, in the* 15th book of the Iliad, where Nep- 
 tune, when preparing to issue forth into the engagement, is descri- 
 bed as shaking the mountains with his steps, and driving his chariot 
 along the ocean. 
 
 2. Minerva, arming herself for fight, in the fifth book ; and Apollo, 
 in the 15th, leading on the Trojans, and flashing terror with his aegis 
 on the face of the Greeks ; are similar instances of great sublimity 
 added to the description of battles, by the appearances of those ce- 
 lestial beings. 
 
 3. In the 20th book, where all the gods take part in the engage- 
 ment, according as they severally favour either the Grecians or the 
 Trojans, the poet's genius is signally displayed, and the description 
 rises into the most awful magnificence. All nature is represented as 
 in commotion. Jupiter thunder* in the heavens ; Neptune strikes 
 the earth with his trident ; the ships, the city, and the mountains 
 'shake ; the earth trembles to its cc-ntre ; Pluto starts from his throne, 
 in dread, lest the secrets of the infernal region should be laid open 
 to the views of mortals. 
 
 402. The works of Ossian abound with examples of 
 the sublime. The subjects of which that author treats, 
 and the manner in which he writes, are particularly 
 favourable to it; 
 
 Titus. He possesses alHLe plain and venerable manner of the an". 
 cieiat times. He deals in no superfluous or gaudy ornaments; but 
 throw* forth his images with a rapid conciseness, which enables 
 them to strike the mind with the greatest force. Among poets of 
 more polished times, we are to look for the graces of correct wri- 
 ting, for just proportion of parts, and skilfully conducted narration. 
 In the midst of smiling scenery and pleasurable themes, the gay 
 and the beautiful will appear, undoubtedly, to mere advantage. 
 But amidst the rude scenes of nature and of society, such as Ossian 
 describes ; amidst rocks, and torrents, and whirlwinds, and bat- 
 tles, dwells the sublime ; and there it natnrally associates itself 
 with that grave and solemn spirit, which distinguishes the author of 
 FiugaK 
 
 403. Conciseness and simplicity are essential to 
 sublime writing. Simplicity is opposed to studied 
 and p-rofuse ornament 5 and conciseness, to superflu- 
 ous expression. 
 
 Illus. We shall now explain why a defect, either in conciseness 
 or simplicity, is hurtful, iu a peculiar manner^ to the sublime. The 
 
232 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 emotion occasioned in the mind hy some great or noble object, 
 raises it considerably above its ordinary pilch. A sort of enthu- 
 siasm is produced, extremely agreeable while it lasts; but from 
 which the mind is tending every moment to fail into its ordinary 
 situation. JNow, when an author has brought us, or is attempting 
 to bria;: us. into this alula, if he multiplies words unnecessarily, if 
 he decks I he sublime object which he presents to us, round and 
 round, with glittering ornameuts ; nay, if he throws in any one 
 decoration that sinks in the least below the capital image, that mo- 
 ment he alters the key ; he relaxes the tension of the mind ; the 
 strength of the feeling is emasculated ; the beautiful may remain, 
 but the sublime is gone. 
 
 Example 1. When Julius Caesar said to the pilot, who was afraid 
 to put to sea with him in a storm, " Quid times ? Caesarem vehis ; v - 
 {Example^. Art, 396.) we are struck with the daring magnanimity 
 of one relying will) such confidence on his cause and his fortune. 
 Thrise lew words convey every thiug necessary to give us the im- 
 pression full. 
 
 2. Lucan resolved to amplify and adora the thought. Observe 
 how, every time he twists it round, it departs farther from the sub- 
 lime, til! it ends at last in lumid declamation. In Howe's translation, 
 the passage runs thus : 
 
 Bat Caesar still superior to distress, 
 fearless, ana confident of sure success, 
 Thus to the pilot loud : The seas despise, 
 And the vain threatening of the noisy skies: 
 Though Gods deny thee yon Ausonian strand, 
 Yet go, I charge you, go, at my command. 
 Thy iijMurani::: stone can cause thy fear?, 
 Thou know'st not what a freight thy vessel bears : 
 Thou know'st not I am he to whom 'tis given. 
 Never to want the care of watchful heaven. 
 Obedient fcridue waits my humble thrall, 
 And, alw.tv\- roucSy, comes before I call. 
 Let wind-, aiui seas, loud wars at freedom wage, 
 And waste upon themsolvas their empty rage; 
 A struijger, mighik-r Daemon is thy friend, 
 'Thou, aud thy Larii, on Ceesar's fate depend. 
 Thou stami'st nuiaz'd to vkr.v this dreadful scene, 
 Aud wonder -st what tin) Gods and Fortune mean \ 
 But artfully their bounties thus they raise, 
 Afi-i from my danger arrogate new praise; 
 Amidst the fears oi death they bid me live, 
 Aud still enhance what they are sure to give*." 
 
 * Sperne ininas, inquit, pelagi, vcntoque furenti 
 Trade sinum : Italiaiii, si, ccelo auctore, recusas. 
 Me, pete. Sola titii causa haec est jusia timons 
 reiii non pOssu tuum ; quun uuiiiiiia iiUL-quam 
 
The Sublime in Writing. 
 
 404. On account of the great importance of simpli- 
 city and conciseness, rhyme, in English verse, if not 
 inconsistent with the sublime, is at least very unfa- 
 vourable to it. The constrained elegance of this 
 kind of verse, and studied smoothness of the sounds r 
 answering regularly to each other at the end of the 
 line, though they be quite consistent with gentle emo- 
 tions, yet weaken the native force of sublimity ; be- 
 sides, that the superfluous words which the poet is 
 often obliged to introduce, in order to fill up the 
 rhyme, tend farther to enfeeble it. 
 
 Example. Homer's description of tire nod of Jupiter, as shaki n o 
 the heavens, has been admired in all ages< a? highly ?uhlime. Liter- 
 ally translated, it runs thus : " He spoke, and bending his sabie 
 brows, gave the awful nod ; while he shook the cekbtiullocks ofiii% 
 immortal head, ail Olympus was shaken." 
 Pope translates it thus r 
 
 He spoke ; and awful bends his- saHe hrowfe, 
 
 Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gi\es the nod. 
 
 The stamp of fate, and sanction of a God. 
 
 High heaven with trembling the dread signal tc 
 
 And all Olympus to its centre shook, 
 
 Analysis. The image is spread out, and attempted to be b( 
 fieri ; but it is, in truth, awakened. The third line u The stamp 
 of fate, and sanction of a God," is merely repjentive ; and introdu- 
 ced for no other reason but lo fill up the rhyme ; for it interrupts the 
 description, and clogs the image. For the same reason, out o 
 
 as, in the original, the hair of his head shaken, is the effect of his 
 nod, and makes- a happy picturesque circumstance in the descrip- 
 tion *. 
 
 405. The boldness, freedom, and variety of our 
 
 Destituunt ; de quo male tune Fcrtuna meretur 
 Cum post vota venit. Medias perrumpe procellas 
 Tutela secure mea. Creli iste fretique 
 Non puppis nostree labor est. Hanc Caesars pressam 
 A fluctu defendet onus ; nam ; proderit undis 
 Iste ratis : Quid tanta strage paratur 
 Ignoras ; quaerit pelagi eoelique tumultu 
 Quid praestet fortuna mihi.Phars. V, 578, 
 * See Webb, on the Beauties of Foetrj, 
 
234 The Pleasures of Taste* 
 
 blank verse, are infinite!}' more favourable than rhyme 
 can be to all kinds of sublime poetry. The fullest 
 proof of this is afforded by Milton ; an author whose 
 genius led him eminently to the sublime. The whole 
 first and second books of Paradise Lost, are continued 
 instances of it. 
 
 Example. Take only for an example, the following noted de- 
 scription of Satan after his fail, appealing at the head of the infer- 
 
 nal hosts : . 
 
 - - He. above the rest, 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tower: his form had not yet lest 
 Aii her original brightness, nor appeared 
 Less than archangel ruined ; and the excess 
 Of glory obscured : as when the sun, new risen, 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air, 
 Shorn of his beams ; or, irom behind the moon, 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone 
 Above them all, th' Archangel. - - - - 
 
 Analysis. Here concur a variety of sources of the sublime ; the 
 principal object eminently great; a high superior nature, fallen 
 indeed, but erecting itself against distress; the grandeur of the 
 principal object heightened, by associating it with so noble an idea 
 as that of the sun suffering an eclipse ; this picture shaded with all 
 those images of change and trouble, of darkness and terror, which 
 coincide so finely wills the sublime emotion ; and the whole express- 
 ed in a style and versification, easy, natural, and simple, but mag- 
 nificent. 
 
 406. Simplicity and conciseness are essential to 
 sublime in writing, (Art. 403) ; but strength is another 
 necessary requisite. The strength of description ari- 
 ses, in a great measure, from a simple conciseness ; 
 but, it supposes also something more ; namely, a prop- 
 er choice of circumstances in the description, so as to 
 exhibit the object ia its full and most striking point 
 of view. 
 
 Illus. 1. For every object has several faces, so to speak, by 
 which it may be presented to us, according to the circumstances 
 with which it may be surrounded ; and it will appear eminently 
 sublime, or not, in proportion as all these circumstances are happily 
 , and -of a sublime kiad, Here lies the great art of a writer ? 
 
The Sublime in Writing. 
 
 and indeed, the great difficulty of sublime description. If the de- 
 scription be too general, and divested of circumstances, the ob- 
 ject appears in a faint light ; it makes a feeble impression, or 
 no impression at all, on the reader. At the same time, if an/ 
 trivial or improper circumstances are mingled, the whole is de- 
 graded. 
 
 2. A storm or tempest, for instance, is a sublime object in nature. 
 But, to render it sublime in description, it is not enough, either to 
 give us mere general expression concerning the violence of the tem- 
 pest, or to describe its common vulgar effects, in overthrowing trees 
 and houses. It must be painted with such circumstances as till the 
 jiiind with great and awful ideas. 
 
 Example. This is very happily done in the following passage ; 
 
 The Father of the Gods his glory shrouds, 
 
 Involved in tempests, and a night of clouds: 
 
 And from the middle darkness flashing out, 
 
 By fits he deals his fiery bolts about. 
 
 Earth feels the motions of her angry God, ) 
 
 Her entrails tremble, and her mountains nod, > 
 
 And flying beasts in forests keek abode. J 
 
 Deep horror seizes every human breast ; 
 
 Their pride is humbled, and their fears confest ; 
 
 While he from high bis rolling thunder throws, 
 
 And fires the mountains with repeated blows ; 
 
 The rocks are from their old foundations rent; 
 
 The winds redouble, and the rains augment *. Drydcn. 
 
 Analysis. Every circumstance in this noble description is the pro- 
 duction of aa imaginaton heated and astonished with the grandeur 
 of the object. 
 
 407. The sublime depends upon a just selection of 
 circumstances ; and great care, in writing, that every 
 circumstance be avoided, which, bordering in the 
 least upon the mean, or even upon the gay or the 
 trifling, might alter the tone of the emotion. 
 
 Jllus. 1. The proper sources of the sublime are to be looked for 
 every where in nature. It is not by hunting after tropes and figures, 
 and rhetorical assistances, that we can expect to produce it. No 
 it stands clear for the most part of these laboured refmemeats of art, 
 
 * Ipse Pater, media nimborum in nocte, corusca 
 Fulmina molitur dextra ; quo maxima motu 
 Terra tremit ; fugere ferae ; et mortalia corda 
 Per gentes humilis stravit pavor : ille flagrant! 
 Aut Atho, aut Rodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo 
 Dejicit. ... . -- Georg. /, 
 
236 Trie Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 It must come unsought, if it comes at all ; and be the natural ojffs- 
 priug of a strong imagination. 
 
 Est Deus in nobis ; agitante cale3cimus iilo. 
 
 2. Wherever a great and awful object is presented in nature, or 
 a very magnanimous and exalted affection of the human mind is dis- 
 played ; thence, if you can catch the impression strongly, and ex- 
 hibit it warm and glowing, you may draw the sublime. These are 
 its only proper sources. In judging of anj striking beauty in com- 
 position, whether it is or is not to be referred to this class, we must 
 attend to the nature of the emotion which it raises ; and only, if it 
 be of that elevating:, solemn, and awful kind, which distinguishes 
 this feeling, we can pronounce it sublime. 
 
 Scholium. From the account which has been given of the na- 
 ture of the sublime, it clearly follows, that it is r-n emotion which 
 can never be long protracted. The mind, hy no force of genius, 
 can be kept, for any considerable time, so far raised above its 
 common tone ; but will, of Bourse, relax into its ordinary situation. 
 Neither are the abilities of any human writer sufficient to furnish a 
 long continuation oi" uninterrupted sublime ideas. The utmost we 
 can expect, is, that this re of imagination should sometimes flash 
 upon us like lightning from heaven, and then disappear, la Homer 
 and Milton, this effulgence of genius breaks forth m'?-re frequently, 
 and with greater lustre than in most authors. Shakspeare also ri- 
 ses often into the true sublime. But no author whatever is sublime 
 throughout. Some, indeed, there are, who, by a strength and dig- 
 nity in their conceptions, and a current of high ideas that runs 
 through their whole composition, preserve the readers mind always 
 in a tone nearly allied to the sublime ; for which reason they may, 
 in a limited sense, merit the name of continued sublime writers j and 
 in this class we may justly place Demosthenes and Plato. 
 
 408. As for what is called the sublime sty/e, it is, 
 for the most part, a very bad one ; and has no relation 
 whatever to the real sublime. 
 
 Illus. Persons are apt to imagine that magnificent words, accu- 
 mulated epithets, and a certain swelling kind of expression, by ris- 
 ing above what is usual or vulgar, contributes to the sublime ; nay r 
 even forms this style. Nothing can be more false. In all the in- 
 stances ofsubJime writing, which, we have given, nothig of this 
 kind appears. 
 
 Example. "God said let there be light, and there Was light." 
 
 Analysis. This is striking and sublime. But put it into what is 
 commonly called the sublime style : the sovereign Arbiter of nature, 
 by the potent energy of a single word, commanded the light to ex- 
 ist ;" and, as Boileau has well observed, the style indeed is raised,, 
 but the thought is fallen. 
 
 Cowl. 1. fa general, in all good writing, the sublime lies in the 
 ihought, not in Uie words ; and when the thought is truly m>ble> it 
 
The Sublimity in Writing. 237 
 
 will for the most part, clothe itself in a native dignity of language. 
 The sublime, indeed, rejects mean, low, or trivial expressions ; but 
 it is equally an enemy to such as are turgid. The main secret t-f 
 being sublime, is to say great tilings in few and plain words. 
 
 2. It will be found to hold, without exception, thrat the most sub- 
 lime authors are the simplest in their style ; and wherever j'ou find 
 a writer, who affects a more than ordinary pomp and parade of 
 words, and is always endeavouring 1 to magnify his subject by epi- 
 thets, there you may immediately suspect, that feeble in sentiment, 
 he is studying to support himself by mere expression. 
 
 409. The same unfavourable judgment we must 
 pass on all that laboured aparatus with which some 
 writers introduce a passage, or description, which 
 they intend shall be sublime ; calling on their readers 
 to attend, invoking their muse, or breaking forth into 
 general, unmeaning exclamations, concerning the 
 greatness, terribleness, or majesty of the object, 
 which they are to describe. 
 
 Example. Addison, in his Campaign, has fallen into an error of 
 this kind, when about to describe the battle of Blenheim : 
 
 But O 1 my Muse ! what numbers wilt thou find 
 
 To sing the furious troops in battle joined ? 
 
 Methinks, 1 hear the drum's tumultuous sound, 
 
 The victor's shouts, and dying groans, confound; c. 
 Jlnalysis. Introductions of this kind, are a forced attempt in a 
 'writer to ?pur up himself, and his reader, when he finds his imagin- 
 ation begin to flag. It is like taking artificial spirits in order to 
 supply the want of such as are natural. By this observation, how- 
 ever, it is not meant to pass a general sensure on Adison's Cam- 
 paign, which, in several place?, is far from wanting merit ; and, io 
 particular, the noted comparison of his hero to the angel who rides 
 in the whirlwind, and directs the storm, is a truly sublime image. 
 
 410 The faults opposite to the sublime, are chiefly 
 two ; first, the frigid; and, secondly, the boinbast. 
 
 Jllus. 1. The frigid consists in degrading an object, or sentiment, 
 uhk.h is sublime in itself, by our weak conception of it ; or, by our 
 weak, low, and childish description of it. This betrays entire ab- 
 sence, or at least, gre?.t poverty of genius. (See Art. 204.) 
 
 2. Lombast Jies in forcing an ordinary or trivial object out of iis 
 rank, and endeavouring to raise it into the sublime ; or, in attempt- 
 ing to exalt a sublime object beyond all natural and reasonable 
 bounds. Into this error, which i? but too common, writers of gen- 
 ius may sometimes fall, by unluckily losing sight of the true point of 
 the subiiaie. This is also called fustain* or rant. Shakspeare t a 
 
238 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 great but incorrect genius, is not unexceptionable here. Dryden 
 and Lee. in their trajedies, abound with it. (See Chapter Vlll. 
 Book 111.) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEAUTY, AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 411. BEAUTY, next to sublimity, affords, beyond 
 <:loubt, the highest pleasure to the imagination. The 
 emotion which it raises, is very distinguishable from 
 that of sublimity. It is of a calmer kind ; more gen- 
 tle and soothing ; it does not elevate the mind so 
 much, but produces an agreeable serenity. Sublim- 
 ity raises a feeling, too violent, to be lasting? the 
 pleasure arising from beauty admits of longer contin- 
 uance. It extends also to a much greater variety of 
 objects than sublimity ; to a variety indeed so great 
 that the feelings which beautiful objects produce, dif- 
 fer considerably, not in degree only, but also in kind 
 from one another. Hence, no word in the language 
 is used in a more vague signification than beauty. 
 
 Illus. It is applied to almost every external object that pleases 
 the eye. or the ear ; to a great number of the graces of writing- ; to 
 many disposition? of the mind ; nay, to several objects of mere ab- 
 stract science. We talk currently of a beautiful tree or ilower ; a 
 beautiful poem ; a beautiful character ; and a beautiful theorem in 
 mathematics. 
 
 Scholia 1. Hence we may easily perceive, that, among 1 so great 
 a variety of objects, to find out some one quality in which they all 
 agree, and which is the foundation of that agreeable sensation they 
 all raise, must be a very dilficult, if not, more probably a vain at- 
 tempt. 
 
 2. Objects, denominated beautiful, ore so different, as to please, 
 not in virtue of aiiy one quality common to them all, but by means 
 of several different principles in human nature. The agreeable e- 
 jnotion which they all raise, is somewhat of the same nature ; and, 
 therefore has the common nariieof beauty given to it ; but it is rais- 
 ed by different causes. 
 
 412. Hypotheses, however, have been framed by 
 ingenious men, for assigning the fundamental quality 
 
Beauty. 239 
 
 of beauty in all objects. In particular, uniformity 
 amidst variety, has been insisted on as this fundamen- 
 tal quality. This accounts in a satisfactory mariner, 
 for the beauty of many figures. 
 
 Illus. But when we endeavour to apply this principle to beautiful 
 objects of some other kind, as to colour, for instance, of motion, we 
 shall soon find that it has no place. And even in external figured 
 objects, it does not hold that their beauty is in proportion to their 
 mixture of variety with uniformity ; seeing many please us as highly 
 beautiful, which have scarcely any variety ; and others, which are 
 various to a degree of intricacy. 
 
 Obs. Laying systems of this kind, therefore, aside, we propose to 
 give an enumeration of several of those classes of objects in which 
 beauty most remarkably appears ; and to point out, as far as the 
 limits of this work will admit, the separate principles of beauty in 
 each of them. 
 
 413. COLOUR affords, perhaps, the simplest instance 
 of beauty, and therefore the fittest to begin with. 
 Here, neither variety, nor uniformity, nor any other 
 principle, can perhaps be assigned, as the foundation 
 of beauty. 
 
 Illus. 1. We can refer it to 110 other cause except the structure 
 of the eye, which determines us to receive certain modifications of 
 the ray? of light with more pleasure than others. And we see ac- 
 cordingly, that, as the organ of sensation varies in different persons, 
 they have their different favourite colours. It is probable, that asso- 
 ciation 0} ideas has influence, in some cases, on the pleasure which 
 we receive from colours. 
 
 Example. Green, for instance, may appear more beautiful, by 
 being connected in our ideas with rural prospects and scenes ; white, 
 with innocence ; blue, with the serenity of the sky. 
 
 Illus. 2. Independent of associations of this kind, all that we can 
 farther observe concerning colours, is, that those chose for beauty 
 are, generally, delicate, rather than glaring. 
 
 Example. Such are those paintings with which nature hath orna- 
 mented some of her works, and which art strives in vain to imitate ; 
 as the feathers of several kinds of birds, the leaves of flowers, and 
 the dne variation of colours exhibited by the sky at the rising and 
 setting of the sun. 
 
 Carol. These present to us the highest instances of the beauty of 
 colouring; and have accordingly been the favourite subjects of poet- 
 ical description in all countries. 
 
 414. From colour we proceed to figure, which 
 opens to us forms of beauty more complex and diver- 
 sified. 
 
240 TJie Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 415. REGULARITY of figure first occurs to be no- 
 ticed as a source of beauty. 
 
 Jllus. 1. By ^regular figure, is meant, one which we perceive to 
 fee formed according to some certain rule, and not left arbitrary, or 
 loose, in the construction of its parts. 
 
 Example. Thus, a circle, a square, a triangle, or a hexagon, 
 pleases the eye, by its regularity, as a beautiful figure. 
 
 Analysis. We must not, however, conclude, that all figure? please 
 in proportion to their regularity ; or that regularity is the sole, or the 
 chief foundation of beauty in figure. On the contrary, a certain 
 graceful variety is found to be a much more powerful principle of 
 beauty ; and is therefore studied a great deal more than regularity, 
 in all works that are designed merely to please the eye. 
 
 IHus. 2. Regularity appears beautiful to us, chiefly, if not only, 
 on account of its suggesting the ideas ofjitness, propriety, and use 
 qualities which have alvv%ys a greater connection with orderly and 
 proportioned forms, than with those which appear not constructed 
 according to any certain rule. It is clear that Nature, who is un- 
 doubtedly the most graceful artist, hath, in all her ornamental 
 works, pursued variety, with an apparent neglect of regularity. 
 _ Examples. Cabinets, made after a regular form, in cubes, door, 
 and windows, constructed in the form of parallelograms, with exact 
 proportion of parts ; by being so formed, please the eye : the reason. 
 is obvious ; being works of use, they are, by such figures, the bet- 
 ter suited to the ends for which they were designed But plants, 
 flowers and leaves are full of variety and diversify. A straight canal 
 is an insipid figure, in comparison of the meanders of rivers. Cones^ 
 and pyramids are beautiful ; but trees growing in their natural 
 wiidness, are infinitely more beautiful than when trimmed into 
 pyramids and cones; as is the fashion, for instance, in almost all 
 gardens and pleasure-grounds. The apartments of a house must be 
 regular in their disposition, for the conveniency of its inhabitants; 
 but a garden, which is designed merely for beauty, is exceedingly 
 disgusting, when ittias as much uniformity and order in its parts as 
 .a dwelling-house*. 
 
 416. Hogarth, in his Analysis of Beauty, has ob- 
 served, that figures bounded by curve lines are, in 
 general, more beautiful than those bounded by straight 
 lines and angles. 
 
 Illus. He pitches upon two lines, on which, according to him, 
 the beauty of figure principally depends ; and he has illustrated and 
 supported his doctrine, by a surprising number of instances. 
 
 Example 1. The one is the waving line, or a curve bending back- 
 wards and forwards, somewhat in the form of the letter S. 
 
 * See Lord Kames's Elements of Crit. vol. iz. chap. 24. 
 
Beauty. 241 
 
 Analysis. This he calls the line of beauty ; and shows how often 
 it is found in shells, flowers, and such other ornamental works of na- 
 ture ; and how common it also is in the figures designed by painters 
 and sculptors, for the purpose of decoration. 
 
 Example 2. The other line, which he calls the line of grace, is 
 the former waving 1 curve, twisted round some solid body. The 
 curling worm <*if a common jack is one of the instances he gives of 
 it. Twisted pillars, and twisted horns, also exhibit it. 
 
 Analysis. In all the instances which he mentions, variety plainly 
 appears to bo so material a principle of beauty that he seems not 
 to err much when he defines the art of drawing pleasing forms, to 
 be the art of varying well. For the curve line, so much the favour- 
 ite of painters, derives, according to him, its chief advantage, from 
 its perpetual bending and variation from the stiff regularity of the 
 straight line. 
 
 417. MOTION furnishes another source of beauty, 
 distinct from figure. Motion of itself is pleasing ; 
 and bodies in motion are, " c&teris paribus^ prefer- 
 red to those in rest. It is, however, only gentle mo- 
 lion that belongs to the beautiful ; for, when it is very 
 swift or very forcible, such as that of a torrent, it par- 
 takes of the sublime. (Illus. 2. Art. 392.) 
 
 Example \. The motion of a bird gliding through the air is ex- 
 tremely beautiful; the swiftness with which lightning darts through 
 the heavens is magnificent and astonishing. 
 
 Obs. And here it is proper to observe, that the sensations of sub- 
 lime and beautiful are not always distinguished by very distant 
 boundaries; but are capable in several instances, of approaching 
 towards each other. 
 
 Example 2. Thus, a smooth running stream is one of the most 
 beautiful objects in nature : as it swells gradually into a great river, 
 the beautiful by degrees, is lost in the sublime. 
 
 3. A young tree is a beautiful object ; a spreading ancient oak, 
 is a venerable and a grand one. 
 
 4. The calmness of a fine morning is beautiful ; the universal still- 
 ness of the evening is highly sublime. 
 
 Illus. But to return to the beauty of motion, it will be found to 
 hold very generally, that motion in a straight line is not so beauti- 
 ful as in an undulating waving direction ; and motion upwards is, 
 commonly too, more agreeable than motion downwards. 
 
 Example. 5. The easy curling motion of flame and smoke may 
 be instanced, as an object singularly agreeable ; and here Mr. Ho- 
 garth's waving line recurs upon us as a principle of beauty. 
 
 Carol That artist observes, very ingeniously, that all the com- 
 mon and necessary motions for the business of life are performed by 
 men in straight or plain lines ; but that all the graceful and orna- 
 mental movements are made in waving lines, an observation not 
 W 
 
242 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 unworthy of being attended to, by all who study the grace of gesture 
 and action. 
 
 418. Though colour, figure, and motion, be sepa- 
 rate principles of beauty ; yet in many beautiful ob- 
 jects they all meet, and thereby render the beauty 
 both greater and more complex. 
 
 Example 1. Thus, in flowers, trees, animals, we are entertained 
 at once with the delicacy of the colour, with the gracefulness of the 
 figure, and sometimes also with the: motion of the object. 
 
 Analysis. Although each of these produces a separate, agreeable 
 sensation, yet they are of such a similar nature, as readily to mix 
 and blend in one general perception of beauty, which we ascribe to 
 liie whole object as its cause : for beauty is alwa} r s conceived by us 
 aa something residing in the object which raises the pleasant sensa- 
 lion ; a sort of glory which dwells upon it, and that invests it. 
 
 Kxample 2. Perhaps the most complete assemblage of beautiful 
 >hjects that can any where be found, is presented by a rich natural 
 landscape, where there is a sufficient variety of objects : fields in 
 verdure, scattered trees and flowers, running water, and animals 
 grazing . 
 
 dnalysi*. If to these be joined none of the productions of art 
 which suit such a scene, as a bridge with arches over a river, smoke 
 rising from cottages in the midst of trees, and the distant view of a 
 fine building seen, at the same time, with the rising sun ; we then 
 enjoy, in the highest perfection, that gaj r , cheerful, and placid sen- 
 sation which characterises beauty. 
 
 Coral. To have an eye and a taste formed for catching the pecu- 
 liar beauties of such scenes as these, is a necessary requisite for all 
 who attempt poetical description.. 
 
 419. The beauty of the human countenance is more . 
 complex than any that we have yet considered. It 
 includes the beauty of colour, arising from the deli- 
 cate shades of the complexion; and the beauty of 
 fg.ure, arising from the lines which form the different 
 ieatures of the face. But the chief beauty of the 
 countenance depends upon a mysterious expression, 
 which it conveys, of the qualities of the mind ; 
 of good sense, or good humour ; of sprightliness, 
 candour, benevolence, sensibility, or other amiable 
 dispositions. 
 
 Analysis. How it comes to pass, that a certain conformation of 
 features is connected in our idea with certain moral qualities ; 
 whether we are taught by instinct, or by experience, to form this 
 
Beauty. 243 
 
 connection, and to read the mind in the countenance; belongs not 
 to us now to inquire, nor is it indeed easy to resolve. The fact is 
 certain, and acknowledged, that what gives the human counte- 
 nance its most distinguishing beaut\ r , is, what is called its expres- 
 sion ; or an image, which it is conceived, to shew of inief.aaj moral 
 dispositions. 
 
 Scholia I. This leads us to observe, that there are certain qual- 
 ities of the mind, which, whether expressed in the countenance, 
 or by words, or by actions, always raise in us a feeling similar to 
 that of beauty. 
 
 2. There are two great classes of moral qualities ; one is of the 
 high and the great virtues, which require extraordinary efforts, 
 and turn upon dangers and sufferings ; as heroism, magnanimity, 
 contempt of pleasures, and contempt of death. These excite in the 
 spectator an emotion of sublimity and grandeur. (Illus. Art. 396.) 
 
 3. The other class is generally of the social virtues, and such as 
 are of a softer and gentler kind ; as compassion, mildness, frendshin, 
 and generosity. These raise in the beholder a sensation of pleasure, 
 so much akin to that produced by beautiful external objects, that, 
 though of a more dignified nature, it may, without impropriety, be 
 classed under the same head. 
 
 420. A species of beauty, distinct from any that we 
 have yet mentioned, arises from de$ign, or art / or in 
 other words, from the perception of means being ad- 
 apted to an end ; or the parts of any thing being well 
 fitted to answer the design of the whole. 
 
 Jllus. When, in considering the structure of a tree, or a plant, 
 \ve observe how all the part?, the roots, the stem, the bark, and 
 the leaves, are suited to the growth and nutriment of the whole ; 
 much more when we survey all the parts and members of a living 
 animal ; or when we examine any of the curious works of art ; Such 
 as a clock, a ship, or any nice machine ; the pleasure which we 
 have in the survey, is wholly founded on this sense of beauty. It 
 is altogether different from the perception of beauty produced by- 
 colour, figure, variety, or any of the causes formerly mentioned. 
 
 Analysis. When we look at a watch, for instance, the case of it, 
 if finely engraved, and of curious workmanship, strikes you as beau- 
 tiful in the former sense ; bright colour, exquisite polish, figures 
 finely rai?ed and turned. But when you examine the spring and 
 the wheels, and examine the beauty of the internal machinery ; 
 your pleasure then arises wholly from the view of that admirable 
 art with which so many various and complicated parts are made to 
 unite for one purpose. 
 
 421. This sense of beauty, in fitness and design, 
 has an extensive influence over many of our ideas, 
 It is the foundation of the beauty which we discover 
 
244 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 in the proportion of doors, zvindfjius, arches, piL 
 and all the orders of architecture. 
 
 1. Let the ornaments of a building be ever so fine and 
 elegant in themselves, yet if they interfere with this sense of fitness 
 ami cu-siir:!. ti,f:y ioosfc iheir beauty, and hurt the eye like disagree- 
 pbjects, 
 
 2. Twisted columns, for instance, are undoubtedly ornamental ; 
 hut as they have an appearance o." weakness, they always displease 
 when they are made use of to support any part of a building that is 
 massy, and that seems to require a more substantial prop. 
 
 3. We cannot look upon any work whatever, without being led, 
 by a natural association of ideas, to think of its end and design, and 
 of course to examine the propriety of its parts, in relation to this 
 design and end. When their propriety is clearly discerned, the 
 work seems always to have some beauty ; but when there is a total 
 want of propriety, it never fails of appearing deformed. 
 
 4. Our sense of fitness and design, therefore, is so powerful, and 
 holds so high a rank anuono; our perceptions, as to regulate, in a great 
 measure, our other ideas of beauty. This observation is of the ut- 
 most importance, to all who study composition. For in an epic 
 poem, a history, an oration, or any work of genius, we ahva}^s re- 
 quire, as -we do in other works, a fitness, or adjustment of mean?, to 
 the end which the author is supposed to have in view. Let hi? de- 
 scriptions be ever so rich, or his figures ever so elegant, yet if they 
 are out of place, if they are not proper parts of that whole, if they 
 
 c the Hi'iiu design, they lose all their beauty ; nay, from 
 
 es they are converted into deformities. Such power has 
 
 our sense of iitnef-s and cougruity, to produce a total transforma- 
 
 ;ioa of an object whose appearance otherwise would have been 
 
 beautiful. 
 
 ^. After having mentioned so many various 
 species of beauty, it now only remains to take notice 
 of beauty as it is applied to zoriting or discourse / a 
 i.erm commonly used in a sense altogether loose and 
 undetermined. For it is applied to all that pleases. 
 cither in style or in sentiment, from whatever princi- 
 ple that pleasure flows; and a beautiful poemorora- 
 lion means, in common language., no other than a good 
 me, or one ivell composed. 
 
 Illus. 1. In this stjn?*e, it is plain, the word is altogether indefinite, 
 and points at no particular species or kind of beauty. 
 
 2. There is, however, another sense, somewhat more definite, in 
 vhich beauty of writing chararteri es- a particular manner ; when it 
 is used to signify a certain srrace and amenity, ia the turn either of 
 style or sentiment, for which some authors have been peculiarly 
 distinguished. 
 
Beauty. 245 
 
 3. In this sense, it denotes a manner neither remarkably sub- 
 lime, nor vehemently passionate, nor uncommonly sparkling; but 
 such as raises in the reader an emotion of the gentle placid kind, 
 similar to what is raised by the contemplation of beautiful objects 
 in nature ; which neither lifts the raiod very high, nor agitates it 
 very much, but diffuses over the imagination an agreeable and 
 pleasing serenity. 
 
 Scholia 1. Addison is a writer altogether of this character; and 
 is one of the most proper arid precise examples that can be given of 
 it. Feneien, the author of ihe Adventure? of Telemachus, may be 
 given as another example. Virgil too, though very capable of 
 rising on occasions into the sublime, yet, 5a his general manner, is 
 distinguished by the character of beauty and grace, rather than of 
 sublimity. Among orators, Cicero has more of the beautiful than 
 DernostheneSj whose genius led him wholly towards vehemence and 
 strength. 
 
 2. This much it is sufficient to have said upon the subject of 
 beauty. We have traced it through a variety of forms; because 
 next (o sublimity, it is the most copious source of the pleasures of 
 taste ; and because the consideration of the different appearances, 
 and principles of beauty, tends to the improvement of taste in many 
 subjects. 
 
 3. But it is not only by appearing under the forms of sublime or 
 beautiful^ that objects delight the imagination. From several other 
 principles, also, they derive their power of giving it pleasure. 
 
 423. NOVELTY, for instance, has been mentioned 
 by Addison, by Kames, and by every writer on this 
 subject. An object which has no merit to recommend 
 it, except its being uncommon or new, by means of 
 this quality alone, produces in the mind a vivid and an 
 agreeable emotion. Hence that passion of curiosity, 
 which prevails so generally among mankind. 
 
 Illus. Objects and ideas which have been long familiar, make too 
 faint an impression to give an agreeable exercise to our faculties. 
 New and strange objects rouse the mind from its dormant state, by 
 giving it a quick and pleasing impulse. Hence in a great measure, 
 the entertainment afforded us by fiction and romance. The emotion 
 raised by novelty is of a more lively and pungent nature than that 
 produced by beauty ; but much shorter in its continuance. For if 
 the object have in itself no charms to hold our attention, the shining 
 gloss thrown upon it by novelty soon wears off. 
 
 424. Besides novelty, imitation is another source' 
 of pleasure to taste. This gives rise to what are 
 termed, the secondary pleasures of imagination, ; which 
 foraij doubtless, a very extensive class 3 
 
24G The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 llbis. For all imitation affords some pleasure ; not only the inv, 
 iation of beautiful or great objects, by recalling the original idea* 
 of beauty or grandeur which such objects themselves exhibited ; but 
 even objects which have neither beauty nor grandeur, nay, some 
 which are terrible or deformed, please us in a secondary or repre- 
 sented view. j 
 
 425. The pleasures of melody and harmony be- 
 long also to taste. There is no agreeable sensation 
 we receive either from beauty or sublimity, but what 
 is capable of being heightened by the power of mu- 
 sical sound. Hence the delight of poetical numbers ; 
 and even of the more concealed and looser measures 
 of prose. 
 
 426. Wit, humour, and ridicule, likewise open a 
 variety of pleasures to taste, quite distinct from any 
 that we have yet considered. 
 
 427. WIT is a quality of certain thoughts and ex- 
 pressions : the term is never applied to an action, nor 
 to a passion ; far less to an external object*. 
 
 Illus. 1 . Wit is a term appropriated to such thoughts and express- 
 ions as are ludicrous, and also occasion some degree of surprise 
 by their singularity. 
 
 "2. Wit also, in a figurative sense, expresses a talent for invent- 
 ing ludicrous thoughts or expressions : we say commonly a uiity 
 man, or a man of wit. Hudibras is a man of wit ; Falstaff is a 
 witty man : Swift is both. 
 
 3^ Wit, in its proper sense, as explained above, is distinguishable 
 into two kinds ; wit in the thought, and wit in the words or exprts- 
 sions. 
 
 4. Again : wit in the thought, is of two kinds; ludicrous images, 
 and ludicrous, combinations, that have little or no natural relation. 
 
 5. Ludicrous images, which surprise hy their singularity, are fab- 
 ricated by the imagination ; and ludicrous combinations are %uch an 
 assemblage of ideas or of things, as by distant and fanciful relations, 
 surprise, because they are unexpected. 
 
 428. HUMOUR. Nothing just or proper is denom- 
 inated humour ; nor any singularity of character, 
 words, or actions that is valued or respected. 
 
 Illus. 1. When we attend to the character of an humourist, we 
 find that it arises from circumstances both risible and improper, and 
 therefore that it lessens the man in our esteem, and makes him in 
 some measure ridiculous. 
 
 * Kames's Essays, chap. 13. vol. L 
 
Beauty. 247 
 
 2. A ludicrous wriler is one who insists upon ludicrous subjects 
 with the professed purpose to make his readers laugh ; a writer of 
 humour is one, who affecting to be grave and serious, paints his sub- 
 jects in such colours as to provoke mirth and laughter. 
 
 Example. Swift and Fontaine were humourists in character, and 
 their writings are full of humour. Arbuthnot outdoes them in droll- 
 ery and humourous painting ; but he who should say that Addison 
 was an humourist in character, would be suspected of mistaking 
 horse chesnuts for chesnut horses. 
 
 429. RIDICULE. A visible object produceth an 
 emotion of laughter merely, a ridiculous object is 
 improper as well as risible, and produceth a mixed 
 emotion, which is vented by a laugh of derision or 
 scorn*. 
 
 Obs. Burksque is a great engine of ridicule : it is distinguishable 
 into the burlesque that excites laughter merely, and the burlesque 
 that provokes derision or ridicule. 
 
 Examples. Virgil Travestie, and the Lutrin are compositions 
 which come under this article. The Rape of the Lock is not strictly 
 burlesque, but an heroic-comical poem. Addison's Spectator t on 
 the Fan is extremely gay arid ludicrous. 
 
 Scholium. This singular advantage writing and discourse possess, 
 that, in every point of view, they encompass a large and rich field, 
 in respect to the pleasures of taste ; and have power to exhibit, in 
 great perfection, not a single set of objects only, but almost the 
 whole of those which give pleasure to taste and imagination : 
 whether that pleasure arise from sublimity, from beauty in iis dif- 
 ferent forms, from design and art, from moral sentiment, from nov- 
 elty, from harmony, from wit, humour, and ridicule. To which- 
 soever of these the peculiar bent of a person's taste lies, from some 
 writer or other he has it always in his power to receive the gratifi- 
 cation of his taste. 
 
 430. The high power which eloquence and poetry 
 possess, of supplying taste and imagination with an 
 extensive circle of pleasures, they derive altogether 
 from their having a greater capacity of imitation and 
 description than is possessed by any other art. 
 
 Illus. 1. Of all the means which human ingenuity has contrived 
 for recalling the images of real objects, and awakening, by repre- 
 sentation, similar emotions to those which are raised by the original, 
 none is so full and extensive as that which is executed bywords and 
 writing. Through the assistance of this happy invention, there is 
 
 * Arist. Poet. ch. 5. Cicero de Oratore, 1. 2. Quiactilian, lib. 
 6. cap. 3. t No. 102, 
 
248 The Pleasures of Taste. 
 
 nothing, either in the natural or in the moral world that cannot 
 be represented and set before the mind, in colours very strong and 
 lively. 
 
 Carol. Hence it is usual among critical writers to speak of dis- 
 course as the chief of al ! the imitative or inimical arts ; they compare 
 it with painting and with sculpture, and in many respects prefer it 
 justly before them. 
 
 Illus. 2. Imitation is performed by means of something that has 
 a natural likeness and resemblance to th thing imitated ; and of 
 conseqence is understood by all : statutes and pictures, are exam- 
 ples of likenesses. 
 
 2. Description, again, is the raising in the mind the conception 
 of an object by means of some arbitrary or instituted symbols, 
 understood only by those who agree in the institution of them ; such 
 are words and writing. 
 
 3. Words, though copies, (Art. 432.) have no natural resem- 
 blance to the ideas or objects which they are employed to signify ; 
 but a statue or picture has a natural likeness to the original. And 
 therefore imitation and description differ considerably iu their nature 
 from each other. 
 
 431. As far, indeed, as the poet introduces into 
 his work persons actually speaking; and, by the 
 words which he puts into their mouths, represents the 
 discourse which they might be supposed to hold ; so 
 far his art may more accurately be called imitative : 
 and this is the case in all dramatic composition. But, 
 in narrative or descriptive works, it can with no pro- 
 priety be called so, 
 
 Illus. 1. Who, for instance, would call Virgil's description of a 
 tempest, in the first JEneid, an imitation of a storm ? If v/e heard 
 of the imitation of a battle \ve might naturally think of some 
 sham-fight, or representation of a battle on the stage, but would 
 never apprehend that it meant one of Homer's descriptions in the 
 Iliad. 
 
 2. But imitation and description agree in their principal effect, of 
 recalling, by external signs, the ideas of things which they do not 
 see. But though in this they coincide, yet it should not be forgot- 
 ten, that the terms themselves are not synonymous ; that they im- 
 port different means of effecting the same end ; and of course make 
 different impressions on the mind. 
 
 Scholium. Whether we consider poetry in particular, and dis- 
 course in general, as imitative or descriptive ; is evident, that their 
 whole power in recalling the impressions of real objects, is derived 
 from the signincancy, the choice and arrangement of words. Their 
 excellency' flows altogether from these sources. Having shewn 
 how the source may be preserved pure, we shall, in the next book), 
 eater upon style and eloquence in their most extensive signification 
 
THE GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DIFFUSE AND CONCISE STYLES, 
 
 432. WORDS being the copies of our ideas, there 
 must always be a very intimate connection between 
 the manner in which we employ words, and our 
 manner of thinking. From the peculiarity of thought 
 and expression which belongs to every writer, there 
 is a certain character imprinted on his style, which 
 may be denominated his manner; commonly ex- 
 pressed by such general terms, as strong, ivea/c, dry, 
 simple, affected, or the like. 
 
 Illiis. These distinctions carry, in general, some reference to an 
 anchor's manner of thinking but refer'chiefly to his mode of expres- 
 sion. They arise from the whole tenour of his language; and 
 comprehend the effect produced by all those parts of style which we 
 have already considered ; the choice which he makes of single 
 words-; his arrangement of these in sentences ; the degree of his 
 precision ; hi.'* embellishment, by mean.- of musical cadence, figure?, 
 or other arts of speech ; and, finally, the cultivation of his genius 
 and taste. Of such general characters of style, therefore, it. remains 
 now to speak, as the result of those elementary parts of which we 
 have hitherto treated. 
 
 433. That different subjects require to be treated 
 of in different sorts of style, is a position so obvious, 
 that it needs no illustration. Every one sees that 
 treatises of philosophy, for instance, ought not, to be 
 composed in the same style with orations. Every 
 one sees also, that different parts of the same com- 
 position require a variation in the style and manner. 
 In a sermon, or any harangue, as shall be shewn 
 hereafter, the application or peroration admits more 
 
250 The general Characters of Style, 
 
 ornament, and requires more warmth, than the didac- 
 tic part. 
 
 Obs. But what we mean at present to remark is, that, amid?t this 
 variety, we still expect tonne), in the compositions of any ose man, 
 some degree of uniformity or consi?tency with himself in manner ; 
 we expect to find impressed .on ail his \vritings, some predominant 
 character of style which shall he suited to his particular genius, and 
 shall mark the turn of his mind. 
 
 Example. The orations in Livy differ much in style, as they ought 
 to do, from the rest of history. The same is the case v Kb those in 
 Tacitus. Yet both in Livy's orations, and in those of Tacitus, we 
 are able clearly to trace the distinguishing manner of each historian ; 
 the magnificent fulness of the one, and the sententious conciseness of 
 the other. 
 
 Carol. Wherever there is real and native genius, it gives a deter- 
 mination to one kind of style rather than another. Where nothing 
 of this appears; where there is v no marked nor peculiar character 
 in the compositions of an author, we are apt to infer, and not with- 
 out reason, that he is a vulgar and trivial author, who writes from 
 imitation, and not from the impulse of original genius. As the most 
 celebrated painters are known by their hand, so the best and most 
 original writers are known and distinguished, throughout all their 
 works, by their style and peculiar manner. This will be found to 
 hold almo&t without exception. 
 
 434. One of the first and most obvious distinctions 
 of the different kinds of style, is what arises from an 
 author's spreading out his thoughts more or less. 
 This distinction forms, what are called, the diffuse and 
 the concise styles. 
 
 lllus. 1. A concise writer compresses his thoughts into the fewest 
 possible words ; he seeks to employ none but such as are most ex- 
 pressive ; he lops off, as redundant, every expression which does not 
 add something material to the sense. 
 
 Ornament he does not reject ; he may be lively and figured ; 
 but his ornament is intended for the sake of force rather than grace. 
 
 He never gives you the same thought twice. He places .it in the 
 light which appears to him the most striking ; but if you do not 
 apprehend it well in that light, you need not expect to find it in 
 an}- other. 
 
 His sentences are arranged with compactness and strength, rather 
 than with cadence and harmony. The utmost precision is studied 
 in them ; aad they are commonly designed to suggest more to the 
 reader's imagination than they directly express. 
 
 lllus. 2. A diffuse writer unfolds his thought fully. He places 
 it in a variety of lights, and gives the reader every possible assist- 
 ance for understanding it completely. He is not very careful to 
 
The diffuse and concise Styles. 251 
 
 express it at first in its full strength ; because he is to repeat the 
 impression ; aud what he wants in strength he proposes to supply 
 by copiousness. 
 
 Writers of this character generally love magnificence and ampli- 
 fication. Their periods natuFally run out into some length, and 
 having room for ornament of every kind, they admit it freely. 
 
 Scholium. Each of these manners has its- peculiar advantages; 
 and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. The ex- 
 treme of conciseness becomes abrupt and obscure ; it is apt also to 
 lead into a style too pointed, and bordering on the epigrammatic. 
 The extreme of diffuseness becomes weak and languid, and tires the 
 reader. However, to one or other of these two manners, a writer 
 may lean according as his genius prompts him : and under the gen- 
 eral character of a concise, or of a more open and diffuse stvle, he 
 inay possess much beauty in his composition. 
 
 435. For illustrations of these general characters, 
 we can only refer to the writers who are examples of 
 them. It is not so much from detached passages, 
 such as we have been quoting as examples in the 
 foregoing pages of this grammar, as from the current 
 of an author's style, that we are to collect the idea of 
 a formed manner of writing. 
 
 Illus. 1. Two of the most remarkable examples of conciseness, 
 carried as far as propriety will allow, perhaps in ?ome cases farther, 
 are / Tacitus, the Historian, and the President Montesquieu in. 
 41 L'Esprit de Loix. n Aristotle too holds an eminent rank among 
 didactic writers for his brevity. Perhaps no writer in the world was 
 ever so frugal of his words as Aristotle ; but this frugality of expres- 
 sion frequently darkens his meaning. 
 
 2. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, Cicero is, beyond 
 doubt, the most iHustrious instance that can be given. Addison also, 
 and Sir William Temple come, in some degree, under this class. 
 
 436. In judging when it is proper to lean to the 
 concise, and when to the diffuse manner, we must be 
 directed by the nature of the composition. Discourses 
 that are to be spoken require a more copious style 
 than books that are to be read. 
 
 Illus. When the whole meaning must be caught from the mouth 
 of the speaker, without the advantage which books afford of paus- 
 ing at pleasure, and reviewing what appears obscure, great concise- 
 ness is always to be avoided. We should never presume too much 
 on the quickness of our hearer's understanding ; but our style ought 
 to be such, that the bulk of men can go along 1 with us easily, and 
 without effort. 
 
152 The general Characters of Style. 
 
 Corol. A flow; UK style, therefore, is required in all public 
 
 gpeak ' the same time, against such a decree of dif- 
 
 fusion :.i s "hern languid and tiresome ; which will always 
 
 prove to be '',- case when they inculcate too much, and pesent the 
 same thought under too many different views. 
 
 437. In written compositions, a certain degree of 
 conciseness possesses great advantages. It is more 
 lively ; keeps up attention ; makes a brisker and 
 stronger impression ; and gratifies the mind by sup- 
 plying more exercise to a reader's own thought. A 
 sentiment, which, expressed diffusely, will barely be 
 admitted to be just, will, when expressed concisely, 
 be admired as spirited. Description, when we want 
 to have it vivid and animated, should be in a concise 
 strain. 
 
 Jllus. 1. This is different from the common opinion ; most per- 
 sons being ready to suppose, that upon description a writer may 
 dwell more safely than upon other topics, and that, by a full and ex- 
 tended style, it is rendered more rich and expressive. On the con- 
 trary, a diffuse manner generally weakens description. Any re- 
 dundent words or circumstances encumber the fancy, and make 
 the object that we present to it, appear confused and indistinct. 
 
 2. Accordingly, the most masterly describers, Homer, Tacitus, 
 Milton, are almost always concise in their descriptions. They 
 shew us more of an object at one glance, than a feeble diffuse wri- 
 ter can shew, by turning it round and exhibiting it in a variety of 
 lights. 
 
 Corol. The strength and vivacity of description, , whether in prose 
 or poetry, depend much more upon the happy choice of a few strik- 
 ing circumstances, than upon their multiplicity and variety. 
 
 438. Addresses to the passions, likewise, ought to 
 be in the concise, rather than the diffuse manner. In 
 these, it is dangerous to be diffuse, because it is very 
 difficult to support proper warmth for any length of 
 time. When we become prolix, we are always in 
 hazard of cooling the reader. The fancy and the 
 feelings of the heart too run fast; and if once we can 
 put them in motion, they supply many particulars to 
 greater advantage than an author can display them. 
 The case is different when we address ourselves to 
 the understanding: as for example in all matters of 
 reasoning, explication, and instruction. 
 
The diffuse and concise Styles. 253 
 
 Obs. In these cases, that most elegant rhetorician Dr. Blair, 
 would prefer a more free and diffuse manner. When you are to 
 strike the fancy, or to move the heart, he concise ; when you are to 
 inform the understanding, which moves more slowly, and requires 
 the assistance of a guide, it is hetter to be full. Historical narra- 
 tion may be beautiful, either in a concise or a diffuse manner, ac- 
 cording to the writer's genius. Livy and Herodotus are diffuse.; 
 Thucydides and Sallust are succinct ; yet all of them are agreeable. 
 
 439. A diffuse style generally abounds in long 
 periods / and a concise writer, it is certain, vill often 
 employ short sentences. 
 
 Qbs. But of long and short .sentences, we had occasion, formerly, 
 to treat, under the head of u The Construction of Periods." (See 
 Chapter I. cfrid the Harmony of Periods, Chapter IX. Book III.) 
 
 440. The nervous and the feeble are generally held 
 to be characters of style, of the same import with the 
 concise and the diffuse. They do indeed very often 
 coincide. Diffuse writers have, for the most part, 
 some degree of feebleness ; and nervous writers will 
 generally be inclined to a concise mode of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Illus. 1. This, however, does not always hold; and there are in- 
 stances of writers, who, in the midst of a full and ample style, have 
 maintained a great degree of strength. Their style may have 
 many faults. It may be unequal, incorrect, and redundant, but 
 withal, for force and expressiveness, uncommonly distinguished. 
 On every subject, they will multiply words with an overflowing co- 
 piousness ;.but they ever pour forth a torrent of forcible ideas and 
 significant expressions. 
 
 2. Indeed the foundations of a nervous or a weak style are laid 
 in an author's manner of thinking. If he conceives an object vig- 
 orously, he will express it with energy : but if he has only an indis- 
 tinct view of his subject; if his ideas be loose and wavering ; if his 
 genius be such, or, at the time of his writing, so carelessly exerted, 
 that he has no firm hold of the conception which he would commu- 
 nicate to us, the marks of all this will clearly appear in his style. 
 Several unmeaning words and loose epithets will be found in his com- 
 position ; his expressions will be vague and general ; his arrange- 
 ment indistinct and feeble ; we shall conceive a portion of his mean- 
 ing, but our conception will be faint. 
 
 3. Whereas a nervous writer, whether he employs an extended 
 or a concise style, gives us always a strong impression of his mean- 
 ing ; his mind is full of his subject, and his words are all expressive ; 
 every phrase and every figure which he uses, tends to render the 
 picture, which he would set before us, more lively and complete, 
 
 X 
 
.251 The general Characters of Style. 
 
 441. Under the head of diffuse and concise style, 
 (Art. 436. and 437.) we have shewn that an author 
 might lean either to the one or to the other, and yet 
 be beautiful. This is not the case with respect to 
 the nervous and the feeble. Every author, in every 
 composition, ought to study to express himself with 
 some strength, and in proportion as he approaches to 
 the feeble, he becomes a bad writer. 
 
 Obs. In all kinds of writing, however, the same degree of strength 
 js not demanded. But the more grave and weighty any composi- 
 tion is, the more should a character of strength predominate in the 
 style. 
 
 Cowl. Hence, in history, philosophy, and solemn discourses, it is 
 r-hiefly expected. One of the most complete models of a nervous 
 style, is Demosthenes in his orations. 
 
 442. Every good quality in style, when pursued 
 too far has an extreme, to which it becomes faulty, 
 and this holds of the nervous style as well as of other 
 styles. Too great a study of strength, to the neg- 
 lect of the other qualities of style, is found to betray 
 writers into a harsh manner. 
 
 Illus. Harshness arises from unusual words, from forced inver- 
 sions in the construction of a sentence, and too much neglect of 
 smoothness and ease. This is reckoned the fault of some of our 
 earliest classicks in the English language ; writers who, rrom the 
 nerves and strength which they have displayed, are, to this day, 
 eminent for that quality in style. But the language in their hands 
 was exceedingly different from what it is now, and was indeed en- 
 tirely formed upon the idiom and construction of the Latin, in the 
 arrangement of sentences. The present form which the language 
 has assumed > has, in some measure, sacrificed the study of strength 
 to that of perspicuity and ease. Our arrangement of words has be- 
 come less forcible, perhaps, but more plain and natural : and this is 
 BOW understood to be the genius of our language. 
 
 443. The restoration of King Charles II. seems 
 to be theaera of the formation of our present style. 
 Lord Clarendon was one of the first who laid aside 
 those frequent inversions which prevailed among wri- 
 ters of the former age. After him, Sir William Tem- 
 ple polished the language still more. But Dryden 
 is the author, who, by the number and reputation of 
 his works, formed it more than any of his predeces* 
 
The dry, plain, and neat Styles. 255 
 
 sors or cotemporaries, into its present state. 
 
 lllus. Dryden began to write at the Restoration, and continued 
 long- an author both in poetry and prose. He had made the lan- 
 guage his study ; and though he wrote hastily, and often incorrect- 
 ly, though iiis style is not free from faults, yet there is a richness in 
 his diction, a copiousness, ease, and variety in his expression, vvliicii 
 has not been surpassed by any who have come after him*. 
 
 2. Since his time, considerable attention has been paid to purity 
 and elegance of style ; but it is elegance rather than strength, that 
 forms the distinguishing quality of most of the good English writers. 
 Some of them compose in a more manly and nervous manner than 
 others ; but, whether it be from the genius of our language, or from 
 whatever other cause, it appears, that we are far from the strength 
 of several of the Greek and Roman authors. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF -THE DRY, PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, AND 
 FLOWERY STYLE. 
 
 444. HiTHERTo we have considered style under 
 those characters that respect its fiepressiveness of an 
 author's meaning, Let us now proceed to consider 
 it in another view, with respect to the degree of orna- 
 ment emyloyed to beautify it. Here, the style of dif- 
 ferent authors seems to rise, in the following grada- 
 tion : a DRY, a PLAIN, a NEAT, an ELEGANT, and a 
 FLOWERY manner. Of each oi these in its order. 
 
 445. First, A DRY MANNER. This excludes or- 
 nament of every kind. Content with being under- 
 stood, it has not the least aim to please, either the 
 
 * : Dr. Johnson, in his life, of Dryden, gives the following charac- 
 ter of his prose style : ."His prefaces have not the formality of a, 
 settled style, in which the first half of a sentence betrays the other, 
 The clauses are never balanced nor the periods modelled', every 
 ;word seems to dcop by chance, though it falls into its proper place, 
 Nothing is cold or languid, the whole ig airy, animated, and vigor- 
 ous ; what is iiit!-:-. is gay ; v.'hat i.s great, is splendid. Though all is 
 
 , nothing is feeble ; though all seems careless, there is 
 arsh ; and (hough, since his earlier works, more than a c?n f < 
 . :'., they have nothing yet uncouth or.obsok' 
 
256 The general Characters of Style.. 
 
 fancy or the car. This is tolerable only in pure 
 didactic writing ; and even there, to make us bear it, 
 great weight and solidity of matter are requisite : arid 
 entire perspicuity of language. 
 
 Tllas. 1. Aristotle is (he most complete example of a dry style. 
 Never, perhaps, was there any author who adhered so rigidly to the 
 strictness of a didactic manner throughout all his writings, and con- 
 veyed so much instruction, without the least approach to ornament. 
 With the most profound genius and extensive views, he writes, says 
 Dr. Blair, like a pure intelligence, who addresses himself solely to 
 the understanding, without making any use of the channel of the im- 
 agination. 
 
 2. But this is a manner which deserves not to be imitated. For, 
 although the goodness of the matter may compensate the dryness OF 
 harshness of the style, yet is t^at dryness a considerable defect; as 
 it fatigues attention, and conveys our sentiments, with disadvan- 
 tage, to the reader or hearer. 
 
 446. A PLAIN STVLE rises one degree above a dry 
 style. A writer of this character employs very little 
 ornament of, any kind, and rests almost entirely upon 
 his sense. But, if he is at no pains to engage us by 
 the employment of figures* musical c;rrc:n~rmcnt, or 
 vny other art of writing, he studies, however, to avoid 
 dismasting us like a dry and a harsh writer. 'Besides 
 perspicuity, he pursues propriety, purity and precis- 
 ion in his language : which form one degree, and no 
 
 : siderable one, of beauty, Livliness too, and 
 force may be consistent with a very plain style : and 
 therefore, such an author, if his sentiments be good, 
 may be abundantly agreeable. 
 
 Qbs. The difference betxveea a dry and plain writer, is, that the 
 former is incapable of ornament, and seems not to know \vhatil is ; 
 the latter seeks not after it. lie gives us his meaning in good lan- 
 guage, distinct ancj pure ; he gives hirnstlf no further trouble about 
 ornament ; either, because he thinks it unnecessary to his subject.; 
 or because his genius does not lead him to delight in it ; or, because 
 it leads him to despise it. 
 
 447. What is called a NEAT STYLE comes next in. 
 order ; and here we have arrived in the region of or- 
 nament ; but that ornament not of the highest or most 
 Sparkling kind. 
 
 Illus. 1. A writer of this character shews, that he does not des- 
 
The elegant und florid Styles. 
 
 pise the beauty of language. It is an object of his attention. But 
 Iris attention is shewn io the choice of words, and in a graceful col- 
 location of them ; rather than in any high efforts of imagination, or 
 eloquence. 
 
 2. His sentences are always clean, and free from thflpbumbran- 
 oe of superfluous words ; of a moderate length ; rather inclining to 
 brevity, than a swelling structure ; closing with propriety ; without 
 any appendages, or adjections dragging after the proper close. 
 
 3. His cadence is varied ; but not of the studied musical kind. 
 
 4. His figures, if he uses any, are short and correct ; rather than 
 bold and glowing. 
 
 Scholia 1. Such a style as this may be attained by a writer who 
 has no great powers of fancy or genius ; merely by industry, and 
 careful attention to the rules of writing, and.it is a style always 
 agreeable. 
 
 2. It imprints a character of moderate elevation on our composi- 
 tion, and carries a decent degree of ornament, which is not unsuita- 
 ble to any subject whatever. 
 
 3. A familiar letter, or a law paper, on the driest subject, may be 
 written with neatness ; arid a sermon, or a philosophical treatise, in 
 a neat style, will be read with pleasure. 
 
 448. An ELEGANT STYLE is a character expressing 
 a higher degree of ornament than a neat one, and, 
 indeed, is the term usually applied to style, when 
 possessing all the virtues of ornament, without any of 
 its excesses or defects. 
 
 Illus. 1. From what has been formerly delivered, it will easily be 
 understood, that complete elegance implies great perspicuity an.d 
 propriety ; purity in the choice of words, and care and dexterity in 
 their harmonious and happy arrangement. It implies, farther, the 
 grace and beauty of imagination spread over style, as far as the 
 subject admits display ; and all the illustration which figurative 
 language adds, when properly employed. 
 
 2. la ,a word, an elegant writer is one who pleases the fancy and 
 the ear, while he informs the understanding ; and who gives us hjsr 
 ideas clothed with all the beauty of expressjon 3 but not overcharged 
 with any of its misplaced finery*. 
 
 449. When the ornaments, applied to a style, are 
 
 * In this class, therefore, we place only the first-rate writers in 
 the language ; such as Addison, Dryden, Pope, Temple, Doling- 
 broke, Atterbury, Campbell, Kames, Dr. Blair, Dugald Stewart, 
 and a few more : writers who differ widely from one another in 
 many of the attributes of style, but whom we now cJass together 
 under the denomination of elegant, as,.iu the scale of oracu&eot ? p?s- 
 - nearly the same place. 
 
 x,2 
 
258 The general Characters of Style. 
 
 too rich and gaudy in proportion to the subject; 
 \vhen they return upon us too fast, and strike us either 
 with a dazzling lustre, or a false brilliancy, this forms 
 what is ((pled a FLORID STYLE ; a term commonly used" 
 to signify the excess of ornament. 
 
 Obs. In a young composer this is very pardonable. Perhaps *rt is 
 even a promising symptom in young people, that their style should 
 incline to the florid and luxuriant. Much of it will be diminished 
 by years ; much will be corrected by ripening judgment ; some of 
 it, by the mere practice of composition, will he worn away. Let 
 there be, at first, only sufficient matter that can bear some pruning 
 and lopping off. At this time of life, let genius be bold and inven- 
 tive, and. pride itself in its efforts, though these should not, as yet, be 
 correct. Luxuriancy can easily be cured ; but for barrenness 
 there is no remedy*. 
 
 450. But although the florid style may be allowed 
 to youth, in their first essays, it must not receive the 
 same indulgence from writers of maturer years. It 
 is to be expected, that judgment, as it ripens, should 
 chasten imagination, and reject, as juvenile, all suclx 
 ornaments as are redundant, unsuitable to the subject, 
 or not conducive to its illustration. 
 
 Obs. 1. Nothing can be more contemptible than that tinsel splen- 
 dour of language, which some writers perpetually affect. It were 
 veil, if this could be ascribed to the real overflowing of a rich ima- 
 gination. We should then have something to amuse us, at least, if 
 \ye found little to instruct us. But the worst is, that with those 
 frothy writers, it is a luxuriancy of words, not of fancy. 
 
 2. We see a laboured attempt, in these writers, to rise to a splen- 
 4-four of composition, of which they have formed to themselves some 
 loose idea ; but having no strength of genius for attaining it, they 
 endeavour to supply the defect by poetical wo r ds, by cold exclama- 
 tions, by common-place figures, and every thing that has the ap- 
 pearance of pomp and magnificence, 
 
 3. It has escaped these writers, that sobriety in ornament is one 
 great secret for rendering it pleasing; and that, without a founda- 
 tion of good sense and solid thought, the most florid style is but a 
 childish imposition on the public. The public, however, are but 
 too apt to be so imposed on; at least the mob of readers^ who are 
 
 * Multum inde decoquent anni, raultum ratio limabit, aliquid 
 Telut usu ipso deteretur ; sit modo unde excidi possit quid et 
 sxsculpi. Audeat hsec setas plura, et inventis gaudeat ; sint licet 
 Ilia non satis interim sicca et severa. Facile remedjum est uberfa- 
 iis : stertfJa oullo tebore YiBcuatur, 
 
The simple, affected, and vehement Styles, 
 
 very ready to be caught, at first, with whatever is dazzling and 
 gaudy, whether it be served up in the shape of ^two-pennies' 
 worth of politics, or crude and infectious romances 'at a heavier 
 charge. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE SIMPLE, AFFECTED, AND VEHEMENT STYLES, 
 
 451. WE are now to treat of style under another 
 character, one of great importance in writing, and 
 which requires to be accurately examined ; that of 
 simplicity, or a natural style, as distinguished from 
 affectation. 
 
 Obs. Simplicity, applied to writing, is a term very frequently 
 used ; hut like many other critical terms, often used loosely and 
 without precision. This has been owing chiefly to the different 
 meanings given to the word simplicity, which, therefore, it will be 
 necessary to distinguish ; and to shew in what sense it is a proper 
 attribute of style. We may remark four different acceptations in 
 which it is taken. 
 
 452. The first is, simplicity of composition, as op- 
 posed to too great a variety of parts. Horace's pre- 
 :ept refers to this : 
 
 Denique sit quod vis simplex duntaxat et unum*. 
 Illus. This is the simplicity of plan in a tragedy, as distinguished 
 from double plots, and crowded incidents ; the simplicity of the Iliad, 
 or jEneid, in opposition to the digressions of Lucan, and the scattered 
 tales of Ariosto ; the simplicity of Grecian architecture, in opposition, 
 to the irregular variety of the Gothic. In this sense, simplicity is 
 the same with unity. (Art. 154.) 
 
 453. The second sense fe, simplicity of thought, as 
 pposed to refinement. Simple thoughts are what 
 arise naturally ; what the occasion or the subject 
 suggest unsought ; and what, when once suggested, 
 are easily apprehended by all. Refinement in wri- 
 ting, expresses a less natural and obvious train of 
 
 * " Then learn the wand'ring humour to controul, 
 :i And keep one equal tenor through the whole," 
 
260 The general Characters of Style. 
 
 thought, and which it required a peculiar turn of gen- 
 ius to pursue ; within certain bounds, very beautiful ; 
 but when carried too far, approaching to intricacy, 
 and hurting us by the appearance of being far- 
 sought. 
 
 I Has. Thus, we would naturally say, that Parnell is a poet of 
 far greater simplicity, in his turn of thought, than Cowley ; Cicero's 
 thoughts on moral subjects are natural ; Seneca's, too refined and 
 laboured. In these two senses of simplicity, when it is opposed, 
 either to variety of parts, or to refinement of thought, it has no 
 proper relation to style. 
 
 454. There is a third sense of simplicity, in which 
 it has respect to style ; and stands opposed to too 
 much ornament, or pomp of language. 
 
 I Hits. When we say Locke is a simple, and Harvey is a florid 
 writer ; it is in this sen.-.e, that the u simplex," the " tenuej 1 * or 
 4i subtile genus dictndi^ as understood by Cicero and Quinctilian, 
 are applicable. 
 
 2. The simple style, in this sense, coincides with the plain or the 
 neat style, (Art. 446. and 447.) and, therefore, requires no farther 
 illustration. 
 
 455. But there is a fourth sense of simplicity, also 
 respecting style ; but not respecting the degree of 
 ornament employed, so much as the easy and natural 
 manner in which our language expresses our thoughts. 
 This is quite different from the farmer sense of the 
 word just now mentioned, in which simplicity \vas 
 equivalent to plainness : whereas, in this sense, it is 
 compatible with the highest ornament. 
 
 Illus. Homer, for instance, possesses this simplicity ia the great- 
 rfcction : and yet no writer has more ornament and beauty. 
 This simplicity, which is what we are now to consider, stands op- 
 posed, riot to ornament, but to affectation of ornament, or -appear- 
 ance of labour about our style ; and it is a distinguishing exc- 
 in writing. 
 
 456. A writer of simplicity expresses himself in 
 such a manner-, that every one thinks he could have 
 written in the same way.; Horace describes it, 
 
 - - ui sibi quivia 
 
The simple Style. 261 
 
 t idem, sudet inultum, frustraque laboret 
 Ausus idem*. 
 
 Tllus. 1. There are no marks of art in his expression ; it seems 
 the very language of nature; you see in the style, not the writer 
 raid his labour, but the man in his own natural character. (Art. 
 101 Illtis.) He may be rich in his expression ; lie may be full of 
 figures, and of fancy ; but these flow from him without effort ; 
 and he appears to write in this manner, not because he haa 
 studied it, but because it is the manner of expression most natu- 
 ral to him. 
 
 2* A certain degree of negligence, also, is not inconsistent with 
 this character of style, and even not ungraceful in it ; for too minute 
 an attention to words is foreign to it : let this style have a certain 
 softness and ease, which shall characterise a negligence, not un- 
 pleasing in an author, who appears to be more solicitous about the 
 thought than the expressiont. 
 
 3. This is the great advantage of simplicity of style, that, like 
 simplicity of manners, it shews us a man's sentiments and turn of 
 mind laid open without disguise. More studied and artificial man- 
 ners of writing, however beautiful, have always this disadvantage, 
 that they exhibit an author in form, like a man at court, where the 
 splendour of dress, and the ceremoniousness of behaviour, conceal 
 tho?e peculiarities which distinguish one man from another. But 
 reading a rj author of simplicity, is like conversing with a person of 
 distinction at home, and with ease, where we find natural manners, 
 and a marked character. 
 
 457. The highest degree of this simplicity is ex- 
 pressed by the French term naivete, to which we 
 have none that fully answers in our language. It is 
 not easy to give a precise idea of the inport of this 
 word. It always expresses a discovery of charac- 
 ter. 
 
 I lias. 1. Perhaps the best accounts of it, is that given by Mar- 
 inontel, who explains it thus ; that sort of amiable ingenuity, or un- 
 disguised openness, which seems to gire us some degree of superior- 
 ity over the person who shews it ; a certain infantine simplicity, 
 which we love in our hearts, but which displays some features of 
 the character that we think could have art enough to hide ; and 
 
 ;t From well-konwn tales such fictions would I raise, 
 As all might hope to imitate with ease ; 
 Yet, while they strive the same success to gain 
 Should find their labours and their hopes in vain."' Francis* 
 
 t u Habet ille, molle quiddam, et quod indice non ingratara neg- 
 iigeritiam hominis, de re inagis quuiu de vtrbo luborautis." Cicero 
 ,de Oral. 
 
262 The general Characters of Style. 
 
 which, therefore, always leads us to smile at the person who discov- 
 ers this character. 
 
 2. La Fontaine, in his Fables, may be given as a great example 
 of such naivete. This, however, is to be understood, as descriptive 
 of a particular species only of simplicity. 
 
 458. With respect to simplicity, in general, we 
 may remark, that the ancient original writers are 
 always the most eminent for it. This happens from 
 a plain reason, that they wrote from the dictates of 
 natural genius, and were not formed upon the labours, 
 and writings of others, which is always in hazard of 
 producing affectation. 
 
 Carol. Hence, among the Greek writers, we have more models 
 of a beautiful simplicity, than, among the Roman. Hom-?r, Hesiod, 
 Anacreon, Theocritus, Herodotus, and Xenophon, are all distin- , 
 guished for this simplicity. Amon; the Romans also, we have some 
 writers of this character, particularly Terence, Lucretius, Phee- 
 drus, and Juliur Ca?sar. 
 
 459. Simplicity is the great beauty of Archbishop 
 TilioisG^'s manner. Tillotson has long been admired 
 as an eloquent writer, and a model for preaching. 
 .But his eloquence, if we can call it such, has been 
 often misunderstood. For, if we include, in the idea 
 of eloquence, vehemence and strength, picturesque 
 description, glowing figures, or correct arrangement 
 of sentences, in all these parts of oratory the Arch- 
 bishop is exceedingly deficient. (Dr. Blair.) 
 
 Qbs* His style is always pure, indeed, and perspicuous, hut care- 
 Jess and remiss, too often feeble and languid ; little beauty in the 
 construction of his sentence?, which are frequently suffered to drag 
 unharmoriiously ; seldom any attempt towards strength or sublimity. 
 But, notwithstanding these defects, such a constant vein of good 
 sense and piety runs through his works, such an earnest and serious 
 manner, and so much useful instruction conveyed in a style so pure v 
 natural, and unaffected, as will justly recommend him to high re- 
 card, as long as the English language shall remain ; not, indeed, as 
 the model of highest eloquence, but as a simple and amiable writer, 
 whose manner is strongly expressive of great goodness and worth, 
 -(Illus. 8. Art. 222.) 
 
 460. Sir William Temple is another remarkable 
 writer in the style of simplicity. In point of orna- 
 ment and correctness, he rises a degree above T 
 
 ' O 
 
The simple Style. <2G3 
 
 son ; though, for correctness, he is not in the highest 
 rank. All is easy and flowing in him : ~he is exceed- 
 ingly harmonious ; smoothness, and what may be 
 called amenity, are the distinguishing characters of 
 his manner; relaxing sometimes, as such a manner 
 will naturally do, into a prolix and remiss style. 
 
 Obs No writer whatever has stamped upon his style a more lively 
 impression of his own character. In reading his works, we sr em 
 engaged in conversation with him ; we become thoroughly acquaint- 
 ed with him, not merely as an author, but as a man ; and contract 
 a friendship for him. He may be classed as standing in the middle, 
 between a negligent simplicity, and the highest degree of ornament 
 which this character of style admits. (Set Ex. 2. and Analysis^ 
 Art. 17.) 
 
 461. Addison is, beyond doubt, in the English 
 language, the most perfect example of the highest, 
 most correct, and ornamented degree of the simple 
 manner : and, therefore, though not without some 
 faults, he is, on the whole, the safest model for imita- 
 tion, and the freest from considerable defects, which 
 the language affords. 
 
 Obs. 1. Perspicuous and pure he is in the highest degree; his 
 precision, indeed, not very great ; yet nearly as great as the sub- 
 jects, which he treats of, require : the construction of his sentences 
 easy, agreeable, and commonly very musical ; carrying a charac- 
 ter of smoothness, more than of strength. 
 
 2. In figurative language, he is rich : particularly in similes and 
 metaphors ; which are so employed as to render his style splendid, 
 without being guady. There is not the least affectation in his man- 
 ner : we see no marks of labour ; nothing forced or constrained ; but 
 great elegance, joined with great ease and simplicity. 
 
 3. He is, in particular, distinguished by a character of modesty, 
 and of politeness, which appears in ail his writings. No author has 
 a more popular and insinuating manner ; and the great regard 
 which he every where shews for virtue and religion, Recommends his 
 Spectator very highly. 
 
 4. If he fails in any thing, it is in want of strength and precision, 
 which renders his manner, though perfectly suited to such essays as 
 he writes in the Spectator, not altogether a proper model for any of 
 the higher and more elaborate kinds of composition. Though the 
 public have ever done much justice to his merit, yet the nature of 
 his merit has not always been seen in its true light ; for, though his 
 poetry be elegant, he certainly bears a higher rank among the 
 prose wnters, roan he is entitled to among the poets ; and, in prose, 
 
264 The simple, affected^ and -vehement Styles. 
 
 his humour is of a much higher and more original strain, than his 
 philosophy. The character of Sir Roger de Coverley discovers 
 more genius than the critique on Milton. (See Illus. 8. Art. 222. 
 and Art. 272. Crit. 4.) 
 
 462. Such authors as those, whose characters we 
 have been giving, one is never tired of reading. 
 There is nothing in their manner that strains and fa- 
 tigues our thoughts ; we are pleased, without being 
 dazzled by their lustre. So powerful is the charm of 
 simplicity in an author of real genius, that it atones 
 for many defects, and reconciles us to many a care- 
 less expression. 
 
 Corol. \. Hence in all the most excellent authors, both in prose 
 and verse, the simple and natural manner may he always remarked ; 
 although other beauties being predominant, this forms not their pe- 
 culiar and distinguishing character. 
 
 2. Thus Milton is simple in the midst of all his grandeur ; and De- 
 mosthenes, in the midst of all his vehemence. (Illus. 2. and .Anal- 
 ysis, Art. 212.) 
 
 Obs. To grave and solemn writings, simplicity of manner adds 
 the more venerable air. Accordingly, this has often been remarked 
 as the prevailing character throughout all the sacred Scriptures ; 
 and indeed no other character of style was so much suited to their 
 dignity. 
 
 463. Of authors, who, notwithstanding many ex- 
 cellences, have rendered their style much less beau- 
 tiful by want of simplicity, Lord Shaftsbury furnish- 
 es the most remarkable example. His lordship is an 
 author on whom we have made observation several 
 times before, and we shall now take leave of him, with 
 giving his general character under this head. 
 
 O65. 1. Considerable merit, doubtless, he has. His language 
 has many beauties. It is firm, and supported in an uncommon de- 
 gree ; it is rich and musical. No English author has attended so 
 much to the regular construction of his sentences, both with respect 
 to propriety, and with respect to cadence. (Illus. 7. Art. 222.) 
 All this gives so much elegance and pomp to his language, that there 
 is no wonder it should have been highly admired by some. It is 
 greatly hurt, however, by perpetual stiffness and affectation. This 
 is its capital fault. 
 
 2. Like Dr. Johnson, his lordship can express nothing with sim- 
 plicity. He seems to have considered it as vulgar, and beneath 
 'the dignity of a man of quality, to speak like other^nen. Johnsgn 
 could say nothing but as a lexicographer. Lord Shaftsbury is ever 
 
The general Characters of Style. 2ti5 
 
 in buskins ;and dressed out with magnificent elegance. Johnson is 
 clad in the leaves of his dictionary ; he lived upon it, as Boni/uee did 
 upon hi? ale. In every sentence of Lord Shaftsbury, we see the 
 marks of labour and art; nothing of that ease, which expresses a 
 sentiment coming natural and warm from the heart. Johnson is a 
 perfect machinist of style. Having once studied him, you will know 
 his style among a thousand ; so exactly do the counters he presents 
 to you, correspond with the Roman die, whence they were turned 
 out. Of figures and ornaments of every kind, Lord Shaftsbury is 
 exceedingly fond; sometimes happy in them ; hut his fondness fop 
 them is too visible ; and, having once laid hold of some metaphor or 
 allusion that pleases him, he knows not how to part with it. The 
 coldness of Johnson's heart, did not allow him to indulge abplcas- 
 ure in figures and ornament. His figures are always correct, but ar- 
 tificial and stately ; and his alegories, in the Rambler, are awkward- 
 ly classical, though some of them are not deficient in wit and ele- 
 gance. His Allegory of Criticism, an early paper in the Rambler, 
 is a pertinent illustration. 
 
 464. Having now said so much to recommend sim- 
 plicity, or the easy and natural manner of writing, 
 and having pointed out the defects of an opposite 
 manner ; in order to prevent mistakes on this sub- 
 ject, it is necessary to observe, that it is very possi- 
 ble for an author to write simply, and yet not beauti- 
 fully. One may be free from affectation, and not 
 have merit. 
 
 I Has. 1. The beautiful simplicity supposes an author to possess 
 real genius; to write with solidity, purity, and liveliness of imagin- 
 ation. In this case, the simplicity or unaffectedness of his manner, 
 is the crowning ornament ; it heightens every other beauty ; it is the 
 iiiress of nature, without which all beauties are imperfect. 
 
 2. But if mere unaffectedness were sufficient to constitute the 
 beauty of style, \veak, trifling, and dull writers might, often lay 
 claim to this beauty. And, accordingly, we frequently meet with 
 pretended critics, who extol the dullest writers, on account of what 
 they call the "chaste simplicity of their manner;" which, in truth, 
 is no other than the absence of every ornament, through the mere 
 want of genius and imagination. 
 
 3. We must distinguish, therefore, between that simplicity which 
 accompanies true genius, and which is perfectly compatible with 
 every proper ornament of style, and that which is no other than a 
 careless and slovenly manner. Indeed the distinction is easily made 
 from the effect produced. The one never fails to interest the read- 
 er ; the other is insipid and tiresome. 
 
 465. We proceed to mention one other manner or 
 character of style different from any that has yet been 
 
266 The simple,, affected, and -vehement Styles. 
 
 spoken of; and which may be distinguished by the 
 name of the vehement. This always implies strength; 
 and is not, by any means, inconsistent with simpli- 
 city : but, in its predominant character, it is distin* 
 guishablefrom either the strong or the simple man- 
 ner. 
 
 Illus. It has a peculiar ardour ; it is a glowing style ; the language 
 rf a man, whose imaginations and passions are heated, and strongly 
 affected by what he writes ; who is therefore negligent of minor gra- 
 ces, but pours himself forth with the rapidity and fullness of a tor- 
 rent. It belongs- to the higher kinds of oratory ; and, indeed, is 
 rather expected from a man who is speaking, than from one who 
 33 writing in his closet. The orations of Demosthenes furnish the 
 lull and perfect example of this species of style. 
 
 466. Among English writers, the one who has most 
 ! of this character, though mixed, indeed, with several 
 (iefects, is Lord Bolingbroke. His lordship was 
 formed by nature to be a factious leader ; the dema- 
 gogue of a popular assembly. Accordingly the style 
 ihat runs through all his political writings, is that of 
 one declaiming with heat, rather than writing with 
 deliberation. 
 
 Illus. He abounds in rhetorical figures ; and pours himself forth 
 v?ith great impetuosity. He is copious to a fault ; places the same 
 thought before us in many different views ; but generally with life 
 and ardour. He is bold, rather than correct ; a torrent that flows 
 strong, but often muddy. His sentences are varied as to length and 
 shortness ; inclining, however, most to long periods, sometimes in- 
 cluding parentheses, and frequently crowding and heaping a multi- 
 tude of things upon one another, as naturally happens in the warmth 
 of speaking. In the choice of his words, there is great felicity and 
 precision. In exact construction of sentences, he is much inferior 
 to Lord Shaftsbury ; but greatly superior to him in life and ease. 
 Upon the whole, his merit, as a writer, would have been very con- 
 siderable, if his matter had equalled his style. But whilst we find 
 many things to commend in the latter, in the former, as we before 
 remarked, we can hardly find any thing to commend. In his reas- 
 onings, for the most part, he is flimsy and false ; in his political wri- 
 'tings, factions ; in what he calls h'is philosophical ones, sophistical in 
 the highest degree. 
 
 467. Some other characters of style, beside those 
 
 which we have mentioned, might be pointed out ; but 
 
 very difficult to separate such general considera- 
 
Directions for forming Style. 27 
 
 tions of the style of authors from their peculiar turn 
 of sentiment, which it is not the business of this work 
 to criticise. 
 
 I lias. Conceited writers, for instance, discover their spirit so 
 r/iuch in their composition, that it imprints on their style a character 
 of pertness ; though it is difficult to say, whether this can be classed 
 among the attributes of style, or i? rather to be ascribed entirely to 
 the thought- In whatever class we rank it, all appearances of it 
 ought to be avoided with care, as a most disgusting blemish in wri- 
 ting. Under general heads, it is no difficult task to classify the 
 character of many of the eminent writers in the English language. 
 
 Scholia. From what has been said on this subject, it may be in- 
 ferred, that to determine among all these different manners of wri- 
 ting, what is precisely the best, is neither easy nor necessary. 
 Style is afield that admits of great latitude. Its qualities in differ- 
 ent authors may be very different; and yet in them all, beautiful. 
 Room must be left here for genius ; for that particular determina- 
 tion which one receives from nature to one manner of expression 
 Uiore than another. 
 
 2. Some general qualities, indeed, there are of such importance, 
 as should always, in every kind of composition, be kept in view ; 
 and some defects we should always study to avoid. 
 
 3. An ostentatious, a feeble, a harsh, or an obscure style, for in- 
 stance, is always faulty ; and perspicuity, strength, neatness, and 
 simplicity, are beauties to be always aimed at. But as to the mix- 
 ture of all, or the degree of predominacy of any one of these good 
 qualities, for forming our peculiar distinguishing manner, no pre- 
 cise rules can be given ; nor would it be prudent to point out any 
 one model as absolutely perfect. 
 
 4. It will be more to the purpose, that we conclude these disser- 
 tations upon style, with a few directions concerning the proper 
 method of attabing a good style, m general ; leaving the particular 
 character of that style to be either formed by the subject on \vhHi 
 v/c write, or prompted by the bent of genius, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING STYLE. 
 
 468. THE first direction which we give for thi~ 
 -purpose, is, to study clear ideas on the subject con 
 cerning which you are to write or speak. This is a 
 direction which may at first appear to have small 
 
268 Directions for forming Style. 
 
 relation to style. Its relation to it, however, is ex\ 
 trotncly close. The foundation of all good style, is 
 pood snnse, accompanied with a lively imagination. 
 
 Illns. 1. The style and thoughts of a writer are so intimately 
 connected, that it. is frequently hard to distinguish them. (Art. 33*2.) 
 "Wherever the impressions of things upon our miiuis are faint and 
 indistinct, or perplexed and confused, our style in treating of such 
 things will infallibly be so too. Whereas, what we conceive clearly 
 and tee! strongly, we shall naturally express with clearness and with 
 strength, (lllus. Art. 4tf5.) 
 
 '2. ^Tliis. then, we may be assured, is a capita! rule as to style, to 
 think closely on the subject, till we have attained a full and district 
 view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become 
 warm and interested in it ; then, and not till theo, shall we find ex- 
 pression begin to flow. 
 
 3. Generally speaking, the best and most proper expressions are 
 those which a clear view of the subject suggests, without much la- 
 bour or inquiry after them. This is QuinctilianV observation : the 
 most proper woids for the most part adhere to the thoughts which 
 are to be expressed by them, and may be discovered as by their own 
 light. But we hunt after them as if they were hidden, and only to 
 i) found in a corner. Hence, instead of conceiving the words to 
 Tie near the subject, we go in quest of them to some other quar- 
 ter, aud endeavour to give force to the expressions we have found 
 out*. 
 
 469. In the second place, in order to form a gopd 
 style {.he frequent practice of composing is indispen- 
 sably necessary. We have delivered many rules 
 concerning style; but no rules will answer the end, 
 without exercise and habit. At the same time, it is 
 not every sort of composing that will inprove style. 
 
 lllus. This is so far from being the case, that by frequent, careless*, 
 ;.nd hasty composition, we shall certainly acquire .a very bad style ; 
 we shall have more trouble afterwards in unlearning fault?, and cor- 
 recting negligences, than if we had not been accustomed to compo- 
 .-ilioii at all. In the beginning, therefore, we ought to write slowly, 
 and wills much care. Let Hie facility and "peed of writing be the 
 'Vuit of longer practice. u 1 enjoin," s;>.y.- ^'.;if>cli!mn. ct that such 
 us are beginning the practice of composition, write slowly, and with 
 -noxious deliberation. Their great object at first should be, to 
 
 Y Flerumque optima verba r^lius coherent, et cernuntur suo 
 
 .'inline. At nos quasrimuf ii!a, tamuiam iateanl seque suhducant. 
 
 Ita nunquam pulnmus verna e??f? circa id de quo dicendum est ; 
 
 locis T-'Miinms etinveiiUis vim afferimus. Lib. viii. c. I. 
 
Directions for forming Style. 
 
 write as well as possible ; practice will enable them to write speedi- 
 ly. By degrees, matter will offer itself still more readily ; words 
 will be at hand ; composition will flow ; every thing, as in the ar- 
 rangement of a well-ordered family, will present itself in its proper 
 place. The sum of the whole is this : by hasty composition, we 
 shall never acquire the art of composing well ; by writing well, we 
 shall come to write speedily*." 
 
 470. We must observe, however, that there may 
 be an extreme, in too great and anxious care about 
 words. We must not retard the course of thought, 
 nor cool the heat of imagination, by pausing too long 
 on every word we employ. There is, on certain oc- 
 casions, aglow of composition, which should be kept 
 up, if we hope to express ourselves happily, though 
 at the expence of allowing some inadvertencies ta 
 pass. A more severe examination of these must be 
 left for the work of correction. For, if the prac- 
 tice of composition be useful, the laborious work of 
 correcting is no less so ; it is indeed absolutely neces- 
 sary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of 
 composition, 
 
 Obs. 1. What we have written should be laid by for some little 
 thiie, till the ardour of composition be past, till the fondness for the 
 expressions which we have used be worn off, and the expressions 
 Ihemselves be forgotten ; and then reviewing our work with a cool 
 and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we shall 
 <iiscern many imperfections which at first escaped us. 
 
 2. Then is the season for pruning redundance ; for examining 
 the arrangement of sentences ; for attending to the juncture of the 
 particles connecting the whole ; and bringing style into a regular, 
 correct and supported form. 
 
 3. This u labour at the beginning," must be submitted to by all 
 who would communicate their thoughts with proper advantage to 
 others ; and some practice in it will soon sharpen their eye to the 
 most necessary objects of attention, and render it a much more easy 
 and practicable work than might at first be imagined* 
 
 * u Moram et solicitudinem, initiis impero. Nam priinum hoc 
 ronstituendum ac obtinendum est, ut quasi optime scribamus : ce- 
 leniatem dabit consuetudo. Paulatim res facilius se ostendent, 
 yerba rcspondebunt, compositio prosequetur. Cuncta denique ut 
 in familia bene instituta in officio erunt. Summa haec est rei ; cito 
 scribendo ROD fit ytt beae sciibatur ; beae scribeado, sit ut 
 
270 Directions for forming Style. 
 
 471. In the third place, with respect to the assist- 
 ance that is to be gained from the writings of others, 
 it is obvious* that we ought to render ourselves well 
 acquainted with the style of the best authors. This 
 is requisite, both in order to form a just taste in style, 
 and to supply us with a full stock of words on every 
 subject. 
 
 Obs. 1. In reading authors with a view to style, attention should 
 be given to the peculiarities of their different manners ; and in this 
 Grammar we have endeavoured to suggest several things that may 
 be useful in this view. Dr. Blair says, no exercise will be found 
 more useful for acquiring a proper style, than to translate some pus- 
 sage from an eminent English author into our own words. 
 
 2. What he means is, to take, for instance, some page of one of 
 Addison's Spectators, and read it carefully over two or three times, 
 till we have got a firm hold of the thoughts contained in it ; then to 
 Jay aside the book ; to attempt to write out the passage from mem- 
 ory, in the best way we can ; and having done so, next to open 
 the book, and compare what we have written, with the style of 
 the author. 
 
 3. Such an exercise will, by comparison, shew us where the de- 
 fects of our style lie ; it will lead us to the proper attentions for rec- 
 tifying them ; and among the different ways in which the same 
 may he expressed, it will make us perceive that which is thought 
 the most beautiful. 
 
 472. In the fourth place, guard yourself, at the 
 same time, against a servile imitation of any author 
 whatever. This is always dangerous. It hampers 
 genius ; it is likely to produce a stiff manner ; and 
 those who are given to close imitation, generally imi- 
 tate an author's faults, as well as his beauties. No 
 man will ever become a good writer or speaker, who 
 has not some degree of confidence to follow his own 
 genius. 
 
 Obs. You ought to beware, in particular, of adopting any author's 
 noted phrases, or transcribing passages from him. Such a habit 
 \vill prove fatal to all genuine composition. Infinitely better it is to 
 have something that is your own, tbough of moderate beauty, than 
 to affect to shine in borrowed orraments, whicb will, at last, betray 
 the utter poverty of your genius. On these heads of composing, 
 correcting, reading, and imitating, every student of oratory should 
 consult what Quinctiiian has delivered in the tenth book of his Insii- 
 
Directions for forming Style. 271 
 
 tutions, where will be found a variety of excellent observations and 
 directions, that well de%erve attention. 
 
 473. In the fifth place, it is an obvious, but mate- 
 rial rule, with respect to style, that you always study 
 to adapt it to the subject, and also to the capacity of 
 your hearers, if you are to speak in public. Nothing 
 merits the name of eloquent or beautiful, which is not 
 suited to the occasion, and to the persons to whom it 
 is addressed. It is to the last degree awkward and 
 absurd, to attempt a poetical florid style, on occasions 
 when it should be your business only to argue and 
 reason ; or to speak with elaborate pomp of expres- 
 sion, before persons who comprehend nothing of it, 
 and who can only stare at your unseasonable magni- 
 ficence. These are defects not so much in point of 
 style, as, what is much worse, in point of common 
 sense. 
 
 Obs. When you begin to write or speak, you ought previously 
 to fix in your minds a clear conception 'of the end to be aimed at ; 
 to keep this steadily in your view, and to suit your style to it. If 
 you do not sacrifice to this great object, every ill-timed ornament 
 that may occur to your fancy, you are unpardonable ; and though 
 children and fools may admire, men of sense will laugh at you and 
 your style. 
 
 474. In the last place, carry along with you this 
 admonition, that, in any case, and on any occasions, 
 attention to style must not engross you so much, as 
 to detract from a higher degree of attention to the 
 thoughts : " to your expression be attentive ; but 
 about your matter be solicitous*." 
 
 O6s. It is much easier to dress up trivial and common sentiments 
 with some beauty of expression, than to afford a fund of vigorous, 
 ingenious, and useful thoughts. The latter requires true genius ; 
 the former may be attained by industry, with the help of very su- 
 perficial parts. Hence, we find so many writers frivolously rich in 
 style, but wretchedly poor in sentiment. The public ear is now so 
 much accustomed to a correct and ornamented style, that no writer 
 can, with safety, neglect the study of it. But he is a contemptible 
 one, who does not look to something beyond it ; who does not lay 
 
 * u Curam Terborum, rerum volo esse solicitirdjuem?" 
 
272 Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. 
 
 the chief stress upon his matter, and employ such ornaments of style, 
 to recommend it, as are manly, not foppish. u A higher spirit ought 
 to animate those who study eloquence. They ough to consult the 
 health aad soundness of the whole body, rather than bend their atten- 
 tion to such trifling objects as paring the nails, and dressing the hair. 
 Let ornament be manly and chaste, without effeminate gaiety, or 
 artificial colouring ; let it shine with the glow of health and 
 strength*." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL ITS PARTS- 
 INTRODUCTION, DIVISION, NARRATION, AND EX- 
 PLICATION. 
 
 475. ON whatever subject aay one intends to dis- 
 course, he will most commonly begin with some in- 
 troduction, in order to prepare the minds of his 
 hearers ; he will then state his subject, and explain 
 the facts connected with it ; he will employ arguments 
 for establishing his own opinion, and overthrowing 
 that of his antagonist : he may perhaps, if there be 
 room for it, endeavour to touch the passions of his 
 audience ; and after having said all he thinks proper, 
 he will bring his discourse to a close, by some pero- 
 ration or conclusion. 
 
 476. This being the natural train of speaking, the 
 parts that compose a regular formal oration, are these 
 six : 
 
 First, the exordium, or introduction ; 
 Secondly, the statement, and the division of the 
 subject ; 
 
 Thirdly, the narration, or explication ; 
 
 * " Majore animo aggredienda est eloquentia ; quae si toto cor- 
 pore valet, ungues polire et capillum componere, non exist imabit ad 
 curam suam pertinere. Ornatus et virilis et fortis, et sanctus sit ; 
 nee effeminatain levitatem, et fuco emectitum colorem amet san- 
 guine et viribus oiteat. Quinctilian, 
 
Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. 273 
 
 Fourthly, the reasoning, or arguments ; 
 Fifthly, the pathetic parts ; 
 And, lastly, the conclusion. 
 
 477. The exordium, or introduction, is manifestly 
 common to all kinds of public speaking. It is not a 
 rhetorical invention. It is founded upon nature, and 
 suggested by common sense. 
 
 lllus. When one is going to counsel another ; when he takes upon 
 him to instruct, or to reprove, prudence will generally direct him 
 not to do it abruptly, but to use some preparation ; to begitt with 
 ?ome matter that may incline the persons, to whom he addresses 
 himself, to judge favourably of what he is about to say; and may 
 dispose them to such a train of thought, as will forward and assist 
 the purpose which he has in view. This is, or it ought to be, the 
 main scope of an introduction. 
 
 478. First, to conciliate the good-will of the hear- 
 TS ; to render them benevolent, or well-affected, to 
 the speaker, and to the subject. 
 
 lllus. Topics for this purpose may, in causes at the bar, be some- 
 7-imes taken from the particular situation of the speaker himself, or 
 of his client, or from the character or behaviour of his antagonists, 
 contrasted with his own ; on other occasions, from the nature of the 
 subject^ us closely connected with the interest of the hearers ; and, 
 'm general, from the modesty and good intention with which the 
 speaker enters upon his subject. 
 
 479. The second end of an introduction, is, to raise 
 he attention of the hearers ; which may be effected, 
 by giving them some hints of the importance, digni- 
 fy or novelty of the subject; or some favourable 
 view of the clearnes and precision with which we 
 ire to treat it ; and of the brevity with which we are 
 io discourse. 
 
 480. The third end is, to render the hearers docile, 
 or open to persuasion ; for which end we must begin 
 with studying to remove any particular preposses- 
 sions they may have contracted against the cause, or 
 side of the argument, which we espouse. 
 
 481. As few parts of the discourse give the com- 
 poser more trouble, or are attended with more nicety 
 in the execution, we shall here lay down the follow- 
 
74 The Introduction* 
 
 ing rules, for the proper composition of this part of 
 the subject. 
 
 482. The first rule is, that the introduction should 
 be easy and natural. The subject must always sug- 
 gest it. 
 
 Obs. It is too common a fault in introductions, that they are ta- 
 ken from some common-place topic, which has no particular relation 
 to the subject in hand ; hy which means they stand apart, like 
 pieces detached from the rest of the discourse to which they are 
 prefixed. 
 
 483. In order to render introductions natural and 
 easy, it is a good rule, that they should not be planned, 
 till after one has meditated in his own mind the 
 substance of his discourse. Then, and not till then, 
 he should begin to think of some proper and natural 
 introduction. 
 
 Obs. By taking a contrary course, and labouring in the first place 
 on an introduction, every one who is accustomed to composition, 
 will often find, that either he is lead to lay hoW of some common- 
 place topic, or that, instead of the introduction being accommo- 
 dated to the discourse, he is obliged to accommodate the whole 
 discourse to the introduction which he had previously written. 
 
 434. In the second place, in an introduction, cor- 
 rectness should be carefully studied in the expression. 
 This is requisite, on account of the situation of the 
 bearers. 
 
 Obs. They are then more disposed to criticise than at any other 
 period ; they are, as yet, unoccupied with the subject or the argu- 
 ments ; their attention is wholly directed to the speaker's style and 
 manner. Something must he done, therefore, to prepossess them in 
 his favour; though for the same reason*, too much art must be 
 avoided ; for it will be more easily detected at that time than 
 afterwards ; and will derogate from persuasion in all that follows. 
 
 485. In the third place, modesty is another charac- 
 ter which it must carry. All appearances of modesty 
 are favourable, and prepossessing. If the orator set 
 out with an air of arrogance and ostentation, the self- 
 love and pride of the hearers will be presently 
 awakened, and they will listen to him with a very sus- 
 picious ear throughout all his discourse. 
 
Conduct of a Discourse in all iis Paris. 
 
 Obs. His modesty should discover itself not only in his expressons 
 at the beginning, biu in his whole insurer ; in his looks, in his ges- 
 tures, in the tone oj'hi? voice. Every auditory take in good part 
 those marks of respect and awe, which art paid to them by one who 
 addresses them. Indeed the modesty of an introduction should nev- 
 er betray any thing mean or abject. It is always of great use to an 
 orator, that together with niodesiy and deference to his hearer*, 
 he should show a certain sense of dignity, arising from a persuasion 
 of the justice or importance of the subject on which he is to speak. 
 
 486. In the fourth place, an introduction should 
 usually be carried on in the calm manner. This is 
 seldom the place for vehemence and passion. Emo- 
 tions must rise a:; the discourse advances. The minds 
 of the hearers must be gradually prepared, before the 
 speaker can venture on strong and passionate senti- 
 ments. 
 
 Obs. The exceptions to this rule, are when the subject is such, 
 that the very mention of it naturally awakens some passionate emo- 
 tion ; or when the unexpected presence of some person or object, in a 
 popular assembly, inflames the speaker, and makes him break forth 
 with unusual warmth. Either of these will justify what is called the 
 exordium ab abrupto. 
 
 Example. Thus the appearance of Cataline in the senate renders 
 the vehement beginning of Cicero's first oration against him very 
 natuTal and proper : u Quousque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia 
 tioslra?" And thus Bishop Atterbury. in preaching from this text, 
 *' Btessedis he, whosoever shall not be offended in me," ventures on 
 breaking forth with this bold exordium : 4t And can any man then 
 be offended in thee, blessed Jesus ? " 
 
 487. In the fifth place, it is a rule in introductions, 
 not to anticipate any material part of the subject. 
 
 Obs. When topics, or arguments, which are afterwards to be en- 
 larged upon, are hinted at, and, in part, brought forth in the intro- 
 duction, they loose the grace of novelty upon their second appear- 
 . ance. The impression intended to be made by any capital thought, 
 is always made with the greatest advantage, when it is made ea- 
 and in its proper place. 
 
 438. In the last place, the introduction ought to 
 be proportioned, both in length, and in kind, to the 
 discourse that is to follow : in length, as nothing can 
 be ritore absurd than to errect a very great portico 
 before a small building ; and in kind, as it is no less 
 absard to overcharge, with superb ornaments, the 
 
276 The Proposition or Enunciation of l/ie Subjeit. 
 
 portico of a plain dwelling-house, or to make the 
 entrance to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. 
 Common sense directs, that every part of a discourse 
 should be suited to the strain and spirit of the 
 whole. 
 
 Sckolhmi. These are the principal rules that relate to intoduc- 
 tions. They ?re adapted, in a great measure, to discourses of ail 
 kinds. In pleadings at the bar, or speeches in public assemblies, 
 particular care must betaken not to employ such an introduction as 
 the adverse party may lay hold of, and turn to his advantage. 
 
 489. After the introduction, what commonly comes 
 next in order, is the proposition, or enunciation of the 
 subject. Concerning the proposition, it is to be ob- 
 served, that it should be as clear and distinct as possi- 
 ble, and expressed in few and plain words, without 
 the least affectation. 
 
 490. To this, generally succeeds the division, or 
 the laying down the method of the discourse; on which 
 it is necessary to make some observations. 
 
 Obs. We do not mean, that in every discourse, a formal division 
 or distribution of it into parts, is requisite. There are many occa- 
 sion of public speaking, when this is neither requisite, nor would be 
 proper ; when the discourse, perhaps, is to be short, or only one 
 point is to be treated of ; or when the speaker does not choose to 
 warn his hearers of the method he is to follow, or of the conclusion 
 to which he seeks to bring them. Order of one kind or another, is, 
 indeed, essential to every good discourse ; that is, every th ; ng should 
 be so arranged, that what goes before may give lis;ht and force to 
 what follows. But this may be accomplished by means of a con- 
 cealed method. What we call division is, when the method is pro- 
 pounded in form to the hearers. The discourse in which this sort 
 of division most commonly takes place, is a sermon. 
 
 491. In a sermon, or pleading, or any discourse, 
 where division is proper to be used, the most mate- 
 rial rules are, 
 
 492. First, that the several parts into which the 
 subject is divided, be really distinct from owe another ; 
 "that is, that no one include another* 
 
 Obs. It were a very absurd division, for instance, if one should 
 pnopose to t-eat first, of the advantages of virtue, and next, of 
 those of justice or temperance ; because, the first head evidently 
 
The Narration or Explication. 277 
 
 comprehends the second, as a genus does the species. He who 
 proceeds in this method involves his subject in disorder and indis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 493. Secondly, in division, we must take care to 
 follow the order ' of nature ; beginning with the sim- 
 plest points, such as are easiest apprehended, and 
 necessary to be first discussed ; and proceeding thence 
 to those which are built upon the former, and which 
 suppose them to be known. We must divide the 
 subject into those parts into which it is most easily 
 and naturally resolved ; that it may seem to split it- 
 self, and not to be violently torn asunder: " Divi- 
 dere," as it is commonly said, " non frangere." 
 
 494. Thirdly, the several members of a division, 
 ought to exhaust the subject ; otherwise, we do not 
 make a complete division ; we exhibit the subject by 
 pieces and corners only, without giving any such plan 
 as displays the whole. 
 
 495. Fourthly, the terms in which our partitions 
 are expressed, should be as concise as possible. 
 Avoid all circumlocution here. Admit not a single 
 word but what is necessary. Precision is to be studi- 
 ed, above all things, in laying down your method. 
 
 O&5. It is this which chiefly makes a division appear neat and 
 elegant ; when the several heads are propounded in the clearest, 
 most expressive, and, at the same time, the fewest words possible. 
 This never fails to strike the hearers agreeably ; and is, at the same 
 time, of great consequence towards making the divisions be more 
 easily remembered. 
 
 496. Fifthly, avoid an unnecessary multiplication 
 of heads. To split a subject into a great many mi- 
 nute parts, by divisions and subdivisions without end, 
 has always a bad effect in speaking. 
 
 Obs. It may be proper in a logical treatise ; but it makes an ora- 
 tion appear hard and dry, and unnecessarily fatigues the memory. 
 In a sermon, there may be from three to five or six head?, including 
 subdivisions ; seldom should there be more. 
 
 497. The next constituent part of a discourse, which 
 we mentioned, was narration, or explication. 
 
 Obs. We put these two together, both because they fall nearly 
 Z 
 
27$ Conduct of a Discourse in all its Paris. 
 
 under the same rules, and because they commonly answer the same 
 purpose; serving to illustrate the cause, or the subject of which the 
 orator treat?, before he proceeds to argue either on one side or other ; 
 or to make any attempt for interesting the passions of the hearers. 
 
 I Hits. \ . In pleadings at the bar, narration is often a very impor- 
 tant part of the discourse, and requires to be particularly attended 
 to. Besides its being in no case an easy matter to relate with, 
 grace and propriety, there i, in narrations at the bar, a peculiar 
 difficulty. The pleader must say nothing but what is true ; and, 
 at the same time, he must avoid saying any thing that will hurt his 
 cause. 
 
 2. The facts which he relates, are to be the ground-work of all his 
 future reasoning. To recount them so as to keep strictly within the 
 bounds of truth, and yet to present them under the colours most 
 favourable to his cause ; to place, in the most striking light, every 
 circumstance which is to his advantage, and to soften and weaken 
 such as make against him, demand no small exertion of skill and dex- 
 terity. He must always remember, that if he discovers too much art, 
 he defeats his own purpose, and creates a distrust of his sincerity. 
 
 498. To be clear and distinct, to be probable, and 
 to be concise, are the qualities which critics chiefly 
 require in narration ; each of which carries, sufficient- 
 ly, the evidence of its importance. 
 
 Illas. 1. Distinctness belongs to the whole train of the discourse, 
 but is especially requisite in narration, which ought to throw light 
 oa all that follows. A fact, or a single circumstance left in obscuri- 
 ty, and misapprehended by the judge, may destroy the effect of all 
 the argument and reasoning which the speaker^mploys. If his nar- 
 ration be improbable, the judge will not regard it ; and if it be 
 tedious and diffuse, he will be tired of it, and forget it. 
 
 2. In order to produce distinctness, besides the study of the 
 general rules of perspicuity which were formerly given, narration, 
 requires particular attention to ascertain clearly the names, the dates^ 
 the places, and every other material circumstance of the facts re- 
 counted. 
 
 2. In order to be probable in narration, it is material to enter into 
 the characters of the persons of whom we speak, and to show, that 
 their actions proceed from such motives as are natural, and likely to 
 gain belief. 
 
 4. In order to be as concise as the subject will admit, it is necessa- 
 ry to throw out all superfluous circumstances ; the rejection of which 
 will likewise tend to make our narration more forcible tnd more 
 clear. 
 
 Obs. In sermons, where there is seldom any occasion for narration, 
 explication of the subject to be discoursed on, comes in the place of 
 narration at the bar, and is to be taken up much on the same tone ; 
 that is, it must be concise, clear, and distinct ; and in a style cor- 
 rect an elegant, rather than highly adorned. To explain the doc- 
 
The argumentative or reasoning Part. 279 
 
 trine of (he text with propriety ; to give a full and perspicuous 
 account of the nature of that virtue or duty which forms the sub- 
 ject of the discourse, is properly the didactic part of preaching; on 
 the right execution of which much depends for all that comes after- 
 wards in the way of persuasion. 
 
 499. Of the argumentative or reasoning part of a 
 discourse. In whatever place, or on whatever sub- 
 ject one speaks, this, beyond doubt, is of the greatest 
 consequence. For the great end for which men speak 
 on any serious occasion, is to convince their hearers 
 of something being either true, or right, or good 5 and, 
 by means of this conviction, to influence their practice. 
 Reason and argument make the foundation of all man- 
 ly and persuasive eloquence. 
 
 00. Now, with respect to arguments, three things 
 are requisite. 
 
 First, the invention of them ; 
 
 Secondly, the proper disposition and arrangement 
 of them ; 
 
 And, thirdly, the expressing of them in such a style 
 and manner, as to give them their full force. 
 
 5Q1. The first of these, invention, is, without 
 doubt, the most material, and the ground-work of 
 the . 
 
 Obs. 1. But, with respect to this, it is beyond the power of art to 
 give any real assistance. Art cannot go so far, as to supply a 
 speaker with arguments on every cause, and every subject ; though 
 'it may be of considerable use in assisting him to arrange and express 
 those, which his knowledge of the subject hae discovered. For it is 
 one thing to discover the reasons that are most proper to convince 
 men, and another, to manage these reasons with the most advantage, 
 The latter is all that to which rhetoric can pretend. 
 
 2. The assistance that can be given, not with respect to the in- 
 vention, but with respect to the disposition and conduct of arguments 
 may be reduced to the following methods. 
 
 502. Two different methods may be used by ora- 
 tors in the condact of their reasoning. The terms of 
 art for these methods are, the analytic, and the syn- 
 Ihetic method. 
 
 IHus. The analytic ia that in which the orator conceals his in- 
 concerning the point he is to prove, till he has gradually 
 
280 Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. 
 
 brought his hearers to the designed conclusion. They are led on, 
 step by step, from one known truth to another, till the conclusion 
 be stolen upon them, as the natural consequence of a chain of prop- 
 ositions. 
 
 Example. When one intending to prove the being of a God, sets 
 out with observing that every Iking which we see in the world has 
 hud a beginning; that whatever has had a beginning, must have had 
 a prior cause ; that in human productions, art shown in the effect, 
 necessarily infers design in the cause : and proceeds leading you on 
 from one cause to another, till you arrive at one supreme first 
 cause, from whom are derived all the order and design visible in 
 his works. 
 
 Obs. This is much the same with the Socratic method, by which 
 that philosopher silenced the Sophists of his age. It is a very artful 
 method of reasoning; may be carried on with much beauty, and is 
 proper to be used when the hearers are much prejudiced against any 
 truth, and by imperceptible steps must be led to convictioo. But 
 there are few subjects that will admit this method, and not many 
 occasions on which it is proper to be employed. 
 
 503. The mode of reasoning most generally used, , 
 and most suited to the train of popular speaking, is 
 vrhat is called the synthetic $ when the point to be 
 proved is fairly laid down, and one argument after 
 another is made to bear upon it, till the hearers be 
 fully convinced. 
 
 Illus. Now. in all arguing, one of the first things to be attended 
 to is, among the various arguments which may occur upon a cause, 
 to make a proper selection of such as appear to one's self the most 
 solid ; and to employ these as the chief means of persuasion. Every 
 speaker should place himself in the situation of a hearer, and think 
 how he would be affected by those reasons, which he purposes to 
 employ for persuading others. For he must not expect to impose 
 on mankind by mere arts of speech. They are not so easily im- 
 posed on, as public speakers are sometimes tpt to think. Shrewd- 
 ness and sagacity are found among all ranks ; and the speaker may 
 be praised for his fine discourse, while the hearefs are not yet persua- 
 ded of the truth of any one thing he has uttered. 
 
 504. Supposing the arguments properly chosen, it 
 is evident that their effect will, in some measure, 
 depend on the right arrangement of them ; so as they 
 shall not justle and embarrass one another, but give 
 mutual aid ; and bear with the fairest and fullest di- 
 rection on the point in view. Concerning this, the 
 following rules may be taken : 
 
The argumentative or reasoning Part. 281 
 
 505. In the first place avoid blending arguments 
 confusedly together, that are of a separate nature. 
 All arguments whatever are directed to prove one or 
 other of these three things ; firs!, that something is 
 true; secondly, that it is morally right or fit; or 
 thirdly, that it is profitable and good. 
 
 506. These make the three great subjects of dis- 
 cussion among mankind ; truth, duty, and interest* 
 But the arguments directed towards any one of them 
 are generally distinct; and he who blends them all 
 under one topic, which he calls his argument, as, in 
 sermons especially, is too often done, will render his 
 reasoning indistinct and inelegant. 
 
 lilus. Suppose, for instance, that you are recommending to an 
 audience benevolence, or the Jove of our neighbour ; and that you 
 take your first argument from the inward satisfaction which a be- 
 nevolent temper affords ; your second, from (he obligation which the 
 example of Christ lays upon you to this duty ; and your third, from 
 its tendency to procure u? the good-will of all around us ; your argu- 
 ments are good, but you have arranged them wrong : for your first 
 and third arguments, are taken from considerations of interest, in- 
 ternal id external advantages ; and between these, you 
 have introduced one, which rests wholly upon duty. You should 
 have kept those classes of arguments, which are addressed to differ- 
 ent principles in human nature, separate and distinct. 
 
 507. In the second place, with regard to the dif- 
 ferent degrees of strength in arguments, the general 
 rule is, to advance in the way of climax, u ut augea~ 
 tur semper, et increscat oratio." 
 
 Gbs. 1. This especially is to be the course, when the speaker has 
 a clear cause, asd is confident that he can prove it fully. He may 
 then adventure to begin with feebler arguments ; rising gradually, 
 and not putting forth his whole strength till the last, when he can 
 trust to his making a successful impression on the minds oi his hear- 
 ers, prepared by what has gone before. 
 
 2. But this rule is not to be always followed. For, if he distrusts 
 bis cause } and has but one material argument on which to lay the 
 stress, putting less confidence in the rest, in this case, it is often 
 proper for him to place this material argument in the front ; to pre- 
 occupy the hearers early, and make the strongest effort at first : 
 that, having removed prejudices, and disposed his hearers to be fa- 
 vourable, the rest of his reasoning may be listened to with more 
 candour. Wfcea it happens, that amidst a variety 
 
282 Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts* 
 
 there are some which we are sensible are raore inconclusive than the 
 rest, and yet proper to be used, Cicero advises to place these in the 
 mfddle, as a station less conspicuous than either the beginning, or 
 the end, of the train of reasoning. 
 
 508. In the third place, when our arguments are 
 strong and satisfactory, the more they are distinguish- 
 ed and treated apart from each other, the better. 
 Each can then bear to be brought out by itself, plac- 
 ed in its full light, amplified and rested upon. But 
 when our arguments are doubtful, and only of the 
 presumptive kind, it is safer to throw them together 
 in a crowd, and to run them into one another; that 
 though infirm of themselves, they may serve mutually 
 to prop each other* 
 
 509. In the fourth place, we must observe not to 
 extend arguments too far, and multiply them too much. 
 If we do, we rather render our cause suspected, than 
 give it weight. An unnecessary multiplicity of ar- 
 guments both burdens the memory, and detracts 
 from the weight of that conviction which a few well- 
 chosen arguments carry. 
 
 Obs. It is to be observed too, that in the amplification of argu- 
 ments, a diffuse and spreading method, beyond the bounds of rea- 
 sonable illustration, is always enfeebling. It takes off greatly from 
 that strength and sharpness which should be the distinguishing char- 
 acter of the argumentative part of a discourse. When a speaker 
 dwells long on a favourite argument, and seeks to turn it into every 
 possible light, it almost always happens, that, fatigued with the 
 effort, he looses the spirit with which he set out, and concludes with 
 feebleness what he began with force. There is a proper temper- 
 ance in reasoning as there is in other parts of a discourse. 
 
 After due attention given to the proper ar- 
 rangement of arguments, what is next requisite for 
 their success, is, to express them in such a style, and 
 to deliver them in such a manner, as shall give them 
 lull force. 
 
 511. We now proceed to another essential part of 
 discourse which was mentioned as the fifth in order, 
 that is, the PATHETIC ; in which, if any where ? 
 eloquence reigns, and exerts its power. 
 
The pathetic Part. 283 
 
 512. On the head of the pathetic, the following 
 directions may be found useful. 
 
 513. The first is to consider carefully, whether the 
 subject admit the pathetic, and render it proper ; and 
 if it does, what part of the discourse 'is the most 
 proper for attempting it. 
 
 Obs. 1. To determine these points belongs to good sense ; for it 
 is evident, that there are many subjects which admit not the 
 pathetic at ail, and even in those that are susceptible of it, an 
 attempt to excite the passions in the wrong place, may expose an 
 orator to ridicule. All that can be said in general is, that if we 
 expect any emotion which we raise to have a lasting effect, we must 
 be careful to bring over to our side, in the first place, the under- 
 standing and judgment. 
 
 2. The hearers must be convinced that there are good and suffi- 
 cient grounds for their entering with warmth into the cau.e. They 
 must be able to justify to themselves the passion which they 
 feel ; and remain satisfied that they are not carried away by mere 
 delusion. 
 
 3. Unless their minds be brought into this state, although they 
 may have been heated by the orator's discourse, yet, as soon as he 
 ceases to speak, they will resume their ordinary tone of thought; 
 and the emotion which he has raised will produce no effect. 
 
 4. Hence most writers assign the pathetic to the peroration or 
 conclusion, as its natural pJace ; and, no doubt, all other things 
 being equal, this is the impression that one would choose to make 
 last, leaving the minds of the hearers warmed with the subject, after 
 argument and reasoning had produced their full effect : but wherever 
 it is introduced, observe, 
 
 514. In the second place, never to set apart a head 
 of a discourse in form, for raising any passion ; nev- 
 er give warning that you are about to be pathetic ; and 
 call upon your hearers, as is sometimes done, to fol- 
 low you in the attempt. This almost never fails to 
 prove a refrigerant to passion. It puts the hearers 
 immediately on their guard, and disposes them for 
 criticising, much more than for being moved. 
 
 Obs. The indirect method of making an impression is likely to 
 be more successful, when you seize the critical moment that is fa- 
 vourable to emotion, in whatever part of the discourse it occurs, and 
 then, after due preparation, throw in such circumstances, and pre- 
 lent such glowing images, as may kindle their passions before they 
 are aware. This can often be done more happily, in a few senten- 
 ces inspired by natural warmth, than in along and studied address* 
 
$4 Conduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. 
 
 515. In the third place, it is necessary to observe, 
 that there is a great difference between showing the 
 hearers that they ought to be moved, and actually 
 moving them. 
 
 lllus. To every emotion or passion, nature has adapted a set of 
 corresponding objects ; and, without setting these before the mind, 
 it is not in the power of any orator to raise that emotion. I am 
 warmed with gratitude, I am touched with compassion, not when a 
 speaker shows me that these are noble dispositions, and that it is my 
 duty to feel them ; or when he exclaims against me for my indiffer- 
 ence and coldness. All this time, he is speaking only to my reason 
 or conscience. He must describe the kindness and tenderness of 
 my frienri ; he must set before me the distress suffered by the per- 
 son for whom he would interest me ; then, and not till then, my 
 heart begins to be touched, my gratitude or my compassion begins 
 to flow. 
 
 Schclium. The foundation, therefore, of all successive execution 
 in the way of pathetic oratory is, to paint the object of that passion 
 which we wish to raise, in the most natural and striking manner ; 
 to describe this object with such circumstances as are likely to 
 awaken in the minds of others the passion which we wish to raise. 
 Every passion is most strongly excited by sensation ; as anger by 
 the feeling of an injury, or the presence of an injurer. Next to 
 the influence of sense, is that of memory ; and next to memory, is 
 ihe influence of the imagination. Of this power, tUerefore, the 
 orator must avail himself, so as to strike the imagination of the 
 hearers with circumstances which, in lustre and steadiness, re- 
 semble those of sensation and remembrance. In order to accom- 
 plish this, 
 
 516. In the fourth ptacn, the only effectual method 
 is, to be moved yourselves. There are a thousand 
 interesting circumstances suggested by real passion, 
 which no art can imitate, and no refinement can sup- 
 ply. There is obviously a contagion among the 
 passions. 
 
 Obs. The internal emotion of the speaker adds a pathos to his 
 words, his looks, his gestures, and his whole manner, which exerts 
 a power almost irresistible over those who hear him. But on this 
 point, though the most material of all, we shall not insist, as all at- 
 tempts toward? becoming pathetic, when we are not moved our- 
 selves, expose us to certain ridicule. 
 
 5J7. In the fifth place, it is necessary to attend to 
 the proper language of the passions. We should 
 observe in what manner any one expresses himself 
 
The pathetic Part. 285 
 
 who is under the power of a real and a strong passion ; 
 and we shall always find his language unaffected 
 and simple. 
 
 lllus. 1. It may be animated, indeed, with hold and strong figures, 
 but it will have no ornament or finery. Me is not at leisure to 
 follow out the play of imagination. His mind being wholly seized 
 by one object, which, has heated it, he has no other aim, but to 
 represent that in all its circumstances, as strongly as he feels it. 
 
 2. This must be the style of the orator when he would be pathet- 
 ic ; and this will be his style, if he speaks from real feeling; bold, 
 ardent, simple. No sort of description will then succeed, but what 
 is written u fervente calamo." If he stay till he can work up his 
 style, and polish and adorn it, he will infallibly cool his own ardour ; 
 and then he will touch the heart no more. His composition will 
 become frigid ; it will be the language of one who describes, but 
 does not feel. 
 
 3. We must take notice, that there is a great difference between 
 painting to the imagination, and painting to the heart. The one 
 may be done coolly and at leisure : the other must always be rapid 
 and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be suffered to ap- 
 pear ; in the latter, no effect cau follow, unless it seem to be the 
 work of nature only. 
 
 518. In the sixth place, avoid interweaving any 
 thing of a foreign nature with the pathetic part of a 
 discourse. 
 
 Obs. 1. Beware of all digressions, which may interrupt or turn 
 aside the natural course of the passion, when once it begins to rise 
 and swell. 
 
 2. Sacrifice all beauties, however bright and showy, which would 
 divert the mind from the principal object, and which would amuse 
 the imagination, rather than touch the heart. 
 
 3. Hence comparisons are always dacgeros, and generally quite 
 improper, in the midst of passion. 
 
 4. beware even of reasoning unseasonably ; or at least, of carry- 
 ing on a long and subtile train of reasoning, on occasions when the 
 principal aim is to excite warm emotions. 
 
 519. In the last place, never attempt prolonging 
 the pathetic too much. Warm emotions are too vi- 
 olent to be lasting. Study the proper time of mak- 
 ing a retreat; of making a transition from the pas- 
 sionate to the calm tone; in such a manner, how- 
 ever, as to descend without falling, by keeping up the 
 same strain of sentiment that was carried on before, 
 Chough now expressing it with more moderation. 
 
286 (Sonduct of a Discourse in all its Parts. 
 
 Obs. Above all things, beware of straining pp.?sion too far; of at- 
 tempting to raise it to unnatural heights. Preserve always a due 
 regard to what the hearers will bear ; and remember, that he who 
 stops not at the proper point ; who attempts to carry ibem farther, 
 in passion, than they will follow him, destroys his whole design. By 
 endeavouring to warm them too much, he takes the most effectual 
 method of freezing them completely. 
 
 520. Concerning the PERORATION OR CONCLUSION^ 
 it is needless to say much, because it must vary so 
 considerably, according to the strain of the preceding 
 discourse. 
 
 Obs. 1. Sometimes the whole pathetic part comes in most prop- 
 erly at the peroration. Sometimes, when the discourse has been 
 entirely argumentative, it is fit to conclude with summing up the 
 arguments, placing them in one view, and leaving the impression of 
 them full and strong on the mind of the audience. For the great 
 rule of a conclusion, and what nature obviously suggests, is, to place, 
 that last on which we choose that the strength of our cause should 
 rest. 
 
 2. In sermons, inferences from what has been said, make a com- 
 mon conclusion. But inferences to rise naturally should so much 
 agree with the strain of sentiment throughout the discourse, as not 
 to break the unity of the sermon. For inferences, how justly soever 
 they may be, deduced from the doctrine of the text, yet have a 
 bad effect, if, at the conclusion of a discourse, they introduce some 
 subject altogether new, and turn off our attention from the main 
 object to which the preacher had directed our thoughts. They 
 appear, in this case, like excrescences jutting cut frcjn the body, 
 and forming an unnatural addition to it ; they tend to enfeeble the 
 impression which the composition, as a whole, is calculated ta 
 make. 
 
 Scholium. In every discourse, it is a matter of importance to 
 hit the precise time of concluding, so as to bring our subject just 
 to a point ; neither ending abruptly and unexpectedly ; nor dis- 
 appointing the expectation of the hearers, when they look for the 
 close ; and continuing to hover round and round the conclusion, till 
 they become heartily tired of us. We should endeavour to go off 
 with a good grace ; not to end with a languishing and drawling 
 sentence ; but to close with dignity and spirit, that we may leave 
 the minds of the hearers warm ; and dismiss them with a favourable 
 2njpre*cioD of the subject and of the speaker. 
 
Historical Writing* 237 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 HISTORICAL WRITING. 
 
 521. As it is the office of an orator to persuade, 
 it is that of an HISTORIAN to record truth for the 
 instruction of mankind. This is the proper object 
 and end of history, from which may be deduced 
 many of the laws relating to its composition ; and 
 if this object were always kept in view, it would pre- 
 vent many of the errors into which persons are apt to 
 fall concerning this species of composition. - 
 
 Obs. A* the primary end of history is to record truth, impar- 
 tiality.) fidelity , and accuracy are the fundamental qualities of an 
 historian. He must neither be a panegyrist nor a satirist. He 
 must not enter into faction, nor give scope to affection ; but, con- 
 templating past events and characters with a cool dispassionate 
 ye, must present to his readers a faithful copy of human nature. 
 
 522. Historical composition is understood to com- 
 prehend under it, annals, memoirs, lives. But these 
 are its inferior subordinate species, on which we 
 shall hereafter make some reflections, when we shall 
 have first considered what belongs to a regular work 
 of history. Such a work is chiefly of two kinds. 
 Either the entire history of some state or king- 
 dom through its different revolutions, such as Livy's 
 Roman History ; Hume's History of England ; or 
 the history of some one great event, or some por- 
 tion or period of time which may be considered 
 as making a whole by itself; such as Thucydides's 
 History of the Peloponnesian War, Davila's His- 
 tory of the Civil Wars of France, or Clarendon's of 
 those of England ; Robertson's History of Charles V. 
 
 Obs. 1. In the conduct and management of his subject, the first 
 attention requisite in an historian, is to give it as much unity as pos- 
 sible ; that is t his history should not consist of separate unconnect- 
 ed parts merely, but should be bound together by some connecting; 
 principle, which shall make on the mind the impression of something 
 that is one, whole and entire. 
 
288 Historical Writing. 
 
 2. In general histories, which record the affairs of a whole natiou 
 or empire throughout several ages, this unity will be more imperfect. 
 Yet even there, some degree of it can 'be preserved by a skilful 
 writer. For though the whole, taken together, be very complex, 
 yet the great constituent parts of it form so many subordinate 
 wholes, when taken by themselves ; each of which can be treated 
 both as complete within itself, and as connected with what goes 
 before and follows. 
 
 Illus. 1. In the history of a monarch, for instance, every reign 
 should have its own unity ; a beginning, a middle, and an end, to 
 the system of affairs; while, at the same time, we are taught to 
 discern how that system of affairs rose from the preceding, and how 
 it is inserted into what follows. We should be able to trace all the 
 secret links of the chain, which binds together remote and seemingly 
 unconnected events. 
 
 2. In some kingdoms of Europe, it was the plan of many succes- 
 sive princes to reduce the power of their nobles ; and during sev- 
 eral reigns, most of the leading actions had a reference to this ertd, 
 In other states, the rising power of the Commons influenced, for a 
 tract of time, the course and connection of public affairs. 
 
 3. Among the Romans, the leading principle was a gradual ex- 
 tension of conques,t > and the attachment of universal empire. The 
 continual increase of their power, advancing towards this end from 
 small beginnings, and by a sort of regular progressive plan, furnished 
 to Livy a happy subject for historical unity, in the midst of a great 
 variety of transactions. 
 
 523. In order to fulfil the end of history, the author 
 must study to trace to their springs the actions and 
 events which he records. Two things are especial- 
 ly necessary for his doing this successfully ; a thor- 
 ough acquaintance with human nature, and political 
 knowledge, or acquaintance with government. The 
 former is necessary to account for the conduct of 
 individuals, and to give just views of their char- 
 acter ; the latter to account for the revolutions of 
 .government, and the operation of political causes on 
 public affairs. Both must concur, in order to form 
 a completely instructive historian. 
 
 524. The first requisites of historical narration, are 
 clearness, order, and due connection. To attain these, 
 the historian must be completely master of his sub- 
 ject ; he must see the whole as at one. view ; and 
 comprehend the chain and dependence of ail its 
 parts, that he may introduce every thing in its proper 
 
Historical Writing. 289 
 
 place ; that he may lead us smoothly along the tract 
 of affairs which are recorded, and may always give 
 us the satisfaction of seeing how one event arises out 
 of another. Without this, there can be neither pleas- 
 ure nor instruction, in reading history. 
 
 Obs. Much for this end will depend on the observance of that 
 unity in the general plan and conduct, which has already been re- 
 commended. Much too will depend on the proper management of 
 transitions. This forms one of the chief ornaments of this kind of 
 writing, and is one of the most difficult in execution. Nothing tries 
 an historian's abilities more, than so to lay his train beforehand, as 
 to make us pass naturally and agreeably from one part of his 
 subject to another ; to employ no clumsy and awkward junctures ; 
 and to contrive ways and means of forming some union among 
 transactions, which seem to be most widely separated from one 
 another. 
 
 525. In the next place, as history is a very dignifi- 
 ed species of composition, gravity must always be 
 maintained in the narration. There must be no 
 meanness nor vulgarity in the style; no quaint, nor 
 colloquial phrases ; no affectation of pertness, or of 
 wit. The smart, or the sneering manner of telling a 
 story, is inconsistent with the historical character. 
 
 Obs. On occasions where a light and ludicrous anecdote is prop* 
 er to be recorded, it is generally better to throw it into a note, than 
 to hazard becoming too familiar by introducing it into the body of 
 the work. 
 
 526. But an historian may possess these qualities 
 of being perspicuous, distinct, and grave, and may 
 notwithstanding be a dull writer ; in which case we 
 shall reap little benefit from his labours. 
 
 Obs. We shall read him without pleasure ; or, most probably, we 
 shall soon give over reading him at all. He must therefore study to 
 render his narration interesting; which is the quality that chiefly 
 distinguished a writer of genius and eloquence. 
 
 527. Two things are especially conducive to this ; 
 the first is, a just medium in the conduct of narration, 
 between a rapid or crowded recital of facts, and 
 a prolix detail. The former embarrasses, and the 
 latter tires us. 
 
 A a 
 
Writing. 
 
 Obs. 1. An historian fhaV wftuld interest us, must know when 
 to be concise, and where he ought to enlarge ; passing concisely over 
 slight and unimportant events, but dwelling on such as are striking 
 and considerable in their nature, or pregnant with consequences ; 
 preparing beforehand our attention to them, and bringing them forth 
 into the roost full and conspicuous light. 
 
 2. The next thing he must attend to, is a proper selection of the 
 circumstances belonging to those events which he chooses to relate 
 fully. General facts make a slight impression on the mind. It is 
 by means of circumstances and particulars properly chosen, that a 
 narration becomes interesting and affecting to the reader. These 
 give life, body, and colouring to the recitaf of facts, and enable us 
 to behold them as present, and passing before our eyes. It is this 
 employment of circumstances, in narration, that is properly termed 
 historical painting. 
 
 528. The ancients employed one embellishment of 
 history which the moderns have laid aside, namely, 
 orations, which, on weighty occasions, they put into 
 the mouths of some of their chief personages. 
 
 Obs. 1. By means of these, they diversified their history; they 
 conveyed both moral and political instruction ; and, by the oppo- 
 5, site arguments which were employed, they gave us a view of the 
 sentiments of different parties. 
 
 2. Orations may be an embellishment to history ; such mi^ht also 
 poetical compositions be, when introduced under the name of some 
 of the personages mentioned in the narration, who were known to 
 have possessed poetical talents. But neither can the one nor the 
 other find a proper place in history. 
 
 3. Instead of inserting formal oration?!, the method adopted by 
 later writers seems better and more natural ; that of the historian, 
 on some great occasion, delivering, in his own person, the sentiments 
 and reasonings of the opposite parties, or the substance of what was 
 understood to be spoken in some public assembly ; which he may 
 do without the liberty of fiction. 
 
 The drawing of characters is one of the most 
 splendid, and, at the same time, one of the most 
 difficult ornaments of historical composition. For 
 characters are generally considered as professed ex- 
 hibitions of fine writing ; and an historian who seeks 
 to shine in them, is frequently in danger of carrying 
 refinement to excess, from a desire of appearing 
 very profound and penetrating. He brings together 
 so many contrasts, and subtile oppositions of quali- 
 ties, that we are rather dazzled with sparkling ex- 
 
Memoirs. 291 
 
 pressions, than entertained with any clear conception 
 of a human character. 
 
 Obs. A writer who would characterise in an instructive and 
 masterly manner, should be simple in his style, and should avoid 
 ail quaintness and affectation; at the same time, not contenting 
 himself with giving us general outlines only, but descending 
 into those peculiarities which mark a character in its most strong 
 and distinct features. The Greek historians sometimes give eulogi- 
 urns, but rarely draw full and professed characters. The two an- 
 cient authors who have laboured this part of historical Composition 
 most, are Sallust and Tacitus. 
 
 530. As history is a species of writing designed for 
 the instruction of mankind, sound morality should 
 always reign in it. Both in describing characters, 
 and in relating transactions, the author should always 
 show himself to be on the side of virtue. 
 
 Obs. 1. To deliver moral instruction in a formal manner, falls not 
 within his province ; but both as a good man, and as a good writer, 
 we expect that he should evince sentiments of respect for virtue, 
 and an indignation at flagrant vice. 
 
 2. To appear neutral and indifferent with respect to good and bad 
 characters, and to effect a crafty and political, rather than amoral 
 turn of thought, will, besides other bad effects, derogate greatly from 
 the weight of historical composition, and will render the strain of it 
 zauch more cold and uninteresting. We are always most interested 
 in the transactions which are relating, when our sympathy is awa- 
 kened by the story, when we become engaged in the fate of the 
 actors. But this effect can never be produced by a writer who is 
 deficient in sensibility and moral feeling. 
 
 531. MEMOIR-S denote a sort of composition, in 
 which an author does not pretend to give full informa- 
 tion of all the facts respecting the period of which 
 he writes, but only to relate what he himself had 
 access to know, or what he was concerned in, or 
 what illustrates the conduct of some person, or ,the 
 circumstances of some transaction, which he chooses 
 for his subject. 
 
 Obs. i. From a writer of memoirs, therefore, is not expected the 
 same profound research, or enlarged information, as from a writer 
 of history. He is not subject to the same laws of unvarying dignity 
 and gravity. He may talk freely of himself; he may descend into 
 the most familiar anecdotes. What is chiefly required of him is 5 
 that he -be sprightly and interesting ; and, especially, that he inform 
 
<292 Biography. 
 
 us of things that are useful and curious ; by conveying to us some 
 sort of knowledge worth the acquiring. 
 
 2. This is a species cf writing very enticing to such as love to 
 write concerning themselves, and conceive eveiy transaction in 
 \vhich they had a share to be of singular importance. There is no 
 wonder, therefore, that a nation so sprightly as the French should, 
 ;or n^ore than two centuries past, have been pouring forth a whole 
 flood of 'memoirs ; the greatest part of which are little better than 
 agreeable triiK-s. 
 
 3. The c* moirs of the Duke of Sully, in the state in which they 
 are now given to the public, have great merit, and deserve to be 
 mentioned with particular praise. No memoirs approach more 
 jiearly to the usefulness, and the. dignity of a lull authentic histor}'. 
 They have the peculiar advantage, of giving us a beautiful display 
 of two of the most illustrious characters which history presents ; 
 Sully himself, one of the ablest and most incorrupt ministers, and 
 Henry IV. one of the greatest and most amiable princes of modern 
 times. Dr. Blair says, that he knows few books more full of virtue 
 and of good sense, than Sully's Memoirs ; few, therefore, more prop- 
 er to form both the heads and the hearts of such as are designed for 
 public business, and action, in the world. 
 
 532. BIOGRAPHY, or the writing of lives, is a very 
 useful kind of composition ; less formal and stately 
 than history 5 but to the bulk of readers, perhaps, no 
 less instructive ; as it affords them the opportunity of 
 seeing the characters and tempers, the virtues arid 
 failings of eminent men fully displayed ; and admits 
 them into a more thorough and intimate acquaintance 
 with such persons, than history generally allows. 
 
 Obs. 1. For a writer of lives may descend, with propriety, into 
 minute circumstances, paid familiar incidents. It is expecied that 
 he should give the private, as well BS the public life, of the person 
 whose actions he records ; nay, it is from private life, from familar, 
 domestic, and seemingly trivial occurrences, that we often receive 
 most light into the real character. 
 
 2. In this species of writing, Plurarch has no small merit ; and to 
 him xve stand indebted for much of the knowledge that we posses?, 
 concerning several of the most eminent personages of antiquity. His 
 matter is, indeed, better than his manner ; as he cannot lay claim 
 to any peculiar beauty or elegance. His judgment too, and his ac- 
 curacy, have sometimes been taxed ; but whatever defects of this 
 bind he may be liable to, his Lives of Eminent Men will always be 
 considered as a valuable treasure of instruction. 
 
 3. He is remarkable for being one of the most humane of all the 
 writers of antiquity ; .less dazzled than many of them are, with the 
 exploits of valour and ambition; and fond of displaying his great 
 men to us, in the more gentle lights of retirement and private life. 
 
Of Philosophical Writing. 
 
 3. A very great improvement has, of late years, 
 Been introduced into historical composition : namely, 
 a more particular attention than was formerly given 
 to laws, customs, commerce, religion, literature, and 
 every other subject that tends to show the spirit and 
 genius of nations. 
 
 Obs. 1. It is now understood to be the business of an able historian, 
 to exhibit manners, as well as facts and events ; and, assuredly, 
 whatever displays the state and life of mankind, in different periods, 
 and illustrate the progress of the human mind, is mt>re useful and 
 interesting than the detail of sieges and battles. 
 
 2. The person, to whom we are most indebted for the introduc- 
 tion of this improvement into history, is the celebrated M. Voltaire, 
 whose genius has shone with surprising lustre, in many different parts 
 of literature. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING, DIALOGUE, AN1> 
 EPISTOLARY CORRESPONDENCE, 
 
 534. PHILOSOPHICAL writing* As the professed 
 object of philosophy is to convey instruction, it is 
 manifest that every philosophical writer ought to study 
 the utmost perspicuity with respect both to single 
 words, and the construction of sentences. Beyond 
 mere perspicuity, strict accuracy and precision are 
 required in a philosophical writer. He should employ 
 no words of uncertain meaning, no loose nor mdetei> 
 initiate expressions ; and should avoid using words 
 which are seemingly synonymous, without carefully 
 attending t the varialioa which they make upon the 
 idea. 
 
 1. To be clear and precise then, are requisites which we 
 have a title to demand from every philosophical writer. He maj 
 possess these qualities, and be at the same time a very dry writer. 
 He should therefore study some degree of embellishment, in order 
 to render his composition pleasing and graceful, 
 2; Qa* of the j^ost agreeable, and one of tfee $fto*t ueefttJ *bfi ? ~ 
 
 A a 2 
 
294 Of Philosophical Writing. 
 
 ishments which a philosopher can employ, consists in illustrations 
 taken from historical facts, and the characters of men. All moral 
 and political subjects naturaly afford scope for these ; and wherev- 
 er there is room for employing them, they seldom fail of producing 
 a happy effect. They diversify the composition ; they relieve the 
 mind from the fatigue of mere reasoning, at the same time raise 
 more full conviction than any reasonings produce : for they take 
 philosophy out of the abstract, and give weight to speculation, by 
 shewing its connection with real life, and the actions of mankind. 
 
 35. Philosophical writing admits, besides, of a 
 
 polished, a neat and an elegant style. It admits of 
 
 :>hors, comparisons, and all the calm figures of 
 
 :h, by which an author may convey his sense 
 
 to the understanding with clearness and force, at the 
 
 same time that he entertains the imagination. 
 
 Cbs. He ir.ust take great care, however, that all his ornaments 
 'j* of the chastest kind, never partaking of the florid or the tumid ; 
 arhich is so unpardonable in a professed philosopher, that it is much 
 better for him to err on the side of naked simplicity, than on that 
 of too much ornament. 
 
 lllus. In English, Locke's celebrated Treatise on Human Un- 
 derstanding, may be pointed out as a model, on the one hand, of the 
 greatest clearness and distinctness of philosophical style, with very 
 littie approach to ornament ; Lord Shaftsbury's writings, on the 
 other baud, exhibit philosophy dressed up with all the ornament 
 which it car> admit; perhaps with more than is perfectly suited to 
 it : Stewart's philosophical writings are composed with elegance 
 and beauty. 
 
 536. DIALOGUE WRITING. Philosophical compo- 
 sition, when carried on in the way of dialogue and 
 conversation, sometimes assumes a form, under which 
 it mingles more with works of taste. 
 
 Obs. Under this form the ancients have given us some of their 
 chief philosophical works ; and several of the moderns have endeav- 
 oured to imitate them. 
 
 lllus. Dialogue writing may be executed in two ways, either as 
 direct conversation, where none but the speakers appear, which is 
 the method that Plato uses ; or as the recital of a conversation, 
 where the author himself appears, and gives an account of what 
 passed in discourse ; which is the method that Cicero generally fol- 
 lows. But though those different methods make some variation 
 in the form, yet the nature of the composition is, in its elements, the 
 same in both, and is therefore subject to the samelaws. 
 
 537. A dialogue, in one or other of these forms, 
 ' t>6 some philosophical; moral, or critical subject, 
 
Epistolary Writing. 295 
 
 when it is well conducted, stands in a high rank a- 
 mong the works of taste ; but is much more difficult 
 in the execution than is commonly imagined. For 
 it requires more than merely the introduction of dif- 
 ferent persons speaking in succession. 
 
 Illus, 1. It ought to be a natural and spirited representation of 
 real conversation ; exhibiting the character and manners of the sev- 
 eral speakers, and suiting to the character of each that peculiarity 
 of thought and expression, which distinguishes him from another. 
 
 2. A dialogue, thus conducted, gives the reader a very agreeable 
 entertainment ; as by means of the debate going on among the per- 
 sonages, he receives a fair and full view of both sides of the argu- 
 ment ; and is, at the same time, amused with polite conversation, 
 and with a display of consistent and well supported characters. 
 
 Corol. An author, therefore, who has genius for executing such 
 a composition after this manner, has it in his power both to instruct 
 and to please. 
 
 538. EPISTOLARY WRITING possesses a kind of 
 middle place between the serious and amusing spe- 
 cies of composition. Epistolary writing appears, at 
 first view, to stretch into a very wide field. For 
 there is no subject whatever, on which one may not 
 convey his thoughts to the public, in the form of a 
 letter. 
 
 Illus. For instance : Lord Shaftsbury, M-r Harris, and several 
 other writers, have chosen to give this form to philosophical treati- 
 ses. But this is not sufficient to class such treatises under the head 
 of epistolary composition. Though they hear, in the title-page, " a 
 letter to a friend," after the first address, the friend disappears, and 
 we see that it is, in truth, the public with whom the author corres- 
 ponds. Seneca's Epistles are of this sort. There is no probability 
 that they ever passed in correspondence as real letters. They are 
 no other than miscellaneous dissertations on moral subjects ; which 
 the author, for his convenience, chose to put into the epistolary 
 form. Even where one writes a real letter on some formal topic, 
 as of moral or religious consolation to a person under distress, such 
 as Sir William Temple has written to the Countess of Essex on the 
 death of her daughter, he is at liberty, on such an occasion, to write 
 wholly as a divine or as a philosoper, and to assume the style and 
 manner of either without reprehension. We consider the author not 
 as writing a letter, but as composing a discourse, suited particular- 
 ly to the circumstances of some one person. Russell's histories are 
 in the form of letters. 
 
 539. Epistolary writing becomes a distinct species 
 
296 Epistolary Writing. 
 
 of composition, subject to the cognizance of criticism^ 
 only, or chiefly, when it is of the easy and familiar 
 kind ; when it is conversation carried on upon paper, 
 between two friends at a distance. 
 
 Illas. 1. Such an intercourse, when well conducted, may be ren- 
 dered very agreeable to readers of taste. If the subject of the let- 
 ters be important, they will be the more valuable. Even though 
 there should be nothing very considerable in the subject, yet if the 
 spirit and turn of the correspondence be agreeable ; if they be writ- 
 ten in a sprightly manner, and with native grace and ease, they 
 may still be entertaining ; more especially if there be any thing to 
 interest us, in the characters of those who write them. 
 
 2. Hence the curiosity which the public have always evinced, 
 concerning the letters of eminent persons. We expect in them to 
 discover something of their real character. It is childish indeed to 
 expect, that in letters we are to find the whole heart of the author 
 unveiled. Concealment and disguise take place, more or less, in 
 all human intercourse. 
 
 But still, as letters from one friend to another make the nearest 
 approach to conversation, we may expect to see more of a char- 
 acter displayed in these than in other productions, which are de- 
 signed for public view. We are pleased with beholding the writer 
 in" a situation which allows him to be at his ease, acd to give vent 
 occasionally to the over flo wings of bis heart. 
 
 540. Much, therefore, of the merit, and the agree- 
 ableness of epistolary writing, will depend on its in- 
 troducing us into some acquaintance with the writer. 
 There, if any where, we look for the man, not for the 
 author. * 
 
 Illas. 1. Its first and fundamental requisite is, to fee natural and 
 simple ; for a stiff and" laboured manner is as bad in a letter, as it is 
 in conversation. This does not banish sprightliness and wit. These 
 are graceful m letters, just as they are in conversation ; when they 
 flow easily, and without being studied ; when employed so as to sea- 
 son, not to cloy. One who, either in conversation or in letters, af- 
 fects to shine and to sparkle always, will not please long. 
 
 2. The style of letters should not be too highly polished. It 
 ought to be neat and correct, bit no more. All nicety about words, 
 betrays study ; and hence musical periods, and appearances of num- 
 ber and haraony in arrangement, should be carefully avoided in 
 letters. 
 
 3. The best letters are commonly such as the authors have writ- 
 ten with most facility. What the heart or the imagination dictates, 
 always flows readily ; but where there is no subject to warm or io- 
 terest these, constraint appears ; and hence, those letters of mere 
 <cpliiBefil coogr&tiUatiaB, cr affected co&doteoce, which have 
 
Epistolary Writing. 297 
 
 cost the authors most labour in composing, and which, for that rea- 
 son, they perhaps consider as their master-pieces, never fail of be- 
 ing the most disagreeable and insipid to the readers. 
 
 4. It ought, at the same time, to be remembered, that the ease 
 and simplicity which we have recommended in epistolary correspon- 
 dence, are not to be understood as importing eniire carelessness. 
 In writing to the most intimate friend, a certain degree of attention, 
 both to the subject and the style, is requisite and becoming. It is 
 no more than what we owe both to ourselves, and to the friend with 
 whom we correspond. A slovenly and negligent manner of writing, 
 is a disobliging mark of want of respect. The liberty, besides, of 
 writing letters with too careless a hand, is apt to betray us into im- 
 prudence in what we write. 
 
 5. The first requisite, both in conversation and correspondence, 
 is, to attend to all the proper decorums which our own character, 
 and that of others, demand. An imprudent expression in conversa- 
 tion may be forgotten and pass away ; but when we take the pen 
 into our hand, we must remember, that, " the word which hath been 
 written remains*." 
 
 Examplt 1. In our own times, several collections of letters have 
 issued from tbe press. Among these, Franklin's correspondence 
 holds a most distinguished place. 
 
 2. But of all the letters which this or any country hath produced, 
 the most finished, perhaps, are those of Lord Chesterfield. Lady 
 Montagu's Letters entitled her to rank among authors of a superior 
 class. 
 
 3. The most distinguished collection of letters, however, in the 
 English language, is that of Pope, Dean Swift, and their friends ; 
 partly published in Pope's works, and partly in those of Dean 
 Swift. 
 
 *" Litera scripta manet." 
 
POETRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 
 
 541. POETRY is the language of passion, or of en- 
 livened imagination, formed, most commonly, into 
 regular numbers. 
 
 542. The historian, the orator, and the philoso- 
 pher, address themselves, for the most part, primari- 
 ly to the understanding : their direct aim is to inform, 
 to persuade, or to instruct. But the primary aim of a 
 pOCt is to please, and to move, ; and, therefore, it is 
 to the imagination, and the passions, that he speaks. 
 
 Illus. 1. He may, and he ought to have it in his view, to instruct 
 and to reform ; but it is indirectly, and by pleasing and moving, that 
 he accomplishes this end. His mind is supposed to be animated by 
 some interesting object which fires his imagination, or engages his 
 passions; and which of course, communicates to his style a peculiar 
 elevation suited to his ideas ; very different frosn that mode of ex- 
 pression, which is natural to the mind ifi its calm and ordinary 
 state. 
 
 2. Yet, though versification be, in general, tha exterior distinc- 
 tion of poetry, yet there are some forms of verse so loose and fa- 
 miliar, as to be hardly distinguishable from prose ; such as the verse 
 of Terence's comedies : and tbere is also a species of prose, so meas- 
 ured in its cadence, and so much raised in its tone, as to approach 
 very near to poetical numbers ; such as the Tefemachus of Fenclon ; 
 and the English translation of Ossian. Dr. Johnson's Rasseias is 
 perhaps of this class too. 
 
 3. The truth is, verse and prose, on some occasion?. ?un into one 
 another, like light and shade. It is hardly possible to determine the 
 exact limit where prose ends, and poetry begins ; nor is there any 
 occasion for being very precise about the boundaries, as long as the 
 nature of each is understood. 
 
 543. The Greeks, ever fond of attributing to their 
 
Poetry. 299 
 
 own nation the invention of all sciences and arts 5 
 have ascribed the origin of poetry to Orpheus, Linus, 
 and Musaeus. 
 
 Obs. There were, perhaps, such persons as these, who were the 
 nrst distinguished bards in the Grecian countries. But long before 
 such names were heard of, and among nations where they were 
 never known, poetry existed. 
 
 544. It has been often said, and the concurring 
 voice of all antiquity affirms, that poetry is older than 
 prose. But in what sense this seemingly strange par- 
 adox holds true, has not always been well under- 
 stood. (See Art. 30. and Illus.) 
 
 Illus. 1. There never, certainly, was any period of society in 
 which men conversed in poetical numbers. It was in very humble 
 and scanty prose, as we may easily believe, that the first tribes car- 
 ried on intercourse among themselves, relating to the necessities of 
 life. But from the very beginning of society, there were occasions 
 on which they met together for feasts, sacrifices, and public assem- 
 blies ; and on all such occasions, it is well known, that music, song, 
 and dance, made their principal entertainment. 
 
 2. It is chiefly in America, that we have had the opportunity of 
 being made acquainted with men in their savage state. We leara 
 from the particular and concurring accounts of travellers, that, 
 among all the nations of that vast continent, especially among the 
 northern tribes, with whom we have had most intercourse, music 
 and song are, at all their meetings, carried on with an incredible 
 degree of enthusiasm ; that the chiefs of the tribe are those who sig- 
 nalize themselves most on such occasions ; that it is in songs they 
 celebrate their religious rites ; that, by these, they lament their pub- 
 lic and private calamities, the death of friends, or the loss of warri- 
 ors ; express their joy on their victories ; celebrate the great actions 
 of their nation, and their heroes ; excite each other to perform great 
 exploits in war, or to suffer death and torments with unshaken con- 
 stancy. (Art. 19. Illus. 1.) 
 
 Corol. Here then we see the first beginnings of poetic composi- 
 tion, in those rude effusions, which the enthusiasm of fancy or pas- 
 sion suggested to untaught men, when roused by interesting events 5 
 and by their meeting together in public assemblies. 
 
 545. Man, by nature, is both a poet, and a musi- 
 cian. The same impulse which prompted the enthu- 
 siastic poetic style, prompted a certain melody, or 
 modulation of sound, suited to the emotions of joy or 
 grief, of admiration, love, or anger. There is a power 
 in sound, which, partly from nature, partly from habit 
 
300 The Origin and Progress 
 
 and association, makes such pathetic impressions on 
 the fancy, as delight even the most wild barbarians. 
 
 Corol. Music and poetry, therefore, had the same rise ; they were 
 prompted by the same occasions ; they were united in song ; and, 
 as long as they continued united, they tended, without doubt, mutu- 
 ally to heighten and exalt each other's power. 
 
 546. The first poets sung their own verses : and 
 hence the beginning of what we call versification, or 
 words arranged in a more artful order than prose, so 
 -as to be suited to some tune or melody. 
 
 Illus. The liberty of transposition, or inversion, which the poetic 
 style would naturally assume, made it easier to form the words into 
 some sort of numbers that fell in with the music of the song. Very 
 harsh and uncouth, we may easily believe, these numbers would be 
 at first. But the pleasure was felt ; it was studied ; and versifica- 
 tion, by degrees, passed into an art. (Art. 25. Him.) 
 
 Corol. 1. It appears from what has been said, that the first com- 
 positions which were either recorded by writing or transmitted by 
 tradition, could be no other than poetical compositions. No other 
 but these, could draw the attention of men in their rude uncivilized 
 state. Indeed they knew no other. 
 
 2. Cool reasoning and plain discourse had no power to attract 
 savage tribes, addicted only to hunting and war. There was no- 
 thing that could either rouse the speaker to pour himself forth, or 
 draw the crowd to listen, but the high powers of passion, of music, 
 and of song, This vehicle, poetry, therefore, and no other, could be 
 employed by chiefs and legislators, when they meant to instruct or 
 animate their tribes. 
 
 3. There is. likewise, a farther reason why such compositions on- 
 ly could be transmitted to posterity ; because, before writing was 
 Invented, songs only could last, and be remembered. The ear gave 
 assistance to the memory, by the help of numbers ; fathers repeated 
 and sung them to their children ; and by this oral tradition of na- 
 tional ballads, were conveyed all the historical knowledge, and all 
 the instruction, of the first ages. 
 
 547. The earliest accounts which history gives us 
 concerning all nations, bear testimony to these facts. 
 In ike first ages of Greece, priests, philosophers, and 
 statesmen, all delivered their instructions in poetry* 
 
 Illus. Apollo, Orpheus, and Amphion, their most ancient bards, 
 are represented as the first tamers of mankind, the first founders of 
 law and civiifzation. Minos and Thales sung to the lyre the laws 
 which they composed* ; and till the age immediately preceding that 
 of Herodotus, history had appeared in no other form than that of 
 poetical tales. 
 
 * Strabo, 1. 10. 
 
Of Poetry. 301 
 
 548. In the same manner, among all other nations, 
 poets are the first literary characters, and songs are 
 the first compositions, that make their appearance. 
 (Illus. 2. Art. 544. and Art. 21.) 
 
 lllus. Among the Scythian or Gothic nations, many of their kings 
 and leaders were scalders, or poets ; and it is from their runic songs, 
 that the most early writers of their history, among whom we may 
 reckon Saxo-Grammaticus, acknowledged, that they had derived 
 their chief information. Among the Celtic tribes, in Gaul, Britain, 
 and Ireland, we know, in what admiration their hards were held, 
 and what great influence they possessed over the people. They 
 were both poets and musicians, in each of these countries. They 
 were always near the person of the chief cr sovereign ; they re- 
 corded all his great exploits ; they were employed as the em- 
 bassadors between contending tribes, and their persons were heJd 
 sacred. 
 
 549. Diversity of climate and of manner of living, 
 hath occasioned some diversity in the strain of the 
 first poetry of nations ; chiefly, according as those 
 nations are of a more ferocious, or of a more gentle 
 spirit ; and according as they advance faster or slower 
 in the arts of civilisation. (Art. 31.) 
 
 Illus. 1. Thus we find all the remains of the ancient Gothic po- 
 etry remarkably fierce, and breathing nothing but slaughter and 
 blood ; while the Peruvian and the Chinese songs turned, from the 
 earliest times, upon milder subjects. The Celtic poetry, in the 
 days of Ossian, though chiefly of the martial kind, yet had attained 
 a considerable mixture of tenderness and refinement ; in conse- 
 quence of the long cultivation of poetry among theCeltae, by means 
 of a series and succession of bards which had been established for 
 ages. So Luc an informs us : 
 
 Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos 
 Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis aevum 
 Plurirna securi fudistis carmina bardi*. (L. 44.) 
 2. Amonsj the Grecian states, the early poetry appears to have 
 received a philosophical cast, from what we are informed concern- 
 lag the subjects of Orpheus, Linus, and Musseus, who treated of 
 
 * You too, ye bards, whom sacred raptures? fire, 
 To chaunt your heroes to your country's lyre, 
 Who consecrate in your immortal strain, 
 Brave patriot souls in righteous battle slain ; 
 Securely now the useful task renew, 
 And noblest themes in deathless songs pursue. Rows. 
 
 B b 
 
302 The. Origin and Progress of Poetry. 
 
 creation and of chaos, of the generation of the world, and of the rise 
 of things ; and we know that the Greeks advanced sooner to philos- 
 ophy, and proceeded with a quicker pace in all the arts of refinement 
 than most other nations. 
 
 3. The Arabians and the Persians have always been the greatest 
 poets of the East *, and among 1 them, as among other people, poetry 
 was the earliest vehicle of all their learning and instruction*. 
 
 550. Daring the infancy of poetry, all the different 
 kinds of it lay confused, and were mingled in the same 
 composition, according as inclination, enthusiasm, or 
 casual incident, directed the poet's strain. 
 
 Illns. 1. Odes and hymns of every sort, would naturally be among 
 the first compositions ; according as the bards were moved by re- 
 jigious feelings, by exultation, resentment, love, or any other warm 
 sentiment, to pour themselves forth in song. 
 
 2. Plaintive or elegiac poetry, would as naturally arise from la- 
 mentations over their deceased friends. 
 
 o. The recital of the achievements of their heroes, and their an- 
 cestors, gave birth to what we now call epic poetry ; and as, not 
 content with simply reciting these, they would infallibly be led, at 
 some of their public meetings, to represent them, by introducing 
 different bards speaking in the character of their heroes, and an- 
 swering each other, we find in this the first outlines of tragedy, or 
 dramatic writing. 
 
 551. None of these kinds of poetry, however, were 
 in the first ages of society properly distinguished or 
 separated, as they are now, from each other. In- 
 deed, not only were the different kinds of poetry then 
 mixed together, but all that we now call letters, or. 
 composition of any kind, was then blended in one 
 mass. 
 
 Obs. i. When the progress of society brought on a separation of 
 the different arts and professions of eivil life, it ied also by degrees to 
 a separation of the different literary provinces from each other. 
 
 2. The art of writing was in process of time invented ; (Chap. V. 
 Book 7.) records of past transactions began to be kept ; men, occu- 
 pied with the subject* of policy and useful arts, wished now to he 
 instructed and informed, as well as moved. They reasoned and re- 
 flected upon the affairs of life ; and were interested by what was 
 real, not fabulous, in past transactions. 
 
 2. The historian, therefore, now laid aside the buskins of poetry ; 
 he wrote in prose and attempted to give a faithful and judicious 
 
 * Vid, Voyages ds Chardin, chap, de la Pocsie des Pcrsans, 
 
Versification. 303 
 
 relation of former events. The philosopher addressed himself 
 chiefly to the understanding. The orator studied to persuade by- 
 reasoning, and retained more or less of the ancient passionate and 
 plowing style, according as it was conducive to his purpose. (Art. 
 41. and 42.) 
 
 Corol. Poetry hence became a separate art, calculated chiefly to 
 please, and confined generally to such subjects as related to the im- 
 agination and passions. Even its earliest companion, music, was in 
 a great measure divided from it. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 552. NATIONS, whose language and pronunciation 
 were of a musical kind, rested their versification chief- 
 ly upon the quantities, that is, the length or shortness 
 of their syllables. Others, who did not make the 
 quantities of their syllables be so distinctly perceived 
 in pronouncing them, rested the melody of their verse 
 upon the number of syllables which it contained, upon 
 the proper disposition of accents and pauses in reci- 
 ting it, and frequently upon that return of correspond- 
 ing sounds, which we call rhyme. 
 
 Illus. I. The former was the case with the Greeks and Romans; 
 the latter is the case with us, and with most modern nations. 
 
 2. Among the Greeks and Romans, every syllable, or at least by 
 far the greatest number of syllables, was known to have a fixed and 
 determined quantity ; and their manner of pronouncing rendered 
 this so sensible to the ear, that a long syllable was counted precisely 
 equal in time to two short ones. 
 
 3. Upon this principle, the number of syllables contained in their 
 hexameter verse, V.LS allowed to vary. It may extend to 17; it 
 can contain, when regular, no fewer than 13 : b^tthe musical time, 
 was, notwithstanding, precisely the same in every hexameter verse, 
 and was always equal to that of 12 long syllables. 
 
 5. In order to ascertain th- v^rse, and f.he 
 
 proper mixture and (succession or" bag and .>b!cs which 
 
 ousht to compose it, what the gramma. c! feet, dar.~ 
 
 tyhs, spondees^ -iambuses, &c. were irm utod. By these measures was 
 tried the accuracy of composition in every line, and wht-th'T it was 
 so constructed as to complete its proper melody. 
 
304 Poetry. 
 
 5. It was requisite, for instance, that the hexameter vere should 
 have the qantiiy of its syllables &o disposed, that it could he scanned 
 or measured by six metrical feet, which might be either dactyles or 
 spondees (as the musical time of both these is the same), with this 
 restriction only, that the fifth foot was regularly to be a dactyle, and 
 the iast a spondee. 
 
 Obs. The genius of our language corresponds not in this respect 
 to the Greek or Latin ; yei, in the sequel, it i? shewn, that English 
 poetry has ils feet, though differently formed from the ancient. We 
 rest the melody of our verse upon the number of syllables which it 
 contain?, &c. (Art. 552.) 
 
 Feet and Pauses are the constituent Parts of Verse. 
 
 We shall consider these separately. 
 
 OF POETICAL FEF/F. 
 
 553. A certain number of connected syllables forms 
 a foot. These syllables, thus connected, are called 
 feet, because it is by their aid that the voice, as it 
 were, steps along through the verse, in a measured 
 pace ; and it is necessary that the syllables which 
 mark this regular movement of the voice, should, in 
 some manner, be distinguished from the others. 
 
 Ulus. \. This distinction, we have shewn, (Illus. 1. Art. 552.) 
 was made among the ancient Romans, by dividing their syllables in- 
 ^o long and short, and ascertaining their quantity, by an exact pro- 
 portion of time in sounding them ; the long being to the short, as 
 two to one ; and the long syllables, being thus the more important, 
 marked the movement. 
 
 2. In English, syllables are divided into accented and unaccented ; 
 . I. JlrL oo2.) ; and the accented syllables being as strongly 
 distinguished from the unaccented, by the peculiar stress of the voice 
 upon them, are equally capable of marking the movement, and 
 pointing out the regular paces of the voice, as the long syllables were 
 by their quantity, among the Roman*. 
 
 554. English feet, formed by an accent on vowels, 
 are exactly of the same nature as the ancient feet, 
 and have the same just quantity in their syllables. 
 So that, in this respect, we have all that the ancients 
 had, and something which they had not. We have in 
 fact duplicates of each foot, yet with such a difference, 
 as to fit them for different purposes, to bo applied at 
 our pleasure. 
 
Versification. 305 
 
 Obs. From its nature, every foot has power? peculiar to itself; and 
 it is upon the knowledge and right application of these powers, that 
 the pleasure and effect of numbers chiefly depend. 
 
 555. All the feet used in poetry consist either of 
 two, or of three syllables ; and are reducible to eight 
 kinds ; namely, four of two syllables, and four of three, 
 as follows : 
 
 DISSYLLABLE. TRISSYLLABLE. 
 
 A Trochee ~ <> A Dactyl ~ w 
 
 An Iambus u - An Amphibrach - 
 
 A Spondee - M An Anapaest y ~ 
 
 A Pyrrhic u A Tribrach w 
 
 556. A Trochee has the first syllable accented, 
 and the 'last unaccented : as, " Hateful, pettish." 
 
 557. An Iambus has the first syllable unaccented, 
 and the last accented ; as, " Betray, consist." 
 
 558. A Spondee has both the words or syllables 
 accented : as, " The pale moon." 
 
 559. A Pyrrhic has both the words or syllables 
 unaccented : as " On the tall tree." 
 
 560. A Dactyl has the first syllable accented, and 
 the two latter unaccented : as, " Labourer, p6s- 
 sible." 
 
 561. An Amphibrach has the first and last sylla- 
 bles unaccented : and the middle one accented : as, 
 " Delightful, domestic." 
 
 562. An Anapaest has the two first syllables un- 
 accented, and the last accented : as, " Contravene, 
 acquiesce." 
 
 563. A Tribrach has all its syllables unaccented : 
 as, " Nfxmerable, conquerable." 
 
 Scholium, Some of these feet may be denominated principal feet 
 as pieces of poetry may be wholly, or chiefly, formed of any of them 
 Such are the Iambus, Trochee, Dactyl, and Anapaest. The others 
 may be termed secondary feet ; because their chief use is to diversi- 
 fy the cumbers, and to improve the verse. 
 
306 Poetry. 
 
 We shall first explain the Nature of the principal 
 
 Feet. 
 
 564. Iambic verses may be divided into several 
 species, according to the number of feet or syllables 
 of which they are composed. 
 
 Example. 1. The shortest form of the English Iambic consists of 
 an Iambus, with an additional short syllable : as, 
 
 Disdaining, 
 Complaining, 
 Consenting, 
 Repenting. 
 
 Obs. We have no poem of this measure, but it may be met with 
 in stanzas. The Iambus, with this addition, coincides with the 
 Amphibrach. (Art. 561.) 
 
 Example 2. The second form of Iambic, is also too short to be 
 continued through any great number of lines. It consists of two 
 iambuses. 
 
 What place is here ! 
 What scenes appear ! 
 To me the rose 
 No longer glows. 
 
 II sometimes takes, or it may take, an additional short syllable ; 
 as, 
 
 o 
 
 Upon a mountain 
 Beside a fountain. 
 
 Example 3. The third form consists of three Iambuses,. 
 
 In places far or near, 
 
 Or famous or obscure, 
 
 Where wholesome is the air, 
 
 Or where the most impure. 
 It sometimes admits of an additional short syllable : as, 
 
 Our hearts no longer languish. 
 Example 4. The fourth form is made up of four Iambuses. 
 
 And may at last my weary age, 
 Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
 
 Example 5. The fifth species of English Iambic, consists of/a'e 
 Iambuses. 
 
 H6w lov'd, h6*r valti'd once, avails thee nOt 3 
 To whom related, or by whoa begot ; 
 
Versification* 307 
 
 A heap of dust alone remains of thee ; 
 'Tis all thou art and all the proud shall be, 
 
 Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer; 
 Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
 Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. 
 
 Obs. This is called the heroic measure. In its simplest form it 
 consists of five Iambuses ; but by the admission of other feet, as 
 Trochees, Dactyls, Anapaets, &c. it is capable of many varieties. 
 Indeed, most of the English common measures may be varied in the 
 same way, as well as by the different position of their pauses. 
 
 Example 6. The sixth form of our Iambic, is commonly called 
 the Alexandrine measure. It consists of six Iambuses, 
 
 For thou art but 6f dust : be humble and be wise. 
 The Alexandrine is sometimes introduced into heroic rhyme ; and 
 when used sparingly, and with judgment, occasions an agreeable 
 variety. 
 
 The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 
 
 Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
 
 But fixM his word, his saving pow'r remains : 
 
 Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns. 
 
 Example 7. The seventh and last form of our Iambic measure, 
 iismade up of seven Iambuses. 
 
 The Lord descended from above, and bow'd the heavens high. 
 This was anciently written in one line ; but it is now broken into 
 two ; the first containing four feet, and the second three : 
 
 When all thy mercies, O my God ! 
 
 My rising soul surveys, 
 Transported with the view, I'm lost 
 
 In wonder, love |ind praise. 
 
 Scholium. In all these measures, the accents are to be placed on 
 e*en syllables ; and every line considered by itself, is in genera! 3 
 jnore melodious, as this rule is more strictly observed. 
 
 565. Trochaic verse is of several kinds. 
 Example 1. The shortest Trochaic verse in our language, con- 
 sists of one Trochee and a long syllable. 
 
 Tumult cease 
 Sink to peace. 
 
 Obs. This measure is defective in dignity, and can seldom be us- 
 ed on serious occasions. 
 
 Example 2. The second English form of the Trochaic consists of 
 two feet ; and is likewise so brief, that it is rarely used for any vzry 
 serious purpose. 
 
 On the mountain. 
 By a fountain, 
 
30B Poetry. 
 
 Tt sometimes contains two feet or trochees. \vith an additional 
 long syllable : as 3 
 
 In the days of old 
 Fables plainly told. 
 Example 3. The third species consists of three trochees , as, 
 
 When our hearts are mourning : 
 
 er of three trochees, with an additional long syllable : as } 
 Restless mortals toil for nought ; 
 Bliss in vain from earth is sought ; 
 Bliss, a native of the sky, 
 Never wanders. Mortals, try ; 
 There you cannot seek in vain ; 
 For to seek her is to gain. 
 
 Example 4. The fourth Trochaic species consists of four tro- 
 chees : as, 
 
 Round us roars the tempest louder. 
 This form may take an additional long syllable, as follows : 
 
 Idle after dinner in his chair, 
 
 Sat a farmer, ruddy, fat, at?d fair. 
 But this measure is very uncommon. 
 
 Example 5. The fifth Trochaic species is likewise uncommon. 
 It is composed of Jive trochees. 
 
 All that walk on foot or ride in chariots, 
 All that dwell in palaces and garrets. 
 
 Example 6. The sixth form of the English Trochaic consists of 
 six trochees : as, 
 
 On a mountain, strtHch'd beneath it hoary wlU6w, 
 Lay a shepherd swain, and view'd the rolling billow. 
 This seems to be the longest Trochaic line that our language ad- 
 mits. 
 
 Qbs. In all these Trochaic measures, the accent is to be placed 
 on the odd syllables. 
 
 566. The Dactylic measure being very uncom- 
 mon, we shall give only one example of one species 
 of it: 
 
 From the low pleasures 6f this fallen nature, 
 Rise we to higher, &c. 
 
 -567. Anapaestic verses are divided into several 
 species. 
 
 Example 1. The shortest anapaestic verse must be a single ana- 
 paest ; as, 
 
Versification. 309 
 
 But In vain, 
 They complain. 
 
 This measure is, however, ambiguous ; for, by laying the stress 
 of the voice ou the first and third syllables, we might make it tro- 
 % ,haic. And therefore the first and the simplest form of our genuine 
 Anapaestic verse, is made up of two Anapaests : as, 
 
 But his courage gan fail, 
 
 For no arts could avail. 
 
 This form admits of an additional short syllable. 
 Then his courage 'gan fail him, 
 For no arts could avail him. 
 
 Example 2. The second species consists of three Anapaests, 
 o 
 
 ye woods, spread your branches apace ; 
 To your deepest recesses I fly, 
 
 1 would hide with the beasts of the chase ; 
 
 I would vanish from every eye. 
 
 This is a very pleasing measure, and much used, both in solemn 
 and cheerful subjects. 
 
 Example 3. The third kind of English Anapaestic, consists of four 
 Anapaests. 
 
 o 
 
 May 1 govern my passions with absSlute sway ; 
 And grow wiser and better as life wears away. 
 
 This measure will admit of a short syllable at the end : as, 
 On the warm cheek 6f youth, smiles and roses are blending. 
 
 Obs. The preceding are the different kinds of the principal feet, 
 in their more simple forms. They arc capable of numerous varia- 
 tions, by the intermixture of those feet with each other; and by the 
 admission of secondary feet* 
 
 568. We have observed, that English verse is 
 composed of feet formed by accent, (Illus. 2. Art. 
 553.) ; and that when the accent falls on vowels, the 
 feet is equivalent to those formed by quantity. (Art* 
 554.) 
 
 Example 1. That the student may clearly perceive this differ- 
 ence, we shall produce a specimen of each kind. 
 
 O'er heaps of ruins stalk'd the stately h: : nd. 
 
 Obs. Here we see the accent is upon the vowel in each second 
 syllable. (Art. 552.) In the following line, we shall find the same 
 Iambic movement, but formed by accent on consonants, except the 
 Jast syllable. 
 
 Then rustling, crackling, crashing thunder down, 
 
310 Poetry. 
 
 Example 2. Here the time of (he short accented syllables, is com- 
 pensated by a short pause, at the end of each word to which they 
 belong. 
 
 568. We now proceed to show the manner in which 
 poetry is varied and improved, by the admission of 
 secondary feet into its composition. 
 
 Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night. 
 Obs. 1. The first foot here is a Dactyl ; the rest are Iambics. 
 CTer many a frozen, many a fiery Alp. 
 
 2. This line contains three Amphibrachs mixed with Iambics. 
 
 Innumerable before th' Almighty's throne. 
 
 3. Here, in the second foot, we find a Tribrach. 
 Seethe bold youth strain up the threat'ning steep. 
 
 4. In this line, the first foot is a Trochee ; the second a genuine 
 Spondee by quantity ; the third a Spondee by accent. 
 
 5. In the following line, the first foot is a Phyrrhic, the second a 
 Spondee. 
 
 That on weak wings from far pursues your flight. 
 
 Scholium. From the preceediog view of English versification, we 
 may see what a copious stock of materials it possesses. For we 
 are not only feticwed the ?e of all the ancient poetic feet, in our 
 heroic measure, but we have, as before observed, duplicates of 
 each, agreeing in movement, though differing in measure*, and 
 make differ ; n the ear ; an opulence peculiar 
 
 to our language, and which may be the source of a boundless vari- 
 etj. 
 
 570. Another essential circumstance in the consti- 
 tution of our verse, is the ;w Y. which falls 
 towards the middle of cath line. Some pause of 
 this kind, dictated by ihe melody, is found in the 
 verse of most nail 
 
 Ols. It is found a\ mi'^lit be shewn, 'in ihe Latin hexameter. In 
 the French heroic verse, it U very sensible. That is a verse of 
 twelve syllables, and ia every line, just after the sixth syllable, there 
 rails regularly and indispensably, a eiesural pause, dividing the line 
 into two equal hemistichs. 
 
 Example. Jeune et vaillact heroa jj dont la haute sagesse 
 
 N'est point le fruit tardif || d*une lente vieillesse, 
 
 ^Movement and measure arc- thus distinguished. Movement ex- 
 presses the progressive order of sounds, whether from strong to 
 weak, from long to short, or vice versd. Measure signifies the pro- 
 portion of time, both in sounds and pauses. Murray. 
 
Versification. 311 
 
 Qui seul sans minlstre || a Pexample des Dieux 
 Soutienstout par toi-meme ||et vois tous par ses veux*. 
 
 Analysis. In this train all the French verses proceed ; the one 
 half of the line always answering to the other, and the same chime 
 returning incessantly on the ear without intermission or change ; 
 which is certainly a defect in the verse, and unfits it so very much 
 for the freedom and dignity of heroic poetry. On the other hand, 
 it i" a distinguishing advantage of our English verse, that it allows 
 the pause to be varied through four different syllables in the line. 
 
 Scholium. The pause may fall after the 4th, the 5th, the 6th, or 
 the 7th syllable ; and according as the pause is placed after one or 
 other of these syllables, the melody of the verse is much changed, its 
 air and cadence are diversified. By this means, uncommon richness 
 and variety are added to English versification. 
 
 571. When the pause falls earliest, that is, after the 
 fourth syllable, the briskest melody is thereby formed, 
 and the most spirited air given to the line. 
 
 Example. In the following lines of the Rape of the lock, Mr. Pope 
 has with exquisite propriety suited the construction of th verse t*> 
 the subject : 
 
 On her white breast jj a sparkling cross she wore, 
 Which jews might kiss jf-and infidel* adore; 
 Her lively looks j| a sprightly mind disclose, 
 Quick as her eyes jj and as unfixed as those, 
 Favours to none |[ to all she smiles extends, 
 Oft she rejects |j but never once offends. 
 
 572. When the pause falls after the fifth syllable, 
 dividing the line into two equal portions, themelo- 
 dy is sensibly altered. The verse looses that brisk 
 and sprightly air, which it had with the former pause, 
 and becomes more smooth, gentle, and flowing. 
 
 Example. Eternal sunshine |] of the spotless mind, 
 
 Each prayer accepted j| and each wish resigned. 
 
 573. When the pause proceeds to follow the sixth 
 syllable, the tenor of the music becomes solemn and 
 grave. The verse marches now with a more slow 
 and measured pace, than in either of the two former 
 cases. 
 
 Example. The wrath of Peleus' son |j the direful spring 
 Of ail the Grecian woes || O goddess, aing ! 
 
312 Blank Verse. 
 
 574. But the grave solemn cadence becomes still 
 more sensible, when the pause falls after the seventh 
 syllable, which is the nearest place to the end of the 
 line that it can occupy. 
 
 O&5. This kind of verse occurs the most seldom, but has a fcappy 
 effect in diversifying the melody. It produces that slow Alex- 
 andrine air, which is finely suited to a close ; and for thrs reason, 
 such lines almost never occur together, but are used in finishing the 
 couplet. 
 
 Example. And in the smooth description || murmur still. 
 Long loved adored ideas ! || all adieu. 
 
 Obs. These examples have been taken from verses in rhyme ; 
 because in these, our versification is subjected to the strictest law. 
 As blank verse is of a freer kind, and is naturally read with less ca- 
 dence or tone, the pauses in it, and the effect of them, are not always 
 so sensible to the ear. It is constructed, however, entirely upon the 
 same principles, with respect to the place of the pause. 
 
 575. Our BLANK VERSE possesses great advantages, 
 and is indeed a noble, bold, and disencumbered species 
 of versification. The principal defect in rhyme, is 
 the full close which it forces upon the ear, at the end 
 of every couplet. Blank verse is freed from this, 
 and allows the lines to run into each other with as 
 great liberty as the Latin hexameter permits, perhaps 
 with greater. Hence it is particularly suited to sub- 
 jects of dignity and force, which demand more free 
 and manly numbers than rhyme. 
 
 Illus. The constraint and strict regularity of rhyme, are unfa- 
 vourable to the sublime, or to the highly pathetic strain. An epic 
 poem, or a tragedy, would be fettered and degraded by it. It is 
 best adapted to compositions of a temperate strain, where no par- 
 ticular vehemence is required in the sentiments, nor great sublimity 
 in the style ; such as pastorals, elegies, epistles, satires, &c. To 
 these it communicates that degree of elevation which is proper for 
 them ; and without any other assistance, sufficiently distinguishes 
 the style from prose. He who should write such poems in blank 
 verse, would render his work harsh and unpleasing. In order to sup- 
 port 'A poetical style, he would be obliged to affect a pomp of lan- 
 guage, unsuited to the subject. 
 
 Scholia 1. The present form of our English heroic rhyme in coup- 
 lets, is a moderate species of versification. The measure generally 
 n?ed ia the days of QueeD|Elizabethj King James, and King,Charles I, 
 
Pastoral Poetry. o!3 
 
 was the btanza of eight lines, such as Spencer employ?, borrowed 
 from the Italian ; a measure very constrained and artificial. 
 
 2. Waller was ..the first who brought couplets into vogue ; and 
 Dryden afterwards established the usage. Waller first smoothed our 
 verse ; Dryden peri'ectcd it. Pope's versification has a peculiar 
 character. It is flowing and smooth in the highest degree ; far more 
 laboured and correct than that of any who went before him. He 
 introduced one considerable change into heroic verse, by totally 
 throwing aside the triplets, or three lines rhyming together, in which 
 Dryden'abounded. Dry den's versification, however, has very great 
 merit ; and, like all his productions, has much spirit, mixed with 
 carelessness. If not so smooth and correct as Pope's, it is however 
 more varied and easy. He subjects himself less to the rule of 
 closing the sense with the couplet ; and frequently takes the liberty 
 of toaking his couplets run into one another, with somewhat of 
 the freedom of blank Vr-rse. If any one, after reading Pope's 
 Rape of the Lock, or Eloisa to Vbelard, shall not admit our 
 rhyme, with all its varieties of pauses, to carry both ekt.ame and 
 = weetne?s of sound, his ear must be pronounced to be of a very pecu- 
 liar kind. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF PASTORAL POETRY. 
 
 576. THE object of Pastoral Poetry is to delight the 
 imagination with descriptions of the beauties of nature, 
 and of human life spent in the midst of these beauties, 
 the persons possessing health, sensibility, and inno- 
 cence, and undisturbed by the anxieties and cares of 
 business and activity. 
 
 Obs. 1. The simple recapitulation of the principal objects of which 
 such descriptions consist, communicates pleasing and exhilarating 
 emotions. Zephyrs whispering through the trees and woods; rivu- 
 lets gliding along their mossy banks ; birds chaunting their lively 
 notes ; shepherds playing on their rural pipes ; lambkins skipping 
 after their dams ; and the shepherdesses listning to the enchanting 
 lays of their amorous swains, 
 
 2. The survey of pictures of innocence and happiness cannot fail to 
 be agreeable, if the reader can be convinced of their reality. But, 
 as he finds such descriptions continually falsified by experince, the 
 poet artfully lays the scenes of his pastorals in remote places and 
 ages, when, it is supposed, human life was less corrupted, and when 
 shepherds and shepherdesses retained more refined sentiments ? and 
 Cc 
 
314 Pastoral Poetry. 
 
 more elevated rank, than persons of that character in modern time?. 
 If we wish to survey rural felicity in perfection) we must suppose 
 ourselves transplanted into Sicily or Arcadia, where the pastoral life 
 appeared in perfection, and where nature lavished all her stores to 
 .Fender the shepherd happy. 
 
 577. It is not sufficient, however, that the face of 
 nature be lively and gay, the picture, to interest, must 
 be animated with sentiment. 
 
 Illus. The shepherd must discover anxiety to obtain some object 
 of importance to his happiness, or he must solace himself with the 
 possession of it. He may signify his regret for the absence of a 
 mistress or a friend ; he may indulge in the hope to recover their so- 
 ciety ; he may sympathise with their misfortunes, or rejoice at their 
 prosperity. But no violent feeling must he excited ; no deep dis- 
 tress, or pungent sorrow must appear, which would produce vexa- 
 tion in the mind of the reader, because such a feeling would inter- 
 fere with the gaiety and pleasant emotions naturally prompted by 
 this kind of composition. 
 
 578. Attention also must be bestowed to- preserve 
 the pastoral character both in sentiment and in ac- 
 tion. 
 
 Illus. The shepherds must not appear too learned or refined io 
 their notions ; neither must they display rudeness, cruelty, or inde- 
 cency in their manners or words. Good sense, sensibility, obser- 
 vation of the striking beauties of nature, conjoined with simplicity 
 and innocence, are the qualifications they saust chiefly display. 
 
 579. A similar regard must be paid to local char- 
 acter, and national circumstances. 
 
 Illus. The British swain must not offer sacrifice to Pan, nor de- 
 fend his flock against the lion and the wolf ; he may, however, be- 
 lieve in the existence of invisible spirits or incantations, or fortify 
 his lambs against the hound and the fox. In a word, Tbe pastoral 
 poet may indulge in every supposition which may render his pic- 
 tures more beautiful, interesting, or sentimental ; but he must not 
 push his demands too far, nor shock the faith of his reader ; he must 
 not ask him to believe what is inconsistent or incredible. 
 
 580. Theocritus is the most early writer of pasto- 
 rals. His works have descended to posterity, and 
 he has been imitated by all his successors, particu- 
 larly by Virgil. 
 
 Obs. 1. Theocritus was an inhabitant of Syracuse, in Sicily, 
 about the time of Alexander the Great, and he has laid the scenes 
 of all his po<j**s in that delightful island. He paints nature, and de 
 
Pastoral Poetry. 315 
 
 lincates the sentiments and actions of his shepherd? with great ad- 
 dress. No pastoral writer has been more happy in striking the 
 due medium between refinement and rudeness ; awd the use he 
 makes of (he Doric dialect, so admirably suited to (lie rusticity and 
 simplicity of his characters, is none of the leas? marks of his merit. 
 
 2. Virgil succeeds Theocritus both in time and merit. SeveJ 
 cf his pastorals are finished with good taste, simplicity, and propri- 
 ety. No writer excels him in painting delicate sentiment, for which 
 this kind of composition affords frequent opportunity. 
 
 EK ample 1. Nothing can be more simple and natural than the 
 following lines : 
 
 a Tityre, dam redeo, brevis est via, pa?ce capellas ; 
 Et potum pastas age, Tityre ; et inter agendum 
 Occursare capro, cornu ferit ille, cave-to." 
 
 Example 2. Again : 
 
 u Hie gclidi fontes : hie mollia prata, Lycori : 
 
 Hie cemus : hie ipso tecum consumerer cevo." 
 t{ Paria meas veneri sunt munera ; uamque notavi 
 
 lose locum, aenae quo congessere palumbes.' 9 
 Example 3. The two last lines are beautifully translated and im- 
 proved by Shenstone : 
 
 u I have found out a gift for my fair, 
 ] have found where the wood-pigeons breed : 
 But let me the plunder forbear, 
 She will say 'twas a barbarous deed." 
 
 Ob$. 3. Not above the half, however, often eclogues, which Virgil 
 has left, can properly be s-.id to deserve the name of pastoral. 
 Several of them, particularly the first and ninth, have little of that 
 character. The third, filth, seventh, and eighth only, can be said 
 to belong strictly to this species of poetry : and though even in them 
 the sentiments are sometimes too refined, yet they are never quaint 
 or affected. 
 
 4. Pope has imitated, and almost translated, Theocritus and 
 Virgil. His pastorals, accordingly, have little merit, but that of the 
 versification. He has scarcely ventured to advance a single senti- 
 ment, of which he had not received a hint from the Sicilian or Re- 
 ananpoet. The subsequent examples will illustrate this remark. 
 
 Example 1. Virgil, with much simplicity, expresses a beautiful 
 sentiment in the following lines : 
 
 "Malo me Galatea petit, lasciva puella, 
 Et fugit ad salices, et se cupit ante videri." 
 
 Example 2. Pope diminishes the effect of this thought, by adding 
 to it an air ofprettiness and conceit. 
 
 ct The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green, 
 She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen. 
 While a kind glance at her pursuer flies, 
 Hovviuuch at varience are her feet and eyes !" 
 
>10 Pastoral Poetry* 
 
 Schvlirnn. P^pc wrote his pastorals \vhon very young, . 
 furnishes a ^ood apology for their defects. 
 
 581. Among ali the various poets, ancient or mod- 
 ern, who have attempted pastorals, Shenstone is en- 
 titled to the greatest praise. Neither Theocritus 
 nor Virgil is, perhaps, to be compared with him, in 
 combining the capital requisites of this kind of wri- 
 ting ; for no author in this line has introduced with 
 more success whatever is simple, tender, and deli- 
 cate. 
 
 Obs. Even Shenstone's own works in this line are not equally 
 meritorious. He degenerates sometimes into flatness and insipid- 
 ily ; but no language can furnish a performance of its kind superior 
 to his pastoral ballad, in four parts, on Absence, Hope, Solitude, 
 and Disappointment. No quaiutness, no affectation, no false re- 
 finement, no indelicacy ; all is nature, innocence, and elegance. 
 The whole poem deserves high praise : as a short specimen, we shall 
 present the following lines, from the part denominated Hope. 
 
 " One would think she might like to retire 
 To the bow'r I had laboured to rear ; 
 Not a shrub that I heard her admire, 
 But I hastened and planted it there. 
 Oh! ho xv sudden the jessamine strove 
 With the lilac to render it gay ; 
 Already it calls for my love, 
 To prune the wild branches away. 
 I have found out a gift for my fair, 
 ! have found where the wood-pigeons breed ; 
 But let me the plunder forbear, 
 She will say 'twas a barbarous deed : 
 For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd, 
 Who could rob a poor bird of its young; 
 And 1 lov'dher the more when I heard 
 Such tenderness fall from her tongue." 
 
 582. The favourable reception which pastoral poe- 
 try has obtained from all polished nations, and the 
 picture it is supposed to exhibit of the happy, but 
 fabulous times of the golden age, have prompted 
 some eminent authors to attempt to improve it. They 
 have retained the pastoral characters, occupations, 
 and manners, and to these have added importance and 
 interest, by moulding them into a. beautiful and pic- 
 turesque sentimental comedy. As a farther enhance- 
 
Pastoral Poetry. 317 
 
 of its merit, they have made music contribute 
 liberally to adorn it, and have introduced a number 
 of tender characteristic songs, in which the shepherds 
 and shepherdesses signify to one another their hopes 
 and wishes, accompanied with correspondent airs oi 
 melody. 
 
 Obs. 1. Few entertainments can present an assemblage of so 
 ujany captivating object?, beautiful pictures of nature ; the charms 
 ofa-iu=ic, which touch the heait; characters pleased, cheerful and 
 happy, engaged in those simple cares and attachments, which oc- 
 cupy human life, without fatigueing it ; and which, being dictated by 
 innocence and restrained by virtue, gently agitate, without distract- 
 ing the mind. Attempts of merit of this sort have accordingly 
 been honoured with the warmest approbation. 
 
 2. Italy furnishes two eminent specimens which all Europe has 
 read and admired. The Amynta of Tasso, and Pastor Fido of 
 Guarini. Both display vivid pictures of nature, and of rural man- 
 iitis. The fables are interesting, and happily conducted ; the char- 
 acters are thrown into many delicate and tender situations. Many 
 of the scenes are beautiful, and wrought up with much sen^ibiiityj 
 that the reader receives a very exquisite amusement. 
 
 683. The Gentle Shepherd, a Scottish pastoral 
 comedy, of Allan Ramsay, is admired by every read- 
 er of taste and genius. The author has exerted 
 much pains to avoid the reprehensible qualities of his 
 two rivals, and every candid critic must allow that 
 he has been successful. 
 
 Obs. 1. That he might suggest an apology for the greater liber- 
 ality of sentiment which he has ventured to throw into the charac- 
 ters of his principal shepherd and shepherdess, he has supposed 
 them to inherit a genius superior to their station, communicated 
 from their parents, who possessed a more elevated rank, but who, 
 from political misfortunes, were obliged to permit their children to 
 be educated in concealment and obscurity. 
 
 2. In every other view, his pastoral h entitled to much praise. 
 The fable is well conceived, naturally and regularly conducted. 
 The characters are distinctly marked; they are numerous, and 
 properly varied. Their occupations, sentiments, manners, are all 
 the most picturesque, local, and characteristic, that can be sup- 
 posed. Simplicity, innocence, cheerfulness, rustic sports and mer- 
 riment, rude prejudices, opinions, and fears, are beautifully and per- 
 iinently interspersed. The situations of the principal characters 
 are delicate and interesting, and deeply engage the attention of the 
 reader. The great change of fortune, and the consequent happi- 
 oesstfaey enjoy from the accidental discovery of their birth and 
 
 Cc2 
 
318 Lyric Poetry. 
 
 opulence in fhe course of the action, terminate the performance, by 
 suggesting the most pleasing and satisfactory frame of mind, the 
 reader could wish to possess. The music is national, tender, sim- 
 ple, and the diction is perfectly suited to the characters. It is fin- 
 ished in the true Doric taste, roft and expressive, neither too refin- 
 ed, nor too gross and unpolished. 
 
 3. Dr. Blair was the first who prejudiced the public taste against 
 the Gentle Shepherd. Barren has followed him in this, as indeed 
 in almost every other thing the doctor said. But let it be observed, 
 that the Gentle Shepherd is a national pastoral ; the locality of its 
 manners and language, make it such ; they constitute its chief in- 
 gredients of national merit ; they increase its interest by circum- 
 scribing its reputation among the people for whom it was written. 
 u Had its manners been general, its language pure English, and its 
 scenes Arcadian, it would have had less characteristic beauty, but 
 it might have merited the applause of Europe*." Indeed ! There 
 are hills add dales, woods and streams, and sentient natures, in 
 Britain; ami Arcadia could boast no more. At all events, there 
 is one national pastoral in the world ; or, in other words, the glory 
 of this species of poetry hath not fallen with the genius of Greece. 
 
 584. Of all the moderns, M. Gessner, a poet of 
 Switzerland, has been the most successful in his pas- 
 toral compositions. He has introduced into his Idylls 
 (as he entitles them) many new ideas. His rural 
 scenery is often striking, and his descriptions are 
 lively. 
 
 Obs. He presents pastoral life to us, with all the embellishments 
 of which it is susceptible ; but without any excess of refinement. 
 What forms the chief merit of this poet, is, that he writes to the 
 heart; and he has enriched the subject of his Idylls with incidents 
 which give rise to much tender sentiment. Scenes of domestic fe- 
 licity are beautifully painted. The mutual affection of husbands 
 and wives, of parents and children, of brothers and sisters, as well 
 as of lovers, are displayed in a pleasing and touching manner. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LYRIC POETRY. 
 
 585. LYRIC poetry, to which we now proceed, in- 
 cluded, in ancient times, every poetical composition 
 accompanied with music, whether of the voice or of 
 
 instruments. 
 
 * Blair. 
 
Lyric Poetry. 319 
 
 Illus. 1. It was nailed lyric, from the lyre, with which it was 
 commonly attended ; and it acquired the name of ode, because it 
 was also designed to be sung. It is a short, occasional, animated 
 effort of genius. 
 
 2. The author may assume any tone he chooses ; he may be sub- 
 lime, familiar, gay, serious, passionate, moral, tender, or witty with 
 equal propriety, and he may even intermix several of these strains 
 in the same poem. 
 
 3. Panegyric, however, is the principal field it has occupied in 
 all ages ; for the praise of the gods, and of heroes, have furnished 
 more odes ths^n all other subjects put together. 
 
 Example I. The Psalms of David were Lyric productions, ar,d 
 were sung in thi? celebration of the Jewish worship. 
 
 2. The Odes of Pindar were composed in praise of the gods, or 
 heroes, or victors in the games of Greece. 
 
 3. Some of those of Horace are dedicated to the honour of the 
 gods, others form elegant complimentary addresses to his country, 
 to eminent individuals, or to friends. 
 
 Obs. Modern times have not been so prolific in this species of 
 composition, as these of antiquity ; they arenotj however, destitute 
 of some very conspicuous specimens. 
 
 586. Lyric poetry is susceptible of different orna- 
 ments, suitable to the nature of the subjects it treats, 
 It admits sometimes the boldest and warmest figures 
 of imagination and passion ; at other times, it delights 
 in the playful and pleasant images of fancy and feel- 
 ing. Sometimes the expression is ardent, concise, 
 and vehement ; at other times, it is simple and diffuse ; 
 but at all times it must be pure, picturesque, and 
 correct. 
 
 Obs. 1 The style should be more finished, perhaps, than that of 
 any other species of poetry ; for the attention of the reader is nei- 
 ther powerfully nor long diverted by the sentiment. He soon 
 turns it toward the expression ; and he is so scrupulous, that he will 
 not excuse the slightest impropriety. The capital characteristics 
 of the ode, then, are magnificence, or passion or ingenuity in the 
 thought, and perfect elegance in the style. 
 
 2. Greece has left some conspicuous monuments of lyric compo- 
 sition, in the od.-s of Pindar, Sappho, and Anacreon ; the first re- 
 markable for vehemence and sublimity ; the two last for sensibility, 
 pleasantry, and vivacity. 
 
 3. Horace is the orJy Roman poet of the lyric tribe whose works 
 have descended to modern times ; and, it seems, we have little rea- 
 son to regret the loss of tLe rest, for, if we may rely on the opinion 
 of Qumctilian, Horace alone merited immortality. 
 
 87. No flaodern poets have composed volumes of 
 
320 Lyric Poetry. 
 
 odes like Pindar and Horace, but many of them have 
 occasionally attempted this species of composition* 
 The chief of these in English are Dryden, Pope, Ad- 
 dison, Gray, and Akenside. 
 
 Obs. i. The first three are distinguished by their odes to St. Ce- 
 cilia, in praise of the powers of music ; the subjects of the last two 
 are miscellaneous. As the first three have attempted successively 
 to adorn the same theme, it affords a good opportunity of compar- 
 ing their mt-rits. 
 
 2. Alexander's Feast, by Dryden, has gained universal fame, and 
 it seems to deserve all the reputation it has attained. It is didicult 
 to decide whether the sentiments or the composition merit the most 
 praise. The sentiments are admirably suited to the personages 
 whom they describe, and the composition is fitted with equal pro- 
 priety to the sentiments. The sentiments are artfully contrasted, 
 a circumstance which, added to their natural excellence, displays 
 them in the most captivating light. 
 
 3. A train of grand and sublime thoughts is succeeded by a se- 
 ries of gay and pleasant ones ; a set of outrageous and furious con- 
 ceptions, is contrasted with a group of gentle and tender ones. The 
 poet shakes the spheres with Jupiter, revels with Bacchus, raves and 
 destroys with the furies, and drops a tear with his hero over the 
 misfortunes of Darius. 
 
 4. Pope has attempted, in his ode in honor of St. Cecilia, the in- 
 ventress ot'the orjjan, to introduce different passions, and to con- 
 trast both the sentiments and the versification, a? had been done 
 *>y Dryden. He has very happily selected for his subject the fable 
 of Orpheus and Eurydice, a story naturally tender and pathetic, of 
 Which the reverse of fortune is great, and the different parts are 
 strongly opposed. 
 
 5. Addison was fond of the fame of a poet, though he enjoyed 
 not the best powers for acquireing it. He wished, it is said, to rival 
 Pope as a translator of Homer; he even wished to rival him ia 
 lyric merit. He ventured to appear on the same ground which 
 Pope and Dryden had occupied with so much lustre ; and his ode to 
 St. Cecilia exhibited him in a contrast which could not fail to hurt 
 his reputation ; for of all the poetry which Addison has written, he 
 has scarcely composed any thing so indifferent as this ode. 
 
 6. The odes of Gray are entitled to high praise, though they are 
 unequal in their merit, which is also the fate of different stanzas 
 of the same ode. His sentiments are conceived with great vig- 
 our and propriety, and his versification is the Esost laboured, per- 
 haps in the English language. He frequently attempts the Pindar- 
 ic magnificence and sublimity, and he never fails to appropriate 
 ?ome of its darkness and obscurity. 
 
 7. Akenside aims at ease, ingenuity, and elegance, and he is not 
 unsuccessful. His imagination is delicate and picturesque, his ver- 
 sification is smooth and melodious He is not defective io seats- 
 meat, aud la ornament he has a claim to high applause. 
 
Didactic Poetry. 321 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DIDACTIC POETRY. 
 
 588. DIDACTIC poetry discusses some branch of 
 useful science, some beneficial art, or some system of 
 prudential or moral conduct, by which the reader 
 may improve his knowledge, his wisdom, or his vir- 
 tue ; and it recommends the discussion by all the 
 merits of imagination, and all the charms of poetical 
 composition. 
 
 Illus. 1. In executing the useful part of the task, it collects all 
 the best theories and most approved practices, and arranges them, 
 with the reason? of them, in that distinct and lucid order in which 
 they are most likely to make the deepest impression. It sometimes 
 adds the most sagacious reflections, pleasant speculations, or impor- 
 tant discoveries, which have resulted from the research or the in- 
 genuity of the author. It condescends also to recapitulate and ex- 
 pose vulgar or irrational principles and practices ; which have deri- 
 ved their origin from a necessity, perhaps, that no longer exists, 
 or which remain fostered and cherished by prejudice or by igno- 
 rance. 
 
 2. In executing the ornamental parts, it illustrates every theory 
 and practice with simplicity and vivacity ; but that the familiarity 
 or the lowliness of the topics of which it must sometimes tieat, may 
 not offend the nicest reader, it is extremely solicitous to add dignity 
 to the illustration by the use of figurative and descriptive phraseol- 
 ogy. It seldom calls common objects by their propep names. It 
 employs elevated and metaphorical appellations, or it describes 
 them by their causes or their effects. It bestows much attention to 
 enliven its descriptions and scenes, by throwing into them all the 
 animation with which they are any way connected. Many of the 
 inanimate objects are personified ; all the irrational animals are 
 endued with character, sentiment, and design ; the human actors 
 are rendered respectable by the activity and virtue of their lives, the 
 sagacity of their judgments, the utility of their occupations ; or they 
 are held up as objects of aversion, that the reader may learn, from 
 their folly, absurdity, or criminality, to avoid that conduct which 
 has rendered them ridiculous, odious, or unhappy. 
 
 3. But the great ornaments of didactic poetry are beautiful or in- 
 teresting episodes. To vary and adorn his subject, the author is allow- 
 ed frequently toshift the scene, and to introduce any moral, philosoph- 
 ical, or sentimental relation or discussion vvi.h which it is connected. 
 No other species of poetry admits so much latitude in this article. 
 If the episodes are properly varied 5o length, and if they are not 
 
322 Didactic Poetry. 
 
 very violently forced into his service, the author will net incur much 
 reprehension, though he often depart from his principal subject, and 
 though the sum of the episodes, taken together, ever, exceed in eK- 
 tent the didactic part of the poern. 
 
 4. Through the whole of his poem, the author may display much 
 knowledge of the particular subject he treats, and of many other 
 useful and ornamental sciences and arts ; much acquainlar.ee \viih 
 nature, society, manners, and the human heart. Ke me.} be grave, 
 gay, sublime, easy, austere, pathetic, as shall be?t suit his genius 
 and his matter. The versification must be always correct ?,~d 
 melodious; and it may be elevated occasionally to a high degree of 
 energy and dignity. It is also susceptible of every ornament, 
 addressed to the imagination or the passions, of which the different 
 topics or episodes admit. Metaphors, comparisons, personifica- 
 tions, apostrophes, may all be incidentally introduced ; and if they 
 are pertinently applied, their appearance will add grace and inter- 
 est to the composition. 
 
 Scholia. 1. WheR this species of poetry promises so much im- 
 provement and entertainment to the reader, and when the author 
 possesses so many favourable opportunities of displaying b:s knowl- 
 edge, his genius, and his taste, we will not be surprised that it has 
 been attempted by poets of high fame in different aires. Aratus 
 discussed in Greek the phenomena of the heavens, and Lucretius in 
 Latin the philosophy of Epicurus. Virgil has treated the whole 
 theory and practice of agriculture, arid Armstrong the art of pre- 
 serving health. The writer? on morals and manners are most]}' 
 satirical ; yet Pope has avoided satirism in his elegant system of 
 morals in the Essay on Man. The capital satirists, ancient and 
 modern, are Horace, Juvenal, Pope, and Young. 
 
 2. Armstrong possessed a large portion of the geni-.is of Virgil, 
 and, like him, has adorned the history of health, a subject natural- 
 ly unpromising, with all the embellishment of fine ver^A 'alien and 
 elegant fancy. He elevates and beautifies every precept, and he is 
 fortunate in episodes. The true spirit of poetry is conspicuous in all 
 he writes, and his compositions cannot be perused without instruc- 
 tion and pleasure. He appears to be one of the best didactic poets 
 in the English language, and not inferior to any ancient author in 
 the same line, except Virgil. 
 
 3. The Essay on Man admitted fewer embellishments and epi- 
 sodes than the poems which we have mentioned. The author's 
 design was more serious than that of any other writer of his class. 
 Instruction was his main object, and no ornaments are introduced 
 but what are manifestly subservient to this end. He employs met- 
 aphors frequently, and sometimes comparisons, but they are never 
 mere addresses to the fancy of the reader, they always contribute 
 to illustrate and impress the matter. 
 
 4. This famous essay is literally a system of morals, founded on 
 the celebrated doctrine first broached by Plato, and afterwards ex- 
 plained and recommended by Leibnitz and Lord Shaftsbury, that 
 
Didactic Poetry, 323 
 
 no evil is admitted into the system of nature but what is inseparable 
 from its existence ; and that all possible provision is made for the 
 happiness of every creature it contains. The author acknowledges 
 that the gravity of his subject was more adapted to a discusser in 
 prose, than a treatise in verse, but that he preferred the iat'er, he- 
 cause it was more adapted to his genius, and was more likely to 
 engage the attention and recollection of the reader. 
 
 5. The discussion is ingenious and instructive. We, however, de- 
 siderate that distinct and lucid arrangement which we discern in 
 the productions of the other two eminent moderns. Neither has the 
 versification all the merits which shine in his other works ; it is fre- 
 quently abrupt, if not obscure, and possesses not the melody and flow 
 of his other poetry. The abstract nature of the subject, perhaps, 
 and his sincere desire to instruct, rather than to please, may furn- 
 ish an apology. 
 
 589. SATIRISTS are a species of negative didactic 
 poets, who teach and amuse by censuring what is 
 wrong, and exposing what is foolish. They seldom 
 attempt to inculcate positively what is good, or to 
 recommend what is decent ; they leave this task to 
 moralists and public instructors. They would be 
 most reputable and useful writers, were they suc- 
 cessful in what they undertake, to banish iniquity 
 and folly from society. They are divided into two 
 classes. 
 
 Illus. i. One class attack? immorality and impropriety with a 
 stern look and severe reprehension. It paints them in all their de- 
 formity as objects of aversion, and it fails not to inflict upon them 
 that censure which they deserve. It allows few of those excuses and 
 alleviations which are usually urged for the errors of men.* It delin- 
 eates them as bad as they really are, and is sometimes inclined rather 
 to exaggerate than to apologise. It wishes to deter mankind from 
 vicious or foolish a-ctions or sentiments, by the odium, the misery, the 
 disapprobation wjiich attend them. 
 
 2. The other class assaults vice and folly with ridicule. It exposes 
 the whims, the oddities, the absurdities, and the crimes of men, in 
 such a manner as to make them ashamed. But if ridicule does not 
 succeed, it relinquishes them as incorrigible. An author of this class 
 is never angry, he is never even serious. When a crime should 
 rouse the resentiaent of the former class, and draw from them 
 severe chastisement, they remain unmoved, and smile at the culprit 
 as a fool. Horace altogether, and Pope in some measure, are 
 satirists of the Utter class ; Juvenal and Young belong to the for- 
 mer. 
 
 .*. Horace was an epicurean in philosophy, and, according to the 
 
324 Didactic Poetry. 
 
 principle!? of that indolent sect, seems to have adopted a rule of con- 
 duct, that nothing should ruffle his temper. He appears to have con- 
 sidered the vices of his countrymen as not deserving his resentment ; 
 or to have been of opinion that reprehension was not the way to re- 
 form them. He accordingly never discomposes himself when he 
 mentions them. 
 
 4. Juvenal is a grave, severe satirist, and a stern cenor of the 
 errors and follies of mankind. He never condescends to smile, or 
 to insinuate improprieties without reprehending them. He seems 
 to consider ceremonv and politeness as marks of insincerity, and as 
 trifling with the evil, instead of attempting a radical cure. He sel- 
 dom takes notice of folly, but, when he does, he touches her airy 
 and volatile form with a firm ?.nd rough hand. He thinks her de- 
 serving of more serious treatment than to laugh at her, because she 
 may be either the companion or the parent of iniquity. He displays. 
 at the same time, much good sense, much knowledge of the woriu, 
 and a great share of the faculty of imagination. 
 
 5. Fope attempts to unite the good humour of Horace with the 
 gravity of Juvenal, but he leans more to the manner of the latter, 
 than ihat of the fora.er. He was naturally of a keen temper, and 
 particularly irritable by reflections which glanced either at his pri- 
 vate character or hi fame. Many of his satirical writings were 
 prompted by this spirit : and we regret that a man of his genius 
 should have wasted his time, and disturbed his repose, by retaliating 
 en critics animated by a degree of ignorance or folJy which rendered 
 them contemptible. 
 
 6. Young lias much merit as a satirist. He is not so severe as 
 Juvenal, though he is always in earnest, and never attempts to 
 excite a laugh. He appears as a sincere moralist, zealous to correct 
 the vices and follies of mankind, by holding up pictures to excite 
 their reflection on the impropriety of their errors. His Love of 
 Fame displays much knowledge of human nature, and no small 
 inerit in point of versification. He is a satirist whom we love and 
 respect, because we conceive him actuated by good nature, and 
 backward to reprehend, were it possible to reform by more gentle 
 cleans. He possesses neither the sprightliness of Horace, nor the 
 vehemence of Juvenal, but he is more dignified than the former, and 
 inore amiable than the latter. He is not so facetious and pleasant 
 as Horace, but neither is he so sour and forbidding as Juvenal. 
 Horace seems to have consulted his own amusement, and Juvenal 
 the gratification of his spleen, as much as the entertainment or emol- 
 ument of their readers. Young writes to improve mankind, and, 
 with the regard and affection of a parent, chastises only that he may 
 amend. Though we wish he had more mirth, yet we respect him as 
 an useful author, and a genuine friend oi virtue. 
 
Descriptive Poetry, ' 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 
 
 590. DESCRIPTIVE poetry is addressed chiefly to 
 the imagination, though it attempts also to convey 
 many useful impressions to the understanding and 
 the heart. 
 
 Obs. The design of it is to exhibit beautiful pictures of nature or 
 art, so as to communicate ail the information and pleasure which 
 the reader could receive from an actual survey of the objects. It 
 sometimes presents large collections of objects, as those which oc- 
 cur in one period of the year, or those which readily present them- 
 selves when the mind is in a particular frame, lively and gay, or dis- 
 consolate and dejected. 
 
 Illus. 1. Of the former kind are the Seasons of Thomson ; of the 
 latter kind are the Allegro and Pensoroso of Milton. But the great- 
 er part of descriptive poetry is intermixed with other kinds of poet- 
 ical composition ; and there is no kind, whether epic, dramatic, di- 
 dactic, pastoral, or lyric, that does not occasionally demand its as- 
 sistance. 
 
 2. Though all poets attempt to describe, and all men are endow- 
 ed more or less with the power of forming pictures of what they 
 have seen or imagined, yet the faculty which produces good descrip- 
 tion is extremely rare; it requires an uncommon portion of vivacity 
 and vigour of imagination, and a largt? share of judgment. The for- 
 mer suggests the circumstances which the picture demands, and the 
 latter selects those which are best calculated for making the deep- 
 est impression. 
 
 591. In description, the great art seems to be, not 
 to specify every minute particular, but to select the 
 most striking and picturesque circumstances, which, 
 would naturally make the deepest impression on the 
 mind of the beholder. 
 
 Example. The following quotation will best illustrate this rule. 
 It is a picture, by Thomson, of an infectious distemper, which hap- 
 pened to the fleet in the memorable expedition against Carthagena, 
 
 You, gallant Vernon, saw 
 
 The miserable scene. You pitying saw 
 To infant weakness sunk the warrior's arm : 
 Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form, 
 The pale lip quivering, and the beamless eye 
 No more with ardour bright I You heard (he groans 
 Of agonising ships from shoro to shore 1 
 
 Do 
 
326 Descriptive Poetry. 
 
 Heard nightly plung'd amid the sullen wave 
 The frequent corse ; while on each other fix'd 
 In said presage, the hlank assistants seem'd 
 Silent, to ask whom fate would next demand ! 
 
 Analysis. It is unnecessary to offer any comment on this beauti- 
 ful description ; every reader must feel its force. The frequent 
 plunging of the corse in the sullen wave during the night, is partic- 
 ularly striking, and marks strongly the havock of the infection. 
 
 Obs. 1. Almost the whole merit of Thomson's genius consisted in 
 description. He possessed little influence over the stronger pas- 
 sions, though some episodes in the Seasons, and scenes in his plays, 
 discover a capacity for managing a tender and moderate passion. 
 His plays are elegant and correct compositions ; they contain many 
 noble and virtuous sentiments, but they are sparing of incidents, and 
 they abound with declamation. 
 
 2. Had Milton studied nature with as much attention as Thom- 
 son, he would probably have excelled all poets in the liveliness and 
 beauty of his descriptions. All his works shine with the richness of 
 his imagination. He is uncommonly happy in the selection of the 
 most pertinent circumstances, and in the use of the most significant 
 figures, particularly metaphors, which demonstrate the exquisite 
 sensibility of his fancy. 
 
 3. He seems, however, to have taken a general survey of nature, 
 rather than to have attended minutely to her particular operations. 
 He never dwells long on a topic in description, and he rather glan- 
 ces at it than delineates it. But no author surpasses him in select- 
 ing the most prominent and picturesque ingredients of a figure 
 which make the deepest impression. He is never general or diffuse, 
 qualities which are found to be very hostile to the success of this 
 species of writing. 
 
 Example 1. He thus describes the scenes of morning in the Alle- 
 gro. 
 
 ** To hear the lark begin his flight, 
 And singing, startle the dull night, 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 Till the dappled dawn doth rise : 
 While the cock, with lively din, 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
 And to the stack or the barn-door, 
 Stately struts his dames before : 
 Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn; 
 "While the ploughman near at hand 
 "Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, 
 And the milk-maid singing blythe, 
 And the mower whets his scythe; 
 And every shepherd tells his tale, 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale." 
 
Descriptive Poetry. 
 
 Example 2. The Pensoroso presents the following account of the 
 objects of the evening. 
 
 u Oft on a plat of rising ground, 
 1 hear the far-off curlew .sound 
 Over some wide-watered shore, 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar. 
 Or, if the air wili not permit, 
 Some still removed place will fit, 
 Where glowing embers through the room 
 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, 
 Far from all resort of mirth, 
 Save the cricket on the hearth, 
 Or the bellman's drowsy charm, 
 To bless the doors from" nightly harm ; 
 Or let ray lamp and midnight hour, 
 Be seen in some high lonely tow'r. 
 Sometimes let gorgeous tragedy, 
 In scepter'd pali, come sweeping by, 
 Presenting Thebes' or FeJop's line, 
 Or the tale of Trey divine." 
 
 Qbs. 4. The elegant genius of Parnell has produced some beau- 
 tiful examples of descriptive poetry ; and it is much to be regretted 
 he had not indulged the world with more sptciiuens. lie possess- 
 ed a fine imagination, a most correct taste, and great knowledge of 
 human nature. His versification is not inferior to that of Pope in 
 melody and conciseness, and is superior in simplicity and perspicui- 
 ty. It teems with instruction, with the genuine language of the 
 heart ; and there is no poetry, perhaps, which the reader can pe- 
 juse so often with pleasure. 
 
 Example I. The Hermit is an extremely beautiful, moral, des- 
 criptive poem, fraught with important instruction, communicated 
 in a simple and dignified manner, and recommended by the most 
 delicate appeals to the imagination. 
 
 2. Ail the great epic poets exhibit eminent specimens of descrip- 
 tive poetry^ Homer, Virgil, and Ossian, excel in it. The follow- 
 ing pictu/e of desolation, by Ossian, is conceived with much vigour 
 of imagination. 
 
 " I havfc seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. 
 The flames had resounded in the halls., and the voice of the people is 
 heard no more. The stream of Ciutha was removed from its course 
 by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head ; the 
 fnoss whistled in the wind. The fox looked out from the window, 
 and the rank grass of the wall waved round his head. Deso- 
 late is the dwelling of Morna ; silence is in the house of her fa- 
 thers !" 
 
 592* The chief errors committed in descriptions. 
 
328 Descriptive Poetry. 
 
 are the admission of unmeaning or supernumerary 
 epithets and phrases, the introduction of general 
 terms, and the intermixture of trivial or insignificant 
 circumstances clothed in pompous and splendid lan- 
 guage. The best poets are sometimes faulty in all 
 tLese articles. 
 
 Illus. 1. All genera] terms are improper in descriptions, because 
 they suggest either no idea at all, or none that is fixed ; while the 
 essence of picturesque description consists in prompting conceptions 
 which are palpable, and of which the mind, of course, takes firm 
 hold. These can result only from objects particular and distinct. 
 
 Example. Shakspeare, to expose the absurdity of attempting a 
 thing impracticable, says, with great energy, in Htnry the Fifth : 
 Ji You may as well go about to turn the sun into ice, by fanning in 
 his face with a neacock^s feather." 
 
 Analysis. Had the poet mude the expression general, by leaving 
 out the kl peacock's feather," he would have mutilated the picture, 
 anti debilitated the impression. How feeble would have been the 
 fcUov/ir;^ phraseology ? u You may as well go about to turn the 
 sun into ice by fanning in his lace." Had he retained the u feather," 
 but dropt the u peacock, 70 the expression would have been more 
 picturesque : u You may as well go about to turn the sun into ice, 
 by fan:]in r ; in his face with a feather." Even this picture, however, 
 is much Hh-icr in beauty and vivacity to the particular language 
 the pc ^roper to adopt . " You may as well go about 
 
 to turn the M;?: iato ice, by fanning in his face with a peacock's 
 feather." The mind grasps the image at once, &iid is struck with 
 its sprightliness and propriety. 
 
 593. Forced elevation of the expression above the 
 tone of the thought, is another error not uncommon 
 in description. 
 
 Illits. Homer relates that Achilles commanded his domestics to 
 prepare'a vessel to heat water for washing the dead body of Fatro- 
 clus, which they accordingly performed. Nothing can be more sim- 
 ple than the language of the poet. Things are called by their pro- 
 per names?, and very few epithets are added. Pope must improve 
 this simple phraseology, and he has communicated to it an air of 
 ridicule, hy the pompous and figurative expression of his transla- 
 tion, liiad, xviii. 405. 
 
 " A massy chaldron of stupendous frame 
 
 They brought, and plac'd it o'er the rising flame ; 
 Then heap the lighted wood ; the flame divides 
 Beneath the vase, arid climbs around its sides. 
 In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream, 
 The boiling water bubbles to the brim." 
 
. Epic Poetry. 329 
 
 594. It often happens, that a description presents 
 objects which would be extremely disagreeable to the 
 sight, while the description itself is not only not dis- 
 agreeable, but conveys high pleasure. This is a cu- 
 rious phenomenon, and merits some attention. Two 
 causes seem to concur in producing this effect. 
 
 Illus. A poetical description resembles an historical painting, the 
 merit of which consists in communicating to the different figures the 
 same positions and appearance that they hold in nature. And al- 
 though the figures be disagreeable, yet the picture may yield much. 
 pleasure, because the merit of it lies in the accuracy of the imitation. 
 The mind surveys with delight the excellence of an art which can 
 imitate nature so completely. The purpose of the description, as 
 well as of the picture, is to impart exact ideas of the objects, though, 
 it operates by words instead of colours. The imitation in both cases, 
 is the chief source of the pleasure. The pleasure of the imitation, 
 much more than counterbalances the disgust arising from the inspec- 
 tion of the object. This seems to be the first cause. Words, again, 
 have a beauty in their so.und and arrangement, independent of their 
 signification ; the merit of the execution in the picture, and of the 
 composition in the description, affords delight. This seems to be 
 the second cause. Both causes concur to counteract the disgust 
 excited by the object. 
 
 Scholium. These remarks point out the greatest beauty of de- 
 scription, which takes place when the object, the imitation, and the 
 expression, all concur to augment the pleasure of the reader. In all 
 other cases, these partially oppose the effects of one another. 
 
 If, however, an object, prompt horror, no excellence of imitation 
 or language can recommend its description. The picture of Sin, in 
 Paradise Lost, though drawn with the brightest colours, is of this 
 class. It excites horror, and all Milton's eloquence cannot render 
 it tolerable. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EPIC POETRY. 
 
 595. EPIC and dramatic poetry are universally 
 allowed to be the most dignified, and, at the same 
 time, the most difficult species ef poetic composi- 
 tion. To contrive a story which shall please and in- 
 terest all readers, by being at once entertaining, im- 
 
330 Epic Poetry. 
 
 portant, and instructive ; to fill it with suitable inci- 
 dents : to enliven it with a variety of characters, and 
 of descriptions ; and, throughout a long work, to 
 maintain that propriety of sentiment, and that eleva- 
 tion of style, which the epic character requires, is 
 unquestionably the highest effort of poetical genius. 
 Hence so very few have succeeded in the attempt, 
 that strict critics will hardly allow any other poems 
 to bear the name of epic, except the Illiad and the 
 JEoeidL 
 
 Illus. I. The plain account of the nature of an epic poem is, the 
 recital of some illustrious enterprise in a poetical form. This is an 
 exact definition of this subject. It comprehends several other 
 poems, beside the Iliiad of Homer, the jEneid of Virgil, and the 
 Jerusalem of Tasso ; which are. perhaps, the three most regular and 
 complete epic works that ever were composed. But to exclude all 
 poems from the epic class, which are not formed exactly upon the 
 same model as these, it the pedantry of criticism. 
 
 2. We can give exact definitions and descriptions of mineral*, 
 plants, and animals 1 ; and can arrange them with precision, under 
 the different classes to which they belong, because nature affords a 
 visible unvarying standard, to which we refer them. But with re- 
 gard to works of tate and imagination, where nature has fixed no 
 standard, but leaves scope for beauties of many different kinds, it is 
 absurd to attempt defining and limiting tbem with the same pre- 
 cision. 
 
 3. Criticism, when employed in such attempts, degenerates into 
 trifling questions about words and names only. 
 
 4. The most competent judges, therefore, have no scruple to 
 class such poems, as Milton's Paradise Lost, Lucan's Pharsalia, 
 Statius's Thebaid, Ossian's Fin^al and Temora, Camoens' Lusiad, 
 Voltaire's Hemiade, Fenelon's Telemacbus, Glover's Leonidas, and 
 Wilkie's Epigoniad, under the same species of composition with the 
 Iliad and the jEneid ; though some of them approach much nearer 
 than others to the perfection of these celebrated works. They are, 
 undoubtedly, all epic ; that is, poetical recitals of great adven- 
 tures ; which is all that is meant by this denomination of poetry. 
 (Illus. 1.) 
 
 5. The end which epic poetry proposes, is to extend our ideas 
 of human perfection : or, in other words, to excite admiration. 
 Now this can be accomplished only by proper representations of 
 heroic deeds, and virtuous characters. For high virtue is the object, 
 which all mankind are formed to admire ; and, therefore, epic po- 
 ems are and must he favourable to the cause of virtue. Valour, 
 truth, justice, fidelity, friendship, piety, magnanimity, are the 
 
Epic Poetry. 331 
 
 objects which, in the course of such compositions, are presented to 
 our minds, under the most splendid and honourable colours. 
 
 6. In behalf of virtuous personages, our affections are engaged; 
 in their designs, and their distresses, we are interested ; the gener- 
 ous and public affections are awakened ; the mind is purified from 
 sensual and mean pursuits, and accustomed to take part in great, 
 heroic enterprises. It is, indeed, no small testimony in honour of 
 virtue, that several of the most refined and elegant entertainments 
 of mankind, such as that species of poetical composition which we 
 now consider, must be grounded on moral sentiments and impres- 
 sions. This is a testimony of such weight, that, were it in the pow- 
 er of sceptical philosophers, to weaken the force of those reasonings 
 which establish the essential distinctions between vice and virtue, 
 the writings of epic poets alone were sufficient to refute their false 
 philosophy ; shewing, by that appeal which they constantly make 
 to the feelings of mankind in favour of virtue, that the foundations of 
 it are laid deep and strong in human nature. 
 
 596. The general strain and spirit of epic compo- 
 sition, sufficiently mark its distinction from the other 
 kinds of poetry. 
 
 Illas. 1. In pastoral writing, the reigning idea is innocence and 
 tranquility. Compassion is the great object of tragedy ; ridicule, 
 the province of comedy. The predominant character of the epic is, 
 admiration excited by heroic actions. 
 
 2. It is sufficiently distinguished from history, both by its poet- 
 ical form, and the liberty of fiction which it assumes. It is a 
 more calm composition than tragedy. It admits, nay, requires, 
 the pathetic and the violent, on particular occasions ; but the pa- 
 thetic is not expected to be its general character. It requires, 
 more than any other species of poetry, a grave, equal, and support- 
 ed dignity. 
 
 3. It takes in a greater compass of time and action, than dra- 
 matic writing admits ; and thereby allows a more full display of 
 characters. Dramatic writings display characters chiefly hy means 
 of sentiments and passions ; epic poetry, chiefly by means of actions. 
 The emotions, therefore, which it raises, are not so violent, but 
 they are more prolonged. 
 
 O6s. These are the general characteristics of this species of com- 
 position. But, in order to s;ive a more particular and critical view 
 of it, let us consider the epic pr.em under three heads; first, with 
 respect to the subject, or action ; secondly, with respect to the 
 actors, or characters ; and, lastly, with respect to the narration of 
 the poet. 
 
 597. The action, or subject of the epic poem, must 
 have three qualifications : it must be one / it must be 
 great ; it must be interesting. 
 
332 Epic Poetry. 
 
 Illus. 1. First, it must be one action, or enterprise, which the 
 poet chooses for his subject. 
 
 Example i. In all the great epic poems, unity of action is suffi- 
 ciently apparent. Virgil, for instance, has chosen for his subject, 
 the establishment of .-Eneas in Italy. From the beginning to the end 
 of the poem, this object is ever in our view, and links all the parts 
 of it together with full connection. The unity of the Odyssey is of 
 the same nature ; the return and re-establishment of Ulysses in his 
 own country. The subject of Tasso, is the recovery of Jerusalem 
 from the Infidels ; that of Milton, the expulsion of our first parents 
 from Paradise ; and both of them are unexceptionable in the unity 
 of the story. 
 
 2. The professed subject of the Iliad, is the anger of Achillee, 
 with the consequences which it produced. The Greeks carry on 
 many unsuccessful engagements against the Trojans, as long as they 
 are deprived of the assistance of Achilles. Upon his being appeas- 
 ed and reconciled to Agamemnon, victory follows, and the poem 
 closes. 
 
 Analysis. It must be owned, however, that the unity, or connect- 
 ing principle, is not quite so sensible to the imagination here, as in 
 the /Eneid. For, throughout many books of the Iliad, Achilles is 
 out of sight ; he is lost in isaction ; and the fancy dwells on no other 
 object, than the success of the two armies that v;e sue contending 
 in war. 
 
 I Mis. 2. The unity of the epic action is not to be so strictly inter- 
 preted, as if it excluded all episodes, or subordinate actions. 
 
 2. Episode?, are certain actions, or incidents, introduced into the 
 narration, connected with the principal action, yet not of such im- 
 portance as to destroy the main subject of the poem, if they had 
 been omitted. 
 
 Example. Of this nature are the interview of Hector with An- 
 dromache, in the Iliad ; the story Cacus, and that of Nisus and Eu- 
 ryalus, in the ^Eneid; the adventures ofTancred with Erminia and 
 Clorinda, in the Jerusalem ; and the prospect of his descendants ex- 
 hibited to Adam, in the last books of Paradise Lost. 
 
 598. Such episodes as these, are not only perm it- 
 ted to an epic poet; but, provided they be properly 
 executed, are great ornaments to his work* The rules 
 regarding them are the following: 
 
 599. Rule first. They must be naturally intro- 
 duced ; they must have a sufficient connection with 
 the subject of the poem ; they must be inferior parts 
 that belong to it ; but not mere appendages stuck 
 to it. 
 
 Illus. The episode of Olinda und Snphronia, in the second book of 
 Tasso' 6 Jerusalem, is faulty, by transgres&iog this rule, it is too 
 
Epic Poetry. 333 
 
 much detached from the rest of the work ; and being introduced so 
 near the opening of the poern, misleads the reader into an expecta- 
 tion, thai it is to be of some future consequence ; whereas it proves 
 to be connected with nothing that follows. In proportion as any 
 episode is slightly related to the main snbject, it should always be 
 the shorter. The passion of Dido in the ./Eneid, and the snares of 
 Arinida in the Jerusalem, which are expanded so fully in these 
 poems, cannot with propriety be called episodes. They are constit- 
 uent parts of the work, and form a considerable share of the intrigue 
 of the poem. 
 
 600. Rule second. Episodes ought to present to 
 us, objects of a different kind, from those which go 
 before, and those which follow, in the course of the 
 poem. For it is principally for the sake of variety, 
 that episodes are introduced into an epic composi- 
 tion. In so long a work, they tend to diversify the 
 subject, and to relieve the reader, by shifting the 
 scene. In the midst of combats, therefore, an episode 
 of the martial kind would be out of place ; whereas, 
 Hector's visit to Andromache in the Iliad, and Er~ 
 minia's adventure with the shepherd, in the seventh 
 book of the Jerusalem, affords us a well-judged and 
 pleasing retreat from camps and battles. 
 
 601. Rule third. As an episode is a professed 
 embellishment, it ought to be particularly elegant 
 and w ell -finis hed ; and, accordingly, it is, for the 
 most part, in pieces of this kind, that poets put fourth 
 their strength. The episodes of Teribazus and Ari- 
 ana, in Leonidas, and of the death of Hercules, in 
 the Epigoniad, are the two greatest beauties in these 
 poems. 
 
 602. The unity of the epic action necessarily sup- 
 poses, that the action be entire and complete; that is, 
 as Aristotle well expresses it, that it have a beginning, 
 a middle, and an end. 
 
 lllus. Either by relating the whole, in his own person, or by 
 introducing some of his actors to relate what had passed before the 
 opening of the poem, the author must always contrive to give us full 
 information of every thingj that belongs to his subject; he must not 
 leave our curiosity, in any article, ungratified ; he must bring; us 
 precisely to the accomplishment of his plan ; and then conclude^ 
 
334 Epic Poctrg. 
 
 603. The second qualification of the epic action, 
 is, that it be great; that it have sufficient splendour 
 and importance, both to fix our attention, and to jus- 
 tify the magnificent apparatus which the poet bestows 
 upon It. 
 
 Obs. This is so evidently requisite as not to require illustration ; 
 and indeed, hardly an)* v&Iio have attempted epic poetry, have failed 
 in choosing some subject sufficiently important, either by the nature 
 of the action, or by the fame of the personages concerned in it. 
 
 604. It contributes to the grandeur of the epic sub- 
 ject, that it be not of a modern date, nor fall within 
 any period of history with which we are intimately 
 acquainted. 
 
 Obs. Both Lucaa and VoKaire. have, in the choice of their subjects, 
 transgressed this rule, and they have, upon that account, succeded 
 worse. Antiquity is favourable to those high and august ideas 
 which epic poetry is designed to raise. It tends to aggrandise, ia 
 our imagination, both persons and events ; and what is si ill more, 
 material, it allows the poet the liberty of adorning his subject, by 
 means of fiction. Whereas, as soon as he com*s within the verge 
 of real and authenticated history, this liberty is abridged. 
 
 605. The third property required in the epic 
 poem, is, that it be interesting. It is not sufficient 
 for this purpose that it be great. For deeds of mere 
 valour, how heroic soever, may prove cold and 
 tiresome. 
 
 lllus. Much will depend on the happy choice of some subject, 
 which shall, by its nature, interest the public. ; as when the poet 
 selects for his hero, one who is the founder, or the deliverer, or the 
 favourite of his nation ; or when he writes of achievements that have 
 been highly celebrated, or have been connected with important con- 
 sequences to any public cause. Most of the great epic poems are 
 abundantly fortunate in this respect, and were no doubt as interest- 
 ing to those ages and countries in which they were composed, as they 
 are to us. 
 
 666. But the chief circumstance which renders an 
 epic poern interesting, and which tends to interest, 
 not one age or country alone, but all readers, is the 
 skilful conduct of the author in the management of 
 his subject. 
 
 lllus. He must so contrive his plan, as that it shall comprehend 
 
Epic Poetry. 335 
 
 many affecting incidents. He must not dazzle us perpetually with 
 valiant achievraents ; for all readers become tired of constant fight- 
 ing, and battles; but he must study to touch our hearts. He may 
 sometimes be awful and august ; he must often be tender and pa- 
 thetic ; he must give us gentle and pleasing scenes of love, friend- 
 ship, and affection. The more an epic poet abounds with situations 
 which awaken the feelings of humanity, the more interesting it is ; 
 and these always form, the favorite passages of the work. No ep- 
 ic poets are more happy in this respect than Virgil and Tasso. 
 
 607. Much, too, depends on the characters of the 
 heroes, for rendering the poem interesting ; that they 
 be such as shall strongly attach the readers, and 
 make them take part in the dangers which the heroes 
 encounter. 
 
 Illus. These dangers or obstacles, form what is called the nodus, 
 or the intrigue of the epic poem ; in the judicious conduct of which 
 consists much of the poet's ar. He must rouse our attention, by a 
 prospect ofthe difficulties which seem to threaten disappointment 
 to the enterprise of his favourite personages ; he must make these 
 difficulties grow and thicken upon us, by degrees ; till, after having 
 kept us for some time, in a state of agitation and suspense, he 
 paves the way, by a proper preparation of incidents, for the wind- 
 ing up of the plot in a natural and probable manner. It is plain, 
 that every tale which is designed to engage attention, must be con- 
 ducted on a plan of this sort. 
 
 608. A question has been moved, Whether the 
 nature of the epic poem does not require that it 
 should always end successfully? Most critics are in- 
 clined to think, that a successful issue is the most pro- 
 per; and they appear to have reason on their side. 
 An unhappy conclusion depresses the mind, and is 
 opposite to the elevating emotions which belong to 
 this species of poetry. 
 
 609. With regard to the time or duration of the 
 epic action, no precise boundaries can be ascertain- 
 ed. A considerable extent is always allowed to it, 
 as it does not necessarily depend on those violent 
 passions which can be supposed to have only a short 
 continuance. 
 
 Ittus. The Iliad, which is formed upon the anger of Achilles, has, 
 with propriety, the shortest duration of any of "the ?reat epic po- 
 ems. According to Bossu, the action Jajsts no longer than forty- 
 
336 Epic Poetry. 
 
 seven days. The action of the Odyssey, computed from the tak- 
 ing of Troy to the peace of Ithaca, extends to eisfht years and a 
 half ; and the action of the ^Eneid, computed in the same way, from 
 the taking of Troy to the death of Turnus, includes about six years. 
 But if we measure the period only of the poet's own narration, or 
 compute from the time in which the hero makes his first appear- 
 ance, till the conclusion, the duration of both these last poems is 
 brought within a much smaller compass. The Odyssey,' beginning 
 with Ulysses in the island of Calypso, comprehends fifty-eight days 
 only; and the yEneid, beginning with the storm, which throws 
 .flSneas upon the coast of Africa, is reckoned to include, at the 
 most, a year and some months. 
 
 Obs. Having thus treated of the epic action, or the subject of 
 the poem, we proceed next to make some observations on the ac- 
 tors or person ages. 
 
 610. As it is the business of an epic poet to copy 
 after nature, and to form a probable interesting tale, 
 he must study to give all his personages proper and 
 well-supported characters, such as display the fea- 
 tures of human nature. This is what Aristotle calls, 
 giving manners to the poem. 
 
 Obs. It is by no means necessary, that all hi. actors be morally 
 good ; imperfect, nay, vicious characters, may find a proper place ; 
 though the nature of epic poetry seems to require, that the princi- 
 pal figures exhibited should be such as tend to raise admiration and 
 love, rather than hatred or contempt. But whatever the charac- 
 ter be which a poet gives to any of his actors, he must take care to 
 preserve it uniform, and consistent with itself. Every thing which 
 that person says, or does, must be suited to this uniformity, and 
 must serve to distinguish him from any other. 
 
 611. Poetic characters may be divided into two 
 kinds, general and particular. 
 
 1st. General characters are, such as wise, brave, 
 virtuous, without any father distinction. 
 
 2nd. Particular characters express the species of 
 braver}^, of wisdom, of virtue, for which any one is 
 eminent. 
 
 llhis. They exhibit the peculiar features which distinguish one 
 individual from another, which mark the differesce of the same mor- 
 al quality in different men, according as it is combined with other 
 dispositions in their temper. In drawing such particular charac- 
 ters, the genius of the poet is chiefly exerted. 
 
 Obs. In this part Homer has particularly excelled ; Tasso has 
 come the nearest to Homer; and Virgil has been the most deficient. 
 
Epic Poetry. 337 
 
 612. It has been the practise of all epic poets, to 
 select some one personage, whom they distinguish 
 above all the rest, and make the hero of the tale. 
 This is considered as essential to epic composition, 
 and is attended with several advantages. 
 
 Illus. It renders the unity of the subject more sensible, when 
 there is one principal figure, to which, as to a centre all the rest re- 
 fer. It tends to interest us more in the enterprise which is carried 
 on ; and it gives the poet an opportunity of exerting; his talents for 
 adorning and displaying one character, with peculiar splendour. 
 
 2. It has been asked, Who then is the hero of Paradise Lost ? 
 Satan, it has been answered by some critics ; but Adam is undoubt- 
 edly the hero ; that is, the capital and most interesting figure in the 
 poem. 
 
 613. Besides human actors, there are personages 
 of another kind, that usually occupy no small place 
 in epic poetry ; namely, the gods, or supernatural 
 beings ; forming what is called the machinery of the 
 epic poem. 
 
 1 Hits. 1. Almost all the French critics decide in favour of ma- 
 chinery, as essential to the constitution of an epic poem. This de- 
 cision seems to be founded on the practice of Homer and Virgil. 
 These poets very properly embellished their story by the tradition- 
 al tales and popular legends of their own country ; according to 
 which, all the great transactions of the heroic times were intermix- 
 ed with tht fables of their deities. (Illus. Art. 29.) 
 
 2. In other countries, and other ages, where there is not the like 
 advantage of current superstition, and popular credulity, epic po- 
 etry has been differently conducted. Lucan has composed a very 
 spirited poem, certainly of the epic kind, where neither gods nor 
 supernatural beings are at all employed. The author of Leonidas 
 has made an attempt of the same kind, not without success ; and 
 beyond doubt, wherever a poet gives us a regular heroic story, well 
 connected in its parts, adorned with characters, and supported with 
 proper dignity and elevation, though his agents be every one of them 
 human, he has fulfilled the chief requisites of this sort of composition 3 
 and has a just title to be classed with epic writers. 
 
 3. Mankind do not consider poetical writings with a philosophic- 
 al eye. They seek entertainment from them ; and for the bulk of 
 leaders, indeed for almost all men, the marvellous has a great charm. 
 It gratifies and fills the imagination ; and gives room for many strik- 
 ing and sublime descriptions. In epic poetry in particular, where 
 admiration and lofty ideas are supposed to reign, the marvellous 
 and supernatural find, it any where, their proper place, They both 
 enable the poet to aggrandize his subject, by means, of those august 
 and solemn objects which religion and supernatural agents intro* 
 
 EE 
 
338 Epic Poetry. 
 
 duce into it ; and they allow him to enlarge and diversify his plan, 
 by comprehending within it the realities of earth, the probabilities 
 of Elysium and of Tartarus, men and invisible beings, and the whole 
 circle of the universe. 
 
 614. At the same time, in the use of this supernat- 
 ural machinery, it becomes a poet to be temperate 
 and prudent. He is not at liberty to invent what sys- 
 tem of the marvellous he pleases. It must always 
 have some foundation in popular belief. He must 
 avail himself in a decent manner, either of the reli- 
 gious faith, or the superstitious credulity of the coun- 
 try wherein he lives, or of which he writes, so as to 
 give an air of probability to events which are most 
 contrary to the common course of nature. 
 
 I Ilia. Whatever machinery he employs, he must not overload us 
 with it ; nor withdraw human actions and manners too much from 
 view, nor obscure them under a cloud of incredible fictions. Hi& 
 chief business is to relate to nun, the actions and exploits of men ; 
 by these principally he is to interest, and touch our hearts ; and, 
 therefore, if probability be altogether banished from his work, it 
 can never make a deep or lasting impression. Paradise Lost be- 
 ing altogether theological, Miltoii's supernatural beings form not 
 the machinery, but are the principal actors in the poem. 
 
 615. Allegorical personages, fame, discord, love, 
 and the like, it may be safely pronounced, have been 
 supposed to form the worst machinery of any. 
 
 Illus. In description they are sometimes allowable, and may 
 serve for embellishment ; but they should never be permitted to bear 
 any share in the action of the poem. For being plain and declared 
 fictions, mere names of general ideas, to which even fancy cannot 
 attribute any existence as person?, if they are introduced as ming- 
 ling with human actors, an intolerable confusion of shadows and 
 realities arise, and all consistency of action is utterly destroyed. 
 (SeeArt.ZW. and 308.) 
 
 616. In the narration of the poet, which is the last 
 head that remains to be considered, it is not materi- 
 al, whether he relate the whole story in his own 
 character, or introduce some of his personages to 
 relate any part of the action that had passed before 
 the poem opens. 
 
 Illus. Homer follows the one method in his Iliad, and the other 
 in his Odyssey. Virgil has, in this respect, imitated the conduct 
 of the Odyssey ; Tasso that of the Iliad, 
 
Pronunciation, or Delivery. 339 
 
 617. In the proposition of the subject, the invoca- 
 tion of the muse, and other ceremonies of the intro- 
 duction, poets may vary at their pleasure. 
 
 Illus. It is trifling to make these little formalities the object of 
 precise rule, any farther, than that the subject of the work should 
 always be clearly proposed, and without affected or unsuitable 
 pomp. For, according to Horace's noted rule, no introduction 
 should ever set out too high, or promise too much, lest the author 
 should not fulfill the expectations he has raised. 
 
 618. What is of fnost importance in the tenor of 
 the narration is, that it be perspicuous, animated, and 
 enriched with all the beauties of poetry. No sort of 
 composition requires more strength, dignity, and fire 
 of imagination, than the epic poem. 
 
 Illus. 1 . It is the region within which we look for every thing 
 that i? sublime in description, tender in sentiment, and bold and 
 lively in expression ; and therefore, though an author's plaa should 
 be faultless, and his story ever so well conducted, yet if he be fee- 
 ble, or flat in style, destitute of affecting scenes, and deficient in 
 poetical colouring, he can have no success. 
 
 2. The ornaments which epic poetry admits, must all be of the 
 grave and chaste kind. Nothing that is loose, ludicrous, or affect- 
 ed, finds any place there. All the objects which it presents ought 
 to be either great, or tender, or pleasing. Descriptions of disgust- 
 ing or shocking objects should as much as possible be avoided ; and 
 therefore the fable of the Harpies, in the third book of the .ZEneid, 
 and the allegory of Sin and Death, in the second book of Paradise 
 Lost, had been better omitted in these celebrated poems. 
 
 Obs. The judicious teacher is left to illustrate, from the epic po- 
 ems to which we have referred the several branches of composition 
 and ornament for, which we have furnished rules or criteria c-f judg- 
 ment. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 ON PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY, 
 
 619. THE great objects which every speaker will 
 naturally have t in view in forming his delivery, are, 
 firstj to speak so as to be fully and easily under- 
 
340 Pronunciation, or Delivery. 
 
 stood by all who hear him ; and next, to speak with 
 grace and force, so as to please and to move his audi- 
 ence. 
 
 620. In order to he fully and easily understood, 
 the four chief requisites are, a due degree of loudness 
 of voice ; distinctness ; slowness 5 and propriety of 
 pronunciation, 
 
 621. The first attention of every public speaker, 
 doubtless, must be to make himself be heard by all 
 those to whom he speaks. He must endeavour to 
 fill with his voice the space occupied by the assem- 
 bly. 
 
 Obs. 1. This power of voice, it may he thought, is wholly a nat- 
 ural talent. It is so in a good measure ; but, however, it may re- 
 ceive considerable assistance from art. Much depends for this pur- 
 pose on the proper pitch, and management of the voice. 
 
 Every man has three pitches in his voice ; the high, the middle, 
 and the low one. The high, is that which he uses in calling aloud 
 to some one at a distance. The low is when he approaches to a 
 whisper. The middle is that which he employs in common conver- 
 sation, and which he should generally use in public discourse. 
 
 622. In the next place, to being well heard, and 
 clearly understood, distinctness of articulation con- 
 tributes more, perhaps, than mere loudness of sound. 
 
 O&5. The quantity of sound necessary to fill even a large space, 
 is smaller than is commonly imagined : and with distinct articula- 
 tion, a man of a weak voice will make it reach farther than the 
 strongest voice can reach without distinct articulation. 
 
 CoroL To this, therefore, every public speaker ou^ht to pay 
 great attention. He must give every sound which he utters, its due 
 proportion, and make every syllable, and even every letter in the 
 word which he pronounces, be heard distinctly ; without slurring, 
 wispering, or suppressing any of the proper sounds. 
 
 623. In the third place, in order to articulate 
 distinctly, moderation is requisite with regard to the 
 speed of pronouncing. Precipitancy of speech con' 
 founds all articulation, and all meaning. 
 
 Obs. We need scarcely observe, that there may be also an ex- 
 treme on the opposite side. It is obvious, that a lifeless, drawling 
 pronunciation, which allows the minds of the hearers to be always 
 outrunning the speaker, must render every discourse insipid and fa- 
 tiguing. But the extreme of speaking too fastis much more corny 
 
Pronunciation, or Delivery* 341 
 
 it is grown up into a habit, few errors are more difficult to be cor- 
 rected. 
 
 624. After these fundamental attentions to the 
 pitch and management of the voice, to distinct arti- 
 culation, and to a proper degree of slowness of speech, 
 what a public speaker must, in the fourth place, 
 study, is propriety of pronunciation ; or the giving to 
 every word which he utters, that sound, which the 
 most polite usage of the language appropriates to it; 
 in opposition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronun- 
 ciation. 
 
 Obs. This is requisite, both for speaking intelligibly, and for 
 speaking with grace or beauty. Instructions concerning this arti- 
 cle, can be given by the living voice only. 
 
 625. Emphasis, pauses, tones, and gestures: 
 
 626. By emphasises meant a stronger and fuller 
 sound of voice by which we distinguish the accented 
 syllable of some word, on which we design to lay 
 particular stress, and to show how it affects the rest 
 of the sentence. 
 
 Obs. 1. Sometimes the emphatic word must be distinguished by 
 a particular tone of voice, as well as by a stronger accent. On the 
 right management of the emphasis, depend the whole life and spirit 
 of every discourse. 
 
 2. If fjo emphasis be placed en any words, not only i. discourse 
 rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning left often ambiguous. 
 If the emphasis be placed wrong, we prevent and confound the 
 meaning wholly. 
 
 Example. u Do you ride to town to-day ?" is capable of no few- 
 er than (bur different acceptations, according as the emphasis is dif- 
 ferently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus : Do you 
 ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally be, No ; I send my 
 servant in my stead. If thus, do you ride to town to-day ? No, I in- 
 tend to walk. Do you ride to town to-day ?No; I ride out into the 
 fields. Do you ride to town to-day ? No ; but 1 shall to-morrow. 
 
 Obs. 3. In like manner, in solemn discourse, the whole force and 
 beauty of an expression often depend ou the accented word ; and 
 \ve may present to the hearers quite different views of the same sen- 
 timent, by placing the emphasis differently. 
 
 Example. In the following words of our Saviour, observe in what 
 different lights the thought is placed, according as the words are 
 proaounced : u Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Maa with a kiss ?*' 
 
342 Pronunciation, or Delivery* 
 
 Belrayest thou makes the reproach turn on the infamy of treache* 
 ry. Betrayest thou makes it rest, upon Juda's connection with 
 his master. Betrayest thou the Son of Man rests it, upon the 
 Son of Man's personal character and eminence. Betrayest thou the 
 Son of Man -with a kiss? turns it, upon his prostituting the signal 
 of peace and friendship, to the purpose of a mark of distruction. 
 
 627. Next to emphasis, the pauses in speaking 
 demand attention. These are of two kinds; first, 
 emphatical pauses ; and next, such as mark the dis- 
 tinctions of sense. 
 
 Illus. 1. An emphatical pause is made, after something has been 
 said of peculiar moment, and on which we want to fix the hearer's 
 attention. Semetijraes before such a thing has been said, we usher 
 it in with an emphatical pause. Such pauses have the same effect 
 as a strong emphasis ; and are subject to the same rules; especial- 
 ly to the caution just now given, of not repeating them too fre- 
 quently. For as they excite uncommon attention, ana of course 
 i-aise expectation, if the importance of the matter be not fuily 
 answerable to such expectation, they occasion disappointment and 
 disgust. 
 
 2. But the most frequent and the principal use of pauses, is to 
 mark the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the 
 speaker to draw his breath ; and the proper and graceful adjustment 
 of such pauses is one of the most nice and difficult articles in de- 
 livery. 
 
 628. When we are reading or reciting verse, there 
 is a peculiar difficulty in making the pauses justly. 
 The difficulty arises from the melody of verse, which 
 dictates to the ear pauses or rests of its own ; and to 
 adjust and compound these properly with the pauses 
 of the sense, so as neither to hurt the ear, nor offend 
 the understanding, is so very nice a matter, that it is 
 no wonder we so seldom meet with good readers of 
 poetry. 
 
 Illus. i. There are two kinds of pauses that belong to the music of 
 verse ; one is, the pause at the end of the line ; and the other, the 
 caesura! pause in the middle of it. With regard to the pause at the 
 end of the line ; which marks that strain or verse to be finished, 
 rhyme renders this always sensible, and in some measure compels us 
 to observe it in our pronunciation. 
 
 2. In blank verse, where there is a greater liberty permitted of 
 Tunning the lines into one another, sometimes without any suspension 
 io the sense, it has been made a question, Whether, in reading 
 
Pronunciation, or Delivery. 343 
 
 such verse with propriety, any regard at all should be paid to the 
 close of a line ? 
 
 3. We ought, therefore, certainly to read blank verse so as to 
 make every line sensible to the ear. At the same time, in doing so, 
 every appearance of sing-song and tone must be carefully guarded 
 against. The close of the line, where it makes no pause in the 
 meaning, ought to be marked, not by such a tone as is used in finish- 
 ing a sentence; but without either letting the voice fall, or elevat- 
 ing it, it should be remarked only by such a slight suspension of 
 sound, as may distinguish the passage from one line to another 
 without injuring the meaning. 
 
 4 The other kind of musical pause, is that which falls somewhere 
 about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemisiichs ; a 
 pause, not so great as that which belongs to the close of the line, 
 but still sensible to an ordinary ear. (6'ee Art. 569.) 
 
 629. The rule of proper pronunciation here is, to 
 regard only the pause which the sense forms ; and to 
 read the line accordingly. The neglect of the csesu- 
 ral pause may make the line sound somewhat unhar- 
 moniously ; but the effect would be much worse, if 
 the sense were sacrificed to the sound. 
 
 630. Tones in pronunciation are different both from 
 emphasis and pauses ; they consist in the modulation 
 of the voice* and the notes or variations of sound which 
 we employ in speaking. 
 
 lllus. 1. How much of the propriety, the force and grace of dis- 
 course, must depend on these, will appear from this single consider- 
 ation ; that to almost every sentiment we utter, more especially to 
 every strong emotion, nature hath adapted some peculiar tone of 
 voice ; insomuch, that he who should tell another that he was very 
 angry, or much grieved, in a tone which did not suit such emotions, 
 instead of being believed, would be laughed at. 
 
 2. Sympathy is one of the most powerful principles by which per- 
 suasive discourse works upon the mind. The speaker endeavours 
 to transfuse into his hearers his own sentiments and emotions ; which 
 he can never be successful in doing, unless he utters them in such a 
 manner as to convince the hearers that he feels them. The proper 
 expression of tones, therefore, deserves to be attentively studied by 
 every one who would be a successful orator. 
 
 3. Follow nature ; consider how she teaches you to utter any 
 sentiment or feeling of your heart. Imagine a subject of debate 
 started in conversation among grave and wise men, and yourself 
 bearing a share in it. Think after what manner, with what tones 
 and inflexions of voice, you would on such an occasion express your- 
 self, when you were most in earnest, and sought most to be listened 
 to. These are the tones which the advocate carries -with him to the 
 
344 Pronunciation, or Delivery. 
 
 bar, the clergyman, to the pulpit, and the patriot and demagogue, 
 to any public assembly. Let then these be the foundation of your 
 manner of pronouncing, and you will take the surest method of ren- 
 dering your delivery both agreeable and persuasive. 
 
 631. Of GESTURE, or what is called action in public 
 discourse. 
 
 632. The fundamental rule as to propriety of ac- 
 tion, is undoubtedly the same with what hath been 
 given as to propriety of tone. Attend to the looks 
 and jestures; in which earnestness, indignation, com- 
 passion, or any other emotion, discovers itself to most 
 advantage in the common intercourse of men ; and let 
 these be your models. 
 
 Illus. 1. Some of these looks and gestures are common to all 
 men ; and there are also certain peculiarities of manner which 
 distinguish every individual. A public speaker must take that 
 manner which is most natural to himself. For it is here, just as in 
 tones. 
 
 2. It is not the business of a speaker to form to himself a certain 
 set of motions and gestures, which he thinks most becoming and 
 agreeable, and to practice these in public, without their having any 
 correspondence to the manner which is natural to him in private. 
 His gestures arid motions ought all to carry that kind of expression 
 which nature has dictated to him ; and unless this be the case, it i<? 
 impossible, by means of any study, to avoid their appearing stiff 
 and forced. 
 
 3. The study of action in public speaking, consists chiefly in 
 guarding against awkward and disagreeable motions, and in learn- 
 ing to perform such as are natural to the speaker, in the most be- 
 coming manner. For this end it ha? been advised by writers on 
 this subject, to practice before a mirror, where one may see and 
 judge of his own gestures. 
 
 Scholium. To succeed well in delivery, nothing is more necessary 
 than for a speaker to guard against a certain flutter of spirits, which 
 is peculiarly incident to those who begin to speak in public. He 
 must endeavour, above all things, to be collected, and master of 
 himself. For this end, he will find nothing of more use to him, than 
 to study to become wholly engaged in his subject ; to be possessed 
 with a sense of its importance or seriousness ; to be concerned much 
 more to persuade than to please. He will generally please most, 
 when pleasing is not his sole nor chief aim. This is the only rational 
 and proper method of raising one's self above that timid and bash- 
 ful regard to ao audience, which is so ready to disconcert a speak- 
 er, both as to what he is to say, and as to his manner of saying it. 
 
 Finally. Guard against all affectation, which i= the certain ruin 
 of good delivery, Let your manner, whatever it is, be your owuj 
 
Pronunciation, or Delivery. 345 
 
 neither imitated from another, nor assumed upon some imaginary 
 mode), which is unnatural to you. Whatever is native, even though 
 accompanied with several defects, yet is likely to please ; because 
 it has the apearance of coming from the heart. Whereas a deliv- 
 ery, attended with several acquired graces and beauties, if it be not 
 easy and free, if it betray the marks of art and affectation, never 
 fails to disgust. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 10 line 1 from top, for Magnanimnity read Magnanimity. 
 Page 44, line 3'd, from bottom, for Dividend read Divided. 
 Page 201, line 20, from top, for weaken read, awaken, 
 
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