LECTURES 
 
 O N 
 
 RHETORIC 
 
 AND 
 
 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 By HUGH BLAIR, D.D.&F.R.S. Ed. 
 
 ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHURCH, ANO 
 
 PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES 
 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY, OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 V O L. I. 
 
 THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR A. STRAHAN; T. CADELL, IN THE STRAND} 
 AND W. CREECH, IN EDINBURGH* 
 
 M DCC XC.
 
 SfacR 
 Arsnax 
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE following LECTURES were read 
 in the Univerfity of Edinburgh, for 
 Twenty-four years. The publication of 
 them, at prefent, was not altogether a matter 
 of choice. Imperfect Copies of them in 
 Manufcript, from notes taken by Students 
 who heard them read, were firft privately 
 handed about ; and afterwards frequently 
 fcxpofed to public fale. When the Author 
 faw them circulate fo currently, as even to 
 be quoted in print*, and found himfelf often 
 threatened xvith furreptitious publications of 
 them, he judged it to be high time that they 
 Should proceed from his own hand, rather 
 than come into public view under fome very 
 defective and erroneous form. 
 
 THEY were originally defigned for the 
 initiation of Youth into the ftudy of Belles 
 
 * Biographia Britannica. Article, ADDISON. 
 
 A 2 JLettres,
 
 IV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Lettres, and of Compofition. With the 
 fame intention they are now published ; and,, 
 therefore, the form of Lectures, in which 
 they were at firft compofed, is ftill retained. 
 The Author gives them to the world, nei- 
 ther as a Work wholly original, nor as a 
 Compilation from the Writings of others. 
 On every fubject contained in them, he has 
 thought for himfelf. He confulted his own 
 ideas and reflections : and a great part of 
 what will be found in thefe Lectures is en- 
 tirely his own. At the fame time, he 
 availed himfelf of the ideas and reflections, 
 of others, as far as he thought them proper 
 to be adopted. To proceed in this manner, 
 was his duty as a Public Profeflbr. It was 
 incumbent on him, to convey to his Pupils 
 all the knowledge that could improve them ; 
 to deliver not merely what was new, but 
 what might be ufeful, from whatever quar- 
 ter it came. He hopes, that to fuch as are 
 ftudying to cultivate their Tafte, to form 
 their Style, or to prepare ihemfelves for 
 Public Speaking or Compofition, his Lec- 
 tures will afford a more comprehenlive view 
 of what relates to thefe fubjects, than, as 
 
 far
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 far as he knows, is to be received from any 
 one Book in our Language. 
 
 IN order to render his Work of greater 
 fervice, he has generally referred to the 
 Books which he confulted, as far as he re- 
 members them ; that the Readers might be 
 directed to any farther illuftration which 
 they afford. But, as fuch a length of time 
 has elapfed fmce the firft Compofition of his 
 Lectures, he may, perhaps, have adopted the 
 fentiments of fome Author into whofe 
 Writings he had then looked, without now 
 remembering whence he derived them. 
 
 IN the opinions which he has delivered 
 concerning fuch a variety of Authors, and 
 of literary matters, as come under his con- 
 fideration, he cannot expect that all his 
 Readers will concur with him. The fub- 
 jects are of fuch a nature, as allow room 
 for much diverfity of tafte and fentiment : 
 and the Author will refpedtfully fubmit to 
 the judgment of the Public. 
 
 RETAINING the fimplicity of the Lec- 
 turing Style, as beft fitted for conveying 
 
 inftruction.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 inftru&ion, he has aimed, in his Language, 
 at no more than perfpicuity. If, after the 
 liberties which it was neceflary for him to 
 take, in criticifmg the Style of the moft 
 eminent Writers in our Language, his own 
 Style fhall be thought open to reprehenfion, 
 all that he can fay, is, that his Book will 
 add one to the many proofs already af- 
 forded to the world, of its being much 
 cafier to give inftru&ion, than to fet 
 example.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 L E C T. Page 
 
 I. INTRODUCTION. - i 
 
 II. I fafte. 19 
 
 III. Criticifm Genius Pleafures of 
 
 <Tafte Sublimity in Objefts. - 4.6 
 
 IV. tfbe Sublime in Writing. - 72 
 V. Beauty, and other Pleafures of'Tafte. 100 
 
 VI. Rife and Progrefs of Language. 122 
 VII. Rife and Progrefs of Language, and 
 
 of Writing. - 148 
 
 VIII. Structure of Language. 173 
 IX. Structure of Language Englijb 
 
 Tongue. 20 1 
 
 X. Style Perspicuity and Precijion. 231 
 
 XI. Structure of Sentences. 258 
 
 XII. Structure of Sen fences, rt j 
 
 XIIL
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 LECT. Page 
 
 II 1 1 . Structure of Sentences Harmony. 313 
 
 XIV. Origin and Nature of Figurative 
 
 Language. 343 
 
 XV. Metaphor. 372 
 
 XV I . Hyperbole Pcrfonification jdpo- 
 
 ftrophe. - 400 
 
 XVII. Comparifon, Antithefis, Inter roga- 
 tion. Exclamation^ and other 
 Figures of Speech. 430 
 
 LEG-
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ON E of the moft diflinguilhed privi- L E c T. 
 leges which Providence has conferred 
 upon mankind, is the power of com- 
 municating their thoughts to one another. 
 Deftitute of this power, Reafon would be a 
 folitary, and, in fome meafure, an unavailing 
 principle. Speech is the great inftrument by 
 which man becomes beneficial to man : and it 
 is to the intercourfe and tranfmiffion of thought, 
 by means of fpeech, that we are chiefly 
 indebted for the improvement of thought 
 itfelf. Small are the advances which a Tingle 
 unaffifted individual can make towards per- 
 fecting any of his powers. What we call 
 human reafon, is not the effort or ability of 
 one, fo much as it is the refult of the reafon 
 of many, arifing from lights mutually com- 
 VOL. I. B municatedi
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 L E c T. municated, in confequence of difcoiirre and 
 
 i. 
 
 v ' writing. 
 
 IT is obvious, then, that writing and 
 difcourfe are objects intitled to the higheft 
 attention. Whether the influence of the 
 fpeaker, or the entertainment of the hearer, 
 be confulted -, whether utility or pleafure be the 
 principal aim in view, we are prompted, by 
 the ftrongeft motives, to iludy how we may 
 communicate our thoughts to one another with 
 moft advantage. Accordingly we find, that 
 m almoft every nation, as foon as language 
 had extended itfeif beyond that fcanty com- 
 munication which was requifite for the fupply 
 of men's neceflities, the improvement of dif- 
 courfe began to attract regard. In the lan- 
 guage even of rude uncultivated tribes, we 
 can trace fome attention to the grace and force 
 of thofe exprefllons which they fed, when 
 they fought to perfuade or to affect They 
 were early fenfible of a beauty in difcourie, 
 and endeavoured to give it certain decorations 
 which experience had taught them it was capa- 
 ble of receiving, long before the ftudy of thofe 
 decorations was formed into a regular art. 
 
 BUT, among nations in a civilized ftate, no 
 art has been cultivated with more care, than 
 that of language, ftyle, and compofition. 
 The attention paid to it may, indeed, be 
 
 afTumed
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 aflumed as one mark of the progrefs of fo- L E c T * 
 
 ciety towards its moft improved period. For, 
 
 according as fociety improves and flourifhes, 
 
 men acquire more influence over one another 
 
 by means of reafoning and difcourfe; and in 
 
 proportion as that influence is felt to enlarge, 
 
 it muft follow, as a natural confequence, that 
 
 they will beftow more care upon the methods 
 
 of expreffing their conceptions with propriety 
 
 and eloquence. Hence we find, that, in all 
 
 the polifhed nations of Europe, this ftudy has 
 
 been treated as highly important, and has pof- 
 
 fefled a confiderable place in every plan of 
 
 liberal education. 
 
 INDEED, when the arts of fpeech and writing 
 are mentioned, I am fenfible that prejudices 
 againft them are apt to rife in the minds of 
 many. A fort of art is immediately thought 
 of, that is oftentatious and deceitful; the mi- 
 nute and trifling ftudy of words alone; the 
 pomp of expreflion ; the ftudied fallacies of 
 rhetoric; ornament fubftituted in the room of 
 xile. We need not wonder, that, under fuch 
 imputations, all ftudy of difcourfe as an art, 
 fhould have differed in the opinion of men of 
 underftanding : and I am far from denying, 
 that rhetoric and criticifm have fometimes 
 been fo managed as to tend to the corruption, 
 rather than to the improvement, of good tafte 
 and true eloquence. But fure it is equally 
 B 2 pofllble
 
 ^ INTRODUCTION: 
 
 L E c r. poflible to apply the principles of reafbn and 
 good fenfe to this art, as to any other that is 
 cultivated among men. If the following 
 Lectures have any merit, it will confift in an 
 endeavour to fubftitute the application of thefe 
 principles in the place of artificial and fcho- 
 lafric rhetoric; in an endeavour to explode 
 falfe ornament, to direct attention more to- 
 wards fubftance than fhow, to recommend 
 good fenfe as the foundation of all good com- 
 pofition, and fimplicity as efiential to all true 
 ornament. 
 
 WHEN entering on the fubject, I may be 
 allowed, on this occafion, to fugged a few 
 thoughts concerning the importance and ad- 
 vantages of fuch fludies, and the rank they are 
 intitled to poffefs in academical education *. 
 I am under no temptation, for this purpofe, 
 of extolling their importance at the expence 
 of any other department of fcience. On the 
 contrary, the ftudy of Rhetoric and Belles 
 Lettres fuppofes and requires a proper ac- 
 quaintance with the reft of the liberal arts. 
 
 * The Author was the firft who read Leftures on this fub- 
 jed in the Univerfity of Edinburgh. He began with read- 
 ing them in a private chara&er in the year 1759. In the 
 following year he was chofen Profeffor of Rhetoric by the 
 Magiftrates and Town- council of Edinburgh ; and, in 1762, 
 his Majefty was pleafed to ereft and endow a Profeflion of 
 Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in that Univerfity ; and the Au- 
 thor was appointed the firlt Regius Profeflbr. 
 
 4 It
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It embraces them all within its circle, and L E c 
 recommends them to the higher! regard. The 
 firft care of all fuch as wifli either to write 
 with reputation, or to fpeak in public fo as to 
 command attention, muft be, to extend their 
 knowledge j to lay in a rich ilore of ideas re- 
 lating to thofe fubjects of which the occafions 
 of life may call them to difcourfe or to write. 
 Hence, among the ancients, it was a funda- 
 mental principle, and frequently inculcated, 
 " Quod omnibus difciplinis et artibus debet 
 <( efie inftrudlus orator j" that the orator 
 ought to be an accomplifhed fcholar, and 
 converfant in every part of learning. It is 
 indeed impoflible to contrive an art, and very 
 pernicious it were if it could be contrived, 
 which fhould give the flamp of merit to any 
 compofition rich or fplendid in expreMion, but 
 barren or erroneous in thought. They are 
 the wretched attempts towards an art of this 
 kind which have fo often difgraced oratory, 
 and debafed it below its true ftandard. The 
 graces of compofition have been employed to 
 difguife or to fupply the want of matter; and 
 the temporary applaufe of the ignorant has 
 been courted, inftead of the lafting approba- 
 tion of the difcerning. But fuch impofture 
 can never maintain its ground long. Know- 
 ledge and fcience muft furnilh the materials 
 that form the body and fubftance of any va- 
 luable compofition. Rhetoric ferves to acid 
 E 3 the
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 L E c f . tne polilh ; and we know that none but firm 
 and foTid bodies can be polifhed well. 
 
 OF thofe who penife the following Lectures,. 
 fome, in confequence either of their profef- 
 fion, or of their prevailing inclination, may 
 have the view of being employed in compofi- 
 tion, or in public fpeaking. Others, without 
 any profpect of this kind, may with only to 
 improve their tafte with refpect to writing and 
 difcourfe, and to acquire principles which will 
 enable them to judge for themfelves in that part 
 of literature called the Belles Lettres. 
 
 WITH refpect to the former, fuch as may 
 have occafion to communicate their fenti- 
 ments to the public, it is abundantly clear 
 that fome preparation of ftudy is requifite for 
 the end which they have in view. To fpeak 
 or to write perfpicuoufly and agreeably, with 
 purity, with grace and ftrength, are attain- 
 ments of the utmoft confequence to all who 
 purpofe, either by fpeech or writing, to ad- 
 drefs the Public. For without being mafter 
 of thofe attainments, no man can do juftice to 
 his own conceptions ; but how rich foever he 
 may be in knowledge and in good fenfe, will 
 be able to avail himfelf lefs of thofe treafures, 
 than fuch as pofTefs not half his ilore, but who 
 can difplay what they pofTefs with more pro- 
 priety. Neither are thefe attainments of that 
 
 kind
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 kind for which we are indebted to nature L E j C T * 
 merely. Nature has, indeed, conferred upon 
 fome a very favourable diftinction in this re- 
 lpec~r., beyond others. But in thefe, as in 
 mod other talents Ihe beftows, fhe has left 
 much to be wrought out by every man's own 
 induftry. So confpicuous have been the ef- 
 fects of ftudy and improvement in every part 
 of eloquence j fuch remarkable examples have 
 appeared of perfons furmounting, by their di- 
 ligence, the difadvantages of the mod un- 
 toward nature, that among the learned it has 
 long been a contefled, and remains dill an 'un- 
 decided point, whether nature or art confer 
 moft towards excelling in writing and dif- 
 courfe. 
 
 WITH refpecT: to the manner in which art 
 can moft effectually furnifh afiiftance for fuch 
 a purpofe, there may be diverfity of opinions. 
 I by no means pretend to fay that mere rheto- 
 rical rules, how juft foever, are fufficient to 
 form an orator. Suppofmg natural genius to 
 be favourable, more by a great deal will de- 
 pend upon private application and ftudy, than 
 upon any fyftem of inftruction that is capable 
 of being publicly communicated. But at 
 the fame time, though rules and inftruclions 
 cannot do all that is requifite, they may, how- 
 ever, do much that is of real ufe. They can- 
 not, it is true, infpire genius j but they can 
 B 4
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 L E c T. direct and afiift it. They cannot remedy 
 barrennefs ; but they may correct redundancy. 
 They point out proper models for imitation. 
 They bring into view the chief beauties that 
 ought to be ftudied, and the principal faults 
 that ought to be avoided ; and thereby tend 
 to enlighten tafte, and to lead genius from 
 unnatural deviations, into its proper channel. 
 What would not avail for the production of 
 great excellencies, may at lead ferve to pre- 
 vent the commiffion of confiderable errors. 
 
 ALL that regards the ftudy of eloquence and 
 compofition, merits the higher attention upon 
 this account, that it is intimately connected 
 with the improvement of our intellectual 
 powers. For I muft be allowed to fay, that 
 when we are employed, after a proper man- 
 ner, in the ftudy of compofition, we are culti- 
 vating reafon itfelf. True rhetoric and found 
 logic are very nearly allied. The ftudy of 
 arranging and exprefllng our thoughts with 
 propriety, teaches to think, as well as to 
 ipeak, accurately. By putting our fenti- 
 ments into words, we always conceive them 
 more diftinttly. Every one who has the 
 ilighteft acquaintance with compofition knows, 
 that when he exprefles himfelf ill on any fub- 
 jedt, when his arrangement is loofe, and his 
 fentences become feeble, the defects of his 
 ftyle can, almoft on every occafion, be traced 
 
 back
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 back to his indiftinc"b conception of the fub- L E c T - 
 ject : fo clofe is the connection between 
 thoughts and the words in which they are 
 clothed. 
 
 THE iludy of compofition, important in 
 itfelf at all times, has acquired additional im- 
 portance from the tafte and manners of the 
 prefent age. It is an age wherein improve- 
 ments, in every part of fcience, have : been 
 proiecuted with ardour. To all the liberal 
 arts much attention has been paid; and to 
 none more than to the beauty of language, 
 and the grace and elegance of every kind of 
 writing. The public ear is become refined. 
 It will not eafily bear what is flovenly and in- 
 correct. Every author muft afpire to fome 
 merit in expreflion, as well as in fentiment, if 
 he would not incur the danger of being ne- 
 glected and defpifed. 
 
 I WILL not deny that the love of minute ele- 
 gance, and attention to inferior ornaments of 
 compofition, may at prefent have engrofled 
 too great a degree of the public regard. It is 
 indeed my opinion, that we lean to this ex- 
 treme; often more careful of polifhed ftyle, 
 than of ftoring it with thought. Yet hence 
 arifes a new reafon for the iludy of juft and 
 proper compofition. If it be requifite not to 
 be deficient in elegance or ornament in times 
 
 when
 
 io INTRODUCTION. 
 
 : c 
 i. 
 
 L E c T. w hen they are in fuch high eftimation, it is 
 
 flill more requifite to attain the power of dif- 
 tinguifhing falfe ornament from true, in order 
 to prevent our being carried away by that tor- 
 rent of falfe and frivolous tafte, which never 
 fails, when it is prevalent, to fweep along 
 with it the raw and the ignorant. They who 
 have never ftudied eloquence in its principles, 
 nor have been trained to -attend to the genuine 
 and manly beauties of good writing, are al- 
 ways ready to be caught by the mere glare of 
 language; and when they come to fpeak in 
 public, or to compofe, have no other ftan- 
 dard on which to form themfelves, except 
 what chances to be falhionable and popu- 
 lar, how corrupted foever, or erroneous, that 
 may be. 
 
 BUT as there are many who have no fuch 
 objects as either compoficion or public fpeak- 
 ing in view, let us next confider what advan- 
 tages may be derived by them, from fuch flu- 
 dies as form the fubject of thefe Lectures. 
 To them, rhetoric is not fo much , practical 
 art as a fpeculative fcience; and the fame in- 
 ftructions which aflift others in compofing, 
 will affift them in difcerning, and relifhing, 
 the beauties of compofition. Whatever en- 
 ables genius to execute well, will enable tafte to 
 criticife juftly. 
 
 WHEN
 
 INTRODUCTION. it 
 
 WHEN we name criticifing, prejudices may L E j C T 
 perhaps arife, of the fame kind with thofe 
 which I mentioned before with refpect to 
 rhetoric. As rhetoric has been fometimes 
 thought to fignify nothing more than the 
 fcholaftic ftudy of words and phrafes, and 
 tropes, fo criticifm has been confidered as 
 merely the art of finding faults; as the frigid 
 application of certain technical terms, by 
 means of which perfons are taught to cavil 
 and cenfure in a learned manner. But this is 
 the criticifm of pedants only. True criticifm 
 is a liberal and humane art. It is the oft- 
 fpring of good fenfe and refined s tafte. It 
 aims at acquiring a juft difcernment of the 
 real merit of authors. It promotes a lively 
 relifh of their beauties, while it preferves us 
 from that blind and implicit veneration which, 
 would confound their beauties and faults in 
 our efteem. It teaches us, in a word, to ad- 
 mire and to blame with judgment, and not to 
 follow the crowd blindly. 
 
 IN an age when works of genius and lite- 
 rature are fo frequently the fubjects of dif- 
 courfe, when every one erects himfelf into a 
 judge, and when we can hardly mingle in po- 
 lite fociety without bearing fome fhare in fuch 
 difcuffions ; ftudies of this kind, it is not to 
 be doubted, will appear to derive part of 
 their importance from the ufe to which they 
 
 may
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 T< may be applied in furnifhing materials for 
 
 I. 
 
 thofe fafhionable topics of difcourfe, and there- 
 by enabling us to fupport a proper rank in 
 focial life. 
 
 BUT Ifhould be forry if we could not reft the 
 merit of fuch ftudies on fomewhat of folid and 
 intrinfical ufe, independent of appearance and 
 fhow. The exercife of talte and of found cri- 
 ticifm, is in truth one of the mod improving 
 employments of the understanding. To ap- 
 ply the principles of good fenfe to compofi- 
 tion and difcourfe; to examine what is beau- 
 tiful, and why it is fo; to employ ourfelves 
 in diftinguifhing accurately between the fpe- 
 cjous and the folid, between affected and na- 
 tural ornament, muft certainly improve us not 
 a little in the moft valuable part of all philo- 
 fophy, the philofophy of human nature. For 
 fuch difquifitions are very intimately connected 
 with the knowledge of ourfelves. They ne- 
 ceiTarily lead us to reflect on the operations of 
 the imagination, and the movements of the 
 heart; and increafe our acquaintance with fome 
 of the moft refined feelings which belong to our 
 frame, 
 
 LOGICAL and Ethical difquifitions move in 
 a higher fphere; and are converfant with ob- 
 jects of a more fevere kind ; the progrefs of 
 the underftanding in its fearch after know- 
 ledge,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 ledge, and the direction of the will in the 
 proper purfuit of good. They point out to man 
 the improvement of his nature as an intelligent 
 being; and his duties as the fubjeft of moral 
 obligation. Belles Lettres and criticifm chiefly 
 confider him as a Being endowed with thofe 
 powers of tafte and imagination, which were 
 intended to embellifh his mind, and to fupply 
 him with rational and ufeful entertainment. 
 They open a field of investigation peculiar to 
 themfelves. All that relates to beauty, har- 
 mony, grandeur, an(l elegance ; all that can 
 footh the mind, gratify the fancy, or move 
 the affections, belongs to their province. 
 They prefent human nature under a different 
 afpect from that which it alTumes when viewed 
 by other fciences. They bring to light va- 
 rious fprings of action, which, without their 
 aid, might have paffed unobferved ; and which, 
 though of a delicate nature, frequently exert 
 a powerful influence on feveral departments 
 of human life. 
 
 SUCH ftudies have allb this peculiar advan- 
 tage, that they exercife our reafon without fa- 
 tiguing it. They lead to enquiries acute, but 
 not painful; profound, but not dry nor ab- 
 ftrufe. They ftrew flowers in the path of 
 fcience; and while they keep the mind bent, 
 in fome degree, and active, they relieve it at the 
 fame time from that more toilfome labour to 
 
 which
 
 14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 LEG T. which it muft fubmit in the acquifition of ne- 
 ccfTary erudition, or the investigation of abftract 
 truth. 
 
 THE cultivation of tafte is farther recom- 
 mended by the happy effects which it natu- 
 rally tends to produce on human life. The 
 mod bufy man, in the moft active fphere, 
 cannot be always occupied by bufinefs. Men 
 of ferious profeffions cannot always be on the 
 ftjetch of ferious thought. Neither can the 
 moft gay and flourifhing fituations of for- 
 tune afford any man the power of filling all 
 his hours with pleafure. Life muft always 
 languifh in the hands of the idle. It will 
 frequently languish even in the hands of the 
 bufy, if they have not fome employment fub- 
 fidiary to that which forms their main purfuit. 
 How then fhall thefe vacant fpaces, thofe un- 
 employed intervals, which, more or lefs, 
 occur in the life of every one, be filled up ? 
 How can we contrive to difpofe of them in 
 any way that fhall be more agreeable in itfelf, 
 or more confonant to the dignity of the hu- 
 man mind, than in the entertainments of tafte, 
 and the ftudy of polite literature? He who is 
 fo happy as to have acquired a relifh for thefe, 
 has always at hand an innocent and irre- 
 proachable amufement for his leifure hours, to 
 fave him from the danger of many a perni- 
 cious paflion. He is not in hazard of being 
 
 a burden
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 a burden to himfelf. He is not obliged to fly L E c T - 
 to low company, or to court the riot of loofe 
 pleafures, in order to cure the tedioufnefs of 
 exiftence. 
 
 PROVIDENCE feems plainly to have pointed 
 out this ufeful purpofe to which the pleafures 
 of tafte may be applied, by interpofing them 
 in a middle ftation between the pleafures of 
 ienfe, and thofe of pure intellect. We were 
 not deiigned to grovel always among objects 
 fo low as the former j nor are we capable of 
 dwelling conftantly in fo high a region as the 
 latter. The pleafures of tafte refrefh the 
 mind after the toils of the intellect, and the 
 labours of abftract ftudy; and they gradually 
 raife it above the attachments of fenfe, and pre- 
 pare it for the enjoyments of virtue. 
 
 So confonant is this to experience, that, in 
 the education of youth, no object has in every 
 age appeared more important to wife men, 
 than to tincture them early with a relifh for 
 the entertainments of tafte. The tranfition is 
 commonly made with eafe from thefe to the 
 difcharge of the higher and more important 
 duties of life. Good hopes may be enter- 
 tained of thofe whofe minds have this liberal 
 and elegant turn. It is favourable to many 
 virtues. Whereas, to be entirely devoid of 
 relifh for eloquence, poetry, or any of the 
 i fine
 
 i6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fine arts, is juftly conftrued to be an unpro- 
 mifing fymptom of youth; and raifes fufpicions 
 of their being prone to low gratifications, or def- 
 tined to drudge in the more vulgar and illi- 
 beral purfuits of life. 
 
 THERE are indeed few good difpofitions of 
 any kind with which the improvement of tafte 
 is not more or lefs connected. A cultivated 
 tafte increafes fenfibility to all the tender and 
 humane paffions, by giving them frequent 
 exerciie; while it tends to weaken the more 
 violent and fierce emotions. 
 
 Ingenuas didicifle fideliter artes 
 Emollit mores, nee fmit efle feros *. 
 
 The elevated fentiments and high examples 
 which poetry, eloquence and hiftory are often 
 bringing under our view, naturally tend to 
 nourifh in our minds public fpirit, the love 
 of glory, contempt of external fortune, and 
 the admiration of what is truly illuftrious and 
 great. 
 
 I WILL not go fo far as to fay that the im- 
 provement of tafte and of virtue is the fame ; 
 or that they may always be expected to co- 
 exift in an equal degree. More powerful cor- 
 rectives than tafte can apply, are neceflary for 
 
 * Thefe polifli'd arts have humaniz'd mankind, 
 Soften'd the rude, and calra'd the boift'rous mind. 
 
 reforming
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 reforming the corrupt propenfities which too t E c T. 
 frequently prevail among mankind. Elegant 
 ipeculations are fometimes found to float on 
 the furface of the mind, .while bad paffions 
 pofiefs the interior regions of the heart. At 
 the fame time this cannot but be admitted, 
 that the exercife of tafte is, in its native ten- 
 dency, moral and purifying. From reading 
 the moil admired productions of genius, 
 whether in poetry or profe, almoft every one 
 rifes with fome good impreffions left on his 
 mind; and though thefp may not always be 
 durable, they are at leafl to be ranked among 
 the means of difpofing the heart to virtue. 
 One thing is certain, and J {hall hereafter 
 have occafion to illuftrate it more fully, that, 
 without porTeffing the virtuous affections in a 
 ftrong degree, no man can attain eminence in 
 the fublime parts of eloquence. He muft feel 
 what a good man feels, if he expects greatly 
 to move, or to intereft mankind. They arc 
 the ardent fentiments of honour, virtue^ mag- 
 nanimity, and public fpirit, that only can 
 kindle that fire of genius, and call up into the 
 mind thofe high ideas, which attract the ad- 
 miration of ages; and if this Ipirit be necef- 
 fary to produce the moft diftinguifhed efforts 
 of eloquence, it muft be neceffary alfo to our 
 relifhing them with proper tafte and feeling. 
 
 VOL. I. C On
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 OM thefe general topics I fhall dwell no 
 longer j but proceed directly to the confidera- 
 tion of the fubjects which are to employ the 
 following Lectures. They divide themfelves 
 into five parts. Firft, fome introductory dif- 
 fertations on the Nature of Tafte, and upon the 
 fources of its pleafures. Secondly, the confi- 
 deration of Language: Thirdly, of Style: 
 Fourthly, of Eloquence properly fo called, or 
 Public Speaking in its different kinds. Laftly, 
 a critical examination of the mod diftinguifhed 
 Species of Competition, both in profe and verfe.
 
 LECTURE II. 
 
 TASTE. 
 
 THE nature of the prefent undertaking L E c T. 
 leads me to begin with fome inquiries 
 concerning Tafte, as it is this faculty which is 
 always appealed to in difquifitions concerning 
 the merit of difcourfe and writing. 
 
 THERE are few fubjects on which men talk 
 more loofely and indiftinctly than on Tafte; 
 few which it is more difficult to explain with 
 precifion ; and none which in this Courfe of 
 Lectures will appear more dry or abftract. 
 What I have to fay on the fubject fliall be in 
 the following order. I fhall firft explain the 
 Nature of Tafte as a power or faculty in the 
 human mind. I fliall next confider how far 
 it is an improvable faculty. I fhall fliew 
 the fources of its improvement, and the cha- 
 racters of Tafte in its moft perfect ftate. I 
 lhall then examine the various fluctuations to 
 C 2 which
 
 TASTE. 
 
 which it is liable, and inquire whether there 
 be any ftandard to which we can bring the dif- 
 ferent taftes of men, in order to diftinguifh the 
 corrupted from the true. 
 
 TASTE may be defined " The power of 
 <f receiving pleafure from the beauties of 
 < f nature and of art." The firft queftion that 
 occurs concerning it is, whether it is to be 
 confidered as an internal fenfe, or as an exer- 
 tion of reafon ? Reafon is a very general term ; 
 but if we underftand by it, that power of the 
 mind which in fpeculative matters difcovers 
 truth, and in practical matters judges of the 
 litnefs of means to an end, I apprehend the 
 queftion may be eafily anfwered. For nothing 
 can be more clear, than that Tafte is not re- 
 folvable into any fuch operation of Reafon. 
 It is not merely through a difcovery of the 
 tinder ft anding, or a deduction of argument, 
 that the mind receives pleafure from a beauti- 
 ful profpect or a fine poem. Such objefts 
 often ftrike us intuitively, and make a ftrong 
 imprefiion, when we are unable to affign the 
 reafons of our being pleafed. They fome- 
 times ftrike in the fame manner the philofor 
 pher and the pealant; the boy and the man. 
 Hence the faculty by which we relifh fuch 
 beauties, feems more nearly allied to a 
 feeling of fenfe, than to a procefs of the un- 
 derftanding: and accordingly, from an exter- 
 nal
 
 TASTE. 31 
 
 nai fenfe it has borrowed its name; that fenfe L E jr c T * 
 by which we receive and diftinguifh the plea- 
 fures of food having, in feveral languages, 
 given rife to the word Tafte in the metapho- 
 rical meaning under which we now confider it. 
 However, as> in all fubjects which regard the 
 operations of the mind, the inaccurate ufe of 
 words is to be carefully avoided, it muft not 
 be inferred from what I have faid, that Reafon 
 is entirely excluded from the exertions of 
 Tafte. Though Tafte, beyond doubt, be ul- 
 timately founded on a certain natural and in- 
 ftinctive fenfibility to beauty, yet Reafon, as I 
 ihall Ihew hereafter, affifts Tafte in many of 
 its operations, and ferves to enlarge its 
 power *. 
 
 TASTE, in the fenfe in which I have ex- 
 plained it, is a faculty common in fome de- 
 gree to all men. Nothing that belongs to 
 human nature is more general than the relifh 
 of beauty of one kind or other; of what is or- 
 derly, proportioned, grand, harmonious, new, 
 or fprightly. In children, the rudiments of 
 
 * See Dr. Gerard's EfTay on Tafte. D'Alembert'* Re- 
 fledions on the Ufe and Abufe of Philofophy in Matters 
 which relate to Tafte. Reflexions Critiques fur la Poefie 
 et fur la Peinture, tome ii. ch. 22 31. Elements of 
 Criticifm, chap. 25. Mr. Hume's Eflay on the Standard 
 of Tafte Introduction to the Eflay on the Sublime and 
 Beautiful. 
 
 C 3 Tafte
 
 22 TASTE. 
 
 l EC T. Xafte difcover themfelves very early in a thou- 
 fand inftances; in their fondnels for regular 
 bodies, their admiration of pictures and fta- 
 tues, and imitations of all kinds j and their 
 ftrong attachment to whatever is new or mar- 
 vellous. The moft ignorant peafants are de- 
 lighted with ballads and tales, and are ftruck 
 with the beautiful appearances of nature in 
 the earth and heavens. Even in the deferts 
 of America, where human nature Ihews itfelf 
 in its moft uncultivated ftate, the favages 
 have their ornaments of drefs, their war and 
 their death fongs, their harangues, and their 
 orators. We muft therefore conclude the 
 principles of Tafte to be deeply founded in the 
 human mind. It is no lefs efTential to man 
 to have fome difcernment of beauty, than it 
 is to pofTefs the attributes of reafon and of 
 fpeech *. 
 
 BUT 
 
 * On the fubjedl of Tafte confidered as. a power or fa- 
 culty of the mind, much lefs is to be found among the 
 ancient, than among the modern rhetorical and critical 
 writers. The following remarkable pafiage in Cicero 
 ferves however to mew, that his ideas on this fubjeft agree 
 perfectly with what has been faid above. He is fpeaking 
 of the beauties of ftyle and numbers. " Illud autem ne- 
 " quis admirerur quonam modo haec vulgus imperitorum 
 *' in audiendo, notet; cum in omni genere, turn in hoc 
 " ipfo, magna quaedam eft vis, incredibilifque natura?. 
 " Omnes enim tacito quodam fenfu, finu ulla arte aut ra- 
 " done, qua? fint in artibus de rationibus refta et prava 
 " dijudicant : idque cum faciunt in pidluris, ct in fignis, 
 
 " Ct
 
 TASTE. 23 
 
 BUT although none be wholly devoid of this L E c T 
 
 faculty, yet the degrees in which it is poiTefled 
 are widely different. In fome men only the 
 feeble glimmerings of Tafte appear; the 
 beauties which they relifh are of the coarfeft 
 kind j and of thefe they have but a weak and 
 confufed impreflion : while in others, Tafte 
 rifes to an acute difcernment, and a lively en- 
 joyment of the moft refined beauties. In ge- 
 neral, we may obferve, that in the powers and 
 pleafures of Tafte, there is a more remark- 
 able inequality among men, than is ufually 
 found, in point of common fenfe, reafon, and 
 judgment. The conftitution of our nature in 
 this, as in all other refpects, difcovers admi- 
 rable wifdbm. , In the diftribution of thofe 
 talents which are neceffary for man's well- 
 
 " et in aliis opcribus, ad quorum intelligentiam a natura 
 *' minus habent inftrumenti, turn multo oftendunt magis 
 " in vcrborum, numerorum, vocumque jadicio; quod ea 
 " funt in communibus infixa fenfibus; neque earum re- 
 " rum quenquam funditus natura voluit efTe expertem." 
 
 Cic. de Orat. lib. iii. cap. 50. edit. Gruteri. Quinfti- 
 
 lian feems to include Tafte (for which, in the fenfe which 
 we now give to that word, the ancients appear to have had 
 no diftincl: name) under what he calls judicium. f< Locus 
 " de judicio, mea quidem opinione adeo partibus hujus 
 " operis omnibus conneclius ac imitus eft, ut ne a fen- 
 " tentiis quidem aut verbis faltem fingulis poffit feparari, 
 " nee magis arte traditur quam guftus aut odor. Ut 
 " contraria vitemus et communia, ne quid in eloquendo 
 " corruptum obfcurumque fit, referatur oportet ad fenfus 
 " qui non doccntur.'* Inftitut. lib. vi, cap. 3. edit. 
 Obrechti. 
 
 C 4 being,
 
 TASTE. 
 
 being, Nature hath made lefs diftinftion 
 among h<?r children. But in the diftribution 
 of thofe which belong only to the ornamental 
 part of life, fhe hath beftowed her favours 
 with more frugality. She hath both fown the 
 feeds more fparingly > and rendered a higher 
 culture requifite for bringing them to per- 
 fection. 
 
 THIS inequality of Tafte among men is 
 owing, without doubt, in part, to the different 
 frame of their natures ; to nicer organs, and 
 finer internal powers, with which fome arc 
 endowed beyond others. But, if it be owing 
 in part to nature, it is owing to education and 
 culture ftill more. The illuftration of this 
 leads to my next remark on this fubjedl, that 
 Tafte is a moil improvable faculty, if there be 
 any fuch in human nature ; a remark which 
 gives great encouragement to fuch a courfe 
 of ftudy as we are now propofing to purfue. 
 Of the truth of this affertion we may eafily be 
 convinced, by only reflecting on that immenfe 
 fuperiority which education and improvement 
 give to civilized, above barbarous nations, in 
 refinement of Tafte; and on the fuperiority 
 which they give in the fame nation to thofe 
 who have ftudied the liberal arts, above the 
 rude and untaught vulgar. The difference is 
 fo great, that there is perhaps no one particu- 
 lar in which thefe two claries of men are fo far 
 
 removed
 
 TASTE. 25 
 
 removed from each other, as in refpect of the L E c T. 
 powers and the pleafnres of Tafte: and af- *_ j^- J 
 furedly for this difference no other general 
 caufe can be afilgned, but culture and edu- 
 cation. I fhall now proceed to fhew what the 
 means are, by which Tafte becomes fo re- 
 markably fufceptible of cultivation and pro- 
 refs. 
 
 
 REFLECT firft upon that great law of our na- 
 ture, that exercife is the chief fource of im- 
 provement in all our faculties. This holds 
 both in our bodily, and in our mental powers. 
 It holds even in our external fenfes ; although 
 thefe be lefs the fubject of cultivation than 
 any of our other faculties. We fee how acute 
 the fenfes become in perfons whofe trade or 
 bufmefs leads to nice exertions of them. 
 Touch, for inftance, becomes infinitely more 
 cxquiiite in men whofe employment requires 
 them to examine the polilh of bodies, than it 
 is in others. They who deal in microfcopical 
 obfervations, or are accuflomed to engrave on 
 precious ftones, acquire furprifing accuracy 
 of fight in difcerning the minuteft objects ; 
 and practice in attending to different flavours 
 and taftes of liquors, wonderfully improves 
 the power of diftinguiihing them, and of tra- 
 cing their compofition. Placing internal 
 Tafte therefore on the footing of a fimple fenfc, 
 it cannot be doubted that frequent exercifej 
 
 and 
 9
 
 2 5 TASTE. 
 
 L E c T. anc j curious attention to its proper objects, 
 muft greatly heighten its power. Of this we 
 have one clear proof in that part of Tafte, 
 which is called an ear for mufic. Experience 
 every day fhews, that nothing is more im- 
 provable. Only the fimpleft and plaineft com- 
 pofitions are relifhed at firft -, ufe and practice 
 extend our pleafure ; teach us to relifh finer 
 melody, and by degrees enable us to enter into 
 the intricate and compounded pleafures of har- 
 mony. So an eye for the beauties of painting is 
 never all at once acquired. It is gradually form- 
 ed by being converfant among pictures, and 
 ftudying the works of the beft mailers. 
 
 PRECISELY in the fame manner, with refpect 
 to the beauty of compofition and difcourfe, 
 attention to the mofl approved models, ftudy 
 of the beft authors, comparifons of lower and 
 higher degrees of the fame beauties, operate 
 towards the refinement of Tafte. When one 
 is only beginning his acquaintance with works 
 of genius, the fentiment which attends them 
 is obfcure and confufed. He cannot point 
 out the feveral excellencies or blemilhes of a 
 performance which he perufesj he is at a lofs 
 on what to reft his judgment; all that can be 
 expected is, that he fhouy tell in general 
 whether he be pleafed or not. But allow him 
 more experience in works of this kind, and 
 hjs Tafte becomes by degrees more exact and 
 
 enlight-
 
 T A S T . 
 
 enlightened. He begins to perceive not only 
 the character of the whole, but the beauties 
 and defects of each part ; and is able to do- 
 fcribe the peculiar qualities which he praifes or 
 blames. The mift is diflipated which feemed 
 formerly to hang over the object ; and he can 
 at length pronounce firmly, and without hefi- 
 tation, concerning it. Thus in Tafte, confi- 
 dered as mere fenfibility, exercife opens a great 
 fource of improvement. 
 
 BUT although Tafte be ultimately founded!* 
 on fenfibility, it muft not be confidered as in- 
 ftinctive fenfibility alone. Reafon and good 
 fenfe, as I before hinted, have fo extenfive an 
 influence on all the operations and decifions 
 of Tafte, that a thorough good Tafte rnay 
 vvell be confidered as a power compounded of 
 natural fenfibility to beauty, and of improved 
 underftanding. In order to be fatisfied of 
 this, let us obferve, that the greater part of the 
 productions of genius are no other than imi- 
 tations of nature; reprefentations of the cha- 
 racters, actions, or manners of men. The 
 pleafure we receive from fuch imitations or 
 reprefentations is founded on mere Tafte : but 
 to judge whether they be properly executed, 
 belongs to the underftunding, which compares 
 the copy with the original. 
 
 IN reading, for inftance, fuch a poem as the 
 /Eneid, a great part of our pleafure arifes from 
 
 the
 
 TASTE. 
 : T the nlan or fl 
 
 E c T. t h e p] an or fl- or y being well conducted, and 
 
 all the parts joined together with probability 
 and due connexion j from the characters be- 
 ing taken from nature, the fentiments being 
 fuited to the characters, and the ftyle to the 
 fentiments. The pleafure which arifes from a 
 poem fo conducted, is felt or enjoyed by Tafte 
 as an internal fenfe ; but the difcovery of this 
 conduct in the poem is owing to reafon; and 
 the more that reafon enables us to difcover 
 , fuch propriety in the conduct, the greater will 
 be our pleafure. We are pleafed, through 
 our natural fenfe of. beauty. Reafon fhews us 
 why, and upon what grounds, we are pleafed. 
 Wherever in works of Tafte, any refemblance 
 to nature is aimed at; wherever there is any 
 reference of parts to a whole; or of means to 
 an end, as there is indeed in almoft every writ- 
 ing and difcourfe, there the underftanding mud 
 always have a great part to act. 
 
 HERE then is a wide field for reafon's exert- 
 ing its powers in relation to the objects of 
 Tafte, particularly with refpect to compofi- 
 tion, and works of genius ; and hence arifes a 
 fecond and a very confiderable fource of the 
 improvement of Tafte, from the application 
 of reafon and good fenfe to fuch productions 
 of genius. Spurious beauties, fuch as unna- 
 tural characters, forced fentiments, affected 
 ftyle, may pieafe for a little; but they 
 
 pleafe
 
 TASTE. 39 
 
 pleafe only becaufe their oppofitjon to nature L E n c T - 
 and to good fenfe has not been examined, or 
 attended to. Once Ihew how nature might 
 have been morejuftly imitated or reprefentedi 
 how the writer might have managed his fub- 
 ject to greater advantage ; the illulion will 
 prefently be diffipated, and thefe falfe beauties 
 >vill pleafe no more, 
 
 FROM thefe two fources then, firft, the fre- 
 quent exercife of Tafte, and next the applica- 
 tion of good fenfe and reafon to the objects of 
 Tafte, Tafte as a power of the mind receives 
 its improvement. In its perfect ftate, it is 
 undoubtedly the refult both of nature and of 
 art. It fuppofes our natural fenfe of beauty 
 to be refined by frequent attention to the mod 
 beautiful objects, and at the fame time to be 
 guided and improved by the light of the un- 
 derftanding, 
 
 I MUST be allowed to add, that as a found 
 head, fo likewife a good heart, is a very mate- 
 rial requifite to juft Tafte. The moral beau- 
 ties are not only in themfelves fuperior to all 
 others, but they exert an influence, either 
 more near or more remote, on a great variety 
 of other objects of Tafte. Wherever the af- 
 fections, characters, or actions of men are con- 
 cerned (and thefe certainly afford the noblefl 
 fubjects to genius), there can be neither any 
 
 juft
 
 jo TASTE. 
 
 L E c T. j u ft or affecting defcription of them, nor any 
 thorough feeling of the beauty of that defcrip- 
 tion, without our poffefling the virtuous affec- 
 tions. He whofe heart is indelicate or hard, 
 he who has no admiration of what is truly noble 
 or praifeworthy, nor the proper fympathetic 
 fenfe of what is foft and tender, muft have a 
 very imperfect relifh of the higheil beauties of 
 eloquence and poetry. 
 
 THE characters of Tafte when brought to its 
 moft improved ftate are all reducible to two, 
 Delicacy and Correctnefs. 
 
 DELICACY of Tafte relpects principally the 
 perfection of that natural fenfibility on which 
 Tafte is founded. It implies thofe finer or- 
 gans or powers which enable us to difcover 
 beauties that lie hid from a vulgar eye. One 
 may have ftrong fenfibility, and yet be defi- 
 cient in delicate Tafte. He may be deeply 
 imprefled by fuch beauties as he perceives; 
 but he perceives only what is in fome degree 
 coarfe, what is bold and palpable; while 
 chaiter and fimpler ornaments efcape his no- 
 tice. In this ftate Tafte generally exifts 
 among rude and unrefined nations. But a 
 perfon of delicate Tafte both feels ftrongly 
 and feels accurately. He fees diftinctions 
 and differences where others fee none; the 
 moft latent beauty does not efcape him, and 
 6 he
 
 TASTE. 31 
 
 he is fenfible of the fmalleft blemifh. Deli- L E H C T - 
 cacy of Tafte is judged of by the fame marks 
 that we ufe in judging of the delicacy of an 
 external fenfe. As the goodnefs of the palate 
 is not tried by ftrong flavours, but by a mix- 
 ture of ingredients, where, notwithftanding the 
 confufion, we remain fenfible of each j in like 
 manner delicacy of internal Tafte appears, by a 
 quick and lively fenfibility to its fined, moft 
 compounded, or moft latent objects. 
 
 CORRECTNESS of Tafte refpects chiefly the 
 improvement which that faculty receives 
 through its connexion with the underftanding. 
 A man of correct Tafte is one who is never 
 impofed on by counterfeit beauties ; who car- 
 ries always in his mind that ftandard of good 
 fenfe which he employs in judging of every 
 thing. He eftimates with propriety the com- 
 parative merit of the feveral beauties which he 
 meets with in any work of genius ; refers them 
 to their proper claffes j afligns the principles, 
 as far as they can be traced, whence their 
 power of pleafing flows; and is pleafed himfelf 
 precifely in that degree in which he ought, and 
 no more. 
 
 IT is true that thefe two qualities of Tafte, 
 Delicacy and Correctnefs, mutually imply each 
 other. No Tafte can be exquifitely delicate 
 without being correct j nor can be thoroughly 
 
 correct
 
 T A S T E. 
 
 correct without being delicate. But ftill a 
 predominancy of one or other quality in the 
 mixture is often vifible. The power of Deli- 
 cacy is chiefly feen in difcerning the true me- 
 rit of a work j the power of correctnefs, in re- 
 jecting falfe pretenfions to merit. Delicacy 
 leans more to feeling; Correctnefs more to 
 reafon and judgment. The former is more 
 the gift of nature; the latter, more the pro- 
 duct of culture and art. Among the ancient 
 critics, Longinus pofTeffed moft Delicacy; 
 Ariftotle, moft Correctnefs. Among the mo- 
 derns, Mr. Addifon is a high example of deli- 
 cate tafte; Dean Swift, had he written on the 
 fubject of criticifm, would perhaps have afford- 
 ed the example of a correct one, 
 
 HAVING viewed Tafte in its moft improved 
 and perfect ftate, I come next to confider it 
 deviations from that ftate, the fluctuations and 
 changes to which it is liable ; and to inquire 
 whether, in the midft of thefe, there be any 
 means of diftinguifhing a true from a cor- 
 rupted Tafte. This brings us to the moft dif- 
 ficult part of our tafk. For it rnuft be ac- 
 knowledged, that no principle of the human 
 mind is, in its operations, more fluctuating 
 and capricious than Tafte. Its variations 
 have been fo great and frequent, as to create a 
 fufpicion with fome, of its being merely arbi- 
 trary 3 grounded on no foundation, afcertain- 
 
 ablq
 
 TASTE. 
 
 able by no ftandard, but wholly dependent on L E c T. 
 changing fancy; the confequence of which 
 would be, that all itudies or regular inquiries 
 concerning the objects of Tafte were vain. In 
 architecture, the Grecian models were long 
 efteemed the moil perfect. In fucceeding ages, 
 the Gothic architecture alone prevailed, and 
 afterwards the Grecian Tafte revived in all its 
 vigour, and engroffed the public admiration. 
 In eloquence and poetry, the Afiatics at no 
 time relifhed any thing but what was full of 
 ornament, and fplendid in a degree that we 
 fhould denominate gawdy j whilft the Greeks 
 tidmired only chafte and fimple beauties, and 
 defpifed the Afiatic oftentation. In our own 
 country, how many writings that were greatly 
 extolled two or three centuries ago, are now 
 fallen into entire difrepute and oblivion ? 
 Without going back to remote inf^ances, how 
 very different is the tafte of poetry which pre- 
 vails in Great Britain now, from what pre- 
 vailed there no longer ago than the reign of 
 king Charles II. which the authors too of that 
 time deemed an Auguftan age: when nothing 
 was in vogue but an affected brilliancy of wit ; 
 when the fimple majefty of Milton was over- 
 looked, and Paradife Loft almoft entirely un- 
 known ; when Cowley's laboured and un- 
 natural conceits were admired as the very 
 quinteffence of genius ; Waller's gay fprighdi- 
 nefs was miftaken for the tender fpirit of Love 
 VOL. I. D poetry;
 
 34 
 
 TASTE. 
 
 L E c T. poetry ; and fuch writers as Suckling and 
 Etheridse were held in efteem for dramatic 
 
 compofition 
 
 THE queftion is, what conclufion we are to 
 form from fuch inftances as thefe ? Is there 
 any thing that can be called a ftandard of 
 Tafte, by appealing to which we may dif- 
 tinguifli between a good and a bad Tafte ? 
 Or, is there in truth no fuch diftinction ; and 
 are we to hold that, according to the proverb, 
 there is no diiputing of Taftes ; but that what- 
 ever pleafes is right, for that reafon that it 
 does pleale ? This is the queftion, and a very 
 nice and fubtile one it is, which we are now to 
 diicufs. 
 
 I BEGIN by obferving, that if there be no 
 fuch thing as any ftandard of Tafte, this con- 
 lequence muft immediately follow, that all 
 Taftes are equally goodj a pofition which, 
 though it may pafs unnoticed in flight matters, 
 and when we fpeak of the lefler differences: 
 
 among the Taftes of men, yet when we apply 
 it to the extremes, prefently fhows its ab- 
 ilirdity. For is there any one who will fe- 
 riouily maintain that the Tafte of a Hottentot 
 or a Laplander is as delicate and as correct as 
 that of a Longinus or an Addifon ? or, that 
 he can be charged with no defect or incapacity 
 who thinks a common news-writer as excellent 
 
 an
 
 TASTE. 
 
 an Hiftorian as Tacitus ? As it would be held L 
 downright extravagance to talk in this man- 
 ner, we are led unavoidably to this conclufion, 
 that there is fome foundation for the prefer- 
 ence of one man's Tafte to that of another; or, 
 that there is a good and a bad, a right and a 
 wrong in Tafte, as in other things. 
 
 BUT to prevent miftakes on this fubject, ic 
 is neceffary to obferve next, that the diverfity 
 of Taftes which prevails among mankind, does 
 not in every cafe infer corruption of Tafte, or 
 oblige us to feek for fome ftandard in order to 
 determine who are in the right. The Taftes 
 of men may differ very confiderably as to their 
 object, and yet none of them be wrong. One 
 man relilhes Poetry moft; another takes plea- 
 fure in nothing but Hiftory. One prefers Co- 
 medy; another, Tragedy. One admires the 
 fimple ; another, the ornamented ftyle. The 
 young are amufed with gay and fprightly 
 compofitions. The elderly are more enter- 
 tained with thofe of a graver caft. Some na- 
 tions delight in bold pictures of manners, and 
 ftrong reprefentations of paffion. Others in- 
 cline to more correct and regular elegance 
 both in defcription and fentiment. Though 
 all differ, yet all pitch upon fome one beauty 
 which peculiarly fuits their turn of mind; and 
 therefore no one has a title to condemn the 
 reft. It is not in matters of Tafte, as in 
 D 2 queftions
 
 <6 TASTE. 
 
 L E c T. queftions of mere reafon, where there is but 
 one conclufion that can be true, and all the reft 
 are erroneous. Truth, which is the object of 
 reafon, is one ; Beauty, which is the objecl; of 
 Tafte, is manifold. Tafle therefore admits 
 of latitude and diverfity of objects, in fuffi- 
 cient confiftency with goodnefs or juftnefs of 
 Tafte. 
 
 BUT then, to explain this matter thoroughly, 
 I muft obferve farther, that this admiffible di- 
 verfity of Taftes can only have place where the 
 objects of Tafte are different. Where it is 
 with refpect to the fame object that men dif- 
 agree, when one condemns that as ugly, which 
 another admires as highly beautiful; then it is 
 no longer diverfity, but direct oppofition" of 
 Tafte that takes place; and therefore one muft 
 be in the rio;ht and another in the wrong, un- 
 
 O O* 
 
 lefs tlmt abfurd paradox were allowed to hold, 
 that all Taftes are equally good and true. 
 One man prefers Virgil to Homer. Suppofe 
 that I, on the other hand, admire Homer 
 more than Virgil. I have as yet no reafon to 
 fay that our Taftes are contradictory. The 
 other peifon is moft ftruck with the elegance 
 and tendernefs which are the characteriftics 
 of Virgil ; I, with the fimplicity and fire of 
 Homer. As long as neither of us deny that 
 both Homer and Virgil have great beauties, 
 our difference falls within the compafs of 
 
 that
 
 TASTE. 37 
 
 that diverfity of Taftes, which I have flawed L E n c T - 
 to be natural and allowable. But if the other 
 man lhall aftert that Homer has no beauties 
 whatever; that he holds him to be a dull and 
 fpiritlefs writer, and that he would as foon 
 perufe any old legend of Knight-errantry as 
 the Ili^d j then I exclaim, that my antagonift 
 either is void of all Tafte, or that his Tafte is 
 corrupted in a miferable degree ; and I appeal 
 to whatever I think the ftandard of Tafte, to 
 (hew him that he is in the wrong. 
 
 .WHAT that ftandard is, to which, in 
 fuch oppofition of Taftes, we are obliged to 
 have recourfe, remains to be traced. A ftand- 
 ard properly fignifies, that which is of fuch 
 undoubted authority as to be the teft of other 
 things of the fame kind. Thus a ftandard 
 weight or meafure, is that which is appointed 
 by law to regulate all other meafures and 
 weights. Thus the court is faid to be the 
 ftandard of good breeding ; and the fcripture, 
 of theological truth. 
 
 WHN we fay that nature is the ftandard of 
 Tafte, we lay down a principle very true and 
 juft, as far as it can be applied. There is no 
 doubt, that in all cafes where an imitation is 
 intended of fome object that exifts in nature, 
 as in reprelenting human characters or actions, 
 conformity to nature .affords a full and diftinct 
 D 3 criterion
 
 3* TASTE. 
 
 L E c T. criterion of what is truly beautiful. Reafbn 
 hath in fuch cafes full fcope for exerting its 
 authority, for approving or condemning; by 
 comparing the copy with the original. But 
 there are innumerable cafes in which this rule 
 cannot be at all applied ; and conformity to 
 nature, is an expreflion frequently ufed, with- 
 out any diftinct or determinate meaning. We 
 muft therefore fearch for fomewhat that can 
 be rendered more clear and precife, to be the 
 ftandard of Tafte. 
 
 TASTE, as I before explained it, is ulti- 
 mately founded on an internal fenfe of beauty, 
 which is natural to men, and which, in its ap- 
 plication to particular objects, is capable of 
 being guided and enlightened by reafon. 
 Now, -were there any one perfon who poflefled 
 in full perfection all the powers of human na- 
 ture, whofe internal fenfes were in every in- 
 ftance exquifite and juft, and whofe reafon 
 was unerring and fure, the determinations of 
 fuch a perfon concerning beauty, would, be- 
 yond doubt, be a perfect ftandard for the 
 Tafte of all others. Wherever their Tafte 
 differed from his, it could be imputed only 
 to fome imperfection in their natural powers, 
 But as there is no fuch living ftandard, no 
 one perfon to whom all mankind will allow 
 fuch fubmifiion to be due, what is there of 
 furncient authority to be the ftandard of the 
 
 various
 
 TASTE. 59 
 
 various and oppofite Taftes of men ? Mod L E n c T ' 
 certainly there is nothing but the Tafte, as 
 far as it can be gathered, of human nature. 
 That which men concur the moft in admiring, 
 muft be held to be beautiful. His Tafte 
 muft be efteemed juft .and true, which coin- 
 cides with the general fentiments of men. In 
 this ftandard we muft reft. To the fenfc of 
 mankind the ultimate appeal muft ever lie, 
 in all works of Tafte. If any one fhould 
 maintain that fugar was bitter and tobacco 
 
 <**> 
 
 was fweet, no reafonings could avail to prove 
 it. The Tafte of fuch a perfon would infal- 
 libly be held to be difeafed, merely becaufe 
 it differed fo widely from the Tafte of the 
 fpecies to which he belongs. In like manner, 
 with regard to the objects of fentiment or in- 
 ternal Tafte, the common feelings of men 
 carry the fame authority, and have a title to 
 regulate the Tafte of every individual. 
 
 BUT have we then, it will be faid, no other 
 criterion of what is beautiful, than the appro- 
 bation of the majority ? Muft we collect the 
 voices of others, before we form any judg- 
 ment for ourfelves, of what defer ves applaufs 
 in Eloquence or Poetry ? By no means ; 
 there are principles of reafon and found judg- 
 ment which can be applied to matters of 
 Tafte as well as to the fubjects of fcience and 
 phiiofophy. He who admires or cenfures any 
 D 4 work
 
 40 TASTE. 
 
 L E C T. 
 
 II. 
 
 work of genius, is always read/, if his Tafte 
 be in any degree improved, to affign feme rea- 
 fons of his decifion. He appeals to principles, 
 and points out the grounds on which he pro- 
 ceeds. Tafte is a fort of compound power, 
 in which the light of the understanding always 
 mingles, more or lefs, with the feelings of 
 fentiment. 
 
 BUT, though reafon can carry us a certain 
 length in judging concerning works of Tafte, 
 it is not to be forgotten that the ultimate con- 
 clufions to which our reafonings lead, refer at 
 lad to fenfe and perception. We may fpecu- 
 late and argue concerning propriety of con- 
 duct in a Tragedy, or an Epic Poem. Juft 
 reafonings on the fubject will correct the ca- 
 price of unenlightened Tafte, and eftablifh 
 principles for judging of what deferves praife. 
 But, at the fame time, thefe reafonings appeal 
 always, in the laft refort, to feeling. The 
 foundation upon which they reft, is what has 
 been found from experience to pleafe mankind 
 univerfally. Upon this ground we prefer a 
 fimple and natural, to an artificial and affected 
 'ftyle; a regular and well- connected ftory, to 
 loofe and fcattered narratives; a cataftrophe 
 which is tender and pathetic, to one which 
 leaves us unmoved. It is from confulting 
 our own imagination and heart, and from 
 attending to the feelings of others, that 
 
 any
 
 TASTE. v .41 
 
 any principles are formed which acquire autho- LE c T - 
 rity in matters of Tafte*. 
 
 WHEN we refer to the concurring fentiments 
 of men as the ultimate teft of what is to be 
 accounted beautiful in the arts, this is to be 
 always underftood of men placed in fuch fitua- 
 tions as are favourable to the, proper ''exertions 
 of Tafte. Every one mult perceive, that 
 
 * The difference between the authors who found the 
 flandard of Tafte upon the common feelings of human na- 
 ture afcertained by general approbation, and thofe who 
 found it upon eftablifhed principles which can be afcer- 
 tained by Reafon, is more r,n apparent than a real dif- 
 ference. Like many other literary controverlies, it turns 
 chiefly on modes of expreffion. For they who lay the 
 greateft ftrefs on fentiment and feeling, make no fcruple 
 of applying argument and reafon to matters of Tafte. They 
 appeal, like other writers, to eftablifhed principles, in 
 judging of the excellencies of Eloquence or Poetry ; and 
 plainly (hew, that the general approbation to which they 
 ultimately recur, is an approbation refulting from diicuffion 
 as well as from fentiment. They, on the other hand, who, 
 in order to vindicate Tafte from any fufpicion of being arbi- 
 trary, maintain that it is afcertainable by the ftandard of 
 Reafon, admit neverthelefs, that what pleafes univerfally, 
 muft on that account be held to be truly beautiful ; and 
 that no rules or conclufions concerning objecls of Tafte, 
 can have any juft authority, if they be found to contradict 
 the general fentiments of men. Thefe two fyftems, there- 
 fore, differ in reality very little from one another. Senti- 
 ment and Reafon enter into both ; and by allowing to each 
 of thefe powers its due place, both fyftems may be tendered 
 confiftent. Accordingly, it is in this light that I have en- 
 deavoured to place the fubjedl. 
 
 among
 
 TASTE. 
 
 among rude and uncivilized nations, and 
 during the ages of ignorance and darknefs, 
 any loofe notions that are entertained concern- 
 ing fuch fybjects carry no authority. In thole 
 ftates of fociety, Tafte has no materials on 
 which to operate. It is either totally fup- 
 prefled, or appears in its lowed and molt im- 
 perfect form. We refer to the fentiments of 
 mankind in polifhed and flourifhing nations ; 
 when arts are cultivated and manners refined; 
 when works of genius are fubjected to free 
 difcuifion, and Tafte is improved by Science 
 and Philofbphy, 
 
 EVEN among nations, at fuch a period of 
 fociety, I admit, that accidental caufes may 
 occafionally warp the proper operations of 
 Tafte j fometimes the flate of religion, fome- 
 tirnes the form of government, may for a 
 while pervert it; a licentious court may in- 
 troduce a Tafte for falfe ornaments, and diiTo- 
 lute writings. The ufage of one admired 
 genius may procure approbation for his faults, 
 and even render them fafhionable. Sometimes 
 envy may have power to bear down, for a 
 little, productions of great merit; while po- 
 pular humour, or party fpirit, may, at other 
 times, exalt to a high, though fhort- lived, 
 reputation, what little deferved it. But though 
 fuch cafual circumftances give the appearance 
 of caprice to the judgments of Tafte, that 
 
 appearance
 
 TASTE. 43 
 
 appearance is cafily corrected. In the courfe L E c T 
 of time, the genuine Tafte of human nature 
 never fails to difclofe itfelf, and to gain the 
 afcendant over any fantaftic and corrupted 
 modes of Tafte which may chance to have 
 been introduced. Thefe may have currency 
 for a while, and miflead fuperficial judges ; 
 but being fubjected to examination, by de- 
 grees fhey pafs away ; while that alone remains 
 which is founded on found reafon, and the 
 native feelings of men. 
 
 I BY no means pretend, that there is any 
 ftandard of Tafte, to which, in every particular 
 inftance, we can refort for clear and immediate 
 determination. Where, indeed, is fuch a ftand- 
 ard to be found for deciding any of thofe great 
 controverfies in reafon and phiiofophy, .which 
 perpetually divide mankind ? In the prefent 
 cafe, there was plainly no occafion for any fuch 
 {Irict and abfolute provifion to be made. In 
 order to judge of what is morally good or evil, 
 of what man ought, or ought not in duty to do, 
 it was fit that the means of clear and precife 
 determination fhould be afforded us. But to 
 afcertain in every cafe with the utmoft exact- 
 nefs what is beautiful or elegant, was not at 
 all necefiary to the happinefs of man. And 
 therefore fome diverfity in feeling was here 
 allowed to take place ; and room was left for 
 difculfion and debate, concerning the degree 
 
 of
 
 44 TASTE. 
 
 L E^ c T. O f approbation to which any work of genius is 
 entitled. 
 
 THE conclufion, which it is fufficient for us to 
 reft upon, is, that Tafte is far from being an ar- 
 bitrary principle, which is fubject to the fancy 
 of every individual, and which admits of no 
 criterion for determining whether it be falfe or 
 true. Its foundation is the fame in all human 
 minds. It is built upon fentiments and per- 
 ceptions which belong to our nature; and 
 which, in general, operate with the fame 
 uniformity as our other intellectual principles. 
 When thefe fentiments are perverted by igno- 
 rance and prejudice, they are capable of being 
 rectified by reafon. Their found and natural 
 (late is ultimately determined, by comparing 
 them with the general Tafte of mankind. Let 
 men declaim as. much as they pleafe, concern- 
 ing the caprice and the uncertainty of Tafte, it 
 is found, by experience, that there are beauties, 
 which if they be difplayed in a proper light, have 
 power to command lafting and general admi- 
 rstion. In every ' compofition, what interefts 
 the imagination, and touches the heart, pleafes 
 all ages and all nations. There is a certain 
 ftring, to which, when properly ftruck, the 
 human heart is fo made as to anfwer. 
 
 HENCE the univerfal teftimony which the 
 mod improved nations of the earth have con- 
 
 fpired,
 
 TASTE. 45 
 
 ipired, throughout a long tract of ages, to 
 give to fome few works of genius ; fuch as 
 the Iliad of Homer, and the JEneid of Virgil. 
 Hence the authority which fuch works have 
 acquired as ftandards, in _fome degree, of 
 poetical compofition , fince from them we are 
 enabled to collect what the fenfe of mankind 
 is, concerning thofe beauties which give them 
 the higheft pleafure, and which therefore 
 poetry ought to exhibit. Authority or pre- 
 judice may, in one age or country, give a 
 temporary reputation to an indifferent poet, 
 or a bad artift ; but when foreigners, or when 
 pofterity examine his works, his faults are 
 difcerned, and the genuine Tafte of human 
 nature appears. " Opinionum commenta delet 
 " dies 5 naturae judicia confirmat/' Time 
 overthrows the illufions of opinion, but efta- 
 bliihes the decifions of nature.
 
 LECTURE III. 
 
 CRITICISM. GENIUS. PLEASURES OF 
 TASTE. SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 TASTE, Criticifm, and Genius, are words 
 currently employed, without diftinct 
 ideas annexed to them. In beginning a courfe 
 
 D O 
 
 of Lectures where fuch words muft often oc- 
 cur, it is neceflary to afcertain their meaning 
 with fome precifion. Having in the laft 
 Le6lure treated of Tafte, I proceed to explain 
 the nature and foundation of Criticifm. True 
 Criticifm is the application of Tafte and of 
 good fenfe to the feveral fine arts. The 
 object which it propofes is, to diftinguifh 
 what is beautiful and what is faulty in every 
 performance; from particular inftances to 
 afcend to general principles ; and fo to form 
 rules or conclufions concerning the feveral 
 kinds of beauty in works of Genius. 
 
 THE rules of Criticifm are not formed by 
 any induction', a priori, as it is called - 3 that
 
 CRITICISM. 47 
 
 is, they are not formed by a train of abftract L 
 reafoning, independent of facts and obferva- 
 tions. Criticifm is an art founded wholly on 
 experience ; on the obfervation of fuch beau- 
 ties as have come neareft to the ftandard which 
 I before eftablifhed ; that is, of fuch beauties 
 as have been found to pleafe mankind moft 
 generally. For example -, Ariftotle's rules 
 concerning the unity of action in dramatic 
 and epic compofition, were not rules firft dif- 
 covered by logical reafoning, and then applied 
 to poetry , but they were drawn from the 
 practice of Homer and Sophocles: they were 
 founded upon obferving the fuperior pleafure 
 which we receive from the relation of an action 
 which is one and entire, beyond what we re- 
 ceive from the relation of fcattered and un- 
 connected facts. Such obfervations taking 
 their rife at firft from feeling and experience, 
 were found on examination to be fo confonant 
 to reafon, and to the principles of human 
 nature, as to pafs into eftablifhed rules, and 
 to be conveniently applied for judging of 
 the excellency of any performance. This is 
 the moft natural account of the origin of' 
 Criticifm. 
 
 A MASTERLY genius, it is true, will of 
 
 himfelf, untaught, compofe in fuch a manner 
 
 as fhall be agreeable to the moft material rules 
 
 of Criticifm $ for as thefc rules are founded in 
 
 7 nature,
 
 48 CRITICISM. 
 
 T - nature, nature will often fuggeft them in 
 j practice. Homer, it is more than probable, 
 was acquainted with no fyftems of the art of 
 poetry. Guided by genius alone, he compofed 
 in verfe a regular ftory, which all pofterity 
 has admired. But this is no argument againft 
 the ufefulnefs of Criticifm as an art. For as 
 no human genius is perfect, there is no writer 
 but may receive afliftance from critical ob- 
 fervations upon the beauties and faults of 
 thofe who have gone before him. No ob- 
 fervations or rules can indeed fupply the defect 
 of genius or infpire it where it is wanting. 
 But they may often direct it into its proper 
 channel ; they may correct its extravagancies, 
 and point out to it the moft juft and proper 
 imitation of nature. Critical rules are de- 
 figned chiefly to flicw the faults that ought to 
 be avoided. To nature we muft be indebted 
 for the production of eminent beauties. 
 
 FROM what has been faid, we are enabled 
 to form a judgment concerning thofe com- 
 plaints which it has long been falhionable for 
 petty authors to make againft Critics and 
 Criticifm. Critics have been reprefented as 
 the great abridgers of the native liberty of 
 genius ; as the impofers of unnatural fhackles 
 and bonds upon writers, from whofe cruel 
 perfecution they muft fly to the" Public, and 
 implore its protection. Such fupplicatory 
 5 prefaces
 
 CRITICISM, 
 
 prefaces are not calculated to give very favour- 
 able ideas of the genius of the author. For 
 every- good writer will be pleafed to have his 
 work examined by the principles of found 
 underftunding, and true Tafte. The decla- 
 mations againft Criticifm commonly proceed 
 upon this fuppofition, that. Critics are fuch as 
 judge by rule, not by feeling ; which is fo far 
 from being true, that they who judge after 
 this manner are Pedants, not Critics. For all 
 the rules of genuine Criticifm I have Ihewn. 
 to be ultimately founded on feeling; and 
 Tafte and Feeling are neceffary to guide us 
 in the application of thefe rules to every par- 
 ticular inftance. As there is nothing in which 
 all forts of perfons more readily affect to be 
 judges than in works of Tafte, there is no 
 doubt that the number of incompetent Critics 
 will always be great. But this affords no 
 more foundation for a general invective againft 
 Criticifm, than the number of bad philofophers 
 or reafoners affords againft reafon and philp- 
 fophy. 
 
 AN objection more plaufible may be formed 
 againft Criticifm, from the applaufe that fome 
 performances have received from the Public, 
 which, when accurately considered, are found 
 to contradict the rules eftablifhed by Criticifm. 
 Now, according to the principles laid down 
 in the laft Lecture, the Public is the fupreme 
 
 VOL. I. F judge
 
 5 o CRITICISM. 
 
 L E c T. judge to whom the laft appeal muft be made 
 in every work of Tafte; as the ftandard of 
 Tafte is founded on the fentiments that are 
 natural and common to all men. But with 
 refpecl to this, we are to obferve, that the 
 fenfe of the Public is often too haftily judged 
 of. The genuine public Tafte does not always 
 appear in the firft applaufe given upon the 
 publication of any new work. There are both 
 a great vulgar and a fmall, apt to be catched 
 and dazzled by very fuperfioial beauties, the 
 admiration of which, in a little time paffes 
 away : and fometimes a writer may acquire 
 great temporary reputation merely by his com- 
 pliance with the paffions or prejudices, with 
 the party- fpirit or fuperftitious notions, that 
 may chance to rule for a time almoft a whole 
 nation. In fuch cafes, though the Public may 
 fcem to praife, true Criticifm jnay with reafon 
 condemn ; and it will in progrefs of time gain 
 the afcendant : for the judgment of true Cri- 
 ticifm, and the voice of the Public, when once- 
 become unprejudiced and difpaflionate, will 
 ever coincide at laft. 
 
 INSTANCES, I admit, there are, of fome 
 works that contain grofs tranfgrefllons of the 
 laws of Criticifm, acquiring, neverthelefs, a 
 genera], and even a lafting admiration. Such 
 are the plays of Shakefpeare, which, confidered 
 as dramatic poems, are irregular in the higheft 
 5 degree.
 
 CRITICISM. 51 
 
 degree. But then we are to remark, that L E p T - 
 they have gained the public admiration, not 
 by their being irregular, not by their tranf- 
 greffions of the rules of art, but in fpite 
 of fuch tranfgreffions. They pofTefs other 
 beauties which are conformable to juft rules ; 
 and the force of thefe beauties has been fo 
 great as to overpower all cenfure, and to give 
 the Public a* degree of fatisfaction fupeiior to 
 the difguft arifing from their blemifhes. 
 Shakefpeare pleafes, not by his bringing the 
 tranfactions of many years into one play; not 
 by his groteique mixtures of Tragedy and 
 Comedy in , one piece, nor by the drained 
 thoughts, and affecled witticifms,. which he 
 fometitnes employs. Thefe we confider as 
 biemiihes, and impute them to the groffhefs 
 of the age in which he lived. But he pleafes 
 by his animated and mafterly reprefentations 
 of characters, by the livelinefs of his defcrip- 
 tions, the force of his fentiments, and his 
 pofieffing, beyond all writers, the natural lan- 
 guage of pafiion : beauties which true Criticifm 
 no lefs teaches us to place in the higheft rank, 
 than Nature teaches us to feel. 
 
 I PROCEED next to explain the meaning of 
 another term, which there will be frequent 
 occafron to employ in thefe Lectures ; that is, 
 Genius. 
 
 E i TASTE;
 
 52 GENIUS. 
 
 L E c T. TASTE and Genius are two words frequently 
 joined together ; and therefore, by inaccurate 
 thinkers, confounded. They fignify however 
 two quite different things. The difference 
 between them can be clearly pointed out ; 
 and it is of importance to remember it. Tafte 
 confifts in the power of judging : Genius, in 
 the power of executing. One may have a 
 confiderable degree of Tafle in Poetry, Elo- 
 quence, or any of the fine arts, who has little 
 or hardly any Genius for compofition or exe- 
 cution in any of thefe arts : but Genius can- 
 not be found without including Tafte alfo. 
 Genius, therefore, deferves to be confidered 
 as a higher power of the mind than Tafle. 
 Genius always imports fomething inventive or 
 creative} which does not reft in mere fenfibi- 
 lity to beauty where it is perceived, but which 
 can, moreover, produce new beauties, and ex- 
 hibit them in fuch a manner as ftrongly to 
 imprefs the minds of others. Refined Tafle 
 forms a good critic j but Genius is farther ne- 
 ceflary to form the poet, or the orator. 
 
 IT is proper alfo to obferve, that Genius is 
 a word, which, in common ac<*eptation, ex- 
 tends much farther than to the objects of 
 Tafte. It is ufed to fignify that talent or 
 aptitude which we receive from nature, for 
 excelling in any one thing whatever. Thus 
 we fpeak of a Genius for mathematics, as well 
 6 as
 
 GENIUS. 53 
 
 as a Genius for poetry ; of a Genius for war, L E n {- T - 
 for politics, or for any mechanical employ- 
 ment. 
 
 THIS talent or aptitude for excelling in 
 fome one particular, is, I have faid, what we 
 receive from nature. By art and ftudy, no 
 doubt, it may be greatly improved j but by 
 them alone it cannot be acquired. As Genius 
 is a higher faculty than Tafte, it is ever, ac- 
 cording to the ufual frugality of nature, more 
 limited in the fphere of its operations. It is 
 not uncommon to meet with perfons who have 
 an excellent Tafte in feveral of the polite arts, 
 fuch as mufic, poetry, painting, and eloquence, 
 all together : but, to find one who is an ex- 
 cellent performer in all thefe arts, is much 
 more rare ; or rather, indeed, fuch an one is 
 not to be looked for. A fort of Univerfal 
 Genius, or one who is equally and indifferently 
 turned towards feveral different profefiions and 
 arts, is not likely to excel in any. Although 
 there may be fome few exceptions, yet in 
 general it holds, that when the bent of the 
 mind is wholly directed' towards fome one 
 object, exclufive, in a manner, of others, there 
 is the faireft profpect of eminence in that, 
 whatever it be. The rays muft converge to a 
 point, in order to glow intenfely. This re- 
 mark I here chufe to make, on account of its 
 great importance to young people j in leading 
 E 3 them
 
 54 G E N I U S. 
 
 L E c T. them to examine with care, and to purfue with 
 ardour, the current and pointing of nature to- 
 wards thofe exertions of Genius in which they 
 are moft likely to excel. 
 
 A GENIUS for any of the fine arts, as I before 
 obferved, always fuppofes Tafte ; and it is 
 clear, that the improvement of Tafte will ferve 
 both to forward and to correct the operations 
 of Genius. In proportion as the Tafte of a 
 poet, or orator, becomes more refined with 
 refpecl: to the beauties of compofition, it will 
 certainly affift him to produce the more finifhed 
 beauties in his work. Genius, however, in a 
 Poet or Orator, may fometimes exift in a higher 
 degree than Tafte ; that is, Genius may be 
 bold and ftrong, when Tafte is neither very 
 delicate, nor very correct. This is often the 
 cafe in the infancy of arts ; a period when 
 Genius frequently, exerts itfelf with great 
 vigour and executes with much warmth ; 
 while Tafte, which requires experience, and 
 improves by flower degrees, hath not yet at- 
 tained to its full growth. Homer and Shake- 
 fpeare are proofs of what I now affert ; in whofe 
 admirable writings are found inftances of 
 rudenefs and indelicacy, which the more re- 
 fined Tafte of later writers, who had far in- 
 ferior Genius to them, would have taught them 
 to avoid. As all human perfection is limited, 
 this may very probably be die law of our na- 
 ture,
 
 PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 ture, that it is not given to one man to exe- L 
 cute with vigour and fire, and, at the fame 
 time, to attend to all the lefier and more refined 
 graces that belong to the exact perfection of 
 his work : while, on the other hand, a thorough 
 Tafte for thofe inferior graces, is, for the moft 
 part, accompanied with a diminution of fubU- 
 mity and force. 
 
 HAVING thus explained the nature of Tafte, 
 the nature and importance of Criticifm, and 
 the diftinction between Tafte and Genius ; 
 I- am now to confider the fources of the Plea- 
 fures of Tafte. Here opens a very extenfive 
 field ; no lefs than all the pleafures of the 
 imagination, as they are commonly called, 
 whether afforded us by natural objects, or by 
 the imitations and defcriptions of them. But 
 it is not necefTary to the purpofe of my Lec- 
 tures, that all thefe fhonld be examined fully ; 
 the pleafure which we receive from difcourfe, 
 or writing, being the main object of them. 
 All that I propofe, is to give fome openings 
 into the Pleafures of Tafte in general ; and to 
 iniift more particularly upon Sublimity and 
 Beauty. 
 
 WE are far from having yet attained to any 
 
 fyftem concerning this fubject. Mr. Addifon 
 
 was the firft who attempted a regular inquiry, 
 
 in his EiTay on the Pleafures of the Imagina- 
 
 E 4 tion,
 
 S 6 PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 E C 
 in. 
 
 : T - tion, publifhed in the fixth volume of the 
 
 Spectator. He has reduced thefe Pleafures 
 under three heads ; Beauty, Grandeur, and 
 Novelty. His fpeculations on this fubject, 
 if not exceedingly profound, are, however, 
 very beautiful and entertaining; and he has 
 the merit of having opened a track, which was 
 before unbeaten. The advances made fince 
 his time in this curious part of philofophical 
 Criticifm, are not every confiderable ; though 
 ..fome ingenious writers have purfued the fub- 
 ject. This is owing, doubtleis, to that thin- 
 nefs and fubtility which are found to be pro- 
 perties of all the feelings of Tafte. They are 
 engaging objects ; but when we would lay 
 firm hold of them, and fubject them to a re- 
 gular difcuffion, they are always ready to elude 
 our grafp. It is difficult to make a full enu- 
 meration of the feveral objects that give plea- 
 fure to Tafte ; it is more difficult to define all 
 thofe which have been difcovered, and to re- 
 duce them under proper clafles ; and, when 
 we would go farther, and invefiigate the effi- 
 cient caufes of the pleafure which we receive 
 from fuch objects, here, above all, we find 
 ourfelves at a lofs. For inftance ; 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 fome figures, and the graceful variety of 
 others, are the foundation of the beauty which
 
 PLEASURES OF TASTE. 57 
 
 we difcern in them ; but when we attempt to L E c T 
 go a flep beyond this, and inquire what is 
 the caufe of regularity and variety producing 
 in our minds the fenfation of Beauty, any 
 reafon we can afijgn is extremely imperfect. 
 Thefe firft principles of internal fenfation, 
 nature feems to have covered with an impe- 
 netrable veil. 
 
 IT is fome comfort, however, that although 
 the efficient caufe be obfcure, the final caufe 
 of thofe fenfations lies in many cafes more 
 open : and, in entering on this fubjedt, we 
 cannot avoid taking notice of the flrong im- 
 preffion which the powers of Tafte and Ima- 
 gination are calculated to give us of the be- 
 nignity of our Creator. By endowing us with 
 fuch powers, he hath widely enlarged the 
 fphere of the pleafures of human life ; and 
 thofe, too, of a kind the moft pure and inno- 
 cent. The necefTary purpofes of life might 
 have been abundantly anfwercd, though our 
 fenfes of feeing and hearing had only ferved 
 to diftinguifh external objects, without con- 
 veying to us any of thofe refined and delicate 
 fenfations of Beauty and Grandeur, with 
 which we are now fo much delighted. This 
 additional embellifhment and glory, which, 
 for promoting our entertainment, the Au- 
 thor of nature hath poured forth upon his 
 works, is one finking teftimony, among many 
 
 others,
 
 5 8 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 others, of benevolence and goodnefs. This 
 thought, which Mr. Addifon firft darted, Dr. 
 Akenfide, in his Poem on the Pleafures of the 
 Imagination, has happily puriiied, 
 
 -Not content 
 
 With every food of life to nourifh man, 
 By kind illufions of the wondering fenfe, 
 Thou mak'ft all nature, Beauty to his eye, 
 Or Mufic to his ear. . 
 
 I SHALL 'begin with confidering the Pleafure 
 which arifes from Sublimity or Grandeur, of 
 which I propofe to treat at fome length -, both, 
 as this has a character more precife and dif- 
 tinctly marked, than any other, of the Plea- 
 fures of the Imagination, and as it coincides 
 more directly with our main fubject. For the 
 greater diftinctnefs I fhall, firft, treat of the 
 Grandeur or Sublimity of external objects 
 themfelves, which will employ the reft of this 
 Lecture ; and, afterwards, of the defcription 
 of fuch, objects, or of what is called the Sub- 
 lime in Writing, which fhall be the fubject 
 of a following Lecture. I diftinguifh thefc 
 two things from one another, the Grandeur of 
 the objects themfelves when they are prefented 
 to the eye, and the defcription of that Gran- 
 deur in difcourfe or writing ; though mod 
 Critics, inaccurately I think, blend them 
 together ; and I confider Grandeur and Sub- 
 limity as terms fynonymous, or nearly fo. 
 
 If
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 If there be any diftinflion between them, it L F , c 
 
 ' i . 
 
 arifes from Sublimity's expreffing Grandeur in 
 its higheft degree *. 
 
 IT is not eafy to defcribe, in words, the pre- 
 cife impreffion which great and fubiime ob- 
 jects make upon us, when we behold them ; 
 but every one has a conception of it. It pro- 
 duces a fort of internal elevation and expan- 
 fionj it raifes the mind much above its ordi- 
 nary ftate ; and fills it with a degree of won- 
 der and ailonifhment, which it cannot well ex- 
 prefs. The emotion is certainly delightful j 
 but it is altogether of the ferious kind : a de- 
 gree of awfulneis and folemnity, even ap- 
 proaching to feverity, commonly attends it 
 when at its height; very diftinguifhable from 
 the more gay and brifk emotion raifed by 
 beautiful objects. 
 
 THE fimplefl form of external Grandeur ap- 
 pears in the vail and boundlefs profpects pre- 
 f^nted to us by nature ; fuch as wide extended 
 plains, to which the eye can fee no limits ; 
 the firmament of Heaven j or the boundlefs 
 expanfe of the Ocean. All vaftnefs produces 
 the impreffion of Sublimity. It is to be re- 
 marked, however, that ipace, extended in 
 
 * See a Philofoph'cal Inquiry into the Origin of our 
 Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Dr. Gerard on Tafte, 
 Se&ion II. Elements of Criticifm, Chap. IV. 
 
 length,
 
 60 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 length, makes not fo ftrong an impreffion as 
 height or depth. Though a boundlefs 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 ftill more fo. The excef- 
 five Grandeur of the firmament arifes from 
 its height, joined to its boundlefs extent; and 
 that of the ocean, not from its extent alone, 
 but from the perpetual motion and irrefiftible 
 force of that mafs of waters. Wherever fpace 
 is concerned, it is clear, that amplitude or 
 greatnefs of extent, in one dimenfion or other, 
 is neceffary to Grandeur. Remove all bounds 
 from any object, and you prefently render it 
 fublime. Hence infinite fpace, endlefs num- 
 bers, and eternal duration, fill the mind with 
 great ideas. 
 
 FROM this fome have imagined, that vaft- 
 nefs, or amplitude of extent, is the foundation 
 of all Sublimity. But I cannot be of this 
 opinion, becaufe many objects appear fublime 
 which have no relation to fpace at all. Such, 
 for inflance, is great loudnefs of found. The 
 burft of thunder or of cannon, the roaring of 
 winds, the Ihouting of multitudes, the found 
 of vaft cataracts of warer, are all inconteftably 
 grand objects. " I heard the voice of a great 
 " multitude, as the found of many waters, 
 * and of mighty thunderings, faying Allelu- 
 
 " jah."
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 61 
 
 " jah." In general we may obferve, that L E jj 
 great power and force exerted, always raiie 
 fublime ideas ; and perhaps the moft copious 
 fource of thefe is derived from this quarter. 
 Hence the grandeur, of earthquakes and burn- 
 ing mountains -, of great conflagrations ; of 
 the ftormy ocean, and overflowing waters ; of 
 tempefts of wind; of thunder and lightning; 
 and of all the uncommon violence of the ele- 
 ments. Nothing is more fublime than mighty 
 power and ftrength. A ftream that runs 
 within itf banks, is a beautiful objeft ; but 
 when itf rulhes down with the impetuofity and 
 noife of a torrent, it prcfently becomes a fub- 
 lime one. From lions, and other animals 
 of ftrength, are drawn fublime comparifons 
 in poets. A race-horfe is looked upon with 
 pleafure ; but it is the war-horfe, " whole 
 " neck is clothed with thunder," that carries 
 grandeur in its idea. The engagement of two 
 great armies, as it is the higheil exertion of 
 human might, combines a variety of fources of 
 the Sublime ; and has accordingly been always 
 confidered as one of the moft ftriking and mag- 
 nificent fpeclacles that can be either prefented 
 to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in 
 defcription. 
 
 FOR the farther illuftradon of this fubject, 
 it is proper to remark, that all ideas of the 
 folemn and awful kind, and even bordering on 
 
 the
 
 6z SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 L E c T. {-fog terrible, tend greatly to afiift the Sublime; 
 fuch as darknefs, folitude, and filence. What 
 are the fcenes of nature that elevate the mind 
 in the higheft degree, and produce the fublime 
 fenfation ? Not the gay landfcape, the flowery 
 field, or the flourifhing city; but the hoary 
 mountain, and the folitary lake ; the aged 
 foreft, and the torrent falling over the rock. 
 Hence too, night- fcenes are commonly the 
 mod fublime. The firmament when filled 
 with (tars, fcattered in fuch vaft numbers, and 
 with fuch magnificent profufion, ftrikes the 
 imagination with a more awful grandeur, than 
 when we view it enlightened with all the fplen- 
 dour of the Sun. The deep found of a great 
 bell, or the ftriking of a great clock, are at 
 any time grand ; but, when heard amid the 
 filence and flillnefs of the night, they become 
 doubly fo. Darknefs is very commonly ap- 
 plied for adding fublimity to all our ideas of 
 the Deity. " He maketh darknefs his pa- 
 " vilion ; he dwelleth in the thick cloud." So 
 Milton : 
 
 How oft, amidft 
 
 Thick clouds and dark, does Heaven's all-ruling Sire 
 
 Chufe to refide, his glory unobfcur'd, 
 
 And, with the Majefty of darknefs, round 
 
 Circles his throne . BOOK. II. 263. 
 
 Obferve, with how^much art Virgil has intro- 
 duced all thofe ideas of filence, vacuity, and 
 darknefs, when he is going to introduce his 
 
 Hero
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 63 
 
 Hero to the infernal regions, and to difclofe L E T - 
 the fecrets of the great deep. 
 
 Dii quibus imperiumeft animarum, umbrasque filentes, 
 Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca no&e filentta late^ 
 Sit mihi fas audita lequi ; fit numine veftro 
 Pandere res aha terra, et calligine merfas. 
 Ibantobfcuri, fola fub nocSle, per umbram, 
 Perque domos Ditis vacuos, et inania regna ; 
 Quale per incertam lunam, fub luce maligna 
 Eft iter in fylvis - *. 
 
 Thefe paffages I quote at prefent, not fo much 
 as inftances of Sublime Writing, though in 
 themfelves they truly are fb, as to fhew, by 
 the effect of them, that the objects which 
 they prefent to us, belong to the clafs of fub-. 
 lime ones. 
 
 OBSCURITY, we are farther to .remark, is 
 not unfavourable to the Sublime. Though 
 
 * Ye fubterranean Gods, whofe awful fway 
 The gliding ghofts and filent fhades obey ; 
 O Chaos, hear! and Phlegethon profound ! 
 Whofe folemn empire itretches wide around ! 
 Give me, ye great tremendous powers ! to tell 
 Of fcenes and wonders in the depths of Hell ; 
 Give me your mighty fecrets to difplay, 
 From thofe black realms of darknefs to the day. 
 
 PITT. 
 
 Obfcure they went; through dreary fhades, that led 
 Along the wafte dominions of the dead; 
 *As wander tavellers in woods by night, 
 By the moon's doubtful and malignant light. 
 
 it
 
 64 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 L E II? T> lt render the objed indiftinft, the impreffion, 
 fc- -V * however, may be great ; for, as an ingenious 
 Author has well obferved, it is one thing to 
 make an idea clear, and another to make it 
 affecting to the imagination ; and the imagi- 
 nation may be flrongly affected, and, in fact, 
 often is fo, by objects of which we have no 
 clear conception. Thus we fee, that almoft 
 all the defcriptions given us of the appearances 
 of fupernatural Beings, carry fome Sublimity, 
 though the conceptions which they afford us 
 be confufed and indiflincl:. Their Sublimity 
 arifes from the ideas, which they always con- 
 vey, of fuperior power and might, joined with 
 an awful obfcurity. We may fee this fully 
 exemplified in the following noble pafTage of 
 the book of Job: " In thoughts from the 
 cc vifions of the night, when deep deep falleth 
 tc upon men, fear came upon me, and 
 " trembling, which made all my bones to 
 " (hake. Then a fpirit pafTed before my 
 " face ; the hair of my flefli flood up : it flood 
 fc ftill ; but I could not difcern the form 
 " thereof; an image was before mine eyes; 
 < c there was filence ; and I heard a voice 
 cc Shall mortal man be more juft than God* r" 
 
 (Job, 
 
 * The picture which Lucretius has drawn of the domi- 
 nion of fuperftition over mankind, reprefenting it as a por- 
 tentous fpe&re mowing its head from the clouds, and dif- 
 maying the whole human race with its countenance, toge- 
 ther with the magnanimity of Epicurus in raifing himfelf 
 
 up
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 65 
 
 (Job, iv. 15.) No ideas, ic is plain, are fo L E c T. 
 fiiblime as thofe taken from the Supreme 
 Being; the moft unknown, but the greateft 
 of all objects ; the infinity of whofe nature, 
 and the eternity of whofe duration, joined 
 with the omnipotence of his power, though 
 they ftirpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them 
 to the higheft. In general, all objects that 
 are greatly raifed above us, or far removed 
 from us either in fpace or in time, are apt to 
 ftrike us as great. Our viewing them, as 
 through the mift of diilance or antiquity, 
 is favourable to the impreffions of their Sub- 
 limity. 
 
 As obfcurity, fo diforder too, is very 
 compatible with grandeur , nay, frequently 
 heightens it. Few things that are ftrictly 
 regular, and methodical, appear fublime. 
 We fee the limits on every fide ; we feel our- 
 felves confined j there is no room for the 
 mind's exerting any great effort. Exact pro- 
 portion of parts, though it enters often into 
 
 up againft it, carries all the grandeur of a fublime, obfcure, 
 and awful image. 
 
 Humana ante oculos fcede cum vitajaceret 
 
 In terris, opprefTa gravi fub religione 
 
 Quas'caput a coeli regionibus oftendebat, 
 
 Horribili fuper afpe&u mortalibus inftans, 
 
 Primum Graius homo mortales tollere contra 
 
 Eft oculos aufus. LIB. I. 
 
 VOL. I. F the
 
 66 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 L E IIT T ' t ^ ie Beautiful, is much difregarded in the Sub-- 
 lime. A great mafs of rocks, thrown toge- 
 ther by the hand of nature with wildnefs and 
 confufion, ilrike the mind with more grandeur, 
 than if they had been adjufted to one another 
 with the moft accurate fymmetry. 
 
 IN the feeble attempts, which human art 
 can make towards producing grand objects 
 (feeble, I mean, in comparifon with the 
 powers of nature), greatnefs of dimenfions al- 
 ways conftitutes a principal part. No pile of 
 building can convey any idea of Sublimity, 
 unlefs it be ample and lofty. There is, too, 
 in architecture, what is called Greatnefs of 
 manner ; which feems chiefly to arife, from 
 prefenting the object to us in one 'full point of 
 view ; fo that it fhall make its imprefilon 
 whole, entire, and undivided, upon the mind. 
 A Gothic cathedral raifes ideas of grandeur 
 in our minds, by its fize, its height, its awful 
 obfcurity, its ftrength, its antiquity, and its 
 durability. 
 
 THERE ftill remains to be mentioned one 
 clafs of Sublime objects, which may be called 
 the moral, or fentimental Sublime ; arifing 
 from certain exertions of the human mind; 
 from certain affections, and actions, of our 
 fellow- creatures. Thefe will be found to be 
 all, or chiefly, of that clafs, which comes un- 
 der
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 67 
 
 der the name of Magnanimity or Heroifm; L E 
 and they produce an effect extremely fimilar 
 to what is produced by the view of grand ob- 
 jects in nature ; filling the mind with admira- 
 tion, and elevating it above itfelf. A noted 
 inflance of this, quoted by all the French 
 Critics, is the celebrated Qiiil Mourut of 
 Corneille, in the Tragedy of Horace. In the 
 famous combat betwixt the Horatii and the 
 Curiatii, the old Horatius, being informed, 
 that two of his fons are (lain, and that the 
 third had betaken himfelf to flight, at firft will 
 not believe the report j but being thoroughly 
 affured of the fact, is fired with all the fenti- 
 ments of high honour and indignation at this 
 fuppofed unworthy behaviour of his furviving 
 fon. He is. reminded, that his fon flood alone 
 againft three, and afked what he wifhed him 
 to have done ? > <c To have died," he an- 
 fwers. In the fame manner Porus, taken 
 prifoner by Alexander, after a gallant defence, 
 and afked how he wifhed to be treated ? an- 
 fwering, " Like a king;" and Casfar chid- 
 ing the pilot who was afraid to fee out with 
 him in a ftorm, " Quid times ? Casfarem 
 " vehisj" are good inftances of this fenti- 
 mental Sublime. Wherever, in fome critical 
 and high fituation, we behold a man uncom- 
 monly intrepid, and refting upon himfelf; 
 fuperior to paflion and to fear 3 animated by 
 fome great principle to the contempt of popu- 
 
 F 2 Jar 
 
 C T. 
 
 III.
 
 68 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 E c 
 
 HI. 
 
 T - lar opinion, of fclfifh intereft, of dangers, or 
 
 of death ; there we are ftruck with a fenfe of 
 the Sublime *. 
 
 HIGH virtue is the moft natural and fertile 
 fource of this moral Sublimity. However, on 
 fome occafions, where Virtue either has no 
 place, or is but imperfectly difplayed, yet if 
 extraordinary vigour and force of mind be 
 difcovered, we are not infenfible to a degree 
 of grandeur in the character j and from the 
 fplendid conqueror, or the daring confpirator, 
 whom we are far from approving, we cannot 
 with-hold our admiration f . 
 
 I HAVE 
 
 * The Sublime, in natural and in moral objects, is 
 brought before us in one view, and compared together, in 
 the following beautiful paflage of Akenfide'S Pleafures of 
 the Imagination : 
 
 Look then abroad through nature ; to the range 
 
 Of planets, funs, and adamantine fpheres, 
 
 Wheeling, unihaken, through the void immenfe ; 
 
 And fpeak, O man ! does this capacious fcene, 
 
 With half that kindling majefty, dilate 
 
 Thy ftrong conception, as when Brutus rofe 
 
 Refulgent, from the ftroke of Caefar's fate, 
 
 Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm 
 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
 
 When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 
 
 On Tully's name, and fhook his crimfon fteel, 
 
 And bade the father of his country hail ! 
 
 For lo ! the tyrant proftrate on the duft; 
 
 And Rome again is free. BOOK I. 
 
 f Silius Italicus has ftudied to give 'an auguft idea of 
 Hannibal, by reprefenting him as furrounded with all his 
 
 victories,
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 69 
 
 I HAVE now enumerated a variety of in- L 
 ftances, both in inanimate objects and in hu- 
 man life, wherein the Sublime appears. In 
 all thefe inftances, the emotion raifed in us is 
 of the fame kind, although the objects that 
 produce the emotion be of widely different 
 kinds. A queftion next arifes, whether we 
 are able to difcover fome one fundamental 
 quality in which all thefe different objects 
 agree, and which is the caufe of their pro- 
 ducing an emotion of the fame nature in our 
 
 O 
 
 minds ? Various hypothefes have been formed 
 concerning this -, but, as far as appears to me, 
 
 victories, in the place of guards. One who had formed a 
 defign of affaffinating him in the midft of a feaft, is thus 
 addreffed : 
 
 Fallit te, menfas inter quod credis inermem ; 
 Tot bellis quaefita viro, tot caedibus, armat 
 Majeftas sterna ducem. Si admoveris ora 
 Cannas, & Trebiam ante oculos, Trafymenaque bufta 
 Et Pauli flare ingentem miraberis umbram. 
 
 A thought fomewhat of the fame nature occurs in a French 
 author : " II fe cache ; mais fa reputation !e decosvre : II 
 " marche fans fuite & fans equipage ; mais chacun, dans 
 " fon efprit, le met fur un char de triomphe. On compte, 
 " en le voiant, les ennemis qu'il a vaincus, non pas les fer- 
 " viteurs qui le fuivent. Tout feul qu'il eft, on fe figure, 
 " autour de lui, fes vertus, & fes viftoires que 1'accom- 
 " pagnent. Moins il eft fuperbe, plus il devient vene- 
 ' rable." Oraifon funebre de M. de Turenne, par M. 
 Flechier. Both thefe paflages are fplendid, rather than 
 fublime. In the firft, there is a want of juftnefs in the 
 thought; in the fecond, of funplicity in the expreffion. 
 
 F 3 hitherto
 
 7 o SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 
 
 L E c T. hitherto unfatisfactory. Some have imagined 
 that amplitude, or great extent, joined with 
 fimpljcity, is either immediately, or remotely, 
 the fundamental quality of whatever is 
 fublime ; but we have feen that amplitude 
 is confined to one fpecies of Sublime Objects j 
 and cannot, without violent flraining, be ap- 
 plied to them all. The Author of " a Phi-- 
 cc lofophical Enquiry into the Origin of our 
 " Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," to 
 whom we are indebted for feveral ingenious 
 and original thoughts upon this fubject, pro- 
 pofes a formal theory upon this foundation, 
 That terror is the fource of the Sublime, and 
 that no objects have this character, but fuch 
 as produce imprefTions of pain and danger, 
 It is indeed true, that many terrible objects 
 are highly fublime j and that grandeur does 
 not refufe an alliance with the idea of danger. 
 But though this is very properly illufirated by 
 the Author (many of whofe fentiments on that 
 head I have adopted), yet he feems to ftretch 
 his theory too far, when he reprefents the 
 Sublime as confifting wholly in modes of dan- 
 ger, or of pain. For the proper fenfation of 
 Sublimity appears to be very diftinguifhable 
 from the fenfation of either of thefe -, and, on 
 feveral occafjons, to be entirely feparated from 
 them. In many grand objects, there is no 
 coincidence with terror at all ; as in the mag- 
 pificent profpect of wide extended plains, anci 
 
 of
 
 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 71 
 
 of the ftarry firmament -, or in the moral difpofi- L E m c T - 
 tions and fentiments, which we view with high 
 admiration; and in many painful and terri- 
 ble objects alfo, it is clear, there is no fort of 
 grandeur. The amputation of a limb, or the 
 bite of a fnake, are exceedingly terrible ; but 
 are deftitute of all claim whatever to Subli- 
 mity. I am inclined to think, that mighty 
 force or power, whether accompanied with 
 terror or not, whether employed in protecting, 
 or in alarming us, has a better title, than any 
 thing that has yet, been mentioned, to be the 
 fundamental quality of the Sublime j as, after 
 the review which we have taken, there does not 
 occur to me any Sublime Object, into the 
 idea of which, power, ftrength, and force, 
 either enter not directly, or are not, at leaft, 
 intimately affociated with he idea, by leading 
 our thoughts to fome aftonifhing power, as 
 concerned in the production of the object. 
 However, I do not infift upon this as fufficient 
 to found a general theory: it is enough to 
 have given this view of the nature and different 
 kinds of Sublime Objects ; by which I hope to 
 have laid a proper foundation for difcufTmg, 
 with greater accuracy, the Sublime in Writing 
 and Compofition.
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 THE SUBLIME IN WRITING. 
 
 AVING treated of Grandeur or Subli- 
 mity in external 6bjets 3 the way feems 
 now to be cleared, for treating, with more 
 advantage, of the defcription of fuch objects $ 
 or, of what is called the Sublime in Writing. 
 Though I may appear to enter early on the 
 confideration of this, fubjectj yet> as the 
 Sublime is a fpecies of Writing which depends 
 lefs than any other on the artificial embellifh- 
 ments of rhetoric, it may be examined with 
 as much propriety here, as in any fubfequent 
 part of the Lectures. 
 
 MANY critical terms have unfortunately 
 been employed, in a fenfe too loofe and vague, 
 none more fo, than that of the Sublime. Every 
 one is acquainted with the character of Casfar's 
 Commentaries, and of the- ftyle in which they 
 are written^ a ftyle remarkably pure, limple, 
 and elegant - 3 but the moft remote from the 
 
 Sublime,
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 73 
 
 Sublime, of any of the claffical authors. Yet 
 this author has a German critic, Johannes 
 Gultelmus Bergerus, who wrote no longer ago 
 than the year 1720, pitched upon as the per- 
 fect model of the Sublime, and has compofed 
 a quarto volume, entitled, De naturali Pul- 
 cbritudine Oratwms > the exprefs intention .of 
 which is to fhew, that Gefar's Commentaries 
 contain the moft complete exemplification of 
 all Longinus's rules relating to Sublime Writ- 
 ing. This I mention as a ftrong proof of 
 the confufed ideas which have prevailed, con- 
 cerning this fubject. The true fenfe of Sub- 
 lime Writing, undoubtedly, is fuch a de- 
 fcription of objects, or exhibition of fenti- 
 ments, which are in themfelves of a Sublime 
 nature, as fhall give us ftrong impreflions of 
 them. But there is another very indefinite, 
 and therefore very .improper, fenfe, which has 
 been too often put upon it ; when it is applied 
 to fignify any remarkable and diftinguiihing 
 excellency of compofition; whether it raife in 
 us the ideas of grandeur, or thofe of gentle- 
 nefs, elegance, or any other fort of beauty. 
 In this fenfe Csefar's Commentaries may, 
 indeed, be termed Sublime, and fo may many 
 Sonnets, Paftorals, and Love Elegies, as well 
 as Homer's Iliad. But this evidently coa- 
 founds -the ufe of words; and marks no one 
 fpecies, or character, of compofition what- 
 ever. 
 
 I AM
 
 74 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E c T, I AM forry to be obliged to obferve, that 
 the Sublime is too often ufed in this laft and 
 improper fenfe, by the celebrated critic Lon- 
 ginus, in his treatife on this fubjed. He fets 
 out, indeed, with defcribing it in its juft and 
 proper meaning ; as fomething that elevates 
 the mind above itfelf, and fills it with high 
 conceptions, and a noble pride. But from 
 this view of it he frequently departs ; and fub- 
 ftitutes in the place of it, whatever, in any 
 {train of compofition,, pleafes highly. Thus, 
 many of the paflages which he produces as 
 inftances of the Sublime, are merely elegant, 
 without having the moft diftant relation to 
 proper Sublimity; witnefs Sappho's famous 
 Ode, on which he defcants at confiderable 
 length. He points out five fources of the Sub- 
 lime. The firft is, Boldnefs or Grandeur in 
 the Thoughts; the iecond is, the Pathetic; 
 the third, the proper application of Figures; 
 the fourth, the ufe of Tropes and beautiful 
 Exprefiions; the fifth, Mufical Structure and 
 Arrangement of Words. This is the plan of 
 one who was writing a treatife of rhetoric, or 
 of the beauties of Writing in general; not of 
 the Sublime in particular. For of thefe five 
 heads, only the two firft have any peculiar 
 relation to the Sublime; Boldnefs and Gran- 
 deur in the Thoughts, and, in fome inftances, 
 the Pathetic, or ftrong exertions of Paflion : 
 the other three, Tropes, Figures, and Muf;- 
 
 cal
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 7$ 
 
 cal Arrangement, have no more relation to L 
 the Sublime, than to other kinds of good 
 Writing; perhaps lefs to the Sublime than to 
 any other fpecies whatever; becaufe it re- 
 quires lefs the affiftance of ornament. From 
 this it appears, that clear and precife ideas on 
 this head are not to be expe&ed from that 
 writer. I would not, however, be underftood, 
 as if I meant, by this cenfure, to reprefent his 
 treatife as of fmall value. I know no critic, 
 ancient or modern, that difcovers a more lively 
 relifh of the beauties of fine writing, than 
 Longinus ; and he has alfo the merit of being 
 himfelf an excellent, and, in feveral paflages, 
 a truly Sublime, writer. But, as his work 
 has been generally confidered as a ftandard on 
 this fubje6t, it was incumbent on me to give 
 my opinion concerning the benefit to be de- 
 rived from it. It deferves to be confulted, 
 not fo much for diftincl inftrudlion concerning ' 
 the Sublime, as for excellent general ideas 
 concerning beauty in writing. 
 
 I RETURN now to the proper and natural 
 idea of the Sublime in compofition. The 
 foundation of it muft always be laid in the 
 nature of the object defcribed. Unlefs it be 
 fuch an object as, if prefented to our eyes, if 
 exhibited to us in reality, would raife ideas of 
 that elevating, that awful, and magnificent 
 kind, which we call Sublime j the defcription, 
 
 however
 
 7 6 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L F c T. however finely drawn, is not entitled to come 
 under this clafs. This excludes all objects 
 that are merely beautiful, gay, or elegant. 
 In the next place, the object mull not only, 
 in itfelf, be Sublime, but it muft be fet before 
 us in fuch a light as is mofl proper to give us 
 a clear and full impreflion of it ; it muft be 
 defcribed with ftrength, with concifenefs, and 
 fimplicity. This depends, principally, upon 
 the lively imprefiion which the poet, or orator, 
 has of the object which he exhibits j 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 in- 
 fpire us with any ftrong emotion. Inftances, 
 which are extremely neceffary on this fub- 
 ject, will clearly fhow the importance of all 
 the requifites which I have juil now men- 
 tioned. 
 
 IT is, generally fpeaking, among the moft 
 ancient authors, that we are to look for the 
 moft ftriking inftances of the Sublime. I am 
 inclined to think, that the early ages of the 
 world, and the rude unimproved ftate of fo- 
 ciety, are peculiarly favourable to the ftrong 
 emotions of Sublimity. The genius of men is 
 then much turned to admiration and aftoniih- 
 ment. Meeting with many objects, to them 
 new and ftrange, their imagination is kept 
 glowing, and their paffions are often raifed to 
 
 the
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 77 
 
 the utmoft. They think, and exprefs them- L E c T. 
 ielves boldly, and without reftraint. In the 
 progrefs of fociety, the genius and man- 
 ners of men undergo a change more favour- 
 able to accuracy, than to iirength or Sub- 
 limity. 
 
 OF all writings, ancient or modern, the 
 Sacred Scriptures afford us the highdl in- 
 ftances of the Sublime. The defcriptions of 
 the Deity, in them, are wonderfully noble; 
 both from the grandeur of the object, and the 
 manner of reprefenting it. What an affem- 
 blage, for inftance, of awful and fublime ideas 
 is prefented to us, in that paflage of- the 
 XVIIIth Pfalm, where an appearance of the 
 Almighty is defcribed ? ".In my diftrefs I 
 tf called upon the Lord ; he heard my voice 
 cc out of his temple, and my cry came before 
 tc him. Then, the earth {hook and trembled; 
 " the foundations alfo of the hills were 
 " moved ; becaufe he was wroth. He bowed 
 <f the heavens, and came down, and dark- 
 fc nefs was under his feet ; and he did ride 
 cc upon a cherub, and did fly -, yea, he did 
 " fly upon the wings of the wind. He made 
 " darknefs his fecret place ; his pavilion 
 <c round about him were dark waters, and 
 <f thick clouds of the fky." Here, agreeably to 
 the principles eftablifhed in the laft Lecture, 
 we fee, with what propriety and fuccefs the 
 
 circum-
 
 ?8 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E JV T ' circumftances of darknefs and terror are ap- 
 plied for heightening the Sublime. So, alfo, 
 the prophet Habakkuk, in a fimilar paffage : 
 " He flood, and meafured the .earth ; he be- 
 " held, and drove afunder the nations. The 
 " everlafting mountains were fcattered ; the 
 (C perpetual hills did bow -, his ways are 
 tf everlafting. The mountains faw thee; 
 " and they trembled. The overflowing of 
 " the water paiTed by. The deep uttered 
 fc his voice, and lifted up his hands on 
 high." 
 
 THE noted inftance, given by Longinus, 
 from Mofes, " God faid, let there be light; 
 " and there was light," is not liable to the 
 cenfure which I paffed on fome of his in- 
 flances, of being foreign to the fubject. It 
 belongs to the true Sublime ; and the Subli- 
 mity of it arifes from the ftrong conception it 
 gives, of an exertion of power, producing its 
 effefl with the utmoft fpeed and facility. A 
 thought of the fame kind is magnificently 
 amplified in the following pafiage of Ifaiah' 
 (chap. xxiv. 24. -27, 28.) : <f Thus faith the 
 " Lord, thy Redeemer, and he that formed 
 " thee from the womb : I am the Lord that 
 " maketh ail things, that flretcheth forth the 
 "' heavens alone, that fpreadeth abroad the 
 " earth by myfelf that faith to the deep, 
 " Be dry, and I will dry up thy rivers ; that 
 
 " faith
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 79 
 
 " faith of Cyrus, He is my fhepherd, and L E JV T - 
 " fhall perform all my pleafure ; even faying 
 " to Jerufalem, Thou fhalt be built ; and to 
 cc the Temple, Thy foundation fhall be laid." 
 There is a pafTage in the Pfalms, which de- 
 ferves to be mentioned under this head ; 
 God," fays the Pfalmift, " ftilleth the noife 
 t( of the feas, the noife of their waves, and the 
 " tumults of the people." The joining together 
 two fuch grand objects, as the ragings of the 
 waters, and the tumults of the people, be- 
 tween which there is fo much rcfemblance as 
 to form a very natural afibciation in the fancy, 
 and the reprefenting them both as fubject, at 
 one moment, to the command of God, pro- 
 duces a noble effect. 
 
 HOMER is a poet, who, in all ages, and by 
 all critics, has been greatly admired for Sub- 
 limity i and he owes much of his grandeur 
 to that native and unaffected fimplicity which 
 characteriles his manner. His defcriptions of 
 hofts engaging; the animation, the fire, and 
 rapidity, which he throws into his battles, 
 prefent to every reader of the Iliad, frequent 
 inflances of Sublime Writing. His intro- 
 duction of the Gods, tends often to heighten, 
 in a high degree, the majefty of his warlike 
 fcenes. Hence Longinus beftows fuch high 
 and juft commendations on that paffage, in 
 the XVth book of the Iliad, where Neptune, 
 4 when
 
 So SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E c T. w hen preparing to iffue forth into the engage- 
 ment, is dcfcribed as fhaking the mountains 
 with his fteps, and driving his chariot along 
 the ocean. Minerva, arming herfelf for fight 
 in the Vth book; and Apollo, in the XVth, 
 leading on the Trojans, and flafhing terror 
 with his JEgis on the face of the Greeks, are 
 fimilar inftances of great Sublimity added to 
 the defcription of battles, by the appearances 
 of thofe celeftial beings. In the XXth book, 
 where all the Gods take part in the engage- 
 ment, according as they feverally favour either 
 the Grecians, or the Trojans, the poet's 
 genius is fignally difplayed, and the defcrip- 
 tion rifes into the moft awful magnificence. 
 All nature is reprefented as in commotion. 
 Jupiter thunders in the heavens , Neptune 
 flakes the earth with his Trident; the fliips, 
 the city, and the mountains fhake ; the earth 
 trembles to its centre; Pluto flarts from his 
 throne, in dread left the fecrets of the infernal 
 region fhould be laid open to the view of 
 mortals. The paflage is worthy of being 
 inferted. 
 
 c//i?oi/ 
 T ilfTO y *E; ij fTOTi, KzozffOos' owl 
 
 At/H d'*Ag7)q Tw9y, k^p 
 
 g (MWfst Geol oTgvvoflts, 
 Iv &UTo~s ifidoc, pyyvuvro j3afiai 
 AEIVOV o* Ifyovrrffs xocrvf dvfywv re GECOV rs
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 81 
 
 T' ortTTttva ; 
 
 Ham? 5" eacrtMPTO no 
 
 Kai *ofi/pi, Tfwwi/ T 
 
 i/VmfOEV ava mpwy, ' 
 
 , ra TE rvycrt OEOJ wep 
 ToVcroj a^a ^TWTTOJ cofro Oswv ?f j^ IWJOVTO.V *. 
 
 Iliad, 20. 47, &c. 
 
 * But when the powers defcending fwell'd the fight, 
 Then tumult rofe, fierce rage, and pale affright; 
 Now through the trembling mores Minerva calls, 
 And now me thunders from the Grecian walls. 
 Mars hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror fhrouds 
 Jn gloomy tempefts, and a night of clouds ; 
 Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours, 
 With voice divine, from Ilion's topmoft towers 
 Above, the Sire of Gods his thunder rolls, 
 And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles ; 
 Beneath, ftern Neptune makes the folid ground, 
 The forefts wave, the mountains nod around ; 
 Through all her fummits tremble Ida's woods, 
 And from their fources boil her hundred floods : 
 Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain, 
 And the tofs'd navies beat the heaving main : 
 Deep in the difmal region of the dead, 
 Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head, 
 Leapt from his throne, left Neptune's arm mould lay 
 His dark dominions open to the day ; 
 And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, 
 Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to Gods. 
 Such wars th' immortals wage ; fuch horrors rend 
 The world's vaft concave, when the Gods contend. 
 
 VOL.' I. G THE
 
 g 2 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E c T. THE works of Offian (as I have elfewhere 
 fhewn) abound with examples of the Sublime. 
 The fubjedh of which that author treats, and 
 the manner in which he writes, are particu- 
 larly favourable to it. He poflefles all the 
 plain and venerable manner of the ancient 
 times. H deals in no fuperfluous or gaudy 
 ornaments; but throws forth his images with 
 a rapid concifenefs, which enables them to 
 ftrike the mind with the greateft force. Among 
 poets of more polifhed times, we are to look 
 for the graces of correft writing, for juft pro- 
 portion of parts, and fkilfully conducted nar- 
 ration. In the midft of fmiling fcenery and 
 pleafurable themes, the gay and the beautiful 
 will appear, undoubtedly,- to more advantage. 
 But amidft the rude fcenes of nature and of 
 fociety, fuch as Offian defcribes j amidft 
 rocks, and torrents, and whirlwinds, and bat- 
 tles, dwells the Sublime; and naturally aiTo- 
 ciates itfelf with that grave and folemn fpirit 
 which diftinguiihes the Author of Fingal. 
 t( As autumn's dark ftorms pour from two 
 tc echoing hills, fo toward each other ap- 
 " proached the heroes. As two dark ftreams 
 " from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on 
 " the plain : loud, rough, and dark, in 
 " battle, met Lochlin and Inisfail ; chief 
 " mixed his ftrokes with chief, and man with 
 fc man. Steel clanging founded on fteel. 
 <f Helmets are cleft on high ; blood burfts, 
 
 " and
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 83 
 
 kc and fmokes around. As the troubled noife L 
 tf of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; 
 " as the laft peal of the thunder of heaven ; 
 " fuch is the noife of battle. The groan of 
 lf the people fpread over the hills. It was like 
 <f the thunder of night, when the cloud burfts 
 tf on Cona, ancj a thoufand ghofts fhriek at 
 " once on the hollow wind." Never were 
 images of more awful Sublimity employed to 
 heighten the terror of battle. 
 
 I HAVE produced thefe inftances, in order 
 to demonftrate that concifenefs and fimplicity 
 are effenlial to Sublime Writing. Simplicity, 
 I place in oppoficion to ftudied and profuie 
 ornament j and concifenefs, to fuperfluous 
 expreffion. The reafon why a defect, either 
 in concifenefs or fimplicity, is hurtful in a pe- 
 culiar manner to the Sublime, I Ihall endea- 
 vour to explain. The emotion occafioned in 
 the mind by fome great or noble obje<5b, raifes 
 it confiderably above its ordinary pitch. A fore 
 of enthufiafm is produced, extremely agreeable 
 while its lafts $ but from which the mind is tend- 
 ing every moment to fall down into its ordinary 
 fituation. Now, when an author has brought 
 us, or is attempting to bring us, into this ftate ; 
 if he multiplies words unnecefiarily, if he decks 
 the Sublime objed which he prefents to us, 
 round and round, with glittering ornaments j 
 nay, if he throws in any one decoration that 
 G 2 finks
 
 84 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 T. fi n fc s i n tn e i ea fl- below the capital image, that 
 moment he alters the key ; he relaxes the 
 tenfion of the mind ; the ftrength of the feel- 
 ing is emafculated , the Beautiful may remain, 
 
 but the Sublime is gone. When Julius 
 
 Csefar faid to the Pilot who was afraid to put 
 to fea with him in a ftorm, " Quid times ? 
 " Casfarem vehis ;" we are ftruck with the 
 daring magnanimity of one relying with fuch 
 confidence on his caufe and his fortune. Thefe 
 few words convey every thing neceflary to give 
 us the impreflion full. Lucan refolved to 
 amplify and adorn the thought. Obferve how, 
 every time he twifts it round, it departs farther 
 from the Sublime, till it end at laft in tumid 
 declamation. 
 
 Sperne minas, inquit, pelagi, ventoque furenti 
 Trade finum : Italiam, fi, coelo au&ore, recufas, 
 Me, pete. Sola tibi caufa h<ec eft jufta timoris 
 Vi&orem non nofle tuum j quem numina nunquam 
 Deftituunt ; de quo male tune Fortuna meretur 
 Cum poft vota venit. Medias perrumpe procellas 
 Tutela fecure mea. Coeli ifti fretique 
 Non puppis noftras labor eft. Hanc Csefare preflam 
 A fluftu defendet onus ; nam proderit undis 
 
 Ifte ratis : Quid tanta ftrage paratur 
 
 Ignoras ? quaerit pelagi ccelique tumultu 
 
 Quid praeftet fortuna mihi *. PHARS. V. 578. 
 
 ON 
 
 * But Ccefar ftill fuperior to diftrefs, 
 Fearlefs, and confident of Cure fuccefs, 
 Thus to the pilot loud : The feas defpife, 
 
 And the vain threatening of tlie noify fkies j 
 
 Though
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 ON account of the great importance of fim- L 
 plicity and concifenefs, I conceive rhyme, in 
 Engliih verfe, to be, if not inconfiftent with 
 the Sublime, at leaft very unfavourable to it. 
 The conftrained elegance of this kind of verfe, 
 and ftudied fmoothnefs of the founds, anfwer- 
 ing regularly to each other at the end of the 
 line, though they be quite confident with gen- 
 tle emotions, yet weaken the native force of 
 Sublimity ; befides, that the fuperfluous words 
 which the poet is often obliged to introduce, 
 in order to fill up the rhyme, tend farther to 
 enfeeble it. Homer's defcription of the nod 
 of Jupiter, as fhaking the heavens, has been 
 admired in all ages, as highly Sublime. Li- 
 terally tranflated, it runs thus : " He fpoke, 
 
 Though Gods deny thee yon Aufonian ftrand, 
 
 Yet go, I charge you, go, at my command. 
 
 Thy ignorance alone can caufe thy fears, 
 
 Thou know'ft not what a freight thy veffel bears ; 
 
 Thou know'ft not I am he to whom 'tis given, 
 
 Never to want the care of watchful heaven. 
 
 Obedient Fortune waits my humble thrall, 
 
 And always ready, comes before I call. 
 
 Let winds, and feas, loud wars at freedom wage, 
 
 And wafte upon themfelves their, empty rage, 
 
 A flronger, mightier Daemon is thy friend, 
 
 Thou, and thy bark, on Caefar's fate depend. 
 
 Thou ftand'ft amaz'd to view this dreadful fcene, 
 
 And wonder'ft what the Gods and Fortune mean ; 
 
 But artfully their bounties thus they raife, 
 
 And from my danger arrogate new praife : 
 
 Amidft the fears of death they bid me live, 
 
 And ftjll enhance what they are fare to give. ROWE. 
 
 G 3 cc and
 
 86 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 and bending his fable brows, gave the awful 
 " nod; while he fhook the celeftial locks of 
 " his immortal head, all Olympus was fhaken." 
 Mr. Pope tranfiates it thus : 
 
 He fpoke j and awful bends his fable brows, 
 Shakes his ambrofial curls, and gives the nod, 
 The (lamp of fate, and fan&ion of a God. 
 High Heaven with trembling the dread fignal took, 
 And all Olympus to its centre fliook. 
 
 THE image is fpread out, and attempted to 
 be beautified; but it is, in truth, weakened. 
 The third line tc The ftamp of fate, and 
 " fanction of a God," is merely expletive ; and 
 introduced for no other reafon but to fill up 
 the rhyme ; for it interrupts the defcription, 
 and clogs the image. For the fame reafon, 
 out of mere compliance with the rhyme, Ju- 
 piter is reprefented as (baking his locks before 
 he gives the nod; " Shakes his ambrofial 
 " curls, and gives the nod," which is trifling, 
 and without meaning. Whereas, in the ori- 
 ginal, the hair of his head fhaken, is the effect 
 of his nod, and makes a happy picturefque cir- 
 cumftance in the defcription *. 
 
 THE boldnefs, freedom, and variety of our 
 blank verfe, is infinitely more favourable than 
 rhyme, to all kinds of Sublime poetry. The 
 fulleft proof of this is afforded by Milton; an 
 
 * See Webb on the Beauties of Poetry. 
 
 author
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 87 
 
 author whofe genius led him eminently to the L E c T. 
 Sublime. The whole firft and fecond books \^ y-^ 
 of Paradife Loft, are continued inftances of it. 
 Take only, for an example, the following 
 noted defcription of Satan, after his fall, ap- 
 pearing at the head of the infernal hofts : 
 
 He, above the reft, 
 
 In fhape and gefture proudly eminent, 
 
 Stood like a tower : his form had not yet loft 
 
 All her original brightnefs, nor appeared 
 
 Lefs than archangel ruined ; and the excefs 
 
 Of glory obfcured : As when the fun, new rifen, 
 
 Looks through the horizontal mifty air, 
 
 Shorn of his beams; or, from behind, the moon, 
 
 In dim eclipfe, difaftrous twilight fheds 
 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 
 Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd fo, yet fhone 
 
 Above them all th/ Archangel. 
 
 Here concur a variety of fources of the 
 Sublime : the principal object eminently 
 great ; a high fuperior nature, fallen indeed, 
 but erecting itfelf againft diftrefs ; the gran- 
 deur of the principal object heightened, by 
 affociating it with fo noble an idea as that of 
 the fun fuffering an eclipfe ; this pifture 
 fhaded with all thofe images of change and 
 
 O C? 
 
 trouble, of darknefs and terror, which coin- 
 cide fo finely with the Sublime emotion ; and 
 the whole exprefied in a ftyle and verifica- 
 tion, eafy, natural, and fimple, but magnifi- 
 cent. 
 
 G 4 ,1 HAVE
 
 88 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 I HAVE fpoken of fimplicity and concife^ 
 nefs as efiential to Sublime Writing. In 
 my general defcripdon of it, I mentioned 
 Strength, as another neceffary requifite. The 
 Strength of defcription arifes, in a great mea- 
 fure, from a fimple concifenefs ; but, it fup- 
 pofes alfo fomething more ; namely, a proper 
 choice of circumftances in the defcription, fo 
 as to exhibit the object in its full and moft 
 ftriking point of view. For every object has 
 feveral faces, fo to fpeak, by which it may be 
 prefented to us, according to the circum- 
 ftances with which we furround it ; and it will 
 appear eminently Sublime, or not, in propor- 
 tion as all thefe circumftances are happily 
 chofen, and of a Sublime kind. Here lies the 
 great art of the writer ; and indeed, the great 
 ^difficulty of Sublime defcription. If the de- 
 fcription be too general, and divefted of cir- 
 cumftances, the object appears in a faint light; 
 it makes a feeble impreffion, or no impreflion 
 at all, on the reader. At the fame time, if any 
 trivial or improper circumftances are mingled, 
 the whole is degraded. 
 
 A STORM or tempeft, for inftance, is a 
 Sublime object in nature. But, to render it 
 Sublime in defcription, it is not enough, ei- 
 ther to give us mere general expreffions con- 
 cerning the violence of the tempeft, or to de- 
 fcribe its common, vulgar effects, in over- 
 throwing
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WAITING. 89 
 
 throwing trees and h.oufes. It mult be 
 painted with fuch circumftances as fill the 
 mind with great and awful ideas. This is 
 very happily done by Virgil, in the following 
 paffage : 
 
 Ipfe Pater, media nimborum in no&e, corufca 
 Fulmina molitur dextra ; quo maxima motu 
 Terra tremit ; fugere ferae j et mortalia corda, 
 Per gentes humilis ftravit pavor : Ille, flagrant! 
 Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo 
 Dejicit*. - GEORG. I. 
 
 Every circumftance in this noble defcription 
 is the production of an imagination heated 
 and aftoniftied with the grandeur of the 
 object. If there be any defeft, it is in the 
 words immediately following thofe I have 
 quoted j fc Ingeminant Auftri, et denfiffimus 
 " imber j" where the tranfition is made too 
 haftily, I am afraid, from the preceding 
 
 I 
 
 The Father of the Gods his.-glory fhrouds, 
 
 Involv'd in tempefts, and a night of clouds : 
 
 And from the middle darknefs flafhing 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 beafts in forefts feek abode. 
 
 Deep horror feizes every human breaft ; 
 
 Their pride is humbled, and their fears confeft J 
 
 While he, from high his rolling thunders throws, 
 
 And fires the mountains with repeated blows ; 
 
 The rocks are from their old foundations rent j 
 
 The winds redouble, and the rains augment. DRY DENT. 
 
 Sublime
 
 90 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L EC T. Sublime images, to a thick fhower, and the 
 blowing of the fouth wind ; and fhews how 
 difficult it frequently is, to defcend with grace, 
 without feeming to fall. 
 
 THE high importance of the rule which 
 I have been now giving, concerning the pro- 
 per choice of circumftances, when defcription 
 is meant to be Sublime, feems to me not to 
 have been fufficiently attended to. It has, 
 however, fuch a foundation in nature, as ren- 
 ders the lead deflexion from it fatal. When a 
 writer is aiming at the Beautiful only, his de- 
 fcriptions may have improprieties in them, 
 and yet be beautiful flill. Some trivial, or 
 misjudged circumftances can be overlooked 
 by the reader ; they make only the difference 
 of more or lefs j the gay, or pleafing emotion, 
 which he has raifed, fubfifts ftill. But the 
 cafe is quite different with the Sublime. 
 There, one trifling circumftance, one mean 
 idea, is fufficient to deftroy the whole charm. 
 This is owing to the nature of the emotion 
 aimed at by Sublime defcription, which ad- 
 mits of no mediocrity, and cannot fubfift in a 
 middle ftate ; but mult either highly tranfport 
 us, or, if unfuccefsful in the execution, leave 
 us greatly difgufted, and difpleafed. We 
 attempt to rife along with the writer ; the 
 imagination is awakened, and put upon the 
 ftretch -, but it requires to be fupported j and
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 if, in the midft of its efforts, you defert it un- L 
 expectedly, down ,it comes, with a painful 
 fhock. When Milton, in his battle of the 
 angels, defcribes them as tearing up the 
 mountains, and throwing them at one another ; 
 there are, in his defcription, as Mr. Addifon 
 has obferved, no circumftances but what are 
 properly Sublime : 
 
 ' From their foundations loos'ning to and fro, 
 They plucked the feated hills, with all their load, 
 Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the fhaggy tops 
 Uplifting, bore them in their hands. 
 
 Whereas Claudian, in a fragment upon the 
 wars of the giants, has contrived to render this 
 idea of their throwing the mountains, which 
 is in itfelf fo grand, burlefque and ridiculous ; 
 by this fingle circnmftance, of one of his 
 
 I giants with the mountain Ida upon his fhoul- 
 ders, and a river, which flowed from the 
 mountain, running down along the giant's 
 back, as he held it up in that pofture. There 
 is a defcription too in Virgil, which, I think, 
 is cenfurable, though more flightly, in this 
 refpecl. It is that of the burning mountain 
 JEtna. ; a lubject certainly very proper to be 
 worked up by a poet into a Sublime defcrip- 
 tion : 
 
 Horrificis juxta tonat ./Etna minis. 
 Interdumque atram prorumpit ad sethera nubem, 
 Turbine fumantem piceo, & candente favilla ; 
 Attollitque globos flammarum, & fidera lambit. 
 
 Interdum
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 Interdum fcopulos, avulfaque vifcera mentis 
 Erigit eructans, liquefactaque faxa fub auras 
 Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exasftuat imo *. 
 
 JEx. III. 571. 
 
 Here, after feveral magnificent images, the 
 Poet concludes with perfonifying the mountain 
 under this figure, " eructans vifcera cum ge- 
 " mitu," belching up its bowels with a groan ; 
 which, by likening the mountain to a fick, or 
 drunk perfon, degrades the majefty of the de- 
 fcription. It is to no purpofe to tell us, that 
 the Poet here alludes to the fable of the giant 
 Enceladus lying under mount ./Etna ; and that 
 he fuppofes his motions and toffings to have 
 occafioned the fiery eruptions. He intended 
 the defcription of a Sublime object , and the 
 natural ideas, raifed by a burning mountain, 
 are infinitely more lofty, than the belchings 
 of any giant, how huge foever. The debtf- 
 ing effect of the idea which is here prefented, 
 
 * The port capacious, and fecure from wind, 
 
 Js to the foot of thundering JEtna. joined, 
 
 By turns a pitchy cloud fhe rolls on high, 
 
 By turns hot embers from her entrails fly, 
 
 And flakes of mounting flames that lick the fky. 
 
 Oft from her bowels mafiy rocks are thrown, 
 
 And fhivered by the force, come piece-meal down, 
 
 Oft liquid lakes of burning fulphur flow, 
 
 Fed from the fiery fprings that boil below. DR YDEN. 
 In this tranflation of Dryden's, the debafing circumitance 
 to which I object in the original, is, with propriety, 
 omitted. 
 
 will 
 
 I
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 will appear in a ftronger light, by feeing what 
 figure it makes in a poem of Sir Richard 
 Blackmore's, who, through a monftrous per- 
 verfity of tafte, had chofen this for the capital 
 circumftance in his defcription, and thereby 
 (as Dr. Arbuthnot humoroufly obferves, in 
 his Treatife on the Art of Sinking) had re- 
 prefented the mountain as in a fit of the 
 cholic. 
 
 /Etna, and all the burning mountains find 
 Their kindled ftores with inbred ftorms of wind 
 Blown up to rage, and roaring out complain, 
 As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain ; 
 Labouring, they caft their dreadful vomit round, 
 And with their melted bowels fpread the ground. 
 
 Such inftances fhew how much the Sublime 
 depends upon a juft felection of circumftances ; 
 and with how great care every circumftance 
 muft be avoided, which, by bordering in the 
 leaft upon the mean, or even upon the gay or 
 the trifling, alters the tone of the emotion. 
 
 IF it fhall now be inquired, What are the 
 proper fources of the Sublime ? My anfwer is, 
 That they are to be looked for every where in 
 nature. It is not by hunting after tropes, and 
 figures, and rhetorical afliftances, that we can 
 expect to produce it. No : it ftands clear, 
 for the moft part, of thefe laboured refinements 
 of art. It muft come unfought, if it come at 
 
 alii
 
 $4 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 i. E c T. a u . an( j b e t he natural offspring of a ilrong 
 imagination. 
 
 Eft Deus in nobis ; agitante calefcimus illo. 
 
 Wherever a great and awful object is prefented 
 in nature, or a very magnanimous and exalted 
 affection of the human mind is diiplayed ; 
 thence, if you can catch the impreflion 
 ftrongly, and exhibit it warm and glowing, 
 you may draw the Sublime. Thele are its 
 only proper fources. In judging of any ftrik- 
 ing beauty in compofition, whether it is, or is 
 not, to be referred to this .clafs, we muft at- 
 tend to the nature of the emotion which it 
 raiies ; and only, if it be of that elevating, fo- 
 lemn, and awful kind, which diftinguifhes this 
 feeling, we can pronounce it Sublime. 
 
 FROM the account which I have given of 
 the nature of the Sublime, it clearly follows, 
 that it is an emotion which can never be long 
 protracted. The mind, by no force of genius, 
 can be kept, for any confiderable time, fo far 
 raifed above its common tone ; but will, of 
 courfe, relax into its ordinary fituation. Nei- 
 ther are the abilities of any human writer fuf- 
 ficient to furnifh a long continuation of unin- 
 terrupted Sublime ideas. The utmoft we can 
 expect is, that this fire of imagination fhould 
 fometimes flalh upon us like lightning from 
 heaven, and then difappear. In Homer and 
 
 Milton,
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 Milton, this effulgence of genius breaks forth L 
 more frequently, and with greater luftre than 
 in moft authors. Shakefpeare alfo rifes often 
 into the true Sublime. But no author what- 
 ever is Sublime throughout. Some, indeed, 
 there are, who, by a ftrength and dignity in 
 their conceptions, and a current of high ideas 
 that runs through their whole compofition, 
 preferve the reader's mind always in a tone 
 nearly allied to the Sublime ; for which reafon 
 they may, in a limited fenfe, merit the name 
 of continued Sublime writers ; and, in this 
 clafs, we may juftly place Demofthenes and 
 Plato. 
 
 As for what is called the Sublime ftyle, it 
 is, for the moft part, a very bad one ; and 
 has no relation whatever to the real Sublime. 
 Perfons are apt to imagine, that magnificent 
 words, accumulated epithets, and a certain 
 fwelling kind of expreffion, by riling above 
 what is ufual or vulgar, contributes to, or even 
 forms, the Sublime. Nothing can be more 
 falfe. In all the inftances of Sublime Writing, 
 which I have given, nothing of this kind ap- 
 pears. " God faid, Let there be light, and 
 " there was light." This is flriking and 
 Sublime. But put it into what is commonly 
 called the Sublime ftyle : " The Sovereign 
 " Arbiter of nature, by the potent energy of 
 " a fingle word, commanded the light to 
 i exiftj"
 
 9 6 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E c T. <e ex ift . an d, as Boilcau has well obferved, 
 the ftyle indeed is raifed, but the thought is 
 fallen. In general, in all good writing, the 
 Sublime lies in the thought, not in the words; 
 and when the thought is truly noble, it will, 
 for the moft part, clothe itfelf in a native dig- 
 nity of language. The Sublime, indeed, re- 
 jects mean, low, or trivial exprefilons ; but 
 it is equally an enemy to fuch as are turgid. 
 The main fecret of being Sublime, is to fay 
 great things in few and plain words. It will 
 be found to hold, without exception, that the 
 moft Sublime authors are the fimpleft in their 
 ftyle ; and wherever you find a writer, who 
 affects a more than ordinary pomp and parade 
 of words, and is always endeavouring to mag- 
 nify his fubject by epithets, there you may 
 immediately fufpeft, that, feeble in fentiment, 
 he is ftudying to fupport himfelf by mere ex- 
 preffion. , 
 
 THE fame unfavourable judgment we muft 
 pafs, on all that laboured apparatus with which 
 fome writers introduce a paflage, or defcrip- 
 tion, which they intend {hall be Sublime; 
 calling on their readers to attend, invoking 
 their Mufe, or breaking forth into general, un- 
 meaning exclamations, concerning the great- 
 nefs, terriblenefs, or majefty of the object, 
 which they are to defcribe. Mr. Addifon, in 
 his Campaign, has fallen into an error of this 
 4 kind,
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. $y 
 
 kind, when about to defcribe the battle of L E c T * 
 Blenheim. 
 
 But O ! my Mufe ! what numbers wilt thou find 
 To fing the furious troops in battle join'd ? 
 Methinks, I hear the drum's tumultuous found, 
 Thevidor's fhouts, and dying groans, confound - 3 & 
 
 Introductions of this kind, are a forced at- 
 tempt in a writer, to fpur up himfelf, and his 
 reader, when he finds his imagination begin 
 to flag. It is like taking artificial fpirits in 
 order to fupply the want of fuch as are natural. 
 By this obfervation, however, I do not mean 
 to pafs a general cenfure on Mr. Addifon's 
 Campaign, which, in feveral places, is far 
 from wanting merit ; and, in particular, the 
 noted comparifon of his hero to the angel 
 who rides in the whirlwind and directs the 
 Horm, is a truly Sublime image. 
 
 THE faults oppofite to the Sublime are 
 chiefly twoj, the Frigid, and the Bombaft, 
 The Frigid confifts, in degrading an object, 
 or fentiment, which is Sublime in itfelf, by 
 our mean conception of it ; or by our weak, 
 low, and childifh defcription of it. This be- 
 trays entire abfence, or at leaft great poverty 
 of genius. Of this, there are abundance of 
 examples, and thefe commented upon with, 
 much humour, in the treatife on the Arc 
 of Sinking, in Dean Swift's works ; the in- 
 
 VOL. I. H ftances
 
 9 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 L E JV ? T * ftances taken chiefly from Sir Richard Black- 
 more. One of thefe, I had occafion already 
 to give, in relation to mount -#itna, and it 
 were needlefs to produce any more. The 
 Bombaft lies, in forcing an ordinary or trivial 
 object out of its rank, and endeavouring to 
 raife it into the Sublime ; or, in attempting to 
 exalt a Sublime object beyond all natural and 
 reafonable bounds. Into this error, which is 
 but too common, writers of genius may fome- 
 times fall, by unluckily lofmg fight of the 
 true point of the Sublime. This is alfo called 
 Fuftian, or Rant. Shakefpeare, a great, but 
 incorrect: genius, is not unexceptionable here. 
 Dryden and Lee, in their tragedies, abound 
 with it. 
 
 THUS far of the Sublime ; of which I have 
 treated fully, becaufe it is fo capital an excel- 
 lency in fine writing, and becaufe clear and 
 precife ideas on this head are, as far as I know, 
 not to 'be met with in critical writers. 
 
 I conclude this Lecture, there is 
 one obfervation which I chufe to make at this 
 time ; I fhall make it once for all, and hope 
 it will be afterv/ards remembered. It is \fith 
 refpect to the inftances of faults, or rather 
 blemiilies and imperfections, which, as I have 
 done "m this Lecture, I fhall hereafter continue 
 to take, when I can, from writers of reputa- 
 7 tion.
 
 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 
 
 tion. I have not the leaft intention thereby L 
 to difparage their character in the general. I 
 fhall have other 6ccafions of doing equal 
 juftice to their beauties. But it is no reflec- 
 tion on any human performance, that it is not 
 abfolutely perfect. The talk would be much 
 eafier for me, to colled inftances of faults 
 from bad writers. But they would draw no 
 attention, when quoted from books which no- 
 body reads. And I conceive, that the me- 
 thod which I follow, will contribute more to 
 make the beft authors be read with pleafure, 
 when one properly diftinguifhes their beauties 
 from their faults; and is led to imitate and 
 admire only what is worthy of imitation and 
 admiration. 
 
 H a
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 BEAUTY, AND OTHER PLEASURES 
 OF TASTE. 
 
 AS Sublimity conftitutes a particular cha- 
 racter of compofition, and forms one of 
 the higheft excellencies of eloquence and of 
 poetry, it was proper to treat of it at fome 
 length. It will not be neceffary to difcufs fo 
 particularly all the other pleafures that arife 
 from Tafte, as fome of them have lefs relation, 
 to our main fubjec~b. On Beauty only I fhall 
 make feveral obfervations, both as the fub- 
 jedt is curious, and as it tends to improve 
 Tafte, and to difcoyer the foundation of fe- 
 veral of the graces of defcription and o 
 poetry *. 
 
 BEAUTY, next to Sublimity, affords, be- 
 yond doubt, the higheft pleafure to the ima- 
 
 * See Hutchinfon's Enquiry concerning Beauty and 
 Virtue. Gerard on Tafte, chap, iii. Enquiry into the 
 Origin of the Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Ele- 
 ments of Criticifm, chap, iii, Spectator, vol. vi. Eflay on 
 the Pleafures of Tafte. 
 
 ,10 gination,
 
 BEAUTY. 101 
 
 glnation. The emotion which it raifes, is 
 very diftinguifhable from that of Sublimity. 
 It is of a calmer kind , more gentle and footh- 
 ing ; does not elevate the mind fo much, but 
 produces an agreeable ferenity. Sublimity 
 raifes a feeling, too violent, as I fhowed, to 
 be lading ; the pleafure arifing from Beauty 
 admits of longer continuance. It extends alfo 
 to a much greater variety of objects than Sub- 
 limity ; to a variety indeed fo great, that the 
 feelings which Beautiful objefts produce, dif- 
 fer confiderably, not in degree only, but alfo 
 in kind, from one another. Hence, no word 
 in the language is ufed in a more vague figni- 
 fication than Beauty. It is applied to almofl 
 every external object that pleafes the eye, or 
 the ear; to a great number of the graces of 
 writing j to many difpofitions of the mind ; 
 nay, to feveral objects of mere abftraft fcience. 
 We talk currently of a beautiful tree or flower ; 
 a beautiful poem j a beautiful character j and 
 a beautiful theorem in mathematics, 
 
 HENCE we may eafily perceive, that, among 
 fo great a variety of objects, to find out fome 
 one quality in which they all agree, and which 
 Is the foundation of that agreeable fenfation 
 they all raife, mult be a very difficult, if not, 
 jnore probably, a vain attempt. Objefts, 
 denominated Beautiful, are fo different, as to 
 H 3 pleafe,
 
 ioz BEAUTY. 
 
 L E c T. pleafe, not in virtue of any one quality com- 
 mon to them all, but by means of feveral 
 different principles in human nature. The 
 agreeable emotion which they all raife, is 
 fomewhat of the fame nature ; and, therefore, 
 has the common name of Beauty given to it i 
 but it is raifed by different caufes. 
 
 HYPOTHESES, however, have been framed by 
 ingenious men, for afligning the fundamental 
 quality of Beauty in all objects. In particu- 
 lar, Uniformity amidft Variety, has been in- 
 Jifted on as this fundamental quality. For 
 the Beauty of many figures, I admit that this 
 accounts in a fatisfactory manner. But when 
 we endeavour to apply this principle to Beau- 
 tiful objects of fome other kind, as to Colour, 
 for inilance, or Motion, we fhall foon 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; feeing many pleafe us as highly 
 beautiful, which have almoft no variety at all ; 
 and others, which are various to a degree of 
 intricacy. Laying fyfbems of this kind, there- 
 fore, afide, what I now propofe is, to give an 
 enumeration of feveral of thofe claries of ob- 
 jects in which Beauty moft remarkably ap- 
 pears; and to point out, as far as I can, 
 the feparate principles of Beauty in each of 
 them. 
 
 COLOUR
 
 BEAUTY. 103 
 
 COLOUR affords, perhaps, the fimpleft in- L E y c T - 
 (lance of Beauty, and therefore the fitteft to 
 begin with. Here, neither Variety, nor Uni- 
 formity, nor any other principle that I know, 
 can be afligned, as the foundation of Beauty. 
 We can refer it to no other caufe but the 
 Structure of the eye, which determines us to 
 receive certain modifications of the rays of 
 light with more pleafure than others. And 
 we fee accordingly, that, as the organ of fen- 
 fation varies in different perfons, they have 
 their different favourite colours. It is pro- 
 bable, that aflbciation of ideas has influence, 
 in fome cafes, on the pleafure which we re- 
 ceive from colours. Green, for inftance, 
 may appear more beautiful, by being con- 
 nected in our ideas with rural profpecls and 
 fcenes ; white, with innocence j blue, with 
 the ferenity of the fky. Independent of aflb- 
 ciations of this kind, all that we can farther 
 obferve concerning colours is, that thofe 
 chofen for Beauty are, generally, delicate, ra- 
 ther than glaring. Such are thofe paintings 
 with which nature hath ornamented fome of 
 her works, and which art ftrives in vain to 
 imitate j as the feathers of feveral kinds of 
 birds, the leaves of flowers, and the fine va- 
 riation of colours exhibited by the fky at the 
 rifing and fetting of the fun. Thefe pre- 
 fent to us the higheft inftances of the Beauty 
 of colouring j and have accordingly been the 
 H 4 favourite
 
 D E A U T V. . 
 L E c T. favourite fubjects of poetical defcription in all 
 
 v. 
 
 countries. 
 
 FROM Colour we proceed to Figure, which 
 opens to us forms of Beauty more complex 
 and diverfified. Regularity firft occurs to be 
 noticed as a fource of Beauty. By a regular 
 figure, is meant, one which we perceive to be 
 formed according to fome certain rule, and 
 not left arbitrary, or loofe, in the conftruftion 
 of its parts. Thus, a circle, a fquare, a tri- 
 angle, or a hexagon, pleafe the eye, by their 
 regularity, as beautiful figures. We muft 
 not, however, conclude, that all figures pleafe 
 in proportion to their regularity ; or that re- 
 gularity is the fole, or the chief, foundation, 
 of beauty in figure. On the contrary, a cer- 
 tain graceful variety is found to be a much 
 more powerful principle of Beauty ; and is 
 therefore fludied a great deal more than regu- 
 larity, in all works that are defigned merely 
 to pleafe the eye. I am, indeed, inclined to 
 think, that regularity appears beautiful to us, 
 chiefly, if not only, on account of its fuggeft- 
 ing the ideas of fitnefs, propriety, and ufe, 
 which have always a greater connection with 
 orderly and proportioned forms, than with 
 thofe which appear not conftrucled according 
 to any certain rule. It is clear, that Nature, 
 who is undoubtedly the moil graceful artift, 
 hath, in all her ornamental works, purfued 
 
 variety^
 
 BEAUTY. 10$. 
 
 Variety, with an apparent neglect of regu- L E c T 
 larity. Cabinets, doors, and windows, are 
 made after a regular form, in cubes and pa- 
 rallelograms, with exact proportion of parts ; 
 and by being fo formed they pleafe the eye ; 
 for this good rcafon, that, being works of ufe, 
 they are, by fuch figures, the better fuited to 
 the ends for which they were defigned. But 
 plants, flowers, and leaves are full of variety 
 and diverfity. A ftraight canal is an infipid 
 figure, in comparifon of the maeanders of rivers. 
 Cones and pyramids are beautiful ; but trees 
 growing in their natural wildnefs, are infinitely 
 more beautiful than when trimmed into pyramids 
 and cones. The apartments of a houfe muft be 
 regular in their difpofition, for the conveniency 
 of it, inhabitants ; but a garden, which is de- 
 figned merely for Beauty, would be exceedingly 
 difgufting, if it had as much uniformity and 
 order in its parts as a dwelling houfe. i 
 
 MR. HOGARTH, in his Analyfis of Beauty, 
 has oblerved, that figures bounded by curve 
 lines are, in general, more beautiful than 
 thofe bounded by ilraight lines and angles. 
 He pitches upon two lines, on which, ac- 
 cording to him, the Beauty of figure princi- 
 pally depends ; and he has illuftrated, and 
 fupported his doctrine, by a furprifing num- 
 ber of inftances. The one is the Waving 
 JL/ine, or a curve bending backwards and 
 
 forwards,
 
 , 6 BEAUTY. 
 
 L E c T. forwards, fomewhat in the form of the letter 
 S. " This he calls the Line of Beauty j and 
 flievvs how often it is found in fhells, flowers, 
 and fuch other ornamental works of nature i 
 as is common alfo in the figures defigned by 
 painters and fculptors, for the purpofe of de- 
 coration. The other Line, which he calls 
 the Line of Grace, is the former waving 
 curve, twifted round fome folid body. The 
 curling worm of a common jack is one of the 
 inflances he gives of it. Twilled pillars, 
 and twifted horns, alfo exhibit it. In all the 
 inflances which he mentions, Variety plainly 
 appears to be fo material a principle of Beauty, 
 that he feems not to err much when he defines 
 the art of drawing pleafing forms, to be the art 
 of varying well. For the curve line, fo much 
 the favourite of painters, derives, according to 
 him, its chief advantage, from its perpetual 
 bending and variation from the ftiff regularity 
 of the ftraight line. 
 
 MOTION furnifhes another fource of Beauty a 
 diftinc~t from figure. Motion of itfelf is 
 pleafing ; and bodies in motion are, " caeteris 
 " paribus," preferred to thole in reft. It is, 
 however, only gentle motion that belongs to 
 the Beautiful i for when it is very fwift, or 
 very forcible, fuch as that of a torrent, it par- 
 takes of the Sublime.. The motion of a bird 
 gliding through die air, is extremely Beauti- 
 ful;
 
 BEAUTY. 
 ful : the fwiftnefs with which lightning; darts 
 
 Do 
 
 through the heavens, is magnificent and afto- 
 nifhing. And here, it is proper to obferve, 
 that the fenfations of Sublime and Beautiful 
 are not _ always diftinguifhed by very diftant 
 boundaries ; but are capable, in feveral in- 
 ftances, of approaching towards each other. 
 Thus, a fmooth running ilream, is one of. 
 the moft beautiful objects in nature : as it 
 fwells gradually into a great river, the Beauti- 
 ful, by degrees, is loft in the Sublime. A 
 young tree is a beautiful object ; a fpreading 
 ancient oak, is a venerable and a grand one. 
 The calmnefs of a fine morning is Beautiful ; 
 the univerfal ftillnefs of the evening is highly 
 Sublime. But to return to the Beauty of mo- 
 tion, it will be found, I think, to hold very 
 generally, that motion in a ftraight line is not 
 fo beautiful as in an undulating waving direc- 
 tion j and motion upwards is, commonly too, 
 more agreeable than motion downwards. 
 The eafy curling motion of flame and fmoke 
 may be inftanced, as an object fingularly 
 agreeable : and here Mr. Hogarth's waving 
 line recurs upon us as a principle of Beauty. 
 That artift obferves very ingenioufly, that 
 all the common and necefTary motions for 
 the bufmefs of life, are performed by men 
 in ftraight or plain lines ; but that all the 
 graceful and ornamental movements are made 
 in waving lines j an obfervation not unworthy 
 
 of
 
 *oS BEAUTY. 
 
 ** E T ' of being attended to, by all who ftudy the 
 grace of gefture and action. 
 
 THOUGH Colour, Figure, and Motion, be 
 feparate principles of Beauty; yet in many 
 beautiful objects they all meet, and thereby 
 render the Beauty both greater, and more 
 complex. Thus, in flowers, trees, animals, 
 we are entertained at once with the delicacy of 
 the colour, with the gracefulnefs of the figure, 
 and fometimes arfo with the motion of the ob- 
 ject. Although each of thefe produce a fepa- 
 rate agreeable fenfation, yet they are of fuch 
 a fimilar nature, as readily to mix and blend 
 in one general perception of Beauty, which we 
 afcribe to the whole object as its caufe : for 
 Beauty is always conceived by us, as feme- 
 thing refiding in the object which raifes the 
 pjeaiant fenfation ; a fort of glory which 
 dwells upon, and invefts it. Perhaps the 
 mofl complete afiemblage of beautiful objects 
 that can any where be found, is prefented by 
 a rich natural landfcape, where there is a fuffi- 
 cient variety of objects : fields in verdure, 
 Scattered trees and flowers, running water, and 
 animals grazing. If to thefe be joined, Ibme 
 of the productions of art, which fuit fuch a 
 fcene ; as a bridge with arches over a river, 
 fmoke rifing from cottages in the midft of 
 trees, and the diftant view of a fine building 
 feen by the rifing fun j we then enjoy, in the 
 
 higheft
 
 BEAUTY, 109. 
 
 nigheft perfection, that gay, cheerful, and L E c T. 
 placid fenfation which characterifes Beauty. 
 To have an eye and a tafte formed for catching 
 the peculiar Beauties of fuch fcenes as thefe, 
 is a necefiary requifite for all who attempt 
 poetical defcription. 
 
 THE Beauty of the human countenance is 
 more complex than any that we have yet con- 
 fidered. It includes the Beauty of colour, 
 arifmg from the delicate fhades of the com- 
 plexion i and the Beauty of figure, arifmg 
 from the lines which form the different fea- 
 tures of the face. But the chief Beauty of the 
 countenance depends upon a myfterious ex- 
 prefiion, which it conveys of the qualities of 
 the mind ; of good fenfe, or good humour ; 
 of fprightlinefs, candour, benevolence, fenfi- 
 bility, or other amiable difpofitions. How it 
 comes to pafs, that a certain conformation of 
 features is connected in our idea with certaia 
 moral qualities -, whether we are taught by 
 inilinct, or by experience, to form this con- 
 nection, and to read the mind in the counte- 
 nance} belongs not to us now to inquire, 
 nor is indeed eafy to refolve. The fact is cer- 
 tain, and acknowledged, that what gives the 
 human countenance its moft diftinguiihing 
 Beauty, is what is called its expreflion; or ark 
 image, which it is conceived to fhew of in- 
 ternal moral difpofitions. 
 
 THIS
 
 no BEAUTY. 
 
 L E c T. THIS leads us to obferve, that there are 
 
 V . 
 
 certain qualities of the mind, which, whether 
 expreffed in the countenance, or by words, or 
 by actions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar 
 to that of Beauty. There are two great clafles 
 of moral qualities ; one is of the high and the 
 great virtues, which require extraordinary ef- 
 forts; and turn upon dangers and fufferings; 
 as heroilin, magnanimity, contempt of plea- 
 fures, and contempt of death. Thefe, as I 
 have obferved in a former Lecture, excite in 
 the fpectator an emotion of Sublimity and 
 Grandeur. The other clafs is generally of the 
 focial virtues, and fuch as are of a fofter and 
 gentler kind; as companion, mildnefs, friend- 
 fhip, and generofity. Thefe raife in the be- 
 holder a fenfation of pleafure, fo much akin 
 to that produced by Beautiful external objects, 
 that, though of a more dignified nature, it 
 may, without impropriety, be ciaffed under the 
 fame head. 
 
 A SPECIES of Beauty, diftinct from any I 
 have yet mentioned, arifes from defign or art ; 
 or, in other words* from the perception of 
 means being adapted to an end ; or the parts 
 of any thing being well fitted to anfwer the 
 defign of the whole. When, in confidering 
 the ftrufture of a tree or a plant, we obferve, 
 how all the parts, the roots, the Item, the 
 bark, and the le*aves, are fuited to the growth 
 
 and
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 1IT 
 
 and nutriment of the whole: much more L E c T 
 when we furvey all the parts and members of 
 a living animal ; or when we examine any of 
 the curious works of art j fuch as a clock, a 
 fhip, or any nice machine ; the pleafure which 
 we have in the furvey, is wholly founded on 
 this fenfe of Beauty. It is altogether different 
 from the perception of Beauty produced by 
 colour, figure, variety, or any of the caufes 
 formerly mentioned. When I look at a watch, 
 for inftance, the cafe of it, if finely engraved, 
 and of curious workmanfhip, ftrikes me as 
 Beautiful in the former fenfe ; bright colour, 
 exquifite polifh, figures finely raifed and 
 turned. But when I examine the fpring and 
 the wheels, and praife the Beauty of the in- 
 ternal machinery ; my pleafure then arifes 
 wholly from 'the view of that admirable art, 
 with which fo many various and complicated 
 parts are made to unite for one purpofe. 
 
 Tins fenfe of Beauty, in fitnefs and defign, 
 has an extenfive influence over many of our 
 ideas. It is the foundation of the Beauty 
 which we difcover in the proportion of doors, 
 windows, arches, pillars, and all the orders 
 of architecture. Let the ornaments of a 
 building be ever fo fine and elegant in them- 
 felves, yet if they interfere with this fenfe of 
 fitnefs and defign, they lofe their Beauty, and 
 hurt the eye, like difagreeable objects. Twilled 
 
 columns,
 
 ii2 BEAUTY. 
 
 L E v T " co ^ umns > f r inftance, are undoubtedly orriaM 
 
 ^ r t mental ; but as they have an appearance of 
 
 weaknefs, they always difpleafe when they are 
 made ufe of to fupport any part of a building 
 that is mafly, and that feems to require a more 
 fubftantial prop. We cannot look upon any 
 work whatever, without being led, by a na- 
 tural affociation of ideas, to think of its end 
 and defign, and of courie to examine the pro- 
 priety of its parts, in relation to this defign 
 and end. When their propriety is clearly 
 difcerned, the work feems always to have fome 
 Beauty; but when there is a total want of 
 propriety, it never fails of appearing deformed. 
 Our fenfe of fitnefs and defign, therefore, is 
 fo powerful, and holds fo high a rank among 
 our perceptions, as to regulate, in a great 
 meafure, our other ideas of Beauty : An ob- 
 fervation which I the rather make, as it is of 
 the utmoft importance, that all who ftudy 
 compofition fhould carefully attend to it. For, 
 in an epic poem, a hiftory, an oration, or any 
 work of genius, we always require, as we do 
 in other works, a fitnefs, or adjuftment of 
 means, to the end which the author is fup- 
 pofed to have in view. Let his defcriptions be 
 ever fo rich, or his figures ever fo elegant, 
 yet, if they are out of place, if they are not 
 proper parts of that whole, if they fuit not the 
 main defign, they lofe all their Beauty ; nay, 
 from Beauties they are converted into De- 
 formities,
 
 BEAUTY. 113 
 
 formities. Such power has our fenfe of fitnefs L E c T. 
 and congruity, to produce a total transformation 
 of an object whofe appearance otherwife would 
 have been Beautiful. 
 
 AFTER having mentioned fo many various 
 fpecies of Beauty, it now only remains to take 
 notice of Beauty as it is applied to writing or 
 difcourfe ; a term commonly ufed in a fenfe 
 altogether loofe and undetermined. For it is 
 applied to all that pleafes, either in ftyle or 
 in fentiment, from whatever principle that 
 pleafure flows ; and a Beautiful poem or ora- 
 tion means, in common language, no other 
 than a good one, or one well compofed. In 
 this fenfe^ it is plain, the word is altogether 
 indefinite, and points at no particular fpecies 
 or kind of Beauty. There is, however, another 
 fenfe, fomewhat more definite, in which Beauty 
 of writing characterifes a particular manner ; 
 when it is ufed to fignify a certain grace and 
 amsenity in the turn either of flyle or fenti- 
 ment, for which fome authors have been pe- 
 culiarly diftinguifhed. In this .fenfe, it de- 
 notes a manner neither remarkably fublime, 
 nor vehemently paffioriate, nor uncommonly 
 fparkling j but fuch as raifes in the reader an 
 emotion of the gentle placid kind, fimilar to 
 what is raifed by the contemplation of beauti- 
 ful objects in nature ; which neither lifts the 
 mind very high, nor agitates it very much, 
 
 VOL. I. I but
 
 H4 PLEASURES OF TASTE. 
 
 L E T< but difFufes over the imagination an agreeable 
 and pleafing ferenity. Mr. Addifon is a 
 writer altogether of this character -, and is one 
 of the moft proper and precife examples that 
 can be given of it. Fenelon, the author 
 of the Adventures of Telemachus, may be 
 given as another example. Virgil too, though 
 very capable of rifing on occafions into 
 the Sublime, yet, in his general man- 
 ner, is diftinguifhed by the character of 
 Beauty and Grace, rather than of Subli- 
 mity. Among orators, Cicero has more of 
 the Beautiful than Demofthenes, whofe ge- 
 nius led him wholly towards vehemence and 
 ftrength. 
 
 THIS much it is fufficient to have faid upon 
 the fubjec"l of Beauty. We have traced it 
 through a variety of forms ; as next to Sub- 
 limity, it is the moft copious fource of the 
 Pleafcres of Tafte ; and as the confideration 
 of the different appearances, and principles of 
 Beauty, tends to the improvement of Tafte in 
 many fubjefls. 
 
 BUT it is not only by appearing under the 
 forms of Sublime or Beautiful, that objects 
 delight the imagination. From feveral other 
 principles alfo, they derive their power of 
 giving it pleafure. 
 
 NOVELTY,
 
 PLEASURES OF TASTE; 
 
 NOVELTY, for inflance, has been men- 
 tioned by Mr. Addifon, and by every writer 
 on this fubject. An object which has no me- 
 rit to recommend it, except its being uncom- 
 mon or new, by means of this quality alone, 
 produces in the mind a vivid and an agreeable 
 emotion. Hence that pafllon of curiofity, 
 which prevails fo generally among mankind. 
 Objects and ideas which have been long fami- 
 liar, make too faint an imprefiion to give an 
 agreeable exercife to our faculties. New and 
 ftrange objects roufe the mind from its dor- 
 mant ftate, by giving it a quick and pleafing 
 impulfe. Hence, in a great meafure, the 
 entertainment afforded us by fiction and ro- 
 mance. The emotion raifed by Novelty is of 
 a more lively and pungent nature, than that 
 produced by Beauty ; but much fhorter in its 
 continuance. For if the object have in itfelf 
 no charms to hold our attention, the fhining 
 glofs thrown upon it by Novelty foon wears 
 off. 
 
 BESIDES Novelty, Imitation is another 
 fource of Pleafure to Tafbe. This gives 
 rife to what Mr. Addifon terms, the Second- 
 ary Pleafures of Imagination ; which form, 
 doubtlefs, a very extenlive clafs. For all 
 Imitation affords fome pleafure; not only the 
 Imitation of beautiful or great objects, by 
 recalling the original ideas of Beauty or Gran- 
 I 2 deur
 
 n6 PLEASURES OF TASTE, 
 
 o 
 
 V. 
 
 L E c T. cl ellr which fuch objefts themfelves exhibited ; 
 
 but even objects which have neither Beauty 
 nor Grandeur, nay, fome which are terrible or 
 deformed, pleafe us in a fecondary or repre- 
 fented view. 
 
 THE Pleafures of Melody and Harmony 
 belong alfo to Tafte. There is no agreeable 
 fenfation we receive, either from Beauty or 
 Sublimity, but what is capable of being 
 heightened by the power of mufical found* 
 Hence the delight of poetical numbers ; and 
 even of the more concealed and loofer mea- 
 lures of profe. Wit, Humour, and Ridi- 
 cule likcwife open a variety of Pleafures to 
 Tafte, quite diftindl; from any that we have yet 
 confidered. 
 
 AT prefent it is not neceffary to purfue any 
 farther the fubject of the Pleafures of Tafte. 
 I have opened fome of the general principles 5 
 it is time now to make the application to our 
 chief fubjecl:. If the queftion be put, To 
 what clafs of thofe Pleafures of Tafte which I 
 have enumerated, that Pleafure is to be re- 
 ferred, which we receive from poetry, elo- 
 quence, or fine writing ? My anfwer is, Not 
 to any one, but to them all. This fingular 
 advantage, writing and difcourfe poflefs, that 
 they encompafs fo large and rich a field on all 
 fides, and have power to exhibit, in great 
 
 perfection,
 
 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION. -117 
 
 perfection, not a fmgle fet of objects only, L E ^ T - 
 but almoft the whole of thofe which give Plea- 
 fure to Tafte and Imagination ; whether that 
 Pleafure arife from Sublimity, from Beauty in 
 its different forms, from Defign and Art, from 
 Moral Sentiment, from Novelty, from Har- 
 mony, from Wit, Humour, and Ridicule. To 
 whichfoever of thefe the peculiar bent of a per- 
 fon's Tafte lies, from fome writer or other, he 
 has it always in his power to receive the gratifi- 
 cation of it. 
 
 Now this high power which eloquence and 
 poetry poflefs, of fupplying Tafte and Imagi- 
 nation with fuch a wide circle of pleafures, 
 they derive altogether from their having a 
 greater capacity of Imitation and Defcription 
 than is poffeffed by any other art. Of all the 
 means which human ingenuity has contrived 
 .for recalling the images of real objects, and 
 awakening, by reprefentation, fimilar emo- 
 tions to thofe which are raifed by the original, 
 none is fo full and extenfive as that which is 
 executed by words and writing. Through 
 the affiftance of this happy invention, there is 
 nothing, either in the natural or moral world, 
 but what can be reprefented and fet before the 
 mind, in colours very ftrong and lively. 
 Hence it is ufual among critical writers, to 
 fpeak of Difcourfe as the chief of all the imi- 
 tative or mimetic arts; they compare it with 
 I 3 painting
 
 lig IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION. 
 
 L E c T. painting and with fculpture, and in many re- 
 fpects prefer it juftly before them. 
 
 THIS ftyle was firft introduced by Ariftotle 
 in his Poetics ; and fince his time, has ac- 
 quired a general currency among modern au- 
 thors. But, as it is of confequence to intro- 
 duce as much precifion as pofTible into critical 
 language, I muft obferve, that this manner of 
 fpeaking is not accurate. Neither difcourfe 
 in general, nor poetry in particular, can be 
 called altogether imitative arts. We muft 
 diftinguifli betwixt Imitation and Defcription, 
 which are ideas that fhould not be con- 
 founded. Imitation is performed by means 
 of fomewhat that has a natural likenefs and 
 refemblance to the thing imitated, and of con- 
 fequence is imderftood by all ; fuch are fla- 
 mes and pictures. Defcription, again, is 
 the raifing in the mind the conception of 
 an object by means of fome arbitrary or in- 
 ftituted fymbols, underflood only by thofe 
 who agree in the inftitution of them ; fuch 
 are words and writing. Words have no 
 natural refemblance to the ideas or objects 
 which they are employed to fignify ; but a 
 ftatue or a picture has a natural likenefs to 
 the original. And therefore Imitation and 
 Defcription differ confiderably in their nature 
 from each other. 
 
 As
 
 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION. 
 
 As far, indeed, as a poet introduces into his 
 work perfons actually fpeaking ; and, by the 
 words which he puts into their mouths, repre- 
 fents the difcourfe which they might be fup- 
 pofed to hold ; fo far his art may more accu- 
 rately be called Imitative: and this is the cafe 
 in all dramatic compofition. But in Narra- 
 tive or Defcriptive works, it can with no pro- 
 priety be called fo. Who, for inftance, would 
 call Virgil's Defcription of a tempeft, in the 
 firft ./Eneid, an Imitation of a ftorm ? If we 
 heard of the Imitation of a battle, we might 
 naturally think of fome mock fight, or repre- 
 fentation of a battle on the ftage, but would 
 never apprehend, that it meant one of Homer's 
 Defcriptions in the Iliad. I admit, at the 
 fame time, that Imitation and Defcription 
 agree in their principal effect, of recalling, by 
 external figns, the ideas of things which we do 
 not fee. But though in this they coincide, yet 
 it fhould not be forgotten, that the terms 
 themfelves are not fynonymous ; that they im- 
 port different means of effecting the fame 
 end ; and of courfe make different impreffions 
 
 on the mind *, 
 
 WHETHER 
 
 * Though, in the execution of particular parts, Poetry 
 is certainly Defcriptive rather than Imitative, yet there is 
 a qualified fenfe in which Poetry, in the general, may be 
 termed an Imitative art. The fubjecl of the poet (as Dr. 
 Gerard has mown in the Appendix to his Effay on Tafte) is 
 intended to be an Imitation, not of things really exifting, 
 I 4 but
 
 120 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION. 
 
 WHETHER we confider Poetry in particular, 
 and Difcourfe in general, as Imitative or De- 
 fcriptive ; it is evident, that their whole power 
 in recalling the impreflions of real objects, is 
 derived from the fignificancy of words. As 
 
 but of the courfe of nature ; that is, a feigned reprefentation 
 of fuch events, or fuch fcenes, as though they never had a 
 being, yet might have exifted ; and which, therefore, by 
 their probability, bear a refemblance to nature. It was 
 probably, in this fenfe, that Ariftotle termed Poetry a 
 mimetic art. How far either the Imitation or the Defcrip- 
 tion which Poetry employs, is fuperior to the imitative 
 powers of Painting and Mufic, is well mown by Mr. Harris, 
 in his Treatife on Mufic, Painting, and Poetry. The chief 
 advantage which Poetry, or Difcourfe in general, enjoys, is 
 that whereas, by the nature of his art, the Painter is con- 
 fined to the reprefentation of a fingle moment, Writing and 
 Difcourfe can trace a tranfa&ion through its whole progrefs. 
 That moment, indeed, which the Painter pitches upon for 
 the fubjecl of his picture, he may be faid to exhibit with 
 more advantage than the Poet or the Orator ; inafmuch as 
 he fets before us, in one view, all the minute concurrent 
 circumftances of the event which happen in one individual 
 point of time, as they appear in nature ; while Difcourfe is 
 obliged to exhibit them in fucceffion, and by means of a de- 
 tail, which is in danger of becoming tedious, in order to be 
 clear ', or if not tedious, is in danger of being obfcure. 
 But to that point of time which he has chofen, the Painter 
 being entirely confined, he cannot exhibit various itages of 
 the fame aftion or event ; and he is fubjecl to this farther 
 defect, that he can only exhibit objects as they appear to the 
 eye, and can very imperfectly delineate characters and 
 fentiments, which are the nobleft fubjects of Imitation or 
 Defcription. The power of reprefenting thefe with full ad- 
 vantage, gives a high fuperiority to Difcourfe and Writing 
 above all other imitative arts. 
 
 their
 
 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION. J2I 
 
 their excellency flows altogether from this 
 fource, we mud, in order to make way for 
 further inquiries, begin at this fountain head. 
 I fhall, therefore, in the next Lecture, enter 
 upon the confideration of Language : of the 
 origin, the progrefs, and conftruftion of which, 
 J purpofe to treat at feme length.
 
 LECTURE VI. 
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE, 
 
 AVING finifhed my obfervations on 
 the Pleafures of Tafte, which were 
 meant to be introductory to the principal fub- 
 je6t of thefe Lectures, I now begin to treat of 
 Language ; which is the foundation of the 
 whole power of eloquence. This will lead to 
 a confiderable difcuffion ; and there are few 
 fubjects belonging to polite literature, which 
 more merit fuch a difcuffion. I fhall firfl give 
 a Hiftory of the Rife and Progrefs of Language 
 in feveral particulars, from its early to its more 
 advanced periods -, which fhall be followed by 
 a fimilar Hiftory of the Rife and Progrefs of 
 Writing. I fhall next give fome account of 
 the Conftruftion of Language, or the Prin- 
 ciples of Univerfal Grammar ; and fhall, laftly, 
 apply thefe obfervations more particularly to 
 the Englifh Tongue *. 
 
 LANGUAGE, 
 
 * See Dr. Adam Smith's Differtation on the Formation 
 of Languages. -Treatife of the Origin and Progrefs of 
 
 Language,
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS, &c. 123 
 
 LANGUAGE, in general, fignifies the expref- L E vi c T - 
 fion of our ideas by certain articulate founds, 
 which are ufed as the figns of thofe ideas. By 
 articulate founds, are meant thofe modula- 
 tions of fimple voice, or of found emitted from 
 the thorax, which are formed by means of the 
 mouth and its feveral organs, the teeth, the 
 tongue, the lips, and the palate. How far there 
 is any natural connexion between the ideas of 
 the mind and the founds emitted, will appear 
 from what I am afterwards to offer. But as the 
 natural connexion can, upon any fyflem, af- 
 fect only a fmall part of the fabric of Lan- 
 guage ; the connexion between words and 
 ideas may, in general, be confidered as arbi- 
 trary and conventional, owing to the agree- 
 ment of men among themfelves ; the clear 
 proof of which is, that different nations have 
 different Languages, or a different fet of arti- 
 culate founds, which they have chofen for com- 
 municating their ideas. 
 
 Language, in 3 vols. Harris's Hermes, or a Philofophi- 
 cal Enquiry concerning Language and Univerfal Gram- 
 mar. Effai fur 1'Origine des Connoiffances Humaines, 
 par 1'Abbe Condillac. Principes de Grammaire, par 
 Marfais. Grammaire Generale & Raifonnee. Traite dc 
 la Formation Mechanique des Langues, par le Prefident de 
 Broffes. Difcours fur 1'Inegalite parmi les Homines, par 
 Rouffeau. Grammaire Generale, par Beauzee. Principes 
 de la Tradudlion, par Batteux. Warburton's Divine Lega,- 
 tion of Mofes, vol. iii. Sanftii Minerva, cum notis Peri- 
 zonii. Les Vrais Principes de la Langue Francoife, par 
 1'Abbe Girard. 
 
 THIS
 
 I24 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. THIS artificial method of communicating 
 thought, we now behold carried to the higheft 
 
 perfection. Language is become a vehicle by 
 which the mod delicate and refined emotions 
 of one mind can be tranfmitted, or, if we 
 may fo fpeak, transfufed into another. Not 
 only are names given to all objects around us, 
 by which means an eafy and fpeedy intercourfe 
 is carried on for providing the neceffaries of 
 life, but all the relations and differences among 
 thefe objects are minutely marked, the invi- 
 fible fentiments of the mind are defcribed, the 
 moft abftract notions and conceptions are ren- 
 dered intelligible ; and all the ideas which 
 icience can difcover, or imagination create, 
 are known by their proper names. Nay, 
 language has been carried fo far, as to be 
 made an inftrument of the moft refined luxury. 
 Not reding in mere perfpicuity, we require 
 ornament alfo ; not fatisfied with having the 
 conceptions of others made known to us, we 
 make a farther demand, to have them fo 
 decked and adorned as to entertain our fancy ; 
 and this demand, it is found very poffible to 
 gratify. In this ftate we now find Language. 
 In this ftate, it has been found among many 
 nations for fome thoufand years. The object 
 is become familiar j and, like the expanfe of 
 the firmament, and other great objects, which 
 we are accuftomed to behold, we behold it 
 without wonder. 
 
 *j BUT
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 BUT carry your thoughts back to the firft 
 dawn of Language among men. Reflect upon 
 the feeble beginnings from which it mud have 
 arifen, and upon the many and great obfbcles 
 which it muft have encountered in ks pro- 
 grefs ; and you will find reafon for the high eft 
 aftonifhment, on viewing the height which it 
 has now attained. We admire feveral of the 
 inventions of art ; we plume ourfelves on fome 
 difcoveries which have been made in latter 
 ages, ferving to advance knowledge, and to 
 render life comfortable ; we fpeak of them as 
 the boaft of human reafon. But certainly no 
 invention is entitled to any fuch degree of ad- 
 miration as that of Language ; which, too* 
 muft have been the product of the firft and 
 rudeft ages, if indeed it can be confidered as 
 a human invention at all. 
 
 THINK of the circumftances of mankind 
 when Languages began to be formed. They 
 were a wandering fcattered race ; no fociety 
 among them except families ; and the family 
 fociety too very imperfect, as their method of 
 living by hunting or pafturage muft have fe- 
 parated them frequently from one another. 
 In this fituation, when fo much divided, and 
 their intercourfe fo rare, how could any one 
 fet of founds, or words, be generally agreed 
 on as the figns of their ideas? Suppofing that 
 a few, whom chance or neceffity threw to- 
 gether,
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 T. outlier. 
 
 VI. 
 
 L E c T. gether, agreed by fome means upon certain 
 
 figns, yet by what authority could thefe be ( 
 propagated among other tribes or families, fo 
 as to fpread and grow up into a Language ? 
 One would think, that, in order to any Lan- 
 guage fixing and extending itfelf, men muft have 
 been previoufly gathered together in confider- 
 able numbers ; Society muft have been al- 
 ready far advanced -, and yet, on the other 
 hand, there feems to have been an abfolute 
 neceflity for Speech, previous to the formation 
 of Society. For, by what bond could any 
 multitude of men be kept together, or be made 
 to join in the profecution of any common in- 
 tereft, until once, by the intervention of Speech, 
 they could communicate their wants and inten- 
 tions to one another ? So that, either how So- 
 ciety could form itfelf, previoufly to Lan- 
 guage, or how words could rife into a Language 
 previoufly to Society formed, feem to be points 
 attended with equal difficulty. And when we 
 confider farther, that curious analogy which pre- 
 vails in the conflru6bion of almoit all Lan- 
 guages, and that deep and fubtile logic on which 
 they are founded, difficulties increafe fo much 
 upon us, on all hands, that there feems to be 
 no fmall reafon for referring the firft origin of 
 all Language to Divine teaching or infpiration. 
 
 BUT fuppofing Language to have a Divine 
 original, we cannot, however, fuppofe, that 
 
 a perfect
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 127 
 
 a perfeft fyftem of it was all at once given to L E v T 
 tnan. It is much more natural to think, that 
 God taught our firft parents only fuch Lan- 
 guage as fluted their prefent occafions; leav- 
 ing them, as he did in other things, to en- 
 large and improve it as their future neceflities 
 Ihould require. Confequently, thofe firft ru- 
 diments of Speech muft have been poor and 
 narrow -, and we are at full liberty to inquire 
 in what manner, and by what fteps, Language 
 advanced to the ftate in which we now find it. 
 The hiftory which I am to give of this pro- 
 grefs, will iuggeft feveral things, both curious 
 in themfelves, and ufeful in our future difqui- 
 fitions. 
 
 IF we fhould fuppofe a period before any 
 words were invented or known, it is clear, 
 that men could have no other method of com- 
 municating to others what they felt, than by 
 the cries of paffion, accompanied with fuch 
 motions and geftures as were farther expreffive 
 of paflion. For thefe are the only figns which 
 nature teaches all men, and which are under- 
 ftood by all. One who faw another going 
 into fome place where he himfelf had been 
 frightened, or expofed to danger, and who 
 fought to warn his neighbour of the danger, 
 could contrive no other way of doing fo, than 
 by uttering thofc cries, and making thofe 
 geftures, which are the figns of fear : juft as 
 
 two
 
 128 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. t wo rnen, at this day, would endeavour t<y- 
 make themfelves be underftood by each other,* 
 who ihould be thrown together on a defolate 
 ifland, ignorant of each other's Language. 
 Thofe exclamations, therefore, which by 
 Grammarians are called Interjections, uttered 
 in a ftrong and paffionate manner, were, be- 
 yond doubt, the firft elements or beginnings 
 of Speech. 
 
 WHEN more enlarged communication be- 
 came necefTary, and names began to be af- 
 figned to objects, in what manner can we fup- 
 pofe men to have proceeded in this afiigna- 
 tion of names, or invention of words ? Un- 
 doubtedly, by imitating, as much as they 
 could, the nature of the object which they 
 named, by the found of the name which they 
 gave to it. As a Painter, who would repre- 
 fent grafs, muft employ a green colour ; fo, 
 in the beginnings of Language, one giving a 
 name to any thing harfh or boifterous, would 
 of courfe employ a harfh or boifterous found. 
 He could not do otherwife, if he meant to 
 excite in the hearer the idea of that thing 
 which he fought to name. To fuppofe words 
 invented, or names given, to things, in a 
 manner purely arbitrary, without any ground 
 or reafon, is to fuppofe an effect without a 
 caufe. There muft have always been fome 
 motive which led to the afiignation of one 
 
 name
 
 OF L A N G U A G E, 
 
 hame rattier than another $ and we can con- L 
 ceive no motive which would more generally 
 operate upon men in their firft efforts towards 
 Language, than a defire to paint, by Speech, 
 the objects which they named, in a manner 
 more or lefs complete, according as the vocal 
 organs had it in their power to effect this 
 imitation. 
 
 WHEREVER objects were to be named, in 
 which found, noife, or motion were concerned, 
 the imitation by words was abundantly ob- 
 vious. Nothing was more natural, than to 
 imitate, by the found of the voice, the quality 
 of the found or noife which any external object 
 made j and to form its name accordingly. 
 Thus, in all Languages, we find a multitude 
 of words that are evidently conftructed upon 
 this principle. A certain bird is termed the 
 Cuckoo, from the found which it emits. 
 When one fort of wind is faid to lubtftle, and 
 another to roar -, when a ferpent is faid to hifs-, 
 a fly to biiZy and falling timber to crajh\ 
 when a ftream is faid to flow, and hail to rattle ; 
 the analogy between the word and the thing 
 fignified is plainly difcernible. 
 
 IN the names of objects which addrefs the 
 fight , only, where neither noife nor motion are 
 concerned, and ftill more in the terms appro- 
 priated to moral ideas, this analogy appears to 
 
 VOL. I. K /ail
 
 13 o RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. f a ii. Many learned men, however, have beef? 
 of opinion, that though, in fuch cafes, it be- 
 comes more obfcure, yet it is not altogether 
 loft; but that throughout the radical words 
 of all Languages, there may be traced fome 
 degree of correfpondence with the object fig- 
 nified. With regard to moral and intellectual 
 ideas, they remark, that, in every Language, 
 the terms fignificant of them, are derived from 
 the names of fenfible objefls to which they 
 are conceived to be analogous ; and with re- 
 gard to fenfible objects pertaining merely to 
 fight, they remark, that their moft diftinguilh- 
 ing qualities have certain radical founds ap- 
 propriated to the exprefiion of them, in a great 
 variety of Languages. Stability, for inftance, 
 fluidity, hollownefs, fmoothnefs, gentlenefs, 
 violencej &c. they imagine to be painted by 
 the found of certain letters or fyllables, 
 which have fome relation to thofe different 
 dates of vifible objects, on account of an ob- 
 fcure refembbnce which the organs of voice 
 are capable of afluming to fuch external qua- 
 lities. By this natural mechanifm, they ima- 
 gine all Languages to have been at firft con- 
 ftrudted, and the roots of their capital words 
 formed *. 
 
 As 
 
 * The Author, who has carried his fpeculatkms on this 
 fubjel the fartheft, is the President JOes BrofTes, in his 
 " Traite de la Formation Mechanique des Langues." 
 
 Some
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 13 
 
 As far as this fyftem is founded in truth, L E VI C T ' 
 Language appears to be not altogether arbi- 
 
 Some of the radical letters or fyllables which he fuppofes 
 to carry this expreffive power in moft known Languages 
 are, St, to fignify ftability or reft ; Fl, to denote fluency ; 
 Cl, a gentle defcent ; R, what relates to rapid motion ; 
 C, to cavity or hollownefs, &c. A century before hi. 
 time, Dr. Wallis, in his Grammar of the Engliih Lan- 
 guage, had taken notice of thefe fignificant roots, and re- 
 prefented it as a peci'Jiar excellency of our Tongue, that, 
 beyond all others, it expreffbd the nature of the objects 
 which it names, by employing founds fharper, fofter, 
 weaker, flronger, more obfcure, or more ftridulous, ac- 
 cording as the idea which is to be fuggefted requires. He 
 gives various examples. Thus ; words formed upon St, 
 always denote firmnefs and ftrength, analogous to the Latin 
 Jlo\ as, ftand, ftay, flaff, Hop, flout, fleady, flake, ftamp, 
 ftallion, flately, &c. Words beginning with Str, intimate 
 violent force, and energy, analogous to the Greek <7Ton ( v.i ; 
 as, ftrive, ftrength, ftrike, ftripe, ftrefs, ftruggle, ftride, 
 ftretch, ftrip, &c. Thr, implies forcible motion ; as, 
 throw, throb, thruft, through, threaten, thraldom. Wr, 
 obliquity or diftortion ; as, wry, wreft, wreath, wreftle, 
 wring, wrong, wrangle, wrath, wrack, &c. Sw, filent 
 agitation, or v lateral motion ; as, fvvay, fwing, fwerve, 
 fweep, f\vim. SI, a gentle fall or lefs obfervable motion ; 
 as, flide, flip, fly, flit, flow, flack, fling. Sp, diffipation or 
 expanfion ; as, fpread, fprout, fprinkle, fplit, {pill, fpring. 
 Terminations in Am, indicate fomething afting nimbly 
 and fharply ; as, crafh, gafh, rafh, flafh, lafh, flam. Ter- 
 .minations in Ufh, fomething afting more obtufely and 
 dully; as, crufh, brufh, hum, gum, blufh. The learned 
 Author produces a greai many more examples of the fame 
 kind, which feem to leave no doubt, that the analogies of 
 found have had fome influence on the formation of words. 
 At the fame time, in all fpeculations of this kind, there is 
 fo much room for fancy to operate, that they ought to be 
 adopted with much caution in forming any general theory. 
 
 K. 2 trary
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 T - trary in its origin. Among the ancient Stoic 
 and Platonic Philofophers, it was a queftion 
 much agitated, " Utrum nomina rerum fmt 
 " natura, an impofitione ? pu<r v 0<r*Y' by which 
 they meant, Whether words were merely con- 
 ventional fymbols ; of the rife of which no 
 account could be given, except the pleafure 
 of the firfl inventors of Language ? or, Whe- 
 
 O O * 
 
 ther there was fome principle in nature that 
 led to the affignation of particular names to 
 particular objects ? and thofe of the Platonic 
 fchool favoured the latter opinion *. 
 
 THIS principle, however, of a natural rela- 
 tion between words and objects, can only be 
 
 * Vid. Plat, in Cratylo. " Nomina verbaque non po- 
 " ftta fortuito, fed quadam vi & ratione naturae facia efle, 
 " P. Nigidius in Grammaticis Commentariis docet ; rem 
 " fane in philotophiaa diflertationibus celebrem. In earn 
 " rem niulta argumenta dicit, cur lideri poffint verba effe 
 " naturalia, magis quam arbitraria. Vos, inquit, cum di- 
 " cimus, motu quodam oris conveniente, cum ipfius verbi 
 " demonftrations utimiir, & labias fenfim primores emove- 
 " mus, ac fpiritum atque animam porro verfum, & ad eos 
 " quibus confermocinamur intendimus. At contra cum. 
 " dicimus Nos, neque profufo intentoque flatu vocis, ne- 
 " que projeclis labiis pronunciamus ; fed et fpiritum et la- 
 Cf bias quafi intra nofmet ipfos cpercemus. Hoc fit idem 
 " et in eo quod dicimus, tu, Sc ego, &c mibi, & tibi. Nam 
 <s ficuti cum adnuimus & abnuimus, motus quodam illo 
 " vel capitis, vel oculorum, a natura rei quam fignificat, 
 " non abhorret, ita in his vocibus quafi geftus quidam oris 
 " & fpiritus naturalis eft. Eadem ratio eft in Grzecis quo- 
 " qae vocibus quam effe in noftris animadvertimus." 
 
 A. GELLIUS, No&. Atticz, lib. x. cap. 4. 
 
 applied
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 135 
 
 to Language in its moft fimple and L EC T * 
 primitive ftate. Though, in every Tongue, 
 fbme remains of it, as I have fhown above, can 
 be traced, it were utterly in vain to fearch for 
 k throughout the whole conftruction of any 
 modern Language. As the multitude of 
 terms increafe in every nation, and the im- 
 menfe field of Language is filled np, words, 
 by a thoufand fanciful and irregular methods 
 of derivation and compofition, come to deviate 
 widely from the primitive character of their 
 roots, and to lofe all analogy or refemblance 
 in found to the things figniried. In this ftate 
 we now find Language. Words, as we now 
 employ them, taken in the general, may be 
 confidered as fymbols, not as imitations ; as 
 arbitrary, or instituted, not natural figns of 
 ideas. But there can be no doubt, I think, 
 that Language, the nearer we remount to its 
 rife among men, will be found to partake 
 more of a natural expreffion. As it could be 
 originally formed on nothing but imitation, 
 it would, in its primitive ftate, be more pic- 
 turefque ; much more barren indeed, and nar- 
 row in the circle of its terms, than now; but 
 as far as it went, more expreflive by found 
 of the thing fignified. This, then, may be 
 afifumed as one character of the firft ftate, or 
 beginnings, of Language, among every fau- 
 tribe. 
 
 K 3 A SECOND
 
 134 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E _., c T> A SECOND character of Language, in its 
 
 Vi O D J 
 
 early ftate, is drawn from the manner in 
 which words were at firft pronounced, or ut- 
 tered, by men. Interjections, I fhowed, or 
 pafilonate exclamations, were the firft elements 
 of fpeech. Men laboured to communicate 
 their feelings to one another, by thofe expref- 
 five cries and geftures which nature taught 
 them. After words, or names of objects, be- 
 gan to be invented, this mode of Ipeaking, 
 by natural figns, could not be all at once dif- 
 ufed. For Language, in its infancy, muft 
 have been extremely barren ; and there cer- 
 tainly was a period, among all rude nations, 
 when converfation was carried on by a very 
 few words, intermixed with many exclama- 
 tions and earneft geftures. The fmall ftock 
 of words which men as yet poflefTed, rendered 
 thefe helps abfolutely necefiary for explaining 
 their conceptions; and rude, uncultivated 
 men, not having always at hand even the 
 few words which they knew, would naturally 
 labour to make themfelves underftood, by 
 varying their tones of voice, and accompany- 
 ing their tones with the moft fignificant gefti- 
 culations they could make. At this day, 
 when perfons attempt to fpeak in any Lan- 
 guage which they pofiefs imperfectly, they 
 have recourfe to all thefe fupplemental me- 
 thods, in order to render themfelves more in- 
 telligible. The plan too, according to which 
 
 I have
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 I have fhown, that Language was originally L 
 conftrucled, upon refembiance or analogy, as 
 far as was poffible, to the thing fignified, 
 would naturally lead men to utter their words 
 with .more emphafis and force, as long as 
 Language was a fort of painting by means of 
 found. For all thofe reafons this may be af- 
 fumed as a principle, that the pronunciation 
 of the earlieft Languages was accompanied 
 with more gesticulation, and with more and 
 greater inflexions of voice, than what we now 
 ufe ; there was more aftion in it ; and it was 
 more upon a crying or finging tone. 
 
 To this manner of fpeaking, necefiity firft 
 gave rife. But we muft obferve, that, after 
 this neceffity had, in a great meafure, ceafed, 
 by Language becoming, in procefs of time, 
 more extenfive and copious, the ancient man- 
 ner of Speech ftill fubfifted among many na- 
 tions ; and what had arifen from necefllty, 
 continued to be ufed for ornament. Where - 
 ever there was much fire and vivacity in the 
 genius of nations, they were naturally in- 
 clined to a mode of converfation which grati- 
 fied the imagination fo much 3 for, an imagi- 
 nation which is warm, is always prone to throw 
 both a great deal of action, and a variety of 
 tones, into difcourfe. Upon this principle, 
 Dr. Warburton accounts for fo much fpeak- 
 by adtion, as we find among the Old Tefta- 
 K 4 ment
 
 136 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 ment Prophets ; as when Jeremiah breaks tho 
 potter's veflel, in fight of the people ; throws 
 a book into the Euphrates ; puts on bonds 
 and yokes ; and carries out his houfehold 
 fluff ; all which, he imagines, might be fig- 
 pificant modes of expreffion, very natural in 
 thofe ages, when men were accuftomed to ex- 
 plain themfelves fo much by actions and gef- 
 tures. In like manner, among the Northern 
 American tribes, certain motions and actions 
 were found to be much ufed as explanatory of 
 their meaning, on all their great occafions of 
 intercourie with each other j and by the belts 
 ^nd firings of wampum, which they gave 
 and received, they were accuftomed to de- 
 ^lare their meaning, as much as by their dif- 
 courfes. 
 
 WITH regard to inflexions of voice, thefe 
 are fo natural, that, to fome nations, it has ap- 
 peared eafier to exprefs different ideas, by 
 varying the tone with which they pronounced 
 the fame word, than to contrive words for ail 
 their ideas. This is the practice of the Chi- 
 nefe in particular. The number of words in 
 their Language is faid not to be great ; but, 
 in fpeaking, they vary each of their words on 
 no lefs than five different tones, by which 
 they make the fame word fignify five different 
 things. This muft give a great appearance of 
 mufic or- finging to their Speech. For thofe 
 
 inflexion:;
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 137 
 
 inflexions of voice which, in the infancy of L E VJ C T * 
 Language, were no more than harfh or difibnant 
 cries, mud, as Language gradually polifhes, 
 pafs into more fmooth and mufical founds: 
 and hence is formed, what we call, the Profody 
 of a Language. 
 
 IT is remarkable, and deferves attention, 
 that, both in the Greek and Roman Lan- 
 guages, this mufical and gefliculating pro- 
 nunciation was retained in a very high degree. 
 Without having attended to this, we iliall be 
 at a lofs in understanding feveral paffages of 
 the Claffics, which relate to the public fpeak- 
 ing, and the theatrical entertainments, of the 
 Ancients. It appears, from many circum- 
 ilances, that the profody both of the Greeks 
 and Romans, was carried much farther than 
 ours; or that they fpoke with more, and 
 ftronger, inflexions of voice than we ufe. The 
 quantity of their fyllables was much more 
 fixed than in any of the modern Languages, 
 and rendered much more fenfible to the ear in 
 pronouncing them. Befides quantities, or the 
 difference of Ihort and long, accents were 
 placed upon moft of their fyllables, the acute, 
 grave, and circumflex ; the ufe of which ac- 
 cents we have now entirely loft, but which, 
 we know, determined the fpeaker's voice to 
 rife or fall. Our modern pronunciation mud 
 have appeared to them a lifelefs monotony. 
 
 The
 
 I3 8 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. The declamation of their orators, and the pro- 
 nunciation of their actors upon the flage, ap- 
 proached to the nature of a recitative in mufic ; 
 was capable of being marked in notes, and 
 fupported with instruments j as feveral learned 
 men have fully proved. And if this was the 
 cafe, as they have fhown, among the Romans, 
 the Greeks, it is well known, were ftill a more 
 mufical people than the Romans, and carried 
 their attention to tone and pronunciation 
 much farther in every public exhibition. 
 Ariftotle, in his Poetics, confiders the mufic 
 of Tragedy as one of its chief and moft effen- 
 tial parts. 
 
 THE cafe was parallel with regard to gef- 
 tures : for ftrong tones, and animated gef- 
 tures, we may obferve, always go together. 
 Action is treated of by all the ancient critics, 
 as the chief quality in every public fpeaker. 
 The action, both of the orators and the 
 players in Greece and Rome, was far more 
 vehement than what we are accuftomed to. 
 Rofcius would have feemed a madman to us. 
 Gefture was of fuch confequence upon the 
 ancient ftage, that there is reafon for believ- 
 ing, that, on fome occafions, the fpeaking and 
 the acting part were divided, which, accord- 
 ing to our ideas, would form a flrange exhibi- 
 tion j one player fpoke the words in the proper 
 tones, while another performed the correfpond- 
 
 ing
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 1 3 9 
 
 ing motions and geflures. We learn from L E c T. 
 
 vi. 
 Cicero, that it was a conteft between him and 
 
 Rofcius, whether he could exprefs a fentiment 
 in a greater variety of phrafes, or Rofcius in a 
 greater variety of intelligible fignificant gef- 
 tures. At laft geflure came to engrofs the 
 ftage wholly ; for, under the reigns of Au- 
 guftus and Tiberius, the favourite entertain- 
 ment of the Public was the pantomime, which 
 was carried on entirely by mute gefciculation. 
 The people were moved, and wept at it, as 
 much as at tragedies ; and the paffion for it 
 became fo ftrong, that laws were obliged to 
 be made, for reftraining the Senators from 
 ftudying the pantomime art. Now, though, 
 in declamations and theatrical exhibitions, 
 both tone and geflure were, doubtlefs, carried 
 much farther than in common difcourfe ; yet 
 public fpeaking, of any kind, mud, in every 
 country, bear fome proportion to the manner 
 that is ufed in converfation j and fuch public 
 entertainments as I have now mentioned, could 
 never have been relifhed by a nation, whofc 
 tones and geflures, in difcourfe, were as lan- 
 guid as ours. 
 
 WHEN the Barbarians fpread themfelves 
 over the Roman Empire, thefe more phleg- 
 matic nations did not retain the accents, the 
 tones and geftures, which neceffity at firft in- 
 troduced, and cuftom and fancy afterwards fb 
 
 long
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 E VI C Tf l n g fupported, in the Greek and Roman 
 Languages. As the Latin tongue was loft in 
 their idioms, fo the character of fpeech and 
 pronunciation began to be changed throughout 
 Europe. Nothing of the fame attention was 
 paid to the mufic of Language, or to the pomp 
 of declamation, and theatrical action. Both 
 converfation and public fpeaking became 
 more funple and plain, fuch as we now find 
 it ; without that enthufiaftic mixture of tones 
 and geftures, which diftinguifhed the ancient 
 nations. At the reftoration of letters, the 
 genius of Language was fo much altered, and 
 the manners of the people had become fo dif- 
 ferent, that it was no eafy matter to understand 
 what the Ancients had faid, concerning their 
 declamations and public fpectacles. Our 
 plain manner of fpeaking, in thefe northern 
 countries, expreffes the pafiions with fufficient 
 energy, to move thofe who are not accuftomed 
 to any more vehement manner. But, un- 
 doubtedly, more varied tones, and more ani- 
 mated motions, carry a natural expreflion of 
 warmer feelings. Accordingly, in different 
 modern Languages, the profody of Speech, 
 partakes more of mufic, in proportion to the 
 livelinefs and fenfibility of the people. A 
 Frenchman both varies his accents, and gef- 
 ticulates while he fpeaks, much more than an 
 Englifhman. An Italian, a great deal more 
 than either. Mufical pronunciation and ex- 
 
 preffive
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 141 
 
 preftive gefture are, to this day, the diftinction L F VJ C T - 
 of Italy. 
 
 FROM the pronunciation of Language, let 
 us proceed, in the third place, to confider the 
 Style of Language in its moft early (late, and 
 its progrefs in this refpect alfo. As the manner 
 in which men at firft uttered their words, and 
 maintained converfation, was ftrong and ex- 
 preffive, enforcing their imperfectly exprefled 
 ideas by cries and geftures j fo the Language 
 which they ufed, could be no other than full 
 of figures and metaphors, not correct indeed, 
 but forcible and picturefque. 
 
 WE are apt, upon a fuperficial view, to 
 imagine that thofe modes of exprefllon which 
 are called Figures of Speech, are among the 
 chief refinements of Speech, not invented till 
 after Language had advanced to its later pe- 
 riods, and mankind were brought into a po- 
 lifhed ftatej and that, then, they were de- 
 vifed by Orators and Rhetoricians. The con- 
 trary of this is the truth. Mankind never 
 employed fo many Figures of Speech, as when 
 they had hardly any words for expreffing their 
 meaning. 
 
 FOR, firft, the want of proper names for 
 
 every object, obliged them to ufe one name 
 
 for many; and, of courfe, to expreis them- 
 
 10 felves
 
 142 RISE AND PR OGRESS 
 
 L E c T. felves by companions, metaphors, allufions, 
 and all thofe fubitituted forms of Speech which 
 render Language figurative. Next, as the 
 objects with which they were mod converfant, 
 were the fenfible, material objects around 
 them, names would be given to thofe objects 
 long before words were invented for fignifying 
 the difpofitions of the mind, or any fort of 
 .moral and intellectual ideas. Hence, the 
 early Language of men being entirely made 
 up of words defcriptive of fenfible objects, it 
 became, of neceffity, extremely metaphorical. 
 For, to fignify any defire or paffion, or any act 
 or feeling of the mind, they had no precifc 
 expreffion which was appropriated to that pur- 
 pofe, but were under a neceffity of painting 
 the emotion, or paffion, which they felt, by 
 allufion to thofe fenfible objects which had 
 moft relation to it, and which could render it, 
 in fome fort, vifible to others. 
 
 BUT it was not neceffity alone, that gave 
 rife to this figured ftyle. Other circum- 
 ftances alfo, at the commencement of Lan- 
 guage, contributed to it. In the infancy of 
 all focieties, men are much under the domi- 
 nion of imagination and paffion. They lire 
 fcattered and difperfed ; they are unacquainted 
 with the courfe of things j they are, every 
 day, meeting with new and ftrange objects. 
 Fear and furprife, wonder and aftorrifhment, 
 
 arc
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 143 
 
 are their moft frequent paffions. Their Lan- L E yj c T * 
 guage will neceflarily partake of this character 
 of their minds. They will be prone to exag- 
 geration and hyperbole. They will be given 
 to defcribe every thing 'with the ftrongeft co- 
 lours, and moft vehement expreffions ; infi- 
 nitely more than men living in the advanced 
 and cultivated periods of Society, when their 
 imagination is more chaftened, their paffions 
 are more tamed, and a wider experience has 
 rendered the objects of life more familiar to 
 them. Even the manner in which I before 
 Ihowed that the firft tribes of men uttered 
 their words, would have confiderable influence 
 on their ftyle. Wherever ftrong exclama- 
 tions, tones, and geftures, enter much into 
 converfation, the imagination is always more 
 cxercifed; a greater effort of fancy and pafiion 
 is excited. Confequently, the fancy, kept 
 awake, and rendered more fprightiy by this 
 mode of utterance, operates upon ftyle, and 
 enlivens it more. 
 
 THESE reafonings are confirmed by un- 
 doubted facts. The ftyle of all the moft early 
 Languages, among nations who are in the firft 
 and rude periods of Society, is found, without 
 exception, to be full of figures; hyperbolical 
 and picturefque in a high degree. We have a 
 ftriking inftance of this in the American Lan- 
 guages, which are known, by the moft authen- 
 
 i tic
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 tic accounts, to be figurative to excefs. Th 
 Iroquois and Illinois carry on their treaties 
 and public tranfactions with bolder metaphors, 
 and greater pomp of ftyle> than \ve ufe in our 
 poetical productions *. 
 
 ANOTHER remarkable infrance is, the ftyle 
 of the Old Teftament, which is carried on by 
 
 * Thus, to give an inftance of the fingular ftyle of thefe 
 rations the Five Nations of Canada, when entering on a 
 treaty of peace with us, exprefled themfelves by their 
 Chiefs, in the fcllowing Language : " We are happy in 
 " having buried under ground the red axe, that has fo 
 " often been dyed with the blood of our brethren. Now, 
 " in this fort, we inter the axe, and plant the tree of Peace. 
 " We plant a tree, whofe top will reach the Sun ; and its 
 " branches fpread abroad, fo that it (hall be feen afar off. 
 " May its growth never be Rifled and choked; but may it 
 te fiia.de both your country and ours with its leaves ! Let 
 ** us make faft its roots, and extend them to the ntraoft of 
 " your colonies. If the French mould eome to make this 
 ' e tree, we would know it by the motion of its roots reach- 
 " ing into our country. May the Great Spirit allow us to 
 <c reil in tranquillity upon our mats, and never again dig 
 " up the axe to cut down the tree of Peace ! Let the earth 
 " be trod hard over it, where it lies buried. Let a ftrong 
 " ftream run under the pit, to wafh the evil away out of 
 " our fight and remembrance. The fire that had long 
 ' burned in Albany is extinguiflied. The bloody bed is 
 " warned clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. 
 " We now renew the covenant chain of friend (hip. Lee 
 *' it be kept bright and clean as filver, and not fuffered to 
 " contraft any ruft. Let not any one pull away his arm 
 " from it." Thefe paflages are extracted from Cadwalla- 
 der Colden's Hiitory of the Five Iridian Nations ; where it 
 appears, from the authentic documents he produces, that 
 fuchis their genuine ilyle. 
 
 conflant
 
 OFLANGUAGE. 
 
 conftant allufions to fenfible objects. Iniquity, 
 Or guilt, is exprefled by " a fpotted garment ;" 
 mifery, by " drinking the cup of aftonifh- 
 " ment ;" vain purfuits, by " feeding on 
 " afhes ;" a finful life, by <c a crooked path ;" 
 profperity, by " the candle of the Lord fhin- 
 " ing on our head ," and the like, in innu- 
 merable inftances. Hence, we have been ac- 
 cuftomed to call this fort of ftyle the Oriental 
 Style i as fancying .it to be peculiar to the na- 
 tions of the Eaft : whereas, from the Ameri- 
 can Style, and from many other inftances, it 
 plainly appears not to have been peculiar to 
 any one region or climate ; but to have been 
 common to all nations, in certain periods of 
 Society and Language. 
 
 HENCE, we may receive fome light concern- 
 ing that feeming paradox, that Poetry is more 
 ancient than Profe. I fhall have occafion to 
 difcufs this point fully hereafter, when I come 
 to treat of the Nature and Origin of Poetry. 
 At prefent, it is fufEcient to obferve, that from 
 what has been faid it plainly appears, that the 
 ftyle of all Language muft have been originally 
 poetical ; ftrorigly tinctured with that enthu- 
 fiafm, and that defcriptive, metaphorical expref- 
 fion, which diftinguiihes Poetry. 
 
 As Language, in its progrefs, began to 
 
 grow more copious, it gradually loft that figu- 
 
 VOL. I. L rative
 
 146 RISEANDPROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. rative ftyle, which was its early character. 
 When men were furnifhed with proper and 
 familiar names for every object, both fenfible 
 and moral, they were not obliged to ufe fo 
 many circumlocutions. Style became more 
 precife, and, of courfe, more fimple. Imagi- 
 nation too, in proportion as Society advanced, 
 had lefs influence over mankind. The vehe- 
 ment manner of fpeaking by tones and gef- 
 tures began to be difufed. The underftand- 
 ing was more exercifed ; the fancy, lefs. In- 
 tercourfe among mankind becoming more ex- 
 tenfive and frequent, clearnefs of ftyle, in fig- 
 nifying their meaning to each other, was the 
 chief object of attention. In place of Poets, 
 Philofophers became the inftructors of men ; 
 and, in their reafonings on all different fub- 
 jedts, introduced that plainer and fimpkr ftyle 
 of compofition, which we now call Profe, 
 Among the Greeks, Pherecydes of Scyros, the 
 mafter of Pythagoras, is recorded to have been 
 the firft, who, in this fenfe, compofed any- 
 writing in profe. The antient metaphorical 
 and poetical drefs of Language, was now laid 
 afide from the intercourfe of men, and referved 
 for thofe occafions only, on which ornament 
 was profeffedly ftudied. 
 
 THUS I have purfued the Hiftory of Lan- 
 guage through fome of the variations it has 
 undergone : I have confidered it, in the firft 
 
 fir uct lire,
 
 OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 ftructurej and compofition, of words ; in the L 
 manner of uttering or pronouncing words j 
 and in the ftyle and character of Speech. I 
 have yet to confider it in another view, re- 
 fpecting the order and arrangement of words; 
 when we fhall find a progrefs to have taken 
 place, fimilar to what I have been now illuf- 
 trating. 
 
 L 2
 
 L E C T U R E VII. 
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE, 
 AND OF WRITING. 
 
 LECT. ff/HEN we attend to the order in which 
 
 words are arranged in a fentence, or 
 fignificant proportion, we find a very remark- 
 able difference between the antient and the 
 modern Tongues. The confederation of this 
 will ferve to unfold farther the genius of Lan- 
 guage, and to fhow the caufes of thofe altera- 
 tions, which it has undergone, in the progrefs 
 of Society. 
 
 IN order to conceive diftinctly the nature of 
 that alteration of which I now fpeak, let us 
 go back, as we did formerly, to the moft early 
 period of Language. Let us figure to our- 
 felves a Savage, who beholds fome object, 
 fuch as fruit, which raifes his defire, and who 
 requelts another to give it to him. Suppofing 
 our Savage to be unacquainted with words, he 
 would, in that cafe, labour to make himfelf 
 be underftood, by pointing earneftly at the 
 
 objecl:
 
 PROGRESSOF LANGUA G E. 149 
 
 object which he defired, and uttering at the L E yJ ^ T * 
 fame time a pafiionate cry. Suppofing him 
 to have acquired words, the firft word which 
 he uttered would, of courfe, be the name of 
 that object. He would not exprefs himfelf, 
 according to our Englifh order of conftruction, 
 " Give me fruit ;" but, according to the La- 
 tin order, " Fruit give me/;" " Fructum da 
 t( mihi :" .For this plain reafon, that his at- 
 tention was wholly directed towards fruit, the 
 defired object. This was the exciting idea ; 
 the object which moved him to fpeak ; and, 
 of courfe, would be the firft named. Such 
 an arrangement is precifely putting into words 
 the gefture which nature taught the Savage to 
 make, before he was acquainted with words ; 
 and therefore it may be depended upon as cer- 
 tain, that he would fall moft readily into this 
 arrangement. 
 
 ACCUSTOMED now to a different method of 
 ordering our words, we call this an inverfion, 
 and confider it as a forced and unnatural order 
 of Speech. But though not the mod logical, 
 it is, however, in one view, the moft natural 
 order j becaule, it is the order fuggefted by 
 imagination and defire, which always impel 
 us to mention their object in the firft place. 
 We might therefore conclude, a priori, that 
 this would be the order in which words were 
 moft commonly arranged at the beginnings of 
 L 3 Language i
 
 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 Language; and accordingly we find, in fact, 
 that, in this order, words are arranged in moft 
 of the ancient Tongues j as in the Greek and 
 the Latin ; and it is faid alfo, in the Ruffian, 
 the Sclavonic, the Gaelic, and feveral of the 
 American Tongues. 
 
 IN the Latin Language, the arrangement 
 which moft commonly obtains, is, to place 
 firft in the fentence, that word which ex- 
 preffes the principal object of the difcourfe, 
 together with its circumftances ; and after- 
 wards, the perfon, or the thing that acts upon 
 it. Thus Salluft, comparing together the 
 mind and the body ; '? Animi imperio, cor- 
 (t poris fervitio, magis utimur i" which order 
 certainly renders the fentence more lively and 
 itriking, than when it is arranged according to 
 our Englifh conftruction ; <c We make moft 
 " tife of the (direction of the foul, and of the 
 <? fervice of the body/' The Latin order 
 gratifies more the rapidity of the imagination, 
 which naturally runs firft to that which is its 
 chief object ; and having once named it, car- 
 ries it in .view throughout the reft of the fen- 
 tence. In the fame manner in poetry : 
 
 Juftum & k tena'cem propofiti virum, 
 
 Non civiutn ardor prava jubentium, 
 
 Non vul'tus inftantis tyranni 
 
 Mente cjuatit fol!da.-~ 
 
 1 1 

 
 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 151 
 
 Every perfon of tafte muft be fenfible, that here L E v T> 
 the words are arranged with a much greater 
 regard to the figure which the feveral objects 
 make in the fancy, than our Englifh conftruc- 
 tion admits ; which would require the " Juf- 
 (C turn & tenacem propofiti virum," though, 
 undoubtedly, the capital object in the fentence, 
 to be thrown into the laft place. 
 
 I HAVE faid, that, in the Greek and Roman 
 Languages, the moft common arrangement is, 
 to place that firft which ftrikes the imagina- 
 tion of the fpeaker moft. I do not, however, 
 pretend, that this holds without exception. 
 Sometimes regard to the harmony of the period 
 requires a different order -, and in Languages 
 fufceptible of fo much mufical beauty, and 
 pronounced with fo much tone and modulation 
 as were ufed by thofe nations, the harmony of 
 periods was an object carefully ftudied. Some- 
 times too, attention to the perfpicuity, to the 
 force, or to the artful fufpenfion of the fpeaker's 
 meaning, alter this order ; and produce fuch 
 varieties in the arrangement, that it is not eafy 
 to reduce them to any one principle. But, in 
 general, this was the genius and character of 
 rnoft of the antient Languages, to give fuch 
 full liberty to the collocation of words, as al- 
 lowed them to afTume whatever order was moft 
 agreeable to the fpeaker's imagination. The 
 Hebrew is, indeed, an exception : which, 
 L 4 though
 
 152 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. though not altogether without inverfions, yet 
 
 VI!. 
 
 employs them lefs frequently, and approaches 
 nearer to the Englifn conftruction, than either 
 the Greek or the Latin. 
 
 ALL the modern Languages of Europe have 
 adopted a different arrangement from the an- 
 tient. In their profe compofitions, very little 
 variety is admitted in the collocation of words ; 
 they are moftly fixed to one order ; and that 
 order is, what may be called the Order of the 
 Underftanding. They place firft in the fen- 
 tence, the perfon or thing which fpeaks or 
 acts ; next, its action ; and laftly, the object of 
 its action. So that the ideas are made to fuc- 
 ceed to one another, not according to the de- 
 gree of importance which the feveral objects 
 carry in the imagination, but according to the 
 order of nature and of time. 
 
 AN Englilh writer, paying a compliment to 
 a great man, would fay thus: "It is impof- 
 " fible for me to pafs over, in filence, fuch 
 " remarkable mildnefs, fuch fmgular and un- 
 " heard-of clemency, and fuch unufual mode- 
 " ration, in the exercife of fupreme power.' 1 
 Here we have, firft prefented to us, the perfon 
 who fpeaks, < ( It is impoffible for me " next, 
 what that perfon is to do, fc impoffible for him 
 " to pafs over in filence ;" and laftly, the ob- 
 ject which moves him fo to do, << the mild- 
 
 " nefs,
 
 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 153 
 
 <e nefs, clemency, and moderation of his pa- L E y] c { T - 
 " tron." Cicero, from whom I have tranf- 
 lated thefe words, juft reveries this order ; be- 
 ginning with the object, placing that firfl 
 which was the exciting idea in the fpeaker's 
 mind, and ending with the fpeaker and his 
 action. " Tantam manfuetudinem, tarn inufi- 
 <c tatam inauditamque clementiam, tantum- 
 " que in fumma poteftate rerum omnium mo- 
 fc dum, tacitus nullo modo prasterire pofium." 
 (Orat. pro Marcell.) 
 
 THE Latin order is more animated; theEng- 
 lifh, more clear and diftinct. The Romans 
 generally arranged their words, according to 
 the order in which the ideas rofe in the fpeaker's 
 imagination. We arrange them according to 
 the order in which the underftanding directs 
 thofe ideas to be exhibited, in fucceffion, to the 
 view of another. Our arrangement, therefore, 
 appears to be the confequence of greater re- 
 finement in the art of fpeech ; as far as clear - 
 nefs in communication is underilood to be the 
 end of Speech. 
 
 IN poetry, where we are fuppofed to rife 
 above the ordinary flylc, and to fpeak the 
 Language of fancy and pafiion, our arrange- 
 ment is not altogether fo limited ; but fome 
 greater liberty is allowed for tranfpofition, 
 find inverfion. Even there, however, that 
 
 liberty
 
 i 54 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. liberty is confined within narrow bounds, in 
 companion of the antient Languages. The 
 different modern Tongues vary from one an- 
 other, in this refpeft. The French Language 
 is, of them all, the moft determinate in the 
 order of its words, and admits the leaft of 
 inverfion, either in prole or poetry. The 
 Englifli admits it more. But the Italian re- 
 tains the moft of the antient tranfpofitive 
 character; though one is apt to think it at- 
 tended with a little obfcurity in the ftyle of 
 fome of their authors, who deal moft in thefe 
 tranfpofitions. 
 
 IT is proper, next, to obierve, that there is 
 one circumftance in the ftructure of all the 
 modern Tongues, which, if necefiary, limits 
 their arrangement, in a great meafure, to one 
 fixed and determinate train. We have difufed 
 thofe differences of termination, which, in the 
 Greek and Latin, diftinguifhed the feveral 
 cafes of nouns, and tenfes of verbs ; and 
 which, thereby, pointed out the mutual rela- 
 tion of the feveral words in a fentence to one 
 another, though the related words were dif- 
 joined, and placed in different parts of the 
 fentence. This is an alteration in the ftruc- 
 ture of Language, of which I fhall have occa- 
 fion to fay more in the next Lecture. One 
 obvious effect of it is, that we have now, for 
 the moft part, no way left us to fhew the clofe 
 
 relation
 
 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 155 
 
 relation of any two words to each other in r EC T, 
 meaning, but by placing them clofe ic - 
 another in the period. For iriftaii 
 Romans could, with propriety, cxprefs them- 
 felves thus ; 
 
 Extin&um nymphae crudeli funere J)aphnim 
 Flebant. . 
 
 Becaufe " Extinctum & Daphnim," being 
 both in the accufative cafe, this fhowed, that 
 the adjective and the fubftantive were related 
 to each other, though placed at the two extre- 
 mities of the line ; and that both were go- 
 verned by the active verb " Flebant," to 
 which " Nymphae" plainly appeared to be the 
 nominative. The different terminations here 
 reduced all into order, and made the connec- 
 tion of the feveral words perfectly clear. But 
 let us tranflate thefe words literally into Eng- 
 lifli, according to the Latin arrangement ; 
 " Dead the nymphs by a cruel fate Daphnis 
 " lamented ;" and they become a perfect 
 riddle, in which it is impofilble to find any 
 meaning. 
 
 IT was by means of this contrivance, which 
 obtained in almoft all the antient Languages, 
 of varying the termination of nouns and verbs, 
 and thereby pointing out the concordance, and 
 the government of the words, in a fentence, 
 that they enjoyed fo much liberty of tFanfpofi- 
 
 tion,
 
 i $ 6 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. t j on> anc ] could marfhal and arrange their 
 words in any way that gratified the imagina- 
 tion, or pleafed the ear. When Language 
 came to be modelled by the northern nations 
 who overran the empire, they dropped the 
 cafes of nouns, and the different termination 
 of verbs, with the more eafe, becaufe they 
 placed no great value upon the advantages 
 arifmg from fuch a ftructure of Language. 
 They were attentive only to clearnefs, and 
 copioirfnefs of expreflion. They neither re- 
 garded much the harmony of found, nor fought 
 to gratify the imagination by the collocation 
 of words. They ftudied folely to exprefs 
 themfelves in fuch a manner as fhould exhibit 
 their ideas to others in the moft diftinct and 
 intelligible order. And hence, if our Lan- 
 guage, by reafon of the fimple arrangement 
 of its words, pofTeffcs lefs harmony, lefs 
 beauty, and lefs force, than the Greek or La- 
 tin j it is, however, in its meaning, more ob- 
 vious and plain. 
 
 THUS I have {hewn what the natural Pro- 
 grefs of Language has been, in feveral material 
 articles ; and this account of the Genius and 
 Progrefs of Language, lays a foundation for 
 many obfervations, both curious and ufeful. 
 From what has been faid in this, and the pre- 
 ceding Lecture, it appears, that Language 
 was, at firft, barren in words, but defcriptive 
 
 by
 
 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 by the found of thefe words ; and exprefllve 
 in the manner of uttering them, by the aid of 
 fignificant tones and geftures : Style was figu- 
 rative and poetical : Arrangement was fanciful 
 and lively. It appears, 'that, in all the fuccef- 
 five changes which Language has undergone, 
 as the world advanced, the underftanding has 
 gained ground on the fancy and imagination. 
 The Progrefs of Language, in this refped, re- 
 fembles the progrefs of age in man. The 
 imagination is moft vigorous and predominant 
 in youth ; with advancing years, the imagina- 
 tion cools, and the underftanding ripens. 
 Thus Language, proceeding from fterility to 
 copioufnefs, hath, at the fame time, pro- 
 ceeded from vivacity to accuracy ; from 
 fire and enthufialin, to coolnefs and pre- 
 cifion. Thofe char afters of early Language, 
 defcriptive found, vehement tones and gef- 
 tures, figurative ftyle, and inverted arrange- 
 ment, all hang together, have a mutual in- 
 fluence on each other ; and have all gradually 
 given place to arbitrary founds, calm pro- 
 nunciation, limple ftyle, plain arrangement. 
 Language is become, in modern times, more 
 correct, indeed, and accurate ; but, however, 
 lefs ftriking and animated : in its antient ftate, 
 more favourable to poetry and oratory ; in its 
 prefent, to reafon and philofophy. 
 
 HAVING
 
 1-3 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E^C T. HAVING finifhed my account of the Progrefs 
 
 u - i of Speech, I proceed to give an account of the 
 
 Progrefs of Writing, which next demands our 
 
 notice ; though it will not require fo full a dif- 
 
 cuffion as the former fubject. 
 
 NEXT to Speech, Writing is, beyond doubt, 
 the moil ufeful art which men poflefs. It is 
 plainly an improvement upon Speech, and 
 therefore muft have been pofterior to it in 
 order of time. At firft, men thought of 
 nothing more than communicating their 
 thoughts to one another, when prefent, by 
 means of words, or founds, which they uttered. 
 Afterwards, they devifed this further method, 
 of mutual communication with one another, 
 when abfent, by means of marks or cha- 
 racters prefented to the eye, which we call 
 Writing. 
 
 WRITTEN characters are of two forts. They 
 are either figns for things, or figns for words. 
 Of the former fort, figns of things, are the 
 pictures, hieroglyphics, and fymbols, em- 
 ployed by the antient nations ; of the latter 
 fort, figns for words, are the alphabetical cha- 
 racters, now employed by all Europeans. Thefe 
 two kinds of Writing are generically, and 
 eflentially, diftinct. 
 
 PICTURES were, undoubtedly, the firft eflay 
 towards Writing. Imitation is fo natural to 
 
 man,
 
 OF WRITING. 159 
 
 man, that, in all ages, and among all nations, L z c T . 
 fome methods have obtained, of copying or 
 tracing the likenefs of fenfible objects. Thofe 
 methods would foon be employed by men for 
 giving fome imperfect information to others, 
 at a diftance, of what had happened ; or, for 
 preferving the memory of facts which they 
 fought to record. Thus, to fignify that one 
 man had killed another, they drew the figure 
 of one man ftretched upon the earth, and of 
 another (landing by him with a deadly weapon 
 in his hand. We find, in fact, that, when 
 America was firft difcovered, this was the only 
 fort of Writing known in the kingdom of 
 Mexico. By hiftorical pictures, the Mexi- 
 cans are faid to have tranfmitted the memory 
 of the moft important tranfactions of their 
 empire. Thefe, however, muft have been 
 extremely imperfect records; and the nations 
 who had no other, muft have been very grofs 
 and rude. Pictures could do no more than 
 delineate external events. They could nei- 
 ther exhibit the connections of them, nor de- 
 fcribe fuch qualities as were not vifible to the 
 eye, nor convey any idea of the difpofmons, or 
 words, of men. 
 
 To fupply, in fome degree, this defect, 
 there arofe, in procefs of time, the invention 
 of what are called, Hieroglyphical Charac- 
 ters; which maybe confidered as the fecond 
 
 ftage
 
 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 Hieroglyphics 
 confift in certain fymbols, which are made to 
 ftand for invifible objects, on account of an 
 analogy or refemblance which fuch fymbols 
 were fuppofed to bear to the objects. Thus, 
 an eye, was the hieroglyphical fymbol of 
 knowledge j a circle, of eternity, which has 
 neither beginning, nor end. Hieroglyphics, 
 therefore, were a more refined and extenfive 
 fpecies of painting. Pictures delineated the 
 refemblance of external vifible objects. Hiero- 
 glyphics painted invifible objects, by analogies 
 taken from the external world. 
 
 AMONG the Mexicans, were found fome 
 traces of hieroglyphical characters, intermixed 
 with their hiftorical pictures. But Egypt was 
 the country where this fort of Writing was 
 moft ftudied and brought into a regular art. 
 In hieroglyphics was conveyed all the boafted 
 wifdom of their priefts. According to the 
 properties which they afcribed to animals, or 
 the qualities with which they fuppoled natural 
 objects to be endowed, they pitched upon 
 them to be the emblems, or hieroglyphics, of 
 moral objects ; and employed, them in their 
 Writing for that end. Thus, ingratitude was 
 denominated by a viper ; imprudence, by a 
 fly ; wifdom, by an ant ; victory, by a hawk j 
 a dutiful child, by a ftork; a man univerfall.y 
 fhunned, by an eel, which they fuppofed to 
 
 be
 
 OF WRITING. 161 
 
 be found in company with no other fifh. 
 Sometimes they joined together two or more 
 of thefe hieroglyph ical characters ; as, a fer- 
 pent with a hawk's head; to denote nature, 
 with God prefiding over it. But, as many of 
 thofe properties of objects which they affumed 
 for the foundation of their hieroglyphics, were 
 merely imaginary, and the allufions drawn 
 from them were forced and ambiguous j as 
 the conjunction of their characters rendered 
 them ftill more obfcure, and muft have ex- 
 preiTed very indiftinctly the connections and 
 relations of things ; this fort of Writing could 
 be no other than ^enigmatical, and confufed, 
 in the higheft degree ; and muft have been a 
 very imperfect vehicle of knowledge of any 
 kind. 
 
 IT has been imagined, that hieroglyphics 
 were an invention of the Egyptian priefts, for 
 concealing their learning from common view ; 
 and that, upon this account, it was preferred 
 by them to the alphabetical method of Writ- 
 ing. But this is certainly a miftake. Hiero- 
 glyphics were, undoubtedly, employed, at 
 firft, from neceflity, not from choice or refine- 
 ment; and would never have been thought 
 of, if alphabetical characters had been known. 
 The nature of the invention plainly fhows it 
 to have been one of thofe grofs and rude efTays 
 towards Writing, which were adopted in the 
 
 VOL. I. M early
 
 I6z RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. C arly ages of the world -, in order to extend 
 farther the firft method which they had em- 
 ployed of fimple pictures, or reprefentations 
 of vifible objects. Indeed, in after-times, 
 when alphabetical Writing was introduced 
 into Egypt, and the ' hieroglyphical was, of 
 courfe, fallen into difufe, it is known, that the 
 priefts flill employed the hieroglyphical cha- 
 racters, as a facred kind of Writing, now be- 
 come peculiar to themfelves, and ferving to 
 give an air of myilery to their learning and 
 religion. In this flate, the Greeks found 
 hieroglyphical Waiting, when they began to 
 have intercourfe with Egypt; and fome of 
 their writers miftook this ufe, to which they 
 found it applied, for the caufe that had given 
 rife to the invention. 
 
 As Writing advanced, from pictures of 
 vifible objects, to hieroglyphics, or fymbols of 
 things invifible ; from thefe latter, it advanced, 
 among fome nations, to fimple arbitrary marks 
 which flood for objects, though without any 
 refemblance or analogy to the objects fignified. 
 Of this nature was the method of Writing 
 practifed among the Peruvians. They; made 
 ufe of fmall cords, of different colours; and 
 by knots upon thefe, of various fizes, and dif- 
 ferently ranged, they contrived figns for giving 
 information, and communicating their thoughts 
 to one another. 
 
 OF
 
 OF WRITING. 
 
 OF this nature alfo, are the written charac- L 
 ters which are ufed to this day, throughout 
 the great empire of China. The Chinefe have 
 no alphabet of letters, or fimple founds, which 
 compofe their words. But every fmgle cha- 
 racter which they ufe in Writing, is fignifkant 
 of an idea j it is a mark which (lands for fome 
 one thing or object. By confequence, the 
 number of thefe characters muft be immenfe, 
 It muft correfpond to the whole number of 
 objects or ideas, which they have occafion to 
 exprefs ; that is, to the whole number of 
 words which they employ in Speech: nay, it 
 muft be greater than the number of words ; 
 one word, by varying the tone, with which it 
 is fpoken, may be made to fignify feveral dif- 
 ferent things. They are faid to have feventy 
 thoufand of thofe written characters. To read 
 and write them to perfection, is the ftudy of a 
 whole life ; which fubjects learning, among 
 them, to infinite difad vantage; and muft have 
 greatly retarded the progrefs of all fcience. 
 
 CONCERNING the origin of thefe Chinefe 
 characters, there have been different opinions, 
 and much controverfy. According to the 
 moft probable accounts, the Chinefe Writing 
 began, like the Egyptian, with pictures, and 
 hieroglyphical figures. Thefe figures being, 
 in progrefs, abbreviated in their form, for the 
 fake of writing them eafily, and greatly en- 
 M 2 largcd
 
 164 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 vii 
 
 L T * ar e d ' m *he\r number, patted, at length, into 
 
 thofe marks or characters which they now ule, 
 and which have fpread themfelves through 
 feveral nations of the Eaft. For we are in- 
 formed, that the Japanefe, the Tonquinefe, 
 and the Corceans, who fpeak different lan- 
 guages from one another, and from the in- 
 habitants of China, ufe, however, the fame 
 written characters with them; and, by this 
 means, correfpond intelligibly with each other 
 
 
 Writing, though ignorant of the Language 
 
 lAitAtj ** fpoken in their feveral countries ; a plain 
 proof, that the Chinefe characters are, like 
 hieroglyphics, independent of Language; are 
 .figns of things, not of words. 
 
 WE have one inftance of this fort of Writ- 
 ing in Europe. Our cyphers, as they are 
 called, or arithmetical figures, i, 2, 3, 4, &c. 
 which we have derived from the Arabians, are 
 fignificant marks, precifely of the fame na- 
 ture with the Chinefe characters. They have 
 no dependence on words; but each figure 
 denotes an object ; denotes the number for 
 which it ftands; and, accordingly, on being 
 prefented to the eye, is equally underftood by 
 all the nations who have agreed in the ufe of 
 thefe cyphers ; by Italians, Spaniards, French, 
 and Englilh, however different the Languages 
 of thofe nations are from one another, 
 whatever different names they give, in 
 
 their
 
 OF WRITING. 
 
 their refpective Languages, to each numerical L 
 cypher. 
 
 As far, then, as we have yet advanced, 
 nothing has appeared which refembles our let- 
 ters, or which can be called Writing, in the 
 fenfe we now give to that term. What we 
 have hitherto feen, were all direct figns for 
 things, and made no ufe of the medium of 
 found, or words; either figns by reprefenta- 
 tion, as the Mexican pictures; or figns by 
 analogy, as the Egyptian hieroglyphics ; or 
 figns by inftitution, as the Peruvian knots, the 
 Chinefe characters, and the Arabian cyphers. 
 
 AT length, in different nations, men became 
 fenfible of the imperfection, the ambiguity, and 
 the tedioufnefs of each of thefe methods of 
 communication with one another. They began 
 to confider, that by employing figns which 
 fhould ftand not directly for things, but for the 
 words which they ufed in Speech for naming thefe 
 things, a confiderable advantage would be 
 gained. For they reflected farther, that though 
 the number of words in every Language be, 
 indeed, very great, yet the number of articu- 
 late founds, which are ufed in compofing thefe 
 words, is comparatively fmall. The fame 
 fimple founds are continually recurring and 
 repeated; and are combined together, in va- 
 rtous ways, for forming all the variety of words 
 M 3 which
 
 1 66 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L *vu T ' wn * cn we utt er. They bethought themfelves, 
 therefore, of inventing figns, not for each 
 word, by itfelf, but for each of thofe fimple 
 founds which we employ in forming our words ; 
 and by joining together a few of thofe figns, 
 they faw that it would be practicable to exprefs, 
 in Writing, the whole combinations of founds 
 which our words require. 
 
 THE firft ftep, in this new progrefs, was the 
 invention of an alphabet of fyllables, which 
 probably preceded the invention of an alpha- 
 bet of letters, among fome of the antient na- 
 tions ; and which is faid to be retained, to this 
 day, in ./Ethiopia, and fome countries of India, 
 By fixing upon a particular mark, or character, 
 for every fyllable in the Language, the number 
 of characters, neceflary tc. be ufed in Writing, 
 was reduced within a much fmaller compafs 
 than the number of words in the Language, 
 Still, however, the number of characters was 
 greats and muft have continued to render 
 both reading and writing very laborious arts. 
 Till, at laft, fome happy genius arole; and 
 tracing the founds made by the human voice, 
 to their moft fimple elements, reduced them 
 to a very few vowels and confonants ; and, by 
 affixing to each of thefe the figns which we 
 now call Letters, taught men how a by their 
 combinations, to put in Writing all the dif- 
 ferent words, or combinations of found, which 
 
 they
 
 OF WRITING. 167 
 
 they employed in Speech. By being reduced L 
 to this fimplicity, the art of Writing was 
 brought to its higheft ftate of perfection ; and, 
 in this ftate, we now enjoy it in all the coun- 
 tries of Europe. 
 
 To whom we are indebted for this fublime 
 and refined difcovery, does not appear. Con- 
 cealed by the darknefs of remote antiquity, 
 the great inventor is deprived of thofe honours 
 which would ilill be paid to his memory, by 
 all the lovers of knowledge and learning. It 
 appears from the books which Mofes has writ- 
 ten, that, among the Jews, and probably 
 among the Egyptians, letters had been in- 
 vented prior to his age. The univerfal tradi- 
 tion among the antients is, that they were firft 
 imported into Greece by Cadmus the Phoeni- 
 cian ; who, according to the common fyflem 
 of chronology, was contemporary with Jofhua ; 
 according te Sir Ifaac Newton's fyftem, con- 
 temporary with King David. As the Phoeni- 
 cians are not known to have been the inventors 
 of any art or fcience, though, by means of 
 their extenfive commerce, they propagated the 
 difcoveries made by other nations, the moft 
 probable and natural account of the origin of 
 alphabetical characters is, that they took rife in 
 Egypt, the firft civilized kingdom of which we 
 have any authentic accounts, and the great 
 iburce of arts and polity among the antients. 
 M4 In
 
 i68 RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 In that country, the favourite ftudy of hiero* 
 glyphical characters, had directed much at- 
 tention to the art of Writing. Their hiero- 
 glyphics are known to have been intermixed 
 with abbreviated fymbols, and arbitrary marks j 
 whence, at laft, they caught the idea of con- 
 triving marks, not for things merely, but for 
 founds. Accordingly, Plato (in Phcedro) ex- 
 prefsly attributes the invention of letters to 
 Theuth, the Egyptian, who is fuppofed to 
 have been the Hermes, or Mercury, of the 
 Greeks. Cadmus himfelf, though he patted 
 from Phoenicia to Greece, yet is affirmed, by 
 feveral of the antients, to have been originally 
 of Thebes in Egypt. Moft probably, Mofes 
 carried with him the Egyptian letters into the 
 land of Canaan ; and there being adopted by 
 the Phoenicians, who inhabited part of that 
 country, they were tranfmitted into Greece. 
 
 THE alphabet which Cadmus brought into 
 Greece was imperfect, and is faid to have con- 
 tained only fix teen letters. The reft were af- 
 terwards added, according as figns for proper 
 founds were found to be wanting. It is 
 curious to obferve, that the letters which we 
 ufe at this day, can be traced back to this very 
 alphabet of Cadmus. The Roman alphabet, 
 which obtains with us, and with moft of the 
 European nations, is plainly formed on the 
 Greek, with a few variations. And all learned 
 
 men
 
 OF WRITING. 169 
 
 men obferve, that the Greek characters, efpe- L E c T - 
 cially according to the manner in. which they 
 are formed in the oldeft infcriptions, have a re- 
 markable conformity with the Hebrew or Sa- 
 maritan characters, which, it is agreed, are 
 the fame with the Phoenician, or the alphabet 
 of Cadmus. Invert the Greek characters from 
 left to right, according to the Phoenician and 
 Hebrew manner of Writing, and they are 
 nearly the lame. Befides the conformity of 
 figure, the names or denominations of the 
 letters, alpha, beta, gamma, &c. and the 
 order in which the letters are arranged, in all 
 the feveral alphabets, Phoenician, Hebrew, 
 Greek, and Roman, agree fo much, as amounts 
 to a demonftration, that they were all derived 
 originally from the fame fource. An inven- 
 tion fo ufeful and fimple, was greedily re- 
 ceived by mankind, and propagated with 
 fpeed and facility through many different 
 nations. 
 
 THE letters were, originally, written from 
 the right hand towards the left -, that is, in a 
 contrary order to what we now practife. This 
 manner of Writing obtained among the AfTy- 
 rians, Phoenicians, Arabians, and Hebrews ; 
 and from fome very old infcriptions, appears 
 o have obtained alfo among the Greeks. 
 Afterwards, the Greeks adopted a new me- 
 thod, writing thfir lines alternately from the 
 
 right
 
 i 7 p RISE AND PROGRESS 
 
 L E c T. r ig nt to tne i e f ti an d f rom tne left to the 
 right, which was called Boujlrophedon -, or, 
 writing after the manner in which oxen plow 
 the ground. Of this, feveral fpecimens flill 
 remain ; particularly, the infcription on the 
 famous Sigsan monument; and down to the 
 days of Solon, the legiflator of Athens, this 
 continued to be the common method of 
 Writing. At length, the motion from the 
 left hand to the right being found more na- 
 tural and commodious, the practice of Writing, 
 in this direction, prevailed throughout all the 
 countries of Europe. 
 
 WRITING was long a kind of engraving. 
 Pillars, and tables of ftone, were firft em- 
 ployed for this purpofe, and afterwards, plates 
 of the fofter metals, fuch as lead. In pro- 
 portion as Writing became more common, 
 lighter and more portable fubltances were 
 employed. The leaves, and the bark of 
 certain trees, were ufed in fome countries ; 
 and in others, tablets of wood, covered with 
 a thin coat of foft wax, on which the im- 
 preffion was made with a ftylus of iron. In 
 later times, the hides of animals, properly 
 prepared, and polifhed into parchment, were 
 the moft common materials. Our prefent 
 method of writing on paper, is an invention 
 of no greater antiquity than the fourteenth 
 century. 
 
 THUS
 
 O F W R I T I N G. 
 
 THUS I have given fome account of the 
 Progrefs of thefe two great arts, Speech and 
 Writing; by which men's thoughts are com- 
 municated, and the foundation laid for all 
 knowledge and improvement. Let us con- 
 clude the fubject, with comparing in a few 
 words, fpoken Language, and written Lan- 
 guage 3 or words uttered in our hearing, with 
 words reprefented to the eye ; where we fhall 
 find feveral advantages and difadvantages to 
 be balanced on both fides. 
 
 THE advantages of Writing above Speech 
 are, that Writing is both a more extenfive, 
 and a more permanent method of communica- 
 tion. More extenfive ; as it is not confined 
 within the narrow circle of thofe who hear our 
 words, but, by means of written characters, we 
 can fend our thoughts abroad, and propagate 
 them through the world; we can lift our 
 voice, fo as to fpeak to the moft diftant regions 
 of the earth. More permanent alfo ; as it pro- 
 longs this voice to the moft diftant ages ; it 
 gives us the means of recording our fentiments 
 to futurity, and of perpetuating the inftructive 
 memory of paft tranfactions. It likewife affords 
 this advantage to fuch as read, above fuch as 
 hear, that, having the written characters be- 
 fore their eyes, they can arreft the fenfe of the 
 writer. They can paufe, and revolve, and 
 compare at their leifure, oae paflage with an- 
 other j
 
 i 7 z RISE AND PROGRESS, &c. 
 
 other j whereas, the voice is fugitive and paff- 
 ing; you muft catch the words the moment 
 they are uttered, or you lofe them for ever. 
 
 V 
 
 BUT, although thefe be fo great advantages 
 of written Language, that Speech, without 
 Writing, 'would have been very inadequate for 
 the inftru&ion of mankind : yet we muft not 
 forget to obferve, that fpoken Language has 
 a great fuperiority over written Language, in 
 point of energy or force. The voice of the 
 living Speaker, makes an imprefiion on the 
 mind, much ftronger than can be made by 
 the perufal of any Writing. The tones of 
 voice, the looks and gefture, which accom- 
 pany difcourfe, and which no Writing can 
 convey, render difcourfe, when it is well ma- 
 naged, infinitely more clear, and more ex- 
 prefiive, than the moft accurate Writing. For 
 tones, looks, and geftures, are natural inter- 
 preters of the fentiments of the mind. They 
 remove ambiguities ; they enforce impreflions ; 
 they operate on us by means of fympathy, 
 which is one of the moft powerful inftruments 
 of perfuafion. Our fympathy is always awakened 
 more by hearing the Speaker, than by read- 
 ing his works in our clofet. Hence, though 
 Writing may anfwer the purpofes of mere in- 
 ftruclion, yet all the great and high efforts of 
 eloquence muft be made, by means of fpoken a 
 not of written. Language.
 
 LECTURE VIII. 
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 AFTER having given an account of the L E c T. 
 Rife and Progrefs of Language, I pro- 
 ceed to treat of its Structure^ or of General 
 Grammar. The Structure of Language is ex- 
 tremely artificial > and there are few fciences 
 in which a deeper, or more refined logic, is 
 employed, than in Grammar. It is apt to be 
 (lighted by fuperficial thinkers, as belonging 
 to thofe rudiments of knowledge, which were 
 inculcated upon us in our earlieft youth. But 
 what was then inculcated before we could com- 
 prehend its principles, would abundantly re- 
 pay our ftudy in maturer years j and to the 
 ignorance of it, muft be attributed many 
 of thofe fundamental defects which appear in 
 writing. 
 
 FEW authors have written with philofophi- 
 cal accuracy on the principles of General 
 Grammar 3 and, what is more to be regretted, 
 fewer ftill have thought of applying thofe 
 
 principles
 
 174 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. principles to the Englifh Language. While 
 the French tongue has long been an object of 
 attention to many able and ingenious writers 
 of that nation, who have confidered its con- 
 ftruction, and determined its propriety with 
 great accuracy, the Genius and Grammar of 
 the Englifh, to the reproach of the country, 
 have not been ftudied with .equal care, or 
 afcertained with the fame precifion. Attempts 
 have been made, indeed, of late, towards 
 fupplying this defect; and fome able writers 
 have entered on the fubject; but much re- 
 mains yet to be done. 
 
 I DO not propofe to give any fyftem, either 
 of Grammar in genera), or of Englifh Gram- 
 mar in particular. A minute difcuffion of the 
 niceties of Language would carry us too much 
 off from other objects, which demand our at- 
 tention in this courfe of Lectures. But I pro- 
 pofe to give a general view of the chief prin- 
 ciples relating to this fubject, in obfervations 
 on the feveral parts of which Speech or Lan- 
 guage is compofed ; remarking, as I go 
 along, the peculiarities of our own Tongue. 
 After which, I fhall make fome more par- 
 ticular remarks on the Genius of the Englifh 
 Language. 
 
 THE firft thing to be confidered, is, the di- 
 vifion of the feveral parts of Speech. The 
 2 efTential
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 cfiential parts of Speech are the feme in all L 
 Languages. There mud always be fome 
 words which denote the names of objects, or 
 mark the fubjeft of difcourfe j other words, 
 which denote the qualites of thofe objects, 
 and exprefs what we affirm concerning them j 
 and other words, which point out their con- 
 nections and relations. Hence, fubftantives, 
 pronouns, adjectives, verbs, prepofitions, and 
 conjunctions, muft neceffarily be found in all 
 Languages. The moft fimple and compre- 
 henfive divifion of the parts of Speech is, into 
 fubftantives, attributives, and connectives * 
 Subftantives, are all the words which exprefs 
 the names of objects, or the fubjects of dif- 
 courfe j attributives, aie all the words which 
 exprefs any attribute, property, or action of 
 the former i connectives, are what exprefs the 
 
 * Quin&ilian informs us, that this was the moft antient 
 divifion. " Turn videbit quot & quas font partes orationis. 
 f Quanquam de numero parum convenit. Veteres enira, 
 *' quorum fuerant Ariftoteles atque Theodiftes, verba 
 ** modo, & nomina, & convindliones tradiderunt. Vide- 
 tf licet, quod in verbis vim fermonis, in nominibus mate- 
 " riam (quia alter um eft quod loquimur, alteruni de quo 
 " loquimur), in convin&ionibus autem complexum eorum 
 t( efle judicarunt ; quas conjuncliones a plerifque dici fcio; 
 " fed haec videtur ex av^ic^u magis propria tranflatio. 
 ' Paulatim a philofophieis ac maxime a ftoicis, auftus eft 
 numerus ; ac primum convindlionibus articuli adjefti ; 
 " poft praspofitiones ; nominibus, appellatio, deinde pro- 
 " nomen ; deinde miftum verbo participium ; ipfis verbis, 
 " adverbia." Lib. I. cap. iv. 
 
 connections,
 
 17$ STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.- 
 
 L vm. T ' conne ftins> relations, and dependencies, 
 which take place among them. The common 
 grammatical divifion of Speech into eight parts j 
 nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, adverbs, 
 prepofitions, interjections, and conjunctions - 3 
 is not very logical, as might be eafily fhewn ; 
 as it comprehends, under the general term of 
 nouns, both fubftantives and adjectives, which 
 are parts of Speech generically and eflentially 
 diftinct y while it makes a feparate part of 
 Ipeech of participles, which are no other than 
 verbal adjectives. However, as thefe are the 
 terms to which our ears have been mod fami- 
 liarifed, and, as an exact logical divifion is of 
 no great confequence to our prefent purpofe, 
 it will be better to make ufe of thefe known 
 terms than of any other. 
 
 WE sire naturally led to begin with the con- 
 fideration of fubftantive nouns, which are the 
 foundation of all Grammar, and may be con- 
 fidered as the moft antient part of Speech. 
 For, afiuredly, as foon as men had got beyond 
 fimple interjections, or exclamations of paffion, 
 and began to communicate themfelves by dif- 
 courfe, they would be under a neceflity of af- 
 figning names to the objects they faw around 
 them ; which, in Grammatical Language, is 
 called the Invention of fubftantive nouns *. 
 
 And 
 
 * I do not mean to aflert, that, among all nations, the 
 firft invented words were fimple and regular fubftantive 
 
 nouns.
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 177 
 
 And here, at our firft fetting out/lbmewhat L * T * 
 curious occurs. The individual objects which 
 furround us, are infinite in number. A fa- 
 vage, wherever he looked, beheld forefts and 
 
 nouns. Nothing is more difficult, than to afcertain the 
 precife fteps by which men proceeded in the formation of 
 Language. Names for objects muft, doubtlefs, have arifen 
 in the moft early ftages of Speech. But it is probable, as 
 the learned Author of the Treatife, On ths Origin and Pro- 
 g>-efs of Language, has mown (vol. i. p. 371. 395. ) that, 
 among feveral favage tribes, fome of the firft articulate 
 founds that were formed, denoted a whole fentence rather 
 than the name of a particular object ; conveying fome in- 
 formation, or expreffing fome defires or fears, fuited to the 
 circumftances in which that tribe was placed, or relating to 
 the bufmefs they had molt frequent occafion to carry on ; 
 as, the lion is coming, the river is fwelfing, &c. Many of 
 their firft words, it is likevvife probable, were not fimple 
 fubftantive nouns, but fubftantives, accompanied with fome 
 of thofe attributes, in conjunction with which they were 
 moft frequently accuftomed to behold them ; as, the great 
 bear, the little hut, the wound made by the hatchet, &c. 
 Of all which, the Author produces inftances from feveral 
 of the American Languages ; and it is, undoubtedly, fuit- 
 able to the natural courfe of the operations of the human 
 mind thus to begin with particulars the moft obvious to 
 fenfe, and to proceed, from thefe, to more general expref-- 
 fions. He likewife obferves, that the words of thofe pri- 
 mitive tongues are far from being, as we might fuppofe 
 them, rude and fliort, and crowded with confonants ; but, 
 on the contrary, are, for the moft part, long words, and 
 full of vowels. This is the confequence of their being 
 formed upon the natural founds which the voice utters with 
 moft eafe, a little varied and diftinguilhed by articulation ; 
 and he (hows this to hold, in fact, among moft of the bar- 
 barous Languages which are known. 
 
 VOL. I. N trees.
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 T. trees 
 
 V11I. 
 
 L E c T. trees. To give feparate names to every one of 
 
 thofe trees, would have been an endlefs and 
 impracticable undertaking. His firft object 
 was, to give a name to that particular tree, 
 whofe fruit relieved his hunger, or whofe 
 fhade protected him from the fun. But ob- 
 ferving, that though other trees were diftin- 
 guilhed from this by peculiar qualities of fize 
 or appearance, yet, that they alfo agreed and 
 refembled one another, in certain common qua- 
 lities, fuch as fpringing from a root, and bear- 
 ing branches and leaves, he formed in his mind, 
 ibme general idea of thofe common qualities, 
 and ranging all that pofiefied them under one 
 clafs of objects, he called that whole clafs, a 
 tree. Longer experience taught him to fubdi-' 
 vide this genus into the feveral fpecies of oak, 
 pine, afh, and the rell, according as his ob- 
 fervation extended to the feveral qualities in 
 which thefe trees agreed or differed. 
 
 BUT, (till, he made ufe only of general 
 terms in Speech. For the oak, the pine, and 
 the alh, were names of whole clafles of ob- 
 jects; each of which included an immenfe 
 number' of undiftinguifhed individuals. Here 
 then, it appears, that though the formation of 
 abftract, or general conceptions, is fuppofed 
 to be a difficult operation of the mind 3 fuch 
 conceptions muft have entered into the very 
 firft formation of Language. For, if we ex- 
 cept
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 179 
 
 cept only the proper names of perfons, fuch as L E ^ T> 
 Csfar, John, Peter, all the other fubftantive 
 nouns which we employ in difcourfe, are the 
 names, not of individual objects, but of very 
 cxtenfive genera, or fpecies of objects ; as, 
 man, lion, houfe, river, &c. We are not, 
 however, to imagine, that this invention of 
 general, or abftract terms, requires any great 
 exertion of metaphyfical capacity : for, by 
 whatever fteps the mind proceeds in it, it is 
 certain, that, when men have once obferved 
 refemblances among objects, they are natu- 
 rally inclined to call all thofe which refemble 
 one another, by one common name; and of 
 courfe to clafs them under one fpecies. We 
 may daily obferve this practifed by children, 
 in their firft attempts towards acquiring Lan- 
 guage. 
 
 BUT now, after Language had proceeded as 
 far as I have defcribed, the notification which 
 it made of objects was ftill very imperfect: 
 for, when one mentioned to another, in dif- 
 courfe, any fubftantive noun ; fuch as, man, 
 lion, or tree, how was it to be known which 
 man, which lion, or which tree he meant, 
 among the many comprehended under one 
 name ? Here occurs a very curious, and a very 
 ufeful contrivance for fpecifying the individual 
 object intended, by means of that part of 
 Speech called the Article. 
 
 N 2 THE
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 THE force of the Article confifts, in point- 
 ing, or fingling out from the common mafs, 
 die individual of which we mean to fpeak. 
 In Englifh, we have two Articles, a and tht j 
 a is more general and unlimited ; the more de- 
 finite and fpecial. A is much the fame with 
 cne, and marks only any one individual of a fpe- 
 cies ; that individual being either unknown, 
 or left undetermined ; as, a lion, a kinp-. The, 
 
 ; * * O "* 
 
 which poflefTes more properly the force of 
 the Article, afcertains fome known or deter- 
 mined individual of the fpecies j as the lion, 
 the king. 
 
 ARTICLES are words of great tife in Speech* 
 In fome Languages, however, they are not 
 found. The Greeks have but one Article, 
 t if TO, which anfwers to our definite, or proper 
 Article, the. They have no word which an- 
 fwers to our Article a ; but they fupply its 
 place by the abfence of their Article : Thus, 
 Ba<nAu? fignifies, a king ; o Ba<nAu?>- the king. 
 The Latins have no Article. In the room of 
 it, they employ pronouns, as, hie, ille, ifte, for 
 pointing out the objects which they want to 
 diftinguifli. " Nofter fermo," fays Quincti- 
 lian, " articulos non defiderat, ideoque in 
 " alias partes oration is fparguntur." This, 
 however, appears to me a defect in the Latin 
 tongue ; as Articles contribute much to the 
 clearnefs and precifion of Language.
 
 .STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. iSi 
 
 IM order to illuftrate this, remark, what L y, c T * 
 difference there is in the meaning of the fol- 
 lowing expreffions in Englifh, depending 
 wholly on the different employment of the 
 Articles : ft The ion of a king The fon of 
 " the king A fon of the king's." Each of 
 thefe three phrafes has an entirely different 
 meaning, which I need not explain, becaufe 
 any one who underftands the Language, con- 
 ceives it clearly at firft hearing, through the 
 different application of the Articles, a and the. 
 Whereas, in Latin, <c Filius regis," is wholly 
 undetermined ; and to explain, in which of 
 thefe three fenfes it is to be underftood, for it 
 may bear any of them, a circumlocution of 
 feveral words muft be ufed. In the fame man- 
 ner, ff Are you a king ?" "Are you the 
 <c king ?" are queftions of quite feparate im- 
 port ; which, however, are confounded toge- 
 ther in the Latin phrafe, " efne tu rex ?" 
 " Thou art a man," is a very general and 
 harmlefs pofition ; but, " thou art the man," 
 is an affertion, capable, we know, of ftriking 
 terror and remorfe into the heart. Thefe ob- 
 fervations illuftrate the force and importance 
 of Articles: and, at the fame time, I gladly 
 lay hold of any opportunity of ihowing the ad- 
 vantages of our own language. 
 
 BESIDES this quality of being particularifed 
 
 by the Article, three affections belong to fuhr 
 
 N 3 ftautive
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 ive nouns, number, gem 
 which require our confideration. 
 
 L vm T * ft ant i ve nouns, number, gender, and cafe, 
 
 NUMBER diftinguifhes them as one, or many, 
 of the fame kind, called the Singular and 
 Plural ; a diftin&ion found in all Languages, 
 and which muft, indeed, have been coeval with 
 the very infancy of Language ; as there were 
 few things which men had more frequent oc- 
 cafion to exprefs, than the difference between 
 one and many. For the greater facility of ex- 
 preffing it, it has, in all Languages, been 
 marked by fome variation made upon the fub- 
 ftative noun ; as we fee, in Englifh, our plu- 
 ral is commonly formed by the addition of the 
 letter S. In the Hebrew, Greek, and fome 
 other antient Languages, we find, not only a 
 plural, but a dual number; the rife of which 
 may very naturally be accounted for, from fe- 
 parate terms of numbering not being yet in<- 
 vented, and one, two, and many, being all, 
 or, at leaft, the chief numeral diftinctions 
 which men, at firft, had any occafion to take 
 notice of, 
 
 GENDER, is an affection of fubftantive nouns, 
 which will lead us into more difcuffion than 
 number. Gender, being founded on the dif- 
 tindtion of the two fexes, it is plain, that in 
 2 proper fenfe, it can only find place in the 
 names of Jiving creatures, which admit the 
 
 7 diftinction
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 diftinftion of male and female ; and, therefore, L 
 can be ranged under the mafculine or feminine 
 genders. All other fubftantive nouns ought 
 to belong, to what grammarians eall, the 
 Neuter Gender, which is meant to imply the 
 negation of either fex. But, with refpect to 
 this diftribution, fomewhat fingular hath ob- 
 tained m the ftructure of Language. For, in 
 correfpondence to that diftinction of male and 
 female fex, which runs through all the clafles 
 of animals, men have, in mod Languages, 
 ranked a great number of inanimate pbjects 
 allb, under the like diftinctions of mafculine 
 and feminine. Thus we find it, both in the 
 Greek and Latin Tongues. Gladius, a fword, 
 for inftance, is mafculine j fagitta, an arrow, 
 is feminine ; and this affignation of fex to in- 
 animate objefts, this diftinction of them into 
 mafculine and feminine, appears often to be 
 entirely capricious j derived from no other 
 principle than the cafual ftruc"lure of the Lan- 
 guage, which refers to a certain gender, words 
 of a certain termination. In the Greek and 
 Latin, however, all inanimate objects are not 
 diftributed into mafculine and feminine; but 
 many of them are alfo clafled, where all of 
 them ought to have been, under the neuter 
 gender - 3 as, templum, a church 3 fedile^ a feat. 
 
 BUT the genius of the French and Italian 
 
 Tongues differs, in this refpect, from the 
 
 N 4 Greek
 
 184 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. Greek and Latin. In the French and Italian, 
 from whatever caufe it has happened, fo it is, 
 that the neuter gender is wholly unknown, and 
 that all their names of inanimate objects aic 
 put upon the fame footing with living creatures; 
 and diftributed, without exception, into maf- 
 culine and feminine. The French have two 
 articles, the mafculine /<?, and the feminine la ; 
 and one or other of thefe is prefixed to all fub- 
 ftantivt nouns in the Language, to denote their 
 gender. The Italians make the fame univerfai 
 ufe of their articles il and lo } for the mafculine j 
 and la for the feminine. 
 
 IN the Englifh Language, it is remarkable, 
 that there obtains a peculiarity quite oppofite. 
 In the French and Italian, there is no neuter 
 gender. In the Englifh, when we ufe com- 
 mon difcourfe, all fubftantive nouns, that are 
 not names of living creatures, are neuter, 
 without exception. He> Jke, and it, are the 
 marks of the three 1 genders; and we always 
 ufe //, in fpeaking of any object where there 
 is no fex, or where the fex is, not known. 
 The Englifh is, perhaps, the only Language in 
 the known world (except the Chinefe, which 
 is faid to agree with it in this particular), where 
 the diftindion of gender is properly and philo- 
 fophically applied in the ufe of words, and con- 
 fined, as it ought to be, to mark the real dif- 
 tinctions of male and female.
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 HENCE arifes a very great and fignal ad- L 
 vantage of the Englifh Tongue, which it is 
 of confequence to remark *. Though in com- 
 mon difcourfe, as I have already obferved, we 
 employ only the proper and literal diftinclion 
 of iexes ; yet the genius of the Language per- 
 mits us, whenever it will add beauty to our 
 difcourfe, to make the names of inanimate ob- 
 jects mafculine or feminine in a metaphorical 
 fenfe ; and when we do fo, we are underftood 
 to quit the literal ftyle, and to uie one of the 
 figures of difcourfe, 
 
 FOR inftancej if I am fpeaking of virtue, in 
 tjie courfe of ordinary converfation, or of ftrict 
 reafoning, I refer the word to no fex or gender; 
 I fay, " Virtue is its own reward ;" or, " it 
 tc is the law of our nature." But if I chufe to 
 rjfe into a higher tone; if I feek to embellifli 
 and animate my difcourfe, I give a fex to 
 virtue ; I fay, " She defcends from Heaven j" 
 <c Ihe alone confers true honour upon man ;" 
 " her gifts are the only durable rewards." By 
 tjiis means, we have it in our power to vary 
 our ftyle at pleafure. By making a very flight 
 alteration, we can perlbnify any object that 
 we chufe to introduce with dignity; and by 
 
 * The following obfervations on the metaphorical ufe of 
 genders, in the Engliih Language, are taken from Mr, 
 Jiarris's Hermes. 
 
 this
 
 1 86 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. this change of manner, we give warning, that 
 we are palling from the ftrict and logical, to the 
 ornamented and rhetorical ftyle. 
 
 THIS is an advantage which, not only every 
 poet, but every good writer and fpeaker in 
 profe is, on many occafions, glad to lay hold 
 of, and improve : and it is an advantage pe- 
 culiar to our Tongue ; no other Language 
 poflfeiTes it. For, in other Languages, every 
 word has one fixed gender, mafculine, femi- 
 nine, or neuter, which can, upon no occafion, 
 be changed; acn-r, for inftance, in Greek; 
 virtus in Latin ; and la vertu in French ; are 
 uniformly feminine. She, muft always be the 
 pronoun anfwering to the word, whether you 
 be writing in poetry or profe, whether you be 
 ufing the ftyle of reafoning, or that of decla- 
 mation : whereas, in Englifh, we can either 
 exprefs ourfelves with the philofophical accu- 
 racy of giving no gender to things inanimate ; 
 or by giving them gender, and transforming 
 them into perfons, we adapt them to the ftyle 
 of poetry, and, when it is proper, we enliven 
 profe. 
 
 IT deferves to be further remarked on this 
 fubject, that, when we employ that liberty 
 which our Language allows, of afcribing fex to 
 any inanimate object, we have not, however, 
 the liberty of making it of what gender we 
 
 pleafe,
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 pleafe, mafculine or feminine ; but are, in 
 general, fubjected to fome rule of gender which 
 the currency of Language has fixed to that ob- 
 ject. The foundation of that rule is imagined, 
 by Mr. Harris, in his " Philofophical En- 
 <f quiry into the Principled of Grammar," to 
 be laid in a certain diftant relemblance, or 
 analogy, to the natural diftinction of the two 
 iexes. 
 
 THUS, according to him, we commonly 
 give the mafculine gender to thofe fubftantive 
 nouns ufed figuratively, which are confpicuous 
 for the attributes of imparting, or communi- 
 cating j which are by nature ilrong and effica- 
 cious, either to good or evil ; or which have 
 a claim to fome eminence, whether laudable 
 or not. Thofe again, he imagines to be ge- 
 nerally made feminine, which are confpicuous 
 .for the attributes of containing, and of bring- 
 ing forth ; which have more of the pafllve in 
 their nature, than the active ; which are pecu- 
 liarly beautiful, or amiable ; or which have 
 refpect to fuch excefles as are rather feminine 
 than mafculine. Upon thefe principles he 
 takes notice, that the fun is always put in the 
 mafculine gender with us ; the moon in the fe- 
 minine, as being the receptacle of the fun's 
 light. The earth is, univerfally, feminine. A 
 {hip, a country, a city, are likewife made fe- 
 jninine, as receivers, or containers. God, in
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE, 
 r. all T 
 
 VI! I. 
 
 T - all Languages, is mafculine. Time, we make 
 
 mafculine, on account of .its migiity efficacy; 
 virtue, feminine, from its beauty, and its being 
 the object of love. Fortune is always feminine. 
 Mr. Harris imagines, that the reafons which 
 determine the gender of fuch capital words as 
 thefe, hold in moft other Languages, as well 
 as the Engliili. This, however, appears doubt- 
 ful. A variety of circumftances, which feem 
 cafual to us, becaufe we cannot reduce them 
 to principles, mud, unqueflionably, have in- 
 fluenced the original formation of Languages ; 
 and in no Article whatever does Language ap- 
 pear to have been more capricious, and to have 
 proceeded lefs according to fixed rule, than in 
 the impofition of gender upon things inani- 
 mate; efpecially among fuch nations as have 
 applied the diftinction of mafculine and ferni^ 
 nine to all fubflantive nouns, 
 
 HAVING difcufTed gender, I proceed, next a 
 to another remarkable peculiarity of fubftan- 
 tive nouns, which, in the ftyle of grammar, 
 is called their declenfion by cafes. Let us, 
 firft, confider what cafes fignify. In order to 
 underftand this, it is neceffary to obferve, 
 that, after men had given names to external 
 objects, had particularifed them by means of 
 the article, and diftinguilhed them by number 
 and gender, ftill their Language remained ex- 
 tremely imperfect, till they had devife<4 fome 
 
 method
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 method of expreffing the relations which thofe L 
 objects bore, one towards another. They 
 would find it of little ufe to have a name for 
 man, lion, tree, river, without being able, at 
 the fame time, to fignify how thefe ftood with 
 refpect to each other j whether, as appi cach- 
 ing to, receding from, joined with, and the 
 like. Indeed, the relations which objects bear 
 to one another, are immenfely numerous ; and 
 therefore, to devife names for them all, muft 
 have been among the laft and moft difficult re- 
 finements of Language. But, in its moft early 
 periods, it was abfolutely necefiary to exprefs, in 
 ibme way or other, fuch relations as were moft 
 important, and as occurred moft frequently in 
 common Speech. Hence the genitive, dative, 
 and ablative cafes of nouns, which exprefs the 
 noun itfclf, together with thofe relations, of, 
 to, from, with, and by \ the relations which we 
 have the moft frequent occafion to mention. 
 The proper idea then of cafes in declenfion, is 
 no other than an expreflion of the ftate, or re- 
 lation, which one object bears to another, de- 
 noted by fome variation made upon the name of 
 that object j moft commonly in the final letters, 
 and by fome Languages, in the initial. 
 
 ALL Languages, however, do not agree in 
 this mode of* expreffion. The Greek, Latin, 
 and feveral other Languages, ufe declenfion. 
 The Englifn, French, and Italian, do not; or, 
 
 at
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L vTi T * at m ft> u ^ e ^ VC1 7 imperfectly. In place of 
 i. . v . ,j the variations of cafes, the modern Tongues 
 exprefs the relations of objects, by means of 
 the words called Prepofitions, which denote 
 thofe relations, prefixed to the name of the 
 object. Englilh nouns have no cafe whatever, 
 except a fort of genitive, commonly formed 
 by the addition of the letter s to the noun ; as 
 when we fay " Dryden's Poeins," meaning 
 the Poems of Drycjen. Our perfonal pronouns 
 have alfo a cafe, which anfwers to the accufa- 
 tive of the Latin, /, me, be, him, who, 
 whom. There is nothing, then, or at leaft 
 very little, in the Grammar of our Language, 
 which corresponds to declenfion in the antient 
 Languages. 
 
 Two queftions, refpecting this fubject, may 
 be put. Firft, Which of thefe methods of ex- 
 prelling relations, whether that by declenfion, 
 or that by prepofitions, was the moft antient 
 ufage in Language ? And next, Which of 
 them has the beft effect ? Both methods, it is 
 plain, are the fame as to the fenfe, and differ 
 only in form. For the fignificancy of the Ro- 
 man Language would not have been altered, 
 though the nouns, like ours, had been with- 
 out cafes, provided they had employed prepo- 
 fitions j and though, to exprefs a difciple of 
 Plato, they had faid, <f Difcipulus de Plato," 
 like the modern Italians, in place of " Difci- 
 r< pulus Platonis." 
 
 Now,
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 Now, with refpect to the antiquity of cafes, L 
 although they may, on firft view, feem to con- 
 ftitute a more artificial method than the other, 
 of denoting relations, yet there are flrong 
 reafons for thinking that this was the earlieft 
 method practifed by men. We find, in fact, 
 that declenfions and cafes are ufed in moft of 
 what are called the Mother Tongues, or Ori- 
 ginal Languages, as well as in the Greek and 
 Latin. And a very natural and fatisfying ac- 
 count can be given why this ufage fhould have 
 early obtained. Relations are the moft ab- 
 ftraft and metaphyfical ideas of any which 
 men have occafion to form, when they are con- 
 fidered by themfelves, and feparated from the 
 related object. It would puzzle any man, as 
 has been well obferved by an Author on this 
 fubject, to give a diftindt account of what is 
 meant by fuch a word as of, or from y when it 
 Hands by itfelf, and to explain all that may be 
 included under it. The firft rude inventors of 
 Language, therefore, would not, for a long 
 while, arrive at fuch general terms. In place 
 of confidering any relation in the abftract, and 
 devifing a name for it, they would much more 
 ealily conceive it in conjunction with a parti- 
 cular object ; and they would exprefs their 
 conceptions of it, by varying the name of that 
 object through all the different cafes > hominis, 
 of a man j bomini, to a man ; homine, with a 
 man, &c. 
 
 BUT,
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE; 
 
 BUT, though this method of declenfion 
 probably, tjie only method which men em- 
 ployed, at firft, for denoting relations, yet, in 
 progrefs of time, many other relations being 
 obferved, befides thofe which are fignified by 
 the cafes of nouns, and men alfo becoming 
 more capable of general and metaphyfical 
 ideas, feparate names were gradually invented 
 for all the relations which occurred, forming 
 that part of Speech which we now call Prepo- 
 fitions. Prepofitions being once introduced, 
 they were found to be capable of fupplying 
 the place of cafes, by being prefixed to the 
 nominative of the noun. Hence, it came to 
 pafs, that, as nations were intermixed by mi- 
 grations and conquefts, and were obliged to 
 learn, and adopt the Languages of one an- 
 other, prepofitions fupplanted the ufe of cafes 
 and declenfions. When the Italian Tongue, 
 for inftance, fprung out of the Roman, it was 
 found more eafy and fimple, by the Gothic 
 nations, to accommodate a few prepofitions to 
 the nominative of every noun, and to fay di 
 Roma y al Roma, di Carthago-i al Carthago, 
 than to remember all the variety of termina- 
 tions, Rom<e, Romam, Carthaginis, Carthagi- 
 Tiem, which the ufe of declenfions required 
 in the antient nouns. By this progrefs we can 
 give a natural account how nouns, in our mo- 
 dern Tongues, come to be fo void of declen- 
 fion: a progrefs which is fully illuftrated in 
 
 Dr.
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 Dr. Adam Smith's ingenious Diflertation on L 
 the Formation of Languages. 
 
 WITH regard to the other queftion on this 
 fubjectj Which of thefe two methods is of 
 the greater utility and beauty ? we fhall find 
 advantages and difadvantages to be balanced 
 on both fides. There is no doubt that, by abo- 
 lifhing cafes, we have rendered the ftrufture 
 of modern Languages more fimple. We have 
 difembarrafTed it of all the intricacy which 
 arofe from the different forms of declenfion, 
 of which the Romans had no fewer than five ; 
 and from all the irregularities in thefe feveral 
 declenfion s. We have thereby rendered our 
 Languages more eafy to be acquired, and lefs 
 fubject to the perplexity of rules. But, though 
 the fimplicity and eafe of Language be great 
 and eftimable advantages, yet there are alfb 
 fuch difadvantages attending the modern me- 
 thod, as leave the balance, on the whole, 
 doubtful, or rather incline it to the fide of 
 antiquity. 
 
 FOR, in the firft place, by our eonftant ufe 
 of prepofitions for exprefling the relations of 
 things, we have filled Language with a mul- 
 titude of thofe little words, which are eter- 
 nally occurring in every fentence, and may be 
 thought thereby to have encumbered Speech, 
 by an addition of terms j and by rendering ic 
 more prolix, to have enervated its force. In 
 
 VOL. I. O the
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 the fecond place, we have certainly rendered 
 the found of Language lefs agreeable to the 
 ear, by depriving it of that variety and fweet- 
 nefs, which arofe from the length of words, 
 and the change of terminations, occafioned by 
 the cafes in the Greek and Latin. But, in the 
 third place, the moft material difadvantage is, 
 that, by this abolition of cafes, and by a fimilar 
 alteration, of which I am to fpeak in the next 
 Lecture, in the conjugation of verbs, we have 
 deprived ourfelves of that liberty of tranfpofi- 
 tion in the arrangement of words, which the 
 Antient Languages enjoyed. 
 
 IN the Antient Tongues, as I formerly ob- 
 ferved, the different terminations, produced 
 by declenfion and conjugation, pointed out 
 the reference of the feveral words of a fen- 
 tence to one another, without the aid of jux- 
 tapofition; fuffered them to be placed, with- 
 out ambiguity, in whatever order was moil 
 fuited to give force to the meaning, or har- 
 mony to the found. But now, having none 
 of thofe marks of relation incorporated with 
 the words themfelves, we have no other way left 
 us, of fhowing what words in a fentence are 
 moft clofely connected in meaning, than that of 
 placing them clofe by one another in the period. 
 The meaning of the fentence is brought out in 
 feparate members and portions ; it is broken 
 down and divided. Whereas the fcructure of 
 the Greek and Roman fentences, by the go- 
 2 vernment
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 195 
 
 vernment of their nouns and verbs, prefented L E c T *. 
 the meaning fo interwoven and compounded 
 in all its parts, as to make us perceive it in 
 one united view. The clofmg words of the 
 period afcertained the relation of each member 
 to another; and all that ought to be con- 
 nefled in our idea, appeared connected in the 
 expreffion. Hence, more brevity, more viva- 
 city, more force. That luggage of particles 
 (as an ingenious Author happily exprefTes it), 
 which we are obliged always to carry along 
 with us, both clogs ftyle, and enfeebles fentU 
 ment *. 
 
 PRONOUNS 
 
 * " The various terminations of the fame word, whe- 
 *' ther verb or noun, are always conceived to be more 
 *' intimately connected with the term which they ferve to 
 " lengthen;, than the additional, detached, and in them- 
 " (elves infignificant particles, which we are obliged to 
 " employ as connectives to our fignificant words. Our 
 ** method gives almoft the fame expofure to the one as to 
 " the other, making the fignificant parts, and the infigni- 
 " ficant, equally confpicuous ; theirs, much oftener finks, 
 " as it were, the former into the latter, at once preferv- 
 " ing their ufe, and hiding their weaknefs. Our modern 
 " Languages may, in this refpect, be compared to the art of 
 " che carpenter in its rudeft ftate; when the union of the 
 '< materials, employed by the artifan, could be eft'edled only 
 " by the help of thofe external and coarfe implements, 
 " pins, nails, and cramps. The antient Languages re- 
 " femble the fame art in its moft improved Hate, after the 
 " invention of dovetail joints, grooves, and mortices ; 
 " when thus all the principal junctions are effected, by 
 ** forming, properly, the extremities, or terminations, of 
 ' the pieces to be joined. For, by means of thefe, the 
 O 2 *. c union
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 PRONOUNS are the clafs of words moft nearly 
 related ,to fubftantive nouns ; being, as the 
 name imports, reprefentatives, or fubftitutes, 
 of nouns. /, tbou, he, Jhe, and it, are no. other 
 than an abridged way of naming the perfons, or 
 objects, with which we have immediate inter- 
 courfe, or to which we are obliged frequently to 
 refer in difcourfe. Accordingly, they are fub- 
 ject to the fame modifications with fubftantive 
 nouns, of number, gender, and cafe. Only, 
 with refpect to gender, we may obferve, that 
 the pronouns of the firft and fecond perfon, as 
 they are called, / and tbou, do not appear to 
 have had the diftindlions of gender given them 
 Jn any Language; for this plain reafon, that, 
 as they always refer to perfons who are prefent 
 to each other when they fpeak, their fex muft 
 appear, and therefore needs not be marked by 
 a mafculine or feminine pronoun. But, as the 
 third perfon may be abfent, or unknown, the 
 diftincYion of gender there becomes necelTary ; 
 and accordingly, in Englifh, it hath all the 
 three genders belonging to it ; be, Jhe, it. As 
 to cafes; even thofe Languages which have 
 dropped them in fubftantive nouns, fometimes 
 retain more of them in pronouns, for the fake 
 of the greater readineis in expreffing relations; 
 as pronouns are words of fuch frequent occur- 
 
 " union of the parts is rendered clofer; while that by 
 " which that union is produced, is fcarcely perceivable." 
 The Philofophy of Rhetoric, by Dr. Campbell, vol. ii, 
 
 p. 412. 
 
 rence
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 rence in difcourfe. In Englifh, moft of our L 
 grammarians hold the perfonal pronouns to 
 have two cafes, beiides the nominative; a ge- 
 nitive, and an accufative, /, mine, me -, thou, 
 thine, fbee- } be, his, him-, who, whoje, whom. 
 
 IN the firft ftage of Speech, it is probable 
 that the places of thofe pronouns were fup- 
 plied by pointing to the object when prefent, 
 and naming it when abfent. For one can 
 hardly think that pronouns were of early in- 
 vention; as they are words of fuch a parti QU- 
 lar and artificial nature. /, thou, he, it, it is 
 to be obferved, are not names peculiar to any 
 fingle object, but fo very general, that they 
 may be applied to all perfons, or objects, what- 
 ever, in certain circumftances. //, is the moft 
 general term that can pofiibly be conceived, 
 as it may ftand for any one thing in the uni- 
 verfe of which we fpeak. At the fame time, 
 thefe pronouns have this quality, that, in the 
 circumftances in which they are applied, they 
 never denote more than one precife indivi- 
 dual ; which they afcertain, and fpecify, much 
 in the fame manner as is done by the article. 
 So that pronouns are, at once, the moft gene- 
 ral, and the moft particular words in Lan- 
 guage. They are commonly the moft irregu- 
 lar and troublefome words to the learner, in the 
 Grammar of all tongues ; as being the words 
 moft in common ufe, and fubjected thereby to 
 the greateft varieties. 
 
 O 3 ADJEO
 
 198 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. ADJECTIVES, or terms of quality, fuch as, 
 great, little, black, white, yours, ours y are the 
 plaineft and fimplefl of all that clafs of words 
 which are termed attributive. They are found 
 in all Languages ; and, in all Languages, 
 muft have been very early invented ; as objects 
 could not be diftinguifhed from one another, 
 nor any intercourfe be carried on concerning 
 them, till once names were given to their dif- 
 ferent qualities. 
 
 I HAVE nothing to obferve in relation to 
 them, except that fingularity which attends 
 them in the Greek and Latin, of having the 
 lame form given them with fubftantive nouns ; 
 being declined, like them, by cafes, and fub- 
 jected to the like diftinctions of number and 
 gender. Hence it has happened, that gram- 
 marians have made them to belong to the fame 
 part of Speech, and divided the noun into 
 fubftantive and adjective ; an arrangement, 
 founded more on attention to the external 
 form of words, than to their nature and force. 
 For adjectives, or terms of quality, have 
 not, by their nature, the lead refemblance to 
 fubftantive nouns, as they never exprefs any 
 thing which can poffibly fubfift by itfelfj 
 which is the very eflence of the fubftantive 
 noun. They are, indeed, more a-kin to verbs, 
 which, lijce them, exprefs the attribute of fome 
 
 fubftance. 
 
 IT
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 199 
 
 IT may, at firft view, appear fomewhat odd 
 and fantaftic, that adjectives fhould, in the 
 antient Languages, have aiTumed fo much the 
 form of fubftantives; fince neither number, 
 nor gender, nor cafes, nor relations, have any 
 thing to do, in a proper fenfe, with mere qua- 
 lities, fuch as, good or great , foft or hard. And 
 yet bonus, and magnus, and tener 3 have their 
 fingular and plural, their mafculine and femi- 
 nine, their genitives and datives, like any of 
 the names of fubftances, or perfons. But this 
 can be accounted for, from the genius of thoie 
 Tongues. They avoided, as much as poiTible, 
 confidering qualities feparately, or in the ab- 
 ftract. They made them a part, or append- 
 age of the fubftance which they ferved to dif- 
 tinguifh ; they made the adjective depend on 
 its fubftantive, and refemble it in termination, 
 in number, and gender, in order that the two 
 might coalefce the more intimately, and be 
 joined in the form of exprefllon, as they were 
 in the nature of things. The liberty of tranf- 
 pofition, too, which thofe Languages indulged, 
 required fuch a method as this to be folio wed. 
 For, allowing the related words of a fentence 
 to be placed at a diftance from each other, it 
 required the relation of adjectives to their pro- 
 per fubftantives to be pointed out, by fuch 
 fimilar circumftances of form and termination, 
 as according to the grammatical ftyle, fhould 
 (how their concordance. When I fay, in 
 O 4 Englifh, 
 
 L E C T. 
 VIII.
 
 200 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. Englifh, the tf Beautiful wife of a brave man," 
 the juxtapofition of the words prevents all 
 ambiguity. But when I fay, in Latin, " For- 
 " mofa fortis viri uxori" it is only the agree- 
 ment, in gender, number, and cafe, of the 
 adjective fc formofa," which is the firft word 
 of the fentence, with the fubftantivc " uxor," 
 which is the laft word, that declares the 
 meaning.
 
 LECTURE IX. 
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 ENGLISH TONGUE. 
 
 OF the whole clafs of words that are called L E c Tt 
 attributive, indeed, of all the parts of 
 Speech, the moft complex, by far, is the verb. 
 It is chiefly in this part of Speech, that the 
 fubtile and profound metaphyfic of Language 
 appears; and, therefore, in examining the 
 nature and different variations of the verb, 
 there might be room for ample difcuflion. But 
 as I am fenfible that fuch grammatical dif- 
 cuflions, when they are purfued far, become 
 intricate and obfcure, I fhall avoid dwelling 
 any longer on this fubject, than feems abfo- 
 lutely neceilfary. 
 
 THE verb is fo far of the fame nature with the 
 adjective, that it exprefles, like it, an attribute, 
 or property, of fome perfon or thing. But it does 
 more than this. For, in all verbs, in every Lan- 
 guage, there are no lefs than three things im- 
 plied at oncej the attribute of fome fubftantive, 
 13 an
 
 202 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. an affirmation concerning that attribute, and 
 time. Thus, when I fay, ec the fun fhineth ;" 
 fhining, is the attribute afcribed to the fun; 
 the prefent time is marked ; and an affirmation 
 is included, that this property of fhining be- 
 longs, at that time, to the fun. The partici- 
 ple, " fhining," is merely an adjective, which 
 denotes an attribute, or property, and alfo ex- 
 preffes time ; but carries no affirmation. The 
 infinitive mood, " to fhine," may be called 
 the name of the verb; it carries neither time 
 nor affirmation, but fimply exprefles that at- 
 tribute, action, or ftate of things, which is to 
 be the fubject of the other moods and tenfes. 
 Hence the infinitive often carries the refem- 
 blance of a fubflantive noun ; and, both in 
 Englifh and Latin, is fometimes constructed 
 as fuch. As, " fcire tuum nihil eft." " Duke 
 " et decorum eft pro patria mori." And, in 
 Englifh, in the fame manner : " To write well 
 " is difficult ; to fpeak eloquently is ftill more 
 " difficult." But as, through all the other 
 tenfes and moods, the affirmation runs, and 
 is eflential to them ; " the fun fhineth, was 
 " fhining, fhone, will fhine, would have 
 " fhone," &c. the affirmation feems to be 
 that which chiefly diftinguiflies the verb from 
 the other parts of Speech, and gives it its moft 
 confpicuous power. Hence there can be no 
 fentence, or complete propofition, without a 
 verb either exprefied or implied. For, when- 
 ever
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 203 
 
 ever we fpeak, we always mean to aflert, that L E ^ T 
 fomething is, or is not ; and the word which 
 carries this arTertion, or affirmation, is a verb. 
 From this fort of eminence belonging to it, 
 this part of Speech hath received its name, 
 verb, from the Latin, verbum or the word, by 
 way of diftinction. 
 
 VERBS, therefore, from their importance 
 and necefiity in Speech, muft have been coeval 
 with men's firft attempts towards the forma- 
 tion of Language : Though, indeed, it muft 
 have been the work of long time, to rear them 
 up to that accurate and complex ftruclure 
 which they now pofTefs. It feems very pro- 
 bable, as Dr. Smith hath fuggefted, that the 
 radical verb, or the firft form of it, in moft 
 Languages, would be, what we now call, the 
 Imperfonal Verb. " It rains ; it thunders ; 
 <e it is light; it is agreeable;" and the likej 
 as this is the very fimpleft form of the verb, 
 and merely affirms the exiftence of an event, 
 or of a ftate of things. By degrees, after 
 pronouns were invented, fuch verbs became 
 perfonal, and were branched out into all the 
 variety of tenfes and moods. 
 
 THE tenfes of the verb are contrived to 
 imply the feveral diftinctions of time. Of 
 thefe I muft take fome notice, in order to fhow 
 the admirable accuracy with which Language 
 js conftructed. We think commonly, of no 
 
 more
 
 204 IRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 E c 
 
 IX. 
 
 L E c T. more than the three great divifions of time, into 
 
 the paft, the prefent, and the future: and we 
 might imagine, that if verbs had been fo con- 
 trived, as fimply to exprefs thefe, no more 
 was needful. But Language proceeds with 
 much greater fubtilty. It fplits time into its 
 feveral moments. It confiders time as never 
 {landing ftill, but always flowing; things paft, 
 as more or lefs perfectly completed ; and things 
 future, as more or lefs remote, by different 
 gradations. Hence the great variety of tenfes 
 in moft Tongues. 
 
 THE prefent may, indeed, be always con- 
 fidered as one indivifible point, fufceptible of 
 no variety. " I write, or I am writing ; 
 " Jcribo" But it is not fo with the paft, 
 There is no Language fo poor, but it hath 
 two or three tenfes to exprefs the varieties of 
 it. Ours hath no fewer than four. i. A paft 
 action may be confidered as left unfinifhed i 
 which makes the imperfect tenfe, cc I was 
 " writing ; Jcribeb&m" i. As juft now finifh- 
 cd. This makes the proper perfect tenfe, 
 which in Englifh, is always exprefled by the 
 help of the auxiliary verb, " I have written." 
 3. It may be confidered as finiihed fome time 
 ago ; the particular time left indefinite. <c I 
 " wrote; fcripji'y which may either fignify, 
 " I wrote yefterday, or I wrote a twelvemonth 
 " ago." This is what grammarians call an 
 aorift, or indefinite paft. 4. It may be con- 
 fidered
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 205 
 
 fidered as finilhed before fomething elfe, which L E TV C T 
 is alfo pair. This is the plufquamperfect. " I 
 " had written ; Jcripjeram. I had written be- 
 " fore I received his letter." 
 
 HERE we obferve, with fome pleafure, that 
 we have an advantage over the Latins, who 
 have only three varieties upon the pafl time. 
 They have no proper perfect tenfe, or one 
 which diftinguifhes an action juft now finifhed, 
 from an action that was finifhed fome time 
 ago. In both thefe cafes, they muft fay, 
 " Jcripfi" Though there be a manifeft dif- 
 ference in the tenfes, which our Language ex- 
 piries by this variation, a I have written," 
 meaning, I have juft now fmifhed writing; 
 and, <c I wrote," meaning at fome former 
 time, fmce which, other things have inter- 
 vened. This difference the Romans have no 
 tenfe to exprefs ; and, therefore, can only do 
 it by a circumlocution. 
 
 THE chief varieties in the future time are 
 two ; a fimple or indefinite future : " I Ihall 
 " write ; Jcribam ;" And a future, relating to 
 fomething elfe, which is alfo future. " I fhall 
 " have written ; fcripfero" I fhall have writ- 
 ten before he arrives *. 
 
 * On the tenfes of verbs, Mr. Harris's Hermes may be 
 confuked, by fuch as defire to fee them fcrutinized with me- 
 taphyfical accuracy ; and alfo, the Treatife on the Origin 
 and Progrefs of Language, Vol. ii. p. 125. 
 
 BESIDES
 
 2 o6 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. BESIDES tenfes, or the power of expreffing 
 time, verbs admit the diftinftion of Voices, as 
 they are called, the active and the paffive ; ac- 
 cording as the affirmation refpects fomething 
 that is done, or fomething that is fuffered; 
 " I love, or I am loved." They admit alfb 
 the diftinction of moods, which are defigned 
 to exprefs the affirmation, whether active or 
 paffive, under different forms. The indica- 
 tive mood, for inflance, fimply declares a pro- 
 pofition, " I write j I have written ;" the 
 imperative requires, commands, threatens, 
 " write thou ; let him write." The fubjunc- 
 tive expreffes the propofition under the form 
 of a condition, or in fubordination to fome 
 other thing, to which a reference is made, " I 
 f< might write, I could write, I fhould write, 
 " if the cafe were fo and fo." This manner 
 of expreffing an affirmation, under fo many 
 different forms, together alfb with the diflinc- 
 tion of the three perfons, /, tbou, and he, con- 
 ftitutes what js called, the conjugation of verbs, 
 which makes fo great a part of the grammar 
 of all Languages. 
 
 IT now clearly appears, as I before cbferved, 
 that, of all the parts of Speech, verbs are, by 
 far, the moft artificial and complex. Confider 
 only, how many things are denoted by this 
 fingle Latin word, tc atMrOiJJem, I would have 
 " loved." Firft, The perfon who {peaks,
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 " I." Secondly, An attribute, or action of 
 that perfon, <f loving." Thirdly, An affirma- 
 tion concerning that action. Fourthly, The 
 paft time denoted in that affirmation, " have 
 " loved :" and Fifthly, A condition on which 
 the action is fufpended, " would have loved." 
 It appears curious and remarkable, that words 
 of this complex import, and with more or lefs 
 of this artificial ftructure, are to be found, as 
 far as we know, in all Languages of the world. 
 
 INDEED, the form of conjugation, or the 
 manner of expreffing all thefe varieties in the 
 verb, differs greatly in different Tongues. 
 Conjugation is efteemed moft perfect in thofe 
 Languages, which, by varying either the ter- 
 mination or the initial fyllable of the verb, 
 exprefs the greateft number of important cir- 
 cumftances, without the help of auxiliary 
 words. In the Oriental Tongues, the verbs 
 are faid to have few tenfes, or expreffions of 
 time ; but then their moods are fo contrived, 
 as to exprefs a great variety of circumftances 
 and relations. In the Hebrew, for inftance, 
 they fay, in one word, without the help of any 
 auxiliary, not only cc I have taught," but, " I 
 " have taught exactly, or often; I have been. 
 " commanded to teach j I have taught my- 
 " felf." The Greek, which is the moft per- 
 fect of all die known Tongues, is very regular 
 and complete in all the tenfes and moods. 
 
 The
 
 2 o8 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. xhe Latin is formed on the fame model, but 
 more imperfe<5t ; efpecially in the paffive voice, 
 which forms moft of the tenfes by the help of 
 the auxiliary " fum." 
 
 IN all the modern European Tongues, con- 
 jugation is very defective. They admit few 
 varieties in the termination of the verb itfelf ; 
 but have almoft conftant recourfe to their 
 auxiliary verbs, throughout all the moods and 
 tenfes, both active and paffive. Language 
 has undergone a change in conjugation, per- 
 fectly fimilar to that which, I fhowed in the 
 laft Lecture, it underwent with refpect to de- 
 clenfion. As prepofitions, prefixed to the 
 noun, fuperfeded the ufe of cafes j fo the 
 two great auxiliary verbs, to have, and to be, 
 with thofe other auxiliaries which we ufe in 
 Englifh, do, fhall y will, may, and can, prefixed 
 to the participle, fuperfede, in a great mea- 
 fure, the different terminations of moods 
 and tenfes, which formed the antient conju- 
 gations. 
 
 THE alteration, in both cafes, was owing 
 to the fame caufe, and will be eafiiy under- 
 ftood, from reflecting on what was formerly 
 obferved. The auxiliary verbs are like pre- 
 pofitions, words of a very general and abftract 
 nature. They imply the different modifica- 
 tions of fimple exiftence, confidered alone, 
 
 and
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 209 
 
 and without reference to any particular thing. L E c T. 
 In the early ftate of Speech, the import of 
 them would be incorporated with every parti- 
 cular verb in its tenles and moods, long be- 
 fore words were invented for denoting fuch 
 abftracl conceptions of exiftence, alone, and 
 by themfelves. But after thofe auxiliary verbs 
 came, in the progrefs of Language, to be in- 
 vented and known, and to have tenfes and 
 moods given to them like other verbs ; it was 
 found, that as they carried in their nature the 
 force of that affirmation which diftinguifhes 
 the verb, they might, by being joined with 
 the participle which gives the meaning of the 
 verb, fupply the place of moft of the moods 
 and tenfes. Hence, as the modern Toriguss 
 began to rife out of the ruins of the antient, 
 this method eftablifhed itfelf in the new forma- 
 tion of Speech. Such words, for inftance > 
 as, am> was y have, flail* being once familiar, 
 it appeared more eafy to apply thefe to any 
 verb whatever -, as, / am loved \ I was loved-, 
 I have loved; than to remember that variety 
 of terminations which were requisite in conju- 
 gating the antient verbs, amor, amabar> amavi, 
 &c. Two or three varieties only, in the ter- 
 mination of the verb, were retained, as, love y 
 loved, loving ; and all the reft were dropt. 
 The confequence, however, of this practice, 
 was the fame as that of abolifhing declenfions. 
 It rendered Language more fimple and eafy 
 VOL. I. P in
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 in its flrudure ; but withal, more prolix, 
 and lefs graceful. This fmifhes all that feemed 
 mod neceflary to be obferved with refpeft to 
 verbs. 
 
 THE remaining parts of Speech, which arc 
 called the indeclinable parts, or that admit of 
 no variations, will not detain us long. 
 
 ADVERBS are the firft that occur. Thefe 
 form a very numerous clafs of: words in every 
 Language, reducible, in general, to the head 
 of attributives j as they ferve to modify, or to 
 denote fome circumftance of an action, or of a 
 quality, relative to its time, place, order, de- 
 gree, and the other properties of it, which we 
 have occafion to fpecify. They are, for the mod 
 part, no more than an abridged mode of Speech, 
 exprefiing, by one word, what might, by a cir- 
 cumlocution, be refolved into two or more 
 words belonging to the other parts of Speech. 
 " Exceedingly," for inftance, is the fame as, 
 " in a high degree ;" " bravely," the fame 
 as, "with bravery or valours" "here," the 
 fame as, " in this place ;" " often, and fel- 
 , " dom," the fame as, " for many, and for 
 " few times :" and fo of the reft. Hence, 
 adverbs may be conceived as of lefs neceffity, 
 and of later introduction into the fyftem of 
 Speech, than many other clafles of words j 
 and, accordingly, the great body of them are 
 
 derived
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 derived from other words formerly eftablifned L E c T. 
 
 IX* 
 
 in the Language. 
 
 PREPOSITIONS and conjunctions, are words 
 more efiential to difcourfe than the greateft 
 p.irt of adverbs. They form that clals of 
 words, called Connectives, without which 
 there could be no Language ; ferving to ex- 
 prefs the relations which things bear to one 
 another, their mutual influence, dependencies, 
 and coherence j thereby joining words together 
 into intelligible and fignifkant propofitions. 
 Conjunctions are generally employed for con- 
 necting fentences, or members of fentences ; 
 as, andy becaufe, although, and the like. Pre- 
 pofuions are employed for connecting words, 
 by fhowing the relation which one fubftantive 
 noun bears to another ; as, of, from, to, above, 
 below, &c. Of the force of thefe I had occa- 
 fion to fpeak before, when treating of the cafes 
 and declenfions of fubftantive nouns. 
 
 IT is abundantly evident, that all thefe con- 
 nective particles muft be of the greateft ufe in 
 Speech ; feeing they point out the relations 
 and tranfitions by which the mind paffes from 
 one. idea to another. They are the founda- 
 tion of all reafoning, which is no other thing 
 than the connection of thoughts. And., there- 
 fore, though among barbarous nations, and in 
 the rude uncivilized ages of the world, the 
 P 2 ftock
 
 212 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 E IX 
 
 L E T ' ft c k- ^ tne fe words might be fmall, it muft 
 
 always have increafed, as mankind advanced 
 in the arts of reafoning and reflection. The 
 more that any nation is improved by fcience, 
 and the more perfect their Language becomes, 
 we may naturally expect, that it will abound 
 more with connective particles ; exprefling re- 
 lations of things, and tranfitions of thought, 
 which had elcaped a grofier view. Accord- 
 ingly, no Tongue is fo full of them as the 
 Greek, in confequence of the acute and fub- 
 tile genius of that refined people. In every 
 Language, much of the beauty and ftrength 
 of it depends on the proper ufe of conjunc- 
 tions, prepofitions, and thofe relative pro- 
 nouns, which alfo ferve the fame purpofe of 
 connecting the different parts of difcourfe. It 
 is the right, or wrong management of thefe, 
 which chiefly makes difcourfe appear firm 
 and compacted, or disjointed and loofe ; which 
 carries it on in its progrefs with a fmooth and 
 even pace, or renders its march irregular and 
 defultory. 
 
 I SHALL dwell no longer on the general con- 
 flruction of Language. Allow me, only, be- 
 fore I difmifs the fubject, to obferve, that dry 
 and intricate as it may feem to fome, it is, 
 however, of great importance, and very nearly 
 connected with the philofophy of the human 
 mind. For, if Speech be the vehicle, or inter- 
 
 preter
 
 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 213 
 
 preter of the conceptions of our minds, an L E c T< 
 examination of its Structure and Progrefs can- 
 not but unfold many things concerning the na- 
 ture and progrefs of our conceptions them- 
 felves, and the operations of our faculties ; a 
 fubject that is always inftructive to man. 
 " Nequis," fays Quinctilian, an author of 
 excellent judgment, cc nequis tanquam parva 
 " /allidiat grammatices elementa. Non quia 
 " magnge fit operas confonantes a vocalibus 
 " difcernere, eafque in femivocalium nume- 
 cc rum, mutarumque partiri, fed quia interi- 
 tf ora velut facri hujus adeuntibus, apparebit 
 " multa rerum fubtilitas, quas non modo 
 ec acuere ingenia puerilia, fed exercere altifii- 
 f . c mam quoque eruditionem ac fcientiam 
 " poffit*." i. 4. 
 
 LET us now come nearer to our own Lan- 
 guage. In this, and the preceding Lecture, 
 fome obfervations have already been made on 
 its Structure. But it is proper that we fhould 
 
 * " Let no man defpife, as inconfiderable, the elements 
 " of grammar, becaufe it may feem to him a matter of 
 " fmall confluence, to mow the diftindlion between 
 " vowels and confonants, and to divide the latter into 
 " liquids and mutes. But they who penetrate into the 
 " innermoft parts of this temple of fcience, will there dif- 
 " cover fuch refinement and fubtility of matter, as is not 
 " only proper to fharpen the underftandings of young men, 
 " but fufficient to give exercife for the moft profound 
 " knowledge and erudition." 
 
 P 3 be
 
 21 + THE ENGLISH LA-NGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. be a lictle more particular in the examination 
 
 c 
 01 It. 
 
 THE Language which is, at prefent, fpoken 
 throughout Great Britain, is neither the an- 
 tient primitive Speech of the ifland, ' nor de- 
 rived from it ; but is altogether of foreign 
 origin. The Language of the firft inhabitants 
 of our iiland, beyond doubt, was the Celtic, 
 or Gaelic, common to them with Gaul ; from 
 which country, it appears, by many circum- 
 ftances, that Great Britain was peopled. This 
 Celtic Tongue, which is fuid to be very expref- 
 fivej and copious, and is, probably, one of the 
 moil antient Languages in the world, obtained 
 once in moft of the weftern regions of Europe. 
 It was the Language of Gaul, of Great Britain, 
 of Ireland, and, very probably, of Spain alfo ; 
 till, in the courfe of thofe revolutions, which, 
 by means of the conquefts, firft, of the Ro 
 mans, and afterwards, of the northern nations, 
 changed the government, fpeech, and, in a 
 manner, the whole face of Europe, this 
 Tongue was gradually obliterated ; and now 
 fubfifts only in the mountains of Wales, in the 
 Highlands of Scotland, and among the wild 
 Irifli. Eor the Iriih, the Welch, and the Erfe, 
 are no other than different dialects of the fame 
 Tongue, the ancient Celtic. 
 
 THIS,
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 215 
 
 THIS, then, was the Language of the pri- L 
 mitive Britons, the firft inhabitants, that we 
 know of, in our ifland; and continued fo till 
 the arrival of the Saxons in England, in the 
 year of our Lord 450 ; who, having con- 
 quered the Britons, did not intermix with 
 them, but expelled them from their habita- 
 tions, and drove them, together with their 
 Language, into the mountains of Wales. The 
 Saxons were one of thofe northern nations that 
 over-ran Europe ; and their Tongue, a dialect, 
 of the Gothic or Teutonic, altogether diftinct 
 from the Celtic, laid the foundation of the 
 prefent Englifh Tongue. With fome inter- 
 mixture of Danilh, a Language, probably, 
 from the fame root with the Saxon, it conti- 
 nued to be fpoken throughout the fouthern 
 part of the ifland, till the time of William the 
 Conqueror. He introduced his Norman or 
 French as the Language of the court, which 
 made a confiderable change in the Speech of 
 the nation ; and the Englifh which was fpoken 
 afterwards, and continues to be fpoken now, 
 is a mixture of the antient Saxon, and this 
 Norman French, together with fuch new and 
 foreign words as commerce and learning have, 
 in progrefs of time, gradually introduced. 
 
 THE hiftory of the Englifh Language can, 
 in this manner, be ckarly traced. The Lan- 
 guage fpoken in the low countries of Scotland, 
 P 4 is
 
 2 i6 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. i s now, and has been for many centuries, no 
 other than a dialect of the Englifh. How, 
 indeed, or by what fteps, the antient Celtic 
 Tongue came to be banifhed from the Low 
 Country in Scotland, and to make its retreat 
 into the Highlands and Iflands, cannot be fo 
 well pointed out, as how the like revolution 
 was brought about in England. Whether the 
 fouthernmoft part of Scotland was once fub- 
 ject to the Saxons, and formed a part of the 
 kingdom of Northumberland ; or, whether 
 the great . number of Englilh exiles that re- 
 treated into Scotland, upon the Norman con- 
 queft, and upon other occafions, introduced 
 into that country their own Language, which 
 afterwards, by the mutual . intercourfe of the 
 two nations, prevailed over the Celtic, are 
 uncertain and contefled points, the difcuffion 
 of which would lead us too far from our 
 fubject. 
 
 FROM what has been faid, it appears, that 
 the Teutonic dialect is the bafis of our prefent 
 Speech. It has been imported among us in 
 three different forms, the Saxon, the Danifh, 
 and the Norman ; all which have mingled 
 together in our Language. A very great 
 number of our words too, are plainly derived 
 from the Latin. Thefe, we had not directly 
 from the Latin, but molt of them, it is pro- 
 bable, entered into our Tongue through the 
 
 channel
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 217 
 
 channel of that Norman French, which Wil- * E c T. 
 liam the Conqueror introduced. For, as the 
 Romans had long been in full poffeffion of 
 Gaul, the Language fpoken in that country, 
 when it was invaded by the Franks and Nor- 
 mans, was a fort of corrupted Latin, mingled 
 with Celtic, to which was given the name of 
 Romanfhe : and as the Franks and Normans 
 did not, like the Saxons in England, expel 
 the inhabitants, but, after their victories, 
 mingled with them ; the Language of the 
 country became a compound of the Teutonic 
 dialed; imported by thefe conquerors, and of 
 the former corrupted Latin. Hence, the 
 French Language has always continued to 
 have a very confiderable affinity with the La- 
 tin ; and hence, a great number of words of 
 Latin origin, which were in ufe among the 
 Normans in France, were introduced into our 
 Tongue at the conquefls to which, indeed, 
 many have fince been added, directly from the, 
 Latin, in confequence of the great diffufion of 
 Roman literature throughout all Europe. 
 
 FROM the influx of fo many ftreams, from 
 the junction of fo many diffimilar parts, it na- 
 turally follows, that the Englifh, like every 
 compounded Language, mud needs be fome- 
 what irregular. We cannot expect from it 
 that correfpondence of parts, that complete 
 analogy in ftrudture, which may be found 
 13 in
 
 2iS THE ENGLISH -LANGUAGE. 
 
 x T ' * n tn fe Ampler Languages, which have been 
 formed in a manner within themfelves, and 
 built on one foundation. Hence, as I before 
 fhowed, it has but fmall remains of conjuga- 
 tion or declenfion ; and its fyntax is narrow, 
 as there are few marks in the words themfelves 
 that can fhow their relation to each other, or, 
 in the grammatical (Me, point out either their 
 concordance, or their government, in the fen- 
 tence. Our words having been brought to us 
 from feveral different regions, draggle, if we 
 may fo fpeak, afunder from each other ; and 
 do not coalefce fo naturally in the ftruclure of 
 a fen tence, as the words in the Greek and Ro- 
 man Tongues. 
 
 BUT thefe difadvantages, if they be fuch, 
 of a compound Language, are balanced by 
 other advantages that attend it; particularly, 
 by the number and variety of words with 
 which fuch a Language is likely to be en- 
 riched. Few Languages are, in fact, more 
 copious than the EngliJh. In all grave fub- 
 jects efpeciaily, hiftorical, critical, political, 
 and moral, no writer "has the leaft realbn to 
 complain of the barrennefs of our Tongue. 
 The ftudious reflecting genius of the people, 
 has brought together great (lore of exprefllons, 
 on fuch iubjefts, from every quarter. We 
 are rich too in the Language of poetry. Our 
 poetical ftyle differs widely from profe, not in 
 
 point
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 219 
 
 point of numbers only, but in the very words L E c T 
 themfelves j which fhows what a ftock and 
 cornpafs of words we have it in our power to 
 fele6t and employ, fuited to thofe different occa- 
 fions. Herein we are infinitely fuperior to the 
 French, whofe poetical Language, if it were 
 not diftinguilhed by rhyme, would not be 
 known to differ from their ordinary profe. 
 
 IT is chiefly, indeed, on grave fubjeclis, and 
 with refpect to the ftronger emotions of the 
 mind, that our Language dilplays its power 
 of expreffion. We are faid to have thirty 
 words, at leaft, for denoting all the varieties 
 of the paffion of anger*. But, in defcribing 
 the more delicate fentiments and emotions, 
 our Tongue is not fo fertile. It muft be con- 
 fefied, that the French Language far furpailea 
 ours, in exprefiing the nicer fhades of character ; 
 efpecially thofe varieties of manner, temper, 
 and behaviour, which are difplayed in our fo- 
 cial intercourfe with one another. Let any 
 one attempt to tranflate, into Englifli, only 
 a few pages of one of Marivaux's Novels, and 
 he will foon be fenftble of our deficiency of 
 
 * Anger, wrath, paflion, rage, fury, outrage, fierce- 
 nefs, marpnefs, animofity, choler, refentment, Heat, heart- 
 burning ; to fume, florin, inflame, be incenfed ; to vex, 
 kindle, irritate, enrage, cxafperate, provoke, fret ; to be 
 fuHen, hafty, hot, rough, four, peevilh, &c. 
 
 Preface to Greenwood's Grammar. 
 
 expreflion
 
 220 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 LEG T, expreffion on thefe fubjedts. Indeed, no Lan- 
 guage is fo copious as the French for whatever 
 is delicate, gay, and amufing. It is, perhaps, 
 the happieft Language for converfation in the 
 known world ; but, on the higher fubjecls of 
 compofition, the Englifh may be juftly efteem- 
 ed to excel it confiderably. 
 
 LANGUAGE is generally understood to re- 
 ceive its predominant tincture from the na- 
 tional character of the people who fpeak it. 
 We muft not, indeed, expect, that it will carry 
 an exact and full imprefiion of their genius and 
 manners ; for, among all nations, the original 
 ftock of words which they received from their 
 ancestors, remain as the foundation of their 
 Speech throughout many ages, while their 
 manners undergo, perhaps, very great altera- 
 tions. National character will, however, always 
 have fome perceptible influence on the turn of 
 Language ; and the gaiety and vivacity of the 
 French, and the gravity and thoughtfulnefs of 
 the Englifh, are fufficiently impreffed on their 
 refpective Tongues. 
 
 FROM the genius of our Language, and the 
 character of thofe who fpeak it, it may be ex- 
 pected to have flrength and energy. It is, 
 indeed, naturally prolix ; owing to the great 
 number of particles and auxiliary verbs which 
 we are obliged conftantly to employ j and this 
 
 prolixity
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 221 
 
 prolixity muft, in fome degree, enfeeble it. * E c T. 
 We feldom can exprefs fo much by one word 
 as was done by the verbs, and by the nouns, 
 in the Greek and Roman Languages. Our 
 ftyle is lefs compact; our conceptions being 
 fpread out among more words, and fplit, as 
 it were, into more parts, make a fainter im- 
 prefTion when we utter them. NotwitManding 
 this defect, by our abounding in terms for ex- 
 preffing all the ftrong emotions of the mind, 
 and by the liberty which we enjoy, in a greater 
 degree than moft nations, of compounding 
 words, our Language may be efleemed to 
 poiTefs confiderable force of expreflion ; com- 
 paratively, at leaft, with the other modern 
 Tongues, though much below the antient. 
 The Style of Milton alone, both in poetry and 
 profe, is a fufficient proof, that the Englifh 
 Tongue is far from being deftitute of nerves 
 and energy. 
 
 THE flexibility of a Language, or its power 
 of accommodation to different ftyles and man- 
 ners, fo as to be either grave and ftrong, or 
 eafy and flowing, or tender and gentle, or 
 pompous and magnificent, as occafions require, 
 or as an author's genius prompts, is a quality 
 of great importance in fpeaking and writing. 
 It feems to depend upon three things j the 
 copioufnefs of a Language ; the different ar- 
 rangements of which its words are fufceptible ; 
 
 and
 
 Z22 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. anc ] the variety and beauty of the found of thofe 
 words, fo as to correfpond to many different 
 fubjects. Never did any Tongue poffefs this 
 quality fo eminently as the Greek, which every 
 writer of genius could fo mould, as to make 
 the flyle perfectly expreflive of his own manner 
 and peculiar turn. It had all the three, requi- 
 fites, which I have mentioned, as neceffary for 
 this purpofe. It joined to thefe the graceful 
 variety of its different dialects ; 'and thereby 
 readily affumed every fort of character which 
 an author could wifh, from the moil fimple 
 and moft familiar, up to the moil majeflic. 
 The Latin, though a very beautiful Language, 
 is inferior, in this refpect, to the Greek. It has 
 more of a fixed character of ftatelinefs and 
 gravity. It is always firm and mafculine in 
 rhe tenor of its found j and is fupported by a 
 certain fenatorial dignity, of which it is diffi- 
 cult for a writer to diveft it wholly, on any 
 occafion. Among the modern Tongues, the 
 Italian poilefTes a great deal more of this flexi- 
 bility than the French. By its copioufnefs, 
 its freedom of arrangement, and the great 
 beauty and harmony of its founds, it fuits itfelf 
 very happily to moil fubjects, either in profe or 
 in poetry ; is capable of the anguil and the 
 llrong, as well as the tender ; and feems to be, 
 on the whole, the moft perfect of all the modern 
 dialects which have arifen out of the ruins of 
 the antient. Our own Language, though not 
 
 equal
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 223 
 
 equal to the Italian in flexibility, yet is not 
 deftitute of a confiderable degree of' this quality. 
 If any one will conlider the diverfity of ftyle 
 which appears in fome of our claffics ; that 
 great difference of manner, for inftance, which 
 is marked by the Style of Lord Shaftefbury, 
 and that of Dean Swift ; he will fee, ^in our 
 Tongue, fuch a circle of expreffion, fuch a 
 power of accommodation to the different tafte 
 of writers, as redounds not a little to its ho- 
 nour. 
 
 WHAT the Englifh has been moft taxed with, 
 is its deficiency in harmony of found. But 
 though every native is apt to be partial to the 
 founds of his own Language, and may, there- 
 fore, be fufpected of not being a fair judge 
 in this point ; yet, I imagine, there are 
 evident grounds on which it may be fhown, 
 that this charge againft our Tongue has been 
 carried too far. The melody of our verfifica- 
 tion, its power of fupporting poetical num- 
 bers, without any afliitance from rhyme, is 
 alone a fufficient proof that our Language is 
 far from being unmufical. Our verfe is, after 
 the Italian, the moft diverfified and harmoni- 
 ous of any of the modern dialects ; unqueftion- 
 ably far beyond the French verfe, in variety, 
 fweetnefs, and melody. Mr. Sheridan has 
 fhown, in his Ledtures, that we abound more 
 in vowel and diphthong founds, than moft 
 Languages i and thefe too, fo divided into 
 
 ;? long
 
 224 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. long and fhort, as to afford a proper diverfity in 
 the quantity of our fyllables. Our confonants, 
 he obferves, which appear fo crowded to the eye 
 on paper, often form combinations not difagree- 
 able to the ear in pronouncing j and, in particu- 
 lar, the objection which has been made to the 
 frequent recurrence of the hiding confonant s 
 in our Language, is unjuft and ill-founded. 
 For, it has not been attended to, that very 
 commonly, and in the final fyllables efpecially, 
 this letter lofes altogether the hiffing found, 
 and is transformed into a z, which is one of 
 the founds on which the ear refts with pleafure ; 
 as in has, thefe, thofe, loves, bears, and innu- 
 merable more, where, though the letter s be 
 retained in writing, it has really the power of z, 
 not of the common s. 
 
 AFTER all, however, it mud be admitted, 
 that fmoothnefs, or beauty of found, is not 
 one of the diftinguifhing properties of the 
 Englifli Tongue. Though not incapable of 
 being formed into melodious arrangements, 
 yet ftrength and expreffivenefs, more than 
 grace, form its character. We incline, in ge- 
 neral, to a fhort pronunciation of our words, and 
 have fhortened the quantity of moil of thofe 
 which we borrow from the Latin, as or at or > 
 Jpeffacle, theatre, liberty, and fuch like. Agree- 
 able to this, is a remarkable peculiarity of Eng- 
 lifh pronunciation, the throwing the accent 
 farther back, that is, nearer the beginning of 
 
 the
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, 225 
 
 the word, than is done by any other nation. L E J3 T, 
 In Greek and Latin, no word is accented far- L <~~j 
 ther back than the third fyllable from the end, 
 or what is called the antepenult. But, in 
 Englifh, we have many words accented on the 
 fourth, fome on the fifth fyllable from the end, 
 as, mtmorable> conveniency, dmbulatory, pro- 
 fitablensjs. The general effect of this practice 
 of haftening the accent, or placing it fo near the 
 beginning of a word, is to give a brifk and a 
 fpirited, but at the fame time a rapid and 
 hurried, and not very mufical, tone to the 
 whole pronunciation of a people. 
 
 Englifh Tongue pofTeftes, undoubt- 
 edly, this property, that it is the mod fimple 
 in its form and conftruction, of all the Eu- 
 ropean dialects. It is free from all intricacy 
 of cafes, declenfions, moods, and tenfes. Its 
 words are fubject to fewer variations from their 
 original form, than thofe of any other Lan- 
 guage. Its fubftantives have no diftinction of 
 gender, except what nature has made, and 
 but one variation in cafe. Its adjectives admit 
 of no change at all, except what exprefies the 
 degree of comparifon. Its verbs, inftead of 
 running through all the varieties of antient 
 conjugation, fuffer no more than four or five 
 changes in termination. By the help of a few 
 prepofitions and auxiliary verbs, all the pur- 
 pofes of fignificancy in meaning are accom- 
 VOL. I. Q^ plifhedj
 
 226 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E c T. pHfliedi while the words, for the moft part* 
 preferve their form unchanged. The difad- 
 vantages in point of elegance, brevity, and 
 force, which follow from this ftructure of our 
 Language, I have before pointed out. But, 
 at the fame time, it muft be admitted, that 
 fuch a ftructure contributes to facility. It ren- 
 ders the acquifition of our Language lefs labo- 
 rious, the arrangement of our words more plain 
 and obvious, the rules of our fyntax fewer and 
 more fimple. 
 
 I AGREE, indeed, with Dr. Lowth (Preface 
 to his Grammar), in thinking that the fimpli- 
 city and facility of our Language occafion its 
 being frequently written and fpoken with lefs 
 accuracy. It was neceflary to ftudy Lan- 
 guages, which were of a more complex and 
 artificial form, with greater care. The marks 
 of gender and cafe, the varieties of conjuga- 
 tion and declenfion, the multiplied rules of 
 fyntax, were all to be attended to in Speech. 
 Hence Language became more an object of 
 art. It was reduced into form ; a ftandard was 
 eftablifhed $ and any departures from the ftand- 
 ard became confpicuous. Whereas, among 
 us, Language is hardly confidered as an ob- 
 ject of grammatical rule. We take it for 
 granted, that a competent fkill in it may be 
 acquired without any ftudy , and that, in a 
 fyntax fo narrow and confined as ours, there 
 
 is
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE/ 227 
 
 is nothing which demands attention. Hence L E T * 
 arifes the habit of writing in a loofe and in- 
 accurate manner. 
 
 I ADMIT, that no grammatical rules have 
 iufficient authority to controul the firm and 
 eftablifhed ufage of Language. Eftablifhed 
 cuftom, in fpeaking and writing, is the ftand- 
 ard to which we mud at laft refort for deter- 
 mining every controverted point in Language 
 and Style. Cut it will not follow from this, 
 that grammatical rules are fuperfeded as ufelefs. 
 In every Language, which has been in any 
 degree cultivated, there prevails a certain 
 ftruclure and analogy of parts, which is un- 
 derilood to give foundation to the moil reput- 
 able ufage of Speech -, and which, in all cafes, 
 when ufage is loofe or dubious, porTefTes con- 
 fiderable authority. In every Language, there 
 are rules of fyntax which muft be inviolably 
 obferved by all who would either write or fpeak 
 with any propriety. For fyntax is no other 
 than that arrangement of words, in a fentence, 
 which renders the meaning of each word, and 
 the relation of all the words to one another, 
 moil clear and intelligible. 
 
 ALL the rules of Latin fyntax, it is true, 
 cannot be applied to our Language. Many 
 of thefe rules arofe from the particular form 
 of their Language, which occafioned verbs or 
 
 prepo-
 
 228 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E JX. T * P re Pfitions to govern, fome the genitive^ 
 Ibme the dative, fome the accufative or abla- 
 tive cafe. But, abftracting from thefe .peculi- 
 arities, it is to be -always remembered, that 
 the chief and fundamental rules of fyntax are 
 common to the Englifh as well as the Latin 
 Tongue ; and, indeed, belong equally to all 
 Languages. For, in all Languages, the parts 
 which compote Speech are effentially the fame ; 
 fubftantives, adjectives, verbs, and connecting 
 particles : And wherever thefe parts of Speech 
 are found, there are certain neceffary relations 
 among them, which regulate their fyntax, or 
 the place which they ought to poflefs in a fen- 
 tence. Thus, in Englifh, juft as much as in 
 Latin, the adjective muft, by pofition, be 
 made to agree with its fubftantive ; and the 
 verb muft agree with its nominative in perfon 
 and number ; becaufe, from the nature of 
 things, a word, which exprefles either a qua- 
 lity or an action, muft correfpond as clofely 
 as poffible with the name of that thing whofe 
 quality, or whofe action, it exprefles. Two 
 or more fubftantives, joined by a copulative, 
 muft always require the verbs or pronouns, 
 to which they refer, to be placed in the plural 
 number; otherwife, their common relation to 
 thefe verbs or pronouns is not pointed out. 
 An active verb muft, in every Language> go- 
 vern the accufative ; that is, clearly point out 
 fome fubftantive noun, as the object to which 
 
 its
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 its action is directed. A relative pronoun 
 muft, in every form of Speech, agree with its 
 antecedent in gender, number, and perfon ; 
 and conjunctions, or connecting particles, 
 ought always to couple like cafes and moods ; 
 that is, ought to join together words which 
 are of the fame form and ftate with each other. 
 I mention thefe, as a few exemplifications of 
 that fundamental regard to fyntax, which, even 
 in fuch a Language as ours, is absolutely 
 requifite for writing or fpeaking with any 
 propriety, 
 
 WHATEVER the advantages, or defects of 
 the Englifh Language be, as it is our own 
 Language, it deferves a high degree of our 
 ftudy and attention, both with regard to the 
 choice of words which we employ, and with 
 regard to the fyntax, or the arrangement of 
 thefe words in a fentence. We know how 
 much the Greeks and the Romans, in their 
 mod polifhed and flourishing times, cultivated 
 their own Tongues. We know how much 
 ftudy both the French, and the Italians, have 
 beftowed upon theirs. Whatever knowledge 
 may be acquired by the ftudy of other Lan- 
 guages, it can never be communicated with 
 advantage, unlefs by fuch as can write and 
 fpeak their own Language well. Let the mat- 
 ter of an author be ever fo good and ufeful, 
 his compofidons will always fuffer in the pub- 
 0.3 ' He
 
 330 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 L E IX T * ^ c e ^ eem > if his expreflion be deficient in pu- 
 rity and propriety. At the fame time, the at- 
 tainment of a correct and elegant ftyle, is an 
 object which demands application and labour. 
 If any imagine they can catch it merely by the 
 car, or acquire it by a flight peruful of fome of 
 Our good authors, they will find themfelves 
 much difappointed. The many errors, even 
 in point of grammar, the many offences againft 
 purity of Language, which are committed by 
 writers who are far from being contemptible, 
 demonftrate, that a careful ftudy of the Lan- 
 guage is previoufly requifite, in all who aim at 
 writing it properly *. 
 
 * On this fubjeft, the Reader ought to perufe Dr. 
 Lowth's Short Introduction to Englifh Grammar, with 
 Critical Notes ; which is the grammatical performance of 
 liigheft authority that has appeared in our time, and in 
 which he will fee, what I have faid concerning the inaccu- 
 racies in Language of fome of our beft writers, fully veri- 
 fied. In Dr. Campbell's Philofophy of Rhetoric, he will 
 likewife find many acute and ingenious dbfervations, both 
 on the Englifh Language, and on Style in general. And 
 Dr. Prieftley's Rudiments of Englifh Grammar, will alfo 
 be ufeful, by pointing out feveral of the errors into which 
 writers are apt to fall.
 
 LECTURE X. 
 
 S T Y L E P ERSPICUITY AND 
 PRECISION. 
 
 H 
 
 AVING finifhed the fubjeft of Lan- L E c T. 
 guage, I now enter on the confideration 
 
 of Style, and the rules that relate to it. 
 
 IT is not eafy to give a precife idea of what 
 is meant by Style. The bed definition I can 
 give of it, is, the peculiar manner in which a 
 man expreffes his conceptions, by means of 
 Language. It is different from mere Lan- 
 guage or words. The words, which an au- 
 thor employs, may be proper and faultlefs : 
 and his Style may, neverthelefs, have great 
 faults ; it may be dry, or ftiff, or feeble, or 
 affected. Style has always fome reference to 
 an author's manner of thinking. It is a pic- 
 ture of the ideas which rife in his mind, and 
 of the manner in which they rife there ; and, 
 hence, when we are examining an author's 
 cqmpofition, it is, in many cafes, extremely 
 
 difficult
 
 432 S T Y/ L E. 
 
 L E c T. difficult to feparate the Style from the fend- 
 ment. No wonder thefe two fhould be fo in- 
 timately connected, as Style is nothing elfe, 
 than that fort of expreffion which our thoughts 
 moft readily affume. Hence, different coun- 
 tries have been noted for peculiarities of Style, 
 fuited to their different temper and genius. 
 The eaftern nations animated their Style with 
 the moft ftrong and hyperbolical figures. The 
 Athenians, a polifhed and acute people, 
 formed a Style accurate, clear, and neat. 
 The Afiatics, gay and loofe in their manners, 
 affected a Style florid and diffufe. The like fort 
 of characteriftical differences are commonly 
 remarked in the Style of 'the French, the Eng- 
 lilh, and the Spaniards. In giving the ge- 
 neral characters of Style, it is ufual to talk 
 of a nervous, a feeble, or a fpirited Style ; 
 which are plainly the characters of a writer's 
 manner of thinking, as well as of expreffing 
 himfelf: fo difficult it is to feparate thefe two 
 things from one another. Of the general cha- 
 racters of Style, I am afterwards to difcourfe ; 
 but it will be neceffary to begin with examin- 
 ing the more fimple qualities of it j from the 
 affemblage of which, its more complex deno- 
 minations;, in a great meafure, refult. 
 
 the qualities of a good Style may be 
 ranged under two heads, Perfpicuity and Or- 
 nament, For all that can pofiibly be required 
 
 of
 
 PERSPICUITY. 233 
 
 c 
 x. 
 
 of Language, is, to convey our ideas clearly L E : T. 
 to the minds of others, and, at the fame time, 
 in fuch a drefs, as by pleafing and interefting 
 them, fhall mod effectually ftrengthen the 
 impreffions which we feek to make. When 
 both thefe ends are anfwered, we certainly ac- 
 complifJh every purpofe for which we ufe 
 Writing and Difcourfe. 
 
 
 
 PERSPICUITY,,, it will be readily admitted, 
 is the fundamental quality of Style*; a qua- 
 lity fo effential in every kind of writing, that, 
 for the want of it, nothing can atone. With- 
 out this, the richeit ornaments of Style only 
 glimmer through the dark ; and puzzle, in- 
 ftead of pleafing, the reader. This, therefore, 
 muft be our firft object, to make our meaning 
 clearly and fully underftood, and underftood 
 without the leaft difficulty. " Oratio," fays 
 QuincYilian, debet negligenter quoque au- 
 <f dientjbus effe aperta ; ut in animum audi- 
 <c entis, ficut fol in oculos, etiamfi in eum non 
 <c intendatur, occurrat. Quare, non folum 
 " ut intelligere poflit, fed ne omnino poffit 
 " non intelligere curandum f," If we are 
 
 obliged 
 
 '* Nobis prima fit virtus, perfpicuitas, propria verba, 
 ** reftus ordo, non in longum dilata conclufio ; nihil ne- 
 ff que deflt, neque faperfluat." QUINCTIL. lib. viii. 
 
 f " Difcourfe ought always to be obvious, even to the 
 " mod carelefs and negligent hearer; fo that the fenfe 
 " fhall ftrike his mind, as the light of the fun does our 
 
 f eyes,
 
 PERSPICUITY. 
 T. d to 
 
 E c T. obliged to follow a writer with much care, to 
 
 paufe, and to read over his fentences a fecond 
 time, in order to comprehend them fully, he 
 will never pleafe us long. Mankind are too 
 indolent to relifli fo much labour. They may 
 pretend to admire the author's depth, after 
 they have difcovered his meaning ; but they 
 will feldom be inclined to take up his work a 
 fecond time. 
 
 AUTHORS fometimes plead the difficulty 
 of their fubject, as an excufe for the want of 
 Perfpicuity. But the excufe can rarely, if ever, 
 be admitted. For whatever a man conceives 
 clearly, that it is in his power, if he will 
 be at the trouble, to put into diftincl: propo- 
 fitions, or to exprefs clearly to others : and 
 upon no fubjecl: ought any man to write, where 
 he cannot think clearly. His ideas, indeed, 
 may, very excufably, be on fome fubjects in- 
 complete or inadequate -, but ftill, as far as they 
 go, they ought to be clear ; and, wherever 
 this is the cafe, Perfpicuity, in expreffing 
 them, is always attainable. The obfcurity 
 which reigns fo much among many metaphy- 
 fical writers, is, for the moil part, owing to 
 the indiftindtnefs of their own conceptions. 
 
 ft eyes, though they are not direfted upwards to it. We 
 " muft ftudy, not only that every hearer may underiland 
 us, but that it Ihall be impoffible for him not to under-. 
 < Hand us."
 
 PERSPICUITY. 235 
 
 They fee the object but in a confufed light ; L E c T - 
 and, of courfe, can never exhibit it in a clear 
 one to others. 
 
 PERSPICUITY in writing, is not to be con- 
 fidered as merely a fort of negative virtue, or 
 freedom from defect. It has higher merit : 
 It is a degree of pofitive beauty. We are 
 pleafed with an author, we confider him as 
 deferving praife, who frees us from all fatigue 
 of fearciiing for his meaning; who carries us 
 through his fubject without any embarraffment 
 or confufion ; whofe ftyle flows always like 
 a limpid ftrearn, where we fee to the very 
 bottom. 
 
 THE ftudy of Perfpicuity requires attention, 
 firft, to fingle words and phrafes, and then to 
 the conftruction of fentences. I begin with 
 treating of the firft, and lhall confine myfelf to 
 it in this Lecture. 
 
 PERSPICUITY, confidered with refpect to 
 words and phrafes, requires thefe three qua- 
 lities in them j Purity, Propriety, and Pre- 
 djion. 
 
 PURITY and Propriety of Language, are 
 often ufed indifcriminately for each other ; 
 and, indeed, they are very nearly allied. A 
 diftindion, however, obtains between them. 
 
 Purity,
 
 $ P E R S P I C U I T Y. 
 
 E^C T. Purity, is the ufe of fuch words, and fuch 
 conftruclions, as belong to the idiom of the 
 Language which we fpeak ; in oppofition to 
 words and phrafes that are imported from other 
 Languages, or that are obfolete, or new- 
 coined, or ufed without proper authority. 
 Propriety, is the feleclion of fuch words io, 
 the Language, as the bed and moft eftablifhed 
 ufage has appropriated to thofe ideas which we 
 intend to exprefs by them. It implies the 
 correct and happy application of them, accord- 
 ing to that ufage, in oppofition to vulgarifms 3 
 or low expreffions ; and to words and phrafes a 
 which would be lefs fignificant of the ideas 
 that we mean to convey. Style s may be pure, 
 that is, it may all be ftriclly Englifh, without 
 Scotticifms or Gallicifms, or ungrammatrcal 
 irregular expreffions of any kind, and may, 
 neverthelefs, be deficient in Propriety. The 
 words may be \\\ chofen ; not adapted to the 
 fubject, nor fully expreffive of the author's 
 fenfe. He has taken all his words and phrafes 
 from the general mafs of Englifh Language ; 
 but he has made his fele&ion among thefe 
 words unhappily. Whereas, Style cannot be 
 proper without being alfo pure ; and where 
 both Purity and Propriety meet, befides 
 making Style perfpicuous, they alfo render it 
 graceful. There is no ilandard, either of Purity 
 or of Propriety, but the practice of the b.eft 
 writers and fpeakers in the country. 
 
 j WHEN
 
 PERSPICUITY. 
 
 WHEN I mentioned obfolete or new-coined 
 words as incongruous with Purity of Style, it 
 will be eafily underftood, that fome excep- 
 tions are to be made. On certain occafions, 
 they may have grace. Poetry admits of 
 greater latitude than profe, with refpect to 
 coining, or, at le aft, new-compounding words j 
 yet, even here, this liberty fhould be ufed with 
 a fparing hand. In profe, fuch innovations 
 are more hazardous, and have a worfe effect. 
 They are apt to give Style an affected and con- 
 ceited air ; and fhould never be ventured upon, 
 except by fuch, whofe eftablifhed reputation 
 gives them fome degree of dictatorial power 
 over Language. 
 
 THE introduction of foreign and learned 
 words, unlefs where neceffity requires them, 
 fhould always be avoided. Barren Languages 
 may need fuch affiftances ; but ours is not one 
 of thefe. Dean Swift, one of our moft correct 
 writers, valued hirnfelf much on ufmg no 
 words but fuch as were of native growth : and 
 his Language may, indeed, be confidered as a 
 ftandard of the ftricteft Purity and Propriety, 
 in the choice of words. At prefent, we feem 
 to be departing from this ftandard. A multi- 
 tude of Latin words have, of late, been poured 
 in upon us. On fome occafions, they give an 
 appearance of elevation and dignity to Style. 
 But often alfo, they render it ftiff and forced : 
 
 And,
 
 23 8 PRECISION IN STY L . 
 
 * n g enera U a plain native Style, as it 
 is more intelligible to all readers, fo, by a 
 proper management of words, it may be made 
 equally ftrong and expreffive with this Latinifed 
 
 LET us now confider the import of Preci- 
 fion in Language, which, as it is the higheft 
 part of the quality denoted by Perfpicuity, 
 merits a full explication ; and the more, be- 
 caufe diftinct ideas are, perhaps, not commonly 
 formed about it. 
 
 THE exacl import of Precifion may be drawn 
 from the etymology cf the word. It comes 
 from " precidere," to cut off: It imports re- 
 trenching all fuperfiuities, and pruning the 
 expreffion fo, as to exhibit neither more nor 
 lefs than an exact copy of his idea who ufes it. 
 I obferved before, that it is often difficult to 
 feparate the qualities of Style from the quali- 
 ties of Thought j and it is found fo in this 
 inftance. For, in order to write with PreciMon, 
 though this be properly a quality of Style, 
 one muft poflefs a very confiderable degree 
 of diftinctnefs and accuracy in his manner of 
 thinking. 
 
 THE words, which a man ufes to exprefs his 
 
 ideas, may be faulty in three refpects : They 
 
 may either not exprefs that idea which the au- 
 
 9 thor
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 239 
 
 thor intends, but fome other which only re- * E c T. 
 fembles, or is a-kin to it j or, they may exprefs 
 that idea, but not quite fully and completely j 
 or, they may exprefs it, together with fome- 
 thing more than he intends. Precifion ftands 
 oppofed to all thefe three faults ; but chiefly 
 to the laft. In an author's writing with Pro- 
 priety, his being free from the two former 
 faults feems implied. The words which he 
 ufes are proper ; that is, they exprefs that idea 
 which he intends, and they exprefs it fully ; 
 but to be Precife, fignifies, that they exprefs 
 that idea, and no more. There is nothing 
 in his words which introduces any foreign idea, 
 any fuperfiuous unfeafonable accefTory, fo as 
 to mix it confufedly with the principal object, 
 and thereby to render our conception of thac 
 object loofe and indiftinct. This requires 3 
 writer to have, himfelf, a very clear apprehen- 
 fion of the object he means to prefent to us 3 
 to have laid faft hold of it in his mind j and 
 never to waver in any one view he takes of 
 it : a perfection to which, indeed, few writers 
 attain. 
 
 THE ufe and importance of Precifion, may 
 be deduced from the nature of the human 
 mind. It never can view, clearly and dif- 
 tinctly, above one object at a time. If it 
 muft look at two or three together, efpecially 
 objects among which there is refemblance or' 
 
 connection,
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L E c T. connexion, it finds itfelf confufed and embaT- 
 rafled. It cannot clearly perceive in whit 
 they agree, and in what they differ. Thus, 
 were any object, fuppofe fome animal, to be 
 prefented to me, of whofe ftructure I wanted 
 to form a diftinct notion, I would defire all its 
 trappings to be taken oJF, I would require it 
 to be brought before me by itfelf, and to ftand 
 alone, that there might be nothing to diftract 
 my attention. The fame is the cafe with 
 words. If, when you would inform me of 
 your meaning, you alfo tell me more than 
 what conveys it; if you join foreign circum- 
 ftances to the principal object ; if, by unne- 
 ceflarily varying the expreflion, you fhift the 
 point of view, and make me fee fometimes the 
 object itfelf, and fometimes another thing that 
 is connected with it; you thereby oblige me 
 to look on feveral objects at once, and I lofe 
 fight of the principal. You load the animal, 
 you are fhowing me, with fo many trappings 
 and collars, and bring fo many of the fame 
 fpecies before me, fomewhat refembling, and 
 yet fomewhat differing, that I fee none of them 
 clearly. 
 
 THIS forms what is called a Loofe Style ; 
 and is the proper oppofite to Precifion. It ge- 
 nerally arifes from ufmg a fuperfluity of words. 
 Feeble writers employ a multitude of words 
 to make themfelves underftood, as they think, 
 
 more
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE; 
 
 more diftinftlyj and they only confound, the L 
 reader. They are fenfible of not having caught 
 the precife expreffion, to convey what they 
 would fignify ; they do not, indeed^ conceive 
 their own meaning very precifely themfelves j 
 and, therefore, help it out, as they can, by 
 this and the other word, which may, as they 
 fuppofe, fupply the defect, and bring you 
 fbmewhat nearer to their idea : They are 
 always going about it, and about it, but never 
 juft hit the thing. The image, as they fet it 
 before you, is always feen double j and no 
 double image is diftincl:. When an author 
 tel'ls me of his hero's courage in the day of 
 battle, the exprefficn is precife, and I under- 
 ftand it fully. But if, from the defire of mul- 
 tiplying words, he will needs praife his courage 
 and fortitude ; at the moment he joins thefe 
 words together, my idea begins to waver. He 
 means to exprefs one quality more ftrongly j 
 but he is, in truth, exprefling two. Courage 
 refifts danger ; fortitude fupports pain. The 
 occafion of exerting each of thefe qualities is 
 different - s and being led to think of both to- 
 gether, when only one of them fhould be in 
 my view, my view is rendered unfteady, and 
 my conception of the object indiftinct 
 
 FROM what I have faid, it appears that an 
 author may, in a qualified fenfe, be perfpi- 
 cuous, 'while yet he is far from being precife. 
 
 VOL. I. R He
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 He ufes proper words, and proper arrange- 
 ment ; he gives you the idea as clear as he 
 conceives it himfelf; and fo far he is perfpi- 
 cuous : but the ideas are not very clear in his 
 own mind ; they are loofe and general ; and, 
 therefore, cannot be expreffed with Precifion. 
 All fubjects do not equally require Precifion. 
 It is fufficient, on many occaiions, that we 
 have a general view of the meaning. The 
 fubject, perhaps, is of the known and familiar 
 kind i and we are in no hazard of miftaking the 
 fenfe of the author, though every word which he 
 ufes be not precife and exact. 
 
 FEW authors, for inftance, in the Englifh 
 Language, are more clear and perfpicuous, 
 on the whole, than Archbifiiop Tillotfon, and 
 Sir William Temple ; yet neither of them are 
 remarkable for Precifion. They are loofe and 
 diffufe ; and accuftomed to exprefs their 
 meaning by feveral words, which Ihew you 
 fully whereabouts it lies, rather than to fingle 
 out thofe expreffions, which would convey 
 clearly the idea they have in view, and no 
 more. Neither, indeed, is Precifion the pre- 
 vailing character of Mr. Addifon's Style ; al- 
 though he is not fo deficient in this refpect as 
 the other two authors. 
 
 LORD SHAFTESBURY'S faults, in point of Pre- 
 cifion, are much greater than Mr. Addifon's } 
 
 and
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 and the more unpardonable, becaufe he is a 
 profeffed philofophical writer ; who, as fuch, 
 ought, above all things, to have fludied Pre- 
 cifion. His Style has both great beauties, 
 and great faults ; and, on the whole, is by no 
 means a fafe model for imitation. Lord 
 Shaftefbury was well acquainted with the power 
 of words ; thofe which he employs are gene- 
 rally proper and well founding ; he has great 
 variety of them ; and his arrangement, as fhall 
 be afterwards .fhown, is commonly beautiful. 
 His defect, in Precifion, is not owing fo 
 much to indiilind or confufed ideas, as to 
 perpetual affectation. He is fond, to excefs, 
 of the pomp and parade of Language ; he is 
 nsver fatisfied with expreffing any thing clearly 
 and {imply ; he muft always give it the drefs 
 of ftate and majefty. Hence perpetual cir- 
 cumlocutions, and many words and phrafes 
 employed to defcribe fomewhat, that would 
 have been defcribed much better by one of 
 them. If he has occafion to mention any per- 
 fon or author, he very rarely mentions him by 
 his proper name. In the treadle, entitled, 
 Advice to an Author, he defcants for two or 
 three pages together upon Ariftotle, without 
 once naming him in any other way, than the 
 Mailer Critic, the Mighty Genius and Judge 
 of Art, the Prince of Critics, the Grand Maf- 
 ter of Art, and Confummate Philologifl. In 
 the fame way, the Grand Poetic Sire, the Phi- 
 R 2 lofophical
 
 244 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L E c T. ] fophical Patriarch, and his Difciple of No- 
 ble Birth, and lofty Genius, are the only names 
 by which he condefcends to diftinguifh Ho- 
 mer, Socrates, and Plato, in another pafiage 
 of the fame treatife. This method of diftin- 
 guilhing perfons is extremely affected j but it 
 is not fo contrary to Precision, as the frequent 
 circumlocutions he employs for all moral 
 ideas ; attentive, on every occafion, more to 
 the pomp of Language, than to the clearnefs 
 which he ought to have ftudied as a philofo- 
 pher. The moral fenfe, for inftance, after he 
 had once defined it, was a clear term ; but, 
 how vague becomes the idea, when, in the 
 next page, he calls it, " That natural affec- 
 " tion, and anticipating fancy, which makes 
 " the fenfe of right and wrong ?" Self-exa- 
 mination, or reflection on our own conduct, 
 is an idea conceived with eafe ; but when it is 
 wrought into all the forms of, fc A man's di- 
 " viding himfelf into two parties, becoming a 
 " felf-dialogift, entering into partnerfhip with 
 " himfelf, forming the dual number practi- 
 " cally within himfelf j" we hardly know what 
 to make of it. On fome occafions, he fo 
 adorns, or rather loads with words, the plaineft 
 and fimpleft propofitions, as, if not to obfcure, 
 at lead, to enfeeble them. 
 
 IN the following paragraph, for example, of 
 the Inquiry concerning Virtue,. he means to 
 5 Ihowj
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 245 
 
 fhow, that, by every ill action we hurt our L E c T - 
 
 mind, as much as one who fhould fwallow 
 
 poifon, or give himfelf a wound, would hurt 
 
 his body. Obferve what a redundancy of 
 
 words he pours forth : " Now, if the fabric 
 
 " of the mind or temper appeared to us, fuch 
 
 " as it really is ; if we fiw it impoffible to 
 
 tc remove hence any one good or orderly affec- 
 
 " tion, or to introduce any ill or diforderly 
 
 " one, without drawing on, in fome degree, 
 
 " that diffolute ftate which, at its height, is 
 
 " confefied to be fo miferable ; it would then, 
 
 " undoubtedly, be confefied, that fince no ill, 
 
 t( immoral, or unjuft action, can be com- 
 
 " mitted, without either a new inroad and 
 
 " breach on the temper and pafllons, or a 
 
 " further advancing of that execution already 
 
 <? done j whoever did ill, or acted in preju- 
 
 " dice of his integrity, gopd-nature, or worth, 
 
 " would, of neceffity, act with greater cruelty 
 
 '< towards himfelf, than he who fcrupled not 
 
 <f to fwallow what was poifonous, or who, 
 
 " with his own hands, fhould voluntarily 
 
 " mangle or wound his outward form or con- 
 
 tf ftitution, natural limbs or body *." Here, 
 
 to commit a bad action, is, firft, " To remove 
 
 " a good and orderly affection, and to intro- 
 
 " duce an ill or diforderly one j" next, it is, 
 
 " To commit an action that is ill, immoral, 
 
 * Charafterift. Vol. II. p. 85, 
 
 R 3 and
 
 246 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L E^C T. ec anc j unjuft ." and in the next line, it is, 
 " To do ill, or to aft in prejudice of integrity, 
 " good-nature, and worth " nay, fo very 
 fimple a thing as a man's wounding himfclf, 
 is, " To mangle, or wound, his outward form 
 <f and conilitution, his natural limbs or body.'* 
 Such fuperfluity of words is difguftful to every 
 reader of correct tafte ; and ferves no purpofe 
 but to embarrafs 'and perplex the fenfe. This 
 fort of Style is elegantly defcribed by Quinc- 
 tilian, " Eft in quibufdam turba inanium ver- 
 " borum, qui dum communem loquendi morem 
 <( reformidant, ducti fpecie nitoris, circumeunt 
 <c omnia copiofa loquacitate quas dicere vo- 
 <f lunt V Lib. vii. cap. 2. 
 
 THE great fource of a loofe Style, in appa- 
 ll tio-n to PreciCion, is the injudicious ufe of 
 thole words termed Synonymous. They are 
 called Synonymous, becaufe they agree in 
 expreffing one principal idea j but, for the 
 moft part, if not always, they exprefs it with 
 Ibme diverfity in the circumftances. They 
 are varied by fome acceflbry idea which every 
 word introduces, and which forms the diftinc- 
 tion between them. Hardly, in any Lan- 
 
 * " A crowd of unmeaning words is brought together, 
 " by fome authors, who, afraid of expreffing themfelves 
 " after a common and ordinary manner, and allured by an 
 " appeajance of fplendour, furround every thing which 
 *' they mean to fay with a certain copious loquacity."
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. w 24? 
 
 guage, are there two words that convey pre- L E c T. 
 cifely the fame idea ; a perfon thoroughly con- 
 verfant in the propriety of the Language, will 
 always be able to obferve fomething that dif- 
 tinguifhes them. As they are like different 
 lhades of the fame colour, an accurate writer 
 can employ them to great advantage, by ufmg 
 them, fo as to heighten and to finifh the pic- 
 ture which he gives us. He fupplies by one, 
 what was wanting in the other, to the force, or 
 to the lutlre of the image .which he means to 
 exhibit. But, in order to this end, he muft 
 be extremely attentive to the choice .which he 
 makes of them. For the bulk of writers are 
 very apt to confound them with each other; 
 and to employ them carelefsly, merely for the 
 fake of rilling up a period, or of rounding and 
 diverfifying the Language, as if their fignifi- 
 cation were exactly the fame, while, in truth, 
 it is not. Hence a certain mid, and indiftinct- 
 nefs, is unwarily thrown over Style. 
 
 IN the Latin Language, there are no two 
 
 words we fhould more readily take to be 
 
 fynonymous, than amare and diligere. Cicero, 
 
 however, has fhewn us, that there is a very 
 
 clear diftinction betwixt them. fc Quid ergo," 
 
 fays he, in one of his .epiftles, " tibi com- 
 
 " mendem eum quern tu ipfe diligis ? Sed 
 
 " tamen ut fcires eum non a me diligi folum, 
 
 " verum etiam amari, ob earn rem tibi hsec 
 
 R 4 " fcribo."
 
 248 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L EC T. tc f cr ibo *." In the fame manner tutus and 
 
 -A. 
 
 fecurus, are words which we fhould readily 
 confound ; yet their meaning is different. 
 Tutus, fignifies out of danger ; Je curus, free 
 from the dread of it. Seneca has elegantly 
 marked this diftinction ; <c Tuta fcelera efle 
 (C poffunt, fecura non poffunt j." In our own 
 Language, very m'any inftances might be 
 given of a difference in meaning among words 
 , reputed Synonymous ; and, as the fubject is 
 of importance, I {hall now point out fome of 
 thefe. The inftances which I am to give, may 
 themfelves be of ufe ; and they will ferve to 
 fhew the neceffity of attending, with care and 
 ftrictnefs, to the exact import of words, if 
 ever we would write with Propriety or Pre~ 
 cifion. 
 
 Aufterity, Severity, Rigour. Aufterity, re- 
 lates to the manner of living ; Severity, of 
 thinking; Rigour, of punifhing. To Aufte- 
 rity, is oppofed Effeminacy ; to Severity, 
 Relaxation ; to Rigour, Clemency. A Her- 
 mit, is auftere in his life ; a Cafuift, fevere 
 in his application of religion or law ; a Judge, 
 rigorous in his fentences. 
 
 Cuftom, Habit. f Cuftom refpects the ac- 
 tion j Habit, the actor. By Cuftom, we 
 
 * Ad Famil.l. 13. Ep. 47. f Epif. 97. 
 
 mean
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 249 
 
 mean the frequent repetition of the fame aft ; L E c T - 
 by Habit, the efreft which that repetition pro- 
 duces on the minJ or body. By the Cuftom 
 of walking often in the ftreets, one acquires a 
 Habit of idlenefs. 
 
 Surprifed, aftonifaed, amazed^ confounded. I 
 am furprifed, with what is new or unexpedted ; 
 I am aftonifned, at what is vaft or great $ 
 I am amazed, with what is incomprehenfible ; 
 I am confounded, by what is Ihocking or 
 terrible. 
 
 Defift, renounce, quit, have off. Each of 
 thefe words imply fome purfuit or object re- 
 linquifhed ; but from different motives. We 
 defift, from the difficulty of accomplifhing. 
 We renounce, on account of the difagreeable- 
 nefs of the object, or purfuit. We quit, for 
 the fake of fome other thing which interefts us 
 more -, and we leave off, becaufe we are 
 weary of the defign. A politician defifts from 
 his defigns, when he finds they are impracti- 
 cable ; he renounces the court, becaufe he 
 has been affronted, by it j he quits ambi- 
 tion for ftudy or retirement ; and leaves off his 
 attendance on the great, as he becomes old and 
 weary of it. 
 
 Pride, Vanity. Pride, makes us efteem 
 ourfelves ; Vanity, makes us defire the 
 
 efteem
 
 25 o PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L E c T. efteem of others. It is jnft to fay, as Dean 
 
 
 
 Swift has done, that a man is too proud to be 
 vain. 
 
 Haugbtiriefs, Difdain. Haughtinefs is found- 
 ed on the high opinion we entertain of our- 
 felves , Difdain, on the low opinion we have 
 of others. 
 
 ; 
 
 To dijlinguifi), to Jeparate. We diitinguifh, 
 what we want not to confound with another 
 thing; we feparate, what we want to remove 
 from it. Objects are diftinguifhed from one 
 another, by their qualities. They are feparated, 
 by the diltance of time or place. 
 
 To weary, to fatigue. The continuance of 
 the fame thing wearies us ; labour fatigues us. 
 I am weary with {landing ; I am fatigued with 
 walking. A fuitor wearies us by his perfe- 
 verance ; fatigues us by his importunity. 
 
 To abhor, to deleft. To abhor, imports, 
 fimply, ftrong diflike > to deteft, imports alfo 
 ftrong difapprobation. One abhors being in 
 debt j he detefts treachery. 
 
 To invent, to dif cover. We invent things 
 that are new ; we difcover what was before 
 hidden. Galileo invented the telefcope , Har- 
 vey difcovered the circulation of the blood. 
 
 Only,
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE.. 
 
 . Only, alone. Only, imports that there is L 
 no other of the fame kind ; alone, imports 
 being accompanied by no other. An only 
 child, is one who has neither brother nor 
 fifler ; a child alone, is one who is left by 
 itfelf. There is a difference, therefore, in 
 precife Language, betwixt thefe two phrafes, 
 ff Virtue only maks us happy ;" and, " Vir- 
 " tue alone makes us happy." Virtue only 
 makes us happy, imports, that nothing elfe 
 can do it. Virtue alone makes us happy, 
 imports, that virtue, by itfelf, or unaccom- 
 panied with other advantages, is fufficient to 
 do it. 
 
 Entire, Complete. 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 houfe' to 
 himfelf; and yet not have one complete apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Tranquillity, Peace, Calm. Tranquillity,, 
 refpefls a fituation free from trouble, con- 
 fidered in itfelf; Peace, the fame fituation 
 with refpect to any caufes that might interrupt 
 it ; Calm, with regard to a difturbed fituation 
 going before, or following it. A good man 
 enjoys Tranquillity, in himfelf; Peace, with 
 others ; and Calm, after the ftorm.
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 A Difficulty, an Obftacle. A Difficulty, em- 
 barrafles ; an Obftacle, flops us. We re- 
 move the one ; we furmount the other. Ge- 
 nerally, the firft, expreffes fomewhat arifing 
 from the nature and circumftances of the af- 
 fair j the fecond, fomewhat arifing from a fo- 
 reign caufe. Philip found Difficulty in ma- 
 naging the Athenians from the nature of 
 their difpofitions ; but the eloquence of De- 
 mofthenes was the greateft Obftacle to his de- 
 figns. 
 
 Wijdom, Prudence. Wifdom leads us to 
 fpeak and act what is moft proper. Prudence, 
 prevents our fpeaking or acting improperly. 
 A wife man, employs the moft proper means 
 for fuccefs; a prudent man, the fafeft means 
 for not being brought into danger. 
 
 Enough, Sufficient. Enough, relates to the 
 quantity which one wifhes to have of any 
 thing. Sufficient, relates to the ufe 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 fufficient for nature. 
 
 . 7*0 avow, to acknowledge, to confcjs. Each 
 cf thefe words imports the affirmation of a 
 fact, but in very different circumftances. To 
 avow, fuppofes the perfon to glory in it ; to 
 
 acknowledge,
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 acknowledge, fuppofes a fmall degree of faulti- 
 nefs, which the acknowledgment compen- 
 fates ; to confefs, fuppofes a higher degree of 
 crime. A patriot avows his oppofition to a 
 bad minifter, and is applauded ; a gentleman 
 acknowledges his miftake, and is forgiven j a 
 prifoner confefles the crime he is accufed of, 
 and is punifhed. 
 
 'To remark, to obferve. We remark, in the 
 way of attention, in order to remember; we 
 obferve in the way of examination, in order to 
 judge. A traveller remarks the moft ftriking 
 objects he fees ; a general obferves all the mo- 
 tions of his enemy. 
 
 Equivocal, Ambiguous. An Equivocal /Ex- 
 preffion is, one which has one fenfe open, and 
 defigned to be underftood; another fenfe con- 
 cealed, and underftood only by the perfon who 
 ufes it. An Ambiguous Expreflion is, one 
 which has apparently two fenfes, and leaves us 
 at a lofs which of them to give it. An Equi- 
 vocal Expreflion is ufed with an intention to 
 deceive ; an Ambiguous one, when it is ufed with 
 delign, is, with an intention not to give full 
 information. An honeft man will never employ 
 an equivocal expreflion ; a confufed man may 
 often utter ambiguous ones, without any defign, 
 I Ihall give only one inftance more.
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 Withy By. Both thefe particles exprefs 
 the connexion between fome inftrument, or 
 means of effecting an end, and the agent 
 who employs it; but with, exprefies a more 
 clofe and immediate connection ; by, a more 
 remote one. We kill a man with a fword ; 
 he dies by violence. The criminal is bound 
 ivith ropes by the executioner. The proper 
 diftin&ion in the ufe of thefe particles, is 
 elegantly marked in a paffage of Dr. Ro- 
 bertfon's Hiftory of Scotland. When one 
 of the old Scottifh kings was making an 
 enquiry into the tenure by which his nobles 
 held their lands, they flarted up, and drew 
 their fwords : " By thefe," faid they, " we 
 " acquired our lands, and ixitb thefe, we will 
 " defend them." " By thefe we acquired 
 " our lands ;" fignifies the more remote 
 means of acquifition by force and martial 
 deeds ; and, " with thefe we will defend them ;" 
 fignifies the immediate direct inftrument, 
 the fword, which they would employ in their 
 defence. 
 
 THESE are inflances of words, in our 
 Language, which, by carelefs writers, are 
 apt to be employed as perfectly fynonymous, 
 and yet are not fo. Their fignifications ap- 
 proach, but are not precifely the fame. The 
 more the diftin&ion in the meaning of fuch 
 
 words
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 255 
 
 words is weighed, and attended to, the more L E c T - 
 clearly and forcibly fiiall we fpeak or write *. 
 
 FROM all that has been faid on this head, 
 it will now appear, that, in order to write 
 or fpeak with Precifion, two things are 
 efpecially requifite ; one, that an author's 
 own ideas be clear and diftinct -, and the other, 
 that he have an exact and full cornprehenfion 
 of the force of thofe words which he employs. 
 Natural genius is here required ; labour 
 and attention ftill more. Dean Swift is one 
 of the authors, in our Language, moil diftin- 
 guiihed for Precifion of Style. In his writings, 
 we feldom or never find vague expreffions, 
 and fynonymous words, carelefly thrown toge- 
 ther. His meaning is always clear, and flrongly 
 marked. 
 
 * In French, there is a very ufeful treatife on this 
 fubjeft, the Abbe Girard's Synonymes Fran$oifes, in which 
 he has made a large collection of fuch apparent Syno- 
 nymes in the Language, and fliown, with much accuracy, 
 the difference in their fignification. It is to be wifhed, 
 that fome fuch work were undertaken for our tongue, 
 and executed with equal tafte and judgment. Nothing 
 would contribute more to precife and elegant writing, 
 In the mean time, this French Treatife may be perufed 
 with confiderable profit. It will accuftom pcrfons to weigh, 
 with attention, the force of words ; and will fuggeft feveral 
 diiiin&ions betwixt fynonymous terms in our own language, 
 analogous to thofe which he has pointed out in the French ; 
 and, accordingly, feveral of the inftances above given were 
 fuggefted by the work of this author. ' 
 
 I HAD
 
 ZS 6 
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 
 
 L c E T. I HAD occafion to obferve before, thaf, 
 x 
 
 though all fubjects of writing or difcourfe 
 
 demand Perfpicuity, yet all do not require 
 the fame degree of that exact Precifion, 
 which I have endeavoured to explain. It 
 is, indeed, in every fort of writing, a great 
 beauty to have, at leaft, fome meafure of 
 Precifion, in diftinction from that loofe pro- 
 fufion of words which imprints no clear idea 
 on the reader's mind. But we muft, at the 
 fame time, be on our guard, left too great a 
 ftudy of Precifion, efpecially in fubjects 
 where it is not ftrictly requifite, betray us 
 into a dry and barren Style ; left, from the 
 defire of pruning too clofely, we retrench all 
 copioufnefs and ornament. Some degree of 
 this failing may, perhaps, be remarked in 
 Dean Swift's ferious works. Attentive only 
 to exhibit his ideas clear and exact, refting 
 wholly on his fenfe and diftinctnefs, he ap- 
 pears to reject, difdainfully, all embellifh- 
 ment which, on fome occafions, may be 
 thought to render his manner fomewhat hard 
 and dry. To unite Copioufnefs and Preci- 
 fion, to be flowing and graceful, and at the 
 fame time, correct and exact in the choice of 
 every word, is, no doubt, one of the higheft 
 and molt difficult attainments in writing. 
 Some kinds of compofition may require more 
 of Copioufnefs and Ornament ; others, more 
 of Precifion and Accuracy j nay, in the fame 
 
 corn-
 
 PRECISION IN STYLE. 257 
 
 compofition, the different parts of it may de- L E c T - 
 mand a proper variation of manner. But we 
 muft ftudy never to facrifice, totally, any one 
 of thefe qualities to the other; and, by a pro- 
 per management, both of them may be made 
 fully confident, if our own ideas be precife, 
 and our knowledge and ftock of words be, at 
 the fame time, extenfive. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LECTURE XI. 
 
 STUCTURE OF SENTENCES, 
 
 AVING begun to treat of Style, in 
 the lafl Lecture I confidered its funda- 
 menal quality, Perfpicuity. What I have 
 faid of this, relates chiefly to the choice of 
 Words. From Words I proceed to Sentences ; 
 and as, in all writing and difcourfe, the pro- 
 per compofition and ftructure of Sentences is 
 of the highefl importance, I fhall treat of this 
 fully. Though Perfpicuity be the general 
 head under which I, at prefent, confider Lan- 
 guage, I fhall not confine myfelf to this qua- 
 lity alone, in Sentences, but fhall inquire 
 alio, what is requifite for their Grace and 
 Beauty : that I may bring together, under 
 one view, all that feems neceflfary to be at- 
 tended to in the conltruction and arrangement 
 of words in a Sentence. 
 
 IT is not eafy to give an exact definition of 
 a Sentence, or Period, farther, than as it al- 
 ways implies fome one complete propofition 
 
 or
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 259 
 
 or enunciation of thought. Ariftotle's defini- L E c T - 
 tion is, in the main, a good one : " Ai? 
 
 " A form of Speech which 
 " hath a beginning and an end within itfelf, 
 " and is of fuch a length as to be eafily com- 
 < f prehended at once." This, however, admits 
 of great latitude. For a Sentence, or Period, 
 confifts always of component parts, which are 
 called its members ; and as thefe members 
 may be either few or many, and may be con- 
 nected in feveral different ways, the fame 
 thought, or mental propofition, may often be 
 either brought into one Sentence, or fplit into 
 two or three, without the material breach of 
 any rule. 
 
 THE firft variety that occurs in the confidera- 
 tion of Sentences, is, the diftindtion of long and 
 fhort ones. The precife length of Sentences, 
 as to the number of words, or the number of 
 members, which may enter into them, can- 
 not be afcertained by any definite meafure. 
 At the fame time, it is obvious, there may 
 be an extreme on either fide. Sentences, im- 
 moderately long, and confifting of too many 
 members, always tranfgrefs forne one or other 
 of the rules which I fhall mention foon, as 
 neceflary to be obferved in every good Sen*- 
 tence. In difcourfes that are to be fpoken, 
 regard muft be had to the eafmefs of pronun- 
 S 2 ciation,
 
 ?.6o STUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E C T. 
 XI- 
 
 elation, which is not confident with too long 
 periods. In compofitions where pronuncia- 
 tion has no place, ft ill, however, by ufing 
 long Periods too frequently, an author over- 
 loads the reader's ear, and fatigues his atten- 
 tion. For long Periods require, evidently, 
 more attention than fhort ones, in order to 
 perceive clearly the connexion of the feveral 
 parts, and to take in the whole at one view. 
 At the fame time, there may be an excefs in 
 too many fhort Sentences alfoj by which the 
 fenfe is fplit and broken, the connexion of 
 thought weakened, and the memory burdened, 
 by prefenting to it a long fucceflion of minute 
 objects. 
 
 WITH regard to the length and conftruction 
 of Sentences, the French critics make a very 
 juft diftinction of Style, into Style Periodique, 
 and Style Coupe. The Style Periodique is, 
 where the Sentences are compofed of feveral 
 members linked together, and hanging upon 
 one another, fo that the fenfe of the whole is 
 not brought out till the dole. This is the 
 moft pompous, mufical, and oratorical man- 
 ner of compofing j as in the following fen- 
 tence of Sir William Temple : " If you look 
 " about you, and confider the lives of others 
 " as well as your own j if you think how few 
 " are born with honour, and how many die 
 " without name or children ; how little beauty 
 
 " we
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 261 
 
 ff we fee, and how few friends we hear of j how L 
 " many difeafes, and how much poverty there 
 <c is in the world j you will fall down upon 
 " your knees, and, inftead of repining at 
 " one affliction, will admire fo many bleflings 
 ff which you have received from the hand of 
 " God." (Letter to Lady Eflex.) Cicero 
 abounds with Sentences conftructed after this 
 manner. 
 
 THE Style Coupe is, where the fenfe is 
 formed into fliort independent propofitions, 
 each complete within itfelf ; as in the follow- 
 ing of Mr. Pope : " I confefs, it was want 
 " of confideration that made me an author. 
 " I writ, becaufe it amufed me. I corrected, 
 " becaufe it was as pleafant to me to correct 
 <f as to write. I publiihed, becaufe, I was 
 {f told, I might pleafe fuch as it was a credit 
 " to pleafe." ' (Preface to his works.) This 
 is very much the French method of writing i 
 and always fuits gay and eafy fubjects. The 
 Style Periodique, gives an air of gravity and 
 dignity to compofition. The Style Coupe, is 
 more lively and ftriking, According to the 
 nature of the compofition, therefore, and the 
 general character it ought to bear, the one or 
 other may be predominant. But, in almoft 
 every kind of compofition, the great rule is 
 to intermix them. For the ear tires of either 
 of them when too long continued : Whereas, 
 S 3 by
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 by a proper mixture of long and fhort Periods, 
 the ear is gratified, and a certain fprightlinefs 
 is joined with majefty in our Style. " Non 
 " Temper," fays Cicero (defcribing, very ex- 
 prefiively, thefe two different kinds of Styles, 
 of which I have been fpeaking), " non femper 
 " utendum eft perpetuitate, & quafi conver- 
 " fione verborum ; fed faepe carpenda membris 
 " minutioribus oratio eft V 
 
 THIS variety is of fo great confequence, 
 that it muft be ftudied, not only in the fuc- 
 ceflion of long and fhort Sentences, but in 
 the ftru&ure of our Sentences alfo. A train 
 of Sentences, conftrufted in the fame man- 
 ner, and with the fame number of members, 
 whether long or fhort, fhould never be allowed 
 to fucceed one another. However mufical each 
 of them may be, it has a better effed to intro- 
 duce even a difcord, than to cloy the ear with 
 the repetition of limilar founds : for, nothing 
 is fo tirefome as perpetual uniformity. In 
 this article of. the conftruftion and diftribu- 
 tion of his Sentences, Lord Shaftfbury has 
 fhown great art. In the laft Le6lure, I ob- 
 ferved, that he is often guilty of facrificing 
 precifion of ftyle to pomp of expreflion -, and 
 that there runs through his whole manner, a 
 
 * f It is not proper always to employ a continued train, 
 " and a fort of regular compafs of phrafes ; but ftyle ought 
 " to be often broken down into fraaller members." 
 
 ftiffhefs
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 iliffnefs and affectation, which render him 
 very unfit to be confidered as a general model. 
 But, as his ear was fine, and as he was ex- 
 tremely attentive to every thing that is elegant, 
 he has ftudied the proper intermixture of long 
 and fhort Sentences, with variety and harmony 
 in their ftructure, more than any other Englifh 
 author : and for this part of compofition he 
 deferves attention. 
 
 FROM thefe general obfervations, let us now 
 defcend to a more particular confideration of 
 the qualities that are required to make a Sen- 
 tence perfect. So much depends upon the 
 proper conftruction of Sentences, that, in 
 every fort of compofition, we cannot be too 
 ftricl: in our attentions to it. For, be the fub- 
 je6l what it will, if the Sentences be con- 
 ftrufted in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble 
 manner, it is impoflible that a work, com- 
 pofed of fuch Sentences, can be read with 
 pleafure, or even with profit. Whereas, by 
 giving attention to the rules which relate to 
 this part of flyle, we acquire the habit of ex- 
 preffing ourfelves with perfpicuity and ele- 
 gance ; and if a diforder chance to arife in 
 fome of our Sentences, we immediately fee 
 where it lies, and are able to rectify it *. 
 
 THE 
 
 * On the Struflure of Sentences, the Antients appear 
 to have beftowed a great deal of attention and care. The 
 T/eatife of Demetrius Phalereus, m^ Eg^mac, abounds 
 
 S 4 with
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 THE properties moft efiential to a perfect 
 Sentence, feem to me, the four following: 
 i. Clearnefs and Precifion. i. Unity. 3. 
 Strength. 4. Harmony. Each of thefe I (hall 
 illuftrate feparately, and at fome length. 
 
 THE firft is, Clearnefs and Precifion. The 
 leaft failure here, the lead degree of am- 
 biguity, which leaves the mind in any fort of 
 firfpenfe as to the meaning, ought to be 
 avoided with the greateft care ; nor is it fo eafy 
 a matter to keep always clear of this, as one 
 might, at firft, imagine. Ambiguity arifes 
 from two caufes : either from a wrong choice 
 of words, or a wrong collocation of them. 
 Of the choice of words, as far as regards 
 Perfpicuity, I treated fully in the laft Lecture. 
 Of the collocation of them, I am now to 
 treat. The firft thing to be ftudied here, is, 
 to obferve exactly the rules of grammar, as 
 far as thefe can guide us. But as the gram- 
 mar of our Language is not extenfive, there 
 
 with obfervations upon the choice and collocation of words 
 carried to fuch a degree of nicety, as would frequently feem 
 to us minute. The Treatife of Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus, 
 TTEJS srtf&srEwj oK>aT;, is more mafterly ; but is chiefly con- 
 fined to the mufical ftrufture of Periods : a fubjeft, for 
 which the Greek Language afforded much more affiitance 
 \o their writers, than our Tongue admits. On the ar- 
 rangement of words, in Engliih Sentences, the xviiith 
 chapter of Lord Kaims's Elements of Criticifm ought to 
 be confulted ; and alfo, the zd Volume of Dr. Campbell's 
 Philofophy of Rhetoric. 
 
 4 may
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 36$ 
 
 may often be an ambiguous collocation of L E ^ T - 
 words, where there is no tranfgrefllon of any 
 grammatical rule. The relations which the 
 words, or members of a period, bear to one 
 another, cannot be pointed out in Englifh, 
 as 'in the Greek or Latin, by means of ter- 
 mination ; it is afcertained only by the pofi- 
 tion in which they ftand. Hence a capital rule 
 in the arrangement of Sentences is, that the 
 words or members mod nearly related, {hould 
 be placed in the Sentence, as near to each 
 other as pofTible ; fo as to make their mutual 
 relation clearly appear. This is a rule not 
 always obferved, even by good writers, as 
 ftrictly as it ought to be. It will be neceffary 
 to produce fome inftances, which will both 
 fhow the importance of this rule, and make 
 the application of it underftood. 
 
 FIRST, In the ppfition of adverbs, which 
 are ufed to qualify the fignification of fome- 
 thing which either precedes or follows them, 
 there is often a good deal of nicety. " By 
 " greatnefs," fays Mr. Addifon, in the Specta- 
 tor, No. 412. " I do not only mean the bulk 
 " of any fingle object, but the largenefs of a 
 " whole view." Here the place of the adverb 
 only, renders it a limitation of the following 
 word, mean. " I do not only mean." The 
 queftion may then be put, What does he 
 more than mean ? Had he placed it after bulk, 
 
 {till
 
 2 66 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 ' lt wou ^ nave keen wron g- " I do not 
 " mean the bulk only of any fmgle object." 
 For we might then alk. What does he mean 
 more than the bulk ? Is it the colour ? or any 
 other property ? Its proper place, undoubt- 
 edly, is, after the word objcff. " By great- 
 " nefs, I do not mean the bulk of any (ingle 
 " object only ;" for then, when we put the 
 queftion, What more does he mean than 
 the bulk of a fingle object ? the anfwer 
 comes out exactly as the author intends, 
 and gives it ; " The largenefs of a whole 
 view."" Theifm," fays Lord Shaftfbury, 
 <c can only be oppofed to polytheifm, or athe- 
 " ifm." Does he mean that theifm is capable 
 of nothing elfe, except being oppofed to poly- 
 theifm or atheifm ? This is what his words 
 literally import, through the wrong colloca- 
 tion of only. He fhould have faid, " Theifm 
 " can be oppofed only to polytheifm or athe- 
 ce ifm." In like manner, Dean Swift (Project 
 for the Advancement of Religion), " The 
 " Romans underftood liberty, at lead, as well 
 ef as we." Thefe words are capable of two 
 different fenfes, according as the emphafis, in 
 reading them, is laid upon liberty, or upon at 
 leaft. In the firft cafe, they will fignify, that 
 whatever other things we may underftand bet- 
 ter than the Romans, liberty, at lead, was one 
 thing which they underftood as well as we. In 
 the fecond cafe, they will import, that liberty 
 
 was
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 267 
 
 was underftood, at haft as well by them as by L T 
 us ; meaning, that by them it was better un- 
 derftood. If this laft, as I make no doubt, 
 was Dean Swift's own meaning, the ambiguity 
 would have been avoided, and the fenfe ren- 
 dered independent of the manner of pro- 
 nouncing, by arranging the words thus : 
 " The Romans underftood liberty as well, at 
 fc leaft, as we." The fa6t is, with refpe6t to 
 fuch adverbs, as, only, wholly, at leaft, and 
 the reft of that tribe, that in common dif- 
 courfe, the tone and emphafis we ufe in pro- 
 nouncing them, generally ferves to fhow their 
 reference, and to make the meaning clear ; and 
 hence, we acquire a habit of throwing them in 
 loofely in the courfe of a period. But, in 
 writing, where a man fpeaks to the eye, and 
 not to the ear, he ought to be more accurate ; 
 and fo to connect thofe adverbs with the words 
 which they qualify, as to put his meaning out 
 of doubt upon the firft infpection. 
 
 SECONDLY, When a circumftance is inter- 
 pofed in the middle of a Sentence, it fome- 
 times requires attention how to place it, fo as 
 to diveft it of all ambiguity. For inftance : 
 " Are thefe defigns" (fays Lord Bolingbroke, 
 Diflert. on Parties, Dedicat.) t " Are thefe 
 <f defigns which any man, who is born a Bri- 
 " ton, in any circumftances, in any fituation, 
 
 " ought
 
 2 68 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES, 
 
 E c 
 
 XI. 
 
 L E c T. <c OU g[jt to be aihamed or afraid to avow ?" 
 
 Here we are lefc at a lofs, whether thefe words, 
 " /';; any circumftances, in any Jituation" are 
 connected with, " a man born in Britain, in 
 " any circumftances, or fituation," or with that 
 man's " avowing his defigns, in any circum- 
 " fiances, or fituation, into which he may be 
 " brought r" If the latter, as feems moft 
 probable, was intended to be the meaning, 
 the arrangement ought to have been conducted 
 thus : " Are thefe defigns, which any man 
 <f who is born a Briton, ought to be afhamed 
 " or afraid, in any circumstances, in any fitua- 
 *'" tion, to avow ?" But, 
 
 THIRDLY, Still more attention is required to 
 the proper difpofition of the relative pronouns, 
 who, which, what, whofe, and of all thofe par- 
 ticles which exprefs the connection of the parts 
 of Speech with one another. As all reafoning 
 depends upon this connection, we cannot be 
 too accurate and precife here. A fmall error 
 tnay overcloud the meaning of the whole Sen- 
 tence j and even, where the meaning is intel- 
 ligible, yet where thefe relative particles are 
 out of their proper place, we always find fome- 
 thing awkward and disjointed in the Structure 
 of the Sentence. Thus, in the Spectator, 
 (No. 54.) " This kind of wit," fays Mr. 
 .{Yddifon, tc was very much in vogue among 
 
 " our
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 269 
 
 i C 
 XI. 
 
 our countrymen, about an age or two ago, L E c T - 
 
 t( who did not pradtife it for any oblique rea- 
 " fon, but purely for the fake of being witty." 
 We are at no lofs about the meaning here ; 
 but the conftruction would evidently be mended 
 by difpofing of the circumflance, " about 
 fc an age or two ago," in fuch a manner as 
 not to feparate the relative who, from its ante- 
 cedent cur countrymen ; in this way : " About 
 " an age or two ago, this kind of wit was very 
 " much in vogue among our countrymen, 
 " who did not practife it for any oblique rea- 
 " fon, but purely for the fake of being witty." 
 Spectator, No. 412. " We no where meet 
 " with a more glorious and pleafmg fhow in 
 <c nature, than what appears in the heavens at 
 " the rifing and fetting of the fun, which is 
 <f wholly made up of thofe different ftains of 
 " light, that fhew themfelves in clouds of a 
 tf different fituation." Which is here defigned 
 to connect with the word Jhow, as its antece- 
 dent j but it Hands fo wide from it, that with- 
 out a careful attention to the fenfe, we fhould 
 be naturally led, by the rules of fyntax, to 
 refer it to the rifing and fetting of the fun, 
 or to the fun itfelf 3 and, hence, an indiftincl:- 
 nefs is thrown over the whole Sentence. The 
 following paffage y in bilhop Sherlock's Ser- 
 mons (Vol. II. Serm. 15.) is flill more cenfur- 
 able : " It is folly to pretend to arm ourfelves 
 " againft the accidents of life, by heaping up 
 
 " treafures,
 
 270 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. cc treafures, which nothing can protect us 
 " againft, but the good providence of our 
 cc Heavenly Father." Which, always refers 
 grammatically to the immediately preceding 
 fubftantive, which here is, " treafures ;" and 
 this would make nonfenfe of the whole Period. 
 Every one feels this impropriety. The Sen- 
 tence ought to have ftood thus : " It is folly 
 tf to pretend, by heaping up treafures, to arm 
 " ourfelves againft the accidents of life, which 
 f( nothing can protect us againft, but the good 
 " providence of our Heavenly Father." 
 
 OF the like nature is the following inac- 
 curacy of Dean Swift's. He is recommend- 
 ing to young clergymen, to write their fermons 
 fully and diftinctly. " Many/' fays he, " aft 
 <c fo directly contrary to this method, that, 
 " from a habit of faving time and paper, 
 " which they acquired at the univerfity, they 
 *< write in fo diminutive a manner, that they 
 " can hardly read what they have written." 
 He certainly does not mean, that they had ac- 
 quired time and paper at the univerfity, but 
 that they had acquired this habit there -, and 
 therefore his words ought to have run thus : 
 " From a habit which they have acquired at 
 "the univerfity of faving time and paper, 
 v they write in fo diminutive a manner." In 
 another pafTage, the fame author has left his 
 meaning altogether uncertain, by mifplacing 
 2 a re-
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 271 
 
 a relative. It is in the conclufion of his letter L 
 to a member of parliament, concerning the 
 Sacramental Teft : " Thus I have fairly given 
 " you, Sir, my own opinion, as well as that 
 " of a great majority of both houfes here, 
 " relating to this weighty affair j upon which 
 " I am confident you may fecurely reckon." 
 Now I afk, what it is he would have his cor- 
 refpondent to reckon upon, fecurely ? The na- 
 tural conftrudion leads to thefe words, " this 
 " weighty affair." But, as it would be dif- 
 ficult to make any fenfe of this, it is more 
 probable he meant that the majority of both 
 houfes might be fecurely reckoned upon ; 
 though certainly this meaning, as the words 
 are arranged, is obfcurely expreffed. The 
 Sentence would be amended by arranging 
 thus : f( Thus, Sir, I have given you my own 
 tf opinion, relating to this weighty affair, as 
 <e well as that of a great majority of both houfes 
 " here ; upon whicli I am confident you may 
 " fecurely reckon." 
 
 SEVERAL other inftances might be given ; 
 but I reckon thofe which I have produced fuf- 
 ficient to make the rule underftood ; that, in 
 the conftru&ion of Sentences, one of the firft 
 things to be attended to, is, the marlhalling 
 of the words in fuch order as fhall moft 
 clearly mark the relation of the feveral parts 
 of the Sentence to one another; particularly, 
 
 that
 
 272 STE.UCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. that adverbs fhall always be made to adhere 
 
 XI 
 
 ,__!__, clofely to the words which they are intended 
 to qualify ; that, where a circumftance is 
 thrown in, it lhall never hang loofe in the 
 midft of a period, but be determined by its 
 place to one or other member of it ; and that 
 every relative word which is ufed, fhall in- 
 ftantly prefent its antecedent to the mind of 
 the reader, without the leaft obfcurity. 1 
 have mentioned thefe three cafes, becaufe I 
 think they are the moft frequent occafions of 
 ambiguity creeping into Sentences. 
 
 WITH regard to Relatives, I muft farther 
 obferve, that obfcurity often arifes from the 
 too frequent repetition of them, particularly 
 of the pronouns who, and they, and them y and 
 theirsy when we have occafion to refer to dif- 
 ferent perfons ; as, in the following fentencc 
 of archbifhop Tillotfon (Vol. I. Serm. 42.) : 
 " Men look with an evil eye upon the good 
 " that is in others ; and think that their repu- 
 " ,tation obfcures them, and their commend - 
 " able qualities ftand in their light; and 
 " therefore they do what they can to cad a 
 " cloud over them, that the bright fhining 
 " of their virtues may not obfcure them." 
 This is altogether carelefs writing. It ren- 
 ders ftyle often obfcure, always embarrafied 
 and inelegant. When we find thefe perfonal 
 pronouns crowding too fad upon us, we have 
 
 often
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 273 
 
 often no method left, but to throw the whole L E T - 
 fentence into fome other form, which may 
 avoid thofe frequent references to perfons who 
 have before been mentioned. 
 
 ALL languages are liable to ambiguities. 
 Quinctilian gives us fome inftances in the 
 Latin, arifing from faulty arrangement. A 
 man, he tells us, ordered, by his will, to have 
 creeled for him, after his death, " Statuam 
 " auream haftam tenentem j" upon which 
 arofe a difpute at law, whether the whole flatue, 
 or the fpear only, was to be of gold ? The 
 fame author obferves, very properly, that a 
 fentence is always faulty, when the collocation 
 of the words is ambiguous, though the fenfe 
 can be gathered. If any one fhould fay, 
 " Chremetem audivi percufliffe Demeam," 
 this is ambiguous both in fenfe and fir u 61 u re, 
 whether Chremes or Demea gave the blow. 
 But if this exprefiion were ufed, " Se vidiflfe 
 t( hominem librum fcribentem," although the 
 meaning be clear, yet Quinctilian infifts that 
 the arrangement is wrong. " Nam," fays he, 
 " etiamfi librum ab homine fcribi pateat, non 
 " certe hominem a libro, male tamen com- 
 " pofuerat, feceratque ambiguum quantum in 
 <e ipfo fuit." Indeed, to have the relation of 
 every word and member of a fentence marked 
 in the mod proper and diftin6t manner, gives 
 not clearnefs only, but grace and beauty to a 
 
 VOL. I. T fentence,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 T. e 
 
 L E c T. fentence, making the mind pafs fmoothly and 
 
 agreeably along all the parts of it. 
 
 I PROCEED now to the fecond quality of a 
 well- arranged fentence, which I termed its 
 Unity. This is a capital property. In every 
 competition, of whatever kind, fome degree 
 of unity is required, in order to render it 
 beautiful. There mud be always fome con- 
 nedting principle among the parts. Some one 
 object muft reign and be predominant. This, 
 as I {hall hereafter fliew, holds in Hiftory, -in 
 Epic and Dramatic Poetry, and in all Ora- 
 tions. But moft of all, in a fingle fentence, 
 is required the ftricteft unity. For the very 
 nature of a fentence implies one propofition to 
 be exprefifed. It may confift of parts, indeed; 
 but thefe parts muft be fo clofely bound toge- 
 ther, as to make the impreffion upon the mind, 
 of one object, not of many. Now, in order to 
 preferve this unity of a fentence, the following 
 rules muft be obferved : 
 
 IN the firft place, during the courfe of the 
 fentence, the fcene fhould be changed as little 
 as poflible. We fhould not be hurried by 
 fudden tranfitions from perfon to perfon, nor 
 from fubject to fubjeft. There is commonly, 
 in every fentence, fome perfon or thing, 
 which is the governing word. This fhould be 
 continued fo, if poffible, from the beginning 
 
 to
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 to the end of it. Should I exprefs myfelf 
 thus : <f After we came to anchor, they put 
 <c me on fhore, where I was welcomed by all 
 (C my friends, who received me with the 
 cc greateft kindnefs." In this fentence, though 
 the objects contained in it have a fufHcient 
 connection with each other, yet, by this man- 
 ner of reprefenting them, by fhifting fo often 
 both the place and the perfon, we, and they, 
 and /, and who, they appear in fuch a dif- 
 united view, that the fenfe of -connection is 
 almoft loft. The fentence is reftored to its 
 proper unity, by turning it after the follow- 
 ing manner : cc Having come to an anchor, I 
 fc was put on Ihore, where I was welcomed by 
 <c all my friends, and received with the great- 
 " eft kindnefs." Writers who tranfgrefs this 
 rule, for the moft part tranfgrefs, at the fame 
 time, 
 
 A SECOND rule; never to crowd into one 
 fentence, things which have fo little connec- 
 tion, that they could bear to be divided into 
 two or three fentences. The violation of this 
 rule never fails to hurt and difpleafe a reader. 
 Its effect, indeed, is fo bad, that, of the two, 
 it is the fafer extreme, to err rather by too 
 many fhort fentences, than by one that is over- 
 loaded and embarrafled. Examples abound 
 in authors. I fhall produce fome, to juftify 
 what I now fay. <f Archbifhop Tillotfon," 
 T 2 fays
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 fays an Author of the Hiftory of England, 
 " died in this year. He was exceedingly be- 
 " loved both by King William and Queen 
 " Maryj who nominated Dr. Tennifon, Bilhop 
 " of Lincoln, to fucceed him." Who would 
 expect the latter part of this fentence to fol- 
 low, in confequence of the former ? " He 
 " was exceedingly beloved by both King and 
 <c Queen," is the propofition of the fentence: 
 we look for fome proof of this, or at leaft 
 fomething related to it, to follow; when we 
 are on a fudden carried off to a new propofi- 
 tion, tc who nominated Dr. Tennifon to fuc- 
 <c ceed him." The following is from Mid- 
 dleton's Life of Cicero : <c In this uneafy 
 * f ftate, both of his public and private life, 
 " Cicero was opprefTed by a new and cruel 
 " affliction, the death of his beloved daughter 
 " Tullia; which happened foon after her di- 
 t{ vorce from Dolabella ; whofe manners and 
 <c humours were entirely difagreeable to her." 
 The principal object in this fentence is, the 
 death of Tullia, which was the caufe of her 
 father's affliction j the date of it, as happen- 
 ing foon after her divorce from Dolabella, 
 may enter into the fentence with propriety ; 
 but the fubj unction of Dolabella's character is 
 foreign to the main object -, and breaks the 
 unity and compactnefs of the fentence totally, 
 by ktting a new picture before the reader. 
 The following fentence, from a tranflation of 
 2 Plutarch,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 277 
 
 Plutarch, is ftill worfe : " Their march," fays L E XJ C T - 
 the Author, fpeaking of the Greeks under 
 Alexander, " their march was through an 
 t( uncultivated country, whole favage inhabit- 
 cc ants fared hardly, having no other riches 
 " than a breed of lean fheep, whofe flefh 
 tc was rank and unfavoury, by reafon of their 
 <f continual feeding upon fea-fifli." Here the 
 fcene is changed upon us again and again. 
 The march of the Greeks, the defcription of 
 the inhabitants through whofe country they 
 travelled, the account of their fheep, and the 
 caufe of their fheep being ill tafted food, 
 form a jumble of objects, flightly related 
 to each other, which the reader cannot, with- 
 out much difficulty, comprehend under one 
 view, 
 
 ; 
 
 THESE examples have been taken from fen- 
 tences of no great length, yet over- crowded. 
 Authors who deal in long fentences, are very 
 apt to be faulty in this article. One need 
 only open Lord Clarendon's Hiftory, to find 
 examples every where. The long, involved, 
 and intricate fentences of that Author, are the 
 greateft blemifh of his compofition j though 
 in other refpecls, as a Hiftorian, he has con- 
 fiderable merit. In later, and more correct 
 writers than Lord Clarendon, we find a period 
 fometimes running out fo far, and compre- 
 hending fo many particulars, as to be more 
 T 3 properly
 
 2 7 * STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. properly a difcourfe than a fentence. Take, 
 for an inftance, the following from Sir Wil- 
 liam Temple, in his EfTay upon Poetry : 
 " The ufual acceptation takes Profit and 
 " Pleafure for two different things ; and not 
 f e only calls the followers or votaries of them 
 <f by the feveral names of Bufy and Idle Men ; 
 " but diftinguilhes the faculties of the mind, 
 cc that are converfant about them, calling the 
 * f operations of the firft, Wifdom ; and of the 
 <e other, Wit; which is a Saxon word, ufed to 
 tc exprefs what the Spaniards and Italians call 
 tf Ingenioy and the French, Efprit^ both from 
 Cf the Latin ; though I think Wit more parti- 
 <( cularly iignifies that of Poetry, as may oc- 
 <c cur in Remarks on the Runic Language.'* 
 When one arrives at the end of fuch a puzzled 
 fentence, he is furprifed to find himfelf got to 
 fo great a diftance from the object with which 
 he at firft let out. 
 
 LORD SHAFTSBURY, often betrayed into 
 faults by his love of magnificence, fliall afford 
 us the next example. It is in his Rhapfody, 
 where he is defcribing the cold regions : "At 
 
 O o 
 
 *< length," fays he, <c the Sun approaching, 
 <c melts the fnow, fets longing men at liberty, 
 tf and affords them means and time to make 
 " provifion againft the next return of Cold.'* 
 This firft fentence is correct enough 3 but he 
 goes on : <c It breaks the icy fetters of the 
 
 " main,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES; 279 
 
 u main, where vaft fea-monfters pierce through L E ^ T - 
 fc floating iflands, with arms which can with- 
 " ftand the cryftal rock; whilft others, who 
 " of themfelves feem great as iflands, are by 
 " their bulk alone armed againft all but Man, 
 " whofe fuperiority over creatures of fuch ftu- 
 <f pendous fize and force, fhould make him 
 " mindful of his privilege of Reafon, and 
 " force him humbly to adore the great Com- 
 * c pofer ofthefe wondrous frames, and the Au- 
 " thor of his own fuperior wifdom." No- 
 thing can be more unhappy or embarraffed 
 than this lentence ; the worfe too, as it is 
 intended to be defcriptive, where every thing 
 fhould be clear. It forms no diftinct image 
 whatever. The //, at the beginning, is am- 
 biguous, whether it mean the Sun or the Cold. 
 The object is changed three times in the fen- 
 tence j beginning with the Sun, which breaks 
 the icy fetters of the main j then the Sea- 
 monfters become the principal perfonages j 
 and laftly, by a very unexpected tranfition, 
 Man is brought into view, and receives a long 
 and ferious admonition before the fentence 
 clofes. I do not at prefent infift on the im- 
 propriety of fuch expreffions as, God's being the 
 Compofer of Frames ; and the Sea-monilers 
 having arms that withftand rocks. Shaftfbury's 
 ftrength lay in reafoning and fentiment, more 
 than in defcription ; however much his defcrip- 
 tions have been fometimes admired. 
 
 T 4 I SHALL
 
 28o STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 I SHALL only give one inftance more on 
 this head, from Dean Swift j in his Propofal, 
 too, for correcting the Englifh Language : 
 where, in place of a fentence, he has given a 
 loofe differtation upon feveral fubjects. Speak- 
 ing of the progrefs of our language, after the 
 time of Cromwell : fc To this fucceeded," 
 fays he, " that licentioufnefs, which entered 
 " with the Reftoration, and, from infecting 
 <c our religion and morals, fell to corrupt our 
 < language 5 which laft was not like to be 
 <e much improved by thofe, who at that time 
 " made up the court of King Charles the Se- 
 " cond j either fuch as had followed him in 
 ff his banifhment, or who had been altogether 
 t( converfant in the dialect of thefe fanatic 
 times; or young men who had been edu- 
 " cated in the fame country : fo that the 
 t( Court, which ufed to be the ftandard of 
 " correctnefs and propriety of fpeech, was 
 tf then, and I think has ever fince continued, 
 cf the worft fchool in England for that accom- 
 ff plifhment; and fo will remain, till better 
 <f care be taken in the education of our nobi- 
 " lity, that they may fet out into the world 
 " with fome foundation of literature, in order 
 " to qualify them for patterns of politenefs." 
 How many different facts, reafonings, and 
 obfervations, are here prefented to the mind 
 at once ! and yet fo linked together by the 
 Author, that they all make parts of a fentence, 
 
 which
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 281 
 
 which admits of no greater divifion in point- L E x T - 
 ing, than a femicolon between any of its 
 members ? Having mentioned pointing, I 
 lhall here take notice, that it is in vain to pro- 
 pofe, by arbitrary punctuation, to amend the 
 defects of a Sentence, to correct its ambiguity, 
 or to prevent its confufion. For commas, 
 colons, and points, do not make the proper 
 divifions of thought ; but only ferve to mark 
 thofe which arife from the tenor of the Author's 
 expreffion : and, therefore, they are proper or 
 not, juft according as they correfpond to the 
 natural divifion of the fenfe. When they are 
 inferted in wrong places, they deferve, and will 
 meet with, np regard. 
 
 I PROCEED to a third rule, for preferving the 
 Unity of Sentences ; which is, to keep clear 
 of all Parenthefes in the middle of them. On 
 fome occafions, thefe may have a fpirited ap- 
 pearance j as prompted by a certain vivacity 
 of thought, which can glance happily afide, 
 as it is going along. But, for the mod part, 
 their effect is extremely bad : being a fort of 
 wheels within wheels j fentences in the midft 
 of fentences ; the perplexed method of di- 
 pofing of fome thought, which a writer wants 
 art to introduce in its proper place. It were 
 needlefs to give many inftances, as they occur 
 fo often among incorrect writers. I fhall pro- 
 duce one from Lord Bolingbroke, the rapidity 
 
 of
 
 2 g 2 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 E C 
 XI. 
 
 L E c T. of whofe genius, and manner of writing, be- 
 
 trays him frequently into inaccuracies of this 
 fort. It is in the Introduction to his Idea 
 of a Patriot King, where he writes thus : 
 " It feems to me, that, in order to maintain 
 " the fyftem of the world, at a certain point, 
 " far below that of ideal perfection (for we 
 <f are made capable of conceiving what we 
 " are incapable of attaining), but, however, 
 " fufHcient, upon the whole, to cortftitute a 
 Cf ftate eafy and happy, or at the worft, to- 
 ef lerable j I fay, it feems to me, that the 
 " Author of Nature has thought fit to mingle, 
 (l from time to time, among the focieties of 
 " men, a few, and but a few, of thofe on 
 " whom he is gracioufly pleafed to beftow a 
 " larger portion of the Ethereal Spirit, than 
 " is given, in the ordinary courfe of his go- 
 <c vernment, to the fons of men." A very 
 bad Sentence this j into which, by the help of 
 a Parenthelis, and other interjected circum- 
 ftances, his Lordfhip had contrived to thruft 
 ib many things that he is forced to begin the 
 conftruction again with the phrafe I Jay ; which, 
 whenever it occurs, may be always afTumed 
 as a fure mark of a clumfy ill- conftructed 
 Sentences cxcuiable in fpeaking, where the 
 greateft accuracy is not expected, but in po- 
 lilhed writing, unpardonable. 
 
 I SHALL add only one rule more for the 
 Unity of a Sentence, which is, to bring it 
 
 always
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 always to a full and perfect clofe. Every thing L 
 that is one, fhould have a beginning, a middle, 
 and an end. I need not take notice, that an 
 unfinifhed Sentence is no Sentence at all, ac- 
 cording to any grammatical rule. But very 
 often we meet with Sentences, that are, fo to 
 fpeak, more than finifhed. When we have 
 arrived at what we expected was to be the con- 
 clufion, when we have come to the word on 
 which the mind is naturally led, by what went 
 before, to reft ; unexpectedly, fome circum- 
 flance pops out, which ought to have been 
 omitted, or to have been difpofed of elfe- 
 where; but which is left lagging behind, like 
 a tail adjected to the Sentence ; fomewhat that, 
 as Mr. Pope defcribes the Alexandrine line, 
 
 ** Like a wounded faake, drags its flow length along," 
 
 All thefe adjections to the proper clofe, dif- 
 figure a Sentence extremely. They give it a 
 lame ungraceful air, and, in particular, they 
 break its Unity. Dean Swift, for inftance, in 
 his Letter to a Young Clergyman, fpeaking 
 of Cicero's writings, expreffes himfelf thus : 
 < c With thefe writings young divines are 
 " more converfant, than with thofe of De- 
 " mofthenes, who, by many degrees, excelled 
 <e the other j at leaft, as an orator." Here 
 the natural clofe of the Sentence is at thefe 
 words, " excelled the other." Thefe words 
 conclude the propofition -, we look for no more ; 
 
 and
 
 284 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E XI T ' anc * ^ e c i rcum ft ance added, <f at leaft, as an 
 orator," comes in with a very halting pace. 
 How much more compact would the Sentence 
 have been, if turned thus : f f With thefe writ- 
 " ings, young divines are more converfant 
 " than with thofe of Demofthenes, who, by 
 tc many degrees, as an orator at lead, excelled 
 " the other." In the following Sentence, 
 from Sir William Temple, the adjection to the 
 Sentence is altogether foreign to it. Speaking 
 of Burnet's Theory of the Earth, and Fon- 
 tenelle's Plurality of Worlds, " The firft," 
 fays he, " could not end his learned treatife, 
 * e without a panegyric of modem learning, in 
 <e comparifon of the antient; and the other 
 ce falls fo grofsly into the cenfure of the old 
 cc poetry, and preference of the new, that I 
 <e could not read either of thefe ftrains with- 
 Cf out fome indignation ; which no quality 
 " among men is fo apt to raife in me as felf- 
 " fufficiency." The word <c indignation," 
 concluded the Sentence; the laft member, 
 " which no quality among men is fo apt to 
 ec raife in me as felf-fufficiency," is a propofi- 
 tion altogether new, added after the proper 
 clofe.
 
 LECTURE XIL 
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 HAVING treated of Perfpicuity and L E c T. 
 Unity, as necefiary to be ftudied in the 
 Structure of Sentences, I proceed to the third 
 quality of a correct Sentence, which I termed 
 Strength. By this, I mean, fuch a difpofition 
 of the feveral words and members, as fhall 
 bring out the fenfe to the beft advantage ; as 
 fhall render the imprefiion, which the Period 
 is defigned to make, moft full and complete ; 
 and give every word, and every member, their 
 due weight and force. The two former qua- 
 lities of Perfpicuity and Unity, are, no doubt, 
 abfolutely neceffary to the production of this 
 effect ; but more is ftill requifite. For a 
 Sentence may be clear enough ; it may alfo 
 be compact enough, in all irs parts, or have 
 the requifite unity ; and yet, by fome unfa- 
 vourable circumftance in the ftructure, it may 
 fail in that ftrength or livelinefs of imprefiion, 
 
 which
 
 2 86 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 E XH 
 
 L E T " hich a more happy arrangement would have 
 
 produced. 
 
 THE firft rule which I {hall give, for pro- 
 moting the Strength of a Sentence, is, to dived 
 it of all redundant words. Thefe may, fome- 
 times, be confident with a considerable degree 
 both of Clearnefs and Unity; but they are 
 always enfeebling. They make the Sentence 
 move along tardy and encumbered - t 
 
 Eft brevitate opus, ut currat fententia, neu k 
 Impediat verbis, laflas onerantibus aures *. 
 
 It is a general maxim, that any words, which 
 do not add feme importance to the meaning 
 of a Sentence, always fpoil it. They cannot 
 be fuperfluous, without being hurtful. " Ob- 
 " flat," fays Quinctilian, " quicquid non 
 * c adjuvat." All that can be eafily fupplied 
 in the mind, is better left out in the expreffion. 
 Thus : " Content with deferving a triumph, 
 46 he refufed the honour of it," is better Lan- 
 guage than to fay, cc Being content with de- 
 <f ferving a triumph, he refufed the honour of 
 <c it." I confider it, therefore, as one of the 
 mod ufeful exercifes of correction, upon re- 
 viewing what we have written or compofed, 
 to contract that round-about method of ex- 
 
 * " Concife your diftion, let your fenfe be clear, 
 ' Nor, with a weight of words, fatigue the ear.'* 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 preflion,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 preffion, and to lop off thofe ufelefs excref- L 
 cenoes which are commonly found in a firft 
 draught. Flere a fevere eye fhould be em- 
 ployed ; and we fhall always find our Sen- 
 tences acquire more vigour and energy when 
 thus retrenched ; provided always, that we run 
 not into the extreme of pruning fo very dole, 
 as to give a hardnefs and drynefs to ftyle. For 
 here, as in all other things, there is a due me- 
 dium. Some regard, though not the princi- 
 pal, muft be had to fulnels and fwelling of 
 found. Some leaves muft be left to furround 
 and flicker the fruit. 
 
 As Sentences fhould be cleared of redundant 
 words, fo alfo of redundant members. As 
 every word ought to prefent a new idea, fo 
 every member ought to contain a new thought. 
 Oppofed to this, flands the fault we fometimes 
 meet with, of the laft member of a period, 
 being no other than the echo of the former, 
 or the repetition of it in fomewhat a different 
 form. For example -, fpeaking of Beauty, 
 " The very firft difcovery of it," fays Mr. Ad- 
 difon, " ftrikes the mind with inward joy, 
 " and fpreads delight through all its facul- 
 <f ties." (No. 412.) And elfewhere, " It is 
 " impofilble for us to behold the divine works 
 cc with coldnefs or indifference, or to furvey 
 cc fo many beauties, without a fecret fatisfac- 
 " tion and complacency," (No. 413.) In 
 7 both
 
 288 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. both thefe infbnces, little or nothing is added 
 by the fecond member of the Sentence to what 
 was already exprefled in the firft : And though 
 the free and flowing manner of fuch an author 
 as Mr. Addifon, and the graceful harmony of 
 his period, may palliate fuch negligences; yet, 
 in general, it holds, that ftyle, freed from 
 this prolixity, appears both more flrong, and 
 more beautiful. The attention becomes remifs, 
 the mind falls into inaction, when words are 
 multiplied without a correfponding multiplica- 
 tion of ideas. 
 
 AFTER removing fuperfluities, the fecond 
 direction I give, for promoting the Strength 
 of a Sentence, is, to attend particularly to the 
 ufe of copulatives, relatives, and all the par- 
 ticles employed for tranfition and connection. 
 Thefe little words, but, and, which, whqfe, 
 where, &c. are frequently the moft important 
 words of any ; they are the joints or hinges 
 upon which all Sentences turn, and, of courfe, 
 much, both of their gracefulnefs and flrength, 
 muft depend upon fuch particles. The va- 
 rieties in ufing them are, indeed, fo infinite, 
 that no particular fyftem of rules, refpect- 
 ing them, can be given. Attention to the 
 practice of the moft accurate writers, joined 
 with frequent trials of the different effects, 
 produced by a different ufage of thofe par- 
 ticles,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 289' 
 
 tides, muft here direcb us *. Some obfcrva- L E c T. 
 tions I lhall mention, which have occurred to 
 me as uleful, without pretending to exhauft the 
 
 fubjed. 
 
 WHAT is called fplitting of particles, or 
 feparating a prepofition from the noun which 
 it governs, is always to be avoided. As if I 
 Ihould fay, " Though virtue borrows no affift- 
 " ance from, yet it may often be accompanied 
 " by, the advantages of fortune." In fuch 
 inftances, we feel a fort of pain, from the re- 
 vulfion, or "violent feparation of two things, 
 which, by their nature, fhould be clofely 
 united. We are put to a ftand in thought ; 
 being obliged to reft for a little on the prepofi- 
 tion by itlelf, which, at the fame time, carries 
 no fignificancy, till it is joined to its proper 
 fubftantive noun. 
 
 SOME writers needlefsly multiply demonflra- 
 tive and relative particles, by the frequent 
 ufe of fuch phrafeology as this : " There is 
 " nothing which difgufis us fooner than the 
 tc empty pomp of Language." In introducing 
 a fubje6t,, or laying down a propofition, to 
 which we demand particular attention, this 
 fort of flyle is very proper > but, in the ordi- 
 
 * On this head, Dr. Lowth's Short Introduftion to 
 Engliih Grammar deferves to be confuhed ; where fevor4 
 siceties of the Language are well pointed out. 
 
 VOL. I. U nary
 
 o STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 xi? T * nar y current f difcourfe, it is better to ex- 
 prefs ourfelves more fimply. and fhortly : " No- 
 " thing difgufts us fooner than the empty 
 pomp of Language." 
 
 " 
 
 OTWER writers make a practice of omitting 
 the Relative, in a phrafe of a different kind 
 from the former, where they think the mean- 
 ing can be underftood without it. As, " The 
 <c man I love." " The dominions we pof- 
 " iefled, and the conquefts we made." But 
 though this elliptical ftyle be intelligible, and 
 is allowable in converfation and epiftolary 
 writing, yet, in all writings of a ferious or 
 dignified kind, it is ungraceful. There, the 
 Relative fhould always be inferted in its proper 
 place, and the conftruction rilled up : " The 
 <f man whom I love." " The dominions 
 " which we poiTeffed, and the conquefts which 
 " we made." 
 
 WITH regard to the Copulative Particle, 
 and, which occurs fo frequently in all kinds of 
 compofition, feveral obfervations are to be 
 made. Firft, It is evident, that the unnecef- 
 fary repetition of it enfeebles ftyle. It has 
 the fame fort of effecT:, as the frequent ufe of 
 the vulgar phrafe, andfo, when one is telling a 
 ftory in common converfation. We fhall take 
 a Sentence from Sir William Temple, for an 
 inftance. He is fpeaking of the refinement 
 
 of
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 of the French Language : <f The academy fet L 
 " up by Cardinal Richelieu, to amufe the wits 
 " of that age and country, and divert them 
 c from raking into his politics and miniftry, 
 " brough* this into vogue j and the French 
 " wits h T - 7 e, for this laft age, been wholly 
 " turned to the refinement of their Style and 
 f Language ; and, indeed, with fuch fuccefs, 
 cc that it can hardly be equalled, and runs 
 <c equally through their verfe, and their profe." 
 Here are no fewer than eight ands in one fen- 
 tence. This agreeable writer too often makes 
 his fentences drag in this manner, by a carelefs 
 multiplication of Copulatives* It is ftrange 
 how a writer, fo accurate as Dean Swift,- fhould 
 have flumbled on fo improper an application 
 of this particle, as he has made in the fol- 
 lowing fentence ; Eflay on the Fates of Cler- 
 gymen. <c There is no talent fo ufeful to- 
 <( wards rifing in the world, or which puts 
 " men more out of the reach of fortune, than 
 * c that quality generally pofleft by the dulled 
 <{ fort of people, and is, in common language, 
 cc called Difcretion 3 a fpecies of lower pru- 
 " dence, by the afliftance of which," &c. By 
 the infertion of, and is, in place of, which is y 
 he has not only clogged the Sentence^ but even 
 made it ungrammatical. 
 
 BUT, in the next place, it is worthy of ob- 
 
 fervation, that though the natural ufe of the 
 
 U 2 con-
 
 292 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. conjunction, and y be to join objects together, 
 and thereby, as one would think, to make 
 their connection more clofe ; yet, in fact, by 
 dropping the conjunction, we often mark a 
 clofer connexion, a quicker fucceffion of ob- 
 jects, than when it is inferted between them. 
 Longinus makes this remark; which, from 
 many inftances, appears to be juft: " Veni, 
 " vidi, vici *," exprefles, with more fpirit, 
 the rapidity and quick fucceffiorr of conqueft, 
 than if connecting particles had been ufed. 
 So, in the following defcripdon of a rout in 
 Csefar's Commentaries : " Noftri, emiffis pilis, 
 " gladiis rem gerunt j repente pod tergum 
 tf equitatus cernitur -, cohortes aliae appro- 
 " pinquant. Holies terga vertunt; fugienti- 
 <( bus equites occurruntj fit magna csdesf." 
 Bell. Gall. 1. 7. 
 
 HENCE> it follows, that when, on the other 
 hand, we feek to prevent a quick tranfition 
 from one object to another, when we are 
 making fome enumeration, in which we wifli 
 that the objects fhould appear as diflinct from 
 
 * " I came, I faw, I conquered." 
 
 f " Our men, after having difcharged their javelins, 
 ** attack with fword in hand : of a fudden, the cavalry 
 " make their appearance behind ; other bodies of men 
 " are feen drawing near : the enemies turn their backs ; 
 " the horfe meet them in their flight j a great flaughter 
 *' enfues." 
 
 3 each
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 each other as poffible, and that the mind fhould L 
 reft, for a moment, on each objed by itfelf; 
 in this cafe, Copulatives may be multiplied 
 with peculiar advantage and grace. As when 
 Lord Bolingbroke fays, " Such a man might 
 tc fall a viclim to power ; but truth, and rea- 
 " fon, and liberty, would fall with him." 
 In the fame manner, Csefar defcribes an en- 
 gagement with the Nervii : <f His equiti- 
 " bus facile pulfis ac proturbatis, incredibile 
 " celeritate ad Rumen decurrerunt ; ut pene 
 " uno tempore, et ad filvas, et in flumine, et 
 " jam in manibus noftris, hoftes viderentur*." 
 Bell. Gall. 1. 2. Here, although he is de- 
 icribing a quick fucceffion of events, yet, as 
 it is his intention to fhow in how many places 
 the enemy feemed to be at one time, the Co- 
 pulative is very happily redoubled, in order 
 to paint more ftrongly the diftindion of thefe 
 feveral places. 
 
 THIS attention to the feveral cafes, when it 
 is proper to omit, and when to redouble the 
 Copulative, is of confiderable importance to 
 all who ftudy eloquence. For, it is a remark- 
 able particularity in Language, that the omif- 
 
 * " The enemy, having eafily beat off, and fcattered 
 " this body of horfe, ran down with incredible celerity to 
 " the river ; fo that, almoft at one moment of time, they 
 " appeared to be in the woods, and in the river, and in the 
 " midil of our troops." 
 
 U 3 fion
 
 294 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 fion of a connecting particle fhould fometimes 
 ferve to make objects appear more clofely con- 
 nected ; and that the repetition of it fhould 
 diftinguifli and ftparate them, in fome mea- 
 fure, from each other. Hence, the omiflion 
 of it is ufed to denote rapidity ; and the repe- 
 tition of it is defigned to retardj and to aggra- 
 vate. The reafon feems to be, that, in the 
 former cafe, the mind is fuppofed to be hurried 
 fo faft through a quick fucceffion of objects, 
 that it has not leifure to point out their con- 
 nexion ; it drops the Copulatives in its hurry; 
 and crowds the whole feries together, as if it 
 were but one object. Whereas, when we enu- 
 merate, with a view to aggravate, the mind is 
 fuppofed to proceed with a more flow and fo- 
 lemn pace ; it marks fully the relation of 
 each object to that which fucceeds it -, and, by 
 joining them together with feveral Copulatives, 
 makes you perceive, that the objects, though 
 connected, are yet, in themfelves, diftinctj 
 that they are many, not one. Obferve, for in* 
 itance, in the following enumeration, made 
 by the Apoitle Paul, what additional weight 
 and diftinctnefs is given to each particular, by 
 the repetition of a conjunction. " I am per- 
 tc fuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor 
 " angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor 
 " things prefent, nor things to come, nor 
 * e height, nor depth, nor any other creature, 
 " iliall be able to feparate us from the love of 
 
 God."
 
 STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. 
 
 (< God." Rom. viii. 38, 39. So much with 
 regard to the ufe of Copulatives. 
 
 I PROCEED to a third rule, for promoting 
 the ftrength of a Sentence, which is, to difpofe 
 of the capital word, or words, in that place of 
 the Sentence, where they will make the fulleft 
 impreflion. That fuch capital words there are 
 in every Sentence, on which the meaning 
 principally relts, every one muil fee ; and that 
 thefe words Ihould poffefs a confpicuous and 
 diftinguifhed place, is equally plain. Indeed, 
 that place of the Sentence where they will 
 make the beft figure, whether the beginning, 
 or the end, or, fometimes, even the middle, 
 cannot, as far as I know, be afcertained by any 
 precife rule. This muft vary with the nature 
 of the Sentence. Perfpicuity muft ever be 
 ftudied in the firft place j and the nature of 
 our Language allows no great liberty in the 
 choice of collocation. For the moft part, 
 with us, the important words are placed in the 
 beginning of the Sentence. So Mr. Addifon : 
 " The pleafures of the imagination, taken in 
 <c their full extent, are not fo grofs as thofe of 
 " fenfe, fo refined as thofe of the under- 
 " (landing." And this, indeed, feems the 
 moft plain and natural order, to place that in 
 the front which is the chief object of the pro- 
 pofition we are laying down. Sometimes, 
 however, when we intend to give weight to a 
 U 4 Sen-
 
 296 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L xn T> Sentence, it is of advantage to fufpend the 
 meaning for a little, and then bring it out full 
 at the clofe : <f Thus," fays Mr. Pope, " on 
 < whatever fide we contemplate Homer, what 
 <c principally ftrikes us, is, his wonderful in- 
 <c vention." (Pref. to Homer.) 
 
 THE Greek and Latin writers had a confi- 
 derable advantage above us, in this part of 
 ftyle. By the great liberty of inverfion, which 
 their Languages permitted, they could chufe 
 the moft advantageous fituation for every 
 word ; and had it thereby in their power to 
 give their Sentences more force. Milton, in 
 his profe works, and fome other of our old 
 Englifh writers, endeavoured to imitate them 
 in this. But the forced confirmations, which 
 they employed, produced obfcurity ; and the 
 genius of our 'Language, as it is now written 
 and fpoken, will not admit fuch liberties, 
 Mr. Gordon, who followed this inverted ftyle 
 in his Tranflation of Tacitus, has, fometimes, 
 done fuch violence to the Language, as even 
 to appear ridiculous ; as in this expreffion : 
 <c Into this hole,, thruft themfelves three Ro- 
 tf man fenators." He has tranflated fo fimple 
 a phrafe as, " Nullum ea tempeftate bellum," 
 by, ft War at that time there was none." 
 However, within certain bounds, and to a li- 
 mited degree, our Language does admit of 
 inverfions ; and they are practifed with fuccefs 
 
 by
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 297 
 
 by the beft writers. So Mr. Pope, fpeaking L E x fJ T - 
 of Homer, cc The praife of judgment Virgil 
 " has juftly contefted with him, but his in- 
 <c vention remains yet unrivalled." It is 
 evident, that, in order to give the Sentence its 
 due force, by contrafting properly the two 
 capital words, " judgment and invention," 
 this is a happier arrangement, than if he had 
 followed the natural order, which was, " Vir- 
 " gil has juftly contested with him the praife 
 ff of judgment, but his invention remains yet 
 11 unrivalled." 
 
 SOME writers practife this degree of inver- 
 fion, which our Language bears, much more 
 than others; Lord Shaftfbury, for. inftance, 
 much more than Mr. Addifon ; and to this 
 fort of arrangement is owing, in a great mea- 
 fure, that appearance of ftrength, dignity, and 
 varied harmony, which Lord Shaftfbury's 
 ftyle pofTefles. This will appear from the 
 following Sentences of his Enquiry into Vir- 
 tue ; where all the words are placed, not 
 ftriclly in the natural order, but with that arti- 
 ficial conftruftion, which may give the period 
 moil emphafis and grace. He is fpeaking of 
 the mifery of vice : " This, as to the complete 
 f( immoral ftate, is, what of their own ac- 
 " cord, men readily remark. Where there 
 <c is this abfolute degeneracy, this total 
 " apoftacy from all candor, truft, or equity, 
 
 " there
 
 298 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. there are few who do not fee and acknow- 
 " ledge the mifery which is confequent. 
 (C Seldom is the cafe mifconftrued, when at 
 " worft. T.he misfortune is, that we look 
 <c not on this depravity, nor confider how it 
 ff ftands, in lefs degrees. As if, to be abfo- 
 " lutely immoral, were, indeed, the greateft 
 < c mifery j but, to be fo in a little degree, 
 <f Ihould be no mifery or harm at all. Which 
 " to allow, is juft as reafonable as to own, 
 " that 'tis the greateft ill of a body to be in the 
 " utmoft manner maimed or diftorted ,- but 
 " that, to lofe the ufe only of one limb, or 
 fc to be impaired in fome fingle organ or 
 " member, is no ill worthy the leafl notice. 1 ' 
 (Vol. ii. p. 82.) Here is no violence done 
 to the Language, though there are many 
 inverfions. All is ftately, and arranged with 
 art ; whjch is the great characteriftic of this 
 author's Style. 
 
 WE need only open any page of Mr. Addi- 
 fon, to fee quite a different order in the con- 
 ftruclion of Sentences. <c Our fight is the 
 " moft perfect, and moft delightful of all our 
 <f fenfes. It tills the mind with the largeft 
 " variety of ideas, converfes with its objects 
 <c at the greateft diftance, and continues the 
 " longeft in action, without being tired, or 
 " fatiated with it proper enjoyments. The 
 " fenfe of feeling can, indeed, give us a no- 
 10 " tion
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 299 
 
 t( tion of extenfion, fhape, and all other ideas L E c T - 
 <( that enter at the eye, except colours ; but, 
 " at the fame time, it is very much ftraitened 
 " and confined in its operations," &c. (Spec- 
 tator, No. 411.) In this flrain, he always 
 proceeds, following the moffc natural and ob- 
 vious order of the Language j and if, by this 
 means, he has lefs pomp and majefty than 
 Shaftfbury, he has, in return, more nature, 
 more eafe and fimplicity \ which are beauties of 
 a higher order. 
 
 * 
 
 BUT whether we practife inverfion or not, 
 and in whatever part of the fentence we dif- 
 pofe of the capital words, it is always a point 
 of great moment, that thefe capital words fhall 
 iland clear and difentangled from any other 
 words that would clog them. Thus, when 
 there are any circumftances of time, place, or 
 other limitations, which the principal object 
 of our Sentence requires to have connected 
 with it, we muft take efpecial care to difpofe of 
 them, fo as not to cloud that principal object, 
 nor to bury it under a load of circumftances. 
 This will be made clearer by an example. 
 Obferve the arrangement of the following Sen- 
 tence, in Lord Shaftfbury's Advice to an Au- 
 thor. He is fpeaking of modern poets, as 
 compared with the antient : " If, whilft they 
 " profefs only to pleafe, they fecretly advife, 
 f in.d give inftruction, they may now, perhaps, 
 
 " as
 
 3 oo STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. as well as formerly, be efteemed, with ju- 
 " tice, the beft and moft honourable among 
 " authors." This is a well-conftructed Sen- 
 tence. It contains a great many circumftances 
 'and adverbs, neceiTary to qualify the meaning ; 
 only, Jecre tly , as "uvell, perhaps, now, with juftice, 
 formerly; yet thefe are placed with fo much 
 art as neither to embarrafs, nor weaken the 
 Sentence; while that which is the capital ob- 
 ject in it, viz. " Poets being juftly efteemed 
 ft the beft and moft honourable among au- 
 " thors," comes out in the conclufion clear 
 and detached, and poiTefTes its proper place. 
 See, now, what would have been the effect of 
 a different arrangement. Suppofe him to 
 have placed the members of the Sentence thus : 
 fe If, whilft they profefs to pleafe only, they 
 <e advife and give inftruction fecretly, they 
 " may be efteemed the beft and moft honour- 
 <c able among authors, with juftice, perhaps, 
 <c now, as well as formerly." Here we have 
 precifely the fame words, and the fame fenfe ; 
 but, by means of the circumftances being fo 
 intermingled as to clog the capital words, the 
 whole becomes perplexed, without grace, and 
 without ftrength. 
 
 A FOURTH rule, for conftructing Sentences 
 with proper ftrength, is, to make the members 
 of them go on rifing and growing in their 
 importance above one another. This fort of 
 
 arrange-
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. ci 
 
 arrangement is called a Climax, and is always 
 confidered as a beauty in compofition. From 
 what caufe it pleafes, is abundantly evident. 
 In all things, we naturally love to afcend to 
 what is more and more beautiful, rather than 
 to follow the retrograde order. Having had 
 once fome confi objeft fet before us, it 
 
 is, with pain, we are pulled back to attend to 
 an inferior circumflance. " Cavendum eft," 
 fays Quinctilian, whofe authority I always 
 willingly quote, " ne decrefcat oratio, & for- 
 " tiori fubjungatur aliquid infirmins ; iicut, 
 4 " facrilego, fur j aut latroni petulans. Au- 
 ". geri enim debent fententias & infurgere *." 
 Of this beauty, in the conftruclion of Sen- 
 tences, the orations of Cicero furnifh many 
 examples. His pompous manner naturally 
 led him to ftudy it; and, generally, in order 
 to render the climax perfect, he makes both 
 the fenfe and the found rife together, with a 
 very magnificent fwell. So in his oration for 
 Milo, fpeaking of a defign of Clodius's for 
 affafiinating Pompey : " Atqui fi res, fi vir, fi 
 " tempus ullum dignum fuit, certe hsc in 
 " ilia caufa fumma omnia fuerunt. Infidiator 
 
 * " Care muft be taken, that our compofition (hall not 
 * fall oft", and that a weaker expreffion fhall not follow 
 " one of more ftrength ; as if, after facrilege, we ihould 
 " bring in theft ; or, having mentioned a robbery, we 
 *' fnould fubjcin petulance. Sentences ought always to 
 " rife and grow." 
 
 erat
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. cc erat j n oro collocatus, atque in Veftibulo 
 ipfo Senatus -, ei viro autem mors paraba- 
 " tur, cujus in vita nitebatur falus civitatis ; 
 <c eo porro reipublicas tempore, quo fi unus 
 <e ille occidiffet, non hasc folum civitas, fed 
 <c gentes omnes concidiffent." The follow- 
 ing inftance, from Lord Bolingbroke, is alfo 
 beautiful : cc This decency, this grace, this 
 ct propriety of manners to character, is fo effen- 
 " tial to princes in particular, that, when- 
 " ever it is neglected, their virtues lofe a great 
 " degree of luftre, and their defects acquire 
 " much aggravation. Nay more j by ne- 
 ee glecting this decency and this grace, and 
 <c for want of a fufficient regard to appear- 
 < c ances, even their virtues may betray them 
 <c into failings, their failings into vices, and 
 " their vices into habits unworthy of princes, 
 <c and unworthy of men." (Idea of a Patriot 
 King.) 
 
 I MUST obferve, however, that this fort of 
 full and oratorial climax, can neither be al- 
 ways obtained, nor ought to be always fought 
 after. Only fome kinds of writing admit fuch 
 Sentences 3 and, to iludy them too frequently, 
 efpecially if the fubject require not fo much 
 pomp, is affected and difagreeable. But there 
 is fomething approaching to a climax, which 
 it is a general rule to fludy, fc ne decrefcat 
 " oratio/' as Quinctilian fpeaks, ff et ne for- 
 
 " tiori
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 Cf tiori fubjungatur aliquid infirmius." A 
 weaker aflertion or propofition fhould never 
 come after a ftronger one j and when our Sen- 
 tence confifts of two members, the longeft 
 fhould, generally, be the concluding one. 
 There is a twofold reafon for this lad direction. 
 Periods, thus divided, are pronounced more 
 eafily ; and the fhorteft member being placed 
 firft, we carry it more readily in our memory 
 as we proceed to the fecond, and fee the con- 
 mection of the two more clearly. Thus, to 
 fay, " When our paffions have forfaken us, 
 " we flatter ourfelves with the belief that we 
 " have forfaken them," is both more graceful 
 and more clear, than to begin with the longeft 
 part of the propofition : " We flatter our- 
 < felves with the belief that we have forfaken 
 <c our paffions, when they have forfaken us." 
 In general, it is always agreeable to find a 
 Sentence riling upon us, and growing in its 
 importance to the very laft word, when this 
 conftruction can be managed without affecta- 
 tion, or unfeafonable pomp. " If we rife yet 
 " higher," fays Mr. Addifon, very beautifully, 
 " and confider the fixed ftars as fo many 
 " oceans of flame, that are each of them at- 
 " tended with a different fet of planets ; and 
 tc ftill difcover new firmaments and new lights, 
 " that are funk farther in thofe unfathomable 
 " depths of aether ; we are loft in fuch a la- 
 44 byrinth of funs and worlds, and confounded 
 
 " with
 
 304 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. tc w i tn t h e magnificence and immenfity of 
 " Nature." (Spec!:. No. 420.) Hence fol- 
 lows clearly, 
 
 A FIFTH rule for the ftrength of Sentences ; 
 which is, to avoid concluding them with an 
 adverb, a prepofition, or any inconfiderable 
 word. Such conclufions are always enfeebling 
 and degrading. There are Senteirces, indeed, 
 where the ftrefs and fignificancy reft chiefly 
 upon fome words of this kind. In this cafe, 
 they are not to be confidered as circumftances, 
 but as the capital figures ; and ought, in pro- 
 priety, to have the principal place allotted 
 them. No fault, for inftance, can be found 
 with this fentence of Bolingbroke's : "In 
 < c their profperity, my friends fhall never hear 
 tc of me ; in their adverfity, always." Where 
 never, and always, being emphatical words, 
 were to be fo placed, as to make a ftrong 
 imprefiion. But I fpeak now of thofe inferior 
 parts of fpeech, when introduced as circum- 
 ftances, or as qualifications of more important 
 words. In fuch cafe, they fhould always be 
 difpofed of in the leaft confpicuous parts of 
 the Period ; and fo clafied with other words of 
 greater dignity, as to be kept in their proper 
 fecondary fhuion. 
 
 AGREEABLY to this rule, we fhould always 
 avoid concluding with any of thofe particles, 
 
 which
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 305 
 
 \vhich mark the cafes of nouns, of, to, from, L E xl c j T - 
 with, by, For inftance, it is a great deal bet- u-y-^ 
 ter to fay, " Avarice is a crime of which wife 
 " men are often guilty," than to fay, " Avarice 
 " is a crime which wife men are often guilty 
 te of." This is a phrafeology which all correct 
 writers Ihun ; and with reafon. For, befides 
 the want of dignity which arifes from thofe 
 monofyllables at the end, the imagination 
 cannot avoid retting, for a little, on the im- 
 port of the word which clofes the Sentence : 
 And, as thofe prepofitions have no import of 
 their own, but only ferve to point out the re- 
 lations of other words, it is difagreeable for the 
 mind to be left paufmg on a word, which does 
 not, by itfelf, produce any idea, nor form any 
 picture in the fancy. 
 
 FOR the fame reafon, verbs which are ufed 
 in a compound fenfe, with fome of thefe pre- 
 pofitions, are, though not fo bad, yet flill not 
 fo beautiful conclufions of a period ; fuch as, 
 bring about, lay hold of, come over to, clear up, 
 and many other of this kind : inftead of which, 
 if we can employ a fimple verb, it always 
 terminates the Sentence with more ftrength. 
 Even the pronoun, //, though it has the im- 
 port of a lubftantive noun, and indeed often 
 forces itfelf upon us .unavoidably, yet, when 
 we want to give dignity to a Sentence, fhould, 
 if poffible, be avoided in the conclufion , 
 
 VOL. I. X more
 
 305 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES, 
 
 L E XU T ' more e ^P ecla ^y wncn ' lt ' ls joined with fome of 
 the prepofitions, as, with it, in if, to it. In the 
 following Sentence of the Spectator, which 
 otherwife is abundantly noble, the bad effect 
 of this clofe is fenfible : " There is not, in 
 tf my opinion, a more pleafing and triumph- 
 t( ant confideration in religion, than this, of 
 " the perpetual progrefs which the foal makes 
 " towards the perfection of its nature, without 
 " ever arriving at a period in it." (No. in.) 
 Plow much more graceful the Sentence, if it 
 had been fo conftructed as to clofe with the 
 word, -period! 
 
 BESIDES particles and pronouns, any phrafe, 
 which expreffes a circumftance only, always 
 brings up the rear of a Sentence with a bad 
 grace. We may judge of this, by the follow- 
 ing Sentence from Lord Bolingbroke (Letter 
 on the State of Parties at the Accefiiori of 
 King George I.) : Let me therefore con- 
 * c elude by repeating, that divifion has caufed 
 " all the mifchief we lament ; that union alone 
 " can retrieve it j and that a great advance 
 c towards this union, was the coalition of par- 
 " ties, fo happily begun, fo fiiccefsfully car- 
 <c ried on, and of late fo unaccountably ne- 
 f glected ; to fay no worfe." This lafl 
 phrafe, to fay ns worfe, occafions a fad falling 
 off at the end ; fo much the more unhappy, as 
 the reft of the Period is conducted after the 
 
 manner
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 307 
 
 manner of a climax, which we expect to find L ^ c T, 
 
 v 1 1 
 
 growing to the lad. 
 
 THE proper difpofition of fuch circumftances 
 in a Sentence, is often attended with confider- 
 able trouble, in order to adjuft them fo, as fhall 
 confift equally with the perfpicuity and the 
 grace of the Period. Though neceffary parts, 
 they are, however, like unfhapely ftones in a 
 building, which try the fkill of an artift, where 
 to place them with the lead offence. " Jun- 
 * c gantur," fays Quinctilian, " quo congruunt 
 <c maxime j ficut in ftructura faxorum rudium, 
 <c etiam ipfa enormitas invenit cui applicari, 
 " et in quo poffit infiftere *." 
 
 THE clofe is always an unfuitable place for 
 them. When the fenfe admits it, the fooner 
 they are difpatched, generally fpeaking, the 
 better j that the more important and fignificant 
 words may poffefs the lad place, quite difen- 
 cumbered. It is a rule, too, never to crowd 
 too many circumftances together, but rather 
 to interfperfe them in different parts of the 
 Sentence, joined with the capital words on 
 which they depend ; provided that care be 
 
 * " Let them be inferted wherever the happieft place 
 " for them can be found ; as, in a firuclure compofed 
 " of rough ftones, there are always places where the 
 " moft irregular and unfhapely may find fome adjacent 
 " one to which it can be joined, and fome bafis on which it 
 " may reft." 
 
 X 2 taken,
 
 3 o8 STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. 
 
 L I L ( r T - taken, as I before directed, not to clo 
 
 A 1 J , 
 
 thofe capital words with them. For inftance, 
 when Dean Swift fays, " What I had the ho- 
 <f nour of mentioning to your Lordfhip, fome 
 " time ago, in converfation, was not a new 
 thought." (Letter to the Earl of Oxford.) 
 Thefe two circumftanCes, Jometime ago, and 
 in converfation, which are here put together, 
 would have had a better effect disjoined, thus : 
 " What I had the honour, fometime ago, of 
 cc mentioning to your Lordfhip in converfa- 
 " tion." And in the following Sentence of 
 Lord Bolingbroke's (Remarks on the Hiftory 
 of England) : " A monarchy, limited like 
 " ours, may be placed, for aught I know, as 
 " it has been often reprefented, juft in the 
 " middle point, from whence a deviation 
 <e leads, on the one hand, to tyranny, and on 
 lf the other, to anarchy." The arrangement 
 would have been happier thus : " A monar- 
 " chy, limited like ours, may, for aught I 
 cc know, be placed, as it has often been 
 " reprefented, juft in the middle point, 
 " &c." 
 
 I SHALL give only one rule more, relating 
 to the ftrength of a Sentence j which is, that 
 in the members of a Sentence, where two 
 things are compared or contrafted to each 
 other ; where either a refemblance or an op- 
 pofitioA is intended to be exprefied; fome 
 
 refemblance,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 309 
 
 Tefemblance, in the language and conftru&ion, LE x Jj T - 
 Ihould be preferved. For when the things 
 themfelves correfpond to each other, we natu- 
 rally expect to find the words correfponding 
 too. We are difappointed when it is other- 
 wife ; and the comparifon, or contraft, ap- 
 pears more imperfect. Thus, when Lord 
 Bolingbroke fays, lc The laughers will be for 
 c< thole who have moft wit ; the ferious part of 
 " mankind for thofe who have moft realbn on 
 <c their fide;" (Differt. on Parties, Pref.) the 
 oppofition would have been more complete, if 
 he had faid, <e The laughers will be for thofe 
 cc who have moft wit ; the ferious, for thofe 
 " who have moft reafon on their fide." The fol- 
 lowing paflage from Mr. Pope's Preface to his 
 Homer, fully exemplifies the rule I am now 
 giving : ff Homer was the greater genius ; 
 4 Virgil the better artift : in the one, we 
 " moft admire the man j in the other, the 
 tf work. Homer hurries us with a com- 
 " manding impetuofity ; Virgil leads us 
 " with an attractive majefty. Homer feat- 
 * c ters with a generous profuflon ; Virgil be- 
 tf ftows with a careful magnificence. Homer, 
 " like the Nile, pours out his riches with a 
 < c fudden overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its 
 
 " banks, with a conftant ftream. And 
 
 tc when we look upon their machines, Homer 
 
 " feems like his own Jupiter in his terrors, 
 
 " (baking Olympus, fcattering the lightnings, 
 
 X 3 " and
 
 3Id STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. cc an d fi r i n g the heavens ; Virgil, like the fame 
 <f Power, in his benevolence, counfelling with 
 <f the gods, laying plans for empires, and 
 fc ordering his whole creation." Periods thus 
 conftructed, when introduced with propriety, 
 and not returning too often, have a fenfible 
 beauty. But we muft beware of carrying our 
 attention to this beauty too far. It ought 
 only to be occafionally ftudied, when com- 
 parifon or oppofition of objects naturally leads 
 to it. If fuch a conftruction as this be aimed 
 at in all our Sentences, it leads to a difagree- 
 able uniformity ; produces a regularly return- 
 ing clink in the period, which tires the ear ; 
 and plainly difcovers affectation. Among the 
 antients, the ftyle of liberates is faulty in this 
 refpect j and, 6n that account, by fame of their 
 beft critics, particularly by Dionyfius of Hali- 
 carnaflus, he is feverely cenfured. 
 
 THIS finilhes what I had to fay concerning 
 Sentences, confidered, with refpect to their 
 meaning, under the three heads, of Perfpicuity, 
 Unity, and Strength. It is a fubject on which 
 I have infifted fully, for two reafons : Firft, be- 
 caufe it is a fubject, which, by its nature, can 
 be rendered more didactic, and fubjected more 
 to precife rule, than many other fubjects of cri- 
 ticifm j and next, becaufe it appears to me of 
 confiderable importance and ufe, 
 
 FOR,
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 Fo*, though many of thofe attentions, L 
 which I have been recommending, may ap- 
 pear minute, yet their effect, upon writing 
 and ftyle, is much greater than might, at firft, 
 foe imagined. A fentiment which is expreffed 
 in a Period, clearly, neatly, and happily ar- 
 ranged, makes always a ftronger impreflion on 
 the mind, than one that is feeble or embar- 
 raffed. Every one feels this upon a compari- 
 fon : and if the effect be fenfible in one Sen- 
 tence, how much more in a whole difcourle, 
 or compofition, that is made up of fuch Sen- 
 tences. 
 
 THE fundamental rule of the conftru&ion of 
 Sentences, and into which all others might be 
 refolved, undoubtedly is, to communicate, in 
 the cleared and mod natural order, the ideas 
 which we mean to transfufe into the minds of 
 others. Every arrangement that does moft 
 juftice to the fenfe, and expreffes it to moft 
 advantage, ftrikes us as beautiful. To this 
 point have tended all the rules I have given. 
 And, indeed, did men always think clearly, 
 and were they, at the fame time, fully mafters 
 of the Language in which they write, there 
 would be occafion for few rules. Their Sen- 
 tences would then, of courfe, acquire all 
 thofe properties of Precifion, Unity, and 
 Strength, which I have recommended. For 
 we may reft allured, that, whenever we ex- 
 X 4 : prefs
 
 3 i2 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. p re f s ourfelves ill, there is, befides the mifma- 
 nagement of Language, for the moft part, 
 fome miftake in our manner of conceiving the 
 fubject. Embarrafied, obfcure, and feeble Sen- 
 tences, are generally, if not always, 'the refult 
 of embarrafied, obfcure, and feeble thought. 
 Thought and Language aft and re-aft upon 
 each other mutually. Logic and Rhetoric have 
 here, as in many other cafes, a ftricl: connection ; 
 and he that is learning to arrange his Sentences 
 with accuracy and order, is learning, at the fame 
 time, to think with accuracy and order ; an 
 obfervation which alone will juftify all the care 
 and attention we have beftowed on this fubjecl:.
 
 LECTURE XIII. 
 
 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 
 HARMONY. 
 
 HITHERTO we have confidered Sen- L E c T. 
 XIII. 
 tences, with refpect to their meaning, _ -_-, j 
 
 under the heads of Perfpicuity, Unity, and 
 Strength. We are n6w to confider them, with 
 relpeft to their found, their harmony, or 
 agreeablenefs to the ear ; which was the lall 
 quality belonging to them that I propofed to 
 treat of. 
 
 SOUND is a quality much inferior to fenfe ; 
 yet fuch as muft not be difregarded. For, as 
 Jong as founds are the vehicle of conveyance 
 for our ideas, there will be always a very con- 
 fiderable connection between the idea which 
 is conveyed, and the nature of the found 
 which conveys it. Pleating ideas can hardly 
 be tranfmitted to the mind, by means of 
 harfli and dilagreeable founds. The imagina- 
 tion revolts as foon as it hears them uttered. 
 <f Nihil," fays Quinctilian, " poteft intrare 
 " in affe&um quod in aure, velut quo- 
 
 " dam
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L xm T ' " dam veftibul fort offendit*." Mufic 
 has naturally a great power over all men to 
 prompt and facilitate certain emotions: -info- 
 much, that there are hardly any difpofitions 
 which we wifh to raife in others, but certain 
 founds may be found concordant to thofe dif- 
 pofruons, and tending to promote them. Now, 
 Language may, in fome degree, be rendered 
 capable of this power of mufic ; a circum- 
 ttance which muft needs heighten our idea of 
 Language as a wonderful invention. Not con- 
 tent with fimply interpreting our ideas to others, 
 it can give them thofe ideas enforced by cor- 
 refponding founds ; and to the pleafure of 
 communicated thought, can add the new and 
 feparate pleafure of melody, 
 
 IN the Harmony of Periods, two things 
 may be confidered. Firft, Agreeable found, 
 or modulation in general, without any parti- 
 cular exprefiion : Next, The found fo ordered, 
 as to become expreffive of the fenfe. The firft 
 is the more common j the fecond, the higher 
 beauty. 
 
 FIRST, Let- us confider agreeable found, 
 in general, as the property of a well- con, - 
 ftructed Sentence : and, as it was of profe 
 Sentences we have hitherto treated, we lhall 
 
 * "' Nothing can enter into the affediions which Humbles 
 *' at the threshold, by offending the ear." 
 
 confine
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 confine ourfelves to them under this head. L 
 This beauty of mufical conftruction in profe, 
 it is plain, will depend upon two things ; the 
 choice of words, and the arrangement of 
 them. 
 
 I BEGIN with the choice of words; on which 
 head, there is not much to be faid, unlefs I 
 were to deicend into a tedious and frivolous de- 
 tail concerning the powers of the feveral letters, 
 or fimple founds, of which fpeech is competed. 
 It is evident, that words are moft agreeable to 
 the ear which are compofed of fmooth and li- 
 quid founds, where there is a proper intermix- 
 ture of vowels and confonants ; without too 
 many harfh confonants rubbing againft each 
 other ; or too many open vowels in fucceffion, 
 to caufe a hiatus, or difagreeable aperture of 
 the mouth. It may always be a (Turned as a . 
 principle, that, whatever founds are difficult 
 in pronunciation, are, in the fame propor- 
 tion, harfh and painful to the ear. Vowels 
 give ioftnefs ; confonants, Itrength to the 
 found of words. The mufic of Language, 
 requires a juft proportion of both ; and will be 
 hurt, will be rendered either grating or effe- 
 minate, by an excefs of either. Long words 
 are commonly more agreeable to the ear than 
 monofyllables. They pleafe it by the compo- 
 fition, or fuccefiion of founds which they 
 prefent to it j and, accordingly, the mod mu- 
 fical Languages abound moft in them. Among 
 
 words
 
 3 i6 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 E C 
 XIII. 
 
 L E c T. words of any length, thofe are the moft mufi- 
 
 which do not run wholly either upon 
 long or fhort fyllables, but are compofed of 
 an intermixture of them ; fuch as, repent, 
 produce, velocity, celerity, independent^ impe- 
 tuofity. 
 
 THE next head, refpecling the Harmony 
 which refults from a proper arrangement of 
 the words and members of a Period, is more 
 complex, and of greater nicety. For, let 
 the words themfelves be ever fo well chofen, 
 and well founding, yet, if they be ill diipofed, 
 the mufic of the Sentence is utterly loft. In 
 the harmonious ftruflure and difpofition of Pe- 
 riods, no writer whatever, antient or modern, 
 equals Cicero. He had ftudied this with care : 
 and was fond, perhaps to excefs, of what he 
 calls, the " Plena ac numerofa oratio." We 
 need only open his writings, to find inftances 
 that will render the effect of mufical Lan- 
 guage fenfible to every ear. What, for ex- 
 ample, can be more full, round, and fwelling, 
 than the following Sentence of the 4th Oration 
 againft Catiline ? " Cogitate quantis labori- 
 " bus fandatum imperium, quanta virtute 
 " fta'oilitam libertatem, quanta Deorum be- 
 " nignitate auctas exaggeratafque fortunas, 
 tc una nox pene delerit," In Englifh, we 
 may take, for an inftance of a mufical Sen- 
 tence, the following from Milton, in his 
 Trcatife on Education : " We fliall concluct 
 9 <c you
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 317 
 
 E C ' 
 XIII. 
 
 you to a hill-fide, laborious, indeed, at L E T - 
 
 " the firft afcent ; but elfe, fo fmooth, fo 
 " green, fo full of goodly profpefts, and 
 cf melodious founds on every fide, that the 
 " harp of Orpheus was not more charming." 
 Every thing in this Sentence confpires to pro- 
 mote the harmony. The words are happily 
 chofen ; full of liquids and foft founds ; labo- 
 rious^ fmooth , green, goodly, melodious, charming: 
 and thefe words fo artfully arranged, that, were 
 we to alter the collocation of any one of them, 
 we Ihould, prefently, be fenfible of the me- 
 lody fuffering. Tor, let us obferve, how 
 finely the members of the Period fwell one 
 above another. " So fmooth, fo green," 
 <f fo full of goodly profpects, and melodious 
 " founds on every fide j" till the ear, pre- 
 pared by this gradual rife, is conducted to that 
 full clofe on which it refts with pleafure ; 
 " that the harp of Orpheus was not more 
 " charmin." 
 
 . 
 
 THE ftrti&ure of Periods, then, being fuf- 
 ceptible of a very fenfible melody, our next in- 
 quiry fhould be, How this melodious ftru&ure 
 is formed, what are the principles of it, and 
 by what laws is it regulated ? And, upon this 
 fubject, were I to follow the antient rhetori- 
 cians, it would be eafy to give a great variety 
 of rules. For here they have entered into a 
 very minute and particular detail, more parti- 
 
 cular,.
 
 3i8 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L xm T< cu ^ ar ' indeed, than on any other head that re- 
 gards Language. They hold, that to profe as 
 well as to verfe, there belong certain numbers, 
 lefs ftrict indeed, yet fu'ch as can be afcertained 
 by rule. They go fo far as to fpecify the feet, 
 as they are called, that is, the fuccefllon of long 
 and fhort fyllables, which fhould enter into 
 the different members of a Sentence, and to 
 fhow what the effect of each of thefe will be. 
 Wherever they treat of the Structure of Sen- 
 tences, it is always the mufic of them that makes 
 the principal object. Cicero and Quinctilian are 
 full of this. The other qualities of Precifion, 
 Unity, and Strength, which we confider as of 
 chief importance, they handle (lightly j but 
 when they come to the " junRura et numeru } " 
 the modulation and harmony, there they are 
 copious. Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus, one 
 of the mod judicious critics of antiquity, 
 has written a treatife on the Competition of 
 Words in a Sentence^ which is altogether con- 
 fined to their mufical effect. He makes the 
 excellency of a Sentence to cogfift in four 
 things : firft, in the fweetnefs of fingle 
 founds ; fecondly, in the compofition of founds, 
 that is, the numbers or feet ; thirdly, in 
 change or variety of found j and, fourthly, in 
 found fuited to the fenfe. On all thefe points 
 he writes with great accuracy and refinement ; 
 and is very worthy of being confulted; though, 
 were one now to write a book on the Structure 
 
 of
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 319 
 
 of Sentences, we ftiould expect to find the fub- L E c T 
 je<5b treated of in a more extenfive manner. 
 
 IN modern times, this whole fubjec"b of the 
 mufical ftrufture of difcourfe, it is plain, has 
 been much lefs ftudied ; and, indeed, for 
 feveral reafons, can be much lefs fubjecled to 
 rule. The reafons, it will be neceffary to give, 
 both to juftify my not following the track of the 
 antient rhetoricians on this fubjecl, and to 
 fhow how it has come to pafs, that a part of 
 compofition, which once made fo confpicuous a 
 figure, now draws much lefs attention. 
 
 IN the firft place, the antient Languages, 
 I mean the Greek and the Roman, were much 
 more fufceptible than ours, of the graces and 
 the powers of melody. The quantities of 
 their fyllables were more fixed and determined ; 
 their words were longer, and more fonorous ; 
 their method of varying the terminations of 
 nouns and verbs, both introduced a greater 
 variety of liquid founds, and freed them from 
 that multiplicity of little auxiliary words 
 which we are obliged to employ; and, what 
 is of the greateft confequence, the inverfions 
 which their Languages allowed, gave them 
 the power of placing their words in whatever 
 order was moft fuited to a mufical arrange- 
 ment. All thefe were great advantages which 
 they enjoyed above us, for Harmony of Period. 
 
 7 IN
 
 320 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. I N t ne ne xc place, the Greeks and Romans, 
 the former efpecially, were, in truth, much 
 more mufical nations than we , their genius 
 was more turned to delight in the melody of 
 ipeech. Mufic is known to have been a more 
 extenfive art among them than it is with us ; 
 more generally fludied, and applied to a 
 greater variety of objects. Several learned 
 men, particularly the Abbe du Bos, in his 
 Reflections on Poetry and Painting, have 
 clearly proved, that the theatrical compofitions 
 of the antients, both their tragedies and 
 comedies, were fet to a kind of mufic. Whence, 
 the Modos fecit, and the Sibils dextris et fi- 
 nijlrisy prefixed to the editions of Terence's 
 Plays. All fort of declamation and public 
 fpeaking, was carried on by them in a much 
 more mufical tone than it is among us. It ap- 
 proached to a kind of chanting or recitative. 
 Among the Athenians, there was what was 
 called the Nomic Melody j or a particular 
 meafure prefcribed to the public officers, in 
 which they were to promulgate the laws to the 
 people ; left, by reading them with improper 
 tones, the laws might be expofed to contempt. 
 Among the Romans, there is a noted ftory of 
 C. Gracchus, when he was declaiming in pub- 
 lic, having a rruifician ftanding at his back, 
 in order to give him the proper tones with a 
 pipe or flutd Even when pronouncing thofe 
 terrible tribunicial harangues, by which he 
 
 inflamed
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 321 
 
 inflamed the one half of the citizens of L E c T - 
 Rome againft the other, this attention to the 
 mufic of Speech was, in thofe times, it feems, 
 thought neceflary to fuccefs. Quinclilian, 
 though he condemns the excefs of this fort of 
 pronunciation, yet allows a " cantus obfcu- 
 fc rior" to be a beauty in a public fpeaker. 
 Hence that variety of accents, acute, grave, 
 and circumflex, which we find marked upon 
 the Greek fyllables, to exprefs, not the quan- 
 tity of them, but the tone in which they were 
 to be fpoken : the application of which is 
 now wholly unknown to us. And though the 
 Romans did not mark thofe accents in their 
 writing, yet it appears, from Quinclilian, that 
 they ufed them in pronunciation : " Quantum, 
 <f quale,' fays he, ct comparantes grayi, jn- 
 " terrogantes acuto tenore concludunt." As 
 mufic then, was an object much more attended 
 to in Speech, among the Greeks and Romans, 
 than it is with usj as, in all kinds of public 
 fpeaking, they employed a much greater variety 
 of notes, of tones, or inflections of voice, than 
 we ufe :, this is one clear reafon of their pay- 
 ing a greater attention to that conftruction cf 
 Sentences, which might beft fuit this mufical 
 pronunciation. 
 
 IT is farther known, that, in confequence of 
 the genius of their Languages, and of their 
 manner of pronouncing them, the mufical 
 
 VOL. I. Y arrange-
 
 3*e HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L x i T> arran g ement f Sentences, did, in fact, pro- 
 duce a greater effect in public fpeaking among 
 them, than it could poffibly do in any modern 
 oration -, another reafon why it deferved to be 
 rriore ftudied. Cicero, in his treatife, intitled, 
 Orator^ tells us, " Condones faspe exclamare 
 <f vidi, cum verba apte cecidiffent. Id enim 
 <f expectant anres*." And he gives a remark- 
 able inftance of the effect of a harmonious 
 period upon a whole affembly, from a Sentence 
 of one of Carbo's Orations, fpoken in his 
 hearing. The Sentence was, ff Patris dictum. 
 '* fapiens temeritas filii comprobravit." By 
 means of the found of which, alone, he tells 
 tis, tc Tantus clamor concionis excitatus eft, 
 " ut prorfus admirabile erlet." He makes us 
 remark the feet of which thefe words confift, 
 to which he afcribes the power of the melody ; 
 and (hows, how, by altering the colloca- 
 tion, the whole effect would be loft \ as thus : 
 f< Patris dictum fapiens comprobravit teme- 
 " ritas filii." Now, though it be true that 
 Carbo's Sentence is extremely mufical, and 
 would be agreeable, at this day, to any au- 
 dience, yet I cannot believe that an English 
 Sentence, equally harmonious, would, by 
 its harmony alone, produce any fuch effect on 
 
 * " I have often been witnefs to burfts of exclamation in 
 ** the public aflembiies, when Sentences clofed mufically ; 
 " for that is a pleafure which the earexpefts." 
 
 i a Britifh
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 a Britiih audience, or excite any fuch wonder- L 
 ful applaufe and admiration, as Cicero informs 
 ys this of Carbo produced. Our northern 
 ears are too coarfe and obtufe. The melody 
 of Speech has lefs power over us $ and by our 
 fimpler and plainer method of uttering words, 
 Speech is, in truth, accompanied with lefs 
 melody than it was among the Greeks an<jl 
 Romans *. 
 
 FOR thefe reafons, I am of opinion, that 
 it is vain to think of bellowing the fame 
 attention upon the harmonious ftructure of 
 our Sentences, that was bellowed by thefe an- 
 tiertf nations. The doctrine of the Greek and 
 Roman critics, on this head, has mifled fome 
 to imagine, that it might be equally applied to 
 our Tongue -, and that our profe writing might 
 be regulated by Spondees and Trochees, and 
 Iambus's and Pceons, and other metrical feet. 
 But, firft, our words cannot be meafured, or, 
 at leaft, can be meafured very imperfectly by 
 any feet of this kind. For, the quantity, the 
 
 * " In verfu quidem, theatra tota exclamant fi fuit una 
 " fyllaba aut brevior aut longior. Nee vero multitude 
 <( pedes novit, nee ullos nu-meros tenet ; nee illud quod 
 *' offendit, aut cur, aut in quo offendat, intelligit ; et 
 *' tamen omnium longitudinum et brevitatum in fonis, 
 *' ficut acutarum, graviumque vocum, judicium ipfa na- 
 ** tiKa in auribus noftris collocavit." 
 
 CICERO, Orator, c. 51. 
 
 Y 2 length
 
 3H HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 length and fhortnefs of our fyllables, is far 
 from being fo fixed and fubjeded to rule, as in 
 the Greek and Roman Tongues ; but very often 
 left arbitrary, and determined by the emphafis, 
 and the fenfe. Next, though our profe could 
 admit of iuch metrical regulation, yet, from our 
 plainer method of pronouncing all fort of dif- 
 courfe, the effe6l would not be at all fo fen- 
 fible to the ear, nor be relifhed with fo much 
 pleafure, as among the Greeks and Romans : 
 And, lallly, This whole doctrine about the 
 meafures and numbers of profe, even as it is 
 delivered by the antient rhetoricians them- 
 felves, is, in truth, in a great meafure loofe 
 and uncertain. It appears, indeed, that the 
 melody of difcourfe was a matter of 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 ufe in practice. If we confult Cicero's 
 Orator, where this point is difcufied with 
 the mod minutenefs, we fhall fee how 
 much thefe antient critics difFere'd from one 
 i another, about the feet proper for the conclu - 
 fion, and other parts of a Sentence ; and how 
 much, after all, was left to the judgment of 
 :he ear. Nor, indeed, is it poflible to give 
 precile rules concerning this matter, in any 
 Language $ as all profe compofition muft be 
 allowed to run loofe in its numbers ; and, ac- 
 cording
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 325 
 
 cording as the tenor of a difcourfe varies, the L 
 modulation of Sentences muft vary infinitely. ^ 
 
 BUT, although I apprehend, that this rmi- 
 fical arrangement cannot be reduced into a 
 fyftem, I am far frona thinking, that it is a 
 quality to be neglected in compofition. On 
 the contrary, I hold its effect to be very con- 
 fiderable ; and that every one who iludies to 
 write with grace, much more who feeks to 
 pronounce in public, with fuccefs, will be 
 obliged to attend to it not a little. But it is 
 his ear, cultivated by attention and practice, 
 that muft chiefly direct him. For any rules 
 that can be given, on this fubject, are very 
 general. Some rules, however, there are, 
 which may be of ufe to form the ear to the pro- 
 per harmony of difcourfe. I proceed tQ men- 
 tion fuch as appear to me moft material. 
 
 THERE are two things on which the mufic 
 of a Sentence chiefly depends. Thefe are, 
 the proper diftribution of the feveral mem- 
 bers of it j and, the clofe or cadence of the 
 whole. 
 
 FIRST, I lay, the diftribution of the feveral 
 members is to be carefully attended to. It is 
 of importance to obferve, that, whatever is 
 eafy and agreeable to the organs of Speech, 
 always founds grateful to the ear, While a 
 Y 3 Period
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 s gi n g on > the termination of each 
 of its members forms a paufe, or reft, in pro- 
 nouncing : and thefe refts fhould be fo diftri- 
 buted, as to make the courfe of the breathing 
 eafy, and, at the fame time, fhould fall at 
 fuch diftances, as to bear a certain mufical pro- 
 portion to each other. This will be bed illuf- 
 trated by examples. The following Sentence is 
 from Archbiihep Tiilotfon : c< This difcourfe 
 " concerning the eafinefs of God's commands 
 <l does, all along, fuppofe and acknowledge the 
 " difficulties of the firft entrance upon a reli- 
 <c gious courfe j except, only in thofe perfons 
 " who have had the happinefs to be trained up 
 " to religion by the eafy and infenfible degrees 
 " of a pious and virtuous education." Here 
 there is no harmony -, nay, there is fome degree 
 of harfhnefc and unpleafantnefs j owing princi- 
 pally to this, that there is, properly, no more 
 than one paufe or reft in the Sentence, falling 
 betwixc the two members into which it is di- 
 vided ; each of which is fo long, as to occafion 
 a considerable ftretch of the breath in pro- 
 nouncing it. 
 
 OBSERVE, now, on the other hand, the eafe 
 with which the following Sentence, from Sir 
 William Temple, glides along, and the grace- 
 ful intervals at which- the paufes are placed. 
 He is fpeaking farcaftically of man : cc But 
 " God be thanked, his pride is greater than 
 
 - <c his
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 ts his ignorance, and what he wants in know- L 
 ** ledge, he fupplies by fufficiency. When 
 ft he has looked about him, as far as he can, 
 " he concludes, there is no more to be feen ; 
 cc when he is at the end of his line, he is at the 
 <c bottom of the ocean ; when he has fhot his 
 <f bed, he is fure none ever did, or ever can, 
 " fhoot better, or beyond it. His own reafon 
 * c he holds to be the certain meafure of truth , 
 " and his own knowledge, of what is pofiible 
 " in nature *." Here every thing is, at once, 
 eafy to the breath, and grateful to the ear - t 
 and, it is this fort of flowing meafure, this 
 regular and proportional diviflon of the mem- 
 bers of his Sentences, which renders Sir Wil- 
 liam Temple's ftyle always agreeable. I muft 
 obferve, at the fame time, that a Sentence, 
 with too many refts, and thefe placed at inter- 
 
 * Or this inftance. He is addreffing himfelf to Lady 
 EfTex, upon the death of her child : " I was once in hope, 
 that what was fo violent could not be long : But, when 
 " I obferved your grief to grow ftroager with age, and to 
 " increafe, like a ftream, the farther it ran; when I faw it 
 *' draw out to fuch unhappy consequences, and to threaten, 
 " no lefs than your child, your health, and your life, J 
 " could no longer forbear this endeavour, nor end it, with- 
 " out begging of you, for God's fake, and for your own, 
 " for your children, and your friends, your country, and 
 ** your family, that you would no longer abandon yourfelf 
 ' to a difconfolate paflion ; but that you would, at length, 
 " awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or< at 
 " leaft, roaze the invincible fpirit of the Percys, that never 
 " yet Ihrunk at any difafter." 
 
 Y 4 vals
 
 328 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 xm 
 
 L T ' a ^ s to a PP arent ty rneafured and regular, 13 
 
 apt to favour of affectation. 
 
 THE next thing to be attended to, is, the 
 clofe or cadence of the whole Sentence, which, 
 as it is always the part moft feniible to the ear, 
 demands the greateft care. So Quindlilian : 
 " Non igitur durum fit, neque abruptum, quo 
 " animi, velut refpirant ac reficiuntur. Haec 
 fc eft fedes orationis j hoc auditor expeftat; 
 tc hie laus omnis declamat *." The only im- 
 portant rule that can be given here, is, that 
 when we aim at dignity or elevation, the 
 found fhould be made to grow to the laft ; 
 the longefl members of the Period, and the 
 fullefb and moft fonorous words, fhould be re- 
 ierved to the conclufion. As an example of 
 this, the following Sentence of Mr. Addifon's 
 may be given : " It fills the mind (fpeaking 
 "' of fight) with the largeft variety of ideas j 
 f converfes with its objects at the greateft 
 " diftance i and continues the longeft in 
 " action, without being tired or fatiated with 
 " its proper enjoyments." Every reader muft 
 be fenJible of a beauty here, both in the proper 
 divifion of the members and paufes, and the 
 
 * " Let there be nothing harfh or abrupt in the conclu- 
 ' lion of the fentence, on which the mind paufes and refrs. 
 " This is the moft material part in the ilru&ure of Dif- 
 ' courfe. Here every hearer expefts to be gratified ; here 
 " his applaufe breaks forth." 
 
 manner
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 3 2 9 
 
 manner in which the Sentence is rounded, L 
 and conducted to a full and harmonious 
 clofe. 
 
 THE fame holds in melody, that I obferved 
 to take place with refpect to fignificancy i 
 that a falling off at the end, always hurts 
 greatly. For this reafon, particles, pronouns, 
 and little words are as ungracious to the ear, 
 at the conclufion, as I formerly (hewed they 
 were inconfiftent with ftrength of expreflion. 
 It is more than probable, that the fenie and the 
 found have here a mutual influence on each 
 other. That which hurts the ear, feems to 
 mar the ftrength of the meaning; and that 
 which really degrades the fenie, in confe- 
 quence of this primary effect, appears alfo to 
 have a bad found. How difagreeable is the 
 following Sentence of an Author, fpeaking of 
 the Trinity ! fc It is a myftery which we firmly' 
 " believe the truth of, and humbly adore the 
 " depth of." And how eafiiy might it have 
 been mended by this tranfpofition ! <f It is a 
 * f myftery, the truth of which we firmly be- 
 <c lieve, and the depth of which we humbly 
 " adore." In general it feems to hold, that a 
 mufical clofe, in our language, requires either 
 the laft fyllable, or the laft but one, to be a 
 long fyilable. Words which confift moftly 
 of (hort fyjlables, as, contrary, particular, retro- 
 feldom conclude a Sentence harmoni- 
 IJ oufly,
 
 33 o HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L xin T> ou fly* unlefs a run of long fyllables, before, 
 has rendered them agreeable to the ear. 
 
 IT is necefiary, however, to obferve, that 
 Sentences, fo conftructed as to make the found 
 always fwell and grow towards the end, and 
 to reft either on a long or a penult long fyl- 
 lable, give a difcourfe the tone of declamation. 
 The ear foon becomes 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 prefcrve vivacity and 
 ftrength in our compofition, we muft be very 
 attentive to vary our meafures. This regards 
 the diftribution of the members, as well as the 
 cadence of the Period. Sentences conftructed 
 in a fimilar manner, with the paufes falling 
 at equal intervals, fhould never follow one 
 another. Short Sentences fhould be inter- 
 mixed with long and fwelling ones, to render 
 difcourfe fprightly, as well as magnificent. 
 Even difcords, properly introduced, abrupt 
 founds, departures from regular cadence, 
 have fometimes a good effect. Monotony is 
 the great fault into which writers are apt to 
 fell, who are fond of harmonious arrange- 
 ment : and to have only one tune, or meafure, 
 is not much better than having none at all. 
 A very vulgar ear will enable a writer to catch 
 feme one melody, and to form the run of his 
 Sentences according to it 3 which foon proves 
 
 difgufting.
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 difgufting. But a juft and correct ear is requi- 
 fite for varying and diverfifying the melody : and 
 hence we fo ftidom meet with authors, who are 
 remarkably happy in this refpect. 
 
 THOUGH attention to the muftc of Sen- 
 tences muft not be neglected, yet it muft alfo 
 be kept within proper bounds : for all appear- 
 ances of an author's affecting harmony, are 
 difagreeable ; efpecially when the love of it 
 betrays him fo far, as to facrifice, in any 
 inftance, perfpicuity, precifion, or ftrength of 
 fentiment, to found. All unmeaning words, 
 introduced merely to round the Period, or fill 
 up the melody, complement a numerorum, as Ci- 
 cero calls them, are great blemifhes in writing. 
 They are childifh and puerile ornaments, by 
 which a fentence always lofes more in point 
 of weight, than it can gain by fuch additions 
 to the beauty of its found. Senfe has its own 
 harmony, as well as found ; and, where the 
 fenfe of a Period is exprefTed with clearnefs, 
 force, and dignity, it will feldom happen but 
 the words will ftrike the ear agreeably - 3 at 
 lead, a very moderate attention is ail that is 
 requifite for making the cadence of fuch a 
 Period pleafing : and the effect of greater at- 
 tention is often no other, than to render com- 
 pofition languid and enervated. After all the 
 labour which Quinctilian beftows on regu- 
 lating
 
 33 2 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 I, EC T. lating the meafures of profe, he comes at laft, 
 with his ufual good fenfe, to this conclufion : 
 * c In univerfum, fi lit necefle, duram potius 
 ff atque afpera.ni conapofitionem malim efle, 
 st quam effcminatarn ac enervem, qualis apud 
 < c multos. Ideoque, vincla quasdam de in- 
 " duftria fimt folvenda, ne laborata videantur j 
 <f neque till um idoneum aut aptum verbum 
 " prcetermlttamus, gratia lenitatis *." Lib. ix, 
 c. 4. 
 
 
 
 CICERO,, as I before obferved, is one of the 
 moft remarkable patterns of a harmonious 
 flyle. His love of it, however, is too vifible ; 
 and the pomp of his numbers fometimes de- 
 tracts from his ftrcngth. That noted clofe of 
 his, effe videatur, which, in the Oration Pro 
 Lege Manilla, occurs eleven times, expofecj 
 him to ceniure among his cotemporaries. We 
 mull obierve, however, in defence of this great 
 Orator, that there is a remarkable union in his 
 ilyle, of harmony with eale, which is always a 
 great beauty : and if his harmony be ftudied, 
 
 * " Upon the 'whole, I would rather chufe, that com- 
 " ponnon ihouid appear rough and harfh, if that be necel- 
 " iary, than that it fhould be enervated and effeminate, 
 " fuch. as we find the ftyle of too many. Some fentences, 
 " therefore, xvhich we have ftudioully formed into melody, 
 " iliould be thrown Ipofe, that they may not feem too much 
 <c laboured ; nor ought we ever to omit any proper or ex- 
 *' preifive word, for the fake of finoothing a period.'.' 
 
 that
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 333 
 
 that ftudy appears to have coft him little L * " T - 
 trouble. 
 
 AMONG our Englifh claiTics, not many are 
 diftinguifhcd for mufical arrangement. Mil- 
 ton, in fome of his profe works, has very 
 finely turned periods ; but the writers of his 
 'age indulged a liberty of inverfion, which 
 now would be reckoned contrary to purity of 
 ftyle : and though this allowed their Sentences 
 to be more (lately and fonorous, yet it gave 
 them too much of a Latinized conftruction 
 and order. Of later writers, Shaftfbury is, 
 upon the whole, the moft correft in his num- 
 bers. As his ear was delicate, he has attended 
 to murk in all his Sentences ; and he is pe- 
 culiarly happy in this refpecl, that he has 
 avoided the monotony into which writers, who 
 ftudy the grace of found, are very apt to fall : 
 having divcrfified his periods with great va- 
 .riety. Mr. Addifon has alfo much harmony 
 in his ilyle ; more eafy and fmooth, but lefs 
 varied, than Lord Shaftfbury. Sir William 
 Temple is, in general, very flowing and agree- 
 able. Archbifhop Tillotfon is too often care- 
 lefs and languid ; and is much outdone by 
 bifhop Atterbury in the mufic of his periods. 
 Dean Swift defpifed mufical arrangement al- 
 together. 
 
 HITHERTO I have difcourfed of agreeable 
 .found, or modulation, in general, It yet .re- 
 mains
 
 334 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L xm T * ma * ns to treat f a higher beauty of this kind ; 
 the found adapted to the fenfe. The former 
 was no more than a limple accompaniment, to 
 pleafe the ear ; the latter fuppofes a peculiar 
 expreffion given to the mufic. We may re- 
 mark two degrees of it : Firft, the current of 
 found, adapted to the tenor of a difcourfe : 
 next, a particular refemblance effected between 
 fome object, and the founds that are employed 
 in defcribing it. 
 
 FIRST, I fay, the current of found may be 
 adapted to the tenor of a difcourfe. Sounds 
 have, in many refpects, a correfpondence with 
 our ideas j partly natural, partly the effect of 
 artificial affociations. Hence it happens, that 
 any one modulation of found continued, im- 
 prints on our Style a certain character and ex- 
 prefllon. Sentences conftructed with the Ci- 
 ceronian fulnefs and fwell, produce the im- 
 preflion of what is important, magnificent, 
 fedate -, for this is the natural tone which fuch 
 a courfe of fentiment afiumes. But they fuit 
 no violent paffion, no eager reafoning, no fa- 
 miliar addrefs. Theie always require meafures 
 brilker, eafier, and often more abrupt. And, 
 therefore, to fwell, or to let down the periods, 
 as the fubjecl: demands, is a very important 
 rule in oratory. No one tenor whatever, fup- 
 pofing it to produce no bad effect from fatiety, 
 will anfwer to all different compofitions ; nor 
 even to all the parts of the fame compofi- 
 
 tion.
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 335 
 
 tion. It were as abfurd to write a panegyric, L c T - 
 and an invective, in a ftyle of the fame cadence, 
 as to fct the words of a tender love-fong to the 
 air of a warlike march. 
 
 OBSERVE how finely the following Sentence 
 of Cicero is adapted, to reprefent the tran- 
 quillity and eafe of a fatisfied ftate : <c Etfl 
 tf homini nihil eft magis optandum quam 
 <c profpera, aequabilis, perpetuaque fortuna, 
 " fecundo vitae fine ulla ofienfione curfu ; 
 <f tamen, fi mihi tranquilla et placata omnia 
 <f fuiflent, incredibili quadam et pene divina, 
 <f qua nunc veftro beneficio fruor, ketitige 
 (t voluptate caruilTem *." Nothing was ever 
 more perfect in its kind : it paints, if we may 
 fo fpeak, to the ear. But, who would not 
 have laughed, if Cicero had employed fuch 
 periods, or fuch a cadence as this, in inveigh- 
 ing againft Mark Antony, or Catiline? What 
 is requisite, therefore, is, that we previously 
 fix, in our mind, a juft idea of the general 
 tone of found which fuits our fubject ; that is, 
 which the fentiments we are to exprefs, moft 
 naturally afiiime, and in which they moft com- 
 monly vent themfelves; whether round and 
 fmooth, or {lately and folemn, or brifk and 
 quick, or interrupted and abrupt. This ge- 
 neral idea muft direct the modulation of our 
 periods : to fpeak in the ftyle of mufic, muft 
 
 * Orat, ad Quirites, poft Reditum, 
 
 give 
 
 /P 
 
 ' ' , ' :'' 
 
 ^ 
 
 > i*t^i <t^.,fi ;/jffa rfcfah 
 
 H 
 
 Tf *_.''
 
 33 6 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. gi ve us the key note, muft form the ground of 
 the melody ; varied and diverfified in parts, ac- 
 cording as either our fentiments are diverfified, 
 or as is requifite for producing a fuitable variety 
 to gratify the ear. 
 
 IT may be proper to remark, that our tranf- 
 lators of the Bible have often been happy in 
 fuiting their numbers to the fubject. Grave, 
 folemn, and majeftic fubjects undoubtedly re- 
 quire fuch an arrangement of words as runs 
 much on long fyllablesj and, particularly, 
 they require the clofe to reft upon fuch. The 
 very firft verfes of the Bible, are remarkable 
 for this melody : f< In the beginning, God 
 " created the heavens and the earth ; and the 
 " earth was without form, and void ; and 
 " darknefs was upon the face of the deep ; and 
 " the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the 
 <f waters." Several other pafTages, particu- 
 larly fome of the Pfalms, afford (hiking ex- 
 amples of this fort of grave, melodious con- 
 ftruction. Any compofition that rifes con- 
 fiderably above the ordinary tone of profe, 
 fuch as monumental infcriptions, and panegy- 
 rical characters, naturally runs into numbers of 
 this kind. 
 
 BUT, in the next place, befides the general 
 correfpondence of the .current of found with 
 the current of thought, there may be a more 
 
 particular
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 337 
 
 particular cxprefilon attempted, of certain ob- L E c T> 
 jects, by means of refembling ibunds. This v . tf - * 
 can be, fbmetimes, accomplifhed in profe 
 compofition j but there only in a more faint 
 degree ; nor is it fo much expected there. 
 In poetry, chiefly, it is looked for j where at- 
 tention to found is more demanded, and where 
 the inverfions and liberties of poetical flyle 
 give us a greater command of found ; affifted, 
 too, by the verification, and that cantus ob- 
 fiurior, to which we are naturally led in read- 
 ing poetry. This requires a little more illuf- 
 tration. 
 
 THE founds of words may be employed 
 for reprefenting, chiefly, three clafTes of ob- 
 jects j firft, other founds ; fecondly, motion ; 
 and, thirdly, the emotions and paffions of the 
 mind. 
 
 FIRST, I fay, by a proper choice of words, 
 we may produce a refemblance of other founds 
 which we mean to defcribe ; fuch as, the noife 
 of waters, the roaring of winds, or the mur- 
 muring of flreams. This is the fimpleft in- 
 ftance of this fort of beauty. For the medium 
 through which we imitate, here, is a natural 
 one ; founds reprefeoted by other founds ; 
 and between ideas of the fame fenfe, it is eafy 
 to form a connection. No very great art is 
 required in a poet, when he is defcribing 
 
 VOL. I. Z fvrset
 
 33 8 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. fweet and foft founds, to make ufe of fuch 
 words as have moft liquids and vowels, and 
 glide the fofteft ; or, when he is defcribing 
 harfh founds, to throw together a number of 
 harfh fyllables which are of difficult pronuncia- 
 tion. Here the common ftructure of Lan- 
 guage affifts him 5 for, it will be found, that, 
 in moft Languages, the names of many par- 
 ticular founds are fo formed, as to carry fome 
 affinity to the found which they fignify; as 
 with us, the whiftlihg of winds, the buz and 
 bum of infects, the hifs of ferpents, the crajh of 
 falling timber ; and many other inftances, 
 where the word has been plainly framed upon 
 the found it reprefents. I lhall produce a re- 
 markable example of this beauty from Milton, 
 taken from two paffages in Paradife Loft, de- 
 fcribing the found made, in the one, by the 
 opening of the gates of Hell ; in the other, by 
 the opening of thofe of Heaven. The con- 
 traft between the two, difplays, to great advan- 
 tage, the poet's art. The firft is the opening 
 of Hell's gates : 
 
 On a fudden, open fly, 
 
 With impetuous recoil, and jarring found, 
 Th* infernal doors ; and on their hinges grate 
 Harfh thunder. B. I. 
 
 Obferve, now, the fmoothnefs of the other : 
 
 Heaven opened wide 
 
 Her ever-during gates, harmonious found, 
 On golden hinges turning. B. II, 
 
 5 The
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES, 339 
 
 The following beautiful paffage from Taffo's L E c T. 
 Gierufalemme, has been often admired, on 
 account of the imitation effected by found of 
 the thing reprefented : 
 
 Chiama gli habitator de 1'ombre eterne 
 II rauco fuon de la Tartarea tromba : 
 Treman le fpaciofe atre caverne, 
 Et 1'aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba ; 
 Ni ftridendo cofi da le fuperne 
 Regioni dele cielo, il folgor piomba 3 
 Ne fi fcofla giammai la terra, 
 Quand i vapori in fen gravida ferra. 
 
 CANT. IV. Stanz. 4. 
 
 THE fecond clafs of objects, which the found 
 of words is often employed to imitate, is, 
 Motion ; as. it is fwift or flow, violent or gentle, 
 equable or interrupted, eafy or accompanied 
 with effort. Though there be no natural 
 affinity between found, of any kind, and mo- 
 tion, yet, in the imagination, there is a ftrong 
 one ; as appears from the connection between 
 rtuific and dancing. And, therefore, here it 
 is in the poet's power to give us a lively idea 
 of the kind of motion he would defcribe, by 
 means of founds which correfpond, in our 
 imagination, with that motion. Long fylla- 
 bles naturally give the impreffion of flow mo- 
 tion ; as in this line of Virgil : 
 
 Olli inter fefe magna vi brachia tollunt. 
 
 Z 2 A fuc-
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 L E c T. A fuccefiion of fhort fyllables prefents quick 
 
 XIII. . i j 
 
 motion to the mind ; as, 
 Quadrupedarite putrem fonitu quatit ungula campum* 
 
 BOTH Homer and Virgil are great matters 
 of this beauty, and their works abound with 
 inftances of it j moft of them, indeed, fo often 
 quoted and fo well known> that it is needlefs 
 to produce them. I Ihall give one inftance, 
 in Englifh, which feems happy. It is the de- 
 fcription of a fudden calm on the feas, in a 
 Poem, entitled, ?he Fleece. 
 
 With eafy courfe 
 
 The veflels glide ; unlefs their fpeed be ftopp'd 
 By dead calms, that oft lie on thefe fmooth feas 
 When ev'ry zephyr fieeps ; then the fhrouds drop 5 
 The downy feather, on the cordage hung, 
 Moves not ; the flat fea fhines like yellow gold 
 Fus'd in the fire* or like the marble floor 
 Of fome old temple wide. 
 
 THE third fet of objects, which I mentioned 
 the found of words as capable of reprefenting, 
 confifls of the paffions and emotions of the 
 mind. Sound may, at firft view, appear fo- 
 reign to thefe ; but, that here, alfo, there is 
 fome fort of connection, is fufficiently proved 
 by the power which mufic has to awaken, or 
 to aflift certain paffions, and, according as its 
 (train is varied, to introduce one train of ideas, 
 rather than another. This, indeed, logically 
 3 fpeaking>
 
 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 341 
 
 fpeaking, cannot be called a refemblance be- L ^ c T. 
 tween the fenfe and the found, feeing long or 
 fhort fyliables have no natural refemblance to 
 any thought or paffion. But if the arrange- 
 ment of fyliables, by their found alone, recal 
 one fet of ideas more readily than another, 
 and difpofe the mind for entering into that 
 affection which the poet means to raife, fuch 
 arrangement may, juftly enough, be faid tQ 
 refemble the fenfe, or be fimilar and corre- 
 fpondent to it. I admit, that, in many in- 
 ftances, which are fuppofed to difplay this 
 beauty of accommodation of found to the 
 fenfe, there is much room for -imagination to 
 work; and, according as a reader is (truck by 
 a paffage, he will often fancy a refemblance 
 between the found and the fe,nfe, which others 
 cannot difcover. He modulates the numbers 
 to his own difpofition of mind j and, in effect, 
 makes the mufic which he imagines himfelf to 
 hear. However, that there are real inftances 
 of this kind, and that poetry is capable of 
 fome fuch expreffion, cannot be doubted. 
 Dryden's Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, affords a 
 very beautiful exemplification of it, in the 
 Englifh Language. Without much ftudy or 
 reflection, a poet defcribing pleafure, joy, and 
 agreeable objects, from the feeling of his fub- 
 ject, naturally runs into fmooth, liquid, and 
 flowing numbers. 
 
 3 -Namque
 
 342 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 
 
 L E c T. Namque ipfa decoram 
 
 v _i Caefariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventae 
 Purpureum, et Iqetos oculis aiHarat honores. 
 
 Or, 
 
 Devenere locos lactos & amasna vireta, 
 Fortunatorum nemorum, fedefque beatas ; 
 Largior hie campos asther, & lumine veftit 
 Purpureo, folemque fuum, fua fidera norant. 
 
 JEx. VI. 
 
 Brlfk and lively fenfations exact quicker and 
 more animated numbers. 
 
 Juvenum m^nus emicat ardens 
 Littus in Hefperium. ^EN. VIJ. 
 
 Melancholy and gloomy fubjects naturally 
 exprefs themfelves in flow meafures, and long 
 words : 
 
 In thofe deep folitudes and awful cells, 
 Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells. 
 
 Et caligantem nigra formidine lucum. 
 
 I HAVE now given fufficient openings into 
 this fubjecl: : a moderate acquaintance with 
 the good poets, either antient or modern, will 
 fuggeft many inftances of the fame kind. And 
 with this, I finifh the difcuflion of the Structure 
 of Sentences j having fully confidered therp 
 under all the heads I mentioned j of Perfpicuity, 
 Unity, Strength, and Mufical Arrangement.
 
 LECTURE XIV. 
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURATIVE 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 H 
 
 AVING now finiihed what related to L E c T. 
 the conftrudtion of Sentences, I proceed 
 
 to other rules concerning Style. My general 
 divifion of the qualities of Style, was into Per- 
 ipicuity and Ornament. Perfpicuity, both in 
 fingle words and in fentences, I have confidered. 
 Ornament, as far as it arifes from a graceful, 
 ftrong, or melodious conftruflion of words, 
 has alfo been treated of. Another, and a great 
 branch of the ornament of Style, is, Figurative 
 Language ; which is now to be the fubject of 
 our confideration, and will require a full dif- 
 cufiion. 
 
 OUR firft inquiry muft be, What is meant 
 by Figures of Speech * ? 
 
 IN 
 
 * On the fubjeft of Figures of Speech, all the writer* 
 
 xvho treat of rhetoric or compofition, have infifted largely. 
 
 Z 4 Ta
 
 344 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 E c 
 
 XIV. 
 
 L E c T. J N general, they always imply fome depar- 
 
 ture from fimplicity of expreffion ; the idea 
 which we intend to convey, not only enun- 
 ciated to others, but enunciated in a parti- 
 cular manner, and with fome circumftance 
 added, which is defigned to render the impref- 
 fion more ftrong and vivid. When I fay, for 
 inftance, " That a good man enjoys comfort 
 tc in the midfc of adverfity;" I juft exprefs my 
 thought in the fimpleft manner poffible. Buc 
 when I fay, " To the upright there arifeth 
 " light in darknefs ;" the fame fentiment is 
 expreffed in a figurative Style ; a new circum- 
 ftance is introduced ; light is put in the place 
 of comfort, and darknefs is ufed to fuggeft the 
 idea of adverfity. In the fame manner, to. 
 fay, " It is impoffible, by any fearch we can 
 ( - make, to explore the divine nature fully," 
 is to make a fimple propofition. But when we 
 fay, " Canft thou, by fearching, find out 
 " God ? Canft thou find out the Almighty to 
 " perfection ? It is high as Heaven, what 
 " canft thou do ? deeper than Hell, what 
 
 To make references, therefore, on this fubjeft, were end- 
 lefs. On the foundations of Figurative Language, in ge- 
 neral, one .of the moft fenfible and inftruftive writers ap- 
 pears to me to be M. Marfais, in his Tra.it e des Tropes 
 four fervir d 'Introduction a la Rhetorique, & a la Logique. 
 For obfervations^on particular Figures, the Elements of Criti- 
 cifm may be confulted, where the fubjecl is fully handled, 
 and illuftrated by a great variety of examples. 
 
 canft
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 * f canft thou know ?" This introduces a Figure L 
 into Style; the proportion being not only ex- 
 prefled, but admiration and aftonifhment being 
 expreffed together with it. 
 
 BUT, though Figures imply a deviation 
 from what may be reckoned the moft fimple 
 form of Speech, we are not thence to con- 
 clude, that they imply any thing uncommon, 
 or unnatural. This is fo far from being the 
 cafe, that, on very many occafions, they are 
 both the moft natural, and the moft common 
 method of uttering our fentiments. It is im- 
 poffible to compofe any difcourfe without ufing 
 them often ; nay, there are few Sentences of 
 any length, in which fome expreflion or other, 
 that may be termed a Figure, does not occur. 
 From what caufes this happens, fhall be after- 
 wards explained. The fact, in the mean time, 
 fhows, that they are to be accounted part of 
 that Language which nature dictates to men. 
 They are not the invention of the fchools, nor 
 the mere product of itudy : on the contrary, 
 the moft illiterate fpeak in Figures, as often 
 as the moft learned. Whenever the imagina- 
 tions of the vulgar are much awakened, or their 
 pafiions inflamed againft one another, they will 
 pour forth a torrent of Figurative Language, 
 as forcible as could be employed by the moft 
 declaimed 
 
 WHAT
 
 34 6 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T. WHAT then is it, which has drawn the at- 
 tention of critics and rhetoricians fo much to 
 thefe forms of Speech ? It is this : They re- 
 marked, that in them confifts much of the 
 beauty and the force of Language ; and found 
 them always to bear fome characters, or dif- 
 tinguifhing marks, by the help of which they 
 could reduce them under feparate clafles and 
 Jieads. To this, perhaps, they owe their name 
 of Figures. As the figure, or fhape of one 
 body, diftmguifhes it from another, fo thefe 
 forms of Speech have, each of them, a caft or 
 turn peculiar to itfelf, which both diftin- 
 guifhes it from the reft, and diftinguifhes 
 it from Simple Expreflion. Simple Ex- 
 preffion juft makes our idea known to others ; 
 but Figurative Language, over and above, 
 beftows a particular drefs upon that idea ; 
 a drefs, which both makes it to be remarked, 
 and adorns it. Hence, this fort of Lan- 
 guage became early a capital object of atten- 
 tion to thofe who fludied the powers of 
 Speech, 
 
 FIGURES, in general, may be defcribed to be 
 that Language, which is prompted either by 
 the imagination, or by the pafiions. Thejuft- 
 nefs of this defcription will appear, from the 
 more particular account I am afterwards to 
 give of them. Rhetoricians commonly di-r 
 vide them into two great clafles ; Figures of 
 
 Words,
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Words, and Figures of Thought. The for- L 
 mer, Figures of Words, are commonly called 
 Tropes, and confift in a word's being em- 
 ployed to fignify fomething that is different 
 from its original and primitive meaning ; fo 
 that if you alter the word, you deftroy the 
 Figure. Thus, in the inftance I gave before ; 
 " Light arifeth to the upright, in darkneis." 
 The Trope confifts in " light and darknefs," 
 being not meant literally, but fubftituted for 
 comfort and adverfity, on account of fome re* 
 femblance or analogy which they are fup- 
 pofed to bear to thefe conditions of life. The 
 other clafs, termed Figures of Thought, fup- 
 pofes the words to be ufed in their proper and 
 literal meaning, and the Figure to confift in 
 the turn of the thought; as is the cafe in ex- 
 clamations, interrogations, apoftrophes, and 
 comparifons ; where, though you vary the 
 words that are ufed, or tranflate them from 
 one Language into another, you may, never- 
 thelefs, itill preferve the fame Figure in the 
 Thought. This diftin&ion, however, is of no 
 great ufe ; as nothing can be built upon it in 
 practice ; neither is it always very clear. It 
 is of little importance, whether we give to 
 fome particular mode of expreffion the name 
 of a Trope, or of a Figure ; provided we 
 remember, that Figurative Language always 
 imports fome colouring of the imagination, 
 or fome emotion of paflion, expreffed in our 
 
 Style :
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 Style: And, perhaps, Figures of I magination s 
 and Figures of Pafiion, might be a more ufe- 
 ful diftributioa of the fubjedt. But, without 
 infilling on any artificial divifions, it will be 
 more ufeful, that I inquire into the Origin and 
 the Nature of Figures. Only, before I proceed 
 to this, there are two general obiervations which 
 it may be proper to premifc. 
 
 THE firft is, concerning the ufe of rules with 
 refpeft to Figurative Language. I admit, that 
 perfons may both fpeak and write with pro- 
 priety, who know not the names of any of 
 the Figures of Speech, nor ever ftudied any 
 rules relating to them. Nature, as was before 
 obferved, dictates the ufe of Figures ; and, 
 like Monf. Jourdain, in Moliere, who had 
 fpoken for forty years in profe, without ever 
 knowing it, many a one ufes metaphorical ex- 
 preflions to good purpofe, without any idea of 
 what a metaphor is. It will not, however, 
 follow thence, that rules are of no fervice. 
 All fcience arifes from obfervations on prac- 
 tice. Practice has always gone before method 
 and rule ; but method and rule have after- 
 wards improved and perfected practice, in 
 tvery art. We, every day, meet with perfons 
 who fmg agreeably, without knowing one 
 note of the gamut. Yet it has been found of 
 importance to reduce thefe notes to a fcale, 
 and to form an art of muiic ; and it would be 
 
 ridiculous
 
 LANGUAGE. 34.9 
 
 Hdiculous to pretend, that the art is of no ad- L ^ ^ T. 
 Vantage, becaufe the practice is founded in 
 nature. Propriety aH beatM . Speech, are 
 certainly as improvert'u.c . ear or the 
 
 voice j and to know the principles of this 
 beauty, or the realons wh;ch render one 
 Figure, or one manner of Speech, preferable 
 to another, cannot fail to affilt and direct a 
 proper choice. 
 
 BUT I muft obferve, in the next place, that, 
 although this part of Style merits attention, 
 and is a very proper object of fcience and rule j 
 although much of the beauty of compofition 
 depends on Figurative Language j yet we 
 muft beware of imagining that it depends 
 folely, or even chiefly, upon fuch Language. 
 It is not fo. The great place which the doc- 
 trine of Tropes and Figures has occupied in 
 fyftems of rhetoric ; the over-anxious care 
 which has been {hewn in snvinsr names to a 
 
 O O 
 
 vaft variety of them, and in ranging them 
 under different claries, has often led perfons 
 to imagine, that, if their compofition was' 
 well befpangled with a number of thefe orna- 
 ments of Speech, it wanted no other beauty j 
 whence has arifen much ftiffnefs and affecta- 
 tion. For it is, in truth, the fentiment or 
 pafiion, which lies under the figured expref- 
 fion, that gives it any merit. The figure is 
 only the drefsj the Sentiment is the body and 
 
 the
 
 35 o ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T. tn e fubftance. No Figures will render a cold 
 or an empty compofition interefting ; whereas, 
 if a fentiment be fublime or pathetic, it can 
 fupport itfelf perfectly well, without any bor- 
 rowed afliftance. Hence feveral of the moil 
 affecting and admired paffages of the beft au- 
 thors, are expreffed in the fimpleft language. 
 The following fentiment from Virgil, for 
 inftance, makes its way at once to the heart, 
 without the help of any Figure whatever. 
 He is defcribing an Argive, who falls in battle, 
 in Italy, at a great diftance from his native 
 country : 
 
 Sternitur, infelix, alieno vulnere, coelumque 
 Afpicit, et dukes moriens reminifcitur Argos *. 
 
 JEx. X. 781. 
 A fin- 
 
 * " Anthares had from Argos travell'd far, 
 
 " Alcides' friend, and brother of the war; 
 
 " Now falling, by another's wound, his eyes 
 
 " He cafts to Heaven, on Argos thinks, and dies." 
 
 In this tranflation, much of the beauty of the original is 
 loft. " On Argos thinks, and dies," is by no means equal 
 to " dulces moriens reminifcitur Argos:" " As he dies, he 
 
 ** remembers his beloved Argos." It is indeed obferv- 
 
 able, that in moft of thofe tender and pathetic paflages, 
 which do fo much honour to Virgil, that great poet exprefles 
 himfelf with the utmoft fimplicity ; as, 
 
 Te, dulcis Conjux, te folo in littore fecum, 
 Te veniente die, te decedente canebat. GEOKG. IV. 
 
 And
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 A fmgle ftroke of this kind, drawn as by the L 
 very pencil of Nature, is worth a thoufand 
 Figures. In the fame manner, the fimple 
 flyie of Scripture : " He fpoke, and it was 
 " done; he commanded, and it flood faft." 
 " God faid, Let there be light ; and there was 
 " light j" imparts a lofty conception to much 
 greater advantage, than if it had been deco- 
 rated by the moft pompous metaphors. The 
 fact is, that the ftrong pathetic, and the pure 
 fublime, not only have little dependance on 
 Figures of Speech, but, generally, reject them. 
 The proper region of thefe ornaments is, 
 where a moderate degree of elevation and 
 paffion is predominant ; and there they con- 
 tribute to the embellilhment of difcoude, 
 only, when there is a bafis of folid thought 
 and natural fentiment ; when they are inferted 
 
 And fo in that moving prayer of Evander, upon his parting 
 with his fon Pallas : 
 
 At vos, O Superi ! et Divum tu maxime redlor 
 Jupiter, Arcadii quasfo miferefcite regis, 
 Et patrias audite preces. Si numina veftra 
 Incolumem Pallanta mihi, fi fata refervant, 
 Si vifurus eum vivo, et venturus in unum, 
 Vitam oro ; patiar quemvis durare laborem ! 
 Sin aliquem infandum cafum, Fortuna> minaris, 
 Nunc, O nunc liceat crudelem abrumpere vitam ! 
 Dum curse ambiguae, dum ipes inceita futuri; 
 Dum te, chare Puer ! mea fera et fola voluptas ! 
 Amplexu teneo ; gravior ne nuncius aures 
 Vulneret JEy.VUL 572. 
 
 in
 
 3$2 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T. ' m tne | r proper place ; and when they rife, of 
 themfelves, from the fubject, without being 
 
 HAVING premifed thefe obfervations, I 
 proceed to give an account of the origin and 
 nature of Figures -, principally of fuch as have 
 their dependance on language ; including 
 that numerous tribe, which the rhetoricians 
 call Tropes. 
 
 AT the firft rife of language, men would 
 begin with giving names to the different 
 objects which they difcerned, or thought of. 
 This nomenclature would, at the beginning, 
 be very narrow. According as men's ideas 
 mukiplied, and their acquaintance with ob- 
 jects increafed, their flock of names and 
 words would increafe alfo. But to the infinite 
 variety of objects and ideas, no language is 
 adequate. No language is fo copious, as to 
 have a feparate word for every feparate idea. 
 Men naturally fought to abridge this labour 
 of multiplying words in infinitum - y and, in 
 order to lay lefs burden on their memories, 
 made one word, which they had already ap- 
 propriated to a certain idea or object., fland 
 alfo for fome other idea or object ; between 
 which and the primary one, they found, or 
 fancied, fome relation. Thus, the prepo- 
 licion, in t was originally invented to exprefs 
 
 the
 
 FIGURATIVE LANG UAGfi; 
 
 the circumftance of place : " The man was L 
 killed in the wood." In progrefs of time* 
 words were wanted to exprefs men's being 
 connected with certain conditions of fortune, 
 or certain fituations of mind -, and fome re- 
 femblance, or analogy, being fancied between 
 thefe, and the place of bodies, the word, in, 
 was employed to exprefs men's being fo cir- 
 cumftanced j as, one's being in health or in 
 ficknefs, in profperity or in adverfity, in joy 
 or in grief, in doubt^ or in danger, or in- 
 fafety. Here we fee this prepofition, in, 
 plainly afftiming a tropical fignification, or 
 carried off from its original meaning, to 
 fignify fomething elfe, which relates to, or 
 refembles it. 
 
 TROPES of this kind abound in all lan- 
 guages j and are plainly owing to the want of 
 proper words. The operations of the mind 
 and affections, in particular, are, in moft 
 languages, defcribed by words taken from 
 fenfible objects. The reafon is plain. The 
 names of fenfible objects were, in all lan- 
 guages, the words moft early introduced -, 
 and were, by degrees, extended to thofe 
 mental objects, of which men had more ob- 
 fcure conceptions, and to which they found it 
 more difficult to affign diftinct names. They 
 borrowed, therefore, the name of fomc fen- 
 fible idea, where their imagination found 
 fome affinity. Thus we fpeak of, a piercing' 
 
 VOL. I. A a judgment,
 
 354 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L xiv T j u ^D ment > an d a clear head; a Joft or a 
 
 hard heart ; a r^<& or a Jmooth behaviour. 
 We fay, inflamed by anger, warmed by love, 
 fuelled with prid,e, melted into grief; and thefe 
 are almoft the only . figniricant words which we 
 have for fuch ideas. 
 
 BUT, although the barrennefs of language, 
 and the want of words, be doubtlefs one caufe 
 of the invention of Tropes j yet it is not the, 
 only, nor, perhaps, even the principal fource 
 of this form of fpeech. Tropes have arifen 
 more frequently, and ipread themfelves wider, 
 from the influence which Imagination poilefies 
 over Language. The train on which this has 
 proceeded among all nations, I Ihall endeavour 
 to explain. 
 
 EVERY: object which makes any impreflion 
 on the human mind, is conftantly accom- 
 panied with certain circumftances and rela- 
 tions, that ftrike us at the fame time. It 
 never prefents itfelf to our view, ifole, as the 
 French exprefs it ; that is, independent on, 
 and feparated from, every other thing ; but 
 always occurs as fomehow related to other ob- 
 jects ; going before them, or following them ; 
 their effect or their caufe; refembling them, 
 or oppofed to them j dittinguiflied by. certain 
 qualities, or furrounded with certain circum- 
 ftances. By this means, every idea or object. 
 carries in its train fome other ideas, which may 
 
 be
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 be confidered as its accefifories. Thefe accef- 
 fories often ftrike the imagination more than 
 the principal idea itfelf. They are, perhaps, 
 more agreeable ideas 3 or they are more fami- 
 liar to our conceptions j or they recal to our 
 memory a greater variety of important circum- 
 ftances. The imagination is more difpofed 
 to reft upon fome of them ; and therefore, 
 inftead of ufmg the proper name of the prin- 
 cipal idea which it means to exprefs, it em- 
 ploys, in its place, the name of the acceffory 
 or correfpondent idea; although the principal 
 have a proper and well-known name of its 
 own. Hence a vaft variety of tropical or 
 figurative words obtain currency in all lan- 
 guages, through choice, not neceffity ; and 
 men of lively imaginations are every day add- 
 ing to their number. 
 
 THUS, when we defign to intimate the pe- 
 riod at which a ftate enjoyed moil repu- 
 tation or glory, it were eafy to employ the 
 proper words for expreffing this; but as this 
 is readily connected, in our imagination, with 
 the flourifhing period of a plant or a tree, we 
 lay hold of this correfpondent idea, and fay, 
 <c The Roman empire flourifhed moft under 
 <f Auguftus." The leader of a faction, is 
 plain language ; but, becaufe the head is the 
 principal part of the human body, and is fup- 
 pofed to direct all the animal operations, reft- 
 ing upon this refemblance, we fay, " Catiline 
 A a 2 " was
 
 356 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T. 
 
 was the head of the party." The word, Voice, 
 was originally invented to fignify the articulate 
 found, formed by the organs of the mouth; 
 but, as by means of it men fignify their ideas 
 and their intentions to each other, Voice foori 
 affumed a great many other meanings, all de- 
 rived from this primary effect. " To, give 
 <c our Voice" for any thing, fignified, to give 
 our fentimerit in favour of it. Not only fo; 
 but Voice was transferred to fignify any intima- 
 tion of will or judgment, though given with- 
 out the leaft iiiterpofition of Voice in its literal 
 fenfe, or any found uttered at all. Thus we 
 ipeak of liftening to the Voice of Confcience^ 
 the Voice of Nature, the Voice of God. This 
 ufage takes place, not fo much from barren- 
 nefs of language, or want of a proper word, 
 as from an allufion which we choofe to make 
 to Voice, in its primary fenfe, in order to convey 
 our idea, connected with a circumftance which 
 appears to the fancy to give it more fprightlinefs 
 and force. 
 
 THE account which I have now given, 
 and which feems to be a full and fair one, 
 of the introduction of Tropes into all Lan- 
 guages, coincides with what Cicero briefly ' 
 hints, in his third book de Oratore. " Mo- 
 * f dus transferendi verba late patet ; quam 
 " neceffitas primum genuit, coacta inopia 
 " et anguftias ; poft autem delectatio, ju- 
 " eunditafque celebravit. Nam ut veftis, 
 
 " frioris
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 r w frigoris depellendi caufa rcperta primo, 
 <c poll adhiberi caspta eft ad ornatum etiam 
 (C corporis et dignitatem, fie verbi tranflatio 
 <f inftituta eft inopias caufa, frequentata, de- 
 " le&ationis *." 
 
 FR.QM what has been faid, it clearly ap- 
 pears, how that muft come to pafs, which I 
 had occafion to mention in a former Left ore, 
 that all Languages are moft figurative in their 
 early ftate. Both the caufes to which I afcribed 
 the origin of Figures, concur in producing 
 this effecl: at the beginnings of fociety. Lan- 
 guage is then moft barren , the ftock of pro- 
 per names, which have been invented for 
 things, is fmall ; and, at the fame time, 
 imagination exerts great influence over the 
 conceptions of men, and their method of ut- 
 tering them ; fo that, both from neceffity 
 and from choice, their Speed) will, at that 
 period, abound jn Tropes. For the favage 
 tribes of men are always much given to won- 
 der and aftonifjirnent. Every new objeft fur- 
 
 * " The figurative nfage of words is very extenfive ; an 
 " ufage to which neceffity firft gave rife, on account of the 
 " paucity of words, and barrennefs of Language ; but 
 " which the pleafure that was found in it afterwards ren- 
 " dered frequent. For, as garments were nrft contrived to 
 " defend our bodies from the cold, and afterwards were 
 ' employed for the purpofe of ornament and dignity, fo 
 ' Figures of Speech, introduced by want, were cultivated 
 *; for the fake of entertainment." 
 
 A a 3 prifes,
 
 35 8 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E v T * P r if es > terrifies, and makes a ftrong impreflion 
 on their mind ; they are governed by imagi- 
 nation and paflion, more than by reafon ; and, 
 of courfe, their fpeech muft be deeply tindlured 
 by their genius. In fact, we find, that this is 
 the character of the American and Indian 
 Languages j bold, pi&urefque, and metapho- 
 rical ; full of ftrong aliufions to fenfible quali- 
 ties, and to fuch objects as ftruck them mod 
 in their wild and folitary life. An Indian chief 
 makes a harangue to his tribe, in a ftyle full of 
 ftronger metaphors than a European would 
 ufe in an epic poem. 
 
 As Language makes gradual progrefs to- 
 wards refinement, almoft every objet comes 
 to have a proper name given to it, and Perfpi- 
 cuity and Precifion are more ftudied. But, 
 ftill, for the reafons before given, borrowed 
 words, or, as rhetoricians call them, Tropes, 
 muft continue to occupy a confiderable place. 
 In every Language, too, there are a multitude 
 of words, which, though they were Figurative 
 in their firft application to certain objects, yet, 
 by long ufe, lofe that Figurative power xvholly, 
 and come to be confidered as fimple and literal 
 expreflions. In this cafe, are the terms which 
 I remarked before, as transferred from fen- 
 fible qualities to the operations or qualities of 
 the mind, a piercing judgment, a clear head, a 
 hard heart, and the like. There are other 
 
 words
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 words which remain in a fort of middle flatej L 
 which have neither loft wholly their Figurative 
 application, nor yet retain fo much of it, as to 
 imprint any remarkable character of figured 
 Language on our Style -, fuch as thefe phrafes, 
 " apprehend one's meaning)" " enter on a 
 cr fubject ;" " follow out an argument ;" 
 " ftir up ftrife " and a great many more, of 
 which our Language is full. In the ufe of 
 fuch phrafes, correct writers will always pre- 
 ferve a regard to the figure or allufion on which 
 they are founded, and will be careful not to 
 apply them in any way that is inconfiftent with 
 it. One may be cc fheltered under the patron- 
 t( age of a great man ;" but it were wrong to 
 fay, " fheltered under the mafque of difiimula- 
 " tion ;" as a mafque conceals, but does not 
 fhelter. An object, in defcription, may be 
 " clothed," if you will, " with epithets;" but it 
 is not fo proper to fpeak of its being " clothed 
 " with circumftances ;" as the word cc circum- 
 <f fiances," alludes to ftanding round, not to 
 clothing. Such attentions as thefe, to the pro- 
 priety of Language, are requifite in every com- 
 pofition. 
 
 WHAT has been faid on this fubject, tends to 
 throw light on the nature of Language in gene- 
 ral -, and will lead to the reafons, Why Tropes 
 or Figures contribute to the beauty and grace of 
 Style. 
 
 A a 4 FIRST,
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 FIRST, They enrich Language, and render 
 it more copious. By their means, words and 
 phrafes are multiplied for expreffing all forts 
 of ideas;, for defcribing even the minuteft 
 differences; the niceft fhades and colours of 
 thought; which no Language could pofllbly 
 do by proper words alone, without afliftance 
 from Tropes. 
 
 SECONDLY, They beftow dignity upon Style. 
 The familiarity of common words, to which 
 our ears are much accuftomed, tends to de- 
 grade Style. When we want to adapt our 
 Language to the tone of an elevated fubject, 
 we fhould be greatly at a Iqfs, if we could not 
 borrow afliftance from Figures; which, pro- 
 perly employed, have a fimilar effect on Lan- 
 guage, with what is produced by the rich and 
 fplendid drefs of a perfon of rank ; to create 
 refpecl, and to give an air of magnificence to 
 him who wears it. Afliftance of this kind is 
 often needed in profe compofitipns ; but poetry 
 could not fubfift without it. Hence Figures 
 form the conftant Language of poetry. To 
 fay, that " the fun rifes," is trite and com- 
 mon ; but it becomes a magnificent image 
 when expreiTed, as Mr. Thomfon has done : 
 
 But yonder comes the powerful king of day 
 Rejoicing in the eaft. . 
 
 To
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 361 
 
 To fay, that f c all men are fubieft alike to L E c T. 
 
 XIV 
 
 " death," prefents only a vulgar idea; but it 
 rifes and fills the imagination, when painted 
 thus by Horace : 
 
 Pallida mors aequo pulfat pede, pauperum tabernas 
 Regumque turres. 
 
 Or, 
 
 Oranes eouem cogitnur ; omnjum, 
 Verfatur urna, ferius, ocyus, 
 Sors exitura, & nos in eternum 
 Exilium impofitura cymbae *. 
 
 IN the third place, Figures give us the plea- 
 fure of enjoying two objects prefented toge- 
 gether to our view, without confufion j the prin- 
 cipal idea, which is the fubject of the dif- 
 courfe, along with its acceflbry, which gives it 
 the figurative drefs. We fee one thing in an- 
 other, as Ariftotle expreffes it ; which is always 
 agreeable to the mind. For there is nothing 
 with which the fancy is more delighted, than 
 with companions, and refemblances of ob- 
 jects ; and all Tropes are founded upon fome 
 relation or analogy between one thing and an r 
 
 * With equal pace, impartial fate 
 
 Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate. 
 Or, 
 
 We all muft tread the paths of fate ; 
 And ever (hakes the mortal urn ; 
 Whofe lot embarks us, foon or late, 
 
 On pharon's bpat j ah ! never to return. FRANCES. 
 
 other.
 
 ; 3 6s ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T, other. When, for inftance, in place of " youth," 
 I fay, the " morning of life ?" the fancy is 
 immediately entertained with all the refem- 
 bling circumftances which prefently occur be- 
 tween thefe two objects. At one moment, I 
 have in my eye a certain period of human life, 
 and a certain time of the day, fo related to each 
 other, that the imagination plays between them 
 with pleafure, and contemplates two fimilar 
 objects, in one view, without embarrafTment or 
 confufion. Not only fo, but, 
 
 IN the fourth place, Figures are attended 
 with this farther advantage, of giving us fre- 
 quently a much clearer and more finking 
 view of the principal objeft, than we could 
 have if it were expreffed in fimple terms, and 
 diverted of its acceffory idea. This is, indeed, 
 their principal advantage, in virtue of which, 
 they are very properly laid to illuftrate a fub- 
 ject, or to throw light upon it. For they ex- 
 hibit the object, on which they are employed, 
 in a piclurefque form j they can render an ab- 
 ftract conception, in fome degree, an object 
 of fenle ; they furround it with fuch circum- 
 ftances, as enable the mind to lay hold of it 
 fteadily, and to contemplate it fully. cc Thofe 
 <l perfons," fays one, " who gain the hearts 
 " of mod people, who are chofen as the com- 
 " panions of their fofter hours, and their 
 " reliefs from anxiety and care, are feldom 
 
 " perfons
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 363 
 
 tf perfons of fhining qualities, or ftrong vir- L 
 c tues : it is rather the foft green of the foul, 
 tc on which we reft our eyes, that are fatigued 
 * c with beholding more glaring objects." 
 Here, by a happy allufion to a colour, the 
 whole conception is conveyed clear and ftrong 
 to the mind in one word. By a well-chofea 
 Figure, even conviction is affifted, and the 
 imprefiion of a truth upon the mind, made 
 more lively and forcible than it would other- 
 wife be. As in the following illuftration of 
 Dr. Young's : fc When we dip too deep in 
 " pleafure, we always ftir a fediment that ren- 
 " ders it impure and noxious j" or in this, 
 <f A heart boiling with violent paffions, will 
 " always fend up infatuating fumes to the 
 " head." An image that prefents fo much 
 congruity between a moral and a fenfible idea, 
 ferves like an argument from analogy, to 
 enforce what the author afierts, and to induce 
 belief. 
 
 BESIDES, whether we are endeavouring to 
 raife fentiments of pleafure or averfion, we 
 can always heighten the emotion by the Figures 
 which we introduce ; leading the imagination 
 to a train, either of agreeable or difagreeable, 
 of exalting or debafing ideas, correfpondent 
 to the impreffion which we feek to make. 
 When we want to render an object beautiful, 
 or magnificent, we borrow images from all 
 
 the
 
 L viS T< tne m ft b eaut iful or fplendid fcenes of na- 
 t ture ; we thereby, naturally, throw a luftre 
 over our object ; we enliven the reader's mind, 
 and difpofe him to go along with us, in the 
 gay and pleafing impreflions which we give 
 him of the fubject. This effect of Figures 
 is happily touched in the following lines of 
 Dr. Akenfide, and illuftrated by a very fublime 
 Figure : 
 
 Then the inexpreflive ftrain 
 
 Diffufes its enchantment. Fancy dreams 
 Of facred fountains and Elyfian groves, 
 And vales of blifs. The intellectual Power 
 Bends from his awful throne a wond'ring ear, 
 And frniles. Pleaf. of Imaginat. I. 124. 
 
 WHAT I have now explained, concerning 
 the ufe and effects of Figures, naturally leads 
 us to reflect on the wonderful power of Lan- 
 guage ; and, indeed, we cannot reflect on it 
 ' without the higheft admiration. What a fine 
 vehicle is it now become for all the concep- 
 tions of the human rrjirjd j even for the moft 
 fubtile and delicate workings of the imagina- 
 tion ! What a pliant and flexible inftrument 
 in the hand of one who can employ it fkilfully ; 
 prepared to take every form which he chules 
 to give it ! Not content with a fimple com- 
 munication of ideas and thoughts, it paints 
 thofe ideas to the eye j it gives colouring and 
 relievo, even to the moft abftract conceptions. 
 
 In
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 In the Figures which it ufes, it fets mirrors L 
 before us, where we may behold objects, a 
 fecond time, in their likenefs. It entertains 
 us, as with a fucceffion of the moft fplendid 
 pictures j difpofes, in the moft artificial man- 
 ner, df the light and fhade, for viewing every 
 thing to the beft advantage ; in fine, from 
 being a rude and imperfect interpreter of men's 
 wants and necefllcies, it has now pafled into 
 an inftrumerit of the moft delicate and refined 
 luxury. 
 
 To make thefe effects of Figurative Lan- 
 guage fenfible, there are few authors in the 
 Englifh Language, whom I can refer to with 
 more advantage than Mr. Addifon, whofe 
 imagination is, at oncej remarkably rich, and 
 remarkably correct and chafte. When he is 
 treating, for inftance, of the effect which light 
 and colours have to entertain the fancy, con- 
 fidered in Mr. Locke's view of them as fecond- 
 ary qualities, which have no real exiftence 
 in matter, but are only ideas in the mind, with 
 what beautiful painting has he adorned this 
 philofophic fpeculation ? " Things," fays he, 
 " would make but a poor appearance to the 
 <f eye, if we faw them only in their proper 
 * c figures and motions. Now, we are every 
 " where entertained with pleafing fhows and 
 " apparitions j we difcover imaginary glories 
 * c in the heavens, and in the earth, and fee 
 
 " fome
 
 3 6 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 L E c T. fome of this vifionary beauty poured out 
 (< upon the whole creation. But what a rough 
 <c unfightly Iketch of nature fhould we be en- 
 fc tertained with, did all her colouring difap- 
 <f pear, 'and the feveral difr.inc~r.ions of light 
 " and fhade vanifh ? In fhort, our fouls are, 
 c< at prefent, delightfully loft, and bewildered 
 <c in a pleafmg delufion ; and we walk about, 
 c like the enchanted hero of a romance, who 
 . fees beautiful catties, woods, and meadows ; 
 " and, at the fame time, hears the warbling 
 <f of birds, and the purling of ftreams ; but, 
 " upon, the finilhing of fome fecret fpell, the 
 " fantaflic fcene breaks up, and the difconfo- 
 " late knight finds himfelf on a barren heath, 
 " or in a folitary defert. It is not impro- 
 " bable, that fomething like this may be the 
 " ftate of the foul after its firft feparation, in 
 (c refpect of the images it will receive from 
 " matter." No. 413. Spec. 
 
 HAVING thus explained, at fufEcient length, 
 the Origin, the Nature, and the Effects of 
 Tropes, I (hould proceed next to the feveral 
 kinds and divifions of them. But, in treat- 
 ing of thefe, were I to follow the common 
 track of the fcholaftic writers on Rhetoric, I 
 ihould foon become tedious, and, I appre- 
 hend, ufelefs, at the fame time. Their great 
 bufmefs has been, with a moft patient and 
 frivolous induftry, to branch them out under 
 
 13 a vaft
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 367 
 
 a. vaft number of divifions, according to all L 
 the feveral modes in which a word may be car- 
 ried from its literal meaning, into one that is 
 Figurative, without doing any more j as if 
 the mere knowledge of the names and clafies 
 of all the Tropes that can be formed, could 
 be of any advantage towards the proper or 
 graceful ufe of Language. All that I pur- 
 pofe is, to give, in a few words, before finifh- 
 ing this Lecture, a general view of the feveral 
 fources whence the tropical meaning of words 
 is derived : after which I fhall, in fubfequent 
 Lectures, defcend to a more particular con- 
 fideration of fome of the moft confiderable 
 Figures of Speech, and fuch as are in 
 moft frequent ufe; by treating of which, 
 I fhall give all the inftruftion I can, con- 
 cerning the proper employment of Figura- 
 tive Language, and point out the errors and 
 abufes which are apt to be committed in this 
 part of Style. 
 
 ALL Tropes, as I before obferved, are 
 founded on the relation which one objed bears 
 to another j in virtue of which, the name of 
 the one can be fubftituted inftead of the name 
 of the other i and by fuch a fubftitution, the 
 vivacity oT the idea is commonly meant to be 
 increafed. Thefe relations, fome more, fome 
 lefs intimate, may all give rife to Tropes. 
 One of the firft and moft obvious relations is, 
 
 thac
 
 3 63 ORIGIN AND NATURE 
 
 L E c T. that between a caufe and its effect. Hence, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 in Figurative Language, the caufe is, fome- 
 times, put for the effect. Thus, Mr. Addifon, 
 writing of Italy : 
 
 1 BloiToms, and fruits, and flowers, together rife, 
 And the whole year in gay confufion lies. 
 
 where the " whole year" is plainly intended, 
 to fignify the effects or productions of all the 
 feafons of the year. At other times, again, 
 the effect is put for the caufe j as, "grey 
 " hairs" frequently for old age, which caufes 
 grey hairs -, and cc f]iade>" for trees that pro- 
 duce the fliade. The relation between the 
 container and the thing contained, is alfo fo 
 intimate and obvious, as naturally to give rife 
 to Tropes : 
 
 Hie irnpiger haufit 
 Spumantem pateram & pleno fe proluit auro. 
 
 Where every one fees, that the cup and the 
 gold are put for the liquor that was contained 
 in the golden cup. In the fame manner, the 
 name of any country, is often ufed to denote 
 the inhabitants of that country ; and Heaven, 
 very commonly employed to fignify God, be- 
 caufe he is conceived as dwelling; in Heaven. 
 
 O 
 
 To implore the affiftance of Heaven, is the 
 fame as to implore the afliftance of God. The 
 relation betwixt any eftablifhed fign and the 
 
 thing
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 369 
 
 thing fignified, is a further fource of Tropes. L IV T - 
 Hence, v-v-w 
 
 Cedant arma togae 5 concedat laurea linguae. 
 
 The " toga," being the badge of the civil 
 profeffions, and the " laurel," of military ho- 
 nours, the badge of each is put for the civil 
 and military characters themfelves. To " af- 
 " fume the fceptre," is a common phrafe for 
 entering on royal authority. To Tropes, 
 founded on thefe feveral relations, of caufe 
 and effect, container and contained, fign and 
 thing fignified, is given the name of Me- 
 tonymy. 
 
 / 
 
 WHEN the Trope is founded on the relation 
 between an antecedent and a confequent, or 
 what goes before, and immediately follows, it 
 is then called a Metalepfis -, as in the Roman 
 phrafe of " Fuit," or ff Vixit," to exprefs 
 that one was dead. " Fuit Ilium et ingens 
 < c gloria Dardanidum," fignifies, that the glory 
 of Troy is now no more. 
 
 WHEN the whole is put for a part, or a part 
 for the whole ; a genus for a fpecies, or a 
 fpecies for a genus j the fingular for the 
 plural, or the plural for the fingular num- 
 ber i in general, when any thing lefs, or 
 any thing more, is put for the precife ob- 
 ject meant j the Figure is then called a Sy- 
 
 VOL, I. B b necdoche.
 
 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF 
 
 T ' necdoche. It is very common, for inftance, 
 to defcribe a whole object by fome remark- 
 able part of it ; as, when we fay, " A fleet 
 <c of ib many fail," in the place of " fhips j" 
 when we ufe the " head" for the " perfon," 
 the " pole" for the <c earth," the " waves'* 
 for the fc fea." In like manner, an attri- 
 bute may be put for a fubject ; as, " Youth 
 tc and Beauty," for " the young and beau- 
 <c tiful ;" and fometimes a fubjecl for .its at- 
 tribute. But it is needlefs to infift longer on 
 this enumeration, which ferves little purpofe. 
 I have faid enough, to give an opening 
 into that great variety of relations between 
 objects, by means of which, the mind is af- 
 fifted to pafs eafily from one to another ; 
 and by the name of the one underflands the 
 other to be meant. It is always fome ac- 
 ceflbry idea, which recals the principal to 
 the imagination ; and commonly recals it with 
 more force, than if the principal idea had been 
 exprefled. 
 
 THE relation which is far the moft fruit- 
 ful of Tropes, I have not yet mentioned $ 
 that is the relation of Similitude and Re- 
 femblance. On this is founded what is called 
 the Metaphor : when, in place of ufing the 
 proper name of any object, we employ, in its 
 place, the name of fome other which is like it ; 
 which is a fort of picture of it, and which 
 10 thereby
 
 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 
 
 thereby awakens the conception of it with more L 
 force or grace. This figure is more frequent 
 than all the reft put together ; and the language, 
 both of profe and verfe, owes to it much of its 
 elegance and grace. This, therefore, deferves 
 very full and particular confideration j and fhall 
 be the fubject of the next Ledure.
 
 LECTURE XV. 
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 L E XV T ' A FTER the preliminary obfervations I 
 JT\. have made, relating to Figurative Lan- 
 guage in general, I come now to treat fepa- 
 j-ately of fuch Figures of Speech, as occur 
 moft frequently, and require particular atten- 
 tion : and I begin with Metaphor. This is 
 a Figure founded entirely on the refemblance 
 which one object bears to another. Hence, 
 it is much allied to Simile, or Comparifon ; 
 and is indeed no other than a comparifon, ex- 
 prefTed in an abridged form. When I fay of 
 ibme great minifter, " that he upholds the 
 " ftate, like a Pillar which fupports the weight 
 " of a whole edifice," I fairly make a com- 
 parifon j but when I fay of fuch a minifter, 
 " that lie is the Pillar of the ftate," it is now 
 become a Metaphor. The comparifon be- 
 twixt the Minifter and a Pillar, is made in 
 the mind j but is exprefTed without any of the 
 words that denote comparifon. The com- 
 parifon
 
 M E T A P H 'O R. 
 
 parifon is only infinuated, not exprefied : 
 the one object is fuppofed to be fo like the 
 other, that, without formally drawing the 
 comparifon, the name of the one may be put 
 in the place of the name of the other. Cf The 
 " minifter is the Pillar of the ftate." This, 
 therefore, is a more lively and animated man- 
 ner of expreffing the refemblances which 
 imagination traces among objects. There is 
 nothing which delights the fancy more, than 
 this act of comparing things together, dif- 
 covering refemblances between them, ,and de- 
 fcribing them by their likenefs. The mind, 
 thus employed, is exercifed without being 
 fatigued ; and is gratified with the confclouf- 
 nefs of its own ingenuity. We need not be 
 furprifed, therefore, at finding all Lan- 
 guage tinctured ftrongly with Metaphor. It 
 infmuates itfelf even into familiar conver- 
 fation ; and, unfought, rifes up of its own 
 accord in the mind. The very words which 
 I have cafually employed in defcribing this, 
 are a proof of what I fay j tinctured, infmuates, 
 rifes up, are all of them metaphorical ex- 
 preflions, borrowed from fome refemblance 
 which fancy forms between fenfible objects, 
 and the internal operations of the mind ; and 
 yet the terms are no lefs clear, and, perhaps, 
 more expreffive, than if words had been ufed, 
 which were to be taken in the ftrict and literal 
 fenfe. 
 
 B b 3 THOUGH
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 THOUGH all Metaphor -imports companion, 
 and, therefore, is, in that refpect, a Figure of 
 thought j yet, as the words in a Metaphor 
 are not taken literally, . but changed from 
 their proper to a Figurative fenfe, the Meta- 
 phor is commonly ranked among Tropes or 
 Figures of words. But, provided the nature 
 of it be well underftood, it fignifies very 
 little whether we call it a Figure or a Trope. 
 1 have confined it to the exprefiion of refem- 
 blance between two objects. I muft remarkj 
 however, that the word Metaphor is fometimes 
 i) fed in a loofer and more extended fenfe ; for 
 the application of a term in any figurative fig- 
 nification, whether the Figure be founded on 
 refemblance, or on fome other relation, which 
 two objects bear to one another. For inftance ; 
 when grey hairs are put for old age, as, tc to 
 <f bring one's grey hairs with forrow to the 
 t{ grave;" fome writers would call this a 
 Metaphor, though it is not properly one, but 
 what rhetoricians call a Metonymy j that is, 
 the effect put for the caufe ; " grey hairs" 
 being the effect of old age, but not bearing 
 any fort of refemblance to it. Ariftotle, in 
 his Poetics, ufes Metaphor in this extended 
 fenfe, for any figurative meaning impofed 
 upon a word ; as a whole put for the part, or 
 a part for the whole ; a fpecies for the genus, 
 or a genus for the'fpecies. But it would be 
 j-injuft to tax this moft acute writer with any 
 
 inaccuracy
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 Inaccuracy on this account ; the minute fub- L 
 diviiions, and various names of Tropes, being 
 unknown in his days, and the invention of 
 later rhetoricians. Now, however, when thefe 
 divifions are eftablifhed, it is inaccurate to call 
 every figurative ufe of terms^ prorrnfcuoufly, a 
 Metaphor, 
 
 OF all the Figures of Speech, none comes 
 fo near to painting as Metaphor. Its peculiar 
 effect is to give light and ftrength to defcrip- 
 tion j to make intellectual ideas, in fome fort, 
 vifible to the eye, by giving them colour, and 
 fubflance, and fenfible qualities. In order to 
 produce this effect, however, a delicate hand 
 is required -, for, by a very little inaccuracy, 
 we are in hazard of introducing confufion, in 
 place of promoting Perfpicuity. Several 
 rules, therefore, are neceffary to be given 
 for the proper management of Metaphors. 
 But, before entering on thefe, 1 fhall give 
 one inftance of a very beautiful Metaphor, 
 that I may fhow the Figure to full advantage. 
 I fhall take my inftance from Lord Boling- 
 broke's Remarks on the Hiftory of England. 
 Juft at the conclufion of his work, he is fpeak- 
 ing of the behaviour of Charles I. to his laft 
 parliament : " In a word," fays he, " about a 
 cf month after their meeting, he difiblved them; 
 cc and, as foon as he had diffolved them, he 
 " repented ; but he repented too late of his 
 J3 b 4 " rafhnefs.
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 " raftinefs. Well might he repent; for the 
 veflel was now full, and this laft drop made 
 the waters of bitternefs overflow." " Here," 
 he adds, <f we draw the curtain, and put an end 
 " to our remarks." Nothing could be more 
 Happily thrown off. The Metaphor, we fee, 
 is continued through feveral exprefllons. The 
 veffel is put for the ftate or temper of the na- 
 tion already full, that is, provoked to the 
 higheft by former oppreflions and wrongs ; 
 this laft dropy ftands for the provocation re- 
 cently received by the abrupt diffolution of 
 the parliament ; and the overflowing of the 
 waters of bitternejs, beautifully expreffes all 
 the effects of refentment let loofe by an exaf- 
 perated people. 
 
 ON this paffage, we may make two re- 
 marks in pafling. The one, that nothing 
 forms a more fpirited and dignified conclufion 
 of a fubject, than a Figure of this kind happily 
 placed at the clofe. We fee the effect of it, 
 in this inftance.. The author goes off with a 
 good grace ; and leaves a ftrong and full im- 
 preflion of his fubject on the reader's mind. 
 My other remark is, the advantage which a 
 Metaphor frequently has above a formal com- 
 parifon. How much would the fentiment 
 here have been enfeebled, if it had been ex- 
 preffed in the ftyle of a regular fimile, thus : 
 " Well might he repent -, for the ftate of the 
 13 " riation,
 
 METAPHOR. . 377 
 
 " nation, loaded with grievances and provoca- L E x ^ T 
 
 fc tions, refembled a vefTel that was now full, 
 
 <c and this fuperadded provocation, like the 
 
 " laft drop infufed, made their rage and refent- 
 
 " ment, as waters of bitternefs, overflow." It 
 
 has infinitely more fpirit and force as it now 
 
 ftands, in the form of a Metaphor. " Well 
 
 " might he repent ; for the veffel was now full ; 
 
 " and this laft drop made the waters of bitter- 
 
 " nefs overflow." 
 
 HAVING mentioned, with applaufe, this 
 inftance from Lord Bolingbroke, I think it 
 incumbent on me here to take notice, that, 
 though I may have recourfe to this author, 
 fometimes, for examples of ftyle, it is his 
 ftyle only, and not his fentiments, that de- 
 fer ve praife. It is, indeed, my opinion, that 
 there are few writings in the Englifh Lan- 
 guage, which, for the matter contained in 
 them, can be read with lefs profit or fruit, 
 than Lord Bolingbroke's works. His political 
 writings have the merit of a very lively and 
 eloquent ftyle ; but they have no other ; being, 
 as to the fubftance, the mere temporary 
 productions of faction and party ; no better 
 indeed, than pamphlets written for the day. 
 His Pofthumous, or, as they are called, his 
 Philofophical Works, wherein he attacks re- 
 ligion, have ftill lefs merit ; for they are as 
 loofe in the ftyle as they are flimfy in the rea- 
 
 foning.
 
 37* M E T A P H O R. 
 
 L xv T ' f n * n &- -A- n unna ppy inftance, this author 
 is, of parts and genius fo miferably perverted 
 by faction and pafiion, that as his memory 
 will defcend to poilerity with little honour, fo 
 his productions will foon pafs, and are, in- 
 deed, already pafiing into neglect and obli- 
 vion. 
 
 RETURNING from this digrefiion to the fub- 
 ject before us, I proceed to lay down the rules 
 to be obferved in the conduct of Metaphors -, 
 and which are much the fame for Tropes 'of 
 every kind. 
 
 THE firft which I fhall mention, is, that 
 they be fuited to the nature of the fubject of 
 which we treat j neither too many, nor too 
 gay ; nor too elevated for it j that we neither 
 attempt to force the iubject, by means of them> 
 into a degree of elevation which is not con- 
 gruous to it ; nor, on the other hand, allow 
 it to fink below its proper dignity. This is 
 a direction which belongs to all Figurative 
 Language, and fhould be ever kept in view. 
 Some Metaphors are allowable, nay beautiful, 
 in poetry, which it would be abfurd and 
 unnatural to employ in profe ; fome may 
 be graceful in orations, which would be 
 very improper in hiflorical, or philofophical 
 compofition. We muft remember, that 
 Figures are the drefs of our fentiments. As 
 
 there
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 there is a natural congruity between drefs,- and L 
 the character or rank of the perfon who wears 
 it, a violation of which congruity never fails to 
 hurt; the fame holds precifely as to the appli- 
 cation of Figures to fentiment. The exceffive, 
 or unfeafonable employment of them, is mere 
 foppery in writing. It gives a boyifli air to 
 compofition ; and, inftead of raifing a fubjectj 
 in fact, diminifhes its dignity. For, as in 
 life, true dignity muft be founded on character, 
 not on drefs and appearance, fo the dignity of 
 compofition muft arife from fentiment and 
 thought, not from ornament. The affectation 
 and parade of ornament, detract as much from 
 an author, as they do from a man. Figures, 
 and Metaphors, therefore, fhould, on no oc- 
 cafion, be ftuck on too profufely ; and never 
 Ihould be fuch as refufe to accord with the 
 ftrain of our fentiment. Nothing can be 
 more unnatural, than for a writer to carry on 
 a train of reafoning, in the fame fort of 
 Figurative Language which he would ufe in 
 defcription. When he reafons, we look only 
 for perfpicuity ; when he defcribes, we expect 
 embellifhment $ when he divides, or relates, 
 we defire plainnefs and fimplicity. One of 
 the greateft fecrets in compofition is, to know 
 when to be fimple. This always gives a 
 heightening to ornament, in its proper place. 
 The right difpofition of the fhade, makes the 
 Jight and colouring ftrike the more : " Is enim 
 
 eft
 
 3 3o METAPHOR. 
 
 L E c T. e ft eloquens," fays Cicero, " qui et hu- 
 <c milia fubtiliter, et magna graviter, et me- 
 " diocria temperate poteft dicere. Nam qui 
 " nihil poteft tranquille, nihil leniter, nihil 
 <c definite, diftim5le, poteft dicere, is, cum 
 " non pneparatis auribus inflammare rem cspit, 
 " furere apud fanos, et quafi inter fobrios 
 i{ bacchari temulentus videtur *." This ad- 
 monition fhouid be particularly attended to by 
 young practitioners in the art of writing, who 
 are apt to be carried away by an undiftinguifh- 
 ing admiration of what is fhowy and florid, 
 whether in its place or not f . 
 
 THE 
 
 * tl He is truly eloquent, who can difcourfe of humble 
 ' fubje&s in a plain ftyle, who can treat important ones 
 " with dignity, and fpeak of things, which are of a middle 
 *' nature, in a temperate ftrain. for one who, upon no 
 " occafion, can exprefs himfelf in a cairn, orderly, diftincfc 
 " manner, when he begins to be on fire before his readers 
 " are prepared to kindle alpng with him, has the appear- 
 " ance of raving like a madman among perfons who are in 
 " their fenfes, or of reeling like a drunkard in the midit of 
 *' fober company." 
 
 f What perfon, of the lead tafte, can bear the following 
 pafiage, in a late hiftorian ? He is giving an account of 
 the famous al of parliament againft irregular Marriages 
 in England : " The bill," fays he, " underwent a great 
 '' number of alterations and amendments, which were not 
 " effected without violent conteft." This is plain Lan- 
 guage, faked to the fubjeft ; ?.na we naturally expect, that 
 He fnould go on in the fame rtrain, to tell us, that, after 
 thefe contefts, it was carried by a great majority of voices, 
 and obtained the royal afient. But how does he exprefs 
 himfelf in finifhing the period ? " At length, however, it 
 
 " was
 
 METAPHOR. 381 
 
 THE fecond rule, which 1 give, refpe&s the LEG T. 
 choice of objects, from whence Metaphors, 
 and other Figures, are to be drawn. The field 
 for Figurative Language is very wide. All 
 nature, to fpeak in the ftyle of Figures, opens 
 its ftores to us, and admits us to gather, from 
 all fenfible objects, whatever can illuftrate in- 
 tellectual or moral ideas. Not only the gay 
 and fplendid objects of fenfe, but the grave, 
 the terrifying, and even the gloomy and dif- 
 mal, may, on different oc.cafions, be intro- 
 duced into Figures with propriety. But we 
 muft beware of ever ufmg fuch allufions as 
 raife in the mind difagreeable, mean, vulgar, 
 or dirty ideas. Even when Metaphors are 
 chofen in order to vilify and degrade any ob- 
 ject:, an author fhould ftudy never to be nau~ 
 feous in his allufions. Cicero blames an orator 
 of his time, for terming his enemy fc Stercus 
 " Curiae j" " quamvis fit fimile," fays he, 
 " tamen eft deformis cogitatio fimilitudinis." 
 But, in fubjefts of dignity, it is an unpardon- 
 able fault to introduce mean and vulgar Me- 
 taphors. In the treatife on the Art of Sink- 
 ing, in Dean Swift's works, there is a full and 
 humourous collection of inftances of this kind, 
 
 " was floated through both houfes, on the tide of a great 
 " majority, and fleered into the fafe harbour of royal appro- 
 " bntion." Nothing can be more puerile than fuch Lan- 
 guage. Smollet's Hiftory of England, as quoted in Critical 
 Review for O&. 1761, p. 251. 
 
 wherein
 
 382 METAPHOR. 
 
 L E c T. wherein authors, inftead of exalting, have con- 
 trived to degrade, their fubjects by the Figures 
 they employed. Authors of greater note than 
 thofe -which are there quoted, have, at times, 
 fallen into this error. Archbifhop Tillotfon, 
 for inflance, is fometimes negligent in his 
 choice of Metaphors ; as, when fpeaking of 
 the day of judgment, he defcribes the world, 
 as " cracking about the fmners ears." Shake- 
 fpeare, whofe imagination was rich and bold, 
 in a much greater degree than it was deli- 
 cate, often fails here. The following, for 
 example, is a grofs tranfgreffion > in his 
 Henry V. having mentioned a dunghill, he 
 prefently raifes a Metaphor from the fteam of 
 it ; and on a fubject too, that naturally led to 
 much nobler ideas : 
 
 And thofe that leave their valiant bones in France, 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, 
 They fhall be fam'd ; for there the fun fliall greet them, 
 And draw their honours reeking up to heaven. 
 
 Ad IV. Sc. 8.. 
 
 IN the third place, as Metaphors fhould be 
 drawn from objects of fome dignity, fo par- 
 ticular care fhould be taken that the refem- 
 blance, which is the foundation of the Me- 
 taphor, be clear and perfpicuous, not far- 
 fetched, nor difficult to difcover. The tranf- 
 greffion of this rule makes, what are called, 
 harfh or forced Metaphors, which are always 
 
 difpleafing,
 
 T A P H O R. 
 
 difpleafing, becaufe they puzzle the reader, 
 and, inftead of illuftrating the thought, ren- 
 der it perplexed and intricate. With Meta- 
 phors of this kind, Cowley abounds. He, 
 and fome of the writers , of his age, feem to 
 have confidered it as the perfection of wit, to 
 hit upon likeneffes between objects which no 
 other perfon could have difcovered -, and, at 
 the fame time, to purfue thofe Metaphors fo 
 far, that it requires fome ingenuity to follow 
 them out, and comprehend them. This makes 
 a Metaphor refemble an senigma; and is the 
 very reverfe of Cicero's rule on this head : 
 " Verecunda debet efle tranflatio j ut deducta 
 <c effe in alienum locum non irruifTe, atque ut 
 " voluntario non vi venifie videatur *." How 
 forced and obfcure, for inftance, are the fol- 
 lowing verfes of Cowley, fpeaking of his 
 miftrefs : 
 
 Wo to her ftubborn heart, if once mine come 
 
 Into the felf-fame room, 
 'Twill tear and blow up all within, 
 Like a Granada, fhot into a magazine. 
 Then (hall love keep the afhes and torn parts 
 
 Of both our broken hearts ; 
 
 * " Every Metaphor ihould be modeft, fo that it may 
 " carry the appearance of having been led, not of having 
 " forced itfelf into the place of that word whofe room it 
 " occupies ; that it may feem to have come thither of its 
 " own accord, and not by conilraint." De Oratore, 
 lib. iii. c. 53. 
 
 Shall
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 Shall out of both one new one make; 
 From her's th* alloy, from mine the metal take; 
 For of her heart, he from the flames will find 
 
 But little left behind; 
 Mine only will remain entire, 
 No drofs was there to perifli in the fire. 
 i 
 In this manner he addrefles Sleep : 
 
 In vain, thou drowfy God, I thee invoke, 
 For thou who doft from fumes arife, 
 Thou who man's foul doft overfliade, 
 With a thick cloud by vapours made; 
 Canft have no power to fhut his eyes, 
 Whofe flame's fo pure, that it fends up no fmoke, 
 Yet how do tears but from fome vapours rife ? 
 Tears that bewinter all my year ; 
 The fate of Egypt 1 fuftain, 
 And never feel the dew of rain, 
 From clouds which in the head appear : 
 But all my too much moifture owe 
 To overflowings of the heart below *. 
 
 Trite and common relemblances fhould indeed 
 be avoided in our Metaphors. To be new, 
 and not vulgar, is a beauty. But when they 
 are fetched from fome Jikenets too remote, and 
 lying too far out of the road of ordinary 
 thought, then, befides their obfcurity, they 
 have alfo the difadvantage of appearing la- 
 boured, and, as the French call it, " re- 
 " cherche :" whereas Metaphor, like every 
 
 * See an excellent criticifm on this fort of metaphyfical 
 poetry, in Dr. Johnfon's Life of Cowley. 
 
 other
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 other ornament, lofes its whole grace, when it L 
 does not feem natural and eafy. 
 
 IT is but a bad and ungraceful foftening, 
 which writers fometimes ufe for a harfh Me- 
 taphor, when they palliate it with the expref- 
 fion, as it were. This is but an awkward pa- 
 renthefis ; and Metaphors, which need this 
 apology of an as it were, would, generally, 
 have been better omitted. Metaphors, too, 
 borrowed from any of the fciences, efpecially 
 fuch of them as belong to particular pro- 
 feffions, are almoft always faulty by their 
 obfcurity. 
 
 IN the fourth place, it muft be carefully 
 attended to, in the conduct of Metaphors, 
 never to jumble metaphorical and plain lan- 
 guage together; never to conftruct a period 
 fo, that part of it muft be imderftood meta- 
 phorically, part literally : which always pro- 
 duces a moft difagreeable confufion. Inftances, 
 which are but too frequent, even in good au- 
 thors, will make this rule, and the reafon of it, 
 be clearly underftood. In Mr. Pope's tranfla- 
 tion of the OdyfTey, Penelope, bewailing the 
 abrupt departure of her fbn Telemachus, is 
 made to fpeak thus : 
 
 Long to my joys my deareft Lord is loft, 
 His country's buckler, and the Grecian boaft ; 
 VOL. I. C 9 Now
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 Now from my fond embrace by tempefts torn, 
 Our other column of the ftate is borne, 
 Nor took a kind adieu, nor fought confent *. 
 
 IV. 962. 
 
 Here, in one line, her fon is figured as a Co- 
 lumn j and in the next, he returns to be a 
 Peribn, to whom it belongs to take adieu, and 
 to afk confent. This is inconfiftent. The 
 Poet fhould either have kept himfelf to the 
 idea of a Man, in the literal fenfe j or, if he 
 figured him by a Column, he fhould have 
 afcribed nothing to him but what, belonged 
 to it. He was not at liberty to afcribe to that 
 Column the actions and properties of a Man. 
 Such unnatural mixtures render the image in- 
 diftinctj leaving it to waver, in our concep- 
 tion, between the figurative and the literal 
 fenfe. Horace's rule, which he applies to 
 Characters, fhould be obferved by all writers 
 who deal in Figures : 
 
 - .' . Servetur ad imum, 
 Quails ab incepto procefierit, et fibi conftet. 
 
 * In the original, there is no allufion to a Column, and 
 the Metaphor is regularly fupported : 
 
 *H Trgiv f*E tsoa-n Ij- 
 
 IlavTonis ageTvcrt xixourfJizi/M 11 Aao<7* 
 T x?vE:$ ivgv xxtf *EX?vaoa nan 
 
 A. 7 2 4 f 
 
 Mr,
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 Mr. Pope, elfewhere, addreffing himfelf to the L 
 King, fays, 
 
 To thee the World its prefent homage pays, 
 The harveft early, but mature the praife. 
 
 This, though not fo grofs, is a fault, however, 
 of the fame kind. It is plain, that, had not 
 the rhyme miQed him to the choice of an im- 
 proper phrafe, he would have faid, 
 
 The harveft early, but mature the crop : 
 
 And fo would have continued the Figure which 
 he had begun. Whereas, by dropping it un- 
 finifhed, and by employing the literal word, 
 fraife, when we were expecting fomething 
 that related to the Harveft, the Figure is 
 broken, and the two members of the len- 
 tence have no proper correfpondence with each 
 other : 
 
 The Harveft early, but mature the Praife. 
 
 THE Works of Offian abound with beau- 
 tiful and correct Metaphors ; fuch as that on 
 a Hero : " In peace, thou art the Gate of 
 " Spring; in war, the Mountain Storm." Or 
 this, on a Woman : " She was covered with 
 " the Light of Beauty; but her heart was 
 " the Houfe of Pride." They afford, how- 
 ever, one inflance of the" fault we are now 
 cenfuring : " Trothal went forth with the 
 " Stream of his people, but they met a Rock t 
 C c 2 " for
 
 3 88 METAPHOR. 
 
 L E XV T ' <( ^ or Fingal ftd unmoved ; broken they 
 ff rolled back from his fide. Nor did they 
 <c roll in fafety ; the fpear of the King pur- 
 <e fued their flight." At the beginning, the 
 Metaphor is very beautiful. The Stream, 
 the unmoved Rock, the Waves rolling back 
 broken, are expreffions employed in the pro- 
 per and confident language of Figure; but, 
 in the end, when we are told, " they did not 
 " roll in fafety, becaufe the fpear of the King 
 " purfued their flight," the literal meaning is 
 improperly mixed with the Metaphor : they 
 are, at one and the fame time, prefented to 
 us as waves that roll, and men that may be 
 purfued and wounded with a Jpear. If it be 
 faulty to jumble together, in this manner, 
 metaphorical and plain language, it is ftill 
 more fo, 
 
 IN the fifth place,, to make two different 
 Metaphors meet on one objedt. This is what 
 is called Mixed Metaphor, and is indeed one 
 ef the grofieft abufes of this Figure ; fuch as 
 Shakefpeare's expreffion, " to take arms 
 " againft a fea of troubles." This makes a 
 moft unnatural medley, and confounds the 
 imagination entirely. Quinftilian has fuffi- 
 ciently guarded us againft it. " Id imprimis 
 <c eft cuflodiendum, ut quo genere cceperis 
 " tranflationis, hoc finias. Muki autem 
 ct cum initium a tempeftate fumferunt, in- 
 
 ff cendio
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 ** cendio aut ruina finiunt; qu?e eft incon- L 
 cc fequentia rerum foediiTima *." Obferve, 
 for inftance, what an inconfiflent groupe of 
 objects is brought together by Shakefpeare, 
 in the following paflage of the Tempeft ; 
 ipeaking of perfons recovering their judg- 
 ment after the enchantment, which held them, 
 was difTolyed ; 
 
 The charm diflblves apace, 
 And as the morning deals upon the night 
 Melting the darknefs, fo their rifing fenfes 
 Begin to chafe the ignorant fumes that njantls 
 Their clearer reafon. 
 
 So many ill-forted things are here joined, that 
 the mind can fee nothing clearly; the morn- 
 ing ftealing upon the darknefs, and- at the 
 fame time melting it ; the fenfes of men chafing 
 fumes, ignorant fumes, and fumes that mantle^ 
 So again in Romeo and Juliet : 
 
 as glorious, 
 
 AS is a winged meflenger from heaven, 
 Unto the white upturn 'd wondering eyes 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
 When he beftrides the lazy pacing clouds. 
 And fails upon the bofom of the air. 
 
 * " We mutt be particularly attentive to end with the 
 *' fame kind of Metaphor with which we have begun. 
 '' Some, when they begin the figure with a Tempeft, con-. 
 *' elude it with a Conflagration ; which forms a fhamefuj, 
 ' i,nconfiftency. 5> 
 
 C c $ Here A
 
 35 o METAPHOR. 
 
 L E c T. Here, the angel is reprefented, as, at one 
 moment, beftriding the clouds, and Jailing 
 upon the air j and upon the bojom of the air 
 too ; which forms fuch a confufed pifture, 
 that it is impoffible for any imagination to 
 comprehend it. 
 
 MORE correct writers than Shakefpeare 
 fometimes fall into this error of mixing Meta- 
 phors. It is furprifmg how the following in- 
 accuracy fhould have efcaped Mr. Addifon in 
 his Better from Italy : 
 
 I bridle in my ftruggling mufe with pain, 
 That longs to launch into a bolder ftrain *. 
 
 The mufe, figured as a horfe, may be bridled ; 
 but when we fpeak of launching^ we make it a 
 fliip; and, by no force of imagination, can 
 it be fuppofed both a horfe and a fhip at one 
 moment ; bridledy to hinder it from launching. 
 The fame Author, in one of his Numbers in 
 the Spectator, fays, " There is not a fingle 
 " view of human nature, which is not fuffi- 
 cc cient to extinguifh the feeds of pride." Ob- 
 ferve the incoherence of the things here joined 
 together, making cc a view extinguifh, and 
 * f extinguifh feeds." 
 
 * In my obfervation on this paflage, I find, that I had 
 coincided with Dr. Johnfon, who pafles a fimilar cenfure 
 itj, in his Life of Addifon. 
 
 HORACE
 
 METAPHOR. 391 
 
 HORACE alfo, is incorrect, in the following L E T> 
 
 X V 
 
 paffage : 
 
 Urit enlm fulgore fuo qui pregravat artes 
 Infra fe pofitas. 
 
 Urit qui pregravat. He dazzles who bears 
 down with his weight -, makes plainly an in- 
 confiflent mixture of metaphorical ideas. 
 Neither can this other pafiage be altogether 
 vindicated : 
 
 Ah ! quanta laboras in Charybdi, 
 Digne puer, meliore flarnma ! 
 
 Where a whirlpool of water, Charybdis, is 
 faid to be a flame, not good enough for this 
 young man ; meaning, that he was unfor- 
 tunate in the object of his paffion. Flame is, 
 indeed, become almoft a literal word for the 
 paffion of love ; but as it ftill retains, in fome 
 degree, its figurative power, it fhould never 
 have been ufed as fynonymous with water, and 
 mixed with it in the fame Metaphor. When 
 Mr. Pope (Eloifa to Abelard) fays, 
 
 All then is full, poffeffing and pofTeft, 
 No craving void left aking in the breaft; 
 
 A void may, metaphorically, be faid to crave ; 
 but can a void be faid to ake ? 
 
 A GOOD rule has been given for examining 
 the propriety of Metaphors, when we doubc 
 
 whether or not jrhey be of the mixed kind ; 
 C c 4 namely,
 
 392 M E T A P H O R, 
 
 E C 
 
 XV. 
 
 T< namely, that we fhould try to form a pi&ure 
 
 upon them, and confider how the parts would 
 agree, and what fort of figure the whole would 
 prefent, when delineated with a pencil. By 
 this means, we fhould become fenfible, whe- 
 ther inconfiftent circumftances were mixed, 
 and a monftrous image thereby produced, as 
 in all thofe faulty inftances I have now been 
 giving; or whether the object was, all along, 
 prefented in one natural and confrftent point 
 of view. 
 
 As Metaphors ought never to be mixed, fo, 
 in the fixth place, we fhould avoid crowding 
 them together on the fame object. Suppofmg 
 each of the Metaphors to be preferved diflincl, 
 yet, if they be heaped on one another, they 
 produce a confufion fomewhat of the fame 
 kind with the mixed Metaphor. We may 
 judge of this by the following paflage from 
 Horace : 
 
 Motum ex Metello confule civicum, 
 Bellique caufas, et vitia, et njodos, 
 
 Ludumque fortunae, gravefque 
 
 Principum amicitias, & arma 
 Nondum expiatis uncla cruoribus, 
 Penculofae plenum opus aleae, 
 
 Tra&as, et incedis per ignes 
 
 Suppofitos cineri dolofo *. Lib. II. i. 
 
 This 
 
 * Of warm commotions, wrathful jars, 
 
 The growing feeds of civil wars ; 
 
 Of
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 This pafTage, though very poetical, is, how- L 
 ever, harfh and obfcure ; owing to no other 
 caufe but this, that three diftinct Metaphors 
 are crowded together, to defcribe the difficulty 
 of Pollio's writing a hiftory of the civil wars. 
 Firft, " Tractas arma undta cruoribus nondum 
 " expiatis j" next, t( Opus plenum periculofe 
 tf alese;" and then, " Incedis per ignes, flip- 
 " pofitos dolofo cineri." The mind has dif- 
 ficulty in paffing readily through fo many dif- 
 ferent views given it, in quick fuccefllon, of the 
 fame object. 
 
 THE only other rule concerning Metaphors, 
 which I fhall add, in the feventh place, is, 
 that they be not too far purfued. If the re- 
 femblance, on which the Figure is founded, 
 be long dwelt upon, and carried into all its 
 minute circumftances, we make an Allegory 
 inftead of a Metaphor ; we tire the reader, 
 who foon becomes weary of this play of fancy ; 
 and we render our difcourfe obfcure. This 
 
 Of double fortune's cruel games, 
 The fpecious means, the private aims, 
 
 And fatal friendfhips of the guilty great, 
 
 Alas ! how fatal to the Roman ftate ! 
 Of mighty legions late fubdu'd, 
 And arms with Latian blood embru'd ; 
 Yet unatoned (a labour vaft ! 
 Doubtful the die, and dire the caft ! ) 
 
 You treat adventurous, and incautious tread 
 
 On fires with faithlefs embers overfpread. FRANCIS.
 
 394 
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 E c T. i s called, ftraining a Metaphor. Cowley deals 
 t -._f in this to excefs j and to this error is owing. 
 in a great meafure, that intricacy and harfh- 
 nefs, in his figurative Language, which I be- 
 fore remarked. Lord Shaftfbury is fome- 
 times guilty of purfuing his Metaphors too 
 far. Fond, to a high degree, of every deco- 
 ration of ftyle, when once he had hit upon a 
 Figure that pleafed him, he was extremely loth 
 to part with it. Thus, in his Advice to an 
 Author, having taken up foliloquy, or medi- 
 tation, under the Metaphor of a proper me- 
 thod of evacuation for an author, he purfues 
 this Metaphor through feveral pages, under 
 all the forms " of difcharging crudities, 
 " throwing off froth and fcum, bodily opera- 
 " tion, taking phyfic, curing indigeflion, 
 " giving vent to choler, bilcj flatulencies, 
 <f and tumours ;" till, at laft, the idea be- 
 comes naufeous. Dr. Young alfo often tref- 
 paffes in the fame way. The merit, however, 
 of this writer, in figurative Language, is 
 great, and defer ves to be remarked. No 
 writer, antient or modern, had a ftronger 
 imagination than Dr. Young, or one more 
 fertile in Figures of every kind. His Meta- 
 phors are often new, and often natural and 
 beautiful. But his imagination was ftrong 
 and rich, rather than delicate and correct. 
 Hence, in his Night Thoughts, there pre- 
 vails an obfcurity, and a hardnefs in his ftyle. 
 
 The
 
 METAPHOR. 
 
 The Metaphors are frequently too bold, and 
 frequently too far purfued; the reader is 
 dazzled rather than enlightened ; and kept con- 
 ftantly on the flretch to keep pace with the 
 author. We may obferve, for inftance, ho\v 
 the following Metaphor is fpun out : 
 
 Thy thoughts are vagabond ; all outward bound, 
 Midft fands and rocks, and ftorms, to cruife for pleafure, 
 If gain'd, dear bought ; and better mifs'd than gain'd. 
 Fancy and fenfe, from an infe&ed fhore, 
 Thy cargo brings ; and peftilcnce the prize 5 
 Then fuch the thirft, infatiable thirft, 
 By fond indulgence but inflam'd the more, 
 Fancy ftill cruifes, when poor fenfe is tired. 
 
 Speaking of old age, he fays, it fhould 
 
 Walk thoughtful on the filent folemn fliore 
 
 Of that vaft ocean, it muft fail fo foon ; 
 
 And put good works on board ; and wait the wind 
 
 That fhortly blows us into worlds unknown. 
 
 THE two firft lines are uncommonly beauti- 
 ful j " walk thoughtful on the filent, &c." 
 but when he continues the Metaphor, <c to 
 " putting good works on board, and waiting 
 " the wind," it plainly becomes {trained, and 
 finks in dignity. Of all the Englifh authors, 
 I know none fo happy in his Metaphors as 
 Mr. Addifon. His imagination was neither 
 fo rich nor fo ftrong as Dr. Young's ; but far 
 more chafte and delicate. Perfpicuity, na- 
 tural grace, and eafe, always diilinguifh his 
 
 Figures.
 
 ALLEGORY. 
 
 Figures. They are neither harfh nor ftrained ; 
 they never appear to have been ftudied or 
 fought after j but feem to rile of their own 
 accord from the fubjectj and conftantly em- 
 bellifh it, 
 
 I HAVE now treated fully of the Metaphor, 
 and the rules that fhould govern it, a part of 
 ftyle fo important, that it required particular 
 jlluftration. I have only to add a few words 
 Concerning Allegory. 
 
 AN Allegory may be regarded as a con- 
 tinued Metaphors as it is the reprefentation 
 of fome one thing by another that refembles 
 it, and that is made to Hand for it. Thus, in 
 Prior's Henry and Emma, Emma in the fol- 
 lowing allegorical manner defcribes her con- 
 ilancy to Henry : 
 
 Did I but purpofe to embark with thee 
 On the fmooth furface of a fummer's fea, 
 While gentle zephyrs play with profperous gales, 
 And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ; 
 But would forfake the fhip, and make the fhore, 
 When the winds whiftle, and the tempefts roar I 
 
 WE may take alfo from the Scriptures a 
 very fine example of an Allegory, in the Scth 
 Pfalm ; where the people of Ifrael are repre- 
 fented under the image of a vine, and the 
 Figure is fupported throughout with great cor- 
 
 rectnefa
 
 ALLEGORY. 
 
 re&nefs and beauty : " Thou haft brought a L 
 " vine out of Egypt, thou haft caft out the 
 * f heathen, and planted it. Thou preparedft 
 11 room before it, and didft caufe it to take 
 " deep root, and it filled the land. The hills 
 < were covered with the fhadow of it j and the) 
 " boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. 
 " She fent out her boughs into the fea, and 
 " her branches into the river. Why haft thou 
 " broken down her hedges, fo that all they 
 " which pafs by the way do pluck her ? The 
 <c boar out of the wood doth wafte it ; and the 
 " wild beaft of the field doth devour it. Re- 
 " turn, we befeech thee, O God of Hofts, 
 " look down from Heaven, and behold, and 
 " vifit this vine 1" Here there is no circum- 
 ftance (except perhaps one phrafe at the be- 
 ginning, " thou haft caft out the heathen,") 
 that does not ftrictly agree to a vine, whilft 
 at the fame time, the whole quadrates happily- 
 with the Jewifh ftate reprefented by this Figure. 
 This is the firft and principal requifite in the 
 cond 1161 of an Allegory, that the figurative 
 and the literal meaning be not mixed incon- 
 fiftently together. For inftance, inftead of de- 
 fcribing the vine, as wafted by the boar from 
 the wood, and devoured by the wild beaft of 
 the field, had the Pfalmift faid, it was afflicted 
 by heathens, or overcome by enemies (which 
 is the real meaning), this would have ruined 
 the Allegory, and produced the fame con- 
 
 fufion,
 
 S9 8 ALLEGORY. 
 
 L E c T. fufion, of which I gave examples in Meta- 
 phors, when the figurative and literal fenfe arc 
 mixed and jumbled together. Indeed, the 
 fame rules that were given for Metaphors, 
 may alfo be applied to Allegories, on account 
 of the affinity they bear to each other. The 
 only material difference between them, befides 
 the one being Ihort, and the other being pro- 
 longed, is, that a Metaphor always explains 
 itfelf by the words that are connected with it 
 in their proper and natural meaning ; as when 
 I fay, cc Achilles was a Lion ;" an tf able 
 <e Minifter is the Pillar of the State " my 
 Lion and my Pillar are fufficiently interpreted 
 by the mention of Achilles and the Minifter, 
 which I join to them ; but an Allegory is, or 
 inay be, allowed to ftand more difconnected 
 with the literal meaning ; the interpretation 
 not fo directly pointed out, but left to our own 
 reflection. 
 
 ALLEGORIES were a favourite method of 
 delivering inftructions in antient times ; for 
 what we call Fables or Parables are no other 
 than Allegories j where, by words and actions 
 attributed to beafts or inanimate objects, the 
 difpofitions of men are figured ; and what we 
 call the moral, is the unfigured fenfe or mean- 
 ing of the Allegory. An Enigma or Riddle 
 is alfo a fpecies of Allegory ; one thing repre- 
 fented or imaged by another; but purpofely 
 
 wrapt
 
 ALLEGORY; 399 
 
 wrapt up under fo many circumftances, as to L E c T. 
 be rendered obfcure. Where a riddle is not < -y J 
 intended, it is always a fault in Allegory to 
 be too dark. The meaning fhould be eafily 
 feen through the Figure employed to fhadow it. 
 However, the proper mixture of light and 
 fhade in fuch compofitions, the exadt adjuft- 
 ment of all the figurative circumftances with 
 the literal fenfe, fo as neither to lay the mean- 
 ing too bare and open, nor to cover and wrap 
 it up to much, has ever been found an affair 
 of great nicety j and there are few fpecies of 
 compofition in which it is more difficult to 
 write fo as to pleafe and command attention, 
 than in Allegories. In fome of the vifions of 
 the Spectator, we have examples of Allegories 
 very happily executed.
 
 LECTURE XVI. 
 
 HYPERBOLE PERSONIFICATION 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 L E c T. l i AHE next Figure concerning which I am 
 v - t _ JL to treat, is called Hyperbole, or Exag- 
 geration. It confifts in magnifying an object 
 beyond its natural bounds. It may be con- 
 fidered fometimes as a Trope, and fometimes 
 as a Figure of thought : and here indeed the 
 diftinftion between thefe two clafTes begins 
 
 , O 
 
 not to be clear, nor is it of any importance 
 that we ihould have recourfe to metaphyfical 
 fubtilties, in order to keep them diftind. 
 Whether we call it Trope or Figure, it is plain 
 that it is a mode of fpeech which hath fome 
 foundation in nature. ,or in all languages, 
 even in common converfation, hyperbolical 
 expreffions very frequently occur $ as fwift as 
 the wind ; as white as the fnow ; and the like ; 
 and our common forms of compliment are 
 almoft all of them extravagant Hyperboles. 
 i If
 
 HYPERBOLE. 401 
 
 If any thing be remarkably good or great in L E c T - 
 its kind, we are inftantly ready to add to it 
 fome exaggerating epithet ; and to make it 
 the greateft or beil we ever faw. The ima- 
 gination has always a tendency to gratify 
 itfelf, by magnifying its prefent object, and 
 carrying it to excefs. More or lefs of this hy- 
 perbolical turn will prevail in language,, ac- 
 cording to the livelinefs of imagination among 
 the people who fpeak it. Hence young peo- 
 ple deal always much in Hyperboles. Hence 
 the language of the Orientals was far more 
 hyperbolical than that of the Europeans, who 
 are of more phlegmatic, or, if you pleafe, 
 of more correct imagination. Hence, among 
 all writers in early times, and in the rude 
 periods of fociety, we may expect this Figure 
 to abound. Greater experience, and more cul- 
 tivated fociety, abate the warmth of imagination, 
 and chaften the manner of expreffion. 
 
 THE exaggerated exprefiions to which our 
 ears are accuftomed in converfation, fcarcely 
 ftrike us as Hyperboles. In an inftant we 
 make the proper abatement, and underftand 
 them according to their juft value. But when 
 there is fomething ftriking and unufual in the 
 form of a hyperbolical expreffion, it then rifes 
 into a Figure of Speech which draws our atten- 
 tion : and here it is neceffary to obferve, that 
 unlefs the reader's imagination be in fach a 
 
 VOL. I. D d ftate
 
 4 oz HYPERBOLE. 
 
 i E c T. fl- a t e as difpofes It to rife and fwell along with 
 the hyperbolical expreflion, he is always hurt 
 and offended by it. For a fort of difagree- 
 able force is put upon him ; he is required to 
 ilrain and exert his fancy, when he feels no 
 inclination to make any fuch effort. Hence 
 the Hyperbole is a Figure of difficult manage- 
 ment; and ought neither to be frequently 
 ufed, nor long dwelt upon. On fome occa- 
 fions, it is undoubtedly proper ; being, as was 
 before obferved, the natural ftyle of a fprightly 
 and heated imagination ; but when Hyper- 
 boles are unfeafonable, or too frequent, they 
 render a compofition frigid and unaffecting. 
 They are the refource of an author of feeble 
 'imagination; of one, defcribing objects which 
 either want native dignity in themfelves ; or 
 whofe dignity he cannot fhow by defcribing 
 them {imply, and in their juft proportions, and 
 is therefore obliged to reft upon tumid and 
 exaggerated expreffions. 
 
 HYPERBOLES are of two kinds j either fuch 
 as are employed in defcription, or fuch as are 
 fuggefted by the warmth of paflion. The 
 beft by far, are thofe which are the effect: of 
 paflion : for if the imagination has a tendency 
 to magnify its objects beyond their natural 
 proportion, pafilon poffeffes this tendency in 
 a vaftly ftronger degree ; and therefore not 
 only excufes the moil daring Figures, but very 
 
 often
 
 HYPERBOLE. 
 
 often renders them natural and juft. All 
 paffions, without exception, love, terror, amaze- 
 ment, indignation, anger, and even grief, 
 throw the mind into confufion, aggravate 
 their objects, and of courfe' prompt a hyperboli- 
 cal ftyle. Hence the following fentiments of 
 Satan in Mikon, as ftrongly as they are de- 
 fcribed, contain nothing but what is natural and 
 proper ; exhibiting the picture of a mind agi- 
 tated with rage and defpair : 
 
 Me, miferable ! which way fliall I file 
 Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ? 
 Which way I flie is Hell, myfelf am Hcl! ; 
 And in the lowed depth, a lower deep 
 Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, 
 To which the Hell I fuffer feems a Heaven. 
 
 B. iv. 1. 73. 
 
 IN fimple defcription, though Hyperboles 
 are not excluded, yet they mud be ufed with 
 more caution, and require more preparation, in 
 order to make the mind relifh them. Either 
 the object defcribed muft be of that kind, 
 which of itfelf feizes the fancy ftrongly, and 
 difpofes it to run beyond bounds j fomething 
 Vaft, furprifing, and new ; or the writer's arc 
 muft be exerted in heating the fancy gradu- 
 ally, and preparing in to think highly of the 
 objeft which he intends to exaggerate. When 
 a Poet is defcribing an earthquake or a ftorm, 
 or when he has brought us into the midft of 
 a battle, we can bear ftrong Hyperboles v/ith- 
 D d 2 put
 
 4 o 4 HYPERBOLE. 
 
 out difpleafure. But when he is defcribing 
 only a woman in grief, it is impoflible not 
 to be difgufted with fuch wild exaggeration 
 as the following, in one of our dramatic 
 Poets : 
 
 1 found her on the floor 
 
 In all the ftorm of grief, yet beautiful ; 
 Pouring forth tears at fuch a lavifh rate, 
 That were the world on fire, they might have drown'd 
 The wrath of Heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin. 
 
 LEE. 
 
 THIS is mere bombaft. The perfon herfelf 
 who was under the diffracting agitations of 
 grief, might be permitted to hyperbolize 
 ftrongly j but the fpeftator defcribing her, 
 cannot be allowed an equal liberty : for this 
 plain reafbn, that the one is fuppofed to utter 
 the fentiments of paflion, the other fpeaks only 
 the language of defcription, which is always, 
 according to the dictates of nature, on a lower 
 tone : a diltin<5tion, which, however obvious, 
 has not been attended to by many writers. 
 
 How far a Hyperbole, fuppofing it properly 
 introduced, may be fafely carried without 
 overftretching it; what is the proper meafure 
 and boundary of this Figure, cannot, as far as 
 I know, be afcertained by any precife rule. 
 Good fenfe and juft tafle muft determine the 
 point, beyond which, if we pafs, we become 
 
 extravagant.
 
 HYP E R BOLE. 
 
 extravagant. Lucan may be pointed out as L 
 an author apt to be excefiive in his Hyper- 
 boles. Among the compliments paid by the 
 Roman Poets to their Emperors, it had be- 
 come fafhionable to afk them, what part of 
 the heavens they would chufe for their habita- 
 tion, after they fhould have become Gods ? 
 Virgil had already carried this fufficiently far in 
 his addrefs to Auguftus : 
 
 Tibi brachia contrahit ingens 
 
 Scorpius, & Cceli jufta plus parte relinquit *. 
 
 GEOR. I. 
 
 But this did not fuffice Lucan. Refolved to 
 outdo all his predeceffors, in a like addrefs 
 to Nero, he very gravely befeeches him not 
 to chufe his place near either of the poles, 
 but to be fure to occupy juft the middle of 
 the heavens, left, by going either to one fide 
 or other, his weight fhould overfet the uni- 
 verfe : . 
 
 Sed neque in Ar&oo fedem tibi legeris orbe 
 
 Nee polus adveril calidus qua mergitur auftri ; 
 
 Athens immenfi partem fi prefleris unam 
 
 Sentiet axis onus. Librati pondera Cceli 
 
 Orbe te.ne medio f . PHARS. I. 53. 
 
 Such 
 
 * " The Scorpion ready to receive thy laws, 
 
 * .Yields half his region, and contracts his paws." 
 
 J- But, oh ! whatever be thy Godhead great, 
 Fix not in regions too remote thy feat ; 
 
 Dd 3 Nr
 
 406 HYPERBOLE. 
 
 L xvi T ' Such thoughts as thefe, : are what the French 
 call outrcs, and always proceed from a falfe fire 
 of geniufe. The Spanifh and African writers, 
 as Tertullian, Cyprian, Auguftin } are remarked 
 for being fond of them. As in that epitaph on 
 Charles V. by a Spanifh writer : 
 
 Pro tumulo ponas orbem, pro tegmine coelum, 
 Sidera pro facibus, pro lacrymis maria. 
 
 Sometimes they dazzle and impofe by their 
 boldnefs ; but wherever reafon and good fenfe 
 are fo much violated, there can be no true 
 beauty. Epigrammatic writers are frequently 
 guilty in this refpecl: ; reft ing the whole merit 
 of their epigrams on fome extravagant hyper- 
 bolical turn ; fuch as the -following . of Dr. 
 Pitcairn's, upon Holland's being gained from, 
 the ocean : 
 
 Tellurem fecere Dii ; fua littora Belgse ; 
 
 Immenfseque molis opus utrumque fuit; 
 Dii vacuo fparfas glomerdrunt jethere terras, 
 
 Nil ibi quod operi poflit obeffe fuit. 
 At Belgis, maria & coeli naturaque rerum 
 
 Obfthit ; obftantes hi domucre Dcos. 
 
 Nor deign thou near the frozen Bear to fliine, 
 
 Nor where the fultry fouthern liars decline. 
 
 Prefs not too much on any part the fphcre, 
 
 Hard were the tafk thy weight divine to bear ; 
 
 Soon would the axis feel the unufual load, 
 
 And, groaning, bend beneath th' incumbent God } 
 
 O'er the mid orb more equal fhalt thou rife, 
 
 And with a jufter balance fix the Ikies. ROWE. 
 
 So
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 407 
 
 So much for the Hyperbole. We proceed now L T X ^ T ' 
 to thofe Figures which lie altogether in the 
 thought j where the words are taken in their 
 common and literal feflfe. 
 
 AMONG thefe, the firft place is unquefiion- 
 ably due to Perfonification, or that Figure by 
 which we attribute life and action to inanimate 
 objects-. The technical term for this is Profo- 
 popoia ; but as Perfonification is of the fame 
 import, and more allied to our own language, 
 it will be better to ufe this word. 
 
 IT is a Figure, the ufe of which is very 
 extenfive, and its foundation laid deep in hu- 
 man nature. At firft view, and when con- 
 fidered abftractly, it would appear to be a 
 Figure of the utmoft boldnefs, and to border 
 on the extravagant and ridiculous. For what 
 can feem more remote from the track of rea- 
 fonable thought, than to fpeak of ftones and 
 trees, and fields and rivers, as if they were 
 living creatures, and to attribute to them 
 thought and fenfation, affections and actions ? 
 One might imagine this to be no more than 
 childilh conceit, which no perfon of tafle could 
 relifh. In fact, however, the cafe is very dif- 
 ferent. No fuch ridiculous effect is produced 
 by Perfonification, when properly employed ; 
 on the contrary, it is found to be natural and 
 agreeable ; nor is any very uncommon degree 
 Dd 4 of
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 P a ^ on required, in order to make us relifh 
 it. All poetry, even in its moil gentle and 
 humble forms, abounds with it. From profe, 
 it is far from being excluded ; nay, in common 
 converfation, very frequent approaches are 
 made to it. When we. fay, the ground thirfts 
 for rain, or the earth/mites with plenty ; when, 
 we fpeak of ambition's being reftlefs, or a dif- 
 eafe Ipeing deceitful, fuch expreffions fhow the 
 facility with which the mind can accommodate 
 the properties of living creatures to things that 
 are inanimate, or to abilracl: conceptions of its 
 own forming. 
 
 & 
 
 INDEED, it is very remarkable, that there is 
 a wonderful pronenefs in human nature to ani- 
 mate all objects. Whether this arifes from a 
 fort of affimilating principle, from a pro- 
 peniion to fpread a refemblance of ourfelves- 
 over all other things, or from whatever other 
 caufe it arifes, fo it is, that almofl every emo- 
 tion which in the leaft agitates the mind, 
 bellows upon its object a momentary idea of 
 life. Let a man, by an unwary ilep, fprain 
 his ankle, or hurt his foot upon a ftone, and, 
 in the ruffled difcompofed moment, he will, 
 fometimes, feel himfelf difpofed to break the 
 ftone in pieces, or to utter paffionate expref- 
 fions againft it, as if it had done him an injury. 
 If one has been long accuftofned .to a certain 
 fet of objects, which have made a flrong im- 
 
 preffion
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 409 
 
 preflion on his imagination ; as to a houjfe, L 
 where he has paffed many agreeable years ; or 
 to fields, and trees, and mountains, among 
 which he has often walked with the greateft 
 delight -, when he is obliged to part with them, 
 efpecially if he has no profpect of ever feeing 
 them again, he can fcarce avoid having fome- 
 what of the fame feeling as when he is leaving 
 old friends. They feem endowed "with life. 
 They become objects of his affection ; and, in 
 the moment of his parting, it fcarce feems ab- 
 furd to him, to give vent to his feeling in words, 
 and to, take a formal adieu. 
 
 So ftrong is that imprefilon of life which is 
 made. upon us, by the more magnificent and 
 ftriking objects of nature efpecially, that I 
 doubt nor, in the lead, of this having. heen 
 one caufe of , the multiplication of divinities in 
 the Heathen world. The belief of Dryads 
 and Naiads, of the Genius of the Wood, and 
 the God of the River, among -men of lively 
 imaginations, 4n the early ages of the world, 
 eafily arofe from this turn of mind. .When 
 their favourite rural objects had often been 
 animated in their fancy, it was an eafy tranfi- 
 tion to attribute to : them ' fome real divinity, 
 fome unfeen power or genius which inhabited 
 them, or in fome peculiar manner belonged to 
 them. Imagination was highly gratified, by 
 thus gaining fomewhat to reft upon with more 
 
 (lability j
 
 4ro PERSONIFICATION, 
 
 L xvi T * ftfcbility ' anc * when belief coincided fo much 
 with imagination, very (light caufes would be 
 fufncient to eftablifh it. 
 
 FROM this deduction, may be eafily feen 
 how it comes to pafs, that Perfonification ; 
 makes fo great a -figure in all compofitions, 
 where imagination dr pafTiori have any con- 
 cern. On innumerable occafions, it is the 
 very language of imagination and paffionj and, 
 therefore, deferves to be attended to, and ex- 
 amined with peculiar care. There are' three 
 different degrees of this Figure; which it is 
 necefTary to remark and diftinguiih, in order 
 to determine the propriety of its ufe. The 
 firft is, when fome of the properties or qualities 
 dif living creatures are afcribed to ' inanimate 
 objefts ; the fecond, when thofe .inanimate 
 objects are introduced as atfting like fuch as 
 have life ; <.a rid. the third, when they are repre- 
 fented, either as fpeaking to us, or as liftening 
 to what we fay to them. 
 
 . : ,' 
 
 ; T.HE full, and lowed degree of this Figure, 
 confifts in afcribing to inanimate objects fome 
 of the qualities of living creatures. \Vhere this 
 is done, as is mod commonly . the cafe, in a 
 word, or two, and by way of an epithet added 
 to the objeft, as, " a raging itorm, a deceit- 
 " ful difeafe, a cruel difafter," &c. f it raifes 
 the ftyle fo little, that the humbled difcourfe 
 
 will
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 will admit it without any force. This, indeed, 
 is Tuch an obfcure degree of Perfonification, 
 that one may doubt whether it defetves the- 
 name, and might not be claffed with fimpler 
 Metaphors, which efcape in a manner unnoticed. 
 Happily employed, however, it fometimes adds' 
 beauty and fprightlinefs to an exprefiion; as in 
 this line of Virgil: 
 
 Aut cbnjurato defcendens Dacus ab Iftro. 
 
 GEOR. II. 474, 
 
 Where - the perfonal epithet, conjuratOy ap- 
 plied to the river Iftro, is infinitely more po- 
 etical than if it had been applied to the^perfon, 
 thus: 
 
 Aut conjuratus defcendens Dacus ab Iftro. 
 
 A very little tafte will make any one feel the 
 difference between thefe two lines. 
 
 THE next degree of this Figure is, when we 
 introduce inanimate .objects acting like thofe 
 that -have life. Here we rife a ftep higher* 
 and the vPerfonification becomes fenfible. Ac- 
 cording to the nature of the action, which we 
 attribute to thofe inanimate objects, and the 
 particularity with which we defcribe it, fuch is 
 the ftrength of the Figure. When purfued to 
 any length, .it belongs only , to ftudied ha- 
 rangues, to highly figured and eloquent dif- 
 courfe : when (lightly touched, it may be ad- 
 mitted
 
 412 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 m focd into fubje&s of leis elevation. Cicero, 
 for inftance, fpeaking of the cafes where kill-, 
 ing another, is lawful in felf-defence, ufes 
 the following words : _ " Aliquando nobis 
 c gladius ad occidendum hominem ab ipfis 
 ". pcrrigitur legibus." . (Orac. pro Milone.) 
 The expreffion is happy. The laws are per- 
 fonified, as reaching forth their hand to give us 
 a iword for putting one to death. Such fhort 
 P.erfonifications as thefe may be admitted, 
 even into moral treatifes, or works of cool rea- 
 foning; and, provided they be eafy and not 
 iirained, and that we be not cloyed with too 
 frequent returns of; them, they have -a good 
 effect on ftyle, and render it both ftrong: and 
 lively. 
 
 HE genius of our Language gives us an 
 advantage in the..ufeof this". Figure. As^ with 
 us, no fubftantive nouns have gender, or are 
 mafeuline and. feminine, except thei proper 
 names of male and female creatures; by giv- 
 ing a igender to any inanimate objeft, or ab- 
 ftrad idea, that is, in place of the pronoun //, 
 ufmg the peribnal pronouns, he or fie, we pre- 
 fently raife the .ftyle, and begin Perfonirica- 
 tion. :In folemn difcourfe, this may often be 
 done to good purpoie, when fpeaking of re- 
 ligion, or virtue, or our country, or any fuch 
 object of dignity. I fhall give a remarkably 
 fine example., from a fermon of Bifhop. Sher^ 
 
 lock's,
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 lock's, where we fhall fee natural religion L 
 Beautifully perfonified, and be able to judge 
 from it of the fpirit and grace which this 
 Figure, when well conducted, beilows on a 
 difcourfe. I muft take notice, at the fame 
 time, that it is an inftance of this Figure, car- 
 ried as far as profe, even in its higheft eleva- 
 tion, will admit, and, therefore, fuited only to 
 compofitions where the great efforts of elo- 
 quence are allowed. The author is corn-s- 
 paring together our Saviour and Mahomet: 
 " Go," fays -he, " to your Natural Religion; 
 " lay, before her Mahomet, and his difciples, 
 tc arrayed in armour and blood, riding in 
 <c triumph over the fpoils of thoufands who 
 c < fell by his victorious fword. Shew her the 
 <f cities which he fet in flames, the countries 
 <c which he ravaged and deftroyed, and the 
 " miferable diftrefs of all the inhabitants of 
 <f the earth. When (he has viewed him in 
 " this fcene, carry her into his retirement; 
 " (hew her the Prophet's chamber; his con- 
 " cubines and his wives ; and let her hear him 
 <f allege revelation, and a divine commiffion, 
 " to juftify his adultery and luft. When fhe 
 <c is tired with this profpeft, then fhew her 
 " the bleffed Jefus, humble and meek, doing 
 " good to all the fons of men. Let her fee him 
 <c in his moil retired privacies ; let her follow 
 " him to the mount, and hear his devotions 
 " and fupplications to God. Carry her to 
 13 " his
 
 4 i4 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 L E c T. f< his table, to view his poor fare ; and hear' 
 f( his heavenly difcourfe. Let her attend him 
 f to the tribunal, and confider the patience 
 < c with which he endured the feoffs and re- 
 " proaches of his enemies. Lead her to his 
 f < crofs ; let her view him in the agony of 
 < f death, and hear his lafl prayer for his per- 
 " fecutors ; Father, forgive them, for they know 
 " not what they do! When Natural Religion 
 " has thus viewed both, aik her, Which is the 
 " Prophet of God ? But her anfwer we have 
 .". already had, when fhe faw part of this fcene, 
 " through the eyes of the Centurion, who at- 
 " tended at the crofs. By him fhe fpoke, and 
 " {aid, ^ruly this Man was the Son of God*." 
 This is more than elegant -, it is truly fublime. 
 The whole paffage is animated ; and the 
 -Figure rifes at the conclufion, when Natural 
 Religion, who, before, was only a fpeclator, 
 .is introduced as fpeaking by the Centurion's 
 voice. It has the better effect too, that it oc- 
 curs at the conclufion of a difcourfe, where 
 we naturally look for moft warmth and dig- 
 nity. Did Biihop Sherlock's fermons, or, 
 indeed, any Englifh fermons whatever, afford 
 us many paffages equal to this, we fhould oftner 
 have recourie to them for inftances of the 
 beauty of compofition. 
 
 * Bifhop Sherlock's Sermons, Vol. I. Difc. ix.
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 HITHERTO we have fpoken of profe ; in 
 poetry, Perfonifications of this kind are ex- 
 tremely frequent, and are, indeed, the life and 
 foul of it. We expect to find every thing 
 animated in the delcriptions of a poet who has 
 a lively fancy. Accordingly Homer, the fa- 
 ther and prince of poets, is remarkable for the 
 life of this Figure. War, peace, darts, fpears, 
 towns, rivers, every thing, in fhort, is alive 
 in his writings. The fame is the cafe with" 
 Milton and Shakefpeare. No PerfcniHcation, 
 in any author, - is more ftriking, or introduced 
 on a more proper occafion, than the following 
 of Milton's, on occafion of Eve's eating the 
 forbidden fruit : 
 
 So faying, her rafh hand, in evil hour 
 Forth reaching to the fruit, fhe pluck'd, fhe eat; 
 Earth felt the wound ; and Nature, from her feat 
 Sighing, through all her works, gave figns of woe, 
 That all was loft. ix. 780. 
 
 All the circumftances and ages of men, po- 
 verty, riches, youth, old age, all the difpo- 
 fitions and paffions, melancholy, love, grief, 
 contentment, are capable of being perfonified 
 in poetry, with great propriety. Of this, we 
 meet with frequent examples in Milton's Al- 
 legro and Penferofo, Parnell's Hymn to 
 Contentment, Thomfon's Seafons, and all 
 the good poets : nor, indeed, is it eafy to fee 
 any bounds to Perfonifications of this ; kind, 
 in poetry. 
 
 ONE
 
 416 SONIFICATION. 
 
 E C ' 
 XVI. 
 
 L E c T. ONE of the greateft pleafures we receive from 
 
 poetry, is, to find ourfelves always in the 
 mid ft of our fellows; and to fee every thing 
 thinking, feeling, and acting, as we ourfelves 
 do. This is, perhaps, the principal charm of 
 this fort of figured ftyle, that it introduces 
 us into fociety with all nature, and interefts 
 us, even in inanimate objects, by forming a 
 connection between them and us, through 
 
 ' O 
 
 that fenfibility which it afcribes to them. 
 This is exemplified in the following beautiful 
 pafiage of Thomfon's Summer, wherein the 
 life which he beftows upon all nature, when 
 defcribing the effects of the rifmg fun, ren- 
 ders the fcenery uncommonly gay and inte- 
 refting : 
 
 But yonder comes the powerful king of day 
 Rejoicing in the eaft. The leflening cloud, 
 The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
 Tipt with aethereal gold, his near approach 
 
 Betoken glad. 
 
 - -By thee refined, 
 In brifker meafures, the relucent flrearn 
 Frifks o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, 
 Projecting horror on the blacken'd flood, 
 Softens at thy return. The defart joys, 
 Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds. 
 Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep, 
 Seen from fome pointed promontory's top, 
 Reflects from every fluctuating wave, 
 A glance exteiifwe as the day. 
 
 The
 
 47 
 The fame effedt is remarkable in that fine paf- L E c , T - 
 
 r A /r-i XVI - 
 
 fage of Milton : 
 
 To the nuptial bower, 
 
 I led her blufhing like the morn. All heaven 
 And happy conftellations, on that hour, 
 Shed their felefleft influence. The earth 
 Gave figns of gratulation, and each hill. 
 Joyous the birds : frefli gales, and gentle airs 
 Whifper'd it to the woods, and from their win^s 
 Flung rofe, flung odour from the fpicy (hrub, . 
 Difporting. 
 
 THE third and higheft degree of this Figure 
 remains to be mentioned, when inanimate ob-, 
 je<5ls are introduced, not only as feeling and, 
 acting, but as fpeaking to us, or hearing and 
 liftening when we addrefs ourfelves to them. 
 This, though on feveral occafions far from 
 being unnatural, is, however, more difficult 
 in the execution, than the other kinds of Per- 
 fonification. For this is plainly the boldeft of 
 all rhetorical Figures ; it is the ftyle of ftrong 
 pafiion only; and, therefore, never to be at- 
 tempted, unlefs when the mind is confider- 
 ably heated and agitated. A flight Perfoni- 
 fication of fome inanimate thing, acting as if 
 it had life, can be relifhed by the mind, in 
 the midft of cool defcription, and when its 
 ideas are going on in the ordinary train. But 
 it muft be in a ftate of violent emotion, and 
 have departed considerably from its common 
 - VOL. I. E e track
 
 418 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 L xvi T ' trac k f thought, before it can fo far realifc 
 the Perfonification of an infenfible object, as 
 to conceive it liftening to what we fay, or 
 making any return to us. All ftrong pafiions, 
 however, have a tendency to ufe this Figure ; 
 not only love, anger, and indignation, but 
 even thofe which are feemingly more difpirit- 
 ing, fuch as, grief, remorfe, and melancholy. 
 For all pafiions ftruggle for vent, and if they 
 can find no other object, will, rather than be 
 filent, pour themfelves forth to woods, and 
 rocks, and the moft infenfible things j efpe- 
 dally, if thefe be in any degree connected with 
 the caufes and objects that have thrown the 
 mind into this agitation. Hence, in poetry, 
 where the greateft liberty is allowed to the 
 language of pafiion, it is eafy to produce 
 many beautiful examples of this Figure. Mil- 
 ton affords us an extremely fine one, in that 
 moving and tender addrefs which Eve makes 
 to Paradile, juft before me is compelled to 
 leave it. 
 
 Oh ! unexpected ftroke, worfe than of death ! 
 Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife I thus leave 
 Thee, native foil, thefe happy walks, and fhadeSj 
 Fit haunt of Gods ! where I had hope to fpend 
 Quiet, though fad, the refpite of that day, 
 Which muft be mortal to us both. O flowers ? 
 That never will in other climate grow s 
 My early viiitation, and my laft 
 At ev'n> which I bred up with tender hand, 
 
 From
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 4*9 
 
 From your firft op'ning buds, and gave you names! L E ^ c T 
 Who now fhall rear you to the fun, or rank 
 Your tribes, and water from th' ambrofial fount? 
 
 Book II. 1. 268. 
 
 This is altogether the language of nature, and 
 of female paflion. It is obfervable, that all 
 plaintive paflions are peculiarly prone to the 
 ufe of this Figure. The complaints which 
 Philoctetes, in Sophocles, pours out to the 
 rocks and caves of Lemnos, amidft the excefs 
 of his grief and defpair, are remarkably fine 
 examples of it *. And there are frequent ex- 
 amples, not in poetry only but in real life, 
 of perfons, when juft about to fuffer death, 
 taking a paflfionate farewel of the fun, moon, 
 and ftars, or other fenfible objects around 
 them. 
 
 THERE are two great rules for the manage* 
 ment of this fort of Perfonifkation. The 
 firft rule is, never to attempt it, unlefs when 
 
 TOO " a yap aXAov t^ OT&I ?\zyu* 
 ** notucri TOIJ fOta-, &C. 
 
 " O mountains, rivers, rocks, and favage herds, 
 
 *' To you I fpeak ! to you alone, I now 
 
 " Muft breathe my forrows ! you are wont to hear 
 
 ' My fad complaints, and I will tell you all 
 
 *' That I have fuffered from Achilles' fon!" 
 
 E e 2 prompted
 
 4 2o' PERSONIFICATION; 
 
 L xvf T ' P rom P te d by ftrong paffion, and never to 
 continue it when the pafflon begins to flag. 
 It. is one of thofe high ornaments, which 'can 
 only find place in the mod warm and fpirited 
 parts of compofition ; and there, too, muft be 
 employed with moderation. 
 
 THE fecond rule is, never to perfonify any 
 object in this way, but fuch as has fome dignity 
 in itfelf, and can make a proper figure in this 
 elevation to which we raife it. The obfervance 
 of this rule is required, even in the lower de- 
 grees of Perfonification i but ftill more, when 
 an addrefs is made to the perfonified object. 
 To addrefs the corpfe of a deceafed friend, is 
 natural -, but to addrefs the clothes which he 
 wore, introduces mean and degrading ideas. 
 So alfo, addrefling the feveral parts of one's 
 body, as if they were animated, is not con- 
 gruous to the dignity of paflion. For this 
 reafon, I muft condemn the following pafTage, 
 in a very beautiful Poem of Mr. Pope's, Eloifa 
 to Abelard: 
 
 Dear fatal name ! reft ever unreveal'd, 
 Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feaPd. 
 Hide it, my heart, within that clofe difguife, 
 Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies': 
 Oh ! write it not, my hand ! his name appears 
 v Already written Blot it out, my tears! 
 
 Here are feveral different objects and pafts of 
 the body perfonified ; and each of them is ad- 
 : . . drefled
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 .dreffed or fpoken to ; let us confider with 
 what propriety. The firft is, the name of 
 Abelard: " Dear fatal name ! reft ever," &c. 
 To this, no reafonable objection can be made. 
 .For, as the name of a perfon often ftands for 
 the perfon himfelf, and fuggefts the fame 
 ideas, it can bear this Perfonification with fuf- 
 ficient dignity. Next, Eloifa fpeaks to her- 
 felf j and perfonifies her heart for this pur- 
 pofe : " Hide it, my heart, within that 
 tc clofe," &c. As the heart is a dignified part 
 of the human frame, and is often put for the 
 mind, or affections, this alfo may pafs with- 
 out blame. But, when from her heart fhe 
 paries to her hand, and tells her hand not to 
 write his name, this is forced and unnatural ; 
 a perfonified hand is low, and not in the ftyle 
 of true pafilon j and the Figure becomes ftill 
 worfe, when, in the laft place, fhe exhorts 
 her tears to blot out what her hand had writ- 
 ten, "Oh! write it not," &c. There is, in 
 thefe two lines, an air of epigrammatic conceit, 
 which native pafllon never fuggefts ; and 
 which is altogether unfuitable to the tenderneis 
 which breathes through the reft of that excel- 
 lent Poem. 
 
 IN profe competitions, this Figure requires 
 
 to be ufed with ftill greater moderation and 
 
 delicacy. The fame liberty is not allowed to 
 
 the imagination there, as in poetry. The 
 
 E e 3 fame
 
 4 2 2 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 L E c T. fame affiflances cannot be obtained for raifinc 
 
 XVI 
 
 paffion to its proper height by the force of 
 numbers, and the glow of ftyle. However, 
 addreffes to inanimate objects are not ex- 
 cluded from profe ; but have their place only 
 in the higher fpecies of oratory. A public 
 Speaker may on fome occafions very properly 
 addrefs religion or virtue ; or his native coun- 
 try, or fome city or province, which has fuf- 
 fered perhaps great calamities, or been the 
 fcene of fome memorable action. But we 
 mud remember, that as fuch addreffes are 
 among the higheft efforts of eloquence, they 
 fhould never be attempted, unlefs by perfons 
 of more than ordinary genius. For if the 
 orator fails in his defign of moving our paf- 
 fions by them, he is fure of being laughed at. 
 Of all frigid things, the moft frigid, are the 
 awkward and unfeafonable attempts fome- 
 times made towards fuch kinds of Perfonifi- 
 cation, efpecially if they be long continued. 
 We fee the writer or fpeaker toiling, and la- 
 bouring, to exprefs the language of fome 
 pafiion, which he neither feels hirnfelf, nor 
 can make us feel. We remain not only cold, 
 but frozen ; and are at full leifure to criticife 
 on the ridiculous figure which the perfonified 
 object makes, when v/e ought to have been 
 tranfported with a glow of enthufiafm. Some 
 of the French writers, particularly Boffuet 
 and Flechier, in their fermons and funeral 
 
 orations..
 
 PERSONIFICATION. 
 
 Orations, have attempted and executed this L 
 Figure, not without warmth and dignity. 
 Their warks are exceedingly worthy of being 
 confulted, for inftances of this, and of feve- 
 ral other ornaments of flyle. Indeed the vi- 
 vacity and ardour of the French genius is 
 more fuited to this bold fpecies of oratory, 
 than the more correct but lefs animated ge- 
 nius of the Britifh, who in their profe works 
 very rarely attempt any of the high Figures 
 of eloquence *. So much for Perfonifica- 
 tions or Profopopceia, in all its different 
 forms. 
 
 APOSTROPHE 
 
 * In the Oraifons Funebres de M. Boffuet," which 
 I confider as one of the mailer-pieces of modern eloquence, 
 Apoftrophes and addrefles to perfonified objects, fre- 
 quently occur, and are fupported with much fpirit. Thus, 
 for inftance, in the funeral oration of Mary of Auftria, 
 Queen of France, the author addrefles Algiers, in the 
 profpecl; of the advantage which the arms of Louis XIV. 
 were to gain over it : " Avant lui la France, prefque fans 
 ** vaifleaux, tenoit en vain aux deux mers. Maintenant, 
 " on les voit couvertes depuis le Levant jufqu'au couchant 
 " de nos flottes viclorieufes ; & la hardieffe Francoife port 
 *' par tout la terreur avec le nom de Louis. Tu cederas, 
 " tu tomberas fous ce vainqueur, Alger ! riche des depou- 
 " illes de la Chretiente. Tu difois en ton cccur avare, je 
 " tiens le mer fous ma loix, et les nations font ma proie. 
 " La legerete de tes vaifleaux te donnoit de la confiance. 
 *' Mais tu te verras attaque dans tes murailles, comme un 
 " oiHeau raviflant qu'on iroit chercher parmi fes rochers, 
 " &: dans fon nid, ou il partage fon butin a fes petits, 
 " Tu rends deja tes efclaves, Louis a brife les fers, dont 
 if tu acablois fes fujets, &c." In another paflage of the 
 64 fame
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 APOSTROPHE is a Figure fo much of the 
 fame kind, that it will not require many 
 words. It is an addrefs to a real perfon ; but 
 one who is either abfent or dead, as if he 
 were prefent, and liftening to us. It is fo 
 much allied to an addrefs to inanimate objects 
 perfonified, that both thefe Figures are fome- 
 times called Apoftrophes. However, the pro- 
 per Apoftrophe is in boldnefs one degree 
 lower than tke addrefs to perfonified objects; 
 
 fame oration, he thus apoftrophizes the Ifle of Pheafants, 
 which had been rendered famous by being the fcene of 
 thofe conferences, in which the treaty of the Pyrenees be- 
 tween France and Spain, and the marriage of this Prin- 
 cefs with the King of France, were concluded. " Ifle 
 " pacifique ou fe doivent terminer les differends de deux 
 " grands empires a qui tu fers de limites : ifle eternelle- 
 " ment memorable par les conferences de deux grands 
 
 < minifters. Augufte journee ou deux fieres nations, 
 
 " long terns enemis, et alors reconciled par Marie The- 
 " refe s'avan9ent fur leur confins, leur rois a leur tete, 
 " non plus pour fe combattre, mais pour s'embrafTer. 
 " Fetes facrees, manage fortune, voile nuptial, bene- 
 t( diftion, facrifice, puis-je meler aujourdhui vos ceremo- 
 " nies, et vos pompes, avec ces pompes funebres, & le 
 " comble des grandeurs avec leur ruines !" In the funeral 
 oration of Henrietta, Queen of Engknd (which is perhaps 
 the nobleft of all his compositions), after recounting all flie 
 had done to fupport her unfortunate hufband, he concludes 
 with this beautiful Apoftrophe : " O mere ! O femme ! 
 " O reine admirable & digne d'une meilleure fortune, fi 
 " les fortunes de la terre etoient quelque chofe ! Enfin il 
 " faut ceder a votre fort. Vous avez aflez foutenu 1'etat, 
 " qui eft attaque par une force invincible et divine. II ne 
 " refte plus deformais, fi non que vous teniez ferme parmi 
 " fes ruines." 
 
 for
 
 APOSTROPHE. 425 
 
 for it certainly requires a lefs effort of imagi- L E c T, 
 nation to fuppofe perfons prefent who arc 
 dead or abfent, than to animate infenfible be- 
 ings, and direct our difcourfe to them. Both 
 Figures are fubje<5t to the fame rule of being 
 prompted by pafifion, in order to render them 
 natural ; for both are the language of paffion 
 or ftrong emotions only. Among the poets 
 Apoftrophe is frequent ; as in Virgil : 
 
 Pereunt Hypanifque Dymafque 
 
 Confixi a fociis j nee te, tua plurima, Pantheu 
 
 Labentem pietas, nee Apollinis infula texit * ! 
 
 THE poems of Oflian are full of the moft 
 beautiful inftances of this Figure : " Weep 
 " on the rocks of roaring winds, O maid of 
 " Iniftore ; bend thy fair head over the waves, 
 " thou fairer than the ghofts of the hills, when 
 (t it moves in a funbeam at noo,n over the 
 filence of Morven ! He is fallen ! Thy 
 " youth is low ; pale beneath the fword of 
 " Cuchullin -j- !" Quinctilian affords us a 
 very fine example in profe ; when in the be- 
 ginning of his fixth book, deploring the un- 
 timely death of his fon, which had happened 
 during the courfe of the work, he makes a 
 very moving and tender Apoftrophe to him. 
 
 * Nor Pantheus ! thee, thy mitre, nor the bands 
 Of awful Phoebus fav'd from impious hands. 
 
 D R Y D E N . 
 
 f Fingal, B. I. 
 
 <f Nam
 
 426 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 L E c T. c< j^ am quo ille animo, qua medicorum admi- 
 " ratione, menfium ofto valetudlnem tulit r 
 t( ut me in fupremis confolatus eft ? quam 
 " etiam jam deficienSj jamque non nofter 3 
 <c ipfurn ilium alienatse mentis errorem circa 
 <f folas literas habuit ? Tuofne ergo, O meae 
 " fpes inanes ! labentes oculos, tuum fugien- 
 <f tern fpiritum vidi ? Tuum corpus frigidumj 
 fc exangue complexus, animam recipere, au- 
 tf ramque communem haurire amplius potui ? 
 <e Tene, confulari nuper adoptions ad omnium 
 <c fpes honorum patris admotum, te, avunculo 
 <c prsetori generum deftinatum ; te, omnium 
 C Ipe Atticaj eloquentis candidatum, parens 
 (( fuperftes tantum ad pcenas amifi * !" In this 
 
 * " With what fparit, nnd how much to the admiration 
 " of the phyficians did he bear throughout eight months 
 *' his lingering diftrefs ? With what tender attention did he 
 ' ftudy, even in the laft extremity, to comfort me ? And 4 
 '* when no longer himfelf, how affecting was it to behold 
 " the difordered efforts of his wandering miad, wholly 
 " employed on fubjefts of literature ? Ah ! my fruflrated 
 f and fallen hopes ! Have I then beheld your clofmg 
 " eyes, and heard the laft groan iffue from your lips ? 
 " After having embraced your cold and breathlefs body, 
 te how was it in my power to draw the vital air, or con- 
 " tinue to drag a miferable life ? When I had juft beheld 
 ' you raifed by confular adoption to the profpeft of all 
 " your father's honours, deftined to be fon-in-law-to yowr 
 " uncle the PrEetor, pointed out by general expectation as 
 ' the fuccefsful candidate for the prize of Attic eloquence, 
 " in this moment of your opening honours, muft I lofe 
 *' you for ever, and remain an, u,nhappy parent, furviving 
 1* only to fuifer woe ?'* 
 
 pafTage,
 
 APOSTROPHE. 427 
 
 pafTage, Quinflilian fhews the true genius of L E c T 
 an orator, as much as he does elfewhere that of 
 the critic^ 
 
 FOR fuch bold Figures of difcourfe as ftrong 
 Perfonifications, addrefles to perfonified ob- 
 jects, and Apoftrophes, the glowing imagi- 
 nation of the antient Oriental nations was 
 particularly fitted. Hence, in the facreci 
 fcriptures, we find fome very remarkable in- 
 ftances : " O thou fword of the Lord ! how 
 <f long will it be ere thou be quiet ? put thy- 
 " felf up into the fcabbard, reft and be ftill ! 
 " How can it be quiet, feeing the Lord hath 
 <c given it a charge againft Aftikelon, and 
 <( againft the fea-fhore ? there hath he ap- 
 " pointed it *." There is one paffage in par- 
 ticular, which I muft not omit to mention, 
 becaufe it contains a greater aflemblage of 
 fublime ideas, of bold and daring Figures, 
 than is perhaps any where to be met with. It 
 js in the fourteenth chapter of Ifaiah, where 
 the prophet thus defcribes the fall of the Af- 
 fyrian empire : <c Thou (halt take up this 
 <c proverb againft the king of Babylon, and 
 <c fay, how hath the oppreflbr ceafed ! the 
 ( golden city ceafed ! The Lord hath broken 
 f f the ftaff of the wicked, and the fceptre of 
 " the rulers. He who fmote the people in 
 " wrath with a continual ftroke : he that ruled 
 
 * Jer, xlvii. 6 t 7. 
 
 the
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 L E c T. t ] ie nations in anger, is perfecuted, and 
 f( none hindereth. The whole earth is at reft, 
 " and is quiet : they break forth into finging. 
 " Yea the fir-trees rejoice at thee, and the 
 ." cedars of Lebanon, faying, Since thou art 
 " laid down, no feller is come up againft us. 
 " Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to 
 f f meet thee at thy coming : it ftirreth up the 
 tc dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the 
 " earth : it hath raifed up from their thrones 
 ," all the kings of the nations. All they fhall 
 " fpeak, and fay unto thee, Art thou alfo be- 
 fc come weak as we ? Art thou become like 
 " unto us ? Thy pomp is brought down to 
 " the grave, and the noife of thy viols : the 
 " worm is fpread under thee, and the worms 
 " cover thee. How art thou fallen from Hear 
 tc ven, O Lucifer, fon of the morning ! how 
 " art thou cut down to the ground, which 
 " didft weaken the nations ! For thou haft 
 ec faid in thine heart, I will afcend into Hea- 
 Cf ven, I will exalt my throne above the ftars 
 " of God j I will fit alfo upon the mount of 
 ." the congregation, in the fides of the north. 
 <c I will afcend above the heights of the 
 <c clouds, I will be like the Moft High. 
 ct Yet thou (halt be brought down to Hell, 
 " to the fides of the pit. They that fee thee 
 " fhall narrowly look upon thee, and confider 
 ." thee, faying, Is this the man that made the 
 ec earth to tremble, that did fhake kingdoms ? 
 ^ " that
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 " that made the world as a wildernefs, and 
 deftroyed the cities thereof? that opened 
 " not the houfe of his prifoners ? All the 
 " kings of the nations, even all of them, lie 
 " in glory, every one in his own houfe. But 
 " thou art caft out of thy grave, like an abo- 
 ct minable branch: and as the raiment of 
 " thofe that are flain, thruft through with a 
 " fword, that go down to the ftones of the 
 <f pit, as a carcafe trodden under feet." This 
 whole paflage is full of fublimity. Every ob- 
 ject is animated; a variety of perfonages are 
 introduced: we hear the Jews, the fir-trees, 
 and cedars of Lebanon, the ghofts of departed 
 Kings, the King of Babylon himfelf, and 
 thofe who look upon his body, all {peaking in 
 their order, and acting their different parts with- 
 out confufion.
 
 LECTURE XVII. 
 
 COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS, INTERRO 
 
 GATION, EXCLAMATION, AND OTHER 
 
 FIGURES OF SPEECH. 
 
 engaged in the confideration 
 of Figures of Speech ; which, as they 
 add much to the beauty of ftyle when pro- 
 perly employed, and are at the fame time 
 liable to be greatly abufed, require a careful 
 difcuflion. As it would be tedious to dwell 
 on all the variety of figurative exprefllons 
 which rhetoricians have enumerated, I chofe 
 to felect the capital Figures, fuch as occur 
 mod frequently, and to make my remarks on 
 thefe ; the principles and rules laid down 
 concerning them, will furHciently direct us to 
 the ufe of the reft, either in profe or poetry. 
 Of Metaphor, which is the mod common of 
 them all, I treated fully j and in the laft Lec- 
 ture I difcourfed of Hyperbole, Perfonifica- 
 tion, and Apoftrophe. This Lecture will 
 nearly finilh what remains on the head of 
 Figures, 
 
 COMPARISON,
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 COMPARISON, or Simile, is what I am to 
 treat of firft : a Figure frequently employed 
 both by Poets and Profe-writers, for the orna- 
 ment of Competition. In a former Lecture, 
 I explained fully the difference betwixt this 
 and Metaphor. A Metaphor is a comparifon 
 implied, but not expreffed as fuch j as when 
 I fay, " Achilles is a Lion," meaning, that 
 he refembles one in courage or ftrength. A 
 Comparifon is, when the refemblance be- 
 tween two objects is expreffed in form, and 
 generally purfued more fully than the nature 
 of a Metaphor admits j as when I fay, <c The 
 * actions of princes are like thofe great rivers, 
 <c the courfe of which every one beholds, but 
 cc their fprings have been feen by few." This 
 flight inftance will {how, that a happy Com- 
 parifon is a kind of fparkling ornamenr 2 
 which adds not a little luflre and beauty to 
 difcourfe ; and hence fuch Figures are termed 
 by Cicero, " Orationis lumina." 
 
 THE pleafure we take in Comparifons is 
 juft and natural. We may remark three dif- 
 ferent fources whence it arifes. Firft, from 
 the pleafure which nature has annexed to that 
 aft of the mind by which we compare any 
 two objects together, trace refemblances 
 among thofe that are different, and differences 
 among thofe that refemble each other ; a 
 pleafure, the final caufe of which is, to 
 5 prompt
 
 COMPARISON 
 
 xvii T ' proropt us to remark and obferve, and thereby 
 to make us advance in ufeful knowledge. 
 This operation of the mind is naturally and 
 univerfally agreeable j as appears from the 
 delight which even children have in com- 
 paring things together, as foon as they are ca- 
 pable of attending to the objects that furround 
 them. Secondly, The pleafure of Compan- 
 ion arifes from the illuftration which the Simile 
 employed gives to the principal object ; from 
 the clearer view of it which it prefcnts j or 
 the more flrong impreffion of it which it 
 ftamps upon the mind : and, thirdly, It arifes 
 from the introduction of a new, and com- 
 monly a fplendid object, afibciated to the 
 principal one of which we treat ; and from 
 the agreeable picture which that object pre- 
 fents to the fancy ; new fcenes being thereby 
 brought into view, which, without the aflift- 
 ance of this Figure, we could not have en- 
 joyed. 
 
 ALL Comparifons whatever may be reduced 
 under two heads, Explaining and Embellijbing 
 Comparifons. For when a writer likens the 
 object of which he treats to any other thing, 
 it always is, or at leaft always fhould be, with 
 a view either to make us underftand that ob- 
 ject more diftinctly, or to drefs it 'up, and 
 adorn it. All manner of fubjects admit of 
 Explaining Comparifons.- Let an author b& 
 2 reafoning
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 reafoning ever fo ftritly, or treating the moft 
 abftrufe point in philofophy, he may very pro- 
 perly introduce a Comparifon, merely with a 
 view to make his fubje<5b better underftood. Of 
 this nature, is the following in Mr. Harris's 
 Hermes, employed to explain a very abftraft 
 point, the diffinction between the powers of 
 fenfe and imagination in the human mind. 
 <c As wax," fays he, " would not be adequate 
 " to the purpofe of fignature, if it had not 
 <f the power to tetain as well as to receive 
 " the impreflion, the fame holds of the foul 
 " with refped to fenfe and imagination. 
 " Senfe is its receptive pov : imagination 
 " its retentive. Had it fenfe without imagi- 
 
 o 
 
 " nation, it would not be as wax, but as wa- 
 " ter, where, though all impreffions be in- 
 cc ftantly made, yet as foon as they are made, 
 " they are inftantly loft." In Companions 
 of this nature, the underftanding is concerned 
 much more than the fancy : and therefore the 
 only rules to be obferved, with refpect to them, 
 are, that they be clear, and that they be ufeful j 
 that they tend to render our conception of the 
 principal object more diftinct; and that they 
 do not lead our view afide, and bewilder it with 
 any falfe light. 
 
 BUT embellifhing Comparifons, introduced 
 not fo much with a view to inform and in- 
 ftrud, as to adorn the fubject of which we 
 
 VOL. I. F f treat,
 
 434 COMPARISON. 
 
 L xvn T ' treat > are tn f e with which we are chiefly con- 
 u~^ * cerned at prefent, as Figures of Speech ; and 
 thole, indeed, which moft frequently occur. 
 Refemblance, as I before mentioned, is the 
 foundation of this Figure. We muft not, 
 however, take Refemblance, in too ftrict a 
 fenfe, for actual fimilitude or likenefs of ap- 
 pearance. Two objects may fometimes be 
 very happily compared to one another, though 
 they refemble each other, ftrictly fpeaking, in 
 nothing ; only, becaufe they agree in the 
 effects which they produce upon the mind ; 
 becaufe they raife a train of fimilar, or, what 
 may be called, concordant ideas ; fo that the 
 remembrance of the one, when recalled, 
 ferves to ftrengthen the impreflion made by 
 the other. For example, to defcribe the na- 
 ture of foft and melancholy mufic, Offian 
 fays, " The mufic of Carryl was, like the 
 " memory of joys that are pait, pleafant and 
 " mournful to the foul." This is happy and 
 delicate. Yet, furely, no kind of mufic has 
 any refemblance to a feeling of the mind, 
 fuch as the memory of paft joys. Had it 
 been compared to the voice of the nightin- 
 gale, or the murmur of the dream, as it 
 would have been by fome ordinary poet, the 
 likenefs would have been more ftrict; but, by 
 founding his Simile upon the effect which 
 Carryl's mufic produced, the Poet, while he 
 conveys a very tender image, gives us, at 
 
 the
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 the fame time, a much ftronger impreflion of L 
 the nature and ftrain of that mufic : <c Like 
 f( the memory of joys that are paft, pleafant 
 cc and mournful to the foul." 
 
 IN general, whether Comparifons be found- 
 ed on the fimilitude of the two objects com- 
 pared, or on fome analogy and agreement in 
 their effects, the fundamental requifite of a 
 Comparifon is, that it fhall ferve to illuftratc 
 the object, for the fake of which it is intro- 
 duced, and to give us a ftronger conception 
 of it. Some little excurfions of fancy may 
 be permitted, in purfuing the Simile j but 
 they muft never deviate far from the principal 
 object. If it be a great and noble one, every 
 circumftance in the Comparifon muft tend to 
 aggrandife it; if it be a beautiful one, to 
 render it more amiable j if terrible, to fill us 
 with more awe. But to be a little more par- 
 ticular : The rules to be given concerning 
 Comparifons, refpect chiefly two articles ; the 
 propriety of their introduction, and the nature 
 of the objects whence they are taken. 
 
 FIRST, the propriety of their introduction. 
 From what has been already faid of Compari- 
 fons, it appears, that they are not, like the 
 Figures of which I treated in the Lift Lec- 
 ture, the language of ftrong paflion. No ; 
 they are the language of imagination rather than 
 
 Ff 2 of
 
 43 6 COMPARISON. 
 
 L E c T. o f paffion i of an imagination fprightly, indeed, 
 and warmed ; but undifturbed by any violent 
 or agitating emotion. Strong pafiion is too 
 levere to admit this play 'of fancy. It has no 
 leifure to caft about for refembling objects j 
 it dwells en that object which has feized and 
 taken poffefTion of the foul. It is too much 
 occupied and rilled by it, to turn its view 
 afide, or to fix its attention on any other 
 thing. An author, therefore, can fcarcely 
 commit a greater fault, than, in the midft of 
 paflion, to introduce a Simile. Metaphorical 
 expreffion may be allowable in fuch a fitua- 
 tion ; though even this may be carried too 
 far : but the pomp and folemnity of a formal 
 Comparifon is altogether a flranger to paffion. 
 It changes the key in a moment ; relaxes and 
 brings down the mind ; and ihews us a writer 
 perfectly at his eafe, while he is perfonating 
 fome other, who is fuppofed to be under the tor- 
 ment of agitation/ Our writers of tragedies 
 are very apt to err here. In fome of Mr. 
 Rowe's plays, thefe flowers of Similies have 
 been ftrewed unfeafonably. Mr. Addiibr/s 
 Cato, too, is juflly cenfurable in this refpect j 
 as, when Portius, juft after Lucia had bid 
 m farewel for ever, and when he fhould na- 
 
 /\ 
 
 turally have been reprefented as in the moft 
 violent anguilh, makes his reply in a ftudied 
 and affected Comparifon : 
 
 Thus
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 Thus o'er the dying lamp th' unfteady flame 
 Hangs quiv'ring on a point, leaps oft' by fits, 
 And falls again, as loth to quit its hold. 
 Thou muft not go ; my foul ftill hovers o'er thee, 
 And can't get loofe. 
 
 Every one muft be fenfible, that this is quite 
 remote from the language of Nature on fuch 
 occafions. 
 
 HOWEVER, as Comparifon is not the ftyle 
 of ftrong pafTion, fo neither, when employed 
 for embellifhment, is it the language of a 
 mind wholly unmoved. It is a Figure of 
 dignity, and always requires fome elevation 
 in the fubjecr., in order to make it proper : 
 for it fuppofes the imagination to be uncom- 
 monly enlivened, though the heart be not 
 agitated by pafliqn. In a word, the proper 
 place of Comparifons lies in the middle re- 
 gion between the highly pathetic, and the very 
 humble ftyle. This is a wide field, and gives 
 ample range to the Figure. But even this 
 field we muft take care not to overftock with 
 it. For, as was before faid, it is a fparkling 
 ornament i and all things that iparkle, dazzle 
 and fatigue, if they recur too often. Similies 
 fhould, even in poetry, be ufed with modera- 
 tion j but, in profe writings, much more : 
 otherwife, the ftyle will become difagreeably 
 florid, and the ornament lofe its virtue -and 
 effed. 
 
 F f 3 I PROCEED,
 
 43 S COMPARISON. 
 
 L E c T. j PROCEED, next, to the rules that relate to 
 objects, whence Companions fhould be drawn ; 
 fuppofmg them introduced in their proper 
 place. 
 
 IN the firft place, they muft not be drawn 
 from things, which have too near and obvious 
 a refemblance to the object with which we 
 compare them. The great pleafure of the 
 act of comparing lies, in difcovering like- 
 nefTes among things of different fpecies, where 
 we would not, at the firft glance, expect a 
 refemblance. There is little art or ingenuity 
 in pointing out the refemblance of two ob- 
 jects, that are fo much a-kin, or lie fo near 
 to one another in nature, that every one fees 
 they muft be like. When Milton compares 
 Satan's appearance, after his fall, to that of 
 the Sun fuffering an eclipfe, and affrighting 
 the nations with portentous darknefs, we are 
 ftruck* with the happinefs and the dignity of 
 the fimilitude. But, when he compares Eve's 
 bower in Paradife, to the arbour of Pomona ; 
 or Eve herfelf, to a Dryad, or Wood-nymph, 
 we receive little entertainment : as every one 
 fees, that one arbour muft, of courfe, in feveral 
 refpects, refemble another arbour, and one beau- 
 tiful woman another beautiful woman. 
 
 AMONG Similies faulty through too great 
 obvioufnefs of the likenefs, w? muft likewife 
 
 rank
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 rank thofe which are taken from objects be- L 
 come trite and familiar in poetical language. 
 Such are the Similies of a hero to a lion, of a 
 perfon in forrow to a flower drooping its head, 
 of violent paffion to a temped, of chaftity to 
 fnow, of virtue to the Sun or the ftars, and 
 many more of this kind, with which we, are 
 fure to find modern writers, of fecond-rate ge- 
 nius, abounding plentifully ; handed down 
 from every writer of verfes to another, as by 
 hereditary right. Thefe Companions were, 
 at firft, perhaps, very proper for the purpofes 
 to which they are applied. In the antient 
 original poets, who took them directly from 
 nature, not from their predeceffors, they had 
 beauty. But they are now beaten ; our ears 
 are fo accuftomed to them, that they give no 
 amufement to the fancy. There is, indeed, 
 no mark by which we can more readily diftin- 
 guifh a poet of true genius, from one of a 
 barren imagination, than by the drain of their 
 Comparifons. All who call themfelves poets 
 affect them : but, whereas a mere verfifier 
 copies no new image from nature, which ap- 
 pears, to his uninventive genius, exhaufted 
 by thofe who have gone before him, and, 
 therefore, contents himfelf with humbly fol- 
 lowing their track j to an author of real fancy, 
 nature feems to unlock, fpontaneoufly, her 
 hidden ftores j and the eye, (C quick glancing 
 J< from earth to heaven," difcovers new (hapes 
 F f 4 and
 
 440 COMPARISON. 
 
 L xvir T ' anc * f rrns > new likenefles between objects un- 
 obferved before, which render his Similies 
 original, expreflive, and lively. 
 
 BUT, in the fecond place, as Comparifons 
 ought not to be founded on likeneffes too ob- 
 vious, ftill lefs ought they to be founded on 
 thofe which are too faint and remote. For 
 thefe, in place of aflifting, (train the fancy to 
 comprehend them, and throw no light upon 
 the fubject. It is alfo to be obferved, that a 
 Comparifon which, in the principal circum- 
 ftances, carries a fufficiently near refemblance, 
 may become unnatural and obfcure, if pufhed 
 too far. Nothing is more oppofite to the de- 
 fign of this Figure, than to hunt after a great 
 number of coincidences in minute points, 
 merely to "fhew how far the poet's wit can 
 flretch the refemblance. This is Mr. Cowley's 
 common fault ; whofe Comparifons generally 
 run out fo far, as to become rather a ftudied 
 exercife of wit, than an illuilration of the 
 principal object. We need only open his 
 works, his odes efpecially, to find inftances 
 every where. 
 
 IN the third place, the object from which 
 a Comparifon is drawn, fhould never be an 
 unknown object, or one of which few people 
 can form clear ideas : cc Ad inferendam rebus 
 ?' lucem," fays Quinctilian, " repertas funj; 
 
 " fimi-
 
 COMPARISON. 441 
 
 c fimilitudines. Prxcipuc, igitur, eft cufto- L E c T - 
 " diendum ne id quod fimilitudinis gratia 
 <c afcivimus, aut obfcurum fit, aut ignotum. 
 " Debet enim id quod illuftrandas alterius rei 
 <e gratia affumitur, ipfum efie clarius eo quod 
 " illuminatur *." Comparifons, therefore, 
 founded on - philofophical difcoveries, or on 
 any thing with which perfons of* a certain trade 
 only, or a certain profefiion, are converfant, 
 attain not their proper effect. They fhould 
 be taken from thofe illuftrious, noted objects, 
 which moft of the readers either have feen, or 
 can ftrongly conceive. This leads me to re- 
 mark a fault of which modern poets are very 
 apt to be guilty. The antients took their 
 Similies from that face of nature, and that 
 clafs of objects, with which they and their 
 readers were acquainted. Hence lions, and 
 wolves, and ferpents, were fruitful, and very 
 proper fources of Similies amongft them; and 
 thefe having become a fort of confecrated, 
 claflkal images, are very commonly adopted 
 by the moderns; in}udicioufly however, for 
 
 * " Comparifons have been introduced into difcourfe, 
 for the fake of throwing light on the fubjeft. We muft, 
 therefore, be much on our guard, not to employ, as the 
 ground of our Simile, any object which is either obfcure 
 or unknown. That, furely, which is ufed for the pur- 
 pofe of illuftrating fome other thing, ought to be more 
 obvious and plain, than the thing intended to be il- 
 luftrated." 
 
 the
 
 44 s COMPARISON. 
 
 JL, E c T. the propriety of them is now in a great mea- 
 i_ -y-iL' fure loft. It is only at lecond hand, and by 
 defcription, that we are acquainted with many 
 of thofe objects; and, to moft readers of 
 poetry, it were more to the purpofe, to de- 
 fcribe lions, or ferpents, by Similies taken 
 from men, than to defcribe men by lions. 
 Now-a-days, we can more eafily form the 
 conception of a fierce combat between two 
 men, than between a bull and a tyger. Every 
 country has a fcenery peculiar to itfelf; and 
 the imagery of every good poet will exhibit 
 it. The introduction of unknown objects, or 
 of a foreign fcenery, betrays a poet copying, 
 not after nature, but from other writers. I 
 have only to obferve further, 
 
 IN the fourth place, that, in compofitions 
 of a ferious or elevated kind, Similies fhould 
 never be taken from low or mean objects. 
 Thefe are degrading , whereas, Similies are 
 commonly intended to embellifh, and to dig- 
 nify : and, therefore, urtlefs in burlefque writ- 
 ings, or where Similies are introduced pur- 
 pofely to vilify and diminiih an object, mean 
 ideas fhould never be prefented to us. Some 
 of Homer's Comparifons have been taxed 
 without reafon, on this account. For it is to 
 be remembered, that the meannefs or dignity 
 of objects depends, in a great degree, on the 
 ideas and manners of the age wherein we 
 
 live.
 
 ANTITHESIS. 
 
 live. Many Similies, therefore, drawn from 
 the incidents of rural life, which appear low to 
 us, had abundance of dignity in thofe fimpler 
 ages of antiquity. 
 
 I HAVE now confidered fuch of the Figures 
 of Speech as feemed moil to merit a full and 
 particular difcuffion : Metaphor, Hyperbole, 
 Perfonification, Apoftrophe, and Companion. 
 A few more yet remain to be mentioned , the 
 proper ufe and conduct of which will be 
 eafily underflood from the principles already 
 laid down. 
 
 As Comparifon is founded on the refem- 
 blance, fo Antithefis on the contrail or oppo- 
 fition of two objects. Cojntraft has always 
 this effect, to make each of the contrafted ob- 
 jects appear in the ftronger light. White, 
 for inftance, never appears fo bright as when 
 it is oppofed to black ; and when both are 
 viewed together. Antitheiis, therefore, may, 
 on many occafions, be employed to advan- 
 tage, in order to flrengthen the impreflion 
 which we intend that any object fhould make. 
 Thus Cicero, in his oration for Milo, repre- 
 fenting the improbability of Milo's forming 
 a defign to take away the life of Clodius, at 
 a time when all circumftances were unfavour- 
 able to fuch a defign, and after he had let 
 other opportunities flip, when he could have 
 
 executed
 
 444 ANTITHESIS. 
 
 L F. c T. executed the fame defign, if he had formed it, 
 with much more eafe and fafety, heightens our 
 conviction of this improbability by a fkilful 
 ufe of this Figure : " Quern igitur cum om- 
 " nium gratia interficere noluit, hunc voluit 
 " cum aliquorum quereki ? Quern jure, quern 
 " loco, quem tempore, quern impune, non eft 
 " aufus, hunc injuria, iniquo loco, alieno 
 <c tempore, periculo capitis, non dubitavit 
 " occidere * r" In order to render an Anti- 
 thefis more complete, it is always of advan- 
 tage, that the words and members of the fen- 
 tence, exprefling the contrafted objects, be, as 
 in this inftance of Cicero's, fimilarly con- 
 ftructed, and made to correfpond to each 
 other. This leads us to remark the contrail 
 more, by fetting the things which we oppofc 
 more clearly over againft each other; in the 
 fame manner as when we contraft a black 
 and a white object, in order to perceive the 
 lull difference of their colour, we would chufe 
 to have both objects of the fame bulk, and 
 
 * " Is it credible that, when he declined putting CIo- 
 ' dius to death with the confent of all, he would chufe 
 " to do it with the difapprobation of many ? Can you be- 
 " lieve that the perfon whom he fcrupled to flay, when he 
 " might have done fo with full juflice, in a convenient 
 *' place, at a proper time, with fecure impunity, he made 
 " no fcruple to murder againft juftice, in an unfavourable 
 ' place, at an unfeafonable time, and at the rifque of ca- 
 " pital condemnation?" 
 
 placed
 
 ANTITHESIS. 445 
 
 placed in the fame light. Their refemblance L 
 to each other, in certain circumftances, makes 
 their difagreement in others more palpable. 
 
 AT the fame time, I muft obferve, that the 
 frequent ufe of Antithefis, efpecially where the 
 oppofition in the words is nice and quaint, is 
 apt to render ftyle difiigreeable. Such a fen- 
 tence as the following, from Seneca, does 
 very well, where it ftands alone : Cf Si quern 
 " volueris efle divitem, non eft quod augeas 
 " divitias, fed minuas cupiditates *." Or 
 this : tc Si ad naturam vives, nunquam eris 
 " pauper ; fi ad opinionem, nunquam di- 
 ff ves -J-." , A maxim, or moral faying, pro- 
 perly enough receives this form ; both be- 
 caufe it is fuppofed to be the fruit of medita- 
 tion, and becaufe it is defigned to be en- 
 graven on the memory, which recalls it more 
 eafily by the help of fuch contrafted expref- 
 fions. But where a firing of fuch fentences 
 fucceed each other ; where this becomes an 
 author's favourite and prevailing manner of 
 expreffing himfelf, his ftyle is faulty; and it 
 is upon this account Seneca has been often, 
 
 * " If you fcek to make one rich, ftudy not to increafe 
 " his flores, but to diminifh his defires." 
 
 f " If you regulate your defires according to the 
 " ard of nature, you will never be poor ; if according 
 " to the ftandafd of opinion, you will never be rich." 
 
 and
 
 44 6 ANTITHESIS. 
 
 L E c T. an d juftly, cenfure^. Such a ftyle appears 
 too ftudied and laboured ; it gives us the im- 
 preflion of an author attending more to his 
 manner of faying things, than to the things 
 themfelves which he fays. Dr. Young, though 
 a writer of real genius, was too fond of Anti- 
 thefis. In his Eftimate of Human Life, we 
 find whole paflages that run in fuch a drain as 
 this: < The peaf; nt complains aloud; the 
 " courtier in fecrec repines. In want, what 
 " diftrefs ? in affluence, what fatiety ? The 
 " great are under as much difficulty to expend 
 te with pleafure, as the mean to labour with 
 " fuccefs. The ignorant, through ill-ground- 
 " ed hope, are di 'appointed j the knowing, 
 " through knowledge, defpond. Ignorance, 
 " occafions miftak-. ; r/llake, difappointment j 
 " and difappointment is mifery. Knowledge, 
 " on the other hand, gives true judgment j 
 <c and true judgment of human things, gives 
 <c a demonftration of their infufficiency to our 
 cc peace/' There is too much glitter in fuch 
 a ftyle as this to pleafe long. We are fatigued, 
 by attending to fuch quaint and artificial fen- 
 tences often repeated. 
 
 4 
 
 THERE is another fort of Antithefis, the 
 beauty of which confifts in furprifing us by 
 the unexpected contrafts of things which it 
 brings together. Much wit may be fhewn in 
 thisj but it belongs wholly to pieces of pro- 
 2 feiTed
 
 INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION. 
 
 feiTed wit and humour, ajad can find no place L 
 in grave compofitions. Mr. Pope, who is 
 remarkably fond of Antithefis, is often happy 
 in this ufe of the Figure. So, in his Rape of 
 the Lock : 
 
 Whether the nymph {hall break Diana's law, 
 
 Or fome frail china jar receive a flaw ; 
 
 Or ftain her honour, or her new brocade ; 
 
 Forget her prayers, or mifs a mafqueradej 
 
 Or lofe her heart, or necklace, at a ball, 
 
 Or whether heaven has doom'd that Shock muft fall. 
 
 What is called the point of an epigram, con- 
 fids, for moft part, in fome Antithefis of this 
 kind; furprinng us with the fmart and unex- 
 pected turn, which it gives to the thought; 
 and in the fewer words it is brought out, it is 
 always the happier. 
 
 COMPARISONS and Antithefes are Figures of 
 a cool nature 3 the productions of imagination, 
 not of paffion. Interrogations and Exclama- 
 tions, of which I am next to fpeak, are paf- 
 fionate Figures. They are, indeed, on fb 
 many occafions, the native language of paf- 
 fion, that their ufe is extremely frequent ; and, 
 in ordinary converfation, when men are heated, 
 they prevail as much as in the moft fublime 
 oratory. The unfigured, literal ufe of In- 
 terrogation, is, to alk a queftion ; but when 
 men are prompted by pafiion, whatever they 
 
 would
 
 44* INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION, 
 
 L E c T. W ould affirm, or deny, with great vehemence, 
 s_ - w -' _t they naturally put in the form of a queftion j 
 expreffing thereby the ftrongeft confidence of 
 the truth of their own fentiment, and appeal- 
 ing to their hearers for the impoffibility of the 
 contrary. Thus, in Scripture : " God is not 
 " a man that he fhould lie, neither the fon of 
 <c man that he fhould repent. Hath he faid 
 " it ? arid fhall he not do it ? Hath he fpoken 
 ce it ? and fhall he not make it good * ?" So 
 Demofthenes, addrefling himfelf to the Athe- 
 nians : " Tell me, will you flill go about 
 " and afk one another, what news ? What 
 * c can be more aftonifhing news than this, 
 <: that the man of Macedon makes war upon 
 <f the Athenians, and difpofes of the affairs 
 tf of Greece? Is Philip dead? No, but he is 
 " fick. What fignifies it to you whether he 
 ce be dead or alive ? For, if any thing hap- 
 <f pens to this Philip, you will immediately 
 <c raife up another." All this delivered with- 
 out Interrogation, had been faint and ineffec- 
 tual j but the warmth and eagernefs which 
 this queftioning method exprefies, awakens 
 the hearers, and flrikes them with much greater 
 force. 
 
 INTERROGATIONS may often be employed 
 with propriety, in the courfe of no higher 
 
 * 
 
 * Numbers, chap, xxiii. ver. 19. 
 
 emotions
 
 INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION. 449 
 
 emotions than naturally arife in purfuing fome L J c. T 
 clofe and earneft reafoning. But Exclamations 
 belong only to ftronger emotions of the mind ; 
 to furprife, admiration, anger, joy, grief, and 
 the like : 
 
 Heu pietas ! heu prifca fides ! invi&aque bello 
 Dextra ! 
 
 Both Interrogation and Exclamation, and, in- 
 deed, all pafiionate Figures of Speech, operate 
 upon us by means of fympathy. Sympathy is 
 a very powerful and extenfive principle in our 
 nature, difpofing us to enter into every feeling 
 and paffion, which we behold exprefled by 
 others. Hence, a fingle perfon coming into 
 company , with ftrong marks, either of melan- 
 choly or joy, upon his countenance, will dif- 
 fufe that paflion, in a moment, through the 
 \vhole circle. Hence, in a great crowd, paf- 
 fions are fo eafily caught, and fb faft fpread, 
 by that powerful contagion which the animated 
 looks, cries, and geflures of a multitude never 
 fail to carry. Now, Interrogations and Ex- 
 clamations, being natural figns of a moved 
 and agitated mind, always, when they are pro- 
 perly ufed, difpofe us to fympathife with the 
 difpofitions of thofe who ufe them, and to feel 
 as they feel. 
 
 FROM this it follows, that the great rule 
 
 >vith regard to the conduct of fuch Figures is, 
 
 VOL. I. G g that
 
 450 INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION, 
 
 L * c T. t na t th e writer attend to the manner in which 
 nature dictates to us to exprefs any emotion or 
 paflion, and that he give his language that 
 turn, and no other ; above all, that he never 
 affect the ftyle" of a paffion which he does not 
 feel. With Interrogations he may ufe a good 
 deal of freedom ; thefe, as above obferved, 
 falling in fo much with the ordinary courfe of 
 language and reafoning, even when no- great 
 vehemence is fuppofed to have place in the 
 mind. But, with refpect to Exclamations, he 
 muft be more refer ved. Nothing has a worfe 
 effed than the frequent and unfeafonable ufe 
 of them. Raw, juvenile writers imagine, that, 
 by pouring them forth often, they render their 
 compofiiions warm and animated. Whereas 
 quite the contrary follows. They render it 
 frigid to excefs. When an author is always 
 calling upon us to enter into tranfports which 
 he has faid nothing to infpire, we are both dif- 
 gufted and enraged at him. He raifes no fym- 
 pathy, for he gives us no paflion of his own, 
 in which we can take part. He gives us 
 words, and not paffion ; and, of courfe, can 
 raife no pafilon, unlefs that of indignation. 
 Hence, I am inclined to think, he was not 
 much miftaken, who faid, that when, on look- 
 ing into a book, he found the pages thick 
 befpangled with the point which is called, 
 " Pundum admirationis," he judged this to 
 be a fufficient reafon for his laying it alide. 
 3
 
 INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION. 
 
 And, indeed, were it not for the help of this L 
 * pundtum admirationis," with which many 
 writers of the rapturous kind fo much abound, 
 one would be often at a lofs to difcover, whe- 
 ther or not it was Exclamation which they 
 aimed at. For, it has now become a fafliion, 
 among thefe writers, to fubjoin points of ad- 
 miration to fentences, which contain nothing 
 but fimple affirmations, or proportions j as if, 
 by an affected method of pointing, they could 
 transform them in the reader's mind into high 
 Figures of eloquence. Much a-kin to this, 
 is another contrivance practifed by fome 
 writers, of feparating aimoft all the members 
 of their fentences from each other, by blank 
 lines j as if, by fetting them thus afunder, 
 they beftowed fome fpeciai importance upon 
 them j and required us, in going along, to 
 make a paufe at every other word, and weigh 
 it well. This, I think, may be called a Ty- 
 pographical Figure of Speech. Neither, in- 
 deed, fince we have been led to mention the 
 arts of writers for increafing the importance of 
 their words, does another cuftom, which pre- 
 vailed very much fome time ago, feem worthy 
 of imitation j 1 mean that of diftinguilhing 
 the fignificant words, in every fentence, by 
 Italic characters. On fome occafions, it is 
 very proper to ufe fuch diflinctions. But 
 when we carry them fo far, as to mark with 
 them every fuppofed emphatical word, thefc 
 G g a words
 
 452 V I S I O N. 
 
 L E vn T ' worc k are *?* to mu topty fo faft in the authors 
 imagination, that every page is crowded with 
 Italics j which can produce no effect what- 
 ever, but to hurt the eye, and create confufion. 
 Indeed, if the fenfe point not out the moft 
 emphatical exprefiions, a variation in the type, 
 efpecially when occurring fo frequently, will 
 give fmall aid. And, accordingly, the moft 
 mafterly writers, of late, have, with good rea- 
 fon, laid afide all thofe feeble props of fignifl- 
 cancy, and trufted wholly to the weight of their 
 fentiments for commanding attention. But to 
 return from this direffion : 
 
 
 ANOTHER Figure of Speech, proper only to 
 animated and warm compofition, is what fome 
 critical writers call Vifion; when, in place of 
 relating fomething that is paft, we ufe the 
 prefent tenfe, and defcribe it as actually 
 pafling before our eyes. Thus Cicero, in his 
 fourth oration againft Catiline : " Videor enim 
 " mihi hanc urbem videre, lucem orbis terra- 
 " rum atque arcem omnium gentium, fubito 
 " uno incendio concidentem ; cerno animo 
 " fepulta in patria miferos atque infepultos 
 " acervos civium ; verfatur mihi ante oculos 
 cc alpectus Cethegi, et furor, in veftra casde 
 " bacchantis *." This manner of defcription 
 
 fuppofes 
 
 * I feem to myfelf to behold this city, the ornament 
 " of the earth, and the capital of all nations, fuddenly in- 
 
 volved
 
 VISION. 
 
 fuppofes a fort of enthufiafm, which carries the L 
 perfon who defcribes in fome meafure out of 
 himfelf j and, when well executed, muft needs 
 imprefs the reader or hearer ftrongly, by the 
 force of that fympathy which I have before ex- 
 plained. But, in order to a fuccefsful execu- 
 tion, it requires an uncommonly warm imagi- 
 nation, and fuch a happy feleclion of circum- 
 flances, as fhall make us think we fee before 
 our eyes the fcene that is defer ibed. Otherwife, 
 it fhares the fame fate with all feeble attempts 
 towards paffionate Figures j that of throwing 
 ridicule upon the author, and leaving the reader 
 more cool and uninterefted than he was before. 
 The fame obfervations are to be applied to 
 Repetition, Sufpenfion, Correction, and many 
 more of thofe figurative forms of Speech, which 
 Rhetoricians have enumerated among the 
 Beauties of Eloquence. They are beautiful, or 
 not, exactly in proportion as they are native 
 expreflions of the fentiment or paflion intended 
 to be heightened by them. Let nature and 
 paflion always fpeak their own language, and 
 they will fnggeft Figures in abundance. But, 
 when we feek to counterfeit a warmth which 
 we do not feel, no Figures will either fupply the 
 defect, or conceal the impofture. 
 
 " volved in one conflagration. I fee before me the flaugh- 
 " tered heaps of citizens lying unburied in the midft of 
 " their ruined country. The furious countenance of Ce- 
 " thegus rifes to my view, while with a favage joy he is 
 * triumphing in your miferies." 
 
 2 THERE
 
 4-4 AMPLIFICATION. 
 
 L EC T. THERE is one Figure (and I ihall mention 
 no more) of frequent ufe among all public 
 jpeakers, particularly at the bar, which Quinc- 
 tilian infifls upon coniiderably, and calls Am- 
 plification. It confiils in an artful exaggera- 
 tion of all the circumftances of fome ob- 
 ject or action which we want to place in a 
 ftrong light, either a good or a bad one. It 
 is not fo properly one Figure, as the fkilful 
 management of ieveral which we make to 
 tend to one point. It may be carried on by a 
 proper ufe of magnifying or extenuating terms, 
 by a regular enumeration of particulars, or by 
 throwing together, as into one mafs, a crowd of 
 circumftances j by fuggefting comparifons alfo 
 with things of a like nature. But the principal 
 inftfument by which it works, is by a Climax, or 
 a gradual rife of one circumftance above another, 
 till our idea be raifed to the utmoft. I fpoke 
 formerly of a Climax in found; a Climax in 
 fenfe, when well carried on, is a Figure which 
 never fails to amplify ftrongly. The com- 
 mon example of this is, that noted pafTage in 
 Cicero, which every fchool-boy knows: " Fa- 
 " cinus eft vincire civem Romanum; fcelus 
 l< verberare, prope parricidium, necare ; quid 
 " dicam in crucem tollere * ?" I fhall give an 
 inftance from a printed pleading of a -famous 
 
 * " It is a crime to put a Roman citizen in bonds : it is 
 " the height of guilt to fcourge him ; little lefs than parri- 
 " cide to put him to death : what name then fhall I give to 
 ** crucifying him?" 
 
 Scotch.
 
 CLIMAX. 
 
 Scotch Lawyer, Sir George M'Kenzie. It is 
 in a charge to the jury, in the cafe of a woman 
 accufed of murdering her own child. <f Gen- 
 " tlemen, if one man had any how flain an- 
 <f other, if an adverfary had killed his oppofer, 
 " or a woman occafioned the death of her 
 <c enemy, even thefe criminals would have 
 " been capitally punifhed by the Cornelian 
 " law : but, if this guiltlefs infant, who could 
 " make no enemy, had been murdered by its 
 tf own nurfe, what punifhments would not then 
 " the mother have demanded ? With what 
 <c cries and exclamations would flie have 
 " ftunned your ears ? What fhall we fay then, 
 <f when a woman, guilty of homicide, a mo- 
 " ther, of the murder of her innocent child, 
 " hath comprifed all thofe mifdeeds in one 
 " fingle crime ; a crime, in its own nature, 
 * c deteftable j in a woman, prodigious j in a 
 " mother, incredible; and perpetrated againft 
 t( one whofe age called for compaffion, whofe 
 " near relation claimed affedtion, and whole 
 " innocence deferved the higher! favour ?" I 
 muft take notice, however," that fuch regular 
 Climaxes as thefe, though they have confider- 
 able beauty, have, at the fame time, no fmall 
 appearance of art and ftudy ; and, therefore, 
 though they may be admitted into formal 
 harangues, yet they fpeak not the language of 
 great earneftnefs and paflion, which feldom 
 proceed by fteps fo regular. Nor, indeed, for 
 
 the
 
 CLIMAX. 
 
 L E c T. the purpofes of effectual perfuafion, are they 
 likely to be fo fuccefsful, as an arrangement 
 of circumftances in a lefs artificial order. For, 
 when much art appears, we are always put on 
 our guard againft the deceits of eloquence ; but 
 when a fpeaker has reafoned ftrongly, and, by 
 force of argument, has made good his main 
 point, he may then, taking advantage of the 
 favourable bent of our minds, make ufe of fuch 
 artificial Figures to confirm our belief, and to 
 our minds. 
 
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