33w»: .. 3 'ya 3~9fl4 . 4.... . ‘ 2 UNIVERSITYf PENNSYIVANIA IMP : F IV’C 3‘ ., in“, ”e , 4_ __,._,_‘. V , M». ~ 1W“ V E -H.._v...__4 ___.‘ , ACCESSIQN PRESBN’I‘ED BY ,1 DESIGNED AS A MANUAL, OF INSTRUCTION. . \ .Y ‘ . a; .5‘ ‘\’ HENRY COPPEE, A. M., mom 6!" mm: mmmm IN THE UNIVERSITY or ummum; ‘ " m: rmdmup-umum norms”, ow “ mums AND mam ;" ’ \ m” m mm mm) swung mummy mum : ‘ u mm romr; AUTHOR or “ ELEMENEs' § - ’ , \ or Loam,” mo. r I “Now it in by the some thst Inmate holds‘ol’ Loam, ua'd by the expression that she hold! of Gmu.”—Dn. Cumin}. NEW EDITION REVISED. . PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY E. 'H. BUTLER & co.‘ Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by E. EB BUTLER J: 00., In the Clerk’a Moe of the District Court of the United But“, in and for the ‘ Eastern District of Pennsylvania. ~ ' , \ UNIVERSITY PENN 9/5.va >1."le ARIES 1'13,“ 'W‘"I' ‘v *7 PREFACE. IT is only within a few years that the subject of Rhetoric has been thoroughly studied, and that those making it a special study have sought to introduce it as a part of elementary education. Most of the text-books have treated Rhetoric as a higher sort of Grammar, and have failed to recognise its true relation to Logic. But its logical relations form its primary and most important division. Dr. Blair’s charming lectures, on verbal and literary criticism, have been used as an epitome of the art of Rhetoric for elementary instruction, quite apart, it must be thought, from the author’s original design. Full of excellent illustrations, and treating the grand division of Style with great ability and interest, he has not touched upon the rhetorical arrangement of argument, and the invention of discourse. When the author of the following pages undertook the preparation of a text-book, his first observation was that all former works may be ranged into two V (3) 391003 iv PREFACE. distinct classes; in-the first class were the philoso- phical treatises, of great value, but sealed books to young students by reason of their/,depth and tech- nicality. In the other were the more elementary books, which treat chiefly of style, and \give forms and exercises for perfecting one’s self in the rheto- rical use of language. Holding with Dr. Campbell that Rhetoric is allied to Logic in the. sense, as well as to Grammar in the expression, the author has attempted to give a clear exposition of the art of constructing discourse; by the application of philosophy to practice. Beginning with clear definitions, the art is divided according to its three great functions of INVENTION, ARRANGE- MENT, and STYLE. The place of RHETORIC AMONG THE ARTS is then determined; then a lucid analysis of the DIFFERENT KINDS OF Discounsn is given; and after this, the great functions just mentioned are treated in their order. While in most other works old illustrations, handed down from generation to generation, have been used, the author has chosen his examples from the Bible, and, as far as possible, from modern English and American writers. His eflort has been to be perspicuous and simple PREFACE. 'V in treating of a subject, which, as a whole, is seldom grasped, although many parts of it have been cur- rently studied, and much appertaining to it has been investigated. I To mention the numerous sources from which he has derived valuable information would require too much space. He would, however, especially notice Whately’s “Elements of Rhetoric ;” Campbell’s “Philosophy of Rhetoric;” Aristotle’s “Rhetoric and Poetic,” translated by Buckley, with Hobbes’ Brief ; and many treatises on Logic and Grammar. Impelled by the great want of such a text-book, and actuated by the desire to form a work suited to his own classes, the author ventures to express the hope that this [little treatise will commend itself to his brother instructors, who may have felt the same Want. UNIVERSITY or PENNSYLVANIA, March 1, 1859. TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Rnsromc. man Section 1. Definition of the Term, and Historical Scope of the Science . . . . . . . . . 13 2. The Early Uses of Rhetoric . . . . . 14 3. Rhetoric in Ancient Greece . i . . . . 16 4. Grecian Institutions which aided the progress of Rhe- toric . . . . . . . . . . 18 Confused Notion of Rhetoric in early days . . . 20 Want of Just Classification . . V . . . 22 Cicero and Quintilian . . . . . . . 23 Modern Errors . . . . . . . . 26 Of the Relations subsisting between Logic, Grammar, and Rhetoric . . . . . . . . 28 ‘10. Objections to Rhetoric as an Art . . . . . 32 399°??? CHAPTER II. DISCOURSE. section 11. Of the Purpose of Rhetorical Discourse 38 k7) ' _ 1 . _, .9 . . w..r...—,u,,r. ., viii TABLE or CONTENTS. - ma Section 12. Four Ends of Discourse . . . . . . 38 13. Conviction and Persuasion ‘ . . . . . 40 14. Division of Rhetoric . . . . . . . 42 CHAPTER III. THE RELATIONS 0F RHEToRIC 'ro ESTHETICS. Section 15. Rhetoric among the Arts . . . . . . 47 16. Objective and Subjective . . . . . . 52 17. 0f the Pleasures of Taste . . . . . . 55 18. Imagination . . . . . . . . 57 19. Taste . . . . . . . . . . 60 I/r“ I 20. Correctness and Delicacy of Taste . . . . 67 21. Genius . . . . . . . . . 70 . 22. 0f Rhetorical Taste . . . . . . . 74 . 23. Of the Sources of the Pleasures of Taste . . . 75 g“ 24. Of Beauty . . . . . . . . 75 :3 25. Of Grandeur or Sublimity in Discourse . . . 82 g 26. Novelty . . . . . . . . . 93 g 27. Wit and Humour . . . . . . . 96 i.» 28. Satire and Irony . . . . . . . 101 29. Ridicule . . . . ' . . . . 103 CHAPTER IV. 013‘ THE DIFFERENT KINDS or DISCOURSE. Section 30. Aristotle’s Division of Oratory . . . . . 109 31. Logical Division of the Kinds of Discourse . . 112 32. Poetry . . . . . . . . . 113 33. Different Kinds of Poetry . . . . . 117 t- . 34. Epic Poetry . . . . . . . . 118 l. 85. Lyric Poetry . . . . . . . . 121 5.5g 36. Pastoral Poetry . . . . . . v . . 122 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Section 37. Dramatic Poetry . . . . . . 38. Didactic and Descriptive Poetry . . 39. Satirical Poetry . . . . . CHAPTER V. 013‘ DISCOURSE IN PROSE. Section 40. 0f Oratory . . . . . . . 41. Modern Divisions of Oratory 42. Academic Oratory .‘ . . . ‘. . 43. Debating Societies . . . . . . 44. The Oration ._ . . . . I . . 45. Political Oratory . . . . . . 46. Sacred Oratory . . . . . . ‘ CHAPTER VI. OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF WRITTEN DISCOURSE. Section 47. 0f Letters . . . . . . . 48. History . . . . . . . 49. Biography . . . i . . . . 50. ‘Essays . . . . . . . . 51. Prose Fiction . . . 7 . .y . CHAPTER VII. INVENTION. Q Preliminary Remarks . . ’ . . . . Section 52. The Invention of the Subject . . . . 53. The Object of Discourse . . . . ix PAGE 124 128 131 135 137 _ 138 143 144 149 154 159 163 168 172 173 180 183 189 TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER VIII. OF CONVICTION. Section 54. The Rhetorical Use of Arguments . . . . 55. Of the Different Kinds of Arguments 56. Rhetorical Division of Argument . . 57. Of 2‘; priori Arguments . . . . . . 58. Second Division of Rhetorical Arguments 59. Sign . . . . . . . . . 60. Testimony, as an Argument . . .' . '. 61. Fact and Opinion . . . . . 62. Witnesses . . . . . . . . 63. 0f the Modes of obtaining Testimony . 64. Cross-examination . . . . . . 65. Concurrent Testimony . . . . . . 66. Doctrine of Chances I . . . . . 67. Progressive Argument . . . . . 68. Example . . . . . . . 69. Induction . . . . . . . 70. Analogy . . . . . . . . . 71. Experience . . . 72. Real and Invented Examples . . . . 73. The Topics of Arguments . . . . . CHAPTER IX. Section 74. Of the Modes in which Arguments are used in Dis~ course . . . . . . . . 75. Of the Burden of Proof . . . . . . 76. Of Refutation . . . . . . . . 77. Proving too much . . . . . . . CHAPTER X. Pnnsrusrorr. Preliminary Remarks . . . . . Section 78. Of Exhortetion ' . . . . . . . PAGE 191 194 196 199 202 203 204 205 205 208 209 211 211 213 215 216 217 219 220 221 223 224 231 234 237 239 TABLE OF CONTENTS. X1 men Section 79. Of Appeals to the Passions . . . . . 240 80. Of the Feelings . . . . . . . 245 CHAPTER XI. ARRANGEMENT. Section 81. The Parts of a Discourse . . . . . . 248 1. Exordium . . . . . . . 249 2. Narration . . V . . . . . 250 3. Discussion . . . . . . .‘ 251 4. Peroration . . . . . ° . 252 82. The Three Unities . . . . . . . 25? CHAPTER XII. 0F STYLE. Section 83. Preliminary Inquiries . .‘ . . . . 261 84. Of Language in General . . . . . . 262 85. Of Spoken Language . » . . . . . 263 86. Of Written Language . . . . . . 266 87. 0f the English Language . . . . . . 270 88. Of the Diversities of Style . . . . . 272 CHAPTER XIII. QUALITIES 0F STYLE. Section 89. Perspicuity . . . . .‘ . 280 90. The First Quality. ——Purity, as one of the Elements of Perspicuity . . . . . . 288 91. Of Propriety, as an Element of Perspieuity . . 290 92. 0f Precision, as an Element of Perspicuity . . 292 93. Of Synonyms . . . . . . . 293 94. Of the Structure of Sentences . . . . 302 xii TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Section 95. The Second Quality.—-Energy . . . 307 96. 0f Rhetorical Tropes . . . . . . 313 . . . . . . 318 . . . . . . 322 . . . . . . 326 . . . . . . 328 . . . . . . 330 . . . l. . . 332 . . . . . . 333 104. Apostrophe . . . . . . . 334 105. The Allegory . . . . 337 106. Antithesis . . . . . 340 107. Onomatopoeia. . . . . . . . 342 97. Comparison 98. Metaphor . 99. Synecdoche 100. Metonymy 101. Hyperbole 102. Hypocatastasis . 103. Personification 108. Climax . . . . . . 342 109. Elegance . . . . . . . 348 110. The Third Quality.-—Euphon’y and Harmony . 350 CHAPTER XIV. OF THE APPLICATIONS OF STYLE AND THE‘FOBMS or COMPOSITION. General Remarks . . . 354 Section 111. The Rhetoric of Conversation . . . . 358 112. Conclusion . . . \ . 361 WV 4% . It II ll UP () It I (3. CHAPTER I. RHETORIC. (1.) Definition of the Term, and Historical Scope of the Science. RHETORIC is the art of constructing and applying discourse. By discourse is meant the invention and arrange- ment of thought, and its expression in language. Under this comprehensive term, discourse, are in- cluded historical and biographical writings, essays, letters, orations, sermons, and all :other kinds of Written or spoken utterances of thought. Let us look, for a moment, at the historical steps by which we reach such a definition of Rhetoric. The term RHETORiC (Greek pyropmq, rhetoriké), is derived from the verb pew (rhe6),which primarily means to flow, and, in its secOnd intention, to speak. Thus 2 * ‘ (13) 14 RHETORIC. the original idea which the Greeks conveyed when they used the word 977pr (rhetor)—‘which is derived from pew—as an orator or speaker, was very much what we express when we call a public speaker a fluent man—borrowing this same phraseology from the Latin verb fluo, to flow—2'. e., a man whose words flow forth copiously, clearly, and pleasantly to the ear. It must be observed, that in the origin of the rhetorical art, this fluency which is expressed in the word Rhetoric, was of much greater comprehension and importance than at the present day. But this will appear as we proceed. Under the ancient forms of government in Greece, Rhetoric was cultivated with great assiduity, because in the early Hellenic commonwealths, which were unlike the oriental despotisms, those persons attained the highest stations who could sway the multitude by their words, moving them to warlike action‘by impas- sioned eloquence, or soothing their irritated feelings by gentle and pathetic appeals. In that period, to be fluent, was the way to become famous; and hence pmwp was a professional title of honourable distinction, - and Rhetoric, or the art of fluent speech, was one of the most honourable studies and professions. (2.) The Early Uses of Rhetoric. The art of Rhetoric, it may be justly’asserted, is MEANING: OF THE TERM. 15 much older than Greece, since it belongs to speech and must have been practised, to some extent, if not professed, wherever language existed. Nor is this assertion without proof in the history of people much more remote from us than the Greeks. If we turn to the Old Testament Scriptures we shall find con- stant records of the rhetorical use and importance of language: in the pleading of Abraham for the de- livery of Sodom from threatened vengeance; in the touching dialogue between Joseph and his brethren; in the setting apart of Aaron as the mouth—piece of Moses, in the great scheme of Hebrew deliverance from Egyptian bondage, because he could “Speak well ;” in the triumphal ode of Deborah and Barak ; and in the sublime address and prayer of Solomon at the dedication of the Holy Temple. Indeed the history of all nations, from the earliest periods, shows us that the power of speech, modulated by vocal utterance, adorned by fancy, flowing like a river of thought, to instruct, gratify, or destroy, has been a great moving power in the world, and has demanded a theoretic attention proportional to the culture and light of the people among whom it was used. 'But without entering into an analysis of the heads and applications of Rhetoric, among such nations, it is evident that the form and shape in which we find Rhetoric at the present day had their birth in early Greece, and have been preserved in 16 RHETORIC. feature as well as in name through the moulding process of Roman oratory, and all the schools of art and literature since the decline of Roman power. If- Grecian Rhetoric had its day of banishment when the scholastic philosophy was in the ascendant, it revived in renewed youth when the Greek classics were restored in the fifteenth century. (3.) Rhetoric in Ancient Greece. , If, now, we would point to the first great mani- festation of Grecian Rhetoric, its showing forth to the world, if not its birth,—its birth was too obscure to be clearly discerned ;—it is to be found in the time of Alexander the Great; when the revival of mind and letters, the throwing open of the entire East, the developments of History, of Logic, and of Natural Philosophy, gave a. new impulse to thought, and formed a period, in the fourth century before Christ, typical in many ways of the modern revival in the fifteenth century of our era: a period in no degree less glori- ous and important to the philosophic student of his- tory, but marking only that great cycle of progress of which the latter was a greater epicycle, and destined to be the beginning of a system “Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb ;” which must be accomplished in the future. {Ellis eRECIAN OMTORY. 17 was the age of Demosthenes the orator, and Aristotle the rhetorician. As illustrative of the interest felt at this time in oratory—the first great form of Rhetoric—it is re- corded that when Demosthenes was to speak, whe- ther before the judges of the Areopagus, or on some question of popular interest, men journeyed from distant parts of Greece, and flocked to Athens, for no other purpose than to hear him; most of them purely interested in the oratory, and not in the business. ‘ If we carefully study the characteristics of the Greek mind, we shall find that this was due in great part to the intrinsic love of liberty which had per- ‘ivaded Greece from the time of the early migrations ‘of Eolians, Ionians, and Dorians in that mysterious period a thousand years before Christ. This love of liberty and independence had displayed itself in the colonizing of Thrace, Macedon, Africa, and Italy; had abolished monarchy in Attica in the days of Solon, and had established, on principles altogether democratic, wise institutions to cement'the states and protect the individual people. We shall find upon inquiry that there were four institutions eminently calculated to produce these results, and they were all immediately concerned in the origin and progress of the rhetorical art:— 2 * B 18 RHETORIC. (4.) Grecian Institutions which aided theprogress of Rhetoric. I. The Council of Amphictyons (on ”Apoexwovsg), composed of one hundred members, held their spring meetings at Delphi, under the shadow of Parnassus, and their autumnal sessions at Thermopylaei. Their object was to make and to explain the laws-which bound the new Grecian commonwealths together. They were not concerned about foreign states,yf0r in that early day all foreigners were enemies. In the absence of records adequate to their business, and where many conflicting interests were concerned, , public speaking—the form which Rhetoric first assumed—was of great importance. The affairs of this counciliwere entirely conducted by the speeches of the delegates, and although a super- stitious mythology laid great stress upon omens and auguries, and (various orders of priests, still oratory had the principal weight in the decision of momentous questions. II. Next in importance for the culture of Rhetoric, was the establishment, as a perpetual institution, of the Olympic games, established by, Iphitus, beginning and ending with a sacrifice to the Olympian Jove. Here, at Olympia, as well as in the localities of the Isthmian and Pythian games, established for similar GRECIAN INSTITUTIONS. 19 purposes, Grecian freemen of good character were invited to contend: the country around was adorned with groves and beautiful walks fitted with seats and benches, used from an early period by sophists and philosophers, poets and rhetoricians. Besides the athletic exercises, so important to inculcate a proper physical training among a free people, there were poetic and rhetorical praizes much sought after, and tending greatly to the advancement of Rhetoric. At these games Herodotus recited his history; Simonides and Pindar sang their varied lyrics; and thus the power of mind in its lofty utterance of speech, began to vie with the Caestus and Palaestra, and the swiftness of the chariot race. IIL Nor were the laws of Salon and Lycurgus* less active in increasing the value and popularity of the rhetorical art in the rival countries of Athens and . Sparta, by inviting men of every degree to con- tend for eminence in its cultivation. Aimed mainly against the corruptions of civilized society, while they somewhat trenched upon its refinements, and sometimes, upon the natural rights of man; con- sidering a warlike spirit and political liberty as the chief developments of man in civilization, they gave such importance to the individual, that each within * Although Rhetoric was professedly held in contempt in Sparta, Where the laws of Lycurgus were in force, this only refers to its ornaments and elaboration. Laconic speech, which they aflected,’ was admired, and produced decided Rhetorical efiects. 20 RIIETORIC. judicial limits might plead his. own cause, and thus use his own native Rhetoric for his own interests. “ To be a citizen was to be a legislator—a soldier—— a judge—one upon whose voice might depend the fate of the wealthiest tributary state, of the most eminent public man.” IV. If to these institutions, we add the oracle at Delphi, as a religious element,—discerned in every nation, in some form or other,-—speakiug in grand and sententious parables of double import, and afi‘ecting the public speech of Greece, by afi'ecting the indi- vidual imagination of its citizens, we shall have another Spur to eloquence, that of religion, which more modern times have proved to be so essential an element in the development of the rhetorical art. The forms of invocation and appeal; the highest efiorts of apostrophe; the best examples of personifi- cation, are immediately connected with man’s religious cravings, the innate feeling after the great First Cause in his word and his works; while the Imagina- tion in its immortal flights demands a ready utterance and a subtle invention with which to describe it. Religious poetry, and religious exhortations in ser-' mons, are among the finest developments of Rhetoric. (5.) Confused notion of Rhetoric in early days. From what has been said, and when we consider the elementary state of written language in, Greece, CONFUSED NOTION 0F RHETORIC, 21 it would seem that when the name,’R7;etoric, was first assumed, it could only refer to speech or oral language ; and, as far as it was considered as appro- priating language at all, this was true. But, as we shall further see, such was the chaotic and mixed condition of science at that period, that Rhetoric was made to include an investigation of much of the subject-matter of discourse, and invaded the domain of philosophy. But as far as Rhetoric had to do with language it was almost synonymous With that branch of modern Rhetoric, which we call elocution. But as letters were brought progressively and more commonly into use, so that an exact correspondence could be maintained between the eye and the ear, and the mind be reached equally by the medium of either, Rhetoric was made to include writing, in its second intention, and this second intention has be- come the more important of the two, in proportion as the written word is more permanent and of more multiplied extenSion than the spoken. Well might the Greeks flock to hear Demosthenes, for they could not, as we can, read his speech at their leisure: and there Was but one Demosthenes in Greece. But this is self-evident; the sound of an orator’s voice can only be heard by a limited number of per- sons, at one time, and when once heard is lost upon the air, or exists only in a fading memory; the written thought'remains, is multiplied and scattered, to teach distant countries and Coming, generations. 22 RHETORIC. Fancy cannot invoke an echo of Demosthenes from the Acropolis, but the letters which Cadmus is fabled to have brought to Greece, have sent his. eloquence, his thunders, and his triumphs to our own time, and make him still a mighty master of oratory. In the progress of the Rhetorical art there was, very naturally, much obscurity in defining'its scope. (6.) Want of just classification. ‘ This was due, in a great degree, to an entire want of classification among the sciences. There were very few then in existence, but even these few were not clearly defined and classified, and thus each was, made to infringe upon those nearest to it, until Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, and Dialectics were, in parts, at least, mistaken for each other, and their scope entirely undefined. \ The ten Categories of Aristotleywhich he invented to constitute a first attempt at this classification (Logic, p. 228), have been rather a rough model for ' the great minds of succeeding philosophers, than a. real mode of classification. But although we are not to blame Aristotle for the crudities of science in his time, yet it is significant of its obscure condition that he has been called the‘founder of Criticism and Grammar. He made a complete revision of the poems of Homer for his distinguished pupil, Alex- ander the Great; and yet a reference to his volume CICERO AND QUINTILIAN. 23 on” Rhetoric, will show us how crude were his own notions of its meaning and its comprehension. Aristotle defined Rhetoric to be “the power of inventing whatsoever is persuasive in discourse.” However this may have been regarded in his day as expressive of a just view of the science of Rhetoric, it is both faulty and erroneous, when subjected to pre- sent criticism. Invention, as we shall see hereafter, is but one part of Rhetoric, and his definition ex- cludes, or only negatively implies the important parts of arrangement and style. Indeed he leaves his own definition entirely, and has dwelt quite at length upon the subject of style. And persuasion, which the thus makes the exclusive object of discourse, and which perhaps enters largely into judicial and delibe- rative discourse, is only a part of that object, convic- tion being quite as important a result at which to aim in discourse. It may be true that the word persuasion was ori- ginally used in a generic sense to include conviction, but the clearer definitions given to us by the modern study of arguments, preclude such a use of it in our day. , (7.) Cicero and Quintilian. Cicero, besides being a great master of the rhe- torical art, both in his elegant essays and his finished orations, has left us a valuable treatise De Oratore, in 24 RHETORIC. which, carefully reviewing and employing the rules and arguments which Aristotle has left us, he has also clearly defined his own notions of an orator, as to himself, his hearers, the occasiOn, and the subject- matter; he has thus taught us mest beautifully both by precept and example. The treatise De Oratore, is a dialogue, as are also his other rhetorical works, all which are of the greatest importance to the student of Rhetoric, in its historical bearings; in the Oratoriee Partitiones, we haVe the best rules for the proper arrangement of the parts of the discourse so as to produce the desired effect upon his audience: and in the dialogue on famous orators, called Brutus, we have slight sketches of famous Greek and Roman _ orators down to his own day. But Cicero had always in View an audience, oral language, with all the aids of presence and occasion, and thus we find his very extended and valuable rhetorical treatises, not of practical application in this day of paper and print, Qui‘ntz’lian, who was himself a professor of Rhetoric in the early days of the Roman empire, has defined Rhetoric to be ‘4 Scientia bene dicendz'” (the science of speaking well), a meaning too broad entirely, since to speak well implies to speak correctly, thus invading Grammar; to think correctly, thus infringing the science of thought, and in part of 'metaphysics ; and to reason correctly, thus implicating Logic, or the art of Reasoning. f" CICERO AND QUINTILIAN. 25 If we turn from this unsatisfactory definition of Quintilian himself, to the practice of the schools in his time, we shall find such a wide extension of this branch of learning as his definition would lead us to expect. Rhetoric included among its branches phi— Zology—as far as it was known—a term equally Vague, law, morals, politics, and other sciences, so that a nominal professor of Rhetoric had the greatest num- ber, and the most important of the elementary studies in his charge. But in later times, as science after science became known and developed, this nomencla- ture became more real and stable. During the decline and fall of the Western Empire, Rhetoric rested entirely upon the basis of Cicero and Quintiliavn, until it too became neglected, corrupted, and despised. The period of the middle ages gives us neither the names nor works of rhetorical writers; and when at length the dawn of the new era began to break in the thirteenth century, poetry and his- tory and oratory seemed to undergo a new birth, and to pass through a weak but growing infancy. With the revival of letters, and the illumination of mind, Philosophy, Physics, Mathematics, Art, in its various forms, were more attractive to the new and ardent seekers for truth than rhetorical forms and systems of difficult rules. Aristotle was still buried; and only a few copies of Cicero existed inithe monasteries of Europe. L r, O 26 BHETORIC. But, at length, like a glorious inundation of the Nile, Greek letters began to flow westward, and to combat old Gothic traditions and scholastic supersti- tions; the press multiplied that classical learning, and Rhetoric was once again placed where Cicero and Quintilian had established it as a science. It is not designed, in this work, to enter into a History of Rhetoric: it would neitherbe proper nor profitable ; but this slight sketch will show that What we call Rhetoric at the present day is a science inci- dent to a new order and condition of things; modified entirely from its Roman form and type, to suit the age, when writing and printing have usurped the place of formal oratory: when the writer may have no advantages of occasion, voice, gesture, magnetic enthusiasm, but must subject his discourse to the cool criticism of those who never saw him, and of those who were farthest from his thoughts when that discourse was prepared. (8.) Modern errors. And now, since the derivatiOn of the word gives us, in this view of the subject, ,no clue to its present technical meaning; we must look to the best usage at the present day, as Well as to a just classification, of the Sciences, for a clear and satisfactory definition, for without this we should do wrong to begin its .c‘J. . . .5 MODERN ERRORS. 27 study: especially as this is one of a number of words standing for sciences and arts, which, though not exactly confounded together, overlap each other as it were, and thus leave debateable, double—garrisoned grounds on their confines, and give cause of per- plexity, confusion, and error. Such are the words Logic, Grammar, and Rhetoric, as basis sciences of Philology. Let us endeavour to explain then the true scope of these terms, and thus by elimination determine the exact meaning of Rhetoric. Before doing this, however, it» may not be amiss to remark that much error has crept into text-books of Rhetoric, by a one-sided view induced by a close and partisan study of one author or one modern school. It is for the generally received meaning of the term that we are to look. i As we have seen that a. careful study of ancient writers would lead to systems obscure and unprofit- able, because too comprehensive; so, a lover of Lord Bacon would find his practice inextricably entangled with the invalid Logic of the Organon, or the undue preponderance of the inductive philosophy: while the intense German student seems to be less con- cerned to find out the special scope of Rhetoric, than to discern the manner of its approximations to Ethics, ZESthetics, and Metaphysics. That there have been so many systems, and so 28 RHETORIC. much rhetorical faction, has been of great injury to Rhetoric itself as a science, and has given point to the satire of an English poet, that— “All the Rhetorician’s rules Teach nothing but to name his tools.” If then we would keep clear of such errors, let us proceed to mark clearly the lines which divide Rhe- toric from the other arts just mentioned. (9.) 0f the relations subsisting between Logic, Grammar, and Rhetoric. If we examine a written discourse, framed accord- ing to the laws of Rhetoric, we shall find it to consist of propositions and arguments, couched in correct lan- guage, and appropriately connected, arranged, and adorned for the purposes of conviction and persuasion. Now what part of this composition belongs to Logic? Manifestly only the reasoning, the simple arguments, as to their validity or invalidity: i..e., the process of passing from two known judgments to a third which is dependent upon them, and grows out of their union. Not the invention of these arguments, which must depend upon a knowledge of the subject- matter contained in them, and the purpose they are designed to effect, but the simple formula of putting LOGIC. 29 them together according to just rules, and judging of their validity or invalidity. Logic—it has been observed in the treatise on that subject (p. 18)—is the science and the art of reason- ing, and that the process of reasoning is one, simple, and universal, it consists in passing from known pre- misses to a conclusion justly deduced from them. All the logical processes then may be made independent on the language used, or the subject thoughts con- veyed. We might frame them in symbols of a gene- ral application, writing our arguments thus‘ :—-e A is B, C is A, ThereforelC is B, and the logic would be faultless. It is to clothe these frameworks of Logic with thought, body, and Vital language, and to arrange them in proper order, that Rhetoric, in one of its provinces, is used. Thus, when the proper material for a written werk has been provided by a careful investigation, and just analysis of something not before known, the subject-matter of the premisses is thus formed, and the Rhetoric consists in clothing these premisses upon the logicalwformula already known, and deducing the proper conclusions. But by what law of language are these premisses ex- pressed, and the arguments arranged? This is the 3 * \ . 30 RHETORIC. province of Rhetoric. Under the control of Rhetoric it is the function of Grammar to clothe these in cor- rect language, while Rhetoric takes the whole collec- tion of Logical arguments thus stated in Grammatical language, and arranges them in the best manner, having a care that their order of sequence is such as to make the sense most clear, and the arguments most forciblepdetermining the most elfective division into chapters, parts, paragraphs, sentences, &c. ; using the words according to their most appropriate relations, and applying fitting ornaments, figures of thought, and figures of speech, to illustrate, elucidate, 'and interest—thus establishing the sense of the Whole. Thus, <‘ it is,” says Dr. Campbell, u by the sense that Rhetoric holds of Logic, and by the expression that she holds of Grammar.” _ ‘ Logic has no direct relation to Language, every logical process being easily expressed by symbols: but Rhetoric is immediately concerned about lan- guage; f1om the repertory of language it finds fit- ting garments for the thought already formed, nor is it less concerned about thought, for although it does not provide the subject~matter of the discourse as to its original discovery, it must be perfectly ‘cognisant of that subject-matter before it can thus use what it needs, arrange what it uses, and clothe it with pro- per language, so as best and most appropriately to determine its sense. .wua (~d...,,.,, LOGIC AND GRAMMAR. ‘ 31 Whatever views may be elsewhere taken, then, let us agree to consider Rhetoric as the art of inventing, arranging, and clothing thought in appropriate lan- guage to produce a certain efiect : or, in more concise language, the art of discourse. . i We have said that Rhetoric is the art of discourse. It is of importance here to notice that Rhetoric is less of a science than an art, as its practical applications are its only claims to our notice. As a science it rather depends upon the sister sciences of Mind, and ”Logic, and Grammar, than has any distinct existence i apart from them, but as an art it subsidizes them all in making a harmony between language and thought, and using both to secure worthy ends. It is plain that the art of Rhetoric implies the existence of Grammar and Logic, and uses the rules of both in the proper construction of discourse. It has been already iobserved that in its original meaning, and even now in a limited meaning, Rhe- toric is applied to oratory, and in this application of it we have constantly in use another word and its paronyms-4—i. e., words derived from the same root—- the meaning of which is not entirely fixed, as eloquent and eloquence. These words, and another which is more determined, elocution, introduce into the consi- deration of modern RhetOric another element, which was the principal one in the ancient art, that of the human voice;-—the effects produced by its varying 9.2 RHETORIC. tones, which no mere written discourse can express ,to the eye. To this, special reference will be made hereafter. Even these words, however, belonging, as they primarily do, to the voice, are applied, in a second intention, to writing; thus we speak commonly of an eloquent chapter, or an eloquent article in a written work, meaning that they produce to the mind some- thing of the thrilling effect which an eloquent speech would have done; or that, when read, their flowing periods and harmonious dictiOn are well suited to the voice, although not originally intended for it. (10.) Objections to Rhetoric as an Art. Like all other arts—perhaps more than any other —Rhetoric is liable to great abuse, and so its name will be misused by designing men to cover their evil deeds and deceptive speech. To please itching ears, and to‘ cater to diseased and prurient imaginations, unprincipled men have often used Rhetoric to array falsehood and impurity in gay and alluring forms of language, and have succeeded in deceiving and injuring their auditors or readers. Hence, Rhetoric, by the aid of which they achieved their success, has often fallen into disrepute, and has received the obloquy which should rest upon the false propositions, the invalid logic, and the omnerrons TO nnnronio. 33 honeyed tones and evil minds which have used it: such arethe efforts made by self-interest to support an unworthy cause; such the rhetorical forms as— sumed by material fallacies, and the conclusion of which must ofrccurse be invalid arguments, the pre- misses of which are false,—-which are fully‘ treated of in the companion work on Logic (p. 175). x This, then, constitutes the principal objection to Rhetoric, as an art: it has been used as a gaudy cloak to cover much moral evil; but the easy illus- tration already used, will show how illiberal as well as false such an objection is ; for it would, by parity of reasoning, be an objection to our fashion of coats that we cannot tell simply from them the moral cha- racter of the wearer; that they are worn alike by villains and gentlemen; nay more, a gentleman’s dress is assumed by rogues to avoid detection. Nor 'is this error confined to Rhetoric; it applies equally to Grammar, since falsehood of the blackest dye may be stated in correct and pleasant language, and this language be’thus made the'vehicle of Wide spread evil. Thus, bylone remove more, the error lies in Language. But is it not evident that such objec- tions are in reality only new assertions of the general evil which pervades humanity; of that <4 trail of the serpent” marking even the ‘4 fiowrets of Eden,” which are our inheritance from the wreck of the first Paradise? It is manifest that they can only ‘be ‘ ' o 34 RHETORIC. used, as they have always been, by ignorance or by imposture. There seems indeed, in the history of every science, and its corresponding art, a period when objections are numerous and have great force. Such a statement is illustrated by a consideration of‘Logic and the Mathematics, which suffered in the days of Bacon, and were even much decried at a later period, when they advanced the practical appli- cations of what had long existed only in theory. This is due in part to an ignorance which always leads to absurd results, and in part to a quackery which would attribute false powers to science, and control men, by appealing to their hopes, their fears, and their super- stition, when a practical judgment alone is required. The voyage of Gulliver to Laputa was written by Swift, to ridicule the movements of exact science in his age, and its applications to discovery, invention, and the mechanic arts: that was the age of the South Sea bubble, of Law’s Mississippi scheme, and such like enormous frauds, when figures, of which it has been said in common phrase that “ they never lie,” were used by lying speculators and stock- jobbers, and made to seem false. So because 05 the misuse of Rhetoric, in certain historic periods, by which great evils have been produced, Rhetoric has been satirized, ridiculed, and abused, and oratory has been considered only a specious form of public WWW“? ,, WW1, OBJECTIONS TO RHETORIC. 35 deception. That it is ever so is the fault of the orator and not the art. ‘ To state then the objections which have been brought against the art, in all the forms which have been urged, it is called—— 1st. A pedantic art, leading men out of the plain, matter of fact transmission of thought in wholesome language, filling them with a jargon of the schools, not used 1n common life. 2d. Afrivolous art, for the same reasons that it is pedantic, and additionally because it usurps time and taste better devoted to other and more useful studies; and 3d. ‘An injurious art, used to hoodwink the judg- ment by alluring the fancy to make‘“ the worse appear the better reason.” These are the objections, it will be observed, brought principally byz’gnomnce : but that there are so called rhetoricians, who knowingly use their art in a manner pedantic and frivolous, and for the pur- pose of attaining their own selfish ends, is not dis- puted. Reasoning, however, from 'such impostors to a general conclusion against the science, would " be reasoning, ex comm—against the use of a good thing, from its ab.use,——and what art ‘can hear such a test? Strength of body given to man for useful ends—to Work, to protect, to defend—when used by a maniac or a brigand are destructive. 36 RIIETORIC. Strength of mind may prove, when misapplied, a great evil; and great geniuses, like great heroes, have often been most noted by the ruin they leave in their train. The arch fiend of Milton’s fancy assumed the form of a spirit of light, and even among his peers in Pandemonium seemed only , Less than archangel ruined, and the excess Of glory obscured; and .yet, due to his crimes, he saw “in the lowest depths a lower deep.” If we look through nature, or examine its atomic ingredients, we everywhere find, that to reason from the abuse of a good thing is the most unjust form which the “fallacy of objections” can assume. And if, on the other hand, it can be shown that Rhetoric is the instrument of imparting anddissemi- nating what is useful, good, holy, and true; if it is the vehicle'by which light is thrown upon super- stition, consolation given to sorrow, hope to despair, instruction to the ignorant, then, surely, its good use may stand boldly against its abuse, and condemn alike the objections and the evils. In closing this preliminary chapter, let 'us briefly recapitulate what has been said 1n our attempt, as originally stated, to arrive at the true and modern definition of the term Rhetoric:— OBJECTIONS T0 RHETORLC. 37 We have seen that it originally meant fluent speech or oratory ; that in its second intention it was applied to written matter; that in Greece and Rome, owing to the chaotic state of scientific classification, it was made to stand for and to comprehend many sciences, since happily separated from it, as they all have become better known and more clearly defined; that in the middle ages it was almost entirely uncultivated; and that so perfectly has Rhetoric now assumed its own identity among‘the sciences, that it may be defined the science and art of constructing discourse ; that in its practical uses it is essentially an art; and that its functions will vary according to the varying character and purpose ‘of the discourse itself. We have also inentioned a few of the principal objections to Rhe- toric as an art, and demonstrated their invalidity. The next step in our investigation of the subject will be the rhetorical uses or designs of discourse. 38 BHETORIC. CHAPTER II. DISCOURSE. (11.) 0f the pmpose of Rhetorical Discourse. BEFORE stating the division of the subject which we shall employ in treating it, it is proper to consider first the uses of Rhetoric, as the art of discourse,—-or the designs which we purpose to effect by discourse. Although if we should make a minute statement of such designs they would be found very numerous, moulded asthey would be by a thousand circum- stances, local and individual, they have been reduced to four ends or purposes: 1st, to enlighten the under- standing; 2d, to please the imagination; 3d, to move the passions; and 4th, to influence the. Willt (12.) Four ends of discourse. 1st. Thus, when a speaker undertakes to enlighten the understanding, he addresses himself ‘to the pure instruction of 'his hearer, in explaining something before entirely unknown, or making plain something FOUR ENDS 0F DISCOURSE. 39 indistinctly known; in which cases information is given which demands a ready belief, or some posi- tion is proved which before was not granted to exist; and thus he convinces the hearer of the truth, and of his former error. In each case the process is that of clear argument. 2d. When he addresses the imagination of his hearers, he presents beautiful or touching pictures of such objects as are fitly introduced into the region of Imagination. Like the painter, he must propose . suitable subjects, and treat them in a lively manner, rising to beauty and even sublimity of thought in his attempts to carry the bearer with him into the higher regions of Fancy. 3d. And here he trenches upon that third purpose of discourse which is to touch the passions; for here too the Fancy enables him to draw such scenes and characters as awaken love or grief, aversion or desire, and play upon the heart-strings, the notes and chords of its passions. 4th. By 3 Combination of the three ends just pro- posed, does the orator strive to secure the fourth— the influencing of the will: strong argument alone is often resisted by obstinacy, but when joined with a power over the imagination, and the control of the ,passions, persuasion is attained and the will over- come. g This latter attainment is the greatest triumph of 40 RHETORIC. the orator, and history is not without abundant records of men who have been gifted thus, not only to inform, to please, to move the heart, but also to sway the will and bring it an humble captive in the train of eloquence and genius. (13.) Conviction and Persuasion. Yet these four ends of discourse, we think, may be, for convenience, stated as ranging under one general topic, which we call instruct-ion; and'this, according to the manner in which it is conveyed, may be divided into conviction and persuasion. Instruction may be defined the process of convey- ing truth to others who are ignorant of' it, either entirely or virtually. By (hmviction is meant‘the presenting of truths-,— i. e., the instruction of a person who believes the con- trary, or is in doubt between the two. Thus a man is convinced of his error, or is led to believe that what he thought right is wrong, or that what he was doubtful about is truly wrong. The use of the word convicted, which would seem to belong directly to the word conviction, is a. legal technicality, showing that although the criminal may not confess his guilt, and stands convicted'only before the world, that the world itself is’convinced of his guilt. In our useof the CONVICTION AND PERSUASION. 41 word conviction we mean the process and end of convincing. By Persuasion we mean the act of infiuencingthe will of another, and leading him to acknowledge or to do something of which his judgment may have been before convinced, but which his will so steadily resisted, that he may be said to have been practically ignorant of the tenet or the deed in question. Thus we have, as the. lamentation of a heathen writer, the apparent paradox—— Video meliora proboque, Deteriora sequor, and our own literature is full of similar aphorisms. Butler’s couplet— He that complies against his will, Is of his own opinion still, contains the same, paradox; and the old Scotch adage, “a wilful man maun have his ain way,” is only a little more homely and practical: it conveys the same truth. i It will be observed that this division of instruction, into conviction and persuasion, contains at once the act of instruction, the manner of it, and the frame \and temper of mind to’be met and ovchOmc. It is. to both these processes then that the func- 4% 42 RIIETORIC. ‘ tions of Rhetoric are to be applied ; to convince, and to persuade, are in brief the objects of discourse, and to these we shall presently devote a chapter, after dividing Rhetoric itself according to its func- tions. (14.) Division of Rhetoric. In this View of the subject it has become important to divide Rhetoric into such a number of parts, as correspond to the framing and arrangement of dis- course, to produce these ends; and we now-proceed to a convenient statement of these constituent parts of Rhetoric as the art of discourse. Following Aris- totle in his general arrangement, Cicero has enume- rated five parts of Rhetoric, which weremeant to include, however, branches of learning now disjoined from Rhetoric. They were Invention, Disposition, Elocution, Me- mory, and Pronunciation. As we have regarded Rhetoric to be the art of dis- course, applied indiscriminately to written or spoken discourse, Elocution, in its first intention, forms no necessary part of the subject; although, in‘connec- tion with Oratory, it becomes of the greatest import~ ance. But elocution, in its second meaning, as “the application of proper words and, sentences to invention,” is in reality what our modern \Writers DIVISION OF RHETORIC. 43 'have called style; and under this head it will be treated. The early writers spoke with their lips; the modern speak through the pen and press. Memory being simply the firm retention by the mind of the things and words, applied to Invention, has come now to take its place in the domain of intellectual philosophy—a science very indeterminate in Cicero’s day; and memory is consequently elimi- nated from his division of Rhetoric ; and pronuncia- tion, which then meant more than at present, including , indeed the management of voice and gesture in speak- ing, lies in part within the domain of grammar, and in part in that of oratory. It would include what we now call delivery. Thus, from Cicero’s own division, which was the result of a study of the Greek writers and of great experience, and which exhibits also the loose state of scientific classification at that day, we develope the true division of the subject into— INVENTION, ARRANGEMENT, STYLE. And here ‘it may be well to warn the student that these words are used with a technical and exact meaning, difierent from that which they bear in ordinary discourse, and yet not‘entirely disconnected from that. Let us explain this technicality. The word invention, derived from in and vem’re, to ' 44 RHETORIC. come upon, signifies the act or process of finding, or of achieving a certain result by the original combina- tion of known elements. Such, then, is much of the character of rhetorical invention in the application to ordinary discourse; but combined with imagina- tion, as in the higher flights of oratory, or the soar- ings of poetry, it claims something more. It consists then notxonly in finding what before existed, as in relation to time and space, but it creates new realms in which to work, and peoples them with orders and hierarchies likewise born at the dictum of the poet’s thought. In this view invention means creation, and it corresponds with our idea of the entirely original in poetic genius. Arrangement, called by the great Roman orator disposition, is the orderly setting forth of the things invented. It includes the method by which the thoughts of the writer are placed before the reader to instruct, and the successive steps of that instruction. Let a subject be suggested to us for a discourse, and from the moment we begin to think about it, a commingled stream of facts, fancies, and combina- tions rush in upon the. mind, in its effort to present the subject clearly. ' What 1s more common than to find writers of good invention, so careless, or so naturally disorderly, in their arrangement as to be obscure, and disjointed in their discourse? Like troops in a rabble, their DIVISION OF RHETORIC. 45 thoughts have no union, and no massive force: Arrangement is the strategy and tactics which bring them into clockwork order, movement, and effective- ness. Strictly speaking, Arrangement is rather a second part ofthe process of Invention, than a dis- tinct division of Rhetoric. Style, which Cicero has called Eloention, is the language in which the author expresses his meaning : the fitness of the speech to the thought, as invented and arranged in the mind. And this analysis now _ given, is in reality but a return to that of Aristotle, which Cicero, with the ambition to be regarded as the founder of a new system, tried to‘improve upon, and which was stated to be Invention, Elocution (Style), and Disposition (Arrangement). \ Perhaps one of the happiest illustrations of the excellence of this analysis of Aristotle, is that used by Mr. John Quincy Adams,"l< to describe how exactly I it follows the process of‘ divine wisdom in the crea- tion of light, as given in the exact words of Scrip- turez— 1st. The Invention of the Creator is thus given: “ In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth ; and the earth Was without form and void.” 2d. The Elocution or speech: “And God said, Let there be light.” 3d. The Disposition. ‘4 And God divided the light * Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory, at Harvard. 46 RHETORIC. from the darkness ; and God called the light day, and the darkness he called night.” Thus we have the highest warrant for this state- ment of the constituent branches of the rhetorical art, which, after some other necessary preliminary remarks, we shall endeavour clearly to explain. Before doing this it will be necessary to consider what place among the arts is occupied by Rhetoric. RIIETORIU AMONG THE ARTS. 47 CHAPTER III. THE RELATIONS 0F RHETORIC TO ESTHETICS. (15.) Rhetoric among the Arts. THE Arts have been divided among civilized nations into two general classes: the fine Arts, and the com— mon or useful Arts. This is evidently a division, based upon the general purpose to which Arts are applied; the fine Arts being designed to improve and refine the imagination, and thus to pleaSe the taste; While the useful Arts have for their object to benefit man- kind practically. The term Fine Arts has been also varied by being called Elegant or Liberal Arts, and among the French, les beaux Arts, or the beautiful Arts,“ while the useful Arts have also been called the mechanical or practical Arts. ~Among the fine Arts are to be ' classed Painting, Sculpture, and its art-development, Poetry. ‘ But if, according to’the division just stated, we endeavour to classify Rhetoric as’ an Art, What shall be its place? , It certainly is a useful Art in that it “I 48 RHETORIC. constructs and sets forth discourse, the medium of communicationbetween men, the very foundation of lavv and government";. but it is no less certainly an elegant Art, developing and subsidizing beauty not only as decorative or ornamental, but as it is directed in its fitness of the means to the end. With this View the French have placed it in the general division which they call belles lettres. Since, then, it seems that Rhetoric 1s to be placed in both classes, it will be evident that this division of Arts will often be a distinction Without a difference : Architecture, as an Art, is to be placed in this same category; its first aim is indeed utility, but in all its parts it has much to do with that beauty and harmony which at once class it among the elegant Arts. The truth is, that, as practical science progresses, there will be a progressive union of the useful and the beautiful, so that most’Arts will partake of both, and the long-established division into fine and useful A Arts be at length given up, as no longer just. Look at a fine ship, with the graceful lines of her hull, her tapering spars, her tall masts, and slender ropes scarcely defined against the sky; or with canvas gracefully rounded with the breeze, as she» leaps to the careering seas: is she not beautiful in every part, and in the general adaptation of the whole, to the design of the builder? and yet every part is designed and the whole is arranged With a reference, RHETORIC AMONG THE ARTS. 49 almost if not entirely alone, to utility, to speed, to tonnage, to strength, to buoyancy, to making the most of a gentle breeze, and yet to withstanding the , most violent hurricane. And is not this very fitness, this nice adaptation for utility an element of beauty? Or, for another example, consider another mechanism, primarily designed for practical purposes alone—the locomotive engine. How nice its arrangement and order; how beautiful the passage of thought, in the adaptation, from the wood and water to the fire and steam; from the steam to its calculated force when compressed; frOm the valve-box to the cylinder, to the moving piston; from the piston-rod to the crank ; from the crank to the Wheel; from the driving-wheel to the great mass of produce, and stores, and passen- gers, which it urges along; from them to the great marts connected ‘by the passage, and so to the com- merce and civilization of the world. Thus, as the world progresses to a higher civiliza- tion, Science and Art, with magicpowers, have trans- formed chaos into "order, ’dark and dingy substances into the brilliant diamond, deformity into beauty; and haVe thus created a new element in art, making what were before purely mechanical arts to rank among the fine] arts, and demanding that the fine arts shall also display utility as a distinguishing element. ‘Again; although beauty and grace are everywhere interwoven with the useful, it is, by no means, only 5 4 D 50 RHETORIC. on this account that they are to be sought and cul- tivated: it is because they have also an inherent utility entirely their own: because in contemplating them we enjoy a pleasure, a satisfaction of desire Which God meant for us; and because, to the ima- gination, this contemplation and this enjoyment are as necessary as food, dwellings, and raiment are for our bodies. Thus, linked with our ordinary concep- tion of the useful, and thus containing the useful, in an extraordinary manner, beauty pervades all Arts, and breathes upon all forms of existence. But we need no further illustration to show us that the useful Arts are rapidly becoming elegant or fine .Arts, and that some other distinction or classification will be necessary. Suppose, then, that instead of endeavouring to classify these complex and varying Arts, we strive to find out the elements of beauty in them all, by the establishment of a new science, whose end shall be to analyze and explain the beautiful. This is the end and aim of the Science of ZEsthetics.‘ ‘ Esthetics, derived from the Greek, cadences (per- ception), means the science of the beautiful, or, in an extended sense, the philosophy of taste. .lEsthetics as a science has struggled into perma- nence against the most determined opposition; it was for sometime domiciled in Germany, .where indeed, in its modern form, it came into existence. RHETORIC AMONG THE ARTS. 51 It has principally been employed upon Painting and Sculpture, as the most prominent and exclusive of the fine Arts; but its scope is commensurate with the existence of beauty, and every, art in which beauty is found is subjected to its analysis. In this connection it will been seen that Rhetoric, as one of the Fine Arts, has long needed its control; for Rhe- toric has not only the beauties of expression, which may be styled the cesthetics of language, to bring to its standards, but also the beauties of imagination and of rhetorical invention, which may be justly styled the aesthetics of thought. Since this science then seeks for beauty every- where, and, as we have seen, destroys in part at least the old division of Arts, finding in almost all, more or less, developed the elements of beauty, the many Arts in which beauty in its varying forms pre- dominates, have been called Esthetic Arts, and thus we may properly say of an art that it is more or less an Esthetic Art. Among these Rhetoric, it is observed, holds a prominent place, as will be further evident, when we see that it subsidizes the power of the imagination, the play of the softer passions, the charms of language, and in oratory, the graces of speech, of gesturerof form, the expression of the eye, the curve of the lip, and the smilerwhich plays like rippling light upon thecountenance; and that all these beauties are 52 ' RHETORIC. means beautifully adapted to a useful end. Rhetoric is essentially then an ZEsthetic Art. It has been said that this science of ZEsthetic’s was very much needed; it was not more needed by any Art than by Rhetoric; because, before its ‘creation to fill a vacant niche—wit and humour, as rhetorical instruments; beauty and sublimity of objects, and of thought, and of their description in writing; indeed, all that came, either in thought or diction, within the domain of taste, were absolutely without a place among the classified sciences, and were baldly stated as existing without being referred to any scientific classification. They are now all included under Rhetorical JEsthe- tics; and rules are laid down for judging of the beau- tiful in discourse. (16.) Objective and Subjective. It may not be amiss, while on this general topic of the philosophy of the beautiful, to explain the mean- ing of two other words much used but frequently misunderstood, especially in‘ their connection with Painting and Sculpture. They‘are the words objec- tive” and subjective, and they are particularly appli- cable to the consideration of Rhetoric. These are words of recent introduction in our language, but they were much’fieeded before they came. wi‘" ‘ " OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE. 53 To explain these, let us take any grammatical sen- tence having a subject, a finite verb, and an object. Now in Philosophy, as in Grammar, the subject is supposed , in every case to be thinker, the person acquainted with, or the person acting; while the object is the thought, the person or thing known, or the person or thing acted upon. ‘ But the subject and the object are only such rela- tively to each other, for it is evident that every sub- ject may become an object: for, if Iconceive of the given subject as related to the given object, then both are objects to me, for I am the thinker and they the things thought of. Let this give us the clue then to the meaning of these terms: objective means that which really and essentially belongs to the object itself; subjective means the manner in which the subject, or individual, c’onceives of that object. And thus objectivity means the exiStence of the world around me quite independ- ent of my conceptions of them, while subjectivity means the expression of my views of the world around-me. ‘ The objective painter er‘ writer displays. things, or portrays persons, as they exist, free from any preju- dice or'peculiarity of his own; such as would Spring from his school, or his nationality, or his own personal views. While the subjective writer gives us the peculiar , 5* , pm 1-"? “.1 VW 54 . 11111911301110. impressions made upon himself, and thus frequently the objects are distorted by being viewed through him as a medium. The one is nature seen with the clear unblemished eye; the other the same nature seen “through a glass darkly.” To state extreme cases, the annalist or statistician is objective; the man of genius usually more subjective. To obtain pure truth in a pleasing form, we look for a combination of the objective and subjective. Shakspbare has been instanced as remarkable for the happy counterbalance of the two: his characters, —men and women ;——his portraitures of virtue and vice, “holding the mirror up to nature,” are splen- didly objective; and show to all ages “ our fathers in their habits as they lived.” And yet, on the other hand, what writer has ever more perfectly stamped everything he wrote with the Signet of his own genius; making everything Shak- sperean and subjective? ‘ So too has Milton, “ of "imagination all compact,” peOpled the world of that imagination with the finest _ objective creations, and yet every line of the Paradise Lost, or of Comus is so truly Milton’s that we could recognise it by a comparison with his life and his other works. _ p i i A purely. objective View, while it informs or in- structs, gives us no pleasin‘g‘or grateful thought of the instructor; a purely subjective view shows us the OF THE PLEASURES OF TASTE. 55 instructor, but we learn him rather than the truths he professes to teach. But to return to the province of Taste in rhetorical discourse. (17.) 0f the pleasures of Taste. It has been stated, at the beginning of this volume, that Rhetoric, as the Art of Discourse, consists in'the invention, arrangement, and style, or expression, of discourse. We have shown that. in the invention and arrange- ment of the discourse the development of thought is the proper province ‘of Rhetoric; we now come to consider the fact that in the thought and language of discourse there is an inherent relation to Taste; thus, not only may we clearly invent and distinctly express our thought, but the thought itself and the dress it wears, may, besides simply informing our hearer, awaken in him an emotion of pleasure, inci- dent to the beauty, grandeur, or sublimity which they“ contain. To illustratez—It may be our desire to inform a person, before ignorant of the fact, that God made ' everything, and that he only said that they should be made, and that they were so made. If, now, we look beyond the mere instruction to be conveyed, we find the thought expanding in the effort of utterance; we observe that our mind dwells beforehand upon the 56 RHETORIC. dignity of approach to such a thought, that an ele- vated and serious tone becomes natural to our expres- sion, and so we rise at once to the language of the Psalmist: “ By the word of the Lord were the Hea— vens made, and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth; He gathereth the waters of the sea toge- ther as an heap; he layeth up the depth in store- houses. Let all the earth fear the Lord; let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him. For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it _ stood fast.” Here, besides the mere instruction conveyed, there is great beauty in the invention and arrangement; that is, the development of the thought. First, the fact of creation; then the ennobling consideration of the Great Omnipotent Being, who could thus create; his mighty unseen hands in the ocean depths—the storehouses of his munificence; the vastness of his visible universe; the transition of the mind from primitive chaos to order, from darkness to light; the potent reasoning that such a God should be had in awe and holy fear by all the inhabitants of the world; and the grandeur of the final and splendidepitome: “For he spake, and it Was done; he commanded, and it stOod fast.” Is net an emotion ,of great pleasure, merging into awe, excited by thisldevelopment of thought and fit- ness of expression? If we had no other volume than I 7.. . (VFW... IMAGINATION. 57 the Bible, from which to illustrate a chapter on Rhe— torical ZEsthetics, we should have a storehouse full of treasures of thought and diction. With these preliminary remarks, we proceed to the consideration of the scope, subjects, and instruments of Esthetics in the consideration of Rhetoric. It must be observed, that the pleasures derived from such thoughts and such language are pleasures produced by the Imagination and discerned by Taste; and, lest we may be misunderstood, before going farther, let us explain the meaning of these terms, Imagination and Taste. (18.) Imagination. Perhaps there is no term which has been more difiicult to explain, or of which more conflicting expla- nations have been given, than the word imagination. It is derived from the Latin word imago, which means an image, and therefore, in its etymological sense, it is the conjuring or bringing before the mind certain images ;' but, in its secondary sense, it may be called the power of endowing substances with qualities which they do not possess; and making these qualities in- here in a lively and natural manner. \ ' Because of its conflict with another word, Fancy, which has frequently been used as synonymous with it, i. (2., having nearly the same meaning, it 58 RHETORIC. has been found necessary to define Imagination more clearly than before, and yet it is difficult to find an agreement among those writers who have attempted to state this distinction. Fancy, from the Greek (qaamraam), may bepcalled the power of combining ideas already known, in such a manner as to produce new and pleasant scenes to our mental sight. Imagination is a creative power, often originating ideas; or, if not making the ideas themselves, creating such a connection between the most simple and insignificant things as to render them new objects of human sympathy. Thus we have in Milton’s Comus :— Wrapped in a pleasing fit of melanchOly, To meditate my rural minstrelsy, Till Fancy has her fill. Baas _ Imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, and presents them to the poet, until his pen 1 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Imagination is a quality of the mind by which these images are evoked according to an invariable IMAGINATION. 59 mental law; Fancy is the condition of the mind unbent, uncontrolled, and often lawless. The Imagination soars when the intellectual powers are in full, strong, and healthful play. It is Fancy which directs our reveries, or is present in our dreams. Imagination is oftenest linked with pure feeling; she observes and appreciates the ‘closest and most pathetic resemblances or analogies; detects and loves beauty in its subtlest forms. Fancy only sports unfeeling with the resemblance of things, airy and fantastical. Imagination is the close attendant, the inseparable friend of the tragic muse, while Fancy alone disports herself in the atmosphere of comedy. In a word, Imagination, creative, elevated, serious, dignified, belongs to poetic genius, and opens to it a world of high and holy thought, and of perennial pleasures, into which Fancy never enters. The glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more than reasoning mind, And colour life’s dark cloud with orient rays; ”Imagination is that sacred power, i Imagination lofty and refined. Among the plays of Shakspeare, so often marked by exalted Imagination, the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” is ‘full of delicate as well as capricious 60 RHETORIC. Fancy; While in Homer, the Imagination is far more abundant, making the Iliad original, lively, glowing, and natural. Pope’s “ Rape of the Lock” has been regarded as the best illustration, in one poem, of the predomi- nance of Fancy, filled as it is with the Rosicrucian spirits, sylplhs, gnomes, and nymphs. ‘ The ‘6 Divina Commedia” of Dante, and the “Paradise Lost” of Milton, are full of fine imagi- nation: while the “ Faerie Queen” of Spenser, and Shakspeare’s “Tempest,” are fine examples'of the beautiful combination of the Imagination and the Fancy. ’ For a long time, and indeed until quite recently, these two words were regarded as exactly synony- mous, and were so used constantly. While this was a great error, it will still be evi— dent that, in their relation to' Rhetoric, Imagination and Fancy are both important; and that, While genius alone may be able to icreate with the imagi- nation, it is the province of taste to judge of the fancy and the imagination as displayed in writing, and of the beauties and pleasures arising from both. (19.) Taste. We come now‘to a consideration of the meaning and the province of" Taste. ' ‘ TASTE. 61 . Taste has been defined the faculty by which we discern and enjoy the beauties of Nature and Art. Whether Taste be a single faculty in itself, or whether it be a combination of other faculties, is a question which mainly concerns Intellectual Philo- sophy; but that there is such a power of discrimis nating must be admitted by all. If this be admitted, it is unimpOrtant whether it be a simple or a complex faculty. This power is the universal gift of God to man, although in different degrees; thus, the coarse tastes of the savage differ from the refined tastes of civilized life ; and yet all will agree that sugar is sweet, vinegar sour, light and gay colours pleasant to the eye. It is by taste that we create our standards of judg- ment in art, as well as in the world around us. If we seek for such a standard of rhetorical judg- ment we shall find it to be drawn from nature, and dependent, as are our standards in the other Arts, upon that natural faculty which we have called Taste. This term, Taste, it is evident, is used in a second- ary meaning when applied to the pleasures of Ima- gination. It has been by some persons derived from the verb tango, to touch, and may thus be regarded as the elfect produced by coming in‘contact with any— thing; but tous its primary meaning is the power of judging, by the palate, of the quality and nature of things which we eat and drink. i 6 62 RHETORIC. The process of its second application is an easy one; thus, a sweet food produces a pleasurable sensa- tion upon the palate, analogous to that of a sweet sound upon the ear, or such as one whom we call a sweet person produces upon our hearts ; we thus speak of the taste of the food, a taste for music, or a person so much to our taste ; by an extension of this process, Taste is made to apply to works of literature and art in all their branches, including the pleasures of the Imagination, and, in especial, to Rhetoric, in its task \ of inventing, arranging, and expressing discourse. The capability of being pleased or pained by the works of Nature and Art around us, has been justly called sensitiveness ; it springs directly from the union of the mind and the conscience; and thus is brought to bear upon all forms in the physical and moral world. In the term mind we include both the reason and the imagination. In our efl‘ort to be clear and concise we have avoided technical phrases bor- rowed from mental philosophy, and have limited our- selves to the plainest language. After our sensitiveness is thusiattracted towards or repelled from the various objects and ideas which surround us, it is the province of Taste to tell us why we are thus influenced, and to discern the beau- ties and, deformities of Nature and of Art, and to arrange them according to some scale or law of graJ dation. The question has often been asked—“ Is TASTE. 63 there any standard of Taste ?—-—and so many have denied the existence of such a standard, that an adage was framed by the Latins, and has been retained to our own times as the summary settle- ment of this question—“De gustibus non est dispu- tandum :” There is no disputing about Tastes. It is worth a remark, in illustration of the case before us, that, in general, adages and aphorisms are only one half true, and the other half grossly and fatally false. Take for example the false part of the common motto, “A penny saved is a penny got.” It is easily shown, by instances from everyday life, that this has been productive of many other evils as great as spendthriftiness; perhaps its injury to mankind has been greater than its good. It has steeled the heart against the famishing orphan or the indigent widow, and buttoned the pocket over the “penny saved,” as though it were a generous and praise-- worthy act. _ In the words of, Thomson :— Here you a muck—worm of the town might see, At his dull desk, amid his ledgers stalled, , Eat up with carking care and pe‘nury; Most like to carcase parched on gallow-tree. “A penny saved is a penny got :” Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he, Ne of its rigour will he bate a jot, Till it has quenched his fire and banished his pot. CASTLE 0F INDOLENCE. 64 RHETORIC. If, then, we would apply a similar criticism to the adage about Taste, we shall find that it has been entirely wrested from its true meaning, which was—- . that inherent tastes are so hard to overcome, and to convince of error, that we should not dispute about them; and that it has been construed thus: Since We are all gifted with taste by God, each man’s taste must be as good as his neighbour’s; and therefore there can be no standard, 2 But there is a standard; and although, in matters of general doubt some latitude must be allowed, there is a large domain in which all well-ordered and culti- vated minds agree, and this agreement constitutes, in that province at least, the standard of Taste. Such, we shall also see, is the philosophy of the standard of Rhetorical Taste. This standard may be defined the concurrence of the right judgment of many well ordered and duly cultivated minds, when directed within the province and upon the objects of Taste, and the establishment of this standard has been a special object of- that science of Taste which has been called Esthetics. . . It seems hardly necessaryto dwell upon this point; but let any one compare, in thought, the extremes of barbarism and refinement; a but of reeds with a. gorgeous palace; an Indian canoe with the floating palaces which cross the Atlantic; an Indian village with one of our great cities—Philadelphia or New ‘ TASTE. 65 York; the barbarous and inadequate dialect of the Hottentot with the copiouSness of the English or the graces of the Spanish'language: and a union, a con- currence of Taste, not only among the refined, but among the barbarous, as far as they can comprehend these things, will establish the necessity and existence of a standard of Taste. But this, it will be observed, except in such a com- parison of extremes as those just mentioned, will be a varying standard, and will depend upon the habits and customs, domestic, social, and national, of the individuals concerned: what is pleasant to a man of culture will be indifferent to one lower in the intel- lectual scale, because he will not appreciate it; while that which satisfies and charms the boor will be dis- tasteful, by contrast, to those surrounded by all the appliances of culture and taste. Besides, there may be diferent tastes and yet each good of its kind. Each man, in the ardour with which he pursues his special train of thought and study, finds in it matter more to his taste than in any other pursuit; and so the jurist evokes beauties and plea- sures from the law, finding, in the words of Hooker, “that her seatixis the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world.” The mathematician may so revel in his problems, and be so intent to weave his analysis, that, like 6* E 66 RHETORIC. Archimedes, he may be deaf to the roar of battle around his house. The poet may soar on the pinions of the Ima- gination Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth; and each may find beauties, the source of pleasures which by the others are unseen and unappreciated. This is just; its philosophy is apparent. But, if the lawyer should say to the mathematician, Your, labors are dull andldisagreeable, and I pity your dry routine and plodding life; or, if the mathe— matician demand sneeringly of the poet, What does the ‘4 Paradise Lost” prove? then violence'is done to true taste by those who are simply unable, from ignorance, to recognise real beauties. And here it should be next observed that this faculty of Taste, like all other, faculties, physical and mental, with which man has been endowed, is improved and developed by cultivation, and impaired, even to entire loss, by disuse. _ This needs no proof: look at the development of the senses by constant practice; the dealer intea becomes extremely well acquainted with the various kinds by taste and smell ;= the person accustomed to judge of wines will detect the peculiar flavours even when two or more are mixed together. ‘ CORRECTNESS AND DELICACY OF TASTE. 67 In the same manner, the man of cultivated intel- lectual taste Will become more and more able to dis- criminate the beauties of an author, to discern his faults, and to distinguish him, by his peculiar manner of thought and diction, from all others. (20.) Correctness and delicacy of Taste. With this view of the development of Taste, Rhe- toricians have stated the principal characteristics of Taste to be two—correctness and delicacy ; qualities in part indeed due to nature, and possessed in a greater degree by some than by others; but also capable of being attained’by study and culture. It is not meant that these qualities are given in an equal degree to the Same individual, or that every individual is susceptible of, the same amount of culture; but this will appear when we define their meaning. . By Correctness of Taste is meant that property by Which we are enabled to bring sound judgment to bear in' our discernment of the objects and beauties of Taste. It is a'correct taste which presents to our View only the real beauties, and Which is not deceived by What is false and meretricious in ornament. By a'correct taste we are enabled also, after dis- cerning many real beauties in Nature or Art, to classify these for the reference of others,it‘o find out the sources vvhence they, spring, and to keep our- 68 RIIETORIC. selves from too little or too much praise of any such objects; admiring just in the degree we should, and no more. , Thus, a concurrence of correct Tastes establishes Ior us a standard of correctness, in Taste, to which we and others may apply for our after needs. By delicacy or refinement of Taste is implied the finer powers with which some minds are endued, by which they are permitted to discern beauties and delicacies which are not seen by commoner intellects. A refined Taste observes, in a combination of thoughts, the beauty of each individually, as Well as that of the combined thought; just as a nice car bears along each part in a complex harmony, as well as the har- mony itself, where one confused or blended sound is present to the unpractised car. So, a delicate taste will detect ina dish of many ingredients the flavour and the presence of each. ' It has been said that these qualities are not always given in the same measure; a man may have a cor- rect taste, may justly estimate every object around him, as farashe estimates it at all, and yet be blind to many beauties which would be discerned by ,a. refined taste. On the other hand a refined taste, seeking the rare beauties, may neglect the just Outlines and true forms of things, and, catered to by individual preju- dice, may distort these, and thus may be able to lay 93" ’ CORRECTNESS AND DELICACY OF TASTE. 69 little claim to correctness. This is, however, an un- common case. It generally happens, that the culti- vation of the faculty of Taste, which is necessary to make one correct, is the cause of the revelation of new beauties , and these new beauties constantly unfolding to the eye tend to cultivate refinement. Indeed no taste can be truly refined Without being correct; nor correct, in its most extended sense, Without being refined. There have been many technical uses of the word taste, which it Will be unnecessary for us to consider; they are only different applications of the general functions of Taste already laid down. Thus, Tech- m'cal Taste is that used by an artist” or a writer, in making his picture or his discourse, according to the standards already laid downby the great masters; just as a mechanic applies rules, the principles of which he is ignorant of ; while Philosophical Taste is that based upon the true principles of beauty and adaptation, that is, upon the principles of philosophy as thus applied, and constitutes the, true and final standard of judgmentythese principles, based on Nature, are now the" same they were in the days of Homer, and of Aristotle, and this is plainly and well expressed-in Pope’s‘verses—which contain such high . praise of Homer directly, and such implied admira- tion of Virgil :— 70 . RHETORIO. When first young Maro, in his boundless mind, A work to outlast immortal Rome designed, Perhaps he seemed above the critic’s law, And, but from nature’s fountains scorned to draw; , But when to examine every part he came, Nature and Homer were, he found, the same. Convinced, amazed, he checks the bold design, And rules as strict his laboured work confine, As if the Stagyrite o’erlooked each line. Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem; To copy nature is to copy them. (2 1‘.) Genius. In this relation the word Genius has often been associated with Taste; and its meaning has been not unfrequently misunderstood. ,It is derived from the Latin verb gigno, to be born ; signifying a Sowething which is peculiar to a person, as if born with him. It differs from the Intellect, which is the universal gift of understanding, in that Genius is something superposed upon and implying intellect; we frequently Speak of a man of superior‘ intellect without meaning that he has genz'ns; we can never speak of a great genius without implying great intellect. Genius. differs also from talent, with which it is \often con- founded; talent meant originally a Greek coin (false/row) of more than one hundred pounds, and came into its present use from our Saviour’sparable of the ten talents; it therefore implies. something of. ready and practical utility to the possessor. Genius m1“... ix.“ GENIUS. 71 is creative and original, and often erratic and fanci- ful; Talent imitates and combines what genius or nature has created, into the useful and practical: a , great poet has genius; a great historian only talent. The manner in which Genius differs from Taste is of more concern to us, because here it is employed in an aesthetic sense. Taste is a critical power to discern the beauties of Nature and Art, and may be technically attained to some degree at least, if it be not originally possessed. Genius is the birth-right power of executing great things in Art and Science. Genius may, in its works, display a sound taste. By the cultivation and development of Taste the Critic is made; by Genius the Poet, the Orator, the Painter accomplish famous works.‘ To the critic, whose domain is that of Taste, constant and careful study is requisite: While it improves and guides the genius, it is not essential to the existence of genius. There can be little doubt which is the higher power. It is that incommunicable gift which we call Genius; and yet Pope, in his Essay on Criticism, has said :— ’Tis hard to say if greater want of skill Appear in writing or injudging ill; Some few in that, but numbers err in this, Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss. 72 RHETORIC. And he roundly asserts that Taste is born with a man, as well as Genius: — In poets as true genius is but rare, ‘ True taste as seldom is the critic’s share. Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, These born to judge as well as those to write. We speak of a taste for poetry, painting, music, &c., and equally of a genius for them; by the former is implied a fondness for them, and a cultivated faculty by which we discern and enjoy their beau- ties; by the latter we imply the power to write a great poem replete with creations of the imagination, to paint a great picture full of original forms, and conceived in an original spirit, or to compose some grand sonata. The sterling English writers most frequently use these words in their true meaning, and from them we may derive just illustrations, and endeavour to explain them to ourselves; Thus Wordsworth speaks of one By science led His genius mounted to the plains of Heaven; thus at once granting the original power of genius, and its guidance by science. And Leigh Hunt quotes the beautiful and pathetic passage from Homer, which describes old Priam kneel- GENIUS. 73 ing before Achilles and beggingfor the dead body of Hector, as he reminds him of his own father, until Achilles is melted to tears; then, as he finishes the passage, he exclaims ‘6 Oh lovely and imm01tal pri- vilege of genius! that can stretch its hand out of the nastes of time, thousands of years back, and touch our eyelids with tears.” It is Genius which controls and subsidizes the imagination, using its creative and combining powers With the noblest results. V ‘ But it cannot be denied that, although Taste and Genius are so distinct, they are often fOund conjoined in the same individual. The great poets, who are by this very fact geniuses, are often our best standards of true taste; Genius, however, is usually limited to one or to few Arts, While Taste may range over many, and be developed 1n many diiections. And it is equally true, that in some cases true Genius exists in a constitution most deficient in Taste. Thus Dr. Johnson, Who claimed to be a poet, and Whose satires were in great favour during his life- time, abused Milton’s Lycidas and Comus, was severe even in his praise of the Paradise Lost, and denounced Milton’s sbnnets,—those noble English verses,—as very bad; While Lord Byron, a rare poetic genius, found, no beauty in Shakspeare, and clung with fond- 7 v 74 RHETORIC. ness to the artificial poetry of Dryden and Pope, . which exhibits very little poetic genius. (22.) 0f Rhetorical Taste. It is time we were beginning to apply what has already been said on the subject of ZEsthetics, to the subject immediately under our consideration. It is evident that Rhetorical Taste is the employ- ment of the faculty of Taste in the criticism of dis- course; especially in that kind of discourse which is ordinarily called Literature, as distinguished from Science, ‘ In a succeeding chapter there will be given, at length, a list and description of the different kinds of discourse; it will, therefore, be sufficient here to say that in the class which bears the name Litera- ture, are included those branches which come within the scope of Rhetorical Taste, as, for example, his- torical writing, narratives, poetry and prose fiction, and epistolary writing, especially in'certain of its uses. Under the general topic of Science, are now comprised those branches of study which have for their purpose to lay down and illustrate the princi- ples of knowledge, and to give strength amd Culture to the reason. It is at once evident from the etymology of these words that the meanings thus given are by no means EWEf OF BEAUTY. 75 their primary significations; since Literature, from the Latin Litteroe, by? its' derivation includes all thoughts expressed by letters; and Science from Solo, to know, comprehends all kinds of knowledge. But in the progress of language, which meets the wants and expresses the culture of the people, these words have drifted from their etymologies to compass more limited branches of discourse ; Literature being, in more general terms, that which is the field of Rhe- torical Taste, and Science the domain of the reason- ing powers. (23.) 0f the Sources of the Pleasures of Taste. It has'been said that Rhetorical Taste has to do With works of ~ the imagination; hence, the pleasures arising from the exercise of this taste upon the crea- tions and combinations of the imagination are truly Pleasures of the Imagination; and the sources of' these pleasures have been considered as ranging under three heads: Beauty, Subltmtty, and Novelty. (24.) ‘ Of Beauty. The word Beauty has been traced through the French beauté, to the Latin bellus, thence to beuulus, beam, and bonus, which latter word means good, thus allying the beautiful with the good. The element of Beauty may be defined, first, as 76 RIIETORIC. that ideal quality which gives pleasure to the organs of sense, the eye, the ear, &c., as colour, form, sound, motion, 82c. ; but in its extended application it refers to that which pleases the intellect, the imagination, and the conscience. It will evidently be twofold, the beauty of the thought, and the beauty of language, as to its adaptation and harmony. The beauty of thought is generally a fixed, inherent element, which many understand but cannot express; _ as in nature, the azure of the sky, the calm flow of a. river, are called beautzficl, and the thought of these before the expression is beautiful. But there is also a beauty of language, which, besides its inherent existence, is attended by two circumstantial forms of beauty, of which the one is ordinarily called grace, as to its ornaments; and the other propriety, as to, its adaptation. It has been said that beauty addresses itself to the senses: thus, colour, figure, and motion please the eye; sounds, which are soft and harmonious, please the ear; and these exhibited all around us in nature constitute her manifold charms, to which every eye and every heart respond. Take, by \vay of illustration, a fine landscape, in which the fields adorned with living green are divided and contrasted with streams sparkling as they flow; in which are dotted here and there, in little clumps or fairy groves, trees of various kinds, from, the veneraw Er, ‘ OF BEAUTY. 77 ble oak with its spreading arms, to the fine straight sapling rejoicing in its youth; woodland roads, with figures of men and horses; the rustic'bridge; the boat idly borne by the current, or reflected in the mirror-like water as it is moored to the shore; grazing herds; birds singing in concert; and all these bathed in the beautiful light of the morning sun ;—there is beauty not only in each, that is, in the separate principles of colour, sound, figure, and motion, but in the Union of them‘all, which consti- tutes a complex beauty. Now to describe this, or any similar scene, with the pencil of art, is the study and the purpose of the painter, and we call his work beautiful; he chooses his choicest colours, and endeavours, without indeed an attempt at illusioné—for he does not mean to cause us to miStake his picture for nature—to make uslenjoy, in his painting, the remembrance of the original, and also to admire his skill in its reproduc- tion on canvas; and we, as Critics, exercise our artistic taste in judging of his work. Analogous to this is the writer’s attempt to portray . I .‘ 9 c u - . thlS same scene inwards, and to exmte 1n our minds a pleasing emotion; seizing the beauties which it presents with an artist’s eye, he arranges them into thoughts; he chooses from his store of language beautiful, and hence appropriate, words, with which to describe these natural beauties which he has now 7 * 78 RHETORIC. fashioned into beautiful thought. Sometimes, in the ’ attempt, he rises, with the poet’s imagination, to the language of apostrophe :— Forth in the pleasingrspring, Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm‘; p Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; ' , And every sense, and every heart is joy. Or in simple but most graphic prose he describes such a scene, so that it is once more painted upon our mind’s retina :— “ A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them, the horizon was \of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark blue and purple of their ‘rocky sides. A sloop was loitering "in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging ,uselessly against the mast, and as the reflection of the sky gleamed alongrthe still water, it seemed as if the vessel was susPended in the air.” V To these descriptions, of \which- the one is highly poetical and. the other simply and minutely descrip-’ tive, we apply equally the canons of Rhetorical OF BEAUTY. 79 Taste; finding in the first, the general beauty of the scene; the superior beauty of the apostrophe to God :— “ Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love ;” and the power with which the imagination has vivified everything ;-—the flush of the fields ; the echoing mountains; the smiling forest. Add to these the harmony and flow of the language, and we declare the whole beautiful. i So, in the latter, besides the placid beauty of the landscape,‘and the charming change of colour in the sky, the words and images Chosen with which to de- scribe them are beautiful, and the emotion awakened in 11s is one of unmixed pleasure. From what has been said it will be evident'that‘ the emotion awakened by -~B-eauz‘y, in Nature and Art—and in‘the term Art, discourse is included—is not of a violent or vehement kind; it is placid and gentle; the imagination in its creation of the beau- tiful, and the discourse in its desmiption, does not agitate the soul strongly, or appeal powerfully to the passions. The beautiful in writing, intended toexpress and describe the beautiful in nature, or mind, or morals, is smooth, flowing, harmonious, and graceful. The more violent appeals belong to the grand or sublime. ' 80 RIIETORIC. \ The idea of beauty is usually'associated with glad- ness, and surely most of the emotions of beauty are excited in a mind serene and cheerful, or buoyant and lively, and yet there is a union of beauty with sadness, which gives an emotion of pleasure. When beauty is joined with melancholy we have pathos, and this produces an emotion which heightens the pleasure of beauty by contrast. Originally this word, pathos, as its derivation from the Greek, wage, to sufler, indicates, meant passion, and implied vehe- mence ; it has now grown to mean that which awakens tender emotions, and chiefly those of a humane and hearty sympathy. Among the writers in whose poems beauty abounds, Goldsmith is a striking example; his muse, dwelling mainly in the sphere of beauty, presents such charm- ing and quiet pictures; now of “Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain ;” and again of the placid countenances of those who were its familiar tenants long ago. Thus we have the country pastor, ‘ “ To all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year.” 7 The village schoolmaster: whose learning was so great that OF BEAUTY. ~ 81 “ Still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.” In many of his descriptions rural life is presented in its fairest verdure and its quietcharms. 7 The descriptions in the 4‘ Traveller” are likewise full of beauties; many of them of a higher order, as he passes from descriptions of nature to moral reflec- tions upon European life and manners. Cowper is another illustration of the beautiful in writing; and of more modern poets, Scott, in his animated descriptions in prose as well as verse; Coleridge, and Wordsworth, are striking examples; the one in his charming delineations of purity and love— “And hopes, and fears that kindle hopes, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subduecl and cherished long;” and the other in his elaborate descriptions of rural life and persons in England :— ) "‘ Of him who walked in glory and in Joy, Following his plough along the mountain side.” Keats, and his later type, Tennyson, should also be mentioned as being full of beauties, as well of language as of rare thought. Of that beauty which is found in the pathetic, avery notable example is F 82 RHETORIC. found in Sterne’s story of Lefevre, in Tristram Shandy; we have the beauty of heart in my Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim,‘so concerned as they were about the sick Lieutenant; the beauty of invention and arrangement in the details of the story, and a charm of language which covers the whole with a veil of soft and dewy light, and makes it a beautiful pic- ture in the great art gallery of English literature. Nor are our American writers wanting in a genius to create, and a taste to subsidize the beautiful: Washington Irving has given us those placid and yet beaming pictures of life on the Hudson, the banks of which he has made classic ground; Bryant has his ears ever open and his eyes ever responding to the charms of nature, and his pen ever ready to portray them in immortal colours. _ It is out of our province, in this place, to multiply illustrations of this fact, but it may be stated in general, that, as American scenery abounds in what is beautiful, the beauties of its description abound in the works of American authors. (25.) 0f Grandeur 07' Sublimitg/ in Discourse. The next source of the pleasures of imagination, in discourse, has been called Grandeur or Sublimity. Some persons have regarded these as different in the degree in which they awaken pleasurable emo- V 9‘”..- GRANDEUR 0R SUBLIMITY IN DISCOUltSE. 83 a tions, making grandeur less powerful than sublimitg : yet, although this difference in degree may be kept in mind, a consideration of the synonymous character of the two words will cause us, generally, to range the emotions excited by both under the "general head of the sublime in writing. Grandeur, from the Latin grandis, and the French grand, implies greatness, originally in size; but, by its secondary adaptation, it differs from greatness, in that it includes the idea of excellence and worth. In its adaptation to thought it implies expansion of sentiment, and also the character of the expression of sentiment. Sublime, from the Latin sublimis, means originally greatness in height, and, when applied to discourse, means elevation as well of tlzouglzt as of diction. To Art and Nature alike the teim Grand may be applied; Subli'me is only preperly used when speak- ing of Nature. A natural scene may be both grand and sublime , grand in the impression of its extension and vast- ness which is made upon our imagination; sublime in the efiect Which it produces upon our imagination, in elevating it beyond the spheie and Consideration of lesser objects 01 concerns. 1 The pyramids of Egypt are grand; the ocean 'in its sport is grand; but the ocean in fury passes out of the sphere of grandeur and becomes sublime. .. . -- "I‘:‘""‘"‘W 84 RIIETORIC. In discourse we speak of'certain authors as grand or sublime, according to the predominance of sub- Zz'mz'ty in their works. Homer, who is full of beauty, often merges simple beauty into grandeur of thought and of style in his descriptions of prowess on the battle-field, as well as in his pictures of the glOwing beauties of the old ZEgean; and the classic shores of Asia Minor. So, also, Milton passes from the placid beauties of the terrestrial paradise to the grandeur of creation, and to the sublimities of the Court of Heaven; the terrible splendours of Pande- monium ; and the splendid fabric, which “rose like 3’ an exhalation, “to the Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders” ; but in all his works is found a great predominance of sublimity, so much,~indeed, as to constitute his great work one of the sublimest poems ever written. The Scriptures, ever abound with' sublimity in thought, and in language: the two so aptly united in the harmonies of prophetic language, which an- nounce, through the poet’s tongue, the mission and glories of the Messiah. But the sublime in Scripture is ever present with us, from the universal diffusion of the ‘Biblexin our country; and illustrations suggest themselves to the daily delight of its readers. Among the modern authors, whose works are replete with sublime thoughts, fitly expressed in glowing words, Byron IS the chief of English -,poets ° GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE. 85 his poem of Childe Harold abounding in lines which give us, with lightning vividness, glimpses of the true, sublime in writing. They are so well known that they will recur readily to most readers. The apos- trophe to the ocean; rising, in a beautiful climax, from earth to heaven ; representing the immense ex- panse, in itself so grand, as the {‘ glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form Glasses itself in tempests ;” is ”one of theisublimest descriptions on record. His lamentations over the fallen glories of Greece and Rome, and the fleeting honours of the more modern Mediterranean republics,iare also in many instances I truly sublime. Coleridge. often passes, with easy ascent, from the beautiful to the sublime, with the finest efi'ect; and like many other writers, who reach the region of the sublime, he often combines sublimity with terror. Let us take, for example, a little picture from the Ancient Mariner :— “ The thick black cloud was cleft, and still, The moon was at its side; , Likewaters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide.” The whole forms a terrific picture, especially when 8 86 , RHETORIC. read with the attendant circumstances in the poem. There is a grandeur of thought, too, in the picture of that despairing ocean, in the same poem :— “ Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean has no blast, His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast.” ,. A modern critic has declared the last two lines to be among the finest in the language. Sublimity in discourse, it is evident, is more vehe— ment and violent, in the emotions it awakens, than Beauty; and still Within a certain limit it is a source of pleasure to taste: yet it is a pleasure not with- out its cost; the mind is startled; the whole man snatched as it were from the earth to a higher air in which are wonders and beauties not unmixed with awe. ‘ It may even go so far as to unite with fear, and thus to become a source of terror, when all pleasure is lost. Horrors of colossal size throng around us, and the imagination seizes the reason, and bears it away captive into the doleful regions of despair: such is often the poet’s aim; and the contrast, when he returns tomore placid scenes and milder words, renders them all the more pleasing. ‘ What, for in- stance, is there of pleasure in the wild revolutionary vision of Coleridge, in which :— ' ‘ GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE. 87 “. The giant Frenzy, Uprooting empires with his whirlwind arm, Mocketh high Heaven. The old Hag, unconquerable, huge, Creation’s eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits, Nursing the impatient earthquake.” Many striking examples of the sublime in Writing may be found in the poems of Mrs. Browning, and they constitute exceptions to a general rule which would make beauty, rather than sublimity, the cha- racteristic of a woman’s mind. i V It will be evident that so exalted an emotion as that of sublimity cannot be long maintained; unlike the steady, placid sunlight of beauty, it comes «in electric flashes of dazzling splendour, but short duration. , If,_now, we consider the kind of language in which sublime thoughts are naturally couched, we shall find it to be generally of the simplest kind; a transparent garb disclosing rather than veiling the sublime con- ceptions. In the example already‘used of the crea- tion of light at the word of God, this simplicity is manifest 9-“ God said, Let there be light, and there was light.” What can be grander than the thought, and yet what can be simpler than the language? So, in the Psalms of David, this beautiful simplicity of language is allied to the highest thoughts. Some- times, it is a denunciation of vengeance against the wicked: “ Let God arise, and let his enemies be 88 RHETORIC. scattered.” Or, again, it is the praise of universal Nature to its Creator: “ The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament Sheweth his handy- work ; Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.” There is no straining after eflect in language; the words are as simple as the thought is sublime. The Book of Job has often been adduced as a. very copious illustration of sublimity of thought; it might be readily brought forward as also illustrating the simplicity of language. Efforts have been made to analyze the sublime, and to discover its sources; but, beyond the idea conveyed by its derivation, we can arrive at no satis- factory result. Vastness, confusion, high virtue, con- tempt of death, fear, have all been mentioned as ele- ments of the sublime; and, perhaps, obscurity which hides the lofty conceptions from us, and yet implies their existence, is a most distinguishing characteristic of the sublime, very much employed in the Bible, and by the best authors. ‘ Thus the Psalmist says: -—— ' a 34;, “Glorious things are spoken of thee, O oi‘hy of God. "’ leaving to our imagination and faith to. medi- tate upon the glories of which the mere mention is thus made. _ It is this which constitutes so much of the sublime in the prophecies ; their glowing and yet simple lan- GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE. 89 guage, containing truths of sublime importance, the whole of which we are not gifted to know, and yet of which we form some faint conception :— 4‘ Thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power; in the beauties of holiness from the womb of the 11101 ning , thou hast the dew of thy youth. ” “ He shall drink of the brook in the way; there fore shall He lift up the head. ” Of the power of Obsculity to heighten the sub- limity of that which is purely imaginative, we have the most frequent examples in Milton; Satan is drawn in dim outline ;— ‘ “ His stature reached the sky, And on his crest sat Horror plumed.” The mind soars to reach that lofty height; and the , imagination expands in its attempt to pertray to itself that strange ideal, 4‘ Horror plumed.” The entire description of the encounter of Satan with Sin and Death, at Hell-gate, owes much of its sublimity to that awe-inspiring darkness through which it is indistinctly discerned: it seems the highest effort of the ideal imagination. Hererises a “ —————Grisly Terror, and in shape, So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold More dreadful and deform.” 8*' ,_ _F. _‘..,“-_'~F,..eV;V—.fiv. _ ~ «v v’w "W 90 RHETORIC. A most artistic composite of obscure phrases, pro- ducing a sublime and awful picture. And, again :— “So frown the mighty combatants, that hell Grew darker at their frown; so matched they stood; From What has been said it will be apparent that the sources of the sublime in writing lie more in the thought than the language; for'the proper language in Which sublimity of thought is couched, is, asfhas been already remarked, simple and common, giving only clear and lucid expression to the thought. Sometimes, however, the language is a real aid to the thought. In the skilful use of language there are‘adaptations of sound to sense, which are some- times adopted to heighten the eifect. This subject will be referred to more at length hereafter; but it may be well to state, in this place, the existence of such an adaptation of the powers of language to heighten the efl'ect of the thought. In a less degree we have observed ‘ that harmonious language is a fit- ting vehicle for beauty of thought ;, thus Byron has described the morning dawn in the East, in words of harmonious sound :-— 7 ‘ “ Night wanes—the va‘pours round the mountains curled Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world.” in which the sound uttered softly, is a fitting accom-' GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY IN DISCOURSE- 91 paniment' to the scene which the words describe; and again he opens one of his poems with a similar O efiect :— “It is the hour when from. the boughs The nightingale’s high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers’ vows Seem sweet in every whispered word.” So, too, with the sublime in language. In many single lines or sentences of his other poems, Byron hasfaccompanied a grand and stirring thought with words of trumpet sound, which would convey something of their meaning to one even who was ignorant of the language. Thus in his description of the opening of the battle of Waterloo :— “But, hark I—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before! Arm! arm! it is—it is the cannon’s opening roar.” In this thehecwy sound is a phrase which carries something of its booming meaning with it; the climax of thought is fully conveyed in the words “nearer, clearer, deadliea than before,” especially if the voice aid the illusion by rising with the words: and the words arm and roar,-—-especially the latter as the concluding‘word 1n the final line of the stanza,——are particularly effective. 92 RHETORIC. But there is one stanza of Childe Harold which has been considered the finest, in respect of the adaptation of sound to sense, in that poem, full as it is of such rare combinations; it is worth quoting entire, and reading aloud, that we may note the nice and yet apparently intuitive adjustment of the two :— “ Hark! heard ye not those hoofs of dreadful note? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants, and tyrant’s slave ?—the fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high ;—from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe, Death rides upon the sulphury siroc, Red battle stamps his foot and nations feel the shock.” The last line has been declared, by a competent critic, to have no superior in English poetry. There is great force of language in the efi'ect of the following lines; which are quoted to portray the close of Napoleon’s career :— “ Like a statue thunder—struck, Which, though quivering, seems to look Right against the thunder-place.” The phrases thunder-struck and thunder-place give in themselves some idea of the sudden confusion which the thought would express,and the word quivering is most expressive, even in sound, of the effect of the stroke. ’ s NOVELTY. 93 But with these passing remarks upon language, as adapted to sublimity of thought, we come to the third source of the pleasures of taste which we have mentioned. (26.) Novelty. By Novelty in discourse is meant the expression, not only of that which is new, which the mind may be on the alert to hear and know; but also of that ,Which is sudden and unexpected—2'. e., truly novel. A fact or theory may be stated as new, as opposed to what is old; or novel, as opposed to what is known; or two well known facts may be brought into a new and unexpected connection; thus creating for us the effect properly called Novelty. The pleasure derived from novelty is due, then, not only to the pleasing thoughts and appropriate language, but also to the vivid impression and exhilarating nervous efi'ect arising from the unexpected nature of the object or thought presented; the mind is thrown into a pleasant state of excitement; and thus a thought which has no [beauty or sublimity, 'a specious argument to which the mind is not ready to yield its assent, will still, when first presented, please by their novelty. The best illustration of 'this peculiarity of the human mind is \to be found in the search which everybody is making for happiness, by the examina- tion of “something new.” There are in every age 94 RIIETORIC. those pointed out by the Psalmist of old, as crying “ who will show us any good?” that is, seeking for good in novelty; and the same truth was asserted by St. Luke of the Athenians, when he said, they were ever on the alert “to tell or to hear some new thing.” So it has been in all ages of the world, and so it will ever be; and although it is found that novelty does not give rise to permanent happiness, yet, in its momentary and recurring excitements, it has been justly classed as one of the sources of the pleasures of Taste. I It is often intimately connected with beauty and sublimity, for while in poetry it is to the unexpected creations of the imagination—that is, to novelty—— that something of the pleasure of-taste is due; we have already seen that the beauty or sublimity of these conceptions is the chief source of our plea- ' sure. i The emotion excited by Novelty, although for the moment quite vivid, is very transient, and when it passes away it never can be recalled by the same ' object, then no longer new; it is unlike beauty, in that beauty is inherent, and remains always a part of the object itself. In the opening line of Endy- ‘ mion this permanence of beauty is justly stated in charming words, which embody a thought often felt by all, and yet never so well expressed :— «’ NOVELTY. 95 “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” It is due to Novelty in part, although not entirely, that the quality which is called Wit owes its power to excite pleasure; for it is characteristic of wit that it brings objects or thoughts together into strange and unwonted union; and a pleasant emotion is excited by the unexpected contrast. ‘ Some writers have considered Melody and Harmony as sources of the pleasures of Taste; but these so .manifestly come under the general head of Beauty in their more placid flow, and of Sublimity in their more vehement styles, that they cannot justly be mentioned as separate sources of pleasure. SE), also, Imitation has been styled a source of pleasure; but it seems manifest, that besides the reproduction of the beauties copied, the pleasure which arises from Imitation grows out of the unusual exhibition of power in copying thought, or form, or colour, or\style, and this pleasure it would seem is, inipart at least, of the nature of novelty; an astonish- ment at the exertion of unexpected and unusual skill. So imitation seems only to subsidize the sources of pleasure already mentioned. .It seems, then, that all the sources of the pleasures of Taste may be properly ranged, as we have ranged them, under the three heads—Beauty, Sublimity, and Novelty. Among certain characteristic forms of discourse, 96 RHETORIC. which are of the nature of the pleasures of Taste, we must devote some space to,a consideration of Wit, Humour, and Ridicule, which are rhetorical weapons of great power and skill. Like Imitation, they partake in difi‘erent degrees of the sources already mentioned, but in their peculiar forms they deserve a more critical examination. They constitute * the last of those general topics, which we shall adduce under the head of Rhetorical ZEsthetics. (27.) Wu? and Humour. It will be observed that Beauty, Sublimity, and Novelty, of which we 'have just treated, are mainly used in the preparation of public discourse—that is, What is to be delivered in oratorical form to an audi- ence, or to be printed and read by numbers; but in the ordinary forms of discourse used in conversation, although they are not to be entirely lost sight of, yet they do not constitute the principal sources of pleasure. In the commoner forms of discourse, known as con- versational, wit and humour constitute the principal charms, and give a sprightliness and vivacity which can spring from no other Source. It is not meant by this that wit and humour are excluded entirely from more public forms, but that it is mainly in colloquial discourse that they are important. Hence, the public r WIT AND HUMOUR. 97 form of written, discourse, in which they constitute the chief charm ; and the staple pleasure of the drama, designed to be acted colloquially upon the stage. Like many such synonymous words, Wit and Humour are often confounded in their meaning, and when not confounded are sometimes improperly used ;. but as rhetorical instruments they should be carefully distinguished from each other. Wit is derived originally from the Saxon verb witan, altered in the modern German into'wissen, Which means to know. Its first application then was to the intellect, by which we know anything, and to our general expres- sion of what we. know. In its next use it was applied to the combination of known ideas, in so new “and sprightly and yet natural a manner, as to occasion surprise. and pleasureto the hearer. In this general sense it is rhetorically employed; and thus it gives to discourse, especially familiar dis- course, a charm which belongs peculiarly to itself. True wit is evidently a gift of nature. That it should be original, and at the same time natural, is well in- culcated by Pope, in his “Essay on Criticism :”—- “ True wit isnature to advantage dressed; What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind.” 9 G 98 RHETORIC. True wit is not of necessity allied with the comic or jocose, but is often in its most brilliant displays of a dignified and serious character. Nor is it necessary that anything of a marvellous or striking nature should be inherent in the subject; it is mainly in the combinations of thought, and in-the .imagery and ornaments of language that wit displays itself. Fully to illustrate it, we should be obliged to consider the whole range of figures of speech, which wit so abundantly uses; but wit may be here defined under the general head of the aesthetics of discourse, without full illustration: the subject of figurative language is kept back to be treated under the general head of Style, Where it appropriately belongs. It has been determined by the Rhetoricians that the purpose of Wit is effected in one of three ways :— 1st. By placing an object or subject, which claims to be serious and dignified, in a ludicrous or mean position. 2d. By rendering things which are truly frivolous and mean, serious and dignified. , 3d. By combining common things in so new and interesting a manner as to excite both surprise and pleasure. I In the first case it is evident that the design is to satirize that which pretends to a dignity to which it has no just claim. This is done by what is called WIT AND HUMOUR. 99 burlesque, and by bemeaning comparisons and meta- phors these false pretensions are stripped off, and thus the satirist becomes the dispenser ofjust punish- ment. Of this nature is the general idea of Cervantes, in his “ Don Quixote,” Where he burlesgues the insti- tutions and customs of chivalry, by bringing them into ridicule. Such, also, is Butler’s ‘4 Hudibras,” in its burlesque of the Presbyterians and Independents, in the days of Charles II. Under the second head those persons and things which, like those just mentioned, advance unjust pre- tensions, are not directly assailed; but me’aner per- sons and objects are elevated into similar positions ’ and clothed in similar false raiment, and thus by compariSon the pretenders are rebuked and punished. In poetry this is known as the mock heroic. Of the mock heroic, many examples are found in the classics. Such is Homer’s “Battle of the Frogs and Mice;” and in modern literature, Pope’s “ Rape of the Lock,” is a notable example. Under the third division by far the greater class of the efforts of Wit are found , in this division Wit sub- sidizes all the powers of language, and shines in many and brilliant forms in discourse: and upon this gene- ral ground it branches into many and various forms, from the most dignified sallies 1n oratory to the com- ’ mon forms of rebus, conundrums, and ban mots of every kind and degree. ' 100 RHETORIC. In considering the present meaning of the word humour, we must refer to the old and long-exploded theory, that there were four distinct and yet con- nected humours or moistures of the human body; on the distribution and just admixture of which health of body and cheerfulness of mind alike depended. The next step was naturally a division, according to these supposed causes of our different moods, into good or bad humours; by a natural advance, good humour gave rise to spirited sallies of conversational eloquence ; and thus it reached its rhetorical meaning. Humour may be defined that quality of the mind which unites ideas ina fantastic manner, and‘tends .to arouse our mirth by their communion. Humour mayeflow in a continuous current, and advance to a. climax of the ludicrous; While in contrast, from the nature of Wit, it is evident that it excites an emotion of pleasure, which is of short duration. It has been said that wit must be natural; it may be farther re-‘- marked that wit, as an exertion of the intellect, must be spontaneous also. “ Laboured or forced wit is no wit;” and there should not be even, of that which appears natural, too much in one discourse. This is alluded to by Pope, when he says i— “ ———-Works may have more wit than does them good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.” I Wit, then, as distinguished from humour, is brilliant SATIRE‘ AND IRGNY. . 101 and momentary, like the coruscations of heat light- ning; Humour flows in a strong and enduring stream. The'witty thoughts in a poem or play may be nume- rous, but they are distinct and independent of each other; the humour is in a vein, and forms the veiy essence of comedy. , It may fu1ther be remarked that wit is frequently of the nature of satire ; it is bright and trenchant like a Damascus blade. . LIndeed, as we shall see, satire is properly denominated one kind of Wit, While humour, although usually presenting objects in a ludicrous light, is so connected with human sympathy that it is neither, sarcastic nor mocking. If wit be the sharper weapon, humour is the more genial encounter. It has been usual, until within a recent period, to consider wit the higher manifestation of the two; but a little thought will show us that humour, in its highest development, is wit combined with human sympathy, and that true humour is a far more distin- guishing‘mark of genius than the most brilliant wit. (28.) Satire and Irony. Classed under the general topic of Wit, and con- taining but little trace of genuine humour, a1e Satire and Irony; and it is lamentably t1 ue that very much of the most brilliant wit is of the Specific kind called Satire. 9 * 102 RHETORIC. This word probably comes to us from the Greek Satyric drama, in which old Silenus and his Satyrs appeared, and shamed men, by showing them what brute instincts would lead even the best of human beings to become, if the spark of divinity in us were withdrawn. If, as some writers have supposed, it has another derivation, sat and ira, abounding in anger, this is at least significant of the manner in which the shafts of wit are often thrown by the satirists. They are sharp, unsympathetic, and angry, and are designed to pierce and wound; and yet this, it must be observed, is in open warfare ; but they are delicate and refined wea- pons, which few can use with dexterity and success. Irony, another species of Wit, is derived from the Greek, sopwysm, the act of dissembling one’s meaning in discourse: this is also a censorious kind of wit, but instead of its being open, like Satire, its shafts are shot from a covert. This is done by expressing directly the opposite of what we mean, and often, by our presentation of this opposite, rendering it so ridiculous as to cause the mind to revert to the true object with a. mischievous sort of pleasure. This is a common form of wit in our ordinary dis- course, and whenviused merely to enliven it, it is harmless and pleasant; as a logical weapon it is often of the nature of a fallacy, since it changes the point in dispute (0. Logic, p. 185) from the true- RIDICULE. 103 merit of the case, by casting ridicule and contempt upon our opponent when fair argument is no longer available. ‘ A remarkable example of extended Irony is found in Dean Swift’s << Argument against the Abolition of , Christianity,” aimed really against its opponents. And Defoe has left a powerful invective, which, is also ironical, in his pamphlet entitled “ The Shortest Way with the Dissenters ;” in which he decides that any man who is guilty of becoming a dissenting iminister should be put to death. To make the irony more striking, it must be remembered that Dean Swift was a beneficed clergyman; and that Defoe had been subjected to imprisonment and mutilation, for being a champion and ally of the dissenters. It will be observed, that while these various forms of wit and humour are treated of here as belonging to the subject-matter of discourse, and as ranging justlyunder the general head of _Rhetorical ZEsthe- tics, they owe much of their power to the language in which they are couched; and to that extent are also included in the subject of Style, and of the energy and ornaments of Style. This general subject will be considered hereafter. ‘ ‘ g~ (29.) Ridicule. The'element of discourse called Ridicule, is so 10.]: RIIETORIC. analogous to Wit and Humour that it is often mis- taken for these; and is most frequently used in con- junction with one or the other. While it is a source of pleasure to the bearer or reader, who is not the aim of ridicule, exciting in him the emotion of mind which finds its vent in laughter, it must be regarded as it concerns the person ridiculed, especially if he .stand in the light of an opponent in a controversy, as a rhetorical weapon of the greatest force; and is. often a fallacy producing the end which only a valid argument should reach. Thus, when a person finds himself in danger of being defeated in an argument, he leaves the point in dispute, and addresses himself to the task of raising a laugh against his adversary. This is in many cases an easy matter. As men do not much respect those at whom they laugh, so they lose respect for the cause as well as the person, and thus such a course is often successful in establishing the cause which is really weak and unjust. _ It must be observed, however, that ridicule is in many cases just. Thus, whenlit assails false doc- trine, and seeks to bring into contempt that which is really contemptible, it is a fair Weapon; and it often happens that those dogmas which, on account of our superstition or other cause, are not to be uprooted by the clearest logic, are quite within the reach of the shafts ofRz'dz'cule. ‘ _‘ \ \ RIDICULE. 105 If its lash is severe, it is often the most potent in reforming, and, although it should never be used except with justice and moderation, it is a powerful means of promoting social improvement, and remov- ing insidious errors. In the hands of the English satirists, from the days of Addison to the time of Dickens and Thackeray, it has been prominent among the wholesome means of reform. It has been said that it is most frequently asso- ciated with wit and humour. It is, indeed, charac- teristic of much of Wit, humour, satire, and irony, that they place the objects of their attack in a ridiculous light , and their power is thus greatly increased. To illustrate the cOmmon but unjust use of ridicule com- bined with wit, we have Cowper’s lines concerning Voltaire :4— “ The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew I Ban mots to gall the Christian and the Jew.” Butler’s ‘4 Hudibras” was a satire on the Puritans, in which Ridicule abounds. And even Lord Bacon does not disdain its use in his “Errors of Learning,” quoting the “ Echo of Erasmus. In his objections to an excessive study of oratory, and its graces of speech, he speaks thus z"— ‘4 Then did Car of Cambridge, and Ascham, with their lectures and writings almost deify Cicero and Demosthenes, and allure all young men that were 106 RHETORIC. studious unto that delicate and polished kind of learn- ing. Thcnxdid Erasmus take occasion to makethe scofiing echo: ‘Decem annos consumpsi in legendo Cicerone;’ and the echo answered in~Greek ‘Ow,’ ‘Asine.”’ This signifies, in plain English, that if . he had spent ten years in reading Cicero he was a donkey for his pains. In concluding these remarks upon Wit and Humour, in their various forms, it may be well to mention a few modern English and American writers in whose works they are found, and a general perusal of which will illustrate our subject, to the student, better than more extended precepts. And here it should be observed that most writers for popularifavour, do, at some time or other, under- take the witty and humorous in discourse; but there area few who find in themselves the comic element an exhaustless stream, which flows through all their works. Of course, then, in looking for such illustra- tions, we first accost the professedhumourists ; and here we shall find wit and humour abounding. Genuine humour, combined with true pathos, may be found in the works of Charles Lamb; his Essays of Elia being a double fount, from which we maycon- stantly draw both laughter and tears. Fun and pathos are both to be found in the stories of the half- pay oflicer, Captain Jackson; and the superannuated man—2'. ,e., Charles Lamb himself; and there is a RIDICULE. 107 never-failing point to his illustrations of the “ Popular Fallacies,” and particularly in his refutation of the adage “Handsome is that handsome does,” by de— scribing a lady so very ill—lookingthat the adage could not apply. Perhaps as a humourz’st, in the fullest meaning of the word, English literature pre- sents no riVal to Lamb. Sydney Smith is a professed wit, whose sayings are repeated everywhere; but he has little humour. Thomas Hood has given universal pleasure by his comic poems, and by his humorous prose stories, and has realized our idea of genuine humour by his exquisite pathos in the 4‘ Song of the Shirt,” and <4 The Bridge of Sighs.” Barham is renowned for his plays upon words, and for many humorous descriptions. Dickens and Thackeray are wits of the kind called Satirists, and yet they both have rare powers of wit and humour of a more genial nature. Praed, in his “Vicar,” and.“ Belle of the Ball,” has exhibited both wit and ’ humour, and in his “Red Fisherman,’ [a powerful combination of humour and satire. ' Washington Irving, in his Knickerbocker’s His- tory. of New York, has indulged in a humorous vein, with entire. success; and his sketches of Geoifrey 'Crayon, are genial and delightful, from their occa- sional sly and delicate touches of humour. It maybe doubted whether any country has produced a Writer in Whose poems wit and humour are so cleverly 108 RH ETORIC. employed, either separately or in combination, as in the works of Dr. 0. W. Holmes. In his comic poems humour is always present, and in his “Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,” there are flashes of true wit irradiating the less humorous paths of science and. philosophy. It is astonishing to observe that among the poets, and some too of fertile imagination, a few are not gifted with wit and humour. Byron has very little of either, and his poems owe their charm to clear, connected, elevated thought; and Wordsworth was absolutely without wit; and was, we are told, unable to comprehend it in others. It is manifest that extracts from any of these writers could find no place in a work of the compass of this. The student must seek his own illustrations, and he will be amply repaid by the search. The study of Rhetoric presupposes the study of the great works, by means of which the standards and rules of Rhe- toric are framed. Although, as has been already observed, language and style, in all their efforts to please the taste, come under the scrutiny of Rhe- tOrical Esthetics; they occupy so important a place in the divisions of Rhetoric that they must be treated of separately. Before considering them, however, the next important step is‘to enumerate, classify, and explain, the different kinds of Discourse. . This will form the subject of the next chapter. ARISTOTLE’S D1VISION OF ORATORY. 109 CHAPTER IV. OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF DISCOURSE. (30.) Aristotle’s Division of Oratory. , ALL, our examples and illustrations, by means of which we may consider the manner of constructing discourse, as to its invention, arrangement, and style, are to be found in the varieties of discourse already existing, which form the wealth of standard English literature. It will be better, at this point, therefore, to mention the dzfi'erent kinds of writing according _ to their form and purpose, and to give definitions and illustrations of each. Most of these kinds of discourse are welliknown to persOns of even little reading, and a few simple explanatory wOrds will enable us to bear them in mind, to aid us when we come to the subjects of Inven- tion and Style. From their analysis, indeed, we shall become better able to understand the design of inven- tion in discourse, as we observe how this design is carried out by the distinguished masters of English ” 10 110 ‘ RHETORIC. and American literature. And here we can have but little aid from the ancient rhetoricians, since in their time discourse meant principally oratory, and all divi- sions of it had reference to a speaker and a bearer. Things are now entirely changed. Printing has made written discourse the great general subject of rheto- rical rules, and oratory but one subordinate class. It is true that Aristotle lays down a few rules as to the difference between the style to be used in writing, and _ the style to be used in pleading; butin this case his written discourse is one originally designed to be pro— . nounced as an oration, and afterwards to be consulted for reference; and his pleading is extemporaneous speaking, in which the circumstances and the‘occ‘a~ sion prompt thoughts, words, and action. With the view that every discourse is an oration, he has ranged all kinds of orations under the three heads—Demon- strative, Judicial, and Deliberative—using these words 7 with significations not unlike those we. apply to them now. Demonstrative oratory he asserts is that which we only hear—with regard to the points of which we are not constituted judges—and it has relation to the pre- sent time; we take for granted what is said, and re- ceive it as of necessity true, because it is supposed to come from an informed and skilful demonstrator. If, besides merely hearing and receiving in present time, the bearer is also to judge of some ‘things' that ’ ARISTOTLE’S DIVISION OF ORA’I‘ORY. 111 are already past, as the jurymen judge, in our law courts, of the evidence, the speeches of counsel, and the charge of the judge, then these speeches and charge constitute judicial oratory. 7 . Again, if the bearer is to judge of something'to come—that is, to frame his future plans or conduct by the oration which he hears, this is called delibera- tive oratorg. To the demonstrative oratory, he says, it belongs to praise or dispraise, and thus to establish the per- son or action as honourable or dishonourable : it belongs to judicial oratory to accuse and to defend, as in law, and thus to prove the person or cause just or unjust: and to deliberative oratory it belongs to prove a thing—with an eye to its future uses—as profitable or unprofitable. At a glance it will appear that all kinds of modern oratory might really be ranged under these three heads. Aristotle has given us a full treatise upon the sub- jects, the means, and the ends of these different kinds of discourse, which, historically considered shows us the state of rhetorical science in that day, and is, for this reason, quite valuable; and, as applied to oratory alone, it is not without application at the present day; but so various and different are the divisions of discourse as applied to various ends, in modern times, that We must seek a more extended list of the differ- ent kinds of writing: and one which includes the 112 RIIETORIC. various kinds of printed discourse. We shall not attempt to mention every kind of writing, for this task would be impossible; but, with a glance at the philosophy of its variety, we shall give a few of the simpler forms and illustrate them. In doing this we shall begin by laying down the principles of a general classification. ' (31) Logical Division of the kinds of Discourse. And here it is necessary to keep in view the prin- ciple according to which we mean to divide ; the division should be logical, and the different parts or members should be independent of each other. Thus, if we state poetry to be one kind of discourse, and epistolary writing to be another, we shall be evidently wrong, since letters may be and are frequently written in poetry, and thus the two are at once confounded; so, too, prose fiction, or, novels, are often written in a series of letters. Now we may choose many prin- ciples of division according to which to classify the‘ different kinds of writing. Thus, according to the form, we divide discourse into poetry and prose : for it is evident that the sub- ject-matter of poetry, although usually of a higher ‘ order than that of prose, may be presented in prose; and that the peculiarity of poetry, in this regard, lies in the form. ' ‘ POETRY. 113 Again, according to the efi'ect which we design to produce on the mind of a nearer—keeping this always in View as a :part of our theme—we may divide discourse, Whether written or extemporaneous, yet designed for delivery,into oratory, which is ob- servant of the character and mind of a bearer who is present and known, and written discourse, designed only to be read with the eye to inform the mind of those who may be unknownto the writer. And written discourse, in'prose, may be divided, , according to the subject itself and its just treatment, into Letters, History, Biography, Essays, and Prose Fiction. The number may be increased by subdivi- sions, but it is thought that under the genera or _ classes mentioned most forms of discourse will range themselves. ‘ In this part of the work we shall principally con- fine ourselves to the ‘clear definition and illustration of these various classes. Keeping in mind these distinctions, let us begin with Poetry, in the first-mentioned division, which, it has been said, differs from Prose mainly in form. It constitutes a large division of discourse. (32.) Poetry. The. question has been often asked, What is Poetry? [and if no simple definition has been found, it is be- 10* H 114 RHETORIC. I cause it is a most complex subject, and will scarcely admit of one. As to its form, Poetry may be defined to be metrical composition, or versified language; and as to the sub- ject-matter and its treatment, poetry difi'ers from ordinary prose, in that it is the language of the imagination and of true sentiment. As contrasted with Poetry, prose would imply the common lan- guage of men, untrammelled by poetical measure and rhyme, in which the imagination does not play so prominent a part. But from what has just been said, it is evident that a simple definition will not properly limit the meaning of Poetry. Nor, unfor- tunately, are we aided in our search by the deriva- tion of the word. It is derived from the Greek, «com, to do, or make, and hence the woman“, or poet, was a maker: a maker of what? Many personshave thought that they found in this derivation the recog-' nition of the creative power, of the poet’s imagina- tion; but in this they have been mistaken“ In the earliest Grecian periods, the bard made and sung his own verses, and was called 00060:, the singer; but“ when, owing to the popularity of this early poetry, the two functions were separated; when one man made and the other sang the ballads 'and the epics, the singer was as before the amfios, and the maker was called Naming, the poet, and the combined art of maker and singer was denominated Poetry. POETRY. 115 The due’ rhetorical order in which to consider Poetry would be, first, as to its form, that is, the character and kinds of verszfioatéon, and the whole subject of poetical prosody; and, second, the domain of Poetry, as to its subjects, its thoughts, and its deal— ings with the imagination and the heart. But such considerations would require a volume to themselves. The first of these belongs justly to the science and art of‘ Grammar, and need not here be discussed. We shall premise our consideration of the divisions of poetry with a few words concerning the second, viz.: poetry, as to its essence, and the materials with Which it works. And here we state that Poetry, as an art, must be distinguished from that poetic feeling inhe- rent in so many minds, but for the utterance of which so few are gifted with power. The power to appre- ciate and enjoy poetry has often been mistaken for the power to express it. This power of utterance enables the poet to express this inherent passion for beauty and grandeur, for truth and power, with which many minds are gifted ; and in the accomplishment of these glorious ends to subsidize the Imagination and the Fancy, and to choose, adapt, and modulate language, and all this according to the principle of variety in uniformity. The objects of poetry are to please and to refine the human mind, and to expand the affections of the human heart, making the whole being glow with a 116 RIIETOIIIC. new enjoyment; and to this end it embodies nature \ and art; and passing beyond the region of either, it creates new worlds of Fancy, and new beings as their fitting denizens. Y L Poetry has been classed with Painting and Music ; and while it has much in common with both, it is greater than either; for it subsidizes both to its own uses. ' Painting depicts only to the eye; poetry paints to the mind: music reaches only the ear; poetry, often adopting the accompaniment of music, and yet not absolutely needing its aid, has a power to make har- mony in the soul, to attune the intellectual powers to tones of which the music of the ear is entirely inca- pable. r I ‘ Poetry, like the beautiful tinted light passing through “ storied Windows,” throws its glories upon the common things of life, and makes them radiant and lovely; as upon Keats’s kneeling maiden:— “Rose blooms fell on her hands together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory like a saint; She seemed a splendid angel newly drest, Save wings, \for heaven.” _ ’And if such, in general, be the Sphere and power of poetry, what is it to be a poet? To be a. poet im plies several rare qualities, and a rarer combination DIFFERENT KINDS OF POETRY. 117 of them. Accurate observation of human life, its essence,“ its aims, its hopes, and its faith; and faith- ful descriptions of what he sees in all the realms of thought. It also implies to be gifted with a sensi- bility which is keenly alivexto the beautiful and the sublime in What he sees and‘makes the subject of his verse. / ‘ Imagination and Fancy he must possess, to create and combine. Reflection he must have as a habit, by which the regions of the Imagination are made familiar, and duly peopled with ideal forms of fitting. character and instinct with life, and not with grotesque images; and a rare judgment which will so use these other faculties, and, so curb any one of them in its unruly moods as to assure symmetry and just proportion. And yet what diversity do we find among the poets themselves, by reason of the unequal distribution of these gifts, and the undue predominance of one to the detriment of others! Thus are formed different schools of poetry, and much controversy as to the nature of the art itself. i (33.) Different [finds of Poetry. Poetry has been, for convenient arrangement, divided into several forms, or classes, according to the materials used, and: the manner of their setting forth. \ 118 RIIETORI’C. They may all be included under the following classes: EPIC, LYRIC, PASTORAL, DRAMATIC, DIDAC— TIC, and SATIRIC Poetry. This, it will be observed, is a convenient rather than a logical'and exact arrangement, since the different kinds evidently overlap each other; the Drama may be satiric, and i the Epic may set forth truth in a didactic manner; but for convenience the division is sufficient and useful. (34 .) Epic Poetry. The derivation of this word is from the verb am, (obsolete in the present tense,) which meant to speak : thus um; meant primarily a word; then a speech, and, by an easy movement, a narration. Such, then,'is the general signification of Epic poetry; it. is narrative poetry, in which some princi- pal personage is introduced as the hero, and the stirring events of his life and career are narrated,\ with all the accessories necessary to complete the story. . I . The Epic is subdivided into the Heroic, which has - been called the Epic Proper; the Poetic Romance; the Tale in .verse; the Mock Heroic; in all which the principle of narration is employed. , From the earliest times the heroic or epic proper has been, in general, founded on history, and nar- rates the historic deeds of great men. ‘But if earthly .. o EPIC POETRY. 119 history is the basis of the story, in many cases the imagination of the poet soars beyond the earth, and strives to create and‘describe the history of new worlds, discovered by the imagination, and ingeni- ously to connect them with our own. Of heroic poems every one will readily point to the most nota- ble examples. Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, the first describing the wrath of Achilles, and narrating the wonderful deeds in and around Troy, and the second relating the adventures of Ulysses, are the finest of the ancient heroic poems. Homer is, indeed, the father of Epic poetry. Among other truly heroic poems we must also class Virgil’s “ZEneid,” and Lucan’s “Pharsalia;” Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered,” Ariosto’s “Orlando Furioso,” and Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” all of which are renowned wherever literary culture has exerted the least influence. Of the Poetic Romance Spenser’s “Faerie Queene” is a magnificent example; and Byron’s “Corsair” and “ Lara” are well known as spirited illustrations. Such, also, is Moore’s 6‘ Lalla Rookh,” with its fine poetic stories.‘ Of the next and humbler,form of the Epic,——the. Tales in Verse,——Crabbe’s “ Tales of the Hall,” the H Village,” and the “Borough,” are examples. His design was to paint nature in low life, and Byron has called'him ‘4 Nature’s sternest painter, 120 RHETORIC. yet the best.” Of this kind are many of Werds- worth’s poems. \ It need hardly be asserted that epic poetry, in its » highest forms, is only produced by the highest order of genius,pand a glance at the course of history teaches us that epic poems of such an order are rarely produced—scarcely more than one in the same era, and after great intervals of time. l waper has justly and beautifully expressed this thought, in his Table-talk :— “Ages elapsed ere Homer’s lamp appeared, And ages ere the Mantuan Swan was heard; To carry nature~ lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, asked ages more. Thus genius rose and set at ordered times, And shot a day-spring into distant climes, ~ Ennobling every region that he chose; He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose; ‘ And, tedious years of Gothic darkness past, Emerged all splendour in our isle at last; Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their shining plumes again.” The mock—heroic has been already described and illustrated in the section (27) on Wit and Humour, to which it is really allied in its design and construc- tion. It retains the form and external,characteristics of epic‘ poetry, but it places in heroic positions, and endows with heroic functions, meaner persons and objects, with the design of ridiculing the true‘heroes and their deeds. 0 LYRIC POETRY. 121 (35.) Lyric Poetry. Lyric Poetry, as the name indicates, meant poetry set to the music of the Lyra or Lute, and was sup- posed to be sung with an accompaniment, as our ballads are to the music‘ of a guitar or piano-forte at the present day. Under the head of Lyric Poetry are ranged the following subdivisions 2—— The hymn, which is used in the praise of some Divinity, and, in the Christian worship, always in praise of God, and designed for a congregation; the song, which varies according to its subject, being of love, or war, or comic character; the ballad, which originally was the song of the dancers, and now means only a popular song of more pretension, per- haps, than the song just mentioned; and the 0026, from the Greek «2617, a song, which was designed to express feelings of high excitement, and in its divi- sions of strophe, antistrophe, and epode, formed a prominent part of the Greek drama. In more modern times the ode seems to have been longer than the other lyrical poems, and of a more digni- fied and stately nature. Such are the Odes of Keats, one of which is entitled an “ Ode to Pan”—in imita- tion of the Greek poetry, and another the 6‘ Ode to a Nightingale.” 'So, too, we have Dryden’s 4‘ Ode to St. Cecilia,” and Collins’s “Ode on the Passions,” and his exquisite “Ode to Evening,” and, among 11 I 122 RHETORIC. American poets, Sprague’s “ Shakspeare Ode,” and “ Centennial Ode,” may be mentioned as good exam- ples of this form of poem. Although the modern ode ‘ is usually recited instead of sung, yet its arrangement is purely lyrical; and much of the pleasure in hear- ing it arises from its evident adaptation to music, and the musical cadences of the voice eV en in its recita- tion. One othenfmm of Lyric Poetry 1s the elegy, which is a mournful and plaintive song, on the occa- sion of meditating the troubles of life, or the coming of death. We have the best illustration of this form in the famous Elegy of Gray, “Written in a Country Churchyard.” We have also the beautiful diige 1n 1“ Cymbeline,”w1itten by Collins , and also Collins’ 3 1‘ Elegy on the Death of the Poet Thomson.” (36.) Pastoral Poetry. Expressive as this kind of poetry originally was of the life and manners ofgxskepherds, from the Latin pastor, a shepherd, it has been extended to include the idyl, (from the Greek uses, form,) which is de- scriptive of nature and primitive country life, as the Idyls of Theocritus; and also the bucolic, which, as. its name indicates, (from fiovxoxos, a herdsman,) tells the manners and customs of countrymen whoikeep flocks and herds, of which the Bucolics of Virgil are \ an example. Perhaps the finest idyl, in modern ‘1 PASTORAL POETRY. 123 ’ poetry, is “ The Seasons,’ of Thomson._ Shen- stone’s pastorals include, besides the descriptions of nature, portraits of manners and characters, as in his “ Schoolmistress.” I Burns’s “ Cotter’s Saturday Night” will be familiar " to every one as a natural and touching illustration of the Idyl. ‘ ' In the Eclogue, which is also pastoral poetry, there is usually a colloquy; the shepherds are introduced as the speakers. In this characteristic this properly * comes, therefore, under the head of Dramatic Poetry, but as itis purely pastoral, it may be best classified here. The Idyl, in its most extended meaning, would include the Epitaph and appropriate Inscriptions, as upon grottoes, gateways, and country houses; and in many cases the Sonnet; But the sonnet, in its subject, often partakes more of an epic character. To the fine Idyls already mentioned we may add Beattic’s “Min- strel,” in its day very popular, and still charming in its pastoral descriptions, and Goldsmith’s “Deserted Village,” which combines as many charms as any pas- toral in any language; charms of thought and lan- guage so familiar that it is quite unnecessary to refer to them, because, upon the mere mention of them the I pictures arise, and the verses resound in the memory. The fine poem of Pope, entitled; ‘4 The Messiah,” he styled a Sacred Eclogue, but it is scarcely a just name. ‘ ' 124 RHETORIC. (37.) Dramatic Poetry. The derivation of our word drama, from the Greek 6pm, to make, gives us no trace of its present use; but it is very easily defined without such aid.« The drama is a poem portraying events and actions in human life as represented by persons standing for those to whom they are attributed. In all other forms of poetry the poet himself speaks; here he remains hidden, and makes others speak; and hissuccess, in a great measure, depends upon his making them say just What they ought, under the circumstances in which he has placed them. The divisions of dramatic writing are into Tragedy ; Comedy ; Dramas founded on History, and being neither essentially comic nor tragic; the Masque and the Opera. Many other names have been coined to express slight‘deviatiohs from these, as Vaudeville, Melodrame, 8:0. Tragedy, which in the Greek (rpaywfim, from ‘t'pwyos, a goat, and «>817, a song) meant originally agoat song, that is, a song sung in honour of Bacchus, with the sacrifice of a goat, has passed through many phases to arrive at its present meaning. It now contains the heroic element, and may be defined a dramatic poem usually dwelling upon the deeds of some illustrious or interesting hero, and always ending fatally to‘one or more of the principal personsi It is thus designed to awaken pathos, and sometimes even terror. Thus, DRAMATIC POETRY. 125 in the Tragedy of Hamlet, the principal characters, Ophelia, Hamlet, Laertes and others, die, in the course of the play. In Othello, the plot is fatal to Desdemona and Othello; Macbeth and Richard the III. 'are other examples of Shakspeare’s tragedies familiar to all. Others need not be mentioned for illustration. Comedy (Greek xcopcofim), derives its name from the original players going about in carts from village to -village (from saw/m, a village, and «>847, a song), and thus the original comedy was the work of strolling singers. Comedy, in its present meaning, proposes, as the object of its aim, to satirize the vices. and follies of mankind, and to this end it subsidizes wit and humour in their various forms, and ridicule. These ends are admirably attained by the skill, the dress, and language of the actors. There is usually a tissue of intrigues, Which is happily un- vvoven at the last, making all things right at the close; the design of the comedy is amusement, in its forms of mirth and merriment. It is further divided, according to the refinement of its style and the decency of. its humour, into high or genteel, and low comedy. Under this latter designation is in- cluded the farce. Besides amusement, however, comedy is also de- signed‘as a school of manners, and although it some- times Vhas exercised a good influence on the age, there 11 * ‘ ‘ 1‘30 RHETORIC. are many instances of its being a vicious and danger-i one teacher. Thus the French comedies of Moliére held up to just scorn the hypocrite (Tartufe), the miser (L’Avare), and the misanthrope, (Le Misan- tkrope), and may be regarded on the Whole as having been beneficial to the people of that period; but‘the English comic dramatists of the Restoration, and many of the earlier plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, have held virtue up to ridicule, and made license and villany charming by the wit and humour with which they are surrounded. On the whole, asa school of manners English comedy has not generally been pro- ductive of good, and, with it, the drama for repre- sentation has sadly degenerated. It is apparent that both Tragedy and Comedy, as to their subjectmatter, may be written in prose as well as verse, and thus are not, of necessity, to be ‘ classed as a division of poetry: but the Greek drama, from which we derive the names, was almost always in verse, and accompanied with music, and so the exceptions are even rare in the modern drama, to the rule that tragedy and comedy are written in verse, and are poetic in style and structure. Of the dramas founded on history, we have good examples in the historic plays of Shakspeare, which are just repre- sentationsof the age which they represent. The Masque, scarcely known in our day, was a theatrical drama much in vogue in England during "'3 DRAMATIC POETRY. 127 the seventeenth century. The parts were played by distinguished, and even royal, personages, in masks or visors—hence its name. In the getting up of the performance the masque was frequently attended with some wonderful scenic transformations, not unlike those on the modern stage, in which a prison sud- denly becomes a throne, or a mountain suddenly sinks, and leaves us an ocean scene, with ships in full sail. Parts of Shakspeare’s plays are masques; exam- ples are also found in the writings of Beaumont and Fletcher; and particularly is Ben Jonson noted for the number and stateliness of his masques. ‘But of all dramatic performances that bear the name, none will compare in beauty with Milton’s poem of “ Comus,” Which owes its immortality to its noble sentiments so poetically expresSed, much more than to its dramatic form, which seems accidental and unimportant. It. should be, mentioned that the use 'of tragic and comic masks, to‘cover the face and give expression to the actor, is as old as the Greek drama. The Greek tragic masks were frightful to see, and the comic masks were painted with a laugh- ing countenance} both were provided with large. mouths, within which were sounding bars of metal to give more strength to the voice—hence the use of the word personare’, to sound through; which led to the fearsome of the drama, and has given us our English WOrd person. 128 . RHETORIC. . The Opera—from the Latin opus—era, to indicate the labours of such an exhibition—is a dramatic per- formance set entirely to music, and presented with magnificent scenery, numerous performers, and rich dresses, and frequently accompanied with dancing. The Melodrama is a. play in whichgthe dialogue is diversified by occasional songs. Such, also, is the Vaudeville, which is not used in English, but belongs exclusively to the French. The songs in this latter play are always light and comic. (38.) Didactic and Descriptive Poetry. By didactic poetry is meant that of which the prin- cipal object is direct instruction. Such poems are the Georgics of Virgil, written upon agriculture, cat- tle-breeding, and kindred subjects. Other excellent examples may be found in Pope’s famous “Essays,” in verse, and also in Cowper’s shorter poems, “Table Talk,” “Tirocinium,” and others, and in “ Akenside’s Pleasures of the Imagi- nation.” ‘As it is the primary design of the didactic poet to instruct, it may be asked, why not make prose the vehicle of a simpler and more natural instruction? The answer is easy: the poetic form is assumed to pl’ease,vto enliven, and to render‘the instruction which, without it, might be’dull and dry, by its DIDACTIC AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 129 means interesting and attractive. This is done by the cadences of metre and‘rhyme, by the use of poetic figures and imagery, and by descriptive illus- trations, which are of the nature of beautiful paint- ings, leaving a much stronger impression upon the mind than can be conveyed by ordinary prose. It is hardly just to name as another class or kind of poetry What certain authors have called descrip- tive poetry: for description should belong, in some measure, to all kinds of poetry, and in an eminent degree to epic, dramatic, and didactic poetry; per- haps it is an essential element in these, and it may Well be considered the test of genius in each of these 'forms. For it is by description that the poet creates, com- bines, and presents his characters, seizing, as a. painter does, the exact expression of his figures, and Selecting the circumstances and accessories which form the concomitants of his picture. The descrip- tive poet catches the strong points of a picture, and endeavours to paint it to you not in general terms, but in exact words, by which you are led to see it just as he does. In the primeval forest you stand with him, among I “ old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, That stream with gray green mosses; here the ground Was never touched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered.” I 130 RHETORIC. Everywhere he describes his scenes so vividly that} you are among them, and the impression of your spirit visit is never lost. English poetry is full of charming descriptions. How beautiful and minute are the delineations of Keats, in the opening lines of “ The Eve of St. Agnes!” h ' “ St. Agnes’, Eve—Ah l. bitter chill it was; The owl, for all his feathers, Was a—cold, The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold; Numb were the beadsman’s fingers while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seemed taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he Saith.” But it needs no lengthened demonstration to prove that description enters largely into all kinds ‘of poetry. A few examples will suffice. " How many and how noble are the descriptions in the Paradise Lost! a poem which may stand as‘a model Epic. Amid much that is ideal, and that the poet designed to leave to some extent vague, in order to heighten the interest of our Fancy, we have nu- merous minute and beautiful delineations. Look at his noble description of the building of Satan's palate in Hell :— “ Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars ‘overlaid a "I“ SATIRICAL POETRY. 131. With golden architrave; nor did there want Cornice or frieze with bossy sculptures graven; The roof was fretted gold.” ' The lurid fane stands before us as we read. 0f the lake of fire itself, as Satan emerges from its burning depths, how expressive his outline of Words 1—— “ On each hand the flames, Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and rolled In billows, leave i’ the midst a horrid vale.” There can be nothing more descriptive'and more beautifulthan Raphael’s account of the Creation, in- the seventh book of the Paradise Lost; the original instant birth of vegetable and animal being, passing from N harmony to harmony,” until we have I “ The diapason, closing full in man.” But. the temptation, however strong, to linger upon these beauties of description, must be resisted: else we should quote largely from every book of this poem. It would be easy and pleasant to show, by the use of spirited and graphic eXamples, what we have asserted, that descriptivepoetry is rather an element present in all the various kinds‘of poetry, than a dis- tinct class in itself. ‘ (39) Satirical Poetry. The last of the kinds of poetry, enumerated is 132 RHETORIC. Satirical Poetry, which evidently means poetry, the design and burden of which is satire. This is a class Which has been known from the earliest times. Satirical poetry was used by the classic Latins as a vehicle for the rebuke of public vices, and their works have, at the present day,‘ an historic value, in that they portray to us the evil state of society, scarcely exaggerated in the period of which they wrote. Whether as a censor of public morals the Roman satirist accomplished a good work, may per- haps be doubted. ‘ Among the renowned Latin satir- ists are Horace, Juvenal, and Persius, whose works are currently read at the present day. They seem to have given a sort of model to satirical writers even ‘ of our own day, and their works possess an identity and originality more marked than any other form of Latin poetry. Thus Doctor Johnson has based his fine satires called “London,” and the “Vanity of \ Human Wishes,” upon the third and tenth of the Satires of Juvenal, and has followed their general . plan closely. And Lord Byron, in his celebrated satire called “The English Bards and Scotch Re- viewers,” has imitated the beginning of one of Juve- nal’s satires in his own opening. Among the most remarkable satirical poems in English, are the “Absalom and Achitophel,” and the “Mac Flecknoe” of Dryden, and the more suc- cessful "imitation of theiatter, the “iDuneiad” of ad I SATIRICAL POETRY. - 133 Pope. The “Mac Flecknoe” and the “Dunciad” have the same general plot—the elevation to the laure- ateship of stupidity, of the miserable rivals of these great poets; But while the former has sunk into obscurity, the latter is still read and "admired. While conducting the poem as a mock heroic, called the ‘4 Dunciad,” in imitation of the Iliad, or Eneid, and their heroes, and never forgetting the special object of his satire, Pope has laid down some inimitable laws of criticism, and stated many noble truths in his poem; his satire is interesting, because it is of the most trenchant character, and seems, in a great degree, to have been deserved by the objects of it. But like other kinds of merited chastisement, so well deserved by the recipients, the person who inflicted it has not elevated his own honour by it. In our own day and country, some satirical poets have arisen. Among these, in a genial spirit, Holmes has written his Astroea, and Urania, and Saxe has produced, withlother works of satirical character, a poem on Progress, which hits the passing fashions and follies of the age. The temptation 'to the man of wit and humour is always towards satire; and since human nature is full of foibles,» he is never without argument and illus- tration ; but these he should resist or use sparingly, for satire presents great inducements to injustice, ,12 ‘ I 134 RHETORIC. and is generally cruel and aggressive in its flush of victory. The habit of satirical writing in prose has been much more common in modern times than in poetry, and satire has taken the form, more complex and yet more interesting, of the novel or tale; or of short sketches, with attractive titles and evident aims. 0f the satirical novel, the works of Dickens and Thacke- ray are good examples, and of the humbler forms of prose satire, Thackeray’s lighter sketches, such as are found in “ The Bookgof Snobs,” and the nume- rous piqnant incidents in the English “Punch,” are the best illustrations. The larger poems, the original aim and entire con- struction of which are satirical, are called philosoph- ical satires; to distinguish them from those in which satire is not the principal object, although it may enter into their composition. On the whole, the phi- ‘ losophical‘satirist is not to be envied, for he rejects the 1, good things which come within his scope, to dwell constantly upon the evils which abound in, society; and the very contemplation must be cor- rupting and hardening. 4 There may be a few other forms of poetry growing out of a combination of Some of these, forming, so. to speak, composm orders; but this division of poetry, made entirely for convenience of arrangement, ‘Will be found quite suflicient for rhetorical classification. OF ORATORY. 135 CHAPTER V. or DISCOURSEV IN PROSE. (40.) 0f Oratory. WE next consider Prose writings, which include by far the most numerous forms of discourse. The first division of discourse in prose was, in general terms, into spoken- and written discourse; and this was stated to be according to the part which the bearer played, as an element in the construction of the discourse—- that is, whether the discourse is to be addressed to him by the voice of the speaker, or whether it is to ‘ be written, and thus addressed to the mind through the eye. LWhen the idea of a hearer is present in the mind of the speaker, and when a certain impression er efi'ect is to be produced upon him, not only by the thoughts contained. in the discourse,——which might have been written out,-'-nor by the graces of language, as to its construction and its ornaments,—ewhich might also ~have been put in the form of writing ;-—-but by the kindling of the eye, the modulations of the voice, the movements and gestures of the hands and arms, 136 ' RHETORIC. the tension of the nerves, and the action of the whole man; the placing, as it were, of his soul in magnetic contact with the souls of his hearers, so that they read its inmost meaning, then we have Oratory pro- per—which, in its perfection, is Eloquence. This, as we have seen, was the primary ground and scope of Rhetoric; and with this it has achieved great historic triumphs in many famous periods. . It wrought wonders in the days when Demosthenes thundered his Philippics from the Bema at Athens. It was power- ful when Cicero saved Rome from the conspiracy of Catiline. From the lips of Peter the Hermit it roused Europe to the Crusades. It governed Eng- land in the days of Chatham, and Burke, and Pitt. It controlled the storms of France, under the power- ful appeals of Mirabeau; and in our own revolu- tionary period our forefathers were strengthened to resist British aggression, by the stirring eloquence of Adams, Otis, and Henry; nor is there to be found a period of historic eloquence more brilliant than that in which Webster, Clay, and Calhoun have given us models of free and classic eloquence, as a noble legacy to American literature. But, in every case, the hearer is chiefly to be censidered; and even now, when we read their speeches, we figure to ourSelves the circumstances under which they were delivered; the eager auditory; the important issues; the impas- sioned speaker; and the expected result. We are MODERN DIVISION OF ORATORY. 137 not content with the thoughts which lie embalmed in the printed words; we conjure up the glowing form; we hear again the voice, with its thrilling tones; we see the burning eye, the breathing form, the illumined countenance; we turn to the earnest hearers, all on tiptoe with expectation and excitement; and thus the cadences ring in our ears, while memory and fancy stand beside us, and give us their magic assist- ance. (41.) Jilodern Divisions of Oratory. For rhetorical convenience, Oratory, in modern times, has been divided into Academic, Political, and Sacred, a slight deviation from Aristotle’s division, but more convenient than his. Here, again, it must be noticed that this is not an exact, but only a con- venient distinction, since sacred oratory may some- .times be of an academic character, as is the case at the English Universities; and again it very often turns upon political affairs of moment. It is, indeed, a division-rather of the general fields in which Oratory is used, than of Oratory itself. ' I Thus academic Oratory, having before‘it the set- ting forth of some good or knowledge, either for pri- vate or public instruction, covers the special topics of orations, dissertations, disquisz'tz'ons, and lectures. Political Oratory, having the judgment of a cause, and the administration of justice, either in the limited 12 * 138 ‘ RHETORIC. sphere of a community, or in international matters, for its aims, is to be found with the judges and coun- sel, in courts of law; with the senators and repre- sentatives in legislative assemblies, and in the speech- makz'ng, which is a part of our system of public elections. 7 ' Sacred Oratory is rather of a composite order, and in modern times deals with man in his relations to ’ God and his fellows; thus it includes sermons, homi- lies, and expository lectures. In these various kinds of oratory, the subject-matter and the language of the discourse may be prepared beforehand; or they may both be left to be drawn out by the occasion. This latter constitutes extempomne’ous discourse. 1" (42.) Academic Omicry. This kind of Oratory evidently includes, not only , the course of college instruction, but many forms of discourse, connected with polite learning. Mr. John Quincy Adams has compared the oratory of the college to the drill and the review of troops; at constant practice designed fer other hours and sterner uses: the eloquence of the senate, the bar, and the pulpit, he likens to duty in the hour of battle; \ when our tactics and training are put to the sterner test. This is an apt illustration. Considering College Oratory as one speciesof that ACADEMIC ORATORY. 139 branch which we have called Academic, we propose to say a’ few words as to its uses and its varieties: and we observe that the general principles which apply to College oratory will, in some degree, apply to all oratorical discourse. In the consideration of Oratory, another word, which stands now for a dis- tinct branch of study, plays a prominent part. That word is elocation (from 6 and Zoquor), and it means a cultivation of the voice as to its volume, its articula- ,.-ti0n, its modulation, and its special adaptation to the thoughts uttered, and the occasion. Eloeution is practised by declaiming the works of the best speak- ers, and endeavouring to give to them the proper effect, such, indeed, ’as the authors are supposed to have produced. The practice of Oratory, in our col- leges, is generally limited to the declamation of pieces selected from the speeches of the, most eloquent men, or the recitation of poetical extracts, by the lower classes; and the composition and delivery of pieces upon set themes by the higher. These, with the pre- paration of essays and translations at stated periods, usually exhaust the practice and instruction in these branches in‘our colleges and seminaries. The purely oratorical part is taught according to a system of elo- cation ;, but many persons have regarded su‘ccess in Oratory,‘or what is ordinarily called eloquence," to be a natural gift, and have thought that it is not to be in any degree acquired. 140 vRHETORIC. The history of Oratory teaches quite another les- son, however, for it shows us numerOus instances of its development from the most unpromising begin- nings, and by these examples offers encouragement to all men possessed of common parts, to cultivate the study and practice of Oratory. Although a system of rules, founded upon the.prac- tice of the best speakers, has been formed, and may be followed with advantage, there are some directions dependent upon the individual rather than the art, which are more important still. I. And, first of all, it behooves the speaker to be clear ; clear in his own conceptions; clear in his ex— pression of them; and so clear in his emphasis of words and sentences as to convey his exact meaning to the audience. II. In the next place, it seems like a platitude to say to a college speaker that he should be natural. By this directiOn we would imply, first, the natural invention and easy expression of the thought, ~with a. view to the understanding of hearers; and in ‘its I delivery it would also imply the absence of timidity or difi‘idence, which in a mind unaccustomed to public display is quite pardonable, but‘which mars the effect of the discourse by exciting the hearer’s pity for the speakerprather than his interest in the subject. It also implies that we should say what we mean, in a ACADEMIC ORATORY. 141 manner which is our own, and in language which naturally springs to our lips or to our pen. Again, tobe natural implies the use and posture of the person, and the gestures made with the arms, in an easy, graceful, and natural manner; the ges- tures, particularly, being suited to the thought, and, like the words, expressing a part of it, or heightening the expression of the words: in the words of Hamlet, “ suiting the action to the word, the word to the ac- tion; With this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature.” IIII. Again: be earnest. Let earnestness appear in the discourse itself, as to the evident spirit of its preparation; so that the mind of the bearer may be convinced of the honesty and firm persuasion of your own mind; and that you consider your subject an important one, and the occasion of its presenta- tion particularly important. Earnestness will call out too the appearance of naturalness, by its very forgetfulness of all artifice in the minor matters of elocution, and by its evident desire to impress the hearer with the subject of our discourse for its own sake. ' 7 The rules of elocution, when founded on nature, are valuable aids to the student of oratory, but a dependence upon one’s own natural powers, a peru- sal of the orations of menirenowned for their elo- quence, and: an observation of the finished'orator‘s of 142 RHETORIC. our own time, form an admirable system of instruc- tion, which every one may study even without a mas- ter. Whatever is clearly conceived in our own minds we will be able to express With clearness; whatever is earnestly conceived there, will be earnestly ex- pressed. Natural manners in speaking awaken the sympathy of the hearer; strength of emotion, dis- played in words which seem to rise almost involunta- rily to our own lips, will go to the heart. While, then, there is'no doubt of the great importance of the subject-matter of an oration, the manner of its presentation and delivery are also of high import- ance, and should not be overlooked. With some justice it may be said, that Eloquence is born in us before we haVe rhetorical rules , and that Nature is the only true mistiess of the art: other systems, excellent In themSelves, being at best designed to copy, counterfeit, and develop nature, and to prove the truth of the motto, Ars celare artem, which implies that the greatest of all arts is to conceal art, or, in other Words, to appear more closely like nature. Nor will we be ready to aCcount the orator’s powers of easy acquisition, and of light moment. An Ame- rican writer has justly said. '— ' a The labours requisite to form a public speaker are, by no means, duly appreciated. An absurd idea ‘ prevails among our scholars, that the finest produc- tions of mind are the fruits of hasty impulse, the DEBATING SOCIETIES. 143 unfolding of a sudden thought, the brief visitations of' a fortunate hour or evening, the flashings of intui- tion, or the gleamings of fancy. “ The mistake lies in confounding with the mere arrangements of thought, or the manual labour of putting them on paper, the long previous prepara- tion of mind, the settled habits of'thought. It has taken but three hours, perhaps, to compose an admi- rable pieceof poetry, or a fine speech; but the reflec- tions of three years, or of thirty, may have been tend- ing to that result.” (43.) Debating Societies. Connected with most institutions of learning are debating societies, the nominal design of which is to give young men readiness of thought and speech, and that self-control and presence of mind which extern- poraneous speaking demands, especially when it is to be answered and criticised by an opponent imme- diately. ' We shall refer presently to the general manner of conducting a debate, but here a few words may not be amiss by way of caution. The practice of extern- poraneous debate is in many‘respects a good thing, but in order that it should be beneficial, the, amount of reading and the pi‘eparatz'onvof the subject should bear a just relation to the fluency of speech. 144 RIIETORIC. When a young man gets such a readiness of Speech that he can speak about nothing, and keep up a con- stant stream of elegant language, simply 'to occupy a certain time, then the practice of extemporaneous discourse becomes a decided evil, and should be checked. So much has the show and splendour of Oratory gained the advance of its solid basis of learning ;\so much have the graces of Elocution usurped the place of solid thought, that many an indolent mind is satis- fied to talk rather than study ; and to practise Rhe- toric at the expense’of Science and Literature. A distinguished rhetorician has expressed the startling doubt whether a first-rate man can be a first-rate orator. The danger of temptation which would lead the orator to dependvupon his art, suggests the converse of the question—that is, whether a first- rate orator is ever a first-rate man. From these very general preliminary remarks we pass now to consider some of the forms of Academic Oratory; let us first take the Oratz'on. (44.) The Oration. The word Oration, derived from the Latin, arc, to pray, has come to mean, in our day, a speech or dis- course of a refined and elevated character pronounced before a concourse of people. ' My... a M. m..- ., .. THE ORATIQN. _ 145 It is usually upon some subject. of very general interest, and upon a set occasion; as the obsequies of a great man; or a public anniversary; or at some academic exhibition, such as a college commencement; or before some literary societies of distinction. Thus we have, as examples of the first kinds of orations, the oration of R. H; Lee on Washington, just after his death; that upon the death of Adams and Jefferson, by Webster; that by Adams upon the death of La Fayette; and the discourse of Edward Everett upon the death of John Quincy Adams. A Funeral Oration is frequently called a Eulogy; and, as this word indicates, it is always designed to speak well of the dead, to set forth his merits, and either to be silent upon his faults or to palliate them. Our addresses to the people on Washington’s Birth- day, and on the 4t]; of July, are examples of Anni-I versary Orations; and many of the finest efforts of English and American orators have been at academic celebrations; such as Lord Brougham’s at Glasgow; Lord Macaulay’s at Edinburgh; and those of our Everett, Webster, Story, Preston,«and others, before many American colleges, or literary societies. In these latter, the subject of the oration is often of a literary, classical, or historical nature, and is treated in a‘vmuch more elevated manner than those designed for more popular audiences. ' Short and less important oratorical efforts, which 13 i K 146 RHETORIC.‘ are of a nature similar to the Oration, are called Addresses and Harangues ; the latter being particu- larly of "a controversial and violent character, such as revolutionary times would‘induce; and by its very name indicating impatience of control, opposition, and boldness of speech. ' In all cases the orator must choose his subject well—2'. e., with a View to the hearers and ‘the occa- sion; and illustrate it as fully as may be requisite to a clear and brilliant presentation of it. Ornaments of thought and language seem to be very properly used as aids; they are sources of pleasure and inte- rest, and relieve the mind from the attention neces- sary to the severer portions; and a certain degree of difi‘useness and even of repetition is allowable, in order to present clearly and forcibly what is designed to be but once heard, and yet to make a lasting im- pression. " The subject, on this account, may be very copiously illustrated, and placed in many lights, in order to leave, abundantly, in the hearer’s mind the demonstration and its true importance. There are various words used in the programmes of college commencements which express very slight shades of difierence in meaning, and which,lindeed, in some of the best dictionaries are defined in terms of each other; . Of these are dissertation and dz'sqm'sz'tz'on, compo- sitions which are usually declaim‘ed like orations, but I THE ORATION. 147 which are not necessarily prepared for such a pur— pose. The first of these is derived from dis and sero, to cast from one,vas the farmer casts or sows his grain; from this it would seem to imply throwing out some general facts and hints on a given subject, and leav- ing them to germinate and grow in‘ the minds of the hearers : but it is very loosely used to express a short and essay—like composition. Disquisition, from dis and quaero, means a formal inquiry into a given subject; a presentation of the arguments, pro and con, with an attempt, in every case, to arrive at a definite conclusion. ‘ Thus, we have disquisitions on government; on ma- rals; a disguisition upon some disputed point in phi- losophy or science. _ Not unlike the disquisition in that form of compo- sition which has been called an argumentative dis- course; and, partaking of the nature of a disquisition and dissertation combined, is the‘form of composition called a thesis, from the Greek verb, memo, to place. or set ,. the thesis is a set paper, required .as anvex- erc‘ise Lfrom students before they advance fromone grade to another, .to demonstrate the attainments they have made. I One kind of academic oratory which is becoming daily of a more popular character, is that known as lectures.- , i A lecture (from lego—alecturus) meant originally a 148 RHETORIC. discourse designed to be read to a class, on some sub- ject of study: its form, indeed, was such that it might have been read by any one else as well as by the writer. It was not designed to attain for it any- thing by the graces of oratory, but its simple purpose Was to impart the instruction desired upon the study in question. There were lectures on mechanics, physics, mathematics, &c. In past times, when text- books were scarce and inadequate, this was the method of instruction, and on many subjects it may still be considered the best method of teaching. But, passing from its just academic use, and its proper meaning, the lecture, in its modern accepta- tion, has become really an oration; and instead of being simply read, is delivered or pronounced with all the graces of oratory, and all the ornaments .of style. In accordance with its true academic meaning, the lecture should be plain, concise, sufficiently illustra- tive, and, above all, should be within the compre- hension of the student, and not hear his fancy along at the expense of his judgment; for the lecture dif- fers from the disquisz‘tz'on, in that it places in a clear light, and with plain demonstration, things already well known to all but the beginner, while the disqui- sz'tz'on embodies new matter, which the writer has found after great labour and research, and which can only be appreciated by minds of equal culture with his own.‘ POLITICAL ORATORY. 149 'While lectures are used to convey solid instruction, in a popular form, they may be productive of good, but it may well be doubted whether isolated lectures, sweetened to suit the popular taste, and enacted like monologues on the stage, are not in'their nature inju- rious, and do not render the people frivolous and superficial. Of course there are many exceptions to such a remark; but the habit of lecturing in this manner, so prevalent in late years, has been demon- strating the truth of Pope’s assertion— . “A little learning is a dangerous thing.” So much has been already laid down upon the gene- ral principle of spoken discourse, as it regards college oratory, that we need not linger long in the consider- , ation of that kind of oratory which we have called political. The directions and cautionsto the student apply equally to older men in the arena of politics. (45.) Political Oralory. Here, it will be observed, another element of dis- course enters, one which is of the nature of the old Logic—the debate. _ In every case there is an opponent, and an opposite side; and the hearers are often critics, who stand ready to deny, refute, or advance new modes of ' attack. 13 * 150 RHETORIC. Among the difl‘erentkinds of political oratory, and forming the highest class of its subjects, are the speeches of various kinds in the courts' of law; the conflicting arguments of the opposing counsel; and the charge of the judge, which,,while summing up the evidence, must, in most cases, imply a judgment as to the verdict in issue. The subjects of ‘such orations are of grave import, and appeal, directly to our sympathies, since they concern the property, liberty, or lives of individual citizens, and, at the same time, have an eye to the welfare of the government—that is, of the greater number of individuals—by seeing that the-laws are properly vindicated. This form ’of political oratory is therefore of prime importance. . This word political, derived from the Greek atom, a city, and meaning originally What had to do With civic affairs, thus covers all the concerns of civil government, and may be as properly applied to the administration of justice as to the organization of 7 government. We have, in modern times, however, used the word political in a more restricted sense. In the political orations made in courts of law, which come under Aristotle’s class of judicial oratory, besides the efi‘ort to judge of the justice of a cause, appeals to the feelings are frequently made, in order to mitigate the punishment which is allowedlto be due to the crime. POLITICAL ORATORY. 151 Thus, we have what are called fine criminal lawyers, whose forte lies not only in presenting the cause of their client as favourably as possible to the jury, but also in enlisting the pity and clemency of the jury in behalf of the unfortunate, though criminal pri- soner. ' ' Some of the most illustrious orators have gained their “greatest reputation by speeches of a judicial nature. Curran, Burke, and Brougham are instances of British law—pleaders of renown; and in our own day, we have had Webster,yChoate, , Prentiss, Gra- ham, Binney, Sergeant, and David Paul Brown, to adorn this department of oratory. The next form of political oratory to be mentioned is that of the debates in houses of legislation; as in our United States Congress, and in_the assemblies or legislatures of the several states: these are con— cerned in making the laws; the application of which is the, scope of judicial oratory. And here it is that the element of debate becomes chiefly important, and may be more cleaily discerned and studied. In almost every countiy two parties are found in the national legislature, dilfering on many and essential points, and striving with each other for the supremacy in making the laws of thelland; and using, it must be admitted, many unjust methods of attaining their ends. ‘ To triumph over their adversary, in many cases is 152 RHETORIC. esteemed more desirable than to attain to truth, and so, many debaters adopt the Socraticform of pro- popnding unanswerable questions; or they pervert the Logic of Aristotle to give them false conclusions, using false premisses, specious arguments, and undue appeals ; or they invent a kind of argument, referred to by Addison and Sterne, as the argmnentum ad baculz'num, which is expressed in English as club-law. All the resources of Rhetoric are enlisted to gain the conquest; wit, humour, and ridicule are suborned; and thus the excellent art of political oratory, which might be of great benefit, is put to the worst of uses. ~ But this is not always so. Pure and thrilling oratory is often heard in houses of legislation in de- fence of just laws. There are no higher flights of English eloquence , than those which were made in the English Parlia~ ment in the days when Pitt and Burke, patriots but philanthropists, were'pleading the cause of the Ame- rican colonies in the ears of their unnatural mother. And now, in Great Britain, Macaulay, and Stanley, and Brougham, stand like oratorical knights, whose fame and power attract, while they challenge, all new comers. American eloquence has been far moresignally displayed in Congressional debate than elsewhere. This was the'arena in Which Clay and Webster, Cal-l .V«v.‘,..., _ POLITICAL ORATORY. 1:33 houn, Hayne, MeDuflie, Berrien, and a host of worthy peers, triumphed; It was in our Congress that the memorable word-encounter between Webster and Hayne took place, and left us specimens of eloquence unrivalled in interest if not unequalled in power, in the English language. The qualifications and duties which should be required of a public debater, holding office as a legis- latbr, cannot be better given than in the motto of the coat of arms of one of the states of our Union: Wisdom, Justice, and Moderation. The end aimed at should not be ‘party success, but Truth, which is abstract wisdom; the modes of attaining these ends should be strictly just; and above all, the legislators should, have that prudence, delibe- ration, and courtesy, which all bear a part in the excellent quality called Moderation. Attention to these simple directions would save us from party rancour; from bribery, and dishonourable dealing among our legislators, and from personal con- flicts on the floors of Congress. The Constitution has taken proper steps to insure such results, and the laws have declared that no per- son shall be held answerable, out of, either house, for words uttered within their walls. And yet so great are the temptations which beset ”men in public sta- tions that truth, justice, and moderation are very 154 RIIETORIC. frequently lost sight of, the Constitution dishonoured, and the laws violated with reckless disregard. (46.) Sacred Oratory) The third and last division of this branchiof our subject is Sacred Oratory, and this we have said includes Sermons, Homilies, and Expository Lec- titres; to all of ivhich we attach the idea of Christian teaching. A Sermon is derived frond the Latin .word sermo, common discourse or speech; but, more remotely, from sero, to throw or cast,vlike seed; and doubtless, in its present form, it retains some allusion to the goodseed of Christianity, sown by the disciples of Christ. A Sermon is a serious public Christian dis- course, then, delivered, commonly in a church, by a person licensed and authorized to teach the moment- ous truths of the Gospel, and is usually founded upon some portion of theicianonical Scripture, which'is called a text. . Sermons are expository and exhortatory.~ An ea}- pository discourse is one which is designed to explain clearly, to the comprehension of the audience, the meaning of the portion of Scripture taken as the text. An exhortatory Sermon is one which, takesfor ‘ granted that the audience understand the Scripture quoted; its design, therefore, is ,to persuade the stubborn will, and‘press home to the slumbering SACRED ORATORY. 155 conscience, the truths to which the intellect already assents. Most sermons partake of both characters; after explaining the text, they apply it to those present. ' ' ‘ It may well be feared that in modern times a habit has arisen of writing, instead of sermons properly so called, finished orations, in which the preacher is in danger of' being set forth, quite as much, if not more than his holy theme.- The art of the preacher, if there be any art allowed in so holy a place, is to keep himself back, and let his divine subject press forward to do its glorious workiv/Sermons may be written or extemporaneous: but in the latter case the subject is supposed to be carefully studied and arranged in the mind, and the preacher depends ‘upon the occasion only for the words, and a few in- spiring incidents. A Homily, from the Greek verb, came, to converse in company, implies a sermon of a plainer and hum- ‘ 7 bler kind, conveying simple instruction, capable of being understood by [the lowest among the people. The subjects of the homily are of the most elementary character; setting forth the first “principles of the doctrine of Christ.” Thus the “ Book Of Homilies,” of the English Church, is a collection of plainydis- courses, which Were prepared by authority, at .the time of the English Reformation, to be read by the inferior clergy, who were not sufficiently educated to‘ prepare their own_sermons. ‘ \ 156 RHETORIC. Partaking of the nature both of homily and ser- mon, are expository lectures, common among many denominations of Christians, and specially designed to explain the Bible in regular course. These are more informal than sermons, and do not usually form a part of the Sunday services of the church; The character of a sermon should depend in some measure upon the audience and the occasion. The number and nature of the ornaments, and the illustrations; the trains of argument, and the general application, would difl‘er essentially for congregations difl'ering in intel- lectual culture. In general it may be said that ser- mons should be very simple and plain, because in. most congregations there are many ignorant people; and it may be feared that many a preacher, in mili- tary phrase, “ shoots over the heads” of his people. In proper hands these various kinds of sacred dis- course are instruments of mightiest power, turning the hearts of men, awakening their consciences, and leading them “to newness of life ;” by their instru- mentality, in great measure, it would seem, God de- signs to Christianize the world. Among many excellent Christian sermons, none are so good as those contained in the New Testa- ment, with which we are all familiar. Christ 5 Sermon on the Mount is beyond compari- son the best; the happiest proof to us that he Was both God and man. The sermon of St. Stephen, the SACRED ORATORY. 157 first‘martyr, which surveyed the history of Chris- tianity in electric glances, from the days of Abra- ham to the time of his OWn death, is a masterly discourse. The sermons of St. Peter at Pentecost, and in Solomon’s Porch, after healing the lame man, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, are models of Christian sermons; St. Paul’s splendid discourse on Mars Hill at Athens, is greater than any oration of Demosthenes himself; and his sermon afterwards at Lystra, was so powerful that they would have done worship and sacrifice to his inspired eloquence, be- lieving him to be a god. Christian ministers have the finest models before them in the Bible. The sermons of Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Massillon, Bridaine, and other French divines, in the days of Louis XIV., are examples of the finest displays of eloquent piety, in a day of)loose and uncontrolled morals. They are not of a controversial nature, but, like the apostle, they reason of “righteousness, tem- perancerand judgment.” Hooker, Barrow, Jeremy Taylor,,Leighton, Robert Hall, Whitefield, Horsley, are among the great names of illustrious English divines, distinguished for their eloquent and convinc- ing sermons. Nor is America wanting in a full and brilliant representation, in this honoured department of our literature. Indeed, the American clergy con- stitute a 'very large and respectable number of Ame- rican literati, are. among the finest of American orators, and adorn, by their high moral and religious 14 ' ) 158 RIIETORIC‘. tone, the communities in which they residei Among so many eloquent preachers in our own day, it would be invidious to mention the few for whose names We might find room. It has been urged by many, and is a rule. in some~ Christian bodies, that sermons should be extempo- raneous; carefully studiedas to thought ‘and arrange- ment, but dependent upon the inspiration of the moment, for new thoughts and words. While 'it is true that some‘have a greater gift of speech than others, or are what are called natural oratoyrs, it cannot be denied that the faculty of extemporaneous speaking may be greatly improved by use. Its advantages are stated to be greater freshness; more direct communication with the audience; and, in the opinion of some, mental illumination. 'The dis- advantages are want of connection in the parts of the discourse; the danger of saying things on the spur of the moment, which cool after-judgment will condemn; and, what is perhaps worse than all, the great temptation to neglect proper preparation of the subject, and the danger of falling into a loose and incorrect style. Each man must decide for himself as to his gift. Our next step is to consider written discourse, as contradistinguished from all kinds of oratory,-—even though the oratorical discourse be written out before- hand, —-in that it is not designed to be read to an audi- ence with the voice, but by areader with his eye. WRITTEN DISCOURSE. 159 CHAPTER VI. OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF WRITTEN DISCOURSE. (47.) 0f Letters. FIRST among the kinds of written discourse we have enumerated Epistolary writing, or letters, which, if we may use the phrase, is the most natural of them all. To» write a letter is but one remove from holdinga conversation with a person; and generally the subjects of a letter, and our treatment of them, are very much what we would say, and very much the Manner we should use in saying it to the person himself were he present. After oratory, it approaches most nearly a pe1sonal address. Letter writing enters so largely into all the affairs of life, that it Constitutes by far the greatest amount of written discourse. ) There are as many kinds of letters as there are - forms of association, or relation, domestic, social, civic, or official; and each peculiar circumstance will L: , , , . , , ‘ a . dictate the character and manner of the letter; thus, in letters of business, or official letters, the design of 160 RHETORIC. the writer is to express himself firmly, clearly, and concisely: to introduce nothing episodical, or foreign to the subject; and, above all, to be brief; remem- bering that busy men have not time to read long let- ters. . Letters of friendship, on the contrary, are kind, tender, diffuse, and gossipping. They should be of the kind referred to by Cowper, when he says he likes talking letters. Letters of a highocz'vz'c or ofi‘icz'al character, such as those that pass between ambassadors, or ministers of state, should be formal, grave, and particularly courteous; for it is as though two nations, through their ambassadors, were holding converse by this means, and all the pomp and circumstance of na- tional glory are concerned in the ceremony and the. result. _ A few general directions on the subject of letter- writing may not be amiss. _ I. All proper letters should be answered as soon as received. Attention to this caution would have saved many persons a great deal of discomfort, regret, and loss. Although no part of Rhetoric, the caution will, be pardoned on account of its practical use; and, indeed, the rhetorical character of the answer de- pends somewhat upon the freshness of the impression made by the letter upon the mind; and the freshness is entirely lost by delay. . LETTERS. 16]. II. All letters should be carefully Written. A habit is not uncommon, among men who write care- fully on all other subjects, of slighting their letters; of making the subject-matter unintelligible and slovenly; of neglecting the date, and address; of putting no punctuation marks except dashes, which mean nothing; and of writing in a hand almost or quite illegible. All this is wrong, and can very easily be avoided. . ' III. Say exactly what you mean without circum- locution or afiectation. Many persons write letters as though they were writing a novel or a history; pitching them in too high a key for the occasion and the subject; such are the sentimental letters, written in the romantic periods of life, and under fanciful rather than real influences. But, it is evident, the form of a letter may be used to present any subject to the public. Sometimes such a communication is addressed to the editor of a news- paper; Sometimes to the public in pamphlet form; and sometimes to some scientific body; but, besides the mere form, these have nothing of the letter about them, and might as Well be put in the shape of essays or disquisitions. Of this nature also are military or naval despatches, the design of which is to describe the movements of an army or corps, or of a fleet of ships; but which 14* , ' . L ‘ 162 RHETORIC. ' are addressed to the secretary of war or the navy. Candidates for public office address their peculiar views to the public also in letter form. ‘ By means of the letters of great men, and particu- larly of men great in literature, published after their death, we are enabled to see them as they really were, and as they could have had no expectation of being presented to the world; thus letters constitute thebest material for biography, and are in themselves the best portrait of the writer, giving us the exact- traits of character which the biographer might over- look, or fail faithfully to transfer; but which the writer himself has uttered 4‘ out of the fulness of the heart.” ‘-‘ The letters of Cowper, witty, poetical, tender, but very sad at times, are such a faithful index to his pure but unhappy life. Those of Sterne show us his easy, careless, and unclerical career, more fully than his works orhis autobiography. Indeed, the charac- ters of most great men have been portrayed most faithfully by means of their letters. Among the most charming letters are those of Madame de Sévigné. The letter-form is often used to embody political instruction, or to convey political satire and rebuke. A remarkable example of this is found in the Persian Letters (Lettres Persanes) of Montesquieix. HISTORY. 163 (48.) History. Next in the order of written discourse we consider History, which, in its comprehensive acceptation, may be defined the Narrative of Man’s social life. ' Those who would limit it to being the Record of past events, Would trammel the philosopher, who uses history some- what in the light of prophecy; who regards it as con- stantly going on around us, and as determining, to a certain extent, from what has been and/is, what is to he. History, which thus claims to tell all that is known of man, and all that can be predicted by human means, has been called Scientia Scientiarum, the Science of Sciences: it is consequently the most important of the forms of written discourse , and, / were it rightly written, would conduce greatly to the benefit of mankind. There are various degrees of the value of history, according to its philosophy. Thus, the historian may only choose to give a faithful narrative of the facts which his research has discovered, and to leave the reader to combine them, and draw his own conclu- sions. Or he may describe the great men, the battles, the sieges, the treaties, the‘courts, and lose sight of the condition of the people, who form really the sub- ject of history. His narrative may be current, inte- resting, and entertaining; in its effect, not unlike thenrapid journey through just Such scenes, if they 164 RHETORIC. were really existing. But these constitute the lowest kind of historical writing, called in former times Chronicles. ‘ Philosophical history seeks to find the relations of cause and efi‘ect ; not only in a single community or kingdom, and in a single period; but the relations of communities and kingdoms to each other andrto the whole world; and of single periods to the entire chronology, ancient and modern. Thus History, armed with divine philosophy, has taught us that Christianity is the great fact in this world of ours, shooting its rays back to the fall of man, and for- ward to the day of millennial glory; and that pure democracy—the freedom, purity, and happiness of the individual citizen—is the great possibility which ‘ We are approximating, and should strive'to attain. History deals with pure truth; it seeks to know only “ the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” It is true that History has been shame- fully perverted ; that it has become the tool of party, and the organ of false panegyric ; that it has received bribes from greatness, and has been blinded by flat- tery; and, worse than all, because most diflicult of ‘ correction, that it has been eminently subjective rather than objective, giving us the prejudices and distortions of the writer instead of the truth. Lord Bacon’s idols of the tribe and of the den are the bane of History. Thus, almost all history is one-sided. Hume 'j'v'“ ‘1 1' HISTORY. 165 gives us the aristocratic and to1y view of English History; Gibbon the infidel view of Europe; Mit- ford the extieme aristocracy of Greece , Lingard the Roman. Catholic view of England; and, Macaulay, pictures painted in most artificial colours, and placed _ in false «and glaring lights. In one of his essays on History, Mr. Macaulay has inadvertently placed the sentence of his own condemnation. <6 This practice,” he says, ‘6 of painting in nothing but black and white, is unpardonable even in the drama, but 1n history this error is far more disgraceful. , Indeed, there 1s no fault which socompletely ruins a narrative in the opinion of a judicious reader.” And yet this is the historian who has drawn forusthe pictures of Wil- lia'm of Orange, Marlborough, and William Penn! No man need aspire to be a historian unless he so please, but'every self-appointed historian renders himself amenable to certain invariable laws, which we shall now lay down. I. He must be faithful in his study and research. We depend upon him for the? truth, and he ought to give us nothing but the ‘truth. He should not exaggerate, either as to the facts themselves, nor by " the lights in which they are placed, like the picture- paz‘ntz‘ng just referred to. \ He should take no facts at second hand Where the original source is within reach: sad mistakes have grown out of such a course, and great wrong has been done to the heroes of_ his- 166 R‘I-IETORIC. tory. Patient, honest, faithful research is his first duty. II. He must make a clear arrangement of these facts, a luminous order of ,events, so that we may pass from one to the other easily, and ourselVes judge of their philosophy, or rather judge of his philosophic summary; for the historian should in every case sum up the evidence and state the judg- ment. III. He must be entirely impartial, unswayed by friendship, prejudice, reverence; single-eyed to the truth alone. IV. He must write in a pleasing and good style. His language must be well chosen; the ornaments, of which History does not admit very many, must be choice and striking; and the finished form of his work must be symmetrical, easy of reference, and complete in all its parts. A very good resumé of the requisites for a histo- rian is to be found in the words of an English critic.* “ His learning should be greater than his genius, and his judgment stronger than his imagination. In pri- vate life he should have the character of being free from party, and his former writings ought always to have shown the sincerest attachment to truth. I ask , *Bayle, as quoted by Goldsmith, in his review of Smollett’s History of England, in the “Monthly Review.” HISTORY. 167 several questions: who the historian is? of what country? of what principles? For it is impossible but that his private opinions willalmost involuntarily work themselves into his public performances. His Style, also, should be clear, elegant, and nervous. And, lastly, to give him a just boldness of sentiment and expression, he should have a consciousness of these his superior abilities.” Nothing need be added to these judicious remarks; but that American literature boasts of names that have come nearer to such an endowment of faculties and qualities than those of any other country. This is due, in a great measure, to our free institutions, and to the fact that most of our historians have taken subjects quite above the turmoil of our own party politics, and look with great equanimity and mode— ration at the factious parties of other countries, of whose doings they have undertaken to, write. Pres- cott, Bancroft, Motley, Hildreth, have written works of very general interest, on the history of foreign countries as well as upon our own; and many eminent and distinguished gentlemen have produced, under the auspices of our HistOrical societies, histories or historical papers of a local but interesting nature. It should be remarked, that the present age is emi- nently in advance of all former periods, in historical writings. New and valuable material "has been brought to light, and such researches have been 108 RHETORIC. made as to demonstrate the great faults and falsity of much of the former history. With these views of a historian’s duty, we shall not be inclined to under- value the talents which constitute a great historian. The world numbers but few such, and has accorded a lasting fame to all who approach the standard of excellence and power just laid down. (49.) Biography. This word, from the Greek, Bnos, life, and were, to write, means a sketch of the life of an individual. Biography is a very important branch of History ; for since history, is the record, of the actions of men, the men who performthese actions must be presented and described, and thus history is full of biographical pictures, or sketches of illustrious, men. But in his- tory they are mainly presented on account of the great events in which they participated. Biography proper has as its subject not the events in which the subject of the sketch has shared, so much as himself,—his own personality. Here history is \made‘ secondary to the course of the actor’s life. If a person write his own life, that is called an auto- biography, and although not always free from preju— . dice,—-—as this prejudice can be generally allowed“ for,-——an autobiography 1s very valuable. The qualities which Should distinguish a biographer BIOGRAPHY. 169 are very much the same as those which constitute a. ‘vhistorian. He should be just; letting no prejudices blind him to the merits of his subject, or, what is far more to be feared, letting no feeling of friendship lead to undue praise or false representations. The task then, it is manifest, is a difficult one. A biogra- pher may choose to present fairly the good qualities of the person of whom he writes; and to throw a veil over the» evil: saying—“this is a part of the subject upon which we prefer not to touch,”—thusl leaving to the mindef the reader to draw a jUSt inference that faults and errors of- a grievous kind are charit‘ab’ly omitted. Thus much cannot .be re- garded as improper benevolence. But the habit, by no means uncommon, of concealing the defects of a great man; ‘of destroying or suppressing letters which display him in a fearfully evil light, and of making him appear only good, when he is known to have been evil, is to be deplored on many accounts; but principally because of the evil effects upon society. The world generally knows enough to be sure that the truth is masked, and that to a‘ great extent; and the young, who read for example, look upon that evil of which so little is made, as quite j venial and unimportant. The request of Othello, just before his suicide, is the just rule of the biographer :— . 15 . 170 RHETORIC. “ I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; not/Ling extenuate, Nor set down alight in malice.” It is only in this way that the life of a particular person is of value to the reader, as a model for imita- tion, or an example of what is tobe avoided. The biography of a great man—one who has occu- pied a very large space in the historic world—so that, in describing his life, one must also relate much of the contemporary history,—we call, more properly, A History. Thus, we speak of Scott’s “History of Napoleon ;” Carlyle’s “History of Frederick the Great ;” Voltaire’s “History of Charles XII.” The style in which a biography should be written, is an easy narrative style ; connecting gracefully the events of the life before us. There is little room for elegance and ornament; and, above all, that picture painting, to which reference has already been made upon the topic of history, should be carefully avoided; or indulged in with the most jealous care in choosing the just colours for the portrait. Biographies of a partial or fragmentary character, and of minor importance, are often called memoirs, and sometimes lives, a title subject to less miscon- ception; and these should be subjected to the same critical laws as biographies of more importance; they may be more desultory, but should be purely impar- BIOGRAPHY. 171 tial. As excellent illustrations of biographical writ- ing we have, in modern times, Jared Sparks’s ¢< Lives of Washington and Franklin,” and Irving’s “Bio- graphy of Washington.” Johnson’s “Lives of the Poets,” and Boswell’s “Life of-Johnson,” are ex- amples of prominent biographies written in the last century. One of the most faithful biographies within our knowledge is the “ Life of Sir Walter Scott,” by his son-in-law, Lockhart. Moore’s “ Life of Byron” is one of those unjust and garbled biographies re- ferred to, in which Lord Byron is made to appear far better than the materials which Mr. Moore had in his possession would have shown him to be, had they been faithfully used. - And Lord John Russell, in his publication of the Letters of Moore,—designed to create a fund for the poet’s wife,—has erred in the same manner, by leav- ing the impression upon the reader’s mind that the garbled journal and the selected letters present a true portrait of the modern Anacreon. As biographies are generally written by friends," the error is almost always in the bestowal of undue praise, and the withholding of deservedJCensure. It has becOme a custom,rwithin a late period, to prefix a short biography or life to new editions of the stand- ard poets and writers of prose literature. These are ‘ generally“ executed with more justice than other biographies; because criticism has already-done its - w v: mwrmwwrw‘wxwm 172 ' RHETORIC. work with the author’s life and fame, and the truth alone will pass current. / (50.) Essays. Among the most numerous of the shorter and oc- casional kinds of writing are essays, which, from the French verb, essayer, to try, means only experimental compositions, not pretending to the dignity of a higher order, and thus deprecating harsh criticism. They are of the nature of isolated thoughts, written out exactly as they come into the mind. This was, at least, its original use; and it has been said that it was first employed, inxthis meaning, by Lord Bacon, in dedicating a volume of short pieces, which he called essays, to Prince Henry, the elder brother of Charles I. of England. _ A recent writer has justly observed that no better illustration of the word, in its more modern use, can be found than in those essays of Bacon, since well known and appreciated for their Sound learning, good judgment, and profound thought. They remain the originals, and still the models of essays. ‘ After Bacon, in the use of his word, were the well- known English Essayz'sts, Addison, Steele, Dr. John- son, Goldsmith, arid others, whose works appeared inI the Spectator, Tatler, Rambler, and similar papers; Under their hands, the Essay became a composition EMMA - , PROSE FICTION. 173 periodically addressed to the public, giving, as it were, only a partial glimpse of its subject; often not pro- mising more ; desultory in its arrangements, but novel and suggestive in its statements. What are called newspaper leaders, and editorials, are the most modern form 'of essay, and these, from their excellence and point, often verify the truth of Addison’s assertion, that it is more difficult to write a series of essays—each of which is the germ of a Volume—than a whole volume on some given subject. There are minds of high order, best suited, however, to this kind of writing; and many a good essayist would make but a poor volume on a single subject. The-style of the essay should be easy and natu ral; but occasional ornaments are allowable, and wit and humour‘may very properly be introduced, to give point and interest to the subject. The word essay has been likewise very properly applied to the stated College and school compositions, which are short, partial, and suggestive. (51.) Prose Fiction. Prose fiction implies that'kind/of writing which presents fictitious or unreal things as though they really existed; creating personages who never ex- isted, andjrelating a ‘chain of events which never happened; asthough both were real. As the-design 15 * ' 174 RHETORIC. of fiction is to instruct by example, the characters drawn must be so life-like as to call for our sympathy in their adventures and trials; and the events and circumstances must also be true to nature. The plot or combination of these, however, should be entirely original. Prose fiction includes works of many names, differing, some of them, but slightly from each other. They may all be classed under the following heads: the Romance, the Novel, the Fable, the Tale, and the Story. By the Romance is meant a fictitious story of won- derful adventures, such as were incident to the days andvcustoms of knight-errantry. The romance re- ceived its name from the fact that the story-tellers of that day used, mainly, the Romanz language of the Mediterranean. It is usually a tale of love and war of an extravagant character, and designed to! awaken violent emotions, which, by this same etymology, have . been called Romantic. The word, however, has often been used in a less exact and. more general meaning, and has thus been confounded with the novel, a word of more modern application. The Novel, originally meaning only something new, has now become the name of a tale founded upon some modern incident in history or ordinary life, and intended to portray the operation of the’ passions, and particularly of love: there is always a hero and a. heroine, and the plot turns upon their fortunes; ‘ n )4 PROSE FICTION. 175 ending usually with a happy and easily anticipated marriage. The Fable, Which has been traced back through the Latin, Fahula, to the obsolete Greek verb, mm, to speak, meant originally only something spoken or told. ' The design of the Fable is to enforce some useful precept. In the fable there is usually no illusion: animals are made to talk, and to cover by their speech the Wisdom of the moral designed. The Talennd the Story are very much the same in their modern use. ‘ Tale is from the Saxon verb, tellan, and the Eng- . lishr tell, and only means something told; so~that although a tale is often used to express a fictitious narrative, it does notnecessarily imply this. One of Swift’s allegories is called the 4‘ Tale of, a Tub ;” and we have also Marmontel’s French Tales to illus- trates the use of the word. The Scotch saying, “ An ower true tale,” expresses both uses of the word, the one directly, and the other by implication. 3 Story} is only a contraction of history, and is used in rather an undefined sense, meaning sometimes a true account, sometimes a fictitious narrative, and sometimes a falsehood. The words-tale . and story, When expressing a ficti- tious narrative, imply a short and unpretending effort, Written Without preparation, and with no careful 176 RIIETOR‘IC. arrangement of the events. There can be no doubt that it requires genius of a very high order to com- pose fictz'on well. The novelist must create individual characters, who are to seem like life, and to live {in our memory as friends, often met and well cherished; he must also establish such positions for these, and such relations between them, as will strike the reader - as natural and interesting. i ‘ And while he must draw largely from nature for all this, he must no more be a simple copyist of na- ture than the great painter is so. His picture is a creative composition, unlike anything that ever existed as a whole, and yet in all its parts natural, attract- ive, and constantly developing new thoughts. In the art of painter and novelist alike, what is called the composition must be original, and is the work of a creative genius. To nature he must go for the traits of real life, which he is, with the hand of genius, to combine. The remark has often been made, that “truth is ' stranger than fiction.” It is further true, that the most striking fictitious pictures must be made up of truth. In the words of an American writer: “The tones of rapturous or agonizedhu‘man sympathy, ten- derness, love, pity, the gentle voices of kindness that echo from the familiar hearthstone, the accents in which a mother speaks to her sulfering child, sur- pass all'that fancy can imagine or the stage exhibit; FW‘Vmir. - -_ - r: fi . PHOSE FICTION. 177 And no fictitious heroism is more noble than that which swells many a heart in the secret and solitary strife of virtue. And all the sentimental descrip- tions in the world are but cold rhapsody in comparison with what is actually witnessed and felt in the daily communion of heart with heart.” ‘ The chivalric period, in which almost every long fiction partook of the character of the times of chivalry, and was of the nature of the Remance, lasted, as far as fiction itself was concerned, almost without an exception until the'middle of the eighteenth cen-1 tury, when the modern «13er had its origin in” the works of Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, and others. This was a great change in prose fiction. These novels ? are portraitures of men and things of the very time in which they appeared, and so true to English life are the‘descriptions of persons, customs, and scenery, as to verify positively the assertion of Macaulay, that .H the history of nations is often best studied in works not professedly’ historical.” The modern novelists just mentioned have been profound, if unconscious historians. ‘ . . i ' The early Romance was? poetical in its form, and was very unlike the more modern works bearing that title; thus, we have the Romance of'tlze Ruse (R04 I man de la Rose), translated by‘Chaucer into English, Also, the Anglo-Norman romance Le Brut, founded on the historic chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth. ' M 178 RHETORIC. Later we have Italian Romances in prose; comic and satirical Romances, of which Don Quixote may be taken as the best illustration, Pastoral romances, and Heroic romances, coming down to the time of the modern novel in the middle of the last century. But after Richardson and Fielding had opened the way to the fresh and vivid portraitures of modern life, the old and artificial sank into disrepute, and though attempts weremade by Walpole, Mrs. Radclifie, and their school, to bring back the old Romance, the suc- cess was small, and they may be fairly considered as among the things that were. _ Of modern novels we have a great number, of various value. They are so well known, that we need mention only a few. Sir Walter Scott’s Waver- ley series are justly esteemed for their vivid portrait- ure of hist01ical events and personages, combining the labours of the historian with the genius of the novelist; and Dickens has furnished a large number of most interesting novels, which unite to the mere interest due to the fiction, valorous attacks upon sys- tems and institutions of an evil character 1n England. In more than one instance his satire‘s have been efli- cacious in producing reform. Cooper’s novels give striking and natural pictures of life among our forests and their Indian tenants, 3. generation, now passinguaway; and of life at sea, in all its varieties, from the cabin of a man;of-war PROSE FICTION. 179 to hard work before the mast. Indeed, when we con— sider the highly drawn pictures, and loose language of the novels written a century ago, it cannot be doubted that prose fiction has very greatly improved in our day, and that it has become a much better school of morals in its examples and its teachings. In concluding these remarks upon the various forms of discourse, it must be observed that the rules cf rhetorical invention apply to them all, and that their eXpi'eSSion in language is governed by the same general laws; with the exception of poetry, which, in its metre and versification, is constructed according to the laws of ‘Prosody, one of the branches of Gram- mar. Thus, in form, Poetry is not governed by Rhetoric. Bearing this in mind, we come, at length, to consider the methods of constructing the general form of discourse, which has thus been divided into particular varieties, and of presenting this discourse to others. The processes now to be explained include every step in the preparation of a discourse, from the first conception of its subject or theme to its absolute delivery, or other public expression, to a bearer or reader. , Having thus'presented to the student the range andscope of discourse in its numerous varieties, we are prepared to enter upon this new and most impor- tant inquiry. ' 1-80 RIIE'I‘ORIC. CHAPTER VII. INVENTION. WE come now, after a due consideration of the history and derived meaning of Rhetoric, after dex- plaining its relations to Esthetics, and after describ- ing the various forms of discourse constructed by its means, to an examination of its functions, in this process of construction—2'. e., to a division of labour in the act of building up a discourse. These functions have been reduced, by modern rhetoricians, to three; and have been named‘:~ I. ‘ IN- VENTION. II. ARRANGEMENT. III. STYLE. The philos0phy of this general division has been already explained. To illustrate the methods of their, use, let the subject of the discourse be presented to the writer, as . i , 'Man is Mortal. He must first invent, that is, find arguments and display facts in proof of this assertion, and fairly express the moral and domestic lessons grewing out of such a momentous assertion, With such other im‘- portant consideratiOns as may occur to his mind. INVENTION. 181 Second. He must arrange these arguments and facts,‘ in the order best suited to accomplish his pur- pose; must see that the links in the chain of reasoning are clearly connected; in’a word, that the thoughts, which he has invented, are clearly, concisely, and properly connected. Thirds These fruits of his invention, and the me- thods of his arrangement, must be clearly and appro- priately set forth in language. This is the peculiar function of that division of Rhetoric called STYLE. It hardly need be remarked, that although these divisions of Rhetoric are quite distinct from each other, so that each process is really independent of the others, yet‘ their combination alone produces any true rhetorical result, so that, for a public manifesta- tion, they may be said to depend upon each other for existence. Thus, we may invent, or collect all the necessary material for constructing the discourse, and we may in our minds arrange all the parts of the fair structure, to no purpose, at least, in the instruction of others,———which is the primary'design of discourse,— if we give no utterance to our thoughts in style. And what would style or the mere expression in lan- - guage be, even the, readiest resources of speech, with all its forces, and its ornaments, if we had no subject-Matter of discourse invented, and no arrange- ' merit of the crude materials lying around, which we had} preduced by our invention? , , . 16 ' 182 RHETORIC. And here, before going farther,'let us recall one portion of the remark of Dr. Campbell, which has been already mentioned, viz., that “ Rhetoric holds of Logic by the sense.” This finds its truth in the Invention of Discourse, for the invention implies the finding of Logical propositions and arguments con- taining and enforcing the thoughts which we have prepared: in other words, all the operations of the reason. We shall especially attempt, in this, which is con- fessedly the most difiicult part of Rhetoric, to ren- der the study as simple as possible. Particularly is it important to rid ourselves, as much as we can, of the great number of technical words which formed the rhetorical nomenclature of the ancients, and have been brought down, undiminished in number, and useless from the change which has taken place in science and its classification, to modern times. They are more difficult than the things for which they stand, and modern usage expresses their meaning in simpler and better words. The “ naming of our tools,” in the satirical words of Hudibras, is by no means so important as to know how to use them’; and such changes have happened to Rhetoric since the days of classic nomenclature, that both names and instru- ments are entirely changed. When it is designed to construct a discourse, the general nature of whose subject is understood, the THE INVENTION OF THE SUBJECT. 183 first thing to be done is to ponder upon that general and perhaps vague subject, until it resolve itself into distinct shape, and assume a distinct and developing character. By developing character is meant, one readily admitting of analysis, by vvhich we may arrive at new facts, proofs of these facts, and prominent results of these facts. By a strange but invariable process, the mind, in thus dwelling upon a general subject, finds the nebulous particles of thought aggre- gating themselves into symmetrical forms, and shaping themselves into beautiful and instructive discourse. Let us then consider the subject as the germ of dis- course. (52.) The Invention of the Subject. In the choice of the subject of a discourse, inven- tion plays its first important part: here, indeed, much of the difficulty and confusion of writing composi- tions have their source; from a want of the proper understanding of the subject. The subject is to be ‘ chosen with reference to the object or design of the discourse; it is to contain in\itself, perhaps, a new Conception, the germ of/the future discourse; and it is to attract by its'name and appearance the interests of many in the discourse itself. There are many persons Who have a ”special talent in selecting, or more properly in inventing subjects. _An_d here it should be observed, in some cases the \ 184 RHETORIC. subject is already chosen for the writer, and his In- vention is taxed only in treating it: such is the case in courts of law, in congressional debates, in com- peting for prize essays in academies and colleges; but even in these cases some scope is allowed, and very much depends upon the peculiar light in which the author places the given subject. Thus the topics in courts of law are of a wide and general scope; and he who states the case most plainly before pro- » ceeding to the discussion of it, shows the best inven- tion in this respect. . Such, too, is the fact with [regard to the questions brought before legislative bodies; the general topic indeed is known to the house, but some one has invented it, and it will always bear a statement in new and original words. In many cases the subject of a. prize essay, or any other given topic, requires narrowing within better defined limits. But the subjects of great epics and dramas; of histories; of orations; of sermons; of prose fiction, are all tobe chosen, and in their choice a fine invention may be displayed. ‘ And this brings us to the remark that what are ordinarily called subjects of a wide scope, or fertile subjects, are the mest diflicult to treat, and offer the worst practice for our invention. 'Subjects upon which we can generalize, and range at large, lead to desultory .and superficial compositions, lacking THE INVENTION 0].“ THE SUBJECT. 185, unity and symmetry; while more restricted sub- jects, confining the mind rigorously to the consi- deration of a single and distinct theme, give us the «earnest of compact, vigorous, and satisfactory discourse, The, theme in question is sure to be thoroughly handled, and our impressions of it to be clear and just. Like the painter or sculptor, the author may then display a. fine invention in the choice and clear expression of his subject. And the author .WhO would choose a poor, barren, unsatisfactory sub- ject, would be as feelish as the painter who should reject the picturesque for the gloomy, or the sculptor who should seek harsh and angular models, instead of those with the lines of grace and beauty. So, also, the author who chooses too wide a theme is not inaptly compared to the artist Who chooses too large an angle for his picture, and thus violates the first law of pictorial composition. i A single glanceat the great works of English Literature will prove the originality of Invention in the subject of the discourse. The title or Subject of Milton’s poem, “Paradise Lost,” conveys a world of thought, because it implies at once} Paradise originally possessed,.enjoyed, sin- curst, and lost. It is so in foreign Epics of great renown. Tasso’s BJerusalem Delivered” points to Jerusalem once enslaved ”and, oppressed, and suggests 16* 186 RHETORIC. the mighty and daring deeds of the crusaders, by Whom it was delivered. And thus, in the choice of Historic periods and personages, the Historian invents his subject; in the presentation of a striking theme or incident the novel- ist invents his; and the essayist states, in pithy and attractive words, a caption to his short discourse. In every discourse, it should be observed, there ought to be but one prominent subject, or theme, to which all other parts of it are subordinate and ex— planatory; and it is further manifest that the nature of this theme will be in some sort dependent upon the object of the discourse, or, in other words, upon the efiects which we design to produce by it. This, then, constitutes the unity of a discourse, by which invention must be governed, —-the single subject to be developed, in order that the single object may be pur- sued and attained. ‘ To the object of the discourse we shall recur di- rectly ;- before doing so, however, it seems important to guard students against errors into which they may fall in the choice of subjects, or in understanding these which may be given to them; for the word sub- ject has been very vaguely used. V , And the elucidation of this subject brings us to a few plain remarks upon the logical distinction of terms, propositions, and arguments, as they are. used in Rhetoric. TIIE INVENTION OF THE SUBJECT. 187 These are fully treated of in the subject of Logic ; and here it will be only necessary to explain the general difference between them. A Term is a single object of apprehension expressed in language; as man, house, city. A Proposition is the comparison of two terms, to see whether they agree or disagree, thus :-—John is a hero, or, John is not a hero; in which we compare the terms, John and hero ; in the first, asserting their agreement, and in the second their disagreement. The first term in a proposition, as John, is called the subject; the second, as hero, the predicate. An Argument is the combination of two proposi- tions, which bear a certain relation to each other, and the deduction of a third proposition from these two. Thus— ' 1. All men are animals; 2. All Hindoos are men; Therefore 3. All Hindqos are animals; In which the first and second propositions are called premisses, and the third theconclusion. The conclu- sion grows naturally out of the combined premisses. The first proposition is called the major premise, and the second the minor premise. , With these explana- tions let us recur to the subject of a discourse. Is it a term or a proposition .9 , * Suppose, for example, the Subject presented to a student, upon which he is required to write, be 188 RHETORIC. Youth. The question at once arises, What is this? is it what it seems to be, a term? If so, it is not a subject at all, until the student use it ininventing a proposition, of which it is the subject; until he pre- dicate something of it, as for instance: Youth is the tiniefor education. Here, then, we have a subject in the form of a proposition: thus much at least has been the invention. of the student; he might have made a different invention. He might have said— Youth is the time for pleasure or the period of hope; or he might have propounded an inquiry: How should youth be spent? and, in each case, the inven- tion would be different. Thus, a term is only a step towards the invention‘of the true subject of discourse. But having invented the Subject, what are the next steps of the writer’s invention ? Manifestly to invent arguments to prove the assertion contained in the subject; and this haste do with the object of the discourse. ‘ ' It may be well to state, again, that a great deal‘of the vagueness, the trouble, and the discomfort of . writing compositions, arises from the want of we/ll- defined subjects. Young persons will confess that they do not know what to write about, when in reality they are trying to expand their thoughts over a range capablexof containing hundreds of volumes; and in almost every case it is because they take terms, rather than propositions, for their themes. One writes u‘pon THE OBJECT OF DISCOURSE. 189 Rome, another upon Carthage, a third upon the Eng- lisli revolution; subjects, the development of which have been life-labours to distinguished literary men; and which it is now designed to treat in the space of‘ three or four pages; and thus vague, weak, and puerile essays are the consequence; whereas, had some proposition been formed—some special inquiry propounded, the subject would be narrowed down, and the object more clearly defined. (53.) The Object of DiscourSe. Passing now to the consideration of the object of discourse, we have already stated it to be in the first instance Instruction in general; but, in its subordi? nate divisions, Conviction and Persuasion. Some writers have included two other objects, viz., Explanation and Excitation ,4 explanation preceding conviction, and excitation coming before persuasion; but explanation is manifestly contained in the idea of discourse itself, as to its instruction, and must be regarded rather as a means to attain the object than an object itself, and excitation, or the effect on the passions, the swaying the feelings, is also ameans of attaining" an object, rather than an object itself of dis- COurse It is frequently used to produce persuasion, or a change of will. l Conviction implies the producing belief by means 190 RIIETORIC. of argument; and Persuasion the change of the will, which will lead to a change in action or character; or will cause us to abandon the course we formerly pursued. As has been before clearly stated, under these two general topics all the objects of discourse may be ranged: the special objects or designs of dis- course are very numerous; in most discourses these two designs are combined, and in all they constitute the sole objects, viz., to convince and to persuade. If it be asked whether these are the ends of all discourse, such for example as the Eulogy, let the following explanation answer ;—The object of the Eulogy is to convince our hearers of the true merits of the person eulogized, and of his claims to such distinction, and to persuade them to accord him due praise, and to imitate his acknowledged virtues. Perhaps there is no better illustration of conviction and persuasion, as the true objects of discourse, than is to be found in the Bible; the aim of which is to convince men of the truth of their own lost state, and 'the way of salvation ; and to persuade them to accept the ofi‘ers of mercy and salvation made throughithe * atonement of Christ. INVENTION. 191 CHAPTER VIII. OF CONVICTION. (54.) The Rhetorical Use of Arguments. FIRST, then, let us consider Conviction as an object of discourse. . . If, as has been justly stated, Rhetoric “holds of Logic by the sense,” then, in the attempt to convince a person of the truth of a subject or proposition, the effort of Rhetorical invention is to find arguments, as to their subject-matter or thought,by which to prove the given proposition; and thus, while it is the province of Logic to apply its formulae and dictum, and to judge of the validity of the arguments when found, it is that of Rhetoric to find fitting arguments; to arrange them in a proper and confirmatory order, so as to make them of the strongest proof, and by their means to convince the bearer or reader of the truth of the propositions laid down at the outset. And here let it be Observed, that as a proposition, when stated, requires proof, it may be generally, con- ; sidered as embodying an argument. Just as a term 192 RIIETORIC. is vague until it be embodied in a proposition; so is a proposition disallowed until it be provedflhat‘ is, until it be expanded into an argument. Now, the proof required may be of difierent de- grees of difficulty, rangingfrom the intuitive acknow- ledgment of the proposition to‘a severe and-long- continued process of induction. But Rhetoric de- mands of every proposition brought forward that it be proved. This consideration of arguments, thesmost import- ant part of Rhetoric‘as an art, has been'very much neglected, and in many cases entirely overlooked. It is evident that the knowledge on any given subject used in this kind of invention, and with which the logical forms of argument are invested, must be derived from the difi‘erent sciences about which we may write, whether it be Logic, Mathematics, The- ology, Law, or any other. For this knowledge Rhe- toric is not responsible. ' I The first step in this process of invention to con- vince, is the use of terms in the framing of ‘proposi— tions throughout the discourse: these move hand in hand to form arguments in the later processes. Then comes the arrangement of arguments, and the combination of many arguments; so as to form the body of proof for which we are seeking. To illustrate this: in its lower process‘Instruction begins with the presenting to] the learner terms: as, INVENTION. 193 for instance, we show him what is the sky, and then, by 'a card or system of colours arranged upon paper, What is blue, we have imparted to him two terms, and . are ready now for the next step, which is the framing of the proposition: the sky is blue; and so for as many terms as he is able to comprehend. But this is the most elementary learning; only used, here,vf0r the sake of illustration. In general it will be seen that by the ordinary means of observation, most men have a large num- ber of terms at their disposal, so that this first pro- cess of Instruction will be usually unnecessary. We may proceed to the second. The second, then, is in practice really the first and most important in this process. It has been justly called an “Inquiry after propositions ;"’ which, as we have seen, concerns the choice of a subject of dis- course, and all the subsequent steps of construction. The forms which a proposition may assume to a learner, and with which Rhetoric is immediately con- cerned, are threefold, and grow out of our investiga- tion of a term. Thus, suppose the term is A, we shall have :-— ' \ Question 1. What is A? Answer, A is B. “ 2. Why is A, ‘B? “ 3. What follows from the fact that A is B? In which the answers to 2 and 3 constitute the 17 N 194 RHETORIC. invention of the discourse, 2'. e., of arguments to con‘ Vince. ‘ ‘ Thus, let us take the term man, and by the first question let us reach the familiar example :— JVIan 2's mortal; being possessed of both terms, mart and mortal. The learner is first concerned with the fact, which‘is an answer to the first question; secondly, his curiosity leads him to know why man is mortal, thus opening many questions of natural and revealed religion ; and, thirdly, if man be mortal, and all the causes for that mortality are distinctly present to him, what mo- mentous consequences result from such a fact, spring- ing from such causes. For the general division of propositions, and of their logical arrangement, reference must be made to Grammar and Logic: but there are important ques- tions connected with both that come more directly within the scope of Rhetoric. (55.) 0f the Dzfierent [finals of Arguments. ‘SuppOSe that we have found certain propositions, which constitute the subject, and the general heads or divisions of our discourse; if, now, we consider the difl'erent kinds of arguments, and their adapta- tion to rhetorical use, we shall find that the logical divisions of argument are not of service to us; be- DIFFERENT KINDS OF ARGUMENTS. 195 cause Logic divides arguments according to the form simply, as, for example, into regular or irregular; categorical or hypothetical; full or abridged, &c., all of which have only a reference to the logical formulae in which they appear. ‘ Now, since it is the adaptation of thought to argument, about which rhetoricallinvention is con- cerned, this division is useless, since the same thought expressed rlaetorically may be in any one of these forms, viz., in a regular or irregular argument, or it may be fully written out or abridged. vArguments, then, which are only different inform, are not different arguments at all in the intendment of Rhetoric: as Rhetoric could use all these forms to arrive at one and the same conclusion. And, again: if we divide arguments as to the na- ture of the Science upon which they are used, into moral and demonstrative, for example; this has no reference toRhetoric. This has really to do with the substance of the distinct propositions under con- sideration,‘ and not to the nature of the arguments themselves; the former would be concerned about moral or mental science, and the latter about mathe- ' matics or exact science. Again: arguments have been divided according to the intention of the person Who uses them; as, for example, Whether it be to prove a conclusion directly from given premisses, or to prove that no other con- .— "q ‘7...» 196 RHETORIC. clusion can be true, and hence indirectly to show that the desired one is true. ‘ Thus, in Mathematics, we have both kinds of proof; we prove that the sum of the angles of a triangle will be equal to two right angles, directly ; and we prove, indirectly, that since no other point is the centre of the circle, C must be so. But this is evidently of no use, as a rhetorical division of arguments; and it becomes necessary to seek another: that which is justly stated as a rhe- torical division is a division growing out of the rela- tion of the subject-matter or meaning of the premisses, to the subject-matter or meaning of the conclusion, supposing it to be granted. (56.) Rhetorical Division of Argument. We arrive, then, at the only just division of argu- ment which is recognised by Rhetoric; that is, the division which is based upon the relation existing be- tween the premisses and the conclusion, as to their subject-matter, ,or meaning. Thus, we may have the logical form :— A is B, C is A, Therefore C is B. But, to consider the argument rhetorically, it behooves us to know the meaning of the several pro- RHETORICAL DIVISION OF ARGUMENTS . 197 positions, A is B, 0' as A, and 0 23 B, and then the relation subsisting between them as premisses and conclusion. Now, this subject-matter and these rela- tions, it is evident, remain invariable, although writ— ten out in any one of a number of forms. Thus, let us invest the logical formula just written, with thought, as follows :— All men are mortal, All Americans are men, All Americans are mortal; This full or complete argument might have been abridged, by suppressing the major premiss; and we should’have the equally valid form—— All Americans are men, Therefore They are mortal. Or, we might have written it in the form of a condi- tz'on :— If all Americans are men, They are mortal; in which the same argument is expressed. And so ‘ for the other logical forms; but the rketorzcal part, 2' e., the relation of the subject-matter of the pre- misses to the subject-matter of the conclusion remains the same for all. Arguments, then, in which this rela- tion subsists, may be called Rhetorical Arguments. There are two principal divisions of Rhetorical 17* ' rm affirmivar‘ . ' , 198 RHETORIC. Arguments, under which every variety,—and there are many,——will be classed. I. Arguments in which the premisses are stated as the cause of the conclusion; or, in more general phrase, where the premisses may be considered sufi‘i- cient to account for the truth laid down in the con- clusion. These have been called a priori arguments; and this phrase, in general, signifies the reasoning from cause to efi‘ect ; thus, having as a conclusion or effect the grand and complete mechanism of Nature around us, and as premisses, the goodness and the omnipotence of God; we reason from these latter as a cause, to the former as an effect. So we reason from human corruption and human need as a cause, to the probability of a revelation from God as an effect. II. In the second division are included all other kinds of arguments, or those in which the premisses would not serve to account for the conclusion, sup- posing it granted; but would bea sign of its truth, or would lead by analogy or‘ experience to such a conclusion. For the sake of convenience in refer- ence, arguments as to their rhetorical use may be put in the form of a scheme, or tree of division. All merely logical forms are excluded, as they will be fully treated and explained in the treatise on Logic. ' , Scheme of Rhetorical Arguments, According to the relation of the Subject-matter OF A PRIORI ARGUMENTS. 199 of the premisses, to the subject-mattenof the con- clusion. ‘ They are divided into [—— J—_-—__—\ r——————————-*—-——-—-_fi r— —-—-"——-—--fi 0‘. priori arguments; or those in arguments in which the premisses which the pr'emisses would account would not have been used to ac- for the conclusion, if the conclusion count for the conChXSion; subdi- were assumed as true. vided into ,____._._..__ __'__._)~.._.___\ Sign. ,1 Example. ,————-v'-—-—'*‘-‘—‘-Y'——'fi r————w—"——r—'~'\ Testimony. Chances. Prog. Argument. &c. Induction. Experience. Analogy. &c. , In the use of the phrase, a‘ priori, a much larger latitude is permitted than it at first would seem to allow; but to give this latitude will simplify the divi- sion and the discussion of rhetorical arguments very much. Thus rightly to use the words cause and efiect, we would say that the intense cold is the cause of the river’s being frozen; but, by a Wider use of these words, we also say, that it will freeze, because the mercury falls in the thermometer. Whereas, in reality, the falling of the mercury is the efiect of cold, and the cause of nothing. In the View of Rhe- toric we call all these kinds of arguments, however, 02 priorz' arguments, since the conclusion in question is, in each case, fully accounted for by the given pre- mises; if it is not the direct cause, it takes us by one step to the direct cause. i, (57.) IOf d priowl Arguments. In the first form giVen, 2'. e. of arguments in which 200 RHETORIC. the proposition in question, whether it be the theme of the discourse, or one of the subordinate proposi— tions laid down in the discourse, is to be proved,——we adopt the proposition as a given conclusion, and then ' seek for premisses which, under the circumstances, would be supposed to account for it as a cause. And here, as it appears, it is not necessary to con- ceive either the conclusion or the premisses to be real, existent, facts; but, for the sake of the argu- ment, we agree to consider them so, during the dis- cussion or discourse. Thus, in poetry, and in prose fiction, the whole body of the discourse, beginning with the subject, is fabulous, and yet the rhetorical arguments must be used properly and naturally to construct the discourse. We need not particularize here: take any one of Scott’s novels, and trace its construction; the train of argumentation must be rhetorically correct, and the arrangement of the plot must be probable ; for the time being we regard the story as true ; and the genius of the author is dis— played 1n establishing that verisimihtude of na1rat1on which we call natural and probable; and which causes the scene to glow with light, and the personages of his creation to walk upon it in a life—like manner. But in the construction of argumentative discourse, there is no such temporary illusion; we demand ovalid arguments, containing true subject-matter, rhe- torically invented, and placed in a just order of OF A PRIORI ARGUMENTS. 201 arrangement, before We admit the proposition or pro- positions as proved. And here it will be well to recur for a moment to the great ambiguity existing in the words expressive of cause and efiect: such as because and therefore, and many similar words; and the answers implied in the question, Why .9 Thus there are two meanings of because, or, rather, two common applications of the word, which are both in ordinary use as correct: the one expresses the rela- tion of antecedent and consequent; as, for instance, a man is wounded because he is shot by a pistol ball; or we say that sensation is the cause of perception. A second meaning is the referring of the particu- lar fact in question to a general law, under which it will be a Special example; thus, if I drop my hat, I say it falls to the earth because of gravitation. N ow the lawxof gravitation is a general law or genus; the dropping of the hat is a species. or individual case under that genius; but the genus accounts for the species. ‘ ‘ Another use of the word because, is an entirely improper one. Thus, I say :i “It is warm to-day.” You ask “Why ‘3” My answer is: “Because the people are wearing thin clothes.” This, it is evi- dent, is the reverse of the true statement; and, in place of because,~ we should read therefore. The, word tberefore is used exactly in the reverse meaning \ 202 RHETORIC. of the word because, and is as incorrect in general in its use. , The ambiguity of the word why, is of very con- stant occurrence. Sometimes we ask, Why? when we desire to find out the cause of a thing; thus :— Why are the days and nights exactly equal at cer- tain periods within the tropics? Or we ask, Why? when we desire a reason, as in geometry, thus : Why is an inscribed angle measured by half the are included between its sides? Or, when we desire only a rule by which to work, we use the word, Why? Sometimes, also, the object of an instrument is asked by the interrogation, Why? thus: Why isthi’ss'machine thus constructed? (58.) Second Division of Rhetorical Arguments. In the second division of rhetorical arguments laid down in the table, we class by far the greater number and variety of them. They are those in which the premisses could not be considered as accounting for the fact contained in the conclusion, supposing that to be granted. This class of arguments has been sub-divided into two kinds, and these have been called Sign and Example, as our scheme of division has already displayed. Other varieties, supposed to be different from these, in earlier periods, are all now included under them. ' SIGN. 203 (59.) Sign. Under this head are included all those arguments dependent upon proof: unlike the arguments a? priori, in which the existence of the effect implies and grows out of the existence of the cause. What we desire in these arguments is not to establish the cause of the conclusion, but its truth. If, instead of a cause, we speak of a condition, which does not, indeed, account for the effect, but, without which,'the effect could not exist, (with which, indeed, the effect miglzt not exist); we express what is called a Sign of its existence. Thus, if a man who . is suspected of having committedymurder, be found with bloody hands, or a bloody knife, we should say this was a condition of the eflect, or a sign—not always, be it remembered, an unfailing one—that he had perpetrated the deed: for his hands might have been made bloody in some other way. Sometimes, though not frequently, the Sign is a certain one; as, for example, the freezing of water is a sure sign that the mercury in Fahrenheit’s thermometer has fallen below 32°. The argument is evidently of this nature, also, when having a proposition to prove as an eject, and having no cause assigned, we endeavour to prove something to be a cause. From what has been said, then, of thisisecond 204 RlIETORIC. division of arguments, it will be seen that some- times, we reason from an efl'ect back to a cause, which we endeavour to prove a just or due cause; and sometimes from the effect, not to a cause, but simply to a condition, which is a sign, to be carefully consulted, of the effect contained in the conclusion. And here we open upon the whole subject of testi- mong, which, it will be observed, is an argument of this second division; a proposition is stated as a conclu- sion to be proved, and testimony is required to prove it. Testimony, then, is one kind of sign; and it deserves, in the construction of discourse, the most careful investigation and Weight, for upon it the great burden of conviction falls. (60.) Retvimong, as an Argument. It is not within our scope to enter at length into' the kinds of testimony, and the manner of weighing evidence; this forms a most important investigation in the discussion of many sciences, and in the admin- istration of public laws. Many persons regard the use of testimony in the I establishment of the truth of propositions as very simple and unerring; but if we consider the many and delicate elements which enter into the account, we shall find this to be a great mistake. border to guard against such an error, let us takeia general WITNESSES. 205 survey of the subjects of testimony, of the witnesses, of the character of the evidence, and of the modes by which testimony is obtained. (61.) Fact and Opinion. Let us consider for a moment what the question or proposition is upon which the testimony‘is desired; whether it be only a matter of fact or a matter of opinion; for example, in a case of trial of overt crime, it may be, not onlyiwhether a person commit- tedthe deed in question, which is a matter of fact, but whether, if the deed was committed, the commis- sion constituted a crime, which is a matter of opinion. Observe, again, that a matter of opinion like this, being amenable to some standard of right and wrong opinions, will, when applied to that standard, become also a matter of fact ; and thus fact and opinion are, to some extent, relative terms. (62.) Witnesses. Again: the character of the persons who give evidence is of the greatest importance in arriving at the truth, for a witness must not only be an honest man, and design to tell the truth, but he must also be a man capable morally and mentally of determin- ing what the truth is in the case, before him. If we first consider the sincerity of the witness, we shall i 18 206 RHETORIC. find this affected not only by the bias of avowed dis~ honesty, but by prejudices of rank, age, family, sta— tion, and various other kinds. If, then, a person’s expressed opinion chime with his interests or his wishes, his testimony has not the Weight it would have if it was found to be counter to both. Such is the bias of the human mind, even‘when the general intention is honest. Again: upon a disputed point the number of‘wz't- nesses who concur in giving the same testimony are of great importance. By witnesses, here, we do not mean merely adherents of a doctrine or science, believers in a fact which they never witnessed, who are ignorant themselves, but pin their faith to the _ skirts of others; we refer to real witnesses of the facts. The element of. social influence is here ex- cluded; each man must testify only of what be per- sonally knows, and not what he believes some one else to have seen or to know. It will be further observed that testimony as a sign of the truth of a given proposition, is frequently pro- duced by those who, although witnesses of the fact, had no intention to give evidence of its truth; and such evidence is of great value. Such is th‘etesti- mony to the bravery and firmness of the Nervii as borne by Caesar, when, without, designing to give them‘such an encomium, he tells us that they rushed upon the piles of their own dead as upon an emi- TESTIMONY. 207 nence, and when their own darts were exhausted, seized and returned the heavy javelins, the pilot thrown at them by the Romans; and again, he merely relates a fact which is powerful testimony to the reality of that German valour which only needed the severe instruction of the a Roman wars to fit them for the subversion of the entire Roman empire. 4‘ Fight us,” is the language of Ariovistus to the Romans; “you will learn to know us; we are a nation that have been under no roof for fourteen years.” Of the nature of undesigned testimony is fre- quently the testimony'which comes from an adver- sary, and which, as it must go counter to his own wishes, is to be considered as of great value. It is usually not straightforward testimony, but is inciden- tally given, and is brought out of its designed-place to bear upon the question at issue. It will be further observed, that the testimony given by a number of witnesses, although that borne by each may be slight and insufficient, often is of great weight when taken together; all concurring in the general fact which 1s to be proved. Some writers have mentioned, as a kind of evi- dence, what is ealled negativetestz’mony. When a certain argument publicly made, and known to have opponents, remains unanswered, this is strong evi- dence of its validity and“ power; for we immediately say, “ If they can answer it, why dorthey not ?” and 208 RHETORIC. the triumphant inference is, that it is unanswerable. In a controversy, the party silenced is usually the party beaten. As to the nature of the propositions with regard to Which testimony is given, they may be of difi'erent degrees of probability. Some are highly probable, and the testimony demanded is but slight, for the mind is ready to give its assent on small proof: others are very improbable, and the testimony must be clear and conclusive. And yet sometimes the very impro- bability of a story leads to our doubting that it could be fabricated, and gives a sort of antecedent proof of its truth. It becomes an important matter to determine how testimony should be obtained, so as to insure its truth in point of fact. (63.) 0f the Modes of obtaining Testimony. As we cannot depend upon the word of all men, without certain greater sanctions than are ordinarily presented, it becomes important to determine some other means of obtaining the truth. 4 There are many men whose testimony, like their lives, is always honest; but there are others, who need, so to speak, a little spur to make them honest in giving evidence. FOr this reason the civil oath has been prepared, which, promising to tell “the whole 18 * CROSS-EXAMINATION. 209 truth, and nothing but the truth,” ends with the for- mula, “ So help me God I” By this is implied two things: First, a petition that God will help the per- son so sworn, to tell the truth; and, second, that if he do not tell the truth, he gives up the help of God, which is the source of our happiness and prosperity. There are many men, who, while they do not scru- ple to falsify in their ordinary talk, dare not tell a lie under oath. For those, and they constitute a lamentably large class, whocare nothing for the sanctity of an oath; who take it with a mental reservation, or in any way are willing to slight its sacred character, our laws have provided in the statutes for the crime of perjury, and thus they are led by the fear of conse- quences to tell the truth. (64.) Cross-examination. But to get at the truth, by superior legal shrewd- ness, and often without the knowledgeofithe Witness, as to the exact bearing of his answers, we have rwhat is called cross-examination; which so disconnects the evidence, until the whole is drawn out, that the sum- . mary made by the whole is different in form from the expectation of the witness. In cross-examination bya skilful hand, a liar or pr’evaric‘ator is often made 0 210 RHETORIC. to contradict himself, and thus his testimony falls to the ground. 7 Although not of a rhetorical nature, it cannot be amiss to refer for a moment to the objections brought against civic oaths; and we do so for the purpose of asserting our belief that the civic oath, in an enlight- ened country, is one of the safe-guards of the govern- ment, and should be preserved inviolate. The fre- quent use of the oath has been .said to make the invocation of God too common; and, "since He is called to Witness in such transactions, it might lead to the inference, that He does not witness and judge all our actions. It has been further said, that the Bible is opposed to oaths, as in the passage: “ Let your communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay, for whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil ;” and again : “ Swear not at all.” Without mentioning other objections, for want of space, let us content ourselves with affirming that the invocation of God’s holy name can never be too common, if it carry the right spirit with it. Let it pervade all our institu- tions, if “ the words of the mouth” be accompanied by “ the meditations of the heart.” Again : the transac- tions in which an oath is required, are/those involving great interests, and making it all important to get at the truth; and the Bible is full of solemn assevera- tions precisely like our oaths. “Behold, before God, I lie not,” says the apostle; and God himself, “Since \ DOCTRINE OF CHANGES. 211 he could swear by‘no greater, sware by himself.” The injunction, ‘6 Swear not at all,” refers to profane or light swearing, and not to legal oaths. ( 65 ) Concurrent Testimony. The concurrence of testimonies, however slight each may be, deszgned to prove a certain fact, has been already leferred to; but the testimonies to similar facts which confirm each other, seem frequently to have had no direct purpose to piove the fact 1n ques- tion; they Were incidentally and very vaguely men- .tioned; thus, although the allusion in our Lord’s] paiable of the Prodigal S022, to His gracious design to include the Gentiles in his promised salvation, 1s said to be so slight that one would hardly be war- ranted in interpreting it thus; when a similar though equally slight allusion is found in many other para- bles, as, undoubtedly 1n the R2072 Mom. and Lazarus, and also 1n the Labourers 222 the V2neyarol, and others; we can have no doubt that he vaguely proposed this purpose in each, although there were few if any of those that heard him who understood his meaning. (66.) ‘Doctr-ine‘of 0726122068. Among the probable arguments which may be taken as signs of a given conclusion, is that arising“ from , what has been called the calculation of chances: and 212 RHETORIC. \ this is an argument of constant use, and very general application. We Speak, in common parlance, of there being a small chance of such an occurrence; or again, we say that there are ten chances to one that such another thing will occur. And in this phraseology we undoubtedlyhave a meaning. This subject has opened to the mathematician some of the most difficult problems, and must be treated with great care lest it lead us into error. We can hardly do more than mention it here. 7 It is not of course meant, by the use of the Word chance, to imply that anything happens by accident; but we express by it our ignorance of the connection between natural causes and their results; and we endeavour to reason partially from what we know, to that which we do not know, but which this calcula- tion of chances enables us to approximate. Thus :— if those who have the yellow fever probably die, and those who are exposed to it will: probably take it, then we may determine, in current phrase, ‘what will be the chance of a certain man’s dying of yellow fever who is exposed to it. Suppose ten out of twelve who have it, die ; and suppose that one-half of those who are exposed to it, take it; then if we express certainty by 1, we shall have the fraction }.0— — 5 to , express the chance which any one attacked :with 3the fever stands of dying; and i will express the chance which any person who is exposed stands of getting’it. PROGRESSIVE ARGUMENT. 213’ /\ Multiplying these two fractions, we shall determine what the chance is that any individual who is exposed son has the chance of 5 out of 12 of dying; while his chance of living is 7 out of 12. In other words, he has a better chance of living than of dying. This, to the fever, will die. g % : T53, or such a per- of course, is only a probable, never a certain conclu- sion. . Now, this argument is converted into a fallacy very often in times of alarm from pestilence: the feeling of fear exaggerates danger, and it is said of any one who is exposed in the manner above described, that he will certainly die. This subject may be found more expanded in the treatise on Logic (p. 202). It only need be referred to in this connection, as one form of rhetorical argument very commonly used. (67.) Regressive Argilmcnt. Last. of the second division of Rhetorical Argu- ments enumerated under the head of. Signs, we have the argument which comes, as it were, to a climax of ' proof, by the succession and order of the several arguments, on experiments, or facts, all of which bear upon one point. Such is the argument by which we provethe law that a body set in motion in an unre- sisting medium, will move with uniform Velocity in a right line, and will never stop, or be deflected, unless m - hflihfihm. H , 214 RHETORIC. it meet some check or resistance. As every known medium is a resisting medium, we approximate to the law by this progressive argument; that is, by trying the experiment successively in media less and less resistant‘until we approach as nearly to one un- resisting as possible; in each case the motion is longer continued, and more nearly in a right line. But one of the most curious and interesting of arguments in this form is found in the Hebrew ser- vice for the two firstxnights of Passover: it is the argument by which the Hebrews prove their indebted- ness to Jehovah :— “ What abundant favours hath the Omnipotent con- ‘ ferred on us! <4 For if he. had but brought us forth from Egypt, and had not inflicted justice, upon the Egyptians, it Would have been sufficient. ‘ “If he had inflicted justice upon them, and had not executed judgment upon their gods, it would have been suflicient. “ If he had executed judgment upon their gods, and had not Slain their first-born, it would have been sufficient. . “If“he had slain their first-born, and had not be- i i stowed their wealth on us, it would have’beensufli- A cient.” And thus, enumerating the dividing of the sea; the , drowning of the Egyptians , the pillar of cloud, and / EXAMPLE. 215 of fire ; the miraculous manna; the institution of the Sabbath ; the law given» at Sinai; the promised land of Israel; each of which would have been abundant proof of his goodness: the high priest thus con- eludes:— u If he had brought us to the land of Israel, and had not built the temple, it would have been sufli- cient. HOW much, then, are we indebted for the manifold favours the Omnipresent conferred on us, (for he hath done all these things); and built the chosen holy templefor us to make atonement for all our sins." ' The argument from Progressive Approach, has been used to prove the attributes of the Deity; the mission of the Gospel in the world, and other very im- portant propositions; but our space forbids more than a general explanation and a single illustration. (68.) Example. This word, which is the translation of the smog of Aristotle, does not satisfactorily express its meaning; but it has has} used by all English rhetoricians for the Greek word, and so, although not just, we shall use it simply» as a title, to include a number of impor- tant arguments. Ecxos means something like, or resembling ; and 'the use of the word Example to express the other 216 RHETORIC. general subdivision of the second class of rhetorical arguments, would include all cases in which ,we arrive at a conclusion not absolutely certain, but approximating to the establishment of a general laW. Thus we have Induction, Where, from particular ex- amples, we reason to the establishment of a general law; Analogy, where there is a resemblance of the relations of things; as, if a certain poison will kill a. dog, we reason by analogy that it will kill a man; Experience, or from what we know to have occurred, 7 we judge that by the use of the same means we may cause again to occur: and other forms, all ranging under the general topic of the macs, or Example. We shall consider these briefly in the order named. (69.) 0]" Induction. ,Induetion consists in passing from a number of particular examples to the determination of a general law; thus :— . Jupiter, Saturn,\Venus, Mars, the Earth, &c., move round the sun in elliptical orbits. But all these are planets. Therefore, all planets move round the sun in elliptical orbits. p Here, what we know of individual planets, is asserted to be true of all planets. But, sinceall the planets have not been yet discovered; and since some further investigation may find a planet whose ANALOGY. 217 orbit is not an ellipse,.we only attain by scientific induction to the extreme probability or likelihood, and not to certainty. But sometimes the process of induction is made satisfactorily to depend upon only a single example. Thus, if in chemistry we find by one experiment that nitro-muriatic acid dissolves. gold, we need not make other experiments with new pieces of gold and new acid; because this single example establishes the general law, that chlorine is a solvent of gold. (70.) Analogy. Analogy, as has been already remarked, is a re- semblance, not of objects, but of their purposes and relations; thus there is an analogy between an egg and a seed, because each produces an original growth ; between the life of man and the mutations of the year; between youth and the morning. It need scarcely be observed, that in no Cases of analogy are the objects mentioned alz'lce ; but it is their relation to each other which is similar. 7 _ The teachings of our Saviour are full of analogies; and the, parables are very striking examples of the use of this form «of argument. Men are likened to trees, to sheep, to 007%, &c. But, it should be observed that analogy does not give ‘us certain conclusions; .thus, if we reason from ' , 19 218 ‘ RIIETORIC. the similarity of the general structure of man and the brute, that what would be a poison to man would also kill a brute, we should err, because we have ‘found by experiment that some brutes are totally unharmed by certain drugs which are strong poison to man. ‘ Among the most striking arguments in this ‘form are historic analogies, which need to be handled'with the greatest care, lest we commit grievous error in attributing the characteristics and specific actions of . one age or race, to another most unlike it. Such an analogy may be found in the revolutions in England and France; the former resulting in the decapitation of Charles I. in 1649, and being followed by the restoration of Charles II. in 1660; and the latter in the execution of Louis XVI. in 1798, and the subsequent restoration of Louis XVIII. in 1814. But, although there are striking resemblances now to be discerned between the two, no one would have been justified by the relations of France and England in having reasoned from the results of the ‘English rebellion, by analogy, to the probable results of the French revolution. / ' i \ In general, we use the phrase parity of reasoning, when we mean analogical reasoning. EXPERIENCE. 219 (71.) Experience. ' Another form of argument, which may be stated under the general topic of Example, is'the argument from experience. It is, perhaps, the most satisfactory of all to most minds. It has been justly said, that it is only the past which we can know certainly by experience, and yet we judge of the future by the past. ' Thus, in the operations of the commonest laws of nature around us, we judge by experience. It is because, in all our past lives, we have known the sun to rise and set daily, that we feel sure it will rise and set to-morrow. This, it will be observed, is one form of induction, since frOm past examples, or indi- vidual cases, we venture to establish a general law, Which-will include the future. This form of argument is very frequently used in discourse. Speakers appeal for proof of what they say, to the experience of their hearers; and if they can attain this, they are sure of success. Patrick Henry enunciated" the very law in his famous appeal to the Legislature of Virginia, when he said: “I have no lamp by which my feet are guided, but the lamp of experience. I know no ,way to judge of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish‘to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the mmmmwvw—.w~a _ 220 RHETORIC. last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gen- tlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House.” A sailor will tell you that. he knows, by experience, the'best season to make a certain voyage, or the pre- cautions necessary to be taken in certain latitudes. And thus experience furnishes us with the strongest , and most satisfactory arguments in common life. (72.) Real and Invented Examples. As has been before remarked, in considering ano- ther kind of argument, it is not necessary that the examples which are used in proof of a question, be real facts; they may be entirely unreal, and made to suit a supposed case: but they must bear a strong analogy to the case in point. Socrates, who designed to condemn the practice of choosing public officers by lot, brought forward, as an invented example, the story of certain sailors who chose their steersman by ‘ lot; intending thereby, in both cases, to inveigh against a custom which would frequently lead to the choice of an unskilful person to control the lives and fortunes of others; to standat the helm of ship or state. i x In every case, such invented examples must have. an air of fitness and probability, or they will be entirely ‘ without weight. Fifi v: THE TOPICS OF ARGUMENTS. 221 Invented examples, like the one just mentioned, are of frequent use as illustrations; but, besides these, Fables may be also classed among exam- ples of this sort; they ofl'er examples of analogy, and the proof which they thus convey in the story which forms the premisses, gives us, as a conclusion, the moral of the fable. (73.) The Topics of Arguments. In closing this general outline. of arguments, as they are employed in Rhetoric, it may be well to ‘ State that the general subject of proof in discourse, has been, by the older rhetoricians, all included under the general head of the Topics. This word, called by Aristotle fortOb, and by the Latin professors loci, means, literally, the division of arguments into their diiierent classes or places, where they rightly belong. We have designed to simplify the division by classing them all as rhetorical arguments, and by narrowing the subordinate classes; particularly be- cause, in the progress of the art of Rhetoric, the nature and titles of the Topics have changed very ‘ much since the dayslof Aristotle. Thiis, Quintilian enumerated among his Topics : prejudications, which may correspond with the argu- ment from experience; common fame, which has 19* 222 ‘ RHETORIC. something in common with general testimony; and, under what we would call Signs, he enumerates as topics, written documents, witnesses, oaths, g0. An adequate nomenclature is, indeed, the just demand of any science ; but such quaint, unnecessary, and historically-changing, words, are only mentioned here to give a reason Why they are not used by us, and how we may dispense With them, and be better ofi‘ Without them. They are only needed in a His- tory of Rhetoric. ,{ /‘ 5-1”: c ‘ MODES or USING ARGUMENTS. 223 CHAPTER IX. (74.) 0f the Modes in which Arguments are used in Discourse. IT now becomes important to consider some of the modes in, which rhetorical arguments are advanced in discourse; as, for example, whether in proof of some proposition asserted by ourselves, or in disproof of some objection started by our adversary; whether in any discourse it becomes us to prove what we assert; or simply to deny what our opponent has asserted, and let the burden or necessity of proof fall upon him. ' All such questions must be settled by the nature of our special design in the discourse; we may be called upon to instruct and satisfy an honest mind seeking for truth, and anxious to ‘receive and \use it when feund; or it may be to combat the prejudices, and compel the belief of our opponents, who at the same time are doing all in their power to? resist the truth and maintain error. It is very evident that the nature of the arguments used in these‘severalrcases would be very difi'erent; and that what would be a 224 ' RIIETORIC. ( weak and unconvincing argument to determined op- position, might be sufficient and satisfactory to the ardent inquirer for truth: just as the earnest watcher for light would catch the first faint streakings of the dawn, which would be lost to one who is content to grope in the opposite darkness. ‘ (75.) ' 0f the Burden of Proof. First, then, it is of great importance, in the pro- cess of our discourse, to lay down What may be pre- sumed to be true, wz'tlzout proof; or, in other words, to determine on which side in any controversy rests the burden of proof—that is, the necessity to prove what is asserted. 1 . Thus, we find intuitiVely established in the mind of man, a belief in,'and an aspiration after, a First Great Cause—which we call God. The proofs of the existence of the Infinite Deity are all around. us, and address themselves to our intuition as well as to our reason. With whom, then, in an argument,—not between a believerin God and an Atheist,—but an argument in which this question might incidentally occur, as a clue to other matters, with whom should the onus probandi, the burden, of proof, reside? What, to the mind of man in all parts of the World, is the presumption on this subject? is it that there is a God, or that his Being is so doubtful that it or THE BURDEN OF PROOF. ‘ 225 demands proof? Manifestly the former. So strong are our convictions, without set proof, that the human mind at once acknowledges the sagacity of the Psalm- ist, when he cries :—<‘ The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God I” The word presumption is commonly used to ex- press that a certain proposition is to be esteemed true, until it be disproved; or that the burden of proof lies with the man who disputes its truth. Thus, the presumption in favour of a proposition, and the burden of proof, lie on opposite sides. To illus- trate this, we have the well known maxim of the common law, that every man is to be considered inno- cent until his guilt be legally proven. What is this but a simple assertion that the burden of proof lies with his accusers? that, although we may know from our private judgment he is not innocent, that he is not required to prove his innocence, but that the law must prove his guilt? If sometimes, by legal quibble or sophistry, one guilty man escapes bythese means, we know, that were the other mode resorted to, many innocent men would find it impossible to prove their innocence; Many conditions might be stated in which the bur- den of proof can be easily determined; thus the pre- sumption is in favour of established and existing conventions in the werld, political, social, and relj~ gious. P 226 ' RHETORIC. Thus political conventions find their issue in govern- ments; and the presumption is in favour of, the existing government; all who make attacks upon it must be prepared with the proofs against it. In social life, the presumption is in favour of exist- ing forms, until they be proved to be evil. In reli- gion, also, the same fact holds good; what exists may be, and hassometimes been, evil, but it must be so proved; because the presumption is in favour of the institution already existing, until it be proved Wrong. Again, the same may be stated in another form; as when we say that we must always presume the in- nocence not only of a person, before the, court, but as to motives in daily life ; this view comes from that heavenly principle of charity, which, since it cannot ‘ see the motives of men—God alone can do this— always contents itself with supposing some good mo- tive for an action not in itself absolutely evil I; and thus not only “believeth all things,” “ but hopeth all things.” ‘ On the contrary, what is new and untried, has always the presumption against it; with it lies the necessity [to prove itself ‘true. Thus, although at the present day, Christianity is the greatest existing institution; and, therefore, the, presumption of its ‘ truth is strong, on that account; yet, when it first appeared, the whole case was different. The pre— OF THE BURDEN OF PROOF. 227 sumption was strongly against it, and it was called upon for proof of its divine origin. That proof, indeed, was not wanting. It poured in floods of light from our Saviour’s teachings, his blameless life, his wondrous miracles, his resurrection from the dead, his ascension to Heaven, and his pre- sence with his Church in all time since; it was seen in all the wonderful and inspired acts of the holy apostles. The early Christian fathers were men who undertook not to prove directly the falsity of the pagan philosophy, but they were apologists: they undertook to prove the truth of Christian doctrine. It should be noticed, however, in the use of this word that the presumption may be strong or weak. Thus, we constantly use such language as this: ‘4 The presumption is very strong in his favour.” So, again, presumption sometimes does not rest upon proof or intuition, but upon a sort of suspension of ‘the judgment in deference to the source whence the proposition comes; thus,‘ if a person who is claimed to be authority in science or learning, asserts as a fact something in his special department of re- search; although I~ am perfectly ignorant of the matter, I assent to it, or, if with my lesser know- ledge I incline to differ from him, I defer to his opinion; and, in many cases, if I should presume to differ from him, Ishould be” esteemed arrogant and self-conceited, In matters of subordination and ‘ 4 ‘ ’ ""‘-"' m“ “W"M*Wuwm‘ r: 228 RHETORIC. order, there can be no doubt of the great respecta- bility of authority; and the learner should surely be content to receive as true whatever comes from his teacher; but in matters within the scope of human judgment, although the presumption may be in favour of such propositions as come from high sources, we should carefully test them, and not under- value the reason and understanding which God has given us with which to find and comprehend truth. This has been admirably stated by Lord Bacon, in his “ Errors of Learning,” in quaint but choice lan- guage: “As water will not ascend higher than the level of the first spring-head from whence it de- scendeth, so knowledge derived from Aristotle, and exempted from liberty of examination, will not rise again higher than the knowledge of Aristotle; and, therefore, although theposition be good, ‘oportet discentem, credere,’ yet it must be coupled with this, ‘ oportet edoctum, judicare,’ for disciples do owe unto masters only a temporary belief, and a suspension of their own judgment, until they be fully instructed; and not an absolute resignation or perpetual captivity; and therefore, to conclude this point, I will say no more, but so let great authors have their due, as time, which is the author of authors, be not deprived of his due, which is, further and further to discover truth.” It is painfully true that this feeling of deference to the opinions of others has not only been a fre- OF THE BURDEN OF PROOF. 29.9 quent cause of leading men into error; but, what is far worse, it has (made them hypocritical, by leading them todisguise (or deny their own impressions of the truth. - , But if, on the‘other hand, a fact or proposition be stated by one for whom we have no deference, who is not regarded as authority, it is evident the pre- sumptzbn is usually against it: from him we require proof. An error equal to the one just mentioned frequently grows out of this also : instead of acknow- ledging that such a proposition maybe proved, and carefully examining the proof, we are apt to take the presumption against the proposition in question, as conclusive, and to think, although we should be unwilling to assert it, that it cannot be proved. Much might be written of the use and misuse of the presumption in favour; and of the burden of proof; but our only purpose is to explain their mean- ing, and give a general illustration of their use. It will be seen that sometimes the presumption may be removed, and placed upon the other side.’ One of the best illustrations is found in the question whether the Nathanael mentioned in St. J ohn’s Gos- pel, and called by our Saviour “ an Israelite indeed, in whom there isno guile,” was the same person who is krn‘OWn afterwards? as the Apostle Bartholomew. Now, what is the presumptzbn, in the absence of direct proof that they were the same? It is, that 20 230 RHETORIC. ' there"were two distinct persons, and not two names for the same person. But let us go a little farther: this name, Bartholomew, seems to have been among the Jews a patronymic. Simon Peter was Bar-Jena, the son of Jena; Joseph’s name was Bar-sabas; and so this apostle, in all likelihood, had another name to distinguish him from his brothers, each of whom, like, himself, was a Bartholomew, or the son of the same father. With this view the presumption is shifted, and is very strong in favoirr of the. assertion that Nathanael was also Bartholomew, especially as Nathanael, a most excellent and eminent man among the earliest followers of Christ, is nowhere mentioned again by his own name. So, also, with the change of presumptzon the burden ofproof may be sometimes shifted, as ’in the case of Christianity just mentioned. Before its establishment the necessity rested, as we have Seen, with its apolo- gists to prove its truth; but, in its present state ‘of ‘ exaltation and self-demonstrating power, the‘burden of proof is shifted; it remains for its opponents now to prove it false—a most difficult, an impossible task ; and yet one which there are not wanting men rasli enough to attempt. ’ Such has been the case, also, with almost every science known to modern times: in their early and obScure periods when they were struggling into life, in opposition to the then existing tenets, they were or REFDTATION. 231 called upon for proof of their reality: all empiricism Was thus detected and denounced; but when they took their places in the great system of classifica- tion, they noklonger Spent their time in asserting their claims, already made known; they content themselves now with leaving the onus of proof to their opponents, and with answering only objections brought against them from responsible and respect- able sources. From what has been said we see that, while pre- sumption is in itself of the nature’of proof, it does not give a necessary advantage to the side uponiwhich it lies; it challenges proof against it, indeed, but this need not be wanting, for the presumption proceeds only upon reasonable grounds, and may be removed ’ by fair argument, and a counter presumption estab- lished, or the presumption in favour, be entirely destroyed. Many persons, of more boldness than honesty, make assertions as though the presumption is in their favour; and although it is not, they some- times present so bold a front as to silence all oppo- ’ sition. _ . ' , ~. (76.) of Refumao‘n. .By—the refittation of an opponent’s argument, we imply, first, that his argument has been fairly stated, either by himself elsewhere, 01 by ourselves as em- hedied in our discourse, and that we now proceed to 3, .w3._‘ 3.1““. v» 232 RHETORIC. answer it; and thus to destroy the proposition which he has laid down and attempted to establish. There are two ways in which the proposition in question may be refuted: the fist is by destroying the arguments by which he has attempted to prove it; and the second, by proving the contradictory of his conclusion. Thus, if we have the proposition as pro~ pounded by an adversary: -— AllCisB; we may state the premlsses by which he proves this, namely, that— All A is B, All C is A, And that therefore All C is B; And then deny one of those premisses, either the major or the minor,—-and this would falsify the con- clusion;—-—or we may make the counter assertion, or proposition, that Some C is not B; ‘ which, in logical language, is the contradictory of his proposition, and undertake to prove that. ‘If we suc- ceed 1n doing this his proposition falls to the ground, since, by a logical law, if one contradictory be true the other must be false, and vice versa. Thus, let a project be proposed, and let one man undertake to prove that it must be successful, for 0F REFUTATION.- 233 certain reasons; I may refute his reasons or argu- ments, and thus destroy his proposition; or I may, quite apart from his plan of argument, prove that the project in question must fail, for certain other rea— sons. In either case I refute his assertion, and his arguments fall to the ground; and I attain the end proposed. The objections of an opponent are to be refuted; the fallacious reasoning in any discussion is likewise to be refuted; and to do this we sometimes use irony, either directly or by implication; thus, if, in order to prove his proposition absurd, we assume as true, pre- misses which we afterwards disprove—the very act is ironical. This is always done in the indirect modes \ of reasoning, known, in geometry, as the reductio ad absurdum, and in many other sciences as the reductio ad impossible. It cannot be too strongly enforced that irony, wit, humour, and ridicule, in all their forms, are dangerous weapons in argument, and are frequently used instead of valid argument to substan- tiate error; in all grave argumentative discourse they should be avoided. Thus, says Mr. Milman, in his edition of Gibbon’s Rome, 4‘ Paley, with his intuitive Sagacity; saw through the, difliculty‘ of answering Gibbon by the ’ ordinary arts of controversy; his emphatic sentence, ‘ Who can refute a sneer?’ contains as much truth {as point” 20* 234 . RHETORIC. ( 77.) Proving too flinch. It may seem strange, that in any process of argu- mentation, there should be mentioned such a fault as proeing too much. But sometimes an argument which seems to prove the proposition in question, may also prove another and an absurd conclusion; and thus the first conclusion is invalidated. If, for exam: ple, we are told that a slave was beaten to death by his master; and hence it is argued that a system which will allow it is therefore evil; then, if we find that a woman was beaten to death by her husband, or a child by his father, by the same reasoning we should object to matrimony and paternity. \ There may be, and are evils in every human system, but if we attempt to prove them by such invalid arguments, we injure, rather than support our cause. u If, in the construction of a discourse, we design to refutethe arguments of our adversary, it cannot be too strongly urged that these arguments or objections should be fairly and fully stated; simple justice demands this; and besides, the effect produced on the mind of the hearer is an excellent one, when he finds that honesty, in this particular, characterizes the discourse. Thus, even in controversy, “ Honesty is the best policy’ 1 It is a difficult and delicate question to determine 1 just how much proof of a given proposition is neces- PROVING TOO MUCH. 235 sary; how earnest may be our refutation of an oppo- nent’s position. For, the effect upon the mind of the hearer is weakened, if he finds that we are plying strong argument to prove something almost axiomatic, or to disprove something which is scarcely tenable without the attack. Thus he begins to fancy that the apparently weak assertion, which we combat with such energy, must conceal something really strong and diflicult of refutation; and as the arguments against it are increased, and the supposed latent value of the proposition rernainsstill undisclosed, the bearer begins to doubt. It is like the absurdity of levelling a cannon against a sparrow ; the bird may be instantly destroyed, but if the sportsman have no manifest reason for such gunnery, he will be regarded as in- sane. Suppose, for example, that we attempt, with our strongest arguments, to prove the existence of the Deity, which we already believe, for we have no argument as strong as our intuition; we may find ourselves in the position conceived by the poetess, ' when she speaks of “Books, which prove God’s being so definitely, that man’s doubt Grows self-defined the other side the line; Made Atheist by suggestion.” The arguments adduced should be not only valid, but clear, commensurate in number and force with the demands of the subject, not endeavouring to 236 RH’ETORIC. establish that which may be taken for granted; always ready with the just burden of proof; not proving too-much, and thus defeating themselves; and not presenting a strong and bristling front to a weak and supine enemy. The consideration of rhetorical arguments at length would require a review of many of the subjects treated by logic; such as the forms of arguments, and the different kinds of material fallacies, 2'. e. falla- cies in which the subject-matter of the premisses or of the conclusion is false. But with the foregoing indications of the forms and general use of such ar- guments, we must leave the general subject of Con- victim as an object of discourse, In the chapter on Arrangement, will be found a statement of the prOper order and sequence of rhetorical arguments, to give strength and compactness to discourse in order to convince. Before proceeding to the consideration of the arrangement of arguments, and of the other parts of discourse, we come to dwell, for a little time, upon the other principal object of diSCourse. This has been called persuasion; and, although it is not im- mediately concerned about purely argumentative dis- course, it constitutes an important— part of every dis- course of a- mixed nature, and is alone capable of exer- cising an influence over the wills and tempers of men, by which they are led to just and laudable actions. :w PERSUASION. 23! CHAPTER X. PERSUASION. PERSUASION (per and suddeo, to urge or incite through certain modes), means the influencing of the will. Obnoiction, we have endeavoured to show, is attained by the placing of new thoughts in logical forms of argument, and establishing in the mind the truth by means of valid proof. But this truth, thus armed and substantiated by proof, may be acknowledged, and assented to by the intellect, and yet exert no influence whatever upon the conduct or character, such as its acknowledgment ought to produce. We have invented our discourse to convince the Intellect; we must now undertake another process—through the feelings to sway the will. This is the work of Per- suasion. Persuasion, then, or the moving of the will, is effected by the presenting of motives to action, and by the appeal to the feelings which will give these motives an entrance and influence. First, then, of the motives to action. These, it is i338 RHETORIC. obvious, are of two kinds, and tend to show us that the special object proposed is truly a desirable one, and also that the modes by‘ which it may be attained are the ones suggested in the discourse. That is, persuasion depends first on Argument, and then on Exhortation. I. The first class of motives includes those which are purely mental, andathe conviction produced by proof addresses itself to these motives. ‘ Thus, very often, the mere presentation of the truth to produce conviction, excites these motives, and also produces persuasion. ‘ There are men who will shut their ears to all ap- peals to feeling, as intemperate and deceptive, and who will act promptly on conviction of the truth and of duty. With such, then, when we have attained the object of conviction, conviction has, at once in- duced persuasion. II. The other class of motives are such as are brought to bear upon the sensibilities, and to present such motives we make what are called appeals to the feelings; or, in other words, live play upon tile pas- sions of our hearers. In the general term sensibilities are to be included the appetites and grosser passions, the afiections of a higher Order of sentiment, and the evictions, already referred to, as excited by beauty, sublimity‘, and good- mess ; all those feelings in short which hold man in I \ 1. “f,- »v : '- OF EXHORTATION. 239 sympathy with the corporeal forms and spiritual beings around him. But the will, like all other faculties, is the crea- ture of habit, and begets a certain condition of a per- manent nature, from which neither conviction nor ordinary appeals to the feelings will drive it. This fact constitutes an important reason why we should cultivate and render permanent, good habits of the will, and avoid all evil courses which would serve to render it callous, stern, and immovable. These unbending wills are not addressed by simple conviction, because there is not a lively connection maintained between the will and the intellect; nor are they moved by the purest pathos, because they have cut loose from all the finer ties of feeling. ' (78.) 0f Exhormtion. By Exhortation is meant the attempt to excite men’s/minds to adopt the means proposed, by showing that the end to be attained is desirable and good. It may be best understood by considering the use made of it in religious discourses. For, in the subject of religion,:every one who is convinced of its truth, must acknowledge. that it is important So to live as to secure eternal life; and so it Would seem sufficient for the preacher to prove and . convince,'but such is the tenacity of man’s will, and 240 RHETORIC. so diflicult is it to make him do what he acknowledges to be right, that we know the chief necessity in a sermon is to exbort and persuade men in beseeching tones ; in the words of the apostle, the minister makes his appeal, “ As though Christ did beseech you by us, we pray you, in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” And as there are more who believe the doc- trine, than live in accordance with its precepts, ex-’ hortation must always be a chief part of the preacher’s duty. Among the means of exciting the mind used by exhortation, the first to be mentioned is the appeal to the passions. (79.) 0f Appeals to the Passions. In this general division of persuasion, it must be noticed that there are two distinct kinds of appeal, as to their moral character :— I. An appeal to human benevolence or love; the expression of some fond relation, filial, conjugal, fraternal, which awakens a kindred emotion in our hearts; the operation upon the sympathy of our hearers, causing them to rejoice with uswhen we rejoice, and to weep with our mourning, are just and proper kinds of appeal to human passion. II. But when our envy is excited, or our vanity pandered to, the appeal is manifestly“ improper: great injury is done to us, whatever results may on APPEALS TO THE PASSIONS. 241 accrue to others. Suppose, for example, some one tells me of the munificent charity of another person, whom I rival in social position, in order to cause my envy of his new distinction, and thus to lead me to give more munificently still,——whatever physical ,good may come to the poor, moral evil is done to me. All charity systems, which are thus based upon a know- ledge of human nature, or, as it is unjustly called, knowing our weak side, deserve to fail entirely of success. So, again, if a person, taking advantage of my weakness, appeals to my feeling of revenge, he does me a great wrong, and does violence to the right. . Appeals to the feelings are often usedin a falla- cious manner; to this class of fallacies belong the argumentum ad hominem, ad vereeundz’am, and ad populum ; in which the feelings of vanity, shame, and intemjoerate excitement are appealed to in place of just proof. It has already been hinted, that there are‘many minds which have calmly determined to resist all appeals to the passions, because such appeals are so often improperly made. Thus, artful women employ “ The ‘silent Rhetoric of persuading eyes,” to lure men toevil; falsehood puts on the robes of sentiment to obtain our charity; and oftentimes the orator, who would .fail‘ to carry his point in any other 21 Q 242 RHETORIC. manner, risks all upon the pathetic, and carries the will captive against our honest conviction, or without full conviction. But we should not, for these reasons, disregard such an important part of discourse as persuasion, when rightly used. And, besides, it has been well said, that if an orator makes sometimes improper‘appeals to'the passions, he does, quite as frequently, use fallacious arguments, by which to deceive us; and if we would give up appeals to the passions for such a reason, we r must, for the same reason, resign all argumentation. To keep, the mind in such a healthy and sincere state, that it will not be unduly afiected by appeals to the passions; that itself will discriminate the right and wrong of such appeals, is of prime import- ance; and then to acknowledge all proper, drafts upon our finer senSibilities—gratitude, pity, devotion, and charity, the greatest of all, and the inspirer of the rest—such is the culture of heart \which is potent , to u raise a mortal to the skies.” Let it be observed, that, although the. feelings or sensibilities are not controlled by the will, yet there is such a connection between them, as leads to a decided reciprocal influence, and giveseach an indi- rect control over the other. Thus,‘we cannot, by a. simple efi'ort of the will, directly control our love, or fear, or anger; our laughter or tears; but there is a constant efl'ort in Well-ordered minds, to make the OF APPEALS TO THE PASSIONS. 243 will, to some extent, the controller of these; and in many cases, the effort is eminently successful. Conversely, while the will is not controlled directly by these various emotions, it often yields, willingly and gracefully to their suggestions, and is led to obey their mandates. This is the strong ground taken by persuasion, when, in its efforts to influence the will, it subsidizes the feelings and appeals to the passions._ I , i It becomes important to inquire the modes in which the sensibilities are to be reached, if they cannot be reached’by an exercise of the will. If you can prove to me that a man Suffering is an object of pity; you cannot thereby, perhaps, make me pity him. The answer is, by leading the mind to candid and secret reflection upon the subject of our persuasive discourse. By an array of all the touching circum- stances, of all the tender relations, of all the obliga- tions growing out of these relations, the conscience as well as the judgment is touched and the will is lindirectly bent to the mode of thought and feeling; Such is the problem which the orator often under- takes to solve. He tells his storyin such a way, he portrays his pictures, and dwells upon the pathetic points so as to enlist the feelings, as it were, in spite of the will, andlafterwards, by their aid, to enchain the will‘ and lead it/in his train. True, he must have much art, and milst carry us along with him through- 244 RIIETORIC. out the persuasive part of his discourse; for if he fail, we are rudely thrust back upon our former state of insensibility, and are farther from the condition he designed than ever. ' And now if we are inclined to think that the orator’s persuasion partakes of the nature of trick or stratagem, let us reflect that this is just the stratagem which we practise on ourselves censtantly in leading our own minds into phases of benevolence, gratitude, or devotion; and especially in that self-censure which grows out of our constant short-comings in the matter, We may then justly subject ourselves to persuasive discourse, only using our better judgment in deter- mining that it is rightly done, and appeals to right motives. , . 1 Of the detailed methods, by which we persuade 1n discourse, very much might besaid , as, for instance, of the employment of sympathy; of patlzos, in its various forms; of the contagion of passion, by which tears demand tears, rage kindles rage, and desire begets desire; but we must content ourselves with the mention of a few of the general modes in which persuasion is used Persuasion proper has for its purpose to lead one to the performance of something new, and diflerent fromx‘a former course of action. Dissuasz'on, which is another class under the gene- ral head of Persuasion, is designed to Cause a person "v.5 ‘Tr—u <1 an undertaking Which has just been dete1mined upon, and not yet followed. There IS also a third kind 'of persuasion sometimes enumerated, the object of which is to strengthen a pe1son in the continuance of a course already adopted, and thus faI pe1severed in; but from which be Is in some danger of falling. The power of persuasion, in a public speaker, de- pends much upon the cha1acte1 which he has with his _ audience , and this character springs from the opinion which they entertain of his lzonesty, talent, and Icznol intentions towards them. To this should be added a certain amount of tact, by which, while he intends to exert power and influence, always directed with an honest azm, he shall seem to leave the natural treatment of the subject to produce the desiied efi'ect, rather than himself to be playing upon the sensibilities of the audience , and this brings us to a brief considera- tion of the manner in which the address to the feel- ings should be conducted. (80. _) 0f the Feelings. The term Feelzngs, thus used, is intended to com- piehend the passions and sentiments in all their vaiiety, and thus the kinds of effect to be produced by such an address are widely different; but a few geneIal directions will apply to them all. 21 ac- 246 RH ETORIC. When such an appeal is designed it should come without being heralded, spontaneously as it were, or it excites no sympathy. ‘ \Men, it has been before ob- served, are impatient upon this point; and dislike to have their feelings forced. And so, if a speaqu should by the manner of his address seem to. say, “ Now I amgoing to excite your anger; and now I shall claim your 'pity,”—-the heart shuts itself against such a vain-glorious boast, and remains insensible to the appeal. It is, in part at least, upon this ground that what is called good advice is often rejected; and many orations and sermons lose their hortatory power because they partake of this fault. Often it is only necessary for the persuasive part of the discourse to heighten or strengthen the impres- sion made by the conviction of truth; and thus truth itself is eloquent in moving hie will. Much, it is clear, depends also upon the illustrations which per- suasion uses to effect its purpose. Figures Of thought couched in figures of speech, such as comparisons, metaphors, the climax, and others, are used. L ' Thus, if we would awaken pity for an orphan child, who is in great want, in the breast of one who is her- self a mother, let us ask her to imagine her own child deprived of its parents, and thrown upon the mercy of a cold and thoughtless world: let us endeavour to paint such a picture, with glowing words, before her. The illuStration is potent, and the words which pre- OF ADDRESSES TO THE FEELINGS. 247 sent these may be so chosen as to make the picture a striking one, just as the colours and pencil of the artist embody his great idea with a beautiful garb to greet the eye. Such illustrations are indeed strikingly analogousto pictures. But enough has been said on the general subject of persuasion to show its design, and the general modes in which this end is attained. It.constitutes a secondary, but an important object of discourse. It becomes necessary to proceed, with- out longer explanation upon this point, to the next general division of Rhetoric. We, have discussed INVENTION at length: we come now to consider the ARRANGEMENT of discourse; and this it will be remembered is preparatory to the third and last division, STYLE. ) 248 RHETORIC. CHAPTER XI. ARRANGEMENT. (81.) The Parts of a Discourse. THE second of the great divisions of the rhetorical art, in the construction of discourse, was stated to be Arrangement. ‘ It is manifest that in the process of Invention, which has now been fully explained, much partial arrangement must have taken place; but the adapta- tion of the parts of a discourse to each other has led to an examination of these different parts and titles, indicating their places and functions in the discourse taken as a whole. In this consideration the arrangement of arguments is of the greatest importance; or we pay the greatest respect to those parts of a discourse designed to con- vince, Thus, a proper connection is kept up in the proofs of our original theme. ‘ i. ‘ As a proof of the importance of the arrangement of arguments, we have a story of ‘Demosthenes and ZEschines, [the two contestants for the palm of oratory ARRANGEMENT. 249 in Athens. In the contest “De Corona,” fEschines begged thejudges to require that Demosthenes should be compelled to answer his arguments in the same order in which he had brought them forward. But the arrangement of Demosthenes showed his skill, and aided in his success. It was entirely difierent from that which Eschines would have prescribed. For the sake of convenience, then, in the prepara- tion of a discourse, as well as to establish a general formula of the proper order in a discourse, it has been usIIally divided into the Exordinm,,Narration, Pro— position, Discussion, and Peroration. Of these we shall see that the essential parts of a discourse are the Proposition and the Discussion; and the others, though important, are only subsidiary. These all, in the order mentioned, constitute the special'as well as general arrangement of a discourse: Weproceed to explain them in order :— , i '1. The Exordinm, otherwise called the Introduc-_ .tion or Proem, is designed as it were only to open the interview between the speaker and hearer, or between the writer and reader. In this,'a general salutation is made, and the occasion and circumstances of the discourse are set forth. ' . It has been observed by Aristotle, and the same fact has been already mentioned, that the Exordium is not one of the essential partsof ,a discourse, since we may enter at once, and often without abruptness, 250 RIIETORIC. upon'the consideration of the theme of the discourse. In short discourses it is usually very brief, and fre- quently omitted altogether; in larger works, pub- lished in volumes, the Exordium, generally explana- tory of the nature of theiwork, and the circumstances under which it was written, is contained in the Prer face, or set Introduction, which prepares the mind to enter upon the work itself. Of the Exordium, and especially in that form called the Preface, it has been justly said that it should not be composed until after the work is Written, because it is only then that any author can declare what its contents are, and the circumstances which attended its production; and there would be danger of Ian- nouncing too much, and of promising a certain line of treatment which the after circumstances might ren- der impbssible. The title of a book is also of the nature of an intro, duction—that is, it is the statement of its subject; and this, although it is known and kept in mind through- out the preparation of the work, in a general Way, is often specifically determined on, after the beck is Written. Sometimes the introduction is in the form of the correction of an error, on the givensubject‘: it is then called an introduction corrective; and thus, too, according to the special design, we have the in- troduction narrative, or preparatory, or inquisitive, . 2. The Narrationis a setting forth“ of the facts ARRANGEMENT. 251 connected with the case, which have given rise to the discussion in question. This is very frequently con- tained or absorbed in the Exordium, and is sometimes included in the Proposition itself; but in an artisti- cally constructed discourse it usually enters as a dis- tinct part; and in many kinds of discourse it occu- pies the Chief place ; thus, in History and Biography, narration presents men and objects as they move or are acted upon, in a succession of time, sometimes Without reference to the existence of the causes or effects. , 3. The Proposition, which is the first essential ele- ment of a discourse, is the statement iof the parti- cular theme or subject of the discourse; and it bears of course the closest relation to the special object of the discourse. To illustrate this last remark, take any theme, such as “ The Force of Habit.” Before we begin to treat this theme it is evident We must know the object which the discourse has in view; is it to explain thephilosophy of “the force of habit,” or to prove that the law holds good with all our faculties? It may be that We design to take these for granted, and merely to exkort the young to cultivate good habits and avoid bad ones. Justly, then, the proposition‘is the subject of our discourse, when it is considered in relation to its object. In the statement of the proposition it is not un- usual to divide it into distinct heads or subordinate -- a: ., m'r‘r ., 1-24?"va 1252 / RHETORIC. propositions, to be maintained; and it is proper some- times to state, if it be a matter of controversy, the points of difference between the writer and his oppo- - nent. 4. Next in order comes theiD‘z’scussz’on. This has been divided by Some writers into the Confirmation and Refutatz’on, land has to do with the rhetorical use of arguments, already explained, and with their arrangement, which is also of very great importance. First, then, as a general rule, the writer confirms his proposition—that is, he brings forth his proofs of the proposition in the best array and strongest order. This, of course, will depend in Some degree upon the person addressed,,and the Circumstances under which the discourse is prepared. But, in the second place, he must consider the rela~ tion sustained by the arguments to each other ; some arguments are only of value as connected with others; each link alone may be weak, but put tOgether they may constitute a powe1 ful chain. With these remaiks we proceed to observe, that the most obvious arguments should take precedence in a discussion. Ofithis nature are the a‘ priori argu- ments, or those which reason from cause to efi‘ect. These attack the mind more readily than others, and engage the attention mere easily. They are, indeed, altogether the strongest arguments used. Next after the a‘ priOrz' arguments are ranged those I». 7,- @54175-4A‘m mxm ‘mév‘u ”was? 1* a ,1 1-. ' ‘ ‘, 7 j . OF THE ORDER OF REFUTATION. 2 r) O C}! included under the heads of Sign and Example ; and these, in general, in the order of their strength, for the strong arguments generally prove the right, While the weaker only prove the expediency. It will be remembered that the whole subject of testimony has be referred to this class. Such being the order of confirmation, what then should be the order of Refu- tation? It is by no means to be supposed that the ', refutation of an adversary’s objections, should always ence of the}objections early in the discourse, and to - be‘placed last in the order of arguments. Sometimes, if the opponent; have advanced some very strong and apparently unanswerable objections, it is deemed proper, to state them at the outset of _ the discussion, and‘to sweep them away by refutation before We begin to establish our own proposition ; otherwise they hang like a cloud over us in our attempt to cast the, light of truth upon the subject. In ordinary cases, that is, Where the objections are of reasonable . strength, it is considered proper to, place them about in, the middle of the discussion. The reason of this is a strong one. If we leave these objections to the last, many persons, who know of their existence, will be affected prejudicially tOwards our argument, think- ing that we are overlooking or neglecting them. Even when it seems necessary to defer the refuta- tion to the last, it may be Well to mention the exist- 22 f T a, l. in ’44.“; f {Ail-n1,\. 254 RHETORIC. promise that they shall be fully refuted before we close. But it is not only of importance tojudge of the pro- per chain-work of arguments ; but also to determine the order andform of single arguments in our discourse. Sometimes one form is more proper or more courteous than another: as a hypothetical than acategorical‘; and sometimes it requires a delicate judgment to determine whether we shall state the conclusion first, and then proceed to prove it; or announce the 207124 misses first, and deduce the conclusion. In many cases, if the conclusion be a proposition well known, whether easy of proof or not; or if it be a new statement, which, when enunciated, will have general claims upon popular belief, it may be stated first,‘and the premisses may be added as proof,\if it be desired. In most cases, indeed, if the proof be forthcoming, this is a strong order, because, if by the Statement of, 4 the proposition, a shadow of doubt for a moment arise in the mind, there is an appearance of moral force exerted in bringing forward pre'misses to sweep away the doubt, and vindicate the truth of the assertion.. It is also a good rule, in the array of proofs, to state the most general first, and then to come down toipar- ticulars, as narrowing the circle of the proof and cen- centrating it at last upon the given point. Itwill be manifest that, in purely argumentative discourse, all the parts of discourse enumerated be- we, w «WW 1; w am 7" '7 " "W'WWY THE CONCLUSION. ' 255 come absorbed in the proposition and the discussion. ‘ They begin with the inquiry as'to the truth of the proposition, and end when the array of proofs and the refutation of objections is completed; but in most i forms of discourse this is not so. We pass to the last enumerated among the parts of a discourse. 5. The Conclusion or ending of discourse was called peroratio by the Latins, and smaoyos, by the Greeks. As in the case of argumentative discourse, just mentioned, the conclusion may he sometimes designed to close, and sum up the arguments, in which case it is called the conclusion confirmatory; sometimes it will, after the completion of the discourse, be in the form of a slight explanation at the close; in this event it is termed an explanatory conclusion. But, in general, the conclusion is the scopeand province of persuasion; it is here, in general, that after explanation, and argument, and refutation, that the subject of the discourse thus substantiated is ap— plied to the heart, with the design of influencing the will, and leading to some new and specificaction. It- has not“ been unusual to classify, as one of the parts of a discourse, what is called the Recapitula- tion; or a brief but comprehensive summary in proper order of the discourse itself: to refresh the mind on all its points, and fix it iii the memory. But this is not a necessary part of the discourse, although fre— qu’ently of good effect. 256 RIIETORIC. Sometimes it‘ is very forcibly used just after the discussion of the proposition, to state, or rather to % enumerate the arguments adduced, in the inverted order, running back the chain just linked together, and testing, as it were, its validity and power. No more than a general idea can be given of this subject of arrangement, for, linked as it is indissolubly with the invention of discourse, it depends very much upon the characteristics of judgment and fancy in each individual, and each great genius has invented, as it were, an arrangement for himself, which par- takes of his own originality. _ What has been offered, however, will serve to guide the student in the general structure of discourse, and to give him a set of rules with which totry and prac- ' tise his own poWers. ‘ x (82.) The Time Unities. Included in the general subject of Arrangement is the maintenance, throughout a discourse, of what are called the Tfiree Unities—of Action, Time, and Place. ‘ ’ J i This seems to be a French theory, founded upon a passage inthe Poetics. of Aristotle; and \it'has been applied principally to the Drama. To possess these unities was long regarded as the chief merit of a dra- t matic composition; and is also to be regarded as of THE THREE UNITIES. 257 great importance in works of pictorial art. To explain these, let us consider them in their order. A chain of connected facts contains an interest and pleasure which is entirely wanting in an incongruous and dis- connected mass. Unity of action, then, consists in having but one main plot. , Take, for example, the events in the life of an individual, as narrated in his biography; they are all united by the single figure which moves with their current; and thus unity of action is attained. This kind of unity must be found in the epic", the drama, and the fable, by which the ancients included all that we now express by romance, novel, and tale; and this unity aids in giving to each the' Aristotelian requisites of a discourse, viz., the beginning, the middle, and the end, of an entire action. ' This is more or less applicable to every discourse; but in History,or at least 'in the chronicle history, less than in any other form, is the unity of action to beifound, since such history is the record of many and incongruous events; But in the higher studies of history, to him who is enabled to recognise the invariable laws at work, and to philo‘sophize from remote causes to distant effects, a’unity of great ac- tion is disclosed, and we are charmed with the power which ranges the myriad events like'well-ordered troops into theirown places, symmetrically fixed, and presenting beauty and order in the great story. 22* R 9.58 ‘ RHETORIC. It is evident that when the plot is determined upon and laid down, all episodes, of whatever degree of interest, mar the unity of action. Such are the tales, bearing no relation to the main story, which are found in.Gil Blas, and in certain of Dickens’s novels. And thus sometimes thisunity of action is a fault, since it interferes with charming episodes which would please by their novelty and freshness. It is characteristic of the present period, that literature is in some degree relieved of the severe trammels of this unity; and that while the general plot is preserved, the incidental interruptions are permitted, and lend the interest of novelty and freshness to the work.. The Unity of time, as proposed by the Greeks, and adopted by the French, demanded that the. period supposed in the drama should not exceed twenty-four hours. This is at present entirely inadmissible, and has marred the beauty and interest, not only of the Greek and Roman drama, but of Addison and the French tragedists, who have imitated the classic models. The Unity of place required that the same scene should be kept before the spectator during the entire piece. This most monotonous formula has been dis- regarded in the modern drama, a chief attraction of which is the presentation of new, varied, and rich scenery, in which art counterfeits nature With rare suc- cess. But inc single Act of the modern drama, which . ‘. ”rec , - ., . ,. r " . ‘ , . ' u - \ , r 1 , THE THREE UNITIES. 259 demands a close unity of action, it may be doubted whethergmuch is not lost to the illusion, by the shift- ing of scenes, and the transformations of locality, before the eye of the spectator. As a remarkable example of the regular construc- tion offthe drama, in’ accordance with the three imi- ties, Dr. Blair has mentioned the “ Cato” of Addison. “ The author,” he says, “ has limited’himself in time to a single day; and in place has maintained the most rigorous unity. The scene is, never changed; and the whole action passes in the hall ofCato’s house, at Utica.” And, in consequence, the “ Cato” , is a perfect failure. nge of the best dramatists have failed in unity: among them Shakspeare even " is to be found. Preserving the unity of action with tolerable care, he has frequently violated the unity of time and of place. Perhaps he knew little of the nice laws of dramatic discourse; but made for him- self laws suited to his own most original and glorious mind. What has been said has been designed to explain terms so often met with, rather than inany way to enforce these rigorous rules. A proper respect for unity in discourSe must be observed by all writers; but they should not, in any form of discourse, allowithem- ‘ selves to be cramped and trammelled by its requisi- tions” Like the delicate web the discourse should have beauty of design and symmetry of proportion; ‘ 260 ‘ 1 “mm; - ‘ , the genius of the anther, 1n ‘passing with his suBJéCt : ' to its object, should— ‘ ‘ '2: ~ 9‘ \_ “Feel at each thread, and live along the H1103? ' 3. . But nature is a. better teacher than even Greek art; and nature, while it onglnally gave the rule, presents also the caution. _. ' _ . . .\ 1 4‘5 '3 .' 0 ~ _ e a) 137*“! r 24),: M. Na. 11.15 tfa 593:1" ’ '3, .«v kg. . ‘_ (hurls,- if! Iii-g 1:339”! 0F STYLE. 261 CHAPTER XII. or STYLE. (83.) Preliminary Inquiries. . THIS has been stated as our third division of Rhe- toric. Having thus far considered only Invention and Arrangement—-2'. e. ,the rhetorical preparation of the thought 1n discourse: we come now to consider the dress of this thought, or rather the body of the discourse, of which the subject- matter constitutes the spirit: other words, style has regard to the language' 111 which our thoughts, as invented and arranged, are expressed for the purposes of instruction. And heie we would recur again to Dr. Campbell’s dictum. We have shown that the first part of that dictum 1s true, that ‘4 Rhe- toric holds of Logic by the sense; ” we now enter upon the examination of the second part, and, as we proceed, we shall find it equally true that “Rhetoric holds of Grammar by the expression.” Thus, in its Invention, discourse demands of Logic the proper arguments; in its Style it subsidizes Grammar for‘ the proper and correct language with which to express these arguments. ‘ 262 RHETORIC. By Style is meant the mode or manner by which thought is expressed in language; and in Our limited scope a special reference to the English language is designed. It is necessary then, at the outset, to‘say a few words as to the design of language in general, and as to the characteristics of the English language in particular. This must necessarily be very brief. (84.) 0f Language ”in General. Since, as it has been remarked, Rhetoric makes use of Grammar, in its applications of language, a great deal'of what comes within the province of Grammar must be either explained in a treatise on Rhetoric, or it must be taken for granted as under- stood by the student before he undertakes the study of Rhetoric. It may be well, however, to mention a few of the principal features of language, which belong equally to Grammar and Rhetoric. ‘, . Language is the faculty of expressing thought by means of certain sounds, which are used as the signs of thought. The sounds which are thus used are called articulate sounds, or sounds which are made eXpressly to set forth thought. . It must be observed that language, then, was given . to man just as reason was bestowed upon him. They both distinguish him from the brute creation, and main- 0F SPOKEN LANGUAGE. 263 mm an invariable relation to each other: for reason is the principle of man’s thoughts or ideas, and lan- guage is their expression. And, again, it is manifest that man, thus gifted with speech to express his thoughts, puts forth an arbitrary power, in Order to connect them. For the same objects or thoughts have, in difierent languages, a different set of articulate sounds to express them: and individuals of different nations cannot understand each other without going through the new mental and mnemonic process of learning the new language. (85.) 0f Spoken Language: It is unnecessary, in this investigation, to discuss thetheories which have been brought forward to ac- count for the origin of speech; we content ourSelves with the statement found in the Bible, which informs us that God gave to Adam [the power of speech—«- thetorgans by which articulate sounds are uttered,— i. e., the thorax, through which the volume of sound \ is emitted, and the teeth, the tongue, the lips, the palate, which modify the sound and render it articu- late in its passage. Besides this complex power, God gave to man the will\to use it"; and we are told that, after all this rare gift, God brought the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, 4‘ unto Adam, .to see what he would ’call them; and whatsoever 26-1 A‘ RHETORIC. _ Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.” It should be mentioned that many distinguished philologists have endeavoured to discover the law by which language has developed itself; for, even con- tenting ourselves with the Mosaic accountvof the divine origin of language, we cannot doubt that, like all other natural gifts, it is subject td improvement and development. Lord Monboddo, considering man an improvedor higher species of ape, corroborates his theory by find- ing certain resemblances between primitive sounds of the human voice and the chattering of apes. The discussion of such theories forms no part of "our subject, although speech, as originally given, was much limited by the ignorance and the want of prac-V tice of the' earliest human being; yet, as the power and the will existed, language increased in its voc'abué lary as the range of thought and observation became more expanded; and the conventional sounds were commensurate in number and application to the objects. and ideas which came crowding in newness ' of beauty and splendour upon the mind. Thus, a cry of passion, rage, fear, sorrow, love, - was an untutored expression of tho'ughtkwhich sug- gested a word like itself 'in sound. Such are still reproduced in what are called exclamatz'ans. A harsh, or rough, er boisterous subject or person, OF WRITTEN LANGUAGE. 265 _ would, on the principle of imitation, call for a similar sound to express it. This, of course, was easy, when noise or motion were concerned, and thus we may readily trace, to such a source, many common words in use at the present day. The cuckoo is named from its own sound; so, also, is the whip-poor-will. A stream is said to flow,,airifle to crack; the wind whistles or 7n0ans; the lion roars; the bee buzzes; and so for many common words taken evidently from the sound in question. Such an inquiry may be carried much farther than the limits of this work will permit. The organs of the voice seem intuitively to suit themselves to the sound required with strange appropriateness. Take a few examples :—W0rds beginning with sl, a ‘ liquid sound, are usually expressive of gentle motion ; as slow, sly, slit, slip, slide, 820. Those beginning with st usually denote firmness and strength, such as might spring from the etymo- logy of the Latin verb, sto—stare, to stand; for exam~ ple, stay, stop, stafi‘, steady, state, 830‘. Thus, also, words beginning with tlir, imply force, as through, thrust, threaten; wr begins words indi- cating obliquity, as wrong, wrangle, wrest, &c. The earlier sounds, adopted as signs of the thoughts, became, in process of time, fixed, polished, and in- fiected, for more distinct and delicate use , and thus 23 ’ ‘ 266 RHETORIC. the parts of speech became formed, and the distinct functions of grammar were evolved. Thus, the necessity of some convention of speech, by which the same thoughts could always be expressed by the same words, was the origin of orthography and syntax; While the gradual process of polishing and refining, what before was aboriginal, harsh, and dissonant, employing for this purpose the principle of harmony, gave rise to prosody, and by its aid gave laws of rhythm and versification to poetry. (86.) 0f Written Language.- As speech could only convey thought as far as the voice—the organ, of speech—could be heard, the next problem, which arose to tax the human ingenuity,lwas. the discovery of a‘mode by which these thoughts might be expressed to a person out of hearing, and at a distance from the speaker. The solution of this problem is written language. , There is a story of an Indian who carried from one settlement to another a letter, which contained a full account of some crimes he had committed, and was thunderstruck when he found that those who received the letter knew, in detail, all he had done. This wonder is significant of the slow process by which writing attained to its present perfect adapta- tion to sound. And it Will be observed that the , “L “on 1,. new.” annualsiflnm’nl...‘ ,. l OF WRITTEN LANGUAGE. 267 written characters are more arbitrary and conven- tional than the sounds themselves. There are, mani- festly, two sorts of written characters, symbols :0f the object, and signs of the word. Let us look at both for a moment. I. Included among those written forms which sym- bolized the thought, are pictures and hieroglypha It would appear, from an examination of man’s nature, that pictures must have been the first attempt to express thought by writing. We find children to i make their first efforts in design by imitating things around them, and the history of all savage tribes proves the same fact. The Aztec picture writings formed the written archives of the (government, as well as the postal communication found in Mexico, when the Spaniards landed at Vera Cruz, under Cortez. They depicted the cavaliers; the horse's, then entirely new to them; the thundering cannon: these‘pictures, forming in some sort a connected story, werepsent at full speed, by the Indian runners, from the coast'to the great city of Tenochtitlan— the present Mexico—where'Montezuma resided. The plan of expressing thought by pictures has been called the ideogmpkz'c system. i ‘ Not unlike the pictures, in their symbolism, were the hieroglyphical charaCters used in the East and in Egypt. ‘But the hieroglyphs were a step in advance of the» pictures: 'they symbolized ideal things that 268 RHETORIC. had no form or semblance. Thus, knowledge was portrayed by an eye; a circle was the symbol of eternity; for wisdom they drew an ant, and for in- gratitude a viper. But this form was leaving, in some degree, the idea of imitation, and approximating to the entirely conventional system of alphabetical writing. Hiero- glyphs, from the Greek ospos, sacred, and yavow, to carve, originally covered} the idea of pictures; but, in their purely symbolic form, they owe their origin to the early Egyptian priests, and were employed, as the name indicates, principally in making sacred records. The task of determining the nature of these records, by an investigation of the system of hieroglyphs, devolved upon Champollion, a French savan, and was very successfully performed. ‘ II. We come now to consider the second kind of writing, which, although it bears no resemblance, or symbolical analogy, to the object or quality which we design to express, gives only the sign for the word. Here everything is conventional and arbitrary. Some- times the manner of this presentation of thought is very rude and simple ; thus, the aborigines of South America make knots at certain distances, in. cords of various colours, and thus write their letters on a string. To a certain extent the North American Indians carryout this principle, in their belts or strings of wainpum. Of this‘nature, also, are. the 0F WRITTEN LANGUAGE. 209 Arabic characters which we use in arithmetic, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., and which are not only arbitrary signs, but are also entirely abstract, representing the numbers of any objects or ideas whatever; thus, we speak of three men, or three houses, or three miles, applying the numeral equally to persons, places, or distances. The principal progress in the second form of writing, or that in which a Sign of the ,thing is made, was in the invention of an alphabet. This word _ is the conjunction of the first two letters of the Greek alphabet—coma 57170.; and the alphabet is a list of arbi- trary signs, called letters, which are used to form words; but a language may. consist, as does the Chinese, of an alphabet of words: each Sign or figure being «a word, instead of’a letter; or it may be an alphabet of syllables,ysuch as is found in the- Siamese language, and in the written dialect of Ethiopia. ‘ Our own alpha-bet of letters comes to us directly from the ROmans, but they got it, with slight altera- tion, from the Greeks; and then we recur to the well knowntradition that the Greek alphabet was brought to Greece by Cadmus, more than three thou- sand years ago; a tradition which is corroborated by the‘ conformity found between the oldest Greek in- sc'riptiOns and the Phoenician letters. Those who are curious, in tracing written language, will find a diver- sity of interesting inquiries. "The old form of writing 23* ’ 270 RHETORIC. was frbm right to left; and it is still seen in the Hebrew writings. — The first so ,called improvement upon this was made by the «Greeks, and called Bowfpoewov, or turning like ploughing oxen. The first line was from right to left, and the second from left to right, and thus they alternated like the fur- rows in a cornfield. An example of ‘ this is to be fOund in the Sigaean inscription among the Arundel marbles. There cannot be expected, in a treatise on Rhe- toric, a full exposition of Language, Which in reality belongs, in its details of structure, to Grammar, and in its expansion, in the province of words, to the larger science of Philology; but the structure of language must be presupposed, and borne in mind, ' during the study of Rhetoric; for, from'th‘lolagy Rhetoric claims the signification and proper use of words, and upon Grammar Rhetoric depends for the structure of sentences. Both words and sentences must be kept in View in the consideration of Style. (87.) 0f z‘he‘Englz'sh Eanguage. . Of the English Language, to which the laWs of Rhetoric are here applied, it should be remarked, that it has facilities, equalled by no other language, for constructing forcible and elegant discourse. Composed in the main of the Anglo-Saxon,_and OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 271 the Latin (including the French), it combines the vigour and boldness of the Northern speech, with the harmony and flow of the Mediterranean tongues. In many cases we have tWo words to express‘the same object or thought, the one taken from the Saxon and the other from the Latin, and nice shades of difference, analogous to the difierence between the Saxon and the Roman mind, are thus obtained; a just proportion of the two produces the happiest effects; and has charactelized the best productions of English Literature. It 1s evident that the adaptations of Rhetoric are modified essentiallykby the character of the language ; and it is no less true, that the language as to its vigour or poverty reacts upon the intellectual powers of the nation using it. Thus, English Rhetoric will not only difl'er from the laws laid down by Aristotle for Greek, or by Cicero and Quintilian for the Latin; but we shall find the English Language suggesting and soaring to reach, as it were, the greatest thoughts, and then holding them enchaine‘d for ever, as in the ‘splendid imagery of Milton or the immOrtal philo- sophy of Shakspeare. If we desire to compare our own with another language, we ’find Montaigne, in his Es‘says, giving us a well considered opinion of the scope and power of the French, as it flourished in the sixteenth century, “ I find it sufficiently abound- ing, but not sufficiently pliable and vigorous; it 272 RHETORIC. 'quails under a powerful conception; if you would maintain the dignity of your style, you will oft perceive it to flag and languish under you.”" Not so the English: the best German philologists, among whom may be mentioned Jacob Grimm, have been found to assert that the English is, taken in all its parts, the finest language ever known; because it has subsidized and combined the best features‘of the best languages which existed before it. To fashion this language into its best forms for conveying beautiful and vigorous thought; to use its words in a proper and precise manner; with them to construct sentences, clear, strong, and harmonious ;—these are the functions of Style, and thus Style, while it is sensibly dependent upon the rules and teachings of Grammar, is also an important division of Rhetoric- (88.) Of the Diversitz'es of Style. From these general remarks on language, we return now in due order to the consideration of STYLE. By Style in Rhetoric, it has already been said, is meant the manner in which a writer expresses his thoughts in language. It is derived from the Stylus or iron pen, with which letters were scratched upon the tables of wax used for certain records. Style, although of a lower order than Invention in Rhetoric, bearing to it the relation” of the body to the spirit, of the OF THE DIVERSITIES 0F STYLE. 01-3 4.! outward form to the inner substance, is still of vital importance, since no thought has value until it is expressed, and Style is this very expiession of the thought. Style, it is evident, varies with many con- siderations. First it varies with the varieties of lan- guage, springing f1om the varied character of men. whether in nations or as individuals; expiessing their peculiaiities as essentially as is done by their featules 01 general appearance; - again from the divers subjects upon which it is employed, and finally from the difie1ent occasions upon which it is used. Fiist, then, look at the national differences. The Oiiental nations expressed themselves in a diffuse and florid manner, prefeiring apologue and parable to plain language; and our North American Indian fills his speech, short and pithy as it usually is, with metaphors and illustrations drawn from nature around him.‘ Thus, we say the English style is plaine-r and less inverted than the French: and so each nation has its peculiarity, springing from the habits, resi— dence, and historic circumstances of its people. L For individual varieties we have coined a number of adjectives to express the marked peculiarities. Thus, Lord Bacon’s style, especially that of his essays and letters, and also the aphoristic style, which finds its most thorough illustration 1n the Antitketa, has pl 0- . peltleS so distinguishing it f1 om all others, that when a writer expresses himself 1n a similar manner, we ‘ ‘ s ' " ’0'.“ "rwz'WW'1W 274 RHETORIC. call his style Bacom’an. The style of the best num- bers of the “ Spectator,” distinguished in its day for ease, elegance, and learning, was called Addisom'an, from their writer. And so highly was it appreciated for nearly a century afterwards, that Dr. Johnson de- clared that he who would form a good English style must give his days and nights to the study of Addison. Dr. Johnson’s own pompous style is now known as Johnsom'an, while his Latim'stz'c language has been humorously called, in certain cases, since his own day, “ Johnsonese;” and was supposed to need translation into English. So fearful, indeed, did Dr. Johnson seem of using plain Saxon English, that he is said, in more instances than one, to have made a simple entry in a diary, or to have related a circumstance in a private, letter, in .plain English, while the same facts, dressed out for publication in his “Journey to the Hebrides,’ are given in his most pompous and, foreign language. In the account of this Journey he states that he found ppon “the bed on which he was to repose, a. man black as a cyclops from a forge ;” which statement he had already made, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale, in the following plainer words: “ a dirty fellow bounced out of the bed on which one of us was to lie.” This indicates clearly the difference between J ohnson’s thought, which was clear and 'simple, and the‘rpecu- 4' l g i a l ; OF THE DIVERSITIES OF STYLE. 275 liarity of his expression, or his style; which partook so largely of the Latin element in our language. The brilliant style of Macaulay, b‘oth inlhis history and his essays,» and the trenclwmt style of Sidney Smith, will sufficiently illustrate all that need be said, in this place, concerning the varieties of style which grow out of individual character. ‘Bufi'on has said, and the remark has been often quoted: “Style is the man himself.” _ ‘ The, question would naturally be asked, if among these numerous variations ’of style there is a standard of rhetorical style, which, when appli’edto each indi- vidual writer, Will establish his claim to goodness and elegance. I To answer this, it must first be observed that dif- ferent kinds of discourse 1equire different kinds of style. Thus, an ovation may be written in long' flowing peiiods, suited to the cadences of the human voice, or what the French rhetoricians have distin- guished as the style pém'odz'que; while a brief state- fnent of some exact logical subject Will demand short, expressive, exact Sentences, forming a curt and epi- grammatic style. With these peculia1ities of style, the grammatical structure of sentences, as to their clearness and harmony, has much to do. Many other ci1cumstances, analogous to these, will affect the choice of words and the structure of sen- tences , but When these are all duly considered, rhe~ 276 RHETORIC. toricians have decided upon a standard scale of style, which is marked in its different degrees and accord- ing to its difierent uses by the adjectives defuse, concise, feeble, nervous, dry, plain, neat, elegant, florid, &-c., denoting at once the character of the writer’s mind, the degree of imagination with which he is endowed, and the adaptation of the style to the subject-matter of the discourse. But the distinctions made by these adjective epithets is very vague and indeterminate; for every fancied quality of style a new epithet might be coined, and thus ournomencla- ture increased ad mfim’tum. 7 There is, however, a just standard of style, which will be best conveyed by the words good and appro- priate on the one hand, and by bad andinappropriate on the other. ‘ Since style is that part of Rhetoric which has to do with grammar, it may be said thattit is an exten- sion and higher use of grammar itself; or, as Dr. Campbell has well illustrated it, “the grammatical art bears much the same relation tothe‘rhetorical which the art of the mason bears to that of the archi- tect.” It will be well, therefore, to go back a little to the consideration of grammatical purity of language, whichis the first requisite of, style, without which, indeed, style is rhetorically unpleasing and imperfect. It is usual to presuppose, it, as a foundation for Rhe~ FWWW 1'1“er WTPWW ‘, ”v *v OF GRAMMATICAL FIGURES. 277 toric, but it is better to connect it in this work with 1 what has heretofore been deemed purely rhetorical, from that intimate connection between the two arts which makes either useless without the other And here it becomes necessary to mention a few of what are called grammatical figures; or designed deviations from grammatical rules, which affect the style of discourse. I. 0f Orthography. Those Which give a false spell- ing, as Mimesis and Archaism. II. 0f Etymology. Those which alter the form of the word‘so as to rob it of the marks of its lineage, thus: ’till for until ; ’60ve for abate, &c. These are very numerous, and includeall the recent efforts made to accomplish a system of “phonetic spelling,” that is, spelling a word as it is pronounced, and thus losing all marks of its ancestry; as, in many-re- ceived' words, has been already done. ‘4 Fancy” gives no trace of its Greek parentage; whileiuphan- tasy,”\its older ferm, tells us at once that it is derived from ¢avra6cm - \III. 0/" Syntax. These errors consist in the altered construction of sentences, by means of the addition or leaving out of wOrds, or by an inverted form of speech. Such are the Pleonasm, the Ellipsis, S3/l— lepsis, &c It 13 only designed to mention the existence and general form of these grammatical figures; all of 24 WV —w-w-.wa1~gwerWl-m ~_‘T¥"‘f ”"1"” 3",!"- u I» l I o’ l l' U . 3" 278 ‘RIIETORIC. which are indeed of importance in the construction of style; but they must be, studied at length in gram- matical treatises, and presupposed as already known by those who undertake the study of Rhetoric. Of the figures of Orthogr'aphy, the one, called mimesz's consists of false spelling, giving an incorrect pronun- , ciation, as mischievz'ous. The second in this class is the archaism, or spelling according to old forms when new ones ,have entirely superseded them in good and current usage: such as Faerie Queene; hadde for had; or as if we should now adopt the spelling of old Father Chaucer :— “ But Cristes’ love, and his apostles twelve He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.” Of the figures of Etymology, we may take as exam- ples the Syncope, Dioeresz's; and Paragoge. , Syncope is the leaving out of one or more letters in a word, as e’er for ever, ne’er for never, isn’t-for is not, Ste. Diaeresis is the marking of distinct syllables where . two vowels come together, which would otherwise be pronounced as a diphthong; this is indicated by two dots over the second vowel, as in preeminent, ae‘rz'al. . , / Paragoge consists in adding a letter or syllable to p a Word, asvasty for vast, withouteri for without; , Of the figures of Syntax we mention, the Pleortasm, or the use of superfluous words; as in the passage: OF GRAMMATICAL FIGURES. 7279 “ They return back again to the same city from whence they come forth; or ‘4 I went home full of a great many serious reflection. The superfluoUs words marked in italics are quite obvious, and lend nothing to the sense. _ The Ellipsis, or the omission 0f words really be- longing to the sentence, but Which the mind readily supplies, andwhich are then said to be understood. It is obvious that these errors in Grammar are of chief importance, in their rhetorical use, as marring the excellence ofstyle. They must, of course, be constantly guarded against, because they conflict seriously With the qualities of a good style, now about to be laid down. Thus, though they are violations of Grammar only, they become corrupters of Rhetoric, and show us how important Grammar is to Rhetoric; Rhetoric being, as has been already suggested, dependent on Gram- mar inpits relation to Style. .To sum 'up all in a word, then, Rhetoric must pre- suppose perfect grammatical correctness" and pro- priety, or its own correctness and propriety are invaded, and its own success, as means to an end, sadly endangel ed ‘ We passnow to the consideration of the qualities of a good style, and to the proper cautions against the ' corresponding evils ; .by means of which we may frame our discourse upon just rules, andxguard against error. 280 RHETORIC. CHAPTER XIII. QUALITIES 0F STYLE. , ‘ THE distinct qualities, which must always be pos- sessed by a good style, may all be included under the three heads of Perspz'cuz'tg, Energy, and Ele- gance. > ' (89.) Perspicuitg. This word meant, originally, capable of being seen through, from the Latin perspicio. By Perspicuity, in Rhetoric, is meantthen such a use of words, phrases, and sentences, as will con- vey our ideas to others clearly and intelligibly. It will immediately appear that this is the principal quality of Style—for which reason it has been first stated, for, unless we make ourselves distinctly under— stood, all our energy is useless, and the general appro'b priateness of our languagepand the‘adaptation of manner, to thefoccasion and to the person‘s’addressed; will be unavailing. To‘ be understood . is ourlfirst aim. And yet, although perspicuity is thus of pn- QUALITIES 0F STYLE. 281 ‘mary importance, it will be readily perceived that it is entirely relative. That which is pe1fectly intelli- gible to some is jargon to others. ‘ Persons of quick apprehension catch the meaning of the speaker, while it is yet enigmatical to others; scientific men apprehend in a few technical terms what would require pages of explanation'to make perspicuous to the unlearned. And besides thus con- sulting the character'of the audience or the readers; reference must be also made to the circumstances iwhich surround them; to the attention they can be prevailed upon to bestow on the subject-matter pre- sented; and to the manner and duration of that atten- tion. Here nice judgment and tact are necessary. (As in general, however, any rhetorical effort is pre- sented not to single individuals, but to numbers, who include all varieties of mind and all degrees of atten- tion, this quality of style becomes the more impor- tant, and must therefore be subjected to some general rules, which will in some degree suit all discourses. And first, it will be observed, from what has been already said, that perspicuz'ty has very much to do with Grammar, and that here “Rhetmic holds of Grammar. -” ' Thus the language used must be correct, or, to analyze it grammatically, the words must be pure, that 13, good modern English, as opposed to the 0680: lete and the new-coined. They must be proper, or so 24 * Z82 RHETORIC. selected as to convey the exact ideas designed, and the words and sentences must be precise, or convey no more than the exact design of the writer. N ow, these two requisites of purity and propriety, as applied to words and phrases, are sometimes mis- taken for each other, or indiscriminately allied: but, as we shall see, they are quite distinct. Purity is entirely a grammatical requisite, Propriety partakes both of Grammar and Rhetoric, while that subdivi- sion of perspicuity which has to do with Rhetoric most strictly, is precision. , By precision, we mean the Zapping of beforehand —that is,before we use the sentence—of all super; fiuous words and phrases, so that the thought be,ex- pressed exactly in the number and with the arrange- ment of words which convey it exactly, and which_ convey no more and no less than it. Before proceeding to a consideration of these divi- sions in the order, a few general remarks as to want of perspicuity, may not be out of place. ‘ Opposed to perspicuity,,_in its rhetorical sense, is too great brevity, which renders the subject unintelligible to the intellectually weaker part of the audience; leav- , ing chasms unbridged, across which they have not the» power to spring, and presenting thus a string of dis- connected, isolated thoughts, which depend really upon the linking process. for their relative value. This linking process, which may be made for them~ QUALITIES 0F STYLE. 283 selves by the stronger minds in the audience, the speaker should make for the less intelligent himself. To avoid this error, many writers violate the laws of perspicuz'ty by falling into the opposite fault, that of prolixity, which so clouds the subject with words as to obscure it by its garb of language. Here, as in most matters of learning, the middle course is the safest ;, for prolixity not only injures the sense to the' attentive hearer, but it (wearies most persons so that they become inattentive, and forget the former part of the argument or statement before the Whole is presented. Again: perspicuity is ofi'ended by a bad arrange- ment of the discourse, leading us to connect thoughts not designed to be so connected; and by the use of technical terms unintelligible to the popular mind. . Of course, What has been said has entire reference to the honest purpose Of a well-informed writer or speaker, Whose only aim is to make himself under- stood. From the earliest times of its existence, Rhetoric has been made to sufi'er by those whose purposes were nothonest, and Who used it as a cloak for falsehood, and‘as an instrument of self-interest, with: which to entangle and deceivehonest but not gifted seekers for truth. . l , , Thus, an audience is imposed upon by one kind of ‘ empiric, through a Want of perspicuity growing out of 284 RHETORIC. the extreme conciseness of his style; and they say, in proportion as he is unintelligible, ‘4 he .must be very learned and above our comprehension,” While he is in reality, by this very means, deceiving them. Another, who is very diffuse, is highly rated for that minuteness of detail and richness of illustration which are thought to indicate the very careful and studious mind. Thus, a want of perspicuity is made a veil for fallacy and error, which are concealed in the brilliant clouds of his discourse. Perhaps the absence of perspicuity most thoroughly , accomplishes these evil results in houses of legisla- tion; and in questions of factions partisanship, in all kinds of conventions and parliamentary associations. It is no uncommon thing for a person whose object is to speak against time, to endeavour to mystify the people {simply to occupy a certain time, that it may , not be appropriated to another, and, to him, an unde- sired purpose. As destructive as this would be natu- rally to perspicuity, it is to be observed that the. object of such men is not even to appear perspicuous, but so to confuse their hearers as to keep them in the vain endeavour to determine his meaning, while he is thus aeoomplishing hispurpose. Where, in houses of legislation or courts of law, there is no limit of time fixed for a speaker on any given subject, like the one—hour law sometimes pre- scribed in our Congress, this kind'of mischief pre- . l¢ .‘L : W‘”' U - QUALITIES 0F STYLE. 285 vails to a great extent. There are many instances of- such efforts on record. Whately tells a story of an advocate who spoke thus at random for sz'xhours, whileva messenger was despatched for an important document, accidentally left behind at a town twenty- five miles off. But this is not confined to oratory in courts or public bodies.- We cannot, I think, sufficiently condemn those so- called philosophers, who, departing from the tenets of Bible Christianity, expressed so clearly in the New Testament, startle the world by astounding dogmas of philosophy, and lead captive men too weak to un- derstand their mischief, but who are dazzled by their arrogance and apparent learning. They are called Thinkers in this age; they were called Freethinkers in times past, and more lately they have given to philosophy the unwelcome systems of Rationalism, Transcendentalism, and Pantheism. In every case we only need demand that they be perspicuous; pure and proper in their words and phrases, and precise in their sentences; in other words, that their‘Rhetoric give clear meaning to the sense, by displaying their invention in all its logical arrangements , and be per- Spicuous/ in the style which expresses this sense. When this is demanded, to all men of clear minds andprdinary culture their “ Occupation’s gone ;” for their error is exposed. I Combined with much that ,is really profound, this x 286 RIIETORIC. want of perspicuity is displayed in the writings of many of the German philosophers whose ‘works form even now the very vanguard of philosophic progress. Nor are England and America without the disciples of this school.‘ A great English writer has most happily described this school of authors in the following words, which are designed to compare them with the clear and sen- tentious style of Lord Bacon :—- 4 1 “There are some qualities in Bacon’s writings to whichit is important, from time to. time, to direct special attention, on accOunt of a tendency often showing itself, and not least at the present day, to" regard with excessive admiration-Waiters of a com- pletely opposite character, those of a myStical, dim, half-intelligible kind of affected grandeur. “ It is well kno'vvn what a reproach to (the English) climate is the prevalence of fogs, and how much more of risk and inconvenience results from that mixture of light and obscurity than’ from the darkness of night. , But let any 0ne~imagine to himself, if he can, a mist so resplendent with gay, prismatic'colours, that men should forget its inconveniences in their admira- tion of its beauty, and that a kind of nebular taste should prevail, for‘preferring that gorgeous dimness \ to vulgar daylight, nothing short of this could afi'ord a parallel to the mischief done to the public mind by some late writers both in England and Arnerica;-—a \/ QUALITIES OF STYLE. 287 soxt of “children of the mist,” who bring forward their speculations, often very silly, and not seldom very mischievous,—-under cover of, the twilight. They ' have accustomed their disciples to admire, as a style sublimely philosophical, what may best be described as a certain haze of words imperfectly understood, through which some seemingly original ideas, scarcely distinguishable in their outlines, loom, as it were, on ' the View, in a kind of dusky ”magnificence that greatly exaggerates their real dimensions.”* it must be observed, beforeconcluding these general remarks on the subject of rhetorical perspicuity, that there are great temptations to its violation, and ’especially to young‘writers and speakers in their efibrts to display, what is calledeloqucnce; to give certain harmony of voice. and gesture in public‘ speaking, or to round a period gracefully, as it is often called: this is generally done by the use of harmonious but unmeaning words. The young are generally redundant in expression, and if they would “cut away all those graceful. periods, and forbear that harmony, in most cases,»greater perspicuity would be the result. They would find their boasted eloquence Verbaret proaterea nihil, and might be instructed hovsr to conduct a new attempt upon the same theme. But we proceedxnow to so‘metmore xdetailedgconsideration ._~ ____u—_ ._ . - , 7 V - ‘ . .1“- . *Archbishop Whately’s annotations of Bacon’s writings—In- troduction. v ' _ .w VYVVW. xv 'rw WVv-‘uw‘ 288 RIIETORIC. of the special qualities, which range under the generic term peospz'caz'ty. The first of these has been called purity, and 1s, as has been said, a rhetorical Use, of x'vhat 1s truly a function of grammar. (90.) Of Parity, as one of the Elements of ' Perspicuity. Purity, as an element of perspicuity, consists in the choice of (words and idioms belonging to the language as correctly used. Thus Purity is violated. '—- ‘ I. By the use of words once good, but now grown obsolete, or, as this word indicates, out of the custom of use. As examples of this form of violation, we have the singular phrases and words of our ‘old English writers: eftsoons, erst, sel, rivage, childe, yclept, &c., which may be found, in Spenser, and were attempted by Lord Byron. Although somefreedom maybe granted in theuse of such words by the poets, in prose they are entirely inadmissible. Under this same head may be included words, which are only partially obsolete, such as lore, ken, and similar words, which are to be used with caution, as they endanger the purity of style. ‘ There are also among these words of doubtful purity, a. class which is, according to a vital law of language, 'coming back from this partial obsoleteness into full use,-because of their real value and our need of them. ‘Akin to these obsolete words are provincial 0F PURITY. 289 'words and idioms, usually an older form which the provinces have retained, while the Metropolitan lan- guage has progressed, and left them behind as half obsolete. ' II. Purity, as a quality of style, is violated by the use of new words, not warranted by the necessity of. the times, and not framed according to the linguical law of coining new words. Such are energize, depu- tz'ze, declz'nature, residenter, obnoxious, when used for noxious or disagreeable, philosoplzz'sm, &c. It must be remembered, that as science expands, and is divided and classified, new words must be made. to express and fix the new ideas thus developed: but all these should follow the law of formation, or we shall have monstrous words belonging to no system, but fixed unfortunately and unduly upon the language by custom, before we are aware of it, and so strongly that they cannot be rooted out. So’copious is our English language in words which express all forms of ideas, thatno educated writer would seek to make new ones, except at the demand of science. Conservatism in language is the rule by which purity is insured. i III. Words and idioms from foreign languages, are opposed to purity of style. Whenever our own _ language gives us the words necessary for conveying our ideas, it is wrong to seek for foreign words for the purpose; since, to those who understand the 25 ‘ T 290 RHETORIC. foreign tongue, it will seem afiectatz‘on and pedantry, and to those who do not we shall be unintelligible, and thus the very purpose of our discourse be defeated». l While it must be admitted, that there areva few ideas better expressed in foreign languages than in our own, such as ennui, prestige, d propos, hors de combat, which indeed are becoming incorporated into English, and in a few years will belong to its recent gains; and, while certain Latin and French phrases, proverbs, or epigrams, recur to and open to our memory a whole field of thought and former research ; yet, these exceptions only strengthen the rule that we should abstain from foreign words and .idioms, if we would preserve the purity of an English style. (91.) 0f Prop-flew, as an Element of Perspicuity. It is evident that however pure our. words and phrases may be, free from all obsoleteness, all foreign taint, all provincial usage, there is something still necessary to make them the pr0per vehicles of thought—this quality is propriety; or we may define propriety to consist in using pure English words in their proper sense, avoiding a vulgar use of words, and. choosing among parting/mans words, or words Springing from the same root, the one which alone expresses the term we would use. _ , fidvmn‘H-‘Q‘xihmni mini . OF PROPRIETY. 291 i As examples of the vulgar use of words, we would point out all social or conventional slang, the use of superlative words and phrases to express simple and positive ideas. Thus, a good thing is “the best «in the world;” a fine day is “the most superb since the creation ;,” slight pain is “perfect torture ;” and‘ thus language is robbed of its power. We “love” a certain 'food:- “What more,” said a just critic, “could you do to your father and mother?” We “admire to do” a certain thing. “Quiz, bamboozle, come it over,” are other examples of words at once impure and improper. / But, among the improper uses of/ paronymous words, there are still more dangerous errors, because no allowance is made forthem, and they are often unnoticed. Convince and convict, presume and pre- sumption; the great numbers of twin nouns end- ing in ance and ation, and analogous terminations, give rise to these violations of propriety in parony— mous words. Thus, we have observation used instead of observance; and sometimes a more obvious error in such words as duration and endurance, because they both have reference to prolonged time. If from propriety /in words we come to consider propriety in plzrases, we Shall here‘find great scope .for criticism. Thus, we are told that the “university is the bestof all other institutions ;” when the proper construction is that it is better than all others. 292 RHETORIC. A number of similar errors are to be found in Milton, for example :— “Adam, The comeliest man of men, since born His sons; the fairest of her daughters, Eve. In most of these cases there is no doubt as to the real meaning of the author; biit this only renders the error more apparent. (92.) 0f Precision, as an, Element of Perspicnity. Precision of Style, as its derivation assures us— from the Latin proe and coedo—consists in so pruning and casting off all unnecessary words, phrases, and parts of sentences, as to .convey to the reader the exact meaning of the writer. This goes one step beyond propriety, in that it passes from the more use of words and phrases, ac- cording to the laws of grammar, and deals with the words and structure of sentences as to their exact fit— ness to the thought. And first, of precision in words. 1 As we have already seen, the two great components of our language, the Latin and the Anglo Saxon, furnish us with pairs of words, originally designed, in many cases, to express the same meaning, but in the process of time they have deviated from this first identical meaning, and now are different( Other 0F .SYNONYMS. 293 causes have given to words in our language meanings nearly the same, and yet essentially diflei‘ent. Among these it is the office of rhetorical precision to choose in each case the word conveying the exact meaning, and this rule is violated when any other is chosen. Such also is the case when we use superfluous words, as for instance, in speaking .of an action as utterly, entirely, and absolutely wrong, one adverb has ex- pressed the whole; and the others are superfluous. This nearness of meaning in two or more words brings us to the subject of Synonyms, which must be partially developed in this place. Our, space will, only admit a general outline of the divisions and cha- racteristics of synonymous words. (93.) 0f Synonyms. The, Greek words, cm, with, and my“, a name, which make up our English word synonym, are intended to express an exact identity in the meaning of the two words which we call synonymous; and, at first, doubtless such Was the case. Thus, to trace \an example: our Saxon word neighbour was exactly translated by the French word voicin, and‘the derived word neighbourhood by voisinage. ‘ When, then, the English werds taken from the Norman French, uiei- nage and vicinity began to be used, they were identi- cal in meaning with neighbourhood. But circum~ 25* if ‘v 294 RHETORIC. stances soon began to give a distinct meaning to each of_these words. Neighbourhood still referred to people ; all the neighbourhood meaning all the people , vicinity lost the element of person and referred to things. Neighbourhood became a more'immediate vicinity. We speak [of houses and streets in the neighbourhood; but of places in the vicinity of Philadelphia or New York. 'Such a process is con- tinually going on with synonymous words; and those but lately of very nearly the same meaning, are deviating daily farther and farther from each other. And the philosophy of this movement is quite apparent. By a natural law of language, where two words existed of the same signification, they were not permitted to be idlers, or to doihalf duty, but a special service and meaning was given to each. By. another equally instinctive law, words nearly alike in meaningwere ranged, when practicable, the one above the other—the one as genus and the other as species, and thus were distinguished by their com- prehension. Thus the synonymouswords, answer and reply: answer is the general term, reply the specific kind of answer. We answer any que‘stiOD; we reply to a controversial one. An answer informs an inquirer; a reply refutes or rebuts an Opponent. We speak, now, of course, critically, for we know that 1n cOmmon conversation the two words are used OF SYNONYMS. 295 indiscriminately; and this is the case with most synonyms. And this brings us to the present defini- tion of a synonym. It consists in the similarity or likeness in meaning of two or more wdrds, by reason of which they may be mistaken for each other. N 0~ where is the error more apparent than in rhymed poetry; for here, often the verse suggests the sequent, because it demands the use of a word which shall 1hyme with its last word. It may be said, and with justice, that there are some words, which are so nearly the same in meaning, that they may sometimes be properly used for each other; as "for example: almighty and ommpotent ; happiness and felicity; forerunner and precursor; pastor and shepherd; but eVen in these, a ready eye will detect such difi'erence as would render it improper under all circumstances to interchange them. Thus, while we do sometimes call a clergyman a careful shepherd, it would not do to speak of an ordinary keeper of sheep ”as; a pastor. It is good Latin but poor English. John the Baptist was the forerunner of Christ; it would sound strangely to call him the precursor. It is not within the scope of this Work to enter at length into the history of English synonymy, as to the sources from which such words have sprung, and the modes in which they have become synonymous. The existence of several radix languages in our own, {is the largest source, and the changing circumstances 296 nnnronic. and relations at home and abroad, 0f the English people, have supplied the modes. One very suggest- ive instance may be borrowed from an eminent phi- lologist, as at! illustration, in the synonyms of our English word trick. The word is from the Saxon, and has the following synonyms : artifice, (artificium, Latin) ; device (devisa, Italian); Stratagem(01pafayspa, Greek); finesse, French. Here are five words, some- times, at least, used interchangeably. It concerns . us however more, to observe a practical division 'of synonyms, arranged according to their quality. The best division is as follows, and many examples, which we have not time to give, will readily suggest them- selves to the student. I. Generic and specific. II. Active and passive. III. Intensity (greater or less). IV. Positive and negative. V. Miscellaneous. ‘ I. Under the head of Generic and Specific, a much larger number of Words may be placed than at first would seem practicable. A genus, it will be observed,» is always placed above, and comprehends the species. A. few examples will best illustrate our meaning: Take the words applause and praise; an examination of these will prove that praise is the general expres- sion, and applause the particular kind, of praise. We may in our hearts praise God for his mercy. and OF SYNONYMS. ‘ 297 loving kindness, but we do not applaud him; our applause is confined to public demonstrations of praise to man. So the verbs to do and to make, which in many lan- guages are expressed, in part at least, by the same word,-—(facio in Latin; faire in French; hacer in Spanish, &c.), are justly in English ranged under this head; to do being the general term, of which to make is the particular kind of action or doing. We . do good or evil; we make houses or plans. Bonds (Ang. Sax. ,bindan, to bind), aIe whatever rest1icts our liberty: fetters (Sax. faster), means what binds the feet. Additional examples, which the stu- dent may explain, are found in the words .booty and prey ; conduct and behaviour ; haste and harry ; news and tidings; safety and security ; shape and form ; to bring and to fetch ; to expect and to hope. II. In using the words active and passive, to indi- gate a division of synonyms, we reject the exact grammatical meaning of these words, and refer to the sense of the words as implying a pOWer to do or to receive by another’ 3 action. Thus, a reasonable being IS one who acts accOrding to the dictates of his reason , a rational being 1s one only who possesses reason, not considered as using it. Ability means power to do, capacity power to receive, and yet both are used as implying active talent. ,Keep and retain. We are said to keep a thing by 298 RHETORIC. the use of our own sagacity and strength; we retain it because of a want of sagacity and strength in others to take it from us. Further examples are as follow :—aversion and antipathy; intellect and under- standing ; to eat and to feed ; to persevere and to per- sist ; likely and probable; poetic and poetical; historic and historical; thankful and grateful. III. The natural principle of greater or less. inten- sity has been mentioned as a practical division of Synonymy. Without dwelling upon the fact that everywhere in nature this principle presents itself to us; in the changing temperature, the force of the air, the violence of the storm, the fury of ocean, we shall only illustrate it by mentioning a few words which mark its presence. Grand and sublime; bright and brilliant; the “words used in climax in 'Lord Byron’s line ;——“ breeze, or gale, or storm ;”l to see and to look ; to hear and to listen. ‘ ‘ ‘ The pageant was grand; but the thunder-storm in- the Alps was sublime; I saw the man, but did not look at him carefully; I heard them talking, but did not listen to what they Were saying. As examples for practice, take the words anguish and agony ; com- punction and remorse ; pertinaeity and obstinacy ; ser— vant and slave; to lament and to deplore; to satisfy and to satiate ; silent and taciturn ; by and tuith ;.mid- dle and midst. 7 IV. Under the head Of positive and negative syno- OF SYNONYMS. 299 nyms, we range words 1n which the same idea exists, but positively 1n one, and negatively in the other; thus, we sbun a thing upon which we have absolutely come, by a positive act; we avoid it by not going near it, 01 in its way. Afault 1s a positive error , a defect 1s something wanting in the nature of construe—l tion of a man or machine; and the want of which makes an error. Despair is positive, at least in its present meaning, for its etymology would teach us otherwise; hopelessness is negative. He who despairs, once was possessed of hope, now 10st; the hopeless " man may have been always with‘out‘it' as he is now. Additional examples are found in the following words :——Disability and inability; disbelief and unbe- lief‘; freedom and liberty; to permit and to allow; to prevent and to hinder; barbarous and inhuman; ea:- cessive and immoderate. V. The last ca'tegory 1n which synonyms may be placed for purposes of referenc‘e, 1s that of miscella- neous, which is evidently an ariangement for the sake of convenience; in- this will be included those words of like meaning which baffle all our efiorts to classify them under the preceding heads. Thus: brute and beast; consequence and result; contest and conflict; discretion and prudence. Every Wild ani- mal IS, in common language, a brute; a tame one is a beast. A consequence follows an event, or an action astan antecedent, as necessary to it: a result is an 300 RHETORIC. expected or sought-after production ofa combination designed to produce it. Disgrace is the consequence of intemperance; but 20 is the result of 10 + 10. As further examples we may state, a fault and a mis- take; an idea and a notion; to abbreviate .and to ' abridge; vengeance and revenge; to conjecture and to guess; hurry and despatch ; to copy and to imitate; every and each; alone and only. It has only been deemed necessary to give here a brief outline of synonymy, in order to proceed intel- ligently to the consideration of rhetorical precision as belonging to aperspicuous style. The extended study of synonyms opens to us the study of the lan- guages from which our own is derived, and the phi- lology of these languages, and presents a field to cultivate, which demands labour, time, and difiiculty; but enough may be learned by the use of any good etymological dictionary, and a strict attention to the usage of those who are the best speakers and writers in modern times, to make us habitually precise in our language, and to insure, thus far at least, perspi- cuity to our style. A habitual effort to be precise in speech begets such a delicacy of critical observation that we find it difl‘icult and painful to be otherwise than precise. , ‘ H To return now to the laws of precision as an element of perspicuity in style, we remark, that the first viola- tion of it consists in the misuse of synonymous terms; “51.4.1 OF SYNONYMS. . 301 this has been clearly indicated in the preceding pages ; let us give a few examples ;—-If we should say the great fault in Caesar’s character was a want of humanity, ' and his ambition was an equally great defect; we should have misused the words fault and defect. The words teach and learn, are very frequently misapplied, although in more modern times this misapplication is unpardonable. We teach a lesson to a person; we learn a lesson from a person. In the time of Shakspeare, the two words were used interchangeably, as, in the Tempest, Caliban is made to say :— “You taught me language; and my profit on’t Is, I know how to curse; the red plague rid you, For” learning me your language.” But modern usage, finding two distinct fields for these words, has given them, each, its separate service. But these are suggestive only of the many instances of words in the English language, which are used indiscriminately as synonyms, by careless and ignorant writers, and which rob their productions of that precision necessary to their entire perspicuz'ty. But again, since ‘precisi‘on requires that the lan- guage used, do no more "nor less than convey the exact thought of the writer, it seems evident as an axiom, that all unnecessary words should be rejected ; thus ;-—entz'1_‘ely perfect, would imply that there might ’ 26 ' 302 RHETQRIC. be things perfect and stillrnot entirely so: ‘4 The cup was as full as it could hold,” is a common phrase, in which the latter words are manifestly unnecessary, since if it be full it can hold no more, and the one word full describes its condition entirely. [It is evident that two things are requisite to the attainment of precision in writingz—First, to under- stand clearly the subject to be presented; to state clearly in the mind every proposition and argument which make up the discourse, before couching it in language; and Second, to understand perfectly the meaning, force, and comprehension of the words which we use in expressing them. ' But it has been also said, that precision has to do with the structure of sentences, as well as the use of words. Not only, then, must a sentence be gram-‘ matically correct,but it must also convey the exact meaning of the author in this grammatical language. We shall only lay down a few general rules on, this subject. (94.) 0f the Structure of Sentences. Precision demands, that there be no ambiguity in the sentence; and this ambiguity arises, as we have seen 'from the use of improper words, or, as we now proceed to show, from their being 80 put together as to confuse or deceive. It is this putting together which we consider in the structure of sentences. . OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 303 By a sentence is meant, a collection of words containing a finished sense, and ended with a colon or period ; and a paragraph is a collection of sentences bearing upon the Same immediate topic of the discourse. But sentences are simple or compound; long or short ; and these characteristics afl'ect style. Short epi- grammatic sentences, each containing an independent proposition, give a cheerfulness and even brilliancy to composition. Long and complex sentences some- times impart dignity to discourse, but often weary the bearer. Sentences fail of attaining perspicuity , in many ways ; some of these we shall now explain. I. By a bad arrangement’of the words, perspicuity is lost. The placing of a qualifying clause or member of the sentence, in a wrong place, alters the meaning; or at least, if we understand it, makes a glaring fault: thus: 44 I set out upon the road, which my brother had taken, with four post horses.” This should have been rendered: “ I set out, with four post horses, upon the road my brother had taken.” . V II. The perspicuity of a sentence is destroyed by using the same word more than once in different senses. Thus; 4‘ They were persons of such moderate intellects before they were impaired by their passions.” The second they refers to intellects ; but it might be referred to persons ; and thus the sense is doubtful. III. The misplacing of the prgnouns who, which, what, this, that, &c., gives rise to obscurity. 304 RHETORIC. Thus, in the Nicene Creed, we have the confession made of belief in Jesus Christ, who is declared to be “ of one substance with the Father; by whom all things were made; who for us men, and for our salva- tion, came down from Heaven, Ste.” The ambiguity here is the more astonishing, when we remember that the design of the council in mak- ing this creed was to prove the personality, divinity, and co-equality of our Saviour, and the boundless scope of his unending kingdom. Analogous to this is the question put by Our Lord to Simon Peter, in the words: “ Simon, son of Jonas, l-ovest thou me more than these .9” Here the sense is extremely doubtful, for it may mean to ask, whether Simon loved Christ better than he did his fellow dis- ciples, or whether he loved his Lord better than they did. The inflection, which marks the case in the ori- ginal Greek, removes the ambiguity. An example of this is also found in Wolsey’s repentant speech :— “ Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not, in mine age, Have left me naked to mine enemies.” No one doubts that the reference of the pronoun he is to “my God ;” but there is another meaning, and it is that the king had such a regard for others who served God properly, that if Wolsey had done so, the king would have protected him in his afflictions. ‘ . OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 305 IV. But the perspicuity of a sentence or a para- graph is also dependent upon its unity. This implies a clear connection between the principal governing word and the rest of the sentence. Take the follow- ing as a violation :— “ When we were about to go, they put into my hands a bundle of books, and when I undid them, they proved to be exactly what I wanted.” V. What remains to be said concerning the struc- ture of \a sentence is but little. It should not be too long and crowded: the parts of it should be distinct and clearly consecutive, and those subjects or thoughts which are in any degree disconnected from each other, and incongruous, should be kept apart; in all such cases, let a long and crowded sentence be cut up into shorter and more congruous ones, and thew perspicuity is increased at once. It should also be observed, that what is purely parenthetical, comes in only occasionally with pleasure to the bearer; a pa- renthetical style \ofi‘ends by its disjointed character, and should be carefully avoided. And finally, a. sen- } tence should be fairly and eompletelyfim'slwol ; and when brought to Iwhatmay be deemed the proper close, the sense of the sentence is injured, and the taste of the reader displeased, by some weak after- thought which is. lugged in to spoil a well arranged close. ' ’ t , , Some writers have thought necessary, after dwell- 26* U ' 306 RHETORIC. ing upon the necessity of precision, to give a kind of counter-warning to their pupils against such a cutting away of words and phrases, as to make their diction barren and dry. It must be observed that this is not only an unnecessary caution, but an evil one; for precision has no quarrel with elegance and energy, but is compatible with proper ornaments, and only guards against the improper use of words and phrases in the expression of thought. , And here it should be said, that different kinds of discourse, that is, designed for different purposes, and requiring different styles, might seem so to treat the laws of precision as to make that a violation in one instance, which in another would not be so. ,Thus an abstract statement of a scientific problem Would require the greatest conciseness, andeould admit of no repetition; while a discourse, to little children or uneducated people, would abound ‘in repetitions and recurrences; would require several ways or modes of expressing the same truth, and the \trz'al'of various words to express the same thought, until the one , which would convey it to the bearer should be happily found. All this circumlocution would, in such a case, be an attempt to be precise. It is true, in this latter case, the general laws of precision are violated; but even in their violation, they are kept ever in sight, and the whole discourse being an experimental attempt to convey instruction, the result only must be sub- OF ENERGY. 307 jected to criticism, and not the mode of reaching it. A rhetorical standard is designed only for finished compositions, and it gives laws for the invention of thought, the procurement of language, as to its sig- nification, itsstructure, and its harmony, in order to produce finished compositions. A remarkable in- stance of this experimental and yet beautiful style is to be found in the exhortation of the English liturgy; in which, since itvwas designed as well for the igno~ rant as the educated, many words taken from the Norman-French are first given, and then, as it we1e, translated, by the Saxon w01d immediately follow- _ ing, thus: acknowledge and confess; s2'ns and wz'clceol— ness; dissemble and cloak; humble and lowly; goool- ness and mercy; assemble and meet togetker, &c. In the three methods indicated, we attain then to what we have called the first quality of a good style, perspicuity. We must use pare English, make a. proper choice of words, and be preczse in using them and forming them into sentences, according to their ‘ significations, and we shall be perspicuous in convey- ing our thoughts to the hearer or reader. The next quality of' a good style is Energy. (95.) Energy." By Energy is meant that characteristic of a writer or speaker which interests and fixes the attention w vuAA_.v.._,A A A A . 308 RHETORIC. of his audience, and gives a forcible presentation of his subject. In its purely technical sense, it has been adopted by modern writers from the 'Evspyua of Aristotle; but it has been differently named by some writers vivacity, and as such, its name perhaps more nearly indicates its meaning. For as a vivacious person is one who so impresses our attention, and keeps up our interest by his constant stream of living thought in‘conversation, so vivacity of style is but the rhetorical expression of such thoughts, in the best manner, to impress them upon us. But 'there is in the word energy an expression of strength, which is the true secret of such an influence as is exerted in style, and which is not as well ex-‘ pressed by the word m’vacz’tg/ ; hence we have retained the Greek term. , . The question naturally arises, how is this energy of style to be attained? to what is it due ?' ‘ At first sight it seems a natural gift rather than a rhetorical acquirement. And here we would seem to go over much of the same ground as that already assumed» in treating of perspicuity as a quality of style; for as does perspicuity, so also does energy depend upon the choice of proper words, upon their arrangement, and upon their number; but with theessential differ- ence of purpose, that while in the one case we design I only to express our meaning clearly, in the other OF ENERGY. 309 the object is to interest and enchain the attention of our hearers. ' Under each of these heads many subdivisions might be made, and most writers, from the time of Aristotle, have thus divided them; but observing the simplest arrangement yet given, viz., that of Doctor Campbell, we shall divide the first of these topics into two parts. ‘ In the choice of proper words to promote energy of style, we consider words as used either in their proper meaning, or as tropes, 2'. 6., words turned from ' their proper meaningto a figurative sense. And our next consideration will be rhetorical figures. Proper terms. In choosing such we observe, first, that it is better to use a species than a genus, where either would be sufficiently perspicuous, and that thus energy of style is promoted. Such uses are characteristic of all the sermons and addresses of our Saviour, and constitute a great charm in them. Such are all his injunctions in the Sermon on the Mount: giving to his teachinga minuteneSs of detail, and robbing it of‘that generality which is pointless and inapplicable, since men will bear to be rebuked and condemned in company with many, or as belong— ing to a class rather than as individuals. “ Aie not two sparrows sold for a faithing? and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father” , ’is ‘ a simple statement of God’ s goodness.‘ 310 RHETORIC. 7 Let the idea be generalized: suppose it to have been, ‘4 The feathered tribes are considerediof small importance, and yet they share the protection of Pro- vidence ;” and the energy, the searching sense of the appeal is gone. Every such paraphrase causes a loss of meaning. So, again, what a never-ceasing lesson is taught us by his special assertion, “ Even the very hairs of your head are numbered.” N 0 other words could indicate this minute care equally well. This use of special terms and particular instances for general assertions, is the distinguishing mark of all good writers: it becomes with them a habit, and contributes at once to perspicuity and energy of style. Milton is full of such descriptions as employ specific terms. His Satan sits ‘f like a cormorant,” or is found at the ear of sleeping Eve “ squat like a toad.” To most minds this specific description is more beautiful as well as energetic. And even where the splendid imaginationof Milton would idealize so as to leave great images in the mind, it is by special terms as distinguished from general that he efi‘ects his purpose. Satan’s spear is as large as a Norwegian pine, fit “ to be the mast of some great admiral.” In his colossal proportions— “ He stood Like Tenerifi‘e or Atlas, unremoved; His stature reached the sky.” Reference has already been made to our'Saviour’s 0F ENERGY.~ 311 language, but it is equally true that all parts of the Holy Scriptures are pervaded with this spirit. ' St. Paul, preaching on Mars’ Hill, points to the “altar,” which told that they were “too supersti- tious,” raises his hand towards the magnificent Par- thenon which held the splendid ivory statue of their protecting divinity, when he tells them that “ God that made the world and all things therein,‘seeing that He is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands.” In their View were those beautiful “graven images” which were the ~gloryof Minerva’s shrine, when he declared that “ we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and man’s device.” Many illustrations of such a use of terms might be given from all parts of the Bible, and in each they would be found to add to the energy and vivacity of the style. In this scene at Athens the audience sup- plie'd for themselves, with their own eyes, the specific. and proper objects which St. Paul’s gestures and diS- course displayed to them. But there are occasions, it must in justice be ob- Served, where. we desire to make the impression fainter, and where we wish to avoid, for known rea— sons, an absolute allusion ‘61: a vivid impression. V This is often done to avoid a disgusting or shocking impression, and>is Shown in the use of such words in ‘ 312 RHETORIC. times of rebellion, as to safer instead of to be exe- cuted, and homicide instead of murder, misfortune for crime, in, which cases a certain sympathy with humanity in its suffering, leads to the softening of the offensive word. I This use of words, which is called Euphemismywill be recognised by Greek scholars as of common occur- rence in the ancient writers; thus, instead of saying men were killed in battle, it' was customary to soften the idea, by saying they died. While, then, it is evident that a certain latitude is allowed to an author in this regard, the general rule remains the same; and as it has been clearly‘express- ed, “ the more general the terms are, the picture is the fainter; the more special they are, the brighten? Teachers, especially moralists, are apt to err by rea- soning with abstractions, by warning their \pupils against vice and crime in general, and urging them ta a career of virtue, which shall be honourable here, and bring them to glory hereafter. The vagueness of these terms is neither instructive nor impressive; the/honest learner only knows that there is something to be striven for, opposed by something to be shun- ned, and remains without guidanCe or shield against the real and special evils which surround his path. Dr. Whately applies this, and justly, to “inexperi- enced preachers,” of whom the world is full, and who should learn in order to teach. Evy-«NF, .3; . “13v“ :. 1‘" 'f , hi" i 0F RHETORICAL TROPES. 313 (96.) 0f Rhetorical Tropes. By a trope (Greek, tpsnw, to turn,) is meant a term turned out of its proper significance, and applied to another; thus, if we call a statesman thejotllar of the state, we turn the word pillar from its proper original meaning of a prop to a building, and apply it to a man. Tropes, or figures of speech, grow out of the readi- ness of the human mind to find resemblances or analogies between things not immediately connected; sometimes, indeed,.between ideas as unconnected as mind and body, nature and art. Our language, like most others, is full of these figures of speech; our ordinary conversation abounds with them; the plain- est and driest discourse cannot be constructed without them ; and when we rise to the consideration of what interests and pleases us in poetry, we find that figures of speech have usurped the place of. plain language, even in the works of those who afi'ect entire baldness and self-denial in the use of language. Thus Words- , worth, the chief of the revolutionary school of modern poetry, began a striking sentence, in unfigurative verse :— “ The good die first ;” but immediately fell upon a combination of compari- son and metaphor in the lines which follow :— 27 i 314 RHETORIC. “ But they Whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket.” And here it should be observed, that the just divi- sion ‘of tropes, should be constantly kept in view. First. Where the figure resides in the words em- ployed, 2'. e. in the use of these words to express other things than those which they properly signify, for which reason we call these verbal figures. Second. Where the words are used in their ordinary and proper significance, and the things or persons for which they stand are employed out of their proper sphere, or to represent some thing or person other than themselves. Of a verbal figure, examples would be: ‘4 The waves dancing ;” “ the laughing fields;” in which waves and fields are made to do things belonging to man’s nature. And of the second form the'following is an example: Attila came upon south-western Europe like a thunder-storm from Asia. In this the person becomes a storm. A figurative phrase or sentence is one in which any trope or figure occurs ; and the recurrence of these in a discourse gives rise to the general phrase, “ figurative language.” Thus, the Song of Solomon is said to abound 1n figurative lan- guage , and by reason of the ardent imagination of the oriental nations, the Bible is full of imagery or figura- tive language. From what has been said, it is evi-, dent that figures of speech grow out of man’ s nature, which attempts to illustrate his thoughts by reference 0F RHETORICAL ~TROPES. 315 to objects around him: thus, the same spirit which prompts the Indian to call a brave warrior the Great Bear, or his beautiful maiden Min-neltaha, the M2195- 6729 water, led therNormans to call their English king Coeur-de-Lz'on or Lion-Hearted. Bringing two objects before the mind by a real or fancied resemblance, they augment the power of expression, and thus give richness and abundance to style. In general, too, they exalt the simpler and plainer by thus joining it with the loftier and more , dignified—and in this way style is elevated and im- 'proved. ‘ We shall also see that the subject of our discourse is often much more forcibly presented by figurative illustration than by plain language; and thus it must be allowed that it aids perspicm'ty. In all these ways, it is! evident that figurative lan- guage conduces particularly to the energy or viva- city of style; and for this reason it has been intro- duced underthis head. It cannot be doubted that it is also an aid. to appropriateness or elegance, since it adorns a subject, and sets it forth in a pleasing and ‘proper light. But it is mainly as conducive to energy that it is to be regarded. A single hour spent in looking over a book of collected poetry, will prove how fully tropes are part, of the woof of verse. As a remarkable example of successive and world- ( 316 RH ETORIC. renowned figures, every one will turn to Gray’s “ Elegy written in a Country Churchyard ;” “—The knell of parting day,” is a fine figure in which the day is fancied to die at evening. “The moping owl doth to the moon complain,” is a vigorous attribution of sadness to the bird of night, seeking relief from the Queen of night. ' Nearly every line of this carefully elaborated poem contains a trope, and owes its charm to this rhetorical figure. But, besides simply pleasing or giving interest, the trope is often more forcible as an illustration, than the statement of the bare fact, however striking in itself. Thus, what power is conveyed in the following figure :-—- “ God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, , And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with-a gift in’t. Every wish Is like a prayer with God.” Again: there is a. piquancy in the satire of , these lines, which makes their truth more striking :— \ A “Young men, ay, and maids, \Too often sow their wild outs in tame verse, Before they sit down under their own vine, And live for use.” OF RHETORICAL TROPES. 317 The fine figures, which give effect to the following description of the power of Christ in restoring man from the fall of Adam, bring to sight a vivid and enduring picture. “Earth, shut up By Adam, like a fakir 1n a box Left too long buiied, remained stiff and dry, A mere dumb corpse till Christ the Lord came down, Unlocked the doors, forced open the blank eyes, And used the kingly chrisms, to straighten out The leathery tongue turned back into the throat; Since when, she lives, remembers, palpitates In every limb, aspires in every breath, Embraces infinite relations.” Here the glorious power by which the world, dead in trespasses and sins, is brought to life by Christ, is epitomized, and thus rendered stronger and more striking, by its being narrowed down to an actual application. All the various kinds of figures of speech—and they run out into very minute divisions—may be classified under twelve heads, to which we shall limit ourselves, by giving a brief description of each. They are: V 1. Comparison. 7. Personification. 2. Metaphor. » - 8.'Apostrophe. I 3. Synecdoche. - V 9. Allegory. 4. Metonymy. ~ 10. Antithesis. 5. Hyperbole. V 11. Onomatopeeia. 6. Hypocatastasis. ’ 12. Climax. 27* \ 318 RHETORIC. (9 7.) Comparison. 1. Comparison, or Simile, as it is also called, is the expression of a resemblance between two or more objects. Thus: 4‘ Pitt, in his government of England, during the turbulent period of Napoleon’s rule in France, was like a skilful pilot in a stormy sea.” This can hardly be called with justice ’3. trope, because we do not put the one for the other, but simply declare the resemblance between the conduct of Pitt, and the-skill of the pilot; between the nation in its critical condition and a ship in a stormy sea. The simile or comparison is expressed by the words like, as, and so , and frequently by the combined use of as and so . The Scriptures abound with comparisons, as indeed they do with every known figure of speech ; and this is due to the peculiar genius of the oriental people, and in consequence-of the oriental languages from whom they had their origin. , A comparison may simply state the likeness of one thing to another, as . “ The apostles, And the martyrs, wrapped in mantles, Stand as warders at the entrance, Stand as sentinels o’erhead.” But sometimes the simile not only states the resem- a?! COMPARISON. 319 blance, but explains the reasons for it, or the conse- quences of it; as when the Psalmist declares of the righteous man, that he “ shall be like a tree planted by rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season. His leaf also shall not wither, and whatso- ever he doeth shall prosper.” This extended com- parison is valuable for illustration, and often renders clear and interesting a fact which, without it, might be of difficult expression. Of the power of a comparison to illustrate, take an example from Macaulay: “(We are inclined to think . that, with respect to every great addition to the stock of human knowledge, the case has been similar ; that without Copernicus we should have been Copernicans ; that without\Columhus, America would have been discovered; that without Locke we should have pos— sessed a just theory of the origin of human ideas. Society, indeed, has its great men and its little men, as the eaith has its mountains and valleys. But the inequalities of intellect, like the inequalities of the surface of our globe, hear so small a proportion to the mass, that in calculating its great revolutions, they may be safely neglected. The sun illumines the hills while it is still below the horizon ; and truthiis discovered by the highest minds a little before it becomes manifest to the multitude. This is the extent of their superiority. They are the first to catch and reflect alight, which, without their assist- 3‘20 RHETORIC. ance, must, in a short time, be visible to those who lie far beneath them.” . Here the general comparison is twofold; the mind of men are likened to the elevations of the earth’s surface, and Truth is felicitously compared to the rising sun. ‘ Comparison, being the simplest of the figures of- Rhetoric, abounds even in our ordinary speech, and is of constant and most effective use among the best writers in prose and poetry, to illustrate, as has been already explained, and to give those delicate touches of thought which invoke the fancy for their delinea- tion. Thus Shelley, in his Adonais, brings together by a simple comparison, a delicate picture of life con- trasted with the vastness of eternity; it forms a striking figure :— ' “Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the White radiance of eternity.” . And in its very vagueness it conveys a grand idea of existence in unlimited space. ‘ Sometimes a comparison is a literal explanation of a fact, and ceases to be a. rhetorical figure. Thus: as green as grass; red, like a rose ; the stafi' of his spear was like a weaver’s beam. These only define the colour, shape, or size of an object in the simplest manner; and yet, as in the cases already mentioned, although these are not in reality tropes, they are COMPARISON. 321 figures of speech, for the two objects are brought together by means of a common quality. A comparison is often implied, the mind being easily carried to it without the word like, or other index of comparison. Thus :—- ‘ I “ Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain; ' For violets plucked, the sweetest showers Will ne’er make grow again.” The tears here implied as shed for earthly-10ss, are likened to sweet showers, pouring in vain on V dead violets. . But it will be unnecessary to'dwell longer upon the comparison; it will be obvious to the student ”wherever it occurs; and his practice will be aided by observing, I. That there should be. a striking and pleasing resemblance between the objects compared; LII. That they should be'worthy of the comparison ; and, . ‘ - III. That the comparison should be clearly stated, for the purposes of illustration. There are many violations, even among the best poets, of these rules z... , Thus Wordsworth writes, "‘ Calm is all nature as a resting wheel ;” in which the first rule is violated. ‘ I X ‘ '-;rr:rTw'r'~:1§g~r-r‘_ WW“ . \ , 322 RHETonIo. But frequently mean comparisons are used by comic writers, purposelyto degrade the subject they have chosen. Butler’s Hudibras is full of examples of this kind; and Dr. Holmes has been particularly happy in witty similes of this description; for exam- ple in his “ Treadmill” Song :— “ The stars are rolling in the sky, The earth rolls on below,‘ And we can feel the rattling wheel Revolving as we go. Then tread away, my gallant boys, And make the axle fly; Why should not Wheels go round about, Like planets in the sky .9” I (98.) 0f Metaphor. Metaphor is in reality a trope, and consists in the substitute of one word for another, either on account of ,.its resemblance, or on account of the analogy between them—by analogy we mean a resemblance of ratios, relation or purposes. Thus, if the metaphor turn upon resemblance alone, an illustration would .be calling a fort a priest cap, or a leaf of grass a. spear or blade. If upon analogy, we might take the exam- ple given above with a slight alteration. “ Pitt was the pilot, who guided the ship of state through a stormy seal” ‘ Here he is not said to be like a pilot, but is the pilot himself. The Metaphor, and in “7 AW 0F METAPHOR. 323 especial that which is based upon analogy, is of great importance in conducing to the energy of style 2 and is in this respect far better than the simile or comparison, which, by stating the resemblance, robs the mind of the pleasure of detecting and employing it. Thus an American poet says, of the death of a president in the White House, “What! soared the old Eagle to die in the Sun? Lies he stiff with spread Wings at the goal he had won ?” and his greatness and death are beautifully contrasted; but let the mind be stopped in the contemplation of this bold figure, to consider that the’president in his elevation was like an eagle who had reached the sun, and all the energy is lost, the whole being greatly enfeebled by the trammelling process, which insists upon our taking those intermediate steps, over which the mind would naturally leap. It will be observed, that while metaphors are commenly used to ennoble the style, as well as to give it energy, they may be equally used to degrade it; when instead of the resemblances being sought among the pleasing and beautiful images around us, they are found in low and vulgar objects. To this latter class belong those degrading epithets which are often applied to men, as hound, ass, monkey, \beast, brute, and the adjectives formed from them. I, have said that such metaphors degrade style; it is 324 RHETORIC. true, they are originally designed to degrade the persons spoken of, but it is equally true, that loW words and low thoughts are incompatible with dignity of style, however much they may promote its energy. Keats has conceived in all his poems, but, perhaps, with the most exquisite graCe in St. Agnes’ Eve, beau- tiful metaphors, which give delight to the mind by the extreme and yet graphic delicacy of their ex- pression. The wax taper extinguished in the moon- thm “Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died.” Thus, too, in describing sounds in lonely spots, he says they t “ Come a-swooning over hollow grounds, And Wither drearily on barren moors.” A figure forcible but not very clearly illustrative. A fine figure, too, is expressed in thelline, ‘t Or blind Orion hungry for the morn.” L ) But such figures are, in some degree, removed from popular taste by their classical allusions, in which are contained to the instructed, indeed, the chief charm of the metaphor. Some persons'have classed the “allusion” "among the figures of speech; but it is evidently a; metaphor which, besides bringing two OF METAPIIOR. 325 objects into pleasant relation, renders that relation more striking, by the character and! interest of one of the objects as part of another connected story. Like the simile, the metaphor is so simple a figure, and so abounds in discourse, that we need not dwell longer upon it. But as it has been observed that the simile is often very useful in illustration, so it is also evident that some of the most delicate and beautiful thoughts are conveyed by the use of metaphor, causing a gleaming radiance in the style which lends very much to its ’vivacity; thus, a poet, in speaking of Columbus, as he watchedithe moving light on shore, while the darkness of night veiled from his eyes the long- sought'n‘ew world which was to burst in beauty upon his sight when morning should dawn, compares him and his grand achievement to another hero contem- porary with himself, and to an achievement of rival greatness, although purely of a moral character :— “ Thou, Luther of the darkened deep,- Norless intrepid too than he, i , Whose courage woke earth’s bigot sleep, Whilst thine unbarred the sea.” Perhaps any change of word in the folloWing match- less line of Keats, would destroy the beauty of the metaphor :——— I I H . “ A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” I 28 a 326 _ RHETORIC. Often a Metaphor and Comparison combined give still greater vivacity to style. Moore, in speaking of the towers of ruined Baalbec, has this very pleasing figure, or rather succession and combination of figures :— “ Whose lonely columns stand sublime, . Flingz'ng their shadows from on high, Like dials, which the wizard Time Has reared, to count his ages by.” (99.) 0f Sgnecdoche. The Synecdoche (Greek, aw, together with, and exaszopao, to take), consists in placing the whole to express a part, or a part to express the whole. This is evidently a figure residing in the word itself, and expresses no resemblance. . 1. The whole to express a part. This is done when the genus is put for the species, or for the individuals ranged under it. Our western hunters chase the bvzfialo and the bear. These classes stand for the individual animals hunted. “ The man is gray,” is used to express that his head is gray. Man is born to trouble. The brute is under the deminion of man. “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” 1 2. A part for the whole. The ocean. swarms with sails, instead of ships. They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and, their spears into pruning- \ OF SYNECDOCHE. 327 hooks. In this latter Synecdoche, swords and spears stand for all weapons of war; and ploughs/zares and pruning-hooks for the implements of peace. Myriad, in its original meaning is ten thousand (pvpcqc), and is used ‘now, by synecdoche, for an im- mense number, that is, more than ten thousand; in the plural, myriads, it implies numbers so great as to be beyond the computation of human arithmetic. The Synecdoche is not so frequently used as the other figures, among modern writers, but the Scrip- tures contain many examples of it. Thus we have the reverse of the form just mentioned, in Joel: Beat your ploughshares into swords, and your prun- ing-hooks into spears. ‘ The coming of the Son of God to put to confusion the rebellious hosts of Satan, as described by Milton, contains also a Synecdoche in numbers :— “Attended with ten thousand thousand saints, He onward came ; far 011' his coming shone.” It may also be supposed that this figure is used by our Saviour in his. answer to St. Peter’s question: 4‘ How oft shall my brother sin against me and I for- give him ? until seven times ? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee ‘until seven times: but until seventy times seven.” . This partial number is meant to stand Kfor as many times as our brother shall sin, 328 RHETORIC. and thus claim from us that charity of forgiveness which the apostle assures us “never faileth.” (100.) Of Illeionymy. Metonymy (Greek, [161a,* and mic/MI, a name). This figure is much better known in’ its use than by its name. It consists in placing one word for another, which does not express or define it, but to which it is related, as, for instance, the name of a cause for the effect; or of the efiect for the cause; the source, for that which flows from it; the place or scene for some- thing enacted there; the name of a place for the people. In general, it is the interchange of names between things having some connection. Thus we speak of Homer, Virgil, Milton, when we mean their works. i _ Our Saviour makes frequent use of this figure :— “ They have,” he said, “Moses and the prophets, let ’ them hear them.’ Of course, the reference is to their writings. Prophetic language is rendered more sublime by the use of Metonymy. “Ephraim is 7, joined to idols; “ Assyria, the rod of mine anger ;” “Rachel mourning for her children.” “Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine. Ephraim also is the strength of my head, Judah is my lawgiver, Moab is my wash-pot. Over Edom will I cast out my shoe. Philistia, triumph thou because of me.” *Msra is used in the sense of the Latin trans, and therefore metonymy means a change of name. OF METONYMY. 329 The connection or relation indicated by this figure should be clear and distinctly expressed, to render it an effective rhetorical aid, or to conduce t0 the energy and vivacity of style, which these figures principally seek. Thus, the prophecy that ‘4 the sceptre‘ shall not depart from Judah, nor the lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come,” borrows much of its fine effect from the use of sceptre for regal dominion, of Judak'for the tribe and people from whom Christ should 'be descended; lawgiver stands for the main- tenance and preservation of the law of Moses, or the ‘first dispensation, until the coming, of the Saviour. The Psalms are full of the use of this beautiful figure, and in many cases it.runs like a thread of gold through a whole chapter. It is found at the beginning of the eightieth Psalm: “ Give ear, 0 Shepherd of Israel, thou that leadest Joseph like a flock; thou" that dwellest betweenk the cherubim, shine forth. Before Ephraim, Benjamin, and Manus- seh, stir up thy strength, and come and save us.” ‘ 'In the folldwing lines we have states of mind and body, put for the persons who are in them :— “ In these green days, Reviving sickness lifts her languid head, Life flows afresh, and young- eyed health exalts The whole .creation round; Contentment walks The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss Spring o’er his mind, beyond the power of kings - To purchase.” 28* 330 RHETORIC. (101.) Of Hyperbole. ' The next of the rhetorical tropes to be considered is Hyperbole. This word (Greek, mtep Bane, to throw beyond, or exceed) has also been translated into Eng- lish by the plain word Exaggeratz'on. Hyperbole consists in representing an object or emotion as of greater dimensions and greater extent than it really is, much better, or much worse, in order to produce a striking effect. This figure is of frequent and lamentable use in ordinary conversa- tion; and has brought into misuse all our adjectives and adverbs expressing size, extent, or degree: z'm- mense, huge, vastly, are applied to small and unim- portant things; unbounded, interminable, to really finite and perhaps quite limited extension. We speak of the sun burning like fire ; we are our- selves as cold as ice. While these are in reality verbal ' figures, they depend alsovery much upon theimagi— nation, and are in so much purely’figures of thought. The design of their legitimate use is to magnify the .object before us, and give it additional interest and energy, by thus increasing its size and its extension. Thus, a large man, whether in mind or body, is a giant; a fine house is a palace ; a beautiful child is an angel. We might continue to draw examples of this, as of the other figures, from the Bible, and here, in- deed, its use is always beautiful and interesting; but 0F HYPERBOLE. 331 it is a figure by no means so frequently used as the others; and even, where it has been used, it has been arstumbling-block to some. Thus, the phrase the everlasting hills, has led to a doubt concerning the use of this word everlasting, and its companion word eternal, in other places in the Bible, where it is of vital concern. Again, it is asserted that the seed of Abraham should be as “sands on the sea-shore.” ‘4 The land is full of idols.” . It has been justly observed that nations, in their early periods, when every manifestation of God in - nature must strike them with awe and astonishment, are most apt to use this figure, partly as a vent to their surprise, and partly because, in the dim light through which they see objects, they do in reality loom up in exaggerated proportions. This is pre- eminently the" case with the Oriental nations, who dwell in the vicinity of the cradle of the world. It must also be remarked that children and youth indulge in hyperbolical language to a much greater extent than persons of maturer age. The reason is analogous to the one just given; the exuberance of spirits lends itself to all around them, and gives vigour and proportions to the world, commensurate with their own thoughts and hopes. Children’s eyes are magnifying glasses, which losetheir powers as. they grow older; , ‘ Strictly speaking, the hyperbole is an improper Vfir' -T—v-yuvv.vw M, 332 . RHETORIC. figure, since it ostensibly deviates,~whene.ver used, from the‘exact truth; but the conventions of society have agreed upon a scale of exaggerations and super- latives, and consent to understand them as not really expressing the true meaning of the words used: in other words, due allowance is made for the hyperbole, and the truth is understood, though not expressed. The qualities ascribed to a certain object in the hyper- bole, do really belong to it, but not in the degree expressed. Literary criticism abounds} in exaggera- tion; an author’s excellencies are magnified, his de- fects rendered greater and more glaring, by being detached from his beauties, and thus garbled :, one is the most splendid orator of the period; another abso- lutely the poorest Speaker in the world. And thus the unfortunate necessity, which seems forced upon us by the conventions of the world, that we should take one or the other side in every question involving partisanship, seems to demand the use of hyperbole in praising our partisans and abusing our opponents. And besides all this it is more lamentable still that exaggeration in speech sometimes becomes a fashion, a social convention, and that conversation is consi~ dered tame~ without it. (102.) Of Hypocatasz‘asis. This figure (Greek, Mo, mm, ‘0‘an, to subSté'tute) consists in substituting, without any 'previous state- OF PERSONIFICATION. 333 ment of such a design, one act, or object, for another ; in order, by a resemblance, to illustrate that for which the substitution is made. Thus, we speak of a person “rowing against the tide,” to illustrate one who is encountering serious obstacles. The Scriptures have many fine examples of the use of this figure : “ Come unto me, all, ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” “ Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.” “Taking up the cross” is an illustration in constant use. When i we speak of a person who isiapproaching the end of his life, we say, “ he is near his journey’s end ;” and so also we pray that he may reach “the haven of eternal rest,” in allusion to the voyage of life. So also the prophet, speaking of the judgments of God, says, ‘4 Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks E walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks ye have kindled. This shall-ye have at my hand; ye shall lie downin sorrow.” (103.) Persomfication. This figure ascribes to inanimate objects the attri- butes of animate beings; or to brutes and inferior animals the powers of men; in a word, it invests with pe7sonal dignity anything which is before impersonal. Thus, an American pOet addresses our flag as though it were endowed with life: —— -' 334 RHETORIC. “ Bright flag at yonder tapering mast, Fling out your field of azure blue.” In. Longfellow’s. “Midnight Mass for the Dying Year,” there is a fine succession of personifications :— “Yes, the year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death with frosty hand'and cold, Plucks the old Inan by the beard, '7) Sorely,——sorely . This figure is of constant occurrence in Holy Writ, and is especially to be found couched in prophetic language :— 6‘ The earth mourneth and fadeth away; the world languisheth.” ' “ The wilderness and solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly‘and rejoice.” Such, too, is the nature of our Saviour’s address to Jerusalem, when he wept over the City; but here, in addition to the Personification, we have also the \ use of Metonymy by ‘which Jerusalem, thus personi- fified, stands for the people Who live in‘ Jerusalem. (104.) Apostrophe. Apostr0phe (Greek, am and aepsow, to turnxfrom)~ signifies a turning away from the general current of the discourse, to make a direct address to some per- APOSTROPHE. 335 son or object; this is of a digressive character, and is usually imaginative in its aim; thus, we may speak to a person absent or dead, as though present; or it may be an appeal made by the counsel to a judge in the midst of, his speech to the jury. Thus, too, God is constantly apostrophized in prayer. But it is not necessary that what we apostrophize should be a living or an animate being; the apos- trophe is also used in conjunction With the figure of personification, in an address to that Which is inani~ mate and impersonal. Such is Milton’s “Address to Light :”-— “ Hail! Holy light! ofi'spring of Heaven first born, And of the eternal, coeternal beam.” , Indeed these figures, joined in. the form of an ad- dress to those things destitute of life, are of frequent recurrence in Milton, and form one great charm of his poetry. Thus, in “ Lycidas” he begins :— “ Yet once more, 0 ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, With ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude.” And again :— “ O fountain Arethuse, andvthou honoured flood, Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds!” Ideal personages are oftenthus addressed :— 36 RH ETORIC. OJ “ Hence, loathed melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born!” Qr again, in “ L’Allegro z”— “ Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles.” \ Collins, in his beautiful “ Ode to Evening,” uses the Apostrophe with fine efl'ect :— “ O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits in you western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With ‘brede ethereal wove, O’erhang his wavy bed, Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some softened strain.” / The Apostrophe is one of the most natural of figures, and is especially the language of an excited fancy. It imparts an exaltation to style which gives additional energy. What is finer, in effect, than ' Byron’s “Apostrophe to Ocean ?”— ' “Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form Glasses itself in tempests! In all time Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale; or storm, \ Icing the pole, or in the torrid elime Dark heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime!” \. M THE ALLEGORY. 3—7 (L: (105.) The Allegory. This word, derived from the Greek smog, another, and ovyopww, to speak, means, literally, saying one thing and meaning another. As a figure it implies telling a story, the events and personages of which are fictitious, but which in their combination illus- trate what is true and important. It is evidently a kind of continued metaphor. The Bible is full of the use of the Allegory: of this nature were our Saviour’s parables, in which, under the guise of V “ the field,” “the good seed,” “a flock,” “a grain of mustard seed,” 850., he spoke of , the Jews, and his own disciples, the Gentiles, and the spread of his kingdom. The Song of Solomon is a series of high- wrought allegories. In the eightieth Psalm may be found one of the finest and most beautifully illustra- tive; in which the children of Israel are compared to a vine, and the metaphor is kept up in explanation of God’s gracious dealings with them. The allegory has been used by great writers as the means of in- culcating truth; Very frequently it is found as a pleasant episode in a long discourse, lending inte- rest and energy to the style, as in Milton’s “Areo- pagitica ;’)’«—-— V “ Truth, indeed,.came once'into the world with her divine Master, and was aperfect shape, most glori- ous to look on; but when he ascended, and his apos- . 29 Y 338 RHETORIC. tles after him were laid asleep, then straight arose a. Wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes, of the Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators, how they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four winds.” But sometimes the entire discourse is an Allegory. Such is the case in Bunyan’s “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” a book universally known, admired, and understood. So also Spenser’s “ Faerie Queene” is, in its plan, an organized allegory, carried out in many diversified H allegories. I Dante’s “ Divina Commedia, if not what we would call a continued allegory, is full of smaller allegorical events and descriptions. Thus Beatrice represents, when taken literally, the soul of Dante’s earthly love; but, in the figurative sense, Theology is personified, and by her assistance the poet is made to comprehend the mysteries of religion. The allegorical character of the poem Dante has made known to us, in a letter to a friend, in these words :— “ The first sense is that which it derives from its lan- guage, and another is that which it derives fromthe things signified 'by the language ;¥-—the one literal; the other, allegorical.” Of the nature of allegory are also those exquisite poems, “ The Ancient Mariner,” by Coleridge, and “ St. Agnes’ Eve,” by Keats. Those who would read them only for the apparent story, as literally told, ., THE ALLEGORY. 339 will indeed be charmed with the beautiful diction, but will lose the entire design of the writers. I There is a striking'allegory contained in a short poem by Poe, called “ The Haunted Palace.” In the first part, the pOet intends to describe a man in men- tal and physical health, the embodiment of the maxim mens sand in corpore sano ; but in the second he portrays the same goodly structure stricken by insanity :— “But evil things in robes of sorrow, Assail the monarch’s high estate; (Ah! let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory, [That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim remembered story ' Of the old time entombed. ‘4 And travellers now Within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see, Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While like a rapid ghastly river, Through the pale door, A hideous throng rush out for ever, And laugh, but smile no more.” In the last stanza, "2 the red-litten Windows,” to re- present the eyes of a madman, form a strong figure; andthe mouth, with its “discordant” words, “a, hideous throng,” is” powerfully portrayed in “the pale door” of the palace. ' ' / 340 RIIETORIC. Allegory is the common form in use among the eastern story~tellers. There is something akin torwit in 'telling a man what is personal, and leaving it to himself to make the application of it; and if, as in the powerful story of David and Nathan, it is so adroitly done that the meaning remains hidden until the moral has been inculcated in an impersonal man- ner, the application, “ Thou art the man,” is all the more forcible and complete. (106.) Antithesis. By Antithesis (Greek, own and new», to place oppo- site or against, is the placing of two objects in them- selves contraries or contradictories, so that each is rendered more striking and distinct by the centrast. Thus, “ The wicked flee when noman pursueth; but the righteous is bold as a lion.” By the use of this figure we exalt what is truly great, and belittle what is already low and mean. ' In discourse, as in painting, as everything is drawn with relative propor- tions, it is by antitheses that we determine these pro- portions. In many instances, antithesis is the principal ele- ment in wit; the unexpected contrast of objects. This figure seems to be, in efl‘ect, the opposite of comparison and: metaphor, designed to show, not re- semblance or similitude, but difference and contrast. ANTITI'IESIS. 341 It is this which gives point to the epigram in many cases; not by bringing together objects in themselves unlike, but by stating, as a conclusion, something entirely dzfetent from what we expected. Such points are found in some of‘ the stanzas of Dr. Holmes’s spirited poem “ On Lending a Punch- 130le"— “That night afi‘righted from his nest the screaming eagle flew, He heard the Pequot’s ringing Whoop, the soldier’s wild halloo; And there the Sachem learned the'rule he taught to kith and kin, ‘Run from the white man when you find he smells of IIolland Gin.’ ” Not less striking is the contrast between what is expected and What occurs in the last stanza :— “ Thenfill a fair and honest cup, and bring it straight to me, The goblet hallows all it holds; whate’er the liquid be; And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin, That dooms one to those dreadful words—‘ My dear, Where have you been ?’ ” / It is by means of the Antithesis that the best results are obtained by writers in their passage “ From grave to gay, from lively to severe.” Truth appears more beautiful when we turn directly to it from the contemplation of error ; beauty shines more brightly when arranged side by side with de- formity. The long and dark night 1s the best usher of the glorious day. 29* o 342 RHETORIC. (107.) Orizomatopoeia. This figure (Greek, ovdya, a name, and noesw, to make) consists in the making or invention of words to imitate sounds; as burly-burly, to indicate confused but turbulent sounds; did-oler-rum-dum—dam, to ex- press the sound of a drum; mew and paw, to imitate a cat; bow wow, for a dog; rat-tat-tat, to mark the knocking at a door. It is by the use ofthis figure that words were originally formed in imitation, of the sound, as the roar of the tempest, or whistle of the wind; the buzzing of the bee; the booming of the" cannon, &c.; and some persons have the faculty, in the use of this figure, of coining such words for pre- sent use. It is, however, a dangerous power, and should be very sparingly used. (108.) Climax. The last figure mentioned, and the one which will close our consideratiOn of figurative language as con- ducive to the energy of style, is Climax. This word is derived from the Greek word xamaé, which means a stair or ladder. It consists in passing from the weakest or-least striking statements, the words or members of a sentence or paragraph, successively to those which are stronger, and reserving the strongest for the last. CLIMAX. 343 When the reverse of this process is made, the figure is called an anti-climax. Sometimes the short succession of sentences, in which the last idea is constantly repeated in connection with a new one, called in logic a chain argument, is denominated a climax. , A fine illustration of this figure, is found in a. recent volume of Bancroft’s History of the United States. It is the effect of the battle of Lexington z,— “Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the war-message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the backwoods ;‘the plains to the high- lands ; and it was never sufi'ered t0 droop, till it had been borne north, and south, and east, and west, throughout the land. It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the_Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New Hampshire, and ringing the bugle notes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the cliffs of Quebec. - The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale. As the summonshurried to the south, it was one day at New York ; in one more at Philadelphia ; the next it lighted a watch-fire at Baltimore; thence it waked an answer at ‘ Annapolis. Crossing the 3-14 RHETORIC. Potomac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to Williamsburgh. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nansemond along the route of the first emigrants ‘to North Carolina. It moved onwards and still onwards through boundless groves of ever- green to Newbern and to Wilmington. ‘ For God’s sake, forward it by night and by day,’ wrote Corne- lius Harnett, by the express which sped for Bruns- wick. ‘ Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at the border, and despatched it to—Charleston, and through pines, and palmettoes, and moss-clad live- oaks, still further to the south, till it resounded among the New England settlements beyond the Sa- vannah. Hillsborough and the Mecklenburg district of North Carolina rose in triumph, now that their wearisome uncertainty had its end. The Blue Ridge took up the voice and made it heard from one end to the other of the valley of Virginia. The Alleghenies, as they listened, opened their barriers that the 4 loud call’ might pass through to the hardy riflemen on the Holston, the Watauga, and the French Broad. Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough even to create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring word to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunt- ers who made their halt in the matchlessvalley of the Elkhorn, commemorated the nineteenth» day of _ April by naming their encampment LEXINGTON? Some writers have included among the figures of ‘ CLIMAX. 345 speech, the Interrogation, the Exclamation, and the Repetition; but they are only inverted or excited forms of plain speech, and can hardly be, in justice, classed under the head of figurative language. The Interrogation is, indeed, more forcible than» the mere indicative form :— “In joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious With his own?” And so in the Bible this figure imparts energy and _animation to the style :——-<4_Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord re- vealed ?” Here it is designed to express how few have be- lieved or seen the power of God. The Exclamation is a very natural form expressing astonishment, fear, or high emotion; it is used in apostrophe constantly, and sometimes merely to give greater force to the expression; as in the Sentence, H How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet 10f him who bringeth glad tidings, who publisheth peace!” ‘ The Repetition consists in saying, with vigour of language and manner, the‘same word or sentence over again; implying that it is of such great import- ance as to demand a special consideration and recep- tion. Fromwhat has been said, it will be seen that figu- 346 RHETORIC. rative language is not only conducive to the beauty of style, and thus forms a part of rhetorical aesthetics, but, what is of more importance, that it aids in the clear and energetic expression of our thoughts. Aiknowledge of- the proper use of figures, and the laws which govern them, is of great importance in determining the exact meaning of the author. Thus without such knowledge it is impossible justly to ap- preciate the prophetic language of the Bible, couched, as it usually is, in terms of all the figures we have mentioned. And aS‘we have shown, most of our Saviour’s teaching while on earth was also given in the form of allegory or parable, and abounds with the other figures of speech. In many cases, in poetry, the whole meaning of the poem is made to turn upon one prominent figure; as in the beautiful verses of Longfellow, entitled “ Sea Weed,” in which the first part describes the stormy deep :— “When descends on the Atlantic, The gigantic Storm wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with sea—weed from the rocks; \ And in the second we have this applied as a compana ion to the action of the poet’s mind :— W/rww—r‘ /« ' 1‘/J1',"" 'v' “n,“ fur-r CLIMAX. 347 “So when storms of wild emotion, Strike the ocean ' Of the poet’s soul, ere long From each cave and rocky fastness, In its vastness, Floats some fragment of a song. “ From the far-01f isles enchanted, Heaven has planted With the golden fruit of Truth; From the flashing surf, Whose vision Gleams Elysian, In the tropic clime of youth.” , Another of Longfellow’s poems, ‘4 The Occultation of Orion,” abounds with mixed figures, similes, meta- phors, classical allusions; and the whole is a beauti- ful allegory: for he pictures to us the moon as she passes between the earth and Orion, destroying his brightness, as some fair saint to whom is given power tolput an end to the reign of violence on earth and in the heavens :— “Then through the silence overhead, An angel with a trumpet said: ‘ For evermore, for evermore,‘ The reign of violence is o’er 1” And like an instrument that flings Its music on another’s strings, The trumpet of the angel cast / Upon the heavenly Lyre its blast, And on from sphere to sphere the words, Ree'choed down the burning chords— ‘ For evermore, for evermore, The reign of violence is «for? ” 3-18 RH ETORIC. The moral lesson contained in the structure and growth of 4‘ The Chambered Nautilus,” is beautifully conveyed by Holmes in the poem with that title, to be found in his “ Autocrat of the Breakfast Table ;” and it forms another proof of the charms which lie in well invented and properly applied figures of thought and of speech. (109.) Elegance. There remains yet the third and last quality of a. good style to be considered; and this is Elegance. A discourse may be perspz'euons, and perfectly intelligible; it may be energetic and forcible; without being elegant. And if it lack elegance, to most minds it will be unpleasing. This branch of our subject will need, however, much less consideration here; because many of the rules before laid down for attaining perspz’cuz'ty and energy, really apply to the attainment of Elegance; and further, because in the general subject cf rhetori- cal aesthetics, although the reference Was to thought and invention rather than to language, still elegance of expression is so indissolubly allied to beauty and sublimi‘ty of thought, that we could only illustrate the fine thoughts by elegant and graceful language. Under this headpit has been thought best to con- sider the general appropriateness of the language to ELEGANCE. 349 express the thought; and, apart from this, the beauty or grace of the expression. Fitness is, as has been remarked in the chapter on Esthetics, a decided element of beauty, and thus conduces to Elegance. And this fitness or'appropri- ateness implies that a writer should have something to say, and means to proceed at once to say it in the most proper language. This appropriateness is lost when it appears as though a person only wanted to say something, and was at a loss what to say, as well as how toisay it. V - It is further evident that the nature of the dis- course will determine, according to the laws of fit- ness, the character of the expression: A plain mathe- matical disquisition will need no graces of language or figures of' speech, while a poetic thought will claim a more ornate and romantic eXpression. It is evi- dent without further illustration that a different style must be used in the treatment of the various kinds of discourse; to this we shall devote a few lines before I closing. But elegance of style also depends upon the graces of expression, as to the choice of words, which has already been spoken of in treating of purity and propriety, and in the structure of sentences, as to the euphony/ and harmony of diction, and in the general arrangement of the discourse, with a reference to, the I 30 ,. 350 RIIETORIC. beauty of its entire construction. To these/latter we shall now refer. (110.) Euphony and Harmony. By Euphony (Greek, w, well, and com, the voice), is meant a pleasantly voiced sound, and has reference only to sound, and not to sense. Such words as are easily pronounced, and make a pleasant, gliding, or flowing sound to the ear, are called euphonious. Euphony, then, which is one of the essential or absolute properties of style, is to be attained in various ways; thus, the loudness of sound concerns its euphony; so does the clearness, the pitch, the time, &c,; indeed,\the consideration of the musical gamut is the true key to the euphony of style. I. Euphony in style consists, first, in the choice of pleasant-sounding words; and the ear will readily aid us in such a choice; most persons agreeing very easily upon this point. Harsh, guttural sounds, are unpleasing ; sharp and hissing sounds pain the ear; words ending in two or three‘ consonants, as lovedst, strik'st, are also uneuphonious. I II. But upon the arrangement of words in sen- tences, quite apart from the sense, the euphony of style depends. When, for example, many words similar to those just mentioned are brought together, i W- EUPHONY AND HARMONY. 351 the euphony is destroyed. Tautology, or the repeti- tion of the same word in a sentence, is also injurious to the euphony. III. But the most important consideration of the pleasantness of sound, is its adaptation to the sense. This adaptation is called Harmony; and it has been incidentally referred to already in the subject of rhetorical aesthetics. Harmony requires that the words in a sentence shall make a- pleasing sound to the ear, analogous to the efl'ect of the thought upon the mind. But in every case the sound must be suited to the sense; and if the thought be a painful and disagreeable one, the words may also be harsh and ill-sounding. Milton is full of such charming analogies. ,Gray’s Elegy abounds in them, and these attract the interest of many persons, who are not aware why they are pleased with these charming verses. A fine example of Harmony may be found in Dry- den’s Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day, in which music’s power is used to excite varied moods in the mind of the great conqueror. And in the other ode, “ To St. Cecilia,” there is a wonderful flow and sweetness in the opening lines :— “From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began. From harmony to harmony, Through all the compass of the notes it ran, , The diapason closing full in Man.” 352 RIIETORIC. Perhaps there is no more striking illustration of the adaptation of sound to sense, than the follofing :— “The trumpet’s loud clangor, Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger, And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Of the thundering drum, Cries, Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, ’tis too late to retreat.” As a very successful attempt in this study of Har- mony, we may cite Poe’s “ Bells.” One almOst hears the “ Sledges With the bells— Silver bells—— What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy ear ‘of night!” And then “ The mellow wedding bells, Golden bells!” ' But we should transcribe the whole poem if we endeavoured to select special passages illustrative of harmony—“ The brazen, bells” which tell( of fire, and the “iron bells” “ moaning” and “ groaning’ ’in the silence of the night. ‘ The English language is peculiarly adapted to the EUPHONY AND HARMONY. 353 cultivation of harmony; and we should be at no loss for thehichest examples of its use. Akin to this is the subject of Rhythm, or the accentuation of syllables to produce the cadence of verse. But this subject belongs to Prosody and to Poetry, and leads, consequently, to another field of investigation. Little can be done by mere precept in books, to teach the harmonious use of language. The in: structor must do this orally, and by varied vocal illustrations. With these remarks we close the consideratlon of the qualities of style. 36* a z 354 '~ RHETORIC. CHAPTER XIV. OF THE APPLICATIONS OF STYLE AND THE FORMS OF ' COMPOSITION. " \ IT has been already stated,_incidentally, that dif- ferent kinds df style must be used in the treatment of the different kinds of discourse. It is not within the scope of such a work as this to give rules and illustrations of these adaptations of style. They are to be found in the standard works of every depart- ment of English literature, and to be learned by training our native talents on the model of the best' speakers and writers, and by developing and polish- ing what is natural, without detriment to its sound- ' ness and simplicity. In particular, it resides With the teacher, by his constant and judicious criticisms of the compositions of his pupils, to give them those just ideas which can never be entirely inculcated by books. , There is much judgment required with pupils of different degrees and directions of talent, as to how often they should be required to write, and what length of composition Should be demanded. Some APPLICATIONS OF STYLE. 355 are quick in thought and slow in expression; some the reverse; some are full of ornament; others too plain and bald in speech. It would be well, after judiciously adapting the exercise to the powers of the individual pupil, not to let him sit down to write until he had taken time and opportunity to reflect carefully upon the subject, that is, to invent and arrange the discourse in the mind, before putting it upon paper. Nothing can be more perplexing to a beginner than to require him, at a moment’s warning, to produce an essay on a subject upon which he has never thought; and nothing can lead more surely to a false and afi'ected array of high-sounding words, in which euphony is made to take the place of argument and fact. This remark, of course, applies to stated and continuous instruction. As a trial of the readiness of the best writers in a class, it may be well some- times to cause them to write what may be called extemporaneous essays upon a given subject; which will test the amount and the methodical arrangement of their knowledge, and the readiness of their powers of expression in words. In many collegiate institutions it is usual to cause the lower classes to begin with translations from Latin and Greek authors; and this is an excellent course, since they are at once exercised in the study of the classics, and in the traduction of the foreign idioms into our own language. It is worthy of remark O 356 RHETORIC. , that this is the form of discourse to be observed in the beginnings of modern literature. Chaucer’s first efforts were translations, and the early English poets have followed his example in a greater or less degree. Sometimes compositions are made to include para- phrases, or the rendering in our own language the thoughts of another already expressed in the same language. Occasionally the paraphrase of prose, by putting it into a poetic form, gives us a pleasing metrical form, and an adaptation to music, as in Addison’s paraphrases of some of the Psalms, which are now used in most collections of hymns for public worship; but the paraphrase is usually a‘weak and unsatisfactory imitation of the original, in which all the effective, individual, and idiomatic points are lost, and the faults are exaggerated. Many examples of the truth of this remark might be cited from-high authority. Thus, we have the fine rebuke to the sluggard, in the original: “Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise I” It is thus translated by Dr. Johnson :— “ Turn on the prudent ant thy heedless eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise ;” in which every additional word is an injury to the sense and to the force of the appeal. I The same truth is made manifest in Dryden’s para— phrase of Milton’s “ Paradise Lost;” and in many APPLICATIONS OF STYLE. I 357 verses of Pope’s ‘4 Messiah,” as rich and elevated as that poem really is. In many essays or compositions, quotations are largely employed, and it is a question of some im- portance when and where they may be profitably usai In the nunn,'we wouhi advme than except where an illustration is required, the writer should express the thoughts in his own words, and avoid quotations; but there must constantly occur excep- tions to such a rule. Sometimes the passage quoted expresses the thought in a manner more felicitous than any other words will do; sometimes the authority of the quotation is valuable, as when it is taken, from some very famous author; and sometimes it is used to enliven discourse, as in the occasional introduction of a few lines of exquisite. poetry,'which are appro- priate to the current of discourse : this latter use of quotations also introduces the element of harmony, and conduces to the elegance of style. Quotations frOm the Scriptures are always forcible, for a reason beyond those just given; it is because they seem to corroborate that which is only of the nature of human wisdom, by the testimony of divine wisdom; and, well introduced, they produce the excellent efi'ect of giving to the discourse a religious spirit, which elevates and purifies itself and its in- fluence. \ Of the forms of composition, as to- the subjects, 358 RHETORIC. the lengths required, and the details of manipulation, the use of paper, 850., each instructor will form his own system. It should, when made, be uniform. Perhaps the forms of public documents in our own country give us the easiest and best models, espe- cially for large classes, where compositions are written frequently, and accumulate in large numbers on the instructor’s desk for examination. Following this pattern, they should be written upon Congress letter-paper (in size), folded three times across the sheet, and endorsed on the back, beginning at the top with the name of the place or institution; then the date; then the name of the student and his class; and, in the middle, the subject. When compositions thus endorsed are tied together in file, the instructor can glance over the endorsements, and, after having examined them, make his remarks in the form of an additional endorsement. In oflicial papers, which are regularly filed away, this system is invaluable ; in the place of the subject, we have in such documents a brief of the contents, as a part of the endorsement. / (111.) The Rhetoric of Conversation. There remains but one topic upon which a few re- marks seem requisite ; it is an inquiry to what extent the laws of discourse laid down in the foregoing pages, apply to our ordinary conversation. I THE RHETORIC OF CONVERSATION. 359 No one who will reflect can deny the great import- ance of conversation in the affairs of life; not merely to settle the concerns of the family, the market the social circle, but in the higher walks of professional life, of diplomacy, and statesmanship; and yet there are in society thousands who regard it as but a pas- time, amenable to no rigorous laws, and by no means to be subjected to ha'rsh judgment. The subject ‘of conversation has many and most interesting points of~consideration. Its moral charac- ter is of vast importance. Measured by that stand- ard‘which declares that an account will be required for “ every z'dle word ;” and which will be, of course, more exacting for every false and evil word, it is of great moment how we speak. But again, considered in the light of social con- vention, it forms a most interesting topic. This view discloses to us the many forms which make up the varied talk of society. This man deals in hyperbole or exaggeration, in a manner which would never pass current in written discourse; his reason is to make himself the more strikingly interesting; and his excuse is that the proper allowance will be made, and he will, after all, be rightly understood. Another annoys us with his constant egotism, at variance alike with truth and taste, and with true modesty. , Perhaps the most disagreeable of all is the man 360 RHETORIC. who monopolizes the conversation, forcing all others into the position of listeners, and actually haranguing and lecturing those who are unprepared for such an infliction. Notable historic examples of this class are found in Dr. Johnson, Coleridge, and Macaulay. And so we might refer to the fiippcmt talker; the scientific talker, whose whole nomenclature astonishes without instructing; and the gossip, who lives to spy out the faults of others, that he may tell of them. But we come finally to the rketorical view of con- versation, and we are ready to declare that all the rules laid down for discourse apply to our ordinary talk in full force. We should always speak gram- matically and rhetorically well. We should be careful in inventing the subject- matter of our conversation; we should arrange it duly, and our language should be a just, full, and pleasing expression of our thoughts. The habit of speaking in a vulgar manner to igno- rant people, and thus lowering ourselves, as it is sup- posed, to their standard, is wrong. We may, it is true, find a plainer word to express our thought than we might ordinarily use ; but it should be pure, proper, and precise. In many cases of this kind the value of rhetorical rules is manifested by the fact that in our efforts to be very clear, we apply those rules with a minuteness which, perhaps, we do not always use when we are talking at random, or are indifl'erent as CONCLUSION. 351 to making ourselves intelligible. Particularly, too, should we avoid all slang phrases. Apart from their inelegance, they foist upon the language new and Vulgar words and idioms which it is far better with- out. To “talk like a book,” is frequently used to ex- press a fault; but it is the fault of pedantry, and not of rhetorical exactness. The errors of a conversational style are not so easily marked, of course, as those in a set discourse. Many a man of few ideas has an elegance of language, which, to the unobservant mind, causes his platitudes to sound like wisdom; while the taciturnity and bald Speech of the philosopher have become proverbial. The faulty speech of many persons, even among those who call themselves educated, is a lamentable proof how necessary a branch of our subject is the Rhetoric of conversation. (112.) Conclusion. In bringing this work to a close, it has been thought best to supply a short list of subjects, upon which the student may be required to compose " essays. It is intended rather as suggestive than complete, and the instructor will readily supply many excellent topics, under the various heads re- ferred to. ' 31 362 RHETORIC. Historical and Biographical Themes. The last. days of Queen Elizabeth. Spenser’s Three Elizabeths. John Milton, the statesman, the poet, the theologian. Alistotle and his times. Cicero the orator. Quintilian the rhetorician. George III., his policy and his mind. Historic nights. Historic mountains. Historic rivers. Pompeii and its fate. St. Paul before Nero. Luther at the Diet of Worms. Milton visiting Galileo in prison. Spenser and Sir Philip Sidney as friends. Copernicus on his death-bed. The battle of the Nile. Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar. ‘ Homer and his poems. Robert Burns. The Rosicrucians. The Scandinavian Vikings. Cardinal Richelieu and his policy. Alexander Hamilton. . The Moravians in history. Palissey the potter. Berthold Schwartz. God in history. Saratoga and Yorktown. The Gnostics. The sources of history. National sports. Ancient and modern modes of warfare. ' Supposed degeneracy of the present period. Eloquence 1n history. wry: v:*Ti9§f; N/LLHa/uaaal/uaaux