Scs*i£l/ -Th^rv^ j-7crwt^ scs^K Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/phrhetOOcamp fiirn^, £ 'mtkj«^ Sect. II. Of Deductive Evidence, .... 69 Part I. Division of the subject into Scientific and Moral, with the principal distinctions between them, - ib. Part II. The nature and origin of Experience, 74 Part III. The subdivisions of Moral reasoning, 78 1. Experience, - ib. 2. Analogy, ------ 82 3. Testimony, - - 84 4. Calculations of Chances, 87 Part IV. The superiority of Scientific Evidence re-examined, - 89 CHAP. VI. Of the Nature and Use of the scholastic Art of syllogizing, 94 CHAP. VII. Of the Consideration which the Speaker ought to have of the Hearers as Men in general, - - - - 10T Sect. I. As endowed with Understanding, - - 108 Sect. II. As endowed with Imagination, - - 109 Sect. III. As endowed with Memory, - - - 111 Sect. IV. As endowed with Passions, - - - 114 Sect. V. The circumstances that are chiefly instrumental in operating on the Passions, - - - - 119 Part I. Probability, - . ... 120 Part II. Plausibility, - - - - - ib. Part III. Importance, - - - - 126 Part IV. Proximity of Time, » - » 127 * CONTENTS. Part V. Connection of Place, - - -Page 12$ Part VI. Relation to the persons concerned, - - ]29 Part VII. Interest in the consequences, ... 130 Sect. VI. Other passions, as well as moral sentiments, useful auxiliaries, 132 Sect- VII. How an unfavourable passion must be calmed, . I34 CHAP. VIII. Of the consideration which the Speaker ought to have of the Hearers, as such Men in particular, - - - 137 CHAP. IX. Of the consideration which the Speaker ought to have of himself, 138 CHAP. X. The different kinds of public speaking in use among the mo- derns, compared, with a view to their different advantages in respect ot eloquence, - - - - - . 142 Sect. I. In regard to the speaker, - - - I43 Sect. II. In regard to the persons addressed, - - 14.6 Sect. III. In regard to the subject, - - - 149 Sect. IV. In regard to the occasion, .... 152 Sect. V. In regard to the end in view, ... I53 CHAP. XI. Of the cause of that pleasure which we receive from objects or representations that excite pity and other painful feelings, 160 Sect. I. The different solutions hitherto given by philosophers, ex- amined, - - - - • 161 Part I. The first hypothesis, - - - - ib. Part II. The second hypothesis, - - - 163 Part III. The third hypothesis, - - - 167 Part IV. The fourth hypothesis, - - - 174 Sect. II, The Author's hypothesis on this subject, ... 181 BOOK II. the foundations a>:d essential protesties or elocution; CHAP. I. The Nature and Characters of the Use which gives Law to Language, - - - - 159 Sect. I. Reputable use, - - - - - 198 Sect. II. National use, * - - 203 Sect. III. Present use, ... - T 205 CHAP. II. The nature and use of verbal Criticism, with its principal Canons, ' - - - - - 211 Sect. I. Good use not always uniform in her decisions, - 213 Canon the first, - - * - 215 Canon the second, - - - - . 217 Canon the third, - - - - 220 Canon the fourth, - «• - - - ib. Canon the fifth, - - - 221 Sect. If. Every thing favoured by good use, not on that account worthy to be retained, - 222 Canon the sixth, - - - - - - 225 Canon the seventh, ------ 228 Canon the eighth, ------ 230 Canon the ninth, - - ib. CHAP. III. Of Grammatical Puritv, ... 234 Sect. I. The barbarism, '- 236 Part I. By the use of obsolete words, - - ib. Part II. By the use of new words, - - - 237 Part III. Bv the use of good words new modelled, - 241 Sect. II. The Solecism, .... «48 Sect. III. The Impropriety, • - - - 265? Part I. Impropriety in single words, - - - 268 Part II. Impropriety in Phrases, - - 277 'CHAP. IV. Seme grammatical doubts in regard to English Construction stated and examined, - - - - - 281 CONTENTS* xi CHAP. V. Of the qualities of Style strictly Rhetorical, - Page 296 CHAP. VI. Of Perspicuity, . ... - -297 Sect. I. The Obscure, - - - - - 298 Part I. From Defect, .--.-• ib. Part II. From bad Arrangement, - 301 Part III- From using the same word in different senses, - - 304 Part IV. From an uncertain reference in Pronouns and Relatives, 306 Part V. From too artificial a structure of the Sentence, - - 307 Part VI. From Technical Terms, - - - 308 Part VII. From long Sentences, - ib. Sect. II. TLe Double Meaning, ----- S16 Part I. Equivocation, - ------ ib. Part II. Ambiguity, - - - .310 Sect. III. The Unintelligible, ----- 332 Part I. From confusion of thought. • 3S:> Part II. From affectation of Excellence, - - - 335 Part III. From want of Meaning, - « 338 Under this the various kinds of Nonsense, 1. The Puerile, .-_--- 340 2. The Learned, . - - - 341 3. The Profound, - - - - -345 4. The Marvellous, - - - - 316 CHAP. VII. What is the Cause that Nonsense so often escapes being detect- ed, both by the Writer and by the Reader> - - 349 Sect. I. The nature and power of Signs, both in Speaking and in Think- ing, - - - - - ib. Sect. II. The application of the preceding Principles, - - 362 CHAP. VIII. The extensive usefulness of Perspicuity, - - 372 Sect. I. When its obscurity apposite, if ever it be apposite, and what kind ? ib Sect. II. Objections answered, ... - 379. £HAF. IX. May there not be an excess of Perspicuity ? 395 ROOK III. THE DISCRIMINATING PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION". CHAP. I. Of Vivacity as depending on the choice of Words, - 398 Sejct I. Proper Terms, - - 399 Sect. II. Rhetorical Tropes, - 409 Part I. Preliminary Observations concerning Tropes, - - ib. Part If. The different sorts of Tropes conducive to Vivacity, - 416 1. The less for the more general, - - 417 2. The most interesting circumstance distinguished, - - 418 3. Things Sensible from things Intelligible,^ . - 422 4. Things Animate for things Lifeless, - - 425 Part III. The use of those Tropes which are obstructive to Vivacity, 431 Sect. III. Words considered as Sounds, - - 440 Part I. What are Articulate Sounds capable of imitating, and in what degree ? - - - 447 Part II. In what esteem ought this kind of Imitation to be held, and when ought it to be attempted ? 457 CHAP. II. Of Vivacity as depending on the number of the Words, - 460 SecI". I. This Quality explained and exemplified, - - ib. Sect. II. The principal offences against Brevity considered, - 466 Part I. Tautology, - - - ib. Part II. Pleonasm, - - - 469 Part III. Verbosity, - - - 47*: CHAP. III. Of Vivacity as depending on the Arrangement of the Words, 4g5 Ssct. I. Of the Nature of Arrangement, and the principal-division of Sen- ttfvce.s - - - ih. xii CONTENTS. Sect. II. Simple Sentences, ... page 488 Sect. III. Complex Sentences, ... 505 Part I. Subdivision of these into Periods and Loose Sentences, - it>. Part II. Observations on Periods, and on the Use of Antithesis in the composition of Sentences, - - 520 Part III. Observations on Loose Sentences, - - 523 Part IV. Review of what has been deduced above in regard to Arrange- ment, - - - 525 CHAP. IV. Of the Connectives employed in combining the parts of a Sen- tence, - - - - 526 Sect* I. Of Conjunctions, ----- 527 Sect. II. Of other Connectives, — - - - 734 Sect. III. Modern Languages compared with Greek and Latin, particu- larly in regard to the composition of Sentences, - - 545 CHAP. V. Of the Connectives employed in combining the Sentences in a Discourse, - - - - - - 550 Sect. I. The necessity oi Connectives for this purpose, - ib. Sect. II. Observations on the manner of using the Connectives in combin- ing Sentences, - - - - - 552 INTRODUCTION. All art is founded in science, and the science is of little value which does not serve as a foundation to some be- neficial art. On the most sublime of all sciences, theo- logy and ethics, is built the most important of all arts, the art of living. The abstract mathematical sciences serve as a ground- work to the arts of the land-measurer and the accountant; and in conjunction with natural philosophy, including geography and astronomy, to those of the architect, the navigator, the dialist, and many others. Of what consequence anatomy is to surgery, and that part of physiology wThich teaches the laws of gravitation and of motion, is to the artificer, is a matter too obvious to need illustration. The general remark might, if necessary, be exemplified throughout the whole circle of arts, both useful and elegant. Valuable know- ledge, therefore, always leads to some practical skill, and is perfected in it. On the other hand, the practical skill loses much of its beauty and extensive utility, which does not originate in knowledge. There is by consequence a natural relation between the sciences and the arts, like that which subsists between the parent and the offspring. I acknowledge indeed that these are sometimes unna- turally separated ; and that by the mere influence of ex- ample on the one hand, and imitation on the other, some progress may be made in an art, without the knowledge of the principles from which it sprung. By the help of a few rules, which men are taught to use mechanically, a good practical arithmetician may be formed, who nei- ther knows the reasons on which the rules he works by were first established, nor ever thinks it of any moment to inquire into them. In like manner, we frequently meet with expert artisans, who are ignorant of the six mechanical powers, which, though in the exercise of their profession they daily employ, they do not under- stand the principles whereby, in any instance, the result of their application is ascertained. The propagation of 2 INTRODUCTION". the arts may therefore be compared more justly to that variety winch takes place in the vegetable kingdom, than to the uniformity winch obtains universally in the ani- mal world ; for, as to the anomalous race of zoophytes, I do not comprehend them in the number. It is not al- ways necessary that the plant spring from the seed, a slip from another plant will often answer the purpose. There is, however, a very considerable difference in the expectations that may justly be raised from the dif- ferent methods followed in the acquisition of the art. Improvements, unless in extraordinary instances of genius and sagacity, are not to be expected from those who have acquired all their dexterity from imitation and habit. One who has had an education no better than that of an ordinary mechanic, may prove an excellent manual o- perator ; but it is only in the well instructed mechani- cian, that you would expect to find a good machanist. The analogy to vegetation above suggested, holds here also. The offset is commonly no more than a mere copy of the parent plant. It is from the seed only you can expect, with the aid of proper culture, to produce new varieties, and even to make improvements on the species. " Expert men," says Lord Bacon, " can execute and ** judge of particulars, one by one ; but the general coun- " sels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best " from those that are learned." Indeed, in almost every art, even as used by mere practitioners, there are certain rules, as hath been al- ready hinted, which must carefully be followed, and which serve the artist instead of principles. An ac- quaintance with these is one step, and but one step to- wards science. Thus in the common books of arithme- tic, intended solely for practice, the rules laid down for the ordinary operations, as for numeration, or numerical notation, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and a few others, which are sufficient for all the purposes of the accountant, serve instead of principles ; and, to a superficial observer, may be thought to supersede the study of any thing further. But their utility reaches a very little way, compared with that which results from INTRODUCTION. 3 the knowledge of the foundations of the art, and of what has been, not unfitly, styled arithmetic universal. It may be justly said, that, without some portion of this knowledge, the practical rules had never been invented. Besides, if by these the particular questions which come exactly within the description of the rule may be solved ; by the other, such general rules themselves, as serve for the solution of endless particulars, may be discovered. The case I own is somewhat different with those arts which are entirely founded on experiment and observa- tion, and are not derived, like pure mathematics, from abstract and universal axioms. But even in these, when we rise from the individual to the species, from the spe- cies to the genus, and thence to the most extensive or- ders and classes, we arrive, though in a different way, at the knowledge of general truths, which, in a certain sense, are also scientific, and answer a similar purpose. Our acquaintance with nature and its laws is so much ex- tended, that we shall be enabled, in numberless cases, not only to apply to the most profitable purposes the know- ledge we have thus acquired, but to determine before- hand, with sufficient certainty, the success of every new application. In this progress we are like people, who, from a low and narrow bottom, where the view is con- fined to a few acres, gradually ascend a lofty peak or promontory. The prospect is perpetually enlarging as we mount, and when we reach the summit, the bound- less horizen, comprehending all the variety of sea and land, hill and valley, town and country, arable and desert, lies under the eye at once. Those who in medicine have scarcely risen to the dis- cernment of any general principles, and have no other directory but the experiences gained in the first and lowTest stage, or as it were at the foot of the mountain, are commonly distinguished by the name of empirics. Something similar may be said to obtain in the other li- beral arts ; for in all of them more enlargement of mind is necessary, than is required for the exercise of those called mechanical. The character directly opposite to the empiric is the visionary ; for it is not in theology -1 INTEODUCTIOX. only onaries. O: the two extreme* I ack: ge that the latter is the The first founds upon but the ad e few, I commc in his reasoning, through his imperfect knowledge of the subject, mi supplied. The second often argues very con- sequentially from prin which, having no founda- tion in nature, may justly be denominated the illegi te issue of his own imagination. Pie in I «m- - the man of sci< hat he acts systematically, for there are false as well as true I is influenced by certain general propositions, real or imaginary. But the difference lies here, that in the one they are real, in the other i -y. The system of the one is reared on the firm basi- of experience, the theory of the other is no better castle in the air. I mention charac- ters only in the extreme, because in this manner thcy are best discriminated. In real life, however, any two of these, sometimes all the three, in various proportions, may be found blended in the same person. The arts are frequently divided into the useful, and the polite, fine or elegant : for these words are, in this application, used synonimously. This division is not coincident with that into the mechanical and the liberal. Physic, navigation, and the art of war, though properly liberal arts, fall entirely under the denomination of the useful : whereas painting and -euipture, though requir- J of manual labour, and in that respect more nearly related to the mechanical, belong to the class dene at. The first division arises purely from the consideration of the end to be attained : the se- cond from the consideration of the means to be employ- ed. In respect of the end3 an art is either useful or ele- gant ; in respect ot the means, it is either mechanical or foundation of the former distribution^ is. that . manifestly -1 for profit or use : whilst others, en the contrary, seem to terminate in | . The one a real . . some mental taste. Yet in stncra:es. u [here is cfie:. ...-. and the arta ant are INTRODUCTION D by no means destitute of use. The principal difference is, that use is the direct and avowed purpose of the former, whereas it is more latently and indirectly affect- ed by the latter. Under this class are commonly includ- ed, not only the arts of the painter and the statuary, but those also of the musician and the poet. Eloquence and architecture, by which last term is always understood more than building merely for accommodation, are to be considered of a mixed nature, wherein utility and beauty have almost equal influence. The elegant arts, as well as the useful, are founded in experience, but from the difference of their nature, there arises a considerable difference both in their origin and in their growth. Necessity, the mother of invention, drives men, in the earliest state of society, to the study and cultivation of the useful arts ; it is always leisure and abundance which lead them to seek gratifications no way conducive to the preservation either of the individual or of the species. The elegant arts, therefore, are doubt- less to be considered as the younger sisters. The pro- gress of the former towards perfection is, however, much slower than that of the latter. Indeed, with regard to the first, it is impossible to say, as to several arts, what is the perfection of the art ; since we are incapable of conceiving how far the united discernment and indus- try of men, properly applied, may yet carry them. For some centuries backwards, the men of every age have made great and unexpected improvements on the la- bours of their predecessors. And it is very probable that the subsequent age will produce discoveries and acquisitions, which we of this age are as little capable of foreseeing, as those who preceded us in the last century were capable of conjecturing the progress that would be made in the present. The case is not entirely similar in the fine arts. These, though later in their appearing, are more rapid in their advancement. There may, indeed, be in these a degree of perfection beyond what we have experienced ; but we have some conception of the very utmost to which it can proceed. For instance, where resemblance is the object, as in a picture or statue, a per- 0 INTRODUCTION. feet conformity to its archetype is a thing at least con- ceivable. In like manner, the utmost pleasure of which the imagination is susceptible, by a poetical narrative or exhibition, is a thing, in my judgment, not inconceivable. We Britons, for example, do, by immense degrees, excel the ancient Greeks in the arts of navigation and ship- building ; and how much farther we may still excel them in these, by means of discoveries and improvements yet to be made, it would be the greatest presumption in any man to say. But as it requires not a prophetic spirit to discover, it implies no presumption to affirm, that we shall never excel them so far in poetry and eloquence, if ever in these respects we come to equal them. The same thing might probably be affirmed in regard to painting, sculpture and music, if we had here as ample a fund of materials for forming a comparison. But let it be observed, that the remarks now made, regard only the advancement of the arts themselves ; for though the useful are of slower growth than the other, and their utmost perfection cannot always be so easily ascertained, yet the acquisition of any one of them by a learner, in the perfection which it has reached at the time, is a much easier matter than the acquisition of any of the elegant arts ;— besides, that the latter require much more of a certain happy combination in the original frame of spirit, commonly called genius, than is necessary in the other. Let it be observed further, that as the gratification of taste is the immediate object of the fine arts, their effect is in a manner instantaneous, and the quality of any new production in these is immediately judged by every body ; for all have in them some rudiments of taste, though in some they are improved by a good, in others corrupted by a bad education, and in others almost sup- pressed by a total want of education. In the useful arts, on the contrary, as more time and experience are requisite for discovering the means by which our accommodation is effected, so it generally requires examination, time, and trial, that we may be satisfied of the fitness of the work for the end proposed. In these we are not near so apt mtRODUCTIOK. f to consider ourselves as judges, unless we be cither artists, or accustomed to employ and examine the work of artists in that particular profession. I mentioned some arts that have their fundamental principles in the abstract sciences of geometry and arith- metic, and some in the doctrine of gravitation and mo- tion. There are others, as the medical and chirurgical arts, which require a still broader foundation of science in anatomy, the animal economy, natural history, dis- eases, and remedies. — Those arts, which, like poetry, are purely to be ranked among the elegant, as their end is attained by an accommodation to some internal taste, so the springs by which alone they can be regulated, must be sought for in the nature of the human mind, and more especially in the principles of imagination. It is also in the human mind that we must investigate the source of some of the useful arts. Logic, whose end is the discovery of truth, is founded in the doctrine of the understand- ing ; and ethics (under which may be comprehended economics, politics, and jurisprudence) are founded in that of the will. This was the idea of Lord Verulam*, perhaps the most comprehensive genius in philosophy that has ap- peared in modern times. But these are not the only arts which have their foundation in the science of human nature. Grammar too, in its general principles, has a close connection with the understanding, and the theory of the association of ideas. But there is no art whatever that hath so close a con- nection with all the faculties and powers of the mind, as eloquence, or the art of speaking, in the extensive sense in which I employ the term. For, in the first place, that it ought to be ranked among the polite or fine arts, is manifest from this, that in all its exertions, • Doctrina circa intellectum, atque ilia altera circa voluntatem hominis, in nata- libus suis tanquam gemellse sunt. Etenim illuminationis puritas et arbitrii liber- tas simul inceperunt, simul corruerunt. Neque datur in universitate rerum tara intima sympathia quam ilia Vert et Boni. — Venimus jam ad doctrinam circa usum et objecta facultatum anima? humanse. Ilia duas habet partes easque no- tissimas, et consensu receptas : Logicam et Ethicam,— — Logica de intellectu et ratione: Ethica de voluntate, appetitu, et affectibus disserit* Altera decreta, altera actiones progignit. De Aug. $ci. 1« r. c 1. 8 INTRODUCTION. with little or no exception, (as will appear afterwards), it requires the aid of the imagination. Thereby it not only pleases, but by pleasing commands attention, rouses the passions, and often at last subdues the most stub- born resolution. It is aho a useful art. This is cer- tainly the case, if the power of speech be a useful facul- ty, as it professedly teaches us how to employ that fa- culty with the greatest probability of success. Further, if the logical art, and the ethical, be useful, eloquence is useful, as it instructs us how these arts must be applied for the conviction and the persuasion of others. It is indeed the grand art of communication, not of ideas only, but of sentiments, passions, dispositions, and pur- poses. Nay, without this, the greatest talents, even wis- dom itself, lose much of their lustre, and still more of their usefulness. The wise in heart, saith Solomon, shall be called prudent, but the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning.* By the former a man's own conduct may be well regulated, but the latter is absolutely necessary for diffusing valuable knowledge, and enforcing right rules of action upon others. Poetry indeed is properly no other than a particular mode or form of certain branches of oratory. But of this more afterwards. Suffice it only to remark at pre- sent, that the direct end of the former, whether to de- light the fancy as in epic, or to move the passions as in tragedy, is avowedly in part the aim, and sometimes the immediate and proposed aim, of the orator. The same medium, language, is made use of; the same general rules of composition, in narration, description, argumen- tation, are observed ; and the same tropes and figures, either for beautifying or for invigorating the diction, are employed by both. In regard to versification, it is more to be considered as an appendage, than as a constituent of poetry. In this lies what may be called the more mechanical part of the poet's work, being at most but a sort of garnishing, and by far too unessential to give a designation to the kind. This particularity in form. ■ r -.v. xv i. '21. INTRODUCTION. *) to adopt an expression of the naturalists, constitutes only a variety, and not a different species. Now, though a considerable proficiency in the prac- tice of the oratorical art may be easily and almost na- turally attained, by one in whom clearness of apprehen- sion is happily united with sensibility of taste, fertility of imagination, and a certain readiness in language, a more thorough investigation of the latent energies, if I may thus express myself, whereby the instruments em- ployed by eloquence produce their effect upon the hear- ers, will serve considerably both to improve the taste, and to enrich the fancy. By the former effect we learn to amend and avoid faults in composing and speak- ing, against which the best natural, but uncultivated parts, give no security ; and by the latter, the proper mediums are suggested, whereby the necessary aids of topics, arguments, illustrations, and motives, may be procured. Besides, this study, properly conducted, leads directly to an acquaintance with ourselves ; it not only traces the operations of the intellect and imagination, but discloses the lurking springs of action in the heart. In this view it is perhaps the surest and the shortest, as well as the pleasantest way of arriving at the science of the human mind. It is as an humble attempt to lead the mind of the studious inquirer into this track, that the following sheets are now submitted to the examina- tion of the public. When we consider the manner in which the rhetori- cal art hath arisen, and been treated in the schools, we must be sensible, that in this, as in the imitative arts, the first handle has been given to criticism by actual performances in the art. The principles of our nature will, without the aid of any previous and formal in- struction, sufficiently account for the first attempts. As speakers existed before grammarians, and reasoners be- fore logicians ; so doubtless there were orators before there were rhetoricians, and poets before critics. The ffrst impulse towards the attainment of every art is from nature. The earliest assistance and direction that can 10 INTRODUCTION. be obtained in the rhetorical art, by which men operate on the minds of others, arises from the consciousness a man has of what operates on his own mind, aided by the sympathetic feelings, and by that practical experience of mankind, which individuals, even in the rudest state of society, are capable of acquiring. The next step is to observe and discriminate, by proper appellations, the different attempts, whether modes of arguing, or forms of speech, that have been employed for the purposes of explaining, convincing, pleasing, moving, and persuad- ing. Here we have tiie beginnings of the critical science. The third step is to compare, with diligence, the various effects, favourable or unfavourable, of those attempts, carefully taking into consideration every attendant cir- cumstance, by which the success appears to have been influenced, and by which one may be enabled to dis- cover to what particular purpose each attempt is adap- ted, and in what circumstances only to be used. The fourth and last is to canvass those principles in our na- ture, to which the various attempts are adapted, and by which, in any instance, their success, or want of success, may be accounted for. By the first step the critic is supplied with materials. By the second, the materials are distributed and classed, the forms of argument, the tropes and figures of speech, with their divisions and subdivisions, are explained. By the third, the rules of composition are discovered, or the method of combining and disposing the several materials, so as that they may be perfectly adapted to the end in view. By the fourth, we arrive at that knowledge of human nature, which, besides its other advantages, adds both weight and evi- dence to all precedent discoveries and rules. The second of the steps above mentioned, which, by the way, is the first of the rhetorical art, for all that pre- cedes is properly supplied by Nature, appeared to the author of Hudibras, the utmost pitch that had even to his time been attained : For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools, f + Parti, canto I, INTRODUCTION. 11 In this, however, the matter has been exaggerated by the satirist. Considerable progress had been made by the ancient Greeks and Romans, in devising the proper rules of composition, not only in the two sorts of poesy, epic, and dramatic, but also in the three sorts of ora- tions which were in most frequent use among them, the deliberative, the judiciary, and the demonstrative. And I must acknowledge, that, as far as I have been able to discover, there has been little or no improvement in this respect made by the moderns. The observations and rules transmitted to us from these distinguished names in the learned world, Aristotle,* Cicero, and Quintilian, have been for the most part only translated by later critics, or put into a modish dress and new arrangement. And as to the last and fourth step, it may be said to bring us into a new country, of which though there have been some successful incursions occasionally made upon its frontiers, we are not yet in full possession. The performance which, of all those I happen to be acquainted with, seems to have advanced farthest in this way, is the Elements of Criticism. But the subject of the learned and ingenious author of that work, is rather too multifarious to admit so narrow a scrutiny as would be necessary for a perfect knowledge of the several parts. Every thing that is an object of taste, sculpture, painting, music, architecture, and gardening, as well as poetry and eloquence, come within his plan. On the other hand, though his subject be more multiform, it is, in respect of its connexion with the mind, less extensive than that here proposed. All those particular arts are examined only on that side, wrherein there is found a pretty con- siderable coincidence with one another ; namely, as ob- jects of taste, which, by exciting sentiments of grandeur, beauty, novelty, and the like, are calculated to delight the imagination. In this view, eloquence comes no far- ther under consideration, than as a fine art, and adapted, like the others above mentioned, to please the fancy, and to move the passions. But to treat it also as an useful art, and closely connected with the understanding and the will, would have led to a discussion foreign to his pur- pose. M It INTRODUCTION. I am aware, that, from the deduction given above, it may be urged, that the fact as here represented, seems to subvert the principle formerly laid down, and that as practice in the art has given the first scope for criticism, the former cannot justly be considered as deriving light and direction from the latter ; that, on the contrary, the latter ought to be regarded as merely affording a sort of intellectual entertainment to speculative men. It may be said, that this science, however entertaining, as it must derive all its light and information from the actual ex- amples in the art, can never in return be subservient to the art, from which alone it has received whatever it has to bestow. This objection, however specious, will not bear a near examination. For let it be observed, that though in all the arts the first rough drafts, or imperfect attempts, that are made, precede every thing that can be termed criticism, they do not precede every thing that can be termed knowledge, which every human creature that is not an idiot, is every day, from his birth, acquir- ing, by experience and observation. This knowledge must of necessity precede even those rudest and earliest essays ; and if in the imperfect and indigested state in which knowledge must always be found in the mind that is rather self-taught than totally untaught, it deserves not to be dignified with the title of Science, neither does the first awkward attempt in practice merit to be honoured with the name of Art. As is the one, such is the other. It is enough for my purpose, that something must be known, before any thing in this way, with a view to an end, can be undertaken to be done. At the same time it is acknowledged, that as man is much more an active than a contemplative being, and as generally there is some view to action, especially in uncultivated minds, in all their observations and inquiries, it cannot be doubted that, in composition, the first at- tempts would be in the art, and that afterwards, from the comparison of different attempts with one another, and the consideration of the success with which they had been se- verally attended, would arise gradually the rules of cri- ticism. Nor can it, on the other hand, be pleaded with INTRODUCTION. 13 any appearance of truth, that observations derived from the productions of an art, can be of no service for the improvement of that art, and consequently of no benefit to future artists. On the contrary, it is thus that every art, liberal or mechanical, elegant or useful, except those founded in pure mathematics, advances towards perfec- tion. From observing similar but different attempts and experiments, and from comparing their effects, general remarks are made, which serve as so many rules for di- recting future practice ; and from comparing such ge- neral remarks together, others still more general are reduced. A few individual instances serve as a founda- tion to those observations, which, when once sufficiently established, extend their influence to instances innumer- able. It is in this w7ay that, on experiments compara- tively few, all the physiological sciences have been rear- ed ; it is in this way that those comprehensive truths were first discovered, which have had such an unli- mited influence on the most important arts, and given man so vast a dominion over the elements, and even the most refractory powers of nature. It is evident, therefore, that the artist and the critic are reciprocally subservient, and the particular province of each is greatly improved by the assistance of each other. But it is not necessary here to enter farther into this subject ; what I shall have occasion afterwards to ad- vance on the acquisition of experience, and the manner of using it, will be a sufficient illustration. THE PHILOSOPHY or RHETORIC BOOK I. THE NATURE AND FOUNDATIONS OF ELOQUENCE. CHAP. I. Eloquence in the largest acceptation defined, its more general forms exhibited, with their different objects, ends, and characters. TN speaking there is always some end proposed, or some effect which the speaker intends to produce in the hearer. The word eloquence in its greatest latitude de- notes, ■ That art or talent by which the discourse is * adapted to its end.'f All the ends of speaking are reducible to four ; every speech being intended to enlighten the understanding, to please the imagination, to move the passions, or to influence the will. •f •' Dicere secundum' virtutera orationis. Scientia bene dicendL" Quintilian. The word eloquence* in common conversation, is seldom used in such a compre- hensive sense. I have, however, made choice of this definition on a double ac- count : 1st, It exactly corresponds to Tully'sidea of a perfect orator ; '* Optimus *' est orator qui dicendo animos audientium et docet, et delectat, et permovet.'* 2dly, It is best adapted to the subject of these papers. See the note on page 2^ \6 THE PHILOSOPHY. Any one discourse admits only one of these ends &g the principal. Nevertheless, in discoursing on a subject, many things may be introduced, which are more imme- diately and apparently directed to some of the other ends of speaking, and not to that which is the chief in- tent of the whole. But then these other and immediate ends are in effect but means, and must be rendered con- ducive to that which is the primary intention. Accord- ingly, the propriety or the impropriety of the introduc- tion of such secondary ends, will always be inferred from their subserviency or want of subserviency to that end, which is, in respect of them, the ultimate. For example, a discourse addressed to the understanding, and calcula- ted to illustrate or evince some point purely speculative, may borrow aid from the imagination, and admit meta- phor and comparison, but not the bolder and more strik-> ing figures, as that called vision or fiction*, prosopopoeia, and the like, which are not so much intended to eluci- date a subject, as to excite admiration. Still less will it admit an address to the passions, which, as it never fails to disturb the operation of the intellectual faculty, must be regarded by every intelligent hearer as foreign at least, if not insidious. It is obvious, that either of these, far from being subservient to the main design, would distract the attention from it. There is indeed one kind of address to the understand- ing, and only one, which, it may not be improper to ob- serve, disdains all assistance whatever from the fancy. The address I mean, is mathematical demonstration. As this doth not, like moral reasoning, admit degrees of evidence, its perfection, in point of eloquence, if so un- common an application of the term may be allowed, consists in perspicuity. Perspicuity here results entire- ly from propriety and simplicity of diction, and from accuracy of method, where the mind is regularly, step by step, conducted forwards in the same track, the at- tention no way diverted, nothing left to be supplied, no • By vision or fiction is understood, that rhetorical figure of which Quintiliam says, •« Quas is] ,.r and conduct, as have neither moment e- • . nor incongrui: to excite contempt. In this case, humour not : emg addressed to Marion, but :o fancy, must be considered as a kir. . painting, an :rom wit only in these tv. 6 things ; first, id that, sti ject of the former, whereas all things whatever fall in the pro>. : latter; secondly, humour paints more simply by di- it more .. g ay. Of this kind of ... graphical, Addison hath given us numberless examples in many • .^th so finely drawn, and little incidents he hath so pleas- antly related in his falters a::d Spectators. I might remark of the word humour, he term, wll, that we scarcely find in other languages a word exactly '"• • Latin JknBm seems to doom the nearest. Thus Cicero, " Hii . ma aspergentmr etiam sales, qui in dicendo mirum quantum tun dicacitatis : utetui " utroque. rando aliquid ver.uste, altero in jaciendo mittendoque M ridicule : cujus gen int." Orator. 48. Here one would think, that the philosopher mast have had in his eye the different provinces of wit and hu- le former dicacltas, and the latter jcic-'t'w. Jt is fewer, both by him and other Latin authors, these two words are often confounded. Then indeed, to he more vuifonmty in 1 oi the se- cond tain, thai intl .... *.;or. of the first Chap. II. OF rhetoric. 35 carefully to be noted, that every address, even every per- tinent address to contempt, is not humorous. This pas- sion is not less capable of being excited, by the severe and tragic, than by the merry and comic manner. The subject of humour is always character, but not every thing in character ; its foibles generally, such as ca- prices, little extravagancies, weak anxieties, jealousies, childish fondness, pertness, vanity, and self-conceit* One finds the greatest scope for exercising this talent in telling familiar stories, or in acting any whimsical part in an assumed character. Such an one, we say, has the talent of humouring a tale, or any queer manner which he chooseth to exhibit. Thus we speak of the passions in tragedy, but of the humours in comedy ; and even to express passion as appearing in the more trivial occur- rences of life, we commonly use this term, as when we talk of good humour, ill humour, peevish or pleasant humour ; hence it is that a capricious temper we call humoursome, the person possessed of it a humorist, and such facts or events as afford subject for the humours, we denominate comical. Indeed, comedy is the proper province of humour. Wit is called in solely as an auxiliary humour predomi- nates. The comic poet bears' the same analogy to the author of the mock-heroic, that the tragic poet bears to the author of the epic. The epos recites, and advancing with a step majestic and sedate, engageth all the nobler powers of imagination, a sense of grandeur, of beauty, and of order; tragedy personates, and thus employing a more rapid and animated diction, seizeth directly upon the heart. The little epic, a narrative intended for a- musement, and addressed to all the lighter powers of fancy, delights in the excursions of wit : the production of the comic muse being a representation, is circumscribed by narrower bounds, and is all life and activity throughout. Thus Buckingham says with the greatest justness of co- medy, Humour is all. Wit should be only brought To turn agreeably some proper thought*. * Essay on Poetry. S6 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L The pathetic and the facetious (lifter not only in sub- ject and effect, as will appear upon the most superficial review oi what hath been said, but also in the manner of imitation. In this the man of humour descends to a mi- nuteneas which the orator disdains. The former will often successfully run into downright mimicry, and exhibit peculiarities iu voice, gesture, and pronunciation, which in the ottier would be intolerable. The reason of the dif- ference is this : That we may divert, by exciting scorn and contempt, the individual must be exposed ; tiiat we may move, by interesting the more generous principles of humanity, the language and sentiments, not so much of the individual, as of human nature, must be display- ed. So very different, or rather opposite, are these two in this respect, that there could not be a more effectual expedient for undoing the charm of the most affecting representation, than an attempt in the speaker to mimic the personal singularities of the man for whom he desires to interest us. On the other hand, in the humorous, where the end is diversion, even overacting, if moderate, is not improper. It was observed already, that, though contempt be the only passion addressed by humour, yetf this passion may with propriety and success be assailed by the severer eloquence, where there is not the smallest tincture of hu- mour. This it will not be beside our purpose to specify, in order the more effectually to show the difference. — Lord Bclingbroke, speaking of the state of these king- doms from the time of the Restoration, has these words : efore I proceed to another topic, it will perhaps be , thought proper to inquire how far the theory, now laid down and explained, coincides with the doctrines on this article to be found in the writing of philosophers and critics. Not that I think such inquiries and discus- sions always necessary ; on the contrary, I imagine they often tend but to embarrass the reader, by distracting his attention to a multiplicity of objects, and so to darken and perplex a plain question. This is particularly the ease on these points on which there hath been a variety Chap. III. OF RHETORIC 4£ of jarring sentiments. The simplest way and the most perspicuous, and generally that which best promotes the discovery of truth, is to give as distinct and methodical a delineation as possible of one's own ideas, together with the grounds on which they are founded, and to leave it to the doubtful reader (who thinks it worth the trouble) to compare the theory with the systems of other writers, and then to judge for himself. I am not, however, so tenacious of this method, as not to allow, that it may sometimes, with advantage, be departed from. This holds especially when the sentiments of an author are opposed by inveterate prejudices in the reader, arising from contrary opinions early imbibed, or from an ex- cessive deference to venerable names and ancient autho* rities. Section I. — Aristotle4 }s account of the Ridiculous explained. Some, on a superficial view, may imagine, that the doctrine above expounded is opposed by no less autho- rity than that of Aristotle. If it were, 1 should not think that equivalent to a demonstration of its falsity. But let us hear; Aristotle hath observed, that " the ridicu- " lous implies something deformed, and consists in those " smaller faults, which are neither painful nor pernicious, " but unbeseeming : thus a face excites laughter wherein " there is deformity and distortion without pain." For my part, nothing can appear more coincident than this, as far as it goes, with the principles which I have en- deavoured to establish. The Stagy rite here speaks of ridicule, not of laughter in general, and not of every sort of ridicule, but solely of the ridiculous in manners, of which he hath in few words given a very apposite de- scription. To take notice of any other laughable object, would have been foreign to his purpose. Laughter is riot his theme, but comedy, and laughter only so far as comedy is concerned with it. Now the concern of co- medy reaches no farther than that kind of ridicule which, as I said, relates to manners. The very words with which 50 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. the above quotation is introduced, evince the truth of this. " Comedy," says he, " is, as we remarked, animi- " tation of things that are amiss ; yet it does not level at " every vice*." He had remarked in the preceding chapter, that its means of correction are " not reproach, " but ridicule.f ' Nor does the clause in the end of the sentence, concerning a countenance which raises laugh- ter, in the least invalidate which I have now affirmed; for it is plain, that this is suggested in the way of simi- litude, to illustrate what he had advanced, and not as a- particular instance of the position he had laid down. For we can never suppose thathe would have called dis- torted features " a certain fault or slip J," and still less that he would have specified this, as what might be cor- rected by the art of the comedian. As an instance, therefore, it would have confuted his definition, and hhewn that his account of the object of laughter must be erroneous, since this emotion may be excited, as appears from the example produced by himself, where there is nothing faulty or vicious in any kind or degree. As an illustration it was extremely pertinent. It shewed that the ridiculous in manners (which was all that his defini- tion regarded) was, as far as the different nature of the things would permit, analogous to the laughable in other subjects, and that it supposed an incongruous combina- tion, where there is nothing either calamitous or de- structive. But that in other objects unconnected with either character or conduct, with either the body or the soul, there might not be images or exhibitions presented to the mind, which would naturally provoke laughter, the philosopher hath nowhere, as far as I know, so much as insinuated. Section II. — Hobbetfs account of laughter examined. From the founder of the peripatetic school, let us de- * The whole passage runs thus, *H h nu^uhiu. t?iv, urzjt^ urofiiv, fiifiwnf, pamtw uvtu o^uvrit. Poet. 5. •f Ov ipoyo* «;.*» to yt\nov ^*|««r# ? octlt % dM&A ^ Tec ^olhrta T»} oc, eog ctTrXaig unity. — it $ ort ftiyc&Xoc. fiXa^iM uv o x^apivoq ecaix.cog tyi rotavrn ovvufx-u ruv Xoyuv, tuto n koivov lv tuv ocyctSav, tXw cc^iTts, *$ (*xXi. iii. Sk. 1. Appendix, c. iLsect. 2. -J- In the judiciary orations of the ancients, this was the principal scope for argument- That to condemn the guilty, and to acquit the innocent, will gratify I their indignation against the injurious, and their love of right was too manifest; to require a proof. The fact, that there was guilt in the prisoner, or that there was innocence, did require it. It was otherwise in. deliberative orations, as the \ conduct recommended was more remotely connected with the emotions raised. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 121 void the manifest ambiguity there is in this application of the word, it had been better to retain the word verisi- militude, now almost obsolete. That there is a relation between those two qualities must, notwithstanding, be admitted. This, however, is an additional reason for as- signing them different names. An homonymous term, whose differing significations have no affinity to one an- other, is very seldom liable to be misunderstood. But as to the nature and extent of this relation, let it be observed, that the want of plausibility implies an in- ternal improbability, which it will require the stronger external evidence to surmount. Nevertheless, the 1m- plausibility may be surmounted by such evidence, and we may be fully ascertained of what is in itself exceed- ingly implausible. Implausibility is, in a certain degree, positive evidence against a narrative ; whereas plausibi- lity implies no positive evidence for it. We know that fiction may be as plausible as truth. A narration may be possessed of this quality in the highest degree, which we not only regard as improbable, but know to be false. Probability is a light darted on the object, from the proofs, which for this reason are pertinently enough styled evidence. Plausibility is a native lustre issuing directly from the object. The former is the aim of the historian, the latter of the poet. That every one may be satisfied, that the second is generally not inferior to the first, in its influence on the mind, we need but ap- peal to the effects of tragedy, of epic, and even of ro- mance, w7hich, in its principal characters, participates of the nature of poesy, though written in prose. It deserves, however, to be remarked, that though plausibility alone hath often greater efficacy in rousing the passions, than probability, or even certainty ; yet, in any species of composition wherein truth, or at least pro- bability is expected, the mind quickly nauseates the most plausible tale, which is unsupported by proper argu- ments. For this reason it is the business of the orator, as much as his subject will permit, to avail himself of both qualities. There is one case, and but one, in which 122 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. plausibility itself may be dispensed with ; that is, when the fact is so incontestable, that it is impossible to enter- tain a doubt of it ; for when implausibility is incapable of impairing belief, it hath sometimes, especially in fo- rensic causes, even a good effect. By presenting us with something monstrous in its kind, it raiseth astonishment, and thereby heightens every passion which the narrative is fitted to excite. But to return to the explication of this quality. When I explained the nature of experience, I showed, that it consisteth of all the general truths collected from parti- cular facts remembered ; the mind forming to itself often insensibly, and as it were mechanically, certain maxims, from comparing, or rather associating the similar cir- cumstances of different incidents*. Hence it is, that when a number of ideas relating to any fact or event, are successively introduced into my mind by a speaker ; if the train he deduceth, coincide with the general cur- rent of my experience ; if in nothing it thwart those conclusions and anticipations which are become. habitual to me, my mind accompanies him with facility, glides along from one idea to another, and admits the whole with pleasure. If, on the contrary, the train he intro- duceth, run counter to the current of my experience ; if in many things it shock those conclusions and antici- pations which are become habitual to me, my mind at- tends him with difficulty, suffers a sort of violence in passing from one idea to another, and rejects the whole with disdain : For while upon such monstrous scenes we gaze, They shock our faith, our indignation raise.*}* Francis; In the former case I pronounce the narrative natural and credible, in the latter I say it is unnatural and in- credible, if not impossible ; and, which is particularly expressive of the different appearances in respect of con- * Chap. V. Sect. ii. Part 2. f Quodcunquc ostemiis mini sic, incredulus odi. Hor. De Arte Poet. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC 123 nexion made by the ideas in my mind, the one tale I call coherent, the other incoherent. When therefore the orator can obtain no direct aid from the memory of his hearers, which is rarely to be obtained, he must, for the sake of brightening, and strengthening, and if I may be permitted to use so bold a metaphor, cementing his ideas, bespeak the assistance of experience, This, if pro- perly employed, will prove a potent ally, by adding the grace of verisimilitude to the whole. It is therefore first of all requisite, that the circumstances of the narration, and the order in which they are exhibited, be what is commonly called natural, that is, congruous to general experience. Where passion is the end, it is not a sufficient reason for introducing any circumstance that it is natural, it must also be pertinent. It is pertinent, when either ne- cessary for giving a distinct and consistent apprehension of the object, at least for obviating some objection that may be started, or doubt that may be entertained con- cerning it ; or when such as in its particular tendency promotes the general aim. All circumstances, however plausible, which serve merely for deeoration, never fail to divert the attention, and so become prejudicial to the proposed influence on passion. But I am aware, that from the explication I have given of this quality, it will be said, that I have run in- to the error, if it be an error, which I intended to avoid, and have confounded it with probability, by deriving it solely from the same origin, experience. In answer to this, let it be observed, that in every plausible tale, which is unsupported by external evidence, there will be found throughout the whole, when duly canvassed, a mixture of possibilities and probabilities, and that not in such a manner as to make one part or incident probable, ano- ther barely possible, but so blended as equally to affect the whole, and every member. Take the Iliad for an example. That a haughty, choleric, and vindictive he- ro, such as Achilles is represented to have been, should, upon the public affront and injury he received from Agamemnon, treat that general with indignity, and- 124 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. form a resolution of withdrawing his troops, remaining thenceforth an unconcerned spectator of the calamities of his countrymen, our experience of the baleful influ- ences of pride and anger, renders in some degree proba- ble ; again, that one of such a character as Agamem- non, rapacious, jealous of his pre-eminence as comman- der in chief, who envied the superior merit of Achilles, and harboured resentment against him ; that such a one, I say, on such an occurrence as is related by the poet, should have given the provocation, will be acknowledged also to have some probability. But that there were such personages, of such characters, in such circumstances, is merely possible. Experience is silent. Properly indeed the case comes not within the verge of its jurisdiction. Its general conclusions may serve in confutation, but can never serve in proof of particular or historical facts, Sufficient testimony, and that only, will answer here. The testimony of the poet in this case goes for nothing. His object we know is not truth but likelihood. Ex- perience, however, advances nothing against those alle- gations of the poet, therefore, we call them possible ; it can say nothing for them, therefore we do not call them probable. The whole at most amounts to this, if such causes existed, such effects probably followed. But we have no evidence of the existence of the causes ; there- fore we have no evidence of the existence of the effects. Consequently, all the probability implied in this quality, is a hypothetical probability, which is in effect none at all. It is an axiom among dialecticians, in relation to the syllogistic art, that the conclusion always follows the weaker of the premises. To apply this to the present purpose, an application not illicit, though unusual ; if one of the premises, suppose the major, contain an af- firmation, that is barely possible, the minor one that is probable, possibility only can be deduced in the conclu- sion. These two qualities, therefore, Probability and Plau- | sibility, (if I may be indulged a little in the allegoric I style) I shall call Sister-graces, daughters of the same \ father Experience, who is the progeny of Memory, the \ Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC, 125 first-born and heir of Sense. These daughters Expe- rience had by different mothers. The elder is the off- spring of Reason, the younger is the child of Fancy. The elder regular in her features, and majestic both in shape and mien, is admirably fitted for commanding esteem, and even a religious veneration : the younger careless, blooming, sprightly, is entirely formed for cap- tivating the heart, and engaging love. The conversation of each is entertaining and instructive, but in different ways. Sages seem to think that there is more instruc- tion to be gotten from the just observations of the elder; almost all are agreed that there is more entertainment in the litely sailies of the younger. The principal com- panion and favourite of the first is Truth, but whether Truth or Fiction share most in the favour of the second, it were often difficult to say. Both are naturally well- disposed, and even friendly to Virtue, but the elder is by much the more steady of the two ; the younger, though perhaps not less capable of doing good, is more 'easily- corrupted, and hath sometimes basely turned procuress to Vice. Though rivals, they have a sisterly affection to each other, and love to be together. The elder, sensible that there are but few who can for any time relish her society alone, is generally anxious that her sister be of the party ; the younger, conscious of her own superior talents in this respect, can more easily dispense with the other's company. Nevertheless, when she is discoursing on great and serious subjects, in order to add weight to her words, she often quotes her sister's testimony, which she knows is better credited than her own, a compliment that is but sparingly returned by the elder. Each sister hath admirers. Those of the younger are more numer- ous, those of the elder more constant. In the retinue of the former you will find the gay, the dissipated ; but these are not her only attendants. The middle-aged, however, and the thoughtful, more commonly attach themselves to the latter. To conclude ; as something may be learned of characters from the invectives of ene- mies, as well as from the encomiums of friends, those who have not judgment to discern the good qualities of 12fr THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. the first-born, accuse her of dulncss, pedantry, and stiff- ness ; those who have not taste to relish the charms of the second, charge her with folly, levity, and falseness. Meantime, it appears to be the universal opinion of the impartial, and such as have been best acquainted with both, that though the attractives of the younger be more irresistible at sight, the virtues of the elder will be long- er remembered. So much for the two qualities probability and plausi- bility, on which I have expatiated the more, as they are the principal, and in some respect, indispensable. The others are not compatible with every subject ; but as they are of real moment, it is necessary to attend to them, that so they may not be overlooked in cases wherein trje subject requires that they may be urged. Part III. — Importance. The third circumstance I took notice of was impor- tance, the appearance of which always tends by fixing attention more closely to add brightness and strength to the ideas. The importance in moral subjects is anala- gous to the quantity of matter in physical subjects, as on quantity the moment of moving bodies in a great measure depends. An action may derive importance from its own nature, from those concerned in it as act- ing or suffering, or from its consequences. It derives importance from its own nature, if it be stupendous in its kind, if the result of what is uncommonly great, whether good or bad, passion or invention, virtue, or vice, as what in respect of generosity is godlike, what in respect of atrocity is diabolical : it derives importance from those concerned in it, when the actors or the suf- ferers are considerable, on account either of their digni- ty or of their number, or of both : it derives importance from its consequences, when these are remarkable in re- gard to their greatness, their multitude, their extent, and that either as to the many and distant places affected Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 127 by them, or as to the future and remote periods to which they may reach, or as to both. All the four remaining circumstances derive their ef- ficacy purely from one and the same cause, the connex- ion of the subject with those occupied, as speaker or hearers, in the discourse. Self is the centre here, which hath a similar power in the ideal world, to that of the sun in the material world, in communicating both light and heat to whatever is within the sphere of its activity, and in a greater or a less degree, according to the near- ness or remoteness. Part IV. — Proximity of time. First, as to proximity of time, every one knowTs, that any melancholy incident is the more affecting that it is recent. Hence it is become common with story-tellers, that they may make a deeper impression on the hearers to introduce remarks like these ; that the tale which they relate is not old, that it happened but lately, or in their own time, or that they are yet living who had a part in it, or were witnesses of it. Proximity of time regards not only the past but the future. An event that will probably soon happen, hath greater influence upon us than what will probably happen a long time hence. I have hitherto proceeded on the hypothesis, that the orator rouses the passions of his hearers, by exhibiting some past transaction ; but we must acknowledge that passion may be as strongly excited by his reasonings con- cerning an event yet to come. In the judiciary orations there is greater scope for the former, in the deliberative for the latter ; though in each kind there may occasion- ally be scope for both. All the seven circumstances enumerated are applicable, and have equal weight, whe- ther they relate to the future or to the past. The only exception that I know of is, that probability and plausi- bility are scarcely distinguishable, when used in reference to events in futurity. As in these there is no access for testimony, what constitutes the principal distinction is quite excluded. In comparing tha influence of the past 128 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L upon our minds, with that of the future, it appears in general, that if the evidence, the importance, and the distance of the objects be equal, the latter will be great- er than the former. The reason, I imagine, is, we are conscious, that as every moment, the future, which seems placed before us, is approaching; and the past, which lies, as it were, behind, is retiring, our nearness or re- lation to the one constantly increaseth as the other de- creaseth. There is something like attraction in the first case, and repulsion in the second. This tends to interest us more in the future than in the past, and consequently to the present view aggrandizes the one and diminishes the other. What, nevertheless, gives the past a very considerable advantage, is its being generally susceptible of much stronger evidence than the future. The lights of the mind are, if I may so express myself, in an opposite si- tuation to the lights of the body. These discover clear- ly the prospect lying before us, but not the ground we have already passed. By the memory, on the contrary, that great luminary of the mind, things past are exhibit- ed in retrospect ; we have no correspondent faculty to irradiate the future : and even in matters which fall not within the reach of our memory, past events are often clearly discoverable by testimony, and by effects at pre- sent existing ; whereas, we have nothing equivalent to found our arguments upon in reasoning about things to come. It is for this reason, that the future is considered as the province of conjecture and uncertainty. Part V. — Connexion of Place. Local Connexion, the fifth in the above enumeration, hath a more powerful effect than proximity of time. Duration and space are two things, (call them entities, or attributes, or what you please) in some respects the most like, and in some respects the most unlike to one another, They resemble in continuity, divisibility, in- finity, in their being deemed essential to the existence of other things, and in the doubts that have been raised a* Cbap. I. OF RHETORIC. 129 to their having a real or independent existence of their own. They differ in that the latter is permanent, whereas the very essence of the former consisteth in transitoriness ; the parts of the one are all successive, of the other all co-existent. The greater portions of time are all distin- guished by the memorable things which have been tran- sacted in them, the smaller portions by the revolutions of the heavenly bodies : the portions of place great and small, (for we do not here consider the regions of the fixed stars and planets) are distinguished by the various tracts of land and water, into which the earth is divided and subdivided ; the one distinction intelligible, the other sensible ; the one chiefly known to the inquisitive, the other in a great measure obvious to all. Hence perhaps it arises, that the latter is considered as a firmer ground of relation, than the former. Who is not more curious to know the notable transactions which have happened in his own country from the earliest antiquity, than to be acquainted with those which have happened in the remotest regions of the globe, during the century wherein he lives ? It must be owned, however, that the former circumstance is more frequently aided by that of personal relation than the latter. Connexion of place not only includes vicinage, but every other local relation, such as being in a province under the same government with us, in a state that is in alliance with us, in a country well known to us, and the like. Of the influence of this connexion in operating on our passions, we have daily proofs. With how much indifference, at least with how slight and transient emo- tion, do we read in newspapers the accounts of the most deplorable accidents in countries distant and unknown? How much, on the contrary, are wTe alarmed and agitat- ed on being informed, that any such accident hath hap- pened in our neighbourhood, and that even though we be totally u nacquainted with the persons concerned ? Part VI. — Relation to the persons concerned. Still greater is the power of relation to the persons concerned, which was the sixth circumstance mentioned 130 THE FHILOSOPHY Book I. as this tie is more direct than that which attacheth us to the scene of action. It is the persons, not the place, that are the immediate objects of the passions love or hatred, pity or anger, envy or contempt. Relation to the actors commonly produces an effect contrary to that produced by relation to the sufferers, the first extenua- tion, the second in aggravation of the crime aliedged. The first makes for the apologist, the second for the ac- cuser. This, I say, is commonly the case, not always. A remote relation to the actors, when the offence is heinous, especially if the sufferers be more nearly related, will sometimes rather aggravate than extenuate the guilt in oui estimation. But it is impossible with any pre- cision to reduce these effects to rules ; so much depend- ing on the different tempers and sentiments of different audiences. Personal relations are of various kinds. Some have generally greater influence than others ; some again have greater influence with one person, others with another. They are consanguinity, affinity, friendship, acquaintance, being fellow-citizens, countrymen, of the same surname, language, religion, occupation, and in- numerable others. Part VII — Interest in the Consequences. But of all the connexive circumstances, the most powerful is interest, which is the last. Of all relations, personal relation, by bringing the object very near, most enlivens that sympathy which attacheth us to the con- cerns of others ; interest in the effects brings the object, if I may say so, into contact with us, and makes the mind cling to it, as a concern of its own. Sympathy is but a reflected feeling, and therefore, in ordinary cases, must be weaker than the original. Though the mirror be ever so true, a lover will not be obliged to it for presenting him with the figure of his mistress, when he hath an op- portunity of gazing on her person. Nor will the orator place his chief confidence in the assistance of the social and sympathetic affections, when he hath it in his power to arm the selfish. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 131 Men universally, from a just conception of the differ- ence, have, when self is concerned, given a different name to what seems originally the same passion in a higher degree. Injury, to whomsoever offered, is to every man that observes it, and whose sense of right is not debauch- ed by vicious practice, the natural object of indignation. Indignation always implies resentment, or a desire of re- taliating on the injurious person, so far at least as to make him repent the wrong he hath committed. This indignation in the person injured, is, from our knowledge of mankind, supposed to be, not indeed universally, but generally so much stronger, that it ought to be distin- guished by another appellation, and is accordingly deno- minated revenge. In like manner, beneficence, on whom- soever exercised, is the natural object of our love ; love always implies benevolence, or a desire of promoting the happiness of the beneficent person ; but this passion in the person benefited, is conceived to be so much greater, and to infer so strong an obligation to a return of good offices to his benefactor, that it merits to be distinguish- ed by the title gratitude. Now by this circumstance of interest in the effects, the speaker, from engaging pity in his favour, can proceed to operate on a more powerful principle, self-preservation. The benevolence of his hear- ers he can work up into gratitude, their indignation into revenge. The two last mentioned circumstances, personal rela- tion and interest, are not without influence, as was hint- ed in the enumeration, though they regard the speaker only, and not the hearers. The reason is, a person pre- sent with us, whom we see and hear, and who by words, and looks, and gestures, gives the liveliest signs of his feelings, has the surest and most immediate claim upon our sympathy. We become infected with his passions. We are hurried along by them, and not allowed leisure to distinguish between his relation and our relation, his interest and our interest. 132 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L Section VI. — Other passions, as well as moral sentU ments, useful auxiliaries. So much for those circumstances in the object presented by the speaker, which serve to awaken and inflame the pas- sions of the hearers*. But when a passion is once raised, • To illustrate most of the preceding circumstances, and show the manner of applying them, I shall take an example from Cicero's last oration against Verres, where, after relating the crucifixion of Gavius, a Roman Citizen, he exclaims, i, " O nomen dulce libertatis ? o jus eximium nostrae civitatis ! o lex Porcia ■* legesque Sempronise ! o graviter desiderata et aliquando reddita plebi Ro- " manse tribunitia potestas. 2. Huccine tandem omnia reciderunt, ut civis " Romanus in provincia populi Romani, in oppido foederatorum, ab eo que bene- «* ficio popula Romani fasceis et secureis haberet, deligatus in foro virgis caedere- " tur ?" " 3. Sed quid ego plura de Gavio ? quasi tu Gavio turn fueris in- u festus, ac non nomini, generi, juri civium hostis, non illi inquam homini, sed •• causae communi libertatis inimicus fuisti. 4. Quid enim attinuit, cum Mamer- " tini more atque instituto suo, crucem fixissent post urbem, in via Pompeia ; te •' jubere in ea parte figere, quje ad fretum spectat ; et hoc addere, quod negare 44 nullo modo potes, quod omnibus audientibus dixisti palam, te idcirco ilium lo- ** cum deligere, ut ille qui se civem Romanum esse diceret, ex cruce Italiam " cernere, ac domum suam prospicere po.sset ? 5. Itaque ilia crux sola, judices, " post conditam Messanam, illo in loca fixa est. 6. Italia conspectus ad earn rem ** ab isto delectus est, ut ille in dolore criciatuque moriens, perangusto freto divi- " sa servitutis ac libertatis jura cognosceret : Italia autem alumnum suum, ser- " vitutis extremo summoque supplicio affectum videret. 7. Facinus est vincire ci- " vem Romanum, scelus verberare, prope parricidium necare, quid dicam, in •' crucem tollere ? verbo satis digno tam nefaria res appellari nullo modo potest. " 8. Non fuit his omnibus iste contentus ; Spectet, inquit, patriam, in conspectu " legum libertatisque moriatur. 9. Non tu hoc loco Gavium, non unum hom- ** inem, nescio quern, civem Romanum, sed communem libertatis et civitatis " causam in ilium cruciatum et crucem egiste. 10. Jam vero videte hominis •' audaciam : Nonne enim graviter tulisse arbitramini, quod illam civibus Ro- " manis crucem non posset in foro, non in comitio, non in rostris defigere. 1 1 . " Quod enim hislocis in provincia sua celebritate simillimum, regione proximum " potuit, elegit. 12. Monumentum sceleris — audaciaeque suae voluit esse in *' conspectu Italiae, proetervictione omnium qui ultro citroque navigarent." 13. *' Paulo ante, judices, lacrymas in morte misera atque indignissima navarchorum " non tenebamus : et recte de merito sociorum innocentium miseria commoveba- M mur. 14. Quid nunc in nostro sanguine tandem facere deberaus? nam civium " Romanorum sanguis conjunctus existimandus est," " 15. Omnes hoclo€0 " civis Romani, et que adsunt et que ubicunque sunt, vestram severitatem desi- *' derant, vestram fidem implorant, vestrum auxilium requirunt. 16. Omni sua *' jura, commoda, auxilia, totam denique libertatim in vestris sententiis versari " arbitrantur." 1 shall point out the pathetic circumstances exemplified in this passage, observing the order wherein they were enumerated. I have num- bered the sentences in the quotation to prevent repetition on referring to them. It must be remarked frrst of all, that in judiciary orations, such as this, the pro- per place for plausibility is the narration ; for probability, the confirmation or proof: the other five, though generally admissible into either of those places, shine principally in the peroration. I shall show how the orator hath availed Limself of these in the passage now cited. First, importance; and that first in respect of the enormity of the action, No. 7, ; of the disposition of the actor, No. 3, 9, 10. ; and to render probable what might otherwise appear merely conjectur- al, No. 4, 5. 8. 11, 12.; in respect of consequences, their greatness, No. 1,2.: Chap. VII. of rhetoric. 133 there are also other means by which it may be kept alive, and even augmented. Other passions or dispositions may be called in as auxiliaries. Nothing is more efficacious in this respect than a sense of justice, a sense of public utility, a sense of glory ; and nothing conduceth more to operate on these, than the sentiments of sages whose wis- dom we venerate, the example of heroes whose exploits we admire. I shall conclude what relates to the excit- ing of passion, when I have remarked, that pleading the importance and the other pathetic circumstances, plead- where the crime is most artfully though implicitly represented as subversive of all that was dear to them, liberty the right of citizens, their most valuable laws, and that idol of the people, the tribunitian power; their extent, No. 15, 16. Secondly, proximity of time; there is but an insinuation of this circumstance in the word tandem, No. 2. There are two reasons which probably induced the ora- tor in this particular to be so sparing. One is, the recency of the crime, as if the criminal's pretorship was notorious ; the other and the weightier is, that of all re- lations thjs is the weakest ; and even what influence it hath, reflection serves ra- ther to correct than to confirm. In appearing to lay stress on so slight a cir- cumstance, a speaker displays rather penury of matter than abundance. It is better, therefore in most cases, to suggest it, as it were by accident, than to in- sist on it as of design, It deserves also to be remarked, that the word here em- ployed is very emphatical, as it conveys at the same time a tacit comparison of their so recent degeneracy with the freedom, security, and glory which they had long enjoyed. The same word is again introduced, No. 14. to the same intent. Thirdly, local connexion ; in respect of vicinage, how affectingly, though indirect- ly, is it touched, No. 4. 6. 8. 11, 12. ? indirectly, for reasons similar to those mentioned on the circumstance of time ; as to other local connections, No. 2. " in provincia populi Itomani, in oppido fcederatorum." Fourthly, personal rela- tion ; first of the perpetrator, No. 2. " ab eo que beneficio, &c." his crime there- fore more atrocious and ungrateful, the most sacred rights violated by one who ought to haveprotecttd them ; next of the sufferers. No. 2. '* civis llomanus." This is most pathetically urged, and by a comparison introduced, greatly height- ened, No. 13, 14. Fifthly, the interest ; which not the hearers only, but all who bear the Roman name, have, in the consequences, No. 15, 16. We see in the above example, with what uncommon address and delicacy those circumstance.** ought to be sometimes blended, sometimes but insinuated, sametimes, on the con- trary, warmly urged, sometimes shaded a little, that the art may be concealed ; and in brief, the whole conducted so as that nothing material may be omitted, that every sentiment may easily follow that which precedes, and usher that which follows it, and that every thing said may appear to be the language of pure na- ture. The art of the rhetorician, like that of the philosopher, is analytical ; the art of the orator is synthetical. The forrtier acts the part of the skilful anato- mist, who, by removing the teguments, and nicely separating the parts, presents us with views at once naked, distinct, and hideous, now of the structure of the bones, now of the muscles and tendons, now of the arteries and veins, now of the bowels, now of the brain and nervous system. The latter imitates Nature in the constructing of her work, who, with wonderful symmetry, unites the various organs, adapts them to their respective uses, and covers all with a decent veil, the skin. Thus, though she hide entirely the more minute and the interior parts and show not to equal advantage even the articulations of the limbs, and the ad- justment of the larger members, adds inexpressible beauty, and strength, and energy to the whole. 134 THE philosophy Book I. ing the authority of opinions or precedents, is usually considered, and aptly enough, as being likewise a spe- cies of reasoning. This concession, however, doth not imply, that by any reasoning we are ever taught that such an object ought to awaken such a passion, This we must learn original- ly from feeling, not from argument. No speaker at- tempts to prove it ; though he sometimes introduceth moral considerations, in order to justify the passion when raised, and to prevent the hearers from attempting to •suppress it. Even when he is enforcing their regard to the pathetic circumstances above mentioned, it is not so much his aim to show that these circumstances ought to augment the passion, as that these circumstances are in the object. The effect upon their minds he commonly leaves to nature ; and is not afraid of the conclusion, if he can make every aggravating circumstance be, as it were, both perceived and felt by them. In the enthy- meme, (the syllogism of orators, as Quintilian* terms it) employed in such cases, the sentiment that such a quali- ty or circumstance ought to rouse such a passion, though the foundation of all, is generally assumed without proof, or even without mention. This forms the major propo- sition, which is suppressed as obvious. His whole art is exerted in evincing the minor which is the antecedent in his argument, and which maintains the reality of those attendant circumstances in the case in hand. A careful attention to the examples of vehemence in the First Chapter, and the quotation in the foregoing note, will sufficiently illustrate this remark. Section VII. — How an unfavourable passion must be calmed. I come now to the second question on the subject of pas- sion. How is an unfavourable passion, or disposition, to be calmed ? The answTer is, either, first, by annihilating, • Instit. 1. i. c, 9. Cnap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 135 or a least diminishing the ohject which raised it ; or se- condly, by exciting some other passion which may counterwork it. By proving the falsity of the narration, or of utter in- credibility of the future event, on the supposed truth of which the truth of which the passion was founded, the object is annihilated. It is diminished by all such cir- cumstances as are contrary to those by which it is in- creased. These are, improbability, implausibility, in- significance, distance of time, remoteness of place, the persons concerned such as we have no connexion with, the consequences such as we have no interest in. The method recommended by Gorgias, and approved by A- ristotle, though peculiar in its manner, is in those cases wherein it may properly be attempted, coincident in ef- fect with that now mentioned. " It was a just opinion " of Gorgias, that the serious argument of an adversary, *c should be confounded by ridicule, and his ridicule by " serious argument*." For this i§ only endeavouring, by the aid of laughter and contempt, to diminish, or even quite undo, the unfriendly emotions that have been rais- ed in the minds of the hearers ; or, on the contrary, by satisfying them of the seriousness of the subject, and of the importance of its consequences, to extinguish the contempt, and make a laughter which the antagonist wanted to excite, appear, when examined, no better than madness. The second way of silencing an unfavourable passion or disposition, is by conjuring up some other passion or disposition, which may overcome it. With regard to conduct, whenever the mind deliberates, it is con- scious of contrary motives impelling it in opposite di- rections ; in other words, it finds that acting, thus would gratify one passion ; not acting, or acting other- wise, would gratify another. To take such a step, I per- ceive, would promote my interest, but derogate from my honour. Such another will gratify my resentment, but hurt my interest. When this is the case, as the rirvh* ogSft's htym. Rhet. 1. iii. c. 1$. 136 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. speaker can be at no loss to discover the conflicting pas- sions, he must be sensible, that whatever force he adds to the disposition that favours his design, is in fact so much subtracted^ from the disposition that opposeth it, and conversely ; as in the two scales of a balance, it is equal in regard to the effect, whether you add so much weight to one scale, or take it from the other, j Thus we have seen in what manner passion to an ab- sent object may be excited by eloquence, which, by en- livening and invigorating the ideas of imagination, makes them resemble the impressions of sense and the traces of memory ; and in this respect hath an effect on the mind similar to that produced by a telescope on the sight ; things remote are brought near, things obscure rendered conspicuous. We have seen also in what manner a pas- sion already excited may be calmed ; how by the orato- rical magic, as by inverting the telescope, the object may be again removed and diminished. It were endless to enumerate all the rhetorical figures that are adapted to the pathetic. Let it suffice to say, that most of those already named may be successfully employed here. Of others the principal are these, cor- rection, climax, vision, exclamation, apostrophe, and in- terrogation. The three first, correction, climax, and vi- sion, tend greatly to enliven the ideas, by the implicit, but animated comparison, and opposition, conveyed in them. Implicit and indirect comparison is more suit- able to the disturbed state of mind required by the pa- thetic, than that which is explicit and direct. The lat- ter implies leisure and tranquillity, the former rapidity and fire. Exclamation and apostrophe operate chiefly by sympathy, as they are the most ardent expressions of per- turbation in the speaker. It at first sight appears more difficult to account for the effect of interrogation, which, being an appeal to the hearers, though it might awaken a closer attention, yet could not, one would imagine, ex- cite in their minds any new emotion that was not there before. This, nevertheless, it doth excite, through an ob- lique operation of the same principle. Such an appeal implies in the orator the strongest confidence in the rec- Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 137 titude of his sentiments, and in the concurrence of every reasonable being. The auditors, by sympathizing with this frame of spirit, find it impracticable to withhold an assent which is so confidently depended on. But there will be occasion afterwards for discussing more parti- cularly the rhetorical tropes and figures, when we ccme to treat of elocution. Thus I have finished the consideration which the speaker ought to have of his hearers as men in general ; that is, as thinking beings endowed with understanding, imagination, memory, and passions, such as we are con- scious of in ourselves, and learn from the experience of their effects to be in others. I have pointed out the arts to be employed by him in engaging all those faculties in his service, that what he advanceth may not only be understood, not only command attention, not only re- membered, but, which is the chief point of all, may in^ terest the heart. CHAP. VIII. Of the consideration which the speaker ought to have of the hearers, as such men in 'particular. FT was remarked in the beginning of the preceding chapter, that the hearers ought to be considered in a twofold view, as men in general, and as such men in particular. The first consideration I have dispatched, I now enter on the second. When it is affirmed that the hearers are to be consider- ed as such men in particular, no more is meant, than that regard ought to be had by the speaker, to the spe- cial character of the audience, as composed of such indi- viduals ; that he may suit himself to them, both in his style and in his arguments*. Now the difference be- tween one audience and another is very great, not only in intellectual but in moral attainments. It may be • He must be «■ Orpheus in sylvis, inter delphinas Arion." Yirq, S 138 THE PHILOSOPHY. Book L clearly intelligible to a House of Commons, which would appear as if spoken in an unknown tongue to a conven- ticle of enthusiasts* It may kindle fury in the latter, which would create no emotion in the former, but laughter and contempt. The most obvious difference that appears in different auditories, results from the dif- ferent cultivation of the understanding ; and the in- fluence which this, and their manner of life, have both upon the imagination and upon the memory. But even in cases wherein the difference in education and moral culture hath not been considerable, different habits afterwards contracted, and different occupations in life, give different propensities, and make one incline more to one passion, another to another. They conse- quently afford the intelligent speaker an easier passage to the heart, through the channel of the favourite passion. Thus liberty and independence will ever be prevalent motives with republicans, pomp and splendour with those attached to monarchy. In mercantile states, such as Carthage among the ancients, or Holland among the moderns, interest will always prove the most cogent argument ; in states solely or chiefly composed of soldiers, such as Sparta and ancient Home, no in- ducement will be found a counterpoise to glory. Si- milar differences are also to be made in addressing different classes of men. With men of genius the most successful topic will be fame ; with men of industry, riches ; with men of fortune, pleasure. But as the characters of audiences may be infinitely diversified, and as the influence they ought to have re- spectively upon the speaker, must be obvious to a per- son of discernment, it is sufficient here to have observed thus much in the general concerning them. CHAP. IX. Of the consideration which the speaker ought to have of himself. HPHE last consideration I mentioned, is that which the speaker ought to have of himself. By this we are to Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC. 139 understand, not that estimate of himself which is de- rived directly from consciousness or self-acquaintance, but that which is obtained reflexively from the opi- nion entertained of him by the hearers, or the character which he bears with them. Sympathy is one main en- gine by which the orator operates on the passions. With them who laugh, our social joy appears : With them who mourn, we sympathize in tears t If you would have me weep, begin the strain, Then I shall feel your sqrrows, feel your pain*. Francis. Whatever therefore weakens that principle of sympa- thy, must do the speaker unutterable prejudice in respect of his power over the passions of his audience, but not in this respect only. One source at least of the primary influence of testimony on faith, is doubtless to be attri- buted to the same communicative principle. At the same time it is certain, as was remarked above, that every testimony doth not equally attach this principle ; that in this particular the reputation of the attester hath a considerable power. Now the speaker's apparent con- viction of the truth of what he advanceth, adds to all his other arguments an evidence, though not precisely the same, yet near akin to that of his own testimonyf . This hath some weight even with the wisest hearers, but is every thing with the vulgar. Whatever therefore les- sens sympathy, must also impair belief. Sympathy in the hearers to the speaker may be lessen- ed several ways, chiefly by these two ; by a low opinion of his intellectual abilities, and by a bad opinion of his morals. The latter is the more prejudicial of the two. Men generally will think themselves in less danger of being seduced by a man of weak understanding, but of distinguished probity, than by a man of the best under- • Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent Humani vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est Primum ipsi tibi ; tunc tua me infortunia laedent. Hor. De Arte Poet. + Ne illud quidem praeteribo, quantam afferat fidem expositioni, narrantis auctoritas. Quimt. lib. iv. cap. 3. 140 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. standing who is of a profligate life. So much more power- fully do the qualities of the heart attach us, than those of the head. This preference, though it may be justly called untaught and instinctive, arising purely from the original frame of the mind, reason, or the knowledge of mankind acquired by experience, instead of weakening, seems afterwards to corroborate. Hence it hath become common topic with rhetoricians, that, in order to be a successful orator, one must be a good man : for to be good is the only sure way of being long esteemed good, and to be esteemed good is previously necessary to one's being heard with due attention and regard. Consequently, the topic hath a foundation in human nature. There are in- deed other things in the character of the speaker, which, in a less degree, will hurt his influence ; youth, in- experience of affairs, former want of success, and the like. But of all the prepossessions in the minds of the hear- ers which tenjl to impede or counteract the design of the speaker, party-spirit, where it happens to prevail, is the most pernicious, being at once the most inflexible and the most unjust. This prejudice I mention by itself, as those above recited may have place at any time, and in any national circumstances. This hath place only when a people is so unfortunate as to be torn by faction. In that case, if the speaker and the hearers, or the bulk of the hearers, be of contrary parties, their minds will be more prepossessed against him, though his life were ever so blameless, than if he were a man of the most flagitious manners, but of the same party. This holds but too much alike of all parties, religious and political. Vio- lent party-men not only lose all sympathy with those of the opposite side, but contract an antipathy to them. This, on some occasions, even the divinest eloquence will not surmount. As to personal prejudices in general, I shall conclude with two remarks. The first is, the more gross the hear- ers are, so much the more susceptible they are of such prejudices. Nothing exposes the mind more to all their baneful influences then ignorance and rudeness ; the rab- Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC, 141 ble chiefly consider who speaks, men of sense and educa- tion what is spoken. Nor are the multitude, to do them justice, less excessive in their love than in their hatred, in their attachments than in their aversions. From a consciousness, it would seem, of their own incapacity to guide themselves, they are ever prone blindly to submit to the guidance of some popular orator, who hath had the address first, either to gain their approbation by his real or pretended virtues, or, which is the easier way, to recommend himself to their esteem by a flaming zeal for their favourite distinctions, and afterwards by his elo- quence to work upon their passions. At the same time it must be acknowledged, on the other hand, that even men of the most improved intellects, and most refined sentiments, are not altogether beyond the reach of pre- conceived opinion, either in the speaker's favour or to his prejudice. The second remark is, that when the opinion of the audience is unfavourable, the speaker hath need to be much more cautious in every step he takes, to show more modesty, and greater deference to the judgment of his hearers ; perhaps, in order to win them, he may find it necessary to make some concessions in relation to his former principles or conduct, and to entreat their atten- tion from pure regard to the subject ; that, like men of judgment and candour, they would impartially consider what is said, and give a welcome reception to truth, from what quarter soever it proceed. Thus he must attempt, if possible, to mollify them, gradually to insinuate him- self into their favour, and thereby imperceptibly to trans- fuse his sentiments and passions into their minds. The man who enjoys the advantage of popularity needs not this caution. The minds of his auditors are perfect- ly attuned to his. They are prepared for adopting im- plicitly his opinions, and accompanying him in all his most passionate excursions. When the people are will- ing to run with you, you may run as fast as you can, especially when the case requires impetuosity and dis- patch. But if you find in them no such ardour, if it is not even without reluctance that they are induced to 14% THE PHILOSOPHY Book I, walk with you, you must slacken your pace and keep them company, lest they either stand still or turn back. Different rules are given by rhetoricians as adapted to different circumstances. Differences in this respect are numberless. It is enough here to have observed those principles in the mind, on which the rules are founded. CHAP. X. The different kinds of public speaking in use among the ??ioderns, compared with a view to their different ad- vantages in respect of eloquence. THE principal sorts of discourses which here demand -our notice, and on which I intend to make some obser- vations, are the three following : orations delivered at the bar, those pronounced in the senate, and those spoken from the pulpit. I do not make a separate article of the speeches delivered by judges to their colleagues on the bench ; because, though there be something peculiar here, arising from the difference in character that sub- sists between the judge and the pleader, in all the other material circumstances, the persons addressed, the sub- ject, the occasion, and the purpose in speaking, there is in these two sorts a perfect coincidence. In like manner, I forbear to mention the theatre, because so entirely dis- similar, both in form and in kind, as hardly to be capa- ble of a place in the comparison. Besides, it is only a cursory view of the chief differences, and not a critical examination of them all, that is here proposed ; my de- sign being solely to assist the mind both in apprehending lightly, and in applying properly, the principles above laid down. In this respect, the present discussion will serve to exemplify and illustrate those principles. Under these five particulars, therefore, the speaker, the hearers or persons addressed, the subject, the occasion, and the end in view, or the effect intended to be produced by the discourse, I shall range, for order's sake, the remarks I intend to lav before the reader. Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC* 143 Section I.— In regard to the speaker. The first consideration is that of the character to be sustained by the speaker. It was remarked in general, in the preceding chapter, that for promoting the success of the orator, (whatever be the kind of public speaking in which he is concerned) it is a matter of some conse- quence, that in the opinion of those whom he addresseth, he is both a wise and a good man. But though this in some measure holds universally, nothing is more certain than that the degree of consequence which lies in their opinion, is exceedingly different in the different kinds. In each it depends chiefly on two circumstances, the na- ture of his profession as a public speaker, and the cha- racter of those to whom his discourses are addressed. As to the first, arising from the nature of the profes- sion, it will not admit a question, that the preacher hath in this respect the most difficult task ; inasmuch as he hath a character to support, which is much more easily injured than that either of the senator, or the speaker at the bar. No doubt the reputation of capacity, experi- ence in affairs, and as much integrity as is thought at- tainable by those called men of the world, will add weight to the words of the senator ; that of skill in his profes- sion, and fidelity in his representation, will serve to re- commend what is spoken by the lawyer at the bar ; but if these characters in general remain unimpeached, the public will be sufficiently indulgent to both in every other respect. On the contrary, there is little or no in- dulgence, in regard to his own failings, to be expected by the man who is professedly a sort of authorized cen- sor, who hath it in charge to mark, and reprehend the faults of others. And even in the execution of this so ticklish a part of his office, the least excess on either hand exposeth him to censure and dislike. Too much lenity is enough to stigmatize him as lukewarm in the cause of virtue, and too much severity as a stranger to the spirit of the gospel. But let us consider more directly what is implied in the character, that wa may better judge of the effect it; 144 TfcE PHILOSOPHY Book I. will have on the expectations and demands of the people, and consequently on his pubic teaching. First, then, it is a character of some authority, as it is of one educated lor a purpose so important as that of a teacher of religion. This authority, however, from the nature of the function, must be tempered with moderation, candour, and bene- volence. The preacher of the gospel, as the very terms import, is the minister of grace, the herald of divine mercy to ignorant, sinful, and erring men. The magis- trate, on the contrary, (under which term may be in- cluded secular judges and counsellors of every denomina- tion) is the minister of divine justice and of wrath. He bcareth not the sword in vain*. He is on the part of heaven the avenger of the society with whose protection he is intrusted, against all who invade its rights. The first operates chiefly on our love, the second on our fear. Minister of religion, like angel of God, is a name that ought to convey the idea of something endearing and attrac- tive : whereas the title minister of justice invariably sug- gests the notion of something awful and unrelenting. In the former, even Ills indignation against sin ought to be surmounted by his pity of the condition, and concern for the recovery, of the sinner. Though firm in declaring the will of God, though steady in maintaining the cause of truth, yet mild in his addresses to the people, conde- scending to the weak, using rather entreaty than com- mand, beseeching them by the lowliness and gentleness of Christ, knowing that the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle to all men, apt to teach, patient , in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves^. He must be grave without moroseness, cheerful without le- vity. And even in setting before his people the terrors of the Lord, affection ought manifestly to predominate in the warning which he is compelled to give. From these few hints it plainly appears, that there is a certain delicacy in the character of a preacher, which he is never at liberty totally to overlook, and to which, if there ap- pear any thing incongruous, either in his conduct or in • Romans xiii. 4. + 2 Tim. ii. 24, 26. Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 145 his public performances, it will never fail to injure their eiFect. On the contrary, it is well known, that as, in the other professions, the speaker's private hie is but verv little minded, so there are many things which, though they would be accounted nowise unsuitable from tne bar or in the senate, would be deemed altogether unbefitting the pulpit. It ought not to be overlooked, on the other hand, that there is one peculiarity in the lawyer's professional cha- racter, which is unfavourable to conviction, and conse- quently gives him some disadvantage both of the senator and the preacher. We know that he must defend his client, and argue on the side on which he is retained. We know also that a trifling and accidental circumstance, which nowise affects the merit of the cause, such as a prior application from the adverse party, would probably have made him employ the same acuteness, and display the same fervour on the opposite side of the question. This circumstance, though not considered as a fault in the character of the man, but as a natural, because an ordinary, consequent of the office, cannot fail, when re- flected on, to make us shyer of yielding our assent. It removes entirely what was observed in the preceding chapter, to be of great moment, our belief of the speak- er's sincerity. This belief can hardly be rendered com- patible with the knowledge that both truth and right are so commonly and avowedly sacrificed to interest. I ac- knowledge that an uncommon share of eloquence will carry off the minds of most people from attending to this circumstance, or at least from paying any regard to it. Yet Antony is repx*esented by Cicero*, as thinking the advocate's reputation so delicate, that the practice of a- musing himself in philosophical disputations with his friends, is sufficient to hurt it, and consequently to affect the credibility of his pleadings. Surely the barefaced prostitution of his talents, (and in spite of its common- • De orat. Lib. 2. Ego ista studia non iraprobo, moderata rnodo shit. Opin = ionem istorum studiorum, et su3picionem omnium artifieii aputl 0 is qui res judi- cent, oratori adversariam ease arbitror. Imrainuit enira et oratbris aiictorilaten*, at cr.irionis fidem. T 146 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. ness, what else can we call it ?) in supporting indifferent- ly, as pecuniary considerations determine him, truth or falsehood, justice or injustice, must have a still worse ef- fect on the opinion of his hearers. It was affirmed that the consequence of the speaker's own character in furthering or hindering his success, de- pends in some measure on the character of those whom he addresseth. Here indeed it will be found, on inquiry, that the preacher labours under a manifest disadvantage. Most congregations are of that kind, as will appear from the article immediately succeeding, which, agreeably to an observation made in the former chapter, very much considers who speaks ; those addressed from the bar, or in the senate, consider more what is spoken. Section II. — In regard to the persons addressed. The second particular mentioned as a ground of com- parison, is the consideration of the character of the hear- ers, or more properly the persons addressed. The neces- sity which a speaker is under of suiting himself to his audience, both that he may be understood by them, and that his words may have influence upon them, is a max- im so evident as to need neither proof nor illustration. Now the first remark that claims our attention here is, that the more mixed the auditory is, the greater is the difficulty of speaking to them with effect. The rea- son is obvious, what will tend to favour your success with one, may tend to obstruct it with another. The more various therefore the individuals are, in respect of age, rank, fortune, education, prejudices, the more deli- cate must be the art of preserving propriety in an address to the whole. The pleader has, in this respect the sim- plest and the easiest task of all ; the judges to whom his oration is addressed, being commonly men of the same rank, of similar education, and not differing greatly in respect of studies or attainments. The difference in these respects is much more considerable when he addresses the jury. A speaker in the house of peers hath not so mixt an auditory as one who harangues in the house of Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 147 commons. And even here, as all the members may be supposed to have been educated as gentlemen, the audi- ence is not nearly so promiscuous as were the popular assemblies of Athens and of Rome, to which their dema- gogues declaimed w7ith so much vehemence, and so won- derful success. Yet, even of these, women, minors, and. servants, made no part. We may therefore justly reckon a christian congrega- tion in a populous and flourishing city, where there is a great variety in rank and education, to be of all audiences the most promiscuous. And though it is impossible, that, in so mixed a multitude, every thing that is ad- vanced by the speaker should, both in sentiment and in expression, be adapted to the apprehension of every in- dividual hearer, and fall in with his particular preposses- sions, yet it may be expected, that whatever is advanced shall be within the reach of every class of hearers, and shall not unnecessarily shock the innocent prejudices of any. This is still, however, to be understood with the exception of mere children, fools, and a few others, who, through the total neglect of parents or guardians in their education, are grossly ignorant. Such, though in the audience, are not to be considered as constituting a part of it. But how great is the attention requisite in the speaker in such an assembly, that, whilst on the one hand he avoids, either in style or in sentiment, soaring aboye the capacity of the lower class, he may not, on the other, sink below the regard of the higher. To attain simplicity without flatness, delicacy without refinement, perspicuity without recurring to low idioms and simili- tudes, will require his utmost care. Another remark on this article that deserves our no- tice, is, that the less improved in knowledge and discern- ment the hearers are, the easier it is for the speaker to work upon their passions, and by working on their pas- sions, to obtain his end. This, it must be owned, appears on the other hand, to give a considerable advantage to the preacher, as in no congregation can the bulk of the people be regarded as on a footing, in point of improve- ment, with either house of parliament, or with the 148 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. judges in a court of judicature. It is certain, that the more gross the hearers are, the more avowedly may you address yourself to their passions, and the less occasion there is for argument : whereas, the more intelligent they are, the more covertly must you operate on their pas- sions, and the more attentive must you be in regard to the justness, or at least the speciousuess of your reasoning. Hence some have strangely concluded, that the only- scope for eloquence is in haranguing the multitude; that in gaining over to your purpose men ot knowledge and breeding, the exertion or oratorical talents hath no influence. This is precisely as if one should argue, be- cause a mob is much easier subdued than regular troops, there is no occasion for the art of war, nor is there a pro- per field for the exertion of military skill, unless when you are quelling an undisciplined rabble. Every body sees in this case, not only how absurd such a way of arguing would be, but that the very reverse ought to be the conclusion. The reason why people do not so quick- ly perceive the absurdity in the other case, is, that they affix no distinct meaning to the word eloquence, often de- noting no more by that term, than simply the power of moving the passions. But even in this improper accep- tation, their notion is far from being just; for wherever there are men, learned or ignorant, civilized or barbarous, there are passions ; and the greater the difficulty is in affecting these, the more art is requisite. The truth is, eloquence, like every other art, propose th the accom- plishment of a certain end. Passion is for the most part but the means employed for affecting the end, and there- fore, like all other means, will no further be regarded in any case, than it can be rendered conducible to the end. Now the preacher's advantage even here, in point of facility, at least in several institutions, will not appear, on reflection, to be so great, as on a superficial view it may be thought. Let it be observed, that in such con- gregations as was supposed, there was a mixture of supe- rior and inferior ranks. It is therefore the business of the speaker, so far only to accommodate himself to one class, as not wantonly to disgust another. Besides, it will scarcely be denied, that those in the superior walks Chap. X. OF rhetoric. 149 of life, however much by reading and conversation im- proved in all genteel accomplishments, often have as much need of religious instruction and moral improve- ment, as those who in every other particular are ac- knowledged to be their inferiors. And doubtless the reformation of such will be allowed to be, in one respect, of greater importance, (and therefore never to be over- looked) that, in consequence of such an event, more good may redound to others, from the more extensive influence of their authority and example. Section III. — In regard to the Subject. The third particular mentioned was the subject of discourse. This may be considered in a twofold view ; first, as implying the topics of argument, motives, and principles, which are suited to each of the different kinds, and must be employed in order to produce the intended effect on the hearers ; secondly, as implying the persons or things in whose favour, or to whose pre- judice, the speaker purposes to excite the passions of the audience, and thereby to influence their determina- tions. On the first of these articles, I acknowledge the preach- er hath incomparably the advantage of every other public orator. At the bar, critical explications of dark and ambiguous statutes, quotations of precedents sometimes contradictory, and comments on jarring decisions and reports, often necessarily consume the greater part of the speaker's time. Hence the mixture of a sort of me- taphysics and verbal criticism, employed by lawyers in their pleadings, hath come to be distinguished by the name chicane, a species of reasoning too abstruse to command attention of any continuance even from the studious, and consequently not very favourable to the powers of rhetoric. When the argument doth not turn on the common law, or on nice and hypercritical expli- cations of the statute, but on the great principles of na- tural right and justice, as sometimes happens, particu- larly in criminal cases, the speaker is much more ad- 150 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. vantageously situated for exhibiting his rhetorical talents, than in the former case. When, in consequence of the imperfection of the evidence, the question happens to be more a question of fact, than either of municipal law or of natural equity, the pleader hath more advantages than in the first case, and fewer than in the second. Again, in the deliberations in the senate, the utility or the disadvantages that will probably follow on a mea- sure proposed, if it should receive the sanction of the legislature constitute the principal topics of debate. This, though it sometimes leads* to a kind of reasoning rather top complex and involved for ordinary apprehen- sion, is in the main more favourable to the display of pathos, vehemence, and sublimity, than the much great- er part of forensic causes can be said to be. That these qualities have been sometimes found in a very high de- gree in the orations pronounced in a British senate, is a fact incontrovertible. But beyond all question, the preacher's subject of ar- gument, considered in itself, is infinitely more lofty and more affecting. The doctrines of religion are such as relate to God, the adorable Creator and Ruler of the world, his attributes, government, and laws. What science to be compared with it in sublimity ! It teaches also the origin of man, his primitive dignity, the source of his degeneracy, the means of his recovery, the eter- nal happiness that awaits the good, and the future misery of the impenitent. Is there any kind of know- ledge in which human creatures are so deeply interest- ed I In a word, whether we consider the doctrines of re- ligion or its documents, the examples it holds forth to our imitation, or its motives, promises, and threatenings^ we see on every hand a subject that gives scope for the exertion of all the highest powers of rhetoric. What are the sanctions of any human laws, compared with the sanctions of the divine law, with which we are brought acquainted by the gospel ? Or where shall we find in-* structions, similitudes, and examples, that speak so di- rectly to the heart, as the parables and other divine les- sons of our blessed Lord ? Chap. X. OF rhetoric, 1 5 1 In regard to the second thing which I took notice of as included under the general term subject , namely, the persons or things in whose favour, or to whose prejudice the speaker intends to excite the passions of the au- dience, and thereby to influence their determinations, the other two have commonly the advantage of the preacher. The reason is, that his subject is generally things ; theirs, on the contrary, is persons. In what re- gards the painful passions, indignation, hatred, contempt, abhorrence, this difference invariably obtains. The preacher's business is solely to excite your detestation of the crime, the pleader's business is principally to make you detest the criminal. The former paints vice to you in all its odious colours, the latter paints the vicious. There is a degree of abstraction, and consequently a much greater degree of attention requisite, to enable us to form just conceptions of the ideas and sentiments of the former ; whereas, those of the latter, referring to an actual, perhaps a living, present, and welUknown subject, are much more level to common capacity, and therefore not only are more easily apprehended by the understanding, but take a stronger hold of the imagina- tion. It would have been impossible even for Cicero, to inflame the minds of the people to so high a pitch against oppression considered in the abstract, as he ac- tually did inflame them against Verres the oppressor. Nor could he have incensed them so much against trea- son and conspiracy, as he did incense them against Cati- line the traitor and conspirator. The like may be ob- served of the effects of his orations against Antony, and in a thousand other instances. Though the occasions in this way are more frequent at the bar, yet, as the deliberations in the senate often proceed on the reputation and past conduct of indivi- duals, there is commonly here also a much better handle for rousing the passions, than that enjoyed by the preach- er. How much advantage Demosthenes drew from the known character and insidious arts of Philip king of Macedon, for influencing the resolves of the Athenians, and other Grecian states, those who are acquainted with 152 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. the Phillipics of the orator, and the history of that pe- riod, will be very sensible. In what concerns the pleas- ing affections, the preacher may sometimes, not often, avail himself of real human characters, as in funeral ser- mons, and in discourses on the patterns of virtue given us by our Saviour, and by those saints of whom we have the history in the sacred code. But such examples are comparatively few. Section IV, — In regard to the Occasion. The fourth circumstance mentioned as a ground of comparison, is the particular occasion of speaking. And in this I think it evident, that both the pleader and the senator have the advantage of the preacher. When any important cause comes to be tried before a civil judica- tory, or when any important question comes to be agita- ted in either house of parliament, as the point to be dis- cussed hath generally, for some time before been a topic of conversation in most companies, perhaps throughout the kingdom, (which of itself is sufficient to give con- sequence to any thing) people are apprized beforehand of the particular day fixed for the discussion. Accord- ingly, they come prepared with some knowledge of the case, a persuasion of its importance, and a curiosity which sharpens their attention, and assists both their under- standing and their memory. Men go to church without any of these advantages. The subject of the sermon is not knowrn to the congre- gation, till the minister announce it just as he begins, by reading the text. Now, from our experience of hu- man nature, we may be sensible, that whatever be the comparative importance of the things themselves, the generality of men cannot here be wrought up in an in- stant, to the like anxious curiosity about what is to be said, nor can they be so well prepared for hearing it. It may indeed be urged, in regard to those subjects which come regularly to be discussed at stated times, as on public festivals, as well as in regard to assize-sermons, charity-sermons, and other occasional discourses, that Chap- X. OF rhetoric. 155 these must be admitted as exceptions. Perhaps in some degree they are, but not altogether : for first, the pre- cise point to be argued, or proposition to be evinced, is very rarely known. The most that we can say is, that the subject will have a relation (sometimes remote enough) to such an article of faith, or to the obligations we lie under to the practice of such a duty. But further, if the topic were ever so well known, the frequent recurrence of such occasions, once a- year at least, hath long familiarised us to them, and by destroying their novelty, hath abated exceeding- ly of that ardour which ariseth in the mind for hearing a discussion, conceived to be of importance, which one never had access to hear before, and probably never will have access to hear again. I shall here take notice of another circumstance, which, without great stretch, may be classed under this article, and which likewise gives some advantage to the coun- sellor and the senator. It is the opposition and contra- diction which they expect to meet with. Opponents sharpen one another, as iron sharpeneth iron. There is not the same spur either to exertion in the speaker, or to attention in the hearer, where there is no conflict, where you have no adversary to encounter on equal terms. Mr Bickerstaff would have made but small pro- gress in the science of defence, by pushing at the hu- man figure which he had chalked upon the wall *, In comparison of what he might have made by the help of a fellow combatant of flesh and blood. I do not, how- ever, pretend, that these cases are entirely parallel. The whole of an adversary's plea may be perfectly known, and may, to the satisfaction of every reasonable person, be perfectly confuted, though he hath not been heard by counsel at the bar. Section V. — In regard to the End in view. The fifth and last particular mentioned, and indeed the most important of them all, is the effect in each • Tatler. 154 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L species intended to be produced. The primary inten- tion of preaching is the reformation. The grace of God, that bringtth salvation, hath appeared to all men, teach- ing us, that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world*. Reformation of life and manners — of all things that which it is the most difficult by any means whatever to effectuate ; I may add, of all tasks ever attempted by persuasion, that which has the most frequently baffled its power. What is the task of any other orator compared with this ? It is really as nothing at all, and hardly deserves to be named. An unjust judge gradually worked on by the resistless force of human eloquence, may be persuaded, against his inclination, perhaps against a previous resolu- tion, to pronounce an equitable sentence. All the effect on him, intended by the pleader, was merely momentary. The orator hath had the address to employ the time al- lowed him, in such a manner as to secure the happy mo- ment. Notwithstanding this, there may be no real change wrought upon the judge. He may continue the same obdurate wretch he was before. Nay, if the sentence had been delayed but a single day after hearing the cause, he would perhaps have given a very different award. Is it to be wondered at, that when the passions of the people were agitated by the persuasive powers of a De- mosthenes, whilst the thunder of his eloquence was yet sounding in their ears, the orator should be absolute master of their resolves ? But an apostle or evangelist, (for there is no anachronism in a bare supposition) might have thus addressed the celebrated Athenian, " You do, " indeed, succeed to admiration, and the address and " genius which you display in speaking, justly entitle " you to our praise. But, however great the conse- " quences may be of the measures to which, by your 11 eloquence, they are determined, the change produced " in the people is nothing, or next to nothing. If you " would be ascertained of the truth of this, allow the as- • Tit. ii. 11, i?. Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 155 " sembly to disperse immediately after bearing you ; " give them to cool, and then collect their votes, and it M is a thousand to one, you shall find that the charm is 4C dissolved. But very different is the purpose of the " christian orator. It is not a momentary, but a perma- 44 nent effect at which he aims. It is not an immediate 14 and favourable suffrage, but a thorough change of heart 4C and disposition, that will satisfy his view. That man 44 would need to be possessed of oratory superior to hu- " man, who would effectually persuade him that stole, to 14 steal no more, the sensualist to forego bis pleasures, " and the miser his hoards, the insolent and haughty to 44 become meek and humble, the vindictive forgiving, the 44 cruel and unfeeling merciful and humane." I may add to these considerations, that the difficulty lies not only in the permanency, but in the very nature of the change to be effected. It is wonderful, out is too well vouched to admit a doubt, that by the powers of rhetoric you may produce in mankind, almost any change more easily than this. It is not unprecedented, that one should persuade a multitude, from mistaken motives of religion, to act the part of ruffians, fools, or madmen ; to perpetrate the most extravagant, nay, the most flagi- tious actions to steel their hearts against humanity, and the loudest calls of natural affection : but where is the eloquence that will gain such an ascendant over a multi- tude, as to persuade them, for the love of God, to be wise, and just, and good ? Happy the preacher, whose sermons, by the blessing of Heaven, have been instru- mental in producing even a few such instances ! Do but look into the annals of church-history, and you will soon be convinced of the surprising difference there is in the two cases mentioned, the amazing facility of the one, and the almost impossibility of the other. As to the foolish or mad extravagancies hurtful only to themselves, to which numbers may be excited by the powers of persuasion, the history of the flagellants, and even the history of monachism, afford many unquestion- able examples. But what is much worse, at one time 156 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. you see Europe nearly depopulated, at the persuasion of a fanatical monk, its inhabitants rushing armed into Asia, in order to right for Jesus Christ, as they termed it, but as it proved m fact, to disgrace, as far as lay in them, the name of Christ and of Christian amongst infidels ; to butcher tho^e who never injured them, and to whose lands they had at least no better title, than those whom they intended, by all posbible means, to dispossess ; and to give the world a melancholy proof, there is no pitch of brutality and rapacity, to which the passions of avarice and ambition, consecrated and inflamed by religious en- thusiasm, will not drive mankind. At another time you see multitudes, by the like methods, worked up into a fury against their innocent countrymen, neighbours, friends, and kinsmen, glorying in being the most active in cutting the throats ot those who were formerly held dear to them. Such were the crusades preached up but too effectual- ly, first against the Mahometans in the East, and next against Christians whom they called heretics, in the heart of Europe. And even in our own time, have we not seen new factions raised by popular declaimed whose only merit wras impudence, whose only engine of in- fluence was calumny and self-praise, whose only moral lesson was malevolence ? As to the dogmas whereby such have at any time affected to discriminate them- selves, these are commonly no other than the shib- boleth, the watchword of the party, worn, for distinc- tion's sake, a badge, a jargon unintelligible alike to the teacher and to the learner. Such apostles never fail to make proselytes. For who would not purchase heaven at so cheap a rate ? There is nothing that people can more easily afford. It is only to think very ill of their neighbour, to calumniate him freely, and to hate him heartilv. I am sensible that some will imagine, that this account itself throws an insuperable obstacle in our way, as from it one will naturally infer, that oratory must be one of the most dangerous things in the world, and much more capable of doing ill than good. It needs but some re- flection to make this mighty obstacle entirely vanish.— 7 Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 157 Very little eloquence is necessary for persuading people to a conduct, to which their own depravity hath pre- viously given them a bias. How soothing is it to them not only to have their minds made easy under the in- dulged malignity of their disposition, but to have that very malignity sanctified with a good name ? So little of the oratorical talents is required here, that those who court popular applause, and look upon it as the pinnacle of human glory to be blindly followed by the multitude, commonly recur to defamation, especially of superiors and brethren, not so much for a subject on which they may display their eloquence, as for a succedaneum to supply their want of eloquence, a succedaneum which never yet was found to fail. I knew a preacher who, by this expedient alone, from being long the aversion of the populace, on account of his dulness, awkwardness, and coldness, all of a sudden became their idol. Little force is necessary to push down heavy bodies placed on the verge of a declivity, but much force is requisite to stop them in their progress, and push them up. If a man should sav, that because the first is more frequently effected than the last, it is the best trial of strength, and the only suitable use to which it can be ap- plied, we should at least not think him remarkable for distinctness in his ideas. Popularity alone, therefore, is no test at all of the eloquence of the speaker, no more than velocity alone would be, of the force of the exter- nal impulse originally given to the body moving. As in this the direction of the body, and other circum- stances, must be taken into the account ; so in that, you must consider the tendency of the teaching, whether it favours or opposes the vices of the hearers. To head a sect, infuse party-spirit, to make men arrogant, un- charitable, and malevolent, is the easiest task imaginable, and to which almost any blockhead is fully equal. But to produce the contrary effect, to subdue the spirit of faction, and that monster spiritual pride, with which it is invariably accompanied, to inspire equity, moderation, and charity into men's sentiments and conduct with re- 158 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. gard to others, isthe genuine test of eloquence. Here its triumph is truly glorious, and in its application to this end lies its great utility : The gates of hell are open night and day ; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way : But to return and view the cheerful skies ; In this the task and mighty labour lies*. Drydek. Now in regard to the comparison, from which I fear I shall be thought to have digressed, between the foren- sic and senatorian eloquence, and that of the pulpit, I must not omit to observe, and in what I say of the dif- ference of the effect to be produced by the last mention- ed species, I am to be understood as speaking of the ef- fect intended by preaching in general, and even of that which, in whole or in part, is, or ought to be, either more immediately or more remotely, the scope of all discourses proceeding from the pulpit. I am, at the same time, sensible, that in some of these, beside the ulti- mate view, there is an immediate and outward effect which the sermon is intended to produce. This is the case particularly in charity sermons, and perhaps some other occasional discourses. Now of these few, in res- pect of such immediate purpose, we must admit, that they bear a pretty close analogy to the pleadings of the advocate, and the orations of the senator. Upon the whole of the comparison I have stated, it appears manifest, that, in most of the particulars above enumerated, the preacher labours under a very great dis- advantage. He hath himself a more delicate part to perform than either the pleader or the senator, and a character to maintain, which is much more easily injur- ed. The auditors, though rarely so accomplished as to require the same accuracy of composition, or acuteness in reasoning, as may be expected in the other two, are more various in age, rank, taste, inclinations,* sentiments, • Faeilis descensus Averni : Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis : Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras Hie labor, hoc opus est. Virg. lib. vl Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 16 J) prejudices, to which he must accommodate himself. And it* he derives some advantages from the richness, the variety, and the nobleness of the principles, motives, and arguments, with which his subject furnishes him, he derives also some inconveniences from this circumstance, that almost the only engine by which he can operate on the passions of his hearers, is the exhibition ot abstract qualities, virtues, and vices., whereas that chiefly employ- ed by other orators, is the exhibition of real persons, the virtuous and the vicious. Nor are the occasions of his addresses to the people equally fitted with those of the senator and of the pleader for exciting their curiosity and riveting their attention. And finally, the task as- signed him, the effect he ought ever to have in view, is so great, so important, so durable, as seems to bid de- fiance to the strongest efforts of oratorical genius. Nothing is more common than for people, I suppose without reflecting, to express their wonder, that there is so little eloquence amongst our preachers, and that so little success attends their preaching. As to the last, their success, it is a matter not to be ascertained with so much precision, as some appear fondly to imagine. The evil prevented, as well as the good promoted, ought here, in all justice, to come into the reckoning. And what that may be, it is impossible in any supposed cir- cumstances to determine. As to the first, their eloquence, I acknowledge, that for my own part, considering how rare the talent is among men in general, considering all the disadvantages preachers labour under, not only those above enumerated, but others, arising from their differ- ent situations, particularly considering the frequency of this exercise, together with the other duties of their office, to which the fixed pastors are obliged, I have been of a long time more disposed to wonder, that we hear so many instructive and even eloquent sermons, than that we hear so few. 160 THE PHILOSOPHY J3ook I. CHAP. XL Of the cause of tJiat pleasure luliich we receive from ob- jects or representations that excite pity and other pain- f til feelings. It hath been observed already*, that without some gra- tification in hearing, the attention must inevitably flag. And it is manifest from experience, that nothing tends more effectually to prevent this consequence, and keep our attention alive and vigorous, than the pathetic, which consists chiefly in exhibitions of human misery. Yet that such exhibitions should so highly gratify us, appears somewhat mysterious. Every body is sensible, that of all qualities in a word of genius, this is that which en- dears it most to the generality of readers, One would imagine, on the first mention of this, that it were impos- sible to account for it otherwise than from an innate principle of malice, which teacheth us to extract delight to ourselves from the sufferings of those, and as it were to enjoy their calamities. A very little reflection, how- ever, would suffice for correcting this error ; nay, with- out and reflection, we may truly say, that the common sense of mankind prevents them effectually from falling into it. Bad as we are, and prone as we are to be hur- ried into the worst of passions by self-love, partiality and pride ; malice is a disposition, which either in the ab- stract, or as it discovers itself in the actions of an indif- ferent person, we never contemplate without feeling a just detestation and abhorrence, being ready to pro- nounce it the ugliest of objects. Yet this sentiment is not more universal, than is the approbation and even love that we bestow on the tender-hearted, or those who are most exquisitely susceptible of all the influence of the pathetic. Nor are there any two dispositions of which human nature is capable, that have ever been • Chapter IV. Chap. XI. OF rhetoric. 1<)1 considered as farther removed from each other, than the malicious and the compassionate are. The fact itself, that the mind derives pleasure from representations of anguish, is undeniable : the question about the cause is curious, and hath a manifest relation to my subject. I purposed indeed, at first, to discuss this point in that part of the sixth chapter which relates to the means of operating on the passions, with which the present in- quiry is intimately connected. Finding afterwards that the discussion would prove rather too long an interrupt tion, and that the other points which came naturally to he treated in that place, could be explained with suffi- cient clearness, independently of this, I judged it better to reserve this question for a separate chapter. Various hypotheses have been devised by the ingenious, in order to solve the difficulty. These I shall first briefly examine, and then lay before the reader what appears to me to be the true solution. Of all that have entered into the subject, those who seem most to merit our regard, are two French critics, and one of our own country. Section I. — The different solutions hitherto given by phi- losophers, examined. Pakt I. — The first hypothesis. Abbe du Bos begins his excellent reflections on poetry and painting, with that very question which is the sub- ject of this chapter, and in answer to it supports at some length * a theory, the substance of which I shall endea- vour to comprise in a few words. Few things accord- ing to him, are more disagreeable to the mind, than that listlessness into which it falls, when it has nothing to oc- cupy it, or to awake the passions. In order to get rid of this most painful situation, it seeks with avidity every amusement and pursuit ; business, gaming, news, shows, public executions, romances; in short, whatever will rouse the passions, and take off the mind's attention from • .Reflexions critiques sur la Poesie te sur la Peinture, Sect. i. ii. iii, X 162 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. itself. It matters not what the emotion be, only the stronger it is, so much the better. And for this reason, those passions which, considered in themselves are the most afflicting and disagreeable, are preferable to the pleasant, inasmuch as they most effectually relieve the soul from that oppressive languor which preys upon it in a state of inactivity. They afford it ample occupa- tion, and by giving play to its latent movements and springs of action, convey a pleasure which more than counterbalances the pain. I admit, with Mr Hume *, that there is some weight in these observations, which may sufficiently account for the pleasure taken in gaming, hunting, and several other diversions and sports. But they. are not quite satisfactory, as they do not assign a sufficient reason why poets, paint- ers, and orators, exercise themselves more in actuating the painful passions, than in exciting the pleasant. These, one would think, ought in every respect to have the ad- vantage, because, at the same time that they preserve the mind from a state of inaction, they convey a feeling that is allowed to be agreeable. And though it were granted, that passions of the former kind are stronger than those of the latter (which doth not hold invariably, there being perhaps more examples of persons who have been killed with joy, than of those who have died of grief), strength alone will not account for the preference. It by no means holds here, that the stronger the emotion is, so much the fitter for this purpose. On the contrary, if you exceed but ever so little a certain measure, in- stead of that sympathetic delightful sorrow, which makes affliction itself wear a lovely aspect, and engages the mind to hug it, not only with tenderness, but with tran- sport, you only excite horror and aversion. 4C It is cer- tain," says the author last quoted, very justly f , " that " the same object of distress which pleases in a tragedy, " were it really set before us, would give the most un- " feigned uneasiness, though it be then the most effec- " tual cure of languor and indolence." And it is more * Essay on Tragedy, t Essay on Tragedy. Chap. XI. OF RHETORIC. 163- than barely possible, even in the representations of the tragedian, or in the descriptions of the orator or the poet, to exceed that measure. I acknowledge, indeed, that this measure or degree is not the same to every temper. Some are much sooner shocked with mournful representations than others. Our mental, like our bodily appetites and ca- pacities, are exceedingly various. It is, however, the bu- siness of both the speaker and the writer, to accommo- date himself to what may be styled the common stand- ard ? for there is a common standard in wrhat regards the faculties of the mind, as well as in what concerns the powers of the body. Now if there be any quality in the afflictive passions, besides their strength, that ren- ders them peculiarly adapted to rescue the mind from that torpid, but corrosive rest which is considered as the greatest of evils, that quality ought to have been point- ed out : for till then the phenomenon under examina tion is not accounted for. The most that can be conclu ded from the Abbe's premises, is the utility of exciting passion of some kind or other, but nothing that can e vince the superior fitness of the distressful affections. 9 Lilt oint- iina- uclu- Part II.' — The second hypothesis. The next hypothesis is Fontenelle's f . Not having the original at hand at present, I shall give Mr Hume's translation of the passage, in his Essay on Tragedy a- bove quoted. " Pleasure and pain, which are two sen- " timents so different in themselves, differ not so much " in their cause. From the instance of tickling it ap- " pears, that the movement of pleasure pushed a little " too far, becomes pain ; and that the movement of pain, " a little moderated, becomes pleasure. Hence it pro- " ceeds, that there is such a thing as a sorrow, soft and " agreeable. It is a pain weakened and diminished. The heart likes naturally to be moved and affected. * Melancholy objects suit it, and even disastrous and f Reflexions sur la Poetique, Sect, xxxvi. 164 the philosophy Book I. " sorrowful, provided they are softened by some cir- " cumstancc. It is certain that, on the theatre, the re- " presentation has almost the effect of reality ; but yet 44 it has not altogether that effect. However we may be " hurried away by the spectacle, whatever dominion 44 the senses and imagination may usurp over the re a- 44 son, there still lurks at the bottom, a certain idea of 44 falsehood in the whole of what we see. This idea, " though weak and disguised, suffices to diminish the " pain which we suffer from the misfortunes of those " whom we love, and to reduce that affliction to such a " pitch as converts it into a pleasure. We weep for •.' the misfortunes of a hero to whom we are attached. " In the same instant we comfort ourselves by reflecting " that it is nothing but a fiction : and it is precisely " that mixture of sentiments, which composes an agree- 44 able sorrow, and tears, that delight us. But as that ** affliction which is caused by exterior and sensible ob- " jects is stronger than the consolation which arises from 44 an internal reflection, they are the effects and symptoms " of sorrow, which ought to prevail in the composition." I cannot affirm that this solution appears to me so just and convincing, as it seems it did to Mr Hume. If this English version, like a faithful mirror, reflect the true image of the French original, I think the author in some degree chargeable, with what in that language is emphatically enough styled verbiage, a manner of writ- ing very common with those of his nation, and with their imitators in ours. The only truth that I can discover in his hypothesis, lies in one small circumstance, which is so far from being applicable to the whole case under consideration, that it can properly be applied but to a very few particular instances, and is therefore no solu- tion at all. That there are at least many cases to which it cannot be applied, the author last mentioned declares himself to be perfectly sensible. But let us examine the passage more narrowly. He begins with laying it down as a general principle, that however different the feelings of pleasure and of pain are in themselves, they differ not much in their cause : Chap. XI OF RHETORIC. l(?5 that the movement of pleasure pushed a little too fair becomes pain ; and that the movement of pain a little moderated, becomes pleasure. For an illustration of this he gives an example in tickling. I will admit that there are several other similar instances, in which the observation to appearance holds. The warmth received from sitting near the fire by one who hath been almost chilled with cold, is very pleasing ; yet you may increase this warmth, first to a disagreeable heat, and then to burning, which is one of the greatest torments. It is nevertheless extremely hazardous, on a few instances, and those not perfectly parallel to the case in hand, to found a general theory. Let us make the experiment, how the application of this doctrine to the passions of the mind will answer. And for our greater security against mistake, let us begin with the simplest cases in the direct, and not in the reflex or sympathetic passions, in which hardly any feeling or affection comes alone. A merchant loseth all his fortune by a shipwreck, and is reduced at one stroke from opulence to indigence. His grief, we may suppose, will be very violent. If he had lost half his stock only, it is natural to think he would have borne the loss more easily ; though still he would have been affected : perhaps the loss of fifty pounds he would have scarcely felt : but I should be glad to know how much the movement or passion must be moderated; or, in other words, as the difference ariseth solely from the different degrees of the cause, how small the loss must be, when the sentiment or feeling of it begins to be converted into a real pleasure : for to me it doth not appear natural that any the most trifling loss, were it of a single shilling, should be the subject of positive de- light. But to try another instance, a gross and public in- sult commonly provokes a very high degree of resent- ment, and gives a most pungent vexation to a person of sensibility. I would gladly know, whether a small af- front, or some slight instance of neglect or contempt, gives such a person any pleasure. Try the experiment also on friendship and hatred, and you will find the same 166 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. success. As the warmest friendship is highly agreeable to the mind, the slightest liking is also agreeable, though in a less degree. Perfect hatred is a kind of torture to the breast that harbours it, which will not be found ca- pable of being mitigated into pleasure ; for there is no degree of ill-will without pain. The gradation in the cause and in the effect, are entirely correspondent. Nor can any just conclusion be drawn from the affec- tions of the body, as in these the consequence is often solely imputable to a certain proportion of strength, in the cause that operates, to the present disposition of the organs. But though I cannot find that in any uncom- pounded passion the most remote degrees are productive of such contrary effects, I do not deny that when differ- ent passions are blended, some of them pleasing and Some painful, the pleasure or the pain of those which predominate, may, through the wonderful mechanism f of our mental frame, be con bide rably augmented by the mixture. The only truth which, as I hinted already, I can dis- cover in the preceding hypothesis, is, that the mind in certain cases avails itself of the notion of falsehood, in order to prevent the representation or narrative from producing too strong an effect upon the imagination, and consequently to relieve itself from such an excess of passion, as could not otherwise fail to be painful. But let it be observed, that this notion is not a necessary con- comitant of the pleasure that results from pity and other such affections, but is merely accidental. It was remark- ed above, that if the pathetic exceeds a certain measure, from being very pleasant it becomes very painful. Then the mind recurs to every expedient, and to disbelief amongst others, by which it may be enabled to disbur- den itself of what distresseth it. And indeed, whenever •j- The word meekanism applied to the mind, ought not reasonably to give of. fence to any. I only use the term metaphorically for those effects in the opera- tion of the mental faculties, produced in consequence of such fixed laws as are independent of the will. It hath here therefore no reference to the doctrine of the materialist, a system which, in my opinion, is not only untenable, but absurd. Chap. XL of rhetoric. 167 this recourse is had by any, it is a sure indication, that with regard to such, the poet, orator, or historian, hatlv exceeded the proper measure. But that this only holds when we are too deeply in- terested by the sympathetic sorrow, will appear from the following considerations : first, from the great pains- often taken by writers (whose design is certainly not to shock, but to please their readers) to make the most moving stories they relate, be firmly believed : second- ly, from the tendency, nay fondness of the generality of mankind, to believe what moves them, and their averse- ness, to be convinced that it is a fiction. This can re- sult only from the consciousness that, in ordinary cases, disbelief, by weakening their pity, would diminish, in- stead of increasing, their pleasure. They must be very far then from entertaining Fontenelle's notion, that it is necessary to the producing of that pleasure ; for we can- not well suspect them of a plot against their own enjoy- ment : thirdly, and lastly, from the delight which we take in reading or hearing the most tragical narrations of orators and historians, of the reality of which we en- tertain no doubt ; I might add, in revolving in our own minds, and in relating to others, disastrous incidents, which have fallen within the compass of our own know- ledge, and as to which, consequently, we have an abso- lute assurance of the fact. Part III. — The third Hypothesis. The third bypothesis which I shall produce on this subject, is Mr Hume's. Only it ought to be remarked previously, that he doth not propose it as a full solution of the question, but rather as a supplement to the for- mer two, in the doctrine of both which, he, in a great measure, acquiesces. Take his theory in his own words. He begins with putting the question, " What is it then, " which, in this case," that is, when the sorrow is not softened by fiction, " raises a pleasure from the bosom " ©f uneasiness, so to speak ; and a pleasure, which still 168 the philosophy Book L 44 retains all the features and outward symptoms of dis- 44 tress and sorrow ? I answer : This extraordinary met or Mohammed, but Mahommed. In regard to such • Suppose cr.e of these Aristarchs advancing in such ingenious refinements, and thus criticising on the word aversion : " This substantive is by divers authors M diversely construed. Some say aversion to a change, others aversion from a " change : both, I affirm, from a blind attachment to vernacular idioms, have a- •* like deviated into the most ugly and deformed faults. This judgment, how ** severe soever, I am able to support by an irrefragable argument. Aversion, " according to its etymology, denotes turning from. The first syllable'c is, in the " original language, a preposition signifying from. It would therefore be ab- surd to conjoin in the same phrase with it, the preposition to, which hath a " contrary signification ; and to use from after aversion, would render the ex- " pression hideously pleonastic In defiance therefore of a habitude, which, how- '• ever ancient and universal, is the offspring of ignorance, we must, if we would *' speak correctly, either say aversion a change, the first syllable a having the force " of the preposition, or, cutting off this prepositive, we must say aversion from a " change" If any should think this representation exaggerated, let him compare the reasoning with that which hath been seriously used for mutilating -the word «lcoran, and he will find it in all respects the same. It is, I acknowledge, of no consequence, whether we say alcoran, or koran ; but it is of consequence, that such .a silly argument shall not be held a sufficient ground for innovation, Chap. III. QP RHETORIC. 245 foreign names of persons, offices, eras, and rites, it would be obliging in writers of this stamp, to annex to their works a glossary, for the sake of the unlearned, who cannot divine whether their newfangled terms belong to things formerly unknown, or are no more than the old names of things familiar to them, newly vamped and dressed. Surely, if any thing deserves to be branded with the name of pedantry, it is an ostentation of erudi- tion, to the reproach of learning, by affecting singularity in trifles. I shall just mention another set of barbarisms, which also comes under this class, and arises from the abbrevia- tion of polysyllables, by loping off all the syllables except the first, or the first and second. Instances of this are, hyp for hypochondriac, rep for reputation, ult for ultimate , penult for penultimate, incog for incognito, hyper for hy- perergic, extra for extraordinary. Happily all thege af- fected terms have been denied the public suffrage. I scarcely know any such that have established themselves, 1 except mob for mobiU*. And this it hath effected at last, notwithstanding the unrelenting zeal with which it was persecuted by Dr Swift, wherever he met with it. ' x But as the word in question hath gotten Use, the supreme arbitress of language, on its side, there would-be as much obstinacy in rejecting it at present, as there was perhaps J folly at first in ushering it upon the public stage. As to the humour of abbreviating, we need say very little, as it seems hardly now to subsist amongst us. It only arose in this island about the end of the last century, and when, in the beginning of the present, it assumed to figure in conversation, and even sometimes to appear in print, it was so warmly attacked by Addison and Swift, * As I am disposed to think that, in matters of this kind, the Public is rarely in the wrong, it would not be difficult to assign a plausible reason for this preference. First, the word mobile, from which it is contracted, can scarcely be called English, and, I suspect, never had the sanction of the public voice. Secondly, there is not another word in the language that express- ed precisely the same idea, a tumultuous and seditious rout : the word mobility, adopted by some writers, is a gross misapplication of the philosophical term, which means only susceptibility of motion ; lastly, the word mob is fitter than either of those for giving rise, according to the analogy of our tongue, to such convenient derivatives as to we>&, mobbed, 7nobbishf mobUr. 24§ the philosophy Book IL and other writers of eminence, that since then it hath been in general disgrace, hardly daring to appear in good company, and never showing itself in books of any name. The two classes of barbarisms last mentioned, compre- hending new words, and new formations from words stiii current, offend against use, considered both as reputable and as national. There are many other sorts of trans- gression which might be enumerated here, such as vul- garisms, provincial idioms, and the cant of particular professions. But these are more commonly ranked a- mong the offences against elegance, than among the vio- lations of grammatical purity, and will therefore be con- sidered afterwards. Section II. — The Solecism. I now enter on the consideration of tjie second way by which the purity of the style is injured, the solecism. This is accounted by grammarians a much greater fault than the former, as it displays a greater ignorance of the fundamental rules of the language. The sole aim of grammar is to convey the knowledge of the language ; consequently, the degree of grammatical demerit in every blunder, can only be ascertained by the degree of defi- ciency in this knowledge which it betrays. But the aim of eloquence is quite another thing. The speaker or the writer doth not purpose to display his knowledge in the language, but only to employ the language which he speaks or writes, in order to the attainment of some further end. This knowledge he useth solely as the instrument or means by which he intends to instruct, to please, to move, or to persuade. The degree of demerit therefore, which, by the orator's account, is to be found in every blunder, must be ascertained by a very different measure. Such offence is more or less heinous, precisely in propor- tion as it proves a greater or smaller obstruction to the speaker's or writer's aim. Hence it happens, that when solecisms are not very glaring, when they do not darken the sense or suggest some ridiculous idea, the rhetori- Chap. III. of rhetoric. 249 cian regards them as much more excusable than barbar- isms. The reason is, the former is accounted solely the eifect of negligence^ the latter of affectation. Negli- gence in expression, often the consequence of a noble ardour in regard to the sentiments, is at the worst a venial trespass, sometimes it is even not without energy ; affectation is always a deadly sin against the laws of rhetoric. It ought also to be observed, that in the article of so^ lecisms, much greater indulgence is given to the speak- er than to the writer ; and to the writer who proposeth to persuade or move, greater allowances are made, than to him who proposeth barely to instruct or please. The more vehemence is required by the nature of the subject, the less correctness is exacted in the manner of treating it. Nay, a remarkable deficiencyin this respect is not near so preju- dicial to the scope of the orator, as a scrupulous accur- acy, which bears in it the symptoms of study and art. Eschines is said to have remarked, that the orations of his rival and antagonist Demosthenes, smelled of the lamp ; thereby intimating, that their style and composi- tion were too elaborate. If the remark is just, it con- tains the greatest censure that ever was passed on that eminent orator. But, as the intermediate degrees between the two extremes are innumerable, both doubtless ought to be avoided. Grammatical inaccuracies ought to be avoided by a writer, for two reasons. One is, that a reader will much sooner discover them than a hearer, however attentive he be. The other is, as writing implies more leisure and greater coolness than is implied in speaking, defects of this kind, when discovered in the former, will be less ex- cused, than they would be in the latter. To enumerate all the kinds of solecism into which it is possible to fall, would be both a useless and an endless task. The transgression of any of the syntactic rules is a solecism ; and almost every rule may be transgressed in various ways. But as novices only are capable of fall- ing into the most flagrant solecisms, such, I mean, as be- tray ignorance in the rudiments of the tongue, I shall ii 250 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. leave it to grammarians to exemplify, and class the va- rious blunders of this sort which may be committed by the learner All 1 propose to do at present, is to take notice of a few less observable, which writers of great name, and even of critical skill in the language, have slidden into thiough inattention ; and wrhich, though of the nature of solecism, ought perhaps to be distin- guished by the softer name inaccuracy*. The first of this kind I shall observe is a mistake of the plural number io;- the singular, " The zeal of the " seraphim breaks forth in a becoming warmth of senti- " ments and expressions, as the character w7hich is given " us oi him denotes that generous scorn and intrepidity " which attends heroic virtuef ." Cherub and seraph are twro nouns in the singular number transplanted into our language, directly from the Hebrew7. In the plural we are authorised, both by use and by analogy, to say either cherubs and seraphs, according to the English idiom, or cherubim and seraphim, according to the ori- ental. The former suits better the familiar, the latter the solemn style. It is surprising that an author of Mr Addison's discernment, did not, in criticising Milton, take notice of a distinction which is every where so care- fully observed by the poet. I shall add to this remark, that as the words cherubim and seraphim are plural, the terms cherubims and scraphims, as expressing the plural, are quite improper. Yet these barbarisms occur some- times in' our translation of the Bible ; which, neverthe- less, doth not once adopt the plural form cherubim and seraphim, to express the singular ; though one would • I am sensible, that in what concerns the subject of this section, I have been in a great measure prevented by the remarks of Lowth and Triestley, and some other ciitics and grammarians, who have lately favoured the world with their ob- servations. Since reading their publications, 1 have curtailed considerably what I prepared on this article; for though I have rarely hit upon the same examples, there was often a coincidence in the matter, inasmuch as the species of fault, animadverted on, was frequently the same. I have now almost entirely confined myself to such slips as have been overlooked by others, I say almost cnlirclrj ; for when any error begins to prevail, even a single additional remonstrance may be of consequence ; and in points on which critics are divided, I thought it not un- reasonable to offer my opinion. f Spectator, No, 327. Chap. III. OF RH£TORIC* 25 1 naturally imagine, that this error must originally have given rise to the other. Inaccuracies are often found in the way wherein the degrees of comparison are applied and construed. Some of these, I suspect, have as yet escaped the animadver- sion of all our critics. Before I produce examples, it will be proper to observe, that the comparative degree im- plies commonly a comparison ot one thing with one other thing ; the superlative, on the contrary, always impiies a comparison of one thing with many others. The for- mer, consequently, requires to be followed by the singu- lar number, the latter by the plural. In our language, the conjunction than must be interposed between the things compared in the former case, the preposition of is always used in the latter. The following is an example of wrong construction in the comparative : " This nobie nation hath of all others " admitted fewer corruptions*." The word fewer is here construed precisely as if it were the superlative. Grammatically thus : " This noble nation hath admitted fewer corruptions than any other" Sometimes indeed the comparative is rightly followed by a plural ; as in these words, " He is wiser than we." But it cannot be construed with the preposition of before that to which the subject is compared. There is one case, and but one, wherein the aforesaid preposition is proper after the com- parative, and that is, when the words following the pre- position comprehend both sides of the comparison ; as, " He is the taller man of the two." In these words the two are included he and the person to whom he is com- pared. It deserves our notice also, that in such cases, and only in such, the comparative has the definite article the prefixed to it, and is construed precisely as the su- perlative : nay, both degrees are in such cases used in- discriminately. We say rightly, either, " This is the *' weaker of the two," or — " the weakest of the two." If, however, we may form a judgment from the most general principles of analogy, the former is preferable, because there are only two things compared. • Swift's Mechanical Operations. c252 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II » I shall subjoin to this an inaccuracy in a comparison of equality, where, though the positive degree only is used, the construction must be similar to that of the comparative, both being followed by conjunctions which govern no case " Such notions would be avowed at this " time by none but rosicrucians, and fanatics as mad as " them*" Grammatically they, the verb are being un- derstood* That the participles, as after the positive, and than after the comparative, are conjunctions and not prepositions, seems never to have been questioned by any grammarian or critic before Dr Priestley. I readily acknowledge, that it is use which must decide the point ; nor should I he- sitate a moment in agreeing to the notion he suggests, if it were supported by what could be justly denominat- ed general and reputable use. But to me it is manifest, that both the most numerous and the most considerable authorities are on the opposite side ; and therefore, that those instances which he produceth in favour of that hy- pothesis, ought to be regarded merely as negligences of style, into which (as I shall have occasion to observe more fully in thesequel) even the best writers will some- times fall. That in the colloquial dialect, as Johnson calls it, such idioms frequently occur, is undeniable. In conversation you will perhaps ten times oftener hear peo- ple say," There's the books you wanted," than "There are w the books- ;" and " You was present," when a single person is addressed, than " you were present." Yet good use is always considered as declaring solely for the last mode of expression in both cases. The argument drawn from the French usage, (which, by the way, hath no authority in our tongue), is not at all appositef . • Bolingbroke's Ph. Fr. 24. ■f The oblique cases of their personal pronouns, answering to our me, thee, and him, are me, te, and Ic, not moi, tci, and M. In these last we have the indefinite form, which serves indifferently, as occasion requires, for either nominative or accusative, and to which there is nothing in our language that exactly corresponds. Thus, to express in French, * He and I are relations," we must say, " Lui et «' moi, noussommes parens." But in English, " Him and me, we are relations,** would be insufferable. The nominatives je, tu, il, are never used by them, but when immediately adjoined to the verb, prefixed in affirming, or affixed in in- terrogating. In every other situation the indefinite form must supply their place. Le Ckrc thus renders a passage of Scripture, (Rev. i. 18) " Moi qui vis presente- " ment, ja'ai ete mort." But who that understands English would say, «• Me Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 253 But supposing good use were divided on the present question, I acknowledge that the first and second canons proposed on this subject,* would determine me to pre- fer the opinion of those who consider the aforesaid par- ticles as conjunctions. The first directs us in doubtful cases to incline to that side in which there is the least danger of ambiguity. In order to illustrate this point, it will be necessary to observe, that the doubt is not properly stated by saying with Dr Priestley, that the question is, whether the nominative or accusative ought to follow the particles than and as; but, whether these particles are, in such particular cases, to be regarded as conjunctions or prepositions. For, on either supposition, it must be admitted, that in certain circumstances the accusative ought to follow, and not the nominative. But I insist, that as in such cases there is a difference in the sense ; uniformly to consider those particles as conjunc- tions, is the only way of removing the ambiguity. Thus I say properly, " 1 esteem you more than they." I say properly also, '* I esteem you more than them," but in a sense quite different. If than is understood as a con- junction, there can be nothing ambiguous in either sen- tence. The case of the pronoun determines at once the words to be supplied. The first is, " I esteem you more " than they esteem you." The second is, " I esteem you " more than I esteem them," But this distinction is confounded, if you make than a preposition, which, as in every instance it will require the oblique case, will by consequence render the expression equivocal. For this reason, I consider that quotation from Smollet, (who is, by the bye, the only authority alleged on this question) — " Tell the cardinal, that I understand poetry better " than him." But this is not the sense of the author. " who live at present, I have been dead." Let this serve also as an answer to the plea for these vulgar, but unauthorised idioms, It is me, it is him> from the C*e*t moi, c'cst luiy of the French. I shall observe in passing, that one of Priestley's quotations in support of these phrases, is defensible on a different principle, and therefore not to his purpose. •« It is not me you are in love with." The me is here governed by the preposition with. ** It is not with m-e you are hi love.:,~- Snch transpositions are frequent in our language, • Book II, Chap. h\ Sect, 1. 254 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. The second canon leads directly to the same decision, as it teacheth us to prefer what is most agreeable to analogy. Now that is always most repugnant to analo- gy, which tends most to multiply exceptions. Conse- quently, to consider the particles employed in this, man- ner, of stating a comparison as conjunctions, (which they are universally admitted to be in every other case) is more analogical, than to consider them as changing their usual denomination and character, in such instances. But to proceed ; incorrectness in using the superla- tive degree, appears in the subsequent quotation : >** The vice of cuvetousnessis what enters " deepest into the soul of any other.*" An instance of the same fault I shall give from a writer of no small merit for harmony and elegance. " We have a profession set apart for thepur- 44 poses of persuasion, wherein a talent of this kind " would prove the likeliest perhaps of any other. \" I do not here criticise on the word other in those exam- ples, which in my opinion, is likewise faulty, after the superlative ; but this fault comes under another catego- ry. The error I mean at present to point out, is the superlative followed by the singular number, " the deep- 44 est of any other," " the likeliest of any other." We should not say, " the best of any man," or 4i the best of 44 any other man," for 44 the best of men." We may in- deed say, 44 He is the oldest of the family." But the word family is a collective noun, and equivalent to all in the house. In like manner it may be said, 44 The 44 eyes are the worst of his face." But this expression is evidently deficient. The face is not the thing with which the eyes are compared, but contains the things with which they are compared. The sentence when the ellipsis is supplied, stands thus, " Of all the features of " his face, the eyes are the worst." Both the expressions above censured, may be correct- ed by substituting the comparative in room of the super- lative. " The vice of covetousness is what enters deeper • Guardian, No. 19. t Fite-Osborn's Letters, B. i. L. 2U Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 255 V into the soul than any other/9 and " We have a pro- " fession set apart for the purposes of persuasion, where- " in a talent of this kind would prove likelier perhaps " than any other." It is also possible to retain the super- lative, and render the expression grammatical. " Covet- " ousness is what of all vices enters the deepest into the soul ; and " wherein a talent of this kind would per- iC haps of all talents prove the likeliest" In the following example we have a numeral adjec- tive, which doth not belong to any entire word in the sentence as its substantive, but to a part of a word. " The first project was to shorten discourse by cutting " polysyllables into one*." The term one relates to syllable, a part of the word polysyllables. This is quite ungrammatical. The expression is likewise exception- able on the score of propriety, but of this afterwards. There is an error of the same kind in the following passage from Addison, " My christian and sirname begin ." and end with the same lettersf." The word christian is here an adjective, which hath for its substantive the last syllable of the word sirname. The expression is also exceptionable on the score of perspicuity, of which after- wards. Sometimes the possessive pronoun does not suit the antecedent. " Each of the sexes," says Addison, " should " keep within its particular bounds, and content them- " selves to exult within their respective districts J," Themselves and their cannot grammatically refer to each, as singular. Besides the trespass here is the more glar- ing, that these pronouns are coupled with its referring to the same noun. In no part of speech do good writers more frequently fall into mistakes than in the verbs. Of these I shall give some specimens out of a much greater number which might be collected. The first shall be of a wrong tense, " Ye will not come unto me, that ye might have 11 life ||." In two clauses thus connected, when the first verb is in the present or the future, the second, which • Voyage to Laputa f Spectator, No. 505. O. X freeholder. No. 3S. . + John y. 40. 256 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1L is dependent on it, cannot be in the past. The words, therefore, ought to have been translated, " that ye may " have life." On the contrary, had the first verb been in the preterite, the second ought to have been so too. Thus, " Ye would not come to me," or, " Ye did not " come to me, that ye might have life," is entirely gram- matical. In either of these instances, to use the present tense would be erroneous. When the first verb is in the preterperfect, or the present perfect, as some call it, be- cause it hath a reference both to the past and to the pre- sent, the second, I imagine, may be in either tense. Thus, 44 Ye have not come to me that ye might" — or, " that 44 ye may — have life," seem equally unexceptionable. Let it be observed, that in expressing abstract or uni- versal truths, the present tense of the verb ought, ac- cording to the idiom of our language, and perhaps of every language, always to be employed. In such cases, the verb in that form has no relation to time, but serves merely as a copula to the two terms of the proposition. The case is different with the past and the future, in which the notion of time is always comprehended. Yet this peculiarity in the present hath sometimes been over- looked, even by good authors, who, when speaking of a past event which occasions the mention of some general truth, are led to use the same tense in enunciating the general truth, with that which had been employed in the preceding part of the sentence. Of this we have the following example from Swift, which shall serve for the second instance of inaccuracy in the verbs. 44 It is con- *4 fidently reported, that two young gentlemen of real 44 hopes, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon " a thorough examination of causes and effects, and by 44 the mere force of natural abilities, without the least " tincture of learning, have made a discovery, that there 44 was no God, and generously communicating their 44 thoughts for the good of the Public, were some time ago, " by an unparalelled severity, and upon I know not what " obsolete law, broke for blasphemy*." Properly—* " have made a discovery that there is no God." • An Argument against abolishing Christianity. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC, 2$7 The third example shall be of a wrong mood. " If " thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there remember est *' that thy brother hath ought against thee f ." The construction of the two verbs bring and rememberest ought to be the same, as they are both under the regimen of the same conjunction if. Yet the one is in the subjunc- tive mood, the other in the indicative. The fourth instance shall be the omission of an essential part of one of the complex tenses, the writer apparently re- ferring to a part of the verb occurring in a former clause of the sentence although the part referred to will not sup- ply the defect, but some other part not produced. Of this the following is an example : " I shall do all I can to M persuade others to take the same measures for their 44 cure which I have J." Here we have a reference in the end to the preceding verb take. Yet it is not the word take which will supply the sense, but taken. This participle, therefore, ought to have been added. The fifth specimen in the verbs shall be of a faulty reference to a part to be mentioned, " This dedication 44 may serve for almost any book, that has, is, or shall be " published." Has in this place being merely a part of a complex tense, means nothing without the rest of the tense. Yet the rest of the tense is not to be found in the sentence. We cannot say, " any book that has publish- ed" no more can we say, " that has be published" Cor- rected it would run thus, " that has been, or shall be 44 published." The word is ought to be expunged, as adding nothing to the sense. ' I shall next produce a few instances of inaccuracy, which result from coupling words together, and assign- ing to them a common regimen, when use will not admit that they be construed in the same manner. The fol- lowing is an example in the construction of adjectives : iC Will it be urged, that the four gospels are as old or even 44 older than tradition ||?" The words as old and older f Matt. v. 23. + Guardian, No. 1. S! Bolingb. Ph. Es. 19. KK 258 TH£ PHILOSOPHY Book II. cannot have a common regimen ; the one requires to be followed by the conjunction as, the other by than. If he had said, " as old as tradition, and even older/1 there would have been no error. The comparative, in this case, is not construed with the preceding words, but with words which, being ascertained by the preceding, are properly enough understood. I shall exemplify the same inaccuracy in the con- struction of verbs. " It requireth few talents to which most men are not born, or at least may not acquire *." Admitting that the words to which are rightly construed with the passive participle born, they cannot be con- strued w7ith the active verb acquire, For it ought to be noted, that the connexion between the preposition and the noun or pronoun governed by it, is so intimate, that there cannot be a reference to the one without the other. The last clause therefore, ought to run thus, " or which " at least they may not acquire." The repetition of the relative makes the insertion of the personal pronoun necessary. There is an error of the same kind in the sentence following : " The court of Chancery frequently miti- •* gates, and breaks the teeth of the common law f ." What is the regimen of the active verb mitigates ? Re- gularly it ought to be the teeth of the common law, as these words make the regimen of the other active verb breaks, with which the former is coupled. But as this manner of construing the sentence would render the ex- pression highly improper, if not nonsensical, it is evi- dently the author's view, that the verb mitigates should be construed with these words the common law, which, being in construction with the preposition of (or, as some would call it, in the genitive) cannot serve gram- matically as the regimen of an active verb. " Give the Whigs," says the candid Dean of Saint. Patrick's, " but power enough to insult their sovereign, " engross his favours to themselves, and to oppress and " plunder their fellow-subjects ; they presently groiu • Swift on Conversation; + Spectator. No. 564? Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 2o& V into good humour, and good language towards the " crown V I do not like much grow into good humour, for growing good-humoured, but grow into good lan- guage is insufferable. I shall add to these an instance in the syntax of nouns. " There is never wanting a set of evil instruments, who " either out o/^mad zeal, private hatred, or filthy lucre , " are always ready f ." We say properly, " a man " acts out of mad zeal, or out of private hatred /' but we cannot say, if we would speak English, " he acts out of filthy lucre" He ought, therefore, to have sub- stituted in the place of the two last words the term ava- rice, or love of filthy lucre, either of which expressions would have been rightly construed with the preposition. Of the same kind nearly is the following specimen in the government of a substantive : " There is one that will think herself obliged to double her " kindness and caresses of me." The word kindness requires to be fol- lowed by either to or for, and cannot be construed with the preposition of We often find something irregular in the management of the prepositions ; for instance, in the omission of one altogether : " He lamented the fatal mistake the world " had been so long in using silk-wormsj." Another in is necessary to complete the construction, whether we 6uppose the in mentioned to belong to the preceding words, or to the succeeding. But as it would have sounded harshly to subjoin another in immediately after the former, it would have been better to give the sen- tence another turn ; as, " He lamented the fatal mis- " take in which the world have been so long, in using " silk-worms .^" We have a similar omission, though not of a preposi- tion, in the expression following : " That the discours- " ing on politics shall be looked upon as dull as talking on the weather ||." Syntax absolutely requires, that the sentence in this form should have another as immediate- • Examiner. No. 35. -f Swift's Sermon on False Witnesses, X Spect. No. 409. T. f Voyage to Laputa. § Voyage to Laput* 260 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. ]y before the first. At the same time it must be own- ed, that this would render the expression very inele- gant. This dilemma might have been avoided by giv- ing another turn to the concluding part, as thus, " " shall be looked upon as equally dull with talking on " the weather." Of an error in the wrong choice of a preposition, these words of the same author will furnish an example : • No. 502. § Guardian, No. 13. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 307 " law, what he forbids by another." * It is not so clear " as it ought to be, what is the antecedent to such. A- nother from the same author, " The laws of Nature are " truly what my Lord Bacon styles his aphorisms, laws " of laws. Civil laws are always imperfect, and often " false deductions from them, or applications of them ; " nay, they stand in many instances in direct opposition " to the?n"\ It is not quite obvious, on the first reading, that the pronoun them in this passage, doth always re- fer to the laws of Nature, and they to civil laws. " When V a man considers the state of his own mind, about which " every member of the Christian world is supposed at " this time to be employed, he will find that the best " defence against vice, is preserving the worthiest part " of his own spirit pure from any great offence against " it."J It must be owned that the darkness of this sentence is not to be imputed solely to the pronoun. Part V. — From too artificial a structure of the Sentence. Another cause of obscurity is when the structure of the sentence is too much complicated, or too artificial; or when the sense is too long suspended by parentheses. Some critics have been so strongly persuaded of the bad effect of parentheses on perspicuity, as to think they ought to be discarded altogether. But this, I imagine, is also an extreme. If the parenthesis be short, and if it be introduced in a proper place, it will not in the least hurt the clearness, and may add both to the vivacity and to the energy of the sentence. Others, again, have carried their dislike to the parenthesis only so far as to lay aside the hooks by which it is commonly distinguish- ed, and to use commas in their place. But this is not avoiding the fault, if it be a fault, it is only endeavour- ing to commit it so as to escape discovery, and may therefore be more justly denominated a corruption in writing than an improvement. Punctuation, it will • Bolingb. Phil. Fr. 20. •$ lb. Fr. 9. % Guardian, No. 19. 308 THE PHILOSOPHY Eock II. readily be acknowledged, is of considerable assistance to the reading and pronunciation. No part of a sentence requires to be distinguished by the manner of pronoun- cing it, more than a parenthesis ; and consequently, no part of a sentence ought to be more distinctly marked in the pointing. Part VI. — From technical terms. x\nother source of darkness in composing, is the in- judicious introduction of technical words and phrases, as in the following passage : Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea, Veer starboard sea and land .f What an absurd profusion, in an epic poem too, of terms which few beside seamen understand ! In strict pro- priety, technical words should not be considered as be- longing to the language ; because not in current use, nor understood by the generality even of readers. They are but the peculiar dialect of a particular class. When those of that class only are addressed, as in treatises on the principles of their art, it is admitted, that the use of such terms may be not only convenient, but even necessary. It is allowable also in ridicule, if used spar- ingly, as in comedy and romance. Part VII.— From long Sentences. The last cause of obscurity I shall take noticeof is, very long sentences. This rarely fails to be conjoined with some of the other faults before mentioned. The two subsequent quotations from tvvo eminent writers, will serve sufficiently to exemplify more than one of them. The first is from Bolingbroke's Philosophy: " If w7e " are so, contrary to all appearances (for they denote " plainly one single system, all the parts of which are so u intimately connected and dependent one on another, " that the whole begins, proceeds, and ends together,) f Drvden's Iliad. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 3QQ il this union of a body and a soul must be magical in- " deed, as Doctor Cudworth calls it, so magical, that " the hypothesis serves to no purpose in philosophy, " whatever it may do in theology; and is stiil less com- " prehensible, than the hypothesis which assumes, that " although our idea of thought be not included in the " idea of matter or body, as the idea of figure is, for in- The application of the preceding principles. Now, to apply this doctrine to the use for which it was introduced, let us consider how we can account by it for these phenomena, that a man of sense should some- times write nonsense and not know it, and that a man of sense should sometimes read nonsense, and imagine he understands it. In the preceding quotation from the Treatise of Hu- man Nature, the author observes, that " notwithstand- " ing that we do not annex distinct and complete ideas " to every term we make use of, we may avoid talking " nonsense, and may perceive any repugnance among the " ideas, as well as if we had a full comprehension of " them." This remark generally holds. Thus in mat- ters that are perfectly familiar, and are level to an or- dinary capacity, in simple narration, or in moral obser- vations on the occurrences of life, a man of common un- derstanding may be deceived by specious falsehood, but is hardly to be gulled by downright nonsense. Al- most all the possible applications of the terms (in other words, all the acquired relations of the signs) have become customary to him. The consequence is, that an unusual application of any term is instantly detected ; this detec- tion breeds doubt, and this doubt occasions an immediate recourse to ideas. The recourse of the mind when in any degree puzzled with the signs, to the knowledge it has of the thing signified, is natural, and on such plain subjects perfectly easy. And of this recourse the discovery of the meaning, or of the unmeaningness of what is said, is the immediate effect. But in matters that are by no means familiar, or are treated in an uncommon manner, and in such as are of an abstruse and intricate nature, the case is widely different. There are particularly three sorts of writing wherein we are liable to be imposed on by words without meaning. The first is, where there is an exuberance of metaphor. Nothing is more certain than that this trope, when Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 363 temperately and appositely used, serves to add light to the expression, and energy to the sentiment On the contrary, when vaguely and intemperately used, nothing can serve more effectually to cloud the sense, where there is sense, and by consequence to conceal the defect, where there is no sense to show. And this is the case, not only where there is in the same sentence a mixture of discor- dant metaphors, but also where the metaphoric style is too long continued, and too far pursued*. The reason is obvious. In common speech the words are the im- mediate signs of the thought. But it is not so here; for when a person, instead of adopting metaphors that come naturally and opportunely in his way, rummages the whole world in quest of them, and piles them one upon another, when he cannot properly be said to use meta- phor, as to talk in metaphor, or rather when from meta- phor he runs into allegory, and thence into enigma, his words are not the immediate signs of his thought ; they are at best but the signs of the signs of his thought. His writing may then be called what Spenser not unjustly styled his Fairy Queen, a perpetual allegory or dark con- ceit. Most readers will account it much to bestow a transient glance on the literal sense, which lies nearest ; but will never think of that meaning more remote, which the figures themselves are intended to signify* It is no wonder then that this sense, for the discovery of which it is necessary to see through a double veil, should, where it is, more readily escape our observation, and that where it is wanting we should not so quickly miss it. There is, in respect of the two meanings, considerable variety to be found in the tropical style. In just alle- gory and similitude there is always a propriety, or if you choose to call it, congruity, in the literal sense, as well as a distinct meaning or sentiment suggested, which is called the figurative sense. Examples of this are un- necessary. Again, where the figurative sense is unex- ceptionable, there is sometimes an incongruity in the ex- • Ut modicus autem atque opportunus translations usus illustrat orationem ; ita frequens etobscurat et taedio complet ; continuus rero in aUegoriam et senigraa* ta exit. Quint. L. viii. C. 6, 364 THE philosophy Book II. pression of the literal sense. This is always the case in mixeu metapnor, a thing not uniretpient even in good writers* Thus, when Addison remarks that " there is " nor a bing e view oi numan nature, which is not suffi- (* cient to cxcinguistL the seeds of pride," he expresses a true sentiment some what incongruously ; for the terms extinguish and seeds here metapnoncaiiy used, do not suit each other* In like manner, there is something in- congruous in the mixture of tropes employed in the fol- lowing passage from Lord Bolingbroke : " Nothing less " than the hearts of his people will content a patriot " prince, nor will he think his throne established, till it " is established there.'7 Yet the thought is excellent. But in neither of these examples does the incongruity of the expression hurt the perspicuity of the sentence. Sometimes, indeed, the literal meaning involves a direct absurdity. When this is the case, as in the quotation from the principles of painting given in the preceding chapter, it is natural for the reader to suppose that there must be something under it ; for it is not easy to say how absurdly even just sentiments will sometimes be expres- sed. But when no such hidden sense can be discovered, what, in the first view, conveyed to our minds a glaring absurdity, is rightly on reflection denominated nonsense. We are satisfied that De Piles neither thought, not- wanted his readers to think, that Rubens was really the original performer, and God the copier. This then was not his meaning. But what he actually thought, and wanted them to think, it is impossible to elicit from his words. His words then may justly be termed bold, in respect of their literal import, but unmeaning in respect of the author's intention. It may be proper here to observe, that some are apt to confound the terms absurdity and ?ionsense as synony- mous, which they manifestly are not. An absurdity, in the strictest acceptation, is a proposition either intui- tively or demonstratively false. Of this kind are these : " Three and two make seven." " All the angles of a r' Further, in the literal sense there may be nothing un- suitable, and yet the reader may be at a loss to find a figurative meaning, to which his expressions can with justice be applied. Writers immoderately attached to the florid, or highly figured diction, are often misled by a desire of flourishing on the several attributes of a me- taphor, which they have pompously ushered into the discourse, without taking the trouble to examine whe- ther there be any qualities in the subject, to which these attributes can with justice and perspicuity be ap- plied. In one of the examples of the unintelligible above-cit- ed, the author having once determined to represent the human mind under the metaphor of a country, hath in- volved in his thoughts the various objects which might S66 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. be found in a country, but hath never dreamt of consid- ering whether there be any things in the mind properly analogous to these. Hence the strange parade he makes with regions, and recesses, hollow caverns, and private seats, icastes, and wildernesses, fruitful and cultivated tracts, words which, though they have a precise mean- ing as applied to country, have no definite signification as applied to mind. With equal propriety he might have introduced all the variety which Satan discovered in the kingdom of darkness, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death • ; or given us with Othello, — All his travel's history Wherein, belike, of antres vast and desarts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 'T had been his hent to speak -|-. So much for the immoderate use of metaphor, which, by the way, is the principal source of all the nonsense of orators and poets. The second species of writing wherein we are liable to be imposed on by words without meaning, is that wherein the terms most frequently occurring, denote things which are of a complicated nature, and to which the mind is not sufficiently familiarised. Many of those notions which are called by philosophers mixt modes, come under this denomination. Of these the instances are numberless in every tongue : such as government, church, state, constitution, polity, power, commerce, legislature, jurisdiction, proportion, symmetry, elegance. It will con- siderably increase the danger of our being deceived by an unmeaning use of such terms, if they are besides (as very often they are) of so indeterminate, and consequent- ly equivocal significations, that a writer, unobserved either by himself or by his reader, may slide from one sense of the term to another, till by degrees he fall into such applications of it as will make no sense at all. It • Paradise Lost, t Shakespeare. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 367 deserves our notice also, that we are in much greater danger of terminating in this, if the different meanings of the same word have some affinity to one another, than if they have none. In the latter case, when there is no affinity, the transition from one meaning to another, is taking a very wide step, and what few writers are in any danger of ; it is, besides, what will not so readily es- cape the observation of the reader. So much for the second cause of deception, which is the chief source of all the nonsense of writers on politics and criticism. The third and last, and I may add, the principal species of composition, wherein we are exposed to this illusion by the abuse of words, is that in which the terms em- ployed are very abstract, and consequently of very ex- tensive signification. It is an observation that plainly ariseth from the nature and structure of language, and may be deduced as a corollary from what hath been said of the use artificial signs, that the more general any name is, as it comprehends the more individuals under it, and consequently requires the more extensive knowledge in the mind that would rightly apprehend it, the more it must have of indistinctness and obscurity. Thus the word lion is more distinctly apprehended by the mind than the word beast, beast than animal, animal ih&nbeing. But there is, in what are called abstract subjects, a still greater fund of obscurity, than that arising from the frequent mention of the most general terms. Names must be assigned to those qualities as considered abstract- ly, which never subsist independently, or by themselves, but which constitute the generic characters and the spe- cific differences of things. And this leads to a manner which is in many instances remote from the common use of speech, and therefore must be of more difficult conception. The qualities thus considered as in a state of separation from the subjects to which they belong, have been not unfitly compared by a famous wit of the last century, to disembodied spirits : He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures and. abstracts ; 368 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. Where entity and quiddity The ghosts of defunct bodies fly •. As the manes of the departed heroes which iEneas saw in the infernal regions, were so constituted as effectually to elude the embrace of every living wight; in like manner the abstract qualities are so subtile as often to elude the apprehension of the most attentive mind. They have, 1 may say, too much volatility to be arrested, were it but for a moment. -The flitting shadow slips away, Like winds or empty dreams that fly the day f DaYDEy. It is no wonder then, that a misapplication of such w7ords, whether general or abstract, should frequently escape our notice. The more general an v word is in its signification, it is the more liable to be abused by an improper or unmeaning application. A foreigner will escape discovery in a crowd, who would instantly be distinguished in a select company. A very general term is applicable alike to a multitude of different individuals, a particular term is applicable but to a few. When the rightful applications of a word are extremely numerous, they cannot all be so strongly fixed by habit, but that, for greater security, we must perpetually recur in our minds from the sign to the notion we have of the thing signified ; and for the reason aforementioned, it is in such instances difficult precisely to ascertain this notion. Thus the latitude of a word, though different from its ambiguity, hath often a similar effect. Further, it is a certain fact, that when we are much accustomed to particular terms, we can scarcely avoid fancying that we understand them, whether they have a meaning or not. The reason of this apprehension might easily be deduced from what hath been already said of the nature of signs. Let it suffice at present to observe the fact. Now, on ordinary subjects, if we adopt such • Hudibras. B. i. C. !. f Ter comprensa manus efFugit imago, Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. ^NEis, 1. 6. Chap. VII. OF rhetoric. 369 a wrong opinion, we may easily be undeceived. The reason is, that on such subjects, the recourse from the sign to the thing signified is easy. For the opposite reason, if we are in such an error on abstract subjects, it is next to impossible that ever we should be undeceived. Hence it is, if without offence 1 may be indulged the observation, that in some popular systems of religion, the zeal of the people is principally exerted in support of certain favourite phrases, and a kind of technical and idiomatical dialect to which their ears have been long enured, and which they consequently imagine they understand, but in which often there is nothing to be understood. From such causes it hath arisen, that ever since the earliest days of philosophy, abstract subjects have been the principal province of altercation and logomachy ; to the support of which, how far the artificial dialectic of the schoolmen, nay, the analytics and the metaphysics, the categories and the topics of the justly admired Sta- gyrite, have contributed, we have considered already *. Indeed at length disputation in the schools came to be so much a mechanical exercise, that if once a man had learned his logic, and had thereby come to understand the use of his weapons, and had gotten the knack of wielding them, he was qualified, without any other kind of knowledge, to defend any position whatsoever, how contradictory soever to common sense, and to the clear- est discoveries of reason and experience. This art, it must be owned, observed a wonderful impartiality in regard to truth and error, or rather the most absolute indifference to both. If it was oftener employed in de- fence of error, that is not to be wondered at ; for the way of truth is one, the ways of error are infinite. One qualified in the manner above mentioned could as suc- cessfully dispute on a subject of which he was totally ignorant, as on one with which he was perfectly acquaint- ed. Success indeed tended then no more to decide the question, than a man's killing his antagonist in a duel serves now to satisfy any person of sense, that the • Book I. Chap \l 3 A t 370 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. victor had right on his side, and that the vanquished was in the wrong. Such an art as this could at bottom be no other, than a mere playing with words, used in- deed grammatically, according to certain rules established in the schools, but quite insignificant, and therefore in- capable of conveying knowledge. Vain wisdom all, and false philosoph v. This logic, between two and three centuries ago, re- ceived a considerable improvement from one Raimund Lully, a native of Majorca, who, by the ingenious con- trivance of a few concentric moveable circles ; on the borders of some of which were inscribed the subjects, of others the predicaments, and of others the forms of ques- tions, not only superseded the little in point of invention which the scholastic logic had till then required, but much accelerated the operations of the artist. All was done by manual labour. All the circles, except the outmost which was immoveable, were turned upon the common center, one after another. In this manner the disposition of subjects, predicaments, and questions, was perpetually varied. All the proper questions on every subject were suggested, and pertinent answers supplied. In the same way did the working of the engine discover and apply the several topics of argument that might be used in support of any question. On this rare device, one Atha- nasius Kircher made great improvements in the last century. He boasted that by means of a coffer of arts, divided into a number of small receptacles, entirely of his own contriving, a thousand prodigies might be performed, which either could not be affected at all, by Lully's magical circles, or at least not so expeditiously. Nothing can more fully prove, that the fruit of all such contrivances was mere words without knowledge, an empty show of science without the reality, than the ostentatious and absurd way in which the inventors and their votaries talk of these inventions. They would have us believe, that in these is contained a complete ency- clopaedia, that here we may discover all the arts and sciences as in their source^ that hence all of them may be Chap. VJL OF RHETORIC. 371 deduced a priori, as from their principles. According- ly they treat all those as no better than quacks and em- pirics who have recourse to so homely a tutoress as ex- perience. The consideration of their pretensions hath indeed satisfied me, that the ridicule thrown on projectors of this kind, in the account given by Swift * of a profes- sor in the academy of Lagado, is not excessive, as I once thought it. The boasts of the academist on the prodi- gies performed by his frame, are far less extravagant than those of the above-mentioned artists, which in truth they very much resemble f. • Gulliver's Travels, Part ill- •f- At what an amazing pitch of perfection doth Knittelius, a great admirer both of Lully and of Kircher, suppose that the adepts in this literary handicraft may arrive. The assiduous and careful practice will at length, according to him, fully instruct us, '* Quomodo de quacunque re proposita statim librum concipere, •* et in capita dividere, de quacunque re ex tempore disserere, argumentari, de " quocunque themate orationem formare, orationem mentalem per horam, ** dies et septimanast protrahere, rem quamcunque describere, per apologos '* et fabulas proponere, emblemata, et hieroglyphica in venire dequacunque «' re historias expedite scribere, adversaria de quacunque refacere, de qua- " cunque materia consilia dare, omnes argutias ad unam regulam reducere» ** assumptum thema in infinitum multiplicare, ex falso rem demonstrare, '* quidlibet per quidlibet probare, possimus." Quirinus Kuhlmannus, another phi- losopher of the last century, in a letter to Kircher hath said with much good sense, concerning his coffer, " Lusus est ingeniosus ingeniose Kirchere, non methodus. " prima fronte aliquid promittens, in recessu nihil solvens. Sine cista enim puer nihil *' potest respondere, et in cista nihil pneter verba habet ; tot profert quot audit, sine " intellectu, adinstar psittaci; et de illo jure dicitur quod Lacon de philomela, " Vox est, prcetereaque nihil." Could any body imagine, that one who thought so justly of Kircher's device, was himself the author of another of the same kind. He had, it seems, contrived a scientific machine, that moved by wheels, with the conception of which he pretended to have been inspired by Heaven, but unfortun- ately he did not live to publish it. His only view, therefore, in the words above- quoted, was to depreciate Kircher's engine, that he might the more effectually recommend his own. " Multa passim," says Morhoff concerning him (Polyhistor. vol. I. lib. ii. cap. 5. «* de retis suis combinatoriis jactat, quibus ordinatis unus 4* homo millies mille, imo millies millies mille scribas vincat ; qui tamen primarius " rotarum scopus non est, sed grandior longe restat : nempe notitia providentioe " aeternae, orbisque terrarum motus." And again, "Nee ullus hominum tain «' insulso judicio praeditus est, qui hac institutione libros doctos, novos., utiles, ** omni rerum scientia plenos, levissima opera edere non potest." How much more modest is the professor of Lagado : " He flatters himself indeed, that a •* more noble exalted thought than his never sprang in any other man's head," but doth not lay claim to inspiration. " Every one knows," he adds, ** how labori- •« ous the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences : whereas, by his con- *' trivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonable charge, and with a little " bodily labour, may write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, law, mathema- " tics, and theology," (no mention of history) " without the least assistance from •' genius and study." He is still modest enough to require time, and some cor- poreal exercise, in order to the composing of a treatise) but those artists propose 4 * to bring a proficient siatim librum concipere" instantly, "levissima opera.** with little or no pains. I shall conclude with laying before the reader, tne opi- nion of Lord Verularn, concerning the Lullian art, an opinion that may with 37^ THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. So much for the third and last cause of illusion that was taken notice of, arising from the abuse of very gen- eral and abstract terms, which is the principal source of all the nonsense that hath been rented by metaphysi- cians, mystagogues, and theologians. CHAP. VIII. The extensive usefulness of Perspicuity. Section I. When is obscurity apposite, if ever it be apposite, and what kind? TTAVING fully considered the nature of perspicuity, and the various ways in which the laws relating to it may be transgressed. I shall now enquire, whether to be able to trangress with dexterity in any of those ways, by speaking obscurely, ambiguously, or unintelligibly, be not as essential to the perfection of eloquence, as to be able to speak perspicuously. Eloquence, it may be said, hath been defined to be, that art or talent whereby the discourse is adapted to produce the effect which the speaker intends it should produce in the hearer*. May not then obscurity, on some occasions, be as conducive to the effect intended, as perspicuity is on other occasions ? If the latter is ne- equal justice be applied to the devices of all Lully's followers and imitators. ■•• Xeque tamer, illud prac-termitterdum, quod nonnulli viri magis tumidi quam " docti insudarunt circa methodum quandam, legitime methodi nomine baud dig- «« nam, cum potius sit methodu? impcsturae, quae tamen quibusdam ardelionibus ~< aeceptissima procul dubio fuerit. Ksee methodus ita scientiae alicujus guttula9 *■* aspergit, ut quis sciohis specie nonnulla eruditionis ad oetentationem possit *' abuti. Talis fuit ars Lullii, talis typocosmia a nonnullis exarata ; qua? nihil " aliud fuerunt, quam vocabulorum artis cujusque massa et acervus; ad hoc, ut '* qui voces artis habeant in promptu, etiam artes ipsas perdidicisse existimentur. ** Hujus generis collectanea effa'cinam referunt veteramentariam, ubi pnesegmina k' multa xeperiuntur, sed nihil quod alicujus sitpretii.*' De Augm. Scien. lib. vi. cap. 2. I shall only observe, that when he calls this art a method of imposture, he appears to mean that it puts an imposition upon the mindf not so much by in- fusing error instead of truth, as by amusing us with mere words instead of useful knowledge • Book I. Chap. I. Chap. VII. of rhetoric. 373 cessary in order to inform, is not the former necessary in order to deceive ? If perspicuity be expedient in con- vincing us of truth, and persuading us to do right, is not its contrary, obscurity, expedient in effecting the contrary ; that is, in convincing us of what is false, and in persuading us to do wrong ? And may not either of these effects be the aim of the speaker ? This way of arguing is far more plausible than just. To be obscure, or even unintelligible, may, I acknowledge, in some cases, contribute to the design of the orator, yet it dotb not follow, that obscurity is as essential to elo- quence as the opposite quality. It is the design of the medical art to give health and ease to the patient, not pain and sickness, and that the latter are sometimes the foreseen effects of the medicine employed, doth not inva- lidate the general truth. Whatever be the real intention of a speaker or writer, whether to satisfy our reason of what is true or what is untrue, whether to incline our will to what is right or to what is wrong, still he must pro- pose to effect his design by informing our understand- ing ; nay more, without conveying to our minds some information, he might as well attempt to atchieve his purpose by addressing us in an unknown tongue. Ge- nerally, therefore, this quality of style, perspicuity, is as requisite in seducing to evil, as in exciting to good, in defending error, as in supporting truth, I am sensible that this position must appear to many 110 other than a paradox. What ! say they, is it not as natural to vice and falsehood to sculk in darkness, as it is to truth and virtue, to appear in light? Doubtless it is in some sense, but in such a sense as is not in the least repugnant to the doctrine [here advanced. That therefore we may be satisfied of the justness of this theory, it will be necessary to consider a little further the nature both of persuasion and of conviction. With regard to the former, it is evident, that the principal scope for employing persuasion is, when the mind balances, or may be supposed to balance, in de- termining what choice to make in respect of conduct, whether to do this, or to do that, or at least whe- ther to do, or to forbear. And it is equally evident. 374 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. that the mind would never balance a moment in choos- ing, unless there were motives to influence it on each of the opposite sides. In favour of one side perhaps is the love of glory, in favour of the other the love of life. Now, whichever side the orator espouses, there are two things that must carefully be studied by him, as was ob- served on a former occasion * ; the first is, to excite in his hearers that desire or passion which favours his de- sign ; the second is, to satisfy their judgments, that there is a connexion between the conduct to which he would persuade them, and the gratification of the desire or pas- sion which he excites. The first is effected by communi- cating natural and lively ideas of the object ; the second by arguments from experience, analogy, testimony, or the plurality of chances. To the communication of na- tural and vivid ideas, the pathetic circumstances former- ly enumerated f , are particularly conducive. — Now to the efficacious display of those circumstances, nothing can be more unfriendly than obscurity, whose direct tendency is to confound our ideas, or rather to blot them altogether. And as to the second requisite, the argu- mentative part, that can never require obscurity, which doth not require even a deviation from truth. It may be as true, and therefore as demonstrable, that my act- ing in one way will promote my safety, or what I regard as my interest, as that my acting in the contrary way will raise my fame. And eyen when an orator is under a necessity of replying to what hath been advanced by an antagonist, in order to weaken the impression he hath made, or to lull the passion he hath roused, it is not often that he is obliged to avail himself of any false or sophistical reasoning, which alone can render obscurity useful. Commonly, on the contrary, he hath only to avail himself of an artful exhibition of every circum- stance of the case, that can any way contribute to inva- lidate or to subvert his adversary's plea, and consequent- • Book I. Chap. V. Sect iv. See the analysis of persuasion. Hook I. Chap. VII. Sect. 5. The explication and use of those circumstances. Chap. VII. of rhetoric. 375 ]y to support his own. Now it is a certain fact, that in almost all complicated cases, real circumstances will be found in favour of each side of the question. Whatever side therefore the orator supports, it is his business, in the first place, to select those circumstances that are favourable to his own plea, or which excite the passion that is directly instrumental in promoting his end ; se- condly, to select those circumstances that are unfavour- able to the plea of his antagonist, and to add to all these such clearness and energy by his eloquence, as will effec- tually fix the attention of the hearers upon them, and thereby withdraw their regards from those circumstances, equally real, which favour the other side. In short, it is the business of the two antagonists to give different or even opposite directions to the attention of the hearers ; but then it is alike the interest of each to set those par- ticular circumstances, to which he would attract their notice, in as clear a light as possible. And it is only by acting thus that he can hope to effectuate his purpose. Perhaps it will be urged, that though, where the end is persuasion, there doth not seem to be an absolute ne- cessity of sophistry and obscurity on either side, as there is not on either side an absolute necessity for supporting falsehood ; the case is certainly different when the end is to convince the understanding. In this case, what- ever is spoken on one side of the question, as it is spo- ken in support of error, must be sophistical ; and so- phistry seems to require a portion of obscurity, to serve her as a veil, that she may escape discovery. Even here, however, the case is not so plain, as at first it may be thought. Sophistry (which hath sometimes been suc- cessfully used in support of truth) is not always neces- sary for the support of error. Error may be supported, and hath been often strenuously supported, by very co- gent arguments and just reasoning. But as this position will probably appear to many very extraordinary, if not irrational, it will be necessary to examine the matter more minutely. It is true, indeed, that in subjects susceptible of demonstrative proof, er- 376 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. ror cannot be defended but by sophistry ; and sophistry, to prevent detection, must shelter herself in obscurity. This results from the nature of scientific evidence, as formerly explained *. This kind of evidence is solely conversant about the invariable relations of number and extension, which relations it evolves by a simple chain of axioms. An assertion, therefore, that is contrary to truth in these matters, is also absurd and inconceivable ; nor is there any scope here for contrariety of proofs. Accordingly, debate and argumentation have no footing here. The case is far otherwise with moral evidence, which is of a complex nature, which admits degrees, which is almost always combated by opposite proofs, and these, though perhaps lower in degree, as truly of the nature of proof and evidence, as those whereby they are opposed. The probability, on the whole, as was shown already f , lies in the proportion which the con- trary proofs, upon comparison, bear to one another ; a proportion which, in complicated cases, it is often dif- ficult, and sometimes even impossible, to ascertain. The speakers, therefore, on the opposite sides have each real evidence to insist on ; and there is here the same scope as in persuary discourses, for all the arts than can both rivet the hearer's attention on the circumstances of the proof favourable to the speaker's design, and divert his attention from the contrary circumstances. Nor is there, in ordinary cases, that is, in all cases really dubious and disputable, any necessity, on either side, for what is pro- derly called sophistry. The natural place for sophistry is, when a speaker finds himself obliged to attempt the refutation of argu- ments that are both clear and convincing. For an an- swerer to overlook such arguments altogether might be dangerous, and to treat them in such a manner as to e- lude their force, requires the most exquisite address. A little sophistry here will, no doubt, be thought necessary, by one with whom victory hath more charms than truth ; • Book i. Chap. V. Sect. ii. t Ibid. Chap. VIII. of rhetoric. . 377 and sophistry, as was hinted above, always implies ob scurity ; for that a sophism should be mistaken for an argument, can be imputed only to this, that it is not rightly understood. As from what hath been said, we may learn to dis- tinguish the few cases wherein a violation of the laws of perspicuity may be pertinent to the purpose of the orator, I shall next inquire what kind of violation is in such cases best fitted for answering his design. It is evident it cannot be the first, which for distinction's sake was denominated by the general name Obscurity. When a hearer not only doth not understand, but is himself sensible that he doth not understand what is spoken, it can produce no effect on him, but weariness, suspicion, and disgust, which must be prejudicial to the intention. Although it is not always necessary, that every thing advanced by the speaker should convey information to the hearer, it is necessary that he should believe himself informed by what is said, ere he can be convinced or per- suaded by it. For the like reason, it is not the second kind of transgression, or any discoverable ambiguity in what is spoken, that is adapted to the end of speaking. This fault, if discovered, though not of so bad consequence as the former, tends to distract the attention of the hear- er, and thereby to weaken the impression which the words would otherwise have made. It remains., that it is only the third and last kind above discussed, when what is said, though in itself unintelligible, a hearer may be led to imagine that he understands. When ambi- guities can artfully be made to elude discovery, and to conduce to this deception, they may be used with suc- cess.* Now, though nothing would seem to be easier than this kind of style, when an author falls into it na- turally ; that is, when he deceives himself as well as his reader ; nothing is more difficult when attempted of de- sign. It is besides requisite, if this manner must be con- tinued for any time, that it be artfully blended with * That they are often successful this way hath been justly remarked by Aris- totle, 1m V tvafKtlai, tu fit* ffofysn iftuw/Mon XZt,ff,(A,et> **£ aretvjzs ytto xaxv^yiu fnr. y. 3B 378 THE PHILOSOPHY Book JI. some glimpses of meaning ; else, to persons of discern- ment, the charm will at last be dissolved, and the no- thingness of what hath been spoken will be detected; nay, even the attention of the unsuspecting multitude, when not relieved by any thing that is level to their comprehension, will infallibly flag. The invocation in the Dunciad admirably suits the orator who is unhap- pily reduced to the necessity of taking shelter in the un- intelligible. Of darkness visible so much he lent, As half to show, half veil the deep intent. There is but one subject in nature (if what is unintelli- gible can be called a subject) on which the appetite of nonsense is utterly insatiable. The intelligent reader needs not be informed, that I mean what is commonly termed mystical theology ; a subject whose supposed sublimity serves with its votaries to apologise for its darkness. That here indeed there may be found read- ers who can, not only with patience but with avidity, not only through pages but through volumes, lose them- selves in wandering over a maze of words unenlightened by a single ray of sense, the translation of the works of Jacob Behmen, and our modern Hutchinsonian perfor- mances, are lamentable proofs. But this case is parti- cular. After all, we are not to imagine, that the sophistical and unmeaning, when it may in some sense be said to be proper, or even necessary, are, in respect of the ascendant gained over the mind of the hearer, ever capable of rival- ling conclusive arguments perspicuously expressed. The effect of the former is at most only to confound the judg- ment, and by the confusion it produceth, to silence con- tradiction > the effect of the latter is, fully to convince the understanding. The impression made by the first can no more be compared in distinctness and vivacity to that effected by the second, than the dreams of a per- son asleep to his perceptions when awake. Hence we may perceive an eminent disadvantage, which the ad- vocate for error, when compelled to recur to words with- Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 379 out meaning, must labour under. The weapons he is obliged to use are of such a nature, that there is much greater difficulty in managing them, than in managing those that must be employed in the cause of truth, and when managed ever so dexterously, they cannot do equal execution. A still greater disadvantage the patron of the cause of injustice or of vice must grapple with. For though he may rind real motives to urge in defence of his plea, as wealth perhaps, or ease, or pleasure, he hath to encounter or elude the moral sentiments which, of all motives whatever, take the strongest hold of the heart. And if he find himself under a necessity of attempting to prove that virtue and right are on his side, he hath his way to grope through a labyrinth of sophistry and nonsense. So much for the legitimate use of the unintelligible in oratory. Section II. — Objections answered. But are there not some subjects, and even some kinds of composition, which from their very nature demand a dash of obscurity ? Doth not decency often require this ? Doth not delicacy require this ? And is not this even essential to the allegoric style, and to the enigma- tic ? As to the manner which decency sometimes re- quires, it will be found on examination to stand opposed more properly to vivacity than to perspicuity of style, and will therefore fall to be considered afterwards. I shall now, therefore examine, in the first place, in what respect delicacy may be said to demand obscurity. Thus much indeed is evident, that delicacy often requires that certain sentiments be rather insinuated than ex- pressed ; in other words, that they be not directly spok- en, but that sufficient ground be given to infer them from what is spoken. Such sentiments are, though im- properly, considered as obscurely expressed, for this spe- cial reason, that it is not by the first operation of the intellect, an apprehension of the meaning of what is said. ?,$U THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. but by a second operation, a reflection on wbat is im- plied or presupposed, that they are discovered ; in which double operation of the mind, there is a faint resemblance to what happens in the case of real obscurity. But in the case of which I am treating, it is the thought more than the expression that serves for a veil to the senti- ment suggested. If therefore in such instances there may be said to be obscurity, it is an obscurity which is totally distinct from obscurity of language. That this matter may be better understood, we must carefully distinguish between the thought expressed, and the thought hinted. The latter may be affirmed to be obscure, because it is not expressed, but hinted ; whereas the former, with which alone perspicuity of style is con- cerned, must always be expressed with clearness, other- wise the sentiment will never be considered as either beautiful or delicate.* I shall illustrate this by exam- ples. No subject requires to be treated more delicately than praise, especially when it is given to a person present. Flattery is so nauseous to a liberal spirit, that even when praise is merited, it is disagreeable at least to unconcerned hearers, if it appear in a garb which adulation commonly assumes. For this reason, an encomium or compliment never succeeds so well as when it is indirect. It then appears to escape the speaker unawTares, at a time that he seems to have no intention to commend. Of this kind the fol- lowing story will serve as an example : " A gentleman " who had an employment bestowed on him, without so 44 much as being known to his benefactor, waited upon 44 the great man who was so generous, and was begin- 44 ning to say he was infinitely obliged Not at all, 44 says the patron, turning from him to another : Had I 44 known a more deserving man in England, he should not • This will serve to explain what Bouhours, a celebrated French critic, and a •rreat advocate for perspicuity, hath advanced on this subject, " Souvenez-vous *' que rien n'est plus oppose a la veritable delicatesse que d'exprimer trop les ** ciioses, et que le grand art consiste a ne pos tout dire sur certains sujets ; a •* glisser dessus plutot que d'y appuyer ; en un mot, a en laisser penser aux au- m tres plus que Ton n'en dit." Maniere de bien penser, $c* Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 391 44 have had it*." Here the apparent intention of the minister was only to excuse the person on whom the fa- vour had been conferred, the trouble of making an ac- knowledgement, by assuring him that it had not been given from personal attachment or partiality. But whilst he appears intending only to say this, he says what implies the greatest praise, and, as it were, accidentally betrays the high opinion he entertained of the other's merit. If he had said directly, " You are the most de- " serving man that I know in England," the answer, though implying no more than what we did say, would have been not only indelicate but intolerable. On so slight a turn in the expression it frequently depends, whether the same sentiment shall appear delicate or gross, complimental or affronting* Sometimes praise is very successfully and. very deli- cately conveyed under an appearance of chagrin. This constitutes the merit of that celebrated thought of Boileau : " To imagine in such a warlike age, which " abounds in Achilleses, that we can write verses as " easily as they take townsf !" The poet seems only venting his complaints against the unreasonable expecta- tions of some persons, and at the same time discovers, as by chance, the highest admiration of his monarch and the heroes who served him, by suggesting the incredible rapidity of the success with which their arms were crowned. Sometimes also commendation will be couched with great delicacy under an air of reproach. An example of this I shall give from the paper lately quoted : '*" My " Lord, said the Duke of B m, after his libertine " way to the Earl of O y, you will certainly be " damrfd. How, my Lord, said the Earl with some " warmth. Nay, replied the duke, there's no help for it, "for it is positively said, Cursed is he of whom all men " speak wellp" A still stronger example in this way, • Tatler, No. 17. •f- Et dans ce terns guerrier et fecond en Achilles Croit que Ton fait les vers, comme Ton prend les vilk-. * tatler, No. 17. 3^2 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. we have from the Drapier, who, speaking to Lord Mo- lebworth of the seditious expressions of which he had himself been excused, says, " I have witnesses ready to " depose, that your Lordship hath said and writ fifty " times worse, and what is still an aggravation, with in« " finitely more wit and learning, and stronger argu- 44 ments : So that as politics run, I do not know a per- 44 son of more exceptionable principles than yourself: 44 And if ever I shall be discovered, I think you will be 44 bound in honour to pay my fme and support me in 44 prison, or else I may chance to inform against you by 44 way of reprisal*." 1 shall produce one other instance from the same hand, of an indirect, but successful manner of praising, by seeming to invert the course of the obligation, and to represeut the person obliging as the person obliged. Swift, in a letter to the Archbishop of Dublin, speaking of Mr Harley, then Lord High Treasurer, afterwards Earl of Oxford, by whose means the Irish clergy had obtain- ed from the Queen, the grant of the first fruits and tenths, says, " I told him, that for my part, I thought 44 he was obliged to the clergy of Ireland, for giving him 44 an occasion of gratifying the pleasure he took in doing *' good to the churchf ." It may be observed, that delicacy requires indirectness of manner no less in censure than in praise. If the one, when open and direct, is liable to be branded with the name of flattery, the other is no less exposed to the op- probrious appellation of abuse, both alike, though in dif- ferent ways offensive to persons of taste and breeding. I shall give, from the work last quoted, a specimen (I cannot say of great delicacy) in stigmatising, but at least of such an indirect manner as is sufficient to screen the author from the imputation of downright rudeness. 4' I 44 hear you are like to be the sole opposer of the bank ; 44 and you will certainly miscarry, because it would 44 prove a most perfidious thing. Bankrupts are always II for setting up banks ; how then can you think a bank ■ Drapier's Let. 5. t Swift's Let. 10. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC, 393 " will fail of a majority in both houses*?" It must be owned that the veil here is extremely thin, too thin to be altogether decent, and serves only to save from the imputation of scurility a very severe reproach. It is the manner which constitutes one principal distinction be- tween the libeller and the satirist. I shall give one in- stance more of this kind from another work of the same author. " To smooth the way for the return of popery in Queen Mary's time, the grantees were confirmed by 44 the pope in the possession of the abbey-lands. But the " bishop tells us, that this confirmation was fraudulent tc and invalid. I shall believe it to be so, although I Ci happen to read it in his Lordship's historyf ." Thus he insinuates, or signifies by implication, that his Lord- ship's history is full of lies. Now, from ail the speci- mens I have exhibited, it will, I suppose, sufficiently ap- pear to any person of common understanding, that the obscurity required by delicacy, either in blaming or in commending, is totally distinct in kind from obscurity of expression, with which none of the examples above quoted is in the smallest degree chargeable. The illustrations I have given on this topic will con- tribute in some measure to explain the obscurity that is requisite in allegories, apologues, parables, and enigmas* In all these sorts of composition, there are two senses plainly intended, the literal and the figurative : the lan- guage is solely the sign of the literal sense, and the literal sense is the sign of the figurative. Perspicuity in the style, which exhibits only the literal sense, is so far from being to be dispensed with here, that it is even more re- quisite in this kind of composition than in any other, Accordingly, you will perhaps nowhere find more per- fect models both of simplicity and of perspicuity of style, than in the parables of the gospel. Indeed, in every sort of composition of a figurative character, more attention is always and justly considered as due to this circumstance than in any other sort of writing. iEsop's • Swift's Letters, 40, + Preface to the Bishop of Sarem's Introduction to the Sd volume of his History of the Reformation. 394 1 HE PHILOSOPHY Book II. Fables are a noted example of this remark. In further confirmation of it, we may observe that no pieces are commonly translated with greater ease and exactness, than the allegorical ; and that even by those who ap- prehend nothing of the mystical sense. This sure could never be the case, if the obscurity were chargeable on the language. The same thing holds here as in painting emblems, or graving devices. It may, without any fault in the pain- ter or engraver, puzzle you to discover what the visible figure of the sun, for example, which you observe in the emblem or the device, was intended to signify ; but if you are at a loss to know whether it be the figure of the sun or the figure of the moon, that you are looking at, he must have been undoubtedly a bungling artist. The body, therefore, if I may so express myself, of the emblem, or of the device, and precisely for the same reason, of the riddle or of the allegory, must be distinctly exhibited so as scarcely to leave room for a possibility of mistake. The exercise that in any of these performances is given to ingenuity, ought wholly to consist in reading the soul. 1 know no style to which darkness of a certain sort is more suited than to the prophetical. Many reasons might be assigned which render it improper that prophe- sy should be perfectly understood before it be accom- plished. Besides, we are certain that a prediction may be very dark before the accomplishment, and yet so plain afterwards, as scarcely to admit a doubt in regard to the events suggested. It does not belong to critics to give laws to prophets, nor does it fall within the confines of any human art, to lay down rules for a species of com- position so far above art. Thus far, however, we may warrantably observe, that when the prophetic style is imi- tated in poetry, the piece ought, as much as possible, to posses the character above mentioned. This character, in my opinion, is possessed in a very eminent degree by Mr Gray's ode called The Bard, It is all darkness to one who knows nothing of the English history, posterior to the reign of Edward the first, and all light to one who is Chap. IX. of rhetoric. 395 well acquainted with that history. But this is a kind of writing whose peculiarities can scarcely be considered as exceptions from ordinary rules. But further, may not a little obscurity be sometimes very suitable in dramatic composition ? Sometimes in- deed, but very seldom ; else the purpose of the exhibi- tion would be lost. The drama is a sort of moral painting, and characters must be painted as they are. A blunderer cannot properly be introduced conversing with all the perspicuity and precision of a critic, no more than a clown can be justly represented expressing himself in the polished style of a courtier. In like manner, when the mind is in confusion and perplexity, arising from the sudden conflict of violent passions, the language will of necessity partake of the perturbation. Incoherent hints, precipitate sallies, vehement exclamations, interrupted perhaps by feeble checks from religion or philosophy, in short, every thing imperfect, abrupt, and desultory, are the natural expressions of a soul overwhelmed in such a tumult. But even here it may be said with truth, that to one skilled in reading Nature, there will arise a light out of the darkness, which will enable him to penetrate farther into the spirit, than he could have done by the help of the most just, most perspicuous, and most elabo- rate description. This might be illustrated, were it necessary, but a case so singular is hardly called an ex- ception. The dramatist then can but rarely claim to be indulged in obscurity in language, the fabulist never. CHAP. IX. May there not be an excess of perspicuity P I shall conclude this subject with inquiring whether it be possible that perspicuity should be carried to excess. It hath been said, that too much of it has a tendency to cloy the reader, and, as it gives no play to the rational and active powers of the mind, will soon grow irksome through excess of facility. In this manner some able critics have expressed themselves on this point, who will 3c 396 THE PHILOSOPHY Book IL be found not to differ in sentiment, but only in expres- sion from the principles above laid down. The objection anseth manifestly from the confound- ing of two objects, the common and the clear, and thence very naturally their contraries, the new and the dark, that are widely different. If you entertain your reader solely or chiefly with thoughts that are either trite or obvious, you cannot fail soon to tire him. You introduce few or no new sentiments into his mind, you give him little or no information, and consequently afford neither exercise to his reason, nor entertainment to his fancy. In what we read, and what we hear, we always seek for something in one respect or other new, which we did not know, or at least attend to before. The less we find of this, the sooner we are tired. Such a trifling minuteness, therefore, in narration, description, or argument, as an or- dinary apprehension would render superfluous, is apt quick- ly to disgust us. The reason is, not because any thing is said too perspicuously, but because many things are said which ought not to be said at all. Nay, if those very things had been expressed obscurely (and the most ob- vious things may be expressed obscurely), the fault would have been much greater ; because it would have requir- ed a good deal of attention to discover what after we had discovered it, we should perceive not to be of sufficient value for requiting our pains. To an author of this kind we should be apt to apply the character which Bassanio in the play gives of Gratiano's conversation : " He " speaks an infinite deal of nothing. His reasons are as " 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*." It is therefore futility in the thought, and not perspicuity in the language, which is the fault of such performances. There is as little hazard that a piece shall he faulty in this respect, as that a mirror shall be too faithful in re- flecting the images of objects, or that the glasses of a telescope shall be too transparent. • Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC. 397 At the same time, it is not to be dissembled that, with inattentive readers, a pretty numerous class, dark- ness frequently passes for depth. To be perspicuous, on the contrary, and to be superficial, are regarded by them as synonymous. But it is not surely to their ab- surd notions that our language ought to be adapted. It is proper, however, before I dismiss this subject, to observe, that every kind of style doth not admit an equal degree of perspicuity. In the ode, for instance, it is dif- ficult, sometimes perhaps impossible, to reconcile the utmost perspicuity with that force and vivacity which the species of composition requires. But even in this case, though we may justly say, that the genius of the performance renders obscurity to a certain degree ex- cusable, nothing can ever constitute it an excellence. Nay, it may still be affirmed with truth, that the more a writer can reconcile this quality of perspicuity with that which is the distinguishing excellence of the species of composition, his success will be the greater. BOOK III. THE DISCRIMINATING PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. Of Vivacity as Depending on the Choice of Words. XJaving discussed the subject of perspicuity, by which the discourse is fitted to inform the understanding, I come now to those qualities of style by which it is a- dapted to please the imagination, and consequently to awake and fix the attention. These I have already de- nominated vivacity and elegance, which correspond to the two sources, whence, as was observed in the begin- ning of this inquiry*, the merit of an address to the fancy immediately results. By vivacity of expression, resemblance is attained, as far as language can contribute to the attainment ; by elegance, dignity of manner. I begin with vivacity, whose nature (though perhaps the word is rarely used in a signification so extensive) will be best understood by considering the several prin- ciples from which it arises. There are three things in style on which its vivacity depends, the choice of words, their number, and their arrangement. The first thing then that conies to be examined, is the words chosen. Words are either proper terms or rhe- torical tropes ; and whether the one or the other, they may be regarded not only as signs, but as sounds ; and consequently as capable, in certain cases, of bearing in some degree a natural resemblance or affinity to the things signified. These three articles therefore, proper terms, rhetorical tropes, and the relation which the sound may be made to bear to the sense, I shall, on the • Book I. Chap. 1. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC- 39i> first topic, the choice of words, consider severally, as far as concerns the subject of vivacity. Section I. — Proper Terms. I begin with proper terms, and observe that the qua- lity of chief importance in these for producing the end proposed, is their specialty. Nothing can contribute more to enliven the expression, than that all the words employed be as particular and determinate in their sig- nification, as will suit with the nature and the scope of the discourse. The more general the terms are, the pic- ture is the fainter ; the more special they are, it is the brighter. The same sentiments may be expressed with equal justness, and even perspicuity, in the former way, as in the latter ; but as the colouring will in that case be more languid, it cannot give equal pleasure to the fancy, and by consequence will not contribute so much either to fix the attention, or to impress the memory. I shall illustrate this doctrine by some examples. In the song of Moses, occasioned by the miraculous passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea, the inspir- ed poet, speaking of the Egyptians, says, " They sank " as lead in the mighty waters*." Make but a small al- teration on the expression, and say, Ci They fell as metal '* in the mighty waters ;" and the difference in the effect will be quite astonishing. Yet the sentiment will be equally just, and in either way the meaning of the author can hardly be mistaken. Nor is there another alteration made upon the sentence, but that the terms are render- ed more comprehensive or generical. To this alone, therefore, the difference of the effect must be ascribed. To sink is as it were the species, as it implies only " fall* " ing or moving downwards in a liquid element ;" to fall answers to the genusf ; in like manner, lead is the species, metal is the genus, * Exod. xv. 10. •J- 1 am sensible that genus and species are not usually, and perhaps cannot be so properly applied to verbs ; yet there is in the reference which the meanings of two verbs sometimes bear to each other what nearly resembles this relation It 400 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. " Consider," says our Lord, " the lilies how they grow: " they toil not, they spin not ; and yet I say unto you, how more reserve and modesty than they commonly do, in pronouncing either on the fitness or on the beauty of such as occur sometimes in ancient authors. For first, it ought to be observed, (as may be collected from what has been shown above) that the less enlightened a nation is, their language will of necessity the more abound in tropes, and the people will be the less shy of admitting those which have but a remote con- nection with the things they are employed to denote. Again, it ought to be considered that many words which must appear as tropical to a learner of a distant age, who acquires the language by the help of gram- mars and dictionaries, may, through the imperceptible influence of use, have totally lost that appearance to the natives, who considered them purely as proper terms. A 'stranger will be apt to mistake a grammatical for a rhetorical trope, or even an accidental homonymy for a far-fetched figure. Lastly, it ought to be remembered, how much the whole of this matter is every where un- der the dominion of caprice, and how little the figura- tive part of the language of any people, is susceptible of a literal translation, that will be accounted tolerable, into the language of any other. If these things were properly attended to, I imagine we should, on these subjects, be more diffident of our own judgment, and consequently less captious and decisive. So much for the nature of tropes in general, and those universal principles on which in every tongue their effi- cacy depends ; and so much for the distinction natural- ly consequent on those principles into grammatical tropes and tropes rhetorical. Part II. — The different sorts of tropes conducive to vivacity. I now consider severally the particular ways wherein rhetorical tropes may be rendered subservient to viva- city. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 417 1. The less for the more genera/. The first way I shall mention is, when, by means of the trope, a species is aptly represented by an indivi- dual, or a genus by a species. I begin with this, be- cause it comes nearest that specialty in the use of pro- per terms, from which, as was evinced already, their vivacity chiefly results. Of the individual for the spe- cies I shall give an example from our celebrated satirist Mr Pope. May some choice patron bliss each grey goose quill I May every Bavius have his Bufo still * ! Here, by a beautiful antonomasia, Bavius, a proper name, is made to represent one whole class of men, Bufo, also a proper name (it matters not whether real or fictitious), is made to represent another class. By the former is meant every bad poet, by the latter every rich fool who gives his patronage to such. As what precedes in the Essay secures the perspicuity, (and in introdu- cing tropes of this kind, especially new ones, it is neces- sary that the perspicuity be thus secured) it was im- possible in another manner to express the sentiment with equal vivacity. There is a also a sort of antonomasia to which use hath long ago given her sanction, and which therefore needs not be introduced with much precaution. Such is the following application of famous names ; a Solomon for a wise man, a Croesus for a rich man, a Judas for a traitor, a Demosthenes for an orator, and a Homer for a poet. Nor do these want a share of viva- city, when apposite and properly managed. That kind of synecdoche by which the species is put for the genus, is used but sparingly in our language. Examples however occur sometimes, as when an assas- sin is termed a cut-throat, or a fiction a lie, as in these words of Dryden : The cock and fox the fool and knave imply, The truth is moral, tho' the tale a lie. • Prologue to the Satires. 418 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. In like manner, slaughter, especially in battle, is by poets sometimes denominated murder, and legal prose- cution, persecution. Often in these instances the word may justly be said to be used without a figure. It may, however, in general, be affirmed of all those terms, that they are more vivid and forcible, for this single reason, because they are more special. There is one species of the onomaiopeia, which very much resembles the antonomasia just now taken notice of. It is when a verb is formed from a proper name, in order to express some particular action, for which the person to whom the name belonged was remarkable. An example of this we have in the constructions which Hamlet gave the players who were to act his piece be- fore the king and queen. He mentioned his having seen some actors who in their way outheroded Herod, in- timating, that by the outrageous gestures they used in the representation, they over-acted even the fury and vio- lence of that tyrant. This trope hath been admirably imitated by Swift, who says concerning Blackmore, the author of a translation of some of the psalms into En- glish verse, Slernhold himself he out-sternholded. How languid in comparison of this would it have been to say, that in Sternhold's own manner Sir Richard out- did him. But it must be owned, that this trope, the onomatopeia, in any form whatever, hath little scope in our tongue, and is hardly admissible except in bur- lesque. 2. The most interesting circumstance distinguished. The second way I shall take notice of, wherein the use of tropes may conduce to vivacity, is when the trope tends to fix the attention on that particular of* the sub- ject which is most interesting, or on which the action related, or fact referred to, immediately depends. This bears a resemblance to the former method ; for by that an individual serves to exhibit a species, and a species Chap. L OP RHETORIC, 419 a genus ; by this a part is made to represent the whole, the abstract, as logicians term it, to suggest the concrete, the passion its object, the operation its subject, the in- strument the agent, and the gift the giver. The tropes which contribute in this way to invigorate the expres- sion, are these two, the synecdoche and the metonomy. For an illustration of this in the synecdoche, let it be observed, that by this trope, the word hand is some- times used for man, especially one employed in manual labour. Now in such expressions as the following, All hands employ 'd, the royal work grows warm* ; It is obvious, from the principles above explained, that the trope contributes to vivacity, and could not be with equal advantage supplied by a proper term. But in such phrases as these, " One of the hands fell over- " board :" " All our hands were asleep," it is ridicu- lous, as what is affirmed hath no particular relation to the part specified. The application of tropes in this undistinguishing manner, is what principally charac- terizes the contemptible cant of particular professions. I shall give another example. A sail with us frequent- ly denotes a ship. Now to say, " We descried a sail at " a distance," hath more vivacity than to say, " We •' descried a ship" because in fact the sail is that part which is first discovered by the eye ; but to say " our " sails ploughed the main," instead of " our ships plough- " ed the main," would justly be accounted nonsensical, because what is metaphorically termed ploughing the main, is the immediate action of the keel, a very differ- ent part of the vessel. To produce but one other in- stance, the word roof is emphatically put for house in the following quotation : Return to her ? and fifty men dismissed ? No ; rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity o' th' air, Necessity's sharp pinch f * Dryden. f Shakespeare's Lear. 3 F 420 THE PHILOSOPHY Book IIL The notion of a house as a shelter from the inclemen- cies of the sky, alluded to in these lines, directly leads the imagination to form a more vivid idea of that part of the building which is over our heads *. It was observed, that the metonymy also contributes in this way to vivacity. It doth so by substituting the instrument for the agent, by employing the abstract to represent the concrete, or by naming the passion for its object, the gift for the giver, the operation for the sub- ject. Of the first sort, the instances are very common ; as when we say of a poem, that it is the production of an elegant pen, instead of an elegant writer. In the same way pencil is sometimes used for painter. It must be owned, that the triteness of such expressions con- siderably lessens their value, and that for a reason ex- plained in the preceding part of this Section. It is how- ever certain, that what vivacity can justly be ascribed to them, ariseth purely from the principle which hath just now been illustrated in the synecdoche; namely, a coincidence in the expression with the bent of the ima- gination, both pointing to that particular with which the subject spoken of is immediately connected. Nay, so close is the relation between this species of the me- tonymy, and that of the synecdoche above exemplified, that the same expression may sometimes be considered indifferently as belonging to either trope. Thus in the * The Latin example quoted from Tully in a note on the first part of this Sec- tion, affords a good illustration of this doctrine. *' Cujus latus ille mucro pete- *• bat ?" Mucro for gladius, the point for the weapon, is in this place a trope particularly apposite. From the point the danger immediately proceeds ; to it therefore, in any assault, the eye bolh of the assailant and of the assailed, are na- turally directed ; of the one that he may guide it aright, and of the other that he may avoid it. Consequently on it the imagination will fix, as on that particular which is the most interesting, because on it the event directly depends : and wherever the expression thus happily assists the fancy by coinciding with its na- tural bent, the sentiment is exhibited with vivacity. We may remark by the way, that the specifying of the part aimed at, by saying Cujus latus, and not sim- ply quern, makes the expression still more graphical. Yet latus here is no trope, else it had been Quad latus, not Cujus latus. But that we may conceive the dif- ference between such a proper use of tropes, as is here exemplified, and such an injudicious use as noway tends to enliven the expression, let us suppose the ora- tor had intended to say, " he held a sword in his hand." If instead of the proper word he had employed the synecdoche, and said " mucronem manu tenebat," he would have spoken absurdly, and counteracted the bent of the fancy, which in this instance leads tlie attention to the hilt of the sword, not to the point. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 421 quotation brought from Dry den, " All hands employ- /' ed," it is of no consequence whether we denominate the word hands one or other, a part for the whole, or the instrument for the agent. The second species of metonymy mentioned, the ab- stract for the concrete, occurs much seidomer, but hath also in the same way a very good effect. Isaac Bicker- staff, in his lucubrations, acquaints us with a visit which an eminent rake and his companions made to a Protes- tant nunnery erected in England by some ladies of rank. " When he entered," says the author, \* upon seeing " a servant coming towards him, with a design to " tell him, this was no place for them, up goes my " grave Impudence to the maid *." Every body must perceive that the expression would have been incom- parably fainter, if he had said, "Up goes my grave im+ " pudent fellow to the maid." The reason is obvious, an impudent felloiv means one who, amongst other quali- ties, has that of impudence ; whereas, by personifying the abstract, vou have no room for thinking of any other quality; the attention is entirely fixed on that to which the action related is imputable, and thus the natural tendency of the fancy is humoured by the expression. The last species of this trope I took notice of, if that can be called one species which is so various in its ap- pearances, presenting us sometimes with the passion in- stead of its object, sometimes w7ith the operation instead of its subject, and sometimes with the gift instead of the giver, is in very frequent use. By this trope the Al- mighty hath been styled " the terror of the oppressor, " and the refuge of the oppressed ;" which, though the same in sense, is more emphatical than " the object of " terror to the oppressor, and the giver of refuge to the " oppressed." " The Lord is my so?ig," says Moses, " he is become my salvation^" that is, the subject of my song, the author of my salvation. Dryden makes Lord Shaftesbury style the Duke of Monmouth The people's prayer* the glad diviner's theme, The young mens vision, and the old mens dream J. • Tatler, No. 32. f Exod. xv. 2, X Absalom and Achitophel. 422 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. Here the terms prayer, vision, dream, (for the word theme is literal) are used each for its respective subject. Nothing is more natural or more common amongst all nations, the simplest as well as the most refined, than to substitute the passion for its object. Such tropes as these, my love, my joy, my delight, my aversion, my hor- ror, for that which excites the emotion, are to be found in every language. Holy writ abounds in them ; and they are not seldom to be met with in the poems of Os- sian. " The sigh of her secret soul," is a fine metonymy of this kind, to express the youth for whom she sighs in. secret. As the vivacity of the expression in such quo- tations needs no illustration to persons of taste ; that the cause of this vivacity ariseth from the coincidence of the expression with the bent of the imagination, fixing on the most interesting particular, needs no eviction to per- sons of judgment. 3. Things sensible for things intelligible. A third way wherein tropes may be rendered subser- vient to vivacity, is when things intelligible are repre- sented by things sensible. There is no truth more evi- dent than that the imagination is more strongly affected by what is perceived by the senses, than by what is con- ceived by the understanding. If therefore my subject be of things only conceivable, it will conduce to enliven the style, that the tropes which I employ, when I find it convenient to employ tropes, exhibit to the fancy things perceivable. I shall illustrate this doctrine first in metaphors. A metaphor, if apposite, hath always some degree of viva- city, from the bare exhibition of likeness, even though the literal and the figurative senses of the word belong to the same class of objects ; I mean only in this respect, the same that they be both sensible or both intelligible. Thus a blunder in the administration of public affairs, hath been termed a solecism in politics, both things in- telligible. Again, when the word sails is employed ta denote the wings of a fowl, or conversely, when the word Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 4&3 wings is adopted to signify the sails of a ship, both ob- jects are of the same class, as both are things sensible ; yet these metaphors have a considerable share of vivacity, by reason of the striking resemblance, both in the ap- pearance of the things signified, and in their use. The last, however, is the best, for a reason which will be given in the next remark. But in general it may be asserted, that in the representation of things sensible, there is less occasion for this trope : Accordingly this application of it is now almost entirely left to the poets. On the con- trary, if we critically examine any language, ancient or modern, and trace its several terms and phrases to their source, we shall find it hold invariably, that all the wTords made use of, to denote spiritual and intellectual things, are in their origin metaphors, taken from the ob- jects of sense. This shows evidently, that the latter have made the earliest impressions, have by consequence first obtained names in every tongue, and are still, as it were, more present with us, and strike the imagination moce forcibly than the former. It may be said, that if this observation be true it is to no purpose to mention, as a method of enlivening the diction, the representing of intelligible things by sensi- ble images, since it is impossible by language to repre- sent them otherwise. To this I answer, that the words of which I am speaking, I call metaphors in their origin ; notwithstanding which, they may be at present agreeably to what was formerly observed, proper terms. When speaking of tropes in general, it was remarked, that many words, which to a grammatical eye appear metaphors, are in the rhetorician's estimate no metaphors at all. The ground of this difference is, that the grammarian and the rhetorician try the words by very different tests. The touch-stone of the former is etymology, that of the latter is present use. The former peruseth a page, and perhaps finds not in the whole ten words that are not metaphorical ; the latter examines the same page, and doth not discover in it a single metaphor. What critic, for example, wrould ever think of applying this appellation to terms such as these, spirit, evidence, 4^4 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. understanding, reflection P Or what etymologist would not acknowledge, that to this trope solely these terms had owed their birth ? But I proceed to give examples of vivacity, by true rhetorical metaphors, wherein things sensible are brought to signify things intelligible. Of this the following is one from Pope : At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name. (The glory of the priesthood, and the shame !) Stcmmd the wild torrent of a barbarous age. And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. Here the almost irresistible influence of general man- ners, which is an object purely of the understanding, is very appositely and vivaciously represented by a torrent, an object both of the sight and of the feeling. By the same vivid kind of metaphor light is used for knowledge, bridle for restraint; we speak of burning with zeal, being 'in- flamed with anger, and having a rooted prejudice. But metaphor is not the only trope which can in this way confer vivacity, metonymy frequently in a similar manner promotes the same end. One very common species of the metonymy is, when the badge is put for the office, and this invariably exhibits a sensible in lieu of an intelligible object. Thus we say the mitre for the priesthood, the croicn for the royalty ; for the military occupation we say, the sword, and for the literary pro- fessions, those especially of theology, law, and physic, the common expression is the gown* Often also in those metonymies w7herein the cause is put for the effect, and contrariwise, in those wherein the effect is put for the cause, we have the same thing exemplified, a sensible object presented to the mind instead of an intelligible. Of the former the cause for the effect, the following lines of Dryden may serve as an illustration : *Tis all thy business business how to shun, To bask thy naked body in the sun. • Though the rhime had permitted the change, the • Dry den's Persius. Chap. I. of rhetoric. 425 word sun-shine instead of sun, would have rendered the expression weaker. The luminary itself is not only a nobler and distincter, but a more immediate object to the imagination than its effulgence, which, though in some respect sensible as well as the other, is in some re- spect merely intelligible, if not being perceived directly no more than the air, but discovered by reflection from the things which it enlightens. Accordingly we ascribe to it neither magnitude nor figure, and scarce with pro- priety even colour. As an exemplification of the latter, the effect or something consequential for the cause, or at least the implement for the motive of using it, these words of scripture will serve, " the sword without, and " terror within*," where the term sword, which presents a particular and perceivable image to the fancy, must be more picturesque than the word war, which conveys an idea that is vague and only conceivable, not being other- wise sensible but by its consequences. 4. Things animate for things lifeless. A fourth way in which tropes may promote vivacity, is when things sensitive are presented to the fancy in- stead of things lifeless ; or, which is nearly the same, when life, perception, activity, design, passion, or any property of sentient beings, is by means of the trope at- tributed to things inanimate. It is not more evident that the imagination is more strongly affected by things sensible than by things intelligible, than it is evident that things animate awaken greater attention and make a stronger impression on the mind, than things senseless. It is for this reason that the quality of which I am treat- ing, hath come to be termed vivacity, or liveliness of stvle. In exemplifying what hath been now advanced, I shall proceed in the method which I took in the former arti- cle, and begin with metaphor. By a metaphor of this kind, a literary performance hath been styled the off- * Dent, xxxii. 25. 426 TH£ PHILOSOPHY. Book III. spring of the brain ; by it a state or government in its first stage is represented as a child in these lines of Dry- den, When empire in its childhood first appears, A watchful iate o'ersees its tender years*. In the two last examples we have things lifeless exhibit- ed by things animate. In the following, wherein the ef- fect is much the same, sense, feeling, and affection, are ascribed metaphorically to inanimate matter. Thomson, describing the influence of the sun-beams upon the snow in the valley, thus vividly and beautifully expresseth himself, Perhaps the vale, Rclentt a while to the reflected rayf. M Every hedge," says the Tatler, " was conscious of more " than w7hat the representations of enamoured swains ad- " mit of4" Who sees not how much of their energy these quotations owe to the two wTords relents and con- scions P I shall only add, that it is the same kind of me- taphor which hath brought into use such expressions as the following : a happy period, a learned age, the thirsty ground, a melancholy disaster. There are several sorts of the metonymy which answer the same purpose. The first I shall mention, is that wherein the inventor is made to denote the invention. Ceres, for instance, do denote bread, Bacchus wine, Mars war, or any of the pagan deities to denote that in which he is specially interested, as Neptune the sea, Pluto hell, Pallas wisdom, and Venus the amorous affection. It must be owned, that as this kind seems even by the an- cients to have been confined to the discoveries, attributes, or dominions ascribed in their mythology to the gods, it is of little or no use to us moderns. § • Almanzor. + Winter. ♦ Tatler, No. 7. § Even when such tropes occur in ancient authors, they can scarcely be trans- lated into any modern tongue, as was hinted on Part First in regard to the phrase " Vzirio Marte pugnatum est." Another example of the game thing, «• Sine Ctrere et Baccho friget Venus" Chap. I. of rhetoric. 427 Another tribe of metonymies, which exhibits things living for things lifeless, is when the possessor is substi- tuted for his possessions. Of this we have an example in the gospel : " Wo unto you, scribes and pharisees, 44 hypocrites, for ye devour the families of widows/' — Here the word families is used for their means of sub- sistence*. Like to this is an expression in Balaam's prophecy concerning Israel : " He shall eat up the na- 44 tions his enemiesf ." A third tribe of metonymies which often presents us with animate instead of inanimate objects, is when the concrete is made to signify the abstract ; as the fool used for folly, the knave for knavery, the philosopher for phi- losophy. I shall illustrate this by some examples. Dry- den hath given us one of this kind that is truly excel- lent. The slavering cudden propt upon his staff, Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, To welcome her awake, nor durst begin To speak, but wisely kept the fool within J, The whole picture is striking. The proper words, every one of them, are remarkably graphical as well as the me- tonymy, with which the passage concludes. Another from the same hand, Who follow next a double danger bring, Not only hating David but the king.§ As David himself was king, both the proper name and the appellative would point to the same object, were they to be literally interpreted. But the opposition here exhibited manifestly shows, that the last term, the king, • Matt. xiii. 14. The noun ttxtag may be rendered either families or houses. The last, though used by our translators, hath here a double disadvantage. First, it is a trope formed upon a trope (which rarely hath a good effect), the house for the family, the thing containing for the thing contained, and the family for their means of living ; secondly, ideas are introduced which are incompatible. There is nothing improper in speaking of a person or family being devoured, but to talk of devouring a house is absurd. It may be destroyed, demolished, undermined, but not devoured. •f* Deut. xxiv. 8. + Cymor. and Iphigenia. § Absalom and Achitophel. 3 G 428 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. is employed by metonymy to denote the royalty. The sense therefore is, that they have not only a personal hatred to the man that is the king, but a detestation of the kingly office, A trope of this kind ought never to be introduced, but when the contrast, as in the present example, or something in the expression, effectually re- moves all obscurity and danger of mistake. In the pas- sage last quoted, there is an evident imitation of a say- ing recorded by historians, of Alexander the Great, con- cerning two of his courtiers, Crater us and Hephestion : " Craterus," said he, " loves the king, but Hephestion " loves Alexander" Grotius hath also copied the same mode of expression, in a remark which he hath made, perhaps with more ingenuity than truth, on the two Apostles, Peter and John. The attachment of John, he observes, was to Jesus, of Peter to the Messiah.* Ac- cordingly their master gave the latter the charge of his church, the former that of his family, recommending to him in particular the care of Mary his mother. The following sentiment of Swift is somewhat similar : I do the most that friendship can ; I hate the viceroy, love the man. The viceroy for the viceroyalty. I shall only add two examples more in this way : the first is from Addison, who, speaking of Tallard when taken prisoner by the allies, says, An English muse is touch'd with generous woe, And in th' unhappy man forgets thefoef. The foe, that is, his state of hostility with regard to us at the time : for the second I shall again recur to Dry- den, A tyrant's power in rigour is exprest, The father yearns in the true prince's breast. The father, to denote fatherly affection, or the disposition • Annotations in Johan. Intr. f Campaign. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC, 4#9 of a father. In fine, it may justly be affirmed of this whole class of tropes, that as metaphor in general hath been termed an allegory in epitome, such metaphors and metonymies as present us with things animate in the room of things lifeless, are prosopopeias in minia- ture. But it will be proper here to obviate an objection a- gainst the last mentioned species of metonymy, an ob- jection which seems to arise from what hath been ad- vanced above. It is possible, may one say, that the con- crete put for the abstract should render the expression livelier, and that the abstract put for the concrete should do the same ? Is it not more natural to conclude, that if one of these tropes serve to invigorate the style, the reverse must doubtless serve to flatten it? But this ap- parent inconsistency will vanish on a nearer inspection. It ought to be remembered, that the cases are compara- tively few in which either trope will answer better than the proper term, and the few which suit the one method, and the few which suit the other, are totally different in their nature. To affirm that in one identical case, me- thods quite opposite would produce the same effect, might, with some appearance of reason, be charged with inconsistency ; but that in cases not identical, nor even similar, contrary methods might be necessary for effect- ing the same purpose, is nowise inconsistent. But pos- sibly the objector will argue on the principles them- selves severally considered, from which, according to the doctrine now explained, the efficacy of the tropes ariseth : " If," says he, " the abstract for the con- " crete confers vivacity on the expression, by con- " centrating the whole attention on that particular " with which the subject is most intimately connected, " doth it not lose as much on the other hand, by pre- " senting us with a quality instead of a person, an intel- " ligible for a sensible, an inanimate for a living object ?" If this were the effect, the objection would be unanswer- able. But it is so far otherwise, that in all such instan- ces, by ascribing life, motion, human affections, and ac- tions, to the abstract, it is in fact personified, and thus 430 the philosophy Book III. gains in point of energy the one way, without losing any thing tne othei\ The same thing holds of all the con- genial tropes, the dole for the donor, and the rest. In like manner, when the concrete is used for the abstract, there is, in the first place, a real personification, the sub- ject being in fact a mere quality both inanimate and in- sensible : nor do we lose the particularity implied in the abstract, because, where this trope is judiciously us- ed, there must be something in the sentence, which fixes the attention specially on that quality. Thus, to recur to the preceding examples, when David and the king, though known to bt the same person, are contra-distin- guished in the same line, the mind is laid under a neces- sity of considering the word king as implying purely that which constitutes him such, namely, the royal power. The same may be said of the other instances. So far indeed I agree with the objector, that wherever the trope is not distinctly marked by the words with which it is connected, it is faulty and injudicious. It both misses vivacity, and throws obscurity on the sentiment. I have here examined the tropes so far only as they are subservient to vivacity, by presenting to the mind some image, which, from the original principles of our nature, more strongly attaches the fancy than could have been done by the proper terms whose place they occu- py. And in this examination I have found, that they produce this effect in these four cases : first, when they can aptly represent a species by an individual, or a genus by a species ; secondly, when they serve to fix the at- tention on the most interesting_j)articular, or that with which the subject is most intimately connected ; third- ly, when they exhibit things intelligible by things sensi- ble ; and fourthly, when they suggest things lifeless by things animate. How conducive the tropes are in like manner both to elegance and to animation, will be ex- amined afterwards. They even sometimes conduce to vivacity, not from any thing preferable in the ideas con- veyed by them, but in a way that cannot properly come under consideration, till we inquire how far this quality Chap. L OF RHETORIC. 431 depends on the number of the words, and on their ar- rangement. Part III.-— The use of those tropes which are obstruc- tive to vivacity. Let us now, ere we finish this article, bestow some attention on the opposite side (for contraries serve best to illustrate each ocher), and make a few remarks on those tropes which either have a natural tendency to ren- der the expression more languid, or at least are noway fitted for enlivening the diction. That there are tropes whose direct tendency is even to enfeeble the expression, is certainly true, though they are fewer in number, and more rarely used, than those which produce the contra- ry effect. The principal tropes of this kind which I re- member at present, are three sorts of the synecnoche, the genus for the species, the whole for a part, and the matter for the instrument or thing made of it, and some sorts of the metaphor, as the intelligible for the sensible. Of the genus for the species, which is the commonest of all, vessel for ship, creature or animal for man, will serve as examples. Of the whole for a part, which is the most uncommon, I do not recollect another instance but that of the man or woman by name, sometimes for the body only, sometimes only for the soul ; as when we say, " such a one was buried yesterday," that is, " the body " of such a one was buried yesterday." " ./Eneas saw " his father in Elysium," that is, his father's ghost. The common phrase M all the world," for a great number of people, and some others of the same kind, have also been produced as examples, but improperly ; for in all such expressions there is an evident hyperbole, the intention being manifestly to magnify the number. Of the third kind, the matter for what is made of it, there are doubt- less several instances, such as silver for money, ca?ivass for sail, and steel for sword. It is proper to inquire from what principles in our nature, tropes of this sort derive their origin, and what are the purposes which they are intended to promote* 43^ THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. The answer to the first of these queries will serve effec- tually to answer both. First then, they may arise mere- ly from a disposition to vary the expression, and prevent the too frequent recurrence of the same sound upon the ear. Hence often the genus for the species. This is the more pardonable, if used moderately, as there is not even an apparent impropriety in putting at any time the genus for the species, because the latter is always com- prehended in the former ; whereas, in the reverse, there is inevitably an appearance of impropriety, till it is mol- lified by use. If one is speaking of a linnet, and some- times instead of linnet says bird, he is considered rather as varying the expression, than as employing a trope. Secondly, they may arise from au inclination to suggest contempt without rudeness ; that is, not openly to ex- press, but indirectly to insinuate it. Thus, when a par- ticular man is called a creature or an animal, there is a sort of tacit refusal of the specific attributes of human nature, as the term implies only the direct acknowledg- ment of those enjoyed in common with the brutes, or even with the whole creation. The phrases no creature, and every creature, like all the world, are a kind of hyper- bolic idioms, which come not under this category. Third- ly, they may proceed from a love of brevity in cases wherein perspicuity cannot be hurt. Thus to say, Your friend Alexander lies here interr'd, is briefer, and not less perspicuous, than to say, " The " corpse of your friend Alexander" Fourthly, they may spring from a desire to find a term that will make a better counterpart, in respect either of the sense or of the sound, to some other word which the speaker or the writer hath had occasion to use, the ideas conveyed by the two words being also related. This occasions some- times not only that the genus is used for the species, but that the matter is made to signify the thing made of it ; both of which will be farther illustrated when I come to consider ,how far vivacity may result from arrangement Chap. I. of rhetoric. 433 Fifthly (and this is the last source that occurs to my thoughts), tropes of this kind may arise from a desire of palliating the representation, and that either from humanity, from courtesy, or from decency. By the first of the five principles above mentioned, if used discreetly, something is done for the sake of variety, where the vivacity of the expression is little affected ; by the second, even a farther end, a species of animation, is attained ; by the third and fourth, what is lost of vi- vacity in one way is more than compensated in another ; but by the fifth, we are led to avoid this quality as a fault. There are some subjects of which it may be necessary on certain occasions to speak, which, nevertheless, pre- sent an object to the imagination that is either disagree- able or indecent. It is sufficient that such things be hin- ted to the understanding, so that the meaning may be apprehended, it is by no means fit that they be painted in the liveliest colours to the fancy. There are some things which a painter may find it expedient to intro- duce into a picture, and to render just discoverable, by placing them in the shade, in the back-ground, or at a corner, which it would be extremely improper to set in such a point of view as would immediately attract and fix the eye of the spectator. The like doubtless holds with regard to the orator. And it hath been chiefly to veil without darkening what the smallest degree of de- licacy requires us to avoid exposing in the strongest light, that certain sorts of tropes and modes of expres- sion have first been brought into use. To the same cause is also to be ascribed, the recourse that is often had to circumlocution, which will fall to be considered in the ensuing chapter. All such tropes and modes of expression have come under the common denomination of the euphemism, a name that hath been assigned purely from the consider- ation of the purpose for which they are employed ; which is to express in terms that are inoffensive, an ob- ject in some respect or other inoffensive. The euphe- mism is not a distinct trope (as it hath improperly been 434 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. accounted by some critics,) but a certain application of other tropes, especially of metaphor and synecdoche, and even of some of the figures of elocution, the periphrasis in particular. Sometimes we are led to this from a prin- ciple of civility, or even of affection, when the plain and direct mention of an object might either recal grief, or hurt sensibility ; and sometimes from ideas of deco- rum. It is by an euphemism that the words deceased and de- parted came at first to be used instead of dead, which is no other than a synecdoche of the genus for the species ; jailing asleep for dying, which is a metaphor, there being an evident resemblance between sleep and death, and stopping payment for becoming bankrupt, which is a me- tonymy of the effect for the cause. There is indeed, in employing this figure, the euphemism, more than in any other, a natural tendency to change. The reason may easily be deduced from the general doctrine concerning tropes, explained in the first part of this section. The frequent use of any word in this manner, brings it in- sensibly to have all the effect of the proper term whose place it was intended to supply : no sooner is this effect produced by it, than the same principle that influenced us at first to employ it, operates with equal strength in influencing us to lay it aside, and in its stead to adopt something newer and still more remote. The excessive delicacy of the French in this respect has given rise to expressions which it would not be easy to trace, from any known trope or figure of oratory, and which, to say the truth, have something ridiculous in their appearance. Thus a disbanded regiment is with them a reformed re- giment ; a cashiered officer is a reformed officer, and a man is said to reform his equipage, when necessity obliges him to give it up ; even the hangman, through the superabundance of their complaisance, is titled the master of the high works * . In the use of this figure among the ancients, superstition in regard to some words which were thought to be of bad omen, seems to • I.es muitre des hautes ceuvres. Chap. I. of rhetoric. 435 have had as great a share, as either a delicate sympathy with the feelings of others, or a very nice sense of what is decent and cleanly. As to the nature and extent of the last source which was assigned of the euphemism, it will be proper to be a little more particular. Those things which it is inde- cent to express vividly, are always such as are conceived to have some turpitude in them, either natural or moral. An example of this decency in expression, where the subject hath some natural turpitude, you will find in Martha's answer, as it is in the original, when our Sa« viour gave orders to remove the stone from the se- pulchre of her brother Lazarus, " Lord, by this time " he smelleth, for he hath been dead four days *." In our version it is somewhat indelicately, not to say in- decently, rendered stinketh. Our translators have in this instance unnecessarily receded from their ordinary rule of keeping as close as possible to the letter. The synecdoche in this place answers just as well in English as in Greek : the perspicuity is such as secures the read- er from the possibility of a mistake, at the same time that the expression is free from the indecency with which the other is chargeable. But if it be necessary to avoid a vivid exhibition of what appears uncleanly to the external senses, it is much more necessary in what- ever may have a tendency to pollute the mind. It is not always the mention of vice as such, which has this tendency. Many of the most atrocious crimes may be mentioned with great plainness, without any such dan- ger, and therefore without the smallest indecorum. What the subjects are which are in this way dangerous, it is surely needless to explain. And as every person of sense will readily conceive the truth of the general senti- ment, to propose without necessity to produce exam- ples for the elucidation of it, might justly be charged with being a breach of that decency of which I am treating. So much for the use that may be made of tropes in • John xi. 39. nh «&• 3H 43^ THE PHILOSOPHY Epok III. softening and even enervating, as well as in enlivening and invigorating the expression ; though it must be owned that the occasions are comparatively few, on which the former purpose can be said to be expedient. I snail only add a few remarks concerning the catachre- sis, which hath in like manner been improperly reckoned a separate trope. The reason that I have taken no notice of it hitherto, is, that it is but rarely defensible in mo- dern languages, which require the strictest regard to propriety. And even in the few cases wherein it is de- fensible, it is purely so because necessary ; but it is sel- dom eligible, as it rarely contributes cither to ornament or to strength. I shall explain myself by some instances. One species of the catachresis, is when words are used in a signification, that is very near their ordinary mean- ing, but not precisely the same. Examples of this would be a high man for a tall man, a large oration for a long oration, a big genius for a great genius. This, if any thing, would be classed under the metaphor, as there is a resemblance in the import of the words. Unluckily the word adopted is too near a coincidence with the right epithet, to present an image to the fancy, at the same time that it is not entirely coincident, and there- fore cannot be denominated a proper term. In this ap- plication the name catachresis is no more than another word for impropriety. Of this kind there is an exam- ple in the fifth commandment, as it runs in our version, " that thy days may be long (angelic ??iant/) upon the land**" It is impossible to avoid such blunders in translating, when one aims at being literal, without at- tending to the different geniuses of different tongues. In original performances they are more rarely to be met with, being just such improprieties as none but novices in the language are apt to fall into. A second species of this figure is when words which, from their etymology, appear to be applicable solely to one kind of thing, come afterwards to be applied to an- » * Exod. xx. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC 437 other, which is nearly related in its nature or design, but with which, nevertheless, the analysis of the word will not accord. This is sometimes not only excusable from necessity, as when the language doth not furnish a proper term, but sometimes also receives the sanction of general use. And in this case, whatever it was original- ly, it becomes proper. I shall give some examples of this in our own tongue. As it is probable, that amongst our Saxon ancestors, candleholders were solely made of wood, they were properly denominated candlesticks ; af- terwards, when, through an increase of wealth and luxu- ry, such utensils were made of metal, the old name was nevertheless retained, and at first by a catachresis ap- plied to these* But the application is now ratified, and the word appropriated by custom. The name inkhorn, denoting a portable case for holding ink, probably at first made only of horn, is a similar instance. In like man- ner the word parricide in English, like parricida in La- tin, at first perhaps signified only the murderer of his father, but hath come to be equally applied to him who murders his mother, his brother, or his sister. In all these instances there was an excuse at first from necessity, the language not affording words strictly proper. But now having obtained the universal suffrage, which in every country gives law to language, they need no excuse. There is an instance of a catachresis of this kind in our tran- slation of the Bible, which (not being supported by the plea of necessity) ought to be considered as a glaring im- propriety ; " He made the laver of brass, and the foot " of it of brass, of the looking-glasses of the women*." It is however probable that the word mirrour was not in such common use then as it is now. There are a few phrases which come under the same denomination, and which, though favoured by custom, being quite unnecessary, deserve to be exploded. Such, amongst others, are the following : the workmanship of God, for the work of God ; a man of war, for a ship of war ; and a merchant- man, for a trading vessel. The absurdity in the last two • Etod. xxxviji. 8. 438 the philosophy Book III. instances is commonly augmented by the words connec- ted in the sequal, in which, by the application of the pronouns she and her, we are made to understand that the man spoken of is a female. 1 think this gibberish ought to be left entirely to mariners; amongst whom, I suppose, it hath originated. The only remaining species of the catachresis, which I can recollect at present, is no other than a far-fetched and incongruous metaphor. Nothing can more justly be reduced under this class, than the application of the at- tributes of one corporeal sense to the objects of another ; as if we should say of a voice that it is beautiful to the ear ; or of a face, that it is melodious to the eye. No- thing succeeds better, as hath been observed already, than metaphors taken from the objects of sensation, to denote the object of pure intellection ; yet nothing gene- rally succeeds worse than metaphors that are only trans- ferred from sense to sense. I say generally, because such is the omnipotence of fashion, in respect of language, that it is capable of conciliating us even to such applica- tions. Thus the term sweet belongs properly to the sense of tasting alone ; yet it hath been transferred to the senses of smelling, of hearing, and of seeing. We say a sweet scent, sweet melody, a sweet prospect. The word soft in like manner belonged originally to the sense of touching, and to it only. Yet it hath been applied me- taphorically, and (as w7e learn by the event) successfully to other senses. Thus we talk of a soft whisper, and Pope speaks of the soft- eyed virgin. Customary appli- cations at length become proper, though they do not ex- hibit the primitive sense. For this reason ; several of the aforesaid instances are not be considered at present as examples of the catachresis. Sometimes, however, even a new catachresis of the last mentioned kind, which is the most hazardous, will please the most fastidious critic. Take the following example from Young, Her voice is but the shadow of a sound.* • Universal Passion. Chap. I. OF rhetoric. 439 The reason of our approbation in this case, is, if I mis- take not, that an allusion or comparison is suggested which exhibits more strongly the author's meaning, than it could have been exhibited by any other words in the same compass. The sentiment is, that the same relation which the shadow bears to the substance of which it is the shadow, the lady's voice bears to an ordinary sound. Having now discussed what was proposed here con* cerning tropes, I shall conclude with observing, that in this discussion, there hath been occasion, as it were in- cidentally to discover, — that they are so far from being the inventions of art, that, on the contrary, they result from the original and essential principles of the human mind ; — that accordingly they are the same upon the main, in all nations .barbarous and civilized ; — that the simplest and most ancient tongues do most abound with them, the natural effect of improvement in science and language, which commonly go together, being to regu- late the fancy, and to restrain the passions ; — that the sole business of art in this subject, is to range the several tropes and figures into classes, to distinguish them by names, and to trace the principles in the mind, which gave them birth. The first, indeed, or rather the only people upon the earth, who have thought of classing under proper ap- pellations, the numerous tropes and figures of elocution, common to all languages, were the Greeks. The Latins, and ail modern nations, have, in this particular, only borrowed from them, adopting the very names they used. But as to the tracing of those figures to the springs in human nature from which they flow, extremely little hath as yet been attempted. Nay, the names that have been given are but few, and by consequence very generical. — Each class, the metaphor and the metonomy in parti- cular, is capable of being divided into several tribes, to which no names have yet been assigned. It was affirmed that the tropes and figures of eloquence are found to be the same upon the main in all ages and nations. The words upon the main were added, because though the most and the principal of them are entirely 440 the philosophy Book III. the same, there are a few which presuppose a certain refinement of thought, not natural to a rude and illiet- rate people. Such in particular is that species of the metonymy, the concrete for the abstract, and possibly some others. We shall afterwards perhaps have occa- sion to remark, that the modern improvements in ridi- cule have given rise to some which cannot properly be ranged under any of the classes above mentioned ; to which, therefore, no name hath as yet been appropriated, and of which I am not sine whether antiquity can fur- nish us with an example. Section III. — Words considered as Sounds. When I entered on the consideration of vivacity as depending on the choice of words, I observed that the words may be either proper terms, or rhetorical tropes ; and whether the one or the other, they may be regarded not only as signs but as sounds, and consequently as ca- pable in certain cases of bearing, in some degree, a na- tural resemblance or affinity to the things signified. The two first articles, proper terms and rhetorical tropes, I have discussed already, regarding gnly the sense and ap- plication of the words, whether used literally or figur- atively. It remains now to consider them in regard to the sound, and the affinity to the subject of which the sound is susceptible. When, as Pope expresseth it, " the sound is made an echo to the sense *," there is added in a certain degree, to the association arising from custom, the influence of resemblance between the signs and the things signified ; and this doubtless tends to strengthen the impression made by the discourse. This subject, I acknowledge, hath been very much canvassed by critics ; I shall therefore be the briefer in my remarks, confining myself chiefly to the two following points. First, I shall enquire what kinds of things language is capable of imitating by its sound, and in what degree it is capable ; secondly, what rank ought to be assigned • Essay on Criticism. Chap. L OF RHETORIC. 441 to this species of excellence, and in what cases it ought to be attempted. Part I. — What arc articulate sounds capable of imitat- ing, and in what degree. First, I shall enquire what kinds of things language is capable of imitating by its sound, and in what degree it is capable. And here it is natural to think, that the imitative power of language must be greatest, when the subject itself is things audible. One sound may surely have a greater resemblance to another sound, than it can have to any thing of a different nature. In the description therefore of the terrible thunder, whirlwind and tempest, or of the cooling zephyr and the gentle gale, or of any other thing that is sonorous, the imitation that may be made by the sound of the description will certainly be more perfect, than can well be expected in what concerns things purely intelligible, or visible, or tangible. Yet even here the resemblance, if we consider it abstractly, is very faint. The human voice is doubtless capable of imitating, to . a considerable degree of exactness, almost any sound whatever. But our present inquiry is solely about what may be imitated by articulate sounds, for articulation greatly confines the natural powers of the voice ; neither do we inquire what an extraordinary pronunciation may effectuate, but what power in this respect the letters of the alphabet have, when combined into syllables, and these into words, and these again into sentences, uttered audibly indeed and distinctly, but without any uncom- mon effort. Nay, the orator in this species of imitation, is still more limited. He is not at liberty to select what- ever articulate sounds he can find to be fittest for imi- tating those concerning which he is discoursing. That he may be understood, he is under a necessity of con- fining himself to such sounds as are rendered by use the signs of the things he would suggest by them, If there 442 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. be a variety of these signs, which commonly cannot be great, he hath some scope for selection^ but not other- wise. Yet so remote is the resemblance here at best, that in no language, ancient or modern, are the meanings of any words, except perhaps those expressing the cries of some animals, discoverable, on the bare hearing, to one who doth not understand the language. Indeed, when the subject is articulate sound, the speak- er or the writer may do more than produce a resem- blance, he may even render the expression an example of that which he affirms. Of this kind precisely are the three last lines of the following quotation from Pope : These equal syllables alone require, Tho* oft the ear the open vowels tire, While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low -words oft creep in one dull line. • But this manner, which, it must be owned, hath a very good effect in enlivening the expression, is not imitation, though it hath sometimes been mistaken for it, or rather confounded with it. As to sounds inarticulate, a proper imitation of them hath been attempted in the same piece, in the subsequent lines, and with tolerable success, at least in the conclud- ing couplet : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother number flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.f An attempt of the same kind of conformity of the sound to the sense, is perhaps but too discernible in the follow- ing quotation from the same author : O'er all the dreary coasts, Dreadful gleams, Dismal screams, Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, Hollow groans, And cries of injured ghosts. X • Essay on Criticism* f Ibid. $ Ode on St Cecilia's Day Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 443 Milton's description of the opening of hell-gates ought not here to be overlooked. On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound. Harsh thunder - The same author has, in another performance, given an excellent specimen in this way, Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw.-f He succeeds the better here, that what he says is evi- dently accompanied with a design of exciting contempt. This induceth us to make allowance for his leaving the beaten road in search of epithets. In this passage of the Odyssey, -His bloody hand Snatch'd two unhappy of my martial band ; And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor :£; the sound, but not the abruptness of the crash, is, I im- agine, better imitated than in the original, which, on account of both, especially the last, was much admired by the critic of Halicarnassus. An excellent attempt in this way we have in a poem of Dyer : -The Pilgrim oft At dead of night mid his oraison hears Aghast the voice of time, disparting towers, Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon §. But the best example to be found in our language, is, in my opinion, the following lines of Mr Pope, • Paradise Last, B. IT. + Lycidas. An imitation of a line of Virgil, Eel. 3, Stridenti miserum stipula disperdere carmen * Pope's Od. In Homer thus, Zvv oi ova uxg^xs^ wsi fkvXxkxs Till yxifi KaarT S Ruins of Rome, Dodsley's Collection, vol. 1. 3i 444 *HE philosophy Book III. What ! like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and fierce, With arms, and George, and Brunswic crowd the verse, Kend with tremendous sounds your ears asunder ? With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thunder ? Then «il your muse's softer art display, Let Carolina smoothe the tuneful lay, Lull with Amelia's liquid name the nine, And sweetly flow through all the royal lincf The success here is the greater that the author appears through the whole to deride the immoderate affectation of this over-rated beauty, with which some modern poetasters are so completely dazzled. On the whole, the specimens produced, though perhaps as good as any of the kind extant in our language, serve to evince rather how little than how much can be done in this way, and how great scope there is here for the fancy to influence the judgment. But there are other subjects beside sound, to which language is capable of bearing some resemblance. Time and motion, for example, or whatever can admit the epi- thets of quick and slow, is capable in some degree of be- ing imitated by speech. In language there are long and short syllables, one of the former being equal or nearly equal to two of the latter. As these may be variously combined in a sentence, and syllables of either kind may be made more or less to predominate, the sentence may be rendered by the sound, more or less expressive of ce- lerity or tardiness. And though even here the power of speech seems to be much limited, there being but two degrees in syllables, whereas the natural degrees of quick- ness or slowness in motion or action may be infinitely varied, yet on this subject the imitative power of articu- late sound seems to be greater and more distinctive than on any other. This appears to particular advantage in verse, when, without violating the rules of prosody, a greater or a less number of syllables is made to suit the time. Take the following example from Milton, t Sat. 1. Chap, I. OF RHETORIC* 445 When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecs sound To many a youth and many a maid Dancing in the checker'd shade.* In this passage the third line, though consisting of ten syllables, is, by means of two anapests, pronounced, without hurting the measure, in the same time with an iambic line of eight syllables, and therefore well adapted in sound to the airy diversion he is describing. At the same time it must be owned, that some languages have in this particular a remarkable superiority over others. In English the iambic verse, which is the commonest, admits here and there the insertion of a spondee, for pro- tracting, or of an anapest, as in the example quoted, for quickening the expression.f But, in my opinion, Greek and Latin have here an ad- vantage, at least in their heroic measure, over all modern tongues. Accordingly Homer and Virgil furnish us with some excellent specimens in this way. But that we may know what our own tongue and metre is capa- ble of effecting, let us recur to our own poets, and first of all to the celebrated translator of the Grecian bard. I have made choice of him the rather as he was perfect- ly sensible of this beauty in the original, which he co- pied, and endeavoured, as much as the materials he had to work upon would permit him, to exhibit it in his version. Let us take for an example the punishment of Sisyphus in the other world, a passage which had on this very account been much admired in Homer by all the critics both ancient and modern. * L'allegro. f Perhaps the feet employed in ancient poetry, are not in strict propriety ap- plicable to the measures adopted by the English prosody. It is not my business at present to enter into this curious question. It suffices that I think there is a rhythmus in our verse plainly discernible by the ear, and which, as it at least bears some analogy to the Greek and Latin feet, makes this application of their names sufficiently intelligible. 446 the philosophy Book III. Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone ; The huge round stone resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smoaks along the ground. • It is remarkable that Homer (though greatly preferable to his translator in both) hath succeeded best in describ- ing the fall of the stone, Pope, in relating how it was heaved up the hill. The success of the English poet here is not to be ascribed entirely to the length of the syllable, but partly to another cause, to be explained af- terwards. I own I do not approve the expedient which this ad- mirable versifier hath used, of introducing an Alexand- rine line for expressing rapidity. I entirely agree with Johnsonf , that this kind of measure is rather stately than swift : yet our poet hath assigned this last quality as the reason of his choice. " I was too sensible," says he in the margin, " of the beauty of this, not to endea- " vour to imitate it, though unsuccessfully. I have, " therefore, thrown it into the swiftness of an Alexan- " drine, to make it of a more proportionable number of " syllables with the Greek." Ay, but to resemble in length is one thing, and to resemble in swiftness is ano- ther. The difference lies here : In Greek, an hexameter verse, whereof all the feet save one are dactyls, though it hath several syllables more, is pronounced in the same time with an hexameter verse, whereof all the feet save one are spondees, and is, therefore, a just emblem of ve- • In Greek thus, Avth; VKimx. 7»gtfovcs xvXivdilo >^ccce,e, ctvcctoqg. Od. In Latin verse, Vida, in his Art of Poetry, hath well exemplified this beauty, from his great master Virgil. I lie autem membris, ac mole ignavius ingens Incedit tardo molimine subsidendo. Here not only the frequency of the spondees, but the difficulty of forming the elisions ; above all, the spondee in die fifth foot of the second line instead of a dactyl, greatly retard the motion. For the contrary expression of speed, Si se forte cava extulerit mala vipera terra, Tolle moras, cape saxa manu, cape robora, pastor, Ferte citi fiammas, date tela, repellite pestem. Here every thing concurs to accelerate the motion, the number of dactyls, no elision, no diphthong, no concurrence of consonants, unless where a long syllable is necessary, and even there the consonants of easy pronunciation. ■f Rambler, No. 92. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 447 locity ; that is, of moving a great way in a short time. Whereas the Alexandrine line, as it consists of more syllables than the common English heroic, requires pro- portionably more time to the pronunciation. For this reason, the same author, in another work, has, I think, with better success, made choice of this very measure, to exhibit slowness : A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along." It deserves our notice, that in this couplet he seems to give it as his opinion of the Alexandrine, that it is a dull and tardy measure. Yet, as if there were no end of his inconsistency on this subject, he introduceth a line of the same kind a little after in the same piece, to repre- sent uncommon speed : Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er UY unbending corn, and skims along the main.-{* A most wonderful and peculiar felicity in this mea- sure to be alike adapted to imitate the opposite qualities of swiftness and slowness. Such contradictions would almost tempt one to suspect, that this species of resem- blance is imaginary altogether. Indeed, the fitness of the Alexandrine to express, in a certain degree, the last of these qualities, may be allowed, and is easily account- ed for. But no one would ever have dreamt of its fit- ness for the first, who had not been misled by an er- roneous conclusion from the effect of a very different measure, Greek and Latin hexameter. Yet Pope is not the only one of our poets who hath fallen into this error. Dryden had preceded him in it, and even gone much farther. Not satisfied with the Alexandrine, he hath chosen a line of fourteen syllables, for expressing un- common celerity : "Which urgM, andlabour'd, and fore'd up with pain, Jlecoils, and rowls impetuous down, and smoaks along the plain J. • Essay on Criticism. + Ibid. % Lucretius, B. III. 448 the philosophy Book III. Pope seems to have thought that in this instance, though the principle on which Dryden proceeded was good, he had exceeded all reasonable bounds in applying it ; for it is this very line which he hath curtailed into an Alex, andrine in the passage from the Odyssey already quoted. Indeed, the impropriety here is not solely in the measure, but also in the diphthongs oi% and oiv, and oa, so fre- quently recurring, than which nothing, not even a colli- sion of jarring consonants, is less fitted to express speed. The only word in the line that seems adapted to the poet's view is the term impetuous, in which two short syllables, being crowded into the time of one, have an ef- fect similar to that produced by the dactyl in Greek and Latin. Creech, without the aid of an Alexandrine, hath been equally, if not more unsuccessful. The same line of the Latin poet he thus translates, And with swift force roll thro' the humble plain. Here the sentiment, instead of being imitated is con- trasted by the expression. A more crawling spondaic verse our heroic measure hardly ever admits. At the same time, in justice to English prosody, it ought to be remarked, that it compriseth one kind of metre, the anapestic, which is very fit for expressing celerity, perhaps as much as any kind of measure, an- cient or modern. But there is in it a light familiarity, which is so ill adapted to the majesty of the iambic, as to render it but rarely admissible into poems written in this measure, and, consequently, either into tragedy or into epic. Ere I conclude what may be said on the subject of | motion, 1 shall observe farther, that there are other af- fections of motion beside swiftness and slowness, such as vibration, intermission, inequality, which to a certain degree, may be imitated in the sound of the description. The expression Troy's turrets totter'd in the translation of the Iliad, is an instance of the first, the vibration being represented by the frequent and Chap. I. of rhetoric, 449 quick recurrence of the same letters ranged a little dif- ferently. In the line Tumbling all precipitate down dash'd, already quoted from the Ruins of Rome, there is an at- tempt to imitate the motion as well as the sound. The last of the four following lines from Milton contains also a tolerable imitation of both : Oft on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-offcurreu sound, Over some wide^water'd shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar*. Another very natural subject of imitation is size, or whatever the terms great or little may be applied to, literally or metaphorically. Things grand may be imi- tated by long and well-sounding words, things bulky by long and ill-sounding words, things little by short words. The connection here is as obvious as in either of the two former cases ; but the power of our language is rather less. It affords so little variety in the choice of words in respect of length, that often the grandest objects iii nature cannot be expressed with propriety, otherwise than by a poor monosyllable. Bulkiness, accompanied with motion, will fall to be exemplified in the next article. A fourth subject of imitation in language is difficulty and ease. There is a considerable difference in this re- spect in the pronunciation of different words and sen- tences, which, if happily accommodated to the senti- ^ ment, adds to the effect of the expression. If, for in- * stance, what is difficultly acted be difficultly pronounced, and if, on the contrary, wThat is performed with facility be uttered with ease, there will result a certain degree of vivacity from this slight resemblance. For it is an invariable maxim, that the ear is grated with hearing what the organs of speech find it uneasy to articulate. Several things contribute to render pronunciation diffi- cult. First, the collision of vowels ; that is when one syllable ends with a vowel, and the next (it matters not whether it be in the same word or not) begins with the * Tl Peneroso. 450 the philosophy Book III. same vowel, or with one which approaches to it in the sound. Re-enter, co-operate, re- *h force, re-animate, tho' oft, the ear, the open, are examples of this. A certain effort is required to keep them as it were asunder, and make hoth be distinctly heard as belonging to different syllables. When the vowels are very unlike in sound, or the formation of the one is easily accomplished after the articulation of the other, they have not the same ef- fect. Thus, in the words vanety, coeval, the collision doth not create a perceptible difficulty. Now, as diffi- culty is generally the cause of slowness in any operation, such a clashing of vowels is often employed to represent a tardy or lingering motion*. A second cause of diffi- culty in utterance, is the frequent recurring of the aspi- rate (h), especially when placed between two vowels that are both sounded. It is this which renders the translation of the passage above quoted from the Odys- sey so significant of the same qualities. Up the high hill he /weaves a 7«uge round stone. A like effect is produced by any of the mutes that are aspirated, as the th and ph, or/, especially if combined with other consonants. The following line of Chaucer is not a bad example of this : He through the thickest of the throng gan threke*. A third cause of difficulty in pronunciation is the clash of two or more jarring consonants. Some consonants are easily combined ; the combinations of such are not expressive of this quality, but it is not so with all. An instance of this difficulty we have in the following line : And strains" from hard bound brains* six lines a-yearf. We have here once five consonants, sometimes four, and sometimes three, which are all pronounced without an intervening vowel. The difficulty is rendered still more sensible by the double pause, which occasions a * It Is chiefly from this cause that the line in the Odyssey above quoted is so expressive of both. Axccv avcu uS-iirxt •f- Knight's Tale. $ Pope, Fragment of a Satire. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 451 very drawling movement. Another example I shall take from the same author : When i\jax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow ". In the first of these lines, the harsh combinations of con- sonants make the difficulty of pronunciation very ob- servable ; in the second, the author hath not been so suc- cessful. I know not how it might affect the more deli- cate ear of an Italian, but if we compare it with the generality of the English verses, we shall find it remark- ably easy and flowing. It is nothing in respect of sound, either in the syllables separately or in the measure, that in the last favours the sentiment, except only in its end- ing in a spondee, instead of an iambus. But this is too common in our poesy to have any effect that is worthy of notice. Vida's translator, in a passage extremely si- milar, hath been happier, if he may not be thought to have exceeded in this respect : If some large weight his huge arm strive to shove, The verse too labours, the throng'd words scarce move -f. First, the word verse is harsher than line ; secondly, the ending is in two spondees, which, though perhaps ad- missible into the iambic measure, is very rare, and hath for that reason a more considerable effect. A fourth cause of difficulty in the pronunciation, is the want of harmony in the numbers. This is frequently an effect of some of the fore-mentioned causes, and may be illus- trated by some of the examples already quoted. In the following passage from Milton, one of the most unhar- monious in the book, hugeness of size, slowness and dif« ficulty of motion, are at once aptly imitated : Part, huge of bulk ! Wallowing, unwieldy, enormous in their gait, Tempest the ocean X An illustration of tardiness, difficulty, and hesitancy * Essay on Criticism. -j- Pitt. X Paradise Lost, B. VI X, 3 k 452 the philosophy Book III. through fear, the same author hath also given us in the ill-compacted lines which follow : He came,' and with him Eve,*" more loth/ tho' first To offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed *. Several of the foregoing causes concur in the following couplet, So he with difficulty, and labour hard, Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he f. A fifth cause of difficulty, the last I shall take notice of, is when there is a frequent recurrence of the same let- ters or syllables, especially where the measure requires a quick pronunciation, because then there is the greatest risk of mistake and confusion J. I shall just mention another subject of imitation by sound, which is very general, and may be said to com- prehend every thing not included in those above men- tioned. The agreeable in things may be adumbrated to us by smooth and pleasant sounds, the disagreeable by such as are harsh and grating. Here, it must be owned, the resemblance can be but very remote, yet even here it will sometimes serve to enliven the expres- sion. Indeed the power of numbers, or of a series of ac- cordant sounds, is much more expressive than that of single sounds. Accordingly, in poetry we are furnished with the best examples in all the kinds ; and as the writer of odes hath in this respect a much greater latitude than any other kind of versifier, and at pleasure may vary his measure with his subject, I shall take a few illustrations from our lyric poets. All sorts of English verse, it hath been justly remarked, are reducible to three, the iambic, the trochaic, and the anapestic. In the first of these, the even syllables are accented, as some choose to express it, or as others, the even syllables are long ; in the second, it • Paradise Lost, B. X. t I°id- B- IL £ An excellent example of this kind we have from the Iliad, TlokXet fiavKfjn, xx}a>Tu., ?rc&ga,v}st n $e%fitet t*»X$«><. This recurrence is the happier here, as it is peculiarly descriptive ef rugged ways and jolting motion. Chap. I. OF rhetoric. 453 is on the odd syllables that the accent rests ; in the third, two unaccented syllables are followed by one accented. The nearer the verses of the several kinds are to perfec- tion, the more exactly they correspond with the defini- tions just now given ; though each kind admits devia- tions to a certain degree, and in long poems even re- quires them for the sake of variety. The iambus is ex- pressive of dignity and grandeur ; the trochee, on the contrary, according to Aristotle *, is frolicsome and gay. It were difficult to assign a reason of this difference, that would be satisfactory ; but of the thing itself, I imagine, most people will be sensible on comparing the two kinds together. I know not wThether it will be ad- mitted as a sufricient reason, that the distinction into metrical feet hath a much greater influence in poetry on the rise and fall of the voice, than the distinction into words ; and if so, when the cadences happen mostly after the long syllables, the verse will naturally have an air of greater gravity, than when they happen mostly after the short. An example of the different effects of these two measures, we have in the following lines of an admired modern, whose death lately afforded a just sub- ject of lamentation to every good man, as well as to every friend of the muses. Thee the voice, the dance obey, Tempered to thy warbl'd lay. O'er Idalia's velvet green The rosy crowned loves are seen On Cytherea's day, With antic sports, and blue ey'd pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures ; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet ; j To brisk notes in cadence beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow melting strains their queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay. With arms sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way : O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young desire, and purple light of love fo The expression of majesty and grace in the mover * Rhet. Lib. III. f Gray's Progress of Poesy, 454 the philosophy Book III. ment of the six. last lines is wonderfully enhanced by the light and airy measure of the lines that introduce them. — The anapest is capable, according as it is applied, of two effects extremely different ; first it is expressive of ease and familiarity, and accordingly is often used with success both in familiar epistles and in pastoral. The other effect is an expression of hurry, confusion, and precipitation. These two, however different, may be thus accounted for. The first is a consequence of its resemblance to the style of conversation : there are so many particles in our language, such as monosyllabic pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions, and articles, on which the accent never rests, that the short syllables are greatly supernumerary. One consequence of this is, that common chat is with greater ease, as I imagine, reduced to this measure, than to any other. The second consequence ariseth purely from its rapidity compared with other measures. This effect it is especially fitted to produce, when it is contrasted with the gravity of the iambic measure, as may be done in the ode ; and when the style is a little elevated, so as to be sufficiently distinguished from the style of conversation. All these kinds have been employed with success in the Alexan- der's Feast, an ode that hath been as much celebrated as perhaps any in our language, and from which I propose to produce some illustrations. The poet on recognizing Jove as the father of his hero, hath used the most regu- lar and perfect iambics The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound, A present deity' they shout around, A present deity' the vaulted roofs rebound. With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. But when he comes to sing the jovial god of wine, he very judiciously changes the measure into the bmk trochaic. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 435 Bacchus ever fair and young. Drinking joys did first ordain. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is a soldier's pleasure. Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Again, 'when he describes his hero as wrought up to mad- ness, and setting fire to the city in a fit of revenge, he with great propriety exhibits this phrenzy in rapid a- napests, the effect of which is set off the more strongly by their having a few iambic lines interspersed. Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, Sec : r arise ! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their ey'es !— Behold how they toss their torches on high, Kc.v they point to Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. The princes applaud with a furious joy; And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy- So much for the power of numbers. It may not be amiss now, ere I conclude this topic, to make a few cursory remarks on the imitative powers of the several letters which are the elements of all articulate sounds. And first, soft and delicate sounds are mostly occasioned by an equal mixture of consonants with short and mo- nophthong vowels ; the consonants being chiefly those denominated liquids, /, ;;/, n, ?', and those among the mutes called slender, p, t, ky or c, and ch when they sound as k ; to these add 0, also z, and s, when they sound as in the two words Zion and Asia. In like manner the duplication of a consonant sounds more de- licately than the combination of different consonants. Thus ammiro is softer than admiro.fatto ihan facto, atto than apto, and disse than dlxe. Secondly, strong and loud sounds are better exhibited by diphthongs and long vowels, those of the mutes called middle, and which com- paratively may be termed hard, b, d, g, in both its sounds, and/; especially when these are combined with 450 the philosophy Book III. liquids which render them more sonorous, without oc- casioning harshness, as in the words, bombard, thunder, clangour, bludgeon, grumble. Thirdly, to roughness the letter h contributes as well as the gutturals, Such is the Greek Xi to which there is no corresponding sound in English, though there is in Spanish and in German ; also those of the mutes called aspirates, as /, or ph, and th, in both its sounds *, the double r, and all uncouth combi- nations. Fourthly, to sharp and cutting sounds the fol- lowing letters best contribute, s when it sounds as in mass, c when it has the same sound, ch when it sounds as in chide, x, sh and wh ; from the abounding of which letters and combinations amongst us, foreigners are apt to remark I know not what appearance of whistling or hissing in our conversation. Indeed, the word whistle is one whose sound is as expressive of the signification, as perhaps any other word whatever. Fifthly, obscure and tingling sounds are best expressed by the nazals, ng and ■nk, as in ringing, swinging, twanging, sinking ; by the sn, as in snuffle, sneeze, snort ; and even by the n simply when it follows another liquid or a mute, and when the vowel (if there be a vowel interposed between it and the preceding consonant) is not very audibly pronoun- ced, as in morn, horn, sullen, fallen, bounden, gotten, be* holden,holpen. — This sound formerly much abounded in English. It was not only the termination of many of the participles, but also of most plurals both of nouns and of verbs. As a plural termination, if we except a very few nouns, wre may say it is now entirely banished, and very much, perhaps too much, disused in participles. The sound is unmusical, and consequently when too frequent, offensive, but may nevertheless have a good effect when, used sparingly. Besides, it would be convenient, espe- cially in verse, that we could oftener distinguish the preterite from the participle, than our language per- mits. Now, of the five sorts of sound above explained, it • Of these one occurs in the noun heath, the other in the verbkreatlie. The first Chap. I. of rhetoric. 457 may be remarked by the way, that the first is charac- teristic of the Italian, the second of the Spanish, the third of the Dutch, and perhaps of most of the Teuton- ic dialects ; the fourth of the English, and the fifth of the French, whose final m and /2, when not followed by a vowel, and whose terminations, ent and ant, are much more nazal than the ng and nk of the English. I sus- pect too, both from their prosody and from their pro- nunciation, that of all the languages above mentioned, the French is the least capable of that kind of imitation of which I have been speaking. On the other hand, I think, but in this opinion I am not confident, that of all those languages the English is, on the whole, the most capable. There is perhaps no particular excellence of sound in which it is not outdone by one or other of them ; the Italian hath doubtless more sweetness, the Spanish more majesty, the German perhaps more blus- ter : but none of them is in this respect so various as the English, and can equal it in all the qualities. So much for the properties in things that are sus- ceptible of a#kind of imitation by language, and the de- gree in which they are susceptible. Part II. — In what esteem ought this kind of imitation to be held, and when ought it to be attempted P It remains now to consider what rank ought to be as- signed to this species of beauty, and in what cases it ought to be attempted. As to the first of these inquiries, from what hath been already said it appears very plain, that the resemblance or analogy which the sound can be made in any case to bear to the sense, is at best, when we consider the matter abstractly, but very remote. Often a beauty of this kind is more the creature of the reader's fancy, than the effect of the writer's ingenuity. Another observation, which will assist us in determin- ing this question is, that when the other properties of elocution are attained, the absence of this kind of ima- gery, if I may express it by so strong a term,, occasions 458 the philosophy Book III. no defect at all. We never miss it. We never think of it. Whereas an ambiguous, obscure, improper, languid, or inelegant expression, is quickly discovered by a per- son of knowledge and taste, and pronounced to be a ble- mish. Nor is this species of resemblance to be consider- ed as on the same footing with those superior excellen- cies, the want of which, by reason of their uncommon- ness, is never censured as a fault, but which, when pre- sent, give rise to the highest admiration. On the con- trary, not the absence only, but even the attainment of this resemblance, as far as it is attainable, runs more risk of passing unheeded than any other species of beauty in the style. I ought however to except from this, the imitation produced by the different kinds of measure in poetry, which, I acknowledge, is sufficiently observable, and hath a much stronger effect than any other whereof language alone is susceptible. The reason why in other cases it may so readily pass unnoticed, is, that even the richest and most diversified language hath very little power, as hath been shown already, in this particular. It is therefore evident, that if the merit of Qvery kind of rhetorical excellence is to be ascertained by the effect, and I know of no other standard, to this species we can only assign with justice the very lowest rank. It ought consequently ever to give place to the other virtues and ornaments of elocution, and not they to it. As to the other question, In what cases it may be proper to aim at the similitude in sound of which I have been treating ; those cases will appear to one who atten- tively considers what hath been already advanced on the subject, to be comparatively few. Hardly any composi- tions in prose, unless those whose end is to persuade, and which aim at a certain vehemence in style and senti- ment, give access to exemplify this resemblance. And even in poetry it is only the most pathetic passages, and the descriptive parts, to which the beauty whereof I am speaking seems naturally adapted , The critical style, the argumentative, and the didactic, by no means suit it. Yet it may be said, that some of the examples a- bove quoted for the illustration of this subject, are taken Chap. I. OF rhetoric. 459 from writings of the kind last mentioned, from Pope on Criticism, and Vida on Poesy. But it must be observed, that the authors, in the passages alluded to, are discours- ing on this very subject. An exemplification was there- fore necessary in them, in order to convey to their read- ers a distinct idea of what they meant to recommend. I must further observe, that even in those poems wherein this kind of resemblance is most suitable, it is only in a few passages, when something more striking than ordinary comes to be described, that it ought to be attempted. This beauty in language is not to be con- sidered as bearing an analogy to dress by which the whole person is adorned, but to those jewels which are intended solely for the decoration of certain parts, and whose effect depends very much on their being placed with judgment. It is an invariable rule, that in every poem and oration, whatever be the subject, the language, in the general tenor of it, ought to be harmonious and easy. A deviation in a few particular passages may not only be pardonable, but even meritorious. Yet this merit, when there is a merit in introducing harsh sounds and jarring numbers, as on some occasions it doubtless is, receives great relief from its contrariety to the general flow of the style. And with regard to the general flow, as I observed already, the rule holds invariably. Sup- posing the subject of the piece were the twelve labours of Hercules, should the poet, in order to adapt his lan- guage to his theme, choose words of the most difficult utterance, and through the whole performance studious- ly avoid harmony and grace ; far from securing to him- self admiration, he would not even be read. I shall only add, that though it is not prudent in an au- thor to go a step out of his way in quest of this capri- cious beauty* who, when she does not act spontaneously* does nothing gracefully, a poet in particular may not unreasonably be more solicitous to avoid her opposite, especially in the expression of the more striking thoughts; as nothing in such a case can be more ungraceful in the style, than when, either in sound or in measure, it serves as a contrast to the sentiment. 3 h 460 the philosophy Book III. CHAP. II. Of vivacity as depending on the number of the Words, Section I.— This quality explained and exemplified. When I entered on the subject of vivacity*, I observ- ed that this quality of style might result either from a happy choice of words, from their number, or from their arrangement. The first I have already discussed, and shown how words may conduce to vivacity, not only from their sense, whether they be proper or figurative, but also from their sound. I come now to consider how far vivacity may be af- fected by the number of the words. On this article it may be established as a maxim that admits no excep- tion, and it is the only maxim which this article admits, that the fewer the words are, provided neither propriety nor perspicuity be violated, the expression is always the more vivid. " Brevity," says Shakespeare, " is the soul " of witf ." Thus much is certain, that of whatever kind the sentiment be, witty, humorous, grave, animated, or sublime, the more briefly it is expressed, the energy is the greater, or the sentiment is the more enlivened, and the particular quality for which it is eminent, the more displayed. Among the ancients the Lacedemonians were the most remarkable for conciseness. To use few words, to speak energetically, and to be laconic, were almost synonymous. As when the rays of the sun are collected into the focus of a burning-glass, the smaller the spot is which receives them, compared with the surface of the glass, the greater is the splendor ; or as in distillation, the less the quan- tity of spirit is, that is extracted by the still, compared with the quantity of liquor from which the extraction is made, the greater is the strength ; so in exhibiting our sentiments by speech, the narrower the compass of words • Book III. Cbap, i> t Hamlet. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 46 1 is, wherein the thought is comprised, the more energetic is the expression. Accordingly we shall find, that the very same sentiment expressed diffusely, will he admit- ted barely to be just ; expressed concisely, will be admir- ed as spirited. To recur to examples, the famous answer returned by the Countess of Dorset, to the letter of Sir Joseph Wil- liamson, secretary of state to Charles the Second, nomi- nating to her a member for the borough of Appleby, is an excellent illustration of this doctrine. " I have been " bullied," says her ladyship, " by an usurper, I. have " been neglected by a court, but 1 will not be dictated " to by a subject; your man sha'n't stand*." If we con- sider the meaning, there is mention made here of two facts, which it was impossible that any body of common sense, in this lady's circumstances, should not have ob- served, and of a resolution in consequence of these, which it was natural for every person who had a resentment of bad usage to make. Whence then results the vivacity, the fire which is so manifest in the letter ? Not from any thing extraordinary in the matter, but purely from the laconism of the manner. An ordinary spirit would have employed as many pages to express the same thing, as there are affirmations in this short letter. The epistle might in that case have been very sensible, and withal very dull, but would never have been thought worthy of being recorded as containing any thing uncommon, or deserving a reader's notice. Of all our English poets none hath more successfully studied conciseness, or rendered it more conducive to vivacity, than Pope. Take the following lines as one example of a thousand which might be produced from his writings : See how the world its veterans rewards I A youth of frolics, an old age of cards : Fair to no purpose, artful to no end ; Young without lovers, old without a friend ; A fop their passions, but their prize a sot : Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot.f • Catalogue of royal and noble authors. f Moral Essays, Ep. IX. 462 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. Nothing is more evident than that the same passage may have great beauties and great blemishes. There is a monotony in the measure of the above quotation, (the lines being all so equally divided by the pauses) which would render it, if much longer, almost as tiresome to the ear as a speech in a French tragedy ; besides, the unvaried run of antitheses through five successive lines is rather too much, as it gives an air of quaintness to the whole. Yet that there is a great degree of liveliness in the expression is undeniable. This excellence is not, I acknowledge, to be ascribed solely to the brevity. Some- what is doubtless imputable both to the words them- selves, and to their arrangement; but the first mention- ed is still the principal cause. The trope in the fifth line, their passion, for the object of their passion , conduc- eth to vivacity, not only as being a trope, but as render- ing the expression briefer, and thereby more nervous. Even the omission of the substantive verb, of the con- junctions, and of the personal pronouns, contribute not a little to the same end. Such ellipses are not indeed to be adopted into prose, and may even abound too much in verse. This author in particular hath sometimes ex- ceeded in this way, and hath sacrificed both [> erspicuity and a natural simplicity of expression, to the ambition pf saying a great deal in few words. But there is no beauty of style for which one may not pay too high a price. And if any price ought to be deemed too high, either of these certainly ought ; especially perspicuity, because it is this which throws light on every other beauty. Propriety may sometimes be happily violated. An improper expression may have a vivacity, which, if we should reduce the words to grammatical correctness, would be annihilated. Shakespeare abounds in such happy improprieties. For instance, And be these juggling fiends no more believed. That palter with us in a double sense, That keep tike -word of promise to cur car •, A*4 Ireak it to our hope* Macbeth* Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 4t>3 In another place, -It is a custom More honoured in the breach than the observance* David's accusation of Joab, that he had shed the blood of war in peace.f or what Solomon says of the virtuous woman, that she eateth not the bread of idleness ,% serve also to verify the same remark. Every body understands these expressions ; every body that knows English, per- ceives an impropriety in them, which it is perhaps im- possible to mend without destroying their energy. § But a beauty that is unperceivable is no beauty. Without perspicuity, words are not signs, they are empty sounds; speaking is beating the air, and the most fluent declaim- er is but as a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. Yet there is a sort and a degree of obscurity which ought not to be considered as falling under this censure. I speak not of those sentences wherein more is meant than meets the ear, the literal meaning being intended purely * Hamlet. f 1 Kings u. 5. $ Prov. xxxi. 37. § The Hebraism in each of these quotations from scripture, constitutes the peculiarity ; and as the reasons are nearly equal with regard to all modern lan- guages, for either admitting or rejecting an oriental idiom, the observation will equally affect other European tongues into which the Bible is translated. A scrupulous attention to the purity of the language into which the version is made, must often hurt the energy of the expression. Sad, who in his translation hath been too solicitous to frenchify the style of scripture, hath made nonsense of the first passage, and (to say the least) hath greatly enervated the second. The first he renders in such a manner as implies that Joab had killed Abner and Amassa oftener than once, " Ayant repandu leur sang" (le sang d'Abner et d'Amassa) " durant la paix, comme il avoit fait, durant la guerre." A terrible man this Joab, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The other passage he renders " Elle n'a point mange son pain dans l'oisivete.1* The meaning is very indistinctly expressed here. Can a sluggard be said to be idle when eating ? or does the most industrious disposition require that in the time of eating one should be employed in something else ? Such a translation as ihis, is too free to exhibit the style of the original, too literal to express the sense, and therefore is unlucky enough to hit neither. Diodati hath succeeded better" in both. The last he renders literally as we do, and the first in this manner, " Spandendo in tempo di pace, il sangue che si spande in battaglia." This clearly enough exhibits the sense, and is sufficiently literal. The meaning of the other passage stripped of the idiom, and expressed in plain English, is neither more nor less than this, *« She eateth not the bread which she hath not earned." In many cases it may be difficult to say whether propriety or energy should have the pre» ierence. I think it safer in every dubious case to secure the former. 4$4 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. to suggest a further meaning, which the speaker had chiefly in view. I gave some examples in this way, when on the subject of perspicuity, and showed that they are not to be regarded as exceptions from the rule *. But what I here principally allude to is a species of dark- ness, if I may call it so, resulting from an excess of vi- vacity and conciseness, which, to a certain degree, in some sorts of composition, is at least pardonable. In the ode, for instance, the enthusiastic fervour of the poet naturally carries him to overlook those minutenes- ses in language, on which perspicuity very much de- pends. It is to abruptness of transition, boldness of figure, laconism of expression, the congenial issue of that frame of mind in which the piece is composed, that we owe entirely the Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. Hence proceeds a character of the writing, which may not unhappily be expressed in the words of Milton, " Dark with excessive bright." I have compared viva- city produced by a happy conciseness to the splendour occasioned by concentering sunbeams into a little spot. Now, if by means of this the light is rendered dazzling, it is no more a fit medium for viewing an object in, than too weak a light would be. Though the causes be contrary, the effects are in this respect the same. Ob- jects in both are seen indistinctly. But the cases to which this observation is applicable are extremely few. Indeed, the concise manner in any form is- not alike adapted to every subject. There are some subjects which it particularly suits. For example, the dignity and authority of the preceptive style receives no small lustre from brevity. In the following words of Michael to Adam, how many important lessons are couched in two lines ? Nor love thv life, nor hate ; but what thou liv'st, lire well ; how long, or short, permit to Heaven -f-. * Book II. Chap. viii. Sect. 2. •*• Paradise Lost. Chap. II. or rhetoric. 46a The aphoristic style, and the proverbial, receive like- wise considerable strength from the laconic manner. Indeed, these two styles differ from each other only as the one conveys the discoveries in science, and the other the maxims of common life. In Swift's Detached Thoughts we find a few specimens of this manner. " The power of fortune is confessed by the miserable ; " the happy ascribe all their success to merit." — " Every " man desires to live long ; but no man would be old." — " A nice man is a man of nasty ideas." — " The slug- 11 gard," saith Solomon, Cl hideth his hand in his bosom ; " it grieveth him to bring it to his mouth *." — The de- *' sire of the slothful killeth him, for his hands refuse to " labourf." — " A fool," says the son of Sirach, " travel- " leth with a word, as a woman in labour of a child J." It is indeed true, that a great degree of conciseness is scarce- ly attainable, unless the style be figurative ; but it is also true, that the vivacity of the expression is not to be at- tributed solely to the figure, but partly to the brevity occasioned by the figure. But though the combination of the figurative with the concise is very common, it is not necessary. This will appear from some of the ex- amples already given, wherein though we discover a hap- py comprehension of a great deal of meaning in little compass, there is neither trope nor figure. Nor, indeed, is there either of these, in the picture that Swift gives of himself, where he says, " I am too proud to be vain," in which simplicity, perspicuity, and vivacity, are all happily united. An inferior writer, in attempting to delineate fully the same character, would have employed many sentences, and not have said near so much. Fur- ther, the writer on politics often avails himself of a sen- tentious conciseness, which adds no little energy to the sentiments he unfolds. Of the successful application of brevity in this way, we have an excellent model in the Spirit of Laws. It hath no bad effect, if used sparingly, even in narrative §. • "Proverbs xxvL 15. f Ibid. xxi. '25. £ Ecclus. xix. 11. § The veni, vidi, vici, of Czesar derives hence its principal beauty ; / came, I mrx>, I conquered, is net equal. So small ?. circumstance, as xlw repetition of tha 466 th£ philosophy Book III. On the other hand, the kinds of writing which are less susceptible of this ornament are the descriptive, the pa- thetic, the declamatory, especially the last. It is be- sides, much more suitable in writing than in speaking. A reader has the command of his time, he may read fast or slow, as he finds convenient ; he can peruse a sen- tence a second time when necessary, or lay down the book and think. But if in haranguing to the people, you comprise a great deal in few words, the hearer must have uncommon quickness of apprehension to catch your meaning, before you have put it out of his power, by engaging his attention to something else. In such orations, therefore, it is particularly unseasonable ; and by consequence, it is, in all kinds of writing, addressed to the people, more or less so, as they partake more or less of popular declamation. Section \Y.— The principal offences against Brevity con- sidered. But though this energetic brevity is not adapted alike to every subject, we ought, on every subject, to avoid its contrary, a languid redundancy of words. It is sometimes proper to be copious, but never to be ver- bose. I shall, therefore, now consider some of the prin- cipal faults against that quality of style of which I have been treating. Part I. — Tautology. The first I shall take notice of is the tautology, which is either a repetition of the same sense in different words, or a representation of any thing, as the cause, condition, or consequence of itself. Of the first, which is also the least, take the following example from Addison : The dawn is overcast ; the morning lours; And heavily in clouds brings on the day * pronoun, without which the sentence in our language would appear maimed, takes much from its Vivacity and force. • Cato. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 457 Here the same thought is repeated thrice in different words. Of the last kind 1 shall produce a specimen from Swift. " I look upon it as my duty \ so far as God " hath enabled me, and as long as I keep within the " bounds of truth, of duty, and of decency — f ." It would be strange indeed that any man should think it his duty to transgress the bounds of duty. Another ex- ample from the same hand you have in the words which follow : " So it is, that I must be forced to get home, " partly by stealth, and partly by force $." How many " are there," says Bolingbroke, 4t by whom these tid- " ings of good news were never heard §?" This is tid- " ings of tidings, or news of news. " Never did " Atticus succeed better in gaining the universal " love and esteem of all men ||." Either of the two words in italics might have been used, but not both. It is also considered as of the nature of tautology, to lengthen a sentence by coupling words altogether or nearly synonymous, whether they be substantives or ad- jectives, verbs or adverbs. This fault is very common, and to be found even in our best writers. " In the Attic " commonwealth," says Doctor Swift, " it was the pru " vilege and birthright of every citizen and poet, to rail " aloud and in public %." — If he had said simply, " In the " Attic commonwealth it was the privilege of every ci- " tizen, to rail in public," — the sentence would have lost nothing of the sense. And it is an invariable maxim, that words which add nothing to the sense or to the clearness, must diminish the force of the expression. There are certain synonymas which it is become custom- ary with some writers regularly to link together ; inso- much that a reader no sooner meets with one of them, than he anticipates the introduction of its usual attend- ant. It is needless to quote authorities, I shall only pro- duce a few of those couples which are wont to be thus conjoined, and which every English reader will recollect t Letter to Lord Lyttelton. $ Letter to Sheridan. £ Pb. Fr. 38. |j Spectator, No. 467. Z. % Preface to the Tale of a Tub. 3M 468 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. with ease. Such are, plain and evident, clear and obvi- ous, worship and adoration, pleasure and satisfaction, bounds and limits, suspicion and jealousy, courage and re- solution, intents and purposes. The frequent recurrence of such phrases is not indeed more repugnant to vivacity than it is to dignity of style. But, is there no occasion on which synonymous words may be used properly ? I answer, There are two occa- sions ; and I do not at present recollect any other. One is, when an obscurer term, which we cannot avoid em- ploying, on account of some connection with what either precedes or follows, needs to be explained by one that is clearer. The other is, when the language of the passions is exhibited. Passion naturally dwells on its object : the impassioned speaker always attempts to rise in ex- pression ; but when that is impracticable, he recurs to repetition and synonymy, and thereby in some measure produces the same effect. The hearer perceiving him, as it were, overpowered by his subject, and at a loss to find words adequate to the strength of his feelings, is by sympathy carried along with him, and enters into all his sentiments. There is in this case an expression in the very effort shown by recurring to synonymas, which sup- plies the deficiency in the words themselves. Boling- broke exclaims in an invective against the times, *' But r*ro 0,t ^»a*i# E* •v9/*ecji Intra X^/r» *r» N«^«<» tyt^eei xai trf^nrttrtt. Lat. Vul. Eras. Bez. " Argen- «' turn et aurum non est mihi ; quod autem habeo, hoc tibi do. In nomine Jesu Christi Nazareni, surge et ambula." Castaglio hath not adhered so closely to the order of the words in the original, but hath in this and some other places, for the sake of latinity, weakened the expression : " Nee argentum mihi nee aurum ** est ; sed quod habeo, hoc tibi do. In nomine," &c. It would seem that nei- ther the Italian language nor the French can admit so great a latitude in arrang- ing the words ; for in these the vivacity resulting from the order is not onTv i Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 498 of the beggar, naturally leads to a vivid conception of that which was the object of his thoughts, and this con- ception as naturally displays itself in the very form of the declaration made by the apostle. But as every thing is best judged by comparison, let us contrast with this the same sentence arranged according to the rigid rules of grammar, which render it almost a literal translation of the Italian and French versions quoted in the margin, " I have no gold and silver ; but I give thee that which " I have : In the name of — " The import is the same, but the expression is rendered quite exanimate. Yet the sentences differ chiefly in arrangement, the other difference in composition is inconsiderable. There is another happy transposition in the English version of the passage under review, which, though pe- culiar to our version, deserves our notice, as it contri- butes not a little to the energy of the whole. I mean not only the separation of the adjective none from its substantives silver and gold, but the placing of it in the end of the clause, which, as it were, rests upon it. " Silver and gold have I none" For here, as in several other instances, the next place to the first, in respect of emphasis, is the last. We shall be more sensible of this by making a very small alteration on the composition and structure of the sentence, and saying, " Silver and " gold are not in my possession ;" which is manifestly weaker. My fourth example should be one wherein the verb occupies the first place in the sentence, which often hap- pens in the ancient languages with great advantage m point of vivacity. But this cannot frequently obtain in English, without occasioning an ambiguity; the first place when given to the verb, being, by the rules of our weakened but destroyed. Diod. " Io non ho ne argento ne oro ; ma quel che ho, " io t'el dono : nel nome di Jesu Christo il Nazareo, levati e camina." Le Clerc, Beausobre, " Je n'ai ni or ni argent ; mais ce que j'ai, je vous le donne : au nom •' de Jesus Christ de Nazareth, levez-vous et marehez." Saci's is the same, ex- cept in the last member, where by transposing the words, " au nora de Jesus Christ de Nazareth," and putting them after " levez-vous," he hath altered the sense, and made that a circumstance attending the action of the lame man, which was intended to express the authority whereby the apostle gave the order. 494 the philosophy Book III. syntax, appropriated to distinguish these three things, a command, as " Stay not here ;" a question, us " Were " they present ?' and a supposition, as " Had I known," from an assertion, as " Yc stay not here ;" " They were " present;" and " I had known." A few trifling phras- es, as said he, replied they, are the sole exceptions in the simple tenses, at least in prose. In some instances, however, in the compound tenses the verb may precede without giving rise to any double meaning. In such cases it is not the auxiliary or the substantive verb chat begins the sentence, as in supposition and interrogation, but the infinitive of tbe principal verb in the active voice, and the participle in the passive, as in expressions like these, " Go I must, whatever may ensue." " Avoid it he could not by any means,*' " An instance in the passive voice hath been given in the second example. I shall here observe, that in one passage : of scripture our translators, by not at- tending to this small circumstance, that the import of the passive verb lies in the participle, have, without ne- cessity, not only given up the emphatical arrangement, but, in order^to be literal, have copied a figure, which, though forcible in the original, is, in the place assigned it in the translation, rather unnatural and insignificant. The passage alluded to is this, " Another angel follow7- *' ed, saying Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city*." Here, as it was the event itself that chiefly occupied the angel's mind, the verb in the Greek with great proprie- ty begins the proclamation: Again, as it was an event * Rev. xiv. 8. Gr. E *bXig fuym*.*. As the expression is taken from Isaiah xxi. 9. the same order is found in the Hebrew, ^33 nbE2 nbss. All the Latin translations that I have seen, have followed the same order. " Ceci- •• dit, cecidit Babylon, urbs ilia magna." Le Clerc and Saci in the French, both agree with the arrangement in the English. Babylone est tombee ; elle est *' tombee-; cette grande v'He.'* Beausobre's version in that tongue is rather better, as it comes nearer the order of the words in the Greek. He begins with the pronoun, and puts the name after the verb. " Elle est tombee, elle est tom- 44 bee, Baby lor. a la grande ville." This, I believe, is as near the original as the idiom of the French will permit. In the Italian, Diodati hath preserved entire- ly the vivacity resulting both from the disposition of the words, and the redu- plication of the verb, and hath given the passage that turn which the English interpreters might and should have given it: " Caduta, enduta e Babilonia la 44 gran cita." ■ It is evident that in this matter the Italian allows more liberty than the French, and the English more than the Italian. The truth of this oh- • ^'ia'ion will appear more fully afterwcr;s Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 495 of so surprising a nature, and of such mighty conse- quence, it was natural to attempt, by repeating the word, to rivet it in the minds of the hearers, ere he proceeded any further. The words is fallen in our language, an- swer to the single word by which the verb is expressed in the original. Our translators were sensible they could not say, " Is fallen, is fallen, Babylon that great city." This could convey no meaning, being neither affirmation nor interrogation, hypothesis nor wish. Tor this reason they have preferred the colder arrangement, prescribed by grammarians, though by so doing they have also lost the effect of the reduplication. A little attention to the genius of our tongue would have shewn them, that all the effect, both of the order and of the figure, would have been preserved by saying, " Fallen, fallen, is Baby- " Ion the great city *." Often a particle, such as an adverb or preposition be- longing to a compound verb (for it matters not in which way you consider it), emphatically begins the sentence, as in that formerly quoted for another purpose. " Up " goes my grave Impudence to the maid." In the par- ticle up, that circumstance is denoted, which particular- ly marks the impudence of the action. By the help of it too, the verb is made to precede the nominative, which otherwise it could not do. In negations it holds very generally, that the negative particle should be joined to the verb. Yet in some cases the expression is greatly enlivened, and consequently the denial appears more determinate, by beginning the sentence with the adverb. " Not every one," says our Saviour, " that " saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the king- " dom of heaven ; but he that doth the will of my fa- •" ther who is in heaven f ." Vary but the position of * Somewhat similar is the admirable example we have in this passage of Virgil. Me, me, adsum qui feci, in me convertite ferrum. TEn. L. ix. The emphasis here is even the stronger, that the pronoun so happily begun with and repeated is perfectly irregular, it being quite detached from the con- struction of the sentence. + Mat. vii. 21. Gr. Ov Tag o 'kiyuv {mi, Kvgn Kvgis, uei\tveC\*i us m* CectiXtiMv ruv Kgxvuv, All the Latin translators, however differently they express the sense, agree in beginning with the negative particle. So also *doth Diodati in the Ital- ian : " Non chiunque mi dice, Signore, Signore, entrera nel regno de' deli." >ct so the French, he Clerp and Bcaufcbre thus : •« Tens ceux que medijs 496 the philosophy Book III. the negative in the first member, and say, ic Every one " that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall not enter into " the kingdom of heaven," and you will flatten the ex- pression exceedingly. On so slight a circumstance in the arrangement does the energy of a sentence some- times depend. We have some admirable examples of the power of this circumstance in Shakespeare. In the conference of Malcom with Macduff; after the for- mer had asserted, that he himself was so wicked, that even Macbeth, compared with him, would appear inno- cent as a lamb, Macduff replies with some warmth, — — . Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd, In ills to top Macbeth *. The arrangement in this sentence is admirably adapted to the speaker's purpose ; whereas, if you dispose the words in the usual manner, and say, " A more damned " devil in the legions of horrid hell cannot come to top 44 Macbeth in ills f we shall scarcely be persuaded that the thought is the same. If it were needful to multi- ply examples, I might easily show that other adverbs, particularly those of time and of place, when such cir- cumstances require special notice, may, with great ad- vantage to the energy, appear foremost in the sentence. I proceed to observe, that when a sentence begins with a conjunction, whether it be expressed in one word or more, with naming or titling the persons addressed, with a call to attention, or even with a term that is little more than an expletive, the place immediately following such phrase, title, or connective, will often give the same advantage to the expression that fills it, as in other cases the first place will do. The first term or phrase is considered only as the link which connects the sen- tence with that which went before ; or, if it have no re- lation to the preceding, as an intimation that something " ent, Seigneur, Seigneur, n'entreront pas dans le royaume du ciel." Saci thus, •' Ceux qui me disent, Seigneui4, Seigneur, n'entreront pas tous dans le roy. " aume des deux." " Macbeth. Chap. III. OF rhetoric. 497 is to be said. Of this a few examples will suffice. The place immediately after a conjunction which begins the sentence is sometimes emphatical, as in that of Milton : ■ -At last his sail-broad vans He spreads for flight • ; where the description is the more picturesque that the verb is preceded by its regimen. The possessive pro- noun and the epithet, unless when a particular emphasis rests upon one of them, are regarded only as constitut- ing parts of one complex sign with the noun. Second- ly, the place after the address, as in that of the same author, Powers and dominions, deities of heaven ! ■ • *••••• Me, tho' just right and the fixt laws of heaven Did first create your leaderf, ■■ - ■- Nothing could better suit, or more vividly express, the pride and arrogance of the arch apostate, than the man- ner here used of introducing himself to their notice. Thirdly, the place after a call to attention, as in that of the apostle, " Behold, now is the accepted time : behold, " now is the day of salvation. "J Lastly, the place after an expletive : " There came no more such abundance of 44 spices as these which the Queen of Sheba gave to king 44 Solomon §." Perhaps the word there, in this passage, cannot properly be termed an expletive ; for though it be in itself insignificant, the idiom of the language ren- ders it necessary in this disposition of the sentence ; for such is the power of this particle, that by its means even the simple tenses of the verb can be made to precede the nominative, without the appearance of interrogation. For when we interrogate we must say, " Came there — " or 44 Did there come — " A little attention will satisfy us* that the verb in the passage produced, ought to occupy the emphatical place, as the comparison is purely of what was brought into the country then, and what was at any • Paradise Lost, B. II. t Ibid. + 2 Cor. vi. & § 1 Kings x. 10. 498 THE 1'HILOSOPHY Book III. time imported afterwards. Even though the particle there be preceded by the copulative, it will make no odds on the value of the place immediately following. " And " there appeared to them, Elias, with Moses*." The apparition is here the striking circumstance. And the first place that is occupied by a significant term is still the emphaticai place. In all the three preceding quo- tations from scripture, the arrangement is the same in the original, and in most of the ancient translations, as it is with us. The modern versions vary more, especially in regard to the passage last quoted. f I shall add one example more from scripture, wherein the oblique case of the personal pronoun, though preced- ed by two conjunctions, emphatically ushers the verb and its nominative. Among mamj nations there was no king like Solomon, who was beloved of his God, and God made him king over all Israel: nevertheless even him did outlandish woman cause to sin%. My remark concerns only the last clause of the sentence. It is manifest that the emphasis here ought to rest on the him, who, from what immediately precedes, might have been thought * Mark IX. 4. Gl*. Kxi &>$&» tzvlois KXiot; vvv Viavit. •f In Italian, Diodati renders it, " Et Eliaapparue loro, insiemecon Moise." In French, Le Clerc, " Ensuite Elie et Moise leur apparurent." Beausobre, " lis *« virent aussi paroitre Moise et Elie." Saci, " Et ils virent paroitre Elie et " Moise." It would seem that neither of these tongues can easily admit the simple tense to precede both its nominative and its regimen. By the aid of the particle there, this is done in English without ambiguity, and without violence to the idiom of the language. $ Neh. xiii. 26. The clause affected by this criticism stands thus in the origi- nal : : rftmaan twarr limanri iJViM M The order is exactly the same in the Greek of the Septuagint; Kai rvrev t&xiivav ai yuvaixsg al xxxfytict : and nearly the same in the Latin Vulgat ; "Et ipsum ergo duxerunt ad peccatum mulieres alieni- *' gente." Junius is rather more literal. " Etiam ipsum ad peccandum induxer- " unt feminne alienigeiue." Castalio, with at least equal energy, places the pro- noun before the conjunction. " Eiim tamen ad peccandum mulieres perduxerunt «• extranese." In all these, as in the English translation, what is principally eraphatical in the arrangement is preserved, the pronoun being the first among the significant terms. It is not so in Biodati's Italian version : " E pure le donne »' straniere lo fuero peccare :" nor in Saci's French ; " Et apres cela neanmoins '* des femmes etrangeres le firent tomber dans le peche." It is remarkable, that though the ordinary grammalic rules, both of French and of Italian, place the pronoun governed before the governing verb, the reverse of which obtains in English, the latter language is more capable of accommodating itself to such an expressive disposition of the words, as has been now exemplified, than either of the former. The reason is, though these tongues make the oblique case of the pronoun generally precede the verb, they do not admit the nominative to inter- vene, but for the most part, except in asking a question, place it before both* Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 499 proof against all the arts, even of female seduction. This clause, every body must perceive, would have been much more weakly expressed, had it been arranged thus : Never- theless outlandish women did cause even him to sin. Sometimes indeed it is necessary, in order to set an eminent object in the most conspicuous light, to depart a little from the ordinary mode of composition as well as of arrangement. The following is an example in this way : " Your fathers, where are they ? and the prophets, " do they live for ever*?" A colder writer would have satisfied himself with saying, " Where are your fathers? *■ and do the prophets live for ever." But who that has the least spark of imagination, sees not how languid the latter expression is, when compared with the former? The sentiment intended to be conveyed in both, namely the frailty and mortality of man, is one of those obvious truths, which it is impossible for any person in his senses to call in question. To introduce the mention of it, in, order to engage my assent to what nobody ever denied or doubted, would be of no consequence at all ; but it is of consequence to rouse my attention to a truth, which so nearly concerns every man, and which is, nevertheless, so little attended to by any. In such cases the end of speaking is not to make us believe, but to make us feel. It is the heart and not the head which ought to be ad- dressed. And nothing can be better adapted to this purpose, than first, as it were independently, to raise clear ideas in the imagination, and then, by the abruptness of an unexpected question, to send us to seek for the arche- types. From all the examples above quoted, those especially taken from holy writ, the learned reader, after compar- ing them carefully, both with the original, and with the translations cited in the margin, will be enabled to de- duce, with as much certainty as the nature of the ques- tion admits, that that arrangement which I call rheto- rical, as contributing to vivacity and animation, is, in • Zech. i. 5. 500 the philosophy Book III. the strictest sense of the word, agreeably to what hath been already suggested, a natural arrangement ; that the principle which leads to it operates similarly on every people, and in every language, though it is much more checked by the idiom of some tongues than by that of others ; that, on the contrary, the more common, and what for distinction's sake I call the grammatical order, is , in a great measure, an arrangement of convention, and differs considerably in different languages*. He will discover also, that to render the artificial or convention- al arrangement, as it were, sacred and inviolable, by re- presenting every deviation (whatever be the subject, whatever be the design of the work) as a trespass against the laws of composition in the language, is one of the most effectual ways of stinting the powers of elocution, and even of damping the vigour both of imagination and of passion. I observe this the rather, that in my apprehension, the criticism that prevails amongst us at present leans too much this way. No man is more sen- sible of the excellence of purity and perspicuity, properly so called ; but I would not hastily give up some not in- considerable advantages of the English tongue, in respect both of eloquence and of poetry, merely in exchange for the French nettete. I should next proceed to make some remarks on the disposition and the form of the clauses in complex sen- tences ; for though some of the examples already pro- duced are properly complex, in these I have only con- •All the French critics are not so immoderately national as Bouhours. Since composing the foregoing observations I have been shown a book entitled, Traite de la formation mechaniquc des langvet. The sentiments of the author on this subject are entirely coincident with mine. He refers to some other treatises, particularly to one on Inversion, by M. de Batteux, which I have not seen. Con- cerning it he says, " Ceux qui Tauront lu, verront que c'est le defaut de terminai- *' sons propres a distinguer le nominatif de l'accusatif, qui nous a force a prendre " cct orde moins naturel qu'on ne le croit : que l'inversion est dans notre langue, •* non dans la langue latine, comme on se le figure : que le mots etant plus *• faits pour l'honmie que pour les choses. l'ordre essentiel a suivre dans le dis- *' cours representatif de l'idee des objets n'est pas tant la marche commune des " choses dans la nature, que la succession veritable des pensees, la rapidite des - sentimens, ou de Pinteret du coeur, la fidelite de Pimage dans le tableau de •• Paction ; que le latin en preferent ces points capitaux precede plus naturelle- M ment que le frai:$ois," &c No. 22. Chap, III. OF RHLTORIC. 501 sidered the arrangement of the words in the principal member, and not the disposition of the members. But before 1 enter on this other discussion, it will be proper to observe, and by some suitable examples to illustrate the observation, that the complex, are not so favourable to a vicious diction as the simple sentences, or such as consist of two clauses at the most. Of all the parts of speech, the conjunctions are the most unfriendly to vivacity ; the next to them the rela- tive pronouns, as partaking of the nature of conjunction. It is by these parts, less significant in themselves, that the more significant parts, particularly the members of complex sentences, are knit together. The frequent re- currence, therefore, of such feeble supplements, cannot fail to prove tiresome, especially in pieces wherein an en- livened and animated diction might naturally be expect- ed. But nowhere hath simplicity in the expression a better effect in invigorating the sentiments, than in poe- tical description on interesting subjects. Consider the song composed by Moses, on occasion of the passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea, and you will find, that part of the effect produced by that noble hymn is justly imputable to the simple, the abrupt, the rapid manner adopted in the composition. I shall produce only two verses for a specimen. " The enemy said, I " will pursue ; I will overtake ; I will divide the spoil ; " my revenge shall be satiated upon them : I will draw " my sword ; my hand shall destroy them : thou blewest " with thy breath ; the sea covered them ; they sank as " lead in the mighty waters*." This is the figure which • Exod. xv. 9. 10. The word by our interpreters rendered wind also de- notes spirit and breath. A similar homonymy, in the corresponding term, maybe observed not only in the oriental, but in almost all ancient languages. When this noun has the affixed pronoun, by which it is appropriated to a person, the signifi- cation -wind is evidently excluded, and the meaning is limited to either spirit or breath. When it is, besides, construed with the verb blow, the signification spirit is also excluded, and the meaning confined to breath. It is likewise the intention of the inspired penman, to represent the wonderful facility with which Jehovah blasted all the towering hopes of the Egyptians. Add to this, that such a man- ner is entirely in the Hebrew taste, which considers every great natural objectlas bearing some relation to the Crea^r and Sovereign of the universe. The thun- der is God's voice ; the wind, his breath ; the heaven, his throne ; the earth, his footstool ; the whirlwind and the tempest are the blasts o f his nostrils 502 the philosophy Book III, the Greek rhetoricians call asyndeton, and to which they ascribe a wonderiul efficacy. It ought to be observed, that the natural connection of the particulars mentioned is both close and manifest ; aact it is this consideration -which entirely supersedes the artificial signs of that con- nection, such as conjunctions and relatives. Our transla- tors (who, it mubt oe acknowledged, are not often charge- able with this fault) nave injured one passage in endeavour- ing to mend it. Literally rendered it stands thus : " Thou " sentest forth tny wratn which consumed them as stub- " ble*." These two simple sentences have appeared to them too much detached. For this reason, they have injudiciously combined them into one complex sentence, by inserting the relative which, and thereby weakened the expression : " Thou sentest forth thy wrath, which " consumed them as stubble.'' They have also thought fit sometimes to add the conjunction and when it was not necessary, and might well have been spared. If any one perceives not the difference, and conse- quently, is not satisfied of the truth of this doctrine, let him make the following experiment on the song now under review. Let him transcribe it by himself, care- fully inserting conjunctions, and relatives in every place which will admit them in a consistency with the sense, and then let him try the effect of the whole. If, after all, he is not convinced, I know no argument in nature that can weigh with him. For this is one of those cases in which the decision of .every man's own taste must be final with regard to himself. But those who feel the difference in the effects, will permit such as are so disposed to speculate a little about the cause. Ail that comes under the cognizance of our senses, in the operations either of Nature or of Art, is the causes which precede, and the effects which fol- low. Hence is suggested to the mind the notion of power, agency, or causation. This notion or idea (call it which you please) is from the very frame of our na- ture suggested, necessarily suggested, and often instan- * ExocL xv. 7. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 503 taneously suggested; but still it is suggested and not perceived. I would not choose to dispute with any man about a word, and, therefore, lest this expression should appear exceptionable, I declare my meaning to be only this, that it is conceived by the understanding, and not perceived by the senses, as the causes and the effects themselves often are. Would you then copy Na- ture in a historical or descriptive poem, present to our imaginations the causes and the effects in their natural order; the suggestion of the power or agency which connects them will as necessarily result from the live- ly image you produce in the fancy, as it results from the perception of the things themselves, when they fall under the cognizance of the senses. But if you should take the other method, and connect with accuracy where there is relation ; and with the help of conjunctions and relatives, deduce with care ef- fects from their causes, and allow nothing of the kind to pass unnoticed in the description, in lieu of a picture, you will present us with a piece of reasoning or decla- mation. Would you on the contrary, give to reasoning itself the force and vivacity of painting, follow the me- thod first prescribed, and that even when you represent the energy of spiritual causes, which were never subject- ed to the scrutiny of sense. You will thus convert a piece of abstruse reflection, which, however just, makes but a slender impression upon the mind, into the most affecting and instructive imagery. It is in this manner the psalmist treats that most sub- lime, and, at the same time, most abstract of all subjects, the providence of God. With what success he treats it, every person of taste and sensibility will judge. After a few strictures on the life of man, and of the inferior animals, to whatever element, air, or earth, or water, they belong, he thus breaks forth : " These wait all upon " thee, that thou mayest give them their meat in due " season. Thou givest them. They gather. Thou " openest thy hand. They are filled with good. Thou " hidest thy face. They are troubled. Thou takest " away their breath. They die, and return to their 504 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. " dust. Thou sendest forth thy Spirit. They are creat- " ed. Thou renevvest the face of the earth*." It must be acknowledged, that it is not every subject, no, nor every kind of composition, that requires, or even admits the use of such glowing colours. The psalm is of the nature of the ode, being, properly defined, a sacred ode ; and it is allowed, that this species of poesy demands more fire than any other. It may indeed be thought, that the vivacity resulting From this manner of composing is sufficiently accounted for, from the brevity which it occasions, and of which I treated in the preceding chapter. It is an undoubted truth, that the brevity here contributes to the force of the expression, butitisnotsolely to this principle that the effect is to be ascribed. A good taste will discern a difference in a passage already quoted from the song of Moses, as it stands in our version, and as it is literallv rendered from the Hebrewf ; though in both, the number of words, and even of syllables, is the same. Observe also, the ex- pression of the psalmist, who having compared man, in respect of duration, to a flower, says concerning the lat- ter, " The wind passe th over it, and it is gonej." Had he said, c< The wind passing over it, destroys it," he had expressed the same sentiment in fewer words, but more weakly. But it may be objected, If such is the power of the figure asyndeton, and if the conjunctive particles are na- turally the weakest parts in a sentence, whence comes it that the figure polysyndeton, the reverse of the for- mer, should be productive of that energy which rheto- ricians ascribe to it ? I answer, the cases must be very different which require such opposite methods. Celeri- ty of operation, and fervour in narration, are best ex- pressed by the first. A deliberate attention to every circumstance, as being of importance, and to this in par- ticular the multiplicity of the circumstances, is best awakened by the second. The conjunctions and rela- tives excluded by the asyndeton are such as connect * Psalms civ. 27—30. + Exod. xv. 7. 1 Psalm ciii. 16. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 505 clauses and members ; those repeated by the polysynde- ton are such as connect single words only. Aii collec- tives alike are set aside by the former ; the latter is confined to copulatives and disjunctives. A few exam- ples of this will illustrate the difference. " While the 44 earth remaineth," said God immediately after the de- luge, " seedtime, and harvest, and cold, and heat and 44 summer, and winter, and day, and night shall not 44 cease *." Every thing to which a permanency of so great importance is secured, requires the most deliberate attention. And in the following declaration of the apostle, much additional weight and distinctness are given to each particular, by the repetition of the con- junction. " I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, 44 nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 44 present, nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor u any other creature, shall be able to separate us from 14 the love of Godf ." Section III. — Complex Sentences. Part I. — Subdivision of these into periods and loose Sentences. I come now to the consideration of complex sentences. These are of two kinds. They are either periods, or sen- tences of a looser composition, for which the language doth not furnish us with a particular name. A period is a complex sentence, wherein the meaning remains sus- pended, till the whole is finished. The connection con- sequently is so close between the beginning and the end, as to give rise to the name period, which signifies cir- cuits The following is such a sentence : " Corrruption 44 could not spread with so much success, though redu- " ced into system, and though some ministers, with equal " impudence and folly, avowed it by themselves and their • Gen. viii. 20. + Rom. viii 3S, 39. 506 the philosophy Book III. c< advocates, to be the principal expedient by which they " governed ; if a long and almost unobserved progres- " sion of causes and effects did not prepare the conjunc- " ture*." The criterion of a period is this : If you stop any where before the end, the preceding words will not form a sentence, and therefore cannot convey any deter- mined sense. This is plainly the case with the above ex- ample. The first verb being could, and not can, the po- tential and not the indicative mood, shows that the sen- tence is hypothetical, and requires to its completion, some clause beginning with if> unless, or some other conditional particle. And after you are come to the conjunction, you find no part where you can stop be- fore the endf . From this account of the nature of a • Boling. Spirit of Patriotism. *T It is surprising that most modern critics seem to have mistaken totally the import of the wor d period, confounding it with the complex sentence in general and sometimes even with the simple but circumstantiated sentence. Though none of the ancients, as far as I remember, either Greek or Latin, have treated this matter with all the precision that might be wished, jet it appears to me evident, form the expressions they employ, the similitudes they use, and the examples they produce, that the distinction given above perfectly coincides with their no- tions on this subject. But nothing seems more decisive than the instance which Demetrius Phalareus has given of a period from Demosthenes, and which, for the sake of illustrating the difference, he has also thrown into the form of a loose sen- tence. I refer the learned reader to the book itself: Ht^ i^wnui I, I A. The ancients did indeed sometimes apply the word Period to simple but circumstan- tiated sentences of a certain structure. I shall give the following example in our own language for an illustration ; " At last, after much fatigue, through •< deep roads and bad weather, we came with no small difficulty to our journey's " end." Otherwise thus, " We came to our journey's end at last, with no small '« difficulty, after much fatigue, through deep roads, and bad weather." The latter is in the loose, the former in the periodic composition. Accordingly in the lat- ter there are, before the conclusion, no less than five worda, which I have distin- guished by the character, namely, end, last, difficulty, fatigue, roads, with any of which the sentence might have terminated. One would have not expected that a writer so accurate and knowing asj M. du Marsais, should hare so far mistaken the meaning of the word period in the usage of the ancients, as to define it in this man- ner : Laperiode est un assemblage de propositions liees entr1 ellcs par des conjonctions, et que toutes ensemble font un sensfini. " The period is an assemblage of proposi- " tions connected by conjunctions, and making altogether one complete sense." — (Principes de Grammaire, La Periode.)]This is a proper definition of a complex sentence ; and that he meant no more is manifest from all his subsequent illustra- tions. Take the following for an example, which he gives in another place-of the same work : uJly a nnavantagc red a eire instmit; mais il nc faut pas que cct avan- 44 tage inspire de VorguciV " There is a real advantage in being instructed ; but " we ought not to be proud of this advantage." Pie adds, " Le inals raproche les ** deux propositions ou membres de la periode, et les met en opposition." M The •* but connects the two propositions or members of the period, and sets them in Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 507 period, we may justly infer, that it was much easier in Greek and Latin to write in periods than it is in En- glish or perhaps in any European tongue. The con- struction with them depended mostly on inflection : con- sequently the arrangement, which ascertains the charac- ter of the sentence in respect of composition, was very much in their own power ; with us, on the contrary, the construction depends mostly on arrangement, which is therefore comparatively very little in our power. Ac- cordingly, as the sense in every sentence hangs entirely on the verb, one ordinary way with them of keeping the sense suspended, was by reserving the verb to the end. This in most cases the structure of modern languages will not permit us to imitate. An example of a com- plex sentence, that is not a period, I shall produce from the same performance. " One party hath given their " whole attention, during several years, to the project " of enriching themselves, and impoverishing the rest of " the nation ; and by these and other means, of esta- " blishing their dominion under the government > and with " the favour of a family who were foreigners, and there- " fore might believe that they were established on the " throne, by the good will and strength of this party " alone." The criterion of such loose sentences is as follows : There will always be found in them one place at least before the end, at which if you make a stop, the construction of the preceding part will render it a com- plete sentence. Thus in the example now given whe- ther you stop at the word themselves, at nation^ at do- minion, at government, or at foreigners, all which words are marked in the quotation in italics, you will find you have read a perfect sentence. Wherefore then, it may be asked, is this denominated one sentence, and not several ? For this reason, that though the preceding words, when you have reached any of the stops above mentioned, will make sense, and may be conbtrued separately, the same cannot be said of the " opposition." Des conjonctions. It is evident that the sentence adduced is no period in the seme of the ancients. 3R 508 the philosophy. Book III. words which follow. In a period, the dependence of the members is reciprocal ; in a loose sentence the former members have not a necessary dependence on the latter, whereas the latter depend entirely on the former. In- deed, if both former and latter members are, in respect of construction, alike independent on one another, they do not constitute one sentence, but two or more. And here I shall remark by the way, that it is by applying the observation just now made, and not always by the pointing, even where the laws of punctuation are most strictly observed, that we can discriminate sentences. When they are closely related in respect of sense, and when the sentences themselves are simple, they are for the most part separated only by commas or by semico- lons, rarely by colons, and almost never by points. In this way the passages above quoted from the song of Moses and the Psalms, are pointed in all our English Bibles. But there is an intermediate sort of sentences which must not be altogether overlooked, though they are nei- ther entirely loose, nor perfect periods. Of this sort is the following : " The other institution," he is speaking of the eucharist, " has been so disguised by ornament, " ||and so much directed in your church at least, 'to a " different purpose from commemoration, that if the " disciples were to assemble at Easter in the chapel of his " Holiness, Peter would know his successor as little, u ||as Christ would acknowledge his vicar ; and the " rest would be unable to guess || what the ceremony re- " 'presented || or intended *." This sentence may be dis- tributed into four members. The first is complex, in- cluding two clauses, and ends at commemoration. The second is simple, ending at Holiness. It is evident that the sentence could not terminate at either of these places or at any of the intermediate words. The third mem- ber is subdivided into two clauses, and ends at vicar. It is equally evident that if the sentence had been con- cluded here, there would have been no defect in the coa- • Bol. Phil. Es. iy. Sect. 7. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 50() struction. The fourth member, which concludes the sentence, is also compound, and admits a subdivision into three clauses. At the word represented, which finishes the second clause, the sentence might have terminated. The two words which could have admitted a full stop after them, are distinguished by italics. Care hath also been taken to discriminate the members and the clauses. It may, however, justly be affirmed, that when the ad- ditional clause or clauses are, as in the preceding exam- ple, intimately connected with the foregoing words, the sentence, may still be considered as a period, since it hath much the same effect. Perhaps some of the exam- ples of periods to be produced in the sequel, if examined very critically, would fall under this denomination. But that is of little or no consequence. On comparing the two kinds of complex sentences together, to wit, the period and the loose sentence, we find that each hath its advantages and disadvantages. The former savours more of artifice and design, the lat- ter seems more the result of pure Nature. The period is nevertheless more susceptible of vivacity and force ; the loose sentence is apt, as it were to languish, and grow tiresome. The first is more adapted to the style of the writer, the second to that of the speaker. But as that style is best, whether written or spoken, which hath a proper mixture of both ; so there are some things in every species of discourse, which require a looser, and some which require a preciser manner. In general, the use of periods best suits the dignity of the historian, the poli- tical writer, and the philosopher. The other manner more befits the facility which ought to predominate in essays, dialogues, familiar letters, and moral tales. These approach nearer the style of conversation, into which periods can very rarely find admittance. In some kinds of discourses intended to be pronounced, but not deliver- ed to the Public in writing, they may properly find a place in the exordium and narration, for thus far some allowance is made for preparation ; but are not so sea- sonable, unless very short, in the argumentative part, and the pathetic. 510 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. Part II. — Observations on periods, and on the use of antithesis in the composition of sentences. I now proceed to offer some observations on the period. It hath been affirmed to hare more energy than a sen- tence loosely composed. The reason is this : The strength which is diffused through the latter, is in the former collected, as it were, into a single point. You defer the blow a little, but it is solely that you may bring it down with greater weight. But in order to avoid obscurity, as well as the display of art, rhetoricians have generally prescribed that a period should not consist of more than four members. For my own part, as members of sen- tences differ exceedingly both in length and in structure from one another, I do not see how any general rule can be established, to ascertain their number. A period consisting of but two members, may easily be found, that is at once longer, more artificial and more obscure, than another consisting of five. The only rule which will never fail, is to beware both of prolixity and of in- tricacy, and the only competent judges in the case are, good sense and a good ear. A great deal hath been said both by ancient critics and by modern, on the formation and turn of periods. But their remarks are chiefly calculated with a view to harmony. In order to prevent the necessity of repeat- ing afterwards, I shall take no notice of these remarks at present, though the rules founded on them do also in a certain degree contribute both to perspicuity and to strength. That kind of period which hath mo t vivacity, is commonly that wherein you find an antithesis in the mem- bers, the several parts of one having a similarity to those of the other, adapted to some resemblance in the sense. The effect produced by the corresponding members in ^uch a sentence, is like that produced in a picture where the figures of the group are not all on a side, with their faces turned the same way, but are made to contrast f ach other by their several positions. Besides, this kind Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 511 of periods is generally the most perspicuous. There is in them not only that original light, which results from the expression when suitable, but there is also that which is reflected reciprocally from the opposed mem- bers. The relation between these is so strongly marked, that it is next to impossible to lose sight of it. The same quality makes them also easier for the memory. Yet to counterbalance these advantages, this sort of period often appears more artful and studied than any other. 1 say often, because nothing can be more evi- dent, than that this is not always the case. Some antitheses seem to arise so naturally out of the subject, that it is scarcely possible in another manner to express the sen- timent. Accordingly we discover them even in the scriptures, the style of which is perhaps the most artless, the most natural, the most unaffected, that is to be found in any composition now extant. But I shall satisfy myself with producing a few speci- mens of this figure, mostly taken from the noble author lately quoted, who is commonly very successful in ap- plying it. " If Cato," says he, " may be censured, se- " verely indeed but justly, || for abandoning the cause of " liberty, || which he wouldjiot however survive; . . what shall we say of those, || who embrace it faintly, || pursue it *6 irresolutely, . . grow tired of it, |] when they have M much to hope, . . and give it up, || when they have " nothing to fear* ?" In this period there is a double an- titheses, the two clauses which follow the pronoun those are contrasted, so are also the two members (each con- sisting of two clauses) which conclude the sentence. Another specimen of a double antithesis differently dis- posed, in which he hath not been so fortunate, I shall produce from the same work. iC Eloquence that leads ■" mankind by the ears, | gives a nobler superiority | than " power that every dunce may use, [ or fraud that every knave may employ, j to lead them by the nose." Here the two intermediate clauses are contrasted, so are also the first and the last. But there is this difference. In ? On the spirit cf Patriotism. 512 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. the intermediate members, there is a justness in the thought as well as in the expression, an essential requi- site in this figure. In the other two members the anti- thesis is merely verbal ; and is therefore at best but a trifling play upon the words. We see the connection which eloquence has with the ears, but it would puzzle Oedipus himself to discover the connection which either power or fraud has with the nose. The author, to make out the contrast, is in this instance obliged to betake himself to low and senseless cant. Sometimes, though rarely, the antithesis affects three several clauses. In this case the clauses ought to be very short, that the artifice may not be too apparent. Sometimes too, the antithesis is not in the different members of the same sentence, but in different sentences. Both the last observations are exemplified in the following quotation from the same performance : " He can bribe, || " but he cannot seduce. He can buy,||!but he cannot gain. " He can lie, || but he cannot deceive." There is likewise in each sentence a little of antithesis between the very short clauses themselves. Neither is this figure entirely confined to periods. Sentences of looser composition admit it ; but the dif- ference here is the less observable, that an antithesis well conducted, produces the effect of a period, by prevent- ing the languor which invariably attends a loose sentence, if it happen to be long. The following is an instance of antithesis in such a sentence : " No man is able to " make a juster application of what hath been here ad- " vanced, to the most important interests of your court- " try, to the true interest of your royal master, and to " your private interest too ; if that will add, as I pre- " sume it will, some weight to the scale ; and if that re- " quires, as I presume it does, a regard to futurity as " to the present moment *. That this is a loose sen- tence a little attention will satisfy every reader. I have marked the words in italics, at which, without violating the rules of grammar, it might have terminated. 1 * Dedication to the Dissertation on Parties. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 513 acknowledge, however, that the marks of art are rather too visible in the composition. Sometimes an antithesis is happily carried through two or three sentences, where the sentences are not con- trasted with one another, as in the example already given, but|where the same words are contrasted in the different members of each sentence, somewhat differ- ently. Such an antithesis on the words men, angels, and gods, you have in the two following couplets : Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes ; Men would be angels, || angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, || if angels fell ;— Aspiring to be angels, y men rebel *. The like varied opposition in the words principles, means, and ends, may be observed in the two following senten- ces : " They are designed to assert and vindicate the " honour of the Revolution ; of the principles establish- " ed, of the means employed, and of the ends obtained " by it. They are designed to explode our former dis- " tinctions, and to unite men of all denominations, in " the support of these principles, in the defence of these " means, and in the pursuit of these ends f ." You have in the subsequent quotation an antithesis on the words true and just, which runs through three successive sen- tences. " The anecdotes here related were true, and " the reflections made upon them were just many years. " ago. The former would not have been related, if he " who related them, had not known them to be true ; " nor the latter have been made, if he who made them " had not thought them just : And if they were true " and just then, they must be true and just now, and al- " ways p9 Sometimes the words contrasted in the second clause are mostly the same that are used in the first, only the construction and the arrangement are inverted, as in this passage, " The old may inform the young; || and *' the young may animate the old §." In Greek and • Essay on Man. + Dedication of the Dissertation on Parties, X Advertisement to the Letters on Patriotism, § Dedication of the Dissertation on Parties. 514 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. Latin this kind of antithesis generally receives an addi- tional beauty from the change made in the inflection, which is necessary in those ancient languages for ascer- taining what in modern tongues is ascertained solely by the arrangement *. This obtains sometimes, but more rarely, in our own language, as in these lines of Pope. Whatc'er of mungrel no one class admits, A wit with dunces, || and a dunce with wits ,-f* Something pretty similar is also to be remarked, when the words in the contrasted members remain the same under different inflections, the construction varied but not inverted. And this is the last variety of the anti- thesis that I shall specify; for to enumerate them all would be impossible. You have an example of this kind of contrast in the last line of the following couplet. Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, || and — whose follies please £ I shall now consider both what the merit of the anti- thesis is, and to what kind of composition it is best a- • An instance of this is that given by Quint. 1. ix. c. 3. M Xon ut edam vivo. " sed ut vivam edo." A literal translation into English, " I do not live that I " may eat, but I eat that I may live," preserves the antithesis, but neither the -vivacity nor the force of the original. The want of inflection is one reason of the inferiority, but not the only reason. It weakens the expression that we must employ fifteen words, for what is expressed in Latin with equal perspicuity in eight. Perhaps it would be better rendered, though not so explicitly, '•« I do ** not live to eat, but I eat to live." Another example in point is the noted epigram of Ausonius, Infelix Dido, nulli bene nupta marito : Hoc pereunte, fugis ; hoc fugiente, peris. But though it is chiefly in this sort which the ancients called at}.ftikGo\* that the advantage of varied inflections appears, it is not in this sort only, In all anti- thesis without exception, the similar endings of the contrasted words add both light and energy to the expression. Nothing can better illustrate this than the compliment paid to Caesar by Cicero, in his pleading for Ligarius " Nihil " habet nee fortuna tua majus quam ut possis, nee natura tua melius quam ut " velis, conservare quam plurimos." This perhaps would appear to us rather to artificial. But this appearance ariseth merely from the different structure of modern languages. What would in most cases be impossible to us, the genius ef their tongue rendered not only easy to them, but almost unavoidable. f Dunciad, B. IV. $ Pope's Imitations of Horace, B. II. Ep. ii. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 51j dapted. It hath been remarked already, ami cannot be justly questioned, that it often contributes both to viva- city and to perspicuity ; on the ocuor hand, it hath been charged with bearing the manifest signatures both of artifice and of puerility ; of artiiice, because of the nice adjustment of the correspondent clauses; of pueri- lity, because of the supposed insignificance of the task of balancing words and syllables. The latter of these charges results so entirely from the former, that an an- swer to one is an answer to both. It is solely the ap- pearance of artifice that conveys the notion of a task, and thereby gives rise to the charge of childishness. If therefore in any instance an antithesis cannot be reck- oned artificial, it will not, at least on account of the ex- pression, be deemed puerile. It was remarked, when I entered on the consideration of this figure, that it sometimes ariseth so naturally from the subject, as to appear inevitable- This particularly is the case where a comparison is either directly made, or only hinted. Samuel, we are told, said to Agag, im- mediately before he killeth him, " As thy sword hath " made woman childless \ so shall thy mother be child- " less among women *." The sentiment here expres- sed, namely that the treatment which the tyrant was to receive, was due to him by the law of retaliation, ren- dered some antithesis in the words scarcely avoidable. Yet the antithesis in this passage is more in the thought than in the expression ; as the words in the contrasted clauses are not opposed to each other with that nicety which many authors would have employed. But though accuracy of opposition may on some oc- casions have a very good effect, this will never be the case, where it gives rise to any thing that appears for* ced in the construction, unnatural in the arrangement, or unharmonious in the cadence. Nature, ease, and fluency, are first to be regarded. In the two following examples you have precision in the contrast, without • I Sam. xv, 33. 3 s 516 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. the appearance of too much art in the expression. " Beware of the ides of March, said the Roman " auger to Julius Cesar. Beware of the month of " May, says the British Spectator to his fair coun- " trywomen." Again, " I must observe, that as " in some climates there is a perpetual spring, so in " some female constitutions there is a perpetual May *." In either instance, if the comparison itself escape cen- sure, the expression will be pronounced faultless. An antithesis therefore doth not always necessarily imply art, and if in some instances it doth to a certain degree imply art, it ought to be remembered, that there are some kinds of composition, which not only admit, but even require, a more elaborate diction than other kinds ; and that in every kind of composition there are some parts wherein even the display of art is more allowable than in other parts. The observations with regard to the proper subjects for periods, will very nearly answer here, and therefore need not be repeated. The antithesis, it is thought, is particularly unfavoura- ble to persuasion, and therefore quite unfit for the more vehement and argumentative parts of a discourse. This is true of some sorts of antithesis (for they differ greatly in their nature), but it is not true of all. It is true of such as are sometimes found in long and complicated sen- tences. But it is not true of those which sentences of a less compound nature may admit. The enthymeme itself, the common syllogism of orators, is often successfully cast into this mould. Demetrius Phalerius, in his treatise of elocution, hath given us an example of this, from one of the most eloquent orations of Demosthenes against his famous rival. The example translated into English equally suits our present purpose. " For as, if any of " those had then been condemned, || you would not now " have transgressed ; so if you should now be con- " demned, |] others will not hereafter transgress f ." The • Spectator, No. S95. X; f IIs£j 'E$t*. AA. {Ic7ri£ y*{ tili$ txumv ictXa, ru rx SV* *v tyyxfycK . vrwf etv vu tvt nhas echXo$ v y^cc^/tt. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 51? sentence is besides a perfect period, consisting of two members, each of which is subdivided into two clauses. I shall give the same argument with as little apparent anti- thesis as possible, by imitating the attempt which Deme- trius hath made to express the sense in a looser manner. " Do not overlook this transgression of your laws ; for " if such transgressors were punished, this man would " not now have acted as he hath done ; nor will another 11 do so afterwards, if he should be condemned on this " occasion *." The argument is the same, though much less forcibly, and even less naturally expressed. But if the enthymeme is often cast into the form of antithesis, we may say of the dilemma, a species of argument in like manner frequent with orators, that it is hardly sus- ceptible of another form, as in that given by Cicero : " If he is a bad man, why do you associate with him ? " if he is a good man, why do you accuse him ?f " Nor are these the only sorts of argument that may be used in this manner. There is hardly any which may not in some cases derive both light and energy from this figure. What can be more cogently urged, or better adapted for silencing contradiction, than the answer which Balaam gave Balak, who used various expedients to induce him to turn the blessing he had pronounced on Israel into a curse. Yet the prophets reply runs wholly in antithesis. " God is not a man, || that he should lie ; . .neither the " son of man, || that he should repent. Hath he said, || " and shall he not do it ? . . or hath he spoken, || and " shall he not make it good % ?" In the same antithetic form the Psalmist disposeth his argument in support of the Divine knowledge. " He that planted the ear, || " shall he not hear ? He that formed the eye, || shall he 44 not see § ?" He argues from the effect to the cause, * Ibid. MjJ €5r iKuXvO'JTO, UK Ut tvt »V«s rxvlx ly^ccyiv' a} in^g irt yffX^/Ut tbt» ivt ccXmto?. + De inventione, lib. i. As the antithesis in the words is more perfect, and the expression more simple in the Latin, than it is possible to render them in a translation into any modern tongue ; so the argument itself appears more forci° ble, " Si improbus est, cur uteris ; sin probus, cur accusas ?" £ Numb, xxiii. 19. § Psalm xciv. 9. 518 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. the only way in which we can argue intelligibly concern- ing the Divine attributes. But it would not be easy, I imagine, to give in so feAV words, either a more perspi- cuous or a more persuasive turn to the reasoning. It is not then every kind of antithesis that either savours of artifice, or is unsuited to persuasion. One thing to which it seems agreed on all sides that this figure is particularly adapted, is the drawing of cha- racters. You hardly now meet With a character either in prose or in verse, that is not wholly delineated in an- tithesis. This usage is perhaps excessive. Yet the fit- ness of the manner can scarcely be questioned, when one considers that the contrasted features in this moral painting serve to ascertain the direction and boundaries of one another with greater precision than could other* wise be accomplished. It is too nice a matter, without the aid of this artifice, for even the most copious and expressive language. For a specimen in this way take these lines of Pope : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, "View him with scornful, ret with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, |j assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer : Willing to wound, || and yet— afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, || and — hesitate dislike ; .Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend, A tim'rous foe, || and — a suspicious friend ; Dreading ev'n fools, |j by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, || that he ne'er obliged f. With what a masterly hand are the colours in this pic- ture blended ; and how admirably do the different traits thus opposed, serve, as it were, to touch up and shade one another! I would not be understood by this to sig- nify my opinion of its likeness to the original. I should be sorry to think that it deserves this praise. The poet had received, or fancied he had received, great provo- cation. And perfect impartiality in one under the in- f Prologue to the Satires. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 51Q fluence of resentment, is more than can be expected from human nature. I only speak ef the character here ex- hibited, as one, who speaking of a portrait, without know- ing the person from whom it was drawn, says it is well painted, and that there is both life and expression in the countenance. If there be any style of composition which excludes antithesis altogether (for I am not positive that there is), it is the pathetic. But the true reason which hath in- duced some critics immoderately to decry this figure is, that some authors are disposed immoderately to employ it. One extreme naturally drives those who perceive the error, to the opposite extreme. It rarely leaves them, even though persons of good sense and critical discern- ment, precisely where they were before. Such is the repulsive power of jarring tastes. Nay, there is a kind of mode, which in these, as well as in other matters, of- ten influence our censures without our knowing it. It is this which sometimes leads us to condemn as critics, what as authors we ourselves practise. Witness the fol- lowing reproach from the author just now quoted. I see a chief who leads my chosen sons, Ail arm'd with points, antitheses and puns*. On the other hand, it is certain, that the more agree- able the apposite and temperate use of this figure is, the more offensive is the abuse, or, which is nearly the same, the immoderate use of it. When used moderately, the appearance of art, which it might otherwise have, is veiled, partly by the energy of the expression, which doth not permit the hearer at first to attend critically to the composition, and partly by the simplicity, or at least the more artless structure, both of the preceding sentences and of the following. But if a discourse run in a continued string of antithesis, it is impossible the hearer should not become sensible of this particularity. The art is in that case quite naked. Then indeed the • Dunciad. 520 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. frequency of the figure renders it insipid, the sameness tiresome, and the artifice unsufterable. The only original qualities of style which are exclud- ed from no part of a performance, nay, which ought, on the contrary, to pervade the whole, are purity and per- spicuity. The others are suited merely to particular subjects and occasions* And if this be true of the qua- lities themselves, it must certainly be true of the tropes and figures which are subservient to these qualities. In the art of cookery, those spiceries which give the high- est relish must be used the most sparingly. Who then could endure a dish, wherein these were the only ingre- dients ? There is no trope or figure that is not capable of a good effect. I do not except those which are reckoned of the lowest value, alliteration, paronomasia, or even pun. But then the effect depends entirely on the circumstances. If these are not properly adjusted, it is always different from what it was intended to be, and often the reverse. The antithesis in particular gives a kind of lustre and emphasis to the expression. It is the conviction of this that hath rendered some writers intemperate in the use of it. But the excess itself is an evidence of its value. There is no risk of intemperance in using a liquor which has neither spirit nor flavour. On the contrary, the richer the beverage is, the danger is the greater, and therefore it ought to be used with the greater caution. QuiPtilian hath remarked concerning the writings of Se- neca, which are stuffed with antithesis, that " they a- " bound in pleasant faults**" The example had not been dangerous, if the faults had not been pleasant. But the danger here was the greater, as the sentiments convey- ed under these figures were excellent. The thought re- commended the expression. An admiration of the for- mer insinuated a regard to the latter, with which it was so closely connected, and both very naturally engaged imitation. Hence Seneca is justly considered as one of the earliest corrupters of the Boman eloquence. And here we may remark by the way, that the language of a Instit Lib. x. Chap. I. Abundant dulcibus vitiia Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 521 any country is in no hazard of being corrupted by bad writers. The hazard is only when a writer of con- siderable talents hath not a perfect chastity of taste in composition ; but as was the case of Seneca, affects to excess what in itself is agreeable. Such a style, compar- ed with the more manly elocution of Cicero, we caii ef- feminate, as betraying a sort of feminine fondness for glitter and ornament. There is some danger that both French and English will be corrupted in the same man- ner. There have been some writers of eminence in both, who might be charged, perhaps as justly as Seneca, with abounding in pleasant faults. But enough of the antithesis ; I return to the conside- ration of periods in general. And on this head I shall only further remark, that when they consist of complex members, we must follow the same rule in arranging the clauses of each member, in order to give all possible energy to the sentence, that we do in arranging the members of the period. By doing thus, we shall never be in danger of thinking that the member is complete till it actually be so, just as by the structure of the period we are prevented from thinking the sentence finished be- fore the end. A disappointment in the former case is of less moment, but it is still of some. In each it occasions a degree of langour which weakens the expression. I shall give an example of a period where, in one of the members, this rule is not observed. " Having already " shown how the fancy is affected by the works of Na- " ture, and afterwards considered in general both the " works of Nature and of Art || how they mutually assist " and complete each other, || in forming such scenes and " prospects || as are most apt to delight the mind of the ct beholder ; I shall in this paper throw together some " reflections on that particular art || which has a more " immediate tendency than any other, || to produce those tc pleasures of the imagination, |] which have hitherto " been the subject of this discourse*." This sentence is a period, agreeably to the definition formerly given Wherever we stop, the sentence is imperfect till we reach the end. But the members are not all composed ac- * Spectator. No. 415. O. 522 the philosophy Book III. cording to the rule laid down. It consisteth of three members. The first ends at Nature, is a single clause, and therefore not affected by the ruie ; the second is complex, consisting of several clauses, and ends at be- holder ; the third is also complex, and concludes the sen- tence. The last member cannot be faulty, else the sen- tence would be no period. The fault must then be in the structure of the second, which is evidently loose. That member., though not the sentence, might conclude, and a reader naturally supposes that it doth conclude, first at the word art, afterwards at the word other, both which are before its real conclusion. Such a composition therefore even in periods, occasions, though in a less de- gree, the same kind of disappointment to the reader, and consequently the same appearance of feebleness in the style, which result from long, loose and complex sen- tences. A very little alteration in the faulty member will unite the clauses more intimately, and entirely remove the exception > as thus " and afterwards considered " in general, how in forming such scenes and prospects, " as are most apt to delight the mind of the beholder, " the works both of Nature and of Art mutually assist 44 and complete each other." It may be thought, and justly too, that this care will sometimes make the expression appear elaborate. I shall only recommend it as one of the surest means of preventing this effect, to render the members as simple as possible, and particularly to avoid synonymas and re- dundancies, of which there are a few in the member now criticised. Such are scenes and prospects, assist and complete, mutually and each other. With the aid of this reformation also, the whole period will appear much better compacted as follows ; " Having already shown 44 how the fancy is affected by the works of Nature ; 44 and afterwards considered in general || how in form- 4' ing such scenes as are apt most-to delight the mind of 44 thebeholder, || the works both of Nature and Art assist 44 each other ; I shall in this paper throw together 44 some reflections on that particular art, || which has a 44 more immediate tendency than any other, || to pro- Chap. Ilf. OFRHETOKIC. 523 " duce those primary pleasured of the imagination, [| 4t which have hitherto been the subject of this dis- 44 course." Par.t III. — Observations on loose sentences. In complex sentences of looser composition, there is, as was observed, a much greater risk of falling into a languid manner. This may arise from different causes. First, even where the sentence is neither long nor com- plex, the members will sometimes appear disjointed. The consequence always is, that a hearer will at first be in doubt, whether it be one sentence or more. Take the following for an example : " However many who do " not read themselves, |j are seduced by others that do ; " and thus become unbelievers upon trust, and at se- " cond handy and this is too frequent a case*." The harmony of the members taken severally, contri- butes to the bad effect of the whole. The cadence is so perfect at the end both of the first member and of the second, that the reader is not only disappointed, but sur- prised, to find the sentence still unfinished. The addi- tional clauses appear out of their proper place, like something that had been forgotten. Another cause of langour here is the excessive length of a sentence, and too many members. Indeed wherever the sentiments of an author are not expressed in periods, the end of a member or clause, or even an intermediate word, as hath been observed already, may be the end of the sentence. Yet the commonness of such sentences, when they do not exceed an ordinary length, pre- vents in a great measure a too early expectation of the end. On the contrary, when they transgress all customary limits, the reader begins to grow impa- tient, and to look for a full stop or breathing-place at the end of every clause and member. An instance of this excess you have in the succeeding quotation : " Though " in yesterday's paper, we considered how every thing * Shift's Sermons en the Trinitr. 3T 52*4 the philosophy Book III. " that is great, new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the " imagination with pleasure, we must own that it is " impossible for us to assign the necessary cause of this " pleasure, because we know neither the nature of an " idea, nor the substance of a human soul, which might " help us to discover the conformity or disagreeableness *? of the one to the other ; and therefore, for want of " such a light, all that we can do, in speculations of " this kind, is to reflect on those operations of the soul *' that are most agreeable, and to range, under their pro- " per heads, what is pleasing or displeasing to the mind, " without being able to trace out the several necessary " and efficient causes from whence the pleasure or dis- " pleasure arises *." The reader will observe, that in this passage I have distinguished by italics all those words in the body of the sentence, no fewer than seven, at any of which, if there were a full stop, the construc- tion of the preceding part would be complete. The fault here is solely in the length of the whole, and in the number of the parts. The members themselves are well connected. In the next example we have both the faults above- mentioned in one sentence : " Last year a paper was " brought here from England, called a Dialogue be- " tween the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mr Higgins, " which we ordered to be burnt by the common hang- " man, as it well deserved, though we have no more to " do with his Grace of Canterbury, than you have with " the Archbishop of Dublin, whom you tamely suffer ct to be abused openly, and by name, by that paltry " rascal of an observator ; and lately upon an af- " fair wherein he had no concern ; I mean the business " of the missionary of Drogheda, wherein our excel- " lent primate was engaged, and did nothing but ac- " cording to law and discretion f ." Hardly will you find in any of the worst English writers a more excep- tionable sentence in point of composition than the pre- * Spectator, No. 413. O. f Swift's Letter concerning the Sacramental test. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 525 ceding, which is taken from one of the best. The stops which might be in it will be found, on an attentive per- usal, to be no fewer than fourteen ; the clauses are ex- ceedingly unequal, abrupt, and ill-compacted. Intrica- cy in the structure of a complex sentence might also be here exemplified as a cause of langour. But as this er- ror never fails to create obscurity, it hath been consider- ed already under a former head. Part IV.-— Review of what has been deduced above in regard to arrangement. I have now briefly examined how far arrangement may contribute to vivacity, both in simple sentences and in complex, and from what principles in our nature it is, that the effect ariseth. In this discussion I have had occasion to consider, in regard to simple sentences, the difference between what may properly be called the rhetorical and natural order, and that which I have denominated the artificial and grammatical, or the customary way of combining the words in any particular language. I have observed, as to the former, and taken some pains to illustrate the ob- servation, that it is universal, that it results from the frame of spirit in which the sentiment, whatever it be, is spoken or written, that it is by consequence a sort of natural expression of that frame, and tends to commu- nicate it to the hearer or the reader. I have observed also, that this order, which alone deserves the name of Na- tural, is in every language more or less cramped by the artificial or conventional laws of arrangement in the lan- guage ; that, in this respect, the present languages of Europe, as they allow less latitude, are considerably in- ferior to Greek and Latin, but that English is not a little superior in this particular to some of the most eminent of the modern tongues. I have shewn also that the ar- tificial arrangement is different indifferent languages, and seems chiefly accommodated to such simple explanation, narration, and deduction, as scarcely admits the exertion either of fancy or of passion. 526 the philosophy Book 111, In regard to complex sentences, both compound and decompound, I have remarked the difference between the loose sentence and the period ; I have observed the advantages and the disadvantages of each in point of vi- vacity, the occasions to which they are respectively suit- ed, the rules to be observed in composing them, and the faults which, as tending to enervate the expression and tire the reader, ought carefully to be avoided. I have also made some remarks on the different kinds of antithesis, and the uses to which they may properly be applied. Thus much shall suffice for the general illustration of this article, concerning the vivacity which results from arrangement. CHAP. IV. Of the connectives employed in combining the Parts of a Sentence. I am very sensible that the remarks contained in the preceding chapter, on the particular structure and the particular arrangement in sentences, whether simple or complex, which are most conducive to vivacity, how- ever well these remarks are founded, and however much they may assist us in forming a judgment concerning any performance under our review, are very far from ex- hausting this copious subject ; and still farther from being sufficient to regulate our practice in composing. For this reason I judged that the observations on the nature and the management of connexive particles con- tained in this chapter and the succeeding might prove an useful supplement to the two preceding ones (for they are connected with both), and serve at once to enlarge our con- ceptions on this subject, and to assist our practice. At first indeed I had intended to comprehend both these chapters in the foregoing. But when I reflected, on the other hand, not only that they would swell the article far be- yond the ordinary bounds, but that, however much the topics are related, the nature of the investigation con- tained in them, is both different in itself, and must be Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 527 differently conducted, I thought it would have less the appearance of digression, and conduce more to perspi- cuity, to consider them severally under their proper and discriminating titles. I need scarcely observe, that by connectives I mean, all those terms and phrases, which are not in themselves the signs of things, of operations, or of attributes, but by which, nevertheless, the words in the same clause, the clauses in the same member, the members in the same sentence, and even the sentences in the same discourse, are linked together, and the relations subsisting among them are suggested. The last of these connexions I re- serve for the subject of the ensuing chapter ; all the rest I comprehend in this. The proper subject of this is the connectives of the several parts in the sentence ; the pro- per subject of the next is the connectives of the several sentences in the discourse. Section I. — Of Con/unctions, It wras observed already concerning the connectives, that of all the parts of speech, they are the most un- friendly to vivacity. In their nature they are the least considerable parts, as their value is merely secondary, Yet. in respect of the difficulty there is in culling and disposing them, they often prove to an author the most considerable. In themselves they are but the taches which serve to unite the constituent parts in a sentence or a paragraph. Consequently, the less conspicuous they are, the more perfect will the union of the parts be, and the more easily will the hearer glide, as it were, from one word, clause, or member of a period into another. The more observable they are, the less perfect will the union be, and the more difficultly will the hearer pass on from member to member, from clause to clause, and from word to word. The cohesion of the parts in a cabinet or other piece of furniture seems always the more complete, the less the pegs and tacks so necessary to effect it, are exposed to view. It is a secret sense of the truth of this doctrine with regard to language, which imperceptibly, as taste im- ^28 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III proves in a nation, influences their writers to prefer short to long conjunctions. With us in particular, it is the more necessary to attend to this circumstance, as the nouns and the verbs, which are the most significant words, are mostly monosyllables. For as every thing is judged by comparison, polysyllabic conjunctions must appear the more cumbersome on that very account. Happily enough at present our conjunctions and rela- tives in most frequent use (for the last also are merely a species of connectives) are monosyllables*. A few which do not occur so often are dissyllables f . Almost all the polysyllabic conjunctions are now either disused altogether, or occur but rarely J. In the ancient style which obtained in this island, the conjunctions were sometimes lengthened and rendered remarkable by combining them together. Thus the particle that, which is both a conjunction and a relative, was annexed to most of them. Two centuries ago we should not have said, " After I have spoken," but, " Jf~ " ter that I have spoken." In like manner we should then have said, because that, before that, although that, whilst that, until that, except that, unless that, since that, and seeing that. Sometimes they even used if that, for that, and when that. This particle seems to have been added, in order to distinguish the conjunction from the preposition or the adverb, as the word to which it was annexed, was often susceptible of both uses, and some- times of all the three§. But the event hath shown that * Such are the following, in several of which the constituent syllable is also short, and, too, or, nor, nay, yea, but, yet, if thv\ lest, then, as, ere, till, since, so, for, that, "whilst, "when, "who, whose, whom, which, what. •f* These are, aho, likewise, before, after, because, besides, further, again, unless, whereas, altho''. % These are, however, moreover, nevertheless, notwithstanding that, insomuch that, albeit, furthermore, forasmuch as. The three last may be counted obsolete, except with scriveners. The rest cannot entirely be dispensed with. § The same manner of forming the conjunctions is retained to this day, both in French and in Italian. They are in French, apres que, parce que, avant que, Men que, de pear que, tandis que, jusqu'a ce que, a moins que, depuis que, lors que ; in Italian, tubito che,percio che, prima che, anchora cite, per tema che, mentre ehe, sin tanto che, altro che, da che, gia ski che. An effect of the improvement of taste, though not in the same degree, may be observed in both these languages, similar to that which hath been remarked in English. Some drawling conjunctions for- merly used, are now become obsolete, as in French, encore bien que, Men enttndu que, comnte ainti scit que ; in Italian, concio fosse cosa che, per laqual cosa che, gia sia Chap. IV, of rhetoric. 52y this expedient is quite superfluous. The situation marks sufficiently the character of the particle, so that you will rarely find an ambiguity arising from this variety in the application. The disuse therefore of such an un- necessary appendage is a real improvement. The relatives, as was hinted before, partake of the nature of the conjunction, both as they are the instru- ments of linking the members of sentences together, and as they have no independent signification of their own. These, when in coupling the clauses of a paragraph they are joined with a preposition, form what may proper- ly be termed a sort of complex conjunctions. Such are, according to the original form of the words, upon which, unto which, with that, hy which, or, according to a me- thod of combining entirely analogical in our language, whereupon, whereunto, therewith, whereby. In the use of such drawling conjunctions, whether in the loose or in the compound form, there is considerable risk, as is evident from the principles above explained, of render- ing the sentence tiresome, and the expression languid. Some writers, sensible of the effect, seem totally to have mistaken the cause. They have imputed the flat- ness to the combination, imagining that the uncom- pounded form of the preposition and the pronoun would nowise affect the vivacity of the style. Lord Shaftes- bury was of this opinion, and his authority hath misled other writers. His words are : " They have of late, it's " true, reformed in some measure the gouty joints " and darning work of whereunttfs, whereby* s, there- " ofs, therewith^, and the rest of this kind ; by which u complicated periods are so curiously strung, or " hooked on, one to another, after the long-spun man- " ner of the bar or pulpit*." Accordingly several au- thors have been so far swayed by this judgment, as to cosa che. The necessary aid of the particicle que in French for expressing the most, different and even contrary relations, hath induced their celebrated critic and grammarian Abbe Girard to style it the conductive conjunction. The same appella- tion may be assigned with equal propriety to the che in Italian. • Migc. v. chap. 1. For the same reason we should condemn the quaproptsr, quamobrem, quandoquidem, quemadmodtim, of the Latin, whose composition arid use are pretty similar. To these a good writer will not frequently recur ; but their best authors hare not thought tit to reject them altogether. 530 the philosophy Book III* condemn, in every instance, tins kind of composition of the adverbs where, here, and there, with prepositions. But if he should be satisfied that the fault, where there is a fault, doth not lie in the composition, let us make the experiment on one of the long-spun complicated periods of which the author speaks, by resolving the ivltereupon into upon which by saying unto which, for ivhereunto, and so of the rest, and I am greatly deceived, if we find the darning work less coarse, or the joints less gouty, than they were before this correction. And if in auy case the combined shall displease more than the primi- tive form, I suspect that the disuse will be found the cause and not the consequence of its displeasing. Compositions of this sort with dissyllabic prepositions are now mostly obsolete, and it would be silly to at- tempt to revive them. But with several of the mono- syllabic prepositions they are still used. I shall there- fore here offer a few arguments against dispossessing them of the ground which they still retain. First, they occasion a little variety. And even this, however in- considerable, unless some inconvenience could be plead- ed on the opposite side, ought, in conjunctions especial- ly, for a reason to be given afterwards, to determine the matter. Secondly, they sometimes, without length- ening the sentence, interrupt a run of monosyllables (a thing extremely disagreeable to some critics), very op- portunely substituting a dissyllable instead of two of the former. Thirdly, they in certain cases even prevent a little obscurity, or at least inelegance. It was observe.d on a former occasion, that when any relative occurs of- tencr than once in a sentence, it will seldom be compa- tible with the laws of perspicuity, that it should refer to different antecedents. And even if such change of the reference should not darken the sense, it rarely fails to injure the beauty of the expression. Yet this fault in long periods and other complex sentences is often scarce- ly avoidable. Sometimes the only way of avoiding it is by changing an oftvhich, in which, or hy which, into ■whereof, wherein, or whereby. This will both prevent Chap. IV. of rhetoric. 531 the too frequent recurrence of the syllable which, none of the most grateful in the language ; and elude the ap- parent inaccuracy of using the same sound in reference to different things. Fourthly, more is sometimes ex- pressed by the compound than by the primitive form, and consequently there are occasions on which it ought to be preferred. The pronouns this, that, and which, do not so naturally refer to a clause or a sentence, as to a word ; nor do the two first refer so naturally to a plural as to a singular ; whereas the compounds of here, there, and where, do with equal propriety refer to all these. Few will pretend that the place of therefore, would be properly supplied by for that, or that with what would be in every case an equivalent for where- with ; or after this, for hereafter ; but even in other in- stances not quite so clear, we shall on examination find a difference. In such a sentence as this, for example, 41 I flattered her vanity, lied to her, and abused her com- " panions, and thereby, wrought myself gradually into " her favour ;" it is evident that the words by that would here be intolerable ; and if you should say by these actions, or by so doing, the expression would be remarkably heavier and more awkward. The genuine source of most of these modern refine- ments is in my opinion, an excessive bias to every thing that bears a resemblance to what is found in France, and even a prejudice against every thing to which there is nothing in France corresponding ; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after, in base awkward imitation*. Hence it proceeds, that we not only adopt their words and idioms, but even imitate their defects, and act as if we thought it presumption to have any words or phrases of our own, to which they have nothing correspondent. I own that this may happen insensibly, without design or affectation on the part of our writers ; and that cither from the close intercourse which we have with that nation, or from the great use that we make of * ShakesDearc, Richard IT. *3 v 53% THE PHILOSOPHY Book III . their writings, and the practice now so frequent of trans- lating them. But that I may not be thought unreasona- ble in imputing to this cause, what is not justly charge- able on it, I shall specify in the margin a few instances, wherein the penury of the French language hath, in the way of which I am speaking, been hurtful to the English*. • The local adverlw are very properly classed with us, as in Latin, into three Orders, for denoting rest or motion in a place, motion to it, and motion from it. In every one of these orders, there are three adverbs to denote this place, that place, and what, or which place, interrogatively or relatively. In French there are only two orders, the first and second being confounded. See the scheme subjoined. 18 3 1&2 3 •i ("Here Hither Hence. -g rlci D'ici. here Thither Thence; g < La De la. here Whither Whence. £ C_Ou D'ou. Since the Restoration, which I take to be neither the only nor the earliest, but the most successful era, in regard to the Introduction of French books, French sentiments and French modes, into this island, the adverbs of the first order have al- most always been employed in conversation, and frequently in print, for those of the second. Thus we say, ** Where are you going ?" and sometimes, " Come hert" though the only proper adverbs, in such cases, be whither and hither. Another in- stance the above scheme furnishes of the absurd tendency we have to imitate the French, even in their imperfections. The local adverbs of the third order are with them distinguished from those of the first and second only by prefixing the preposition de, which signifies from. This is manifestly the origin of those pleonas- tic phrases in English, from hence, from thence, and from whence. I shall produce another evidence of the bad effect of this propensity. So many of Nature's works are known to us by pairs, the sexes for example, and the most of the organs and the members of the human body, and indeed, of every animal body, that it is natural, even in the simplest state of society, and in the rise of language, to distinguish the dual number from the plural. And though few languages have made, or, at least, retained this distinction in the declension of nouns, yet most have observed it in the numeral adjectives. The English, in particular, have observed it with great accuracy, as appears from the annexed scheme. When the discourse is of — two ; when it is of — several. Collectively — — — Both. — — AH. Distributively — — Each. — — Every. Indiscriminately — — Either. — — Any. Exclusively — — Neither. — — None. .Relatively and Interrogatively Whether. — — Which. This distinction in French hath been overlooked altogether, and in English is beginning, at least in some instances, to be confounded. Perhaps the word every will not be found in any good writer applied to two ; but it is certain, that the word each hath usurped the place of every, and is now used promiscuously by writers of all denominations, whether it be two or more that are spoken of. The pronominal adjective whether is now quite obsolete, its place being supplied by u-hkh. About a century and a half ago, whether was invariably used of too, as Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 533 I shall only here subjoin to these observations, that if the whereuntus, and the therewithal *s, may be deno- minated the gouty joints of style, the viz's, and the i. e's, and the e, g's for videlicet, id est, and exempli gra- tia, may not unfitly be termed its crutches. Like these wretched props,, they are not only of foreign materials, but have a foreign aspect. For as a stick can never be mistaken for a limb, though it may, in a clumsy man- ner, do the office of one, so these pitiful supplements can never be made to incorporate with the sentence, which they help in a bungling manner to hobble for- ward. I proceed to exemplify further in our own language, the general observation made above, that an improve- ment of taste leads men insensibly to abbreviate those weaker parts of speech, the connexive particles. I have remarked already the total suppression of the conjunc- tion that after because, before, although, and many others of the same stamp, with which it was wont to be inseparably combined, But we have not stopt here. This particle is frequently omitted, when there is no other conjunction to connect the clauses, as in this ex- ample, " Did I not tell you positively, I would go my- " self?" In order to construe the sentence, we must appears from all the writings of that period, and particularly from the transla- tion of the Bible ; thus Malt. xxi. 31. " Whether of them twain did the will o£ *' his father ?" and xxiii. 17. *« Whether is greater, the gold, or the temple ?'* The rest of this class have hitherto retained their place amongst us. Hew long they may continue to do so, it will be impossible to say. Indeed, the clumsy manner in which these places are supplied in French, doth perhaps account for our constancy, as it will prove, I hope, our security against a sudden change in this particular. It would sound extremely awkward in our ears all the two, or t/te one or the other, and nor the one nor the other, which is a literal version of tons Us deux, ou run oh Vautre, and ni Vun ni Vautre, the phrases whereby both, either and neither, are expressed in French. It may be said, custom softens every thing, and what though several words thus fall into disuse, since experience shows us that we can do without them ? I answer, first, change itself is bad, unless evi- dently for the better; secondly, perspicuity is more effectually secured by a greater choice of words, when the meanings are distinct : thirdly, vivacity is promoted both by avoiding periphrasis, and by using words as much as possible limited in signification to the things meant by the speaker; fourthly, in an abun- dance without confusion, there is always greaterscope for variety. And to come to the particular defect which gave rise to these observations, every body mu3t be sen- sible, that the frequent recurrence in French to these uncouth sounds, quoi, que, qui, queique, and the like, doth not serve to recommend the language to the ear of a stranger. 534 the philosophy Book III. supply the word that after positively. Concerning this omission I shall just observe, what I would be under- stood, in like maimer, to observe concerning the omis- sion of the relatives, to be mentioned afterwards, that though in conversation, comedy, and dialogue, such an ellipsis is graceful, when, without hurting perspicuity, it contributes to vivacity ; yet, wherever the nature of the composition requires dignity and precision in the style, this freedom is hardly to be risked. Another remarkable instance of our dislike to con- junctions is a method, for aught I know, peculiar to us ; by which the particles tho9 and if when in construc- tion with any of the tenses, compounded with had, could, would, or should, are happily enough set aside as unnecessary. This is effected by a small alteration in the arrangement. The nominative is shifted from its ordinary station before the auxiliary, and is placed im- mediately after it, as in these words, " Had I known " the danger, I would not have engaged in the busi- u ness ;" that is, " If I had known the danger."— " Should you remonstrate ever so loudly, I would not " alter my resolution," that is, " Tho' you should re- " monstiate." The reason that this transposition cannot be admitted in the other tenses is, that in them it would occasion an ambiguity, and give the sentence the appearance of an interrogation, which it scarcely ever hath in the tenses above mentioned. Sometimes, indeed, the preterimperfect admits this idiom, without rendering the expression ambiguous ; as in these words, " Did I but know his intention ," for " If I did but " know his intention." — " Were I present," for "Ifl " were present.'* The tense, however, in such instan- ces, may more properly be termed an aorist, than a pre- terite of any kind ; and the mood is subjunctive. Section II. Of other Connectives. Now that I sm speaking of the auxiliaries, it may not be amiss to remark, that they too, like the conjunc- tions, the relatives, and the prepositions, are but words Chap. IV. OF rhetoric. 533 of a secondary order, The signification of the verb is ascertained by the infinitive or the participle which fol- lows tnc auxiliar in the compound tenses of the active voice, and always by the participle in the passive. The auxiliaries themselves serve only to modify the verb, by adding the circumstances of time, affirmation, supposi- tion, interrogation, and some others. An abridgment in these, therefore, which are but weak, though not the weakest parts of discourse, conduceth to strengthen the expression. But there are not many cases wherein this is practicable. Sometimes had supplies emphatically the place of would have, and were of would be. An in* stance of the first we have in the words of Martha to our Saviour. " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my bro- 1* ther had not died*." The last clause would have been feebler, had it been, " my brother would not have " died." An example of the second is the words of the Israelites on bearing the report of the spies. " Here it " not better for us to return into Egyptf ?" for " Would " it not be better ?" But to come to the consideration of the relatives ; the first real improvement which taste hath produced here, is the dismission of the article from its wonted at- tendance on the pronoun which. The definite article could nowhere be less necessary, as the antecedent always defines the meaning. Another effect of the same cause is the introduction of what instead of that which, as, " I remember what you told me ;" otherwise, " that which you told me/' Another is the extending of the use of the word whose, by making it serve as the- possessive of the pronoun tvhich. The distinction between who and which is now per- fectly established in the language. The former re- lates only to persons, the latter to things. But this distinction, though a real advantage in point of per- spicuity and precision, affects not much the vivacity of the style. The possessive of who is properly whose the pronoun which, originally indeclinable, had no pos- sessive. This want was supplied in th common peri- phrastic manner by the help of the preposition and the • John si. 21. f Num. xiv. 3. 536 the philosophy Book III. article. But as this could not fail to enfeeble the ex- pression, when so much time was given to mere con- junctives, all our best authors, both in prose and in verse, have come now regularly to adopt in such cases the pos- sessive of who ; and thus have substituted one syllable in the room of three, as in the example following : *' Philosophy, whose end is to instruct us in the know- li ledge of Nature," for " Philosophy, the end of very often, contracted into till and to and on. The to and the for are in some cases, without occasioning any inconvenience, and with a sensible advantage in point of energy, discarded altogether. Thus we say, " For- " give us our debts," and not, " forgive to us our debts." " I have gotten you a licence," and not " I have gotten " a licence for you" The same manner hath also ob- • Such are, at, in, of, from, till, to, for, by, through, near, with, on, off, + Such are, above, below, along, across, amid, around, beyond, within, without* beside, among, between, except. It may not be amiss to observe, that though the French in the commonest prepositions have the advantage of us, by reason of their frequent ilisions, the coalition of some of them with the article, and their pronominal particles y and en, they have nevertheless greatly the disadvantage in the less common, which with them are not so properly denominated preposi- tions as prepositive phrases that supply the place of prepositions. In evidence of this take the French translation of all the dissyllabic prepositions above mention- ed, except the four last. These are, au dessus de, au dessous de, le long de, au travers de, au milieu de, autour de, au dela de, au dedans de, au dehors de. On com- paring the two languages merely in point of vivacity, the French, I think, ex- cels in the colloquial and epistolary style, where the recurrence must be frequent to those petty aids of discourse, the prepositions first mentioned, and where there is little scope for composition, as there are almost no complex sentences. The English, on the contrary, excels in the more elaborate £style of history, philoso- phy, and oratory, where a greater variety of prepositions is needed, and where there is more frequent occasion of recurring to the conjunctions. These indeed are rather unwieldy in French ; and I am not sure but a tacit conviction of this is the cause that a sort of detached aphoristic style is getting much into vogue with their authors. I shall remark here also, that their vivacity of expression is often attained at the expence of perspicuity. " La personne qui l'aime," may mean either, " The person who loves him," " The person who loves her," or, " The person who loves it." Nay more, though there is a difference in writing between qui l'aime, and quHl aime, there is no'difference in sound, and therefore the same phrase spoken may also mean, '* The person whom he loves." In Italian there are several periphrastic prepositions in the same taste with the French, as ** a Vintorno di, di la di, in mezzo di, dentro di,fuo7i di, di sopra di, di sotto di. There are only two prepositions in French which we are obliged to express by circumlocution. The&e are, cfiezt at the house of, and 3x 540 the philosophy Book III. tained in some other modern tongues. What I am next to mention is peculiar to us, the preposition of is frequently supplied by the possessive case of the noun. Lastly, which is a real acquisition in respect of vivacity, when two or more nouns are conjoined in the same construction, it is not necessary in English as in French, that the preposition of the first be repeated be- fore each of the subsequent nouns. This ought to be done only in those cases wherein either perspicuity or .harmony requires it. Now that I am on the subject of the prepositions, it will not be improper to consider a peculiarity which is often to be found with us in their arrangement. In every other language the preposition is almost constantly pre- fixed to the noun which it governs ; in English it is sometimes placed not only after the noun, but at a con- siderable distance from it, as in the following example, " The infirmary was indeed never so full as on this day, " which I was at some loss to account for, till upon my " going abroad, I observed that it was an easterly ct wind *." Here no fewer than seven words intervene between the relative which, and the preposition for be- longing to it. Besides, the preposition doth not here precede its regimen, but follow it. One would imagine, to consider the matter abstractly, that this could not fail in a language like ours, which admits so few inflec- tions, to create obscurity. Yet this in fact is seldom or never the consequence. Indeed the singularity of the idiom hath made some critics condemn it absolute- ly. That there is nothing analagous in any known tongue, ancient or modern, hath appeared to them a suf- ficient reason. I own it never appeared so to me. If we examine the matter independently of custom, we shall find that the preposition is just as closely connect- ed with the word, whether verb or noun, governing, as with the word, whether noun or pronoun, governed. It is always expressive of the relation which the one bears to the other, or of the action of the one upon the • Spectator, So. 440- C. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC, 541 other. And as the cause in the order of Nature pre- cedes the effect, the most proper situation for the prepo- sition is immediately after the word governing, and be- fore the word governed. This will accordingly in all languages be found the most common situation. But there are cases in all languages, wherein it is even neces- sary that the word governing should come after the word governed. In such cases it is impossible that the preposition should be situated as above described. Only half of the description is then attainable ; and the speak- er is reduced to this alternative ; either to make the preposition follow the word governing, in which case it must be detached from the word governed ; or to make it precede the word governed, in which case it must be detached from the word governing. The choice in it- self arbitrary custom hath determined in every tongue. But will it be admitted as maxim, that the custom of one language, or even of ever so many, may be urged as a rule in another language, wherein no such custom hath ever obtained ? An argument founded on so false a prin- ciple, must certainly be inconclusive. With us indeed either arrangement is good ; but I suspect that to make the preposition follow the word governing, is more suit- able than the other to the original idiom of the tongue, as in fact it prevails more in conversation. The most common case wherein there is scope for election, is with the relatives whom and which ; since these, as in the ex- ample quoted, must necessarily precede the governing verb or noun. But this is not the only case. Viva- city requires sometimes, as hath been shown above, that even the governed part, if it be that which chiefly fixes the attention of the speaker, should stand foremost in the sentence. Let the following serve as an example : " The " man whom you were so anxious to discover, I have at " length got information of" We have here indeed a considerable hyperbaton, as grammarians term it 5 there being no less than thirteen words interposed between the noun and the preposition. Yet whether the expression can be altered for the better, will perhaps be questioned. Shall we say, •« Of the man whom you were so anxious 542 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. " to discover, I have at length got information ? — " Who sees not that by this small alteration, not only is the vivacity destroyed, but the expression is rendered stiff and formal, and therefore ill adapted to the style of conversation ? Shall we then restore what is called the grammatical, because the most common order, and say, " I have at length gotten information of the man whom " you were so anxious to discover ?" The arrange- ment here is unexceptionable, but the expression is un- animated. There is in the first manner something that displays an ardour in the speaker to be the messenger of good news. Of this character there are no traces in the last ; and in the second there is a cold and studied formality which would make it appear intolerable. So much is in the power merely of arrangement. Ought we then always to prefer this way of placing the prepo- sition after the governing word ? By no means. There are cases wherein this is preferable. There are cases wherein the other way is preferable. In general, the former suits better the familiar and easy style, which copies the dialect of conversation, the latter more befits the elaborate and solemn diction, which requires some- what of dignity and pomp, But to what purpose, I pray, those criticisms which serve only to narrow our range, where there would be no danger of a trespass, though we were indulged with more liberty ? Is it that the genius of our language doth not sufficiently cramp us without these additional re- straints ? But it is the unhappiness of the generality of critics, that when two modes of expressing the same thing come under their consideration, of which one ap- pears to them preferable, the other is condemned in gross, as what ought to be reprobated in every instance. A few contractions have been adopted by some writers which appear harsh and affected ; and all contractions without exception must be rejected, though ever so easy and natural, and though evidently conducing to enliven the expression *. One order of the words in a particu- • About the beginning of the present century, the tendency to contract our words, especially in the compound tenses of the verbs, was undoubtedly exces- Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 543 lar example seems worthy of the preference ; and it must be established as a rule, that no other order in any case is to be admitted. But we are not peculiar in this disposition, though we may be peculiar in some of our ways of exerting it. The French critics, and even the academy have proceed- ed, if not always in the same manner, on much the same principle, in the improvements they have made on their language. They have indeed cleared it of many, not of sive. The worst of it was, that most of the contractions were effected by ex- punging the vowels, even where there was no hiatus, and by clashing together consonants of most obdurate sound, as Swift calls them. This produced the animadversion of some of our ablest pens, Addison, Swift, Pope, and others* whose concurring sentiments have operated so strongly on the Public that con- tractions of every kind have ever since been in disgrace, even those of easy pro- nunciation, and which had been in use long before. Yet our accumulated auxi- liaries seemed to require something of this kind. And though I am sensible that •wasn't, didn't, shouldn't, and couldn't, are intolerably bad, there are others of more pleasant sound, to which our critics, without any injury to the language, might have given a pass. On the contrary, even those ilisions whereby the sound is improved, as when the succession of an initial to a final vowel is prevented (which in all languages men have a natural propensity to avoid by contracting,) as I'm for I am', or when a feeble vowel is suppressed without harshness, as in the last syllable of the preterites of our regular verbs (which without a contraction we can never bear in verse) ; or when some of our rougher consonants are cut off after other consonants, as 'em for them ; (these I say) have all shared the same fate. Some indulgence, I think, may still be given to the more familiar style of dia- logues, letters, essays, and even of papular addresses, which like comedy are form- ed on the dialect of conversation. In this dialect, wherein all language origin- ates, the eagerness of conveying one's sentiments, the rapidity and ease of utter- ance, necessarily produce such abbreviations. It appears indeed so natural, that I think it requires, that people be more than commonly phlegmatic, not to say stupid, to be able to avoid them. Upon the whole, therefore, this tendency, in my opinion, ought to have been checked and regulated, but not entirely crushed. That contracting serves to improve the expression in vivacity is manifest ; it was necessary only to take care, that it might not hurt it in harmony or in perspicuity. It is certainly this which constitutes one of the greatest beauties in French dia- logue ; as by means of it, whet in other languages is expressed by a pronoun and a preposition, they sometimes convey not by a single syllable, but by a single letter. At the same time, it must be owned, they have never admitted contrac- tions, that could justly be denominated harsh ; that they have not, on the other hand, been equally careful to avoid such as are equivocal, hath been observed al- ready. We are apt to imagine, that there is something in the ilisien of letters and contraction of syllables, that is particularly unsuitable to the grave and solemn style. This notion of ours is, I suspect, more the consequence of the disuse than the cause ; since such abbreviations do not offend the severest critic, when they occur in books written in an ancient or a foreign language. Even the sacred pen- men have not disdained to adopt them into the simple, but very serious style of holy writ. Witness the xiXu for xai t\u, Ktr'tftv for axo spa, xaxzivas for xui &*.-/»«;, and many others. No doubt desuetude alone is sufficient to create an unsuitable- ness in any language. I will admit farther, that there is some convenience in discriminating the different characters of writing by some such differences in the style. For both these reasons, I should net now wish to see them revived in per- formances of a serious or solemn nature. 544 the philosophy Book III. all their low idioms, cant phrases, and useless anomalies ; they have rendered the style in the main more perspi- cuous, mere grammatical, and more precise than it was before. But they have not known where to stop. Their criticisms often degenerate into refinements, and every thing is carried to excess. If one mode of construction, or form of expression, hath been lucky enough to please these arbitrators of the public taste, and to obtain their sanction, no different mode or form must expect so much as a toleration. What is the consequence ? They have pu- rified their language ; at the same time they have im- poverished it, and have, in a considerable measure, re- duced all kinds of composition to a tasteless uniformity. Accordingly, in perhaps no language, ancient or modern, will you find so little variety of expression in the various kinds of writing, as in French. In prose and verse, in philosophy and romance, in tragedy and comedy, in epic and pastoral, the difference may be very great in the sen- timents, but it is nothing, or next to nothing, in the style. Is this insipid sameness to be envied them as an excel- lence ? Or shall we Britons, who are lovers of freedom almost to idolatry, voluntarily hamper ourselves in the trammels of the French academy ? Not that I think we should disdain to receive instruction from any quarter, from neighbours, or even from enemies. But as we re- nounce implicit faith in more important matters, let us renounce it here too. Before we adopt any new measure or limitatiori, by the practice of whatever nation it comes recommended to us, let us give it an impartial examina- tion, that we may not, like servile imitators, copy the bad with the good. The rules of our language should breathe the same spirit with the laws of our country. They ought to prove bars against licentiousness, without being checks to liberty. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC, 545 Section III. — Modern languages compared with Greek and Latin, particularly in regard to the composition of sentences. Before I conclude this chapter, I must beg leave to offer a few general remarks on the comparison of mo- dern-languages with Greek and Latin. This I am the rather disposed to do, that it will serve further to illustrate the principles above laid down. I make no doubt but the former have some advantages in respect of perspicuity. I think not only that the disposition of the words accord- ing to certain stated rules may be made more effectually to secure the sentence against ambiguous construction, than can be done merely by inflection, but that an habitu- al method of arranging words which are in a certain way related to one another, must, from the natural influence of habit, on the principle of association, even where there is no risk of misconstruction, more quickly suggest the meaning, than can be done in the freer and more varied methods made use of in those ancient languages. This holds especially with regard to Latin, wherein the num- ber of equivocal inflections is considerably greater than in Greek ; and wherein there are no articles, which are of unspeakable advantage, as for several other purposes, so in particular for ascertaining the construction. But whilst the latter, though in this respect inferior, are, when skil- fully managed, by no means ill adapted for perspicuous expression, they are, in respect of vivacity, elegance, ani- mation, and variety of harmony, incomparably superior. I shall at present consider their advantage principally in point of vivacity, which in a great measure, when the subject is of such a nature as to excite passion, secures animation also. In the first place, the brevity that is attainable in these languages gives them an immense superiority. Some testimonies in confirmation of this remark may be ob- tained by comparing the Latin examples of antithesis quoted in the notes of the third section of the preceding chapter, with any English translation that can be made 54^ THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. of these passages. And I suspect, if a version were at- tempted into any other European tongue, the success would not be much better. It is remarkable, that in any inscription in which it is intended to convey some- thing striking or emphatical, we can scarcely endure a modern language. Latin is almost invariably em- ployed for this purpose in all the nations of Europe. Nor is this the effect of caprice or pedantry, as some perhaps will be apt to imagine. Neither does it pro- ceed merely, as others will suppose, from the opinion that that language is more universally understood ; for I suspect that this is a prerogative which will be warmly contested by the French ; but it proceeds from the general conviction there is, of its superiority in point of vivacity. That we may be satisfied of this, let us make the trial, by translating any of the best Latin inscriptions or mottos which we remember, and we shall quickly perceive, that what charms us expressed in their idiom, is scarcely supportable when rendered into our own*. * Let us make the experiment on the inscriptions of some of the best devices or emblems that are extant. I shall give a few examples for illustration's sake, from the sixth of Bouhour's Entretiens (TAriste et d'Bugene, called Les devises. The first shall be, that of a starry sky without the moon, as representing an as- sembly of the fair, in which the lover finds not the object of his passion. The motto is, " Non mille quod absens." In English we must say, " A thousand can- '* not equal one that is absent." Another instance shall be that of a rock in the midst of a tempestuous sea, to denote a hero who with facility baffles all the as- saults of his enemies. The motto, " Conantia frangere frangit." In English, " I break the things which attempt to break me." In this example we are ob- liged to change the person of the verb, that the words may be equally applicable, both in the literal sense, and in the figurative, an essential point in this exercise of ingenuity. The personal pronoun in our language must always be expressed before the verb. N ow the neuter it will not apply to the hero, nor the maculine he to the rock ; whereas the first person applies equally to both. The third in- stance shall be that of the ass eating thistles, as an emblem of a parasite who serves as a butt to the company that entertain him. The motto, " Pungant dum saturent." In English, '* Let them sting me, provided they fill my belly." In all these, how nervous is the expression in the original ; how spiritless in the translation ! Nor is this recourse to a multitude of words peculiar to us. All European languages labour, though not equally, under the same inconvenience. For the French take Bouhours's version of the preceding mottos. The first is, " Mille ne valent pas ee que vauc une absente." The second, ** II brise ce qui fait effort pour le briser." This version is not perfectly adequate. The Latin implies a number of enemies, which is not implied here, Better thus, " II brise les choses qui font effort pour *' le briser." The third is, *' Qu'ils me piquent, pourveu qu'ils me saouilent." These are in no respect superior to the .English. The Italian and the Spanish answer here a little better. Bouhours himself, who is extremely unwilling, even in the smallest matters, to acknowledge any thing like a defect or imperfection in the French tongue, is nevertheless constrained to admit, that it is not well ad- apted for furnishing such mottos and inscriptions. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 547 The luggage of particles, such as pronouns, prepositions, and auxiliary verbs, from which it is impossible for us entirely to disencumber ourselves, clogs the expression, and enervates the sentiment. But it is not in respect of brevity only that the ancient tongues above-mentioned are capable of a more vivid diction than the modern. For when, in the declensions and conjugations, the inflection, as is frequently the ease, is attended with an increase of the number of syllables, the expression on the whole cannot always be denomin- ated briefer, even when it consists of fewer words. How- ever, as was observed before, when the construction is chiefly determined by inflection, there is much ampler scope for choice in the arrangement, and consequently the speaker hath it much more in his power to give the sentence that turn which will serve most to enliven it. But even this is not all the advantage they derive from this particularity in their structure. The various ter- minations of the same word, whether verb or noun, are always conceived to be more intimately united with the term which they serve to lengthen, than the additional, detached, and in themselves insignificant, syllables or particles, which we are obliged to employ as connectives to our significant words. Our method gives almost the same exposure to the one as to the other, making the insignificant parts and the significant equally conspi- cuous ; theirs much oftener sinks, as it were, the form- er into the latter, at once preserving their use, and hid- ing their weakness. Our modern languages may in this respect be compared to the art of carpentry in its rud- est state, when the union of the materials employed by the artisan, could be effected only by the help of those external and coarse implements, pins, nails, and cramps. The ancient languages resemble the same art in its most improved state, after the invention of dovetail joints, grooves and mortices, when thus all the principal junc- tions are effected by forming properly the extremities or terminations of the pieces to be joined. For by means of these the union of the parts is rendered closer, 3 Y 548 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. whilst that by which their union is produced is scarcely perceivable. Addison, if I remember right, somewhere compares an epic pcem, (and the same holds, though in a lower degree, of every other literary production) written in Greek or in Latin, to a magnificent edifice, built of mar- ble, porphyry, or granite, and contrast with it such a poem or performance in one of our modern languages, which he likens to such a building executed in freestone, or any of those coarser kinds of stone which abound in some northern climates. The latter may be made to answer all the essential purposes of accommodation as well as the former, but as the materials of which it is constructed, are not capable of receiving the same po- lish, and consequently cannot admit some of the finer decorations, it will not only be inferior in beauty, but its imitative ornament will be much less lively and ex- pressive. It may nevertheless be equal to the other both in grandeur and in utility. If the representations that have been given of the Chinese language are genuine, if all their words are monosyllabic and indeclinable, if every relation and circumstance, even time and number, must be expressed by separate particles, I should think a performance in their tongue might be justly compared to a building in brick, which may be both neat and con- venient, but which hardly admits the highly ornamented finishing of any order of architecture, or indeed any other species of beauty than that resulting from the per- ception of fitness. But this only by the way. Jf I might be indulged one other similitude, I should remark, that the difference between the ancient Greek and Latin, and the modern European languages, is ex* tremely analogous to the difference there is between their garb and ours. The latter will perhaps be admitted to be equally commodious, possibly for some purposes more so ; but with its trumpery of buttons and button- holes, ligatures and plaits formally opposed to one another, it is stiff and unnatural in its appearance ; whereas the easy flow and continually varied foldings of the former, Chap. IV. or rhetoric. 549 are at once more graceful, and better adapted for ex- hibiting nature in shape, attitude and motion, to advan- tage. The human figure is, I may say, burlesqued in the one habit, and adorned by the other. Custom, which can conciliate us to any thing, prevents us from seeing this in ourselves and in one another ; but we quickly perceive the difference in pictures and statues. Nor is there a painter or a statuary of eminence who is not perfectly sensible of the odds, and who would not think his art degraded in being employed to exhibit the reign- ing mode. Nay, in regard to the trifling changes, for they are but trifling, which fashion is daily making on our garments, how soon are we ourselves brought to think ridiculous, what we accounted proper, not to say elegant, but two or three years ago ; whereas no differ- ence in the fashions of the times and of the country, can ever bring a man of taste to consider the drapery of the toga or of the pallium, as any way ludicrous or offen- sive. Perhaps I have carried the comparison farther than was at first intended. What hath been said, however, more regards the form of structure, than the matter of the languages compared. Notwithstanding the pre- ference given above in point of form to the ancient tongues, the modern may, in point of matter, (or the words of which the language is composed) be superior to them. I am inclined to think that this is actually the case of some of the present European tongues. The ma- terials which constitute the riches of a language, will al- ways bear a proportion to the acquisitions in knowledge matle by the people. For this reason, I should not he- sitate to pronounce that English is considerably richer than Latin, and in the main fitter for all the subtile dis- quisitions both of philosophy and of criticism. If I am more doubtful in regard to the preference, when our tongue is compared with Greek, notwithstanding the superiority of our knowledge in arts and sciences, the reason of my doubt is, the amazing ductility of that lan- guage, by which it wjak adapiied to exppeis easily in de- rivations and compositions, new indeed but quite ana- 550 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. logical, and therefore quite intelligible, any discoveries in the sciences, or invention in the arts, that might at any time be made in their own, or imported from foreign countries. Nay, it would seem to be a general convic- tion of this distinguishing excellence, that hath made Europeans almost universally recur to Greek for a supply of names to those things which are of modern invention, and with which the Grecians themselves never were ac- quainted ; such as microscope, telescope, barometer, thermometer, and a thousand others. CHAP. V. Of the Connectives employed in combining the Sentences in a Discourse. In the preceding chapter I have discussed what I had to offer on the manner of connecting the words, the clau- ses, and the members of a sentence. I intend in the present chapter to consider the various manners of con- necting the sentences in a discourse, and to make some remarks on this subject, for the assistance of the compo- ser, which are humbly submitted to the judgment of the reader. Section I. — The necessity of Connectives for this purpose. It will scarcely be doubted by any person of discern- ment, that as there should always be a natural connexion in the sentiments of a discourse, there should generally be corresponding to this, an artificial connexion in the signs. Without such a connexion the whole will appear a sort of patchwTork, and not a uniform piece. To such a style we might justly apply the censure which the em- peror Caligula gave of Seneca's, that is, " sand without H lime,"* the parts having no cohesion. As to the con- nection of periods and other sentences, it is formed, like that of w^ords, clauses, and members, mostly by conjunc- * Arena sine calce. Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 551 tions, frequently by pronouns, the demonstrative espe- cially *, and sometimes by other methods, of which I shall soon have occasion to take notice. When facts are related in continuation, or when one argument, remark, or illustration, is with the same view produced after another, the conjunction is a copulative. \ If the sentiment in the second sentence is in any way opposed to that which immediately precedes, an adver* sative is employed to conjoin them.J If it is produced as an exception, there are also exceptive conjunctions for the purpose.§ Both the last mentioned orders are com- prehended under the general name disjunctive. If the latter sentence include the reason of what had been af- firmed in the preceding, the causal is used ||. If, on the contrary, it contain an inference, it must be introduced by an illative.^ Besides these, there is in every tongue a number of phrases, which have the power of conjunc- tions in uniting sentences, and are of great utility in composition, both for enabling the orator to hit with greater exactness the relations almost infinitely diversi- fied that may subsist between the thoughts, and for the variety they afford in that part of speech, wherein va- riety is more needed than in any other.** It likewise deserves our notice, that several of those words which are always classed by grammarians and lexicographers among the adverbs, have, in uniting the several parts of a discourse, all the effect of conjunctions.-)* f The general name of connexive, I shall therefore apply indiscrimin- ately to them all. • This, that, such, -J- And, note, also, too, likewise, again, besides, further, moreover, yea, nay, nor. % But, or, however, whereas. § Yet, nevertheless* || For. % Then, therefore. ** Add to this, in like manner, on the contrary, in short, to proceed, to return, to conclude. We might produce phrases, if necessary, corresponding to each of the above orders. •ft Such are some adverbs of time, as \then, signifying at that time, hitherto, formerly; of place, as here, thus, far ; of order, asfrst, secondly, finally ; cf resem. blance, as thus, accordingly ; of contrariety, as else, otherwise, contrariwise. 552 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. Section II.— Observations on the manner of using the Connectives in combining Sentences. It remains to make a few observations with regard to the right manner of using the materials above specified, for connecting sentences and paragraphs. It is not in- deed by any use of them, that we can propose to add much energy to the style, for that is rarely the gift of these particles ; but we may employ them so as to pre- clude the irksomeness and langour which invariably re- sult from an improper use of them. My first observation shall be, that as there are many conjunctions and connective phrases appropriated to the coupling of sentences, that are never employed in join- ing the members of a sentence, so there are several con- junctions appropriated to the latter use, which are never employed in the former ; and some that are equally a- dapted to both these purposes. This distinction in con- nectives will be found in different instances to flow from different sources. In some it is a natural distinction arising from the very import of the words ; in which case we shall always find, on inquiry, that it obtain alike in every tongue. In other instances, it is a distinction merely customary, founded on the usages which prevail in a particular language. As to those particles wThich are naturally fitted for conjoining clauses and members, but not sentences, they are chiefly the comparative, * the hypothetical, f and the intentional. J Let it not be imagined, that because a conjunction which falls under one or other of these denominations, is often found in the beginning of a sen- tence, it serves to couple the sentence with that which went before. Such a connexive will always be discov- ered, on examination, to have no reference to any thing without the sentence. Consider the following examples. " If ye love me, ye will keep my commandments." * Than. f If, tho\ altho\ "when, unless, except. £ TIteij so that, insomuch that, kst. Chap. IV. or rhetoric. 553 " Tho' I tell you what I am, ye will not believe me." " That 1 might save sinners, I came iuto the world." It is manifest that the conjunction wherewith each of these sentences begins, marks singly the relation that subsists between the two following clauses, or the na- ture of the dependence which the one has on the other. It is not even implied in the expression, that any thing had been said before. Accordingly, the same sense, without any variation, is expressed when the clauses are transposed ; though sometimes the only arrangement will exhibit it with greater energy than the other. Thus, " Ye will keep my commandments, if ye love me ;" 44 Ye will not believe me, though I tell you what I am ;" and " I came into the world, that I might save sinners," are precisely the same sentiments with those contained in the examples produced. But may not the subordinate part connected with the additional particle, properly constitute one sentence, and the declaration another ? Impossible. Every sentence must contain the enunciation of some proposition dis- tinctly intelligible by itself, and expressive of some judg- ment, desire, or purpose of the speaker. But what only points to the motive or condition of something yet un- told, answers none of these ends. Thus the words, " Un- 44 less ye repent," enunciate nothing, and therefore con- vey to the nearer no information of judgment, purpose or desire. They give indeed the expectation of such information, and thereby keep up the attention, till we hear what follows. No sooner are the words " ye shall 41 perish" added, than we have the explicit declaration of a certain judgment or sentiment of the speaker. For this reason grammarians have justly remarked, that in every sentence there must be a verb in the indicative mood either expressed or implied. In all the three ex- amples above given, we have it expressed in the second clause of their original form ; the verb in the hypothe- tical part, and in that which marks the intention, is properly in the subjunctive or potential. It matters not whether the mood be distinguished by inflection, ar- rangement, or particles. In commands, interrogations,. 554 THE philosophy Book III. and wishes, the indicative is not expressed but implied, and by the idiom of the tongue suggested to the under- standing with sufficient clearness. The interrogative and the optative, as well as the imperative, are, in re- spect of sense, totally distinct from the two moods above- mentioned ; though in most languages distinguished on- ly by particles or arrangement.* Thus, though in these three sentences, " Go away ;" " Will ye go away ?" and •' O that ye would go away ;" there is properly no in- dicative expressed, yet it is so manifestly implied, that none who understands the language can be at a loss to perceive, that each of them fully enunciates a certain af- fection of the speaker, a command, request, or wish. They signify neither more nor less than " I command u you to go away ;" " I desire to be informed whether " ye will go awav ;" and " I wish that ye would go a- " way." What hath been said of the conditional and intention- al particles, holds still more evidently of the compara- tive particle than, which as frequently it doth not even need to be followed by a verb in any mood, so it can never begin the sentence without a manifest hyperbaton. The particle as is sometimes strictly a comparative con- junction. Such it is in these words, " As your fathers " did, so do ye." In this case it falls under the same predicament with the conditional connectives. Some- times it is equivalent to thus, and may be still called a comparative particle, as it intimates some resemblance in that which follows to that which preceded. But this is also effected by the copulatives likewise and in like manner. Such it is in the beginning of this similitude, As when an angel bv divine command, f In this case it evidently connects sentences. Again, the illative is perfectly adapted for connecting sentences. The inference itself may very properly be expressed in a proposition distinctly enunciated, and, therefore, in- * See Hermes, Book I. chap. viii. f Addison's Campaign. Chap. V. of rhetoric. 555 dependency intelligible. The conjunction serves only to intimate that the reason or evidence of this judgment, which may also be a distinct proposition, was assigned in the words immediately preceding. This reasoning holds, in like manner, with regard to the causal conjunc- tion. The relation between the sentences is the same ; the order only is inverted ; as we have here the conse- quence before the cause. And i suppose it is too clear to need illustration, that there is nothing in the import of the words to hinder copulatives and disjunctives from connecting sentences as well as members, and members as well as sentences. Yet even among those that are alike fitted for both purposes, there is some difference in point of strength. From their very nature they do not all unite the parts with equal closeness. They are like cements which differ in their degrees of tenacity. Thus the illative conjunctions and the causal constitute a more intimate union, than the adversative and the co- pulative. Again, that formed by demonstrative pro- nouns seems weaker than that effected by conjunctions. So much for the natural difference in the connectives resulting from the different import of the words. That; there is also a great, though arbitrary difference, arising from idiom, is unquestionable. In the best wri- ters of antiquity, we often meet with sentences that be- gin with a relative pronoun, answering to ourivho, whom, or ivhich* By all the most eminent writers among the moderns, not only in English, but in other European tongues, this practice is now, I think, carefully avoided. It is custom only that can make this difference. When the cause is purely natural, the effect will be found the same in all languages. Accordingly, what was observed above concerning the conditional, intentional, and com- parative conjunctions, is equally applicable to every tongue. And if we consider abstractly the effect of the relatives, we shall find, that what follows the who, whom, or which, is often the enunciation of some judgment, purpose, or desire, which, as it may constitute a separate sentence, serves to vindicate from the charge of impro- priety the usage of the ancients. Yet there is some rea- 3 z 556 the philosophy Book IIL son also on the side of the moderns. The personal pro- nouns do not presuppose the subject, whether person or thing, to be known, and, consequently, do no more than supersede the repetition of the name. There can be, therefore, no doubt of the propriety of beginning sen- tences with these. Whereas the relatives not only refer to somethingimmediately said, that we may know the subject of disc jurse, but seem so closely to connect thepart which follows with that which precedes, that the one makes, as it were, the description of either the nominative, or the regimen of the verb, in the other. In this view, they may be said to create a union too close to subsist conveniently between different sentences. There is at least a risk, that they will give such an ambiguous ap- pearance to the second, as to render it doubtful, whether it be a separate sentence, or a member of the foregoing. For this reason, the illative wherefore, as it includes the power of the pronoun which, doth not seem to be so an- alogically used by our writers, in connecting sentences, as in connecting members. Again, as an irrefragable evidence that there is a difference in connectives arising purely from idiom, let it be observed, that we find it sometimes taking place among conjunctions of the same order. The causal be- cause forms too close a union to subsist between sepa- rate sentences. The case is different with the causal for, though in every other respect synonymous. This latter particle is not adapted for uniting clauses which must necessarily be included in the same sentence. As an evidence that this distinction can be attributed only to custom, we may remark, that it is variable, differing in different ages. For instance, in Shakespeare's time, the causal particles seem to have been used promiscu- ously. We have at least in his writings several ex- amples, in which he uses the particle for, where every writer at present would say because, as in the following passage : Chap. V. of rhetoric. 557 Heaven defend your good souls, that ye think, I will your serious and great business scant, For she is with me *. Nay, even among the copulatives, which, of all the con- junctions are the most vague in their application, there are some that use seems to have appropriated to the coupling of sentences, not of members, such as again, further, besides ; and some to the uniting not of sen- tences so properly as of paragraphs, or even of larger portions of writing, that commonly fall under that de- nomination, such as moreover and furthermore. The copulative and, on the contrary, some critics are for confining to the single purpose of uniting the parts within the sentence, and seem to imagine, that there is some impropriety in using it for combining sentences. But as in this opinion, from what hath been evinced above, it is evident they are not supported by any argu- ment from the import of the words, this conjunction being naturally on the same footing with the other co- pulatives ; so neither have they any plea from usage in its favour. The examples for the contested use, which might be produced from all the best authorities in the language, are innumerable. But though use alone, in matters of language, is ever held a sufficient reason why things should continue in the state wherein we find them, when there is no positive ground for an alteration, I shall, in the present case, where, indeed, I could never discover the vestige of a reason for change, produce two arguments on the opposite side against excluding this particle from a privilege it hath always heretofore pos- sessed ; arguments which, I hope, will appear satisfac- tory. First, being a monosyllable, it will, on a principle above explained, if not used too often, serve to smooth the current of the discourse ; inasmuch as it will ren» der the transition from sentence to sentence easier, than it is possible to render it when recourse is always had to connectives of greater length. Secondly, it adds one to the number of the copulatives, and, consequently, (where variety is, of importance, as it certainly is here, * Othello. 55$ THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. on a principle presently to be explained,) this particle, if not absolutely necessary, is at least convenient. My second observation is, that one of the best expe- dients for preventing the connexwes from becoming too conspicuous, is to avoid the frequent recurrence to the same particles, especially if they consist of more than one syllable. And if so, with still greater reason must we avoid recurring often to the same conjunctive phrases. I do not deny that there are cases wherein the repe- tition of a conjunction, like other rhetorical repeti- tions, may add to the energy of the expression. Thus when several successive sentences bear the same relation to one that preceded, or to one that is to follow, this containing the common cause, consequence, motive, or concomitant of what is signified in those, they may be ushered more emphatically, by repeating the connexive than by varying it. The common relation gives a pro- priety to the figure. But such cases are rare and easily distinguished. As to those which usually occur to the composer, it may be asserted to hold universally, that no- thing will contribute more to enfeeble the style, than frequently to recur to the same heavy conjunctions, or long connectives, whatever they be. The now, and, for y but, nay, nor, have this advantage from their brevity, that though often repeated, they pass almost unnoticed, But who, that hath any taste, can endure the incessant quick returns of the also's and the likewise^, and the moreover* §, and the 'however' s, and the *notwith stand- ings ? An excess in these is insupportable. It is a maxim in elocution that will not often be found to fail, that in the use of the more ignoble parts of speech, there is greater need of variety than in the use of such as are of higher quality. The very significance of the nobler parts doth, as it were, support their dignity; but since the attendance of the less noble is necessary, shift them oftener, obtrude not on us always the same individuals, and we shall have less leisure to criticise them, or to advert to their insignificance. The third remark I shall make on this subject is, that another useful expedient for answering the same end, is to vary the situation of the conjunction, wherever the Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 559 idiom of the tongue and the harmony of the sentence^ will permit the variation. The place where we should naturally expect to find it, when it connects two sen- tences, is doubtless the beginning of the second. But in most languages a little latitude is indulged on this ar- ticle. In those cases, therefore, which admit this free- dom, one, two, or more words may precede the con- junction, and serve as a cover to render it less observe- able. In the beginning it stands by itself; whereas, placed in the manner now mentioned, it may be said to stand in a crowd. But no tongue whatever gives this indulgence in assigning a place to every connexive. With us in particular, no monosyllabic conjunction, except the illative then, can be thus transposed*. Our language, however, hath been abundantly indulgent (where indulgence is of greater consequence) in the pow- er it gives us in the disposal of those which consist of more than one syllable. Thus almost all the copula- tives which come under this denomination f , the dis- junctives, hoivever and nevertheless^, and the illative therefore, may be shifted to the second, the third, the fourth place, or even further. It would be difficult to assign a satisfactory reason for the difference that hath been made in this respect, between conjunctions of one syllable, and those of more. Yet we have ground to believe, that it is not merely ac- cidental, as some traces of the same distinction are to be found in most languages §. It will indeed appear, • There is another monosyllabic conjunction, which, even when it connects sentences, is not placed in the beginning of the second. But this implies no transposition, as the first place could not be assigned to it without the violation of universal practice. The particle I mean is the conjunction too, when it signi- fies also. Thus we say, " He too was included in the act of indemnity.'* To say, " Too he," would" not be English. •f The copulative again cannot conveniently be transposed, as it would scarce- ly fail to occasion an ambiguity, and be mistaken for the adverb signifying a second time. X The disjunctive whereas is never transposed. § In Latin, for example, the monosyllabic conjunctions ct, sed, nam, when they connect two sentences, regularly maintain their place in the beginning of the second; whereas, to the dissyllables, quoque, autem, enim, more latitude is al- lowed. In French too, the monosyllables el, mats, car, have invariably the same situation. It is otherwise with aussi, pourtant, pourquoi ; though there is not so great freedom allowed in arranging them, as in the English dissyllabic con- junctions. 560 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. from what hath been illustrated above, that the mono- syllabic conjunctions need not be managed with the same address as the others, there not being the same ha- zard that they would soon become tiresome. On the contrary, it may be said, that being of themselves so in- considerable, it is necessary that their situation be as- certained, in order to give them that degree of influence, without which they could not answer the purpose even of conjunctions. But it may be argued against the solution now given, and, indeed, against the whole of the precedent reason- ing on thib article, " How few, if any, have ever reflect- " ed on the different effects of these different arrange- " ments ? Or how could a difference, not reflected on, " give rise to a difference in the laws by which their " respective places are assigned them ?" To this I an- swer, that taste alone, whose general principles are the same in every people, and which, like every appetite, seeks its own gratification, produceth insensibly, as it improves, and even where there is no direct mcention, an improvement in the language as well as in the arts. It is by gradual, and what may be termed implicit com* pact, that the language, like the common law of every nation, hath obtained at first an establishment among them. It is to the same cause that the alterations to the better or to the worse, as knowledge and taste ad- vance or decline among the people, are afterwards to be ascribed. That there should ever have been any formal or explicit convention or contrivance in this case, is an hypothesis in my opinion, not only unsupported by rea- son, but repugnant to it. It is the province of criticism and philosophy which appear much later than language, being of much slower growth, and to which close atten- tion and reflection are not less requisite than taste, to investigate the latent causes in the principles of taste, by which the various changes have been actually, though in a manner imperceptibly, produced* My fourth observation is^ that though certain cir- cumstances require, that one connexive be immediately followed by another, the accumulating of these without Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 56l necessity ought always to be avoided. There are some complex conjunctions, which appear to be two, because in writing custom hath not combined the parts into one word, but are properly one in import and effect. Such are, as if so that, insomuch that, and a few others. Of these I am not now speaking. As to those between which, though adjoined in situ- ation, there is no coalition in sense, let it be observed, that — there are cases in which propriety requires the aid of more than one ; — there are cases in which the idiom of the language permits the use of more ; that, on the contrary,— there are cases in which propriety rejects the union altogether ; and lastly, — there are cases in which idiom rejects it. Each of these four classes I shall con- sider severally. First, as to the cases wherein propriety requires the aid of more than one connexive, it was remarked for- merly, that some conjunctions are limited to the use of connecting words and members, whilst others are em- ployed indiscriminately for the connection of words, members, or sentences. When one of each kind meets in the beginning of a sentence, the intention of the first is generally to express the relation which the sentence bears to that immediately preceding ; and the intention of the second, to express the dependence of the one clause on the other, in the sentence so introduced. Take the following passage of scripture for an example : " I go to " prepare a place for your. And if I go to prepare a " place for you ; I will come again, and receive you to " myself *." The copulative and connects the two sen- tences. The hypothetical conjunction if serves only to mark the first member of the last sentence, as the con- dition or limitation of the promise contained in the second member. The reader will observe, that I have distinguished the different applications of the two con- junctions in this example by a difference in the character in which they are printed. I intend, for the sake of perspicuity, to adopt the same method in the other ex- • John xiv. 2, % 56$ THE PHILOSOPHY Book IIJ. amples which are to be produced. But it is not copu- Jative* only that may be thus combined with conditional particles. Tiie causal, illative, and adversative, may all be employed in the same way. The iirst of these is ex- emplified in the following quotation : " Let us not say " we keep the commandments of the one, when we break 44 tne commandments of the other, For unless we ob- 44 serve both, we obey neither *." The above instances will serve to illustrate the observation in all other com- binations with connectives of the same order. For an example of the like construction in the conjunction that, these words of the poet will suffice ; If there's a power above us ; And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Thro' all her works ; he must delight in virtue f . It is not material that the whole is here comprised in one sentence. The first conjunction serves to unite the member that precedes with that which follows ; the second to exhibit the connection that subsists between the succeeding clauses. And what relation two con- nected complex sentences bear to the members of each, that relation bear the members of a complicated sen- tence, to the clauses of which they consist. It was said, that the first of two conjunctions so placed, is gene- rally the connexive of the sentences, and that the second marks the relation subsisting between the members of the sentence which ensues. This holds generally, but not always. If the connective of the sentences be one of those particles, which agreeably to the third obser- vation, the idiom of the language permits us to trans- pose, it may properly possess the second place, and the other the first, as in the example following : " It is of 41 the utmost importance to us, that we associate prin- 44 cipally with the wise and virtuous. When, there- 44 fore, we choose our companions, we ought to be ex- 44 tremely careful in regard to the choice we make." The second conjunction therefore is that which con- nects the sentences. The first conjunction when hath * Hooker. t Addison's Cato, Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 5ti3 no relation to any thing beyond the second sentence. The only examples I have yet produced, are those where- in one of the conjunctions is by its nature always ap- propriated to the subordinate use of connecting the parts of a sentence. But even where the two connec- tives are alike susceptible of both uses, the structure of the expression may sufficiently evince, that the one is employed solely to connect the sentence to what pre- cedes in the discourse, and the other solely to conjoin the members, as in the following example : " Such is " the probable consequence of the measure I now re* " commend. But however this may succeed, our duty " is the same." Of the different applications of the two conjunctions in this passage, there cannot be the small- est doubt. Sometimes a decompound sentence may be ushered by no fewer than three successive conjunctions ; the first being the connexive of the sentences ; the se- cond that which ascertains the relation of the members of the sentence thus introduced ; the third that which indicates the connection of the clauses of the first mem- ber of that sentence, as in the subsequent example, " To " those who do not love God, the enjoyment of him is " unattainable. NOW as that we may love God, || it " is necessary to know him ; so that we may know " God, || it is necessary to study his works." The con- junction now connects this period with the preceding sentence ; as is expressive of the relation which the first member bears to the second, beginning with so ; that indicates the dependence of the first clause of the first member, " we may love God," on the second clause, " it is necessary to know7 him ;" and corresponds to the conjunction that, which follows the so, in the beginning of the second member, and which, in like manner, in- dicates the dependence of the first clause of the second member, " we may know God," on the last clause, " it " is necessary to study his works." But though the in- troduction of two conjunctions having different refer- ences in the manner above explained, is perfectly com- patible with the rules of good writing, and often inevit- able ; I cannot say so much for the admission of three, 4a 564 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. whose various applications must distract the attention, and so create a confusion and difficulty alike inconsist- ent with the principles of perspicuity, of vivacity, or of elegance. Secondly, as to those cases wherein we cannot say propriety requires, but the idiom of the language per- mits the use of more than one connexive, they are either when the connexives are of the same order ; for instance, in the copulative and further, and in like manner ; in the adversatives, but however ; in the exceptives yet nevertheless, yet notwithstanding. With regard to such combinations we may safely pronounce, that if the use of synonymas even in the more significant parts of speech are for the most part incompatible with vivacity and strength, the like use in the more insignificant, and consequently weaker parts, must be still more excep- tionable. Again, when the connectives arc of different, but not opposite orders, idiom often permits the con- currence of two, though the reference of both is the same ; that is, though both are intended merely to con- nect the sentence with that which preceded. Thus the copulative is often combined with the illative, and there- fore, or with a particle expressive of order, and thirdly ; the causal with a particle expressing opposition, for else, for otherwise ; a disjunctive with such a particle or phrase, or on the contrary ; an adversative with an ex- ceptive, but yet ; a comparative with a copulative, as also. It were endless to enumerate all that idiom per- mits us in this manner to conjoin; It is only by attend- ing to the practice of good authors, that it can perfect- ly be learnt. It is not to be questioned, that in some instances, the use of two connectives, though not abso- lutely necessary, may be expedient both for rounding the period, and for expressing more perfectly the rela- tion of the sentences. But they are much more com- monly the effect either of negligence, or of a vitiat- ed taste in what concerns composition, and are often to be met with in the middling class of writers. The following will serve as an example of this manner : " Although he was close taken up with the affairs of the Chap. V. of rhetoric 565 11 nation, nevertheless he did not neglect the concerns of M his friends." Either of the conjunctions would have done better than both* An author of this stamp will begin a sentence thus, u Whereas, on the other hand, supposing that" — Who sees not, that " If, on the con- trary"— would express the same connection with more energy, as well as brevity ? When a speaker interlards his discourse with such accumulated connectives, he always suggests to a judicious hearer, the idea of one that wants to gain time, till he cast about for something to say. Yet this fault is certainly more pardonable in speaking than in writing. The composer may take his own time, being under no necessity of writing faster than he can provide and dispose his materials. The slowness of his invention will not be betrayed to the reader by any method more readily than by that which the speaker is sometimes forced to use in order to con- ceal it. Thirdly, as to those cases in which propriety itself forbids the concurrence of two conjunctions, it is im- possible we should fall into a mistake. They are al- ways distinguished by some repugnancy in the import of the words which even common sense shows to be in- compatible. Such are a copulative with a disjunctive, a causal with an illative, a particle expressive of re- semblance, with one expressive of contrariety. Fourthly, as to those cases in which idiom alone for- bids the concourse. These are to be learnt only by practice. Thus idiom permits the junction of a copu- lative with an illative particle, but never with a causal. We may say, and therefore, but not and for. We are not to seek the reason of this difference in the import of the terms, but in the custom of applying them. Again, idiom permits the use of two copulatives, but not of every two. We may say, and also, and likewise, but not also likewise. Two causal conjunctions are not now associated, as for because, nor two illatives, as there- fore then. Yet in the dialect which obtained in the beginning of the last century, these modes of expression were common. Indeed, some of those heavy connec- 566 the philosophy, &c. Book III. lives which are now but little used, as moreover, fur- thermore, over and above, are all but combinations of synonymous particles, and flow from a disposition which will perhaps ever be found to prevail where style is in its infancy. The fifth and last observation I shall make on this subject, iSj that it is not necessary, that all the sentences in any kind of composition should be linked together by connective particles. I know of no rules that have ever been laid down for our direction in this particular. But as it always hath been, so, for aught I can perceive, it always will be, left to taste alone to determine when these particles ought to be used, and when omitted. All that occurs to me as being of any service on this head, may be comprized in the two following remarks. The first is, that the illative conjunctions, the causal and the dis- junctive, when they suit the sense, can more rarely be dispensed with than the copulative. The second is, that the omission of copulatives always succeeds best, when the connection of the thoughts is either very close or very distant. It is mostly in the intermediate cases that the conjunction is deemed necessary. When the connection in thought is very distant, the copulative ap- pears absurd, and when very close, superfluous. For the first of these reasons, it is seldom that we meet with it in the beginning of a chapter, section, or even para- graph, except in the Bible ; and for the second, that it is frequently dropt in familiar narrative, where the con- nection is so obvious as to render it useless. THE END. TurnbuU, Printer Edinbvrgl. 4