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 LECTURES 
 
 BEAD TO THE 
 
 SENIORS IN HARVARD COLLEGE. 
 
 EDWARD T. CHANNING, 
 
 LATE BOTLSTON PROFESSOK OF BUET01UC AND ORATORY. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 TIOKNOR AND FIELDS. 
 
 M DCCC LVI.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 HENRIETTA A. S. CHANNING, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 
 
 o AMBKIDQB: 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND FRIXTKD BY THURSTON AND TOI5RY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 PREFACE V 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. BY R. H. DANA, JB. . . vii 
 
 THE OBATOR AND HI3 TIMES .1 
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC 26 
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY 46 
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY 60 
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY 72 
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. THE PROFESSION AND TRIBUNAL . 90 
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY 98 
 
 TUB ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER 113 
 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. REASONS FOR PREACHING . 120 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. THE PREACHER AND HIS . 
 
 AUDIENCE 133 
 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. THE PREACHER'S RESOURCES 143 
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS 149 
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM 166 
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION 185 
 
 HABITS OF READING 202 
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS 208 
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE .... 218 
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND OF THOUGHT . . . 233 
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT 246 
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME 259 
 
 [in] 
 
 G99918
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 WHEN Bishop Manningham was requested to pub- 
 lish in a volume the sermons which he had printed 
 separately at different times, he said to his son, 
 " Prithee, Tom, let them alone ; they lie quiet now ; 
 put them together and they will fight." The danger 
 of inconsistency may seem very small, when the pa- 
 pers about to be published are still in manuscript. 
 Though written at far distant periods, and during a 
 time of life when the author's temper and opinions are 
 peculiarly liable to change, yet, on a cool revision, he 
 can omit what he no longer holds, and make peace 
 between passages which, through inadvertence, are 
 found to be somewhat at variance. I hope that, in 
 preparing the following lectures for the press, I have 
 made a proper use of my opportunity, and that the pas- 
 sages introduced upon the revision have not let in new 
 and unobserved elements of discord. Very often, in- 
 consistency may be more in the tone than in the mat- 
 ter, and not so much owing to a change in our views, 
 as to the temptation to speak more strenuously of the 
 *
 
 same or of related topics, at one time than at another. 
 If we could always remember ourselves, we should be. 
 pretty safe. 
 
 I have not attempted a systematic view of rhetoric, 
 either in compliance with the statutes of the professor- 
 ship, or according to any idea of my own. So obvious 
 will this be, that the lectures may often be more justly 
 regarded as essays upon subjects suggested by rhetoric 
 than as orderly treatises upon its proper topics. As I 
 have taken but a part of the course for publication, 
 and, for convenience, have sometimes divided a lecture 
 according to the prominent topics, the separate articles 
 will probably appear still more independent of each 
 other and even of the art which they ought ever to 
 have kept in sight. 
 
 In preparing this volume for the press, I see, per- 
 haps more distinctly than ever before, that I have 
 been travelling, in my own way, over old ground. 
 How much I am indebted to others, I do not know; 
 and probably the most careful notes of my reading for 
 many years would not give an adequate account of my 
 obligations. I have acknowledged those which I re- 
 membered, and must content myself with a general 
 expression of gratitude for such as I have forgotten or 
 was never aware of. * 
 
 Cambridge, June 10, 1852.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 EDWARD TYRREL CHANNING was born in New- 
 port, in Rhode Island, December 12, 1790. The 
 biography of his elder brother, William Ellery 
 Channing, has made all acquainted with the his- 
 tory of his family. Coming from Dorsetshire in 
 England, they resided for several generations in 
 Newport, and filled highly respectable positions 
 in professional and commercial life. His father, 
 after holding the offices of District Attorney of 
 the United States, and Attorney General of the 
 State, died young, leaving a family of nine child- 
 ren. The biography to which we have referred 
 has also shown us the virtues and strength of 
 mind of his mother, who was a daughter of 
 William Ellery. The eldest brother, Francis 
 Dana Channing, died young, like his father, 
 while rapidly advancing in reputation at the 
 Boston bar. The second brother in age, and 
 third in order of death, was the celebrated divine. 
 The eldest now surviving is the distinguished 
 
 [vii]
 
 V1U BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 physician and late professor in the Medical Col- 
 lege of Harvard University. 
 
 Edward entered Harvard University in 1804, 
 at the age of thirteen. He was not graduated in 
 course, as he was involved in the famous rebel- 
 lion of 1807, one of the few in which the stu- 
 dents seem, on the whole, not to have been in 
 the wrong. But he received his degree a few 
 years afterwards, and, in 1851, the further degree 
 of Doctor of Laws. On leaving college, he 
 studied law with his elder brother, and was ad- 
 mitted to the Boston bar. 
 
 He read law philosophically and carefully, car- 
 rying along with his stricter professional studies, 
 a course of reading in history and in the Greek 
 and Roman classics. It was thought by his 
 friends that he would ripen into a learned and 
 accomplished jurist, as his mind was judicial, 
 and his scholarship much above that of most of 
 his contemporaries at the bar. But his paramount 
 tastes were literary ; and with a circle of friends, 
 nearly all of whom have since become known to 
 the public, he devoted himself chiefly to literary 
 pursuits. 
 
 The North American Review, the earliest per- 
 manent periodical in America, had its origin 
 in a club of young men who, in the winter of 
 1814-15, projected a bi-monthly magazine, to be 
 called the New England Magazine and Review. 
 The first mover in this undertaking was Mr.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. IX 
 
 Willard Phillips, then a tutor at Cambridge, 
 and since judge of Probate, and well known as 
 the author of the learned treatises on Insurance 
 and Patents. Mr. Phillips was to be the editor, 
 and committees were to be appointed for the 
 different departments, who were to inspect and 
 pass upon the contributions. The committee on 
 politics was to be composed of George Cabot, 
 James Lloyd, John Lowell, Josiah Quincy, and 
 others. President Kirkland was particularly 
 active and earnest in favor of the undertaking. 
 The first meeting was attended by seven per- 
 sons, of whom, in a memorandum found among 
 his papers, Mr. Channing could only recollect 
 besides himself, President Kirkland, Richard H. 
 Dana and Mr. Phillips. The results of this meet- 
 ing were given by Mr. Channing in a letter to 
 his friend, Mr. George Ticknor, then at Wash- 
 ington, dated December 10, 1814, from whom 
 the 'club had been promised an article upon 
 Aristophanes, for their first number. 
 
 At this time, however, Mr. William Tudor, 
 since known as author of the life of James Otis, 
 returned from Europe, with a plan for publishing 
 a periodical. The field not being wide enough 
 for two, an amicable arrangement was made, by 
 which the club discontinued their proceedings, 
 which had gone as far as the issuing of circulars, 
 the procuring of some subscribers, and a contract 
 with publishers, and transferred their labors and
 
 X BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 the good-will of their projected magazine to Mr. 
 Tudor; and in May 1815, Mr. Tudor issued the 
 first number of the North American Review. 
 Mr. Tudor edited it for two years, when, in 
 1817, it passed into the hands of a club, com- 
 posed of the members of the original club and a 
 few others, among whom were Jared Sparks, 
 since the distinguished historian, then a tutor in 
 Cambridge, John Gallison, William Powell Ma- 
 son, and Nathan Hale. Mr. Sparks edited it for 
 one year, when the editorship was undertaken 
 by Mr. Channing, assisted by his cousin, Richard 
 H. Dana, both being under the age of thirty. 
 The club now held weekly meetings for reading 
 and deciding upon communications, and for 
 selecting and distributing subjects to be written 
 upon. These, though in some part business 
 meetings, were kept up with much interest, 
 vivacity and harmony ; the literary friends of the 
 associates often attended, and the zeal and spirit 
 of the association became infused into the Re- 
 view. With Mr. Channing's papers, we find 
 his correspondence relating to the Review, in- 
 cluding several letters of considerable interest. 
 Among these, are letters from Mr. Bryant, with 
 criticisms and suggestions on literary subjects, 
 and from Mr. Verplanck and Chancellor Kent 
 on matters of law and history. 
 
 In the autumn of 1819, at the age of twenty- 
 eight, Mr. Channing was appointed Boylston
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. XI 
 
 Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory, at Cam- 
 bridge. This terminated his editorship of the 
 Review, which was transferred to Mr. Edward 
 Everett, the proprietorship still remaining in the 
 association. 
 
 The account of this literary undertaking is 
 carried into these details, because it is thought 
 to be an important chapter in the history of the 
 periodical literature of America. 
 
 Mr. Charming held the office of Professor of 
 Rhetoric and Oratory for thirty-two years. The 
 students who enjoyed the privilege of his instruc- 
 tion, now to be numbered by thousands rather 
 than by hundreds, in all parts of our land, and in 
 all occupations, unite in grateful acknowledg- 
 ment of their obligations to him. His reputation 
 for pure style, and for exquisite taste and judg- 
 ment in English literature, has been long estab- 
 lished; and all who have been his pupils know 
 how faithfully and successfully he brought these 
 gifts and acquirements to bear upon the duties 
 of his office. They acknowledge, too, his dig- 
 nity, justice and impartiality, and his insight into 
 character. They recognize, almost daily, the 
 benefits of his criticisms in composition and elo- 
 cution. But these constitute by no means the 
 sum of their obligations. He was their -adviser 
 and guide in their reading : that which developes 
 the minds and so much forms the tastes and in- 
 fluences the opinions of the young. Not merely
 
 X BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 by his course of lectures, and by private inter- 
 views, but also in the voluntary reading classes 
 that met at his study, he drew them from the 
 fascinations of the superficial, brilliant favor- 
 ites of the day, to the writers of deep thought, 
 elevated sentiments and pure style. During the 
 term of his professorship, he outlived many fash- 
 ions of opinion and taste in literature and elocu- 
 tion. For thirty years and more, he stood a 
 breakwater against the tides and currents of 
 false and misleading fashions; and under that lee, 
 in calmer airs, and in smoother but not less deep 
 waters, the student was protected in his feebler 
 and less skilful early efforts. Many will recall 
 the quiet, keen, epigrammatic satire, that he used 
 so sparingly and so well, with which he gave a 
 death wound to the popularity of some ill- 
 deserving favorite in oratory or poetry. Yet, 
 though severe in his tastes, he was, on the whole, 
 a wide liker. He was not fond of fault finding. 
 He was no martinet. Wherever he saw sin- 
 cerity, earnestness and power, no man made 
 larger allowances for faults. So it was that, 
 although decided in his convictions and exact in 
 his tastes, yet, as is well known to his friends, 
 those young men who early espoused and have 
 since distinguished themselves in courses of 
 doctrine and style most distasteful to him, still 
 preserved intimate relations with him in college, 
 and cordial friendships in after life. Thus he
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. Xlll 
 
 escaped the condition in which too many nice 
 critics find themselves, a condition marked rather 
 by distastes than by tastes, and powerless for 
 good influence over the tempers and feelings of 
 the young. He was also much aided by his 
 humor and wit, qualities which so liberalize and 
 make genial the mind. In the exercise of these 
 gifts he was choice and reserved, but as his 
 humor was of that kind which springs from and 
 attaches itself to what is general in human 
 nature, it was widely received and well remem- 
 bered. 
 
 It is in no spirit of disparagement to other in- 
 stitutions that we refer to the fact, that for the 
 last quarter of a century Cambridge has been 
 distinguished for the purity and elegance of its 
 style in composition and elocution. And it is no 
 injustice to other teachers there, indeed it is but 
 uttering their common voice when we add that 
 the credit of this is chiefly due to Mr. Channing. 
 The department of themes, forensics and elocu- 
 tion has not usually, in our colleges, held a high 
 position, compared with the other departments, as 
 respects the determining of academic rank, and 
 the attention to it has been less exact and obliga- 
 tory. But Mr. Channing carried his department 
 forward until its relative influence was so great 
 that excellence in it became essential to honors 
 and high rank, and neglect of it incompatible 
 with continuance in college at all. Themes, 
 b
 
 XIV BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 forensics and declamations became frequent, and 
 distinction in this department more coveted than 
 in any other. 
 
 If it be said in offset to this commendation, as 
 has sometimes been suggested, that Cambridge 
 has been less distinguished for boldness, idiosyn- 
 cracies and vigor, waiving the question of the 
 justice of the suggestion, we may reply that if 
 true, or so far as it be true, this is not to be at- 
 tributed to the department of rhetoric and belles- 
 lettres, but rather to the classes of society from 
 which the Cambridge students are chiefly drawn, 
 and to the uniform set and drift of opinion in 
 matters literary, political and religious, which 
 has so long marked the highly cultivated, but 
 small and rather removed society of which the 
 university and neighboring city have been the 
 centre. It may also be treated as one of the 
 compensations which must always be made for 
 the advantages of long established, reposing and 
 highly educated communities. 
 
 Mr. Channing was a good classical scholar, 
 and at one time made a particularly careful 
 study of the Greek and Latin orators, and con- 
 tinued to the last to read a few of the poets, and 
 the De Officiis and other essays of Cicero. But, 
 his reading lay chiefly in the works of his own 
 tongue. It is needless to say that he was a 
 thoughtful student of Shakspeare, Milton and 
 Spenser, and a familiar reader of the prose
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. XV 
 
 writers of Queen Anne's time, and of Burke, 
 Johnson, Goldsmith, Fielding, Richardson and 
 Scott. All this, is of course. He was also a 
 student of Chaucer and the earliest English 
 writers, and of the old dramatists, and a lover 
 of the unique and quaint, the novelists and 
 humorists of all periods. The theologians, too, 
 Barrow, Taylor and South, were the friends of 
 his more serious leisure, which they shared with 
 Young, Cowper and Bunyan. Of the writers 
 of the Regency and since, while he yielded most 
 perhaps to the charm of Scott, yet he was 
 among the earliest to recognize the genius and 
 influences, in their various characters, of Words- 
 worth, Coleridge, Byron, Southey, Campbell and 
 Lamb. With our own literature, he had grown 
 up. Irving, Cooper, Bryant, and Miss Sedgwick, 
 were his contemporaries ; while Longfellow, and 
 our historians, have gained their reputations 
 since he came to maturity. In the productions 
 of England at the present time, he saw so much 
 of vicious style, and of questionable usefulness 
 of thought, that he suffered them mostly to 
 glide by him ; but to the humor and pathos of 
 Dickens, with all his defects, he was fully alive. 
 Like most men, he passed through his period 
 of metaphysical inquky, and during that time he 
 made careful study of the different schools, and 
 knew well how the leading minds had treated 
 the great problems of life. The result appears to
 
 XVI BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 have been a preference for the philosophy of 
 Reid, from whose style of thought he seemed 
 to receive peculiar satisfaction. 
 
 In the department of oratory, Mr. Channing 
 exerted an excellent influence upon the students. 
 Respect for his judgment, and a wholesome fear 
 of his satire, kept them from indulgence in that 
 captivating, but eventually palling oratory, often 
 so seductive to the young, and led them to the 
 selection of passages from the poets and prose 
 writers, the statesmen and advocates, whose rep- 
 utations have been tested by time. He was not 
 himself an orator. But there was in his public 
 delivery, though neither impassioned nor exactly 
 graceful, something which produced the unmis- 
 takable impression of a man of dignity and 
 thought, a gentleman, speaking on a subject 
 which he understood and felt. In more private 
 familiar reading, of prose or verse, his style was 
 nearly perfect. 
 
 In politics, like most of his relatives and 
 friends, who gathered in the family circles of 
 Judge Dana at Cambridge, and of Mr. Ellery 
 at Newport, he was educated in the school of 
 Washington, and adopted the opinions of the 
 Federal party. Through life, he was conserva- 
 tive, in the true and high sense of that term. 
 But with much that sometimes takes to itself 
 that name, being little else than the results of 
 timidity, love of security and indifference to
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. XV11 
 
 the rights and advancement of men, he had no 
 more sympathy than with radicalism. He had 
 strong instincts of liberty ; and his sympathies 
 were always with the efforts for reasonable and 
 responsible systems of freedom, at home or 
 abroad. 
 
 In 1826, Mr. Channing married his cousin, 
 Henrietta A. S. Ellery, who survives him. From 
 his appointment until he resigned his office in 
 1851, his life was strictly academic. The an- 
 nouncement of his resignation surprised his most 
 intimate acquaintance. He had formed an early 
 resolution to retire from office at the age of 
 sixty, and although in full vigor, and with good 
 reason to look forward to many years of health 
 and ability, he refused to recall his resignation, 
 resisting the most flattering and pressing re- 
 quests from his brother officers and friends. 
 
 Mr. Channing was a member and communi- 
 cant of the church attached to the college chapel. 
 In his theological opinions, he was a Unitarian, 
 of the old school. He did not embrace the doe- 
 trine of the Trinity, but he held high and rever- 
 ent views of a personal Deity, of the nature and 
 offices of the Saviour, and of revelation. Close 
 as was his intimacy with the English classical 
 authors, there was no book he knew so inti- 
 mately and so nearly by heart, as the Holy 
 Scriptures. In these he was a daily and devout 
 reader. 
 
 6*
 
 XV111 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 Of his conversational talent, his friends need 
 not be told, but it will be a pleasure to them to 
 recall its charm. Natural, free, animating, hu- 
 morous, and, when need be, using against any 
 predominant folly or evil, that classic, restrained, 
 but effective satire, of which he was a master, 
 his style in conversation was as pure and choice 
 as in writing. But it was not a finish or choice- 
 ness which labored or embarrassed. It was as 
 natural to him, as awkwardness and solecisms 
 are to many. Not a professed story-teller, in 
 characteristic anecdote or graphic description of 
 persons, classes or neighborhoods, in portraying 
 what was peculiar in character or manners, he 
 was not easily to be surpassed. Still, his best 
 conversation was his most thoughtful. While 
 no man more readily fell into, or more success- 
 fully sustained the humorous, it was strictly his 
 recreation and not his habit. His numer- 
 ous friends and relatives, who enjoyed, at his 
 house, the weekly Saturday dinner, at which, 
 without special invitation, it was known they 
 were always welcome, will take a sad pleasure 
 in calling to mind, among the beauties and priv- 
 ileges of their lives, the attractions that presided 
 at either end of the table, dividing their attention 
 and doubling their delight. 
 
 As he was not a professed wit, so he was not 
 a controversialist. His powers were best seen 
 in the contemplative, in the pursuit of serious
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. XIX 
 
 thought, or of beauty in nature, art or character. 
 As a letter- writer, he was valued by his friends 
 beyond price. Perhaps there was no field in 
 which his talents played more naturally and fitly 
 than in the light and shade, the affectionate, 
 grave and humorous of friendly letter writing. 
 
 Throughout life he retained the warmth of his 
 affection for the young ; and any one who had 
 the claim upon him of blood, or of childhood or 
 youth, must have been ill-deserving indeed not 
 to have held an inner place in his heart. 
 
 It has been remarked of him by one who 
 knew him intimately from boyhood, that al- 
 though society or intercourse with a single 
 friend always pleased and animated him, and 
 his powers particularly displayed themselves 
 in conversation, yet he was as fond of being 
 alone as if he had been unsocial and morose. 
 His preference for solitude arose from the cheer- 
 fulness and equanimity of his temper, and his 
 great resources in himself for pleasure and im- 
 provement. A change to society was not un- 
 welcome to him, but the return to solitude was 
 even more congenial. 
 
 All that we have here attempted to portray 
 has gone from us. But it will live in the recol- 
 lections of his friends ; and when they too have 
 passed away, it will still linger in the traditions 
 of the university and city. 
 
 Mr. Channing left no children, but a band of
 
 XX BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 most attached relatives, in every degree of con- 
 sanguinity, and at all stages of life, followed his 
 body to the grave. He lies by the side of his 
 brother William, at Mount Auburn. 
 
 Mr. Channing was not known as an author. 
 That is to say, he published no book. But in 
 his influence over the taste and judgment of the 
 men who learned from him, it would not be easy 
 to estimate his indirect contributions to the liter- 
 ature and eloquence of America. He was, still, 
 widely known and highly valued as an occa- 
 sional contributor to the North American and 
 other reviews. His life of his grandfather, Wil- 
 liam Ellery, in Mr. Sparks's series, is one of the 
 most exquisite of American biographies. 
 
 In the leisure of the few years after his retire- 
 ment from the professorship, he prepared, out of 
 his course of lectures on English literature, the 
 following series of Essays, for the press. They 
 are published just as he left them, in the hope 
 that they may be suggestive of pleasing memo- 
 ries to his pupils, and may add a valuable contri- 
 bution to the critical literature of our country. 
 RICHARD H. DANA, Jr.
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 MANY subjects are suggested by the duties of 
 my office, which would very properly give a 
 direction to my thoughts in preparing an ad- 
 dress for this occasion.* In making a selection, 
 my attention has been drawn to circumstances 
 in the state of society, which distinguish the 
 modern from the ancient orator ; and a few con- 
 siderations suggested by these may be suffi- 
 ciently appropriate for my present purpose. I 
 believe there has never been a serious doubt 
 amongst us that there were ample opportunities 
 and inducements, in the free states of these 
 times, to call forth and perfect the highest quali- 
 ties of oratory ; and as ~the art is thought by 
 many to have fallen with the old commonwealths, 
 it seems proper, in every attempt for its revival 
 
 * This Address was delivered in the chapel of Harvard College, 
 December 8, 1819, on the occasion of the writer's induction into 
 the office of Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory. 
 
 The Address was published at the time. In the re-print, 
 there are omissions and other changes. 
 
 1 [I]
 
 2 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 or improvement, to determine the kind of elo- 
 quence which should be cultivated now. 
 
 "We look back to the best ages of those com- 
 monwealths, when society, letters, and all the lib- 
 eral arts were advanced the farthest, and we find 
 eloquence the favorite and necessary accomplish- 
 ment of all who were ambitious of rising in the 
 world. It formed the earliest and most impor- 
 tant part of education. The greatest care was 
 taken that the child should first acquire the lan- 
 guage in the utmost purity, and that an inclina- 
 tion to the forum should be amongst the earliest 
 and most decided preferences. The rhetorician 
 opened his school, and professors of oratory and 
 wisdom became part of the household, to bring 
 up the young scholar to the art, and impress 
 him with a sense of its preeminence among 
 liberal pursuits and popular accomplishments. 
 The institutions of the state, the taste, wants, 
 and habits of the people, all invited him to fit 
 himself for command in the senate, the public 
 meetings, the courts of justice, and even the 
 field of war, by the vast preparation of a perfect 
 orator. Did he listen to the instructions of the 
 moralist, the subtile disputes of the sophist, or 
 the systems of the philosopher; did he acquaint 
 himself with the history or visit the scenes of 
 great actions ; was he present at the debates of 
 the fathers or the riots of the mob ; he was 
 always arming himself for the fight of eloquence,
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 3 
 
 or, as it was called, to approve himself a man- 
 at-arms in the war of pleaders. He studied the 
 temper of his countrymen to know how to man- 
 age them. It was his office to produce a great 
 effect on popular feeling ; to mingle in all the 
 concerns of men, direct their counsels, share 
 their pride, and even take advantage of their 
 frailties. 
 
 In the state of society at that time, we find 
 abundant cause for this enormous power and 
 importance of oratory. There was every temp- 
 tation to be a great orator, and there were few 
 restraints upon his abuse of the art. You re- 
 member the general ignorance of the common 
 people. The proud republican deemed it the 
 part of loyalty to think as his countrymen 
 thought. It was not for him to acquaint him- 
 self with distant nations for the sake of correct- 
 ing his false notions or enlarging his narrow 
 views, by knowing what others thought of his 
 country or of subjects that were most interesting 
 to her. It was not for him to read and reflect, 
 and thus instruct himself beforehand in the 
 questions he might be called to consider. The 
 popular orator was the great teacher then. The 
 minds of his audience were to be formed, their 
 passions moved and directed, their opinions 
 regulated by his address. They were assembled 
 without preparation, to decide according to the 
 impulse they should receive at the time; and
 
 4 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 they were to decide, too, upon questions that 
 concerned the glory and safety of the state, 
 which appealed to their most vindictive as well 
 as most generous feelings, to ancient pride and 
 friendships, and which opened to their imagi- 
 nations boundless visions of national splendor 
 and conquest. 
 
 I have spoken of their ignorance ; they 
 wanted, indeed, that knowledge which makes 
 men think, and thus lends sobriety to passion. 
 But they were far from being buried in the 
 sluggishness of ignorance. A delicious climate 
 and beautiful scenery, and unequalled works of 
 art made no vain appeals to the warm hearts 
 and imaginations of the whole people. A 
 proud recollection of his fathers, a strong con- 
 sciousness of personal honor in everything 
 that distinguished his country, an identifica- 
 tion, if I may so call it, of himself with the 
 state, and a sublime self-devotion to its cause, 
 all these met in the lowest citizen of the an- 
 cient republics, and made him worthy of his 
 privilege. To the orator, he was a being formed 
 of imagination and passion, the powerful 
 slave of those who kindled and flattered him. 
 He called for excitement, violent excitement, 
 and went to every subject, of the deepest public 
 interest, and which his vote was to affect, with 
 a mind at the service of any one who would 
 act upon it most powerfully.
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 5 
 
 And what was the situation of this inflam- 
 mable population ? They were not, as is the 
 case in powerful states now, spread over a 
 wide territory, and agitated, and influenced in 
 their public conduct, by a great variety of 
 interests. A diversity of pursuits and local 
 interests did not split the commonwealth into 
 parties, which kept each other in check, and 
 led men to compare their opinions, and even 
 learn something like moderation towards other 
 nations, by the forbearance they were obliged 
 to show each other. The ancient republics 
 were, for the most part, of small extent. The 
 efficient and governing population was crowded 
 within the walls of a city, where every influence 
 was exerted to nourish and perpetuate a strong 
 national feeling. The whole state could assem- 
 ble at public deliberations ; and the orator, who 
 there carried his point, carried with him the 
 commonwealth. 
 
 The power of the ancient orator may be 
 farther seen in the freedom of discussion which 
 was allowed him in courts of justice. He 
 could rarely feel that he was there addressing 
 men, who, in their severe love of truth and 
 right, had shut their hearts against all appeals 
 to passion, or dread of public indignation ; 
 whose respect for themselves, not less than for 
 justice, admonished the advocate that they 
 considered persuasion but as one form of cor- 
 1*
 
 6 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 ruption. He could rarely feel that a case was 
 to be decided by solemn and respected pre- 
 cedents, or absolute, written laws, which re- 
 quired only a fair and luminous exposition, in 
 order to ascertain and irrevocably settle the 
 rights of parties. He was allowed to go be- 
 yond the law, to talk to judges as men whom 
 he could instruct and work upon, as men who 
 could be made to feel some private interest in 
 the question or the parties, and regard the 
 merits of a case merely as it was presented by 
 the advocate or affected by accidental circum- 
 stances, and not in the consequences of their 
 decision upon the lasting security and dignity 
 of the state. We find the orator, therefore, as 
 powerful in the courts of justice as anywhere 
 else ; not merely by the admirable arguments 
 which he prepared for posterity, but also by 
 appealing to the selfish interests, the antipa- 
 thies and friendships, the honorable or unworthy 
 feelings, of those who were sitting in judgment 
 upon individual rights. 
 
 Once more, we may account for the power 
 of the ancient orator, from the effects of the 
 false estimates which prevailed on the subject 
 of national grandeur and happiness. Nothing 
 was sooner upon the lips of the old republican, 
 than his love of freedom and of his country. 
 But what were liberty and patriotism then ? 
 Did they show themselves in a love of social
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. / 
 
 order and temperate government, and in a 
 livelier jealousy of a domestic usurper than of 
 a foreign rival? Did they lead the citizen to 
 value the comforts of home, the substantial im- 
 provements and ornaments of life, the solid 
 institutions of a deliberate and virtuous com- 
 monwealth, infinitely more than his sway over 
 other nations, that were too distant even to 
 share his blessings, much less endanger his 
 security ? No through all the splendor which 
 genius has thrown over the old commonwealths, 
 we can easily discern that the spirit of their 
 governments was thoroughly warlike, that their 
 love of freedom was another name for ferocious 
 lawlessness, and that their love of country 
 cloaked a boundless ambition of power. He 
 was the favorite who could swell the empire, 
 multiply its resources, crowd the streets with 
 trophies and captives, and make the world it- 
 self the prison-house of one master. 
 
 This was not to be effected by the silent 
 management of a despot, with hired troops and 
 forced revenues. The whole people breathed 
 this aspiring spirit in the days of their highest 
 glory and best freedom. They had no rights, 
 no privileges, no enjoyments, which they were 
 not perfectly willing to trust to the chances of 
 an aggrandizing war, and of the domestic tur- 
 bulence and factions which grew out of their 
 passion for war. Society was unsettled and
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 irregular throughout, and seemed to be a com- 
 bination for extending power, rather than for 
 establishing a prosperous security. Here, then, 
 was room for the orator to pamper the pride of 
 conquerors, or rouse the courage of the defeated 
 by making their shame imbitter their hate. 
 National vanity, national ambition, were the 
 principles he was perpetually called on to ad- 
 dress. Were there evils in the state which re- 
 quired sober and thorough reform? The orator 
 could draw the attention of the discontented to 
 some foreign enterprise, or fix it upon a victim 
 at home, and tempt the rabble to waste their 
 irritation upon an unpopular puplic benefactor, 
 or upon some harmless neighbor whose liberty 
 gave offence. Were there factions in the state 
 which threatened its safety? The orator was 
 at hand to aid the designing or rescue his 
 country. Was the invader approaching in an 
 hour of security or despair? The orator was 
 called on to form alliances, negotiate with the 
 enemy, breathe the spirit of resistance into his 
 countrymen, and sometimes to waste the noblest 
 strains of human eloquence over the last strug- 
 gles of ill-adjusted and ill-guarded frecdoir. 
 The perpetual recurrence of dangers to indi- 
 viduals or the nation, against which there was 
 no sufficient guard in well-administered laws 
 and a wise, pacific policy, put their safety very 
 much into the hands of the influential orator, by
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 9 
 
 offering him constant opportunities and temp- 
 tations for the worthiest or most fatal use of his 
 powers. 
 
 It was under these and other favorable circum- 
 stances, that oratory acquired such popularity 
 and preeminence in the ancient commonwealths. 
 It was not merely a splendid accomplishment, 
 but an important instrument in the hands of 
 the most virtuous and most aspiring citizen. It 
 connected him intimately with his countrymen, 
 their private interests, their public influence; it 
 gave power and secured it to those who were 
 ambitious of important station, civil or military, 
 in the republic ; it found opportunities for ex- 
 hibiting itself everywhere ; the very language 
 seemed to be formed for the public speaker ; 
 while the state of society, the popular cast of 
 the existing institutions, invited him to carry his 
 art to the utmost, to put no restraints upon 
 himself which could make victory doubtful or 
 incomplete, to produce always the strongest 
 possible excitement, and to carry his point by 
 appealing to any principle of human nature 
 which would aid him, without feeling any re- 
 sponsibility, in the exercise of his tremendous 
 power, as to the permanently bad influence of 
 the abuses of his art. 
 
 We cannot wonder, then, that ancient oratory 
 has been regarded as a complete exhibition of all 
 that is excellent and mischievous in public speak-
 
 10 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 ing. We cannot wonder that an employment so 
 honorable and popular in active life, should have 
 been reduced to an art of most finished beauty 
 and practical application, and systematically ex- 
 plained and recommended in rhetorical treatises. 
 We cannot wonder that these treatises are so 
 perfect, when it is remembered that the rhetori- 
 cian had the orator before him, and saw not 
 only the effect of his eloquence, but the ways in 
 which it was produced, all the springs of ac- 
 tion touched and set in motion, the prejudices 
 of men humored or overpowered, their imagina- 
 tions kept in ceaseless activity, their passions 
 >/ turned every way at the will of the orator. We 
 look to the ancient rhetoricians for the modes in 
 which a public speaker is to influence the will 
 of his hearer and command a popular assem- 
 bly ; remembering, however, that the rules they 
 have left us are to be applied now with a wise 
 regard to the altered condition of society. We 
 study the ancient orators, not merely as useful 
 in rhetorical instruction, but also as occupying 
 an important place in literature, affording ex- 
 amples of great and finished men in active and 
 political life, enabling us to understand more 
 thoroughly the history and character of the 
 people, ap4 thus enlarging our views of human 
 \J nature. 
 
 But oratory, now, is said to be almost a lost 
 art We hear constantly how it has fallen from
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 11 
 
 its old supremacy. You look at the few free states 
 of modern times, and find no schools of rhetoric, 
 crowded with the young and ambitious, who 
 are preparing for active life and future grandeur 
 by their accomplishments in eloquence. Is this 
 so, because we have learned to despise our mas- 
 ters ? Has their literature lost its hold upon 
 our affections and veneration ? Do we throw 
 away their poetry and their eloquence, as the 
 worthless ornaments of a voluptuous and decay- 
 ing people ? There never was a time when 
 they were held in juster veneration than at this 
 day, a veneration that could be more grateful 
 to those who inspired it. There never was a 
 time when the disposition was stronger to make 
 classical literature practically useful ; to take it 
 from the sophist, the disputant, the overloaded, 
 slumbering scholar, and place it in the hands 
 of the philosopher, the soldier, the physician, 
 the divine, the jurist, and the statesman. It is the 
 spirit of the age to turn everything to account, 
 and to let no good learning remain idle. How 
 is it that eloquence has lost ground? There 
 are not more who seriously deny its uses now, 
 than there were in the ancient states. Not a 
 day passes without putting it in our power to 
 exert some profitable influence by speech, over 
 the will, judgments, and actions of others. 
 There are popular governments on the earth 
 now, where ambition and patriotism and the
 
 12 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 free expression of our opinions are yet coun- 
 tenanced and rewarded, and where honor and 
 usefulness follow influence as surely as they did 
 in the age of Philip or of Csesar. Besides all this, 
 there are few topics more popular amongst us 
 than the greatness of ancient orators, and scarce- 
 ly anything in ancient literature is more valued, 
 or more confidently recommended to the young, 
 than the orations and rhetorical writings. 
 
 It is indeed true that we have no schools of 
 rhetoric, in which the whole education of a 
 young man is directed with a close regard to 
 his becoming a finished orator. The style of 
 speaking which was irresistible in an ancient as- 
 sembly, and the acquisition of which required 
 the labor of years, might now be despised, even 
 if it could be perfectly acquired. And it must 
 also be confessed, that too little attention is paid 
 to the cultivation of that kind of eloquence, 
 which would now be most successful. Still, 
 
 * I think it unquestionable, that the oratory of 
 modern free countries is, in character, as pre- 
 cisely formed by and suited to our state of 
 society, as that of the ancients was accommo- 
 
 J dated to theirs; and that it would be scarcely 
 less ridiculous to lament over the decline of 
 their oratory amongst us, than it would be to 
 lament over the decline of good government, 
 morals, and philosophy since the days of the 
 triumvirate.
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 13 
 
 The object of eloquence is always the same, 
 
 to bring men, by whatever modes of address, 
 to our way of thinking, and thus make them act 
 according to our wishes. Whatever society 
 wants for this purpose, it will have. If the 
 ancient oratory were in demand now, it would 
 awake from the sleep of two thousand years 
 without the aid of the rhetorician. If the world 
 had languished and gone backward for want of 
 it, there would be some reason to complain at our 
 suffering such a means of improvement to lie 
 unused. But we know that it is from the very 
 improvements of the age, the stable foundation 
 and ample protection of government, the general 
 diffusion of knowledge and of a spirit of inquiry, 
 
 it is from the prevailing disposition of free 
 countries, now, to make the security of individ- 
 uals and of the state rest on laws and institu- 
 tions, and not on popular caprice or the power 
 of any one man, it is from these circumstances 
 that we are to account for what is reproachfully 
 called the temperate and inefficient character of 
 modern eloquence ; and every judicious attempt 
 for the improvement of the art will proceed on a 
 thorough knowledge of these circumstances and 
 a careful regard to them. 
 
 Strange as it may seem to us, after hearing 
 
 so much lofty declamation about the power of 
 
 great speakers, whom nations listened to and 
 
 obeyed, it is nevertheless true, that the orator 
 
 2
 
 14 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 is the creature of the circumstances in which he 
 is placed. He is formed by the same influences 
 that form his neighbors ; he must fall in with 
 their taste, accommodate himself to their wants, 
 and consult their prejudices and general tone 
 and habits of thinking. It is perfectly visionary 
 to suppose, as some have done, that a few great 
 men, by taking advantage of public enthusiasm, 
 during the stormy periods of a free government, 
 might effect an entire revolution in eloquence, 
 and revive it in its ancient spirit and power 
 Such a revolution might be forwarded by their 
 skilful exertions, but it could only be wrought 
 by those secret and slowly operating causes 
 which change entirely the face of society, the 
 character and, in some degree, the occupations 
 of a whole people. At present, however, we 
 think it one of the happiest, and we trust most 
 permanent distinctions between our state of 
 society and the ancient and the effect of this 
 distinction is very observable in modern elo- 
 quence that the power of individuals is les- 
 sened ; we do not encourage any man to aspire 
 after an overwhelming greatness and sway. 
 
 When we read the history of the most demo- 
 cratical states of antiquity, we are constantly 
 struck with the controlling influence of a few 
 leading men, who appear to produce every 
 change, however tremendous, by some vast and 
 unexpected efforts, either of headlong violence
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 15 
 
 or hidden contrivance. There is little apparent 
 connection between the successive changes. 
 They seem to result from individual ambition 
 and energy, acting independently for the advance- 
 ment of one man. Revolutions, tumults, vast 
 military preparations, excited and directed by a 
 few, appear to be the main business of life. 
 The orator, the commander, his elevation and 
 fall, these are the important incidents and per- 
 sonages that are constantly thrust upon our 
 notice ; we are always looking at a few promi- 
 nent men and their extraordinary deeds. But 
 when you look at society now, you see every- 
 where a disposition to place the security of na- 
 tions and of every individual on the broad 
 foundation of laws and institutions, and to 
 make it the interest of the highest as well as 
 humblest citizen to respect and trust in them. 
 We never need great men now to take the place 
 of laws and institutions, but merely to stand by 
 them and see that they are unobstructed and 
 unimpaired. A great man is perpetually taught 
 now that the world can do without him ; that 
 in all his attempts to be useful, he is rather to 
 cooperate with a thousand others than become 
 the master of any one. 
 
 Instead of feeling humbled at this, he is proud 
 and grateful that his lot is cast among equals ; 
 that his country rests on better supports than 
 his life or character ; and that those who would
 
 16 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 advance her glory and happiness, or effect any 
 change whatever, cannot expect to do it by 
 sudden and independent exertions of great 
 power, by taking the state into their own hands, 
 and becoming at once the mind, the voice, and 
 the arm of a whole people, but only by an open, 
 well-approved influence on public opinion, and 
 a judicious concert with others, who are jealous 
 of their own powers and rights, and not to be 
 cheated or forced out of them. Great men are 
 still found in free nations, and have enough to 
 fill 1heir ambition, though it is kept in subordi- 
 nation to the solid good of a country. And 
 what has been the effect of this state of things 
 upon the orator ? He has not escaped the re- 
 straints that are thus laid on individual power, 
 nor the circumstances that thus lessen individual 
 importance. He can no longer be a despot, 
 either to save freedom or destroy it. He is not 
 the important personage he once was. He is 
 fortunately less able to do harm, and less needed 
 to do good. 
 
 But his consideration and power are not 
 diminished merely because society is now un- 
 der better regulation and more perfect security 
 than it was formerly. The general diffusion of 
 knowledge has had the same effect. We have 
 now many other and more quiet ways of form- 
 ing and expressing public sentiment, than pub- 
 lic discussion . in popular assemblies. Opinions
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 17 
 
 are constantly coming to us from other men 
 and all parts of the world, through many 
 channels, and we are thus enabled to instruct 
 ourselves, and to think liberally and indepen- 
 dently on all subjects, and especially on the 
 opinions that are most current at home, and 
 which the ancient orator might have appealed 
 to with unresisted and terrible power. In the 
 ancient republics, the orator might control the 
 audience, but now we see the audience con- 
 trolling him. 
 
 A modern debate is not a contest between a 
 few leading men for a triumph over each other 
 and an ignorant multitude ; the orator himself 
 is but one of the multitude, deliberating with 
 them upon common interests, which are well 
 understood and valued by all. He does not 
 come to a raw, unprepared audience, brought 
 together to receive opinions for the first time, 
 from him, upon questions they are to decide, 
 and to give themselves up rashly to any one 
 who will natter their weakness, consult their 
 prejudices, or minister to their taste or passions. 
 They are not assembled to be the subjects 
 upon which he may try the power of his 
 eloquence, but to see what eloquence can do 
 for the question. The subject is more thought 
 of than the orator, and what he says must 
 come from the subject rather than from his art. 
 The excitement he would produce must follow 
 2*
 
 18 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 and mingle with conviction, not take the place 
 of it; the splendor that surrounds him must 
 be the natural light of truth, not the false 
 brilliancy that startles and blinds. He must 
 not be surprised to find men the most deliber- 
 ate, and most incapable of rashness or delusion, 
 in those troubled seasons, when an ancient 
 orator would have had nothing more to do 
 than add the storm of his eloquence to that 
 of the state, and make men find th^ir safety or 
 ruin in their desperation. 
 
 A superficial observer of modern society 
 might suppose that a great deal of admirable 
 eloquence was now lost, because its effects 
 were not immediately obvious. He would 
 say that, in courts of justice, the orator was 
 thwarted by the cold vigilance of judges, or 
 the restraining formalities of practice, and that 
 eloquence in our political deliberations must be 
 unavailing, because parties are bound down to 
 an arbitrary course of political opinion and 
 conduct. And though in listening to instruc- 
 tions from the pulpit, the audience are not sup- 
 posed to be thus on their guard against the 
 power of an orator, yet as the hearer goes to 
 the world again with no striking change in his 
 opinions or conduct, as a manifest and imme- 
 diate effect is seldom the consequence of the best 
 sacred eloquence, some might be weak enough 
 to think that even this eloquence was but a
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 19 
 
 solemn and customary parade of instruction. 
 But would it not be more philosophical to as- 
 certain whether these apparent discouragements 
 and restraints had not modified and given 
 a peculiar character to eloquence without 
 impairing its efficacy? You admit that the 
 orator is addressing men who are slow in re- 
 ceiving and abandoning opinions, who are too 
 wary, conscientious, or wilful to be easily and 
 suddenly operated upon, and who are, at the 
 same time, so intelligent and thoughtful, that 
 they cannot wholly escape the power of just 
 sentiments, however unwelcome they may be. 
 And you find, accordingly, that the eloquence 
 which prevails among them is suited to have 
 a growing and permanent influence over the 
 character and opinions, even where it does not 
 produce, at once, an obvious effect on the de- 
 cisions and conduct of men. It aims at making 
 men think patiently and earnestly, and take 
 an active part themselves in giving efficacy to 
 another's arguments or persuasions. It has 
 only to secure a lodgement for truth in the 
 mind, and by and by the truth will quietly 
 prevail. 
 
 Does any one suppose that in such a state of 
 .things, the resources of the orator must neces- 
 sarily be diminished by the entire exclusion of 
 feeling and imagination from modern delibera- 
 tions ; that plain wisdom, clearly expressed, is
 
 20 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 all that society demands now ; that there is no 
 longer any room for persuasion, good or bad ; 
 that the heart is shut up, and the judgment 
 only allowed to venture within the influence 
 of other minds ? This is another false estimate 
 which has been formed of modern oratory, and 
 it has the same tendency as that already con- 
 sidered, to discourage a cultivation of the art ; 
 the one by demanding a style of oratory which 
 cannot be acquired and would not be endured, 
 and the other by making the art so insignificant 
 as not to be worth ambition. The true dignity 
 and resources of the art are not lessened ; the 
 improved state of society is not unfavorable to 
 passion or imagination, whenever the subject 
 and occasion deserve it and are suited to awaken 
 it. Raise the moral character of a state as high 
 as you please; give all classes a proper regard 
 for the institutions, habits, and opinions that 
 alone can establish their happiness ; let the 
 public conduct of men be invariably the result 
 of settled principles, and not of vague, transient 
 impulse, and you will find, indeed, that society 
 is tempered and softened, but not tame and 
 lethargic. The earthquake and whirlwind arc 
 stilled, but an active and abundant growth is 
 going on everywhere. 
 
 If I were told that the heart and imagination 
 had necessarily grown torpid, while society was 
 becoming more regular and cultivated, that our
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 21 
 
 best powers were sacrificed in order to our 
 well-being, I should ask for the evidence of 
 this much sooner than for the reason. I would 
 even venture to ask how the fact was with re- 
 gard to eloquence itself. I would take the best 
 and most characteristic specimens of English 
 eloquence in different ages, and learn from them 
 if the imagination had perished under the chill- 
 ing restraints of an improved society. Can you 
 point to productions of ancient eloquence, where 
 this power appears to have had such perfect riot 
 and joy, and to have been so peculiarly the 
 warming and animating principle of the speak- 
 er's thoughts ? It seems as if the effect of our 
 increased knowledge had been to make men 
 more contemplative, live less upon the public 
 for excitement, feel the most deeply when alone^ 
 and suffer their imaginations to enter into and 
 warm and illuminate their most serious thoughts. 
 It is, indeed, true, that the imagination and pas- 
 sions do not predominate in modern eloquence ; 
 they are not our turbulent masters. Still we 
 think it a false philosophy which tells us that 
 it can ever be the effect of general improvement 
 to separate them from the judgment. We let 
 them work with the judgment ; and they work 
 safely, forming and perfecting the character, 
 enlivening the truth and impressing it deeply, 
 rendering our serious labors agreeable and effi- 
 cient^ making us love what we approve, and
 
 22 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 act earnestly after we have chosen wisely. We 
 believe that the more perfect we are,, the more 
 intense will be our pleasures of taste, and that 
 the more we cultivate the heart, the more thor- 
 oughly it will pervade and influence our opinions 
 and characters. 
 
 Our religion is certainly one of the great 
 causes which have given to society that tem- 
 perate, subdued character which is thought by 
 some to be unfavorable to impassioned elo- 
 quence. And yet this religion constantly ad- 
 dresses the affections, not only as consisting 
 perfectly with a sound mind, but as the very 
 principles of our nature on which its moral pro- 
 visions for human perfection and happiness are 
 founded. It demands not the sacrifice of a 
 single power, but that all should be cultivated 
 to the utmost, and properly directed and bal- 
 anced in order to our happiness. It sends 
 neither fever nor lethargy to the heart, but sees 
 men equally distant from their good, in the 
 frenzy of savage passion and the hardened 
 indifference of stoicism. It encourages the 
 warmest sympathy, and the noblest and most 
 persevering ambition. In offering its simplest 
 precepts and sublimest promises, it has spared 
 no language, or beauty, or imagery that could 
 delight and refine our taste, and make our con- 
 ception of its truths distinct and glowing. Take 
 the Bible for its eloquence, appealing to all na-
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 23 
 
 tions and classes in every age, its power is as 
 universal as the sun. The form and tone of 
 society may change, but you cannot so change 
 the heart, that this eloquence will not reach it, 
 and be a model and help for the orator who 
 would reach it. 
 
 As another argument that the art has lost 
 none of its dignity or honorable motives, and 
 no worthy means of gaining a strong and whole- 
 some influence over men, I would mention 
 the importance of character to all successful 
 eloquence. It is his virtues, his consistency, 
 his unquestioned sincerity that must get the 
 orator attention and confidence now. He must 
 not rely too much upon the zeal or even the 
 soundness with which he treats a question un- 
 der immediate discussion. His hearers must 
 believe that his life is steadily influenced by the 
 sentiments he is trying to impress on them, 
 that he is willing to abide by principle at any 
 hazard, and give his opinions and professions 
 the full authority of his actions. There are, 
 indeed, accidents and artifices that may secure 
 present success to the worst men ; but it is the 
 general effect of our improved society to give 
 an influence to purity, firmness, and stability, on 
 which every public speaker may rely for lasting 
 consideration and weight. 
 
 It would not be going top, far to say, that it 
 is not in all the graces of address, or sweetness
 
 24 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 and variety of tones, or beauty of illustration, 
 in all the outward and artificial accomplishments 
 of the orator, to equal or even approach the 
 power conferred by a good character. Its still 
 eloquence is felt in the commonest transactions 
 of life. But it is in the administration of jus- 
 tice, in public deliberations upon the endangered 
 interests of our country, and in the services that 
 are to form us for this world and for heaven, 
 that we feel its majesty and purity in all their 
 power, and receive strength from its presence. 
 No festival eloquence will do then, no vain 
 mockery of art, no treacherous allurements from 
 a close and sober inspection of the truths upon 
 which we are to act. We want then the orator 
 who feels and acts with us ; in whom we can 
 confide even better than in ourselves ; who is 
 filled with our cause, and looks at it with solem- 
 nity and wisdom. We want then the orator 
 who is unmoved by the reproaches or threats 
 that alarm us; who walks over the injurious 
 as over the dust, unconscious even that he 
 tramples on them ; who fears nothing on earth 
 but a bad action, and regards no considerations 
 but those of good principle. 
 
 You need not fill your imaginations with 
 glorious forms of ideal perfection in the art; 
 only ask yourselves what must be the power of 
 an orator who is perfectly fitted for an age like 
 this ; of one thoroughly prepared to do all that
 
 THE ORATOR AND HIS TIMES. 25 
 
 eloquence can do among the enlightened and 
 free, with subjects to kindle and sustain him, 
 and an audience who can feel his character, 
 his enthusiasm and wisdom. I would set no 
 bounds to his power; it is only for truth and 
 freedom and justice to do it.
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 RHETORIC has long had an ill name in the 
 world, and curious would a full history of its 
 fortunes be. The controversy of its merits has 
 not sprung from the spirit of restlessness, scep- 
 ticism and improvement in our own times ; it 
 began with our ancient masters, and has come 
 down to us from them. It has been carried on 
 by the ablest philosophers and critics, by the 
 most experienced and eloquent orators, and by 
 the most accomplished teachers. The contro- 
 versy, moreover, has been one of no little mo- 
 ment ; for among the questions on which it has 
 turned, were some not less significant than these : 
 Shall the orator be instructed at all, or left to 
 his instincts and exigencies ? Shall he be speci- 
 ally instructed to be an orator, or left to gather 
 what he can from the common course of liberal 
 training ? Shall not all education be involved 
 in the preparation of au orator, and the rheto- 
 rician be the universal school-keeper ? Will 
 
 [26]
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 27 
 
 the art, in its perfection, be likely to make men 
 wiser judges in questions whether of private or 
 public concern ? 
 
 It is sufficient for my present purpose to 
 refer to the modern reputation of the art. The 
 term, rhetorical, is in familiar use as descrip- 
 tive of a certain character of style ; and what 
 in general is this character ? Is it one that a 
 writer or speaker is pleased to deserve and 
 bear? Does he feel that Aristotle, Cicero, 
 Quintilian, Campbell, and Whately are setting 
 the seal to his merits ? These questions are 
 readily answered. So far as common usage is 
 concerned, to call a book or speech rhetorical 
 is to say that it is distinguished for fallacies 
 and tawdriness, or at best for a charm of 
 manner. The word is one of reproach or of 
 doubtful compliment. Logic has had better 
 treatment, though not a little dreaded for its 
 resistless force and its cunning devices. The 
 logician must be answered. The rhetorician 
 may be put aside as a showman, or, if seri- 
 ously assailed, it will be for his alleged shame- 
 less practices upon the weak side of our nature. 
 The sophist was once honorably known as the 
 wise man and the teacher, and especially as a 
 teacher of eloquence. In the course of time, 
 and probably from some abuse of his opportuni- 
 ties of influence, he was held to be a cheat, and 
 now the terms, sophist, sophism, and sophistry,
 
 28 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 though of the best parentage, are fallen into 
 irrecoverable disgrace. The case of the rheto- 
 rician is not so desperate as this ; but he still 
 thinks that he has reason to resent the general 
 ignorance or disallowance of his fair claims. 
 He complains that his art is rarely spoken of 
 in a thoroughly creditable way but by those 
 who teach or study it ; and Archbishop Whately 
 would have been glad, I think, of another title 
 for his book, so aware was he that the word, 
 as he says, " suggests to most minds an asso- 
 ciated idea of empty declamation or dishonest 
 artifice." * 
 
 Believing that rhetoric is just as important 
 to the faithful and efficient preparation of the 
 severest argumentative discourse as of the most 
 exciting appeal to the passions ; that it has no 
 more to do with grace and ornament than with 
 clearness and precision ; that style will be pow- 
 erful so far as it is rhetorical, and, accordingly, 
 that justice will be done to the thought in the 
 degree that we conform to rhetorical principles ; 
 I shall try to state what, as it seems to me, 
 the art truly undertakes to teach and accom- 
 plish. 
 
 There is no dispute, I suppose, upon the point 
 
 that rhetoric was originally intended to instruct 
 
 men in the composition and delivery of orations. 
 
 It was natural that a course of teaching for 
 
 * Elements of Rhetoric, Preface.
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 29 
 
 the purposes should have been instituted 
 among the ancient Greeks, in an age of civili- 
 zation, literary tastes and mental activity, but 
 not what we should call an age of books. 
 Manuscripts were rare and costly ; and as oral 
 communication was of course an important 
 means of public influence, it early became a 
 branch of education. It may be asked, why 
 was such an art provided for orators only. 
 There were others who wrote and who spoke to 
 crowds. The poet recited his verses, the his- 
 torian his narratives, the rhapsodists repeated 
 the divine strains of Homer, the philosopher 
 delivered his lectures, and the player declaimed 
 the all-popular drama. Why was not some 
 system devised specially for these ? 
 
 A general answer to the question is, that a 
 thorough preparation for an orator, that is, 
 of one who is to deliver orations of whatever 
 kind, includes a large amount of instruction 
 that will do equally well for every other class 
 of speakers and writers, and, as respects some 
 of them, the most important instruction they 
 need. But to this general reply it may be 
 added, that in regard to poetry and the drama, 
 they are distinct arts of themselves, though in 
 many points nearly allied to what we specially 
 denominate oratory. Moreover, the rules of 
 poetic and dramatic composition have been 
 subjects of criticism and didactic treatises from 
 3*
 
 30 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 early times. And if we have no ancient books 
 on poetical recitation and on playing, I mean 
 as to what is peculiar to these modes of speak- 
 ing, it may be owing to the small number 
 of those who practised these arts, and also to 
 the arts themselves being luxuries rather than, 
 like oratory, almost necessary accomplishments 
 in public and professional life and instruments 
 of great popular sway. There can be no doubt 
 that these luxurious arts of taste were, in ancient 
 days, studied intensely in private by the fe\v 
 who were drawn to them by peculiar genius, 
 and were made subjects of rules and of minute 
 practice. The same may be said of music, 
 painting and sculpture. But oratory, like ar- 
 chitecture,* was signally a useful as well as 
 elegant and luxurious art, and it was to be 
 cultivated by thousands, and no doubt by 
 many who had little natural turn for it. It 
 thus became a part of all liberal education, and 
 at times seemed ready to monopolize it. We 
 should not be surprised then, that rhetoric, as 
 the art of the orator, occupies so prominent a 
 place in ancient literature, or even that it 
 should have been gradually recognized as the 
 art of composition and delivery of whatever 
 kind. 
 
 Without attempting a formal definition of the 
 word, I am inclined to consider rhetoric, when 
 * Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, Introduction.
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 31 
 
 reduced to a system in books,* as a body of 
 rules derived from experience and observation, 
 extending to all communication by language 
 and designed to make it efficient. It does not 
 ask whether a man is to be a speaker or writer, 
 a poet, philosopher, or debater ; but simply, 
 is it his wish to be put in the right way of com- 
 municating his mind with power to others, by 
 words spoken or written. If so, rhetoric under- 
 takes to show him rules or principles which will 
 help to make the expression of his thoughts 
 effective ; and effective, not in any fashionable 
 or arbitrary way, but in the way that nature 
 
 * The teacher, whose purpose is to pass beyond the external 
 and practical bearings of rhetoric as an art, that is, to con- 
 sider it not merely in its manifestations, but also in its principles 
 as a science, will have to speak of the imagination and the 
 passions as giving a tone and character to human speech, which 
 are discernible both in the significance of single words and in 
 the order which they naturally fall into. The faculty of taste, 
 also, must be introduced as the great moderating or tempering 
 power, that wars against excess, against false associations of 
 images and the unbecoming intrusion of startling but disturbing 
 ideas, and which, in these ways and by positive suggestion of 
 true and apposite beauty, keeps down all unnatural vivacity and 
 gives proper brightness to the genuine. These points, not to 
 name others equally fundamental, come properly within the 
 province of an instructor who would treat fully and scientifically 
 his whole subject ; but rhetoricians have commonly left them in 
 charge of writers on mental philosophy, and satisfied themselves 
 with insisting upon propriety of expression, without giving 
 prominence to the principles of which it is but the result. How 
 much this branch of education loses, by such neglect, in weight 
 and dignity, may be worth considering.
 
 32 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 universally intends, and which man universally 
 feels. For all genuine art is but the helpmate 
 of nature. 
 
 In thus extending rhetoric beyond the super- 
 vision of orators and speeches, it will probably 
 be found that the orator himself has gained 
 something by the extension ; that he is better 
 prepared for his vocation than he would be by 
 studying rhetoric with special reference to public 
 speaking. He will probably be better grounded 
 in principles. Let us consider the theory in one 
 or two particulars. 
 
 One of the offices of rhetoric is, to analyze and 
 explain the style or method of persuasive ad- 
 dress, that method which nature dictates when 
 our object is to move the passions, or to direct 
 them, and thus to control the will ; for such is 
 the aim of oratorical persuasion. Now some 
 contend that rhetoric should treat of persuasion 
 in reference to orations only. The pupil must 
 keep forever in sight an assembly of men who 
 are about to vote and act upon some immediate 
 question or occasion, and whom he is to try to 
 influence. This limitation seems to be arbitrary 
 and unwise. It seems to be arbitrary, because 
 the very oration that is to persuade appeals to 
 the same principles of man's nature which any 
 other affecting composition or speaking must 
 depend upon; and, in the main, the character 
 and qualities of all such appeals will be essen-
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 33 
 
 tially the same. The emotion of pity or fear or 
 indignation, is precisely the same in its nature, 
 whether it be raised by the orator or the poet, 
 and whether the purpose be to make men act in 
 a certain way in an assembly, or to move and 
 purify the heart in their solitary reading. Per- 
 suasion would arouse, impel, deter, invite; 
 inspire admiration, abhorrence, terror, delight, 
 reverence. How is this to be done ? Plainly, by 
 appeals to a man's imagination and taste, to 
 his sense of beauty and grandeur and moral 
 excellence, to his sense of wit and humor and 
 irony and satire. These are among the orator's 
 means of persuasion. And surely the written 
 book, the novel, the history, the fable and the 
 acted play make their approaches to the heart in 
 the same direction and by use of the same 
 methods. I cannot then see how a liberal and 
 philosophical rhetoric can overlook any form of 
 composition, any use of language that aims at 
 power over the heart. I should much sooner 
 expect to see it transgress the limits which the 
 most liberal would think it proper to establish, 
 and carry the student to the galleries of painting 
 and sculpture and to the finest performances in 
 music, that he might see how much there was 
 held in common by all the elegant arts. 
 
 And it is because of this community among 
 these arts that I think the limitation, before 
 spoken of, unwise. The only reason for making
 
 34 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 any course of teaching exclusive is, that the pu- 
 pil may be made more perfect; and this will be 
 the effect, if we shut out nothing but what inter- 
 feres with his successful prosecution of a study. 
 But what shall we call an interfering study ? 
 Certainly not one which involves the same prin- 
 ciples with his main pursuit. No doubt, if the 
 student of eloquence were limited to those forms 
 and methods of persuasion which he finds in 
 speeches, he would discover there all or most of 
 the principles and modes of persuasion which are 
 of use anywhere. But this is not the point. 
 What we contend for is, that he will have the 
 completest mastery of the principles and the 
 practice who has studied and felt them in their 
 whole application and bearing; that a man's 
 power of affecting others will be less, if he has 
 not acquainted himself with the modes in which 
 other artists exercise that power, with the re- 
 sources they employ, with their varieties of style, 
 and even with the faintest differences that may 
 naturally exist between the manner of a writer 
 and a speaker, though they be of equal and kin- 
 dred genius and aim at a kindred influence. 
 The orator's art is not a mechanical trade, which 
 is learned the most perfectly by exclusive devo- 
 tion to its details ; but it is one, and only one, of 
 the results of a grand action of many powers ; it 
 is one child of the prolific mother of many arts, 
 which have a common principle or character of
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 35 
 
 perfection, and which never fail to help each 
 other. When the orator, then, is analyzing per- 
 suasion, let him study it in all its connections. 
 So far from finding this course an interfering 
 one, he will be better prepared for his special 
 work. 
 
 And further, such a liberal examination of the 
 subject is recommended because it may save him 
 from a false and dangerous estimate of one of his 
 most important means of influence. By his fre- 
 quent use of persuasive address in the course of 
 professional business, he might be led to regard 
 it as a somewhat vulgar instrument, to be taken 
 up and wielded as a matter of course, when he 
 comes to certain places in his harangue, rather 
 than as a means of high moral power over the 
 will ; to look upon it as a weak point in men, 
 that they are impressible and yielding, and so 
 ready to be moulded to the purposes of another ; 
 while he ought to feel that, with poets and min- 
 strels and prophets, he is permitted to approach 
 with sovereign control the sacred and generous 
 fountains of the heart. 
 
 Another office of rhetoric is, to instruct a man 
 in finding and arranging the arguments, the rea- 
 sons, the proofs by which he is to maintain his 
 great, leading proposition. If we could make 
 people believe, with Dr. Whately,* that rhetoric, 
 properly so called, was principally concerned 
 * Elements of Rhetoric, Part I., Chap. 2.
 
 36 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 with this business, that its peculiar vocation was 
 to furnish proofs and work conviction, probably 
 the general ill opinion of the art, before alluded 
 to, would be lessened. There is something so 
 cool, manly and respectable in convincing, in 
 addressing one's-self to the pure, clear reason or 
 judgment, that we are disposed to honor what- 
 ever has an agency in it, and to forget that fal- 
 lacy in presenting our proofs is nearly if not quite 
 as easy, insinuating and perhaps mischievous as 
 those dreaded sophistries of ornament or of pas- 
 sion which fascinate the unthinking and sweep 
 away multitudes as with a torrent's force. As it 
 is true, however, that rhetoric deals as much 
 with arguments as with any other materials of 
 discourse, let us get all the credit and favor we 
 can for it by insisting on this fact. 
 
 Suppose now, that rhetoric, in the severest 
 construction of its functions, should refuse to 
 prepare the pupil in respect to his arguments, 
 except, so far as concerns a discourse that is to be 
 spoken, and should perpetually and exclusively 
 remind him of a legal tribunal or a legislative 
 assembly. He might be slow to learn that the 
 most important elements and characteristics of 
 argumentative composition belong equally to all 
 argumentative works, and that the least impor- 
 tant things are the distinctions that separate one 
 class of these from others. Yet so true is this, 
 that you could not teach him the proper way of
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 37 
 
 collecting and stating his arguments for a ser- 
 mon, a debate, or a philosophical treatise, without 
 teaching him nearly everything that belonged to 
 this matter universally. There is a fundamental 
 instruction for all cases, of infinitely more ac- 
 count than the special directions for particular 
 classes of writers or speakers. But though it- 
 is of consequence to save the learner from the 
 false and narrowing notion, that what is most 
 important in any one kind of argumentative 
 composition is peculiar to it, yet he must not 
 be ignorant of what is peculiar to each, and a 
 little study and experience will soon inform 
 him. 
 
 There is one point relative to the argumenta- 
 tive part of a speech which deserves considera- 
 tion. Men are very apt to speak of argument 
 and persuasion as two entirely distinct, if not 
 hostile methods of address. As they evidently 
 mean here, by the word argument, both the mus- 
 tering and marshalling of propositions, which 
 is the business of rhetoric, and reasoning from 
 them, which belongs to logic, we may, for the 
 occasion, use it in the same vague way. What, 
 then, is meant by the alleged distinction ? We 
 hear frequently that argument addresses the un- 
 derstanding and persuasion the passions ; and 
 that reason or the judgment is proverbially pru- 
 dent and safe, while the passions are as prover- 
 bially headlong and dangerous. But how should
 
 69 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 such poor commonplaces as these, reach and 
 explain the phenomena and the actual results 
 of eloquence ? The popular language is, that 
 argument is characterized by coolness and de- 
 liberation. Yet, how various is its character. 
 Sometimes it is incorporated with persuasion, 
 so that no separate appeal to the feelings is re- 
 quired. Sometimes the subject-matter is such 
 throughout, that the arguments adduced in proof 
 are necessarily of the most popular and exciting 
 description. They are ardent and even fierce 
 and overwhelming. Topic follows topic, proof 
 is heaped on proof, till we are reminded of 
 Milton's ' piled thunder.' We seem to be in 
 the midst of fiery shafts and grand peals, with 
 the reason as clear as the brave eye in storms 
 and peril, and with conviction as seated as the 
 rock. 
 
 On the other hand, persuasion is said to be 
 heated and reckless, and bent upon setting peo- 
 ple above or beyond reason, so that they may be 
 ruled by impulse. Yet persuasion has its proper 
 topics and method, not less than the coolest 
 addresses to the understanding, and is, for the 
 most part, a brief and informal kind of reason- 
 ing. This siren or this fury is very often reason 
 herself, kindled and inspired. Persuasion has, 
 indeed, little appearance of proving and con- 
 vincing; but this is so, probably, because feeling 
 makes perception so rapid that steps and pro-
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 39 
 
 cesses are not recognized. The heart leaps over 
 the space required for full, formal statements, 
 whether of proofs or reasonings, and feels all 
 their force without stopping for them. It is not 
 meant by these remarks to confound argument 
 and persuasion, but to make peace between 
 them ; to show that they may and do act 
 together with excellent effect, while in bad 
 hands both may be equally harmful. 
 
 A third office of rhetoric is, to give instruction 
 in speaking ; and here, too, the instruction should 
 be general. Not only orations, but all depart- 
 ments of literature may properly contribute pas- 
 sages for the exercises, since the object is not to 
 form a particular and habitual style of elocution, 
 but to obtain a mastery of all its principles to 
 serve any occasion. The aim of liberal educa- 
 tion, in general, is not to fit a man for a particular 
 calling and refer his studies solely or chiefly to 
 that, but to give him a ready command of all 
 faculties and strengthen them to the utmost ; so 
 that he shall come to his profession with a 
 general invigoration and flexibility which pre- 
 pare him for the study of any. He is left to 
 adapt himself to a vocation or exigency accord- 
 ing to its demand. Apply this doctrine to 
 speaking. If the pupil were taught exclusively 
 with reference to an oration, a play, a parlia- 
 mentary debate, &c., the direction and extent 
 of his natural force would be hurtfully limited.
 
 40 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 He would have the mechanical air of one who 
 had learned but a single thing and had been 
 practising it all his life ; and more time would 
 be occupied, though the object is so distinctly 
 bounded, than the most thorough general in- 
 struction in rhetoric would require. It is better, 
 therefore, on every ground, that speaking should 
 not be taught with reference to occasions or 
 particular compositions ; or, at any rate, that 
 the special instruction should be a secondary 
 matter. 
 
 The last office of rhetoric is, to teach the 
 principles of composition, or, generally, of a 
 good style, in the popular sense of that phrase.* 
 This, as I apprehend the subject, brings properly 
 under the cognizance of rhetoric the whole use 
 of language considered as a means of powerful 
 expression. By this more is implied than gram- 
 matical and logical propriety. It comprehends 
 the selection of efficient words, and a forcible, 
 impressive arrangement. 
 
 As I may appear to have been somewhat 
 
 * The word style is not used here to denote a writer's peculiar 
 manner, arising from and expressing the original character of 
 his mind. This, of course, is not within the province of the 
 rhetorician. As a teacher, I aimed no higher than to instruct 
 beginners in principles of composition which arc common to all 
 writers, whatever their style may be ; and such instruction is 
 better given in familiar text-books and in private exercises, than 
 in a course of public lectures. Accordingly, it filled but a small 
 place in mine.
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 41 
 
 latitudinarian in my former remarks, and to 
 have given more work to a single art than any 
 one art can or ought to do, I am happy that in 
 respect to style I am justified in setting up and 
 observing a limitation, which has been too often 
 overstepped. And I may say here, once for all, 
 that I should not have represented rhetoric as so 
 comprehensive an art as I have done, if, in any 
 philosophical view of it, I had not felt unable to 
 do less, or if I could have found any other art, 
 with whatever name or pretensions, which could 
 properly take part of the burden upon itself. 
 The limitation just referred to is intended to 
 guard you against supposing that because rhe- 
 toric treats of style in a wide literary sense of 
 the term, it should also give a general criticism 
 of literature. It has nothing to do with the dif- 
 ferent departments of the Belles Lettres, as so 
 many distinct forms of writing. It has nothing 
 to do with an analysis of poetry, history, fiction, 
 biography, the drama, &c., or with their laws or 
 their beauties. It leaves this whole field of 
 criticism to other laborers, and limits its inspec- 
 tion of general literature to the purpose of ascer- 
 taining and illustrating the essentials of accurate 
 and forcible expression in all good composition. 
 
 Upon this general view of rhetoric, it seems 
 to be strictly an instrumental art. It creates 
 nothing, and, in one sense, bestows nothing. It 
 
 4*
 
 42 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 takes man with a supposed natural capacity for 
 eloquence, with a language already provided, 
 and the practice of eloquence already existing. 
 Its work is, guidance, direction, and farther de- 
 velopment ; to lead men to observe closely the 
 principles of that excellence which they already 
 acknowledge ; in a word, to bring into system 
 the natural practice of all men, the processes we 
 go through and the means we employ when we 
 express ourselves well. Yet this is the art which 
 so many think to be showy, presumptuous, and 
 deceptive. Let us give a moment's attention to 
 some of the objections which have been brought 
 against it, and which were very generally alluded 
 to at the beginning of the lecture. 
 
 The objection that it is an arbitrary device of 
 sophists to make men orators, to create in them 
 the power by giving rules, is sufficiently an- 
 swered by the remarks (perhaps some will say, 
 the concessions) just made. I will only add 
 that rhetoric is no more invented by man, and 
 no more pretends to make eloquence or eloquent 
 men, than induction was invented by Bacon, 
 and, with the help of a teacher, pretends to make 
 philosophers. 
 
 Another objection is, that rhetoric undertakes 
 to make men orators by offering one and the 
 same prescription for all, and is thus carrying on 
 secret warfare against individual genins. With 
 equal propriety might it be said that one Ian-
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 43 
 
 guage for a whole people is hostile to the 
 exercise and manifestation of peculiar genius. 
 Rhetoric takes no note of differences in men, 
 either to supply an absolute want of power or 
 to counteract a strong original tendency, but 
 regards only those practices which all uncon- 
 sciously follow when they speak or write well, 
 be they men of gifted minds or not, and leaves 
 to every one the full, free use of his peculiar 
 resources to effect his purpose. Hence it is, that 
 some great triumph of eloquence or some admi- 
 rable book may appear to be so decidedly the 
 result of something wholly peculiar in the indi- 
 vidual, that the cry will be : ' There is a man 
 who works miracles without aid from the magi- 
 cians ; there is the sheer product of strong native 
 genius.' Yet, to acute observers, he will exhibit 
 throughout his mastery of the universal princi- 
 ples of rhetoric. He could not have triumphed 
 without it. He might as well have triumphed 
 without the use of language. 
 
 But as soon as we have made this statement 
 of the case, the questioned is raised : If rhetoric 
 teaches nothing but what is already practised 
 without it, why have it at all ? A useful art 
 instructs us to apply power in some profitable 
 way that we had not known ; but here is an art 
 that simply tells us what we have done and can 
 do without it. To answer the objection satis- 
 factorily would lead us into an inquiry respect-
 
 44 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 
 
 ing the utility of art, or the cultivation of acknow- 
 ledged natural powers and the perfecting of ac- 
 knowledged natural operations. This opens a 
 large field of remark and illustration, and the 
 subject, though involving points already touched 
 upon, will require a separate consideration. 
 
 The opinion that the art is of no good practi- 
 cal use has probably led to the popular notion 
 that it must serve a mischievous one. Why 
 was it contrived if it was to accomplish nothing ? 
 It cannot be a merely speculative view, however 
 curious and interesting, of certain mental actions, 
 modes of speech, vocal inflections and bodily ex- 
 pressions. It cannot be merely inoperative ; for 
 we see it ally itself to a splendid and powerful 
 means of influence; it professes to be and 
 is received as the companion and auxiliary of 
 orators and writers. From these, and perhaps 
 other considerations, rhetoric has been supposed 
 to be a device of sophists to furnish an apparatus 
 for carrying any cause that could not sustain 
 itself, an art that teaches how the instrument 
 of communicating thought may be successfully 
 abused, and the semblance of truth and sincerity 
 be perfectly put on. And it cannot be denied 
 that the pedantry, the frivolous minuteness and 
 the petty subtilties of some systems and teachers 
 have done much to countenance distrust at least, 
 if not so rude a condemnation. Abuses are apt 
 to seize the sharpest upon the best means of
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF RHETORIC. 45 
 
 serving the world ; and signally so, when the 
 true uses and objects of these means are not 
 thoroughly understood by the many. And, in 
 general, people are not so ready to discern the 
 beneficent ministry of rhetoric when a good 
 cause is ably sustained, as to suspect its insidi- 
 ous agency when a bad one is triumphant, and 
 the worse is made to appear the better reason. 
 
 Let us trust that in good time our art will be 
 more justly appreciated, as surely as its evils and 
 its vain pretensions will be lessened by the wider 
 prevalence of enlightened opinions on other sub- 
 jects. It will then be welcomed as the humble 
 assistant of nature and friend of truth.
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 IT is still a matter in controversy, whether it 
 is not more a harm than an assistance to an 
 orator to make speaking a part of his education. 
 Those who would dispense altogether with 
 teaching it, seeing, as we all see, that a great 
 deal of the ancient discipline is ill-suited to 
 modern tastes and demands, and believing that 
 every method and practice of later elocutionists 
 has failed, are inclined to trus.t to a man's 
 natural power of expression whenever he is 
 earnestly bent upon carrying his point. They 
 find a cure for every evil, and a supply for every 
 want, in sincerity and devotedness. Their great 
 rule is, ' trust to nature.' Let us first consider 
 this very attractive precept. 
 
 The meaning is clear enough. We have by 
 our constitution an apparatus for sounds and 
 bodily movements, universally significant of 
 mental states and action, and sure to operate 
 immediately and infallibly unless we clog it. 
 
 [46]
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 47 
 
 The fault is ours if the machinery does not 
 work well. One mode of obstructing it, we 
 are told, is studying to speak well ; for it sup- 
 poses that natural impulse is insufficient, that 
 the ear is an inadequate judge of sounds, that 
 the fullest possession of the meaning of what 
 we want to utter with effect is not enough to 
 dictate spontaneously the appropriate manner 
 of expression. Hence, in our distrust of nature, 
 we try, as the next best thing, to imitate her, 
 and with the success that might be expected. 
 A consciousness of self forever prevents the 
 full, lively manifestation of self. The exterior 
 is no longer informed by the spiritual. A strict- 
 ly artificial accomplishment, drawing attention 
 to itself, becomes the crowning glory of the 
 orator, while the prevailing style of his delivery 
 is monotonous and wearisome. 
 
 The advocates of an entire trust in nature 
 sometimes direct us to children as examples of 
 its excellent effect. In them we have the 
 genuine disciples of nature, the natural orator 
 in the truest sense. The boy is not yet infected 
 with affectation, or hypocrisy, or vanity, or 
 anxiety about his appearance, or consciousness 
 of effort. He has something to communicate ; 
 and he seeks some way to utter it, as instinc- 
 tively as the body moves under the excitement 
 of the briskly flowing blood and the delightful 
 sensation of new and healthy life. How in-
 
 48 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 telligible is every gesture, look and attitude 
 which waits upon his imperfect speech or in- 
 terprets his silence. Every feeling, wish and 
 thought has its messenger. No actor, no pan- 
 tomime of elder growth is to be compared with 
 him. They should study him ; so should the 
 painter, so should the sculptor. He is one 
 visible mental expression. And all because he 
 is full of the matter and has nature to help him 
 out in the utterance. In this we are all agreed. 
 
 Now as the quality of good eloquence is the 
 same in young and old, what needs the mature 
 speaker but the same surrender of himself to his 
 subject, and the same wish and purpose to im- 
 press his hearer ? If we are no longer success- 
 ful speakers as we advance in years, it must be 
 because we are sophisticated. We have lost 
 the early inspiration ; and instead of recovering 
 it by going back to our youthful ardor and sin- 
 cerity, we vainly strive to make up for it by art 
 or imitation. 
 
 There is much clear truth in this view; but, 
 as we think, there is also an important error ; 
 and to detect and expose it shall occupy us for 
 the present. Let us inquire what this so much 
 reprobated art or teaching is ; and what nature 
 would, in general, be without it. 
 
 Many have a vague notion of art as opposed 
 to or above nature ; or at least as something 
 very distinct from it. But in our present use
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 49 
 
 of the term, in the sense of a means or in- 
 strument, art is drawn directly from all that 
 we have learned of the perfect in man's nature, 
 and is intended to develope and train what he 
 already possesses. It is an experiment upon hu- 
 man power to know how far it maybe extended 
 and what direction it needs. And, whether he 
 knows it or not, every man, in his particular 
 calling, is subjected to this experiment. He 
 either tries it upon himself or others try it for 
 him. He is a pupil, more or less docile, of 
 somebody. This is a necessity of his constitu- 
 tion and condition. There can be no qualifica- 
 tion or dispensation to suit the faculties, tastes 
 or pursuits of any man. The very prodigies of 
 genius, who seem to us short-sighted worship- 
 pers to find their way upward like the plant, 
 
 if they had the power to reveal the mystery 
 of their growth, would probably show us a far 
 moxe thorough course of education, a more strict 
 though, perhaps, unconscious obedience to prin- 
 ciples, than the most dependent of their brethren 
 have ever been subjected to. The poet is called 
 emphatically the child of nature. He is born to 
 his vocation. Still he is and must be in the 
 strictest sense a pupil of art, as in his triumph 
 he is a master. To speak only of versification, 
 
 I admit that there is such a thing as a natural 
 ear for melody ; but I must go far beyond this 
 simple perception and pleasure to account for 
 
 5
 
 50 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 all the received varieties of verse ; its complica- 
 tion, its refinement, and power of endless adap- 
 tation. Sound is studied by the poet, till its 
 hidden capacity of expression is understood, 
 till verse in its most finished state becomes a 
 full exhibition of an inborn faculty, and serves 
 to illuminate both thought and passion, however 
 various or subtile. 
 
 What should exempt the voice from the ne- 
 cessity imposed upon our powers generally ? It 
 is certainly capable of being affected in some 
 way by experience or practice. It is not too 
 aerial to be controlled and harmed by ourselves 
 and by others. The proper view of it seems to 
 be that nature gives her early lesson where no 
 other can teach, and indicates that there is much 
 in reserve which we ourselves must bring to 
 light for the noblest services of speech. The 
 natural voice, in order that its full compass of 
 expression may be known, and that it may be 
 capable of giving the best utterance, needs cul- 
 tivation, vigilant study and many experiments. 
 No matter how great may be a man's natural 
 gift, or whether his practice is the analysis and 
 trial of vocal sounds, or an exercise at school, or 
 solitary declamation in forests or. on the sea- 
 beach, or whether he studies the manner of 
 other speakers as a means of discovering and 
 improving his own faculty; be the discipline 
 what it may, so far forth as he is a good speaker,
 
 ELOCUTION", A STUDY. 51 
 
 he has followed the true principles of rhetoric. 
 Call him a natural or taught orator, it is all 
 substantially the same, however true it may be 
 that the few who can do nearly everything for 
 themselves are greater men than the thousand 
 who need help from others. Profiting by a wise 
 education is trusting to nature, in the only com 
 mon-sense interpretation of the words. We then 
 acknowledge her secret forces and try to give 
 her full play. 
 
 Besides, the importance of education is seen 
 in another view of facts. Many have but little 
 of the element of eloquence from nature. Many 
 have great deficiencies associated with their 
 native gifts ; such as infirmities of temperament 
 and ill-directed or corrupted taste. Instead of 
 instinctively developing the divine faculty, they 
 do all they can to thwart and obstruct it, till at 
 last vicious habits shut it from their sight and 
 make another discovery of it next to impractica- 
 ble. Probably the most confident disciples of 
 nature would not refuse the offices of education 
 in cases like these. It would be mockery to tell 
 such persons to trust to nature when she has 
 done so little to inspire confidence, and they 
 have done what they could to weaken her en 
 ergies. 
 
 No doubt there are bad systems of elocution, 
 false teachers, many abuses, many cases where 
 nature has sunk under the instruction. So it is
 
 52 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 with everything that is the care and work of man. 
 I admit that art, instead of being instrumental, 
 as it should be, and wholly merged and lost in 
 the power which it has served to bring out and 
 perfect, is too apt to survive and betray itself ; 
 and that its appearance is especially hurtful and 
 offensive in a public speaker, in whom the signs 
 of preparation, so far at least as the manner is 
 concerned, are apt to raise a suspicion that all is 
 not sincere. But I cannot say that I discover 
 the brand upon him more than upon others who 
 have systematically followed any business or 
 study. As it is only an unhappy accident and 
 no necessary result of instruction, it is no argu- 
 ment against the use and necessity of instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Let us now return to our infant orator, whom 
 we left in the full glow and triumph of extempo- 
 raneous eloquence. What a revolution has been 
 going on since we parted with him. Well may 
 he say with the apostle, ' When I was a child 
 I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I 
 thought as a child ; but when I became a man I 
 put away childish things.' The joyous state of 
 being is gone, when the outward, the material, 
 the present had the mastery. The age of reflec- 
 tion, anticipation, comparison and reasoning has 
 succeeded. The inward and abstract are pa- 
 tiently studied. A sense of responsibility, both 
 for opinion and conduct, begins to be felt. It is
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 53 
 
 found politic or necessary to repress emotion 
 and to set a guard over the tongue. The more 
 a habit is formed of revolving thoughts and as- 
 certaining difficult truth, the less eager are we to 
 make instant proclamation of feelings and ideas. 
 Reserve if not shyness, pride if not distrust, has 
 succeeded to the free, reckless, confiding spirit 
 of boyhood. The more matured the mind be- 
 comes, the more capable of perceiving things 
 accurately and comprehensively, and the more it 
 feels their importance, the less heed it takes of its 
 mode of expressing them. It confides in their 
 intrinsic value to recommend, and in the good 
 sense of others to understand them. The young 
 man has undergone all these intellectual and 
 moral changes, and many more, and in these 
 respects, at least, has been treated as a proper 
 subject of education ; and all the time the power 
 of eloquence, the instinctive and perfect discrim- 
 inations of the voice have most probably been 
 diminishing, and not a step been taken by him- 
 self or others to keep up or form a style of ex- 
 pression at all commensurate with the growth 
 and revolutions of his mind and character. The 
 giant is full-sized indeed, but a bond is upon 
 him, which has yielded so far as not to hinder 
 his growth, but will not suffer him to move with 
 his early freedom. 
 
 Here, then, is a subject in pressing need of help 
 of some kind. It will never do to say to him, 
 5*
 
 54 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 you will speak well enough if you are but 
 let alone or will let yourself alone. Our un- 
 taught speakers, in the enjoyment of bound- 
 less liberty in this respect, are an ever present 
 answer to such a doctrine. What, then, shall 
 be done? The point, unfortunately, is still in 
 dispute. 
 
 Among those who reject every theory and 
 practice of the masters, whether for development 
 or correction, is Archbishop Whately, in his 
 well-known views of elocution.* Seeing in the 
 old systems and teachers no good fruit and much 
 evil, he has suggested, as an all-sufficient remedy 
 for the deficiencies of orators, a simple return to 
 nature by an entire surrender of ourselves to our 
 work, to our meaning and to the occasion. We 
 may then ' trust to her to suggest spontaneously 
 the proper emphases and tones.' This idea he 
 carries out at length and with care. He may 
 not prevail with us to give up our teachers ; but 
 if they would study his principles, they would 
 better deserve our confidence. Let his theory or 
 remedy be worth what it may, no man, probably, 
 has ever formed a juster conception of the natural 
 speaker, or of the faults of the assumed manner. 
 No man has better understood the relations in 
 which the orator and his audience stand to each 
 other. 
 
 The point for which I have been contending 
 * Elements of Rhetoric, Part IV.
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 55 
 
 is, that we are to give nature free room for mak- 
 ing her spontaneous suggestions, by doing our 
 own part of the work ; and that is by making 
 what we think natural and necessary experiments 
 upon her power, by cherishing even the slightest 
 monitions she may give us, and by removing the 
 obstructions to her exercise which are perpetually 
 placed in her way by wrong teaching, negli- 
 gence, imitation, and tricks and bad habits of all 
 kinds, acquired from exposures not to be num- 
 bered. 
 
 Dr. Whately seems to think that a man in- 
 structed in elocution will necessarily have his 
 rules occur to him for guidance at the moment 
 of speaking, and that these, by reminding him 
 of himself, will defeat the natural manner. This 
 remark cannot apply to any part of the brief 
 view we have taken of his education. The nat- 
 ural effect of our plan would be to make him 
 think nothing of himself, of his voice, or of any 
 rule. He has been employed in perfecting an 
 instrument that will now obey the slightest 
 touch. The passions may play freely upon it. 
 He has been forming good habits and may trust 
 fearlessly to their guidance. He has cultivated 
 his task till he feels a general confidence in its 
 exactness. He is fully equipped and trained, 
 and has nothing to do but act and put forth all 
 his might. It is a consciousness of weakness or 
 unpreparedness that betrays a conscious manner.
 
 56 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 This writer's objections to teaching indicate 
 that he is generally if not always thinking of a 
 man's reading and speaking, as it were, by note; 
 that is, with reference to marks upon his manu- 
 script, or to some devices which' he has commit- 
 ted to memory for the occasion. Fatal as such 
 a practice may be, it has no connection with the 
 most diligent and minute cultivation of the voice 
 for the purpose of fitting it to do its whole office, 
 not for any particular emergency, but for 
 whatever demand may be made upon it through 
 a long life.* 
 
 It is possible after all, that Dr. Whately would 
 countenance our idea of the orator's education ; 
 for early in his discussion he says : ' When I 
 protest against all artificial systems of elocution, 
 and all direct attention to delivery, at the time, it 
 must not be supposed that a general inattention 
 to that point is recommended.' Near the close, 
 too, he says, that any one who has a faulty 
 delivery, faults of utterance, attitude and ges- 
 ture, should endeavor to remedy the defect by 
 care and by availing himself of the remarks of 
 an intelligent friend. It is true that he makes 
 these admissions with caution, as if careless 
 readers might attach undue importance to them ; 
 but we are willing to hope that, unawares, we 
 
 * In the course of my remarks, the voice alone has been 
 referred to, among the instruments of eloquence, as it was suffi- 
 cient for the purpose of illustration.
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 57 
 
 have been occupied in carrying out one part, at 
 least, of his views. And if we could here state 
 in detail what course of instruction we should 
 recommend for pupils generally, it probably 
 would not transcend the liberty which we think 
 is given us by this eminent rhetorician in the 
 passages just referred to, nor be thought by him 
 to endanger the natural manner. 
 
 Perhaps nothing makes education more impor- 
 tant to the orator than the ardor, sincerity and 
 devotion to his purpose, on which Dr. Whately 
 would rely as all-sufficient. He cannot be truly 
 eloquent without these ; but they must be trained 
 to his service if he would obtain something more 
 than a few brilliant triumphs, if he would have 
 a useful, steady, confirmed power. We are not 
 wrong in thinking the delivery natural whenever 
 it is spontaneous ; but it may not be natural in 
 the highest sense. The want of some native 
 gift, or of discretion and skill may perpetually 
 betray itself to harm or defeat an effort that was 
 full of promise. Most of us, probably, have 
 heard men speak who evidently had many of the 
 essentials of eloquence ; who were full of the 
 matter, enthusiastic, and determined to convince 
 or persuade ; but whose fervor and very success 
 betrayed them into exaggeration. This might 
 do no harm in a single instance ; it might help 
 the cause. Their reputation and influence may 
 not suffer for a time. But a faulty manner is
 
 58 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 
 
 generated, and the fault will have the credit of 
 no small part of the impression made. Constant 
 practice before assemblies, which ought to 
 perfect , the oratorical talent, constant recur- 
 rence to some great secret of former success, 
 serves, in their case, but to make bad habits 
 inveterate and more and more prominent. If 
 they feel themselves losing ground as orators, 
 their manner becomes more violent, till they are 
 beyond endurance, unless sustained by their 
 great general ability. 
 
 The question may be asked, whether a com- 
 mon man, the least educated in any respect, 
 ever fails to hit instinctively the true, thrilling 
 tone, whenever he is deeply moved. Does his 
 rage, his remorse, his agony of grief, need a 
 teacher of vocal inflections ? No, but shall the 
 frantic man come to our assemblies ? Will the 
 raw, naked passion, true as it is in expressing 
 itself, appeal fit.ly to cultivated minds, preparing 
 themselves by deliberation not less than by 
 sympathy for just judgment and action ? With- 
 out deducting a jot of sincerity from the passion 
 or of nature from the tone, we know that some- 
 thing must be done for them before they can be 
 admitted to the orator's service. This violence 
 would not do even on the stage. How truly, 
 how beautifully has Shakspeare instructed, not 
 the actor only, but the speaker. How exactly 
 has he discerned what the refilled ear and taste
 
 ELOCUTION, A STUDY. 59 
 
 demand. ' Use all gently : for in the very torrent, 
 tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your 
 passion, you must acquire and beget a temper- 
 ance, that may give it smoothness.'* 
 
 Thus the most sincere passion needs the 
 restraint of taste, and the moderation, the 
 serenity of self-possession. Just as some men, 
 who feel deeply what they want to say, speak 
 as if they were unmoved, others, equally sin- 
 cere, fail from over-doing.' 
 
 * ' What noble propriety and grace do we feel in the conduct 
 of those who, in their own case, exert that recollection and self- 
 command which constitute the dignity of every passion, and 
 which bring it down to what others can enter into. We are 
 disgusted with that clamorous grief, which, without any delicacy, 
 calls upon our compassion with sighs and tears and importunate 
 lamentations. But we reverence that reserved, that silent and 
 majestic sorrow, which discovers itself only in the swelling of 
 the eyes, in the quivering of the lips and cheeks, and in the 
 distant but affecting coldness of the whole behavior. It imposes 
 the like silence upon us. We regard it with respectful attention, 
 and watch with anxious concern over our whole behavior, lest 
 by any impropriety we should disturb that concerted tranquillity, 
 which it requires so great an effort to support.' Smith's 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments, I. 45.
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 ONE characteristic of a parliamentary debate 
 and of an argument in a court of justice is, that 
 the speech relates to matters of present business, 
 such as men are not only to form an opinion 
 but forthwith to act upon. The case is different 
 with respect to a demonstrative oration ; for this 
 is not properly connected with decisions or ac- 
 tion. It is intended to please. It may exercise 
 no small moral and intellectual influence ; but 
 it proposes to itself no special practical result. 
 
 The word, demonstrative, sounds strangely to 
 modern ears when applied to eloquence, though 
 perfectly familiar as expressive of scientific proof. 
 The rhetoricians, not less than the mathema- 
 ticians, mean by it, showing; but not in the 
 same way, and not, necessarily, with the same 
 degree of certainty. The demonstrative oration 
 sets forth or exhibits whatever may be its ob- 
 ject, and addresses itself to opinion, taste and 
 feeling. Its proper business, according to our 
 
 [CO]
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 61 
 
 ancient masters, is the praise or dispraise of 
 persons and things ; in other words, panegyric 
 or invective. It formed one of the three grand 
 divisions of their eloquence, and was thought 
 of sufficient importance to have special instruc- 
 tion provided for a suitable preparation of the 
 discourse. 
 
 In modern times, there are many public 
 addresses which fully answer to the ancient 
 idea of demonstrative eloquence, and many 
 occasions when it is introduced incidentally. 
 It is not seldom that we assemble to hear some 
 great event or great name in history commemo- 
 rated ; and the opportunity is not lost of inveigh- 
 ing against public foes, or the domestic factions 
 which we have not joined. Every funeral dis- 
 course is as properly a demonstrative oration as 
 the panegyrics of classic celebrity. 
 
 What are we to think of a department of 
 eloquence for the praise of the living ? Surely, 
 it cannot be countenanced in highly civilized 
 life. It must belong to barbarism. No ; the 
 savage is probably too simple for such a worship. 
 Then it must be intended to adorn the servile 
 homage of the ignorant and corrupt in more 
 refined society, who would propitiate a despot. 
 Not exclusively ; for the most bare-faced praise 
 ever offered to man holds a distinguished place 
 in the eloquence of the most free, cultivated and 
 sober-minded nations from the great ages of 
 6
 
 62 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 antiquity to our own ; and the orators, the 
 incense-bearers, have been among the eminent 
 of their time, and in their turn have received 
 like adoration. How it is that we say things 
 of a man to his face, before a throng, which we 
 could not repeat to him seriously in private, 
 may be explained as we explain other conven- 
 tional ceremonies. But the wonder is that such 
 forms do not yield to the good sense which 
 has corrected other but not grosser follies of 
 fashion. 
 
 Panegyrics of the dead are clear of such 
 grounds of reproach. Indeed, the custom has 
 a somewhat different object, since the eulogy 
 of the living is intended for the credit and ad- 
 vantage of both parties, but panegyrics of the 
 departed can be designed for none but ourselves. 
 We owe a debt to deceased benefactors ; and 
 we pay it in the only ways we can ; sometimes 
 by imitating them and carrying out their work ; 
 sometimes by monuments and praise. Even 
 without regard to the benefit we may have 
 received, we feel that it would bring discredit 
 upon us not to show publicly our sense of 
 greatness and excellence. And further, such 
 panegyrics are occasions for the relief of public 
 sorrow. For nations, as well as villages and 
 families, have their common grief in the loss 
 of great or good men,^md the same mode of 
 assuaging it by dwelling on their memory.
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 63 
 
 Communities, whether large or small, are bound 
 together not more by the living than by the 
 dead. 
 
 The common faults of eulogies are familiar 
 to all, arid are easily traced to a few simple 
 causes. 
 
 Family pride, in its demands for public ad- 
 miration of ancestors, oversteps the line of 
 moderation and delicacy. It is impatient of 
 bare truth. It thinks too much of survivors, and 
 betrays an unbecoming dependence on inherited 
 glory. Cicero says that it had been customary 
 for families to preserve memoirs to adorn a 
 funeral, when any of the race died, and that 
 ' the truth of history was corrupted by them.' * 
 This is a grave charge, indeed, and naturally 
 puts readers, as it should relatives, upon their 
 guard in the matter of family history. How 
 many of us are almost compelled to receive 
 our impressions of distinguished persons from 
 biographers whom a very natural family pride 
 has perverted. Add to this bias that of family 
 love, both equally prone to exaggerate their 
 objects whether living or dead, and we can- 
 not be surprised that truth should suffer in 
 such hands. 
 
 So it will be if we pass from relatives to 
 friends and dependents ; to faithful fellow-com- 
 batants with the deceased in political struggles, 
 * De Claris Oratoribus, Cap. 16.
 
 64 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 and fellow-sufferers with him in their fallen for- 
 tunes, all of them deeply moved, all perfectly 
 competent to show us what power a great man 
 had gained over them ; and, for these very rea- 
 sons, uncertain witnesses to his life and character 
 as a whole. 
 
 Next we come to those who appear perfectly 
 unexceptionable a-nd safe as reporters ; and if 
 they fail, there must be some vice in the custom 
 itself. The eulogist may have no personal or 
 special interest in his subject, but is called upon 
 as a prominent man to prepare a discourse, as 
 his part of a great public duty. What prudence 
 and judgment are necessary to save him from 
 forced extravagances, when he assumes to be 
 the representative of the general admiration and 
 sympathy. ' To praise often,' says the critic, 
 ' whether there is ground for it or not, but at 
 any rate to over-praise, and to suppress on all 
 occasions the opposite side of the account, is 
 the besetting sin of such discourses.' * If 
 genuine grief may be frantic, the assumed may 
 be hyperbolical. Estimates of character, praises 
 of genius, reviews of public services, which 
 might be impressive if simple and just, are very 
 likely, on such occasions, to be disfigured by 
 elaborate analysis and brilliant contrasts, or by 
 the pompous swell of generalities. Such are 
 some of the perils of praise, whether bursting 
 Edinb. Rev. No. ilvL p. 853.
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATOUY. 65 
 
 from the heart, or struck out from the intellect 
 in obedience to a vote. 
 
 I might here recall to you the oft-enumerated 
 specimens of demonstrative eloquence in the 
 ancient states and in France, and the no less 
 memorable instances of its introduction in the 
 course of a debate, or of an argument at the 
 bar, in England. But I must proceed to other 
 matters. 
 
 We are considering a department of eloquence 
 which belongs to no profession, or, perhaps 
 more properly, which has made none for it- 
 self. We have orators for the houses of legis- 
 lation, fojr the court-room, and for the pulpit ; 
 and the two last classes of speakers form dis- 
 tinct professions. But demonstrative orations 
 are little more than occasional exercises, some- 
 times performed by those who are public speakers 
 by their professions, or by men devoted to litera- 
 ture or to business. We may conceive of a 
 state of society so refined, and, perhaps I may 
 add, so luxurious, as to call forth and establish a 
 class of what may be called literary orators, as 
 distinct and acknowledged as that of authors, 
 whose vocation it will be to investigate literary, 
 moral and scientific subjects, or the elegant arts, 
 and make them familiar and agreeable to multi- 
 tudes in public discourses. 
 
 It would be doing no violence to demonstrative 
 oratory to bring these within its province. So
 
 66 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 far as the lectures of the ancient philosophers 
 were exoteric, they also might have a place here, 
 with Socrates, perhaps, to countenance the classi- 
 fication. Or if a later authority be demanded, 
 we have one in Milton. This stern public cen- 
 sor, at the very moment that he was contending 
 against king and prelate and the many corrup- 
 tions and oppressions which had brought Eng- 
 land to the hour of her terrible convulsion, could 
 raise his voice in behalf of such means of popular 
 improvement as we have now in our minds. 
 Music and plays were already proscribed, but 
 the Puritan's substitute would not be out of 
 place in our days. In his ' Reason of Church 
 Government,' he says : 
 
 ' Because the spirit of man cannot demean 
 itself lively in this body, without some recreating 
 intermission of labor and serious things, it were 
 happy for the Commonwealth if our magistrates, 
 as in those famous governments of old, would 
 take into their care the managing of our public 
 sports and festival pastimes, that they might be 
 such as may civilize, adorn and make discreet 
 our minds by the learned and affable meeting of 
 frequent academies, and the procurement of wise 
 and artful recitations, sweetened with eloquent 
 and graceful enticements to the love and practice 
 of justice, temperance and fortitude, instructing 
 and bettering the nation at all opportunities, 
 that the call of wisdom and virtue may be heard
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 67 
 
 every where. Whether this may not be, not 
 only in pulpits, but after another persuasive 
 method, at set and solemn panegyrics, in thea- 
 tres, porches, or what other place or way may 
 win most upon the people, to receive at once 
 both recreation and instruction, let them in 
 authority consult.' * 
 
 It is on ground as broad as Milton has here 
 taken in recommending a refining popular cul- 
 ture, a wisdom and an entertainment for a whole 
 people, that demonstrative oratory may be well 
 worthy of consideration and support at this 
 time among ourselves. Our courses of public 
 lectures in town and country accord very well 
 with his idea ; and though once a doubtful 
 experiment, they are now regarded as a means 
 of supplying a general want. Their uses are 
 obvious. In a social view, the mere bringing 
 people together to have their minds refreshed 
 by truth and their tastes gratified by simple, 
 intellectual pleasures, is of itself civilizing. It 
 is a very favorable sign of the times, that 
 audiences can be collected evening after even- 
 ing with no livelier temptation. 
 
 The purpose of such lectures cannot be to 
 furnish a great amount of exact knowledge 
 which will be retained and used like that 
 which we amass in our private studies. Their 
 
 * I have taken those parts only of the passage which relate to 
 our subject.
 
 b8 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 object, 1 suppose, is partly to hold a sort of con- 
 versation with men upon what they are already 
 to some extent acquainted with, in order that 
 they may compare their ideas with those of a 
 fellow-inquirer, and be assisted to take com- 
 prehensive views of subjects which they had 
 examined by themselves very much in detail. 
 Generally, no doubt, the effect is to stimulate 
 those who are in the habit of thinking and 
 inquiring, to wake up the less intellectual, and 
 to make whole communities feel that they have 
 other matters of common interest than the 
 affairs of their towns and families. 
 
 The demonstrative orator is soon made aware 
 of the peculiar difficulties of his position. 
 Though he has not the burden that weighs 
 on professional speakers, yet he has not the 
 excitement of their responsibility. Though his 
 subject be an easy one for all parties, yet it is 
 not felt to be of pressing importance. Though 
 he is at liberty to manage it as he pleases, in 
 the absence of opponents and controlling judges, 
 yet the animation of controversy is wanting. 
 
 The orator who is to commemorate the recent 
 dead, or any late event of great public interest, 
 will suffer little from considerations of this 
 nature. And he who is called on to speak of 
 a long-past era, may often be at liberty to 
 connect existing affairs and opinions with the 
 venerable subject of present commemoration,
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 69 
 
 and thus make it almost as animating as if it 
 were new. For example, during the two 
 centuries since the Restoration, there have been 
 many periods, no doubt, when an English 
 clergyman might preach before a tory audience 
 a very exciting discourse, on the thirtieth of 
 January, in celebration of the martyrdom, as i 
 was called, of Charles the First, because his 
 hearers, while they mourned over the royal 
 sorrows and humiliation, would be freshly re- 
 minded of the reestablishment of kingly and 
 ecclesiastical power, and kindled anew with the 
 fires of ancient loyalty and of political hate. 
 
 Our Fourth of July celebrations must always 
 give a fair occasion to discuss soberly the com- 
 fort of having a country of our own, with a 
 government of our own, in connection with the 
 trials and sacrifices of those to whom we owe 
 both. But, noble as these subjects are, the ob- 
 servance might still be dull, if continued merely 
 out of respect to usage or a town-vote. It 
 gains spirit at once if we can connect with the 
 Declaration and War of our Independence some- 
 thing kindred in the passions, struggles and 
 hopes of our own day. The hearer is always 
 glad to have a real, present case in which he 
 can fasten those vagrant and showy generalities, 
 which form too large a part of our demonstrative 
 orations. And the orator mast be as thankful as 
 the audience ; for it is both a relief of labor and
 
 70 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 an enriching of the mind to start with some- 
 thing near and definite, and to feel it all the 
 way. 
 
 But of that whole class of literary discourses 
 to which I before alluded, and of a large part 
 of occasional addresses, not overlooking the 
 performances of my young friends here, on our 
 public days, it may be safely said that the 
 interest depends mainly upon the speaker. He 
 can scarcely expect help from accident or from 
 forcing into his service anything foreign to his 
 subject. The whole work of moving his au- 
 dience may be thrown upon him. It will not 
 be enough to prepare an address that will do to 
 read. They might as well have staid at home 
 till it was printed. They have come together 
 for new impression, larger views and stronger 
 faith. There must be a popular tone to the 
 address, an adaptation to various minds, so that 
 all shall be moved, though they be moved dif- 
 ferently. They have brought their common 
 nature to the place of assembly. They have 
 not provided themselves with a peculiar set of 
 feelings or susceptibilities to bring them into 
 readier communication with the speaker. They 
 have not spent hours with him in his study to 
 investigate his subject or learn the general 
 course of his remarks. They expect him to 
 furnish thoughts for them and command their 
 attention.
 
 DEMONSTRATIVE ORATORY. 71 
 
 To answer these demands, it is too obvious to 
 be said that, besides a perfect mastery of his 
 subject, he must have a deep and sustained 
 interest in what he is saying. He must believe 
 that he is uttering what others ought to hear 
 and take to heart, though in fact it be no more 
 urgent that a general concern should be felt in it 
 to-day, than it was a year ago or will be a year 
 to come. Whatever be the subject, he must 
 have his points fixed and always visible, his 
 statements almost laboriously distinct, the strain 
 of the discourse unbroken ; and, by all the power 
 of imagination he possesses, he must try to keep 
 up a gentle, steady, cheering flame from the 
 opening to the close. 
 
 Lastly, since his audience are at peace and 
 ought not to be otherwise, let his style of de- 
 livery be quiet and familiar. The tones should 
 be spontaneous and sincere, that they may grad- 
 ually acquire that arresting power which marks 
 the colloquial manner. Nobody can escape it. 
 The subject is all in all to the speaker, and his 
 hearers are conscious of nothing but deep im- 
 pression.
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 ONE of the departments of eloquence known 
 equally to the free states of ancient and of 
 modern times, is that of deliberative bodies. 
 
 By these, we understand assemblies consulting 
 upon the adoption or rejection of measures; and 
 the business of the speaker is to advise, persuade 
 or dissuade. As legislative bodies are the most 
 important of the class, the term is almost ex- 
 clusively applied to them; and in giving you 
 my views of deliberative eloquence, I shall limit 
 myself to its manifestation in a modern legisla- 
 ture. This will lead us to consider, first of all, 
 the composition of such a body. 
 
 Our most popular legislative assemblies are 
 composed of persons appointed from time to 
 time, by the people, to represent them. We are 
 not accustomed, nor would it be possible for us 
 to bring the whole population together for the 
 purpose of legislation ; ' nor do we think that 
 every person who is entitled to the protection 
 
 [72]
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 73 
 
 of laws is competent to make them.' Deputies, 
 accordingly, are elected to act for the people in 
 this behalf. The presumption is natural that 
 men, in whom such a trust is reposed, will ex- 
 ercise some influence over their constituents, as 
 well as consult their pleasure. They are suffi- 
 ciently independent of the people to do what 
 they hold to be their duty and best for the 
 country, without incurring peril of any kind; 
 at least, such is the theory of free governments; 
 and yet, as they are soon to feel the popular 
 supremacy at new elections, and as they them- 
 selves are to be subjected, equally with their 
 neighbors, to every law which may be passed, 
 we think we are pretty well guarded against 
 their abuse of their power. 
 
 What, then, is the power of this representative 
 assembly? With us, certainly, it is prescribed 
 and limited. It falls short of that of the whole 
 sovereign people, or of an absolute monarch. 
 Our free institutions have distributed this limited 
 legislative power among equal and independent 
 branches, and made the consent of each essential 
 to a bill's becoming a law. The popular branch 
 is checked by one which is differently consti- 
 tuted, and which may even represent a some- 
 what different interest. In our country, this 
 check is in the senate, either of the Union, where 
 the particular states are represented as so many 
 distinct sovereignties, or of each state, where
 
 74 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 at times this branch has, in part, represented 
 property. You perceive that one object of such 
 constitutions of government is to give every man 
 and, to some extent, different interests, a proper 
 weight in public affairs. There is no indication 
 of a particular jealousy of popular influence, as 
 if it were naturally a deadly one. There is very 
 little to choose between forms of government, if 
 they are wholly unchecked. Let a wise people, 
 the fondest of liberty, undertake to frame a whole- 
 some political constitution, and by the very act 
 they are beginning the work of self-restraint, as 
 the first element of true civil liberty. 
 
 We contend that in modern legislatures the 
 people are surer of having a good influence over 
 public counsels, than they were in the most un- 
 checked democracies of antiquity, for the reason 
 that they are less liable to be misled by then' 
 leaders or by deceptive promises or representa- 
 tions from any quarter. Hume, in his essay on 
 'some remarkable customs,'* includes among 
 them the provision of the Athenian law for the 
 better security of the state against demagogues. 
 The Athenians had suffered enough, it seems, 
 from their tumultuous democracy, to feel the 
 necessity of some better restrictions than any 
 rule they could devise for the government of 
 their own popular assembly ; in other words, for 
 the government of themselves. They had not 
 * Essays. Vol. ii. p. 128.
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 75 
 
 sufficient confidence in themselves to expect that 
 the judgments they should form under the in- 
 fluence of a powerful eloquence, would be 
 approved by them in their cooler moments. 
 They were afraid of their orators ; and, for se- 
 curity, they fell in vengeance upon the orators, 
 and visited them with the punishment that 
 would have been as fairly directed against their 
 own sins or follies. The orator was in peril 
 of a trial and condemnation in a court of law, 
 if any measure was adopted by the people on his 
 motion, and afterwards held by the court to be 
 injurious. You will judge then of the compe- 
 tency of the people to legislate, and of the 
 freedom of the orator who addressed them. 
 Hume remarks, that the Athenians 'justly con- 
 sidered themselves as in a state of perpetual 
 pupilage ; where they had an authority, after 
 they came to the use of reason, not only to retract 
 and control whatever had been determined, but 
 to punish any guardian for measures which they 
 had embraced by his persuasion.' 
 
 Our simple remedy for the evils of ill-organized 
 liberty is in choosing from among ourselves a 
 limited number to be the organ of the popular 
 mind and will ; and the demagogue, who might 
 easily inflame and control a mixed multitude, 
 may find himself baffled in his attempts upon a 
 small assembly, coming from many different 
 places, well confided in by those of their neigh-
 
 76 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 borhood, and representing somewhat different 
 interests and opinions. 
 
 In the passing of laws, we see how much more 
 the dignity and safety of the people are consulted 
 in modern than in the ancient free states. The 
 popular branch does not .wait for the senate to 
 prepare measures, as was provided by the consti- 
 tution of Solon. The house of representatives 
 originates laws at its pleasure, and, in that most 
 important one which provides for raising revenue, 
 the bill must be introduced there. Its delibera- 
 tions are perfectly free. There is no magistrate 
 who can defer its proceedings to another day, 
 by pretending that the auspices are unfavorable. 
 There is no power that can interfere to regulate 
 its debates, and no apprehension that a usurping 
 sovereign or president will break in upon its con- 
 sultations to overawe or scatter the assembly. 
 To be sure, they cannot send their tribune to 
 stop the grave proceedings of the fathers ; but 
 the history of popular branches of government 
 may teach them to be content with the inviola- 
 bility of their own privileges. 
 
 I am now to offer you some remarks upon the 
 character of our deliberative eloquence. As they 
 may appear to you exaggerated, if not wholly 
 unsupported by facts, I say here, once for all, 
 that in my views of the state of eloquence, in 
 any of its departments, I do not refer to partic- 
 ular speakers or occasions. I merely give you
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 77 
 
 my idea of the genuine characteristics of the best 
 eloquence that grows naturally out of our insti- 
 tutions and state of society, so far as this idea 
 seems to me to be justified by my observation. 
 The picture may be ideal ; or, at any rate, few 
 orators may answer to it in the whole. Still, if 
 it be true in its details, though never realized in 
 their entire combination, it will be more just and 
 more instructive, as a general sketch, than one 
 which gave you a sort of average estimate of 
 modern oratory. 
 
 I begin, then, with saying that the eloquence 
 of our deliberative assemblies is such as we 
 should expect from their constitution or theory. 
 In general, it is marked by a spirit of independ- 
 ence, or by a man's sense of his individual im- 
 portance. I do not mean by this a boisterous 
 impatience of opposition, a rude abuse of consti- 
 tuted authorities, or a contempt of plebeian 
 wisdom. Such independence is low-bred, and 
 easily tamed by a man of true spirit and eleva- 
 tion, who has a proper respect for himself, and a 
 scrupulous delicacy towards the feelings and 
 claims of others. The independence I would 
 illustrate is dignified and unoppressive, and 
 springs immediately from a becoming pride, and 
 from a man's consciousness of his political privi- 
 leges, and of his responsibility to himself as well 
 as to others. He is not to bring his prejudices 
 or his private interests with him, when he pro- 
 7*
 
 78 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 fesses to act for a whole people. He is not to 
 think of the place, or the honors, or the popularity 
 he may gain or forfeit, by following this or that 
 course of public conduct. He is not the creature 
 of a king, of a set of ministers, or of his con- 
 stituents. He has nothing to fear for his per- 
 sonal safety. The enemy that lies in wait for 
 him is more formidable, more subtle than the 
 assassin. It is the influence which affection, or 
 prejudice, or self-interest may exercise over his 
 judgment, and of commanding minds over opin- 
 ions and resolves which he ought never to sur- 
 render. Such weakness or vice of the mind, as 
 is here implied, belongs to no age or state of 
 society ; but the moral checks upon 'it and the 
 restoring virtues may be exceedingly multiplied 
 and strengthened by improved public sentiment. 
 A man cannot be long in doubt that if he would 
 have wide and firm influence among freemen 
 now, he must follow out his sincere, deliberate 
 opinions through good report and evil report, and 
 in the face of every temptation. 
 
 Another effect of modem free institutions upon 
 deliberative oratory may be seen in the intel- 
 lectual character and moral tone of a popular 
 debate. In the ancient democracies, where al- 
 most every man was a legislator and had his 
 vote on public measures, such a multitude of 
 statesmen, all fond of politics, all practically 
 versed in government, and rarely meeting with-
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 79 
 
 out some exciting business, may have presented 
 to an orator a more inspiring audience than our 
 two or three hundred considerate representatives, 
 assembled at a stated season to legislate for 
 months together, upon matters of a private as 
 well as of a public nature, and then returning 
 quietly to their distant and far-separated homes, 
 and to their daily affairs which they may have 
 reluctantly quitted. It should seem, too, that we 
 are less capable of sudden, violent and transient 
 excitement ; or that from temperament, or from 
 circumstances, we live less in a habit of passion. 
 It is probable that a single popular allusion, nay, 
 a single word might have produced a more tu- 
 multuous sensation in a Roman or Athenian 
 crowd, than the most awful appeal to men's 
 hearts from Burke, or Chatham, or Ames, or 
 Patrick Henry could produce now. 
 
 But we must not argue for or against the elo- 
 quence of different ages and nations from the 
 immediate external effect. Sometimes the sud- 
 den outbreak of passion in the audience is the 
 sign of a deep and never-dying sentiment and 
 purpose ; and the orator's victory will be as 
 memorable as that of his countrymen in the next 
 great fight. And yet, sometimes, when there is 
 no outward demonstration beyond the sedate 
 look, the hush of expectation and the low rustling 
 of an agitated throng, there shall be passion as 
 profound and resolve as unmovable. I think
 
 OO DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 that it takes nothing from the merit of modern 
 political orators to concede, that our most impas- 
 sioned popular eloquence is marked throughout 
 with the intention of leading considerate men to 
 responsible action. It wears a somewhat serious 
 and business character. It generally has not so 
 much the air of a studied, finished discourse 
 prepared for an appointed occasion, as that of 
 extemporaneous address; the substance well- 
 weighed beforehand, and perhaps without refer- 
 ence to the immediate demand ; but the style 
 and manner partaking of all those changes which 
 the mind itself experiences, when engaged and 
 strongly affected by present interesting circum- 
 stances, and receiving a direction to its own 
 thoughts, as well as giving one to those of 
 others. 
 
 Our deliberative eloquence, when it professes 
 to be most popular, still grounds itself in truth ; 
 sometimes, it may be, the most general and 
 abstract truth ; but always for an obvious and 
 practical use. The orator does not speak of the 
 history of his country to set the people wild by 
 reminding them of the great deeds of their fath- 
 ers, but to explain and apply the nation's expe- 
 rience. He does not speak as if all the good of 
 a speech were done at the moment of its delivery, 
 or as if emotion were the great end of ah 1 elo- 
 quence. He knows that he is addressing men 
 who are capable of strong passion, but who are
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 81 
 
 in the habit of demanding a warrant or justifica- 
 tion for passion. And it is in unconscious obedi- 
 ence to the demands of their known character, 
 that he becomes the eloquent expounder of deep, 
 wide-branching, far-stretching political truth. 
 He recognizes connection in events, perpetuity 
 in the action of political causes, identity in the 
 nature of man, under all governments and in all 
 climates ; while he also admits the power of 
 present circumstances to modify the application 
 and influence of long-acknowledged principles. 
 So that he is forever engaged in a course of 
 prophetic reasoning, as well as in explaining the 
 immediate bearings of a question. He binds 
 the truths and the wisdom of to-day to those of 
 all past time, and to those that will be the fruit 
 of a still larger experience in the ages to come. 
 He is a philosopher in the best sense of the term, 
 and yet as familiar with affairs and as safe in his 
 deductions as a man whose whole life has been 
 spent in calculations and details. 
 
 Perhaps I cannot better illustrate my meaning 
 than by saying that our genuine deliberative 
 orator speaks in the spirit with which Burke 
 wrote, when he undertook to give a right direc- 
 tion to public opinion in England on the subject 
 of the French Revolution. Was there ever a 
 finer topic for the explosions of a demagogue, or 
 for the servile commonplaces of a courtier ? 
 But he was neither. He fell not into a disgust-
 
 82 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 ing adulation of kings, or a scornful invective 
 against popular sentiment, or a deceptive pane- 
 gyric of freedom. He went to the foundation 
 of government, yes, of society itself, in England 
 and everywhere. He showed what sorts of in- 
 novation were to be dreaded, and what sort of 
 deference to old feelings and old observances 
 was useful and honorable, and what alone it was 
 that deserved the name of freedom. He talked 
 to men who had been in the habit of thinking 
 and feeling correctly ; and his triumph of elo- 
 quence was in settling the strange disorder of 
 their minds, in clearing the atmosphere of bewil- 
 dering mists, and saving his countrymen from 
 adopting sentiments of liberty that were as 
 foreign to their whole nature and life as the 
 death-like rule of an eastern despot. 
 
 We will now attend to some of the peculi- 
 arities and uses of deliberative oratory. The 
 relation in which the speaker stands to his 
 audience is peculiar. He is one of the assem- 
 bly he addresses. Every member has equal 
 right with himself to express his opinions and 
 to introduce measures, under such regulations as 
 the house may establish. He has nothing to 
 do with spectators. His remarks must be in- 
 tended and directed to his companions. He is 
 to adhere to the principle on which such a body- 
 is formed, that deliberation, consultation is 
 the means of arriving at the most prudent
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 83 
 
 conclusion. But he is not obliged to go into 
 the whole question under debate, or to make a 
 formal oration. He may ask for advice, state 
 his doubts and difficulties, answer a remark 
 from some one member, explain one of his own 
 that has been misapprehended, and maintain or 
 oppose some opinion which has only a partial 
 bearing on the measure discussed. Sometimes, 
 the debate will be little more than a conversa- 
 tion between members, though, for the preser- 
 vation of order, it must in form be addressed 
 to the presiding officer. 
 
 Observe here one difference between debate 
 and arguments at the bar, where the counsel 
 having pledged themselves to give the best 
 support they can to the side for Avhich they 
 are engaged, are, from beginning to end, doing 
 their utmost to obtain from the court or jury 
 an opinion or a verdict. The deliberative ora- 
 tor is at least supposed to have adopted no 
 opinion which he will not abandon for a better. 
 He is not to think so much of bringing a 
 majority to his side, as of ascertaining which 
 side is the true one for all, by offering his own 
 views and listening to those of others. In 
 short, all the parties hav.e but one and the same 
 client. 
 
 It has been said that this is very well in 
 theory, and might be very well in practice ; 
 but that in fact it is quite idle to talk of the
 
 84 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 great fairness of mind which is supposed to 
 distinguish a legislative assembly. For a poli- 
 tician will form his opinion and hold to it, 
 like other men. He must be something more 
 or less than human, to go into a house of par- 
 liament, first of all, to have those opinions 
 questioned, sifted and tried, as if they were 
 doubtful, which his laborious inquiries have 
 led him to form, and which his pride, his in- 
 terest, his self-love will tell him to hold fast, 
 whatever unexpected light the discussion may 
 throw on them. He goes believing he is in 
 the right ; and he will and he ought to do his 
 best to make others think with him. 
 
 The answer to this is, that truth is better than 
 self-conceit or victory. The orator with his 
 mind made up will say so too. And if he 
 have firmness and circumspection, there can be 
 no doubt that, the hottest controversy will only 
 strengthen his carefully formed belief, by show- 
 ing still more clearly the strength of its founda- 
 tion. A fair mind is not a yielding and unstable 
 one, that forms no opinion for itself, but waits 
 for another and another to act upon it, and 
 do the whole work of thinking for it. Nor is 
 it one that has no confidence in its opinions, 
 till others have passed upon and sanctioned 
 them. If we see a man unwavering in his 
 sentiments through the fiercest debate, we have 
 no right to say that he has resolved against
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 85 
 
 all change; it may be that he has guarded 
 against all reason for change. If the states- 
 man is in error, he may be set right. If others 
 are less informed or less sound, he will set 
 them right. If his peculiar sentiments are 
 little suited to the temper of the people or the 
 state of things, he is so to modify them as to 
 secure the greatest practicable good, without 
 the slightest desertion of right. If, after all 
 this, he finds himself in the minority, he must 
 not go on with concession after concession, till 
 he has given up all that he owed to a good 
 cause, to his country, to the world, to distant 
 ages, for the sake of humoring the populace, 
 or of being taken into favor at court. He must 
 leave his opinions to the fairer judgments that 
 certainly await them. 
 
 But it is further urged against the efficacy 
 of debates in modern times, that every repre- 
 sentative belongs to some political party, and 
 goes to the assembly with his mind made up 
 to vote with his party on every question that 
 has the least political bearing. The legislature 
 itself does not deserve to be called a deliberative 
 body when such questions are before it. The 
 ministry will of course find their party in full 
 array for the cabinet ; and the opposition, as a 
 matter of course, will resist every measure that 
 comes from that quarter, and, in general, for no 
 other reason.
 
 86 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 In reply to a part of this statement, we might 
 ask whether there is not as much deliberation, 
 as frequent interchange of well-weighed opin- 
 ions, and as prudently formed convictions in 
 our senates and parliaments, as there were in 
 the ancient assemblies ; and if so, why are they 
 not as well entitled to the name of deliberative 
 bodies ? But further, suppose that political 
 parties are arrayed against each other, ever so 
 resolutely in the senate-house, yet how is a party 
 to be kept up ? How are converts to be made ? 
 How are antagonists to be weakened ? How 
 are the people without the walls to be held 
 together in steady support of one side or 
 another ? Surely not by intrigue, corruption, 
 and falsehood. These may sometimes answer 
 in extreme cases ; but they are the desperate 
 means of bad men, and must soon ruin those 
 who try them, even in a worse state of society 
 than ours. A party is not kept together by the 
 mere prudent management of a few leaders. 
 Orators and writers must be active to set forth 
 and defend its opinions and objects. Its rivals 
 will gain dangerous ground if they have the 
 whole artillery of wit, argument, invective, and 
 passion left to their own undisputed service. 
 Silence will be discomfiture. 
 
 This may, indeed, seem more like waging 
 war than deliberation. But the question re- 
 ates now to the efficacy of debates ; and what is
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 87 
 
 their effect ? Why, that the minds of the stoutest 
 partisans are often arrested ; sometimes by fear, 
 sometimes by the downright sense of a speech. 
 There are, even at this day, many changes of 
 opinion produced by better inquiry and infor- 
 mation. And when you see the anxiety of 
 political leaders, lest they should lose their 
 majority by desertion, you need not doubt that 
 their alarm is more from the power of public 
 discussion than of secret influence. And, be- 
 sides those who are regularly enlisted under one 
 or another political standard, many yet remain 
 to choose their side by what they may hear said 
 for it. Then, how many questions there are on 
 which men are not yet divided, and on which 
 the public are yet to receive direction. 
 
 I see nothing in our political organizations 
 or in the character and proceedings of our de- 
 liberative bodies to discourage an orator from 
 aiming at a decisive sway over men. It will 
 cost him time, patience, labor. He has the 
 prejudices, the ingenuity, the wisdom and calm 
 convictions of enlightened minds to act upon ; 
 not the senses and passions of an unthinking 
 populace. But the thought should be exhilara- 
 ting and sustaining, that he has men near who 
 understand him and whom he respects. Let 
 him not complain of the slow pace of his in- 
 fluence. He may hope to do his work more 
 thoroughly and leave an impression more deep,
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 
 
 by his steady, persevering attempts on men's 
 minds. 
 
 Let it be remembered that legislatures cannot 
 safely decide now with the rapidity of an ancient 
 popular assembly. The ways of ascertaining 
 the sense of the people on public matters are 
 often less simple now than they once were. 
 The masses are not at hand to show their 
 opinions and wishes by acclamations or mur- 
 murs. But a man of observation will learn in 
 good time how far he may rely upon a general 
 support of measures, and to some extent whether 
 they are likely to have but a brief popularity 
 or to become part of the settled policy of the 
 country. That more time is taken now than 
 was required in Athens for legislators to make 
 up their minds, does not of itself prove that 
 their measures are more complicated or critical ; 
 but it certainly shows that they are anxious 
 to learn the views of their constituents ; that 
 they are disposed to consider propositions in 
 all their bearings ; that they are accustomed 
 to think for themselves, and to act rather from 
 individual conviction than from joint impulse. 
 
 Of course, the changes of opinion in modern 
 deliberative bodies, like those in society at large, 
 will proceed, for the most part, slowly and 
 regularly; but they will certainly take place, 
 for the better or the worse. The sand-drii't of 
 the desert might almost as well be expected to
 
 DELIBERATIVE ORATORY. 89 
 
 become one immovable mountain, as that public 
 sentiment or party feeling and objects should be 
 immutable. All history, all experience is against 
 it. Parties, that have kept their names and 
 their love and possession of power, have never- 
 theless dropt, from time to time, their long- 
 popular and all-prevailing cries and watch-words. 
 Favorite schemes of policy have been abandoned 
 by ministers and factions ; and men of the high- 
 est influence have deserted their old standards, 
 from principle, or fear, or ambition, ever since 
 communities have been divided into sects and 
 parties. 
 
 Sometimes this mutability is hurtful. But, in 
 general, we take it to give hope of good progress 
 in morals and in political wisdom ; and without 
 it we could never rid ourselves of errors. Till 
 men are perfect, there will be something to mend 
 in what they fondly deem then- soundest opin- 
 ions; and a blind adherence is debasing ob- 
 stinacy. In the inquiry for truth, they must 
 assist themselves and each other ; and even in 
 these days of cool judgment and tenacity of 
 opinion, the influence is immense which one 
 man may exercise over another, both in private 
 intercourse and in public discussion.
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. -THE PROFESSION 
 AND THE TRIBUNAL. 
 
 A LAWYER is so thoroughly a man of study 
 and business that, if asked what idea he enter- 
 tained of the eloquence of the bar, we should 
 not be surprised at his answering, ' I know of 
 no such thing.' Lookers-on are more open to 
 impression, and to them may be left the task of 
 noting its circumstances and its peculiarities. 
 Their attention will be drawn first to the pro- 
 fession itself. 
 
 A lawyer is an officer of a court of justice, 
 who publicly professes that he will take upon 
 him to give advice in all matters of a legal 
 nature, and to maintain and defend such rights 
 and interests as may be contested before the 
 courts. 
 
 How is it that such a profession came to be 
 established ? In almost all nations we are ac- 
 quainted with, except the most simple or most 
 barbarous, we are sure to find lawyers. Some- 
 times they constitute, as with us, a distinct body 
 
 [90]
 
 THE PROFESSION AND THE TRIBUNAL. 91 
 
 in the state ; and sometimes they perform the 
 duties of the office for friends and dependents, 
 though not devoted exclusively or principally to 
 the practice. Why is it not now as it was in the 
 simpler ages of the world, when the patriarch of 
 a tribe, or the sovereign of a community of shep- 
 herds or husbandmen, was both the lawgiver and 
 the unassisted judge ; when the aggrieved stated 
 his own wrong, the accused defended his own in- 
 nocence, and all had justice done them without a 
 bribe or a fee, without the expense which now 
 falls alike on the just and the unjust litigant? 
 
 There are men, even at this day, who trace 
 the origin of this profession to the ambition and 
 arts of a few able spirits, who saw a way open 
 to influence and profit by encouraging and 
 managing the strifes of their neighbors. They 
 observe much to complain of in the unprinci- 
 pled doings of a part of the profession. Perhaps 
 they have suffered severely themselves from the 
 hardships with which the impartial judgments 
 of a court sometimes fall upon the unfortunate ; 
 and in their moments of sore irritation they 
 charge the calamity upon the whole body of 
 lawyers, and hold them up to abhorrence as the 
 enemies of the peace of neighborhoods, and as 
 living upon the bad passions and hard fortunes 
 of others. But in another and perhaps a more 
 reasonable view of things, the legal profession 
 has arisen from the necessities of our condition.
 
 92 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 We may say from our vices, if we please. 
 These are no doubt accountable in part, as they 
 are for many other wise and useful institutions. 
 I suppose it may be said with truth that all the 
 liberal professions had their beginning in some 
 necessity of mind, body or estate. 
 
 But they do not seem to be all regarded with 
 equal favor. We do not complain that the 
 clergyman and physician are always at hand. 
 We offer them every encouragement to come 
 among us. They give relief and comfort when 
 we are suffering under inevitable evils, or under 
 such as we have brought upon ourselves. But 
 a man in possession of an estate, and, it may be 
 most lawfully in possession, sees a merely arti- 
 ficial evil of the social system when the intruder 
 comes to dispute his right. At any rate he will 
 insist that society ought to bear all the burden 
 of defending a good title which it allows to be 
 disputed. He exclaims, ' why should I fight 
 and pay for that which, by the law itself, is 
 mine ? Why should I suffer loss and disquiet, be- 
 cause some litigious neighbor chooses to doubt 
 my right and set up a false claim of his own ? ' 
 
 There is hardship or at least inconvenience 
 in this, as in many other cases where the in- 
 stitutions of society try to do their best for 
 protecting individual rights and settling contro- 
 versies. The courts are impartially opened to 
 all ; and it must not be presumed that any claim
 
 THE PROFESSION AND THE TRIBUNAL. 93 
 
 is false. An examination must be had, and here 
 unexpected difficulties may require professional 
 aid at considerable expense, probably at much 
 greater than would be compensated by the legal 
 allowance of costs. Let not the lawyer be 
 blamed for evils that he did not create and does 
 not continue. If human affairs could but grow 
 less and less complicated every day, so that a few 
 simple rules would anticipate and provide for 
 every case ; or if we could but grow good enough 
 to leave safely all questions to the decision of a 
 single judge or ruler, we should live in a very 
 different world from this, and have no farther 
 occasion for lawyers or rhetoricians. As things 
 are, we shall take it for granted that the profes- 
 sion must exist as a distinct body of men learned 
 in the law. 
 
 We come next to topics that bear somewhat 
 upon the opportunities and the character of legal 
 eloquence. There are with us two very different 
 audiences to be addressed, the court and the 
 jury. In some stage of almost every case before 
 a court of law, both will have to take a part in 
 it ; and, what to inexperienced persons might 
 appear a very awkward arrangement and most 
 unpropitious to eloquence, the advocate will 
 often be compelled to turn to the court with one 
 part of his case, and then to the jury with another. 
 Practically, however, this course is not at all em- 
 barrassing to any of the parties. My purpose
 
 94 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 being to speak of the lawyer as an orator, it is 
 proper to consider the character and office of the 
 two very different bodies he addresses. Let us 
 begin wich the court. If we have a distinct idea 
 of the spirit and manner in which it administers 
 justice, we shall have no doubt that it exercises 
 a decided influence on legal eloquence. 
 
 A man, little versed in legal proceedings, on 
 going into court and seeing the judges and 
 counsel studying, with a caution almost amount- 
 ing to reverence, voluminous reports of decisions, 
 running perhaps through centuries, and for the 
 purpose of deciding a case which, he thinks, he 
 could settle justly in a very few minutes, would 
 wonder, perhaps, why the eternal rule of right or 
 the simple dictates of honesty and good sense 
 were not allowed to have effect in a court of jus- 
 tice. He would not understand you, if you were 
 to insist that in a thousand cases nothing was 
 wanted but to ascertain what the law was ; and 
 that it was no more a matter of conscience or 
 good sense than it was of mathematics, whether 
 the words of a deed, for instance, gave an estate 
 for life or in fee-simple. He would be equally in 
 the dark if you should urge upon him, that it 
 is often much more important to have the law 
 settled than to have it perfectly acceptable. 
 Certainty, then, in the law and an intelligible 
 interpretation are the first things to be secured. 
 
 The cited authorities may not extend to all
 
 THE PROFESSION AND THE TRIBUNAL. 95 
 
 the circumstances of a case ; yet, wisely inter- 
 preted, they may furnish a rule that will reach 
 the material points. Besides, then, a severe 
 analysis of the case in hand, the decisions that 
 appear to bear on it must be examined and dis- 
 tinguished, in order to avoid giving undue weight 
 either to points of resemblance or to those of dif- 
 ference. In all this we see nothing but the exer- 
 cise of patient inquiry and keen discrimination, 
 for the purpose of administering the law consist- 
 ently and upon principles, in defiance of all com- 
 plaints as to a particular hardship in this or that 
 instance. To acute minds there must be a great 
 charm in a scrutiny like this ; and no doubt they 
 would see much in the process and the result 
 which they would call beautiful. Common 
 language, however, has reserved the word, elo- 
 quence, for somewhat different occasions and 
 discourse. 
 
 But the anxiety of modern courts to settle and 
 adhere to principles is not all that may affect 
 the tone and style of bar oratory. They are 
 equally anxious to have a cause placed upon its 
 merits, upon points which are really and solely 
 at the heart of the controversy ; and in settling 
 which you determine something material be- 
 tween the parties. Hence the formality with 
 which a suit is brought into court. A party is 
 expected to rest his case deliberately on the 
 grounds which he feels most safe upon, and the
 
 96 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 opposite side is to know what he must reply to. 
 The whole proceedings, up to the moment when 
 the argument may be said to begin, are prudently 
 ordered to bring the parties at length to some 
 substantial matter of dispute. 
 
 This brief view of the court, which might be 
 easily extended, is enough to impress upon you 
 the care that is taken to arrive at certainty both 
 in regard to the law and the facts. The effect 
 upon the orator is the only thing which we are 
 to bear in mind. If the judge were at liberty to 
 follow his own discretion, or conscience, or fancy, 
 it would be, in some respects, a better day for 
 public speakers ; but the times are as little favor- 
 able to the revival of the Roman praetorship as 
 of the imperial rescripts. 
 
 Let us now imagine a cause ready for argu- 
 ment before a tribunal composed of a few grave 
 and learned men, appointed to hear and decide 
 in all questions of law, where life, property, rep- 
 utation and personal freedom are involved, and 
 convened for the purpose at stated seasons. 
 What style of address would be the most fitting 
 for the whole occasion ? What character would 
 be stamped upon forensic eloquence by the very 
 persons to whom it appeals ? 
 
 The judge will inspire, or rigidly exact from 
 the advocate, the same severe adherence to what 
 is material to the question, which he has imposed 
 upon himself. He will as soon admit a laxity in
 
 THE PROFESSION AND THE TRIBUNAL. 97 
 
 practice, as vagueness or irrelevancy in the argu- 
 ment. And this severity will be as unlike as 
 possible the cold, captious refinements of merely 
 scholastic reasoners, occupied with mystical ab- 
 stractions and verbal tactics. This severity is 
 exercised for the very reason that some important 
 matter is in dispute, and that strictness both of 
 investigation and argument is essential to a full 
 elucidation. The ends of justice are thought to 
 be subserved by precision and formality. It is 
 clear, then, that a lawyer is not to speak that he 
 may entertain the judge ; nor is he to think a 
 moment of persuading him to give a favorable 
 opinion. He is not to appeal to private feelings 
 of interest or resentment, or suppose that elo- 
 quent declamation about right and wrong will 
 give any force of sanctity to his claim. He is 
 not to attempt to make judges reverse their de- 
 cisions, or treat those of their predecessors with 
 disrespect. The whole inquiry is, what saith 
 the law ? And in pursuing it, he may employ 
 analysis and statement, illustration and argu- 
 ment, to give information and effect conviction. 
 
 If, then, juridical discussion is thus hedged in; 
 if the atmosphere within its borders is to be kept 
 forever at so mild a temperature, and the sky to 
 be always cloudless and serene, what place is 
 there for eloquence with its tempests and light- 
 nings ? Of what use can it be ? The answer to 
 these questions shall have, a distinct place.
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 MANY persons seem to think that no speech 
 can properly be called eloquent which is not 
 fitted to excite the passions, that is, to move 
 and persuade ; just as many persons hold that 
 no writing can properly be called poetical which 
 does not abound in lofty and brilliant diction 
 and in florid ornaments. The better idea seems 
 to be that any discourse, which can with propri- 
 ety come under the notice of rhetoric, is eloquent, 
 if it be adapted to our purpose. The understand- 
 ing needs one kind of eloquence for impression 
 as decidedly as the affections require another 
 kind for agitation. This distinction, though 
 most natural and simple, is too often over- 
 looked. 
 
 I have sought in vain for a word or phrase 
 that would adequately characterize the style of 
 eloquence that best becomes the discussion of a 
 pure question of law. I thought of didactic. 
 This would express a part of its quality, and 
 
 [98]
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 99 
 
 yet nothing exclusively its own. Moreover, the 
 term would scarcely be respectful to the court, 
 and would better describe its own addresses than 
 those of the advocate. I thought of argumenta- 
 tive eloquence ; but it would not do, because this 
 term applies to popular, persuasive speeches as 
 truly as to those addressed to the bench. Ers- 
 kine with his juries, Demosthenes stimulating 
 the people to resistance, Ames defending the 
 British treaty, have more or less of the popular 
 element in their appeals ; but they are all the 
 time establishing propositions the most distinct 
 and pertinent, by proof upon proof. Of course, 
 different occasions and subjects admit of and 
 demand a difference in the manner. It must be 
 granted that sometimes the argument is so incor- 
 porated with persuasion that no separate appeal 
 to the feelings is called for ; and this may explain 
 the want of discrimination which leads men to 
 consider a discourse as wholly of one character, 
 merely because that character is to them most 
 prominent and peculiarly attractive. 
 
 Let us try to distinguish some of the proper- 
 ties of law eloquence. Generally, as might be 
 expected, it is marked by calmness, by a firm, 
 steady march to its object, by a composure which 
 a mastery of the subject and the gravity of such 
 investigations would ordinarily inspire. 
 
 It ip marked by distinct order. It observes 
 relations and dependencies among the successive
 
 100 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 details of proof, till the great proposition which 
 they are establishing is reached. So natural is 
 the disposition of every part, that both the 
 speaker and his hearer always feel secure that 
 they are moving in the direction they started 
 with and towards the object they set out for. 
 The words are chosen which give the best light, 
 and for that reason only. They are arranged, 
 too, with a single regard to the same effect. 
 There cannot be too much light if it fall truly on 
 the object. 
 
 This eloquence is further marked by force, 
 direct force, augmenting at every step, though 
 never vehement in the sense of moving the pas- 
 sions, but impressing thoughts on the mind with 
 dignified, masculine energy. 
 
 We may add to these very obvious properties, 
 those of warmth and beauty. As these may be 
 rather unexpected in connection with eloquence 
 of such a character, some explanation shall be 
 given. * 
 
 As we said before, some persons think that a 
 man cannot reason and be eloquent at the same 
 time. Acuteness of judgment seems to imply, 
 and a connected view of arguments to require, 
 coldness and austerity. They will admit as 
 readily as any one that such men as Shakspeare, 
 Milton and Burke are safe authorities in their 
 estimates of facts, of characters, of society, of 
 human life, of good morals and prudent conduct.
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 101 
 
 In these and numerous other respects, they were 
 not deceived or distracted by their ardent or im- 
 aginative natures. Still, there is an indefinite 
 notion that such natures are adverse to sober, 
 protracted, involved exercises of the reasoning 
 faculty. They must depend mainly on inspira- 
 tion or intuition, and leave to other, perhaps 
 inferior, minds the hard, patient struggles with 
 difficulty. 
 
 Here it seems to be taken for granted that 
 what is difficult to the inferior mind is out of the 
 province of the higher ; when it might have been 
 as reasonable to suppose that the man of genius 
 would, by a process of his own, find the work to 
 be easy as well as congenial. We must settle 
 questions of this kind by observing the different 
 constitutions of men's minds. If a merely sen- 
 sible man should try to be impassioned and 
 ornate, he would probably fail both as an orator 
 and a logician. If a man of at all a poetical 
 spirit should try to make a statement or argu- 
 ment with a resolution to shun every poetical 
 expression and influence, he would be sure to 
 think feebly and inefficiently, and to do incalcu- 
 lable harm, by his self-denial, to the point he 
 wished to carry. If it be in the nature of a man 
 to reason with ardor, and to set forth his reason- 
 ing richly and vividly, he should do so, and he 
 will reason with the greater power for it. There 
 is no natural hostility between the operations of
 
 102 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 the mind, or the modes of presenting truth. If a 
 man has the taste to discern what manner of 
 speaking becomes the occasion, and if his mind 
 is so balanced that his powers can act together, 
 he has no cause to fear that any faculty will 
 come into action unseasonably, nor will he meet 
 with a single occasion where it will be necessary 
 to suppress his natural temperament. 
 
 Thus if he is of a fervid spirit, it will not flash 
 or consume; but, ever burning deeply under- 
 neath, it will quietly pervade his gravest dis- 
 course, just as it mellows the voice or serenely 
 lights up the face. So if he have imagination, 
 it will help him in arguing, not merely by ani- 
 mating and sustaining him in his severe task, 
 but sometimes by suggesting on the sudden a 
 short, lively image, that illuminates far and wide 
 the difficult ground he has just travelled over or 
 is now entering upon. More especially will it 
 serve him by making him contemplate the most 
 abstract thoughts which he is putting together, 
 as something visible, and capable of being made 
 so to others. The structure that he rears, so 
 sure and simple in its foundation, so compact in 
 all its parts, so perfectly arranged that the depen- 
 dence and use of each part are seen, is not the 
 work of mere sagacity or ingenuity. It could 
 not have been formed by the most diligent arti- 
 san, building with another's materials and accord- 
 ing to another's model. It could not have been
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 103 
 
 put together by one who has no idea of a perfect 
 edifice before he begins, but slowly joins piece to 
 piece and raises pile upon pile, no matter how 
 weak or misshapen the mass, if he only uses up 
 his materials and labors all the time he contract- 
 ed for. Perhaps it is not going too far to say, 
 that to make a perfect argument, an argument 
 that has beauty to satisfy the taste, as well as 
 conclusiveness to assure the judgment, re- 
 quires creative power, an eye that can see far 
 and rapidly, and search through and illuminate 
 a chaos, and bring a fair and stable world into 
 view from what seemed vacancy or disorder. 
 
 How is it that lawyers of equal learning and 
 prudence differ so much in the impression they 
 make ? Men go from a court of justice, after 
 witnessing a severe contest, and in reporting 
 their opinion of the arguments, they will say that 
 one of the advocates had no fault that they can 
 precisely define, and yet there was a prevailing 
 heaviness or a want of impressiveness. He did 
 not take in the case as a whole, which he had at 
 command, but appeared to be forever occupied 
 with separate details. He certainly said every 
 thing that could be said, with the utmost fidelity, 
 and might even have spared much. He was 
 intelligible and unexceptionable, and probably 
 will gain the cause. But you should have heard 
 the other. The moment he rose, in reply, it 
 seemed as if he were commissioned to revive a
 
 104 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 fatigued audience. In a few words he made 
 his opponent's argument clearer than he him- 
 self had done; and then, with the utmost 
 simplicity, directness and strength he stated 
 his own grounds. The hearer was disposed, at 
 first, to pity him for the perplexed and bound- 
 less range of argument or examination which 
 he must travel over in his reply merely. But 
 the field was soon brought within very moderate 
 limits ; easy paths were opened through all 
 that was obstructed, and a warm light fell 
 upon the ground as the clouds were scattered 
 from over it. 
 
 If such illumination had been poured upon us 
 in a work of elegant literature, we should not 
 have scrupled to ascribe it to the magic of 
 poetry. We should have admired the facility 
 with which a man of genius could bring directly 
 before our eyes a distinct picture of what 
 seemed too vast, or involved, or abstract for 
 human comprehension. We should not have 
 heard a word about the hostility between the 
 logic of a reasoner and the inspiration of 
 genius. 
 
 And there is no such hostility. I have been 
 describing nothing but the triumph of genuine 
 argumentative eloquence, an eloquence of a 
 high order and influence, but unassisted by a 
 single outbreak of passion. That a great orator 
 of this class has in him the elements that con-
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. .105. 
 
 stitute the most impassioned speaker ; that he 
 is capable of the highest eloquence in the 
 popular sense of the word, I am well convinced. 
 I have only shown how skilfully he could 
 adapt his discourse to the halls of justice. He 
 had no occasion there for that popular argu- 
 mentative eloquence which, besides working 
 conviction, is to give a tone to an assembly ; 
 which is to instruct the ignorant, kindle the 
 indifferent, convert the prejudiced, conciliate the 
 inimical, and impel the friendly. He needed 
 only the succinct, elastic, transparent eloquence 
 which makes bright the severest and least in- 
 spiring truth, and does it justice. 
 
 To any who still think that something is 
 wanting to the orator who is merely addressing 
 the court, we may urge that there is a fountain 
 of eloquence in the very purpose and bearing 
 of every legal argument. A contest upon a 
 simple point of law must involve to some ex- 
 tent the question of right and wrong ; the duty 
 of respecting our neighbor's claims ; the neces- 
 sity of subordination. It must involve vindi- 
 cation and protection. The judge himself must 
 be eloquent, when he speaks in behalf of public 
 morals, liberty and order. The hearty lover of 
 his profession must be eloquent when he sets 
 forth the harmonious system of the law, its 
 oversight of human affairs for the quieting of 
 disputes, and the kind equality with which it
 
 106 t JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 extends security to all. Every cause in which 
 a lawyer is engaged is of more or less import- 
 ance to every one of us. And if he feels deeply 
 that he is bound to do not only a duty to his 
 client, but also an office in behalf of the public 
 well-being, he will come to every legal discus- 
 sion as to a contest for right, which the law has 
 provided for, and which he is to bring under 
 its protection. What power of an orator may 
 not go forth to such a battle? 
 
 Having thus considered the opportunity for 
 eloquence of a certain character, in an address 
 to a court upon a point of law, it remains to 
 speak of addresses to a jury upon the facts to 
 which the law is applied. Here, I believe, 
 every one admits that there is room for very 
 decided demonstration of the oratorical power ; 
 and it may be worth while to enumerate a 
 few particulars relating to jury trials which are 
 more obviously favorable to a popular kind of 
 eloquence than a mere legal argument can be. 
 
 And first, here are twelve men selected from 
 among our neighbors to inquire into and settle 
 a dispute about facts. They are free from the 
 caution and self-restraint which professional 
 habits and experience are supposed to form in 
 the judge and the lawyer. As sensible and 
 free-minded men, they are listening to the 
 parties, as each tells his story, and receiving
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 107 
 
 / 
 
 impressions from the appearance of witnesses 
 and the manner in which they give their tes- 
 timony, very much as they would do if they 
 had stopped in the streets to hear the mutual 
 altercations of two men who had fallen into 
 some sudden difference. 
 
 The question before them we shall suppose 
 to be one wholly of facts to be established by 
 witnesses who are present. This view is the 
 most favorable for my purpose, and sufficient 
 to give a good general idea of the juror's rela- 
 tion to the advocate. Think, then, of the interest 
 which all men feel in facts, occurrences, trans- 
 actions, situations, whether real or fictitious. 
 We are called to take part in the fortunes of 
 men, which we have experienced or may expe- 
 rience ourselves. We are studying their char- 
 acters, motives, temptations and devices. We 
 are sharing their hopes and fears, their disasters 
 and success, and observing the connection of 
 circumstances to learn how events were brought 
 about. There is none of the difficulty to be 
 overcome which attends the effort to interest 
 others or ourselves in the discussion of abstract 
 truth, or in the application of general principles. 
 
 A lawyer never forgets that the juror brings 
 into court the common susceptibilities of men; 
 and he may make a very justifiable use of this 
 knowledge in various ways. Thus in respect to 
 the evidence, much of it is not of so direct
 
 108 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 and positive a nature, as to satisfy a man whom 
 a scrupulous and sceptical turn of mind has 
 accustomed to demand a sort and degree of 
 proof in regard to matters of fact, which in- 
 stinct or experience has taught most persons not 
 to expect or need. To a man of right feelings, 
 who takes practical views of things, who has 
 some knowledge of the heart, and can judge 
 of subtile motives and intentions from slight 
 actions and words, very indirect evidence, and 
 very insufficient too if the circumstances are 
 taken separately, may have a brightness and 
 conclusiveness more satisfying than round, posi- 
 tive assertions that things were thus on the 
 contrary. This, I admit, implies sagacity in the 
 juror, but a sagacity that owes as much at least 
 to feeling as to reason. Moreover, he is often 
 called upon to make allowance for the infirmi- 
 ties of men. The transactions of perfectly 
 honest persons may have a doubtful appearance, 
 which may be easily cleared up to a man of 
 honorable, generous sentiments, who can feel 
 and explain embarrassments which no positive 
 testimony can be brought to remove. 
 
 Then with respect to the witness himself, 
 though a perfectly honest man, his statements 
 may be open to unfavorable construction. Yet 
 a juror, who can feel the difference between the 
 reserve or vagueness of a conscientious and of 
 an artful witness, will become an interpreter for
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 109 
 
 him who cannot explain himself fully, and trust 
 him the more for the scrupulosity, hesitation, 
 and sometimes even for the inconsistency, which 
 have startled the wary and uncharitable minds 
 of others. The same discernment will serve to 
 detect the flaws that lurk in the most plausible 
 testimony. 
 
 Such are some of the qualities in jurors on 
 which the advocate relies to bring them to his 
 side. They are as much bound as the court 
 to judge rightly of what is submitted to them. 
 But obviously in many cases a just judgment 
 depends upon their sympathies being won. 
 The facts are of a nature to move the feelings. 
 Their truth, importance and bearings are best 
 perceived by the feelings, and could not justly 
 be weighed without them. This appears, for 
 example, in cases where the jury are to award 
 to the injured party what are called his dama- 
 ges. They are not only to determine his right, 
 but to see that the violation is repaired. In a 
 court of law, this is to be done by an equivalent 
 in money ; and where the wrong to be redressed 
 is merely to one's property or lawful gains, this 
 may be a simple and adequate reparation. 
 But there are injuries to the person, to reputation, 
 to family honor and peace, to which a different 
 and less definite measure of wrong and redress 
 must be applied, and which appeal immediately 
 to our moral judgment and profoundest sym- 
 10
 
 110 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 pathies. Still, as the only compensation which 
 the law provides is in silver and gold, the dignity 
 of the claim and the magnitude of the grievance 
 may seem to be less imposing. But we cannot 
 suppose that all who resort to this remedy expect 
 a full equivalent for their wrongs, or would ex- 
 pect it from any award to themselves, or from 
 any punishment of the wrong-doer. The verdict 
 is to place them before the wojld clear of all im- 
 putation. It is to measure the damages by the 
 character and circumstances of the parties and 
 of the injury. It is to set a stigma on the 
 offender ; and the punishment it inflicts may be 
 the one that he will most feel. Nowhere, surely, 
 could the orator have a finer armory of eloquence 
 for offensive warfare. 
 
 Once more, it is before a jury that the public 
 offender is brought, in order that the public peace 
 and security may be vindicated. And it is to a 
 jury that the citizen of a free country looks for 
 protection, if ever the hand of government lies 
 heavy on him, and judges, leaning to the side of 
 party or of power, are ready to sacrifice him who 
 is obnoxious. An honest man has nothing to 
 fear for liberty or life, so long as he is sure of a 
 fair trial by his equals, and has a right to defend 
 himself in the face of the world. 
 
 There is, then, an access to the feelings and 
 discretion of jurors, which is and forever ought 
 to be closed when we approach the judge. They
 
 JUDICIAL ORATORY. Ill 
 
 are to be addressed in innumerable cases, and to 
 answer as fathers, husbands, friends, as men of 
 honor and generosity, as men of business well 
 acquainted with common life, as men responsible 
 for the republic, and, as it were, personally inter- 
 ested in the security of every individual and of 
 the state. 
 
 I do not mean, by this view of jury trials, that 
 the whole is an affair of the feelings. The argu- 
 ments upon facts are sometimes the severest and 
 most difficult that can task the human powers ; 
 and the truth cannot be reached but by the 
 keenest search and the rarest powers of distin- 
 guishing and combining. In the preceding re- 
 marks, I had a particular object in view ; and I 
 thought it would be best accomplished by con- 
 sidering a jury trial in only one aspect. 
 
 From what has been said, the general differ- 
 ence between the style of eloquence suited to a 
 court and to a jury is obvious. In addresses to 
 the bench, it is grave, composed, luminous, com- 
 pact. It is under such restraints as a man's good 
 taste will impose, when he is in the presence of 
 his acknowledged superiors, who are to decide 
 upon the strength of his reasoning, and who have 
 made such questions as he is investigating the 
 serious study of their lives. The style of this 
 eloquence is masculine, earnest and impressive ; 
 but it is also temperate and even subdued ; 
 not, however, because the subjects are chilling,
 
 112 JUDICIAL ORATORY. 
 
 nor because of the timid injunction of the great 
 Athenian court, that no orator should attempt 
 ' to win the favor or move the affections of the 
 judges;' but because the whole business is in- 
 vestigation and reasoning to ascertain principles 
 and their bearing. There is no longer a dispute 
 about facts. We have left the public mart, the 
 business of daily life, the passions and conten- 
 tions of men. We have gone up from the noise 
 and dust of battle, to consult the sages and ora- 
 cles of wisdom, who are to declare, from venera- 
 ble records, whose the right is. 
 
 In addresses to a jury, the style of eloquence 
 is various and often popular. We have shown 
 that jurors are and must be open to influence. 
 The lawyer regards them as men with whom he 
 may converse freely and even passionately about 
 his wrongs and his perils. He will spare no 
 means to give their minds a favorable leaning 
 towards himself. He will aim directly at a per- 
 sonal influence. Every principle in their nature, 
 that affects men's common opinions and con- 
 duct, he will strenuously appeal to, that he may 
 bring them to his side and set them against his 
 adversary
 
 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 
 
 IN this country, lawyers constitute a distinct 
 profession, and they have their professional 
 schools. Their education is plainly a matter of 
 public concern. The case is somewhat different 
 with our statesmen, if indeed we have any per- 
 sons amongst us who can properly be called 
 such on account of their making politics their 
 exclusive vocation. They certainly do riot con- 
 stitute a profession ; and their preparation, what- 
 ever it may be, is either made indirectly, or, if 
 purposed and systematic, it is altogether a pri- 
 vate affair. 
 
 It should seem to be the general sentiment 
 here that a lawyer's course of studies, his labo- 
 rious contests in public argument, his habitual 
 attempts to convince learned men on the bench 
 and influence sensible and practical men on 
 juries, are an ample preparation for debating 
 the questions that occupy a political assembly. 
 They are regularly educated for their profession 
 10* [113]
 
 114 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 
 
 as the occupation of their lives and their means 
 of subsistence. The business of legislation is 
 rarely undertaken by them but for a season, and 
 generally for the honor it confers, or for the 
 pleasure of going into new scenes and forming 
 new connections, or for acquiring influence in 
 their profession, or that they may render in their 
 turn the service which all able men owe to their 
 country, but which is usually found irksome 
 enough to make even the ambitious willing to 
 divide the honor for the sake of escaping the 
 labor. But whether prepared for the place or 
 not, and whether fond of it or not, very many of 
 them find their way into our legislative bodies. 
 
 In the course of time, should the number of 
 wealthy men be increased, so that promising 
 young heirs can forego lucrative employments 
 for the sake of gaining honor and power in pub- 
 lic stations ; or, at any rate, if the openings to 
 political life should ever become narrower and 
 more difficult than they now are, it may be that 
 the education of political men will not be a 
 merely accidental and subordinate affair, to 
 be commenced, perhaps, when a man is called to 
 public life ; but that we shall have a class of 
 statesmen as thoroughly bred to their business as 
 lawyers to theirs. 
 
 Whether this would be for the better or the 
 worse is not the question now. As the profes- 
 sion of the law is to a considerable extent the
 
 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 115 
 
 school of our statesmen, let us consider whether 
 the style of eloquence that is suitable to the bar 
 be suitable also to a deliberative assembly. Or, 
 in other words, is there any important distinction 
 between legal argument and political debate? I 
 think there is. 
 
 In debate there is altogether a freedom in the 
 manner, in the choice of arguments, in the sug- 
 gestion of motives, which would be out of place 
 in addressing the bench. The debater's object 
 is to persuade, to influence men's minds upon 
 matters of opinion; not to bind them reverently 
 to an existing law, but to consult with them 
 upon the need of new laws, and upon the repeal 
 or modification of old ones. No precedents, no 
 ancient opinions, no settled customs have any 
 authority in this assembly, farther than they 
 approve themselves to the judgment. Any man 
 here may rise to overthrow the decrees of remote 
 ages, to disabuse the public mind of errors that 
 time had seemed to make too sacred for scru- 
 tiny, and to insist as roughly as he will upon the 
 demands of a new era for change and progress. 
 
 And this is his duty, if it is his thought. 
 It is expected of him. His opinion and reasons 
 are wanted. He is to take just such a view of 
 every question as he sees proper to take, and 
 present it to others in any way that he thinks 
 the best to make impression. He may bring 
 arguments from every quarter ; from poets and
 
 116 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 
 
 philosophers ; from men of business and men of 
 speculation ; from history and fiction, and from 
 the treasury of his own invention and fancy. 
 He may appeal to men's experience, to their 
 fears, their pride, their infirmities, their affections, 
 their self-love. Only imagine to yourselves a 
 body of independent law-givers, assembled for 
 the very purpose of forming and carrying an 
 opinion, and bound to act by their own feeling 
 or conviction of what is best, some doubting 
 and therefore to be assured ; some reluctant and 
 therefore to be drawn over ; some ignorant and 
 therefore to be informed, and you see at once 
 the orator's boundless field of influence. More- 
 over, it is a popular influence, for he has many 
 minds to act upon, and must touch some com- 
 mon spring of action if he would gain opin- 
 ions. All the resources of genius, and of his 
 art, and of his knowledge of men are to be 
 brought out and applied, that not one hearer 
 may escape him. 
 
 Let him not think that he has done enough, 
 though he should be able to say with perfect 
 truth : 'I have spoken wisely and prudently 
 to these men. I have proved every important 
 point and set it beyond controversy. I must 
 have satisfied the good sense of every man who 
 heard me, and convinced him what patriotism 
 and common honesty require of him.' Some 
 other disputant, better acquainted with the spirit
 
 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 117 
 
 of a popular assembly, and who knows that ad- 
 dress will often do more than a safe judgment 
 or thorough political knowledge, will leave you to 
 fight manfully for the truth and admire your 
 generous assurance of a well-deserved victory, 
 and content himself with seducing your supposed 
 converts to put faith in him, by the blandish- 
 ments, the fair promises, the fond appeals to self- 
 love, which often make men prefer an error that 
 flatters and pleases to a truth which annoys. 
 To have sway, then, you must be able to turn 
 against this man the arts which he uses for 
 power. Your main reliance here is upon your- 
 self. There is no judge in the seat of authority 
 to check the disputant, and sum up the case 
 clearly and honestly after the confusion of a long 
 and stormy debate. Every voter is to follow his 
 own pleasure ; and every speaker must do what 
 he can to determine his choice. 
 
 To have sway, the orator must be something 
 more than what we call a man of ability. He 
 must have a talent for his place. A rude street 
 orator would manage a mob far better than 
 Burke could do. A popular preacher or advocate 
 might thin the seats of the senate house. 
 
 Many an able lawyer may not have learned 
 till he became a legislator, that his mind was 
 wanting in flexibility ; or that its first habits 
 were so entirely its masters and so necessary to 
 its successful labors, that it was but little under
 
 118 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 
 
 his control when called to a new sphere of ac- 
 tion and responsibility. The cast of his mind 
 has become thoroughly legal. He wants that 
 easy versatility with which some, even ordinary 
 menj direct then- attention to many pursuits with 
 equal success. Moreover, he misses that protect- 
 ing genius which hovers over the veteran in the 
 courts, to save him from surprises and brow- 
 beating, from the assaults of clamorous preju- 
 dice, from the charge of public apostasy, and 
 from awkward revelations of his private history. 
 In a court of justice he is perfectly at home, in 
 his natural atmosphere, and surrounded by ob- 
 jects that long custom has made important to 
 the free and prosperous exercise of his powers. 
 
 He has been used to argue questions of pri- 
 vate right, and finds it hard, in the senate, to 
 spread his mind over the broad and various 
 ground of public expediency. He has been ac- 
 customed to reason upon indisputable principles 
 and to feel himself safe in old decrees. Now, 
 he is called to give equal respect to general con- 
 siderations of policy, which have no warrant but 
 such as they may find or create in each man's 
 judgment or opinion. In a court, he felt his 
 character and interest somewhat involved in car- 
 rying every point he maintained. But now this 
 selfish stimulus must give way to what, after 
 deliberate consultation with his fellows, he thinks 
 to be most prudent.
 
 THE ADVOCATE AND THE DEBATER. 119 
 
 Such are some of the distinctions between the 
 legal and political orator ; and such, T believe, is 
 the familiar theory respecting their influence. 
 As you will certainly find that some of the 
 greatest statesmen have also been the greatest 
 of lawyers, you are to consider whether they 
 became politically eminent in spite of their pro- 
 fession, or by virtue of it, or (to be perfectly safe) 
 whether it was not, in their case, a wholly indif- 
 ferent matter.
 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. -KEASONS 
 FOR PREACHING. 
 
 MEN are not willing to think thaj; any means 
 of moral influence could be a wholly new thing 
 in the world, at so late a day as the birth of 
 Christianity. The need of such an influence 
 had always existed, and we naturally look for 
 early attempts of some kind to meet it. No 
 doubt there had been such attempts, and it 
 would be pleasing to trace them if we had a 
 series of facts to guide us. Meanwhile, we 
 may suppose the patriarch to be the religious 
 teacher of his family and dependents, though 
 it be also his office to superintend the sacrifices, 
 the processions, and the sacred observances 
 generally. The legislator inserts moral and 
 religious truths among the ordinary provisions 
 of his civil code. Poets and wise men are, 
 in their various ways, instructors of the sim- 
 ple or rude barbarians. There is reason to 
 believe that the world has never been left 
 
 [120]
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 121 
 
 without some to insist upon the claims of 
 conscience and the distinctions between right 
 and wrong. 
 
 Still, we are far from anything like a regular, 
 recognized system of teaching religious truths 
 to the people. 
 
 In the ancient schools of philosophy, there 
 were eloquent instructors in ethics, and many 
 inquirers into divine mysteries. But generally 
 the instruction was addressed to a select num- 
 ber of followers, and, probably, even to them 
 rather as part of a learned education, than as 
 furnishing rules and motives of conduct. How- 
 ever this may have been, it would not have 
 been safe for the philosopher to denounce 
 openly the gross faith and practice, which, 
 under the name of religion, had become con- 
 secrated in the eyes of the people. 
 
 Amongst the Jews, there had been of old 
 time a kind of public preaching which, in its 
 design at least, resembles our sermons. I refer 
 to the exhortation, warning and instruction, 
 which the prophets addressed to their coun- 
 trymen as religious beings. The prophetic 
 eloquence has never been equalled for the 
 tenderness of its persuasion, and the terrors of 
 its remonstrances and denunciations. 
 
 In the later days of the Jewish state, we hear 
 of synagogues, in which, besides stated worship, 
 the law was read and expounded, and religious 
 11
 
 122 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 instruction given to the people at appointed 
 times. This service resembles, if it may not 
 be considered as the model of our Sunday 
 observances. 
 
 These brief notes suggest that what we call 
 preaching may have existed, in some more or 
 less perfect form, for ages before the coming 
 of Christ, and therefore may be considered as 
 a natural method of supplying a public want, 
 at a time when there could have been but few 
 readers. We may add, as somewhat confirm- 
 ing this view, that stated preaching was an 
 ordinary means of upholding and spreading 
 Islamism, both under Mahomet and the early 
 caliphs. 
 
 The history of the pulpit belongs to other 
 hands. I may say, however, that if Christian 
 preaching have not the stamp of absolute 
 originality, yet certainly this fourth department 
 of oratory, known to us by the name of Pulpit 
 Eloquence, has a character and importance 
 which distinguish it from other modes of reli- 
 gious instruction, and authorize us to consider it 
 as peculiarly our own. It is associated with 
 all our modern history and improvement. It 
 has its profession of orators, with a new sys- 
 tem of rhetorical preparation. It has its ap- 
 pointed occasions and its peculiar audiences. 
 It has created for itself schools of learning 
 never surpassed in other professions. And,
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 123 
 
 finally, it has established a distinct and eminent 
 department of literature. 
 
 The institution of public preaching is easily 
 accounted for at the first promulgation of the 
 new faith, when there was no press to spread 
 the religion, and when indeed the multitude, 
 whom it specially sought out, were generally 
 uneducated and must have depended for know- 
 ledge very much upon oral teaching. The last 
 reason applies also to the attempts to intro- 
 duce Christianity among the ignorant heathen 
 of our own time. But why does the custom 
 continue and prevail in the most enlightened 
 countries of the earth, where the Bible may be 
 in every man's hand and most men can read ? 
 Is the preacher as necessary now, and will he 
 continue to be as necessary as he once was? 
 Is it not from habit and fashion, or from love 
 of excitement in a throng, that we still require 
 the sermon to follow our acts of devotion on 
 the sabbath, and still choose our minister with 
 no small regard to his powers as a speaker 
 and writer? 
 
 These questions will be sufficiently answered, 
 if it should be made to appear that the pulpit 
 has been established and continued as a means 
 of moral and religious influence, just as natu- 
 rally and necessarily as the occasions of secular 
 eloquence exist for their peculiar purposes. The 
 lawyer and debater are as well known among
 
 124 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 us as they were in the most enlightened eras 
 of paganism. All the improvements which 
 distinguished modern society have not made 
 their services superfluous. We might, indeed, 
 have prophesied that it would be otherwise. 
 The probabilities were not small that as men 
 became more and more readers and thinkers, 
 public oral addresses would be less required. 
 But we do not find it to be so, though we 
 may perhaps find that the character and style 
 of these addresses are somewhat changed. 
 
 The idea that increased knowledge, whether 
 secular or religious, from reading, will make 
 preaching less important, must take for granted 
 that the adoption of one means of improvement 
 tends to lessen the value of another and a very 
 different means. It probably supposes, too, 
 that, since we may study other things to ad- 
 vantage in books and by ourselves, so the 
 whole subject of religion may be equally well 
 studied in private. Hence we may gradually 
 be required to admit that the design and uses 
 of Christianity are limited and calculable ; so 
 that after a certain amount of investigation we 
 shall have learned our lesson and done with it, 
 as with any course of preparatory training. 
 That is, the more the race is elevated by 
 moral and intellectual influences, the less con- 
 cern they have with the means. These grow 
 obsolete ; and our enlarged capacities and
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 125 
 
 multiplied desires must seek new objects and 
 methods. 
 
 We need not try to exhaust the concessions 
 which such a theory requires. It is enough for 
 our purpose that the Christian world has thus 
 partaken a different view of the matter, and 
 will probably entertain it till changes come in our 
 moral condition which are now only hoped for. 
 But suppose it to be true that in this age of read- 
 ers men do go, very generally, to books for light 
 upon many religious subjects, and for increased 
 animation to their Christian motives and hopes. 
 Yet the fact must not be overlooked that they 
 do so under constant excitement and direction 
 from the pulpit, that its voice is sounding as 
 loudly and earnestly in our learned ears, as 
 once in those of the unlettered converts of the 
 first age. What would become of our religious 
 inquiries if the voice ceased, we cannot say. 
 They might be continued in the schools of 
 philosophers. 
 
 Under any circumstances, however, it is idle 
 to suppose that the great body of men do or 
 can prosecute theological reading to any con- 
 siderable extent. And yet, in advanced society 
 and amidst the ceaseless flashing of ideas and 
 theories, the minds of even the unlearned are 
 made inquisitive by all that surrounds them, 
 and restless and unhappy under the perplexities 
 of partial knowledge and eager curiosity. They 
 11*
 
 126 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 are in peril from the errors of belief and the 
 vacancy of scepticism. Here then we see the 
 necessity of a wise and eloquent clergy in an 
 improved age, and growing out of its improve- 
 ment ; a necessity as strong at least as could be 
 felt in the rudest times. 
 
 But leaving considerations like these, which 
 relate wholly to differences in the state of so- 
 ciety, the true ground to be taken is that the 
 usefulness and necessity of preaching are found- 
 ed in the nature and objects of Christianity, and 
 in the common condition and wants of men. I 
 shall speak of one or two points belonging 
 to this class of reasons, and I select those 
 which are connected with the purpose of all 
 eloquence. 
 
 The first point is that the religion is intended 
 to affect human conduct. The preacher aims 
 just as decidedly at influence over his hearers' 
 actions as any other orator. Something is to 
 come of the sermon ; something is to be done. 
 The method, too, is the same. An effect is to 
 be produced by presenting adequate motives 
 to the excitable, impressible nature of man. 
 Christianity is as far as possible from being a 
 merely solitary, sentimental, speculative faith. It 
 is a power which overlooks all human affairs to 
 control them. We cannot place a man, or 
 society, or their interests in a single point of 
 view, in which eloquence of any kind would be
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 127 
 
 useful, and not find that the eloquence of Chris- 
 tian teaching would be useful too. If truth 
 needs illumination, if duty needs impulse, if 
 doubt craves assurance, if good and evil uni- 
 versally, here and hereafter, in respect to in- 
 dividuals or masses, call for consideration, 
 judgment and action, and these are proper sub- 
 jects of eloquence of any kind, so are they 
 proper subjects of sacred eloquence. 
 
 If, indeed, religious truth were still the im- 
 perfect attainment of the retired philosopher of 
 pagan antiquity, or the glorious vision only of 
 poetical imagination and fervor, it might be left 
 to the dreams and speculations of each individ- 
 ual, or at best be taught to the initiated few 
 in the school of the sage. But Christianity has 
 gone forth as an authoritative declaration to all, 
 laying obligations on all, presenting good and 
 denouncing evil to all. It has brought all to- 
 gether upon a great common concern. Then it 
 is clearly a proper subject of eloquence the most 
 popular, and demands it as a most natural 
 means of power. 
 
 But how can this be ? Eloquence leading to 
 action, popular eloquence too, without votes or 
 verdicts ? Certainly. What eloquence can be 
 more justly called popular than that which pre- 
 sents a common and exciting motive to a throng 
 of hearers ? That the motive is spiritual, that 
 it is higher than one whose whole range is the
 
 128 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 present world and the present hour, makes no 
 difference to the orator's disadvantage, except 
 that it creates for him some peculiar difficulties. 
 It is true, that the action contemplated is not 
 the same, nor does it show itself in the same 
 way, as in secular bodies. We are not assem- 
 bled to deliberate and decide upon our obliga- 
 tions as Christians, or the formation of Christian 
 character, as we meet and decide upon public 
 measures. Properly speaking, the hearers are 
 not engaged upon a strictly joint interest ; they 
 are not looking round for signs of agreement 
 and sympathy. -Yet the interest is common to 
 all, of equal moment to all, and so felt to be by 
 the orator and by every hearer. It will not be 
 disputed that the action contemplated is strictly 
 individual, and not for to-day or upon the spot 
 merely. It is habitual action, proceeding from 
 an ever-living and ever-active principle. This 
 must be admitted, with all its supposed disad- 
 vantages to the orator. Some, no doubt, will 
 say that the preacher's aim and therefore his 
 eloquence must be vague and dreamy, with no 
 direct, external, joint interest to concentrate and 
 quicken his powers. Others will think that 
 it is enough that conscience, memory, affec- 
 tion, hope and fear are as open to him as to 
 any o'ther orator, or to any class of writers. I 
 here leave this topic, as my object is merely to 
 show that the eloquence of the pulpit has, in
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 129 
 
 principle, the same basis with every other de- 
 partment. 
 
 Another argument for the same thing, is that 
 the truths, which are the preacher's subjects, 
 need impressive inculcation. Unlike the ques- 
 tions that occupy other assemblies, his topics 
 are of equal importance every hour of a man's 
 life. The people are not convoked occasionally 
 to consider them ; but the sermon is a frequent, 
 stated address, and generally connected with the 
 regular seasons of public worship. All is calm, 
 orderly, expected, consecrated. The hearer is, 
 in general, not even a doubter, but comes to 
 receive. In this state of things, the first idea 
 that occurs is, that a subject of equal importance 
 at all times must grow lifeless ; and yet, if it is 
 at all times of infinite importance, it must be 
 perpetually insisted on. Hence, regular preach- 
 ing is established ; but, from its uniformity, the 
 preaching is in danger of becoming as lifeless as 
 the subject. With these antithetical difficulties 
 and motives before us, we might be in doubt 
 what course of teaching should be appointed. 
 But the custom of the church for so many cen- 
 turies is reasonable evidence that the proper 
 means have been applied to meet the difficulties 
 and secure the advantages that might be ex- 
 pected. The only thing required is, that the 
 preaching be impressive ; and to make it so, we
 
 130 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 must withhold no outward help which belongs 
 to so great a public ministration. 
 
 There can be no doubt what men generally 
 think of the custom. They show by their regu- 
 lar attendance their belief that, however well 
 they may inform themselves in their faith by 
 private study, they are not likely to do it with 
 so direct reference to character and conduct, 
 the impression will not be so strong and fixed, 
 as if they also came frequently together as 
 worshippers and were afterwards instructed by 
 an eloquent preacher. They have reasons for 
 this conviction. There is impressiveness in the 
 mere assembling and decent attention, an ac- 
 knowledgment of the importance of the occa- 
 sion. A sort of public sanction is given to it. 
 A refined, spiritual exercise is confessed to have 
 weight and value among the pressing engage- 
 ments of common life. The religion is seen to 
 have a social quality, not only in leading men 
 privately to confession of faults, to the confiding 
 of doubts, and to expressions of sympathy and 
 mutual encouragement, but to united prayer in 
 the congregation .and respectful attention to 
 public religious instruction. 
 
 In whatever view we take of man, he appears 
 to need assistance of some kind from others, and 
 this holds true even in that most personal con- 
 cern, the religious preparation of the heart.
 
 REASONS FOR PREACHING. 131 
 
 We gain something from seeing the operation 
 of religious faith in another human being; the 
 direction it gives to his faculties, the color it 
 takes from his temper of mind, and which it 
 imparts to both his hopes and his fears. It is 
 no small, and it is no degrading help which the 
 presence of a good man lends to others. His 
 fervor, his confidence, his humility gives them 
 strength. To be near him in the preaching of 
 his daily life and the fervid persuasions and 
 warnings of his discourse, is to be in the way of 
 having faith warmed into action, and conscience 
 brought to a test which we may have shunned 
 or never known. 
 
 This is not our fond, weak over-estimate of a 
 mere fellow-creature, but our submission to a 
 natural influence over the heart. We are not to 
 go to church that we may catch sympathy and 
 fervor from a crowd, which we shall never ex- 
 perience elsewhere ; or to suppose that secret 
 meditation will be less necessary because we 
 can so easily obtain thoughts and impulses from 
 a popular preacher. One great office of preach- 
 ing is to follow up with every hearer his private 
 meditations and his opening affections, and give 
 him motive and aid to carry on by himself the 
 work which each one has to do for himself. 
 But we wish the preacher to be kindled by the 
 presence of numbers like any other orator, be-
 
 132 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 cause there is a power in eloquence thus inspired 
 which is sure to go to the heart, and which 
 could not be dispensed with, even if it were 
 possible for a friendly and gifted teacher to 
 say the same things to every one in private, 
 which he addresses to the congregation from the 
 pulpit.
 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. -THE 
 PREACHER AND HIS AUDIENCE. 
 
 LET us consider the opportunity which the 
 preacher enjoys for the exercise of his art ; and 
 first, what may be called the external peculiarities 
 of pulpit oratory. 
 
 The place in which he meets his hearers is 
 consecrated. I do not mean that the prayers of 
 priests and people have given a sanctity to wood 
 or stone, or that man should tremble before the 
 work of his own hand, and deem even the vilest 
 criminal exempt from human punishment, if he 
 can but flee to the precincts of the temple and 
 lay hold on the horns of the altar. The place is 
 holy because of the purpose to which it is de- 
 voted, of the services performed and the Being 
 invoked there; that is, it is sacred only in our 
 minds. No matter whether we meet in the old 
 gothic cathedral, or in the humble edifice of the 
 puritan, which has little besides its meanness to 
 distinguish it from ordinary buildings ; the 
 place has its sacred associations, and suggests 
 12 [133]
 
 134 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 religious thoughts. Such was paradise to Adam. 
 When he is about to be driven from the garden, 
 his first feeling is that he is to leave the sacred 
 haunts where he had communed with God. 
 
 ' This most afflicts me, that, departing hence, 
 As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd 
 His blessed countenance. Here I could frequent 
 With worship place by place where he vouchsaf'd 
 Presence divine ; and to my sons r.elate, 
 " On this mount he appeared ; under this tree 
 Stood visible ; among these pines his voice 
 I heard ; here with him at this fountain talk'd." ' 
 
 ' It was the advice of a holy monk to his friend 
 to perform his customary devotion in a constant 
 place, because in that place we usually meet 
 with those very thoughts which possessed us at 
 our last being there.' * In this way, our religious 
 exercises, however interrupted and distant from 
 each other, become united and almost one act, 
 and the religious sentiment a continued, grow- 
 ing devotion, instead of a solitary, violent and 
 passing impulse. 
 
 But, besides the place, we have set apart a day 
 for the special observance of religion, a stated 
 season, frequently returning, to which our minds 
 are habitually directed, and for which we may 
 make preparation. We are not taken suddenly 
 from the common pleasures and cares of the 
 world, to engage in services as opposite to many 
 * Southey's Life of Wesley, Vol. I. p. 55.
 
 THE PREACHER AND HIS AUDIENCE. 135 
 
 of them as rain to drought. We have time to 
 lay by all that has disgusted or wearied us in 
 our ordinary life, and to enter with freshness and 
 composure upon spiritual exercises. 
 
 In the next place, contrast the audience with 
 those you are acustomed to meet in many other 
 places ; the seriousness, the silence, the heartfelt 
 or the habitual respect for the speaker, who alone 
 conducts the services, with the turbulence and 
 rancor which are often seen in other assemblies. 
 In the church we have no controversy. The 
 prophet is unanswered ; not because he has a 
 message from heaven which may not be gainsaid, 
 for he is as uninspired, and may be as fallible as 
 any one he addresses : but we think it more be- 
 coming in the house of God that the errors, if 
 they be such, of the preacher should be heard, 
 than the errors, as they may be, of many excited 
 disputants. No evil has arisen, that we know, 
 from deferring controversy till some other time. 
 
 This exemption from all liability to answer on 
 the spot for what the preacher says, is undoubt- 
 edly unfavorable to such excitement on the part 
 of the audience, as we feel in a court or legisla- 
 tive assembly, where our spirits may be kept up 
 for hours by the succession of speakers and their 
 personal altercations, and by the interest we take 
 in the success of some particular individual, to 
 whom accident, friendship, party-feeling, or it 
 may be his very eloquence, has made us wish
 
 136 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 well. But such excitement and interest are not 
 expected or desired in churches. They are alien 
 to the purpose of preaching. 
 
 The clergyman's freedom from controversy, 
 when in the pulpit, may make him indolent. 
 He has one motive the less for putting his powers 
 to their utmost stretch, and using only prudent 
 argument and guarded language, inasmuch as 
 a watchful antagonist is either not by, or else 
 not at liberty to expose his fallacies or his imbe- 
 cility. Some may suppose that a feeling of 
 security like this is an inducement to men of 
 moderate abilities and intrepidity, to choose the 
 clerical profession rather than one which is 
 strictly polemical. They first form an exorbitant 
 idea of the talent for extemporaneous dispute ; 
 and when they see many, who give no evidence 
 of this talent, do very well as preachers, they are 
 disposed to think the profession a quiet and un- 
 distinguished calling, in which ordinary men find 
 shelter and able men are buried. A lawyer, they 
 will tell you, is sure to be thoroughly tried by 
 the close, keen combat to which he is subjected 
 w r ith his opponent, before sensible jurors, experi- 
 enced judges, and his scrutinizing brethren within 
 the bar. If he wants ability, he cannot escape 
 detection. And yet no one will dispute that 
 second-rate men have been successful lawyers. 
 The fact seems to be, that the quantity of talent 
 to be found in any profession, depends upon the
 
 THE PREACHER AND HIS AUDIENCE. 137 
 
 inducements it holds out to talent. Worldly 
 gains and splendor, together with the liberty of 
 doing very much as we please, belong to the 
 secular professions ; and I apprehend that more 
 of our race are disposed to do good to society, 
 with profit and convenience to themselves and 
 heir families, than from motives wholly disin- 
 terested. As for the exercise of ability, I believe 
 there is as much room for it in a sermon as in 
 addresses of any kind. And if there be a smaller 
 amount in the clerical profession than in the 
 others, we must not seek the cause in the temp- 
 tation, which an entire exemption from contro- 
 versy presents to the timid and weak to become 
 preachers. 
 
 The advantage which this exemption gives the 
 clergyman, is obvious. There is no interruption 
 to impair the force of his arguments, statements 
 and appeals. He marks out his course to suit 
 himself, and follows it from choice and with con- 
 fidence. The dissatisfied hearer will yet listen 
 to the end, if it be only to confirm himself in his 
 opinion ; and, in listening to the end, he may 
 find weak places in his own faith and strong 
 ones in that he dissents from, which he had 
 never been aware of, and which he might have 
 been slow to acknowledge even to himself, if the 
 light had first broken upon him in a heated 
 controversy. 
 
 Thus the preacher's privilege appears to be 
 12*
 
 138 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 unequalled of giving entire effect to his views ; 
 of making the whole impression which he has 
 any right to demand for them ; of bringing his 
 hearers' minds, however slowly, into a state fa- 
 vorable to the points he is urging. And let him 
 not boast of his privilege and influence, nor abuse 
 them, for he is doing good or evil for both worlds. 
 If his audience have consented to forget in his 
 presence the pride of debate and the joy of vic- 
 tory ; if they have drawn off their thoughts from 
 objects that fill or divert them in the week, that 
 they may give him their whole minds ; if habit 
 has taught them to look upon him as separate 
 from common life, and almost as a holy man, so 
 that all he says in the church or in private, seems 
 entitled to a peculiar deference ; his responsi- 
 bility is only made the heavier, and the lesson 
 of prudence and humility should be sooner learned 
 from it, than that of pride or ostentation. 
 
 There is one point more in which the assem- 
 bly of worshippers differs from almost every 
 other. They are not only to abstain from every 
 expression of disapprobation, but also from ap- 
 plause. We are told that in the early church 
 the people were encouraged to applaud, in order 
 to signify to the preacher that they understood 
 what he was about. But it so often happened 
 that their admiration was misplaced or disorderly 
 that the custom fell into discredit. For a differ- 
 ent purpose, we presume, some gentle murmur
 
 THE PREACHER AND HIS AUDIENCE. 139 
 
 or hum of favor was allowed to breathe and 
 swell in the English churches as late as the close 
 of the seventeenth century. We hear nothing of 
 it now. The world is supposed to be growing 
 wiser when it suppresses some of its fashions. 
 But the evidence seems imperfect when we think 
 of those which succeed and of many which re- 
 main. Applause in churches would now be 
 esteemed anything but a compliment to the 
 speaker, or an evidence of good taste or intelli- 
 gence in his hearers. This is in no respect a 
 proof that we are a more devout people than the 
 Christians of former times ; though it certainly 
 argues a more spiritual and informed mind to 
 listen silently to grave discourse, and to preach 
 fervently without the slightest sound of favor 
 from the audience. 
 
 I have thus attempted to point out some of 
 the circumstances under which the pulpit orator 
 meets his hearers. In some sense, as we have 
 seen, he addresses a popular assembly, since all 
 are upon a level, for the time at least, and equally 
 involved in the responsibilities and issues of the 
 occasion. But, on the other hand, he is not 
 appealing to them to accomplish any private pur- 
 pose ; to carry a point that is in any way con- 
 nected with his ambition or gains, or indeed with 
 any interests but those of his hearers. His whole 
 object is their good. He regards them as indi- 
 viduals, and converses with every man's heart,
 
 140 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 as if he had come there to address a particular 
 hearer. He regards them in every relation of life 
 and in every variety of mind or condition, as 
 members of families and subjects of the state ; 
 as laborers, as men of wealth and power, as 
 ignorant and enlightened; and tells them that 
 there is but one test of virtue, one perfect wis- 
 dom, one essential happiness for all. 
 
 Whatever he may have to contend against in 
 the listlessness produced by regular, stated re- 
 turns of the days of meeting together, or by the 
 frequent recurrence of similar topics of discourse, 
 is at least compensated by the motive of their 
 assembling. He cannot look at a single object, 
 or call up one ordinary thought that is naturally 
 associated with the place and the occasion, 
 which will not remind him of his duties and 
 strengthen him for their discharge. In some 
 other assembly, the speaker may be exhilarated 
 by the sight of new faces. A new throng has 
 come that has never paid him homage ; and he 
 burns for fresh incense. But here, the same eyes 
 are bent upon him year after year, or the vacant 
 seat tells him of one gone to his account. The 
 monition never fails him that there is enough 
 here for ambition, and love, and self-devotion. 
 
 If he should ask himself what, in point of fact, 
 is the popular estimation in which preaching is 
 held, he will find nothing to depress him, nothing 
 to turn the scale in favor of other classes of ora-
 
 THE PREACHER AND HIS AUDIENCE. 141 
 
 tors. "What public meetings are better attended 
 than those of our churches? What exercises 
 are more respected or more generally exciting ? 
 It is only on rare occasions that you see the gal- 
 leries of the hall of legislation or of the court- 
 room crowded. It is next to impossible to collect 
 an audience for the orators who deliver the stated 
 discourses before and in behalf of some charita- 
 ble institution, unless indeed there is reason to 
 expect some extraordinary display of eloquence. 
 We must get up splendid military processions 
 and secure the attendance of the chief men of 
 the state, before we can prevail upon any con- 
 siderable number of citizens to assemble and 
 hear a discourse, once in a year, upon the Decla- 
 ration of our Independence, and the weighty 
 consequences of that measure. Even the thea- 
 tre, established expressly for public amusement, 
 and certainly not a very expensive mode of con- 
 tributing to it, has but a fluctuating popularity, 
 as uncertain as fashion itself. 
 
 The case is far otherwise with the public ex- 
 ercises of Sunday. The attraction of oratory is 
 far less needed to secure attendance. We be- 
 hold, as it were, a larger family assembled, as a 
 matter of course, about a domestic altar. And 
 not only the weary laborers, who may rejoice in 
 a day of rest and meditation, but the rich, the 
 learned, the powerful, are regular, attentive, 
 respectful hearers in the house of worship, all
 
 142 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 equally ready, of their penury and of their abun- 
 dance, to cast in their offerings for the support 
 of ministers, the erection of temples, and the 
 wider and more efficient diffusion of religious 
 truth.
 
 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. -THE 
 PREACHER'S RESOURCES. 
 
 IN treating of this and the other departments 
 of eloquence, I have tried, when speaking of a 
 profession and its topics, to consider them only 
 so far as they related to the orator. My attempt, 
 I fear, has been little successful. It would 
 probably be still less so with such a subject 
 before me as the resources of a pulpit orator, did 
 I not mean to limit myself to those only which 
 exist in his own mind, and to a single view only 
 of these. 
 
 I have sometimes thought that, among many 
 serious persons, there was an indefinite notion 
 of some peculiar responsibility and peril hanging 
 over the preacher, not merely in the choice of his 
 profession, but also in his use of and his reliance 
 upon his own gifts. Pride and self-confidence 
 would be so unseemly in an office like his, and 
 self-abasement so natural a consequence of 
 proper views of his duty, that some have even 
 insisted that the voice should not speak but in 
 
 [143]
 
 144 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 conscious obedience to a mysterious summons, 
 and that preparation for his work would be as 
 unsuitable in a modern divine, as in the first dis- 
 ciples when they were sent forth to preach. I 
 do not refer to extreme views like these, which 
 probably exercise but a limited influence in 
 practice. Indeed, your own observation of the 
 diversity in preachers may have satisfied you 
 that they generally feel at liberty to preach 
 according to their gift. But a certain vague 
 feeling on the subject in some minds, arising 
 perhaps from the supernatural origin and im- 
 posing character of the religion, may justify a 
 brief inquiry. 
 
 What, then, are the resources within him- 
 self which the preacher may rightfully employ ? 
 How far may he exhibit his character and genius 
 and rely upon his own powers, in delivering a 
 message from God himself? Did the promulga- 
 tor of the religion intend that its first influence 
 and effect should be to break down all that is 
 peculiar in men's minds, all that gives individ- 
 uality to their temper, taste and views ; to spread 
 through the world one unvarying spirit, which 
 should make the actions, the language, the ex- 
 pectations of each one, in all that concerned in 
 any way his religion, precisely like those of his 
 neighbor ? Was it thought that the revelation 
 was so vast and overpowering, that the mind 
 must needs sink under it; that instead of bring-
 
 THE PREACHER'S RESOURCES. 145 
 
 ing human genius boldly to the study and eluci- 
 dation of truths which were so far beyond its 
 unaided reach, we had nothing to do now but to 
 contemplate and obey in spiritual silence, as the 
 passive recipients of a sublime but oppressive 
 revelation ? 
 
 We have reason to think that this was no part 
 of the design of Christianity, both from its illus- 
 tration in the characters we are familiar with in 
 the New Testament, and from the obvious ten- 
 dency and effect of its instructions, its examples, 
 and its unfolded hopes. Instead of bearing 
 heavily upon a man's sense of intellectual force, 
 or imprisoning the imagination, it has made 
 him altogether more ethereal and soaring. And 
 where, as we believe, its genuine influence has 
 reached the heart, it has led to profounder in- 
 quiries into man's nature, condition and pros- 
 pects, than were ever instituted before. Instead 
 of inducing a spirit of devout quiescence, it 
 should seem that we had been roused up by it to 
 the use of all that is good, and, in our perverse- 
 ness, of all that is bad in the form of persuasion 
 and argument, to bring the great subject home 
 to every one. 
 
 Then, again, it is so far from making the 
 human character tame and monotonous, that it 
 requires and promotes the utmost strength of 
 purpose and energy of enterprise, and offers the 
 mind such objects of thought and desire, as en- 
 13
 
 146 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 courage and almost compel it to act nature out 
 to the full. You find as strong and as large a 
 variety of genius in the bards and prophets of 
 Judea, as in the poets of Greece or of England. 
 They are full of human affections and passions ; 
 they are warmed and spiritualized by the glories 
 of the outward world ; yet their language is that 
 of men who felt themselves to be always in the 
 divine presence. Of the apostles, who received 
 the first influences of Christianity, and lived, all 
 but one, in the society of their master, no one 
 was required to part with the natural temper 
 of his mind, except so far as it was bad. One 
 preaches with the learning and ingenuity of a 
 philosopher, and gives vent to deep human feel- 
 ing in warm human speech ; and another wins 
 men by affectionate persuasion, encouragement 
 and counsel. 
 
 We see at once the importance of leaving to 
 the preacher the free exercise of his natural pow- 
 ers and feelings; for with him, as with every 
 other orator, eloquence must come from our 
 common nature. The great preacher is not 
 formed in his library or in the cloister. Devo- 
 tional sentiment and sincere purposes of doing 
 good to others, are not all that is required to 
 make him eloquent, though they are potent in- 
 spirers of eloquence. He must join to these the 
 power of presenting truth and motives in the 
 way that we require. If he has the true spirit of
 
 THE PREACHER'S RESOURCES. 147 
 
 a benefactor, he will be so far from thinking that 
 the greatness of his theme disdains human aid 
 or human weakness, that he will spare no honest 
 use of his art to bring it down or near to every 
 mind. He will never forget our necessities. He 
 will humble himself to meet them. If he should, 
 or, rather, if he could lay by our common nature 
 when he comes to address us, what connection 
 would he have with us ? Through what inlet 
 shall he find a way to our hearts ? He may have 
 the gift of tongues, and yet know little of the 
 action of men's minds, or of the topics best fitted 
 to make impression, or of the manner in which 
 alone objects can be effectively brought before 
 the imagination. 
 
 We are right then in expecting from the pul- 
 pit orator as much of natural character, of genius, 
 or of any proper resource, as a man would show 
 on any subject and occasion, where he was thor- 
 oughly in earnest, and wanted to produce an 
 important effect. We are right to expect in 
 sacred eloquence as great variety of style in 
 speaking and writing, corresponding to the sub- 
 ject and the orator's temperament, as in any 
 kind of public discourse. We know that the 
 religious principle is allied to the whole spiritual 
 and intellectual nature of man ; and it is but 
 natural that when we treat of religious subjects, 
 we should address ourselves to his whole higher 
 nature. We know that men need to be drawn
 
 148 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 
 
 even to those things which most concern them ; 
 and we are therefore glad to see the highest 
 popular endowments and accomplishments 
 brought to the service.
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 WHEN we hear it said that the character of 
 a literary work is established, that it is a classic, 
 a part of permanent literature, we are naturally 
 curious to learn what is the authority that de- 
 termines the point. From what quarter does 
 the decision* proceed ? The common answer is, 
 Public Opinion, the general sense of mankind. 
 Johnson, speaking of Gray, says, ' In the char- 
 acter of his Elegy, I rejoice to concur with the 
 common reader; for by the common sense of 
 readers uncorrupted with literary prejudices, after 
 all the refinements of subtilty and the dogmatism 
 of learning, must be finally decided all claim 
 to poetical honors.' Let us inquire into the 
 authority here set up. 
 
 We first take it for granted that an opinion, 
 whether held by an individual, by a school, or 
 by the whole world, has no weight in settling a 
 principle, except so far as the judge is competent 
 to pass upon the matter, and unless he has given 
 13* [149]
 
 150 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 to it all the consideration it requires ; and that 
 in no case does the decision make a thing to 
 be true or constitute truth, though it may prop- 
 erly be cited for what it is worth, in evidence 
 or proof. 
 
 Public opinion, however, differs from the opin- 
 ion of one man or a few in this, that it may 
 settle questions, though it may not settle princi- 
 ples. Here, for a time at least, its power seems 
 next to infinite. It differs in another respect ; 
 for, however wrong it may be, it is always 
 instructive, and the more instructive the longer 
 the error has prevailed. There can be but little 
 that is spasmodic or capricious in a case like 
 this ; and, probably, there is nothing of what is 
 commonly called accidental. We may profita- 
 bly study laws and tendencies of the mind when 
 we carefully observe the origin, growth and 
 tenacity of errors which have taken possession 
 of whole communities. We may find in them 
 an explanation of many obscurities which per- 
 plex the history of institutions and manners, 
 and also of the direction which passionate 
 public effort has at times taken. An equal 
 obstinacy of error in an individual, might 
 properly be imputed to diseased or perverted 
 intellect, to mere idiosyncrasy. At last, the 
 cloud, which had hung over the world, breaks ; 
 and then we may study the mind farther, in its 
 return to truth, or, quite as probably, in its
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 151 
 
 conquest of higher truth than had ever been 
 grasped before. Under no circumstances, then, 
 can it be wise to speak lightly of that undefined 
 power called public opinion. 
 
 The question of competency in respect to the 
 tribunal still remains. No one, we suppose, will 
 contend that public opinion is equally authorita- 
 tive in all cases. Where an appeal is fitly made 
 to our common instincts, affections, wants, to 
 our common experience, the response of intu- 
 ition and sympathy will confirm it, and no one 
 thinks that other evidence is needed to warrant 
 his receiving the decision. But there are mixed 
 cases, not less in common life than in literature, 
 which have strong points of interest for very dif- 
 erent classes of men. Among these are some 
 points of a strictly popular character, which 
 account sufficiently for the part that the peo- 
 ple take when the time comes for their making 
 up an opinion, and for acting, should that course 
 be necessary. 
 
 Thus in a political revolution ; a nation, 
 we will suppose, has for ages been kept in 
 ignorance, accustomed to do and bear wrong 
 for the glory of one man or of a few ; and to 
 regard such a life, which seemed beyond remedy 
 or alleviation, as the natural doom of the great 
 mass of mankind. In the course of time an 
 indignant spirit is seen growing among the 
 people. They begin to dream of a power
 
 152 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 within them, and of something they might do 
 and enjoy if they were once rid of this old 
 oppression. The moment for resistance comes 
 and a successful blow is struck. In all this we 
 may have discerned only the mighty will and 
 power of the whole people, and we may think 
 the change well enough accounted for by the 
 exertion of their power. But we cannot doubt 
 that some other agency was all the time at 
 work, which had nothing of a popular element, 
 and without which the great enterprise might 
 have utterly failed. We must not overlook the 
 machinations or the prudent counsels of a few, 
 who could read men and the times well, take 
 advantage of accidents, seize the moment when 
 the feeling of resistance could be safely changed 
 to a purpose, and then carry a whole nation into 
 an entirely new condition, one far beyond 
 what it had ever dreamed of. We must not 
 overlook those from whom the new popular 
 sentiment began, and by whom it was promoted 
 till men could understand the practicableness 
 as well as feel the need of a change ; by whom 
 the rude energy with which the change began, 
 was kept up in times of difficulty, and the spirit 
 of the revolution itself so modified and regu- 
 lated, as to become with safety a part of the 
 permanent character of the people. . ; 
 
 Here, certainly, we have the expressed will of 
 the greater number, and to a certain extent the
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 153 
 
 fruit of an opinion formed by themselves upon 
 a matter they could understand. Yet how 
 much were they acting under a control which 
 they did not comprehend or think of disputing. 
 In literature, a considerable proportion of 
 standard works are strictly popular and equally 
 favorites with all classes of readers. There are 
 national epics, national songs ; there are plays, 
 fables and novels which have at once and for- 
 ever taken possession of the hearts and memo- 
 ries of the barbarian, the slave, the uneducated, 
 of every man who could read or hear. No 
 one waited for the sanction of a man of literary 
 pretensions. Indeed, the highest critics are here 
 found to be as good ' common readers,' as 
 hearty lovers of the people's fare, as Johnson 
 could desire. Surely this is a case where the 
 popular suffrage has been fairly given, and on 
 the side of good taste. Hence it may be sup- 
 posed that the products of unquestionable 
 genius and sincere passion must be marked 
 with a simplicity and obviousness that will 
 make them comprehensible by all ; that being 
 the growth of nature they will be instinctively 
 perceived and felt by the common nature in 
 men ; and that the best criterion of literary 
 excellence will be the consent of plain, un- 
 sophisticated readers. So that if there be diffi- 
 culty or mystery, it must be taken for a fault ; 
 and scholars and critics are but magnifying
 
 154 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 their office and assuming importance to them- 
 selves when they profess to discover anything 
 in a general favorite which has not struck the 
 mass of readers. 
 
 We know that a writer of the highest genius 
 is often a universal idol and deserves to be such. 
 And we readily explain his popularity. Perhaps 
 he is naturally fond of such images and rela- 
 tions as are presented by daily life and common 
 scenes. He gives us adventures and characters 
 and changing fortunes, he delineates passions 
 and motives which go directly to the heart of 
 every man, and the more readily for the sin- 
 gular completeness, warmth and simplicity of 
 the composition. The tone of his reflections 
 is gentle, kind and manly. He is a lover of his 
 race with all their faults and almost because 
 of their faults, bound up as they are with trials, 
 weakness and sorrow. As the reader meets 
 everywhere with something that harmonizes 
 with his usual feelings and experience, he is 
 agreeably excited, without being aware that he 
 is occupied with anything very new, or that 
 requires capacity and resources much beyond 
 his own to produce it. If his natural feelings 
 of wonder or his deepest passions are roused, 
 yet, as no false stimulants are applied, he is 
 moved in much the same manner that he would 
 be by real events of an extraordinary character. 
 
 The points of popular attraction might easily
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 155 
 
 be multiplied ; but it is enough for our purpose 
 that this poem, novel, play, history, or by what- 
 ever name the book may be called, marked all 
 over as it is with originality and profoundness, 
 has yet a great deal that is obvious to every eye. 
 Must we thence infer that popular admiration is 
 evidence of the genius or art that pervades th 
 work? Might not the same effect or equal 
 delight be produced by ordinary writers with 
 an attractive subject? There can be no doubt 
 that this wide-spread interest is in part owing to 
 the power and skill of the author. The produc- 
 tions of a great painter are not without effect 
 upon the common eye, though it might be more 
 gratified by a vast, gorgeous panorama. The 
 simple and much-loved book, we may safely 
 say, has enough for all. Nature or truth is the 
 source of all the favor it enjoys ; but when can 
 any man say that all the depths of nature have 
 been sounded ? Have none found in the book 
 more than its most palpable charm ? Is there 
 nothing more to come to light ? It passes down 
 to other ages. Its language perhaps is no 
 longer spoken and it can no longer be in the 
 hands of common readers. Yet the student, 
 never weary of poring upon its wonders, thinks* 
 he sees in its unabated and even growing power 
 over literature, something more than the mani- 
 fest attraction that won the multitude at the 
 beginning. He believes that what is least ob-
 
 156 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 vious in it is just as natural and true as what 
 is most easily perceived, and far more precious. 
 He sees in what is least obtrusive a beautiful 
 exhibition of the man's peculiar spirit, the 
 highest evidence that he could give of the 
 power of genius ; and moreover, he is ready to 
 predict that it is the very quality of his writings 
 which in the end will have most effect on the 
 literature of the world. In fine, he learns that 
 a work of genius in literature, as in the elegant 
 arts generally, must be studied patiently and 
 long, if we would possess ourselves of the 
 greater part of its highest merits, and make it 
 a pleasure and blessing all our lives. He learns 
 to think less and less of his first impressions ; 
 and even the obvious practical benefit to be de- 
 rived from it fades in the opening light of its 
 nobler qualities and uses. 
 
 Thus it is that a work such as we have de- 
 scribed operates upon a variety of minds. The 
 view here taken will not disturb the placid en- 
 joyment of readers who are satisfied with the 
 charm that plays on the surface or breathes in 
 the air of a long-loved poem ; and the differently 
 constituted reader, who likes to analyze his 
 pleasures, may be allowed to think that he 
 daily discovers a profounder import or a more 
 subtile beauty. 
 
 We have now considered the fortunes of a 
 book acknowledged to be popular, and suggested
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 157 
 
 that it may give higher pleasures than are com- 
 monly received and hence have higher qualities 
 than are commonly recognized. The presump- 
 tion is not unreasonable that a book which is 
 wholly unconsidered by the generality, indeed 
 wholly unknown to them, may yet be among 
 the highest and most influential in the nation's 
 literature. Accordingly, we come next to writ- 
 ings that have not the popular element, but are 
 dark and difficult, and never can look for rank to 
 general estimation. Of course we do not refer 
 to works of science or profound learning. In 
 respect to these, men are pretty generally agreed 
 to surrender all questions of right and merit to 
 the authority of the masters. We are grateful 
 to them if we can but comprehend the results ; 
 and when this seems impossible, we readily take 
 them upon trust. 
 
 We will not attempt to enumerate the varie- 
 ties and causes of obscure communication of 
 thought. Sometimes it seems wilful; sometimes 
 it shows want of training and practice ; some- 
 times it is owing to the nature of the inquiry 
 and the peculiar temperament or habits of the 
 thinker. Let us suppose a retired, abstracted 
 person, ever pondering remote truths, and fond 
 of studying man in general by profound and 
 severe researches into his own mind. Perhaps 
 he lights suddenly upon principles and, in his 
 happy contemplation of them, he does not
 
 158 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 dream how hard it may be to bring them within 
 the comprehension of minds that have not his 
 activity and grasp, or that quick sensibility 
 which makes hints luminous and expands them 
 readily into full dimension. Besides then the 
 novelty and strangeness of his views, which may 
 well prevent general sympathy, his method of 
 laying them before us is unfavorable to impres 1 
 sion. He utters perhaps the greatest thoughts 
 with a brief familiarity that excites no suspicion 
 in most minds how vast is the content of these 
 few words, or with a bold incompleteness that 
 confounds while it animates the reader, and 
 which often proves that the writer himself has 
 not yet perceived the whole importance of his 
 own discovery. There can be no dispute that 
 part of the difficulty of comprehending him is 
 owing to himself; but probably under any cir- 
 cumstances he would not be generally under- 
 stood. At any rate, if we would not be losers, 
 we must take him as he is and make the most 
 of him we can. 
 
 Of one thing we may be very sure, that a 
 writer of this character little troubles himself 
 to learn whether he shall have an audience. It 
 is enough for him that he has thoughts w r hich 
 must be followed out and in some way recorded, 
 though the toil be solitary and his conceptions 
 be doomed to long obscurity. Possibly the in- 
 terpretation may come ; and he can wait as
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 159 
 
 patiently for it as the world. But who shall be 
 the interpreters ? He has thus far educated 
 none for his purpose. Yet some may be grow- 
 ing up round him, his unknown disciples, 
 impatient like himself of drowsy acquiescence in 
 systems and methods of inquiry that did their 
 work ages ago without raising up worthy suc- 
 cessors. They turn to the strange light with 
 instinctive alacrity. The seed that slept in 
 crypts or deep in the soil is at last visited by 
 the life-giving power. The utterer of cloudy 
 oracles has at last touched ears that can hear. 
 And why should not these peculiar spirits be 
 cared for ? Why have not they as good right 
 to be fed and expanded by the only influence 
 that can reach to the depths of their nature, as 
 the rest of the world to be ministered to by such 
 instruction as they need and can profit by ? 
 This may look at first a little exclusive and 
 selfish. The few favored ones are shutting in 
 the truth from the common eye and touch, and 
 making it the property of the master's inner 
 school. No, indeed. They are preparing to 
 teach it. They will by-and-by proclaim it from 
 the house-top. Though working in the spirit of 
 their great friend, they can come nearer than he 
 to the common wants of their kind. No truth, 
 no power can be kept from men's hands and use 
 if they are but able to receive it. It will find 
 its way down to thousands and do them good,
 
 160 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 though they may never know its source or 
 history, or even be able to say precisely what 
 it is. 
 
 By one form or another of obscurity, difficulty, 
 mysticism, we may in part explain the want of 
 popularity of philosophers and poets who are to 
 some men the highest of studies and delights. 
 Nobody is to blame for this state of things ; and, 
 unpromising as it may seem, we may possibly 
 owe to it an amount of mental activity and in- 
 dependence, and a direction of human inquiry 
 that the world could ill have spared. 
 
 It seems, then, that we leave the highest criti- 
 cism in literature in very few hands ; not, how- 
 ever, in the hands of monopolists or exclusives, 
 but of the only true radicals, the men who aim 
 at realizing great ideas, and who believe that 
 much remains and ever will remain to be learned 
 and told. What in fact is the power exercised 
 by those whom we have presumed to regard 
 as our highest literary judges, and how is it 
 esteemed by the reading world generally ? The 
 critical decrees or awards, which bear the strong- 
 est marks of trustworthiness and stability, are 
 not made up in a self-summoned conclave and 
 thence promulgated. There is no club or set 
 into which some are chosen while others are ex- 
 cluded. There is no forcing of dogmas or pecu- 
 liar sentiments on men. The silent current of 
 individual opinion makes its way, and readers
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 161 
 
 fall in with it because they like it. They are 
 pleased with the impulse and guidance that 
 direct them to hidden truth and beauty; and 
 they cannot with so much propriety be said to 
 obey the decree of a master as the decision of 
 their own instructed minds and natural feelings. 
 That the impulse came from others is no dis- 
 credit to those who receive it. It is no more 
 derogatory to human nature or the order of soci- 
 ety that the influence of a few teachers is so 
 great, than that men should be endowed with 
 unequal powers or possess unequal opportunities. 
 This influence is natural and inevitable. 
 
 If indeed there were an instance to be found 
 of a long-continued, general dissatisfaction with 
 the clear opinion of those whom we venture to 
 hold up as the most competent judges in litera- 
 ture and the arts ; if paintings, statues, temples 
 and public grounds, which had been for ages the 
 admiration of artists, students and cultivated 
 men generally, were beheld with indifference or 
 scorn by the multitude ; if the poetry which had 
 held its place in every library and exercised in- 
 fluence and authority upon all subsequent litera- 
 ture, were not simply unknown to the great body 
 of readers, but rejected by them as alien and 
 offensive ; we might be shaken in our confi- 
 dence in the opinion of those we had respected 
 as masters. We might think that convention- 
 alities or excessive education had done violence 
 14*
 
 162 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 to natural feeling; that favor and blind prejudice 
 had all along given currency to false pretension ; 
 and that it was high time to let the unsophisti- 
 cated into the judgment seat to break the spell 
 of ancient error, and cleanse or sweep away this 
 mass of antiquated impurity. But we find no 
 such case ; no setting aside of what are called 
 standard works by the popular voice. And how- 
 ever we may seem to have undervalued this voice 
 in regard to the higher points of art, we cannot 
 but feel that a general acquiescence in the judg- 
 ments of the more competent is a powerful testi- 
 mony. The critic is strengthened, his decision 
 sealed by the generality. He believes that he 
 must have discovered in an author the marks of 
 universal and immutable excellence ; for not only 
 has he the consent of the few whose studies are 
 like his own, but so far as the public attention 
 has been drawn to such matters, the public feel- 
 ing is also on his side. Is there no pledge in 
 this, that the decision of such criticism is never 
 to be reversed ? 
 
 How much more respectable is the intelligent 
 and even grateful acquiescence of less privileged 
 readers, who have small means and uncertain 
 leisure for liberal studies, than the rude dissen- 
 sions among the most gifted and favored respect- 
 ing the merits of those of their own craft, the 
 quarrels of the divinities at their banquet. Ml 
 our boasted foundation of authoritative judgment
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 163 
 
 would seem to crumble under our feet, if we did 
 not see that the contents are often merely per- 
 sonal, often the struggles of schools or parties 
 seeking predominance ; and that jealousy, ill- 
 will, prejudice, exclusiveness or perverseness, 
 enters more or less into them all. The substan- 
 tial differences are slight. No principles are ap- 
 plied, no whole view is taken of anything, and 
 nothing is settled. The long-established name 
 still burns serenely on high, and the bitterly dis- 
 puted claims of later merit still have a patient 
 hearing in spite of the tumult, and a heartier 
 acknowledgment for the trial they have stood. 
 
 Neither are we to be disturbed by the hon- 
 orable differences among generally competent 
 judges. Sincere and long-existing diversities of 
 taste may greatly perplex the question of right 
 and desert. The ablest, the most fair-minded, 
 the most experienced in libraries and in literary 
 opinion, are often at issue upon matters the most 
 essential. A rare thing is it to find a man who 
 can see and relish everything that bears the 
 mark of genius. We limit our love more than 
 our hate. We are inclined to take that for a 
 blemish which departs from what we are in the 
 habit of admiring, and forget that beauty has 
 varieties not less than the mind. But after the 
 fullest acknowledgment of human imperfection, 
 and conceding all that can fairly be demanded 
 to the uncertainty arising from differences of
 
 164 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 
 
 opinion, there cannot be a doubt that some 
 works are established forever. We all admit 
 this immortality as to a few, and we all main- 
 tain it, too, in behalf of our peculiar favorites. 
 There is then some confidence in the ultimate 
 grounds of human judgment. Taste, however 
 defined, and however corrupted, capricious and 
 narrow it may be, in some men and at certain 
 periods, is yet an original faculty or operation 
 of the mind, and has its laws or principles as 
 fixed as those of any power, and requires, like 
 any power, a thorough cultivation for a full de- 
 velopment. So far from being a mere prejudice 
 or fancy, its proper object is never-varying truth 
 and excellence. Those writings, of whatever 
 country or period, which have what for conven- 
 ience we call the consenting voices of nations 
 and ages, however great the variety of genius 
 or of the directions it takes, have this testi- 
 mony of sound taste in their favor, that they all 
 conform to principles and feelings in men which 
 promise in the long run to be uppermost and 
 prevail. And the criticism that passes upon 
 such writings owes all that can properly be 
 called its authority to its detection and illustra- 
 tion of this conformity. Then is it scientific. 
 Nobody who understands it, questions it, be- 
 cause it bears its own evidence that it is just. 
 
 One effect of such views as these of literary 
 tribunals may be to promote a good understand-
 
 LITERARY TRIBUNALS. 165 
 
 ing, and kind, respectful feeling among all classes 
 of readers towards each other. Another effect 
 may be to suggest the evil that would fall on 
 writers, and through them on letters, if the great 
 body of readers were really made the arbiters of 
 literary distinction. The temptation would be 
 irresistible to write down to their capacity and 
 tastes, which would be nearly or quite as fatal 
 as to write up to those of others. All hope and 
 love of the ideal must perish if the author or any 
 artist measures himself and his work by the 
 world without, and determines whether an object 
 is attainable or desirable, by the number of those 
 who will be likely to understand or care about 
 it. Probably no readers, however humble, whose 
 attention has been at all drawn to literature, 
 would thank him for the condescension ; so 
 much more agreeable is it to feel one's self grow- 
 ing stronger by exposure to difficulties, and to 
 the influence of grand thoughts intrepidly uttered, 
 than to be nursed into a life-long imbecility.
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 IN considering the different forms of criticism, 
 we may take them in any order we please, since 
 there fc nothing in their own nature which makes 
 one arrangement preferable to another. 
 
 The first we shall consider is not so much 
 marked by any specific distinction as by the 
 manner of offering it. We refer to the private, 
 confidential criticism we receive from a teacher 
 or friend. Consider its advantages to an author 
 preparing something for publication. The sug- 
 gestions of another, perfectly unreserved sugges- 
 tions, are made to him in secret, before he has 
 committed himself to general readers, from whom 
 he has little reason to expect clemency, and to 
 whom apologies must generally be offered with 
 an ill grace, since he comes before them as a 
 volunteer, and ought to have prepared himself 
 for the judgment which he knows he must en- 
 counter and on which all depends. 
 Then, although he has the opinion of but one 
 
 [166]
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 167 
 
 man, yet the benefit is incalculable of knowing 
 how some other mind is affected by what we 
 have written, that is, if we care to make im- 
 pression. We are often but indifferent judges 
 of our own work. Probably all ardent writers 
 look at their composition as they would at their 
 countenances in a mirror. It has been said that 
 when a man is under the influence of some 
 strong feeling which beams in his face, he can- 
 not look at the reflected image, at the luminous 
 and changing expression, without blighting it, 
 and at the same time deadening the emotion 
 which kindled it. He would turn hastily, impa- 
 tiently to his own heart from what would strike 
 him as a sort of mockery. Consciousness is 
 enough for him. He knows not what the char- 
 acter and expression of his face are. He does 
 not care to know. They are for the use of 
 others, who need them as interpreters of what is 
 passing in his mind. 
 
 It is much the same with animated composi- 
 tion. The points of analogy are obvious. A 
 fervid writer knows very little of the best proper- 
 ties of his style ; very little of the secret of his 
 most brilliant success. When, after the glow of 
 writing, he looks to see how the written repre- 
 sentation of his thoughts appears, he will hardly 
 fail to be disappointed. Many become abso- 
 lutely disgusted with a composition as soon as 
 the work is done. They have not patience to
 
 168 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 take it up again. And we would not have them 
 take it up again, if we could always be sure that 
 a man's honest, hearty words will be as complete 
 and infallible interpreters to others, as the in- 
 stinctive expression of the face is. Here it must 
 be acknowledged that the analogy fails. There 
 are deficiencies in the medium of language that 
 do not exist in the medium of an honest counte- 
 nance. And the writer may be as ill-qualified 
 to note such deficiencies as to point out what is 
 good in his style. Hence he will do well to con- 
 sult a friend, who can take up the manuscript 
 freshly, as a stranger, and advise him if anything 
 be wanting to bring him into more perfect com- 
 munication with his readers. Instances there 
 are of eminent writers submitting their produc- 
 tions to the judgment of very ordinary persons, 
 to ascertain how they would be likely to affect 
 the common mind. And few authors have 
 passed under the supervision of skilful proof- 
 readers at a printing office, without receiving 
 gratefully the suggestions of such experienced 
 observers of language and style. 
 
 The consultation, here recommended, of some 
 friend, is a matter of mere prudence and good 
 common sense. The purpose is to set anything 
 right that may be out of the way. But I am 
 not unaware that some authors seek this consult- 
 ation with their minds made up ; perhaps ex- 
 pecting praise or encouragement, or, perhaps
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 169 
 
 wishing to know what can be said against them, 
 without the least thought of adopting the friendly 
 hints they may receive. If your ill-fortune should 
 ever bring you into connection with such persons, 
 may you have the sagacity to discern their pur- 
 pose early, so that you may shun a load of 
 thankless trouble by courteously declining the 
 office of literary adviser. 
 
 One obvious advantage of this private criti- 
 cism is, that it admits of the minutest strictures. 
 There is leisure to correct the slightest inaccura- 
 cies and to show the reason for the correction. 
 In this point of view such familiar criticism is 
 particularly important to those who are begin- 
 ning to write, at a time of life when a habit is 
 easily formed, when the merely mechanical mas- 
 tery and application of rules may be perfectly 
 acquired, and the perception of accuracy and 
 fitness is readily developed. 
 
 But it must be owned that with all the bene- 
 fits of this friendly criticism, it is the most irk- 
 some to which a writer, and especially a young 
 writer, can be subjected. Other strictures may 
 be more galling; but I suspect there are none 
 which a man bears less patiently, than those 
 which require him to part with a favorite word 
 or form of expression, or to alter the arrangement 
 of sentences or clauses, or omit them altogether 
 and perhaps substitute others. He may think, 
 indeed, that no words in the language and no 
 15
 
 170 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 disposition of them are quite equal to a full ex- 
 pression of his meaning ; but, as he has made his 
 selection and done his best, he is unwilling to 
 have a contest with the critic after having suf- 
 fered enough from his mother tongue. He won- 
 ders that others do not and will not see things 
 as he does. He would rather sacrifice the whole 
 composition than make the proposed changes. 
 The sorely tried writer of themes will beg the 
 perhaps not less sorely tried reader to remember 
 Quintilian's almost pathetic caution : Ingenia 
 puerorum nimia interim emendationis severitate 
 deficere. Nam et desperant, et dolent, et novis- 
 sime oderunt, et, quod maxime nocet, dum om- 
 nia timent, nihil conantur.' * 
 
 This extreme sensitiveness is sometimes a 
 mark of vanity or ignorance or obstinacy ; but it 
 is often a proof that the sufferer sees something 
 choice and pertinent in a word or arrangement 
 which another is blind to. I regard a strong 
 conviction in such matters as no faint evidence 
 that one is in the right. And in such cases he 
 will quietly follow his own judgment. If he 
 aims at anything like true originality and excel- 
 lence as a \vriter, he must have opinions of his 
 own and adhere to them, though always with a 
 liberal deference to those of others, who may 
 have a right to his respect though not to his sub- 
 mission. 
 
 *Instit, Orat. II. 4.
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 171 
 
 I have one remark to make on verbal criticism. 
 As this criticism is devoted to words, and some- 
 times carried to great length when treating of the 
 use of a mere particle, many are so inconsiderate 
 as to think it pedantic and of little worth, a 
 laborious trifling, a weak scrupulosity about 
 accuracy in particulars that are quite insignifi ; 
 cant. I am so far from admitting this that I' 
 consider the literary world and the cause of truth 
 much indebted to those diligent philologists who 
 devote their lives to settling the whole history of 
 words and the true reading of doubtful passages. 
 One may smile to see so much care and perse- 
 verance devoted to so unostentatious an acqui- 
 sition ; so many manuscripts ransacked and 
 compared to determine some disputed point 
 amongst scholars. But it is a much more pleas- 
 ing view of the case that men are so differently 
 constituted, that nothing will fail to have some 
 who will give it heed. We want to know the 
 truth in all things ; and if great anxiety is some- 
 times shown to find out the truth in matters of 
 apparently small importance, we have good 
 grounds for believing that it will not be neglected 
 in those of the highest concern. 
 
 And what is of higher concern in literature 
 than words? Is it said, the thoughts? But 1 
 do we not think in words ? Do we not speak 
 and write with them ? Do they not embody 
 and preserve sentiments, images, feelings and
 
 172 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 give them the best, we had almost said the only 
 form, by which a stranger can become acquainted 
 with them? Ask the logician what sign he 
 thinks the most certain that a man has made 
 progress in his art ; ask him what he holds to 
 be the surest proof that a man thinks clearly 
 and thoroughly; and he will reply, the uni- 
 formly just use of language. Ask the man of 
 taste, the true critic, how he accounts for the 
 great, the whole impression which he has re- 
 ceived from a poem, and he will refer you, in 
 no small measure, to words used with such 
 force and appropriateness, that the slightest 
 change would be as hurtful as throwing a false 
 light on a landscape. True vigor of composition 
 depends as much upon a pervading exactness 
 in what some deem little things, as upon the 
 reverent observance of great principles of style. 
 Hence, the importance of verbal criticism ; 
 not that it can mechanically give us an insight 
 into the life and beauty of words, or the power 
 to summon the only fit ones to serve our pur- 
 pose ; but that it draws attention to their 
 importance and helps us to discriminate their 
 significance. 
 
 I pass to several kinds of criticism in w r hich 
 authors are not more interested than readers, 
 and shall speak first of the office of annotators. 
 With one class of these we have no concern 
 in the present discussion; namely, those who
 
 FOKMS OF CRITICISM. 173 
 
 apply themselves to make an old standard work 
 more complete and useful by adding to it, in 
 the form of notes, anything important, con- 
 nected with the subject, which the author over- 
 looked, or, most commonly, which has. come 
 to light or been established since his time. 
 You frequently observe such additions to sci- 
 entific works, especially those which are pro- 
 fessional ; and little more than learning and 
 prudence is necessary to make a good annotator 
 of this class. The critical notes to which I 
 now direct your attention are designed to illus- 
 trate literary productions, and they sometimes 
 analyze an author's genius and writings, though 
 this office is commonly performed in separate 
 works. Such criticism requires research and a 
 clear perception of all that is peculiar in the 
 subject. The critic must comprehend the genius 
 and temper of his author, the circumstances 
 under which he wrote, the object he aimed at, 
 and, as far as may be, his manner of life, his 
 education and opportunities. He will often be 
 obliged to consider him in connection with his 
 contemporaries and his predecessors, and take 
 a thousand small matters into the account, 
 by which he may explain or reconcile what 
 may appear. to be anomalous or contradictory. v 
 Some critics of this class have such a re- 
 markable power of associating themselves with 
 their author, though of a far distant country 
 15*
 
 174 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 and age, that x it seems as if they must have 
 lived in his society. They do not appear to 
 give us so much the deductions of long and 
 painful inquiry and comparison, as that familiar 
 knowledge which a man unconsciously acquires 
 of one with whom he has been on terms of 
 intimacy all his life. I may mention as some- 
 what illustrating this kind of criticism, that 
 most original work, the ' Hora? Paulinae' of 
 Dr. Paley ; a work that cannot be too earnestly 
 recommended to those who are fond of reason- 
 ing upon facts of seeing historical truth 
 clearly and beautifully established by a collec- 
 tion and comparison of minute, artless and 
 scattered particulars. So easily and simply 
 is the work done, that the reader may not 
 even stop to admire the care and skill with 
 which the author has brought together his ex- 
 amples of undesigned coincidence, from the 
 Book of Acts and the Letters of Paul. He finds 
 himself, he hardly knows how, the Apostle's 
 companion and witness. 
 
 To those who are familiar with the ancient 
 classics, I need not mention the labor and acute- 
 ness which the moderns have bestowed on them, 
 to restore the text, and to illustrate passages by 
 every help which could be drawn from history, 
 geography, the remains of ancient art and the 
 comparison of different authors, or of the same 
 author with himself.
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 175 
 
 You know how common it is to publish the 
 early English writers, and especially the poets, 
 with notes and illustrations of various kinds. 
 A large amount of this proffered help is received 
 with little gratitude or patience, and for good 
 reasons. The explanation is often needless and 
 ostentatious, or imperfect where it is really 
 wanted. In many cases, the annotator so ex- 
 ceeds his office as to give us a paraphrase in 
 flat prose of some fine poetical passage, which 
 has already revealed itself to us with full bril- 
 liancy and warmth. Besides, how disgusting 
 are the quarrels of these commentators with 
 each other. What have we to do with Pope's 
 contempt or Gifford's snarling, when we have 
 spread out before us the minds of Shakspeare 
 and Jonson ? It is bad enough to be obliged 
 to turn our eyes from the text to learn what the 
 note has to say of an obsolete term, an obscure 
 allusion, or a corruption in the text ; but it is 
 intolerable to be summoned away by the critic, 
 when we have no need of him, and when we 
 may be sure to find him ill-natured. 
 
 The complaint here made is not against notes 
 themselves, but the too common method and 
 spirit in which they are written. The best way 
 to study the early poetry of England is to read 
 as much of it as we can in the best editions, 
 and make ourselves familiar with the writers, 
 and through them, as far as we may, with their
 
 176 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 times. When w x e come to words or allusions 
 that need explanation, we must consult glossaries 
 and notes. Tyrwhitt's edition of the Canter- 
 bury Tales, contains an excellent specimen of 
 such works of reference. Let your first reading 
 be from the simple text, as pure as you can 
 find, so that the author may have one hope at 
 least of making his own impression. Be slow 
 to look elsewhere for help till you feel that you 
 must have it. It will be time enough to ac- 
 quire a critical knowledge of perplexing and 
 disputed passages, and such are commonly 
 of small importance, when your enthusiasm 
 for an author is so powerful and established 
 that you are unwilling to remain in doubt as 
 to a single word he has written. 
 
 There is a class of works, not properly criti- 
 cal, which may have some influence in keeping 
 alive your interest in the earlier writings and 
 assisting you to a better understanding of them. 
 I mean those which give us familiar accounts 
 of the times in illustration of books. They 
 may not be very profound, and there is no 
 reason why they should be ; but they are full 
 of curious matter, derived from sources to which 
 many would find it difficult to resort. Such 
 are the collections of I)' Israeli and Drake. Of 
 a far higher order, but aiding us in a similar 
 way, are Lives of eminent authors. I mean, 
 real Lives, not such faery creations as Mr.
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 177 
 
 Knight's Biography of Shakspeare, with here 
 and there a fact or a fragment of fact floating 
 in a sea of conjecture ; but substantial accounts 
 of men of whom there is something to say. 
 
 But to return to works that are more to our 
 purpose, we next distinguish those, partly his- 
 torical and partly critical, that treat minutely 
 and comprehensively of the literature of par- 
 ticular ages, or of some one department of 
 literature through successive ages. Here we 
 are made acquainted with obscure authors, who 
 yet had their influence in their day and upon 
 the literature that followed. We have speci- 
 mens of early writings, the very image of the 
 times, which we might have sought in vain 
 elsewhere. It is hardly necessary to say that 
 the eminent have their naturally commanding 
 position, and are better understood and valued 
 for the close connection we are now able to 
 remark between them and their inferiors, or 
 between the days of almost barbarian and those 
 of cultivated genius. This brief reference must 
 serve for a large and important department of 
 criticism, which, though in some respects allied 
 to others that we have spoken of, has abund- 
 ance of its own to demand and reward the most 
 ample consideration. 
 
 The gravest and most elaborate form of Criti- 
 cism is seen in philosophical discussions of the 
 subjects of taste, beauty, art, such as Burke's
 
 178 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 ' Inquiry,' the lectures of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 and of Fuseli, Alison's ' Essays,' and some of 
 Stewart's ' Philosophical Essays.' However 
 these discussions may differ in points of theory, 
 they all proceed upon the belief that whatever 
 comes within the province of taste has fixed 
 characteristics, distinct, recognized principles, 
 which are more or less exemplified by great 
 artists of every class, and may be constantly 
 turned to use by those who are studying to 
 make themselves perfect in art. They direct 
 the mind to itself to examine what there is in 
 its constitution or action, and abroad to con- 
 sider what there is in the objects it contem- 
 plates, on which the pleasures of taste depend. 
 They teach us that beauty and sublimity are 
 not things of custom, fashion or unstable opin- 
 ion ; that verse and prose, the epic, the drama, 
 the ode, are not arbitrary devices of this or that 
 man to suit himself; but that they are natural 
 methods of answering to some want or some 
 affection. 
 
 The tendency of this class of works is to 
 give criticism an enlarged spirit, to make it a 
 point of honor with those who undertake to 
 pass judgment upon a book, to bring right feel- 
 ings and well-ascertained principles to the ex- 
 amination. Polite literature rises in dignity 
 and value; for the exercise it gives the mind 
 is found to be more than a gay admiration of
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 179 
 
 elegance, of animated fancies, of the skill one 
 shows in new contrivances of fashion or plea- 
 sant departures from the useful and dull. Our 
 favorite literature is to have some effect upon 
 our tempers, opinions and course of life. So 
 that a judicious adviser, if asked what books he 
 would put into the hands of a young scholar 
 to be of service to him in clearing his judgment, 
 quickening his abhorrence of all that is indeli- 
 cate or vicious, and elevating and multiplying 
 his enjoyments, would name among the best 
 those which explain the secret and influence of 
 our literary pleasures, and which lead us to look 
 as philosophers, as Christians and as men of 
 feeling upon those high exercises of the mind 
 which pass under the general name of taste. 
 
 The last kind of criticism to be named seems 
 to be meant for the whole reading world, but 
 authors have in it a special and tender interest, 
 however little it may profit or please them. I 
 refer to literary reviews, a most miscellaneous 
 order of criticism truly, if it can be properly 
 called one order. Under this denomination you 
 will find substantially all or nearly all the classes 
 that I have already tried to discriminate, and a 
 great deal besides. You will meet with many 
 Articles of the highest ability and importance, 
 which, so far from being critical in any sense, 
 are independent discussions of subjects of any 
 kind ; the title of a book, more or less connected
 
 180 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 with the topic, "being prefixed for form's sake. 
 Our concern at present is, of course, with re- 
 views considered as critical examinations of 
 books. 
 
 Within the present century, English Reviews 
 have risen to an importance that they never 
 knew before ; and the change is so striking an 
 event in recent literary history, it is so truly a 
 distinction of the age, that it receives great 
 consideration from those who carefully observe 
 the times. Instead of short analyses, summa- 
 ries of literary news and slight strictures, re- 
 views now contain elaborate investigations of 
 the subjects of works, of the genius of authors, 
 the principles of criticism, the faults and beauties 
 of style and language. They note the changes 
 in literature, the fluctuations of popularity, the 
 influence of uncommon minds and striking 
 examples. They aim at comprehensive views, 
 by tracing the connection between the literature 
 of different periods, and the origin and results 
 of great literary revolutions. 
 
 Here you see work for the profoundest and 
 best-informed minds ; and many such have been 
 willing to rest their influence on such notoriety 
 and permanence as they could secure by anony- 
 mous articles in a critical journal. They could 
 not overlook the fact that many an able article 
 must fade from the general mind soon after its 
 publication. But they seem to have thought
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 181 
 
 it worth consideration that they had the oppor- 
 tunity to put men's minds in motion, and, 
 especially, to give a direction to opinion upon 
 subjects that already occupied the public* 
 What if they could hope but little higher 
 notoriety than that of being talked of while the 
 topic was of immediate interest, or the number 
 of the journal was still a novelty, they yet 
 thought it something to give an impulse to 
 society which might last long after they were 
 forgotten. 
 
 However we may explain the improved char- 
 acter of reviews and the disinterestedness of 
 their contributors, there is no dispute that they 
 are a part of our most popular, fashionable and 
 instructive reading, and fill a large place in 
 public and private libraries. Subjects of all 
 sorts, of local and temporary, or general and 
 permanent interest, the opinions of others upon 
 them, the manner in which others have treated 
 them, are placed within the reach of every- 
 body ; so that it will not do for any one who 
 reads at all to neglect the journals, if he would 
 be prepared to talk with all upon much that 
 is occupying them. The owner of a perfect 
 series of a good review has (I will not say a 
 systematic, but) a most instructive and agree- 
 able account of the period over which it ex- 
 tends, in almost every point of view. Even 
 the inferior articles have their use, and the 
 16
 
 182 FORMS OP CRITICISM. 
 
 signs of resolute partisanship are informing and 
 admonitory, 
 
 I must not omit to say, as partially affecting 
 the remarks upon the faint prospects of distant 
 fame held out to reviewers, that selections of 
 the most important of the old articles, for col- 
 lective publication, are becoming common ; 
 and, moreover, individual contributors some- 
 times bring together their own articles in 
 distinct works. This practice has its advan- 
 tages ; but it may be doubted whether readers 
 of these collections, especially in another gene- 
 ration, will feel the exhilaration of a contem- 
 porary, who took up the just published number, 
 with its various matter and minds, its veteran 
 writers and eager recruits ; when everybody 
 was busy in detecting an old favorite, or in- 
 quiring after the name and pretensions of a 
 new candidate and lauding or scolding at 
 pleasure. The reviewer himself may have been 
 powerfully affected by this pressure of public 
 interest. 
 
 There is one evil at least to be apprehended 
 from reviews, but one that is incidental to 
 all criticism, and, we may add, to all instruc- 
 tion, that they may impair self-dependence, 
 may tempt men to forego the benefit and 
 pleasure of drawing from original sources and 
 thinking for themselves. To speak only for 
 their authority in literary questions ; I know
 
 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 183 
 
 little respecting its extent at the present day; 
 but the time has been when the decree of a 
 favorite journal was held by many to be 
 decisive, as a matter of course. The decree 
 might have been decisive for the grounds on 
 which it rested. It is no doubt possible to 
 pronounce to-day, upon a book just published, 
 an opinion which shah 1 be substantially the same 
 with that of all time to come. But there are 
 obvious reasons for receiving the opinion at the 
 time with caution. The general excitement 
 which a new book may produce ; the fact that 
 all minds are warmed by it and warmed by 
 each other while everybody is talking about 
 it,* may naturally lead one to think that then, 
 if ever, the whole character of the work will 
 be seen and felt. Still there is cause to fear 
 exaggeration, whether the general impression 
 be favorable or hostile, and that the retired 
 critic will not escape the charm of voices 
 that he hears on every side. Besides, he may 
 have his private grudges or partialities ; he 
 and his author may be of the same or dif- 
 ferent parties ; he may have perversely com- 
 mitted himself to the support of error and 
 injustice. We may not then take any criti- 
 cism as of course having authority, but merely 
 as so much literary opinion that we ourselves 
 
 * Quarterly Review, Volume 57, Article on Thomas Camp- 
 belL
 
 184 FORMS OF CRITICISM. 
 
 are to weigh ; while we hold the critic to be 
 just as open to censure and amenable to 
 opinion as if he were himself before the 
 judge.
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 No modest teacher would claim to have made 
 his pupil a good writer ; and no prudent one, 
 even if he believed in his so great success, would 
 undertake to say how it was effected. The 
 young man himself could not explain the process 
 by the most severe inquiry into the growth of 
 his mind, and of the now fully developed power 
 of execution. 
 
 So far as my own department of instruction 
 is concerned, it would be easy to name the 
 grammar and the rhetorical treatise that have 
 been used, the dictionary that has been recom- 
 mended, the authors that have been held up as 
 masters of the language, and examples of style 
 so far as any writer can be safely studied as a 
 direct example. It would be easy to describe 
 the courses of lectures that have teen read to 
 classes, and the method of conducting the critical 
 exercises in composition. But how insufficient 
 do all these appear to account for what we see a 
 16* [185]
 
 186 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 man do when he passes from the rudiments at 
 school to responsible writing in the real work of 
 life. The halting but vigorous strugglers who 
 had suffered mishaps here from the beginning, 
 are now transformed. Those who were ready 
 and graceful writers when they came, and whom 
 the teacher regarded as needing little or no guid- 
 ance from him, can confer upon him no deserved 
 honor by their increased vigor and skill. The 
 timid and careful move with more freedom now 
 that they are left to themselves. 
 
 The change is not adequately explained by 
 their entire change of habits on leaving college. 
 A revolution has taken place in their minds, and, 
 like others, not without a cause. It was not 
 sudden, though it may seem so when it is first 
 observed. It did not break out as a violent, 
 separate event in their history. The preparation 
 has been various, gradual and harmonious. The 
 dull books and exercises of the rhetoric-class, we 
 will believe, had their work to do among the 
 other powers, and their effect has not perished, 
 though they themselves, like the other instru- 
 ments, are now forgotten. 
 
 The confidence of teachers that their appa- 
 ratus has not been applied in vain may be par- 
 doned them. * It is not arrogant. They can say 
 truly that part of their instruction was most 
 definite, and, though humble, it generally accom- 
 plished what it proposed. Perhaps they hope
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 187 
 
 that more was taught than forms and proprieties, 
 and that they led the mind to feel that there was 
 some bond between the forms and proprieties 
 and its own action. The process, after all, may 
 have been more than mechanical. 
 
 The instructer, then, parts with many a young 
 man in strong faith that he has done him good, 
 but still perfectly willing to say that the prepara- 
 tion, for all that appears, is so unequal to any 
 great effect, that he will not try to show a single 
 point of its efficacy beyond the most humble of 
 its offices. It is of no importance that he should. 
 He is still encouraged to go on with the work. 
 The instruction he gives is of ancient appoint- 
 ment, and most certainly relates to those ac- 
 complishments for which the mature writer is 
 honored. The public think there is some con- 
 nection between the means and the success, and 
 wish the same discipline to be carried on with 
 the next generation. Moreover, the skilful writer 
 himself cares nothing for the secret of the process 
 now that the end is obtained. And even if the 
 entire series of influences that helped to make 
 him what he is could be clearly stated in exact 
 order, it might be of no use to a differently con- 
 stituted mind. 
 
 Admitting then that the pupil does well to 
 accept long-tried modes of education without 
 question or misgiving, still some details of his 
 experience admit of intelligible statement, and
 
 188 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 are of interest to v both the young and the mature 
 writer, though possibly not of very direct use to 
 either. 
 
 There is something worth our notice in the 
 state of our minds when writing or when pre- 
 viously meditating upon our subject. If a man 
 were asked whether he considered the mental 
 action then going on as voluntary and submitted 
 to his absolute regulation, he might at first reply 
 that he did. He might say, ' I have always been 
 accustomed to prepare myself for the work. I 
 can recognize certain habits and methods which 
 I generally follow and which I know that I 
 formed for myself. If a man is not master in an 
 occupation like this, what is meant by such ex- 
 pressions as the mind's deliberate discoveries, its 
 creative power, its reliance upon its own efforts 
 in the absence of foreign aids and motives ? ' 
 
 A friend may remind him that one at least of 
 the philosophers thinks that there is more in his 
 case than this.* The mind's perpetual activity 
 and flow of thought are not dependent upon his 
 will. Let him try to thrust out the remem- 
 brance of some great calamity or good fortune, 
 and it will yet rush over him like a flood. Let 
 him lie down to rest and give over all care, hav- 
 ing neither the wish nor the power to repel or 
 invite meditation ; and what rapid, countless 
 fancies, arguments, schemes of conduct and 
 
 * Tucker's ' Light of Nature Pursued.' Vol. L Chap. 1.
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 189 
 
 grave observations will pour into the unguarded 
 recesses of his soul, and pass away for the influx 
 of others; and all this shall be done as secretly 
 and quietly as a good or evil spirit was supposed 
 to breathe thoughts into the unresisting fancy of 
 a dreamer. The author referred to, appealing to 
 every one's experience, insists that a man, sitting 
 down to study, ' produces none of the thoughts 
 passing in his mind ; not even that which he 
 uses as the clew to bring in all the others.' He 
 allows him, however, the power of directing, 
 though he cannot cause or prevent their motion. 
 As he is fond of illustration, he applies the fol- 
 lowing example to his purpose. 
 
 ' We may compare our student to a man who 
 has a river running through his grounds, which 
 divides into a multitude of channels. If he 
 dams up all the rest, the stream will flow in the 
 one he leaves open. If he finds it breaking out 
 into side branches, he can keep it within bounds 
 by stopping up the outlets. If he perceives the 
 course it takes ineffectual for his purpose, he can 
 throw a mound across, and let it overflow at any 
 gap he judges convenient. The water runs by 
 its own strength without any impulse from the. 
 man, and, whatever he does to it, will find a 
 vent somewhere or other. He may turn, alter or 
 direct its motion, but neither gave nor can take 
 it away. Sc it is with our thoughts.' 
 
 It remains for every writer to say whether this
 
 190 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 representation itf according to his experience. 
 How much does he set down which he antici- 
 pated when he began to reflect upon a subject ? 
 After his work is done, how much does he find 
 to be the result of previous design ? He may 
 begin with a prominent idea, which it is his 
 purpose to lay open. Very soon unexpected 
 relations spring up and gather round it, till some- 
 times the original subject becomes subordinate. 
 A deeper and more comprehensive truth is dis- 
 cerned. His first scheme will be an embarrass- 
 ment to him, if he has not set about his work 
 with the feeling that it is never wise or safe, in 
 entering upon a course of meditation, to say pre- 
 cisely whither it shall lead him. He thinks it 
 will never do thus to commit himself as to the 
 result. The incipient motions of thought, doubt- 
 ful and prudent as they may well be, may soon 
 acquire heroic energy, and his subject will dilate 
 with his capacity and warmth. Behold how 
 great a matter a little fire kindleth. Two or 
 three characters only, with as many scenes and 
 incidents, have swelled to a grand drama or 
 novel, and he feels almost like a stranger in the 
 midst of his own works. This is far from being 
 a sign of an ill-disciplined mind, or of one igno- 
 rant of its strength and resources, and borne into 
 mere extravagances by a weak surrender of 
 itself to a passing influence. It is the natural 
 experience of some men in the healthiest mental
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 191 
 
 condition. In others, constitutionally more cool, 
 or habitually more guarded, the course of ideas 
 will be slower and less unexpected, but not es- 
 sentially unlike. 
 
 Nothing that has just been said or quoted 
 throws any doubt upon our having a great deal 
 to do for ourselves as thinkers and writers. We 
 may be very ignorant with regard to the produc- 
 tion of thoughts. The poet who invokes a muse 
 to inspire him may act as rationally as he who 
 sits down to make a book with the declaration 
 that he will work it all out of his own head, with 
 a consciousness of every step, with a foresight of 
 all that is to come, and with a resolution not to 
 put down a single thought which he does not 
 owe to a voluntary exercise of reflection. But 
 of this we are certain, that we are purposely, not 
 less than unconsciously, to supply materials and 
 multiply occasions for thinking; and that it de- 
 pends upon ourselves, upon the habits we form 
 and the discipline we exercise, whether we are 
 employed to good purpose or not. A very gen 
 eral subject is here opened to us, in which both 
 the moral and intellectual character are con- 
 cerned ; and in most of its bearings the writer is 
 not more interested than other persons. Our 
 business, however, is with the writer alone, and 
 we shall now suppose him to be agitating the 
 question, ' What good use can I make of 
 reading as a part of my preparation ? '
 
 192 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 At school and college I suppose books are 
 looked upon, partly, as requiring of him a certain 
 amount of hard work, for some mysterious good 
 that they are to yield by and by. As connected 
 with his exercises in composition, they are con- 
 sulted upon particular subjects for facts, thoughts 
 and illustrations to be applied directly to a pres- 
 ent task ; and probably some favorite author is 
 remembered for fascinating peculiarities of style 
 which, with the natural love of imitation in early 
 life, the student is pleased to exhibit on his own 
 page. There is no cause for wonder that such a 
 use is made of resources so near at hand, by one 
 who is now for the first time called on to per- 
 form exercises so grave and so alarming to his 
 self-diffidence. The research, moreover, may be 
 useful beyond its serving a present emergency. 
 The bad effects of the practice it is not easy to 
 prevent, because it is not easy so to define and 
 press them that they will be felt or even appre- 
 hended by the young. The indirect benefit of 
 reading and by far the highest, I mean its 
 exercising the mind, forming the judgment and 
 taste, and breathing a spirit, far better than that 
 of emulation, the spirit of independence and self- 
 reliance, this indirect effect of good books, 
 though never wholly lost upon the young, is yet 
 scarcely valued as it should be till we reach a 
 time of life, when we are disposed to examine a 
 little both the influences which have shaped our
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 193 
 
 minds, and those which, unhappily, failed to 
 make a decided impression. 
 
 Many are the complaints which are brought 
 against books. If they were confined to our ill 
 selection, or to hurtful habits of reading, they 
 might, though very seasonable, attract little no- 
 tice. But books are said to make us indolent 
 and self-indulgent; to create a love of plodding 
 accumulation or a morbid taste for bibliographi- 
 cal curiosities ; a vain self-complacency in the 
 amount of our reading, such as is never produced 
 by other modes of acquisition ; and a general 
 disposition to stop at what we read, to acquiesce 
 in opinions, and take pride in calling men mas- 
 ters. I cannot undertake to refute in detail what 
 I think to be wrong in these accusations, or to 
 state with proper qualifications what is unques- 
 tionably true in them, and wisely intended for 
 counsel and warning. A brief notice of the last 
 complaint is all that I propose to myself, and 
 merely for the purpose of considering the sup- 
 posed unfavorable influence of reading on origi- 
 nality. I put out of view all who can properly 
 be called plagiarists, and have little more respect 
 for those who reject, as far as they may, all 
 foreign aid. 
 
 The only question is, do books make us less 
 
 independent, less ourselves, than any other source 
 
 of knowledge or exhilaration ? Some contend 
 
 that this is the ordinary effect of high cultivation 
 
 17
 
 194 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 and abundant reading; that there will always 
 be less of character in literature where colleges, 
 libraries, teachers and learned associations 
 abound ; and they see the want increasing with 
 the multiplication and lower prices of books. If 
 we doubt this influence and support ourselves by 
 citing eminent examples to the contrary, they 
 treat those as exceptions or explain away their 
 authority, and still maintain that the fewer direct 
 helps you give the writer, the better. At first 
 thought, originality would seem to be too strong 
 a quality to be hurtfully affected by circumstan- 
 ces of any kind. Let us try to see what it is, 
 that we may better understand its perils. 
 
 The word original, is commonly used to de- 
 note the character of a mind which, from its 
 constitution and natural action, not from 
 weak and random eccentricity, but from sound, 
 inherent activity, takes its own view of things 
 and makes its own use of them. Originality 
 supposes that we draw from original sources ; 
 but not in the same sense that the voyager or 
 naturalist draws absolutely new facts from ex- 
 ploring oceans or the kingdoms of nature. It is 
 not of the least moment whether a subject be 
 just brought to the notice of men, or be the old- 
 est and commonest ; nor yet from what quarter 
 or in what way it comes ; for, if an original 
 mind acts at all, it must act up to its character ; 
 it must reflect itself upon whatever it stu-
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 195 
 
 dies.* So that we are justified in saying that 
 what it draws from its subject owes, in one 
 sense, its existence to this mind, and bears its 
 stamp. 
 
 It belongs to its nature to spread itself over 
 everything that comes in its way, if there be 
 any possibility of sympathy ; not, however, for 
 the purpose of saying something new and 
 strange, but because it loves and seeks exercise. 
 Hence it is always likely to be well filled; not 
 simply that it has ample collections, but because 
 of its power to give new forms to things and 
 convert them to its special use. It is rich, not 
 by hoarding borrowed treasures but by turning 
 everything into gold. So cheerful, healthy and 
 active does this quality seem to be, that we 
 are almost constrained to think that it must 
 manifest itself most strongly and generously 
 when it is exposed to a variety of objects 'and 
 interests. 
 
 Some, however, believe that isolation is pecu- 
 liarly favorable to originality. No doubt a her- 
 mit may be original in the absence both of 
 men and of books ; but not because of his 
 solitude or his privations. His condition would 
 look very unpromising to most men. Imagine 
 him forever by himself, musing upon himself, 
 
 * ' Originality never works more fruitfully than in a soil rich 
 and deep with the foliage of ages.' Westminster Review, 
 January, 1854.
 
 196 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 revolving a few" favorite opinions, and buried 
 in speculations all of one character. This, cer- 
 tainly, is the most perfect seclusion. But his 
 habits seem more likely to produce harsh and 
 narrow peculiarity than expansive and animated 
 individuality. He will probably soon have 
 much of the oddness, of the constant reference 
 to self and repetition of self which we com- 
 monly observe in solitary men. He may learn 
 to exaggerate trifles because they are his, and 
 remain stationary in 'the contemplation of his 
 darling conceits. There is good reason to think 
 that the mind may be made as feeble in its 
 whole character by turning perpetually upon 
 itself and refusing help or impulse from abroad, 
 as by immersing itself in books and resting 
 in the thoughts and reports of other men. 
 There are madmen and sluggards in cells as 
 well as in libraries. So that, on the whole, it 
 does not belong to us to say that a man's con- 
 dition, tastes, pursuits, his great learning or his 
 meagre learning, have anything to do with 
 the manifestation of original qualities. This 
 seems to lie wholly with himself. 
 
 A book then may be as strictly an original 
 source as anything else. As giving us informa- 
 tion only, it is sometimes as new and animating 
 as the ocean to an inland man. Besides, what 
 nobler or more original study can we have than 
 that of a man in his writings, a contemplative
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 197 
 
 being, and often more fully disclosed to us 
 there, than he could be in a life of action ; and 
 brought near to us for our minute inspection 
 and full sympathy. 
 
 But there is a vague notion that a book differs 
 from all other literary sources in one important 
 point, so far as the present question is con- 
 cerned ; and the distinction is, that what we 
 read has already been revolved by a human 
 mind. The germ or element of thought, once 
 common property, is no longer in its simple 
 state. It is appropriated by being modified, 
 colored, combined with other substances and 
 capable of peculiar application after being sub- 
 jected to this hidden transmutation. A charm 
 is now thrown round it, a consecration that 
 must not be violated. A seal, not to be mis- 
 taken, is set upon it, and you cannot use the 
 thought unless by taking it avowedly just as 
 you find it. And the same, of course, would 
 be as true of what we hear as of what we 
 read. 
 
 This theory of property and inviolability is 
 pleasing and not without foundation. But 
 what a strange idea must the objector have of 
 the use we may lawfully make of another man s 
 thoughts. We may never have occasion to 
 borrow them ; but is this the only or even the 
 best service to which we can honestly put 
 them ? Do we wrong the owner because we 
 17*
 
 198 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 are warmed into admiration, strengthened, 
 purified, made happy by his words, and better 
 prepared for our peculiar work ? ' Does he 
 suffer loss because our lamp is lighted at 
 his ? ' 
 
 But there are more direct and equally honor- 
 able modes of using what others have written. 
 We frequently hear it said, in no malicious 
 sense, that a man makes what he reads his 
 own. It did not pass into his memory to re- 
 main there in. its original shape, like an histori- 
 cal date or the buried talent. It exercised his 
 mind and received a character from it. lie 
 does not seek for it in his memory as a laid-up 
 treasure ; it is not copied as a brilliant passage 
 from his common-place book ; but it springs up 
 in connection with his own thoughts, and be- 
 comes so intimately a part of them that he does 
 suspect that he is indebted for it to another. 
 The first proprietor, should he recognize it, 
 would have no other feeling than of delight to 
 see his property in such good hands and turned 
 to so good account. This, to be sure, is not 
 the highest use we can make of another man's 
 mind, but it will serve to answer a somewhat 
 over-refined objection. 
 
 That a student is exposed to perils from his 
 constant association with great writers is not 
 disputed. I refer not to the grossest of these
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 199 
 
 perils, such as the temptation to take the 
 thoughts or copy the style of another, nor 
 yet to the subtle enchantment which draws v 
 one unconsciously into imitation of his special 
 favorite or of the popular idol of the day. 
 There is danger from terror as well as from 
 love. A man may be discouraged by contem- 
 plating excellence. His sense of this excellence 
 is of itself proof of no small capacity and re- c .t 
 source on his own part, and, if left to its natural 
 and free action, would swell into generous, sus- 
 taining admiration and reverence. But it may 
 also create self-distrust ; and this may degener- 
 ate, if not into envy, yet, into despair or peevish 
 uneasiness at the idea that he cannot reach 
 another's elevation. Why, rather, does there 
 not spring up the glowing thought, I, too, 
 have a height before me, which none other may 
 reach ? Of course it cannot be his ambition 
 to do precisely what another has done. He 
 would be content to do as well in a different 
 direction. But who is to pass upon the ques- 
 tion of comparative merit ? There is no com- 
 mon measure of excellence any more than of 
 minds. And, in this indefinite state of the case, 
 (the best possible for us all,) each must do his 
 own work according to his power and natural 
 tendencies. 
 
 Goethe told Eckermann that if he had been 
 an Englishman he should have been over-
 
 200 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 
 
 powered by Shakspeare.* He must have tried 
 to avoid him and choose a new course for him- 
 self. A monstrous delusion, probably, even in 
 his own case, and certainly one which does not 
 appear to have led Shakspeare's countrymen 
 
 J astray. To shun greatness in another, for 
 whatever cause, is as spiritless as servile wait- 
 
 .- ing upon it. The mere instituting of com- 
 parisons between ourselves and others is a 
 proof, or, at any rate, the beginning of weak- 
 ness. It not only blinds us to our own secret 
 Y forces, but prevents our seeing anything truly. 
 We gradually lose the power of discerning 
 what is good and beautiful in the very writers 
 who have gained this fatal possession of 
 our admiration. They disown us, and we 
 perceive it not. At last, we are led to believe 
 that readers will adopt our rule of estima- 
 tion, and judge us, not for ourselves, but ac- 
 cording as we stand in relation to men of 
 established name. 
 
 To one who is thus perplexed and dis- 
 pirited, the simple truth is the best direction : 
 You will never be judged by competent rea- 
 ders with any such reference, or with any 
 reference that docs not concern yourself alone. 
 You will not be condemned for being as bad 
 as another, or worse, or praised for being 
 
 * If I remember right, he was speaking of the advantage 
 there is in nations' having different languages.
 
 A WRITER'S PREPARATION. 201 
 
 as good as another, or better. All will depend 
 upon the never-deceiving evidence that what 
 you do is your own, that it proceeds from 
 your own resources or your own barrenness.
 
 HABITS OF READING. 
 
 HAVING had occasion to speak of reading, in 
 connection with a writer's preparation for his 
 work, I return to the subject that I may state 
 one or two things, of a practical bearing, which 
 I could not then conveniently introduce. They' 
 relate mainly to reading superficially ; not to 
 the reading of superficial books, but to a habit 
 of light, indolent, heedless inspection of any 
 work. 
 
 One symptom, perhaps it may be called 
 one cause of this, is the ambition to know a 
 great deal about books ; to be familiar with 
 catalogues, names, titles, prices, publishers, an 
 author's corrected proofs, editions and their re- 
 lative estimation, curious alterations in succes- 
 sive impressions, and the like. Such knowledge 
 is far from being, in all cases, not worth the 
 getting, for it often assists the biographer of 
 literary men and the historian of literary eras. 
 Certainly, I mean no reproach to regular biblio- 
 
 [202]
 
 HABITS OF READTNG. 203 
 
 maniacs, men often of great learning and 
 useful enthusiasm, a little odd in their humor, 
 it may be, but very serious in their business, 
 and well able to bear the gibes and merriment 
 of the unsympathizing. I speak only of pre- 
 tenders, who love to waste time in the mere 
 turning over of books to gratify a vain and 
 morbid curiosity, and acquire a poor notoriety. 
 Think of using a large public library as a place 
 to lounge in ; to form a taste for slight, desultory 
 reading ; to gather up literary news to be re- 
 tailed in conversation, in a spirit no higher than 
 that of gossip. If this practice were fallen into 
 by young men for amusement only, or for a 
 brief triumph of vanity, and ended there ; if it 
 were not almost sure to make them frivolous 
 readers and flippant critics, I should not be dis- 
 posed to treat it seriously. There is no objection 
 to a student's being something of a bibliogra- 
 pher ; but he should be guarded against the 
 literary foppery which has nearly supplanted 
 the massy and far more respectable pedantry 
 of our fathers. 
 
 You must not suppose that I equally object 
 to reading superficially with regard to all books 
 and all persons. Dr. Johnson, certainly, was 
 able to amass information from volumes that 
 he hurried over impatiently and with large 
 omissions, and many books may be turned to 
 good account, which require and deserve no
 
 204 HABITS OF READING. 
 
 more thorough' examination. I make a dis- 
 tinction, too, between the case of a student 
 who is preparing at the university or elsewhere 
 for commencing, by and by, his professional 
 course, and that of a man who has already 
 entered upon that course. The latter has a 
 prominent object, of a very grave character and 
 quite unconnected with literary delights, to 
 occupy, excite and govern his mind ; so that 
 it may be safe for him to employ part of his 
 leisure in running over the catalogues and 
 shelves of a large miscellaneous collection, just 
 to learn what books there are in the world and 
 where they may be found. It may be safe 
 for him to be even a smatterer, aside from 
 his regular studies. His thorough training in 
 his professional investigations, and his formed 
 intellectual habits will teach him how to use 
 profitably a great amount of various matter, 
 which he may have acquired almost accidentally, 
 almost snatched from any quarter in his play- 
 time. He will wear gracefully what he has thus 
 lightly collected. 
 
 But, on the other hand, in the course of early 
 education, this very literature, followed as it 
 may be into several languages, is- to be the 
 student's business. It is, for the present, his 
 profession. It is his work, not his play ; the 
 stuff, and not the ornament. If it were my 
 purpose to state all that he is to aim at and
 
 HABITS OF READING. 205 
 
 do here, in what are called the strictly literary 
 branches, or in the English branch alone, I 
 should have a ready and sufficient argument for 
 you that trifling will not do in this part of your 
 course, that there is room and demand for 
 hard work and profound study. Besides, the 
 sole object is not to make one a man of learning 
 and exact taste, but also to form in him that 
 most difficult to form of all habits, the habit 
 of attention. Then will follow, as we hope, a 
 sharpened power of discrimination. And, as 
 the fruit of all, he has learned how to find 
 pleasure enough in a useful labor, however 
 irksome, to bear it well, and to get from it all 
 the good it can yield. Such a student is likely 
 to be thoroughly disciplined for intellectual 
 work at least; and no doubt he has acquired 
 much, both in knowledge and in habits, which 
 will serve him well in the work of active life. 
 But the moment he loses sight of duties and 
 advantages, and begins to trifle miscellaneously 
 with books, and crave variety, and talk of 
 general knowledge and of keeping pace with 
 the age, there is reason to fear that he is losing 
 all control of himself, and all perception of the 
 useful in reading. 
 
 Even an orderly and diligent reader may be 
 
 warned not to forget the distinction between a 
 
 well-informed ancl a much-reading man, and 
 
 that with great possessions it is very possible 
 
 18
 
 206 HABITS OP READING. 
 
 to be superficial. I will explain my meaning 
 by a single instance. Let me suppose that one 
 of you desires to become familiar with early 
 English poetry. He has .been strongly tempted 
 by hearing it much spoken of, and by the 
 facilities offered in glossaries, notes, a corrected 
 text, pictorial illustrations, and a fair type. In 
 fact, he lives in the days of the revival of our 
 old masters. Once, most of us had to rely upon 
 modernized extracts, or perhaps worse, upon 
 modern versions of our antiquated poetry ; 
 but now it may be said to be generally accessi- 
 ble and inviting in its own shape. 
 
 Still, with all our advantages, I cannot sup- 
 pose that many will undertake to read the 
 entire collection of old English poetry, and I 
 hope few would be satisfied with selections. 
 For the guidance and encouragement of the 
 student, I will try to show him how he may 
 make a comparatively small amount most use- 
 ful and satisfying. I assure him, then, (however 
 paradoxical it may seem,) that if he reads fre- 
 quently, thoroughly, fondly, a single great poet 
 of the early period, he will know not only more 
 of him, but of the age in which he lived, the 
 condition of our language and versification at 
 that time, the sources and character of our 
 early literature, the influences it transmitted, 
 and, from all these, the changes we have passed 
 through for better or worse, than from all that
 
 HABITS OF READING. 207 
 
 critics have said on these subjects, and from all 
 the specimens or versions that have been given 
 of writers at or near the time. Of course, I 
 do not mean to limit his studies to one poet, 
 but to apprise him that he may safely forfeit 
 a great amount of desultory information con- 
 cerning our old poets, if he will make himself 
 the intimate companion of one or more of the 
 most eminent, who are filled with their age and 
 represent it. Indeed, with their help, he will 
 find it easy to master their less-known contem- 
 poraries, if his curiosity should take that direc- 
 tion. In any view of the case, he will be saved 
 from desperate efforts to master the whole by 
 giving every writer some degree of attention, 
 and a thorough study to none. 
 
 I might say all this for the student's en- 
 couragement merely, as he stands, alarmed 
 perhaps, in the presence of large and obscure 
 portions of our literature. I might say it for 
 what I believe will be its permanent good effect 
 on his mind, his habits as a scholar, and his 
 enjoyment. But I recommend this method, first 
 of all, that he may make himself a thoroughly 
 informed man in writings too little sought after, 
 that his knowledge of them may be both com- 
 prehensive and substantial.
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 
 
 ONE thing which the writer has to do for 
 himself, and in which all depends upon himself, 
 is to acquire such self-command that he can 
 give his whole attention to a subject, so that 
 he shall be in a way to comprehend it perfectly 
 and be able to put down his thoughts freshly 
 as they occur, without losing a step in the 
 longest train. This self-control must be a prin- 
 ciple and a habit, that shall be equal to any 
 temptation or opposition, and stand faithfully 
 by him when writing is the most irksome thing 
 in the world, when the body is exhausted and 
 the mind listless and vacant. It will never do 
 to put off such work as his till it invites him. 
 It is a miserable mistake that success in original 
 composition is hopeless unless he sets about it 
 with all his heart, and that, when the spirit is 
 reluctant, he may at least insist upon having a 
 subject which is full of promise and invitation. 
 
 Sometimes the idle and conceited fall into 
 
 [208]
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 209 
 
 this strain, that they may be thought men of 
 genius because they can practise the follies of 
 the great. Sometimes men of a visionary, 
 sensitive cast adopt it, and think it would be 
 a kind of sacrilege to force the mind into action, 
 and to expect from effort and violence what can 
 come only from unpremeditated movements or 
 resistless inspiration. These are the unpro- 
 ductive literary dreamers, who seem to think 
 that rare gifts set them above conscience and 
 rules, and that the delicate structure of their 
 minds requires them to keep aloof from the 
 rude encounters and intimacies of daily life. 
 Their activity must be within. 
 
 Such persons are above and beyond teaching. 
 But to the plainer sort it may be said that if 
 we regard writing as a duty, though it be a 
 mere literary exercise here at college, it will do 
 more for us than make us skilful in compo- 
 sition. It will prepare us in a degree for active 
 life, by giving us habits of self-denial, industry 
 and close study, a general and ready command 
 of our faculties, a clear, direct way of thinking 
 on all subjects and occasions, a promptness and 
 decision in our opinions, and a natural and pre- 
 cise method of expressing them. A man who 
 writes much and with consideration is doing 
 himself an incalculable good in respect to every 
 other study. Thus what to one seems absolute 
 drudgery and to another an amusement or re- 
 18*
 
 210 
 
 A WRITERS HABITS. 
 
 finement, may be made a means of forming 
 good intellectual habits generally, and a gener- 
 ous preparation for the varied calls of life. 
 
 To return to the difficulties we shall have to 
 encounter in our frequent indolence and irreso- 
 lution : I believe there are few who do not feel 
 at times an almost invincible disinclination to 
 writing. There is something to repel in the 
 necessary preparation. They have much that 
 is merely mechanical to attend to. They must 
 shut themselves from society. The eye must 
 not look abroad. All the senses must, as far 
 as possible, be brought to repose. One tiresome 
 position must be kept. And then, instead of 
 the effortless occupation of reading or conver- 
 sation, where the mind is in perpetual activity 
 from a foreign impulse, instead of free mus- 
 ing or speculation by ourselves, just as the 
 thoughts choose to roam, our meditations 
 must often be brought down to a few points by 
 main force and kept there till they answer our 
 purpose, or else lead to something far better 
 than our purpose. And when new thoughts 
 begin to pour upon us rapidly, we must govern 
 them so that the pen may keep pace with them, 
 and thousands in the meanwhile may flit from 
 us forever, which we fondly think were of more 
 worth than any we have saved. 
 
 When you connect these difficulties with 
 men's natural indolence, you may wonder at
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 211 
 
 the stores of voluntary literature which enrich 
 our libraries. But self-imposed duty soon be- 
 comes a pleasure ; employment becomes a plea- 
 sure. The mind that required to be goaded 
 before it would act at all, and to be curbed 
 before it would act in the direction we desired, 
 soon begins to feel and rejoice in its strength, 
 and to move onward with an impulse of its 
 own, as cheerful in its labors as it ever was 
 in its dreams, with a deep and full current 
 of thought rushing through it, and beautiful 
 fancies swarming into it uncalled, and all con- 
 spiring to accomplish what has now become 
 our all-absorbing purpose. Frequent repetitions 
 of such a trial give some men a wonderful 
 confidence in their powers and resources ; so 
 that let the subject look ever so unpromising at 
 first, let their faculties be ever so languid and 
 reluctant, they begin their work with little dis- 
 trust of the event, and enter the dark void 
 before them assured that it will soon be illumi- 
 nated and filled. 
 
 I am aware that there is a difference in men 
 as to the facility with which they bring them- 
 selves to this task. Some of quite ordinary 
 endowments, who are incapable of thinking 
 profoundly and comprehensively, whose tem- 
 perament is cheerful and their ambition easily 
 appeased, will know nothing like difficulty or 
 inequality in their efforts. Their thoughts are
 
 212 A WRITER'S HABITS. 
 
 always on the ^surface and near at hand, and 
 rarely change their hue, or increase considerably 
 in number or dimensions, during many years. 
 And always having a ready command of such 
 words and phrases as are in harmony with the 
 ideas, they will sit down at any moment to any 
 subject and manage it in their way with the 
 utmost fluency and self-content. 
 
 Others, too, with intellects of the highest 
 order, will enjoy an almost incessant activity 
 and buoyancy of mind, and delight in labor at 
 all times, and devote themselves to subjects 
 the most dissimilar, one after another, with a 
 promptness and facility that seem nearly mi- 
 raculous. 
 
 But I speak to those only who feel and are 
 willing to acknowledge a positive difficulty and 
 embarrassment when they undertake to write ; 
 not from any consciousness of mental debility, 
 but from reluctance to begin. To such I have 
 but one more observation to make. When a 
 determined, persevering effort shall have once 
 brought them to consider a subject fairly, when 
 they have taken a firm hold of it and are 
 warmed by their exertion, they should not let 
 it go for a moment till their work is accom- 
 plished. If nature is not exhausted by over- 
 straining, let them take full advantage of their 
 present interest in the train of thought they 
 have fallen into. The first heat is the most
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 213 
 
 intense and productive ; the first fresh impres- 
 sion will be the liveliest if preserved at the 
 moment. If we put by our work and say : 
 ' Now we are masters of this subject ; we see 
 our whole course ; we will remit our labors and 
 begin, some other day, where we left off and 
 finish at our leisure ; ' we shall certainly de- 
 ceive ourselves. We may indeed carry our 
 plan and our principal points in our memory ; 
 but we cannot so easily preserve, amidst other 
 scenes and cares and pleasures, the state of 
 mind in which we formed this plan and settled 
 these leading points. The crude materials are 
 indeed all left for us to work upon, but the fire 
 which had prepared them for our hands is gone 
 out, and every trial to kindle it anew may be 
 in vain. 
 
 Let it be considered farther that the most 
 rapid writer is he who has the habit of putting 
 down at once what occurs to him in seasons 
 of great warmth and exuberance. And there 
 is reason to expect that he will in general be 
 the truest and exactest writer, with all his im- 
 petuosity ; for he will state what he conceives 
 strongly, at a time when he feels concerned to 
 do it justice ; and he will naturally so select 
 and arrange his words as to express precisely 
 what he thinks and in the way that he thinks. 
 Hence he will be the most impressive writer. 
 He will have those marks of sincerity which
 
 214 A WRITER'S HABITS. 
 
 are as well-kno\vn and attractive to grown peo- 
 ple as to children. 
 
 I by no means object to the utmost strictness 
 of criticism when we come to look over our 
 work ; but one of the worst habits a writer can 
 fall into is that of stopping to rectify his style at 
 the moment of composing, interrupting the 
 course of his reflections to pass judgment upon 
 their appearance, and looking back over the 
 ground he has just travelled to see that nothing 
 is out of the way. He inevitably sacrifices 
 the grace and freedom of manner which flow 
 from a natural st ate of the feelings, which are 
 precisely adapted to the spontaneous current 
 of the thoughts, and which do much towards 
 making others enter into them heartily ; and all 
 that he gains by the sacrifice is an almost pain- 
 ful freedom from faults, and what has been aptly 
 termed a conscious manner, which is an offence 
 to everybody. The work of correction should 
 not begin till all other work is done. Its. office 
 is not to check the mind when in full action, but 
 to remove errors and supply deficiencies which 
 its very ardor and rapidity may have caused. 
 
 It would be needless, even if it were possible, 
 to enumerate the different habits of writers, 
 growing out of accident, or affectation, or of a 
 fair trial of what discipline is most suitable for 
 the individual. Every man is apt to think that 
 there is something peculiar in his own case
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 215 
 
 which justifies and requires something peculiar 
 in his ways ; and in consulting his temper and 
 taste, he often does little more than make him- 
 self singular in trifles, and self-indulgent when 
 he ought to be manly and laborious. Because 
 the mind's work may be more exhausting than 
 any other, he claims to be allowed the choice of 
 his hours. One prefers the broad day ; another 
 is inspired only in the later watches of the night. 
 In reading literary biography, we find frequent 
 instances of singularity in regard to the seasons 
 of study and relaxation, to residence, walks, 
 associates and meals ; as if such things were of 
 moment to successful exertion ; and as if the 
 slightest deviation from a favorite practice would 
 disturb the mind's action as seriously as would 
 a mote the springs and movements of a time- 
 piece. 
 
 But, however it may be with these, it is cer- 
 tain that some of the writer's habits are of im- 
 portance, as they are intimately connected with 
 the mind, whether for good or evil, and require 
 pains whether to form or undo them. I will 
 refer to one only, which respects the difference in 
 writers as to their preparation. Some prefer to 
 do the principal part of their meditation before- 
 hand ; and where the mind is cool and uninvent- 
 ive this is practicable to a considerable extent. 
 Their plan is sketched in every particular ; the 
 materials are collected, hewn, shaped and fitted,
 
 216 A WRITER'S HABITS. 
 
 till it seems as* if nothing remained but for the 
 building to go up. They are fond of patient, 
 connected thinking ; and such is the good order 
 of their minds, and their memories are so much 
 aided by the strict connection of their thoughts 
 when first revolved, that they are able afterwards 
 to give us a fair copy of them in writing. 
 Though this habit is not peculiar to men of 
 slow, laborious minds, yet it is particularly im- 
 portant to them, as they soon learn by experience. 
 If they should begin to write at a sudden call, 
 upon an unconsidered subject, the enterprise 
 would probably be as fruitless as an attempt at 
 extemporaneous speaking by one of confused 
 thoughts and embarrassed utterance, who had 
 always relied upon his memory or his notes. 
 If they should trust to immediate suggestions, 
 probably none would occur but the very com- 
 monest, and these but slightly connected, so 
 dependent are such writers for good and per- 
 tinent matter upon their taking a deliberate and 
 minute view of their subject- 
 Others, on the contrary, will tell us that they 
 cannot think without a pen in their hands. It 
 serves as a charm to collect the scattered powers 
 and give them a definite direction. When one 
 thought is safely put upon paper, it draws a 
 multitude round it. Something like instinct 
 enables writers of this class to feel their way 
 through mazes and over obstacles, much more
 
 A WRITER'S HABITS. 217 
 
 surely and effectually than they could have laid 
 out or cut one. We do not suppose, however, 
 that their preparation is small ' because it is 
 scarcely discernible either by us or by them- 
 selves. They are always acquiring something, 
 it may be unconsciously, which they will turn to 
 account in proper time ; and a certain quickness 
 of perception and sagacity, an alacrity of mem- 
 ory, and a power of rapid and almost infinitely 
 various combination, will secure them against 
 the want of serviceable materials, at any moment 
 they may be called for. 
 
 19
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 DIRECTIONS for a good use of language have, 
 as they should, a prominent place in the syntax 
 of our grammars and in our rhetorical text- 
 books ; and they are not lost sight of in the 
 familiar exercises we have together in English 
 composition. Some rather general views sug- 
 gested by the subject may be usefully presented 
 in a lecture, and may impress upon you the 
 value of the minute instruction which is more 
 properly given elsewhere. 
 
 The proposition I wish to consider now is that 
 our own language requires our study. We have 
 more to learn of it than we ordinarily gather up, 
 with little apparent thought or labor, in passing 
 from infancy to maturity. Its acquisition and 
 use seem to the native as natural as to breathe 
 or move. He acknowledges that he must study 
 a foreign tongue, even if he lives among the 
 people to acquire it as children do. But he is 
 born to his own. It presses itself upon him 
 
 [218]
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 219 
 
 every moment, He cannot escape it. And if 
 he has been generally well brought up at home, 
 and accustomed to good society, and has read 
 the best books in the language, how should he 
 fail to be perfect in it ? There may yet remain 
 something to be studied. 
 
 With the mere grammar of the tongue I am 
 not at present concerned. But it may be ob- 
 served that this is commonly learned in the same 
 unconscious way that we get the sound and 
 meaning of words. We are not aware of labor 
 or attention, or of the need of either. An ac- 
 complished Latin scholar from our higher semi- 
 naries will sometimes tell me that he had never 
 studied it at school, and that he knows it, so far 
 at least as rules and technical terms are involved, 
 only by what he has found in his classical guides. 
 Probably he is not the less accurate in his Eng- 
 lish for having thoroughly learned the structure 
 of another tongue; but whatever accuracy he 
 has, he owes to his familiarity with English 
 books and with good society. He has no prin- 
 ciples, that he is aware of, to go by. He has no 
 systematic knowledge of our speech. He has no 
 list of exceptions and irregularities duly classified 
 and committed to memory. If a doubt is raised 
 by his teacher, he is more likely to think that his 
 teacher has forgotten his Latin, than that he is 
 pressing a lawful English idiom. Probably it 
 will not be till he is persuaded in many ways
 
 220 THE STUDY OP OUR LANGUAGE. 
 
 that his own tongue has its peculiar difficulties 
 and niceties, that he begins to look into authori- 
 ties and usage in order to make himself a fair 
 English scholar. 
 
 Our language, however troublesome to for- 
 eigner:?, appears to us a very simple and bald 
 formation by the side of the well-ordered and 
 variously inflected tongues of our ancient mas- 
 ters. It seems to invite us to take liberties by 
 its unirnposing air. It has done so little for 
 itself that we will do with it what we please. 
 So thought our fathers, if we may judge from 
 their many loose practices ; and so think, in our 
 times, not merely adventurous young students, 
 but mature writers of high name, who seem to 
 be doing their utmost to show as little reverence 
 for the old rules of grammar as for the old canons 
 of verbal purity. But we take heart when we see 
 that the counsels and remonstrances of critics and 
 philologists at least keep pace with the laxity of 
 writers. We should be still more encouraged if 
 the profound investigations into our language, 
 which now attract much attention, were in- 
 cluded among the studies of advanced classes at 
 college. 
 
 But we are to consider difficulties of a differ- 
 ent kind. At present, I would direct your atten- 
 tion chiefly to the difficulty that arises from what 
 is called the uncertainty of language. If the 
 words in popular use were significant, in all
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR LANGUAGE. 221 
 
 cases, of some precise idea (neither more nor 
 less) as arithmetical characters are of a definite 
 quantity ; if, in both cases, a single sign only 
 were used to express the idea or quantity ; or, if 
 all our terms, like those of the professions, trades 
 and arts, were technical, including nothing under 
 them, in any circumstances, but certain particu- 
 lars which the parties concerned had denned and 
 agreed upon with a view to their own conven- 
 ience ; then our popular vocabulary might be 
 as perfectly, if not as easily, learned, as a list of 
 towns or minerals. All men in their senses 
 might obtain an equally extensive and correct 
 use of it ; and no one would blunder or be at a 
 loss but from failure of memory. 
 
 But the growth of common language is differ- 
 ent from the establishment of technical terms 
 and proper names. It is gradual and irregular ; 
 and when the state of a language at various pe- 
 riods is observed, one is disposed to think that it 
 has been greatly at the mercy of caprice or acci- 
 dent. Certainly a number of learned men did 
 not assemble to institute the symbols we now 
 use, and to fix their import by careful definitions 
 or descriptions. The public, the multitude, the 
 unlettered population of an age beyond memory, 
 beyond history, constitute the first great academy 
 that ordains the signs of speech and gives them 
 significance and currency. By and by the in- 
 creasing wants of men call for an increased vo- 
 19*
 
 222 THE STUDY OF OUR LANGUAGE. 
 
 cabulary. New words are introduced ; old words 
 are turned a little from their first meaning by 
 dropping or adding something; and it should 
 seem that in many of these changes less regard 
 was paid to analogy than the student of long- 
 subsequent ages would desire.* 
 
 In due time a written literature succeeds to 
 the recitations of bards, or other formal methods 
 of public oral addresses; and popular authors 
 begin to revolutionize and systematize the old 
 barbarous speech. Very different tastes and 
 resources are brought to this work. Some pow- 
 erful writer becomes an authority for words bor- 
 rowed from another nation, but shaped to suit 
 the genius of his own language. Some, dissat- 
 isfied with seeing how old words have departed 
 from their original signification, propose others 
 to express it more definitely ; and then in their 
 turn undergoing similar or as great alterations, 
 we are supplied amply with synonymes. Once 
 more, a word in the course of time will have a 
 somewhat peculiar meaning according to its 
 connection with others ; so that looking at every 
 definition which the best dictionaries may give 
 of it will be to little purpose, unless examples are 
 quoted to show us how it is used, how associated, 
 when it is intended to express such or such an 
 
 * It is proper to say that we are speaking of a language which 
 has grown up at home, without violent additions from the 
 tongues of conquering invaders.
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 223 
 
 idea. These are but few of the particulars which 
 might be enumerated to illustrate the irregularity 
 and caprice which are charged upon the growth 
 of language. 
 
 At last the language of a country is said to be 
 fixed, to be settled ; but this is to be understood 
 merely in comparison with its chaotic state at an 
 early period. For though language is not quite 
 so mutable as running water, yet we know 
 enough of its progress and retrogressions never 
 to expect it to be stationary, while there remains 
 any considerable amount of literary zeal, activity 
 and freedom, or while we are constantly exposed 
 to literary epidemics of languor and vicious taste. 
 We think it a great good-fortune if novelties, 
 that seem to be inevitable, are but introduced 
 with a due respect to analogy. Still we say, at 
 some epoch rather than at any other, that the 
 language is settled. Some high Augustan age 
 has come. So many celebrated works, now 
 deemed classical, have been published, that a 
 mark is considered as set upon all good and all 
 bad words, and the only legitimate use of terms 
 is considered as decreed. Instead of the per- 
 plexities and fluctuations of a merely spoken 
 language, we have books of authority, standard 
 dictionaries, standard grammars ; and he will be 
 regarded as little less than a barbarian or a 
 willing martyr, who shall venture to add to the 
 collections of an approved lexicographer, or in
 
 224 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 any way to dispute his authority. Nevertheless, 
 the law of change is itself immutable ; and 
 though, at an advanced stage of literature, it 
 operates with less violence and disorder than it 
 once did, yet that it is ever in operation we can- 
 not douBt. Here then we see a part of the 
 difficulty we must encounter in the attempt to 
 master our own mother tongue. 
 
 It is further necessary to make our language a 
 study, because many words which we employ 
 with the utmost confidence and freedom, have a 
 delicate meaning and beauty which require con- 
 sideration that they may be fully apprehended 
 and applied with all their natural fitness. These 
 words serve various purposes. Some, for exam- 
 ple, are called descriptive or picturesque, and are 
 designed to make us better acquainted with the 
 poetical and spiritual significance of outward 
 things. They do not profess to give us anything 
 absolutely new and foreign to us, anything of 
 which we have not the germ and capacity within 
 ourselves. When their purport is known, we are 
 ready with a response, more or less perfect, of 
 recognition and sympathy. The light they throw 
 must depend partly upon their own suitableness, 
 and partly upon our sensibility. Though it 
 should appear faint at first, yet, if it be pure, we 
 may make it stronger, extend it farther, and not 
 only fill out what is directly suggested, but try 
 to discover its connection with other things.
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 225 
 
 The words themselves may be already in con- 
 stant use for quite common purposes, but, in 
 their new and unexpected relation, they have 
 this dignified office and suggestive power. 
 
 But how do we learn the great secret wrapped 
 up in them ? We see that a foreigner generally 
 fails to acquire a perfect, native sense of their 
 import. He has not lived from infancy in the 
 quiet reception and unconscious study of them, 
 and felt how one word is allied to others, and 
 how one age, with its writings, its unrecorded 
 traditions and its common style of conversation, 
 flows into another. Mere labor and skill 
 might almost as well be applied to create a new 
 sense as to infuse into him a home-born percep- 
 tion of their whole significance. Hence we may 
 suppose that it is enough to be natives in order 
 to feel the full inspiration of our own language ; 
 that we receive it as we receive our familiar 
 prospects, or delightful sounds, or the customs 
 and opinions of our common country. And it 
 must be admitted that much of its deeper mean- 
 ing seems to be drawn in instinctively. We 
 cannot name the day or the occasion when a 
 throng of happy associations, emotions, I had 
 almost said sensations, began to cluster round a 
 certain word ; while, perhaps, we well remember 
 others, which had a glory about them, in some 
 particular passage, that at once filled us with 
 light and animation, but which a life's study of
 
 226 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 definitions would never have disclosed to us. 
 We may concede all this to the power of intui- 
 tion or instant revelation, without making an 
 artistic observation of our language less neces- 
 sary. For the object is to carry out a work 
 already begun, by perfecting what we have ac- 
 quired, and by discovering, it may be, new vir- 
 tues and uses in words which we have learned 
 to prize for their unexpected capabilities. Be- 
 sides, we are put upon the inquiry whether we, 
 too, may not make original applications of well- 
 known terms, which shall be in strict accordance 
 with the genius of our language, and thus add 
 to its wealth without enlarging its vocabulary. 
 These things will require more study than might 
 at first be expected in a case where discoveries 
 often appear to be spontaneous, and are, no 
 doubt, frequently unpremeditated. We call, 
 then, not only the imaginative and susceptible, 
 but the vigilant and comparing, to the examina- 
 tion of this class of words, that their power of 
 moving and expressing the mind may be better 
 understood and increased. 
 
 If there be difficulty and need of study in a 
 case like this, what may we not expect when we 
 come to the great mass of general terms, the 
 conventional signs of abstract and most complex 
 ideas, the analysis of which is a trial for the 
 keenest intellects. If they were consecrated to 
 the service of careful philosophers, there might
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 227 
 
 be hope that they would be applied intelligently 
 and convey something definite. But they are 
 freely used and as freely received by the ill- 
 informed and unreflecting, with perfect assur- 
 ance that their vague and dreamy apprehension 
 of them is knowledge ; and no doubt, even 
 among such persons, they make, on the whole, 
 a pretty correct though not a very distinct 
 impression. But let a sturdy, popular phrase 
 or a flashing metaphor suddenly drop among 
 these hazy generalities, and how quickly the 
 clouds scatter. The listless common people 
 begin to see and feel to some purpose. Still, 
 as we cannot do without general terms, even 
 when we address the multitude, the student is 
 to define them as well as he may to his- 
 own mind, so that he may employ them with 
 all the exactness and vigor they will admit. 
 The difference in men is wonderful in this 
 respect; and it arises partly, we allow, from 
 greater sagacity and natural strength and quick- 
 ness of apprehension in some, though far more 
 from careful and habitual observation of their 
 language, and from a religious abhorrence of 
 the practice of casting forth words at random, 
 in full faith that, in their grand dimness, they 
 will pass for oracles. 
 
 It seems then that to be faithful to ourselves 
 and to our language, we must, in the use of it,
 
 228 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 have other helps' than those which belong to us 
 all as mere natives. I shall speak of one only, 
 which, though of a very general character, ad- 
 mits of many practical applications. And this 
 is, the help to be derived from habitual and 
 hearty familiarity with those writers who, how- 
 ever distant from each other in time, or however 
 various in style and genius, are yet honored 
 generally for their masterly use of English. 
 This is the true way to establish a thoroughly 
 native and a thoroughly scholar-like knowledge 
 and employment of the language. It brings all 
 other aids to the proof, and perfects those that 
 are of value. 
 
 The advantage which I have particularly in 
 mind, is the liberal view which such a familiarity 
 opens to us of our great common possession. 
 We learn that our language has a long history 
 of its formation and resources, with one spirit 
 running through it from the beginning, to give 
 perpetual proof of national identity, and to 
 make perpetual acknowledgment of our debt 
 to the first rude formers, who, though rarely 
 cited now as authorities, still survive in the 
 character which they early stamped on our 
 speech. Thus, without acquiring a particle of 
 what can properly be called antique in our 
 diction, we are sure to possess ourselves of all 
 that is alive in the language from the moment 
 that it had anything like a literary being. We
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 229 
 
 understand its whole theory and practice. A 
 student, who feels himself to be one of such a 
 venerable brotherhood, is like a good subject 
 who lives under an old, slowly formed constitu- 
 tion of government. He loves to boast of his 
 lineage and his ancient liberties. He has a 
 history to take pride in. He is careful to make 
 all needed alterations in the spirit of the old 
 institutions. He frowns upon the presumptu- 
 ous innovator, who, ignorant of their character 
 and object, is ready to sacrifice both by addi- 
 tions and changes the most hostile. 
 
 Such a generous sense of relationship with 
 all the past in our literature is the true spirit to 
 carry into all that follows. See from what bad 
 ways it may save us : First, from all servile 
 hunting for authority in an individual favorite 
 or in a particular school, as if it were in the 
 power of any one man or of any set of men 
 to exemplify all the compass of a language. 
 Better still, it saves us from a narrow interpre- 
 tation of the rule that we must studiously con- 
 form to the standard of our own time. The 
 rule is good. The abuse of it is in making 
 fashion, whim, prejudice, our standard. The 
 authority of mere fashion is, I admit, extensive 
 and imposing ; but it may not last half a gener- 
 ation ; and all the time it is trifling with the 
 language and with us. The greatest writers 
 may unconsciously be harmed by it ; but they 
 20
 
 230 THE STUDY OP OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 will never conf6rm knowingly to its shallow 
 and ephemeral exactions. They will rather con- 
 sent to be unpopular, to be pitied, derided, it 
 may be envied, for their independence, than 
 voluntarily separate themselves from the im- 
 mortals who write for all ages, who choose 
 what is best in the language as they find it and 
 help to make it durable. 
 
 But caution follows closely upon indulgence; 
 and, at the risk of seeming to take back some- 
 thing that has just been said, I recommend to 
 young writers not to think too much of their 
 liberties. Our literary freedom may cost us a 
 struggle ; and so may the power to use and 
 enjoy it well. It is not a very easy thing to 
 learn how far we may lawfully go, nor very 
 agreeable to respect the bounds which we know 
 we ought not to pass. 
 
 No one, I suppose, will contend that the lan- 
 guage is beyond improvement ; but the pre- 
 sumption should be in its favor as it stands, 
 and reasons should be required for changes. 
 For example, new facts must have suitable 
 names or terms of description ; but at least let 
 us be certain that the facts brought to our 
 notice are new ; for men are not only fond of 
 being discoverers, but also of thinking that an 
 idea is more decidedly, unquestionably new, if 
 it be newly apparelled. If, however, we have 
 proper cases to provide for, let us study to make
 
 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 231 
 
 the addition look as much like good, home-born, 
 trustworthy English as we can. 
 
 Then we are to guard against the undue 
 influence of contemporary tastes and habits of 
 speech. But the dread of our peril may drive 
 us into eccentricity, conceit, and unreasonable 
 attachment to our own ways. A degree of 
 unconscious mannerism often throws a pleasant 
 and instructive light upon a man's habits, his 
 education, and even his cast of mind. So, 
 every mark of genuine originality is to be 
 prized. But very honest and very eminent 
 writers are liable to literary infirmities, and are 
 sometimes willing to be noted for peculiarities 
 in the merest trifles. Some favorite word, which 
 pleased them partly for being uncommon, and 
 which perhaps had excellent effect while it con- 
 tinued to be so, appears too frequently and is 
 spoiled by overfondling. Readers even begin 
 to suspect poverty from the repetition. It cer- 
 tainly shows narrow partiality. 
 
 On the other hand, our license is not to be 
 surrendered, but well used. Men of the best 
 taste may often find it expedient to abandon 
 much of the phraseology of their time, merely 
 because it has become hackneyed. Sometimes 
 the choicest words, which appear almost conse- 
 crated to the higher departments of literature, 
 become a popular or fashionable cant; and 
 hence the thorough English scholar may think
 
 232 THE STUDY OF OUR OWN LANGUAGE. 
 
 he should do them wrong by using them in a 
 degenerate age. If he adopts in their place 
 some simple terms, which people generally do 
 not use for such a purpose, he is unreasonably 
 charged with oddness, with a love of strange 
 things, and with proudly separating himself 
 from his neighbors. Again, without passing 
 the true boundaries or violating the legitimate 
 use of the tongue, he may seek for novelty of 
 expression that he may give a new air, a striking 
 grace and effect to a familiar truth, or do justice 
 to an original conception of his own. The 
 freshness with which things come to his mind, 
 the novel though natural views which he takes 
 of them, justify and may require something 
 unusual in his expression. 
 
 But it is time to put an end to remarks of 
 this sort. My object, a moment ago, was to 
 recommend prudence, and now I am again 
 vindicating liberty. In leaving the subject, I 
 may express a hope that my young friends will 
 feel some pride in doing their part to keep the 
 old landmarks distinct, the ancient wells pure.
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND 
 OF THOUGHT. 
 
 SINCE words are representations, however 
 imperfect, of what passes in the mind, and are 
 suggested and warranted by its operations and 
 wants, we need not be surprised that they are 
 used and spoken of as if they were themselves 
 the things they stand for, and that they should 
 be applied as tests or proofs of our thinking 
 clearly and correctly. They are mental express- 
 ions ; and in studying them we are studying 
 the mind and human nature itself. Hence, for 
 the practical purposes of rhetoric, we insist 
 that a part of our training should direct us 
 to inquire into the full force of words as such ; 
 that is, not merely with reference to a present 
 special demand, but to make as perfect to our 
 selves as we can the established instrument 
 preserver, and medium of human thought, ana 
 have it always ready for service. 
 
 There is no occult method of obtaining this 
 mastery of language. We are dealing with the 
 20* [238]
 
 234 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 common property of a country,' and must go 
 to the common fountain of all good speech. 
 But we have a serious work on our hands, 
 and one that requires and will reward all the 
 ability we can bring to it. We must observe 
 how others speak and write who are thought to 
 do well, and recall what we have done ourselves 
 when, in our own belief at least, we knew per- 
 fectly what we meant, and what we were pre- 
 paring to say. We must accustom ourselves to 
 the analysis of terms, and follow down their 
 history from their primitive use through the 
 changes they have experienced and the various 
 purposes to which they have been applied by 
 many sagacious and self-relying minds. By 
 such methods we may learn well how to assist 
 our mental processes ; and they in turn, by their 
 brightness and vigor, will promote an habitual 
 force and vigor of expression. We hope, then, 
 that the student will provide himself with an 
 ample array of fully comprehended words to 
 wait faithfully upon both his feeble thoughts 
 and his strong ones. 
 
 But how are we to know that they will be 
 appropriate till the ideas themselves are already 
 well-defined in our minds ? We do not wish 
 to involve ourselves in a matter that does not 
 belong to us, and willingly leave it to others to 
 clear up the difficulties that beset the relations 
 between thought and language. But we may
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 235 
 
 venture to say (at least so far as rhetoric is con- 
 cerned) that ideas cannot be well-defined in oar 
 minds, unless they are already wrapped in ap- 
 propriate terms. We want to provide for such 
 as may stand in need of help. Perhaps the 
 service of suitable terms in settling and denning 
 ideas may be illustrated by taking a most des- 
 titute and unpromising case. If their useful 
 ministry is acknowledged in this, it will not 
 probably be doubted in any. Suppose then that 
 a man has dim and wandering phantoms in his 
 brain, not so properly ideas as glimpses of he 
 hardly knows what. Of course, his signs for 
 these will have a like uncertainty. Still there 
 may be something in the cloud that is worth 
 extricating. Accordingly, to so much of the 
 phantom as he can seize upon he applies the 
 test of what seem to him fitting words, that he 
 may determine something. In this way he will 
 very soon discover whether his mind is busy 
 with a mere chimera, a shadow, that scorns 
 definition and close handling, or he will see the 
 dim conception swelling into fuh 1 proportion in 
 broad day. 
 
 The views here offered relate to ideas as they 
 exist in the mind. When they are to be 
 communicated, other considerations spring up. 
 Many persons are well satisfied that if we but 
 think clearly we must express ourselves clearly. 
 It ought to be so, and naturally would be so.
 
 236 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 But there are obstructions. Any man, who has 
 had near acquaintance with the action of other 
 minds, must often have had sufficient evidence 
 of good thoughts there, struggling, and for a 
 time in vain, to make their way forth success- 
 fully. The difficulties arising from constitu- 
 tional infirmity, from want of practice in writing 
 or public speaking, from ignorance of what 
 readers and hearers require, are yet to be mas- 
 tered. Consider, moreover, the faults arising 
 from well-founded confidence. Rhetoricians 
 have been careful to remind us that the more 
 distinct our ideas are to ourselves, the less 
 clearly we may place them before others. We 
 forget that while a glance at a mere hint is 
 enough for us, a great deal more than a hint is 
 needed by them. Remember, then, the neces- 
 sities of those whom you address. If they were 
 all along, of themselves, in the same train of 
 thought with you, the case might be different. 
 But this you have no right to pre-suppose.* 
 
 For want of a better single word to express 
 appropriateness of diction and definiteness of 
 ideas, and as it is very convenient to have one 
 at hand, I shall include both under Precision, 
 and proceed to some views of this quality and 
 of the means of acquiring it. 
 
 And first, it is quite distinct from primness, 
 from constrained formality, from a fastidious, 
 
 * Whately's Elements of Rhetoric, Part iii. Chap. i. 3.
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 237 
 
 over-exact manner of expression, denoting timid- 
 ity or self-distrust in some, and in others an 
 anxiety to apprize the reader of a certain forci- 
 ble condensation, an oracular brevity in their 
 style. A man may use few words, give his 
 sentences the form of maxims, reject all orna- 
 ment, avow it to be his highest ambition to be 
 plain, simple and neat ; still his compactness 
 shall be mere affectation, and betray, every 
 moment, vagueness, ostentation and awkward- 
 ness ; while another shall be free, graceful and 
 inclined to amplification, yet with precision for 
 one of his marked excellences. 
 
 I do not suppose that definition or description 
 will make so familiar a term more intelligible, 
 and it may be enough for the present purpose 
 to say that precision consists in the use of such 
 words only as our ideas demand of right and 
 necessity. It takes no notice of such distinc- 
 tions between words as their being used for 
 description, or passion, or narrative, or for the 
 simplest possible statement, but holds itself to 
 be an attainable and equally essential property 
 in all cases, and insists equally upon its rights 
 and upon its nicest limitations in all cases. It 
 makes no compromise ; it grants no dispensa- 
 tion ; and it sees no reason for any. While 
 then, on its own account, it requires nothing for 
 beauty or luxury, it rejects on every account all 
 needless circumlocution, and the use of epithets
 
 288 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 or garniture of any kind for show. It regards 
 not sound or appearance in the very few cases 
 where attention to these must be at the ex- 
 pense of vigor and clearness. In short, it wages 
 war with superfluity in every shape ; for though 
 superfluity is often graceful, and to many a 
 delightful relief, it never fails to weaken the 
 general effect. 
 
 Yet, as we have already hinted, precision is 
 far from being niggardly and austere. It is too 
 liberal and wise to interfere with natural differ- 
 ences of manner. Let the style be compressed 
 or flowing, plain or gorgeous, abrupt or regular, 
 temperate or heated ; let the composition be in 
 prose or verse, and the subject or occasion what 
 it may ; let the writer or speaker follow out his 
 humor and taste, vary his tone as he sees best, 
 and take his own way of producing effect, pre- 
 cision is merely indifferent on all such points. 
 But so far as any speech or writing is well done, 
 it claims to be the strengthening, and in no small 
 degree, the illuminating power throughout. 
 
 With all these high pretensions, it is a modest 
 virtue, and its effect upon others may be great 
 without their suspecting the cause. The orator 
 and writer must be prepared to forego a part of 
 their deserved praise, if they adhere to it ; but 
 they will be pleased to see those they address 
 engaged upon something higher than the graces 
 or even the energies of style ; that they are not
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 239 
 
 following words as so many pleasing sounds 
 which are lulling them into dreams, but that 
 they feel on all hands the pressure of well-defined 
 thoughts or earnest passion. 
 
 But what we are most concerned with is the 
 effect of precision upon the speaker or writer 
 himself. How invigorating is this modest vir- 
 tue. A sincere, strong-minded man would have 
 a fatal misgiving at his heart, a chill of conscious 
 imbecility creeping over him, should he ever find 
 himself uttering words at random, or for the pur- 
 pose of filling up vacancies, or rounding off sen- 
 tences, or as a sort of phantasmagoria to create 
 illusions. But he is strengthened and animated 
 by the constant succession of ideas distinctly 
 embodied, arid as visible to himself as he intends 
 they shall be made to others. 
 
 One means of promoting precision is the habit 
 of putting our thoughts on paper. I will not 
 undertake to number the occasions when the 
 practice would be useful, or to explain very con- 
 fidently what it might seem affectation to call 
 the mysterious power of a recorded word. My 
 chief reliance is upon the evidence that a fair 
 trial will furnish. I believe it will be found that 
 there is no better way for a man to get clear and 
 connected views of any subject that perplexes 
 him, than to write as distinctly as he can the 
 thoughts that occur to him upon it. I admit
 
 240 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 that there is a difference in men in this respect, 
 owing to a difference in their power of concen- 
 trating their attention upon a subject by mere 
 force of will, and of carrying on protracted trains 
 of thought in private meditation. But even 
 Aose who are most practised and most success- 
 ful in this way, provided they are not too 
 indolent or self-satisfied to make the experiment, 
 will find writing a great help. The process 
 itself implies pains and deliberation. The eye 
 being fixed upon the word, a sense of responsi- 
 bility for the expression is quickened ; and more 
 care being required, the power of expression is 
 likely to be better estimated and much enlarged. 
 The eye being fixed upon the written record, a 
 wholeness of view is probably better secured 
 than it would be by sole reliance upon memory, 
 and thus the opportunity and means of correc- 
 tion are always close at hand. 
 
 The practice may be recommended to a 
 student meditating upon his regular exercise in 
 original composition, with little to say, and that, 
 as he thinks, very poor. His condition may not 
 answer fully to that of the man we lately de- 
 scribed as haunted with spectres of ideas ; but 
 such ideas as he has are uncertain and fleeting. 
 He cannot take hold of anything definite and 
 encouraging. Even his reading upon his subject 
 distracts him with its variety of information and 
 opinions. But let him once preserve, in the best
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 241 
 
 \vords he has at command, some one idea which 
 flits before him, and immediately a neighboring 
 thought shall come to the light, and then others 
 with ever-multiplying relations and an ever-in- 
 creasing distinctness. He might have this idea 
 floating about in his mind for hours as a subject 
 of meditation or reverie, without any adequate 
 conception of its bearings ; but now, in a fixed, 
 visible form, it seems to put his mind in order, 
 and prepare it for manful enterprises which it 
 had shrank from before. 
 
 I suppose it is a common opinion that extem- 
 poraneous speaking excludes all preparation by 
 writing, beyond the simplest noting down of 
 prominent topics and of the places where they 
 should be brought in. But by courtesy or usage 
 many a celebrated discourse is called extempo- 
 raneous, which, it is well understood, was fully 
 written out beforehand. It was not thus pre- 
 pared to be repeated in the very words and order 
 of the written paper; for this might deprive it 
 most injuriously of the extemporaneous manner. 
 But the orator sought by a study of this kind for 
 a mastery of his subject, and of the best way to 
 present it, which mere thinking would not give 
 him. He is still at full liberty to catch inspira- 
 tion from all that surrounds him in the assembly, 
 from all that occurs at the time of speaking. 
 
 The effect of writing down our thoughts is 
 often experienced when we least seek or desire 
 21
 
 242 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 it. A man suffering under heavy affliction may 
 have succeeded, by great effort, in suppressing 
 all violent manifestation of grief. He is able to 
 divert his thoughts and to strengthen himself by 
 turning to his common occupations. He can 
 speak calmly of his loss. He can meditate upon 
 it by himself with many soothing and elevating 
 influences. But let him trust himself to write 
 of it to another, or even in his private journal, 
 and the vagueness which had hung over it for a 
 time begins to pass away. At every word it 
 grows more distinct. The gates are again 
 opened to the tide. A most natural exaggera- 
 tion runs through his recollections, his descrip- 
 tions and his images of the hopeless future. He 
 seems to choose the very words that will add to 
 his agony or despair, though, in truth, both are 
 exasperated by the mere act of putting his 
 thoughts into definite language. Of course, it 
 would be mere prudence never to record what 
 we may wish to forget. 
 
 I will close with another strictly practical view 
 of the subject, which is obviously implied, how- 
 ever, in some previous remarks. We are apt to 
 think that a scrupulous accuracy in the use of 
 words may, in certain departments of literature 
 and eloquence, be dispensed with. In contro- 
 versies among theologians and metaphysicians, 
 we are not surprised to hear much wrangling 
 about the terms employed. The disputants
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 243 
 
 charge each other with ignorantly, carelessly or 
 fraudulently perverting a word, and the cause of 
 truth itself seems to depend upon settling its 
 import. And there is no question that it ought 
 to be settled by as exact definitions as can be 
 framed. But shall we limit the demands of pre- 
 cision to cases like these ? What I contend for 
 is, that precise phraseology is equally essential, 
 for impression, in a work of taste. Our popular 
 or literary speech is as well-suited to affect the 
 imagination and feelings, as that of the schools is 
 to force home an argument upon the understand- 
 ing. If you would act upon any power of the 
 mind, you must present things to it in the way 
 that nature or custom has made necessary. 
 
 It may be contended that the cases differ, 
 since in an argument there is no safety, no con- 
 clusiveness, unless we put down everything in 
 exact order, and with a severe adherence to defi- 
 nitions, as you would in a mathematical process. 
 Whereas, in a novel or poem, for example, we 
 depend upon men's interest in what we are say- 
 ing to overlook omissions, or more properly, to 
 gather from our hints, though slightly expressed, 
 what we, in the heat of our feelings, could not 
 stop to elaborate and complete. 
 
 There is a mistake, I apprehend, in both these 
 statements. Even in an argument, let men be 
 ever so cold, wary and captious, there is much 
 left out by common consent, as there is also in
 
 244 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 
 
 every-day conversation. So in a literary work, 
 however brief, hurried and abrupt we may be, 
 how much soever we may leave the reader to 
 supply, yet the little we do say must be enough 
 to give him the power and make it a delightful 
 employment to him to supply it. A single word 
 may set the mind on fire, but the w r ord itself 
 must burn. 
 
 And this reminds me that a writer should be 
 guarded against the ambition of producing vast 
 effects by single, striking words. It is one of the 
 mistakes into which the young are apt to fall, 
 that a certain glorious, exorbitant phraseology is 
 the most impressive ; that it denotes an exuber- 
 ance of the poetical or oratorical power, which 
 always carries its own excuse for its worst ex- 
 cesses ; at any rate, that the great majority are 
 captivated by grand sounds more than by a con- 
 viction that some dull proser is uttering indispu- 
 table wisdom. If this were true, yet it is hardly 
 fair to practise upon human infirmity ; and it is 
 almost as bad to fail in a duty we owe to litera- 
 ture. But I am satisfied that the fact is directly 
 the other way. I believe that showy writing is 
 always cold, and reaches but a very little way 
 below the surface of men's minds ; and that, 
 take the world together, we shall, whether as 
 orators or writers, always have the greatest and 
 longest influence by substantial matter in the 
 diction that becomes it.
 
 CLEARNESS OF EXPRESSION AND THOUGHT. 245 
 
 There is the widest difference, you well know, 
 between propriety and tameness, between sim- 
 plicity and feebleness. "We need not be cold to 
 be correct, nor ostentatious to be eloquent. We 
 may be as magnificent, as vehement as our 
 nature will prompt or allow us to be, and all the 
 while violate no rule of sound criticism ; indeed, 
 all the while owe our success to a careful ob- 
 servance of precision. 
 
 The fear is not uncommon or unnatural that 
 habits of vigilance must prevent or impair free- 
 dom and ease, since they imply habitual self- 
 distrust. But what are we watchful against? 
 Does the well-grown boy lose all the ease and 
 freedom of infancy, because accidents have 
 taught him habits of prudence ? Are you likely 
 to write with less courage and energy, because 
 you have learned to be on your guard against 
 errors that do you wrong and balk your pur- 
 pose ? Never fear self-restraint, unless you 
 practise it to succeed in something bad. 
 21*
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 FOR some reason, which I may not fully un- 
 derstand, the criticisms which I have offered to 
 the students upon their use of figurative lan- 
 guage, appear to me to have been received with 
 less favor, or with less apprehension of my mean- 
 ing, than those upon other matters. Some have 
 told me that they supposed I preferred to have 
 words used in their proper instead of their sec- 
 ondary sense ; and that I looked distrustfully 
 upon whatever bore marks of ornamental or 
 uncommon expression. I have taken no other 
 pains to set them right than to say that my 
 objections in cases like these were never to the 
 form of speech itself, but were always directed 
 to some particular point then before me ; that I 
 liked a good figure as well perhaps as any 
 reader, but that I could not help being offended 
 with what appeared to me to be a bad one, or 
 an unskilful management of such as were un- 
 questionably good.
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 247 
 
 This of course left room for difference of 
 tastes ; and this I wished. I allow full force to 
 the argument founded on such a difference. 
 But no one will seriously dispute that taste has 
 its laws, and that there are laws for figurative 
 speech as well settled as for any other use of lan- 
 guage. A bold genius may sometimes violate 
 them with grand effect; but what connection is 
 there between this fact and a critical exercise at 
 school or college ? We are trying here to learn 
 the law and the principle, not the glorious dis- 
 pensations which are allowed to great men. The 
 teacher gives the pupil what he holds to be a 
 good and safe rule ; but he cannot undertake to 
 instruct him in those licenses which are some- 
 times conceded to mature and commanding 
 genius. 
 
 The rule then, as I understand it, I bring up 
 as an authority against positive faults. I urge 
 the reason of the rule and refer to what are 
 deemed good examples. But none of you know 
 how many passages, which, in strict rhetoric, 
 violate the rule, I nevertheless suffer to remain 
 untouched, because their departure from the 
 canon is spirited ; because it breaks the monot- 
 ony of studied accuracy ; and because it shows 
 that the writer was heartily occupied with his 
 thought and sincere in his expression. I never 
 fear such faults as these. Still, it might not be 
 safe to praise or even to take notice of them.
 
 248 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 Probably, inexperienced writers would, in gen- 
 eral, unduly value a brilliant and successful error 
 into which they had fallen unconsciously, and 
 begin to hold the rule in little respect. The 
 ordinary violations of the rule, therefore, are the 
 most proper objects of notice in such critical 
 exercises as are appointed here. 
 
 These explanations remind me of the frequent 
 remark that the written exercises of our students, 
 on all occasions, are far from abounding in those 
 ornaments and extravagances which are com- 
 monly expected in the young. I may have been 
 less mindful of this from my attention being 
 chiefly engaged to see whether they express 
 themselves intelligibly in good English. But 
 supposing the remark to be correct, how is the 
 fact to be explained ? Perhaps the genius of the 
 place is severer than that which presides over 
 some other academical retreats. Perhaps the 
 importance attached by our people generally to 
 good taste, makes the pupil dread that the mo- 
 ment he gives free course to his heart .or fancy, 
 and raises his diction above the common surface, 
 he is venturing upon great literary perils. I can 
 only say that, so far as I am concerned, I shall 
 rejoice in your courageous use of any term or 
 style which comes to you naturally. I am as 
 little pleased as you can be with tame inoffen- 
 siveness. If I apply correctives, it will be for no 
 other purpose than to remove what is incurably
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 249 
 
 defective, and to make more perfect what is at 
 heart and in the grain sound. What I have now 
 to say of figurative language will show my esti- 
 mate of it pretty clearly. 
 
 I intend to take only one view of it ; but I 
 must first observe of the word figure, that it is 
 used for different things, and often indefinitely. 
 It is sometimes applied to modes of expression 
 very distinct from those which come under the 
 notice of rhetoric; for example, to the various 
 ways of stating a syllogism, according to the 
 position of the middle term. Moreover, rhetori- 
 cians are not agreed as to the proper extent of its 
 use in their own department. 
 
 If we next attend to popular speech, we shall 
 find that most persons seem to employ the word 
 without troubling themselves to inquire into its 
 origin and history, or the definitions that have 
 been given of it. And I doubt whether a 
 knowledge of the definitions and derivation 
 would help them much. As far as I have ob- 
 served the popular use of the term, I have found 
 it to be a vague expression for an ornamented, 
 glowing, eloquent, poetical manner, but with a 
 reference, most commonly, to metaphors and 
 comparisons. A figurative writer is understood 
 to be a man of fancy, perhaps of display, who 
 seeks to animate and delight us, and as different 
 as possible from one who addresses simple state- 
 ments, in homely words, to the understanding.
 
 250 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 You perceive that this gives no answer to the 
 question, How came this word to be applied to 
 a certain character of style and language ? 
 
 Sometimes the following whimsical explana- 
 tion may be heard. As the word figure, in its 
 literal sense, is applied to objects of sight or 
 touch, it has been supposed that language was 
 called figurative when, in our fancies, it gave a 
 kind of sensible form or visibility to our ideas. 
 This notion probably arose from the fact that we 
 have so many tropes which are founded on re- 
 semblance, and that we often use similes to make 
 our thoughts clearer and more striking through a 
 likeness which we can all feel between them and 
 things outward. The material and spiritual are 
 constantly united for this purpose. But how 
 should the inventor of this theory have forgotten 
 the innumerable tropes and other classes of fig- 
 ures (as they are all called), in which there is not 
 the slightest reference to a resemblance between 
 the things thus connected, and sometimes when 
 there is even a grotesque opposition ? 
 
 The word, in its rhetorical sense, is itself a 
 trope, and means, I suppose, some recognized 
 and well-defined form or shape of language, in 
 which there is commonly a departure, more or 
 less striking, from the original or proper use. I 
 shall have frequent occasion to employ it as a 
 general term in the remarks that follow, without 
 much regard to precision. But where I must
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 251 
 
 speak of any particular class of figures, I will 
 call it by name. 
 
 I wish now to direct your attention to what I 
 consider as a grave misapprehension in regard to 
 the office of figures generally. This misappre- 
 hension is, that they are designed chiefly, if not 
 wholly, for ornament; that they are superinduced 
 and not essential ; that they are purposely added, 
 as if episodically, for brilliancy, and are not a 
 substantial expression, a perfectly natural and 
 unsought vesture of our thoughts. Here I have 
 something to concede. I admit to the full that 
 they are beauties, ornaments, bright gems, if you 
 please, in the black, rough rock, or it may be a 
 secret source of light which mildly irradiates a 
 whole scene. In our youthful reading, the next 
 thing that attracts us, after a good story, is the 
 beauty of similitudes. They are so luminous as 
 well as picturesque, that we regard them as lux- 
 uries. They are our amusement. We love rich 
 foliage and blossoms, and think little at the 
 moment of the solid trunk and the slowly-form- 
 ing fruit. And later in life, when we are graver 
 and more thoughtful, when we are more easily 
 taken with what we know to be useful, we are 
 still delighted with the splendid images of poetry 
 and eloquence. We are willing to pick them 
 out of the delicate work into which they have 
 been most happily wrought, and look at them, 
 recall them, exhibit thern to others, for their in- 
 dependent beauty.
 
 252 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 Think; what language would be, as a source 
 of pleasure only, if it had not the single class of 
 tropes called metaphors. It would be as inele- 
 gant, spiritless and impoverished as our minds if 
 v taste, fancy and the affections were torn from 
 them. Suppose that the metaphor had been in- 
 troduced into discourse at a late period ; that 
 we had just discovered that we had capacities to 
 invent and enjoy a far more affecting mode of 
 expression than the literal, unsuggestive one to 
 which we had been confined ; and it would seem 
 as if a new creation were opened, and new 
 delights were crowding upon us on every side. 
 Old things that we had used from necessity 
 only or for convenience, would take new forms 
 and serve new purposes. It would seem as if 
 the touch of magic had been laid on nature and 
 on man himself. New powers and sensibility 
 are brought to light. A new-born spirit of 
 beauty is shed upon the earth, upon the works 
 of men's hands and upon human life. Such a 
 change in language supposes the introduction 
 of poetry itself. 
 
 While we can admit then that there is, to 
 some extent, a glory and beauty in figures them- 
 selves, we cannot guard too carefully against the 
 notion that they are but accidental embellish- 
 ments ; that they are not an essential part of 
 composition ; that they are attached to it, not 
 woven into it. If a man uses a figure heartily
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 253 
 
 and properly, it will be as indispensable to his 
 full communication of his meaning as any form 
 of speech ever can be. He did not go out of his 
 way for it. He did not spend time in shaping 
 and setting it. It came of its own will to incor- 
 porate itself with his thought ; and being with 
 him the most natural expression, he would do 
 harm by adopting another. Moreover, the figures 
 that some admire for their supposed independent 
 beauty, derive their power over us, first of all, 
 from their being naturally suggested by the 
 thought which they illustrate and adorn ; and if, 
 from a habit of contemplating them separately 
 or from any other cause, the connection should 
 be lost sight of, the images will lose no small 
 part of their charm. 
 
 The metaphor has just been named for its 
 beauty and as an object of taste. But we should 
 take a narrow view of its use, if we saw nothing 
 more in this commonest of the tropes. We owe 
 to it an invigorating exercise of our minds in the 
 analysis required to discern the true points of 
 analogy or resemblance which justify the use of 
 the metaphor at all. We owe to it a habit 
 of watchfulness, which we acquire by guarding 
 against the errors and deceptions to which we 
 are exposed from constantly employing or hear- 
 ing words that have many related significations. 
 On the other hand, should a word maintain in- 
 flexibly its original import, and refuse alliance 
 22
 
 254 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 with anything but its proper object, it will cost 
 us nothing but the pains of learning what it 
 means, and it will carry us not a step beyond 
 itself. Besides these good offices of the meta- 
 phor, it does another not less important by call- 
 ing in the aid of imagination and fancy, and 
 through these of wit, humor, pathos, and of 
 other agencies, to illustrate, enliven and en- 
 force ideas, perhaps such as are least attractive, 
 least able to speak for themselves. This service 
 it renders in a brief, uninterrupting, familiar way 
 which adds to its charm and effect. We must 
 then be prepared for more than grace, beauty 
 and pleasure in a class of words like this. 
 
 Suppose a man should estimate poetry as 
 many estimate figures. Suppose he should re- 
 gard it as a delicate, musical, highly-finished, 
 and even gorgeous work of art, designed to 
 produce a pleasurable excitement or luxurious 
 repose. This view, to a certain extent, is right 
 enough. Poetry may properly be regarded, in 
 one aspect, as a sort of Paradise for the senses. 
 It exhilarates us by its various delights, as the 
 earth by its forms and colors and sounds. But 
 are we to rest in the pleasure, or in the beauty 
 as giving us pleasure ? How childish it is to say 
 that the grand design of poetry is to please, when 
 the remark is applied to King Lear or to Para- 
 dise Lost. Is it said that in these cases the sub- 
 stantial thought must be the same, whatever the
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 255 
 
 mode of presenting it, and that we owe nothing 
 to the poet but a better manner? How can this 
 be ? Would every man be able to conceive the 
 substantial thought as Milton and Shakspeare 
 did ? The truth poetically conceived is substan- 
 tially different from any other conception of it. 
 The difference is not, as some may think, in the 
 mode of exhibiting it. All those devices and 
 beauties of the poetic style, which some fondly 
 think might be separated from the main thought 
 and admired as distinct decorations, are but so 
 many results and indications of poetical concep- 
 tion. In no sense are they merely sources of 
 pleasure ; but they are also the mean-s by which 
 we are enabled to obtain more or less adequate 
 ideas of what is passing in the poet's mind. 
 Let us then remember that however we may de- 
 light in figurative speech or any of the graces of 
 poetry, our estimate of them must be made 
 according to the spirit, justness and originality 
 with which they set forth the matter in hand. 
 
 Closely allied to the idea that figures are em- 
 bellishments purposely attached to our work, is 
 another misapprehension ; namely, that we are 
 to seek for them, toil for them, do our best to in- 
 vent them. Here it is proper to make a distinc- 
 tion. Labor and search are allowable when we 
 stand in need of parallel cases to illustrate or 
 impress some difficult proposition, and when 
 they will not come to us of themselves ; and
 
 256 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 should the parallel both answer our purpose and 
 prove at the same time to be an ornament, so 
 much the better. The ornament is clear gain. 
 I do not suppose, however, that labor and search 
 will often be necessary, if a man is an active 
 thinker. He will probably have more similes 
 suggested by his course of thought than he will 
 care to employ. Neither do I suppose that 
 those which are obtained by study, however 
 exact and pertinent they may be, will, on the 
 whole, be so spirited and so naturally commingle 
 with the principal thought, as those which spring 
 up with the thought and are directly suggested 
 by it. On some not otherwise inviting page of 
 Locke, I have found a perfect illustrative com- 
 parison, yet so tender and sad that the highest 
 strain of elegy could not refuse it. In the midst 
 of Franklin's gravest reflections I have met 
 with an argumentative comparison so lively and 
 picturesque, that satirical or didactic verse could 
 not have desired more, and yet doing the work 
 of conviction and persuasion at a blow. Neither 
 of these bore marks of having been sought for. 
 
 But the misapprehension to which I was di- 
 recting your attention, relates to our seeking after 
 figures for decoration. There is a very common 
 and just impression that they give life to com- 
 position, that they arouse and keep up the atten- 
 tion, by their grace and vivacity. Why then 
 should not every one, who aims to be a useful as
 
 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 257 
 
 well as popular writer or speaker, make it a busi- 
 ness to acquire them and have them ready for 
 use ? Many a poet of cheerful fancy is believed 
 to have fabricated a thought for no other object 
 than to place by its side a sparkling illustration 
 which was waiting for an occasion. The 
 wary punster, perhaps in concert with others, 
 gives a turn to conversation which may offer a 
 fair opportunity for an anxious jest. The dili- 
 gent collector of quotations expects the time 
 when he shall coolly turn them to account with 
 an off-hand facility. These artifices show that 
 the parties are aware of what will please, and 
 seem to warrant in some degree the practice we 
 are speaking of. 
 
 No doubt it is one way to be popular and at- 
 tractive ; and mere parade of any kind has a like 
 effect. Mere startling oddity or cloudy mysti- 
 cism may be popular and attractive, may be said 
 to arouse and keep up attention, though they fix 
 it wholly upon themselves. He who hides good 
 matter under a heap of flowers, may be a greater 
 favorite for his decorations, than he might have 
 been if his good matter had been distinctly seen 
 standing alone. But our present business is not 
 with pretenders and showmen, but with good 
 writers and with permanent principles. Our 
 warning to the young writer is, never to suppose 
 that there is any genuine vigor and warmth in 
 embellishment. The peril is, false glitter and 
 22*
 
 258 USING WORDS FOR ORNAMENT. 
 
 universal tawdriness. The idea being once 
 adopted that figures are essential to vivacity and 
 a sure mark of elegance, they will be brought 
 in on all occasions. Ambition and habit will 
 soon make the manufacture the easiest thing in 
 the world. Let a man's original resources be 
 very slender and his fancy most inert ; yet, if he 
 have ingenuity and a love of display, he will find 
 in the commonplaces of poetry, in fable, in his- 
 tory, in new inventions and old customs, in a 
 resort to any quarter, something that he can force 
 into his service. Nothing is more easily filled 
 than a toy-shop. A little varnish and gold leaf 
 and paint will make almost anything look well 
 enough to inconsiderate eyes. 
 
 But while we condemn this show of made-up 
 finery, we must not forget that caution is needed 
 in a wholly different quarter. The imagination 
 itself, under the most genuine excitement, may 
 pour forth its real beauties as rapidly and pro- 
 fusely as the false rhetorician can fabricate his 
 trinkets, and with scarcely less injury, unless its 
 exercise is tempered by a well-formed taste. 
 There is no other security against its unseason- 
 able incursions.
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 THERE are tokens, it is supposed, which may 
 enable the reflecting and sagacious to be trust- 
 worthy prophets of an author's future place in 
 the judgments and affections of men. At the 
 least, by inquiring into the matter they may set- 
 tle to their own satisfaction some points that 
 appear to be pertinent and of importance. They 
 are to consider whether a book has properties 
 that are essential to its perpetuity. Of course 
 they must bring to the investigation, or obtain 
 from it, a knowledge of readers as well as of 
 writers, and try to discover something which 
 may always be relied upon in the tastes of one 
 party, and in the means which the other has 
 chosen to gratify them. My principal object is 
 to suggest some of the points that may occur to 
 them in the course of their inquiry. 
 
 I shall begin with citing a passage from the 
 correspondence of Richardson, the novelist, in 
 which he takes up the subject at an early stage. 
 
 [259]
 
 260 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 ' I am of opinion,' he says, ' that it is necessary 
 for a genius to accommodate itself to the mode 
 and taste of the world it is cast into, since works 
 published in this age must take root in it, to 
 flourish in the next.' * This remark is not cited 
 for the purpose of controverting it ; else, we 
 might object to its urging upon authors an undue 
 deference to the demands of their contempora- 
 ries. We might further object to its want of 
 accuracy ; for some men of genius, though they 
 resisted prevailing tastes and opinions, have at 
 once carried the world with them ; others have 
 triumphed, after death, over the neglect or un- 
 popularity of more than their own age ; and 
 some writings of great consideration and author- 
 ity are never classed among works which are 
 objects of general notice and admiration. The 
 closing remark, however, in the passage just 
 quoted, may be so interpreted as to suggest a 
 truth that deserves attention. 
 
 In one sense, then, a man of letters must take 
 root in his own age, to flourish afterwards 
 Though he should live in what he thinks to be a 
 very inauspicious state of things, and be pro- 
 voked to say, in contempt or sorrow, that he has 
 fallen on evil days, that no one is ready to receive 
 him, that he must look beyond the present for 
 his judges ; yet, in making this sad avowal, he 
 forgets that from the men of that barren and 
 * Correspondence, &c. Vol. I. p. 121.
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 261 
 
 benighted age, as well as from himself and his 
 reading, he must learn enough of mankind and 
 of what constitutes human life, to make himself 
 welcome in the ever-varying ages that are to fol- 
 low. The warm spirit, of humanity which he is 
 to breathe into all coming time, must be kindled 
 then, and in great part by means of the things 
 about him ; how true soever it may be that the 
 immortal element will soar above the instruction 
 which developed it, and drop, day by day, the 
 aids that might now be hindrances. If his 
 studies lie in any sphere which connects him 
 with the common feelings and interests of his 
 kind, his school must be in his daily walks 
 among men. Human nature in books alone will 
 not serve him. He must study it also in the 
 living subject. His neighbors, rude and unlet- 
 tered it may be, must teach him how to read it. 
 He must prove it by the test of his own experi- 
 ence, and set it before the distant ages as he 
 learned it in his own home. 
 
 But he is not bound to the age in which he 
 lives by its merely offering him the best means 
 of studying men and life. It further presents 
 him with the language of his country in the state 
 in which he must use it. However delightedly 
 and profitably he may study it through its whole 
 history, and however originally he may apply its 
 rich stores or even add to them, he is to employ 
 it mainly as the speech best fitted for the men of
 
 262 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 his day, because it best expresses the mind, the 
 tastes and the wants of his day. Tn fact, so far 
 as it has present peculiarities, it owes them to 
 circumstances under which he and his country- 
 men have grown up, and which therefore have, 
 become part of himself and of them. To depart 
 from it rudely would be an act of violence, and 
 ultimately, if not immediately, take much from 
 his usefulness and attraction. 
 
 Connected -with the language, as it exists in 
 his day, are the forms or habits of thought which 
 then prevail, and the current of opinion, so far at 
 least as it has marks of constancy. These will 
 and must have power over him. He will natu- 
 rally and obviously partake of them. He ought 
 to be as familiar with the spirit and tendencies 
 of the times as if he lived and wrote merely for 
 the passing hour ; not for the sake of winning 
 the voices of his neighbors by unworthy com- 
 pliance with their tastes, or (which would be as 
 little creditable) to defy, ridicule and exasperate 
 them ; but that he may study mankind in the 
 people about him, and human life in the aspect 
 which they present of it. He may be strongly 
 tempted to make brilliant sketches of the times 
 for immediate effect ; but a book need not be 
 ephemeral because its subject is of the present 
 day, and though its materials be drawn from the 
 humblest quarter or from the most frivolous 
 experience of the highest. He must then main-
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 263 
 
 tain, at every hazard, his self-respect, his inde- 
 pendence and originality ; but he should not for 
 a moment wish to throw off his allegiance to the 
 present, and make himself an artificial, complex 
 thing, composed of selected excellencies which 
 he has discovered in various countries and 
 times. 
 
 We need not name other ties that bind an 
 author to his own age. What we would make 
 prominent is, that he must recognize and know 
 how to employ the facts before him. He can 
 borrow none from any other quarter that will fill 
 the place and do the work of those which make 
 up his personal experience at home. The im- 
 press that he may bear of his familiarity with 
 other countries and times will never be quite so 
 natural and agreeable as that which he receives 
 from the age and scenes in which he has been 
 brought up. His faculties must be brought 
 out and his character moulded by powers from 
 abroad ; and those which are nearest and the 
 first to be felt are almost sure to prevail. Among 
 these are his condition of life, the facts that press 
 early upon his notice, familiar objects and occur- 
 rences, his associates, occupations and amuse- 
 ments. In this seemingly straitened and humble 
 sphere, the prevailing religion of the country, its 
 climate and natural features, its inspiring tradi- 
 tions, its old social usages, its political revolu- 
 tions, and, perhaps, its long nourished jealousy
 
 264 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 of rival neighbors, are exercising their more im- 
 posing but not more active influences. 
 
 Here then, at home, a power not readily de- 
 fined is silently acting upon us all, as if to do its 
 work more effectually by never putting us upon 
 our guard. It begins with us so early, and pre- 
 pares us so naturally to take in the variety of 
 great and minute experiences which we must 
 pass through, that the process never seems to be 
 irregular or disturbed, and the result, as we might 
 suppose, is sufficiently harmonious. We are not 
 like travellers abroad, to whom things are not 
 only new, but felt to be new, each demanding 
 attention to itself, and the relations of which to 
 each other must be carefully studied, before the 
 stranger can give to all collectively an air of 
 unity and consistency. The most perfect same- 
 ness in all that is external to us, the unvaried 
 repetition of our lives from day to day could not 
 be more free from dissonance and struggle, in its 
 effect upon the mind, than the experience of a 
 native within his own borders. Yet there is as 
 little of monotony as of effort. The harmony 
 that grows up in this endless diversity is not the 
 mere work of instinct. We in part create it for 
 ourselves we pass through changes peacefully, 
 but not without consciousness and intelligence. 
 
 Such a course of early, out-of-school education 
 does more than contribute to form the mind of 
 individual writers. It gives a peculiar and uni-
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 265 
 
 versally recognized distinction to men as belong- 
 ing to a community, and, through them, to its 
 literature. Hence it may be thought proper that 
 I should speak of other powers which are acting 
 to produce this effect. But I make no attempt 
 at a full enumeration, and readily omit several 
 which to some minds may appear of first rate 
 importance in laying open a subject of this kind. 
 I have not named original differences of race as 
 a cause of national and literary diversity, for I 
 am chiefly concerned to speak of external influ- 
 ences. Partly for the same reason, I do not take 
 into the account the original differences of indi- 
 vidual minds, and, preeminent among these, the 
 varieties of genius. Besides, if we look at the 
 matter strictly, these are not, perhaps, to be re- 
 garded as peculiar to any soil or any age of the 
 world. Though we ascribe to them what is 
 called individuality, yet they do not set a dis- 
 criminating mark upon literature as national, 
 except so far as they are touched and shaped by 
 the same influences which act upon the mass of 
 the people. Again, I have not named science, 
 letters and art among the forming agencies of 
 which I am speaking ; for, important as they are 
 in regard to the development of the faculties, to 
 intellectual enterprise, to refinement, to liberality 
 of opinion, to our pleasures, to our resources of 
 thought, and to the fame of individuals and 
 states, yet they are the common property of 
 23
 
 266 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 advanced civilization everywhere ; and, being 
 freely interchanged, they are more likely to bring 
 men of different nations to some degree of re- 
 semblance, than to strengthen the distinctions 
 between them. I do not know that we can so 
 properly say of even the literature of one's own 
 country that it gives a character to the people, 
 as that it springs from and expresses a character 
 already forming, that it carries forward a work 
 already begun, and quickens the process and 
 gives stability to the results. Once more, I have 
 not thought that the course of these remarks re- 
 quired me to consider the unquestionable fact, 
 that both national and individual character are 
 less observed and less prominent in some writers 
 and some classes of composition, than in others. 
 Passing by these and other omissions, the view 
 of the subject actually presented may appear 
 altogether imperfect, because it takes in local 
 and present influences only, though we profess 
 to be considering the means of gaining general 
 and lasting favor as a writer. We began with 
 the necessity of his ' taking root in his own age,' 
 including in the idea his country and its his- 
 tory for the time ; and this period will be thought 
 very inconsiderable, as it certainly is when looked 
 at as a mere amount of duration. But it must 
 not be regarded as a separate fragment. Espec- 
 ially, if it be an era remarkable for light and 
 civilization, it must have required many ages to
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 267 
 
 produce it. The long and changeful experience 
 of a whole people, widely connected perhaps 
 with other states, is concentrated and living in 
 our own day. At least, we have all that was 
 worth surviving. Then, too, it has, no doubt, 
 its glowing future, surpassing, as we think, all 
 that has yet been, and soon to be the crowded 
 present of other generations. Certainly, this is 
 not a very narrow school for any writer's prepa- 
 ration. 
 
 Still, some vague fancy may be entertained 
 that, since nothing will answer such a purpose 
 as we hold out, but a broad, comprehensive 
 spirit, with something of the infinite in its con- 
 templations, a whole individual mind, absorbed 
 in abstractions and universals, freed, as far as 
 may be, from the limitations and perversions to 
 which we are exposed in the common course of 
 education and daily life, accustomed to look 
 upon men, not severally but ' in the gross,' and 
 to take world-wide views of human affections, 
 relations, capacities and desires, would be the 
 most proper power to act forever upon the whole 
 race. But, even if it were desirable, we shall 
 never meet with such a mind either among great 
 or ordinary men. To expand our natures to the 
 utmost, and make men as universal as they can 
 be made, they must pass through the discipline 
 or instruction of particular facts, minute, it may 
 be, and seemingly insignificant ; of common
 
 268 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 things near at hand, such as I have already 
 named ; of influences the most accidental and 
 unconnected, and which probably are quite un- 
 observed and beyond our direct control. Often 
 from the little events of our lives corne the 
 grandest conceptions and the boldest enterprises. 
 The sympathies which, by and by, are to com- 
 prehend the race, must begin with love of our 
 neighbors, however obscure and uninspiring they 
 may be. 
 
 But why do we demand and even press as an 
 essential thing, this strongly-marked, local, per- 
 sonal and national character, in a literature which 
 we all agree is intended to affect other times and 
 countries, besides those in which it had birth? 
 Why not drop, as far as may be, all that is sig- 
 nally peculiar, and carefully retain what is uni- 
 versal in its tone and spirit? Why should we 
 shut up an author's power within the borders of 
 his own country, and the period in which he may 
 still have something of a modern air? To this it 
 may be answered generally, and in accordance 
 with the view already taken, that we cannot 
 have a great and commanding literature unless 
 it grow out of the home character and experience 
 of the writers. A few points, which seem to be 
 well established by facts, will be a sufficient, if 
 not a very formal reply to the questions just 
 started, and probably remove all apprehension of 
 undue restraints upon authors.
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 269 
 
 If, then, we turn to readers, native and foreign, 
 and of whatever period, to learn how they are 
 affected by the strongest characteristics of a great 
 writer, we observe, as a general thing, that the 
 more distinct the stamp he bears of his time and 
 country, and we may add of true individuality, 
 the more definitely and effectually is his whole 
 mind brought to other minds, the world over ; 
 and the more sure it is to keep its hold upon 
 them, in spite of any changes which fall short of 
 a revolution in human nature itself. Such an 
 effect might naturally be looked for, so far as his 
 own people are concerned ; but in the eyes of 
 foreigners, too, his peculiarities of whatever de- 
 scription, if original and genuine, will have a 
 force and vivacity and a sort of personal con- 
 firmation in them, which will easily break 
 through the obstructions that a foreign speech, 
 or foreign habits of any kind may have raised. 
 I dwell not upon the advantage of having a fine 
 foreign study in our possession, which may ani- 
 mate our curiosity and try our learning and skill. 
 But I contend that the strange things in a foreign 
 writer are not barely tolerated as being first of all 
 intended for his countrymen, and of course per- 
 plexing to all others ; but that they will be wel- 
 comed for the pungency and native sincerity with 
 which they exhibit not only what is new to us, 
 but sometimes what is in strong contrast with 
 our ways of thinking and acting. The writer's 
 23*
 
 270 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 familiarity with things at home and his pride in 
 them give a confident, freedom to thought and 
 style, and something of that rough bravery and 
 indifference to foreign doubts and censure which 
 are far from being discreditable to the most gen- 
 uine patriotism. He will be liked the better for 
 it by the warm-hearted and discriminating of all 
 countries, so sure of favor is a sound, healthy 
 feeling or sentiment faithfully addressed to our 
 common nature. 
 
 To tamper, then, with the matter and style for 
 better reception abroad, would show how fatally 
 an author may misapprehend the tastes and ca- 
 pacities of his readers, and how strangely he may 
 forget that readers of all nations demand of him 
 to be just to himself and his opportunities for 
 their sakes as well as for his own. If we could 
 have an old Greek or a modern Frenchman writ- 
 ing in the proper character of a citizen of the 
 world, we should see very clearly the advantage 
 of leaving men of letters to the inspiration and 
 training of their homes. Though men say that 
 Shakspeare wrote for the world, they do not 
 mean to deny that but for Warwickshire, Lon- 
 don and the Age of Elizabeth, he would have 
 written for nobody. 
 
 A question may arise, whether the domestic 
 education which we have spoken of as inevita- 
 ble, will not confine writers to domestic subjects. 
 While all agree that abstract truth or general
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 271 
 
 principles belong not to time and place, but are 
 equally open and inviting to all cultivated minds, 
 yet, when we are to write of human affairs, of 
 actions and characters, and of scenes in the out- 
 ward world, such topics, for example, as have 
 a fit place in epics, plays, descriptive writing, or 
 in narratives real or fictitious, should not the 
 home-training, which forms the mind, direct it to 
 home-subjects as the most proper for its exercise 
 and most likely to be successfully treated ? Shall 
 an English dramatist take a Roman for his hero, 
 and surround him with the life and manners of 
 the ancient city ? Shall a German novelist give 
 us a story of Aspasia and her times? Shall 
 Moore be encouraged to consult libraries full of 
 Eastern scenes, habits and creeds, that he may 
 prepare a Persian or Egyptian tale ? 
 
 Questions of this character would have sound- 
 ed strangely to the Romans in the early period 
 of their literature; for their dependence on foreign 
 examples and supplies had been unlimited. Yet, 
 in time, such questions were to have an answer 
 in the commendation which Rome bestowed on 
 her writers for turning homeward at last for their 
 materials. Our own authors, but a few years 
 since, were thought to look too much abroad for 
 models, and to be unmindful of the original re- 
 sources of their country, and of the fact that 
 they must expect distinction chiefly from their 
 masterly use of their peculiar wealth. We hear
 
 272 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 little of this complaint now. With regard to the 
 writers of both countries, the dependence and 
 deference we have spoken of are easily accounted 
 for, and, under the circumstances of each, appear 
 to have been as natural as their ultimate resort 
 to their own treasures. It seems to be in the 
 course of things that a decided national spiri 
 and character, slowly growing up and gaining 
 vigor under the peculiar influences which sur- 
 round a people at home, should, in due time, 
 direct its writers to topics that are closely con- 
 nected with these influences, and which are 
 favorable to the establishment of a patriotic sen- 
 timent in respect to everything national. The 
 idea of a strictly original literature seems to 
 imply as much as this. 
 
 But to have a literature of our own does not 
 imply the exclusion of foreign materials. The 
 practice of writers everywhere, their success, and 
 the resulting fame of nations are against it. A 
 liberal spirit, a healthy curiosity, and the strong 
 inclination of many gifted minds are against it. 
 Indeed, so far as impression and success are 
 concerned, there seems to be no objection to an 
 authors selecting a topic from abroad, which 
 would not lie against his attempting a work of 
 pure imagination, or against a painter's or sculp- 
 tor's choosing his subjects from what quarter he 
 pleases. Even the jealousy of patriotism need 
 not be alarmed, for we may be assured that
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 273 
 
 however remote the field which he explores, the 
 settled character of his mind will show itself in 
 all its work. The noble studies which it finds in 
 foreign countries and libraries, will fall into 
 cheerful subordination to a mind already formed 
 and established under native impulses and 
 direction. 
 
 Let us then leave an author to his sound dis- 
 cretion. If he can throw himself heartily into 
 his foreign subject, or his imaginary world ; if he 
 can make himself so far at home with his real or 
 invented persons and scenes, that they become 
 both to himself and to us objects of clear con- 
 ception and full sympathy ; his purpose may 
 be as well answered, and his book shall be as 
 thoroughly a part of national literature, as if he 
 were engaged upon what are properly called 
 domestic facts. Certainly, we impose no hard 
 condition upon a man of genius when we require 
 thus much of him. Neither do we lessen his 
 merit or endanger his triumph by admitting that 
 he may show on every page that he is not a 
 Roman or Persian, though he should assume to 
 speak as one of these ; that the stamp of his age, 
 the atmosphere of ideas about him at home, the 
 spirit, the genius of his country may constantly 
 betray his origin. His own people are not likely 
 to be more mindful of his violation of rigid truth 
 and propriety by the infusion of his own charac- 
 ter and a national tone, than he is himself; and
 
 274 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 probably they will care as little for it as he does. 
 There will be no shock and no serious miscon- 
 ception. A foreign reader will not be offended 
 but amused rather to see how differently the 
 same things are viewed by writers of various 
 countries. Shakspeare's Brutus is not mine, ex- 
 claims the Frenchman; and in the same tone 
 would he speak of Hamlet, should he try to re- 
 duce the ideal to the French apprehension and 
 taste. Still, no reader of any nation doubts that 
 he is contemplating, in the poet's ideal, a strong 
 conception of as real a personage as can be found 
 in the actual, common world. One basis of 
 character, one body of truth is acknowledged by 
 all, a distinct original is in the minds of all, 
 however it may be modified by the genius of 
 writers or the apprehension of readers, and this 
 is enough. 
 
 It is not without reason, however, that readers 
 are anxious lest accounts of grave matters of 
 fact should be mutilated or clouded by the intru- 
 sion of individual views and impressions. I do 
 not know that a wise old Athenian (though 
 admitting the general accuracy with which noto- 
 rious facts are related) would be perfectly satis- 
 fied with the modern historian's interpretation of 
 the policy and motives of the Greeks, or of innu- 
 merable obscure agencies which appear to have 
 greatly affected the course of affairs. Will dis- 
 trust and caution ever be wholly needless in re-
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 275 
 
 gard to historical statements ? Nevertheless, we 
 think it something to have the views of a fair 
 and sagacious mind, upon transactions which are 
 variously represented. It is in the variety of 
 exhibitions that we often find an opening to the 
 highest certainty which can be reached concern- 
 ing human affairs. Even the distorted accounts 
 of a strong modern partisan are not without use 
 in giving a new face to ancient things, which 
 had been long and carelessly regarded in but a 
 single light, and in showing us how the same 
 human nature, under varied impulses, will find a 
 proper aliment, in the same topic, for the most 
 diverse creeds, prejudices and tempers. Finally, 
 it may be doubted whether the historians of their / 
 own country and the biographers of their own 
 great men differ less, or disfigure truth less, than 
 they do in treating of foreign states or foreign 
 worthies. 
 
 I have here suggested, as a point likely to 
 occur to those who are inquiring into a writer's 
 prospects of long-continued remembrance, that 
 to be well received, not only at home in his own 
 day, but in times and countries far from, and, it 
 may be, very unlike his own, he must be edu- 
 cated like other people, under influences that will 
 make him national, and, to some extent, a repre- 
 sentative of the period in which he lives. But 
 this far-spread and perpetual welcome implies
 
 276 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 that, notwithstanding the alleged narrowing ten- 
 dencies of a writer's home education, and though 
 his studies should be of subjects the most par- 
 ticular and minute, of the plant by his own 
 brook-side, or of the mountain shepherd who 
 takes care of his flock, his tone and spirit must 
 be eminently comprehensive and unexclusive. 
 He need not be thinking every moment of uni- 
 versal beauty or of the whole race to which he is 
 bound ; but he must have and show that per- 
 vading sense of both, which will give to his most 
 studied individual sketch and to meditations the 
 most personal, a wide relation, and the power 
 of moving an unperverted mind everywhere. 
 Without entering into the general subject here 
 presented, which, like that we have already con- 
 sidered, has been often and variously treated by 
 others, let us attend for a moment to one or two 
 mistakes which may be fatal to the diffusive 
 spirit we would recommend. 
 
 Early in this lecture, I represented an author 
 as saying, in his dissatisfaction with the present, 
 that he would appeal to other times to pass upon 
 his merits. This he may reasonably do, if he 
 simply means that he will wait for the remote 
 verdict. He has in mind some supposed, per- 
 haps some real present hindrance to his success, 
 which, in the course of years, may cease. But 
 if he also means that he will write with refer- 
 ence only to the coming ages, and of course
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 277 
 
 watchfully exclude his contemporaries from his 
 study and sympathy, we have a very different 
 case before us. He brings into view the whole 
 subject of preparing a work with a distinct, pos- 
 itive regard to those who are to judge it, or, 
 rather, whom he is willing to accept as judges. 
 Here we have one manifestation of the exclusive 
 spirit. In a different mood, he might resolve to 
 write with sole reference to a particular state of 
 society and public sentiment, to the distinctions 
 of rank and education, to the tastes of his pecu- 
 liar set, or even of some one valued literary 
 friend. In every instance, the idea of writing 
 broadly of and for mankind, or generously from 
 his own nature, is carefully shut out. 
 
 Here let it be conceded, however, that we 
 should not condemn all attempts to fit one's self 
 for certain classes of readers. An author, I pre- 
 sume, may properly condescend to human infirm- 
 ity for the sake of disarming the prejudices of 
 custom and the hostility of ignorance, or of pre- 
 paring men in still other ways for what may do 
 them good. So, the untried, feeble capacities 
 of children may be assisted by the kindly bend- 
 ing of the greatest minds to meet their wants. 
 The utmost prudence, and gifts hardly to be dis- 
 tinguished from genius will be required so to 
 perform these offices as not to excite resentment 
 by a patronizing air of conciliation, or the con- 
 tempt of the young by a weak prattle that infants 
 24
 
 278 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 might scorn even among themselves. But an 
 author is not called upon to make sacrifices and 
 concessions, he finds no countenance given to 
 narrow self-adaptation, in the high departments 
 of literature, where both writers and their critics 
 are presumed to be of full strength and compe- 
 tent judgment, and alike eager for good thoughts 
 and patient of none other. Here, at least, he is 
 expected to be independent, self-confiding, and 
 as universal in his views and spirit as his genius 
 will allow him to be. 
 
 Our attention has just before been directed to 
 some offended and perhaps self-sufficient author, 
 who rejects the present and its judgments and 
 resolves to write exclusively for readers of a 
 future age. He requires a little notice, for his 
 position is peculiar. What shall he do for that 
 vague mass, the coming generations, to which he 
 appeals ? He can never know what will meet 
 their demands, supposing them to differ from the 
 common demands of man's nature, as they exist 
 in his own day or as he finds them in all the 
 past. He can propose nothing definite to him- 
 self when he speaks of a better time to come. 
 Instead of beginning with men now, and prepar- 
 ing them, however slowly, for his perfectly inde- 
 pendent views ; instead of trying to make his 
 own age do something towards raising the char- 
 acter of its successors, and fitting them to judge 
 the past, to judge even itself, lie presumes,
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 279 
 
 without one fact to guide him, to divine what 
 men will be, and what they will require and 
 honor at some hidden, future day. 
 
 Then consider the restraint which he lays upon 
 his freedom and originality. He may ask how 
 this can be when he has an unknown and un- 
 limited world to expatiate in. I answer, for 
 that very reason. He has no objects, no bounda- 
 ries, no outline, no guiding, strengthening, en- 
 riching definiteness of purpose. He is in the 
 midst of vacancy, and must fill it, if at all, not 
 by invention but by laborious conjecture. If his 
 fancy should be occupied with some ideal state 
 of things, yet what he prepares for his imaginary 
 readers will of course be ineffectual for the men 
 and women who are to walk the earth, age after 
 age. It may be well-wrought, artistically con- 
 sidered, and pass for grotesque or fantastic 
 fiction, but for nothing else. We need not fear 
 that many writers, however fondly or queru- 
 lously they may insist upon slighting the present 
 and living only in the future, will practically 
 carry out their idea in full ; but to any one, 
 whose ambition inclines at all that way, it may 
 be suggested that he will find, after abandoning 
 universal humanity as it is, and rejecting the 
 precious instruction which he had received from 
 facts, that nothing remains for him to do but to 
 make artificial conceits for the wonder of some 
 far-off generation in which he must be a 
 stranger.
 
 280 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 In our dislike of a narrow, exclusive spirit, we 
 should be careful lest we charge the most liberal 
 minds with it ; for it must be owned that in 
 their bold, engrossing speculations and their 
 eager sympathy with a few kindred inquirers, 
 they may seem to have passed within a circle 
 from which the many are excluded. We may 
 hear it objected to an author that he writes for a 
 small class of favorites. But that the number is 
 small may not be a matter of choice with him. 
 He might be glad to have it otherwise. Still, if 
 he cannot draw a crowd, let, him not be called 
 exclusive for doing his best to instruct those who 
 can and will hear. So, as to his writing for his 
 favorites or admirers only, this may mean no 
 more than that he writes for all who can under- 
 stand and relish him ; and, by and by, these may 
 be all the world. 
 
 It is sometimes said of an eminent poet or 
 philosopher that he forms a school for himself, 
 at least to begin with, and that he aims directly 
 at creating or developing in his disciples the 
 power to go along with him ; so much deeper 
 does he enter into subjects than men have al- 
 ready gone. This is in the main true ; and his 
 course is a perfectly liberal one, and the only one 
 that he could profitably take. He is forever 
 educating men, either personally or through his 
 followers, by making them better acquainted 
 with their capacities and wants, or by appealing
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 281 
 
 to their awakened consciousness for the recep- 
 tion of truths which they may be said to have 
 been waiting for. This is true not only of him, 
 but, more or less, of all long-remembered writers ; 
 and, in consequence of some accidental direction 
 given to men's thoughts, an unexpected light 
 may breqk upon them from writings which have 
 been in their hands for ages. But let it be 
 observed that the eminent poet or philosopher of 
 whom we speak, (whether he has a school or 
 not) addresses himself to the human soul every- 
 where, and equally to the men of his own and 
 of all time. He would have all men for his dis- 
 ciples, that they may all have new ideas and 
 pleasures. There is not one sign of his seeking 
 to accommodate himself to their humors or pre- 
 possessions. He might do so if he had a tem- 
 porary purpose to gain ; but he cannot do so, 
 when his aim is to pass beyond modes, tastes 
 and questions of the dav, and penetrate to the 
 never-changing principles and the never-supplied 
 wants of our nature; when his office may be 
 to displace darling errors and revolutionize long- 
 seated opinions. 
 
 Let us now observe the impression which an 
 author makes, to learn whether it indicates a 
 firm hold on public favor. We do not promise 
 him, or require for him, in the distant, tranquil 
 future, the bustling admiration of his contempo- 
 24*
 
 282 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 raries ; but he must have qualities that will 
 secure men's sober love and gratitude in their 
 homes, in their solitary walks, in their studies, 
 in the highest and the most familiar intercourse 
 of social life, through all time, and, to a degree, 
 in every reading country. To be immortal as a 
 writer is more than to have a place among the 
 customary tenants of large libraries, to be hidden 
 perhaps for ages ; and, when brought to light, 
 like an embalmed corpse of the East, for the ex- 
 amination of the curious, to be wondered at 
 chiefly for having lasted so long. It is more 
 than to have a deserved name for wisdom and 
 genius, if these come not with a gracious as well 
 as an awakening power. The writer, whom we 
 presume to call immortal, must have life in the 
 hearts, the experience and the wants of men. 
 He must be essential to them. He must be a 
 part of them, of their pride, their preferences, their 
 opinions, their actions. He must hear on every 
 side, forever, the voice of favor and thanks, and 
 make it their honor more than his that he is still 
 remembered and desired. 
 
 To be at the full tide of popularity in one's 
 own time is not in the least a sign, as many 
 fear, that there will be an ebb in the next age ; 
 though, probably, the surface will be less dis- 
 turbed. A single generation may give clear 
 evidence of what will be thought of a man for- 
 ever. An individual may have a movement in
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 283 
 
 his heart towards a man of genius, which will 
 be answered by other hearts in all time. The 
 man of genius himself may be inspired to pro- 
 claim, without vanity, that he shall not wholly 
 die. We naturally enough distrust present celeb- 
 rity, because it may be owing to accident and 
 perishable influences. For the same reason, we 
 may not feel the slightest uneasiness at present 
 neglect. It was no pledge, to be sure, and 
 neither was it a hindrance of Milton's awful 
 name in the world to-day, that he was passed 
 by in his own time. This simply denoted what 
 the time was. 
 
 The mere amount of an author's contemporary 
 popularity, of the excitement he produces, and 
 of the importance attached to everything that 
 relates to him, will give no sure indication of his 
 future standing. It is the kind of estimation 
 that he obtains, the kind of interest that he 
 awakens, which is to settle the matter. Does 
 he give us new impulses, new views, new men- 
 tal exercises, which we receive as perfectly 
 natural and as all our own ; and is this done in 
 ] inguage and a style which our hearts tell us 
 were suggested to him by his immediate expe- 
 rience, by the things he was saying ? Are we 
 sure that the agitation he produces is not a 
 feverish or delirious transport, into which we are 
 thrown by something that is startling merely 
 because it is monstrous, or paradoxical, or asso-
 
 284 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 elated with some* urgent and transitory passions 
 or prejudices of the day? Whatever be the 
 subject, new or old, familiar or strange, do 
 we value the book first of all as a picture of an 
 original mind, and for what that mind has done 
 for the subject, rather than owes to it? Is the 
 power we acknowledge and extol a generous and 
 strengthening and kindly one to ourselves, en- 
 couraging and elevating our faculties, and draw- 
 ing us into near communion with itself, instead 
 of reminding us of our inferiority ? 
 
 After settling these and similar points con- 
 cerning the impression he makes, if we need 
 any external evidence of his probable future po- 
 sition, we may compare him with those writers 
 who have long pleased and are considered as 
 established in the world's memory, and see if he 
 has their marks of health and long life. If we 
 are satisfied in this, as well as in the other 
 respects, that he has made out a good claim for 
 himself, we may trust his name to the ' dim and 
 perilous ' future, with as little fear as we should 
 to a living friend. 
 
 There may be times in which he is no longer 
 popular. The larger part of his writings, though 
 still kept in print by virtue of the precious resi- 
 due and by the literary importance of his name, 
 may fall into neglect and to most readers be un- 
 known. Things for which he was once most 
 valued may give place to new-discovered or
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 285 
 
 more highly prized qualities in himself. Acci- 
 dent may depress for a season the department 
 of literature in which he excels, or other eminent 
 men may walk in his steps and seem ready to 
 shake his supremacy. But we know that he 
 will not be ultimately superseded, or for any 
 cause perish, as surely as we know that the 
 frame of man's mind and the true fountains of 
 his happiness will never be changed. 
 
 I would not be thought to rely unreasonably 
 upon the impression which a book makes, as an 
 indication of its probable destiny. Clearly, this 
 impression cannot be said to denote anything, at 
 the beginning, but the opinion of an individual ; 
 and this, we all know, may be indefinite ; it may 
 suffer change ; it may be misapprehended by 
 others ; and, if understood aright, it may be 
 resisted. Cannot some method be devised of 
 settling literary questions authoritatively ? If 
 there are undisputed, material facts before us; 
 if there are unchangeable laws of taste, suscep- 
 tible of definition and pretty direct application ; 
 if the nature of man is ever essentially the same ; 
 if the manifestations of genius have infallible 
 signs ; if the slowly-established canons of criti- 
 cism are always at hand and generally accepted ; 
 have we not here an apparatus for literary 
 proof which may properly be brought to every 
 case as it occurs, so that when a book is ready 
 for publication, we may announce beforehand
 
 286 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 that it conforms- < to the law. and has all the 
 known requisites for a classical position and 
 repute ? 
 
 Admitting all this, still how can the decree (if 
 we may so call it) make impression less neces- 
 sary ? The very rules and facts on which the 
 critic relies were first brought to his notice by 
 impression, and afterwards confirmed by its repe- 
 tition ; and notwithstanding the enrolment of a 
 book among the classics, it must still be read and 
 judged by those who are summoned to acknowl- 
 edge its claims. We cannot expect that a de- 
 monstration of its merits will, of itself, establish 
 them in the general mind, or that a work will be 
 liked because we are told that there are the best 
 of reasons why it should be. This is not the 
 way of the reading world. Men of sense would 
 laugh to be called on to praise and be charmed 
 with a book upon trust. If they should like it 
 upon trial, they may feel the strength of the 
 proffered a priori grounds of admiration, or dis- 
 cover satisfactory ones for themselves. 
 
 It seems, then, that criticism has both its scien- 
 tific and its popular side. This, however, does 
 not imply hostility between different classes of 
 readers ; for, though their methods may be some- 
 what unlike, and though an accomplished student 
 may arrive at higher, more accurate and more 
 delicate results than a less cultivated inquirer, 
 yet both (professedly at least) are aiming at the
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 287 
 
 same thing, and, if true to their instincts and to 
 undisputed principles, they will be mutual help- 
 ers. A fair-minded common reader does not 
 take up a book with the idea that he is to decide 
 ' whether a critic's decree upon its merits is sound 
 or not. He will, most probably, come to a de- 
 cision upon this point before he has done ; but 
 his immediate purpose is to learn something of 
 the book from itself, and he goes to it with his 
 heart open for its impression. If it pleases him, 
 he in turn gives the writer all the help which the 
 light and ardor of an excited mind can render, to 
 complete the effect. It is peculiarly a solitary 
 engagement. A great musical composition has 
 a perpetual public exposition in some living 
 artist. A play, designed for the stage, comes 
 before us with the aids of action, costume and 
 scenery to fulfil the dramatic intention. In 
 both instances, illustration and excitement from 
 abroad never fail to stimulate us to fill out the 
 conception, in a way and measure we might not 
 command by any effort of our own. Not so in 
 the case before us. Here the reader is shut up 
 with the author, to be himself, in some sense, 
 interpreter, artist, player and judge. Critics and 
 commentators may offer their assistance, and, in 
 the hum of distant voices, he may catch the cur- 
 rent opinions of the great world without ; yet he 
 holds these equally subject with the author him- 
 self to his separate judgment. An example like
 
 2ob PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 this may show how popular instincts, and the 
 convictions of those who have, probably, no liter- 
 ary ambition, are prepared to take part in critical 
 decisions. We still leave to commanding names 
 in literature their natural and necessary power 
 with the public, their guidance and instruction 
 of the less-favored, and especially the whole 
 province of philosophical criticism. 
 
 What is the next step ? Is the decree accept- 
 ed ? Not absolutely. Perhaps we are inclined to 
 wait a little. In not a few cases, we would 
 have the impressions of readers brought together. 
 We would have those of more than one genera- 
 tion brought together. We demand a growing 
 and accumulated testimony for a book. Not 
 that the multitude of years and of witnesses 
 adds a particle to its merits, or makes the earliest 
 private decision in its favor more sound; not, 
 perhaps, that we distrust in the least our single 
 judgment; but because we wish, for all, the 
 fullest evidence which can be had that men are 
 right upon a point involving opinion. Besides, 
 those who are held to be the most competent 
 critics, may have issued their decree against a 
 book ; and yet, in spite of this decision, it has 
 and bids fair to have its host of admirers, and, 
 among them, readers who are far from being dull 
 or uncultivated. Here the judge is warned by 
 his inferiors to revise his opinion, to see if he has 
 not overlooked important elements, and applied
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 289 
 
 his system too strictly. He may even learn that 
 some new law of taste has just been brought to 
 light. While we admit then the advantage of 
 having wise critics who deserve and inspire gen- 
 eral respect and confidence, we should be pru- 
 dent how we speak of their authoritative decrees, 
 or of their power to settle literary questions, 
 except, perhaps, among themselves. 
 
 If such be the spirit and direction of criticism, 
 we have little reason to fear that it will become 
 less generous and intelligent, or less mindful of 
 principles. The hard, mechanical, unfruitful cer- 
 tainty of a mere dictum, however just, will lose 
 something of its repulsiveness, when 'the active, 
 cheerful inquiries of individual minds, with their 
 various humors, prejudices, associations and 
 habits, have also a work to do in interpreting 
 and sustaining the law. This cheerful activity 
 among the different classes of readers is, perhaps, 
 the best effect of having critical awards depend 
 somewhat on popular sentiment. We see that it 
 was not to subject men to the pains of hopeless 
 uncertainty, that so many things have been left 
 open to opinion and controversy. If there are 
 doubts, they give occasion for thinking. If there 
 is diversity of opinion, there is also room and 
 necessity for comparing opinions. If a false, 
 narrow, or over-refined taste has perverted us, a 
 wholesome self-distrust will be likely to grow out 
 of our better acquaintance with one another. A 
 25
 
 290 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 quiet change will go on in our views of things 
 and in our habits of judging, without hurting our 
 vanity or exposing us to a very distressing charge 
 of inconsistency. Obstinacy yields a little. Lib- 
 erality gains a little. We talk less of our neigh- 
 bor's heresies, for we begin faintly to discern 
 that some beauty is folded in them, which before 
 we would not look into. We drop or retouch 
 dogmas which we have long held sacred ; but 
 we may, at the same time, discover that some of 
 our opinions have more to support and commend 
 them than we had suspected. We must not 
 expect, or perhaps desire to bring all men to one 
 way of thinking about books ; but it will be de- 
 lightful to see them all good-humored, while 
 they are busily speculating upon subjects that 
 are worth their curiosity. 
 
 It is little better than repetition to say that a 
 book, well-established in public favor by impres- 
 sion or opinion, is also established by the often 
 unobserved yet unvarying principles of taste. 
 The gifted and studious will discern, define and 
 systematically apply these principles. Many, 
 probably, will be content to receive them from 
 such authority ; while a multitude of not less 
 happy readers never get sight of them, and never 
 seem to feel the want. Still, 4he decision, in 
 which men generally rest at last, must be the 
 fruit of obedience, whether conscious or not, to 
 the same laws of the mind.
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 291 
 
 This truth should be pressed with some ear- 
 nestness, because its tendency is both to make 
 the reader's literary appreciation habitually pru- 
 dent, and to give a little confidence, at least, to 
 opinions which are just beginning to take form 
 and prove their strength. It may gratify him to 
 have some degree of assurance that his most 
 headlong delight, or his instant condemnation 
 proceeds from impulses, which are not wholly 
 casual and fleeting. Moreover, he may so ac- 
 custom himself to apply the principles of criti- 
 cism, that he will scarcely be conscious of doing 
 it; and hence he need not fear breaking or dis- 
 turbing the easy, joyous current of ideas, which 
 depends, not a little, upon his surrendering him- 
 self, for the time, to the writer. 
 
 Having considered the world as sitting in 
 judgment upon those who may one day be its 
 idols, let us pass to the author's own view of 
 his chances among men, at a period when he 
 can no longer urge a word for himself, other 
 than what remains upon his silent pages. 
 
 Among the poets who have ventured to fore- 
 tell their immortality, the tone of the prediction 
 is various, though rarely worthy of the men. 
 The attempt itself (always of more than doubt- 
 ful prudence and delicacy) is seldom to be valued 
 so much for the proof it gives of a noble self- 
 confidence or infallible inspiration, as of the
 
 292 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 poet's sympathy -frith his race, and of something 
 characteristic, it may be something infirm, 
 in his temper. 
 
 Horace, in sounding his distant praises, rejects, 
 with dignified exultation, all funeral laments and 
 honors for one who is never to die; yet he can 
 talk of building a fame to outlast stone and 
 brass ; to endure as long as the sacred rites of 
 Rome ; to be acknowledged not only in Apulia, 
 but in Africa, Spain, Gaul, on the shores of the 
 Bosphorus, &c. That a man so considered, so 
 known, for strong sense and a shrewd, merry 
 perception of folly, should seriously fall into a 
 strain like this, may seem a little remarkable 
 even to those who are most captivated by his 
 diction and verse, and most willing to take, as 
 nearly as they can, a Roman's view of self-com- 
 mendation, and of the proper images for setting 
 forth the stability of lyric renown. Still it must 
 be acknowledged that in the two odes which 
 celebrate the extent and permanence of his glory, 
 the predictions, in some points, fall far short of 
 the facts, and in none have they failed. Let the 
 poet have the full advantage of this in extenua- 
 tion of his boasting. 
 
 What a contrast have we in the modest, 
 courtly aspiration of Pope, who, if we may be- 
 lieve him, would be satisfied that his 'little bark' 
 should keep company with Bolingbroke's first- 
 rate, on its way along the never-ending stream.
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 293 
 
 Who thinks of the convoy now ? Who doubts 
 which of the two is most in debt to the other for 
 still being afloat ? 
 
 Milton sings rapturously of fame in Lycidas; 
 and, when a much older man, he presents the 
 subject carefully in many of its aspects.* But 
 with what sobriety does he approach his own 
 expectations, with what dignity, yet with a 
 humility that affects us almost like sadness. 
 When little more than thirty, he finds a place, in 
 his controversy with the prelates, to state his 
 preference for another manner of writing. In 
 this well-known passage,! he announces his 
 motive and preparation for undertaking some 
 important poetical work ; but we are concerned 
 only with the spirit in which he contemplates 
 his future name. 
 
 * Although a poet,' he says, soaring in the 
 high region of his fancies, with his garland and 
 singing robes about him, might, without apology, 
 speak more of himself than I mean to do,' &c. 
 
 Then he passes to the literary exercises (chiefly 
 in verse) of his first years, in which ' it was found 
 that the style, by certain vital signs it had, was 
 likely to live.' Still later, in the private acade- 
 mies of Italy, the fastidious scholars of the coun 
 try gave unlooked-for praise to the pieces which 
 
 * Paradise Regained. Book III. 
 
 t See ' The Reason of Church Government Urged against 
 Prelaty.' Book II. 
 
 25*
 
 294 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 the young Englishman submitted, according to 
 the custom there, as ' some proof of his wit and 
 reading.' Hence he is emboldened to hope for 
 higher things. 
 
 ' I began,' he proceeds, ' thus far to assent both 
 to them and divers of my friends here at home, 
 and not less to an inward prompting which now 
 grew daily upon me, that by labor and intent 
 study, which I take to be my portion in this life, 
 joined with the strong propensity of nature, I 
 might perhaps leave something so written to 
 after times, as they should not willingly let it 
 die.' 
 
 In such terms does this firm-tempered young 
 man speak of himself, after he had written Lyci- 
 das, L' Allegro, 11 Penseroso and Comus. In 
 advanced years, and in his great work, he thinks 
 it enough, when placing himself with the blind 
 bards of old, to say, 
 
 ' Equalled with me in fate, 
 So were I equalled with them in renown.' 
 
 And now, with our knowledge of the facts, 
 we may proceed one step farther and imagine a 
 writer looking into the future, to see what awaits 
 him there. The revelation will often be very 
 strange to him. He was prepared for times 
 when his name should be clouded and his in- 
 fluence obstructed ; and equally for the day of 
 his restored and perhaps heightened favor; but
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 295 
 
 the course and complexion of his fortunes are not 
 altogether what he had looked for. At times he 
 is ready to exclaim : 
 
 ' Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ; 
 Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul; ' 
 
 but the day may be near when he will have 
 much to vex and something to amuse him in the 
 homage he receives and in the questions which 
 are raised about him and his works. He must 
 console himself with the thought that nearly all 
 which he sees and hears is a proof of his contin- 
 ued, perhaps of his increasing importance, and 
 of the almost personal attachment that is felt 
 towards him by all orders of men. Let us recall 
 some of his experiences. 
 
 He has passed among his countrymen, and in 
 all nations for many ages, as an individual, with 
 a name in every man's mouth, with cities ready 
 to fight for the honor of giving him birth, and 
 with the credit of being the author of distinctly 
 marked and most popular works, which have 
 been the origin of a principal department of poe- 
 try, and its model ever since. Yet he is now 
 told that there has all along been a great mistake 
 in this belief. He is no longer to be a person, a 
 unit, with a lawful name, but a set of ballad- 
 singers, each with his own story upon the same 
 great national subject. 
 
 He has written plays which have given him
 
 296 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 the first name in poetry. Hence an ample biog- 
 raphy must be invented for him, since there is 
 scarcely anything to say from records or trust- 
 worthy tradition. He is not denied his rightful 
 name ; but there are undecided contests how it 
 should be spelt ; for he and the family seem to 
 have cared little for the matter, and the people 
 of his time as little for orthography generally. 
 All this serves both him and us for amusement. 
 But graver considerations are to come before 
 him. He died without publishing his writings. 
 They are in the hands of others and the property 
 of others, and have been subject to maiming and 
 corruption during many years of theatrical ser- 
 vice. At length a posthumous edition appears, 
 and, as we presume, a very careless one, for we 
 are often perplexed for a meaning. Hence spring 
 up a class of critics, especially devoted to him, 
 some of them eminent for general ability and 
 scholarship, as well as for acquaintance with the 
 early times of the country and the now some- 
 what antiquated speech. Their office is to settle 
 the text and explain obscurities. But, by some 
 ill-fortune, the larger part of them have been the 
 most captious, assuming and quarrelsome set of 
 men that ever claimed to be literary judges, or 
 judges in any question. His mere name, a 
 fountain of love to common men, is to them a 
 war-cry. A new reading, or the discovery of an 
 old copy with alleged contemporary corrections,
 
 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 297 
 
 is received as a personal wrong, an invasion of 
 some private right, and very soon the world is in 
 arms. A pretty spectacle for a benign spirit, 
 long withdrawn from our strifes, and who all the 
 time hears himself hailed, with one voice, as the 
 benefactor and glory of his race. Last of all, he 
 sees that his plays, so far as representation is 
 concerned, are undergoing hideous changes to 
 adapt them to modern ideas ; though some still 
 think that in nothing is he more perfect, than in 
 managing the course of the action for the highest 
 stage effect. This adaptation most commonly 
 consists in omissions of scenes and persons. But 
 this is the least of his wrongs ; for sometimes 
 parts of different dramas are united by the aid 
 of interpolation ; sometimes a play is pieced 
 with wholly foreign additions ; and sometimes 
 the plot is so transformed that the catastrophe is 
 quite another thing. 
 
 He has been widely known as the explorer 
 and interpreter of his native tongue, as an ob- 
 server of human life and expositor of duty, as a 
 biographer, as the bold and successful former of 
 a style safe only for himself, and, finally, as a 
 dictator in literary criticism. The light has not 
 wholly passed from any of the monuments of 
 his genius and wisdom. But it comes to his ears 
 that he is to be better and longer known for an 
 accident in his history than for the deliberate 
 fruits of his studies. He is to be remembered
 
 298 PERMANENT LITERARY FAME. 
 
 chiefly for the record of his conversation, made 
 up by his extraordinary and equally immortal 
 biographer. He cannot reasonably complain that 
 he has unexpectedly surpassed himself; though, 
 upon this very subject of a man's books and con- 
 versation, he has left the dictum, ' Madam, the 
 best part of an author will always be found in 
 his writings.' The wonder to him and all of us 
 must be, not that his conversation was so mem- 
 orable, for we know that it was, in no small 
 degree, his ambition and care, but that such a 
 record of it should have been made, and with 
 such a bearing upon his reputation. 
 
 If we should bring into one view the fortunes 
 of still other writers, who are considered as the 
 most prosperous among the immortals, the lowly 
 might be brought to think it better for a man to 
 sleep quietly when he has no more to do with 
 the earth in the body. But they will not per- 
 suade the soaring spirit that it is not worth 
 ambition to be a great power in the world, ages 
 after one's burial.
 
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 SEPTEMBER, 1858. 
 
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