PE 1407 .17 1821 Copy 1 88asWngtfl» ftiiftrg *Jyc. - ^Sy^-Juoauue "&o^m in support of this decision, will always be found £ hazardous IV PREFACE. hazardous attempt. Of this circumstance Cicero and Quintilian seem to have been sufficiently aware. In treating of the general character of a writer's style, they content themselves with referring to the body of his works, in confirmation of their sentence. To such exemplifications as occur in the following treatise, they have never had recourse. Without pretending to question the propriety of their method, it may be presumed that to the class of readers for whose perusal these Elements of English Compo- sitioji are chiefly intended, a different mode of proce- dure may, perhaps, be attended with some advan- tage. It is of importance for the student to be in some measure acquainted with the style of every author of eminence. The variety of examples exhibited in the course of the work will, at least in his view, be found acceptable. Should they fail in their primary design, they may thus be rendered subservient to another purpose. To iHustrate the progressive improvement of English composition, I have subjoined a variety of quotations from eminent authors. They are arranged nearly according to the priority of publication in the works from which they are selected. This selection com- mences where that of Dr. Johnson closes. It includes the most distinguished writers of our own times, ex- cept those who still live to enjoy the reputation which their talents have secured. The volume concludes with a few miscellaneous observations on epistolary composition. To be able to maintain a friendly correspondence with propriety and elegance is assuredly a very desirable accom- plishment* PREFACE. V plishment. This branch of composition ought there- fore to be assiduously cultivated, especially by every younger student. Ife may, perhaps, be alleged thai in my critical, .strictures I have often betrayed too much severity of censure, and that in general I have been too solicitous to expose the faults of eminent writers. But let it be remembered, that in a work of this kind it was neces- sary to expose defects, as well as to extol beauties. Those errors which have received the sanction of great names ar'i always dangerous ; as they frequently become the object of absurd imitation. " Je sais," says Condillac on a like occasion, " qu'on trouvera mes critiques bien severes ; et que la plupart des passages que je bl&me ne manqueront pas de de- fenseurs. L'art d'ecrire est un champ de disputes, parce qu'au lieu d'en chercher les principes dans le caractere des pensees, nous les prenons dans notre gout ; c'est-a-dire, dans nos habitudes de sentir, de voir, etdejuger; habitudes qui varient fuivant le tem- perament des personnes, leur condition, et leur ^ge." Towards living merit t am unconscious of having been guilty of the slightest instance of disrespect. If I have occasionally taken the libertyof pointing out a few trivial errors, this circumstance can afford no rea- sonable cause of offence. In exhibiting examples of the faults, as well as of the beauties, of composition, I have invariably had recourse to such works as seemed in some respect entitled to praise. If I have not treated living authors with all the delicacy and ten - derness recommended by St. Re*al, I h» l, e at least re- trained from every wanton attack. VI PREFACE. In the following pages the reader need not expect 10 discover any originality of observation : I desire to be regarded in no other light than that of a mere com- piler. Concerning every critical subject which has fallen under my review, I have endeavoured to collect the most rational opinions of writers distinguished for their learning and judgment. For any valuable in- struction which this compilation may exhibit, the reader is principally indebted to Dr. Blair's Lectures on Rhetoiic, Dr. Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, Lord Karnes's Elements of Criticism, Bishop Lowth's Intro- duction to English Grammar, and Mr. Melmoth's Letters of Fiizosborne. To other occasional sources of infor- mation I have been careful to make the proper references ; but when I availed myself of the treasures amassed by these excellent writers, I forbore to quote their names ; " not that I might appropriate their labours, or usurp their honours, but that I might spare a perpetual repetition by one general acknowledg- ment." INTRODUCTION. CHAPTER I. I HE great and important object of language is, to express the various wants and affections of those by whom it is spoken. In the earlier stages of civil society, man is contented with such comforts as are easily procured, and the operations of the human mind are circumscribed within narrow limits. His vocabu- lary is consequently scanty, though, at the same time, »t may be fully adequate to every purpose to which ia is applied. But as luxury and refinement advance in their gradual progress, the language of the community becomes more copious and elegant: it not only over- steps its ancient boundaries, but hastens to lay aside its ancient rudeness and barbarism. Material improve- ments, however, cannot be introduced by any sudden exertion ; they must be the result of that experience which a length of time only can bestow. Before the elegancies of literature can lay claim to any considerable share of attention, a spirit of general improvement must have begun to pervade the state. Accordingly, we find that vigour and originality of thought have always preceded beauty and accuracy of expression. In the first efforts of untutored genius the harmony of periods is little regarded : such words as most readily occur to the recollection of the writer, are almost indiscriminately adopted ; and these are generally arranged without much attention to elegance or propriety. Thus, if we take a retrospective view of English lite— tature at no very remote period, we shall often find the beaut/ 2 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. beauty of the thought obscured by the meanness of the expression. Its pages are frequently deformed with uncouthness and vulgarity. Nor is it altogether untainted with these faults in its present state. Propriety and beauty of style seem often to have been considered beneath the attention both of an author and a reader. The ancients, however, regarded this sub- ject in a different point of view : to be skilled in their native tongue, was esteemed among the number of the politest accomplishments. Julius Caesar, who was not only a great warrior, but also a man of fashion, was de- sirous of adding this accomplishment to his other shining qualities : and we are informed that he studied the lan- guage of his own country with much application, as we are sure he possessed it in the highest degree of purity and elegance. The literary world cr.nnot sufficiently regret that the treatise which he wrote upon this sub- ject, has perished along with many other valuable works of the same age. But although we are deprived of the bene6t of his observations, we are happily in the possession of an illustrious instance of their effects ; and his own Commentaries will ever remain as the brightest exemplar, not only of true generalship, but also of fine writing. He published them, indeed, only as materials for the use of those who might be disposed to enlarge upon that remarkable period of the Roman history : yet the purity and gracefulness of his style are such, that no.judicious writer afterwards dared to attempt the same subject. Cicero frequently mentions it as a very high encomium, that the clebrated Roman orators possessed the elegance of their native language. He introduces Brutus, declaring that he should prefer the INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 3 the honour of hsing esteemed the great master and improver of Roman eloquence, even to the glory of many triumphs. Beauty of composition tends to heighten the native charms of truths it therefore ought never to be regard- ed as an object of small importance. — But it may be alleged that truth requires not the foreign aid of orna- ment. It is not indeed necessary that she should be exhibited in a glaring habit ; but she ought certainly to be clothed with decency and propriety. A beautiful woman in careless and sordid apparel, can never ap- pear to great advantage. To Locke, Cudworth, Clarke, and Butler, philoso- phy owes the most serious obligations: but would those great authors have diminished the utility of their literaTy labours by employing more smooth and polished lan- guage ? Never, indeed, does the force of reason more effectually subdue the human mind, than when she is supported by the powerful assistance of manly elo- quence } as, on the contrary, the most legitimate argu- ments may be rendered unavailing by being attended with a feeble and unanimated expression. There is as much difference between comprehending a thought clothed in the language of Cicero, and that of an ordi- nary writer, as there is between viewing an object by thi light of the sun and by the light of a taper. Malebranehe has assuredly fallen into a very strange conceit when he insinuates, that the pleasure arising from tire perusal of a beautiful composition is of a cri- minal nature, and has its source in the weakness and effeminacy of the human mind. That man must pos- sess a very uncommon severity of temper, who can find any 4 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. any thing to condemn in the practice of embellishing truth with additional charms, and winning the heart by captivating the ear; in uniting roses with the thorns of science, and joining pleasure with instruction. The mind is delighted with a fine style, upon the same principle that it prefers regularity to confusion, and beauty to deformity. A taste for the beauties of com- position is so far from being a mark of any depravity of our nature, that I should rather be inclined to con- sider it as an evidence of the moral rectitude of our mental constitution, since it furnishes a direct proof that we retain some relish of order and harmony. No object has ever appeared of greater importance to wise men, than to tinct.ure the young and suscep- tible mind with an early relish for the pleasures of taste. Easy in general is the transition from the pur- suit of these to the discharge of the higher and more important duties of human life. Sanguine hopes may be entertained of those whose minds have this liberal and elegant turn. It is favourable to the growth of many virtues : whereas to be devoid of taste for the fine arts, is justly regarded as an unpromising symptom in youth, and raises suspicions of their being prone to low gratifications, or destined to drudge in the more vulgar and illiberal pursuits of life. There are few good dispositions of any kind with which the improve • ment of this faculty is not in some degree connected. A cultivated taste increases sensibilty to all the tender and humane passions, by giving them frequent exer- cise ; while, on the other hand, it tends to weaken the more violent and fierce emotions, by exciting in us a lively sense of decorum. From PURITY OF STYLE. O From these observations it will appear that the charge of Malebranche is not only ill founded, but absolutely ridiculous. One would however be apt to suspect that certain writers among us had considered the subject in the same gloomy point of view : or at least that tlvey had studiously ^avoided every refinement in style, as unbecoming a lover of truth and wisdom. Their sen- timents are debased by the lowest expressions ; they seem condemned to the curse of creeping upon the ground all the days of their life. But there is another extreme, which ought also to be carefully avoided. Language may be too pompous, is well as too mean. Some authors mistake pomp for dignity; and with the view of raising their expressions above vulgar language, elevate them above common apprehension. They seem to consider it as a mark of their genius that it requires some ingenuity to dis- cover their meaning, but when their meaning is disco- vered, it seldom repays the labour of the search. CHAP. II. OF PURITY OF STYLE, gTYLE has been defined to be the peculiar manner in which a man expresses his conceptions through the medium of language. It differs from mere lan- guage or words. Though the words which an author employs be unexceptionable, yet his style may be chargeable with great faults ; it may be dry, stiff, feeble, affected. The style of an author is always intimately connected with his manner of thinking : it is O PURITY OF STYLE. is a picture of the ideas which arise in his mind, and of the manner in which they do arise. Hence the diffi- culty of drawing an exact line of separation between the style and the sentiment. All that can be required of language is to convey our ideas clearly to the mind of others, and, at the same time, to clothe them in an advantageous dress. The two general heads of perspicuity and ornament, therefore, comprehend all the qualities of a good style. Perspicuity demands our chief care ; for, without this quality, the richest ornaments of language only glim- mer through the dark ; and puzzle, instead of pleasing, the reader. An author's meaning ought always to he obvious, even to the most careless and inattentive reader ; so that it may strike his mind, as the light of the sun strikes our eyes, though they are not di- rected towards it. We must study, not only that every reader may understand us, but that it shall be impos- sible for him not to understand us. If we are obliged to follow a writer with much care, to pause, and to read over his sentences a second time, in order to com- prehend them fully, he will never please us long. Mankind are too indolent to relish so much labour. They may pretend to admire the author's depth, after they have discovered his meaning ; but they will sel- dom he inclined to bestow upon his work a second perusal. In treating of perspicuity of style, it will be proper, in the first place, to direct our attention to single words and phrases, and afterwards to the construction of sentences. Perspicuity, considered with respect to Words and phrases, PURITY OF STYLE. / phrases, require the qualities of purity, propriety, and precision. The two first of these are often confounded with each other ; and, indeed, they are very nearly allied. A distinction, however, obtains between them. Purity of style consists in the use of such words, and such constructions, as belong to the idiom of the lan- guage which we use ; in opposition to words and phrases which are imported from other languages, or that are obsolete, or new-coined, or used without pro- per authority. Propriety of style consists in the selec- tion of such words, as the best and most established usage has appropriated to those ideas which we em- ploy them to express. It implies the correct and happy application of them, according to that usage, in opposition to vulgarisms, or low expressions ; and to words and phrases that would be less significant of the ideas which we intend to convey. Style may be pure, that is, it may be strictly English,, without Sco- ticisms or Gallicisms, or ungrammatical and unwar- ranted expressions of any kind, and may nevertheless be deficient in propriety. The words may be unskil- fully chosen, not adapted to the subject, nor fully expressive of the author's sentiments. He may have taken his words and phrases from the general mass of the English language ; but his selection may happen to be injudicious. Purity may justly be denominated grammatical truth. It consists in the conformity of the expression to the sentiment which the writer intends to convey ; as mo- ral truth consists in the conformity of the sentiment intended to be conveyed, to the sentiment actually entertained ; and logical truth in the conformity of the H PURITY OP STYLE. the sentiment to the nature of things. The opposite to logical truth is error ; to moral truth a lie ; to gram- matical truth a solecism. The only standard by which the conformity implied in grammatical truth must be ascertained in every lan- guage, is the authorised, national, and present use of that language. Grammatical errors, foreign idioms, and obsolete or new-coined words, were mentioned as inconsistent with purity of style. It will not be improper to collect a few hints concerning each of these faults. I. GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. i It is not in consequence of any peculiar irregularity or difficulty inherent in the English language, that the general practice, both of speaking and writing it, is chargeable with inaccuracy. That inaccuracy pro- ceeds rather from its simplicity and facility ; circum- stances which are apt to persuade us that a gramma- tical study of our native tongue is altogether super- fluous.* Were the language less easy and simple, we should find ourselves under a necessity of studying it with greater care and attention. But we commonly take for granted, that we possess a competent know- • " Another will say, it wanteth grammar. Nay, truly, it hath that praise, that it wants not grammar ; for grammar it might have, but it needs it not, being so easy in itself, and so void of those cum- bersome difference of cases, genders, moods and tenses ; which, I think, was a piece of the tower of Babylon's curse, that a man .•hcn! put to school to learn his mother tongue.'' — Sidney's De- ftnce of Fcesy. ledge PURITY OP STYLE. 9 ledge of it, and are able on any occasion to apply our knowledge to practice. A faculty, solely acquired by use, conducted by habit, and tried by the ear, carries us on without the labour of reflection : we meet with no obstacles in our progress, or we do not perceive them ; we find ourselves able to proceed without rules, and we never suspect that they may be of any use. A grammatical study of our own language forms no part of the ordinary course of instruction ; and we seldom apply to it of our own accord. This, however, is a de- ficiency which no other advantages can supply. Much practice in the polite world, and a general acquaintance with the best authors, must undoubtedly be considered as excellent helps ; but even these will hardly be suf- ficient. A critical knowledge of ancient languages, and an intimate acquaintance with ancient authors, will be found still less adequate to the purpose. Dr. Bentley, the greatest critic and most able gramma- rian of the age in which he lived, was notoriously deficient in the knowledge of his native tongue. Grammatical errors are so plentifully scattered over the pages of our eminent writers, that it will be no dif- ficult task to select a sufficient number of instances. 1 . Grammatical Errors in the Use of Pronouns. We contributed a third more than the Dutch, who were obliged to the same proportion more than u*.— Swift's Conduct of the Allies. King Charles, and more than him, the duke, and the Popish fac- tion, were at liberty to form new schemes .~-Bcline;broke's Disserta- tion on Parties. Phalaris, who was so much older than hir t ~—Bentley's Disserta- tion on Phalaris. The 10 PURITY OF STYLE. The drift of all his .sermons was, to prepare the Jews for the re* ception of a prophet, mightier than him, and whose shoes he was not worthy to hear. — Atterbwy's Sermons. If the king gives ns leave, you or I may as lawfully preach, as them that do.— Hobbrs's History of Civil Wars. In all these examples, the nominative cases of the pronouns ought to have been used. This will more plainly appear from the following resolution of the first illustration : " We contributed a third more than the Dutch, who were obliged to the same proportion more than we were obliged to." The Goths, the Vandals, the Gepidae, the Burgundians, the Ale- manni wasted each other's strength, and whosoever vanquished, they vanquished the enemies of Rome. — Gibbon's Hist. lest your jnst decree Transfer the power and set the people free. — Prior. This mode of expression may perhaps be allowed in the comic and burlesque style, which often imitates a vulgar and incorrect pronunciation. But in the serious and solemn style, no authority is sufficient to justify 10 manifest a solecism. I heard 12 PURITV OF STYLE. I heard it first observed by an ingenious and learned old gentle* man lately deceased, that many of Mr. Hobbes his seeming new opinions are gathered from those which Sextus Empiricus exposed. — Dry dens Life of Plutarch. My paper is Ulysses his bow, in which every man 6f wit or learning may try his strength. — Addison, Guardian. This by the calumniators of Epicurus his philosophy was objected m one of the most scandalous of all their sayings.— Cowley's Essays. The pronoun his is here employed to denote the pos- sessive case of the noun which it accompanies. The writers have erroneously imagined that the 's which generally marks this case, is a contraction of the pos- sessive pronoun ; whereas it is only a contraction of the ancient Saxon genitive termination es. 2. Grammatical Errors in the Use of Verbs. And Rebekah took goodly raiment of her eldest son Esau, which xeert with her in the house, and put them upon Jacob her |youngest son. — Genesis. The number of the names together were about an hundred and twenty.— Acts of the Apostles. If the blood of bulls, and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ purge your conscience from dead works. — St, Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews. I have considered what have been said on both sides of the con- troversy — Tillotson's Sermons. One would think there teas more sophists than one had a finger in this volume of letters. — Bentley's Dissert, on Socrates's Epistles. There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. — Shakspeare. These instances require no elucidation, the reader will easily perceive where the error lies. Knowing that you was my old mastei's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death. — Addison, Spectator. I am just now as well a* when you was here—Pope's Letters. Desir* PURITY OF STYLE. 1# Desire this passionate lover to give you a character of his mis- tress, he will telt you that he is at a loss for words to describe her charms, and will ask you seriously, if ever you was acquainted with a goddess or an angel. — Hume's Essays. As the word you is confessedly plural, its correspondent verb, agreeably to the analogy of all languages, ought also to be plural, whether the discourse be addressed to a single person or to more than one. Many other writers of no small reputation have, however, used the ungrammatical expression you was. But if tire singu- lar were at all admissible after you, there would strrl be a violation of grammar in was, which is confined to the first and third persons ; the second being wast. Thou hangman, thou temple-robber, thou clod of earth, from what brothel did thou come up in patins, munTd up, with thy breath smelling of the stews. — Arbuthnot on the Scolding of the Ancients. Thou great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confiri'd To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind ; Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And, binding Nature fast in fate, * Left free the human will.— Pope. Nor thou, lord Arthur, shalt escape ; To thee I often called in vain, Against that assassin in crape ; Yet thou couldest tamely see me slain ; Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow, Or chid the dean, or pineh'd his spouse. — Swift. To correspond with the pronoun thou, all these verbi ought to have been in the second person singular ; in- stead of which, they are in the second person plural, as if they corresponded with the pronoun you. Writers generally have recourse to this mode of expression, that I4« PURITY OF STYLE. that they may avoid harsh terminations. — The distinct forms of thou and you are often used promiscuously. The confession is ingenuous, and I hope more from thee now, than I could if you had promised. — Arbuthnut's Notis and Memorandums, Thy own words have convinced me — (stand a little more out of tlie sun if you please) — that thou hast not the least idea of true honour. — Fielding's Dialogues between Alexander and Diogenes. Base ungrateful boy ! miserable as I am, yet I cannot cease to love thee. My love even uow speaks in my resentment. lam still your father, nor can your usage form my heart anew. — Gold- smith's Essays. Though the ministers of a tyrant's wrath, to thee they are faith ful, and but too willing to execute the orders which you unjustly imposed upon them. — fVulpole's Castle of Otranto. This is not contrary to the rules of English grammar ; but it is certainly inelegant and improper. Rut the temper, as well as knowledge, of a modern historian, require a more sober and accurate language. Gibbon's History of the Roman Empire. Magnus, with ftnir thousand of his supposed accomplices, were put to death. Ibid. Those whom the splendour of their rank, or the extent of their capacity, have placed upon the summit of human fife, have not often given any just occasion to envy in those who look up to them from a lower station. Johwon's Life of Sazage. He knows not what spleen, languor, or listlessness, are — Blair's Sermons. Neither death nor torture were sufficient to subdue the minds of Cargill, and his intrepid followers.— Fox's History f the earth were broke open or dove asunder.— Burnet's Theory of the Earth. I easily foresee, that, as soon a3 I lay down my pen, this nimble operator will have stole it. — Strife's Tale of a Tub. By this expedient, the public peace of libraries, might certainly have been preserved, if a new species of controversial books had 4iot arose of late years.— Swift's Battle of the Books. The steps which lead to perfection are many ; and we are at a Toss on whom to bestow the greatest share of our praise ; on the first or on the last who may have bore a part in the progress. — Fit" gu son's History of Civil Society. Ir> these examples, the past time active is used instead of the perfect participle. This confusion should upon every occasion be scrupulously avoided. The English language admits not of any great variety of termina- tion ; but of such as it does admit, we ought always to avail ourselves, it is certainly of advantage th:tt « tap T'UKITY OF STYLE. 17 the different modifications of verbs should be properly distinguished from each other. Before we conclude this branch of the subject, it will be proper to warn the reader against permitting a verb to succeed a participle in such an ungraceful manner as appears in the following passages. The author is informed, that the bookseller has prevailed on, several gentlemen to write some explanatory notes, for the good- ness of which he is not to answer ; having never seen any of them, nor intend* it, till they appear in priut. — Sivtft's Tale of a Tub. Nor is it then a welcome guest, affording only an nneasy sensa- tion, and brings always with it a mixture of concern and compas- sion. — Fi elding* s Essay on Conversation. 4 . Grammatical Errors in the Use of Adjectives. Adjectives which have a comparative or superlative signification, do not admit the addition of the words more, most, or of the comparative or superlative ter- minations er, est. The following passages, therefore, are liable to exception. The last are, indeed, more preferable, because Ihey are founded on some new knowledge or improvement in the mind of man. S.ddison, Spectator. The chiefest of which was known by the name of Archon among the Grecians. Dryden's Life of Plutarch. The two chiefest properties of air, its gravity and elastic force, have been discovered by mechanical experiments. — Arbut knot's Essay on Mathematical Learning. The chiefest and lavgest are removed to certain magazines they call libraries. — Sirift's Battle of (he Rooks. The extremist paits of the earth were meditating a submission. — Atteibury's Sermons. When only two objects are composed together, it is, improper to use the superlative degree. It is proper Bi to 18 PURITY OF STYLE. to say the more elegant of the two ; the most elegant of the three. This obvious rule has, however, been neglected by various writers of eminence. This was in reality the ea iest manner of the two. — Shaftesbury's Advice to an Author. The adjective antiquarian i3 not unfrequently used as a substantive ; but the more legitimate form is antiquary. Adjectives are sometimes improperly used as adverbs. I shall endeavour to live hereafter suitable to a man in ray station. — Addison, Spectator. Tie qiteru having changed her ministry suitable to hrr own vtedom. — Swift, Examiner. He behaved himself conformable to that blessed example — Sprat's S unvns. His expectations run high ; and the fund to snpply them is extreme scanty — Lancaster's Essay on Delicacy. I can never think so vcty mean of him. — Bentleifs Dissertation on Phalanx. The art of pronouncing with propriety and grace being calculated to make the sound an echo to the sense, scarce admits of any other general rule. — Karnes's EUnuvls OBSOLETE WORDS, On this subject, I shall take the liberty of quoting a passage from Dr. Armstrong, but without professing to adopt all the opinions which it contains. " It is the easiest thine imaginable to coin new words. The most ignorant of the mobility are apt to do it every day, and are laughed at for it. What best can justify the introducing a new word, is necessity, where there is not an established one to express your meaning. But, while all the world understands what is meant by the word pleasure, which sounds very well too, what occasion can there be for saying volupty ? " Nothing can deform a language so much as an In- undation of new words and phrases. It is, indeed, the readiest way to demolish it. If there is any need to illustrate the barbarous effects which a mixture of new words must produce, only consider how a discourse, patched all over with sentences in different languages, would sound ; or bow oddly it would strike you in a serious conversation to hear, from the same person, a mixture of all the various dialects and tones of the se- veral counties of the three kingdoms ; though it is still the same language. To make it sensible to the eye ; how greatly would a mixture of Roman, Italic, Greek, and Saxon characters deform a page. A picture imi- tating the style of different masters, which is commonly called PURITY OF STYLE. 23 called a Gallery of Painters, can never be pleasing for the same reasons,— want of union and harmony. " The present licentious humour of coining and bor- rowing words seems to portend no good to the English Janguage ; and it is grievous to think with what volupty two or Poetararorencouroac* eminent personages have opiniatred the indication of such futile barbarisms. " In short, the liberty of coining words ought to be used with great modesty. Horaee, they say, gave but two, and Virgil only one to the Latin tongue, which was squeamish enough not to swallow those, even from such hands, without some reluctance. M Instead of creating a parcel of awkward new words, I imagine it would be an improvement to degrade many of the old ones from their peerage. I am but a private man, and without authority : but an absolute prince, if he were of my opinion, would make it capital ever to say encroach or encroachment, or any thing that belongs to encroaching. 1 would commit inculcate, for all its Latin ity, to the care of the paviours ; and it should never appear above ground again. If you have the least sympathy with the human ear, never say purport while you breathe ; nor betwixt, except you have first repeated between till we are quite tired of it. Methinks strongly resembles the broken language of a German in his first attempts to speak English. Methought lies under the same objection, but it sounds better. " It is full time that froward should be turned out of all good company, especially as perverse is ready at hand to supply its place. Vouchsafe is a very civil * An American vord for the number three. B 3 gentleman ; 24* PROPRIETY OF STYLE. gentleman ; but as his courtesy is somewhat old-fa- shioned, we wish he would deign, or condescend, or be pleased, to retire. " From what rugged road, I wonder, did swerve deviate into the English language ? — But this subject matter ! — In the name of every thing that is disgusting and detestable, what is it ? Is it one or two ugly words ? What is it ? Confound me if ever I could guess ! Yet one dares hardly peep into a preface, for fear of being stareu in the face with this nasty subject matter."* CHAP. III. OF PROPRIETY OF STYLE. PROPRIETY of style stands opposed to vulgarisms or low expressions, and to words and phrases which would be less significant of the ideas we mean to convey. An author may be deficient in propriety, either by making choice of such words as do not ex- press the idea which he intends, but some other which .only resembles it ; or such as express that idea, but not fully and completely. He may also be deficient in this respect, by making choice of words or phrases, which habit has taught us to regard as mean and vulgar. All that I propose in relation to this subject is, to collect a considerable number of vulgar phrases, from the writings of different authors. * Armstrong's Essays. These PROPRIETY OF STYLE. 25 These and many other particulars might easily choke the faith of a philosopher, who believed no more than what he could deduce from the principles of nature. — Dryden's Life of Plutarch. The kings of Syria and Egypt, ***s kings of Pergamus and Ma- cedon, without intermission, worried each other for above two hun» dred years. — Burke's Vindication of Natural Society. Besides his having attained such a mastery in the Greek, Latin and French, languages, he is a very good philosopher, and, in ge- neral, possesses all the branches of erudition, except the mathe- matics.— Spence's Life of Blacklock. I need say no more concerning the drift of these etters. — AikiiCs Letters to his Son. Archbishop Tillotson is too often careless and languid ; and ts much outdone by Bishop Atterbury, in the music of his periods. — Blair's Rhetoric. Every year a new flower in his judgment beats all the old ones, thongh it is much inferior to them both in colour and shape. — Man- deville on the Nature of Society. I am wonderfully pleased when I meet with any passage in an old Greek or Latin author, that is not blttttnuptm, and which I have never met with in a quotation. — Addis j?-, Spectator. His name must/jo down to posterity with distinguished honour in the public records of the nation.— HurJb Lift of WarUurlon. We enter into their gratitude Cowards those faithful friends who did not desert them in their difficulties ; and we heartily go along with their resentment, against those perfidious traitors who injured, abandoned, or deceived, them. — Smith's Theory of Mural Senti- ments. Alarmed by the ungoverned, and, in him, unprecedented, emo- tions of Edgar, he had been to Beech Park.-— D'Aiblwfs Camilla. It was but of apiece, indeed, that a ceremony conducted in defi- ance of humanity, should be founded in contempt of justice. — 1\J el-moth's Letter of Fitzosborne. It so happened that a controversy was agitated with great vehe- mence between those friends of long continuance, Addison and Steele. — Johnson's Life of Addison. It is well if the reader, without rejecting by the lump, endeavour patiently to gather the plain meaning.— Karnes's E'tmcnis of Cnti- tism. Rabelais 20 PROPRIETY OP STYLE. . Rabelais had too much game giveu him for satire in that age by the customs of courts and of convents, of processes and of wars, of schools and of camps, of romances and legends. — Temple on Poetry, One would think there was fwere) more sophists than one had a finger in this volume of letters — Bentley on Socrutes's Epistles. I had as lief say a tiling after him as after another, — Lowth's Letter to Warburton. If all these were exemplary in the conduct of their lives, things would soon take a new face, and religion receive a mighty encou- ragement. — Sivifton the Advancement of Religion. Nor would he do it to maintain debate, or shew his wit, but plainly tell me what stuck with him. — Burnet's life of Rochester. . Content, therefore, 1 am, my lord, that Britain stands in this respect as she now does. Able enough she is at present to shift for herself. — Shaftesbury's Letter concerning Design. Much ado there has been, many words spent, many disputes have been raised upon this argument. — Temple on Poetry. What is it but a kind of rack that forces men to say what they have no mind to ?— -Cowley's Essays. Time hangs heavy on their hands ; they know not how to employ it, or what to make of themselves.— Logan's Sennons. This is one among the many reasons, which render biography the most agreeable kind of reading in the world. — Roberts, Looker-on. A perfect union of wit and judgment is one of the rarest things in the world.— Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. Whoever is in the least acquainted with Grecian history, must know that their legislator, by the severity of his institutions, formed the Spartans into a robust, hardy, valiant, nation, made for war. — Leland's History of Philip. He therefore made rhyming tragedies, till, by the prevalence of manifest propriety, he seems to have grown ashamed of making them any longer.— Johnson's Life of Dryden. From that time he resolved to make no more translations — Johnson's Life of Pope. It is my design to comprise in this short paper, the substance of those numerous dissertations the critics have made on the subject. — Pope's Discourse on Pastoral Poetry. A few PROPRIETY OF STYLE £7 A few reflections on the rise and progress of our distemper, and the rise and progress of our cure, will help us of course to make a true judgment. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties. This application of the verb make is awkward, as well as familiar. To make tragedies, to make translations, to make dissertations, to make judgments, are expres- sions which should never be admitted into a dignified composition. A vulgar expression, says Longinus, is sometimes much more significant than an elegant one.* This may readily be granted; but however significant it may be, no expression that has a tendency to create sensations of disgust, will, by a judicious writer, be thought worthy of admission. The following quotation will serve to show how the most beautiful descriptions of poetry may be deformed by the introduction of one low or vulgar expression 'Tis night, dread right, and weary Nature lies So fast as if siie never were to rise ; No breath of m ind now whispers thro' the trees, No noise at land, nor murmur in the seas ; Lean wolves forg "t lo howl at night's pale noon, No wakeful dogs bark at the silent moon, Nor bay the ghosts that glide with horror by To view the caverns where there bodies lie , The ravens perch, and no presages give, Nor to the windows of the dying cleave ; The owls forget to scream ; no midnight sound Culls drowsy Echo from the hollow ground : In vaults the walking fires extinguish'd lie ; The star--, heav'n's sentries, uink and seem to die.— Lee. * Longinns de Sublimitate, $ xxxi, CHAP. [ 28 ] CHAP. IV. OF PRECISION OF STYLE. 'T'HE third quality which enters into the composition of a perspicuous style, is precision. This implies the retrenching of all superfluity of expression. A precise style exhibits an exact copy of the writer's ideas. To write with precision, though this be properly a quality of style, he must possess a very considerable degree of distinctness in his manner of thinking. Unless his own conceptions be clear and accurate, lie cannot convey to the minds of otbers a clear and accurate knowledge of the subject which he treats. Looseness of style, which is properly opposed to precision, generally arises from using a superfluity of words. Feeble writers employ a multitude of words to make themselves understood, as they imagine, more distinctly : but, instead of accomplishing this purpose, they only bewilder their readers. They are sensible that they have not caught an expression calculated to convey their precise meaning 5 and therefore they endeavour to illustrate it by heaping together a mass of ill-consorted phrases. The image which they endea- vour to present to our minds, is always viewed double ; and no double image can be viewed distinctly. When an author tells me of his hero's courage in the day of battle, the expression is precise, and I understand it fully. But if, for the sake of multiplying words, he should afterwards extol his fortitude, my thoughts imme- diately PRECISION OP STYLE. 29 diately begin to waver between these two attributes. In thus endeavouring to express one quality more strongly, he introduces another. Courage resists danger; fortitude supports pain. The occasion of exerting each of these qualities is different : and being led to think of both together, when only one of them should be pre- sented to me, my view is rendered unsteady, and my conception of the great object indistinct. An author may be perpicuous, without being pre- cise. He uses proper words, and proper arrangements ; but as his own ideas are loose and general, lie cannot express them with any degree of precision. Few authors in the English language are more clear and perspicuous than Archbishop Tillotson and Sir William Temple ; yet neither of them can pretend to much precision. They are loose and diffuse : and very often do not select such expressions as, are adapted for conveying simply the idea they have in view : it is frequently associated with some kindred notion. All subjects do not require to be treated with the same degree of precision. It is requisite that in every species of writing, this quality should in some measure, be perceptible ; but we must at the same time be upon our guard, lest the study of precision, especially in treating subjects which do not absolutely require it, should betray us into a dry and barren style ; lest, from the desire of pruning more closely, we retrench all copiousness and ornament. A deficiency of this kind may be remarked in the serious compositions of Swift. To unite copiousness with precision, to be flowing and graceful, and at the same time correct and exact in the choice of every word, is one of the highest and most SO PRECISION OP STYLE. most difficult attainments in writing. Some species ot composition may require more df copiousness and ornament ; others more of precision and accuracy ; and even the same composition may, in different parts, require a difference of style. But these qualities must never be totally sacrificed to each other. " If (says Dr. Armstrong) 1 were to reduce my own private idea of the best language to a definition, 1 should call it the shortest, clearest, and easiest, way of expressing one's thoughts, by the most harmonious arrangement of the best chosen words, both for meaning and sound. The best language is str-ongand expressive, without stiffness or affectation ; short and concise, without being either obscure or ambiguous ; and easy and flowing, and disengaged, without one undetermin ed or superfluous word."* The want of precision is an unpardonable error in a writer who treats of philosophical subjects. On this account, the style of Lord Shaftesbury is highly excep- tionable. The noble author seems to have been well acquainted with the power of words : those which he employs are generally proper and sonorous ; and his arrangement is often judicious. His defect in precision is not so much imputableto indistinctness of conception, as to perpetual affectation. He is fond to excess of the pomp and parade of language ; he is never satisfied with expressing any thing clearly and simply ; he must always give it the dress of state and majesty. Afraid of delivering his thoughts arrayed in a mean and ordinary garb, and allured by an appearance of splen- Armstrong's Essays. dour, PRECISION OF STYLE. 31 dour, he heaps together a crowd of superfluous words, and inundates every idea which he means to express with a torrent of copious loquacity. Hence perpetual circumlocutions, and many words and phrases employed to describe what would have much better been described by one alone. If he. has occasion to introduce any author, he very rarely mentions him by his proper name. In the treatise entitled Advice to an Author, he employs two or three successive pages in descanting upon Aristotle, without naming him in any other man- ner than as "the master critic," " the prince of critics," " the consummate philologist," " the grand master of art," the mighty genius and judge of art." In the same manner, " the grand poetic sire," " the philoso- phical patriarch," and " his disciple of noble binh and lofty genius," are the only names by which he conde- scends to designate Homer, Socrates, and Plato. This method of distinguishing persons is extremely affected, but it is not so contrary to "precision, as the frequent circumlocutions which he employs to express the pow- ers and affections of the mind. In one passage, he denominates the moral faculty, u that natural affection and anticipating fancy, which marks the sense of right and wrong." When he has occasion to mention self- examination, or reflection on our own conduct, he speaks of it as " the act of a man's dividing himself into two parties, becoming a self-dialogist, entering into partnership with himself, and forming the dual number practically within himself." In the following paragraph he wishes to show, that by every vicious action, we injure the mind as much as 32 PRECISION OF STYLE. as a man would injure his body by swallowing poison, or inflicting on himself a wound. Now, if the fabric of the mind or temper appeared to us such as it really is j if we saw it impossible to remove hence any one good or orderly affection, or to introduce an ill or disorderly one, without drawing ou, in some degree, that dissolute state which, at its height, is confessed to be so miserable ; it would then, [undoubtedly, be confessed, that since no ill, immoral, or unjust action, can be com- mitted, without either anew inroad and breach on the temper and passions, or a further advancing of that execution already done ; whoever did ill, or acted in prejudice of his integrity, goodnature, or worth, would, of necessity, act with greater cruelty t »wan s himself, than he who scrupled not to swallow what was poisonous, or who, with his own hands, should voluntarily mangle or wound his outward form or constitution, natural limbs or body.-— Sfiaftes~ bury's Enquiry concerning Virtue. Such superfluity of words is disgusting to every reader of a correct taste ; and produces no other effect than that of embarrassing and perplexing the sense. To commit a bad action, is first, " to remove a good and orderly affection, and to introduce an ill or disor- derly one •" next it is, " to commit an action that is ill, immoral, or unjust ; and then " to do ill, or to act in prejudice of integrity, good-nature, or worth." Nay, so very simple a thing as a man's wounding him- self, is, " to mangle or wound his outward form or constitution, natural limbs or body/' CHAP. [ 33 ] CHAP. V. OF SYNONYMOUS WORDS. MANY words are accounted synonymous which are not so in reality ; and indeed it may reason- ably be disputed whether two words can be found in any language, which express precisely the same idea. However closely they may approximate to each other in signification, still can the discriminating eye of the critic discover a line of separation between them. They agree in expressing one principal idea ; but always express it with some diversity in the circum- stances. They are varied by some accessory idea which severally accompanies each of the words, and whieh forms the distinction between them. As they are like different shades of the same colour, an accurate writer can employ them to great advantage, by using them so as to heighten and to finish the picture which he gives us. He supplies by the one what was wanting in the other, to the force, or to the ]ustre of the image which he means to exhibit. But, with a view to this end, he must be extremely attentive to the choice which he makes of them. For the gene- rality of writers are apt to confound them with each other ; and to employ them with promiscuous care- lessness, merely for the sake of filling up a period, or of diversifying the language. By using them as if their signification were precisely the same, they unwarily involve their ideas in a kind of mist. Many 34 SYNONYMOUS WORDS. Many instances might be given of a difference in meaning between words reputed synonymous. The few which I shall select from Dr.Blairand Mrs. Piozai,* may themselves be of some use ; and they will besides serve to show the necessity of attending, with the utmost care, to the exact significations of words, if ever we would write with propriety or precision. To abandon, forsake, relinquish, give up, desert, leave, quit. — A man forsakes his mistress, abandons all hope of regaining her lost esteem, relinquishes his pretensions in favour of another ; gives up a place of trust which he held under government, deserts his party, leaves his parents in affliction, and quits the kingdom for ever. To abhor, detest. — To abhor imports, simply, strong dislike ; to detest imports also strong disapprobation. A man abhors being in debt ; he detests treachery. Active, assiduous, sedulous, diligent, industrious — The king is happy who is served by an active minister ever industrious to promote his country's welfare, nor less diligent to obtain intelligence of what is passing at other courts, than assiduous to relieve the cares of his royal master, and sedulous to study the surest methods of extending the commerce of the empire abroad, while he lessens all burdens upon the subjects at home. 7b avow, acknowledge, confess. — Each of these words signifies the affirmation of a fact, but in very different circumstances. To avow, supposes the person to glory in it ; to acknowledge, supposes a small degree or * Blair's Lectures on Rhetoric and Relies Lettres. Piozzi's British Synonymy. This lady's design is commendable : but her work is foil of error?. delinquency, SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 35 delinquency/which the acknowledgment compensates ; to confess, supposes a higher degree of criminality. A patriot avows his opposition to a corrupt ministry, and is applauded ; a gentleman acknowledges his mis- take, and is forgiven ; a prisoner confesses the crime of which he stands accused, and is punished. Austerity, severity, rigour. — Austerity relates to the manner of living ; severity of thinking ; rigour of punishing. To austerity is opposed effeminacy ; to seventy relaxation ; to rigour clemency. A hermit is austere in his life ; a casuist severe in his application of religion or law ; a judge rigorous in his sentences. Authentic, genuine. — No two words are more fre- quently confounded ; though their signification is suf- ficiently clear and distinct. Authentic refers to the character of a document ; genuine, to the connexion between any production and its reputed author. We speak with correctness of the authenticity of Buchan- nan's History, and of the genuineness of the Poems ascribed to Ossian. But the authenticity of Ossian's poems, properly denotes the authority of those poems in a historical point of view. Capacity, ability. — Capacity relates to the mind's susceptibility of receiving impressions ; ability to its power of making active exertions. The Earl of Cla rendon, being a man of extensive capacity, stored his mind with a variety of ideas ; which circumstance con- tributed to the successful exertion of his vigorous abilities. Custom, habit. — Custom respects the action : habit the actor. By custom, we mean the frequent repetition of the same act; by habit, the effect which that repe- tition 36 SYNONYMOUS WORDS. tition produces on the mind or body. By the custom of walking often in the streets, one acquires a habit of idleness. A difficulty, an obstacle. — A difficulty embarrasses, an obstacle stops us. The first generally expresses something arising from the nature and circumstances of the affair \ the second, something arising from a foreign cause. Philip found difficulty in managing the Athe- nians, on account of their natural dispositions ; but the eloquence of Demosthenes was the great obstacle to his designs. To distinguish, separate. — We distinguish what we do not wish to confound with another thing ; we sepa- rate what we wish to remove from it. Objects are distinguished from each other by their qualities. They are separated by the distance of time or place. Entire, complete. — A thing is entire by wanting none of its parts ; complete by wanting none of its appen- dages. A man maybe master of an entire house; which has not one complete apartment. Equivocal, ambiguous. — An equivocal expression has one sense open, and designed to be understood; another sense concealed, and understood only by the person who uses it. An ambiguous expression has apparently two senses, and leaves us at a loss which of them to apply to it. An equivocal expression is used with an intention to deceive ; an ambiguous one, when pur* posely adopted, with an intention to give full infor- mation. An honest man will never employ an equi- vocal expression : a confused man may often utter'am- biguous terms without any design. Haughtiness, disdai?i. — Haughtiness is founded on the SYNONYMOUS WORDS. ST the high opinion we entertain of ourselves ; disdain, on the mean opinion we entertain of others. To invent, to discover. — To invent, signifies to pro- duce something totally new j to disco?er, signifies to find out something which was before hidden. Galileo invented the telescope ; Harvey discovered the circu- lation of the blood. Only, alone. — Only imports that there is no other object of the same kind ; alone imports being unac- companied by any other object. An only child is one that has neither brother nor sister ; a child alone, is one that is left by itself. There is a difference, therefore, in precise language, between these two phrases " Virtue only makes us happy ;" and " Virtue alone makes us happy." Virtue only makes us happy, implies that nothing else can do it. Virtue alone makes us happy, implies that virtue, unaccompanied with other advan- tages, makes us happy. In the following sentence, Mr. Gibbons has employed the two words as if they were perfectly synonymous : " Of the nineteen tyrants, Tetricus only was a senator ; Piso alone was a noble." Pride, vanity. — Pride makes us esteem ourselves ; vanity makes us desire the esteem of others. A man may be too proud to be vain. " Pride" says the learned and eloquent Dr. Brown, " is often confounded with vanity, from which it differs, both in its essence and its effects. The vain, as well as the proud man, is enamoured of his own qualities and circumstances, and deems them superior to those of others. But, as the constant object of the former is applause, he is continually displaying his talents, his virtues, or his dignity, in order to obtain it. Sensible of his depen- dance 38 SYNONYMOUS WORDS. dance on mankind, for that commendation at which he is always aiming, he endeavours to insure their admi- ration, although he excite, at the same time, their contempt. The proud man, on the contrary, disdains even commendation as a favour, but claims it as a debt, and demands respect as an homage to which he is entitled. Reverence is not a prize which he must win, but a property which it is injustice to withhold from him. The vain are objects of ridicule, but not of detestation. The proud are both contemptible and odious/'* To remark, observe. — We remark, in the way of attention, in order to remember ; we observe, in the way of examination, in order to judge. A traveller remarks the most striking objects he sees; a general observes all the motions of his enemy. Surprised, astonished, amazed, confounded. — I am surprised at what is new or unexpected ; T am asto- nished at what is vast or great ; i am amazed at what is incomprehensible; I am confounded by what is shocking or terrible. Tranquillity, peace, calm.— Tranquillity respects a situation free from trouble, considered in itself; peaee, the same situation with respect to any causes that might interrupt it ; calm, with respect to a disturbed • Sermons by William LaureiTce Brown, D. D. Piiueipal of Marischal College, Aberdeen. Edinb. 1803, 8vo. — In the essen- tial qualities of originalty and energy, these sermons art: greatly superior to Dr. Blair's. The fourth of them, " On the Nature, the Causes, and the Effects, of Indifference with regard to Religion,' I con-ider aj the best discourse which I have ever read. situation SYNONYMOUS WORTS. #3 situation going before, or succeeding it. A good man enjoys tranquillity in himself; peace with others ; and calm after the storm. fVisdom, prudence,— Wisdom leads us to speak and act with propriety. v Prudence prevents our speaking or acting improperly. A wise man employs the most proper means for success \ a prudent man the safest means to avoid being brought into danger. Wiihy by. — Both these particles express the con- nexion between some instrument, or means of effecting an end, and the agent who employs that instrument or those means : with expresses a more close and imme- diate connexion ; by a more remote one. The proper distinction in the use of these particles is elegantly marked in a passage of Dr. Robertson's History of Scotland. When one of the old Scottish kings was making an inquiry into the tenure by which his nobles held their lands, they started up, and drew their swords : 6I By these/* said they, M we acquired our lands, and with these we will defend them/' The fol- lowing instances will further exemplify the distinction. '* lie was killed by a stone which fell from the steeple." — " He was killed with a stone by Peter" C CHAP. r 40 ] CHAP. VI. OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES ()F a sentence or period, various definitions have been given. According to Aristotle, it is " a quantity of sound which bears a certain signification acco ding to its combination, and of which some de- tached part is also significant. ,, * Against this defini- tion some objections might perhaps be urged : it is, however, sufficient for our present purpose. A entence always implies some one complete pro- position, or enunciation of thought : but every sen- tence does not confine itself to a single proposition. A sentence consists of component parts, which are called its members ; and as these members may be either few or many, and may be connected in several different ways, the same thought, or mental proposition, may often be either compressed into one sentence, or distributed into two or three, without the material breach of any rule. Upon surveying the annals of past ages, it seems that the greatest geniuses have been subject to this historical darkness ; as is evident in tlrose great lights of antiquity, Homer and Euclid, whose Writing* indeed eniich mankind with perpetual stores Or knowledge and delight ; but whose lives are for the most part concealed in impc- netrabl oblivion. — Taylor's Life of Orpheus. The same meaning may thus be expressed in three sen- rr,pavTix6* luri kr^utftf/tivw*. — Ari*t»t. de Interpretation*, *<. iv. tences : STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 41 tences : i( Upon surveying the annals of past ages, it seems that the greatest geniuses have been subject to this historical darkness. This is evidently the case with regard to those great lights of antiquity, Homer and Euclid. The writings of these illustrious authors enrich mankind with perpetual stores of knowledge and delight ; but their lives are for the most part con- cealed in impenetrable oblivion." With regard to the precise length of sentences, no positive rule can be laid down : in this the writer must always be regulated by his own taste. A short period is lively and familiar : a long period, requiring more attention, makes an impression grave and solemn. There may be an extreme on either side.* By means of too many short sentences, the sense is divided and broken, the connexion of thought weakened, and the „ memory * A scries of short penods produces a very disagreeable effect in poetry.. The subsequent quotations will justify this assertion. So saying they approach'd The pate. The centinel, soon as he heard Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance Challenged the daikliug travellers. At their voice, He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs They pass. At midnight of their extreme state Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them Conrade. Assembled warriors ! &c. Southey. Nor in the field of war The Greeks excel by discipline alone, But from their manners. Grant thy ear O king, The diffrence learn of Grecian bands, and thine, The flow' r, the bulwark of thy pow'rful host C2 Are 42 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. memory burdened, by being presented with a long succession of minute objects. And, on the other hand, by the too frequent use of long periods, an author ^n-erloads the reader's ear and fatigues his attention. In general, a writer ought to study a due mixture of long and short periods, which prevents an irksome uniformity, and entertains the mind with a variety of impressions. Long sentences cannot be properly intro- duced till the reader's attention is completely engaged. They ought never to be placed at the beginning of discourses of any description. The French critics make a proper distribution of "tyle into the two general classes of pe'riodique and coupe. In the style periodique, the sentences are com- posed of several members linked together, and depend- ing upon each other, so that the sense is not complete- ly unfolded till the close. Something of a doubtful mist still hangs over these Highland traditions; nor can it be entirely dispelled by the most ingenious researches of modern criticism : but if we could with safety indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal lived, and that Ossian sung, the strikina contrast of the situation and manners of the contending nations might amuse a philosophic mind. The parallel would be little to the advantage of the more civilized people, if we compared the unrelenting revenge of Severus with the generous clemency of Fingal ; the timid and brutal cruelty of Caracalla, with the bravery, the tendei nes3, the elegant genius of Ossian ; the mercenary chiefs who, Aie mercenaries. These are canton'd round Thy provinces. No fertile field demands Their painful hand to turn the fallow glebe. Them to the noon-day toil, no harvest call*. The stubborn oak along the mountain's brow Sinks not beneath tii<»ir s»rok<% With careful eye* They mark not bow the flock* or heifers feed. Gfover. STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 43 who, from motives of fear or interest, served under the imperial standard, with the free bom warriors who started to arms at the voice of the king of Morven ; if, in a word, we contemplated the untutored Caledonians, glowing with the warm virtues of nature* and the degenerate Romans, polluted with the mean vices of wealth and slavery.— Gibbon's History of the Roman Empire. It is well known that constitutions framed for the preservation of liberty, must consist of many parts ; and that senates, popular assemblies, courts of justice, magistrates of different orders, must combine to balance each other, while they exercise, sustain, or check, the executive power. If any part is struck out, the fabric must totter or fall ; if any member is remiss, the others must encroach. In assemblies constituted by men of different talents, habits, and apprehensions, it were something more than human that could make them agree in every point of importance ; having different opinions and views, it were want of integrity to abstain from dis- putes ; our very praise of unanimity, therefore, is to be considered as a danger to liberty. We wish for it at the hazard of taking in its place the remissness of men grown indifferent to the public ; the venality of those who have sold the rights of their country . or the servility of others, who give implicit obedience to a leader^ by whom their minds are subdued. The love of the public, and respect to its laws, are the points on which mankind are bound to agree • but if, in matters of controversy, the sense of any indivi dual or party is invariably pursued, the cause of freedom is al- ready betrayed.— Ferguson's History ef Civil Society. This is the more pompous, musical, and oratorical mode of composition. In the style coupe*, the sense is expressed in short independent propositions, each complete within itself. The women, in their turn, learned to be more vain, more gay # and more alluring. They grew studious to please and to conquer. They lost somewhat of the intrepidity and fierceness which before were characteristic of them. They were to affect a delicacy, and a weakness. Their education was to be an object of greater attention and care. A finer sense of beauty was to arise. They were 44, STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. were to abandon all employments which hurt the shape and deform the body. They were to exert a fancy in dress and ornament. They were to be more secluded from observation. A greater play was to be given to sentiment and anticipation. Greater reserve was to accompany the commerce of the sexes. Modesty was to take the alarm sooner. Gallantry, in all its fashions, and in all its charms, was to unfold itself. — Stuart's View of Society. But how can these considerations consist with pride and inso- lence, which are repugnant to every social and virtuous sentiment? Do yon, proud man ! look back with complacency on the illustrious merits of your ancestors ! Shew yourself worthy of them by imi- tating their virtues, and disgrace not the name you bear by a con- duct unbecoming a man. Were your progenitors such as yon are fond to represent them, be assured that, if they rose from the grave, they would be ashamed of you. If they resembled yourself, you have no reason to boast of them, and wisdom will dictate to yen to cultivate those manners which alone can dignify your family. Nothing can be conceived more inconsistent than to exult in illus* trious ancestry, and to do what must disgrace it, than to mention with ostentation the distinguished merits of progenitors, and to exhibit a melancholy contrast to them in character. Will you maintain that, because your forefathers were good and brave nun, you are authorized to abandon the pursuit of all that is decent and respectable ? For, to this sentiment, the pride of family, whenever it forms a characteristical feature, never fails to lead the mind. In a word, considered in rts specific nature, and carried to its ut- most extent, it lays down this maxim, " That ancestry gives a right to dishonour and degrade itself.'' After all, what is hi>.h birth? Does it bestow a nature different from that of the rest of mankind ? Has not the man of ancient line human blood in his veins ? Does he not experience hunger and thirst ? Is he not subject to disease, to accidents, and to death ; and must not his body moulder in the grave, as well as that of the beggar ? Can he or any of his race, " redeem his brother by any means, or give God a ransom for him ?" Go back only a few gene- rations, of which the number is much smaller than you imagine it to be, and you arrive at Adam, the progenitor of us all. — Broun $ Sermons. This mode of writing generally suits gay and easy subjects. STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. 45 subjects. It is more lively and striking than the style periodique. According to the nature of the composition, and the general character which it ought to bear, the one or the other of these may be predominant. But in every species of composition, they ought to be blended with each other. By a proper mixture of short and long periods, the ear is gratified, and a cer- tain sprightliness is joined with majesty : but when a sort of regular compass of phrases is employed, the reader soon becomes fatigued with the monotony. A train of sentences, constructed in the same manner, and with the same number of members, whether long or short, should never be allowed to follow each other in close uninterrupted succession. Nothing is so tire- some as perpetual uniformity. In the construction and distribution of his sentences, Lord Shaftesbury has shewn great art. It has already been hinted that he is often guilty of sacrificing pre- cision of style to pomp of expression ; and that his whole manner is strongly marked with a stiffness and affectation which render him very unfit to be considered as a general model. But, as his ear was fine, and as he was extremely attentive to every species of elegance, he was more studious and successful than any other English author in producing a proper intermixture of long and short sentences, with variety and harmony in their structure. Having offered these observations with regard to sentences in general, I shall now enter upon a parti- cular consideration of the most essential properties of a perfect sentence. These seem to be clearness and precision, unity, strength, and harmony, CHAP. [ 46 ] CHAP. VII. OF CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. JN the arrangement of a period, as well as in the choice of words, the chief object which ought to be kept in view is perspicuity. This should never be sacrificed to any other beauty. The least degree of ambiguity ought to be avoided with the greatest care ; it is a fault almost sufficient to counterbalance every beauty which an author may happen to possess. Am- biguity arises from two causes ; from an improper choice of words, or an improper collocation of them.* The first of these causes has already been fully considered. In the collocation of words, the first thing to be studied is a rigid conformity to the rules of grammar, as far as these can guide us. But as the system of English grammar is not altogether complete, an ambi- guous arrangement of words may frequently be ob- served where we cannot discover a transgression of any grammatical rule. The relation which the words or members of a period bear to each other, cannot be pointed out in English, as in Greek and Latin, by means of their terminations : it must be ascertained by the position in which they stand. Hence an important * The reader will find this subject treated by Condillac, Traii4 de VArt d'Ecrire, liv. i. ckup. xi, rule ON CLEARNESS AND PRECISION. 47 rule in the structure of a sentence is, that the words or members most intimately connected, should be pla- ced as near to each other as is consistent with elegance and harmony, so that their mutual relation may be plainly perceived. I. Ambiguities *are frequently occasioned by the im- proper use of the adverb. This part of speech, as its name implies, is generally placed close or near to the word which it modifies or affects ; and its propriety and force depend on its position. By neglecting to advert to this circumstance, writers frequently convey a different meaning from what they intend. Sixtus the Fourth was, if I mistake not, a great collector of books at least — Bolingbroke on the Study of History. At least, should not he connected with books, but with collector. The Romans understood liberty, ut least, as well as we.— Swift on the Adv. of Religion. These words are susceptible of two different interpre- tations, according as the emphasis, in reading them, is laid upon liberty or at least. In the former case they will signify, that whatever other things we may under- stand better than the Romans, liberty, at least, was one thing which they understood as well as we. In the latter they will import, that liberty was understood, at least, as well by them as by us. If this last was the author's meaning, the ambiguity would have been avoided, and the sense rendered independent of the manner of pronouncing, by arranging the words thus : " The Romans understood liberty, as well, at least, as we." C 3 By 48 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN By greatness, I do not only mean the bulk of any single object, but the largeness of a whole view. — Addison, Spectator. Here the position of the adverb only, renders k a limi- tation of the word mean ; as if the author intended to say that he did something besides meaning. The am- biguity may be removed by the following arrangement; " By greatness, I do not mean the bulk of any single object only, but the ! argeness of a whole view. In common conversation, the tone and emphasis which we use in pronouncing such words as only, wholly, at least, generally serve to shew their reference, and to render the meaning clear and obvious : and hence we acquire a habit of throwing them in loosely in the course of a period. But, in written discourses, which address the eye, and not the ear, greater accu- racy is requisite. These adverbs should be so con- nected with the words which they are meant to qua- lify, as to prevent all appearance of ambiguity. II. Words expressing things connected in the thought, should be placed as near together as possible. This rule is derived immediately from the principles of human nature; in which we may discover a remarkable propensity to place together objects that are in any matter connected. When objects are arranged ac- cording to their connexions, we have a sense of order : when they are placed fortuitously, we have a sense of disorder. The connective parts of sentences are the most im- portant of all, and require the greatest care and atten- tion ; for it is by these chiefly, that the train of thought, the course of reasoning, and the whole progress of the mi ndj THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 49 mind, in continued discourse of all kinds, is laid open ; and on the right use of these depend persr icuity, trie greatest beauty of style. The bad effect of a violent separation of words or members which are intimately connected, will appear from the following examples. The English are naturally fanciful, and very often disposed, by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our. nation, to many wild notions and visions, to which others are not so liable. — Addison, Spectator. Here the verb disposed is, by a long clause, violently separated from the subject to which it refers. This harsh construction is the less excusable, as the fault is easily prevented by the following arrangement : " The English are naturally fanciful, and by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, are often disposed to many wild notions, to which others are not liable." No mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things knows to what use his works may, some time or other, be applied. — Spectator. It cannot be impertinent or ridiculous, therefore, in such a coun- try, whatever it might be in the abbot of St. Real's, which was Savoy I think ; or in Peru, under the Inras, where Oarcilasso de la Vega says is was lawful for none but the nobility to stody ; for men of all degrees to instruct themselves in those affairs wherein they may be actors, or judges of those that act, or controllers of thoae that judge.— Bolingbruke on the Study of History. If Scipio, who was naturally given to womeu,for which anecdote we have, if I mistake not, the authority of Polybius, as well a* some verses of Navius, preserved by Aulas Gelliiu, had been educated by Olympias at the court of Philip, it is improbable that he would have restored the beautiful Spaniard,— Ibid. May 50 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN M y we not conjecture, for it i* but conjecture, something mor*. -~Boilngbrokt'» Dissert, on Parties. The works of Lord Bolingbroke abound with improper arrangements of this kind. The foregoing rule is very frequently transgressed in the disposition of pronouns. The relative who or which, when introduced in order to avoid the repetition Of the name of some person or thing, ought always to toe placed as near as possible to the name of that per- son or thing. Where it is out of its proper place, we constantly find something awkward or disjointed in the structure of the sentence. • This kind of wit wu yery mucb in vogue among our countrymen, about an age or two ago, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, but purely for tbe sake of being witty .—Addison, Spectator. In this sentence the meaning is sufficiently obvious ; but the construction would be evidently improved by disposing of the circumstance, " about an age or two ago," in such a manner as not to separate the relative who from its antecedent countrymen. * About an age or two ago, this kind of wit was very much in vogue among our countrymen, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, but purely for the sake of being witty/' It is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against the accidents of life, by b eaping np treasures, which nothing can protect us against, but tbe good providence of our heavenly father. Sherlock's Sermons. T is construction implies, that it is treasures, and not the accidents of life, from which no mortal can protect himself by his own exertions. The sentence ought to have stood thus : " It is felly to pretend, by heaping up THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 51 up treasures, to arm ourselves against tl>e accidents ot life, against which nothing can protect us, but the good providence of our heavenly father." Thus I have fairly given you, Sir, my own opinion, as well as that of a great majority of both houses here, relating to this weighty affair ; upon which I am confident you may securely reckon.— Swift on the Sacramental Test, Here the author seems to advise his correspondent to reckon upon this weighty affair ; though he certainly meant that it was the great majority upon which he might reckon. The obscurity will be removed by ar- ranging the sentence thus : " Thus, Sir, I have given you my own opinion relating to this weighty affair, as well as that of a great majority of both houses here; upon which I am confident you may securely reckon." I allude to the article Blind in the Encyclopedia Brita mica, published at Edinburgh in the year 1783, which was written by nim. — Mackenzie's Life t>f Blacklock. This arrangement leaves us to suppose that Dr. Black- lock was the sole author of a book to which he only contributed an essay on blindness. His biographer's meaning might have been expressed thus : " I allude to the article Blind, which was written by him, and published at Edinburgh in the year 1783, in the Ency- clopaedia Britannica." We no where meet with a more glorious and pleasing shew in nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light, that shew themselves in clouds of a different situation. — Addison, Spectator. Which is here designed to connect with the word sheiv as its antecedent ; but it is removed to such a distance, that without a careful attention to the sense, wc should be 52 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN be led, by the rules of syntax, to reter it to the rising and setting of the sun, or to the sun itself. Hence an indistinctness is thrown over the whole sentence. From a habit of saving time and paper, which they acquired at the university, they write in so diminutive a mauner, with such fiequent blots and interlineations, that they are hardly able to go on without perpetual hesitations, or extemporary expletives. — Swift's Letter ton Young Gentleman. The author certainly does not mean that the clergy- men of whom he speaks, had acquired time and paper at the university, but that they had there acquired a habit of saving time and paper. The sentence ought to have run thus : " From a habit which they have ac- quired at the university of saving time and paper, they write in so diminutive a manner, with such frequent blots," &c. III. Another great souree of ambiguity is the too frequent repetition of pronouns, when we have occa- sion to refer to different persons. The subsequent ex- amples will serve to illustrate this observation. They were summoned occasionally by their kings, when compel- led by their wants and by their fears to have recourse to their aid. — Robertson's View of Society. Men look with an evil eye upon the good that is in others ; and think that their reputation obscures them, and that their commeo- dable qualities do stand ia their light : and therefore they do what they can to cast a cloud over them, that the bright shining of their virtues mar not obscure them.—Tillotson's Sermons. The Earl of Falmouth aud Mr. Coventry were rivals, who should have most influence with the duke, who loved the earl best, but thought the other the wiser man, who supported Fen, who disobliged all the courtiers, even against the earl, who contemned Peu as a fellow of no sense.— Clarendon's Continuation. All which with the king's and queen's so ample promises to hitn (tliC treasurer) so few hours betotf the conferring the place on ano- ~~ ther, THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 53 ther, and the Duke of York's manner of receiving /u*m(tlie treasurer) after he(lhe chancellor) had been shut up with him (the duke) as ke (the treasurer) was informed, might very well excuse him (the trea- surer) from thinking he (the chancellor) had some share in the affront he (the tieasurcr) had undergone.— Ibid. Of these sentences, the first three are not involved in much obscurity, though they are certainly disagree- able and inelegant j but the last cannot possibly be un- derstood without a careful recollection of the contents of several pages preceding. IV. A circumstance ought never to be placed be- tween two capital members of a period : for by such an arrangement, we are left doubtful to which of the two the circumstance refers. But when it is interject- ed between parts of the member to which it properly belongs, the ambiguity is removed, and those members are kept distinct from each other. Let the virtue of a definition be what it will, in the order oflkiagt it seems rather to follow than to precede our enquiry, of which it oug;t to be considered as the result. — Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. This arrangement leaves us dubious, whether the clause, " in the order of things," refers to what is gone before, or to what follows. The ambiguity may be thus removed : " Let the virtue of a definition be what it will, it seems, in the order of things, rather to follow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to be con- sidered as the result." The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass and himself in a manner shutout of his owu house, uuon the ueatn of his mother t ordcied all the apartments to he flung open, and exorcised by his chaplain. — Addison, Spectator. This may either imply, that upon the death of his mo* ther, 54 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN ther, the knight was shut out of his own house, or that upon the death of his mother, he ordered all his apart- ments to be exorcised. As the latter was the author's meaning, the sentence ought to have stood thus • Seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, the knight, upon the death of his mother, ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exorcised by hjs c'i; p'ain." Though our brother is upou the rack, as long as we yursehes are at 3 On fa done delivree sin Ic champ, ct de la fosse et de toutes se» apprehensions. — Hamilton, Quartre Fucardins. After much patience, and many a wistful look, I^?nnant started up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a moment, and so was the officer, who ran to his sword.— tValpoliuna. He is surely much happier in this noble condescension, and must acquire a more perfect knowledge of mankind, than if he kept him- self aloof from his subjects, continually wrapt up in his own im- portance and imperial fur.— Moore's View of Society in France. She even believed that the journey would prove a remedy for her asthmatic complaints ; her desire of a matrimonial establishment was full as efficacious as the vinegar of Hannibal, and the Alps melted before it. — Hayley's Essay on Old Maids. Mr. Dennel and Mrs. Albrey, who neither of them, at any time, took the smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the whole weight both of her person and her complaints to Camilla.— D'Arblay's Camilla. II. Parentheses ought never to be introduced in the middle of sentences : and indeed, the unity and the beauty of a period can never be complete where they are introduced in any situation. At present they are not so frequently used as they were formerly; and it is to be hoped that the time will arrive when they shall be entirely excluded. They are at best, nothing more than a perplexed and awkward method of disposing of some thought which the writer wants art to introduce in its proper place. In poetical composition, perhaps- they may occasionally be admitted with happy effect . but if they are long or frequent, they will be found still more disagreeable than in prose. The pages of Churchill, who displays a strong but rude vein of poetry, are entangled with innumerable parentheses. It seems to me, that in order to maintain the moral system of the world at a certain point far below that oi" ideal pfcrtVcticn, (for we D are 64 UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE are made capable of conceiving what we are incapable of attain? inn) but, however, sufficient upon the whole to constitute a state easy and happy, or at the worst tolerable : I say, it seems to me, that the author of nature has thought fit to mingle from time to time, among the societies of men, a few, and but a few, of those on whom he is graciously pleased to bestow a large proportion of the ethereal spi" rit than is given in the ordinary course of his providence to the sons of men. — Bolingbroke's Spirit of Patriotism. Into this sentence, by means of a parenthesis, and other interjected circumstances, the author has contrived to thrust so many particulars, that he is obliged to have recourse to the sorry phrase, I say, the occurrence of which may always be regarded as an infallible mark of a clumsy and unskilful construction. Such a phrase may be excusable in conversation ; but in polished writings, it is altogether unpardonable. The most astonishing instance of this respect, so frequently paid to Nothing, is when it is paid (if I may so express myself J to some- thing less than nothing ; when the person who receives it is not only void of the qualities for which he is respected, but is in reality noto- riously guilty of vices directly opposite to the virtues, whose ap- plause he receives. This is, indeed, the highest degree of Nothing, or, (if I may be allowed the word) the Nothingest of all Nothing*, — Fielding 1 s Essay on Nothing. Here the effect of the author's wit would be rendered more powerful by the omission of these qualifying parentheses. Instead of pointing the sentiment, they have a quite opposite tendency. In compositions of this kind, no apology need be offered for such expres- sions as Fielding has here employed. The subsequent quotations will farther illustrate the disagreeable effect of parentheses. It was an ancient tradition, that when the capital was fonnded by cmc of the Roman kings, the godTerminus(who presided everboun- dajics OF SENTENCES. 65 darics, and was represented according to the fashion of that age by a large stone) alone, among all the inferior deities, refused to yield ihis place to Jupiter himself. — Gibbon's Hist, qf the Roman Empire. The description Ovid gives of his situation, in that first period of his existence, seems (some poetical embellishments excepted) such as, were we to reason a priori, we should conclude he was placed in. — Lancaster's Essay on Delicacy. When this parliament sate down, (for it deserves our particular observation that both houses were full of zeal for the present go- vernment, and of resentment against the late usurpations) there was but one party in parliament ; and no other party could raise its head in the nation. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties. It will, therefore, be very reasonable to allow on their account as much as, added to the losses of the conquercr, may amount to a million of deaths, and then we shall sec this conquerer, the oldest we have on records of history (though, as we have observed be- fore, the chronology of these remote times is extremely uncertain) opening the scene by a destruction of at least one million of his species, unprovoked but by his ambition, without any motives but pride, cruelty, and madness, and without any benefit to himself (for Jusrtin expressly tells us he did not maintain his conquests,) but solely to make so many people, or so many distant countries, feel experimentally, how severe a scourge Providence intends for the human race, when he gives one rm;n the power over many, aud arms his naturally impotent and feeble rage with the hands of mil- lions, who know no common principle of action but a blind obedi- ence to the passions of their ruler.— Burkes Vindication of Natural Society. This work is professedly written in imitation of Lord Bolingbroke's style and manner. III. Sentences ought never to be extended beyond what seems their natural close. Every thing that is one should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It need not here be observed that, according to the laws of rhetoric, an unfinished sentence is no sentence at all. But we frequently meet with sentences which may be D 2 said GO UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE •aid to be more than finished. When we have arrived •it what we expected was to be their conclusion, some circumstance which ought to have been omitted, or to have been otherwise disposed of, suddenly presents itself. Such appendages tend very much to destroy the beauty, and to diminish the strength of a period. And here it was often found of absolute necessity to enfiarae or cool the passions of the audience ; especially at Rome, where 'fully spoke, and with whose writings young divines ([mean those among them v^ho read old authors) are moie conversant than with those of Demosthenes ; who, by many degrees, excelled the other; a least as an orator. — Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman. This is as weak a sentence as could possibly be written. But without endeavouring to point out the whole of its deformity, I shall only advert to the circumstance for which it is here introduced. The natural close of the period is at the last semicolon ; and when we have proceeded thus far, we expect no additional informa- tion. But the halting clause, '* at least as an orator/* is unexpectedly intruded upon us. Speaking of Burnet and Fontenella : The first could not end his learned treatise without a panegyric of modern learning and knowledge in comparison of the ancients , and the other falls so gross'y into the censure of the old poetry, and preference of the new, that I conld not read either of these strain? without indignation, which no quality »mong men is so apt to raise in me as sufficiency, the worst composition out of the pride and ig norance of mankind.— Temple on Ancient and Modern Learning. Of this sentence the word indignation forms the natural conclusion : what follows is foreign to the proposition with which the author set out. All the world ackno-AleJgc-tlj ll.e /Eneid to be most perfrct in U% kiad, and. e^u:.:deinig the disadvantage of ti.e language, and the severity OF SENTENCES. 67 severity of the Roman Muse, the poem is still more woaderfulh tince, without the liberty of the Grecian poets, the diction is so great and noble, so clear, so forcible and expressive, so chaste aod *>dre, that even all the strength and compass of the Greek tongue, ioiued to Homer's fire, eannot give us stronger and clearer ideas, than the great Virgil^hath set before our eyes ; some few instances excepted, in which Homer, through the force of genius, hath ex- celled. — Fcllon's Disiatution on the Classics. 'Ine circumstance so ungracefully appended to this sentence might be disposed of in the following man- ner : "All the world acknowledged^ &c. that, with the exception of some few instances in which Homer, through the force of genius, hath excelled, even all the strength and compass of the Greek tongue, joined to Homer's fire, cannot give us stronger and clearer ideas, than the great Virgil hath set before our eyes." By way of appendix to this chapter, we may remark, that it is improper to begin a sentence in such a loose manner as appears in the following examples. As nothing damps or depresses the spirits like great subjection or slavery, either of body or mind ; so nothing nourishes, revives, and fortifies them like great liberty. Which may possibly enter among other reasons, of what has been observed about long life being found more in England, than in others of our neighbouring coun- tries. — Temple on Health and Long Life. For this end I propose to-morrow to set out on / Week's task to my labourers, and accept your invitation, if Dio^ thinks good* To which I gave consent.— Berkeley's Minute Ph\lo$ojher. So far they oblige, and no farther ; their authority being wholly founded on that permission and adoption. In which we are not sic* golar in our notions.— Blackstone's Commentaries. I think it convenient to endeavour, if possible, to remove a vio- lent, and, I think, unreasonable prejudice which men have received against all those who endeavour to make religion reasonable. As if Bellarmine had been in the right, when he said that fath was rather to be defiued by ignorance than by knowledge. — Tillotgoii's Sermons. CHAP L 68 1 CHAP. X. OP STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. J['HE strength of a sentence consists in such a dispo- sition of its several words and members, as shall tend most powerfully to impress the mind of the reader with the meaning which the author wishes to convey^ To the production of this effect the qualities of per- spicuity and unity are absolutely requisite ; but they are not of themselves sufficient. For a sentence may be possessed of perspicuity and unity, and yet, by some unfavourable circumstance in its structure, may he destitute of that strength or vivacity of expression which a more happy arrangement would have produced. I. A sentence ought to be divested of all redundant words. These may sometimes be consistent with per- spicuity and unity j but they are always irreconcilable with strength. It is an invariable maxim, that words which add nothing to the sense, or to the clearness, must diminish the force of the expression. I look upon it as my duty> so far a* GoJ hath enabled me, anda& long as I keep within the bounds of truth, of duty , and of decency. T-Swifts Letters. It would certainly be very strange if any man should think it his duty to transgress the bounds of duty. How njany are there by whom these tidings of good news were never heard \—Bolinglrohe, Ph. Pr. This is tidings of tidings, or news of news. Nev fr STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 69 Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the universal love and esteem of nil men. — Spectator, This is so clear a proposition, that I might rest the whole argu- ment entirely upon it. — Lyttlelon on the Conversion of St, PauL One of the two words printed in Italics may be consi- dered as redundant. In the subsequent passage, Lord Lyttleton employs a greater superfluity of words : four of them may be rejected without any detriment to the 9ignificancy of the period. I shall suppose, then, in order to try to account for the vision without a miracle, that as Saul and his company were journeying along in their way to Damascus, an extraordinary meteor really did happen. — Ibid. I went home, full of a grmt many serious reflections. — Guardian. It was sufficient to inform us that he went home fuU of serious reflections. We may here observe, that a principal cause of Ian guid verbosity is the injudicious use of adjectives and epithets. When used sparingly and with judgment, they have a powerful influence in enlivening the ex- pression ; but nothing has more of an opposite effect than a profusion of them. When scattered with too liberal a hand, they lengthen the sentence, without adding proportionate vigour ; they betray a violent effort to say something great or uncommon. A pro- fusion of this kind is one of the principal faults in the rich and elegant style of Gibbon. Adjectives, however, are not always to be regarded as mere epithets. Whatever is necessary for ascer- taining the import of either a noun or a verb, whether by adding to the sense, or by limiting it, is something more than an epithet, according to the common accep- tation 70 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE tatton of that term. Thus when I say " the glorious sun," the word glorious is an epithet; it expresses a quality, which, being conceived always to belong to the object, is, like all its other qualities, comprehended in the name. But when I say " the meridian sun," the word meridian is not barely an epithet ; it makes a real addition to the signification, by denoting the sun to be in the station which he always occupies at noon. — A similar distinction is to be made between adverbs that are absolutely necessary for the expression of an i^ea, and those which are introduced for the sole pur- pose of an embellishment. II. A sentence ought also to be divested of all redun- dant members. Every member should present a new thought. Yet we sometimes meet with periods in which the last member is nothing more than the echo of the first, or a repetition of it in a different form. The very first discovery of it strikes the mind w ith inward joy, and spreads delight through all its faculties. — Addison, Speda'ai: It is impossible for us to behold the divine works with coldness or indifference, or to survey so many beauties, without a secret satisfaction and complacency.— Ibid. In both these instances, little or nothing is added by the second member of the sentence to what was al- ready expressed in the first. Neither is any condition of life more honourable in the sight of God than another, otherwise he would be a respecter of pendens, which he assures us he is not. — Shift's Sermon on Mutual Subjection. It is evident that this last clause does not a little ener- vate the thought, as it implies but too plainly, that without this assurance from God himself, we should naturally OF SENTENCES. 71 naturally conclude him to be of a character different from that which he here receives from the preacher. III. In constructing a sentence, particular attention should be paid to the use of copulatives, relatives, and all the particles employed in transaction and connexion. The gracefulness and strength of a period must in a great measure depend on words of this description. They are the joints and hinges upon which all sentences turn. The various modes of using them are so nume- rous, that no particular rules respecting them can be formed. We must be directed by an attentive consi- deration of the practice of standard writers,joined with frequent trials of the different effects produced by a different application of those particles. Without pre- tending to exhaust the subject, 1 shall here collect a few observations which seem to be of importance. What is called splitting of particles, or separating a preposition from the noun which it governs, ought always to be avoided. As the strength of our cause doth not depend upon, so neither is it to be decided by, any critical points of history, chronology, or language.-;- Berkeley's Minute Philosopher. Socrates was invited to, and Euripides entertained at, his court. — LdaniPs History of Philip. In such instances, we feel a sort of pain from the revulsion, or violent separation of two things which, by their nature, should be closely united. We are obliged to rest for some time on the preposition itself, which carries no significancy, till it is joined to its proper substantive noun. Some writers needlessly multiply demonstrative and "dative particles, by the frequent use of such phra^eo- D 3 lo^y 7*2 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE logy as this : " There is nothing which disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language." In intro- ducing a subject, or laying down a proposition to which we demand particular attention, this sort of style is very proper. But in the ordinary current of discourse, it is better to express ourselves more simply and briefly, " Nothing disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language." On the other hand, the relative particles are fre- quently omitted, when the author thinks his meaning may be understood without them. The faith he professed, and which he became an apostle of, was not his invention. — Lyttleton on the Conversion of St. Paul. The following arrangement seems more consistent with strength as well as elegance : " The faith which he professed, and of which he became an apostle, was not his invention." It appears that numbers of the Officers and Soldiers in the camp cf Lepidus were prepared for the part (which) they were to act on this occasion. — Ferguson's History of the Roman Republic. The sole evidence (which) we can have of the veracity of a his- torian consists in such collateral documents as are palpable to all and can admit cf no falsification. — Pinkertoris Essay on Meduls. Though this elliptical style be intelligible, and may be allowed in conversation and epistolary writing, yet in all compositions of a serious or dignified kiud, it is unbecoming, except where we have occasional recourse to it, merely for the sake of avoiding the too frequent recurrence of who or which. With regard to the copulative particle and, several observations are to be made.— -It is evident, that the unnecessary repetition of it enfeebles style,and produces an OF SENTENCES. 73 an eShct similar to that of the vulgar phrase and so, which occurs so frequently in common conversation. The academy set up by Cardinal Richlieu, to ainuse the wits of that age and country, and divert them from raking into his politics nnd ministry, brought this in vogue ; and the French wits have for this last age been in* a manner wholly turned to the refinement of U»eir laiigiwge, and indeed with such success, that it can hardly be «'M?tJ!ed, and runs equally through their veise and their prose.— Tempi: on Poetry. An I then those who are of an inferior condition, that they labour ctu/be dliigent in the work of an honest calling, for this is piivately good and profitable unto men, and to their families j and those who are above this necessity, and are in better capacity to maintain ^ood works properly so called, works of piety, and charity, and justice ; that they be careful to promote and advance them, accord- ing to their power and opportunity, because these things are pub- licly good nd beneficial to mankind. — Tillotson's Sermons. In the first of these sentences, the conjunction is seven times introduced ; in the last, eleven times. A redundancy of copulatives may be proper upon some occasions. Dining one day at an alderman's in the city, Peter observed him eKpatiating after the manner of his brethren, iu the praises of his sirloin of beef. u Beef (said the sage magistrate) is the king of meat. •' Beef compreheuds in it the quintessence of partridge, and quail, and venison, and pheasant, and plumb-pudding, aud costard." —Swift s Tale »f a Tub. Here the repetition of the conjunction is sufficiently characteristic of the drowsy speaker. " The army was composed of Grecians, and Cariane, and Lj ci'aiif , and Pamphylians, and Phrygians. ' A leisurely survey, which is promoted by the use of so many copulatives, makes the parts seem more numerous than they would appear on a hasty inspection. In the latter i I- STRENTGH IN THE STRUCTURE latter case, the army is viewed as one distinct group : in the former, we seem to take an accurate review of the respective troops of each nation. These are instances in which a multiplicity of con- junctions may be used with propriety : but it is also to be observed, that the total omission of them often pro- duces a good effect. Longinus observes, that it ani- mates a period to drop the copulative j* and he pro- duces the following example from Xenophon : " Closing their shields together, they were impelled, they fought, they slew, they were slain/'f I shall quote an instance of the same kind from Caesar : Our men, having discharged their javelins, attack with sword in hand ; on a sudden the cavalry make their appearance behind ; other bodies of men are seen drawing near ; the ene- mies turn their backs ; the horsemen meet them in their ftight ; a great slaughter ensues M | From these observations it will appear, that an attention to the several cases when it is proper to omit, and when to redouble the copulative, is of considerable importance, to all those who study eloquence. The critics both of ancient and modern times have thought the subject worthy of their notice. IV. In arranging a sentence, the most important words ought to be placed in that situation in which they will make the strongest impression. Every one must perceive that in all sentences there are certain words of superior importance : and it is equally obvious * Lopgimis de Snblimitate, $ xix. t Xenophon de Rebus Graecis, lib. iv. nee non Orat. de Agisilao. * Caesar de Bello Ga!lico ; lib. vii. th* OF SENTENCES. 75 that those words should stand in a conspicuous and distinguished place. But the precise station which they ought to occupy, cannot be ascertained by any general rule. Their position must vary with the nature of the sentence. Perspicuity must ever be stu- died in the first place; and the structure of our language allows no great liberty in the choice of collocation. For the most part, the important words are placed at the beginning of the sentence ; as in the following examples. A modern Italian is distinguished by sensibility, quickness, and art, while he employs on trifles the capacity of an ancient Roman; and exhibits now, in the scene of amusement, and in search of a frivolous applause, that fire, and those passions with which Grac- chm burned in the forum, and shook the assemblies of a sevtie people Ferguson's History 0/ Civil Society. The state of society, which precedes the knowledge of an exten- sive property, and the meannesses which flow from refinement and commerce, is in a high degree propitious to women. —Stuart's View •f Society. Human society is in its most corrupted state at that period when men have lost their original independence and simplicity of manners, but have not attained that degree of refinement which introduces a sense of decorum and of propriety in conduct, as a restraint on those passions which lead to heinous crimes. — Robertson's View 0/ Society. It seems the most natural order, thus to place in the front that which forms the chief object of the propo- sition *o be laid down. Sometimes, however, it is of advantage to suspend the meaning for a while, and then unfold it completely at the close of the period. H'hy their knowledge is more than ours, I know not what reason * an be given, but the unsearchable will of the Supreme Being.— - J&knsvn's Rsusthi: On 76 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us, is his wonderful invention- — Pope's Preface to Homer. The Greek and Latin authors possessed the liberty of inversion in a more eminent degree. The genius of the languages in which they wrote, always permitted them to chuse the most advantageous situation for every word : and this privilege tended greatly too add force and vivacity to their sentences. The more ancient English writers have endeavoured to imitate them in this respect ; but their forced and unnatural constructions often produce obscurity. Our language, as it is now written and spoken, will not admit such liberties. Yet the inverted style may still be employed within certain limits. In the following instance an inverted arrangement of words is adopted with evident propriety. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, hut his invention remains jet unrivalled. — Pope's Preface to Homer. It is evident that, in order to give this sentence its due force, by properly contrasting the two capital words judgment and invention, this is a more happy arrange- ment than if the author had thus followed the natura. order ; K Virgil has justly contested with him the praise of judgment, but his invention remains yet un- rivalled/' Such inversions as our language admits, are more frequently practised by some writers than by others; by Shaftesbury, for instance, much more than by Addi- son. It is to this sort of arrangement that Shaftesbury's style is chiefly indebted for its appearance of strength, dignity, and varied harmony. But if he has more pomp and majesty than Addison, he certainly must be allowed OF SENTENCES. 77 allowed to possess less ease and simplicity, which are beauties highly deserving a writer's attention. Whether we practise inversion or not, and in what- ever part of the sentence we dispose of the most im- portant words, it is always a point of great moment that those words stand clear from others which would entangle them. Thus, when there are any limitations of time, or place, or of any other description, which the principal object of the sentence requires to have connected with it, we must be careful to dispose of them, so as to avoid clouding that object, or burying it under a load of circumstances. This is very hap- pily effected in the following quotation, in which the author is speaking of modern poets, as compared with the ancient. If, whilst ihey profess only to please, tliey secretly advise, and, give iustiuction, they may now, perhaps, as well as formerly, be esteemed with justice the best and most honourable among authors. —Shaftesbury's Advice to en Author. This sentence is skilfully constructed. It contains a great number of circumstances necessary to qualify the meaning ; yet these are placed with so much art, that they neither weaken nor embarrass. Let us examine what would be the effect of a different ar- rangement : ■• If, whilst they profess to please only, they advise and give instruction, secretly, they may be esteemed the best and most honourable among authors, with justice, perhaps, now, as well as formerly." Here we have precisely the same words and the same sense ; but, in consequence of the circumstances being so intermingled as to clog the capital words, the whole becomes 78 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE^ becomes perplexed, and totally devoid of grace and strength. The following sentence contains a great number of circumstances disposed with little skill. And that it was not peculiar to the gift of language or tongues oirly to he given at the moment of its exertion, but common likewise to all the rest, will be shewn probably, on some other occasion, more at large in a particular treatise, which is already prepared by me, on that subject.— Middletorts Free Inquiry. V. Sentences ought never to be concluded with words which make an inconsiderable figure. Such conclusions always have the effect of enfeebling and degrading. There may indeed be sentences in which the stress and significaney rests chiefly upon adverbs, prepositions, or some other word of the same kind. In this case, they ought to have a principal place allotted to them. No objection, therefore, can be urged against such an arrangement as appears in this period : " In their prosperity, my friends shall never hear of me ; in their adversity always" Here the adverb always, being an emphatical word, is so placed, as to make a strong impression. The subsequent quotation furnishes an instance of the same kind. I gat in my old friend's seat ; I heard the roar of mirth and gaiety around me ; poor Ben Silton ! I gave thee a tear then : accept of one cordial drop that falls to thy memory now.— Mackenzie's Man of Feeling. But in the following examples, we find words of a like description occupying the same station, without any acknowledged right to such distinction. This agreement of mankind is not confined to the taste solely.— Burke on the Subline and Beautiful. The OF SENTENCES. 79 TLe ether species of motion are incidentally blended also. — Harris's Philosophical Arrangements. He tl.inks it much more likely that such a system should continue to le admired and pra'ued in idea, than estalished in fact ; and if it happen! ever to be established, he does not imagine it can be fcuppoitcd long. — Boling broke' s Dissertation on Parties. Since my late arrival in Ireland, I have found a very unusual, but, 1 doubt not a very just, complaint concerning the scarcity of money ; which occasioned many airy propositions for the remedy )f it, and among the rest that of raising some, or all of the co*»o* are. — Temple on the Advancement of Trade. We should particularly avoid concluding a period -vith prepositions which mark the cases of nouns, or .vhich are combined with verbs. It would have a very lisagreeable effect to say, K Avarice is a crime which men who pass for wise, are often guilty of." Such phraseology ought on no occasion to be adopted. For resides the want of dignity which arises from those nonosyllables being placed at the close, the mind :annot avoid resting for a little upon the word which concludes the sentence : and, as these prepositions )ave no import of their own, but merely serve to poifit )ut the relation of other words, it is disagreeable thus o be left pausing on a word which of itself cannot produce any idea, or present any picture to the fancy. I then fore thought it necessary to fix and determine the notion or liese t*o words, as I intend to make use of them in the thread of •u following speculations, that the reader may conceive rightly hat i; tlie subject which I proceed upon. — Addison, Spectator. There need no more than to make such a registry only voluntary o avoid all the difficulties that can be raised, and which are not too aptio;is, or too trivial to take notice of.~-TempU on Popular Di/- cntents. By these means the country loses the expence cf many of the richest 80 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE richest persons or families at home, and mighty sums of money ra«8t needs go over from hence into England, which the great stock of rich native commodities here can make the only amends/or.— Temple on the Advancement of Trade. But it is absurd to think of judging either Ariosto or Spenser by pre epts which they did not attend to.— Warton't Observations on Spenser. No one pretends to be a judge in poetry or the fine arts, who has not both a natural and cultivated relish for them ; and shall the narrow-minded children of earth, absorbed in low pursuits, dare to treat as visionary, objects which they have never made themselves acquainted with ? — Barbauld on the Devotional Taste. The pronoun it ought as seldom as possible to be placed at the close of a sentence. When it imme- diately succeeds a verb, its effect is not so disagreeable ; but when joined with a preposition, it is intolerable. When you are pinched with any former, and yet unrepealed aot of parliament, you declare that, in some cases, you will not be obliged by it. — Dryden's Epistle to the Whigs. I would humbly offer an amendment, that instead of the word Christianity, may be put religion in general ; which, I conceive will much better answer all the good ends proposed by the project tors of it. — Swift's Argument against abolishing Christianity. Every nature you perceive, is either too excellent to want it, or too base to be capable of it. '—Harris's Dialogue concerning Art. Although it is not always accessary, that every thin-; 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 persuaded by it. — Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric* It is surprising that writers who have paid the small- est attention to elegance, should allow the word it to conclude two successive periods. Yet instances of this kind sometimes occur. In like manner, if a person in broad day light were falling asleep, to introduce a sudden daikncss would prevent his sleep for that time* OP SENTENCES. 81 time, though silence ami darkness in themselves, and not suddenly introduced, are very favourable to it. This I know only by conjec- ture on the analogy of the senses when I first digested these obser- vations ; but I have since experienced it. — Burke on the Sublime at, I Beautiful. The general idea Osgood or bad fortune, therefore, creates some concern for the person who has met with it; but the general idea of provocation excite* no sympathy with the anger of the man who has received it. Nature, it seems, teaches us to he more averse to enter into this passion, and, till informed of its cause, to be disposed rather to take part against it. — Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. VI. In the members of a sentence where two objects are either compared or contrasted, some resemblance in the language and construction should be preserved. To illustrate this rule, I shall produce various instances of deviations from it ; beginning with resemblances expressed in words which have no resemblance. I have observed of late, the style of some great ministers very much to exceed that of any other productions. — Stri/l on the English Tongtie. Instead of productions, which bear no resemblance to ministers great or small, the author ought to have employed the word writers or authors. I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with other judgments, must at some time or other have stuck a little with yovr lordship.— Shaftesbury on Enthusiasm. This sentence ought to have stood thus : " I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so currently with others, must at some time or other have stuck with your lordship." It is a still greater deviation from congruity, to affect not only variety in the words, but also in the con- struction. There is a fault of this kind in the following sentence, in which the author is speaking of Shakspeare. There STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE There may remain a suspicion that we over-rate the greatness of his genius, in the same manner as bodies appear more gigantie on account of their being^ disproportioned and mis-shapen. — Hunt'* History of England. This is studying variety where the beauty lies in uni- formity. The sentence might have been constructed in this manner : " There may remain a suspicion that we over-rate the greatness of this genius, in the same manner as we over-rate the greatness of bodies that are disproportioned and mis-shapen.'* Attention should also be paid to the length of mem- bers which signify the resembling objects. To produce a resemblance between such members, they ought not only to be constructed in the same manner, but also to be as nearly as possible of the same length. By ne glecting this circumstance, the subsequent example is rendered liable to exception. As the performance of all other religious duties will not avail in the sight of God, without charity ; so neither will the discharge of all other ministerial duties avail in the sight of men, without a faith- ful discharge of thit principal duty.—Bolingbrokt's Dissertation on Parties. In the following passage, all the errors are accumu- lated which a period expressing a resemblance can well admit. Ministers are answerable for eery thing done to the prejudice o» the constitution, in the same proportion as the preservation of the constitution in its purity awl vigour, or the perverting and weaken ingit, are of greater' consequence to the nation, than any other in- stances of good or bad government. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation or Parties. As resemblance ought to be studied in the words which express two resembling objects, so opposition ought to be studied in the words which express two contrasted objects. The following examples contain deviations from this rule. OP SENTENCES. 8H A friend exaggerates a man's] virtues, an enemy enfiames U§ crimes. — Addison, Spectator. Here the opposition in the thought Is neglected in the words, which at first view seem to import, that the friend and the enemy are employed in different matters, without any relation to each other, whether of res m- blance or of opposition. The contrast will be better marked by expressing the idea as follows : " A friend exaggerates a man's virtues, an enemy his crimes." The vrise man is happy when he gains his own approbation : the fool when he recommends himself to the applause of those about him. — Spectator. This sentence might have stood thus : " the wise man is happy when he gains his own approbation ; the fool, when he gains that of others." The laughers will be for those who have most wit : the serious part of mankind for those who have most reason on their side. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Partus. The opposition would have been more completely ex- pressed in this manner : (i The laughers will be for those who] have most wit ; tne serious, for those who have most reason on their side." In the following passage, we find two great poets very skilfully contrasted with each other. Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better artist ; in the one, we must admire the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries us with a commanding impetuosity; Virgil leads us with an attractive majesty. Homer scatters wfeh a generous profusion ; Virgil bestows with a careful magnificence. Homer like the Nile, po rs out his riches with a sudden overflow; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a constant stream. — Pope's Preface to Homer. This picture, however, wou'd have been more finished, if to tie Nile some particular river had been opp sed. CHAP. L 8* ] ' CHAP. XL 3F HARMONY IX THE STKUCTUKE OF SEsTt.NCES. ALTHOUGH sound is a quality ef much less im- portance than sense, yet it must not be altogether disregarded. For as sounds are the vehicle of our ideas, there must always be a pretty intimate con- nexion between the idea which is conveyed, and the sound which conveys it. Pleasing ideas can hardly be transmitted to the mind by means of harsh and dis- agreeable sounds. At these the mind immediately re- volts. Nothing can enter into the affections which stumbles at the threshold by offending the ear. Music has naturally a great power over all men to prompt and facilitate certain emotions : insomuch that there are scarcely any dispositions which we wish to raise in others, but certain sounds may be found concordant to those dispositions, and tending to excite and pro- mote them. Language is to a certain degree possessed of the same power. Not content with simply inter- preting our ideas to the hearer, it can communicate them inforced by corresponding sounds ; and to the pleasure of imparted knowledge, can add the new and separate pleasure of melody. In the harmony of sentences, two things may be con- sidered 5 agreeable sound, or modulation, in general, without any particular expression, and sound so or- dered as to become expressive of the sense. HARMONY OF SENTENCES. S£ Let us first consider sound, in general, as the pro- perty of a well-constructed sentence. The musical cadence of a sentence will depend upon two circum- stances ; the choice of words, and the arrangement of them. With regard to the choice of words, little can be said, unless we were to descend into a tedious and fri- volous detail concerning the powers of the several letters, or simple sounds, of which speech is composed. It is evident that those words are most agreeable to the ear which are composed of smooth and liquid sounds, where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and consonants, without too many harsh consonants clash- ing with each other, or too many open vowels in suc- cession, to cause a hiatus or disagreeable aperture of the mouth. It may always be assumed ns a principle, that whatever words are difficult in pronunciation arc, in the same proportion, hnrsh and painful to the ear. Vowels add softness, consonants strength, to the sound of words. The melody of language requires a due proportion of both, and will be destroyed by an excess of either. Long words are commonly more agreeable to the ear than monosyllables. They please it by the succession of sounds which they present : and accord- ingly the most musical languages possess them in the greatest abundance. Arnong words of any length, those are the most musical which do not wholly consist either of long or short syllables > but contain a due in- termixture of both. The harmony which results from a proper arrange- ment of the words and members of a period, is a more complex HG HARMONY IN TILE STRUCTURE complex subject. However well chosen and well- sounding the words themselves may be, yet if they be ill-disposed, the music of the sentence is utterly lost. In the harmonious arrangements of his periods, no writer, ancient or modern, can be brought into com petition with Cicero. He has studied this with the utmost care j and was fond, perhaps to excess, of what he calls the " plena ac numerosa oratio." We need only open his writings, to find instances that will ren- der the effect of musical cadence sensible to every ear. And in our own language, the following passage may be quoted as an instance of harmonious construction. We shall conduct you to a hill side, laborious, indeed, at the first ascent ; but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospects and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming. — Milton's Tractate 0/ Education. Every thing in this sentence conspires to promote the harmony. The words are happily chosen, being full of soft and liquid sounds ; laborious, smooth, green? goodly, melodious, charming : and these words are so skilfully arranged, that, were we to alter the collocation of any one of them, the melody would sustain a sen- sible injury. The members of the period swell beau tifully above each other, till the ear, prepared by this gradual rise, it conducted to that full close on which it always rests with pleasure. The structure of sentences, then, being susceptibl v of very considerable melody, our next inquiry should be, how this melodious structure is formed, what are its principles, and by what law it is regulated. This sub ject has been treated with great copiousness by the an cient OF SENTENCES. 8? eient critics.* But the languages of Greece and Rome were more susceptible than ours, of the graces and powers of melody. The quantities of their syllables were more fixed and determinate ; their words were longer, and more sonorous ; their method of varying the terminations of nouns and verbs both introduced a greater variety of liquid sounds, and freed them from the multiplicity of little auxiliary words which we are under the necessity of employing ; and, what is of the greatest consequence, the inversions which their lan- guages allowed, gave them the power of placing their words in whatever order was moit suited to a musical arrangement. In consequence of the structure of their languages, and of their manner of pronouncing them, the musical cadence of sentences produced a greater effect in public speaking among them, than it could possibly do in any modem oration. It is further to be observed, that for every species of music they had a finer relish than prevails among us ; it was more gene- rally studied, and applied to a greater variety of ob- jects. Our northern ears are too coarse and obtuse. And by our simple and plainer metho^ of pronun- ciation, speech is accompanied with less melody than it was among the Greeks and Romans. For these reasons, it would be fruitless to bestow the same attention upon the harmonious structure of our sentences, as was bestowed l/y those ancient na- tions. The doctrine of the Greek and Roman critics, • The reader may consult Dionysius De Structuru OrafioKta, Demetrius De Elocutione, Cicero De Oratore, a»d Quiniilian De Insiiutione Oratcria. E on 88 HARMONlf IN THE STRUCTURE on this head, has induced some to imagine, that our prose writings may be regulated by spondees, and trochees, iambuses and paeons, and other metrical feet.* But, to refute this notion, nothing further is necessary than its being applied to practice. Although this musical arrangement cannot be re- duced to a system, yet it demands a very considerable share of attention. It is chiefly owing to the neglect of it, that British eloquence still remains in a state of infancy. The growth of eloquence, indeed, even in those countries where she flourished most, has ever been very slow. Athens had been in possession of all other polite improvements long before her pretension» * Some writers have also supposed that the English language would admit of the measures of Greek and Latin poetry. " It is impossible," says Mr. Goldsmith, " that the same measure, com- posed of the same times, should have a good effect upon the ear in one language, and a bad effect in another. The troth is, we have been accustomed from our infancy to the numbers of English poetry, and the very sound and signification of the words disposes the ear to receive them in a certain manner ; so that its disappointment roust be attended with a disagreeable sensation. In imbibing the first rudiments of education, we acquire, as it were, another ear for the numbers of Greek and Latin poetry, and this, being reserved en- tirely for the sounds and significations of the words that constitute those dead languages, will not easily accommodate itself to the sounds of our vernacular tongue, though convrvedin the same time and measure. In a word, Latin and Greek have annexed to them the ideas of the ancient measure from which they are not easily dis- joined. But we will venture to say, this difficulty might be sur- mounted by an effort of attention, and a little practice ; and in that case we should, in time, be as well pleased with the English as jfitu Latin hexameters. — Essays, vol. ii. Essay xix. OF SEKTENCES. 89 to the persuasive arts were in any degree considerable : and the earliest orator of note among the Romans did not appear sooner than about a century before Cicero. That great master of persuasion, taking notice of this remarkable circumstance, assigns it as an evidence of the superior difficulty of his favourite art. There may be some truth in the observation : but whatever the cause may have been, the fact is undeniable. Accord- ingly, eloquence has by no means made equal advances in our own country, with her sister arts : and though we have seen many excellent poets, and a few good painters, arise among us, yet our nation can boast of very few accomplished orators. This circmustance will appear more surprising, when it is considered that we have a profession set apart for the purposes of per- suasion ; a profession which is conversant in the most animating topics oi rhetoric. Among the principal defects of our British orators, their general disregard of harmony has been least ob- served. It would be injustice, indeed, to deny that we have some oratorical performances tolerably musical ; but it must be acknowledged that, for the most part, this i more the effect of accident than design, and rathei to be attributed to tbe power of our language, than to the skill of our orators. Archbishop Tillotson, who is frequently mentioned as having carried this species of eloquence to itshigbes perfection, seems to have no kind of rhetorical num- bers : and no man had ever less pretension to genuine oratory, than this celebrated preacher. If any thing could raise a flame of eloquence in the breast of an orator, there is no occasion on which it would be more . E 2 likely 10 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE likely to break out, than in celebrating departed me- rit : yet the two sermons which he preached upon the death of Dr. Gooch and of Dr. Whitcot, are as cold and languid performances as were ever produced on such an animating subject. It is indeed to be regret- ted, that he who abounds with such noble and generous sentiments, should want the art of displaying them to their full advantage ; that the sublime in morals should not be attended with a suitable elevation of language. His words are commonly ill-chosen, and always ill- placeA; his periods are th tedious and inharmonious ; as his metaphors are generally mean, and sometimes ridiculous. It were easy to produce numberle in- stances of the truth of this assertion. Thus in his ser- mon preached before the princess of Denmark, he talks of squeezing a parable, sharking, rhifts, thrusting reli- gion by, driving a strict bargain with God ; and speak- ing of the day of judgment, describes the world as cracking about our ears. In justice to the oratorical character of this most valuable prelate, it must, how- ever, be acknowledged, that there is a noble simplicity in some few of his sermons. His Discourse on Sin- cerity deserves to be mentioned with peculiar applause. But to shew his deficiency in the quality of which I am now treating, the following quotation will be suffi- cient. One raiglit be apt to think at fir*t view, that this parable was overdone, and wanted something of a due decorum; it being"bard!y credible, that a man, after he had been so mercifully dealt withal, as, upon liis humble request, to have so hvgt a debt so freely for- given, should, whilst the memory of so much mercy was fresh upon him, even in the very next moment, handle his fellow servant, who had made the same humble requcsto him which he had done to his lord.. OP SENTENCES. 31 lord, with so much roughness and cruelty, for so inconsiderable a sum.— Tillot son's Sermons. Not to mention other objections which might be raised against this period, it is harsh and unmusical through- out. The concluding members, which ought to have been full and flowing, are most miserably loose and disjointed. If the delicacy of Cicero's ear was so ex- quisitely refined, as not always to be satisfied even with the numbers of Demosthenes, how would it have been cfrended by the harshness and dissonance of so un harmonious a sentence ?"* Nothing tends to throw our eloquence at a greater distance from that of the ancients, than this Gothic ar- rangement : as those wonderful effects which some- times attended their elocution were, in all probability, chiefly owing to their skill in musical concords. It was by the charm of numbers, united with the strength of reason, that Cicero confounded the audacious Cataline; and silenced the eloquent Hortensius. It was this that deprived Curio of all power of recollection, when he rose up to oppose that great master of rhetoric ; it was this that made even Caesar himself tremble ; nay, what is yet more extraordinary, made Caesar alter his determined purpose, and acquit the man whom he had resolved to condemn. It will not be suspected that too much is here attri- buted to the power of numerous composition, when we recollect an instance which Cicero produces of its wonderful effect. He informs us that he was himself n witness of its influence as Carbo was once haranguing • See Mr. Mitford's Essay on the Harmony of Language, p. 8fl&. the 92 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE the people. It was astonishing, says he, to observe the general applause which burst from the assembly when that orator pronounced the following sentence : u Patris dictum sapiens temeritas filii comprobavit." These words, perhaps, will not greatly affect a modern ear ; and indeed it is probable that we are ignorant of the art of pronouncing the period with its genuine em- phasis and cadence. We are certain, however, that the music of it consisted in the dichoree with which it is terminated ; for Cicero himself assures us, that if the final measure had been changed, and the words placed in a different order, their effect would have been entirely destroyed. The art of numerous arrangement was introduced among the Greeks by Thrasymachus, though some of the admirers of Isocrates attributed the invention to the latter. It does not appear to have been studied by the Romans until about the age of Cicero ; and even then it was by no means universally received. The an- cient mode of composition had still many admirers, who were such enthusiasts with regard to antiquity, that they adopted her very defects. A disposition of the same kind may perhaps prevent its being much culti- vated in Britain ; and while Tillotson shall maintain his authority as an orator, it is not to be expected that any great advances will be made in this species of eloquence. That strength of understanding, and solidity of reason, which forms so conspicuous a part of the national cha- racter, may also serve to increase the difficulty of re- conciling us to a study of this kind : as at first glance it may seem to lead an orator from his grand and princi- pal aim, and tempt him to make a sacrifice of sense to sounds O* SENTENCES. 93 sound. It must be acknowledged, indeed, that in the times which succeeded the dissolution of the Roman republic, this art was so perverted from its true end, as to become the sole study of their enervated orators. Pliny the younger often complains of this contemp- tible affectation ;*andthe polite author of that elegant dialogue which, with very little probability, is attri- buted either to Tacitus or Quintilian, assures us it was the ridiculous boast of certain orators in the time of the declension of genuine eloquence, that their ha- rangues were capable of being set to music, and sung upon the stage. But it must be remembered that the true art now recommended, is designed to aid, not to supersede reason : it is so far from being necessarily effeminate, that it adds not only grace but strength to the powers of persuasion. Cicero and Quintilian have laid it down as an invariable rule, that numerous com- position must never appear the effect of labour in the orator ; that the tuneful flow of his periods must alway seem the result of their casual disposition ; and that it is the highest offence against the art, to weaken the expression for the sake of giving a more musical tone to the cadence. There are two circumstances on which the music 01 a sentence chiefly depends ; the proper distribution of its several members, and the close or cadence of the whole. Whatever is easy and agreeable in the pronunciation has always a grateful sound to the ear : and that which is difficult in the pronunciation, can never be possessed of melody. The facility with which any sentence is recited, must, in a great measure, depend upon the proper 94 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE proper disposition of the pauses. They ought to he so distributed, as to render the course of the breathing easy, and at the same time should fall at such distances, as to bear a certain musical proportion to each other. This rule will be best illustrated by examples. This discourse concerning the easiness of God's commands does, all along, suppose and acknowledge the difficulties of the first en- trance upon a religious conrse ; except, only in those persons who have had the happiness to be trained up to religion by the easy and insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous education. --Ti Hot son's Sermons. This sentence is in some degree harsh and unpleasant; it contains no more than one considerable pause, which falls between the two members ; and each of those members is so long, as to occasion a difficulty in breath- ing while it is pronounced. The following are in- stances of a different kind. By soothing those inequalities, which the necessary difference of ranks and conditions has introduced into society, she not only Reconciles us to the highest eminences of life, but leads us to con- sider them as affording to the social world, that sublime contrast \rhich the landscape derives from the diversity of hill and dale, and as sending down those streams of benignity which refresh and gladden the lower stations.— Brown' s Sermons. : When thine aching eyes shall look forward to the end that is fat distant ; and when behind thou shalt find no retreat ; when thy steps shall faulter, and thou shalt tremble at the depth beneath which thought itself is not able to fathom ; then shall the angel of retribution lift his' inexorable hand against thee j from the irremea- ble way shall thy feet be sniittt n ; thou shalt plunge into the burn- ing flood, and though thou shalt live for ever, thou (halt rise no more— HavkeswortKs Almoran and Hamet. Porticoes, which had withstood the assaults of time more than two thousand years ; broken columns of different lengths rising at a considerable distance within the limits of the same pile ; sculptured 5 s . portals* OF SENTENCES. 95 portal*, through whose frowning arches the winds passed with a hollow murmuring ; numberless figures engraven on the pilasters of those portals ; and multitudes of hieroglyphics on the different part* of the spacious ruin ; gave the travellers a mournful and magni- ficent idea of the pristine grandeur of this edifice.— Langhorne's Silyrr.an and Almena. Here every thing is flowing and easy. The members of the sentences bear a just proportion to each other ; and the reader, therefore, never experiences any diffi- culty of breathing. The next subject which claims our attention is, the close or cadence of the whole sentence, which, as it is always the part most sensible to the ear, demands the greatest care. Upon it the mind pauses and rests ; it ought, therefore, to contain nothing harsh or abrupt. When we aim at dignity or elevation, the sound should be made to swell gradually to the end ; the longest members of the period, and the fullest and most sono- rous words, should be reserved for the conclusion. The following sentence is constructed in this manner. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance ; and continues the longest in action, without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments. —Addison, Spectutvr. Here every reader must be sensible of a beauty, both in the division of the members and pauses, and the manner in which the sentence is rounded, and con- ducted to a full and harmonious close. u Mr. Addi- son's periods, and members of periods," says Mr. Mitford, " mostly end with the unaccented hyper- ihythmatical syllable, and scarcely ever with a strong accent, except where emphasis gives importance to such a conclusion. The graceful flow so much admired E3 , in 96 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE in his writings is not a little owing to this circum- stance. His language seems always united like water, by the aptitude of its parts to coalesce, and never wears the appearance of being forcibly held together."* A falling off towards the end always produces a disagreeable effect. For this reason, pronouns and prepositions are as unpleasant to the ear, as they are inconsistent with strength of expression. The sense and the sound seem to have a mutual influence on each other ; that which offends the ear, is apt to rnar the strength of the meaning ; and that which really de- grades the sense appears also to have a bad sound. It may be affirmed in general, that a musical close, in our language, requires either the last, or the last but one, to be along syllable. Words which consist mostly of short syllables, as contrary, retrospect, particular, seldom conclude a sentence harmoniously, unless a succession of long syllables has rendered them agree- able on account of the variety which they introduce. It is necessary, however, to observe, that sentences so constructed as to make the sound always swell towards the end, and to rest upon syllables of a cer- tain description, give a discourse the tone of decla- mation. The ear soon becomes acquainted with the melody, and is apt to be cloyed with monotony. If we would keep alive the attention of the reader or hearer, if we would preserve vivacity and strength in our composition, we must be solicitous to vary our measures. This observation regards the distribution of the members, as well as the cadence of the period. * Mitford's Essay on the Harmony of Language, p. 203. Sentences OP SENTENCES. l " 97 Sentences constructed in a similar manner, with the pauses falling at equal intervals, should never follow each other. Short and long sentences ought to be properly intermixed, in order to render discourse sprightly, as well as magnificent. Monotony is the great error into which those writers are apt to fall, who study harmonious arrangement. A very vulgar ear will enable an author to catch some kind of melody, and to form all his sentences according to it ; but this oft-recurring modulation will soon produce satiety and disgust. A just and correct ear is requisite for diversifying the melody ; and hence we do seldom meet with authors remarkably happy in this respect. Though the music of sentences demands a very con siderable degree of attention, yet this attention must be confined within moderate bounds. Every appear- ance of affectation of harmony is disagreeable ; espe- cially if the love of it betray us so far as to sacrifice perspicuity, precision, or strength of sentiment, to sound. All unmeaning words, introduced merely to round the period, or complete the melody, are great blemishes in writing. They are childish ornaments, by which a sentence always loses more in point of significancy, than it can gain in point of sound. After all the labour bestowed by Quintilian on regulating the measures of prose, he comes at last, with his usual good sense, to this conclusion : " Upon the whole, I wculd rather chuse, that composition should appear rough and harsh, if that be necessary, than that it should be enervated and effeminate, such as we find in the style of too many. Some sentences, therefore, which we have studiously formed into melodv. i?8 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE melody, should be thrown loose, that they may not seem too much laboured : nor ought we ever to omit any proper or expressive word, for the sake of smooth- ing a period."* Hitherto our attention has been directed to agreeable sound or modulation in general. It yet remains to treat of a higher beauty ; the sound adapted to the sense. This beauty may V«her be attained in prose or verse : but in illustrating ts general principle, the writings of the poets will furnish us with the most copious and striking illustrations. The resemblance of poetical numbers to the subject which they mention or describe, may be considered as general or particular, as consisting in the flow and structure of a whole passage taken together, or as com- prised in the sound of some emphatical and descriptive words, or in the cadence and harmony of single verses, A general analogy between the sound and the sense is to be found in every language which admits of poetry, in every author whose fancy enables him to impress images strongly on his own mind, and whose choice and variety of language readily supplies bim with just representations^ To such a writer it is natural to change his measure with his subject, even without any effort of the understanding, or intervention of the judgment. To revolve jollity and mirth, neces- sarily tunes the voice of a poet to gay and sprightly notes, as it fires his eye with vivacity ; and reflections on gloomy situations and disastrous events, will sadden * Qnintilian, De Institut. Orator, lib. ix. cap. iv. -t Ste Dr. Beattie's Essay on Poetry awl Music, p. .202. hi* OP SENTENCES. 9£ his numbers as it will cloud his countenance. But in such passages, there is only the similitude of pleasure to pleasure, and of grief to grief, without any imme- diate application of particular images. The same flow of joyous versification will celebrate the jollity of mar- riage, and the exultation of triumph \ and the same languor of melody will suit the complaint of an absent lover, and the lamentations of a conquered king. It is scarcely to be doubted that on many occasions we produce the music which we imagine ourselves to hear; that we modulate the poem by our own dispo- sition, and ascribe to the numbers the effects of the sense. We may observe in real life that it is not easy to deliver a pleasing message in an unpleasing manner, and that we readily associate beauty and deformity with those whom we have reason to love or hate. Yet it would be too daring to declare that all the cele- brated adaptations of harmony are chimerical ; that Homer, Virgil, and Milton, paid no extraordinary attention to their numbers in any of those passages where the sound is said to be an echo to the sense.* There being frequently a strong resemblance of one sound to another, it will not be surprising to find an articulate sound resembling one that is not articulate. Of this resemblance we meet with an exemplification in the following passages \ On a sudden o;ca fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder. Milton. * Johnson's Rambler, No. 94. The $00 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE The impetuous arrow tchizzes on the wing.— -Pope. The string, let fly, Twang'd short and shai-p, like the shrill swallows cry.— Pep* Loud sounds the air, redoubling strokes on strokes, On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. — Pope 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.— J. Dyer. That there is any other natural resemblance of souna to signification, must not betaken for granted. There is evidently no similarity between sound and motion, or between sound and sentiment. We are apt to be deceived by an artful pronunciation. The same pas- sage may be pronounced in many different tones, elevated or humble, sweet or harsh, brisk or melan- choly, so as to accord with the sentiment or thought. This concordance must be carefully distinguished from that between sound and sense ; which may sometimes subsist without any independence upon artful pronun- ciation. The latter is the work of the poet ; the former must be attributed to the reader. There is another circumstance which contributes still more to thedeceit. Sound and sense being inti- mately connected, the properties of the one are readily communicated to the other. Thus, for example, the quality of grandeur, of sweetness, or of melancholy, though solely belonging to the thought, is transferred to the word by which that quality is expressed. In tbi> OP SENTENCES. 101 this manner, words bear an imaginary resemblance to those objects of which they are only the arbitrary signs. It is of the greatest importance to distinguish the na- tural resemblance of sound and signification from those artificial resemblances which have now been described. From the instances lately adduced, it is evident that there may be a similarity between sounds articulate, and sounds inarticulate. But we may safely pronounce that this resemblance can be carried no farther. The objects of the different senses have no similarity to each other. Sound, whether articulate or inarticulate, bears no kind of analogy to taste or smell ; and as little can it resemble internal sentiment, feeling, or emotion. Must we then admit that nothing but sound can bs imitated by sound ? Taking imitation in its proper sense, as importing a coincidence between different objects, the proposition must be admitted : and yet in many passages that are not descriptive of sound, every one must be sensible of a peculiar concord be- tween the sound of the words and their meaning. As there can be no doubt of the fact, what remains is, to enquire into its cause. Resembling causes may produce effects which have no resemblance j and causes which have no resem- blance may produce resembling effects. A magni- ficent building, for example, does not in any de- gree resemble an heroic action ; and yet the emotions which they produce, are sometimes concordant, and bear a resemblance to each other. We are still more sensible of this kind of resemblance in a song where the music is properly adapted to the sentiment. There m no similarity between thought and sound ; but there is 102 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE is the strongest similarity between the emotion excited by music tende-r and pathetic, and that excited by the complaint of an unsuccessful lover. When we apply this observation to the present subject, it will appear ihat in some instances, the sound even of a single word makes an impression similar to that which is produced by the thing it signifies. Running, rapidity, impetuosity, precipitation, are of this decription. Brutal manners produce in the spectator an emotion not unlike what is caused by a harsh and rough sound ; and hence the beauty of the figurative expression, rugged manners. The word little, being pronounced with a very small aperture of the mouth, has a weak and faint sound, which makes an impression resembling that produced by a diminutive object. This resem- blance of effects is still more remarkable where a num- ber of words are connected together in a period. Words pronounced in succession often produce a strong impression ; and when this impression happens to accord with that made by the sense, we are sensible of a complex emotion, peculiarly pleasant ; one proceed- ing from the sentiment, and one from the melody or sound of the words. But the chief pleasure arises from having these two concordant emotions combined in perfect harmony, and carried on in the mind to a full close. Except those passages in which sound is described, all the examples given by critics of sense being imita- ted by sound, resolve themselves into a resemblance of effect. Emotions excited by sound and significa- tion may have a mutual resemblance : but sound itself cannot have a resemblance to any thing but sound. After OF SENTENCES. 1U0 After having suggested these general ooservations, it will be proper to descend to particular cases. By a number of syllables in succession, an emotion is sometimes raised, similar to that excited by suc- cessive motion. v In this manner slow motion may be justly imitated in a verse where long syllables prevail, especially with the aid of a slow pronunciation. Ilii inter sese magn& vi brachia tollunt. — Virgil. On the other hand, swift motion is imitated by a succession of short syllables. Quadrupedanteputrem sonitu quatit ungola campum.— Virgil. By the frequency of its pauses, a line composed or monosyllables makes an impression similar to wtat is rawle by laborious interrupted motion. First march the Leavy mules securely slow ; O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go.—Pepe. With mauy a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone.— Broome. i nc impression made by rough sounds in succession, resembles that made by rough or tumultuous motion : and, on the other hand, the impression of smooth sounds resembles that of gentle motion. Two craggy rocks, projecting to the main, The roaring wind's tempestuous rage restrain ; Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their hausers ride.— Pope. Prolonged motion is well expressed by an Alex- andrine verse. The following is an example of slow motion prolonged. A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.— Pope. The 104* HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE The next example is of forcible motion prolonged. The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling on the shore.— P«|*. The last is of rapid motion prolonged. The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, .Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.— Broome. A period consisting mostly of long syllables, that is, of syllables pronounced slow, produces an emotion which bears a faint resemblance to that excited by gravity and solemnity. Hence the beauty of the fol • Wing verse. Ol'.i sedato respondit corde Latinus.— -Virgil. A short syllable made long, or a long syllable made short, raises, by the difficulty of pronouncing contrary to custom, a feeling similar to that of hard labour. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw. — Pope. This enumeration might be extended to a much greater length ; but the examples which have been given, may serve as a foundation for the reader's further enquiries. I have had occasion to observe, that to complete the resemblance between sound and sense, artful pronun- ciation contributes in no small degree. Pronunciation may therefore be considered as a branch of the present subject ; and with some observations upon it this chapter shall be concluded. To give a just idea of pronunciation, it must be distinguished from singing. The latter is carried on by notes, requiring each of them a different aperture of the windpipe : the notes properly belonging to the former, are expressed by different apertures of the mouth. OP SENTENCES. 105 mouth, without varying the aperture of the wind- pipe. In reading, as in singing, there is a key-note. Above this note the voice is frequently elevated, to make the sound correspond to the elevation of the subject. But the mind, in an elevated state, is disposed to action ; nnd therefore in order to rest, it must be brought down to the key-note. Hence the term cadence. The only rule that can be given for directing the pronunciation, is to sound the words in such a manner as to imitate the things which they signify. In pro- nouncing words denoting something elevated, the voice ought to be raised above its ordinary tone. To imitate a stern and impetuous passion, the words ought to be pronounced rough and loud. A sweet and gentle passion, on the contrary, ought to be imitated by a soft and melodious tone of voice. In general, words of the greatest importance ought to be marked with peculiar emphasis. Another circumstance which con- tributes to the resemblance between sense and sound, is the slowness or the rapidity of pronunciation. A period should be pronounced slow, when it expresses what is solemn or deliberate : and quick, when it ex- presses what is lively or impetuous. This rule might be branched out into many particular observations : but these do not properly belong to the present undertaking, because no language furnishes words to denote the different degrees of high and iow fc . loud and soft, fast and slow. Before these circum- stances can be made the subject of regular instruction, notes must be invented resembling those employed in music. We have reason to believe that in Greece ever* 106 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. every tragedy was accompanied with such notes, to ascertain the pronunciation : but hitherto the moderns have not thought of this refinement. Cicero, indeed, without the help of notes, professes to give rules for ascertaining the various tones of voice which are pro- per in expressing the different passions ; and it must be acknowledged that in this attempt he has ex- hausted the whole power of language. At the same time, it is evident that these rules avail little in point of instruction. The very words which he employs, ae not intelligible, except to those who are previously acquainted with the subject. CHAP. XII. OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. J?IGURES of speech always denote some departure from the simplicity of expression ; they enunciate after a particular manner, the idea in which we intend to convey, and that with the addition of some circumstance designed to render the impression more strong and vivid. When I say, u A good man enjoys comfort in the midst of adversity," I express my thoughts in the simplest manner possible. But when I say, " To the upright there ariseth light in darkness/' the same sen- timent is expressed in a figurative style : a new circum- stance is introduced ; light is put in the place of com- fort, and darkness is used to suggest theidea of adversity* Though figures imply a deviation from what may be FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 107 be reckoned the most simple form of speech, we art not thence to infer that they imply any thing uncom- mon, or unnatural. This is so far from being the case, that, on many occasions, they are both the most natural, and the most common method of uttering our sentiments. It is impossible to compose any discourse without making frequent use of them ; nay, there are few sentences of any length, in which there does not £ccur some expression that may be termed figurative. Figures are therefore to be accounted part of that lan- guage which nature dictates to mankind. They are not the invention of the schools, nor the mere product of study : on the contrary, the most illiterate speak in figures, as often perhaps as the most learned. When- ever the imagination of the vulgar is powerfully awakened, or their passions highly inflamed, they will pour forth a torrent of figurative language, as forcible as could be employed by the most artificial declaimer. i( When we attend," says Dr. Ferguson, " to the language which savages employ on any solemn occa- sion, it appears that man is a poet by nature. Whe- ther at first obliged by the mere defects of his tongue, and the scantiness of proper expressions, or seduced by a pleasure of the fancy in stating the analogy of its object, he clothes every conception in image and me- taphor. c We have planted the tree of peace/ says an American orator; ' we have buried the axe under its roots : we will henceforth repose under its shade ; we will join to brighten the chain that binds our nations together.' Such are the collections of meta- pl or which those nations employ in their public harangues 108 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. harangues. They have likewise adopted those lively figures, and that daring freedom of language, which the learned have afterwards found so well fitted to express the rapid transitions of the imagination, and the ardours of a passionate mind/'* Dr. Beattie has remarked that " savages, illiterate persons, and children, have comparatively but few words in proportion to the things they may have occa- sion to speak of ; and must therefore recur to tropes and figures more frequently than persons of copious elocution. A seaman, or mechanic, even when he talks of that which does not belong to his art, borrows his language from that which does ; and this makes his diction figurative to a degree that is sometimes en- tertaining enough, "f What then is it tha-t has drawn the attention of critics and rhetoricians so much to these forms of speech ? They remarked that in them consists much of the beauty and force of language, and found them always to bear some character or distinguishing marks by the help of which they could reduce them under separate classes. To this, perhaps, they owe their name. As the figure or shape of one body distin- guishes from another, so each of these forms of speech has a cast peculiar to itself, which both distin- guishes from the rest, and from the simple form of expression. Simple expression just makes our idea known to others ; but figurative language bestows a * Ferguson's History of Civil Society, part iii. sect. \iii. t Beat lie's Essay on Poetiy and Music, p, 236. particular FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 109 particular dree6 upon that idea ; a dress which serves to distinguish and adorn it. Figures in general may be described to be that lan- guage which is prompted either by the imagination, or by the passions. Rhetoricians commonly divide them into two great classes, figures of words, and figures of thought. The former are denominated tropes : they consist in the employment of a word to signify something that is different from its original and primitive meaning ; so that if you alter the word, you destroy the figure. Thus in the instance lately adduced, the trope consists in " light and darkness" being not meant in a literary sense, but substituted for " comfort and adversity," on account of some resem- blance, or analogy which they are supposed to bear to those conditions of life. The other class, termed figures of thought, supposes the words to be used in their proper and literal meaning, and the figure to consist in the turn of the thought. This is the case with personifications, and apostrophes ; where, though you vary the words which are used, or translate them from one language into another, you may still preserve the same figure. This distinction, however, is of very small importance : nothing can be built upon it in practice ; nor can it always be clearly observed. Pro- vided we remember that figurative language imports some colouring of the imagination, or some emotion or passion, expressed in our style, it is a matter of very little moment, whether we give to some parti- cular mode of expression the name of a trope or of a figure. Ag I 10 PERSONIFICATION." As it would be tedious to dwell on all the variety of figurative expressions which rhetoricians have enu- merated, I shall only select such figures as most fre- quently occur. The principles and rules laid 4own concerning them will sufficiently direct us to the use Qi the rest, either in prose or poetry.* CHAP. XIII. OF PERSONIFICATION. n^HE boldest effort of the imagination seems to be that which bestows sensibility and voluntary mo- tion upon things inanimate. At first view, one would be disposed to conclude that this figure borders on the extravagant and ridiculous. For what can seem more remote from the track of reasonable thought, than to speak of stones, trees, fields, and rivers, as if they were living creatures, and to attribute to them thought and sensation, action and affection ? This would appear to be nothing more than childish conceit which no person of taste could relish. The case, however, is very different. No such ridiculous effect is produced by personification, when judiciously managed : on the contrary, it is found to be natural and agreeable. Nor is any very uncommon degree of passion required to make us relish it. Into every species of poetry it easily • Many curious observations especting the nature of figurative language occur in the Marqnis Beccaria's Ritherche inimno aflfa Natura dsllo Stile. gams PERSONIFICATION. Ill gains admission : it is by no means excluded from prose ; and even in common conversation it not unfre- quently finds a place. Thus we do not hesitate to speak of a furious dart, a deceitful disease, the thirsty ground, the angry^ocean. The use of such expression* shews the facility with which the mind can accom- modate the properties of living creatures to inanimate objects, or to its own abstract ideas. That our actions are too much influenced by passion, is an acknowledged truth ; but it is not less certain that passion also possesses considerable influence over our perceptions, opinions, and belief. When by any animating passion, whether pleasant or painful, an impulse is given to the imagination, we are in that condition disposed to use every sort of figurative ex- pression. Now those figures are generally founded upon a momentary belief in some circumstance which calm and unclouded reason would represent in quite a different point of view. " A man agitated," says Dr. Beattie, " with any interesting passion, especially of long continuance, is apt to fancy that all nature sym- pathises with him. If he bas lest a beloved friend, he thinks the sun less bright than at other times ; and in the sighing of the winds and groves, in the lowings of the herd, and in the murmurs of the stream, he seems to hear the voice of lamentation. But when joy or hope predominates, the whole world assumes a gay appearance. In the contemplation of every part o nature, of every condition of mankind, of every form of human society, the benevolent and pious man, the morose and the cheerful, the raiser and the misanthrope, finds occasion to indulge bis favourite passion, and F sees^ 1I£ PERSONIFICATION. sees, or thinks he sees, his own temper reflected back in the actions, sympathies, and tendencies of other things and persons. Our affections are, indeed, the medium through which we may be said to survey our- selves, and every thing else ; and whatever be our inward frame, we are apt to perceive a wonderful con- geniality in the world without us. And hence, the fancy, when roused by real emotions, or by the pathos of composition, is easily reconciled to those figures of speech that ascribe sympathy, perception, and other attributes of animal life, to things inanimate, of even to notions merely intellectual."* In the following example of personification, Almeria calls upon the earth to protect her from the unkindness of her father. Earth, behold, I kneel upon thy bosom, And bend my flowing eyes to stream upon Thy face, imploring thee that thon wilt yield ; Open thy bowels of compassion, take Into thy womb the last and most forlorn Of all thy race. Hear me, thon common parent ; 1 have no parent el»e, Be thou a mother, And step between me and the enrse of him, . Who was — who was, but is no more a father ; But brands my innocence with horrid crimes ; And, for the tender names of child and daughter, Now calls me murderer and parricide. Congreve. Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for vent ; and a soliloquy frequently answers this purpose. But when such a passion becomes excessive, it cannot be gratified except by sympathy from others j and if Bea^ tie's Eg«3* cu Poetry and Music, p. 955. denied PERSONIFICATION. 113 denied that consolation, it will convert even things inanimate into sympathising beings. Ye Woods and Wilds, whose melancholy gloom Accords with my sool's sadness, and draws forth The tear of sorrow from my bursting heart, Farewell awhile. Home. Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! Ah, fields beloved iu vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow ; As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to sooth, And, redoleat of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring Gray. That such personification is derived from nature, will not admit of the least doubt, when we consider tha* it is to be found in the poetical productions of the darkest ages, and most remote countries. Terror is another source of this figure : it is com- municated in thought to every surrounding object, even to those which are inanimate. Go, view the settling sea. The stormy wind is laid ; but the billows still tumble on the deep, and seem to fear the blast. — Ossian. We naturally communicate our joy in the same manner. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odour from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest ; with such delay Well pleased, they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'4 with the graitful smell old Ocean smi". ts>.— Milton. F2 1 1 I PERSONIFICATION. la all the above examples, the personification, if I mistake not, is so complete as to afford an actual, though momentary, conviction, that the objects intro- duced are possessed of life and intelligence. But it is evident, from numberless instances, that the personi- fication is not always so perfect. It is often employed in descriptive poetry, without being intended to pro- duce the same conviction O Winds of Winter! list ye there To many a deep and d\ in^ groan ? Or start ye, demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own? Alas ! er'n your unhallow'd breath May spare the victim fallen low ; But man will ask no truce to death, No bounds to human woe. Campbell. Come gentle Spring ! ethereal mildness, come, And from the bosom of yon dropping ciond, While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing rosea on oar plains descend.— Thornton. Now Sunnier with her wanton court i- gone To revel on the sooth sitie or" the world, And rlaunt and frolic out the livelong day ; \t bile Winter rising pale from northern seas Shakes from his hoai;. locks the drizzling rheum.— Armstrong. Lo ! how the Years to come, a numerous and well-fitted quire, An hand "in hand do decently advance, And to my song with smooth and equal measures dance. Cotcky. But look, the Morn, in iu;set mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill. — Shak-peare. Wesl winds, tlirougti the loi And Fancy, lo thy fairy bower be! Eve i. PERSONIFICATION. 115 E*en now with balmy freshness breathes the gale, Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake ; Through the pale willows faultering whispers wake, And evening conies with locks bedropt with dew.— >Mickle. Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world.— Young. In these instances, it may be presumed that the per-, sonification, either with the poet or his readers, does not amount to any conviction that the objects are en- dowed with intelligence. /The winds, the seasons, years, morning, evening, and night, are not here understood to be sensible beings/The personification must, there- fore, be referred to the imagination ; the inanimate ob- ject is figured to be possessed of consciousness ; but we are not even impressed with a momentary conviction that it is so in reality. Ideas or fictions of imagination have the power of exciting emotions in the mind ; and when any inanimate object is, in imagination, suppo- sed to be an intelligent being, it assumes an appear- ance of greater importance than when an idea is form- ed of it according to truth. In this case, however, tbo elevation is far from being equal to what it is when the personification amounts to actual conviction. Thus personification is of two kinds. The first, or nobler kind, may be termed passionate personification ; the other, or more humble, may be termed descriptive per- sonification. Personification in mere description is sel- dom or never carried the length of conviction. This figure admits of three different degrees ; which it is necessary to remark and distinguish, in order to determine the propriety of its use. The first, is when seme 116 PERSONIFICATION. some of the properties or qualities of living creatures are ascribed to inanimate objects ; the second, when those inanimate objects are introduced as acting like living creatures >; and the third, when they are repre- sented, either as speaking to us, or as listening when we address them. When this figure is used in its lowest degree, it raises the style so little, that it may be admitted into the most humble discourse. Such expressions as furious dart, thirsty ground, raise so light a conviction of sensibility, if they raise any at all, that it may seem doubtful whether they ought not to be referred to some other figure. Still, however, such epithets are found ;to have a more powerful effect than those which are properly and literally applicable to the objects. This effect may be explained in the following manner. In the expression angry ocean, do we not tacitly compare !tbe ocean in a storm to a man in wrath ? It is by this tacit comparison that the expression acquires a foroe or elevation above what is found in an epithet proper to the object. This comparison, though only tacit, seems to exclude personification : by the very nature of comparison, the objects compared are kept distinct, and^ejiative appearance of each is preserved. All that can be said concerning the subject is, ihat, with regard to such instances, it must depend upon the reader, whether they may be examples of person- fication, or merely of what is denominated a figure of speech. A sprightly imagination will advance them to the former class ; while, with a plain reader, they will remain in the latter. The second degree of this figure is, when inanimate ebiects PERSONIFICATION. 117 objects or abstract ideas are introduced acting like living creatures. Here we rise a step higher, and the personification becomes sensible. The strength of the figure depends, upon the nature of the action which we attribute to those inanimate objects,, and the particu- larity with which it is described. 1o to your Natural Religiou ; lay before her Mahomet, and his disciples, arrayed in armour aud blood, riding in triumph over the Spoils of thousands who fell by his victorious sword. Shew her th-»| cities which he set in flames, the countries which he ravaged and destroyed, and the miserable distress ef all the inhabitants of the earth. When she has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his retirement • shew her the prophet's chamber ; his concubines and his wives ; and let her hear him allege revelation, and a divine commission, to justify his adultery and lust. When sh» is tired with this prospect, then shew her the blessed Jesus humble and meek, doing good to all the sons of men. Let oer see him in bis most retired privacies ; Let her follow him to the Mount, and hear his devotions and supplications to God. Carry her to his table, and view his poor fare, and hear his heavenly discourse. Let her attend him to the tribunal, and consider the patience with which he endured the scoffs and reproaches of his enemies. Lead her to ' bis cross ; let her view him in the agony of death, and hear his last prayer for his persecutors ; Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do ? When Natural Religion has thus viewed both, ask her, Which is the Prophet of God ? But her- answer we have already had, when she saw part of .this scene, through the eyes of the centurion, who attended at the cross. By him she spoke, and said. Truly this man was the Son of God."— Sherlock's Sermons. This is more than elegant ; it is truly sublime. The whole passage is animated ; and the figure rises at the conclusion, when Natural Religion, who before was only a spectator, is introduced as speaking by the cen- turion's voice. This is an instance of personification, carried 118 PERSONIFICATION. carried as far as prose, even in its hignest elevation, will admit. The mythological personification in Dr. Smollett's Ode to Independence is managed with admirable effect ; and this is indeed one of the noblest lyric poems in the English language. The genius of our tongue affords us a material ad- vantage in the use of this figure. All substantive nouns, except the proper names of creatures, male or female, are destitute of gender. By simply bestowing the masculine or femine gender upon inanimate objects, we introduce personification. " When,'- says Mr. Harris, u we give them sex, by making them mascu- line or feminine, they are thenceforth personified ; are a kind of intelligent beings, and become, as such, the proper ornament either of rhetoric or poetry. "Thus Milton: The Thunder Wing d with red lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts. P. Lost. /. 174. " The poet having just before called the hail and thunder, God's ministers ui vengeance, and so per- sonified them, had he afterwards said its shafts for Aiv shafts, would have destroyed his own image, and ap- proached withal so much nearer to prose. u The following passage is from the same poem ; Should intermitted Vengeance arm again, His red right hand. P. L. //. 173. "In this place his hand is clearly preferable either to hers or its, by immediately referring us to God him- self the avenger. " 1 slil'l PERSONIFICATION. 119 " I only shall add one instance more : At his command th' uprooted Hills retir'd Each to /it's place : they heard his voice and went Obsequious : Heaven his wonted face renewed, And with fresh fbv.rets Hill and Valley smil'd. P. L. VI. " Here all things are personified ; the hills hear, the valleys smik, and the face of heaven is renewed. Sup- pose then the poet had been necessitated by the laws of his language to have said — Each hill retir'd to Us place — Heaven renewed its wonted face — how prosaic and lifeless would these neuters have appeared ; how detri- mental to the prosopopoeia, which he was aiming to establish! In all this therefore he was happy that the language in which he wrote imposed no such necessity ; and he was too wise a writer to impose it on him- self."* Personifications of this kind are extremely frequent in poetry, of which indeed they may almost be con- sidered as the life and soul. We expect to find every thing animated, in the descriptions of a poet who pos* sesses a little fancy. Homer is remarkable for the use of this figure. War, peace, carts, spears, towns, ri- vers, every thing, in short, is alive in his writings. The same is the case with Milton and Shakspeare. One of the greatest pleasures we derive from poetry, is, to find ourselves always in the midst of our fellows, and to see every thing feeling and acting to ourselves. This is perhaps tire principal charm of the figurative style, that it introduces us into society with all nature, and interests us even in inanimate objects, by forming a * Harris's Hermes, book i. chap. iv. F 3 connexion 120 PERSONIFICATION. connexion between them and us, through that sensi- bility which it ascribes to them. It yet remains to treat of the highest degree of this figure. Tbis consists in introducing inanimate objects and irrational beings not only as feeling and acting, but also as listening and speaking. Personification in this degree, though on several occasions far from being un- natural, is very difficult in the management. It is the boldest of all rhetorical figures : it is the style of strong passion only; and therefore ought never to be attempted, unless when the mind is considerably heated and agitated. The introduction of some object inani- mate, acting as if it had life, can be relished by the mind in the midst of cool description. But we mt;st be in a state of considerable emotion, before we can so far realize the personification of an insensible object, as to conceive it listening to what we say, or returning an answer to our address. All strong passions, however, have a tendency to produce this figure; not only love, anger, and indignation, but even those which are seem- ingly more depressing, such as grief, remorse, and me- lancholy. In the subsequent passage, a poet of exqui- site talents introduces an address from " the insect youth." Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? A solitary fly. Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display : On hasty wings thy youth is flown, Thy eun is set, thy spring is gone— We frolic while 'tis May. G.ay. Having PERSONIFICATION. 12) Having thus treated of the natme of personification, and of its different degrees, it remains to shew in what cases it may be introduced with propriety, when it is suitable, when unsuitable. After a passionate personification is properly intro- duced, it ought to be confined to its distinct province, that of gratifying some predominant passion. Every sentiment which is unconnected with this design, ought to be rejected. The passion of love, for exam- ple, in a plaintive tone may bestow a momentary life upon woods and rocks, to make them witnesses of the lover's constancy or distress ; but no passion will sup- port a conviction so far stretched, as that those woods and rocks should report that constancy or distress to others. An eminent poet, however, has fallen into an error of this kind. If extraordinary marks of respect to a person of low condition be ridiculous, not less so is the personifica- tion of a low subject. This rule chiefly regards de- scriptive personification ; for a subject can hardly be regarded as mean or low that is the cause of a violent passion : in that circumstance, at least, it must be of importance. No positive rules, however, can be as- signed with regard to what objects should be selected, and what avoided : the ultimate appeal must always lie to the decision of taste. A poet of superior genius, possessing the power of inflaming the mind, may take liberties which would be dangerous in others. Homer does not appear extravagant in animating his darts and arrows ; nor Thomson in animating the seasons, the winds, the rains, the dews. The latter of these poets ven ventures to animate the diamond ; and this he does 122 PERSONIFICATION. does with great propriety. But there are cbjects familiar and base, to which personification cannot de- scend. In a composed state of mind, to animate a lump of matter even in the most rapid flight or' fancy, de- generates into burlesque. How now ? what noise ? that spirit's possessed with haste, That wounds the unresisting postern with these strokes. Shakspcare. This produces a very ridiculous effect. Descriptive personification cannot be too cautiously used. A personage in tragedy, agitated by some strong passion, is inspired with warm and lofty senti- ments ; and the reader catching fire by sympathy, re- lishes the boldest personifications : but a writer, even in the most lively description, ought to content himself with such figures of this kind as agree with the tone of mind inspired by the description. Nor is the lowest degree of personification to be admitted upon every occasion ; for in plain narrative, the mind, serious and sedate, rejects the figure altogether. Descriptive, still more than passionate personifica- tion, ought to be kept within the bounds of modera- tion. Upon certain occasions, a reader can even with- out passion imagine the winds to be animated : but still the winds are the subject ; and any action ascribed to them contrary to their usual operation, appearing un- natural, seldom fails to banish the illusion altogether. The reader's imagination, too far strained, refuses its aid ; and the description becomes obscure, instead of being more lively and luminous. In Mr Campbell's exquisite Ode to Winter, the personification, though carric ' PERSONIFICATION. 123 carried to a great extent, is managed with evident propriety and skill. This figure requires to be used with greater modera- tion in prose than in poetry : for, in prose, the same assistances cannot be obtained for raising passion to its proper height by the force of numbers and the glow of style. Yet from this species of composition, ad dresses to objects inanimate are by no means excluded : they have their place in the loftier kind of oratory. A public speaker may on some occasions very properly address religion or virtue, or his country, or some city or province, which has suffered, perhaps, great calami- ties, or been the scene of some memorable event, But it ought to be remembered, that, as such addresses are among the highest efforts of eloquence, they should never be attempted, unless by persons of more than ordinary genius. Of all frigid things, the most frigid are the awkward and unseasonable attempts sometimes made towards such kinds of personification, especially if they be long continued. We perceive the writer labouring to imitate the language of some passion which he neither feels himself, nor is capable of ex- citing in others. i{ If," says the elegant and accomplished Mr. Ros- coe, " the moderns excel the ancients in any depart- ment of poetry, it is in that now under consideration, h must not indeed be supposed that the ancients were in- seusible of the effects produced by this powerful charm. But it may safely be asserted, that they have availed themselves of this creative faculty, much more sparing- ly, and with much less success, than their modern com- petitors. The attribution of sense to inert objects is indeed 1&* APOSTROPHE. indeed common to both ; but the still bolder exertion which embodies abstract existence, and renders" it sus- ceptible of ocular representation, is almost exclu- sively the boast of the moderns/'* CHAP. XIV. OF APOSTROPHE. ^POSTROPHE is a figure nearly allied to personi- fication. It consists in bestowing an ideal pre- sence upon real persons, either dead or absent. We address them as if they stood before us listening to the overflowing of our passion. Never, O little flock ! from which I wai torn by the cruel fate of war, never shall I be unmindful of the sacred ties that united us, of the uninterrupted harmony which we enjoyed, and of those fruits of the Spirit, goodness, righteousness, and truth, which exhibited among you the most convincing proofs of the energy of the gospel • Never shall I forget that melancholy day on which I was separated from you, without one public opportunity of " commending you to God, and to his grace," without one affectionate expression, without one adieu. — Brown's Sermons Strike the harp in praise of Bragela, whom I left in the isle of mist, the sponse of my love. Dost thou raise thy fair face from the rock to find the sails of Cuchullin f The sea is rolling far distaut, and its white foam shall deceive thee for my sails. Retire, for it is night, my love, and the dark winds sigh in thy hair Re. tire to the hall of my feasts, and think of the times that are past for I will net return till the storm of war is gone. — Ossian. * Roscoe's Life of Lorenzo de Medici, vol. i. p. 357-. In APOSTROPHE. 125 In these examples,, an address is made to persons that are absent : but addresses are also made to the dead. Farewell, too little, and too lately, known, Whom I began to think and call my own ; For snre our souls were near ally'd, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. Dryden. Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Majathan and Leuctra bled ! Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own I Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return The Patriot Tell, the Bruce of Bannockbnrn ! Campbell. Oh thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share From reason's dawn each pleasure and each care ; With whom, alas ! I fondly hoped to know The humble walks of happiness below ; If thy blest nature now unites above An angel's pity with a brother's love, Still o'er my life preserve thy mild controul, Correct my views, and elevate my soul, Roger$. Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled ? And am I left to unavailing woe f When fortune's storms assail this weary head, Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go ? No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers ; Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, My hopes to cherish and allay my fears. Beat tie. Phillips ! whose touch harmonious could remove The paugs of guilty pow'r and hapless love, Rest here, distrcst by poverty no more, Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before ; Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. Johnson. In 120 HYPERBOLE. In all the precedent examples, the persons addressed are supposed to be either present, or at least to listen to the speakers. It requires a less violent effort of imagination to sup- pose persons present who are absent or dead, than to animate insensible beings, and direct our discourse to them. This figure may therefore be introduced where personification in its highest degree would be improper. It must not, however, be employed except when the mind is in some measure under the dominion of pas- sion. CHAP. XV. OF HYPERBOLE. '"THE hyperbole consists in magnifying or diminish- ing an object beyond reality. This figure is in common use both among the learned and unlearned. The human mind does not rest satisfied with the simple truth, but has a strong propensity to add or diminish.* An object either very little or very great in its kind, strikes us with surprise ; and this emotion forces upon the mind a momentary conviction that the object is greater or less than it is actually found to be. Hence the hyperbole, which expresses that momentary convic- tion. A writer taking advantage of this natural delu- sion, enriches his description by the use of hyperboles : • Qnintilian, de Institut. Orator, lib. viii. cr-p. vi. and HYPERBOLE. 127 and the reader, even in his coolest moments, relishes that figure ; he is sensible that it is the operation of nature upon a warm fancy. Even in common conversation, hyperbolical expres- sions very frequently occur ; as swift as the wind, as white as snow, and the like ; and our ordinary forms of compliment are almost all of them extravagant hyper- boles. Yet these exaggerated expressions scarcely strike us as hyperbolical. In an instant we make the proper abatement, a-nd know how to form a just esti- mate. But when there is something striking and un- usual in the form of a hyperbolical expression, it is ex- alted into a figure of speech which draws our attention. It cannot have escaped observation, that a writer is generally more successful in magnifying by a hyper- bole than in diminishing. A minute object contracts the mind, and fetters its powers ; whereas a grand object dilates and inflames it. The following quotations will exemplify the manner in which this figure is used. For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth ; so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then thall thy seed also be numbered. — Genesis, Me miserable ! which way shall I fly, Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is Hell : myself am Hell ; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threat'niug to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven. Milton. Swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'ej th' unbending torn and skims along the main. — Pope. Longinui 128 HYPERBOLE. Longinus quotes from some comic poet, the fol- lowing ludicrous instance of a diminishing hyperbole : " He was owner of a bit of ground not larger than a Lacedemonian letter."* I. A hyperbole should never be introduced in the description of any thing ordinary or familiar. In such a case it is altogether unnatural. I saw him beat tbe surges under him, And ride upon their backs : he trodeHhe water ; Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 'Bore the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms, in lusty strokes To th' shore, that o'er his wave-borne basis bow'd, As stooping to receive him. Skakspeare. II. A hyperbole cannot be introduced with pro- priety, until the mind of the reader is duly prepared. A figure of this kind, placed at the beginning of a work, is improper. How far a hyperbole may be carried, and what is the proper measure and boundary of it, cannot be ascer- tained by any precise rule. Good sense and a culti- vated taste must determine the point beyond which it will become extravagant. Longinus compares a hyper- bole carried too far, to a bow-string which relaxes by overstraining, and produces an effect opposite to what is intended. In single opposition hand to hand, He did confound tbe best part of an hour In changing hardiment with great Glendower. Three times they breath'd and Jhree times did the* drink, * Longiniw de SubBuritate, $ xxxviii. .Upoa HYPERBOLE. 129 Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood j 1 Who then affrighted with their blooey looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. — Shakspear?.. England ne'er had a king until his time : Virtue he had, deserving to command : His brandish'd sword did blind men with its beams : Mis arms spread wider than a dragon's wings : His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire, More dazzled, and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. — SUakspeare* I found her on the floor In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful ; Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate, That were the world on fire, they might have drown'd The wrath of Heaven, and quench' d the mighty ruin. — L< With regard to the latter of these instances, the per- son herself who was under the distracting agitations of grief might be permitted to hyperbolize in this manner; but the person describing her cannot be allowed an equal liberty. The one is supposed to utter the senti- ments of passion ; the other speaks only the language of description, which, according to the dictates of na- ture, is always in a lower tone. This is a distinction which, however obvious, has not been attended to by many writers. III. A hyperbole, after it is introduced with every advantage, ought to be comprehended in as few words sa possible. As it cannot be relished but in the confu- sion and swelling of the mind, a leisurely view dTs- solves the charm, and discovers it to be either extra- vagant or ridiculous. CHAP. ( ISO ) CHAP. XVI. OF COMPARISON. "THE situation in which man is placed, requires some acquaintance with the nature, power, and quali- ties, of those objects which surround him. For acquir- ing a branch of knowledge so essential to our happi- ness and preservation, motives of interest and of reason are not alone sufficient : nature has providentially su- peradded curiosity, a vigorous principle which is never at rest. This principle strongly attaches us to those objects which have the recommendation of novelty : it incites us to compare things together, for the purpose of discovering their differences and resemblances. Resemblance between objects of the same kind, and dissimilitude between those of different kinds, are too obvious and familiar to gratify our curiosity in any de- gree : its gratification lies in discovering differences where resemblance prevails, and resemblances where difference prevails. Thus a difference in individuals of the same kind of plants or animals is deemed a disco- very ; while the many particulars in which they agree, are neglected ; and in different kinds, any resemblance is eagerly remarked, without attending to the many particulars in which they differ. Objects of different senses cannot often be properly compared together ; for they are totally separated from each other, and have no circumstance in common to admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects of hear- ing COMPARISON. 131 ing may be compared together, as also those of taste, oi smell, and of touch : but objects of sight are the prin- cipal source of comparison ; because, in speaking or writing, things»can only be compared in idea, and the ideas of sight are more distinct and lively than those of any other sense. It must, however, be observed, that two objects are sometimes happily compared together, though, strictly speaking, they resemble each other in nothing. Though they are dissimilar, they yet agree in the effects which they produce upon the mind : they raise a train of simi- lar or concordant ideas ; so that the remembrance of the one serves to strengthen the impression made by the other. The music of Canyl was, like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. — Ostian. This seems happy and delicate : yet surely no kind of music bears any immediate resemblance to a feeling of the mind. Had it been compared to the voice of the nightingale, or the murmur of the stream, as it would have been by some ordinary poet, the likeness would have been more distinct ; but, by founding his simile upon the effect which Carryl's music produced, the poet, while he conveys a very tender image, gives us ; at the same time, a much stronger impression of the nature and strain of that music. The following similies are of the same description. Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell to- gether in unity ! It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that rs:n down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard ; that went down to the skirts of his garments. — Psalms. Delightful 132 COMPARISON. Delightful is thy pretence, O Fingal ! it is like tire sun of Cromla, when the hunter mourns his absence for a season, and sees him between the clouds. — Ossian. Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of former times on my soul. — Ossian. When a nation emerging from barbarity begins to cultivate the fine arts, the beauties of language cannot long lie concealed : but when discovered, they are ge- nerally, by the force of novelty, carried beyond all bounds of moderation. Thus, in the first poetical efforts of every nation, we find metaphors and similes founded on the slightest and most distant resemblances. These, losing their grace with their novelty, wear gra- dually out of repute ; and at length, on the improve- ment of taste, no metaphor or simile, except it be of a striking kind, is admitted into any polite composition. It is scarcely possible to discover the resemblances upon which the following comparisons are founded. Behold, thou art fair, my love •, behold, thou art fair ; thou hast dove's eyes within thy locks : thy hair is as a flock of goats that ap- pear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which come up from the washing; whereof every one bears twins, and none is barren among them. Thy lips are as a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely : thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks. Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there nang a moti- f-Land bucklers, all shields of mighty men. Thy two breasts are like twoyoung roes that are twins : ihy neck is as a tower of ivory ; thine eyes like the fish pools in Heshbon by the gate of Beth-rabbim ; thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh towaid Damascus. —Song of Solomon. Between an exemplification and a simile a difference i5 to be remarked. A simile is founded upon the dis- covery COMPARISON. 133 covery ot likeness between two actions, in their gene- ral nature dissimilar, or of causes terminating by differ rent operations in some resemblance of effect. But the mention of another like consequence from a like cause, or of a like performance by a like agency, is not a si- mile, but an exemplification. It is not a simile to say, that the Thames waters fields, as the Po waters fields; or that as Hecla vomits flames in Iceland, so iEtna vomits flames in Sicily. When Horace says of Pindar, that he pours his violence and rapidity of verse, as a river swoln with rain rushes from the mountain ; or of himself that his genius wanders in quest of poetical decorations, as the bee wanders in quest of honey ; he in either case produces a simile : the mind is impressed with the resemblance of things generally unlike, as un- like as intellect and body. But if Pindar had been de- scribed as writing with the copiousness and grandeur of Homer, or Horace had told us, that he reviewed and finished his own poetry with the same care as Isocrates polished his orations, he would, instead of similitude, have exhibited almost identity ; he would have given the same portraits with different names. When Addi- son represents the English as gaining a fortified pass, by repetition of attack, and perseverance of resolution, their obstinacy of courage, and vigour of onset, is well illustrated by the sea that breaks, with incessant battery, the dikes of Holland. This is a simile : but when the same author, after having celebrated the beauty of Marlborough's person, tells us that " Achilles thus was formed with every grace," he does not employ a simile but a mere exemplification. A simile may be com- pared to two lines converging at a point j and it is more excellent 134' COMPARISON. excellent as the lines approach from greater distance : an exemplification may be considered as two parallel lines, which run on together without approximation, never far separated, and never joined.* When comparisons are addressed to the understand- ing, their purpose is to instruct ; when to the heart, to please. The latter of these purposes is accomplished by various means : first, by suggesting some unusual resemblance or contrast ; secondly, by setting an object in the strongest light ) thirdly, by associating an ob- ject with others that are agreeable ; fourthly, by elevat- ing an object ; and, fifthly, by depressing it. Of the two following comparisons, the former seems intended to instruct, the latter to please. As wax would not be "adequate to the purpose of signature, if it had not the power to retain as well as to receive the impression, the same holds of the soul with respect to sense and imagination. Sense is its receptive power ; imagination its retentive. Had it sense, withont imagination, it would not be as wax, but as water, where though all impressions be instantly made, yet as soon as they are made they are instantly lost. — Hanis's Hermes. Yet wand'ring, I found on my ruinous walk, By the dial-stone aged and green, One rose of the Wilderness left on its stalk, To mark where a garden had been : Like a brojtherless hermit, the last of its race* All wild in the silence of Nature it drew From each wandering sunbeam a lonely embrace ; For the night-weed and thorn overshadow'd the place Where the flow'r of my forefathers grew. Campbitl. One of the means by which comparisons affords us * Johnson's Life of Addison. pleasure, COMPARISON. 135 pleasure, is the suggestion of some unusual resem- blance or contrast. It will be necessary to illustrate by particular instances. Thus they their doubtful consultations dark Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief : As when from the mountain-top dusky clouds Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, o'erspread Heav'n's cheerful face, the low'ring element Scowls o'er the darken'd landscape, snow, and shower : If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet Extends his ev'ning beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. Milton. Sweet are the uses of Adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in her head. Skakspeare- See how the Morning ope's her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious San ; How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a youker prancing to his love ! Shakspeare. As the bright stars, and milky way, Shew'd by the night, are hid by day : So, we in that accomplish'd mine, Heip'd by the night new graces find, Which, by the splendour of her view Dazzled before, we never knew. Waller. None of these similes, as they appear to me, tend to illustrate the principal subject : and therefore the chief pleasure they afTord must arise from suggesting re- semblances that are not obvious. The next effect of comparison, in the order men- tioned, is to place an object in a conspicuous point of view, Dr 136 COMPARISON. Dr, Brown, in the snbsequent passage, allude* to those who are under the influence of that false phi- lanthropy which pursues unattainable bcueficence, while it neglects the duty immediately incumbent, and the good that is at hand • Persons of this character may be compared to those who ascend a iofiy mountain, and, overlooking every adjacent object, stretch their labouring sight to the remotest compass of vision. Fired at last with the attempt to descry the distant fading specks on the horizon, they return to the plain, and retain no recollection, either of the scenes that were immediately under their feet, or of the re. mote points which they discovered with difficulty.— Brown's Sermons. The goddess appears ; for Poverty ever comes at the call : but, alas ! he finds her by no means the charming figure books and his own imagination had painted. As when an eastern bride, whom her friends and relations had long described as a model of perfection f pays her first visit, the longing bridegroom lifts the veil to see a face he had never seen before ; but, instead of a countenance blazing with beauty like the sun, he beholds deformity shooting icicles to his heart such appears Poverty to her new entertainer. — Goldsmith's Essays. There is a joy in grief when peace dwells with the sorrowful. But they are wasted with mourning, O daughter of Toscar, and their days are few. They fall away like the flower on which the sun looks iii its strength, after the mildew has passed over it, and its head is Leavy with tUe drops of night. — Ossian. Why did not I p;iss away in secret, like the flower of the rock that lifts its fair head unseen, and strows its withered leaves on the Must ?— Ossian. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i* th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought; And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at Grief. Shakspeart, Yet COMPARISON. 137 Yet sadly it is sung, that she in shades, Mildly as mourning doves, love's sorrow felt: Whilst in her secret tears, her freshness fades, As roses silently in lymbecks melt. Davmtmt. As streams which with their windiug banks do ploy, Stopp'd by their creek, run softly through the plains ; So in th' ear's labyrinth the voice doth stray, And doth with easy motion touch the brain. Davits. Fir'd at first sight with what the muse imparts, In fearles* youth we tempt the height of arts, While from the bounded level uf our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But more advanc'd, behold, with strange surprise, New distant scenes of endless science rise. So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky : Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last ; But, these attain'd, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way ; Tit' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes; Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. Pope. This last comparison, in the opinion of Dr. Johnson, is perhaps the best that English poetry can shew * The long-demurring maid, Whose lonely unappropriated sweets Smil'd like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff - , Not to be come at by the willing hand. Blair Few similes, says Dr. Anderson, can exceed this for elegant simplicity.! It likewise tends to place the principal subject in the strongest light. * Johnson's Life of Pope. + Anderson's Life of Blair. G 2 Another 138 COMPARISON. Another effect of comparison is to embellish the principal subject by associating it with others that are of an agreeable nature. Similes of this kind have also a separate effect ; they diversify the narration by mean s of new images which are not strictly necessary to the comparison. They are short episodes, which, without drawing us from the principal subject, afford delight by their beauty and variety. He scarce had ceas'd, vrhcn tke superior fiend Was moving towards the shore ; his pond'rous shield, Ethereal temper, massy large and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At ev'ning from the top of Fesole, Or ia Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or mountains, in her spotty globe. Milton. With regard to similes of this kind, it will readily occur to the reader that, when a resembling subject is one? properly introduced, the mind is transitorily amused with the new object, and not dissatisfied with the slight interruption. Thus in fine weather, the momentary excursions of a traveller for agreeable prospects or ele- gant buildings, cheer his mind, relieve him from the languor of uniformity, and without much lengthening his journey in reality, shorten it greatly in appearance. A writer may, however, happen to make too long a di • gression ; and, in the opinion of some critics, Milton has more than once been guilty of this fault. The foi lowing quotation was probably intended as a burlesque of such long and digressive similes. Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Camlro-Britou (vers'd in pedigree, Sprung COMPARISON. 139 Sprang from Cadwalador and Arthur, kings Fall famous in romantic tale) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town YclcpM Brechinia, or where Vaga s stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil ! Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Pkilkps. Comparisons which tend to aggrandize or elevate an object, are next to be exemplified. As rusheth a foamy stream from the dark shady steep of Cromla, when thunder is rolling above, and dark brown night rests on the hill ; so fierce, so vast, so terrible, rnah forward the sons of Erin. The chief, like a whale of ocean followed by all its billows, pours valour forth as a stream, rolling its might along the shore.— Ossian. Ten paces huge He back recoil'd ; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstaid ; as if on earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his scat Half-sunk with all his pines. Milton. Methinks, king Richard and myself shoal meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their tlmnd'ring shock At meeting tears the eloudy cheeks of heaven. Shahspeare. In the last place, it was observed that a comparison may tend to lessen or depress an object. This is ac- complished by assimilating the principal subjects to any thing low or despicable. The overthrown- he rais'd, and, as a herd Of goats cr iimorous flocks together throng'd, Drove 1*0 COMPARISON. Drove them before him thunder struck, pursu'd With terrors and with furies to the bounds And chrystal wall of heav'n, which opening wide, Roll'd inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd •Into the wasteful deep - r the monstrous sight Struck thetn with horror backward, but far worse Lrged them behind ; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of heav'n. Milton. In the foregoing enumeration, I have not adverted to comparisons introduced for the sake of placing some dbject in a ridiculous point of view. Of these I shall now add a few examples. I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. — Shakspeare. The most accomplished way of using books at present, is to serve them as men do lords, learn their titles, and then brag of their acquaintance. — Suift's Tale of a Tub. Some think that the spirit is apt to feed on the flesh, like hungry wines upon raw beef.— Swift on the Median. Oper. of the Spirit. Remark your commonest pretender to a light within, how dark, and gloomy and dirty he is without ; as lanthorns, which the more light they bear in their bodies, cast out so much the more soot, and smoke, and fuliginous matter to adhere to the sides.— Ibid. Some again think, that when our earthly tabernacles are disor- dered and desolate, shaken and out of repair, the spirit delights to dwell within them, as houses are said to be haunted when they are forsaken and gone to decay.— J bid. Here it may not be amiss to add a few words upon the laudable practice of wearing quilted caps. These, when moistened with sweat, stop all perspiration ; and, by reverberating the heat, prevent the spirit from evaporating any way, but at the mouth ;. even as a skiltul housewife that covers her still with a wet clout for the same reason, and finds the same effect. — Ibid. Seminaries COMPARISON. 141 Seminaries of learning, as well as particular shops, are sometime* frequented more on account of what they have been, than what they are : so many instances of this might be produced, that it seems to be a prevailing opinion in this island, that talents and genius* like tais, are more attached to particular walls and houses than to the pei suns who reside within them. — Moore's Edward. A comparison is sometimes implied where it is not formally expressed. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. Ent knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll ; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfalhomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to bud unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Gray. I. A comparison must not be instituted between ob- jects wbich bear too near and obvious a resemblance to each other. The great pleasure of the act of compar- ing lies in discovering likenesses between things of dif- ferent species, where we would not, at the first glance, expeet a resemblance. There is little art or ingenuity in pointing out resemblances which cannot escape the most careless observer. When Milton compares Satan's appearance after his fall Io that of the sun suffering an eclipse, and affrighting the nations with portentous darkness, we are struck with the happiness and the dig- nity of the similitude. But, when he compares Eve's bower in Paradise to the arbour of Pomona, or Eve herself 142 COMPARISON. herself to a Dryad, or Wood-nymph, we receive little entertainment : every person sees that, in several re- spects, one arbour must of course resemble another arbour, and one beautifu\ woman another beautiful woman. il. As comparisons ought not to be founded on like- nesses too obvious, tirl less ought they to be founded on those which are too faint and remote. When diffe- rences or resemblances are carried beyond certain bounds, they appear slight and trivial ; and for that reason will not be relished by persons of taste. The following instance will probably amuse the reader : it is a quotation, not from a poet o^ orator, but from a grave author writing an institute of law. Our student shall observe, that the knowledge of the law is like a deep well, out of which each man draweth according to the strength of his understanding. He that reacheth deepest, seetb the amiable and admirable secrets of the law, wherein I assnre you the sages of the law in former times have had the deepest reach. And as the bucket in the depth is easily drawn to the uppermost part of the water, (for mdlam elemenium in suo propria loco est grate,) but take it from the water, it cannot be drawn up but with great difficulty, so, albeit beginnings of this study seem difficult, yet when the pro- fessor of the law can dive into the depth, it is delightful, easy, and without any heavy ^burthen, so long as he keeps himself in his own proper element, — Coke on Lyttieton. This mode of stretching comparisons is admirably exposed in the following passage. Fluellen. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn : I tell you, Captain, if yon look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that you sail find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmonth, trwt the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Ma- CC-don, there is also moreover a river in Monmouth ;it is called Wye at COMPARISON. l43 at Monmcutn, but it is ot;t cf ray f rains what is the r.arae cf the other river ; but it is all one, 'tis as like as my fingers to iny fin- gers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent veil; for there ii figures in all things. Akxandtr, Ged knows, and you now, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his dispkanires, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in Ins prains, did, in his ales, and his angers, look you, kill his pes^ friend Clytus. Gower. Our king is not like him in that ; he never kili'd any of Iks friends. FUelUn. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales oat of my month, ere it is made and finished. I speak hut in figures, and comparisons of it : as Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups - } so also Harry of Mon- mouth, being in his right wits and his good judgment?, turn'd away the fat knight with the great belly doublet ; he was full of jest, and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. Gower. Sir John Falsta-ff. Fluellev. That is he : I tell yon, there is good men porn at Monmouth.— Shakspeares Henry V. III. The object from which a comparison is drawn, should never be one of which but few people can form clear and distinct ideas. Comparisons are introduced into discourse, for the sake of throwing light on the subject. We must, therefore, be upon our guard, not to employ, as the ground of our simile, any object which is either too obscure or unknown. That which is used for the purpose of illustrating some other ob- ject, ought certainly to be more obvious and plain than the object intended to be illustrated. Comparisons, therefore, founded on philosophical discoveries, or on any thing with which persons of a certain profession only are acquainted, do not produce their proper effect G 3 in I'M COMPARISON. in any piece intended for the public at large. They should be taken from those illustrious, noted objects, which the majority of readers either have seen, or can strongly conceive. IV. A writer of delicacy will avoid drawing his comparisons from any image that is nauseous, ugly, or remarkably disagreeable ; for, however striking the resemblance may be, the reader will be more strongly affected with sensations of disgust, than with those of pleasure. V. The strongest objection which can be urged against a comparison, is, that it consists in words only, not in sense. Such false coin is suitable in the burlesque ; but it is far beneath the dignity of the epic, or of any serious composition. It is disputed among critics, whether the following simile be of this description : The noble sister of Poplicola, The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle That's curdled by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple. Shakspeure. u There is," says Lord Karnes, " evidently no resem- blance between an icicle and a woman, chaste or un- chase : but chastity is cold in a metaphorical sense ; and this verbal resemblance, in the hurry and glow of composition, has been thought a sufficient foundation for the simile. Such phantom similes are mere witti- cisms, which ought to have no quarier, except where purposely introduced to provoke laughter."* * Karnes's Elements of Criticism, chap. xix. « This, 3 METAPHOR. 145 « This," says Mr. Goldsmith, u is no more than il- lustrating a quality of the mind, by comparing it with . a sensible object. If there is no impropriety in saying such a man is true as steel, firm as a rock, inflexible as an oak, unsteady as the ocean, or in describing a disposition cold as ice, or fickle as the wind; and these expressions are justified by practice; we shall hazard an assertion, that the comparison of a chaste woman to an icicle is proper and picturesque, as it obtains only in the circumstances of cold and purity; but that the addition of its being curdled from the purest snow and hanging on the temple of Diana, the patroness of virginity, heightens the whole into a most beautiful simile.* CHAP. XVII. OP METAPHOR. QNE of the most pleasing exercises of the imagina- tion, is that in which she is employed in compar- ing distinct ideas, and discovering their various resem- blances. There is no simple perception of the mind that is not capable of an infinite number of considerations In reference to other objects; and it is in the novelty and variety of those unexpected connexions, that the rich- ness of a writer's genius is chiefly displayed. A vigor- ous and lively fancy does not tamely confine itself to * Goldsmith'* Essav, vo T . ii. Ess-iy xvii, the llQ METAPHOR, the idea which lies before it, but looks beyond the im- mediate objects of its contemplation, and observes how it stands In conformity with numberless others. It is the prerogative of the human mind thus to bring its images together, and compare the several circumstances of similitude which attend them. By these means elo- quence exercises a kind of magic power ; she can raise innumerable beauties from the most barren subjects, and give the grace of novelty to the most common. The imagination is thus kept awake by the most agree- able motion, and entertained with a thousand different views both of art and nature, which still terminate at the principal object. For this reason, the metaphor is generally preferred to the simile, as a more pleasing mode of illustration. In the former, the action of the mind is less languid, as it is employed at the very same instant in comparing the resemblance with the idea which it attends : whereas in the latter, its operations are more slow, as it must first contemplate the princi- pal object, and afterwards its corresponding image. A metaphor differs from a simile in form only, not in substance; the comparison beingthe foundation of both. In a simile, the two subjects arekept distinct in the ex* pression, as well as in the thought; in a metaphor they are kept distinct in the thought, but not in the expres- sion. A hero resembles a lion, and upon *hat resem- blance many similes have been founded by Homer and other poets. But let us call in the aid of the imagination, and figure the hero to be a lion instead of only resem- bling one ; by that variation the simile is converted into a r>»etaphor which is carried on by describing all the* qualities of the lion which resembles those of the hero. The METAPHOR. 147 The poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, proceeds to describe the lion in appearance ; but in reality he is all the while describing the hero ; and his description be- comes peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues and qualities of the hero in terms which properly be- long not to him but to the lion, When I say of some great minister, " that he upholds the state like a pillar which supports the weight of a whole edifice, I evi- dently frame a comparison ; but when I say of the same minister, " that he is a pillar of the state," this is not a comparison but a metaphor. The comparison between the minister and a pillar is carried on in the mind ; but is made without any of the words which denote comparison. The comparison is only insinu- ated, not expressed; the one object is supposed to be so like the other, that, without formally drawing the comparison, the name of the one may be substituted for that of the other. A metaphor always implies comparison, and is, in that respect, a figure of thought ; yet, as the words in which it is conveyed are not taken literally, but chang- ed from their proper to a figurative sense, the metaphor is commonly ranked among tropes, or figures of words. But, provided the nature of it be well understood, it is of little importance whether we denominate it a trope or a figure. W The description of natural objects," says Mr. Roscoe, "awakes in the poet's mind corresponding emotions ; as his heart warms, his fancy expands, and he labours to convey a more distinct or a more elevated idea of the impressions of his own imagination. Hence the origin of figures, or figurative language ; in the use of 14-8 METAPHOR. of which he aims at describing his principal subject, by the qualities of some other object more generally known, or more striking in its nature. These figures of poetry have furnished the philologists of ancient and modern times with a great variety of minute distinc- tions, hut many of them consist rather in form than in substance ; comparison, express or implied, will be found to be the essence of them all."* Although the word metaphor has been confined to the expression of resemblance between two objects, yet it is sometimes used in a looser and more extended sense ; it denotes the application of a term in any figu- rative signification, whether the figure be founded on resemblance, or on some other relation which two ob- jects bear to each other. When gray hairs are substi- tuted for old age, some writers would call this a me- taphor, though in propriety of language it is only what rhetoricians term a metonymy ; that is, the effect for the cause. Gray hairs are the effect of old age ; but they do not bear any resemblance to it. Aristotle, in his Poetics, uses the term metaphor in its extended sense, for any figurative meaning imposed upon a word ; as a whole put for the part, or a part for the whole ; a species for the genus, or a genus for the species. But it would be unjust to tax this most acute philosopher with any inaccuracy on this account ; the minute subdivisions of tropes being totally un- known in his days. Every writer ought to become a painter as far as the subject which he treats will permit him. Our thoughts * Roscoe's Life of Lorenzo tie Medici, vol. i. p. 317. are METAPHOR. 149 are susceptible of different colourings : taken separate- ly, each has a colour proper to itself; when combined, they lend each other mutual light and shade : and the art of the writer Consists in delicately tracing their re- flected tints.* Of all the figures of speech, none ap- proaches so near to painting as metaphor Its peculiar effect is to add light and strength to description ; to make intellectual ideas, in some sort visible to the eye, by giving them colour, and substance, and sensible qua- lities. To produce this effect, however, a very delicate hand is required ; for, by the smallest degree of inac- curacy, we are in hazard of introducing confusion, in- stead of promoting perspicuity. There is nothing in which a fine writer is so much distinguished from one of an ordinary class, as in the conduct and application of this figure. He is at liberty to range through the whole compass of creation, and collect his images from every object which surrounds him. But though he may thus be amply furnished with materials, great judgment is required in selecting them : for, to render a metaphor perfect, it must be not only apposite, but pleasing ; it must entertain, as well as enlighten. I. Metaphors should be suited to the nature of the subject of which we treat : neither too many, nor too gay, nor too elevated for it j that we may neither at- tempt to force the subject, by means of them, into a degree of elevation which is not consistent with it ; nor, on the other hand, allow it to sink below itsproperdig- nity. These directions apply to figurative language in • Condillac, Traite de l r Art d'Ecrire, liv. ij. chap. vi. general, 150 METAPHOR. general, and snould always be kept in view. Some me- taphors are allowable, nay beautiful, in poetry, which it would be absurd to employ in prose : some may be graceful in orations, which would be very improper in historical or philosophical composition. Figures are the dress of our sentiments. There is a natural con- gruity between the dress, and the character or rank of the person who wears it. The same is the case with re- gard to figures and sentiments. The excessive or un- seasonable employment of figures is mere foppery in writing : it gives a puerile air to composition ; and di- minishes the dignity of a subject rather than exaits it. For as, in real life, true dignity is founded on character, not on dress and parade, so the dignity of composition must arise from intelligence and thought, not from ornament. The same sentiment is happily inculcated by a very able writer, in one of his masterly sermons. " There is/' says Dr. Brown, " a certain taste in character and in moral judgment, as well as in the fine arts, which can be acquired only by a sound under- standing, improved by extensive observation, and by opportunities of contemplating the best models of vir-* tue which our present degraded and miserable state carl afford. Striking but incoherent design, tumid and ex - travagant diction, passion affected and ill placed, glar- ing colouring, and meretricious ornament of every kind, are, by uncultivated minds, preferred to the just proportion, the modest simplicity, and the chaste ele- gance of nature." Figures and metaphors should, upon no occasion be scattered with too profuse a hand ; and they should never be incongruous with the train of our sentiment. Nothing METAPHOR. 151 Nothing can be more unnatural, than for a writer to carry on a process of reasoning, in the same kind of figurative language which he would employ in descrip- tion. When he»reasons, we look only for perspicuity ; when he describes, we expect embellishment ; when he divides or relates, we desire plainness and simplicity. One of the greatest secrets in composition is, to know when to be simple. This always lends a heightening to ornament, in its proper place. The judicious dispo- sition of shade makes the light and colouring strike the more. He is truly eloquent, who can discourse of humble subjects in a plain style, who can treat impor- tant ones with dignity, and speak of things which are of a middle nature, in a temperate strain. For one who, upon no occasion, can express himself in a calm ? orderly, distinct manner, when he begins to be on fire before his readers are prepared to kindle along with him, has the appearance of a madman raving among persons who enjoy the use of their reason, or of a drunkard reeling in the midst of sober company. The following quotation affords an instance of me- taphorical language rising to bombast. The bill underwent a great number of alterations and amend- ments, which were not effected without violent contest: at length* however, it was floated through both houses, on the tide of a great majority, and steered into the safe harbour of royal approbation. — Smollett's History of England II. Metaphors should never be drawn from objects which are mean and disagreeable. Even when introduced to vilify and degrade any subject, an author should study never to be nauseous in his allusions. But in subjects of dignity, it is an unpardonable fault to em- ploy 1-52 METAPHOR. ploy metaphors which are mean and vulgar. All Na- ture opens her stores to us, and admits us to gather from all sensible objects, whatever can illustrate intel- lectual or moral ideas. Not only the gay and splendid objects of sense, but the grave, the terrifying, and even the gloomy and dismal, may, on different occa- sions, be introduced into figures with propriety. But we must always be cautious and select in our choice. In the following passage there occurs an unpardon- able breach of this obvious rule. Some bad poems carry their owners marks about them, some brand or other on tbis buttock or that ear, that it is notorious wko is the owner of the cattle. — Dryden, Dedication of Juvenah III. But, besides a certain decorum which is requi- site to constitute a perfeet metaphor, a writer of true taste and genius will always select the most obvious images, and place them in the unobserved points of resemblance. Every metaphor should carry the ap- pearance of having been led, not of having forced itself into the place of that word, whose room it occupies : it should seem to have come thither of its own accord, and not by constraint. All allusions which point to the more abstruse branches of the arts or sciences, and with which none can be supposed to be acquainted but those who have penetrated far into the deeper studies, should be carefully avoided, not only as pedantic, but as imper- tinent : they pervert the use of this figure, and add nei- ther grace nor force to the idea which they would eluci- date. The most pleasing metaphors, therefore, are those which are derived from the most frequent occur- rences of art or nature, or the civil transactions and customs METAPHOR. 153 customs of mankind. Thus how expressive, yet at the same time, how familiar, is that image which Otway has put into the mouth of Metellus, in his tragedy Of Caius Marius, where he calls Sulpitius That mad bull whom Marius lets loose On each occasion, when he'd make Rome feel him, To toss our laws and liberties i' th' air. The transgression of the above rules forms what are called harsh or forced metaphors. With metaphors of this kind, Johnson, Donne, Cowley, and other poets of the same class, abound. They seem to have considered it as the perfection of wit, to trace likenesses which no other person could have discovered : and at the same time they carry these metaphors so far, that it requires some ingenuity to follow them out, and comprehend them. Instead of illustrating the subject of which they treat, their metaphors generally cast around it a cloud of impenetrable darkness. Some writers endeavour to palliate the harshness of their metaphors by interposing such mitigating phrases as, so to speak, as it were, if I may be allowed the expression : and this method has received the sanc- tion of Aristotle, Theophrastus, Longinus, Cicero, and Quintilian. Notwithstanding the authority of such great names, it must certainly be allowed that any of these phrases forms a very awkward parenthesis : and perhaps metaphors which require such an apology would be better omitted. IV. In constructing a metaphor, the writer ought to confine himself to the simplest expressions, and to make use of such words only as are literally applicable to the 154 METAPHOR. the imagined nature of his subject. Figurative words ought carefully to be avoided : for such complicated figures, instead of placing the principal subject in a clear light, involve it in obscurity, A stubborn and unconquerable flame Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of life.—- Rowe. -• That a fever may be imagined a flame, I admit ; though more steps than one are necessary to come at the re- semblance : a hver, by heating the body, resembles fire : and it requires no effort to imagine a fever to be a fire : again, by a figure of speech, flame may be put for fire, because they are commonly conjoined ; and therefore a fever may be termed a flame. But admit- ting this, the effects of the fever ought to be explained in words which apply to a flame in a literal sense. This rule, however, is not observed ; for a flame drinks figurative only, not properly. I am convinced that the method of teaching which approaches most nearly to the method of investigation, is incomparably the best, since not content with serving up a few barren and lifeless truths, it leads to the stalk on which they grow. — Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. The metaphor which occurs in the latter part of this sentence, is of the same description. Truth is here figured to be the fruit of a tree ; but the epithets lift- less can only be applied metaphorically to fruits. There is not a single view of human nature, which is not suffi cient to extinguish the seeds of pride. — Addison, Spectator. When a seed has lost its power of vegetation, we might say, in a metaphorical sense, it is extinguished : but when in the same sense we call that disposition of the heart METAPHOR. 155 heart which produces pride, the seed of passion, we cannot, without introducing a confusion of ideas, apply any word to seed, but what corresponds with its real properties or circumstances. V. Different metaphors ought never to be confused together in the same sentence. The use of mixed me- taphor is one of the grossest abuses of this figure. Some writers begin sentences with storms and tempests, and close them with fire and flames. Though in their corrupt notions of divine worship, they are apt to multiply their gods, yet their earthly devotion is seldom paid to above one idol at a time, whose oar they pull with less murmuring and much more skill, than when they share the lading, or even hold the Jielm. — Swift on the Contests and Dissensions in Athrns and Rome. The most injudicious writer could not have been be- trayed into a more absurd inconsistency of metaphor. The favourite of the people is first an idol ; and in the very next clause, he is figured to he a vessel. What connexion is there between worshipping and rowing, and who ever heard before of pulling the oar of an idol? Women were formed to temper mankind, not to set an edge upon their minds, and blow up in them those passions which are apt !o rise of their own accord. — Addison, Spectator. The act of setting an edge, and the act of blowing up, bear no analogy to each other. The charm dissolves apace, And as the morniug steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their lising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. Shukspcwe. So 1 56 METAPHOR. So many ill-consorted ideas are here brought together, that the mind can see nothing clearly ;— the morning stealing upon the darkness, and at the same time melt- ing it ; the senses of men chasing fumes, and fumes that mantle. As glorious As is a winged messenger from heaven, Unto the white upturned wandering eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. — 9fiakspeare, Here the angel is represented at one instant as bestrid- ing the clouds and sailing upon the air ; and upon the bosom of the air too. This forms a picture too con- fused for the imagination to comprehend. All then is fall, possessing and possest, No craving void left aching in the breast.— Pope A void may, in a metaphorical sense, be said to crave ; but can a void be said to ache ? I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, That longs to launch into a bolder strain. — Addison. To bridle a goddess is no very delicate idea ; but why must she be bridled ? because she longs to launch ; an act which was never hindered by a bridle : and whither would she launch ? into a nobler strain. In the first line she is a horse, in the second a boat ; and the care of the poet is to keep his horse or his boat from singing.* A good rule has been suggested for examining the propriety of metaphors, when we suspect them to be * Johnson's Life of Addison. of METAPHOR. 157 of a mixed kind : we should consider what sort of a figure the image they present to the mind would exhi- bit upon canvas. By this method, we should become sensible whether, incongruous circumstances were mixed, or the object was presented in one natural and consistent point of view. VI. It is unpleasant to find different metaphors joined in the same period, even where they arc pre- served distinct. The rapid transition distracts the mind : and the images are rendered too faint to pro- duce any powerful effect upon the imagination. VII. Metaphorical and proper expressions ought never to be so interwoven together that part of the sentence must be understood figuratively and part li- terally. The imagination cannot follow, with sufficient ease, changes so sudden and unprepared. A metaphor begun, and not carried on, has no beauty. Instances of such incorrect composition arc without number ; but I shall content myself with giving a single ex- ample. When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, without other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the French stage among the moderns. — Dryckn^ Dedication of Juvenal! Here the writer suddenly falls from the polar-star, and alights upon the French stage. VIII. Metaphors should not be too far pursued. If the resemblance on which the figure is founded, be long dwelt upon, and carried into all its minute cir- cumstances. 158 METAPHOR. camstances, we form an allegory instead of a metn phor ; we fatigue the reader with this play of fancy, and likewise render our discourse obscure. This is called hunting a metaphor down. Lord Shaftesbury is sometimes guilty of pursuing his metaphors too far. Fond, to an uncommon degree, of every decoration of style, when he has once adopted a figure which pleases him, he always seems unwilling to part with it. Thus, having represented soliloquy under the metaphor of a proper method of evacuation for an author, he pursues the figure through several pages, under alt the forms w of discharging crudities, throwing off froth and scum, bodily operation, taking physic, curing indiges- tion, giving vent to choler, bile, flatulencies and tumours,"* till, at last, the idea becomes perfectly nauseous and disgusting. .» IX. There is a double beauty in figures of this kind when they are not only metaphors but allusions. Thus, a very original poet, speaking of the advantages of exercise in dissipaitng those gloomy vapours which are apt to hang upon some minds, employs the following image : Throw but a stoue, the giant dies.— -Green. The metaphor here is conceived with great propriety of thought, if we consider it only in its primary view ; but when we see it pointing still farther, and hinting at the story of David and Goliah, it receives a very con si^JeraWe improvement from, the double application. * Shaftesbury's Advice to an Atitbor. Several METAPHOR. 159 Several examples of impropriety in the use of meta- phor have been pointed out : we shall now turn to the contemplation of examples of a different kind. 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coining events cast their shadows before. — Campbell. O ! wlitn the growling winds contend, and all The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm, To sink in warm repose, and hear the din Howl o'er the steady battlements. Armstrong, Here the word fluctuates is used with admirable effi- cacy : it not only exhibits an image of struggling, but also echoes to the sense.* The metaphor is simple and consistent : it depends upon the resemblance between the waves of the sea, and the violent agitation of trees during a storm. I have sometimes considered the bosom of an old maid as a kind of cell, in which it was intended that the lively bee, affec- tion should treasure up its collected sweets; but this bee hap- pening to perish, before it could properly settle on the flowers that should afford its wealth, the vacant cell may unluckily become the abode of that drone indifference, or of the wasp malignity.— [Jnyletj's Essay on Old Maids. Talents, disjoined from kindness, meekness, and charity, are not those glorious luminaries that shed their benignant influ- ence on earth, but the glaring lightning that alarms, and blasts, and ravages whatever is placed in its way. — Brown's Sermons. Addison, in his excellent critique on Paradise Lost, is taking notice of those changes in nature which the author of that truly divine poem describes as imme- diately succeeding the fall. Among other prodigies, Milton represents the sun in an eclipse, and at the * Goldsmiths Essays, vol. ii. Essay xvii. H same 160 METAPHOR. same time a bright cloud in the western regions of the heavens descending with a band of angels. The critic, to show his author's art and judgment in the conduct and disposition of this sublime scenery, em- ploys the following metaphor : The whole theatre of uatnre is darkened, that this glorious ma- chine may appear in all its Instre and maguificence. Here the figure is beautiful and expressive. Speaking of the behaviour of Charles the first to his last parliament : About a month after their meeting, he dissolved them ; and ax soon as he dissolved them, he repeated ; bot be repented too late of bis rashness. Well might he repent 5 for the vessel was now full, and this last drop made the waters of bitterness overflow. Here we draw the curtain, and put an end to our remarks.— Bolingbrtke's Remarks on the History of England. Nothing could be more happily conducted. A figure of this kind, judiciously managed, forms a spirited and dignified conclusion to a subject. The author retires with a good grace, and leaves a strong im- pression on the reader's mind. The judicious use of metaphor serves to add light to the expression, and energy to the sentiment. But, on the contrary, when this figure is unskilfully employed, it tends effectually to cloud the sense ; and upon some occasions, may even tend to conceal the author's want of meaning. This may happen, not only when there is in the same sentence a mixture of discordant meta- phors, but also where the metaphorical style is too long continued, or too far pursued. The reason is ob- vious. In common speech the words arc the immediate signs of the thought. But here the case is different : for METAPHOR. 161 for when a writer, instead of adopting such metaphors as naturally and opportunely present themselves, rum- mages the universe in quest of these flowers of oratory, and piles them one above another ; when he cannot so properly be said to use metaphor, as to speak in meta- phor, or rather from metaphor, he runs into allegory, and thence into aenigma ; his words cannot be affirmed to be the immediate signs of his thoughts ; they are the signs of the signs of his thoughts. His composition may then be termed what Spenser styles his Faery Queen, " a perpetual allegory or dark conceit." Writers that fall into this error, are often misled by a desire of flourishing on the several attributes of a metaphor which they have pompously ushered into their discourse, without taking the trouble to examine whether there be any qualities in the subject to which these attributes can with justice and perspicuity be ap- plied. Of exuberance of metaphor I shall produce one example. Men must acquire a very peculiar and strong habit of turning their eye inwards, in order to explore the interior regions and recesses of the mind, the hoHow caverns of deep thought, the private seats of fancy, and the wastes and wildernesses, as well as the more fruitful and cultivated tracts of this obscure climate.— Skuftesbury's Miscellaneous Reflections. Here the author having determined to represent the human mind under the metaphor of a country, revolves in his thoughts tbe various objects with might be found in a country, but has never dreamt of consider- ing whether there be any common points of resem- blance between these subjects of his figure. Hence the strange parade he makes with regions, recesses, H 2 hollow 162 ALLEGORY. holloiu caverns, private seats, wastes, wildernesses, fruit-, ful and cultivated tracts ; terms which, though they have an appropriate meaning as applied to a country, have no definite signification when applied to mind; Some objects may, without impropriety, be alluded to in a cursory manner, though they will become ridicu- lous by being too long tortured in a figure or trope. Thus, notwithstanding the impropriety of the passage now quoted from Shaftesbury, there is nothing repre- hensible in the following couplet, which contains a metaphor of the same nature and origin. Farewell, for clearer ken design'd, The dim-discovcr'd tracts of mind. Collins. CHAP. XVIII. OF ALLEGORY. yi-N allegory may be considered as a continued meta- phor. It consists in representing one subject by another analogous to it. The subject thus, represented is kept out of view ; and we are left to discover it by reflection. This furnishes a very pleasant exercise to our faculties. There cannot be a finer or more correct allegory than the following, in which the Jewish natron is re- presented under the symbol of a vineyard. Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt j thou hast cast out the heathen and planted it. Thou preparedst room before it, and didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were like i ALLEGORY. 163 like the goodly cedar*. Why bast thou broken" down ber hedges, so that all they which pass by that way do pluck her ? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the field doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts ; look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted, and the br.;ncn which thou niadest strong for thyself. — Psalms. Here there is no circumstance that does not strictly agree with a vine ; while at the same time, the whole quadrates happily with the Jewish state represented by this figure. It is the principal requisite in the con- duct of an allegory, that the figurative and the literal meaning be not inconsistently mixed together. If, instead of describing the vine as wasted by the boar out of the wood, and devoured by the wild beasts of the field, the psalmist had said, that it was afflicted by heathens, or overcome by enemies, this would have ruined the allegory, and produced the same confusion that has been remarked in those metaphors in which the figurative and literal sense are confounded together. Indeed, the rules which have been given with respect to metaphors may also be applied to allegories, on account of the affinity that they bear to each other. The only material difference between them, besides the one being short, and the other prolonged, is, that a metaphor always explains itself by the words which are connected with it in their proper and natural meaning. When I say, " Wallace was a thunderbolt of war," " in peace Fingal was the gale of spring/' die thunderbolt of war, and the gale of spring are sufficiently interpreted by the mention of Wallace and Fingal. But an allegory may be allowed to stand more 164 ALLEGORY. more unconnected with the literal meaning ; the in- terpretation is not so directly pointed out, but left to our own discovery. Allegories were a favourite method of delivering in- struction in ancient times ; for what we call fables or parables are no other than allegories ; and those fables are to be found among the earliest productions of literature. They represent the dispositions of men by words and actions attributed to beasts and inanimate objects -, and what we call the moral, is the simple meaning of the allegory. An senigma or riddle is also a figure of this kind. One thing is imaged by another, but purposely rendered obscure by being involved in a complication of circumstances. Where a riddle is not intended, it is always a fault in allegory to be too dark. The meaning should be easily seen through the figure employed to shadow it. The proper mixture of light and shade in such compositions, the exact adjustment of all the figurative circumstances with the literal sense, so as neither to lay the meaning too open, nor to cover it too closely, has ever been found an affair of great nicety - } and in allegorical compositions of any length, few writers have succeeded. An allegory is in every respect similar to a hierogly- phical painting, excepting only that words are used instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the same ; a hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind ; one seen, which represents one not seen. The same is the case with an allegory : the representative sub- ject is described ; and the resemblance leads us to apply the description to the subject represented. Nothing affords greater pleasure than this figure, when ALLEGORY. 165 when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, in all its circumstances, to that which is represented. But the choice is seldom so fortunate ; the analogy being generally* so faint and obscure as to puzzle instead of pleasing. An allegory is still more difficult in painting than in writing : the former can shew no resemblance but what appears to the eye; whereas the latter has many other resources. In an allegory, as well as in a metaphor, such terms ought to be chosen as are literally applicable to the representative subject : nor ought any circumstance to be added that is not proper to that subject, however justly it may apply to the principal either in a figu- rative or proper sense. Our view must never wave between the type and the anti-type. For the further illustration of the nature of allegory, I shall subjoin a few miscellaneous examples.* My well-beloved had a vineyard in a very fruitful hill : and he- fenced it, and gathered out the stones thereof, and planted it with the choicest vine, and built a tower in the midst of it, and also made a wine-press thereiu ; and he looked that it should bring forth grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes. And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my vineyard. What conld have been done more to my vineyard, that I have not done in it ? wherefore when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes ? And now, go to • I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard j I will take away the hedge thereof, and "it shall be eaten up, and break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And I will lay it waste : it shall not be pruned nor digged ; but there shall come up briars and thorns : I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon • Various remarks on allegorical composition occur in Mr. War- eon's Observations on Spencer, 2 vols. 8vo. it, 166 7HE CONCISE AND it, for the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant plant. — Isaiah. Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallowed in the flood ? Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea, And give more strength to that which hath too much ; While in his moan the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav'd? — Shaktpeare* Ha ! thou hast rous'd The lion in his den ; he stalks abroad, And the wide forest trembles at his roar, — Southerne. Did I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer's sea, While gentle zephyrs play with prosperous gales, And Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails ; But would forsake the ship and make the shore, When the winds whistle and the tempest roar ?— Prior. CHAP. XIX. OF THE CONCISE AND THE DIFFUSE STYLE. JT has already been hinted that, as words are copies of our ideas, there must always be a very intimate connexion between the manner in which every writer employs words, and his manner of thinking; and that, by the peculiarity of his thought and expression, there is a certain character imprinted on his style, which may THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 167 may be denominated his manner. The terms which we use in order to express the general manner of different authors, bear some reference to their mode of thinking ; but refer chiefly to their mode of expression. The distinctions of nervous and feeble, simple and affected, arise from the whole tenor of a writer's lan- guage ; and comprehend the effect produced by all those parts of style which we have already considered : the choice which he makes of single words, his arrangement of these in sentences ; the degree of his precision ; and his embellishment, by means of musi- cal cadence, or the various figures of speech. That different subjects require to be treated in different sorts of style, is a position too evident to stand in need of illustration. Philosophy demands one kind of style, oratory another ; and different parts of the same composition require a variation in the style and manner. But amidst this variety, we still expect to find, in the writings of the same individual, some degree of uniformity, or consistency with himself; we expect to find some predominant character of style impressed on all his works, which shall be suited to his particular genius, and turn of mind. Wherever there is real and native genius, it gives a determination to one kind of style rather than another. Where nothing of this description appears, where there is no marked or peculiar character in the compositions of an author, we are apt to infer that he writes from imitation, and not from the impulse of original genius. One of the most obvious distinctions of style arises from the conciseness or the diffuseness with which an author exoresses his sentiments. A concise writer H 3 compressfs 168 THE CONCISE AND compresses his thoughts into the fewest possible words; he employs none but such as are most significant \ he lops off every vague and redundant expression. Orna- ment he does not reject ; he may be lively and figu- rative, but his ornaments are introduced in order to add force to his diction. He never repeats the same thought. His sentences are arranged with compact- ness and strengrh, rather than with grace and harmony. The utmost precision is studied in them ; and they are commonly designed to suggest more to the reader's imagination than they directly express. On the other hand, a diffuse writer places his ideas in a variety of lights, and gives the reader every possible assistance for understanding them completely. He is not solicit- ous to express them at once in their full extent, be- cause he generally repeats the impression ; and what he wants in strength, he proposes to supply by copi- ousness. Writers of this character commonly love magnificence and amplification. Their periods natu- rally run out into some length ; and, having room for ornament, they admit it freely. Each of these manners has its peculiar advantages ; and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. The extreme of conciseness degenerates into abrupt- ness and obscurity ; and is apt to introduce a style too pointed, and bordering on the epigrammatic. The extreme of diffuseness becomes weak and languid, and fatigues the reader. However, to one or other of these two manners, a writer may lean according as his genius prompts him $ and under the general character of a concise, or of a diffuse style, may possess much beauty in his composition. In THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 1G9 In judging when it is proper to incline to the con- cise, and when to the diffuse manner, we must be di- rected by the nature of the composition. Discourses which are to be spoken, require a more copious style, than books which are to be read. When the whole meaning must be caught from the mouth of the speaker without the advantage which books afford of pausing at pleasure, and reviewing what appears obscure, great conciseness is always to be avoided. We should never presume too much on the quickness of our hearer's understanding ; but our style ought to be such, that any person of common capacity may comprehend our meaning without effort. A flowing, copious style, therefore, is required in all public speakers. They ought at the same time to guard against such a degree of diffusion as renders them languid and tiresome. In written compositions, a certain degree of con- ciseness possesses great advantages. It appears lively ; keeps up the attention ; makes a stronger impression ; and gratifies the mind by supplying more exercise to the reader'sfacu hies. — A concise, comprehensive style is a great ornament in narration ; and a superfluity of unnecessary words altogether improper. A judicious selection of striking circumstances, clothed in nervous and concise language, produces a delightful effect. — In addresses to the passions, the concise manner ought to be adopted, in preference to the diffuse. When we become prolix, we are always in hazard of cooling the reader. And when the imagination and heart are pro- perly engaged, they supply many particulars to greater advantage than an author can display them. The case is different, when we address ourselves to the under- standing ; 170 THE CONCISE AND standing; as in all matters of reasoning, explication, and instruction. There I would prefer a more free and diffuse manner. When you would captivate the fancy, or engage the heart, be concise ; when you would inform the understanding, be more copious and diffuse. The understanding moves more slowly, and requires to be assisted in its operations. A diffuse style generally abounds in long periods : and a concise style often in short ones. It is not, how- ever, to be inferred that long or short sentences are fully characteristic of the one or the other. An author may always employ short periods, and yet be very dif- fuse : a scanty portionof sentiment may spread through a great number of those periods. Some authors, by the shortness and quaintness of their sentences, may at first view appear very concise, without being so in rea- lity. They transfigure the same thought into many different forms, and make it pass for a new one,only by giving a new turn to the expression. Thus, most of the French writers compose in short sentences ; though their style in general is far from being concise. They commonly break down into two or three periods, a portion of thought which a British author would crowd into one. In like manner, an author may employ long periods, and yet be concise : his periods may be long without being overloaded with any redundancy of ex- pression. Thus, in the writings of Lord Karnes, we frequently meet with lengthened sentences, though seldom with errors in point of conciseness. The direct tendency of short sentences is to render style brisk and lively, but not always concise. They keep the n ind awake by means of quick successive impulses : THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 171 impulses ; and give to composition more of a spirited character. Long periods are grave and stateiy ; but, like all grave things, they are apt to become dull. The following^quotation may serve as an instance of the copious and diffuse style. I can easily admire poetry, and yet without adoring it ; I can allow it to arise from the greatest excellence of natural temper, or the greatest race of native genius, without exceeding the reach of what is hnman, or giving it any approaches of divinity, which is, I doubt, debased or dishonoured by ascribing to it any thing that is in the compass of our action, or even comprehension, unless it be raised by an immediate influence from itself. I cannot allow poetry to be mere divine in its effects than in its causes, nor any operation produced by it to be more than purely natural, or to deserve any other sort of wonder than those of music, or of natural magic, however any of them have appeared to minds little versed in the speculations of nature, of occult qualities, and the force of num- bers or of sounds. Whoever talks of drawing down the moon from heaven by force of verses or of charms, either believes not himself, or too easily believes what others told him, or perhaps follows an opinion begun by the practice of some poet, upon the facility of some people, who, knowing the time when an eclipse would happen, told them he would by his charms call down the moon at such an hour, and was by them thought to have performed it.— When I read that charming description in Virgil's eighth Eclogue of all sorts of charms and fascinations by verses, by images, by knots, by numbers, by fire, by herbs, employed upon occasion of a violent passion, from a jealous or disappointed love ; I have recourse to the strong impressions of fables and of poetry, to the easy mistakes of popular opinions, to the force of imagination, to the secret virtues of several herbs, and to the powers of sounds : and I am sorry the natural history, or account of fascination, has not employed the pen of some person of such excellent wit, and deep thoughtand learning, as Casaubon, who writ that curious and useful treatise of enthusiasm, and by it discovered the hidden or mistaken sources of that delusion, so frequent in all regions and religions of the world, and which had so fatally spread over our country in that age in which this treatise was so seasonably published. 'Tis much to be lamented that he lived not to complete that work in the second part he promised ; or 172 THE CONCISE AND or that his friends neglected the publishing it, if it were left in papers, though loose and unfinished. I think a clear account of enthusiasm and fascination, from their natural causes, would very much deserve from mankind in general, as well as from the com- monwealth of learning ; might perhaps prevent so many public disorders, and save the lives of so many innocent, deluded, or deluding people, who suffer so frequently upon account of witches and wizards. I have seen many miserable examples of this kind in my youth at home ; and though the humour or fashion be a good deal worn out of the world within thirty or forty years past, yet it still remains in several remote parts of Germany, Sweden, and some other countries. — Temple on Poetry. Of the concise style, I shall likewise subjoin an example. A man, while awake, is conscious of a continued train of per- ceptions and ideas passing in his mind. It requires no activity on his part to carry on the train : nor can he at will add to the trainr any idea that has no connexion with it. At the same time we learn from daily experience, that the train of our thoughts is not regulated by chance ; and if it depend not upon will, nor upon chance, by what law is it governed ? The question is of importance in the science of human nature ; and I promise beforehand, that it will be found of great importance in the fine arts. — It appears that the relations by which things are linked together, have a great influence in directing the train of thought. Taking a view of external objects, we see that their inherent properties are not more remarkable than their various relations which connect them together: one thing, perceived to be a cause, is connected with its several effects ; some things are connected by contiguity in time, other* by contiguity in space ; some are connected by resemblance, some by contrast ; some go .before, some follow : not a single thing appears solitary and altogether devoid of connection ; the only difference is, that some are ultimately connected, some more slightly, some near, some at a distance.— Experience will satisfy us of what reason makes probable, that the train of our thoughts is in a great measure regulated by the foregoing connexions : an external object is no sooner presented to us in idea, than it suggests to the mind other objects with which it is connected ; and in this manner is a train of thoughts composed. Such is the law of succession : whe- ther THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 173 ther an original law, or whether directed by some latent principle, is doubtful ; and probably will for ever remain so. This law, however, is not inviolable ; it sometimes happens, that an idea arises in the mind without that connexion ; as for example, after a profound sleep. — Karnes's Elements of Criticism. In this passage nothing is vague or redundant : every word and expression is appropriate. Of all writers, ancient and modern, Aristotle, Taci- tus, and Montesquieu, afford the most remarkable in- stances of conciseness in style. The language of Locke and Clarke, though far from being highly po- lished, is also concise, and, upon the whole, not badly adapted to the profound speculations of those authors. The style of Dr. Reid is entitled to no small praise on account of the same quality. He always expresses himself with clearness, and seldom makes use of a word that could be changed for a better. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, the works of Plato and Cicero exhibit, beyond doubt, the most illustrious instances that can be given. And, among our own countrymen, Temple, Addison, and Burke, afford examples of the same species of excellence. CHAP. C 174 J CHAP. XX. OF THE NERVOUS AND THE FEEBLE STYLE.. JT is generally imagined that the terms nervous and feeble, when applied to style, are synonymous with concise and diffuse. This, however, is not the case. It is indeed true that diffuse writers have, for the most part, some degree of feebleness, and that nervous writers will generally incline to conciseness of expression j but this is by no means an universal rule. There are instances of writers who, in the midst of a full and copious style, have maintained a great degree of strength. And, on the other hand, an author may be parsimonious of his words, without attaining to any remarkable vigour of diction. The foundations of a nervous or a weak style are laid in an author's manner of thinking. If his con- ceptions are strong, his expressions will be energetic. But if he have only an indistinct view of his subject ; if his ideas be loose and wavering; if his genius be such, or, at the time of his writing, so carelessly exert- ed, that he has no firm hold of the conception which he would communicate to us, the marks of all this wHl plainly appear fn his style. Several unmeaning word* and loose epithets will be" found ; his expressions will be vague and general ; his arrangement indistinct and feeble. We shall be able to conceive somewhat of his meaning, but our conceptions will be faint. Whereas a nervous writer, whether he employ an extended or a concise style, gives us always a strong impression of his NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE. 175 his meaning : his mind is full of this subject, and his words are all expressive ; every phrase and every figure which he uses, tend to render the pleasure which he would set before us, more lively and complete. Every author, in every composition, ought to study to express himself with some degree of strength. In proportion as he approaches the feeble, he becomes a bad writer. In all kinds of writing, however, the same degree of strength is not required. But the more grave and weighty any composition is, the more should this quality predominate in the style. History, philosophy, and some species of oratory require it in an eminent degree ; while in romances, epistles, and essays of a lighter cast, it is not so absolutely requisite. Too great a study of strength, to the neglect of other desirable qualities of style, is apt to betray writers into a harshness of manner. Harshness arises from the use of unauthorized words, from forced inversions in the construction of sentences, and from the neglect of smoothness or harmony. This is reckoned the general fault of some of the earliest of our English classics ; such as Bacon, Raleigh, Hooker, Milton, and other writers of those days. The style of these writers is, for the most part, nervous and energetic in an eminent degree : but the language in their hands was very different from what it is at present. They were too fond of Latin idioms: in the structure of their sentences, inversion is often carried to an unwarrantable length. Of that kind of style which is here alluded to, it will be proper to produce a few examples. Though for no other cause, yet for this, that posterity may know w* have pot loosely, through silence, permitted things to passawav as 176 r r:ii: wsu\0U5 and as in a dream, there shall be for men'? information, extant this much concerning the present state of the church of God established amongst us, and their careful endeavours which would have upheld the same. — Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. We see scholars many, more than others ordinarily, subject to melancholy, because their retired courses of life, and privacy of study, is a great means to feed that humour where it is naturally found j yet neither followeth it, therefore, that all scholars live uncomfortable lives, because some do so, that are possessed and oppressed with that humour; nor may that rightly be ascribed to study and learning, which not-.it, but the constitution of some Btudents, producetb.— Gataker's Joy of the Just. With regard to the transposition of words and mem- bers out of their natural order, critics have entered into much discussion. It is agreed on all hands, that such transposition or inversion bestows upon a period a very sensible degree of force and elevation ; and yet writers seem to be at a loss in what manner to account for this effect. Whether, upon the whole, we have gained or lost by departing from this mode of arrange- ment, has by some been doubted. It appears to me that the genius of the English language does not natu- rally admit of much inversion. But, however this may be, such violent instances of transposition as occur in the passages lately quoted, are altogether obsolete ; and no modern writer could adopt them without the censure of harshness and affectation. Among those who first laid aside the frequent in- versions which prevailed among writers of the former age, we may reckon Cowley and Clarendon, The writings of Temple also contributed much to advance the language to its present state : but to those of Dry- den it is chiefly indebted for its smoothness and elegance. Dryden THE FEEBLE STYLE. 177 Dryden began to write about the time of the Resto- ration, and continued long in his literary career. He brought to the study of his native tongue a vigorous mind fraught with various knowledge. There is a richness in his diction, a copiousness, ease, and variety in his expression, which have never been surpassed by any of those who have come after him. His clauses are never balanced, nor his periods modelled ; every word seems to drop by chance, though it falls into its proper place. Nothing is cold, or languid ; the whole is airy, animated, and vigorous ; what is little, is gay ; what is great, is splendid. Though all is easy, nothing is feeble ; though all seems careless, there is nothing harsh ; and though since the publication of his works, more than a century has elapsed, yet they have no- thing uncouth or obsolete.* Some are of opinion that it is elegance rather than strength, which forms the chief characteristic of modern English authors. They maintain that, since the close of the last century, few specimens have been exhibited of energetic composition, and that purity and elegance have been studied, to the neglect of strength and vigour. This charge seems to be unsupported by facts. What writer ever expressed himself with greater ener- gy than Johnson ? Or who ever discovered any want of this quality in the compositions of Hawkesworth, Robertson, and Stuart ? From the catalogue of living authors, several great names might also be selected. Vigour is sometimes confounded with harshness : it is imagined that a writer cannot be energetic, without * Johnson'8 Life of Dryden. being 178 THE NERVOUS AND being rugged. u They would not have it run without rubs, as if that style were more strong and manly, that struck the ear with a kind of unevenness."* Those who complain that, with regard to energy of expression, no writer of the present age can be com- pared with Bacon and Raleigh, ought to impute this circumstance to another cause than the study of purity and elegance. If the foundations of a nervous or weak style be laid in the author's manner of thinking, the matter may readily be explained. Bacon and Raleigh possessed greater genius than those who are brought into competition with them. I shall now endeavour to select some instances of the vigorous style ; though the general character of a writer cannot be collected from detached passages. About this time Warbnrtou began to make his appearance in the first ranks of learning. He was a man of vigorous faculties, a mind fervid and vehement, supplied by incessant and unlimited enquiry, with wonderful extent and variety of knowledge, which yet had not oppressed his imagination, nor clouded his perspicacity. To every work he brought a memory full fraught, together with a fancy fertile of original combinations, and at once exerted the powers of the scholar, the rca^oner, and the wit. But his knowledge was too multifarious to be always exact, and his pursuits too eager to be always cautious. His abilities gave hiin a haughty confidence, which he disdained to conceal or mollify ; and his impatience of opposition disposed him to treat his adversaries with such con- temptuous superiority as made his readers commonly his enemies, and excited against the advocate the wishes of some who favoured the cause. He seems to have adopted the Roman emperor's de- termination, oderint dum metuant ; he used no allurements of gentle language, but wished to compel rather than persuade. His * Jonson's Discoveries. style THE FEEBLE STYLE. 179 style is copious without selection, and forcible without neatness ; he took the words that presented themselves ; his diction is coarse and impure, and his sentences are unmeasured.— Johnson's Lift of Pope. From the writings of this author a more admirable specimen might be selected ; but I have chosen this, on account of its reference to our present subject. Christianity was more calculated, than the superstitions of pagan, ism, to impress the imagination and the heart. The rite of bap- tism taught the follower of Odin to transfer his worship to Christ. To defend Christianity with his sword and his life, became a sacred vow, to which every knight was ambitious to submit. He con- sidered himserf as a saint, as well as a hero ; and on the foundation of his piety, the successors of St. Peter were to precipitate the armies of Europe upon Asia, and to commence the crusades, those memorable monuments of superstition and heroism. The lady not less than the knight, was to feel the influence of this religion. Society was to be disturbed with the sublime extravagance of fanatics, who were to court perfections out of the order of nature. Mortifications, austerities, aud penances, were to be meritorious in proportion to their duration and cruelty. The powers and affections of the mind and the heart were to sicken and to languish in frivolous and fatiguing ceremonials. The eye of beauty was to sadden iu monasteries and in solitude, or to light the unholy fires of a rampant priesthood. The deity was to be worshipped in abjectness and in terror, as if he contemned the works he had made, and took delight in human dejection and wretchedness.— Stuarfs View of Society. It is with justice that Mr. Hayley distinguishes Dr. Stuart as an author possessed of " all the energy of genius." His style 5 though certainly deficient in fluency, is bold and vigorous ; and upon some occasions he even rises to uncommon eloquence. The English language can boast of few such finished works as his admirable View of Society in Europe. The subject is interesting and 180 THE NERVOUS ANt> and important > and he has applied himself to the investigation of it with great assiduity aud research. Wherever tliey marched, their rout was marked with blood. They ravaged or destroyed all around them. They made no distinction between what was sacred and what was profane. They respected no age, or sex, or rank. What escaped the fury of the first inundation, perished in those which followed it. The most fertile and populous provinces were converted into deserts, in which were scattered the ruins of villages and cities, that afforded shelter to a few miserable inhabitants whom chance had preserved, or the sword of the enemy, wearied with destroying, had spared. The conquerors who first settled in the countries which they had wasted, were expelled or exterminated by new invaders, who, coming from regions farther removed from the civilized parts of the world, were still more fierce and rapacious. This brought new calamities upon mankind, which did not cease until the north, by pouring forth successive swarms, was drained of people, and could no longer furnish instruments of destruction. Famine and pestilence, which always march in the train of war, when it ravages with such inconsiderate cruelty, raged in every part of Europe, and com- pleted its sufferings. — Robertson's View of Society. The style of Dr. Robertson is at once polished and energetic. It seems to approach the very borders of perfection. The objections which have been urged against it by a popular writer, it may here be proper to consider. " The historian of Charles the fifth," it is remarked, " possesses so many excellencies, that it is almost sacrilegious to detract from his merit. But no writer is perfect ; and I doubt not, from the opinion I entertain of his taste and candour, that he will con- fess, when the ardour of composition is abated, that his style has deviated from the historical to the dela- matory. He relates the councils as well as the wars of nations with all the vehemence of a Demosthenes and THE FEEBLE STYLE. 181 and the rapid eloquence of a Ciceronian Philippic. The style is glowing and animated in a high degree ; but does nature dictate that a long and diffuse disser- tation on such subjects as the feudal state, or on others equally dispassionate in themselves, should be treated in a style which would become an orator in the act of rousing his sluggish countrymen to repel an invader ? I will not enter into an enquiry, whether such long dissertations legitimately belong to history or to ano- ther species of composition. I believe they might more properly be classed under the name of political dissertations. They find no place in the purer models of antiquity ; and the reader has certainly a right to complain that they occupy a disproportionate part of a work, and appear in the place of facts, on which he might make his own reflections. But the fire andris vivida, or the life and spirit which is diffused over this respectable writer's page, induces us to forget a while the rules prescribed by the frigidity of criticism. What though he seems to have made Demosthenes his model, instead of Livy or Herodotus, yet surely, what bears any resemblance to the spirit of that noble Athe- nian cannot fail to delight and improve." These observations seem to be dictated by the spirit of cold and systematic criticism. Why is the historian to be debarred from relating the councils of nations with a vehement and rapid eloquence ? The councils of nations may be more interesting than their wars, and ought therefore to be related in an interesting manner. It is upon their issue that war or peace depends ; and they tend to exhibit the characteristic features not only of distinguished personages, but of a whole people. It 182 THE NERVOUS AND It is asked if nature dictates that a long and diffuse dis- sertation on such subjects as the feudal state, or on others equally dispassionate in themselves, should be treated in a style which would become an orator in the act of rousing his sluggish countrymen to repel an invader ? This question may be answered in the nega- tive. And it will be difficult to prove that, in the dissertation alluded to, the style of Robertson corres- ponds to the above description. It is neither too lofty nor too mean. The feudal state cannot with propriety be termed a dispassionate subject : it presents the human mind in a great variety of singular and inte- resting aspects, and affords an eloquent writer many opportunities of exerting his powers. Whether such dissertations find a place among the models of antiquity is of little importance in the determination of the pre- sent question. That they have only been attempted by the moderns, is a circumstance which tends to shew the progressive improvement of every thing connected with the intellectual faculties of man. It is absurd to propose the ancient historians as permanent models : in many respects they are greatly excelled by the moderns. The modern historian exhibits a more complete and masterly view of " the progress of the human mind,, the gradual improvement of reason, the successive advances of science, the vicissitudes of learning and ignorance, which are the light and dark- ness of thinking beings, the extinction and resuscitation of arts, and the revolutions of the intellectual world."* • As an opportunity has thus presented itself, I shall take the liberty of mentioning some authors who have either treated of th* That THE FEEBLE STYLE. 183 That beautiful dissertation which appeared so tedious to the learned writer, will by most readers be perused with a lively interest ; and it is surprising that any critic should regard it with coldness. Enquiries into the nature and progress of society are certainly much more important than narrations of battles and sieges, negotiations and intrigues. The disquisitions of Fer- guson, Robertson, and Stuart, may be classed with the most masterly productions in the English language. In Dr. Ferguson's work, even Mr. Gray acknowledged M uncommon strains of eloquence."* The style of Mr. Gibbon has sometimes been pre- ferred to that of Dr. Robertson ; but this is certainly an honour to which it is not justly entitled. It evinces less correctness, less compression, and less of the ge- nuine Attic taste. It abounds with affected circumlo- cutions, and with epithets which have the appearance of being introduced for the sake of the sound, rather than of the sense. Yet, with all this wantof chasteness. study of history, or of tiie manner in which it should be writteu. Remarks upon this subject occur in the writings of Diouysius, Lucian, and Di odor us, Vussius, Hubertus Folicta, Riccoboni, Pa- trici, and Mascardi, have professedly treated of the historical an. The reader may also consult St. Real De V Usage de i'Histoire, Condillac De V Etude de I'Histoire f Argenson's Reflexions sut Its Historienx Francois, inserted in Choix de$ Memoir es de I'Academie Royale,tome iii. Hayley's Essay on History, Bolwgbioke's Letters on the Study of History, and Ferriar's Menippean Essay on English His- torians. Each of these authors cannot be recommended as highly excellent \ but eaGh of them maybe perused with some advantage. ^Mason's Memoirs of Gray, sect. iv. i it 18-I* NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE. it displays so many of the flowers of a classical fancy, that it is very far from being entitled to the contempt which it has sometimes experienced. If it be necessary to produce any instance of the feeble style, the following may, I think, be selected with sufficient propriety. To read such vast numbers as he did, he latterly made use of a method as extraordinary as any thing I have hitherto mentioned of him. When a book first came into his hands, he would look the title page all over, then dip here and there in the preface, dedication, and advertisements, if there were any ; and then cast his eyes on eacn of the divisions, the different sections, or chapters, and then he would be able for ever to know what that book contained : for he remembered as steadily as he conceived rapidly. — It was after he had taken to this way of fore-shortening his reading, if I may be allowed so odd an expression; and I think I rather may, because he conceited the matter almost as completely in this short way, as if he had read it *t full length ; that a prie9t, who had eomposed a panegyric on on© • f his favourite saints, brought it to Magliabechi, as a present. He had read it over the way above-mentioned ; only the title-page, and the heads of the chapters ; and then thanked him very kindly for his excellent treatise. The author, in some pain, asked him, ** Whether that was all he intended to read of his book?*' Maglia- bechi coolly answered, " Yes ; for I know very well every tiling that is in it." My author for this anecdote endeavoured to account for it in the following manner: Magliabechi, says he, knew all that the ivriters before had said of this saint ; he knew this particular fathers turn and character ; and from thence judged, what l.e wo'ild dime out. of them, and what he would omit. — Spcnce's Life ff Magliabechi. This passage seems to exhibit every possible fa alt. The sentences are constructed in a very unskilful manner ; the circumstances are often improperly pla- ced ; and the members loose and disjointed. Nothing is expressed with energy ; all is feeble and ungraceful. The commencement of the second paragraph presents so THE VEHEMENT STYLE. 185 so violent a separation of correspondent words, that the period is involved in a considerable degree of obscu- rity. Nor is the«author's phraseology less exception- able : it is altogether low and vulgar, as the expressions in Italics will sufficiently testify. CHAP. XXI. OP THE VEHEMENT STYLE. r J^HE vehement rise* a degree above the nervous style. The former, however, always includes the latter : for in order to attain to any vehemence of diction, an author must necessarily be possessed of strength. The vehement style is distinguished by a peculiar ardour of expression ; it is the language of a man whose imagination and passions are strongly affected by the subject which he contemplates ; and who is therefore negligent of lesser graces, but pours forth his eloquence with the fulness and rapidity of a tor- rent. It belongs to the higher species of oratory ; and indeed is rather expected from a man who declaims in a popular assembly, than from one who writes in the retirement of his closet. Of this style, the most striking examples in our language have been exhibited by Burke and Bolingbroke. Mr. Burke was a man of the most splendid talents, and those talents had been improved by due cultiva- tion. His imagination was fervent and brilliant ; but I 2 his 186 THE VEHEMENT STYLE, his judgment was less vigorous than his imagination In modern, and indeed in ancient times, the copious- ness and force of his eloquence have not often been paralleled : it rolls along like a rapid and impetuous torrent, and bears down every object that rises in op- position. His illustrations are variegated and striking ; he is even profuse of poetical conceptions and poetical imagery. His metaphois, however, are not unfre- quently coarse, and his language is deficient in purity and selection. When he has begun to descant on a subject which interests his morbid feelings, he knows not when to pass to another. Upon the whole, it may perhaps be affirmed with safety, that his various pro- ductions are more calculated to excite the astonishment or indignation of his contemporaries, than to secure the applause or imitation of posterity. Lord Bolingbroke was fitted by nature to be the demagogue of a popular assembly. The style which runs through all his political writings, is that of a person declaiming with heat, rather than writing with deliberation. He abounds with rhetorical figures ; and pours liimself forthwith great impetuosity. He is co- pious to a fault ; places the same thought before us in many different views ; but generally with vivacity or ardour. He is bold rather than correct. His eloquence is a torrent that flows strong, but often muddy. His merit as a writer would have been considerable, if his matter had equalled his style. But while we find much to commend in the latter, the former is entitled to no kind of praise. In his reasonings, he is for the most part flimsy and false ; in his political writings factious; and, THB VEHEMENT STYLE. 187 and, in what he calls his philosophical ones, irreligious and sophistical in the highest degree.* Tn treating of the vehement style, I have not, as upon former occasions, attempted to select examples. The subject cannot in the present instance be eluci- dated in this manner : vehemence of style can only be perceived and relished by attending to a pretty long series of reasonings and illustrations. * Lord Chesterfield having mentioned Bolingbroke's /tfca c/a Patriotic King, proceeds in the following manner : " I desire that you will read it over and over again, with particular attention to the style, and to all those beauties of oratory with which it is adorned. Till I read that book, I confess I did not know all the extent and powers of the English language. Lord Bolingbroke has both a tongue and a pen to persuade j his manner of speaking in private conversation is full as elegant as his writings ; whatever subject he either writes or speaks upon, he adorns with the most splendid elo- quence ; not a studied or laboured eloquence, but such a flowing happiness of diction, which (from care perhaps at first) is become so habitual to him, that even his most familiar conversations, if taken down in writing, would bear the pres?, without the least correction, cither as to method or style. If his conduct in the former part of his life/had been equal to his natural and acquired talents, he would most justly have merited the epithet of all accomplished." — Letter$ to his Sen, Let. clxxv. CHAP. [ 188 1 CHAP. XXII. OP THE PLAIN STYLE. A PLAIN style is one that rejects all ambitious ornaments. The writer who adopts this manner, may perhaps endeavour to display his meaning with perspicuity and precision : qualities of style which, it must be confessed, are of the highest order. _ His com- position may also be possessed of force and vivacity. But he will shew an indifference for what is merely or- namental. He does not strive to captivate the fancy or the ear by employing rhetorical figures, or musical arrangement. Yet it is not necessary that he disgust his reader by a dryness or harshness of manner. A plain style is consistent with smoothness of arrange- ment, and a temperate use of metaphor ; though nei- ther of these is absolutely requisite. In discussions of a philosophical nature, the plain style ought to predominate. And, accordingly, many of the English philosophers have employed it with propriety. Even in works which admit, or require much ornament, there are parts where the plain manner should be adopted. But it must be remembered, that when this is the character which a writer affects throughout his whole composition, great weight of matter, and great force of sentiment, are required to secure the reader's attention. Unless he happen to treat of mathematical subjects, an author ought always to beware of falling into a dryness of manner. This exeludec THE PLAIN STYLE. 189 excludes ornaments of every description. Content with being understood, it has not the least aim to please either the fancy or the ear. Aristotle furnishes the most complete example of a dry style. Never, perhaps, was there an author who adhered so rigidly to the strictness of a didactic manner throughout all his writings, and conveyed so much instruction with- out the least approach to ornament. With the most profound genius, and the most extensive views, he writes like a pure intelligence, who addresses himself solely to the understanding, without making any use of the channel of the imagination. But this is a man- ner which deserves not to be imitated. For although the value of the matter may compensate for the dry- ness or harshness of the style, yet is that dryness a considerable defect : it fatigues the attention, and conveys our sentiments with disadvantage to the reader or hearer. It would appear, however, that Aristotle wrote in this manner from choice rather than necessity. Had he preferred a more ornamental style, he could un- doubtedly have attained it. It is even the opinion of some learned men, that, if we may judge from the specimen which still remains,* he was fitted by nature to excel in the higher species of poetry. Scaliger regards his Hymn to Virtue as not inferior to the com- position of Pindar.f i Dr. Swift may be placed at the head of those who * Apud Athenaeum, lib. xv. cap. xvi. Stobaum, prope init, ct Diogenem Laertium in Vita Aristotelis. t Scaligeri Poetice, lib. i. cap. xliv. * havo 190 THE PLAIN STYLE. have employed the plain style. Few writers have dis- covered greater talents. He always shows himself completely master of the subject of which he treats. Few were better acquainted with the extent, the pu- rity, the precision of the English language : and there- fore, to those who are ambitious of attaining a pure and correct style, he is one of the most useful models. But we must not look for much ornament or grace in his language. His naughty and morose genius made him despise any embellishment of that kind as beneath his dignity. He delivers his sentiments in a plain, positive manner, like one who is sure he is always right, and is very indifferent whether his reader be pleased or not. *• His sentences are often negligently arranged : the sense is sufficiently obvious ; but little regard is paid to compactness or elegance. If a metaphor, or any other figure, chanced to render his satire more poignant, he would perhaps condescend to adopt it, when it presented itself ; but if it tended only to em- bellish or illustrate, he would rather throw it aside. Hence in his serious writings, his style often borders upon the dry and unpleasing. But in his humorous pieces, the plainness of his manner displays his wit to the greatest advantage. Dr. Johnson, has commented on the style and manner of Swift with his usual powers of discrimination. "In his works," says he, " he has given very different spe- cimens both of sentiment and expressions. His ' Tale of a Tub* has little resemblance to his other pieces. It exhibits a vehemence and rapidity of mind, a copious- ness of images, and vivacity of diction, such as he af- terwards never possessed, or never exerted. It is of a mode THE PLAIN STYLE. 191 mode so distinct and peculiar, that it must be consi- dered by itself; what is true of that, is not tcue of aay thing else which he has written. " In his other works is found an equable tenourof easy language, which rather trickles than flows. His delight was in simplicity. That he has in his works no metaphor, as has been said, is not true ; but his few metaphors seem to be received rather by necessity than choice. He studied purity ; and though perhaps all his strictures are not exact, yet it is not often that so- lecisms can be found ; and whoever depends on his au- thority may generally conclude himself safe. His sen- tences are never too much dilated or contracted ; and it will not be easy to find any embarrassment in the com- plication of his clauses, any inconsequence in his connexions, or abruptness in his transitions. "His style was well suited to his thoughts, which are never subtilized by nice disquisitions, decorated by sparkling conceits, elevated by ambitious sentences, or variegated by far-sought learning. He pays no court to the passions ; he excites neither surprize nor admi- ration ; he always understands himself ; and his readers always understand him : the peruser of Swift wants lit- tle previous knowledge ; it will be sufficient that he is acquainted with common words and common things ; he is neither required to mount elevations, nor to explore profundities ; his passage is always on a level, along solid ground, without asperities, without obstruction. " This easy and safe conveyance of meaning it was Swift's desire to attain, and for having attained it he deserves praise, though perhaps not the highest praise. For purposes merely didactic^ when something is to 1 3 he 192 THE PLAIN STYLE. be told that was not known before, it is the best mode ; but against that inattention by which known truths are suffered to lie neglected, it makes no provision j it in- structs, but does not persuade."* It will now be proper to select a passage characteris- tic of that species of style of which we have been treat- ing. And for this purpose we shall have recourse to the writings of Swift. I suppose it will be granted that hardly one in an hundred among our people of quality, or gentry, appears to act by any principle of religion. That great numbers of them do entirely discard it, and are ready to own their disbelief of all re relation hi ordinary discourse. Nor is the case much better among the vulgar, especially in great! towns ; where the profaueness and ignorance of handicraftsmen, small traders, servants, and the like, are to a decree very hard to be imagined greater. Then it is observed abroad, that no race of mortals hath so little sense of religion as the English Soldiers : to confirm which, I have been often told by great officers in the army, that in the whole compass of their acquaintance, they could not re- collect three of their profession, who seemed to regard or believe one syllable of the Gospel : and the same, at least, may be affirm- ed of the fleet. The consequences of a'l which, upon the actions of men, are equally manifest. They never go about, as in former times, to hide or palliate their vices ; but expose them freely to view, like any other common occurrences of life, without the least reproach from the world or themselves. For instance, any man will tell you, he intends to be drunk this evening, or was so last night, with as little ceremony or scruple, as he would tell you the time of the day. He will let you know that he is going to a wench with as much indifference as he would a piece of public news. He will swear, curse, or blaspheme, without the least passion or provo- cation. And although all regard for reputation be not quite laid aside in the other sex ; it is, however, at so low an ebb, that very * Johnson's Life of S*iA. few THE NEAT STYLE. 193 few am nig them seem to think virtue and conduct of any necessity for preserving it. If this be not so, how comes it to pass that women of tainted reputations find the same countenance and reception in all public places, with those of the nicest virtue, Who pay and receive visits from them, without any manner of scruple ? Which proceeding, as it is not very old among us, so I take it to be of most pernicious consequence. It looks like a sort of compounding between Virtue and Vice ; as if a woman were allowed to be vicious, provided she be not profligate ; as if there was a certain point where gallantry ends, and infamy begins ; or that an hundred criminal amours were not as pardonable as half » score.— Swift on the Advancement of Religion. CHAP. XXIII. OF THE NEAT STYLE. !^[EATNESS of style implies, a certain degree of ornament. Its ornaments, however, are not of the most showy or brilliant kind : they are such as are easily attained. A writer who employs this kind of style, considers the beauties of language as an object worthy of attention. He is careful in the choice of his > words, and endeavours to arrange them with propriety land elegance ; but he seldom attempts any bold flight of eloquence. His sentences are free from the incum- brances of superfluous words : they are of a moderate length, and rather inclining to brevity than to a swell- ing structure; they generally close with propriety and are unincumbered with long tails. His cadence e» varied, but not of the studied musical kind. Such figures' 194 THE NEAT STYLE. figures as he employs, are short and correct, rather than bold or glowing. This style may, perhaps, be adopted by an author of superior genius ; but it is not unattainable by one of no uncommon capacity. Any writer of ordinary attainments may acquire it, by carefully attending to the laws of rhetoric, and to the practice of writers of established reputation. It is a mode of writing that never becomes disagreeable. It imprints a character of moderate elevation on our composition, and displays a decent degree of ornament, which is not incompa- tible with any subject whatever. A familar letter, or a law paper, may be written with neatness; and a ser- mon, or philosophical treatise, in a neat style, will be read with pleasure. The writings of Middleton, Berkeley, Blackstone, and Smith, appear to me to exhibit models of this species of style. From the last of these authors I shall endeavour to select an apposite passage. We sympathise even with tie dead, and overlooking what is of real importance in their situation, that awful futurity which awaits them, we are chiefly affected by those circumstances which strike onr senses, but can have no influence upon their happiness. It is miserable, we think, to be deprived of the light of the sun ; to be shot out from life and conversation ; to be laid in the cold grave a prey to corruption .and the reptiles of the earth, to be no more thought of in this world, but to be obliterated in a little time from the affections and almost from the memory of their dearest friends and relations. Surely, we imagine, we can never feel too much for those who have suffered so dreadful a calamity. The tribute of our fellow feelings seems doubly due to them now when they ate in dange* of being forgot by every body ; and, by the vain honours which we^pay to their memory, we endeavour,for our own misery, artificially to keep alive ctr melancholy remembrance of their mis* fortune THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 195 fortune. That our sympathy can afford them no consolation, seem* to be an addition to their calamity ; and to think that all we can do is unavailing, and that, what alleviates all other distress, the regret, the love, and the lamentations of their friends, can yield no comfort to them, serves only to exasperate the sense of their misery. The happiness of the dead, however, most assuredly is affected by none of these circumstances ; nor is it the thought of these things which can ever disturb the profound security of their repose. The idea of that dreary and endless melancholy which the fancy naturally ascribes to their condition, arises altogether from our joining to the change which has been produced upon them, our own consciousness of that change, from our putting ourselves in their situation, and from our lodging, if I may be allowed to say so, our own living souls in their inanimated bodies, and thence conceiving what would be our emotions in this case. It is from this very illusion of the ima- gination, that the foresight of our own dissolution is so terrible to us, and that the idea of those circumstances, which undoubtedly oan give us no pain when we are dead, makes us miserable whilr we are alive.— Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. CHAP. XXIV. OF THE GKACEFUL STYLE. NOTWITHSTANDING the powerful effect which graceful composition produces upon the mind, it is difficult to reduce it to a definition. Where language does not supply us with proper words to express the ideas of the mind, we can only convey our sentiments in figurative terms ; a defect which necessarily intro- duces some obscurity. Grace in writing may be compared to that easy air which so remarkably distinguishes persons of a genteel * ani 196 THE GRACEFUL STYLE. and Kberal cast. It consists not only in the particular beauty of single parts, but in the general symmetry and construction of the whole. An author may be just in his sentiments, lively in his figures, and clear in his expression ; yet at the same time may be wholly a stranger to graceful composition. The several mem- bers of a discourse must be so agreeably united as mu- tually to reflect beauty upon each other : their arrange- ment must be so happily disposed as not to admit of the least interposition without manifest prejudice to the entire piece. The thoughts, the metaphors, the allu sions, and the diction, should appear easy and natural, and seem to arise like so many spontaneous produc- tions, rather than as the effects of art or labour. Whatever, therefore, is forced or affected in the sen- timents, whatever pompous or pedantic in the expres- sion, is the very reverse of grace. Her mien is neither that of a prude, nor that of a coquette : she is regular without formality, and sprightly without being fantas- tical. Grace is to good writing, what a proper light is to a fine picture ; it not only shows all the figures in their several proportions and relations, but shews them in the most advantageous manner. As gentility appears in the most minute actions, and improves the most inconsiderable gesture, so grace is discovered in the placing even of a single word, or in the turn of a mere expletive. Nor is this inexpressible quality confined to one species of composition : it ex- tends from the humble pastoral to the lofty epic ; from the slightest letter to the most solemn discourse. It is supposed that Sir William Temple was the first writer who introduced a graceful manner into English prose. THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 197 prose.* I am rather inclined to think that this honour is due to Cowley. The general merit of this author's essays has been acknowledged by Johnsonf and Gold- smith;}: but they»have never been referred to as in- stances of graceful composition. They however seem entitled to this mark of distinction. His sentiments are natural, and his diction simple and unaffected. No- thing appears far-fetched, or artificially constructed $ and our ears are seldom or never assailed with pom- pous and pedantic expressions. But wherever we may look for the origin of this? quality, it is certainly to be found in its highest perfec- tion in the compositions of Mr. Addison, an author whose writings will be distinguished as long as polite- ness and good sense find any admirers. That becoming air which Cicero esteems the criterion of fine writing, and which every reader, he says, imagines so easy to be imitated, yet will find so difficult to attain, is the prevailing characteristic of all this excellent author's performances. We may justly apply to him what Plato, in his allegorical language, says of Aristophanes; the Graces, having searched all the world round for a sample in which they might for ever dwell, settled at last in the breast of Addison. His style is thus characterised by Dr. Johnson. " His prose is the model of the middle style ; on grave subjects not formal, on light occasions not groveling; pure without scrupilosity, and exact without elabora- * MelmoUYs Letters of Fitzosborne, Let. xxix. f Johnson's Life of Cowley. {Goldsmith's Essays, vol iii. Essay xi, Hon \ 198 t;he oraceful style. tion ; always equable, and always easy, without glowing words, or pointed sentences. Addison never deviates from his track to snatch a grace ; he seeks no ambi- tious ornaments, and tries no hazardous innovations. His page is always luminous, but never blazes in un- expected splendour. <( It was apparently his principal endeavour to avoid all harshness and severity of diction ; he is therefore sometimes verbose in his transitions and connections, and sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation ; yet if his language had been less idio- matical, it might have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. What he attempted he performed : he is never rapid, and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither studied amplitude, nor affected brevity ; his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy."* Dryden, Pope, and Atterbury, are reckoned among the number of graceful writers ; and to these we may likewise add the names of Melmoth and Hume. As a polite writer, Mr. Hume perhaps appears to the greatest advantage in some of his essays.f His style • Johnson's Life of Addison, t Dr. Aikin, speaking of the style of philosophical writings, makes the following observations ; " Great precision in the use of words, clear arrangement of all the members of a sentence, close- ness of method, strength and conciseness of expression, without harshness or obscurity ,are essential to perfection in this department of writing; and if somewhat of the grace and amenity of language be added, which is not incompatible with the other requisites, the effect of conviction ri&y be promoted, by leading on the reader plea- santly through a topic perhaps naturally dry and onalluring. I con- ceive THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 199 is often possessed of uncommon grace and suavity. It must however be acknowledged, that he too frequently adopts French idioms ; a fault which was undoubtedly owing to his long* residence on the continent. But from whatever cause it may have originated, it cer- tainly detracts from his merit as a writer. The prose compositions of Dr. Beattie are often dis- tinguished by a degree of chaste ornament, not unwor- thy of the author of The Minstrel; they are indeed distinguished by uncommon grace and elegance. His epistolary correspondence, interspersed in the late Sir William Forbes's Account of his Life and Writings, evinces a peculiar felicity of style. Mr. Cowper, in one of his letters, mentions him in terms of the warmest commendation. " I thanked you in my last for John- son, I now thank yOu with more emphasis for Beattie, the most agreeable and amiable writer I ever met with ; the only author I have seen whose critical and philoso- phical researches are diversified and embellished by a poetical imagination, that makes even the driest sub- ject, and the leanest, a feast for an epicure in books. He is so much at his ease too, that his own character appears in every page, and, which is very rare, we see not only the writer, but the man ; and that man so gentle, so well tempered, so happy in his religion, and so humane in his philosophy, that it is necessary to love him if one has any sense of what is lovely."* f ceive Cicero and Hume to be examples of this union 01 every useful and agreeable quality in discussions purely philosophical. — Letters U his Son, vol. ii. Lett. iv. * Hayley's Life of Cowper, vol, if. p. 192. la 200 .lis graceful sttle. In the writings of Mr. Harris I own myself unable to perceive those Platonic graces for which they have been so highly extolled by Dr. Knox.* His style seem* for the most part to be quite the reverse of graceful. His combination of words is often harsh and disagreeable ; and on many occasions he employs Greek rather than English idioms. In exhibiting an example of the graceful style, I shall have recourse to the works of Mr. Melmoth. I consider a generous mind as the noblest work of the creation, and am persuaded, wherever it resides, no real merit can be want- ing. It is, perhaps, the most singular of all the moral endowments.' I am sure at least, it is often nnputed where it cannot justly be claimed. The meanest self-love, under some refined disguise, fre- quently passes upon common observers for this god-like principle ;• and I have known many a popular action attributed to this motive, when it flowed from no higher a source than the suggestions of con- cealed vanity. Good-nature. 25 it hath many features in common with this virtue, is usually mistaken for it : the former, however, is but the effect, possibly, of a happy disposition of the animal struc- ture, or, as Dryden somewhere calls it, of a certain " milkiness of blood ;" whereas the latter is seated in the mind, and can never sub* gist where good sense and enlarged sentiments hare no existence. It is entirely founded, indeed, upon justness of thought, which, perhaps, is the reason this virtue is so little the characteristic of mankind in general. A man whose mind is warped by the selfish passions, or contracted by the narrow prejudices of sects or parties, if he docs not waiit honesty, must undoubtedly want understanding. The same clouds that darken his intellectual views, obstruct his mo- ral ones ; and his generosity is extremely circumscribed, because his reason is exceedingly limited. — True generosity rises above the ordinary rules of social conduct, and flows with much too full a st-tam to be comprehended within the precise marks of formal • Knox's Essays, No. cxxvi. precepts. THE FLORID STYLE. 201 precepts. It is a vigorous "principle in the soul, which opens and expands all her virtues far beyond those which are only the forced and unnatural productions of a timid obedience. The man who is influenced singly by motives of the latter kind, aims no higher than at certain authoritative standards ; without even attempting to reach those glorious elevations, which constitute the only true heroism of the social character. Religion, without this sovereign principle, de- generates into a slavish fear, and wisdom into a specious cunning ; learning is but the avarice of the mind, and wit its more pleasing kind of madness. In a word} generosity sanctifies every passion, and adds grace to every acquisition of the soul ; and if it docs not necessarily include, at least it reflects a lustre upon the whole circle of moral and intellectual qualities.— Melmoth's Letters of Fitzosbome. CHAP. XXV. UP THE FLORID STYLE. QUINTILIAN regards it as a favourable presage in juvenile writers, that their compositions display a redundancy of fancy.* We must, however, beware of • u Audeat haec aetas plura, et inveniat, et inventis gaudeat, sint licet ilia non satis interim sicca et severa. Facile remedium est ubertatis ; sterilia nullo labore vincuntur. Ilia milii in pueris na- tura mininum spei dabit, in qua ingenium judicio praesumitur. Materiam esse primum volo vel abundantiorem, atque ultra quam oporteat fusam. Multum inde decoquent anni, multum ratio lima- bit, aliquid velut usu ipso deteretur, sit modo unde excidi possit, et quod exsculpi ; erit autem, si nonab initio tenuem nimium laminam dnxerimus et quam caelatura altior rumpat. Quod me de his aeta- tibus sentire minus mirabitur, qui apud Ciceronem legerit. Volo enim se efferat inadokscentefacunditas."—QvinTiuAH,deI}istitut. Orator, lib. ii. cap. it mistaking: 20*2 THE FLORID STYLE. mistaking pomp of expression for luxuriance of imagi- nation. The former is of easy access, but the latter is more rarely to be found. It is in the power of every one to load his style with high-sounding "words and phrases ; but to embellish a discourse with the glowing colours of fancy, requires the aid of inventive genius. A certain degree of chaste ornament can never be unseasonable ; though gaudy and meretricious orna- ments are always disgusting. The over florid style, therefore, cannot be agreeable to a reader of taste. Although it may be allowed to youth in their first essays, it must not receive the same indulgence when employed by writers of maturer years. We may rea- sonably expect, that judgment, as it ripens, should chasten imagination^ and reject as juvenile all such ornaments as are redundant or unsuitable. Nothing can be more contemptible than that tinsel splendour of language which some writers perpetually affect. It were well if this could be ascribed to the overflowings of a rich imagination ; for, in that case, w r e should at least find something to amuse our fancy, if we found nothing to instruct our understanding. But it is luxu- riancy of words, not of thought, that is exhibited by these frothy writers. We see a laboured attempt to rise to a splendour of composition, of which they have formed some kind of loose idea. But not possessing sufficient strength of genius to attain the desired object, they endeavour to supply the defect by the use of poetical wsords, cold exclamations, and common-place figures. While they are so solicitous about every thing which has the appearance of pomp and magnificence, it has escaped these writers that sobriety in ornament is THE FLORID STYLE. 203 is one great secret for rendering it pleasing; and that without a foundation of good sense and solid thought, the most florid style is but a childish imposition on the public. The public, however, are but too apt to be imposed on in this manner. I cannot help thinking, that it reflects more honour on the religious and bene- volent disposition of the present age, than on the re- finement of its taste, that the works of Mr. Hervey have been so generally admired. The pious and be- nevolent heart which is always displayed in them, and the lively fancy which appears on some occasions, justly merit applause : but the perpetual glitter of ex- pression, the swoln imagery, and strained description, with which they abound, are ornaments of a false kind. The following passages may be produced as a specimen. It was early in a summer morning, when the air was cool, the earth moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay. The noisy world was scarce awake. Business had not qtiite shook off ruYsound sleep, and Riot had but just reclined his giddy head. All was serene ; all was still ; everything tended to inspire tranquillity of mind, and invite to serious thought. — Only the wakeful lark had left her nest, and was mounting on high, to salute the opening day. Elevated in air, she seemed to call the laborious husbandman to hU toil, aud her fellow songsters to their notes.— Earliest of birds, said I, companion of the dawn, may I always rise at thy voice ! rise to offer the matin-song, and adore that beneficent Being, u who maketh the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice."— How charming to rove abroad, at this sweet hour of prime ! to enjoy the calm of nature, to tread the dewy lawns, and taste the unritied freshness of the air ! — The greyness of the dawn decays gradually. Abundance of ruddy streaks tinge the fleeces of the firmament ; 'till, at length, the dappled aspect of the East is lost in one ardent aud boundless blush. — Is it the surmise of imagination, or do the skies really redden with shame, to see so many supinely stretohed 204< THE FLORID STYLE. »f retched on their drowsy pillows.— Hervetfa Reflections on a Flow& Garden. This passage is rendered ridiculous by being unneces- sarily loaded with the tritest epithets of poetry. All the writings of this author are nearly in the same strain. There is a certain degree of elevation to which prose may be permitted to rise. Its elevation, however, must not be perpetual ; when the writer affects un- varied magnificence, it is probable that his reader will at length be seized with satiety. Ornament loses its effect when every page is crowded with embellish- ments. In the following beautiful passage we discover none of those improprieties which appear in that quoted above. It discovers an elevation of sentiment, free from all puerility of language. There is a kind of voice that speaks through the universe. The language of nature is that of delight ; and even the parts incapable ©f admitting this delight, have yet the means of imparting it. Be- hold the sun ! the lustre which it spreads, and the beauties which it enables you to discover, kindle your admiration. The Indian views it with rapture. He feels gratitude for its bounty. He ad- dresses the god of fire with hymns of praise, and songs of triumph. But in vain should he attempt to make that sun share his gratifica- tions. The orb* of day is uninfluenced by his expressions of ado- ration. It heeds no protestations ; it feels no emotions ; but that orb administers to the comfort of the devotee, and convets at.mith Mr. Gay as a politician ; and henceforward shall nly consider him as author of the Beggar's Opera" ; Iere the sentence might very properly have been losed j and the succeeding one might have commenced thus : (i In this performance he hath by a turn of hu- mour," &c. " This appears from the unparalleled success he hath met with. All ranks, parties, and denominations of men either crowding to see his Opera, or reading it with delight in their closets ; even ministers of state, whom he is supposed to have most offended (next to those whom the actors represent) appearing frequently at the theatre, from a consciousness of their own innocence, and to convince the world how unjust a parallel malice, envy, and dissatisfaction to tLe government have made." At the beginning of this quotation the pronoun this re- fers not to any particular word that has formerly occur- red, but to the general tenor of the foregoing sentence. This practice is not consistent with complete accuracy of style. After the words he hath met with, there ought only to have been a semicolon ; in its present state the succeeding sentence has a mutilated appearance. The corresponding words ministers of state and appearing, stand at too great distance from each other. " I am assured that several worthy clergymen in this city, went privately to see the Beggar's Opera represented : and that the fleering coxcombs in the pit, amused themselves with making disco- veries, and spreading the names of those gentlemen round the au- dience." This sentence is smooth and correct. " I shall A PASSAGE OF SWIFT. 23? « I shall not pretend to vindicate a clergyman, who wonld appear openly in his habit at a theatre, with such a vicious crew as might orobably stand round him, at such comedies, and profane tragedies as are often represented. Besides, I know very well, that persons of their function are bound to avoid the appearance of evil, or ot giving cause of offence." The latter of these periods discovers a confusion of ideas. The author speaks of avoiding the appearance of giving cause of offence. Now in the case which is here alluded to, it is only by appearances that offence can be given j it would therefore have been as proper to have spoken of the appearance of the offence. " But when the lords chancellors, who are keepers of the king's conscience ; when judges of the land, whose title rs reverend ; when ladies, who are bound by the rules of their sex to the strictest de- cency, appear in the theatre without censure ; I cannot understand why a young elergyman, who comes concealed, out of curiosity to see an innocent and moral play, should be so highly condemned ; nor do I much approve the rigour of a great prelate, who said, he hoped none of his clergy were there." In the expression a young clergyman who comes con- cealed out of curiosity, there is some degree of ambi- guity. It seems rather to imply that he is concealed out of curiosity, than that he visits the theatre out of curiosity. The following arrangement is more correct ; " I cannot understand, why a young clergyman who, out of curiosity, comes concealed to see an innocent and moral play, should be so highly condemned." "I am glad to hear there are no weightier objections against that reverend body planted in this city f and I- wish there never may. But I should be very sorry, that any of them should be so weak, as to imitate a court-chaplain in England, who preached against the Beggar's 238 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OP Beggar's Opera ; which will probably aomore good than a thousand sermons of so stupid, so injudicious, and so prostitute a divine."* The metaphor contained in the first of these senten- ces seems liable to objection. The author speaks of a body planted in the city of Dublin. Perhaps the other period is somewhat deficient in unity. The last clause of it might have formed a separate sentence; "This production will probably do more good," &c CHAP. XXIX, CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A PASSAGE IN THE WRITINGS OF HARRIS. H MOW the language of these Greeks was truly like tkemselus ; x 'twas conformable to their transcendent and universal genius. Where matter so abounded, words followed of course, and those exquisite in every kind, as the ideas for which tbey stood. And hence it followed, there was not a subject to be found, which could not with propriety be exprest in Greek." The first of these sentences might be improved by the omission of the words printed in Italic characters. — Mr. Harris seems to have had a particular aflfeetion for contractions. That he should always prefer 'tis to it is, 'twas to it was, 'twere to it were, appears somewhat surprising. This practice certainly cannot increase the smoothness or harmony of his periods. But as the Greek language abounds in contractions, he probably • Intelligencer, No. S. thought A PASSAGE OF HARRIS. 239 thought that by imitating it in this respect he might contribute to the improvement of his native tongue. To many readers the second sentence will have the appearance of being stiff and quaint. The manner in which the conjunction as is there used, is accompanied with some ambiguity. The sense ma) either be " that the words possess the same degree of exquisiteness with the ideas for which they stood ;" or " that the words were exquisite as well as the ideas." If the latter was the author* s meaning, the period may be cleared of all ambiguity by substituting like instead of as. M Here were words and numbers for the humour of Aristophanes ; for the native elegance of a Philemon or Menauder ; for the amorous strains of a irlinnermus or Sappho ; for the rural lays of a Theo- < ritus or Biou ; and for the sublime conceptions of a Sophocles or Homer. The same in prose." Here were is a phrase which perhaps approaches too near vulgar or colloquial language. In other respects the period is elegant and sonorous. The English lan- guage does not readily admit of such elliptical phra- seology as appears in the latter of these sentences. *' Here Socrates was enabled to display his art, in all the accuracy ot periods, and the nice counterpoise of diction. Here Demosthenes found materials for that nervous composition, that manly force of unaffected eloquence, which rushed, like a torrent, too impetuous to be withstood." This passage is not destitute of beauty. The expres- sions in the first sentence seem peculiarly happy. *' Who were more different in exhibiting their philosophy, than Xenophon, Plato, and his disciple Aristotle ? Different, I say, in their character of composition ; for as to their philosophy itsen, 'twas in reality the same. Aristotle, strict, methodic, and orderly ; L 3 subtle 240 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF subtle in thought; sparing in ornament ; with little address to the passions or imagination ;~but exhibiting the whole with such a preg- nant brevity, that in every sentence we seem to read a page." Different, I say, in their character of composition. This is a very unusual and a very awkward method of be- ginning a sentence. In constructing the last of these periods, the author seems to have forgotten that he, was writing English. Such a construction is foreign to the nature of our language, whatever it may be with regard to those of Greece and Rome. The whole passage discovers marks of affectation. " How exquisitely is this all performed in Greek." The propriety of this sentence would not be diminished by a slight change in the collocation of the words * c How exquisitely is all this perform'd in Greek !" " Let those who imagine that it may be done as well in another language, satisfy themselves either by attempting to translate him. or by perusing his translations already made by men of learning. Ou the contrary, when we read either Xenophon or Plato, nothing of this method and strict order appears. The formal and didactic is wholly dropt." His translations is an ambiguous phrase : instead of denoting what the sense of the passage requires, it may signify translations executed by Aristotle. The trans- lations already made, would have expressed the au- thor's meaning with sufficient accuracy. " Whatever they may teach, 'tis without professing to be teachers, a train of dialogue and truly polite address, in which, as in a mirror we behold human life, adorned in all its colours of sentiment and To render the sense of this passage complete, the reader must, at the beginning of the secqnd clause, supply A PASSAGE OF HARRIS. 241 supply some phrase equivalent to the following : " Their writings exhibit a train," &e. As the sentence now stands, it is loose and disjointed. «' And yet, though these differ in this manner from the Stagirite, how different are they likewise in character from each other ? Plato, copious, figurative, and majestic ; intermixing at times the facetious and satiric ; enriching his works with tales and fables, and the mys- tic theology of ancient times. Xenophon, the pattern of perfect simplicity ; every where smooth, harmonious, and pure ; declining the figurative, the marvellous, and the mystic ; ascending but rarely into the sublime ; nor then so much trusting to the colours of style, as to the intrinsic dignity of the sentiment itself;' Of these sentences, the two last are deficient in idio- matical propriety from the omission of the substantive verb. This is a piece of affectation of which Mr. Har- ris is very frequently guilty. — The word itself, which occurs at the close of the last period, is redundant : without contributing to the sense, it tends to injure the sound. " The language, in the mean time, in which he and Plato wrote, appears to suit so accurately with the style of both, that when we read either of the two, we cannot help thinking, that tis he alone who has hit its character, and that it could not have appeared so elegant in any other manner." This is a very expressive sentence. It is not however unexceptionable : in the mean time is in this instance an idle unmeaning phrase, similar to what many of the Greek particles appear to unenlightened moderns. ••And tnus is the Greek tongue, from its propriety and univer- sality, made for all that is great, and all that is beautiful, in every subject, and under every form of writing. Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo Musa loqui," A tongue 242 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A tongue made for all that is great has no very dignified sound. The sentence might, I think, be improved by substituting fitted instead of made, '* 'Twere to be wished, that those amongst us, who either write or read, with a view to employ their liberal leisure (for as to such as do either from views more sordid, we leave them, Yika slaves, to their destined drudgery) 'twere to be wished, I say, that the liberal (if they have a relish for letters) would inspect the finished models of Grecian literature ; that they would not waste those hours which they cannot rtcal, upon the meaner productions of the French ard English press ; upon that fungous growth of novels and pamphlets, where 'tis to be feared, they rarely find any rational pleasure, and more rarely sti^ any solid enjoyment.'* 'Twere to be wi&hcdthat the author had constructed this long sentence with a more skilful hand. Instead of arranging it with more luminous propriety, he has had recourse to the expedient of introducing paren- theses, and the contemptible little phrase I say. The period is thus rendered confused and inartificial. Towards the close of it, however, the cadence is agreeable to the ear. ; g " To be competently skilled in ancient learning, is by no means a work of such insuperable pains- The very progress itself is attended with delight, and resembles a journey through some pleasant coun- try, where every mile we advance, new charms arise. 'Tis certainly as easy to be a scholar, as a gamester, or many other characters *>st)L 6J the best authors. Tins is requisite both to form a just taste in style, and to supply us with a full stock of words on every subject. But we must beware of falling into a servile imita- tion of any author whatsoever. Imitation is always dangerous. It fetters genius, and is likely to produce a stiff manner. Those who are addicted to close imi- tation, generally imitate an author's faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good writer or speaker, who has not some degree of confidence to follow his own genius. We ought to be aware, in par- ticular, of adopting any author's noted phrases, or transcribing passages from him. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine composition. It is much better to have something that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to effect to shine in borrowed ornaments, which will at last betray the utter poverty of our genius. A preposterous ambition to imitate or rival the characteristic manner of Dr, Johnson or Mr. Gibbon, has rendered many authors ridiculous who might otherwise have supported a respectable charac- ter. The style of each of these writers, eminent as they deservedly are, exhibits numerous faults : but whatever may be its beauties, no man of tl letters will ever obtain much distinction by imitating them with accurate servility. We generally find their deformi- ties more faithfully copied than their beauties. Mr. George Chalmers, an author utterly destitute of taste, M 2 learning, 258 METHOD OF ATTAINING A GOOD STYLE. learning, and ability, 5 ^ seems to consider himself as the most formidable rival of Dr. Johnson ; and his life of Ruddiman, who deserved a very different biographer, is the most consummately ridiculous sample of imitation which belongs to any age or country. On these heads of composing, reading, and imitating, I would advise every student of oratory to consult what Quintilian has delivered in the tenth book of his Institutions ; where he will find a variety of excellent observations and directions. Those who are ambitious of attaining a beautiful style, ought to study with attention the works of the most eminent poets. From this source is often derived a more delicate and elevated mode of expression, as well as of thinking. We find that the most excellent prose Writers, both of ancient and modern times, arr those who, during some part of their life, have applied themselves to the study of poetry. It will be sufficient to mention the names of Plato, Cicero, Temple, Dry- den, Pope, Addison, Johnson, Goldsmith, Beattie, Fenelon, and Voltaire. It is an obvious but material rule, that we always study to adapt our style to the subject, and also to the capacity of our hearers, if we are to speak in public. Nothing merits the name of eminent or beautiful, which is not suited to the occasion, and to the persons to whom it is addressed. It is to the last degree awk- ward and absurd, to adopt a florid poetical style on occasions when it should be our sole business to argue • They hail thee master of a seven-fold skull, With learning stor'd, with various fancy full. and PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT, &C. 259 and reason ; or to speak with elaborate pomp of ex- pression, before persons who comprehend nothing of it, and who can only stare at our unseasonable magnifi- cence. These are defects not so much in point of style, as, what is much worse, in point of common sense. When we begin to write or speak, we ought previously to have fixed in our minds a clear concep- tion of the end to which our chief attention is to be directed. This end we ought to keep steadily in view ; and to it we ought to adapt our style. If we do not sacrifice to this great object every ill-timed or- nament which may occur to our fancy, we betray a want of judgment. J cannot conclude the subject without this obser- vation, that in any case, and on any occasion, atten- tion to style must not engross us so much, as to detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts. To your expression be attentive ; but about your matter be solicitous. EXAMPLES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PROGRES- SIVE IMPROVEMENT OF ENGLISH COMPO- SITION. SIDNEY. T ET learned Greece, in any of her manifest sciences^ be able to shew me one book before Musseus, Ho- mer, and Hesind ; all three nothing else but poets. Nay, let any history be brought, that can say any writers were 260 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT. were there before them, if they were not men 01 the same skill, as Orpheus, Linus, and some others are named, who having been the first of that country that made pens deliverers of their knowledge to posterity, may justly challenge to be called their fathers in learn- ing. For not only in time they had this priority (al- though in itself antiquity be venerable) but went before them, as causes to draw, with their charming sweetness, the wild untamed wits to an admiration of knowledge. So as Amphion was said to move stones with his poetry to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be listened to by beasts, indeed stony and beastly people : So among the Romans were Livius Andronicus, and Ennius : So in the Italian language, the first that made it to aspire to be a treasure-house of science, were the poets Dante, Boccace, and Petrarch: So in our English, were Gower and Chaucer : after whom, en 'ouraged and delighted with their excellent foregoing, .others have followed to beautify our mother tongue, as well in the same kind as other arts. This did so notably shew itself, that the philosophers of Greece durst not a long time appear to the world, hut under the mask of poets : So Thales, Empedo- cjes, and Parmenides, sang their natural philosophy in verses : So did Pythagoras and Phocylides their moral counsels : So did Tyrtaeus in war matters, and Solon in matters of policy ; or rather, they being poets, did ex- ercise their delightful vein in those points of highest knowledge, which before them lay hidden to the world : for that Solon was directly a poet, it is mani- fest, having written in verse the noble fable of the Atlantic Island, which was continued by Plato. And truly OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 261 truly even Plato whosoever well consideretb, shall find, that in the body of his work, though the inside ami strength were philosophy, the skin, as it were, and beauty, depended most of poetry. For all stands upon dialogues ; wherein he feins many honest burgesses of Athens speaking of such matters, that if they had been set on the rack, they never would have confessed them : besides, his poetical describing the circum- stances of their meetings, as the well-ordering of a banquet, the delicacy of a walk, and interlacing mere tales, as Gyges's Ring, and others ; which, who knows not to be flowers of poetry, did never walk in Apollo's garden. Defence of Poesy. RALEIGH. God, whom the wisest men acknowledge to be a power ineffable, and virtue infinite, a light by abundant charity invisible, an understanding which itself can only comprehend, an essence eternal and spiritual, of absolute pureness and simplicity, was, and is pleased to make himself known by the work of the world : in the wonderful magnitude whereof, (all which he im- braceth, filleth, and sustaineth) we behold the image of that glory, which cannot be measured, and withal that one, and yet universal nature, which cannot be defined. In the glorious lights of heaven, we perceive a shadow of his divine countenance ; in his merciful provision for all that live, his manifold goodness ; and lastly, in creating and making existent the world universal, by the absolute art of his own word, his power and almigh- tiness ; which power, light, virtue, wisdom, and good- ness, being all but attributes of one simple essence, and one 262 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT one God, we in all admire, and in . part discern per speculum crcaturarum, that is, in the disposition, order and variety of celestial and terrestrial bodies ; terres- trial, in their strange and manifold diversities ; celestial in their beauty and magnitude ; which in their conti- nual and contrary motions, are neither repugnant, in- termixed, nor confounded. By these potent effects, we approach to the knowledge of the omnipotent cause, and by these motions, their almighty mover. History of the M^orld. BACON. Revenge is a kind of wild justice ; which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out. For as to the first wrong, it doth but offend the law ; but the revenge of that wrong putteth the law out of office. Certainly, in taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy \ but in passing it over he is superior : for it is a prince's part to pardon. And Solomon ; I am sure, saith, " It is the glory of a man to pass by an offence." That which is past, is gone, and irrecoverable : and wise men have enough to do with things present, and to come: therefore, they do but trifle with themselves, that labour in past matters. There is no man doth a wrong for a wrong's sake, but thereby to purchase himself profit or pleasure, or honour, or the like. Therefore, why should I be angry with a man for loving himself better than me ? and it any man should do wrong merely out of ill nature, why? yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which prick and scratch, because they can do no other. The most tolerable sort of revenge, is for those wrongs which OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 263 which there is no law to remedy ; but then let a man take heed, that*the revenge be such as there is no law to punish ; else a man's enemy is still before-hand, and it is two for one. Some when they take revenge, are desirous the party should know whence it cometh. This is the more generous : for the delight seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt, as in making the party repent. But base and crafty cowards are like the arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus, duke of Florence, had a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting friends, as if their wrongs were unpardon- able : " You shall read (saith he) that we are com- manded to forgive our enemies ; but you never read that we are commanded to forgive our friends." But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune : M Shall we (saith he) take good at God's hand, and not be content to take evil also ?" And so of friends in a proportion. This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge, keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well. Public revenges are for the most part for- tunate, as that for the death of Caesar, for the death of Pertinax, for the death of Henry the third of France, and many more. But in private revenges it is not so. Nay, rather vindictive persons live the life of witches ; who as they are mischievous, so end they unfortunate. Essays, or Counsels, Civil arja Moral. JONSON. For a man to write well, there are required three necessaries ; to read the best authors ; observe the best speakers ; and much exercise of his own style. In style to consider what ought to be written 3 and after what M 3 manner : 264 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT manner : he must first think, and excogitate his matter ; then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing, and ranking both matter and words, that the composition be comely ; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be laboured and ac- curate ; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward conceits, or first words, that offer themselves to us ; but judge of what we invent, and order what we ap- prove. Repeat often what we have formerly written ; which, beside that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, it quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the times of setting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest, that fetch their race largest ; or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sail, so the favour of the gale deceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth ; else we should never set it down. But the safest is to return to our judgment, and handle over again those things the easiness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best writers in their begin- rings ; they imposed upon themselves care and in- dustry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By little and little their matter shewed itself to them more plentifully ; their words answered,, their composition followed \ and all, as in a weil-ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of OP ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 265 of all is ; ready writing makes not good writing; but good writing brings on ready writing; yet when we think we have got the faculty, it is even then good to resist it ; as to give a horse a check sometimes with a bit, which doth not so much stop his course, as stir his m e ttle . Discoveries.* HOOKER. They of whom God is altogether unapprehended, are but few in number, and forgrossness of parts suehj that they hardly and scarcely seem to hold the place of human beings. These we should judge to be of all others most miserable, but a wretcheder sort there are, on whom whereas nature hath bestowed riper capacity, their evil disposition seriously goeth about therewith to apprehend God, as being not God. Whereby it cometh to pass, that of these two sorts of men, both godless, the one having utterly no knowledge of God, the other study how to persuade themselves that there is no such thing to be known. The fountain and well spring of which impiety is a resolved purpose of mind to reap in this world what sensual profit or pleasure, so- ever the world yieldeth, and not to be baired from any whatsoever means available thereunto. And that that is the very radical cause of their atheism, no man (I think) will doubt, which considereth, what pains they take to destroy those principal spurs and motives unto all virtue, the creation of the world, the providence of • The reader wiP meet with few discoveries in the passage cow quoted : several of the observations contained in it are borrowed from Quintilian. God, 255 ritOGKESSIVE IMPROVEMENT God, the resurrection of the dead, the joys of the king- dom of heaven, and the endless pains of the wicked, yea above all things, the authority of the Scripture, because on these points it evermore beareth, and the soul's immortality, which granted, draweth easily after it the rest, as a voluntary train. Is it not wonderful that base desires should so extinguish in men the sense of their own excellency, as to make them willing that their souls should be like to the souls of beasts, mor- tal and corruptible with their bodies ? Till some admi- rable or unusual accident happen (as it hath in some) to work the beginning of a better alteration in their minds, disputation about .the knowledge of God with such kind of persons commonly prevaileth little. For haw should the brightness of wisdom shine, where the windows of the soul are of very set purpose closed ? True religion hath many things in it, the only men- tion whereof galleth and troubleth their minds. Being therefore loth that enquiry into such matters should breed a persuasion in the end contrary to that they embrace, it is their endeavour to banish, as much as in them lieth, quite and clean from their cogitation, what- soever may sound that way. But it cometh many times "to pass (which is their torment) that the thing they shun doth follow them 3 truth, as it were, even obtru- ding itself into* their knowledge, and not permitting them to be so ignorant as they would be. Whereupon, in as much as the nature of man is unwilling to continue doing that wherein it shall always condemn itself, they continuing still obstinate to follow the course which they have begun, are driven to devise all the. shifts that wit can invent for the smothering of thrs Jight, all that may OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 267 may with any but the least shew of possibility Stay their minds from thinking that true, which they heartily wish were false, but cannot think it so, without some scruple and fear of the contrary. Ecclesiastical Polity HOBBES. The cause of dreams (if they be natural) are the ac- tions of violence of the inward parts of a man upon his brain, by which the passages of sense, by sleep be- numbed, are restored to their motion. The signs by which this appeareth to be so, are the differences of dreams (old men commonly dream oftener, and have their dreams more painful than young) proceeding from the different accidents of man's body ; as dreams of lust, as dreajws of anger, according as the heart, or other parts within, work more or less upon the brain, by more or less heat, so also the descent of different sorts of phlegm maketh us a dream of different tastes of meats and drinks ; and I believe there is a reciprocation of motion from the brain to the vital parts, and back from the vital parts to the brain ; whereby not only imagination begetteth motion in these parts, but also motion in these parts begetteth imagination like to that which it was begotten. If this be true, and that sad imagination nourish the spleen, then we see also a cause, why a strong spleen reciprocally causeth fearful dreams, and why the effects of lasciviousness may in a dream produce the image of some person that had produced them. Another sign that dreams are caused by the action of the inward parts, is the disorder and casual consequence of one conception or image to another j for when we are -waking, the antecedent thought 968 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT thought or conception introduceth, and is cause of the consequent, (as the water followeth a man's dry finger upon a dry and level table) but in dreams there is com- monly no coherence (and when there is, it is by chance) which must needs proceed from this, that the brain in dreams is not restored to its motion in every part alike ; whereby it cometh to pass, that our thoughts appear like the stars between the flying clouds, not in the order in which a man would choose to observe them, but as the uncertain flight of broken clouds permits. Human Nature. MILTON. The end of learning is to repair the ruin of our first parents, by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith, makes up the highest perfection. But be- cause our understanding cannot in this body found it- self but on sensible things, nor arrive so clearly to the knowledge of God and things invisible, as by orderly conning over the visible and inferior creature, the same method is necessarily to be followed in discreet teach- ing. And seeing every nation affords not experience and tradition, enough for all kinds of learning, therefore we are chiefly taught the languages of those people who have at any time been most industrious after wisdom ; so that language is but the instrument conveying to us things useful to be known. And tho* a linguist should pride himself to have all the tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet, if he had not studied the solid things in them as well as the words w^ lexicons, he were OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 269 were nothing to be so much esteem'd a learned man, as any yeoman or tradesman competently wise in his mother dialect only. Hence appear the many mistakes which have made learning generally so unpleasing and so unsuccessful : first we do amiss to spend seven or eight years merely in scraping together so much mise- rable Latin and Greek, as might be learned otherwise easily and delightfully in one year. And that which casts our proficiency therein so much behind, is our time lost partly in too oft idle vacancies given both to schools and universities, partly in a preposterous ex- action, forcing the empty wits of children to compose themes, verses, and orations, which are the acts of ri- pest judgment, and the final work of a head fill'd, by long reading and observing, with elegant maxims, and copious invention. 1 hese are not matters to be wrung from poor striplings, like blood out of the nose, or the plucking of untimely fruit. Tractate of Education, COWLEY. The first minister of state has not so much business in public, as a wise man has in private : if the one have little leisure to be alone, the other has less leisure to be in company ; the one has but part of the affairs of one nation, the other all the works of God and nature under his consideration. There is no saying shocks me so much as that which I hear very often, That a man does not know how to pass his time. 'T would have been but ill spoken by Methusalem in the nine hundred sixty-ninth year of his life ; so far it is from us, who have not time enough to attain to the utmost perfection df any part of any science, to nave cause to complain 270 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT complain that we are forced to be idle for want of work. But this, you'll say, is work only for the learn- ed : others are not capable either of the employments or divertisements that arrive from letter*. I know they are not : and therefore cannot much recommend soli- tude to a man totally illiterate. But if any man be so unlearned as to want entertainment of the little inter- vals of accidental solitude, which frequently occur in almost all conditions (except the very meanest of the people, who have business enough in the very pro- visions of life) it is truly a great shame both to his pa- rents and himself; for a very small portion of any inge- nious art will stop up all those gaps of our time ; either music, or painting, or designing, or chymistry, or his- tory, or gardening, or twenty other things will do it usefully and pleasantly ; and if he happen to set his affections upon poetry (which I do not advise him to immediately) that will overdo it ; no wood will be thick enough to hide him from the importunities of company or business, which would abstract him from his beloved. Discourses by way of Essays. HALE. There are two great duties that we owe unto God, which are never out of season, but such as we have continual occasion and necessity to use whilst we live ; namely, prayer and thanksgiving. Prayer is always seasonable in this life, because we ever stand in need of it: we always want something, and have always occasion to fear something : although we could be supposed in such a state of happiness in this world, that we could net say we wanted any thing, yet OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 271 jet we have cause to pray for the continuance of the happiness we enjoy, which is not so fixed and stable but that it may leave us: " I said in my prosperity! shall never be moved ; thou hidest thy face and I was trou- bled." We are never out of the reach of divine pro- vidence, either to relieve or afflict us ; and therefore we are under a continual necessity of prayer, either to relieve and supply us, at least to preserve and uphold us. Thanksgiving is likewise always seasonable, because we are never without something that we receive- from the divine goodness, that deserves and requires our thankfulness. It may be we want wealth, yet have we not health ? if we want both, yet have we not life ? if we want temporal blessings, yet have we not eternal, everlasting blessings ? If we have any thing that is comfortable to, or convenient for us, we have it from the goodness and bounty of God. And though we have not all we would, yet we have what we deserve not, and what we prize and value : and therefore while we have any thing, we have occasion of thanksgiving to our great benefactor. Contemplations Moral and Divine. BROWNE. I could never divide myself from any man upon the difference of an opinion, or be angry with his judg- ment for not agreeing with me in that, from which per- haps within a few days I should dissent myself : I have no genius to disputes in religion, and have often thought it wisdom to decline them, especially upon a disadvantage, or when the cause of truth might suffer in &72 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT. in the weakness of my patronage ; where we desire to be informed, 'tis good to contest with men above our- selves ; but to confirm and establish our opinions, 'tis best to argue with judgments below our own, that the frequent spoils and victories over their reasons may settle in ourselves an esteem, and confirmed opinion of our own. Every man is not a proper champion for truth, nor fit to take up the gauntlet in the cause of verity : Many from the ignorance of these maxims, and an inconsiderate zeal unto truth, have too rashly charged the troops of error, and remain as trophies unto the enemies of truth : A man may be in as just possession of trutb as of a city, and yet be forced to surrender ; 'tis therefore far better to enjoy her with peace, than to hazard her on a battle. Religio. Medici. TEMPLE. The safety and firmness of any frame of government may be best judged by the rules of architecture, which teach us that the pyramid is of all figures the firmest, and least subject to be shaken or overthrown by any concussions or accidents from the earth or air ; and it grows still so much the firmer, by how much broader the bottom and sharper the top. The ground upon which all government stands, is the consent of the people, or the greatest or strongest part of them ; whether this proceed from reflections upon what is past, by the reverence of any authority under which they and their ancestors have for many ages been born and bred ; or from a sense of what is present, by the ease, plenty, and safety they enjoy; or from opinions of what is to come, by the fear they have OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 273 have from the present government, or hopes from ano- ther. Now that government which by any of these, or by all these ways, takes in the consent of the greatest number of the people, and consequently their desires and resolutions to support it, may justly be said to have the broadest bottom, and to stand upon the largest compass of ground ; and, if it terminate in the autho- rity of one single person, it may likewise be said to have the narrowest top, and so to make the figure of the firmest sort of pyramid. Essay cm Govei'nment* * DRYDEN. 'Tis not only commended by ancient practice, to celebrate the memory of great and worthy men, as the best thanks which posterity can pay them ; bat also the examples of virtue are of more vigour, when they are thus contracted into individuals. As the sun-beams, united in a burning glass to a point, have greater force than when they are darted from a plain surperficies ; so the virtues and actions of one man, drawn together in a single story, strike upon our minds a stronger and more lively impression, than the scatter'd relations of many men, and many actions ; and by the same means that they give us pleasure, they afford us profit too. For when the understanding is intent and fix'd on a single thing, it carries closer to the mark ; every par^ of the object sinks into it, and the soul receives unmixt and whole. For this reason Aristotle commends the unity of action in a poem ; because the mind is not capable of digesting many things at once, nor of con- ceiving fully any more than one idea at a time. What- soever distracts the pleasure, lessens it. And as the reader 274i PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT reader is more concerned at one man's fortune, than those of many ; so likewise the writer is more capable of making a perfect work if he confine himself to thk narrow compass. The lineaments, features, and co- lourings, of a single picture, may be hit exactly ; but in a history-piece of many figures, the general design, the ordinance or disposition of it, the relation of one figure to another, the diversity of posture, habits, shadowings, and all the other graces conspiring to an uniformity, are of so difficult performance, that neither is the resemblance of particular persons often perfect, nor the beauty of the piece complete : For any consi- derable error in the parts, renders the whole disagreeable and lame. Thus then the perfections of the work, and the benefit arising from it are more absolute in biogra- phy than in history. Life of Plutarch. SHAFTESBURY. Notwithstanding there may be implanted in the heart a real sense of right and wrong, a real good affection towards the species of society ; yet, by the violence of rage, lust, or any other counter-working passion, this good affection may frequently be con- trouled and overcome. Where therefore there is no- thing in the mind capable to render such ill passions the object of its aversion, and cause them earnestly to be opposed, it is apparent how much a good temper in time may suffer, and a character by degrees change for the worse. But if religion interposing, creates a belief that the ill passions of this kind, no less than their consequent actions, are the objects of a deity's animadversion \ it is certain that such a belief must prove OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 275 _ prove a seasonable remedy against vice, and be in a particular manner advantageous to virtue. For a be- lief of this kind jnust be supposed to tend considerably towards the calming of the mind, and disposing or fitting the person to a better recollection of himself, and to a stricter observance of that good and virtuous prin- ciple, which needs only his attention, to engage him wholly in its party and interest. Inquiry concerning Virtue. ADDISON. Man, considered in himself, is a very helpless and a very wretched being. He is subject every moment to the greatest calamities and misfortunes. He is beset with dangers on all sides, and may become unhappy by numberless casualties, which he could not foresee, nor have prevented had he foreseen them. It is our comfort, while we are obnoxious to so many accidents, that we are under the care of one who directs contingencies, and has in his hands the manage- ment of every thing that is capable of annoying or offending us ; who knows the assistance we stand in need of, and is always ready to bestow it oa those who ask it of him. The natural homage which such a creature bears to so infinitely wise and good a being, is a firm reliance on him for the blessings and conveniences of life, and an habitual trust in him for deliverance out of all such dangers and difficulties as may befal us. Spectator. ARBUTHNOT. If we consider to what perfection we now know the courses, periods, order, distances, and proportions, of the 276 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT the several great bodies of the universe, at least suck as fall within our view ; we shall have cause to admire the sagacity and industry of the mathematicians, and the power of numbers and geometry well apply'd. Let us cast our eyes backward, and consider astronomy in its infancy ; or rather let us suppose it still to begin : for instance, a colony of rude country people, trans- planted into an island remote from the commerce of all mankind, without so much as the knowledge of the kalender, and the periods of the seasons, without instru- ments to make observations, or any the least notion of observation or instruments. When is it, we could expect any of their posterity should arrive at the art of predicting an eclipse ? Not only so, but the art of reckoning all eclipses that are past or to come for any number of years ? When is it we should suppose that one of these islanders, transported to any other part of the earth, should be able by the inspection of the heavens to find how much he were south or north, east or west of his own island, and to conduct his ship back thither ? For my part, though I know this may be, and is daily done, by what is known in astronomy ; yet when I consider the vast industry, sagacity, mul- titude of observations, and other extrinsick things necessary for such a sublime piece of knowledge, I should be apt to pronounce it impossible, and never to be hoped for. Now we are let so much into the knowledge of the machine of the universe, and motion of its parts by the rules of this science, perhaps the invention may seem easy. But when we reflect, what penetration and contrivance were necessary to lay the foundation OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 277 foundation of so great and extensive an art, we cannot but admire its first inventors. Essay on Mathematical Learning. POPE. Homer is universally allowed to have the greatest invention of any writer whatever. The praise of judg- ment Vifgil has justly contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular exellencies ; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the invention that in dif- ferent degrees distinguishes all great geniuses ; the ut- most stretch of human study, learning, and industry, which master every thing besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes art with all her materials ; and, without it, judgment itself can at best but steal wisely : for art is only like a prudent steward that lives on managing the riches of nature. Whatever praises may be given to works of judgment, there is not even a sin- gle beauty in them, to which the invention must not contribute. As, in the most regular gardens, art can only reduce the beauties of nature to more regularity, and such a figure, which the common eye may better take in, and is therefore more entertained with. And perhaps the reason why common critics are inclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and fruitful one, is, because they find it easier for them- selves to pursue their observations through an uniform and bounded walk of art, than to comprehend the vast and various extent of nature. Our 278 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT Our author's work is a wild paradise, where if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the number of them is infi- nitely greater. 'Tis like a copious nursery which con- tains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but selected some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxu- riant, it is owing to the richness of the soil ; and if others are not arrived to perfection and maturity, it is only because they are over-run and oppressed by those of a stronger nature. Preface to Homer's Iliad, SWIFT. It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom, above ten thousand parsons ; whose revenues, added to those of my lords the bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young gentlemen of wit, and pleasure, and free-thinking : enemies to priest-craft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices ; who might be an ornament to the court and town : and then again, so great a number of able (bodied) divines might be a recruit to our fleets and armies. This, indeed, appears to be a considera- tion of some weight : but then, on the other hand, several things deserve to be considered likewise : as, first, whether it may not be thought necessary, that in certain tracts of country, like what we call parishes, there should be one man at least, of abilities to read and write. Then it seems a wrong computation, that the revenues of the church throughout this island would be large OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 279 large enough to maintain two hundred young gentle- men, or even half that number, after the present refined way of living ; that is, to allow each of them such a rent, as, in the modern form of speech, might make them easy. But still there is in this project a greater mischief behind ; and we ought to beware of the wo- man's folly, who killed the hen, that every morning laid her a golden egg. For pray what would become of the race of men in the next age, if we had nothing to trust to, besides the scrofulous consumptive pro- ductions furnished by our men of wit and pleasure ; when, having squandered away their vigour, health, and estates, they are forced by some disagreeable mar- riage, to piece up their broken fortunes, and entail rottenness and politeness on their posterity ? Argument against abolishing Christianity. BERKELEY. As the whole earth and the entire duration of those perishing things contained in it, is altogether inconsi- derable, or, in the prophet's expressive style, less than nothing, in respect of eternity; who sees not, that every reasonable man ought so to frame his actions, as that they may most effectually contribute to promote his eternal interest ? And since it is a truth evident by the light of nature, that there is a sovereign omniscient spirit, who alone can make us for ever happy, or for ever miserable ; it plainly follows that a conformity to his will, and not any prospect of temporal advantage, is the sole rule whereby every man who acts up to the principles of reason, must govern and square his ac- tions. The same conclusion doth likewise evidently N result 280 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT result from the relation which God bears to his crea- tures. God alone is maker and preserver of all things ; he is, therefore, with the most undoubted right the great legislator of the world ; and mankind are, by all the ties of duty, no less than interest, bound to obey his laws. Hence we should above all things endeavour to trace out the divine will, or the general design of Provi- dence, with regard to mankind, and the methods most directly tending to the accomplishment of that design. And this ^eems the genuine and proper way for dis- covering. the laws of nature. For laws being rules di- rective of our actions to the end intended by the legis- lator \ in order to attain the knowledge of God's laws, we ought first to inquire, what that end is which he designs should be carried on by human actions. Now as God is a being of infinite goodness, it is plain, the end he proposes is good. But God enjoying in him- self all possible perfection, it follows that it is not his own good, but that of his creatures. Again, the moral actions of men are entirely terminated within them- selves, so as to have no influence on the other orders of intelligences or reasonable creatures : the end therefore to be procured by them, can be no other than the good of men. But as nothing in a natural state can entitle one man more than another to the favour of God, ex- cept only moral goodness ; which, consisting in a con- formity to the laws of God, doth presume the being of such laws ; and law ever supposing an end to which it guides our actions ; it follows that antecedent to the end proposed by God, no distinction can be conceived between r&en ; that end therefore itself, or general de- •iga OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 281 sign of Providence, is not determined or limited by any respect of persons : it is not therefore the private good of this or that man, nation, or age, but the gene- ral well-being of all men, of all nations, of all ages of the world, which God designs should be procured by the concurring actions of each individual. Discourse on Passive Obedience. BOLINGBROKE. The limitations necessary to preserve liberty under monarchy will restrain effectually a bad prince, without being ever felt as shackles by a good one. Our con- stitution is brought, or almost brought, to such a point or perfection 1 think it, that no king, who is not, in the true meaning of the word, a patriot, can govern Britain with ease, security, honour, dignity, or indeed with sufficient power and strength. But yet a king, who is a patriot, may govern with all the former ; and, be- sides them, with power as extended as the most abso- lute monarch can boast ; and a power, too, far more agreeable in the enjoyment, as well as more effectual in the operation, On this subject let the imagination range through the whole glorious scene of a patriot reign : the beauty of the idea will inspire those transports, which Plato fmagined the vision of virtue would inspire if virtue could be seen. What in truth can be so lovely ? what so venerable, as to contemplate a king on whom the eyes of a whole people are fixed, filled with admira- ration, and glowing with affection ? a king in the tem- per of whose government, like that of Nerva, things so seldom allied as empire and liberty are intimately N 2 mixed 282 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT mi ted, coexist together inseparably, and constitute one real essence ? What spectacle can be presented to the view of the mind so rare, so nearly divine, as a king possessed of absolute power, neither assumed by fraud or maintained by force, but the genuine effect of esteem, of confidence, and affection : the free gift of Liberty, who finds her greatest security in this power, and would desire no other if the prince on the throne could be what his people wish him to be, immortal ? Of such a prince, and of such a prince alone, it may be said with strict propriety and truth, •volentes Per populos dat jura, viamqne afFectat Olympo. Civil f jry will have no place in this draught ; or, if the m )nster rsseen, he must be seen as Virgil describes him ; centum vinctiis ahenis Post tergum nodis, fremit horridus ore ciuento. ile must be seen subdued, bound, chained, and de- prived entirely of power to do hurt. In this place, concord will appear brooding peaee and prosperity on the happy land, joy sitting in every face, content in every heart ; a people unoppressed, undisturbed, unalarmed; busy to improve their private property and the public stock : fleets covering the ocean ; bring- ing home wealth by the returns of industry, carrying assistance or terror abroad by the direction of wisdom ; and asserting triumphantly the rights and the honour of Great Britain, as far as waters roll, and as winds ean waft them. Idea of a Patriot King. MIDDLETQN. OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 283 MIDDLETON. But to speak my mind freely on the subject of con- sequences. I am not so scrupulous perhaps in my re- gard to them, as many of my profession are apt to be : my nature is frank and open, and warmly disposed, not only to seek, but to speak, what I take to be true ; which disposition has been greatly confirmed by the situation, into which Providence has thrown me. For 1 was never trained to pace in the trammels of the church, nor tempted by the sweets of its preferments, to sacrifice the philosophic freedom of a studious, to the servile restraints of an ambitious life: and from this very circumstance, as often as I reflect upon it 3 I feel that comfort in my own breast, which no external ho- nours can bestow. I persuade myself, that the life and faculties of man, at the best short and limited, can- not be employed more rationally or laudably, than in the search of knowledge ; and especially of that sort which relates to our duty, and conduces to our happl ness. 1 look upon the discovery of any thing which is true, as a valuable acquisition to society ; which cannot possibly hurt, or obstruct the good effect of any other truth whatsoever : for they all partake of one common essence, and necessarily coincide with each other; and, like the drops of rain, which fall separately into the river, mix themselves at once with the stream, and strengthen the general current. Free Inquiru.. HUME. The street before Whitehall was the place destined for the execution : for it was intended, by choosing that 284* PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT that very place, in sight of his own palace, to display more evidently the triumph of popular justice over royal majesty. When the king came upon the scaffold, he found it so surrounded with soldiers, that he could not expect to be heard by any of the people : he ad- dressed, therefore, his discourse to the few persons who were about him : particularly Colonel Tomlinson, to whose care he had lately been committed, and upon whom, as upon many others, his amiable deportment had wrought an entire conversion. He justified his own innocence in the late fatal wars, and observed that he had not taken arms till after the parliament had en- listed forces ; nor had he any other object in his warlike operations, than to preserve that authority entire,, which his predecessors had transmitted to him. He threw not, however, the blame upon the parliament ; but was more inclined to think that ill instruments had interposed, and raised in them fears and jealousies with regard to his intentions. Though innocent towards his people, he acknowledged the equity of his execution in the eyes of his Maker, and observed that an unjust sentence, which he had suffered to take effect, was now punished by an unjust sentence upon himself. He for- gave his enemies, even the chief instruments of his death : but exhorted them and the whole nation to re- turn to the ways of peace, by paying obedience to their lawful sovereign his son and successor. — At one blow was his head severed from his body. A man in a vizer performed the office of executioner : another, in alike disguise, held up to the spectators the head streaming with blood, and cried aloud, This is the head of a traitor. OP ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 285 It is impossible to describe the grief, indignation, and astonishment, which took place, not only among the spectators, who were overwhelmed with a flood of sorrow, but throughout the whole nation, as soon as the report of this fatal execution was conveyed to them. Never monarch, in the full triumph of success and vic- tory, was more dear to his people, than his misfortunes and magnanimity, his patience and piety, had rendered this unhappy prince. In proportion to their former delusions, which had animated them against him, was the violence of their return to duty and affection ; while each reproached himself, either with active dis- loyalty towards him, or with too indolent defence of his oppressed cause. On weaker minds, the effect of these complicated passions was prodigious. Women are said to have cast forth the untimely fruit of their womb : others fell into convulsions, or sunk into such a melancholy as attended them to their grave : nay, some unmindful of themselves, as though they could not, or would not, survive their beloved prince, it is reported, suddenly fell down dead. The very pulpits were bedewed with unsuborned tears ; those pulpits which had formerly thundered out the most violent imprecations and anathemas against him. And all men united in their detestation of those hypocritical parricides, who, by sanctified pretences, had so long disguised their treasons, and in this last act of iniquity, had thrown an indelible stain upon the nation.* History of England. * If King Charles did not merit his fate, he at least provoked it ; and all the rhetoric of Mr. Hume will not persuade any candid and enlightened periou to the contrary, ROBERTSON. 286 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT ROBERTSON. As soon as the sun arose, all the boats were manned and armed. They rowed towards the island with the colours displayed, warlike music, and other martial pomp ; and as they approached the coast, they saw it covered with a multitude of people whom the novelty of the spectacle had drawn together, and whose atti- tudes and gestures expressed wonder and astonishment at the strange objects which presented themselves to their view. Columbus was the first European who set foot in the New World which he had discovered. He landed in a rich dress, with a naked sword in his hand. His men followed, and kneeling down, they all kissed the ground which they had so long desired to see. They next erected a cruci6x, and, prostrating them- selves before it, returned thanks to God for conducting their voyage to such an happy issue. They then took solemn possession of the country for the crown of Castile and Leon, with all the formalities which the Portuguese were accustomed to observe in acts of this kind in their new discoveries. The Spaniards, while thus employed, were sur- rounded by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent admiration, upon actions which they did not compre- hend, and of which they did not foresee the conse- i?uences. The dress of rhe Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, their arms, appeared strange and surprising. The vast machines in which they had traversed the ocean, that seemed to move upon the waters with wings, and uttered a dreadful sound resembling thunder, accompanied with lightning and OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 28? and smoke, struck them wiih such terror that they began to respect tkeir new guests as a superior order of beings, and concluded that they were children of the Sun, who had descended to visit the earth. History of America. SMOLLETT. Genius in writing spontaneously arose ; and, though neglected by the great, flourished under the culture of a public which had pretensions to taste, and piqued it- self on encouraging literary merit. Swift and Pope we have mentioned on another occasion. Young still survived, a venerable monument of poetical talents. Thomson, the poet of the Seasons, displayed a luxu- riancy of genius in describing the beauties of nature. Akenside and Armstrong excelled in didactic poetry. Even the Epopoea did cot disdain an English dress ; but appeared to advantage in the Leonidas of Glover, and the Epigoniad of Wilkie. The public acknow- ledged a considerable share of dramatic merit in the tragedies of Young, Mallet, Home, and some other less distinguished authors. Very few regular come- dies, during this period, were exhibited on the English theatre ; which, however, produced many less laboured pieces, abounding with satire, wit, and humour. The Careless Husband of Cibber, and Suspicious Husband of Hoadley, are the only comedies of this age that bid fair for reaching posterity. The exhibitions of the stage were improved to the most exquisite entertain- ment by the talents and management of Garrick. who greatly surpassed all his predecessors of this, and per- haps every other nation, in his genius for acting ; in N3 the 288 , PROGKESSIVE IMPROVEMENT the sweetness and variety of his tones, the irresistible magic of his eye, the fire and vivacity of his action, the elegance of attitude, and the whole pathos of ex- pression. Quin excelled in dignity and declamation, as well as exhibiting some characters of humour, equal- ly exquisite and peculiar. Mrs. Cibber breathed the whole soul of female tenderness and passion ; and Mrs. Pritchard displayed all the dignity of distress. That Great Britain was not barren of poets at this period, appears from the detached performances of Johnson, Mason, Gray, the two Whiteheads, and the two Wai- tons ; besides a great number of other bards, who have sported in lyric poetry, and acquired the applause of their fellow-citizens. Candidates for literary fame appeared even in the higher sphere of life, embellished by the nervous style, superior sense, and extensive erudition of a Corke ; by the delicate taste, the po- lished muse, and tender feelings of a Lyttelton. King shone unrivalled in Roman eloquence. Even the. female sex distinguished themselves by their taste and , ingenuity. Miss Carter rivalled the celebrated Dacier in learning and critical knowledge ; Mrs. Lennox sig- nalized herself by many successful efforts of genius, both in poetry and prose ; and Miss Reid excelled the celebrated Rosalba in portrait painting, both in minia- ture and at large, in oil as well as in crayons. The genius of Cervantes was transfused into the novels of Fielding, who painted the characters, and ridiculed the follies ©f life, with equal strength, humour, and propriety. The field of history and biography wifl cultivated by many writers of ability ; among whom we distinguish the copious Guthrie, the circumstantial: Ralph, OP ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 289 Ralph, the laborious Carte, the learned and elegant Robertson, and above all, the ingenious, penetrating, and comprehensive Hume, whom we rank among the first writers of the age, both as an historian and philo- sopher. Nor let us forget the merit conspicuous in the works of Campbell, remarkable for candour, intel- ligence, and precision. Johnson, inferior to none in philosophy, philology, poetry, and classical learning, stands foremost as an essayist, justly admired for the dignity, strength, and variety, of his style, as well as for the agreeable manner in which he investigates the human heart, tracing every interesting emotion, and opening all the sources of morality. The laudable aim of enlisting the passions on the side of Virtue was suc- cessfully pursued by Richardson, in his- Pamela, Cla- rissa, and Grandisson ; a species of writing equally new and extraordinary, where, mingled with much super- fluity, we find a sublime system of ethics, an amazing knowledge and command of human nature. Many of the Greek and Roman classics made their appearance in English translations, which were favourably received as works of merit. Among these we place, after Pope's Homer, Virgil, by Pitt and Warton, Horace by Fran- cis, Polybius by Hampton, and Sophocles by Franklin. The war introduced a variety of military treatises, chiefly translated from the French language ; and a free country, like Great Britain, will always abound with political tracts and lucubrations.. -Every literary production of merit, calculated for amusement or in- struction, that appeared in any country or language of Christendom, was immediately imported, and natura- lized among the English people. Never was the pur- suit 2J0 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT suit after knowledge so universal, or literary turrit more regarded, than at this juncture, by the body of the British nation ; but it was honoured by no atten- tion from the throne, and little indulgence did it reap from the liberality of particular patrons. History of England. JUNIUS. Relinquishing, therefore, all idle views of amendment to your grace, or of benefit to the public, let me be permitted to consider your character and conduct mere- ly as a subject of curious speculation. There is some- thing in both which distinguishes you not only from ail other ministers, but all other men ; it is not that you do wrong by design, but that you should never do right by mistake. It is not that your indolence and your activity have been equally misapplied; but that the first uniform principle, or if I may call it the genius of your life, should have carried you through every possible change and contradiction of conduct, without the momentary impulse or colour of a virtue ; and that the wildest spirit of inconsistency should never once have betrayed you into a wise or honourable action. This, I own, gives an air of singularity to your fortune, as well as to your disposition. Let ? is look back toge- ther to a scene in which a mind like your's will find nothing to repent of. Let us try, my lord, how well you have supported the various relations in which you stood, to your sovereign, your country, your friends, and yourself. Give us, if it be possible, some excuse to posterity, and to ourselves, for submitting to yoer administration. If not the abilities of a great minister, if OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 291 if not the integrity of a patriot, or the fidelity of a friend, shew us at least the firmness of a man. For the sake of your mistress, the lover shall be spared. I will not lead her into public, as you have done, nor will I insult the memory of departed beauty. Her sex,, which alone made her amiable in your eyes, makes her respectable in mine. The character of the reputed ancestors of some men, has made it possible for their descendants to be vicious in the extreme, without being degenerate. Those of your grace, for instance, left no distressing examples of virtue, even to their legitimate posterity ; and you may look back with pleasure to an illustrious pedigree, in which heraldry has not left a single good quality upon record to insult and upbraid you. You have better proofs of your descent, my lord, than the register of a marriage, or any troublesome inheritance of reputation. There are some hereditary strokes of character, by which a family may be as clearly distinguished as by the blackest features of the human face. Charles the first lived and died a hypocrite. Charles the second was a hypocrite of another sort, and should have died upon the same scaffold. At the distance of a century we see their different characters happily revived and blended in your grace. Sullen and severe without re- ligion, profligate without gaiety, you live like Charles Vic second, without being an amiable companion ; and, for aught I know, may die as his father died, without the reputation of a martyr. Letters qfjuniv*. -■GOLDSMITH, 292 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT GOLDSMITH. Examine a savage in the history of his country and predecessors ; you will find his warriors able to con- quer armies, and his sages acquainted with more than possible knowledge : human nature is to him an un- known country ; he thinks it capable of great things because he is ignorant of its boundaries ; whatever can be conceived to be done, he allows to be possible, and whatever is possible, he conjectures must have been done. He never measures the actions and powers of others, by what himself is able to perform, nor makes- a proper estimate of the greatness of his fellows, by bringing it to the standard of his own incapacity. He is satisfied to be one of a country where mighty things have been ; and imagines the fancied powers of others reflect a lustre on himself. Thus, by degrees, he loses the idea of his own insignificance, in a confused notion of the extraordinary powers of humanity, and is willing to grant extraordinary gifts to every pretender, because unacquainted with their claims. * This is the reason why demi-gods and heroes have ever been erected in times or countries of ignorance and barbarity : they addressed a people who had high opinions of human nature, because they were ignorant how far it would extend; they addressed a people who were willing to allow that men should be gods, because tbey were yet .imperfectly acquainted with God and with man. These impostors knew,, that all men are naturally fond o£*seeing something very great, made from the little materials of humanity ; that ignorant nations are not more proud of building a tower to reach OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 293 reach heaven, or a pyramid to last for ages, than of raising up a demi-god of their own country and crea- tion. The same pride that erects a colossus or a py- ramid, instals a god or an hero ; but though the ador- ing savage can raise his colossus to the clouds^ he can exalt the hero not one inch above the standard of hu- manity ; incapable therefore of exalting the idol, he debases himself and falls prostrate before him. -Citizen of the World. JOHNSON. The place which the wisdom or policy of antiquity had destined for the residence of the Abyssinian princes, was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Anrmara, sur-« rounded on every side by mountains, of which the summits overhang the middle part. The only passage, by which it could be entered, was a cavern that passed under a rock, of which it had long been disputed whe- ther it was the work of nature, or of human industry. The outlet of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and the mouth which opened into the valley was closed with gates of iron, forged by the artificers of ancient days, so massy that no man without the help of engines could open or shut them. From the mountains on every side,rivulets descended that filled all the valley with verdure and fertility, and formed a lake in the middle inhabited by fish of every species, and frequented by every fowl whom nature has taught to dip the wing in water. The lake dis- charged its superfluities by a stream which, entered a, dark cleft of the mountain on the northern side, and {fill 294 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT fell with dreaatui noise from precipice to precipice, till it was heard no more. The sides of the mountains were covered with trees, the banks of the brooks were diversified with flowers; every blast shook spices from the rocks, and every month dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals that bite the grass, or browse the shrub, whether tame or wild, wandered in this extensive circuit, secured from beasts of prey by the mountains which confined them. On one part were flocks and herds feeding in the pastures, on another all the beasts of chace frisking in the lawns ; the sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks, the subtle monkey frolicking in the trees, and the solemn elephant reposing in the shade. All the diversities of the world were brought together, the blessings of nature were collected, and its evils ex- tracted and excluded. Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, STUART. The knight, while he acquired, in the company of the ladies, the graces of external behaviour, improved his natural sensibility and tenderness. He smoothed over the roughness of war with politeness. To be rude to a lady, or to speak to her disadvantage, was a crime which could not be pardoned. He guarded her possessions from the rapacious, and maintained her reputation against slander. The uncourteous offender was driven from the society of the valiant ; and the in- terposition of the fair was often necessary to protect him from death. But the courtesy of the knight, though due in a peculiar manner to the female sex, extended OP ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 295 extended itself to all the business and intercourse of eivil life. He studied a habitual elegance of manners. Politeness became a knightly virtue ; it even attended him to the field of battle, and checked his passions in the ardour of victory. The generosity and the deli- cate attentions he shewed to the enemy he had van- quished are a satire on the warriors of antiquity. His triumphs were disgraced by no indecent joy, no brutal ferocity. Courteous and generous in the general strain of his conduct, refined to extravagance in his gallantry to the ladies, and declared protector of religion and innocence, he was himself to be free from every stain. His rank, his duties, and his cares, made him aim at the perfection of virtue. View of Society in Europe, GIBBON. The discoveries of ancient and modern navigators, and the domestic history or tradition of the most en- lightened nations, represent the human savage naked both in mind and body, and destitute of laws, of arts, of ideas, and almost of language. From this abject condition, perhaps the primitive and universal state of man, he has gradually arisen to command the animals to fertilise the earth, to traverse the ocean, and to measure the heavens. His progress in the improve- ment and exercise of his mental and corporeal facul- ties has been irregular and various ; infinitely slow in the beginning, and increasing by degrees with redou- bled velocity : ages of laborious ascent have been fol- lowed by a moment of rapid downfall ; and the several climates of the globe have felt the vicissitudes of light and 290 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT and darkness. Yet the experience of four tnousaruV years should enlarge our hopes, and diminish our ap- prehensions : we cannot determine to what height the human species may aspire in their advances towards perfection ; but it may safely be presumed that no people, unless the face of nature is changed, will re- lapse into their original barbarism. The improvement* of society may be viewed under a threefold aspect. 1. The poet and philosopher illustrates his age and country by the efforts of a single mind ; but these superior powers of reason or fancy are rare and spon- taneous productions, and the genius of Homer, or Cicero, or Newton, would excite less admiration, if they could be created by the will of a prince,' or the lessons of a preceptor. 2. The benefits of law and policy, of trade and manufactures, of arts and sciences, are more solid and permanent ; and many individuals may be qualified, by education and discipline, to pro- mote, in their respective stations, the interest of the community. But this general order is the effect of skill and labour ; and the complex machinery may be decayed by time, or injured by violence. 3. Fortu- nately for mankind, the more useful, or, at least, more necessary arts, can be performed without superior ta- lents, or national subordination ; without the powers of one, or the union of many. Each village, each family, each individual, must always possess both abi- lity and inclination, to perpetuate the use of fire and of metals ; the propagation and service of domestic animals ; the methods of hunting and fishing ; the rudiments of navigation ; the imperfect'cultivation of corn, or other nutritive grain $ and the simple practice of OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION, 297 of the mechanic trades. Private genius and public in- dustry may be extirpated ; but these hardy plants sur- vive the tempest, and strike an everlasting root into the most unfavourable soil. The splendid days of Augustus and Trajan were eclipsed by a cloud of ignorance ; and the barbarians subverted the laws and palaces of Rome. But the scythe, the invention or emblem of Satufn ; still continued annually to mow the harvests of Italy ; and the human feasts of the Laestri- gons have never been renewed on the coast of Cam- pania. Since the first discovery of the arts, war, commerce, and religious zeal, have diffused, among the savages of the Old and New world, these inestimable gifts ; they have been successively propagated ; they can never be lost. We may therefore acquiesce in the pleasing con- clusion, that every age of the world has increased, and still increases, the real wealth, the happiness, the knowledge, and perhaps the virtue, of the human race. History of the Roman Empire. BURKE. By a constitutional policy, working after the pattern of nature, we receive, we hold, we transmit, our go- vernment and our privileges in the same manner in which we enjoy and transmit our property and lives. The institutions of policy, the goods of fortune, the gifts of Providence, are handed down to us and from us, in the same course and order. Our political system is placed in a just correspondence and symmetry with the order of the world, and with the mode of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory n?.rts ; 298 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT parts; wherein, by the disposition of stupendous wis- dom, mouldering together the great mysterious incor- poration of the human race, the whole, at one time, never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a con- dition of unchangeable constancy, moves on through the varied tenour of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and progression. Thus, by preserving the method of nature in the conduct of the state, in what we improve we are never wholly new ; in what we retain we are never wholly obsolete. By adhering in this manner, and on these principles, to our forefathers, we are guided, not by the superstition of antiquaries, but by the spirit of philosophic analogy. In this choice of inheritance we have given to our frame of polity the image of a relation in blood ; binding up the constitu- tion of our country with our dearest domestic ties : adopting our fundamental laws into the bosom of our family affections ; keeping inseparable, and cherishing with the warmth of all their combined and mutually reflected charities, our state, our hearths, our sepul- chres, and our altars. Reflections on the Revolution in France. BLAIR. We may easiW be satisfied that applause will be often shared by the undeserving, if we allow ourselves to consider from whom it proceeds. When it is the approbation of the wise only and the good which is pursued, the love of praise may then be accounted to contain itself within just bounds, and to run in its pro- per channel. But the testimony of the discerning few, modest and unassuming as they commonly are, forms but OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 299 but a small part of the public voice. It seldom amounts to more than a whisper, which amidst the general cla- mour is drowned. When the love of praise has taken possession of the mind, it confines not itself to an ob* ject so limited. It grows into an appetite for indis- criminate praise. And who are they that confer this praise ? A mixed multitude of men, who in their whole conduct are guided by humour and caprice, far more than by reason ; who admire false appearances, and pursue false gods ; who enquire superficially, and judge rashly ; whose sentiments are for the most part errone- ous, always changeable, and often inconsistent. Nor let any one imagine, that by looking above the crowd, and courting ihe praise of the fashionable and the great, he makes sure of true honour. There are a great vulgar, as well as a small. Rank often makes no difference in the understandings of men, or in their judicious distribution of praise. Luxury, pride, and vanity have frequently as much influence in corrupt- ing the sentiments of the great, as ignorance, bigotry, and prejudice have in misleading the opinions of the crowd. — And is it to such judges as these that you submit the supreme direction of your conduct ? Do you stoop to court their favour as your chief distinc- tion, when an object of so much juster and higher am- bition is presented to you in the pratie of God ? God is the only unerring judge of what is excellent. His approbation alone is the substance, all other praise is but the shadow of honour. The character which you bear in his sight is your only reel one. How contemp- tible does it render you to be indifferent with respect to this, and to be solicitous about a name alone, a fictitious, 300 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT fictitious, imaginary character, which has no existence except in the opinions of a few weak and credulous men around you ? They see no farther than the out- side of things. They can judge of you by actions only ; and not by the comprehensive view of all your actions, but by such merely as you have had opportu- nity of bringing forth to public notice. But the sore- reign of the world beholds you in every light in which you can be placed. The silent virtues of a generous purpose, and a pious heart, attract his notice equally with the most splendid deeds. From him you may reap the praise of good actions which you had no op- portunity of performing. For he sees them in their principle ; he judges of you by your intentions ; be knows what you would have done. You may be in his eyes a hero or a martyr, without undergoing the la- bours of the one, or the sufferings of the other. Sermons, BEATTIE. There is no modern writer, whose style is more distinguishable than that of Dryden. Energy and ease are its chief characters. The former is owing to a happy choice of expressions, equally emphatical and plain ; the latter to a laudable partiality in favour of the idioms and radical words of the English tongue ; the native riches and peculiar genius whereof are per- haps more apparent in him than in any other of our poets. In Dryden's more correct pieces, we meet with no affectation of words of Greek or Latin etymology, nor cumbersome pomp of epithets, no drawling cir cumlocutions, no idle glare of images, no blunderings roundabout a meaning; his English is pure and simple, OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 301 nervous and clear, to a degree which Pope has never exceeded, and not always equalled. Yet, as I have elsewhere remarked, his attachment to the vernacular idiom, as well as the fashion of his age, often betrays him into a vulgarity, and even meanness, of expression, which is particularly observable in his translations of Virgil and Homer ; and in those parts of his writings where he aims at pathos or sublimity ? In fact, Dry- den's genius did not lead himto the sublime or pathetic. Good strokes of both may be found in him ; but they are momentary, and seem to be accidental. He is too witty for the one, and too familiar for the other. That he had no adequate relish for the majesty of Paradise Lost, is evident to those who have compared his opera called T\ie State of Innocence with that immortal poem ; and that his taste for the true pathetic was imperfect, too manifestly appears from the general tenor of his Translations, as well as Tragedies. His Virgil abounds in lines and couplets of the most perfect beauty; but these are mixed with others of a different stamp : nor can they who judge of the original by this translation ever receive any tolerable idea of that uniform magni- ficence of sound and language, that exquisite choice of words and figures, and that sweet pathos of expression and of sentiment, which characterise the Mantuan Poet.— -In delineating the more familiar scenes of life, in clothing plain moral doctrines with easy and grace- ful versification, in the various departments of comic satire, and in the spirit and melody of his lyric poems, Dryden is inferior to none of those who went before him. He exceeds his master Chaucer in the first : in the three last, he rivals Horace ; the style of whose epis- tles he has happily imitated in his Religio Laici, and 302 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT other didactic pieces ; and the harmony and elegance of whose odes he has proved that he could have equal- led, if he had thought proper to cultivate that branch of the poetic art. Indeed, whether we consider his peculiar significance of expression, or the purity of his style; the sweetness of his lyric, or the ease and per- spicuity of his moral poems; the sportive severity of his satire, or his talents in wit and humour; Drvden, in point of genius (I do not say taste), seems to bear a closer affinity to Horace, than to any other ancient or modern author. For energy of words, vivacity of description, and apposite variety of numbers, his Feast of Alexander is superior to any ode of Horace or Pin- dar now extant. Dryden's verse, though often faulty, has a grace and a spirit peculiar to itself. That of Pope is more cor- rect, and perhaps upon the whole more harmonious ; but it is in general more languid, and less diversified. Pope's numbers are sweet but elaborate; and our sense of their energy is in seme degree interrupted by our attention to the art displayed in their contexture : Dryden's are natural and free ; and, while they com- municate their own sprightly motion to the spirits of the reader, hurry him along with a gentle and pleasing violence, without giving him time either to animadvert on their faults, or to analyze their beauties. Pope excels in solemnity of sound ; Drvden, in an easy melody, and boundless variety of rhythm. In this last respect he is perhaps superior to all other English poets, Milton himself not excepted. Till Drvden ap- peared, none of our writers in rhyme of the last cen- tury approached in any measure to the harmony of Fairfax and Spenser. — Of Waller it can only be said. OP ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 303 that he is not harsh ; of Denham and Gowley, if a few couplets were struck out of their works, we could not say so much. »But in Dryden's hands, the English rhyming couplet assumed a new form, and seems hardly susceptible of any further improvement. One of the greatest poets of this century, the late and much lamented Mr. Gray of Cambridge, modestly de- clared to me, that if there was in his own numbers any thing that deserved approbation, he had learned it all from Dryden. Critics have often stated a comparison between Dry- den and Pope, as poets of the same order, and who differed only in degree of merit. But, in my opinion, the merit of the one differs considerably in kind from that of the other Both were happy in a sound judg- ment and most comprehensive mind. Wit and hu- mour, and learning too, they seem to have possessed in equal measure ; or, if Dryden may be thought to have gone deeper in the sciences, Pope must be allowed to have been the greater adept in the arts. The diver- sities in point of correctness and delicacy, which arose from their different ways of life, I do not now insist upon. But setting those aside, if Dryden founds any claim of preference on the originality of his manner, we shall venture to affirm, that Pope may found a similar claim, and with equal justice, on the perfection of his taste ; and that, if the critical writings of the first are mose voluminous, those of the second are more judicious ; if Dryden's inventions are more diver- sified, those of Pope are more regular, and more impor- tant. Pope's style may be thought to have less sim- plicity, less vivacity, and less of the purity of the O SOi PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT mother-tongue ; but is at the same time more uni- formly elevated, and less debased by vulgarism, than that of his great master : — and the superior variety that animates the numbers of the latter, will perhaps br found to be compensated by the steadier and more majestic modulation of the former. Thus far their merits would appear to be pretty equally balanced. — But if the opinion of those critics be true, who hold that the highest regions of Parnassus are appropriated to pathos and sublimity, Dryden must after all confess that he has never ascended so far as his illustrious imitator ; there being nothing in the writings of the first so pathetic as the Epistle of Elovta, or the Elegy on the Unfortunate Lady ; nor so uniformly sublime as the Essay on Man, or the Pastoral of the Messiah* This last is indeed but a selection and imitation of choice passages ; but it bespeaks a power of imitation, and a taste in selection, that Dryden does not seem to have possessed. To all which may I not be permitted to add, what I think I could prove, that the pathos of Homer is frequently improved by Pope, and that of Virgil very frequently debased by Dryden ? The writings of Dryden are stamped with originality, "but are not always the better for that circumstance. Pope is an imitator professedly, and of choice ; but to most of those whom he copies he is at least equal ; and to many of them superior : and it is pleasing to observe how he rises in proportion to his originals. Where he follows Denham, Buckingham, Roscommon, and Ro- chester in his Windsor Forest, Essay on Criticism, and poem on Silence, he is superior indeed, but does not soar very high above them. When he versifies Chau- cer, he catches, as by instinot, the ease, simplicity, and OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION, S05 spirit of DrydeD, whom he there emulates. In the Rape of the Lock he outshines Boileau, as much as the syiphs that flutter round Belinda exceed in spriglit- liness and luminous beauty those mechanical attendants of the goddess of luxury, who knead up plumpness for the chin of the canon, and pound vermilion for the cheek of the monk. His Eloisa is beyond all compa- rison more sublime and more interesting than any ol Ovid's Heroines. His imitations of Horace equa r their archetypes in elegance, and often surpass them in energy and fire. In the lyric style, he was no matcL for Dryden : but when he copies the manner of Virgil, and borrows the thoughts of Isaiah, Pope is superior not only to himself, but to almost all other poets. Essay on Poetry and Music. FOX. Whatever might be the language of flatterers, and how loud soever the cry of a triumphant but deluded party, there were not wanting men of nobler sentiments and of more rational views. Minds once thoroughly imbrued with the love of what Sydney, in his last moments, so emphatically called the good old cause, will not easily relinquish their principles ; nor was the manner in which absolute power was exercised, such as to reconcile to it, in practice, those who had always been averse to it in speculation. The hatred of tyranny must, in such persons, have been exasperated by the experience of its effects, and their attachment to liberty proportionably confirmed. To them the state of their country must have been intolerable : to reflect upon the efforts of their fathers, once their pride and glory, and whom they themselves had followed with no un- equal steps, and to see the result of all in the scene* 306 OBSERVATIONS ON that now presented themselves, must have filled thei* minds with sensations of the deepest regret, and feel- ings bordering at least on despondency. To us, who have the opportunity of combining, in our view of this period, not only the preceding, but subsequent trans- actions, the consideration of it may suggest reflec- tions far different, and speculations more consolatory. Indeed, I know not that history can furnish a more forcible lesson against despondency, than by recording, that within a short time from those dismal days in which men of the greatest constancy despaired, and had reason to do so, within five years from the death of Sydney, arose the brightest aera of freedom known to the annals of our country. History of James the Second. OBSERVATIONS ON EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. TTPISTOLARY writing possesses a kind of middle place between the serious and amusing species of composition. It appears at first view, to stretch into a very wide field : for there is no subject whatever, on which a person may not convey his thoughts to the public in the form of a letter. Lord Shaftesbury, for instance, and several other writers, have chosen to give this form to philosophical treatises. But this circum- stance is not sufficient to class such treatises under the head of epistolary composition. Though they may bear the title of a letter to a friend, yet, after the first address, the friend disappears, and we perceive that It EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 307 is in truth the public with whom the author corresponds. Seneca's Epistles are of this description : there is no probability that they ever passed in correspondence as real letters. They are no other thaa miscellaneous dissertations on moral subjects ; which the author, for his convenience, chose to exhibit in the epistolary form. Even where one writes a real letter on some formal topic, as of moral or religious consolation, to a person underdistress, such as Sir William Templehas written to the Countess of Essex on the death of her daughter, he is at liberty on such occasions to write wholly as a divine or as a philosopher, and to assume the style of the one or of the other without reprehen- sion. We consider the author not as writing a familiar letter, but as composing a formal discourse, suited to the peculiar circumstances of some individual. Epistolary writing becomes a distinct species of com- position, subject to the cognizance of criticism, only or chiefly, when it is of the easy and familiar kind ; when it is conversation carried on upon paper, between two friends at a distance. Such an intercourse, when well conducted, may be rendered very agreeable to readers of taste. If the subject of the letters be im- portant, they will be the more valuable. Even though there should be nothing very considerable in the sub- ject, yet if the spirit and turn of the correspondence be agreeable ; if they be written in a sprightly manner, and with native grace and ease, they may still be entertaining ; more especially if there be any thing to interest us in the characters of the writers. Of the truth of this remark, the correspondence of Gray and of Cowper furnishes a striking illustration. 02 308 OBSERVATIONS ON Concerning the letters of eminent men, the public has always shewn an eminent degree of curiosity. We expect that their correspondence will discover some- thing of their real character. It is indeed childish to expect, that in letters we are to find the whole heart of the writer unveiled. Concealment and disguise take place, more or less, in all human intercourse. But still, as letters from one friend to another make the nearest approach to conversation, we may expect to see more of a character displayed in these than in pro- ductions intended for public inspection. We please ourselves with beholding the writer in a situation which allows him to be at his ease, and to give vent occa- sionally to the overflowings of his heart. When a writer has distinguished himself in his studied perJfcr- mances, and delighted us in those works which he in- tended for our perusal, we become interested in all that concerns him, and wish to be acquainted with his ideas, as they flowed, without any view to their publi- cation, in the open communications of a private and friendly correspondence. Beautiful minds, like beau- tiful bodies, appear graceful in an undress. The awe which they inspire, when surrounded with all their dignity, is sometimes more striking than pleasing; but we feel ourselves relieved when admitted to their fami- liarity. We love to retire behind the scenes, and to observe the undisguised appearanee of those who please us when industriously decorated for public exhibition. Much, therefore, of the merit and the agreeableneas of epistolary writing will depend on its introducing us to some acquaintance with the writer. Here, if any where, we look for the man, not for the author. Its fiMt EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 309 first and fundamental requisite is, to be natural ana simple j for a stiff and laboured manner is as bad in a letter, as it is in conversation. This does not banish sprightliness and wit. These are graceful in letters, just as they are in conversation ; when they flow easily, and without any appearance of study, when employed so as to season not to cloy. Much has been said concerning the epistolary style ; as if any one style could be appropriated to the great variety of subjects which are discussed in letters. Ease should distinguish familiar letters, written on the com- mon affairs of life ; because the mind is usually at ease while they are composed. But even in these there may incidentally arise some topic that requires elevated language. Not to elevate our expressions on these occasions, is to write unnaturally ; for nature teaches us to express animated emotions of every kind in ani- mated language. The impassioned lover writes unnaturally, if he writes with the ease of Sevigne. The dependent writes unnaturally to a superior, if he adopts a style of fami- liarity. The suppliant writes unnaturally if he rejects the figures dictated by distress. Conversation admits of «every style but the poetic ; and what are letters but written conversion ? The great rule is, to follow na- ture, and to avoid an affected manner. Ease and simplicity are ornaments to every species of composition. The most interesting letters are com- monly such as have been written with the greatest facility. What the heart or the imagination dictates, may always be readily expressed ; but where there is no subject to warm or interest these, constraint is apt to appear, and hence, those letters of mere coroplU 310 OBSERVATIONS ON ment, congratulation, or condolence, which have cost the authors most labour in composing, and which, for that reason, they perhaps consider as their master- pieces, never fail of being the most disagreeable and insipid to the reader. It ought, however, to be remembered, that the ease and simplicity which I have recommended in epistolary correspondence, are not to be understood as importing entire carelessness. In writing to the most intimate friend, a certain degree of attention, both to the subject and the style, is requisite and becoming. It is no more than what we owe to ourselves, and to the friend with whom we correspond. A slovenly and negligent man- ner of writing argues a want of due respect. The licence which some persons assume of writing letters with too careless a hand, is apt to betray them into imprudence in what they write. The first requisite, both in conversation and correspondence, is to attend to all the proper decorums which our own character and that of others demand. An imprudent expression in conversation may be forgotten and pass away ; but when we take the pen in our hand, we must remember, Litem scripta maneU The Greeks, remarkable as they were for diversity of composition, have not left many models in the epistolary style. The epistles attributed to Socrates, Xenophon, iEschines, Antisthenes, Aristippus, and Philo, have never been popular. Those which bear the name of Aristaenetus are composed in a taste less resembling the Attic than the Oriental. The descrip- tions in them are poetically luxuriant, but the language is not pure, nor the style simple. With regard to the epistles ascribed to Phalaris, EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 311 various opinions have been entertained among the learned. They have been considered as genuine by Temple, Boyle, King, Swift, and many others ; while Dr. Bently, a more competent judge, has rejected them as spurious. It is now the opinion of those who are best qualified to decide, that in this violent con- troversy the victory was gained by Bently. This critic observes with his usual acrimony, that Mr. Boyle, who was afterwards earl of Orrery, made a bad book worse by giving a bad edition of it. The letters of Cicero are the most valuable collection extant in any language. They are letters of real business written to the greatest men of the age, com- posed with purity and elegance, but without the least affectation ; and, what adds greatly to their merit, written without any view to publication. It appears that he never retained copies of his own letters ; and we are wholly indebted to the care of his freed-man Tiro, for the extensive collection that appeared after his death. They contain the most authentic materials for the history of that age ; and are the last monuments which remain of Rome in its free state ; the greatest part of them being written when the republic was on the brink of ruin. To his intimate friends, and espe- cially to At tic us, he lays open his heart with great freedom. In the course of his correspondence with others, we are introduced into an acquaintance with several of the principal personages of Rome : and it is remarkable that most of Cicero's correspondents, as well as himself, are elegant and polite writers ; a cir- cumstance which serves to heighten our . 'dea of the taste and manners of that age. The epistles of the younger Pliny cannot without 312 OBSERVATIONS ON impropriety be termed familiar. For though many of them are addressed to his most intimate friends, and relate to personal topics, yet, as we know that they were published by the writer himself after they had undergone his revision and correction, we may be as- sured that their purpose was not the simple effusion of his mind. In fact, the evident design of almost every letter in the collection is, to display the good qualities of the writer. They generally turn upon some act of munificence which he had performed, some instance of his literary ororatorical reputation, his attachment to study, his philosophical temper of mind, his 1 jve of virtue, in short, upon something that may heighten his character in the idea of his correspondent. His leading foible, indeed, the thirst of applause, they very amply exhibit ; for he neither wished to conceal it, nor could he do so consistently with his purpose of attaining applause. But we shall in vain look for any touches of nature which may make us acquainted in other respects with the man. All is so varnished with splendid sentiments, and elegancies of thought and ex- pression, that no peculiar features are discernible. The subject of every letter is a theme on which the finest things are to be said ; and we are sometimes tempted to believe, that the benevolent or generous action which he relates, was either wholly fictitious, or performed for the express purpose of displaying it to a friend in its fairest colouring. After the Latin had ceased to be a living language, many excellent collections of epistles were composed in it. The learned men of different nations, whose rude dialects would not repay the labour of cultivation, wisely chose to communicate their thoughts in the pure EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 313 language of the court of Augustus. Some of the ear- liest of these collections are disgraced by the barbarism of the times. But Petrarch shines amidst the surround- ing obscurity. True genius, like his, could not but display its lustre, though it laboured under the disad- vantage of a prevailing corruption of taste. His Latin style cannot be recommended as a model of purity. Politian had also just pretensions to native genius. There is a warmth and vigour in his poetry, which fully proves him to have possessed no common talents. His epistles are elegant, but, like those of Pliny, whom he imitated, they are often formal and affected. But among the modern epistolaiy writers, the first rank is to be assigned to Erasmus. His style, indeed, is not purely Ciceronian, though it displays many of the graces of Cicero's manner. He was not so scrupu- lously exact in his taste, as to reject a barbarous and Gothic expression, if it conveyed his idea with preci- sion. But he had the skill to use it in sucL a way, that it acquired, in his writings, a grace and dignity. No man was better acquainted with the works of Cicero, and no man entertained a higher opinion of his beau- ties, or knew better how to imitate them. But he de- spised the sect of Ciceronians, who would scarcely ad- mit a particle which was not to be found in their fa- vourite author. In his dialogue entitled Ciceronianus, he has ridiculed them with admirable wit and eloquence; nor would he countenance such affectation by any part of his writings. With all their defects in point of pu- rity of language, his letters are uncommonly entertain- ing : they possess that spirit which genius can always exhibit, but which laborious dulness vainly imitates. Many of the epistles of Joseph Scaliger are extremely 314 OBSERVATIONS OX curious j and they perhaps serve to evince his astonish- ing capacity and erudition, as completely as the most elaborate of his productions. Those of Grotius, Vos- sius, and Casaubon, are very numerous and variegated they contain much valuable information ; particularly with regard to the literary history of their own times. But these collections are less remarkable for the style than for the matter. I shall not here attempt to characterize a numerous class of epistolary writers who possess a little merit of their own, and who have derived all their fame from a servile imitation of Cicero. Paulus Manutius, one of these, is said to have spent a month in composing a single letter. We see, indeed, the consequence of this scrupulous attention, an elegant and truly Ciceronian phraseology : but we observe none of the native graces of unaffected composition. The French have arrogated to themselves great merit as epistolary writers. Their genius and their language appear to be well adapted to this species of composi- tion. But some of the most celebrated writers among them have renounced the advantages which nature af- forded them, and have destroyed all the beauties of sentiment and vivacity, by an unseasonable profusion of wit. Balzac fatigues his reader with the constant recurrence of laboured ingenuity. Voiture abounds with beautiful thoughts, expressed with great elegance. In other writers the language of compliment disgusts by its unmeaning sameness and formality. In him it has the grace of delicacy. But even he, though indisputably a fine writer, is justly censured by Bouhouis, for thoughts which the critic calls false. EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 3T5 The letters of Sevigne* are now esteemed the most complete model of a familiar correspondence. They turn indeed verj much upon trifles, the incidents of the day, and the news of the town ; and they are over- loaded with extravagant compliments, and expressions of fondness, to her favourite daughter : but at the same time they shew such perpetual sprightliness, they con- tain such easy and varied narration, and so many strokes of the most lively and beautiful painting, per- fectly free from all affectation, that they are justly en- titled to high praise. The most distinguished collection of letters in the English language is that of Pope, Swift, and their friends. This collection is, on the whole, an enter- taining and agreeable one ; and contains much wit and refinement. It is not, however, free from the faults imputed to the epistles of Pliny ; it betrays too much study and labour. Vet we find not a few of these let- ters written with great ease and simplicity. Those of Arbuthnot, in particular, are entitled to the highest praise.* Swift's also are unaffected ; they exhibit his character with all its defects. It were to be wished, for the honour of his memory, that his epistolary cor- respondence had not been drained to the dregs, by so many successive publications as have been given to the world. Several of the letters of Atterbury and Boling- broke are written with a masterly hand. The censure * Arbuthnot was a man of great comprehension, skilful iu his profession, versed in the sciences, acquainted with ancient literature, and able to animate his mass of knowledge by a bright and active imagination: a scholar with great brilliance of wit ; a wit who, in il:e crowd of life, retained aud discovered a nobler ardour of rcii- fnoat zea!.— Johnson's Life t>f Ptpe. P 316 OBSERVATIONS ON of writing in too artificial a manner falls heaviest upon Pope himself. There is visibly more of study, and less of nature and the heart in his letters, than in those of most of his correspondents. It has been so long said as to be commonly believed, that the true characters of men may be found in their letters, and that he who writes to his friend, lays his hear! open before him. But the truth is, that such were the simple friendships of the Golden Age, and are now the friendships only of children. Very few can boast hearts which they dare lay open to themselves, and of which by whatever accident exposed, they do not shun a distinct and continued view : and certainly what we h'de from ourselves, we do not shew to our friends. There is indeed no transaction which offers stronger temptations to fallacy and sophistication than epistolary intercourse. In the eagerness of conversa- tion, the first emotions of the mind oft en burst out before they are considered ; in the tumult of business, inter- est and passion have their genuine effect ; but a friend- ly letter is a calm and deliberate performance, in the cool of leisure, in the stillness of solitude; and surely no man sits down to depreciate by design his own cha- racter. Friendship has no tendency to secure veracity in this case ; for by whom can a man so earnestly wish to be thought better than he is, as by him whose kindness he desires to gain or keep ? Even in writing to the world there is less constraint : the author is not confronted with his reader, and takes his chance of approbation among the different dispositions of mankind -, but a let- ter is addressed to a single mind, of which the prejudi- ces and partialities are known ; and must therefore EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 317 please, if not by favouring them, at least by forbear- ing to expose them. To charge .those favourable representations which men give of their own minds, with the guilt of hypo- critical falsehood, would shew more severity than know- ledge. The writer commonly believes himself. Al- most every man's thoughts, while they are general, are right ; and most hearts are pure, while temptation is absent. It is easy to awaken generous sentiments iti privacy ; to despise death when there is no danger ; to glow with benevolence when there is nothing to be given. While such ideas are formed they are felt 3 and self-love does not suspect the gleam of virtue to be a meteor of fancy. If the letters of Pope are considered merely as com- positions, they seem to be premeditated and artificial. It is one thing to write because there is something which the mind wishes to discharge ; and another to solicit the imagination, because ceremony or vanity requires something to be written. He is too fond of writing like a wit. His letters to ladies are full of affec- tation. The swelling sentences which he occasionally uses, might be tolerated in a formal harangue : but are very unsuitable to the style of one friend corresponding with another. It is evident that his own importance often swells in his mind. He is afraid of writing, lest the clerks of the post-office should know his secrets ; he has many enemies ; he considers himself as surrounded by univer- sal jealousy. " After many deaths, and many disper- sions," says he, " two or three of us may still be brought together, not to plot, but to divert ourselves, and the world too, if it pleases :" and they can live toge- 318 OBSERVATIONS, &C. ther, and " shew what friends wits may be, in spite of all the fools in the world." All this while it was like- ly that the clerks did not know his hand ; he certainly had no more enemies than a public character like his inevitably excites ; and with what degree of friendship the wits might live, very few were so much fools as ever to enquire. The letters of Lord Chesterfield have been highly praised. As compositions, they indeed possess much elegance ; but they ought never to be put into the hands of youth, without serious precautions against the tendency of that detestable system of morality which they inculcate. No man has more closely imitated the French in every circumstance. Like them he writes with perspicuity) vivacity, and that gracefulness which is sure to please, and which he so strenuously recom- mends. He is himself a proof of the efficacy of the graces ; for, with all his merit, he was certainly super- ficial, and yet obtained a degree of fame which more solid writers have seldom enjoyed. The letters of Lady M. W. Montague are not un- worthy of being classed with those of S£vigne\ They have much of the French ease and vivacity; and per- haps retain the character of an agreeable epistolary style, as completely as any collection of letters which has yet appeared in the English language. But in ge- nuine grace and elegance, they are surpassed by those of Gray, Cowper, and Beattie.* * ?,lorhorii Polyhistor, turn. i. p. 270. Blair's Lectures on Rhe- toric and Belies Lettres, Le< t. xxxvii. Aikin's Letters to his Son, vol. 1. Let. vi. Knox's Essay?, No, clxxi, Johnson's Life of Pope, FINIS. G, SiWKfiX, Priatrr, Northumberland Street. Strand. — Deacidified using the BookK^P«»» Neutralizing agent: Magnes.um Ox.de Treatment Date: Oct. 2006 PreservationTechnologies A worlu l park Dnve ;«utn 111 Thomson Park Dnve Cranberry Townshtp. PA 16066 (724)779-2111 ^*»«oo* A *v>ian