Henry Home, Lord Kames, i696-i782 Elements of Criticism Edinburgh, 1762 (Reprint 1967) 3 vols. (Clas- sics in Art and Literary Criticism) Cloth $25.00 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/elementsofcritic02kanne_0 ELEMENTS OF CPtlTICISM. printed by Walker and Greig*, Edinburgh. ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM. BY THJE HOyOURABLE HENRY HOME OF KAMES, ONE OF THE SENATORS OF THE COLLEGE OF JUSTICE, AND ONE OF THE LORDS COMMISSIONERS OF JUSTICIARY IN SCOTLAND. THE NINTH EDITION. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. EDINBURGH : PRINTED FOR BELL & BRADFUTE, A. CONSTABLE & CO. AND J. FAIRBAIRN, (SUCCESSOR TO MR CREECH), EDINBURGH T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME & BROWN, AND ROBERT STODART, LONDON. 1817. * ' ’ : ^ :■.;' 1/:^ 'k'-' ■ ■' r'/'^"^*.V i T m ' '• :\!^TO:a- .•r '.'J.' 5¥, .i ■'») ' ■ - - ■ .i, w ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM. CHAPTER XVIII. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. Of all the fine arts, painting only and sculpture are in their nature imitative. An ornamented field is not a copy or imitation of nature, but nature it- self embellished. Architecture is productive of originals, and copies not from nature. Sound and motion may in some measure be imitated by music ; but for the most part music, like architecture, is productive of originals. Language copies not from nature, more than music or architecture ; unless where, like music, it is imitative of sound or mo- tion. Thus, in the description of particular sounds, language sometimes furnisheth words, which, be- side their customary power of exciting ideas, re- semble by their softness or harshness the sounds described ; and there are words which, by the cele- rity or slowness of pronunciation, have some re- VOL. II. A BEAUTY OP LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . semblance to the motion they signify. The imi- tative power of words goes one step farther : the loftiness of some words makes them proper symbols of lofty ideas ; a rough subject is imitated by harsh sounding words ; and words of many syllables pro- nounced slow and smooth, are expressive of grief and melancholy. Words have a separate effect on the mind, abstracting from their signification and from their imitative power ; they are more or less agreeable to the ear, by the fulness, sweetness, faintness, or roughness of their tones. These are but faint beauties, being known to those only who have more than ordinary acuteness of perception. Language possesseth a beauty supe- rior greatly in degree, of which we are eminently sensible when a thought is communicated with perspicuity and sprightliness. This beauty of language, arising from its power of expressing thought, is apt to be confounded with the beauty of the thought itself : the beauty of thought, trans- ferred to the expression, makes it appear more beautiful.* But these beauties, if we wish to think accurately, must be distinguished from each ♦ Chap. 2. Part 1; sect. 5. Demetrius Phalereus (of Elocu- tion, sect. 75.) makes the same observation. We are apt, says that author, to confound the language with the subject ; and if the latter be nervous, we judge the same of the former. But they are clearly distinguishable ; and it is not uncommon to find subjects of great dignity dressed in mean language. Theo- pompus is celebrated for the force of his diction ; but errone- ously ; his subject indeed has great force, but his style very little. CH. 18.^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, S other. They are in reality so distinct, that we sometimes are conscious of the highest pleasure language can afford, when the subject expressed is disagreeable : a thing that is loathsome, or a scene of horror to make one’s hair stand on end, may be described in a manner so lively, as that the dis- agreeableness of the subject shall not even obscure the agreeableness of the description. The causes of the original beauty of language, considered as significant, which is a branch of the present sub- ject, will be explained in their order. I shall only at present observe, that this beauty is the beauty of means fitted to an end, that of communicating thought : and hence it evidently appears, that of several expressions all conveying the same thought, the most beautiful, in the sense now mentioned, is that which in the most perfect manner answers its end. The several beauties of language above mention- ed, being of different kinds, ought to be handled separately. I shall begin with those beauties of language that arise from sound ; after which will follow the beauties of language considered as sig- nificant : this order appears natural ; for the sound of a word is attended to, before we consider its signification. In a third section come those singu- lar beauties of language that are derived from a resemblance between sound and signification. The beauties of verse are handled in the last section : for though the foregoing beauties are found in verse as well as in prose, yet verse has many pecu- liar beauties, which, for the sake of connexion, 4 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, [CH. 18 . must be brought under one view ; and versifica- tion, at any rate, is a subject of so great impor- tance as to deserve a place by itself. Sect. I . — Beauty of Language mth respect to Sound, This subject requires the following order : The sounds of the different letters come first ; next, these sounds as united in syllables ; third, syllables united in words ; fourth, words united in a period ; and, in the last place, periods united in a discourse. With respect to the first article, every vowel is sounded with a single expiration of air from the wind-pipe, through the cavity of the mouth. By varying this cavity, the different vowels are sound- ed ; for the air in passing through cavities difier- ing in size, produceth various sounds, some high or sharp, some low or flat ; a small cavity occa- sions a high sound, a large cavity a low sound. The five vowels accordingly, pronounced with the same extension of the wind-pipe, but with different openings of the mouth, form a regular series of sounds, descending from high to low, in the follow- ing order, i, e, o, u* Each of these sounds is agreeable to the ear : and if it be required which of them is the most agreeable, it is perhaps safest * In this scale of sounds, the letter i must be pronounced as in the word interest, and as in other words beginning with the syllable in ; the letter e as in pers'^asion ; the letter a as in hat a and the letter u as in mmher. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. '5 SECT. 1 -] to hold, that those vowels which are the farthest removed from the extremes, will be the most re- lished. This is all I have to remark upon the first article : for consonants being letters that of them- selves have no sound, seiwe only in conjunction with vowels to form articulate sounds ; and as every articulate sound makes a syllable, consonants come naturally under the second article ; to which we proceed. A consonant is pronounced with a less cavity than any vowel ; and consequently every syllable into which a consonant enters, must have more than one sound, though pronounced with one ex- piration of air, or with one breath as commonly expressed : for however readily two sounds may unite, yet where they differ in tone, both of them must be heard if neither of them be suppressed. For the same reason, every syllable must be com- posed of as many sounds as there are letters, sup- posing every letter to be distinctly pronounced. We next inquire, how far syllables are agreeable to the ear. Few tongues are so polished, as entire- ly to have rejected sounds that are pronounced with difficulty ; and it is a noted observation. That such sounds are to the ear harsh and disagreeable. But with respect to agreeable sounds, it appears, that a double sound is always more agreeable than a single sound : every one who has an ear must be sensible, that the diphthong oi or ai is more agree- able than any of these vowels pronounced singly ; The same holds where a consonant enters into the double sound 5 the syllable le has a more agreeable 6 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. sound than the vowel e, or than any vowel. And in support of experience, a satisfactory argument may be drawn from the wisdom of Providence : Speech is bestowed on man, to qualify him for society y and his provision of articulate sounds is proportioned to the use he hath for them ; but if sounds that are agreeable singly were not also agreeable in conjunction, the necessity of a pain- ful selection would render language intricate and difBcult to be attained in any perfection , and this selection, at the same time, would abridge the number of useful sounds, so as perhaps not to leave sufficient for answering the different ends of language. In this view, the harmony of pronunciation dif- fers widely from that of music properly so called. In the latter are discovered many sounds singly agreeable, which in conjunction are extremely dis- agreeable ; none but what are called concordant sounds having a good effect in conjunction. In the former, all sounds, singly agreeable, are in con- junction concordant ; and ought to be, in order to fulfil the purposes of language. Having discussed syllables, we proceed to words; which make the third article. Monosyllables be- long to the former head : polysyllables open a dif- ferent scene. In a cursory view, one would ima- gine, that the agreeableness or disagreeableness of a word with respect to its sound, should depend upon the agreeableness or disagreeableness of its component syllables : which is true in part, but not entirely ; for we must also take under conside- SECT. 1.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 7 ration, the effect of syllables in succession. In the first place, syllables in immediate succession, pro- nounced, each of them, with the same, or nearly the same aperture of the mouth, produce a succes- sion of weak and feeble sounds ; witness the French words dit-ily pathetique: on the other hand, a syllable of the greatest aperture succeeding one of the small- est, or the contrary, makes a succession, which, because of its remarkable disagreeableness, is dis- tinguished by a proper name, hiatus* The most agreeable succession is, where the cavity is increas- ed and diminished alternately within moderate limits. Examples, alternative^ longevity^ pusillanU mous. Secondly, words consisting wholly of sylla- bles pronounced slow, or of syllables pronounced quick, commonly called long and short syllables^ have little melody in them ; witness the words petitioner, fruiterer, dizziness : on the other hand, the intermixture of long and short syllables is re- markably agreeable ; for example, degree, repent, ^wonderful, altitude, rapidity, independent, impetuo^ sity,* The cause will be explained afterwards, in treating of versification, Distinguishable from the beauties above men- tioned, there is a beauty of some words which * Italian words, like those of Latin and Greek, have this property almost universally: English and French words are generally deficient. In the former, the long syllable is removed from the end, as far as the sound will permit ; and in the latter, the last syllable is generally long. For example, Senator iit English, Senator in Latin, and Senateur in French. 8 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. arises from their signification : when the emotion raised by the length or shortness, the roughness or smoothness of the sound, resembles in any degree what is raised by the sense, we feel a very remark- able pleasure. But this subject belongs to the third section. The foregoing observations afford a standard to everj^ nation, for estimating, pretty accurately, the comparative merit of the words that enter into their own language : but they are not equally use- ful in comparing the words of different languages ; which will thus appear. Different nations judge differently of the harshness or smoothness of arti- culate sounds ; a sound, for example, harsh and disagreeable to an Italian, may be abundantly smooth to a northern ear : here every nation must judge for itself ; nor can there be any solid ground for a preference, when there is no common standard to which we can appeal. The case is precisely the same as in behaviour and manners : plain-dealing and sincerity, liberty in words and actions, form the character of one people ; politeness, reserve, and a total disguise of every sentiment that can give offence, form the character of another people : to each the manners of the other are disagreeable. An effeminate mind cannot bear the least of that roughness and severity which is generally esteemed manly, when exerted upon proper occasions ; nei- ther can an effeminate ear bear the harshness of certain words, that are deemed nervous and sound- ing by those accustomed tu a rougher tone of speech. Must we then relinquish all thmights of SECT. 1.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 9 comparing languages in point of roughness and smoothness, as a fruitless inquiry ? Not altogether ; for we may proceed a certain length, though with- out hope of an ultimate decision. A language pro- nounced with difficulty even by natives, must yield to a smoother language ; and supposing two lan- guages pronounced with equal facility by natives, the rougher language, in my judgment, ought to be preferred, provided it be also stored with a com- petent share of more mellow sounds ; which will be evident from attending to the different effects that articulate sound hath on the mind. A smooth gliding sound is agreeable, by calming the mind, and lulling it to rest : a rough bold sound, on the contrary, animates the mind ; the effort perceived in pronouncing, is communicated to the hearers, who feel in their own minds a similar effort, rousing their attention, and disposing them to action. I add another consideration : the agreeableness of contrast in the rougher language, for which the great variety of sounds gives ample opportunity, must, even in an effeminate ear, prevail over the more uniform sounds of the smoother language.* This appears all that can be safely determined upon the present point. With respect to the other cir- cumstances that constitute the beauty of words, the standard above mentioned is infallible when applied to foreign languages as well as to our own ; * That the Italian tongue is too smooth, seems probable from considering, that, in versification, vowels are frequently suppressed, in order to produce a rougher and bolder tone. 10 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. for every man, whatever be his mother-tongue, is equally capable to judge of the length or shortness of words, of the alternate opening and closing of the mouth in speaking, and of the relation that the sound bears to the sense : in these particulars, the judgment is susceptible of no prejudice from cus- tom, at least of no invincible prejudice. That the English tongue, originally harsh, is at present much softened by dropping in the pronun- ciation many redundant consonants, is undoubtedly true : that it is not capable of being further mel- lowed without suffering in its force and energy, will scarce be thought by any one who possesses an ear ; and yet such in Britain is the propensity for despatch, that, overlooking the majesty of words composed of many syllables aptly connected, the prevailing taste is to shorten words, even at the expense of making them disagreeable to the ear, and harsh in the pronunciation. But I have no occasion to insist upon this article, being prevented by an excellent writer, who possessed, if any man ever did, the true genius of the English tongue.* I cannot however forbear urging one observation, borrowed from that author : several tenses of our verbs are formed by adding the final syllable ed^ which, being a weak sound, has remarkably the worse effect by possessing the most conspicuous place in the word j upon which account, the vowel * See Swift’s Proposal for correcting the English tongue, in a letter to the Earl of Oxford. SECT. 1 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 11 in common speech is generally suppressed, and the consonant added to the foregoing syllable ; whence the following rugged sounds, drudg'd, disturbed, rebuk'd, jiedg’d. It is still less excusable to follow this practice in writing ; for the hurry of speaking may excuse what would be altogether improper in composition : the syllable ed, it is true, sounds poorly at the end of a word ; but rather that de- fect, than multiply the number of harsh words, which, after all, bear an over-proportion in our tongue. The author above mentioned, by showing a good example, did all in his power to restore that syllable ; and he well deserves to be imitated. Some exceptions however I would make. A word that signifies labour or any thing harsh or rugged, ought not to be smooth ; therefore forc'd with an apostrophe, is better than forced, without it. Ano- ther exception is, where the penult syllable ends with a vowel ; in that case the final syllable ed may be apostrophized without making the word harsh : examples, betray'd, carry' d, destroy'd, employ'd. The article next in order, is the music of words as united in a period. And as the arrangement of words in succession, so as to afford the greatest pleasure to the ear, depends on principles remote from common view, it will be necessary to premise some general observations upon the appearance that objects make, when placed in an increasing or decreasing series. Where the objects vary by small differences, so as to have a mutual resem- blance, we in ascending conceive the second object of no greater size than the first, the third of no 12 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . greater size than the second, and so of the rest ; which diminisheth in appearance the size of every object except the first : but when, beginning at the greatest object, we proceed gradually to the least, resemblance makes us imagine the second as great as the first, and the third as great as the second ; which in appearance magnifies every object except the first. On the other hand, in a series varying by large differences, where contrast prevails, the effects are directly opposite : a great object suc- ceeding a small one of the same kind, appears greater than usual ; and a little object succeeding one that is great, appears less than usual.* Hence a remarkable pleasure in viewing a series ascending by large differences ; directly opposite to what we feel when the differences are small. The least ob- ject of a series ascending by large differences has the same effect upon the mind, as if it stood single without making a part of a series ; but the second object, by means of contrast, appears greater than when viewed singly and apart ; and the same effect is perceived in ascending progressively, till we arrive at the last object. The opposite effect is produced in descending; for in this direction, every object, except the first, appears less than when viewed separately and independent of the series, We may then assume as a maxjm, which will hold in the composition of language as well as of other subjects. That a strong impulse succeed- ^ See the reason, Chap, 8. SECT. 1.3 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 13 ing a weak, makes double impression on the mind ; and that a weak impulse succeeding a strong, makes scarce any impression. After establishing this maxim, we can be at no loss about its application to the subject in hand. The following rule is laid down by Diomedes.** In verbis observandum est, ne a majoribus ad minora descendat oratio ; melius enim dicitur, “ Vir est optimus, qu^m, Vir optimus est.^* This rule is also applicable to entire members of a pe- riod, which, according to our author’s expression, ought not, more than single words, to proceed from the greater to the less, but from the less to the greater.! In arranging the members of a period, no writer equals Cicero : the beauty of the following examples out of many, will not suffer me to slur them over by a reference. Quicum quaestor fueram, Quicum me sors consuetudoque majorum, Quicum me deorum hominumque judicium conjunxerat. Again, Habet honorem quern petlmus, Habet spem quam praepositam nobis habemus, Habet existimationem, multo sudore, labore, vigiliisque, collectam. * De structura perfectae orationis, 1. 2. f See Demetrius Phalereus of Elocution, § IS. i u BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . Again : Eripite nos ex miseriis, Eripite nos ex faucibus eorum, Quorum crude! itas nostro sanguine non potest expleri. De Oratoj'e, 1. 1. § 52. This order of words or members gradually increas- ing in length, may, as far as concerns the pleasure of sound, be denominated a climax in sound. The last article is the music of periods as united in a discourse ; which shall be despatched in a very few words. By no other human means is it possi- ble to present to the mind such a number of ob- jects, and in so swift a succession, as by speaking or writing ; and for that reason, variety ought more to be studied in these, than in any other sort of composition. Hence a rule for arranging the members of different periods with relation to each other. That to avoid a tedious uniformity of sound and cadence, the arrangement, the cadence, and the length of the members, ought to be diversified as much as possible : and if the members of diffe- rent periods be sufficiently diversified, the periods themselves will be equally so. Sect. II . — Beauty of Language with respect to Signification. It is well said by a noted writer,* “ That by means of speech we can divert our sorrows. * Scot’s Christian Life. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 15 “ mingle our mirth, impart our secrets, communi- “ cate our counsels, and make mutual compacts “ and agreements to supply and assist each other.” Considering speech as contributing to so many good purposes, words that convey clear and dis- tinct ideas, must be one of its capital beauties. This cause of beauty is too extensive to be hand- led as a branch of any other subject ; for to ascer- tain with accuracy even the proper meaning of words, not to talk of their figurative power, would require a large volume; an useful work indeed, but not to be attempted without a large stock of time, study, and reflection. This branch therefore of the subject I humbly decline. Nor do I pro- pose to exhaust all the other beauties of language that relate to signification : the reader, in a work like the present, cannot fairly expect more than a, slight sketch of those that make the greatest figure. This task is the more to my taste, as being con- nected with certain natural principles; and. the rules I shall have occasion to lay down, will, if I judge rightly, be agreeable illustrations of these principles. Every subject must be of importance that tends to unfold the human heart; for what other science is of greater use to human beings ? The present subject is too extensive to be dis- ^ cussed without dividing it into parts ; ^nd what follows suggests a division into two parts. In every period, two things are to be regarded: first, the words of which it is composed ; next, the arrange- ment of these words; the former resembling the stones that compose a building, and the latter re- 24 16 fiEAUTY OF ^.ANGUAGEi [CH* 18 . sembling the order in which they are placed. Hence the beauties of language with respect to signification, may not improperly be distinguished into two kinds : first, the beauties that arise from a right choice of words or materials for construct- ing the period ; and next, the beauties that arise from a due arrangement of these words or mate- rials. I begin with rules that direct us to a right choice of words, and then proceed to rules that concern their arrangement. And with respect to the former, communication of thought being the chief end of language, it is a rule. That perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty whatever : if it should be doubt- ed whether perspicuity be a positive beauty, it can- not be doubted that the want of it is the greatest defect. Nothing therefore in language ought more to be studied, than to prevent all obscurity in the expression ; for to have no meaning, is but one de- gree worse, than to have a meaning that is not un- derstood. Want of perspicuity from a wrong ar- rangement, belongs to the next branch. I shall here give a few examples where the obscurity arises from a wrong choice of words ; and as this defect is too common in the ordinary herd of writers to make examples from them necessary, I-confine my- self to the most celebrated authors. Livy, speaking of a rout after a battle, Multique in ruina mdjore quam fuga oppress! obtrunca- tique. Z,.4. §46, SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* 17 This author is frequently obscure, by expressing but part of his thought, leaving it to be completed by his reader. His description of the sea-fight, 1. 28. cap. 30. is extremely perplexed. Unde tibi reditum certo suhtemine Parcse Rupere. Horace^ epod, xiii. 22. Qui persaepe caVa testudine flevit amorem, Non elaboratum ad pedem, Horace, epod, xiv. 1 1 . Me fabulosae Vulture in Appulo, Altricis extra limen Apuliae, Ludo, fatigatumque somno, Fronde nova puerum palumbes Texere* Horace, Carm, I, 3, ode 4. Purae rivus aquae, silvaque jugerum Paucorum, et segetis certa fides meae, Fulgentum imperio fertilis Africae Fallit sorte beatior, Horace, Carm, I, 3. ode 16. Cum fas atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum Discernunt avidi. Horace, Carm, I, 1. ode 18. Ac spem fronte serenat* JEneid, iv. 477. I am in greater pain about the foregoing pas- sages, than about any I have ventured to criticise, being aware that a vague or obscure expression, is apt to gain favour with those who neglect to exa- mine it with a critical eye. To some it carries the sense that they relish the most 5 and by suggesting various meanings at once, it is admired by others VOL. IT. B BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . iS as concise and comprehensive : which by the way fairly accounts for the opinion generally enter- tained with respect to most languages in their in- fant state, of compressing much in few words. This observation may be illustrated by a passage from Quintilian, quoted in the first volume for a diffe- rent purpose. At quae Polycleto defuerunt, Phidiae atque Alcameni dantur. Phidias tamen diis quam hominibus efhciendis melior artifex traditur : in ebore vero, longe citra aemulum, vel si nihil nisi Minervam Athenis, aut Olympium in Elide Jovem fecisset, cujus pulchritudo adjecisse aliquid etiam re-- ceptce religioni videtur; adeo majestas operis Deum cequwvit^ The sentence in the Italic characters appeared to me abundantly perspicuous, before I gave it pecu- liar attention. And yet to examine it independent of the context, its proper meaning is not what is intended : the words naturally import, that the beauty of the statues mentioned, appears to add some new tenet or rite to the established religion, or appears to add new dignity to it ; and we must consult the context before we can gather the true meaning ; which is, that the Greeks were confirm- ed in the belief of their established religion by these majestic statues, so like real divinities. There may be a defect in perspicuity proceeding even from the slightest ambiguity in construction ; as where the period commences with a member conceived to be in the nominative case, which af- terward is found to be in the accusative. Ex- ample : ‘‘ Some emotions more peculiarly con- BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 19 SECT. “ nected with the fine arts, I propose to handle “in separate chapters.”* Better thus: “Some “ emotions more peculiarly connected with the “ fine arts, are proposed to be handled in separate “ chapters.” I add another error against perspicuity ; which I mention the rather because with some writers it passes for a beauty. It is the giving different names to the same object, mentioned oftener than once in the same period. Example ; Speaking of the English adventurers who first attempted the conquest of Ireland, “ And instead of reclaiming “ the natives from their uncultivated manners, “ they were gradually assimilated to the ancient “ inhabitants, and degenerated from the customs “ of their own nation.” From this mode of ex- pression, one would think the author meant to dis- tinguish the aficient inhabitants from the natives ; and we cannot discover otherwise than from the sense, that these are only different names given to the same object for the sake of variety. But perspicuity ought never to be sacrificed to any other beauty, which leads me to think that the passage may be improved as follows : “ And dege- “ nerating from the customs of their own nation, they were gradually assimilated to the natives, “ instead of reclaiming them from their unculti- “ vated manners.” The next rule in order, because next in impor- tance is, That the language ought to correspond ^ Elements of Criticism, vol. i. p. 43, edit. 1. 20 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . to the subject : heroic actions or sentiments re- quire elevated language ; tender sentiments ought to be expressed in words soft and flowing ; and plain language void of ornament, is adapted to subjects grave and didactic. Language may be considered as the dress of thought ; and where the one is not suited to the other, we are sensible of incongruity, in the same manner as where a judge is dressed like a fop, or a peasant like a man of quality. Where the impression made by the words resembles the impression made by the thought, the similar emotions mix sweetly in the mind, and double the pleasure ; * but where the impressions made by the thought and the words are dissimilar, the unnatural union they are forced into is disagreeable.! This concordance between the thought and the words has been observed by every critic, and is so well understood as not to require any illustration. But there is a concordance of a peculiar kind, that has scarcely been touched in works of criticism, though it contributes to neatness of composition. It is what follows. In a thought of any extent, we commonly find some parts intimately united, some slightly, some disjoined, and some directly opposed to each other. To find these conjunctions and dis- junctions iiuitated in the expression, is a beauty ; because such imitation makes the words concor- dant with the sense. This doctrine may be illus- trated by a familiar example. When we have oc- * Ch^p, 2. Part 4?. f Ibid. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 21 casion to mention the intimate connexion that the soul hath with the body, the expression ought to be, the soul and body ; because the particle the^ relative to both, makes a connexion in the express sion, resembling in some degree the connexion in the thought : but when the soul is distinguished from the body, it is better to say the soid aiid the body ; because the disjunction in the words resem- bles the disjunction in the thought. I proceed to other examples, beginning with conjunctions. Constituit agmen ; et expedire tela animosque, equitibus jussis, &c. L 38. § 25. Here the words that express the connected ideas are artificially connected by subjecting them both to the regimen of one verb. And the two follow- ing are of the same kind. Quum ex paucis quotidie aliqui eorum caderent aut vul- nerarentur, et qui superarent, fessi et corporibus et animis essent, &c. Liiy, L 38. § 29. Post acer Mnestheus adducto constitit arcu, Alta peteiis, pariterque oculos telumque tetendit. JEneid, v. 507. But to justify this artificial connexion among the words, the ideas they express ought to be inti- mately connected ; for otherwise that concordance which is required between the sense and the ex- pression will be impaired. In that view, a passage from Tacitus is exceptionable , where words that ^2 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, [CH. 18. signify ideas very little connected, are however forced into an artificial union. Here is the pas- sage : ' Germania omnis a Galliis, Rhaetiisqne, et Pan'noniis, Rheno et Danubio fluminibus; a Sarmatis Dacisque, mutuo metu aut montibus separatur. Z)e Moribus Germanorum, Upon the same account, I esteem the following passage equally exceptionable. The fiend look’d up, and knew His mounted scale aloft ; nor more, but fled Murm’ring, and with him fled the shades of night. Paradise Lost^ ^.4. at the end. There is no natural connexion between a person’s flying or retiring, and the succession of day-light to darkness ; and therefore to connect artificially the terms that signify these things cannot have a sweet effect. Two members of a thought connected by their relation to the same action, will naturally be ex- pressed by two members of the, period governed by the same verb ; in which case these members, in order to improve their connexion, ought to be con- structed in the same manner. This beauty is so common among good writers, as to have been little attended to ; but the neglect of it is remarkably disagreeable ; For example, “ He did not mention “ Leonora, nor that her father was dead.” Better thus : “ He did not mention Leonora, nor her father’s death.” SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 23 Where two ideas are so connected, as to require but a copulative, it is pleasant to find a connexion in the words that express these ideas, were it even so slight as where both begin with the same letter : The peacock, in all his pride, does not display half the colour that appears in the garments of a British lady, when she is either dressed for a ball or a birth-day. Spectat07'y No. 265. Had not my dog of a steward run away as he did, with- out making up his accounts, I had still been immersed in sin and sea-coal. Ibid, NO, 530. My life’s companion, and my bosom-friend. One faith, one fame, one fate shall both attend. DrydeUy Translation of Jllneid^ There is sensibly a defect in neatness when unifor- mity in this case is totally neglected ; * witness the following example, where the construction of two members connected by a copulative is unneces- sarily varied. For it is confidently reported, that two young gentlemen of real hopes, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon a thorough examination of causes and effects, and by the mere force of natural abilities, without the least tincture of learning, have made a discovery that there was no God, and generously communicating their thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, by an unparalleled seve- rity, and upon I know not what obsolete law, broke for blasphemy.f [Better thus :] — having made a discover}^ ^ See Girard’s French Grammar, Discourse 12. f An argument against abolishing Christianity. Sviijt, BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . £ 4 . that there was no God, and having generously communi- cated their thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, &c. He had been guilty of a fault, for which his master would have put him to death, had he not found an oppor- tunity to escape out of his hands, and Jled into the deserts ofNumidia. Guardian^ NO, 139 . If all the ends of the Revolution are already obtained, it is not only impertinent to argue for obtaining any of them, but factious designs might he imputed, and the name of in- cendiary be applied with some colour, perhaps, to any one who should persist in pressing this point. Dissertation upon Parties, Dedication, Next as to examples of disjunction and opposi- tion in the parts of the thought, imitated in the ex- pression ; an imitation that is distinguished by the name of antithesis, Speaking^ of Coriolanus soliciting the people to be made consul : With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. Coriolanus, Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men ? Julius CcBsar, He hath coofd my friends and heated mine enemies. Shakespeare, An artificial connexion among the words, is un- doubtedly a beauty when it represents any peculiar connexion among the constituent parts of the SECT. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. ^5 thought ; but where there is no such connexion, it is a positive deformity, as above observed, because it makes a discordance between the thought and expression. For the same reason we ought also to avoid every artificial* opposition of words where there is none in the thought. This last, termed verbal antithesis^ is studied by low writers, because of a certain degree of liveliness in it. They do not consider how incongruous it is, in a grave compo- sition, to cheat the reader, and to make him expect a contrast in the thought, which upon examination is not found there : A light wife doth make a heavy husband. Merchant of Venice. Here is a studied opposition in the words, not only without any opposition in the sense, but even where there is a very intimate connexion, that of cause and effect ; for it is the levity of the wife that torments the husband. — Will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good. Kmg Richard II, Act /. Sc, 1. Jjucetta. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? Julia. If thou respect them, best to take them up. Lucetta. Nay, I was taheri up for laying thern down. Two Gentlemen of Verotia, Act i. Sc. 2. A fault directly opposite to that last mentioned, is to conjoin artificially words that express ideas opposed to each other. This is a fault too gross to 26 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . be in common practice ; and yet writers are guilty of it in some degree, when they conjoin by a copu- lative things transacted at different periods of time. Hence a want of neatness in the following expres- sion. The nobility too, whom the king had no means of re- taining by suitable offices and preferments, had been seized with the general discontent, and unwarily threw themselves into the scale which began already too much to preponde- rate. History of G. Britain^ Voh i, 250. In periods of this kind, it appears more neat to ex- press the past time by the participle passive, thus : The nobility having been seized with the general discon- tent, unwarily threw themselves, &c. (or) The nobility, who had been seized, &c, unwarily threw themselves, &c. It is unpleasant to find even a negative and affir- mative proposition connected by a copulative : Nec excitatur classico miles truci, Nec horret iratum mare; Forumque vitat, et superba civium Potentiorum limina. Horace, Epod. 2, 1. 5, If it appear not plain, and prove untrue. Deadly divorce step between me and you. Shakespeare. In mirth and drollery it may have a good effect to connect verbally things tliat are opposite to each other in the thought. Example : Henry IV. of France introducing the Mareschal Biron to some SECT. J3EAUTY OF LANGUAGE. ^7 of his friends, Here, Gentlemen,’’ says he, “is “ the Mareschal Biron, whom I freely present both “ to my friends and enemies.” This rule of studying uniformity between the thought and expression, may be extended to the construction of sentences or periods. A sentence or period ought to express one entire thought or mental proposition ; and different thoughts ought to be separated in the expression by placing them-, in different sentences or periods. It is therefore offending against neatness, to crowd into one pe- riod entire thoughts requiring more than one; which is joining in language things that are sepa- rated in reality. Of errors against this rule take the following examples. Behold thou art fair, my beloved, yea pleasant ; also our jbed is green. Caesar, describing the Suevi : Atque in earn se consuetudinem adduxerunt, ut locis frigidissimis, neque vestitus, praeter pelles, habeant quid- quam, quarum propter exiguitatem, magna est corporis pars aperta, et laventur in fluminibus. Commentaria^ I, prin, Burnet, in the History of his own times, giving Lord Sunderland’s character, says. His own notions were always good ; but he was a man of great expence. I have seen a woman’s face break out in heats, as she has been talking against a great lord, whom she had never BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 28 [CH. 18. seen in her life; and indeed never knew a party-woman that kept her beauty for a twelvemonth. Spectator^ No. 57. Lord Boliugbroke, speaking of Strada : I single him out among the moderns, because he had the foolish presumption to censure Tacitus, and to write his- tory himself; and your Lordship will forgive this short excursion in honour of a favourite writer. Letters on Histoyy^ VoL /. Let, 5. It seems to me, that in order to maintain the moral system of the world at a certain point, far below that of ideal perfection, (for we are made capable of conceiving what we are incapable of attaining,) but however sufficient upon the whole to constitute a state easy and happy, or at the worst tolerable : I say, it seems to me, that the Author of Nature has thought fit to mingle from time to time, among the societies of men, a few, and but a few, of those on whom he is graciously pleased to bestow a larger pro- portion of the etherial spirit than is given in the ordinary course of his providence to the sons of men. BoUnghroJce^ on the Spirit of Patriotism^ Let, 1, To crowd into a single member of a period diffe- rent subjects, is still worse than to crowd them into one period : Trojam, genitore Adamasto Paupere (mansissetque utinam fortuna) profectus. JEneid, iii. 614. From conjunctions and disjunctions in general, we proceed to comparisons, which make one species of them, beginning with similes. And here alsOj SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 29 the intimate connexion that words have with their meaning, requires that in describing two resembling objects, a resemblance in the two members of the period ought to be studied. To illustrate the rule in this case, I shall give various examples of devia- tions from it ; beginning with resemblances ex- pressed in words that have no resemblance. I have observed of late, the style of some great ministers very much to exceed that of any other productions. Letter to the Lord High Treasurer. Swift. This, instead of studying the resemblance of words in a period that expresses a comparison, is going out of one’s road to avoid it. Instead of produc- tions, which resemble not ministers great nor small, the proper word is writers or authors. If men of eminence are exposed to censure on the one hand, they are as much liable to flattery on the other. If they receive reproaches which are not due to them, they likewise receive praises which they do not deserve. Spectator. Here the subject plainly demands uniformity in ex- pression instead of variety; and therefore it is submitted, whether the period would not do better in the following manner ; If men of eminence be exposed to censure on the one hand, they are as much exposed to flattery on the other. If they receive reproaches that are not due, they likewise receive praises that are not due. I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with other judgments^ must at some time 30 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* [^CH. 18 * or other have stuck a little with your Lordship,* [Better thus :] — I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with others^ must at some tiitio or other have stuck a little with your Lordship, A glutton or mere sensualist is as ridiculous as the otheif two characters. Shaftesbury^ Vol, i, p, 129. They wisely prefer the generous efforts of good-will and affection^ to the reluctant compliances of such as obey by force. Remarks on the Hist, of Lnglanf Let, 5. Rolingbroke, Titus livius, mentioning a demand made by the jieople of Enna of the keys from the Roman go- vernor, makes him say, Quas simul tradiderimus, Carthaginiensium extemplo Enna erit, foediusque hie trucidabimur, quam Murgantise presidium interfectum est. A. 24. § 38. Quintus Curtius, speaking of Poms mounted on an elephant, and leading his army to battle : Magnitudini Pori adjicere videbatur bellua qua veheba- tur, tantum inter emteras eminens, quanto aliis ipse prse- stabat. L, 8. cap, 14. It is still a greater deviation from congruity, to affect not only variety in the words, but also in the construction. Describing Thermopylae, Titus Li- vius says, Id jugum, sicut Apennini dorso Italia dividitur, ita me- diam Graeciam diremit. L, 36, §15, * Letter concerning Enthusiasm. Shaftesbury, SECT. S.] 0EAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 31 Speaking of Shakespeare : 'There may remain a suspicion that we over-rate the greatness of his genius, in the same manner as bodies ap- pear more gigantic on account of their being dispropor- tioned and mishapen. History of G. Britahi^ VoL l, p. 138. This is studying variety in a period where the beauty lies in uniformity. Better thus : There may remain a suspicion that we over-rate the greatness of his genius, in the same manner as we over- rate the greatness of bodies that are disproportioned and mishapen. Next, as to the length of the members that sig- nify the resembling objects. To produce a resem- blance between such members, they ought not only to be constructed in the same manner, but as nearly as possible be equal in length. By neglect- ing this circumstance, the following example is de- fective in neatness : As the performance of all other religious duties will not avail in the sight of God, without charity ; so neither wdll the discharge of all other ministerial duties avail in the sight of men, without a faithful discharge of this principal duty. Dissertation upon Parties^ Dedication. In the following passage are accumulated all the errors that a period expressing a resemblance can well admit. Ministers are answerable for every thing done to the prejudice of the constitution, in the same proportion as the 13 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* 32 [CH. 18 . preservation of the constitution in its purity and vigour, or the perverting and weakening it, are of greater conse- quence to the nation, than any other instances of good or bad government. Dissertation upon Parties^ Dedication. Next of a comparison where things are opposed to each other. And here it must be obvious, that if resemblance ought to be studied in the words which express two resembling objects, there is equal reason for studying opposition in the words which express contrasted objects. This rule will be best illustrated by examples of deviations from it : A friend exaggerates a man’s virtues, an enemy inflames his crimes. Spectator^ NO. 399. Here the opposition in the thought is neglected in the words, which at first view seem to import, that the friend and the enemy are employed in different matters, without any relation to each other, whether of resemblance or of opposition. And therefore the contrast or opposition will be better marked by expressing the thought as follows : A friend exaggerates a man’s virtues, an enemy his crimes. The following are examples of the same kind : The wise man is happy when he gains his own approba- tion ; the fool, when he recommends himself to the applause of those about him. Ibid. NO. 73, 24 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. S3 SECT. 2 .] Better : The wise man is happy when he gains his own approba- tion ; the fool, when he gains that of others. Sicut in frugibus pecudibusque, non tantum semina ad servandum indolem valent, quantum terrae proprietas coe-^ lique, sub quo aluntur, mutat. 38. § 17. We proceed to a rule of a different kind. Dur- ing the course of a period, the scene ought to be continued without variation : the changing from person to person, from subject to subject, or from person to subject, within the bounds of a single period, distracts the mind, and affords no time for a solid impression. I illustrate this rule by giving examples of deviations from it. Honos alit artes, omnesque incenduntur ad studia gloria ; jacentque ea semper quae apud quosque improbantur. Cicero^ TuscuL quccst, L I. Speaking of the distemper contracted by Alex- ander bathing in the river Cydnus, and of the cure offered by Philip the physician : Inter hac a Parmenione fidissimo purpuratorum, literas mcipit, quibu« ei denunciabat, ne salutem suam Philippo committeret. Qiiintus Curtius^ L 3. cap, G. Hook, in his Roman history, speaking of Eumenes, who had been beat to the ground with a stone, says, ■ After a short time he came to himself ; and the next day, they put him on board his ship, *iX)hich conveyed him, first to Corinth, and thence to the island of Aigina. VOL. II. c BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 31 [CH. 18. I give another example of a period which is un- pleasant, even by a very slight deviation from the rule : That sort, of instruction which is acquired by inculcating an important moral truth, This expression includes two persons, one acquir- ing and one inculcating ; and the scene is changed without necessity. To avoid this blemish, the thought may be expressed thus : That sort of instruction which is afforded by inculcat* ing, &c. The bad effect of such change of person is remark- able in the following passage. The BritonSy daily harassed by cruel inroads from the Piets, were forced to call in the Saxons for their defence^ who consequently reduced the greatest part of the island to their own power, drove the Britons into the most remote and mountainous parts, and the rest of the country, in cus- toms, religion, and language, became wholly Saxons. Letter to the Lord High Treasurer. Swift. The following passage has a change from subject to person. This yrostitutio7i of yraise is not only a deceit upon the gross of mankind, who take their notion of characters from the learned ; but also the better sort must by this means lose some part at least of that desire of fame which is the incentive to generous actions, when they find it promiscu- ously bestowed on the meritorious and undeserving. Quardimt NO.^4. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 85 Even so slight a change as to vary the construe- iion in the same period, is unpleasant : Annibal luce prima, Balearibus levique alia armatura praemissa, transgressus flumen, ut quosque traduxerat, ita in acie locabat ; Gallos Hispanosque equites prope ripam iaevo in cornu adversus Romanum equitatum ; dextrum cornu Numidis equitibus datum. Tit. Liv. 1. 22. § 46. Speaking of HannibaPs elephants drove back by the enemy upon his own army : Eo magis ruere in suos belluae, tantoque majorem stra- gem edere quam inter hostes ediderant, quanto acrius pavor consternatam agit, quam insidentis magistri imperio regitur. Liv. /. 27. § 14. This passage is also faulty in a different respect, that there is no resemblance between the members of the sentence, though they express a simile. The present head, which relates to the choice of materials, shall be closed with a rule concerning the use of copulatives; Longinus observes, that it animates a period to drop the copulatives 5 and he gives the following example from Xenophon. Closing their shields together, they Were push’d, they fought, they slew, they were slain. Treatise of the Sublime^ cap. 16. The reason I take to be what follows. A con- tinued sound, if not loud, tends to lay us asleep : an interrupted sound rouses and animates by its repeated impulses. Thus feet composed of syk 36 BEAUTY OP LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . lables, being pronounced with a sensible interval between each, make more lively impressions than can be made by a continued sound. A period of which the members are connected by copulatives, produceth an effect upon the mind approaching to that of a continued sound ; and therefore the sup- pressing copulatives must animate a description. It produces a different effect akin to that mention- ed : the members of a period connected by proper copulatives, glide smoothly and gently along ; and are a proof of sedateness and leisure in the speaker : on the other hand, one in the hurry of passion, ne- glecting copulatives and other particles, expresses the principal image only; and for that reason, hurry or quick action is best expressed without copulatives : Veni, vidi, vici. — ^ Ite : Ferte citi flammas, date vela, impellite remos. ^neid, iv. 59S. Quis globus, O civis, caligine volvitur atra ? Ferte citi ferrum, dete tela, scandite muros. Hostis adest, eja. JEneid. ix. 37. In this view Longinus* justly compares copula- tives in a period to strait tying, which in a race obstructs the freedom of motion. It follows, that a plurality of copulatives in the same period ought to be avoided ; for if the laying ^ Treatise of the Sublime, cap. 16. SECT. 2.3 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 37 aside copulatives give force and liveliness, a redun- dancy of them must render the period languid. I appeal to the following instance, though there are but two copulatives. Upon looking over the letters of my female correspon- dents, I find several from women complaining of jealous husbands ; and at the same time protesting their own in- nocence, and desiring my advice upon this occasion. Spectator^ NO. 170- 1 except the case where the words are intended to express the coldness of the speaker ; for there the redundancy of copulatives is a beauty : Dining one day at an alderman’s in the city, Peter ob- served him expatiating after the manner of his brethren, in the praises of his sirloin of beef. “ Beef,” said the sage magistrate, is the king of meat : Beef comprehends in it the quintessence of partridge, and quail, and venison, ‘‘ and pheasant, and plum-pudding, and custard.” Tale of a Tub^ § 4. And the author shews great delicacy of taste by varying the expression in the mouth of Peter, who is represented more animated : Bread,” says he, “ dear brothers, is the staff of life ; “ in which bread is contained, inclusive^ the quintessence of beef, mutton, veal, venison, partridges, plum-pudding, ‘‘ and custard.” Another case must also be excepted : copulatives have a good effect where the intention is to give an impression of a great multitude consisting of many divisions y for example: The army wa*s 38 13EAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 , “ composed of Grecians, and Carians, and Lycians, “ and Pamphylians, and Phrygians.’’ The reason is, that a leisurely survey, which is expressed by the copulatives, makes the parts appear more nu? merous than they would do by a hasty survey : in the latter case, the army appears in one group ; in the former, we take as it were an accurate survey of each nation and of each division.^ We proceed to the second kind of beauty ; which consists in a due arrangement of the words or ma- terials. This branch of the subject is no less nice than extensive ; and I despair of setting it in a clear light, except to those who are well acquaint- ed with the general principles that govern the structure or composition of language. In a thought, generally speaking, there is at least one capital object considered as acting or as suf- fering. This object is expressed by a substantiv e noun ; its action is expressed by an active verb ; and the thing affected by the action is expressed by another substantive noun : its suffering or passive state is expressed by a passive verb j and the thing that acts upon it by a substantive noun. Beside these, which are the capital parts of a sentence or period, there are generally under-parts ; each of the substantives as well as the verb, may be quali- fied : time, place, purpose, motive, means, instru- ment, and a thousand other circumstances, may be necessary to complete the thought. And in what See Demetrius Phalereus of Elocution, sect. 63. SECT. S.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 8f) manner these several parts are connected in the expression, will appear from what follows. In a complete thought or mental proposition, all the members and parts are mutually related, some slightly, some intimately. To put such a thought in words, it is not sufficient that the component ideas be clearly expressed ; it is also necessary, that all the relations contained in the thought be expressed according to them different degrees of intimacy. To annex a certain meaning to a cer- tain sound or word, requires no art ; the great nicety in all languages is, to express the various^ relations that connect the parts of the thought. Could we suppose this branch of language to be still a secret, it would puzzle, I am apt to think, the acutest grammarian, to invent an expeditious method ; and yet, by the guidance merely of na- ture, the rude and illiterate have been led to a me- thod so perfect, as to appear not susceptible of any improvement ; and the next step in our progress shall be to explain that method. Words that import a relation, must be distin- guished from such as do not. Substantives com- monly imply no relation ; such as animal^ nian^ tree, river. Adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, imply a re- lation ; the adjective good must relate to some be- ing possessed of that quality ; the verb write is ap- plied to some person who writes .; and the adverbs moderately, diligently, have plainly a reference to some action which they modify. When a relative word is introduced, it must be signified by the ex- pression to what word it relates, without which the 40 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. sense is not complete. For answering that pur- pose, I observe in Greek and Latin two different methods. Adjectives are declined as well as sub- stantives ; and declension serves to ascertain their, connexion : If the word that expresses the subject be, for example, in the nominative case, so also must the Vford be that expresses its quality j ex- ample, vir bonus.: again, verbs are related, on the one hand, to the agent, and, on the other, to the subject upon which the action is exerted ! and a contrivance similar to that now mentioned, serves to express the double relation : the nominative case is appropriated to the agent, the accusative to the passive subject ; and the verb is put in the first, second, or third person, to intimate its connexion with the word that signifies the agent : examples. Ego amo Tulliam ; tu amas Semproniam ; Brutus amat Portiam. The other method is by juxtaposi- tion, which is necessary with respect to such words only as are not declined, adverbs, for example, ar- ticles, prepositions, and conjunctions. In the Eng- lish language there are few declensions ; and there- fore juxtaposition is our chief resource : adjectives accompany their substantives ; * an adverb accom- * Taking advantage of a declension to separate an adjective from its substantive, as is commonly practised in Latin, though it detract not from perspicuity, is certainly less neat than the English method of juxtaposition. Contiguity is more expressive of an intimate relation, than resemblance merely of the final syl- lables. Latin indeed has evidently the advantage when the ad- jective and substantive happen to be connected by contiguity,, as well as by resemblance of the final syllables. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 44 panics the word it qualifies ; and the verb occupies the middle place between the active and passive subjects to which it relates. It must be obvious that those terms which have nothing relative in their signification, cannot be connected in so easy a manner. When two sub- stantives happen to be connected, as cause and effect, as principal and accessory, or in any other manner, such connexion cannot be expressed by contiguity solely ; for words must often in a period be placed together which are not thus related : the relation between substantives, therefore, cannot otherwise be expressed but by particles denoting the relation. Latin indeed and Greek, by their declensions, go a certain length to express such relations, without the aid of particles. The rela- tion of property, for example, between Caesar and his horse, is expressed by putting the latter in the nominative case, the former in the genitive ; equus Ccesaris : the same is also expressed in English without the aid of a particle, Coosar's horse. But in other instances, declensions not being used in the English language, relations of this kind are commonly expressed by prepositions. Examples ; That wine came from Cyprus. He is going to Paris. The sun below the horizon. This form of connecting by prepositions, is not confined to substantives. Qualities, attributes, manner of existing or acting, and all other circum- stances, may in the same manner be connected with the substances to which they relate. This i^ done artificially by converting the circumstance 4.^2 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. into a substantive ; in which condition it is quali- fied to be connected with the principal subject by a preposition, in the manner above described. For example, the adjective wise being converted into the substantive wisdom^ gives opportunity for the expression “ a man of wisdom,’’ instead of the more simple expression a wise man : this variety in the expression, enriches language. I observe, beside, that the using a preposition in this case, is not al- ways a matter of choice : it is indispensable with respect to every circumstance that cannot be ex- pressed by a single adjective or adverb. To pave the way for the rules of arrangement^ one other preliminary is necessary ; which is, to explain the difference between a natural style, and that where transposition or inversion prevails. There are, it is true, no precise boundaries between them, for they run into each other like the shades of different colours. No person, however, is at a loss to distinguish them in their extremes : and it is necessary to make the distinction j because, though some of the rules I shall have occasion to mention are common to both, yet each have rules peculiar to itself. In a natural style, relative words are by juxtaposition connected with those to which they relate, going before or after, according to the peculiar genius of the language. Again, a circum- stance connected by a preposition, follow’^s naturally the word with which it is connected. But this arrangement may be varied, when a different order is more beautiful : a circumstance may be placed before the word with which it is connected by a ^SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, 43 preposition ; and may be interjected even between a relative word and that to which it relates. When such liberties are frequently taken, the style be- comes inverted or transposed. But as the liberty of inversion is a capital point in the present subject, it will be necessary to exa- mine it more narrowly, and in particular to trace the several degrees in which an inverted style re- cedes more and more from that which is natural. And first, as to the placing a circumstance before the word with which it is connected, I observe, that it is the easiest of all inversion, even so easy as to be consistent with a style that is properly termed natural ; witness the following examples. In the sincerity of my heart, I profess, &c. By our own ill management, we are brought to so low an ebb of wealth and credit, that, See. On Thursday morning there was little or nothing tran- sacted in Change-alley. At St Bride’s church in Fleet-street, Mr Woolston, {who writ against the miracles of our Saviour), in the ut- most terrors of conscience, made a public recantation. The interjecting a circumstance betv/een a rela- tive word, and that to which it relates, is more pro- perly termed inversion ; because, by a disjunction of words intimately connected, it recedes farther from a natural style. But this license has degrees ; for the disjunction is more violent in some instan- ces than in others. And to give a just notion of 44^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. IS. the difference, there is a necessity to enter a little more into an abstract subject, than would otherwise be my inclination. In nature, though a subject cannot exist without its qualities, nor a quality without a subject ; yet in our conception of these, a material difference may be remarked. I cannot conceive a quality but as belonging to some subject : it makes indeed a part of the idea which is formed of the subject. But the opposite holds not ; for though I cannot form a conception of a subject void of all qualities, a partial conception may be formed of it, abstract- ing from any particular quality : I can, for exam- ple, form the idea of a fine Arabian horse without regard to his colour, or of a white horse without regard to his size. Such partial conception vf a subject, is still more easy with respect to action or motion ; which is an occasional attribute only,, and has not the same permanency with colour or figure : I cannot form an idea of motion independent of a body ; but there is nothing more easy than to form an idea of a body at rest. Hence it appears, that the degree of inversion depends greatly on the order in which the related words are placed : when a substantive occupies the first place, the idea it suggests must subsist in the mind at least for a moment, independent of the relative words after- ward introduced ; and that moment may without difficulty be prolonged by interjecting a circum- stance between the substantive and its connexions. This liberty, therefore, however frequent, will scarce alone be sufficient to denominate a style in- i^ECT. 2 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, 45 verted. The case is very different, where the word that occupies the first place denotes a quality or an action ; for as these cannot be conceived without a subject, they cannot without greater violence be separated from the subject that follows ; and for that reason, every such separation, by means of an interjected circumstance, belongs to an inverted style. To illustrate this doctrine, examples are neces- sary ; and I shall begin with those where the word, first introduced does not imply a relation. Nor Eve to iterate . Her former trespass fear’d. Hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quicken’d at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urg’d me so keen. Moon that now meet’ st the orient sun, now fliest With the fix’d stars, fix’d in their orb that flies^ And ye five other wand’ring fires that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise. In the following examples, where the word first introduced imports a relation, the disjunction will be found more violent. Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe^ With loss of Eden, till one greater man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing heavenly muse. 46 beAuty op language. [ch. is.' Upon the firm opacous globe Of this round world, whose first convex divides The luminous inferior orbs inclos’d From chaos and th’ inroad of darkness old, Satan alighted walks. On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th’ infernal doors. • Wherein remain’d j For what could else? to our almighty foe Clear victory, to our part loss and rout. Forth rush’d, with whirlwind sound^ The chariot of paternal Deity. Language would have no great power, were it confined to the natural order of ideas. I shall soon have opportunity to make it evident, that by inver- sion a thousand beauties may be compassed, which must be relinquished in a natural arrangement. In the mean time, it ought not to escape observa- tion, that the mind of man is happily so constitut- ed as to relish inversion, though in one respect un- natural ; and to relish it so much, as in many cases to admit a separation between words the most in- timately connected. It can scarce be said that in- version has any limits ^ though I may venture to pronounce, that the disjunction of articles, conjunc- tions, or prepositions, from the words to which they belong, has very seldom a good effect. The follow- ing example with relation to a preposition, is per- haps as tolerable as any of the Idnd : SECT. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, 47 He would neither separate from, nor act against them. I give notice to the reader, that I am now ready to enter on the rules of arrangement ; beginning with a natural style, and proceeding gradually to what is the most inverted. And in the arrange- ment of a period, as well as in a right choice of words, the first and great object being perspicuity, the rule above laid down, that perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty, holds equally in both. Ambiguities occasioned by a wrong arrangement are of two sorts ; one where the arrangement leads to a wrong sense, and one where the sense is left doubtful. The first, being the more culpable, shall take the lead, beginning with examples of words put in a wrong place. How much the imagination of such a presence must exalt a genius, we may observe merely from the influence which an ordinary presence has over men. Characteristics^ Vol. I. p. 7. This arrangement leads to a wrong sense : the ad- verb merely seems by its position to affect the pre- eeding word ; whereas it is intended to affect the following words, an ordinary presence ; and there- fore the arrangement ought to be thus : How much the imagination of such a presence must exalt a genius, we may observe from the influence which an ordinary presence merely has over men. [Or, better,] —which even an ordinary presence has over men. The time of the election of a poet-laureat being now at hand, it may be proper to give some account of the rite^ 13 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. 18 and ceremonies anciently used at that solemnity, and only discontinued through the neglect and degeneracy of later times. Guardian, The term only is intended to qualify the noun* de- generacy, and not the participle discontinued ; and therefore the arrangement ought to be as follows : and discontinued through the neglect and degeneracy only of later times. Sixtus the Fourth was, if I mistake nots a great collec- tor of books at least. Letters on History, VoL i. Let, 6, BolingbroJce, The expression here leads evidently to a wrong sense ; the adverb at least, ought not to be con- nected with the substantive hooks, but with collect tor, thus : Sixtus the Fourth was a great collector at least of books. Speaking of Lewis XIV. If he was not the greatest king, he was the best actor of majesty at least, that ever filled a throne. Ibid, Let, 7. Better thus : If he was not the greatest king, he was at least the best actor of majesty, &c. This arrangement removes the wrong sense occa- sioned by the juxtaposition of majesty and at least. The following examples are of a wrong arrange- ment of members. SECT. £.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 49 I have confined myself to those methods for the advance- ment of piety, which are in the power of a prince limited like ours by a strict execution of the laws. A 'project for the advancement of religion. Swift, The structure of this period leads to a meaning which is not the author’s, viz. power limited by a strict execution of the laws. That wrong sense is removed by the following arrangement : I have confined myself to those methods for the advance- ment of piety, which, by a strict execution of the laws, are in the power of a prince limited like ours. This morning, when one of Lady Lizard’s daughters was looking over some hoods and ribands brought by her tire- woman, with great care and diligence, I employed no less in examining the box which contained them. Guardian^ NO. 4. The wrong sense occasioned by this arrangement, may be easily prevented by varying it thus : This morning when, with great care and diligence, one of Lady Lizard’s daughters was looking over some hoods and ribands, &c. A great stone that I happened to find after a long search by the sea-shore, served me for an anchor. Gulliver's Travels^ Part I, Chap, 8. One would think that the search was confined to the sea-shore ; but as the meaning is, that the great stone was found by the sea-shore, the period ought to be arranged thus : VOL. II. 15 50 BEAUTY OF I.ANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . A great stone, that, after a long search, I happened to find by the sea-shore, served m© for an anchor. Next of a wrong arrangement where the sense is left doubtful ; beginning, as in the former sort, with examples of wrong arrangement of words in a member. These forms of conversation by degrees midtiplied and grew troublesome. Spectator^ NO. 119. Here it is left doubtful whether the modification by degrees relates to the preceding member or to what follows : it should be. These forms of conversation multiplied by degrees. Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such ac- tions as are indiscreet, but very often to such as are highly criminal. Spectator^ NO. 458. The ambiguity is removed by the following ar- rangement : Nor does this false modesty expose us to such actions only as are indiscreet, &c. The empire of Blefuscu is an island situated to the north- east side of Lilliput, from whence it is parted only by a channel of 800 yards wide. Gullivei'^s Travels, Par t 7. Chap, 5, The ambiguity may be removed thus : from whence it is parted by a channel of 800 yards wide only. SECT. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 51 In the following examples the sense is left doubt- ful by wrong arrangement of members. The minister who grows less by his elevation, like a little statue placed on a mighty pedestal^ will always have his jealousy strong about him. Dissertation upon Parties ; Dedication, Bolingbroke, Here, as far as can be gathered from the arrange- ment, it is doubtful, whether the object introduced by way of simile, relate to what goes before or to what follows : the ambiguity is removed by the following arrangement : The minister, who, like a little statue placed on a mighty pedestal, grows less by his elevation, will always, &c. Since this is too much to ask of freemen, nay of slaves, if his expectation he not ans^ered^ shall he form a lasting division upon such transient motives ? Ibid, Better thus : Since this is too much to ask of freemen, nay of slaves, shall he, if his expectations be not answered, form, &c. Speaking of the superstitious practice of locking up the room where a person of distinction dies : The knight seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother^ ordered all the apartments to be flun^ open, and exorcised by his chaplain. Spectator i NO. 110. 5 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . Better thus : The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, ordered, upon the death of his mother, all the apart- ments to be flung open. Speaking of some indecencies in conversation : As it is impossible for such an irrational way of conver- sation to last long among people that make any profession of religion, or show of modesty, if the country gentlemen get into it, they will certainly be left in the lurch. Spectator, NO. 119. The ambiguity vanishes in the following arrange*^ ment : the country gentlemen, if they get into it, will certainly be left in the lurch. Speaking of a discovery in natural philosophy, that colour is not a quality of matter : As this is a truth which has been proved incontestably by many modern philosophers, and is indeed one of the finest speculations in that science, if the English reader *would see the notion explained at lar^e, he may find it in the eighth chapter of the second book of Mr Locke’s essay on human understanding. Spectator, NO. 413. Better thus : As this is a truth, &c. the English reader, if he would see the notion explained at large, may find it, &c. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 53 A woman seldom asks advice before she has bought her wedding-clothes. When she has made her own choice, for fat'TtCs sake she sends a conge d^elire to her friends. Ibid, No. 475. Better thus : she sends, for form’s sake, a conge d'elire to her friends. And since it is necessary that there should be a perpe- tual intercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it^ the honest dealer is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage. Gulliver'* s Travels^ Part i. Chap, 6^ Better thus : And since it is necessary that there should be a perpetual intercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, the honest dealer, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it, is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage. From these examples the following observation wdll occur, that a circumstance ought never to be placed between two capital members of a period ; for by such situation it must always be doubtful, as far as we gather from the arrangement, to which of the two members it belongs : where it is inter- jected, as it ought to be, between parts of the member to which it belongs, the ambiguity is re- moved, and the capital members are kept distinct, which is a great beauty in composition. In gene- ral, to preserve members distinct that signify things 54 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. distinguished in the thought, the best method is, to place first in the consequent member, some word that cannot connect with what precedes it. If it shall be thought, that the objections here are too scrupulous, and that the defect of perspi- cuity is easily supplied by accurate punctuation ; the answer is. That punctuation may remove an ambiguity, but will never produce that peculiar beauty which is perceived when the sense comes out clearly and distinctly by means of a happy ar- rangement. Such influence has this beauty, that by a natural transition of perception it is commu- nicated to the very sound of the words, so as in appearance to improve the music of the period. But as this curious subject comes in more properly afterwards, it is sufficient at present to appeal to experience, that a period so arranged as to bring out the sense clear, seems always more musical than where the sense is left in any degree doubtful. A rule deservedly occupying the second place, is, That words expressing things connected in the thought, ought to be placed as near together as possible. This rule is derived immediately from human nature, prone in every instance to place together things in any manner connected : * where things are arranged according to their connexions, we have a sense of order ; otherwise we have a sense of disorder, as of things placed by chance : and we naturally place words in the same order in which we would place the things they signify. The See Chap. 1. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 55 bad effect of a violent separation of words or mem- bers thus intimately connected, will appear from the following examples. For the English are naturally fanciful, and very often disposed, by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, to many wild notions and visions, to which others are not so liable. Spectator^ NO. 4-19. Here the verb or assertion is, by a pretty long cir- cumstance, violently separated from the subject to which it refers : this makes a harsh arrangement ; the less excusable that the fault is easily prevented by placing the circumstance before the verb, after the following manner : For the English are naturally fanciful, and, by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, are often disposed to many wild notions, &c. For as no mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicis- situde of things, knows to what use his works may, some time or other, be applied, 8cc. Spectator^ No. 85. Better thus ; For as, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, no mortal author knows to what use, some time or other, his works may be applied, &c. From whence we may date likewise the rivalship of the house of France, for we may reckon that of Valois and that of Boiu*bon as one upon this occasion, and the house 56 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. of Austria, that continues at this day, and has oft cost so much blood and so much treasure in the course of it. Letters on History, VoL i. Let* 6. Bolinghroke* It cannot be impertinent or ridiculous therefore in such a country, whatever it might be in the Abbot of St Realms, which was Savoy I think ; or in Peru, under the Incas, where Garcilasso de la Vega says it was lawful for none but the nobility to study — for men of all degrees to instruct themselves in those affairs wherein they may be actors, or judges of those that act, or controllers of those that judge. Letters on History, VoL i. Let. 5. Bolingbroke. If Scipio, who was naturally given to women, for which anecdote we have, if I mistake not, the authority of Poly- bius, as well as some verses of Nevius, preserved by Aulus Gellius, had been educated by Olympias at the court of Philip, it is improbable that he would have restored the beautiful Spaniard. Ibid. Let. 3. If any one have a curiosity for more specimens of this kind, they will be found without number in the works of the same author. ' A pronoun, which saves the naming a person or thing a second time, ought to be placed as near as possible to the name of that person or thing. This is a branch of the foregoing rule ; and with the reason there given another concurs, viz. That if other ideas intervene, it is difficult to recall the person or thing by reference : If I had leave to print the Latin letters transmitted to me from foreign parts, they would fill a volume, and be a full defence against all that Mr Partridge, or his accom- plices of the Portugal inquisition, will be ever able to ob- SECT. S.] BEAUTY OE LANGUAGE. m ject ; by the way, are the only enemies my predictions have ever met with at home or abroad. Better thus ; — and be a full defence against all that can be objected by Mr Partridge, or his accomplices of the Portu^ gal inquisition ; who, by the way, are, &c. There beiiiff a round million of creatures in human o figure, throughout this kingdom, nsohose whole subsistence, &c. A Modest Proposal, &c. Swift* Better : There being throughout this kingdom a round million of creatures in human figure, whose whole subsistence, &c. Tom is a lively impudent clown, and has wit enough to have made him a pleasant companion, had it been polished an^ rectified by good manners. Guardian, NO. 162. It is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see any printed or written paper upon the ground, to take it up, and lay it aside carefully, as not knowing but it may con- tain some piece of their Alcoran, Spectator, HO. 85. The arrangement here leads to a wrong sense, as if the ground were taken up, not the paper.— Better thus : It is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see upon the ground any printed or written paper, to take it up, &c. The following rule depends on the communica- tion of emotions to related objects j a principle in 58 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [cH. 18 . human nature that hath an extensive operation : and we find this operation, even where the objects are not otherwise related than by juxtaposition of the words that express them. Hence, to elevate or depress an object, one method is, to join it in the expression with another that is naturally high or low : witness the following speech of Eumenes to the Roman Senate. Causam veniendi sibi Romam fulsse, praster cupiditatem visendi deos hommesque^ quorum beneficio in ea fortuna esset, supra quam ne optare quidem auderet, etiam ut co- ram monerct seiiatum ut Persei conatus obviam iret. Livy, I, 4-2. cap, 11. To join the Romans with the gods in the same enunciation, is an artful stroke of flattery, because it tacitly puts them on a level. On the other hand, the degrading or vilifying an object, is done suc- cessfully by ranking it with one that is really low : I hope to have this entertainment in a readiness for the next winter ; and doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-show. Spectator, NO. 28. Manifold have been the judgments which Heaven, from time to time, for the chastisement of a sinful people, has inflicted upon whole nations. For when the degeneracy becomes common, ’tis but just the punishment should be general. Of this kind, in our own unfortunate country, was that destructive pestilence, whose mortality was so fatal as to sweep away, if Sir William Petty may be believed, five millions of Christian souls, besides women and Jews. God^s revenge against Punnmg, Arbuthnot, SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 59 Such also was that dreadful conflagration ensuing in this famous metropolis of London, which consumed, according to the computation of Sir Samuel Moreland, 100,000 houses, not to mention churches and stables. Ibid, But on condition it might pass into a law, I w^ould gladly exempt both lawyers of all ages, subaltern and field officers, young heirs, dancing-masters, pick-pockets, and players. A?i infcdlible Scheme to pay the Public Debt, Sudft, Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all. Pape of the Lode, Circumstances in a period resemble small stones in a building, employed to fill up vacuities among those of a larger size. In the arrangement of a period, such under-parts crowded together make a poor figure ; and never are graceful but when in- terspersed among the capital parts. I illustrate this rule by the following example. It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom, above 10,000 parsons, whose revenues, add- ed to those of my Lords the Bishops, would suffice to maintain, &c. Argument against abolishing Christianity, Swift, Here two circumstances, viz. hj computation^ and in this hingdoniy are crowded together unneces- sarily : they make a better appearance separated in the following manner : It is likewise urged, that in this kingdom there are, by computation, above 10,000 parsons, &c. 60 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . If there be room for a choice, the sooner a cir- cumstance is introduced, the better ; because cir- cumstances are proper for that coolness of mind with which we begin a period as well as a volume : in the progress, the mind warms, and has a greater relish for matters of importance. When a circum- stance is placed at the beginning of the period, or near the beginning, the transition from it to the principal subject is agreeable : it is like ascending, or going upward. On the other hand, to place it late in the period has a bad effect ; for after being engaged in the principal subject, one is with re- luctance brought down to give attention to a cir- cumstance. Hence evidently the preference of the following arrangement : Whether in any country a choice altogether unexcep- tionable has been made, seems doubtful. Before this other. Whether a choice altogether unexceptionable has in any country been made, &c. For this reason the following period is exception- able in point of arrangement. I have considered formerly, with a good deal of atten- tion, the subject upon which you command me to commu- nicate my thoughts to you. 'Bolingbroke of the Study of History, Letter 1. which, with a slight alteration, may be improved thus : SECT. S.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 61 I have formerly, with a good deal of attention, consider- ed the subject, &c. Swift, speaking of a virtuous and learned edu- cation : And although they may be, and too often are drawn, by the temptations of youth, and the opportunities of a large fortune, into some irregularities, ndien they come formed into the great mrld ; it is ever with reluctance and com- punction of mind, because their bias to virtue still con- tinues. The Intelligencer^ NO. 9. Better : And although, x a number of persons pre- sented to the eye in form of an increasing series, is undoubtedly the most agreeable order ; on the other hand, in every list of names, we set the per- son of the greatest dignity at the top, and descend gradually through his inferiors. Where the pur- VOL. II. E 66 JBEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . pose is to honour the persons named according to their rank, the latter order ought to be followed ; but every one who regards himself only, or his reader, will choose the former order. 3dly, As the sense of order directs the eye to descend from the principal to its greatest accessory, and from the whole to its greatest part, and in the same order through all the parts and accessories till we arrive at the minutest ; the same order ought to be followed in the enumeration of such particulars. I shall give one familiar example. Talking of the parts of a column, the base, the shaft, the capital, these are capable of six different arrangements, and the question is. Which is the best ? When we have in view the erecting a column, we are natu- rally led to express the parts in the order above mentioned ; which at the same time is agreeable by ascending. But considering the column as it stands, without reference to its erection, the sense of order, as observed above, requires the chief part to be named first : for that reason we begin with the shaft ; and the base comes next in order, that we may ascend from it to the capital. Lastly, In tracing the particulars of any natural operation, order requires that we follow the course of nature : historical facts are related in the order of time : we begin at the founder of a family, and proceed from him to his descendants ; but in describing a lofty oak, we begin with the trunk, and ascend to the branches. When force and liveliness of expression are de- manded, the rule is, to suspend the thought as SECT* S.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 67 long as possible, and to bring it out full and entire at the close ; which cannot be done but by invert- ing the natural arrangement. By introducing a word or member before its time, curiosity is raised about what is to follow ; and it is agreeable to have our curiosity gratified at the close of the period : the pleasure we feel resembles that of seeing a stroke exerted upon a body by the whole collected force of the agent. On the other hand, where a period is so constructed as to admit more than one complete close in the sense, the curiosity of the reader is exhausted at the first close, and what fol- lows appears languid or superfluous : his disappoint- ment contributes also to that appearance, when he finds, contrary to expectation, that the period is not yet finished. Cicero, and after him Quintilian, recommend the verb to the last place. This me- thod evidently tends to suspend the sense till the close of the period ; for without the verb the sense cannot be complete ; and when the verb happens to be the capital word, which it frequently is, it ought at any rate to be the last, according to ano- ther rule, aboYe laid down. I proceed as usual to illustrate this rule by examples. The following period is placed in its natural order : Were instruction an essential circumstance in epic poetry, I doubt whether a single instance could be given of this species of composition, in any language. The period thus arranged admits a full close upon the word composition ; after which it goes on lan^ 68 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . guidly, and closes without force. This blemish will be avoided by the following arrangement : Were instruction an essential circumstance in epic poetry, I doubt v/liether, in any language, a single instance could be given of this species of composition. Some of our most eminent divines have made use of this Platonic notion, as far as it regards the subsistence of our passions after death, with great beauty and strength of reason. Spectator^ KO. 90. Better thus ; Some of our most eminent divines have, with great beauty and strength of reason, made use of this Platonic notion, &c. Men of the best sense have been touched, more or less, with these groundless horrors and presages of futurity, upon surveying the most indifferent works of nature. Spectato7', No. 306. Better, Upon surveying the most indifferent Works of nature, men of the best sense, &c. She soon informed him of the place he Was in, which, notwithstanding all its horrors, appeared to him more sweet than the bower of Mahomet, in the company of his Balsora. Guardian^ NO. 167- Better, She soon, &c. appeared to him, in the company of his Balsora, more sweet, &c. SECT. 2.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 69 The Emperor was so intent on the establishment of his absolute power in Hungary, that he exposed the empire doubly to desolation and ruin for the sake of it. Letters on History^ VoL i. Let, 7- Bolmgbroke, Better, —that for the sake of it he exposed the empire doubly to desolation and ruin. None of the rules for the composition of periods are more liable to be abused, than those last men- tioned ; witness many Latin wiiters, among the moderns especially, whose style, by inversions too violent, is rendered harsh and obscure. Suspen- sion of the thought till the close of the j^eriod, ought never to be preferred before perspicuity. Neither ought such suspension to be attempted in a long period ; because in that case the mind is bewildered amidst a profusion of words ; a travel- ler, while he is puzzled about the road, relishes not tlie finest prospect : All the rich presents which Astyages had given him at parting, keeping only some Median horses, in order to propagate the breed of them in Persia, he distributed among his friends whom he left at the court of Ecbatana. Travels of Cyrus, Book 1 . The foregoing rules concern the arrangement of a single period ; I add one rule more concerning the distribution of a discourse into different periods. A short period is lively and familiar : a long pe- riod, requiring more attention, makes an impres- 70 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CIJ. 18. Sion grave and solemn.* In general, a writer ought to study a mixture of long and short periods, which prevent an irksome uniformity, and enter- tain the mind with variety of impressions. In par- ticular, long periods ought to be avoided till the reader’s attention be thoroughly engaged ; and therefore a discourse, especially of the familiar kind, ought never to be introduced with a long period. For that reason, the commencement of a letter to a very young lady on her marriage is faulty ; Madam, The hurry and impertinence of receiving and paying visits on account of your marriage, being now over, you are beginning to enter into a course of life, wliere you will want much advice to divert you from falling into many errors, fopperies, and follies, to which your sex is subject. Swift, See another example still more faulty, in the commencement of Cicero’s oration. Pro Archia poeta. Before proceeding farther, it may be proper to review the rules laid down in this and the preced- ing section, in order to make some general obser- vations. That order of the words and members of a period is justly termed natural, which corres- ponds to the natural order of the ideas that com- ^ Demetrius Phalereus .(of Elocution, sect. M.) observes, that long members in a period make an impression of gravity and importance. The same observation is applicable to periods^ 71 SECT. S.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. pose the thought. The tendency of many of the foregoing rules is to substitute an artificial arrange- ment, in order to catch some beauty either of sound or meaning for which there is no place in the natural order. But seldom it happens, that in the same period there is place for a plurality of these rules : if one beauty can be retained, ano- ther must be relinquished ; and the only question is. Which ought to be preferred ? This question cannot be resolved by any general rule : if the natural order be not relished, a few trials will dis- cover that artificial order which has the best effect ; and this exercise, supported by a good taste, will in time make the choice easy. All that can be said in general is, that in making a choice, sound ought to yield to signification. The transposing words and members out of their patural order, so remarkable in the learned lan- guages, has been the subject of much speculation. It is agreed on all hands, that such transposition or inversion bestows upon a period a very sensible degree of force and elevation ; and yet writers seem to be at a loss how to account for this effect. Cerceau * ascribes so much power to inversion, as to make it the characteristic of French verse, and the single circumstance which in that language dis- tinguishes verse from prose : and yet he pretends not to say, that it hath any other effect but to raise surprise j he must mean curiosity, which is done * Reflections sur la Poesie Fran^oise. 7 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . by suspending the thought during the period, and bringing it out entire at the close. This indeed is one effect of inversion ; but neither its sole effect, nor even that which is the most remarkable, as .is made evident above. But waving censure, which is not an agreeable task, I enter into the matter ; and begin with observing, that if conformity be- tween words and their meaning be agreeable, it must of course be agreeable to find the same order or arrangement in both. Hence the beauty of a plain or natural style, where the order of the words corresponds precisely to the order of the ideas. Nor is this the single beauty of a natural style : it is also agreeable by its simplicity and perspicuity. This observation throws light upon the subject : for if a natural style be in itself agreeable, a trans- posed style cannot be so ; and therefore its agree- ableness must arise from admitting some positive beauty that is excluded in a natural style. To be confirmed in this opinion, we need but reflect upon some of the foregoing rules, which make it evident, that language by means of inversion, is susceptible of many beauties that are totally excluded in a na- tural arrangement. From these premises it clearly follows, that inversion ought not to be indulged, unless in order to reach some beauty superior to those of a natural style. It may with great cer- tainty be pronounced, that every inversion whicli is not governed by this rule, will appear harsh and strained, and be disrelished by every one of taste. Hence the beauty of inversion when happily con- ducted ; the beauty, not of 3U end, but of means. SECT. 3 .] BEAUTY OE LANGUAGE. 7^ as furnishing opportunity for numberless ornaments that find , no place in a natural style : hence the force, the elevation, the harmony, the cadence, of some compositions ; hence the manifold beauties of the Greek and Roman tongues, of which living languages afford but faint imitations. Sect. III . — ^Beauty of Language from a Resem* hlance between Sound and Signification. A RESEMBLANCE betwecii the sound of certain words and their signification, is a beauty that has escaped no critical writer, and yet is not handled with accuracy by any of them. They have pro- bably been of opinion, that a beauty so obvious to the feeling, requires no explanation. This is an error ; and to avoid it, I shall give examples of the various resemblances between sound and significa- tion, accompanied with an endeavour to explain why such resemblances are beautiful, I begin with examples where the resemblance between the sound and signification is the most entire ; and next examples where the resemblance is less and less so. There being frequently a strong resemblance of one sound to another, it will not be surprising to find an articulate sound resembling one that is not articulate : thus the sound of a bow-string is imi- tated by the words that express it : • The string let fly. Twang'd short and sharp^ like the shrill swallow’s cry. Odyssey^ xxi. 44<9. 74 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . The sound of felling trees in a wood : Loud sounds the ax, redoubling strokes on strokes, On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, * Then rustlings cracklings crashings thunder down. Iliads xxiii. 144<. But when lond surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. Pojpds Essay on Criticisms 369. Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms : When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves. The rough rock roars ; tumultuous boil the waves. Pope, No person can be at a loss about the cause of this beauty : it is obviously that of imitation* That there is any other natural resemblance of sound to signification, must not be taken for grant- ed. There is no resemblance of sound to motion, nor of sound to sentiment. We are however apt to be deceived by artful pronunciation : the same passage may be pronounced in many different tones, elevated or humble, sweet or harsh, brisk or melancholy, so as to accord with the thought or sentiment : Such concord must be distinguished from that concord between sound and sense, which is perceived in some expressions independent of artful pronunciation : the latter is the poet’s work ; the former must be attributed to the reader. Ano- ther thing contributes still more to the deceit : in SECT. 3.] BEAUTY OP LANGUAGE. . 7-^ language, sound and sense being intimately con- nected, the properties of the one are readily com- municated to the other ; for example, the quality of grandeur, of sweetness, or of melancholy, though belonging to the thought solely, is transferred to the words, which by that means resemble in ap- pearance the thought that is expressed by them.'*' I have great reason to recommend these observa- tions to the reader, considering how inaccurately the present subject is handled by critics : not one of them distinguishes the natural resemblance of sound and signification, from the artificial resem- blances now described ; witness Vida in particular, who in a very long passage has given very few ex- amples but what are of the latter kind.t That there may be a resemblance of articulate sounds to some that are not articulate, is self-evi- dent j and that in fact there exist such resem- blances successfully employed by writers of genius, is clear from the foregoing examples, and from many others that might be given. But we may safely pronounce, that this natural resemblance can be carried no farther : the objects of the different senses, differ so widely from each other, as to ex- elude any resemblance : sound, in particular, whe- ther articulate or inarticulate, resembles not in any degree taste, smell, or motion ; and as little can it resemble any internal sentiment, feeling, or emo- tion. But must we then admit, that nothing but sound can be imitated by sound ? Taking imitation f See Chap. 2. Part 1. sect. 5. f Poet. L. 3. 1. 365 — 454?. 76 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. IS. in its proper sense, as importing a resemblance be- tween two objects, the proposition must be admit- ted : and yet in many passages that are not descrip- tive of sound, every one must be sensible of a pe- culiar concord between the sound of the words and their meaning. As there dan be no doubt of the fact, what remains is to inquire into its cause. Resembling causes may produce effects, that have no resemblance ; and causes that have no re- semblance may produce resembling effects. A magnificent building, for example, resembles not in any degree an heroic action ; and yet the emotions they produce are concordant, and hear a resem- blance to each other.. We are still more sensible of this resemblance in a song, when the music is properly adapted to the sentiment : there is no re- semblance between thought and sound ; but there is the strongest resemblance between the emotion raised by music tender and pathetic, and that raised by the complaint of an unsuccessful lover. Applying this observation to the present subject, it appears, that in some instances the sound even of a single word makes an impression resembling that which is made by the thing it signifies : wit-. ness the word runnings composed of two short syl- lables ; and more remarkably the words rapidity ^ impetuosity y precipitation. Brutal manners produce in the spectator an emotion not unlike what is pro- duced by a harsh and rough sound ; and hence the beauty of the figurative expression rugged manners. Again, the word Uitley being pronounced with a very small aperture of the mouth, has a weak and SECT. 3.] ■ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 77 faint sound, which makes an impression resembling that made by a diminutive object. This resem- blance of effects is still more remarkable where a number of words are connected in a period : words pronounced in succession make often a strong im- pression ; and when this impression happens to ac- cord with that made by the sense, we are sensible of a complex emotion, peculiarly pleasant ; one proceeding from the sentiment, and one from the melody or sound of the words. But the chief plea- sure proceeds from having these two concordant emotions combined in perfect harmony, and car- ried on in the mind to a full close.*= Except in the single case where sound is described, all the ex- amples given by critics of sense being imitated in sound, resolve into a resemblance of effects : emo- tions raised by sound and signification may have a resemblance ; but sound itself cannot have a re- semblance to any thing but sound. Proceeding now to particulars, and beginning with those cases where the emotions have the strongest resemblance, I observe, first. That by a number of syllables in succession, an emotion is sometimes raised extremely similar to that raised by successive motion ; which may be evident even to those who are defective in taste, from the fol- lowing fact, that the term movement in all lan- guages is equally applied to both. In this manner, successive motion, such as walking, running, gal- loping, can be imitated by a succession of long or * See Chap. 2. Part 4?. 7 ? BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . short syllables, or by a due mixture of both. For example, slow motion may be justly imitated in a verse where long syllables prevail ; especially when aided by a slow pronunciation. Illi inter sese magna vi bracbia tollunt. Georg, iv. 174. On the other hand, sv/ift motion is imitated by a succession of short syllables. Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum. Again : Radit iter liquidum, celeres neque commovet alas. Thirdly, A line composed of monosyllables, makes an impression, by the frequency of its pauses, similar to what is made by laborious inter- rupted motion : With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. Odyssey^ xi. 736. First march the heavy mules securely slow ; O’er hills, o’er dales, o’er craggs, o’er rocks they go. Iliad^ xxiii. 138. Fourthly, The impression made by rough sounds- in succession, resembles that made by rough or tu- multuous motion : on the other hand, the impres- sion of smooth sounds resembles that of gentje motion. The following is an example of both. Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, The roaring wind’s tempestuous rage restrain j SECT. 3 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 79 Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their haulsers ride. Odyssey^ iii. 118. Another example of the latter : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows. Essay on Crit, 366. Fifthly, Prolonged motion is expressed in an Alexandrine line. The first example shall be of slow motion prolonged : A needless Alexandrine ends the song ; That like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. > ' Essay on Cr it, ^56* The next example is of forcible motion prolonged : The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore. Iliad, xiii. 1004. The last shall be of rapid motion prolonged : Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o’er tV unbending corn, and skims along the main. Essay on Crit, 373. Again, speaking of a rock torn from the brow of a mountain : Still gath’ring force, it smokes, and urg’d amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain, J/iad, xiii. 197, 24 80 tiEAUTi" OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . Sixthly, A period consisting mostly of long syl- lables, , that is, of syllables pronounced slow, pro- duceth an emotion resembling faintly that which is produced by gravity and solemnity. Hence the beauty of the following verse : Glli sedato respondit corde Latinus. It resembles equally an object that is insipid and uninteresting : Taedet quotidianariim hariim formarum. Terence^ Eunuchus, Act II. Sc. 3. Seventhly, A slow succession of ideas is a cir- cumstance that belongs equally to settled melan- choly, and to a period composed of polysyllables pronounced slow ; and hence by similarity of emo- tions, the latter is imitative of the former : In those deep solitudes, and awful cells, Where heav’nly pensive Contemplation dwells. And ever-musing melancholy reigns. Pope^ Eloisa to Abelard, Eighthly, A long syllable made short, or a short syllable made long, raises, by the difficulty of pro- nouncing contrary to custom, a feeling similar to that of hard labour : - When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw. The line too labours, and the words move slow. Essay on Crit. 370. Ninthly, Harsh or rough \^^ords pronounced with difficulty, excite a feeling similar to that SECT. 3 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 81 which proceeds from the labour of thought to a dull writer : .lust wi’ites to make his barrenness appear, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a-year. Pope’s Epistle to Dr Arhitthnot^ 1. 181* I shall close with one example more, which of all makes the finest figure. In the first section mention is made of a climax in sound ; and in the second, of a climax in sense. It belongs to the present subject to observe, that when these coin- cide in the same passage, the concordance of sound and sense is delightful : the reader is conscious not only of pleasure from the two climaxes separately, but of an additional pleasure from their concor- dance, and from finding the sense so justly imi- tated by the sound. In this respect, no periods are more perfect than those borrowed from Cicero in the first section. The concord between sense and sound is no less agreeable in what may be termed an anticlimax^ where the progress is from great to little ; for this has the effect to make diminutive objects appear still more diminutive. Horace affords a striking example : Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. The arrangement here is singularly artful : the first place is occupied by the verb, which is the capital word by its sense as well as sound ; the close is re- served for the word that is the meanest in sense as well as in sound. And it must not be overlookedi VOL. II. F 8*^2 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. that the resembling sounds of the two last syllables give a ludicrous air to the whole. Reviewing the foregoing examples, it appears to me, contrary to expectation, that, in passing from the strongest resemblances to those that are fainter, every step affords additional pleasure. Renewing the experiment again and again, I feel no wavering, but the greatest pleasure constantly from the faintest resemblances. And yet how can this be ? for if the pleasure lie in imitation, must not the strongest resemblance afford the greatest pleasure ? From this vexing dilemma I am happily relieved, by re- flecting on a doctrine established in the chapter of resemblance and contrast, that the pleasure of re- semblance is the greatest, where it is least expect- ed, and where the objects compared are in their capital circumstances widely different. Nor will this appear surprising, when we descend to familiar examples. It raiseth no degree of wonder to find the most perfect resemblance between two eggs of the same bird : it is more rare to find such resem- blance between two human faces ; and upon that account such an appearance raises some degree of wonder ; but this emotion rises to a still greater height, when we find in a pebble, an agate, or other natural production, any resemblance to a tree or to any organized body. We cannot hesitate a mo- ment in applying these observations to the present subject ; what occasion of wonder can it be to find one sound resembling another, where both are of the same kind ? it is not so common to find a re- semblance between an articulate sound and one not SECT. 3 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 83 articulate ; which accordingly affords some slight pleasure. But the pleasure swells greatly, when, we employ sound to imitate things it resembles not otherwise than by the effects produced in the mind. I have had occasion to observe, that to complete the resemblance between sound and sense, artful pronunciation contributes not a little. Pronuncia- tion therefore may be considered as a branch of the present subject ; and with some observations upon it the section shall be concluded. In order to give a just idea of pronunciation, it must be distinguished from singing. The latter is carried on by notes, requiring each of them a dif- ferent aperture of the windpipe t the notes properly belonging to the former, are expressed by different apertures of the mouth, without varying the aper- ture of the windpipe. This however doth not hin- der pronunciation to borrow from singing, as one sometimes is naturally led to do, in expressing a vehement passion. In reading, as in singing, there is a key-note : above this note the voice is frequently elevated, to make the sound correspond to the elevation of the subject : but the mind in an elevated state is dis- posed to action ; therefore, in order to a rest, it must be brought down to the key-note* Hence the term cadence^ The only general rule that can ■ be given for di- recting the pronunciation, is. To sound the words in such a manner as to imitate the things they sig- nify. In pronouncing words signifying what is elevated^ the voice ought to be raised above its or- 81 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, [CH. 18 . dinary tone ; and words signifying dejection of mind, ought to be pronounced in a low note. To imitate a stern and impetuous passion, the words ought to be pronounced rough and loud ; a sweet and kindly passion, on the contrary, ought to be imitated by a soft and melodious tone of voice : In Dry den’s ode of Alexander's Feast, the line Fain, fain, fain, fain, represents a gradual sinking of the mind ; and therefore is pronounced with a falling voice by every one of taste, without instruction. In general, words that make the greatest figure ought to be marked with a peculiar emphasis. Another circumstance contributes to the resem- blance between sense and sound, which is slow or quick pronunciation : for though the length or shortness of the syllables with relation to each other, be in prose ascertained in some measure, and in verse accurately \ yet taking a whole line or pe- riod together, it may be pronounced slow or fast. A period accordingly ought to be pronounced slow, when it expresses what is solemn or deliberate ; and ought to be pronounced quick, when it ex- presses what is brisk, lively, or impetuous,^ The art of pronouncing with propriety and grace being intended to make the sound an echo to the sense, scarce admits of any other general rule than that above mentioned. It may indeed be branched out into many particular rules and observations : but without much success ; because no language furnisheth words to signify the different degrees of high and low, loud and soft, fast and slow. Before these differences can be made the subject of regu- BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 85 SECT. 3.] lar instruction, notes must be invented, resembling those employed in music. We have reason to be- lieve, that in Greece every tragedy was accom- panied with such notes, in order to ascertain the pronunciation ; but the moderns hitherto have not thought of this refinement. Cicero, indeed,* with- out the help of notes, pretends to give rules for ascertaining the various tones of voice that are proper in expressing the different passions ; and it must be acknowledged, that in this attempt he hath exhausted the whole power of language. At the same time, every person of discernment will per- ceive, that these rules avail little in point of in- struction : the very words he employs are not in- telligible, except to those who beforehand are acquainted with the subject. To vary the scene a little, I propose to close with a slight comparison between singing and pro- nouncing. In this comparison, the five following circumstances relative to articulate sound, must be kept in view. 1st, A sound or syllable is harsh or smooth. 2d, It is long or short. 3d, It is pro- nounced high or low. 4th, It is pronounced loud or soft. And, lastly, A number of words in suc- cession, constituting a period or member of a period, are pronounced slow or quick. Of these five, the first depending on the component letters, and the second being ascertained by custom, admit not any variety in pronouncing. The three last ^ De Oratore, 1. iii. cap. 58. 86 BEAUTY OP LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . are arbitrary, depending on the will of the person who pronounces ; and it is chiefly in the artful management of these that just pronunciation con- sists. With respect to the first circumstance, music has evidently the advantage ; for all its notes are agreeable to the ear ; which is not always the case of articulate sounds. With respect to the second, long and short syllables variously combined, pro- duce a great variety of feet ; yet far inferior to the variety that is found in the multiplied combina- tions of musical notes. With respect to high and low notes, pronunciation is still more inferior to singing ; for it is observed by Dionysius of Hali- carnassus,* that in pronouncing, i. e. without alter- ing the aperture of the windpipe, the voice is con- fined within three notes and a half ; singing has a much greater compass. With respect to the two last circumstances, pronunciation equals singing. In this chapter, I have mentioned none of the beauties of language but what arise from words taken in their proper sense. Beauties that depend on the metaphorical and figurative power of words, are reserved to be treated. Chap. 20. Sect. IV. — Versification. The music of verse, though handled by every grammarian, merits more attention than it has been honoured with. It is a subject intimately ^ De Structura Orationis, sect. 2. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 87 connected with human nature ; and to explain it thoroughly, several nice and delicate feelings must be employed. But before entering upon it, we must see what verse is, or, in other words, by what mark it is distinguished from prose ; a point not so easy as may at first be apprehended. It is true, that the construction of verse is governed by pre- cise rules ; whereas prose is more loose, and scarce subjected to any rules. But are the many who have no rules, left without means to make the dis- tinction ? and even with respect to the learned, must they apply the rule before they can with cer- tainty pronounce whether the composition be prose or verse ? This will hardly be maintained ; and therefore instead of rules, the ear must be appeal- ed to as the proper judge. But by what mark does the ear distinguish verse from prose ? The proper and satisfactory answer is, That these make different impressions upon every one who hath an ear. This advances us one step in our inquiry. Taking it then for granted, that verse and prose make upon the ear different impressions ; nothing remains but to explain this difference, and to assign its cause. To this end, I call to my aid an obser- vation made above upon the sound of words, that they are more agreeable to the ear when composed of long and short syllables, than when all the sylla- bles are of the same sort : a continued sound in the same tone, makes not a musical impression : the same note succesively renewed by intervals, is more agreeable ; but still makes not a musical im- pression. To produce that impression, variety is 88 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. necessary as well as number : the successive sounds or syllables, must be some of them long, some of them short ; and if also high and low, the music is the more perfect. The musical impression m^de by a period consisting of long and short syllables arranged in a certain order, is what the Greeks call rythmus, the Latins nimerus, and we melody or measure, Cicero justly observes, that in one con- tinued sound there is no melody : “ Numerus in “ continuatione nullus est.” But in what follows he is wide of the truth, if by numerus he means melody or musical measure : “ Distinctio, et aequa- “ Hum et saepe variorum intervallorum percussio, numerum conficit ; quern in cadentibus guttis, “ quod intervallis distinguuntur, notare possumus.^’ Falling drops, whether with equal or unequal in- tervals, are certainly not music : we are not sen- sible of a musical impression but in a succession of long and short notes. And this also was probably the opinion of the author cited, though his expres- sion be a little unguarded.* It will probably occur, that melody, if it depend on long and short syllables combined in a sentence, may be found in prose as well as in verse ; con- * From this passage, however, we discover the etymology of the Latin term for musical impression. Every one being sen- sible that there is no music in a continued sound ; the first in- quiries were probably carried no farther than to discover, that to produce a musical impression a number of sounds is neces- sary ; and musical impression obtained the name of numerus, before it was clearly ascertained, that variety is necessary as well as number. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 89 sidering especially, that in both, particular words are accented or pronounced in a higher tone than the rest ; and therefore that verse cannot be dis- tinguished from prose by melody merely. The ob- servation is just ; and it follows, that the distinc- tion between them, since it depends not singly on melody, must arise from the difference of the me- lody : which is precisely the case ; though that difference cannot with any accuracy be explained in words ; all that can be said is, that verse is more musical than prose, and its melody more perfect. The difference between verse and prose, resembles the difference, in music properly so called, between the song and the recitative : and the resemblance is not the least complete, that these differences, like the shades of colours, approximate sometimes so nearly as scarce to be discernible : the melody of a recitative approaches sometimes to that of a song ; which, on the other hand, degenerates some- times to that of a recitative. Nothing is more dis- tinguishable from prose, than the bulk of Virgif s Hexameters : many of those composed by Horace, are very little removed from prose : Sapphic verse has a very sensible melody : that, on the other hand, of an lambic, is extremely faint.* * Music, properly so called, is analyzed into melody and harmony. A succession of sounds so as to be agreeable to the ear, constitutes melody ; harmony arises from co-existing sounds. Verse therefore can only reach melody, and not harmony. 90 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . This more perfect melody of articulate sounds is what distinguisheth verse from prose. Verse is subjected to certain inflexible laws : the number and variety of the component syllables being ascer- tained, and in some measure the order of succes- sion. Such restraint makes it a matter of difficulty to compose in verse ; a difficulty that is not to be surmounted but by a peculiar genius. Useful les- sons conveyed to us in verse, are agreeable by the union of music with instruction : but are we for that reason to reject knowledge oflered in a plainer dress ? That would be ridiculous : for knowledge is of intrinsic merit, independent of the means of acquisition ; and there are many, not less capable than willing to instruct us, who have no genius for verse. Hence the use of prose ; which, for the reason now given, is not conflned to precise rules. There belongs to it a certain melody of an inferior kind, which ought to be the aim of every writer ; but for succeeding in it, practice is necessary more than genius. Nor do we rigidly insist for melo- dious prose : provided the work convey instruct tion, its chief end, we are the less solicitous about its dress. Having ascertained the nature and limits of our subject, I proceed to the laws by which it is regu- lated. These would be endless, were verse of all different kinds to be taken under consideration. I propose therefore to confine tlie inquiry to Latin or Greek Hexameter, and to French and English Heroic verse ; which pe;*haps may carry me farther than the reader will choose to follow. The obser- SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 91 vations I shall have occasion to make, will at any rate be sufficient for a specimen ; and these, with proper variations, may easily be transferred to the composition of other sorts of verse. Before I enter upon particulars, it must be pre- mised in general, that to verse of every kind, five things are of importance. 1st, The number of syllables that compose a verse line. 2d, The diffe- rent lengths of syllables, L e, the difference of time taken in pronouncing. 8d, The arrangement of these syllables combined in words. 4th, The pauses or stops in pronouncing. 5th, The pronouncing syllables in a high or a low tone. The three first mentioned are obviously essential to verse : if any of them be wanting, there cannot be that higher degree of melody which distinguisheth verse from prose. To give a just notion of the fourth, it must be observed, that pauses are necessary for three different purposes ; one, to separate periods, and members of the same period, according to the sense ; another, to improve the melody of verse ; and the last, to afford opportunity for drawing breath in reading. A pause of the first kind is variable, being long or short, frequent or less frequent, as the sense requires. A pause of the second kind, being determined by the melody, is in no degree arbitrary. The last sort is in a measure arbitrary, depending on the reader’s command of breath. But as one cannot read with grace, unless, for drawing breath, opportunity be taken of a pause in the sense or in the melody, this pause ought never to be distinguished from the others ^ and for that 92 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. reason shall be laid aside. With respect then to the pauses of sense and of melody, it may be af- firmed without hesitation, that their coincidence in verse is a capital beauty ; but as it cannot be expected, in a long work especially, that every line should be so perfect, we shall afterward have oc- casion to see, that the pause necessary for the sense must often, in some degree, be sacrificed to the verse-pause, and the latter sometimes to the for- mer. The pronouncing syllables in a high or low tone, contributes also to melody. In reading whether prose or verse, a certain tone is assumed, which may be called the key-note ; and in that tone the bulk of the words are sounded. Sometimes to hu- mour the sense, and sometimes the melody, a par- ticular syllable is sounded in a higher tone ; and this is termed accenting a syllable, or gracing it with an accent. Opposed to the accent, is the ca- dence, which I have not mentioned as one of the requisites of verse, because it is entirely regulated by the sense, and hath no peculiar relation to verse. The cadence is a falling of the voice below the key-note at the close of every period ; and so little is it essential to verse, that in correct reading the final syllable of every line is accented, that syllable only excepted which closes the period, where the sense requires a cadence. The reader may be sa- tisfied of this by experiments ; and for that purpose I recommend to him the Rape of the Lock, which, in point of versification, is the most complete per- formance in the English language. Let him con- SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 93 suit in a particular period canto beginning at line 47. and closed line 5^. with the word gay, which only of the whole final syllables is pronounc- ed with a cadence. He may also examine another period in the 5th canto which runs from line 45. to line 52. Though the five requisites above mentioned enter the composition of every species of verse, they are however governed by different rules, peculiar to each species. Upon quantity only, one general ob- servation may be premised, because it is applicable to every species of verse. That syllables, with res- pect to the time taken in pronouncing, are long or short ; two short syllables, with respect to time, being precisely equal to a long one. These two lengths are essential to verse of all kinds ; and to no verse, as far as I know, is a greater variety of time necessary in pronouncing syllables. The voice indeed is frequently made to rest longer than usual upon a word that bears an important signifi- cation ; but this is done to humour the sense, and is not necessary for melody. A thing not more ne- cessary for melody occurs with respect to accenting, similar to that now mentioned : A word signifying any thing humble, low, or dejected, is naturally, in prose, as well as in verse, pronounced in a tone below the key-note. We are now sufficiently prepared for particulars ; beginning with Latin or Greek Hexameter, which are the same. What I have to observe upon this species of verse, will come under the four following heads ; number, arrangement, pause, and accent : BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 94^ [CH. 18 . For as to quantity, what is observed above may suffice. Hexameter lines, as to time, are all of the same length ; being equivalent to the time taken in pro.- nouncing twelve long syllables or twenty-four short. An Hexameter line may consist of seventeen sylla- bles ; and when regular and not Spondiac, it never has fewer than thirteen : whence it follows, that where the syllables are many, the plurality must be short ; where few, the plurality must be long. This line is susceptible of much variety as to the succession of long and short syllables. It is how- ever subjected to laws that confine its variety with- in certain limits ; and for ascertaining these limits, grammarians have invented sT rule by Dactyles and Spondees, which they denominate Jeet One at first view is led to think, that these feet are also intended to regulate the pronunciation ; which is far from being the case : for were one to pronounce according to these feet, the melody of a Hexame- ter line would be destroyed, or at best be much inferior to what it is when properly pronounced.* * After giving some attention to this subject, and weighing deliberately every circumstance, I was necessarily led to the foregoing conclusion, That the Dactyle and Spondee are no other than artificial measures, invented for trying the accuracy of composition. Repeated experiments have convinced me, that though the sense should be neglected, an Hexameter line read by Dactyles and Spondees will not be melodious* And the composition of an Hexameter line demonstrates this to be true, without necessity of an experiment ; for, as will appear afterward, there must always, in this line, be a capital pause at SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 95 These feet must be confined to regulate the ar- rangement, for they serve no other purpose. They are withal so artificial and complex, that I am tempted to substitute in their stead other rules more simple and of more easy application ; for ex- ample, the following. 1st, The line must always commence with a long syllable, and close with two long preceded by two short. 2d, More than two short can never be found together, nor fewer than two. And, 3d, Two long syllables which have been preceded by two short, cannot also be follow- ed by two short. These few rules fulfil all the conditions of a Hexameter line, with relation to order or arrangement. To these again a single the end of the fifth long syllable, reckoning, as above, two short for one long ; and when we measure this line by Dactyles and Spondees, the pause now mentioned divides always a Dactyle, or a Spondee, without once falling in after either of these feet. Hence it is evident, that if a line be pronounced as it is scanned, by Dactyles and Spondees, the pause must utterly be neglected ; which destroys the melody, because this pause ’ essential to the melody of an Hexameter verse. If, on the otner hand, the melody be preserved by making that pause, the pronouncing by Dactyles or Spondees must be abandoned. What has led grammarians into the use of Dactyles and Spon- dees, seems not beyond the reach of conjecture. To produce melody, the Dactyle and the Spondee, which close every. Hex- ameter line, must be distinctly expressed in the pronunciation. This discovery, joined with another, that the foregoing part of the verse could be measured by the same feet, probably led grammarians to adopt these artificial measures, and perhaps rashly to conclude, that the pronunciation is directed by these feet as the composition is : The Dactyle and the Spondee at the close, serve indeed to regulate the pronunciation as well as the 24 9 & BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* [CH. 18. rule may be substituted, for which I have a still greater relish, as it regulates more affirmatively the construction of every part. That I may put this rule into words with perspicuity, I take a hint from the twelve long syllables that compose an Hexa- meter line, to divide it into twelve equal parts or portions, being each of them one long syllable or two short. A portion being thus defined, I pro- ceed to the rule. The 1st, 3d, 5th, 7th, 9th, 11th, and ISth portions, must each of them be one long syllable ; the 10th must always be two short sylla- bles j the 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th, may either be one long or two short. Or to express the thing still more curtly. The 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th portions composition ; but in the foregoing part of the line, they regulate the composition only, not the pronunciation. If we must have feet in verse to regulate the pronunciation, and consequently the melody, these feet must be determined by the pauses. All the syllables interjected between two pauses ought to be deemed one musical foot ; because, to preserve the melody, they must all be pronounced together, without any stop. And therefore, whatever number there are of pauses in a Hexameter line, the parts into which it is divided by these pauses, make just so many musical feet. Connexion obliges me here to anticipate, and to observe, that the same doctrine is applicable to English heroic verse. Con- sidering its composition merely, it is of two kinds ; one campos- ed of five Iambi ; and one of a Trochaeus followed by four Iambi : but these feet afford no rule for pronouncing ; the mu- sical feet being obviously those parts of the line that are inter- jected between two pauses. To bring out the melody, these feet must be expressed in the pronunciation ; or, which comes to the same, the pronunciation must be directed by the pauses^, without regard to the Iambus or Trochaeus^ ;SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 97 may be one long syllable or two short ; the 10th must be two short syllables ; all the rest must con- sist each of one long syllable. This fulfils all the conditions of an Hexameter line, and comprehends all the combinations of Dactyles and Spondees that this line admits. Next in order conies the pause. At the end of every Hexameter line, every one must be sensible of a complete close or full pause j the cause of which follows. The two long syllables preceded by two short, which always close an Hexameter line, are a fine preparation for a pause : for long syllables, or syllables pronounced slow, resembling a slow and languid motion, tending to rest, natu- rally incline the mind to rest, or to pause ; and to this inclination the two preceding short syllables contribute, which by contrast make the slow pro- nunciation of the final syllables the more conspicu- ous. Beside this complete close or full pause at the end, others are also requisite for the sake of melody ; of which I discover two clearly, and per- haps there may be more. The longest and most remarkable, succeeds the 5th portion ; the other, which, being shorter and more faint, may be called the semipause, succeeds the 8th portion. So strik- ing is the pause first mentioned, as to be distin- guished even by the rudest ear : the monkish rhymes are evidently built upon it ; in which, by an invariable rule, the final word always chimes with that which immediately precedes the said pause : De planctu cudo |1 metrum cum carmine nudo Mingere cum bumbis |1 res est saluberrima lumbis. VOL. II. G 9S BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. The difference of time in the pause and semi- pause, occasions another difference no less remark- able, that it is lawful to divide a word by a semi- pause, but never by a pause, the bad effect of which is sensibly felt in the following examples : Effusus labor, atj|que inmitis rupta Tyraniti Again : Observans nido imj| plumes detraxit; at ilia Again : Loricam quam Dejlmoleo detraxerat ipse The dividing a word by a semipause has not the same bad effect : Jamque pedem referens j| casus ejvaserat omnes. Again : Qualis populea |j mcerens Philojmela sub umbra Again : Ludere que veliem 1| calamo pir'jimsit agresti Lines, however, where words are left entire, with- out being divided even by a semipause, run by that means much the more sweetly : Nec gemere aerea H cessabit ] turtur ab ulmo. Again : Quadrupedante putrem H sonitu quatit | ungula campum. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 99 Again : Eurydicen toto j( referebant | flumine ripae. The reason of these observations will be evident upon the slightest reflection. Between things so intimately connected in reading aloud, as are sense and sound, every degree of discord is unpleasant : and for that reason, it is a matter of importance, to make the musical pauses coincide as much as possible with those of sense ; which is requisite, more especially with respect to the pause, a devia- tion from the rule being less remarkable in a semi- pause. Considering the matter as to melody, sole- ly, it is indifferent whether the pauses be at the end of words or in the middle ; but when we carry the sense along, it is disagreeable to find a word split into two by a pause, as if there were really two words : and though the disagreeableness here be connected with the sense only, it is by an easy transition of perceptions transferred to the sound ; by which means, -we conceive a line to be harsh and grating to the ear, when in reality it is only so to the understanding.* To the rule that fixes the pause after the fifth portion, there is one exception, and no more : If the syllable succeeding the fifth portion be short, the pause is sometimes postponed to it. Pupillis quos dura [j premit custodia matrum * See Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 5. 100 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. Again : In terras oppressa |1 gravi sub religione Again : Et quorum pars magna }| fui ; quis talia fando This contributes to diversify the melody; and where the words are smooth and liquid, is not un- graceful ; as in the following examples : Formosam resonare || doces Amaryllida sylvas Again : Agricolas, quibus ipsa jj procul discordibus armis If this pause, placed as aforesaid after the short syllable, happen also to divide a word, the melody by these circumstances is totally annihilated. Wit- ness the following line of Ennius, which is plain prose : Romae mcenia terruJlit impiger [ Hannibal armis. Hitherto the arrangement of the long and short syllables ^of an Hexameter line and its different pauses, have been considered with respect to me- lody; but to have a just notion of Hexameter verse, these particulars must also be considered with respect to sense. There is not perhaps in any other sort of verse, such latitude in the long and short syllables ; a circumstance that contributes greatly to that richness of melody which is remark- able in Hexameter verse, and which made Aristotle SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 101 pronounce, that an epic poem in any other verse would not succeed.* One defect, however, must not be dissembled, that the same means which con- tribute to the richness of the melody, render it less fit than several other sorts for a narrative poem. There cannot be a more artful contrivance, as above observed, than to close an Hexameter line with two long syllables preceded by two short : but unhappily this construction proves a great embar- rassment to the sense ; which will thus be evident. As in general, there ought to be a strict concord- ance between a thought and the words in which it is dressed ; so in particular, every close in the sense ought to be accompanied with a close in the sound. In prose, this law may be strictly observed ; but in verse, the same strictness would occasion insuper- able difficulties. Willing to sacrifice to the melody of verse some share of the concordance between thought and expression, we freely excuse the separa- tion of the musical pause from that of the sense, dur- ing the course of a line : but the close of an Hexa- meter line is too conspicuous to admit this liberty ; for which reason there ought always to be some pause in the sense at the end of every Hexameter line, were it but such a pause as is marked with a comma ; and for the same reason, there ought never to be a full close in the sense but at the end of a line, because there the melody is closed. An Hexameter line, to preserve its melody, cannot Poet. caj3. 25. 102 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . well admit any greater relaxation ; and yet in a narrative poem, it is extremely difficult to adhere strictly to the rule even with these indulgences. Virgil, the chief of poets for versification, is forced* often to end a line without any close in the sense, and as often to close tlie sense during the running of a line ; though a clo*Se in the melody during the movement of the thought, or a close in the thought during the movement of the melody, cannot be agreeable. The accent, to which we proceed, is no less essential than the other circumstances above han- dled. By a good ear it will be discerned, that in every line there is one syllable distinguishable from the rest by a capital accent ; that syllable, being the 7th portion, is invariably long. Nec bene promeritis H capitur nec | tangitur ira. Again : Non sibi sed toto [j genitnm se ] credere mundo. Again : Qua! is spelimca || subito comlmota columba. In these examples, the accent is laid upon the last syllable of a word j which is favourable to the melody in the following respect, that the pause, which for the sake of reading distinctly must follow, every word, gives opportunity to prolong the ac- cent. And for that reason, a line thus accented has a more spirited air, than when the accent is SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. lOS placed on any other syllable. Compare the fore- going lines with the following : Alba neque Assyrio j] fiicatur | lana veneno. Again : Panditur interea IJ doraus omnipo|tentis Olympi. Again : Olli sedato || respondit ] corde Latinus. In lines where the pause comes after the short syllable succeeding the fifth portion, the accent is displaced, and rendered less sensible ; it seems to be split into two, and to be laid partly on the 5th portion, and partly on the 7th, its usual place j as in Nuda genu uodoque |j sinus col|lecta fluentes Again/: Formosam rcsonare jj doces Amarlyllida sylvas Beside this capital accent, slighter accents are laid upon otheF portions; particularly upon the 4th. unless where it consists of two short syllables ; upon the 9th, which is always a long syllable ; and upon the 11th, where the line concludes with a monosyllable. Such conclusion, by the by, im- pairs the melody, and for that reason is not to be indulged, unless where it is expressive of the sense. The following lines are marked with all the ac- cents. 104 ^ BEAUTY OP LANGUAGE. [CH, 18 , Ludere quae vellem calamo permisit agresti. Again : Et durae quercus sudabunt roscida mella. Again : Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Reflecting upon the melody of Hexameter verse, Xve find, that order or arrangement doth not consti- tute the whole of it ; for when we compare diffe- rent lines, equally regular as to the succession of long and short syllables, the melody is found in very different degrees of perfection ; which is not occasioned by any particular combination of Dac- tyles and Spondees, or of long and short syllables, because we find lines where Dactyles prevail, and lines where Spondees prevail, equally melodious. Of the former take the following instance : ^neadum genitrix hominum divumque voluptas. Of the latter : Molli paulatim flavescet campus arista. * What can be more different as to melodv than the two following lines, which, however, as to the succession of long and short syllables, are construct- ed precisely in the same manner ? 3pond. Dact. Spond. Spend. Dact. Spend. Ad talos stola dimissa et circumdata palla. Hot, Spend. Dact. Spend. Spend. Dact. Spend. Placatumque nitet diffuso lumine coelum. Lucr. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 105 In the former, the pause falls in the middle of a word, which is a great blemish, and the accent is disturbed by a harsh elision of the vowel a upon the particle et. In the latter, the pauses and the accent are all of them distinct and full : there is no elision ; and the words are more liquid and sounding. In these particulars consists the beauty of an Hexameter line with respect to melody ; and by neglecting these, many lines in the Satires and Epistles of Horace are less agreeable than plain prose ; for they are neither the one nor the other in perfection. To draw melody from these lines, they must be pronounced without relation to the sense : it must not be regarded, that words are divided by pauses, nor that harsh elisions are multi- plied. To add to the account, prosaic low-sound- ing words are introduced ; and which is still worse, accents are laid on them. Of such faulty lines take the following instances, Candida rectaque sit, munda hactenus sit neque longa. Jupiter exclamat simul atque audirit ; at in se Custodes, lectica, ciniflones, parasites Optimus est modulator, ut Alfenus Vafer omni Nunc illud tantum queeram, meritone tibi sit. Next in order comes Englisl^ Heroic verse, which shall be examined under the whole five heads, of number, quantity, arrangemeuxt, pause, and accent. This verse is of two kinds ; one named rhyme or metre^ and one blank verse. In i06 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. IS. the former, the lines are connected two and two by similarity of sound in the final syllables ; and two lines so connected are termed a couplet : simi- larity of sound being avoided in the latter, couplets are banished. These two sorts must be handled separately, because there are many peculiarities in each. Beginning with rhyme or metre, the first article shall be discussed in a few words. Every line consists of ten syllables, five short and five long ; from which there are but two exceptions, both of them rare. The first is, where each line of a couplet is made eleven syllables, by an addi- tional syllable at the end : There heroes* wits are kept in ponderous vases, And beaus* in snuff-boxes and tweezer cases. The piece, you think, is incorrect? Why, take it; I*m ail submission ; what you*d have it, make it. This licence is sufferable in a single couplet ; but if frequent, would give disgust. The other exception concerns the second line of a couplet, which is sometimes stretched out to twelve syllables, termed an Alexandrine line : A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. It doth extremely well when employed to close a period with a certain pomp and solemnity, where the subject makes that tone proper. With regard to quantity, it is unnecessary to mention a second time, that the quantities employ- BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 107 SECT. 4.3 ed in verse are but two, the one double of the other; that every syllable is reducible to one or other of these standards ; and that a syllable of the larger quantity is termed long^ and of the lesser quantity short It belongs more to the present article, to examine what peculiarities there may be in the English language as to long and short syllables. Every language has syllables that may be pronounced long or short at pleasure ; but the English above all abounds in syllables of that kind : in words of three or more syllables, the quantity for the most part is invariable : the exceptions are more frequent in dissyllables ; but as to monosylla- bles, they may, without many exceptions, be pro- nounced either long or short ; nor is the ear hurt by a liberty that is rendered familiar by custom. This shows, that the melody of English verse must depend less upon quantity, than upon other cir- cumstances : in which it differs widely from Latin verse, where every syllable, having but one sound, strikes the ear uniformly with its accustomed im-* pression ; and a reader must be delighted to find a number of such syllables, disposed so artfully as to be highly melodious. Syllables variable in quan- tity cannot possess this power ; for though custom* may render familiar, both a long and a short pro- nunciation of the same word, yet the mind waver- ing between the two sounds, cannot be so much affected as where every syllable has one fixed sound. What I have further to say upon quantity, will come more properly under the following head of arrangement. 108 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. And with respect to arrangement, which may be brought within a narrow compass, the English Heroic line is commonly lambic, the first syllable short, the second long, and so on alternately through the whole line. One exception there is, pretty frequent, of lines commencing with a Tro- chseus, L e, a long and a short syllable ; but this affects not the order of the following syllables, which go on alternately as usual, one short and one long. The following couplet affords an ex- ample of each kind. Some in the fields of purest ether play, and bask and whiten in the blaze of day. It is a great imperfection in English verse, that it excludes the bulk of polysyllables, which are the most sounding words in our language ; for very few of them have such alternation of long and short syllables as to correspond to either of the arrange- ments mentioned. English verse accordingly is almost totally reduced to dissyllables and monosyl- lables : magnanimity^ is a sounding word totally excluded \ impetuosity is still a finer word, by the resemblance of the sound and sense ; and yet a negative is put upon it, as well as upon numberless words of the same kind. Polysyllables composed of syllables long and short alternately, make a good figure in verse > for example, observance^ opponent^ ostensive, pindaric, productive, prolific, and such others of three syllables. Imitation, imperfection, misdemeanor, mitigation, moderation, ohservator, ornamental, regulator, and others similar of four SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* 109 syllables, beginning with two short syllables, the third long, and the fourth short, may find a place in a line commencing with a Trochseus. I know not if there be any of five syllables. One I know of six, viz. misinterpretation : but words so com- posed are not frequent in our language. ^ One would not imagine without trial, how un- couth false quantity appears in verse ; not less than a provincial tone or idiom. The article the is one of the few monosyllables that is invariably short : observe how harsh it makes a line where it must be pronounced long ; This nymph, to the destruction of mankind. Again, Th’ advent’ rdus bardn the bright locks admir’d. Let it be pronounced short, and it reduces the me- lody almost to nothing: better so however than false quantity. In the following examples we per- ceive the same defect : And old impertinence || expel by new With varying vanities j[ from ev’ry part Love in these labyrinths j| his slaves detains New stratagems jj the radiant lock to gain Her eyes half languishing j] half drown’d in tears Roar’d for the handkerchief H that caus’d his pain Passions like elements j| though born to fight. The great variety of melody conspicuous in Eng- lish verse arises chiefly from the pauses and accents ^ JIO BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. which are of greater importance than is commonly thought. There is a degree of intricacy in this branch of our subject, and it will be difficult to give a distinct view of it ; but it is too late to think of difficulties after we are engaged. The pause, which paves the way to the accent, offers itself first to our examination ; and from a very short trial the following facts will be verified. 1st, A line admits but one capital pause. 2d, In different lines, we find this pause after the fourth syllable, after the fifth, after the sixth, and after the seventh. These four places of the pause lay a solid founda- tion for dividing English Heroic lines into four kinds ; and I warn the reader beforehand, that un^ less he attend to this distinction, he cannot have any just notion of the richness and variety of Eng- lish versification. Each kind or order hath a me- lody peculiar to itself, readily distinguishable by a good ear ; and I am not without hopes to make the cause of this peculiarity sufficiently evident, It must be observed, at the same time, that the pause cannot be made indifferently at any of the places mentioned : it is the sense that regulates the pause, as will be seen afterward ; and conse- quently, it is the sense that determines of what order every line must be : There can be but one capital musical pause in a line ; and that pause ought to coincide, if possible, with a pause in the sense, in order that the sound may accord with the sense. ■What is said shall be illustrated by examples of SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. Ill each sort or order. And first of the pause after the fourth syllable : Back through the paths jj of pleasing sense I ran. Again, Profuse of bliss |l and pregnant with delight. After the 5th : So when an angel H by divine command, With rising tempests H shakes a guilty land. After the 6th : Speed the soft intercourse H from soul to souL Again, Then from his closing eyes jj thy form shall part. After the 7th : And taught the doubtful battle jj where to rage. Again, And in the smooth description \\ murmur still. Beside the capital pause now mentioned, inferior pauses will be discovered by a nice ear. Of these there are commonly two in each line : one before the capital pause, and one after it. The former comes invariably after the first long syllable, whe- ther the line begin with a long syllable or a short. The other in its variety imitates the capital pause : 24 ^ 112 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE.” j^CH. 18 . in some lines it comes after the 6th syllable, in some after the 7th, and in some after the 8th. Of these semipauses take the following examples. 1st and 8th : Led I through a sad j] variety | of wo. 1st and 7th : Still 1 on that breast jj enamour’d | let me lie. 2d and 8th : From storms | a shelter j] and from heat | a shade. 2d and 6th : Let wealth | let honour (j wait | the wedded dame. 2d and 7th : Above I all pain |j all passion | and all pride. Even from these few examples it appears, that the place of the last semipause, like that of the full pause, is^ dii’ected in a good measure by the sense. Its proper place with respect to the melody is after the eighth syllable, so as to finish the line with an Iambus distinctly pronounced, which, by a long syllable after a short, is a preparation for rest: but sometimes it comes after the 6th, and sometimes after the 7th syllable, in order to avoid a pause in the middle of a word, or between two words inti- mately connected ; and so far melody is justly sa- crificed to sense. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 118 In discoursing of Hexameter verse, it was laid down as a rule, That a full pause ought never to divide a word : such license deviates too far from the coincidence that ought to be between the pauses of sense and of melody. The same rule must ob- tain in an English line j and we shall support rea- son by experiments : A noble super ||fluity it craves Abhor, a perpeytuity should stand Are these lines distinguishable from prose ? Scarce- ly, I think. The same rule is not applicable to a semipause, which being short and faint, is not sensibly dis- agreeable when it divides a word : Relent I less walls || whose darksome round | contains For her | white virgins |1 hyme|neals sing In these | deep solitudes j] and awjful cells. It must however be acknowledged, that the me- lody here suffers in some degree : a word ought to be pronounced without any rest between its com- ponent syllables : a semipause that bends to this rule, is scarce perceived. The capital pause is so essential to the melody, that one cannot be too nice in the choice of its place, in order to have it clear and distinct. It can- not be in better company than with a pause in the sense ; and if the sense require but a comma after the fourth, fifth, sixth, or seventh syllable, it is suf- ficient for the musical pause. But to make such VOL. ir. H 114 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. coincidence essential, would cramp versification too much ; and we have experience for our autho- rity, that there may be a pause in the melody where the sense requires none. We must not however imagine, that a musical pause may come after any word indifferently : some words, like syllables of the same word, are so intimately connected, as not to bear a separation even by a pause. The sepa- rating, for example, a substantive from its article would be harsh and unpleasant : witness the fol- lowing line, which cannot be pronounced with a pause as marked, If Delia smile, the || flow’rs begin to spring. But ought to be pronounced in the following man- ner. If Delia smile, H the flow’rs begin to spring. If then it be not a matter of indifference where to make the pause, there ought to be rules for deter- mining what words may be separated by a pause, and what are incapable of such separation. I shall endeavour to ascertain these rules ; not chiefly for their utility, but in order to unfold some latent principles, that tend to regulate our taste even where we are scarce sensible of them : and to that end, the method that appears the most promising, is to run over the verbal relations, beginning with the most intimate. The first that presents itself is that of adjective and substantive, being the relation of subject and quality, the most intimate of all : and with respect to such intimate companions, the ques- SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, m tion is, Whether they can bear to be separated by a pause. What occurs is, that a quality cannot exist independent of a subject ; nor are they sepa- rable even in imagination, because they make parts of the same idea : and for that reason, with res- pect to melody as well as sense, it must be dis- agreeable to bestow upon the adjective a sort of independent existence, by interjecting a pause between it and its substantive. I cannot there- fore approve the following lines, nor any of the sort ; for to my taste they are harsh and unplea- sant. Of thousand bright [{ inhabitants of air The sprites of fiery \\ termagants inflame The rest, his many-colour’d jj robe conceal’d The same, his ancient \\ personage to deck Ev’n here, where frozen |1 Chastity retires I sit, with sad |1 civility, I read Back to my native 1| moderation slide Or shall we ev’ry |1 decency confound Time was, a sober [| Englishman would knock And place, on good H security, his gold Taste, that eternal \\ wanderer, which flies But ere the tenth jl revolving day was run First let the just || equivalent be paid. Go, threat thy earth-born j[ Myrmidons ; but here Haste to the fierce |1 Achilles’ tent (he cries) All but the ever-wakeful J| eyes of Jove Your own resistless fj eloquence employ. Il6 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. I have upon this article multiplied examples, that in a case where I have the misfortune to dislike what passes current in practice, every man upon the spot may judge by his own taste. And to taste I appeal ; for though the foregoing reasoning ap- pears to me just, it is however too subtile to afford conviction in opposition to taste. Considering this matter superficially, one might be apt to imagine, that it must be the same, whe- ther the adjective go first, which is the natural order, or the substantive, which is indulged by the laws of inversion. But we soon discover this to be a mistake : colour, for example, cannot be con- ceived independent of the surface coloured; but a tree may be conceived, as growing in a certain spot, as of a certain kind, and as spreading its ex- tended branches all around, without ever thinking of its colour. In a word, a subject may be consi- dered with some of its qualities independent of others ; though we cannot form an image of any single quality independent of the subject. Thus then though an adjective named first be inseparable from the substantive, the proposition does not re- ciprocate : an image can be formed of the substan- tive independent of the adjective ; and for that reason, ^they may be separated by a pause, when the substantive takes the lead. For thee the fates \\ severely kind ordain And curs’d with hearts H unknowing how to yield. The verb and adverb are precisely in the same condition with the substantive and adjective. An SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. H7 adverb, which modifies the action expressed by the verb, is not separable from the verb even in ima- gination ; and therefore I must also give up the following lines : And which it much \\ becomes you to forget ’Tis one thing madly \\ to disperse my store. But an action may be conceived with some of its modifications, leaving out others ; precisely as a subject may be conceived with some of its qualities, leaving out others ; and therefore, when by inver- sion the verb is first introduced, it has no bad effect to interject a pause between it and the adverb that follows. This may be done at the close of a line, where the pause is at least as full as that is which divides the line : While yet he spoke, the Prince advancing drew Nigh to the lodge, &c. The agent and its action come next, expressed in grammar by the active substantive and its verb. Between these, placed in their natural order, there is no difficulty of interjecting a pause : an active being is not always in motion, and therefore it is easily separable in idea from its action : when in a sentence the substantive takes the lead, we know not that action is to follow ; and as rest must pre- cede the commencement of motion, this interval is a proper opportunity for a pause. But when by inversion the verb is placed first, is it lawful to separate it by a pause from the active substantive ? I answer, No y because an action is 118 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. not an idea separable from the agent, more than a quality from the subject to which it belongs. Two lines of the first rate for beauty, have always ap- peared to me exceptionable, upon account of the pause thus interjected between the verb and the consequent substantive ; and I have now discover- ed a reason to support ray taste : In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav’nly pensive )1 Contemplation dwells. And ever musing 1| Melancholy reigns. The point of the greatest delicacy regards the active verb and the passive substantive placed in their natural order. On the one hand, it will be observed, that these words signify things which are not separable in idea. Killing cannot be conceived without a being that is put to death, nor painting without a surface upon which the colours are spread. On the other hand, an action and the thing on which it is exerted, are not, like subject and quality, united in one individual object : the active substantive is perfectly distinct from that which is passive ; and they are connected by one circumstance only, that the action of the former is exerted upon the latter. This makes it possible to take the action to pieces, and to consider it first with relation to the agent, and next with relation to the patient. But after all, so intimately con- nected are the parts of the thought, that it requires an effort to make a separation even for a moment : the subtilizing to such a degree is not agreeable, especially in works of imagination. The best poets, 119 SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. however, taking advantage of this subtilty, scruple not to separate by a pause an active verb from the thing upon which it is exerted. Such pauses in a long work may be indulged ; but taken singly, they certainly are not agreeable ; and I appeal to the following examples : The peer now spreads j} the glitt’ring forfex wide As ever sully’d {| the fair face of light Repair’d to search j| the gloomy cave of Spleen Nothing, to make jj Philosophy thy friend Should chance to make \\ the welkdress’d rabble stare Or cross, to plunder jj provinces, the main These madmen ever hurt jj the church or state How shall we fill H a library with wit What better teach || a foreigner the tongue , Sure, if I spare jl the minister, no rules Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools. On the other hand, when the passive substantive is by inversion first named, there is no difficulty of interjecting a pause between it and the verb, more than when the active substantive is first named. The same reason holds in both, that though a verb cannot be separated in idea from the substantive which governs it, and scarcely from the substantive it governs, yet a substantive may always be con® ceived independent of the verb : when the passive substantive is introduced before the verb, we know not that an action is to be exerted upon it ; there- fore we may rest till the action commences. For the sake of illustration take the following examples : 120 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . Shrines ! where their vigils \\ pale-ey’d virgins keep Soon as thy letters 1| trembling I unclose No happier task [j these faded eyes pursue. What is said about the pause, leads to a gene- ral observation, That the natural order of placing the active substantive and its verb, is more friendly to a pause than the inverted order ; but that in all the other connexions, inversion affords a far better opportunity for a pause. And hence one great ad- vantage of blank verse over rhyme ; its privilege of inversion giving it a much greater choice of pauses than can be had in the natural order of arrange- ment. We now proceed to the slighter connexions, which shall be discussed in one general article. Words connected by conjunctions and prepositions admit freely a pause between them, which will be clear from the following instances : Assume what sexes H and what shape they please The light militia H of the lower sky Connecting particles were invented to unite in a period two substances signifying things occasionally united in the thought, but which have no natural union : and between two things not only separable in idea, but really distinct, the mind, for the sake of melody, cheerfully admits by a pause a momen- tary disjunction of their occasional union. One capital branch of the subject is still upon hand, to which I am directed by what is just now said. It concerns those parts of speech which BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. Sect. 4 .] 121 singly represent no idea, and which become not significant till they be joined to other words. I mean conjunctions, prepositions, articles, and such like accessories, passing under the name of parti- cles. Upon these the question occurs. Whether they can be separated by a pause from the words that make them significant ? Whether, for exam- ple, in the following lines, the separation of the ac- cessory preposition from the principal substantive be according to rule ? The goddess with j] a discontented air And heighten’d by H the diamond’s circling rays When victims at H yon altar’s foot we lay So take it in ]j the very words of Creech An ensign of jj the delegates of Jove Two ages o’er H his native realm he reign’d While angels with H their silver wings o’ershade. Or the separation of the conjunction from the word that is connected by it with the antecedent word : Talthybius and [j Eurybates the good. It will be obvious at the first glance, that the fore- going reasoning upon objects naturally connected, is not applicable to words which of themselves are mere ciphers : we must therefore have recourse to some other principle for solving the present ques- tion. These particles out of their place are totally insignificant : to give them a meaning, they must be joined to certain words j and the necessity of BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH, 18 . this junction, together with custom, forms an arti- ficial connexion that has a strong influence upon the mind ; it cannoi bear even a momentary sepa- ration, which destroys the sense, and is at the same time contradictory to practice. Another circum- stance tends still more to make this separation dis- agreeable in lines of the first and third order, that it bars the accent, which will be explained after- ward, in treating of the accent. Hitherto upon that pause only which divides the line. We proceed to the pause that concludes the line ; and the question is. Whether the same rules be applicable to both ? This must be answered by mak- ing a distinction. In the first line of a couplet, the concluding pause differs little, if at all, from the pause that divides the line ; and for that reason, the rules are applicable to both equally. The concluding pause of the couplet is in a different condition : it resembles greatly the concluding pause in an Hexa- meter line. Both of them indeed are so remarkar ble, that they never can be graceful, unless where they accompany a pause in the sense. Hence it follows, that a couplet ought always to be finished with some close in the sense ; if not a point, at least a comma. The truth is, that this rule is sel- dom transgressed. In Pope’s works, I find very few deviations from the rule. Take the following instances : Nothing is foreign : parts relate to whole ; One all-extending, all-preservhig soul Connects each being — BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 128 SECT. 4 .] Another : To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow’rs, To steal from rainbows ere they drop in show’rs A brighter wash I add, with respect to pauses in general, that supposing the connexion to be so slender as to ad- mit a pause, it follows not that a pause may in every such case be admitted. There is one rule to which every other ought to bend. That the sense must never be wounded or obscured by the music ; and upon that account I condemn the following lines : Ulysses, first jj in public cares, she found And, Who rising, high |l th’ imperial sceptre rais’d. With respect to inversion, it appears, both from Teason and experiments, that many words which cannot bear a separation in their natural order, ad- mit a pause when inverted. And it may be added, that when two words, or two members of a sen- tence, in their natural order, can be separated by a pause, such separation can never be amiss in an inverted order. An inverted period, which deviates from the natural train of ideas, requires to be mark- ed in some measure even by pauses in the sense, that the parts may be distinctly known. Take the following examples : As with cold lips U I kiss’d the sacred veil With other beauties H charm my partial eyes Full in my view |{ set all the bright abode 1^4 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. With words like these H the troops Ulysses rul’d Back to th’ assembly roll H the thronging train Not for their grief jj the Grecian host I blame. The same where the separation is made at the close of the first line of the couplet : For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. The pause is tolerable even at the close of the couplet, for the reason just now suggested, that inverted members require some slight pause in the sense : ’Twas where the plane-tree spreads its shades around : The altars heav’d ; and from the crumbling ground A mighty dragon shot. Thus a train of reasoning hath insensibly led us to conclusions with regard to the musical pause, very different from those in the first section, con- cerning the separating by a circumstance words intimately connected. One would conjecture, that wherever words are separable by interjecting a cir- cumstance, they should be equally separable by in- terjecting a ^pause ; but, upon a more narrow in- spection, the appearance of analogy vanisheth. This will be evident from considering, that a pause in the sense distinguishes the different members of a period from each other 5 whereas, when two words of the same member are separated by a cir- cumstance, all the three make still but one mem- ber ; and therefore that words may be separated by SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 125 an interjected circumstance, though these words are not separated by a pause in the sense. This sets the matter in a clear light ; for, as observed above, a musical pause is intimately connected with a pause in the sense, and ought, as far as possible, to be governed by it : particularly, a musical pause ought never to be placed where a pause is excluded by the sense ; as, for example, between the adjec- tive and following substantive, which make parts of the same idea ; and still less between a particle and the word that makes it significant. Abstracting at present from the peculiarity of melody arising from the different pauses, it cannot fail to be observed in general, that they introduce into our verse no slight degree of variety. A num- ber of uniform lines having all the same pause, are extremely fatiguing ; which is remarkable in French versification. This imperfection will be discerned by a fine ear even in the shortest succession, and becomes intolerable in a long poem. Pope excels in the variety of his melody ; which, if different kinds can be compared, is indeed no less perfect than that of Vii’gil. From what is last said, there ought to be one ex- ception. Uniformity in the members of a thought demands equal uniformity in the verbal members which express that thought. When therefore re- sembling objects or things are expressed in a plu- rality of verse-lines, these lines in their structure ought to be as uniform as possible 5 and the pauses in particular ought all of them to have the same place. Take the following examples : U6 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . By foreign hands 11 thy dying eyes were clos’d. By foreign hands \\ thy decent limbs compos’d. By foreign hands 11 thy humble grave adorn’d. Again : Bright as the sun |j her eyes the gazers strike ; And, like the sun j| they shine on all alike. Speaking of nature, or the God of nature : Warms in the sun p refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars p and blossoms in the trees ; Lives through all life y extends through all extent, Spreads undivided \\ operates unspent. Pauses will detain us longer than was foreseen ; for the subject is not yet exhausted. It is laid down above, that English Heroic verse admits no more but four capital pauses ; and that the capital pause of every line is determined by the sense to be after the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, or seventh syllable. That this doctrine holds true as far as melody alone is concerned, will be testified by every good ear. At the same time I admit, that this rule may be varied where the sense or expression requires a variation, and that so far the melody may justly be sacrificed. Examples accordingly are not unfrequent, in Milton especially, of the capital pause being after the first, the second, or the third syllable. And that this license may be taken, even gracefully, when it adds vigour to the expression, will be clear from the following exam- ple. Pope, in his translation of Homer, describes a rock broke off from a mountain, and hurling to the plain, in the following words : SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 127 From steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds ; At every shock the crackling wood resounds ; Still gathering force, it smokes ; and urg’d amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain : There stops, jj So Hector. Their whole force he prov’d, Resistless when he rag’d; and when he stopt, unmov’d.^ In the penult line, the proper place of the musical pause is at the end of the fifth syllable ; but it en- livens the expression by its coincidence with that of the sense at the end of the second syllable : the stopping short before the usual pause in the melo- dy, aids the impression that is made by the descrip- tion of the stone’s stopping short ^ and what is lost to the melody by this artifice, is more than compen- sated by the force that is added to the description. Milton makes a happy use of this license : witness the following examples from his Paradise Lost Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day 11 or the sweet approach of even or morn. Celestial voices to the midnight air Sole 11 or responsive each to other’s note. And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook II but delay’d to strike. ■ And wild uproar Stood rul’d }j stood vast infinitude confin’d. And hard’ning in his strength Glories || for never since created man Met such embodied force. From his slack hand the garland wreath’d for Eve Down dropp’d || and all the faded roses shed. 24 1^8 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. Of unessential night, receives him next, Wide gaping il and with utter loss of being Threatens him, &c. For now the thought O Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him j] round he throws his baleful eyes, &c. If we consider the foregoing passages with re» spect to melody singly, the pauses are undoubtedly out of their proper place ; but being united with those of the sense, they enforce the expression, and enliven it greatly ; for, as has been more than once observed, the beauty of expression is communicat- ed to the sound, which, by a natural deception, makes even the melody appear more perfect than if the musical pauses were regular. To explain the rules of accenting, two general observations must be premised. The first is. That accents have a double effect : they contribute to the melody, by giving it air and spirit ; they con- tribute no less to the sense, by distinguishing im- portant words from others.* These two effects never can be separated, without impairing the con- cord that ought to subsist between the thought and the melody ; an accent, for example, placed on a low word, has the effect to burlesque it, by giving it an unnatural elevation ; and the injury thus done to the sense does not rest there, for it seems also to injure the melody. Let us only reflect * An accent considered with respect to sense is termed emphasis* SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 129 what a ridiculous figure a particle must make with an accent or emphasis put upon it, a particle that of itself has no meaning, and that serves only, like cement, to unite words significant. The other general observation is. That a word of whatever number of syllables, is not accented upon more than one of them. The reason is, that the object is set in its best light by a single accent, so as to make more than one unnecessary for the sense : and if another be added, it must be for the sound merely; which would be a transgression of the foregoing rule, by separating a musical accent from that which is requisite for the sense. Keeping in view the foregoing observations, the doctrine of accenting English Heroic verse is ex- tremely simple. In the first place, accenting is confined to the long syllables ; for a short syllable is not capable of an accent. In the next place, as the melody is enriched in proportion to the num- ber of accents, every word that has a long syllable may be accented ; unless the sense interpose, which rejects the accenting a word that makes no figure by its signification. According to this rule, a line may admit five accents ; a case by no means rare. But supposing every long syllable to be accent- ed, there is, in every line, one accent that makes a greater figure than the rest, being that which ^ precedes the capital pause. It is distinguished in- to two kinds ; one that is immediately before the pause, and one that is divided from the pause by a short syllable. The former belongs to lines of VOL. II. T , 130 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . the first and third order ; the latter to those of the second and fourth. Examples of the first kind : Smooth flow the waves H the zephyrs gently play, Belinda smiPd \\ and all the world was gay. He rais’d his azure wand [[ and thus began. Examples of the other kind : There lay three garters H half a pair of gloves. And all the trophies |1 of his former loves. Our humble province |1 is to tend the fair. Not a less pleasing |1 though less glorious care. And hew triumphal arches jj to the ground. These accents make different impressions on the mind, which will be the subject of a following spe- culation. In the mean time, it may be safely pro- nounced a capital defect in the composition of verse, to put a low word, incapable of an accent, in the place where this accent should be : this bars the accent altogether; than which I know no fault more subversive of the melody, if it be not the barring of a pause altogether. I may add af- firmatively, that no single circumstance contributes more to the energy of verse, than to put an impor- tant word where the accent should be, a word that merits a peculiar emphasis. To shew the bad ef- fect of excluding the capital accent, I refer the reader to some instances given above,* where par- ticles are separated by a pause from the capital ^ Page 121. ^ECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 131 words that make them significant ; and which par- ticles ought, for the sake of melody, to be accent- ed, were they capable of an accent. Add to these the following instances from the Essay on Criti- cism. Of leaving what \\ is natural and fit line 448. Nor yet purg’d off, || of spleen and sour disdain 1. 528. No pardon vile jj obscenity should find When lov6 was all \\ an easy monarch’s care L 537. For ’tis but half |j a judge’s task to know L 562. ’Tis not enough, || taste, judgment, learning, join. 1. 563. That only makes |j superior sense belov’d 1. 578. Whose right it is, \\ uncensur’d, to be dull 1. 590. ’Tis best sometimes ]] your censure to restrain. 1. 597. When this fault is at the end of a line that closes a couplet, it leaves not the slightest trace of me- lody ; But of this frame the bearings, and the ties. The strong connexions, nice dependencies. In a line expressive of what is humble or deject- ed, it improves the resemblance between the sound and sense to exclude the capital accent. This, to my taste, is a beauty in the following lines : 13^2 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . In these deep solitudes \\ and awful cells The poor inhabitant \\ beholds in vain. To conclude this article, the accents are not, like the syllables, confined to a certain number : some lines have no fewer than five, and there are lines that admit not above one. This variety, as we have seen, depends entirely on the different powers of the component words : particles, even where they are long by position, cannot be accent- ed ; and polysyllables, whatever space they occupy, admit but one accent. Polysyllables have another defect, that they generally exclude the full pause. It is shewn above, that few polysyllables can find place in the construction of English verse ; and here are reasons for excluding them, could they find place. I am now teady to fulfil a promise concerning the four sorts of lines that enter into English He- roic verse. That these have, each of them, a pe- culiar melody distinguishable by a good ear, I ven- tured to suggest, and promised to account for ; and though the subject is extremely delicate, I am not without hopes of making good my engagement. But first, by way of precaution, I warn the candid reader not to expect this peculiarity of modulation in every instance. The reason why it is not always perceptible has been mentioned more than once, that the thought and expression have a great in- fluence upon the melody ; so great, as in many in- stances to make the poorest melody pass for rich SECT, 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 13S and spirited, This consideration makes me insist upon a concession or two that will not be thought unreasonable : first. That the experiment be tried upon lines equal with respect to the thought and expression ; for otherwise one may easily be mis- led in judging of the melody : and next. That the&e lines be regularly accented before the pause ; for upon a matter abundantly refined in itself, I would not willingly be embarrassed with faulty and irre- gular lines. These preliminaries adjusted, I begin with some general observations, that will save repeating the same thing over and over upon every example. And first, an accent succeeded by a pause, as in lines of the first and third order, makes a much greater figure than where the voice goes on with- out a stop. The fact is so certain, that no person who has an ear can be at a loss to distinguish that accent from others. Nor have we far to seek for the efficient cause : the elevation of an accenting tone produceth in the mind a similar elevation, which continues during the pause ; * but where the pause is separated from the accent by a short syl- * Hence the liveliness of the French language as to sound, above the English ; the last syllable in the former being gene- rally long and accented, the long syllable in the latter being generally as far back in the Avord as possible, and often with an accent. For this difference I find no cause so probable as tem- perament and disposition ; the French being brisk and lively, the English sedate and reserved : and this, if it hold, is a preg- nant instance of a resemblance between the character of a peo^ pie and that of their language. lSi< BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. lable, as in lines of the second and fourth order^ the impression made by the accent is more slight when there is no stop, and the elevation of the ac- cent is gone in a moment by the falling of the voice in pronouncing the short syllable that fol- lows, The pause also is sensibly affected by the position of the accent. In lines of the first and third order, the close conjunction of the accent and pause, occasions a sudden stop without prepa- ration, which rouses the mind, and bestows on the melody a spirited air. When, on the other hand, the pause is separated from the accent by a short syllable, which always happens in lines of the se- cond and fourth order, the pause is soft and gentle : for this short unaccented syllable, succeeding one that is accented, must of course be pronounced with a falling voice, which naturally prepares for a pause ; and the mind falls gently from the accent- ed syllable, and slides into rest as it were insensi- bly. Further, the lines themselves derive different powers from the* position of the pause, which will thus appear. A pause after the fourth syllable divides the line into two unequal portions, of which the larger comes last : this circumstance resolving the line into an ascending series, makes an impres- sion in pronouncing like that of ascending ; and to this impression contribute the redoubled effort in pronouncing the larger portion, which is last in order. The mind has a different feeling when the pause succeeds the fifth syllable, which divides the line into two equal parts : these parts, pronounced with equal effort, are agreeable by their uniformity. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 135 SECT. 4 .] A line divided by a pause after the sixth syllable, makes an impression opposite to that first mention- ed : being divided into two unequal portions, of which the shorter is last in order, it appears like a slow descending series ; and the second portion being pronounced with less effort than the first, the diminished effort prepares the mind for rest. And this preparation for rest is still more sensibly felt where the pause is after the seventh syllable, as in lines of the fourth order. To apply these observations is an easy task. A line of the first order is of all the most spirited and lively : the accent, being followed instantly by a pause, makes an illustrious figure : the elevated tone of the accent elevates the mind : the mind is supported in its elevation by the sudden unpre- pared pause, which rouses and animates ; and the line itself, representing by its unequal division an ascending series, carries the mind still higher, mak- ing an impression similar to that of going upward. The second order has a modulation sensibly sweet, soft, and flowing : the accent is not so sprightly as in the former, because a short syllable intervenes between it and the pause : its elevation, by the same means, vanisheth instantaneously : the mind, by a falling voice, is gently prepared for a stop : and the pleasure of uniformity from the division of the line into two equal parts, is calm and sweet. The third order has a modulation not so easily exi- pressed in words : it in part resembles the first order, by the liveliness of an accent succeeded instantly by a full pause j but then the elevation 136 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. occasioned by this circumstance, is balanced in some degree by the remitted effort in pronouncing the second portion, which remitted effort has a tendency to rest. Another circumstance distih- guisheth it remarkably : its capital accent comes late, being placed on the sixth syllable ; and this circumstance bestows on it an air of gravity and solemnity. The last order resembles the second in the mildness of its accent, and softness of its pause ; it is still more solemn than the third, by the lateness of its capital accent : it also possesses in a higher degree than the third, the tendency to rest ; and by that circumstance is of all the best qualified for closing a period in the completes! manner. But these are not all the distinguishing charac- ters of the different orders. Each order, also, is distinguished by its final accent and pause : the • unequal division in the first order, makes an im- pression of ascending ; and the mind at the close is in the highest elevation, which naturally prompts it to put a strong emphasis upon the concluding syllable, whether by raising the voice to a sharper tone, or by expressing the word in a fuller tone. This order accordingly is of all the least proper for concluding a period, where a cadence is proper and not an accent. The second order being desti- tute of the impression of ascent, cannot rival the first order in the elevation of its concluding accent, nor consequently in the dignity of its concluding pause ; for these have a mutual influence. This order, however, with respect to its close, maintains SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 137 a superiority over the third and fourth orders : in these, the close is more humble, being brought down by the impression of descent, and by the re- mitted eifort in pronouncing ; considerably in the third order, and still more considerably in the last. According to this description, the concluding ac- cents and pauses of the four orders being reduced to a scale, will form a descending series probably in an arithmetical progression. After what is said, will it be thought refining too much to suggest, that the different orders are qualified for different purposes, and that a poet of genius will naturally be led to make a choice ac- cordingly ? I cannot think this altogether chimeri- cal. As it appears to me, the first order is proper for a sentiment that is bold, lively, or impetuous ; the third order is proper for what is grave, solemn, or lofty ; the second for what is tender, delicate, or melancholy, and in general for all the sympa- thetic emotions ; and the last for subjects of the same kind, when tempered with any degree of solemnity. I do not contend, that any one order is fitted for no other task than that assigned it ; for at that rate, no sort of melody would be left for accompanying thoughts that have nothing peculiar in them. I only venture to suggest, and I do it with diffidence, that each of the orders is pecu- liarly adapted to certain subjects, and better quali- fied than the others for expressing them. The best way to judge is by experiment ; and to avoid the imputation of a partial search, I shall confine my instances to a single poem, beginning with the 138 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, [CH. 18 . First order. On her white breast, a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose. Quick as her eyes, and as unfix’d as those : Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; Oft she rgects, but never once offends. Bright as Ihe sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide ; If to her share some female errors fall. Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all. Rape of the Loch, In accounting for the remarkable liveliness of this passage, it will be acknowledged by every one who has an ear, that the melody must come in for a share. The lines, all of them, are of the first order ; a very unusual circumstance in the author of this poem, so eminent for variety in his versification. Who can doubt, that he has been led by delicacy of taste to employ the first order preferably to the others ? Second order. Our humble province is to tend the fair. Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care ; To save the powder from too rude a gale. Nor let th’ imprison’d essences exhale ; To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow’rs ; To steal from rainbows, ere they drop, their show’rs, &c. SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE* 1S9 Again : Oh, thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to fate, Too soon dejected, and too soon elate. Sudden, these honours shall be snatch’d away, And curs’d for ever this victorious day. Third order. To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note. We trust th’ important charge, the petticoat. Again : Oh say what stranger cause, yet unexplor’d. Could make a gentle belle reject a lord ? A plurality of lines of the fourth order, would not have a good effect in succession ; because, by a remarkable tendency to rest, their proper office is to close a period. The reader, therefore, must be satisfied with instances where this order is mixed with others. Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are cast. When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe their last. Again : Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, And hew triumphal arches to the ground. Again : She sees, and trembles at the approaching ill, Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. Again : "With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face. He first the snuff-box open’d, then the case. 140 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. And this suggests another experiment, which is, to set the different orders more directly in opposi- tion, by giving examples where they are mixed in the same passage. First and second orders. % Sol through white curtains shot a tim’rous ray, And ope’d thpse eyes that must eclipse the day. Again : Not youthful kings in battle seiz’d alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive. Not ardent lovers robb’d of all their bliss, Not ancient ladies when refus’d a kiss, Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die. Not Cynthia when her mantua’s pinn’d aWTy, E’er felt such rage, resentment, and despair. As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravish’d hair. First and third. Think what an equipage thou hast in air, And view with scorn two pages and a chair, Again : What guards the purity of melting maids. In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades, Safe from the treach’rous friend, the daring spark, The glance by day, the whisper in the dark ? Again : With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three am’rous sighs to raise the fire ,• SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 141 Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes, Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. Again : Jove’s thunder roars, heaven trembles all around, Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound. Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ! Second and third. Sunk in Thalestris’ arms, the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. Again : On her heav’d bosom hung her drooping head, Which with a sigh she raised ; and thus she said. Musing on the foregoing subject, I begin to doubt whether all this while I have been in a re- verie, and whether the scene before me, full of objects new and singular, be not mere faiiy-land. Is there any truth in the appearance, or is it wholly a work of imagination ? We cannot doubt of its reality, and we may with assurance pronounce, that great is the merit of English Heroic verse : for though uniformity prevails in the arrangement, in the equality of the lines, and in the resemblance of the final sounds ; variety is still more conspi- cuous in the pauses and in the accents, which are diversified in a surprising manner. Of the beauty that results from a due mixture of uniformity and variety,* many instances have already occurred, ^ See Chap. 9. 14 ^ BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . but none more illustrious than English versifica- tion : however rude it may be in the simplicity of its arrangement, it is highly melodious by its pauses and accents, so as already to rival the most perfect- species known in Greece or Rome ; and it is no disagreeable prospect to find it susceptible of still greater refinement. We proceed to blank verse, which has so many circumstances in common with rhyme, that its peculiarities may be brought within a narrow com- pass. With respect to form, it differs from rhyme in rejecting the jingle of similar sounds, which purifies it from a childish pleasure. But this im- provement is a trifle compared with what follows. Our verse is extremely cramped by rhyme ; and the peculiar advantage of blank verse is, that it is at liberty to attend the imagination in its boldest flights. Rhyme necessarily divides verse into coup- lets ; each couplet makes a complete musical period, the parts of which are divided by pauses, and the whole summed up by a full close at the end : the melody begins anew with the next coup- let ; and in this manner a composition in rhyme proceeds couplet after couplet. I have often had occasion to mention the correspondence and con- cord that ought to subsist between sound and sense; from which it is a plain inference, that if a couplet be a complete period with regard to melody, it ought regularly to be the same with regard to sense. As it is extremely difficult to support such strict- ness of composition, licenses are indulged, as ex- SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 148 plained above ; which, however, must be used with discretion, so as to preserve some degree of con- cord between the sense and the music : there ought never to be a full close in the sense but at the end of a couplet ; and there ought always to be some pause in the sense at the end of every couplet : the same period as to sense may be extended through several couplets ; but each couplet ought to contain a distinct member, distinguished by a pause in the sense as well as in the sound ; and the whole ought to be closed with a complete cadence.* Rules such as these must confine rhyme withiji very narrow bounds : a thought of any ex- tent, cannot be reduced within its compass ; the sense must be curtailed and broken into parts, to make it square with the curtness of the melody ; and beside, short periods afford no latitude for in- version. I have examined this point with the stricter accuracy, in order to give a just notion of blank verse ; and to show, that a slight difference in form may produce a great difference in substance. Blank verse has the same pauses and accents with rhyme, and a pause at the end of every line, like what concludes the first line of a couplet. In a * This rule is quite neglected in French versification. Even Boileau makes no difficulty to close one subject with the first line of a couplet, and to begin a new subject with the second. Such license, however sanctified by practice, is unpleasant by the discordance between the pauses of the sense and of tli^ melody. 24 144 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. word, the rules of melody in blank verse, are the same that obtain with respect to the first line of a couplet ; but being disengaged from rhyme, or from couplets, there is access to make every line run into another, precisely as to make the first line of a couplet run into the second. There must be a musical pause at the end of every line ^ but this pause is so slight as not to require a pause m the sense : and accordingly the sense may be carried on with or without pauses, till a period of the utmost extent be completed by a full close both in the sense and the sound : there is no restraint, other than that this full close be at the end of a line ; and this restraint is necessary, in order to preserve a coincidence between sense and sounds which ought to be aimed at in general, and is in- dispensable in the case of a full close, because it has a striking effect. Hence the fitness of blank verse for inversion : and consequently the lustre of its pauses and accents ; for which, as observed above, there is greater scope in inversion, than when words run in their natural order. In the second section of this chapter it is shown, that nothing contributes more than inversion to the force and elevation of language : the couplets of rhyme confine inversion within narrow limits ; nor would the elevation of inversion, were there access for it in rhyme, readily accord with the humbler tone of that sort of verse. It is univer- sally agreed, that the loftiness of Milton^s style supports admirably the sublimity of bis subject ; SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 145 and it is not less certain, that the loftiness of his style arises chiefly from inversion. Shakespeare deals little in inversion ; but his blank verse be- ing a sort of measured prose, is perfectly well adapted to the stage, where laboured inversion is highly improper, because in dialogue it never can be natural. Hitherto I have considered that superior power of expression which verse acquires by laying aside rhyme. But this is not the only ground for pre- ferring blank verse : it has another preferable quality not less signal ; and that is, a more exten- sive and more complete melody. Its music is not, like that of rhyme, confined to a single couplet ; but takes in a great compass, so as in some mea- sure to rival music properly so called. The inter- val between its cadences may be long or short at pleasure ; and, by that means, its melody, with respect both to richness and variety, is superior far to that of rhyme, and superior even to that of the Greek and Latin Hexameter. Of this observation no person can doubt who is acquainted with the Paradise Lost: in which work there are indeed many careless lines ; but at every turn the richest melody as well as the sublimest sentiments are con- spicuous. Take the following specimen. Now Morn her rosy steps in th’ eastern clime Advancing, sow’d the earth with orient pearl ; When Adam wak’d, so custom’d for his sleep Was aery light from pure digestion bred And temp’rate vapours bland, which th* only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora’s fan, VOL. II. K 146 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . Lightly dispers’d, and the shrill matin song Of birds on every bough ; so much the more His wonder was to find unwaken’d Eve With tresses discompos’d, and glowing cheek, As through unquiet rest : he on his side Leaning half-rais’d, with looks of cordial love Hung over her enamour’d, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces ; then with voice Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. Her hand soft touching, whisper’d thus : Awake, My fairest, my espous’d, my latest found. Heaven’s last best gift, my ever-new delight. Awake ; the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us : we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed. How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet. Book 5. /. 1. Comparing Latin Hexameter with English He- roic rhyme, the former has obviously the advan- tage in the following particulars. It is greatly preferable as to arrangement, by the latitude it admits in placing the long and short syllables. Secondly, the length of an Hexameter line hath a majestic air : ours, by its shortness, is indeed more brisk and lively, but much less fitted for the sublime. And, thirdly, the long high-sounding words that Hexameter admits, add greatly to its majesty. To compensate these advantages, Eng- lish rhyme possesses a greater number and greater variety both of pauses and of accents. These two SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 14,7 sorts of verse stand indeed pretty much in opposi- tion : in Hexameter, great variety of arrangement^ none in the pauses nor accents ; in English rhyme, great variety in the pauses and accents, very little in the arrangement. In blank verse are united, in a good measure, the several properties of Latin Hexameter and English rhyme 5 and it possesses beside many sig- nal properties of its own. It is not confined, like Hexameter, by a full close at the end of every line ; nor, like rhyme, by a full close at the end of every couplet. Its construction, which admits the lines to run into each other, gives it a still greater majesty than arises from the length of a Hexame- ter line. By the same means, it admits inversion even beyond the Latin or Greek Hexameter ; for these suffer some confinement by the regular closes at the end of every line. In its music it is illus- trious above all : the melody of Hexameter verse is circumscribed to a line ; and of English rhyme, to a couplet ; the melody of blank verse is under no confinement, but enjoys the utmost privilege of which melody of verse is susceptible ; which is to run hand in hand with the sense. In a word, blank verse is superior to Hexameter in many arti- cles ; and inferior to it in none, save in the freedom of arrangement, and in the use of long words. In French Heroic verse, there are found, on the contrary, all the defects of Latin Hexameter and the English rhyme, without the beauties of either: subjected to the bondage of rhyme, and to the Lull close at the end of every couplet, it is 148 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. also extremely fatiguing by uniformity in its pauses and accents : the line invariably is divided by the pause into two equal parts, and the accent is in- variably placed before tho pause. Jeune et yaillant heros || dont la .haute sagesse N’est point la fruit tardif \\ d’une lente vieillesse,. Here every circumstance contributes to a tiresome uniformity .: a constant return of the same pause and of the same accent, as well as an equal divi- sion of every line ; which fatigue the ear without intermission or change. I cannot set this matter in a better light, than by presenting to the reader a French translation of the following passage of Milton : / Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, ‘ Godlike erect, with native honour clad. In naked majesty, seem’d lords of all : And worthy seem’d ; for in their looks divine. The image of their glorious Maker, shone Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure ; Severe, but in true filial freedom placed ; Whence true authority in men : though both Not equal, as their sex not equal seem’d ; For contemplation he and valour form’d ; For softness she and sweet attractive grace; He for God only, she for God in him. Were the pauses of the sense and sound in this pas- sage but a little better assorted, nothing in verse could be more melodious. In general, the great defect in Milton’s versification, in other respects SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 149 admirable, is the want of coincidence between the pauses of the sense and sound. The translation is in the following words : Ce lieux delicieux, ce paradis charmant. Revolt deux objets son plus be! ornement ; Leur port majestueux, et leur demarche altiere, Semble leur meriter sur la nature entiere Ce droit de commander que Dieu leur a donne, Sur leur auguste front de gloire couronne. Du souverain du ciel drille la resemblance : Dans leur simples regards eclatte 1’ innocence, Dadorable candeur, I’aimable verite, La raison, la sagesse, et la severite, Qu’ adoucit la prudence, et cet air de droiture Du visage des rois respectable parure. Ces deux objets divin n’ont pas les memes traits, Ils paroissent formes, quoique tous deux parfaits ; L’un pour la majeste, la force, et la noblesse ; L’autre pour la douceur, la grace, et la tendresse ; Celui-ci pour Dieu seul, Fautre pour Fhomme encor. Here the sense is fairly translated, the words are of equal power, and yet how inferior the melody ! Many attempts have been made to introduce Hexameter verse into the living languages, but without success. The English language, I am in- clined to think, is not susceptible of this melody : and my reasons are these. First, the polysyllables in Latin and Greek are finely diversified by long and short syllables^ a circumstance that qualifies them for the melody of Hexameter verse : ours are extremely ill qualified for that service, because 150 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE, [CH. 18 , they superabound in short syllables. Secondly, the bulk of our monosyllables are arbitrary with regard to length, which is an unlucky circumstance in Hexameter : for although custom, as observed above, may render familiar a long or a short pro- nunciation of the same word, yet the mind waver- ing between the two sounds, cannot be so much affected with either, as with a word that hath al- ways the same sound ; and for that reason, arbitrary sounds are ill fitted for a melody which is chiefly supported by quantity. In Latin and Greek Hexa- meter, invariable sounds direct and ascertain the melody. English Hexameter would be destitute of melody, unless by artful pronunciation ; because of necessity the bulk of its sounds must be arbi- trary. The pronunciation is easy in a simple movement of alternate long and short syllables ; but would be perplexing and unpleasant in the diversified movement of Hexameter verse. Rhyme makes so great a figure in modern poe- try, as to deserve a solemn trial. I have for that reason reserved it to be examined with delibera- tion ; in order to discover, if I can, its peculiar beauties, and its degree of merit. The first view of this subject leads naturally to the following re- flection : “ That rhyme having no relation to sen- “ timent, nor any effect upon the ear other than “ a mere jingle, ought to be banished all composi- “ tions of any dignity, as affording but a trifling “ and childish pleasure.” It will also be observed, “ That a jingle of words hath in some measure a “ ludicrous effect 5 witness the double rhymes of SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 151 “ Hudibras, which contribute no small share to its drollery : that in a serious work this ludicrous “ effect would be equally remarkable, were it not ‘‘ obscured by the prevailing gravity of the subject : “ that having however a constant tendency to give “ a ludicrous air to the composition, more than “ ordinary fire is requisite to support the dignity ‘‘ of the sentiments against such an undermining ‘‘ antagonist.*'* These arguments are specious, and have un- doubtedly some weight. Yet, on the other hand, it ought to be considered, that in modern tongues rhyme has become universal among men as well as children ; and that it cannot have such a currency without some foundation in human nature. In fact, it has been successfully employed by poets of genius, in their serious and grave compositions, as well as in those which are more light and airy. Here in weighing authority against argument, the scales seem to be upon a level ; and therefore, to come at any thing decisive, we must pierce a little deeper. Music has great power over the soul ; and may successfully be employed to inflame or soothe pas- sions, if not actually to raise them. A single sound, however sweet, is not music ; but a single sound repeated after intervals, may have the effect to rouse attention, and to keep the hearer awake : and a variety of similar sounds, succeeding each * Vossius De poematum cantu^ p. 26. says, Nihil aeque gra- vitati orationis afficit, quam in sono ludere syllabarum.’" BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 ^ other after regular intervals, must have a stili stronger effect. This consideration is applicable to rhyme, which connects two-verse lines by mak- ing them close with two words similar in sound. And considering attentively the musical effect of a couplet, we find, that it rouses the mind, and pro- duceth an emotion moderately gay without dignity or elevation : like the murmuring of a brook glid- ing through pebbles, it calms the mind when per- turbed, and gently raises it when sunk. These effects are scarce perceived when the whole poem is in rhyme ; but are extremely remarkable by con- trast, in the couplets that close the several acts of our later tragedies ; the tone of the mind is sensi- bly varied by them, from anguish, distress, or me- lancholy, to some degree of ease and alacrity. For the truth of this observation, I appeal to the speech of Jane Shore in the fourth Act, when her doom was pronounced by Glo’ster ; to the speech of Lady Jane Gray at the end of the first Act ; and to that of Calista, in the JP'air Penitent, when she leaves the stage, about the middle of the third Act. The speech of Alicia, at the close of the fourth Act of Jane Shore, puts the matter beyond doubt : in a scene of deepi distress, the rhymes which finish the Act produce a certain gaiety and cheerfulness, far from according with the tone of the passion : Alicia, For ever? Oh ! For ever ! Oh ! who can bear to be a wretch for ever ! My rival too ! his last thoughts hung on her ! And, as he parted, left a blessing for her : Shall she be bless’d, and I be curs’d, for ever ! SECT. 4.] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 153 No ; since her fatal beauty was the cause Of all my suff’rings, let her share my pains ; Let her, like me of ev’ry joy forlorn, Devote the hour when such a wretch was born 1 Like me to deserts and to darkness run, Abhor the day, and curse the golden sun ; Cast ev’ry good and ev’ry hope behind ; Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind : Like me with cries distracted fill the air. Tear her poor bosom, and her frantic hair, And prove the torments of the last despair. Having described, the best v/ay I can, the impres- sion that rhyme makes on the mind ; I proceed to examine whether there be any subjects to which rhyme is peculiarly adapted, and for what subjects it is improper. Grand and lofty subjects, which have a powerful influence, claim precedence in this inquiry. In the chapter of Grandeur and Sublimity it is established, that a grand or sublime object inspires a warm enthusiastic emotion, dis- daining strict regularity and order ; which emotion is very different from that inspired by the mode- rately enlivening music of rhyme. Supposing then an elevated subject to be expressed in rhyme, what must be the effect? The intimate union of the music with the subject, produces an intimate union of their emotions ; one inspired by the subject, which tends to elevate and expand the mind ; and one inspired by the music, which, confining the mind within the narrow limits of regular cadence and similar sound, tends to prevent all elevation BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 154 [CH. 18 . above its own pitch. Emotions so little concor- dant, cannot in union have a happy effect. But it is scarce necessary to reason upon a case that never did, and probably never will happen, viz. an important subject clothed in rhyme, and yet supported in its utmost elevation. A happy thought or warm expression, may at times give a sudden bound upward; but it requires a genius greater than has hitherto existed, to support a poem of any length in a tone elevated much above that of the melody. Tasso and Ariosto ought not to be made exceptions, and still less Voltaire. And after all, where the poet has the dead weight of rhyme constantly to struggle with, how can we expect an uniform elevation in a high pitch ; when such elevation, with all the support it can receive from language, requires the utmost effort of the human genius ? But now, admitting rhyme to be an unfit dress for grand and lofty images ; it has one advantage however, which is, to raise a low subject to its own degree of elevation. Addison* observes, “ That “ rhyme, without any other assistance, throws the “ language off from prose, and very often makes “ an indifferent phrase pass unregarded ; but where “ the verse is not built upon rhymes, there, pomp “ of sound, and energy of expression are indispen- “ sably necessary, to support the style, and keep it “ from falling into the flatness of prose.’’ This effect of rhyme is remarkable in French verse ; * Spectator. NO. 285. SECT. 4 ;] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 155 which, being simple, and little qualified for inver- sion, readily sinks down to prose where not artifi- cially supported : rhyme is therefore indispensable in French tragedy, and may be proper even in French comedy. Voltaire* assigns that very rea- son for adhering to rhyme in these compositions. He indeed candidly owns, that, even with the sup- port of rhyme, the tragedies of his country are little better than conversation-pieces ; which seems to infer, that the French language is weak, and an improper dress for any grand subject. Voltaire was sensible of the imperfection ; and yet Voltaire attempted an epic poem in that language. The cheering and enlivening power of rhyme is still more remarkable in poems of short lines, where the rhymes return upon the ear in a quick succes- sion ; for which reason rhyme is perfectly well adapted to gay, light, and airy subjects. Witness the following : O the pleasing, pleasing anguish. When we love and when we languish ! Wishes rising. Thoughts surprising. Pleasure courting, Charms transporting, Fancy viewing, Joys ensuing, O the pleasing, pleasing anguish ! Rosamond, Act /. Sc. 2. * Preface to his Oedipus, and in his discourse upon tragedy, prefixed to the tragedy of Brutus. 156 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. For that reason, such frequent rhymes are very im- proper for any severe or serious passion : the disso- nance between the subject and the melody is very sensibly felt. Witness the following : Ardito ti renda, T’accenda Di sdegno D’un figlio II periglio D’un regno L’amor. E’dolce ad un’alma- Che aspetta Vendetta , II perder la calma Fra Tire del cor^ Metastasio. Arfaserse^ Act III. Sc. 3, Again : Ndw under hanging mountains, Beside the fall of fountains. Or where Hebrus wanders, Rolling in meanders. All alone, Unheard, unknown, He makes his moan. And calls her ghost, For ever, ever, ever lost; Now with furies surrounded, Despairing, confounded, He trembles, he glows. Amidst Rodope’s snows. jPoj'Sf Ode for Music ^ 1. 97. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 157 Rhyme is not less unfit for anguish or deep dis- tress, than for subjects elevated and lofty ; and for that reason has been long disused in the English and Italian tragedy. In a work where the subject is serious, though not elevated, rhyme has not a good effect ; because the airiness of the melody agrees not with the gravity of the subject : the Essay on Man, which treats a subject great and important, woidd make a better figure in blank verse. Sportive love, mirth, gaiety, humour, and ridicule, are the province of rhyme. The bounda- ries assigned it by nature, were extended in barba- rous and illiterate ages ; and in its usurpations it has long been protected by custom : but taste in the fine arts, as well as in morals, improves daily, and makes a progress toward perfection, slow in- deed, but uniform ; and there is no reason to doubt that rhyme, in Britain, will in time be forced to abandon its unjust conquest, and to confine itself within its natural limits. Having said what occurred upon rhyme, I close the section with a general observation. That the melody of verse so powerfully enchants the mind, as to draw a veil over very gross faults and imper- fections. Of this power a stronger example can- not be given than the episode of Aristgeus, which closes the fourth book of the Georgies, To renew a stock of bees when the former is lost, Virgil as- serts, that they may be produced in the entrails of a bullock, slain and managed in a certain manner. This leads him to say, how this strange receipt was 158 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18 . invented ; which is as follows. Aristseus having lost his bees by disease and famine, never dreams of employing the ordinary means for obtaining a new stock ; but, like a froward child, complains heavily to his mother Cyrene, a water-nymph. She advises him to consult Proteus, a sea-god, not how he was to obtain a new stock, but only by what fatality he had lost his former stock ; adding, that violence was necessary, because Proteus would say nothing voluntarily. Aristasus, satisfied with this advice, though it gave him no prospect of re- pairing his loss, proceeds to execution. Proteus is caught sleeping, bound with cords, and compelled to speak. He declares, that Aristseus was punish- ed with the loss of his bees, for attempting the chastity of Eurydice the wife of Orpheus ; she having been stung to death by a serpent in flying his embraces. Proteus, whose sullenness ought to have been converted into wrath by the rough treat- ment he met with, becomes on a sudden courteous and communicative. He gives the whole history of the expedition to hell which Orpheus undertook in order to recover his spouse : a very entertaining story, but without the least relation to what was in view. Aristaeus, returning to his mother, is advis- ed to deprecate by sacrifices the wrath of Orpheus, who was now dead. A bullock is sacrificed, and out of the entrails spring miraculously a swarm of bees. Does it follow, that the same may be obtain- ed without a miracle, as is supposed in the receipt. SECT. 4 .] BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 159 A LIST of the different Feet, and of their Names, I. Pyrrhichius, consists of two short syllables. Examples: Deus, given, cannot, hillock, run* ning. Spondeus, consists of two long syllables : omnes^ possess, forewarn, mankind, sometime, 3, Iambus, composed of a short and a long : pios, intent, degree, appear, consent, repent, demand, report, suspect, affront, event, 4, TROOHiEUs, or Choreus, a long and short : ffr* vat, whereby, after, legal, measure, burden, holy, lofty, 5, Tribrachys, three short : melius, property, 6. Molossus, three long ; delectant, 7. Anapaestus, two short and a long : animos, con- descend, apprehend, overheard, acquiesce, im- mature, overcharge, serenade, opportune, 8. Dactylus, a long and two short : carmina, evi- dent, excellence, estimate, wonderful, altitude, burdened, minister, tenement, 9. Bacchius, a short and two long : dolores, 10. Hyppobacchius, or Antibacchius, two long and a short : pelluntur, II. Creticus, or Amphimacer, a short syllable be- tween two long ; insito, afternoon, 12. Amphibrachys, a long syllable between two short : honore, consider, imprudent, proce- dure, attended, proposed, respondent, concur- rence, apprentice, respective, revenue, 13 l60 BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. [CH. 18. 13. Proceleusmaticus, four short syllables : homi- nibus, necessary, 14. Dispondeus, four long syllables : infinitis. 15. Diiambus, composed of two Iambi : severitas. 16. Ditrochaeus, of two Trochaei : permanere^ procurator, 17* loNicus, two short syllables and two long : pro- perabant, 18. Another foot passes under the same name, composed of two long syllables and two short : calcaribus, possessory, 19. Choriambus, two short syllables between two long : nobilitas, 50. Antispastus, two long syllables between two short : Alexander, 51. Paeon 1st, one long syllable and three short: temporibus, ordinary y inventory y temperament, 55. Paeon Sd, the second syllable long, and the other three short : rapidity y solemnity y mino- rity, considered, imprudently, extravagant, respectfully, accordingly. 53. Paeon 3d, the third syllable long and the other three short : animatus, independent, conde^ scendence, sacerdotal, reimbursement, manu- facture. 54. Paeon 4th, the last syllable long and the other three short : celeritas, 9.5. Epitritus 1st, the first syllable short, and the other three long : voluptates. 56. Epitritus 9d, the second syllable short and the other three long: pcenitentes. BEAUTY OF LANGUAGE. 161 SECT. 4.] 27 , Epitritus 3d, the third syllable short and the other three long : discordias. Epitritus 4th, the last syllable short and the other three long : fortunatus, S9. A word of five syllables composed of a Pyr- rhichius and Dactylus : ministerioh 30. A word of five syllables composed of a Tro- chagus and Dactylus : singularity. 31. A word of five syllables, composed of a Dac- tylus and Trochaeus : precipitation^ examU nation. 32. A word of five syllables, the second only long ; signijicancy. S3. A word of six syllables composed of two Dac- tyles : impetuosity. 34. A word of six syllables composed of a Tribra- chys and Dactylse : pusillanimity. N.B . — Every word may be considered as a prose foot, because every word is distinguished by a pause ; and every foot in verse may be consi- dered as a verse word, composed of syllables pro® nounced at once without a pause. VOL. II. j, COMPARISONS. £ch. 19. m CHAPTER XIX. COMPARISONS. Comparisons, as observed above,* serve two pur- poses : when addressed to the understanding, their purpose is to instruct; when to the heart, their purpose is to please. Various means contribute to the latter ; first, the suggesting some unusual re- semblance or contrast ; second, the setting an ob- ject in the strongest light ; third, the associating an object with others that are agreeable ; fourth, the elevating an object ; and, fifth, the depressing it. And that comparisons may give pleasure by these various means, appears from what is said in the chapter above cited; and will be made still more evident by examples, which shall be given after premising some general observations. Objects of different senses cannot be compared together ; for such objects, being entirely separated from each other, have no circumstance in common to admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects of hearing may be compared together, as also of taste, of smell, and of touch : but the chief fund of comparison are objects of sight ; because, in writing or speaking, things can only be compared in idea, and the ideas of sight are more distinct and lively than those of any other sense. Chap. 8. CH. 19.] COMPARISONS. 16$ When a nation emerging out of barbarity begins to think of the fine arts, the beauties of language Cannot long lie concealed ; and when discovered, they are generally, by the force of novelty, carried beyond moderation. Thus, in the early poems of every nation, we find metaphors and similies found- ed on slight and distant resemblances, which, los- ing their grace with their novelty, wear gradually out of repute ; and now, by the improvement of taste, none but correct metaphors and similies are admitted into any polite composition. To illus- trate this observation, a specimen shall be given afterward of such metaphors as I have been des- cribing ; with respect to similies, take the follow- ing specimen : Behold, thou art fair, my love : thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Mount Gilead : thy teeth are like a flock of sheep from the washing, every one bearing twins : thy lips are like a thread of scarlet : thy neck like the tower of David built for an armoury, whereon hang a thousand shields of mighty men : thy two breasts like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies : thy eyes like the fish-pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim : thy nose like the tower of Lebanon, looking toward Damascus. Song of Solomon, Thou art like snow on the heath ; thy hair like the mist of Cromla, when it curls on the rocks, and shines to the beam of the west : thy breasts are like two smooth rocks seen from Branno of the streams ; thy arms like two white pillats in the hall of the mighty FingaL Fmgal. It has no good effect to compare things by way of simile that are of the same kind j nor to com- 164 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19. pare by contrast things of different kinds. The reason is given in the chapter quoted above; and the reason shall be illustrated by examples. The first is a comparison built upon a resemblance* so obvious as to make little or no impression. This just rebuke inflam’d the Lycian erew, They join, they thicken, and th’ assault renew : Unmov’d th’ embody’d Greeks their fury dare, And fix’d support the weight of all the war ; Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian pow’rs. Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian tow’rs. As on the confines of adjoining grounds, Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds | They tug, they sweat ; but neither gain, nor yield. One foot, one inch, of the contended field : Thus obstinate to death, they fight, they fall ; Nor these can keep, nor those can win the wall. Iliads XII. 505. Another, from Milton, lies open to the same objec- tion. Speaking of the fallen angels searching for mines of gold, A numerous brigade hasten’d : as when bands Of pioneers with spade and pick-ax arm’d. Forerun the royal camp to trench a field Or cast a rampart. The next shall be of things contrasted that are of different kinds. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform’d and weak ? Hath Bolingbroke depos’d Thine intellect ? Hath he been in thy heai’t ? The lion thrusteth forth his paw, CH. 19 .] COMPARISONS. 165 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be overpower’d : and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod. And fawn on rage with base humility ? Richard IL Act r. Sc. 1 . This comparison has scarce any force : a man and a lion are of different species, and therefore are pro^ per subjects for a simile ; but there is no such re- semblance between them in general, as to produce any strong effect by contrasting particular attributes or circumstances. A third general observation is, That abstract terms can never be the subject of comparison, otherwise than by being personified. Shakespeare compares adversity to a toad, and slander to the bite of a crocodile ; but in such comparisons these abstract terms must be imagined sensible beings. To have a just notion of comparisons, they must be distinguished into two kinds ; one common and familiar, as where a man is compared to a lion in courage, or to a horse in speed ; the other more distant and refined, where two things that have in themselves no resemblance or opposition, are com- pared with respect to their effects. This sort of comparison is occasionally explained above and for further explanation take what follows. There is no resemblance between a flower-pot and a cheer- ful song ; and yet they may be compared with res- pect to their effects, the emotions they produce being similar. There is as little resemblance be=* * Page 73. 166 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19, tween fraternal concord and precious ointment ; and yet observe how successfully they are compared' with respect to the impressions they make : Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity. It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon Aaron’s beard, and descended to the skirts of his garment. Psalm 133. For illustrating this sort of comparison, I add some more examples : Delightful is thy presence, O Fingal t it is like the sun on Cromla, when the hunter mourns his absence for a sea- son, and sees him between the clouds. Did not Ossian hear a voice ? or is it the sound of days that are no more ? Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of former times on my soul. His countenance is settled from war ; and is calm as the evening-beam, that from the cloud of the west looks on Cona’s silent vale. Sorrow, like a cloud on the sun, shades the soul of Cles- sammor. The music was like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. Pleasant are the words of the song, said Cuchullin, and lovely are the tales of other times. They are like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of roes, when the sun is faint on its side, and the lake is settled and blue in the vale. These quotations are from the poems of Ossian, who abounds with comparisons of this delicate kind, and appears singularly happy in them.* ^ The nature and merit of Ossian’s comparisons is fully illus- trated in a Dissertation on the poems of that Author, by Dr CH. 19.] COMPARISONS. 167 I proceed to illustrate by particular instances the different means by which comparisons, whether of the one sort or the other, can afford pleasure ; and, in the order above established, I begin with such instances as are agreeable, by suggesting some unusual resemblance or contrast : Sweet are the uses of Adversity, Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in her head. As you like Act //. Sc, 1. Gardener, Bolingbroke hath seized the wasteful King. What pity is’t that he had not so trimm’d And dress’d his land, as we this garden dress, And wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees ; Lest, being over proud with sap and blood. With too much riches it confound itself. Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have liv’d to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste^ and idle hours have quite thrown down. Richard II, Act III, Sc, 4*. See, how the Morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewel of the glorious Sun ; How well resembles it the prime of youth, Tnmm’d like a younker prancing to his love ! Second Part Henry IV, Brutus, O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire \ ^lair, Professor of Rhetoric in the College of Edinburgh ; a de- licious n;orsel of criticism. 168 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19i Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Julius CcBsar^ Act IV, Sc, 3, Thus they their doubtful consultations dark Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief ; As when from mountain-tops, the dusky clouds Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, overspread Heaven’s cheerful face, the lowring element Scowls o’er the darken’d landscape, snow and show’r ; If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet Extends his ev’ning-beam, the fields revive. The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. Paradise Lost^ Book 2. As the bright stars, and milky way, Show’d by the night, are hid by day : So we in that accomplish’d mind. Help’d by the night new graces find, Which by the splendour of her view. Dazzled before, we never knew. Waller, The last exertion of courage compared to the blaze of a lamp before extinguishing, Tasso Gie* rusalem, canto 19* st, 22. None of the foregoing similies, as they appear to me, tend to illustrate the principal subject ; and therefore the pleasure they alford must arise from suggesting resemblances that are not obvious : I mean the chief pleasure ; for undoubtedly a beau- tiful subject introduced to form the simile affords a separate pleasure, which is felt in the similies mentioned, particularly in that cited from Milton, CH. I9.J COMPARISONS. 169 The next effect of a comparison in the order mentioned, is to place an object in a strong point of view ; which effect is remarkable in the follow- ing similies : As when two scales are charg’d with doubtful loads. From side to side the trembling balance nods, (Whilst some laborious matron, just and poor, With nice exactness weighs her woolly store). Till pois’d aloft, the resting beam suspends Each equal weight ; nor this nor that descends : So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might. With fates prevailing, turned the scales of fight. Fierce as a whirlwind up the wall he flies, And fires his host with loud repeated cries, Iliads h, XII. 521. Ut flos in septis secretis nascitur hortis, Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro, Quern mulcent aurae, firmat sol, educat imber. Multi ilium pueri, multae cupiere puellae ; Idem, cum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, Nulli ilium pueri, nullae cupiere puellae : Sic virgo, dum intacta manet, dum cara suis ; sed Cum castum amisit, pollute corpore, florem, Nec pueris jucunda manet, nec cara puellis. Catullus. The imitation of this beautiful simile by Ariosto^ canto 1. St. 42. falls short of the original. It is also in part imitated by Pope.* Lucetta. I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire;. * Dunciad, b. iv. 1. 405, 170 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19. But qualify the fire’s extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Julia* The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns : The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou knowest, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered. He makes sweet music with th’ enamel’d stones. Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course : I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each w’eary step. Till the last step have brought me to my love ; And there I’ll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Tnoo Gentlemen of Verona, Act //. Sc* 7. She never told her love; But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud. Feed on her damask cheek : she pin’d in thought ; And with a green and yellow melancholy. She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at Grief. Twelfth-Night, Act ii* Sc* 4. York* Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem’d to know, With slow but stately pace, kept on his cpurse ; While all tongues cried, God save thee, Bolingbroke. Duchess. Alas ! poor Richard, where rides he the while ! York* As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac’d actor leaves the stage. Are idly bent on him that enters next, COMPARISONS. 171 CH. 19.] Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, mens’ eyes Did scowl on Richard ; no man cry’d, God save him : No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook oiF, His face still combating with tears and smiles. The badges of his grief and patience ; That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel’d The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. Richard II, Act v. Sc, 2. Northumberland, How doth my son and brother ? Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone, Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn’d ; But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. And I my Percy’s death, ere thou report’st it. Second Part Henry IV, Act, i. Sc, 1 . Why, then I do but dream on sov’reignty, Like one that stands upon a promontory. And spies a far-offshore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence. Saying, he’ll lave it dry to have his way : So do I wish, the crown being so far off, And so I chide the means that keep me from it. And so (I say) I’ll cut the causes offi Flatt’ring my mind with things impossible. Third Part Henry VI, Act iii. Sc, 2« 17 ^ COMPARISONS. [CH. 19. Out, out, brief candle ! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player. That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. Macbeth^ Act v. Sc, 5, O thou Goddess, Thou divine Nature ! how thyself thou blazon’st In these two princely boys ! they are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, (Their royal blood inchaf’d) as the rudest wind. That by the top doth take the mountain pine. And make him stoop to th’ vale. Cymbeline^ Act iv. Sc, 2, Why did not I pass away in secret, like the flower of the rock that lifts its fair head unseen, and strows its wither- ed leaves on the blast ? Fingal, There is a joy in grief when peace dwells with the sor- rowful. But they are wasted with mourning, O daughter of Toscar, and their days are few. They fall away like the flower on which the sun looks in his strength, after the mildew has passed over it, and its head is heavy with the drops of night. Fingal, The sight obtained of the city of Jerusalem by the Christian army, compared to that of land discover- ed after a long voyage, Tasso’s Gierusalem^ canto 3, St, 4. The fury of Rinaldo subsiding when not opposed, to that of wind or water when it has a free passage, canto 20, stn 5S, As words convey but a faint and obscure notion of great numbers, a poet, to give a lively notion of th^ object he describes with regard to number, COMPARISONS. 173 CH. 19.] does well to compare it to what is familiar and commonly known. Thus Homer*' compares the Grecian army in point of number to a swarm of bees : in another passage! he compares it to that profusion of leaves and flowers which appear in the spring, or of insects in a summer’s evening : and Milton, — As when the potent rod Of Ainram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day, Wav’d round the coast, up call’d a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o’er the realm of impious Pharao hung Like night, and darken’d all the land of Nile ; So numberless were those bad angels seen, Hovering on wing under the cope of hell, ’Twixt upper, nether^ and surrounding fires. Paradise Lost^ B, 1. Such comparisons have, by some writers,! been condemned for the lowness of the images intro- duced : but surely without reason ; for, with re- gard to numbers, they put the principal subject in a strong light. The foregoing comparisons operate by resem- blance ; others have the same effect by contrast. York. I am the last of noble Edward’s sons, Of whom thy father. Prince of Wales, was first; In war, was never lion rag’d more fierce ; In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild ; * Book 2. 1. 111. f Book 2. 1. 55L ! See Vidae Poetic, lib. 2. 282. 174 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19. Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look’d he, Accomplish’d with the number of thy hours. But when he frown’d, it was against the French, And not against his friends. His noble hand Did win what he did spend ; and spent not that Which his triumphant father’s hand had won. His hands were guilty of no kindred’s blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. Oh, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. Or else he never would compare between. Richard II, Act //. Sc, 1 . Milton has a peculiar talent in embellishing the principal subject by associating it with others that are agreeable ; which is the third end of a com- parison. Similies of this kind have, beside, a sepa- rate effect : they diversify the narration by new images that are not strictly necessary to the com- parison ; they are short episodes, which, without drawing us from the principal subject, afford great delight by their beauty and variety : He scarce had ceas’d, when the superior fiencF Was moving toward the shore ; his pond’rous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round. Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At ev’ning from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdamo, to descry new lands. Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. Milton^ B, 1, • Thus far these, beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ’d CH. 19.] COMPARISONS. 175 Their dread commander. He, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a towV ; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appeared liess than archangel ruin’d and th’ excess Of glory obscur’d : as when the sun new-risen Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon ^n dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Milton, B, 1. As when a vulture on Imaus bred. Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, Dislodging from a region scarce of prey To gorge the flesh of lambs, or yeanling kids, j On hills where flocks are fed, flies towards the springs" Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams, But in his way lights on the barren plains Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With sails and wind their cany waggons light : So on this windy sea of land, the fiend Walk’d up and down alone, bent on his prey. Milton, B. 3, * — Yet higher than their tops The verdurous wall of paradise up sprung : Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into this nether empire neighbouring round. And higher than that wall, a circling row Of goodliest trees loaden with fairest fruit. Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, Appear’d, with gay enamel’d colours mix’d, On which the sun more glad impress’d his beams Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow. When God had shower’d the earth ; so lovely seem’d 24 176 COMPARISONS. [CH. 19 * That landscape : and of pure now purer air Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair ; now gentle gales. Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off* at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odour from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest ; with such delay Well-pleas’d they slack their course, and many a league^ Cheer’d with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. Milton^ B, 4. With regard to similies of this kind, it will readily occur to the reader, that when a resembling sub- ject is once properly introduced in a simile, the mind is transitorily amused with the new object, and is not dissatisfied with the slight interruption. Thus, in fine weather, the momentary excursions of a traveller for agreeable prospects or elegant buildings, cheer his mind, relieve him from the langour of uniformity, and without much lengthen- ing his journey, in reality shorten it greatly in ap- pearance. Next of comparisons that aggrandize or elevate. These affect us more than any other sort : the reason of which may be gathered from the chapter of Grandeur and Sublimity ; and, without reason- ing, will be evident from the following instances : As when a flame the winding valley fills, And runs on crackling shrubs between the hifls, CH. 19.] COMPARISONS. 177 Then o’er the stubble, up the mountain flies, Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies. This way and that, the spreading torrent roars : So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores. Around him wide, immense destruction pours. And earth is delug’d with the sanguine showers. Iliade opportunity to show the influence of these principles where it would be the least expected. Confining myself therefore to such figures, I am luckily freed from much trash ; v^^ithout dropping, as far as I remember, any trope or figure that me- rits a proper name. And I begin with Prosopo- poeia, or personification, which is justly entitled to the first place. ^02 FIGURES. [[gh. Sect. I . — Personificatmu The bestowing sensibility and voluntary motion upon things inanimate, is so bold a figure, as to require, one should imagine, very peculiar circum- stances for operating the delusion ; and yet, in the language of poetry, we find variety of expressions, which, though commonly reduced to that figure, are used without ceremony, or any sort of prepara- tion ; as, for example, thirsty ground, hungry church-yard, furious dart, angry ocean. These epithets, in their proper meaning, are attributes of sensible beings : what is their meaning when ap- plied to things inanimate ? do they make us con- ceive the ground, the church-yard, the dart, the ocean, to be endued with animal functions ? This is a curious inquiry; and whether so or not, it cannot be declined in handling the present subject. The mind, agitated by certain passions, is prone to bestow sensibility upon things inanimate.* This is an additional instance of the influence of passion upon our opinions and belief, t I give examples. Antony, mourning over the body of Caesar mur- dered in the senate-house, vents his passion in the following words : Antony. O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, ^ That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! * Page 181. f Chap. 2. Part 5. SECT. 1.] FIGURES. 203 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of time^ Juliu& Ccesar^ Act III. Sc, 2. Here Antony must have been impressed with a no- tion, that the body of Caesar was listening to him, without which the speech would be foolish and absurd. Nor will it appear strange, considering what is said in the chapter above cited, that pas- sion should have such power over the mind of man. In another example of the same kind, the earth, as a common mother, is animated to give refuge against a father’s unkindness : Almeria, O earth, behold, I kneel upon thy bosom, And bend my flowing eyes to stream upon Thy face, imploring thee that thou wilt yield ! Open thy bowels of compassion, take Into thy womb the last and most forlorn Of all thy race. Hear me, thou common parent ; 1 have no parent else. Be thou a mother. And step between me and the curse of him, Who was —who was, but is no more a father | But brands my innocence with horrid crimes ; And for the tender names of child and daughter^ Now calls me murderer and jparricide. Mourning Bride, Act IV. Sc. 7. Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for vent ; and a soliloquy commonly answers the pur- pose : but when such passion becomes excessive, it cannot be gratified but by sympathy from others ; and if denied that consolation in a natural way, it will convert even things inanimate into sympathiz- ing beings. Thus Philoctetes complains to the FIGURES. [CH. 20 ^ rocks and promontories of the isle of Lemnos ; ^ and Alcestes dying, invokes the sun, the light of day, the clouds; the earth, her husband’s palace, &c.t Moschus, lamenting the death of Bion, con- ceives, that the birds, the fountains, the trees, la- ment with him. The shepherd, who in Virgil bewails the death of Daphnis, expresseth himself thus : Daphni, tuum Pcenos etiam ingemuisse leones Interitum, montesque feri sylvaeque loquuntur. Eclogue V. 27. Again : Ilium etiam lauri, ilium etiam flevere myricse. Pinifer ilium etiam sola sub rupe jacentem Maenalus, et gelidi fleverunt saxa Lycaei. Eclogue X. 1 3. Again : Ho visto al pianto mio Responder per pietate i sassi e I’onde ; E sospirar le fronde Ho visto al pianto mio. Ma non ho visto mai, Ne spero di vedere Compassion ne la crudelle, e bella. Aminta di Tasso, Act 7. Sc. 2. That such personification is derived from nature, will not admit the least remaining doubt, after * Philoctetes of Sophocles, Act iv. Sc. 2. f Alcestes of Euripides, Act ii. Sc. 1. SECT. 1 .] FIGURES. • 205 finding it in poems of the darkest ages and remot- est countries. No figure is more frequent in Os- si an’s works ; for examples The battle is over, said the king, and I behold the blood of my friends. Sad is the heath of Lena, and mournful the oaks of Cromla. Again : The sword of Gaul trembles at his side, and longs to glitter in his hand. King Richard having got intelligence of Boling- broke’s invasion, says, upon landing in England from his Irish expedition, in a mixture of joy and resentment, 1 weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs. As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. -Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav’nous sense : But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way, Doing annoyance, to the treach’rous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ; And, when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. Guard it, I pr’ythee, with a lurking adder. Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch FIGURES. [CH. SO. Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, Lords : This earth shall have a feeling; and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms. Richard IL Act ill. Sc. 2. After a long voyage, it was customary among the ancients to salute the natal soil. A long voy- age being of old a greater enterprise than at pre- sent, the safe return to one’s country after much fatigue and danger, was a delightful circumstance ; and it was natural to give the natal soil a tempo- rary life, in order to sympathize with the traveller. See an example, Agamemnon of ^schilus, Act 3. in the beginning. Regret for leaving a place one has been accustomed to, has the same effect.* Terror produceth the same effect : it is commu- nicated in thought to every thing around, even to things inanimate : Speaking of Polyphemus, Clamorem immensum tollit, quo pontus et omnes Intremuere undae, penitusque exterrita tellus Italise, jR7ieid. iii. 672, ^ As when old Ocean roars, And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores. Iliady ii, 24*9. Go, view the settling sea. The stormy wind is laid ; but the billows still tremble on the deep, and seem to fear the blast. Fingal, * IPhiloctetes of §|ophocles, at the close. ^I1€T. 1.] TIGURE^. S07 Racine, in the tragedy of Phedra, describing the sea-monster that destroyed Hippolytus, conceives the sea itself to be struck with terror as well as the spectators : Lie dot dui Tapporta recule epouyante. A man also naturally conimunicates his joy to all objects around, animate or inanimate : As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odour from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest ; with such delay Well pleas’d, they slack their course, and many a league Cheer’d with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles. : Paradise Lost, B. 4, I have been profuse of examples, to show what power many passions have to animate their objects. In all the foregoing examples, the personification, if I mistake not, is so complete as to afford convic- tion, momentary indeed, of life and intelligence. But it is evident, from numberless instances, that personification is not always so complete : it is a common figure in descriptive poetry, understood to be the language of the writer, and not of the per- sons he describes : in this case, it seldom or never comes up to conviction, even momentary, of life and intelligence. I give the following examples^ First ip his east the glorious lamp was seen, Regent of dpy, and all th’ horizon round 24 20S FIGURES. [CH. 20. Invested with bright rays ; jocund to run His longitude through heaven’s high road : the grey Dawn and the Pleiades before 7/m danc’d, Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the moon, But opposite, in levell’d west was set His mirror, with full face borrowing her light From him ; for other light she needed none. * Paradise Lost^ B. 7. L 370.* Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. Romeo and Juliet^ Act III, Sc, 7, But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad^ Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill. / ' Hamlet^ Act j* Sc, 1. It may, I presume, be taken for granted, that in the foregoing instances the personification, either with the poet or his reader, amounts not to a con- viction of intelligence ; that the sun, the moon, the day, the morn, are not here understood to be sensible beings. What then is the nature of this personification? I think it must be referred to the imagination : the inanimate object is imagined to be a sensible being, but without any conviction, even for a moment, that it really is so. Ideas or fictions of imagination have power to ’raise emo- The chastity of the English language, which in common usage distinguishes by genders no words but what signify beings male and female, gives thus 9, fine opportunity for the prosopo- poeia ; a beauty unknown in other languages, where every word is masculine or feminine. SECT. 1 .] ^ FIGURES. ^09 tions in the mind and when any thing inanimate is, in imagination, supposed to be a sensible being, it makes by that means a greater figure than when an idea is formed of it according to truth. This sort of personification, however, is far inferior to the other in elevation. Thus personification is of two kinds. The first, being more noble, may be termed passionate personification ; the other, more humble, descriptive personification ; because seldom or never is personification in a description carried to conviction. The imagination is so lively and active, that its images are raised with very little effort ; and this justifies the frequent use of descriptive personifica- tion. This figure abounds in Milton’s Allegro^ and Penseroso. Abstract and general terms, as well as particu- lar objects, are often necessary in Poetry. Such terms, however, are not well adapted to poetry, be- cause they suggest not any image ; I can readily form an image of Alexander or Achilles in wrath ; but I cannot form an image of wrath in the ab- stract, or of wrath independent of a person. Upon that account, in works addressed to the imagina- tion, abstract terms are frequently personified ; but such personification rests upon imagination merely, not upon conviction. Sed mihi vel Tell us optem prius ima dehiscat; Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras, * See Appendix, containing definitions and explanations of terms, § 28. VOL. II. €> 210 FIGURES. [CH. 20. Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundam. Ante pudor quam te violo, aut tua jura resol vo. JEneid. iv. L 24. Thus, to explain the effects of slander, it is ima- gined to be a voluntary agent. No, ’tis Slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Out- venoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath Riders on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world, kings, queens, and states. Maids, matrons ; nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous Slander enters. Cpmbeline, Act, III, Sc, 4. As also human passions : take the following ex- ample : . — For Pleasure and Mevenge Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice Of any true decision. Troilus and Cressida^ Act ii. Sc, 2. Virgil explains fame and its effects by a still greater variety of action.* And Shakespeare personifies death and its operations in a manner singularly fanciful : Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; Allowing him a breath, a little scene iEneid, iv. 173. SECT. 1 .] FIGURES. Sll To monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with looks ;■ Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if his flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and humour’d thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle-walls, aud farewell kingo Hichard IL Act III. Sc. 2. Not less successfully is life and action given even to sleep : King Henry. How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O gentle Sleep, Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? Why rather. Sleep, best thou in smoky cribs. Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber. Than in the perfum’d chambers of the greats Under the canopies of costly state. And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody ? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch, A watch-case to a common larum-bell ? Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast. Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge. And in the visitation of the winds. Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaPning clamours in the slippery shrouds. That, with the hurly. Death itself awakes ? Can’st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea^boy in an hour so rude;^ FIGURES. [CH. 20, And in the calmest and the stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a King ? Then, happy low ! lie down ; Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Second Part Henry IV, Act ill. Sc, I shall add one example more, to shew that descrip« live personification may be used with propriety, even where the purpose of the discourse is instruc- tion merely : Oh ! let the steps of youth be cautious, How they advance into a dangerous world; Our duty only can conduct us safe. Our passions are seducers ; but of all The strongest Love, He first approaches us In childish play, wantoning in our walks : If heedlessly we wander after him. As he will pick out all the dancing way. We’re lost, and hardly to return again. W e should take warning : he is painted blind, To shew us, if we fondly follow him. The precipices we may fall into.^ Therefore let Virtue take him by the hand : Directed so, he leads to certain joy. Southern, Hitherto success has attended our steps : but whether we shall complete our progress with equal success, seems doubtful ; for when we look back to the expressions mentioned in the beginning, thirsty ground, dart, and suchlike, it seems no less difficult tlian at first to say, whether there be in them any sort of personification. Such ex- pressions evidently raise not the slightest convic- SECT. 1.] FIGURES. SIS tion of sensibility : nor do I think they amount to descriptive personification ; because in them, we do not even figure the ground or the dart to be animated. If so, they cannot at all come under the present subject. To shew which, I shall en- deavour to trace the eifect that such expressions have in the mind. Doth not the expression angry ocean^ for example, tacitly compare the ocean in a storm to a ihan in wrath ? By this tacit compari- son, the ocean is elevated above its rank in nature ; and yet personification is excluded, because, by the very nature of comparison, the things com- pared are kept distinct, and the native appearance of each is preserved. It will be shewn afterward, that expressions of this kind belong to another figure, which I term a figure of speech^ and which employs the seventh section of the present chap- ter. Though thus in general we can distinguish de- scriptive personification from what is merely a figure of speech, it is, however, often difficult to say, with respect to some expressions, whether they are of the one kind or of the other. Take the following instances : The moon shines briglit : in such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently hiss the trees, And they did make no noise ; in such a night, Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan wall, And sigh’d his soul towards the Grecian tents Where Cressid lay that night. Merchant of Venice^ Act v. Sc. h £14 FIGURES. [CH. £ 0 . 1 seen Th’ ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam. To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds. Julius Casar^ Act /. Sc, 3. * With respect to these and numberless other exam- ples of the same kind, it must depend upon the reader, whether they be examples of personification, or of a figure of speech merely : a sprightly imagi- nation will advance them to the former class ; with a plain reader they will remain in the latter. Having thus at large explained the present figure, its different kinds, and the principles upon which it is founded; what comes next in order is, to show in what cases it may be introduced with pro- priety, when it is suitable, when unsuitable. I begin with observing, that passionate personifica- tion is not promoted by every passion indifferently. All dispiriting passions are averse to it ; and re- morse, in particular, is too serious and severe to be gratified with a phantom of the mind. I cannot therefore approve the following speech of Enobar- bus, who had deserted his master Antony : Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, When men revolted shall upon record Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did Before thy face repent Oh sovereign mistress of true melancholy, The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me, That life, a very rebel to my will. May hang no longer on me. Antony and Cleopatra^ Act IV, Sc, 9. SECT. 1 .] -FIGURES. If this can be justified, it must be upon the Hea- then system of theology, which converted into deities the sun, moon, and stars. Secondly, After a passionate personification is properly introduced, it ought to be confined to its proper province, that of gratifying the passion, without giving place to any sentiment or action but what answers that purpose ; for personification is at any rate a bold figure, and ought to be em- ployed with great reserve. The passion of love, for example, in a plaintive tone, may give a mo- mentary life to woods and rocks,, in order to make them sensible of the lover’s distress ; but no pas- sion will support a conviction so far-stretched, as that these woods and rocks should be living wit- nesses to report the distress to others : Ch’ i’ f ami piu de la mi a vita, Se tu nol sai, crudele, Chiedilo a queste selve Che te’l diranno, et te’l diran con esse Le fere loro e i duri sterpi, e i sassi Di questi alpestri monti, Ch’ i’ ho si spesse volte Inteneriti al suon de’ miei lamenti. Pastor Fido^ Act ill. Sc. S. No lover who is not crazed will utter such a senti- ment : it is plainly the operation of the writer, in- dulging his inventive faculty without regard to nature. The same observation is applicable to the following passage. ^16 FIGURES. [CH. ^0. In winter’s tedious nights sit by the fire V/ith good old folks, and let them tell their tales Of woful ages, long ago betid : And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, Tell them the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. For why ! the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And in compassion weep the fire out. Richard IL Act, v. Sc, 1 . One must read this passage very seriously to avoid laughing. The following passage is quite extra- vagant : the different parts of the human body are too intimately connected with self, to be personi- fied by the power of any passion ; and after con- verting such a part into a sensible being, it is still worse to make it be conceived as rising in rebellion against self: Cleojpatra, Flaste, bare my arm, and rouse the serpent’s fury. Coward flesh Would’st thou conspire with Caesar, to betray me, As thou wert none of mine ? I’ll force thee to’t. Dryden^ All for Love, Act v. Next comes descriptive personification ; upon which I must observe, in general, that it ought to be cautiously used. A personage in a tragedy, agitated by a strong passion, deals in warm senti- ments ; and the reader, catching fire by sympathy, relisheth the boldest personifications ; but a writer, even in the most lively description, taking a lower SECT. 1 .] FIGURES. £17 flight, ought to content himself with such easy per- sonifications as agree with the tone of mind inspir- ed 'by the description. Nor is even such easy per- sonification always admitted ; for in plain narrative, the mind, serious and sedate, rejects personification altogether. Strada, in his history of the Belgic wars, has the following passage, which, by a strain- ed elevation above the tone of the subject, deviates into burlesque. Vix descenderat a praetoria navi Caesar ; cum foeda illico exorta in portu tempestas, classern impetu disjecit, praeto- riam hausit ; quasi non vecturam amplius Caesarem, C£esa- risque fortunam. Dec. /. /. 1 . Neither do I approve, in Shakespeare, the speech of King John, gravely exhorting the citizens of Angiers to a surrender; though a tragic writer has much greater latitude than a historian. Take the following specimen : The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron-indignation ’gainst your walls. Act II. Sc. 1. Secondly, If extraordinary marks of respect to a person of low rank be ridiculous, no less so is the personification of a low subject. This rule chiefly regards descriptive personification ; for a subject can hardly be low that is the cause of a violent passion ; in that circumstance, at least, it must be of importance. But to assign any rule 218 FIGURES. [CH. 20. other than taste merely, for avoiding things below even descriptive personification, will, I am afraid, be a hard task, A poet of superior genius, pos- sessing the power of inflaming the mind, may take liberties that would be too bold in others. Homer appears not extravagant in animating his darts and arrows; nor Thomson in animating the seasons, the winds, the rains, the dews ; he even ventures to animate the diamond, and doth it with pro- priety : That polish’d bright And all its native lustre let abroad, Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one’s breast, With vain ambition emulate her eyes. But there are things familiar and base, to which personification cannot descend. In a composed state of mind, to animate a lump of matter even in the most rapid flight of fancy, degenerates into burlesque : How now ! What noise ! that spirit’s possessed with haste, That wounds th’ unresisting postern with these strokes. Measure for Measure, Act iv. Sc, 2. Or from the shore The plovers when to scatter o’er the heath, And sing their wild notes to the list’ning waste, Thomson, Spring, I, 23, Speaking of a man’s hand cut off in battle : Te decisa suum, Laride, dextera quaerit ; Semianimesque micant digiti : ferrumque retractant. ^neid, x. 395; SECT. 1 .] FIGURES, S19 The personification here of a hand is insufferable, especially in a plain narration : not to mention that such a trivial incident is too minutely described. The same observation is applicable to abstract terms, which ought not to be animated unless they have some natural dignity. Thomson, in this ar- ticle, is licentious : witness the following instances out of many : O vale of bliss ! O softly swelling hills ! On which the ponsoer of cultivation lies, And joys to see the wonders of his toil. Summer^ 1. 1435. Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst Produce the mighty bowl : Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat Of thirty years ; and now his honest front Flames in the light refulgent. Autumn,^ /. 516. Thirdly, It is not sufficient to avoid improper subjects : some preparation is necessary, in order to rouse the mind ; for the imagination refuses its aid, till it be warmed at least, if not inflamed. Yet Thomson, without the least ceremony or prepara- tion, introduceth each season as a sensible being : From brightening fields of aether fair disclos’d, Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes. In pride of youth, and felt through Nature’s depth. He comes attended by the sultry hours, And ever-fanning breezes, on his way ; While from his ardent look, the turning Spring FIGURES. [CH. 20. 220 Averts her blushful face, and earth and skies All smiling to his hot dominion leaves. Summer^ L 1. See White}' comes, to rule the varied year. Sullen and sad with all his rising train. Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Winter, l.l. This has violently the air of writing mechanically without taste. It is not natural that the imagina- tion of a writer should be so much heated at the very commencement ; and, at any rate, he cannot expect such ductility in his readers. But if this practice can be justified by authority, Thomson has one of no mean note : Vida begins his first eclogue in the following words : Dicite, VOS Musae, et juvenum memorate querelas ; Dicite ; nam motas ipsas ad carmina cautes Et requiesse suos perhibent vaga flumina cursus. Even Shakespeare is not always careful to prepare the mind for this bold figure. Take the following instance : — ^ — Upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them ’longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers ; who, Unfit for other life, compelfd by hunger, And lack of other means, in desp’rate manner Daring th’ event to th’ teeth, are all in uproar, And Danger serves among them. Henry VIII. Act l. Sc, 2. SECT. 1 .] FIGURES. 221 Fourthly, Descriptive personification, still more than what is passionate, ought to be kept within the bounds of moderation. A reader warmed with a beautiful subject can imagine, even without passion, the winds, for example, to be animated ; but still the winds are the subject ; and any action ascribed to them beyond or contrary to their usual opera- tion, appearing unnatural, seldom fails to banish the illusion altogether ; the reader’s imagination, too far strained, refuses its aid ; and the descrip- tion becomes obscure, instead of being more lively and striking. In this view, the following passage, describing Cleopatra on shipboard, appears to me exceptionable : The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne, Burnt on the water : the poop was beaten gold. Purple the sails, and so perfum’d, that The winds were love-sick with them. A?itony and Cleopatra, Act il. Sc, 2, The winds in their impetuous course have so much the appearance of fury, that it is easy to figure them wreaking their resentment against their enemies, by destroying houses, ships, &c. ; but to figure them love-sick, has no resemblance to them in any circumstance. In another passage, where Cleopatra is also the subject, the personification of the air is carried beyond all bounds : — - The city cast Its people out upon her ; and Antony Enthron’d i’ th’ market-place, did sit alone, ^22 FIGURES. [CH. 20 . Whistling to th’ air, which but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. Antony and Cleojpatra^ Act //. Sc, 2. The following personification of the earth or soil is not less wild : She shall be dignified with this high honour, To bear my Lady’s train ; lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to' steal a kiss ; And of so great a favour growing proud. Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly. Two Gentlemen of Verona^ Act II, Sc, 4, Shakespeare, far from approving such intemperance of imagination, puts this speech in the mouth of a ranting lover. Neither can I relish what follows : Omnia qum, Phcebo quondam meditante, beatus Audit Eurotas, jussitque ediscere lauros, Ille canit. Virgil^ Buc, vi. 82. The cheerfulness singly of a pastoral song, will scarce support personification in the lowest degree. But admitting, that a river gently flowing may be imagined a sensible being listening to a song, I cannot enter into the conceit of the river’s order- ing his laurels to learn the song : here all resem- blance to any thing real is quite lost. This how- ever is copied literally by one of our greatest poets; early indeed,- before maturity of taste or judgment : FIGURES* SECT. 1.3 Thames heard the numbers as he flow’d along. And bade his willows learn the moving song. Pope’s Pastorals^ Past/w. LlS, This author, in riper years, is guilty of a much greater deviation from the rule. Dulness may be imagined a deity or idol, to be worshipped by bad writers ; but then some sort of disguise is requisite, some bastard virtue must be bestowed, to make such worship in some degree excusable. Yet in the Dunciady Dulness, without the least disguise, is made the object of w^orship. The mind rejects such a fiction as unnatural ; for dulness is a defect, of which even the dullest mortal is ashamed : Then he : Great tamer of all human art ! First in my care, and ever at my heart ; Dulness I whose good old cause I yet defend, With whom my Muse began, with whom shall end. E’er since Sir Fopling’s periwig was praise, To the last honours of the Bull and Bays 1 O thou ! of bus’ness the directing soul ! To this our head, like bias to the bowl, Which as more pond’rous, made its aim more true, Obliquely wadling to the mark in view : O ! ever gracious to perplex’d mankind, Still spread a healing mist before the mind : And, lest we err by Wit’s wild dancing light. Secure us kindly in our native night. Or, if to wit a coxcomb make pretence, Guard the sure barrier between that and sense ; Or quite unravel all the reas’ning thread, And hang some curious cobweb in its stead ! As, forc’d from wind-guns, lead itself can fly, And pond’rous slugs cut swiftly through the sky ; 224 FIGURES. [gh. 20. As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe^ Tlie wheels above urg’d by the load below : Me Emptiness and Dulness could inspire, And were my elasticity, and fire. B. i. 163 . The following instance is stretched beyond all re- semblance : it is bold to take a part or member of a living creature, and to bestow upon it life, voli- tion, and action : after animating two such mem- bers, it is still bolder to make one envy the other ; for this'is wide of any resemblance to reality : — De nostii baci Meritamenti sia giudice quella, Che la bocca ha piu bella. Tutte concordemente Elesser la belissima Amarilli ; Ed’ ella i suoi begli occhi Dolcemente chinando, Di modesto rossor tutta si tinse, E mbstro ben, che non men bella e dentro Di quel che sia di fuori ; O fosse, che’l bel volto Avesse invidia all’ onorata bocca, E s’adornasse anch’ egli Della purpurea sua pomposa vesta. Quasi volesse dir, son bello anch’io. Pastor Fido^ Act II, Sc, I, Fifthly, The enthusiasm of passion may have the effect to prolong passionate personification : but descriptive personification cannot be despatch- ed in too few words 5 a circumstantiate description dissolves the charm, and makes the attempt to personify appear ridiculous^ Homer succeeds in SECT. 1 .] FIGURES. animating his darts and arrows : but such personi- fication spun out in a French translation, is mere burlesque : Et la fleche en furie, avide de son sang, Part, vole a lui, Tatteint, et lui perce le flanc. Horace says happily. Post equitem sedet atra Cura. Observe how this thought degenerates by being divided, like the former, into a number of minute parts : Un fou rempli d’erreurs, que le trouble accompagne Et malade a la ville ainsi qu’ a la campagne, En vain monte a eheval pour tromper son ennui, Le Chagrin monte en croupe, et galope avec lui. A poet, in a short and lively expression, may ani- mate his muse, his genius, and even his verse ; but to animate his verse, and to address a whole epistle to it, as Boileau doth,* is insupportable. The following passage is not less faulty : Her fate is whisper’d by the gentle breeze, And told in sighs to all the trembling trees ; The trembling trees, in ev’ry plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the silver flood ; The silver flood, so lately calm, appears Sweird with new passion, and overflows with tears ; * Epistle 10. VOL. II, P j'lGUREs. [eH. £0, The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore, Daphne, our grief ! our glory ! now no more. Papers Pastorals, IF, 61. Let grief or love have the power to animate tlie winds, the trees, the floods, provided the figure be despatched in a single expression : even in that case, the figure seldom has a good effect ; because grief or love of the pastoral kind, are causes rather too faint for so violent an effect as imagining the winds, trees, or floods, to be sensible beings. But when this figure is deliberately spread out, with great regularity and accuracy, through many lines, the reader, instead of relishing it, is struck with its ridiculous appearance. Sect. II. — Apostrophe. This figure and the former are derived from the same principle. If, to humour a plaintive passion, we can bestow a momentary sensibility upon an inanimate object, it is not more difficult to bestow a momentary presence upon a sensible being who is absent : Hinc Drepani me portus et illaetabilis ora Accipit. Hie, pelagi tot tempestatibus actus, Heu ! genitorem, omnis curse casusque levamen, Amitto Anchisen : hie me pater optime fessum Deseris, heu ! tantis nequicquam erepte periclis. Nec vates Helenus, cum multa horrenda moneret, Hos mihi prsedixit luctus ; non dira Celasno. JEneid. iii. 707. FIGURES. ^27 SECT. S.] Strike the harp in praise of Bragela, whom I left in the isle of mist, the spouse of my love. Dost thou raise thy fair face from the rock to find the sails of Cuchullin ? The sea is rolling far distant, and its white foam shall deceive thee for my sails. Retire, for it is night, my love, and the dark winds sigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall of my feasts, and think of the times that are past ; for I will not return till the storm of war is gone. O Connal, speak of wars and arms, and send her from my mind : for lovely with her raven-hair is the white-bosom’d daughter of Sor- gian. Fingaly B. 1. Speaking of Fingal absent : Happy are thy people, O Fingal ; thine arm shall fight their battles. Thou art the first in their dangers ; the wisest in the days of their peace : thou speakest, and thy thousands obey ; and armies tremble at the sound of thy steel. Happy are thy people, O Fingal. This figure is sometimes joined with the foraier : things inanimate, to qualify them for listening to a passionate expostulation, are not only personified, but also conceived to be present ^ Et si fata Deum, si mens non laeva fuisset, Impulerat ferro Argolicas fcedare latebras : Trojaque nunc stares, Priamique arx alta maneres, jEneid. ii. 54. Helena, — Poor Lord, is’t I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of non-sparing war ? And is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark FIGtJRES. [CH. 20, 228 Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire. Fly with false aim ; pierce the still moving air That sings with piercing ; do not touch my Lord ! AlVs well that ends well. Act in. Sc. 2. And let them lift ten thousand swords, said Nathos, with a smile : the sons of car-borne Usnoth will never tremble in danger. Why dost thou roll with all thy foam, thou roaring sea of Ullin ? why do ye rustle on your dark wings, ye whistling tempests of the sky ? Do ye think, ye storms, that ye keep Nathos on the coast ? No ; his soul detains him ; children of the night ! Althos, bring my father’s arms, &c. Fingal. Whither hast thou fled, O wind, said the King of Mor- ven I Dost thou rustle in the chambers of the south, and pursue the shower in other lands ? Why comest not thou to my sails, to the blue face of my seas ? The foe is in the land of Morven, and the King is absent. Fingal, Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-hair’d s.on of the sky ! The west hath opened its gates ; the bed of thy repose is there. The waves gather to behold thy beauty : they lift their trembling heads ; they see thee lovely in thy sleep ; but they shrink away with fear. Rest in thy shadowy cave, O Sun ! and let thy return be in joy. Fingal. Daughter of Heaven, fair art thou ! the silence of thy face is pleasant. Thou comest forth in loveliness: the stars attend thy blue steps in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O Moon ! and brighten their dark brown sides. Who is like thee in heaven, daughter of the night ? The stars are ashamed in thy presence, and turn aside their sparkling eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy SECT. S.] FIGURES. ^29 course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows ? Hast thou thy hall like Ossian ? Dwellest thou in the shadow of grief? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven ? and are they who rejoiced with thee at night no more ? Yes, they have fallen, fair light ; and often dost thou retire to mourn. -But thou thyself shalt, one night, fail ; and leave thy blue path in heaven. The stars will then lift their heads : they, who in thy presence were ashamed, will rejoice, Fingal. This figure, like all others, requires an agitation of mind. In plain narrative, as, for example, in giving the genealogy of a family, it has no good effect : Fauno Picus pater ; isque parentem Te, Saturne, refert ; tu sanguinis ultimus auctor. jFneid, vii. 48. Sect. III. — Hyperbole, In this figure, by which an object is magnified or diminished beyond truth, we have another effect of the foregoing principle. An object of an un- common size, either very great of its kind or very little, strikes us with surprise y and this emotion produces a momentary conviction that the object is greater or less than it is in reality : * the same, effect, precisely, attends figurative grandeur or lit- tleness ; and hence the hyperbole, which expresses * See Chap. 8. ^50 FIGURES. [CH. SO. that momentary conviction. A writer, taking ad- vantage of this natural delusion, warms his descrip- tion greatly by the hyperbole : and the reader, even in his coolest moments, relishes the figure, being sensible that it is the operation of nature upon a glowing fancy. It cannot have escaped observation, that a writer is commonly more successful in magnifying by a hyperbole than in diminishing. The reason is, that a minute object contracts the mind, and fetters its power of imagination ; but that the mind, dilated and inflamed with a grand object, moulds objects for its gratification with great facility. Longinus, with respect to diminishing hyperbole, quotes the following ludicrous thought from a comic poet : “ He was owner of a bit of “ ground no larger than a Lacedemonian letter.’’* But, for the reason now given, the hyperbole has by far the greater force in magnifying objects ; of which take the following examples : For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth ; so that if a man can number tha dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be numbered. Genesis^ xiiL 15, 16- Illa vel intactae segetis per summa volaret Gramina : nec teneres cursu laesisset aristas. Mneid, viL 808. * Chap. 31. of his Treatise on the Sublime. SECT. 3.] FIGURES. ^31 — — Atque imo baratliri ter gurgite vastos Sorbet in abruptum fluctus, rursusque sub auras Erigit alternos, et sidera verberat undL JEneid, iii. 42 1« — — Horificis juxta tonat ^tna ruinis, Interdumque atram prorumpit ad aethera nubem. Turbine fumantem piceo et candente favilla : Attollitque globes flammarum, et sidera lambit. ^neid. iii. 571. Speaking of Polyphemus : — Ipse arduus, altaque pulsat Sidera. JEneid* iii. 6IG. — — — — When he speaks. The air, a charter’d libertine, is still. Henry V, Act /. Sc. 1. Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet clos’d. To armour armour, lance to lance oppos’d. Host against host, with shadowy squadrons drew. The sounding darts in iron tempests flew. Victors and vanquish’d join promiscuous cries. And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise ; With streaming blood the slipp’ry fields are dy’d, And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide. Iliad^ iv. 508. The following may also pass, though far stretched % E conjungendo a temerario ardire Estrema forza, e infaticabil lena Vien che si impetuoso il ferro gire, Che ne trema la terra, e’l ciel balena. Gierimlem^ cant. vi. sU ^32 FIGURES. [chap. 20. Quintilian^ is sensible that this figure is natural : For/’ says he, “ not contented with truth, we na- turally incline to augment or diminish beyond it ; “ and for that reason the hyperbole is familiar even “ among the vulgar and illiterate and he adds, very justly, “ That the hyperbole is then proper, when the subject of itself exceeds the common ‘‘ measure.” From these premises, one would not expect the following inference, the only reason he can find for justifying this figure of speech, “ Con- ‘‘ ceditur enim amplius dicere, quia did quantum “ est non potest : meliusque ultra quam citra stat oratio-” (We are indulged to say more than enough, because we cannot say enough ; and it is better ^to be above than under.) In the name of wonder, why this childish reasoning, after observing that the hyperbole is founded on human nature ? I could not resist this personal stroke of criticism ; intended not against our author, for no human crea- ture is exempt from error, but against the blind veneration that is paid to the ancient classic writers, without distinguishing their blemishes from their beauties. Having examined the nature of this figure, and the principle on which it is erected, I proceed, as in the first section, to the rules by which it ought to be governed. And, in the first place, it is a ca- pital fault to introduce an hyperbole in the descrip- tion of any thing ordinary or familiar j for in such a case it is altogether unnatural, being destitute ^ L. 8. cap. 6. in fift. SECT. 8.] FIGURES. £33 of surprise, its only foundation. Take the fol- lowing instance, where the subject is extremely fa- miliar, *viz^ swimming to gain the shore after a ship- wreck : I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs ; he trode the water ; Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head ’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar’d Himself with his good arms, in lusty strokes To th’ shore, that o’er his wave-borne basis bow’d. As stooping to relieve him. Tempest, Act ii. Sc, 1. In the next place, it may be gathered from what is said, that an hyperbole can never suit the tone of any dispiriting passion: sorrow in particular will never prompt such a figure ; for which reason the following hyperboles must be condemned as unna- tural : K. Richard, Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin ! We’ll make foul weather with despised tears : Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Richard IL Act in. Sc, 3, Draw them to Tyber’s bank, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Julius Caesar, Act i. Sc. 1. Thirdly, A writer, if he wish to succeed, ought always to have the reader in his eye ; he ought in FIGURES, [chap. fO. particular never to venture a bold thought or ex- pression, till the reader be warmed and prepared. Por that reason, an hyperbole in the beginning of a work can never be in its place. Example : • Jam pauca aratro jugera regiae Moles relinquent. Horat. Carrn* L 1. ode 15. The nicest point of all, is to ascertain the natu- ral limits of an hyperbole, beyond which being overstrained it hath a bad effect. Longinus, in the above cited chapter, with great propriety of thought, enters a caveat against an hyperbole of this kind : he compares it to a bow-string, which relaxes by overstraining, and produceth an effect directly op- posite to what is intended. To ascertain any pre- cise boundary, would be difficult, if not impracti- cable. Mine shall be an humbler task, which is, to give a specimen of what I reckon overstrained hyperbole ; and I shall be brief upon them, because examples are to be found everywhere : no fault is more common among writers of inferior rank ; and instances are found even among classical writers ; witness the following hyperbole, too bold even for an Hotspur. Hotspur talking of Mortimer : In single opposition hand to hand. He did confound the best part of an hour In changing hardiment with great Glendower, Three times they breath’d, and three times did they drmk, Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood, Who then affrighted with their bloody looks, SECT. 8.] FIGURES. S85 Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. And hid his crisp’d head in the hollow bank. Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. First Fart Henry IV, Act 7. Sc, 3* Speaking of Henry V. England ne’er had a king until his time : — Virtue he had, deserving to command : His brandish’d sword did blind men with its beams : His arms spread wider than a dragon’s wings : His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire, More dazzled, and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech : He never lifted up his hand, but conquer’d. First Part Henry VI, Act I, Sc, 1. Se tutti gli alberi del mondo fossero penne, II cielo fosse carta, il mare inchostro, Non basteriano a descrivere la minima Parte delle vostre perfettioni. Se tante lingue havessi, e tante voci, Quant’ occhi il cielo, e quante arene il mare, Perderian tutto il suono, e la favella Nel dire a pieno le vostri lodi immensi. Gmrini, It is observable, that a hyperbole, even the most extravagant, commonly produces some emotion : the present hyperbole is an exception ; and the reason is, that numbers, in which the extravagance entirely consists, make no impression upon the imagination when they exceed what can easily be conceived. ^36 FIGURES. [CH, Lastly, An hyperbole, after it is introduced with all advantages, ought to be comprehended within the fewest words possible : as it cannot be relished but in the hurry and swelling of the mind,- a leisurely view dissolves the charm, and discovers the description to be extravagant at least, and per- haps also ridiculous. This fault is palpable in a sonnet which passeth for one of the most complete in the French language. Phillis, in a long and florid description, is made as far to outshine the sun as he outshines the stars, Le silence regnoit sur la terre et sur I’onde, L’air devenoit serain et I’Olimpe vermeil, Et Tamoureux Zephir affranchi du sommeil, Ressuscitoit les fleurs d’une haleine feconde. L’Aurore deployoit For de sa tresse blonde, Et semoit de rubis le chemin du soleil ; Enfin ce Dieu venoit au plus grand appareil Qu’il soit jamais venu pour eclair er le monde. Quand la jeune Phillis au visage riant, Sortant de son palais plus cl air que Forient, Fit voir une lumiere et plus vive et plus belle. Sacre flambeau du jour, n’en soyez point jaloux. Vous parutes alors aussi peu devant elle, Que les feux de la nuit avoient fait devant vous. Mallemlle. There is in Chaucer a thought expressed in a single line, which gives more lustre to a young beauty, than the whole of this much-laboured poem : Up rose the sun, and up ruse Emilie. SECT. 4.] FIGURES. 237 Sect. IV . — The Means or Instrument conceived tb he the Agent, When we survey a number of connected objects, that which makes the greatest figure employs chief- ly our attention ; and the emotion it raises, if lively, prompts us even to exceed nature in the concep- tion we form of it. Take the following examples : For Neleus’ son Alcides’ rage had slain, A broken rock the force of Pirns threw. In these instances, the rage of Hercules and the force of Pirus, being the capital circumstances, are so far exalted as to be conceived the agents that produce the effects. In the following instances, hunger being the chief circumstance in the description, is itself ima- gined to be the patient. Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days. Jane Shore. — — — — As when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill. Paradise Losh — As when the potent rod Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day Wav’d round the coast, upcall’d a pitchy cloud Of locusts. Paradise Lost. g38 t'lGURES. [CH. 20. Sect. V. — A Figure, ^hich, among related Ol^ects, extends the Properties of one to another. This figure is not dignified with a proper name, because it has been overlooked by writers. It merits, however, a place in this work ; and must be distinguished from those formerly handled, as depending on a different principle. Giddy hrinh, jovial wine, daring wound, are examples of this figure. Here are adjectives that cannot be made to signify any quality of the substantives to which they are joined : a brink, for example, cannot be termed giddy in a sense, either proper or figurative, that can signify any of its qualities or attributes. When we examine attentively the expression, we discover, that a brink is termed giddy from pro- ducing that effect in those who stand on it. In the same manner a wound is said to be daring, not with respect to itself, but with respect to the bold- ness of the person who inflicts it : and wine is said to he jovial, as inspiring mirth and j ollity. Thus the attributes of one subject are extended to ano- ther with which it is connected ; and the expres- sion of such a thought must be considered as a figure, because the attribute is not applicable to the subject in any proper sense. How are we to account for this figure, which we see lies in the thought, and to what principle shall we refer it ? Have poets a privilege to alter the nature of things, and at pleasure to bestow attributes upon a subject to which they do not be- FIGURES. SECT. 5 .] aS9 long ? We have had often occasion to inculcate, that the mind passeth easily and sweetly along a train of connected objects ; and, where the objects are intinjately connected, that it is disposed to carry along the good or bad properties of one to another ; especially when it is in any degree in- flamed with these properties.* From this prin- ciple is derived the figure under consideration. Language, invented for the communication of thought, would be imperfect, if it were not expres- sive even of the slighter propensities and more delicate feelings : but language cannot remain so imperfect among a people who have received any polish ; because language is regulated by internal feeling, and is gradually improved to express what- ever passes in the mind. Thus, for example, when a sword in the hand of a coward, is termed a coward sword, the expression is significative of an internal operation ; for the mind, in passing from the agent to its instrument, is disposed to extend to the latter the properties of the former. Go- verned by the same principle, we say listening fear, by extending the attribute listening of the man who listens, to the passion with which he is moved. In the expression, bold deed, or audax facinus, we extend to the effect what properly belongs to the cause. But not to waste time by making a com- mentary upon every expression of this kind, the best way to give a complete view of the subject, is * See Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 5. 13 640 FIGURES. [CH. 60. to exhibit a table of the different relations that may give occasion to this figure. And in viewing the table^ it will be observed, that the figure can never have any grace but where the relations are of the most intimate kind. 1. An attribute of the cause expressed as an attribute of the effect. Audax facinus. Of yonder fleet a hold discovery make. An impious mortal gave the daring wound. To my adventurous song, That with no middle ’flight intends to soar. Paradise Lost, 6. An attribute of the effect expressed as an attribute of the cause. Quos periisse ambos miser a censebam in mark Plautus, No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height. Paradise Lost, S, An effect expressed as an attribute of the cause. Jovial wine. Giddy brink, Drowsy night. Musing mid- night, Panting height, Astonished thought, Mournful gloom. Casting a dim religious light. Milton^ Comus, And the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound. Milton^ Allegro. FIGURES* 241 SECT. 5*] 4. An attribute of a subject bestowed upon one; of its parts or members* Longing arms. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc’d fearful hollow of thine ear. Romeo and Juliet^ Act III. Sc. 5. Oh, lay by Those most ungentle looks and angry weapons ,* Unless you mean my griefs and killing fears Should stretch me out at your relentless feet. - Fair Penitent^ Act IIL And ready now To stoop with *i^earied wing and ^willing feet. On the bare Outside of this world. Paradise Lost, B. 3, 5. A quality of the agent given to the instru- ment with which it operates* Why peep your coxmrd swords half out their shells ? 6. An attribute of the agent given to the sub- ject upon which it operates. IIigh-climbing\r^. _ ■ Milton. ^ , c, 7. A quality of one subject given to another.' Icci, heatis nunc Arabum invides Gads. Horat. Carm. l.l. ode 2% When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. Shakespeare. VOL. II. Q FIGURES. [CH. 20. 242 By ai’tj the pilot through the boiling deep And howling tempest, steers the fearless ship. Iliad, xxiii. 385. Theft, nothing loath, th’ enamour’d fair he led, And sunk transported on the conscious bed. - Odyssey, viii. 337. A stupid moment motionless she stood. Summer, L 1336. 8. A circumstance connected with a subject, expressed as a quality of the subject. Breezy summit. ’Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try. Iliad, i. 301. Oh ! had I died before that *wellf ought wall. Odyssey, v. 395. From this table it appears, that the adorning a cause with an attribute of the effect, is not so agreeable as the opposite expression. The progress from cause to effect is natural and easy : the oppo- site progress resembles retrograde motion ; * and therefore panting height, astonished thought, are strained and uncouth expressions, which a writer of taste will avoid. It is not less strained, to apply to a subject in its present state, an epithet that may belong to it in some future state : ‘ Submersasque obrue puppes. JEneid, i. 73. See Chap 1. FIGURES, U8 SECT. 5 .] And mighty ruins fall, Iliad^ v. 411. Impious sons their mangled fathers wound. Another rule regards this figure, That the pro- perty of one subject ought not to be bestowed upon another with which that property is incongruous : King Rich, How dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence ? Richard II, Act III, Sc, 3. The connexion between an awful superior and his submissive dependent is so intimate, that an attri- bute may readily be transferred from the one to the other ; but awfulness cannot be so transferred, because it is inconsistent with submission. Sect. VI .- — Metaphor and Allegory* A METAPHOR differs from a simile, in form only, not in substance : in a simile, the two subjects are kept distinct in the expression, as well as in the thought ; in a metaphor, the two subjects are kept distinct in the thought only, not in the expression. A hero resembles a lion, and, upon that resem- blance, many similies have been raised by Homer and other poets. But instead of resembling a lion, let us take the aid pf the imagination, and feign or figure the hero to be a lion : by that variation the simile is converted into a metaphor ; which is car- ried on by describing all the qualities of a lion that resemble those of the hero. The fundamental pleasure here, that of resemblance, belongs to the FIGURES. [CH. SO. 24<4f thought. An additional pleasure arises from the expression : the poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, goes on to describe the lion in appearance, but in reality the hero ; and his description is pe- culiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues and qualities of the hero in new terms, which, properly speaking, belong not to him, but to the lion. This will better be understood by examples. A family connected with a common parent, resembles a tree, the trunk and branches of which are connected with a common root : but let us suppose, that a family is figured, not barely to be like a tree, but to be a tree ; and then the simile will be converted into a metaphor, in the following manner : Edward’s seven sons, whereof thyself art one. Were seven fair branches, springing from one root : Some of these branches by the dest’nies cut ; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glo’ster, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is hack’d down, and his summer-leaves all faded By Envy’s hand> and Murder’s bloody axe. Richard JL Act I, Sc, 2. Figuring human life to be a voyage at sea : There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current while it serves. Or lose our ventures. Julius CcEsar, Act iv. Sc, 3. SECT. 6.] • FIGURES. 245 Figuring glory and honour to be a garland of flowers. Hotspur, — Would to heaveUs Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! Pr. Henry, I’ll make it greater, ere I part from thee, And all the budding honours on thy crest I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head. First Part Henry IV, Act v. Sc, 4. Figuring a man who hath acquired great reputation and honour to be a tree full of fruit : — ■ Oh, boys, this story The world may read in me : my body’s mai'k’d With Roman swords ; and my report was once First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me ; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off : then was I as a tree Whose bows did bend with fruit. But in one night, A storm or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves. And left me bare to weather. Cymbelme, Act ill. Sc, 3, Blest be thy soul, thou king of shells, said Swaran of the dark-brown shield. In peace thou art the gale of spring ; in war, the mountain-storm. Take now my hand in friend- ship, thou noble king of Morven. Fingal, Thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian. My sighs arise with the beam of the east ; my tears descend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me ; but thy death came like a blast from the desart, and laid 246 FIGURES. [CH. 20. my green head low : the spring returned with its showers, but no leaf of mine arose. FingaL I am aware that the term metaphor has been used in a more extensive sense than I give it ; but I thought it of consequence, in a disquisition of some intricacy, to confine the term to its proper sense, and to separate from it things that are dis- tinguished by different names; An allegory differs from a metaphor ; and what I would choose to call a figure of speech^ differs from both. I proceed to explain these differences. A metaphor is defined above to be an act of the imagination, figuring one thing to be another. An allegory requires no such operation, nor is one thing figured to be another : it consists in choosing a subject having properties or circumstances resembling those of the principal subject ; and the former is described in such a manner as to represent the latter ; the subject thus represented is kept out of view ; we are left to dis- cover it by reflection ; and we are pleased with the discovery, because it is our own work. Quintilian^ gives the following instance of an allegory, O navis, referent in mare te noyi riuctus. O quid agis ? fortiter occupa portum. Horatn L 1. ode 14. and explains it elegantly in the following words : “ Totusque ille Horatii locus, quo navim pro re- ‘‘ publica, fluctuum tempestates pro bellis civilibus, “ portum pro pace, atque concordia, dicit.” * L. 8. Cap. 6. Sect. 2. FIGURES. 247 SECT. 6.] A finer or more correct allegory is not to be found than the following, in which a vineyard is made to represent God’s own people the Jews. Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt : thou hast cast Out the heathen, and planted it. Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were co- vered with its shadow, and the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. Why hast thou then broken down her hedges, so that all which pass do pluck her ? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts : look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard thy right hand hath planted, and the branch thou madest strong for thyself. Psalm 80. In a word, an allegory is in every respect similar to an hieroglyphical painting, excepting only that words are used instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the same : a hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind ; one seen, which represents one not seen : an allegory does the same ; the re- presentative subject is described ; and resemblance leads us to apply the description to the subject re- presented. In a figure of speech, there is no fic- tion of the imagination employed, as in a metaphor, nor a representative subject introduced, as in an allegory. This figure, as its name implies, regards the expression only, not the thought ; and it may be defined, the using a word in a sense different from what is proper to it. Thus youth, or the be- ginning of life, is expressed figuratively by morning of life : morning is the beginning of the day ; and in that view it is employed to signify the beginning ^48 FIGURES. [CH. 20. of any other series, life especially, the progress of which is reckoned by days. Figuries of speech are reserved for a separate section ; but metaphor and allegory are so much connected, that they must be handled together : the rules particularly for distinguishing the good from the bad, are common to both. We shall therefore proceed to these rules, after adding some examples to illustrate the nature of an allegory. Horace, speaking of his love to Pyrrha, which was now extinguished, expresseth himself thus : r— Me tabula sacer Votiva paries indicat uvida Suspendisse potent! Vestimenta maris Deo. Cavm, 1. 1. ode 5. ^gain : Phoebus volentem prselia me loqui, Victas et urbes, increpuit lyra : Ne parva Tyrrenhum per aequor Vela darem. Carm, L 5. ode 15. Qtiee7i, Great Lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now thrown overboard; The cable broke, the holding anchor lost. And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood ; Yet lives our pilot still. * Is’t meet, that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad. With tearful eyes, add water to the sea, •SECT. 6.] FIGURES. 249 And give more strength to that which hath too much ; While in his moan the ship splits on the rock. Which industry and courage might have sav’d ? Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! Third Fart Henry VL Act v. Sc. Oroonoko. Ha ! thou hast rous’d The lion in his den : he stalks abroad, And the wide forest trembles at his roar. I find the danger now. Orvonoko, Act III. Sc. 2. My well-beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill. He fenced it, gathered out the stones thereof, planted it with the choicest vines, built a tower in the midst of it, and also made a wine-press therein ; he looked that it should bring forth grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes. And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my vineyard. What could have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not done ? Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes ? And now go to; I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard : I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be eaten up ; and break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And I will lay it waste : it shall not be pruned, nor digged, but there shall come up briers and thorns ; I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant plant. Isaiah^ v. 1. The rules that govern metaphors, 3;nd allegories, are of two kinds : the construction of these figures comes under the first kind ; the propriety or im- propriety of introduction comes under the other. I begin with rules of the first kind ; some of which 250 FIGURES. [CH. 20 . coincide with those already given for similies j some are peculiar to metaphors and allegories. And, in the first place, it has been observed, that a simile cannot be agreeable where the resemblance is either too strong or too faint. This holds equally in metaphor and allegory ; and the reason is the same in all. In the following instances, the resem- blance is too faint to be agreeable. Malcolm. But there’s no bottom, none In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters. Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust. Macheth, Act IF. Sc. 3. The best way to judge of this metaphor, is to con- vert it into a simile ; which would be bad, because there is scarce any resemblance between lust and a cistern, or betwixt enormous lust and a large cistern. Again : He cannot buckle his distemper’d cause Within the belt of rule. Macbeth^ Act v. Sc, 2. There is no resemblance between a distempered cause and any body that can be confined within a. belt. Again : ^ Steep me in poverty to the very lips. Othello, Act IF. Sc. Poverty here must be conceived a fluid, which it resembles not in any manner. AECT. 6.] FIGURES* 251 Speaking to Bolingbroke banished for six years : The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Michard IL Act i. Sc, 3. Again : Here is a letter, lady, And every word in it a gaping wound Issuing life-blood. Merchant of Venice^ Act ill. Sc, 2, Tantae molts erat Romanam condere gentem. JEneid, i. 37. The following metaphor is strained beyond all en- durance : Timur-bec, known to us by the name of Tamerlane the Great, writes to Bajazet, Emperor of the Ottomans, in the following terms : Where is the monarch who dares resist us? where is the potentate who doth not glory in being numbered among our attendants? As for thee, descended from a Turcoman sailor, since the vessel of thy unbounded ambi- tion hath been wreck’d in the gulf of thy self-love, it would be proper that thou shouldst take in the sails of thy teme- rity, and cast the anchor of repentance in the port of sin- cerity and justice, which is the port of safety; lest the tempest of our vengeance make thee perish in the sea of the punishment thou deservest. Such strained figures, as observed above,* are not unfrequent in the first dawn of refinement: the ^ Chap. 19. Comparisons. FIGURES. [CH. 20. 252 mind in a new enjoyment knows no bounds, and is generally carried to excess, till taste and expe- rience discover the proper limits. Secondly, Whatever resemblance subjects may have, it is wrong to put one for another, where they bear no mutual proportion : upon comparing a very high to a very low subject, the simile takes on an air of burlesque ; and the same will be the effect, where the one is imagined to be the other, as in a metaphor ; or made to represent the other, as in an allegory. Thirdly, These figures, a metaphor especially, ought not to be crowded with many minute cir- cumstances ; for in that case it is scarcely possible to avoid obscurity. A metaphor above all ought to be short : it is difficult, for any time, to support a lively image of a thing being what we know it is not ; and for that reason, a metaphor drawn out to any length, instead of illustrating or enlivening the principal subject, becomes disagreeable by over- straining the mind. Here Cowley is extremely licentious : take the following instance. Great and wise conqu’ror, who where-e^er Thou com’st, doth fortify, and settle there ! Who canst defend as well as get, And never hadst one quarter beat up yet ; Now thou art in, thou ne’er will part With one inch of my vanquish’d heart ; For since thou took’st it by assault from me, ’Tis garrison’d so strong with thoughts of thee, It fears no beauteous enemy. For the same reason, however agreeable long alle- SECT. 6.] FIGURES. 258 gories may at first be by their novelty, they never afford any lasting pleasure : witness the Fairy ^ Queen, which, with great power of expression, variety of images, and melody of versification, is scarce ever read a second time. In the fourth place. The comparison carried on in a simile, being in a metaphor sunk by imagin- ing the principal subject to be that very .thing which it only resembles ; an opportunity is furnish- ed to describe it in terms taken strictly or literally with respect to its imagined nature. This suggests another rule. That in constructing a metaphor, the writer ought to make use of Such words only as are applicable literally to the imagined nature of his subject : figurative words ought carefully to be avoided ; for such complicated figures, instead of setting the principal subject in a strong light, in- volve it in a cloud ; and it is well if the reader, without rejecting by the lump, endeavour patient- ly to gather the plain meaning regardless of the figures : A stubborn and unconquerable flame Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of life. Lady Jane Gray, Act /. Sc, 1, Copied from Ovid, Sorbent avidse praecordia flammse. MetamorpJi, lib, ix. 172. Let us analyze this expression. That a fever may be imagined a flame, I admit ; though more than one step is necessary to come at the resemblance : FIGURES. [CH. 20. a fever, by heating the body, resembles fire ; and it is no stretch to imagine a fever to be a fire : Again, by a figure of speech, flame may be put for fire, because they are commonly conjoined; and therefore a fever may be termed a flame. But now admitting a fever to be a flame, its effects ought to be explained in words that agree literally to a flame. This rule is not observed here ; for a flame figuratively only, not properly. King Henry to his son Prince Henry : Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart To stab at half an hour of my frail life. Second Part Henry IV. Act iv. Sc. 4. Such faulty metaphors are pleasantly ridiculed in the Rehearsal : Physician. Sir, to conclude, the place you fill has more than amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot ; and all these threatening storms, which, like impregnate clouds, hover o’er our heads, will, when they once are grasp’d but by the eye of reason, melt into fruitful showers of bless- ings on the people. Bayes. Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good ? Johnson. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye is admirable. Act ll. Sc. 1. Pifthly, The jumbling different metaphors in the same sentence, beginning with one metaphor and ending with another, commonly called a mixt me- taphor, ought never to be indulged. Quintilian bears testimony against it in the bitterest terms : FIGURES. £55 SECT. 6.] ‘‘ Nam id quoque in primis est custodiendum, ut “ quo ex genere coeperis translationis, hoc desinas. “ Multi enim, cum initium a tempestate sumpse* ‘‘ runt, incendio aut ruina finiunt : quae est incon- sequentia rerum foedissima.’^ i. 8. cap. 6. § £. K. Henry. Will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light ? First Part Henry IV. Act V, Sc. 1 . Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing, end them. Hamlet^ Act III. Sc. 1. In the sixth place. It is unpleasant to join diffe« rent metaphors in the same period, even where they are preserved distinct : for when the subject is imagined to be first one thing and then another in the same period without interval, the mind is distracted by the rapid transition ; and when the imagination is put on such hard duty, its images are too faint to produce any good effect : At regina gravi jamdudum saucia cura, Vulnus alit venis, et casco carpitur igni. JEneid. iv. 1. — Est mollis flamma medullas Interea, et taciturn vivit sub pectore vulnus. jEnezd. iv. 66^ Motum ex Metello consule civicum, BeUique causas,.et vitia, et modos, 24 FIGURES. [gh. 20. Ludumque fortunse, gravesque Principum amicitias, et arma Nondum expiatis uncta cruoribiis, ■ Periculosae plenum opus alese, Tractas, et incedis per ignes Subpositos cineri dolosd. Horat, Carm, L 2. ode 1. In the last place, It is still worse to jumble to- gether metaphorical and natural expression, so as that the period must be understood in part meta- phorically, in part literally; for the imagination cannot follow with sufficient ease changes so sud- den and unprepared : a metaphor begun and not carried on hath no beauty ; and instead of light there is nothing but obscurity and confusion. In- stances of such incorrect composition are without number. I shall, for a specimen, select a few from different authors. Speaking of Britaiilj This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall. Or as a moat defensive to a house Against the envy of less happier lands. Richard IL Act II, Sc, 1 . In the first line Britain is figured to be a precious stone : in the following lines, Britain, divested of her metaphorical dress, is presented to the reader in her natural appearance. These growing feathers, pluck’d from Caesar’s wing. Will make him fly an ordmary pitch. SECT. 6.] FIGURES. £57 Wlio else would soar above the view of men. And keep us all in servile fearfulness, Julius Ccesm\ Aoi I, Sc, I. Rebus angustis animosus atque Fortis adpare : sapienter idem Contrahes vento nimium secundo Turgida vela. Hor, The following is a miserable jumble of expressions^ arising from an unsteady view of the subject, be- tween its figurative and natural appearance : But now from gathering clouds destruction pours. Which ruins with mad rage our halcyon hours : Mists from black jealousies the tempest form. Whilst late divisions reinforce the storm. Disjpensary^ canto 3. To thee, the world its present homage pays. The harvest early, but mature the praise. Pope*s Imitation of Horace^ Oui, sa pudeur n’est que franche grimace, Qu’une ombre de vertu qui garde mal la place, Et qui s’evanouit, comme Ton peut savoir, Aux rayons du soleil qu’une bourse fait voir. Moliere^ VEtourdi^ Act III, Sc, Et son feu, depourvu de sense et de lecture, S’eteint a chaque pas, faute de nourriture. Boileau^ V Art Poetique^ Chant S, I, S19, Dryden, in his dedication of the translation of Juvenal, says, When thus, as I may say, before the use of the load- stone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a VGL* II* R S58 HGURES^ vast ocean, without other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage among the moderns, &c. There is a time when factions, by the vehemence of their own fermentation, stun and disable one another. Bolingbroke, This fault of jumbling the figure and plain ex- pression into one confused mass, is not less com- mon in allegory than in metaphor. Take the fol- lowing examples : ■ ■ ■■ Heu ! quoties fidem, Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera Nigris aequora ventis Emirabitur insolens, Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea : Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem Sperat, nescius aurae Fallacis. HoraL Carm, L 1. ode 1. Pour moi sur cette mer, qu’ici has nous eourons, Je songe a me pourvoir d’esquif et dVvirons, A regler mes desirs, a prevenir forage, Et sauver, s’il se peut, ma Raison dii naufrage. Boileau^ Ejpitre 5. Lord Halifax, speaking of the ancient fabulists : “ They (says he) wrote in signs, and spoke in pa- “ rabies : all their fables carry a double meaning ; “ the story is one and entire ; the characters the same throughout j not broken or changed, and “ always conformable to the nature of the creature they introduce. They never tell you, that the SECT. 6.] FIGURES. S59 ** dog which snapp’d at a shadow, lost his troop of horse ; that would be unintelligible. This is his (Dryden’s) new way of telling a story, and con- ‘‘ founding the moral and the fable- altogether.” After instancing from the hind and panther, he goes on thus : “ What relation has the hind to our ‘‘ Saviour ; or what notion have we of a panther’s “ Bible ? . If you say he means the church, how does the church feed on lawns, or range in the ‘‘ forest ? Let it be always a church, or always a “ cloven-footed beast, for we cannot bear his shift- ing the scene every line.” A few words more upon allegory. Nothing gives greater pleasure than this figure, when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, in all its circumstances, to that which is represented : but the choice is seldom so lucky ; the analogy being generally so faint and obscure, as to puzzle and not please. An allegory is still more difficult in painting than in poetry : the former can shew no resemblance but what appears to the eye ; the latter hath many other resources for shewing the resemblance. And therefore, with respect to what the Abbe du Bos* terms mixt allegorical compo- sitions, these may do in poetry ; because, in writ- ing, the allegory can easily be distinguished from the historical part : no person, for example, mis- takes Virgil’s Fame for a real being. But such a mixture in a picture is intolerable ; because in a picture the objects must appear all of the same * Reflections sur ia Poesie, vol. 1. sect. 24. ^60 FIGURES. [CH. £0, kind, wholly real or wholly emblematical. For this reason, the history of Mary de Medicis, in the palace of Luxembourg, painted by Rubens, is un- pleasant by a perpetual jumble of real and allego- rical personages, which produce a discordance of parts, and an obscurity upon the whole : witness in particular, the tablature representing the arrival of Mary de Medicis at Marseilles ; where, toge- ther with the real personages, the Nereids and Tritons appear sounding their shells : such a mix- ture of fiction and reality in the same group, is strangely absurd. The picture of Alexander and Roxana, described by Lucian, is gay and fanciful ; but it suffers by the allegorical figures. It is not in the wit of man to invent an allegorical repre- sentation deviating farther from any shadow of re- semblance, than one exhibited by Lewis XIV. anno 1664 ; in which an enormous chariot, intend- ed to represent that of the sun, is dragg’d along, surrounded with men and women, representing the four ages of the world, the celestial signs, the sea- sons, the hours, kc . ; a monstrous composition, suggested probably by Guido’s tablature of Aurora, and still more absurd. In an allegory as well as in a metaphor, terms ought to be chosen that properly and literally are applicable to the representative subject ; nor ought any circumstance to be added that is not proper to the representative subject, however justly it may be applicable properly or figuratively to the princi- pal. The following allegory is therefore faulty : SECT. 6.] FIGURES. ^61 Ferus et Cupido, Semper ardentes acuens sagittas Cote cruentd, Horat, L 2. ode 8. For though blood may suggest the cruelty of love^ it is an improper or immaterial circumstance in the representative subject : water, not blood, is proper for a whetstone. We proceed to the next head, which is, to exa- mine in what circumstance these figures are pro- per, in what improper. This inquiry is not altoge- ther superseded by what is said upon the same sub- ject in the chapter of Comparisons ; because upon trial it will be found, that a short metaphor or al- legory may be proper, where a simile, drawn out to a greater length, and in its nature more solemn, would scarce be relished. And, first, a metaphor, like a simile, is excluded from common conversation, and from the descrip- tion of ordinary incidents. Second, in expressing any severe passion that wholly occupies the mind, metaphor is improper. For which reason, the following speech of Macbeth is faulty. Methougbt I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! Macbeth doth murder sleep ; the innocent sleep ; Sleep that knits up the ravel Fd sleeve of Care, The death of each day’s life, sore Labour’s bath. Balm of hurt minds, great Nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in Life’s feast.^ Act II, Sc, 2. FIGURES. [CH. SO. The following example, of deep despair, beside the highly figurative style, hath more the air of raving than of sense : Calista, Is it the voice of thunder, or my father ? Madness ! Confusion ! let the storm come on ; Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me. Dash my devoted bark ; ye surges, break it ; ’Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises. When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low. Peace shall return, and all be calm again. Fair Penitent^ Act iv. The metaphor I next introduce, is sweet and lively, but it suits not a fiery temper inflamed with passion : parables are not the language of wrath venting itself without restraint : Chamont, You took her up a little tender flower, Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost Had nipp’d ; and with a careful loving hand, Transplanted her into your own fair garden. Where the sun always shines : there long she flourish’d* Grew sweet to sense and lovely to the eye, Till at the last a cruel spoiler came, Cropt this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness. Then cast it like a loathsome weed away. Orphan, Act IV, The following speech, full of imagery, is not natu* ral in grief and dejection of mind : Gonsalez, O my son ! from the blind dotage Of a father’s fondness these ills arose. For thee I’ve been ambitious, base and bloody; For thee I’ve plung’d into this sea of sin ; FIGURES. SECT. 6.] Stemming the tide with only one weak hand. While t’other bore the crown (to wreathe thy brow) 'Whose weight has sunk me ere I reach’d the shore. Mourning -Bride-i Act V, Sc. 6. There is an enchanting picture of deep distress in Macbeth,* where Macduff is represented lament- ing his wife and children, inhumanly murdered by the tyrant. Stung to the heart with the news, he questions the messenger over and over : not that he doubted the fact, but that his heart revolted against so cruel a misfortune. After struggling some time with his grief, he turns from his wife and children to their savage butcher ; and the^i gives vent to his resentment, but still with manli- ness and dignity : O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Heaven I Cut short all intermission ; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within my sword’s length set him. — If he ’scape, Then Heaven forgive him too. The whole scene is a delicious picture of human nature. One expression only seems doubtful : in examining the messenger, Macduff expresses him- self thus : He hath no children — all my pretty ones ! Did you say, all? what, all? Oh, hell-kite ! all? What ! all my pretty little chickens and their dam^ At one fell swoop j * Act IV. Sc. 3. ^64 FIGURES. [CH. ^0. Metaphorical expression, I am sensible, may some- times be used with grace, where a regular simile would be intolerable : but there are situations so severe and dispiriting, as not to admit even the slightest metaphor. It requires great delicacy of taste to determine with firmness, whether the pre- sent case be of that kind : I incline to think it is ; and yet I would not willingly alter a single word of this admirable scene. But metaphorical language is proper when a man struggles to bear with dignity or decency a misfortune however great : the struggle agitates and animates the mind : Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness I This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope.; to-morrow blossoms. And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost. And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, And then he falls as I do. Henry VIIL Act ill. Sc. 2. Sect. VII . — Figure of Speech, In the section immediately foregoing, a figui'e of speech is defined, “ The using a word in a sense “ different from what is proper to it 4” and the new or uncommon sense of the word is termed the figurative sense. The figurative sense must have a relation to that which is proper j and the more in- SECT. 7 ‘] FIGURES. ^65 timate the relation is, the figure is the more happy. How ornamental this figure is to language, will not be readily imagined by any one who hath not given peculiar attention ; and therefore I shall en- deavour to unfold its capital beauties and advan- tages. In the first place, a word used figuratively or in a new sense, suggests at the same time the sense it commonly bears : and thus ii>has the effect to present two objects ; one signified by the figu- rative sense, which may be termed the principal object ; and one signified by the proper sense, which may be termed accessory : the principal makes a part of the thought ; the accessory is merely orna- mental. In this respect, a figure of speech is pre- cisely similar to concordant sounds in music, which without contributing to the melody, make it har* monious. I explain myself by examples. Youths by a figure of speech, is termed the morning of life. This expression signifies youths the principal ob- ject, which enters into the thought : it suggests, at the same time, the proper sense of morning ; and this accessory object, being in itself beautiful, and connected by resemblance to the principal object, is not a little ornamental. Imperious ocean is an example of a different kind, where an attri- bute is expressed figuratively ; together with stormy^ the figurative meaning of the epithet impe- riouSy there is suggested its proper meaning, viz. the stern authority of a despotic prince ; and these two are strongly connected by resemblance. Upon this figurative power of words, Vida descants with elegance : 266 FIGURES. [CH. 20. Nonne vides, verbis ut veris ssepe relictis Accersant simulata, aliundeque nomina porro Transportent, aptentque aliis ea rebus ; ut ipsae, Exuviasque novas, res, insolitosque colores Indutae, saepe extern! mirentur amictus Unde illi, laetaeque aliena luce fruantur, Mutatoque habitu, nec jam sua nomina mallent? - Saepe ideo, cum bella canunt, incendia credas Cernere, diluviumque ingens surgentibus undis. Contra etiam Martis pugnas imitabitur ignis, Cum furit accensis acies V ulcania campis. Nec turbato oritur quondam minor aequore pugna : Confligunt animosi Euri certamine vasto Inter se, pugnantque adversis molibus undae. Usque adeo passim sua res insignia lastae Permutantque, juvantque vicissim ; et mutua sese Altera in alterius transformat protinus ora. Turn specie capti gaudent spectare legentes : Nam di versa simul datur e re cernere eadem Multarum simulacra animo subeuntia rerum. PoeU lib, 3. 1. U. In the next place, this figure possesses a signal power of aggrandizing an object, by the following means. Words which have no original beauty but what arises from their sound, acquire an adventi- tious beauty from their meaning : a word signifying any thing that is agreeable, becomes by that means agreeable; for the agreeableness of the object is communicated to its name.* This acquired beauty by the force of custom, adheres to the word even when used figuratively ; and the beauty received ^ See Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 5. SECT. 7*] FIGURES. ^67 from the thing it properly signifies, is communicat- ed to the thing which it is made to signify figura- tively. Consider the foregoing expression Impe- rious ocean^ how much more elevated it is than Stormy ocean. Thirdly, this figure hath a happy effect, by pre- venting the familiarity of proper names. The fa- miliarity of a proper name is communicated to the thing it signifies, by means of their intimate con- nexion ; and the thing is thereby brought down in our feeling.* This bad effect is prevented by us- ing a figurative word instead of one that is proper \ as, for example, when we express the sky by term- ing it the blue vault of heaven; for though no work of art can compare with the sky in grandeur, the expression however is relished, because it pre- vents the object from being brought down by the familiarity of its proper name. With respect to the degrading familiarity of proper names, Vida has the following passage : Hinc si dura mihi passus dicendus Ulysses, Non ilium vero memorabo nomine, sed qui Et mores hominum multorum vidit, et urbes, Naufragus eversae post sseva incendia Trqjae. Poet, lib, 2. I, 4? 6. ^ I have often regretted, that a factious spirit of opposition to the reigning family makes it necessary in public worship to distinguish the King by his proper name. One will scarce ima- gine who has not made the trial, how much better it sounds to pray fpr our Sovereign Lord the King, without any addition ^68 FIGURES, [CH. 20. Lastly, By this figure language is enriched, and rendered more copious ; in which respect, were there no other, a figure of speech is a happy inyen- tion. This property is finely touched by Vida : Quinetiam agricolas ea fandi nota voluptas Exercet, dum lasta seges, dum trudere gemmas Incipiimt vites, sitientiaqiie aetheris imbrem Prata bibunt, ridentque satis surgentibus agri. Hanc vulgo speciem propriae penuria vocis Intulit, indictisque urgens in rebus egestas. Quippe ubi se vera ostendebant nomina nusquam. Fas erat hinc atque hinc transferre simillima veris. PoeU lib. 3 . h 90 . The beauties I have mentioned belong to every figure of speech. Several other beauties peculiar to one or other sort, I shall have occasion to re- mark afterward Not only subjects, but qualities, actions, effects, may be expressed figuratively. Thus, as to sub- jects, the gates of breath for the lips, the *watery kingdom for the ocean. As to qualities, fierce for stormy, in the expression Fierce winter: Altus for profundus: Altus puteus, Altum mare : Breathing for perspiring; Breathing plants. Again, as to ac- tions, the sea rages^ Time will melt her frozen thoughts. Time kills grief. An effect is put for the cause, as lux for the sun ; and a cause for the effect, as bourn labores for corn. The relation of resemblance is one plentiful source of figures of speech \ and nothing is more common than to ap- ■SECT. 7-3 FIGURES'. ^69 ply to one object the name of another that resem- bles it in any respect: height, size, and worldly greatness, resemble not each other ; but the emo- tions they produce resemble each other, and prompt- ed by this resemblance, we naturally express world- ly greatness by height or size : one feels a certain uneasiness in seeing a great depth ; and hence depth is made to express any thing disagreeable by excess, as depth of grief, depth of despair : again, height of place, and time long past, produce simi- lar feelings ; and hence the expression, TJt altius repetam: distance in past time, producing a strong feeling, is put for any strong feeling, Nihil mihi an- tiquius nostra amicitia: shortness with relation to space, for shortness with relation to time. Brevis esse lahoro, obscurus Jio: suffering a punishment resem- bles paying a debt ; hence pendere pcenas. In the same manner, light may be put for glory, sunshine for prosperity, and weight for importance. Many words, originally figurative, having by long and constant use lost their figurative power, are degraded to the inferior rank of proper terms. Thus, the words that express the operations of the mind, have in all languages been originally figu- rative : the reason holds in all, that when these operations came first under conside^^ation, there was no other way of describing them but by what they resembled ; it was not practicable to give them proper names, as may be done to objects that can be ascertained by sight and touch. A soft nature, jarring tempers, weight of wo, pompous phrase, be- get compassion, assuage grief, break a vow, bend Q70 FIGURES. [CH. £0. the eye downward, shower' down curses, drowned in tears, wrapt in joy, warmed with eloquence, loaded with spoils, and a thousand other expressions, of the like nature, have lost their figurative sense. Some terms there are, that cannot be said to be either altogether figurative or altogether proper : originally figurative, they are tending to simplicity, without having lost altogether their figurative power. Virgil’s Regina saucia cura^ is perhaps one of these expressions : with ordinary readers, saucia will* be considered as expressing simply the effect of grief ; but one of a lively imagination will exalt the phrase into a figure. For epitomizing this subject, and at the same time for giving a clear view of it, I cannot think of a better method, than to present to the reader a list of the several relations upon which figures of speech are commonly founded. This list I divide into two tables : one of subjects expressed figura- tively, and one of attributes. FIRST TABLE. Subjects compressed figuratively. 1. A word proper to one subject employed figu- ratively to express a resembling subject. There is no figure of speech so frequent, as what is derived from the relation of resemblance. Youth, for example, is signified figuratively by the morn- ing of life. The life of a man resembles a natural SECT. 70 FIGURES. ^71 day in several particulars : the morning is the be- ginning of day, youth the beginning of life ; the morning is cheerful, so is youth, &c. By another resemblance, a bold warrior is termed the thundeV’- bolt of war 5 a multitude of troubles, a sea of trou- bles. This figure, above all others, affords pleasure to the mind by variety of beauties. Beside the beau- ties above mentioned, common to all sorts, it pos- sesses in particular the beauty of a metaphor or of a simile : a figure of speech built upon resemblance, suggests always a comparison between the princi- pal subject and the accessory ; whereby every good effect of a metaphor or simile may, in a short and lively manner, be produced by this figure of speech. A word proper to the effect employed figu- ratively to express the cause. Lux for the sun. Shadow for cloud. A helmet is signified by the expression glittering terror. A tree by shadow or umbrage. Hence the expression, Nec habet Pelion umbras. Ovid. Where the dun umbrage hangs. Sprmg^ 1. 102S. A wound is made to signify an arrow : Vulnere non pedibus te consequar. Ovid. There is a peculiar force and beauty in this figure : the word which signifies figuratively the l§ FIGURES. [CH. 20. principal subject, denotes it to be a cause by sug- gesting the effect. 3. A word proper to the cause, employed figu- ratively to express the effect. Boumque labores^ for corn. Sorrow or grief, for tears. Again, Ulysses veil’d his pensive head ; Again, unmann’d, a show’r of sorronso shed. Streaming Grief his faded cheek bedew’d. Blindness for darkness : Caecis erramus in undis. JEneid. iii. 200. There is a peculiar energy in this figure, similar to that in the former : the figurative name denotes the subject to be an effect, by suggesting its cause. 4. Two things being intimately connected, the proper name of the one employed figuratively to signify the other. Bay for light. Night for darkness ; and hence^, A sudden night. Winter for a storm at sea : Interea magno misceri murmure pontum, Emissamque Hyemem sensit Neptunus. jBneid. i. 1^8. This last figure would be too bold for a British writer, as a storm at sea is not inseparably connect- ed with winter in this climate. SECT, 7 .] FIGURES. ^73 5. A word proper to an attribute, employed %u» ratively to denote the subject. Youth and beauty for those who are young and beautiful. Youth and beauty shall be laid in dust. Majesty for the King. ‘ What art thou, that usurp’st this time of night,. Together with that fair and warlike form, In which the Majesty of buried Denmark Did sometime march ? Hamlet, Act /. Sc. 1. Or have ye chosen this place After the toils of battle, to repose Your wearied virtue^ Paradise Lost, Verdure for a green field. Summer, L 301. Speaking of cranes, The pigmy nations wounds and death they bring, And all the mr descends upon the wing. Iliad, hi. 10. Cool age advances venerably wise. Iliad, hi. 149. The peculiar beauty of this figure arises from suggesting an attribute that embellishes the sub» ject, or puts it in a stronger light. 6. A complex term employed figuratively to de- note one of the component parts, VOL. II. s FIGURES* [CH. 20* 274* Funus for a dead body. Burial for a grave. 7. The name of one of the component parts in« stead of the complex term. Toeda for a marriage. The East for a country situated east from us. Jo*vis vestigia servat^ for imitating Jupiter in general. 8. A word signifying time or place, employed figuratively to denote what is connected with it. Clime for a nation, or for a constitution of go- vernment : hence the expression Merciful clime^ Fleecy whiter for snow, Seculum felia:, 9. A part for the whole. The Foie for the earth. The head for, the per- son : Triginta minas pro capite tuo dedi. Plautus, Tergum for the man : Fugiens tergum. Ovid, Vultus for the man : Jam fulgor armorum fugaces Terret equos, equitumque vultus. Harat^ Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus Tam chari capitis? Horat. SECT. 7 «] FIGURES. ri5 Dumque virent genua? Thy growing virtues justified my cares. And promis’d comfort to my silver hairs. Horat, Iliad, ix. 616 . Forthwith from the pool he rears His mighty stature^ The silent heart with grief assails. Paradis^ Lost, Parnell, The peculiar beauty of this figure consists in mark- ing that part which makes the greatest figure. 10. The name of the container, employed figu- ratively to signify what is contained. Grove for the birds in it. Vocal grove* Ships^ for the seamen, Agonizing ships. Mountains for the sheep pasturing upon them, Bleating mountains, Zacynthus, Ithaca, he. for the inhabitants. Ex moestis domibus, Livy. 11. The name of the sustainer, employed figura- tively to signify what is sustained. Altar for the sacrifice. Field for the battle fought upon it. Well-fought IS. The name of the materials, employed figu- ratively to signify the things made of them. Ferrum for gladius. 276 FIGURES. [CH. SO. 13. The names of the Heathen deities, employed figuratively to signify what they patronize. Jove for the air, Mars for war, Venus for beau- ty, Cupid for love, Ceres for corn, Neptune for the sea, Vulcan for fire. This figure bestows great elevation upon the subject ; and therefore ought to be confined to the higher strains of poetry. SECOND TABLE. Attributes expressed jiguratively. When two attributes are connected, the name of the one may be employed figuratively to express the other. Purity and virginity are attributes of the same person : hence the expression. Virgin snow, for pure snow. S. A word signifying properly an attribute of one subject, employed figuratively to express a resembling attribute of another subject. Tottering state. Imperious ocean. Angry flood. Raging tempest. Shallovo fears. My sure divinity shall bear the' shield. And edge thy sword to reap the glorious field. Odyssey^ xx. 61 '. SECT. 7 .] FIGURES. ^77 Black omen, for an omen that portends had for- tune. Ater odor. Virgil. The peculiar beauty of this figure arises from sug- gesting a comparison. 3. A word proper to the subject, employed to express one of its attributes. Mens for intellectus. Mens for a resolution : Istam, oro, exue mentem. 4. When two subjects have a resemblance by a common quality, the name of the one subject may be employed figuratively to denote that quality in the other. Summer life for agreeable life. 5. The name of the instrument made to signify the power of employing it. Melpomene, cui iiquidam pater Vocem cum cithara, dedit. The ample field of figurative expression dis- played in these tables, affords great scope for rea- soning. Several of the observations relating to metaphor, are applicable to figures of speech : these I shall slightly retouch, with some additions peculiarly adapted to the present subject. FIGURES. ^78 [cH. 20. • In the first place, as the figure under considera- tion is built upon relation, we find from experience, and it must be obvious from reason, that the beau- ty of the figure depends on the intimacy of the relation between the figurative and proper sense of the word. A slight resemblance, in particular, wall never make this figure agreeable : the expres- sion, for example, Drink dom a secret^ for listen- ing to a secret with attention, is harsh and uncouth, because there is scarce any resemblance between listening and drinking. The expression weighty crack, used by Ben Johnson for loud crack, is worse if possible : a loud sound has not the slightest resemblance to a piece of matter that is weighty. The following expression of Lucretius is not less faulty, “ Et lepido quge ^mxtfiu:ata sonore,^’ i. 64^5. Sed magis Pugnas et exactos tyrannos Densum humeris hihit aure vulgus. Horat, Carm, I, 2. ode \ % Phemius ! let acts of gods, and heroes old. What ancient bards in hall and bower have told, Attemper’d to the lyre, your voice employ. Such the pleas’d ear will drink with silent joy. Odyssey, i. 433. Strepitumque exterritus hausit, JEneid, vi. 559. Write, my Queen, And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send. Cymbeline, Act i. Sc, 2. SECT. 7 .] PIGURES. ^79 As thus th’ effulgence tremulous I drink, Summer 1. 1684. hJeque audit currus habenas. Georg, i, 514. O Prince ! (Lycaon’s valiant son replied). As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide. The horses practis’d to their lord’s command, Shall hear the rein, and answer to thy hand. Eiad, V. 288. ' The following figures of speech seem altogether wild and extravagant, the figurative and proper meaning having no connexion whatever. Moving softness, Freshness breathes^ Breathing prospect. Flowing spring, Dewy light. Lucid coolness, and many others of this false coin, may be found in Thomson’s Seasons, Secondly, The proper sense of the word ought to bear some proportion to the figurative sense, and not soar much above it, nor sink much below it* This rule, as well as the foregoing, is finely illus- trated by Vida : Haec adeo cum sint, cum fas audere poetis Multa modis multis ; tamen observare memento Si quando baud propriis rem mavis dicere verbis, Translatisque aliunde notis, longeque petitis, Ne nimiam ostendas, quasrendo talia, euram. Namque aliqui exercent vim duram, et rebus iniqiie Nativam eripiunt formam, indignantibus ipsis Jnvitasque jubent alienos sumere vultus Haud magis imprudens mihi erit, et luminis expers^ Qui puero ingentes habitus det ferre gigantis. ^280 FIGURES. [CH. 20. Quam siqurs stabula alta lares appellet equinos, Aut crines m&gnse genitricis gramina dicat. PoeL iiL 148. . Thirdly, In a figure of speech, every circum- stance ought to be avoided that agrees with the proper sense only, not the figurative sense ; for it is the latter that expresses the thought, and the former serves for no other purpose but to make harmony : Zacynthus green with ever-shady groves. And Ithaca, presumptuous boast their loves ; Obtruding on my choice a second lord. They press the Hymenean rite abhorr’d. Odyssey y xix. 152. Zacynthus here standing figuratively for the inha- bitants, the description of the island is quite out of place : it puzzles the reader, by making him doubt whether the word ought to be taken in its proper or figurative sense. — Write, my Queen, And with mine eyes Til drink the words you send. Though ink be made of gall. Cymbeliney Act /. Sc. 2. The disgust one has to drink ink in reality, is not to the purpose where the subject is drinking ink figuratively. In the fourth place. To draw consequences from a figure of speech, as if the word were to be under- SECT. 7.] FIGURES. ^81 stood literally, is a gross absurdity, for it is con- founding truth with fiction. Be Mcttibray’s sins so heavy in his bosom, That they may break his foaming courser^s back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford. Richard IL Act /. Sc, 2, Sin may be imagined heavy in a figurative sense : but weight in a proper sense belongs to the acces- sory only; and therefore to describe the effects of weight, is to desert the principal subject, and to convert the accessory into a principal : Cronmell. How does your grace ? Wolsey, Why, well : Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now, and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur’d me, I humbly thank his Grace ; and from these shoulders. These ruin’d pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour. Henry VIIL Act ill. Sc, 2. Ulysses speaking of Hector : I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here the base and pillar by us. Troilus and Cressida^ Act iv. Sc, 5. Othello, No ; my heart is turn’d to stone : I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Othello^ Act iv. Sc, 1. 282 FIGURES. [CH. 20 . Not less, even in this despicable now, Than when my name fill’d Afric with affrights. And froze your hearts beneath your torrid zone. Don Sebastian^ King of Portugal, Act /. How long a space, since first I lov’d, it is ! To look into a glass I fear, And am surpris’d with wonder when I miss Grey hairs and wrinkles there. Condey, vol. i. p. 86. I chose the flourishing’st tree in all the park. With freshest boughs and fairest head ; I cut my love into his gentle bark. And in three days behold ’tis dead ; My very written flames so violent be. They’ve burnt and wither’d up the tree. Cowley, vole i. p. 136. Ah, mighty Love, that it were inward heat Which made this precious limbeck sweat ! But what, alas ! ah, what does it avail, That she weeps tears so wondrous cold. As scarce the ass’s hoof can hold, So cold, that I admire they fall not hail. Cowley, vol. i. p. 132, Such a play of words is pleasant in a ludicrous poem. Almeria, O Alphonso, Alphonso ! Devouring seas have wash’d thee from my sight, No time shall raze thee from my memory ; No, I will live to be thy monument : The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb ; But in my heart thou art interred. Mourning Bride, Act /. 1. SECT. 7‘] FIGURES. £ 83 ^ This would be very right, if there were any incon- sistence in being interred in one place really, and in another place %uratively. Je crains que cette saison Ne nous amene la peste ; La gueule du chien celeste Vomit feu sur I’horison. Afin que je m’en delivre, Je veux lire ton gros livre Jusques au dernier feiiillet : Tout ce que ta plume trace, Robinet, a de la glace A faire trembler Juillet. Maynard, In me tota mens Venus Cyprum deseruit. Horat. Carm, L i. ode 19. From considering that a word used in a figura- tive sense suggests at the same time its proper meaning, we discover a fifth rule. That we ought not to employ a word in a figurative sense, the proper sense of which is inconsistent or incongru- ous with the subject : for every inconsistency, and even incongruity, though in the expression only and not real, is unpleasant : Interea genitor Tyberini ad fluminis undam Vulnera siccabat ly mphis JEneid, x. 8 S3. Tres adeo inceftos caeca caligine soles Erramus pelago, totidem sine sidere noctes. ^neid, iii. 203. ^84 FIGURES. [CH. SO. The foregoing rule may be extended to form a sixth. That no epithet ought to be given to the figurative sense of a word that agrees not also with its proper sense : Dicat Opuntiae Frater Megillae, quo beatus Vulnere. Horat. Carm, lib, i. ode 27. Parcus deorum cultor, et infrequens, Insanientis dum sapientiae ConsultuB erro. Horat, Carm, lib, i. ode 34?. Seventhly, The crowding into one period or thought different figures of speech, is not less faulty than crowding metaphors in that manner : the mind is distracted in the quick transition from one image to another, and is puzzled instead of being pleased : I am of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck’d the honey of his music- vows. Hamlet, My bleeding bosom sickens at the sound. Odyssey y i. 439.' ' Ah miser. Quanta laboras in Charybdi ! Digne puer meliore Jlammu, Que saga, quis te solvere Thessalis Magus venenisy quis poterit deus ? Vix illigatum-te triformi Pegasus expediet Chimera, Morat, Carm, lih,\, ode^^l. SECT. 7‘] FIGURES. S85 Eighthly, If crowding figures be bad, it is still worse to graft one figure upon another : For in» stance. While his keen falchion drinks the warriors’ lives. lliad^ xi. 211. A falchion drinking the warriors* blood is a figure built upon resemblance, which is passable. But then in the expression, lives is again put for blood ; and by thus grafting one figure upon another, the expression is rendered obscure and unpleasant. Ninthly, Intricate and involved figures that can scarce be analyzed, or reduced to plain language, are least of all tolerable : Votis incendimus aras. J¥lneid, iii. 279. Onerantque canistris Dona laboratas Cereris, JEi7ieid. viii. 180. Vulcan to the Cyclopes : Anna acri facienda viro : nunc viribus usus, Nunc manibus rapidis, omni nunc arte magistra : Prcecipitate moras. JEneid. viii, 441, Huic gladio, perque aerea suta Per tunicam squalentem auro, haurit apertum. Mneid, x. 313. Semotique puris tarda necessitas Lethi, corripuit gradum. Horat, Carm. lib, i, ode S, 286 FIGURES. [CH. 20. Scriberis Vario fortis, et hostium Victor, Maeonii carminis alite. Horat. Carm, lib, i. ode 6, Else shall our fates be number’d with the dead. Iliad, V. 294. Commutual death the fate of war confounds. Iliad, viii. 85. and xi. 117. Speaking of Proteus, Instant he wears, elusive of the rape, The mimic force of every savage shape. Odyssey, iv. 563. Rolling convulsive on the floor, is seen The piteous object of a prostrate queen. Ibid, iv. 952. The mingling tempest waves its gloom. Autumn, 337. A various ^sweetness swells the gentle race. Ibid, 640. A sober calm fleeces unbounded ether. Ibid, 967. The distant waterfall swells in the breeze. Winter, 738. In the tenth place. When a subject is introduced by its proper name, it is absurd to attribute to it the properties of a different subject to which the word is sometimes applied in a figurative sense : Hear me, O Neptune ! thou whose arms are hurl’d From shore to shore, and gird the solid world. Odyssey, ix. 617. FIGURES. 287 SECT. 7 «] Neptune is here introduced pjgrsonally, and not figuratively for the ocean : the description there- fore, which is only applicable to the latter, is alto- gether improper. It is not sufficient, that a figure of speech be re- gularly constructed, and be free from blemish ; it requires taste to discern when it is proper, when improper ; and taste, I suspect, is our only guide. One however may gather from reflection and ex- perience, that ornaments and graces suit not any of the dispiriting passions, nor are proper for ex- pressing any thing grave and important. In fami- liar conversation, they are in some measure ridicu- lous : Prospero, in the Tempest^ speaking to his daughter Miranda, says, The fringed curtains of thine eyes advance. And say what thou seest yond. No exception can be taken to the justness of the figure ; and circumstances may be imagined to make it proper but it is certainly not proper in familiar conversation. In the last place, Though figures of speech have a charming effect when accurately constructed and properly introduced, they ought however to be scattered with a sparing hand : nothing is more luscious, and nothing consequently more satiating, than redundant ornaments of any kind. 15 2S8 NARRATION AND [CH. ^l. CHAPTER XXI. NARRATION AND DESCRIPTION. Horace, and many critics after him, exhort wri- ters to choose a subject adapted to their genius. Such observations would multiply rules of criticism without end ; and at any rate belong not to the present work, the object of which is human nature in general, and what is common to the species. But though the choice of a subject comes not under such a plan, the manner of execution comes under it ; because the manner of execution is subjected to general rules, derived from principles common to the species. These rules, as they concern the things expressed as well as the language or expres- sion, require a division of this chapter into two parts ; first of thoughts, and next of words. I pre- tend not to justify this division as entirely accurate : for in discoursing of thoughts, it is difficult to ab- stract altogether from the words ; and still more difficult, in discoursing of words, to abstract alto- gether from the thought. The first rule is. That in history, the reflections ought to be chaste and solid ; for while the mind is intent upon truth, it is little disposed to the operations of the imagination. Strada’s Belgic history is full of poetical images, which discording with the subject, are unpleasant j and they have a CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 289 Still worse efFectj by giving an air of fiction to a genuine history. Such flowers ought to be scat- tered with a sparing hand, even in epic poetry ; and at no rate are they proper, till the reader be warmed, and by an enlivened imagination be pre- pared to relish them : in that state of mind they are agteeable ; but while we are sedate and atten- tive to an historical chain of facts, we reject with disdain every fiction. This Belgic history is in- deed wofully vicious both in matter and in form : it is stuffed with frigid and unmeaning reflections ; and its poetical flashes, even laying aside their im- propriety, are mere tinsel. Second, Vida,* following Horace, recommends a modest commencement of an epic poem ; giving for a reason. That the writer ought to husband his fire. This reason has weight ; but what is said above suggests a reason still more weighty : bold thoughts and figures are never relished till the mind be heated and thoroughly engaged, which is not the reader’s case at the commencement. Ho- mer introduces not a single simile in the first book of the Iliad, nor in the first book of the Odyssey. On the other hand, Shakespeare begins one of his plays with a sentiment too bold for the most heated imagination : Bedford. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night ! Comets, importing change of times and states. VOL. U. * Poet. Lib. 2. 1. 30. T ^90 NARRATION AND [CH. 21. Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry’s death f Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long I England ne’er lost a king of so much worth. First Part Henry VL The passage with which Strada begins his history is too poetical for a subject of that kind ; and at any rate too high for the beginning of a grave per- formance. A third reason ought to have no' less influence than, either of the former, That a man, who, upon his first appearance, strains to make a figure, is too ostentatious to be relished. Hence the first sentences of a work ought to be short, natural and simple. Cicero, in his oration pro Arcliia poeta, errs against this rule ; his reader is out of breath at the very first period, which seems never to end. Burnet begins the Flistory of his Own Times with a period long and intricate. A third rule or observation is. That where the subject is intended for entertainment solely, not for instruction, a thing ought to be described as it appears, not as it is in reality. In running, for example, the impulse upon the ground is propor- tioned in some degree to the celerity of motion : though in appearance it is otherwise ; for a person in swift motion seems to skim the ground, and scarcely to touch it. Virgil, with great taste, de- scribes quick running according to appearance ; and raises an image far more lively than by adher- ing scrupulously to truth : CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 291 Hos super advenit Volsca de gente Camilla, Agmen agens equitum et florentes sere catervas, Bellatrix : non ilia colo calathisve Minervse Foemineas assueta manus ; sed prselia virgo Dura pad, cursuque pedum prsevertere ventos. Ilia vel intactse segeds per summa volaret Gramina : nec teneras cursu Isesisset aristas : Vel mare per itiedium, fluctu suspensa tumend, Ferret iter ; celeres nec tingeret sequore plantas. ' ^neid. vii. 803. This example is copied by the author of Telema- chus : Les Brutiens sont legeres a la course comme les cerfs, et comme les daims. On croiroit que Fherbe meme la plus tendre n’est point foulee sous leurs pieds; a peine laissent-ils dans le sable quelques traces de leurs pas. Liv, 10. Again : Deja il avoit abattu feusilas si leger a la course, qu’d peine il imprimoit la trace de ses pas dans le sable, et qui devan^oit dans son pays les plus rapides flots de PEurotas et de FAlphee. Liv, 20. Fourth, In narration as well as in description, objects ought to be painted so accurately as to form in the mind of the reader distinct and lively images. Every useless circumstance ought indeed to be suppressed, because every such circumstance loads the narration ; but if a circumstance be neces- sary, however slight, it cannot be described too minutely. The force of language consists in rais- ‘29S NARRATION ANO [CH. ^1. ing complete images ; * which have the effect to transport the reader as by magic into the very place of the important action, and to convert him ag it were into a spectator, beholding every thing that passes. The narrative in an epic poem ought to rival a picture in the liveliness and accuracy of its representations : no circumstance must be omitted that tends to make a complete image ; because an imperfect image, as well as any other imperfect conception, is cold and uninteresting. I shall illus- trate this rule by several examples, giving the first place to a beautiful passage from Virgil : Qualis pojpuled moerens Philomela sub umbra Amissos queritur foetus, quos durus arator Observaiis nido imphmes detraxit. Georg, lib. 1. Ijll, The poplar, ploughman, and unfledged young, though not essential in the description, tend to make a complete image, and upon that account are an embellishment. Again r Hie viridem Alneas ftvndenti ex ilice metam Constituit, signum nautis. ^neid. v. 129. Horace, addressing to Fortune : Te pauper ambit sollicita prece Riiris colonus : te dominam aequoris, Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 7. CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 293 Quicumque Bythina lacessit Carpathium pelagus carina. Carm, lib. 1. ode 35. Ilium ex moenibus hosticis Matrona bellantis tyranni Prospiciens, et adulta virgo, Suspiret : Eheu, ne rudis agminum Sponsus lacessat regius asperum Tactu leonem, quern cruenta Per medias rapit ira cmdes. Carm. lib. 3. ode 2. Shakespeare says,* ‘‘ You may as well go about to ‘‘ turn the sun to ice by fanning in his face with a “ peacock^ s feather.” The peacock’s feather, not to mention the beauty of the object, completes the image : an accurate image cannot be formed of that fanciful operation, without conceiving a parti- cular feather ; and one is at a loss when this is ne- glected in the description. Again, “ The rogues slighted me into the river, with as little remorse ‘‘ as they would have drown’d a bitch’s blind pup- pies, fifteen i’ th’ litter.” t Old Lady. You would not be a queen ? Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady. ’Tis strange : a threepence bow’d would hire me, old as I am, to queen it. Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 3. In the following passage, the action, with all its * Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1. f Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iii. Sc. 5. NARRATION AND fCH. Ql. material circumstances, is represented so much to the life, that it would scarce appear more distinct to a real spectator ; and it is the manner of des- cription that contributes greatly to the sublimity of th*e passage. He spake ; and to confirm his words, out flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty cherubim ; the sudden blaze Far round illumin’d hell : highly they rag’d Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms Clash’d on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven. Milton^ B. 1. A passage I am to cite from Shakespeare, falls not much short of that now mentioned in particularity of description : O you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft Have you climb’d up to walls and battlements. To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms ; and there have sat The live-long day with patient expectation To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; And when you saw his chariot but appear. Have you not made an universal shout, That Tyber trembled underneath his banks. To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in his concave shores ? Julius CcJBsar^ Act i. Sc. 1. The following passage is scarce inferior to either of those mentioned : DESCRIPTION. ^95 CH. ^1.] Far before the rest, the son of Ossian comes ; bright in the smiles of youth, fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair waves on his back : his dark brow is half beneath his helmet. The sword hangs loose on the hero’s side ; and his spear glitters as he moves. I fled from his terri- ble eye. King of high Temora. FmgaL The Henriade of Voltaire errs greatly against the foregoing rule : every incident is touched in a sum- mary way, without ever descending to circumstan- ces. This manner is good in a general history, the purpose of which is to record important transac- tions : but in a fable it is cold and uninteresting ; because it is impracticable to form distinct images of persons or things represented in a manner so su- perficial. It is observed above, that every useless circum- stance ought to be suppressed. The crowding such circumstances is, on the one hand, no less to be avoided, than the conciseness for which Voltaire is blamed, on the other. In the ^neidy"^ Barce, the nurse of Sichaeus, whom we never hear of before nor after, is introduced for a purpose not more im- portant than to call Anna to her sister Dido : and that it might not be thought unjust in Dido, even in this trivial circumstance, to prefer her husband’s nurse before her own, the poet takes care to inform his reader that Dido’s nurse was dead. To this I must oppose a beautiful passage in the same book, where, after Dido’s last speech, the poet, without » Lib. K 1. 632* 296 NARRATION AND [CH. 21. detaining his readers by describing the manner of her death, hastens to the lamentation of her atten- dants : Dixerat : atque illam media inter talia ferro Collapsam aspiciunt comites, ensemque cruore ’ Spumantem, sparsasque maniis. It clamor ad alta Atria, concussam bacchatur fama per urbem ; Lamentis gemituque et foemineo ululatu Tecta fremunt, resonat magnis plangoribus aether. Lib. 4 . 1 . 663 . As an appendix to the foregoing rule, I add the following observation. That to make a sudden and strong impression, some single circumstance, hap- pily selected, has more power than the most la- boured description. Macbeth, mentioning to his lady some voices he heard while he was murdering the King, says. There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried Murder ! They wak’d each other ; and I stood and heard them ; But they did say their prayers, and address them Again to sleep. Lady. There are two lodg’d together. Macbeth. One cried, God bless us ! and Amen the other ; As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands. Listening their fear, 1 could not say Amen, When they did say, God bless us. Lady. Consider it not so deeply. Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen ? I had most need of blessing, and Amen * Stuck in my throat. Lady. These deeds must not be thought After these v/ays ; so, it will make us mad. CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 297 Macbeth, Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! Macbeth doth murder sleep, &c. Act il. Sc, 2. Alphonso, in the Mourning Bride, shut up in the same prison where his father had been confin- ed : In a dark corner of my cell I found This paper ; what it is this light will shew. “ If my Alphonso” Ha ! \_Reading, ‘‘ If my Alphonso live, restore him, Heav’n ; “ Give me more weight, crush my declining years With bolts, with chains, imprisonment and want ; But bless my son, visit not him for me.” It is his hand ; this was his prayer — Yet more : “ Let ev’ry hair, which sorrow by the roots {Readings “ Tears from my hoary and devoted head, ]^e doubled in thy mercies to my son : Not for myself, but him, hear me, all-gracious” — ’Tis wanting what should follow Heav’n should follow. But his torn off — Why should that word alone Be torn from his petition ? ’Twas to Heav’n, But Heav'n was deaf, Heav’n heard him not ; but thus. Thus as the name of Heav’n from his is torn, So did it tear the ears of mercy from His voice, shutting the gates of prayer against him. If piety be thus debarred access On high, and of good men the very best Is singled out to bleed, and bear the scourge, What is reward ? or what is punishment ? But who shall dare to tax eternal justice ? Mourning Bride, Act III, Set NARRATION AND m [CH. 21. This incident is a happy invention, and a mark of uncommon genius. Describing Prince Henry : I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d, Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury ; And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropt down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. JFirsf Part Henry IV. Act iv. Sc. 1, K. Henry. Lord Cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign ! Second Part Henry VI. Act ill. Sc. 3. The same author, speaking ludicrously of an army debilitated with diseases, says, Half of them dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deso- late. The flames had resounded in the halls ; and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head : the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows ; and the rank grass of the wall waved round his head. Desolate is the dwell- ing of Morna : silence is in the houoe of her fathers. Pingal. CH. 21 .] DESCRIPTION. m To draw a character is the master-stroke of de- scription. In this Tacitus excels : his portraits are natural and lively, not a feature wanting nor mis- placed. Shakespeare, however, exceeds Tacitus in liveliness, some characteristical circumstance being generally invented or laid hold of, which paints more to the life than many words. The following instances will explain my meaning, and at the same time prove my observation to be just : Why should a man, whose blood is w^arm within. Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice. By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, (I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,) There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With puipose to be dress’d in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark 1 P my Antonio, I do know of those, That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing. Merchant of Venice^ Act /. Sc. 1. Again : Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice : his reasons are two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff ; you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them they are not worth the search. Ibid. In the following passage a character is completed by a single stroke : ^00 NARRATION AND [CH. Shallow, O the mad days that I have spent ; and to see how many of mine old acquaintance are dead. Silence, We shall all follow, Cousin. Shalloxv, Certain, ’tis certain, very sure, very sure; Death (as the Psalmist saith) is certain to all: all shall die. How' a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair ? Slender, Truly, Cousin, I was not there. Shallow, Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet ? Silence, Dead, Sir. Shallow, Dead ! see, see ; he drew a good bow : and dead ! He shot a fine shoot. How a score of ewes now ? Silence, Thereafter as they be. A score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds. Shalloxv, And is old Double dead ? Second Part Henry IV, Act III, Sc. 2. Describing a jealous husband : Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, v^tult, but he hath an abstract for the reiuembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you in the house. Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iv. Sc, 2. Congreve has an inimitable stroke of this kind in his comedy of Love for Love : Ben Legend, W ell, father, and how do all at home ? how does brother Dick, and brother Val ? Sir Sampso7i. Dick : body o’ me, Dick has been dead these two years. I writ you word when you were at Leg- horn, Ben, Mess, that’s true: marry, I had forgot. Dick’s dead, as you say. Act III, Sc, 6, Falstaff speaking of ancient Pistol ; 4 CH. ^1.] DESCRIPTION. SOI He’s no swaggerer, hostess : a tame cheater, i’faith ; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy-greyhound ; he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any shew of resistance. Second Part Henr^ IF. Act //. Sc. 4 ?. Ossian, among his other excellencies, is eminent- ly successful in drawing characters ; and he never fails to delight his reader with the beautiful atti- tudes of his heroes. Take the following instances : O Oscar ! bend the strong in arm ; but spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes of thy people ; but like the gale that moves the grass to those who ask thine aid. — So Tremor lived; such Trathal was; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured ; and the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel. We heard the voice of joy on the coast, and \re thought that the mighty Cathmore came. Cathmore the friend of strangers, the brother of red-haired Cairbar. But their souls were not the same; for the light of heaven was in the bosom of Cathmore. His towers rose on the banks of Atha : seven paths led to his halls : seven chiefs stood on these paths, and called the stranger to the feast. But Cathmore dwelt in the wood to avoid the voice of praise. Dermid and Oscar were one: they reaped the battle together. Their friendship w^as strong as their steel ; and death walked between them to the field. They rush on the foe like two rocks falling from the brow of Ardveii. Their swords are stained with the blood of the valiant : warriors faint at their name. Who is equal to Oscar but Dermid ? who to Dermid but Oscar ? 302 NARRATION AND [CH. 21 . Son of Comhal, replied the chief, the strength of Morni^s arm lias failed ; I attempt to draw the sword of my youth, but it remains in its place : I throw the spear, but it falls short of the mark : and I feel the weight of my shield.' We decay like the grass of the mountain, and our strength returns no more. I have a son, O Fingal, his soul has delighted in the actions of Morni’s youth ; but his sword has not been fitted against the foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to battle, to direct his arm. His renown will be a sun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people ! that the heroes would only say, Behold the « father of Gaul.” Some writers, through heat of imagination, fall into contradiction ; some are guilty of downright absurdities; and some even rave like madmen. Against such capital errors one cannot be more effectually warned than by collecting instances ; and the first shall be of a contradiction, the most venial of all. Virgil speaking of Neptune, Interea magno misceri murmure pontum, Emissamque hyemem sensit Neptunus, et imis Stagna refusa vadis : graviter covimotusy et alto Prospiciens, summa flacidum caput extulit unda. JEaieid. i. 12S. Again : When first young Maro, in his boundless mind, A work t^ outlast immortal Rome design’d. Essay on Criticism, L 130. The following examples are of absurdities : Alii pulsis e tormento catenis discerpti sectique, dimin DESCRIPTION. S03 OH. 21 .] diato corpore pugnabant eibi superstites, ac peremptae par- tis ultores. Strada, Dec. 2. 1. 2. II pover huomo, che non sen’ era accorto, Andava combattendo, ed era morto. Berni. He fled ; but flying, left his life behind. Iliad^ xi. 433. Full through his neck the weighty falchion sped : Along the pavement roll’d the mutt’ring head. Odyssey^ xxii. 365. The last article is of raving like one mad. Cleo- patra speaking to the aspic, Welcome, thou kind deceiver. Thou best of thieves ; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and unperceiv’d by us, Ev’n steal us from ourselves ; discharging so Death’s dreadful office, better than himself ; Touching our limbs so gently into slumber. That Death stands by, deceiv’d by his own image. And thinks himself but sleep. Dryden^ All for Love^ Act. r. Reasons that are common and known to every one, ought to be taken for granted : to express them is childish, and interrupts the narration. Quintus Curtins, relating the battle of Issus, Jam in conspectu, sed extra teli jactum, utraque acies erat ; quum priores Persae inconditum et trucem sustulere clamorem. Redditur et a Macedonibus major, exercitug impar numero, sed jugis montium vastisque saltibus reper- cussus : quippe semper circiimjecta nemm'a petrceque, quan-- tumcunque accepere vocemy midtiplicato sono referunt. 24 NARRATION AND [CH. 21. •Having discussed what observations occurred upon the thoughts or things expressed, I proceed to what more peculiarly concern the language or verbal dress. The language proper for express- ing passion being handled in a former chapter, several observations there made are applicable to the present subject; particularly. That as words are intimately connected with the ideas they repre- sent, the emotions raised by the sound and by the sense ought to be concordant. An elevated sub- ject requires an elevated style ; what is familiar, ought to be familiarly expressed : a subject that is serious and important, ought to be clothed in plain nervous language : a description, on the other hand, addressed to the imagination, is susceptible of the highest ornaments that sounding words and figurative expression can bestow upon it. I shall give a few examples of the foregoing rules. A poet of any genius is not apt to dress a high sub- ject in low words ; and yet blemishes of that kind are found even in classical works. Horace, ob- serving that men are satisfied with themselves, but seldom with their condition, introduces Jupiter indulging to each his own choice : Jam faciam quod vultis ; eris tu, qui modo miles, Mercator : tu, consultus modo, rusticus : hinc vos, Vos liinc mutatis discedite partibus : eia, Quid statis ? nolint : atqui licet esse beatis. Quid causae est, merito quin illis Jupiter amhas Iratas buccas hijlet ? ' neque se fore posthac Tam facilem dicat, votis ut praebeat aurem ? Sat. lib. 1. Sat. 1. 1. 16, CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 805 Jupiter in wrath puffing up both cheeks, is a low and even ludicrous expression, far from suitable to the gravity and importance of the subject : every one must feel the discordance. The following couplet, sinking far below the subject, is no less ludicrous : Not one looks backward, onward still he goes, Yet ne’er looks forward farther than his nose. jEssaj/ on Man^ Ep, iv. 22S. Le Rhin tremble et fremit a ces tristes nouvelles ; Le feu sort a travers ses humides prunelles. C’est done trop peu, dit-il, que I’Escaut en deux mois Ait appris d couler sous de nouvelles loix ; Et de mille remparts mon onde environnee De ces fleuves sans nom suivra la destinee ? Ah ! perissent mes eaux, ou par d’illustres coups Montrons qui doit ceder des mortels ou de nous. A ces mots essuiant sa barbe limonneuse^ II prend d’un vieux guerrier la figure poudreuse. Son front cicatrice rend son air furieux, Et Tardeur du combat etincelle en ses yeiix. Boileau^ Epitre 4*. /. 61. A god wiping his dirty beard is proper for bur- lesque poetry only ; and altogether unsuitable to the strained elevation of this poem. On the other hand, to raise the expression above the tone of the subject, is a fault than which none is more common. Take the following instances : Orcan le plus fidele a server ses desseins, Ne sous le ciel brulant des plus noirs Affricains. Bajazet^ Act IIL Sc.%: TOI.. II, 306 NARRATION AND [CH. 21. Les ombres par trois fois ont obscurci les deux Depuis que le sommeil n’est entre dans vos yeux : Et le jour a trois fois chasse la nuit obscure Depuis que votre corps languit sans nourriture. Phedra^ Act /. Sc, 3. Assuerus. Ce mortel, qui montra tant de zde pour moij Vit-il encore? Asaph, Fastre qui vous eclaire. Esther^ Act ii. Sc, 3, Oui, c’est Agamemnon, c’est ton roi qui t’eveille ; Viens, reconnois la voix qui frappe ton oreille. Iphigenie, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day. But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; And the King^s rowse the heav’ns shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Hamlet y Act I, Sc, 2. — In the inner room I spy a winking lamp, that weakly strikes The ambient air, scarce kindling into light. Southern^ Pate of Capua, Act in. In the funeral orations of the Bishop of Meaux, the following passages are raised far above the tone of the subject : . L’Ocean etonne de se voir, traverse tant de fois, en des appareils si divers, et pour des causes si differentes, &c. P.6, Grande Reine^ je satisfais a vos plus tendres desirs, quand je celebre ce monarque ? et son coeur qui n’a jamais vecu que pour lui, se eveille, tout poudre qu’il est, et de- CH, 21,] DESCRIPTION. ao7 vient sensible, meme sous ce drap mortuaire, au nom d’un epoux si cher. jP. 32. Montesquieu, in a didactic work, Uesprit des Loij^, gives too great indulgence to imagination : the tone of his language swells frequently above his subjects I give an example : Mr le Comte de Boulainvilliers et Mr TAbbe Dubos ont fait chacun un systeme, dont Tun semble etre une con- juration contre le tiers-etat, et I’autre une conjuration contre la noblesse. Lorsque le Soleil donna a Phaeton son char a conduire, il lui dit. Si vous montez trop haut, vous brulerez la demeure celeste ; si vous descendez trop bas, vous reduirez en cendres la terre : n’allez point trop a droite, vous tomberiez dans la constellation du serpent ; n’allez point trop a gauche, vous iriez dans celle de Tautel ; tenez-vous entre les deux. L, 30. ch, 10. The following passage, intended, one would ima- gine, as a receipt to boil water, is altogether bur- lesque by the laboured elevation of the diction : A massy caldron of stupendous frame They brought, and plac’d it o’er the rising flame; Then heap the lighted wood ; the flame divides Beneath the vase, and climbs around the sides : In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream ; The boiling water bubbles to the brim. Iliad^ xviii. 405. In a passage at the beginning of the 4th book of Telemachus, one feels a sudden bound upward without preparation, which accords not with the subject : 308 NARRATION AND [CH. SI. Calypso, qui avoit ete jusqu’ a ce moment immobile et transportee de plaisir en ecoutant les avantures de Tele- maque, I’interrompit pour lui faire prendre quelque repos. II est terns, lui dit-elle, qui vous alliez gouter la douceur du sommeil apres tant de travaux. Vous n’avez rien a craindre ici ; tout vous est favorable. Abandonnez vous done a la joye. Goutez la paix, et tous les autres dons des dieux dont vous allez etre comble. Demain, quand VAurore avec ses doigts de roses entr^ owurira les jpories dorees de V Orient, et que le chevaux du Soleil sortans de Vonde amere repandront les Jlames dujoiir, •pour chasser de^ vant eux toutes les etoiles du del, nous reprendrons, mon cher Telemaque, I’histoire de vos malheurs. This obviously is copied from a similar passage in the ^neid, which ought not to have been copied, because it lies open to the same censure j but the force of authority is great : At regina gravi jamdudum saucia cura Vulnus alit venis, et caeco carpitur igni. Multa viri virtu s animo, multusque recur sat Gentis bonos : hserent infixi pectore vultus, Yerbaque ; nec placidam membris dat cura quietem.' Postera Pheehea lustrabat lampade terras, Humentemque Aurora polo dimover at umbram; Cum sic unanimem alloquitur malesana sororem. Lib, iv. 1. Take another example where the words rise above the subject : Ainsi les peuples y accoururent bientot en foule de toutes partes ; le commerce de cette ville etoit semblable au flux et au reflux de la mer. Les tresors y entroient comme les flots viennent I'un sur Tautre. Tout y etoit DESCRIPTION. 309 CH. 21.] apporte et eii sortoit librement ; tout ce qui y entroit, etoit utile; tout ce qui en sortoit, laissoit en sortant d^autres richesses en sa place. La justice severe presidoit dans le port au milieu de tant de nations. La franchise, la bonne foi, la candeur, sembloient du haut de ces superbs tours ap- peller les marchands des terres le plus eloignees ; chacun de ces marchands, soil qu^il vint des rives orientates oil le soleil sort chaque jour du sein des ondesy soit qu'il fut jparti de cette grande mer oil le soleil lasse de son cours vd eteindre ses feux^ vivoit paisible et en surete dans Salente comme dans sa patrie I Telemckqxie^i 1, 12. The language of Homer is suited to his subject, no less accurately than the actions and sentiments of his heroes are to their characters. Virgil, in that particular, falls short of perfection : his lan- guage is stately throughout j and though he de- scends at times to the simplest branches of cookery, roasting and boiling for example, yet he never re- laxes a moment from the high tone.* In adjust- ing his language to his subject, no writer equals Swift. I can recollect but one exception, which at the same time is far from being gross : The journal of a modern lady is composed in a style blending sprightliness with familiarity, perfectly suited to the subject ; in one passage, however, the poet, deviating from that style, takes a tone above his subject. The passage I have in view begins, L 116. But let me m*w a while survey^ &c. and ends at h 135. It is proper to be observed upon this head, that * See dEneid, lib. i. 188—219. ^10 NARRATION AND [Ctt. 21. writers of inferior rank are continually upon the stretch to enliven and enforce their subject by ex- aggeration and superlatives. This unluckily has an effect contrary to what is intended ; the reader, disgusted with language that swells above the sub- ject, is led by contrast to think more meanly of the subject than it may possibly deserve. A^man of prudence, beside, will be no less careful to husband his strength in writing than in walking : a writer too liberal of superlatives, exhausts his whole stock upon ordinary incidents, and reserves no share to express, with greater energy, matters of import- ance.* Many writers of that kind abound so in epithets, as if poetry consisted entirely in high-sounding words. Take the following instance : When black-brow’d Night her dusky mantle spread. And wrapt in solemn gloom the sable sky ; When soothing Sleep her opiate dews had shed, And seal’d in silken slumbers ev’ry eye ; My wakeful thoughts admit no balmy rest, Nor the sweet bliss of soft oblivion share ; But watchful wo distracts my aching breast, My heart the subject of corroding care : From haunts of men with wand’ring steps and slow I solitary steal, and sooth my pensive wo. * Montaigne, reflecting upon the then present modes, ob- serves, that there never was at any other time, so abject and servile prostitution of words in the addresses made by people of fashion to one another ; the humblest tenders of life and soul, no professions under that of devotion and adoration ; the writer constantly declaring himself a vassal, nay a slave : so that when CH. 21.3 DESCRIPTION* ail Here every substantive is faithfully attended by some tumid epithet ; like young master, who can- not walk abroad without having a laced livery-man at his heels. Thus in reading without taste, an emphasis is laid on every word 5 and in singing without taste, every note is graced. Such redun- dancy of epithets, instead of pleasing, produce satiety and disgust. The power of language to imitate thought, is not confined to the capital circumstances above mentioned: it reacheth even the slighter modifi- cations. Slow action, for example, is imitated by words pronounced slow : labour or toil, by words harsh or rough in their sound. But this subject has been already handled.* * In dialogue-writing, the condition of the speaker is chiefly to be regarded in framing the expression. The sentinel in Hamlet^ interrogated with relation to the ghost, whether his watch had been quiet, an- swers with great propriety for a man in his station, “ Not a mouse stirring.’’! I proceed to a second remark, no less important any more serious occasion of friendship or gratitude requires more genuine professions, words are wanting to express them. * Chap. 18. Sect. 3. f One can scarce avoid smiling at the blindness of a certain critic, who, with an air of self-sufficiency, condemns this ex- pression as low and vulgar. A French poet, says he, woul4 express the same thought in a more sublime manner : “ Mais tout dort, et Tarmee, et les vents, et Neptune.” And he adds. The English poet may please at London, but the French «« every where else.” JJARRATION AND [CH. 21. S12 than the former. No person of reflection but must be sensible, that an incident makes a stronger im- pression on an eye-witness, than when heard at second hand. Writers of genius, sensible that the eye is the best avenue to the heart, represent every thing as passing in our sight ; and, from readers or hearers, transform us as it were into spectators : a skilful writer conceals himself, and presents his personages : in a word, every thing becomes dra- matic as much as possible. Plutarch de gloria Atheniensium, observes, that Thucydides makes his reader a spectator, and inspires him with the same passions as if he were an eye-witness ; and the same observation is applicable to our country- man Swift. From this happy talent arises that energy of style which is peculiar to him : he can- not always avoid narration ; but the pencil is his choice, by which he bestows life and colouring upon his objects. Pope is richer in ornament, but possesseth not in the same degree the talent of drawing from the life. A translation of the sixth satire of Horace, begun by the former and finished by the latter, afibrds the fairest opportunity for a comparison. Pope obviously imitates the pictu- resque manner of his friend ; yet every one of taste must be sensible, that the imitation, though fine, falls short of the original. In other instances, where Pope writes in his own style, the difierence of manner is still more conspicuous. Abstract or general terms have no good effect in any composition for amusement ; because it is only of particular objects that images can be fon^a^ CH. 21.3 DESCRIPTION. 318 ed.* Shakespeare’s style in that respect is excel- lent : every article in his descriptions is particular^ as in nature ; and if accidentally a vague expres- sion slip in, the blemish is discernible by the blunt- ness of its impression. Take the following exam- ple: Falstaff, excusing himself for running away at a robbery, says, By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters ; was it for me to kill the heir- apparent? should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct, the lion will not touch the true prince : instinct is a great matter, I was a coward on instinct : I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What ! shall we be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? First Part Henry IV, Act ii. Sc, 4. The sentence I object to is, instinct is a great mat- ter^ which makes but a poor figure compared with the liveliness of the rest of the speech. It was one of Homer’s advantages, that he wrote before gene- ral terms were multiplied : the superior genius of Shakespeare displays itself in avoiding them after they were multiplied. Addison describes the family of Sir Roger de Coverley in the following words : See Chap. 4. NARRATION AND 3U [CH. 21 . You would take his valet-de-chambre for his brother, his butler is grey-headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a privy-counsellor. Spectator, NO. 106. The description of the groom is less lively than of the others ; plainly because the expression, being vague and general, tends not to form any image. “ Dives opum variarum,”* is an expression still more vague ; and so are the following : — Maecenas, mearum Grande decus, columenque rerum, Horat, Carm, lib, 2. ode 1 7. et fide Teia Dices labor antes in uno Penelopen, vitreamque Circen. Ibid, lib, 1 . ode 1 7. Ridiculum acri Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res, Horat, Satir, lib, 1. sat, 10. In the fine arts it is a rule, to put the capital objects in the strongest point of view ; and even to present them oftener than once, where it can be done. In history-painting, the principal figure is placed in the front, and in the best light : an equestrian statue is placed in a centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places at once. In no composition is there greater opportunity for this rule than in writings. * Georg, ii. 4<68* CH. ^1.] DESCRIPTION. 315 ■ Sequitur pulcherrimus Astur, Astur equo fidens et versicoloribus armis. JEneid, x. 180. Full many a lady IVe ey’d with best regard, and many a time Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear ; for several virtues Have I lik’d several women, never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, And put it to the foil. But you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best, ^he Tempest, Act III, Sc, 1. Orlando, Whate’er you are That in this desart inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs. Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; If ever you have look’d on better days ; If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church ; If ever sat at any good man’s feast ; If ever from your eye-lids wip’d a tear, And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied ; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. In the which hope I blush and hide my sword. Duke sen. True is it that we hate seen better days; And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church ; And sat at good mens’ feasts ; and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity had engendered : And therefore sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to your wanting may be minister’d. jis you like if. Sl6 NARRATION AND [CH. 21 . With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons, and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet. With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herbs, tree, fruit, and flower, Glist’ring with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild, the silent night With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train. But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glist’ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night. With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon Or glittering star light, without thee is sweet. Paradise Lost, h. 4. /. 634. What mean ye, that ye use this proverb. The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge? As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion to use tliis proverb in Israel. If a man keep my judgments to deal truly, he is just, he shall surely live. But if he be a robber, a shedder of blood ; if he have eaten upon the mountains, and defiled his neighbour's wife ; if he have oppressed the poor and needy, have spoiled by violence, have not restored the pledge, have lift up his eyes to idols, have given forth upon usury, and have taken in* crease : shall he live ? he shall not live : he shall surely die ; and his blood shall be upon him. Now, lo, if he be- get a son that seeth all his father's sins, and considereth, and doeth not such like ; that hath not eaten upon the mountains, hath not lift up his eyes to idols, nor defiled DESCRIPTION. 317 CH. 21 .] his neighbour’s wife, hath not oppressed any, nor withheld the pledge, neither hath spoiled by violence, but hath given his bread to the hungry, and covered the naked with a garment; that hath not received usury nor increase, that hath executed my judgments, and walked in my statutes ; he shall not die for the iniquity of his father; he shall surely live. The soul that sinneth, it shall die ; the son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son ; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the vdcked shall be upon him. Have I any pleasure that the wicked should die, saith the Lord God ; and not that he should return from his ways and live ? Ezekiel^ xviii. The repetitions in Homer, which are frequent, have been the occasion of much criticism. Sup- pose we were at a loss about the reason, might not taste be sufficient to justify them ? At the same time, we are at no loss about the I'eason : they evi- dently make the narration dramatic, and have an air of truth, by making things appear as passing in our sight. But such repetitions are unpardonable in a didactic poem. In one of Hesiod’s poems of that kind, a long passage occurs twice in the same chapter. A concise comprehensive style is a great orna- ment in narration ; and a superfluity of unneces- sary words, no less than of circumstances, a great nuisance. A judicious selection of the striking circumstances clothed in a nervous style, "s de- lightful. In this style, Tacitus excels all writers, ancient and modern. Instances are numberless : take the foUomng specimen. 318 NARRATION AND [CH. Si. Crebra hinc praelia, et saepius in modum latrocinii : per saltiis, per paludes ; ut cuique fors aut virtus : temere, pro- viso, ob iram, ob prasdam, jussa, et aliquando ignaris ducir bus. AnnaL lib, 12. § 39. After Tacitus, Ossian in that respect justly me- rits the place of distinction. One cannot go wrong for examples in any part of the book ; and at the first opening the following instance meets the eye : Nathos clothed his limbs in shining steel. The stride of the chief is lovely : the joy of his eye terrible. The wind rustles in his hair. Darthula is silent at his side : her look is fixed on the chief. Striving to hide the rising sigh, two tears swell in her eyes. I add one other instance, which, beside the pro- perty under consideration, raises delicately our most tender sympathy. Son of Fin^al ! dost thou not behold the darkness of Crother’s hall of shells ? My soul was not dark at the feast, when my people lived. I rejoiced in the presence of strangers, when my son shone in the hall. But, Ossian, he is a beam that is departed, and left no streak of light behind. He is fallen, son of Fingal, in the battles of his father. Rothmar, the chief of grassy Tromlo, heard that my eyes had failed ; he heard that my arnis were fixed in the hall, and the pride of his soul arose. ^ He came to- wards Croma : my people fell before him. I took my arms in the hall, but what could sightless Crothar do ? My steps were unequal ; my grief, was great. I wished for the days that were past : days ! wherein I fought, and won in the field of blood. My son returned from the chase ; the fair- haired Fovar-gormo. He had not lifted his sword in DESCRIPTION, 319 €H. SI.] battle, for his arm was young. But the soul of the youth was great; the fire of valour burnt in his eye. He saw the disordered steps of his father, and his sigh arose. King of Croma, he said, is it because thou hast no son ? is it for the weakness of Fovar-gormo’s arm that thy sighs arise ? I begin, my father, to feel the strength of my arm ; I have drawn the sword of my youth, and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar, with the youths of Croma : let me meet him, O my father, for I feel my burning soul. And thou shalt meet him, I said, son of the sightless Crothar 1 But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of thy feet at thy return ; for my eyes be- hold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo ! — He went; he met the foe ; he fell. The foe advances towards Croma. He who slew my son is near, with all his pointed spears. If a concise or nervous style be a beauty, tauto- logy must be a blemish ; and yet writers, fettered by verse, are not sufficiently careful to avoid this slovenly practice: they may be pitied, but they cannot be justified. Take for a specimen the fol- lowing instances, from the best poet, for versifica- tion at least, that England has to boast of. High on his helm celestial lightnings play, • His beamy shield emits a living ray, Th’ unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies, Like the red star that fires th’ autumnal skies. Iliad^ V. 5. Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne. Iliady viii. o76. So silent fountains, from a rock’s tall head. In sable streams soft trickling waters shed. Iliady ix. 19. NARRATION AND [CH. 21 . His clanging armour rung. Iliad^ xii. 94. Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye. Iliad, XV. 4*. The blaze of armour flash’d against the day. Iliad, xvii. 736. As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow. Iliad, xix. 380. And like the moon, the broad refulgent shield Blaz’d with long rays, and gleam’d athwart the field. Iliad, xix. 402. No — could our swiftness o’er the winds prevail, Or beat the pinions of the western gale, All were in vain Iliad, xix. 460. The humid sweat from every pore descends. Iliad, xxiii. 829. Redundant epithets, such as humid in the last cita- tion, are by Quintilian disallowed to orators, but indulged to poets ; * because his favourite poets, in a few instances, are reduced to such epithets for the sake of versification ; for instance, Frata cams albicant 'pruinis of Horace, and Uquidos fontes of Virgil. As an apology for such careless expressions, it may well suflSce, that Pope, in submitting to be a translator, acts below his genius. In a translation, it is hard to require the same spirit or accuracy that is cheerfully bestowed on an original work. * Lib. viii. cap. 6. sect. 2. DESCRIPTION. 321 CH. 21.2 And to support the reputation of that author, I shall give some instances from Virgil and Horace, more faulty by redundancy than any of those above mentioned : Saepe etiam immensum coelo venit agmen aquarum, Et foedam glomerant tempestatem imbribus atris Collectae ex alto nubes : ruit arduus ether, Et pluvia ingenti sata Iseta, boumque labores Diluit. Georg, lib. \. 322. Postquam altum tenuere rates, nee jam amplius ullae Apparent terras ; coelum undique et undique pontus : Turn mihi coeruleus supra caput astitit imber, Noctem hyememque ferens : et inhorruit unda tenebris. j^neid. lib. hi. 192. “ — Hinc tibi copia Manabit ad plenum benigno Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. Horat. Carm. lib. i. ode 1 7. Videre fessos vomerem inversutri boves Collo trahentes languido. Horat, epod. ii. 63. Here I can luckily apply Horace’s rule against himself : Est brevitate opus, ut currat sentential neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures. Satir. lib. i. sat. x. 9. I close this chapter with a curious inquiry. An object, however ugly to the sight, is far from be- ing so when represented by colours or by words. What is the cause of this difference ? With re&- VOL. II, X NARRATION AND [CH. 32 ^ pect to painting, the cause is obvious : a good pic- ture, whatever the subject be, is agreeable by the pleasure we take in imitation ; and this pleasure overbalancing the disagreeableness of the subject, makes the picture upon the whole agreeable. With respect to the description of an ugly object, the cause follows. To connect individuals in the so- cial state, no particular contributes more than lan- guage, by the power it possesses of an expeditious communication of thought, and a lively represen- tation of transactions. But nature hath not been satisfied to recommend language by its utility merely : independent of utility, it is made suscep- tible of many beauties, which are directly felt, without any intervening reflection.* And this un- folds the mystery ; for the pleasure of language is so great, as in a lively description to overbalance the disagreeableness of the image raised by it. t This, however, is no encouragement to choose a disagreeable subject; for the pleasure is incom- parably greater where the subject and the descrip- tion are both of them agreeable. The following description is upon the whole agreeable, though the subject described is in itself dismal : * Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish’d rolling in the fiery gulf. Confounded though immortal ! but his doom * See Chap. 18. f See Chap. 2. Part 4. GH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 328 Reserv’d him to more wrath ; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pain Torments him ; round he throws his baleful eyes That witness’d huge affliction and dismay, Mix’d with obdurate pride and stedfast hate : At once as far as angels ken he views The dismal situation waste and wild : A dungeon horrible, on all sides round As one great furnace flam’d ; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv’d only to discover sights of wo. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all ; but torture without end Still urges, and fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsum’d ! Such place eternal justice had prepar’d For those rebellious. Paradise Lost, B, i. L 50. An unmanly depression of spirits in time of danger is not an agreeable sight ; and yet a fine descrip» tion or representation of it will be relished : K, Bichard* What must the King do now ? must he submit ? The King shall do it : must he be depos’d ? The King shall be contented : must he lose The name of King ? i’ God’s name, let it go : I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace for a hermitage ; My gay apparel for an almsman’s gown ; My figur’d goblets for a dish of wood ; My sceptre for a palmer’s walking-staff ; My subjects for a pair of carved saints ; And my large kingdom for a little grave ; NARRATION AND [CH. 2L 324 A little, little grave— —an obscure grave. Or ni be buried in the King’s highway ; Some way of common tread, where subjects’ feet May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head; For on my heart they tread now, whilst I live, And buried once, why not upon my head ? Richard IL Act III. Sc. S. Objects that strike terror in a spectator, have in poetry and painting a fine effect. The picture by raising a slight emotion of terror, agitates the mind ; and in that condition every beauty makes a deep impression. May not contrast heighten the pleasure, by opposing our present security to the danger of encountering the object represented ? — The other shape. If shape it might be call’d, that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d. For each seem’d either ; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart. Paradise Lost, B. ii. 1. 666. Now storming fury rose. And clamour such as heard in heaven till now Was never : arms on armour clashing bray’d Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag’d ; dire was the noise Of conflict : overhead the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming vollies flew. And flying vaulted either host with fire. So under fiery cope together rush’d Both battles main, with ruinous assault CH. 21.] DESCRIPTION. 325 And inextinguishable rage : all heaven Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth Had to her centre shook. Paradise Lost, B, vi. L 207. Ghost, But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part. And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. Gratiano, PoorDesdemona! Pm glad thy father’s dead: Thy match was mortal to him ; and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now, This sight would make him do a desperate turn ; Yea, curse his better angel from his side. And fall to reprobation. Othello, Act v. Sc. 2. Objects of horror must be excepted from the foregoing theory ; for no description, however lively, is sufficient to overbalance the disgust raised even by the idea of such objects. Every thing horrible ought therefore to be avoided in a description. Nor is this a severe law: the poet will avoid sucl,i scenes for his own sake, as well as for that of his reader ; and to vary his descriptions, nature affords plenty of objects that disgust us in some degree without raising horror. I am obliged therefore to condemn the picture of Sin in the second book of Paradise Lost, though a masterly S2(i NARRATION AND [CH. 21 . performance : the original would be a horrid spec- tacle ; and the horror is not much softened in the copy : ,, — Pensive here I sat Alone ; but long I sat not, till my womb, Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown. Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. At last this odious offspring whom thou seest. Thine own begotten, breaking violent way. Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew Transform^ ; but he my inbred enemy Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart. Made to destroy : I fled, and cried out Death ! Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh’d From all her caves, and back resounded Death. I fled ; but he pursued, (though more, it seems, Inflam’d with lust than rage), and swifter far, Me overtook, his mother, all dismay’d. And in embraces forcible and foul Engend’ring with me, of that rape begot These yelling monsters that with ceaseless cry Surround me, as thou saw’st, hourly conceiv’d And hourly born, with sorrow infinite To me ; for when they list, into the womb That bred them they return, and howl and gnaw My bowels, their repast ; then bursting forth. Afresh with conscious terrors vex me round. That rest or intermission none I find. Before mine eyes in opposition sits Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on, And me his parent would full soon devour For want of other prey, but that he knows His end with mine involved ; and knows that I , CH. 2L] DESCRIPTION, 327 Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane, Whenever that shall be. Book ii. I* 777. lago’s character in the tragedy of Othello^ is insuf- ferably monstrous and satanical : not even Shake- speare’s masterly hand can make the picture agree- able. Though the objects introduced in the following scenes are not altogether so horrible as Sin is in Milton’s description ; yet with every person of de- licacy, disgust will be the prevailing emotion : — — Strophades Graio stant nomine dictae Insulse lonio in magno : quas dira Celaeno, Harpyiaeque colunt aliae : Phineia postquam Clausa domus, rnensasque metu liquere priores. Tristius baud illis monstrum, nec saevior ulla Pestis et ira Deum Stygiis sese extulit undis. Virginei volucrum vultus, foedissima ventris Proluvies, uncagque manus, et pallida semper Ora fame. Hue ubi delati portus intravimus : ecce Lasta bourn passim campis armenta videmus, Caprigenumque pecus, nullo custode, per herbas. Irruimus ferro, et Divos ipsumque vocamus Jn praedam partemque Jovem : tunc littore curvo Extruimusque toros, dapibusque epulamur opimis. At subitae horrifico lapsu de montibus adsunt Plarpyiae : et magnis quatiunt clangoribus alas : Diripiuntque dapes, contactuque omnia feedant Immundo : turn vox tetrum dira inter odorem. jEneid. lib, hi. 210. Sum patria ex Ithaca, comes infelicis Ulyssei, Nomen Achemenides : Trojam, genitore Adamasto 328 NARRATION, &C. [CH. 21 . Paupere (mansissetque utinam fortuna !) profectus. Hie me, dum trepidi crudelia limina linquunt, Immemores socii vasto Cyclopis in antro Deseruere. Domus sanie dapibusque cmentis, Intus opaca, ingens : ipse arduus, altaque pulsa Sidera: (Dii, talem terris avertite pestem) Nec visu facilis, nec dictu aiFabilis ulli. Visceribus miserorum, et sanguine vescitur atro. Vidi egomet, duo de numero cum corpora nostro, Prensa manu magna, medio resupinus in antro, Frangeret ad saxum, sanieque aspersa natarent Limina : vidi, atro cum membra fluentia tabo Manderet, et tepidi tremerent sub dentibus artus. Haud impune quidem : nec talia passus Ulysses, Oblitusve sui est Ithacus discrimine tanto. Nam simul expletus dapibus, vinoque sepultus Cervicem inflexam posuit, jacuitque per antrum Immensus, saniem eructans, ac frusta cruento Per somnum commixta mero ; nos, magna precati Numina, sortitique vices, una undique circum Fundimur, et telo lumen terebramus acuto Ingens, quod torva solum sub fronte latebat. j^neid, Ub» iii. 61 $. CHAPTER XXII. EPIC AND DRAMATIC COMPOSITION. Tragedy differs not from the epic in substance : in both the same ends are pursued, namely, instruc- tion and amusement ; and in both the same mean EPIC AND DRAMATIC, &C. 3£9 CH. 22,] is employed, namely, imitation of human actions. They differ only in the manner of imitating : epic poetry employs narration ; tragedy represents its facts as passing in our sight : in the former, the poet introduces himself as an historian ; in the lat- ter, he presents his actors, and never himself.* This difference regarding form only, may be thought slight : but the effects it occasions, are by no means so ; for what we see makes a deeper im- pression than what we learn from others. A nar- rative poem is a story told by another : facts and * The dialogue in a dramatic composition distinguishes it so clearly from other compositions, that no writer has thought it necessary to search for any other distinguishing mark. But much useless labour has been bestowed, to distinguish an epic poem by some peculiar mark. Bossu defines it to be, “ A com- “ position in verse, intended to form the manners by instruc- tions disguised under the allegories of an important action which excludes every epic poem founded upon real facts, and perhaps includes several of ^sop’s fables. Voltaire reckons verse so essential, as for that single reason to exclude the adven- tures of Telemachus. See his Essay upon Epic Poetry, Others, affected with substance more than with form, hesitate not to pronounce that poem to be epic. — It is not a little diverting to see so many profound critics hunting for what is not : they take |br granted, without the least foundation, that there must be some precise criterion to distinguish epic poetry from every other species of writing. Literary compositions run into each other, precisely like colours : in their strong tints they are easily distinguished ; but are susceptible of so much variety, and of so many different forms, that we never can say where one species ends and another begins. As to the general taste, there is little reason to doubt, that a work where heroic actions are related in an elevated style, will, without further requisite, be deemed an epic poem. 330 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. 22. incidents passing upon the stage, come under our own observation ; and are beside much enlivened by action and gesture, expressive of many -senti- ments beyond the reach of words. A dramatic composition has another property, independent altogether of action; which is, that it makes a deeper impression than narration : in the former, persons express their own sentiments ; in the latter, sentiments are related at second hand. For that reason, Aristotle, the father of critics, lays it down as a rule, That in an epic poem the author ought to take every opportunity of intro- ducing his actors, and of confining the narrative part within the narrowest bounds.*' Homer under-* stood perfectly the advantage of this method ; and his two poems abound in dialogue. Lucan runs to the opposite extreme, even so far as to stuff his Pharsalia with colds, and languid reflections; the merit of wdiich he assumes to himself, and deigns not to share with his actors. Nothing can be more injudiciously timed than a chain of such reflec- tions, which suspend the battle of Pharsalia after the leaders had made their speeches, and the two armies are ready to engage, t Aristotle, regarding the fable only, divides tra- gedy into simple and complex ; but it is of greater moment, with respect to dramatic as well as epic poetry, to found a distinction upon the different ends attained by such compositions. A poem. * Poet. chap. 25. sect. 6. f Lib. 7. from line 385. to line 460. CH. 22 .'] COMPOSITIONS. 331 whether dramatic or epic, that has nothing in view but to move the passions and to exhibit pictures of virtue and vice, may be distinguished by the name of patJwtic ; but where a story is purposely con- trived to illustrate some moral truth, by showing that disorderly passions naturally lead to external misfortunes, such composition may be denomina- ted moral* Beside making a deeper impression than can be done by cool reasoning, a moral poem does not fall short of reasoning in affording convic- tion : the natural connexion of vice with misery, and of virtue with happiness, may be illustrated by stating a fact as well as by urging an argument. Let us assume, for example, the following moral truths I that discord among the chiefs renders in- effectual all common measures ; and that the con- sequences of a slightly -founded quarrel, fostered by pride and arrogance, are no less fatal than those of the grossest injury : these truths may be inculcat- ed by the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achil- les at the siege of Troy. If facts or circumstances be wanting, such as tend to rouse the turbulent * The same distinction is applicable to that sort of fable which is said to be the invention of ^Tisop. A moral, it is true, is by all critics considered as essential to such a fable. But no- thing is more common than to be led blindly by authority ; for of the numerous collections I have seen, the fables that clearly inculcate a moral, make a very small part. In many fables, in- deed, proper pictures of virtue and vice are exhibited ; but the bulk of these collections convey no instruction, nor afford any amusement beyond what a child receives in reading an ordinary gtory. S32 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. passions, they must be invented ; but no accident tal nor unaccountable event ought to be admitted ; for the necessary or probable connexion between vice and misery is not learned from any events but what are naturally occasioned by the characters and passions of the persons represented, acting in such and such circumstances. A real event of which we see not the cause, may afford a lesson, upon the presumption that what hath happened may again happen : but this cannot be inferred from a -Story that is known to be a fiction. Many are the good effects of such compositions. A pathetic composition, whether epic or dramatic, tends to a habit of virtue, by exciting us to do what is right, and restraining us from what is wrong. ^ Its frequent pictures of human woes produce, beside, two effects extremely salutary : they improve our sympathy, and fortify us to bear our own misfortunes. A moral composition ob- viously produces the same good effects, because by being moral it ceaseth not to be pathetic : it enjoys beside an excellence peculiar to itself ; for it not only improves the heart as above mentioned, but instructs the head by the moral it contains. I can- not imagine any entertainment more suited to a rational being, than a work thus happily illustrating some moral truth ; where a number of persons of different characters are engaged in an important action, some retarding, others promoting, the great See Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 4> CH, 22.] COMPOSITIONS. SS3 catastrophe ; and where there is dignity of style as well as of matter. A work of that kind has our sympathy at command ; and can put in motion the whole train of the social affections : our curiosity in some scenes is excited, in others gratified ; and our delight is consummated at the close, upon finding, from the characters and situations exhibit- ed at the commencement, that every incident down to the final catastrophe is natural, and that the whole in conjunction make a regular chain of causes and effects. Considering that an epic and a dramatic poem are the same in substance, and have the same aim or end, one will readily imagine, that subjects pro- per for the one must be equally proper for the other. But considering their difference as to form, there will be found reason to correct that conjec- ture at least in some degree. Many subjects may indeed be treated with equal advantage in either form ; but the subjects are still more numerous for which they are not equally qualified ; and there are subjects proper for the one, and not for the other. To give some slight notion of the difference, as there is no room here for enlarging upon every ar- ticle, I observe, that dialogue is better qualified for expressing sentiments, and narrative for displaying facts. Heroism, magnanimity, undaunted courage, and other elevated virtues, figure best in action : tender passions, and the whole tribe of sympathetic affections, figure best in sentiment. It clearly fol- lows, that tender passions are more peculiarly the EPIC AND DRABIATIC 334 , [CH. 22 . province of tragedy, grand and heroic actions of epic poetry.* I have no occasion to say more upon the epic, considered as peculiarly adapted to certain subjects. But as dramatic subjects are more complex, I must take a narrower view of them ; which I do the more willingly, in order to clear a point involved in great obscurity by critics. In the chapter of Emotions and Passions t it is occasionally shown, that the subject best fitted for tragedy is where a man has himself been the cause of his misfortune ; not so as to be deeply guilty, nor altogether innocent ; the misfortune must be occasioned by a fault incident to human nature, and therefore in some degree venial. Such mis- fortunes call forth the social affections, and warmly interest the spectator. An accidental misfortune, if not extremely singular, doth not greatly move our pity : the person who suffers, being innocent, is freed from the greatest of all torments, that an- guish of mind which is occasioned by remorse ; Poco e funesta L^altrui fortuna Quando non resta Ragione alcuna Ne di pentirsi, ne darrosir. Metaslasw. * In Racine, tender sentiments prevail ; in Corneille, grand and heroic manners. Honce clearly the preference of the for« mer before the latter, as dramatic poets. Corneille would have figured better in. an heroic poem, f Part 4. COMPOSITIONS. 835 CH. 22.] An atrocious criminal, on the other hand, who brings misfortunes upon himself, excites little pity, for a different reason : his remorse, it is true, ag- gravates his distress, and swells the first emotions of pity ; but these are immediately blunted by our hatred of him as a criminal. Misfortunes that are not innocent, nor highly criminal, partake the ad- vantages of each extreme : they are attended with remorse to embitter the distress, which raises our pity to a height ; and the slight indignation we have at a venial fault, detracts not sensibly from our pity. The happiest of all subjects accordingly for raising pity, is where a man of integrity falls into a great misfortune by doing an action that is innocent, but which, by some singular means, is conceived by him to be criminal : his remorse ag- gravates his distress ; and our compassion, unre- strained by indignation, knows no bounds. Pity comes thus to be the ruling passion of a pathetic tragedy ; and by proper representation, may be raised to a height scarce exceeded by any thing felt in real life. A moral tragedy takes in a larger field ; as it not only exercises our pity, but raises another passion, which, though selfish, deserves to be cherished equally with the social affection. The passion I have in view is fear or terror ; for when a misfortune is the natural consequence of some., wrong bias in the temper, every spectator who is conscious of such a bias in himself, takes the alarm, and dreads his falling into the same misfortune : and by the emotion of fear or terror, frequently reiterated in a variety of moral tragedies, the spec» 24 EPIC AND DRAMATIC 336 [CH. 2^. tators are put upon their guard against the disor- ders of passion. The commentators upon Aristotle, and pther * critics, have been much gravelled about the account given of tragedy by that author : “ That, by means “ of pity and terror, it refines or purifies in us all “ sorts of passion.^’ But no one who has a clear conception of the end and effects of a good tragedy, can have any difficulty about Aristotle’s meaning : our pity is engaged for the persons represented ; and our terror is upon our own account. Pity in- deed is here made to stand for all the sympathetic emotions, because of these it is the capital. There can be no doubt that our sympathetic emotions are refined or improved by daily exercise ; and in what manner our other passions are refined by terror, I have just now said. One thing is certain, that no other meaning can justly be given to the foregoing doctrine than that now mentioned ; and that it was really Aristotle’s meaning, appears from his 13th chapter, where he delivers several propositions con- formable to the doctrine as here explained. These, at the same time, I take liberty to mention ; be- cause, as far as authority can go, they confirm the foregoing reasoning about subjects proper for tra- gedy. The first proposition is. That it being the province of tragedy to excite pity and terror, an innocent person falling into adversity ought never to be the subject. This proposition is a necessary consequence of his doctrine as explained : a subject of that nature may indeed excite pity and terror ; but in the former in an inferior degree, and the COMPOSITIONS. 667 CH. latter no degree for moral instruction. The second proposition is, That the history of a wicked person in a change from misery to happiness, ought not to be represented. It excites neither terror nor com- passion, nor is agreeable in any respect. The third is. That the misfortunes of a wicked person ought not to be represented. Such representation may be agreeable in some measure upon a principle of justice ; but it will not move our pity, nor any de- gree of terror except in those of the same vicious disposition with the person represented. The last proposition is. That the only character fit for repre- sentation lies in the middle, neither eminently good nor eminently bad ; where the misfortune is not the effect of deliberate vice, but of some involun- tary fault, as our author expresses it.* The only objection I find to Aristotle’s account of tragedy is, that he confines it within too narrow bounds, by refusing admittance to the pathetic kind; for if terror be essential to tragedy, no representation de- serves that name but the moral kind, where the misfortunes exhibited are caused by a wrong balance of mind, or somq disorder in the internal constitu- tion : such misfortunes always suggest moral in- struction ; and by such misfortunes only can terror be excited for our improvement. Thus Aristotle’s four propositions above men- tioned relate solely to tragedies of the moral kind. * If any one can be amused with a grave discourse which promiseth much and performs nothing, I refer to Brumoy in his Theatre Grec, Preliminary discourse on the origin of Tragedy. VOL. II. Y 33S EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. Those of the pathetic kind are not confined withiri so narrow limits : subjects fitted for the theatre, are not in such plenty as to make us reject innocent misfortunes which rouse our sympathy, though they inculcate no moral. With respect indeed to subjects of that kind, it may be doubted, whether the conclusion ought not always to be fortunate. Where a person of integrity is represented as suf- fering to the end under misfortunes purely acciden- tal, we depart discontented, and with some obscure sense of injustice : for seldom is man so submissive to Providence, as not to revolt against the tyranny and vexations of blind chance ; he will be tempted to say, This ought not to be. Chance, giving an impression of anarchy and misrule, produces al- ways a damp upon the mind. I give for an ex- ample the Romeo and Juliet of Shakespeare, where the fatal catastrophe is occasioned by Friar Lau- rence’s coming to the monument a minute too late : we are vexed at the unlucky chance, and go away dissatisfied. Such impressions, which ought not to be cherished, are a sufficient reason for excluding stories of that kind from the theatre. The misfor- tunes of a virtuous person, arising from necessary causes, or from a chain of unavoidable circumstan- ces, are considered in a different light. A regular chain of causes and effects directed by the general laws of nature, never fails to suggest the hand of Providence ; to which we submit without resent- ment, being conscious that submission is our duty.* * See Essays on the Principles of Morality, edit. 2. p. 291. COMPOSITIONS-^ 339 GH. For that reason, we are not disgusted with the dis- tresses of Voltaire’s Mariamne, though redoubled on her till her death, without the least fault or failing on her part : her misfortunes are owing to a cause extremely natural, and not unfrequent, the jealousy of a barbarous husband* The fate of Desdemona, in the Moor of Venice, affects us in the same man- ner. We are not so easily reconciled to the fate of Cordelia in King Lear : the causes of her misfor- tune are by no means So evident, as to exclude the gloomy notion of chance. In short, a perfect character suffering under misfortunes^ is qualified for being the subject of a pathetic tragedy, pro- vided chance be excluded. Nor is a perfect cha- racter altogether inconsistent with a moral tragedy : it may successfully be introduced in an under part, if the chief place be occupied by an imperfect character, from which a moral can be drawn. This is the case of Desdemona and Mariamne just men- tioned ; and it is the case of Monimia and Belvi- dera, in Otway’s two tragedies, the Orphan, and Venice Preserved*^ I had an early opportunity to unfold a curious doctrine, That fable operates on our passions, by representing its events as passing in our sight, and by deluding us into a conviction of reality.* Hence, in epic and dramatic compositions, every circum- stance ought to be employed that may promote the delusion ; such as the borrowing from history some noted event, with the addition of circumstances ^ Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 7- EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. that may answer the author’s purpose : the princi- pal facts are known to be true ; and we are dis- posed to extend our belief to every circumstance. But in choosing a subject that makes a figure in history, greater precaution is necessary than where the whole is a fiction. In the latter case there is full scope for invention : the author is under no restraint other than that the characters and inci- dents be just copies of nature. But where the story is founded on truth, no circumstances must be added, but such as connect naturally with what are known to be true ; history may be supplied, but must not be contradicted : further, the subject chosen must be distant in time, or at least in place ; for the familiarity of recent persons and events ought to be avoided. Familiarity ought more es- pecially to be avoided in an epic poem, the pecu- liar character of which is dignity and elevation : modern manners make no figure in such a poem.* After Voltaire, no writer, it is probable, will think of rearing an epic poem upon a recent event in the history of his own country. But an event of that kind is perhaps not altogether unqualified for tragedy : it was admitted in Greece ; and * I would not from this observation be thought to undervalue modern manners. The roughness and impetuosity of ancient manners, may be better fitted for an epic poem, without being better fitted for society. But without regard to that circum- stance, it is the familiarity of modern manners that unqualifies them for a lofty subject. The dignity of our present manners will be better understood in future ages, when they are no longer familiar. CH. COMPOSITIONS. 341 Shakespeare has employed it successfully in several of his pieces. One advantage it possesses above fiction, that of more readily engaging our belief, which tends above any other circumstance to raise our sympathy. The scene of comedy is generally laid at home ; familiarity is no objection ; and we are peculiarly sensible of the ridicule of our own manners. After a proper subject is chosen, the dividing it into parts requires some art. The conclusion of a book in an epic poem, or of an act in a play, can- not be altogether arbitrary, nor be intended for so slight a purpose as to make the parts of equal length. The supposed pause at the end of every book, and the real pause at the end of every act, ought always to coincide with some pause in the action. In this respect, a dramatic or epic poem ought to resemble a sentence or period in language, divided into members that are distinguished from each other by proper pauses ; or it ought to re- semble a piece of music, having a full close at the end, preceded by imperfect closes that contribute to the melody. Every act in a dramatic poem ought therefore to close with some incident that makes a pause in the action ; for otherwise there can be no pretext for interrupting the representa- tion : it would be absurd to break off in the very heat of action ; against which every one would ex- claim : the absurdity still remains where the action relents, if it be not actually suspended for some time. This rule is also applicable to an epic poem ; though in it a deviation from the rule is less re- EPIC AND DRAMATIC 34 ^ [CH. ^2. markable ; because it is in the reader^s power to hide the absurdity, by proceeding instantly to ano- ther book. The first book of Paradise Lost ‘ends without any close, perfect or imperfect : it breaks off abruptly, where Satan, seated on his throne, is prepared to harangue the convocated host of the fallen angels ; and the second book begins with the speech. Milton seems to have copied the ^neid, of which the two first books are divided much in the same manner. Neither is there any proper pause at the end of the fifth book of the iEneid. There is no proper pause at the end of the seventh book of Paradise Lost, nor at the end of the eleventh. In the Iliad, little attention is given to this rule. This branch of the subject shall be closed with a general rule. That action being the fundamental part of every composition whether epic or dramatic, the sentiments and tone of language ought to be subservient to the action, so as to appear natural, and proper for the occasion. The application of this rule to our modern plays, would reduce the bulk of them to a skeleton.^ * ‘‘ En general, il y a beaucoup de discours et peu d’action sur la scene Fran9oise. Quelqu’un disoit en sortant d’une piece de Denis le Tiran, Je n’ai rien vu, mais j’ai entendu force pa- roles. Voila ce qu’on peut dire en sortant des pieces Francoises. Racine et Corneille, avec tout leur genie, ne sont eux-memes que des parleurs ; et leitr successeur est le premier qui, a I’imi- tation des Anglois, ait ose mettre quelquefois la scene en repre- sentation. Communement tout se passe en beaux dialogues bien agences, bien ronflans, ou Ton voit d’abord que le premier 6H. COMPOSITIONS. 343 After carrying on together epic and dramatic compositions, I shall mention circumstances pecu- liar to each ; beginning with the epic kind. In a theatrical entertainment, which employs both the eye and the ear, it would be a gross absurdity to introduce upon the stage superior beings in a visi- ble shape. There is no place for such objection in an epic poem ; and Boileau,* with many other cri- tics, declares strongly for that sort of machinery in an epic poem. But waving authority, which is apt to impose upon the judgment, let us draw what light we can from reason. I begin with a prelimi- nary remark. That this matter is but indistinctly soln de chaque interlocuteur est toujours celui de briller. Pres- que tout s’enonce en maximes generales. Quelque agites qu’ils puissent etre, ils songent toujours plus au public qu’a eux- mdmes ; une sentence leur coute moins qu’un sentiment ; les pieces de Racine et de Moliere exceptees, \eje est presque aussi scrupuleusement banni de la scene Fran9oise que des ecrits de Port Royal ; et les passions humaines, aussi modestes que I’hu- milite Chretienne, n’y parlent jamais que par on. II y a encore une certaine dignite manieree dans la geste et dans le propos, qui ne permet jamais a la passion de parler exactement son lan- gage, ni a I’auteur de revetir son personage, et de se trans- porter au lieu de la scene ; mais le tient toujours enchaine sur le theatre, et sous les yeux des spectateurs. Aussi les situations les plus vives ne lui font-elles jamais oublier un bel arrangement de phrases, ni des attitudes elegantes ; et si le desespoir lui plonge un poignard dans le coeur, non content d’observer la decence en tombant comme Polixene, il ne tombe point; la decence le maintient debout apres sa mort, et tous ceux qui viennent d’expirer s’en retournent I’instant d’apres sur leurs jambes.” Rousseau. * Third Part of his Art of Poetry, 34<4f EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. 22. handled by critics : the poetical privilege of ani- mating insensible objects for enlivening a descrip- tion, is very different from what is termed machin- ery, where deities, angels, devils, or other superna- tural powers, are introduced as real personages, mixing in the action, and contributing to the catas- trophe ; and yet these are constantly jumbled to- gether in the reasoning. The former is founded on a natural principle but can the latter claim the same authority ? far from it ; nothing is more unnatural. Its effects, at the same time, are de- plorable. First, it gives an air of fiction to the whole ; and prevents that impression of reality, which is requisite to interest our affections, and to move our passions.t This of itself is sufficient to explode machinery, whatever entertainment it may afford to readers of a fantastic taste or irregular imagination. And, next, were it possible, by dis- guising the fiction, to delude us into a notion of reality, which I think can hardly be ; an insuper- able objection would still remain, that the aim or end of an epic poem can never be attained in any perfection, where machinery is introduced ; for an evident reason, that virtuous emotions cannot be raised successfully, but by the actions of those who are endued with passions and affections like our own, that is, by human actions : and as for moral instruction, it is clear, that none can be drawn from beings who act not upon the same ^ Chap. 20. Sect. 1. t See Chap. 2. Part 1. Sect. 7. CH. COMPOSITIONS. 345 principles with us. A fable in ^^sop’s manner is no objection to this reasoning : his lions, bulls, and goats, are truly men in disguise ; they act and feel in every respect as human beings ; and the moral we draw is founded on that supposition. Homer, it is true, introduces the gods into his fable : but the religion of his country authorized that liberty ; it being an article in the Grecian creed, that the gods often interpose visibly and bodily in human afiairs. I must, however, observe, that Homer’s deities do no honour to his poems : fictions that transgress the bounds of nature, seldom have a good effect ; they may inflame the imagination for a moment, but will not be relished by any person of a correct taste. They may be of some use to the lower rank of writers ; but an author of genius has much finer materials of Nature’s production, for elevating his subject, and making it interesting. One would be apt to think, that Boileau, declar- ing for the Heathen deities as above, intended them only for embellishing the diction : but unluckily he banishes angels and devils, who undoubtedly make a figure in poetic language, equal to the Heathen deities. Boileau, therefore, by pleading for the latter in opposition to the former, certainly meant, if he had any distinct meaning, that the Heathen deities may be introduced as actors. And, in fact, he himself is guilty of that glaring absur- dity, where it is not so pardonable as in an epic poem. In his ode upon the taking of Namur he demands with a most serious countenance, whether the walls were built by Apollo or Neptune ? and in 346 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. relating the passage of the Rhine, anno 1GTJ% he describes the god of that river as fighting with all his might to oppose the French monarch ; which is confounding fiction with reality at a strange rate. The French writers in general run into this error : wonderful the effect of custom, to hide from them how ridiculous such fictions are ! That this is a capital error in the Gierusalemme liherata^ Tasso’s greatest admirers must acknow- ledge : a situation can never be intricate, nor the reader ever in pain about the catastrophe, as long as there is an angel, devil, or magician, to lend a helping hand. Voltaire, in his essay upon epic poetry, talking of the Pharsalia, observes judi- ciously, “ That the proximity of time, the noto- “ riety of events, the character of the age, enlight- “ ened and political, joined with the solidity of ‘‘ Lucan’s subjects, deprived liiin of poetical fic- “ tion.” Is it not amazing, that a critic who rea- sons so justly with respect to others, can be so blind with respect to himself? Voltaire, not satisfied to enrich his language with images drawn from invi- sible and superior beings, introduces them into the action : in the sixth canto of the Henriade^ St Louis appears in person, and terrifies the soldiers ; in the seventh canto, St Louis sends the god of Sleep to Henry ; and, in the tenth, the demons of Discord, Fanaticism, War, he, assist Aumale in a single combat with Turenne, and are diiven away by a good angel brandishing the sword of God. To blend such fictitious personages in the same action with mortals, makes a bad figure at any COMPOSITION'^. 347 rate ; and is intolerable in a history so recent as that of Henry IV. But perfection is not the lot of man.* I have tried serious reasonings upon this subject ; but ridicule, I suppose, will be found a more suc- cessful weapon, which Addison has applied in an elegant manner : “ Whereas the time of a general peace is, in all appearance, drawing near ; being informed that there are several ingenious persons who intend to show their talents on so happy an occasion, and being willing, as much as in me lies, to prevent that effusion of nonsense which we have good cause to apprehend ; I do hereby strictly require every person who shall write on this subject, to remember that he is a Christian, and not to sacrifice his catechism to his poetry. In order to it, I do expect of him, in the first * When I commenced author, my aim was to amuse, and perhaps to instruct, but never to give pain. I accordingly avoided every living author, till the Henriade occurred to me as the best instance I could find for illustrating the doctrine in the text ; and I yielded to the temptation, judging that my slight criticisms would never reach M. de Voltaire. They have however reached him ; and have, as I am informed, stirred up some resentment. I am afflicted at this information ; for what title have I to wound the mind more than the body ? It would beside show ingratitude to a celebrated writer, who is highly entertaining, and who has bestowed on me many a delicious morsel. My only excuse for giving offence is, that it was un** designed ; for to plead that the censure is just, is no excuse. As the offence was public, I take this opportunity to make the apology equally so. I hope it will be satisfactory : perhaps not^ —I owe it however 'to my own character. 348 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. “ place, to make his own poeni, without depend- “ ing upon Phoebus for any part of it, or calling “ out for aid upon any of the Muses by name; I “ do likewise positively forbid the sending of Mer- ‘‘ cury with any particular message or despatch re- “ lating to the peace ; and shall by no means suf- “ fer Minerva to take upon her the shape of any plenipotentiary concerned in this great work. I “ do further declare, that I shall not allow the Des- “ tinies to have had an hand in the deaths of the “ several thousands who have been slain in the late ‘‘ war ; being of opinion that all such deaths may be well accounted for by the Christian system of “ powder and ball. I do therefore strictly forbid the Fates to cut the thread of man’s life upon . “ any pretence whatsoever, unless it be for the sake of the rhyme. And whereas I have good “ reason to fear, that Neptune will have a great “ deal of business on his hands in several poems “ which we may now suppose are upon the anvil, “ I do also prohibit his appearance, unless it be “ done in metaphor, simile, or any very short allu- sion •, and that even here he may not be permit- “ ted to enter, but with great caution and circum- “ spection. I desire that the same rule may be “ extended to his whole fraternity of Heathen “ gods ; it being my design, to condemn every “ poem to the flames in which Jupiter thunders, “ or exercises any other act of authority which “ does not belong to him. In short, I expect that ‘‘ no Pagan agent shall be introduced, or any fact related which a man cannot give credit to with CH. 2^.] COMPOSITIONS. 349 “ a good conscience. Provided always, that no- “ thing herein contained shall extend, or be con- “ strued to extend, to several of the female poets ‘‘ in this nation, who shall still be left in full pos- “ session of their gods and goddesses, in the same “ manner as if this paper had never been written.’’* The marvellous is indeed so much promoted by machinery, that it is not wonderful to find it em- braced by the plurality of writers, and perhaps of readers. If indulged at all, it is generally indul- ged to excess. Homer introduceth his deities with no greater ceremony than as mortals ; and Virgil has still less moderation ; a pilot spent with watch- ing cannot fall asleep, and drop into the sea by natural means : one bed cannot receive the two lovers, ^neas and Dido, without the immediate interposition of superior powers. The ridiculous in such fictions, must appear even through the thickest veil of gravity and solemnity. Angels and devils serve equally with Heathen deities as materials for figurative language ; per- haps better' among Christians, because we believe in them, and not in Heathen deities. But every one is sensible, as well as Boileau, that the invisi- ble powers in our creed make a much worse figure .as actors in a modern poem, than the invisible powers in the Heathen creed did in ancient poems j the cause of which is not far to seek. The Hea- then, deities, in the opinion of their votaries, were ^ Spectator, No. 523 .. 850 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. beings elevated one step only above mankind, sub- ject to the same passions, and directed by the same motives ; therefore not altogether improper to mix with men in an important action. In our creed, superior beings are placed at such a mighty dis- tance from us, and are of a nature so different, that with no propriety can we appear with them upon the same stage : man, a creature much inferior, loses all dignity in the comparison. There can be no doubt, that an historical poem admits the embellishment of allegory, as well as of metaphor, simile, or other figure. Moral truth, in particular, is finely illustrated in the allegorical manner : it amuses the fancy to find abstract terms, by a sort of magic, metamorphosed into active beings ; and it is highly pleasing to discover a ge- neral proposition in a pictured event. But allego- rical beings should be confined within their own sphere, and never be admitted to mix in the prin- cipal action, nor to co-operate in retarding or ad- vancing the catastrophe. This would have a still worse effect than invisible powers ; and I am ready to assign the reason. The impression of real ex- istence, essential to an epic poem, is inconsistent with that figurative existence which is essential to an allegory;* and therefore no means can more effectually prevent the impression of reality, than to introduce allegorical beings co-operating with those whom we conceive to be really existing. The love-episode, in the Henriade,f insufferable by * See Chap. 20. Sect. 6. f Canto 9.' COMPOSITIONS. 351 CH. 22.] the discordant mixture of allegory with real life, is copied from that of Rinaldo and Armida, in the Gierusalemme liherata^ which hath no merit to en- title it to be copied. An allegorical object, such as Fame in the Mneid^ and the Temple of Love in the Henriade, may find place in a description : But to introduce Discord as a real personage, im- ploring the assistance of Love, as another real per- sonage, to enervate the courage of the hero, is making these figurative beings act beyond their sphere, and creating a strange jumble of truth and fiction. The allegory of Sin and Death in the Paradise Lost, is, I presume, not generally relish- ed, though it is not entirely of the same nature with what I have been condemning : in a work comprehending the achievements of superior be- ings, there is more room for fancy than where it is confined to human actions. What is the true notion of an episode ? or how is it to be distinguished from the principal action ? Every incident that promotes or retards the catas- trophe, must be part of the principal action. This clears the nature of an episode ; which may be de- fined, “ An incident connected with the principal “ action, but contributing neither to advance nor “ to retard it.’’ The descent of ^Tineas into hell doth not advance nor retard the catastrophe, and therefore is an episode. The story of Nisus and Euryalus, producing an alteration in the afiah's of the contending parties, is a part of the principal action. The family scene in the sixth book of the Iliad is of the same nature \ for by Hector’s retir* So2 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. ing from the field of battle to visit his wife, the Grecians had opportunity to breathe, and even to turn upon the Trojans. The unavoidable effect of an episode, according to this definition, must be, to break the unity of action ; and therefore it ought never to be indulged, unless to unbend the mind after the fatigue of a long narration. An episode, when such is its purpose, requires the fol- lowing conditions : it ought to be well connected with the principal action ; It ought to be lively and interesting ; it ought to be short ; and a time ought to be chosen when the principal action re- lents.* In the following beautiful episode, which closes the second book of Fingal, all these conditions are united : Comal was a son of Albion ; the chief of an hundred hills. His deer drank of a thousand streams ; and a thou- sand rocks replied to the voice of his dogs. His face was the mildness of youth ; but his hand the death of heroes. One was his love, and fair was she ! the daughter of mighty Conloch. She appeared like a sun-beam among women, and her hair was like the wing of the raven. Her soul was fixed on Comal, and she was his companion in the chace. Often met their eyes of love, and happy were their words in secret. But Gormal loved the maid, the * Homer’s description of the shield of Achilles is properly in- troduced at a time when the action relents, and the reader can bear an interruption. But the author of Telemachus describes the shield of that young hero in the heat of battle ; a very im- proper time for an interruption. CH. COMPOSITIONS. 353 chief of gloomy Ard^en. He watched her lone steps on the heath, the foe of unhappy Comal. One day tired of the chace, when the mist had concealed their friends, Comal and the daughter of Conloch met in the cave of Ronan. It was the wonted haunt of Comal. Its sides were hung with his arms ; a hundred shields of thongs were there, a hundred helms of sounding steel. Rest here, said he, my love Galvina, thou light of the cave of Ronan : a deer appears on Mora’s brow ; I go, but soon will return. I fear, said she, dark Gormal my foe : I will rest here ; but soon return, my love. He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Con- loch, to try his love, clothed her white side with his armour, and strode from the cave of Ronan. Thinking her his foe, his heart beat high, and his colour changed. He drew the bow : the arrow flew r Galvina fell in blood. He ran to the cave with hasty steps, and called the daugh- ter of Conloch. Where art thou, my love ? but no answer. He marked, at length, her heaving heart beating against the mortal arrow. O Conloch’s daughter, is it thou ! He sunk upon her breast. The hunters found the hapless pair. Many and silent were his steps round the dark dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came : he fought, and the strangers fell : he searched for death over the field ; but who could kill the mighty Comal ? Throwing away fiis shield, an arrow found his manly breast. He sleeps with his Galvina : their green tombs are seen by the mariner, when he bounds on the waves of the north. Next, upon the peculiarities of a dramatic poem. And the first I shall mention is a double plot ; one of which must resemble an episode in an epic poem^ for it would distract the spectator, instead of enter- taining him, if he were forced to attend, at the VOL, II. z 354 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. same time, to two capital plots equally interesting. And even supposing it an under-plot like an epi- sode, it seldom hath a good effect in tragedy, of which simplicity is a chief property j for an inter- esting subject that engages our affections, occupies our whole attention, and leaves no room for any separate concern.^ Variety is more tolerable in comedy, which pretends only to amuse, without totally occupying the mind. But even there, to make a double plot agreeable, is no slight effort of art : the under-plot ought not to vary greatly in its tone from the principal ; for discordant emo- tions are unpleasant when jumbled together; which, by the way, is an insuperable objection to tragi- comedy. Upon that account, the Provoked Hus- band deserves censure : all the scenes that bring the family of the Wrongheads into action, being ludicrous and farcical, are in a very different tone from the principal scenes, displaying severe and bitter expostulations between Lord Townley and * Racine, in his preface to the tragedy of Berenice^ is sensi- ble that simplicity is a great beauty in tragedy, but mistakes the cause. Nothing (says he) but verisimilituda pleases in “ tragedy : but where is the verisimilitude, that within the com- “ pass of a day events should be crowded, which commonly are ‘‘ extended through months?” This is mistaking the accuracy of imitation for the probability or improbability of future events, I explain myself. The verisimilitude required in tragedy is, that the actions correspond to the manners, and the manners to nature. When this resemblance is preserved, the imitation is just, because it is a true copy of nature. But I deny that the verisimilitude of future events, meaning the probability of future events, is any rule in tragedy. A number of extraordinary CH. COMPOSITIONS. ^5 his lady. The^ same objection touches not the double plot of the Careless Husband ; the different subjects being sweetly connected, and having only so much variety as to resemble shades of colours harmoniously mixed. But this is not all. The under-plot ought to be connected with that which is principal, so much at least as to employ the same persons : the under-plot ought to occupy the inter- vals or pauses of the principal action y and both ought to be concluded together. This is the case of the Merry Wives of Windsor, Violent action ought never to be represented on the stage. While the dialogue goes on, a thousand particulars concur to delude us into an impression of reality ; genuine sentiments, passionate lan- guage, and persuasive gesture : the spectator once engaged, is willing to be deceived, loses sight of himself, and without scruple enjoys the spectacle as a reality. From this absent state, he is roused by violent action : he awakes as from a pleasing events, are, it is true, seldom crowded within the compass of a day : but what seldom happens may happen ; and when such events fall out, they appear no less natural than the most ordi- nary accidents. To make verisimilitude in the sense of proba- bility a governing rule in tragedy, would annihilate that sort of writing altogether ; for it would exclude all extraordinary events, in which the life of tragedy consists. It is very impro- bable or unlikely, pitching upon any man at random, that he will sacrifice his life and fortune for his mistress or for his coun- try ; yet when that event happens, supposing it conformable to the character, we recognize the verisimilitude as to nature, what- ever want of verisimilitude or of probability there was a priori that such would be the event. Erie AND DRAMATIC [CH. dream, and gathering his senses about him, finds all to be a fiction. Horace delivers the same rule,^ and founds it upon the same reason ^ Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet; Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus ; Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem : Quodcumque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. The French critics join with Horace in excluding blood from the stage ; but overlooking the most substantial objection, they urge only, that it is bar- barous and shocking to a polite audience. The Greeks had no notion of such delicacy, or rather effeminacy: witness the murder of Clytemnestra by her son Orestes, passing behind the scene as represented by Sophocles : her voice is heard call- ing out for mercy, bitter expostulations on his part, loud shrieks upon her being stabbed, and then a deep silence. I appeal to every person of feeling, whether this scene be not more horrible than if the deed had been committed in sight of the spectators upon a sudden gust of passion. If Corneille, in representing the affair between Horatius and his sister, upon which murder ensues behind the scene, had no other view but to remove from the specta- tors a shocking action, he was guilty of a capital mistake : for murder in cold blood, which in some measure was the case as represented, is more shock- ing to a polite audience, even where the conclusive stab is not seen, than the same act performed in their presence by violent and unpremeditated pas- sion, as suddenly repented of as committed. I COMPOSITIONS. 3S7 CH. heartily agree with Addison, that no part of this incident ought to have been represented, but re- served for a narrative, with every alleviating cir- cumstance in favour of the hero. A few words upon the dialogue ; which ought to be so conducted as to be a true representation of nature. I talk not here of the sentiments, nor of the language ; for these come under different heads : I talk of what properly belongs to dialogue- writing ; where every single speech, short or long, ought to arise from what is said by the former speaker, and furnish matter for what comes after, till the end of the scene. In this view, all the speeches, from first to last, represent so many links of one continued chain. No author, ancient or modern, possesses the art of dialogue equal to Shakespeare, Dryden, in that particular, may justly be placed as his opposite : he frequently in- troduces three or four persons speaking upon the same subject, each throwing out his own notions separately, without regarding what is said by the rest : take for an example the first scene of Auren- zebe. Sometimes he makes a number club in relat- ing an event, not to a stranger, supposed ignorant of it, but to one another, for the sake merely of speaking : of which notable sort of dialogue, we have a specimen in the first scene of the first part of the Conquest of Granada, In the second part of * Spectator, NO. 558 EPIC AND DRAMATIC [CH. ^^ 2 . the same tragedy, scene second, the king, Abena- mar, and Zulema, make their separate observations, like so many soliloquies, upon the fluctuating tem- per of the mob. A dialogue so uncouth puts one in mind of two shepherds in a pastoral, excited by a prize to pronounce verses alternately, each in praise of his own mistress. This manner of dialogue-writing, beside an un- natural air, has another bad effect : it stays the course of the action, because it is not productive of any consequence. In Congreve's comedies, the action is often suspended to make way for a play of wit. But of this more particularly in the chap- ter immediately following. No fault is more common among writers, than to prolong a speech after the impatience of the person to whom it is addressed ought to prompt him or her to break in. Consider only how the impatient actor is to behave in the mean time. To express his impatience in violent action without interrupt- ing, would be unnatural ; and yet to dissemble his impatience, by appearing cool where he ought to be highly inflamed, would be no less so. Rhyme being unnatural and disgustful in dia- logue, is happily banished from our theatre : the only wonder is that it ever found admittance, espe- cially among a people accustomed to the more manly freedom of Shakespeare's dialogue. By ba- nishing rhyme, we have gained so much, as never once to dream of any further improvement. And yet, however suitable blank verse may be to ele- vated characters and warm passions, it must appear €H. COMPOSITIONS. @59 improper and affected in the mouths of the lower sort. Why then should it be a rule. That every scene in tragedy must be in blank verse ? Shake- speare, with great judgment, has followed a diffe- rent rule ; which is, to intermix prose with verse, and only to employ the latter where it is required by the importance or dignity of the subject. Fa- miliar thoughts and ordinary facts ought to be ex- pressed in plain language : to hear, for example, a footman deliver a simple message in blank verse, must appear ridiculous to every one who is not biassed by custom. In short, that variety of cha- racters and of situations, which is the life of a play, requires not only a suitable variety in the senti- ments, but also in the diction. CHAPTER XXIIL THE THREE UNITIES. In the first chapter is explained the pleasure we have in a chain of connected facts. In histories of the world, of a country, of a people, this pleasure is faint, because the connexions are slight or ob- scure. We find more entertainment in biography 5 because the incidents are connected by their rela- tion to a person who makes a figure, and commands our attention. But the greatest entertainment k 360 THE thr^:e unities. [CH. 28 . in the history of a single event, supposing it inte» resting ; and the reason is, that the facts and cir- cumstances are connected by the strongest of all relations, that of cause and effect : a number of facts that give birth to each other form a delightful train ; and we have great mental enjoyment in our progress from the beginning to the end. But this subject merits a more particular discus- sion. When we consider the chain of causes and effects in the material world, independent of pur- pose, design, or thought, we find a number of inci- dents in succession, without beginning, middle, or end : every thing that happens is both a cause and an effect ; being the effect of what goes before, and the cause of what follows •: one incident may affect us more, another less ; but all of them are links in the universal chain : the mind, in viewing these incidents, cannot rest or settle ultimately upon any one, but is carried along in the train without any close. But when the intellectual world is taken under view, in conjunction with the material, the scene is varied. Man acts with deliberation, will, and choice : he aims at some end, glory, for example, or riches, or conquest, the procuring happiness to individuals, or to his country in general : he pro- poses means, and lays plans to attain the end pur- posed. Here are a number of facts or incidents leading to the end in view, the whole composing one chain by the relation of cause and effect. In running over a series of such facts or incidents, we cannot rest upon any one 5 because they are pre- CH. ^3.] THE THREE UNITIES. 361 sented to us as means only, leading to some end : but we rest with satisfaction upon the end or ulti- mate event j because there the purpose or aim of the chief person or persons is accomplished. Thi^ indicates the beginning, the middle, and the end of what Aristotle calls an entire action.* The story naturally begins with describing those circumstan- ces which move the principal person to form a plan, in order to compass some desired event : the pro- secution of that plan, and the obstructions, carry the reader into the heat of action ; the middle is properly where the action is the most involved ; and the end is where the event is brought about, and the plan accomplished. A plan thus happily accomplished after many ob- structions, affords wonderful delight to the reader ; to produce which, a principle mentioned above t mainly contributes, the same that disposes the mind to complete every work commenced, and in gene- ral to carry every thing to a conclusion. I have given the foregoing example of a plan crowned with success, because it affords the clear- est conception of a beginning, a middle, and an end, in which consists unity of action ; and indeed stricter unity cannot be imagined than in that case. But an action may have unity, or a beginning, mid- dle, and end, without so intimate a relation of parts ; as where the catastrophe is different from what is intended or desired, which frequently happens in our best tragedies. In the ^neid^ the hero, after many * Poet. cap. 6. See also cap. 7. f Chap. 8. 362 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. £ 3 . obstructions, makes his plan effectual. The I/iad is formed upon a different model : it begins with the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon ; goes on to describe the several effects produced by that cause ; and ends in a reconciliation. Here is unity of action, no doubt, a beginning, a middle, and an end ; but inferior to that of the Mneid^ which will thus appear. The mind hath a propensity to go forward in the chain of history : it keeps always in view the expected event ; and when the inci- dents or under parts are connected by their relation to the event, the ipind runs sweetly and easily along them. This pleasure we have in the Mneid. It is not altogether so pleasant as in the Iliad, to con- nect effects by their common cause ; for such con- nexion forces the mind to a continual retrospect : looking back is like walking backward. Homer’s plan is still more defective, upon ano- ther account, That the events described are but imperfectly connected with the wrath of Achilles, their cause : his wrath did not exert itself in ac- tion ; and the misfortunes of his countrymen were but negatively the effects of his wrath, by depriving them of his assistance. If unity of action be a capital beauty in a fable imitative of human affairs, a plurality of unconnect- ed fables must be a capital deformity. For the sake of variety, we indulge an under-plot that is connected with the principal ; but two unconnect- ed events are extremely unpleasant, even where the same actors are engaged in both. Ariosto is quite licentious in that particular : he carries on at the CH. 23 .] THE THREE UNITIES. 368 same time a plurality of unconnected stories. His only excuse is, that his plan is perfectly well ad- justed to his subject ; for every thing in the Or- lando Furioso is wild and extravagant. Though to -state facts in the order of time is na- tural, yet that order may be varied, for the sake of conspicuous beauties.* If, for example, a noted story, cold and simple in its first movements, be made the subject of an epic poem, the reader may be hurried into the heat of action, reserving the preli- minaries for a conservation piece, if thought neces- sary ; and that method, at the same time, hath a peculiar beauty from being dramatic.! But a pri- vilege that deviates from nature ought to be spa- ringl}^ indulged ; and yet romance writers make no difficulty of presenting to the reader, without the least preparation, unknown persons engaged in some arduous adventure equally unknown. In Cassandra, two personages, who after\Yard are dis- covered to be the heroes of the fable, start up com- pletely armed upon the banks of the Euphrates, and engage in a single combat.! A play analyzed, is a chain of connected facts, of which each scene makes a link. Each scene. ^ See Chap. 1. f See Chap. 21. I am sensible that a commencement of this sort is much re- lished by readers disposed to the marvellous. Their curiosity is raised, and they are much tickled in its gratification. But cu- riosity is at an end with the first reading, because the personages are no longer unknown ; and therefore at the second. reading, a commencement so artificial loses its power even over the vulgar. A writer of genius prefers lasting beauties. THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. ^3. 364 accordingly, ought to produce some incident rela- tive to the catastrophe or ultimate event, by ad- vancing or retarding it. A scene that produceth no incident, and for that reason may be termed barren, ought not to be indulged, because it breaks the unity of action : a barren scene can never be entitled to a place, because the chain is complete without it. In the Old Bachelor, the 3d scene of Act 2. and all that follow to the end of that Act, are mere conversation pieces, productive of no con- sequence. The 10th and 11th scenes. Act 3. Dou- hie Dealer, the 10th, 11th, ISth, 13th, and 14th scenes. Act 1. Love for Love, are of the same kind. Neither is The voay of ihe World entirely guiltless of such scenes. It will be no justification, that they help to display characters : it were better, like Dry den, in his dramatis 'personae, to describe characters beforehand, which would not break the chain of action. But a writer of genius has no occasion for such artifice : he can display the cha- racters of his personages much more to the life in sentiment and action. How successfully is this done by Shakespeare 1 in whose works tliere is not to be found a single barren scene. Upon the whole, it appears, that all the facts in an historical fable ought to have a mutual connexion, by their common relation to the grand event or catastrophe. And this relation, in which the unity of action consists, is equally essential to epic and dramatic compositions. In handling unity of action, it ought not to escape observation, -that the mind is satisfied with slighter €H. S3.] THE THREE UNITIES. S65 unity in a picture than in a poem ; because the perceptions of the former are more lively than the ideas of the" latter. In Hogarth’s Enraged Musi- dan, we have a collection of every grating sound in nature, without any mutual connexion except that of place. But the horror they give to the de- licate ear of an Italian fiddler, who is represented almost in convulsions, bestows unity upon the piece, with which the mind is satisfied. How far the unities of time and of place are essential, is a question of greater intricacy. These unities were strictly observed in the Greek and Roman theatres ; and they are inculcated by the French and English critics, as essential to every dramatic composition. They are also acknowledged by our best poets, though in practice they make frequent deviation, which they pretend not to jus- tify, against the practice of the Greeks and Ro- mans, and against the solemn decision of their own countrymen. But in the course of this inquiry it will be made evident, that in this article we are under no necessity to copy the ancients ; and that our critics are guilty of a mistake, in admitting no greater latitude of place and time than was admit- ted in Greece and Rome. Suffer me only to premise, that the unities of place and time, are not, by the most rigid critics, required in a narrative poem. In such a compo- sition, if it pretend to copy nature, these unities would be absurd ; because real events are seldom confined within narrow limits either of place or of time. And yet we can follow history, or an his- 366 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. ^ 3 , torical fable, through all its changes, with the greatest facility : we never once think of measuring the real time by what is taken in reading ; nor' of forming any connexion between the place of action and that which we occupy. I am sensible, that the drama differs so far from the epic, as to admit different rules. It will be observed, “ That an historical fable, intended for “ reading solely, is under no limitation of time nor “ of place, more than a genuine history ; but that a dramatic composition cannot be accurately re- “ presented, unless it be limited, as its representa- “ tion is, to one place and to a few hours ; and “ therefore that it can admit no fable but what has “ these properties ; because it would be absurd to “ compose a piece for representation that cannot “ be justly represented.” This argument, I ac- knowledge, has at least a plausible appearance ; and yet one is apt to suspect some fallacy, considering that no critic, however strict, has ventured to con- fine the unities of place and of time within so nar- row bounds.* A view of the Grecian drama, compared with our own, may perhaps relieve us from this dilem- * Bossu, after observing, with wondrous critical sagacity, that winter is an improper season for an epic poem, and night no less improper for tragedy, admits, however, that an epic poem may be spread through the whole summer months, and a tragedy through the whole sun-shine' hours of the longest summer day. Du poeme epique, I, 3. chap. 12. At that rate an English tra- gedy may be longer than a French tragedy ; and in Nova Zem- bla the time of a tragedy and of an epic poem may be the samCv CH. 23 .] the three unities. 367 ma : if they be differently constructed, as shall be made evident, it is possible that the foregoing rea- soning may not be equally applicable to both. This is an article that, with relation to the pre- sent subject, has not been examined by any writer. All authors agree, that tragedy in Greece was derived from the hymns in praise of Bacchus, which were sung in parts by a chorus. Thespis, to relieve the singers and for the sake of variety, introduced one actor ; whose province it was to explain historically the subject of the song, and who occasionally represented one or other person- age. Eschylus, introducing a second actor, form- ed the dialogue, by which the performance became dramatic j and the actors were multiplied when the subject represented made it necessary. But still, the chorus, which gave a beginning to tragedy, was considered as an essential part. The first scene, generally, unfolds the preliminary circum- stances that lead to the grand event; and this scene is by Aristotle termed the prologue. In the second scene, where the action properly begins, the chorus is introduced, which, as originally, con- tinues upon the stage during the whole perform- ance : the chorus frequently makes one in the dia- logue ; and when the dialogue happens to be sus- pended, the chorus, during the interval, is employed in singing. Sophocles adheres to this plan reli- giously. Euripides is not altogether so correct. In some of his pieces, it becomes necessary to remove the chorus for a little time. But when that unusual step is risked, matters are so ordered as lo 368 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 23. not to interrupt the representation : the chorus never leave the stage of their own accord, but at the command of some principal personage, who constantly waits their return. Thus the Grecian drama is a continued repre- sentation without interruption ; a circumstance that merits attention. A continued representation without a pause, affords not opportunity to vary the place of action, nor to prolong the time of the action beyond that of the representation. To a re- presentation so confined in place and time, the foregoing reasoning is strictly applicable : a real or feigned action that is brought to a conclusion after considerable intervals of time and frequent changes of place, cannot accurately be copied in a represen- tation that admits no latitude in either. Hence it is, that the unities of place and of time, were, or ought to have been, strictly observed in the Greek tragedies ; which is made necessary by the very constitution of their drama, for it is absurd to com- pose a tragedy that cannot be justly represented. Modern critics, who for our drama pretend to establish rules founded on the practice of the Greeks, are guilty of an egregious blunder. The unities of place and of time were in Greece, as we see, a matter of necessity, not of choice ; and I am now ready to show, that if we submit to such fet- ters, it must be from choice, not necessity. This will be evident upon taking a view of the consti- tution of our drama,, which differs widely from that of Greece ; whether more or less perfect is a diffe- rent point, to be handled atterward. By dropping CH. S3.] THE THREE UNITIES. 369 the chorus, opportunity is afforded to divide the representation by intervals of time, during which the stage is evacuated, and the spectacle suspend- ed. This qualifies our drama for subjects spread through a wide space both of time and of place : the time supposed to pass during the suspension of the representation is not measured by the time of the suspension; and any place may be supposed when the representation is renewed, with as much facility as when it commenced : by which means, many subjects can be justly represented in our theatres, that were excluded from those of ancient Greece. This doctrine may be illustrated^ by com- paring a modern play to a set of historical pictures ; let us suppose them five in number, and the resem- blance will be complete. Each of the pictures re^ sembles an act in one of our plays : there must necessarily be the strictest unity of place and of time in each picture ; and the same necessity re- quires these two unities during each act of a play, because during an act there is no interruption in the spectacle. Now, when we view in succession a number of such historical pictures, let it be, for example^ the history of Alexander by Le Brun, we have no difficulty to conceive, that months or years have passed between the events exhibited in two different pictures, though the interruption is imper- ceptible in passing our eye from the one to the other ; and we have as little difficulty to conceive a change of place, however great. In which view, there is truly no difference between five acts of a modern play, and five such pictures. Where the VOL. II, A a 570 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 23. •representation is suspended, we can with the great- est facility suppose any length of time or any change of place : the spectator, it is true, may be conscious that the real time and place are not the same with what are employed in the representa- tion : but this is a work of reflection ; and by the same reflection he may also be conscious that Garrick is not King Lear, that the playhouse is not Dover Cliffs, nor the noise he hears thunder and lightning. In a word, after an interruption of the representation, it is no more difficult for a spectator to imagine a new place, or a different time, than at the commencement of the play, to imagine himself at Rome, or in a period of time two thousand years back. And indeed, it is abun^ dantly ridiculous, that a critic, who is willing to hold candle-light for sun-shine, and some painted canvasses for a palace or a prison, should be so scrupulous about admitting any latitude of place or of time in the fable, beyond what is necessary in the representation. There are, I acknowledge, some effects of great latitude in time that ought never to be indulged in a composition for the theatre : nothing can be more absurd, than at the close to exhibit a fuU- grown person who appears a child at the begin- ning : the mind rejects, as contrary to all proba- bility, such latitude of time as is requisite for a change so remarkable. The greatest change from place to place hath not altogether the same bad effect. In the bulk of human affairs place is not material; and the mind, when occupied with an CH. S3.] THE THREE UNITIES. $71 interesting event, is little regardful of minute cir- cumstances : these may be varied at will, because they scarce make any impression. But though I have taken arms to rescue modern poets from the despotism of modern critics, I would not be understood to justify liberty without any reserve. An unbounded licence with relation to place and time, is faulty, for a reason that seems to have been overlooked, which is, that it seldom fails to break the unity of action. In the ordinary course of human affairs, single events, such as are fit to be represented on the stage, are confined to a narrow spot, and commonly employ no great ex- tent of time : we accordingly seldom find strict unity of action in a dramatic composition, where any remarkable latitude is indulged in these parti- culars. I say further, that a composition which employs but one place, and requires not a greater length of time than is necessary for the representa- tion, is so much the more perfect ; because the confining an event within so narrow bounds, con- tributes to the unity of action, and also prevents that labour, however slight, which the mind must undergo in imagining frequent changes of place and many intervals of time. But still I must insist, that such limitation of place and time as was neces- sary in the Grecian drama, is no rule to us ; and therefore, that though such limitation adds one beauty more to the composition, it is at best but a refinement, which may justly give place to a thousand beauties more substantial. And I may ^dd, that it is extremely difficult, I was about to 37^ THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 23 , ^ay impracticable, to contract within the Grecian limits, any fable so fruitful of incidents in number and variety, as to give full scope to the fluctuation of passion. It may now appear, that critics who put the unities of place and of time upon the same footing with the unity of action, making them all equally essential, have not attended to the nature and con- stitution of the modern drama. If they admit an interrupted representation, vuth which no writer finds fault, it is absurd to reject its greatest advan- tage, that of representing many interesting subjects excluded from the Grecian stage. If there needs must be a reformation, why not restore the ancient chorus and the ancient continuity of action ? There is certainly no medium : for to admit an interrup- tion without relaxing from the strict unities o£ place and of time, is in effect to load us with all the inconveniences of the ancient drama, and at the same time to withhold from us its advantages. The only proper question, therefore, is. Whether our model be or be not a real improvement ? This indeed may fairly be called in question ; and in order to a comparative trial, some particulars must be premised. When a play begins, we have no difficulty to adjust our imagination to the scene of action, however distant it be in time or in place ; because we know that the play is a representation only. The case is very different after we are en- gaged : it is the perfection of representation to hide itself, to impose on the spectator, and to pro- duce in him an impression of reality, as if he were CH. 23.] THE THREE UNITIES. 373 a spectator of a real event but any interruption annihilates that impression, by rousing him out of his waking dream, and unhappily restoring him to his senses. So difficult it is to support the impres- sion of reality, that much slighter interruptions than the interval between two acts, are sufficient to dissolve the charm : in the 5th Act of the Mourning Bride, the three first scenes are in a room of state, the fourth in a prison ; and the change is operated by shifting the scene, which is done in a trice : but however quick the transition may be, it is impracticable to impose upon the spectators, so as to make them conceive that they are actually carried from the palace to the prison ; they immediately reflect, that the palace and pri- son are imaginary, and that the whole is a fiction. From these premises, one will naturally be led, at first view, to pronounce the frequent interrup- tions in the modern drama to be an imperfection. It will occur, “ That every interruption must have “ the effect to banish the dream of reality, and “ with it to banish our concern, which cannot sub- sist while we are conscious that all is a fiction ; and therefore, that in the modern drama suffi- cient time is not afforded for fluctuation and ‘‘ swelling of passion, like what is afforded in that of Greece, where there is no interruption.^’ This reasoning, it must be owned, has a specious appear- ance : but we must not become faint-hearted upon the first repulse ; let us rally our troops for a se- cond engagement. ^ Chap. 2: Part 1 , Sect. 7^ 374 * THE THREE UNITIES. [cH* 23 . Considering attentively the ancient drama, we find, that though the representation is never inter- rupted, the principal action is suspended not less frequently than in the modern drama : there are five acts in each ; and the only difference is, that in the former, when the action is suspended as it is at the end of every act, opportunity is taken of the interval to employ the chorus in singing. Hence it appears, that the Grecian continuity of represen- tation cannot have the effect to prolong the impres- sion of reality : to banish that impression, a pause in the action while the chorus is employed in sing- ing, is no less effectual than a total suspension of the representation. But to open a larger view, I am ready to shew, that a representation with proper pauses, is better qualified for making a deep impression, than a con- tinued representation without a pause. This will be evident from the following considerations. Re- presentation cannot very long support an impres- sion of reality ; for when the spirits are exhausted by close attention and by the agitation of passion, an uneasiness ensues, which never fails to banish the waking dream. Now supposing the time that a man can employ with strict attention without wandering, to be no greater than is requisite for a single act, a supposition that cannot be far from truth ; it follows, that a continued representation of longer endurance than an act, instead of giving scope to fluctuation and swelling of passion, would overstrain the attention, and produce a total ab- sence of mind. In that respect, the four pauses CH. 23 .] THE THREE UNITIES. have a fine effect ; for by affording to the audience a seasonable respite when the impression of reality is gone, and while nothing material is in agitation, they relieve the mind from its fatigue ; and conse- quently prevent a wandering of thought at the very time possibly of the most interesting scenes. In one article, indeed, the Grecian model has greatly the advantage : its chorus during an inter- val not only preserves alive the impressions made upon the audience, but also prepares their hearts finely for new impressions. In our theatres, on the contrary, the audience, at the end of every act, being left to trifle time away, lose every warm im- pression ; and they begin the next act cool and unconcerned, as at the commencement of the re- presentation. This is a gross malady in our thea- trical representations ; but a malady that luckily is not incurable. To revive the Grecian chorus, would be to revive the Grecian slaveiy of place and time ; but I can figure a detached chorus co- inciding with a pause in the representation, as the ancient chorus did with a pause in the principal action. What objection, for example, can there lie against music between the acts, vocal and in- strumental, adapted to the subject ? Such detach- ed chorus, without putting us under any limitation of time or place, would recruit the spirits, and would preserve entire the tone, if not the tide of passion : the music after an act should commence in the tone of the preceding passion, and be gra- dually varied till it accord with the tone of the passion that is to succeed in the next act. The 376 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 25. music and the representation would both of them be gainers by their conjunction ; which will thus appear. Music that accords with the present tone of mind, is, on that account, doubly agreeable ; and accordingly, though music singly hath not power to raise a passion, it tends greatly to sup- port a passion already raised. Further, music pre- pares us for the passion that follows, by making cheerful, tender, melancholy, or animated impres- sions, as the subject requires. Take for an exam- ple the first scene of the Mourning Bridey where soft music, in a melancholy strain, prepares us for Almeria’s deep distress. In this manner, music and representation support each other delightfully : the impression made upon the audience by the re- presentation, is a fine preparation for the music that succeeds ; and the impression made by the music, is a fine preparation for the representation that succeeds. It appears to me evident, that, by some such contrivance, the modern drama may be im- proved, so as to enjoy the advantage of the ancient chorus without its slavish limitation of place and time. And as to music in particular, I cannot figure any means that would tend more to its im- provement : composers, those for the stage at least, would be reduced to the happy necessity of study- ing and imitating nature ; instead of deviating, ac- cording to the present mode, into wild, fantastic, and unnatural conceits. But we must return to our subject, and finish the comparison between the ancient and the modern drama. The numberless improprieties forced upon the CH. S3.] THE THREE UNITIES. 377 Greek dramatic poets by the constitution of their drama, may be sufficient, one should think, to make prefer the modern drama, even abstracting from the improvement proposed. To prepare the reader for this article, it must be premised, that as in the ancient drama the place of action never varies, a place necessarily must be chosen, to which every person may have access without any improbability. This confines the scene to some open place, gene- rally the court or area before a palace ; which ex- cludes from the Grecian theatre transactions within doors, though these commonly are the most impor- tant. Such cruel restraint is of itself sufficient to cramp the most pregnant invention ; and accord- ingly Greek writers, in order to preserve unity of place, are reduced to woful improprieties. In the Hippolytus of Euripides,* Phedra distressed in mind and body, is carried without any pretext from her palace to the place of action ; is there laid upon a couch, unable to support herself upon her limbs, and made to utter many things impro- per to be heard by a number of women who form the chorus : and what is still more improper, her female attendant uses the strongest entreaties to make her reveal the secret cause of her anguish ; which at last Phedra, contrary to decency and pro- bability, is prevailed upon to do in presence of that very chorus.t Alcestes, in Euripides, at the point of death, is brought from the palace to the place of action, groaning and lamenting her untimely * Act I. Sc. 6. f Act II. Sc. 2. S7S THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 23. fate.’*' In the Trachiniens of Sophocles,! a secret is imparted to Dejanira, the wife of Hercules,' in presence of the chorus. In the tragedy of Iphu genia, the messenger employed to inform Ciitem- nestra that Iphigenia was sacrificed, stops short at the place of action, and with a loud voice calls the queen from her palace to hear the news. Again, in the Iphigenia in Tauris^ the necessary presence of the chorus forces Euripides into a gross absur- dity, which is to form a secret in their hearing and to disguise the absurdity, much court is paid to the chorus, not one woman but a number, to engage them to secrecy. In the Medea of Euripi- des, that princess makes no difficulty, in presence of the chorus, to plot the death of her husband, of his mistress, and of her father the king of Corinth, all by poison. It was necessary to bring Medea upon the stage, and there is but one place of ac- tion, which is always occupied by the chorus. This scene closes the second Act ; and in the end of the third, she frankly makes the chorus her confidants in plotting the murder of her own children. Te- rence, by identity of place, is often forced to make a conversation within doors be heard on the open street : the cries of a woman in labour are there heard distinctly. The Greek poets are not less hampered by unity ©f time than by that of place. In the Hippolytm * Act II. Sc. 1. f Act II. X Act. IV. at the close. CH. 23.] THE THREE UNITIES. 379 of Euripides, that prince is banished at the end of the 4th Act ; and in the first sceno of the follow- ing act, a messenger relates to Theseus the whole particulars of the death of Hippolytus by the sea- monster : that remarkable event must have occu- pied many hours ; and yet in the representation, it is confined to the time employed by the chorus upon the song at the end of the 4th Act. The in- consistency is still greater in the Iphigenia in Tauris : * the song could not exhaust half an hour ; and yet the incidents supposed to have happened during that time, could not naturally have been transacted in less than half a day. The Greek artists are forced, no less frequently, to transgress another rule, derived also from a con- tinued representation. The rule is, that as a va- cuity, however momentary, interrupts the repre- sentation, it is necessary that the place of action be constantly occupied. Sophocles, with regard to that rule as well as to others, is generally cor- rect. But Euripides cannot bear such restraint : he often evacuates the stage, and leaves it empty for others. Iphigenia in Tauris^ after pronounc- ing a soliloquy in the first scene, leaves the place of action, and is succeeded by Orestes and Pylades ; they, after some conversation, walk off ; and Iphi- genia re-enters, accompanied with the chorus. In the Alcestes, which is of the same author, the place of action is void at the end of the third Act. It is true, that to cover the irregularity, and to preserve * Act V. Sc. 4. 380 THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. 23. the representation in motion, Euripides is careful to fill the stage without loss of time ; but this still is an interruption, and a link of the chain broken 5 for during the change of the actors, there must be a space of time, during which the stage is occupied by neither set. It makes indeed a more remark- able interruption, to change the place of action as well as the actors ; but that was not practicable upon the Grecian stage. It is hard to say upon what model Terence has formed his plays. Having no chorus, there is a pause in the representation at the end of every act. But advantage is not taken of the cessation, even to vary the place of action : for the street is always chosen, where every thing passing may be seen by every person ; and by that choice, the most spright- ly and interesting parts of the action, which com- monly pass within doors, are excluded ; witness the last act of the Eunuch, He hath submitted to the like slavery with respect to time* In a word, a play with a regular chorus, is not more confined in place and time than his plays are. Tlius a zealous sectary follows implicitly ancient forms and ceremonies, without once considering whether their introductive cause be still subsisting. Plautus, of a bolder genius than Terence, makes good use of the liberty afforded by an interrupted represen- tation ; he varies the place of action upon aU occa- sions, when the variation suits his purpose. The intelligent reader will by this time under- stand, that I plead for no change of place in our plays but after an interval, nor for any latitude in THE THREE UNITIES. 381 CH. S3.] point of time but what falls in with an interval. The unities of place and time ought to be strictly observed during each act ; for during the repre- sentation, there is no opportunity for the smallest deviation from either. Hence it is an essential re- quisite, that during an act the stage be always oc- cupied j for even a momentary vacuity makes an interval or interruption. Another rule is no less essential : it would be a gross breach of the unity of action, to exhibit upon the stage two separate actions at the same time ; and therefore, to pre- serve that unity, it is necessary that each personage introduced during an act, be linked to those in possession of the stage, so as to join all in one ac- tion. These things follow from the very concep- tion of an act, which admits not the slightest in- terruption : the moment the representation is in- termitted, there is an end of that act ; and we have no notion of a new act, but where, after a pause or interval, the representation is again put in motion. French writers, generally speaking, are correct in this particular. The English, on the contrary, are so irregular, as scarce to deserve a criticism. Actors, during the same act, not only succeed each other in the same place without con- nexion ; but what is still less excusable, they fre- quently succeed each other in different places. This change of place in the same act, ought never to be indulged ; for, beside breaking the unity of the act, it has a disagreeable effect. After an in- terval, the imagination readily adapts itself to any place that is necessary, as readily as at the com- 38^ THE THREE UNITIES. [CH. S3. mencement of the play ; but during the represen- tation, we reject change of place. From the fore- going censure must be excepted the Mourning Bride of Congreve, where regularity concurs with the beauty of sentiment and of language, to make it one of the most complete pieces England has to boast of. I must acknowledge, however, that in point of regularity, this elegant performance is not altogether unexceptionable. In the four first acts, the unities of place and time are strictly observed j but in the last act, there is a capital error with res- pect to unity of place ; for in the three first scenes of that act, the place of action is a room of state, which is changed to a prison in the fourth scene : the chain also of the actors is broken ; as the per- sons introduced in the prison, are different from those who made their appearance in the room of state. This remarkable interruption of the repre- sentation, makes in effect two acts instead of one : and therefore, if it be a rule that a play ought not to consist of more acts than five, this performance is so far defective in point of regularity. I may add, that even admitting six acts, the irregularity would not be altogether removed, without a longer pause in the representation than is allowed in the acting ; for more than a momentary interruption is requisite for enabling the imagination readily to fall in with a new place, or with a wide space of time. In the Way of the World, of the same author, unity of place is preserved during every act, and a stricter unity of dme during the whole play, thap is necessary. 24.] GARDENING, &C. 383 CHAPTER XXIV. GARDENING AND ARCHITECTURE. The books we have upon architecture and upon embellishing ground, abound in practical instruc- tion, necessary for a mechanic ; but in vain should we rummage them for rational principles to im- prove our taste. In a general system, it might be thought sufficient to have unfolded the principles that govern these and other fine arts, leaving the application to the reader : but as I would neglect no opportunity of showing the extensive influence of these principles, the purpose of the present chap- ter is to apply them to gardening and architec- ture ; but without intending any regular plan of these favourite arts, which would be unsuitable not only to the nature of this work, but to the expe- rience of its author. Gardening was at first an useful art : in the gar- den of Alcinous, described by Homer, we find no- thing done for pleasure merely. But gardening is now improved into a fine art ; and when we talk of a garden without any epithet, a pleasure garden, by way of eminence, is understood : The garden of Alcinous, in modern language, was but a kitchen- garden. Architecture has run the same course : it continued many ages an useful art merely, with- out aspiring to be classed with the fine arts. Ar- chitecture, therefore, and gardening, being useful 24 38^ GARDENING AND [CH. ^4. arts as well as fine arts, afford two different views. The reader, however, will not here expect rules for improving any work of art in point of utility ; it being no part of my plan to treat of any useful art as such : but there is a beauty in utility ; and in discoursing of beauty, that of utility must not be neglected. This leads us to consider gardens and buildings in different views : they may be destined for use solely, for beauty solely, or for both. Such variety of destination, bestows upon these arts a great command of beauties, complex no less than various. Hence the difficulty of forming an accurate taste in gardening and archi- tecture ; and hence that difference and wavering of taste in these arts, greater than in any art that has but a single destination. Architecture and gardening cannot otherwise entertain the mind, but by raising certain agree- able emotions or feelings ; with which we must begin, as the true foundation of all the rules of criticism that govern these arts. Poetry, as to its power of raising emotions, possesses justly the first place among the fine arts ; for scarce any one emotion of human nature is beyond its reach. Painting and sculpture are more circumscribed, having the command of no emotions but of what are raised by sight ; they are peculiarly successful in expressing painful passions, which are displayed by external signs extremely legible.* Gardening, beside the emotions of beauty from regularity. * See Chap. 15. CH. 24 .] ARCHITECTURE. * 385 order, proportion, colour, and utility, can raise emotions of grandeur, of sweetness, of gaiety, of melancholy, of wildness, and even of surprise or wonder. In architecture, the beauties of regula- rity, order, and proportion, are still more conspi- cuous than in gardening ; but as to the beauty of colour, architecture is far inferior. Grandeur can be expressed in a building, perhaps more success- fully than in a garden ; but as to the other emo- tions above mentioned, architecture hitherto has not been brought to the perfection of expressing them distinctly. To balance that defect, archi- tecture can display the beauty of utility in the highest perfection. Gardening indeed possesses one advantage, ne- ver to be equalled in the other art : in various scenes, it can raise successively all the different emotions above mentioned. But to produce that delicious effect, the garden must be extensive, so as to admit a slow succession : for a small garden, comprehended at one view, ought to be confined to one expression ; * it may be gay, it may be sweet, it may be gloomy ; but an attempt to mix these, would create a jumble of emotions not a little unpleasant, t For the same reason, a build*^ * See Chap. 8. f “ The citizen, who in his villa has but an acre for a gar- den, must have it diversified with every object that is suited ‘‘ to an extensive garden. There must be woods, streams, “ lawns, statues, and temples to every goddess as well as to Gloacina/’ VOL. II. B b 3Sij ‘ GARDENING AND [CH. 24. ing, even the most magnificent, is necessarily con- fined to one expression. Architecture, considered as a fine art, instead of being a rival to gardening in its progress, seems not far advanced beyond its infant state. To bring it to maturity, two things mainly are wanted. First, a greater variety of parts and ornaments than at present it seems provided with. Garden- ing here has greatly the advantage : it is provided with plenty of materials for raising scenes without end, affecting the spectator with variety of emo- tions. In architecture, on the contrary, materials are so scanty, that artists hitherto have not been successful in raising any emotions but of beauty and grandeur : with respect to the former, there are indeed plenty of means, regularity, order, sym- metry, simplicity, utility ; and with respect to the latter, the addition of size is sufficient. But though it is evident, that every building ought to have a certain character or expression suited to its desti- nation, yet this refinement has scarce been at- tempted by any artist. A death’s-head and bones employed in monumental buildings, will indeed produce an emotion of gloom and melancholy j but such ornaments, if these can be termed so, ought to be rejected, because they are in them- selves disagreeable. The other thing wanted to bring the art to perfection, is, to ascertain the precise impression made by every single part and ornament, cupolas, spires, columns, carvings, sta- tues, vases, &c. ; for in vain will an artist attempt rules for employing these, either singly or in com- cfi. 24.] ARCHITECTURE, 387 bination, until the different emotions they produce be distinctly explained. Gardening in that parti- cular alsOj hath the advantage : the several emo- tions raised by trees, rivers, cascades, plains, emi- nences, and its other materialsj are understood j and each emotion can be described with some de- gree of precision, which is attempted occasionally in the foregoing parts of this work. In gardening as well as in architecture, simpli- city ought to be a ruling principle. Profuse orna- ment hath no better effect than to confound the eye, and to prevent the object from making an impression as one entire whole. An artist desti- tute of genius for capital beauties, is naturally prompted to supply the defect by crowding his plan with slight embellishments : hence in a gar- den, triumphal arches, Chinese houses, temples, obelisks, cascades, fountains, without end ; and in a building, pillars, vases, statues, and a profusion of carved work. Thus some women defective in taste, are apt to overcharge every part of their dress with ornament. Superfluity of decoration hath another bad effect ; it gives the object a dimi- nutive look : an island in a wide extended lake makes it appear larger * but an artificial lake, which is always little, appears still less by making an island in it.* In forming plans for embellishing a field, an artist without taste employs straight lines, circles^ ^ See Appendix to P^t 5. Chap, 2., GARDENING AND [CH. 24 }, S8S squares ; because these look best upon paper. He perceives not, that to humour and adorn nature, is the perfection of his art j and that nature, neglect- ing regularity, distributes her objects in great va- riety with a bold hand. A large field laid out with strict regularity, is stiff and artificial.^ Nature, in- deed, in arganized bodies comprehended under one view, studies regularity, which, for the same reason, ought to be studied in architecture : but in large objects, which cannot otherwise be surveyed but in parts and by succession, regularity and uniformity would be useless properties, because they cannot be discovered by the eye.t , Nature, therefore, in her large works, neglects these properties ; and in copying nature, the artist ought to neglect them. Having thus far carried on a comparison between gardening and architecture ; rules peculiar to each come next in order, beginning with gardening. The simplest plan of a garden, is that of a spot embellished with a number of natural objects, trees, walks, polished parterres, flowers, streams, &c. One more complex comprehends statues and build- ings, that nature and art may be mutually ornamen- * In France and Italy, a garden is disposed like the human body, alleys, like legs and arms, answering each other; the great walk in the middle representing the trunk of the body. Thus an artist void of taste carries self along into every opera- tion. f A square field appears net such to the eye when viewed from any part of it ; and the centre is the only place where a circular field preserves in appearance its regular figure. ARCHITECTURE. S89 CM. ^4.] tal. A third, approaching nearer perfection, is of objects assembled together in order to produce, not only an emotion of beauty, but also some other par- ticular emotion, grandeur, for example, gaiety, or any other above mentioned. The completest plan of a garden is an improvement upon the third, re- quiring the several parts to be so arranged, as to inspire all the different emotions that can be raised by gardening. In this plan, the arrangement is an important circumstance ; for it has been shown, that some emotions figure best in conjunction, and that others ought always to appear in succession, and never in conjunction. It is mentioned above, ^ that when the most opposite emotions, such as gloominess and gaiety, stillness and activity, follow each other in succession, the pleasure, on the whole, will be the greatest ; but that such emotions ought not to be united, because they produce an unplea- sant mixture. t For this reason, a ruin affording a sort of melancholy pleasure, ought not to be seen from a flower-parterre which is gay and cheerful.t But to pass from an exhilarating object to a ruin, has a fine effect ; for each of the emotions is the more sensibly felt by being contrasted with the other. Similar emotions, on the other hand, such as gaiety and sweetness, stillness and gloominess, motion and grandeur, ought to be raised together | * Chap, 8. f Chap. 2. Part 4f. X See the place immediately above cited. 690 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. for their effects upon the mind are greatly height- ened by their conjunction. Kent’s method of embellishing a field is admi- rable ; which is to replenish it with beautiful ob- jects, natural and artificial, disposed as they ought to be upon a canvass in painting. It requires in- deed more genius to paint in the gardening way : in forming a landscape upon a canvass, no more is required but to adjust the figures to each other ; an artist who would form a garden in Kent’s man- ner, has an additional task ; which is, to adjust his figures to the several varieties of the field, A single garden must be distinguished from a plurality ; and yet it is not obvious in what the unity of a garden consists. We have indeed some notion of unity in a garden surrounding a palace, with views from each window, and walks leading to every corner : but there may be a garden with- out a house ; in which case, it is the unity of design that makes it one garden ; as where a spot of ground is so artfully dressed as to make the several portions appear to be parts of one whole. The gardens of Versailles, properly expressed in the plural number, being no fewer than sixteen, are indeed all of them connected with the palace, but have scarce any mutual connexion : they appear not like parts of one whole, but rather like small gardens in conti- guity. A greater distance between these gardens would produce a better effect; their junction breeds confusion of ideas, and upon the whole gives less pleasure than would be felt in a slower succession. CIS. 24.] ARCPIITECTURE. 691 Regularity is required in that part of a garden which is adjacent to the dwelling-house ; because an immediate accessory ought to partake the regu- larity of the principal object:* but in proportion to the distance from the house considered as the centre, regularity ought less and less to be studied j for in an extensive plan, it hath a fine effect to lead the mind insensibly from regularity to a bold va- riety. Such arrangement tends to make an im- pression of grandeur ; and grandeur ought to be studied as much as possible, even in a more con- fined plan, by avoiding a multiplicity of small parts.t A small garden, on the other hand, which admits not grandeur, ought to be strictly regular. * The influence of this connexion surpassing all bounds, is still visible in many gardens, formed of horizontal plains forced with great labour and expense, perpendicular faces of earth sup- ported by massy stone walls, terrace-walks in stages one above another, regular ponds and canals without the least motion, and the whole surrounded, like a prison, with high walls excluding every external object. At first view it may puzzle one to ac- count for a taste so opposite to nature in every particular. But nothing happens without a cause. Perfect regularity and uni- formity are required in a house ; and this idea is extended to its accessory the garden, especially if it be a small spot incapable of grandeur or of much variety : the house is regular, so must the garden be ; the floors of the house are horizontal, and th^ garden must have the same position ; in the house we are pro- tected from every intruding eye, so must we be in the garden. This, it must be confessed, is carrying the notion of resem- blance very far ; but where reason and taste are laid asleep, no- thing is more common than to carry resemblance beyond proper bounds. t See Chap, 4. S92 GARDENING AND [^CH. 24. Milton, describing the garden of Eden, prefers justly grandeur before regularity : Flowers worthy of paradise, which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Pour’d forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain ; Both where the morning-sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierc’d shade Imbrown’d the noontide bow’rs. Paradise Lost, B. 4. A hill covered with trees, appears more beauti- ful as well as more lofty than when naked. To distribute trees in a plain requires more art : near the dwelling-house they ought to be scattered so distant from each other, as not to break the unity of the field ; and even at the greatest distance of distinct vision, they ought never to be so crowded as to hide any beautiful object. In the manner of planting a wood or thicket, much ait may be displayed. A common centre of walks, termed a star, from whence are seen re- markable objects, appears too artificial, and conse- quently too stiff and formal, to be agreeable ; the crowding withal so many objects together, lessens the pleasure that would be felt in a slower succes- sion, Abandoning therefore the star, let us try to substitute some form more natural, that will dis- play all the remarkable objects in the neighbour- hood. This may be done by various apertures in the wood, purposely contrived to lay open succes- sively every such object ; sometimes a single object, sometimes a plurality in a line, and sometimes a rapid. CH. 24 .] ARCHITECTURE. 393 succession of them : the mind at intervals is roused and cheered by agreeable objects ; and by surprise, upon viewing objects of which it had no expecta*- tion. Attending to the influence of contrast, explained in the eighth chapter, we discover why the lowness of the ceiling increases in appearance the size of a large room, and why a long room appears stiE longer by being very narrow, as is remarkable in a gallery : by the same means, an object terminat- ing a narrow opening in a wood, appears at a double distance. This suggests another rule for distributing trees in some quarter near the dwell- ing-house ; which is to place a number of thickets in a line, with an opening in each, directing the eye from one to another ; which will make them appear more distant from each other than they are in reality, and in appearance enlarge the size of the whole field. To give this plan its utmost effect, the space between the thickets ought to be considerable : and in order that each may be seen distinctly, the opening nearest the eye ought to be wider than the second, the second wider than the third, and so on to the end.^ * All object will appear more distant than it really is, if dif- ferent coloured evergreens be planted between it and the eye. Suppose holly and laurel, and the holly which is of the deeper colour, nearer the eye ; the degradation of colour in the laurel, makes it appear at a great distance from the holly, and conse- quently removes the object, in appearance, to a greater distance than it really is. GARDENING AND 394^ [CH. 24. By a judicious distribution of trees, other beau- ties may be produced. A landscape so rich as to engross the whole attention, and so limited as sweetly to be comprehended under a single view, has a much finer effect than the most extensive landscape that requires a wandering of the eye through successive scenes. This observation sug- gests a capital rule in laying out a field ; which is, never at any one station to admit a larger prospect than can easily be taken in at once. A field so happily situated as to command a great extent of prospect, is a delightful subject for applying this rule : let the prospect be split into proper parts by means of trees ; studying at the same time to in- troduce all the variety possible. A plan of this kind executed with taste will produce charming effects : the beautiful prospects are multiplied ; each of them is much more agreeable than the entire prospect was originally ; and, to crown the whole, the scenery is greatly diversified. As gardening is not an inventive art, but an imitation of nature, or rather nature itself orna- mented ; it follows necessarily, that every thing unnatural ought to be rejected with disdain. Sta- tues of wild beasts vomiting water, a common or- nament in gardens, prevail in those of Versailles. Is that ornament in a good taste ? A jet d^eau, being purely artificial, may, without disgust, be tortured into a thousand shapes ; but a representa- tion of what really exists in nature, admits not any unnatural circumstance. In the statues of Ver- sailles the artist has displayed his vicious taste CH. S4.] ARCHITECTURE. 395 without the least colour or disguise. A lifeless statue of an animal pouring out water, may be en- dured without much disgust : but here the lions and wolves are put in violent action, each has seized its prey, a deer or a lamb, in act to devour ; and yet, as by hocus-pocus, the whole is converted into a different scene : the lion, forgetting his prey, pours out water plentifully; and the deer, forgetting its danger, performs the same work : a representation no less absurd than that in the opera, where Alexander the Great, after mounting the wall of a town besieged, turns his back to the enemy, and entertains his army with a song.* In gardening, every lively exhibition of what is beautiful in nature has a fine effect : on the other hand, distant and faint imitations are displeasing to every one of taste. The cutting evergreens in the shape of animals, is very ancient ; as appears from the epistles of Pliny, who seems to be a great admirer of the conceit. The propensity to imita- tion gave birth to that practice ; and has support- ed it wonderfully long, considering how faint and insipid the imitation is. But the vulgar, great and small, are entertained with the oddness and singu- * Ulloa, a Spanish writer, describing the city of Lima, says, that the great square is finely ornamented. ‘‘ In the centre is a fountain, equally remarkable for its grandeur and capacity. Raised above the fountain is a bronze statue of Fame, and four small basins on the angles. The water issues from the ‘‘ trumpet of the statue, and from the mouths of eight lions surrounding it, which,” in his opinion, greatly heighten the beauty of , the whole.” 396 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. iarity of a resemblance, however distant, between a tree and an animal. An attempt in the gardens of Versailles to imitate a grove of trees by a group of jets (Teau^ appears, for the same reason, no less childish. In designing a garden, every thing trivial or whimsical ought to be avoided. Is a labyrinth then to be justified ? It is a mere conceit, like that of composing verses in the shape of an axe or an egg : the walks and hedges may be agreeable ; but in the form of a labyrinth, they serve to no end but to puzzle : a riddle is a conceit not so mean ; because the solution is proof of sagacity, which affords no aid in tracing a labyrinth. The gardens of Versailles, executed with bound- less expense by the best artists of that age, are a lasting monument of a taste the most depraved : the faults above mentioned, instead of being avoid- ed, are chosen as beauties, and multiplied without end. Nature, it would seem, was deemed too vulgar to be imitated in the works of a magnifi- cent monarch ; and for that reason preference was given to things unnatural, which probably were mistaken for supernatural. I have often amused myself with a fanciful resemblance between these gardens and the Arabian tales ; each of them is a performance intended for the amusement of a great king ; in the sixteen gardens of Versailles there is no unity of design, more than in the thousand and one Arabian tales ; and, lastly, they are equally unnatural ; groves oijets d^eau, statues of animals conversing in the manner of ^sop, water issuing CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 397 out of the mouths of wild beasts, give an impres- sion of fairy-land and witchcraft, no less than dia- mond-palaces, invisible rings, spells and incanta- tions. A straight road is the most agreeable, because it shortens the journey. But in an embellished field, a straight walk has an air of formality and confine- ment ; and at any rate is less agreeable than a winding or waving walk j for in surveying the beauties of an ornamented field, we love to roam from place to place at freedom. Winding walks have another advantage : at every step they open new views. In short, the walks in pleasure-ground ought not to have any appearance of a road : my intention is not to make a journey, but to feast my eye on the beauties of art and nature. This rule excludes not openings directing the eye to distant objects. Such openings, beside variety, are agree- able in various respects : first, as observed above, they extend in appearance the size of the field ; next, an object, at whatever distance, continues the opening, and deludes the spectator into a con- viction, that the trees which confine the view are continued till they join the object. Straight walks in recesses do well ; they vary the scenery, and are favourable to meditation. Avoid a straight avenue directed upon a dwell- ing-house : better far an oblique approach in a waving line, with single trees and other scattered objects interposed. In a direct approach, the first appearance is continued to the end : we see a house at a distance, and we see it all along in the 398 GARDENING AND [CH. M. same spot withput any variety. In an oblique ap- proach, the interposed objects put the house seem- ingly in motion : it moves with the passenger, and appears to direct its course so as hospitably to in- tercept him. An oblique approach contributes also to variety : the house, seen successively in different directions, assumes at each step a new figure* A garden on a flat ought to be highly and vari- ously ornamented, in order to occupy the mind, and prevent our regretting the insipidity of an uni- form plain. Artificial mounts in that view are common : but no person has thought of an artificial walk elevated high above the plain. Such a walk is airy, and tends to elevate the mind ; it extends and varies the prospect ; and it makes the plain, seen from a height, appear more agreeable. Whether should a ruin be in the Gothic or Gre- cian form ? In the former, I think ; because it exhibits the triumph of time over strength ; a me- lancholy, but not unpleasant thought : a Grecian ruin suggests rather the triumph of barbarity over taste ; a gloomy and discouraging thought. There are not many fountains in a good taste. Statues of animals vomiting water, which prevail every- where, stand condemned as unnatural. A statue of a whale spouting water upward from its head is in one sense natural, as certain whales have that power ; but it is a sufficient objection, that its singularity w^ould make it appear unnatural 5 there is another reason against it, that the figure of a whale is in itself not agreeable. In many Roman CH. 24 .] ARCHITECTURE. 399 J I fountains, statues of fishes are employed to support a large bason of water. This unnatural conceit is not accountable, unless from the connexion that water hath with the fish that swim in it ; which by the way shows the influence of even the slighter relations. The best design for a fountain I have met with, is what follows : In an artificial rock, rugged and abrupt, there is a cavity out of sight at the top : the water, conveyed to it by a pipe, pours or trickles down the broken parts of the rock, and is collected into a bason at the foot : it is so con- trived, as to make the water fall in sheets or in rills at pleasure* Hitherto a garden has been treated as a work intended solely for pleasure, or, in other words, for giving impressions of intrinsic beauty. What comes next in order, is the beauty of a garden des- tined for use, termed relative beauty and this branch shall be despatched in a few words. In gar- dening, luckily, relative beauty need never stand in opposition to intrinsic beauty : all the ground that can be requisite for use, makes but a small proportion of an ornamented field ; and may be put in any corner without obstructing the disposi- tion of the capital parts. At the same time, a kit- chen-garden or an orchard is susceptible of intrin- sic beauty ; and may be so artfully disposed among the other parts, as by variety and contrast to con- tribute to the beauty of the whole. In this res- * See these terms defined, Chap. 3. 24 ! 400 GARDENING AND [CH. ^ 4 * pect, architecture requires a greater stretch of art, as will be seen immediately ; for as intrinsic and relative beauty must often be blended in the same building, it becomes a difficult task to attain both in any perfection. In a hot country it is a capital object to have what may be termed a summer-garden ; that is, a spot of ground disposed by art and by nature to exclude the sun, but to give free access to the air. In a cold country, the capital object should be a 'winter-garden, open to the sun, sheltered from wind, dry under foot, and taking on the appear- ance of summer by variety of evergreens. The relish of a country life, totally extinct in France, is decaying fast in Britain. But as still many people of fashion, and some of taste, pass the win- ter, or part of it, in the country, it is amazing that winter-gardens should be overlooked. During summer, every field is a garden ; but during half of the year, the weather is seldom so good in Britain as to afford comfort in the open air without shel- ter ; and yet seldom so bad as not to afford comfort with shelter. I say more, that beside providing for exercise and health, a winter-garden may be made subservient to education, by introducing a habit of thinking. In youth, lively spirits give too great a propensity to pleasure and amusement, making us averse to serious occupation. That un- toward bias may be corrected in some degree by a winter-garden, which produces in the mind a calm satisfaction, free from agitation of passion, whethei: ARCHITECTURE. 401 £H. S4.] gay or gloomy ; a fine tone of mind for meditation and reasoning.* Gardening being in China brought to greater perfection than in any other known country, we shall close our present subject with a slight view of Chinese gardens, which are found entirely obse- quious to the principles that govern every one of the fine arts. In general, it is an indispensable law there, never to deviate from nature ; but in order to produce that degree of variety which is pleasing, every method consistent with nature is put in prac- tice. Nature is strictly imitated in the banks of their artificial lakes and rivers ; which sometimes are bare and gravelly, sometimes covered with ^ A correspondent, whose name I hitherto have conceal- ed, that I might not be thought vain, and which I can no longer conceal, (Mrs Montagu), writes to me as follows ; “ In “ life we generally lay our account with prosperity, and seldom, ** very seldom, prepare for adversity. We carry that propen- sity even into the structure of our gardens : we cultivate the “ gay ornaments of summer, relishing no plants but what flou- “ rish by mild dews and gracious sunshine ; we banish from our thoughts ghastly winter, when the benign influences of the ** sun cheering us no more, are doubly regretted by yielding to the piercing north-wind and nipping frost. Sage is the gar- ** dener, in the metaphorical as well as literal seiise, who pro- ** cures a friendly shelter to protect us from December storms, and cultivates the plants that adorn and enliven that dreary season. He is no philosopher who cannot retire into the “ Stoic’s walk, when the gardens of Epicurus are out of bloom: he is too much a philosopher who will rigidly proscribe the “ flowers and aromatics of summer, to sit constantly under the cypress shade.” VOL. U, C C (S^ARDENING AND [CH. 24. 402 wood quite to the brink of the water. To flat spots adorned with flowers and shrubs, are opposed others steep and rocky. We see meadows cover- ed with cattle ; rice-grounds that run into lakes ; groves into which enter navigable creeks and rivu- lets : these generally conduct to some interesting object, a magniflcent building, terraces cut in a mountain, a cascade, a grotto, an artificial rock. Their artificial rivers are generally serpentine ; sometimes narrow, noisy, and rapid ; sometimes deep, broad, and slow : and to make the 'scene still more active, mills and other moving machines are often erected. In the lakes are interspersed islands ; some barren, surrounded with rocks and shoals ; others enriched with every thing that art and nature can furnish. Even in their cascades they avoid regularity, as forcing nature out of its course : the waters are seen bursting from the caverns and windings of the artificial rocks, here a roaring cataract, there many gentle falls ; and the stream often impeded by trees and stones, that seem brought down by the violence of the current. Straight lines are sometimes indulged, in order to keep in view some interesting object at a distance. Sensible of the influence of contrast, the Chinese artists deal in sudden transitions, and in opposing to each other, forms, colours, and shades. The eye is conducted from limited to extensive views, and from lakes and rivers to plains, hills, and woods : to dark and gloomy colours are opposed the more brilliant : the different masses of light and shade are disposed in such a manner, as to render the CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 403 composition distinct in its parts, and striking on the whole. In plantations, the trees are artfully- mixed according to their shape and colour ; those of spreading branches with the pyramidal, and the light green with the deep green. They even in- troduce decayed trees, some erect, and some half out of the ground.* In order to heighten con- trast, much bolder strokes are risked : they soine» times introduce rough rocks, dark caverns, trees ill formed, and seemingly rent by tempests, or blasted by lightning ; a building in ruins, or half consumed by fire. But to relieve the mind from the harshness of such objects, the sweetest and most beautiful scenes always succeed. The Chinese study to give play to the imagina- tion : they hide the termination of their lakes ; and commonly interrupt the view of a cascade by trees, through which are seen obscurely the waters as they fall. The imagination once roused, is dis- posed to magnify every object. Nothing is more studied in Chinese gardens than to raise wonder or surprise. In scenes calculated for that end, every thing appears like fairy-land; a torrent, for example, conveyed under ground, puzzles a stranger by its uncommon sound to guess what it may be ; and to multiply such uncommon sounds, the rocks and buildings are contrived with * Taste has suggested to Kent the same artifice. A decayed tree placed properly, contributes to contrast ; and also in a pen=. sive or sedate state of mind produces a sort of pity, grounded on an imaginary personification. 404 GARDENING AND [CH. cavities and interstices. Sometimes one is led in- sensibly into a dark cavern, terminating unexpect- edly in a landscape enriched with all that nature affords the most delicious. At other times, beau- tiful walks insensibly conduct to a rough unculti- vated field, where bushes, briers, and stones inter- rupt the passage : looking about for an outlet, some rich prospect unexpectedly opens to view. Another artifice is, to obscure some capital part by trees, or other interposed objects : our curiosity is raised to know what lies beyond ; and after a few steps, we are greatly surprised with some scene totally different from what was expected. These cursory observations upon gardening, shall be closed with some reflections that must touch every reader. Rough uncultivated ground, dismal to the eye, inspires peevishness and discontent : may not this be one cause of the harsh manners of savages ? A field richly ornamented, contain- ing beautiful objects of various kinds, displays in full lustre the goodness of the Deity, and the ample provision he has made for our happiness. Ought not the spectator to be filled with gratitude to his Maker, and with benevolence to his fellow- creatures ? Other fine arts may be perverted to excite irregular, and even vicious, emotions ; but gardening, which inspires the purest and most re- fined pleasures, cannot fail to promote every good affection. The gaiety and harmony of mind it produceth, inclining the spectator to communicate his satisfaction to others, and to make them happy en. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 405 as he is himself, tend naturally to establish in him a habit of humanity and benevolence.* It is not easy to suppress a degree of enthusiasm, when we reflect on the advantages of gardening with respect to virtuous education. In the begin- ning of life the deepest impressions are made ; and it is a sad truth, that the young student, familiar- ized to the dirtiness and disorder of many colleges pent within narrow bounds in populous cities, ds rendered in a measure insensible to the elegant beauties of art and nature. Is there no man of fortune sufficiently patriotic to think of reforming this evil ? It seems to me far from an exaggera- tion, that good professors are not more essential to a college, than a spacious garden sweetly orna- mented, but without any thing glaring or fantastic, so as upon the whole to inspire our youth with a taste no less for simplicity than for elegance. In that respect, the university of Oxford may justly be deemed a model. Having finished what occurred on gardening, I proceed to rules and observations that more pecu- liarly concern architecture. Architecture, being an useful as well as a fine art, leads us to distinguish buildings and parts of buildings into three kinds. * The manufactures of silk, flax, and cotton, in their present advance towards perfection, may be held as inferior branches of the fine arts ; because their productions in dress and in fur- niture inspire, like them, gay and kindly emotions favourable to morality. 406 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. namely, what are intended for utility solely, what for ornament solely, and what for both. Buildings intended for utility solely, such as detached offices, ought in every part to correspond precisely to that intention ; the slightest deviation from the end in view will by every person of taste be thought a ble- mish. In general it is the perfection of every work of art, that it fulfils the purpose for which it is in- tended ; and every other beauty, in opposition, is improper. But in things intended for ornament, such as pillars, obelisks, triumphal arches, beauty ought alone to be regarded. A Heathen temple must be considered as merely ornamental ; for being dedicated to some deity, and not intended for habitation, it is susceptible of any figure and any embellishment that fancy can suggest and beauty admit. The great difficulty of contrivance respects buildings that are intended to be useful as well as ornamental. These ends, employing dif- ferent and often opposite means, are seldom united in perfection ; and the only practicable method in such buildings is, to favour ornament less or more according to the character of the building : in pa- laces, and other edifices sufficiently extensive to admit a variety of useful contrivance, regularity justly takes the lead ; but in dwelling-houses that are too small for variety of contrivance, utility ought to prevail, neglecting regularity as far as it stands in opposition to convenience.* * A building must be large to produce any sensible emotion of regularity, proportion or beauty ; which is an additional rea- son for minding convenience only in a dwelling-house of small $lze. CH. 24 <.] ARCHITECTURE. 407 Intrinsic and relative beauty being founded on different principles, must be handled separately. I begin with relative beauty, as of the greater im- portance. The proportions of a do6r are determined by the use to which it is destined. The door of a dwell- ing-house, which ought to correspond to the hu- man size, is confined to seven or eight feet in height, and three or four in breadth. The propor- tions proper for the door of a barn or coach-house, are widely different. Another consideration enters. To study intrinsic beauty in a coach-house or barn, intended merely for use, is obviously improper. But a dwelling-house may admit ornaments ; and the principal door of a palace demands aU the grandeur that is consistent with the foregoing pro- portions dictated by utility : it ought to be elevat- ed, and approached by steps ; and it may be adorn- ed with pillars supporting an architrave, or in any other beautiful manner. The door of a church ought to be wide, in order to afford an easy passage for a multitude : the width, at the same time, re- gulates the height, as will appear by and by. The size of windows ought to be proportioned to that of the room they illuminate ; for if the apertures be not sufficiently large to convey light to every corner, the room is unequally lighted, which is a great deformity. The steps of a stair ought to be accommodated to the human figure, without re- garding any other proportion : they are accordingly the same in large and in small buildings, because both are inhabited by men of the same size. 408 GARDENING AND [CH. I proceed to consider intrinsic beauty blended with that which is relative. Though a cube in it.- self is more agreeable than a parallelopipedon, yet a large parallelopipedon set on its smaller base, is by its elevation more agreeable ; and hence the beauty of a Gothic tower. But supposing this figure to be destined for a dwelling-house, to make way for relative beauty, we immediately perceive that utility ought chiefly to be regarded, and that the figure, inconvenient by its height, ought to be set upon its larger base : the loftiness is gone ; but that loss is more than compensated by additional convenience ; for which reason, a figure spread more upon the ground than raised in height, is always “preferred for a dwelling-house, without excepting even the most superb palace. As to the divisions within, utility requires that the rooms be rectangular ; for otherwise void spaces will be left, which are of no use. A hexagonal figure leaves no void spaces ; but it determines the rooms to be all of one size, which is inconvenient. A room of a moderate size may be a square ; but in very large rooms this figure must, for the most part, give place to a parallelogram, which can more easily be adjusted than a square, to the smaller rooms contrived entirely for convenience. A pa- rallelogram, at the same time, is the best calculated for receiving light ; because, to avoid cross lights, all the windows ought to be in one wall ; and the opposite wall must be so near as to be fully lighted, otherwise the room will be obscure. The height pf a room exceeding nine or ten feet, has little or CH. £4.J ARCHITECTURE. 409 no relation to utility ; and therefore proportion is the only rule for determining a greater height. As all artists who love what is beautiful, are prone to entertain the eye, they have opportunity to exert their taste upon palaces and sumptuous buildings, where, as above observed, intrinsic beauty ought to have the ascendant over that which is re- lative. But such propensity is unhappy with res- pect to dwelling-houses of moderate size ; because in these, intrinsic beauty cannot be displayed in any perfection, without wounding relative beauty : a small house admits not much variety of form ; and in such houses there is no instance of internal convenience being accurately adjusted to external regularity : I am apt to believe that it is beyond 4he jeach of art. And yet architects never give over attempting to reconcile these two incompati- bles : how otherwise should it happen, that of the endless variety of private dwelling-houses, there is scarce an instance of any one being chosen for a pattern ? The unwearied propensity to make a house regular as well as convenient, forces the architect, in some articles, to sacrifice convenience to regularity, and in others, regularity to conve- nience ; and the house, which turns out neither regular nor convenient, never fails to displease : the faults are obvious ; and the difficulty of doing better is known to the artist only.* * Houses are built to live in, and not to look on ; therefore “ let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may fi be had.” Lord Verulam, Essay 45. 410 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. Nothing can be more evident, than that the form of a dwelling-house ought to be suited to the cli- mate ; and yet no error is more common, than to copy in Britain the form of Italian houses ; not forgetting even those parts that are purposely con- trived for air, and for excluding the sun. I shall give one or two instances. A colonnade along the front of a building, hath a fine effect in Greece and Italy, by producing coolness and obscurity, agreeable properties in warm and luminous climates : but the cold climate of Britain is altogether averse to that ornament j and therefore a colonnade can never be proper in this country, unless for a por- tico, or to communicate with a detached building. Again, a logio laying the house open to the north, contrived in Italy for gathering cool air, is, if pos- sible, still more improper for this climate : scarce endurable in summer, it, in winter, exposes the house to the bitter blasts of the north, and to every shower of snow and rain. Having said what appeared necessary upon rela- tive beauty, the next step is, to view architecture as one of the fine arts ; which will lead us to the examination of such buildings, and parts of build- ings, as are calculated solely to please the eye. In the works of nature, rich and magnificent, variety prevails ; and in works of art that are contrived to imitate nature, the great art is to hide every ap- pearance of art ; which is done by avoiding regu- larity, and indulging variety. But in works of art that are original, and not imitative, the timid hand is guided by rule and compass ^ an^ accordingly CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 411 in architecture strict regularity and uniformity are studied, as far as consistent with utility. Proportion is no less agreeable than regularity and uniformity ; and therefore in buildings intend^ ed to please the eye, they are all equally essential. By many writers it is taken for granted, that in buildings there are certain proportions that please the eye, as in sounds there are certain proportions that please the ear ; and that in both equally the slightest deviation from the precise proportion is disagreeable. Others seem to relish more a com- parison between proportion in numbers and pro- portion in quantity ; and hold that the same pro- portions are agreeable in both. The proportions for example, of the numbers l6, 24, and 36, are agreeable ; and so, say they, are the proportions of a room, the height of which is 16 feet, the breadth 24, and the length 36 . May I hope from the reader, that he will patiently accompany me in examining this point, which is useful as well as curious. To refute the notion of a resemblance between musical proportions and those of archi- tecture, it might be sufficient to observe in gene- ral, that the one is addressed to the ear, the other to the eye ; and that objects of different senses have no resemblance, nor indeed any relation to each other. But more particularly, what pleases the ear in harmony, is not proportion among the strings of the instrument, but among the sounds that these strings produce. In architecture, on the contrary, it is the proportion of different quantities that please the eye, without the least relation to sound. Were 412 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. quantity to be the ground of comparison, we have no reason to presume, that there is any natural analogy between the proportions that please in a building, and the proportions of strings that pro- duce concordant sounds. Let us take for example an octave, produced by two similar strings, the one double of the other in length : this is the most per- fect of all concords ; and yet I know not that the proportion of one to two is agreeable in any two parts of a building. I add, that concordant notes are produced by wind-instruments, which, as to proportion, appear not to have even the slightest resemblance to a building. With respect to the other notion, namely a com- parison between proportion in numbers and pro- portion in quantity ; I urge, that number and quantity are so different, as to afford no probability of any natural relation between them. Quantity is a real quality of every body ; number is not a real quality, but merely an idea that arises upon viewing a plurality of things, whether conjunctly or in suc- cession. An arithmetical proportion is agreeable in numbers ; but have we any reason to infer that it must also be agreeable in quantity ? At that rate, a geometrical proportion, and many others which are agreeable in numbers, ought also to be agreeable in quantity. In an endless variety of proportions, it would be wonderful, if there never should happen a coincidence of any one agreeable proportion in both. One example is given in the numbers l6, 24, and 36 ; but to be convinced that this agreeable coinci- dence is merely accidental, we need only reflect^ CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 413 that the same proportions are not applicable to the external figure of a house, and far less to a column. That we are framed by nature to relish propor- tion as well as regularity, is indisputable ; but that agreeable proportion should, like concord in sounds, be confined to certain precise measures, is not war- ranted by experience : on the contrary, we learn from experience, that proportion admits more and less; that several proportions are each of them agreeable ; and that we are not sensible of dispro- portion, till the difference between the quantities compared become the most striking circumstance. Columns evidently admit different proportions, equally agreeable ; and so do houses, rooms, and other parts of a building. This leads to an inte-. resting reflection : the foregoing difference between concord and proportion, is an additional instance of that admirable harmony which subsists among the several branches of the human frame. The ear is an accurate judge of sounds, and of their smallest differences ; and that concord in sounds should be regulated by accurate measures, is per-^ fectly well suited to this accuracy of perception : the eye is more uncertain about the size of a large object, than of one that is small ; and at a distance an object appears less than at hand. Delicacy of perception, therefore, with respect to proportion in quantities, would be an useless quality ; and it is much better ordered, that there should be such a Jatitude with respect to agreeable proportions, as to correspond to the uncertainty of the eye with respect to quantity. 414 GARDENING AND [CH. ^4. But all the beauties of this subject are not yet displayed; and it is too interesting to be passed over in a cursory view. I proceed to observe, that to make the eye sis delicate with respect to propor- tion as the ear is with respect to concord, would not only be an useless quality, but be the source of continual pain and uneasiness. I need go no fur- ther for a proof than the very room I occupy at present ; for every step I take varies to me, iii ap- pearance, the proportion of length to breadth : at that rate, I should not be happy but in one precise spot, where the proportion appears agreeable. Let me further observe, that it would be singular indeed to find, in the nature of man, any two prin- ciples in perpetual opposition to each other : and yet this would be the case, if pro'portion were cir- cumscribed like concord ; for it would exclude all but orie of those propoidions that utility requires in different buildings, and in different parts of the same building* It provokes a smile to find writers acknowledg- ing the necessity of accurate proportions, and yet differing widely about them. Laying aside reason- ing and philosophy, one fact universally allowed ought to have undeceived them, that the same pro- portions which are agreeable in a model, are not agreeable in a large building : a room 40 feet in length, and 24 in breadth and height, is well pro- portioned ; but a room 12 feet wide and high, and 24 long, approaches to a gallery. Perault, in his comparison of the ancients and 415 CH. £4.] ARCHITECTURE. moderns,* is the only author who runs to the oppo- site extreme ; maintaining that the different pro- portions assigned to each order of columns are arbitrary, and that the beauty of these proportions is entirely the effect of custom. This betrays igno- rance of human nature, which evidently delights in proportion as well as in regularity, order, and propriety. But without any acquaintance with human nature, a single reflection might have con- vinced him of his error, That if these proportions had not originally been agreeable, they could not have been established by custom. To illustrate the present point, I shall add a few examples of the agreeableness of different propor- tions. In a sumptuous edifice, the capital rooms ought to be large, for otherwise they will not be proportioned to the size of the building : and for the same reason, a very large room is improper in a small house. But in things thus related, the mind requires not a precise or single proportion, reject- ing all others ; on the contrary, many different proportions are made equally welcome. In all buildings accordingly, we find rooms of different proportions equally agreeable, even where the pro- portion is not influenced by utility. With respect to the height of a room, the proportion it ought to bear to the length and breadth, is arbitrary ; and it cannot be otherwise, considering the uncertainty of the eye as to the height of a room, when it ex- * Page 94. 24 416 GARDENING AND [CH. ceeds 17 or 18 feet. In columns again, even ar- chitects must confess, that the proportion of height and thickness varies betwixt 8 diameters and 10, and that every proportion between these extremes is agreeable. But this is not all. There must cer- tainly be a further variation of proportion, depend- ing on the size of the column : a row of columns 10 feet high, and a row twice that height, require different proportions : the intercolumniations must also differ according to the height of the row. Proportion of parts is not only itself a beauty, but is inseparably connected with a beauty of the highest relish, that of concord or harmony ; which will be plain from what follows. A room of which the parts are all finely adjusted to each other, strikes us with the beauty of proportion. It strikes us at the same time with a pleasure far superior : the length, the breadth, the height, the windows, raise each of them separately an emotion : these emotions are similar ; and though faint when felt separately, they produce in conjunction the emo- tion of concord or harmony, which is extremely pleasant.* On the other hand, where the length of a room far exceeds the breadth, the mind, com- paring together parts so intimately connected, im- mediately perceives a disagreement or disproportion which disgusts. But this is not all : viewing them separately, different emotions are produced, that of grandeur from the great length, and that of mean- ^ Chap. 2, Fart 4. ARCHITECTURE. 417 cii. 24.] ness or littleness from the small breadth, which in union are disagreeable by their discordance. Hence it is, that a long gallery, however convenient for exercise, is not an agreeable figure of a room : we consider it, like a stable, as destined for use, and expect not that in any other respect it should be agreeable.^ Regularity and proportion are essential in build- ings destined chiefly or solely to please the eye, because they produce intrinsic beauty. But a skilful artist will not confine his view to regularity and proportion : he will also study congruity, which is perceived when the form and ornaments of a structure are suited to the purpose for which it is intended. The sense of congruity dictates the following rule. That every building have an ex- pression corresponding to its destination : A palace ought to be sumptuous and grand ; a private dwell- ing, neat and modest ; a playhouse, gay and splen- did ; and a monument, gloomy and melancholy.! * A covered passage connecting a winter garden with the dwelling-house, would answer the purpose of walking in bad weather much better than a gallery. A slight roof supported by slender pillars, whether of wood or stone, would be sufficient ; filling up the spaces between the pillars with evergreens, so a^ to give verdure and exclude wind. f A house for the poor ought to have an appearance suited to its destination. The new hospital in Paris for foundlings errs against this rule ; for it has more the air of a palace than of an hospital. Propriety and convenience ought to be studied in lodging the indigent ; but in such houses splendour and mag- nificence are out of all rule. For the same reason, a naked eta*’ VOL. ir. D d GARDENING AND iI8 [CH. 24. A Heathen temple has a double destination : It is considered chiefly as a house dedicated to some divinity ; and in that respect it ought to be grand, elevated, and magnificent : it is considered also as a place of worship ; and in that respect it ought to be somewhat dark or gloomy, because dimness produces that tone of mind which is suited to hu- mility and devotion. A Christian church is not considered to be a house for the Deity, but merely a place of worship : it ought therefore to be decent and plain, without much ornament : a situation ought to be chosen low and retired ; because the congregation during worship, ought to be humble and disengaged from the world. Columns, beside their chief service of being supports, may contri- bute to that peculiar expression which the destina- tion of a building requires ; columns of different proportions, serve to express loftiness, lightness, kc, as well as strength. Situation also may con- tribute to expression : conveniency regulates the situation of a private dwelling-house ; but, as I have had occasion to observe,* * the situation of a palace ought to be lofty. And this leads to a question. Whether the situa- tion, where there happens to be no choice, ought, in any measure, to regulate the form of the edifice ? The connexion between a large house and the tue or picture, scarce decent any where, is in a church intoler- able. A sumptuous charity-school, beside its impropriety, gives the children an unhappy taste for high living. * Chap. 10. CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 419 neighbouring fields, though not intimate, demands however some congruity. It would, for examples displease us to find an elegant building thrown away upon a wild uncultivated country : congrui- ty requires a polished field for such a building | and beside the pleasure of congruity, the spectator is sensible of the pleasure of concordance from the similarity of the emotions produced by the two objects. The old Gothic form of building seems well suited to the rough uncultivated regions where it was invented ; the only mistake was, the transferring this form to the fine plains of France and Italy, better fitted for buildings in the Gre- cian taste ; but by refining upon the Gothic form, every thing possible has been done to reconcile it to its new situation. The profuse variety of wild and grand objects about Inveraray demanded a house in the Gothic form ; and every one must approve the taste of the proprietor, in adjusting so finely the appearance of his house to that of the country where it is placed. The external structure of a great house, leads naturally to its internal structure. A spacious room, which is the first that commonly receives us, seems a bad contrivance in several I'espects. In the first place, when immediately from the open air we step into such a room, its size in appearance is diminished by contrast : it looks little compared with that great canopy the sky. In the next place, when it recovers its grandeur, as it soon doth, it gives a diminutive appearance to the rest of the house : passing from it, every apartment looks 4^0 GARDENING AND £CH. 24. little. This room therefore may be aptly compar- ed to the swoln commencement of an epic poem, Bella per Emathios plusquam civil ia campos. In the third place, by its situation it serves only for a waiting-room, and a passage to the principal apartments, instead of being reserved, as it ought to be, for entertaining company : a great room, which enlarges the mind and gives a certain eleva- tion to the spirits, is destined by nature for conver- sation. Rejecting therefore this form, I take a hint from the climax in writing for another form that appears more suitable : a handsome portico, proportioned to the size and fashion of the front, leads into a waiting-room of a larger size, and that to the great room ; all by a progression from small to great. If the house be very large, there may be space for the following suit of rooms : first, a portico ; second, a passage within the house, bounded by a double row of columns connected by arcades ; third, an octagon room, or of any other figure, about the centre of the building; and, lastly, the great room. A double row of windows must be disagreeable by distributing the light unequally : the space in particular between the rows is always gloomy. For that reason, a room of greater height than can be conveniently served by a single row, ought re- gularly to be lighted from the roof. Artists have generally an inclination to form the great room into a double cube, even with the inconvenience of a double row of windows : they are pleased CH. ARCHITECTURE. 421 with the regularity, overlooking that it is mental only, and not visible to the eye, which seldom can distinguish between the height of 24 feet and that of 30.* Of all the emotions that can be raised by archi- tecture, grandeur is that which has the greatest influence on the mind ; and it ought therefore to be the chief study of the artist, to raise this emo- tion in great buildings destined to please the eye. But as grandeur depends partly on size, it seems so far unlucky for architecture, that it is governed by regularity and proportion, which never deceive the eye by making objects appear larger than they are in reality : such deception, as above observed, is never found but with some remarkable dispro- portion of parts. But though regularity and pro- portion contribute nothing to grandeur as far as that emotion depends on size, they in a different respect contribute greatly to it, as has been ex- plained above.t Next of ornaments, which contribute to give buildings a peculiar expression. It has been doubted whether a building can regularly admit any ornament but what is useful, or at least has * One who has not given peculiar attention, will scarce ima- gine how imperfect our judgment is about distances, without experience. Our looks being generally directed to objects upon the ground around us, we judge tolerably of horizontal distances ; but seldom having occasion to look upward in a per- pendicular line, we scarce can form any judgment of distances in that direction, f Chap. 4. GARDENING AND [CH. 24. that appearance. But considering the different purposes of architecture, a fine as well as an useful art, there is no good reason why ornaments may not be added to please the eye without any rela- tion to use. This liberty is allowed in poetry, painting, and gardening, and why not in architec- ture considered as a fine art ? A private dwelling- house, it is true, and other edifices w^here use is the chief aim, admit not regularly any ornament but what has the appearance, at least, of use : but temples, triumphal arches, and other buildings in- tended chiefly or solely for show, admit every sort of ornament. A thing intended merely as an ornament, may be of any figure and of any kind that fancy can suggest ; if it please the spectator, the artist gains his end. Statues, vases, sculpture upon stone, whether basso or alto relievo, are beautiful orna- ments relished in all civilized countries. The placing such ornaments so as to produce the best effect, is the only nicety. A statue in perfection is an enchanting work ; and we naturally require that it should be seen in every direction and at different distances ; for which reason, statues em- ployed as ornaments are proper to adorn the great staircase that leads to the principal door of a pa- lace, or to occupy the void between pillars. But a niche in the external front is not a proper place for a statue : and statues upon the roof, or upon the top of a wall, would give pain by seeming to be in danger of tumbling. To adorn the top of a wall with a row of vases is an unhappy conceit, by CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 423 placing things apparently of use where they can- not be of any use. As to basso and alto relievo, I observe, that in architecture as well as in garden- ing, contradictory expressions ought to be avoid- ed j for which reason, the lightness and delicacy of carved work suits ill with the firmness and so- lidity of a pedestal : upon the pedestal, whether of a statue or a column, the ancients never ventured any bolder ornament than the basso relievo. One at first view will naturally take it for grant- ed, that in the ornaments under consideration beauty is indispensable. It goes a great way un- doubtedly ; but, upon trial, we find many things esteemed as highly ornamental that have little or no beauty. There are various circumstances, be- side beauty, that tend to make an agreeable impres- sion. For instance, the reverence we have for the ancients is a fruitful source of ornaments. Amal- thea’s horn has always been a favourite ornament, because of its connexion with a lady who was ho- noured with the care of Jupiter in his infancy. A fat old fellow and a goat are surely not graceful forms ; and yet Silenus and his companions are every where fashionable ornaments. What else but our fondness for antiquity can make the horrid form of a Sphinx so much as endurable ? Original destination is another circumstance that has influ- ence to add dignity to things in themselves abun- dantly trivial. In the sculpture of a marble chim- ney-piece, instruments of a Grecian or Roman sac- rifice are beheld with pleasure ; original destination rendering them venerable as well as their antiquity. GARDENING AND 424 [cH. 24. Let some modern cutlery ware be substituted, though not less beautiful ; the artist will be thought whimsical, if not absurd. Triumphal arches, pyra- mids, obelisks, are beautiful forms ; > but the noble- ness of their original destination! has greatly en- hanced the pleasure we take • in them. ' A . statue, supposed to be an Apollo, will *with an ..antiquary lose much of its grace when discovered to have been done for a barber’s apprentice. oLong Probes appear noble, not singly for their flowing lines, but for their being the habit of magistrates ; and a scarf acquires an air of dignity by being the badge of a superior order of churchmen. These exam- ples may be thought sufficient for a specimen : a diligent inquiry into human nature will discover other influencing principles ; and hence it is, that of all subjects ornaments admit the greatest variety in point of taste. Things merely ornamental appear more gay and showy than things that take on the appearance of use. A knot of diamonds in the hair is splendid ; but diamonds have a more modest appearance when used as clasps or buttons. The former are more proper for a young beauty, the latter after marriage. And this leads to ornaments having relation to use. Ornaments of that kind are governed by a different principle, which is. That they ought to be of a form suited to their real or apparent diestina- tion. This rule is applicable as well to ornaments that make a component part of the subject, as to ornaments that are only accessory. With relation to the former, it never can proceed from a good ahchitectuhe. 4S5 CH. 24.] taste to make a tea-spoon resemble the leaf of a tree ; for such a form is inconsistent with the des- tination of a tea-spoon. An eagle’s paw is an or- nament no less improper for the foot of a chair or table ; because it gives it the appearance of weak- ness, inconsistent with its destination of bearing weight. Blind windows are sometimes introduced to preserve the appearance of regularity : in which case the deceit ought carefully to be concealed ; if visible, it marks the irregularity in the clearest manner, signifying, that real windows ought to have been there, could they have been made con- sistent with the internal structure. A pilaster is another example of the same sort of ornament ; and rhe greatest error against its seeming destina- tion of a support, is to sink it so far into the wall as to make it lose that seeming. A composition representing leaves and branches, with birds perch- ing upon them, has been long in fashion for a can- dlestick ; but none of these particulars is in any degree suited to that destination. A large marble basin supported by fishes, is a conceit much relished in fountains. This is an example of accessory ornaments in a bad taste ; for fishes here are unsuitable to their apparent destina- tion. No less so are the supports of a coach, carv- ed in the figure of Dolphins or Tritons : for what have these marine beings to do on dry land ? and what support can they be to a coach ? In a column we have an example of both kinds of ornament. Where columns are employed in the front of a building to support an entablature* 425 GARDENING AND [CH. 24 . they belong to the first kind : where employed to connect with detached offices, they are rather of the other kind. As a column is a capital ornament in Grecian architecture, it well deserves to be handled at large. With respect to the form of this ornament, I observe, that a circle is a more agreeable figure than a square, a globe than a cube, and a cylinder than a parallelopipedon. This last, in the language of architecture, is saying that a column is a more agreeable figure than a pilaster ; and for that rea- son, it ought to be preferred, all other circumstan- ces being equal. Another reason concurs, that a column connected with a wall, which is a plain surface, makes a greater variety than a pilaster. There is an additional reason for rejecting pilasters in the external front of a building, arising from a principle unfolded above,* namely, a tendency in man, to advance every thing to its perfection, and to its conclusion. If, for example, I see a thing obscurely in a dim light and by disjointed parts, that tendency prompts me to connect the disjoint- ed parts into a whole : I supposed it to be, for ex- ample, a horse ; and my eye-sight being obedient to the conjecture, I immediately perceive a horse, almost as distinctly as in day-light. This principle is applicable to the case in hand. The most superb front, at a great distance, appears a plain surface : approaching gradually, we begin first to perceive inequalities, and then pillars ; but whether round ^ Chap. 4. CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE. 427 or square, we are uncertain : our curiosity antici- pating our progress, cannot rest in suspense : being prompted, by the tendency mentioned, to suppose the most complete pillar, or that which is the most agreeable to the eye, we immediately perceive, or seem to perceive, a number of columns ; if upon a near approach we find pilasters only, the disappoint- ment makes these pilasters appear disagreeable ; when abstracted from that circumstance, they would only have appeared somewhat less agreeable. But as this deception cannot happen in the inner front enclosing a court, I see no reason for excluding pilasters from such a front, when there is any cause for preferring them before columns. With respect now to the parts of a column, a bare uniform cylinder without a capital appears naked ; and without a base, appears too ticklishly placed to stand firm :* it ought therefore to have some finishing at the top and at the bottom. Hence the three chief parts of a column, the shaft, the base, and the capital. Nature undoubtedly requires proportion among these parts, but it admits variety of proportion. I suspect that the proportions in use have been influenced in some degree by the human figure 5 the capital being conceived as the head, the base as the feet. With respect to the base, indeed, the principle of utility interposes to * A column without a base is disagreeable, because it seems in a tottering condition ; yet a tree without a base is agreeable ; and the reason is, that we know it to be firmly rooted. This observation shows how much taste is influenced by reflection. 428 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. vary it from the human figure : the base must be so proportioned to the whole, as to give the column the appearance of stability. We find three orders of columns among the Greeks, the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian, distinguished from each other by their destination as well as by their ornaments. It has been warmly disputed, whether any new order can be added to these ; some hold the affirmative, and give for in- stances the Tuscan and Composite : others deny, and maintain that these properly are not distinct orders, but only the original orders with some slight variations. Among writers who do not agree upon any standard for distinguishing the different orders from each other, the dispute can never have an end. What occurs to me on this subject is what follows. The only circumstances that can serve to distin- guish one order from another, are the form of the column, and its destination. To make the first a distinguishing mark, without regard to the other, would multiply these orders without end ; for a colour is not more susceptible of different shades, than a column is of different forms. Destination is more limited, as it leads to distinguish columns into three kinds or orders : one plain and strong, for the purpose of supporting plain and massy build- ings ; one delicate and graceful, for supporting buildings of that character ; and between these, one for supporting buildings of a middle character. This distinction, which regards the different pur- poses of a column, is not naturally liable to any ob.* ARCHITECTURE* 429 €H. 24.] jection, considering that it tends also to regulate the form, and in some measure the ornaments, of a column. To enlarge the division by taking in a greater variety of purposes, would be of little use, and, if admitted, would have no end ; for from the very nature of the foregoing division, there can be no good reason for adding a fourth order, more than a fifth, a sixth. See. without any possible cir- cumscription. To illustrate this doctrine, I make the following observation. If we regard destination only, the Tuscan is of the same order with the Doric, and the Composite with the Corinthian ; but if we re- gard form merely, they are of different orders. The ornaments of these three orders ought to be so contrived as to make them look like what they are intended for. Plain and rustic ornaments would be not a little discordant with the elegance of the Corinthian order ; and ornaments sweet and delicate no less so with the strength of the Doric. Tor that reason, I am not altogether satisfied with the ornaments of the last mentioned order : if they be not too delicate, they are at least too numerous for a pillar in which the character of utility pre- vails over that of beauty. The crowding of orna- ments would be more sufferable in a column of an opposite character. But this is a slight objection, and I wish I could think the same of what follows. The Corinthian order has been the favourite of two thousand years, and yet I cannot force myself to relish its capital. The invention of this florid ca- pital is ascribed to the sculptor Callimachus, who 430 GARDENING AND [CH. 24. took a hint from the plant Acanthus^ growing round a basket placed accidentally upon it ; and in fact the capital under consideration represents pretty accurately a basket so ornamented. This object, or its imitation in stone, placed upon a pillar, may look well ; but to make it the capital of a pillar in- tended to support a building, must give the pillar an appearance inconsistent with its destination : an Acanthus, or any tender plant, may require support, but is altogether insufficient to support any thing heavier than a bee or a butterfly. This capital must also bear the weight of another objection : to represent a vine wreathing round a column with its root seemingly in the ground, is natural ; but to represent an Acanthus, or any plant, as growing on the top of a column, is unnatural. The elegance of this capital did probably at first draw a veil over its impropriety ; and now by long use it has gained an establishment, respected by every artist. Such is the force of custom, even in contradiction to na- ture ! It will not be gaining much ground to urge, that the basket, or vase, is understood to be the capital, and that the stems and leaves of the plant are to be considered as ornaments merely ; for, excepting a plant, nothing can be a more improper support for a great building than a basket or vase even of the firmest texture. With respect to buildings of every sort, one rule dictated by utility, is, that they be firm and stable. Another rule, dictated by beauty, is, that they also appear so : for what appears tottering and in hazard CH. 24.] ARCHITECTURE, 431 of tumbling, produceth in the spectator the painful emotion of fear, instead of the pleasant emotion of beauty ; and, accordingly, it is the great care of the artist, that every part of his edifice appear to be well supported. Procopius, describing the church of St Sophia in Constantinople, one of the wonders of the world, mentions with applause a part of the fabric placed above the east front in form of a half-moon, so contrived as to inspire both fear and admiration ; for though, says he, it is per- fectly well supported, yet it is suspended in such a manner as if it were to tumble down the next mo- ment. This conceit is a sort of false wit in archi- tecture, which men were fond of in the infancy of the fine arts. A turret jutting out from an angle in the uppermost story of a Gothic tower, is a wit- ticism of the same kind. To succeed in allegorical or emblematic orna- ments, is no slight effort of genius ; for it is ex- tremely difficult to dispose them so in a building as to produce any good effect. The mixing them with realities, makes a miserable jumble of truth and fiction.* In a basso-relievo on Antonine’s pillar, rain obtained by the prayers of a Christian legion, is expressed by joining to the group of sol- diers a rainy Jupiter, with water in abundance fall- ing from his head and beard. De Piles, fond of the conceit, carefully informs his reader, that he must not take this for a real Jupiter, but for a sym- bol which among the Pagans signified rain : he * See Chap. 20. sect. 5. 24 432 GARDENING AND [CH. 24 , never once considers, that a symbol or emblem ought not to make part of a group representing real objects or real events, but be so detached, as even at first view to appear an emblem. But this is not all, nor the chief point : every emblem ought to be rejected that is not clearly expressive of its meaning; for if it be in any degree obscure, it puzzles, and doth not please. The temples of An- cient and Modern Virtue in the gardens of Stow appear not at first view emblematical ; and when we are informed that they are so, it is not easy to gather their meaning : the spectator sees one tem- ple entire, another in ruins ; but without an expla- natory inscription he may guess, but cannot be certain, that the former being dedicated to Ancient Virtue, the latter to Modern Virtue, are intended a satire upon the present times. On the other hand, a trite emblem, like a trite simile, is disgust- ful.* Nor ought an emblem more than a simile to be founded on low or familiar objects ; for if these be not agreeable as well as their meaning, the em- blem upon the whole will not be relished. A room in a dwelling-house containing a monument to a deceased friend, is dedicated to Melancholy : it has a clock that strikes every minute, to signify how swiftly time passes — upon the monument, weep- ing figures and other hackneyed ornaments com- monly found upon tomb-stones, with a stuffed raven in a corner — verses on death, and other serious subjects, inscribed all around. The objects are to@ * See Chap. 8. ARCHITECTURE. CH. 24.] 433 familiar^ and the artifice too apparent, to produce the intended effect.^ The statue of Moses striking a rock from which water actually issues, is also in a false taste ; for it is mixing reality with representation. Moses him- self may bring water out of the rock, but this mira- cle is too much for his statue. The same objection lies against a cascade where the statue of a water- god pours out of his urn real water. I am more doubtful whether the same objection lies against the employing statues of animals as supports ; that of a negro, for example, supporting a dial, statues of fish supporting a basin of water, Termes supporting a chimney-piece ; for when a stone is used as a support, where is the incongruity, it will be said, to cut it into the form of an animal ? But leaving this doubtful, another objection occurs. That such designs must in some measure be dis- agreeable, by the appearance of giving pain to a sensitive being. It is observed above of gardening, that it contri- butes to rectitude of manners, by inspiring gaiety and benevolence. I add another observation. That both gardening and architecture contribute to the same end, by inspiring a taste for neatness * In the city of Mexico there was a palace termed the house of afiiction, where Montezuma retired upon losing any of his friends, or upon any public calamity. This house was better adjusted to its destination : it inspired a sort of horror : all was black and dismal ; small windows, shut up with grates, scarce allowing passage to the light. VOL. II. B e 40^ GARDENING, &C. [CH. 24. and elegance. In Scotland, the regularity and polish even of a turnpike-road has some influence of this kind upon the low people in the neighbour^ hood. They become fond of regularity and neat- ness ; which is displayed, first upon their yards and little enclosures, and next within doors. A taste for regularity and neatness, thus acquired, is ex- tended by degrees to dress, and even to behaviour and manners. The author of a history of Switzer- land, describing the fierce manners of the Plebeians of Bern three or four centuries ago, continually inured to success in war, which made them inso- lently aim at a change of government in order to establish a pure democracy, observes, that no cir- cumstance tended more to sweeten their manners, and to make them fond of peace, than the public buildings carried on by the senate for ornamenting their capital ; particularly a fine town-house, and a magnificent church, which to this day, says our author, stands its ground as one of the finest in Europe. CHAPTER XXV. STANDARD OF TASTE. That there is no disputing about taste,” mean- ing taste in its figurative as well as proper sense, is a saying so generally received as to have be- CH. 25.] STANDARD OF TASTE. 435 come a proverb. One thing even at first view is evident, that if the proverb hold true with respect to taste in its proper meaning, it must hold equally true with respect to our other external senses : if the pleasures of the palate disdain a comparative trial, and reject all criticism, the pleasures of touch, of smell, of sound, and even of sight, must be equally privileged. At that rate, a man is not within the reach of censure, even where he prefers the Saracen’s head upon a sign-post before the best tablature of Raphael, or a rude Gothic tower be- fore the finest Grecian building ; or where he pre- fers the smell of a rotten carcase before that of the most odoriferous flower, or discords before the most exquisite harmony. But we cannot stop here. If the pleasures of external sense be exempted from criticism, why not every one of our pleasures, from whatever source derived ? if taste in its proper sense cannot be disputed, there is little room for disputing it in its figurative sense. The proverb accordingly com- prehends both ; and in that large sense may be resolved into the following general proposition. That with respect to the perceptions of sense, by which some objects appear agreeable, some dis- agreeable, there is not such a thing as a good or a hady a right or a wrong ; that every man’s taste is to himself an ultimate standard without appeal ; and consequently that there is no ground of cen- sure against any one, if such a one there be, who prefers Blackmore before Homer, selfishness before benevolence, or cowardice before magnanimity. 436 STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. 25 . The proverb in the foregoing examples is indeed carried very far : it seems difficult, however, to sap its foundation, or with success to attack it from any quarter ; for is not every man equally a judge of what ought to be agreeable or disagreeable to himself? doth it not seem whimsical, and perhaps absurd, to assert, that a man ought not to be pleased when he is, or that he ought to be pleased when he is not ? This reasoning may perplex, but will never afford conviction : every one of taste will reject it as false, however unqualified to detect the fallacy. At the same time, though no man of taste will assent to the proverb as holding true in every case, no man will affirm that it holds true in no case : objects there are, undoubtedly, that we may like or dislike indifferently, without any imputation upon our taste. Were a philosopher to make a scale for human pleasures, he would not think of making divisions without end ; but would rank together many pleasures arising perhaps from different ob- jects, either as equally conducing to happiness, or differing so imperceptibly as to make a separa- tion unnecessary. Nature hath taken this course, at least it appears so to the generality of mankind. There may be subdivisions without end ; but we are only sensible of the grosser divisions, compre- hending each of them various pleasures equally affecting : to these the proverb is applicable in the strictest sense ; for with respect to pleasures of the same rank, what ground can there be for prefer- ring one before another ? if a preference in fact be STANDARD OF TASTE. 437 CH. 25.] given by any individual, it cannot proceed from taste, but from custom, imitation, or some pecu- liarity of mind. Nature, in her scale of pleasures, has been spar- ing of divisions : she hath wisely and benevolently filled every division with many pleasures, in order that individuals may be contented with their own lot, without envying that of others. Many hands must be employed to procure us the conveni- ences of life ; and it is necessary that the different branches of business, whether more or less agree- able, be filled with hands : a taste too refined would obstruct that plan ; for it would crowd some employments, leaving others, no less useful, totally neglected. In our present condition, lucky it is that the plurality are not delicate in their choice, but fall in readily with the occupations, pleasures, food and company, that fortune throws in their way ; and if at first there be any displeasing cir- cumstance, custom soon makes it easy. The proverb will hold true as to the particulars now explained ; but when applied in general to every subject of taste, the difficulties to be encoun- tered are insuperable. We need only to mention the difficulty that arises from human nature itself: Do we not talk of a good and a bad taste ? of a right and a wrong taste ? and upon that supposi- tion, do we not, with great confidence, censure writers, painters, architects, and eveiy one who deals in the fine arts ? Are such criticisms absurd, and void of common sense ? have the foregoing expressions, familiar in all languages and among 438 STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. 25. all people, no sort of meaning ? This can hardly be ; for what is universal, must have a foundation in nature. If we can reach that foundation, the standard of taste will no longer be a secret. We have a sense or conviction of a common na- ture, not only in our own species, but in every species of animals : and our conviction is verified by experience ; for there appears a remarkable uniformity among creatures of the same kind, and a deformity no less remarkable among creatures of different kinds. This common nature is conceived to be a model or standard for each individual that belongs to the kind. Hence it is a wonder to find an individual deviating from the common nature of the species, whether in its internal or external con- struction : a child born with aversion to its mo- ther’s milk, is a wonder, no less than if born with- out a mouth, or with more than one.* This con- viction of a common nature in every species, paves the way finely for distributing things into genera and species ; to which we are extremely prone, not only with regard to animals and vegetables, where nature has led the way, but also with regard to many other things, where there is no ground for such distribution, but fancy merely. With respect to the common nature of man in particular, we have a conviction that it is invariable not less than universal ; that it will be the same hereafter as at present, and as it was in time past ; * See Essays on Morality and Natural Religion, Part 3. Essay 2. ch. 1. STANDARD OF TASTE. 439 CH. ^5.] the same among all nations and in all corners of the earth. Nor are we deceived ; because, giving allowance for the difference of culture and gradual refinement of manners, the fact corresponds to our conviction. We are so constituted, as to conceive this com- mon nature, to be not only invariable, but also 'perfect or right ; and consequently that ftidividuals ought to be made conformable to it. Every re- markable deviation from the standard makes ac- cordingly an impression upon us of imperfection, irregularity, or disorder : it is disagreeable, raises in us a painful emotion : monstrous births, exciting the curiosity of a philosopher, fail not at the same time to excite a sort of horror. This conviction of a common nature or standard and of its perfection, accounts clearly for that re- markable conception we have of a right and a wrong sense or taste in morals. It accounts not less clearly for the conception we have of a right and a wrong sense or taste in the fine arts. A man who, avoiding objects generally agreeable, de- lights in objects generally disagreeable, is con- demned as a monster ; we disapprove his taste as bad or wrong, because we have a clear conception that he deviates from the common standard. If man were so framed as not to have any notion of a common standard, the proverb mentioned in the beginning would hold universally, not only in the fine arts, but in morals : upon that supposition, the taste of every man, with respect to both, would to himself be an ultimate standard. But as the con- 440 STANDARD OF TASTE* [CH. 25. viction of a common standard is universal and a branch of our nature, we intuitively conceive a taste to be right or good if conformable to the common standard, and wrong or bad if discon- formable. No particular in human nature is more univer- sal, than the uneasiness a man feels when in mat- ters of importance his opinions are rejected by others : why should difference in opinion create uneasiness, more than difference in stature, in countenance, or in dress? The conviction of a common standard explains the mystery : every man, generally speaking,' taking it for granted that his opinions agree with the common sense of mankind, is therefore disgusted with those who think differently, not as differing from him, but as differing from the common standard : hence in all disputes, we find the parties, each of them equally appealing constantly to the common sense of man- kind as the ultimate rule or standard. With res- pect to points arbitrary or indifferent, which are not supposed to be regulated by any standard, in- dividuals are permitted to think for themselves with impunity : the same liberty is not indulged with respect to points that are reckoned of mo- ment ; for what reason, other than that the stand- ard by which these are regulated, ought, as we judge, to produce an uniformity of opinion in all men ? In a word, to this conviction of a common standard must be wholly attributed the pleasure we take in those who espouse the same principles and opinions with ourselves, as well as the aversion SXANDARt) OF TASTE. 4<4fl CH. 25.] we have at those who differ from us. In matters left indifferent by the standard, we find nothing of the same pleasure or pain : a bookish man, unless swayed by convenience, relisheth not the contem- plative man more than the active ; his friends and companions are chosen indifferently out of either class : a painter consorts with a poet or musician, as readily as with those of his own art ; and one is not the more agreeable to me for loving beef, as I do, nor the less agreeable for preferring mutton. I have ventured to say, that my disgust is raised, not by differing from me, but by differing from what I judge to be the common standard. This point, being of importance, ought to be firmly es- tablished. Men, it is true, are prone to flatter themselves, by taking it for granted that their opinions and their taste are in all respects con- formable to the common standard ; but there may be exceptions, and experience shews there are some : there are instances without number, of per- sons who are addicted to the grosser amusements of gaming, eating, drinking, without having any relish for more elegant pleasures, such, for exam- ple, as are afforded by the fine arts j yet these very persons, talking the same language with the rest of mankind, pronounce in favour of the more elegant pleasures, and they invariably approve those who have a more refined taste, being ashamed of their own as low and sensual. It is in vain to think of giving a reason for this singular impartiality, other than the authority of the common standard with STANDARD OF TASTE* U2 [CH. 25* respect to the dignity of human nature:* and from the instances now given, we discover that the authority of that standard, even upon the niost grovelling souls, is so vigorous, as to prevail over self-partiality, and to make them despise their own taste compared with the more elevated taste of others. Uniformity of taste and sentiment resulting from our conviction of a common standard, leads to two important final causes ; the one respecting our duty, the other our pastime. Barely to mention the first shall be sufficient, because it does not pro- perly belong to the present undertaking. Unhap- py it would be for us did not uniformity prevail in morals : that our actions should uniformly be di- rected to what is good and against what is ill, is the greatest blessing in society ; and in order to uniformity of action, uniformity of opinion and sentiment is indispensable. With respect to pastime in general, and the fine arts in particular, the final cause of uniformity is illustrious. Uniformity of taste gives opportunity for sumptuous and elegant buildings, for fine gar- dens, and extensive embellishments, which please universally ; and the reason is, that without uni- formity of taste, there could not be any suitable reward, either of profit or honour, to encourage men of genius to labour in such works, and to ad- vance them toward perfection. The same unifor-* See Chap. 11. CH. ^ 5 .] STANDARD OF TASTE. 443 mity of taste is equally necessary to perfect the art of music, sculpture, and painting, and to support the expense they require after they are brought to perfection. Nature is in every particular consis- tent with herself : we are framed by nature to have a high relish for the tine arts, which are a great source of happiness, and friendly in a high degree to virtue ; we are, at the same time, framed with uniformity of taste, to furnish proper objects for that high relish; and if uniformity did not prevail, the tine arts could never have made any figure. And this suggests another final cause no less il- lustrious. The separation of men into ditferent classes, by birth, office, or occupation, however necessary, tends to relax the connexion that ought to be among members of the same state ; which bad effect is in some measure prevented by the ac- cess all ranks of people have to public spectacles, and to amusements that are best enjoyed in com- pany. Such meetings, where every one partakes of the same pleasures in common, are no slight support to the social affections. Thus, upon a conviction common to the species is erected a standard of taste, which without hesi- tation is applied to the taste of every individual. That standard, ascertaining what actions are right what wrong, what proper what improper, hath ena- bled moralists to establish rules for our conduct, from which no person is permitted to swerve. We have the same standard for ascertaining in all the fine arts, what is beautiful or ugly, high or low. STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. proper or improper, proportioned or disproportion- ed : and here, as in morals, we justly condemn every taste that deviates from what is thus ascer- tained by the common standard. ’ That there exists a rule or standard in nature for trying the taste of individuals, in the fine arts as well as in morals, is a discovery ; but is not suffi- cient to complete the task undertaken. A branch still more important remains upon hand ; which is, to ascertain what is truly the standard of nature, that we may not lie open to have a false standard imposed on us. But what means shall be employed for bringing to light this natural standard ? This is not obvious : for when we have recourse to ge- neral opinion and general practice, we are betrayed into endless perplexities. History informs us, that nothing is more variable than taste in the fine arts : judging by numbers, the Gothic taste of architec- ture must be preferred before that of Greece, and the Chinese taste probably before either. It would be endless to recount the various tastes that have prevailed in different ages with respect to garden- ing, and still prevail in different countries. Des- pising the modest colouring of nature, women of fashion in France daub their cheeks with a red powder ; nay, an unnatural swelling in the neck, peculiar to the inhabitants of the Alps, is relished by that people. But we ought not to be discou- raged by such untoward instances, when we find as great variety in moral opinions : was it not among some nations held lawful for a man to sell his chil- dren for slaves, to expose them in their infancy to CH. 25.] STANDARD OF TASTE. 445 wild beasts, and to punish them for the crime of their parents ? was any thing more common than to murder an enemy in cold blood ? nay more, did not law once authorize the abominable practice of human sacrihces, no less impious than immoral ? Such aberrations from the rules of morality prove only, that men, originally savage and brutal, acquire not rationality nor delicacy of taste till they be long disciplined in society. To ascertain the rules of morality, we appeal not to the common sense of savages, but of men in their more perfect state j and we make the same appeal in forming the rules that ought to govern the tine arts : in neither can we safely rely on a local or transitory taste ; but on what is the most general and the most lasting among polite nations. In this very manner, a standard for morals has been ascertained with a good deal of accuracy, and is daily applied by able judges with general satis- faction. The standard of taste in the fine arts, is not yet brought to such perfection ; and we can account for its slower progress : the sense of right and wrong in actions is vivid and distinct, because its objects are clearly distinguishable from each other j whereas the sense of right and wrong in the fine arts is faint and wavering, because its objects are commonly not so clearly distinguishable from each other, and there appears to me a striking final cause in thus distinguishing the moral sense from the sense of right and wrong in the fine arts. The former, as a rule of conduct, and as a law we ought to obey, must be clear and authoritative. 446 STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. The latter is not entitled to the same privilege, because it contributes to our pleasure and amuse- ment only: were it strong and lively, it would usurp upon our duty, and call off the attention from matters of greater moment : were it clear and au- thoritative, it would banish all difference of taste, leaving no distinction between a refined taste and one that is not so ; which would put an end to rivalship, and consequently to all improvement. But to return to our subject. However languid and cloudy the common sense of mankind may be as to the fine arts, it is notwithstanding the only standard in these as well as in morals. True it is indeed, that in gathering the common sense of mankind, more circumspection is requisite with respect to the fine arts than with respect to morals : upon the latter, any person may be consulted ; but in the former, a wary choice is necessary, for to collect votes indifferently would certainly mislead us. Those who depend for food on bodily labour, are totally void of taste ; of such a taste at least as can be of use in the fine arts. This considera- tion bars the greater part of mankind ; and of the remaining part, many by a corrupted taste are un- qualified for voting. The common sense of man- kind must then be confined to the few that fall not under these exceptions. But as such selection seems to throw matters again into uncertainty, we must be more explicit upon this branch of our subject. Nothing tends more than voluptuousness to cor- rupt the whole internal frame, and to vitiate our taste, not only in the fine arts, but even in morals : STANDARD OF TASTE. 447 CH. 25.2 Voluptuousness never fails, in course of time, to extinguish all the sympathetic affections, and to bring on a beastly selfishness, which leaves^ nothing of man but the shape : about excluding such per- sons there will be no dispute. Let us next bring under trial, the opulent who delight in expence : the appetite for superiority and respect, inflamed by riches, is vented upon costly furniture, nume- rous attendants, a princely dwelling, sumptuous feasts, every thing superb and gorgeous, to amaze and humble all beholders : simplicity, elegance, propriety, and things natural, sweet, or amiable, are despised or neglected : for these are not appro- priated to the rich, nor make a figure in the public eye : in a word, nothing is relished, but what serves to gratify pride, by an imaginary exaltation of the possessor above those who surround him. Such sentiments contract the heart, and make every principle give way to self-love : benevolence and public spirit, with all their refined emotions, are little felt, and less regarded ; and if these be exclud- ed, there can be no place for the faint and delicate emotions of the fine arts. The exclusion of classes so many and numerous, reduces within a narrow compass those who are qualified to be judges in the fine arts. Many cir- cumstances are necessary to form such a judge : There must be a good natural taste ; that is, a taste approaching, at least in some degree, to the deli- cacy of taste above described:* that taste must ♦ Chap. 2. Part 2. 44S STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. ^ 5 . be improved by education, reflection, and expe- rience : * it must be preserved in vigour by living regularly, by using the goods of fortune with mo- deration, and by following the dictates of improved nature, which give welcome to every rational plea- sure without indulging any excess. This is the tenor of life which of all contributes the most to * That these particulars are useful, it may be said necessary, for acquiring a discerning taste in the fine arts, will appear from the following facts, which show the influence of experience singly. Those who live in the world and in good company, are quick-sighted with respect to every defect or irregularity in behaviour : the very slightest singularity in motion, in speech, or in dress, which to a peasant w'ould be invisible, escapes not their observation. The most minute differences in the human countenance, so minute as to be far beyond the reach of words, are distinctly perceived by the plainest person : while at the same time, the generality have very little discernment in the faces of other animals to which they are less accustomed : Sheep, for example, appear to have all the same face, except to the shepherd, who knows every individual in his flock as he does his relations and neighbours. The very populace in Athens were critics in language, in pronunciation, and even in eloquence, harangues being their daily entertainment. In Rome, at pre- sent, the most illiterate shopkeeper is a better judge of statues and of pictures, than persons of refined education in London. These facts afford convincing evidence, that a discerning taste depends still more on experience than on nature. But these facts merit peculiar regard for another reason, that they open to us a sure method of improving our taste in the fine arts ; which, with those who have leisure for improvements, ought to be a powerful incitement to cultivate a taste in these arts ; an occupation that cannot fail to embellish their manners, and to sweeten society. STANDARD OF TASTE. ' CH. S5.] M<9 refinement of taste ; and the same tenor of life contributes the most to happiness in general. If there appear much uncertainty in a standard that requires so painful and intricate a selection, we may possibly be reconciled to it by the follow- ing consideration. That with respect to the fine arts, there is less difference of taste than is com- monly imagined. Nature hath marked all her works with indelible characters of high or low, plain or elegant, strong or weak : these, if at all perceived, are seldom misapprehended ; and the same marks are equally perceptible in works of art. A defective taste is incurable , and it hurts none but the possessor, because it carries no authority to impose upon others. I know not if there be such a thing as a taste naturally bad or wrong ; a taste for example, that prefers a grovelling plea- sure before one that is high and elegant : grovel- ling pleasures are never preferred ; they ai'e only made welcome by those who know no better. Differences about objects of taste, it is true, are endless ; but they generally concern trifles, or pos- sibly matters of equal rank, where preference may be given either way with impunity : if, on any occasion, persons differ where they ought not, a depraved taste will readily be discovered on one or other side, occasioned by imitation, custom, or corrupted manners, such as are described above. And considering that every individual partakes of a common nature, what is there that should occa- sion any wide difference in taste or sentiment ? By the principles that constitute the sensitive part of VOL. II. F f 450 STANDARD OF TASTE. [CH. 25. our nature, a wonderful uniformity is preserved in the emotions and feelings of the different races of men ; the same object making upon every person the same impression, the same in kind, if not in degree. There have been, as above observed, aberrations from these principles ; but soon or late they prevail, and restore the wanderer to the right track. I know but of one other means for ascertaining the common sense of mankind ; which I mention, not in despair, but in great confidence of success. As the taste of every individual ought to be go- verned by the principles above mentioned, an ap- peal to these principles must necessarily be deci- sive of every controversy that can arise upon mat- ters of taste. In general, every doubt with rela- tion to the common sense of man, or standard of taste, may be cleared by the same appeal ; and to unfold these principles is the declared purpose of the present undertaking. APPENDIX. TERMS DEFINED OR EXPLAINED. 1. Every thing we perceive or are conscious of^ whether a being or a quality, a passion or an ac» tion, is with respect to the percipient termed an object. Some objects appear to be internal, or within the mind ; passion, for example, thinking, volition ; Some external ; such as every object of sight, of hearing, of smell, of touch, of taste. S. That act of the mind which makes known to me an external object, is termed 'perception. That act of the mind which makes known to me an in- ternal object, is termed consciousness. The power or faculty from which consciousness proceeds, is termed an internal sense. The power or faculty from which perception proceeds, is termed an ex- ternal sense. This distinction refers to the objects of our knowledge ; for the senses, whether exter- nal or internal, are all of them powers or faculties of the mind.* * I have complied with all who have gone before me in de- scribing the senses internal and external to be powers or facul- ties ; and yet, after much attention, I have not discovered any thing active in their operations to entitle them to that character^ The following chain of thought has led me to hesitate. One 455 TERMS DEFINED 3. But as self is an object that cannot be termed either external or internal, the faculty by which I have knowledge of myself, is a sense that cannot properly be termed either internal or external. 4. By the eye we perceive figure, colour, mo- tion, &c. : by the ear we perceive the different qualities of sound, high, low^ loud, soft : by touch we perceive rough, smooth, hot, cold, &c. : by taste we perceive sweet, sour, bitter, : by smell we perceive fragrant, fetid, &c. These qualities partake the common nature of all qualities, that they are not capable of an independent existence, but must belong to some being of which they are properties or attributes. A being with respect to its properties or attributes is termed a mhject, or being operates on another : the first is active, the other passive. If the first act, it must have a power to act : if an effect be pro- duced on the other, it must have a capacity to have that effect produced upon it. Fire melts wax, ergo fire has a power to pro- duce that effect ; and wax must be capable to have that effect produced in it. Now’ as to the senses. A tree in flourish makes an impression on me, and by that means I see the tree. But in this operation I do not find that the mind is active : seeing the tree is only an effect produced -on it by intervention of the rays of light. What seems to have led us into an error is the word seeingy which, under the form of an active verb, has a passive signification. I feel is a similar example ; for to feel is certainly not to act, but the effect of being acted upon : the feeling pleasure is the effect produced in my mind when a beau- tiful object is presented. ' Perception accordingly is not an action, but an effect produced in the mind. Sensation is ano- ther effect : it is the pleasure I feel upon perceiving what ks agreeable. OR EXPLAIKED. 453 substratum. Every substratum of visible qualities,^ is termed substance ; and of tangible qualities^ body. 5. Substance and sound are perceived as exist- ing at a distance from the organ ; often at a con- siderable distance. But smell, touch, and taste, are perceived as existing at the organ of sense. 6. The objects of external sense are various,. Substances are perceived by the eye ; bodies by the touch. Sounds, tastes, and smells, passing commonly under the name of secondary qualities, require more explanation than there is room for here. All the objects of internal sense are attri- butes : witness deliberation^ reasoning, resolution, v/illing, consenting, which are internal actions. Passions and emotions, which are internal agita- tions, are also attributes.- With regard to the for- mer, I am conscious of being active ; with regard to the latter, I am conscious of being passive. 7 . Again, we are conscious of internal action as in the head ; of passions and emotions as in the heart. 8. Many actions may be exerted internally, and many effects produced, of which we are uncon- scious J when we investigate the ultimate cause of the motion of the blood, and of other internal mo- tions upon which life depends, it is the most pro- bable opinion that some internal power is the cause ; and if so, we are unconscious of the opera- tions of that power. But consciousness being im- plied in the very meaning of deliberating, reason- ing, resolving, willing, consenting, such operations TERMS DEFINED 454^ cannot escape our knowledge. The same is the case of passions and emotions ; for no internal agi- tation is denominated a passion or emotion, but what we are conscious of. 9. The mind is not always the same ; by turns it is cheerful, melancholy, calm, peevish, &c. These differences may not improperly be denominated tones. 10. Perception and sensation are commonly reckoned synonymous terms, signifying that inter- nal act by which external objects are made known to us. But they ought to be distinguished. Per- ceiving is a general term for hearing, seeing, tast- ing, touching, smelling ; and therefore perception signifies every internal act by which we are made acquainted with external objects : thus we are said to perceive a certain animal, a certain colour, sound, taste, smell, &c. Sensation properly signi- fies that internal act by which we are made con- scious of pleasure or pain felt at the organ of sense : thus we have a sensation of the pleasure arising from warmth, from a fragrant smell, from a sweet taste ; and of the pain arising from a wound, from a fetid smell, from a disagreeable taste. In perception, my attention is directed to the external object : in sensation, it is directed to the pleasure or pain I feel. The terms perception and sensation are some- times employed to signify the objects of percep- tion and sensation. Perception in that sense is a general term for every external thing we perceive ; OR EXPLAINED. 455 and sensation a general term for every pleasure and pain felt at the organ of sense. 11. Conception is different from perception. The latter includes a conviction of the reality of its object ; the former does not ; for I can conceive the most extravagant stories told in a romance, without having any conviction of their reality. Conception differs also from imagination. By the power of fancy I can imagine a golden mountain, or an ebony ship with sales and ropes of silk. When I describe a picture of that kind to another, the idea he forms of it is termed a conception. Imagination is active, conception is passive. 1£. Feeling, beside denoting one of the external senses, is a general term, signifying that internal act by which we are made conscious of our plea- sures and our pains ; for it is not limited, as sensa- tion is, to any one sort. Thus, feeling being the genus of which sensation is a species, their meaning is the same when applied to pleasure and pain felt at the organ of sense : and accordingly we say in- differently, I feel pleasure from heat, and pain from cold,” or, “ I have a sensation of pleasure from heat, and of pain from cold.” But the meaning of feeling, as is said, is much more exten- sive : It is proper to say, I feel pleasure in a sump- tuous building, in love, in friendship 5 and pain in losing a child, in revenge, in envy : sensation is not properly applied to any of these. The term feeling is frequently used in a less pro- per sense, to signify what we feel or are conscious of ; and in that sense it is a general term for all 456 TERMS DEFINED our passions and emotions, and for all our other pleasures and pains. 13. That we cannot perceive an external object till an impression is made upon our body, is proba- ble from reason, and is ascertained by experience. But it is not necessary that we be made sensible of the impression : in touching, in tasting, and in smelling, we are sensible of the impression ; but not in seeing and hearing. We know indeed from experiments, that before we perceive a visible ob- ject, its image is spread upon the retina tunica ; and that before we perceive a sound, an impression is made upon the drum of the ear : but we are not conscious either of the organic image or of the organic impression ; nor are we conscious of any other operation preparatory to the act of percep- tion : all we can say is, that we see that river, or hear that trumpet.^ 14. Objects once perceived may be recalled to the mind by the power of memory. When I recal an object of sight in that manner, it appears to me * Yet a singular opinion, that impressions are the only objects of perception, has been espoused by some philosophers of no mean rank ; not attending to the foregoing peculiarity in the senses of seeing and hearing, that we perceive objects without being conscious of an organic impression, or of any impression. See the Treatise upon Human Nature ; where we find the fol- lowing passage, book 1. p. 4. sect. 2. ‘‘ Properly speaking, it is “ not our body we perceive when we regard our limbs and “ members ; so that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence “ to these impressions, or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult to explain,” «Src. OR EXPLAINED- 457 precisely the same as in the original survey, only less distinct. For example, having seen yesterday a spreading oak growing on the brink of a river, I endeavour to recal these objects to my mind. How is this operation performed ? Do I endeavour to form in my mind a picture of them or representa- tive image? Not so. I transport myself ideally to the place where I saw the tree and river yester- day ; upon which I have a perception of these ob- jects, similar in all respects to the perception I had when I viewed them with my eyes, only less dis- tinct. And in this recollection, I am not conscious of a picture or representative image, more than in the original survey ; the perception is of the tree and river themselves, as at first. I confirm this by another experiment. After attentively surveying a fine statue, I close my eyes. What follows? The same object continues, without any difference but that it is less distinct than formerly.’*^ This in- * This experiment, which every one may reiterate till entire satisfaction be obtained, is of greater importance than at first view may appear ; for it strikes at the root of a celebrated doc- trine, which for more than two thousand years has misled many philosophers. This doctrine as delivered by Aristotle is in sub- stance, “ That of every object of thought there must be in the “ mind some form, phantasm, or species ; that things sensible “ are perceived and remembered by means of sensible phan- “ tasms, and things intelligible by intelligible phantasms ; and “ that these phantasms have the form of the object without the ‘‘ matter, as the impression of a seal upon wax has the form of “ a seal without its matter.” The followers of Aristotle add. That the sensible and intelligible forms of things, are sent forth from the things themselves, and make impressions upon. 458 TERMS DEFINED distinct secondary perception of an object, is term- ed an idea. And therefore the precise and accu- “ the passive intellect, which impressions are perceived by the active intellect.” This notion differs very little from that of Epicurus, which is, That all things send forth constantly “ and in every direction, slender ghosts, or films of themselves, ‘‘ (tenuia simulacra^ as expressed by his commentator Lucre- “ tius ;) which striking upon the mind, are the means of per- “ ception, dreaming,” &c. Des Cartes, bent to oppose Aris- totle, rejects the doctrine of sensible and intelligible phantasms ; maintaining however the same doctrine in effect, namely, That we perceive nothing external but by means of some image either in the brain or in the mind : and these images he terms ideas. According to these philosophers, we perceive nothing imme- diately but phantasms or ideas ; and from these we infer, by reasoning, the existence of external objects. Locke, adopting this doctrine, employs almost the whole of his book about ideas. He holds, that we cannot perceive, remember, nor imagine any thing, but by having an idea or image of it in the mind. He agrees with Des Cartes, that we can have no knowledge of things external, but what we acquire by reasoning upon their ideas or images in the mind ; taking it for granted, that we are conscious of these ideas or images, and of nothing else. Those who talk the most intelligibly explain the doctrine thus : When I see in a mirror a man standing behind me, the immediate object of my sight is his image, without which I could not see him : in like manner, when I see a tree or a house, there must be an image of these objects in my brain or in my mind ; which image is the immediate object of my perception ; and by means of that image I perceive the external object. One would not readily suspect any harm in this ideal system, other than the leading us into a labyrinth of metaphysical errors, in order to account for our knowledge of external objects, which is more truly and more simply accounted for by direct perception. And yet some late writers have been able to extract from it death and destruction to the whole world, levelling all down to a mere chaos of ideas. Dr Berkeley, upon OR EXPLAINED. 459 rate definition of an idea, in contradistinction to an original perception, is, “ That perception of a real authority of the philosophers named, taking for granted that we cannot perceive any object but what is in the mind, discovered, that the reasoning employed by Des Cartes and Locke to infer the existence of external objects, is inconclusive ; and upon that discovery ventured, against common sense, to annihilate totally the material world. And a later writer discovering that Berke- ley’s arguments might with equal success be applied against immaterial beings, ventures still more boldly to reject by the lump the immaterial world as well as the material ; leaving no- thing in nature but images or ideas floating in mcuo, without affording them a single mind for shelter or support. When such wild and extravagant consequences can be drawn from the ideal system, it might have been expected, that no man who is not crazy would have ventured to erect such a su- perstructure, till he should first be certain beyond all doubt of a solid foundation. And yet, upon inquiry, we find the founda- tion of this terrible doctrine to be no better than a shallow me- taphysical argument, namely, That no being can act but where it is ; and, consequently, that it cannot act upon any subject at a distance.” This argument possesses indeed one eminent advantage, that its obscurity, like that of an oracle, is apt to impose upon the reader, who is willing to consider it as a demonstration, because he does not clearly see the fallacy. The best way to give it a fair trial, is to draw it out of its obscurity, and to state it in a clear light, as follows. No subject can be “ perceived unless it act upon the mind, but no distant subject “ can act upon the mind, because no being can act but where it is : and, therefore, the immediate object of perception must be something united to the mind, so as to be able to act “ upon it.” Here the argument is completed in all its parts; and from it is derived the supposed necessity of phantasms or ideas united to the mind, as the only objects of perception. It is singularly unlucky, that this argument concludes directly against the very system of which it is the only foundation ; for how can phantasms or ideas be raised in the mind by things at 460 TERMS DEFINED ‘‘ object which is raised in the mind by the power of memory/’ Every thing we have any know- a distance, if things at a distance cannot act upon the mind ? 1 say more, that it assumes a proposition as true, without evi- dence, namely i That no distant subject can act upcm the mind. This proposition undoubtedly requires evidence, for it is not in- tuitively certain. And, therefore, till the proposition be demon-, strated, every man without scruple may rely upon the convic- tion of his senses, that he hears and sees things at a distance. But I venture a bolder step, which is, to show that the propo- sition is false. Admitting that no being can act but where it is, is there any thing more simple or more common, than the acting upon subjects at a distance by intermediate means ? This holds in fact with respect both to seeing and hearing. When I see a tree, for example, rays of light are reflected from the tree to my eye, forming a picture upon the retina tunica ; but the ob- ject perceived is the tree itself, not the rays of light, nor the picture. In this manner distant objects are perceived, without any action of the object upon the mind, or of the mind upon the object. Hearing is in a similar case : the air, put in motion by thunder, makes an impression upon the drum of the ear ; but this impression is not what I hear, it is the thunder itself by means of that impression. With respect to vision in particular, we are profoundly igno- rant by what means and in what manner the picture on the retina tunica contributes to produce a sight of the object. One thing only is clear, that as we have no knowledige of that pic- ture, it is as natural to conceive that it should be made the in- strument of discovering the external object, and not itself, as of discovering itself only, and not the external object. Upon the chimerical consequences drawn from the ideal sys- tem, I shall make but a single reflection. Nature determines us necessarily to rely on the veracity of our senses ; and upon their evidence the existence of external objects is to us a mat- ter of intuitive knowledge and absolute certainty. Vain there- fore is the attempt of Dr Berkeley, and of his followers, to de- OR EXPLAINED* * 461 ledge of, whether internal or external, passions, emotions, thinking, resolving, willing, heat, cold, &c. as well as external objects, may be recalled as above, by the power of memory** 15. External objects are distinguishable into sim- ple and complex. Certain sounds are so simple as not to be resolvable into parts : and so are certain tastes and smells. Objects of touch are for the most part complex : they are not only hard or soft, but also smooth or rough, hot or cold. Of all ex- ternal objects, visible objects are commonly the most complex ; a tree is composed of a trunk, branches, leaves ; it has colour, figure, size. But as an action is not resolvable into parts, a percep- tion, being an act of sense, is always simple. The colour, figure, umbrage of a spreading oak, raise not different perceptions : the perception is one, that of a tree, coloured, figured, kc. A quality is ceive us, by a metaphysical subtilty, into a disbelief of what we cannot entertain even the slightest doubt. * From this definition of an idea, the following proposition must be evident. That there can be no such thing as an innate idea. If the original perception of an object be not innate, which is obvious ; it is not less obvious, that the idea or secon- dary perception of that object cannot be innate. And yet, to prove this self-evident proposition, Locke has bestowed a whole book of his Treatise upon Human Understanding. So neces- sary it is to give accurate definitions, and so preventive of dis- pute are definitions when accurate. Dr Berkeley has taken great pains to prove another proposition equally evident, That there can be no such thing as a general idea : all our original perceptions are of particular objects, and our secondary percep- tions or ideas must be equally so. 46 £ TERMS DEFINED never perceived separately from the subject ; nor a part from the whole. There is a mental power of abstraction, of which afterward : but the eye never abstracts, nor any other external sense. 16. Many particulars beside those mentioned enter into the perception of visible objects, motion, rest, place, space, time, number, &c. These, all of them, denote simple ideas, and for that reason admit not of a definition. All that can be done, is to point out how they are acquired. The ideas of motion and of rest, are familiar even to a child, from seeing its nurse sometimes walking, sometimes sitting : the former, it is taught to call motion ; the latter, rest. Place enters into every perception of a visible object : the object is perceived to exist, and to exist somewhere, on the right hand or on the left, and where it exists is termed place. Ask a child where its mother is, or in what place : it will answer readily, she is in the garden. Space is connectedwith size or bulk : every piece of matter occupies room or space in proportion to its bulk. A child perceives that when its little box is filled with playthings, there is no room or space for more. Space is also applied to signify the distance of visible objects from each other ; and such space accordingly can be measured. Dinner conies after breakfast, and supper after dinner : a child perceives an interval, and that interval it learns to call time, A child sometimes is alone with its nurse : its mother is sometimes in the room ; and sometimes also its brothers and sisters. It perceives a difference be- OR EXPLAINED. 468 tween many and few ; and that difference it is taught to call number. 17. The primary perception of a visible object is more complete, lively and distinct, than that of any other object. And for that reason, an idea or secondary perception of a visible object, is also more complete, lively, and distinct, than that of any other object. A fine passage in music, may, for a moment, be recalled to the mind with tolera- able accuracy ; but, after the shortest interval, it becomes no less obscure than the ideas of the other objects mentioned. 18. As the range of an individual is commonly within a narrow space, it rarely happens, that every thing necessary to be known comes under our own perceptions. Language is an admirable contriv- ance for supplying that deficiency ; for by language every man’s perceptions may be communicated to all : and the same may be done by painting and other imitative arts. The facility of communica- tion depends on the liveliness of the ideas ; espe- cially in language, which hitherto has not arrived at greater perfection than to express clear ideas : hence it is, that poets and orators, who are ex- tremely successful in describing objects of sight, find objects of the other senses too faint and ob- scure for language. An idea thus acquired of an object at second hand, ought to be distinguished from an idea of memory, though their resemblance has occasioned the same term idea to be applied to both ; which is to be regretted, because ambiguity in the signification of words is a great obstruction 464 TERMS DEFINED to accuracy of conception. Thus nature hath furnished the means of multiplying ideas without end, and of providing every individual with a suffi- cient stock to answer, not only the necessities, but even the elegancies of life. 19. Further, man is endued with a sort of crea- tive power : he can fabricate images of things that have no existence. The materials employed in this operation, are ideas of sight, which he can take to pieces and combine into new forms at pleasure : their complexity and vivacity make them fit mate- rials : But a man hath no such power over any of his other ideas, whether of the external or internal senses : he cannot, after the utmost effort, combine these into new forms, being too obscure for that operation. An image thus fabricated cannot be called a secondary perception, not being derived from an original perception : the poverty of lan- guage, however, as in the case immediately above mentioned, has occasioned the same term idea to be applied to all. This singular power of fabricat- ing images without any foundation in reality, is distinguished by the name imagination, SO. As ideas are the chief materials employed in reasoning and reflecting, it is of consequence that their nature and differences be understood. It ap- pears now, that ideas may be distinguished into three kinds : first, Ideas derived from original per- ceptions, properly termed ideas of memory ; second. Ideas communicated by language or other signs ; and, third, Ideas of imagination. These ideas differ from each other in many respects ; but chiefly in OR EXPLAINED. 465 respect of their proceeding from different causes : The first kind is derived from real existences that have been objects of our senses : language is the cause of the second, or any other sign that has the same power with language ; and a man’s imagina- tion is to himself the cause of the third. It is scarce necessary to add, that an idea, originally of imagina- tion, being conveyed to others by language or any other vehicle, becomes in their mind an idea of the second kind ; and again, that an idea of this kind, being afterward recalled to the mind, becomes in that circumstance an idea of memory. ^1, We are not so constituted as to perceive ob- jects with indifference : these, with very few ex- ceptions, appear agreeable or disagreeable ; and at the same time raise in us pleasant or painful emo- tions. With respect to external objects in particu- lar, we distinguish those which produce organic impressions, from those which affect us from a dis- tance. When we touch a soft and smooth body, we have a pleasant feeling as at the place of con- tact ; which feeling we distinguish not, at least not accurately, from the agreeableness of the body it- self ; and the same holds in general with regard to all organic impressions. It is otherwise in hearing and seeing : a sound is perceived as in itself agree- able, and raises in the hearer a pleasant emotion : an object of sight appears in itself agreeable, and raises in the spectator a pleasant emotion. These are accurately distinguished : the pleasant emotion is felt as within the mind ; the agreeableness of the object is placed upon the object, and is perceived VOL. II, G g 466 TERMS DEFINED as one of its qualities or properties. The agreea- ble appearance of an object of sight is termed beau- ty ; and the disagreeable appearance of such an object is termed ugliness. But though beauty and ugliness, in their proper and genuine signification, are confined to objects of sight, yet in a more lax and figurative signification, they are applied to objects of the other senses : they are sometimes applied even to ab- stract terms ; for it is not unusual to say, a beauti- ful theorem, a beautiful constitution of government. 23. A line composed by a single rule, is per- ceived and said to be regular : a straight line, a parabola, a hyperbola, the circumference of a circle, and of an ellipse, are all of them regular lines. A figure composed by a single rule, is perceived and said to be regular : a circle, a square, a hexagon, an equilateral triangle, are regular figures, being composed by a single rule, that determines the form of each. When the form of a line or of a figure is ascertained by a single rule that leaves no- thing arbitrary, the line and the figure are said to be perfectly regular ; which is the case of the figures now mentioned, and the case of a straight line, and of the circumference of a circle. A figure and a line that require more than one rule for their construction, or that have any of their parts left arbitrary, are not perfectly regular : a parallelogram and a rhomb are less regular than a square ; the parallelogram being subjected to no rule as to the length of sides, other than that the opposite sides be equal ; the rhomb being subjected to no rule as to OR EXPLAINED. 467 its angles, other than that the opposite angles be equal : for the same reason, the circumference of an ellipse, the form of which is susceptible of much variety, is less regular than that of a circle. 24. Regularity, properly speaking, belongs, like beauty, to objects of sight ; and, like beauty, it is also applied figuratively to other objects : thus we say, a regular government, a regular composition of music, and, regular discipline, 25. When two figures are composed of similar parts, they are said to be uniform* Perfect unifor« mity is where the constituent parts of two figures are equal : thus two cubes of the same dimensions are perfectly uniform in all their parts. Uniformity less perfect is, where the parts mutually correspond^ but without being equal : the uniformity is imper» feet between two squares or cubes of unequal di- mensions ; and still more so between a square and a parallelogram. 26. Uniformity is also applicable to the consti- tuent parts' of the same figure. The constituent parts of a square are perfectly uniform ; its sides are equal and its angles are equal. Wherein then differs regularity from uniformity ? for a figure composed of uniform parts must undoubtedly be regular. Regularity is predicated of a figure con- sidered as a whole composed of uniform parts : uniformity is predicated of these parts as related to each other by resemblance : we say, a square is a regular, not an uniform, figure ; but with respect to the constituent parts of a square, we say not, that they are regular, but that they are uniform. 468 TERMS DEFINED S7* 111 things destined for the same use, as legs, arms, eyes, windows, spoons, we expect uniformity. Proportion ought to govern parts intended for dif- ferent uses : we require a certain proportion be- tween a leg and an arm ; in the base, the shaft, the capital of a pillar ; and in the length, the breadth, the height of a room : some proportion is also re- quired in different things intimately connected, as between a dwelling-house, the garden, and the sta- bles ; but we require no proportion among things slightly connected, as between the table a man writes on and the dog that follows him. Propor- tion and uniformity never coincide : things equal are uniform ; but proportion is never applied to them ; the four sides and angles of a square are equal and perfectly uniform ; but we say not that they are propoitional. Thus, proportion always implies inequality or difference ; but then it implies it to a certain degree only : the most agreeable proportion resembles a maoctmum in mathematics ; a greater or less inequality or difference is less agreeable. 28. Order regards various particulars. First, in tracing or surveying objects, we are directed by a sense of order : we perceive it to be more orderly, that we should pass from a principle to its acces- sories, and from a whole to its parts, than in the contrary direction. Next, with respect to the po- sition of things, a sense of order directs us to place together things intimately connected. Thirdly, in placing things that have no natural connexion, that order appears the most perfect, where the par- OR EXPLAINED. 469 ticulars are made to bear the strongest relation to each other that position can give them. Thus pa- rallelism is the strongest relation that position can bestow upon straight lines : if they be so placed as by production to intersect, the relation is less per- fect. A large body in the middle, and two equal bodies of less size, one on each side, is an order that produces the strongest relation the bodies are susceptible of by position ; the relation between the two equal bodies would be stronger by juxta- position ; but they would not both have the same relation to the third. S9. The beauty or agreeableness of a visible ob- ject, is perceived as one of its qualities ; which holds, not only in the primary perception, but also in the secondary perception or idea : and hence the pleasure that arises from the idea of a beautiful object. An idea of imagination is also pleasant, though in a lower degree than an idea of memory, where the objects are of the same kind ; for an evident reason, that the former is more distinct and lively than the latter. But this inferiority in ideas of imagination, is more than compensated by their greatness and variety, which are boundless ; for by the imagination, exerted without controul, we can fabricate ideas of finer visible objects, of more noble and heroic actions, of greater wicked- ness, of more surprising events, than ever in fact existed : and in communicating such ideas by words, painting, sculpture, &c. the influence of the imagination is no less extensive than great. 470 TERMS PEFINED 50. In the nature of every man, there is some- what original, which distinguishes him from others, which tends to form his character, and to make him meek or fiery, candid or deceitful, resolute or timorous, cheerful or morose. This original bent, termed disposition^ must be distinguished from a principle : the latter, signifying a law of human nature, makes part of the common nature of man ; the former makes part of the nature of this or that man. Propensity is a name common to both ; for it signifies a principle as well as a disposition. 51. Affection, signifying a settled bent of mind toward a particular being or thing, occupies a mid- dle place between disposition on the one hand, and passion on the other. It is clearly distinguishable from disposition, which, being a branch of one’s nature originally, must exist before there can be an opportunity to exert it upon any particular ob- ject ; whereas affection can never be original, be- cause, having a special relation to a particular ob- ject, it cannot exist till the object have once at least been presented. It is no less clearly distin- guishable from passion, which, depending on the real or ideal presence of its object, vanishes with its object : whereas affection is a lasting connexion; and, like other connexions, subsists even when we do not think of the person. A familiar example will clear the whole. I have from nature a dispo- sition to gratitude, which, through want of an ob- ject, happens never to be exerted; and which therefore is unknown even to myself. Another who has the same disposition meets with a kindly OR EXPLAINED. 471 office, which makes him grateful to his benefactor : an intimate connexion is formed between them, termed affection; which, like other connexions, has a permanent existence, though not always in view. The affection, for the most part, lies dor- mant, till an opportunity offer for exerting it : in that circumstance, it is converted into the passion of gratitude ; and the opportunity is greedily seized of testifying gratitude in the warmest manner. 32. Aversion, I think, is opposed to affection ; not to desire, as it commonly is. We have an affection to one person ; we have an aversion to another : the former disposes us to do good to its object, the latter to do ill. 33. What is a sentiment ? It is not a percep- tion ; for a perception signifies the act by which we become conscious of external objects. It is not consciousness of an internal action, such as thinking, suspending thought, inclining, resolving, willing, &c. Neither is it the conception of a rela- tion among objects ; a conception of that kind be- ing termed offinion. The term sentiment is appro- priated to such thoughts as are prompted by pas- sion. 34. Attention is that state of mind which pre- pares one to receive impressions. According to the degree of attention, objects make a strong or weak impression.* Attention is requisite even to * Bacon, in his Natural History, makes the following obser- vations. Sounds are meliorated by the intension of the sense, where the common sense is collected most to the particular 47 ^ TERMS DEFINED the simple act of seeing : the eye can take in a considerable field at one look ; but no object in the field is seen distinctly, but that singly which fixes the attention : in a profound reverie that totally occupies the attention, we scarce see what is di- rectly before us. In a train of perceptions, the attention being divided among various objects, no particular object makes such a figure as it would do single and apart. Hence, the stillness of night contributes to teiTor, there being nothing to divert the attention : Horror ubique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. ^neid, ii. Zara, Silence and solitude are ev’ry where ! Through all the gloomy ways and iron doors That hither lead, nor human face nor voice Is seen or heard. A dreadful din was wont To grate the sense, when enter'd here, from groans And howls of slaves condemn’d, from clink of chains, And crash of rusty bars and creaking hinges : And ever and anon the sight w^as dash’d With frightful faces and the meagre looks Of grim and ghastly executioners. Yet more this stillness terrifies my soul Than did that scene of complicated horrors. Mourning Bride^ Act v. Sc, 8. sense of hearing, and the sight suspended. Therefore sounds are sweeter, as well as greater, in the night than in the day ; and I suppose they are sweeter to blind men than to others : and it is manifest, that between sleeping and waking, when all the senses are bound and suspended, music is far sweeter than when one is fully waking. OR EXPLAINED. 473 And hence it is, that an object seen at the termi- nation of a confined view, is more agreeable than when seen in a group with the surrounding ob- jects : The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended ; and, I think. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When ev’ry goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. Merchant of Venice. S5. In matters of slight importance, attention is mostly directed by will ; and for that reason, it is our own fault if trifling objects make any deep impression. Had we power equally to withhold our attention from matters of importance, we might be proof against any deep impression. But our power fails us here : an interesting object seizes and fixes the attention beyond the possibility of controul ; and while our attention is thus forcibly attached to one object, others may solicit for ad- mittance ; but in vain, for they will not be regard- ed. Thus a small misfortune is scarce felt in pre- sence of a greater : Lear. Thou think’st ’tis much, that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin : so ’tis to thee ; But where the greater malady is fix’d. The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear ; But if thy flight lay tow’rd the roaring sea, Thou’dst meet the bear i’ th’ mouth. When the mind’s free. TERMS DEFINED 474 The body’s delicate : the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else, Save what beats there. King Lear^ Act III, Sc, *4. 36. Genus, species, modification, are terms in- vented to distinguish beings from each other. In- dividuals are distinguished by their qualities : a number of individuals considered with respect to qualities that distinguish them from others, is term- ed a species : a plurality of species considered with respect to their distinguishing qualities, is termed a genus. That quality which distinguisheth one genus, one species, or even one individual, from another, is termed a modificatmi • thus the same particular that is termed a property or quality when considered as belonging to an individual, or a class of individuals, is termed a modification when consi- dered as distinguishing the individual or the class from another : a black skin and soft curled hair, are properties of a Negro ; the same circumstances considered as marks that distinguish a Negro from a man of a different species, are denominated modi- fications, 37 . Objects of sight, being complex, are distin- guishable into the several particulars that enter into the composition : these objects are all of them coloured ; and they all have length, breadth, and thickness. When I behold a spreading oak, I dis- tinguish in that object, size, figure, colour, and sometimes motion : in a flowing river, I distinguish colour, figure, and constant motion ; a dye has colour, black spots, six plain surfaces, all equal OR EXPLAINED. 475 and uniform. Objects of touch have all of them extension : some of them are felt rough, some smooth ; some of them are hard, some soft. With respect to the other senses, some of their objects are simple, some complex ; a sound, a taste, a smell, may be so simple as not to be distinguish- able into parts : others are perceived to be com- pounded of different sounds, different tastes, and different smells. 38. The eye at one look can grasp a number of objects, as of trees in a field, or men in a crowd : these objects having each a separate and indepen- dent existence, are distinguishable in the mind, as well as in reality ; and there is nothing more easy than to abstract from some and to confine our con- templation to others. A large oak with its spread- ing branches fixes our attention upon itself, and abstracts us from the shrubs that surround it. In the same manner, with respect to compound sounds, tastes, or smells, we can fix our thoughts upon any one of the component parts, abstracting our attention from the rest. The power of ab- straction is not confined to objects that are sepa- rable in reality as well as mentally ; but also takes place where there can be no real separation : the size, the figure, the colour, of a tree, are insepa- rably connected, and have no independent exist- ence ; the same of length, breadth, and thickness : and yet we can mentally confine our observations to one of these, abstracting from the rest. Here abstraction takes place where there cannot be a real separation. 476 TERMS DEFINED 39 . Space and time have occasioned much meta- physical jargon ; but after the power of abstraction is explained as above, there remains no difficulty about them. It is mentioned above, that space as well as place enter into the perception of every visible object : a tree is perceived as existing in a certain place, and as occupying a certain space. Now, by the power of abstraction, space may be considered abstractedly from the body that occu- pies it; and hence the abstract term space. In the same manner, existence may be considered ab- stractedly from any particular thing that exists ; and place may be considered abstractedly from any particular thing that may be in it. Every series or succession of things, suggests the idea of time ; and time maybe considered abstractedly from any series of succession. In the same manner, we acquire the abstract term motion, rest, number, and a thousand other abstract terms ; an excellent contrivance for improving speech, as without it speech would be wofully imperfect. Brute animals may have some obscure notion of these circumstances, as connect- ed with particular objects : an ox probably per- ceives that he takes longer time to go round a long ridge in the plough, than a short one ; and he pro- bably perceives when he is one of four in the yoke, or only one of two. But the power of abstraction is not bestowed on brute animals ; because to them it would be altogether useless, as they are incapa- ble of speech. 40. This power of abstraction is of great utility. A carpenter considers a log of wood with regard to OR EXPLAINED. 477 hardness, firmness, colour, and texture : a philoso- pher, neglecting these properties, makes the log undergo a chemical analysis ; and examines its taste, its smell, and its component principles : the geometrician confines his reasoning to the figure, the length, breadth, and thickness. In general, every artist, abstracting from all other properties, confines his observations to those which have a more immediate connexion with his profession. 41. It is observed above, p. 461. that there can be no such thing as a general idea ; that all our perceptions are of particular objects, and that our secondary perceptions or ideas must be equally so. Precisely for the same reason, there can be no such thing as an abstract idea. We cannot form an idea of a part without taking in the whole ; nor of mo- tion, colour, figure, independent of a body. No man will say that he can form any idea of beauty, till he think of a person endued with that quality ; nor that he can form an idea of weight, till he takes under consideration a body that is weighty. And when he takes under consideration a body endued with one or other of the properties mentioned, the idea he forms is not an abstract or general idea, but the idea of a particular body with its properties. But though a part and the whole, a subject and its attributes, an effect and its cause, are so intimately connected, as that an idea cannot be formed of the one independent of the other ; yet we can reason upon the one abstracting from the other. This is done by words signifying the thing to which the reasoning is confined ^ and such words 478 TERMS DEFINED are denominated abstract terms* The meaning and use of an abstract term is well understood, though of itself, unless other particulars be taken in, * it raises no image nor idea in the mind. In language it serves excellent purpose ; by it different figures, different colours, can be compared, without the trouble of conceiving them as belonging to any particular subject ; and they contribute with words significant to raise images or ideas in the mind. 42. The power of abstraction is bestowed on man, for the purpose solely of reasoning. It tends greatly to the facility as well as clearness of any process of reasoning, that, laying aside every other circumstance, we can confine our attention to the single property we desire to investigate. 43. Abstract terms may be separated into three different kinds, all equally subservient to the rea- soning faculty. Individuals appear to have no end ; and did we not possess the faculty of distributing them into classes, the mind would be lost in an endless maze, and no progress be made in know- ledge. It is by the faculty of abstraction that we distribute beings into genera and species : finding a number of individuals connected by certain qua- lities common to all, we give a name to these indi- viduals considered as thus connected, which name, by gathering them together into one class, seiwes to express the whole of these individuals as distinct from others. Thus the word animal serves to de- note every being that can move voluntarily ; and the words man^ horsey lion, he. answer similar pur- poses. This is the first and most common sort of OR EXPLAINED. 479 abstraction; and it is of the most extensive use, by enabling us to comprehend in our reasoning whole kinds and sorts, instead of individuals with- out end. The next sort of abstract terms compre- hends a number of individual objects, considered as connected by some occasional relation. A great number of persons collected in one place, without any other relation but merely that of contiguity, are denominated a cro^d : in forming this term, we abstract from sex, from age, from condition, from dress, &c. A number of persons connected by the same laws and by the same government, are termed a nation ; and a number of men under the same military command, are termed an army, A third sort of abstraction is, where a single property or part, which may be common to many indivi- duals, is selected to be the subject of our contem- plation ; for example, whiteness, heat, beauty, length, roundness, head, arm. 44. Abstract terms are a happy invention ; it is by their means chiefly, that the particulars which make the subject of our reasoning, are brought into close union, and separated from all others however naturally connected. Without the aid of such terms, the mind could never be kept steady to its proper subject, but be perpetually in hazard of as- suming foreign circumstances, or neglecting what are essential. We can, without the aid of language, compare real objects by intuition, when these ob- jects are present ; and when absent, we can com- pare them in idea. But when we advance farther, and attempt to make inferences and draw conclu- 21 480 TERMS DEFINED, sions, we always employ abstract terms, even in thinking ; it would be as difficult to reason without them, as to perform operations in algebra without signs ; for there is scarce any reasoning without some degree of abstraction, and we cannot easily abstract without using abstract terms. Hence it follows, that without language man would scarce be a rational being. 45. The same thing, in different respects, has different names. With respect to certain qualities it is termed a substance ; with respect to other qua- lities, a body ; and with respect to qualities of all sorts, a subject. It is termed a passive subject with respect to an action exerted upon it ; an object with respect to a percipient ; a cause with respect to the effect it produces 5 and an effect with respect to its cause. INDEX. The Volumes are denoted hy numeral letters^ the Pages by figures^ Abstraction, power of, ii. 476. Its use, ii. 476. Abstract terms ought to be avoided in poetry, i. 215. ii. 312. Cannot be compared but by being personified, ii. 165. Personified, ii. 209. Defined, ii. 475. The use of abstract terms, ii. 476. Accent defined, ii. 92. The musical accents that are ne- cessary in an hexameter line, ii. 103. A low word must not be accented, ii. 130. Rules for accenting English heroic verse, ii. 129. How far affected by the pause, ii. 133, Accent and pause have a mutual influ- ence, ii. 136. Action, what feelings are raised by human actions, i. 33. 201. 317. We are impelled to action by desire, i. 35. Some actions are instinctive, some intended as means to a certain end, i. 38. Actions great and elevated, low and grovelling, i. 202, Slowness and quickness in act- ing, to what causes owing, i. 275. 286. Emotions occa- sioned by propriety of action, i. 307. Occasioned by impropriety of action, i. 308. Human actions consider- ed with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 323. Ac- tions the interpreters of the heart, i, 391. Action is the fundamental part of epic and dramatic compositions, ii. 342. Unity of action, ii. 361. We are conscious of internal action as in the head, ii. 453. Internal action may proceed without our being conscious of it, ii, 453. Action and reaction betwixt a passion and its object, i. 108. Actor, bombast actor, i. 224. The chief talents of an ac- tor, i. 387. An actor should feel the passion he repre- sents, i. 410. Difference as to pronunciation betwixt the French and English actors, i. 414. note. Admiration, i. 108. 233. ^®ineid. fScc Virgil. .Affectation, i, 306. i VOL. n. b 482 INDEX. AiFection to children accounted for, i. 64?. To blood-re- lations, i. 64?. Affection for what belongs to us, i. 65. Social affections more refined than selfish, i. 101. Affec- tion, in what manner inflamed into a passion, i. 106, Opposed to propensity, i. 110. Affection to children endures longer than any other affection, i. 111. Opi- nion and belief influenced by affection, i. 14?9. Affec- tion defined, i. 364. ii. 470. Agamemnon of Seneca censured, i. 439. Agreeable emotions and passions, i. 94. &c. Things nei- ther agreeable nor disagreeable. See Object. Alcestes of Euripides censured, i. 460. ii. 377. 379. Alexandre of Racine censured, i, 427. Alexandrine line, ii. 106. Allegory defined, ii. 246. More difficult in painting than in poetry, ii. 259. In an historical poem, ii. 350. All for Love of Dryden censured, i. 446. Alto relievo, ii. 422. Ambiguity occasioned by a wrong choice of words, ii. 16. Occasioned by a wrong arrangement, ii. 47. Amynta of Tasso censured, i. 419. Amor 'patrice accounted for, i. 68. Amphibrachys, ii. 159. Amphimacer, ii. 159. Analytic and synthetic methods of reasoning compared, i. 22 . Anapaestus, ii. 159. Anger explained, i. 73. &c. Frequently comes to its height instantaneously, i. 107. Decays suddenly, i. 110. Sometimes exerted against the innocent, i. 143. and even against things inanimate, i. 143. Not infec- tious, i. 163. Has no dignity in it, i. 321. Angle, largest and smallest angle of vision, i. 157. Animals distributed by nature into classes, ii. 438. Antibacchius, ii. 159. Anticlimax, ii. 81. Antispastus, ii. 160. Antithesis, ii. 24. Verbal antithesis, i. 352. ii. 25. Apostrophe, ii. 226, _&c. Appearance, things ought to be described in poetry, as they appear, not as they are in reality, ii. 290. Appetite defined, i. 39. Appetites of hunger, thirst, ani- mal love, arise without an object, i, 57. Appetite for fame or esteem, i. 173. INDEX. 483 Apprehension, dulness and quickness of apprehension, to what causes owing, i. 275. Architecture, ch. 24-. Grandeur of manner in architec- ture, i. 215. The situation of a great house ought to be lofty, i. 303. A playhouse or a music-room susceptible of much ornament, i. 305. What emotions can be rais- ed by architecture, ii. 385. Its emotions compared with those of gardening, ii. 386. Every building ought to have an expression suited to its destination, ii. 386. 417. Simplicity ought to be the governing taste, ii. 387. Re- gularity to be studied, ii. 391. 411. External form of dwelling-houses, ii. 408. Divisions within, ii. 408. 420. A palace ought to be regular, but in a small house con- venience ought to be preferred, ii. 406. 408. A dwell- ing-house ought to be suited to the climate, ii. 410. Congruity ought to be studied, ii. 417. Architecture governed by principles that produce opposite effects, ii. 421. Different ornaments employed in it, ii. 422. Witticisms in architecture, ii. 431. Allegorical or em- blematic ornaments, ii. 431. Architecture inspires a taste for neatness and regularity, ii. 434. Ariosto censured, i. 291. ii. 363. Aristaeus, the episode of Aristseus in the Georgies censur- ed, ii. 157. Aristotle censured, ii. 457. note. Army defined, ii. 479. Arrangement, the best arrangement of words is to place them if possible in an increasing series, ii. 12. Arrange- ment of members in a period, ii. 13. Of periods in a discourse, ii. 1 4. Ambiguity from wrong arrangement, ii. 47. Arrangement natural and inverted, ii. 71. Articulate sounds, how far agreeable, ii. 4. Artificial mount, ii. 398. Arts. See Fine arts. Ascent pleasant, but descent not painful, i. 199. Athalie of Racine censured, i. 439. Attention defined, ii. 471. Impression made by objects depends on the degree of attention, ii. 471. Attention not always voluntary, ii. 473. Attractive passions, i. 396. Attractive objects, i. 166. Attractive signs of passion, i. 395. Attributes transferred by a figure of speech from one sub** ject to another, ii. 238. 484> INDEX. Avarice defined, i. 36. Avenue to a house, ii. 397. Aversion defined, i. 107. 364. ii. 471. Bacchius, ii. 159. Bajazet of Racine censured, i. 457. Barren scene defined, ii. 364. Base of a column, ii. 427. Basso relievo, ii. 423. Batrachomuomachia censured, i. 331. Beauty, ch. 3. Intrinsic and relative, i. 178. ii. 447- Beauty of simplicity, i. 180. of figure, i. 181. of the cir- cle, i. 183. of the square, i. 183. of a regular polygon, i. 183. of a parallelogram, i. 184. of an equilateral triangle, i. 184. Whether beauty be a primary or se- condary quality of objects, i. 187. Beauty distinguish- ed from grandeur, i. 193. Beauty of natural colours, i. 294. Beauty distinguished from congruity, i. 304. Consummate beauty seldom produces a constant lover, i. 373. Wherein consists the beauty of the human visage, i. 383. Beauty proper and figurative, ii. 466. Behaviour, gross and refined, i. 101. Belief of the reality of external objects, i. 79. Enforced by a lively narrative, or a good historical painting, i. 91. Influenced by passion, i. 146. ii. 202. 230. Influenced by propensity, i. 148. Influenced by affection, i. 149. Benevolence operates in conjunction with self-love to make us happy, i, 167. Benevolence inspired by gardening, ii. - 404. Berkeley censured, ii. 458. note. Blank verse,, ii. 105. 142. Its aptitude for invej^sion, ii. 144. Its melody, ii. 145. How far proper in tragedy, ii. 359. Body defined, ii. 453. Boileau censured, ii. 225. 345. Bombast, i. 220. Bombast in action, i. 224. Bossu censured, ii. 366. note. Burlesque machinery does well in a burlesque poem, i. 93* Burlesque distinguished into two kinds, i. 329. Business, men of middle age best qualified for it, i. 276. Cadence, ii. 83. 92. Capital of a column, ii. 427. INDEX* 485 Careless Husband, its double plot well contrived, ii. 355. Cascade, i. 228. Cause, resembling causes may produce effects that have no resemblance ; and causes that have no resemblance may produce resembling effects, ii. 76. Cause defined, ij. 480. Chance, the mind revolts against misfortunes that happen by chance, ii. 338. Character, to draw a character is the master-stroke of de- scription, ii. 299. Characteristics of Shaftesbury criticised, i. 305. note. Children, love to them accounted for, i. 64. A child can discover a passion from its external signs, i. 397. Hides none of its emotions, i. 405. Chinese gardens, ii. 401. Wonder and surprise studied in them, ii. 403. Choreus, ii. 159. Choriambus, ii. 160. Chorus, an essential part of the Grecian tragedy, ii. 367. Church, what ought to be its form and situation, ii, 418. Cicero censured, ii. 70. 85. 88. Cid of Corneille censured, i. 418. 443. Cinna of Corneille censured, i. 307. 414. 440. Circle, its beauty, i. 183. Circumstances in a period, where they should be placed, ii. 53. 60. Class, all living creatures distributed into classes, ii. 438. Climax in sense, i. 205. 416. ii. 65. In sound, i. 14. When these are joined, the sentence is delightful, ii. 81. Coephores of Eschylus censured, i. 381. Coexistent emotions and passions, 112. Colonnade, where proper, ii. 410. Colour, gold and silver esteemed for their beautiful colours^ i. 180. A secondary quality, i. 187. Natural colours, i. 294. Colouring of the human face exquisite, i. 294. Columns, every column ought to have a base, i. 161. The base ought to be square, i. 162. Columns admit diffe- rent proportions, ii. 416. 418. What emotions they raise, ii. 418. Column more beautiful than a pilaster, ii. 426. Its form, ii. 427. Five orders of columns, ii. 428. Capital of the Corinthian order censured, ii. 429. Comedy, double plot in a comedy, ii. 354. Modern man- ners do best in comedy, ii. 340. Immorality of Eng^ lish comedy, i. 50. 486 INDEX. Comet, motion of the comets and planets compared with respect to beauty, i. 227. Commencement of a work ought to be modest and simple, ii. 289. Common nature in every species of animals, i. 97. ii. 438. We have a conviction that this common nature is inva- riable, ii. 438. Also that it is perfect or right, i. 97. ii. 439. Common sense, ii. 44b. 450. Communication of passion to related objects. See Passion, Communication of qualities to related objects. See Pro- pensity. Comparison, i. 251. &c. ch. 19. In the early composition of all nations^ comparisons are carried beyond proper bounds, iL 163. Comparisons that resolve into a play of words, ii. 194. Complex emotion, i. 113. Complex object, its power to generate passion, i. 68. 216. Complex perception, ii. 461. Complexion, what colour of dress is the most suitable to different complexions, i. 267. Conception defined, ii. 455. Concord or harmony in objects of sight, i. 116. Concordant sounds defined, i. 113. Congreve censured, i. 51. 331. 388. 7iote. ii. 358. 364. Congruity and propriety, ch. 10. A secondary relation, i. 302. note, Congruity distinguished from beauty, i, 304. Distinguished from propriety, i. 304. As to quan- tity, congruity coincides with proportion, i. 312. Connexion essential in all compositions, i. 24. Conquest of Granada of Dry den censured, i. 445. Consonants, ii. 5. Constancy, consummate beauty the cause of inconstancy, i. 373. Construction of language explained, ii. 38. Contemplation, when painful, L 284. Contempt raised by improper action, i. 247. Contrast, ch. 8. Its effect in language, ii. 9. In a series of objects, ii. 12. Contrast in the thought requires con- trast in the members of the expression, ii. 32. The ef- fect of contrast in gardening, ii. 402. Conviction intuitive. See Intuitive conviction. Copulative, to drop the copulative enlivens the expression, ii. 35. INDEX. 487 Coriolanus of Shakspeare censured, i. 44<4'. Corneille censured, i. 413. 433. 455. 461. Corporeal pleasure, i. 1. Low, and sometimes mean, i. 320. Couplet, ii. 106. Rules for its composition, ii. 142. Courage of greater dignity than justice, i. 320. Creticus, ii. 159. Criminal, the hour of execution seems to him to approach with a swift pace, i. 151. Criticism, its advantages, i. 6. Its terms not accurately defined, i. 399. Crowd defined, ii. 475. Curiosity, i. 233. 250. Custom and habit, ch. 14. Renders objects familiar, i. 233. Custom distinguished from habit, i. 359. Custom puts the rich and poor upon a level, i. 337. Taste in the fine arts improved by custom, ii. 448. note. Dactyle, ii. 159. Davila censured, i. 291. Declensions explained, ii. 39. Dedications. See Epistles Dedicatory. Delicacy of taste, i. 100. ii. 447. Derision, i. 310. 329. • Des Cartes censured, ii. 458. note. Descent not painful, i. 199. Description, it animates a description to represent things past as present, i. 88. The rules that ought to govern it, ii. 288. A lively description is agreeable, though the subject described be disagreeable, ii. 319. 320. No ob- jects but those of sight can be well described, ii. 463. Descriptive personifications, ii. 209. Descriptive tragedy, i. 410. Desire defined, i. 38. It impels us to action, i. 40. It de- termines the will, i. 164. Desire in a criminal to be punished, i. 169. Desire tends the most to happiness when moderate, i. 189. Dialogue, dialogue-writing requires great genius, i. 408. In dialogue every expression ought to be suited to the character of the speaker, ii. 311. Dialogue makes a deeper impression than narration, ii. 330. Qualified for expressing sentiments, ii. 333. Rules for it, ii. 357. Dignity and grace, ch. 1 1 . Dignity of human nature, ii. 441. 488 INDEX. Diiambus, ii. 1 60. Diphthongs, ii. 5. Disagreeable emotions and passions, i. 94?. &c.. Discordant sounds defined, i. 112. Dispondeus, ii. 160. Disposition defined, ii. 470, Dissimilar emotions, i. 113. Their effects when coexistent^ i. 118. ii. 389. 416. Dissimilar passions, their effects, i. 1 29. Dissocial passions, i. 44. All of them painful, i. 97. and also disagreeable, i. 98. Distance, the natural method of computing the distance of objects, i. 154. &c. Errors to which this computation is liable, ii. 413. 420. DitrochseuS, ii. 160. Door, its proportion, ii. 407. Double action in an epic poem, ii. 362. Double Dealer of Congreve censured, i. 439. ii. 306, Double plot in a dramatic composition, ii. 353. Drama, ancient and modern compared, ii. 366. Dramatic poetry, ch. 22. Drapery ought to hang loose, i. 162. Dress, rules about dress, i. 305. ii. 387. Drydeii censured, ii. 259. 357. 364. Duties, moral duties distinguished into those which respect ourselves and those which respect others, i. 313. Foun- dation of duties that respect ourselves, i. 313. of those that respect others, i. 313. Duty of acting up to the dignity of our nature, i. 318. Dwelling-house, its external form, ii. 408. Internal form, ii. 408. 420. Education promoted by the fine arts, i. 7. ii. 409. Means to promote in young persons a habit of virtue, i. 58. Effects, resembling effects may be produced by causes that have no resemblance, ii. 76. Effect defined, ii. 480. Efficient cause of less importance than the final cause, i. 322, Electra of Sophocles censured, i. 382. Elevation, i. 1 90, &c. Real and figurative intimately con- nected, i. 200. Figurative elevation distinguished from figurative grandeur, ii. 178. Emotion, what feelings are termed emotions, i. 29. Emo- tions defined, i. 32, &c. and their causes assigned, L 32* INDEX* 489 Distinguished from passions, i. 36, . Emotion generated by relations, i. 59. Emotions expanded upon related objects, i. 59. ii. 57. 75. 99. 128. 206. 266. Emotions distinguished into primary and secondary, i. 63. Raised by fiction, i. 79. Raised by painting, i. 87. Emotions divided into pleasant and painful, agreeable and dis- agreeable, L 94. ii. 465. The interrupted existence of emotions, i. 103. Their growth and decay, i. 105, &c. Their identity, i. 105. Coexistent emotions, i. 112. Emotions similar and dissimilar, i. 113. Complex emo- tions, i. 114. Effects of similar coexistent emotions, i. 116. ii. 416. Effects of dissimilar coexistent emotions, i. 118. ii. 389. Influence of emotions upon our percep- tions, opinions, and belief, i. 137. 159. 260. 263. ii. 202. 226. 229. 237. Emotions resemble their causes, i. 160. Emotions of grandeur, i. 191. of sublimity,!. 191. A low emotion, i. 201. Emotion of laughter, ch. 7.; of ridicule, i. 248. Emotions when contrasted should not be too slow nor too quick in their succession, i. 270. Emotions raised by the fine arts ought to be contrasted in succession, i. 270. Emotion of congruity, i. 300. of propriety, i. 300. Emotions produced by human ac- tions, i. 317. Ranked according to their dignity, i. 320. External signs of emotions, ch. 15. Attractive and re- pulsive emotions, i. 395. What emotions do best in succession, what in conjunction, ii. 389. What emo- tions are raised by the productions of manufactures, ii. 405. note, Man is passive with regard to his emotions, ii. 453, We are conscious of emotions as in the heart, ii. 453. Emphasis defined, ii. 128. note. Ought never to be but upon words of importance, ii. 83. 130. Eneid, its unity of action, ii. 361. English plays generally irregular, ii. 381. English come- dies generally licentious, i. 50. English tongue too rough, ii. 10. In English w^ords the long syllable is put early, ii. 7. note, English tongue more grave and sedate in its tone than the French, ii. 133. note. Peculiarly qualified for personification, ii. 208. note. Entablature, ii. 425. Envy defined, i. 37. How generated, i. 107. Why it is perpetual, i. 110. It magnifies every bad quality in its object, i. 141. 490 INDEX. Epic poem, no improbable fact ought to be admitted, i. 92. Machinery in it has a bad effect, i, 92. It doth not always reject ludicrous images, i. 273. Its commence- ment ought to be modest and simple, ii. 289. In what respect it differs from a tragedy, ii. 32&. Distinguished into pathetic and moral, ii. 331. Its good effects, ii. 332. Compared with tragedy as to the subjects proper for each, ii. 333. How far it may borrow from history, ii. 339. Rule for dividing it into parts, ii. 341. Epic poetry, ch. 22. Epicurus censured, ii. 456. note. Episode in an historical poem, ii. 350. Requisites, ii. 351. Epistles dedicatory censured, i. 301. note. Epithets, redundant, ii. 320. Epitritus, ii. 161. Essay on Man criticised, ii. 157. Esteem, love ofj i. 1 73. 209. Esther of Racine censured, i. 439. 443. Eunuch of Terence censured, i. 460. Euripides censured, i. 460. ii. 377. Evergreens cut in the shape of animals, ii. 395. Experience, effect ofi with respect to taste in the fine arts, ii. 448. note. Expression, elevated, low, i. 201. Expression that has no distinct meaning, i. 468. Members of a sentence ex- pressing a resemblance between two objects, ought to resemble each other, ii. 29. Force of expression by sus- pending the thought till the close, ii. 67. External objects, their reality, i. 79. External senses distinguished into two kinds, i. 1 . Exter- nal sense, ii. 451. External signs of emotions and passions, ch. 15. External signs of passion, what emotions they raise in a spectator, i. 95. Eye-sight influenced by passion, i. 159. 259. 261. Face, though uniformity prevail in the human face, yet every face is distinguishable from another, i. 298. Faculty by which we know passion from its external signs^ i. 397. Fairy Queen criticised, ii. 253. False quantity painful to the ear, ii. 109. Fame, love of, i. 173. INDEX. 491 Familiarity, its eiFect, i. 106. 233. ii. 267. It wears off by absence, i. 24*1. Fashion, its influence accounted for, i. 62. Fashion is in a continual flux, i. 186. Fear explained, i. 73. Rises often to its utmost pitch in an instant, i. 107. Fear arising from affection or aver- sion, i. 107. Fear is infectious, i. 163. Feeling, its different significations, ii. 455. Fiction, emotions raised by fiction, i. 79. Figure, beauty of, i. 181. Definition of a regular figure, ii. 466. Figures, some passions favourable to figurative expression, i. 449. ii. 181. Figures, ch. 20. Figure of speech, ii. 213. 246. 264, &c. Figures were of old much strained, ii. 163. 251. Final cause defined, i. 323. Final cause of our sense of order and connexion, i. 28. ; of the sympathetic emotion of virtue, i. 58. ; of the instinctive passion of fear, i. 73. ; of the instinctive passion of anger, i. 75. ; of ideal pre- sence, i. 90. ; of the power that fiction has over the mind, i. 91.; of emotions and passions, i. 164.; of the commu- nication of passion to related objects, i. 174. ; of regula- rity, uniformity, order, and simplicity, i. 181.; of pro- portion, i. 182.; of beauty, i. 187. Why certain objects are neither pleasant nor painful, i. 198. 226.; of the pleasure we have in motion and force, i. 232. ; of curio- sity, i. 233. ; of wonder, i. 243. ; of surprise, i. 244. ; of the principle that prompts us to perfect every work, i. 265. ; of the pleasure or pain that results from the diffe- rent circumstances of a train of perceptions, i. 286. ; of congruity and propriety, i. 313.; of dignity and mean- ness, i. 323.; of habit, i. 375.; of the external signs of passion and emotion, i. 389. 398. Why articulate sounds singly agreeable are always agreeable in conjunc- tion, ii. 5. ; of the pleasure we have in language, ii. 322. of our relish for various proportions in quantity, ii. 412 . Why delicacy of taste is withheld from the bulk of man- kind, ii. 437.; of our conviction of a comnion standard in every species of beings, ii. 441.; of uniformity of taste in the fine arts, ii. 442. Why the sense of a right and a wrong in the fine arts is less clear than the use of a right and a wrong in actions, ii. 445. Final cause of greater importance than the efficient cause, i. 322. m inde:^. Fine arts defined, i. 5.12. A subject of reasoning, i. 6. Fine arts, education promoted by the, i. 7. ii. 405. The fine arts a great support to morality, i. 7. ii. 405. 433. Their emotions ought to be contrasted in succession, i. 270. Uniformity and variety in the fine arts, i. 289. Considered with respect to dignity, i. 322. How far they may be regulated by custom, i. 378. None of them are imitative but painting and sculpture, ii. 1 . Aberra- tions from a true taste in these arts, ii. 443. Who qua- lified to be judges in the fine arts, ii. 447. Fluid, motion of fluids, i. 228. Foot, the effect that syllables collected into feet have upon the ear, ii. 35. Musical feet defined, ii. 94. 7iote. A list of verse-feet, ii. 159. Force produces a feeling that resembles it, i. 160. Force, ch. 5. Force, moving, i. 228. Force gives a pleasure differing from that of motion, i. 228. It contributes to grandeur, i. 230. Foreign, preference given to foreign curiosities, i. 241. Fountains, in what form they ought to be, ii. 398. French dramatic writers criticised, i. 413. ?iote. 439. ii. 381^ French verse requires rhyme, ii. 154. French language more lively to the ear than the English, ii. 133. fiote. In French words the last syllable gene- rally long and accented, ii. 133. note. Friendship considered with respect to dignity and mean- ness, i. 321. Gallery, why it appears longer than it is in reality, ii. 393. Is not an agreeable figure of a room, ii. 417. Games, public games of the Greeks, i. 229. Gardening, a fine garden gives lustre to the owner, i. 63. note. Grandeur of manner in gardening, i. 215. Its emotions ought to be contrasted in succession, i. 271. A small garden should be confined to a single expres- sion, i. 271. ii. 385. A garden near a great city should have an air of solitude, i. 272. A garden in a wild country should be gay and splendid, i. 272. Garden- ing, ch. 24. What emotions can be raised by it, ii. 385. Its emotions compared with those of architecture, ii. 386. Simplicity ought to be the governing taste, ii. 387. Whei:ein the unity of a garden consists, ii. 390. How INDEX. 493 far should regularity be studied in it, ii. 391. Resem- blance carried too far in it, ii. 391. note. Grandeur in gardening, ii. 391. Every unnatural object ought to be rejected, ii. 394. Distant and faint imitations displease, ii. 395. Winter-garden, ii. 400. The effect of giving play to the imagination, ii. 403. Gardening inspii*es benevolence, ii. 404. And contributes to rectitude of manners, ii. 433. General idea, there cannot be such thing, ii. 461. note. General terms should be avoided in compositions for amusement, i. 215. ii. 312. General theorems, why agreeable, i. 185. Generic habit defined, i. 369. Generosity, why of greater dignity than justice, i. 319. Genus defined, ii. 474. Gestures that accompany the different passions, i. 385. Gierusalemme Liberata censured, ii. 346. 351. Globe a beautiful figure, i. 292. Good-nature, why of less dignity than courage or genero- sity, i. 319. Gothic tower, its beauty, ii. 408. Gothic form of build- ings, ii. 419. Government, natural foundation of submission to govern- ment, i. 173. Grace, ch. 11. Grace of motion, i. 231. Grace analyzed, i. 325. Grandeur and sublimity, ch. 4. Distinguished from beauty, i. 193. Grandeur demands not strict regularity, i. 194. Regularity, order, and proportion, contribute to gran- deur, i. 193. Real and figurative grandeur intimately connected, i. 203. Grandeur of manner, i. 210. Gran- deur may be employed indirectly to humble the mind, i. 218. Suits ill with wit and ridicule, i. 272. Fixes the attention, i. 277. Figurative grandeur distinguish- ed from figurative elevation, ii. 178. Grandeur in gar- dening, ii. 391. Irregularity and disproportion increase in appearance the size of a building, ii. 421. Gratification of passion, i. 41. 52. 135. 256. ii. 202. 226. 229. Obstacles to gratification inflame a passion, i. 109. Gratitude, considered v/ith respect to its gratification, i. 110. Exerted upon the children of the benefactor, i. 140. Punishment of ingratitude, i. 316. Gratitude considered with respect to dignity and meanness, L 32E 49 ^ INDEX. Greek words, finely composed of long and short syllables, ii. 149. Grief magnifies its cause, i. 142. Occasions a false reckon- ing of time, i. 156. Is infectious, i. 163. When immo- • derate is silent, i. 447. Gross pleasure, i. 101. Groups, natural objects readily form themselves into groups, i. 299. Guido censured, ii. 260. Habit, ch. 14. Prevails in old age, i. 276. Habit of ap- plication to business, i. 281. 284. 288. Converts pain into pleasure, i. 288. Distinguished from custom, i. 359. Puts the rich and poor upon a level, i. 377. Harmony or concord in objects of sight, i. 116. Har- mony distinguished from melody, ii. 89. note. Hatred, how produced, i. 107. Signifies more commonly affection than passion, i. 108. Its endurance, i. 110. Hearing, in hearing we feel no impression, ii. 456. Henriade censured, ii. 295. 340. 346. 351. Hexameter, Virgil’s hexameters extremely melodious, those of Horace seldom so, ii. 89. And the reason why they are not, ii. 105. Structure of an hexameter line, ii. 94. Rules for its structure, ii. 94. Musical pauses in an hexameter line, ii. 94. note. Wherein its melody con- sists, ii. 105. Hiatus defined, ii. 7. Hippolytus of Euripides censured, i. 441. ii. 377. 379. Plistory, why the history of heroes and conquerors so sin- gularly agreeable, i. 57. 206. By what means does his- tory raise our passions, i. 86. It rejects poetical images, ii. 289. History painting. See Painting. Homer defective in order and connexion, i. 24. His lan- guage finely suited to his subject, ii. 309. His repeti- tions defended, ii. 317. His poems in a great measure dramatic, ii. 330. Censured, ii. 349. Hope, i. 108. Horace defective in connexion, i. 24. His hexameters not melodious, ii. 89. Their defects pointed out, ii. 105. Horror, objects of horror should be banished from poetry and painting, ii. 225. House, a fine house gives lustre to the owner, i. 63. note. INDEX. 495 Human nature a complicated machine, i. 30. Humanity the finest temper of mind, i. 101. Humour defined, i. 331. Humour in writing distinguish- ed from humour in character, i. 332. Hyperbole, i. 220. ii. 229. Hippobacchius, ii. 159. lambic verse, its modulation faint, ii. 89. Iambus, ii. 159. Jane Shore censured, i. 419. 432. Idea not so easily remembered as a perception is, i. 154. Succession of ideas, i. 274. Pleasure and pain of ideas in a train, i. 282. Idea of memory defined, ii. 456. Cannot be innate, ii. 461. note. There are no general ideas, ii. 461. note. Idea of an object of sight more dis- tinct than of any other object, ii. 463. Ideas distin- guished into three kinds, ii. 464. Ideas of imagination not so pleasant as ideas of memory, ii. 469. Ideal presence, i. 81. raised by theatrical representation, i. 87. raised by painting, i. 87. Ideal system, ii. 457. 7iote, Identity of a passion or of an emotion, i. 104. Jet (Veau^ i. 229. ii. 394. 396. Jingle of words, ii. 142. 150. Iliad criticised, ii. 362. Images the life of poetry and rhetoric, i. 84. 90. 216. Imagination the great instrument of recreation, i. 245. To give play to it has a good effect in gardening, ii. 403. Its power in fabricating images, ii. 464. 469. Agree- ableness of ideas of imagination, ii. 469. Imitation, we naturally imitate virtuous actions, i. 163. Not those that are vicious, i. 163. Inarticulate sounds imitated in words, ii. 73. None of the fine aits imitate nature except painting and sculpture, ii. 1. The agree- ableness of imitation overbalances the disagreeableness of the subject, ii. 321. Distant and faint imitations dis- please, ii. 395. Impression made on the organ of sense, i. 1. ii. 455. Suc- cessive impressions, ii. 12. Impropriety in action raises contempt, i. 247. Its punish- ment, i. 309. Impulse, a strong impulse succeeding a weak, makes a 24 496 index:. double impression : a weak impulse^'succeeding a strong, makes scarce any impression, ii. 12. Infinite series becomes disagreeable when prolonged, i. 264*. note. Innate idea, there cannot be such a thing, ii. 461. note. Instinct, we act sometimes by instinct, i. 40. 73. Instrument, the means or instrument conceived to be the agent, ii. 237. Intellectual pleasure, i. 2. Internal sense, ii. 451. Intrinsic beauty, i. 178. Intuitive conviction of the veracity of our senses, i. 79. of the dignity of human nature, i. 319. ii, 442. of a com- mon nature or standard in every species of beings, ii. 438. of this standard being invariable, ii. 438. and of its being perfect or right, ii. 438. Intuitive conviction that the external signs of passion are natural, and also that they are the same in all men, i. 396. Intuitive knowledge of external objects, i. 79. Inversion and inverted style described, ii. 43. Inversion gives force and liveliness to the expression by suspend- ing the thought till the close, ii. 67. Inversion how re- gulated, ii. 71. Beauties of inversion, ii. 71. Inversion favourable to pauses, ii. 120. Full scope for it in blank verse, ii. 144. Involuntary signs of passion, i. 384. 389. lonicus, ii. 160. Joy, its cause, i. 52. 108. Infectious, i. 163. Considered with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 321. Iphigenia of Racine censured, i. 380. Iphigenia in Tauris censured, i. 460. ii. 378, 379. Irony defined, i. 336. Italian tongue too smooth, ii. 9. note. Italian words finely diversified by long and short syllables, ii. 7. note. Judgment and memory in perfection, seldom united, i. 19. Judgment seldom united with wit, i. 19. Julius Caesar of Shakespeare censured, i. 444. Justice of less dignity than generosity or courage, i. 319. Kent, his skill in gardening, ii. 403. Key-note, ii. 83. 92. Kitchen garden, ii, 383. INDEX. 497 Knowledge, intuitive knowledge of external objects, i. 79. Its pleasures never decay, i. 376. Labyrinth in a garden, ii. 396. Landscape, why so agreeable, i. 115. 299. More agrees able when comprehended under one view, ii. 394. A landscape in painting ought to be confined to a single expression, i. 272. Contrast ought to prevail in it, i. 289. Language, power of language to raise emotions, whence derived, i. 84. 90. Language of passion, ch. 17. Ought to be suited to the sentiments, i. 406. 449. broken and interrupted, i. 448.; of impetuous passion, i. 451. of lan- guid passion, i. 451. of calm emotions, i. 452. of turbu- lent passions, i. 452. Examples of language elevated above the tone of the sentiment, i. 462. Of language too artificial or too figurative, i. 463. too light or airy, i. 463. Language how far imitative, ii. 1. Its beauty with respect to signification, ii. 3. 14. Its beauty with respect to sounds, ii. 4. It ought to correspond to the subject, ii. 20. 304. Its structure explained, ii. 38. Beauty of language from a resemblance betwixt sound and signification, ii. 2. 73. The character of a language depends on the character of the nation whose language it is, ii. 133. note. The force of language consists in. raising complete images, i. 90. ii. 292. Its power of producing pleasant emotions, ii. 321. Without lan- guage man would scarce be a rational being, ii, 480. Latin tongue finely diversified with long and short sylla« bles, ii. 149. L’Avare of Moliere censured, i. 442. Laughter, i. 245. Laugh of derision or scorn, i. 310. Law defined, i. 313. Laws of human nature, necessary succession of perceptions, i. 15, 274. We never act but through the impulse of desire, i. 38. 164. An object loses its relish by familia- rity, i. 106. Passions sudden in their growth are equal- ly sudden in their decay, i. 109. 366. Every passion ceases upon obtaining its ultimate end, i. 110. An agreeable cause produceth always a pleasant emotion^ and a disagreeable cause a painful emotion, i. 165. Laws of motion agreeable, i. 1 86. you n. I i 49S INDEX. Les Freres Ennemies of Racine censured, i. 426. Lewis XIV. of France censured, i. 301. note. Lex talionis, upon what principle founded, i. 267. Line, definition of a regular line, ii. 466. Littleness is neither pleasant nor painful, i. 198. Is con- nected with respect and humility, i. 886. note, Livy censured, ii. 16. Locke censured, ii. 458. note. Logic, cause of its obscurity and intricacy, i. 399. Logio improper in this climate, ii. 410. Love to children accounted for, i. 64. The love a man bears to his country explained, i. 68. Love produced by pity, i. 72. Love gradual, i. 1 07. It signifies more commonly affection than passion, i. 107. Love inflamed by the caprices of a mistress, i. 109. Its endurance, i. 109. To a lover absence appears long, i. 150. Love assumes the qualities of its object, i. 162. when exces- sive becomes selfish, i. 189. considered with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 320. seldom constant when founded on exquisite beauty, i. 373. ill represented in French plays, i. 439. when immoderate is silent, i. 448. Love for love censured, ii. 364. Lowness is neither pleasant nor painful, i. 198. Lucan too minute in his descriptions, i. 214. censured, ii. 330. Ludicrous, i. 245. may be introduced into an epic poem, i. 273. Lutrin censured for incongruity, i. 304. characterized, i., 330. Luxury corrupts our taste, ii. 446. Machinery ought to be excluded from an epic poem, i. 92. ii. 344. does well in a burlesque poem, i. 93. Malice, how generated, i. 107. Why it is perpetual, i. 110 . Man, a benevolent as well as a selfish being, i. 166. fitted for society, i. 174. Conformity of the nature of man to his external circumstances, i. 199. 226. 232. 298. 401. Man intended to be more active than contemplative, i. 322. The different branches of his internal constitution , finely suited to each other, ii. il3. 443. Manners, gross and refined, i. 101. The bad tendency of rough and blunt manners, i. 400. note. Modern man-^ ners make a poor figure in an epic poem, ii. 340. INDEX. 499 Manufactures, the effect of their productions with respect to morality, ii. 405. note. Marvellous in epic poetry, ii. S49. Means, the means or instrument conceived to be the agent, ii. 387. Measure, natural measure of time, i. 149. &c. of space, i. 154. Meaux, Bishop of, censured, i. 270. Medea of Euripides censured, ii. 378. Melody or modulation defined, ii. 88. distinguished from harmony, ii. 89. note. In English heroic verse are four different sorts of melody, ii. 110. 132. Melody of blank verse superior to that of rhyme, and even to that of hex- ameter, ii. 145. Members of a period have a fine effect placed in an increas- ing series, ii. 13. Memory and judgment in perfection seldom united, i. 19. Memory and wit often united, i. 19. greater with respect to perceptions than ideas, i. 152. Memory, ii. 456. Merry Wives of Windsor, its double plot well contrived, ii. 355. Metaphor, ii. 243. &c. In early compositions of nations we find metaphors much strained, ii. 251. Metre, ii. 105. Mile, the computed miles are longer in a barren than in a populous country, i. 155. Milton, his style much inverted, ii* 145. The defect of his ' versification is the want of coincidence betwixt the pauses of the sense and sound, ii. 148. The beauty of Milton’s comparisons, ii. 174. Moderation in our desires contributes the most to happi- ness, i. 189. Modern manners make a poor figure in an epic poem, iL 340. Modification defined, ii. 474. Modulation defined, ii. 88. Molossus, ii. 159* Monosyllables, English, arbitrary as to quantity, li. 107. Moral duties. See Duties. Morality, a right and a wrong taste in morals, ii. 439. Aberrations from its true standard, ii. 445. Moral sense, i. 34. Our passions as well as actions are governed by it, i. 98. .500 INDEX. Moral tragedy, ii. 8S1. Motion requires the constant exertion of an operating cause, i. 103. productive of feelings that resemble it, i.' 160. Its laws agreeable, i. 186. Motion and force, ch. 5. What motions are the most agreeable, i. 226. Regular motion, i. 227. Accelerated motion, i. 227. Upward motion, i. 227. Undulating motion, i. 227. Motion of fluids, i. 228. A body moved neither agree- able nor disagreeable, i. 228. The pleasure of motion differs from that of force, i. 228. Grace of motion, i, 231. Motions of the human body, i. 232. Motion ex- plained, ii. 462. Motive defined, i. 41. A selfish motive arising from a social principle, i. 43. note. Movement applied figuratively to melody, ii. 77. Mount artificial, ii. 398. Mourning Bride censured, i. 429. 442. 462. ii. 373. 382. Music, emotions raised by instrumental music have not an object, i. 56. Music disposes the heart to various pas- sions, ii. 375. refined pleasures of music, i. 47. Vocal distinguished from instrumental, i. 124. What subjects proper for vocal music, i. 126. Sentimental music, i. 124. note. Sounds fit to accompany disagreeable pas- sions cannot be musical, i. 124. note. What variety proper, i. 220. Music betwixt the acts of a play, the advantages that may be drawn from it, ii. 375. It re- fines our nature, i. 47. Musical instruments, their different effects upon the mind^ i. 208. Musical measure defined, ii. 88. Narration, it animates a narrative to represent things past as present, i. 88. Narration and description, ch. 21. It animates a narrative to make it dramatic, ii. 311. 329. Nation defined, ii. 479. Note, a high note and a low note in music, i. 203. Noun, ii. 38. Novelty soon degenerates into familiarity, i. 110. Novelty and the unexpected appearance of objects, ch. 6. No- velty a pleasant emotion, i. 235. distinguished from variety, i. 239. its different degrees, i. 240. fixes the attention, i. 277. INDEX. 501 Number defined, ii. 412. explained, ii. 462. .Numerus defined, ii. 88. Object of a passion defined, i. 89. distinguished into gene- ral and particular, i. 39. An agreeable object produceth a pleasant emotion, and a disagreeable object a painful emotion, i. 165. Attractive object, i. 166. Repulsive object, i. 166. Objects of sight the most complex, i. 177. Objects that are neither agreeable nor disagreeable, i. 198. 226. 228. Natural objects readily form themselves into groups, i. 299. An object terminating an opening in a wood, appears doubly distant, ii. 393. Object defined, ii. 451. Objects of external sense in what place perceiv- ed, ii. 452. Objects of internal sense, ii. 453. All ob- jects of sight are complex, ii. 461. 474. Objects simple and complex, ii. 475. Obstacles to gratification inflame a passion, i. 109. Old Bachelor censured, ii. 364. Opera censured, i. 305. Opinion influenced by passion, i. 138. ii. 202. influenced by propensity, i. 149. influenced by affection, i. 149. Why differing from me in opinion is disagreeable, ii, 440. Opinion defined, ii. 471. Oration of Cicero fro Archia jpoeta censured, ii. 70. Orchard, ii. 399. Order, i. 20. 184. ii. 468. Pleasure we have in order, i. 22. necessary in all compositions, i. 24. Sense of order has an influence upon our passions, i. 68. Order and proportion contribute to grandeur, i. 1 92. When a list of many particulars is brought into a period, in what order should they be placed ? ii. 64. Order in stating facts, ii. 362. Organ of sense, i. 1. Organic pleasure, i. 1, Orlando Furioso censured, ii. 363, Ornament ought to be suited to the subject, i. 304, Re- dundant ornaments ought to be avoided, ii. 287. Orna- ments distinguished into what are merely such, and what have relation to use, ii. 421. Allegorical or em- blematic ornaments, ii. 431. Ossian excels in drawing characters, ii. 301. Othello censured, ii. 327. Ovid censured, i. 291. 5Qg INDEX. Paeon, ii. 160. Pain, cessation of pain extremely pleasant, i. 53. Pain, voluntary and involuntary, i. 102. DilFerent effects of pain upon the temper, i. 102. Social pain less severe* than selfish, i. 102. Pain of a train of perceptions in certain circumstances, i. 283. Pain lessens by custom, i. 374, ii. 437. Pain of want, i. 375, Painful emotions and passions, i. 94. Painting, power of painting to move our passions, i. 87. Its power to engage our belief, i. 91. What degree of variety is requisite, i. 289. A picture ought to be so simple as to be seen at one view, i. 289. In grotesque painting the figures ought to be small ; in historical painting as great as the life, i. 203. Grandeur of man- ner in painting, i. 215. A landscape admits not variety of expression, i. 272. Painting is an imitation of nature, ii. 1. In history-painting the principal figure ought to be in the best light, ii. 314. A good picture agreeable, though the subject be disagreeable, ii. 321. Objects that strike terror have a fine effect in painting, ii. 324. Objects of horror ought not to be represented, ii. 325. Unity of action in a picture, ii. 365. What emotions can be raised by painting, ii. 384. Panic, cause of it, i. 1 63. Paradise Lost, the richness of its melody, ii. 145. censi\red,. ii. 342. Parallelogram, its beauty, 184. Parody defined, i. 337. 413. note. Particles, ii. 121. not capable of an accent, ii. 129. Passion, no pleasure of external sense denominated a pas- sion, except of seeing and hearing, i. 29. Passion dis- tinguished from emotion, i. 36. Objects of passion, i. 39. Passions distinguished into instinctive and deliberative, i. 41. 73. what are selfish, what, social, i. 42. what dis- social, i. 44. Passion communicated to related objects, i. 60. ii. 57. 75. 99. 128. 207. 266. Generated by a complex object, i. 68. A passion paves the way to others ;of a similar tone, i. 70. A passion paves the way to others in the same tone, i. 7 1 . Passion raised by paint- ing, i. 87. Passions considered as pleasant or painful, agreeable or disagreeable, i. 98. Our passions governed by the moral sense, i. 98. Social passions more plea- sant and less painful than the selfish, i. 101. Passions INDEX. 50S are infectious, i. 98. 163. are refined or gross, i. 101. Their interrupted existence, i. 103. Their growth and decay, i. 105. The identity of a passion, i. 104. The bulk of our passions are the affections of love or hatred inflamed into a passion, i. 108. Passions have a ten- dency to excess, i. 108. Passions swell by opposition, i. 109. A passion sudden in growth is sudden in decay, i. 110. A passion founded on an original propensity endures for life, i. 111. founded on affection or aversion is subject to decay, i. 111. A passion ceases upon attain- ing its ultimate end, i. 110. Coexistent passions, i. 112. Passions similar and dissimilar, i. 128. Fluctuation of passion, i. 129. 416. Its influence upon our perceptions, opinions, and belief, i. 137. 259. ii. 202. 226. 229. 237. Passions attractive and repulsive, i. 166. 395. Prone to their gratification, i. 174. Passions ranked according to their dignity, i. 319. Social passions of greater dig- nity than selfish, i. 324. External signs of passions, ch. 15. Our passions should be governed by reason, i. 422. Language of passion, ch. 17. A passion when immo- derate is silent, i. 447. Language of passion broken and interrupted, i. 448. What passions admit of figu- rative expression, i. 449. ii. 181. 183. Language pro- per for impetuous passion, i. 451. for melancholy, i. 451. for calm emotions, i. 452. for turbulent passion, i. 452. In certain passions the mind is prone to bestow sensibi- lity upon things inanimate, ii. 181. 202. With regard to passion man is passive, ii. 453. We are conscious of passions as in the heart, ii. 453. Passionate personification, ii. 209, Passive subject defined, ii. 480. Pathetic tragedy, ii. 331. Pause, pauses necessary for three different purposes, ii. 91. Musical pauses in an hexameter line, ii. 97. Musical pauses ought to coincide with those in the sense, ii. 99. 101. What musical pauses are essential in English heroic verse, ii. 110. Rules concerning them, ii. Ill, 112. Pause that includes a couplet, ii. 122, Pause and accent have a mutual influence, ii. 135. Pedestal ought to be sparingly ornamented, ii. 423. Perceptions more easily remembered than ideas, i. 154. Succession of perceptions, i. 15. 274. Unconnected per- ceptions find not easy admittance to the mind, i. 277» 504 ^ INDEX. 281. Pleasure and pain of perceptions in a train, i. 281. Perception defined, ii. 454-. described, ii. 477. Original and secondary, ii. 457. Simple and complex, ii. 456. Period has a fine effect when its members proceed in the form of an increasing series, ii. 13. In the periods of a discourse variety ought to be studied, ii. 14. Different thoughts ought not to be crowded into one period, ii. 27. The scene ought not to be changed in a period, ii. 33. A period so arranged as to express the sense clearly, seems more musical than where the sense is left doubtful, ii. 54. In what part of the period doth a word make the greatest figure? ii. 62. A period ought to be closed with that word which makes the greatest figure, ii. 64. When there is occasion to mention many particulars, in what order ought they to be placed ? ii. 64. A short period is lively and familiar, a long period grave and solemn, ii. 69.. A discourse ought not to commence with a long period, ii. 70. Personification, ii. 202. Passionate and descriptive, ii. 209. Perspicuity a capital requisite in writing, ii. 16. Perspi- cuity in arrangement, ii. 47. Phantasm, ii. 457. note, Pharsalia censured, ii. 330. Phedra of Racine censured, i. 381. 456. Picture. See Painting. Pilaster less beautiful than a column, ii. 426. Pindar defective in order and connexion, i. 24. Pity defined, i. 37.; apt to produce love, i. 71.; always painful, yet always agreeable, i. 99. ; resembles its cause, i. 163. What are the proper objects for raising pity, ii. 334. Place explained, ii. 476. Plain, a large plain a beautiful object, i. 159. Planetary system, its beauty, i. 227. 231. Plautus, the liberty he takes as to place and time, ii. 380. Play is a chain of connected facts, each scene making a link, ii. 363. Play of words, i. 352. 465.; gone into disrepute, i. 352. Comparisons that resolve into a play of words, ii. 194. Pleasant emotions and passions, i. 94. Social passions more pleasant than the selfish, i. 101. Pleasant pain explained, i. 115. INDEX. 505 Pleasure, pleasures of seeing and hearing distinguished from those of the other senses, i. 1 . Pleasure of order, i. 22. ; of connexion, i. 22. Pleasures of taste, touch, and smell, not termed emotions or passions^ i. 29. Plea- sure of a reverie, i. 84. 283. Pleasures refined and gross, i. 101. Pleasure of a train of perceptions in cer- tain circumstances, i. 282. Corporeal pleasure low, and sometimes mean, i. 320. Pleasures of the eye and ear never low or mean, i. 320. Pleasures of the under- standing are high in point of dignity, i. 321. Custom augments moderate pleasures, but diminishes those that are intense, i. 374. Some pleasures felt internally, some externally, ii. 464. Poet, the chief talent of a poet who deals in the pathetic^ i. 385. Poetical flights, in what state of mind they are most re- lished, ii. 181. Poetry, grandeur of manner in poetry, i. 210. How far variety is proper, i. 291. Objects that strike terror have a fine effect in it, ii. 324. Objects of horror ought to be banished from it, ii. 325. Poetry has power over all the human affections, ii. 384. The most successful in describing objects of sight, ii. 463. Polite behaviour, i. 102. Polygon, regular, its beauty, i. 183. Polysyllables, how far agreeable to the ear, ii. 6. ; seldom j have place in the construction of English verse, ii. 108. 132. Pompey of Corneille censured, i. 426. 437. 440. Poor, habit puts them on a level with the rich, i. 377. Pope excels in the variety of his melody, ii. 125.; cen^ sured, ii. 223. 225. 307. His style compared with that of Swift, ii. 312. Posture, constrained posture disagreeable to the spectator^ i. 162. Power of abstraction, ii. 476, 477. its use, ii. 475. Prepositions explained, ii. 41. Pride, how generated, i. 107. why it is perpetual, i. 110. ; ^ incites us to ridicule the blunders and absurdities of others, i. 31 1. ; a pleasant passion, i. 31 1. 394. ; consider- ed with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 321. Its external expressions or signs disagreeable, i. 394. Primary and secondary qualities of matter, i. 187. Pri- mary and secondary relations, i. 302. note^ 506 iNDEX* Principle of order, i. 20.; of morality, i. 34, 57. 313.; of self-preservation, i. 73.; of selfishness, i. 166.; of bene- volence, i. 166.; of punishment, i. 169. 314. Principle that makes us fond of esteem, i. 173. 209. ; of curiosity, i. 233. 250. ; of habit, i. 374. Principle that makes us wish others to be of our opinion, ii. 440. Principle de- fined, iii 470. ; sometimes so enlivened as to become an emotion, i. 58. See Propensity. Principles of the fine arts, i. 5. Proceleusmaticus, ii. 160. Prodigies find ready credit with the vulgar, i. 148. Prologue of the ancient tragedy, ii. 367. Pronoun defined, ii. 56. Pronunciation, rules for it, ii. 74. 84. ; distinguished froni singing, ii. 83. Singing and pronouncing compared, . ii. 85. Propensity sometimes so enlivened as to become an emo- tion, i. 58. 106.; opposed to affection, i. 111. Opinion and belief influenced by it, i. 148. Propensity to justify our passions and actions, i. 139. Propensity to punish guilt and reward virtue, i. 169. Propensity to carry along the good or bad properties of one subject to ano- ther, i. 59. 158. 179. ii. 54. 57. 75. 99. 128. 238. 266. Propensity to complete every work that is begun, and to carry things to perfection, i. 263. ii. 426. Propen- sity to communicate to others every thing that affects us, i. 447. Propensity to place together things mutu- ally connected, ii. 54. Propensity defined, ii. 470. See Principle. Properties transferred from one subject to another, i. 59. 158. 179. ii. 54. 57. 75. 99. 128. 238. 266. Property, the affection man bears to his property, i. 65. A secondary relation, i. 302. nole. Prophecy, those who believe in prophecies wish the ac- complishment, i. 175. Propriety, ch. 1 0. a secondary relation, i. 302. ?zo^e j dis- tinguished from congruity, i. 304. ; distinguished from proportion, i. 312. Propriety in buildings, ii. 417. Proportion contributes to grandeur, i. 192.; distinguished from propriety, i. 312. As to quantity coincides with congruity, i. 312.; examined as applied to architectui'e^ ii. 411. Proportion defined, ii. 467. Prose distinguished from verse, ii. 87. ' »NDEX, 507 Prospect, an unbounded prospect disagreeable, i. 264?. not^. By what means a prospect may be improved, ii. 393. Provoked Husband censured, ii. 35r4. Pun defined, i. 356. Punishment in the place where the crime was committed, i. 268. Punishment of impropriety, i. 309. Public games of the Greeks, i. 229. Phyrrhichius, ii. 159, Qualities, primary and secondary, i. 187. A quality can- not be conceived independent of the subject to which it belongs, ii. 44. Different qualities perceived by diffe- rent senses, ii. 451. Communicated to related objects. See Propensity. Quantity with respect to melody, ii. 93. Quantity with respect to English verse, ii. 106. False quantity, ii. 109. Quintilian censured, ii. 232. Quintus Curtius censured, i. 419. Racine criticised, i, 456. Censured, i. 461. Rape of the Lock characterized, i. 331. Its verse admi- rable, ii. 92. Reading, chief talent of a fine reader, i. 385. Plaintive passions require a slow pronunciation, i. 414. 7iote, Rules for reading, ii. 82.; compared with singing, ii. 85. Reality of external objects, i. 79. Reason, reasons to justify a favourite opinion are always at hand, and much relished, i. 140. Recitative, ii. 89. Refined pleasure, i. 100. Regularity, not so essential in great objects as in small, i. 193.; not in a small work so much as in one that is extensive, i. 194. How far to be studied in architec- ture, ii. 388. 406. 411. How far to be studied in a gar- den, ii. 391. Regular line defined, ii. 466. Regular figure defined, ii. 467. Regularity proper and figura- tive, ii. 466. Relations, i. 16. Have an influence in generating emo- tions and passions, i. 59. Are the foundation of con- gruity and propriety, i. 300. Primary and secondary relations, i. 302. note. In what manner are relations expressed in words, ii. 39. The effect that even the slighter relatigns have on the mind, ii. 399. 508 IMEX. Relative beauty, i. 178. ii. 399. Remorse, anguish of remorse, i. 1 63. ; its gratification, i. 170.; is not mean, i. 321. Repartee, i. 358. Repetitions, ii. 317. Representation, its perfection lies in hiding itself and pro* ducing an impression of reality, ii. 372. Repulsive object, i. 166. Repulsive passions, i. 395. Resemblance and dissimilitude, ch. 8. Resemblance in a series of objects, ii. 1 2. The members of a sentence sig- nifying a resemblance betwixt objects ought to resemble each other, ii. 29. Resemblance betwixt sound and sig- nification, ii. 73. 76. 78. No resemblance betwixt ob- jects of different senses, ii. 76. Resembling causes may produce effects that have no resemblance, and causes that have no resemblance may produce resembling effects, ii. 76. The faintest resemblance betwixt sound and signification gives the greatest pleasure, ii. 82. Re- semblance carried too far in some gardens, ii. 3Q1. note. Resentment explained, i. 75. Disagreeable in excess, i. 99. Extended against relations of the offender, i. 143. Its gratification, i. 169. When immoderate is silent, i. 448. Rest neither agreeable nor disagreeable, i. 226. 462. Revenge animates but doth not elevate the mind, i. 208. Has no dignity in it, i. 321. When immoderate is silent, i. 448. Reverie, cause of the pleasure we have in it, i. 84. 283. Rhyme, for what subjects it is proper, ii. 150. Melody of rhyme, ii. 152. Rhythmus defined, ii. 88. Rich and poor put upon a level by habit, i. 377. Riches, love ofj corrupts the taste, ii. 447. Riddle, ii. 396. Ridicule, a gross pleasure, i. 102. Is losing ground in Eng- land, i. 103. Emotion of ridicule, i. 248. Not concor- dant with grandeur, i. 272. Ridicule, ch. 12. Whether it be a test of truth, i. 340. Ridiculous distinguished from risible, i. 247. Right and wrong as to actions, i. 34. Risible objects, ch. 7. Risible distinguished from ridiciiT lous, i. 247. Room, its form, ii. 408. Rubens censured, ii. 260. INDEX. 509 Ruin ought not to be seen from a flower-parterre, ii. 389. In what form it ought to be, ii. 398. Sallust censured for want of connexion, i. 26. Sapphic verse has a very agreeable modulation, ii. 89. ' Savage knows little of social affection, i. 101. Scorn, i. 310. 329. Sculpture imitates nature, ii. 1. What emotions can be raised by it, ii. 384. Secchia Rapita characterized, i. 330. Secondary qualities of matter, i. 187. Secondary relations, i. 300. note. Seeing, in seeing we feel no impression, ii. 454. Objects of sight are all of them complex, ii. 461. Self-deceit, i. 139. 437. Selfish passions, i. 42. Are pleasant, i. 99. Less refined and less pleasant than the social, i. 101. The pain of selfish passions more severe than of social passions, i. 102. Inferior in dignity to the social, i. 324. A selfish emo- tion arising from a social principle, i. 42. A selfish mo- tive arising from a social principle, i. 43. note, fSelfishness promoted by luxury, ii. 446. and also by love of riches, ii. 447. Self-love, its prevalence accounted for, i. 45. In excess disagreeable, i. 99. Not inconsistent with benevolence, i. 167. Semipause in an hexameter line, ii. 97. What semipauses are found in an English heroic line, ii. 112. Sensation defined, ii. 454. described, ii. 461. Sense of order, i. 20. contributes to generate emotions, i. 63. note^ and passions, i. 68. Sense of right and wrong, i. 34. The veracity of our senses, i. 79. ii. 457. 7iote, Sense of congruity or propriety, i. 300. of the dignity of human nature, i. 318. ii. 442. Sense of ridicule, i. 340. Sense by which we discover a passion from its external signs, i. 396. Sense of a common nature in every species of beings, i. 97. ii. 438. Sense internal and external, ii. 451. In touching, tasting and smelling, we feel the im- pression at the organ of sense, not in seeing and hear- ing, i. 1. ii. 455. Senses, whether active or passive, ii. 453. Sentence, it detracts from neatness to vary the scene in the same sentence, ii. 33. A sentence so arranged as to ex- 510 INDEX* press the sense clearly, seems always more musical than where the sense is left in any degree doubtful, ii. 54. Sentiment elevated, low, i. 201. ought to be suited to the passion, ch. 16. Sentiments expressing swelling of pas- sion i. 416. expressing the different stages of passion, i. 418. dictated by coexistent passions, i. 420. Sentiments of strong passions are hid or dissembled, i. 422. Senti- ments above the tone of the passion, i. 425. below the tone of the passion, i. 426. Sentiments too gay for a serious passion, i. 427. too artificial for a serious passion, i. 428. fanciful or finical, i. 430. discordant with charac- ter, i. 433. misplaced, i. 435. Immoral sentiments ex- pressed without disguise, i. 436. unnatural, i. 441. Sen- timents, both in dramatic and epic compositions, ought to be subservient to the action, ii. 342. Sentiment de- fined, ii. 471. Sentimental music, i. 124. ?iofe» Series from small to great agreeable, i. 199. Ascending series, i. 199. Descending series, i. 199. The effect of a number of objects placed in an increasing or decreas- ing series, ii. 12. Serpentine river, its beauty, i. 227. ii. 402. Sertorius of Corneille censured, i. 416. Shaft of a column, ii. 426. Shakespeare, his sentiments just representations of nature^ i. 411. is superior to all other writers in delineating pas- sions and sentiments, i. 453. excels in the knowledge of human nature, i. 455. note, deals little in inversion, ii. 145. excels in drawing characters, ii. 299. his style in W'hat respect excellent, ii. 313. his dialogue finely con- ducted, ii. 357. deals not in barren scenes, ii. 364. Shame arising from affection or aversion, i. 108. is not mean, i. 321. Sight influenced by passion, i. 158. 259. Similar emotions, i. 113. their effects when coexistent, i. 115. ii. 416. Similar passions, i. 128. Effects of coexistent similar pas- sions^ i. 128. Simple perception, ii. 461. - Simplicity, taste for simplicity has produced many Utopian systems of human nature, i. 31. Beauty of simplicity, i. 180. abandoned in the fine arts, i. 186. a great beauty in tragedy, ii. 354. ought to be the governing taste in gar- dening and architecture, ii. 387. INDEX. 511 Singing distinguished from pronouncing or reading, ii. 83. Singing and pronouncing compared, ii. 85. Situation, different situations suited to different buildings, ii. 418. Sky, the relish of it lost by familiarity, i. 106. Smelling, in smelling we feel an impression upon the organ of sense, ii. 456. Smoke, the pleasure of ascending smoke accounted for, i. 23. 229. Social passions, i. 42. more refined and more pleasant than the selfish, i. 101. The pain of social passions more mild than of selfish passions, i. 102. Social passions are of greater dignity, i. 324. Society, advantages of, i. 173. 176. Soliloquy has a foundation in nature, i. 388. Soliloquies, i. 458. Sophocles generally correct in the dramatic rules, ii. 378. Sounds, power of sounds to raise emotions, i. 48. concor- dant, i. 112. discordant, i. 112. disagreeable sounds, i. 124. fit for accompanying certain passions, i. 124. Sounds produce emotions that resemble them, i. 160. articulate, how far agreeable to the ear, ii. 5. A smooth sound soothes the mind, and a rough sound animates, ii. 9. A continued sound tends to lay us asleep, an inter- rupted sound rouses and animates, ii. 36. Space, natural computation of space, i. 157. Space ex- plained, ii. 476. Species defined, ii. 474. Specific habit defined, i. 369. Speech, power of speech to raise emotions, whence deriv- ed, i. 83. Spondee, ii. 94. 159. Square, its beauty, i. 184. 292. Stairs, their proportion, ii. 407. Standard of taste, ch. 25. Standard of morals, ii. 440. 443. 445. Star in gardening, ii. 392. Statue, the reason why a statue is not coloured, i. 269. The limbs of a statue ought to be contrasted, i. 290. An equestrian statue is placed in a centre of streets, that it may be seen from many places at once, ii. 314. Statues for adorning a building where to be placed, ii, 422. Statue of an animal pouring out water, ii. 394. of dig INDEX. a water-god pouring water out of his urn, ii. 433. Sta- tues of animals employed as supports condemned, ii. 433. Naked statues condemned, ii. 417. note. Steeple ought to be pyramidal, i. 290. Strada censured, ii. 288. Style, natural and inverted, ii. 43. The beauties of a na- tural style, ii. 72. of an inverted style, ii. 72. Concise style a great ornament, ii. 317. Subject may be conceived independent of any particular quality, ii. 44. Subject with respect to its qualities, ii. 452. 476. Subject defined, ii. 480. Sublimity, ch. 4. Sublime in poetry, i. 202. General terms ought tO be avoided where sublimity is intended, i. 215. Sublimity may be employed indirectly to sink the mind, 218. False sublime, i. 220. 222. Submission, natural foundation of submission to govern- ment, i. 173. Substance defined, ii. 452. Substratum defined, ii. 452. Succession of perceptions and ideas, i. 15. 274. In a quick succession of the most beautiful objects, we are scarce sensible of any emotion, i. 84. Succession of syl- lables in a word, ii. 7. of objects, ii. 11. Superlatives, inferior writers deal in superlatives, ii. 310. Surprise, the essence of wit, i. 19. 342. Instantaneous, i. 105. 107. 235. decays suddenly, i. 107. 235. pleasant or painful according to circumstances, i. 237. Surprise the cause of contrast, i. 259. has an influence upon our opi- nions, and even upon our eye-sight, i. 261. Surprise a silent passion, i. 448. studied in Chinese gardens, ii. 403. Suspense, an uneasy state, i. 152. Sweet distress explained, i. 115. Swift, his language always suited to his subject, ii. 309. has a peculiar energy of style, ii. 312. compared with Pope, ii. 312. Syllable, ii. 5. Syllables considered as composing words, ii. 6. Syllables long and short, ii. 7. 93. Many sylla- bles in English are arbitrary, ii. 107. Sympathy, sympathetic emotion of virtue, i. 55. The pain of sympathy is voluntary, i. 102. It improves the tem- per, i. 102. Sympathy, i. 168, attractive, i. 168. 402. never low nor mean, i. 320. the cement of society, i, 402. 24 INDEX. 51 $ Synthetic and analytic methods of reasoning compared, i. 22 . Tacitus excels in drawing characters, ii, 299. his style com- prehensive, ii. 317. Tasso censured, ii. 346. 351. Taste, in tasting we feel an impression upon the organ of sense, i. 1. ii. 455. Taste in the fine arts though natural requires culture, i. 5. ii. 488. note. Taste in the fine arts compared with the moral sense, i. 6. its advantages, i. 8. Delicacy of taste, i. 100. a low taste, i. 201. Taste in some measure influenced by reflection, ii. 427. note. The foundation of a right and wrong in taste, ii. 439. Taste in the fine arts as well as in morals corrupted by voluptuousness, ii. 446. corrupted by love of riches, ii. 447. Taste never naturally bad or wrong, ii. 449. Aberrations from a true taste in the fine arts, ii. 444. Tautology a blemish in writing, ii. 319. Telemachus, an epic poem, ii. 329. note. Censured, ii. 352. note. Temples of Ancient and Modern Virtue in the gardens of Stow, ii. 432. Terence censured, i. 460. ii. 378. 380. Terror arises sometimes to its utmost height instanta- neously, i. 105. a silent passion, i. 448. Objects that strike terror have a fine effect in poetry and painting, ii. 324. The terror raised by tragedy explained, ii. 385. Theorem, general theorems agreeable, i. 185. Time, past time expressed as present, i. 88. Natural com- putation of time, i. 149. Time explained, ii. 476. Titus Livius. See Livy. Tone of mind, ii. 454. Touch, in touching we feel an impression upon the organ of sense, ii. 455. Trachiniens of Sophocles censured, ii. 378. Tragedy, the deepest tragedies are the most crowded, i, 403, note. The later English tragedies censured, i. 410. French tragedy censured, i. 413. note, 439. The Greek tragedy accompanied with musical notes to ascer- tain the pronunciation, ii. 85. Tragedy, ch. 22. in what respect it differs from an epic poem, ii. 329. distinguish- ed into pathetic and moral, ii. 331. its good effects, ii. 332. compared with the epic as to the subjects proper VOL. II. K k 514 INDEX. for each, ii. 333. how far it may borrow from history, ii. 339. rules for dividing it into acts, ii. 341. double plot in it, ii. 353. admits not violent action or supernatural events, ii. 355. its origin, ii. 367. Ancient tragedy a continued representation without interruption, ii. 368. Constitution of the modern drama, ii. 369. Tragi-comedy, ii. 354. Trees, the best manner of placing them, ii. 392. Triangle, equilateral, its beauty, i. 184. Tribrachys, ii. 159. Trochaeus, ii. 159. Tropes, ch. 20. Ugliness, proper and figurative, ii. 465. Unbounded prospect disagreeable, i. 264. note^ Uniformity of the operations of nature, i. 293. Unifor- mity apt to disgust by excess, i. 185. Uniformity and variety, ch. 9. conspicuous in the works of nature, i. 298. The melody of the verse ought to be uniform where the things described are uniform, ii. 125. Uni- formity defined, ii. 467. Unity, the three unities, ch. 23. of actions, ii. 360. Unity of action in a picture, ii. 365. of time and of place, ii. 365. Unities of time and of place not required in an epic poem, ii. 366. Strictly observed in the Greek tragedy, ii. 368. Unity of place in the ancient drama, ii. 377. Unities of place and time ought to be strictly observed in each act of a modern play, ii. 381. Where- in the unity of a garden consists, ii. 390. JJnumquodque eodem modo dissolvitur quo colligatum est^ i. 266. Vanity a disagreeable passion, i. 99. always appears mean, i. 321. Variety distinguished from novelty, i. 239. Variety, ch. 9. Variety in pictures, i. 290. conspicuous in the works of nature, i. 298. in gardening, ii. 401. Veracity of our senses, i. 79. Verb, active and passive, ii. 38. Verbal antithesis defined, i. 353. ii. 25. Versailles, gardens of, ii. 396. Verse distinguished from prose, ii. 86. Sapphic verse ex- tremely melodious, ii. 89. lambic less so, ii. 89. Struc- INDEX* 515 ture of an hexameter line, ii. 94. Structure of English heroic verse, ii. 96. note, 105. 141. English monosyl- lables arbitrary as to quantity, ii. 107. English heroic lines distinguished into four sorts, ii. 110. 132. they have a due mixture of uniformity and variety, ii. 141. English rhyme compared with blank verse, ii. 142. Rules for composing each, ii. 143. Latin hexameter compared with English rhyme, ii. 146. compared with blank verse, ii. 147. French heroic verse compared with hexameter and rhyme, ii. 147. The English lan- guage incapable of the melody of hexameter verse, ii. 149. For what subject is rhyme proper, ii. 153. Me- lody of rhyme, ii. 153. Rhyme necessary to French verse, ii. 155. Melody of verse is so enchanting as to draw a veil over gross imperfections, ii. 157. Verses composed in the shape of an axe or an egg, ii. 396. Violent action ought to be excluded from the stage, ii. 355. Virgil censured for want of connexion, i. 25. his verse ex- tremely melodious, ii. 89. his versification criticised, ii. 102. censured, ii. 157. 302. 309. 342. Virgil travestie characterized, i. 330. Virtue, the pleasures of virtue never decay, i. 375. Vision, the largest and smallest angle of vision, i. 157. Voltaire censured, ii. 295. 340. 346. Voluntary signs of passion, i. 384. Voluptuousness tends to vitiate our taste, ii. 447. Vowels, ii. 4. Walk in a garden, whether it ought to be straight or wav- ing, ii. 397. Artificial walk elevated above the plain, ii. 398. Wall that is not perpendicular occasions an uneasy feeling, i. 161. Waterfall, L 161. 229. / Water-god, statue of, pouring out water, ii. 433. Way of the World censured, ii. 364. the unities of place and time strictly observed in it, ii. 382. Will, how far our train of perceptions can be regulated by it, i. 17. 275. 280. determined by desire, i. 164. Windows, their proportion, ii. 407. double row, ii. 42^. Winter garden, ii. 400. Wish distinguished from desire, i. 38. 516 INDEX. Wit defined, i. 19. 34^2. seldom united with judgment, i. 19. but generally with memory, i. 19. not concordant with grandeur, i. 272. Wit, ch. 13. Wit in sounds, i. 358. Wit in architecture, ii. 431. Wonder instantaneous, i. 107. decays suddenly, i. 110. Wonders and prodigies find ready credit with the vulgar, i. 148. Wonder defined, i. 233. studied in Chinese gardens, ii. 403. Words, rules for coining words, i. 44. note. Play of words, i. 465. Jingle of words, i. 467. Words considered with respect to their sound, ii. 6. Words of different languages compared, ii. 9. What are their best ar- rangement in a period, ii. 13. A conjunction or disjunc- tion in the members of the thought ought to be imitated in the expression, ii. 21. 28. Words expressing things connected ought to be placed as near together as possi- ble, ii. 54. In what part of a sentence doth a word make the greatest figure, ii. 62. Words acquire a beauty from their meaning, ii. 75. 266. Some words make an impression resembling that of their meaning, ii. 77. The words ought to accord with the sentiment, i. 406. 449. 452. ii. 20. 304. A word is often redoubled to add force to the expression, i. 452. See Language. Writing, a subject intended for amusement may be highly ornamented, i. 304. A grand subject appears best in a plain dress, i. 305. Youth requires more variety of amusement than old age, i. 276. FINIS. Printed by Walker and Greig, Edinburgh.