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, THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL PINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 5O CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. NOV 7 1946 YA 00412 M252530 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY