Pass FBlQrO^ Book > S 7 . X. AN *6 ABRIDGMENT OF Leffiures on Rhetorick. BS- HUGH BLAIR, D.D. RE? IS ED AND CORRECTED. PRINTED BY J. T. BUCKINGHAM, FOR THOMAS £ff ANDREWS. SOLD AT THEIR BOOKSTORE, NO, 4<5, NEWBURY-STRET I O&ober, 1S05, ** ^ . gs- Thefe pohih'd aft$ have humanized mankind, SoHcn'd the rude, and calnrd the boifterous mind. Poetry, Eloquence, and Hiftory continually exhibit to our view thofe elevated fentiments and high examples, which tend to nourifh in our minds publick fpirit, love of glory, contempt of external fortune, and admiration of every thing truly great, noble and illuftrious. %tttum on motorics*, ABRIDGED. TASTE. JL ASTE is " the power of receiving pleafure 11 or pain from the beauties or deformities of Nature " and of Art." It is a faculty common in fome de- gree to all men* Through the circle of human na- ture, nothing is more general, than the relifh of Beau- ty of one kind or other \ of what is orderly, propor- tioned, grand, harmonious, new, or fprightly. Nor does there prevail lefs generally a difrelifh of what- ever is grofs, difproportioned, disorderly, and difcord- nni. In children the rudiments of Tafte appear very early in a thoufand inftances ; in their partiality for regular bodies, their fondnefs for pictures and ftatues, and their warm attachment to whatever is new or aftonifliing. The mod ftupid peafants receive pleafure from tales and ballads, and are delighted with the beautiful appearances of nature in the earth and heavens. Even in the deferts of America, where hu- man nature appears in its moft uncultivated (late^ the lavages have their ornaments of drefs, their war and their death fongs, their harangues and their orators. The principles of Tafte muft therefore be deeply founded in the human mind. To have fome difcern- rnent of Beauty is no lefs eflential to man, than tot poflefs the attributes of fpeech and reafon* fcO TASTE. Though no human being can be entirely devoid off this faculty, yet it is poffeffed in very different degrees. In fome men only faint glimmerings of Tafte are vifible ; the beauties, which they relifh are of the coarff ft kind ; and of thefe they have only a weak and confufed impreffibn *, while in others Tafte rifes to an acute difcernment, and a lively enjoyment of the mod refined beauties. This inequality of Tafte among men is to be af- cribed undoubtedly in part to the different frame of their natures ; to nicer organs, and more delicate in- ternal powers, with which fome are endued- beyond others 5 yet it is owing ftili more to culture and edu- cation. Tafte is certainly one of the mod improva- ble faculties of our nature. We may eafily be con- vinced of the truth of this affertion by only reflecting, on that immenfe fuperiority, which education and improvement give to civilized above barbarous nations in refinement of Tafte ; and on the advantage, which they give in the fame nation totliofe, who have {fuell- ed the liberal arts, above the rude and illiterate vulgar. Reafon and good fenfe have fo extenfive an influence on ail the operations and decifions of Tafte, that a completely good Tafte may well be confidered, as a power compounded of natural fen ability to beauty and of improved underftanding. To be fatisfied of this, we may obferve, that the greater part of the produc- tions of Genius are no other than imitations of na-< ture; representations of • the chara&ers, anions, or manners of men. Now the pleafure we experience from fuch imitations or representations is founded on mere Tafte ^ but to judge, whether they be proper* TASTE* XI ly executed, belongs to the underftanding, which com- pares the copy with the original. In reading, for inftance, the iEneid of Virgil, a great part of our pleafure arifes from the proper con- duit of the plan or ftory ; from all the parts being joined together with probability and due connexion ; from the adoption of the characters from nature, the correspondence of the fentiments to the characters, and of the ftyle to the fentiments. The pleafure, which is derived from a poem fo conduced, is felt or enjoyed by Tafte, as an internal fenfe ; but the dif- covery of this conduit in the poem is owing to reafon ; and the more reafon enables us to difcover fuch pro- priety in the conduct, the greater will be our pleafure. The conftituents of Tafte, when Brought to its molt perfect ftate, are two, Delicacy and Corre£tnefs. Delicacy of Tafte refers principally to the perfection of that natural fenfibility, on which Tafte is foundedo It implies thofe finer organs or powers, which enable us to difcover beauties, that are concealed from a vul- gar eye. It is judged of by the fame marks, that we employ in judging of the delicacy of an external fenfe. As the goodnefs of the palate is not tried by ftrong flavours, but by a mixture of ingredients, where, not- withftanding the confufioi*, we remain fenfible of each ; fo delicacy of internal Tafte appears by a quick and lively fenfibility to its fined, moil compounded, or moft latent objects. Correctnefs of Tafte refpe&s the improvement this faculty receives through its connexion with the un« derftanding. A man of corre£t tafte is one, who is never impofed on by counterfeit beauties •, who carries always in his own mind that ftandard of good fenfe. t% TASTE. which he employs in judging of every thing. He ef- timates with propriety the relative merit of the feveral beauties, which he meets in any work of genius ; re- fers them to their proper claffes ; affigns the principles as far as they can be traced, whence their power of pleafing is derived ; and is pleafed himfelf precifely in that degree, in which he ought, and no more. Tafte is certainly not an arbitrary principle, which is fubje& to the fancy of every individual, and which admits no criterion for determining, whether it be true or falfe. Its foundation is the fame in every hu- man mind. It is built upon fentiments and percep- tions, which are infeparable from our nature ; and which generally operate with the fame uniformity, as our other intelle&ual principles. When thefe fenti- ments are perverted by ignorance or prejudice, they may be rectified by reafon. Their found and natural ftate is finally determined by comparing them with the general Tafte of mankind. Let men declaim as much as they pleafe, concerning the caprice and un- certainty of Tafte ; it is found by experience, that there are beauties, which if difplayed in a proper light, have power to command- lading and univerfal admira- tion. In every compofition, what interefts the imag- ination, and touches the heart, gives pleafure to all ages and nations. There is a certain firing, which being properly ftruck, the human heart is fo made, as to accord to it. Hence the univerfal teftimony, which the mod im- proved nations of the earth through a long feries of ages have concurred to bellow on fome few works of genius ; fuch as the Iliad of Homer, and the iEneid of Virgil. Hence the authority, which fuch works CRITICISM. 13 have obtained, as ftandards of poetical compofition ; fince by them we are enabled to collect, what the fenfe of mankind is with refpe£i to thofe beauties, which give them the higheft pleafure, and which, therefore, poetry ought to exhibit. Authority or prejudice may in one age or country give a fnort-lived reputation to an indifferent poet, or a bad artift ; but when foreign- ers, or pofterity examine his works, his faults are dis- covered, and the genuine Tafte of human nature is feen. Time overthrows the illufions of opinion, but eftablifhes the decifions of nature. CRITICISM. GENIUS. PLEASURES OF TASTE- SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. i RUE Criticism is the application of Tafte and of good fenfe to the feveral fine arts. Its defign is to diftinguifh, what is beautiful and what is faulty in every performance. From particular inftances it afcends to general principles ; and gradually forms rules or conclufions concerning the feveral kinds of Beauty in works of Genius. Criticifm is an art, founded entire.ly on experience ; on the obfervation of fuch beauties, as have been found to pleafe mankind mod generally. For exam- ple, Ariftotle's rules concerning the unity of adlion in dramatick and epick compofition were not firft dif- covered by logical reafoning, and then applied to po- etry ; but they were deduced from the practice of Homer and Sophocles. They were founded upon ob- 14 GENIUS. ferving the fuperiour pleafure, which we derive from the relation of an adion, which is one and entire, beyond what we receive from the relation of Scatter- ed and unconnected fads. A fuperiour Genius, indeed, will of himfelf, unin- ftruded, compofe in fuch manner, as is agreeable to the mod important rules of Criticifm ; for, as thefe rules are founded in nature, nature will frequently fuggeft them in pradice. Homer was acquainted with no fyftem of the art of poetry. Guided by Genius alone, he compofed in verfe a regular ftory, which all fucceeding ages have admired. This, how- ever, is no argument againft the ufefulnefs of Criti- cifm. For fince no human genius is perfed, there is no writer, who may not receive afiiftance from critical obfervations upon the beauties and faults of thofe, who have gone before him. No rules indeed can fup- ply the defeds of genius, or infpire it, where it is wanting \ but they may often guide it into its proper channel ; they may corred its extravagances, and teach it the moft juft and proper imitation of nature. Critical rules are intended chiefly to point out the faults, which ought to be avoided. We muft be in- debted to nature for the produdion of eminent beauties. Genius is a word, which in common acceptation extends much farther, than to objeds of Tafte, It Cgnifies that talent or aptitude, which we receive from nature, in order to excel in any one thing what- ever. A man is faid to have a genius for mathe- maticks as well as a genius for poetry ; a genius for war, for politicks, or for any mechanical employment ?LEAStfRES OF TASTE. 1 5 Genius may be greatly improved by art and ftudy ; but by them alone it cannot be acquired. As it is a higher faculty than Tafte, it is ever, according to the common frugality of nature, more limited in the fphere of its operations. There are perfons, not un- frequently to be met, who have an excellent Tafte in feveral of the polite arts ; fuch, as mufick, poetry* painting, and eloquence , but an excellent performer in all thefe arts is very feldom found \ or rather is not to be looked for. A univerfal Genius, or one who is equally and indifferently inclined toward fever- al different profeffions and arts, is not likely to excel in any. Although there may be fome few exceptions, yet in general it is true, that, when the mind is whol- ly directed toward fome one object exclufively of others, there is the faireft profpeit of eminence in that, whatever it may be. Extreme heat can be pro- duced, only when the rays converge to a fingle point. Young perfons are highly interefted in this remark \ fince it may teach them to examine with care, and to purfue with ardour, that path, which nature has mark- ed out for their peculiar exertions. The nature of Tafte, the nature and importance of Criticifm, and the diftindtion between Tafte and Gen* ius, being thus explained ; the fources of the Pleas- ures of Tafte fhall next be confidered. Here a very extenfive field is opened \ no lefs, than all the Pleas- ures of the Imagination, as they are generally called, whether afforded us by natural objects, or by imita- tions and defcriptions of them. It is not, however, neceffary to the purpofe of the prefent work, that all thefe be examined fully •, the pleafure, which we re- ceive from difcourfe or writing, being the principal i£> PLEASURES OF TASTE. object of them. Our defigu is to give fome opening into the Pleafures of Tafte in general, and to infift more particularly upon Sublimity and Beauty. We are far from having yet attained any fyftem concerning this fubjedt. A regular inquiry into it was firft attempted by Mr. Addifon, in his Eflay on the Pleafures of the Imagination. By him thefe Pleafures are ranged under three heads, Beauty, Gran- deur, and Novelty. His fpeculations on this fubj.tt&» if not remarkably profound, are very beautiful and entertaining *, and he has the merit of having difcov- ered a track, which was before untrodden. Since hh time the advances, made in this part of philosophic- al criticifm, are not confiderable ; which is owing, doubtlefs, to that thinnefs and fubtility, which are difcovered to be properties of all the feelings of TaPce. It is difficult to enumerate the feveral objects, which give pleafure to Tafte ; it is more difficult to define all thofe, which have been difcovered, and to range them in proper elafies ; and, when we would proceed far- ther, and inveftigate the efficient caufes of the pleafure, which we receive from fuch obje£ls, here we find our- felves at the greateft lofs. For example, we ail learn by experience that fome figures of bodies appear more beautiful than others \ on farther inquiry we difcover that the regularity of fome figures and the graceful variety of others are the -foundation of the beauty, which we difcern in them ; but, when we endeavour to go a ftep beyond this, and inquire, why regularity and variety produce in our minds the fenfation of beauty \ any reafon, we can affign, is extremely im- perfect. Thofe firft principles of internal fenfation liatur:. appears to have ftudioufly concealed* SUBLIMITY IN OEJECTS. IJ It is fome confolation, however, that, although the efficient caufe is obfeure, the final caufe of thofe fenfa- tions lies commonly more open ; and here we mud obferve the ftrong impreffion which the powers of Tafte and Imagination are calculated to give us of the benevplence of our Creator. By thefe powers he hath widely enlarged the fphere of the pleafures of human life ; and thofe too of a kind the moft pure and inno- cent. The neceffary purpofes of life might have been anfwered, though our fenfes of feeing and hearing had only ferved to diftinguifh external objects, with- out giving us any of thofe refined and delicate fenfa- tions of beauty and grandeur, with which we are now fo much delighted. The pleafure, which arifes from fublimity or gran- deur, deferves to be fully confidered ; becaufe it has a character more precife and diftinctly marked, than - any other of the pleafures of the imagination, and be- caufe it coincides more directly with our main fubject. The fimpleft form of external grandeur is feen in the vaft and boundlefs profpe£ts, prefented to us by na- ture ; fuch as widely extended plains, of which the eye can find no limits ; the firmament of heaven ; or the boundlefs expanfe of the ocean. All vaftnefs produces the impreffion of fublimity. Space, however, extended in length, makes not fo ftrong an impreflion, as height or depth. Though a boundlefs plain is a grand object $ yet a lofty mountain, to which we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look down oa objects below, is ftill more fo. Theexceffive grandeur of the firmament arifes from its height, add- ed to its boundlefs extent ; and that of the ocean, not from its extent alone, but from the continual mo- B 2 IS SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. tion and irrefiftible force of that mafs of waters. Wherever fpace is concerned, it is evident that am- plitude, or greatnefs of extent, m one dimenfion or other, is neceflary to grandeur. Remove all bounds from any object, and you immediately render it fub- lime. Hence infinite fpace, endlefs numbers, and e- ternal duration, fill the mind with great ideas. The mod copious fource of fublime ideas feems to be derived from the exertion of great power and force* Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning moun- tains j of great conflagrations ; of the boifterous ocean j. of the tempeftuous ftorm ; of thunder and lightning v and of all the unufual violence of the elements. A ftream, which glides along gently within its banks, is a beautiful objeft \ but, when it rufhes down with the impetuofity and noife of a torrent, it immediately be- comes a fublime one. A race-horfe is viewed with pleafure \ but it is the war-horfe, u whofe neck is " clothed with thunder," that conveys grandeur in its idea. The engagement of two powerful armies, as it is the higheft exertion of human ftrength, combines, various fources of the fublime ; and has confequently been ever considered, as one of the moft linking and magnificent fpettacles, which can be either prefented to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in defcrip- tion. All ideas of the folemn and awful kind, and even, bordering on the terrible* tend greatly taaflinVthc fub- lime ; fuch as darknefs, folitude, and filence. The firmament, when filled with ftars, fcattered in infinite numbers and with fplendid profufion, ftrikes the im- agination with more awful grandeur, than when we behold it enlightened by all the fplendour of the fun* SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. X£ The deep found of a great bell, or the {hiking of a great clock, is at any time grand and awful j but when heard amid the filence and ftillnefs of night, they be- come doubly fo. Darknefs is very generally applied for adding fublimity to all our ideas of the Deity. " He maketh darknefs his pavilion ; he dwelleth in " the thick cloud." Thus Milton — •How oft amid Thick clouds and dark does heaven's all-ruling Sirs Choofe to r elide, his glory unobfcur'd ; And with the majefty of darknefs round Circles his throne Obfcurity is favourable to the fublime. The de- fcriptions given us of appearances of fupernatural beings, carry fome fublimity \ though the conception, which they afford us, be confufed and indiftin£t. Their fublimity arifes from the ideas, which they al- ways convey, of fuperiour power and might connected with awful obfcurity. No ideas, it is evident, are fo fublime, as thofe derived from the Supreme Being, the mod unknown, yet the greateii of all obje£ts ; the in- finity of whofe nature and the eternity of whofe du- ration, added to the omnipotence of his power, though they furpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them to the higheft. Diforder is alfo very compatible with grandeur \ nay, frequently heightens it. Few things, which are exa£lly reg^.ar and methodical, appear fublime. We fee the limits on every fide \ we feel ourfelves con- fined ; there is no room for any confiderable exertion of the mind. Though exa£t proportion of parts en- 2© SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS^ ters often into the beautiful, it is much difregarded m the fublime. A great mafs of rocks, thrown together by the hand of nature with wildnefs and confufion, ftrikes the mind with more grandeur, than if they had been adj lifted to each other with the moil accurate fymmetry. There yet remains one clafs of Sublime Obje&s to be mentioned, which may be termed the Moral or Sentimental Sublime, arifing from certain exertions of tfye mind y {torn certain affections and actions of our fellow creatures. Thefe will be found to be chiefly of that clafs which comes under the name of Magnanimity or Heroifm ; and they produce an ef- fect very fimilar to what is produced by a view of grand obje&s in nature, filling the mind with admi- ration and railing it above itfelf. Wherever in fome critical and dangerous fituation- we behold a. man un- commonly intrepid, and reding folely upon himfelf 5. fuperiour to paflion and to fear ; animated by fome great principle to contempt of popular opinion, of felfiih intereit, of dangers, or of death ; we are there ' ftruck with a fenfe of the fublime. Thus Porus* when taken by Alexander after a gallant defence, be* ing afked, in what manner he would be treated ; an- fwered, " Like a King :" and Csefar, chiding the pilots who was afraid to fet out with him in a ftorm, " Quid times ? Cseiarem vehis," are good inftances* of the Sentimental Sublime. The fublime in natural and in moral objects is pre- fented to us in one view, and compared together, ia the following beautiful paflage of Akenfide's Pleafurefc of the Imagination SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 2* Look then abroad through nature to the range Or planets funs, and adamantine spheres, Wheeling, uiifhaken, thro' the void immenfe ; And fpe-ik, O Mm ! does this capacious fcene* W-th half that kindling majeHy, dilate Thy (trong conception, as when Brutus rofe Refulgent from the ftroke of Csefar's fate Amid the crowds of patriots ; and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, W.'isn guilt brings i the thunder, call'd aloud On Tuliy's name, ana (hook hiscrimfon fteel, And hade the father of his country hail 1 Fo lo ! the tyrant proftrate on the duft j And Rome again is free. » It has been imagined by an ingenious Author, that ir is the fource of the fublime \ and that no ol> ruve this character, but fuch as produce impref- : of pain and danger. Many terrible objects are indee- lighly fublime ; nor does grandeur refufe alli- trpee he idea, of danger. But the fublime does not coaiiit wholly in modes of danger and pain. In many grand qbjeEb, there is not the lead coincidence with terror : as in the magnificent profpecl: of widely extended plains and of the ftarry firmament ; or ia the moral difpofitions and fen.timents, which we con- template with high admiration. In many painful and terrible obje&s, alfo, it is evident, there is no fort of grandeur, f he amputation of a limb., or the bite of a fnake, is in the higheft degree terrible \ but they are deftitute of all claim whatever to fublimity. It feems juft to allow that mighty force of power, whether attended by terror or not, whether employed in pro- tecting or alarming us, has a better title, than any thing yet mentioned, to be the fundamental quality %2 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. of the fublime. There appears to be no fublime ob~ je&, into the idea of which ftrength anc} force either enter not dire£Uy, or are not at leaft intimately aflb- ciated by conducting our thoughts to fome aftonifhing power, as concerned in the production of the obje£t. SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. X HE fbundationof the Sublime In Compolition mull always be laid in the nature of the obje£i de- fcribed. Unlefs it be fuch an obje£t, as, if presented to our fight, if exhibited to us in reality, would excite ideas of that elevating, that awful, and magnificent kind, which we call Sublime ; the description, how- ever finely drawn, is not entitled to be placed under this clafs. This excludes all obj.e£b, which are merely beautiful, gay or elegant. Befides, the objevSl murt not only in itfelf be fublime, but k mad be placed before us in fuch a light, as is bed calculated to give us a clear and full impreflion of it ; it mud be defcribed with ftrength, concifenefs and fimplicity. This de- pends chiefly upon the lively impreflion, which the poet or orator has of the obje£t, which he exhibits v and upon his being deeply affe£ted and animated by the fublime idea, which he would convey. If his own feeling be languid, he can never infpire his reader with any ftrong emotion. Inftances, which on thi& fubje£t are extremely neceflary, will clearly (how the importance of all thefe requifites. It is chiefly among ancient authors, that we are to look for the mod ftriking inltances of the fublime* SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. lg The early ages of the world and the uncultivated (late of fociety were peculiarly favourable to the emotions of fublimity. The genius of men was then very prone to admiration and aftonifhment. Meeting continually new and ftrange objects, their imagination was kept glowing, and their paffions were often raifed to the utmofl. They thought and expreffed themfelves bold- ly without reftraint. In the progrefs of fociety the genius and manners of men have undergone a change more favourable to accuracy, than to ftrength or fub- limity. Of all writings, ancient or modern, the facred fcriptures afford the mod ftriking inftances of the fublime. In them the defcriptions of the Supreme Being are wonderfully noble, both from the grandeur of the object, and the manner of reprefenting it. What an aflemblage of awful and fublime ideas is pre- fented to us in that paffage of the eighteenth Pfalm, where an appearance of the Almighty is described ! u In my diftrefs I called upon the Lord ; he heard my u my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before u him. Then the earth fhook and trembled 5 the u foundations of the hills were moved \ becaufe he " was wroth. He bowed the heavens, and came " down, and darknefs was under his feet ; and he ** did ride upon a cherub, and did fly ; yea, he did u fly upon the wings of the wind. He made dark- M nefs his fecret place •, his pavilion round about him cc were dark waters and thick clouds of the fey." The circumftances of darknefs and terror are here ap- plied with propriety and fuccefs for heightening the fublime. 24 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. The celebrated inflance, given by Longinus, from IVofes, " God faid, Let there be light \ and there was " light," belongs to the true fublime ; and its fublim- ity arifes from the ilrcng conception, it conveys, of an effort of power producing its effect with the utmoft fpeed and facility, t A fimilar thought is magnificently expanded in the following paffage of Ifaiah : (chap, xxiv. 24, 27, 28) "Thus faith the Lord, thy Redeem- u er, and he that formed thee from the womb $ I !? am the Lord, that maketh all things 5 that ftretch- cc eth forth the heavens alone ; that fpreadeth abroad fC the earth by myfelf ; that faith to the deep, be u dry, and I will dry up thy rivers ; that faith of " Cyrus, he is my fhepherd, and {hall perform all falls with a painful (hock. When Milton in his bat- tle of the angels defcribes them, as tearing up moun- tains, and throwing them at one another ; there are in his description, as Mr. Addifon has remarked, no cir- cumftances, but what are truly fublime : From their foundations loos'ning to and fro, They pluck'd the feated hills with all their load, Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the fliaggy tops Uplifting, bore them in their hands. This idea of the giants throwing the mountains, which is in itfelf ib grand, Claudian renders burlefque and ridiculous by the {ingle circumflance of one of his giants with the mountain Ida upon his fhoul- ders, and a river, which flowed from the mountain, running down the giant's back, as he held it up in that pofture. Virgil in his defcription of mount JEtna, is guilty of a flight inaccuracy of this kind. After fev- eral magnificent images, the poet concludes with per- fonifying the mountain under this figure, — " Eruclans vifcera cum gemitu'* €l belching up its bowels with a groan j" which, by making the mountain referable a fick or drunken per- fon, degrades the majefty of the defcription. The debating effect, of this idea will appear in a ftronger light, from obferving what figure it makes in a poem of Sir Richard Blackmore ; who, through ari extrava- gant perverfity of tafte, felecled it for the principal circumflance in his defcription ; and thereby, as Dr» Arburthnot humoroufly obferves, reprefented the mountain as in a fit of the cholick* c % 3° SUBLIMIT? IN WRITING ./Etna and all the burning mountains find Their kindled (lores with inbred ftorms of wind Blown up to rage, and roaring out complain, As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain ; Labouring, they caft their dreadful vomit round, And with their melted bowels fpread the ground. Such inflances fhow how much the fublime de- pends upon a proper feledtion of cireumftances ; and with how great care every circumftance muft be avoid- ed, which, by approaching in the fmalleft degree to> the mean, or even to the gay or trifling, changes the tone of the emotion. What is commonly called the fublime ftyle, is for- the mod part a very bad one, and has no relation * whatever to the true Sublime. Writers are apt to im- agine that . fplendid words, accumulated epithets, and a: certain fwelling kind of expreffion, by rifing above what is cuflomary or vulgar, conftitute the fublime ; yet nothing is in reality more faife. In genuine in- flances of fublime writing nothing of this kind appearg. iS God faid, let there be light j and there was light." 1 This is linking and fublime ; but put it into what is commonly called the fublime ftyie : "The Sovereign, ** Arbiter of nature, by the potent energy of a fingle * J word, commanded the light to exift j? and, as Boi- leau, jufily obferved, the ftyle is indeed raifed, but the thought is degraded. In general it may be obferved, that the fublime lies in the thought, not in the ex- pression ; and, when the thought is really noble, it will generally clothe itfelf in. a native majeily of lan- guage. The faults, oppofite to the Sublime, are principally two, the Frigid and the Bombaft. The Frigid qonfilb BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE. Jt in degrading an objeft or fentiment, which is fublime in itfelf, by a mean conception of it ; or by a weak, low, or puerile defcription of it. This betrays entire abfence, or at leaft extreme poverty, of genius. The Bombaft lies in forcing a common or trivial objecT: out of its rank, and in labouring to raife it into the fub- lime ; or in attempting to exalt a fublime objeft be- yond all natural bounds.. BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE.. BEAUTY next to Sublimity affords the higheft pleafure to the jm aviation. The emotion, which it raifes, is eafily diftinguifhed from that of fublimity. It is of a calmer kind \ more gentle and foothing ;., does not elevate the mind fo much, but produces a pleafmg ferenity. Sublimity excites a feeling, too violent to be lafting \ the pleafure proceeding from; Beauty admits longer duration; It extends alfo to a much greater variety of objects than fublimity ; to a variety indeed fo great, that, the fenfitions which, beautiful objects excite, differ exceedingly, not in de- gree only, but alfo in kind, from, each other. Hence no word is ufed in a more undetermined fignification than Beauty, It is applied to almoft every external obje£l, which pleafes the eye or the ear ; to many of the graces of writing \ to feveral difpofitions of the mind \ nay, to fome objects of ab (tract fcience. We fgeak frequently of a beautiful tree or flower y a. JZ BEAUTY AND OTHER beautiful poem ; a beautiful chara&er ; and a beau- tiful theorem in mathematicks. Colour feems to afford the fimpleft inftance of Beau* ty. Adbciation of ideas, it is probable, has fome in- fluence ort the pleafure, which we receive from col- ours. Green, for example, may appear more beautiful from being connected in our ideas with rural fcenes and profpeCts ; white with innocence ; blue with the ferenity of the iky. Independently of affociations- of this fort^ all that we can farther obferve refpe&ing- colours is, that thofe, chofen for Beauty, are common- ly delicate, rather than glaring. Such are the feathers of feveral kinds of birds, the leaves of flowers, and >tl\£ fine variation of colours, (hown by the iky at the riling and fetting of the fun. Figure opens to us forms of Beauty more complex: and diverfiSed. Regularity fi'rft offers itfelf as a fource of Beauty. By a regular figure is meant one % which we perceive to be formed according to fome certain rule, and not left arbitrary or loofe in the con- ftruction of its parts. Thus a circle, a fquare, a tri- angle, or a hexagon, gives pleafure to the eye by its regularity, as a beautiful figure , yet a certain graceful variety is found to be a much more powerful principle of Beauty. Regularity feems to appear beautiful to- ns chiefly, if not entirely, on account of its fuggefting the ideas of fitnefs, propriety, and Life, which have always a more intimate connexion with orderly and proportioned forms, than with thofe which appear not conltrucled according to any certain rule. Na- ture, who is the mod graceful artift, hath, in all her ornamental works, purfued variety with an apparent negleft of regularity. Cabinets, doors, and windows PLEASURES OF TASTE gg are made after a regular form, in cubes and parallelo- grams, with exa£t proportion of parts ; and thus formed they pleafe the eye ; for this juft reafon, that, being works of ufe, they are by fuch figures better adapted to the ends for which they were defigned. But plants, flowers, and leaves are full of variety and diverfity. A ftraight canal is an infipid figure, when compared with the meanders of a river. Cones and pyramids have their degree of beauty ; but trees, growing in their natural wildnefs, have infinitely more beauty, than when trimmed into pyramids and cones. The apartments of a houfe muft be difpofed with regularity for the convenience of its inhabitants^ but a garden, which is intended merely for beauty, would be extremely difgufting, if it had as much uniformity and order as a dwelling- houfe. Motion affords another fource of beauty, diftindi from figure. Motion of itfelf is pleafing ; and bod- ies in motion are, " caeteris paribus," univerfally pre- ferred to thofe at reft. Only gentle motion, however, belongs to the Beautiful ; for, when it is fwift, ©r very powerful, fuch as that of a torrent, it partakes of the fublime. The motion of a bird gliding through the air is exquifitely beautiful ; but the fwiftnefs with which lightning darts through the fky, is mag- nificent and aftonifliing. Here it is neceffary to ob- ferve, that the fenfations of fublime and beautiful are not always diftinguifhed by very diitant boundaries ; but are capable in many inftances of approaching to- ward each other. Thus a gently running ftream is one of the moil beautiful obje&s in nature \ but, as h fwells gradually into a great river, the beautiful by $egr$es is loft in the fublime. A young tree is 3 34 BEAUTY AND OTHER*. beautiful obje£i ; a fpreading ancient oak is a venera- ble and fublime one. To return, however, to the beauty of motion, it will be found to hold very gener- ally, that motion in a ftraight line is not fo beautiful as in a waving direction ; and motion upward is com- monly more pleating than motion downward. The eafy, curling motion ox flame and Cmoke is an obje£fc Angularly agreeable. Hogarth obferves very ingen- ioufly, that all the common and neceffary motions for the bufinefs of life are performed in ftraight or plain lines ; but that alH4ie graceful and ornamental movements are made in curve lines ; an obfervation worthy of the attention of thofe who ftudy the grace of gefture and aft ion. Colour, figure, and motion, though feparate princi- pies of Beauty, yet in many beautiful obje&s meet to- gether, and thereby render the beauty greater and' more complex. Thus in flowers, trees, and animals, we are entertained at once with the delicacy of the colour, with the gracefulnefs- of the figure, and fome- times alfo with the motion of the objeft. The moft complete aiiemblage of beautiful objects, which can; be found, is reprefented by a rich natural Ian df cape,, where there is a fufficient variety of objects ; fields ia verdure, fcattered trees and flowers, running water, and animals grazing. If to thefe be added fome of the productions of art, fuitable to fuclx a fcene 5 as, a bridge with arches over a river, frrroke rifing from cottages in the mid it of trees, and a diitant view of a fine building, feen. by the rifing fun ; we then en- joy in the higheft perfe&ion that gay, cheerful, and glacid fenfatioii, which characterises Beauty.. •PLEASURES Or TASTE. 35 The beauty of the human countenance is more complex than any we have yet examined. It compre- hends the Beauty of colour, arifing from the delicate fhades of the complexion ; and the Beauty of figure, arifing from the lines, which conftitute different fea- tures of the face. But the principal Beauty of the countenance depends upon a myfterious expreffion, which it conveys of the qualities of the mind ; of good fenfe, or good humour ; of candour, benevolence, fenfibility, or other amiable difpofitions. It may be obferved, that there are certain qualities of the mind, which, whether exprefled in the countenance, or by words or by a£lions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar to that of Beauty. There are two great clafles of moral qualities ; one is of the high and the great vir- tues, which require extraordinary efforts, and is found- ed on dangers and fufferings ; as, heroifm, magnanim- ity, contempt of pleafuresj and contempt of death. Thefe produce in the fpe&ator an emotion of fublimity and grandeur. The other clafs is chieily of the focial virtues ; and fuch as are of a fofter and gentler kind ; as, compaflion, mildnefs, and generofity, Thefe ex- cite in the beholder a fenfation of pleafure, fo nearly allied to that excited by beautiful external objev3s, that, though of a more exalted nature, it may with propriety be claffed under the fame head. Beauty of writing in its more definite fenfe charac- terizes a particular manner ; fignifying a certain grace and amenity in the turn either of ftyle or fentiment, by which fome authors are particularly difiinguifhed. In this fenfe it denotes a manner neither remarkably fublime, nor vehemently pafiionate, nor uncommonly fparkling ; but fuch as excites in the reader an emo 36 BEAUTY AND OTHER tion of the placid kind, refembling that which is raff- ed by contemplation of beautiful objects in nature y which neither lifts the mind very high, nor agitates it to excefs ; but fpreads over the imagination a pleat- ing ferenity. Addifon is a writer of this chara&er, and one of the mod proper examples of it. Fenelon, the author of Telemachus, is another example. Vir- gil, alfo, though very capable of rifing occafionally into the fublime, yet generally is diftinguifhed by the char* after of beauty and grace, rather than of fublimity. Among orators, Cicero has more of the beautiful than Demofthenes, whofe genius led him wholly to- ward vehemence and ftrength. So much it is neceflary to have faid upon the fub- je£t of Beauty 5 fince next to fublimity it is the mod copious fource of the Pleafures of Tafte. But obje£ts delight the imagination not only by appearing under the forms of fublime or beautiful \ they likewife de- rive their power of giving it pleafure from feveral other principles. Novelty, for example, has been mentioned by Addi- fon, and by every writer on this fubje£t. An obje£t which has no other merit than that of being new, by this quality alone raifes in the mind a vivid and an agreeable emotion. Hence that paffion of curiofi- ty, which prevails fo generally in mankind. Objects and ideas which have long been familiar, make too faint an impreffion, to give an agreeable exercife to our faculties. New and ftrarige obje£ts roufe the mind from its dormant ftate, by giving it a fudden and pleafing impuife. Hence, in a great meafure, the entertainment we receive from fiftion and ro- mance. The emotion, raifed by Novelty is of a PLEASURES OF TASTE. 37 more lively and awakening nature, than that produc- ed by Beauty ; but much (horter in its duration. For, if the obje£l have in itfelf no charms to hold our attention, the glofs, fpread over it by Novelty, foon wears off. Imitation is another fource of pleafure to Tafte. This gives rife to what Addifon terms the Secondary Pleafures of Imagination, which form a very exten- five clafs. For all imitation affords fome pleafure to the mind ; not only the imitation of beautiful or fub- lime objects, by recalling the original ideas of beauty or grandeur, which fuch objects themfelves exhibited ; . but even obje&s which have neither beauty nor gran- deur ; nay, fome which are terrible or deformed, give us pleafure in a fecondary or reprefented view. The pleafures of melody and harmony belong alfo to Tafte. There is no delightful fenfation, we receive either from beauty or fublimity, which is not capable of being heightened by the power of mufical found. Hence the charm of poetical numbers ; and even of the concealed and loofer meafures of profe. Wit, humour, and ridicule, open likewife a variety of pleaf- ures to Tafte, altogether different from any that have yet been confidered. At prefent it is not neceffkry to purfue any farther the fubje£l of the Pleafures of Tafte. We have opened fome of the general principles •, it is time now to ap- ply them to our chief fubjett. If it be aiked, to what clafs of thofe Pleafures of Tafte, which have been enumerated, that pleafure is to be referred, which we receive from poetry, eloquence, or fine writing ? The anfwer is, not to any one, but to them all. This pe- culiar advantage writing andr difcourfe poffefs 5 they 38 BEAUTY AND OTHER PLEASURES OF TASTE. encompafs a large and fruitful field on all fides, and have power to exhibit in great perfection, not a fingle fet of objects only, but alrnoft the whole of thofe which give pleafure to tafte and imagination ; whether that pleafure arife from fublimity, from beauty *n its various forms, from defign and art, from moral fenti«- ments, from novelty, from harmony, from- wit, humour, or ridicule. To which foever of thefe a perfon's tafte is directed, from fome writer or other he has it al- ways in his power to receive the gratification of it. It has been ufual among critical writers to treat of difcourfe, as the chief of all the imitative arts. They compare it with painting and with fculpture, and in many refpetts prefer it juftly 'before them. But we mud diftinguifh between imitation and defcription* Words have no natural refemblance of the ideas or obje£ts which they fignify 5 but a itatue or picture has a natural likenefs of the original. As far, however, as a poet or hiftorian introduces into his work perfons really fpeaking, and by words, which he puts into their mouths, reprefents the con^- verfation which they might be fuppofed to hold ; fo far his art may be called imitative - 9 and this is the cafe in all dramatick compofition. But in narrative or defcriptive works it cannot with propriety be fo call- ed. Who, for example, would call Virgil's defcrip^- tion of a temped in the firft JEndd an imitation of a ftorm ? If we heard of the imitation of a battle, ws mio'ht naturally think of fome mock fight, j words was fuffieiently obvious. Nothing was mere V a 4 2 ©RIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. natural, than to imitate by the found of the voice the quality of the found or noife which any external ob- ject produced \ and to form its name accordingly. Thus in all languages we difcover a multitude of words, which are evidently conftru£ted on this prin- ciple. A certain bird is called the Cuckoo, from the found which it emits. When one fort of wind is faid to whifihy and another to roar ; when a ferpent is faid to hifs ; a fly to buzz ; and falling timber to crajh ; when a dream is faid to flow, and hail to rattle ,• the refemblance between the word and the thing fig- nified is plainly difcemible. But in the names of objects which adurefs the fight only, where neither noife nor motion is concerned ; and ftill more in terms, appropriated to moral ideas, this analogy ap- pears to fail. Yet many learned men have imagined that, though in fuch cafes it becomes more obfcure, it is not altogether loft % and that in the radical words of all languages there may be traced fome degree of correfpondence with the objects fignified. This principle however of a natural relation between words and objects, can be applied to language only in Its mofl firnple and early ftate. Though in every tongue fome remains of it may be traced, it were ut- terly in vain to fearch for it through the whole con- ftru£tion of any modern language. As terms increafe in every nation, and the vail field of language is fill- ed up, words by a thoufand fanciful and irregular methods of derivation and compofition deviate widely from the primitive character of their roots, and lofe all refemblance in found of the things fignified. This is the prefent ftate of language. Words, as we mow ufe theirs taken in general, may be confidereci I •StlGltf AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 4$ m fymbols, not imitations ; as arbitrary or inftituted, not natural figns of ideas. But there can be no doubt that language, the nearer we approach to its rife among men, will be found to partake more of a nat- ural expreffion. Interjections, it has been fhown, or paflionate ex- clamations, were the elements of fpeech. Men la- boured to communicate their feelings to each other by thofe expreflive cries and geftures, which nature taught them. After words, or names of objects, be- gan to be invented, this mode of fpeaking by natural figns could not be all at once difufed. For language in its infancy mud have been extremely barren ; and there certainly was a period among all rude nations^ when converfation was carried on by a very few words, intermixed with many exclamations and earn* eft geftures. The fmall flock of words which men then pofieiTed, rendered thofe helps entirely necefTary for explaining their conceptions ; and rude, unculti- vated individuals, not having always ready even the few words, which they know, would naturally labour to make themfelves underftood by varying their tones of voice, and by accompanying their tones with the moft expreflive gefticulations. To this mode of fpeaking, neceffity gave rife. But we muit obferve that, after this neceffity had in a great degree ceafed, by language becoming in procefs of time more extenfive and copious, the ancient man* ner of fneech ftill fubfifted among many nations j and* what had arifen from neceffity, continued to be ufed for ornament. In the Greek and Roman languages, a mufical and gefticulating pronunciation was retained 4n a very high degiee. Without attending to this, w$ 4\ ORIGIN ANI!) PROGRESS CV LANGUAGE. Stall be at a 3ofs in underftanding feveral paflages of the Clafficks, which relate to the publick fpeaking and theatrical entertainments of the ancients. Our mod- ern pronunciation would have feemed to them a life- lefs monotony. The declamation of their orators and the pronunciation of their actors upon the ftage ap- proached to the nature of recitative in mufick; was capable of being marked by notes, and fupported by iiiftruments ; as feveral learned men have proved. With regard to gefture, the cafe was parallel ; for flrong tones and animated geftures always go together. The action both of orators and players in Greece and Rome was far more vehement than that to which we are accuftomed. To us, Rofcius would ap- pear a madman, Gefture was of fuch confequence on the ancient ftage, that thJre is reafon for believing that o-n fume occufions the fpeaking and the acting were divided ; which, according to our ideas, would form a ftrange exhibition. One player fpoke the words in the proper tones, while another exprefled the corref- pondlng motions and geftures. Cicero tells us, it was a conteft between him and Rofcius, whether he could exprefs a fentiment in a greater variety of phrafes, or Rofcius in a greater variety of intelligible fignificant geftures. At laft, gefture engrofled the ftage entirely ; for uader the reigns of Aug a ft us and Tiberius, th* favourite entertainment of the publick was the Panto- mime, which was carried on by gefticulation only. The people were moved, and wept at it as much as at tragedies \ and the paffion for it became fo violent^ that Jaws were made for reftraining the fenators from ftudying the pantomime art. Now, though in decla- {&tfio£s wd theatrical exhibition? both toue *c4 gef* ORIGIN 4ND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 2, 3, 4, &c are an example of this fort of writing. They have no dependence on words % each figure reprefents the number for which it (lands ; and confequently is equally underftood by all nations, who have agreed in the ufe of thefe figures. The firft ftep, to remedy the imperfection, the ambiguity, and the tedioufnefs of each of the methods of communication, which have been mentioned, was the invention of figns, which fhould (land not dire£t- ly for things, but for words by which things were named and diftinguiChed. An alphabet of fylla-- bles feems to have been invented previoufly to an alphabet of letters. Such a one is faid to be retained at this day in ^Ethiopia and fome countries of India, But at bed it mult have been imperfect and ineffectual \ fince the number ef characters, be- ing very conuderable, mud have rendered both read- ing and writing very complex and laborious. To whom we are indebted for the fublime and re- fined difcovery of letters is not determined. They were brought into Greece by Cadmus, the Phoenician, who, according to Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, was contemporary with king David. His alphabet contained only fixteen letters. The reft were after- ward added, according as figns for proper founds were found to be wanting. The Phoenician, Hebrew, Greek, and Roman alphabets agree fo much in th# 52 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. figure, names, and arrangement of the letters, a* amounts to demonftration, that they were derived originally from the fame fource. The ancient order of writing was f?om the right hand to the left. This method, as appears from fome very old inscriptions, prevailed even among the Greeks. They afterward ufed to write their lines alternately from the right to the left, and from the left to the right. The infcription on the famous Sigaean monu- ment is a fpecimen of this mode of writing, which continued till the days of Solon, the celebrated Legis- lator of Athens. At length, the motion from the left hand to the right, being found more natural and convenient, this order of writing was adopted by all the nations of Europe." Writing was firft exhibited on pillars and tables of ftone ; afterward on plates of the fofter metals. As it became more common, the leaves and bark of cer- tain trees were ufed in fome countries ; and in oth- ers, tablets of wood, covered with a thin coat of foft wax, on which the impreffion was made with a ftylus of iron. Parchment, made of the hides of animals, was an invention of later times. Paper was not invented before the fourteenth century. STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. X HE common divifion of Speech into eight parts, nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, adverbs, pre- pofitions, interjections, and conjunctions, is not'very accurate ; fince under the general term of nouns it comprehends both fubftantives and adjedives, which STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE, 53 are parts of fpeech eflentially diftin£t. Yet as we are mod: accultomed to this divifion, and, as logical exattnefs is not neceflary to our prefent defign, we (hall adopt thefe terms, which habit has made fa- miliar to us, Subftantive nouns are the foundation of Grammar, and the mo ft ancient part of fpeech. When men had advanced beyond firnple interjections or exclamations of paffion, and had begun to communicate their ideas to each other, they would be obliged to affign names to objects by which they were furrounded. Where- ever a favage looked, he beheld forefts and trees. To diilinguifn each by a feparate name would have been endlefs. Their common qualities, fuch as fpringing from a root, and bearing branches and leaves would fuggeft a general idea and a general name. The ge- nus, tree, was afterward fubdivided into its feveral fpe- cies.of oak, elm, aih, &e. upon experience and obfsr- vationi. Still however onlygeneral terms were ufed in fpeech. For oak, elm* and afh, were names of whole clafles of objects, each of which comprehended an immenfe number of undiftinguifhed individuals* Thus, when the nouns man, lion, or tree were mentioned in con- verfation, it could not be known, which man, lion, or tree was meant among the multitude, comprehended under one name. Hence arofe a very ufeful contriv- ance for determining the individual obje£t intended, by mean of that part of fpeech called the Article. In Englifh, we have two articles, a and the ; a is mors general, the more definite. The Greeks had but one, which agrees with our definite article the. They fup=* pti ed the place of our article a by the abfence of their £ 2 54 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. article 5 thus Avfyowoi; fignifies a man, A^aro; thi man. The Latins had no article ; but in the room of it ufed the pronouns hie, ille, ifte. This, however, feems a defe& in their language ; fmce articles cer- tainly contribute much to perfpieuity and precifion. To perceive the truth of this remark, obferve the different imports of the following expreffions : " The u fon of a king, the fon of the king, a fon of the king's " Each of thefe three phrafes has a feparate meaning, too obvious to be mifunderftood. But, in Latin, u filius regis" is entirely undetermined ; it may bear cither of the three fenfes mentioned. Befide this quality of being defined by the article, three affe&ions belong to nouns, number, gender and cafe, which deferve to be confidered. Number, as it makes a noun fignificant of one or more, is fmgular or plural , a diftinflion found in all tongues, which muft have been coeval with the ori- gin of language, fince there were few things, which men had more frequent neceffity of expreffing, than the diftindion between one and more. In the He- brew, Greek, and fome other ancient languages, we find not only a plural, but a dual number ; the origin of which may very naturally be accounted for, as fep- arate terms of numbering were yet, undifcovered, and one, two, and many, were all, or at leaft the principle numeral diftin&ions, which men at firft had any occa- fion to make. Gender, which is founded on the diftin£lion of the two fexes, can with propriety be applied to the names of living creatures only. All other nouns ought to be of the neuter gender. Yet in moft languages the fame diftin&ion is applied to a great number of STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 5J inanimate obje£ls. Thus, in the Latin tongue, enfis> a fword, is mafculine 5 faglttu^ an arrow, is feminine \ and this affignation of fex to inanimate objefts often appears entirely capricious. In the Greek and Latin, however, all inanimate obje£ts are not diftributed into mafculine and feminine ; but many of them are claff- ed, f where all ought to be, under the neuter gender ; as faxum, a rock ; mare, the fea. But in the French and Italian tongue, the neuter gender is wholly unknown, all their names of inanimate objects being put upon the fame footing with thofe of living creatures, and diftrib- uted without referve into mafculine and feminine. In the Englifh language, all nouns, literally ufed, that are the names of living creatures, are neuter ; and ours is, perhaps, the only tongue (except the Chine fe, which is faid to refemble it in this particular) in which th* diftin£tion of gender is philofophically applied. Case denotes the ftate or relation which one ob- ie£l bears to another, by fome variation of the name of that obje£t ; generally in the final letters, and by fome languages in the initial. All tongues, however* do not agree in this mode of expreffion. Declenfion is ufed by the Greek and Latin \ but in the Englifh, French, and Italian, it is not found ; or, at mot, it exifts in a very imperfeft ftate. Thefe languages exprefs the relations of objects by prepofitions, which are the names of thofe relations prefixed to the names of obje£ls. Englifh nouns have no cafe, except a fort of genitive, commonly formed by adding the letter $ to the noun ; as when we fay " Pope^s D unclad/* meaning the Dunciad of Pope. Whether the moderns have given beauty or utility to language, by the abolition of cafes, may perhaps be doubted. They have, however, certainly rendered it $6 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE* more fimple, by removing that intricacy which arofe from different forms of declenfion, and from the ir- regularities of the feveral declenfions. But in ■■ obtain- ing this (implicity, it muft be confeffed, we have filled language with a multitude of thofe little words, call- ed prepofitions, which, by perpetually occurring ia every fentence, encumber fpeech ; and by. rendering it more prolix, enervate its force. The found of modern language is alfo lefs agreeable to the ear, being depriv- ed of that variety and fweetnefs, which, aroie from, the length of words, and the change of terminations, occaiionecl by cafes in the Greek and Latin; But per- haps the greats ft difadvantage we fuftain by the abo- lition of cafes, Is the lofs of that liberty of tranfpofi- tion, in the arrangement of words, which the ancient: languages enjoyed. Pronouns are the representatives of "nouns, and are; fubjedt to the fame modifications of number, gender,- and cafe. We may obferve, however, that the pro- nouns of the firft and fecond perfon, /and thou, have; no diftinftion of gender in any language ; for, as they always refer to perfons prefent, their fex muft be. known, and therefore needs not to be marked by their, pronouns. But, as the third perfon may be abfent,., or unknown, the diftin£tion of gender there becomes requifite ; and accordingly in Englifti it hath all three genders, he,Jhe, it. Adjectives, zsjirong, weak, handfome, ugly, are the pjaineft and mo ft fimple in that clafs of words, which are termed* attributive. They are common to alt lan- guages, and muft have been very early invented \ fince objects could neither be diftinguiflied nor treated o£ in difcourfe, before, names were ^ffigned to their dif* STRUCTURE 0? LANGUAGE. 57 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. ENGLISH TONGUE. v^F all the parts of fpeech, Verbs are by far the aioft complex and ufeful. From their importance w« may juftly conclude, that they were coeval with the origin of language ; though a long time mult have been requifite to rear them up to that accuracy which they now poflefs. The tenfes were contrived to mark the feveral diftindiions of time. We commonly think of no more than its three great divifions, the paft, the prefent, and the future ; and we might fuppofe that, if verbs had been fo contrived as merely to exprefs thefe, no more was necefiary. But language proceeds with much greater fubtilty. It divides time into its fever- al moments ; it regards it as never (landing ftill, but always flowing ; things paft, as more or lefs diftant ; , and things future, as more or lefs remote by different gradations. Hence the variety of tenfes in almoii every language. The prefent may indeed be always regarded as one indivifible point, which admits no variety ; " I am/' **fum" But it is not fo with the paft. Even the pooreft language has two or three tenfes to exprefs its varieties. Ours has four. 1. A paft a£Hon may be reprefented as unfinifhed, by the imperfect tenfe j " I was walking, ambulabam" a. As finifhed by the perfeft tenfe, " I have walked/' 3. As finifhed fome time fmce, the particular time being left undetermin- ed ; "I walked, ambulavi :" this is what gramma* 5? STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE* rians call an aorifl or indefinite paft. 4. As finiffiecf' before fomething elfe, which is alfo paft. This is the plufquamperfedi \ " I had walked, ambulaverarh* u I had walked before you called upon me." Our' language, we muft perceive with pieafure, has an ad- vantage over the Latins which has only three varia- tions of paft time. The varieties in future time are two ; a fimple or indefinite future 5 u i (hall walk, ambulabof and a future having reference to fomething. elfe, which is likewife future ; " I {hall have walked, amhulavero \ u I fhall have walked, before he will pay me a vifit. J> Befide tenfes, verbs admit the diftin£tion of voices* viz. the active and paffive ; as, " I love, or I am loved." They admit alfo the diilin£fcion of modes, which are intended to exprefs the perceptions and volitions of the mind under different forms. The indicative mode (imply declares a propofition ; " 1 write \ I have u written." The imperative requires, commands, or threatens y " Write thou •, let him write." The fub- jun£Hve exprefles a propofition under the form of a condition, or as fubordinate to fomething to which reference is made ; Ci I might write , I could write ; "I fhould write, if the matter were fo." This expref- fion of the perceptions and volitions of the mind in fo many various forms, together with the diiiindlion of the three perfons, 2, thw % and he, conftitutes the con- jugation of verbs, which makes fo great a part of the Grammar of all languages. Conjugation is reckoned mo ft perfect in thofe Ian* guages, which, by varying the termination, or the initial fyllable of the verb, exprefles the greateft number of important circumftances without the help of auxiliary STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE, 59 werbs. In the Oriental tongues verbs have few tenfes ; but their modes are fo contrived, as to exprefs a great variety of circumftances and relations. In the Hebrew they fay in one word, without the aid of an auxiliary, not only, " I taught," but, " I was taught -> I ■" caufed to teach ~ 9 I was caufed to teach ; I taught 4€ ircyfelf." The Greek, which is commonly thought to be the mod perfect of all languages, is very regular and complete in the modes and tenfes. The Latin, though formed on the fame model, is not fo perfect ; particularly in the pafiive voice, which forms moft of the tenfes by the aid of the auxiliary " fum" In. modern European tongues, conjugation is very defec- tive. The two great auxiliary verbs, to have^nA to be, with thofe other auxiliaries, which we ufe in Englifh, .do,Jhail i € wiI/>may>av.d£a?2) prefixed to a participle, or to another verb in the infinitive mode, fupercede in a great meafure the different terminations of modes and tenfes which formed the ancient conjugations. The other parts of fpeech, as they admit no varia- tion, will require only a ihort difcuffion. Adverbs are for the moft part an abridged mode of fpeech, expreffing by one word what might, by a cir- cumlocution, be refolved into two or more words be- longing to other parts of fpeech. " Here/' for re- liance, is the fame with " in this place." Hence ad- verbs fe^m to be lefs neceffary, and of later introduc- tion into fpeech, than feveral ether clafles of words ; and accordingly moft of them are derived from other words, formerly eftabiifhed in the language. Prepof tions and conjunctions ferve to exprefs the relations which things bear to one another, their mu- tual influence, dependence, and coherence *, and fo te f# * ENGLISH TONGUE. join words together, as to form intelligible propofitloiiS* Conjunctions are commonly employed for connecting fentences, or members of fentences , as, and> beccufe, and the like. Prepofitions are ufed for connecting words ; as, of from > to, &c. The beauty and ftrength of every language depend in a great meafure on a proper ufe of conjunctions, prepofitions, and thofe relative pronouns, which ferve the fame purpofe of connecting different parts of difcourfe. Having thus briefly confidered the StruCture of Language in general, we will now enter more particul- arly into an examination of our own Language. The Englifli, which was fpoken after the Norman Conqueft, and continues to be fpoken now, is a mix- ture of the ancient Saxon and the Norman French, to- gether with fuch new and foreign words, as commerce and learning have, in a fucceffion of ages, gradually introduced. From the influx of fo many ftreams, from a junction of fo many diffimilar parts, it natur- ally follows, that the Englifli, like every compounded language, mud be fomewhat irregular. We cannot expeCt from it that complete analogy in ftruCture, which may be found in thofe Ampler languages, which were formed within themfelves, and built on one foundation. Hence our fyntax is fhort, fmce there are few marks in the words themfelves which {how their relation to each other, or, point out either their con- cordance or their government in a fentence. But if thefe be difadvantages in a compound language, they are balanced by the advantages which attend it, par- ticularly by the number and variety of words by which fuch a language is commonly enriched. Few languages are more copious than the Englifli. In all ;lish tongue. 6i i grave fubjefl : torical, critical, political, and moral, no complaint can juftly be made of the ;ue. We are rich too in the lan- ./ry; our poetical (ty! idely from t with refpe£t to numbers only, but in the themfelves ; which proves what a com- pafs and variety of words we can felecl and employ, >ns. Herein we are infinite- ly fuperior to the French, whofe poetical language, if : were not diftiogu yme, weuld not be ■ "•.eir ordinary profe. Their uage, however, furpaffes ours in exp: 'fling what- ever is delicate, gay, and amufing. It is, perhaps, the happieft languag conversation in the known world; but for the higher fubjecto of compofition, the Englifh is juftly confidered as far fuperior to it. The flexibility of a language, or its power of be- coming either grave and ftron'g, or eafy and flowing, or tender and gentle, cr pompous and magnificent, as occafions require, is a quality of great importance in fpeaking and writing. This depends on the co- pioufnefs of a language ; the different arrangements of which its words are fufceptible , and the variety and beauty of the founds of its words. The Greek poffeffed thefe requifites in a higher degree than any other language. It fuperadded the graceful vari- ety of its different dialects ; and thereby readily af- fumed every kind of character, an author could wifh, from the mod Ample and familiar, to the moil majef- tick. The Latin, though very beautiful, is inferior ha this refpeft to the Greek. It has more of a fixed character of ftatelinefs and gravity \ and is fupported by a certain fenatorial dignity, of which it is difficult 62 ENGLISH TO' for a writer to diveft it. Among modern tongue^ the Italian p&fleffes much more flexibility than the Trench ; and feerns to be on the whole the mod per- fect of all the modern diale&s which have arifen out of the ruins of the ancient. Our language, though unequal to the Italian in flexibility, is not deftitute of a confiaerable degree of this quality. Whoever confiders the cliverfity of ftyle in feme of our beft wri- ters, will difcover in our tongue fuch a circle of ex- preflion, fuch a power of accommodation to the vari- ous taftes of men, as redounds much to its honour. Our language has been -thought to be very deficient in harmony of found \ yet the melody of its verifica- tion, its power of fu ; poetical numbers, with- < ut the , of rhymes is a fufRcient proof, that - is far unharrnonious. Even the hiding found of which it has been aecufed, obtains lefs fre- quently, than has been fufpecled. For in many words, and in the final fyllables efpecially, the letter j- has the found of 2, which is one of the founds on which the ear refts with pleafure ; as in has^ thft s . hves^ke ar x, &c. It jnuft however be admitted, that Pmbotlinefs i-s not the diftinguiihing property cf the Erigliih tongue. Strength and e-xprellivenefs, rather than grate and mel- ody, conftitute its character. It poxTefTes alfo the prop- erty of being the moil limpleof ail the European diale£is in its form and conftruciion, It is free from the intrica- cy of cafes, declenfions, modes, and tenfes. Its words are fubje£l to fewer variations from their original form* than thofe cf any other language. Its nouns have no diflineiion of gender, except what is made by nature ; und but one variation in cafe. Its adjectives admit no change, except what express the degree of ENGLISH' TONGUE, 6 j companion. Its verbs, inftead of the varieties c [y four or live changes in s and auxiliary the ncancy' *, while the principal words for the n F 'e their forrri unaltered. Fence our language -acquires a fi and facility, which are the caufe of its jy written : i with inaccuracy. We iif ine tt II in it may be acquired with- out : *, and that in a fyntax la narrow and limited as ours, there is nothing which requires at- tention. But the fundamental rules of fyntax are common to the Erlglifh and to the ancient tongues ; and regard to them is abfelutely requisite for writ or Cpeaking with propriety. Whatever he the advantages or defects of our fen- guagej it certainly cleferves, in the higheft degree, our iludy and attention, The Greeks and Romans in the meridian of ihelrgloryj bellowed i :ft cultivation on their refpeclive languages, TheFrench and Italians Lave employed much fiudy upon theirs; and their ex> e is w - of imitation. For, whatever knowl- jq gained by the iludy of other languages, it can r be communicated with advantage, unlefs by thole wl lo can write and fpeak their own language etv. Let the matter of an author be ever kQ good and ufefuh, his compofitions will always fufFev- in the pubiick efteem, if his expreffion he deficient in purity or propriety, At the fame time, the attainment of a correct and elegant (lyie is an object which de- mands application and labour. If any one fuppofe he can catch it merely by the ear, or acquire it by a perufal of feme of our good authors, he will be much ppointed, The many grammatical errors^ the 6:\ STYLE; PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION. many impure jexpreffiptiSj which are found in authors )m being c . tible, demonftrate : y of our age is previoufiy ite : ..ting it with propriety, purity, and nee. TCU1TY, AND PRECISION. inner in which a man s. ' It is a pidlure of The qu r a good ffyle maybe ranged under two heads, perfpicjuity and ornament. It will readily be admitted, that berfpicuity is the fundamental qual- ity of a good (lylel Wit - righteft orna- through toe darkj and perplex ad of pleafing the reader. If we be forced to fol- ; care ; to paufe, and to read over his fentences a fecond time, in order to underftand them fully, he will not pleafe us long. Men are too to relifli fo much labour. Though they may ire an author's depth, after they have discovered his meaning, they will feldom be inclined to look a fecond time into his book. Per requires attention, firft to firlgle words phrafes, and then to the conftruflion of fentences. zn considered with refpecl to words and phrafes* itreq kefe three qualities, purity, propriety, and and propriety of 1; * are often ufed :r ; and indeed thev are STYLE, PERSPICUITY, ANB PRECISION. 65 nearly allied. A diftinction, however, obtains between them. Purity is the ufe of fuch words and constructions as belong to the idiom of a part lar language, in opposition to words and phrafes which are imported from other languages; 'or which are obfolete, or newly coined, or employed without proper authority. Propriety is the choice of fuch words as the bell and moil eft . uiage has appropriated to thofe ideas which we int. to exprefs by them. It implies a con-eft and hap- py application of them, in opposition to vulgar or Tow expreffionsj and to words and phrafes lefs fignifi- cant of the ideas we intend to convey. Style may be pure, that is, it may be ftricUy Englifh without Scotticifms or Gallicifms, or ungrammatical expreiiions of any kind, and yet be deficient in propriety. The words may be illy fele£ted - 3 not adapted to the fub- je6t, nor fully expreilive of the authors mean! - He took them indeed from the general mafs of Eng- fifli words ; but his choice was made without 11: But flyle cannot be proper without being pure ; it is the union of purity and propriety, which renders it graceful and perfpicuous. The exact meaning of precision may be learnt from the etymology of the word. It is derived from "pro* * ; cidere" to cut off; and Signifies retrenching all fu- perfluities, and pruning the expreffion in fuch manner, ' as to exhibit neither more nor lefs than the ideas intended to be conveyed. Words, employed to exprefs ideas, may be faulty in three refpe£ts. They may either not exprefs the ideas which the author means, _ 1 ethers which are only related j or they may exprefs xsiok ideas, but * % not co mp (b T lift, n r Vt ,. ieives ur. 66 STYLE, PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION. *ly 5 or tl y may exprefs them toother i -g tii re titan* he intends. Preufion is a fe three faults ; but parti ulaily to the; feeble writers are very apt to fall! f a mu titude of words to make them- :1 odj as ihay hin T c, more dift'n£t- ' iy ; but thej only oriiound the reader. The: image, as they place it before you, is always doubie. i an author tells us of his hero's* courage in the cay of battle ; the expreffion is precile, and we underfland it [ully. Rut if$ fram a defire of multiplying words, he praife his courage zAid fortitude ; at the moment he joins tlieie words together, our idea begins to waver. He ihtends to exprefs one © i quality more iirongly ; but he is in fa£r. expjefling two. Courage refills danger '^fortitude fupports pain. The occadons of exerting the ities .are different ;» and, being. led to think of both i . wren only :'m (houid engage attenti . \ v is ren- i unfteady, and our conception of the objecV. indiitinil. The great Tcurce of a loofe flyle, the oppente of'' i, is the injudicious life of words called fy [y in any langus ;e are there two w that convey fely the lame idea,; and a perform perfectly ac( ited with the propriety of the lan- guage, will always be able to obferve. fomething by which they are diftinguiflied.. In our language many instances may be givenof difference in meaning among words, reputed fynonimous ; and, as. the fubjeft is important, we (hall point cut a few of them. Surpr'i&ds ajicmi/hed) amazed, confounded* We are furprifed at what is new or unexpected '; we are aC tcnilhed at what is vail or great j we are amwedafo STTYLS, PERSPICUITY, AND PRECISION 67 what is incomprehenfible -, we are confounded by what is mocking < )r t r: pr'i » vanity, Pride mak^s us edeem ourfelves y Van; ; US d:fii rs. Hniightluef \ itinefs is founded on a high ►pinion oi uiiaclves $ diftlain on a low opinion.. of others. u weary to fa 'pus. Gbntini ; the lame thing wearies us ; labour fatigues us. A man is wearied* by (landing \ he is fatigued by walking. 21? alh->r> todetejll To abhor imports rhnply ftrong; Siflike ; to deteia: i/nporrs likewife ilrong difapproba- tion. We abhor being in dubc ; we deteil treachery. To invent, to dij cover. We , invent things which are new \ we dlfeover what is hidden. Galileo invented the telefcope \ Harvey tiifcovertd the circulation o£\ Entire % complete^ A thing is entire, when it w; none of its parts ; complete, v,hen it wants none of the appendages v- ' jug to it: A man ma occupy an entire houfe 5 though he have not one ccn> plete apartment. Enough^]] Relent. Enough relates to the quantity,. which we wifli to have of a thing. Sufficient relates a ufe that is ro be \x\?Ac of it. Hence comnaoiiiy (igniHes a greater quantity than fuiikient does. The covetous man never has enough } though he has what is fufficient for natui e, I Thefe are a few among many inoolanoes of words in ■ our language, which by carelefs writers are apt to be. miftaken far fviiooinious. r rhe more che di:ti oQion in the f fuch - :>rds is regarded, the moroa jjKeurately and iorebly fliall we fpeak aau wrhe* 6S STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. STRUCTURE OE> SENT: PROPER conflruciioti of fentences is of fiich importance in every fpecies of compofition, that we cannot be too itri£t or minute in our attention to it. For, whatever be the fribjc&, if the fentences be conftru£ied in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble manner, the work cannot be read with pleafure, nor even with profit. But by attention to thq rules which relate to this part of ftyle we acquire the habit of expreffing ourfelves with perfpicuity ana elegance \ and if a dif- order happen to arife in io me of cur fentences, we immediately fee where it lies, and are able to recti- fy it, The properties mole eileniur to a perfect fentencc are r following, I. filefrnefs. 2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony. Ambiguity is oppofed toclearnefs, and arifes from two caufes ; either from a wrong choice of words, or a wrc 3cationof them. Of the choice of words, < :irds perfpicuity, we have already fpoken. . ; ition of them we are now to treat. From the nature of our language a capital rule in the ar- irxt of our fentences is, that words or mem- bers mod nearly related, flfould be placed as near to each other :ble, that their .mutual relation may . : rule is frequently neglefted even od writers. A few initances will {how both its importance and application. In the pofitionof adverbs, which are ufed to qualify the figni'fication of fome thing which either precedes STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 6$ or follows them, a good deal of nicety is to be obftrv- M By greatnefs," fays AddiftH, " I do not only sail the bulk of any (ingle objeft, but the large- C4 mfsof a whole view." Here the place of the ad- verb only makes it limit the verb mean. " I do not on- " ly mean." The queftion may then be afked, What he more than mean ? Had it been placed after ftill it would have been wrong, for it might then ked, What is meant beOde the bulk P Is it the y other property ? Its proper place is after the v 'ecf : 4( By greatnefs I do not mean the : any tingle pfeje£t only j" for -then, when it is aiked, What does he mean more than the bulk of a fingle object ; the anfwer comes out precifely as the author intends, u the largenefs of a whole view." " Theifm/' lays Lord Shaftcfbury, u can only be oppof- u ed to polytheifm or atheifm." It may be a&ed " Is theifm capablex Here we are in doubt whether the phrafes, " in any ctrcumJkanceS) in any fiiuation^ be connected with u a man born in Britain j JJ or with that man's " avowing his defigns." If the latter, as feems mo ft likely, was intended to be the meaning, the ar- rangement ought to be this, " Are thefe defigns, which " any man who is born 'a Briton, ought to be afham- u ed or afraid in any ci re um fiances, in any fituarion,. "to avow ?" Still more attention is requisite to a proper difpofi- " tion of the relative pronouns they, I, and who y thev ; [ - pear in fo d ifuni ted a view, that the fenfe and connex- ion are nearly loir. The fentence is restored to its :r unity by eonilrucling it thus ; " 1 " to anchor, 1 was put on (here, whe "by all my friends, who received sue e great- " eft kindnefs." The {econe rule is, nev ideas, which have fo littl well be divided into V of this rule never falls to indeed is fo extreme, to err rather ! than by one, that is a tvz its errect and coniuied. ihe aiion of Plutarch will 72 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. juftify this opinion : " Their march," fays the author, fpeaking of the Greeks. " was through an uncultivat- i( eel country, whole favage inhabitants fared hardly, " having no other riches than a breed of lean fl " whole fie Lh was rank and nnfavoury ti of their "continual fading upon fea fifli." le fubjeft is repeatedly changej|. march of the Greeks, the dci'c. , through whofe country they -cc P, and the reafon of ti. fagreiable food, make a jui of T^%(^ e ^ t0 eac ^ other, which the reader c; at confiderable difhculty compre- hend in one view. The third rule for preferving the unity of a knt^ncc is, keep clear of parenthefes in the middle of it. Thefe may on fome occafions have a fpirited appearance, as prompted, by a certain vivacity of thought, which can glance happily afide, as it is going along. But in general their efreft is extremely bad ; being a perplex- ed method of difpofing of fome thought, which a wri- ter has not art enough to introduce in its proper place. It is needlefs to produce any inftances, as they occur fo frequently among Incorrect writers. The fourth rule for the unity of a fentence is, bring it to a full and perfect clofe. It needs not to be ob- ferved, that an unfinifhed fentence is no fentence with refpeft to grammar. But fentences often occur, which are more than finifhed. When we have arrived at what we expected to be the conclusion \ when we are come to the word, on which the mind is naturally led to reft ; unexpectedly fome circumfiance is added, which ought to have been omitted, or difpofed of elfo where. Thus, for inftance, in the following fentence STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 73 from Sir William Temple the adje&ion to the fentence is entirely foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet's Theory of the Earth, and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds ; " The firft," fays he, " could not end his learned trea- " tife withouta panegyrick of modern learning in com- u parifon of the ancient ; and the other falls fo grofsly u into the cenfure of the old poetry, and preference of , uj 15 muca bcijter to lay, " a z 73 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. " wife men are often guilty," than to fay, cc Avarice- " is a crime which wife men are often guilty of."" This is a phrafeology which all correct writers fhun, A complex verb, compounded of a fimple verb and a fubfequent prepofition, is alfo an ungraceful con- clufion of a period ; as, bring about, clear up > give over % and many others of the fame kind \ inftead of which*, if a iimple verb be employed, it will terminate the fentence with more ftr-ength. Even the pronoun //, efpecially when joined with fome of the prepofitions,.. as, with it, in it> to it> cannot without violation of rrace be the concluuon of a fentence. Any phrafe, which expreffes a circumitance only, cannot conclude • a fentence without great inelegance. Circumftances indeed are like unftiapely Rones, in a building, which, try the fkill of >an artift where to place them with the lead offence. We fhould not crowd too many of them together ; but rather interfperfe them- in dif- ferent parts of the fentence, joined with the principal;, words on which they depend. Thus, for inftance, . when Dean Swift fays, " What I had the honour of " mentioning to your Lordfhip fome time ago in con- '* verfation, was not a new thought ;" thefe two cir- cumftances, fome time ago and in converfation % which are joined, would have been better feparated thus : €i What I had the honour fome time ago of mention-- a ing to your Lordlhip in converfation." The fixth and lad rule concerning the flrength of a- fentence is this, in. the members of it, where two things are compared or contrafted ■;, where either re- femblance or opposition is to be expreffe.i ; iocat re- femblance in the language and coiiftruUion ought to be ohferved. The following paflage from Pope's pre*. HARMONY OF SENTENCES, 7£ face to his Homer beautifully exemplifies this rule. f 1 Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better f< artift ; in the one we admire the man; in the other " the work. Homer hurries us with a commanding " impetuofity ; Virgil leads us with an attractive maj- " efty. Homer fcatters with a. generous profufion 5 " Virgil beftows with a careful munificence. Homer, , " like the Nile, pours out his riches with a fudden " overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a *' conftant dream. . When we look upon their ma- w chines, Homer feerns like his own Jupiter in his ter- u rors, (baking Olympus, fcattering lightnings, and fir- *' ing the" heavens- Virgil like the fame power in his by the help of founds which HARMONY OF SENTENCES* 8jJ in oar imagination correfpond with that motion. Long fyllables naturally excite an idea of flow motion 3 .as in this line of Virgil, 0111 interfefe magna vi brachia tollunt, A fucceffion of fhort fyllables gives the impreflioa of quick motion ; as, Sed fugit interea, fugit trreparabile tcmpu*. The works of Homer and Virgil abound with in- stances of this beauty ; which are fo often quoted and fo well known, that it is unnecefiary to produce them. The third fet of obje&s, which the found of words is capable of reprefenting, confifts of emotions and paf- fions of the mind. Between fenfe and found there appears to be no natural refemblance. But if the ar* xangement of fyllables by their found alone recall one fet' of ideas more readily than another, and difpofe the mind for entering into that affe£Hon which the poet intends to raife ; fuch arrangement may with propriety be faid to refemble this fenfe. Thus, when pleafure, joy, and agreeable obje&s are defcribed by one who feels his fubjefl, the language naturally runs in fmooth, liquid, and flowing numbers. -Namque ipfa decor am Csfariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventas Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflarat honores. Brifk and lively fenfations exa& quicker and more animated numbers. -Jnvenum manus eaaicat ard«rt ikittiuin Hcfpenum, $6 ORIGIN AND NATURE Melancholy and gloomy fubje&sare naturally cott- *ie£ted with flow meafures and long words. In thofe deep folittides and awful, cells, Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells. Abundant inftances of this kind are fuggefted by a moderate acquaintance with good poets, either ancient $r modern. ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. JL IGURES may be defcribed to be that language which is prompted either by the imagination or paffions. They are commonly divided by rhetoricians into two great elaffes, figures of words, and figures of thought. The former are commonly called tropes, and confift in a word's being ufed to fignify fomething different from its original meaning. Hence, if the word be changed the figure is deftoyed. Thus, for inftance, " light €( arifethto the upright in darknefs." Here the trope confifts in " light and darknefs" not being taken liter- ally, but fubftituted for comfort and adverfity ; to which conditions of life they are fuppofed to bear fomc refemblance. The other clafs, termed figures of thought, fuppofes the figure to confift in the fenti- ment only, while the words are ufed in their literal fenfe ; as in exclamations, interrogations, apoftro- phes, and comparifons \ where, though the words be varied, or tranflated from one language into another, fcke feme figure is ftili preferred. This diftm&ioi: OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 87 however" is of fmall importance ; as practice cannot be afliited by it - 9 nor is it always very perfpicuous. Tropes are derived in part from the barrennefs of language ; but principally from the influence, which the imagination has over all language. The imagina- tion never contemplates any om idea of object as An- gle and alone, but as accompanied by others which may be confidered as its acceflbries. Thefe acceffo- ries often operate more forcibly upon the mind, than the principal idea itfelf. They are perhaps in their nature more agreeable, or rnore fa miliar to our con- ceptions •, or remind us of a greater variety of import- ant circumftances. Hence the name of the accefiory or correfpondent idea is fabftituted 5 although tli^ principal has a proper and well known name of its \m. Thus, for example,' when' we defign to point out the period in which a ft ate enjoyed molt reputation or glory, we might eafily employ the prop- er words for expreihng this ; but as this in our imag- ination is readily connected with the fioufifhing peri- od of a plant or tree, we prefer this correfpondent idea and fay, " The Roman Empire flourished moil if under ■ Auguftus." The leader of a faction is a plain expreflion $ but, becaufe the head is the principal part of the human body, and is fuppofed to direct all the animal operations y refting on this refemblance, we fay, u Catiline was the head of his party. 5 ' We fhall now examine, why tropes and figures con- tribute to the beauty and grace of ftyle. By them lan~ guage is enriched, and made more copious. Hence words and phrafes are multiplied for exprefling all forts of ideas *, for defcribing even the fmalleft differ- ences % the niceft Andes and colours of thought $ $b ORIGIN AND NATURE which by proper words alone cannot poffibly be ex- prefled. They alfo give dignity to ftyle, which is de- graded by the familiarity of common words* Figures, have the fame effe£t on language, that a rich and fplendid apparel has on a per/on of rank and dignity. tn profe cornpofitions affiftanfce of this kind is often requihte ; to poetry it is effential. To fay, " the fun " rifes/' is common and trite ; but it becomes a mag... ttiScent image, a$ expreifed by Thomfon : But yonder comes the powerful king of day- Rejoicing in the eaft. -— Figures fumffh the pleafure of enjoying two obje&s^ prefented at the fame time to our view* without con- j&fiojj.} the princiapl idsa.together with its acceflbry,, which gives it the figurative appearance. When, f5r~ example, inftead of " youth/' we fay, " the morning 11 of life ;" the fancy is inftantly entertained with all the correfponding circumftances between thefe two ©bjeds. At the fame inftant we behold a certain pe- riod of human life, and a certain time of the day fo; conne&ed, that the imagination plays between tbem with delight, and views at once two fimilar objects* without embarraffment. Figures are alfo attended with the additional advan- tage of giving us a more clear and ftriking view of the principal objeft, than if it were exprefled in fim- ple terms and freed from its acceiTory idea. They exhibit the objecfr, on which they are employed, in a. pi£turefque form \ they render an abftract conception Jn fome degree an object of fenfe \ they furround it with circutn (lances, which enable the mind to lay hold of it fteadily, and to contemplate it fully. By a well? <3F FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 89 adapted figure, even convi£lion is affifted, and a truth is impreffed upon the mind with additional livelinefs and force. Thus in the following pafiage of Dr. Young : " When we dip too deep in pleafure, we "always ftir a fediment, that renders it impure and u noxious." When an image prefents fuch a r^fem- blance between a moral and fenfible idea, it ferves like an argument from analogy, to enforce what the au- thor advances, and to induce belief. All tropes being founded on the relation which one obje£l bears to another, the name of the one may be fuhttituted for that of the other •, and by this the vivacity of the idea is generally increafed. The rela- tion between a caufe and its effect is one of the firft and Hioft obvious. Hence the caufe is fometimes fie- o uratively put for the- effed, Thus Mr> Addifon, writ- ing of Italy, fays, , Blbffomsj and fruits, and flowers together rife, And the whole year in g?.y confuiion lies. Here the " whole year" is plainly meant to fignify the productions of the year. The effe£t is alio often put for the caufe \ as " grey hairs" for " old age," which produces grey hairs \ and •" (hade," for the "trees," which caufe the fnade. The relation be- tween the container and the thing contained is io in- timate and apparent, as naturally to give rife to tropes* Tile impiger haufit Spumantem pater am, et pleno fe proluit auro. Where it is obvious, that the cup and gold are put for the liquor, contained in. the golden cup. The name of a country is often uicd to fignify Its inhabit- %® OftlGlN OF NATURE, $C& ants. To pray for the afiiftarice of Heaven is the fame » with praying for the afliftance of God, who is in heav- en. The relation between a fign and the thing figni-* fied is another fource of tropes. Thus, Cedant arma togas ; concedat laurea lingual. Here the "toga," which is the badge of the civil profeffions, and the ■* laurel," that of military honours^ . are each of them put for the civil and military charac- ters themfelves. Tropes, founded on thefe feveral re- htions of caufe and effetLt, container and contained, fign and thing fignified, are called by the name of me- tonymy. When a trope is founded on the relation between an antecedent and^ its. confequent, it is called a meta- lepils ; as in the Roman phrafe, " fuit," or " vixit, J> to fignify that one was dead. " Fuit Ilium et ingens " gloria Teucrum" espreiles that the glory of Troy Is no more. When the whole is put for a part, or a part for the whole ; a genus for a fpecies, or a fpecies for a genus \ the Angular number for the plural, or the plural for the fmgular \ in general, when any thing Id's,- or any thing more, is put for the precife cbje£i meant ; the figure is then termed a fyF,eedoche. We fay, for in- fiance, c< A fleet of fo many .fail," inftead of fo many " {hips •," we frequently ufe the " head" for the " per- " fan," the " pole" for the " earth," the " waves" for r the " fea." An attribute is often ufed for its fubjecl t, , as, "youth and beauty" for the "young and beautiful j" and fome times a fubjetl for its attribute. But the re* a by far the moil fruitful, of tropes, is fimilkudej,.. which is the fole foundation of metaphor. MSTAPHQR.:. ,» METAPHOR. Mi LETAPHOR is founded entirely on the refemblance which one object bears to another, It is therefore nearly allied to fimile or comparifon $ and is indeed a comparifon in an abridged form. When we fay of a great minifter, " he upholds the : 11 ftate, like a pillar, which fupports the weight of "an edifice," we evidently make a comparifon; but, , when we fay of him, he is. " the. pillar of the "ftate," it becomes a metaphor. Of all the figures of fpeech none approaches fo near to painting, as metaphor.: It: gives light and ftrength i to description ; makes intellectual ideas in fome de* gree vifible, by giving them colour, fubftance and fenfi- ble qualities. To produce this effect, however, a del- icate hand is. requifite; for by a little inaccuracy we may introduce confufion inftead of promoting perfpi- cuity. Several rules therefore mull be given for the- proper management of metaphors. The fir ft rule refpetting metaphors is, they mud be . foiled to the nature of thefubjeft ; neither too numer- ous, nor too gay, n or< too elevated for it ; we mult neither attempt to force thefubjeti by the ufeof them into a degree of elevation, not congruous to it ; nor on the contrary fuffer it to fall below its proper digni- ty. Some metaphors are beautiful in poetry, which would be unnatural in profe ; fome are graceful in orations, which would be highly improper in historic- al or philosophical compofition. Figures are the drefs cf fentiment. They ihould confequentiy be adapted . te the ideas which they are intended to adorn* ft? metaphor; The fecond rule refpe£te the choice of objects* whence metaphors are to be drawn. The field for figurative language is very wide. - All nature opens - Ker (lores and allows us to collet! them without re- straint. But we muft beware of ufing fuch allufions * as raife in the mind difagreeable, mean, low, or dirty ideas. To render a metaphor perfeii, it mud not only be apt, but pleafmg ; it mud entertain as well as en-- lighten. Dryden therefore can hardly efcape the im- putation of a very unpardonable breach of delicacy, . when he cbferves to the Earl of Dorfet, that " fome : " bad poems carry their owners' marks about them ; €i fome brand or other on this buttock, or that ear ; u that it is notorious who are the owners of the cattle." The mod pieafmg metaphors are derived from the frequent occurrences of art and nature, or from the civil tranfadtions and cuftoms of mankind. Thus, how ' expreffive, yet at the fame time how familiar, is the v - image which Otway has put into the mouth of Metel- lus in hisplay of Caius Marius, where he calls Sulpicius > That mad xvild bull, whom Marius lets loofs On each occafion, when he'd make Ps.ome feel him, > To tofs out. laws and liberties in the air. In the third place a metaphor mould be founded on a a- refemblance, which is clear and ftriking, not far * fetched, nor difficult to be difcovered. Harfh or forc- ed metaphors are always difpleafing, becaufe they per- - plex the reader, and inftead of illuftrating the thought, , render it intricate and confufed.: Thus, for indance, , Cowley, fpeaking of his miftrefs, exprefles himfelf ia < tke following forced and obfcure verfes ; : METAPHOR. f$ We to her ftubborn heart ; if once mine come- Into the felf-fame room,, 'Twill tear and blow up all within, Like a grenado, fhot into a magazine. Then lliali love keep the aflies and torn part*-- Of both our broken hearts ; Shall out of both one new one make ; Srom her's the alloy, from mine the metal take ^ Eor of her heart he from the flames will find- But little left behind ; Mine only will remain entire-; No drofs was there, to perifh in the flie* Metaphors^ borrowed from any of the fciences, e£ gecially from particular profeffions, are almofl al- ways faulty by their obfcurity. In the fourth place, we mud never jumble meta- phorical and plain language together $ never. conftru£fc a period fo, that part of it mud be understood meta- phorically, part literally ; which always produces con- fufion, The works of Oflian afford an indance of the fault we are now cenfuring. " Trothal went forth " with the ftream of his people, but they met a rock ; " for Fingal flood unmoved ; broken, they rolled back; u from his fide* Nor did they roll in fafety ; the u fpear of the king purfued their flight." The meta- phor at the beginning is beautiful \ the " dream," the" unmoved rock," the " waves rolling back brok- " en," are exprefiions in the proper and confident lan- guage of figure ; but in the end, when we are told. " they did not roll in fafety, becaufe the fpear of the ** king purfued their flight," the literal meaning is in- judicioufly mixed with the metaphor ; they are at the fame moment prefented to us as waves that roll> and as, men: that may be purfued and wounded by a Jpeai\, $4 metaphor:. In the fifth place, take care not to make two differ- ent metaphors meet on the fame obje£t. This, which- is called mixed metaphor, is one of the grbfleft abufes of this figure. Shakefpeare's ^expreffion, for example, " to take arms againft a fea of troubles, ,, makes a mo ft unnatural medley, and entirely* confounds the imagin- ation. More correct writers than Shakefpeare, are fometimes guilty of this error. Mr. Addifon fays, u There is not a fingle view of human nature, which u is not fufficienfc to extinguish the feeds of pride. " Here a view is made to extingui(h y and to extingwjlj- feeds. In examining, the propriety of metaphors it is a good rule to form a picture of them, and to confider fcksw the parts agree, and what kind of figure the whole prefents, when delineated with a pencil. Metaphors, in the fixth place, ihould not be crowd- ed together on the fame object. Though each of them be diftincl, yet, if they be heaped on one another, they produce confufionV The following paflage from i Horace will exemplify this obfervation : Moturn ex- Metello confule civicum Bellique caufas, et vitia, ct modos, JLudumque fortunae, gravefque Principum amicitias, et arrna Nondum expiatis un&a cruoribuSj Periculofae plenum opus ale the reader is wearied, and the difcourfe becomes obfcure. This is termed firaining a metaphor. Dr. Young, whofe imagination waamorediftinguifhed by ftrength, than delicacy, is often guilty of running down his met- aphors. Speaking of old age, he fays, it fhould Walk thoughtful on the Glenf, foleirm fhore Of that van 1 ocean, it muft fail fo foon ; And put good works on board ; and wait the wind That fhortly blows us into worlds unknown. The two firft lines are uncommonly beautiful ; but* when he continues the metaphor by " putting good u works on board? and waiting the wind," it is {train- ed, and finks in dignity. Having treated of metaphor, we (hall conclude this chapter with a few words concerning allegory. An allegory is a continued metaphor; as it is the reprefentation of one thing by another that refembles it. Thus Prior makes Emma defcribe her conftancy to Henry in the following allegorical manner : Did I but purpofe to embark with thee On the fmooth furface of a fummer's fea, While gentle zephyrs play with profperous gales, And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ; But would forfake the lHp,and make the fhore, When the winds whittle, and the tempefts roar-? The fame rules that were given for metaphors, may ;fee applied to allegories on accomnt of the affinity h*~ n jg HYPERfcOCE. tween them. The only material difference befide fhe one being fhort and the other prolonged is, that a met- aphor always explains "it-felf by the words that are eonnefted with it in their proper and literal meaning; as, when we fay, " Achilles was a lion ';" ".an 'able cc minifter is the -pillar of the ftate/' Lion and pillar are here fufficiently interpreted by the mention of Achilles and the minifter, which are joined to them $ but an allegory may be allowed to ftand lefs connect- ed with the literal meaning ; the interpretation not being fo plainly pointed out, but left to our own re- Jle&ion. HYPERBOLE. » [YPERBOLE confifts in magnifying an oti- jecl: beyond its natural bounds. This figure occurs very frequently in all languages, even in common con- verfation. As fwift as the wind ; as white as fnow ; and our ufual forms of compliment are in general ex- travagant hyperboles. From habit, however, thefe ex- aggerated expre (lions are feldom considered, as hyper- bolical. Hyperboles are of two kinds ; fuch as are employ- ed in defcription, or fuch as. are fuggefted by paflion. Thofe are far belt which are the effe£l of paflion % fince it not only gives rife to the moft daring figures, but often renders them juft and natural. Hence the following paffage in Milton, though extremely hyper- bolical, contains nothing but what is natural and prop- HYPERBOLE. $f7 cr. It exhibits the min df atan agitated by rage and defpair. Me mifcrable ! Which way fliall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ? Which way I fly is hell : myfelf am hell : And in the loweft depth, a lower deep iStill threatning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I fuffer feems a heaven. In firnple description, hyperboles mtift be employed with more caution. When an earthquake or ftormis defcribed, or when our imagination is carried into the midft of a battle, we can bear flrong hyperboles with- out difpleafure. But, when only a woman in grief is prefented to our view, it is impofiible not to be dif- gufted with fuch exaggeration, as the following, in one of our drarnatick poets : — — I found her en the floor In all the fiorm of grief, yet beautiful, Pouring forth tears at fuch a Iavifh rate, That were the world on fire, they might have drown'd The wrath of heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin. This is mere bombaft. The perfon herfelf who la- boured under the diftra&ing agitations of grief, might be permitted to exprefs herfelf in ftrong hyperbole ; but the fpedator, who defcribes her, cannot be allow- ed equal liberty. The juft boundary of this figure cannot be afcertained by any precife rule. Good fenfc and an accurate tafte muft afcertain the limit, beyond which, if it pafs, it becomes extravagant 9t PERSONIFICATION, PERSONIFICATION AMD APOSTROPHE. W E proceed now to thofe figures which li£ altogether in the thought, the words being taken iu their common and literal fenfe. We {hall begin with perfonification, by which life and a£tion are attributed to inanimate obje£ts. All poetry, even in its mod humble form, abounds in this figure. From profe it is far from being excluded ; nay, even in common converfation, frequent approaches a^e made to it. When we fay, the earth ihirjls for rain, or the fields fmile with plenty ; when ambition is faid to be rejllefs % or a difeafe to be deceitful \ fuch expreflions (how the facility with which the mind can accommodate the properties of living creatures to things inanimate, of abilraft conceptions. There are three different degrees of this figure % which it is requifite to diftinguiih, in order to deter- mine the propriety pf its ufe. The firft is, when fome of the properties of living creatures are afcribed to inanimate objects ; the fecond, when thofe inani- mate objects are defer ibed as a£ting like fuch as have life \ and the third, when they are exhibited ei- ther as fpeaking to us, or as liftening to what we fay to them. The firft and lowed degree of this figure, which confifts in afcribing to inanimate objects fome of the qualities of living creatures, raifes the flyle fo little, that the humblefl difcourfe admits it without any force. Thus " a raging ftcrm, a deceitful difeafe, a f* cruel difafter," are familiar exprelfions. This in- PERSONIFICATION. 9i deed is fo obfcure a degree of perfonification, that it might perhaps be properly . clafTed with fimple meta- phors which almoft efcape our obfervation. The fecond degree of this figure is, when we rep- resent inanimate objects acting like thofe that have life, Here we rife a ftep higher, and the perfonifica- tion becomes fenfible. According to the nature of the adtion which we afcribe to thole inanimate objects, and to the particularity with which we defcribe it, is the ftrength of the figure. When purfued to a con- fiderable length, it belongs only to ftudied harangues y when flightly touched, it may be admitted into lefs elevated compofitions. Gicero, for example, fpeaking of the cafes where killing a mar is lawful in felf-de- fence, ufes the following expreflions : " AHquando no*- u bis gladius ad occidendum hormnem ab Ipfus porrigitur " fegibuj." Here the laws are beautifully perfonified as reaching forth their hand to give us a fword for putting a man to death. In poetry, perfonifications of this kind are extreme- ly frequent, and are indeed the life and foul of it. In the ciefcriptions of a poet, who has a lively fancy every thing is animated. Homer, the father of poet- ry, is c^arkable for the ufe of this figure. War, 3, darts, rivers, every thing in fhort, is alive in his writings, The fame is true of Milton and Shakefpeare. No perfonification is more ftriking, or introduced on a more proper oecafion, than the following of Miltoir upon Eve's eating the forbidden fruit : So faying, her rafh hand 'in evil hour Forth reaching to the fruit, ihe pluckM, (he ate ! Eirtfr felt the wound ; and nature from her feat, Sighing thro' all her works, gave figns of wo., T&at all was loft. ICO PERSONIFICATION. The third and higheft degree of this figure is yet to be mentioned ; when inanimate objects are reprefent- ed, not only as feeling and adiing, but as fpeaking to us or liftening, while we addrefs them. This is the boldeft of all rhetorical figures •, it is the Ftyle of ftrong paflion only - 9 and therefore fhould never be attempted, except when the mind is confiderably heat- ed and agitated. Milton affords a very beautiful ex- ample of this figure in that moving and tender addrefs -which Eve makes toParadife immediately before ihe is compelled to leave it. O unexpected ftroke, worfe than of death ! Mufl I thus leave thee, Paradife ? Thus leave Thee, native foil ; thefe happy walks and fhadety Fit haunt of gods ; where I had hope to fpend Quiet, though fad, the refpite of that day, Which muft be mortal to us both ? O flowers ! That never will in other climate grow, My early vifitation, and my laft At even, which I bred up with tender hand From your firit opening buds, and gave you names : Who now fliall rear you to the fun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambro&al fount ? This is the real language of nature and of female paflion. In the management of this fort of perfonification two rules are to be obferved. Firft, never attempt it, un- lefs prompted by ftrong paflion, and never continue it when the paflion begins to fubfide. The fecond rule is never perfonify an object which has not fome dig- nity in itfelf, and which is incapable of making a prop- er figure in the elevation to which we raife it. To addrefs the body of a deceafed friend is natural $ but to addrefs the clothes which he wore introduces low APOSTROPHE. 101 and degrading ideas. So likewife, addreffing the fev- . eral parts of the body, as if they were animated, is not agreeable to the dignity of paflion. For this reafon the following paffage in Pope's Eloifa to Abelard is liable to cenfure. Dear fatal name ! reft ever unreveaPd,; Nor pafs thefe lips, in holy filence feal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that clofe difguife a Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies ;. O, write it not, my hand !— his name appears Already written — blot it, out, my tears. Here the name of Abelard is firfl: perfonified i which, as the name of a perfon often (lands for the perfon himfelf, is expofed to no obje&ion. Next, Eloifa perfonifies her own heart ; and, as the heart is a dig- nified part of die human frame, and rs often put for the mind, this alfo may/ pafs without cenfure. But, when fhe addrefies her hand, and tells it not to write his name, this is forced and unnatural. Yet the fig* ttre becomes ftill worfe, when Ihe exhorts her tears to- blot out what her hand had written. The two lad lines are indeed altogether unfuitable to the tendernefs which breathes through^ the reft of that inimitable poem; Apostrophe is an addrefs to a real perfon ;. but one who is- either abfent or dead, as if he were pre- fent, and liftening to us» This figure is in boldnefs a degree lower than personification ; fince it requires lefs effort of imagination to fuppofe perfons prefent who are dead or abfent, than to animate inienGble beings ■> and direcl: our difcourfe to them. The poems c£ Offian abound in beautiful inftanges of this figure 102 COMPARISON. " Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, O Maid of " Iniftore. Bend thy fair head over the waves, thou " fairer than the ghoft of the hills, when it moves in a u fun- beam at noon over the filence of Morven. He is V fallen ! Thy youth is low ; pale beneath the fword -* of Cuchulliu." COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS, INTERROGA- TION, EXCLAMATION, AND OTHER FIG- URES OF SPEECH. A COMPARISON or Gmile is, when the re- semblance between two obje£ls is expreffed in form, and ufually purfued more fully than the nature of a metaphor admits. As when we fay, " The aflions of * c princes are like thofe great rivers, the courfc of *' which every one beholds, but their fprings have been " feen by few." This fhort inftance will mow that a happy comparifon is a fort of fparkling ornament, which adds luftre and beauty to difcourfe. All comparifons may be reduced under two heads explaining and emhellijhing comparifons. For, when a writer compares an object with any other thing, it al- ways is, or ought to be, with a view to make us un- derftand that obje£l more clearly, or to render it more ple^fing. Even abftraft reafoning admits explaining comparifons. For inftance, the diftindtion between the powers of fenfe and imagination is in Mr. Harris's Hermes illuftrated by a Smile : " As wax," fays he, " would not be adequate to the purpofe of fignature, "..if it had not the power to retain 3s well as to- *«• COMPARISON. [Qg ■ ceive the impreffion : the fame holds of the fouL though he does not engage us by the arts HEAT AND ELEGANT. II3 df compofition, he avoids difgufting us like a dry and a harfh writer. Befide perfpicuity, he obferves pro- priety, purity, and precifion in his language, which form no inconfiderable degree of beauty. Livelinefs and force are alfo compatible with a plain flyle ; and therefore fuch an author, if his fentiments be good, may be fufficiently agreeable. The difference between a dry and a plain writer is this ; the former is incapa- ble of ornament •, the latter goes not in purfuit of it, Gf rhofe who have employed the plain flyle, Dean Swift is an eminent example. A neat ftyle is next in order ; and here we are ad- vanced into the region of ornament •, but not of the moft fparkling kind. A writer of this charadler fliows by his attention to the choice of words, and to their graceful collocation, that he does not defpife the beau- ty of language. His fentences are always free from the incumbrance of Superfluous words ; of a moderate length ; inclining rather to brevity, than a fwelling ftruclure ; and clofing with propriety. There is varie- ty in his cadence •, but no appearance of itudied har- mony. His figures, if he ufe any, are fliort and ac- curate, rather than bold and glowing. Such a flyle may be attained by a writer, whofe powers of fancy or genius are not great, by induftry and attention. This fort of flyle is not unfuitable to any fubjedl whatever. A familiar epiille, or a law paper on the drieft fubje£t, may be written with neatnefs - 9 and a fermon, or a philofophical treatife in a neat ftyle, is read with fatif- fadion. * An elegant flyle implies a higher degree of orna* ment than a neat one ; poffeffing all the virtues of or* nament without any of its excefles or defe&s. Com- plete elegance implies great perfpicuity and propriety y K 3 I 14 STYLE-*- -SlMPLClTY. purity in the choice of words ; and care and {kill In their arrangement. It implies farther the beauties of imagination fpread over ftyle as far as the fubjeft per- mits 5 and all the illuftration which figurative language adds, when properly employed. An elegant writer in fhort, is one who delights the fancy and the ear, while he informs the underftanding ; who clothes his ideas in all the beauty of exprefixm, but does not oevrload them with any of its mifplaced finery. A florid ftyle implies excefs of ornament In a young compofer it is not only pardonable, but often a? promifing fymptom. But, although it may be allowed to youth in their fir ft efiays, it mult not receive the fame indulgence from writers of more experience. Irf them judgment fhould chafien imagination^ and reject every ornament which is unfuitable or redundant. That tinfel fplendour of language which fome writers' perpetually affect, is truly contemptible. With fuch/ it is a luxuriance of words, not of fancy. They for- get that unlefs founded on good fenfe and folid thought, the nioft florid ftyle is but a childifh impofition on the publick. STYLE. SIMPLE, AFFECTED, VEHEMENT. DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING A PROPER STYLE. SIMPLICITY, applied to writing, is a term very commonly ufed \ but, like many other critical terms, often ufed without precifion. The different meanings of the word fimplicity are the chief caufe pf this inaccuracy. It is therefore necefTary to, fhcvr, simplicity; nj in what fenfe fimplicity is a proper attribute of ftyle,- There are four different acceptations, in which this term is taken. The firit is fimplicity of ccmpofition, as oppofed to- too great a variety of parts. This is the fimplicity of plan in tragedy, as diitinguifhed from double plots- and crowded incidents ; the fimplicity of the Iliad in oppcfition to the digreilions of Lucan •, the fimplici- ty of Grecian architecture in oppofition to the irregu- lar variety of the Gothick* Simplicity in this fenfe is the fame with unity. The fecond fenfe is fimpli'ciry of thought in oppo- fition to refinement. Simple thoughts are thofe which flow naturally ; which are fuggefted by the fuhjecl or occafion ; and which, when once fuggefted, are eafily underftood by all. Refinement in writing means a lefs obvious and natural train of thought, which, when carried too fa*, approaches to intricacy, and difpleafes- us by the appearance of being far fought. Thus Par- nell is a poet of much greater Gmplieity in his turn of thought than Cowley. In thefs two fenfcs fimplicity has no relation to ftyfe The third fenfe of fimplicity regards ftyle* and is oppofed to too much ornament, or pomp of language. Thus we fay Mr. Locke is a fimple, Mr. Herveya florid writer. A fimpie ftyle, in this fenfe, coincides with a plain or neat ftyle. The fourth fenfe of fimplicity alfo refpects ftyle 5 but it regards not fo much the degree of ornament em- ployed, as the eafy and natural manner, in which our .language exprefifes our thoughts. In this fenfe fim- plicity is compatible with the higheft ornament. Horner, for example, pofleflss this fimplicity in the Il6 SIMPLICITY— AFFECTATION. greateft perfe&ion; and yet' no writer has more orna- ment and keauty. This fimplicity is oppofed not to ornament, but to affectation of ornament*, and is a fuperior excellence in composition. A fimple writer has no marks of art in his expref- fion ; it appears the very language of nature. We fee not the writer and his labour, but the man in his own natural character. He may be rich in expreffion ; he may be full of figures and of fancy; but thefe flow from him without effort ; and he feems to write in this manner, not becaufe he had ftudied it, but becaufe it is the mode of expreffion moft natural to him. With this chara&er of ftyle a certain degree of negligence is not inconfiftent ; for too accurate an attention to words is foreign to it. Simplicity of ftytej like fim- plicity of manners, fhows a man's fentiments and turn of mind without difguife. A more ftudied and arti- ficial mode of writing, however beautiful, has always this difadvantage, that it exhibits an author in form, like a man at court, where fplendour of drefs and the ceremonial of behaviour conceal thofe peculiarities which diftinguifh one man from another. But read- ing an author of fimplicity is like converting with a perfon of rank at home and with eafe, where we fee his natural manners and his real character* With regard to fimplicity in general, we may ob- ferve, that the ancient anginal writers are always mod eminent for it. This proceeds from' a very obvious caufe; they wrote from the dictates of genius, and were not formed upon the labours and writings of others. Of affectation, which is oppofed to fimplicity of ftyle, we have a remarkable example in Lord Shaftefbury* AFFECTATION. I tf Though an author of confiderable merit, he exprefles nothing with fimplicity. He feems to have thought it vulgar and beneath the dignity of a man of quality to fpeak like other men. Hence he is ever in buf- kins ; full of circumlocutions and artificial elegance. In every fentence we fee marks of labour and art \ nothing of that eafe which exprefles a fentiment com- ing natural and warm from the heart. He abounds with figures and ornament of every kind ; is fome- times happy in them ; but his fondnefs for them is too vifible •, and, having once fcized fome metaphor or al- lufion, that pleafed him, he knows not how to part with it. He pofiefled delicacy and refinement of tafte in a degree that may be called exceffive and fickly j but he had little warmth of paffion \ and the coldnefs of his chara£ler fuggefted that artificial and (lately man- ner which appears in his writings. No author is more dangerous to the tribe of imitators than Shaftesbury % who amid feveral very confiderable bierrrifhes, has many dazzling and impofing beauties. It is very poffible, however, for an author to write with fimplicity, and yet without beauty. He maybe free from affectation, and not have merit. Beautiful fimplicity fuppofes an author to pofiefs real genius ; and to write with folidity, purity, and brilliancy of im- agination. In this eafe, the fimplicity of his manner is the crowning ornament •, it heightens every other beauty ;. it is the drefs of nature, without which all beauties are imperfe£t. But, if mere abferice of affec- tation were fufRcient to conftitute beauty of ftyle* weak and dull writers might often lay claim to it. A diitin£tion therefore muft be made between that IIS DIRECTIONS FOR FORMIMG A PROPER STYLE, firnplicity which accompanies true genius and is en- tirely compatible with every proper ornament of flyle ; and that which is the effect of careleffneis. Another character of ftyle, different from thofe al- ready mentioned is vehemence. This always implies ftrength; and is not in any refpect incompatible with fimplicicy. It is diftinguiihed by a peculiar ardour ; it is the language of a man whofe imagination and paf- fioris are glowing and impetuous ; who, neglecting in- ferior graces, pours himfelf forth with the rapidity and' fulnefs of a torrent, ' This belongs to the higher kinds of oratory \ and is rather expected from a rm. who is "(peaking, -'than from one who is writing in h\i clofet. Demofthenes is the moil full and perfect ex* ample of this kind of ftyle. Having explained the difrefeiit characters of ft; we ihall conclude our obfef with a few dire tions for attaining a good ftyle in general The firft direction is, fludy clear ideas of the fub- je£l on which yoii are to write or fpeak. What we ; conceive clearly and feel ftrongly, we naturally exprefs with clearnefs ; and ftrength. We fhould therefore think clofely on the fubjeft, till we: have attained a full and diltincl view of the matter which we are to clothe in words ; till we become* warm and inferefted in it •, then, and then only, ihall we find expreffioa " begin to flow. Secondly, to the acquisition of a good ftyle, frequen- cy of compofing is indifpenfably neceffary. But it is not every kind of competing that will improve ftyle. r By a carelefs and hafty habit of writing, a bad ftyle will be acquired ; more trouble will afterward be necefTa-- ry to unlearn faults, than to become acquainted with- ■ DIRECTIONS SOU FORMING A PROPER STYLE. I 19 .the rudiments of compofitlon. In the beginning there- fore we ought to write flowiy and with much care. Fa- cility and fpeed are the fruit of practice. We mull be cautious, however, not to retard the courfe of. thought, ror cool the ardour of imagination, by paufing too long on every word. On certain oqcafions a glow of com- pofition mud be kept up, if we hope to exprefs our- felves happily, though at the expenfe cf fome inac- curacies. A mors fevers examination mud be the work of correction. What we ha T e written fhould be laid by fome time, till the ardour of competition be pad; till partiality for cur expreffions be weakened, and the exprefficms themfelves be forgotten ; and then, reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye as if it were- the performance of another, we (ka.ll difcover jiiany imperfe£lions which at fird efcaped us. Thirdly, acquaintance with the ftyje of the bed au- thors is peculiarly requifite. Hence a juft tade will be formed,, and a copious fund of words (applied on .every fubjecX No exercife perhaps will be found more aifeful for acquiring a proper ft: vie, than tranflating fome paflage from an eminent author into cur own words. Thus to take, for indauce, a page of one of Addifon's Spectators, and read it attentively two or .three times, till we are in full pcfTeffion of the thoughts it contains ; then to lay afide the book ; to endeavour ,to write out the paffage from memory as well as we can ; ancl then to compare what we have written with the dyie of the author. Such an exercife will .(hew us our defects ; will teach us to correct, them ; and, from the variety of expreffion which it will ex- hibit, will conduct us to that which is mod beau- tiful. 120 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING A PROPER STYLE. Fourthly, caution rnuft be ufed againft ferviie imU tation of any author whatever. Defire of imitating hampers genius, and generally produces ftiffhefs of expreffion. They who follow an author clofely, com- monly copy his faults as well as his beauties. No one will ever become a good writer or fpeaker, who has not fome confidence in his own genius. We ought carefully to avoid ufing any author's peculiar phrafes, and of transcribing paflages from him. Such a habit will be fatal to all genuine compofition. It is much better to have Something of our own, though of mod- erate beauty, than to mine in borrowed ornaments, which will at laft betray the poverty of our genius. Fifthly, always adapt your ftyle to the fubje£t, and likewife to the capacity of your hearers, if you are to fpeak in publick. To attempt a poetical ftyle, when it fhould be our bufmefs only to reafon, is in the highefl degree awkward and abfurd. To fpeak with elaborate pomp of words before thofe who cannot comprehend them, is equally ridiculous. When we are to write or fpeak, we ihould previously fix in our minds a clear idea of the end aimed at ; keep this fteadily in view, and adapt our ftyle to it. Laflly, let not attention to ftyle engrofs us fo much as to prevent a higher degree of attention to the thoughts. This rule is more neceffary, (ince the pref- ent tafte of the age is directed more to ftyle than to thought. It is much more eafy to drefs up trifling and common thoughts with fome beauty of expreflion, than to afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and ufe- ful fentiments. The latter requires genius ; the for- mer may be attained by induftry. Hence the crowd of writers who are rich in ftyle, but poor in fentiment. CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &C, 121 ■Cuflom obliges tis to be attentive to the ornaments of ilyle, if we wiih our labours to be read and admired. But he is a contemptible writer, whojooks not beyond the drefs of language ; who lays not the chief ftrefs upon his matter, and employs not fuch ornaments of ftyle to recommend it, as are manly, not foppifh. CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF Me. ADDISON's STYLE IN No. 411 OF THE SPECTATOR. XxAVING fully infilled on the fubjeft of lan- guage, we flrall now commence a critical analyfis of the llyle of fome good author. This will fuggeil ob- fervations, which we have not hitherto had occafion to make, and will (how in a practical light the life of thofe which have been made* Mr. Addifon, though one of the moil beautiful wri- ters in our language, is not the mod correal ; a cir- cumflance which makes his composition a proper fub- je£l of criticifm. We proceed therefore to examine No. 41 1, the firft of his celebrated e flays on the pleaf- tires of the imagination, in the fixth volume of the Spe£lator. It begins thus : Our fight is the moft perfect > and moft delightful of all mir fenfes. This fentence is clear, precife and fimple. The au- thor in a few plain words lays down the propofition, which he is going to illuftrate. A firft fentence ihould feldom be long, and never intricate. He might have faid, cur fight is the mofl perfect and the moft delightful But in omitting to repeat the pair- L tZ% CRITICAL EXAMINATION dele the, he has been more judicious ; for, as between perfect and delightful there is no contraft, fuch a repe- tition is unnecefiary. He proceeds : It fills the mind with the large/} variety of ideas ' 9 con** verfes with its objects at the greatefl defiance* and contin- ues the hngejl in atlion, without being tired or fatiated with its proper enjoyments \ This fentence is remarkably harmonious, and well conftrucled. It is entirely perfpicuous. It is loaded with no unnecefiary words* That quality of a good fentence, which we termed its unity, is here perfectly preferved. The members of it alfo grow, and rife above each other in found, till it is conducted to one of the moll harmonious clofes which our language admits. It is moreover figurative without being too much fo for the fubjeft. There is no fault in it what- ever, except this, the epithet large, which he applies to variety, is more commonly applied to extent than to number. It is plain, however, that he employed it to avoid the repetition of the word greats which occurs immediately afterward. The fenfe of feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of ex- ienfion, /hape 3 and all other ideas that enter at the eye, ex- cept colours ; hut, at the fame time, it is very much fiiraiU ened and confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, and di flame of its particular objects* But is not every fenfe confined as hiuch as the fenfe of feeling, to the number, bulk, and diftance of its own obje£ts ? The imn of expreffion is alio very inaccurate, requiring the two words, with regard, to be inferted after the word operations, in order to make the fenfe clear and intelligible. The epithet particular feems to be ufed Initead of peculiar s but thefe words, though often OF MR. AI)DTSON 7 S STYLE. 1 23 Confounded, are of very different import. Particular is oppofed to general ; peculiar (lands oppofed to what is poffeffed in common with others* Our fight feeins defined to /apply all theft defetls^ and may bee ' as a mo-re delicate and diffuftve kind of touch thai fpredds if elf over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the large]} figures, and brings into our reach fome of the mof remote parts of the imiverfe* This fentence is perfpicuous, graceful, well arrang- ed and highly mufical. Its conftruclion is fo fimiiar to that of the fecond fentence, that, had it immediate- ly fucceeded it, the ear would have been fenfible of a faulty monotony. But the interposition of a period prevents this effeft. It is thisfenfe which furnfhes the imagination with its ideas ;fo that, by the pleafures cf the imagination or fancy (which I ji hall ufe promifcuoufly ) I here mean fuch as arife from vifble ohjetls^ either when we have them actu- ally in cur view] or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings ', fratuesy defer iptions y or any the like Gccafon, The parenthefis in the middle of this fentence is not clear. It fhould have been, terms which 1 fhall ufe promifcuoufly \ fmce the verb ufe does not relate to the pleafures of the imagination, but to the terms, fancy and imagination, which were meant to be fynonimous* To call a painting or a ilatue an occofion is not accu- rate 7 nor is it very proper to fpeak of calling up ideas by cccajions. The common phrafe any fuch meanfy would have been more natural. We cannot indeed have afingle image in the fancy, thai did. not make iisfirf entrance through the fight ; but we have ih-e power of retaining^ altering^ and compounding ihoft S24 CRITICAL EXAMINATION images which we have once received, into all the varieties &f piclure and vi/ion, that are mojl agreeable to- the imagina- tion ; for, by this faculty, a man in a dungeon is capable cf entertaining h'wifelf with fcenes and landfcapts more beautiful than any that can be found in the whole compafs sf nature* In one member of this fentence there is an inaccu- racy in fyntax. It is proper to fay, altering and com- pounding thofe images which we have mice received, into all the varieties of piclure and vifton, But we cannot with propriety fay, retaining them into all the vari<* eties ; yet the arrangement requires this conftrudiion. This error might have been avoided by arranging the paiTage in the following manner : '" We have the pow- CJ er of retaining thofe images which we have once " received ; and of altering and compounding them a into all the varieties of picture and vi/ion." The latter part of the fentence is clear and elegant. There are few words in the En glfj language* which are employed in a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe than thofe of the fancy and the imagination* Except when fome affertion of confequence is ad- vanced, thefe little words, it is and there are, ought to be avoided, as redundant and enfeebling. The two fir ft words of this fentence therefore fhould have been omitted. The article prefixed to fancy and imagination ought alfo to have been omitted, fince he does not mean the powers of the fancy and the imaghuiUon, but the words only. The fentence fhould have run thus : C( Few words in the Englifh language are employed in !* a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe than fancy " and imagination/ 1 of mr. adpison's style. 125 I therefore thought it neceffary to fx and determine the notion of thefe two words , as I intend to make life of them in the thread of my following /peculations ', that the reader may conceive rightly what is the f abject which 1 proceed upon. The words fix and determine, though they may ap- pear fb, are not fynonymous. Wejff* what is loofe ; we determine what is uncircumfcribed. They may be viewed, therefore, as applied here with peculiar del- icacy. e notion of thefe words is rather harih, and is not fo commonly ufed, as the meaning of thefe words. As I intend to make ufe of them in the thread of my f peculations is evidently faulty. A fort of metaphor, improperly mixed with words in their literal fenfe. The fubjeft which I proceed upon is an ungraceful clofe of a izi\* ihould have been, the fubj 'eel upon which I I mttft therefore deftre him to rem-niber, that by the- pleafures of imagination , 1 mean only fuch pleafures as arifi ginallyfromfght, and that Ld,v:de thefe p/eafures into 3 kinds. This fentence begins in a manner too fimilar to the preceding. I mean only fuch pleafures — rhe adverb only is not in its proper place. It is not intended hereto qualify the verb mean, but fuch pleafures ; and ought therefore to be placed immediately after the latter. My dtfign being, firft of all, to difcoufe fthofe prima r? pleafures of the imagination, which entirely proceed from fuch objects as are before cur eyes ; and, in the next place , peak of thefe fecoudary pleafures of the imagination , whichr few from the id* as of vifhle cbjecJs, when the objects are mt actually before the eye, but are called u£ into our mzxi^ 12V MR. ABD1S0N 3 STYLE. 12-7 A beautiful p.'f peel delights the foul as much as a demon* flration ; and a defer iption in Homer has charmed more- readers than a chapter in Ariflotle*. This is a good illuftration of what he had been af~ ferting, and is exprefled with that elegance, by which Mr. Addifon is diftfnguifhed 7 . Befides, the pleafures of the imagination have this ad* vantage over thofe of the under/landings thai they are more obvious, and more eafy to be acquired* This fentence is unexceptionable. It is but opening the eye, and the fee tie enters. Though this is lively and pidhirefque, yet we muft remark a fmall inaccuracy, A fcene cannot be faid to- mter ; znaclor enters, but a fcene appears or prejents it/elf. The colours pait it- themfelves on the fancy , with very lit ~- ile attention of thought or application of mind in the beholder*. This is beautiful and elegant, and well fuited to thofe pleafures of the imagination of which the au- thor is treating* We are jlruck, we know not how-, with the fymmetry of any thing we fee ; and immediately ajfent to the beauty of an object, without inquiring into the particular caufes and . oxCafons of it. We ajfent to the truth of a proportion -, but cannot with propriety be faid to ajfent to the beauty, of an object. In the conclusion, particular and occafions are f super- fluous words ; and the pronoun it is in feme meafure ambiguous. A- man of a polite imagination islet into a great many- pleafures that the vulgar are riot capable of receiving* The term polite is oftener applied to manors, thaa to the imagination. Thz uie oi.that inftead of which I2S CRITICAL EXAMINATION. is too common with Mr. Addifon. Except in cafes where it is necefiary to avoid repetition which is pre* ferable to that, and is undoubtedly fo in the prefent inftance. He can converfe with a piclure, and find an agreeable companion hi ajtatue. He meets with a fee ret refrefometit in a defcripiion ; and often feels a greater fatisfacJion in the profpeB of fields and meadows, than another does in the poj/l/fion. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in eve- ry thing he fees ; and makes the mofl rude uncultivated parts of nature adminifler to his pleafure : fo that he looks upon the world, as it were, in another light, and difcov- ers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themf elves frotn the generality of mankind. This fentence is eafy, flowing, and harmonious. We muft, however, obferve a flight inaccuracy. It ' gives him a kind of property — to this it there is no an- tecedent in the whole paragraph. To difcover its. connexion, we muft look back to the third fentence preceding, which begins with a man of a polite imagina- tion* This phrafe, polite imagination, is the only ante- cedent to which it can refer y and even this is not a proper antecedent, fince it (lands in the genitive cafe as the qualification only of a man. 'There are, indeed, but very few who know how to be idle and innocent, or have a reli/Jj of any pleafures that are not criminal ; every diver/Ion they take y is at the expenfe Qf feme one virtue or another, and: their very firjljlep out of bvftnefs is into vice or folly* This fentence is truly elegant, muncal and correal. A man fh.ould endeavour,, therefore, to make the fp here if his innocent pleafures as 'wide as poffible, that he may retire into the?n with fafety, and find in them fuch a fat'u^ faBicn, as a wife man would not blufo to take*. OF MR. ADDISON*S STYLE. 1 2p This alfo is a good fentence and expofed to no objection. Of this nature are thofe of the imagination, which do not require fuch a bent oj thought as is necejjary to our morefe- ricus employments ; nor, at the fame time, fuffer the mind to fink into that indolence and remijfnefs, which are apt to accompany our more fenfual delights ; but like a gentle ex* ercife to the faculties, awaken them from fcth and idlenefs> without putting them upon any labour or difficulty. The beginning of this fentence is incorrect. Of this nature, fays he, are thofe of the imagination. It might be afked, of what nature ? For the preceding fentence had not defcribed the nature of any clafs of pleafures. He had fold that it was every man's duty to make the fphere of his innocent pleafures as extenfive, as poffi- ble, that within this fphere he might find a fafe~ retreat and laudable fatisfa&ion. The transition there- fore is loofely made. It would have been better, if he had faid, " This advantage we gain," or " this fatis- facftion we enjoy," by means of „the pleafures of the imagination. The reft of the fentence is correal. We might here add, that the pleafures of the fancy are more conducive to health than thofe of the underflanding, which are worked out by dint of thinking, and attended with too violent a labour of the brain* Worked out by dint of thinking is a phrafe which bor- ders too nearly on the ftyle of common converfation^ to be admitted into polifhed compofition. Delightful fcenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry % have a kindly influence on the body, as well as the mind 9 and mi only ferve to clear and brighten the imagination f but are able to difp erf e grief and melancholy , and to fet the animal fpirits in pie of in g and agreeable motions* For this *3° ELOqpfiNCI. reafon, Sir Francis Bacon, in his effay upon health, has not thought it improper to prefcribe U his reader a poem or ■ fiprofpetl) where be particularly dijfuades him from knotty andfuhtile difquifitions, and advifes him to purfue Jludies that fdl the mind with fplendid and illufrious ohfeSts, as hijlorieS) fables y and contemplations $f nature. In the latter of thefe two periods a member is out of its place. Where he particularly diffuades him from knotty andfuhtile difquiftions ought to precede has not thought it improper to prefcribe , £sV. / have in this paper, by way of introduElion, fettled the notion of thofe pleafures of the imagination, which are the fubjecl of my prefent undertaking, and endeavoured by fev- er al conft derations to recommend to my readers the purfuit of 'thofe pleafures ; I f jail in my next paper examine the jeveral four ces from 'whence thefe pleafures are derived* Thefe two concluding fentences furniuh examples of proper collocation of circurnftances. We former* ly fhowedthat it is difficult fo to difpofe them as not to embarrafs the principal fubje£L Had the follow- ing incidental circurnftances, by way of 'introduction by fever al confederations— in this paper— in the next pa* per, been placed in any other fituation, the fentence would have been neither fo neat^ nor fo clear, as it is on the prefent conftru£lion. ELOQUENCE. ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE. GRECIAN ELOQUENCE- DEMOSTHENES. X^LOQUENCE is the art of perfuafion. Its mod effential requiiites are folid argument, clear method* ELOQUENCE. 13* and an appearance of fincerity in the fpeaker, with fuch graces of ftyle and utterance, as command at- tention. Good fenfe muft be its foundation. With out this, no man can be truly eloquent \ fince fools can perfuade none but fools. Before we can perfuade a man of fenfe, we muft convince him. Convincing and perfuading, though fometimes confounded, arc of very different import. Convi&ion affefts the un- derftanding only $ perfuafion the will and the practice- It is the bufinefs of a philofopher to convince us of truth •, it is that of an orator to perfuade us to a£t conformably to it by engaging our affections in its fa- vour. Convidtion is, however, one avenue to the heart and it is that which an orator muft firft at- tempt to gain •, for no perfuafion can be ftable, which is' not founded on conviction. But the orator muft not be fatisfied with convincing ; he muft addrefs himfelf to the paffions ; he muft paint to the fancy, and touch the heart. Hence, befide folid argument and clear method, all the conciliating and interefting arts of compofition and pronunciation enter into the idea of eloquence. " Eloquence may be confidered, asconfifting of three kinds or degrees. The firft and loweft is that which aims only to pleafe the hearers. Such in general is the eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural orations, ad- drefles to great men, and other harangues of this kind. This ornamental fort of compofition may innocently amufe and entertain the mind : and may be mixed at the fame time with yery ufeful fentiments. But it muft be acknowledged, that, where the fpeaker aims only to fhine and to pleafe, there is great danger of art being drained into oftentation, and of the compa- ction becoming tirefome and infipid. 532 ELOQUENCE. The fecond degree of eloquence is, when the fpeak- er aims, not merely to pleafe, but alfo to inform, to inftru£i, to convince '> when his art is employed in removing prejudices againft himfelf and his caufe 5 in fele&ing the mofl proper arguments, ftating them with the greateft force, arranging them in the bed order, expreffing and delivering them with propriety and beauty : thereby difpofing us to pafs that judg- ment, or favour that fide of the caufe, to which he feeks to bring us. Within this degree chiefly is em- ployed the eloquence of the bar. The third and higheft degree of eloquence is that by which we are not only convinced, but interefted, agitated, and carried along with the fpeaker ; our paf- fions rife with his ; we (hare all his emotions •, we love, we hate, we refent, as he infpires us ; and are prompt- ed to refolve, or to a£t, with vigour and warmth. Debate in popular affemblies opens the mofl extenfive field to this fpecies of eloquence - 9 and the pulpit alfo admits it. This high fpecies of eloquence is always the off. fpring of paffion. By paffion we mean that ftate of mind in which it is agitated and fired by fome ohjedt in view. Hence the univerfally acknowledged power of enthufiafm in publick fpeakers for affecting their audience. Hence all ftudied exclamation and laboured ornaments of ftyle, which fhow the mind to be cool and unmoved, are inconfifient with perfuafive elo- quence. Hence every kind of affe&ation in gefture and pronunciation detra&s fo much from the weight of a fpeaker. Hence the neeeffity of being, and of be- ing believed to be, difinterefted and in earneft in or- der to perfuade. ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE. 133 In tracing the origin of eloquence it is not necefTiry 'to go far back into the early ages of the world, or to fearch for it among the monuments of Eaitern or Egyptian antiquity. In thofe ages, it is true, there was a certain kind of eloquence ; but it was more nearly allied to poetry, than to what we properly call oratory. While the intercourfe of men was infre- quent, and force was the principal mean employed in deciding controverfies, the arts of oratory and perfua(ion, of reafoning and debate, could be little known. The firft empires were of the defpotiek kind. A fingle perfon, or at rnoft, a few, held the reins of government. The multitude were accuiiomed to blind obedience ; they were driven, not perfuaded. Con- fequently none of thofe refinements of fbciety, which make publick fpeaking an object of importance, were introduced. Before the rife of the Grecian Republicks, we per- ceive no remarkable appearances of eloquence, as the •art of perfuafion % aii ;ft gave it fach a fieldi as it never had before, at er had again fince that time. Greece was divide : i :: > many little ftates. Thefe were 73 , who being for their f yrannv fuc led from their dominions, there .:_; ;;■■> ical ne plan, anim " ally jeafbj - .ens was i every kind, but especially for eloquence. -er the orators, who lis republics, ana take a vie snes, in whom eIo we fee him ufing every proper mean to animate a people,, diftinguifhed by jufiicfc, humanity, and valour*, but in many initances become corrupt and degenerate. He boldly accufes them of venality, indolence, and indif- ference to the publkJk caufe \ while at the feme time he reminds tlu re of the gloi y of their anceflors, and of their prefer rccs". His cotemporary orator?, who were bribed by uaded t) to peace, he openh reproaches :6.rs to their conn- DEMOSTHENES. 1 35 try. He not only prompts to vigorous meafures, but lays down the plan of execution. His orations are ilrongly animated, and full of the impetuofity and fire of publick fpirit. His compofition is not diltinguifhed by ornament and fplendour. Ic is energy of thought, peculiarly his own, which forms his character, and lets him above all others. He feems not to attend to words, hut to things. We forget the orator, and think of the fubject. He has no parade ; no (tudied intro- ductions , but is like a man full of his fubjecl, who, after preparing his audience by a lenience or two for hearing plain truths, enters directly on bufinefs. The ftyle of Demofthenes is ftrong and ccncife, though fometimes har(h and abrupt. His words are very expreflive, and his arrangement firm and manly, igent of little graces, he aims at that fublime which lies in fentiment. His action and pronunciation were uncommonly vehement and ardent. His character is of the auftere, rather than of the gentle kind. . He is always grave, fericus, paffionate ; never degrading himfeif, nor attempting any thing like pleafantry. If his admirable eloquence be in any refpeel; faulty, it is in this, he fometimes borders on the hard and dry. He may be thought to want fmoothnefs and grace ; which is attributed to his imitating too clofely the manner of Tbucydides, who was his great model for ftyle, and whofc hiftoryHe tranfcnbeu eight tim.-s with his own hand. But thefe defects are more than com- penfated by that mafterly force of mafculine eloquence, winch, as it overpowered all who heard it, cannct- in the prefent day be read wdthout emotion. *3$ ROMAN ELOQUENCE. ROMAN ELOQUENCE. CICERO, MODERN ELOQUENCE. JLlAVING treated of eloquence among the Greeks, we now proceed to confider its progrefs among the Romans \ where we mall find one model at leaft of eloquence in its molt fplendid form. The Romans derived their eloquence, poetry, and learning, from the Greeks, and were far inferior to them in genius for all thefe accomplifhments. They had neither their vivacity, nor fenfibility ; their paffions were not fa eafily moved, nor their conceptions (o lively * in com- parifon with them they were a phlegmatick people. Th^ir language refembled their character ; it was reg- ular, firm and {lately ; but wanted that expreffive fim- plicity, that flexibility to fuit every different fpecies of compofition, by which the Greek tongue is peculiarly diftinguifhed. Hence we always find in Greek pro- ductions more native genius ; in Roman, more reg- ularity and art. As the Roman government, during the republick, was of the popular kind, publick fpeaking early became the mean of acquiring power and diftinclion. But in the unpoKfhed times of the ftate, their fpeaking hardly deferved the name of eloquence. It was but a fhort time before the age of Cicero, that the Roman orators rofe into any reputation. CrafTus and Antonius feem to have been the moil eminent •, but, as none of their works are extant, nor any of Hortenfuis's, who was Cicero's rival at the bar, it is not neceffary to trans- cribe what Cicero faid of them and of the charafter of their eloquence. ClCERO. I37 The object moft worthy of our attention is Cicero himfeif ; whofe name alone fuggefts every thing fplen- did in oratory. With his life and character in other refpects we are not at prefent concerned. We mall view him only as an eloquent fpeaker ; and endeavour to mark both his virtues and defeats. His virtues are eminently great. In all his orations art is confpicuous. He begins commonly with a regular exordium, and with much addrefs prepoffeffes the hearers and itudies to gain their affections. His method is clear, and his arguments arranged with great propriety. In clearnefs of method he has advantage over Demofthenes. Every thing is in its proper place : he never attempts to move before he has endeavoured to convince *, and in mov- ing, particularly the fofter paffions, he is very fuccefs- ful. No one ever knew the force of words better than Cicero. He rolls them along with the greateft beauty and pomp 5 and in the ilruclure of his fentences is eminently curious and exact. He is always full and flowing ; never abrupt. He amplifies every thing ; yet, though his manner is on the whole diffufe, it is often happily varied, and fuited to the fubjecL When* a great publick object roufed his mind, and demanded indignation and force, he departs corrfiderably from that loofe and declamatory manner, to which he at other times is addicted, and becomes very forcible and vehement. This great orator, however, is not without defeats* In molt of his orations there is too much art. He feems often defirous of obtaining admiration, rather than of operating conviction. He is fornetimes there- fore (howy, rather than folid ; and diffufe, where he ought to be urgent. His periods are always round M % *3 8 CICERO. and fonorous ; they cannot be accufed of monotony, for they poffefs variety of cadence •, but, from too great fondnefs for magnificence, he is fometimes defi- cient in (trength. Though the fervices which he performed for his country, were very confiderable, yet he is too much his own panegyriil. Ancient manners, which impofed fewer reltraints on the fide of decorum, may in fome degree excufe, but cannot entirely juflify his vanity. "Whether Demofthehes or Cicero were the moft perfeci orator is a queftion, on which criticks are not agreed. Fenelon, the celebrated Archbilhop of Cam- bray, and author of Teiemachus, feems to have dated their merits with great juitice and perfpicuity. His judgment is given in his reflections on rhetorick and poetry. We (hall tranfiate the pafiage, though not, it is feared, without iofing much of the fpirit of the original. " I do not he fit ate to declare," fays he, " that " I think Dtmofthenes fuperior to Cicero. I am per- fuaded, no one can admire Cicero more than I do. He adorns whatever he attempts. He does honour " to language. He difpofes of words in a manner pe- " cuiiar to himfeif. His ftyle has great variety cf €i character. Whenever he pleafes, he is even concife " and vehement ; for inftance, againit Catiline, againil M Vcrres, againit Anthony- But ornament is too vifi- " ble in his writings. His art is wonderful, but it is " perceived. When the orator iing for the " fafety of the republick, he for himfeif, nor " permits others to forge I ies feems " to efcape from himfeif, and to fee nothing but his ftru&ion. ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES, X HE foundation of every fpecies of eloquence is good fenfe and folid thought. It mould be the firft ftudy of him, who means to addrefs a popular aflem* 142 ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. bly,to be previoufly m after of the bufinefs on which he is to fpeak ; to be well provided with matter and argument ; and to reft upon thefe the chief ftrefs. This will give to his difcourfe an air of manlinefs and ftrength, which is a powerful inftrument of per- fuafion. Ornament, if he have genius for it, will fucceed of courfe 5 at any rate, it defer ves only fee- ondary regard. To become a perfuafive fpeaker in a popular affem- bly, it is a capital rule, that a man (hould. always be perfuaded of whatever he recommends to others. Never, if it can be avoided, fhould 'he efpoufe that fide of an argument, which he does r.ot believe to be the right. All high eloquence rnuit. be the offspring of paffion. This makes every man perfuafive, and gives a force to his genius which it cannot otherwife poflefs. Debate in popular affemblies feldom allows a fpeak- er that previous preparation which the pulpit always, and the bar fometimes, admits. A general prejudice prevails, and not an unjuft one, againft fet fpeeches in publick meetings. At the opening of a debate they may fometimes be introduced with propriety ; but, as the debate advances, they become improper ; they lofe the appearance of being fuggefted by the bufinefs that is going on. Study and oftentatidn are apt to be vifible ; and, confequently, though admired as ele- gatit, they are feldom fo perfuafive as more free and unconft rained difcourfes. This, however, does not forbid premeditation, on what we intend to fpeak. With refpe£t to the matter we cannot be too accurate in our preparation ; but with regard to words and expreffions it is very poffibie ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 143 fo far to overdo, as do render our fpeech fliff and pre- eife. Short notes of the fubftance of the difcourfe are not only allowable, but of confiderable fervice, to thofe efpecially, who are beginning to fpeak in publick. They will teach them a degree of accuracy, which, if they fpeak frequently, they are in danger of lofing. They will accuflom them to diftin£l arrangement, without which, eloquence, however great, cannot pro- duce entire conviction. Popular affemblies give fcope for the moil animat- ed manner of publick fpeaking. Pafficn is eafily excit- ed in a great affembly, where the movements are com- municated by mutual fympathy between the orator ana the audience. That ardour of fpeech, that vehe- mence and glow of fentiment, which proceed from a mind animated a,nd infpired by fame great and publick obje&j form the peculiar character of popular elo- quence in its higheft degree of perfection, Th h, however, which we exprefs, mud be always fuited to the fubject ; fiiice it would be ridicu- lous io introduce great vehemence into a fubjecl of fmall importance, or. which by its nature requires to be treated with c hnnefs. We muft ?A{q be careful no! to counterfeit warmth without feeling it The beft rule is, to follow nature , and never to attempt a drain of eloquence which is not prompted by our own genius. A fpeaktr may acquire eputation and influ- ence by a calm, argumentative manner. To reach the pathetiek and fublime of oratory requires thofe ftrong fenfibilities of mind, and that high power of expreffien, which are given to few. Even wli n vehemence is juftified by the fubjecl:, and prompted by genius ; when warmth is felt, not 1 44 ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. feigned ; we mud be cautious, left impetuofity tranf- port us too far. If the fpeaker lofe com m and of him- felf, he will foon lofe command of his audience. He muft begin with moderation, and ft-udy to Wsfcfti his hearers gradually and equally with himfelf. F or $ if their pa (Eons be not in unifon with his, will foon be felt. Refpeft for his audiei ways lay a decent reftraint upon his wan- vent it from carrying him beyond proper li'tr When a fpeaker is fo far mafter of hi 3 preferve clofe attention to argument* and t feme degree of accurate expreffion - 5 this felt c . , this effort of reafon in the rnidit of paffion, contributes in the higheft degree both to pleafe and co perfuade* The advantages of paffion are afforded for t pofes of perfuaficn without that confufion and difor- der which are its ufual attendants, In the molt animated (train of popular fpeaking we muft always regard what the publick ear will receive without difguft. Without attention to (his, imitation of ancient orators might betray a fpeaker into a hoid- nefs of manner, with which the coolnefs of modern tafte would be difpleafed. It is alfo neceflar^ to at- tend with care to the decorums of time, place and character. No ardour of eloquence can atone for neg- lect of thefe. No one fhouid attempt to fpeak in publick without forming to himlelf a juftand flrict idea of what is fuitable to his age and character ; what is fuitable to the fubjecl - ., the hearers, the place, and the occafion. On this idea he mould adjuft the whole train and manner of his fpeaking. What degree of concifenefs or diffufenefs is failed to popular eloquence, it is not eafy to determine with ELOQUENCE .OF THE.- BAR. I 4 J |>recifion. A cliffy fe manner is generally confidered .as mod proper. There is danger, however, of erring in this refpe£l j by too diffufe a ftyle publick fpeakers often lofe more in point of ftrength, than they gain by fulnefs of illustration. Exceffive coneifenefs in- deed mud be avoided. We mull explain and incul- cate ; but confine ourfelves within certain limits. We fhould never forget that, however we may be pleafed with hearing ourfelves fpeak, every audience may be tired •, and the moment they grow weary, our eloquence becomes ufelefs. It is better in general, to fay too little, than too much ; to place our thought in one ftrong point of view, and red it there, than by fliowing it in every light, and pouring forth a profu- fion of words upon it, to exhauft jthe attention of our fearers, and leave them languid and fatigued. Ti ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. HE ends of fpeaking at the bar and in pop* ular affemblies are commonly different. In the latter the orator aims principally to perfuade ; to determine his hearers to fome choice or conduct, as good, fit, or ufeful. He, therefore, applies himfelf to every principle of action in our nature 5 to the paffions and to the heart, as well as to the underftanding. But at the bar conviction is the principal object. There the fpeaker's duty is not to perfuade the judges to what is good or ufeful, but to exhibit what is juft and true 5 and confcquently his eloquence is chiefly addreffed to the underftanding. At the bar fpeakers addrefs themfelves to one, or to a* few judges, who are generally perfons of age, N 1^6 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. gravity, and dignity of character. There thofe ad- vantages which a mixed and numerous aflembly af- fords for employing all the arts of fpeech are not en- joyed. Paffion does not rife fo eafily. The fpeaker is heard with more coolnefs ; he is watched with more fcverity ; and would expofe himfelf to ridicule by at- tempting that high and vehement tone, which is fuit- cd only to a multitude. Befide, at the bar, the field Df fpeaking is confined within law and ftatute. Im- agination is fettered. The advocate has always before Mm the line, the fquare, 2nd the compafs. Thefe it is his chief bufinefs to be conftantly applying to the fubje£ts under debate. Hence the eloquence of the bar is of a much more limited, more fober and chaftifed kind, than that of popular affemblies 5 and confequently the judicial orations of the ancients mud not be confidered as cxa£t models of that kind of fpeaking which is adapt- ed to the prefent ft ate of the bar. With them drift law was much lefs an objedl of attention, that it is ♦with us. In the days of Demofthenes and Cicero the municipal ftatutes were few, fimple and general ; *nd the decifion of caufes was left in a great meafure fcothe equity and common fenfe of the judges. Elo- quence, rather than jurifprudence, was the ftudy of jpleaders. -Cicero fays that three months' ftudy would make a complete civilian ; nay, it was thought that a man might be a good pleader without any previous ftudy. Among the Remans there was a fet of men, called Pragmatici) whofe office it was to fupply the crator with all the law knowledge his caufe. required ; which- he difpofed in that popular form, aiid decorated with thofe colours of eloquence which were moil fit- ted for influencing the judges. ELOQtfSNCE 0£ THE BAR. 147 • It may alfo be obferve-d, that the civil and criminal judges in Greece and Rom 2 were more numerous than with us, and formed a kind of popular aflembly. The celebrated tribunal of the Areopagus at Athens confided of fifty judges at lead. In Rome the Judlee? Setiffi were always numerous, and had the office and power of judge and jury. In the famous caufe o£ Mil a, Cicero fpoke to fifty-one Judices SeleEli^ and thus had the advantage of add re fling his whole plead-* ing, not to one or a few learned judges of the point pf law, as is the cafe with us, but to an aflembly oi Roman citizens. Hence thofe arts of popular elo- quence, which he employed with fuch fuccefs. Hence certain practices, which would be reckoned theatrical by us, were common at the Roman bar ; fuch as introducing not only the accufed perfon dreflf- ed in deep mourning, but prefenting to the judges his family and young children, endeavouring to excite pity by their cries and tears. The foundation of a lawyer's reputation and fuccefs mud be laid in a profound knowledge of his profeffion. If his abilities; as a fpeaker, be ever fo eminent ; yet if his knowledge of the law be fuperficial, few will choofe to engage him in their defence. Befide pre- vious fludy and an ample dock of acquired knowl- edge, another thing inieparable from the fuccefs of every pleader, is a diligent and painful attention to every caufe with which he is entrufted.; to all tha facts and circumdances with which it is connected. Thus he will in a great meafure be prepared for the arguments, of his opponent ; and, being previoufly ac- quainted with the weak- parts of his own caufe, he will be able to fortify them in the bed manner againft'. the attack of his adverfary. 148 euo'qjjence of the bar. Though the ancient popular and vehement manner of pleading is now in a great meafure fuperfeded, we mult not infer that there is no room for eloquence at the bar, and that the ftudy of it is fuperfluous. There is perhaps no fcene of publick fpeaking, where eloquence is more requifite. The drynefs and fub- tility of fubjedts ufually agitated at the bar, require,, more than any other, a certain kind of eloquence, in order to command attention \ to give weight to the arguments employed, and to prevent what the plead- er advances from pafling unregarded. The effedi of good fpeaking is always great. There is as much difference in the impreffion made by a cold, dry and confufed fpeaker, and that made by one who pleads the fame caufe with elegance, order and ftrength, as there is between our conception of an objedt, when prefented in twilight, and when viewed in the efful- gence of noon. Purity and neatnefs of expreffion is in this fpecies of eloquence chiefly to be ftudied ; a flyle perfpicuous and proper, not needlefsly overcharged with the ped- antry of law terms, nor affe&edly avoiding thefe, when fuitable and requifite. Verbofity is a fault of which men of this profeffion are frequently accufed ; into which the habit of fpeaking and writing nattily, and with little preparation, almoft unavoidably ■betrays them. It cannot therefore be too earnefUy recom- mended to thofe, who are beginning to practice at the bar, that they early guard againfl: this, while they have 4 leifure for preparation. Let them form them fe Ives -to the habit of a ftrong and corre£t ftyle ; which wilt become natural to them afterward, when compelled" by multiplicity of bufinefs to compofe with preeipita* ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 149 tton. 'Whereas, if a loofe and negligent ftyle have been fuiTered to become familiar, they will not be able, even upon occafions when they wifh to make an unufual effort, to exprefs themfelves with force and elegance. Diftin£hiefs in fpeaking at the bar is a capital prop*- erty. It fliould be (hown firtl in ftating the queftion^ in exhibiting clearly the point in debate 5 what we ad- mit ; what we deny ; and where the line of divider* begins between us and the adverfe party. Next, it fhould appear in the order and arrangement of all the parts of the pleading, A clear method is of the high- £il confequence in every fpecies of oration *, but in thofe intricate cafes, which belong to the bar, it is infinitely effentiaL Narration of fa£ts fhould always be as concife as- the nature of them- will admit. They are always very neceffiiry to be remembered 1 confequently unneceffary minutenefs in relating them overloads the memory • Whereas, if a pleader omit all fuperfluous circum- fiances in his- recital, he adds ftrength to the material idtis ; gives a clearer view of what he relates, and makes the impreffion of it more lading. In argu* mentation^ however,- a more difFufe manner feems requifite at the bar than on fome other occafions. For in popular aflemblies, where the fubje£fc of debate is often a plain queftion, arguments gain ftrength by concifenefs. But the intricacy of law points frequent- ly requires the arguments to be expanded and: placed in different lights, in order to be fully apprehended. Candour inflating, the arguments of his adverfary cannot be too much recommended to every pleader* If he difguife them, or place them in a falfe light, thi* M 2. 150 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. artifice will foon be difcovered ; and the judge and the hearers will conclude, that he either wants dif- rernment to perceive, orfairnefs to admit the ftrength of his opponent's reafoning. But if he ftate with ac- curacy and candour the arguments ufed againft him, before he endeavour to combat them, a (Iron g preju- dice is created in his favour. He will appear to have entire confidence in his caufe, fince he does not at- tempt to fupport it by artifice or concealment. The judge will therefore be inclined to receive more readi- ly the impreffions made upon him by a fpeaker whq appears both fair and penetrating. Wit may fometimes be ferviceable at the bar, par- ticularly iii a lively reply, by which ridicule is thrown on what an adverfary has advanced. But a young pleader fbould never reft his ftrength on this dazzling talent. His office is not to excite laughter, but ta produce conviction ; nor perhaps did any oiie ever rife to an eminence in his profeffion by being a witty lawyer. Since an advocate perfonates his client, he muf| plead his caufe with a proper degree of warmth. He muft be cautious however of proftituting his earnefi- nefs and fenfibility by an equal degree of ardour orv every fubject. There is a dignity of character, which it is highly important for every one of this profeffion to fupport. An opinion of probity and honour in a pleader is hi$ mod powerful in {transient of perfuafion. He fhould always, therefore, decline embarking in caufes which are odious and manifeitly unjuft; and, when he fupports a doubtful caufe, he mould lay the chief ftrefs upon thofe arguments which appear to him to be moll forcible; referving his Zealand indigna- tion for cafes where isjuftice and iniquity are flagnmt* ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. l$t ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. XjL AVING treated of the eloquence of popu*- lar affemblies, and that of the bar,, we (hall now confider the (train and fpirit of that eloquence which is fuited to the pulpit. This field of publick fpeaking has feveral advantages peculiar to itfelf. The dignity and importance of its fubjects muft. be allowed to be fuperiour to any other. They admit the higheft em- bellifhment in description, and the greatefl warmth and vehemence of expreffion. In treating his fubje£l the preacher has alfo peculiar advantages. He fpeaks not to one or a few judges, but to a large aiTembly. He is not afraid of interruption. He choofes his fub- Je£l at leifure ; and has all the affiftance of the mod accurate premeditation. The difadvantages, however,: which attend the eloquence of the pulpit, are not in- considerable. The preacher, it is true, has no conten- tion with an adverfary ; but debate awakens genius, and excites attention. His fubjects, though noble, are trite and common. They are become fo familiar to the publick ear, that it requires no ordinary genius in the preacher to fix attention. Nothing is more difficult than to bellow on what is common the grace of novelty; Befides, the fubjecl of the preacher ufu- ally confines him to abftradi: qualities, to virtues and vices ; whereas, that of other popular fpeakers leads them to treat of perfons; which is generally more in- teresting to the hearers, and occupies more powerful- ly the imagination. We are taught by the preacher to deteft only the crime •, by the pleader to deteft the criminal. Hence it happens that, though the number l$t ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. of moderately good preachers is great, fo few have arrived at eminence. Perfection is very diftant from modern preaching. The object, however, is truly noble and worthy of being purfued with zeal. To excel in preaching, it is neceffary to have a fix- ed and habitual view of its obje£t. This is to per- fuade men to become good. Every fermon ought therefore to be a perfuafive oration. It is not to dif- cufs fome abftrufe point, that the preacher afcends the pulpit. It is not to teach his hearers fomething new, but to make them better ; to give them at once clear views and perfuaiive impreflions of religious truths* The principal chara£terifiicks of pulpit eloquence r as diftinguifhed from the other kinds of publick fpeak- ing, appear to be thefe two-) gravity and warmth. It is neither eafy nor common to- unite thefe characters ©f eloqwence. The grave, when it is predominant, becomes a dull, uniform folemnity. The warm, when k wants gravity, borders- on the light and theatrical. A proper union of the two, forms that character of preaching, which the French call Oncllon ,• that af~ £e£ting, penetrating, and interesting manner, which flows from a ftrong. fenfe in the preacher of the im- portance of the truths he delivers, and an earneit de- fire that they may make full impreffion on the hearts ef his hearers. A fermon, as a particular fpecies of compofition, requires the fl:ri£left attention to unity. By this we mean that there fhould be fome main point to which the whole tenor of the fermon fhall refer. It mud not be a pile of different fubjedts heaped upon each other > but one objeft mult predominate through th$ ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPlTi I53 whole. Hence*- however, it mud not be under(tood> that there fhould be no divifions or feparate heads in a difcourfe ; nor that one fingle thought only fhould be exhibited in different points of view. Unity is not to be underftood in fo limited a fenfe •, it admits- fome variety ; it requires only that union and con- nexion be fo far preferved, as to make the whole con- cur in fome one imprcflion on the mind. Thus, for in (lance, a preacher may employ feveral different ar- guments to enforce the love of God 5 he may alfo inquire into the caufes of the decay of this virtue * 9 ftill one great obje£l is prefented to the mind. But if becaufe his text fays, " He that loveth God, muft " love his brother alfo/' he fhould therefore mix in the fame difcourfe arguments for the love of God and for the love of our neighbour, he would grofsly offend againfl. unity and leave a very confufed imprefi* fi'on on the minds of his hearers. Sermons are always more finking, and generally more ufefui, the more precife and particular the fubje£k of them is. Unity can never be fo perfect: in a gen- eral, as in a particular fubje£t. General. fubje£is, in- deed, fuch as the exelicency or the pleafures of relig- ion, are often choien by young preachers, as the moffe fhowy? and the eafiefl to be handled ; but thefe fub- je£ts produce not the high effects of preaching. At- tention is much mare commanded by taking fome par- ticular view of a great fubje£l, arid employing on that the whole force of argument and eloquence. To rec- ommend fome one virtue* or inveigh againfl a partic- ular vice, affords a fubje£l not deficient in unity or/ precifion. But if that virtue or vice be considered as* afftuning.- a particular afpe£t in certain chara£ler& 154 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. or certain (ituations in life, the fubjeft becomes dill more interefting. The execution is more difficult, but the merit and the effe£t are higher. A preacher (hould be cautious not to exhauft his fabje£l ; fince nothing is more opposite to perfuafion, than unneceflary and tedious fulnefs There are aU ways fome things which he may fuppofe to be known, and fome which require only brief attention. If he endeavour to omit nothing which his fubjeft fuggeiis, he muft unavoidably encumber it and diminiih its force. To render his inftru£Hons interefting to his hearers fliould be the grand object of every preacher. He fhould bring home to their hearts the truths which he inculcates, and make each fuppofe hi mfelf particular- ly addrefled. He (hould avoid all intricate reafonings \ avoid expreffing himfelf in general, fpeculative propo- rtions ; or-daying down practical truths in an abitra£t, metaphyfical manner. A difcourfe ought to be car- ried on in the ftrain of dire£t addrefs to the audience \ not in the ftrain of one writing an effay, but one fpeaking to a multitude, and ftudymg to conne£l what is called application, or what immediately refers to pra£tice, with the do£lrinal parts of the fermon. It is always highly advantageous to keep in view the different ages, characters, and conditions of men, and to accommodate directions and exhortations to each of thefe different claffes. Whenever you advance what touches a man's character, or is applicable to his circumftances, you are fure of his attention. No fludy is more neceffary for a preacher, than the fludy of human life, and of the human heart. To difeover a ipaau to himfelf in a light, in which he, never faw his ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1 55 character before, produces a wonderful effect. Thofe fermons, though the moft difficult in compofition, are not only the moft beautiful, but alfo the moft ufeful, which are founded on the illuftration of feme peculiar character, or remarkable piece of hiftory in the facred writings •, by purfuing which we may trace, and lay open, fome of the moft fecret windings of the human heart. Other topicks of preaching are become trite ; but this is an extenfive field which hitherto has been little explored, and pofiefles ail the advantages of being curious, new, and highly ufeful. Bifhop Butler's fermons on the chara&er of Balaam is an example of this kind of preaching. Falhion, which operates fo extenfively on human manners has given to preaching at different times a change of character. This however is a torrent which fwells to-day and fubfides to-morrow. Sometimes poetical preaching is fafhionable ; fometimes philo- fophical. At one time it muft be all pathetick j at another all argumentative \ as fome celebrated preach- er has fet the example. Each of thefe modes is very de- fective ; and who conforms himfelf to it, will both confine and corrupt his genius. Truth and good fenfe are the fole bafis, on which he can build with fafety. Mode and humour are feeble and unfteady. No ex- ample (hould be fervilely imitated. From various examples the preacher may collecT materials for im- provement ; but fcrvility of imitation .extinguifhes all genius, or rather proves entire want of it. i$6 COttBUCT OF^A DISCOURSE, CONDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL ITS PARTS. INTRODUCTION, DIVISION, NARRATION, AND EXPLICATION. JLJ.AVING already con ftdered what is pecu- liar to each of the three great fields of publick fpeak- ing, popular affernblies, the bar, and the pulpit, we ihall now treat of what is common to them all, and explain the condudt of a difcourfe or oration in general. The parts which compofe a regular oration are thefe fix ; the exordium or introduction ; the ft ate or the divifion of the fubje£i •, narration or explication ; the reafoning or arguments ; the pathetick part ; and the conclufion. It is not neceiTiiry that each of thefe enter into every publick difcourfe, nor that they al- ways enter in this order. There are many excellent difcourfes in which fome of thefe parts are omitted. But, as they are the conftituent parts of a regular o- ration, and as in every difcourfe fome of them m.uft : occur, it is agreeable to our prefent purpofe to ex- amine each of them diftincily. The defign of the introduction is to conciliate the good will of the hearers ; to excite their attention ; 2nd to render them open to perfuafion. When a fpeaker is previoufly fecure of the good will* atten- tion, and docility of his audience 5 a formal introduc- tion may be omitted. Refpecl for his hearers will in that cafe require only a (hort exordium, to prepare them for the other parts of his difcourfe. The introduction is a part of a difcourfe, which re* quires no fmaii care. It is always important to begin INTRODUCTION. I57 well 5 to make a favourable impreflion at firft fetting out, when the minds of the hearers, as yet vacant and free, are more eafily prejudiced in favour of the fpeak- er. We muft add, alfo, that a good introduction is frequently found to be extremely difficult. Few parts of a difcourfe give more trouble to the compofer, or require more delicacy in the execution. An introduction fhould be eafy and natural. It fhould always be fuggefted by the fubject. The writ- er fhould not plan it before he has meditated in his own mind the fubftance of his difcourfe. By taking the oppofite courfe, and compofing in the firit place an introduction, the writer will often find that he is either led to lay hold of fome common- place topick, or that inftead of the introduction being accomodated to the difcourfe, he is under the neceffity of accom- modating the difcourfe to the introdu&ion. In this part of a difcourfe corre£inefs of expreflion fhould be carefully (tudied. This is peculiarly requi- fite on account of the fituation of the hearers. A t the beginning they are more difpofed to criticife, than at any other period ; they are then occupied by the fub- je£l and the arguments $ their atttention is entirely di- rected to the fpeaker's ftyle and manner. Care there- fore is requifite to prepoffefs them in his favour j though too much art muft be cautioufly avoided, fince it will then be more eafily detected, and will derogate from that perfuafion, which the other parts of the difcourfe are intended to produce. Modefty is alfo an indifpenfable charafleriftick of a good introduction. If the fpeaker begin with an air of arrogance and orientation, the felf-love and pride of his hearers will be prefently awakened, and ioiiow o 358 INTRODUCTION. him with a very fufpicious eye through the reft of his difcourfe. His modefty fhould appear not only in his expreflion, but in his whole manner ; in his looks, in his geftures, and in the tone of his voice. Every au-> dience is pleafed with thofe marks of refpe£t and awe which are paid by the fpeaker. The modefty however of an introduction fhould betray nothing mean or ab- je£t. Together with modefty and deference to his hearers, the orator fhould Ihow a certain fenfe of dig- nity, anting from perfuafion of the juftice or import- ance of his fubje£l. Particular cafes excepted, the orator fhould not put forth all his ftrength at the beginning > but it fhould rife and grow upon his hearers, as his difcourfe ad- vances. The introduction is feldom the place for ve- hemence and paflion. The audience muft be gradual- ly prepared, before the fpeaker venture on ftrong and paffionate fentiments. Yet, when the fubjeet is fuch that the very mention of it naturally awakens fome paffionate emotion; or when the unexpected pvefence of fome perfon orobjefit in a popular afiembly inflames the fpeaker ; either of thefe will juftify an abrupt and vehement exordium. Thus the appearance of Catiline in the fenate renders the violent opening of Cicero's firft oration againft him very natural and proper. €i Quoufque tandem, Catalina, abutere patentia nof- €i tra ?" Biftiop Atterbury preaching fiom this text, u Blefled is he, whofoever (hall not be offended in me," ventures on this bold exordium : a And can any man €f then be offended in thee, blefled Jefus l" Which addrefs to our Saviour he continues, till he enters on the divifion of his fubjedi. But fuch introductions fhould be attempted by very few, fince tbey promife. DIVISION. I£p fo much vehemence and ardour through the reft of the difcourfe, that it is extremely difficult to fatisfy the expe&ation of the hearers. An introdu£lion fhould not anticipate any material part of the fubje£t. When topicks or arguments which are afterward to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, and in part exhibited in the introduction ; they lofe, upon their fecond appearance, the grace of novelty. The impreffion, intended to be made by any capital thought, is always made with greateft advantage, when it is made entire, and in its proper place. An introduction fhould be proportioned in length and kind to the difcourfe which follows it. In length, as nothing can be more abfurd than to ereft a large portico before a fmall building ; and in kind, as it is no lefs abfurd to load with fuperb ornaments the portico of a plain dwelling- houfe ; or to make the ap- proach to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. After the introduction, the propofition or enuncia- tion of the fubje£l, commonly fucceeds ; concerning which we (hall only obferve, that it fhould be clear and diftinct, and exprefied without affectation, in the mod concife and fimple manner. To this generally fucceeds the divifion, or laying down the method of the difcourfe ; in the management of which the foU lowing rules fhould be carefully obferved. Fir it, The parts, into which the fubje£fc is divided, mu ft be really diftinft from each other. It were an abfurd divifion, for example, if a fpeaker mould pro- pofe to explain firft the advantages of virtue, and next thofe of juftice or temperance ; becaufe the firft head plainly comprehends the fecond, as a genus does the fpecies. Such a method of proceeding involves the fubje£t in confufion. ids NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. Secondly, We mud be careful always to follow the ' order of nature ; beginning with the moll fimple points ; with fuch as are molt eafily underflood, and neceflary to be firfl difcufled ; and proceeding to thofe which are built upon the former, and fuppofe them to be known. The fubje£l mull be divided into thofe parts into which it is mod eafily and naturally re- folved. Thirdly, The members of a divifion ought to ex- haufl the fubje£l ; otherwife the divifion is incom- plete ; the fubje£l is exhibited by pieces only, with- out difplaying the whole. Fourthly, Let concifenefs and precifion be peculiarly ftudied. A divifion always appears to moil advan- tage, when the feveral heads are expreffed in the cleareil, mod forcible, and feweft words poffible. This never fails to ftrike the hearers agreeably ; and contributes alfo to make the divifions more eafily re- membered. Fifthly, Unneceflary multiplication of heads Ihould be cautioufly avoided. To divide a fubje£t into many minute parts> by endlefs divifions and fubdivifions, produces a bad efFe£t in fpeaking. In a logical treatife this may be proper ; but it renders an oration hard and dry, and unneceffarily fatigues the memory. A fer- moti may admit from three, to five or fix heads, including fubdivifions ; feldom are more allowable. The next conftituent part of a difcourfe is narra- tion or explication. Thefe two are joined together, becaufe they fall nearly under the fame rules, and be- caufe they generally anfwer the fame purpofe ; ferv- ing to illuftrate the caufe, or the fubjefl, of which one treats, before proceeding to argue on one fide or the NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. l6l other ; or attempting to intereft the paflions of the hearers. To be clear and diflincl:, to be probable, and to be' concife, are the qualities which criticks chiefly require in narration. Diftinctnefs is requifite to the whole of the difcourfe, but belongs efpecially to narration, which ought to throw light on all that follows. At the bar, a fa£t, or a fingle circumftance, left in obfcurity, or mifunderttood by the judge, may deftroy the effect of all the argument and reafoalng. which the pleader em- ploys. If his narration be improbable, it will be dis- regarded ; if it be tedious and diffufe, it will fatigue and be forgotten. To render narration diftin£t, par* ticular attention is requifite in afcertaining clearly the: names, dates, places, and every other important cir- cumftance of the faclrs recounted; In order to be: probable in narration, it is neceflary to exhibit the v characters of the perfons of whom we fpeak, and to< ihow that their actions proceeded from fuch motives as are natural, and likely to gain belief. To be as concife as the fubject will admit, all fuperfluous cir- eumfUnces muft be rejected; by which the narration? will be rendered more forcible and more clean- In fermons, explication of the fubject to be dif- courfed on occupies the place of narration at the bar,, and is to be conducted in a fimilar manner. It mud be concife, clear, and diltinct ; in a ftyle correct and' elegant, rather than highly adorned. To explain the doftrine of the text with propriety ; to give a full and. clear account of the nature of that virtue or duty wdiich forms the fubject of difcourfe, is properly the dida£rick part of preaching ; on the right execution of which much depends- In order to fueceed, the- O 2 1 62 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART preacher muft mediate profoundly on the fubjeft ; fo as to place it in a clear and ftriking point of view. He muft confider what light it may derive from other paffages of fcripture ; whether it be a fub|e£l nearly allied to fome other, from which it ought to be dif- tinguifhed •, whether it can be advantageoufly illuf- trated by comparing or oppofing it to fome other thing ; by fearching into caufes, or tracing effects j by pointing out examples, or appealing to the hearts of the hearers ; that thus a precife and circumftantial view may be afforded of the dofirine inculcated. By dif- tintt and apt illuftrations of the known truths of re- ligion, a preacher may both difplay great merit, as a compofer, and, what is infinitely more valuable, ren- #.r his difcourfes weighty, inftrudlive, and ufeful. THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DIS- COURSE, THE PATHETICK PART, AND THE PERORATION. J\.S the great end for which men fpeak on any ferious occafion, is to convince their hearers that fomething is true, or right, or good, and thus to in- fluence their pra£tice ; reafon and argument muft conftitute the foundation of all manly and perfuafive eloquence. With regard to arguments, three things are requifite, Firft, invention of them ; fecondly, proper difpofition and arrangement of them ; and thirdly, expreffing them in the mod forcible manner. Invention is un- doubtedly the moil material, and the bafis of the reft. But in this, art can afford only fmall affiftance. It OF A DISCOURSE. l6j can aid a fpeaker however in arranging and expreffing thofe arguments which his knowledge of the fubject has discovered. Suppofing the arguments properly chofen, wemufh avoid blending thofe together that are of a feparate nature. All arguments whatever are intended to prove one of thefe three things ; that fomethrng is true \ that it i$ right or fit ; or that it is profitable and good. Truth, duty, and intereft are the three great fubje£ts of difcuflion among men. But the ar- guments employed upon either of them are generally diftin£t ; and he who blends them all under one top- ick which he calls his argument, as in fermons is too frequently done, will render his reafoning indiftindi and inelegant. With refpe£l to the different degrees of ftrength in arguments, the common rule is, to advance in the way of climax from the weakeft to the moil forcible* This method is recommended when the fpeaker is convinced that his caufe is clear, and eafy to be prov- ed. But this rule rauft not be univerfally obferved. If he difrruft his caufe and have but one material ar- gument, it is often proper to place this argument in the front : to prejudice his hearers early in his favour, and thus difpofe them to pay attention to the weaker reafons which he may afterward introduce. When amid a variety of arguments there is one or two more feeble than the reft, though proper to be ufed, Cicero advifes to place them in the middle, as a fituation lefs confpicuous, than either the beginning or end of the train of reafoning. When arguments are ftrong and fatisfacrory, the more they .are feparated the better. Each can 1^4 TH£ PATHETICS PART. then bear to be introduced alone, placed in its full light, amplified and contemplated. But, when they are of a doubtful or prefumptive nature, it is fafer to crowd them together, to form them into a phalanx, that, though individually weak, they may mutually fupport each other. Arguments mould, never be extended too far, nor multiplied two much. This ferves rather to render a caufe fufpicious, than to increafe its ftrength. A need- lefs multiplicity of arguments burdens the memory, and diminifhes the weight of that convidHon which a few well ehofen arguments produce. To expand them alfo beyond the bounds of reasonable illuftration is al- ways enfeebling. When a fpeaker endeavours toex- pofe a favourable argument in every light poflible, fa- tigued by the effort, he lofes the fpirit, with which he fet out ; and ends with feeblenefs,, what he began with force. Having attended thus far to the proper arrangement ef arguments, we proceed to another eflential part of a difcourfe, the pathetick \ in which if any where, elo- quence reigns and exerts its power. On this head the following directions appear ufeful. * Confider carefully whether the fubjecl admit the pathetick, and render itproper J and, if it do, what part of the difcourfe is mod fit for it. To determine thefe points belongs to good fenfe. Many fubje&s admit not the pathetick ; and even in thofe that are fufcep- tible of it, an attempt to excite the paflions in a wrong place may expofe an orator to ridicule. It may ia general be obferved, that, if we expert any emotion which we raife, to have a lafting effect we mud fe~ sure in our favour the understanding and judgments the pathetics: part. l<5$ The hearers mud be fatisfied that there are fufficient grounds for their engaging in the caufe with zeal and ardour. When argument and reafoning have produc- ed their full effe&, the pathetick is admitted with the greateft force and propriety. A fpeaker fhould cautioufly avoid giving his hearers warning that he intends to excite their paffions. Every thing of this kind chills their fenfibility. There is alfo a great difference between telling the hearers that they ought to be moved, and actually moving them. To every emotion or paffion nature has adapt- ed certain correfponding objects; and without fetting thefe before the mind, it is impoffible for an orator to excite that emotion. We are warmed with gratitude, we are touched with companion, not when a fpeaker fhows us that thefe are noble difpofitions, and that it is our duty to feel them 5 nor when he exclaims againfl us for our indifference and coldnefs. Hitherto he ha£ addreffed only our reafon or confcience. He muft defcribe the kindnefs and tendernefs of our fr>nd ^ he muft exhibit the diftrefs fuffered by the perlbn for whom he would intereft us. Then, and notbefore, our hearts begin to be touched, our gratitude or com- panion begins to flow. The bafis, therefore, of all fuc- cefsfuf execution in pathetick oratory, is to paint the object of that paffion which we defire toraife, in the moll natural and (Inking manner ; to defcribe it with fuch circumftances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of others. To fucceed in the pathetick, it is neceflary to attend to the proper language of the paffions. This, if we confult nature, we (hall ever find is unaffected and fimple. It may be animated by bold and ftrong fig~ 166 THE PER0RATI9N. ures, but it will have no ornament, nor finery. There is a great difference between painting to the imagina- tion and to the heart. The one may be done with de- liberation and coolnefs ; the other muft always be rapid and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be fuf- fered to appear •, in the latter no proper effecT: can be produced, unlefs it be the work of nature only. Hence all digrefiions Ihould be avoided which may interrupt or turn a fide the fwell of paffion. Hence comparifons are always dangerous, "and commonly quite improper in the midil of the pathetick. It is alfo to be obferved, that violent emotions cannot be lading. The pathetick therefore (houldnot be prolonged too much. Due re- gard fhould always be preferved to what the hearers will bear ; for he who attempts to carry them farther in paflion than they will follow him, fruflrates his purpofe. By endeavouring to warm them too much, he takes the fureft method of freezing them com- pletely. Concerning the peroration or conclufion of a dif- courfe, a few words will be fufhcient. Sometimes the whole pathetick part comes in mod properly at the con- conclufion. Sometimes when the difcourfe has been al- together argumentative, it is proper to conclude with fumming up the arguments, placing them in one view, and leaving the impreffion of them full and ftrong on the minds of the hearers. For the great rule of a conclufion^and what nature obviouily fuggefts,is, place that laft on which you choofe to reft the ftrength of your caufe In every kind of publick fpeaking it is important to hit the precife time of concluding ; to bring the dif- courfe juft to a point * neither ending abruptly and PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY I $7 unexpectedly, nor difappointing the expe&ation of the hearers, when they look for the end of thedifcourfe. The fpeaker fliould always clofe with dignity and fpirit, that the minds of the hearers may be left warm, and that they may depart with a favourable impreflion of the fubjed and of himfelf. PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. X HE great obje&s to which every publick fpeaker {hould direct his attention in forming his deliv- ery, are, firft, to fpeak fo as to be fully and eafily under- ftood by his hearers ; and next, to exprefs himfelf with fuch grace and energy as to pleafe and to move them. To be fully and eafily underftood, the chief requisites are, a due degree of loudnefs of voice, diftin&nefs, flownefs, and propriety of pronunciation. To be heard is undoubtedly the firft requifite. The fpeaker rruft endeavour to fill with his voiee the fpace occupied by the aflembly. Though this power ofvoice is in a great meafure a natural talent, it may receive confiderable aflS fiance from art Much depends on the proper pitch and management of the voice. Every man has three pitches in his voice ; the high, the mid- dle, and the low. The high is ufed in calling aloud to iome one at a diiiance ; the low approaches to a whif- per ; the middle is that which is employed in common converfation, and which fliould generally be ufed in publick ipeakirg. For it is a great error to fuppofe that the higheft pit< h of the voice is requifite to be well heard by a great "aflembly. This is confounding tw r o 1 68 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. things materially different, loudnefs or ftrength of found with the key or note on which we fpeak. The voice may be rendered louder without altering the key ; and the fpeaker will always be able to give moft body, moil perfevering force of found, to that pitch of voice to which inconverfation he is accuftomed. Whereas, if he begin on the higheft key he will fatigue himfelf and fpeak with pain ; and, wherever a man fpeaks with pain to himfelf, he is always heard with pain by his audience. Give the voice therefore full ftrength and fwell of found but always pitch it on your ordinary fpeaking key ; a greater quantity of voice (hould never be uttered than can be afforded without pain, and without any extraor- dinary effort. To be well heard, it is ufeful for a fpeaker to fix his eye on fome of the moft diilant per- fons in the affembly, and to confider himfelf as fpeak- ing to them. We naturally and mechanically utter our words with fuch ftrength, as to be heard by one to whom we addrefs ourfelves, provided he be within the reach of our voice. This is the cafe inpublick fpeak- ing, as well as in common converfation. But it muft be remembered, that fpeaking too loudly is peculiarly offenfive. The ear is wounded when the voice comes upon it in rumbling, indiftindl maffes ; befide, it ap- pears as if affent were demanded by mere vehemence and force of found. To being well heard and clearly underftood, diftinifi- nefs of articulation is more conducive, perhaps, than mere loudnefs of found. The quantity of found requi- fite to fill even a large fpace, is iefs than is commonly fuppofed ; with difti articulation a man of a weak voice will m; ;c! further than the itrong- eft voice canrea.: ut it. This therefore demands PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. \6(f peculiar attention. The fpeaker muft give every found its due proportion, and make every fyllable, and even every letter, be heard diftin&ly. To fucceed in this, rapidity of pronunciation muft be avoided. A lifelefs drawling method, however, is not to be indulged. To pronounce with a proper degree of flownefs and with full and clear articulation cannot be too induftrioufly ftudied, nor too earneftly recommended. Such pronun- ciation gives weight and dignity to a difcourfe. It affifts the voice by the paufes and refts which it allows it more eafily to make; and it enables the fpeaker to fwell all his founds with more energy and more mufick. It affifts him alfo in preferving a due command of himfelf ; whereas a rapid and hurried manner excites that flutter Gf fpirits which is the greateft enemy to all right execution in oratory. To propriety of pronunciation nothing is more con- ducive than giving to every word which we utter, that found which the mod polite ufage appropriates to it, in oppofition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronun- ciation. On this fubje£t, however, written inftru&ions avail nothing. But there is one obfervation which it may be ufeful to make. In our language every word of more fyllables than one, has one accented fyllable* The genius of the language requires the voice to mark that fyllable by a ftronger percuffion, and to pafs more {lightly over the reft. The fame accent mould be given to every word in publick fpeaking and in common dif- courfe. Many perfons err in this refpedt. When they fpeak in publick and with folemnity, they pronounce dif- ferently from what they do at other times. They dwell upon fyllables, and protraft them ; they multiply ac- cents on the fame word, from a falfe idea that it gives p 1 7© PRONUNCIATION OPw DELITERY. gravity and force to their difcourfe, and increafes thf pomp of publick declamation. But this is one of the greateft faults which can be committed in pronuncia- tion ; it conftitutes what is termed a theatrical or mouthing manner, and gives an artificial, affected air to fpeech, which detracts greatly from its agreeable yefs and its impreffion. We (hall now treat of thofe higher parts of delivery, by Undying which a fpeaker endeavours not merely to render hirnfelf intelligible, but to give grace and force to what he utters. Thefe may be comprehended under four heads, emphafis, paufes, tones, and geftures. By emphafis is meant a fuller and ftronger found of voice, by which we diftinguifh the accented fyllable of fome word, on which we intend to lay particular ftrefs, and to (how how it affects the reft of the fen- tence. To acquire the proper management of empha- fis, the only rule is, fludyto acquire ajuft conception of the force and fpirit of thofe fentiments which you lire to deliver. In all prepared difcourfes it would be extremely ufeful if they were read over or re- hearfed in private, with a view of ascertaining the proper emphafis, before they were pronouncedin pub- lick •, marking at the fame time the emphatical word* In every fentence, or at lead in the moil important parts of the difcourfe, and fixing them well in memory. A caution, however, muft be given againft multiplying emphatical words too much. They become {inking, only when ufed with prudent xeferve. If they recur too frequently •, if a fpeaker attempt to render every thing which he fays of high importance, by a multi- tude of ftrong emphafes, they will foon fail to excit* the attention of his hearers. PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 1/1 Next to emphafis, paufes demand attention. They are of two kinds ; fir ft, emphatical paufes ; and fee- ondiy, fuch as mark the diftin£iions of fenfe. An emphatical paufe is made after fomething has been faid of peculiar moment, on which we with to fix the hearer's attention. Sometimes a matter of im- portance is preceded by a paufe of this nature. Such paufes have the fame effect with ftrong emphafes, and are fubject to the fame rules ; efpecially to the caution juft now given, of not repeating them too frequently. For, as they excite uncommon attention and confequently raife expectation, if this be not fully anfwered, they occafion difappointment and difguft. But the moil frequent and the principal ufe of paufes is, to mark the divifions of the fenfe, and at the fame! time to permit the fpeaker to draw his bre^tli $ and the proper management of fuch paufes is one of the moft nice and difficult articles in delivery. A proper command of the breath is peculiarly requifite. To obtain this, every fpeaker fhould be very careful to provide a full fupply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great miftake to fuppofe that the breath muft be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may eafily be gathered at the intervals of a period ; when the voice fuffers only a momentary fufpenfion. By this management a fuffi- cient fupply may be obtained for carrying on the iongeit period without improper interruptions. Paufes in publick difcourfe muft be formed upon the manner in which we exprefs ourfelves in fenfible con- verfation, and not upon the ftiff, artificial manner, which we acquire from perufing books according to common punctuation. Punctuation in general is very 172 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. arbitrary ; often capricious and falfe ; diclafing a uni=» formity of tone in the paufes, which is extremely un- pieafmg. For it muft be obferved, that, to render paufes graceful and expreffive they muft not only be made in the right places, but alfo be accompanied by proper tones of voice •, by which the nature of thefe paufes is intimated much, more than by their length, which can never be exaclly meafured. Sometimes on- ly a flight and fimple fufpenfion of the voice is proper j fometimes a degree of cadence is requifite ; and fome- times that peculiar tone and cadence which mark the conclufion of a period. In all thefe cafes, a fpeaker is to regulate himfelf by the manner in which he fpeaks, when engaged in earned difcourfe with others. In reading or reciting verfe, there is a peculiar diffi- culty in making the paufes with propriety. There are two kinds of paufes, which belong to the mufickof verfe \ one at the end of a line, and the other in the middle of it. Rhyme always renders the former fend- ble, and compels obfervance of it in pronunciation. in blank verfe it is lefs perceivable ; and when there is no fufpenfion of the fenfe, it has been doubted, whether in reading fuch verfe any regard fhould be paid to the clofe of a line. On the ftage, indeed, where the appearance of fpeaking in verfe fhould be avoided^ the clofe of fuch lines as make no paufe in tie fenfe fhould not be rendered perceptible to the ear. On other occasions we ought, for the fake of melody, ro read blank verfe in fuch manner as to make each line fenfible to the ear. In attempting this, however, every appearance of fing-fong and tone muft be cau- ucufiy avoided. The clofe of a line, where there is no paufe in the meaning, fhould be marked only by PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 1 73 to flight a fufpenfion of found, as may diftinguifh the paflage from one line to another, without injuring the fenfe. The paufe in the middle of the line falls after the 4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th fyllable, and no other. When this paufe coincides with the flighted divifion in the fenfe, the line may be read with eafe \ as in the two firlt verfes of Pope's Meffiah : Ye nymphs of Solyma, begin the fong, To heavenly themes fublimer ftrains belong. But if words, that have fo intimate a connexion, as not to admit even a momentary feparation, be divid- ed from each other by this csefural paufe ; we then perceive a conflict between the fenfe and found, which renders it difficult to readfuch lines gracefully. In fuch cafes it is beft to facrifice found to fenfe. For infiance, in the following lines ef Milton: ., - — What in me is dark, Illumine; what is low, raife and fupport. The fenfe clearly dictates the paufe after " illumine," which ought to be obferved \ though, if melody only were to be, regarded, " illumine'* fhould be connected with what follows, and no paufe made before the 4th or 6th fyllable. So alfo in the following line of Pope's Epiftle to Arbuthnot : I iii; with- fad civility I read. The ear points out the paufe as falling after W fad," the fourth fyllable. But to feparate " fad" and " civility" would be very bad reading. The fenfe al- lows no other paufe than after the fecond fyllable, if fit j" which therefore is the only otie to b»: obfezved. 174 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. jWe proceed to treat of tones in pronunciation >%TOnch are different both from emphafes and paufes 5 confiding in the modulation of the voice, the notes or variations of found which are employed in publick fpeaking. The mod material inftrutStion which can be given on this fubje£t r is to form the tones of pub- lick fpeaking upon the tones of animated converfation. Every one who is engaged in fpeaking on a fubjecV which interefts- him- nearly, has an eloquent or per- fuafive tone and manner. But, when a fpeaker de- parts from his natural tone of ex predion, he becomes » frigid and unperfuafive. Nothing is more abfurd than to fuppofe that as foon as a fpeaker afc^nds a pulpit, or rifes in a publick affembly, he is inftantly to lay afide the voice with which he expreffes himfelf in private, and to affume a new, ft u died tone, and a cadence altogether different from his natural manner. This has vitiated all delivery, and has given rife to cant and tedious monotony. Let every publick fpeaker guard againft this error. Whether he fpeak in private, or in a great affembly, let him remember that he ftilL i'peaks. Let him take nature for his guide, and {he will teach him to exprefs his fentiments and feelings in fuch manner, as to make the mod forcible and: pleafing impreffion upon the minds of his hearers.. It now remains to treat of gefture, or what is call- ed act ion in publick. difcourfe. The beft rule is, at- tend to the looks and gefture in which earnednefs, indignation, compaffion, or any other emotion, difcov— ers itfelf to moil advantage in the common intercourfe ©f men \ and let thefe be your model. A publick fpeaker mud, however, adopt that manner which is mod natural to himfelf. tlis motions and geduros PRONUNCIATION OR BELTVEltY. fjfi; •ught all to exhibit that kind of expreffion which na- ture has di&ated to him ; and, unlefs this be the cafe, no ftudy can prevent their appearing, ftiffi and forced. But, though nature is the bafis on whiclr every grace of gefture mufl be founded^yet there is room for fome improvements of art. The ftudy of action confifts chiefly in guarding againft awkward and difagreeable motions, and in learning to perform fiich as are natural to the fpeaker, in the mod grace- ful manner. Numerous are the rules which writers have laid down for the attainment of a proper geiiicu- lation. But written inftrutlions on this fubjecT: can be of little fervice. To become ufeful, they mud be ex- emplified. A few of the fimpleft precepts,. however,, may be obferved with advantage,- Every fpeaker fhould ftudy to prefer ve as much dignity as poffibfe in the attitude of his body. He fhould generally pre- fer an erect pofture; his pofition fhould be firm, that he may have the fulleft and freeft command of all his motions* If any inclination be ufed, it fhould be toward the hearers, which is a natural expreffion- of earneftnefs. The countenance fhould correfpond; with the nature of the difcourfe ; and, when no par- ticular emotion is exprefled, a ferious and manly look: is always to be preferred. The eyes fhould never be fix- ed entirely on any one object, but move eafily round the- audience. In motion, made with the hands, confifts the principal part of gefture in fpeaking. It. is natur- al for the right hand- to be employed more frequently than the left. Warm emotions require the exercife of them both together. But, whether a fpeaker gefticu* late with one, or with both his hands, it is important: that all his motions be eafy and unred rained, N33* l*]6 MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. row and confined movements are ufually ungraceful ; and confequently motions made with the hands, ftiould proceed from the flioulder, rather than from the elbow. Perpendicular movements are to be avoid- ed. Oblique motions are mod pleafing and grace- ful. Sudden and rapid motions are feldom good. Earnednefs can be fully exprefled without their af- fiftance. We cannot conclude this fubjeft without earneftly admonifhing every fpeaker to guard againft affecta- tion, which is the dedru£Uon of good delivery. Let his manner, whatever it be, be his own ; neither imi- tated from another, nor taken from fome imaginary model, which is unnatural to him. Whatever is na- tive, though attended by feveral defeats, is likely to pleafe, becaufe it {hows us the man ; and bocaufe it lias the appearance of proceeding from the heart. To attain a delivery extremely correct and graceful, is what few can expedt ; fince fo many natural talents muft concur in its formation. But to acquire a forcible and perfuafive manner, is within the power of moft perfons. They need only to difmifs bad habits, follow nature, and fpeak in publick as they do in private, when they fpeak in earned ari3 from the heart- MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE X O thofe who are anxious to excel in any of the higher kinds of oratory, nothing is more necelTary than to cultivate habits of the feveral virtues, and to refine and improve their moral feelings. A true ora- tor mud poffefs generous fentimeius, warm feel- 6eans of improving in eloquence. I7f ings, and a mind turned toward admiration of thofe great and high objects which men are by nature formed to venerate. Connected with the manly vir- tues, he fhould poffefs ftrong and tender fenPibility to all the injuries, diftreffes, and fbrrows of his fellow- creatures. Next to moral qualifications, "what is mod requifite for an orator, is a fund of knowledge. There is no art by which eloquence can be taught in any fphere, without a fufficient acquaintance with what belongs to that fphere. Attention to the ornaments of ftyle can only affiil an orator in fetting off to advantage the ftock of materials which he pofleffes ; but the mate- rials themfeives rnuft be derived from other fources than from rhetorick. A pleader mud make himfelf completely acquainted with the law ; he muft poffefs all that learning and experience which can be ufeful for fupporting a caufe, or convincing a judge. A preacher muft apply himfelf clofely to the ftudy of divinity, of practical religion, of morals and of hu- man nature , that he may be rich in all tcpicks of in- ftruflion and perfuafion. He who v/ifhes to excel in the fupreme council of the nation, or in any publick af- fembly, {hould be thoroughly acquainted with the bufmefs that belongs to fuch affembly ; and fnould at- tend with accuracy to all the fadls which may be the fubjedt of queftion or deliberation. Befide the knowledge peculiar to his profeffion, a publick fpeaker (hould be acquainted with the general circle of polite literature: Poetry he will find ufeful for embellifhing his ftyle, for fuggefting lively images, or pleafing illuficns Iiiory may be (till more ad- vantageous j as the knowledge of fa£ts, of eminent TJ*. M&ANS OF IMPROVING Itf ELOQUENCE.' characters, and of the courfe of human affairs, finds' place on' many occafions. Deficiency of knowledge even in fubje£ts not immediately connected with his profeflion, will expofe a puhlick fpeaker to many di fad- vantages, and give his rivals, who ate better qualified, a decided fuperiority. To every one who wifhes to excel in eloquence, application and indultry cannot be too much recom- mended. Without this it is impofiible to excel in any thing. No one ever became a diitinguifned plead- er, or preacher, or fpeaker in any aflembly, without previous labour and application. Induflry indeed is not only neceffary to every valuable acq-uifition, but it is defigned by Providence as the feafoning of every pleafure, without which life is doomed to languifh. No enemy is fo deitrudive both to honourable attain- ments, an I to the real and fpirited enjoyments of life, as that relaxed ftate of mind, which proceeds from indolence and diflipation. He who is deftined to excel in any art will be diftinguifhed by enthufiafm for that art j which, firing his mind with the obje&fc in view, will difpofe him to reliih every neceffary la- bour. This was the characreriilick of the great men of antiquity ; and this mud diftinguifh moderns who wiQi to imitate them. This honourable enthufiafm fhould be cultivated by ftudents in oratory. If it be wanting to youth, manhood will (lag exceedingly. Attention to the beft models contributes greatly tb improvement in the arts 5 of fpeaking and writing. Every one indeed fliould endeavour to have fomething that is his own, that is peculiar to himfelf, and will diftinguifh his ftyle. Genius is certainly depreffed, or Wajit of it betrayed, by flavifh imitation. Yet nm ,MMNS OF IMPROVIKG IN ELOQUENCE. 1^ genius is fo original, as not to receive improvement •from proper examples in ftyle, compofition, and de- livery. They always afford fome new ideas, and fervc to enlarge and correft our own. They quicken the current of thought 2nd excite emulation. In imitating the ftyle of a favourite author, a mate- rial diftin£tion fhould be obferved between written and fpoken language. Thefe are in reality two different modes of communicating ideas. In books we expect corre£inefs, precifion, all redundancies pruned, all repetitions avoided, language completely polifhed. Speaking allows a more eafy, copious ftyle, and lefs confined by rule ; repetitions may often be requifite ; parenthefes may fometimes be ornamental •, the fame thought mud often be placed in different points of view; fmce the hearers can catch it only from the mouth of the fpeaker, and have not the opportunity, as in reading, of turning back again, and of contemplating what they clq not entirely comprehend. Hence the ftyle of many good authors would appear ftiff, affect- ed, and even obfeure, if transferred into a popular o- ration. How unnatural, for inftarice, would Lord Shaftefbury's fentences found in the mouth of a pub- lick fpeaker ? Some kinds of publick difcourfe indeed, fuch as that of the pulpit, where more accurate prep- aration and more ftudied ftyle are allowable, would admit fuch a manner better than others, which are expecled to approach nearer to extemporaneous /peak- ing. But fiiil there is generally fuch a difference be- tween a compofition, intended only to be read, and one proper to be fpoken, as fhould caution us againft a clpfe and improper imitation. The compofition of fome authors approaches near- er to the ftyle of fpeaking than that of others, ani ,lSo MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. they may therefore be imitated with more fafety. In our own language, Swift and Bolingbroke are of this defcription. The former, though correal, preserves the eafy and natural manner of an unaffected fpeaker. The ftyle of the latter is more fplendid /, but ftill it is r the ftyle of fpeaking, or rather of declamation. Frequent exercife both in compofing and fpeaking is a neceffary mean of improvement. That kind of com* pofition is moil: ufeful which is connected with the profefiion, or fort of publick fpeaking, to which per* fons devote themfelves. This they (hould ever keep in view, and gradually inure themfelves to it. At the fame time they (hould be cautious not to allow them- felves to compofe negligently on any pccafion. He who w T ifhes to write or fpeak correctly, {hould in the moll trivial kind of compofition, in writing a letter, or even in common converfation, ftudy to exprefs himfelf with propriety. By this we do not mean that he is never to write or fpeak, but in elaborate and ar- tificial language. This would introduce ftiffnefs ?md affectation, infinitely worfe j^an the greatefl: negli- gence. But we muft obferye, that there is in every thing a proper and becoming manner ; and on the contrary, there is alio an awkward performance of the fame thing. The becoming manner is often the mod light, and feemingly moil carelefs ; but tafle and at- tention are requiate to feise the juft idea of it. That idea, when acquired, (hould be kept in view, and up- on it (hould be formed, whatever we write or fpeak. Exercifes in fpeaking have always been recommend- ed to (Indents ; and, when undejr proper regulation, muft be of great ufe. Thofe publick and promifcuou$ fociedes in which numbers are brought together who MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQJCJENCE. l8l are frequently of low ftations and occupations \ who are connected by no common bond of union, except a ridiculous rage for pubiick fpeaking, and have no other obje£l in view than to exhibit their fuppofed talents ; are inftitutions not only ufelefs, but injuri- ous. They are calculated to become feminaries of -licentioufnefs, petulance, and faction. Even the al- lowable meetings into which ftudents of oratory may form themfelves, need direction in order to render them ufeful. If their fuhjedls of diicourie be improp- erly chofen; if theyfupport extravagant or indecent icks ; if they indulge themfelves inloofe and fiimfy dec- lamation ; or accuftom themfelves without preparation to fpeak pertly on all fubje£ts, they will unavoidably acquire a very faulty and vicious tafte in fpeak It (hould therefore be recommended to all thofe who are members of fuch focieties,to attend to the choice of their fubje£ts ; to take care that they be ufeful and manly, either connected with the courfe of their (Ind- ies, or related to morals and tafte, to aflion and life. They (hould alfo be temperate in the pra£Uce of ■fpeaking ; not to fpeak too often* nor on fubjefts of" which they are ignorant, but only when they have proper materials for a difcourfe, and have previoufly confidered and digefted the fubjech In fpeaking they fhould be cautious always to keep good fenfe and perfuafion in view, rather than a (how of eloquence. By thefe means they will gradually form themfelvas to a manly, correct, and perfuaiive manner of fpeaking. It may now be aiked of what ufe will the ft.udy of critical and rhetorical writers be to thofe who wifh to excel in eloquence ? They certainly ought not to be neglected > and yet perhaps very much cannot be e$- i$2 MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE. peeled from them. It is, however, from the original ancient writers that the greateft advantage may be derived ; and it is a difgrace to any one, whofe pro- feflion calls him to fpeak in publick, to be unacquaint- ed with them. In all the ancient rhetorical writers there is indeed one defect ; they are too fyftematic- al. They aim at doing too much ; at reducing rhetorick to a perfedi art, which may even fupply in- vention with materials on every fubje£t ; fo that one would fuppofe they expe&ed to form an orator by rule, as they would form a carpenter. But in reality all that can be done is to affift and enlighten tafte, and to point out to genius the courfe it ought to hold. Ariftotle was the firft who took rhetorick out of the hands of the fophifts, and founded it on reafon and folid fenfe. Some of the profoundeft obfervations, which have been made on the paffions and manners of men, are to be found in his Treatife on Rhetorick ; though in this, as in all his writings, his great concifenefs often renders him obfeure. The Greek rhetoricians who fucceeded him, moft of whom are now loft, im- proved on his foundation. Two of them ftill remain, Demetrius Phalerius, and Dionyfms of Halicarnaffus. Both wrote on the conftruftion of fentences, and de- ferve to be confulted \ particularly Dionyfius, who is a very accurate and judicious critick. To recommend the rhetorical writings of Cicero is fuperfluous. Whatever on the fubjed of eloquence is fuggelted by fo great an orator, muft be worthy of attention. His moft extenfive work on this fubje£l is that De Oratore. None of his writings are more highly Enifhed than this treatife* The dialogue is polite \ the characters are well fupported, and the eoMPARISONOF THE ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 183 management of the whole is beautiful and pieafing. The Orator ad M. Brutum is alfo a valuable treatife ; and indeed through all Cicero's rhetorical works are difplayed thofe fublime ideas of eloquence, which are calculated to form a j.uft taile, and to infpire that en* thufiafm for the art, which is highly conducive to ex- cellence. But of all ancient writers on the fubje£l of oratory the moft inilruclive and molt ufefui is Quintilian.. His inftitutions abound with good fenfe, and difcover a tafte in the higheft degree juft and. accurate. AU moft all the principles of good ctiticifm are found in them. He has well digefted the ancient ideas concern- ing rhetorick, and has delivered his inPcruftions in ele* gant and poliihed language. COMPARATIVE' MERIT OF THE ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. J\. VERY curious queftion has been agitated with regard to the comparative merit of the ancients and moderns. In France, this difpute was carried on with great heat between Boileau and Madame Dacier for the ancients, and Perrault and La Motte for the moderns. Even at this day, men of letters are divided on the fubject. A few reflections upon it may be ufeful. To decry the ancient clafficks is a vain attempt* Their reputation is eftablifhed upon too folid a found- dation to be fhaken-. Imperfections may be traced in> their writings ; but to difcredit their works in general ean belong only to peeviftmefs or prejudice. The ^$4 COMPARISON OF THE approbation of the puhlick through fo many centuries eftablifhes a verdi£i in their favour, from which there is no appeal. In matters of mere reafoning, the world may be long in errors and fyftems of philofophy often have a currency for a time, and then die. But in obje&s of tafle there Is no fuch fallibility ; as they depend not on knowledge and fcience, but upon fentiment and feeling. Now the univerfal feeling of mankind mud be right ; Homer and Virgil therefore muft continue to ftand upon the fame ground which they have fo long occupied. Let us guard however aggtuft blind veneration for the ancients, -\n6 inftitttie n fair m urn .between them and the moderns, If the v had the pre* eminence in genius, yet the moderns muft have Tome advar all arts which are improved by the mU feral progrefs of knowledge, Hence in natural philofophy, afironomy, chymiftry^.. and other fciences, which reft upon obfervation of fads the moderns have a decided fuperiority over the an- cients. Perhaps too in preqife reafoning, .philofopherS- of modern ages are fuperiour to thofe of ancient times % as a more extenfive literary intercourfe has contributed to fharpen the faculties of men. The moderns have alfo the fuperiority in hiftory and in political knowU edge 5 owing to the extenfion of commerce, the dif- covery of different countries, the fuperiour facility of intercourfe, and the multiplicity of events and revolu- tions which have taken place in the world. In po* etry likewife fome advantages have been gained in point of regularity and accuracy. In dramatick per- formances, improvements have certainly been mads ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 1 85 upon the ancient models. The variety of chara&ers is greater ; greater (kill has been diiplayed in the con- duct of the plot ; and a happier attention to probabil- ity and decorum. Among the ancients we find high- er conceptions, greater fimplicity, and more original fancy. Among the moderns there is more of art and corre£tnefs, butlefs genius. But though this remark may in general be juft, there are fome exceptions from it \ Milton and Shakefpeare are inferiour to no poets in any age. Among the ancients were many circumftances fa- vourable to the exertions of genius. They travelled much in fearch of learning, and converfed with priefts, poets, and phiiofophers. They returned home full of difcoveries, and fired by uncommon objects. Their enthufiafm was greater ; and few being ftimulated to excel as authors, their fame was more intenfe and flattering. In modern times good writing is lefs priz- ed. We write with lefs effort. Printing has fo mul- tiplied books, that affiftance is eafily procured. Hence mediocrity of genius prevails. To rife beyond this, and to foar above the crowd, is given to few. In epick poetry, Homer and Virgil are (till unrivalled; and orators, equal to Demofthenes and Cicero, we have none. In hifiory, we have no modern narration fo elegant, fo picturefque, fo animated, and intereftirig, as thofe of Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, Tacitus and Salluft. Our dramas, with all their im- provements, are inferiour in poetry and fent intent to thofe of Sophocles and Euripides. We have no comic dialogue that equals the correct, graceful, and elegant fimplicity of Terence. The elegies of Tibutius, the paftorals of Theocritus,and thelyrick poetry of Horace^ ig^ HISTORICAL WRITING. are ftill unrivalled. By thofe, therefore* who wifii to form their tafte, and nourifh their genius, the utmoil attention mud be paid to the ancient clafficks, both Greek and Roman. After thefe refieftions on the ancients and moderns,, we proceed to a critical examination of the mod dif- tinguifhed kinds of compofition, and of the charafters of thofe writers, whether ancient or modern, who have excelled in them. Of orations and publick dif- courfes much has already been Said. The remaining profe compofitions may be divided into hiftorical writ- ing, philosophical writing, epiftolary writing, and fic- titious hiftory. HISTORICAL WRITING. H. LISTORY is a record of truth for the instruc- tion of mankind. Hence the great requifites in a hi& torian are impartiality, fidelity, and accuracy. In the conduft of hiftorical detail the firft obje£t of ahiftorian Should be, to give his work all poffible unity. Hiftory {hould not confift of unconnected parts. Its portions fhould be united by fome connect- ing principle, which will produce in the mind an im- preffion of Something that is one, whole and entire* Polybius, though not an elegant writer, is remarkable for this quality. A hiftorian (hould trace a£Uons and events to their Sources. He (hould therefore be well acquainted with human nature and politicks. His (kill in the former will enable him to defcribe the chara&ers of individu- als \ and his knowledge of the latter to account for HISTORICAL WRITING. 1 87 the revolutions of government, and the operation of political caufes on pubiick affairs. With regard to po- litical knowledge, the ancients wanted fome advantages which are enjoyed by the moderns. In ancient times there was lefs communication among neighbouring ftates 1 no intercourfe by eftablifhed polls, nor by am- bafladors at diftant courts. Larger experience too of the different modes of government has improved the modern hiftorian beyond the hiftorian of antiquity. It is however in the form of narrative, and not by diflfertation, that the hiftorian is to impart his political knowledge. Formal difcufiions expofe him to fufpi- cion of being willing to accommodate his fafts to his theory. They have alfo an air of pedantry, and evi- dently refult from want of art. For reflections* whether moral, political, or philofophical, may be infin- uated in the body of a narrative. Clearnefs, order, and connexion are primary virtues in hiftorical narration. Thefe are attained when the hiftorian is complete matter of his fubjeft ; can fee the^ whole at one view ; and comprehend the dependence of all its parts. Hiftory being a dignified fpecies of compofition, it fhould alfo be confpicuous for gravity. There fhould be nothing mean nor vulgar in the ftyle j no quaintnefs, no fmartnefs, no affefitation, na wit. A hiftory fhould likewife be interefting ; and this is the quality which chiefly diftinguifhes a writer of genius and eloquence. To be interefting, a hiftorian muft preferve a medi- um between rapid recital and prolix detail He fhould know when to be concife, and when to enlarge. He fhould make a proper fele£tion of circumftances. Thefe give life, body, and colouring to his narration* They conftitute what is termed hiftorical painting. lS& HISTORICAL WRITING. In all thefe virtues of narration, particularly in pio turefque defcription, the ancients eminently excel. Hence the pleafure of reading Thucydides, Livy, Sal- luft, and Tacitus* In hiftorical painting there are great varieties. Livy and Tacitus paint in very dif- ferent ways. The defcriptions of Livy are full, plain, and natural ; thofe of Tacitus are fliort and bold. One embellifhment, which the moderns have laid a- fide, was employed by the ancients. They put ora- tions into the mouths of celebrated perfonages. By thefe, they diverfified their hiftory, and conveyed both moral and political inftru&ion, Thucydides was the firft who adopted this method ; and the orations with which his hiilory abounds, are valuable remains of antiquity. It is doubtful, however, wheth- er this embellifhment fhould be allowed to the hiftori- an \ for they form a mixture, unnatural to hiftory, of truth and fiction. The moderns are more chafte when on great occafions the hiftorian delivers in his own ^trfon thefentiments andreafonings of oppofite parties. Another fplendid embellifhment of hiftory is the delineation of chara£ters. Thefe are confidered as exhibitons of fine writing; and hence the difficulty of excelling in this province. For chara&ers may be too Alining and laboured. The accomplifhed hiftori- an avoids here to dazzle too much. He isfolicitous to give the refemblance in a ftyle equally removed from meannefs and affectation. He ftudies the gran- deur of fimplicity. Sound morality fhould always reign in hiftory. A hiftorian fhould ever fhow himfelf on the fide of virtue. It is not, however, his province to deliver moral in. ftru6lions in a formal manner. He fhould excite in* HISTORICAL WRITING. I g£ cBgnation againft the defigning and the vicious; and by appeals to the paffions, he will not only improve his reader, but take away from the natural coolnefs of his- torical narration. In modern times hiftorical genius has fhone moft ifr Italy. Acutenefs, political fagacity, and wifdom are all confpicuous in Machiavel, Guicciardin, Davila, Bentivoglio, and Father Paul In Great-Britain hiito- ry has been faihionable only a few years. For, though Clarendon and Burnet are considerable hiftorians, they are inferiour to Hume, Robmfon, and Gibbon, The inferior kinds of hiftorical compaction are an* xiah} memcirsi and lives. AnnaU ^re a collection of fa£U in chronological orders and the properties of an annalift are fidelity and Afftift&nefe. Memoirs aw & fpecies of compofition, in which an author pretends not to give a complete detail of fa£ts, but only to record what he himfclf knew, or was concerned in, or what iiluftrates the conducl of fome perfon, or fome tranf- action which he choofes for his fubjeft. It is not therefore expedied of fuch a writer, that he poffefs the fame profound refearch, and thefe fuperiour talents, which are requifite in a hiftorian. It is chiefly re* quired of him that he be fprightly and interesting, The French during two centuries have poured forth & flood of memoirs ; the moil of which are little more than agreeable trifles. We mud, however, except from this cenfure the memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz> and thofe of the Duke of Sully. The former join to a lively narrative great knowledge of human nature. The latter deferve very particular praife. They ap- proach to the ufefulnefs and dignity of legitimate hif- tory. They are full of virtue and good fenfe t, and are well calculated to form both the heads and hearts of i(p© PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING? fhofe who are defigned for publick bufinefs and higft ftations in the world. Biography is a very ufeful kind of compofition ^ lefs (lately than hiftcry ; but perhaps not lefs inftruo tive. It affords fall opportunity of difplaying the char- acters of eminent men, and of entering into a thorough acquaintance with them. In this kind, of writing. Plutarch excels 5 bat his matter is better than his manner ; he has no peculiar beauty nor elegance. His judgment and accuracy alfo are fometimes taxed. But he is a very humane writer, and fond of difplaying great men in the gentle lights of retirement Before we conclude this fubje&, it is proper to ob- ferve, that of late years a great improvement has been introduced into historical compofition. More particu- lar attention than formerly, has been given to laws, cuftoms, commerce, religion, literature, and to every thing that fhows the fpirit and genius of nations. It is now conceived that a hiftorian ought to illuftrate manners as well as fa£ts and events. Whatever dif- plays the ftate of mankind in different periods ; what* ever illuftrates the progrefs of the human mind, is more ufeful than details of fieg.es and battles. PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING AND DIA~ LOGUE. \JF philofophy the profefied defign is inflruc- tion. With the philofopher therefore ftyle, form and drefs are inferiour objeffcs. But they mud not be whol- ly negle&ed. The fame truths and reafonings, deliv- ered with elegance, will ftrike more than in a dull and dry manner.. AND DIALOGUE. 1$& Beyond mere perfpicuity, the ftri£teft precifion and accuracy are required in a philosophical writer $ and thefe qualities may be pofTefled without drynefs. Phi- lofophical writing admits a polifhed, neat and elegant ftyle. It admits the calm figures of fpeech ; but re- jeds whatever is florid and tumid. Plato and Cicero have left philofophical treatifes, compofed with much elegance and beauty. Seneca is too fond of an affect- ed, brilliant, fparkling manner. Locke's Treatife on Human Underftanding is a model of a clear and dif- tin£t philofophical ftyle. In the writings of Shaftef- bury, on the other hand, philofophy is drefled up with too much ornament and finery. Among the ancients, philofophical writing often af- fumed the form of dialogue. Plato is eminent for the beauty of his dialogues. In richnefs of imagination no philofophick writer, ancient or modern, is equal to him. His only fault is the exceffive fertility of his imagination, which fometimes obfcures his judgment, and frequently carries him into allegory, fiction, en- thufiafm, and the airy regions of myftical theology. Cicero's dialogues are not fo fpirited and charadterif- tical as thofe of Plato. They are however agreeable, and well fupported ; andfnow us converfation, carri- ed on among fome principal perfons of ancient Rome with freedotrij good breeding, and dignity. Of the light and humorous dialogue, Lucian is a model ; and he has been imitated by feveral modern writers. Fon- tenelle has written dialogues, which are fprightly and agreeable -^ but his characters, whoever his perfonages be, all became Frenchmen. The divine dialogues of Dr.Henry More amid the academick ftiffhefs of the age are often remarkable for character and vivacity. Bifli* op Berkley's dialogues are abftraft, yet perfpicuaus. 3T$2 FICTITIOUS HISTORY. i. EPISTOLARY WRITING. LN epiftolary writing we expe£l eafe and Famil- iarity ; and much of its charm depends on its introduc- ing us into fome acquaintance with the writer. Its fundamental requifites are nature and fimplicity, •fprightlinefs and wit. The flyle of letters, like that of con venation, fhould flow eafily. It ought to be neat and corre£t, but no more. Cicero's epiftles are the moll valuable collection of letters, extant in any language. They are compofed with purity and ele- gance, but without the leaft affectation. Several let- ters of Lord Bolingbroke and of Bifhop Atterbury are inafterly. In thofe of Pope there is generally too much ftudy ; and his letters to ladies in particular are full of affectation. Thofe of Swift and Arbuthnot are written with eafe and fimplicity. Of a familiar cor- refpondence, the moll accompliihed model are the let- ters of Madam de Sevigne. They are eafy, varied, lively and beautiful. The letters of Lady Mary Wort- ley Montague, are perhaps more agreeable to the epif- tolary ftyle, than any in the Englifh language. Tt FICTITIOUS HISTORY. HIS fpecies of compofition includes a very numerous, and in general a very infignificant clafs of writings, called romances and novels. Of thefe how- ever the influence is known to be great both on the morals and tafte of a nation. Notwithflanding the bad ends to which this mode of writing is applied, it might be employed for very ufeful purpofes. Romances and FICTITIOUS HISTORY. 193 novels defcribe human life and manners, and difcover the errors into which we are betrayed by the pafiions. Wife men in ail ages have ufed fables and fictions as vehicles of knowledge ; and it is an obfervation of Lord Bacon, that the common affairs of the world are irrfufficient to fill the mind of man. He mull create worlds of his own, and wander in the regions of imagination. All nations whatsoever have difcovered a love of fic- tion, and talents for invention. The Indians, Perfians, and Arabians, abounded in fables and parables. A- rnong the Greeks, we hear of the Ionian and Milefian tales. Daring the dark ages, ficlion affumed an un- ufual form, from the prevalence of chivalry. Ro- mances arofe, and carried the marvellous to its fummit. Their knights were patterns not only of the moil he- roick courage, but of religion, generofity, courtefy and fidelity ; and the heroines were no lefs diflinguifhed for modefty> delicacy, and dignity of manners. Of thefe romances, the mod perfect model is the Orlando Furiofo. But as magick and enchantment came to be difoelieved and ridiculed, the ehivalerian romances were di (continued, and were fucceeded by a new fpe- cies of fictitious writing. Of the fecond ilage of romance writing, the Cleo- patra of Madame Scuderi and the Arcadia of Sir Philip Sydney are good examples. In thefe, however, there was ftill too large a proportion of the marvellous ; and the books were too voluminous and tedious. Romance writing appeared therefore in n new form, and dwindled down to the familiar novel Interefting filiations in real life are the ground- work of novel writing. Upon this plan * the Tu-clq huve product 194 NATURE OF POETRY. feme works of confiderahle merit. Such are the Gil Bias of Le Sage and the Marianne of Marivaux. In this mode of writing, the Englilh are inferiour to the French •, yet in this kind there are fome perform- ances which difcover the ftrength of the Britifh genius. No fi£Uon was ever better fupported than the Ad- ventures of Robinfon Crufoe. Fielding's novels are highly diftinguilhed for humour and boldaefs of char*» adler. Richardfon, the author of Clariffa, is the mod moral of all our novel writers ; but he porTefles the unfortunate talent of fpinning out pieces of amufement into an imrneafurable length. The trivial performan- ces which daily appear under the title of lives, adven*. tures, and hiilories, by anonymous authors, are moft infipid, and, it muft be confeffed, often tend to deprave the morals, and to encourage diflipation and idlenefs,. NATURE OF POETRY. ITS ORIGIN AND FROGRESS. VERSIFICATION. W H ATj it may be alked, is poetry ? and how does it differ from profe ? Many difput.es have been maintained among criticks upon thefe questions. The effence of poetry is fuppofed by Ariflotle, Plato, and others, to con fill in ficlion. But this is too limited a ■defcriptio.n. Many think the character! (tick of poetry lies in imitation. But imitation of manners and char- afters may be carried on in profe as well as in po* etry. Perhaps the beft definition is this, " poetry is the f* language of paffion, or of enlivened imagination, fi formed moil commonly into regular numbers." A.$ ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. IpJ the primary object of a poet is to pleafe and to move, it is to the imagination and the pactions that he ad- drefies himfelf. It is by pleafing and moving, that he- aims toinftru£i and reform. Poetry is older than profe. In the beginning of fociety there were occafions upon which men met to- gether for feafts and facrifices, when mufick, dancing, and fon^s were the chief entertainment. The meet- ingsof American tribes arediftinguifhed by mufick and fongs. In fongs they celebrate their religious rites and martial achievements $ and in fuch fongs we trace the beginning of poetick compofition. Man is by nature both a poet and mufician. The fame impulfe which produced a poetick ftyle, prompt- ed a certain melody or modulation of found, fuited to the emotions of joy or grief, love or anger. Mufick and poetry are united in fong, and mutually affift and ex- alt each other. The firft poets fung their own verfes. Hence the origin of verification, or the arrangement of words to tune or melody. Poets and fongs are the firft objects that make their appearance in all nations. ApoHo, Orpheus and Amphionwere the firft tamers of mankind among the Greeks; The Gothick nations had their fcalders, or poets. The Celtick tribes had their bards. Poems and fongs are among the antiquities of all countries ; and, as the occafions of their being compofed are nearly the fame, fo they remarkably refemble each other in ftyle. They comprize the celebration of gods and heroes, and victories. They abound in fire and enthufiafm ; they are wild, irregular, and glowing. During the infancy of poetry, all its different kinds- were mingled in the fame compofition •, but in the 296 ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. progrefs of lociety, poems affumed their different reg- ular forms. Time feparated into claffes the feverat" kinds of poetick compofition. The ode and the elegy r the epick poem and the drama, are all reduced to rule,, *nd excercife the acutenefs of criticifrm ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. IN ATIONS, whofe language and pronuncia- tion were mufical, reded their verfification chiefly oa tlie quantities of their fyllables v but mere quantity has very little effect in Englifh verfe. For the differ- ence, made between long and fhort fyllables in our manner of pronouncing them, is very /inconsiderable. The only perceptible difference among our fyllables arifes from that ftrong percuiTion of voice which is. termed accent. This accent however does not always make the fy liable longer, but only gives it more force of found •, and it is rather upon a certain order and fucceffion of accented and unaccented fyllables, thaq upon their quantity* that the melody of our verfe de- pends. In the conftitutian of our verfe there is another eflential circumliance. There is the csefural paufe, which falls near the middle of each line. This paufe may fall after the fourth, fifth, fixth, or feventh fyila- ble j and by this mean uncommon variety and rich- nefs are added to Englifh verification. Our Engiilh verfe is of lambick ftru&ure, compofed of a nearly alternate fucceffion of unaccented and ac- cented fyllables. When the paufe falls earlieft, that is* after the fourth fyllahle, the briike ft melody is. thereby formed. Of this, the following lines from Pope, are a happy illuft ration: Oa her white bread | a fp at id in? cmfs »lie wore, Which Jews might kifs | and infidels adore ; Her lively looks | a fprightfy nihid difeiufe, (^jick, as her eyes, | and as unhVd as thole. Favours to none, |- to all ihe unites extends j Oft (lie rejects, ] bat never once offends. When the paufe falls after the fifth fyllable, dividing: the line into two equal portions^ the melody is fend- bly altered 1 . The verfe, foGag the brilk air of the' former paufe, becomes more fmooth and flowing. Eternal funfhine j of the fpotlefs mind, Each prayer accepted, j and each vviilx reilgn'dV 1 When the paufe follows the fixth fyllable, the mel- ody becomes grave. The moyenrent of the verfe is more folemu and meafured. The wrath of Pe'eus ' 10,1, [-the direful fprtri^ Of ail the Grecian woes, I O goddefo, dag, The grave cadence becomes ft HI more le alible when 1 the paufe follows the feventh fyllable. This kind oi verfe however feldonv occurs > and its eife:i is to di* yerfify the melody. And in the fmooth dtfcripttve | murmur flillj Long lov'd, ador'd ideaj, j ail adieu. Our blank verfe is a noble, bold and diiencumberei mode of verification. It is free from the full- clofe which rhyme farces upon the ear at the end of every couplet. Hence it is peculiarly fuited' to fabjecb of dignity and force. It is more favourable than rhyme to the fublime and highly pathe tick* It is the mo ;t & 2- I9§ MSTORA-L POETRY* proper for an epick poem and for tragedy. Rhyme finds its proper place in the middle regions of poetry j, and blank verfe in the higheft. The prefent form of our .Englifh heroick rhyme in couplets is -modern. The meafure ufed in the days of Elizabeth, James, and Charles L was the ft an z a of eight lines. Waller was the firft who introduced; couplets 5 and DrydeneftabliYhed the ufage.. Waller fmooihed our verfe, and Dryden perfected it The verfi fication of Pope is peculiar* It. is flowing, £mooth> and corre.fit in the higheft 1 degree. He has totally thrown afide the triplets fo common in Dryden. In; eafe and variety, Dryden excels Pope. He frequently; makes his couplets run into one another, with fame-- •what of the freedom of blank verfe., PASTORAL POETRY. ii tT was not before men had begun to aiTembie- in great cities, and the buftle of courts and large foci— sties was known, that paftoral poetry afiumed its- pres- ent form. Erom the tumult of a. city life, men look- ed back with complacency to the innocence of rural, retirement. In the court of Ptolemy, Theocritus wrote the firft paftorals with which we are acquaint- ed ; and in the court of Auguftus, Virgil imitated him. The paftoral is a very agreeable fpecies of poetry.- It lays before us the gay and plea fing fcenes of nature. It recals obje&s which are commonly- the. delight of our childhood and youth. It exhibits a life with which we affbciate ideas of innocence, peace and leifure. It.: iranfports us into Ely Ran regions, It prefeots many. PASTORAL POETRY, 1 99 objects favourable to poetry; rivers and mountains, meadows and hills, rocks and trees, flocks and fhep- herds void of care. A paftoral poet is careful to exhibit whatever is mofl pleafing in the paftoral ftate. He paints its fim- plicity, tranquillity, innocence, and happinefs ; but conceals its rudenefs and mifery. If his pictures be not thofe of real life, they muft refemble it. This is a general idea of paftoral poetry* But, to underftand it more perfectly, let us confider, 1. The fcenery :: 2.. The chara£iers ; and laftly, the fubjects it fhould exhibit. The fcene muft always be in the country y and the poet muft have a talent for defcription. In this refpeft, Virgil is excelled by Theocritus, whofe defcriptions are richer and more piiiurefque. In every paftoral a rural profpedt fhould be draw r n with diftin&nefs, It: is not enough to have unmeaning groups of rofes and: violets, of birds, breezes and brooks thrown together. . A good poet gives fuch a landscape as a painter, might copy, His objects are particularized. The ftream, the rock, or the tree, fo ftands forth as to make 'a figure in the imagination, and give a pleat- ing conception, of the place where w r e are. In his allufions to natural objefts as well as in pro- fefled defcriptions of the fcenery, the poet muft ftudy. variety* He muft diverfify his face of nature by pre- fenting us new images. He muft alfo fuit the fcenery/ to the fubje£t of his paftoral •, and exhibit nature un^ der fuch forms as may correfpond with the emotions and fentiments he defcribesr Thus Virgil, when he gives the lamentation of a defpairing lover, commu- nicates a gloom to, the fcene*. H0& PASTORAL POETRY. Tantuni inter dcnfas, umbrofa cacumina, fagos 3 i Aflidue veniebat ; ibi hasc incondita foius Mont&us etfylvis ftudio ja&abat inaui. With regard to the characters in paftorals, it is nod fufficient that they be perfo'ns reading iri the country.- Courtiers and citizens who refort thither occafionally , are not the chara£tirs expected in paftorals. We expect to be entertained by ihepherds, or perfons whoU ly engaged in rural occupations. The fhepherd mud be plain and unaffected in his manner of thinking, An amiable fimplicity mult be the ground- work of his character *, though there is no neceffity for his being dull and infipid. He may have good ferife, and even vivacity ; tender and delicate feelings. But he muft never deal in general reflections, or ab(tra£t reaibnings , nor in conceits of gallantry *, for thefe are confe- rences of refinement. When Arntrfta in Taflb is difentangling his miftrefs's hair from the tree, to which a favage had bound it, he is made to fay u Cruel tree, " how couldft thou injure that lovely hair, which diet ** thee ib much honour ? Thy rugged trunk was not M worthy of fo lovely knots. What advantage have €i the fervants of love, if thofe precious chains are €t common to them and to trees ?" Strained feriti- ments, like theie, fuit not the woods. The language of rural perfonages is that of plain fenfe and natural feed- ing ; as in the following beatiful lines of Virgil ; Sepibus in noftris parvam te rofcida mala (Dux ego vefter eram) vidi cum matre legentem ; Alter abundecimo turn me jam ceperat annus, Jam fragilespoterama terra contengere ramos. Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abllulit error ! The next enquiry is, what are the proper fuhje£is of jaftorals ? For it h not enough that the poet g.ive u&> FxlSTORAL POETRT. 20 F Jfcepherdsdifcourfmg together. Every good poem has a fubject that iti fome way interefts us. In this lies the difficulty of paftoral writing. The active fcenes of country life are too barren of incidents. The condi- tion of a (hepherd has few things in it that excite cu~ riofity or furprize. Hence of all poems the paftoral is mod meagre in fubje£t, and leaft diverGfied in drain. Yet this defett is not to be afcribed fblely to barren- nefs of fuhje£ts. It is m a great meafure the fault of the poet. For human nature and human paflions are much the fame in every fituation and rank of life. What a variety of objects within the rural fphere do the paflions prefent ! The ftruggles and ambition o£ fliepherds y their adventures ; their difquiet and felici- ty ; the rivalihip of lovers \ unexpected fuccefies and difafters j are all proper fubjedfts for the paftoraL mufe. Theocritus and Virgil are the two great fathers o£ paftoral writing. For fimplicity of fentiment, harmo- ny of numbers, and richnefs of fcenery, the former is highly diftinguithed. But he fometimes defcends to ideas that are grofs and mean, and makes his fliep- herds abuGve and immodeft. Virgil on the contrary, preferves the paftoral fimplicity without any offenfive: rufticity. Modern writers of paftorals have m general imitat- ed the ancient poets. Sannazarius, however, a Latin poet, in the age of Leo X* attempted: a bold innova- tion, by comppfing pifcatory eclogues, and changing the fcene from the woods to the fea, and the character from fhepherds to fi mer men. But the attempt was fo unhappy that he has no followers. The toilfome life of £fhermen has nothing agreeable to prefent. to* 202 PASTORAL POETRY. the imagination. Fifties and marine productions hare nothing poetical in them. Of all the moderns, Gef- ner, a poet of Switzerland, has been the moft happy in paftoral compofition. Many new ideas are intro- duced in his Idyls. His fcenery is ftriking, and his descriptions lively. He is pathetick, and writes to the heart. Neither the paftorals of Pope, nor of Philips, do much honour to Englifh poetry. The paftorals of Pope are barren $ their chief merit is the fmoothnefs ©f the numbers. Philips attempted tobemorefim* pie and natural than Pope •, but wanted genius to fupport the attempt. His topicks, like thofe of Pope, are beaten \ and, inftead of being natural or fimple, he is flat and infipid. Shenftone's paftoral ballad is one of the moft elegant poems of the kind in the Englifb language. In latter times paftoral writing has been extended into regular drama ; and this is the chief improvement the moderns have made in it. Two pieces of this, kind are highly celebrated, Guarini's Pallor Fido, and Taffb's Aminta. Both poflefs great beauties y but the latter is the preferable poem, becaufe lefs intricate, and lefs affe£ted •, though not wholly free from Italian refinement. As a poem, however, it has great merit. The poetry is pleafing and gentle, and the Italian lan- guage confers on it much of that foftnefs which is fuited to the paftoral. The Gentle Shepherd of Allan Rarnfay is a paftor- al drama which will bear comparifon with any com- pofition of the kind in any language. To this admir- able poem it is a difadvantage, that it is written in the old ruftick dialect of Scotland, which muft foon be o.bfolete 5; and it is a farther difadvantage, that it is LYRICK POETRY. 203 formed fo entirely on the rural manners of Scotland, that none, but a native of that country, can thoroughly underftand and relifh it. It is full of natural descrip- tion, and excels in tendernefs of fentiment. The chara&ers are well drawn, the incidents affecting, the fcenery and manners lively andjuft. LYRICK POETRY. A HE ode is a fpecies of poetry, which has cnuch dignity, and in which many writers in every age have diftinguifhed themfelves. Ode in Greek is the fame with fong or hymn ; and lyrick poetry implies that the verfes are accompanied with a lyre, or mufic- al inftrument. In the ode, poetry retains its fir ft form, and its original union with mufick. Sentiments com- monly conftitute its* fubje£L It recites not s&ions. Its fpirit and the manner of its execution mark its character. It admits a bolder and more paflionate ftrain than is allowed in fimple recital. Hence the enthufiafm that belongs to it. Hence that neglect of regularity, thofe sdigrefhons, and that diforder, it is fuppofed to admit. All odes may be claffed under four denominations, 1. Hymns addreffed to Cod, or compofed on religious fubje&s. 2. Hercick odes, which concern the cele- bration of heroes and great actions. 3. Moral and philosophical odes, which refer chiefly to virtue, friendship and humanity, 4. Feflive and amorous odes, which are calculated merely for amufement and pleafure. Enthufiafm being confidered as the charafleriflick pf the ode, it has often degenerated into licentioufnefs* 204 LYRICK POETRY. This fpecics of writing has, above all others, been in-' fee' ed by want of order, method, and connexion. The poet is out of fight in a moment. He is fo ab- rupt and eccentrick, fo irregular and obfeure, that we cannot follow him. It is not indeed necefiary that the ilrucl ure of the ode be fo perfectly regular as the epick p.;cn'h But in every compofition there ought to be a whole; and this whole fhould confift of connected parts. The tranfition from thought to thought may be light and delicate, but the conntxion of ideas fhould be preferved ; the author fhould think, and not rave, Pindar, the father of lyrick poetry, has led his imi- tators into enthufiaftick wilcintfs. They imitate his diforder without catching his fpirit. In Horace's odes •every thing is correel, harmonious, and happy. His elevation is moderate, not rapturous. Grace and ele- gance are his characlerifticks. He fupports a moral fentirftent with dignity, touches a gay one with felici- ty, and has the art of trifling moft agieeably. His language too is moft fortunate. Many Latin poets of later ages have imitated him. CaGmir, aPolifh poet of the laft century, is of this number ; and difcovers a confiderable degree of orig- inal genius and poetick fire. He is, however, far infe- riour to the Raman in graceful expreffion. Buchanan in fome of his lyrick compositions is very elegant and chiliad. In our own language, Bryclen's ode en St. Cecilia Is well known. Mr. Gray in fome of his ocles is cel- ebrated for tendernefs and fublimity ; and in Dodf- ley's IViifcelkmies are feveral very beautiful lyrick po- ems. ProfeiTedly Pindarick odes are feldcm intelligible. Cowley is doubly harfii in his Pindarick competitions. 5>IDACTICK POETRY. His Anacreontick odes are happier, and perhaps the moft agreeable and perfect in their kind of all his poems. DIDACTICK POETRY, o, 'Fdidactick poetry, it is the exprefs intention to convey inftru£tion and knowledge. It may be ex- ecuted in different ways. The poet may treat fome inftru£iive fubje£t in a regular form ; or without in- tending a great or regular work, he may inveigh a- gainft particular vices, or make fome moral obferva- tions on human life and characters. The higheft fpecies of didadtick poetry is a regular treatife on fome philosophical, grave, or ufeful fubje£h Such are the books of Lucretius de Rerum Natura, the Georgicks of Virgil, Pope's Eflay on Criticifm, A- kenfide's Pleafures of the Imagination, Armftrong on Health, and the Art of Poetry, by Horace, Vida, and Boileau. In all fuch works, as inftru£lion is the profefled objeft, tlie chief merit confifts in found* thought, juft principles, and apt illuftrations. It is neceflary how*. ever that the poet enliven his leflbns by figures, inci- dents, and- poetical painting. Virgil in his Georgicks embellifnes the moft trivial circumftances in rural life. When he teaches that the labour of the farmer miift begin in fpring, he exprefies himfelf thus : Vcre novo gelidus eanis cum montlbus humor Uquitur, et Zephyr o putris fe gleba refolvit ; BepreiTo incipiat j. otro Ingcmcrc, et fulco atti'l efcerc von S 2©6 mPAcriex poetry- In all didadtick works fuch method is requifite, as will clearly exhibit a connected train of instruction. With regard to epifodes and embellifhments, writers of didactick poetry are indulged great liberties. For in a poetical performance a continued feries of inftruc- tion without dnbellifhment foon fatigues. The di- greffions in the Georgicks of Virgil are his principal beauties. The happinefs of a country life, the fable of Arifteus, and the tale of Orpheus and Bury-dice* cannot be praifed too much. A didactick poet ought alfo to connect his epifodes with his fubject. In this,Virgil is eminent. Among modern didactick poets, Akenfide and Armftrongare diltinguiflied. The former is rich and poetical \ but the latter maintains greater equality, and more chafte and correct elegance. Of didactick poetry, fatires and epiftles run into the molt familiar flyie. Satire feems to have been at fir (I a relickof ancient comedy, the groffhefs of which was corrected by Ennius and Lucilius. At length, Horace brought it into its prefent form. Reforma- tion of manners is its profe fled end ; and vice and vicious characters are the objects of its cenfure. There are three different modes in which it has been con- ducted by the three great ancient fatirifts, Horace Juvenal, andPerfius. The fatires of Horace have not much elevation. They exhibit a -rneafured profe. Eafe and grace characterize his manner \ and he. glances rather at the follies and weakneffes of mankind, than at their vices. He fmiles while he reproves. He moralizes like a found philofopher, but with the poiitenefs of a cour- tier. Juvenal is more declamatory and ferious ; end DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 20 7 lias greater ftrength and fire. Perfius has diftinguifh- edhimfelf by a noble and fublime morality. Poetical epiftles, when employed on moral or crit- ical fubj eels, feldom rife into a higher drain of poet- ry, than fatires. But in the epiitolary form, many other fubjecls maybe treated ; as love, poetry, or ele- giack. The ethical epiftles of Pope are a model •, and in them he mows the ftrength of his genius. Here he had a full opportunity for difplaying his judgment and wit, his conciie and happy expreffion, together with the harmony of his numbers, ills imitations of Horace are fo happy, that it is difficult to fay, whether the original or the copy ought to be molt admired. Among moral and didaciick writers, Dr. Young ought not to be paffed over in filence. Genius appears in all his works ; out his Univerfal PafTion may be confidered as pofleiling the full merit of that animat- ed concifenefs, particularly requifite in fatirical and didadtick compofitions. At the fame time it is to b& cbferved, that his wit is often too fparkling, and his fentences too pointed. In his Night Thoughts there is great energy of expreffion, feveral pathetick paf- fages, many happy images, and many pious reflec- tions. But his fentiments are frequently overftrained and turgid^ and the ftyle harm, and obicure. DESCRIFIWE POETRY. L LN defcriptive poetry the higheft exertions of genius may be difplayed. In general, indeed, defcrip- tion is introduced as an embeilifhment, not as« the 20 8 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. fubjeft of a regular work. It is the ted of a poet's' imagination, and always diftinguifhes an original from I a fecond rate genius. A writer of an inferiour clafs fees nothing new or peculiar in the objeft he would paint ; his conceptions are loofe and vague ; and his expreflions feeble and general. A true poet places an obje£t before our eyes. He gives it the colouring of life ; a painter might copy from him. The great art of pi&urefque defcription lies in the fele&ion of circumfiances. Thefe ought never to be vulgar or common. They fhould mark ftrongly the object. No general defcription is good ; ail diftinft ideas are formed upon particulars. There fhould alfo be uniformity in the circumftances fele&ed. In de- scribing a great object, every circumftance brought for- ward fhould tend to aggrandize ; and in defcribing a gay objeft, all the circumfiances fhould t$nd to beau* tify it. Laftly, the circumftances in defcription fliould be exprefied with concifenefs and fimplicity. The largefl andfulleft defcriptive performance in perhaps any language, is Thomfon's Seafons ; a work which pofieiFes very uncommon merit. The fiyle is fplendid and ftrong,but Sometimes harfb and indiftinch He is an animated and beautiful defcriber ; for he had a feeling heart and a warm imagination. He ftudied nature with care ; was enamoured of her beauties ; and had the happy talent of painting thertv like a m after. To fhow the power of a ftngle well- chofen circumftance in heightening a defcription, the f jllowing paiTage may be produced from his Summer, where, relating the effe&s of heat in the torrid zone, he is led to take notice of the peftilence that deftroy- ed the Englifh fleet at Carthagena, under Admiral Vernon. DESCRIPTiTE POETRY. ZO{# .. , , ■ ■ You, gallant Vernon, faw The miferable fcene : you* pitying faw To infant weaknefs funk the warriour's arm ; Saw the deep racking pang ; the ghaftly form ; The lip pale quivering, and the beamlefs eye Nomor,e with ardour bright ; you heard the groans Of agonizing (hips from fliore to fhore ; Heard, nightly plungM amid the fullen waves The frequent corfe.— — ■ All the circumftances here fele£led tend to height- en the difmal fcene ; but the lad image is the mod ftriking in the pifture. Of defcriptive narration there are beautiful examples in Parcel's Tale of the Hermit The fetting forth of the hermit to vifit the world, his meeting a compan- ion, and the houfes in which they are entertained, of the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, are pieces of highly finished painting. But the richeft and the rnoft remarkable of all the defcriptive poems; in the Englifh language* are the Allegro and the Pen- ferofo of Milton. They are the ftore-boufe whence - many fucceeding poets have enriched their defcriptions r and are inimitably fine poems. Take, for rattance^ the following lines from the Penferofo : Iwalk, unfeen Oil the dry, fmooth-iliaven greeny, To behold the wandering moon, PJding near her higheft noon ; And oft j as if her head fhe bow*d> Stooping through a fleecy cloud., Oft on a plat of rifing ground rhear the far off curfew found, Over foine wide watered fhore Swinging flaw with folemn rear 5 . Gf, if the air will not permit, Some ftill removed-place, will fit j, 2rIQ INSCRIPTIVE POETRY. Where glowing embers through the room- Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; ; Far from all refort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowfy charm, To blefs the doors from nightly harm fe Or let my lamp at midnight hour Befeen in fome high lonely tower, Exploring Plato, to unfold. What worlds, or what vaft regions hold Th' immortal mind, that hath forfook Her manfinn in this flcfhy nook ; And of thefe demons, that are found. In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Here are no general 5 expreffions ; all is pi£turefqu@> expreffive and concife. One ftrong point of view i& exhibited to the reader ; and the impreflipn made, is? lively and interefting. Both Homer and Virgil excel in poetical descrip- tion. In the fecond JEneid, the facking of Troy is fa particularly defcribed, that the reader finds himfelf in ; the midft of the fcene* The death of Priam is a mafter^piece of defcription. Homer's battle* are all wonderful. Oflian, too, paints in ftrong colours, and is xemarkable for touching the heart. He thus por- trays the ruins of Balclutha : " I have feen the walls " of Balclutha \ but they were defolate. The fire i( had refounded within the halls ; and the voice of " the people is now heard no more. The ftream of " Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of w the v/alls ; the thiftle (hook there its lonely head j, €< the mofs whittled to the wind. The fox looked 4< out of the window ; the rank grafs waved round his " head. Defolalfe is the dwelling of Moina. ; fileucc 41 is in the Ixoufe of her fathers." TOE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS; XIV Much of the beauty of defcriptive poetry depends upon a proper choice of epithets* Many poets are often carelefs in this particular ; hence the multitude of unmeaning and redundant epithets. Hence the " Liquidi Pontes" of Virgil, and the " Prata Canis " Albicant Pruinis" of Horace. To obferve that water is liquid, and that fnow is white, is little better tham mere tautology. Every epithet fhould add a new idea, to the word which it qualifier So in Milton \. Who fhall tempt with wandering feet The dark unbottomed, infinite abyfs ; And through the palpable obfcure find out His uncouth way ? Or fpread his airy flighty, Upborne with indefatigable wings, Over the vaft abrupt ? The description here is ftrengthened by the epithets, The wandering feet, the unbottomed abyfs, the pal** pable obfcure, the uncouth way, the indefatigahla wing, are all happy exgreffiojas.. THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. IN treating* of the various kinds of poetry, that; of the fcriptures juftly. deferves- a place. The facrecP books prefent us the molt ancient, monuments of poetry now extant, and furnifh a. curious fubje£l of criticifm. They difplay the tafteof a remote age and: country. They exhibit a fingular> but beautiful fpe- cies of compofition ; and it mud give great pleafure if we find the beauty and dignity of the ftyle adequate to the weight ani importance of the. matter. Dx» 2>I2 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS; ILowthY learned' treatife on the poetry of the Hebrews- ought to be perufed by all. It is an exceeding val- uable work botlrfbr elegance of ftyle and juftnefs of criticifrm We cannot do better than to follow the track of this ingenious author. Among the Hebrews, poetry was cultivated from the earlieft times. Its general conffaru£tion is fingu* lar and peculiar. It confifts in dividing every period; into correfpondent, for the moll part into equal mem- bers, which anfwer to each other, both in fenfe and found. In the firft member of a period a fentiment is expreffed ; and in the fecond the fame fentiment is amplified ; or repeated in different terms, or fome times contrafted with its oppofite e Thus, "Sing un- u to the Lord anew fong ; fing unto the Lord ail the u earth. Sing unto the Lord, and blefs his name •», €t fhow forth his falvation from- day to day* Declare u his glory among the heathen j his wonders among all; " people.'' This form of poetical compofition is deduced from the manner in which the Hebrews fung their facred hymns. Thefewere accompanied with mufick, and performed by bands of fingers and muficians, who afc ternately anfwered each other. One band began the hymn thus : " The Lord reigneth, let the earth • re- €l joice ;" and the chorus, or femi-chorus, took up the ccrrefponding verficle ", "Let the multitudes of the 41 ifles be glad thereof. 9 * But, independent of its peculiar mode of conftrue* tion, the facred poetry is diftinguifhed by the higbeft beauties of ftrong, concife, bold, and figurative expref- fion. Concifenefs and* ftrength are two of its mod, remarkable chara&ers, The fentences are always. THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 2IJ ftort. The fame thought is never dwelt upon long. Hence the fublimity of the Hebrew poetry ; and all writers, who attempt the fublime, might profit much, by imitating in this refpeft the ftyle of the old te [la- ment. No writings abound fo much in bold and an- imated figures, as the facred books. Metaphors, com- parifons, allegories, and perfonificatrons, are particu- larly frequent. But, to relifti thefe figures juftly, we muft tranfport ourfelves into Judea, and attend to particular circumftances in it. Through all that re- gion little or no rain falls in the fummer months* Hence, to reprefent diftrefs, frequent allufions are made to a dry and thirfty land, where no water is $ and hence, to defcribe a change from diftrefs to profperity, their metaphors are founded on the fall- ing of ftiowers, and the bnrfting out of fprings in a defert. Thus in Ifaiah, " The wildernefs and the foli» u tary place (hall be glad, and the defert (hall rejoice u and bloflbm as the rofe. For in the wildernefs " (hall waters break out, and dreams in the def~ " ert ; and the parched ground (hall become a pool ^ *' and the thirfty land fprings of water ; in the habi- u tation of dragons there (hall be grafs, with rufhes *' and reeds." Coraparifons employed by the facred poets, are generally (hort, touchingonly one point of refemblance- Such is the following ; <( He that ruleth over men 3 H muftbe juft, ruling in the fear of God ; and he c< fhall be as the light of the morning, when the fun "rifeth; even a morning without clouds; as the u tender grafs fpringing out of the earth by clear u finning after rain." Allegory is likewife frequently employed in the fa- ffed books; and a. ftne inftance of this occurs in thft 214 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. htxxth Pfalm, wherein the people of Ifrael are compar- ed to a vine. Of parables, the prophetical writings are full ; and, if to us they fometimes appear obfcure, we fliould remember that in early times it was univer- fally the cuftom among all eaftern nations, to convey facred truths under myfterious figures. The figure, however, which elevates beyond all oth- ers the poetical ftyle of the fcriptures, is perfonifica- tion. The personifications of the infpired writers ex- ceed in force and magnificence thofe of all other po- ets. This is more particularly true when any ap- pearance or operation of the Almighty is concerned. " Before him went the peftilence. The waters faw u thee, O God, and were afraid. The mountains faw u thee, and they trembled. The overflowings of the f< waters paffed by \ the deep uttered his voice, w and lifted up his hands on high." The poetry of the fcriptures is very different from modern poetry. It is the burft of infpiration. Bold fublimity, not cor* re& elegance, is its chara&er. The feveral kinds of poetry, found in fcripture, are chiefly the dida£tick, elegiack, paftoral, and lyrick. The book of Proverbs is the principal inftanee of the didaftick fpecies of poetry. Of elegiack poetry, the la- mentation of David over Jonathan is a very beautiful inftance. Of paftoral poetry, the Song of Solomon is a high exemplification ; and of lyrick poetry, the Old Teftament is full. The whole book of Pfalms is a collection of facred odes. Among the compofers of the facred books there is an evident diverfity of ftyle. Of the facred poets, the mod eminent are the author of the book of Job, Da- ^id, and Ifaiah. In the compofitions of David there EPICK POETRY. 215 is a great variety of manner. In the foft and tender he excels \ and in his Pfalms are many lofty paflages. But in ftrength of description he yields to Job \ in Sub- limity, to Ifaiah. Without exception, Ifaiah is the mod fublime of all poets. Dr. Lowth compares Ifai- ah to Homer, Jeremiah to Simonides, and Ezekiel to jEfchylus. Among the minor prophets, Hofea, Joel, Micah, Habakkuk, and efpecially Nahum, are diftin- guifhed for poetical fpirit. In the prophecies of Daniel and Jonah there is no poetry. The book of Job is extremely ancient ; the author uncertain ; and it is remarkable, that it has no con- nexion with the affairs or manners of the Hebrews. It is the moft defcriptive of all the facred poems. A peculiar glow of fancy and ftrength of defcription characterize the author ; and no writer abounds fo much in metaphors. He renders vifible, whatever he treats. The fcene is laid in the land of Uz, or Idu- msea, which is a part of Arabia ; and the imagery employed differs from that which is peculiar to the Hebrews. EPICK POETRY. Oi 'F all poetical works the epick poem is the moft dignified. To contrive a ftory which is enter- taining, important, and inftru£Uv€ ; to enrich it with happy incidents ; to enliven it by a variety of char- a&ers and defcriptions ; and to maintain a uniform propriety of fentiment, and a due elevation of ftylqi are the highefl efforts of poetical genius. epick poem is the recital of fome iiluftrious en- terprise in a poetical form. Ep:ck poetry is of a mor- ^l6 EPICK POETRY* al nature 5 and tends to the promotion of virtue. With this view it a£ts by extending our ideas of per- fection, and exciting admiration. Now this is ac- complifhed only by proper reprefentations of heroick deeds and virtuous chara&ers. Valour, truth, juftice, fidelity, friendfhip, piety, and magnanimity, are ob- jects which the epick mufe prefents to our minds in £he mod fplendid and honourable colours, Epick compofition is diftinguifhed from hiftory by its poetical form, and its liberty of fi&ion. It is a more calm compofition than tragedy. It requires a grave, equal, and fupported dignity. On feme occa- iions it demands the pathetick and the violent ; and it embraces a greater compafsof time and a£Uon than dramatick writing admits. The a&ion or fubjeft of an epick poem rauft have three properties. It mud be one ; it muit be great ; it muft be interefting. One action or enterprize mud conftitute its fubje£t. Ariftotle infifts on unity asef- fentiai to epick poetry; becaufe independent fa£ts never affe<3: fo deeply, as a tale that is one and connefted. Virgil has chofen for his fubje£l the eftablifhment of jEneas in Italy ; and the anger of Achilles, with its confequences, is the fubje£t of the Iliad. It is not however to be underitood* that epick unity excludes all epifodes. On the contrary criticks confidev them, as great ornaments of epick poetry. They di- versify thefubjeft, and relieve the reader by {hitting the fcene. Thus He&or's vifit to Andromache in the d, and Erminia's adventure with the (hepherd in nth book of the Jerufalem, affords us a well- iged and pleafing retreat from camps and battles. Secondly, the fubje-ft of an epick poem mult be fo great an did, as to- fix attention, and to juftify EFICK POETRY. 2l>J the magnificent apparatus the poet bellows on it. The fubject ihould alfo be of ancient date. Both Lu- can and Voltaire have tranfgreffed this rule. By con- fining himfelf too (trier ly to hiftor : ."al truth, theformer does not pleafe \ and the latter has improperly min- gled well-known events with fictitious. Hence they exhibit not that greatnefs which the epick requires. The third requifite in aa epick fubje£l is, that it be interefting. This depends in a great meafure upon the choice of it. But it depends much more upon the fkilful management of the poet. He mud fo frame his plan, as to comprehend many affecting incidents* He mufl fometimes dazzle with valiant achieve- ments ■, fometimes he muft be awful and auguft ; of- ten tender and pathetick - 3 and he muft fometimes give us gentle and pleafing fcenes of love, friendfnip, and affection. To render the fubject interefling, much alfo de- pends upon the dangers and obftacles which mud be encountered. It is by the management of theft, that the poet muft roufe attention, and hold his reader in fufpcnie and agitation. It is generally fappoftd by criucks, that an epick po- em (hould conclude fuccefsfully *, as an unhappy .eon* mind. Indeed it is en the profV : pr c ts genjstajiy conclude. But name, Milton and La can, held The one concludes with the fuh- Lily ; and the other with the ex- p.iradife. he duration 10 lefts, ac- The adtio.rj clufion d( ^prciles i perous He e, that e two auth ers oi gr the con.tr ivy CQUrl vcrfion o; Ronaan p uliiou o i nun: It No pre ife boui of the - acTio cording : me 2>8 EPICK POETRY. of the Odyfley extends to eight years and a half ; and that of the JEneid includes about fix years. The perfonages in an epick poem fhould be proper and well fupportec'. They fhould difplay the features of human nature ; and may admit different degrees of virtue, and even vice ; though the principal char* ackers fhould be fuch as will raife admiration and love. Poetick characters are of two forts, general and partic- ular. General characters are fuch as are wife, brave, and virtuous, without any farther difiinetion. Par- ticular characters exprefs the fpecies of bravery, of wifdom, and of virtue, for which any one is remarka- ble. In this difcrimination of characters, Homer ex- cels. Taflb approaches the neareft to him in this are- fpect ; and Virgil is the mod deficient. Among epick poets it is the practice to felect: feme perfonage as the hero of the tale. This renders the unity of the fubject more perfect, and contributes highly to the interefl and .perfection of the fpecies of writing. It has been afked, Who then is the hero of Paradife Loft ? The devil, fay fome criticks, who af* feet to be pleafant againft Milton. But they miftake his intention by fuppofmg that whoever is triumphant in the clofe, muft he the hero of the poem. For Ad- am is Milton's hero; that is, the capital and- mod in- terefling figure in his poem. In epick poetry there are befide human characters .gods and fupernaturai beings. This forms what is called the machinery of epick poetry ; and the French fuppofe this effential to the nature of an epick poem. They hold that in every epick compofition the main ac- tion is neceffarily carried on by the intervention of gods. But there feems to be no folid reafon for their EPICK POETRY. 2 1$ opinion. Lucan has no gods, nor fupernatural agents. The author of Leonidas alfo has no machinery. But* though machinery is not absolutely nec^flary to the epick plan, it ought not to be totally excluded frpm it. The marvellous has a great charm for mod readers. It leads to fublime defcription, and fills the imagination. At the fame time it becomes a poet to be temperate in the ufe of fupernatural machinery ; and fo to employ the religious faith or fuperftition of his country, as to give an air of probability to events mod contrary to the common courfe of nature. With regard to the allegorical pcrfcnages, fame, difcord, love, and the like, they form the worit kind ©f machinery. In description they may feme-times be allowed •, but they (bould never bear any part in the action of the poem. As they are only mere names of general ideas 3 they ought not to be considered as per- fbns 5 and cannot mingle with human aclors without an intolerable confuflon of ihadows with realities. In the narration of the poet, it is of little coiife- quence, whether he relate the whole fiery in his own character, or introduce one of his perfonages to relate a part of the a£Uon that pafled before the poem opens. Homer follows one method in his Iliad, and the other in his Odyffey. It is to be obferved however that, if the narrative be given by any of the actors, it gives the poet greater liberty of fpreading out fuch parts of the fubjecl as he inclines to dwell upon in perfon, and of comprifing the reft within a fhort recital. When thefubje£t is of great extent, and comprehends the tranfaelions of feveral years, as in the Ody'fley and ^Eneidj this method feems preferable. But, when the fubjec~l is of final ler compafs and Ihorter duration, 2 20 HOMERS ILIAR. as in the Iliad and Jerufalem, the poet may, without difadvantage, relate the whole in his own perfon. What is of moft importance in the narration is> that it be perfpicuous, animated, and enriched with ev- ery poetick beauty. No fort of compotkion requires more ftrength, dignity, and fire, than an'epick poem. It is the region in which we look for every thing fublimc in defcription, tender in feritiment, and bold or lively in ex pre (Son. The ornaments of epick poet- ry are grave and chaftc.N Nothing ioofe, ludicrous, or affected, finds place there. All the objects it pre- fents ought to be great, tender, or pleating. Dc- fcriptions of difgu fling or (hocking objects are to be avoided. Hence the fable of the Harpies in the JEtaekl, and tlie allegory of Sin and Death in Paradife Loft, fhould have been omitted. IIOMZR's ILIAD AND ODYSSEY, HP jl HE father of epick poetry is Homer; and hi @rder to reti'Si him, we mud dived ourfdves of mod- ern ideas of dignity and refinement, and tranfport on? imagination almoft three thou fand years back in the hhlory of mankind. The reader is to expect a picture- of the ancient world. The two great characters of Homer's u jerry are fire and fimplieity. But > to have a. clear idea of his merit, let us conlHer the Iliad un- der the three heads of the fubjeci or action*, the char- acters and the narration. The fubjefl of the Iliad h happily chofen. For no fubjeel could be more fplendld than the Trojan wan A great confederacy of the Grecian ftatea and ten HOMER'S ILIAD. 2~21' rears' fiege of Troy mufl have fpread far abroad the renown of many military exploits, and given an ex- tenfive intereft to the heroes who were concerned in them. Upon thefe traditions, Homer grounded his poem ; and, as he lived two or three centuries after the Trojan war, he had full liberty to intermingle fa- ble with Kiftory. He chofe not, however, the whole Trojan war for his fubje£t ; but with great judgment felecled the quarrel between Achilles and Agamem- non, which includes the moft interefting period of the war. He has thus given greater unity to his poem, - He has gained one hero, or principal character, that is, Achilles ; and mown the pernicious effecls of dis- cord amonij confederated princes. The praife of high invention has in every age been^ juftly given to Homer. His incidents, fpeeches, char- acters, divine and human ; his battles, his little hifto-- ry pieces of the perions fiain, diicover a -b3iind]efs in- vention. Nor is his judgment lets worthy of praife,- His flory is conduced with great art, lie riles upon us gradually. His heroes are introduced with ex* quifite (kill to our acquaintance. The diflrefs thick- ens as the poem, advances; every thing ferves to ag- grandize Achilles, and to make him the capital figure. In characters, Homer is without a rival. He abounds in dialogue and converfation, andthis produces a fpirit- ed exhibition of his perfohages- This drarnatick meth- od, however, though more natural, expreffive, and an- imated, is lefs grave and majeftiek than narrative. Some of Homers fpeechesare unfeafbnable, and oth- ers trifling. With the Greek vivacity he has alio feme : cf the Greek loquacity. X 2- 222 HOMER's IUAB. In no chara£ler perhaps does he difplay greater art, than in that of Helen. Notwithftanding her frailty and crimes, he contrives to make her an interefting ob- ject. The admiration with which the old generals behold her when (he is coming toward them ; her veiling herfelf and fhedding tears in the prefence of Priam ; her grief at the fight of Menelaus •, her up- braiding of Paris for his cowardice, and her returning fondnefs for him, are exquifite ftrokes, and worthy of a great mailer. Homer has been accufed of making Achilles too brutal a character \ and criticks feem to have adopted this cenfure from two lines of Horace : Impiger. iracundus, inexorabiiis, acer, Jura negat fibi nata ; nihil nou arrogat armis. It appears that Horace went beyond the truth. A- chilles is paflionate ; but he is not a contemner of law. lie has reafon on his fide ; for, though he dif- covers too much heat, it muft be allowed that he had been notorioufly wronged. Befide bravery and con* tempt of death, he has the qualities of opennefs and fincerity. He loves his fubje&ts, and refpects the gods. He is warm in his friend fhips ; and throughout he is high-fpirited, gallant and honourable. Horner's gods made a great figure ; but his machine- ry was not his own invention. He followed the tra- ditions of his country. But > though his machinery is often lofty and magnificent, yet his gods are often de- ficient in dignity. They have all the human paffions ; they drink and feaft, and are vulnerable, like men* While, however, he at times, degrades his divinities, hz knows how to make them appear with moft awful HOMERS ODYSSEY. 22} majefty. Jupiter for the mod part is introduced with great dignity ; and feveral of the mod fublime con- ceptions in the Iliad are founded on the appearances of Neptune, Minerva, and Apollo. The ftyle of Homer is eafy, natural, and highly ani- mated. Of all the great poets, he is the molt fimple in his ftyle, and refembles mod the ftyle of the poetic- al parts of the Old Teftament. Pope's tranflation of him affords no idea of his manner. His verfification however is allowed to be uncommonly melodious ; and to carry beyond that of any pcet refemblance of found to fenfe. In narration, Homer is always concife and defcrip- tive. He paints his obje£ts in a manner to our fight- His battles are Angularly admirable. We fee them in all their hurry, terror, and coni'uiion. In Smiles no poet abounds fo much. His companions, howev- er, taken in general, are not his greater! beauties 5, they come upon us in too quick fuceeffion ; and often difturb his narration or description. His lions, bulls,, eagles, and herds of Iheep, recur too frequently. The criticifrn of Longinus upon the OdyiTey is not. without foundation ; that in this poem Homer may be likened to the fetting fun, whofe grandeur remains without the heat of his meridian beams. It wants the vigour and fublimity of the Iliad , yet pontiles io many beauties, as tobejuftly entitled to high praife. It is 3 very amufmg poem, and has much greater variety than the Iliad. It contains many intereiling ftories. and pleafmg pi£lures of ancient manners. Initead of the ferocity which pervades the liiad,^ it prefents u& mod amiable images of humanity and hofpitality. It entertains us with many a wonderful adventure, and 224 THE; JSNEID OF VIRGlIi. many a landfcape of nature ;. and inftrufts-us by '& rich vein of morality and virtue, running through ev- ery part of the poem. There are fome defc&s, however, in the Odyfley' Many of its fcenes fall below the. majefly of an epick poem. The laft twelve books are in many places lan- guid and tedious ; and perhaps the poet is not- happy in the difcovery of UlylTes to Penelope. She is too cautious and diftruftful ; and we meet not that joyous furprize, expected on fuch an occafion. THE iENEIO OE VIRGIL. ►1 HE diflinguifbing excellencies of the JEneid ■■• are elegance and tendernefs. Virgil is lefs animated and lefs fublime than Homer ; but he has fewer neg- ligences, greater variety, and more dignity. The JEneidhas all the correttnefs and improvements of the Auguftan age. We meet' no contention of he- roes about a female flave ; no violent fcolding, nor abufive- language; but the poem opens with the uU mod magnificence. The fubject of the iEneid, which is the eftablifli-* rnent of ^Eneas in Italy, is extremely happy. Notic- ing could be more interesting to the Romans than Virgil's deriving their origin from fo famous a hero as iEaeas. The objecT: was fplendid itfelf jit gave the poet a theme, taken from the traditionary hiltory of his country ; it allowed him to adopt Homer's mythology-, and afforded him frequent opportunities- of glancing at all the future great exploits of the .Ro- mans, and of defcribing Italy in its ancient - and fab^ ulous flate. THE JENEID OF VIRGIL. 22$ Unity of a&ion is perfectly preferred in the iEneid* Thefettlement of iEaeas in Italy by order of the gods is con (land y kept in view. The epifodes are proper- ly linked to the main fubje£t ; and the nodus or in- trigue of the poem is happily formed. The wrath of Juno, who oppofes iELrieas; gives rife to all his difficul- ties, and connefls the human with the celeilial opera* tions through the whole poem. Great art and judgment are difplaycd in the JEneid* but even Virgil is not without his faults. One is, that he has fo few marked characters. Achates, Cloanthes, Gyas, and other Trojan heroes, who accompanied. jSneas into Italy, are undtainguifhed figures. Even JEneas himfelf is not a very interefling hero. He is defcribed, indeed, as pious and brave \ but his charac- ter is not marked by thofe lirokes £hat touch the heart. The character of Dido is the beft fupported in the whole JEneid. Her warmth of paiTbn, keen-. nefs of refentment, and violence of character, exhibit a more animated figure than any other Virgil has drawn- The management of the fuhjecT: alfo is in feme re~ fpecls exceprianahle. The nx lad books received not the finishing hand of the author ; and for this reafon he ordered his poem to be committed to the flames. The wars with the Latins are in dignity inferiour to the more intereiiing objects previoufly prefented to us \ and the reader is tempted to take part with Turnus againft iEneas. The principal excellency of Virgil, and what he. poflefles beyond all poets is tendemefs. His foul was full of fenfibiliy. He felt himfelf all the afFe&ing- circurnjlances in the fecnes he defcribes % and knevs- 226 THE .&NEID OF VIRGIL. how by a fingle ftroke to reach the heart. In an epick poem, this merit is next to fublimity. The fecond book of the JEneid is one of the greatefl mafter-pieces ever executed.. The death of old Priam, and the fam- ily pieces of iEneas, Anchifes, and Creufa, are as tender as can be conceived. In the fourth book, the unhappy paffion and death of Dido are admirable. The interview of tineas with Andromache and He- lenus in the third book ; the epifodes of Pallas and Evander, of Nifus and Euryalus, of Laufus and rSlc~ zentius, are all ftriking inftances of the power of raif- ing the tender emotions. The bed and moft finifhed books are the firft, fecond, fourth, fixth, feventh, eighth, and twelfth. Virgil's battles are in fire and fublimity far inferiour to Homer's. But in one important epifode, the de- fcent into hell, he has outdone Homer in the Odyfiey by many degrees. There is nothing in all antiquity, equal in its kind to the fixth book of the iSneid. The fcenery, the obje£ls, and the defcription, are great, folemnand fublime. With regard to the comparative merit of thefe two great princes of epick poetry, it mull be allowed that Homer was the greater genius, and Virgil the more correcl writer. Homer is more original, more bold, more fublime, and more forcible. In judgment they are both eminent. Homer has all the Greek vivaci- ty •, Virgil all the Roman ftatelinefs. The imagina- tion of Homer is the moft copious ; that of Virgil the moll correCt. The ftrength of the former lies, in warming the fancy ; that of the latter in touching the heart. Homer's ftyle is more fimple and animated - % Virgil's more elegant and uniform. LUCAN S PHARSALIA. 22? LUCAN's PHARSALIA. -LUCAN is inferiour to Homer and Virgil ; yet he deferves attention. There is little invention in his Pharfalia - 9 and it is conduited in too hiftoricai a manner to be ftrictly epick. It may be arranged, however in the epick clafs, as it treats of great and he- roick adventures. The fubject of the Pharfalia has all the epick dignity and grandeur ; and it pcfllffes unity of object, viz. the triumph of Qefar over Roman lib- erty. But, though the fubject of Lucan is confeffedly he- roick, it has two defects. Civil war prefents objects too (hocking for epick poetry, and furnifh odious and difgufting views of human nature. But Lucan's ge- nius fee trs to delight in favage fcenes. The other defect of Lucan's fubject is, that it was too near the time in which he lived. This deprived him of the afiiftance of fiction and machinery ; and thereby rendered his work iefs fplendid and amufing. The facts on which he founds his poem, were too well known, and too recent to admit fables and the in- terposition of gods. The characters of Lucan are drawn with fpirit and force. But, though Pornpey is his hero, he has not made him very interefting. He marks not Pompey by any high diftinction, either for magnanimity or val- our, He is always furpaffed by Ccefar. Cato, is Lu- can's favourite character •, and, whenever he intro- duces him, he rifes above himfelf . In managing his ftory, Lucan confines himfelf too much to chronological order. This breaks the thread 228 lucan's pharsalia. of his narration, and hurries him from place to place. He is alfo too digreffive ; frequently quitting his fub- je£t, to give us fome geographical defcription, or phi- lofophical difquifition. There are feveral poetical and fpirited defcriptions in the Pharfalia ; but the flrength of this poet does not lie either in narration or defcription. His narra- tion is often dry and harlh ; his defcriptions are often overwrought, and employed on difagreeable objetts. His chief merit con fills in his fentiments ; which are noble, ftriking, glowing, and ardent. He is the moll philosophical, and the moll patriotick poet of antiquity. He was a ftoick ; and the fpirit of that philofophy breathes through his poem. He is elevated and bold j and abounds in well-timed exclamations and apoftrophes. As his vivacity and fire are great, he is apt to be carried away by them. His great defe£l is want of moderation. He knows not where to (lop. When he would aggrandize his objects, he becomes tumid and unnatural. There is much bombafl in his poem. His tafte is marked with the corruption of his age •, and, inftead of poetry^ he often exhibits declamation. On the whole, however he is an author of lively and original genius. His high fentiments and his fire ferve to atone for many of his defects. H is genius had ftrength, but no tendernefs, nor amenity. Coo pared with Virgil, he has more fire and fublimer fenti- ments; but in every thing eK? falls infinitely below him, particularly in purity, elegance, and tendernefs. Statins and Silius Italic us, though poets of the epuk ckus, are tco inconsiderable for particular crit- icifrn. TASSO'S JERUSALEM. TASSG's JERUSALEM. JERUSALEM delivered is a ftnclly reg- ular epick poem, and abounds with beauties. The Subject is the recovery of Jerufalem from Infidels by the united powers of Chriftendom. The enterprise was fplendid, venerable* and heroick ; and an intereft- ing contrail is exhibited between the Chriftians and Saracens. Religion renders the Subject auguft, and opens a natural field for machinery and Sublime de- scription. The action tGO lies in a country, and in a period of time, Sufficiently remote to admit an inter- mixture of fable with hiitory. Rich invention is a capital quality in Taffo. He is full of events, finely diverfified. He never fatigues his reader by mere war and fighting. He frequently fhifts the fcene \ and from camps and battles tranf- ports us to more pleating objects* Sometimes the folemnities of religion ; Sometimes the intrigues of love ; at other times the adventures of a journey, or the incidents of paftoral life, relieve and entertain the reader. The work at the fame time is artfully con- nected j and, in the midfl of variety, there is perfect unity of plan. Many characters enliven the poem ; and thefe dis- tinctly marked and well fupported. Godfrey, the leader of the enterprize, is prudent, moderate, and brave \ Tailored amorous, generous, and gallant. Ri- naldo, who is properly the hero of the poem, is paf- fionate and refentful •, but full of zeal, honour, and heroifm. Solyman is high minded \ Erminia tender \ Armida artful and violent, and Clorinda mafculin** 23^ TASSO S JERUSALEM. In drawing characters, Taflb is fuperiour to Virgil, and yields to no poet but Homer. He abounds in machinery. When celeftial beings iiiterpofe, his machinery is noble. But devils, en» chanters, and conjurors aft too great a part throughout his poem. In general, the marvellous is carried to ex* travagance. The poet was too great an admirer of the romantick fpirit of knight-errantry. In defcribing magnificent objects, his ftyle is firm and majeftick. In gay and pleafing defcription, it is foft and infinuating. Erminia's paftoral retreat in the feventh book, and the arts and beauty of Arrnida in the fourth book, are exquifitely beautiful. His battles are animated, and properly varied by incidents. It is rather by actions, characters, and defcriptions,that he interefis us, than by the fentimental part of his work. He is far inferiour to Virgil in tendernefs ; and, when he aims at being fentimental and pathetic.k, he is apt to become artificial. it has been often obje£ied to Tafib, that he abounds in point and conceit ; but this cenfure has been car- ried too far. For, in his general character, he is maf- culine and ftrong. The humour of decrying him pi fl- ed from the French criticks to thofe of England. But their ftri&ures are founded either in ignorance or prejudice. For the JerufahmiS} in my opinion, the ' third regular epick poem in the world ; and (lands next to the Iliad and iEneid. In simplicity and fire Taflb is inferiour to Horner, in tendernefs to Virgil; in fub- limity to Milion ; but for fertility of invention, vari- ety of incidents, expreffion of characters, richnefs of description, and beauty of ftyle, no poet, except the three jufl named, can be compared to him, THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS. 23I THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS. X HE Portuguefe boaft of Camoens, as the Ital- ians do of TaflTo. The difcovery of the Eail-Indies by Vafco cle G*ma, an enterprise alike fplendid and in- teresting, is the fubjsct of the poem of Camoens. The adventures, diftreffd and actions of Vafco and his countrymen, are well fancied and defcribed ; and the Lufiad is conduced on the epick plan. The inci . dents of the poem are magnificent \ and, joined with fome wildncfs and irregularity, there is difplayed in it much poetick fpirit, flrong fancy, and bold ciefcripttoii. In the poem, however, there is no attempt toward painting chara&ers. Vafco is the hero, and the only plrfonage that makes any figure. The machinery of the Luiiad is perfectly extrava- gant ; being formed of an odd mixture of Cfariftian ideas and Pagan mythology, Pagan divinities appear to be the deities ; and Chrilt and the Holy Virgin to be inferiour agents. One great object, howerer, of the Portuguefe expedition is to extend the empire of Chriitianity, and to extirpate Mahometanifm. In this religious undertaking the chief protector of the Portu- guefe is Venus, and their great adverfary is Bacchus. Jupiter is introduced, as foretelling the downfal of Mahomet. Vafco during a ftorm implores the aid of Chrilt and the Virgin ; and in return to this prayer us appears, and. dtfeov^ring the ftoriri to be the . of Bacchus, complains to Jupiter, and procures tkie winds to be calmed. AH this is mod prepoiter- ous ; but, toward the end of his work, the poet offers an awkward apology for his mythology \ making the 232 THE TELEMACHUS OF FENELON. goddefs Thetes inform Vafco, that fbe and the other heathen divinities are no more than names to defcribe the operations of Providence. In the Lufiad, however, there is fome fine machine- ry of a different kind. The appearance of the genius of the river Ganges in a dream to Emanuel king of Portugal, inviting him to difcover his fecret fpyiagf, and acquainting him that he was the monarch, deftin- ed to enjoy the treafures of the Baft, is a happy idea. But in the fifth canto, the poet difplays his nobleft con- ception of this fort, where Vafco recounts to the king of Melinda all the wonders of his voyage. He tells him that, when the fleet arrived at the Cape of Good Hope, which had never beea doubled before by any navigator, there appeared to them fuddenly a huge phantom, rifing out of the tea in the midft of tempeft. and thunder, with a head that reached the clouds and a countenance, that filled them with terror. This was the genius of that hitherto unknown ocean \ and he menaced them in a voice of thunder for invading thofe unknown feas \ foretelling the calamities that were to befal them, if they {hould proceed ; and then with a mighty noife difappeared. This is a very folemn and ftriking piece of machinery ; and (hows that Camoens was a poet of a bold and lofty imagination. THE TELEMACHTJS OF FENELON, XT would be unpardonable in a review of epick poets to forget the amiable Fenelon. His work, though in profe, is a poem j and the plan in general THE TELEMACHtfS OF FENELON. 233 is well contrived, having epick grandeur and unity of a£tion. Reemploys the ancient mythology ; and ex- cels in application of it. There is great richnefs as well as beauty in his defcriptions. To foft and calm fcenes, his genius is more peculiarly fuited ; fuch as the incidents of paftoral life, the pleafures of virtue, or a country flourifhing in peace. His firft books are eminently excellent. The ad- ventures of Calypfo are the chief beauty of his work. Vivacity and interefl join in the narration. In the books which follow, there is lefs happinefs in the exe- cution, and an apparrent languor. The author in war- like adventures is mo ft unfortunate. Some criticks have refufed to rank this work among epick poems. Their objection arifes from the minute details it exhibits of virtuous policy, and from the dif-- courfes of Mentor, which recur too frequently, and too much in the drain of common place morality. To thefe peculiarities, however, the author was led by the defign with which he wrote, that of forming a young prince to the cares and duties of a virtuous monarch. Several epick poets have defcribed a defcent into hell ; and in the profpecls they have given us of the invifible world, we may obferve the gradual refine- ment in the opinions of men concerning a future flfate of rewards and punimments. Horner's defcent of U- lyfles into hell is indiftincr, and dreary. The fee ne is in the country of the Cimmerians, which is always covered with clouds and darknefs ; and, when the fpirits of the dead appear, we hardly know whether UlyiTes is above or below ground. The ghofis too, even of the heroes, appear diflatisfied with their cqu* dition. 234 THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. In Virgil the defcent info hell difcovers great refing* ment, correfponding to the progrefs of philofophy. The objects are more diftinft, grand, and awful. There is a fine defcription of the feparate manfions of good and bad fpirits. Fenelon's yifit of Telemachus to the fhades is (till much more philosophical thaa Virgil's. He refines the ancient mythology by his knowledge of the true religion, and adorns it with that beautiful enthufiafm, for which he is fo remarka- ble. His relation of the happinefs of the juft is an excellent defcription in the myflick drain. THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. JL HE Henriade is without doubt a regular epic'k poem. In feveral places of this work, Voltaire difcov- ers that boldnefs of conception, that vivacity and live- linefs of expreili on, by which he is fo much diftinguifrw ed. Several of his companions are new and happy. But the Henriade is not his mafter-pieee. In the tragick line he has certainly been more fuccefsful, than in the epick. French veifification is illy fuited to epick poetry. It is not only fettered by rhyme, but wants elevation. Hence not only feeblenefs, but fometknes profaick flat- nefs in the ftyle. The poem confequently languishes ; and the reader- is not animated by that fpirit which is infpiredby a fublime compofition of the epick kind. The triumph of Henry IV. over the arms of the League is the fubje£l of the Henriade. The aflion of the poem properly includes only the fiege of Paris. It is an action perfectly epick -, and conducted with due warn TltE HENRI ADE OF VOLTAIRE. 235 regard to unity, and to the rules of criticks. But it has great defects. It is founded on civil wars ; and pre- fents to the mind thofe odious objects, maffacres and aflaffinations. It is alfo of too recent date, and too much within the bounds of well-known hiftory. The author has farther erred by mixing fi£lion with truth. The poem, for inftance, opens with a voyage ©f Hen- ry's to England, and an interview between him and Queen Elizabeth ; though Henry never faw England, nor ever converfed with Elizabeth. In fubje£ts of fuch notoriety a fiction of this kind (hocks every in- telligent reader. A great deal of machinery is employed by Voltaire for the purpofe of embellifhing his poem. But it is of the word kind, that of allegorical beings. Difcord, cunning, and love appear as perfonages, and mix with human actors. This is contrary to all rational criticifm. Ghofts, angels, and devils, have a popular exiftence ; but every one knows that allegorical beings are no more than reprefentations of human paffions and difpofltions ; and ought not to have place, as aft- ers, in a poem which relates to human tranfaclions* In juftice however it muft be obferved, that the ma- chinery of St. Louis poffefles real dignity. The prot pe£t of the invifible world, which St. Louis gives to Henry in a dream, is the fineft paffage in the Henriade*. Death bringing the fouls of the departed in fucceffion before God, and the palace of the defttnies opened to Henry, are ftriking and magnificent cbjedts. Though fome of Voltaire's epifodes are properly ex- tended, his narration is too general. The events are fuperficially related, and too much crowded. Th Milton's in that of wonderful and Stupendous objefts. But, while Milton excels mod in fublimity, his Avork abounds in the beautiful, the pleafing, and the tender. When the Ccqxxq is in Paradife, the imagery is gay and frniling. His descriptions Show a fertile im- agination ; and in his fimiles he is remarkably happy* If faulty, it is from their too frequent allufions to mat- ters of learning, and to ancient fables. It muft alfo be confeffed, that there is a falling off in the latter part of Paradife Loft. The language and verfification of Milton have high merit. His blank verfe is harmonious and diverfiiied j and his ftyle is full of majefty. There may be found indeed ibme profaick lines in his poem. But in a work fo long and fo harmonious thefe may be forgiven. Paradife Loft, amid beauties of every kind, has many inequalities. No high and daring genius was ever uni- formly correct. Milton is too frequently theological and metaphyseal ; his words are often technical j and he is affe£iedly oftentatious of his learning. Many of his faults however are to be imputed to the pedantry of his age. He difcovers a vigour, a grafp of genius DRAMATICK POETRY. 239 equal to every thing great ; fometimes he rifes above every other poet j and fometimes he falls below him- felf. DRAMATICK POETRY. TRAGEDY. ii LN all civilized nations dramatick poetry has been a favourite amufement. It divides itfeif into the two forms of tragedy and comedy. Of thefe, trage- dy is the mod dignified ; as great and ferious objects intereft us more than little and ludicrous ones. The former reft s on the high paffions, the virtues, crimes, and fufftrings of mankind ; the latter on their hu- mours, follies, and pleafures $ and ridicule is its fole instrument. Tragedy is a direct imitation of human manners and a£lions. It does not, like an epick poem, exhibit char- acters by defcription or narration ; it fets the perfon- ages before us, and makes them a£t and fpeak with pro- priety. This fpecies of writing therefore requires deep knowledge of the human heart ; and, when hap- pily executed, it has the power of raifing the ftrongeft emotions. In its general drain and fpirit, tragedy is favourable to virtue. Characters of honour claim our refpeft arid approbation , and, to raife indignation, we muft paint a perfon in the odious colours of vice and depravity. Virtuous men, indeed, are often reprefented by the tragick poet as unfortunate ; for this happens in real life. But he always engages our hearts in their be- half ; and never reprefents vice as finally triumphant and happy. Upon the fame principle, if bad men 240 MLAMATICK POETRY. fucceed in their defigns, they are yet finally condu&ed to punifhment. It may therefore be concluded that tragedies are moral compofitions. It is affirmed by Ariftotle, that the defign of tragedy is to purge our paffions by means of pity and terror. But perhaps it would have been more accurate, to have faid, that the obje£l of this fpecies of composition is to improve our virtuous fenfibility. If a writer excite our pity for the afflicted, infpireus with proper fentiments on beholding the viciffitudes of life, and Simulate us to avoid the misfortunes of others by exhibiting their ■errors, he has acconiplifhed all the moral purpofes o£ tragedy. In a tragedy it is neceffary to have an interefting ftory, and that the writercondu£t it in a natural and probable manner. For the end of tragedy is not fo much to elevate the imagination, as to affe£t the heart. This principle, which is founded on the cleared reafon, excludes from tragedy all machinery, or fabulous intervention of gods. Ghofts alone from their foundation in popular belief, have maintained their place in tragedy. To promote an impreffion of probability, the (lory of a tragedy, according to fome criticks, mould never be a pure fiction, but ought to be built on real facts. This, however, is carrying the matter too far. For \ fi&itious tale, if properly conducted, will melt the heart as much as real hiftory. Hence the tragick poet mixes many fictitious circumftances with well known fa£is« Moll readers never think of feparating the hit* torical from the fabulous. They attend only to what is probable, and are touched by events, that refemble nature. Accordingly fome of the mod affecting trag- DRAMATIC* POETRY. 24 1 cdies arc entirely fi£titious in their fubje&s. Such are the Fair Penitent, Douglas, and the Orphan. In its origin, tragedy was rude and imperfeft. A- mong the Greeks it was at firft nothing more than the fong which was furrg at the feitival of Bacchus. Thefe fongs were fometimes fang by the whole compa- ny, and fometimes by feparate bands, anfwering alter- nately to each other, and making a chorus. To gu T e this entertainment fome variety, Thefpis, who lived a- bout five hundred years before the Chriftian era, in- troduced a perfon between the fongs, who made a re- citation in verfe. JEfchylus, who lived fifty years af- ter him, introduced a dialogue between two perfons or a£tors, comprehending fome interefting fiory ; and placed them on a ftage adorned with fcenerj% The drama now began to ailume a regular form 5 and was foon after brought to perfection by Sophocles and Euripides, It thus appears that the chorus wa$ the foundation of tragedy. But, what is remarkable, the dramatick dialogue, which was only an addition to it, at length became the principal part of the entertainment ; and the chorus, lofing its dignity, came to be accounted on- ly an acceiTory in tragedy. At iaft, in modern trag-, edy, it has entirely difappeared $ and its abfence from the (tage, forms the chief distinction between the an- cient and modern drama. The chorus, it mult be allowed, rendered tragedy more magnificent, instructive, and moral. But on the other hand it was unnatural, and leffened the intereft of the piece. It removed the reprefemation from the refemblance of life. It has accordingly been with propriety excluded from the ftage. 242 DRAMATICK POETRY. The three unities of a£tion, place, and time, have been confidered, as effential to the proper condu£t of dramatick fable. Of thefe three, unity of a£tion is un- doubtedly moft important. This confifts in the rela- tion which all the incidents introduced bear to fome defign or effeft, combining them naturally into one whole. This unity of fubje£l is moft effential to trag- edy. For a multiplicity of plots, by di(tra£Ung the at- tention, prevents the paffions from rifing to any height. Hence the abfurdify of two independent a£tions in the fame play. There may indeed be underplots i but the poet fiiould make thefe fubfervient to the main aftion. They fhould confpire to bring forward the cataflrophe of the play. Of a feparate and independent aftion, or intrigue, there is a clear example in Addifon's Cato. The fub- je& of this tragedy is the death of Cato, a noble per- fonage, and fupported by the author with much digni- ty. But all the love-fcenes in the play ; the paffibn of Cato's two fons for Lucia, and that of Juba for Cato's daughter, are mere epifodes. They break the unity of the fubjeft, and form a very unfeafonable junftion of gallantry with high fentiments of patri- otifm. Unity of action muft not, however, be confounded with fimplicity of plot. Unity and fimpiicity import different things in dramatick compofition. The plot is fimple, wlien a fmall number of incidents is introduc- ed into it. With refpeci to plots, the ancients were more fimple than the moderns. The Greek trage- dies appear, indeed, to be too naked, and defiitute of intereilmg events. The moderns admit a much great- er variety of incidents j which is certainly an improve- DRAMATICS POETRY. 243 ment, as it renders the entertainment more animated and more inftructive. It may, however, be carried too far ; for an overcharge of action and intrigue pro* duces perplexity and embarraiTment. Of this, the Mourning Bride of Congreve is an example. The in- cidents fucceed each other too rapidly ; and the cataf- trophe, which ought to be plain and fimple, is artificial and intricate. Unity of action mufl be maintained, not only in the general conftruttion of the , fable, but in all the a£ts and fcenes of the play. The divifion of every play into five a£ts is founded merely on common practice, and the authority of Horace : Neve minor, neu fit quinto produtftior a<5Ui Fabula. There is nothing in nature which fixes this rule. On the Greek ltage the divifion by a£ts was unknown. The word aft never occurs once in the Poeticks of Ariitotle. Practice, however, has eftablifhed this di- vifion ; and the poet muft be careful that each a£t terminate in a proper place. The firft a£t {hould contain a clear expofition of the fubjeCt. It (hould excite curiofity, and introduce the perfonages to the acquaintance of the fpectators. During the fecond^ thirds and fourth acts, the plots fhould gradually thick- en. The paiiions (hould be kept conftantly awake. There (hould be no fcenes of idle converfation or mere declamation. The fufpenfe and concern of the fpedtators fhould be excited more and more. This is the great excellency of Shakefpeare. Sentiment, paf- fion, pity, and terror, (hould pervade every tragedy. In the fifth act, which is the feat of the cataftrophe. the author (hould moft fully difplay his art and genius-.* 244 BRAMATICK POETRY. The firfi requifite is, that the unravelling ©f the plot be brought about by probable and natural means, Sec- ondly, the cataftrophe fhould be fimple, depending on few events^ and including but few perfons. Paffionate •fenfibility languishes when divided among many objects. Laftly, in the cataftrophe every thing should be warm and glowing \ arid the poet mutt be fi tuple, ferious, and pathedck; uGng no language but that of nature. It is net efTential to the cataftrophe of a tragedy, Ithat it end happily, Sufficient diftrefs and agitation,. with many tender emotions, may be raifed in the eourie of the play, But in general the fpirit of trag- edy leans to the fi:!e oi leaving the impreffion of virtu- ous fprrc;-w nvongupen the miia& A cuviour> quell ion here occurs : How happens it rho: the emotions of hffow In tragedy afford gratifr* cancr, to the mind ? It (terns tube the confutation of ©lit nature, that all the (octal paffions ihouid be attend- ed with pleafure. Hence nothing is more pleafing titan iove a»d friendfkip* Pity is for wile ends a ftrong- inftinft ; and it neceflarily produces fome diftrefs on account of its fympathy with fufferers.- The heart is st the fame moment warmed by kindnefs, and affiifted by diftrefs. Upon the whole, the Hate of the mind is agreeable. We are pjeafed with oarfelves, not on- ly for our benevolence, but for our fenftbility* The pain of fympathy is alfo diminifhed by recollecting that the diftrefs is not real; and by the power of " aft ion and fentiment, of language and poetry. After treating of the a£ls of a play it is proper to notice the fcenes. The entrance of a new perfon up- on the ftage, forms what is called a new fcene. Thefe Jcenes, or fucceffive converfations, fhould be clofely BRIM ATI CK POETUYV 245. connected ; and much of the art of dramatick compo- sition confifts in maintaining this connexion. For this purpofe two rules rnuft be obferved. 1. During the courfe of one aft the ftage fliould never be left empty a moment, for this would make a gap in the reprefentation. Whenever the ftage is evacuated, the aft is clofed. This rule is generally obferved by French tragedians ; but it is much neglefted by the Englifh. 2. No perfon fhould come upon the ftage, or leave it, without feme apparent reafon. If this rule be neglefted, the dramatis perfonae are little better than fo many puppets; for the drama profeffes imi- tation of real tranfaftions. To unity of aftion, criticks have added the unities i of time and place. Unity of place requires the fcene never to be fh if ted ; that the action of the play con* thine in the fame place where it began. Unity of time, ftriftly taken, requires that the time of the ac- tion be no longer than the time allowed for the rep- refentation of the play. Ariftotle, however* permits the aft ion to comprehend a whole day. Thefe rules are intended to bring the imitation nearer to reality. Among the Greeks there was no divrfion of afls.- In modern times the praftice has prevailed of f uf pend- ing the fpeftacle fome little time between the afts. This praftice. gives latitude to the imagination, and! renders ftrift confinement to time and place lefs necef* iary. Upon this account therefore too ftrift an ob- fervance of thefe unities (hould not be preferred to • higher beauties of execution, nor to the iatroduftion of more pathetick fituations. But tranfgre (lions of.' thefe unities, though they may be often advantageous,, gught not to be too frequent/ nor. violent. Hurrying; w. 2 246 TRAGEDY. the fpc&ator from one diftant city to another, or making feveral days or weeks pafs during the repre- fentation, would fhock the imagination too much, and therefore cannot be allowed in a dramatick writer. Having examined dramatick a£tion, we fliall now attend to the charafters moft proper to be exhibited in a tragedy. Several criticks affirm that the nature of tragedy requires the principal perfonages to be always of high or princely rank 5 as the fufferings of fuch perfons feize the heart the moft forcibly. But this is more fpecious than folid. For the diftreffes of Def- demona, Monimia, and Belvidera, intereft us as much as if they had been princeffes or queens. It is fuffi- cient, that in tragedy there be nothing degrading or mean in the perfonages exhibited. High rank may render the fpeciacle more fplendid ; but it is the talc itfelf, and the art of the poet, that make it intereft- ing and pathetick. In defcribing his chara&erg, the poet fhould be iareful fo to order the incidents which relate to them, as to imprefs the fpe£tators with favourable ideas of virtue, and of the divine adminiftration. Pity fhould be raifed for the virtuous in diftrefs •, and the author fhould ftudioufly beware of making fuch reprefenta- tions of life as would render wtue an object of aver- Son. Unmixed, ciiarp.QerSj either of good or ill men, are >iot, in the opinion of Ariftotie, fit for tragedy. For the diftreffes of the former, as unmerited, hurt us ; and the fufferings of the latter excite no compaffion. Mixed charafters afford the beft field for difplaying, without injury to morals, the viciffitudes of life. They intereft us the moft deeply 5 and their diftreffes, are moft inftru£Uve when reprefented as fptinging out of their own paffions, or as originating in fome weaknefs incident to human nature. The Greek tragedies are often founded on mere def- tiny and inevitable misfortunes. Modern tragedy aims at a higher obje£t, and takes a wider range ; as it (hows the direful effects of ambition, jealoufy, love, refentment, and every ftrong emotion. But of all the paffions which furnifh matter for tragedy, love has moft occupied the modern ftage. To the ancient the- atre love was almoft unknown. This proceeded from the national manners of the Greeks, which encourag- ed a greater feparation of the fexes than takes place ia modern times ; and did not admit female a £1 or s upon the ancient ftage ; a circumftance which operated againft the introduction of love-ftories. No folidrea- fon, however, can be afligned for this predominancy ©f love upon the ftage* Indeed it not only limits the natural/extent of tragedy, but degrades its majefty. Mixing it with the great and folemn revolutions of human fortune, tends to give tragedy the air of gallant- ry and juvenile entertainment. Without any affift- ance from love, the drama is capable of producing its higheft effects upon the mind. Befide the arrangement of his fubje&, and the con- du£fc of his perfonages, the tragick poet muft attend to the propriety of his fentiinents. Thefe muft be fuit- ed to the characters of the perfons to whom they are attributed, and to the fituations in which they are placed. It is chiefly in the pathetick parts, that the difficulty and importance of this rule are greatefK We go to a tragedy, expe£ling to be moved \ and, i£ the goct cannot reach the. hearty he has no tragick .raex^ 24^ TRAGEDY. it ; and we return cold and difappointed from the, performance. To paint and to excite paflion ftrongly, are preroga- tives of genius. They require not only ardent fenfi- bility, but the power of entering deeply into charac- ters. It is here that candidates for the drama are leaf! fuccefsful. A man under the agitation of paffion. makes known his feelings in the glowing language of fenfibility. He does not coolly defcribe what his feelings are \ yet this fort of feconclary defcription tragick poets often give us inftead of the primary and native language of paffion. Thus in Addifon's Cato, when Lucia confefies to Fortius her love for him, but fwears that (lie will never marry him, Fortius, inftead of giving way to the language of grief and aftonifl> ment, only defcribes his feelings :. Fix'd in aftonifbment,! gaze upon thee, Like one juft blafted by a flroke from heaven, Who pants for breath, and flifFens yet alive In dreadful looks ; a monument of wrath, This might have proceeded from a by (lander, or ati indifferent peribn ; but it is altogether improper in the mouth of Fortius. Similar to this defcriptive language are the unnatural and forced thoughts, which tragick poets fometimes employ, to exaggerate the feelings of. perfons whom they wifh to paint, as ftrongly moved. Thus* when Jane Shore on meeting her hufband in diftrefs, and finding that he had forgiven her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and to the fprings to lend her their ftreams, that fhe may hare a conftant fupply of tears ; we fee plainly that it is not Jane Shore that fpeaks \ but the poet himfelf, who is -{train-- TRAGEDT. 24f iRg his fancy, and fpurring up his genius, to fay fomething uncommonly ftrong and lively. The language of real paffion is always plain and fimple. It abounds indeed in figures, that exprefs a difturbed and impetuous ftate of mind ; but never em- ploys any for parade and embeKifhment. Thoughts, fuggeited by paffion, are natural and obvious ; and not the offspring of refinement, fubtilty, and wit. Paffion neither reafons, fpeculates, nor declaims ; its language is fhort, broken, and interrupted. The French tragedians deal too much in refinement and declamation. The Greek tragedians adhere mod to nature, and are moil pathetick. This too is the great excellency of Shakefpeare. He exhibits the true lan- guage of nature and paffion. Moral fentiments and reflections ought not to recur rery frequently in tragedy* When unfeafonably crowded, they lofe their effect, and convey an air of pedantry. When introduced with propriety, they give dignity to the compofition. Cardinal Woolfey's fol iloquy on his fall is a fine in fiance of the felicity with which they may be employed. Much of the merit of Addifon's Cato depends on that moral turn. of thought which diftinguifhes it. The ftyle and verilfication of tragedy mould be free, eafy, and varied. Englifh blank ve'rfe is happily fuit- ed to this fpecies of compofition. It has fufficient ma- jelty, and can defcend to the fimple and familiar ; it admits a happier variety of cadence, and is free front the comtraint and monotony of rhyme. Of the French tragedies it is a great misfortune, that they are always in rhyme. For it fetters the freedom of the tragick dialogue, fills it with languid monotony, and i$ fatal to the power of paffion. 2$® 4 CREEK TRAGEDY. With regard to thofe fplendid comparifons in rhyme and thofe firings of couplets, with which it was fome time ago fafhionable to conclude the a£h of a tragedy, and foinetimes the moil interefting fcenes, they are now laid afide, and regarded not only as chiidifh or- aarnsnts, but as perfed: barbarifms. GREEK TRAGEDY. Ti HE plot of Greek tragedy was exceedingly fimple •, the incidents few ^ and the conduct very exact with regard to the unities of action, time, and place. Machinery, or the invention of gods, was em* ployed ; and, what was very faulty, the final unravel- ling was fometimes made to turn upon it. Love, one or two inftances excepted, was never admitted into Greek tragedy. A vein of morality and religion al- ways runs through it ; but they employed lefs than the moderns, the combat of the paffions. Their plots were all taken from the ancient traditionary ftories of their own nation. jEfchylus, the father of Greek tragedy, exhibits both the beauties and defe£ts of an early original writer. He is bold, nervous, and animated ; but very obfcure, and difficult to be underftood. His ftyle is highly metaphorical, and often harfli and tumid. He abounds in martial ideas and defcriptions, has much fire and elevation, and little tendernefs. He alfo de- lights in the marvellous. The mod mafterly of the Greek tragedians is So- phocles. He is the mofl correal in the condu£l of FRENCH TRAGEDY. 2 J I his fubje&9 ; the mod juft and fublimc in his fenti- ments. In defcriptive talents he is alfo eminent. Euripides is accounted more tender than Sophocles * he is fuller of moral fentiments *, but he is lefs corre£k in the conduct of his plays. His expofitions of his fubjefts are lefs artful ; and the fongs of his chorus, though very poetick, are lefs connected with the prin- cipal a£Hon, than thofe of Sophocles. Both of them, however, have high merit, as tragick poets. Their ftyle is elegant and beautiful ; and their fentiments for the moft part juft. They fpeak with the voice of nature ; and in the midft of fimplicity they are touch- ing and interefting. Theatrical reprefentation on the ftages of Greece and Rome was in many refpe£is very Angular, and widely different from that of modern times. The fongs of the chorus were accompanied by inftrument- al mufick ; and the dialogue part had a modulation of its own, and might be fet to notes. It has alfo been thought that on the Roman ftage the pronouncing and gefticulating parts were fometimes divided, and performed by different a£tors. The actors in tragedy wore a long robe ; they were raifed upon cothurni, and played in mafks ; thefe malks were painted ; and the a£lor by turning the different profiles exhibited different emotions to the auditors. This contrivance, however, was attended by many difadvantages. FRENCH TRAGEDY. IN the compofitions of fome French dramatick writers, tragedy has appeared with great luftre * par- 25* FRENCH TRAGEDY. ticularly Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire. They have improved upon the ancients, by introducing more in- cidents, a greater variety of paflions, and a fuller dif- play of characters. Like the ancients, they excel in regularity of conduct \ and their flyle is poetical and elegant. But to an Englifh tafte they want ftrength and paffion, and are too declamatory and re- fined. They feem afraid of being too tragick ; and it was the opinion of Voltaire, that to the perfedion of tragedy it is neceflary to unite the vehemence and a£Uon of the Englifh theatre with the correftnefs and decorum of the French. Corneille, the father of French tragedy, is diftin- guifhed by majefty of fentiment and a fruitful imagi- nation. His genius was rich, but more turned to the epick than the tragick vein. He is magnificent and fplendid, rather than touching and tender. He is full of declamation, impetuous and extravagant. In tragedy, Racine is fuperiour to Corneille. He wants, indeed, the copioufnefs of Corneille ; but he is free from his bombafl, and excels him greatly in ten- dernefs. The beauty of his language and verfifica- tion is uncommon ; and^he has managed his rhymes with fuperiour advantage. Voltaire is not inferiour to his predeceilbrs in the drama \ and in one article he has outdone them, the delicate and interefting fituations he has introduced. Here lies his chief ftrength. Like his predeceffors, however,. he is fometimes deficient in force, and feme- times too declamatory. His characters, notwithftand- ing, are drawn with fpirit, his events are ftriking, and his fentiments elevated. ■NCLXSX T*A«I0T* 253 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. IT has often been remarked of tragedy hi tSreat-Britain, that it is more ardent than that oF France, but more irregular and incorrect. It ha*, therefore, excelled in the foul of tragedy. For tht pathetick muft be allowed to be the chief excellence of the tragick mufe. The firft obje& on the Englifh theatre, is the great Shakefpeare. In extent and force of genius, botk for tragedy and comedy, he is unrivalled. But at the fame time it is genius (hooting wild, deficient in tafte # not always chafte, and unaffifted by art and knowl* edge. Criticifm has been exhaufted in commentaries upon him •, yet to this day it is undecided, whether his beauties or defefls be greateft. In his writings there are admirable fcenes and parages without num- ber ; but there is not one of his plays which can be pronounced a good one. Befide extreme irregulari- ties in conduft, and grotefque mixtures of the ferioui and comick, we are frequently difturbed by unnatural thoughts, harfh expreffions, and a certain obfeure bombaft, and play upon words. Thefe faults are # however, compenfated by two of the greatefl excel* lencies a tragick poet can poffefs, his lively and di- verfified painting of character, and his ftrong and natural expreffions of paffion. On thefe two virtues his merit refts. In the midft of his abfurdities ho interefts and moves us ; fo great is his fkill in human nature, and fo lively his reprefentations of it. He poffeffes alfo the merit of having created for himfelf a world of preternatural beings. Hi* witche*) x 254 ENGLISH TRAGEDY. ghofts, fairies, and fpirits of all kinds, are fo awful, myfterious, and peculiar, as ftrongly to affe& the im- agination. His two mafter-pieces are his Othello and Macbeth. With regard to his hiftorical plays they are neither tragedies, nor comedies ; but a pe- culiar fpecies of dramatick entertainment, in which he defcribes the chara&ers, events, and manners of the times of which he treats. Since Shakefpeare, there are few Englifh dramatick writers, whofe whole works are entitled to high praife. There are feveral tragedies, however, of coniiderable merit. Lee's Theodofius has warmth and tendernefs, though romantick in the plan, and extravagant in the fentiments. Otway is great in his Orphan and Venice Preferred. Perhaps, however, he is too tragick in thefe pieces. He had genius and ftrong paffions, but was very indelicate. The tragedies of Rowe abound in morality and in elevated fentiments. His poetry is good, and his lan- guage pure and elegant. He is, notwithftanding, too cold and uninterefting ; and flowery, rather than tragick. His bed dramas are Jane Shore and the Fair Penitent, which excel in the tender and pathetick. Dr. Young's Revenge difcovers genius and fire ; but wants tendernefs, and turns too much on the direful paffions. In the Mourning Bride of Congreve there are fine fituations and much good poetry. The tragedies of Thomfon are too full of a ftiff morality, which renders them dull and formal. His Tancred and Sigifmunda is his mafter-piece 5 and for the plot, characters and fentiments, juftly deferves a place among the befl Englifh tragedies. A Greek tragedy is a fimple relation of an intereft- irig incident. A French tragedy is a feries of artful COMEDY* 25; and refined converfations. An Englilh tragedy is a combat of ftrong paffions, fet before us in all their violence, producing deep difafters, and filling the fpe£tators with grief. Ancient tragedies are more natural and fimple ; modern more artful and com- plex. T, COMEDY, HE drain and fpirit of comedy difcriminate it fufRciently from tragedy. While pity, terror, and the otherf ftrong pailions form the province of the lat- ter, the fole inftrument of the former is ridicule* Follies and vices, and whatever in the human charac- ter is improper, or expofes to cenfure and ridicule, are objecSls of comedy. As a fatirical exhibition of the improprieties and follies of men, it is ufeful and moral. It is commendable by this fpecies of compofition to correct and to polifh the manners of men. Many- vices are more fuccefsfuliy exploded by ridicule, than by ferious arguments. It is poffible however to em* ploy ridicule improperly ; and by its operation to do mifchief inftead of good. For ridicule is far from being a proper tell of truth. Licentious writers there- fore of the comick clafs have often caft ridicule on ob- jefts and chara6lers which did not deferve it. But this is not the fault of comedy, but of the turn and genius of certain writers. In the hands of loofe men, comedy will miflead and corrupt ; but in thofe of virtuous writers ; it is not only a gay and innocent, but a laudable and ufeful entertainment. Englifh comedy, however, is frequently a fchool of vice. *&* 25* COMEBY. The rules of dramatick action, that were prefcrittti for tragedy, belong alfo to comedy. A comick writer muft obferve the unities of a£Uon, time, and place. He mud attend to nature and probability. The inn- fcation of manners ought to be even more exaft in comedy than in tragedy ; for the fubje&s of comedy 2re more familiar and better konwn. The fuhje<3s of tragedy are confined to no age Ror country ; but it is otherwife in comedy, Forths decorums of behaviour, and the nice discriminations •f character which are the fubje#s of comedy, change with time and country 5 and are never fo well under- wood by foreigners, as by natives. We weep for the heroes of Greece and Rome ; but we are touched by the ridicule of fuch manners and characters only ai %c fee and know. The fcene therefore of comedy jhc^ld always be laid in the au thorns own country ?nd age. The comick poet catches the manners living .$s they rife. ft is true, indeed, that Plautus and Terence did not follow this rule. The fcene of their comedies is laid in Greece, and they adopted the Greek laws and cuf- forns. But it is to be remembered, that comedy was in th«ir age a new entertainment in Rome, and that they were contented with the praife of tranflating Me- oander and other comick writers of Greece. In poftc- rior times the Romans had the " Comcedia Togata,* ©r what was founded on their own manners, as welt as the " Comcedia Palliata," which was taken from the Greeks. There are two kinds of comedy, that of chara£ler, and that of intrigue. In the laft, the plot or a£lion of ^je play is the principal objeft. la the firft, the dif* COMEDY. 2^7 play of a peculiar character is the chief point ; and to this the adion is fubordinate. The French abound moft in comedies of character. Such are the capital pieces of Moliere. The Englifh have inclined more to comedies of intrigue. Such are the plays of Con- greve ; and in general there is more ftory, action, and buftle in Engiiih, than in French comedy. The perfection of comedy is to be found in a prop- er mixture of thefe two kinds. Mere converfation without an interefting (lory is infipid. There fhould ever be fo much intrigue, as to excite both fears and wiihes. The incidents fhould be ftriking, and afford a proper field for the exhibition of character. The piece however fhould not be overcharged with in- trigue ; for this would be to convert a comedy into a novel. With refpeft to characters it is a common error of Comtek writers, to carry them much beyond real life j indeed it is very difficult to hit the precife point, where wit ends, and buffoonery begins. The comedian may exaggerate ; but good fenfe mull teach him where to flop. In comedy there ought to be a clear diftin£tion in chara£ters* The contraft of characters, however, by pairs, and by oppofites, is too theatrical and affe&ed. It is the perfection of art to conceal art. A mafterly writer gives us his chara£ters, diftinguifhed rather by fuch (hades of diverfity, as are commonly found in fo- ciety, than marked by fuch oppofitions, as are feldorrs brought into actual contraft in any of the c^rcumftan- ces of life* The ftyle of comedy ought to be pure, lively, and •legant, generally imitating the tone of polite convex x 2 a$B ANCIIMT COMEDY. fation, and never defcending into grofs expreffions- Rhyme is not fuitable to comick compofition ; for what has poetry to do with the converfation of men ia common life ? The current of the dialogue (hould be cafy without pertnefs, and genteel without flippancy* Tke wit fhould never be ftudied,nor unfeafonable. ANCIENT COMEDT. X HE ancient comedy was an avowed fatire a- gain ft particular perfons, brought upon the ftage by- same. Such are the plays of Ariftophanes ; and •ompofitions of fo lingular a nature illuftrate well the- turbulent and licentious ftate of Athens. The molt xlluftrious perfonages, generals and magiftrates, wer« then made the fubje£ts of comedy. Vivacity, fatire, and buffoonery are the chara£terifticks of Ariftophanes. On many occafions he difplays genius and force, but his performances give us no high idea of the attick: frafte for wit in his age. His ridicule is extravagant ;. his wit farcical ; his perfonal raillery cruel, and biting^ and his obfcenity intolerable. Soon after the age of Ariftophanes the liberty o£ attacking perfons by name on the ftage was prohibit- ed by law. The middle comedy then took its rife. Living perfons were (till attacked, but under fidlitious^ names. Of thefe pieces we have no remains. They were fucceeded by the new comedy ; when it became as it is now, the bufinefs of the ftage to exhibit man- ners and characters, but not thofe of particular per- fons. The author of this kind, moft celebrated among the Greeks, was M#nander 3 but his writings are pej^ iftfdv SPANISH COtfEBT. .%$$ Of the new comedy of the ancients, the only re- gains are the plays of Plautus and Terence. The firft is eminent for the vis comica } and for an expref- five phrafeology. He bears, however, many marks of the rudenefs of the dramatick art in his time. He has too much low wit and fcurril-lity ; and is by far too quaint and full of conceit. He has more variety and more force than Terence \ and his characters are ftrongly marked, though fometimes coarfely. Terence is poliflied, delicate, and elegant. His ftyle is a model of the moft pure and graceful latinity. His dialogue is always corre£l and decent, and hi& relations have a pifturefque and beautiful fimplicity. His morality is in general unexceptionable \ his fix- ations are interefting \ and many of his fentiments- touch the heart. He may be confidered as the found- er of ferious comedy. In fprightlinefs and ftrength he is deficient There is a famenefs in his character* and plots \\ and he is faid to have been inferiour t<^ Menander, whom he copied. To form a perfe£l tomick author, the fpirit and fire of Plautus ought t# ie united with the grace and corre&neft of Terence SPANISH COMEDY. JL HE moft prominent obje£t in modern comfc- fly is the Spaniflv theatre. The chief ccmedians of Spain are Lopez de Vega, Guillen and Calderon. The firft, who is the moft famous of them, wrote &** bove a thoufand plays ; and was infinitely more irreg- mlar than Shakefpeare. He totally difregarded th* #ii€€ untties* and every eftablifced rule* of d£a»|t$fc. 26o FRENCH COMEDY. writing. One play often includes many years, and even the whole life of a man. The fcene, during the firft a£fc is in Spain \ the next in Italy ; and the third in Africa. His plays are chiefly hiftorical, and are a mixture of heroick fpeeches, ferious incidents, war and flaughter, ridicule and buffoonery. He jumbles to- gether Chriftianity and Paganifm, virtues and vices, angels and gods. Notwithftanding his faults, he pof- fefled genius, and great force of imagination. Many of his characters are well painted ; many of his fixa- tions are happy ; and from the fource of his rich in- vention, dramatick writers of other nations have fre- quently drawn their materials. He was confcious himfelf of his extreme irregularity, and apologized for them from the prevailing tafte of his country- men. FRENCH COMEDY. X HE comick theatre of France is allowed to be correct, chaflej and decent. The comick author, in whom the French glory moft, is Moliere. In the judgment of French criticks he has nearly reached the fummit of perfection in his art. Nor is this the de- cifion of mere partiality. Moliere is the fatirift only of vice and folly. His characters were peculiar ta his own times ; and in general his ridicule was juftly directed. His comick powers were great ; and his pleafantry is always innocent. His Mifanthrope, and Tartuffe are in verfe, and conftitute a kind of digni- fied comedy, in which vice is expofed in the ftyle of elegant and polite fatire. In his profe comedies there ENGLISH COMEDO. t6l h a profufion of ridicule 5 but the poet never gives, alarm to modefty, nor cafts contempt on virtue. With thefe high qualities however confiderable «lefe£U are mingled. In unravelling his plots he is unhappy v as this is frequently brought on with too little prepa- ration, and in an improbable manner. In his verfe comedies he is not always fufficiently interefting, and he is too full of long fpeeches. In his rifible pieces La profe he is too farcical. But upon the whole it may be affirmed, that few writers ever attained fo perfect- ly the true end of comedy. Hia Tartuffe ana Avas* are his two capital production*. ENGLISH COMEDY. JL* ROM the English theatre is naturally expe<5l~ td a great variety of original characters in comedy,, and bolder ftrokes of wit and humour than from any other modern ftage. Humour is in fome degree pe- culiar to England. The freedom of the government, and the unreftrained liberty of Englifii manners, arc favourable to humour and (angularity of character. In France the influence of a defpotick court fpreads uni- formity over the nation* Hence comedy has a more amplified and a freer vein in Britain than in France. But it is to be regretted, that the comick fpirit of Brit- ain is often difgraced by indecency and licentioufnefs. The firft age, however, of Englifh comedy was not infe&edby this fpirit. The plays of Shakefpeare and Ben Jonfon have no immoral tendency. The com~ fdi.es of the former difplay a ftrong, creative genius $ 262 English comei>t. but are irregular in conduct They are Angularly rich in characters and manners ; but often defcend to pleafc the mob. Jonfon is more regular, but (tiff and pe* dantick -, though not void of dramatick genius. Much fancy and invention, and many fine paflages, are found in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. But m gen- eral they abound in romantick incidents, unnatural chara&ers and coarfe allufions. Change of manners has rendered the comedies of the lafl: age obfolete. For it is the exhibition of pre- vailing modes and characters, that gives a charm to comedy. Thus Plautus was antiquated to the Ro- mans in the days of Auguftus. But to the honour of Shakefpeare, his Falftaff is ftill admired, and his Mei nr Wives of Windfor read with pleafure. After the re deration of Charles II thelicentioufi which polluted the court and nation, feized upon com- edy. The rake became the predominant character Ridicule was thrown upon chaftity and fobriety. the end of the play, indeed, the rake becomes a fober man ; but through the performance he is a fine gen- tleman, and .exhibits a pi£ture of 1 the pleafurable en- joyments of life. This fpirit of comedy had the v effect on youth of both fexes, and continued to the days of George II. In the comedies of Dryden there are many ftrokes of genius ; but he is hafty and carelefs. As his obje£t was to pleafe, he followed the current of the times, and gave way to indelicacy and licentioufnefs. His indecency was at times fo grofs, as to occafion a pro- hibition of his plays on the ftage. After Dryden flourifhed Cibber, Vanburgh, Far- quhar and Congreve. Cibber has fprightlinefs and a ENGLISH COMEDY. 263 pert vivacity ; but his incidents are fo forced and un- natural, that his performances have all funk into ob- fcurity, excepting the CarelefsHufband and The Pro- voked Hufband. Of thefe the firft is remarkable for the eafy politenefs of the dialogue ; and is tolerably- moral in its conduct. The latter, in which Cibber was affifted by Vanburgh, is perhaps the beft comedy in the Englifh language ; and even to this it may be ob- jected that it has a doubleplot. Its chara&ers how- ever are natural, and it abounds with fine painting and happy ftrokes of humour. Wit,, fpirit, and eafe, characterize Sir John Van- burgh 1 but he is the mod indelicate and immoral of all our comedians. Congreve undoubtedly poflefled, genius* He is witty and fparkiing, and full of char- acter and aftion. Indeed he overflows with wit \ for it is often introduced unfeafonably ; and in general there is too much of it for well bred converfation. Farquhar is a light and gay writer 5 lefs correct and lefs brilliant than Congreve -, but he has more eafe, and much of the vis comica* Like Congreve he is licentious -, and modefty mull turn from them both with abhorrence. The French boaft with juftice of the fuperiour decency of their ftage, and fpeak of the Englifh theatre with aftonifhent. Their philofophi- cal writers afcribe the profligate manners of London to the indelicacy and corruption of Englifli comedy. Of late years a fenfible reformation has taken place in Englifh comedy. Our writers of comedy now ap- pear afhamed of the indecency of their predeceiTors. They may be inferiour to Farquhar and Congreve in fpirit, eafe, and wit 5 but they have the merit of being far more innocent and moral 3§4 ftNGLlSH COMEDY. To the French ftage we are much indebted for this I reformation. Theintrodu&ion within a few years of a graver comedy in France, called the ferious or tender f comedy, has attracted the attention and approbation of our writers. Gaiety and ridicule are not excluded from this fpecies of comedy ; but it lays the chief ftrefs on tender and interefting fituations. It is fenti- menta'l, and touches the heart. It pleafes not fo much by the laughter it excites, as by the tears of afFe£tion and joy which it draws forth. This form of comedy was oppofed in France, as a* tmjudifiable innovation. It was objc£led by critick* that it was not founded on laughter and Tidicule ; but it is not neceflary that all comedies be formed ,on one precife model. Some may be gay; fame fe- rious ; and fome may partake of both qualities. Se- rious and tender comedy has no right to exclude gaiety and ridicule from the ftage. There are materials for both ; and the ftage is richer for the innovation. In general it may be considered as the mark of increafing politenefs and refinement, when thofe theatrical exhi- bitions become fafhionable, which are free from indel- icate fentiments and an immoral tendency* ?f Jff I* Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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