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THE SPINGARN COLLECTION 

OF 

CRITICISM AND LITERARY THEORY 

PRESENTED BY 

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HENRY HOME OF KAME3, 

HUE OF THE SRNAT0R9 OF TBE COLLEGE OF JUSTICSy AND ONE -OF THE 
.OROS COMMISSIONERS UF JUSTICIARY IN SCOTLAND. 



THIRD AMERICAN FROM THE EIGHTH LONDON EDITION. 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 



VOL. II. 



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JfEW'YORK: 
I PTTBLISKED Bt JOHN THOMlPSON. NO4 128 PEAHL^iTRVSt* 

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ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM, 



je 



CHAPTER XVIII, 

ff 

Beauty of Language^ 

OF all the fine arts, painting only and sculp^ 
ture a4Bln their nature imitative. An ornamented 
field is not a copy or imitation of nature, but nature 
itself embellished. Architecture is productive of 
originals, and copies not from nature. Sound and 
motion may in some measure be imitated by music ; 
but for the most part music, like Architecture, is 
productive of originals. Language copies not from 
nature, more than music or architecture ; unless, 
where, like music, it is imitative of sound or mor 
tion. Thus, in the description of particular sounds, 
language sometimes furnisheth words, which, be-r 
side their customary power of exciting ideas, re- 
semble by their softness or harshness the sounds 
described ; and there are words, which by the ce- 
lerity or slowness of pronunciation, have some re- 
semblance to the motion they signify. The imita^ 
tive power of words gpes one step farther: the 
loftiness of some words makes them proper sym- 
bols of lofty ideas ; a rough subject is imitated by 
harsh-sounding words; and words of many syl- 
lables pronounced slow and smooth, are express 
sive of grief an4 melancholy. Words have a se- 
parate effect ^n t|ie mind, abstracting from tbe)( 



1 



6 Beauty of Language. [chap. 1 8, 

signification and from their imitative power : they 
are more or less agreeable to the ear, by the ful- 
ness, sweetness, faintness, or roughness of their 
tones, . 

r 

These are but faint beauties, being known to 
those only who have more than ordinary acut<?nes& 
of perception. Language possesseth a beauty su- 

1)erior greatly in degree, of which we are eminent- 
y sensible when a thought is communicated with 
perspicuity and sprigh^liness. This beauty of lan- 
guage, arising from its power of expressing thought, 
is apt to be confounded with the beauty oi tke 
thought itself: the beauty of thought, transferred, 
to the expression, makes it appear more b||||tifuL^ 
But these beauties, if we wish to think accurately, 
must be distinguished from each other. They are 
in reality so distinct, that we sometimes are con- 
scious of the highest pleasure language can afford, 
when the subject expressed is disagreeable : a 
thing that is loathsome, or a scene of horror to 
make one's hair stand on end, may be described in 
a manner so lively, as that the disagreeablencss of 
the subject shall not even obscure the agreeable- 
nese of the description. The causes of the origi- 
nal beauty of language, considered as significant, 
which is a branch of the present subject, will be 
explained in their order. I shall only at present 
observe, that this beauty is the beauty of means 
fitted to an end, that of communicating thought: 
and hence it evidently appears, that of several ex- 
pressions all conveying the same thought, the most 

• Chapter 11. Part i Sect. 6. Demetrius Phalereus (of Elocution, sect. 
Y5.) makes the same observation. We arc apt, says that author, to confound 
the lon^agc with the subject ; and if the latter be nervous, we judge the 
game of the former. But they arc clearly distingnishable ; and it is not un- 
common to find subjects pf great dignity dressed in mean language. Theo- 
pompos is celebrated for the force of his diction ; but erroneously : hi@ eu|>- 
ject ifideed has great foi'pe, but his style very little, 



\ ' 



SECT I .] Beauty of Language. 7 

beautiful, in the sense now mentioned, is that which 
in the most perfect manner answers its end. 

The several beauties of language above men* 
tioned, being of^ diiferent finds, ought to be han- 
dled separately. I shall begin with those beauties 
of language that arise from sound ; after which 
will follow the beauties of language considered as 
significant : this order appears natural ; for the 
sound of a word is attended to, before we consider 
its signification. In a third section come those sin- 
gular beauties of langiid.ge that are derived from a 
resemblance between sound and signification. The 
beauties of verse are handled in tne last section: 
for though the foregoing beauties are found in verse 
as wl^fts in prose, jet verse has many peculiar 
beauties, which, for the sake of connexion, must 
be brought under one view ; and versification, at 
any rate, is a subject of so great importance as to 
deserve a place by itself. 

SECTION u 

Beauty of Language with respect to Sound. 

This subject requires the following order: 
The sounds of the different letters come first : next, 
these sounds as united in sylfables: third, sylla- 
bles united in words ; fourth, words united in a 
period : and, in the last place, periods united in a 
discourse. 

With respect to the first article, every vowel is 
sounded with a single expiration of air from the 
wind-pipe, through the cavity of the mx>uth. By 
varying this cavity, the different vowels are sound- 
ed; for the air in passing through cavities differing 
in size, produceth various sounds, some high or 
sharp, some low or flat : a small cavity occasions 
a high sound, a large cavity a low sound. The 



8 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18, 

five vowels accordii\gly, pronounced with the same 
extension of the wind-pipe, but with different open^ 
ings of the mouth, 'form a regular series of sounds, 
descending from high to low, in the^foUowing order, 
t, c, a, 0, ti.* Each of these sounds is agreeable 
to the ear : and if it be required which of them is 
the most agreeable, it is perhaps safest to hold, that 
those vowels which are the farthest removed from 
the extremes, will be the most relished. This ia 
all I have to reinark upoji the first article : for con- 
sonants being letters that of themselves have nq 
sound, serve only in conjunction with vowels to 
form articulate sounds; and as every articulate 
sound makes a syllable, consonants come naturally 
under the second article : to which we proflbd. 

A consonant is pronounced with a less cavity 
than anv vowel ; and consequently every syllable 
into which a consonant enters, must have more 
than one sound, though pronounced with one expiV 
ration of air, or with one breath as commonly ex- 
pressed : for however readily two sounds may unite, 
Set where they differ in tone, both of them must be 
eard if neither of them be suppressed. For the 
same reason, every syllable must be composed of 
as many sounds as there are letters, supposing eve* 
ry Jetter to be distinctly pronounced. 

We next inquire, how far syllables are agreea- 
ble to the ear* Few tongues are so polished, as en- 
tirely to have rejected sounds that are pronounced 
with difficulty ; and it is a noted observation, That 
such sounds are to the ear harsh and disagreeable. 
But with respect to agreeable sounds, it appears, 
that a double sound is always more agreeable than 
a single sound : every one who has an ear must be 

^ In this scale of ^ound^, the letter % must be pronounced as in the word ir^ 
ieredf and as in other words beginning with the syllable in; the letter e as \vi 
pvrsuaaion ; the letter aaMiabat; and the letter u as in number. 



^tCT^ i.^ Beauty ofLanguage. 9 

sensible, that the dipthong oi or ai is in<M agreed- 
able than any of these vowels pronounced singly : 
the same holds where a consonant enters into the 
double sound ; the syllable te has a more agreeable 
sound than the vowel e, or than any other voweL 
And in support of experience, a satisfactory argument 
may be drawn from the wisdom of Providence : 
speech is bestowed on man, to qualify him for so- 
ciety ; and his provision of articulate sounds is pro^ 
portioned to the use he hath for them ; but if sounds 
that are agreeable singly were not also agreeable 
in conjunction, the necessity of a painful selection 
would render language intricate and difficirit to be 
attained in any perfection ; and this selection, at 
the same time, would abridge the number of useful 
Boundsj so as perhaps not to leave sufficient for an-^ 
swering the different ends of language. 

In this view^ the harmony of pronunciation dif- 
fers widely from that of music properly so called. 
In the latter are ' discovered many sounds sindy 
agreeable, which in conjunction are extremely dis- 
agreeable; none but what are called amcordant 
sounds having a good effect in conjunction. In the 
former^ all sounds, singly agreeable, are in con- 
junction concordant ; and ought to be, in order to 
fulfil the purposes of language. 

Having discussed syllables, we proceed to 
words ; which make the third article. Monosylla- 
bles belong to the former head : polysyllables open 
a different scenes In a cursory view, one would 
imagine, that the agreeableness or disagreeabieness 
of a word With respect to its sound, shoirtd depend 
upon the agreeableness or disagreeabieness of its 
component syllables : which is true in part, but not 
entirely; for we must also take under considera- 
tion, the effect of syllables in succession. In the 
first place, syllables in immediate succession, pro- 
nounced, each of them, with the same, or nearly 



^ 



' ) 



m 

their attention, and disposing them to action. I add 
another consideration : the agreeaUeness of con- 
trast in the rougher language, for which the great 
variety of sounds gives ample opportunity, must, 
even in an effeminate ear, prevail over the more 
uniform sounds of the smoother langui^.* This 
appears all that can be s^ely determined upon the 
present point With respect to the other circum- 
stances that constitute tne beautv of words, the 
standard above mentioned is iniallibty Allien ap- 
plied to foreign languages as w^ as to our own : 
for every man, whatever be his mother-tongue, h 
equally capable to judge of the length or shortne^ 
of wmds, oi the akeiiiate opening and closing of 
the mouth in speakii^, and oi the relation that the 
sound bears to tiie sense : in these particulais, the 
judgment is susceptiUe of no prejudice from cus- 
tom, at least of no mvincible prejudice. 

That the fiiq^ish tongue, ori^ally harsh, is at 
present much softened by drof^mg in the pronun- 
datkm many redundant consonants, is undoubtedly 
true : that it is not capable of being further mel- 
lowed without suffeiiMr in its force and energy, 
will scarce be thowiit oy iany one who possesses 
an ear ; and vet sujp in Britain is the propensity 
Ua despatch, that, overlooking the majesty oi words 
composed of many syllables aptly connected, the 
prevailing taste is to' shorten words, even at the 
ejEpense of making them disa^eeable to the ear, 
ami harsh in the prommciation. But 1 have no 
occasion to insist upon this article, bein^ prevented 
by an excellattt writer, who possessed, ifany man 
ever did, the true gemus of the English tongue.f 

** That the Italian tongue is too smooth, seems jprobable, from considering, 
that in versification, vowels are frequently suppressed, in order to produce a 
rdttgher 9tfd bolder tone 

w * ^^^^^J^ P*«P<»nlfof«o«»ot»g the £fB«Jlsb toogue, in a lettet to the 
Earl of Ouord^ 



d£CT. ].] Beauty of Language* 13 

i cannot, hSmeyer:, foifoear ui^ng one obsemtion, 
borrowed from that author : several tenses of our 
verbs are formed by adding the final syllable ed^ 
which, being a weak sound, has remancably the 
worse eiFect by possessing the most conspicuous 
place in the word : upon which account, the vowel 
in common speech is generally suppressed, and the 
consonant added to the foregoing syllable ; whence 
the following nigged sounds, drudg% di^urVd^ 
r^uk^dyjledg^d. It is still less excusable to fol- 
low this practice in writing ; for the hurry of speak- 
ing may excuse what would be altogjether improper 
in composition : the syllable ed^ k is true, sounds 
poorly at the end of a word; but rather that de^ 
feet, than multiply the number of harsh words, 
which after all, bear an over-proportion in our 
tongue. The author above-menUoned, by showing 
a good example, did all in his power to restore that 
syllable; aiw he well deserves to be imitated. 
Some exceptions, however, I would make. A word 
that signifijBS labour or any thing hars^or rugged, 
pu^t not to be smooth ; therefore fbmi with an 
apostrophe, is better than forcedj without it. An- 
other exception is where the penult syllable ends 
with a vowel ; in that case the final syllable ed may 
be apostrophised without making the word harsh s 
examples, betray' d^ c&mfd, destroyed, emplofd. 

The article next in order, is the music of woitb 
as united in a period. And as the arrangeoient of 
words in succession so as to afford the greatest 
pleasure to the ear, depends on principles remote 
from common view, it will be necessary lo premwp 
some general qbservations upon the appearance 
that objects make, when placed in an tncroasmg or 
decreasing series. Where the objects vary by small 
differences, so as to have a mutual resemblance, 
we in ascending conceive the second object of no 
greater size than the first, the third of no greate? 



14 Bemtity ofLamguagt. [chap. 1& 

risetlMMi die iecood^ and so of the lesl ; which di- 
miniiheth in appearance the size of eyenr object 
except the fmt : but when, beginning at the great- 
eft omect, we proceed gradually to the least, re- 
iembiaoce makes us imadne the second as great 
as the fiiBt, and the thira 33 great as the second : 
which in appearance magnifies everj object except 
the first On the other hand, in a senes varying 
hy large differences, where contrast prevails, the 
effects are directly opposite : a ^at object succeed- 
ing a small one of the same kmd, appears greater 
than usual ; and a little object succeeding one that 
is great, appears less than usual.* Hence a re- 
mailcaUe pwasure in* viewing a series ascending by 
large differences; directly opposite to what we feel 
when the differences are small. The least object 
of a series ascending hj large differences has the 
tame effect upon the mind, as if it stoodsingle with- 
ont making a part of the series : but the second 
object^ by means of contrast, appears greater than 
when viewed singly and apart ; and the same effect 
» pefC^ived in ascendingprogressively, till we ar* 
rive at the last object. The opposite effect b pro- 
duced in descend,ing: for in this direction, every 
object, except the first, appears less than when 
viewed separateljj^ and independent of the series. 
We may then assume as a maxim, which will hold 
in thp compositiotn of language as well as of other 
subiects. That a strong impulse succeeding a weak, 
makes double impresspn on the mind ; and that a 
weak impulse succeeding a strong, make^ scarce 
any impression. 

Alter establishing this iqaxim, we can be at no 
loss about its application to the subject in hand. 
The following rule is laid down by Diome des^f 

* See the reetoQ, Chapter VIII. 

t De ttruetura perfectft orationis^ 1. % 



s£CT. I.] Beauin of Language^ 15 

^^ In verbds observaDdiiiik eat, ne a majortbus ad 
^^ minora descendat oratio ; melius enim dicitur, 
" Vir est optimt^j qiiam Vir optimus estJ^ This 
rule is ^Isa applicable to entire members of a pe- 
riod, which, according to our author's ex(Mression» 
ou^t not, more than single words, to proceed from 
the greater to the less, but from the less to the ffteM' 
er.^ In arranring the members of a period, no 
vnriter equals Cicero : the beauty of the following 
examples out of many, will not suffer mc to slur 
thedl over by a reference. 

Quicum quastor fueram 
Quicum me sora coosuetudoque noajoraniy 
, Quicum me deorum homtnumque judicium conjuDxerat* 

Again : 

Ha bet hooorem quern petimus, 
Habet spem quam prspositam nobis habemuBf 
Habet existimalionem, multo sudore, labore, vigilifsque, u>U 
lectam. 

Again : 

EHpite oos ex mtseriis, 

Eripite dos ex faucibua eoram, 

Quorum crudelitas nostro sanguine non protest explesl. 

De Oratorty 1. i. sect. 52. 

This order of words or members gradually increas- 
ing in length, may, as far as concerns the pleasurt 
of sound, be denominated a eUmaxin sound. 

The last article is the music of periods as united 
in a discourse : which shall be despatched in a very 
few words. By no other human means is it possi- 
ble to present to the mind, such a number of ob^ 
jects, and in so swift a succession, as by spea|dlng 
or writing ; and for t^ reason, variety ought more 
to be studied in diese, than in any other sort of 
composition. Hence a rule for arranging the mem- 

* See Demetrius Pfaaleieus of Elocntioni sect. 18. 



16 iBwi^ tf Langvage. [chap. IB. 

bers of different periods with relation to each oAer, 
That to avoid a tedious uniformity of sound and 
cadence, the arrangement, the cadencci and the 
length of the members, ought to be diversified as 
much as possible : and if the members of ^ferent 
periods be sufficiently diversified, the period thenii* 
selves will be equally so. 

SECTldN II. 

' Beauty of Language with respect to Signification. 

IT is well said by a noted* writer,* " That by 
" means of speech we can divert our sorrows, miq- 
** gle our mirth, impart our secrets, communicate 
^^ our counsels, and make mutual compacts and 
-*^ agreements to supply and assist each other.'' 
Considering speech as contributing to so many good 
puiposes, words that convey clear and distinct 
ideas, must be one of its ca{)ital beauties. Thii 
cause of beauty, is too extensive to be bandleif] as 
a branch of any other subject : for to ascertain with 
iaccuracy even the proper meaning of words, not to 
talk of their figurative pow^, would require a lai^ 
volume ; im useful work ia<teed, but not to be at-^ 
tempted without a large stock of time, study, an4 
reflection. Tins brandi, therefore, of the subject I 
IgmmMy decKae. Nor do I purpose to exhaust all 
the other beauties of langiuige inat relate to s%nifi* 
<^tion : the reader, mvL wc^ like th^ present, canr 
not fairly ei^eet mwe tbaei a slight sketch of those 
that make me ^atest figure. This task is the 
more to my taste, as being poooected with certain 
natural pnnciples ; and me rules I shall have oc- 
casion to lay down, will, if I judge rightly, b§ 
agreeable illustrations of these principles^ Every 

• Scot's Ch^tian Life. 



sMct. 11.3 Seavtjf 4^ Language. 17 

subject must be of iiqportance, that tends to unfold 
the buman heart; forwhatother science is of greater 
use to human beings ? 

The present subject is too extensive to be dis- 
cussed without dividing it into parts ; and what 
follows suggests a division into two parts. In every 
period, two things are to be regarded: first, the 
words of which it is composed; next, the arrange- 
ment of these words ; the former resembling the 
stones that compose a building, and the latter re- 
sembling the order in which they are placed. 
Hence the beauties of language wiUkMspect to sig- 
nification, may not improperly be djjjpifc^ into 
two kinds : first the beauties that arise from aright 
choice of words or material for constructing the 
period : sum|.. next, the beauties that arise from a 
due arrang^ent of these words or materials. I be- 
gin with rules that direct us to a ri|^t choice of 
words, and then proceed to rules tkiat concern their 
arrangement. 

And with respeet to the former, communication 
of thoodit being tbe chief end of language, it is a 
rale, That perspicuity ou^t not to be sacrificed to 
any other beauty wlmtever : if it should be doubt- 
ad wheth^ paspicsuity be a positive beauty, it can- 
not be doubted that the want of it is the greatest 
delect Nothing therefoie in laneiiage o^ght more 
to be studied^ than to preveirt all otecurny in the 
exfn^esion ; for to have bo meaning, is but one de- 
gree worse, than to have a meanii^ that is not un- 
derstood. Want of perspicuity from a wrong ar- 
rangement, belongs to the next branch. I shall 
here give a few ^camples where the obscurity anses 
ftmn a wrong' choice of words ; and as this defect 
is too common in the ordinary herd of writers to 
make examples from them necessary, I confine my- 
self to the most celebrated authors. 



1 



18 BeMitiff^ Longuoge. [chaft Id. 

livjj speskin^ of a fout after a battle, 

MuItJ<{U6 in'rUiDa Mi^mre quam fuga oppressi obtruDcatiqiic. 

L* ir. se^t 46. 

This author is frequentlj obscure, by expressioj^ 
but part of hi3 thought, leaving it to be completei 
hy his reader* His description of the sea*fight^ 
f. xxViiL cap. 30. is extremely perplexed. 

; Unde ttbiredhuin artosubiemnt Parc» 

. Bupere. Horactf epod. xiii. IS. 

"Qui persape cava testudine flevit amor'era, 

JWm elabBrehgjt adptdtm, Hara4€f ^pod. xiv. 1 1 . 

Me fabutosserVttUure \t Appulo, 
AltriciB extra lime :i ApuUe, 
Ludo, fatl]|;atm]mae mmn^f 
FroDde nova puerum palumbes 

Texere. ^ 

fforace^ Carm. I. iii. oi3^ 4, 

• 

Pqrtt rtvus aqu9, silf aque jngerum 
Paucorum, et segetis certa Mes meei, 
Fulgentum imperio fertUis Africe 
EaUUsofiebetUiT. 

flbmce^Garm. I. iiL ode 1& 

Cum fas atque ftftfaS cxiguo/ne libidiDum 

BIscernant avidi. fi»l«oe, Carm. I. f. ode 1 8. 

kt spem fronte screnat. ^ JEneid^ It. iTT- 

I am in greyer pain about the foregoing pas- 
sages, tban about any I baire Ventured to critkisey 
being aware that a Tasue or obscure eiq^rdsuoii, is 
apt to gain favour fvitn those who neglei^ to esa^ 
mine it with a critical eye. To some it carries the 
smse that tlie^ relish tne mort ; suid by suggerting 
varioiis nifianmgs at otice, it is admired by others 
as concise and comprehensive : whieh by ihe w^ 
fairly accounts for the opinion generally entntom^ 
e4 with respect to most language in their infSuil 
state, of expressing much in few words. This ob^ 
servation may be illustrated by a passs^e from 



r 

■ 

f ■ . 

It SECT. u«} Beauty of Language. td 

QaintiliaQ, quoted in the 6rst volume for a different 
purpose. 

^ At qua; Polycleto defiierunt, PhidiB atque Alcameni dantar.^- 

^ Phidias taoieti diis qiiam hominibua efficiendis melior artifex tci^ 

ditar : in ebore vero, longe citra semuluni, vel si nihil nisi MineN 
Tain Athenis, ant Olympium in Elide Jovem fecisset, e%^u» put* 
ckritudo a^tcisse cUiquid etiam recepU religioni videtur ; atUo met* 
^tas operis Deuiii equaviU 

The sentence in the Italic character^ appeared to 
me abundant! J perspicuous, before I gav^ it pecu- 
liar attention. And yet to examine it independent 
of the context, its proper meaning is not what is 
intended: the words naturally import, that th3 
beauty of the statues mentioned, appears to add 
some new tenet or rite to the established religion, 
^ or appears to add new digpity to it ; and we must 
consult the context before we can gather the true 
meaning^ which is, that the Greeks were confirmr 
ed in the belief of their established religion by 
these majestic statues, so like real divinities. 

There may be a defect in perspicuity proceeding 
even from the slightest ambiguity in construction; 
as where the period commences with a member 
conceived to be in the nominative case, which af- 
terward is found to be in the accusative. Exam- 
ple : '^ Some emotions more peculiarly connected 
*< with the fine arts, 1 propose to handle in sepa- 
•* rate chapters.^'* Better thus : *^ Some emotions 
^^ more peculiarly connected with the fine arts, are 
*^ proposed to be handled in separate chapters. 

I add another error against perspicuity; which 
I menAjton the rather because with some writers it 
passes Tor a beauty. It is the ^vine different 
names to && same objecl;; mentioned ottener than 
once in the s^me period. Example : Speaking of 
the Engfish adventurers who first attempted the 

Elemeutsof Criticism, vol. i^ p. 43. edit L 

Vol. II. .3a 



ISi Beauty bf Language. [^haf. 1^^ 

bbti(iu^t of irelan^y ^^ and instead of reclaimiiig th'i! 
Mnatires from their uncultivated manners, thejr 
^^ were graduallj assimilated to the ancient inha- 
.^^bitants,^ and degenerated from the customs of 
'^^ their own nation." From this mode of expres-^ 
|ioh4 one would think the author me&nt to distin-^ 
guisn the ancient inhahitants from the natives ; and 
We cannot discover otherwise than from the sense ^ 
that these are only different names dyen to the 
sam^ object for the sftke of variety, ^ut perspi* 
-euity oti^ht never to be sacrificed to any other beau- 
17, whicn Iteds me to think that the passage may 
bb itnptovtd as follows : <^ and degenerating from 
" the ettstottis of their own nation, they were gra* 
^^duatly assimilated to the natives^ instead of re- 
^^ claiming theth from their uncultivated man- 
^^ners." 

" Hie Mid rule in order^ because next in import- 
^ce, is, Thkt the language ought to correspond to 
ihe subject : heroic actions or sentiments require 
elevatcfd language ; tei^r sentiments ought to be 
expressed in words soft and flowing, and ^lain 
lahgu£^e void of ornament, is adapted to suHects 
grave and didactic. Language may be considered 
&s the dress of thought ; and where the one is not 
suited to the other, we are sensible of incongruity, 
in the same manner as where a judge is dressed 
likfe a fop^ or a peasant like a man of quality 4 
Where the impression made by the words resem^ 
fcles the impression made by the thought, the simi- 
lar emotions mix sweetly in the mind, and double 
the pleasure f but where the impressions made 
by the tHought and the words are dissimilar, the 
unnatural union they are forced into Is disagree-^ 
able.f 

This concordance between the thought and the 
words has been observed by every critic, and is so 

^ Chap^ n. Fart W. f Ibi^. 



SECT. 11.^ Beauty of language, |) 

well uQ^erstcKHl as not to require a^y iQufitrsftiQq, 
But there is a concords^nce of a pfeculiar kincj, ^at 
has scarcely been touched jn works of cnti^ism^' 
though it contributes to neatness of GoiQpositibn, l\ 
is what follows, '\ In a thought of any^xtent, w^ 
Commonly find some parts Intimately umtied, some 
slightly, some disjoined, and some directly Pppp)^- 
ed to each other. To fiqd these conjunctioqs ani4 
disjunctions imitated in the e:(pressioQ9 is a beau^ 
iy ; because such imitation mi^kes the words con- 
cordant with the sense. This doctrine may be^ U<r 
fustrated by a familiar example. When we hava 
occasion to mention the intimate connexion that the 
iBOul hath with the body, the expression opght tQ 
be, ike soul and body; because the particle me^T^{ 
)aUve to both, makes a connexion in the expres- 
pion, resembling in some degree the connei^ion in 
the thought: but when/the soul is distinguished 
from the body, it is better to say the soul ana tf^b<^ 
^y; because the disjuqction in the word& resem-r 
bles th^ disjunction in the thought. I proceed tQ 
Other ^amplei^, beginning with oonjuqctioAS/ 

CoD8tituit'ag;iiien; et ezpedire te|a aninio84|ue, equitibus jusr 
pisy be. J4^t ^ s^xxviii. sect 25: 

Here the words that emres9 the connected ideas 
0xe artificially conqecteqi by subjecting thecd hiith 
to the regimen of one verb, ^nd the two &Jla\tt 
ing are of the same kindr 

Quttm ex paocis quotidie aliqui eorum caderent aut rulnerv 
rentur, et qui superarent, fessi et cprporibiia et anipiis essent, &cij 

lAinft I. xxxvKi. »ect; 29. 

Post aeer Mnestheus adducto constitit i^rcu, 
Alta peteos, pariterque oculos teluo^que tetendit 

But to iustify this artificial connexioo, i^mopg ihft 
words, the ideas they express ought to be i^timat^r 
ly connected ; for ptherwide that co^qordaqce whicft 



<^ 



22^ Beauty of Language [ohap« 18«. 

}» required between the sense and the expression 
will be in^paired. In that view, a passage from 
Tacitus is exceptionable ; where words that signify 
ideas very little connected, are however forced into 
an artificial union. Here is the passage : 

Germania omnts a Galliis, Rhaetiisque, et Pannoniis, Rheno et 
Danabio fluminibas; a Sarmatis Dacisque, miituo metu aut inon- 
tibus separ^tar. De Morihus Germanorum^ 

Upon the same account, I esteem the following 
passage equally exceptionable. . * 



-The fiend Ioo^lM up, and knew 



His mounted scale aloft; nor more, but fled 
Murm'iini;, and witb him fled the shades of night. 

Paradise Lost, b. iv. at the end« 

There is no natural connexion between a person's 
flying and retiring, and the succession of daylighu^) 
darkness ; and therefore to connect artificially the 
terms that signify these things cannot have^sweet 
effect. . . «t. 

Twp members of a thoyght connected by their 
relation ip the same action, will naturally be exr 
jpressed by tWo members of the period governed by 
the same verb; in which case these members, in 
* prder to improve their connexion, ought to be con- 
structed in the same manner. This beauty is so 
common among good writers, as to have been little 
attended tp ; but the ne^ect of it is remarkably 
disagreeable : For example, *^ He did not mention 
^* Leonora, nor that her father was dead." Better 
thus : *^ He did not mention Leonora, nor her fa- 
*< ther's deat^i." 

Where t^p ideas are so^ connected, a3 tp require 
but a copulative, it is pleasant to find a connexion 
in the words that express these ideas, were it even 
80 slight as where bot^i begin ^th the ^ame letter: 



I 

sfeexr ii,^ Beauty of Language. 23 

The peac6ck, in dll his prid», docs not display half th« c<^oi]r 
that. appears in the garments of a British lady, when she iseithier 
dressed for a ball or a birth^day. Spectator, No. 265. 

Had not my dog of a steward run away as he did, without 
aiaking up bis accounts, I had still been immersed in sin and sea* 
coal, ^bid. No. 530. 

My lifers companion, and my bosom-friend, 
One faith, one fame, one fate shall both attend. 

DrydeUy Trafislation ofJEnetd, 

» 

There is sensibly a defect hi neatpess when unifor- 
mity in this case is totally neglected ;* witness thes 
following example, where the construction of two 
members connected by a copulative is unnecessa- 
rily varied. 

For it is confidently reported^ that two young gentlemen of real 
l)ope8, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon a thorough 
examination of causes and effects, and by the mere force of na- 
tural abitities, without the least ttnctdre of learning, have made 
a discovery that there was no God, and generously eommunieeiiin^ 
their thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago,.by. 
an unparalleled severity, and upon I know not what obsolete la>ir, 
broke for blaspbemy.f [Better thus :]— -having made a discovery^ . 
that there was no God, and having generously communicated 
their thoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, ke^* 

^' - - » 

He had been guilty of a fault, for which his master would have 

put him to death, bad he not found an opportunity to escape out^ 

of his hands, &nd Jied into the deserts of Numtdia. 

, Guardian ffiotlSd^ « 

If all the ends of the Resolution are already obtained, it is not 
only impertinent to argue for obtaining any of them, but/«c^lbua 
dests^ns might be imputed^ aild the name of incendiary be applied: 
vith some colour, perhaps, to atiy one tvho should persist in ■ 
{dressing this point. i 

Diisertation upon Parties^ pedicaiion. 

Next as to es:aipple3 of disjunction and opposi- ^ 
tioa in the parts of the thought, imitated in the ex^ 

* See Girarfi's French Grammar, Discourse jdi. 
t An argument against abolishing Christianity* SwlfU 



\ 



pression ; an imitation that b dbtin^^ed by the. 
name of antithesis. 

Speaking of Coriolanua soliciting the people tq 
be made consul : 

With a proud heart he wor^ kin humble woeda. ' 

CwrieUtnus. 

Had joo rather Cssar were liring, aod die all tlavtm, than th«| 
Cssar were dead, to live all free men ? Julius €e$ar. 

He (lath cooled my friends and heated mine enemies. 

Shakspea^- -* 

An artificial connexion among the words, is un- 
doubtedlj a beauty when it represents any pecu* 
liar connexion among the constituent parts of the 
thought ; but where there is no such connexion, 0, 
\p a positive deformity, as above observed, because 
it makes a 4iscordance between the thought and 
expression. For the same reason we ought also tQ 
pivoid every artificial opposition of words where 
tfiere is none in the thought, Thi3 last, termed 
i^erbal antithem^ is studied by low writers^ because 
of a certain degree of liveliness in it. They da not 
consider how incongruous it is, in a grave compon 
sition, to cheat the reader, and to ipake him expect 
a contrast in the thought, wluch uj)on examination 

is not found there. 

» 

A Uglifi wife doth make a htw^ husband. 

Mtrchant of Vtnw, 

Here is a studied opposition in the words, not only 
without ^ny opposition in the sense, but even where 
there is a very intimate connexion, that of cause 
and effect ; for i t is the levity of the wife that tor- 
ments the husband. 



-Will maintaiA 



Upon l|is bailUft to make all this good. 

Kh^, Mkhord IL Act I. S^. a 



ttcr. u.] Beauty of Lai^Udii. fiS 

iMeetta. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales liere ? 
Julia. It thou IrespecC them, best to take them up. 
Luutta, Nay, t was taken vp (or laying them down. 

'JSoQ QenlHemen of Verona, Act I. Sc. S* 

A fault directly opposite to that last mentioned, 
is to conjoin artificially^ words that express ideas 
opbosfed to e^ch other. This is a fault too gross 
to be in common practice } and y6t writers are guil- 
ty of it in some degree, when they conjoin by a co- 
pulative things transacted at different periods of 
time. Hence a want of neatness in the following 
expression. 

The nobility too, whom the ICing had no means of retaining 
by suitable offices and preferments, had been seized with the 
geoemi discontent, and ubwarily threw themseWes into the scale 
Which began already too much to preponderate. 

HtstMy of Greal'BrUaint to1« I. p. S50» 

In periods of this kind, it appears more neat to ex- 
press the past time by the participle passive, thus : 

The nobility having be^n seized with the general discontent^ 
4Hiwarily threw thelnselves, kc. (or) The nobility^ who bad been 
tteised) &tc unwarily thre^ themselves, kci 

It is unpleaskiit to find e^en a negative and affir- 
mative proposition connected by a copulative : 

Nee excitatur classibo miles truoij 

Nee horret iratum mare : 

("erumilue vitat, et stiperba civium 

Potentiotum limina^ Horate, fipod. ii. 1. 5. 

If it appear not plain, and prove unttrue. 

Deadly divorce step between me and you. Shak»peare, 

In mirth and drollery it may have a good effect 
Jo connect verbally things that are opposite to each 
other in the thought Example > Henry IV. of 
t*rance introducing the Mareschal Biron to some 
of his friends, '> Here, Gentlemen^" sg-ys he, *' is 
^* the Mareschal Biron, whom I freely present both 
** to my friends and enemi^S*'^ 



» 

26 Beauty of Lan^Mge. [cbapa 18« 

This rule of stadjing uniformity between, the 
thought and expression, may be extended to the 
construction of sentences or periods. A sentence 
or period ought to express one entire thought or 
hiental proposition ; and difi^rent thoughts ought 
to be separated in the expression by placing them 
in different sentences or periods. It is therefore 
offending against neatness, to crowd into one pe- 
riod entire thoughts requiring mcwre than one ; which 
is joining in language things that are separated in 
reality. Of errors against this rule take tne follow- 
ing examples. 

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved^ yea plei^ant ; also our bed 
is greeo. 

Caesar, describing the Suevi : 

Atqu€ in earn se consuetudirjem adduxerunt, (it locis frigidift* 
simi9j neque vestitus, preter pelles, habeant quidquiun, quarum 
propter exiguitatem, magna est corporis pars aperta, et laventur 
in flamioibusw CtmMtniaria^ I. iv. prin. > 

Burnet, in the History of his own Times, giving 
Lord Sunderland's character, says, 

His own DOtiont were always, good ; but he was a man of 
great expense. 

I ha«e seen a woman's face bre^k out in faeats^ as stie has 
been talking against a great lord, whom she bad never s^en ill 
her life ; and indeed never knew a party^woman that kept her 
bfiauty for i twelvemonth* Spectator^ No. 57» 

Lord Bolingbroke, speaking of Strada : 

I single him out among the moderns^ because be had the fool 
ish presumption to censure Tacitus, and to write history himself; 
and your Lordship will forgive this short excursJop in honotir 6{ 
a favourite writer. LtUetBon History^Yol I. Let. v. 

It seems to me, that in order to maintain the moral system 
of the world at a certain point, far belcrw that of ideal perfec- 
tion, (for we are made capable of conceiving what we are in- 
capable of attaining), but however sufficient upon the whole Co 



2» 




SEct; rf:] ' Bem^of LaHgui^e. itJ 



iSdnRtitci'fe 'a state easy and happy, or* at" the worst' tolciralile : t 
say, it seems to me, that the Author df Nature has' thougllt 
£^ to. iQiogle, from. time to time, among the societies pf meo* 
9 few, an4 but a few, of those on whom be ia graciously^ 
pleased to bestow a larger prpportioa of the etherial spirit 
ihaa is*giveii m the ordinary couf^e of his providence to the soim 
ofmeo. . . 

Bblinghroke'onthc Spirittf Patriolhm\Isett. .; 

. To crowd ia a single member of a period dit^ 
fereot subjeds, is stiU woUde^ l9iaa to ctowd ttfetfi' 
iltttd offe p€lriod r ^ 

1 ■ ' . T rojam genitore Adamasto^ 

Paupere (mansissetque utinani fottuiia) prof^cttis. 

JEneid^ iii. 6U. 

' • • " » 

From conjunctions and disjunctioos in^ generat^v 
we proceed to comparisons, wtiich make one spe* 
cies of them, beginning with similies. And here,^ 
also, the intimate connexion that words have W^th 
their meaning, requires that in describiiig two re- 
sembling objects, a resemblance in the two mem- 
bers of the period otfght to be studied. To illus- 
trate, th^ryle in this case, I shall give various ex- 
dmples of deviations from it ; beginning with re- 
semblsmce? expressed in wordk^ that bavie^ no^ Feselii- 
blance,. . 

. I have observed of late, the style of some great minitterBywtf 
much to exceed thJst of any other productions. 

Letter' to the Lord High Trecuurer. Swift. 

This, instead of studying the resemblance of worda 
lA a period that eipiresses a" comparison, is going 
otit of Otoe's rbad t& aVoid it. Instead of ptoduc^^ 
ti&m^ whiefare^^mbt^ ilot ministe3% gireat iMr sbidfl!, 
the proper word is writers or authors. 

'4f BSMi^ofemhienceare eitphsedlto censure oii the oti!6' hai&l, 
they «re «9 much liable to flattery on the other. If th^y r^ceti^' 
reproaches which are not due to them, they likewise receive 
praises which they do not deserve! i^tttctw* 

Here the subject plaifily d^^mands ynifprjpfuty ip ex- 
pteaaion instead of variety ; and therefore it is sub* 

Vol. II. 4a 



Beauty of Languages icuxt. IHi 

initted, whether the period would not do better in 
the following manner : 

Ifknen of eminence be ex)>osed to cfeDSufe on the one hand, 
they are as much ekpoaed 16 flattery on the otheh If they re-^ 
eeive reproaches that are not duie, they likewise recei?e praises 
that are not due. 

I cannot but fan^f , however, that this imitation, which passes 
to currently With oAer judgments, miist at some time or other 
have Btuclc a Httle with your Lol^dship.* [Better thtis :] I tan- 
hot but fancy;, -howoFer, that this imitation^ which passes so cur^ 
rehtly with othiers, must at some time or other hare stuclc a little 
With your Lordtkip. 

A glutton or mere sensaalist is as ridiculous as the other two 
characters. Shafitshury, Vol. i. p. 129. 

They wisely prefer the generous efforts ofgood'tnUand affection 
to th^ rielu^tant compliances of such as obey by force. 

Remarks on the History of England, lettenY. Bblingbroke. 

Titus Livius, mentioning a demand made hy th^ 
people of Enna of the keys from the Roman gover- 
nor, makes him say, 

Quas simul tradiderimus, Carthaginiensium extenplo Ennaerit;^ 
foediusque hie trucidabiniur, quam Murgantis pnesidium interfec<* 
tiim est. . L. xzir. sect. 8f , 

Quintus Curtiu^, speaking of Poms mounted on 
kn elephant, cuid leaoing his army to battle : 

Magnitudini Pori adjicere videbatar bellua qii vehebatur, tati« 
bsm inter c»teras eminens, quanta allis \pne prsstabat 

L. Tiii. cap. 14. 

It is Still a greater deviation ^m congruity, to 
aSect not only variety in the words, but alsp in thd 
construction. Describing Thermopylae, Titus Lp* 
vius says. 

Id jugum sicut Af^ennini dorso Italia dividitury ita mediam 
brttciam diremit. ~L. xtZTi. sect IS* 

iSpeaking of Shakspeare : 
f 

* letters conceraiiigEnthiisiam. Shaftesbui^. 



^ECT. 11.] Beauty of Language. ^ 

There may remain a suspicion that we orer-rate the greats 
ness of his genius, in the same manner as bodies appear more 
cigantic on accpunt of their being disproportioned and mif* 
•hapen. Bfistory of 0. BritOiin, Vol. 1. p. 138. 

This is gtudying variety in a period lyl^ere thij 
beauty lies in umforoiity. Better thus : 

There may remain a suspicion that we 0¥er*ratc the ftreat* 
ness of liis genru^, in (he same manner as we over*rate the great? 
ness of bodies that are disproportioned ^nd tpis-shapen. 

Next as to the len^h of the membersf that sig- 
nify the resembling objects. To produce a resem- 
blance between such members, they ought not only 
to be constructed in the same manner, but as near- 
ly as possible be equal in length. By neglecting 
thi^ circumstance, the following example is defec: 
tive in neatness : 

As the performance of all other reli^ou^ (!|utie9 ^ill not arai^ 
Iti the sight of God, tvithout charity ; so neither will the discbarg«f 
of all other ministeria) duties avail in the sight of men, without 
a faithful discharge of this principal duty, 

Dia§friation upon parties fDedicaHon, 

In the following passage are accumulated all the 
errors that a period expressipg a resemblance cai^ 
>vell admit; - 

Ministers are answerable for ewepy thing done to the prejudica 
of the constitution, in the same jTroportion as the . preserratlon 
of the constitution in its purity and vigour, or the perverting 
and weakening it, are of greatff consequence to the nation, than 
any other instances of good ^ bad government. ^ 

pissertation upon parties, IfedicaMul 

Next of a comparison where things are opposed 
to each other. And here it must be obvious, that 
if resemblance pught to be studied in the words 
which express two resembling objects, there 19 
equal reason for ^tudyin^ opposition in the words 
which express contrasted objeiqt?. This rtile will 
be best illustrated by examples Qf deyiatipi^ fioin 



A friend fZaueraU* > n^fto's virtuea, an eneinf inBamfii bis 

trimwJ ' ■ -^ Sy«(a(iw,Ho. 399. 

Here the c^f^to^^QD ip t^e .Uutught is neglected ia 
the words, whicTi at first view seem ,to import, that . 
ttie friend and the enemy are employed in differ- 
ent matters, without any relation to each other, 
whether of resemblance or <^ opposition. And 
therefore the contrast or opposition will be better 
mailed by expressing the thought as follows': 

A frieDd «zag(;erBte>a piaD't Tirtuai, ao oaemy Jiii crimu. 

. The following are examples of the same kind. 

7h« wise man is bappj when he gains his. own approbation ; 
t^c fool nhen he TecomtncDdt himself to the applause of those 
*b9i)t.l(iin. ibU. Mo. 78. 

Better: 

The wise man ia happy vhen hejgains bia owd approbatioo ; 
the fool wfaeb he gaiaa thai of others. 

SIcut in frugitxii pecudibugque, ron^ntum semioa ad serran* 
dum indoleiri valeltt, quantum terrc proprietas cnlique, »ub quo 
aluDtur, mutat. - Xitvy, lib. xixMiJ. sect. 17. 

We proceed to a nile of a different kind. Dur^ 
ing the course of a period, the scene ought to be 
ic^ontipued without variation: the changing from 
person to person, from Subject to subject, or from 
person to subject, ^within the bounds of a single 
period, distracts the pilnd, and affords no time for 
a spUd impressiop. I illustrate this rule by giving 
examples of deviations from it. 

Honot hlit frtpa amnugvt incenduntjir adatudi^ gloria; jacest- 
qac la lemper gute apud ^uo»<jue ioiprobant^r. 

Ciotro, ^uKwl. qutrsti I. i. 

making of the ^tiemper contracted by Ales- 
b^lung in the river Cydnus, and of the c^re 
d by PJtiUp Uie pby»cian : ' 



later bae a Parmenione fidisfimo piirpur^t^noi)^ Xi^ff^ a^c^pit, 

quibus ei dtnunciahat, ne.salutem suam PhiKppo conmittecet. 

^intuB CuriinSi 1- lii- cap. 6- 

Hook, in his Roman histoiy, speaking of Eume- 
nes, who had been beat to the ground Tvitii a gtone^ 
Bays, 

After a short time ht came to himself; and the next day, tktjj 
put him on board his ship, which conveyed him %xut to Coriolh) 
and thence io the island of iEgina. 

I give another example ofa period which is un- 
pleasant, even by a very slight devia^ionirpm tb« 
rule: 

That sort of instruction which is acquired bj iBCtticatiog ao im* 
portant moral truth, ^c- 

This expression includes two persons, one acquir* 
ing and one inculcating ; and the scene is changed 
without necessity. To avoid this blemish/ the 
thought may be expressed thus : 

That sort of instruction which is afforded by inculcating, be. 

The bad effect of such change of person is re- 
markable in the following passage. 

The Britons^ daily harrassed by cruel inroads from the Picts, 
were forced to call in the Saxons for their defence, who^ couse* 
quently rodaced the greatest part of the island to ibeir own pow- 
er, drore the Britons into the most remote and mountainous 
parts, ^nAtht rest of the couniry, in customs, religion, and Ian* 
guage, became wholly Saxons* 

Letter to the Lord High Treasurer. Swift. 

The following passage has a change from subject 
to person. 

This prostUation of praise is not only a deceit upon the grosa 
of mankind, who take their notion of characters from the learned ; 
but also the better sort must by this means lose some part at least 
•f that desire of fame which is the incentive to generous actions, 
when th^y find it promiscuoiisty bestowed on the meritorious and 
imdewving. ^ Quardian, No. 4^. 



82 Bemiy ^iMUguage. > [crap. IS, 

Even so slight a change as to vaiy tlie construe-* 
tion in the same period, is unpleasant : 

Annitial luce prima, Balearibus le^i^e alia armatura pr«- 
mis^a, transgrasBUB flumeo, ut quosqiie traduxerat, ita in aci^ 
locabat ; Oallos HispanoBque equites prope ripam Isvo in cornu 
advenuB RomaDam equltatum ; deztrum corou Numidis eqoiti*- 
]>U8 datum. Tit. lAv^ I xxii sect. 46. 

Speaking of Hannibal's elephants drove back bj 
the enemy upon his own army : 

£o magis mere in saos bellae, tantoque majorem stragem 
edere quam inter boBteB ediderant. quanto acriu» payor conste^ 
natam agit, quam insidentis magistri imperio regitur. 

ZWv, I. xxvij, sect. 14, 

This passage is also faulty in a different respect, 
that there is no resemblance between the memberd 
of the sentence, though they express a simile. 

The present head which relates to the choice of 
materials, shall be closed with a rule concerning 
the use of copulatives. Longinus observes, that it 
animates a period to drop the copulatives ; and he 
gives the following example from Xenophon, 

Closing tbeir shields together, they were pushed, they fought, 
they slew, they were slain. TrtalxBt of tkeSublifne^ cap. xvj. 

The reason I take to be what follows. A continue^ 
sound, if not loud, tends to lay us asleep : an inter? 
rupted sound rouses an<) animates by its repealed 
impulses^ Thus feet composed of syllables, being 
pronounced with a sensible interval between each, 
make more lively impressions than can be made by 
a continued sound. A period of which the mem-' 
bers are connected by copulatives, produceth an 
effect upon the mind approaching to that of a con- 
tinued sound ; and therefore the suppressing copu- 
latives must animate a description. It produces a 
different effect akin to that mentioned: the members 
of a period connepted by proper copulatives, ^de 




secT. II.] Beautjf o/Languagis. & 

smoothly and gently along ; and are a proof of se- 
lateness and leisure in the speaker: on the other 
hand, one in the hurry of passion, neglecting copu- 
latives and other particles, expresses the principal 
image only ; and for that reason, hurrjr or qmck 
action is best expressed without copulatives : 

Veni, vidi tici. 
:. ^Ite : 



Fefte citi ilammas, date vtsla, impellite remofi ^ 

dEnettf,W. 693. 

Quis globus, O civis, caligine volvitur atra ? 
Ferte citi ferriiiA, dete tela, leandite muros* 
Hostis adest, eja.- JBneid, iz. 37. 

In this view Longinus* justly compares copulatives 
in a period to strait tying, which in a race obstnicts 
the freedom of motion. 

It follows, that a plurality of copulatives m the 
same period ought to be avoided : for if the laying 
aside copulatives give force and liveliness, a redun- 
dancy of them must render the period languid. I 
appeal to the following instance, though there are 
but two copulatives. 

UpOD looking o^er the letters of my female cOrrespondentB, I 
ilAd several from women complaining of jealous husbands ; and at 
the 4auie time protesting their own innocence, and desiring taf 
advice upon this occasion. Spedatorj No. 170l 

1 except the case where the words are intended 
t6 express the coldness of the speaker ; for there 
the redundancy of copulatives is a beauty. 

Bioiog one day at so ftlderman^s in the City, Peter observed 
hi<n expatiating after the manner of his brethren^ in the praisM 
of& sirloin of beef. "Beef," said the sage magistrate, ** is the 
*' king of meat: Beef comprehends in it the quintessence of par- 
^* tridge, and quail, and Tienisons ^n^ pheasant, and plumb-pud- 
** tling, and euiktard " t<Ue of a TW, sect. 4* 

* Treatise of the Sublime, rap. xrl. 



34 Bemty of Language. [chaf. 18; 

And the author shows great delicacy of taste by 
varying the expression in the mouth of Peter, who 
is represented more animated : 

** Bread," says he, ^ dear brothers, is the staff df life , ia which 
" bread is contained, indunot^ the quintessence of beef, mutton,- 
<* Teal, veuison, partridges, plum-pudding, and custard." 

Another case must also be excepted : copulatives 
hare a good eflfect where the intention is to give an 
impression of a great multitude consisting of many 
divisions ; for example, *' The army was composed 
*^ of Grecians and Carians, and Lyciaps, and Pam- 

{)hylians, and Phrygians." The reason is, that a 
eisurely survey, whi^^h is expressed by the copula- 
tives, makes the parts appear more numerous than 
they would do by a hasty survey : in the latter case 
the army appears in one g^oup ; in the former, we 
take as it were an accurate survey of each nation 
and of each division.* 

We proceed to the second kind of beauty ; which 
consists in a due arrangement of the words or ma- 
terials. This branch of the subject is no less nice 
than extensive ; and I despair of setting it in a 
clear light, except to those who are well acquaint- 
ed with the general principles that govern the struc- 
ture or composition of language. 

In a thought, generally speaking, there is at 
least one capital object considered as acting or as 
suffering. This object is expressed by a substan- 
tive noun ; its action is expressed by an active 
verb ; and the thing affected by the action is ex- 
pressed by another substantive noun : its suffering 
or passive state is expressed by a passive v^rb; anq 
the thing that acts upon it, by a substantive noun. 
Beside tne9e» which £ire the capital parts of a sent 

* See Demetrius Phalereus of Elobufion, se«t. 63. 



stiGTt 11.2 BemU^ of: Languagei 36 

teiice or period, there i^e generally tind^artd; 
^ach of tw substantives! as ivell as the verb, may 
be qualified : time, place, purpose, motive, means, 
instrument, and a thousand other circumstances, 
may be necessary to complete the thought And in 
what manner these several parts are connected in 
the expression^ will appear from what follows. 
^ In a complete thought or mental proposition, all 
the members and parts^ are mutually related', some 
slightly, some intimately. To put such a thought 
in words, it is not sufficient that the component ideas 
b^ clearly expressed ; . it is also necessary, that all 
the relations contained in the thought be expressed 
according to their difiTerent degrees of intimacy* 
To annex a certain meaning to a certain sound or 
word, requires no art : the great nicety in all lan- 
guages iiS, to express the various relation^ that con-* 
nect the parts of the thought Could we suppose 
this branch of language to be still a secret, it would 
puzzle^ I am apt to tliink^ the acut^st grammarian, 
to invent an expeditious, method : and yet, by the 
guidance merely ^pf nature, the rude and illiterate 
have been led to a method so perfect, us to appear 
not susceptible of any improvement ; . and the next 
' step in our process shall be to explain that method. 

Words that import a relation, must be distin- 
guished from such as do not. Substantives com- 
monly imply no relation ; such as animal, man, 
tree, river. , Adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, im- 
ply a relation ; the adjective good niust relate to 
some being possessed of that quaUty ; the verb 
write is apfSied to some person who writes ; and 
the adverte moderately^ diligenilij, have plainly a 
teference to some action which they modify. When 
a relative word is introduced, it must be signified 
by the expression to what word it i*elates, without 
which the sense is not complete. For answering 

Vol. II. 5a 



that pnrpoae, I ofaserf e iii . Greek and Latin two 
different methods* Adjectives are dedlin^ as weH 
as substantives ; and dedens^ns serve to ascertain 
iheir conaexion: If the word that expresses th^ 
subjept be, ika example, in the nomitiative case, so 
also must the word be that represses its i}iicdiQ^ ; 
exam{)tie, w h&mtB \ a^ain, verbs ajre related, da 
the one hand, to tibe agent, and, on the otli>6r, to 
the subject upon which the action is exerted i and 
a contrivance similar to that now mentioned, serveii 
to express the double relatkm : the nominative eas^ 
16 a(>pcopriated to the agent, the actustttive to the 
paSsivesubject; 'and the verb is put in the firsts 
Second, or third person, to intimate the Connexion 
with the word that signifies the agent : examples^ 
Ego amo Tellium ; tu amos Semprcnium ; Brutm 
^anM Porticm. The other method is by 'juxtapo- 
sition, which is necessary .with respect to such 
words only as ate not declined, adverbs, for exam- 
|)Ie, articles, prepositions^ and cohjunctions. In 
the English language thl^re ate few declensions; 
and therefore juxtaposition is bur chief resotirce : 
adjectives acGoinpany their substantives;* an ad- 
verb accompanies the word it qualifies ; and the 
verb occupies the middle place between the active 
and passive subjects to which it relates^ 

tt must be obvious, that those terms which hav^ 
nothing relative in.thfeir signification, cannot be 
connected in so easy a manner. Whep two suB- 
titantiveii hapi)en to be connected, as cavse and ef^ 
feet, as principal and accessory, or in any other 

■ * Taking advantage of a declension to separate aii adjective fiom its sub^ 
stantive, as is commonly practised in Latin, though it detract not from per- 
spicuity, is Certainly less neat than the English metbodbf juxtaposition. Con- 
tK«»ty is moire expressive ofan intimate illation, tbtui resemblance merely. 
bfthefitafal syllables. Latin indeed has evidently the advantage when the? 
adjective and substantive happen to be connected by feontiguSty, as well a» 
by r^semblanoe of the final syllables. 



SI^CT* lu} Beauiy of Language:, 37 

maimer^ such connexicm. cannot be expre«ed by 
(Xintiguitir solely ; foF woiridis must often m a perio4 
he (daced tog^ner which are not thus related ; the 
relation between substantives, therefore, cannot 
otherwise be expressed but . bj particles denoting 
the relation, Latin indeed and Greek, hj their 
declensiQi)9, gf» a certain length to express 3uch 
relations, without the aid of particles* The rela- 
tion of property for example, between Caesar and 
jiis horse, is expressed t^y putting the latter in the 
iK^minative case, the former in the genitire: equus 
Cmwris; the same is i^lso fixpressed in English 
without the aid of a particle, GeBmr^s hor$e. But 

in other instances, declensions not being .used in t^Q 
English languafj^e, relations-of this kind are cpm^ 
monly expressed by prepo8ition3. Examples : that 
wine came fram Cyprus, Hp is^gojng to Paris* 
The s^n is hehw th^ horizon. ^ ^ 

This form of conqectii^ by prepositions, is not 
eoQfined to iHibstantiyesf. Qualities, attributes, maii- 
peir of existingoraGj^ng,and all other circuufstanpes 
may in the same manner be connected with the 
substances to which they relate. This is done ar* 
tificially by converting the circumstance into a sub- 
stantive; in which condition it is qualified to be 
connected with the principal subject by ^ preposi? 
tion in the manner above described/ For e^m- 
ple, the adjective wise being converted into th^ 
substantive wisdom^ gives opportunity for the ex- 
pression '^ a man of wisdomi^- instead of the more 
laimpie iSxpression a wise ffian / this variety in the 
expression, enriches lah§ug.ge, I observe, beside, 
that the using ^ p^epo^itiqn m this case, is not al- 
ways a matter of chojpe: it is indispensable with 
res{^ct to eyeiy circumstance that cannot be ex- 
pressed by ^, jingle adjective or adverb. 

To pave the way for tfie rules of armngement, 
one otner preliminary is necessary ; which is, tq 



88 Beauty ofLmguage. [chap. 1%. 

ex{^ain the differenee between a nmtural stf te^ zxA 
tiiat where transpoation or inversion prevails.-^-- 
There, are, it is true, no precise boundaries be* 
tweenthem, for thef run into each other like the 
shades of different colours. No person, boweveir, 
is at a loss to distinguMi them in their extremes^ : 
and it is niecessary to make the distinction : be- 
cause though some of the roles I shall have occa^- 
sion to mention are £omma»^ to both^ yet each have 
rules peculiar to itself. In a natural style, relative 
words are by juxtaposition connected with those ti^ 
^hich they relate, going before* or after, according 
to the peculiar genius of the language. Again, a 
cdrcunistaDce connected by a preposition, follows 
naturally the word with which it is connected. But 
this arrangement may be. varied, when a different 
order is more beautilul: a circumstance may be 

E laced before the word with which \\ is connected 
y a preposition ; and may he interjected even be^- 
tween a relative word apd that to which it related. 
When such liberties are frequently taken, the style 
becomes inverted or transposed^ 

But as the liberty of inversioji is a capital point 
in the present subject, it will be necessary to exa- 
mine it more narrowly, and in particular to trac^ 
the several degrees in which an inverted style re- 
cedes more and more from that which is natural* 
And first, as to the placing a circumstance before 
the word with which it is connected, I observe, that 
it is the easiest of all inversion, even so easy as to 
be consistent with a style that is properly termed 
patural; fitness the following, examples. - 

In Uie sioeeritj of my heart, I professZ&sc. ' 

By our own Hi management, ^e are brpught to so low anjcbb 
pf weakli and credit, that, fcc. 

On Thursday i^qrmRgtKlKre was little or no:tllkig transacted in 
Vbange-alley. 

r 



fi£C7. 11.] Beauty of Language. 89 

▲t St. Bride's cbilrch in Fleet-Street, Mr. Woohton, (irho writ 
agaiDst the miracies of our Saviour) to the utmost terrors of kwo^ 
science, made a pubUc recantatioa. 

Thie interjecting a circumstance between a rela- 
tire Word, and that to which it relates, is more pro- 
perly terined inversion ; because, by a disjunction 
of words intimately connected, it recedes farther 
from a natural style. But this license has degrees ; 
for the disjunction is more violent in some instances 
than in others. And to give a just notion of the 
'ftfference, there is a necessity to- enter a little more 
into an abstract subject, than would otherwise b^ 
jny inclination. 

•In nature, though a subject cannot exist without 
its qualities, nor a quality without a subject; yet 
in our conception of these, a material difference 
may be remarked. I cannot conceive a quality but 
as belonging to some subject : it makes indeed a 
part of the idea which is formed of the subject, 
but the opposite holds not : for though I cannot - 
form a conception of a subject void of all qualities, 
Vt partial conception may be formed of it, abstract- 
ing from any particular quality : I can for exam- 
ple, form the idea of a fine Arabian horse without 
regard to his colour, or of a white horse without 
regard to his size. Such, partial conception of a 
subject is still more easy with respect to action or 
motion ; which is an occasional attribute only, and 
has nofthe same permanency with colour or figure : 
I cannot form an idea of motion independant of a 
body ; but there is nothing more easy than to form 
an idea of a body at rest. Hence it appears, that 
the degree of inversion depeftds greatly onthip or- 
der in which the related words are placed : when 
a substantive occupies the first place, the idea it 
suggests must subsist in the mind at least for a mo- 
ment, independent oFthe relative words afterwards 
introduced ; and that moment may without difficul- 



f 



40 Beauty ^ lM/i^yi^g$, [ciiiP. JbGf, 

ij be prolonged bj interjecti&g a cirettmrtfflice be^ 
tween the substantives and its connexioiis. Thisli* 
berty, therefore, however frequent, will scarce 
alone be sufficient to d^iominate a style inverted. 
The case is very different, where the i^ord that ocr 
cupies the first place denotes a quality or an ao« 
tion ; for as these cannot be conceived without a 
subject, they cannot without^ greater violence be 
separated from the subject that follows ; and for 
that reason, every such separation, by means of an 
inte.rjected circumatancei belongs to an iaveil^ 
style, . 

To illustrate this doctrine, examples ^e neces- 
sary ; and I shall begin with those where the jvford 
fffst introduced does not imply a relation. 



Her former trespass fear'd. 



-Nor Eve to iterate 



"l^«i«^ 



-Hanger and thfnt at onoOf 



Powerffil persuaders, quiekea'fl at the sceat* 
Of that alluring fruit, urg'd me so keeq. 
Moon that now meet'st the orient suo, now fli%t 
IVith the ftxM stars;, fiz'd in thejr orb that flies, 
4od ye five other wandering fires that moro • 
In mystic danc;e not without song, r^acHU^ 
His praise. 

In the following ei;:aipple$, where the word first, 
introduced imports a relaticxq, the disjunqtion vdl| 
be found more violent. 

Of Dian*s first djsobedience, and the fruit 
Of tEat forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the worlds and all pur wo. 
With joss of Eden, tin one greater Qian 
Restore U89 and region the Blissful seatj 
. Sing heav -nly muse. 

, ■ ■ MM . ■ , Upon the firm opaeous g(obik 
Of this'round worlds whose first convex divide^ 
The luminous ififerior orbs tncIosM 
From chaoa and th' inroa^ of darkooss iA^ - 
0ataa.a]Jghte(l. walli& 




^B^T IK] Bedkst^ cf Langw^, 41 

: <iii.i:iioi-iHTiiii ^t "On a siidden open tff 

WUh impetiKHM reeoil and jarriag sounds 
Tb' mfernal doors. 



■WMJiMM««i**«*> 



i^^WbeifeiD romaln*^^ 



t*or:wl^at could else ? to our aknigkty (66 
Clear victory, to oar part loss add rout. 

. - ^ Forth rush'di with whiriwiod sound, 

. The ejiariot of paternal Deity« 

Labgdi^ge would have no great power, were it 
ftonfified to the natural order of ideas* I shall 
doon hare opportunity to make it evident, that 
by inversion a thousand beauties may be compass- 
ed, which must be relinquished in a natural ar- 
rangement. In the mean time, it ought not to 
escape observation, that the mind of man is happi-* 
ly so constituted as to relish inversion, though in 
one respect unnatural ; and to relish it so much, as 
ki many cases to admit a separation between words 
the most iirtimately connected. It can scarce be 
^aid that inverdon has any limits ; though I may- 
venture to pronounce, that the disjunction of arti- 
des^ conjunctions, or prepositions, from the words 
to which they belong, nas very seldom a ^od ef* 
feet The following exampl^ witii relation to a 
^reposition, is perhaps as tolerable as any of the 




He would neither sepai^atto J^oin, notr act against i^liu 

I give notice to the reader, that I am now ready 
to enter on the rules of arrangement : beginning 
with a natural style, and proceeding gradually to 
what is the most iiiverted. And in the arrange- 
ment of fb period, as well as in a right choice of 
words, the'mst &nd great object being perspicuitv, 
the rule a,bove laid down, that perspicuity oumt 
not to be sacrificed to any other oeau^ty, holds 
equally in both« Ambiguities occask>nea by a 
Wrong arrangement are of two sorts ; one whenft 



i2 Beauty of Language. [chap^ I8i 

the anaogem^At leads to a wrong sense, and one; 
where the sense is left doubtful. The first, being 
the more culpable, shall take the lead, beginning 
with examples of words put in a wrong place* 

How much the imagination of such a presence must exalt a 
genius, we may observe mtrtly from the* influence which an ordi- 
nary presence has orer men. 

CharacterisUcSf Vol. I. p. 7: 

This arrangement leads to a wrong sense : the ad- 
verb merely seems by its position to affect the pre- 
ceding word ; whereas it is intended to affect the 
following words, an ordinary presence ; and there-^ 
fore the arrangement ought to oe thus : 

Hovv much the imagination of such tt presence must exalt a 
genius, we may observe from the influence which an ordinary- 
presence merely has over men. [Or, better] — which even ao 
ordinary presence has over men. 

The time of the election of a poet-'laureat being now at band, It 
may be proper to give some account of the I'ites and ceremonies 
anciently used at that solemnity, and onijf discontinued through the 
neglect and degeneracy of later times. . Guardian* 

The term only is intended io qualify the noun de- 
generaqf J stna not the ^Bxiiciple discontinued ; and 
therefore the ai'rangement ought to be as follows : 

and discontinued through the neglect apd 



degeneracy only of later times. 

Sixtus the Fourth vras, if I mistake not, a great Collectot of 
books at least. 

Letters on History, Vol. I. let vi. Solinghroke, 

The expression herp leads evidently to a wrong 
sense ; the adverb at leasts ought not to be con-' 
nected with the substantive books^ but wjth coUec^ 
for, thus: 

Sixtusthii Fourth was a great collejctor at least of books. 

Speaking of Louis XIV. 



N. 



t 



^^ BEct. Iff] Sl^aut§, of language. " 4d 

pnc If he was not tile greati6et king, he was th« best aet<»r of bai- 

ling je&ty at least, that ever filled a throne* IHd. Letter Tii* 

^ Better thus: 

If be was not the greatest kiog, he was at least the bei^t fewtd^ 
of majestjr, fee. 

This ailrangement removes the wrong s^nse occa- 
fi^ioned bj the juxtaposition of majesty and at least 

The following examples a^e of a wrong arrange-^ 
tnent of-members. 

'^I have confined myself to those methods for the advaneetneni 
of piety, which are in the power of a'pridce limited like ours hf 
a strict execution of the ]aw«. 

A project far the adva%cemtnt\of religion. Swift. 

The structure of this period leads to ^ meaning 
which is not the author's, viz. power limited by a 
strict execution of the laws. That wrong sense is 
removed by the following arrangement : 

I have confined myself to those methods for the advancement 
of piety, which, by a strict executiooof the laws, are in the pow- 
er of a prince limited like ours. 

This morning, when one of Lady Lizard's daughters was look- 
ing oversonie hoods and ribands brought by her tirewoman, with 
great care ''and diligence, I employed no less in examining the 
box which contained them. Chiardiarif Ne. 4. 

The wrong sense occasioned by this arrangement/ 
may be easily prevented by varying it thus : 

This morning when, with great care and diligence, one of La- 
dy Lizard's daughters was looking over some hoods and ri- 
bands, tec. 

A great stone that t happened to find after a long {(earch by the 
sea-shore, served me for an anchor. 

GviLivtr*9 Travels^ Part L Chap. viil. 

One would think that the search was c6n#tied to 
the sea-shore ; but as the meaning is, that the great 
stone was found by the sea-shoire, the peiiod ought 
to be arranged thus : 
Vol, II. Qa 



) 



44 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18* 

A great atone, that, after a long search, I happened to find by 
the 8ea«8hore served me for an anchor. 

Next of a wrong arrangement where the sense 
is , left doubtful ; beginning, as in the former sort, 
with examples of wrong anrangement of words in 
a member. 

« These forms of eoiiTersatioD hy. degrees multiplied and grew 
troublesome. Spectator ^ No. 119* 

Here it is left doubtful whether the modificatioii 
by degrees relates to the preceding member or to 
trhat follow^ : it should be, 

These forms of conversation multiplied by degrees. 

Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such actions as 
fire indiscreet, but very often to such as are highly criminal. 

Sptctator^ No. 458. 

TJhe ambiguity is removed by the following ar- 
rsmgement : 

Nor does this false modesty expose us t6 such actibns on!y as^ 
are indiscreet, fee. 

' . - * . . . 

The empire of Blefuscu is an island situated to the north-east 
side of Liiliput, from whence it is parted only by a channel of 800 
yards wide. Gulliver^s ^TraveU^Fdiri I. Chap, v, . 

The ambiguity may be removed thus : 

from whence it is parted by a channel of 800 yards 
wide only. 

In the following examples the sense is left doubt- 
ful by wrong arrangement of members. 

The minister who grows less by his elevation^ like a little sta* 
tue placed on a mighty pedestal^ will always have his jealousy 
strong about him. 

Diaseriaiion iipon Parlie^, Dedication, Bolinghroke, 

Here, ds far as can be gathered fromi the arrange- 
ment, it is doubtful, whether the object introduced 



\ 



-^ 



SECT. II.] Beauty of Language. 4$ 

by way of simile, relate to what goes before or to 
what follows : the ambiguity is removed by the folr 
lowing anapgement : 

' The minister, whp, like a little statue placed on a might]^ pe- 
destal, grows less by his elevation, will always, be. 

Since this is too much to ask of freemen, nay of slaves, if hU 
expectation he riot anstoerei^ shall h^ fopm a lasting diyision upon 
such transient motives ? Ibid, 

Better thus : 

fl 

Since this is too much to ask of freemen, nay of slares, shall 
tie, if his expectations be not answered, form, &lc. 

Speaking of the superstitious praptice of locking 
up the room where a person of distinction dies: 

The ^nigbt, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a com- 
pass, and himself in a manner shut out of hifi own house, uponthe 
4eath of his mother, pr(^ered i^ll the ^p^rtipents to be flaog open^ 
and exorcised by his jchaplain. SpedaJtor, No. 110. 

Better thus : 

The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a com- 
pass, and himself in a planner phut out of bis Ofrn house,.ordered, 
upon the death of his mother, all the apartments to be flung open. 

Speaking of some indecencies in conversation : 

As it is impossible, for such an irrational way of conversation to 
last lopg among a people that make any profession of religion, or 
show of mo.desty, if the country genUemefi gef into i^ tl^ey will 
certainly be left in the lurcb. Spectator, No. 119* 

The ambiguity vanishes in the following ar- 
rangement : 

-^-- the country gentlemen, if they get into it, will cer- 
tainly be left in the lurch. 

Speaking of a discovery in natural philosophy, 
that colour is not a quality of matter : 






4g Beauty of hangmge. [chap. 18, 

As this IB a truth wliich has beeo proved incontestibly bj many 
inodern philosophers, and is indeed one of the iinest speculations 
lb that Bcieoce, if i^ English reader would see the notion explain- 
ed at large, he may find it in the eighth chapter of the aeconcl 
book of Mr. Locke's easay op human understanding. 

Spectator, No. 413. 

Better thus : 

As this is a truth, &c. the English reader, if he would see tho 
QOtion explained at large, may find it, &lc. 

A woman seldom asks advice before sh^ has bought her wed-« 
ding-clothes. When she has made her own choice, /or/orm'« sake^ 
she sends a conge d'tlire to her friends. lhid» No. 475. . 

Better thus ; 

>■ t . t i i fsbe sends, for form's sake, a eonge d'tlire to her friends. 

And since it is necessary that there slioqld be a perpetual io- 

tercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where 

'fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it, the 

honest dealer is always undone, and th^ knave gets the advan* 

fage, €hilliver*s Travels, part 1. chap, vi. 

Better thus : 

And since it is i^ecessary that there should b^ a perpetual in- 
t«icounie of buying and selling) and dealing upon credit, the ho- 
nest dealer, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no 
law to punish it, is always undone, and the knave gets the advau- 
tage* 

From these exapnples, the following observation 
will occur, that a circumstance ought never to be 
nlaced between two capital members of a period ; 
tor by such situation it must always be doubtful, 
^ far ^^e gather from the ^rangement, to which 
of the two members it belongs : where it is intfr- 
i^Ct^4 ^ it ought to b^, between parts of the mem- 
ber to which it belongs, the ambiguky is removed, 
an4 the capital members are kept distinct, which 



r 



SECT, u.] BeaiUy of Language. 47 

is a great beauty in composition. In general, to 
preserve members distinct that signify things dis- 
tinguished in the thought, the best method is, to 
place first in the consequent member, some word 
that cannot connect with what precedes it. 

Ifit shall be thought, that the objections here 
are too scrupulous, and that the defect of perspi- 
cuity is easily supplied by accurate punctuation ; 
the answer is, That punctuation may remove an 
ambiguity, but will never produce that peculiar 
beauty which is perceived when the sense comes 
out clearly and distinctly by means of a happy ar- 
rangement. Such influence has this beauty, that 
by a natural transition of perception, it is commu- 
nicated to the very sound of the w ords, so as in ap- 
pearance to improye the music of the period. But 
as this curious subject comes in more properly af- 
terward, it is sufficient at present to appeal to ex- 
perience, that a period so arranged as to bring out 
the sense clear, seems always more musical than 
where the sense is left in any degree doubtful. 

A rule deservedly occupjHing the second place, 
is, That words expressing things connected in the 
thought, ought to be placed as near together as posr- 
sible. This rule is ciprived immediately from hu- 
man nature, prone in every instance to place toge^ 
ther things in any manner connected:* where 
things are arranged accorAng to their connexions, 
we have a sense of order; otherwise we have a 
sense of disorder, as of things placed by chance ; 
and we naturally place words in the same order in 
which we would place the things they signify. The 
bad effect of a violent separation of words or menir 
bers thus intimately connected will appear from' 
the following examples. 

For the English are naturally fancifvil, and very often dispos- 
ed, by that glopminess and melancholy of temper which is ko 

* See chapter I. 



48 ' Beauty of Language. [cnip. 18. 

frequent in our nation, to many wild notions and visions, to which 
Others are not so liable. . Spectator^ No. 419* 

• 

Here the verb or assertion is, by a pretty long cir- 
cumstance, violently separated from the subject to 
vs^hich it refers : this paakes a hstrsh arrangement : 
the less excusably that the fault is easily prevente4 
. by placiqg the circumstance before the verb, after 
the following manner : 

For the English are naturally fanciful, and, by that gloominess 
and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, are 
often disposed to many wild notions, kc. 

For as no mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of 
things, knows to what use his works may, some ticne or other, be 
applied, &lc. Sptiiatoty No. 85. 

e 

Better thus : 

For as, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, no mortal 
author knows to what usoi some time or other, bis works may be 
applied, &&c. ' 

From whence we may <|nte likewise the riralship of the hoiise 
of France, for we may reckon-ihat of Yaiois and tl^at of Bourboi| 
as one upon this occasion, and the house of Austria that conti- 
nues at this day, and has oft cost so much blood and so much 
treasure in the course of it 

Letttra on History, vol. I. let. vi. Bolinghroke. 

It cannot be impertinent or ridiculous, therefore, in such a 
, country, whatever it might be in the Abbot of St. Real's, which 
was Savoy, I think ; or in Peru, under the Incas, where Garcil* 
asso de la Vega says it was lawful for none but the nobility to 
study — for men of all degrees to instruct themselves, in those afn 
fairs wherein they may be actors, or judges of those ^'ho act, or 
controllers of those tjiat judge. Ibid, let v. 

If ScipiO) who .was naturally given to women, for which anec- 

, dote we have, if 1 mistake nott the authority of Polybius, as well 

as same verses of Nevius, preserved by Aulus'Geliius, had been 

educated by Olympias at the court of Philip, it is improbable 

that he would have restpred the beautiful Spaniard. 

Ibid, let iii. 



st:cT. II.] Beauty of Language. 49 

If any one have a curiosity for more specimens of 
this kind, they will be found without number in the 
works of the same author. 

A pronoun, which saves the naming a person or 
ihiilg a second time, ought to be placed as near as 
possible to the name of thsit person or thing. This 
is a branch of the foregoing rule ; and with the 
teason there given another concurs, viz. That if 
other ideas intervene, it is difficult to recal the per- 
son or thing by reference : 

Iff had leave to print the Latin letters transmitted to me from 
foreign parts, they would fill a volume, and be a full defence 
against all that Mr. Partridge, or his accomplices of thfe Portugal 
Inquisition, will be ever able to object: who, by the way, are the 
ohiy edeniies my pi'edictions have eVer met with at home or 
abtoad. 

Better thus: 

^ — and bfe a full defente against all that can be ob- 

jected by Mr. Partridge, or his accomplices of the Portugal in* 
quisition ; who, by tbe way, are, kc* 

The^6 being a round million of creatures in human figure^ 
throughout this kingdom, whose whole subsistence, Sec. 

tA Modest Proposal, ifc* Swift, 

Better: 

There being throughi^ut this kingdom, a round million of 
creatures in human figure, whose whole subsistence, &tc. 

Tom is a lively impudent clown, and has wit enough to have 
made him a pleasant companipUi had it been polished and recti- 
fied by good manners^ Guardian, No. 162. ^ 

It is the custoin of the Mahometans, if they see any printed or 
written paper upon the ground, to take it up, and lay it aside 
carefully, as not knowing*but it may contain some piece of their 
Alcoran. spectator, No. 85. 

The arrangement here leads^o a wrong sense^ as 
if the ground were taken up, not the paper.*— 
Better thus : 



/ 



^ 



5Q lieauiy iof Language. . .; X^hap* 1 8» 

Yt i&Ihe oustotn of the Mahometans, if ihef 8<»e a|)oa the 
^rpuod any printed oi* written paper, to take it i»p,^C4 ' 

- • ■ * * , . 

The following rule depends on the cotnttiunica- 
tionof einotions to^relai^d objects ; a principle in 
human nature that hath an extensive operation : 
.and we find this operation, even where the objects 
are not otherwise related than by }uxtappsitioh of 
the words that express them. Hence, to elevate 
or depress an object, one method is, to join it in 
the expression with another that is naturally high 
or low : witness the following speech of Eumenes 
to the Roman Senate. . 

Causafn vemendi sibi Romam fuissc, praeter cupiditatem via- 
endi dcos hominesqvt^ quorum betieficio in eafortuna essct, supra 
quam ne optare quideni auderet, etiam ut coram moneret sena- 
turn ut Peraei conatus obviam iret. l^vy^ i- xiii. cap. xi. 

To join the Romans with the gods in the same 
enunciation, is an artful stroke of flattery, because 
it tacitly puts them on a level. On the other hand, 
the degrading or vilifying an object, is done suc- 
cessfully by ranking it with one that is really low : 

I hope to have this entertaintnent in a' readiness for the next 
ivinter ; and doubt not but it will please niore than the opera or 
puppet-show. spectator. No* 28. 

Manifold have been the judgments Which Hearen from time 
to time, for the chastisement of a sinful pec^ple, has inflicted up- 
on whole nations. For when the degeneracy becomes commohf 
'tis but just the punishment should, be general. Of this kind, rn 
our own unfortunate country, was that destructive pestilence, 
whose mortality was so fatal as to sweep away, if Sir WiHiam 
Petfy may be believed, ^ye millions of Christian souls, beside^ 
women and Jews. 

GocTs Revenge against Punnifig, jirbuthnot. 

Such also was that dreadful conflagration ensuing in this fa- 
mous roetropoUs of London, which consumed, according to the 
eomputaiion of Sir Sumuel Mordaqd, 100,000 houses, not to 
mention churches and stables. ibid. 



I 



fEicT. II.] Beemty of Lai^^uage. 51 

But Oil condition it might puss iato a law, I would gladly ex* 
empt botii lawyers of all ^ges, subaltern and ield^offieers, jbuot 
heirs, dao dog-masters, pictc-pockets, and players. 

M in/oW^^ Sehemc to pa^ ihi Pt^Ue XMT. Mljfl. 

Sooner let earth, air, tea, to chaos ftdl, 

Men, inonkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all. . 

Rape of ike Lock, 

Circumstanees in a period resemble small stones 
in a building, employed to fill up vacuities among 
those of a larger size. In the arrangement of a 
period, such under-parts crowded together make 
a poor figure ; and never are graceful but when in- 
terspersed amoi^ die capital parts. I illustrate 
this rule by the following example. 

It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation^ in this 
kingdom, above 10,0t)0 parsons, whose revenues, added to thoso 
of my Lords the Bishops, would suffice to maintain, &&c. 

Argument against abolishing Christianity. Swift. 

Here two circumstance39 vi& by computati&ni and 
in this kingdof^j are crowded together unnecessa«» 
rily : they make a better appearance separated in 
the following manner : 

It U likewise urged, that in this kingdom there are, by compu* 
tation, above 10,000 parsons, &c. 

If there be room for a choice, the sooner a cir* 
cumstance is introduced, the better ; because cir- 
cumstances are proper for that coolness of mind» 
with which we begin a period as well as a volume : 
in the progress, the mind warms, and has a greater 
relish for matters of importance. When a circum- 
stance is placed at the beginning of the period, or 
near the beeiniiiBg, tfae trai^itxon from* it to the 
principal subject is agreec^le: it is like ascendin^^ 
or goin^ upward. On the other hand, to ptace it 
late in the period has a bad effect ; for after being 
engaged in the principal subject, one is with re- 
luctaooe bmught down to give attention to a cir- 
VoL. II. 7a 



«2 Bmukf <if Language. [c«ap. !«• 

cumstanee. Hence evidently the prefeience of th^ 
following arrangement : 

Whether iB any cdnntry a ehoic^ altogatb«r onexceptioDaMe 
has been made, Beems doubtful. 

Before this other, 

Whether a ch«iee altogether unexceptionable haa in any coun- 
try been madct Stc. 

For this reason the following period is exceptiona- 
ble in point of arrangement. 

I have considered formerly, Tvith a good deal of attention, the 
•object upon which you command me to communicate tnf 
thoughts to you. 

BoUnghroie of the Slwhf of Hutory^ Letter I. 

Which, with a slight alteration, may be improved 
thus: 

I have formerly^ with a g€K>d deal of attention, considered the 
subject, &c. 

Swift, Speaking of a virtuous and learned educa- 
tion : 

And although they may be, and too often are drawo» by the 
temptations of youth, and the opportunities of a large fortune, into 
some irregularities, whtn they come forward into the great world ; it 
Is ever with reluctance and compunction of mind, because their 
bias to virtue still continues. 

7%e inteUigonett No. 9* 

Better : 

And although, when (key come forward into the great worlds thej 
may be, and too often, &cc. 

The bad effect of placing a citcitinstance last or 
late in a period, will appear from the following ex- 
amples: 

Let us endeavour to establish to ourselves an interest in him 
who holds the reins of the whole creation In his band* 

^eMer, No.. 12. 



^IM^B^^^tAAA^M 



T^W :- 



tecT. H«] ^muiif of Laf^$Mge. 
Better tbos: 



6S 



Let U8 etideavoar to establish to ourselves an ioterest in hinii 
i^lio, ID hh hfindy holds the reias. of the whole ereatioo. 

Virgil, who has cast the whole system of Platonic philoaophf* 
so far as it relates to the soul of man, into beautiful allegories 
in the siM book of his .^netV, gives us the punishment, Sec. 

,S/?eflcifor, No. 90. 

Better tiius : ^ 

Virgil, who in the sixth book of his iBoeidi has cast, &c. 

And Philip the Fourth was obliged at last to conclude a peace 
on terms repugnant to his inclination, to that of his people, to the 
interest of Spain, and to that of all Europe, in the Pyrenean 

treaty. 

JAtteraon HUtory^ yoL Uetvi. Bolingbroke. 

Better thus: 

And at last in the Pyrenean treaty, Philip the Fourth wa9 
obliged to conclude a peace, kc. 

In arranging a period, it is of importance to de* 
termine in what part of it a word makes the great- 
est figure ; whether at the beginning, during the 
course, or at the close. The breaking silence 
rouses the attention, and prepares for a deep im- 
pression at the beginning: the beginning, how- 
ever, must yield to the close ; which being succeed- 
ed by a pause, affords time for a word to make its 
deepest impression.* Hence the following rule, 
That to give the utmost force to a period, it ought 
if possible to be closed with that word which 
makes the greatest figure. The opportunity of a 
pause should not be thrown away upon accessories, 

• To give force or elevation to a period, it ought to begin and end wHh a 
Ipngsyfiible. For along syllable makes naturally the strongest »"I*2; 
rion : md of all the syllables in apenod, ^^.f? ''*''**?. ??!ffvl'^wl^'^ 
aod last. Demetmu PMereus of&oeutimi tft. m ji 



\ 



54 Beautf 0/ Languffge. [chaf. I>8«. 

but reserved for the principal object, in order that 
it may make a full impression : which is an addi- 
tional reason against closdng a period with a cir^- 
cumstance« There are however periods that admit 
not such a structure ; and in that case, the capital 
Word ought, if possible, to be placed in the front, 
which next to the close is the most advantageous, 
for making an impression. Hence, in 'directing our 
discourse to a man of figure, we ought to beein 
with his name ; and one will be sensible of a de^ 
gradation, when this rule is neglected, as it fre- 
quently is for the sake of verse* I give the folio w« 
|ng examples. 

Integer vit«, scfelerisque purus, 
Non ef^et Mauri jaciiHs, neque arcii, 
^ec venenatis gravida sagittis, 

FuftCe, phluretm. 

HoraL Carm, L. t. ode 22, 

Je crains Dieiv cher Abner^ et n'ai point d^autre craiqte. 

In these examples, the name of the person address- 
ed to, makes a mean figure, being like a circum- 
stance slipt inta a comer. That this criticism is 
well founded, we need no further proof than Addi-r 
son's translation of the last example : 

Abner ! I fear my God, and I fear none but him. 

Crttarofian, No. 117. 

O father, vhat iflUnds thy hand, »h^ cried, 
Against thy oiily aon ? What fury, O aon, 
Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart 
Against thy father's bead ? 

Parudise Lost^lyoak ii. 1. 727. > 

Everf one must be sensible of a dignity in the in- 
vocation at the beginning, which is not attained by 
that in the middle. I mean not, however, to cen^ 
pure this passage : on the contrary, it appears beau- 
^ul, bv distinguishing the respect that is due to a 
fad^Qr uofn that which is ^ue tp a son. 



SECT. Hi] Beaut^o/LdJ^ngwge^' && 

» 

The substaoceof what is said in this and th€ 
foregoing section, upoir the method of arranging 
words in a period, so as to make the deepest im- 
pression with respect to sound as well as significa- 
tion, is comprehended in the following observation : 
That order of words in a period will always be the* 
most agreeable, where, without obscuring the sense, 
the most important images, the most sonorous 
words, and the longest members, bring up the rear. 

Hitherto of arranging single words, single mem*^ 
bers, and single circumstances. But the eniimera- 
tion of many particulars in the same period is oftea 
necessary ; and the question is. In what order they 
should be placed ? It does not seem easy, at first 
view, to bnng a subject apparently so loose under 
9.ny general rule : but lucKily, reflecting upon what 
is said in the first chapter about order, we find rules 
laid down to our hand, which leave us no task but 
that of applying them to the present question. And» 
first, with respect to the enumerating particulars of 
equal rank, it is laid down in the place quoted, that 
as there is no cause for preferring any one before 
the rest, it is indifferent to the mind in what order 
they be viewed. And it is only necessary to be 
added here, that for the same reason, it is indiffer- 
ent in what order they be named. 2dly, If a num-* 
ber of objects of the ssime kind, difiering only in 
size, are to be ranged along a straight line, the 
most agreeable order to the eye is that of an in- 
creasing series. ^ In surveying a number of such 
objects, beginning at the least, and proceeding to 
greater and greater, the mind swells.gradually with 
the successive objects, and in its progress has a 
very sensible pleasure. Precisely for the same 
reason, words expressive of such objects ought to 
be placed in the same order. The beauty of this 
ggqre, which may be termed a climax in sense, 



56 Beauty qf Language* [chap. 1ft 

has escaped Lord Bolingbjoke in the fiiBt membw 
of the following period. 

Let but one great, brave, disinterested, active man arise^ and 
lie will be received, followed, and alaiost adored; 

The following arrangement has sensibly a better 
effect : 

Let but one brave, great, active, disinterested man arise, fee. 

Whether the same rule ought to be followed in 
enumerating men of different ranks, seems doubt* 
ful : on the one hand, a number of persons pre- 
sented to the eye in form of an increasing series, is 
undoubtedly the most agreeable order: on the other 
hand, in every list of names, we set the person of 
the greatest dignity at the top, and descend gra- 
dually through his inferiors. Where the purpose 
is to honour the persons named according to their 
rank, the latter order ought to be followed; but 
every one who regards himself only, or his reader, 
will choose the former order. Sdiy, As the sense 
of order directs the eye to descend from the princi- 
pal to its greatest accessory, and from the whole 
to its greatest part, and in the same order through 
all the parts ^.nd accessories till we arrive at the 
minutest ; the same order ought to be followed in 
the enumeration of suchjparticulars. I shall give 
one familiar example. Talking of the parts of a 
column, the base, the shaft, the capital, these are 
capable of six different arrangements, and the ques- 
tion is. Which is the best ? When we have in view 
the erecting a column, we are naturally led to ex- 
press the parts in the order above mentioned; which 
at the same time is agreeable by ascending. But 
considering the column as it stands, without refer- 
ence to its erection, the sense of order, as observed 
above, require^ the chief part (o be qaQied first : 



ii£cT» It;] Be^Mi^ of Language. 67 

jfbrthat r^uson we beein with the shaft; and the 
base comes next in order, that we may ascend from 
it to the capital. Lastly, In tracing the particulars 
of any natural operation, order requires that we 
follow the course of nature : historical facts are re- 
lated in the order of time : we begin ^t the founder 
of a family, and proceed from him to his descend- 
ants : but in describing a lofty oak, we begin with 
the trunk, and ascend to the branches. 

When force and livelinessi of expression are de- 
manded, the rule hj to suspend the thought as long 
as possible, and to bring it out full and entire at 
the close : which cannot be done but by inverting 
the natural arrangement. By introducing a word 
or member before ife time, curiosity is raised about 
what is to follow ; and it is agreeable to have our 
curiosity gratified at the close of the period : the 
pleasure we feel resembles that of seeing a stroke 
es^erted upon a body by the whole collected force 
of the agent. On the other hand, where a period 
is so constructed as to admit more than one com- 
i^ete close in the sense, the curiosity of the reader 
is exhausted at the first close, and what follows 
appears languid or superfluous: his disaopoint- 
ment contributes also to that appearance, wnen he 
iads, contrary to expectation, that the period is 
not yet finished. Cicero, and after him Quintilian, 
recommend the verb to the last place. This me- 
thod evidently tends to suspend the senfee till the 
close of the period ; for without the verb the sense 
cannot be complete : and when the verb happens to 
be the capital word, which it frequently is, it ought 
at any rate to be the last, according to another 
rule, above laid down. I proceed as usual to il- 
lustrate this rule by examples. The following pe- 
riod is placed in its natural order. 



$8 JSemrtp ofLangve^e [chap* 18; 

Were iostruetion aa essential cireumstsoce in epic po«tryt I 
^oubt whether a single instance could be given of this species of 
composition, in any language, < . 

The period thus arranged admits a full close upon 
the word composition; after- which it goes on lan- 
guidly, and closes without force. This blemish will 
be avoided by the following arrangement : 

Were instruction an essential circumstance in epic poetry, I 
douHt whether, in any language, a single instance could be given 
Of this species of composition; 

Some of ogr most eminent divines have made use of this Pla* 
itooic notion, as far as it regards the subsistence of .our passions 
after death, with great beauty and strength of reason. 

5/?eciaft>r, No. 90. 

Better thus : 

Some of dur most eminent divines have, with great beauty 
and strength of reason, made use of this Platonic notion, Sz.c. 

Men of the best sense have been towched more or leaa, w»|k 
these groundless horrors and presages of futurity, upon surveying 
tlie most indifferent works of nature. 

iWrf. No. 505. 

^ 

Better, 

tJpon surveying this most indifferent works pf aaturei men qC 
the^ best sense, &cc. 

She soon informed hi^ of theplaee he was in, which, nottrlck-* 
standtngali its horrors, appeared to him more swet»t than the ham-* 
er of Mahomet} in the compasy of his BaUtora. 

Gfwarrfian, No. l67» 

Better, 

&he soon, Slc. appeared to faitd, m the eotnpaoy of hit Bai9»fa> 
more svreet, &c* 

The Emperor was so Intent on the establishment of his abso- 
lute power in Hungary, that he exposed the empire doubly to 
desolation and ruin for the sake of it. 

Leittrgon History^ vol. 1. let. viu Bolingbroke. 



Better^ 



that for the sake Of it he exposed the empire doubly to 

desolation and ruin. 

None of the rules for the composition of periodii 
are more liable to be abused, than those last men- 
tioned ; witness many Latin writers, among the 
moderns especially, \'pose style, by inversions too 
violent,' is rendered Harsh and obscure. Suspen- 
sion of the thought till the close of the perio<J> 
ought never to be preferred before perspicuity. 
Neither ought such suspension to be attempted m 
a long period ; because in that case the mind is be*^ 
wildered ahiidst a profusion of words : a traveller 
while he is puzzled about the road, relishes not t'*^ 
finest prospect : 

All the rieh presents which Astyages had giren him a*^ ^ 
keeping onlj some Median horses, in order to pr<w^ ^ ^ 
breed of them in Persia, lie distributed among his fr'"'' *'** *'* 
he left at the court of Ecbatana» o . r 

TravtU (/C'-^'* ^^^^ *' 

The foregoing rules concern the -/rangement of 
a single pefiod f I add one rule ^ore concermnf 
the distnbution of a discourse ^nto different f 
riods. A short period is liv^^J. and ^miliar* 
iongperiod, requiring morea^ei^^^^ 
pression grave and eole^i> ^ \^ general, i^ 
ought to study a mixture of long and Jon pe 
rioas, which preveHt f irksome uniforrtj^ 
entertain the mipd ^ith a vanety «f i^^^^^Ji 
In particular, Ivd^ periods oug6t to beavc^<i «« 
tlip reader's ^tention be thoroughly *flga^J?J 
therefore « discouwe, especuJly of Ae t^»^ 
kind, ought never to be ^"t^oducis^ w»J^ j^6 f 
riod. For that reason the commew^ment ot • 

observation is applicable to p«no*. 



(K Betwiif ofLangwige. [chap. 18. 

letter to a rery jonng lady oa her marrii^ ift 
faulty : 

MadacD, the hurry and impertinence of receiving and paying 
tigits on aeeonnt of your marriage, being now over, you- are be- 
IJoning to enter into a coarse of life, where you will want mueb 
advice to divert you from falling into many errors, fopperies, and 
follies, to whi<ih your sex is subject. 

Swift. 

See another example stiu more faul^, in the 
commencement of Cicero's oration, Pro Archia 
poHa. 

Before proceeding farther, it may be proper to 
review the rules laid down in this and the preced- 
'^ig section, in order to make some general obser- 
^l^ons. ^ That order of the words and members 
^ period is justly termed natural, which corres- 
P*"**^ to the natural order of the ideas that com- 
pose i^ thought. The tendency of many of the 
loregoin^jujgg jg ^^ substitute an artificial arrange- 
ment m o^gj tQ ^^^^ g^jjjg beauty either of sound 
or meanm^oj which there is no place in the na- 
tural order. ^^^ ^^^^^ j^ happens, that in the 
same penod ti^g is place for a pluraUty of these 
tules : If onebeutty can be retained, another must 
ot-i!r1'^"u^''^^ V^ tbe only question b, Which 
S - ?u^ Prefeihd ? Thii question cannot be 
be n,f by any gene,,! rale : if the natural order 

ficiarr J 1?.' ^ f®"^ ^ will discover that arti- 
^lal Oder which has th«>b^t effect; and this ex- 

S'thp^r-*^** ^"^ *" ^"^^ taste, will in time, 
Si?tW.*'^'^r: AUti«tt<:anbesaidinge. 
JSwUsfetTo^"^ " ch^e,so«nd ought%^ 

na^5^^£*'^"'5^°'^.^'^°»««^«'^out of their 
SS &' ^.l^'nark^ble in the learned Ian- 
R ire?d "^^ fiH ^"Jj^^of >»«ch speculation. 

orkvSbf .*" *'*"*^'' *^'^*^"*=^ transposition 
or mveiawn b^tows upon a peiiod a very sensible 



S£€T. II*] Beauty of Language. 61 

degree of force and elevation ; and yet yvnt& seem 
to be at a loss how to account for this effect Cer- - 
ceau* aacribes so much power to invereio, as to" 
make it the characteristic of French verse^nd the 
single circumstance which in that langua^ distin-- 
guishes verse from prose : and yet he prefends not 
to say, that it hath any other effect but to raise sur- 
prise ; he must mean curiosity, wHch is done by 
suspending the thought during th^ period, and 
bringing it out entire at the close. 'This indeed is 
one effect of inversion : but neither i« sole effect, 
nor even that which is the most remarkable, as is 
made evident above. But waving censure, which 
is not an agreeable task, I enter into the matter ; 
and begin with observing, that if conformity be*- 
tween words arid their meaning be agreeable, it 
must of course be agreeable to find the same or4*^' 
or arrangement in both. Heno^ the beauty of^^. 
plain or natqral $tyle, where the order i)f the w^ds 
corresponds precisely to the order of the jieas. 
Nor is this the single beauty of a natural style : it 
is also agreeable by its simplicity and perspicuity. 
This observation throws light upon the subject : 
for if a natural style be in itself agreeabJe. a trans- 
posed style cannot be so ; and therefore its agree- 
ableness must arise from admitting some positi'" 
beauty that is excluded in a n^aliral style. To *^® 
confirmed in this opinion, w^ need but reflect J^^^ 
some of the foregoing rules, which make i* evident, 
that language by means of inversion, is susceptible 
of many beauties that are totally excluded in a na- 
tural arrangement From these premises it clearlv . 
follows, that inversion ought not to be indulged^ 
unless in order to reach some beauty superior to 
those of a natural style. U may with great cer-^ 
Jt»inty be pronounced, that every inversion which 

X 

^ Reflections sur la poesie FrWDCoisc. 



62 Bemay tf Langusfge* t<^HAF. 1 8. 

is Dot granted by this rule, will appear harsh and 
straioedaad be disrelished by eveiy one of taste, 
Ueni}e te beauty of inversion when happily con- 
ducted ; he beauty, not of an end, but of means^ 
as fumis(ng opportunity for numberless ornaments 
that find no place in a natural style : hence the 
force, the elevaMon, the harmony, the cadence, of 
some compositiHis : hence the manifold beauties of 
the Greek ani Roman tonnes, of which living 
languagei^ aff#f d but faint imitations, 

SECTION III. 

Bemty of Language from a Jtesemblance between 

Sound am Signification, 

A i^ESiif BLANCE between the sound of certain 

?^<^ds and their signification, is a beauty that has 

^sc^)ed no criticsd writer, and yet is not handled 

with^iccura^y by any of them. They have proba- 

^fy be^n of opinion, that a beauty so obvious to 

the feeUqg, requires no explanation. This is an 

error; ajpd to avoid it, I shall give examples of 

the various resemblances between sound and sig- 

5|icatiofi, accompanied with an endeavour to ex- 

PNjn why such resemblances are beautiful. I be- 

g"^with examples ^here the resemblance between 

t^e ^<«Had and signific&etion is the most entire ; and 

next e^tiociples where the resemblance is less and 

less so. 

There being frequently a strong resemblance of 
one sound to another, it will not be surprising to 
find an articulate sound resembling one tnat is not 
articulate : thus the sound of a bow-string is imir 
iated by the word! that express it : 



-The string let fly, 



JVang'rf short and $harp^ like the shrill swallow's cry. 

Odyssey^ xxi. 449. 



MCT. III.] Beauty (^ Language. 63 

The sound of felliog trees in a wood : 

Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes, 
Od afr sides r«»UDd the forest hiirls her oaks 
Headfoog. Deep echoing grnan the thickets browo« . 
Thf o ruitfufig, erudUing^t crashing^ thunder dowu. 

Jliad^ xxiii. 144. 

Kut when loud surges }asb th« sounding shore. 
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent ro«r. 

Popt^g Essay on Ci th'citfii, 361. 

Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms. 
And here Charyhdis fills the deep with storms ; 
When the tide rushes from her nnnbliflg caves, 
The rough rock roars ; tumultuous boil the waves. 

Pope* 

No person can be at a loss about the cause of 
Ais beauty ? it is obviously that of imitation. 

That there is any other natural resemblance of 
sound to signification, must not be taken for grant- 
ed. There is no resemblance of sound to motion, 
lior of sound to sentiment. We are however apt 
to be deceived by artful pronunciation ; the same 
passage may be pronounced in many different tones, 
elevated or humble, sweet or har^, brisk or me- 
lancholy, so as to accord with the tnoug;ht .or sen- 
timent ; such concord must be distinguished from 
that concord between sound and sense, which is 
perceived in some expressions independent of art- 
ftil pronunciatiori : the latter is the poet's work; 
the former must be attributed to the reader. Ano- 
ther thing contrilRites still more to the deceit : in 
language, sound and sense being intimately con- 
nected, the properties of the one are readily com- 
municated to the other; for example, the aualitv 
of grandeur, of sweetness, or of melancholy, tnough 
belonging to the thought solely, is transferred to 
the words, which by that means resemble in ap- 
pearance the thought that is expressed by them.*^ 

* See Chapter II. part. i. seot 5. 



64 Beauty of Language., [chap. 18;- 

I have great reason to recommend these obscfrva- 
tiona to the reader, considering how inaccuratelj 
the present subject is handled by critics; not one 
of them distinguishes the natural resemblance of 
sound and signification, from^ the artificiiy.- resem- 
blances now described : witness Vida in particu- 
lar, who in a very long passage h?is given very few 
examples but what are of the latter kind.* 

That there may be a resemblance of articulate 
sounds to some that are not articulate, is self-evi* 
dent ; and that in fact there exists such resemblances^ 
successfully employed by writers of genius, is 
clear from the foregoing examples, and from many 
others that might be giiren. But we jnay safely 
pronounce, that this .nat#al resen^blance can be 
carried no farther; the objects of the dijBerent 
senses, differ so widely from each other, as to ex- 
jclude any resemblance : sound in particular, whe- 
ther articulate or inarticulate, resembles not in any 
degree taste, smell or motion : and as little can it 
resemble any internal sentiment, feeling or emo- 
tion. £ut must we then admit* that nothing but 
sound can be imitated by sound. Taking imita-* 
tion in its proper sense, as importing a resemblance 
between two objects, the proposition must be ad- 
mitted ; and yet in many passages that are not de* 
Scriptive of sound, every one must be sensible of a 
peculiar concord between the sound of the words 
and their meaning. As there can be no doubt of 
the fact, what remains is to enquire into its causes 

Resenibling causes may produce effects that 
have no resemblance ; and causes that have no re- 
semblance may produce resembling effects. A mag- 
nificent building, for example,resembles not in any 
degree an heroic action ; and yet the emotions they 
produce, are concordant, and bear a resemblaucQ 

" Popt, L. iU. 366—454. 



S£CT« III.} Be&ulyo/ Lat^mgM, &$ 

to each other. We are still more sensable of tUs 
resemblance in a song, when the music is properly- 
adapted to the sentiment : there is no resemblance 
between thought and sound ; but there is the strong* 
est resemblance between the emotion raised by mu- 
sic tender and pathetic, and that raised by the com- 
plaint of an unsuccessful lover. Applying this pb- 
servation to the present subject, itappears^ that in 
some instances, the sound even of a single •word 
makes an impression resembling that which is 
made by the thidg it signifies : witness the word 
running, composed of two short syllables ; .and 
more remarkably the words rapidity, impetuosity^ 
precipitation. Brutal manners produce in the spec- 
tator an emotion not unlike what is produced by a 
hardi and rough sound ; and hence the beauty of 
the figurative expression rugged manners. Again^ 
the word little, being pronounced with a very 
small apperture of the mouth, has a weak and faint 
sound, which makes an impression resembling that 
made hy a diminutive object. This resemblance 
of effect is still more remarkable where a number 
of words are connected in a period : words pro- 
nounced in succession make often a strong impres- 
sion ; and when this impression happens to accord 
with that made by the sense, we are sensible of a 
complex Amotion, peculiarly pleasant ; one pro- 
ceeding from the sentiment, and one from the me- 
lody or sound of the words. But the chief plea- 
sure proceeds from having these two concordant 
emotionscombined in perfect harmony, and carried 
on in the mind to a full close.* Except in the sin. 
gle case where sound is described, all the exam-^ 
pies given by critics of sense being imitated in 
sound, resolve into a resemblance of effects : emo- 
tions raised by sound and signification may have a 

jSte Chapter IL Part iv 



66 Beavty of Language. [chap. 1& 

resemblance ; but sound itself cannot have a re- 
semblance to any thing but sound. 

Proceeding now to particulars, and beginning 
with those cases where the emotions have the 
strongest resemblance, I observe, first, That by a 
number of syllables in succession, an emotion is 
sometimes raised extremely similar to that raised 
by successive motion ; which may be evident even 
to thdse who are defective in taste, from the follow- 
ing fact, that the term movement in all languages is 
equally applied to both. In this manner, suc« 
cessive motion, such as walking, running, gallop- 
ing can be imitated by a succession o? long or 
short syllables, or by a due mixture of both. For 
example, slow motion may be justly-imitated in a 
verse where long syllables prevail ; especially when 
aided hy a slow pronunciation. 

IIU inter se^e magna vi brachia tollunt Georg, jr. 174, 

On the other hand,^ swift motion is imitated by a 
succession of short syllables : 

Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungala caoipum. 

Again: 

^Radrt iter liquidum, c^leres neque comnnovet alas. 

Thirdly, A line composed of monosyllables, 
makes an impression, by the firequency of its 
pauses, similar to what is made by lafoprious inter- 
rupted motion ; 

With many a weary step, and many a groan, 
Up the high hill he heaves a huge round »tone. 

Odyne^f xi. 7S6. 
First march the heary moles securely slow ; 
O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crafgs, o'er rocks they go. 

Iliadf zxiii. 138. 

Fourthly, The impression made by rough sounds 
in succession, resembles that made by rough or tu- 



I 



SECT, iil] Beauty of Language* 67 

multuous motion : on the other htod, the impree- 
sion of smooth sounds resembles that of gentle mo- 
tion. The following is an example of both. 

Two craggy rocks projecting from the main, 
The roariog wind*s tempestuous rage restrain } 
Within, the waves in softer murmurs glidci 
And ships secure without the haulsers ride. 

Odysiey, III It 8. 

Another example of the latter : 

Soft is the strHin when Zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows. 

' Essay on Crit, 366» 

Fifthly, Prolonged motion is expressed in an 
Alexandrine line. The first example shall be of 
slow motion prolonged. 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song ; 
That lilce a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. 

Ihid. 356. 

The next example is of forcible motion prolonged : 

The wares behind impel tb^ waves before, 
Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore. 

niady xiii. 1004. 

The last shall be of rapid motion prolonged: 

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

Essay on Crit. 373. 

Again, speaking of a rock torn from the brow of a 
mountain : 

Still gath'ring force, it smokes^ and urg*d amain, 
Whirls, leaps, and thunders dowa^ impetuous to the plain. 

Iliad f xiii. 197> 

Sixthly, A period consisting mostly of long syl- 
lables, that is, of syllables pronounced slow, pro- 
duceth an emotion resembling faintly that which is 

Vol. n. 9a 



i 

68 £eau^ of LangiMgei ^cukP. \^* 

t 

tModuced by itravity aaci soleimiitir« Hence the 
Uut7oftl»Mo^>r«iBex 

Olli eedato Irfespoodit torde Latintls. 

tl resembles equafly ad object that is insipid and 
tininteresting. 

Ttodet qtiotidianarQin harum forDo«rtilii^ 

Ttrenet, Eunwekuif Act It. Sc. H, 

« 

Seventhly, A slow succession of ideas is a cii*:* 
butnstance that belongs equally to settled tnelan^ 
choly, and to a period composed of polysyllables 
pronounced slow : and hence by similarity of emo* 
tions, the latter is imitative of the former : 

In those deep solitudes, and aWfut ceHs, 
Where hear'nly peosire ContempliitioD dwells^ 
Ao4 ever-tnusing melaneholjr reigns. 

Pope, Eloiaa U JtUlard. 

£ighthlyj A long syllable made short, or a shcnt 
Syllable made long, taises, by IJle difficulty of pro- 
nouncing contrary to t^uitom, a feeling similar to 
that df bard labour t 

VThen Ajax-strives some roek^s vaii iN^eight to throW^ 
The tine too IsCbours, ahd the words move slow. 

Esiay on Crit S^O* 

Ninthly, Harsh or rotigh words pronounced ivith 
difficulty, excite a feeling similar to that which pro-^ 
ceeda fiom^he labour of thought to a. dull writer : 

Just writes to make his barrenness appear^ 

And strains from hard-bound brains eight lintes a-year« 

Pope's tlpistk to Dr. i^rbutknot^ I 181. 

I shall close with one example more, which of 

' ti& makes the finest figure, in the first section 

tnention is made of a climax in sound ; and. in the 

^"^ lecond, of a climax in sense, ilt belongs to the 

^ present subject to observe^ that when these icoin- 



$XGT» III.] Beauty of Lomgykoge^ 69 

cide in the same paasage^ the cdncordanoe^aonh^ 
and sense is delightful ; the i^dei is conscious not 
only of pleasure from t&e two ctimaxes aepamtelj, 
tmt of an additional pleasure from their concord^ 
ance, and from finding the s^nse so jusdy imitate^ 
b^ the sound. In this respect^ no periods are more 
perfect than those borrowed ffoiX) (Jicero in the firsft 
section. 

The concord between sense and spund is.no less 
agreeable in what ms^ be teriped an. anticlimax^ 
wnere the progress is from great to Uttl^ ; for thid 
^has the effept to Aiake diminutive objects a[)pear 
fitill mor^ diminutive. Ilorace ftflForqs ^ stri^nj^ 
ej^^mple; 

Farturiunt mante», tiascotiir ridiculiis mus, 

The arrangement here is Angularly artftil : the 
first place is occupied by the verb, which is the ca-^ 

{)ital word by its. sense as well as sound : the close 
s reserved for the word that is the meanest in sense 
aA well as iq sound. Aod it must not be overlo9kr 
e&y that the resembling sounds of the two last%l4 
ktbles ^ve a ludicrous air -to the whole. 

Keviewing the foregoing examples, it app^lirs to 
me J contrary to expectsttion, that, in passing from 
the strongest resemolance to tho^e that are minteri 
every step afifotds additional pleasure. Renewhig 
the expenment again and a^n, I feel no waver^ 
in^^ but the greatest pleasure constantly from the 
faintest resemblances. And yet how can this be ? 
for if the pleasure lie in imitation, must not the 
strongest resemblance afford the gre;M:est pleasure ? 
From this vexing dilemma* I am happily relieved, 
by reflecting on a doqtrine established in the chap- 
ter of resemblance and contrast, that the pleasure 
of resemblance \s the greatest, where it is feast ex- 
pected, and where the objects compared are in their 
capita) circumsts^nces widely difllerent* N^r will 



f. 



L 



70 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18. 

this appear surprising, when we descend to fami- 
liar examples. It raiseth no degree of wonder to 
find the most perfect resemblance between two eggs 
of the same bird : it is more rare to find such re- 
semblance between two human faces ; and upon 
that account such an appearance raises some de- 
gree of wonder : but this emotion rises to a still 
greater height, when we find in a pebble, an agate, 
or other natural production, any resemblance to a 
tree or to any organised body. We cannot hesi- 
tate a moment, in applying these observatioos to 
the present subject : what occasion of wonder can 
it be to find one sound resembling another, where 
both are of the same kind ? it is not so common to 
find a resemblance between an articulate sound 
and one not articulate ; which accordingly affords 
some slight pleasure. But the pleasure^ swells 
grieatly, when we employ sound to imitate things 
it resen^bles not otherwise than by the effects pro- 
duced in the mind. 

\ have had occasion to observe, that to complete 
the resemblance between sound and sense, artful 
pronunciation contributes not a little. Pronunciar 
tion, fti^refore, maybe considered as a branch of the 
present subject; and with some observations upon 
it the section shall be concluded. 

In order to give a just idea of pronunciation, it 
must be distinguished from singing. The latter is 
carried on by notes, requiring each of them a differ- 
ent aperture of the windpipe : the notes properly 
belonging, to the former, are expressed by different 
apertures of the mouth, without varying the aper- 
ture of the windpipe. This, however, doth not hint 
der pronunciation to borrow from sin^ng, as one 
sometimes is naturally led to do, in expressing a ve- 
hement passion. 

In reading, as in singing, there is a key-note : 
above this note the voice is firequently elevated, Uk 



SECT* in.] . Beautyof Language. 71 

make the sound corrspond to the elevation of the 
subject : but the mid in an elevated state, is dis- 
posed to action ; tferefore, in order to a rest, it 
must be brought d<*n to the key-note. Hence the 
term cadence. 

The only genen r«le that can be given for di- 
recting the pronui^iation, is, To sound the words 
in such a manneiis to iniitate the things they sig- 
nify. In pronoucing words signifying what is 
elevated, tne voie ought to be raised above its or- 
dinary tone; ad words signifying dejection of 
l&ind, ought to )e pronounced in a low note. To 
imitate a stern md impetuous passion, the words 
ought to be prnounced rough and loud ; a sweet 
^nd kindly .pfjsion, on the contra?^, ought to be 
imitated by asoft and melodious tone of voice : in 
• Dryden's od* of Akxander^t Fedst^ the line Faln^ 
fcUn^ faluyfcffi^ represents a gradual sinking of the 
mind ; and ,herefore is proiounced with a falling 
voice by every one of taste, vithout instruction. In 
general, wirds that make the greatest figure ought 
to be mp,ri:ed with a peculii emphasis. Another 
circumstshce contributes td the resemblance be- 
tween sense and sound, wWch is slow or quick 
pronunciation : for though ihe length or shortness 
of the syllables with relation to each other, be in 
prose ascertained in some measure, and in verse 
accurately ; yet taking a whole line or period to- 
gether, it may be pronounced slow or fast. A pe- 
riod, accordingly, ought to be pronounced felow, 
when it expresses what is solemn or deliberate; and 
ought to be pronounced quick, when it expresses 
what is brisk, lively, or impetuous. 
' The art of pronouncing with propriety and grace, 
being intended to make the sound an echo to (he 
sense, scarce admits of any other general rule than 
that above mentioned. It may indeed be branched 
out into many particular rules and observatigns ; 



bat without much success ; ecaqse no language 
farnisheth words to signify th chflferent degrees of 
hightind low, loud and soft, fat and slow. Befora 
these differences can be made he subject of regu-^ 
lar instruction, notes must be iirented, resembling 
those employed in music. We^ave reason to be*- 
lieve, that in Greece every trag^y was afcCcompa-^ 
nied with such notes, in order to\scertain th6 pro- 
nunciation; but the moderns Itherto have fiot 
thought of this refinement. Cice^^ indeed,* with- 
out the help of notes, pretends to^ve rules for ?^- 
certaining tne various tones of voic that are proper 
in expressing the diffei^nt passions j^nd it must be 
acknowledged, the^t in this attempt h hath exhaust- 
ed the whole power of language. At he same time^ 
every person of discernment will perceive, that 
these rul?s avail little in point of inSiruction : thd 
very words he emplojs are not intellirible, except 
to those who beforehiaij are ac.qnaini4 with the 
subject 

To vary the scene i little, I proposq tt close with 
a slight comparison, letween singing an^ pronotin^ 
f:;ing. In this corapa-ison, the five foUcwi^ ciN^ 
cumstances relative tc articulate sound^ ipust be 
kept in view, 1 st, JL sound or syl|&.ble is harsh 
or smooth* 2d, It jpi bng or short. 3d, It is too-, 
nounced high or lon^. 4th, It is prpoounced lo^ 
or soft. And, lastly, A number (rf-Svords in suo-^ 
cession^ constituljipg a period or member of a pe? 
jiod, ^e pronounced slow or quick. Of these nve 
the first depending on the component letters, aOid 
(he second being ascertained by cqstom, ado^it not 
aijy variety in propouncing, The three last jjtre ^f^ 
l^itrary, depending, on the .will of the person v^ho 
psdnounces ; and it' is chiefly in the artful manage^ 
V^mi Qf these that ju8t pronunciation copsista^ ^itb 

* Pe Qratore, 1. tii. cap| 5^. 



Bfcct. IV*] Seduty of Language. 13 

respect to the first circumstabce, music had eyklent*- 
ly the advantage ; for all its notes are agreeable to 
tiie ear ; which is not always the case of articulate 
sounds. With respect to the second, long and 
isdiort syllables variously combined, produce a great 
variety of feet ; yet far inferior to the variety that 
k found in the multiplied combinations of musical 
notes*. With respect to high and low notes, pro- 
nunciation is still more inferior to singing ; for it is 
observed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus,^ that in 
pifonouncing) i. e. without altering the aperture of 
the windpipe^ the voice is confined within three 
notes and a half: singing has a much greater com- 
pass. With respect to the two last circum3tanceS| 
pronunciation equals singing. 

In this chapter, I have mentioned none of the 
beauties of language but what arise from words ta- 
ken in their proper sense. Beauties that depend 
on the metaphorical and figurative power of words, 
ve reserved to be treated, Chapter XX. 

SlXJTiON IV. 

Versification*. 

The music of verse, though handled by every 
grammarian, merits more attention than it has been 
noUQured with. It is a subject intimately connect- 
ed with human nature ; and to explain it thorough- 
ly, several nice and delicate feelings must be em- 
ployed. But before entering upon it, we must sefe 
what verse is, or, in other words, by what mark 
it is distinguished from prdse ; a point not so easy 
as may at first be apprehended. It is true, that the 
cDonstruction of verse is governed by precise rules ; 

* De Structura OnitioniS) sect. d. 



% JSehuty ofLangu^e. [chap. Ift.- 

Hexameters t manyof tho^e composed by Horace, 
are very little removed from prose : Sapphic verse 
has a very sensible melody : that, on the other 
hand, of an Iambic, is extremely faint.* 

This more perfect melody of articulate sounds, 
is what distinguisheth verse {xqm prose. Verse is 
subjected to certain inflexible Isivi^s-; the number 
and variety of the component syllables being ascer^ 
tained, and in some measure th« order of succes- 
sion. Such restraint makes it a matter of difficulty 
to compose-in verse; a difficulty that is not to be 
surmounted but by a peculiar genius. Useful les- 
sons conveyed to us in verse, are agreeable by the 
union of music with instruction : but . are we for 
that reason to reject kaowledge offered in a plainer 
dress ? That would be ridiculous : for knowledge 
is of intrinsic merit, independent of the means of 
acquisition ; and there are many, not less capable 
than willing to instruct us, who have no genius for 
verse. Hence the use of prose ; which, for the 
reason now given, is not confined to precise rules.. 
There belongs to it, a certain melody of an infe- 
rior kind, which ought to be the aim of every wri- 
ter ; but for succeeding in it, practice is necessary 
more than genius. Nor do w# rigidly insist for 
melodious prose : •provided the work convey in- 
struction, its chief end, we are the less solicitous 
about its dress. 

Having ascertained the nature and limits of our 
subject, I proceed to the laws by which it is regu- 
lated. These would be endless, were verse of all 
different kinds to be taken under consideration. I 
propose therefore to confine the inquiry, to Latm or 
Greek Hexameter, and to French and f^nglish He- 

* M usic; properly so called, is analysed into melody and harmony. A suc- 
cession of sounds so as to be agreeable to tne ear, constitutes melody: harmo- 
ny arises from co-existing sounds. Verse therefore can only reach melody, 
and not harmony. 



!% 



SECT, IV.] J^uty of Language. 11 

roic verse ; which perhaps inay carry me farther 
than the ri^ader will choose to follow. The obser- 
vations I shall have occasion to make, will at any 
rate be sufficient for a specimen ; and these, with 
proper variations, may easily be transferred to the 
composition of other sorts of verse. 

Befo/e I ente*- upon particulars, it must be pre- 
mised in general, that to verse of every kind, fiv6 
^j^gs are of importance. 1st, the number of 
ibles that compose a ver3e line. 2d, The dif- 
it lengths of syllables, i. e. the difference of 
le taken in pronouncing. 3d, The arrangement 
of these syllables combined in words. 4th, The 
pauses or stops in pronouncing. 6th, The pro- 
nouncing syllables in a high or a low tone. The three 
first mentioned are obviously essential to verse : if 
any of them be wanting, there cannot be that higher 
degree of melody which distinguisheth verse, from 
prose. To give a just notion of the fourth, it must 
be observed, that pauses are necessary for three 
different purposes : one to separate periods, and 
members of the same period, according to the 
sense ; another, to improve the mielody of verse ; 
and the last, to afford opportunity for drawing 
breath in reading. A pause of the first kind is va- 
riable, being long or short, frequent or less fre* 
quent, as the sense requires. A pause of the se- 
cond kind, being determined by the melody, is in 
no degree arbitrary. The last sort is in a measure 
arbitrary, depending on the reader's command of 
breath. But as one cannot read with grace, un- 
lessj for drawing breath, oppoEturiity be taken of 
a pause in the sense or in the melody, this pause 
ought never to be distinguished from the others ; 
and for that reason shall be laid aside. With re- 
spect then to the pauses of sense and of melody, 
it maybe affirmed without hesitation, that their' co- 
incidence in verse is a capital beauty : but as it 




78 Beauty of Language. chap. Ift, 

cannot be expected, in a long work especially , that 
even?^ line should be so perfect ; we shall after- 
ward hkve occasion to see, that the pause necessaiy 
for the sense must often, in some degree, be saeri- 
^ficed to the verse-pause, and the latter sometimes 
to the former. 

The pronouncing syllables in a high Or low tone, 
contributes also to melody. In reading wheth^ 
Verse or prose, a certain tone is assumed, wl 
piay be called the key-note ; and in thiat torn ' 
bulk of the words are soOnded. Sometimes U 
mom the sense, and sometiraies the melody, a 
ticular syllable is sounded in a higher tone ; and 
this is termed accenting a syUablCy or gracing it 
with an accent. Opposed to the accent, is the ca- 
dence, which I have not mentioned as one of. the 
requisites of verse, because it is ehtirely regulsLtefl 
by the sense, and hath no peculiar relation to verse. 
Tfhe cadence is a falling of the voice below the 
key-note at the close of every period ; and so little 
is it essential to verse, that in correct reading thfe 
final syllable of every line is accented, that sylla- 
ble only excepted which closes. the period, where 
the sense reguires a cadence. The reader may be 
satisfied of tnis by experiments; and for that pur- 
pose i recommend to him the Rape of the Locky 
which, in point of versification, is the most com- 

Elete perfofojance in the English language. Let 
im consult in a particular p^od canto ii. begin- 
ning at Kne 47, and closed tine 62, with the word 
gay J which only of the whole final syllables is pro- 
nounced with a 'cadence. He may also examine 
another period in the 5th canto which runs from 
line 46 to hne 62. 

Though the five requisites above mentioned, en- 
ter the composition of every species of verse, they 
are however governed by diflerent rales, peculiar 
to each species, Upon quantity drily, one general 



SECTv iv.^ B^uty of language. 79 

obserration may be premised, becaiise it is appli- 
caMe to every species ^f verse, That ^Uables with 
respect to the time taken in. pronouncing, are long 
or short; two short syllables with respect to time, 
being precisely equal to a long one. These tVto 
lengths are essential to verse of all kinds; and to 
no verse, as far as I know, is a greater variety of 
time necessary in proiiouncing^yllables. The voice 
indeied is frequently made to rest longer than usual 
upon a Word that bears an important signification : 
hxxi this is done to humour tne sense, and is not 
necessary for melody. A thing not more necessaiy 
for melody occurs with respect to accenting, similar 
to that now mentioned: A Word signifying any 
thing humble, low, or dejected, is naturally in 
prose, as well as in verse, pronounced ift a tone be- 
low the key-note. 

We are now sufficiently prepared for particulars: 
beginning with Latin or Greelc Hexameter, which 
-€tre the same; What 1 have to observe upon this 
species of verse, will come under the four follow- 
ing heads; number, arrangement, pause, and ac^ 
cent: For as to quantity, what is observed above 
jnay suffice. 

Hexameter lines, as to time, are all of the same 
length ; being equivalent to the time taken in pro- 
nouncing twelve long syllables or twenty-four short. 
An Hexameter line may consist of seventeen sylla- 
bles ; and when regular and not Spondiac, it never 
has fewer than thirteen ; whence it follows, that 
where the syllables are many, the plur^ity must 
be short : where few, the plurality must be long. 

This line is susceptible of much -variety as to 
the succession of long and short syllables. It is 
however subjected to laws that confine its variety 
within certain limits : and for ascertaining these 
UQii(!^9 grammarians have invented a rule by Dac- 
tyles and Spondees, which they denominate feet. 



80 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18. 

One at first viev^ is led to think, that these feet are 
also intended to regulate the pronunciation : which 
is far from being the case; tor were one to pro- 
nounce according to these feet, the melody of a 
Hexameter line would be destroyed, or at* best be 
much inferior" to what it is when properly pro- 
nounced.* These feet must be connned to regu- 



* After giving some attention to this subject, and weighing deliberately 
every, circumstance; I was necessarily led to the foregoing conclusion; That 
the I>actyle and Spondee are no other thao artificial measures, invented f»r 
trying the accurracy of composition. Repeated eiperiments.have convinced 
me, that though the sense should be neglected, an Hexameter line read by 
Dactyles and Spondees will not be meiodiooi. And the composition oC an 
Hexameter line demonstrates. this to be true, without necessity* of an. expe- 
riment ; for, as will appear afterward, there must always* in this, line, be a 
capital pause at the end of the fifth long syllable, reckoning, as above, twa 
short for one loqg : and when we Yneasute this line by Dactyles and Spon- 
dees, the pause now mentioned divides always a Dactyle, or a Spondee,with- 
out once falling in after either of these feet. Hence it is evident4hat if a line be 
pronounced as it is scanned, by Dactyles and Spondees, the pause must ut- 
terly be neglected ; which destroys the melody, because tiiis pause is e«sen- 
Itial to the melody of an Hexameter verse. If, on the other hand, the melody 
be preserved by making that pause, the pronouncing by Dactyles or Spon- 
dees must be aoaudonea. 

What has led grammarians into the' use of Dactyles and Spondees, seems 
not beyond the reach orconjecture. Jo produce melody, (he Dactyle and 
the Spondee, which close every Hexameter line, must be distinctly expres- 
sed in the pronunciation. This discovery, joined with another, that the 
foregoing part of the verse could be measured by the same feet» probably 
led grammarians to i^do^t these artificial measures, a,nd perhaps .rashly to con- 
clude, that the pronunciation is directed by these feet as the composition b : 
the Dactyle and the Spondee at the close, serve indeed to regulate the pro- 
tiunciation as well as the composition } but in the foregoing part of the Ime^ 
. they regalate the composition only, not the pronunciation. 

If we must have feet in verse to regulate the pronunciation, and conse- 
quently the melody, these feet must be determined by. the pan^s. All &e 
syllables interjected between two pauses ought to be deemed one musical 
foot ; because, to preserve the melody, they must all be pronounced together 
without any stop. And therefore, whatever number there are of pauses in an 
Hexameter line, the parts into which it is divided by these pauses, make jqst 
so many musical feet. 



merely, , ^ , 

chseus followed by four Iambi ; but these feet afford no rule for pronouncing ; 
the musical feet being obviously those parts of the line that are interjected 
between two pauses. To bring out the melody, ti^ese feet must be^expresa- 
cd in the pronunciation ; or, which comes to the same, the pronunciation 
must be directed by the pauses, without regard to the lambu? or Trocheus. ' 



st:cT ly.} Bemty ofljmgm^. 81 

late the arrangement, for they serve no other pur- 
pose* They are withal so artificial and complex^ 
that I am tempted to substitute in their stead, other 
rules more simple and of mor6 easy application ; 
for example, the following. Ist, The line must 
always commence with a long syllable, and close 
with two long preceded by two short. 2d, More 
than two short can never be found together, nor 
fewer than two. And, 3d, Two long syllables 
which have been preceded by two short, cannot 
also be followed by two short. " These few rules 
fulfil' all the conditions of an Hexameter line, with 
jrelation to order or arraJigement. To these again 
a single rule may be substituted, for which I have 
a still greater relish, as it regulates more afiirma- 
tively the construe tiw of every part. That I may 

Eut this rule into IhHs with perspicuity, I take a 
int from the twel^rlong syllables that compose 
an Hexameter line, to divide it into twelve equal 
parts or portions, bein^ each of them one long syl- 
lable or two short. A portion being thus defined, 
I proceed to the rule. The 1st, 3d, 5th, 7th, 9th, 
11th, and 12th portions, must each of them be one 
long syllable ; the 10th must always be twp short 
syllables ; the 2d, 4tb, 6th, and 8th, may either be 
one long or two short. Or to express the thing still 
more curtly. The 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th portions 
may be one long syllable or two short; the 10th 
must be ti^^o short syllables ; all the rest must con- 
sist each of one long syllable. This fulfils all the 
conditions of an Hexameter line, and comprehends 
all the combinations of Dactyles and Spondees that 
this line admits. 

Next in order comes the pause. At the end of 
every Hexameter line, every one must b^ensible 
of a complete close, or full pause; the cause of 
which follows. The two long syllables preceded ' 



8% ^em0if p/ Langu^e. [chap. ]8« 

}fj two shorty which always cloae an Hexiooeter 
line, are a fine preparation for a pause : for long 
syllables, or syllables pronounced slow, resembling 
a slow and languid motion, teeding to rest, natu* 
rally incline the mind to rest, or to pause ; and to 
this inclination the two preceding short syllables 
contribute, which by contrast, make the alow pro- 
nunciation of the 6nal syllables the more conspi-- 
cuous. Beside this complete close or full pause at 
the end, others are also requisite for the sake of 
melody ; of which I discover two clearly, and per^ 
haps there may be more. The longest and most 
remarkable, succeeds the ^th portion : the other^ 
which being shorter and more faint, may be called 
the semi-pause, succeeds the 8th portion. So strik- 
ing is the pause first mentioned, as to be distin^ 
guished even by the rudeAjpar: the monkish 
rhymesr are evidently built u^n it ; in which by 
an invariable rule, the final word always chimes 
with that which immedilEitely precedes the said 
pause : 

I>e planctu cudo || metrum cum carmine nudo 
Miogere cum bumbis || res est saluberrima lumbis. 

The difference of time in the pause and semi- 
pause, occasions another difference no less remaipk-* 
able, that it is lawful to divide a word by a semi- 
pause, .but never by a pause, the bad effect of 
which is sensibly felt in tne following eTtamples : 

Effusus labar, at||qu6 inmitis rupta Tyranni . 

Again : 

Obsenrans nido im||p]umes detraxit ; at ilia 

: ^ 

Again : 

Loricam quam De||inoleo detraxerat ipse 



SECT. IV.] Bemitkf of Langud^e. iS 

The dividing a word by a slsuii-pauife bia^ fti^FtM 
same bad eflect : 

Jaraque pedem referens || cai^us e|vaserat omnei. 

Again: 

Qualis populea || mcerens rhih imeU aiub umbrk 

Again : 

Ludere que vellem || calamo per^miait agresti. 

Lines, however, whe^ e words are left entire, with- 
out being divided even by a semi-pause, run by 
that means much the more sweetty : 

Nee gemere aerea || cesaabit | turtur ab ulmo. 

Again : 

Quadrupedantc putrem || sonitu quatif | uogula campiiA. 

Again: 

EurydiceD toto || referebant | flumiDe rips. 

The reason of these observations will be evident 
upon the slightest reflection. Between things so 
intimately connected in reading aloud, as are sense 
and sound, every degree of discord is unpleasant : 
and for that reason, it is a matter of importance, to 
make the musical pauses coincide as much ad 
possible with those of sense ; which is requisite," 
more especially. With respect to the pause, a devia- 
tion from the rule being less remarkable in a semi^ 
pause. Considering the matter as to melody solely, 
it is indifierent whether the pauses be at the end of 
words or in the middle ; but when we carry the 
sense along, it is disagreeable to fipd a word split 
into two by a pause, as if there w^re really two' 
words : and tnough the disagreealbleness here 
be connected with the sense only, it is by an easy, 
h-ansition of perceptions transferred to the sound; 
Vol. ir. llr 



84 BmiUy ^ iMgmig^^ [chaf. 18. 

by which means, we conceive a line to be harrii 
and grating to the ear, when in reality it is only so 

to the understanding-* *% i_ i-r i. 

To the rule that fixes the pause after the fifth 
portion, there is one exception, and no mcnre : If 
the syllable succeeding the bth portion be short, the 
pause is sometimes postponed to it, 

Papillis quot dura || preout cu^todw matniin 

Again: 

In terras opprcssa f) jravi sob rclfgionc ^ 

Again: 

Et quoram pars magna || fui ; qais talia fando 

This contributes to diversify the melody; and 
where the words are smooth and liquid, is not iin- 
graceful ; as in the following examples : 

Formosafn resonare || doees Amary1]i4a sylvas 

Again : 

Agiicolas, quibus ipaa |] procul discordibus armls 

If this pause, placed as foresaid after the sHort syl- 
lable, happen auso to divide a word, the melody by 
these circumstances is totally annihilated. Wibiess 
the following line of Ennius, which is plmn prose: 

Rom« moenia t($rni||it impiger | Hannibal armis* . 

Hitherto the arrangement of the long and short 
syllables of an Hexameter line and its different 
pauses, have been considered with respect to me- 
lody : but to have a just notion of Hexameter verse, 
these particulars must also be considered with re- 
pect to sense. There is not perhaps in any other sort 

* Set Chapter n. Part ir Sect 5. 



r 



8ECT. IV.] Beauty i^ Langmge. 85 

of VCTse, such latitude in the loi^ and short; sfllfi- 
blee^; a circumstance that contributes greatly to 
that richness of melody which is remarkable in 
Hexameter verse, and which made Aristotle pro- 
Bounce, that an epic poem in any other veise would 
not succeed.* One defect, however, must not be 
dissembled, that the same means which contribute 
to the richness of the melody, render it less fit than 
several other sorts for a narrative poem. There 
cannot be a more artful contrivance, as above ob- 
served, than to close an Hexameter line with two 
long syllables preceded by two short : but unhap- 
pilyVk const^ction pro/es agreat embanassmXt 
to Uie sense : whifh will thus be evident. As in 
general, there ought to be a strict concordance be^ 
tween a thought and the words in which it is dress- 
ed ; so in particular, every close in the sense ought 
to be accompanied with a close in the sound. In 
prose, this law may be strictly observed ; but in 
verse, the same strictness would occasion insuperai' 
ble difficulties. WiUiue to sacrifice to the melody 
of verse, some share of the concordance between 
thought and expression, we freely excuse the sepa- 
ration of the musical pause from that of the sense, 
during the course of a line :, but the close of an 
Hexameter line is too conspicuous to admit this 
liberty : for which reason there ought always to be 
sojoie pause in the sense at the end of every Hex- 
ameter line, were it but such a pause as is mark- 
ed with a comma ; and for the same reason, there 
ought never to be a full close in the sense but 
at the end of aline, because there the melody is 
closed. . An Hexameter line, to preserve its melo- 
dy, cannot well admit any greater relaxation : and 
yet in a narrative poem, it is extremely difficult to 
adhere strictly ^to the rule even with these indulT 

* Poet cap. ?5' 



^ JBfmtjf pfLangntage [chap, l^ 

^nces^ Virgil) the dbief of poets for veia^ft- 
tadn, is forced often to end a line without anj clode 
la the sendee and as often to close . the sense ^mx^ 
ing the running of a line ; though a dose in the 
ideiody duiins uie movemezrt of the thought, or a 
close in the wought during the movement of the 
Qielody cannot be a^eeable. 

The accent, to vraich we proceed, is no less es- 
sential than the other circumstances above handled. 
By a good ear it will be discerned, that in everjF 
Une there is one syllable distinguishable from the 
rest by a capital accent : that syllable, being the 
7th pillion, is invariably long. 

f9e€ bene prMneritiB J capit&r nee | ttligUur ifnu 

Again: 

. Non s^bi sed toto || genitilixi se | credere mundo. 

Again: 

-Qua,1i« spelunca || subitft com|inoU coluroba. 

In these examples, the accent is laid upon the 
last syllable of a word ; which is favorable to the 
inelody in the following respect, that the* pause, 
which for the sake of reading distinctly must foU 
low every word, gives opportunity to prolong the 
accent And for that reason, a line thus accented, 
has a more spirited air, than when the . accent is 
placed oii any other syllable. Compare the fore« 
jgoing lines with the following ^ 

Alba Deque Assyrip J fuc^tur | lana Tenepo. 

Agftia: 

Pftoditur interea || domus ^mnipojtensis Olympi. 

Again? 

OUi 3edatQ H re8p6ndit 1 corde Latinus. 

■ - ' 

In lines where the pause comes after the short 
syllable succeedmg the fifth portion, the accent is 



n 



aiscT. xv.] Bi9i^ of Langmge* 87 

displaced, and rendered less sensible : d: SMiAs to 
be split into two, and to be laid partly on the 5th 
portion, and partly on the 7th, its usual place ; 
as la 

Ntida genu nod5que || si nils coljlectft flaentefl 

Again : 

Formosam ransonire || doc^s Ainar|yllida sylvas 

Beside this capital accent, slighter accents are 
laid upon other portions ; particularly upon the 4th, 
unless where it consists of two snort syllables; 
upon the 9th, which is always a long syllable ^ and 
upon the 1 1th, where the line concludes with a 
moaosyllable. Such conclusion, by the by, imr 
pairs the melody, and for that reason is not to be 
indulged, unless where it is expressive of the 
sense. The following lines are marked wit|i affl 
<he accents. 

Ludere quse v^Jlem ca1am6 permisit agresti, 

tin : 

Et dure qu^rcas sodabunt roscida inella. 

Again : 

Parturioot mootea^ nascltur ridiciiKis mus. 

Reflecting upon the melody of Hexameter verse, 
we find, that order or arrangement doth not consti- 
tute the whole of it ; for when we compare differ^ 
ent lines, equally regular as to the succession of 
long and short syllables, the melody is found in 
very different degrees of perfection ; which is not 
occasioned by any particular combination of Dae- 
tyles and Spondees, or of long and short syllables, 
because we find lines where Dactyles prevail, and 
lines where Spondees prevail, equally melodious. 
Of the former take the following instance : 

Jfineadum geoitris hominnm divnmque Yoluptas. 




86 Bem^ of Language. [chap. IS; 

Of the latter: 

Molli paulatim flavescet campus arista. 

What can be more different as to melody than tbe 
two following lines, which, however, as to the suc- 
cession of long and short syllables, are constructed 
precisely in the same manner ? 

Spond. Dact. Spond. Spond. Dact. Spond. 

" H *. 

Ad talos atola dkniasa et cireumdata palia. Hark 

Spond. Dact. Spond. SpODd* Dact. Spond. . 

Placatumque nitet diffuso lumfne- caslum. Lucr 

In the former, the pause falls in the middle of a 
word, which is a great Memish, and the accent is 
di^urbed by a harsh elision of the Vowel a upon 
the particle et In the latter, the pauses and the 
accent sxe all of them distinct and full : there is ao 
elision ; and the words are more liquid and souyd^ 
ing. In these particulars consists the beauty of ^Ik 
Hexameter line With respect to melody : and -1^ 
neglecting these, many lines in the Satires and 
Epistles of Horace aire less agreeable than plaia 
prose ; for th^ are neither the one nor the otheriii 
perfection. • To.draw melody from these tines, they 
must be pronounced without relation to the sense : 
it must not be regarded, that words are divided by 
pauses, nor that harsh elisions are multiplied; To 
add to the accouiit, prosaic low sounding w(»rds are 
introduced ; and which is still worse, accents, are 
laid on them. Of such faulty lines take the follow-' 
ing instances. 

Ccindida rectaque sit^ munda bactenua sit n^que ]oDga. 
Jupiter exclamat siinul atqiie audirit ; at m se 
Custpdes, lectica, ciniflones, parasitse 
Optimus, est modulator, ut Alfenus Vafer amoi 
Nunc illud tantum queer^m, meritone tibi bit. 



9^T. IV. J Mm^ ofLangmffu 89 

N^xt order comes English Heroic verse, which 
shall be examined under the whole five heads, of 
number^ quantity, arrangement, pause and accent. 
This verse is of two lands ^. one named rhyme j or 
metrcj and one blank verse. In the former, the 
lines are connected .two and two by similarity of 
sound in the final syllables ; and two lines so con- 
nected are termed a couplet : similarity of sound 
being avoided in the latter, couplets are banished. 
These two soits must be handled separately, be* 
cause there are many peculiarities ii^each. Bejrin- 
ning with rhyme or metre, the first article shall be 
discussed in a few words. Every line consists of 
ten syllables, fiv.e short and five long ; from which 
there are but two exceptions, both of them rare. 
The fii^t is, where each line of a couplet is made 
eljeven syllables, by an additional syllable at the 
end :, 

: There ls«rees> wiU are kept in pondYous rases, 
And beft4i3' fa anuff boxes and tweezer eases. 
The. piece, you think, is ipcorrect ? Why, take it; 
rm ail submission ; what you'ci have it, make it. 

This lie0»se is sufferable la a single couplet ; but 
if firei^^QA woAild give disgust 

Tte pthereKception concerns the second line 
•of acoi^il^, wi^pfa is sometimes sti«tdii»4 Wt to 
twelve syllables, termed sxk Akxw^ne Ui^ : 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

That, Iik^ a wounded isnake, drags- its slow length along. 

It doth extremely well wl^en employed to close a 
period with a certain pomp and solemnity, where 
the subject makes that tone proper- 

With regard to quantity, it is unnecessary to 
mention a second time, that the quantities employ- 
ed in verse are but two, the one double of the other ; 
that every syllable is reducible to one or other of 
liiese standards ; and that a syllable of the larger 



"90 Secmfy of Language. f ch ap, IS. 

rntity is termed' hiigj and df the lesser quantity 
U It belongs more to th^ present article, to ex- 
Itmine what peculiarities there may be ia the Eng-^ 
fish language as to long and short syllables. Every 
language has syllables that may be pronounced long 
or short at pleasure ; but the English above all 
abounds in syllables of that kind : in words of three 
or more syllables, the quantity for the most part is 
invariable : the exceptions are more frequent iui 
dissyllables ; but as to monosyllables, they may, 
without many exceptions, be pronounced either long 
6r short ; nor is the ear hurt by a liberty that is ren- 
dered familiar by custom. This shows, that the 
melody of English verse must depend less upon 
quantity, than upon other circumstances : in which 
it differs widely from Latin verse, where every syl- 
lable having but one sound, strikes the ear uni* 
formly with its accustomed impression; and a read- 
er must be delighted to find a number of such syl- 
lables disposed so artfully as to be highly melodi- 
ous. Syllables variable in quantity cannot possess 
this power ; for though custom may render familiar, 
both a long and a short pronunciation of the same 
word ; yet thfe mind wavering between the two 
sounds, cannot be so mruch s^cted as where eveiy 
syllable has one fixed sound. What I have further 
to say ujpon quantity, will come more properly un- 
der the following head, or arrangement. 

And with respect to arrangement, which may be 
brought within a narrow compass, the English 
Heroic line is commonly Iambic, the first syllable 
short, the second long, and So on alternately through 
the whole line. One exception there is, pretty fre- 
quent of lines commencing with a Trochaeus, i. e. 
a long and a short syllable : but this affects not the 
order of the following syllables, which go on alter- 
nately as usual, one short and one long. The fol- 
lowing couplet affords an example of each kind. 



SECT* IV.] B^frty ofLangwifgt. 91 

Some in tJki fields df pOr^t ether pl&y, 

and bask &ud whiterj in the blaze of day. 

It is a great imperfection in English verse, thit 
it excludes the bulk of polysyllables, which arg 
the most sounding words in our tankage ; for \^rjr 
few of them have such alteration of long and short 
sy!lab[les as to correspond to either of the arrange- 
. ments mentioned. English verse accordingly is al- 
most totally reduced to dissyllables and monosyl- 
lables : magnanimity^ is a sounding word totally 
excluded : impetuosity is still a finer word, by the 
resemblance of the sound and sense ; and yet a ne- 
gative is put upon it, as well as upon numberless 
words of the same kind. Polysyllables composed 
of syllables long and short sdternately, make a 
good figure in verse : for example, observance, op- 
ponentj ostenswe^ pindaricj productive, prolific, 
and such others of three syllables. Imitatton, im- 
perfection, misdemeanor, mitigation, moderation, 
observator, ornamental, regulator, and others similar, 
of four syllables, beginmng with two short syllables, 
the third long, and the fourth short, mav find a 
place in a line commencing with a Trochseus* I 
know not if there be anj^of five syllables. One I 
know of six, viz. misinterpretation : but wcurds so 
composed are not frequent in our lan^age. 

One would not imagine without tnal, how un- 
couth false quantity appears in verse ; not less than 
a provincial tone or idiom. The article the is one 
ofthe few monosyllables that is invariably short : 
observe how harsh it makes a line where it must 
be pronounced long : 

This nymph t6 the dgstructido of mlinkiDd. 

Again, 

Th' ^dv^ntVISus baron the brirht Idcks ^dmirM. 

**( 

Let it be pronounced short, and it reduces the me- 
lody almost to nothing : better so however thaqi 
Vol. II. 12a 



\ 



02 Bemrtji of Languag4. [chap. Uk 

false qoantity. In the following examples we per- 
ceive the same defect : 

And old impertinence I expel by new 
With varying Tanities j| from ev'ry part 
Love in these labyrinths I bis slaves detains 
New stratagems j| the radiant lock to guin 
Her eyes half languishing || halfdrownM in tears 
Rocir'd for the handkerchieflj that caus'd his pain 
Pa8»ions like elements || though born to fight. 

The great variety of melody conspicuous in Eng- 
Ikh verse, arises chiefly from the pauses and ac- 
cents ; which are of greater importance than is 
commonly thought There is a degree of intricacy 
in this branch ot our subject, and it will be difTicult 
to give a distinct view of it ; but it is too late to 
think of difficulties after we are engaged. The 
pause, which paves the way to the accent, offers it- 
self finit to our examination ; and from a very short 
trial, the following facts will be verified. 1st, A 
line admits but one capital pause. 2d, In differ- 
ent Hues, we find this pause after the foyrth sylla- 
ble, after the fifth, after the sixth, and after the 
seventh. These four places of the pause lay a so- 
Kd foundation for dividkg English Heroic lines 
into four kinds : and I warn the reader beforehandi 
that unless he attend to this distinction, he cannot 
have any just notion of the richness and variety of 
English Versification. Each kind or order hath a 
Hielodv peculiar to itself, readily distinguishable by 
a gooa ear : and I am not without hopes to mak^ 
the cause of this peculiarity sufficiently evident. It 
must be observed, at the same time, that the pause 
cannot be made indifferently at any of the places 
mentioned ; it is the sense that reglilatesthe pause, 
as will be seen afterward ; and consequently, it is 
the sense "that determines of what order every line 
must be : there cannot be but one capital musical 
pause in a line ; and that pause ought to coincide^ 



Vi 



»»CT. jv.] SmUjf pf laagwige. 9$ 

^possible, mth a pause in the sease, in wderthftt 
the sound may accord with the sense. 

What is said shall be illustrated hy examples of 
each sort or order. And first of the pause after thi 
fourth syllable : 

Back thro:igh the paths \\ of pleasing sense I ra». 

Again, 

Profuse of bliss || and pregnant with delight. 

After the fifth : 

So when ao angel || by diffne command, 
With rising tempests \\ shakes a gailty land. 

After the 6th : 

Speed the soft mtercourse || from soul to soul. 

Again, 

Then from bis i^Fosiog eyes || thy form shall part. 

After the 7th : 

^ And taught the doubtful battle || in^here to rage. 

Agaio, 

And 10 the smooth description || murmur still. 

Beside the capital pause now mentioned, inferior' 
pauses will be aiscovered by a pice ear. Of these 
there are commonly two in each line : one before 
the capital Muse, and one after it. 'the formei* 
comes invanably after the first long syllable, whe- 
ther the line begin with a long syllable or a short. 
The other in its variety imitates the capital pause : 
in some lines it comes after the 6th syllable, in some 
after the 7th, and in some after Ae Sth; Of thes* 
semi-pauses take the following examples; 

1st and 8th: 

. Led I through a sad |t mriety \ of wo. 



94 Beauty of Language. [ch^f. 1& 

1st and 7th: 

StiH I OD thy breast || eoamoarM | let me lie. 

2d and 8th : 

From storms | a shelter || and from heat | a shade. 

2d and 6th ; 

Let wealth | let honour || wait | the wedded dame* 

2d and 7th : 

Abof e I all pain || all passion | and all pride. 

Even from these few examples it appears, that 
the place of the last semi-pause, like that of the full 

f^ause, is directed in a good measure by the sense* 
ts proper place with respect to the melody is after 
the eighth syllable, so as to finish the line with an 
Iambus distinctly pronounced, which, by a long 
syllable after a short, is a preparation for rest : but 
sometimes it comes after the 6th, and sometimes 
after the 7th syllable, in order to avoid a pause in 
the middle of a word, or between two words inti- 
mately connected ; and so far melody is justly sa- 
crificed to sense. ^ 

In discoursing of Hexameter verse, it was laid 
down as a rule. That a full pause ought never to 
divide a word: such license deviates too far from 
the coincidence that ought to be between the pauses 
of sense and of melody. The same rule must ob- 
tain m an English line ; and we shall support fea- 
$on by experiments : 

A noble «uper||fluity it craves 
Abhor, a perpe||tuity should stand 

w JJjf r^^ "ll^ '' ""^^ applicable to a semi.pause, 

^eahl^^^^^ ^^^*' '' "^t sensibly disa' 

greeaWe when it divides a word : 



SFXT. iv.] JBmuiy ^ Language. 96 

Relentjless waiia || whose dark«»iiie roiind eonUint 
For her | white virgins || hymelneaUi siog 
In these | deep solitudes || and awjful cells. 

It must however be acknowledged, that the me* 
lody here suffers in some degree : a word ought to 
be pronounced without any rest between its com-^ 
ponent syllables^ a semi^pause that bends to thb 
rule, is scarce perceived. 

The capital pause is so essential to the melody 
that one cannot be too nice in the choice of it 
place, in order to have it clear and distinct. I 
cannot be in better company than with a pause ii 
the sense ; and if the sense require but a commi 
after the fourth, fifth/ sixth, or seventh syllable, t 
is sufficient for the musical pause. But to male 
such coincidence essential, would cramp versifici* 
tion too tnuch ; and we have experience for car 
authority, that there may be a pause in the melidy 
where the sense requires none. We must not how- 
ever imagine, that a musical pause may comeifter 
any word indifferently : some words, like syllables 
of the same word, are so intimately connected, as 
not to bear a separation even by a pause. The se- 
paratii^, for example, a substantive from its article, 
would be harsh and unpleasant: witness the fol- 
lowing line, which cannot be pronounced with a 
pause as marked, 

If Bella sidile, thi) || flow'rs begin to spring. ' 

But ought to be pronounced in the following manner, 

If Delia smile, || the flowVs begin to spring. 

If then it be not a matter of indifference where to 
make the pause, there ought to be rules for deter- 
mining what words mav be separated by a pause, 
and what are incapable of such separation. 1 
shall endeavour to ascertain these rules ; not chiefly 



96 jBeonly (^LomgWKgt. [chap. ld% 

for their utility, but in-order to unfold acme latent 
principles, that tend to regulate our taste even 
where we are scarce sensible of them ; and to that 
endy the method that appears the most promising, 
is to run over the verbal relations, beginning with 
the most intimate. The &rst that presents itself is 
!hat of adjective and substantively bein^ the rela- 
ion of subject and quality, the most mtimate of 
dl : and with respect to such intimate con)panions|y 
he question is, whether they can bear to be separ 
mted by a pause. What occurs is, that a quali- 
if cannot exist independent of a subject ; nor are 
toey separate even in imagination, because they 
Bake parts of the same idea : and for that reason, 
wth respect to melody as well as sense, it must be 
d^agreeabie, to bestow upon the adjective a sort of 
inlependent existence, by interjecting a pause be- 
tween it and its substantive. I cannot, therefore, 
approve the following lines, nor any of the sort ; fo* 
to ny taste they are narsh and unpleasant 

Of thousand bright || iuhahitants of air 

Ihe spriteti of fierj |f termagants inflame 

%e rebt, hie many-colonr'd || robe conceaFd n 

Tie same, hie ancient | personage to deck 

Et'u here, where frozen || Chastity retires 

I ait, \K\\\k sad H civility, I read 

Baclc to my native || moderation slide 

Or shall we ev?ry || decency confound 

Time was, a sober || Englishman would knock 

And place, on good I security, his gold 

Taste, that eternal || wanderer, which flies 

But ere the tenth || revolving day was run 

First let the just || equivalent be paid 

Go, threat thy earth*born I Myrmidons; but here 

Haste to the fierce || Achilles' tent (he cries) 

AH but the ever-wakeful J eyes of Jove 

Your own resistless || eloquence employ 

I have upon this article multiplied examples, that 
in a case where I have the misfortune to dislike 



SECT* I v.]. Beauhf of Languc^e. 97 

what passes current in practice, everj man upon 
the spot may judge by his own taste. And to taste 
I appeal ; for though the foregoing reasoning ap- 
pears to me just, it is however too subtile to afford 
conviction in opposition to taste. 

Cofisidering this matter superficially, one might 
be apt to imagine, that it must be the same, wbe« 
ther the adjective go first, which is the natural or- 
der, or the substantive, which is indulged by the 
laws of inversion. But we soon discover this to be 
a mistake : colour, for example, cannot be conceiv- 
ed independent of the surface coloured ; but a Xret 
may be conceived, as growing in a certain spot, as 
of a certain kipd, and as spreading its extended 
branches all around, without ever thinking of its 
colour. In a word, a subject may be considered 
with some of its qualities independent of others : 
though we cannot form an image of any single qua- 
lity independent of the subject. Thus then though 
an adjective named first be inseparable from the 
substantive, the proposition does not reciprocate ; 
an image pan be formed of the substantive inde- 
pendent of the adjective ; and for that reason, they 
may be separated by a pause, where the substan- 
tive takes the lead. 

For thee the fates \ severely kiOid ordain 

Aad cursM with hearts | unknowing bow to yield. 

The verb and adverb are precisely in the same 
condition with the substantive and adjective. An 
adverb which modifies the action expressed by 
the verb, is not separable from the verb evfen in 
imagination ; and therefore I must also give up the 
following lines : 

And which it oiiich | becomes you to forget 
*Ti4 one tiling madly || to disperse my store. 

But an action may be conceived M'ith some of its 
modifications^ leaviiiigout otheis ; precisely as $i sub- 



I / 



98 Beauty &f Langimge. £ciup« 18. 

iect may be conceived with some of its qualities, 
leaving out others : and therefore, when bj inver* 
sion the verb is first introduced, it has no bad effect 
to interject a pause between it and the adverb that 
follows. This may be clone at the close of a line, 
where the pause is at least as full as that is which 
divides the line : 

Willie yet. be spoke, the prince advancing drew 
Nigh to the lodge, &c. 

The agent and its action come next, expressed 
in grammar by the active substantive and its verb. 
Between these, placed in their natural order, .there 
is no difficulty of interjecting a pause : an active 
being is not always in motion ; and therefore it is 
easily separable in idea from its action ; when in a 
sentence the substantive takes the lead, we know 
not that action is to follow ; and as rest must pre- 
cede the commencement of motion, this interval is 
a proper opportunity for a pause. 

But when by inversion |he verb is placed first, is 
it lawful to separate it by a pause from the active 
substantive ? I answer, No ; because an action is 
not an idea separable from the £^ent, more than a 
quality from the subject to which it belongs. Two 
lines of the first rate for beauty, have always ap- 
peared to me exceptionable, upon account of the 
pause, thus interjected between^ the verb and the 
consequent substantive ; and I have now discovered 
a reason to support my taste : 

\]Q these deep solitudes and awful cells, 

Where beav'nly pensive || Contemplatioo dwellsi 

And ever musing || Meiaricboly reigns. 

The point of the greatest delicacy regards the 
active verb and the passive substantive placed in 
their natural order. On the one hand, it will be 
observed, that these words signify thin^ which are 
not separable in idea. Killing cannot be conceived 



§ttCT* IT;] Beamtf ikf Langmig^* 89 

without a being that b put to death, nor piftiilifig 
without a surface upon which the coloyrs^ are 
spread. On the other hand, an action and the 
tfaing on which it is exerted, are not, like subject 
and quality, united in one indiyidual object: the 
active substantive is perfectly distinct from that 
which is passive ; and they Bxe connected by one 
circumstance only, that the actfcn of the former is 
exerted upon the latter. This makes it possible to 
take the action to pieces, and to consider it first 
with relation to the agent, and next with relation 
to the patient But after all, so intimately connect- 
ed are the parts of the thought, that it requires an 
effort to make a separation even for a moment : the 
subtilising to such a degree is not agreeable, espe* 
cially in works of imagination. 1 he best poets, 
however, take advantage of this subtilty, scruple 
not to separate by a pause an active verb from the 
thing upon which it is exerted. Such pauses in a 
long work may be indulged ; but taken singly, they 
certainly are not agreeable ; and I appeal to the 
following examples : 

The peiA^ DOW spreads I the glit'ring forsex i»ide 

As ever sully'd || the fair fa6e of tight 

Repaired to seareh I the gloomy cave of Spleen 

Nothing, to make J| Philosophy thy friend 

Sbou'd chance to make || the well-dress'd rahble stare 

Or cross to plunder || proyioces,the main 

TThcse madmen ever hurt || the church or state 

How shall we fill || a library with wit 

What better teach || a foreigner the tongue 

Sure, if I spare || the minister, no rules 

Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools. 

On the other hand, when the passive suhstantive is 
by inversion first named, there is no difficult^' of 
interjecting a pause between it and the verb, more 
than when the active substantive is first named. 
The same reason holds in both, that though a verb 
eannot be separated in idea from the substantive 
Vol- II. 13a 









100 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18. 

which gdvenM it, and scarcely from the subBtaDtire 

it governs ; yet a substantive may always be con- 
ceived independent of the verb : when me passive 
substantive is introduced before the verb, we know 
not that an action m to be exerted upon it ; there- 
fore we may rest till the action commences. Fot 
the sake of illustration take the following examines : 

j^rinai! wkare tbeir vigils || pale ev'd vircin* keep 
Soon as tbj letters || irembling I uncloie 
No happier i*tk |{ these faded eyes pursue. 

What is said about the pause, leads to a general 
observation, That the natural order of placing the 
active substantive and its verb, is more friendly to 
a pause than the inverted order ; but that in all the 
other connexions, inversion affords a far better op- 
portunity for a pause. And hence one great advan- 
tage of blank verse over rhyme ; its privilege of in- 
version giving it a much greater choice of pauses 
than can be had in the natural order of arrange- 
ment., 

Wenow proceed to the slighter connexions, which 
shall be discussed in one general article. Words 
connected by conjunctions and prepositions admit 
freely a pause between them, which will be clear 
fixim the following instances : 

AsBinne wliat sexes |{ and nbat shape they please 
The light militia ]| of the lower sky 

Connecting particles were invented to unite in a 
period two substances, signifying; things occasion- 
ally United in the thought, but which have no natu- 
ral union : and between two things not only sepa- 
rable in idea, but really distinct, the mind, for the 
sake of melody, cheerfully admits by a pause a mo- 
mentary disjuQctien of their occasional union. 



SECT. IV.] Beauty ofLmgmnge*^^ )01 

One capital branch of the subject is still upon • 
hand, to which I am dii:ected by what is just now 
said. It concerns those part^ of speech which sin^ 

f\y represent no idea, and which become not signi- 
cant till thej be joined to other words. I mean 
conjunctions, prepositions, articles, and such like ac- 
cessories, passing under the name ofparticles. Upon 
these the question occurs, Whether they can be se- 
Jiarated by a pause from the words thai make them 
significant ? Whether, for example, in the following 
)ines, the separation of the accessory preposition 
fiQta the principal substantive be according to rule.? 

The goddeas with || ;ai discontented air 

And beigtiten'd by || the diamond's circling rays 

When victims at \\ yon altars foat vie lay 

So take it in W tb« very i»ords of Creech 

An ensign of || Xjie delegates of Jove 

To ages o'er || his nfitive reaJm he reign'd 

While angels' with [| their silver wings o'ershade. 

Or the separation of the conjunction from the word 
that is connected by it with the antecedent word ; 

Talthybius and Eurybates the good 

It will be obvious at the first glance, that the fore- 
going reasoning upon objects naturally connected, 
not applicable to words which of themselves are 
mere cyphers : we must therefore have recourse to 
some other principle for solving the present ques- 
jtion. These particles out of their place are totally . 
insignificant : to give them a meaning, they must 
be joined to certain words ; and the necessity of 
ithis junction, together with custom, forms an arti* 
ficial connexion tliat has a strong influence upoi) 
the mind : it cannot bear even a momentary sepa- 
ration, which destroys the sense, and is at the sam^ 
time contradictory to practice. Another circumr 
stance t/ands still more to make itifs separation d|s« 



102 Biwiif ^ language. [chap. 18. 

^eeahle ia Ikies of the first and third order, that 
it bars the accent, which will be explained after* 
ward, in treating of the accent. 

Hitherto upon that pause onlj which diyides the 
line. . We proceed to the pause that conchides the 
line ; and the question is, Whether the same rules 
be applicable to both ? This must be answered hj 
making a distinction. In the first line of a couplet, 
the concluding pause differs little, if at all, irom 
the pause that divides the line ; and for that reason, 
the rules are applicable to both equally. The con- 
cluding pause of the couplet is in a different con- 
dition : it resembles greatlj the concluding pause 
in an Hexameter line. Both of them, indeed, are 
so remarkable, that they never can be graceful, un- 
less where they accompany a pause in the sense. 
Hence it follows, that a couplet ought always to be 
finished with some close in the sense ; if not a point, 
at least a comma. The truth is, that this rule is 
seldom transgressed. In Pope's works, I find very 
ifew deviations from the rule. Take the follov^'ing 
instances : 

Kotht:!g 18 foreign: parts relate to whole ; 
One all-extending, all presfsrviogsoul 
. CDnnfcIs each toeing — ■■- . 

Another : 

To draw fresh coloura from the vernal flowrs, 
f*o steal from rainbows ere they drop in »hpw'rs 
A brighter wash—; — 

I add, with respect to pauses in general, that 
supposing the connexion to be so slender as to ad- 
mit a pause, it follows not that a pause may in 
every such ease be admitted. There is one rule 
to which every other ought to bend, That the sense 
must never be wounded oy obscuret} by the inusic \ 



.*•■ 



SECT. I v.] Bemiy ^ Language. 103 

and upon that account I condemn the £ollowing 
lines: 

Ulysses, first {| in public caresj she found 

Aod, , 

Who rising, high || th* imperial sceptre rais'd. 

With respect to inversion, it appears, both from 
reason and experiments, that many words which 
cannot bear a separation in their natural order, ad- 
mit a pause when inverted. And it may be added, 
that when two wdrds, or two members of a sen- 
tence in their natural order, can be separated by 
a pause, such separation can never be amias in an 
inverted order. An inverted period, which de- 
viates from the natural train of ideas, requires to 
be marked in some measure even by pauses in the 
sense, that the parts may be distinctly known^ 
Take the following examples : 

As with cold lips || I kissed the sacred veil , 

With other beauties || charm my partial eyes 

Full in my view ]| set all the bright abode 

With words Me these || the troops Ulysses ruFd 

Back to th* assembly roll |{ the thronging train 

Not for their grief || the Grecian host I blame. 

The same where the separation is made at the 
close of the first line of the couplet : 

For spirits^ fVeed from mortal laws, with ease, 
Assume what sexes and what shapes tbey please. 

The pause is tolerable even at the close of the 
couplet, for the reason just now suggested, that 
inverted members require some slight pause in the 
sense : 



r- 



Twas where the plane-tree spreads its shades aronn^ : 
The aitars heav'd; and from ^e ^ranhliAg groond 
A mighty dragon shot. 



1 



1 04 Beautp of Longwise. [chap. 1 & 

Thus a train of reasoning hath inBensiblj led 
us to conclusions with regard to the musical pause^ 
rery different from those in the first section, con- 
cerning the separating by a circumstance, words 
intimately connected. One would conjecture, that 
wherever words are sepj^rable by interjecting a 
circumstance, they should be equally separable by 
interjecting a pause : but upon a more narrow in- 
spection, the appearance of analogy vanisheth^ 
This will be evident from considering, that a pause 
in the sense distinguishes the different members of 
a period from each other; whereas, when two 
words of the same member are separated by a cir- 
cumstance, all the three make still but one mem- 
ber; and therefore, that words may be -separated 
by an interjected circumstance, though these words 
are not separated by a pause in the sense. This 
sets the matter in a clear light ; for, as observed 
above,a musical pause is intimately connected with 
^ pause in the sense, and ought, as far as possible, 
to be governed by it : particularly a musical pause 
ought never to be placed where a pause is excluded 
by the sense ; as, for example, between the adjec- 
tive and following substantive, which make parts 
of the same idea ; and stilt less between a particle 
^nd the yjojA that Drakes it significant 

Abstracting at present from the peculiarity of 
melody arising from the different pauses, it cannot 
fail to be observed in general, that they introduce 
into our verse no slight degree of variety. A num- 
ber of uniform lines having all the same pause, are 
cxtre mely fatiguing ; which is rjemarkable in French 
versification. This imperfection will be discerned 
by a fine ear even in the shortest succession, and 
becomes intollerable in a long poem . Pope excels 
in the variety of bis melody ; which, if different 
kinjds can be compared, is indeed m l^ss perfect 
than that of Virgil. 



i£CT. IT.] Semttif (^Language. lOd 

From what is last said, there ought to be one 
exception. Uniformity in the members of a thought 
demands equal uniformity in the verbal members 
which express that thought. When therefore re- 
sembling objects or things are expressed in a plu- 
rality of verse-lines, these lines in their structure 
ought to be as uniform as possible ; and the pauses 
in particular ought all of them to have the same 
place. Take the following examples : 

By foreii^n hands || thy dying eyes we.rylos'd 
By foreign hands || thy decent limbs composM 
By foreign hands || thy hamble grave adordM. 

Again : 

Bright as the sun || her eyes the gazers strike ; 
And, like the sub, || they shioe on all alike. 

Speaking of N^re, or the God of Nature : 



Wtrms in the san | 
Glows io the stars 



refreshes in the breeze, 
I tod blossoms in the trees; 
Lives through all life j| extends through all extent, 
Spreads undivided || operates unspent 



Pauses will detain us longer than was foreseen ; 
for the subject is hot yet exhausted. It is laid down 
above, that English Heroic verse admits no more 
but four capital pauses; and that the capital pause 
of every line is determined by the sense to be after 
the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, or seventh syllable. 
That this doctrine holds true as far as melody 
alone is concerned, will be testified by every good 
ear. At the same time, I admit, that this rule may 
be varied where the sense or expression requires a 
variation, and that so far the melody may justly be 
sacrificed. Examples accordingly are not unfre- 
quent, in Milton especially, of the capital pause 
being after the first, the second, or the third sylla- 
ble. And that this license may be taken, even 
gracefully, when it adds vigour to the expression, 



1(H> Seaayo/Limgtu^ [chaf. 16. 

will be clear from the followtog example. Pope, 
in his translatioa of Homer, describes a rock broke 
off from a mountain, and hurling to the plain, in 
tbe follomng Tfords : 

From ateep to sIPEp the rolling ruin bi>ui]di> ; 

At every rbnch Ihr cmckling wood reaounde ; 

Still golh'riD^ force, it smokes ; and urg'd Binain, 

Whirli, leip*, and ihundara doKo, impetuoai lo the plain : 

There stopt. || So Hectw. Their nbol« Torce fap prov'd, 

ReiJBtleH when he rag-d : and when he stopt, unmov'd. 

In the penult nne, the proper place of the musical 

fiaiise 19 at the end of the tifth syllable; but it en- 
ivens the expression by its coincidence with that 
of the sense at the end of the second syllable : the 
stopping short before the usual pause in the melody, 
aids the impression that is made by the description 
of the stone's stopping short ; and what is lost to 
the melody by this artifice, is more than compen- 
sated by the force that is added to the descriptioo. 
Milton makes a happy use of this license : witness 
tbe following examples from his Paradise Lost. 



Thus wilh tbe year 

Seasoni return, bul not to me returns 

Da; H or the sweet approach of even or moro. 

Celestial voices to the midnight-air 

Sole H or retponsWe each to others note. 

And over them triumphant Death his datt 

Sbook I but delay'd to atrike. 

■ And wild uproar 

Stood rul'd [| stood vast infinitude conflii'd. 

-' And hard'nitig in his strength 

OIoricB II for never since created man 
snvh embodied force. 

I his slack hand the garland wreath'd for Eve 
a dropji'd jl and all the faded rotes shed. 
nesaentiBl night, receives him next, 
^ gaping | and with litter lost of being, 
aleasfaim, bo. 



Sbct* iy.3 B^m^ rfLmgmig^ 10^ 



>For now tbe thought 



, Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 

Torments him || round he throws his baleful eyes, ke: 

If we consider the foregoing passages with re- 
i^ct to melody singly, tbe pauses are undoubtedly 
out of their .proper place ; but being united witti 
those of tbe sense, they enforce the expression^and 
enliven it greatly , for, as has been more than once 
observed, the beauty of expression is communicat- 
ed to the sound, which by a natural deception, 
makes even the melody appear more perfect than 
if the musical pauses were regular. 

To explain Ihe rules of accenting, two general 
observations must be premised. The first is, That 
accents have a double effect : they contribute to the 
melody, by giving it air and spirit : they contribute 
no less to tbe sense, bv distinguishing important 
words from others.* These two effects never can 
be separated, ^vitbout impairing the concord that 
ought to subsist between the thought and the me- 
lody : . an accent, for example, placed on a low 
word, has the effect to burlesque it, by giving it an, 
unnatural elevation ; and the injury thus done to 
the sense does not rest there, tor it seems also to 
injure the melody. Let us only reflect what a ri- 
diculous figure a particle must make with an accent 
or emphasis upon it,^a particle that' of itself has no 
meaning, and that serves only , like cement, to unite 
words significant. The other general observation 
is. That a word of whatever number of syllables, 
is not accented upon more than one of them. The 
reason is, that the object is set in its best light by 
a single accent, so as to make more than one unne- 
cessary for the sense : and if another be added, it 
must be for the sound merely ; which would be a 
transgression of the foregoing rule, by separating 

* An accent considered with respect to sensi is term(*d emp/Ouit. 

Vol. 11. Ua 



le^ B m ut ff of Lunguag^f. [ch4f. 19. 

a musical accent from that nHnch is requisite fw 
the sense* 

Keeping in view the foregoing observations, the 
doctrine of accenting Enghsh Heroic verse is ex- 
tremely simple. In the first place, accenting is cOd-^ 
0ned to the long syllables ; for a sh<Nrt syllable ij^ 
hot capable of an accent. In the next place, as the 
melody is enriched in proportion to the number of 
accents, every word that has a long syllable mBj 
be accented ; unless the sense interpose, which re* 
|ects the accenting a word that makes no figure by 
its signification. According to this rule, a line may 
admit §ve accents , a case by no means rare. 

But supposing every long syllable to be accent- 
ed, there^g, in every line, ane accent that makes a 
greater figure than the rest, being that which pre* 
cedes the capital pause. It is distinguished into 
two kinds; one that is immediately before the 
pause, and one that is divided from the pa«Be by a 
short syllable. The former belongs to lines of the 
first and. third order ; the latter to those of the se- 
cond and fourth. Examples of the first kind : 

Smooth flow the w&ves || the zephyrs geotly pUyi 
Belio^a smtl'd || and all th« world was gay. 
He raisM his a^ure wind {j and thus began. 

Bn^amples df the other kind : ^ 

Th«re lay three giLrtcrs || half a pair of gloves, 
And all the trophies || of his forroer loves. 
Our humble province || is to tend the fair, 
Not a less pleasing || though less glorious care, 
And hew trnimpbant irehes || to the ground. 

These accents make different impressions on the 
mind, which will be the subject ol a following/spe- 
culatiQn. In the mean time, it may be safely pro- 
nounced a capital defect In the composition of verse, 
to put a low word, incapable 'of an accent, in the 
place where this accept should be : this bars the 



s&cT. iv«] Beauty qf LaiigiMigt. k99 

uccent ^lUi^itkier ; tha&wUchlloiOWiioiMdtiiiDre 
subveisiye of the mdody , if it be apt the barnag of 
a pause aItogetJ»er. I maf add affirmative^, that 
no single eircurndteace otetiibutes mere to the eoh 
ergy of verse, than to put an important word where 
the accent should be, a iVwd that merits a peeiiliar 
emphasis. To shew the bad eftect of excludto^ the 
capital accent, I refer the reader to some instan- 
ces given above,* where particles are sepailated by 
a pause from the capital words that make them sig- 
nificant ; and which particles ought, for the sake d^ 
melody, to be accented, were they capable of ' an 
accent. Add to these the following itistatic'es d'ocd 
the Essay on Criticism. 

0f leaving wJMt || is aatural an4 At 

line 44$. 
Not yet purg'd off, II of fl pleeo and sour disdaia 

1. 92$. 
Ho pardon vile 1 obscenity. shoukl find 

When love was all || an easy monarch's care 

I. 3S/. 

For 'tis but half B a jud|;e's task to know 

L 963. 

Tls not enough, H taste, judgment, leatnlBl^, joiil. 

1. 993. 
I'hat only makes |j superior sense b€^k>v*d 

I. Sit 
Whose right it is, { uncensur'd, to be dull 

Tis best sometimofl, H yoar censure lo restrain. 

I. 597. 

When .this fault is at the end of a tuie that closefr 
a couplet, it leave not the slightests trace erf mA^j : 

Bat of this frame the bearings, and the ties, 
The strong connexions, nice dependencies, 

^ Page 101. 




110 Bmmbf ^ Language. [chaf^ 18. 

In a line expressive of what is faumble or de* 
jected, it improves the resemblance between tis« 
sound and sense to excltkle the capital accent.— r* 
This, to my taste, is a belnitf in the following lines* 

In th^se deep sdUtudes [ aod awful cefis 
The poor inhkbitaDt || beh61da id vain. 

To conclude this article, the accents are not, like 
the syllables, confined to a certain number : some 
lines have no fewer than five, and there are lines 
that admit not above one. This, variety, as we have 
3een, depends entirely on the different powers of 
the component words : particles, even where they 
are long by position, cannot be accented; and po- 
lysyllables, whatever space they occupy, admit but 
one accent. Polysyllables have another defect, that 
they generally exclude the full pause. It is shown 
above, that few polysyllables can find place in the 
construction of English verse : and here are rea- 
sons for excluding them, could they find place. 

I am now ready to fulfill a promise concerning 
the four sorts of lines that enter into English He- 
roic verse. That these have, each of them apecu- 
liar melody distinguishable by a good ear, 1 ven- 
tured to suggest, and promised to account for : and 
though the subject is extremely delicate, 1 am not 
without hopes of making good my engagement. But 
first, by way of precaution, I warn the candid rea- 
der not to expect this peculiarity of modulation in 
every instance. The reason why it is not always 
perceptible has been mentioned more than once, 
that the thought and expression have a great in^- 
ence upon the melody ; so great, as in many in^ 
stances to make the poorest melody pass for rich 
and spirited. This consideratiool makes me insist 
iipoq a concession or two that will not be thought 
UWesisonabie ; first, That the experiment be tried 



S£CT* 1 V.3 Bemity qf Language. Ill 

upcm lines equal with respect to the thought and 
^cpresj»on ; for othen^ise one may easily be mis- 
led in judging of the mebdy : and next, That these 
lines be regularly accented before the pause ; for 
upon a matter abundantly refined within itself, I 
would not willingly be embarrassed with faulty and 
irregular lines. 

These "preliminaries adjusted, I begin with some 
general observations, that will save repeating the 
same thing over and over upon every example. — 
And first, an accent ^icceeded by a pause as in 
Unes of the first and thiid order, makes a much 
greater figure than where the voice goes on without 
a stop. The fact is so certain that no person who 
has an ear can be ai a loss to distinguish that ac* ' 
cent from others. Nor have we far to seek for the 
efficient cause : the elevation of an accenting tone 
produceth in the mind a similar elevation, which 
continues during the paiM»e :* but where the pause 
is separated &om the accent by a short syllable, as 
in hues of the second and fourth order, the im- 
pression made by the accent is more slight when 
there is no stop, and the elevation of the accent is 
gone in a moment by the fallingof the voice in pro- 
nouncing the short syllable that follows. The 
pause also is sensibly affected by the position of the 
accent. In lines of the fkst and third order, the 
close conjunction of the accent and pause, occa- 
sions a sudden stop without preparation, which 
rouses the mind, and bestows on the melody a spi- 
rited air. When, on the other hand, the pause is 
separated firom the accent \fy a ^ort syllable, which 

* Hence the Uvelineaa of the French language as to sound, above the 
English ; the last syllable in the former being generally long and accented, 
the tong syllable in the latter being generaliy as far baiek in the w(^ s$ pod^ 
siUe, and often with an accent. For this dinerence I find no eause so prob^- 
We as temperament and dfsposition ; the French being brisk and livefy,the 
Saglisb sedate and reserved : aad thls> if H hold, is a pregnant luftance of a 
'^semblance between the chtu-acter of a people and that of their language. 



112 Beauty of Language. [chjip. 18* 

tilways happens in lines oi the second and fo^h 
order, tlie pause is soft and ^nde ; for . this ahortr 
unaccented syllable, succeeding. one that b accent- 
ed, must of course, be pronounced with a £idliBg 
voice, which naturally prepares for a pause : and 
the mind falls gently from the acc^ted syU^le, 
and slides into rest as it were insensibly. Further^ 
the lines themselves derive different powers from 
the position of the pause, which will thus appear. 
A pause after the fourth syllable divides the Um 
into two unequal portions, of which the larger 
comes last : this circum^ance resolving the line 
into an ascending series; lofiakes an impresi^oQ in 
pronouncing like that of ascending ; and to this 
impression contribute the redoubled effort in pro** 
nouncing the larger portion, which is last in omen 
The mind has a dittinm^t feeling when the pause 
succeeds the fifth syllable, which divides the line 
into two equal parts ; these (mrts, pronounced with 
equal ^ort, are agreeable bv their unifonnity. A 
line divided by a pause alter the sixth syllable, 
mak^s an impression opposite to that first mention^ 
ed : being divided into two unequal portions, of 
which the shortei* is last in order, it ' appears like a 
slow descending series ; and the second portion be- 
ing pronounced with less effort than the first, the 
diminished effort prepares the mind for rest. And 
this preparation for rest is still more sensHUy felt 
where the pause is after the seventh syllable, aa in 
lines of the fourth order. 

To apply these observations is an easy ta^. A 
line of the first order k of all the most spirited and 
lively: the accent, being followed instantly by a 
pause, makes an illustrious figure : the elevated 
tone of the accent elevates the mind ; the mind is 
supported in its elevation by the sudden unpre- 
pared pause, which rouses and animates : and the 
line itself, representing by its unequal division B,n 



sjjcT. I v.] B$mrtig^ Langntig€. 1 1 3 

ascending seiied^ camea the mind stiH higher, m^" 
ing an impressioo similar to that of going upward. 
The second order has a m6diilation sensibly sweety 
S6£% and flowing ; the accent is not so sprightly aa 
in the ibrm^^ because a short syllable intervenes 
between it and the pause : its elevation, by the 
same nieans, vanisheth instantaneously : the mind, 
by a failing voice, is gently prepared for a stop : 
and tbe {Measure of uniformity from the division of 
the line into two equal parts, is calm and sweet. 
The third order has a modulation not so easily ex- 
pressed in words : it in part resembles the first or- 
der, by the liveliness of an accent succeeded in- 
stantly by a full ^bme : but then the elevation oc- 
casioned by this circumstance, is balanced in some 
degree by the remitted effort in pronouncing the 
second portion, which remitted effort has a tenden- 
cy to rest^ Another circumstance distinguisheth it 
retnaikably : its capital accent comes late, being 
placed on the sixth syllable : and this circumstance 
bestows on it an air of gravity and solemnity* The 
last order resembles the second in the mildness of 
its accent, and softness of its pause ; it is still more 
solemn than the third, fay the lateness of its capital 
accent : it also possesses in a higher degree than 
the third, the tendency to rest ; and by that cir- 
cumstance is of all the b6st qualified for closing a 
period in the completest manner. 

But these are not all the distinguishing charac- 
ters of the different orders. Each order, also, is 
distinguished by its final accent and pause : the 
unequal division in the fimt order, makes an im- 
pression of ascending ; and the mind at the close 
IS in the highest elevation, which naturally prompts 
it to put a strong emphasis upon the concluding 
syllabic, whether by raising the voice to a sharper 
tone, or by expressing the word in a fuller tone. 
Tbis order accordingly is of all the least pro}^r 



114 Btmtif of LmgiUlgtL [chaf. t& 



fbt conclttding a period, where a cadence is proper 
aild not an accent. The second order bemg desti- 
tute of the impression df ascent, cannot riv^ the 
first order in the elevation of its concluding accent, 
nor consequently in the dignity of its conclnding 
pause ; for these have a mutual influence. Tbis 
order, however, with respect to its close, maintains 
a superiority over the third and fourth orders : in 
these the close is more humble, Jt)eing brought 
down by the impression of descent, and by the re- 
mitted effort in pronouncing ; con^derably in the 
third order, and still more considerably in the last 
According to this description, the ^ concluding ac- 
cents and pauses of the four oi^B being reduced 
to a scale, will form a descending series probaWy 
in an arithmetical progression. 

After what is said, will it be thought refioing too 
much to suggest, that the different orders are qua- 
lified for different purposes, and that a poet of ge- 
nius will naturally be led to make a choice accordr 
ingiyP I cannot think this altogether chimerical. 
As it appears to me, the first order is proper for a 
sentiment that is bold, lively, or impetuous ; the 
third order is^ proper for what is grave, solemn, or 
lofty ; the second for what is tender, delicate, Gt 
melancholy, and in general for^l the sympathetic 
emotions ; and the Is^ for subjects of the same 
kind, when tempered with any degree of solemni- 
ty. I do not contend, that any one order is fitted 
for no other task than that assigned it ; for at that 
rate, no sort of metedy would 1^ left for accompa- 
nying thoughts that have nothing peculiar in them. 
I only venture to surest, and I do it with diffi- 
dence, that each of the orders is peculiariy adapt- 
ed to certain subjects^ and better qualified than Uie 
others for expressing them. The best way to ju d^ 
is by experiment ; and to avoid the imputation of a 
partial search^ I shall ccnfir^e myJx^staQces to a sin- 
gle poem, beginning with the 



3£CT. IV.] Beaut f of Languages 116 

First order/ 

On her white breast) a sparkliog cross she Wor«i 

Which Jews might kiss, and inBdfJs adore* 

Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 

^uiek as her eyestdiod as aoftx'd as those : * "J^ 

Favours to none, to all she smiles e^xtends ; 

Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 

Bright as the sun, her eyes the gaiers strike, 

And like the sun, they shine on all alike. 

Yet graeeftil ease, akid sweetness void of pridci 

Might hide heriaults, if belles had faults to hide-} 

If to her share some female errors fall, 

Look on her face and youMl forget *em all. 

Rape of tHt Lotk. 

In accounting for the remarkable liveliness of 
this passage, it will be acknowledged by every one 
whotias an ear, that the melody must come in for a 
share. The lines, all of them, are of the first or- 
der ; a very unusual circumstance in the author of 
this poem, so eminent for variety in his versifica- 
tion. Who can doubt, that he has been led by de- 
licacy of taste to employ the first ord^r preferably 
to the others ? 

Second order* 

Our humble province is to^end the lair, 

Not il less pleasing, though lesd glorious car^ ; 

To save the powder (torn too rude a gale, 

Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale 4 

To draw fresh colours from the vernal flowVs ; 

To steal from rainbows, ere they drop their sllowVs, ftc. 

Again: 

Ob/ thoughtless mortalii ! ever blind to fate, 
Too so6n dejected, and too soon elates 
Sudden, these honours shall be unatch 'd away 

And curs>d for ever tht« victorious day. ■., 

■J 

Third order. 

To fifty cbosen sylph*, of spe^l^l no^ei,- 

We trust dt' important cJiMTKe, th« pctticofct. 

Vol. IL l$a 



EU6l JBetmfy^ Languages [chap. 1$. 

Again: 

Oh say what tlranfer cause, yet unetplor'd, 
^Coald make a gentle belle reject a lord ? 

A plurality of lines of the fourth order, would not 
have a good effect in succession ; because, hy a re- 
markable tendency to rest, their proper office is to 
close a period- 'Die reader, therefore, must be sa- 
tisfied with instances where thb cwrder is mixed 
with othei^. 

Not louder shweks to pityinp Heaven are cast, 
When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe their last. 

Jkgain: 

8teel.ci>uldNtb& works of mortal pride confound, 
And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 




n: 



S^m sees, and trembles at th' approaching ill, 
Jhst In the jaws of ruin, and codille. 

Again: 

With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face^ 
Be first the snuff-box opened, then the case. 

And this suggests another experiment, which is, 
to set the different orders more directly in opposi- 
tion, by giving eitamptes where they are mixed in 
the s^me passage. 

First and second orders. 

Sol through twiifte curtains shot a. tWroQS.rsty, 

And ope'd those eyes 4hat must eclipse the day.' 

• • • • ,^ 

Again: 

Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive. 
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, 
Not ardent lovers robb*d of all their bliss^ 
Not ancient <lt^a>«fiiear«f«t'd<«lii8S| . 



$£CT. IV.3 BeauUif of Language^ 117 

Not tyniBtfl fierce tlict luiwpeiitiiig die. 
Not Cynthia when her maatua's pine'd awrj. 
E'er felt such rage, reseottneDt, and despair, 
As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravished hair. 

First and third. 

Think what an equipage thou hast in air, 
And view with scorn two pages and t^ chair. 

i^gain: 

What guards the purity of melting maids. 
In courtly balls and midnight mawiuerades, 
Safe from the treaeh*rous friend, the dariog spai^k, 
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark ? 

Again : 

With tender billet-doux he Ughts the pyre. 
And breathes three amVous sighs to raise the fire ; 
Then prostrate faDs, and begs with ardent eyes, 
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prizfe. 

Again: 

Jove's thunder roars, heavn trembles aI) around, 
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resoondt 
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way» 
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ! 

Second and third. 

Sunk in Thalestris' arms, the nymph he fouiid, 
Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. 

Again : 

On her faeavd bosom hupg her drooping head, 
Which with a sigh sh« raisM; and thus she said. 

Musing on the foregoing subject, I begin to doubt 
whether all this while I have beeti in a reverie^ and 
whether the scene before me, fiill of objects new 
and singular, be not mere fairy-land. Is there any 
trutk in the appearance, or is it wholly a work (Sf 
imagination ? We cannot doubt of its reality, and 
we m*ay with assurance pronounce that great is the 



118 Bea/uiy of Language. [chap, 16. 

merit of En^ish Heroic verse : for though unifor* 
mity prevails in the arrangement, in the equality of 
the lines, and in the resepblance of the final sounds : 
variety is still more conspicuous in the pauses and 
in the accents, which are diversified in a surprising 
manner.. Of the beauty that results from a due mix- 
ture of uniformity and variety,*' many instances 
have already occurred, but none more illustrious 
than English versification ; however rude it may 
be in the simplicity of its arrangement, it is highly 
inelodious by its pauses and accents, so as already 
to rival the most perfect species known in Qreece 
pr Rome ; and it is no disagreeable prospect to find 
it susceptible of still greater refinement. 

We propeed to blank verse, which has so many 
circumstances in common with rhyme, that its pe- 
culiarities may be brought within a narrow com- 
pass. With respect to torm, it differs from rhyme 
m rejecting the jingle of similar sounds, which pu- 
rifies it from a childish pleasure. But this improve- 
ment is a trifle compared with what follows. Our 
verse is extremely cramped by rhyme ; and the 

f)ecuUar advantage of blank verse is, that it is at 
iberty to attend the imagination in its boldest 
flights. Rhyme necessarily divides verse into cpup- 
Jets ; each' couplet make^ a complete musfical pe- 
riod, the parts of which arc divided by pauses, and 
the whole summed up by a full close at the end : 
the melody begins anew with th^ next couplet : 
and in this manner a composition in rhyme pro- 
peeds couplet after couplet. I have often had pc- 
pasion to mention the correspondence and concord 
that ought tq subsist between soi|nd and sense ; 
from which it is a plain inference, that if a couplet 
))e a cornplete period >vit^ regard to melodv, it 

• See Chapter IX. 



SECT. IV.] Beauty of Language. 119 

ought regulatljrto be thiBsame with regard to sense. 
As it is extremely difficult to support such strict- 
ness of composition, licenses are indulged, as ex- 
plained above : which, however, must be used with 
discretion, so as to preserve some degree of con- 
cord between the sense and the music : there ought 
never to be a full close in the sense but at the^end 
of a couplet ; and there ought always to be some 
patise in the sense at the end of every couplet : the 
same period as to sense may be extended through 
several couplets ; but each couplet ought to con- 
tain a distinct member, distinguished by a pause 
in the sense as well as in the sound ; and the whole 
ought to be closed with a completecadence.* Rules 
such as these, must confine rhyme within very 
narrow bounds : a thought of any extent, cannot be 
reduced within its compass: the sense must be 
curtailed and broken into parts, to make it squai'e 
with the curtness of the melody; and beside, short 
periods afford no latitude for inversion. 

I have examined this point with the stricter ac- 
curacy, in order to give a just notion of blank 
verse; and to show, that a slight difference in form 
may produce a great difference in substance.— 
Blank verse has the same pauses and accents with 
rhyme, and a pause at the end of every line, like 
what concludes the first line of a couplet. In a wordj^ 
the rules of melody in blank verse, are the same 
that obtain with.respect to the first line of a couplet ; 
but being disengaged from rhyme, or from couplets, 
there is access t6 make every line run into another, 
precisely as to make the first line of a couplet run 
into the second. There must be a musical pause 
at the end of every line ; but^his pause is so slight 

* This rale is quite neglected in French versification. Even Boileau 
makes no difficulty^ to close one subject with the first line of a couplet, and 
to begin a new subject with the second. Such license) however sanctified 
^ practice, is unpleasant by the discordance between the pauses of the 
WBse andof the melady- 



120 Beauty of Language. [chap. 18* 

as not to require a pause in the sense ; and accord-* 
ingly the sense may be owned on with or without 
pauses, till a period of the utmost, extent be cpm* 
pleted by a full dose both in the sense and. the 
sound : there is no restraint, other than that this 
full close be at the end of a line ; and this restraint 
is n^o^ssaiy, in order to pr^eserve a coincidence be- 
tween sense and sound, which ought to be aimed 
at in general, and is indispensable in the case pf a 
full close, because it has a striking effect. Hence 
the fitness of blank verse for inversion ; and con- 
sequently the lustre of its. pauses and accents ; for 
which, as observed above, there is greater scope in 
inversion^ than when words run in their natural 
order. 

In the second sectioji of this chapter it is shown, 
diat nothing contributes more than inversion to the 
£Orce and elevation of language ; the couplets of 
rhyme confine inversion within narrow limits ; nor 
would the elevation of inversion, were there access 
for it in rhyme, readily accord with the humbler 
tone of that sort of verse. It is universally agreed, 
jthat the loftiness of Milton's style supports admi* 
rably the sublimity of his subject; and it is not 
Jess certain that the loftiness of his style arises 
chiefly from inversion. Shakspeare deals little in 
inversion ; but his blank verse being a sort of mea- 
sured proi^e, is perfectly well adapted to the stage, 
where laboured inversion is himly improper, be-* 
cause in dialogue it never can be natural. 

Hitherto I have considered that superior power 
of expression vdiich verse acquires by laying aside 
rhyme. But this is not the only ground fosr pre* 
ferring blank verse : it has another preferable qualr 
ity not less signal ; and that is, a more extensive 
and more complete melody. Its mi'sic is not, like 
that of rhyme, confined to a single couplet ; but 
takes in a great compass, so a$f in some meaaure to 



r 



sfiCT, IV.] Beauty ofLav^uc^e. tXtl 

rival maBic properly so called. The intetval be- 
tween ite cadences maj be long or short at plea- 
sure ; and, by that means, its melody, with respect 
both to richness and variety^ is superior far to that 
of rhyme, and superior even to that of the Greek 
and Latin Hexameter. Of this obsenration no per- 
son qan doiibt who is acquainted with the Paradise 
Lost : in Which work* there are indeed manv care* 
less lines ; but at every turn the richest melody as 
well as the subUmest sentiments are conspicuous. 
Take the following specimen. 

Now MorD her rosy atepg in th* eattera clime 
AdvaociDg; sow'd the earth with orieot pearl ; 
When Adam wa'k'd, so customed for his sleep 
Was aery light from<pure digestion bred 
And temp'rate vapours bland, which th' only sound 
Of leaves and fbming rills, Aurora's fan, 
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song 
Of birds on every bough ; so much the more 
His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve 
With tres9erdiscompos*d, and glowing cheek. 
As through unquiet rest ; he on his side 
Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love 
HuQg over her enaiuour'd, and beheld 
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, 
Shot forth peeuliar graces ; then with voice 
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. 
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus. Airake^ 
Mv fairest, my espoused, my latest found, 
Hbaven*s last best gift, my ever-new delight. 
Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field 
Calls us : we- lose the prime, to mark how spring 
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,* 
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, 
How uature paints her colo.urs, and how the bee 
Sits on the bk>om extracting liquid sweet. 

Book T. I. 1. 

Comparing Latin Hexameter with English He- 
roic rhyme, the former has obviously the advantage 
in the ibliowing particulars. It is greatly prefera- 
ble as to arrangement, by the latitude it aamits in 
placing the long and short syllables. Secondly, 



122 Beauty of Language* [chap. I84 

the length df ah Hexameter line hath a majestic 
air : oUrs, by its shortness, is indeed more brisk 
and lively, but much less Gtted for the sublime. 
And, thirdly, the long high-sounding words that 
Hexameter admits, add greatly to its majesty. To 
compensate these advantages, English rhyme pos- 
sesses a greater number and greater variety both of 
pauses and of accents. These two sorts of verse 
stand indeed pretty much in opposition : in Hex^* 
meter, great variety of arrangement, none in the 
pauses nor accents ; in English rhyme, great varie- 
ty in the pauses and accents, very little in the ar- 
rangement. 

In blank verse are united, in a good measure, 
the several properties of Latin Hexameter and 
English rhyme ; and it possesses beside many sig- 
nal properties of its own. It is not confined, like 
Hexameter, by a full close at the end of eveir line : 
nor, like rhyme, by a full close at the end of every 
couplet. Its construction, which admits the lines 
to run into each other, gives it a still greater ma- 
jesty than arises from the length of an Hexameter 
line. By the same m{ians, it admits inversion even 
beyond the Latin or Greek Hexameter ; for these 
suffer some confinement by the regular closes at the 
end of every line. In its music it is illustrious 
above all : the melody of Hexameter verse is cir- 
cumscribed to a line ; and of English rhyme to a 
couplet : the melody of blank verse is under no 
confinement, but enjoys the utmost privilege, of 
which melody of verse is susceptible ; which, is to 
run hand in hand with the sense. In a word, blank 
verse is superior to Hexameter in many articles ; 
and inferior to it ip none, save in the freedom of 
arrangement, and in the use of long words. 

In French Heroic verse, there are found, on the 
contrary, all the defects of Latin Hexameter and 
the English rhyme, without the beauties of either: 



sKCT. IV.] B^0uty o/ Language. ISS 

subjected to the bondage of rhymej and to the full 
close at the end of every couplet, it is also extreme- 
ly fatiguing by uniformity m its pauses and ac- 
cents : the line invariably is divided by the pause 
into two equal parts, and the accent is invariably 
placed before tne pauses 

Jeuae et vaillaDt heros || 4ont la haute sageste 
N*est point la fruit tardif || d'uoe lente vieillesae; 

Here eveiy circumstance contributes to a tiresome 
uniformity : a constant return of the same pkuse 
and of the same accent, as well as an equal divi- 
sion of every line ; v«rhieh fatigue the ear without 
intermission or change. I cannot set this matter 
in a better light, than by presenting to the reader 
a French translation of the following passage of 
Milton : 

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, 
Godlike erect, with'native honour clad, 
In naked majesty, seemed lords of all ; 
And worthy »ecm*d ; for in their look* divinej ^ 

The image of their glorious Maker, shone 
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure ; 
Severe, but in true filial freedom placd ; 
Whence true authority in men : though bpth 
' Not e<^a\, as their sex not«i|ual seero'd ; 
For contemplation he and valour form'd, 
For softness she and sweet attractive grac^ ; 
He for God only, she for God in him. 

Were the paus^ of the s6hse and souild in this pasc 
sage but a little better assorted, nothing in verse 
could be more melodious. In general, the great 
defect in Milton's versification, in other respecti 
admirable, is the want of coincidence between the 
pauses of the sense and sound. 
The translation is in the following words : 

Ce Ke^x delicieux, ce >iradi8 charmant, 
Recoit deuV objects son |^ius bel oroement ; 

Vol. IK ' 16» 



!24 Beauty of tcm^uage. £caAP« 18. 

Leur |>ort majesf aeax* et leQr d-marche altier^i 

Seaifale lew mefitervurU nature entire 

Cc droit de commander que Dieu leur a denn^i 

Sur leur aoguste front de gloire couronn^. 

Du souveraine du ciel drille la resemblance ; 

Dans leurs simples regards ^clatte Tinnocen^C, 

L*adorable candeur, I'aimable v^rit^i 

La raison, la sagesse, et la s^vdrit^, 

Qu* adoiteit la prudence, ct eet air de droitore 

Du Tisane des rois respectable parure. 

Ces deui objets divin n'ont pas les mimes traits, 

tHt paroissent form^, quotque tous deux piurfattH ; 

L'un pour la majesty, la force, et la noblesse ; 

L*autre pour la douceur, la grace, et la tendresse ; 

Gelui-ci pour Dieu seul, I'autre pour l*hbmme eocor. 

Here the sense is fairly translated, the words are 
of equal power, and yet how inferior the tne- 
lody ! 

Many attempts have been made to introduce 
Hexameter verse into the living languages, but 
without success. The English faneua^e I am in- 
clined to think, is not susceptible of this melody : 
and my reasons are these. First, the polysylla- 
bles in Latin and Greek are finely diversined by 
long and shorl syllables, a^ circumstance that qua- 
lifies them for the melody of Hexameter verse : 
ours are extremely ill qualified for that service, be- 
cause they superabound in short syllables. Se- 
condly, the bulk of our monosyllables are arbitraiy 
with re^d to length, which i$ an unlucky circum* 
stance m Hexameter : for although* cqstom) as ob- 
served above, may render familiar a long or a short 
pronunciation of the same word,, yet the qaind wa- 
vering between the two sounds, cannot be so much 
afiected with either, as. with a word that bath al- 
ways die same sound ; and for that reason, arbi- 
trary sounds are ill fitted for a melody which is 
chiefly supported by quantity. In Latin and Greek 
Hexameter, invariable sounds direct ^^4 ascertain 






a£CT IV.] BeatUy of Languofff. 125 

the melody. English Hexameter nould be desti^ 
tute of m^ody, uqless by artful {MromiBciation ; be- 
cause of necessity the bulk of its sounds must be 
arbitrary. The pronunciation is easy in a simply 
moveo^nt of alternate lou^ and short syllables ; 
but would be perplexing and unpleasant in the di- 
yersified movement of Hexameter verse. 

Rhyme makes so great a figure in mbdern poe- 
try as to deserve a solemn trial. I have for that 
reason reserved it to be examined with delibera- 
tion ; in order to discover, if I can, its peculiar 
beauties^ and its degree of merit. The first view 
of this subject leads naturally to the following re- 
flection : ** That rhyme having no relation to sen- 
^^ timent, nor any effect upon the ear other than 
*^ a mere jingle, ought to be banished all composi- 
^Hions Qt any dignity, as afiording but a trifling 
** and childish pleasure." It will also be observedi 
^^ That a jingle of words hath in some measure a 
** ludicrous effect ; witness the double rhymes of 
" HudibraSf which contribute no small share to its 
"drolle.ry: that in a serious work this ludicrous 
"effect would be equally remarkable, were it pot 
" obscured by the prevailing gravity of the sub- 
" ject : that having however a constant tendency 
** to give a ludicrous air to the composition, more 
" than ordinary fire is requisite to support the dig- 
*' nity of the sentiments against such an undermin- 
^* ing antagonist."* 

These arguments are specious, and have un^ 
doubtedly some weight i et, on the other hand, 
it ought to be considered, that iq modem tongue 
rhyme has beeome universal among men as well as 
children ; and that it capnot have such a currency 

* Vossias Depotmftfum caniu, p* 26, says, *^ Nihil »quc (pravitatf pra- 
* tioois a%it, (juam in soi^o luder? syllabapuip." 



126 Beauty of language. [ghap. 18. 

without some foundation in human nature. In fact^ 
it has been successfully emfdojed by poets of ge* 
niusy in their serious and grave compositions, as 
well as in those which are more lignt and any. 
Here in weighing authority against argument, the 
scales seem to be upon a level ; and therefore, to 
come at any thing decisive, we must pierce a little 
deeper. 

Music has great power over the soul ; and may 
spccessfully be employed to inflame or soothe pas- 
sions, if not actually to raise them. A single 
sound, however sweet, is not music ; but a single 
sound repeated afler intervals, may have the effect 
to rouse attention, and to keep the hearer awake : 
pnA a variety of similar soujids, succeeding each 
other after regular intervals, must have a still 
stronger effect. This consideration is applicable 
to rhyme, which connects two verse-lines by mak- 
ing them close with two words similar in sound. 
And considering attentively the musical effect of a 
couplet, we find, that H rouses the mind, and pro- 
duceth an emotion moderately gay without dignity 
or elevation : like the murmuring of a brook glid- 
ing through pebble3, it c^liDs the mind when per^ 
turbed, and gently raises it when sunk. These 
pffects are scarce perceived ivhen the whole poem 
is in rhyme ; but are extremely remfirkable by con- 
trast, in the couplets that glose the several acts of 
our later tragedies ; the tone of tjie mind is sensi- 
bly varied by them, from anguish, distress, or me- 
lancholy, to some degree of ease and alacrity. For 
the truth of this observation, I appeal to the speech 
of Jane Shore in the fourth act, when her doom 
was pronounced by Glo'ster; to the speech of 
Lady Jane Gray at the end of the finst act ; and 
to tnat of Calista, in the Fair Penitent^ when she 
letxves the stage, about the middle of the third act. 
T^e speech of Alicia, at the close pf the fourth apt 



so : 



9ECT. IT.] Beauty of Language. 127 

of Jane Shore^ puts the matter beyxmd doubt : in 
a scene of deep, distress, the rhymes which finish 
the act, produce a certain gaiety and cbeerfuhiesB, 
far from according with the tone of the passion : 

Alicia, Forever? Oh! Forever! 
Oh ! who can bear to be a wretch for ever ! 
My rival too ! his last thoughts bung on her : 
And, as he parted, left a blessing for her : 
Shall she be bless'd, and I be cursed, for ever! 
No ; since her fatal beauty was the cause 
Of all my sufiTrings, let her share ray pains; 
Let her, like me of ev'ry joy forlorn, 
Devote the hour when such a wretch was born \ 
Like me to deserts and to darkness run, 
Abhor the day, and curse the golden sun ; 
Cast evry good and ev'ry hope behind ; 
I>ete8t the works of nature, loathe mankind : 
Like me with cries distracted fill the air. 
Tear her poor bosom^ and her frantic hair, 
And prove the torments of the last despair. 

Having described, the best way I can, the impres- 
sion that rhyme makes on the mind ; I proceed to 
examine whether there be any subjects to which 
rktyme is peculiarly adapted, and for what sub- 
jects it is improper* Grand and lofty subjects, 
which have a powerful influence, claim precedence 
in this inquiry. In the chapter of Grandeur and 
Sublimity it is established, that a grand or sublime 
abject, inspires a warm enthusiastic emotion dis- 
daining strict regularity and order; which emotion 
is very different from that inspired by the mode- 
rately enlivening music of rhyme. Supposing 
then an elevated subject to be expressed in rhyme, 
what must be the effect ? The intimate union of the 
music vFith the subject, produces an intimate union 
of. their emotions ; one inspired by the subject, 
which tends to elevate kiA expand the mind ; and 
one inspired by the music, which, confining the 
mind within the narrow limits of regular cadence 
^d similar souQd, tends to prevent ail elevation 



121 Beauty of Language* [chap. 18. 

above its o wik pitch. Emotions so Kttle concordant^ 
cannot in union have a happy effect. 

But it is scarce necessary to reason upon a case 
that never did, and probably never will happen^ 
viz. an important subject clothed in rhyme, and 
yet supported in its utmost elevation. A happy 
thought or warm expression, may at times give a 
sudden bound upward ; but it requires a genius 
greater than has hitherto existed, to support a poem 
of any length in a tone elevated mucn above that 
of the melody* Tasso and Ariosto ought not to be 
made exceptions, and still less Voltaire. And after 
all, where the poet has the dead weight of rhyme 
constantly to struggle with, how can we expect an 
uniform elevation in a high pitch ; when such ele- 
vation, with all the support it can receive from lan- 
guage, requires the utmost effort of the human ge- 
nius ? 

But now, admitting rhyme to be an unfit dress 
for grand and lofty images ; it has one advantage, 
however, which is, to raise a low subject to its own 
decree of elevation. Addison* observes, ** That 
^^ niyme, without any other assistance, throws the 
^' language oS from prose, and vevy often makes 
^ an indifferent phrase pass unregarded ; but 
*^ where the verse is not built upon rhymes, there, 
^^ pomp of sound, and energy of expression are in-* 
<< dispensably necessary, to support the style, and 
^^ keep it from falling into the flatness of prose." 
This effect of rhyme is remarkable in French 
verse : which, being simple, and little qualified foy 
inversion, readily sinks down to prose where not 
artificially supported: rhyme j^^- therefore in^is** 
pensable in French tragedy, and may be* proper 
even in French comedy^, Voltairef assigns tnat 

*SpeetatoryNo.285. 

t Preface to his Oedipu8, apd in his discoursp upon tragedy, prefiik'Ml to 
tha tragedy of J^nrfwt 



S£CT. t v«} Bmuty of Languag€^ 129 

very reason for adhering to rhyme in the$e compo- 
sitions. He indeed candidly owns, that, even with 
the support of rhyme, the tragedies of his countiy 
are little better than conversation-pieces ; whicn 
seems to infer^ that the French language is weak, 
and an improper dress for any grand subject Vol- 
taire was sensible of the imperfection ; and yet 
Voltaire attempted an epic poem in that language. 
The cheering and enlivening power of rhyme, 
is still more remarkable in poems of short lines, 
where the rhymes return upon the ear in a i^uicK 
succession; for which reason rhyme is perfectly 
well adapted to gay, light and airy subjects. Wit- 
ness the following : 

O the pleasing, pleasing anguash^ 
Wheo we love and when we languish! 

Wishes rising, 

Thoughts surprising, 

Ptea8ui>e courting, 

Charms transporting, 

Fancj Tiewingy 

Joys ensuing, 
O the pleasing, pleasing anguish ! 

Rosamond, Act 1, Sc. 2. 

For that reason, such frequent rhymes are very im* 
^p^ for any severe or serious passion: the disso- 
nance between the subject and the melody is very 
49^nsibly felt Witness the following : 

Ardito tl renda, 
T'accenda 
Of sdegno 
. JD'un ^fio • 

11 perigiio 
D*un regno 
L'amor. 
E'dolce ad un'alma 
Che aspetta 
, Vendetta 
It perder la calma 
Fra Tire del cor. 

Mttasfatio, AHaHrst, Act HI. Sc. 5. 



ISD BMfUy of Language. [chap. 18. 

Now under htinging mountains, 
Beside the fall of fountains, 
Or where Hebrus wanders, 
Rolling in meanders,, 

All alone, 

Unheard, unknown, 

He makes Tiis moan. 

And calls her ghost. 
Forever, ever, ever lost ; 

Now with furies surroundedj 

Despairing, confounded, 
^ l?e trembles, he glows, 

Amidst Rodop^'s snows. 

Pop€t Ode for Music f I. C7. 

Rhyme is not less unfit for anguish or deep dis- 
tress, than for subjects elevated and lofty : and for 
that reason has been long disused in the English 
and Italian tragedy. In a work where the subject 
is serious though not elevated, rhyme has not a 
good efiect : because the airiness of the melody 
agrees not with the gravity of the subject : the 
Essay on Man^ which treats a subject great and 
important, would make a better figure in blank 
verse. Sportive love, mirth, gaiety, humour, and 
ridicule, are the province of rhyme. The bouhda- 
ries assigned it by nature, were extended in bar- 
barous and , illiterate ages ; and in its usurpations 
it has long been protected by custom : but taste iii 
the fine arts, as well as in morals, improves daily ; 
and makes a progress towards perfection, slow in- 
deed but uniform ; and there is no reason to doubt, 
that rhyme, in Britain, will in time be forced to 
abandon its unjust conquest, and to confine itself 
within its natural limits. 

Having said what occurred upon rhyme, I close 
the section with a general observation, That the 
melody of verse so powerfully enchants the mind 
as to draw a veil over very gross faulti^ and im- 



SECT. I v.] Sedutif of Language. 131 

perfections. Of this po weir a Stroti^er exaihple can- 
not be given than tlie episode of Aristaeus^ ^hich 
closes the fourth book of the Georgics. To renew 
a stock of bees when the former, is lost, Virgil ds- 
serts, that they may be produced in the entrails of 
a bullock, slain and managed in a certain diannen 
This leads him to say, how this strange recipe was 
invented ; which is as follows. Aristseus having 
lost his bees by disease and famine, never dreams 
of employing the ordinary means for obtaining a 
new stock ; but, like a froward child, complains 
heavily to hismother Cyrene,a water nymph. She 
advises him to consult rroteus, a sea-god, not how 
he was to obtain a new stock, but only by what 
fatality he had lost his former stock ; adding thkt 
violence was necessary, because Proteus would 
sajr nothing voluntarily. Aristaeus, satisfied with 
this advice, though it gave him no prospect of re- 
pairing his loss, proceeds to execution. Proteiis 
IS caught sleeping, bound with cords, and compel- 
led to speak. He* declares that Aristaeus was pu- 
nished with the loss of his bees, for attempting the 
chastity of Eurydice the wife of Orpheus; she 
having been stung to death by a serpent in flying 
his embraces. Proteus, whose sullenness ought to 
have been converted into wrath by the rough treat- 
ment he met with, becomes on A sudden courteotis 
and communicative. He gives the whole history 
of the expedition to hell whigi^h Morpheus undertook 
in order to recover his spouse : a very entertaining 
story, but without the least relation to what was ih 
view. Aristaeus, returning to his mother, is advis- 
ed to deprecate by sacrifices the wrath of Orpheus, 
who Was now dead. A bullock is s8^CMified, and 
out of the entrails spring miraculously a swarm of 
bees* Does it follow, t£^t the same maj^ be ob- 
tained without a miracle as is suppose^ in the 
recipe. 

Vol. II. 17a 



|fl2 Jkamt^fofij^agwigf. fcBAr. 18. 

A IJST jQf the different FEETy and of A&r 

THAMES. 

t. jPTRitHicHitJS, consists of two short syllables, 
Examples: Deus^giveny cannotj hillock^ run- 
nif^» 

% 9iPONDi£t$^i consists oftwo long syllables: amne$f \ 
fossessyfin'emarnfnumkindj 9f>mtme. 

5. Iambus, composed of a short and a long : piasy 

intent J degree J appeoTy eonsenty repent, demandy 
tfiporty suspect^ affnmty ecent. 

4. TROCHAEUSvOr Choreus, a long and short :fer^ 
vaty whenehfy after, legaly measurey burdeny holyy 
lofty. 

6. TniBRACHTS; three short : melius, property. 

.6. MoLOSsus, three long : dekctant. 

7* Anapaestus, two short and along : animosjcon- 
,deseendy apprehendy overheard, acquiescey inmor 
iurey overchargey serenadey (fortune. 

^8. IXa^ttlos, a long and two short : carmina, m- 
dent. exceUence, esHmatey wonderful^ altitude^ 
buraenedy ministefy tenement. 

'9. BACdfiiuSy a short and two long : dolores. 

10. Hyppobacchius, or Antibacchius, two long 
iand a short : peUuntur, 

iL Creticus, or Amphimacer, a short sellable 
between two long : insito, afternoon. 



9 m 

'*. SECT. iV.} Beauty ^ tM^uag€i t^ 

m 

^ ^ X% Ast^HiBRAcirrs, a long sylfeble^Bef^een t#o 
slmrt : kanorej consider^ imprudent, pracedurey 
attendedy proposed, re^fHmdent, concurrence^ ap- 

^ ' prentice, respective, revenue. 

minibus, necessary. 
14. DiiSpoNBEirs, hm long i?y^l¥ables : infinitis, 

^ :|^. PiiAiiBUS»' composed of two Iambi; severi^ 
tas. 

^ l&. DfTR0ci<AB*9, of tw<y TloqKtBi ; pemanerey 
I procurator. 

^7. loNtcus, two Edi6rt STiaftiles and tW(3 hug: 

properebant. 



18. Another foot pism^wnS^t the same naMe, 
posed of two kmg sylfebles aa'd two sAiort : cat* 
caribus, possessory. 

19. CnoBiAM^trs, t#o short syltafeles bet#eetf two 
long: nobilitas. 

20. Antisfastus, two long sylTatiles between' two 
short: Alexander. 

21. Paeon 1st, one long sj^llable and three short : 
tempmbus, ordinary, inventory, temperament. 

22. Paeon 2d, the second syllable long, ^ the 
other three short : rapidity, solemnity, minority, 
considered, imprudently^ esaravagant,resjfeetfiaf 

ly, accordingly. 



I8i Beauty o/Lmgu^e. [chap. 18, 

28. Paeon. Sd, the third sjHable long and the 
other three short : animatus independp^tj can- 
descendencey sacerdotqit^ reimbufsemmt^ manu^ 
facture. \ ' ' 

%^ Paeoj^ 4t^, the last syllable Iqog and the other 
three short : celeritas. 

26. EpiTRiTtJS 1st, the first syllable short anjJ the 
other three long : voluptates. 

26. EpitRiTos 2d, the second sjUable short and 
the other three long : pcenitentes. 

p, Epitritcs Sd, the third syllable short, and the 
other three long : discordias. 

28, EpiTRiusith, the last syUable short, and the 
other three long : fortunatus. 

29. A word of five syllables composed of a Pyirhi- 
chius aqd Dactylc^ : minuterial. 

SO. A word of five syllables composed of a Tro- 
ch^us and Dac^les : singukaitif. 

31. A word of five svUables, composed of a Dae- 

tylus and Trochaeus ; precipitation, examna- 
tton. 

32. A word of five syllables, the second only lone- 
stgntficancy, ■- ■/. e>- 

33. A word of six syllables composed pf two Dac- 
tyles : impetuosity. 

34. A word of six syllables composed of a Tiibra- 
chys and Dactylae ; jMMiT&nmJ^y. 



SECT. IT.] Beauty of Imguage. 



185 



N, B. Every word may be considered as a prose 
foot, because every word is distinguished oy a 
pause : and every foot in verse may be considered 
as a verse word, composed of syllables pronounced 
at once without a pause. 



13S 



CHAPTER XIX, 



Cofnpurisons. 

# 

COMPARISONS, as observed above,* seivc 
two purposes ; when addressed to the understand-- 
ing, their purpose is to instruct ; when to the heart, 
their puipose is to please. Various means contri- 
bute to the latter ; first, the suggesting some unu* 
sua! resemblance or contrast ; second, the setting 
an object in the strongest light ; third, the asso* 
ciating an object with others that are agreeable ; 
fourth, the elevating an object; and, fifth, the de* 
pressing it And that comparisons ma^ give plea- 
9ure by these various means, appears from what is 
said in the chapter above cited ; and will be made 
still more evident bv examples, which shall be gi- 
ven after premising 9ome general observations. 

Objects of difierent senses cannot be compared 
together ; for such objects, being entirely separated 
from each othe^, have no circumstance m common 
to admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects 
of hearing may be compared together, as also of 
taste, of smell, and of touch : but the chief fund of 
comparison are objects of sight ; because, in writing 
or speaking, things can only be compared iti idea^ 
and the ideas of sight are more distinct and lively 
than those of any other sense. 
, When a nation emerging out of barbarity begins 
to think of the fine arts, the beauties of language 

*• Chapter ym. 



€HAF. 19.] ) Comparisons. 137 

cannot long lie concealed ; and when ifiscoveredy 
they are generally, by the force of novelty, carried 
beyond moderation. Thus, in the early poems of' 
every nation, we God metaphors and similes found- 
ed op slight and distant resemblances, which, los- 
ing their grace with their novelty, wear gradually 
out of repute ; and now, by the improvement of 
taste, none but correct metaphors and similes are 
admitted into any polite composition. To illustrate 
this observation, a specimen shall be given after- 
ward of such metaphors as 1 have been describ- 
ing; with respect to similes, take the following 
specimen : ^ 

Behold, thou art fifir, my Io?e : thy hair is as a flock of goats 
that appear from Mount Gilead ; thy teeth are lilie a flock of 
theep from the washing, erery one hearing twins : thy lips ar6 
like a thread of scarlet : thy neck like the tower of David built 
for an armoury, whereon hang a thousand shields of mighty men : 
thy two breasts like two young roes that are twins, which feed 
among the lilies ; thy eyes like the fish-pools in Heshbon, by the 
gate of Bath-rabbim ; thy nose like the tower of Lebanon^ looking 
toward Daoiascus. 

S(Mg t^ Solowum. 

Thou art like snow on thi heath ; thy hair like the mist of 
CromU, when it curls on the rocks, and shines to the beam of the 
west ; thy breasts are like two smooth rocks seen from Branno 
of the streams ; thy armalike two white pillars in tbo hall of the 
mighty ,FiogaL 

Fingal. 

It has no good effect to compare things by way 
of simile that are of the same kind ; nor to com- 
pare by contrast things of different kinds. The 
reason is given in the chs^ter quoted above ; and 
the reason shall be illustrated by examples. The 
first is a comparison built upon a resemblance so 
obvioys as to. make }ittle or no impression^ 

This just rebuke inflamed the Lycjan creir, 
They join, they thicken, and th' assault renew ; 



138 Campmisans. [chap. 19. 

UomoT*dthvembody*d Greeks their fury dare, 
And fixM support the weight of all the war ; 
Nor could the Greeks repel the Lyciao powers, 
Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian tow rs. 
As DO the confines of adjoining grounds, 
Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds r 
They tug, they sweat ; but neither gain, nor yield, 
, One foot, one inch, of the contended field : 
Thus obstinate to death, they Qght, they fall ; 
Nor these can keep, nor those can win the wall. 

Iliad, xn. 505. 

Another^ from Milton, lies open to the same objec- 
tion. Speaking of the fallen angels searching for 
mines oi gold, 

A numerous brigade hastened : as when bands 
or pioneers with spade and pick-axe arm'd, 
Forerun the royal camp to trench a field 
Or cast a rampart. 

The next shall be of things contrasted that are 
of different kinds. 

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind 
Transformed and weak? Hath Bolingbroke depos'd 
Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart I 
The lion thrustetb forth his paw, 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o*erpower*d : and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod. 
And fawn on rage with base humility ? 

/Ztc^rtf/i, ActV. Sc. 

This comparison has scarce any force : a man and 
a lion are of different species, and therefore are 
proper subjects for a simile ; but there is no such 
resemblance between them in general, as to prot- 
duce any strong effect by contrastirlg particulalr at-^ 
tributes or circumstances. 

A third general obsenration is^ That abstract 
terms can never be the subject of comparison, 
otherwise than by being personified. Shakspeare 
compares adversity to a toad, and slander td the 



CHAP. 19,] C&mpansons, 139 

bite of a crocodile ; but in such comparisons these 
abstract terms must be imagined sensible beings. 

To have a just notion of compari3ons, they must 
be distinguished into two kinds ; one common and 
jfamiiiar, as where a man is compared to a lion in 
courage, or to a horse in speed ; the other more 
distant and refined, where two things that have in 
themselves no resemblance or opposition, are com- 
pared with respect to their effects. Tnis sort of 
cpnipariaon is occasionally explained above ;* and 
f^rjurthor explanation take what follows. There 
is no resemblance between a flower- pot and a cheer- 
ful song ; and yet they may be compared with re- 
spect to their effects, the emotions they produce! 
being similar. There is as little resemblance be- 
tween fraternal concord and precious ointment; 
and yet observe how successfully they are com- 
parea with respect to the impressions they make : 

Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell 
together in unity. It is like the precious ointment upon the headj 
that ran down upon Aaron'& beard, and descended to the skirts ot 

his garment. 

Psalm 133. ■ 

r 

For illustrating this sort of comparison, I add 
some more examples : 

Delightful is thy presence, O Fingal ! it is like the sun on Croto- 
la, wheo the hunter mourns his absence for a season, and sees 
him between the clouds. 

Did not Ossian hear a voice ? or is it the sound of days that 
are no more ? Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of 
former times on my soul. 

His countenance is settled from war ; and is calm as the evening- 
beam, that from the cloud of the Weat looks on Conas silent vale. 

Sorrow, like a cloud on the sun, shades the soul of Clessam- 
mor. 

The music was like the memory of joys tlmt are past, pl«amit 

and mournful to the soul. 

- * Page 64. 

Vol. II. 18a 



140 Camparisotia* [cuuf. 1ft 

Plekta&t are the words of the song, «aid CuchalliD, aod lorely 
are the toles of other times. They are like the ealm dew of the 
toorDiDg on the hill of roes, when the sUn Is fkint oo its side, and 
the lake is settled and blue in the vale. 

These quotation^ are from the poems of Ossiani 
who abounds with comparisons of this delicate 
kindy and appears singularly happy in them.* 

I proceed to illustrate by particular instances the 
different means by which comparisons, whether of 
the one sort or the other, can afford pleasure ; and, 
in 4he order above established, I begin with such 
instances as are agreeable, by suggesting some un- 
usual resemblance or contrast : 

Sweet are the.oses of Adversity^ 
Which like the toad, ugly and venoraoBS, 
Wears jrei a precious jewel ih her head. 

At i^u IHU iti Act il. Sc« 1* 

dardinef. Bolingbroke bath seiz'd the wasteful Kiii^, 
What pity is't that he had not so trimmed 
And dress'd his lafad,' as we this garden dress. 
And wounid the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; 
Lest, being over proud with sap and blood, 
With too much riches it confound itself. 
Had he done so to great and growing men, 
They might bare liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
^heir fruits of dut jr. All superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may lite t 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown^ 
Which waste and idle .hours have quite thrown down. 

Richard it. Act II. Be. t- 

See, ho¥t the MOf nin^ opes her golden gates i 
And takes her fare w el of the glorious Sun ; * 

How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
Trimm'd'lfke a younker prancing to his lore ! 

Second Poft, H^ry IV. Act IL Sk. 1. 

brutuM. 6 Caisius you are yoked with a lainb, 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire : 

* The nature and merit <^ Oflsian's eompariwms if fully Hluatiated, in a 
iMasertation on the poems of that Author, by Dr^ Blair, Professor of^eto- 
ricin the.Collega ofE^frar;^; ■ deNdons morsel of criticism. 



CRAP. 19.] Campmmns. 141 

Who, mueh enforced, fibows a hasty sparki 
And straight is co|d again. 

Juiius Caar^ Act W. Sc 9. 

Thus they their doubtAil consultatioos dark 

Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief; 

As when from. moontaiD-tops, the dusky clouds 

AscendKug, while the north-wind steepsi o'erspread 

Heav'n's cheerful face, the lo wring element 

Scowls o*er the darkened landscape, snow and showT ; 

If chance the radiant sun With fareweH sweet 

Extends his evening beam, the fields reviTO, 

The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 

Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. 

ParadxH Lost^ Book 9* 

Ad the bright stars and milky way, 
Show'd by the night, are hid by day : 
So we in that accoroplisb'd mind, 
Help'd by the nigbt new gniees ind, 
IVhich by the splendour of her view, 
Daszled before, we nr^er knew. 

The last exertion of courage compared to the 
blaze of a lamp before extinguishing, Tasso GierU'* 
satem, canto xix. st 22. 

None of the foregoing simtfes, ^ fh^y appear to 
me, tend to ^illustrate the principal subject : an^ 
therefore the' pleasure they afford must arise from 
su^esiing resemblances that are not obvious : I 
mean the chief pleasure : for uncjoubtedij a beau- 
tiful subject introduced to form the sjimile affords 
9 separate pleasure which is felt in the similes men-r 
tioned, particularly in that cited from Milton. 

The next effect of a comparison in the order 
mentioned, is to place an pbject in ^ strong point of 
view ; which effect is rem^|:able ia the following 
isimiles { 

As when two scales are charged with doubtfol loads, 
From side to side the trembling balance flods, 
(Whilst some laborious matron, just and popr. 
With nic^ exactness, welghv her woolly store,) 



1 



1^ Comparisons. [chaf* 19* 

l*ill poi8*d aloft the resting beam suspandft 
^acb equal weight : nor this nor that descends : 
So stood the war, till Hector's matchless might, 
IWith fates prevailing, turn'd the scale of fight 
Fierce as a whirlwind up the wall be flies, 
And fires bis host with loud repeated eries. 

Ut floi in iieptis secretis nascitur hortis, 

ignotu9 pecori, nullo contusus aratro, 

4^aem mulcent aur«, firmat sol, educat imber,^ 

Multi ilium pueri, multce cupi^re puells ; 

Idem, cum teniii carptus de floruit uogui, 

NuUi ilium pueri, nullie cupiere puella ; 

8ic virgo, dum intacta manet, dura cara suis ; ied 

Cum castum amisit, polluto corpore, florem, 

Nee pueris jucunda manet, nee ^^a paellis. 

C^Mlus. 

The imitatioD of this beautiful simile by. Ariosio^ 
canto i. St. 42. fall short of the originiaL It is also ia 
part imitated by Pope* 

I/ucttta, I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire. 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
I«est it should burn above the bounds of reason* 

Julia, The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burult n 
The currcint that with geptle murmur glides, 
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage ; 
0at when his fair course is not hindered. 
He makes sweet music with th' enamel'd atones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
And so by many winding nooks he strays 
With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
Then let me go, and hindt^r not my course ; 
111 be as patient as a gentle stream, 
And make a pastime of each weary step, 
Till the last step have brought me to my love ; 
And there Ml rest, as, after much turmoil, 
4 hltinti spul doth in Elysium. 

Two Gentlemen of Feronaf Act ii. 6c. Id 



•She never told her fove ; 



^ut Iqt concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 

* Dunciad, b. iv, 1. <105. 



r 



■*. 

Feed on her damask cfa^ek ; ^le piuM in tkMi{bt $ 

And with a green and yeUow melancholy. 

She sat like PatieQee on a monuinent, 

Smiling at Grief. Twel/ih-Mghi, Act II. Sc. 6. 

a 

York, Then, as I said, the Duke, great Boliogbroke, 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
Which Ilis aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course ; 
While all tongues cry'd, God save thee, Bolingbroke. 

Dutchess. Alas ! poor Richard, where rides he the while ! 

York, As in a theartrej^he eyes of men, 
After a well-graced actor leaves the Stage, 
Are idly bent on him who enters next, 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious: 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on Richard : no man er^'d God save him ! 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home ; 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off. 
His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
The badges of his grief and patience ; 
That had not Gbd, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The.bearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
And barbarism itself have pitied him> 

Richard IL Act V* Sc. 3. 

' NMkumherland. How doth my son and brother ? 
Thou tremblest, an4 the whiteness in thy cheek, 
Is apter than thy toJgue to tell thy errand. 
i!?en such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 
So dull, so dead in look, so wo-be-gone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn*d ; 
Qut Priam found the fire, el'e he his tongue : 
And I my Piercys death, ere thou report'at it. 

second Part, Henry IF. Act I, Sc. ^, 

• 

Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty, 

Like one that stands upon a promontory, 

And spies a far-off "shore where he would tread. 

Wishing his foot wefe equal with his eye. 

And chides the sea that sunders hhn fVom thence, 

Saying, he'll lave it dry to have his way : 

So do I wish, the crown lieing so far off, 

And so I chide the means that keep me from it, - 



144 Ckmparism9i [ck^r. 19. 

Add 80 (I %uy) ril eat tlie camies off, 
Flatt'riDg my mind with thing* impostilile, 

Third PmH, Omiy Vl Act III- 60. B. 



>Out, nut, brief candle ! 



Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, 

That struts and frets his hour upon the *'tage, 

And then is heard no more. MacUth^ Act V. JSc. ^. 

O thou Goddesa, 

Thou diTine Nature ! how thytelf thou hlemn'tt 

In theae two princely boys ! they are as gentle 

As lephyrs blowing below the Tioiet* 

Hot wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rofight 

(Their royal blood tnch»f d) as the rudest wind, 

That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 

AQd make him stoop to the rida* Q^MCitc, Act IV. Sc. 4. 

• 

Why did not f pass awey in secret, like the tower of the reek 
that lifts its fair head ttoaeen, and strowa Its withered leaves en 
the blast ? 



There is a joy hi grief when peace dweH* with the sorrowful. 
But they are wasted with mourning O daughter of Toscar, and 
theh* days are few. They fall away like the flower on which the 
sun looks in his strength, after the mildew has passed over it, and 
its head is heavy with the drops of night« Fingai. 

r 

The sight obtained of the city of J^usalem hy the 
Cbristiao army, compared to that of land discover- 
ed after a long voyage, Tasso's Gi^rusalem^ canta 
iii. St. 4. The fury of Rinaldo subsiding when 
not opposed, to that of wind or water when it has 
a free passage, canto xx. st. 58. 

As words convey but a faint and obscure notion 
of great numbers, a poet, to give a lively notion of 
the object he describes with regard to number, does 
well to compare it to what is familiar and common? . 
ly known. Thus Homer* eompafes the Greeian 

*Bookii.1. tn. 



CHAP« 19.} Compamme. 145 

vmy in poiat of nomber to a swarm of be^ : in 
another passage he compares* it to that profusion of 
leaves and flowers which appear in the spring, or 
of insects in a summer's evening: and Milton, 



■*«■ 



-As when the potent rod 



Of Anaram's soo, in Egypt's evil day, 
Wavd round the coast, up calFd a pitchy cloud 
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, 
That o'er the realm -of imftous Piiareo Iraog 
Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile : 
So numberless were those bad ahgela seen, 
Hovering on wing under the cope •f hell, 
Twixt upper, nether, and •iirfoimdtng fires. 

Such comparisons have, by some writers^t been 
condemned for the lowness of the images introduc- 
ed : but surely without reason ; for, with regaid to 
numbers, they put the principal subject in a strong 
light. 

The foregoing comparisons operate by resem-* 
bhuice : otters have the same effect by contrast. 

York. I am the last of nohle Edward's sons, 
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales was first ) 
In war, was never Hon rag^d more fierea ; 
In peace, waai|aTer gentle lamb mora mild ; 
Than was that young and princaly gaiitlaman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, n 

Accomplished with the number of thy hours. 
But when he fVown'd it was against the French, 
And not against his friends. Hts noble band • - . 

Bid win what ha did spend ; and spent net that 
Which his triumphant father's hand had won. 
His hands were gi^lty of no ktndre'd's blood, 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
Oh, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief, 
Or else he never would compare between. 

Ritkurd II Act II. Sc. 5« 

^ Book ii. 1.551. 15eeVtdaFoetk.lSb.ii.S82. 



146 Cempmsotts. {caxv, 19 

Maton has a pecuKar talent in embellisbing Ae 
principal subject by associating Tt with others that 
kre aCTeeable ; which is the third end of a coBnpa- 
rison. Similes of this kind have, beside, a sepa- 
rate effect : they diversify the narration by new 
images that are not strictly necessary to the com- 
pariton : they are short episodes, which, without 
drawing us from the principal sabject, afford great 
delight by their beauty and variety : 

He scarce had ceased, when the *«p«rior tend _ 

Was moving toward theaHow ; bis p««d rouft shieW, 
Ethereal temper, roAMf , l«tg«» «»* wwted, 
Bebiod Wm «a»t ; the broad circumference 
Hung on hia shouWetra like the moon, iR^ose orb 
through opOo ^Umb the Ttit^*) artiat vie^a 
At ev'ning from the top of Fesol^, . . 

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 
Rirci*. or mountaina, in ber spotty glotje. 

-■ Thus far these, beyond 

Corppare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd 

Their dread commander. He, above the rest 

In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
, Stood like a tow'r; his fotm had yet not lost 

All her original brightness, nor appeKr'd 

Less than archangel HiioM and th' exceai 

Of glory obscur'dt aa when the auo newrafeh 

Loeka through the hwiaiuiital frilfit j a»r 
. Sbora of hia beama ; or from behind the tam^ 

to dim eelipse, diiaatrous twiliglit aheds 

On half the nations, and with fear of change 

Perplexes monarcha* . 

'^ M%ii»n^ b* I. 

As when a vulture on f maoa. brtd, 

Whose anowy ridge the roving Tlkrta^h«utt4% 

Dislodging from « rewoo scarce of pfOJr 

To gorge the flesh of lattAa, or yeanlinit 'ttda, 

On hills where flotkaare fed, fly towardatbe spriaga 

Of Ganges or Hyda»pe«» lodian sti^eariisj 

But in his way lights on the barren ^iteiilS - 

Of Sericana, where ^Chloeaoa d«»a 

With sails and wind their cany wagons light 1 

So on this windy aea of latid, the fiend 

Walk'd up and down alone, bent on his prey. 



CHAP. 19*] Comparisons* M^ 



-Yet higher than their tops 



The verdurous wall of Paradise up. sprung : 
Which to our general sire gave prospect large 
Into this nether empire neighbouring rounds 
And higher than that wall, a circling row 
Of goodliest trees loaden with fairest fruity 
Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, 
Appeared, with gay enamePd colours mix'd 
On which the sun more glad impressed his beams 
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid how, 
When God had showV'd the earth; .so lovely seem*d 
That landscape: and of pure now purer air 
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires 
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 

All sadness but despair; now gi;ntle gales 
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 

Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 

Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail 

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 

Mo2ambic,otfat sea north-east winds blow 

Sabean odour from the bpicy shore 

Of Araby the blest; with such delay 

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league 

Cheer d with the grateful smelly old Ocean smiles. 

MiHon^ h. iv« 

With regard to simites of this kind, it will readily 
occur to the reader, that when a resembling sub- 
ject is once properly introduced in a simile^ the 
mind is transitorily amused with the new object, 
and is not dissatisfied with the slight interruption. 
Thus^ in fine weather, the momentary excursions 
of a traveller for agreeable prospects or elegant 
buildings, cheer his mind, relieve him from the lan- 
guor of uniformity, and without much lengthening 
his journey, in reality ^ shorten it greatly in appear- 
ance. 

Next of comparisons that aggrandise or elevate. 
These affect us more than any t)the]^ sort: the rea- 
son of which may be ]^athered from the chapter of 
Grandeur and Sublimity ; andj without reasoning, 
Yvill be evident from the following instances: 

Vol- II. 19a 







148 Comparisons. [chap^ ift 

As when m Hame the wio^Uag valley fills. 
And runs on crackling sbmbs between the hills, 
Then o'er tht- stubble, op the mountaio fliesi 
("ires the high woods, and blazes to the skies, 
This wajr and that, the spreading torrent roars $ 
80 sweeps the hero through the wasted shores. 
Around him wide, imnlense destruction pours, 
And earth is delu^d with the sanguine show'rs. 

niad^tx. 569. 

Through blood, through death, Achilles stilt proceeds, 
O'er slaughtered heroes, and o'er rolling steeds. 
As when avenging fiames with fury driv'n 
On guilty towns exert the wrath of HeaT'n, 
The pale Inhabitants, some fall, some fly, 
And the red vapours purple all the sky : 
80 rag*d Achilles ; Death and dire dismay. 
And toils, and terrors, fill'd the dreadful day. 

lltadf x&i. 60d. 

ifethinks, ftiiig tlichard and mj^self should meet 
Vrith no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock. 
At meeting, teahi the clowdy cheeks of heav'n. 

HidMrd 11. Act HI. Sc. 5. 

As nisheth a foatn^ streatn from the dark shady steep ef 
Cromta, when thunder is rolling above, and dark brown night 
rests on the hill : so fierce, so vast, so terrible, rush forward the 
a^Bs of tSrin. The chief, like a whale of Ocean followed by sH 
lu bHlowsipoarfet^lottr forth as a stream, rolling its mfght along 
the shore. 

Pingaly h, i. 

As Ml a thousand waves to a rock, so S^arftn's host came oo ; 
as meets a J'ock a thbtesand waves, so InisfaH met Swaran. 

ML 

I bdg peeiiiiar attention to thci foUotving simile fot 
a reason that shall be mentioned 2 

Thus fa^atfaii^ d^ath, in tenible arrays 
The close compacted legions urg'd thHr way ; 
t'ierce they droire bn^ impatient to destroy ; 
Troy charged the first, add Hector first of Troy. 
As from socbe mountain's craggy forehead torn, 
A rock's romrd fragment flies with fury borae^ 



CH4P9 19«] ComparmnSf 149 

(Which from the stubborn stonp a torrent reodf) 
Precipitate the pond'rous mass descends; 
prom steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds ; 
At every shock the crackling woqd resounds; 
Still gath'iiog force, it smokes; and, urgM amalffi 
Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plaii^ i 
There stops-^So Hector. Their whole force he prov'd; 
Resistless when he rag'd ; and when he stopt, unipov'd. 

Jtftatf, xHi. 187. 

The imase of a falling rock is certainly pot elevat-r 
Ing J* and yet undoubtedly the foregoing simile firea 
and swells the mind : it is grand, therefore, if net 
sublime. And the following simile will afford ad- 
ditional evidencet that there 13 a real, though i4c6 
distinction between these two feelings i 

So saying, a noble stroke l|e lifted high, 
Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell 
On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight. 
Nor motion of swift thought, less could bis sbie14 
Such ruip intercept. Ten paces huge 
He back recoil'd ; the tenth on bended knee 
His massy spear upstaid ; as if on earth 
Winds i)oder ground or waters forcing way. 
Sidelong bad push'd a niountaiq (rom his sefit 
Half-sunk with all his pines, 

AfUlon^ b. yU 

A comparison by contrast may contribute to gmn-' 
deur or elevation, no less than by resemblance ; of 
which the following comparison of I^ucan is a re^ 
markable instance : 

Victrix causa di|3 placuit, sed victa Catoni* 

Considering that the Heathen deities possessed a 
riank but one degree above that of mankind, I 
think it would not be easy by ^, single expression, 
\o exalt more one of the |iuman species, than is 
done in this comparison, I- am sensible, at the 
same time, that such a comparison among Chris-* 
tians, Yjflio entertain more exalted notions 9f t^fi 

* l^ee Cba|)ter IV. 



16§ Comparisons. [ghap. 19. 

Deity, would justly be reckoned extravagant and 
absurd. 

The last article mentioned, is that of lessening 
pr depressing a hated or disagreeable object ; which 
is efiectually done by resembling it to any thing 
low or despicable. Thus Milton, in his descrip- 
tion of the rout of the rebel-angels, happily ex- 
presses their terror and dismay in the following si- 
ihile ; 



-As a herd 



Of goats or timorous flock together throng^, 
iprove them before him thunder-struck, pursu'<l 
With terrors and with furies to the bounds 
And crystal wall of heav'u, which opening wide, 
Boird inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd 
Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight 
Struck them with horror backward, but fkr worse 
Urg'd them behind ; headlong themselves they threw 
Down from the verge of hcav'o. 

MUion^ b. vi. 

In the same view, Homer, I think^ may be iustiOed 
in comparing the shouts of the Trojans in battle to 
the noise of cranes,* and to the bleating of a flock 
of sheep :t it is no objection that these are low 
images ; for it was his mtention to lessen the Tro-^ 
jans by opposing their noisy march to the silent 
and manly march of the Greeks. Addison,]: de- 
scribing the figure that men make in the sight of a 
superior being, takes opportunity to mortify their 
pride by comparing them to a swarm of pismires^ 
A comparison that has none of the good effects 
mentioned in this discourse, but is built upon com- 
mon and trifling circumstances, makes a mighty 
silly figure : 

• Beginning of book iii. f 9ook iv. 1. ^. 

i Guardian, No. I6d. 



CHAP. 19.] Comparisons. 151 

Non sum nescitis, grnttdtji consilia a multis plerumque eausis 
c^u magna nayigia a piurimis remis, impelli. 

Strada^ de bello Belgieo. 

By this time, I imagine the different purposes of 
comparison, and the various impressions it makes 
on the mind, are sufficiently illustrated by proper 
examples. This was an easy task. It is more 
difficult to lay down niles about the propriety or 
impropriety of comparisons ; in what circumstances 
they may be introduced, and in what circumstances 
they are out of place. It is evident, that a compa- 
rison is not proper on every occasion : a man wheq 
cool and sedate, is not disposed to poetical flights, 
nor to sacrifice truth and reality to imaginary beau- 
ties : far lesg is he so disposed when oppressed 
with care, or interested in some important transac- 
tion that engrosses him totally. On the other hand, 
a man, when elevated or animated by passion, is 
disposed to elevate or animate all his objects : he 
avoids familiar names, exalts objects by circumlor 
cution and metaphor, and gives evenlife and volun- 
tary action to inanimate beings. In this heat of 
mind, the highest poetical flights are indulged, and 
the boldest similes and metaphors relished.* But 
without soaring so high, the mind is frequently in 
a tone to relish chaste and moderate ornament; 
such as comparisons that set the principal object in 
a strong point of view, or that embellish and di- 
versify the narration. In general, when by any 
animating passion, whetiier pleaiSaiit or painful, an 
impulse is given to the imagination ; we are in that 
condition msposed to every sort of figurative ex-, 
pression, and in particular to comparisons. This in 
a great measure is evident from the comparisons 
already mentioned ; and shall be further illustrated 

• It is accordingly observed by Longinus, in his Treatise of the Sublime, 
that the proper time for metaphor, is when the passions are so swelled «< ta 
^urry on like a torrent. 



162 Comparisims. [chap. 19«. 

f)y other instances. Love, for example, in its in- 
fancy, rousing the imagination, prompts the heart 
to display itself in figurative language, and in si* 
miles : 

TroUus. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love^ 
What Creiiid is, what Pandar, and what we ? 
Her hed is, India ; there she lies, a pearl : 
Between our nium, and where she resides, 
Let it he call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
Ourself the merchant; and the sailing Pandar 
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our barkr 

Tr9Uu9 ancf CVem4«» Act 1. Sc 1. 

Again: 

Come, gentle Night; eome, loving Mack-hrowM Nigbt! 
Give me my Romeo ; and when he shall die^ 
Take hiro, and cut him oUt in little stars, 
And be will make the face of heav'n so fine, 
That all the world shall be in love with Night, 
And pay no worship to the garish Sun. 

Borneo and Mi§t^ Act III. Se. 4. 

The dread of a misfortune, however imminent, in* 
volving always some doubt anduncertainty, agitates 
the mind, and excites the imagination : 

WoUty. » ■ - ■ Nay, thep, farewell: 

Fve touch*d the highc&t point of all my greatness, 
And from that full meridian of my glory 
I baste now to my setting. I shall fall, 
Like a bright exhjilation in the evening. 
And po ipaq see me more, 

Htnry Vllh Act IIL Sc. 4, 

But it will be a better illustration of the present 
head, to give examples where comparisons are im- 
properly introdncea. I have had already occasion 
to observe, that similes are not the language of a 
man in his ordinary state of mind, despatcbmg his 
daily and usual work. For that reason, the fol-* 
lowing speech of a gardener to his giervant?, is ex- 
tremely improper : 



tnAt. 19.] Ctmparistm. 130 

Qo\ bind thou dp yon dangling apricots, 
Which like iinrulj children, make their aire 
Sloop frith oppression of their prodigal weight : 
Give some supportanc<B to the bending twigs. 
Go thou ; and like an executioner, 
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth ; 
All must be even in our government. 

Richard IL Act III. Sc. 7. 

The fertility o( Shakspeare's vein betrays him fre- 
quently into this error. There is the same impro^ 
priety in another simile of his : 

Het^. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour; 
There shaft thou find my cousin Beatrice ; 
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our Whole discourse 
Is all of her : say that thou overheard'at us ; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bo we r. 
Where honeysuckles ; ripeoM by the sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter ; like to favourites, * 
Made proud by princes t^at advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it. 

Much Ado about ATothing^ Act III. Sc. 1* 

Rooted grief, deep ang^uish, terror, reitidrse, despair, 
and all uie severe dispiriting passions, are declared 
enemies, perhs^s not to figurative language in gen- 
eral, hut undoubtedly to the pomp and solemnity of 
comparison. Upon that account, the simile pro-^ 
nouDced by young Rutland, under a terror of death 
from an inveterate enemy, and praying mercy, is 
unnatural: ' 

So looks the pent-up lion o^er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws ; 
And so he walks insulting o'er his prey, 
And so he iforaes to rend his limbs asundcir. 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword^ 
And not with such a cruel threat*ning look. 

Third Part of Henry VL Act I. Sc. 5. 

Nothing appears more out of place, nor more awk- 
Mrardly introdueed, than the following simile : 



ISA Comparisons. [ciHAPi 19. 

JtMCtd.' I Farewell, my Portias, 

farewell, though death is inihe wordi for^everl 

Portuii. Stay, Lucia, stay ; what dost thou 8ay,/or-ever? 

Lucia, Have I pot sworn? If, Poniiis, thy success 
Must throw thy brother on his fate, farewell. 
Oh) how shall I repeat the w ord, /or ev^r? 

Fortius. Thus, o'er the dying lamp th' unsteady flame 
Har«-;s quivering on a point, leaps olf by fits, 
And falls again, as loth to quit its hold.* 

Thou must not go,' my soul still hovers o'er thee, 

And can't get loose* 

9 . Cato, Act IIL Sc. 2. 

Nor doth the simile tvhich closes the first act of 
the same tragedy make a better appearance ; the 
situation there represented being too dispiriting for 
a simile. A simile is improper for one who dreads 
the discovery of a secret machination ; 

Zara» The mute not yet returned ! Ha ! 'twas the King, 
The King that parted hence ! frowninj^ he went ; 
His eyes like meteors roll'd, then darted down 
Their red and angry beams ; as if his sight 
Would, like the raging Dog-star, scorch the earth. 
And kindle ruin in its course. 

Mourning Bride^ Act v. Sc. 3. 

A man spent and dispirited after 16sing a battle, is 
not disposed to heighten or illustrate his discourse 
by similes: 

York, With this we chargM again ; but out, alas 1 
We bodg'd again ; as I have seen a sWan 
With bootUiss labour swim against the tide. 
And spend her strength with over-matching wafes. 
Ah ! hark, the fatal followers do pursue : 
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury, 
The sands are numberd that make up my life , 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Third Part Htnry W, Act i. Sc. 6. 

Far less is a man disposed to similes who is not only 
defeated in a pitched battle, but lies at the point 
of death mortally wounded : 

* This Bimiie would have a fine effect pronounced by the chorus is a 
Greek tragedy. 



6flAP. 19,] Comparisons. 156 

Warwick. , »>■ My mao^led body showi 

My blood, my want of strength ; my sick heart shows 

That I must yield my body to the earth, 

And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 

Thus yields the cedar to the aite's edge, 

Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle; 

Under whose shade the ramping lion, slept, 

Whose top-branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading tree, 

And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind. 

Third Partf Henry VL Act V. Sc. d. 

Queen Katherine, deserted by the King, and in the 
deepest affliction on her divorce, could not be dis- 
posed to any sallies 4f imagination : and for that 
reason, the following simile, however beautiful in 
the mouth of a spectator, is scarce proper in her 
own : 

I am the most unhappy, woman living, 
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
No friends, no hope ! no kindred weep for me ! 
Almost no grave allowed me ! like the lily, 
That once was mistress of the field, and flourishM, 
111 bang my head, and perish. 

King Henry VUl. Act III. Sc. 1. 

Similes thus unseasonably introduced, are finely 
ridiculed in the Rehearsal : 

Bayea, Now here she must make a simile. 

Smith. Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes ? 

Bayes. Because she's surprised ; that's a general rule ; ypa mast 
ever make a simile when you are surpris'd ; 'tis a tiew way of 
writing. 

A comparison is not always faultless even where 
it is properly introduced. I have endeavoured 
above to give a gener;^l view of the different ends 
to which a comparison may contribute : a compa- 
rison, like other human productions, may fall short 
of its aim ; of which defect iostances are not rare 
even among good writers ; and to complete the pre- 
sent subject, it will be necessar^^ to make some ob- 
Mrvations apoArSUch faulty comparisons. I begin 

Vx)L.II. * 20rt 



with obsebdng, that nothing can b6 more erro- 
neous than to institute a comparison too faint: a 
distant resemblance or contrast fatigues the mind 
with its obscurity, instead-of amusing it : and teiMB 
not to fulfil any one end of a comparison. Tb« 
following similes seem to labour under this defect : 

Albua ut ob«curo deterget nubila ccelo 

8ttpe NotuB, neque fmrtbrit imbres 

Perpetuos : etc tu iiapiens finire memento 

Tn'stitrim, vitaeque laborea, 

Molli, PiaDi^e, mero. 

^ihrat. Cdrin. 1. 1, ode 7. 



^Medlo dux agnfibe Turnus 



Vbrtitur airina teneDS, et toto ▼ertiee Bupra est. 
Ceu septem surgens sedatis amnibus altus 
Per taciturn Ganges; aut pingui fluroineNilus 
Cum reftnit campiSt et jam se eondidit aUeo. 

JEntidf iz. ^S. 

Talibus orabat, talesque miserrima fletus 
Pertque refertque soror : sed n«Ilis ille movetpr 
Fletibus, auf voces ullas tractabilis audit. 
Pata obstant : ptacidasque viri Deus obstruit aures. 
Ac veluti annoso validam cum robore quercum 
Alptni Boree, nunc hinc, riunc flatibus illioc 
Eruere inter se certant ; it strador, et alte 
Consternuot terram concusso stipite frondes: 
Ipsa hieret scopulis ; et quantum vertice ad auras 
^thereas, tantiim radice in Tartara tendit. 
Baud secus assiduis hinc atque bine vocibus beros 
l*unditur, et magno persentit pectore curas : 
Mens immota manet, lacryme volvuntur inanes. 

JEneidf IF. 487. 

£ Rich, Give me the crown.—- Here, Cousin, seize the crowo, 
ilei^^, on tbfsiide, m^liaiid; on that side, thine. 
H«Mr isthis gbldiftii icroWn lilte a deep well. 
That owes two.bucketSt fitting one another; 
^he emptier ever dancing in the air, 
The other down, onseein and full of water : 
^hfat bi!ic^itetiioWn, and ifntt of tears, am I, 
0ritt1(fVfg'n^|^1S^ 'Whilst you mount up on high. 

Hickard IL Act tV. 'Sc.' 8. 



OfAP. 19.] Compap^M. \^'\ 

King John, Oh I Cousin, thou art come to i^t vo^^ eye ^ 
The tackle of my heiarl is crack'd and burnt ; 
And 9\\ tt^e* shrouds wherewith my life should sail. 
Are turned to oae thread, one little hair; 
t^y heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be uttered. 

King John, Aet r. Sc. |0. 

York. My upetes both are slain in rescuing me : 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back, and Ay like ships before the wind. 
Or lambs, pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. 

Third Part Henry VL Act i. Be. 6. 

The latter of the two similes is good ; the former 
bj itsfaintness of resemblance, has no effect but to 
load the narration with an usieless image* 

The next error I shaJl mention is a capital one. 
In an epic poem, or in a poem upon any elevated 
subject, a writer ought to avoid raising a simile on 
a low image, which never fails to bring down the 
principal subject. In general, it is a rale, That a 

Sand object ought never to be resembled to one 
at is diminutive, however delicate the resemblance 
may be ; for it is the peculiar character of a «^nd 
object to fix the attention, and swell the mind ; in 
which state, to contract it to a minute object, is un- 
pleasant. The resembling an object to one that is 
peater, has on the contrary, a good effect, b^ rais* 
ing or swelling the mind: for one passes with sa* 
tisfaction from a small to a great object : but can- 
not be drawn down, without reluctance, trom great 
to small. Hence the follovi^ing similes are f^wty. 

Meanwhile the troops beneath P^troelus' c«re, 

lovade the Trojaos and commence the war. 

As wasps, provok*d by cbildreii in their play, . 

Pour from their mansions by the broad highway. 

In swarms the guiltleFS traveller engage, 

Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage ; 

AH rise in arms, and with a general cry 

Assert their waxen domes, and bazsing progeny ; 



168 Comparisans. [chap. ]9. 

Thui from the tents tb« fervent legioD'swaroiB, 
So loud their clamour and so keen their arms. 

nUad^ xru 312. 

So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o'er) 
Repuls'd in vain, and thirsty still of gore ; 
(Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings 
Untam'd, untir'd he turns, attacks and stiqgs. 
Fir'd with like ardour, fierce Atrides flew, 
And sent his soul withev'ry lance he threw^ 

Hiadf zvii. 642* 

Instant ardentes Tyrii ; pars ducere muros, 
Molirlque arcem, et manibus subvolvere saza ; 
Pars aptare locum tecto, et concludere sulco. 
Jura magistrattisque legunt, sanctumque senatum^ 
Hie portus alii effbdinnt ; hie alta theatris 
Fundamenta locant alii, immanesque columnas 
Rupibut excidunt, scenis df cora alta futuris. 
Quails apes asstate nova per florea rura 
Exercet sub sole labor» cum gentis adultos 
Educunt fiBtus, aut cum liquentia mella 
Stipant, et dulci distendunt nectare cellas, 
Aut onera accipiunt venientum, Jiut flgmine'facto 
Ignavuro fucos pecus a prssepibus arcent. 
Fervet opus, redolentque tbymo fragrantia mella. 

JEneid, u 42T. 

To describe bees gathering honey as re&emblihg 
the builders at Carthage, would have a much better . 
effect** 

Turn vero Teucri incumbunt, etJHtore celsas 

Dedocunt toto naves ; natat uncta carina ; 

Frondentesque ferunt remos, et robore sylvis 

Infabricata, fugs studio. 

JMigrantes cernas, totaque ex orbe mentes. 

Ac veluti ingentem formrcse farris acervum 

Cum populant, hyemis meinoreSf tectoque reponuut ; 

It nigrum campis agmen, prs^damque per herbas 

Convectant calle angusto ; pars grandia trudunt 

Obnixs frumenta humeris; pars agmina cogunt, 

Castigantque moras ; opere omnis semtta fervent. 

Mntid^ \y, 397. 

• And accordingly Demetrius Fhalereus Tof Elocution, sect 86.) observes, 
that it has a better effect to compare small things to great than great things 
to small. 



CHAP. 19.] Comparisons. 159 

The following similie has not any one beauty to 
recomiTiend iu The subject is Amata, the wife of 
King Latinus. 

Turn vero infelix, ingentibus excita monstris, 
Immensain sine more furit lymphata perurbem: 
Ceo quoDdam torto volitans sub verbere turbo, 
Queiii pueri magno in gyro vacua atria cirGum 
Intent! ludo ezereent. lUe actus habena 
Carvatis fertur spatiis : stupe t inscia turba 
Impubesque roanus, mirata vjolubile buxum ; 
Dant animos pUgse. Non cursu segnior illo 
Per medias urTOs agitur, populosque feroces. 

JEtteid, vii. 576. 

This simile seems to border upon the burlesque. 

An error, opposite to the former, is the intro- 
ducing a resembling image, so elevated or great as 
to bear no proportion to the principal subject. 
Their remarkable disparity, seizmg the mind, ne- 
ver fails to depress the principal subject by con- 
trast, instead of raising it by resemblance : and if 
the disparity be very great, the simile degenerates 
into burlesque ; nothing being more ridiculous than 
to force an ^object out of its proper rank in nature, 
by eq[ualling it with one greatly superior or greatly 
inferior. This will be evident from the following 
comparisons. 

Fervet opus, redolentque thymo fragrantia mella. 
kc veluti lentis Cyclbpes fulmina massis 
Cum properant ; alii taurinis follibus auras 
Accipiunt, redduntque ; alii stridentia tingunt 
^ra lacfi ; gemit impositis iocadibus -^tna ; 
J Hi inter sese magna vi btachTa toUunt 
In numerum ; versantque tenaci rorcip<i ferrum, 
Non aliter (si parva licet componere magnis) 
Cecropias innatus apes amor urget babendi, 
Munere quamque suo. Grandievis oppida curse, 
Et munire favos, etDeedala fingere tecta. 
Atfesss multl referunt se nocte minores, 
Crura tbymo plene: pascuntur etarbuta passim^ 
Et glaucas saliees, easiamque crocumque rubentem) 



160 edn^ffeidiOHs. ciuf« 19« 

Omnibut una quiet operum, labor omnibus uous. 

Georgic, ir. .t69. 

The Cyclopes make a better figure ia the follow* 
ing simile; 

T he Threcian leader prcst. 
With eager courage, far before the rest ; 
Him Ajai met, ioilam'd with equal rage : 
' Between the wond'riag hottii the chiefs eng^age ; 
Their weighty weapons roupd their heads tiiey throw. 
And swift, and heavy, falls each thund'iing blow. 
As when in iEtoa s caves the giant brood, 
The one-eyed servants of the Lemnian gpd, 
In order round the burning anvil stand, 
And forge, with weighty strokes, the forked brand; 
The shaking hills their fervid toils confess, 
And echoes rattling through each dark refers : 
So rag'd the fight 

Epigoniad^ b. viii. 

Turn Bitian ardentem oculis animisue frementem ; 
I^on jaculo, neque enim jaculo vitam ille dedisaet; 
Sed magnum stridens contorta fatarica venit 
Futniinis acta modo, qoam nee duo taurta terga, 
Nee duplici squama lorica fidelis et auro 
> Siistinuit ; coUapsa ruwit immania membra; ^ 

Dat tellus gemituns, et clypeum, super intonat ingent, 
Qualis in Euboico Baiarum littore quondam 
Saxea pila cadit, magnis qunm molibus ante 
Constructam jaciuut pooto ; sic ilia ruioara * 

Prona trahit, penitusque vadis illisa reciimbif : 
Mi.scent se maria, et nigrae attolluntur arene ; 
Tum sonitu Prochyta alta tremit, durumque cubfle 
Inarime Jovis isnperiis imposta Trypboeo. 

Mtmdf ix. 703. 

Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring, 
So roar'd thn lock when it released the spring. 

Odys9€^j xxi St. 

^uch a simile upon the simplest of all actions, that 
of opening a door, is pure burlesque. 

A writer of delicacy will avoid drawing his com- 
parisons from any image that is nayseous, ugly, or 
f emarkabiy disagreeable : for however ^Upng the 



c^AP. 19.] Compmiaons, 161 

resemblance maybe, more will be lost than gained 
by such comparison. Therefore I cannot help con- 
demning, though with some reluctance, the follow- 
ing samile, or rather metaphor: 

O thou fond many ! with what loud applause 
Did*8t thou beat heav'o with blessing fiolingbroke 
Before he was what thou would'st have him be ? 
And now being trimm'd up in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly Feeder, art so full of him, , 
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
And so, thou common dog, did*st thou disgorge 
Thy giuttton bosom of the royal Richnrd, 
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up, 
And howt'stto find it. 

Second Part^ Henry IF. Act 1. Sc. 6. 

The strongest objection that can lie against a 
comparison is, that it consists in words only, not in 
sense. Such false coin, or bastard wit, does ex- 
tremely well in burlesque ; but is far below the 
dignity of the epic, or of any serious composition : 

The noble sister of Poplicola, 
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle 
Tbat*s curled by the frost from purest snow, 
And hangs on Qian's temple, 

Coriolanus, Act v. Sc 8. 

There is evidently no resemblance between an 
icicle and a woman, chaste or unchaste ; but chas- 
tity is cold in a metaphorical sense, and an icicle 
is cold in a proper sense : and this verbal resem- 
blance^ in the hurir and glow of composing, has 
been thought a sufficient foundation for the simile. 
Such phantom similes are mere witticisms, which 
ought to have no quarter, except where purposely 
introduced to provoke laughter. Lucian, in his dis- 
sertation upon history, talking of a certain author, 
makes the follov^ing comparison, which is verbal 
merely : 

This author's deflcriptions are so cold that they surpass the 
Cftspian soow,aiid all the ice of the north. 



iOZ Camparisans. [chap. 19. 

Virgil has not escaped this pu^Kty : 

Galathgn thy mo mihi dulcior Hyble. 

BucoL vii. S7. 

Ego Sardois videar tibi amarior herbia. 

Ihid 4U 

Gallo, cujot amor tantum mihi crescit in horas, 
(Quantum vera novo Yiridia se Bubjicit alnus. 

Bueoli X. 97. 

Nor Tasso, in his Aminta : 

Picciola e* V ape, e fa col piceinl morso 
Tfnt gravi, e pur molebte le ferite ; 
Ma^ qual cosae piu picciola d'amore, 
Seino^ni breve spatioentra, e s*asconde 
In ognt breve spatio ? hor, ftotto a l*ombra 
De le palpebre, bor trk minuti rivi 
D'un biondo crine, hor dentro le pozzette 
Che forma un dolce riso io bella guaDcia ; 
£ pur fn tanto grand!, e si mortal!, 
£ cost immedicabili le'piaghe. 

Act If. Sc. 1. 

Nor Boileau, the chastest of all writers, and that 
even in his art of poetry. 

Ainsi tel autrefois, qu*OD vit avec Faret 
Charbonner de ses vera les murs d*un cabaret,- 
S'en va mal a propos d^une voix insolenfe, 
Chanter du people Hebreu la fuite triomphante, 
Et poursuivant Moise au travers des des^rt^, 
Court avec Pharaon se noyer dans 4ea mera. 

Chant. 1. 1. 21. 

IVlaib allocs voir le Vrai, jttsquVn sa source mdme. 
Un d^vot aux yeux creux, et d'abstinence bl^me, 
S*il o'a point le cceur juste, est afireuxdevant Dieu, 
L'Evangtje au Chretien ne dit, en aucun lieu, 
Sois devot : elle dit, Sols doux, simple, equitable: 
Car duin devct souvent au Chretien veritable 
La distance est deux fois plus longue, a mon avis, 
Que du Pole Antarctique au U^troitde Davis. 

Boihau^ Sartre, xi. 

But for their spirits and souls 
This word rebellion had froze them up 
As fish are in a pond. 

Second Partf Henry IV. Act I. Sc. 0* 



r 



CHAP. 19.] Comparisons. 163 

Queen. The pretty T«ultini; sea refui'd to drown me; 
Knowing, that thou would.'ft have me dr^gpo'don shore ; 
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unSmilDess. 

second Part Henry VL Act III. 8c« 6. 

Here there is no manner of resemblance but in the 
word drown ; for there is no real resemblance be- 
tween being drown'd at sea, and dying of grief at 
land. But perl^aps this sort of tinsel wit may have 
a propriety in it, when used to express an affected, 
not a real passion, which was the Queen's case. 

Pope has several similes of the same stamp. I 
rtiall transcribe one or two from the Essay on Man, 
the gravest and most instructive of all his perform- 
ances : 

Aud hence one master passion in the breast, 
Like Aaron's serpent swallows up the rest. 

Epiat, ii. 1. 131, 

And again, talking of this same ruling or master 
passion : 

Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse ; 

Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse ; 

Reason iuelf but gives it edge and power ; 

As heav'n's bless'd beam turns vinegar more sour. 

tbid, 1. 45. 

Lord BolingbrokCj speaking of historians : 

Where their sincerity as to fact is doubtful, we strike out 
truth by the confrontation of different accounts; as we strike out 
sparks of fire by the coljison of flints and steel. 

Let us vaify the phrase a very little, and there will 
not remain a shadow of resemblance. Thus, 

We discover truth by the confrontntlon of different accounts; 
9^8 ive strike out sparks of fire by the collibion of flints aud atcel. 

Racine makes Pyrrhus say to Andromaque, 
Vol. IL 21a 



ift4 Comparisons. [chap. 10. 

Valncu cbarg^ de fen, de^ren-ets consume, 
Bru]^ de |»lus de feuz que je D*en allomai, 
Helas ! fu8-je jam^pii cruel que vOus lites ? 

And Orestes in the darnel strain : 

^ue ies Scjthes sont moins cruel .qu' Hermoiae. 

Similes of this kind put one iii mind of a ludi- 
crous French soiig : 

Je croyois Janiietoi| 
Auflsi douce que belle : 
« Je croyois Jaoneton 

Plus douce qu'UD moutdu ; ' 

Helas ! Helas ! 
tllle est cent fois mille fois, pjus cruelle' 
Que u'est le iig^re aux bois. 

Again: 

Helas ! I'amour m a prU, 
Gomme le chat fait la souris. 

A vulgar Irish ballad begins thus : 

I have as much love in store 
As there's apples in Pdrtmore. 

Where the subject i^ burlesque or ludicrous, siich 
similes are far from being improper- Horace says 
pleasantly, 

Quanquam tu levior cortice. 

L. iii. ode 9. 

And Shakspeare, 

In breaking oaths he'ft stronger than Hfercules. 

And this leads me to observe, that beside tte 
foregoing comparisons, which are all serious, ther^ 
is a species, the end and purpose of which is to ex- 
fcite gaiety or mirth* Take the foUowrng examples : 



r 



€HAP. 19,] Comparisons. 165 

Falstaffy speaking to his page : 

I do here w^k before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed 
all her litter but one.' 

Second Part, Hi$fry VI Act I. Sc, 4- 

I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer ; but for his 
Terit^' in love, I do think him as concave as a coyered goblet, o^ 
4 worm e^ten out • • 

A» you likt it, Ac^ IJI. Sc. Ip, 

This sword a dagger had hit tiae^e, 
That vvas but little for his age ; 
And therefore waited on him so, 
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do. 

fludibraSf canto I 

^ Pes cription of Hudibras's horse : 

|f e was well stay'di and in his gait 

Preserved a grave, majestic state. 

At spur or switch no more he skipt, 

Or mended pace than Spaniard wbipt : 

And yet so fiery, he wQuld ))ound . ^ 

As if he griev'd to touch the ground : 

That Ccesar's horse, who, as fame goe«, 

Had corns upon his feet and toes. 

Was not by half so tender hooft, 

Nor trod upon the ground so soft. 

And a^ that beast would kneel and stoop, 

(Some write) to take his rider up ; 

So Hudibras his ('tis well known) "" 

Would often do to set him down. 



Canto i. 



Honour is, like a widow won 
With brisk attempt and putting on. 
With entering manfully and urging; 
Not slow appfOiiehiis, like a virgin. 

The sun had long since in the lap 
Of Thetis taken out his nap ; 
And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn 
From black to red began to turn. 



Canto j. 



Part n. canto il 



Books, like men their authors, have but one way of coming in- 
^ the world ; bi^t there are ten thousand to go out of it, and re? 
torn no mgr^. Tale of a TV'h 



166 Comparisons: [chap. 1,9, 

And in this the world may perceive the difference between 
the iotegrity of a generous author, and that of a common friend. 
The latter is observed to adhere close in prosperity; but on tbf» 
decline of fortune, to drop suddenly off: whereas the generous au- 
thor, just on the contrary, finds his hero on the dunghill, from 
thence by gradual stepi raisea him to a throne, and then imme- 
diately withdraws,. expecting not so much as thanks for his pains. 

Tale of a 7\tb. 

The most accomplished way of using books at present is, to 
serve them as some do lords, learn their titleSf and then brag of 
their acquaintance. 

• Tak of a ^nh. 

Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits^ 
While spouts run clatfring o'er the roof by fits ; 
And ever and anon with frightful din 
The leather sounds ; hv. trembles from within. 
So when Troy's chairmen bore the wooden steed, 
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed, 
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do. 
Instead of paying chairmen run them through), 
LaocooQ struckthe outside with his spear. 
And each imprHn'd heroquak'd for fear. 

DtacripHon of a City Shower. Sttiji. 

Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder seen, 

"With throngs promiscuous strow the level green. 

Thus when dispers'd a routed army runs. 

Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons. 

With like confusion, different nations By, 

Of various habit, and of various dye, 

The pierc'd battalions disunited, fall 

In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all. 

Rape of the Lock, canto )"• 

He does not consider that sincerity in lore is as much out of 
fashion as sweet snuff; nobody takes it now. 

Careless Husband. 

Lady Easy, My dear, lam afraid you have provoked her a 
little too far. 

Sir Charles. O ! Not at all. You shall see, FII sweeten her, 
and she'll cool like a dish of tea. 

tbid. 



167 



CHAPTER XX. 



Figures: 

THE endless variety of expressions brought 
under the head of tropes and figures by ancient 
critics and grammarians, maltes it evident, that 
they h^ no precise criterion for distinguishing 
tropes wid* figures from plain language. It was 
accordingly my opinion, that little could be made 
of them in the way of rational criticism ; till dis- 
covering, by a sort of accident, that many of them 
depend on principles formerlv explained, I gladly 
embrace the opportunity to snow the influence of 
these principles where it would be the least ex- 

Fected. Confining myself therefore to such figures, 
am luckily freed from much trash ; without drop- 
ping, as far as I remember, any trope or figure that 
merits a proper name. Aid I begin with Proso- 
popoeia or personificatiorR^ which is justly entitled 
to the first place. 



SECTION I. 



PersanificcUion. 

The bestowing sensibility and voluntary mo- 
tion upon things inaniniate, is so bold a figure, as 
to require, one should imagine, very peculiar cir- 
cumstances for operating the delusion : and yet, in 
the language of poetry, we find variety of expres- 
sions, which though commonly reduced to that 



' 



V 

«. 



168 Figures. [chap. 20, 

figure, are used without ceremony, or any sort of 
preparation ; as, for example, thirsty ground, hun- 
gry church-yard, /Mna?«5 dart, angry ocean. These 
epithets, in their proper meaning, are attributes of 
sensible beings: what is their meaning when ap-: 
plied to things inanimate ? do they make us con-r 
ceive the ground, the church-yard, the dart, the 
ocean, to be endued with animal functions ? This 
is a curious inquiry ; and whether so or not, it can- 
pot be declined in handling the present subr 
ject. 

The mind, agitated by certain passions, ^s prone 
to bestow sensibiHty, upon things ina^j^nate.* 
This is an additional instance of the influence of 
passion upon our opinions and belief.f I give ex-^ 
amples. Antony, mourning over the body of Cae- 
sar murdered in the senate-house, yents his passion 
in the following words : 

Antony, O pardon me, thou Mccding piece of earth. 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers. 
Thou ari the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of time. 

Juliiis Cesar ^ ^ct III. Sc, 4. 

Here Antony rnust have oeen impressed with a no^ 
tion, that the body of Caesar was listeninff to him, 
without which the speech would be foolisn and ab- 
surd. Nor will it appear strange, considering \^'hat . 
is said in the chapter above cited, that passion 
should have such power over the mind of man. In 
another example of the same kiftd, the earth, as a 
common mother, is animated to give refuge agains^ 
a father's iinkindness : 

Almtria, O f!arth, behol(l» { kneel upon thy bosom, 
And bend my flowing eyes to stream upon 
Thy face, imploring thee that thou wilt yield ! 
Open thy bowels of compassion, tak^ 

Page 151, ' t Chapter n. Part V. 



sbct. I.] Figures. 169 

Into thy womb the last and most forloro 

Of all thy race. Hear me thou common parent ; 

—I have no parent else. Be thou a mother, 

And step between me and the curse of him, 
Who was — who was, but is no more a father ; 
But brands my innocence with horrid crimes ; 
And for the tender .names of child 'dnd daughitr^ 
Now calls me. murderer and parricide. 

Mourning Bride, Act IV. Sc. 7. 

Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for 
vent : and a soliloquy commonly answers the pur- 
pose : but when such passion becomes excessive, 
itpannot be gratified but by sympathy from others ; 
and if denied that consolatiqn in a natural way, it 
will coovert even things inanimate into sympathi- 
sing beings. Thus Philoctetes complains to the 
rocks and promontories of the isle of Lemnos ;* 
and Alcestes dying, invokes the suh, the light of 
day, the clouds, the earth, her husband's palace, 
&c.t Moschus, lamenting the death of Bion, con- 
ceives, that the birds, the fountains, the trees, la- 
ment with him. The shepherd, who in Virgil be- 
wails the death of Daphnis, expressetH hituself 
thus : 

Daphni, tuum Pffinos etiam ingemuisse leones 
Interitum, montesque feri sylvaeque loquuntur. 

Eclogut y,21. 

Again : 

Ilium etiam ^^^^^i ilium etiam Severe myrlcae. 
Pinifer ilium etiam sola sub rupe jacentem 
Msnalua, et gelidiileverunt saxa Lyccei. 

Again: 

Ho Tista al pianto mio 
Responder per pietate i aassi e Tondc \ 
E sospirar le frond e 
Ho visto al pianto mio. 

* Philoctetes of Sophddes, act iv. sc 2, 
t Aloestss of Euripides, act ii. sc. 1. 



tlclogue X. 19. 



170 Figures. [chap. 20- 

Ma nnn ho visto mai, 
Ne spero di vedere 
CompassioD n« U erudelle, e bclla. 

Aminta di Tasso^ Act I. Sc. 2. 

That such personification is derived from nature, 
will not admit the least remaining doubt, after find- 
ing it in poems of the darkest ages and remotest 
countries. No figure is more frequent in Ossian's 
works ; for example, 

The battle is over, said tbt* kin^, and I behold the blood of my 
fiends. Sad is the heath of Lena, and mournful the oaks of 
Crorola. •♦* 

Again, * 

The sv^ord of Gaul trembles at bis side, and longs to glitter in 
his hand. 

King Richard having got intelligence of Boling- 
broke's invasion, says, upon landing in England 
from his Irish expedition, ir> a mixture of joy and 
resentment, 



I weep for joy 



To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 
Though rebels fvoUnd thee with their horses' hoofs. 
As a long parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles In meeting ; 
So weeping, smiling, greet 1 thee, my earth, 
And do thee favour with my royal handd. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle eaith, 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sensed 
But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom, 
And heayy-gaited toads Tic in their way ; 
t)oing annoyance to the treachVous feet, 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; 
And, when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
Quard it, I pr'ythee, wkh a lurking adder ; 
Whose double tongue may v/ith a mortal touch 
1* brow death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
/]V]ock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; 
This earth shall have a feeling ; and these stones 



sztT. I.] Figures. Hi 

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king . 
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms- 

Richard 11 Act IIL ^. ft. 

After a long voyd.ge it was ciistomaiy among the 
ancients ''to salute the natal soil. A long voyage 
being of. old a greater enterprise than at present^ 
the safe return to one's countiy after much fatigue 
and danger, was a delightful Circtintistance ; and it 
was natural to give the natal soil a terapotfarv life, 
in order to sympathise with the traveller. See ati 
example, Agamemnon of JEschiliTs, act iii. in the 
begrnning. Regret for leaving a place one ha^ 
been accustomed to, has the same effect* 

Terror produceth the same effect : it is commti- 
nicated in thought to every thing arotAid, 6v6n to 
things inanimate : 

Speaking of Polyphemus, 

Clansorem inomensum toUit, quo pontus et omnef 
Intremuere unde, penitusque exterrita tellus 
Italic. 

MnM/vA. 672. 



As when old Oceaii roars, 



And heaves huge surges to the trtmbling shores. 

ttiad, ii. £49. 

Go, view the settling se&. The sformf wln<f is laid ; but 
the billows still tremble on the dfe«p, and teem to fear th« 
blast. Fingal, 

» 

Racine, in the tragedy of Phedta, dederibifig (he 
sea-monster that destroyed Htppolytus, doAceites 
the 9ea itself to be struck with terror as weU as th« 
spectators : 

Le flot qui ]*apporttt recule cpouvant^. 

A man also naturally eommumcates^ hia^ jfoj tor 
all objects around, animate ot inanithate ; 

.: •nuioctetes of Sophocles, at the clOMk 

Voi*H. 22a 



i^i figures. tcHXP. 20. 



■ nil 



•As when to them wbo sail 



beyond the Cape of Hope, and now sire past 

Mozembic, off at seai north-eist winds bl6w 

^bean ode ur from the spicy shore 

Of Araby the Blest ; with Such delay . 

Well pleas'd, they slack^ their coUrse, and many ^ leagdfe 

Cheer*d with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles. 

Paradise Losi^ b, iv4. 

i have been profuse of examples, to show what 
bower many passions have to animate their objects* 
In all the foregoing examples, the personification^ 
if I mistake not, js so complete as to aflford convic- 
tion, momentary indeed, of* life and intelligence^ 
But it is evident, from numberless instances, that 
personification is not always so complete : it is a 
common figi^re in descriptive poetry, understabd to 
be the language of the writer, and not of the per- 
sons he describes : in this case it seldom or nevex* 
comes up to conviction, even momentary, of lifer 
fimd intelligence. I give the following examples* 

t*irst in hU feast thcf gldrious lamp wds seeiJ, 

Regent of day, and all th' horizon round 

Invested with bright rays ; jocund to run 

His longitude through heav'n's high road : the grejr 

Dawn and the Pldiades before Am danced, 

Shedding sWeet influence. Less bright ilie moon, 

ISut opposite, in levelKd west was set 

His mirror, with full lace borrowing her light 

From him ; for other light she needed pone. 

Paradise Lost, b. vii. 1. 570* 

. Night's <:andles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. 

Romeo and Juliet^ Act III* So. 7. 

ibat look, the mora, in russet ih'antle clad, 
iValks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill. 

Handety Act L Sc. l. 

f ^e eaastity of the £n|^ish languiCgc, whlcti in common' usage distio- 
fishes by genders no words but what ^signify beings male and female, gives 
pus a fine opportunity for the prosopopseia j a beauty unknown in olficr 
languages^ where evety word is masculine or feminine. 



ji£CT. 1.3 Figures. J73 

It may, I presume, be taken for ffranted^ that in the 
foregoing instances, the personification, either with 
the poet or his reader, amounts not to a conviction 
of intelligence : that the sun, the moon, the day, 
the morn, are not here understood to be sensible be- 
ings. What then is the nature of this personifica-' 
tion ? I thick it must be referred to the imetgina-* 
tion : the inanimate object is imagined to be a sen- 
sible being, but without any convictioi|, even for a 
moment, that it really is so. Ideas or fictions of 
imagination have power to raise emotions in the 
mind ;* and when any thing inanimate is, in ima- 
gination, supposed to be a sensible being, it makes 
by that means q. greater figure than when an idea 
is formed of it ajccordipg to truth. This sort of 
personification, however, is far inferior to the other 
m elevation. Thus personification is of two kinds« 
The first being more noble, may be termed pas-' 
sionate -persom^afion ; the other, more bumble, 
descriptive personification ; because seldom or nevey 
is personincatiou in a description carricfi to pppvic-r 
tion. 

The imagination is so lively and active, that it3 
images are raised with very little effort ; and this 
justifies the frequent use of descriptive personifica- 
tion. This figure abounds in Milton's Allegro an4 
Penseroso. 

Abstract and general terms, as well as particular 
objects, are oft^n necessary in Poetry. Such terms 
however, are not well adapled to poetiy, Ijecause 
they suggest not any image : I can readily form an 
image of Alexander or Achilks in wrath; but I 
cannot form an image gf wrath in th^ abstract, or 
of wrath independent of a person^ Upon that ac- 
count, in works addressed to the iipagination, ab^ 

3ee Appe94ix, containing d^dnitions tmdexplanatioiys of terms; sect 9^. 



17^ Figures. [chap, i 

ptract tuann ar^ frequently personified ; but such 
Bersonification rests upon inmglnation merely, not 
ypon conviction. 

S^d miM vel Tellus optem prius ima dehiscat ; 
Vcl Pater oinnipotena adieat me fulmine ad umbras, 
PfftlftQtea unbraa Erebl, noot^roque profundara, 
Ante pu4or qqam te vjolo, aut tua jura resolvo. 

JEneid iv. 1. 24. 

Thus, to explain the effects of slander, it is imagined 
to be a voluntary agent. 



—No, 'tis Slander ; 



Wbose edge is ^b^rper than the swoid ; whose tongue 
Out-venoms all the worms-of Nile ; whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
AH corners of the worlds kings, queens^ and fitates, 
l^laids, (|iatrons i nay, the secreta of the grave 
/Pbi^ viperous Slander enters. 

SKaksp€are,CymMiMt Act Ml. Be 4. 

As also human passions : take the following exam- 
ple: 

— > For Pleasure and Revenge 
Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice 
Of any true decision. 

Troltus and Cressida^ Act II. Sc. 4. 

VirgU explains fame 5ind its effects by a still great- 
er variety of action.* And Shakspeare personifies 
death and its operations in a manner singularly 
fanciful : 

1 .1 . J. -Within the hollow crown 



ThH rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
Ke«p8 Death his court ; and there the antic sits, 
geoting his state, and grinning at his pomp; 
Allowioi^ him « breath, a little scene 
To monarchise, be fearM, nnd kill with looks; 
Infijsing him with self and vain conceit. 
As if his flesh, which walls about our life, 
Wwci bra99 impregnable ,* and humour'd thua t 

* -Sneidiv. m, 



r 



s^cT. I.] Figures* Xlo 

Comes at the la&t, and with a ItUle pin • 
Bores through his castl«-walls, and fareweltlcing. 

Richard JL Act liL Sc. 4. 

Not less successfully is life and action given even 
to sleep : 

King Henry. How many thousanas of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! O gt ritle J^eep, 
Nature's soft nurse, hotv have I frighted thee, 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, 
And steep'my senses in Corgetfulness? 
Why rather, Sleep, ly'st thou in smoky cribs. 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber^ 
Than in the perfnm'd chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And luird with sounds of sweetest melody? 
Oh thou dull god, why Iy*8t thou with the vile 
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch, 
A watch case to a common larum-bell ? 
Witt thou upon the high and giddy mast, 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
And in the visitation of the winds. 
Who take the ruffian billoWs by the top. 
Curling their monstrous heads, and banging them 
With deaf'nin^ Clamours in the slippery shrouds, 
That, with the burly, death itself awakes ? 
Can'st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so riide ; 
And in thle calmest and the stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low ! lie down ; 
Uneasy lies the bead that wears a crown. 

Second Party Henry I V. Act III. Sc. 1. 

I shall add one example more, to show that de- 
scriptive personification may be used with propri- 
ety, even where the purpose of the discourse is in- 
struction merely : 

Ob! let the i>teps of youth be cautions, 
How they advance into a dangerous world ; 
Our duty only can conduct us safe. 
Our passions are seducers: but of all 
The strongest Love, He first approaches us 



176 Figums. [chap. 20, 

In childish pV^y, wantcjiini^ in bur walks; 
t( heedlessly we wander after him, 
As he will piciL out all the dancing*way, 
We're lost, and hardly to return again. 
We should take warniog: he is painted blind« 
To show us, if we fondly follow him, 
The precipices we may fall into. 
Therefore let Virtut take him by the hand: 
Directed so, he l^ads to certain joy. 

Sontherti. 

Hitherto success has attended our steps: but 
whether we shall complete our progress with equal 
success, seems doubtful ; for when we look back 
to the expressions mentioned in the beginning, 
thirsty ground, furious dart, and such like, it 
seems no less difficult than at first, to say whether 
there be in them any sort of pej^sonification. Such 
expressions evidently raise not the slightest con- 
viction of sensibility : nor do I think they amount 
to descriptive personification ; because, in them, 
we do not even figqre the ground or tho dart to be 
animated. If so, they cannot at all come under the 
present subject. To show which, 1 shall endeavour 
to trace the effect that such expressions have in the 
mind. Doth not the expression angry ocean^ for 
example, tacitly compare the ocean in a storm to a 
man in wrath ? By this tacit comparison, the ocean , 
is elevated above its rank in nature ; and yet per- 
sonification is excluded, because, by the very na-r 
ture of comparison, the things compared are kep^ 
distinct, and the native appearance of each is pre* 
served. It will be shown aftervi^ard, that expres-i 
sions of this kind belong to another figure, which I 
term a figure qfspeechy and which employs the se? 
venth section of the present chapter. 

Though thus in general we can distinguish de» 
scriptive personification from what is raeriely a 
figure of speech, it is, however^ often difficult tq 
say, with respect tp soipe expressions, whpthe^ 



r^ 



SECT. I.] Pigures* 177 

they are of the one kind or of the other, Take the 
following instances : 

The moon shines bri(;ht ; in snch a night as thi^, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees. 
And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
Troilus methinks tpounted the Trojan wali, 
And sighM his soul toward the Grecian tents 
Whsre Cressld lay that night. 

Mttchant qf Fenicey Act V. Sc. 1 . 
■ ' ■ ' '■ I have seen 

Th' ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
*to be exalted with the threat'ning clouds. 

Julius CtsaK Act I. Sc. 6« 

With respect to these and numberless other exam^ 
pies of tiie same kind, it must . depend upon the 
readerj whether they be examples of personiCk^a-' 
tion, or of a figure of ispeech merely ; a sprightly 
imagination will advance them to the former class, 
with a plain reader they Will remain in the latten 
Having thus at large explained the present 
figure, it^ different kinds, and the . principles upon 
which it is founded; what comes next in order, is, 
to show in what cas^s it may be introduced with 
propriety, when it is suitable, when unsuitable* I 
begin with observing, that passionate personifica- 
tion is not promoted by every passion indifferently* 
All dispiriting passions are averse to it ; and re- 
niorse, in particular, is too serious and severe to be 
gratified with a phantom of the mind. I cannot 
therefore approve the following speech of Enobar- 
bus, who had deserted his master Antony : 

Be witness to me^ O thou blessed moon, 
When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 

Before thy face repent • 

Oh sovereign Mistress of true melancholy, 
The poisonous damp of night dispunge upon me, 
That life, a very i^ebej to my will, 
May haog no logger on me« 

Antony and CltopatrOf Act IV. Sc. 7. 



HI 



178 Figures. [chap. 20. 

If this can be justified, it must T)C upon the Hea- 
then system of theology, which converted into dei- 
ties the sun, moon, and stars. 

Secondly, after a passionate personiiication is 
properly introduced, it ought to be confined to its 
proper province, that of gratifying the passion, with- 
out giving place to any sentiment or action but 
what answers that purpose ; for peraonification is at 
any rate a bold figure, and ought to be employed 
with great reserve. ■ Thepassionoflove, for exam- 
ile, in a plaintive tone, may Efive a momentary 
ife to woods and rocks, in order to make them 
sensible of the lover's distress; but no passion will 
support a conviction so far-stretched, as that these 
woods and rocks should be living witnesses to re- 
port the distress to others : 

rir i' I'anii pin He la mia vita, 

Se lu no) *ai, crudrlc, 

€h'tcdllui quelle Sflvi^ 

Clie te'l diranno, et te'l diran con esse- 

Le fen-lnro ei duH alerpi, e isasst 

Di qriPSti alpestri monll, 

*Th' i' lio si spease v«ltu 

iDlenerili hI iuod de' miei lam^nli. 

Pastor rido, Aet III. Sc. 3. 

No lover who is not crazed will utter such a senti- 
ment ; it is plainly the operation of the writer, in- 
dulginghis inventive faculty without regard to na- 
ture. The same observation is applicable to the 
following passage. 

In winter's tedious night!' fit liy the (tr« 

Witli gfiod old folks, nntt Irt Ihem tell tlieir UIcs 

ful agps, long ago ln?tid : 

re tliou bid gO'-d ntglit, to quit tkeir grief, 

lem the lamentable fall of mn, 

;nd thn hearers irceping to iheir beds. 

\ty ! the senselcM brands itIII avrnpatbise 

eavy accent of Ihy moving tongui', 

I compassion neep the Qre oiit 

Richard 11. Act V. Sc. S. 



ftiscTw 1,3 ,Figuns. ,179 

One. must reg^^this pas9gige very; seripusly to avoid 
laughing. The following passage is quite extrava- 
gant ; the different parts of the human body are 
too intimately connected with self to be personified 
J>y the power of any passion 5 and after converting 
such a part into a sensible being, it is still worse 
to make it to be conceived as riaing in rebellion 
iagainst self : 

Cleopatra, Haste^ bare niy arm, and rouse the serpent's fury. 

Covrard flesh * -—• — ' ■ i 

*Would'st thou conspire with C»sar, to betray nfiej 
As thou ivert none of mine ? 11} force thee to't. 

Dryden, Ml for. Love, Act V. 

Next comes descriptive personification : upon 
which I must observe, id general that it ought to 
be cautiously used. A personage in a tragedy, 
agitated by a strong passion, deals in warrri senti- 
ments : and the reader, catching fire by sympathy, 
relisheth the boldest personifications ; but a writer^ 
even in the most lively description, taking a lower 
flight, ought tp content himself with such easy per- 
sonifications as agree with the tone of mind inspired 
by the description. Nor is even such easy person- 
ification always admitted ; for in plain narrative, 
the mind, serious and sedate, rejects personification 
altogether. Strada, in bis history of the Belgic 
wars, has the following passage, which^ by a stram- 
ed elevation above the tone of the subject, deviates 
into burlesque. 

Vix descenderat a prsetoria navi Caesar ; cum ^ fceda illico ex- 
orta in portu tempestas, classem impetii disjecit, prsetorifiiii 
hausit ; quasi non vecturam amplius Cassarem, Cssarisque fortu- 

nam. 

Dec. I. L 1« 

Neither do I approve, in Shakspeare, the speech 
of King John, gravely exhorting the citizens of 
Angiers to a aujdL^flder ; though a tragic writer has 
Vol.il 23a 



much greater latitude than a historian. Take tHe 
following specimen : 

The cannons have their bowels Tull of wrath) 
And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
Their iron-indignation 'gainst your walls. 

Act II« 8e« 3. 

Secondly, If extraordiitarjr marks of respect to 
a person of low rank be ridiculous^ no less so is 
the personification of a low subject. This rule 
chiefly regards descriptive personification ; for a sub- 
ject can hardly be low that is the cause of a violent 
passion : in that circumstance, at least, it must 
ne of importance. But to assign any rule other 
than taste merely, for avoiding things below even 
. descriptive personification, win, 1 am afraid, be a 
hard task. A poet of superior genius, possessing 
the power of inflaming the mind, may take liber- 
ties that would be too bold in others. Homer ap- 
pears not extravagant in animating his darts aild 
arrovi^s : nor Thomson in animating the seasons, 
the winds, the rains, the dews ; he even ventures 
to animate the diamond^ and doth it with pro- 
priety : 



-That poitsh'd bright 



And all its native lustre let abroad, 
Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breasi, 
"With Yaio ambition emulate her eyes. 

But there are things familiar and base, to which 
personification cannot descend. In a composed 
state of mind, to animate a lump of matter even in 
the most rapid flight of fancy , degenerates into bur- 
lesque : 

How now ! What noise ! that spirit's possessed with haste, 
^hat wounds th' unresisting postern with these strokes. 

Skakspeart, Measure for Measure^ Act IV. Sc. 6. 
" Or from the shore 

The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath« 
And;^sing their wild notes to the list'niog watte^ 

Ththnaon^ Spring, 1. 29. 



3|acT. I.] Figum, \B} 

9 
\ 

3peaking of a man's hand cut off in battle ; 

rTe decisa suom, Laride, dextera querit : 
, Stemiaoimesque micant digit! : ferrumque retractant 

JEneid, x. 395. 

The peiBomfication here of a hand i3 insufferable, 
espe^^ally in a plain narration ; not to motion that 
such a trivial incident is too minutely described. 

The same observation is applicable tp abstract 
terms^ which ou^t not to be animated unless they 
have some natural dignity. Thomson, in this arti- 
cle, is licentious ; witness the following instance^ 
put of many : 

O vale ofbHsfT ! O softly svreliinf; bills ! 
On which the power qfeuUivaiion lies, 
And joys to see the wonders of his toil. 

SummeTt 1. 14SS* 

Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst 
Produce the mighty bowl; 
Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn 
Mature and perfect, from hia dark retreat 
Of thirty years, and now hU honest front 
Flames ip the light refulgent. 

Auiumnf 1. 516. 

Thirdly, it is ijot sufficient to avoid improper 
subjects : some preparation is necessary, in order 
to rouse the mind; for the imagination refuses its 
aid, till it be warmed at least, if not inflamed. Yet 
iThomscn, without the least ceremony or prepara- 
'^^tion, introduceth each season as a sensible being : 

V 

^ From brightening fields of aether fair disclosed, 

{ Child of the sun, refulgent Suwmcr comes, 

In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth. 

He comes attended by the sultry hours, . 

And e?er fanning breezes on his way ; 

While from his ardent look, the turning Spring 

ATerts her blushful face, and earth and skies 

All smiling to his hot dominion leares, 

Supmtr^ 1. 1. 



1^^ Figures. [ciIa^p. 2»i 

See jrinfcf'cdnSfe^, io' rule' the f ary>d yfear, 

Sullen and sad with all his risjng train, 

VapourSt Sixid claudsj 'Jiud storms. . 

}f inter f 1. 1. 

This has violently the air of writing mechanicallj 
without taste. It is not' natural that the imagiaa- 
rion of a Writer should be so much heated at the 
very commencement ; and, at any rate, he cannot 
expect such ductility in his readers. But if thi^ 
practice can be justified by authority , Thomson haft 
one of no mean note : Vida begins hife first eclc^ei 
ih the following words : 

Dicite, Tos Muse, et juvepum memonite querelas; 
Bicite ; nam motas i^sas ad cannina cautes 
Et requiesse suos perhibent vaga ftuoaina cursus. 

I ' 

Even Shakspeare is not always careful to prepare 
the mind for this bold figure. Take the following 
instance : 



-Upon these taxations, 



The clothiers all, not able to naaintairi 
The many to them 'longing, hare put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers ; ^'hO| 
"Unfit fof other life, compell'd by hunger, 
And la'ck of other means, in desperate manner 
Daritig th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar, 
And Danger serves among them. 

H€7iry ViU. Act I. So, 4. 

Fourthly, Descriptive personification, still more 
than what is passionate*, pught to be kept within 
the bounds of moderation. A reader warmed with 
a beautiful subject, can imagine, even without pas- 
sion, the winds, for example, to be animated; but 
still the winds are the subject \ and any action 
ascribed to them beyond or contrary to their xxsusiX 
operation, appearing unnatural, seldom fails to ba- 
iiish the illusion altogether: the reader's imagina- 
tion, too far strained, refuses its aid ; and the de- 
scription becomes obscure, instead of being more 



SECT I.] Figures. Ij8& 

lively and strilHng. In this view the foU^i^ipg 
passage describing Cleopatra oa shipboacd^, apt^ 
pears to me exceptionable : 

The barge sh« satio, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burnt on the water : the poop was beaten gold, 
Purple the sails, and so perfinn'd, that 
'Fhe Tvitids were love-sick with 'era. 

Antony and CUopatra^ Act 11. Sc. $< 

The winds in their impetuous course have so much 
the appearance of fury,, that it is easy to figure 
them wreaking their resentment against their ene* 
mies, by destroying houses, ships, &c. ; but to 
figure them love-sick, has no resemblance to them ia 
any circumstance. In another passage, where 
Cleopatra is also the subject, the personification of 
the air is carried beyond all bounds : 



•*Th« citjr cast 



Its people out upon her ; and Antonj 
Inthron'd i' th' market place, did sit alone, 
WhistHng to th' air, which but for vacancf. 
Had gone to gaze an Cleopatra too, 
And made a gap in nature. 

Antony and Cltopatra^ Act IL Sc. 9. 

The following personification of the earth or soil is 
not less wild : 

She shall be dignifi'd with this high honour, 
To bear my Lady's train ;' lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss ; 
And of so great a favour growing proud. 
Disdain to root the summer^swelling flower, • 

And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Tioo Gentlenun of Verona^ Act 1 1. Sc. 7. 

Shakspeare, far firom approving such intemperance 
of imagination, puts this speech in the mouth of a 
ranting loven W either can I relish what foUpws : 

Omnia qus, Phcebo quondam meditante, beatus 
Audit li^urotas, jossU^tie ed^acere laiiros, 
Ille canit. ' 

Virgil, Buc, vi. 82. 



184 Figure. [chap. SJCI, 

The cheerftilnes singly of a pastoral soDg, wilt 
scarce support persooiOcation in the lowest degree. 
But admitting, that a river gently flowing may be 
imagined a sensible being listening to a song, I 
cannot enter into the conceit p( the river's ordering 
his laurels to learn the song : h^re all resemblance 
to any thing real is quite lost. TTiis however is 
copied literally by one- of our greatest poets ; early' 
indeed, before maturity of taste or judgment : 

Thames heard the Diimbers as he flow*d al»i>g, 
And bade his willows learn the movtni^ Hong. 

Pope'9 PattqrcUSf Past. iv. 1. 1 d* 

This author, in riper years, is guilty of a much 
greater deviation from the rule, Dulness may be 
imagined a deity or idol, to be worshipped by bad 
writers ; but then some sort of disguise is requisite, 
some bastard virtue must be bestowed, to make 
such worship in some degree excusable. Yet in the 
Dunciddj Dulness without the least disguise, is 
made the object of worship. The mind rejects such 
a fiction as unnatural ; tor dulness is a defect, of 
which even the dullest mortal is ashamed : 

Then he: Great taraer of all human art ! 

First in my care, and ever at my heart ; 

Dulness ! whose ^ood old cause I yet defend, 

With whom my Muse began, with whom shall end, 

E'er since Sir Fopiing's periwig was praise, 

To the last honours of the Bull and Bays! 

O thou ! of business the directing soul ! 

To this our head, like bias to the bowl, 

Which as more ponderous, made its aim more truCi 

Obliquely waddling to the mark in view : 

O ! ever gracious to perplex*d mankind, 

Still spread a healing mist before the mind: ^ 

And, lest we err by Wit's ^ild dancing light. [.; 

Secure us kindly in our native nis;ht. 

Or, if to wit a coxcomb make pretence, 

Guard the sure barrier between that and sense ; ^l'. 

Or quite unravel all the reas'niog thread. 

And hang some curious cobni^eb in its stead 






Sect, i.] 



FigweSi 



185 



Aft, forc'd from wind-guns, lead itself can fly, 
And pond'roQs slugs cut swiftly through the sky ; 
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe7 
The wheels above urg*d by the load below : 
Me Emptiness and Dullness could inspire, 
And were my elasticity, and fire. 
"' B. i. 163. 

The following instaiice is stretched beyond all re- 
semblance : it is bold to take a part or member of 
a living creature, and to bestow upon it life, voli- 
tion, and action : after animating two such mem- 
bers, it is still bolder to make one envy the other ; 
for this is wide of any resemblance to reality : 



-De Dostri baci 



Meritamenti sia giudice qqella, 

Che la bocca ha piu bella. 

Tutte concordemente* 

fitesser la belissima AmariiU ; 

Ed' etla i suoi begli occhi ' 

Dotcemente chinando, 

Di modestp rossor tutta si tinse, 

£ mostrb ben, che non men bella e dentro 

Di quel che sia di^ fuosi ; 

O fosse, che'l bel volto 

Avesse invidia all' bnorata bocca, ^ 

£ s'adornasse anch' egli 

Delia pu'rpurea sua pomposa vesta, . 

Quasi volesse dir, son hello anchlo. 

Pastor Fido, Act 11. Sc. 1. 

• 

Fifthly, The -en thudasm of passion may have 
the effect to prolong pasaionate personification : but 
descriptive personification cannot be despatched in 
too few words : a circumstantiate description dis- 
solves the charm, and makes the attempt to person- 
ifjr appear ridiculous. Homer succeeds m animating 
his darts and arrows: but such personification spuij 
out in a French translation, is mei^urlesque : 

£t la fleche en furle, avide de son sang, 
Part, vole a lui, Tatteint, et lui perce le flano. 



186 Figures. [chap. -20. 

Horace says happily, 

Post equitem Bedet atra Cura. 

Observe how this thought degenerates by being 
divided, like the former, into a number of minute 
parts: 

' Un fon rempti d erreors, que le trouble accQmpft||Qe 
£f maNide ^ia ville aifisi qu' a la eampagne, 
En vaiD mente a cheval pour tromper son enoui, 
La Chagrin monte en croupe, et galope avec lui. 

A poet, in a short and lively expression y* may tmi- 
mate his muse, his genius, and even his verse : but 
to animate his Verse, and to address a whole epis- 
tle to it, as Boileau doth,* is insupportable. 

The following passage is not less faulty : 

Her fate is whisper 'd by the gentle breeze, 

And told in sighs to all the trembling trees ; 

The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood, 

Her fate .re murmur to the siWer flood ; 

The silver flood, so lately calm, appears 

Swell'd with new passion, and o'erflowa with tears i 

The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore, 

Daphne, our grief! our glory! now no more. 

' Pope's Piuiarals, iv. 6l. 

Let griefor love have the power to animate the 
winds, the trees, the floods, provided the 6gure be 
despatched in a single expression: even in tbat 
case, the figure seldom has a good effect; because 
grief or love of the pastoral kind, are causes rather 
too faint for so violent an effect as imagining the 
winds^ treiBS, or floods, to be sensible beings.. Jut 
when this figure is deliberately spread out, i»tth 
great regularity and accuracy, tnrough many Upesj 
the reader, ii|gbad of relishing it, is struck with itd 
ridiculous appearance. 

•Episnex. 



f 



*BCT. iii] figures. 191^ 

SECTION il. 

Apostrophe. 

. This figure and the former are derived from thp 
Same principle. If, to humour a plaintive passi •n, 
wd can bestow a momentary sensibility upon an 
inanimate object, it is not more difficult to bestow 
a momentary presisnce upon a sensible being wh0 
is absent : 

Hinc Drepanime portus et illsetabilisora 

Accipit. HIc, pelagi i6t tempestatibas acius, 

Heu ! gcnitorrm, omnis curae casusque levamftn, 

Anjitto Ao^blsen ; kU mm pat^r Qptifoe fesium ^ 

Deseris, hpu ! tantis nequicquam erepte pjericJis. 

Nee vates Helentis, cum multa horrenda moner^t^ 

IJos mihi pr«(}ix.it luctus } non dira Celt^no. 

JEmid^ iif. 707* 

.Strike the harp in praise of Bragela, whom I left in the isl^ 
(of mist, the spouse of my love. Dost thou raise thy fair face 
from the frock to fihd the sails of CuchuUin? The sea U roUin^ 
far distant, and its white foam shall deceive thee for niy sails.— 
Retire, for it is night my love, and the dark winds sigh in thy 
hair. Retire io the hall of mjr feasts, and think of the time$ tha^t 
Are past ; for. I will not return till the storm of w^ar is gone. O 
Gonnal, dpeak ot wars and arms, and send her frpra my mind ; 
for lovely with her raven-hair is the white-bosom'd daughter of 
Sorglaji. 

Fir^al, h. i. 

Speaking of Fingal abseht : 

Uappy are thy people, O Fingal ; thine arm shall fight their 
battles. Thou art the first in their dangers ; the wisest in the 
days of their peace ; thou 3peakest, aud thy thoKsands obey ; 
ftnd armies tremble at tho sound of thy ste^. Happy agre thf 
p«MEfp]e, O Fingal. 

» * ■ ' 

Tpis figure is sometimes joined with the former : 
iings inanimate, to quajify them for likening to- ^ 
passionate, expostulation, are no^ only pevsoiiifiedji 
but gUso coaceived to be present : 
Vol. 11. ' na 



J8«' Figures. [cHAP.aSkjr 

Eti fata Dedm/ti mems non leva foitset, 
Impalerat ferro Argolicas fosfjare latebras; 
TVpfaoiie nunc ffare«, PWamioue arx aUa maneres. 

^ ^ JEneid, ii. 54^^ 

Hdnia. — • -Poor Lord, i»'t I 

That chase thee from thy country, and exposo 

Those tender limbs of thine to the event,' 

Of Don-sparing war ; And is it I 

That di^ve thee froiki the sportive court, wher^ thou 

Watt shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 

Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers, 

That ride upon the ytolent speed of fire. 

Fly with false aim : pierce the still moving air 

That rings with piercing ; do not touch my lord. 

MU tDell that ends well, Act III. Sc. 4.- 

And let them lift ten thoilsand swords, said Nathos, with a 
smile ; tne sons of car-borne Usnoth will niever tremble in danger. 
Why dost thou roll with all thy foam, thou roaring sea of UlliD ? 
why do ye rustle on your dark wings, ye whistling tempests of 
the sky? Do ye think, ye storms, that ye keep Nathos on the;' 
coast? No; his soul detains him; children of the night! Althos, 
bHogmy father's arms, Sic. 

Fingdl. 

Whither hast thou fled, O wind, said the king of Morven ! 
Dost thou rustic in the chambers of the south, and pursue the 
shower tn other lands ? Why comest not thou to my sails, to th^ 
Uue (ace of my seas ? The foe is in the land of Morven, and the 
King is absentr 

FingiO, 

Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-hair'd son of 
the sky ! The west hath opened its gates ; the bed of thy repose 
Is there. The waves gather to behold thy beauty ; they lift 
thiiir trembling heads ; they see thee lovely in thy sleep; but 
they shrink away with fear. jRest in thy shadowy cave, O, Sun ! 
and let thy return be in joy. 

Fingal. 

Daughter of Heaven, fair art thou ( the silence of thy face is 
lAeasant. Thou comest forth in loveliness ; the star$ attend thy 
blue steps in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, 
O Moon ! and brighten their dark-brown sides.— -^— Who* 
Is like thee in heaven, daughter of the night ? The start 
lire ashamed in thy presence, and turn aside their sparkling^ 
eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the 
^rkoesft of thy countenance grows ? Hast thou thy half 



^«fccT. H^,] tHgures. 189 

like Ossian? Dwellestthdu in the shallow of grief? Have thy 
ulsters .fallen from heaven? and are they who rejoiced with 
thee ut night no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair light; and 
often dost thou retire to mourn.-^— -But thou thyself shalt, one 
night, fail ; and leave thy blue path in heaven. The star<> wiH 
then lift their heads : they, who in thy presence, were ashamed, 
will rejoice. 

Fingdl. 

' This figure, like all others, requires an agitiatioil 
<>f mind. In plain narrative, as, for example; iii ^- 
ing tiie ^neology of a family, it has no good effect : 

■ ■ Patino Picus pater : isque parentem 

Te, Saturne, refert ; tu sanguinis ultimus au'elor. ' 

Mnetdf ml. -48, 

SECTION III;. 

Hyperhoh* 

In this figure, by which an object is magnSfied 
ror diminished beyond truth, we have another effect 
,of the foregoing principle. An object of an un- 
common size, either very great of its kind or very 
little, strikes us with surprise ; and this emotion 
produces a momentary conviction that the object is 
greater or less than it ds in reality:* the same ef- 
fect, precisely, attends figurative grandeur or little- 
ness ; and hence the hyperbole, which expresses 
th^t momentary conviction. A writer, taking ad- 
vantage of this natural delusion, warms his de- 
scription greatly by the hyperbole : and the reader, 
even in his coolest moments, relishes the figure, bo- 
ingsensible that it is the operation of nature upon 
a glowing fancy. 

It cannot have escaped observation, that a writqir 
is commonly more successful in magnifying by a 

• . • 

* See Chapter Vm. 



• 

bypeilkolft tfasm in diminishii^. The reason is^ 
that a minute object contracts tpe mitid, and fetters 
its power of imagination ; but that the mind, dilat-^ 
jed and inflamed with a grand object, mouldsoh- 
jtects for its gratificaticm with ^eat facility. Lon- 
ginus, with' respect to diminishing hyperbole, 
quoies the following ludicrous thought from b. co- 
mic poet : " He was owner of a bit of ground no 
" larger than a Lacedemonian letter.''^ But, foi 
the reason now given, the hyperbole has by far the 

S eater force in magnifying oDJects; of which take 
e foUowidg e^tamples : 

For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and tq 
thy seed for ever. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the 
earth; so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then 
shall thy seed also be numbered. 

Geneaia^ xlii. 15, 16. 

Ilia Tel intactse segetis per summa Tolaret 
Gramioa : nee teneras cursu liesiftsei aristas. 
-■■-■■ JEndd, vii. 808, 



•Atque imo barathri ter gurghe vastos 



Borbet hi tibrc^tum *fluctus, rtirsuscjue sub aiuras 
Srigit alternds, et sidera Terberat tiodi. 

' Ibid. ni.^h 



rHorlMs juxta ^ofran^ iEtna ruiniis, 



loterdmhque atram prorumipit aid sethera nubeift, 
Turbine fumantem piceo et candente favilla : 
Attollitque globos fiammarum, et sidera lambit. 

Jhid. lii. 5n. 

Spe^r^ of Polyphemus ; 

'' . I pse arduus, altaque pulsat 

Sidera. 

nid.iil 619. 



-When he speaks, 



The air, a cbarterM Ifbertrne, is still. 

Henry V. Act l.Scl^ 

«^ Chapter XXIH. of his treatise on the Sublune. 



siA:f« III.} Figures. I9i 

\ Noir shield with shtcld; with b«ln^et k^lmet clos'dy' 

. To armour armour^ lance to lan^ oppos'd. 

Host against host with shadovvy squadrons drew, 
The sounding^ darts in iron tempests haw. 
Victors and vanquish'd Join promiscuoas cries, 
Aad shriUiog sl\outs ^fid dying gioans arise ; 
"With streaming blood tbe slippVy fields are dy'd, 
And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide. 

. IliadfW, 5T)8t 

The following may also pass, (hough far stretched, 

£ qonjiingendo a temerario ardire 
Estrema forza, e infaticabil lena 
Vien che si impetuoso il ferro gire, 
Che ne tremaJa terra, e*l ciel balena. 

Gi^ruaaiein, eant. v{, st. 46. 

Quintilian* is senate that this figure is natu- 
ral: "For," says he, "not contented with truth,, 
^' we naturally incline to arguRient or diminish be- 
" yond it ; an^ for that reason the hyperbole is 
*' familiar even amons; the vulvar and illiterate :" 
and he 'adds, very justly, " That the hyperbole is 
^' then proper, when the subject of itself exceeds 
^' the common measure." From these premises, 
one would not expect the following inference, the 
only reason he can find for justifying this figure of 
speech, **Conceditur enira amplius dicere, quia 
"dici quantum est nbn potest: meliitsque ultra 
^'quam citra stat oratio." (We are indulged to say 
more than enough, because we cannot say enough ; 
and it is better to be above than under.) In tho 
name of wonder, why this childish reasoning, af- 
ter observing that the hyperbole is founded on hu- 
man nature ? I could not resist this personal stroke 
of criticism ; intended not against our author, for 
ho human creature is exempt irom error, but against 
the blind veneration that is paid to the ancient clas- 
sic writers, without distinguishing their blemishes 
Iron) their beauties. 

T-li. yUL cap. vi. in fin. 



192 Figures. [chap. 2tt. 

Having examined the nature of this figure, and 
the principle on which it is erected^ I proceed, as 
in the first section, to the rules by which it ought 
to be governed. And, in the first place, it is a ca- 
pital mult, to intri^duce an hyperbole in the de- 
scription of any thing ordinary or familiar ; for in 
such a case, it is altogether unnatural, being desti- 
tute of surprise, its only foundation. Take the 
following instance, where the subject is extremely 
familiar, viz. swimming to gain the shore after a 
shipwreck. 

I saw him beat the surges under him, 

And ride upon their backs ; he trode the water ; 

Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 

The surge most «woln that met him : his bold hea4 

*fiove the contentious waves lie kept» and oar'd 

Himself with his good arms, in iusty strokes 

To th' shorcy that o'er his wave-born basis bow'd, 

As stooping to relieve ^rm. 

Tempest, Act II.. Se. 1. 

Iij the next place, it may be gathered from what 
is said, that an hyperbole can never suit the ton6 
of any dispiriting passion: sorrow in particular 
will never prompt such a figure ;. for which reason 
the following hyperboles must be condemned as 
unnatural : . ^ 

K. Rich» Aumerle, thou \veep'st, my tender-hearted c nsint 
W,e*li make foul weather with despised tears ; ^ 

Our aighs, and they, shalModge the summer-corn, 
And make a dearth in this revoltin]^ land. 

Richi^rdll Act III. Sc. 6. \ 

Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tear* 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do ki&s thi^ most exalted shores of all. 

Julius Ce^ar, Act I. Sc. 1. 

Thirdly, A writer, if he wished to succeed, 
ought always to have the reader in his ^ye : Jhe 
ought in particular never to venture a bold thought 



s«:t. iif.J Figures. 193 

or expresdoQ, till the reader be warned and pre- 
pared. For that reason, an hyperbole in the be- 
ginning of a work can never be in its place. Ex- 
ample : 

Jam pauca aratro jugera regiae 
Moles relinquent. 

Horat Carm, 1. i. ode 1 5. 

The nicest point of all, is to ascertain the natu- 
ral limits of an hyperbole, beyond which bein^ 
overstrained it hath a bad effect Longinus, in the 
above-cited chapter, with great propriety of thought 
enters a caveat against an hyperbole of this kind ; 
he compares it to a bow-string, which relaxes by 
overstraining, and produceth an effect directly op- 
posite to what is intended. To ascertain any pre- 
cise boundary,' would be difficult, if not impractica- 
ble. Mine shall be an humbler tast» which is, to 
^ve a specimen of what I reckon overstrained hy- 
perbole; and I shallbe brief upon them, because 
examples are to be found every where : no fault is 
more common among writers of" inferior rank ; and 
instafices are found even among classical writers ;, 
witness the following hyperbole, too bold even foir 
in Hotspur. ' 

Hotspur talking of Mortimer : 

In single opposUion hand to band, 

He did confound the be^t part of an hour 

In changing bardiment with great GJend^wer. 

Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drinfc, . . 

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood, 

Who then affrighted with their bloody looks, 

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 

And hid his ciisp'd head in the hollow bank, 

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 

First Part, Henry IF. Aet t. Sc. 4. 

Speaking of Henry V., 

England ne'er had a king until his time ; 
Virttte he had, deserving to command ; 






194 t^res. f citAP. 2ft 

Hm brandish'd tirord did Mind mcii with its b^ania : 
Hit arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire, 
More dazzled, and drove back his enemies, 
Than mid-day son fierce bent against their faces. 
"What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech : 
He never lifted up bis hand, hut conquered. 

First Part Htnry VL Act I; Se. 1. 

Se tutti gli atberi del mondo fossero penne, 
II cielo fosse carta, il mare inchdstro, 
Noli basteriano a descrivrre la minima 
Paate delle Tostre perfettioni. 

Se tantc lingue havessl, e tante voci, 
Quant' occhi il cicilo e quante arene il mare, 
Perderian tutto il suono, c la favella 
Nel dire a pie no le vostrl lodi tmmensi. 

Gaarini. 

It is observable, that a hyperbole, even the most 
extravagant, commonly produces some emotion: 
the present hypetbole is an exception : and the rea- 
son is, that numbers, in which the extravagance 
entirely consists, make no impression upon the 
• imagination when they exceed what can easily be 
conceived* 

Lastly^ an hyperbole, aftei' it is introduced with 
all advantages, ought to be comprehended within 
the fewest words possible : as it cannot be relished 
but in the hurry and swelling of the mind, a lei- 
surely view dissolves \\xe charm, and discovers the 
description to be extravagant at least, and perhaps 
also ridiculotis. This fault is paipable in a sonnet 
which passeth for one of the most complete in the 
French language. Pbillis, in a long and florid de- 
scription, is made as far to outshine the sun as he 
outshines the stars, 

Le silence regnoit sur la tc'rre et sur Toiide, 
L'air devfenbit serain et I'Olimpe rcrmeil, 
Et Tamour^ux Zepbir affrancbi dd sommeil, 
Rcssuscitoit lea (tears d'upe haleine i^conde, 



r 



^kcT. iVi] IHgures. ' IfB 

L^Aurore d^ployoit hot de sa tresse blonde^ 
Et aeinoit dk rubis le chemin du soleil ; 
^ofiD ce pieu venoit au plus grand appareil 
<^u'il soit jamais venu pour eclairer le monde. 

Quand la jeune Phillis au visage riaht^ 
Sortantde son palais plus clair que I'orieht, 
Fit voir une lumiere et plus vire et plus belle. 
Sacre flambeau du jour, n'en soyez point jaloux. 
Vous parQtes alors aussi peu devant elte, 
Que les feux de la ntiit avoient fait devarit votts. 



MdUevide. 



There is in Chaucer a thought expressed in a sin- 
gle line, whiqh gives more lustre to a young beau- 
ty, than the whole of this much-laboured poem: 

Up rose the sun, and up rose Emelie. 



SECTION IV. 



The Means or trhstruinent conceived to be ihe 

Agent. 

When we survey a number of Connected objects^ 
that "which makes the greatest figure employs chief- 
iy our attention ; and the emotion it raises, if live- 
ly, prompts us even to exceed nature in the concep- 
tion we form of it. Take the following examples : 

For Neleus' son Alcides' rage had slain. 
A broken rock the /arce of PiruB threw. 

In these instances, the rage of Hercules and the 
force of Pirus, being thfe capital circumstances, are 
so far exalted as to be conceived the agents that 
produce the effects.. 

In the following instances, hunger being the 
chief circumstance in the description, w itself ima- 
gined t» be the patient. 

Vol. II. 25rf 



f 

' 196 Figures. [chap. 20. 

nbote hunger has not tailed food these three daju. 

Jane Shore. 

[ ' — Ah when the forte 

\ OfsubterraneaiifriDd trtosparlt a hill. 

Paradise t,ost. 
—As when the potent rod 



Of Araram's ton, in ERypt's evil day 

Ward round the cobbI, upcBli'il a jiitchy cloud 

Of locusts. 

Paraditt Lotl. 

SECTION V. 

A Figure, which, among Related Objects, extendi 
the Properties of one to another. 

This figure is not dignified with a proper ni 
because it has been overlooked by writers. It 
rits,- however, a place in this work ; and rou 
distinguished from those formerlj handled, a! 
pending on a different principle. Giddy b 
jovial wine, daring wound, are examples of thi 
gure. Here are adjectives that cannot be h 
to si^ify any quality of the substantives to w 
they are joined : a brink, for example, cannol 
termed giddy in a sense, either proper oi' figurai 
^at can signify any of its qualities or attribi 
When we examine attentively the expression, 
discover that a brink is termed giddy, from prot 
ingthat effect in those who stand on it. In the s: 
manner a wound is said to be daring, not with 
sbect to Itself, but >vith respect to the holdnes 
the person who inflicts it : and wine is said to 
jomal, as mspiring mirth and jollity. Thus 
attributes of one subject are extended to anol 
with which it is connected ; and the expressioi 
such a thought must be considered as a fieare, 
cause the attribute is not applicable to the suhi 
iQ any proper sense. 



r 






i SECT- V.]' « Figures. 197 

How are we to account for this figure, which we 
' see lies in the thought, and to what principle shall 
: we refer it ? Have poets a privilege to alter the 
nature of things, and at pleasuse to bestow at- 
^ tributes upon a subject to which they do not belong? 
We have had often occasion to inculcate, that the 
mind passeth easily and sweetly along a train of 
connected objects ; afid, where the objects are in- 
[ timately connected, that it is disposed to cany 
; along the good and bad properties of one to ano- 
ther ; especially when it is any degree inflamed 
with these properties.* From this principle is de- 
i •%ived the figure pnder consideration. Language, 
; invented for the communication of thought, would 
be imperfect, if it were not expressive even of the 
slighter propensities and more deUcate feelings : 
but language cannot renoain so iipperfect among a 
t people who have received any polish ; because lan- 
guage is regulated by internal feeling and is gra- 
dually improved to express whatever passes in tb^ 
mind. Thus, for example, when a sword in the 
hand of a coward, is termed a coward sword^ the 
expression is significative of an internal opejr ation ; 
for the mind, in passing from the agent to its in- 
struncient, is disposed to extend to the latter thepro- 
perties of the former. Governed by the same prin- 
ciple, we say listening fear, by extending the attri- 
' bute listening of the man who listens, to the pas- 
sion with which he is moved. In the expression, 
bold deed, or* audax /acinus, we extend to the ef- 
fect what properly belongs^ to the cause. But not 
to waste time by making a commentary upon every 
expression of this kind, the best way to give a 
complete view of the subject, is to exhibit a table 
of the different relations that may give occasion to 
this figure. And in viewing the table, it will be ob- 

*> See Chapter II. Part i. Sect. 5. 



198 Figures. , .[chap. 2». 

served, that the figure can never haye any grace 
but where the relations are of the most intimate 
kind. 

1. An attribute of the cause expressed as an at- 
tribute of the effect. 

4udaz faciDus. 

Of yonder |leet a ^oU ditcoTery make. 

Ad imptouB oiortal gave the daring wound. 

I. — ^To my advenVrouM song, 

That with no middle flight intends to soar. 

Paradise Lnt. 

2. An attribute of the effect expressed as an at-: 
tribute of the cause* 

Quos periisse apabos misera conseham in man. 

Plautus. 

No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height. . 

Paradise Lost: 

3. An effect expressed as an attribute of the 
cause. 

Jovial wine, Giddy brink. Drowsy night, Musing midnight^ 
Fainting height, Astoaish'd thought, Mournful gloom. 

Casting a dim religious light. 

MUtoUf Comus, 

And the merry bells ring round, 
And the jocund rebecks sound. 

MiUoUy JBUgro, 

4. An attribute of a subject bestowed upon one 
pf its parts or mepibers. 

Longing arms. 

It was the nightingale and not the lark, 

That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine car. 

Borneo and Juliet^ Act HI. Sc. 7. 

!■ Oh, lay by 

Those most ungentle looks and angry weapons ; 
TJnIess you mean my griefs and killing fears 
Phoulcl Btrcteh n|e out at your relentless feet. 

Fair Penitent, Act Uf. 



^scXf V,] Figures^ 199 



-And ready now 



To stoop with ijpearied wing and toUling feist, 
On the bare outside of this world. 

Paradue Lost, b. iii. 

6. A quality of the agent given to the instru- 
inent with which it operates. 

Why peep your coward swords half out their shells ! 

6- An attribute of the agent given to the subject 
upon which it operates. 

ffigfi'dimhing hill. 

Milton, 

7. A quality of pne subject given to another. 

Icci, btatis nunc Arabam intides 
Gazis. 

Iforat Ckirm. 1. i. ode 29. 

When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 

Shakspeare, 

Py art, the pilot through the boiling deep 
And howling tempest, steers the /f arZe55 ship. 

Iliad, xt'iii. 3S5, 

Then, nothing loth, th' enamoured fair he led. 
And sunk transported on the con8eious bed. 

Od^ty, viii. 337* 

A stupid moment motionless she stood. 

Summer, I. 133C. 

8. A circumstance connected with a subject, ex- 
pressed as a quality of the subject. 

Breezy summit. 

'Tis ours the chance of Jighiing fields to try. 

Jliad, i. 301. . 

Oh ! had I dy'd before that tvell-fougkt wall. 

Odyssey, v. 395.' 

From this table it appears, that the adorning a 
cause with an attribute of the effect, is not so agree- 
able sis the opposite expression. The progress 



I 



200 Figures. [chap. 20. 

from cause to effect is natural and easy : the oppo- 
site progress resembles retrograde motion;* and, 
therefore panting f^ig^j astonished thought^ are 
strained and uncouth expressions, which a writer 
of taste will avoid. 

It is not less strained, to applj to a subject in its 
present state, an epithet that m^y belong to it in 
some future state : 

Svbmesasque obrue puppes. 

JEneid^ i. 7^, 

And iDighty ruins fall. 

Iliad v. 411. 

Impious SODS tbeir mangled fathers woupd. 

Another rule regards this figure, That the pro- 
perty of one subject ought not to be bestowed upon 
another with which that property is incongruous: 

• King Rich.'F' How dare Ihy joints for^^et 

To pay their awful duty la our presence ? 

Richard JL Act III. Sc. 6. 

The connexion between an awful superior and his 
submissive dependant is so intimate, that an attri- 
bute may readily be transferred from the one to the 
other: but awfulness cannot be so transferred, be- 
cause it is inconsistent with submission. 



SECTION VI. 

Metaphor and Allegory. 

A METAPHOR differs from a $imile, in form 
only, not in substance : in a simile, the two sub- 
jects are kept distinct in the expression, as well as 
m the thought ; in a metaphor, the two subjects 
are kept distinct in the thought only, not in the ex- 

* See Chapter!. 



SECT* VI.] Figures. 201 

pression. A hero resembles a lion, and, upon that 
resemblance; many similes have been raised by 
Homer and other poets. But instead of resembling 
a lion, let us take the aid of the imagination, and 
feign or figure the hero to be a lion : by that varia- 
tion the simile is converted into a metaphor ; which 
is carried on by describing all the qualities of a 
lion that resemble those of the hero. The funda- 
mental pleasure here, that of resemblance, belongs 
to the thought. An additional pleasure arises from 
the expression : the poet, by figuring his hero to 
be a lion, ^oes on to describe the lion in appear- 
ance, but m reality the hero ; and his description 
is peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues 
and qualities of the hero in new terms, which, pro- 
perly speaking, belong not to him but to the lion. 
This will better be understood by examples. A 
family connected with a common parent, resembles 
a tree, the trunk and branches of which are con- 
nected with' a common root : but let us suppose, 
that a family is figured, not barely to be like a tree, 
but to be a tree : and then the simile will be con- 
verted into a metaphor, in the following manner : 

Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
"Were sev*n fair branches, springing from one root : 
Some of these branches by the dest'oics cut : 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glo*ster, 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root. 
Is hackM down, and his summer-leaves all faded, 
By Envy»a hand and Murder's bloody axe. 

Richard II. Act I. So. 3. 

Figuring human Hfe to be a voyage at sea : 

' There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyag« of their life 
Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat, 
And we must take the current while it sei^res, 
Or lose our ventures. 

« Julius Cesar f Act IV. »Sk. 5. 



$J0!2 Figures. [chap. 2ft 

Figuring glory and honour to bfe a garland of flowe» 

' Hotspur. ^-~ Wou^d to heav'n, 

Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 

Pr, Hennj, V\\ make it greater, ere I part from thee, 
And all the budding honours on thy crest, 
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. ^ ^^ ^ 

First Part, Hennj IV. Act V. Sc 9- 

Figuring a ihan who hath acquired great reputation 
and honour to be a tree full of fruit : 

•Olv, boys, this story 



The world may read in me: my body's mark'd 

AVith Roman swords ; and my report was once 

First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me ; 

And when a soldier was the theme, my name 

Was not far ofiT: then was I as a tree. 

Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night, 

A storm or robbery, call it what you will. 

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves; 

And left me bare to weather. 

Cymbeline, Act III. Sc. 9. 

Blest be thy soul, thou king of shells, said Swaran o/ the daf k- 
brown shield. In peace thou art the gale of spring ; in war, the 
mountain-stprm. Take now my hand in friendship, thoa noble 
kingofMorven. ^.^^^^ 

Thou dwellcst in the soul of Melvina, son of mighty Ossian. 
My sighs arise with the ^eam of the east; ray tears descend 
with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Os- 
car, with all my branches round me; but tltydeath came hke a 
blast from the desert, and laid' my green head, low : the spring 

returned with its showers, but no leaf of mine arose. 

Ibtd. 

I am aware that the term ruetaphor has been 
used in a more extensive sense than I gire it ; but 
I thought it of consequence in a disquisition ot 
some intricacy, to confine the term to its proper 
sense, and to separate from it things that are dis- 
tinguished by different names. An allegory diffcR 
from a metaphor and what I would choose to cau 



^^^gwre of speech^ ditfers from both. I pcoeeed to 
^xplaiD these differences. A metsgshear is define^ 
above to be an act of the iou^ination^ figming out 
thing to be anotbef . An allegoiy ivqiures no sucli 
flperation, nor is one thing figured to be another t 
it coikii&ts in choosing a subject having prgpettiet 
or circumstances resembling those of the prmcipa) 
^bjoct ; attd the former is described in sucn a coMh 
ner as to represent the la,tter ; tlie subject thus reri 
presented is kept out of view ; we are left to disco«' 
ver it by reflection ; and we are pleiyied Urith thfi 
cybcoyery^ because it is pw own woifc^s Quintiban* 
givfes the following instance of an allegory : 

O navis, referent in mare te novi 

Fluctus. O quid agis? ibrtileraceupaportam. 

Borat irk u tdt 14. 

and explains it elegantly in the following wqrd^ i 
" Tptuaque ille Horatii locus^ quo navim pro re- 
<^ publica, fluctuutp tempestates pro bellis eiviiibus^ 
" portum pro pace, atque conqordia, dicit," 

* A finer or more correct allegoijr is not to be fbun4 
than the following, in which a vineyard is made tg 
represent God's own people the JewSk 

Thoo haat brought a vit>d out of E;^pt } tbau hast Aast out t^^ 
heathen, and planted it. Tboi^ didjit caUse it to take d^ep root^ 
and it filled the land. The hills were covered with itsshadow^ 
And the boughs thereof were Uke tht goodly cedari. Why hast 
thou then broken down her hedges^ sp tha^t all which pass do 
pluck her ? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild 
beast doth devour it, Return, we beseeoh the#, O Qod of hosts t 
look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the 
vineyard thy ri^ht hand hath planted, and the branch thou madest 
strong for thyself. 

Psalm Ixxx. 

In a word, an allegory is in fevery respect simi- 
lar to an hieroglyphical painting, excepting only 

* L. VIII. cap. vi. sect % 

Vol. II. 26« 



% 

Sot Figures. [chap. 2^; 

that words are used instead of colours. Their ef^ 
fects are precisely the same : a hieroglyphic raises 
two images in the mind ; one seen, which repre- 
sents one not seen ; an aUeg6ry does the same ; the* 
representative object is described ; and resemblance 
leads us to apply the description to the subject re* 
presented; In a figure of speech^ there is no fic- 
tion of the imagination employed, as in a metaphdrf 
nor a representative subject introduced, as in an 
allegory. This fi^re, as its name implies, regards 
the expression omy, not the thought ; and it may 
be denned^ the using a word in a sense different 
from what is proper to it. Thus youth^ or the he^ 
ginning of life, is expressed figuratively by morning 
of life : mornipg is the beginning of the day ; and 
in that view it is employed to signify the beginning 
of any other series, life especistily, the progress of 
which is reckoned by days. 

Figures of sj)eecn are reserved for a separate 
sectioh ; but metaphor and allegory are so mucK 
connected, that tney must be handled together : 
the rules particularly for distinguishing the good 
^om the bad, are common to both. We shall there^ 
fore proceed to thesq rules, after adding some ex- 
amples to illustrate the nature of an allegory. Ho- 
race, speaking of his love to Pyrrha, which itas 
now extinguished, etpresseth himself thUS^ : 



*■ 



-Me tabulal sacer 



Voltiv^ paries bdicat uvida 
Smpendisse poteoti 
Vestitoentli maris Deo. 



' I 

Carm. 1. i. ode 5; 



Again: 



PbfBbus Yolentem prmWsL me ioquS, 
Victas et urbes, increpuit lyra ; 
Ne parva Tyrreohum per ifequbr 
Vela dared. 



CUrm. I. T« 6de 1^ 



»«CT. VI.] Figurfis^ 809 

iifieen. Great LorJs, wise .men neVr sit and wail U^eir losy^ 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What though the mast be now thrown overboard, 
Tt»e eabie Woke, the holding anchor lost, 
And hM our sailors swallow'd in the flood ; 
STet lives our pilot still. Is*t meet, that he 
Should leave the helmi and, like a fearful lad, 
With tearful eyes, add water to the sea. 
And give more strength to that which hath too mucli ; 
ISTtiile in his moan the ship splits on the rock, 
Which industry and courage might have sav'd ? 
Ahy what a shame ! ah, what a fault were tHis! 

Third Part, Henry VL Act Y. Sc. 5. 

OrodnoJbo. Ha ! thou hast rous'd 
The lion in his den ; he stalks abroad, 
^nd the wide forest trembles at bis roar. 
i find the danger now. 

Oroonoko, Act III. Sc. f , 

My well-beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill. H,e 
fenced it, gathvred out the stones thereof, planted it with the 
choicest vines, built a tower in the midst of it, and also, made a 
^ine-press therein: he looked that it should bring forth grapes, 
and it brought fortb wild grapes. And now, O inbabitauts of 
Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pra}* you, betwixt me and 
my ivipeyard. What could have been done more to my vineyard, 
that I have not done ? Wherefore, when I looked that it should 
luring. forth grapes brought it forth wild grapes? And now g^ 
to ; I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard : I will take 
away the he^ge thereof, aud it shall be eaten up ; and break 
down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And \ 
will lay it waste : it shall not be pruned, nor digged, but there 
shall come up briers and thorns : . I will also command the clouds 
ithat they rain no rain upon it. For the vine} ard of the Lord of 
hosts is the house of Israel, ai^d the men of, Judah his pleasant 
jpla,^t. 

haiak^y.l. 

• 

The rules that govern metaphors, and allegq^s^ 
are of two kinds : the construction of these iigur^s 
comes under the first kind : the propriety or im* 
propriety of introduction comes under the other. 
1 begin with rules of the first kind ; some of which 
coincide with those already given for similes ; some 
are piicuti«r to metaphors and alle^oriei^. 



JM Figwts. [CHAP. 9^ 

And, in th^ fost pl^ce, it has l^een observed, 
that a simile cannot te agreeable where the resem,- 
blance is either too strong or too faint. This holds 
equally in metaphor and allegory ; and the redsoa 
b the same in ail* In the following instances, the 
resemblance is too faint to be agreeable. 

Malcolm. ■ ■ But there's no bottom, none 
Id my voluptuousness ; your wives, your (iHughters^ 
Your matrons and your miaids, could not fill up 
The cistern of n^y lust. 

JUacbeth, Act Vp Sc. i. 

The Best way to judge of this metaphor, is to con-* 
vert it into a simile ; which would be bad, because 
there is scarce any resemblance between lust and 
a cii^tern, or betwixt enormous hist and a large 
tisterut 

Again : 

He cannot butfcle his distemperM cause 
Within the bell of rule. 

Macbeth, Act V. Sc, 2* ^ 

There is no resemblance between a distempered 
cause and any body that cap be confined witW ^ 
belt 

Again: 

Steep wc in poverty to the very lips. 

Othello, Act IV. Sc. 9. 

Poverty here must be conceived a fluid, which it 
Jfesembles hot in afay manner. 

Braking to BoUngtoDke banished for si^ yeani. : 

Th& sullenpassa^^.of thy >jeary steps 
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
9*b6 ptefcio^s jewel of thjr hoiftc-ifetum. 

'M^htard &. Mil. 8e. 6. 



Here'a a letter, lady, 

And every word in it a gaping wound 

Issuing life-fa^od. 

Merchant of Venicfj \e.i III. Sc. 3. 

Tantx trbolis erat Romanam condere gentem. 

JBntid, L 37. 

The followiog metaphor is strained beyond all en- 
durance ; Timur-bec, known to us by the name of 
Tamerlane the Great, writes to Bajazet, Emperor 
of the Ottomans, in the following terms : 

Where is the monarch who dares resist us ? where is the po- 
tentate who doth not glory in being numbered among our atten- 
dants ? As for thee, descended from a Turcoman sailor, since 
the vessel of thy unbounded ambition hath been wrecked in the 
gulf of thy self-love, it would be proper, that thou shoutd'st take 
10 the sails of thy temerity, and cast the anchor of fepontance in 
the port of sincerity and justice, which is the port of safety; 
ieet thft tempest of our vengeance mukft thee perish in the sea 
of the puoishmeottbou deserrest* 

6uch strained figures, as observed above,* are not 
unfrequent in the first dawn of refinement : the 
mind in a new enjoyment knows no bounds, and is 
generally carried to excess, till taste and experienco 
discover the proper limits. 

Secondly, Whatever resemblance subjects may 
have, it is wrong to put one for another, where they 
bear no mutual proportion ; upon comparing a ve- 
ry high to a very low subject, tne simile takes on an 
air 01 burlesque ; and the same will be the effect, 
where the one is imagined to he the other, as in a 
metaphor ; or made to represent the other, as in an 
allegory. 

Thirdly, These figures, a metaphor especially, 
ought not to be crowded with many minute circum- 

• • • " . " 

"^ Chap^rXQC. Gompaiis^os. 



208 Figures. [chaf. 2Q, 

stances ; for in that case it is scarcely posMble to 
avoid obscurity. A metaphor above all ought to 
be short: it is difficult, for any time, to support a 
lively image of a thing being what we know it is 
not ; and lor that reason, a metaphor drawn out to 
any length, instead of illustrating or enlivening the 
principal subject, becomes disagreeable by over- 
strainmg the mind. Here Cowley is extremely 
licentious : take the following instalice. 

Great and wise conqu'ror, who where-e'er 

Thou com'st, doth fortify, and settle there ! 

Who canst defend as well as get, 
And never badst one quarter beat up yet ; 

Now thou art in, thou ne*er will part 

With one inch of my vanquished heart : 
for jsince thou took'st it by assault from me, 
Tis garrisoned bo strong with thoughts of thee, 

It fears no beauteous enemy. 

For the same reason, however agreeable long aller 
gories may at first be by their novelty, they never 
afford B,ny lasting pleasure ; witness the Fairy- QueetL 
which with great power of expression, variety of 
images, and melody of versification, is scarce evef 
read a second time. 

In the fourth place, the comparison carried on in 
a sim.ile, being in a metaphor sunk by imagining 
the principal subject to be that very thing which it 
only resembles ; an opportunity is furnished to der 
scribe it in terms taken strictly or literally with re- 
spect to its ijmagined nature* This suggests ano- 
ther rule, that in constriicting a metaphor, the 
writer ought to make use of such words only as are 
applicable literally to the imagined nature of h^s 
subject ; figurative words ought carefully to be 
avoided ; for such complicated figures, instead of 
setting the principal subject in a strong light, in- 
volve it in a cloud ; and it is well if the reader, 
without rejecting by the lump^ endeavour patiently 



sfEct. VI.] Figure^. 20^ 

to gather the plain meaning regardkss of the figures : 

A stubborn and unconquerable flame 

Creeps in his veins, and drinks the stream'^ of life. 

Lfidif Jane Ordy, Act I. Se. 1. 

Copied from Ovid, 

Sorfoeot avid» pr«eordia flamms. 

Metamorph. lib. iz. 172. 

Let us analyse this expression. That a fever may 
he imagined a flame, I admit ; though more than 
one step is necessary to come at the resemblance : 
a fever, by heating the body, resembles fire ; and 
it is no stretch to imagine a fever to be a fire : again, 
by a figure of speech, flame may be put for fire, be- 
cause they arie commonly conjoined; and therefore 
a fever may be termed a flame. But now adniitting 
a fever to be a flame, its effects ought to be ex- 
plained in words that agree literalfy to a flame. 
This rule is not observed here ; for a flame drinks 
figuratively only, not properly. 

King Henry to his son Prince Hetiry : 



Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts^ 
Whiiih thou hast whetted on thy stony heart 
To stab at half an hour of my frail life. 

Stetind Part, Henry tV. Act IV. Sc. li; 

Such faulty metaphors are pleasantly ridiculed in 
the Rehearsal: 

PhyHdan, Sii^ to conclude, the place you fill has more than 
amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot ; and all these threat- 
ening storms, which like impregnate clouds, hover o'er our heads, 
will, when they oiice are grasped but by the eye of reason^ melt 
into fruitful showers of blessings on the people. 

Bayei. Pfay mark that allegory. Is not that good ? 

Johnson. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye is admi* 
table. 

A«tIJ. So, 1. 



210 Figures^. fcHiF. 2ft 

Fifthly, Tbe jumbling diffef«nt mcstepiM>fa ki 
the same sentence, beginning with one metaphor 
and ending with another, commonly caUed a mixt 
metaphor, ought never to be indulged. Quiritillian 
bears testimony against it in the bitterest terms ; 
" Nam id quoque in primis est custodieiidlim^ ut 
^* quo ex genere coeperis translationis, hoc desinas. 
" M uiti enim, cum initiumatempestatesumpserunt, 
" incendio aiit ruina finiunt : quae est iaconsequen- 
^* tia rerum foedissima." L. viii* €ap. vij. si^cU 2. 

K* Henry Will you again link nit 

This churlidh knot of all-ahhorred war, 
And move in that ob«dicnVorb again, 
Where jou did give a fuir and tiaturai light P 

First Part, Henrtf F/. Act V, Sc. 1. 

Whether *tis nobler in the mindf to suffer 
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, ':: 
And by Dppcfsiog end ibem. 

BamUt, Act ni. Sc. 2. 

In the sixth place, It is unpleasant to join de- 
ferent metaphors in the same period, even where 
they are preserved distinct : for when the subject 
is imagined to be first pne thing and then another, 
in the same period without interval, the mind is 
distracted by the rapid transition ; and when the 
imagination is put on such hard duty, its images 
are too faint to produce any good effect : 

Atregina gravi janadudutn saucia cura, 
Vuinns alit venis, et c(e#o carpitur igni. 

•STitWicf, iv. 1.' 

— Est mollis fiamma medullas 

Interea, et taciturn vivit sub pectore vulngs. 

.^mid, ir. 64 

Mo turn ex M^tello consul e civieuin, 
Bellique causas, et vitia, et modos, 
Ludumque fortunie, ^ravesque 
Princinura amicitias, pt arma 



SivcT. vul Figures. 2H 

NonduDi expiatis uncta cruoribus, 
Periculoase plenam opus alee, 
Tractas, et incedis per ignes 
Subpositos cioeri dolbso. 

Horat Carm, 1. ii. o^f l. 

In the last place^, It i^ still worse to jumble to- 
gether metaphorical and natural expression, so as 
. that the period must be understood in part meta- 
jptiorically, in part litemlly; for the imagination 
cannot follow with sufficiient ease changed so sud- 
den and unprepared : st metaphor begun and not 
carried on hath no beauty : and instead of lieht 
there is nbthirig but obscurity and confusion. In- 
stance's of such incorrect composition are without 
number. I shall, for a specimen, select a few from 
different authors. 

Speaking of Britain, 

Thid precious stone set Jd the sea. 
'Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
Or as a moat defensive to a house 
Against the envjr of less happier lafcds. 

Richard IL Act I» Sc. 1* 

In the first line Britain is figured to be a precipiis 
stone : in the following lines, Britain, divested of 
her metaphorical dress, is presented to the reader 
in her natural appearance. 

These growing feathers, pluck'd from Cffisars Witi^, 
yrut make him fly an ordinai'y pitch, 
Who else ivould soar above the view of men, 
And keep us all in servile fearfulnes. 

Julius Cesar y Act !• Scl 1. 

Rebus angustts animoSus atque 
Fortis adpare : sapienter idem 
Contrahes.vento nimiUm secundo 
Turgida vela. 

Hor, 

Thd following is a b miserable jumble of expres- 
sionsi arisiQg from an unsteady view of the sub- 
V6l.il 27a 



1 



21^ Figures. (cmf. 2ft 

ject, between its figurative and natural appear- 
ance: 

Bat now from i^athVing clouds deatruction poiire, 
iVhich ruins with nlad rago our halcyon hours : 
Mists from black jealousies the tempest form, 
VThilst late divisions reinforce the .storm. 

DisptnMory, canto iii. 

To thee, the world its pregent homage pays, 
The harvest early, hut mature the praise. 

Pqpe*8 Imitation o/* Horace, b.ii. 

OUi, sa pudeur n*est que ft'anehe grimace, 
Qu'une ombre de vertu qui garde mal la place^ 
Etqui s'evaDouit, comme Ton pent savoir, < 

Aux rayons du soleil qu'une bourse fait voir. ' 

Moliere, VEtourdi, wlct III. Sc «• 

£t son feu, depourd de sense et de lecture, 
S'^teint a chaque pas, fautc de nourriture. 

Boileau, VArt Poetique, Chant, iii. L 519. 

Diyden, in his dedication of the translation of Ju- 
venalj says, 

When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone,- or 
knowledge of the compass, 1 was sailing in a vast ocean, without 
other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the 
French stage among the moderns, kc. 

^here is a time when factions, by the vehemente df their owfi 
fermentation, stun and disable one another. 

Bolfmgbr6ke. 

This fault of jumbling the figure and plain ex- 
pression into one confused mass, is not lesB com- 
mon in allegoiy than in metaphor. Take th^ fol- 
lowing examples : 



>Heu ! quoties fideni, 



Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera 

Nigris squora ventis 
Emirabitur insolens, 
Qui nunc te fruHur credulus aureH : 
%lm semper Tacuam, semper amabilem 

Sperat, nedciut aurae 

FallacM, 

TftHa/. Carm. 1 1 odd I . 



SECT. VI.] Figures. , 213 

Pour moi sur e^tte mer, qu'ii'i bas nous courons, 
Je songe ame pounroir d'esquif et d'avirobs, 
A regler mes desirs, a prfevenir I'orage, 
}!lt sauver, 8*il se peut,^ ma Raiso)i du naufrage. 

BoiUa%f Epitre^ v. 

I^erd Halifax, speaking of the ancient fabulists ; 
-^ They (says he) wrote in 3igns, and spoke in pa- 
^'' rabies : all their fables carry a double meaning ; 
" the story is one and entire ; the characters the 
^^ same throughout ; not broken or changed, and 
'' always conformable to the nature of the creature^ 
" they introduce. They never tell you, that the 
" dog which snapped at a shadow, lost his troop of 
*' horse ; that would be unintelligible. This is his 
*^ (Djyden's) new way of telling a story, and con- 
*^ founding the njoral and the fable together." Af- 
ter instancing from the hind and panther, he goes 
oathus: *^ What relation has the hind to our Sa- 
^* viour: or what notion have we of a panther's 
" Bible ? If you say he means the church, how 
■' does the church teed on lawns, or range in th^ 
*' forest ? Let it be always a church, or tilways a 
^* clOven-footed'be».st, for we cannot bear his shift- 
" ing the sqene every line," 

A few words more upon allegory. Nothing 
gives greater pleasure than this figure, when thq 
representative subject bears a strong analpgy, in all 
its circumstances, to that which is represented; 
but the choice is seldom so lucky ; the analogy ber 
ing generally so faint and obscure, as to puzzle 
and not please. An allegory is still more difficult 
in painting than in poetry ; the former can show . 
no resemblance but what appears to the eye; 
the latter hath many .other resources for showing 
the resemblance. And therefore, with respect to 
what the Abbe Du Bos* terms mixt allegoric^ 

* Reflections sup la Foene, vol. i. sect. 24. J 



2l4 Figures. [chap. 2#. 

compositions, these may do in ppetry ; because, ia 
writing, the allegory can easily be distinguished 
from the historical part: no person, for example, 
mistakes VirgiFs Fame for a real being. But such 
a mixture in a pictqre is intolerable ; because m a 
picture the objects must appear all of the same- 
kind, wholly real or wholly emblematical For 
this reason, th^ history of Mary de Medicis, in the 
palace of Luxembourg, painted by Rubens, is un- 
pleasant by a perpetual jumble of re^l and allego- 
rical personages, which produce a discordance of 
parts, and an obscurity upon the whole : witness 
m particular, the tablature representing the arrival 
of Mary de Medicis at Marseilles : where, together 
with the real personages, thq Nereids and Tritons 
appear sounding their shells: such a mi?:ture of 
fiction and reality in the same group, is strangely 
absurd. The picture of Alexander and Roxana, 
described by tucjan, is gay and fanciful ; but it 
suffers by the allegorical figures. It is not in the; 
Tvit of man to invent an allegorical representation 
deviating farther from any shadoyp. of resemblance, 
thaY) one exhibited \>y Lewis XIV. anno 1664; in 
which an enormous chariot, intended to represent 
that of the sun, is dragged along, surrounded witli 
men and women, representing the four ages of the 
world, the celestial sigiis, the seasons, the hours, 
&c, : a monstrpus composition, suggested probably 
by Guido's tablature of Aurora, and still more 
iaibsur^. 

In an allegory as well a?? in a metaphor, terms 
^ought to be chosen that properly and literally are 
fippiicable to the representative subject : nor ought 
any circumstance to be added that is not proper to 
the representative subject, however justly it may 
be applicable properly or figuratively to the prin- 
cipal. The fowowii^ ^legory is therefore faulty : 



Ji 



3ECT. VI.] Figures^ 215 

Fcrus et Cupldo, 
Semper ardentfis hcuens sagittal 
, Cote eruenta, 

Horat. 1. ii. ode 8. 

For though blood may suggest the cruelty of love^ 
it is an improper or immaterial circumstance in the 
representative subject: water, not bloody is proper 
for a whetstone. 

We proceed to the pext head, which is, to exa- 
mine in what circumstance these figures are proper, 
in what improper. This inquiry is not altogether 
superseded by what is said upon the same subject 
in the chapter of Comparisons ; because upon trial 
it will be found, that a short metaphor or allegory 
may be proper, where a simile, drawn out to a 
greater leng;th, and iq its nature more solemn, would 
scarce be relished. 

And first, a metaphor, like a simile, is excluded 
from common conversation, and from the descrip-r 
tion of ordinary incidents. 

Second, in expressing any severe passion that 
wholly occupies the mind, metaphor is improper, 
For which r0ason the following speech of Macbeth 
IS faulty. 

Methought I beard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! 
Macbeth doth murder sleep ; the ionocent sleep ; 
Sleep that koits up the ravell'd sleeve of Care, 
The birth of each day's life, sore LabourSi bath, 
Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course. 

Chief Dourisher in Life's feast. 

Act II. Sc. S. 

The following example, of deep despair, beside 
the highly figurative style, hath more the air of 
^ving than of sense : 

Calisia, Is it the voice of thunder, or my father? 
Madness ! Confusion ! let the storm come on. 



i. 



F 



1 

216 Figures. [c«ap. 2©. 

Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me, 
Dash my devoted bark ; ye surges, break it ; 
*Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises. 
When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low, 
Peace shall return, and all be calm again. 

Fair Penitent, Act IV. 

The metaphor I next introduce, is sweet and lively, 
but it suits not a fiery temper inflamed with pas- 
sion : parables are not the language of wrath vent- 
ii)g itself without restraint. 

Chamont, You took her up a little tender flower, 
Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost 
Had nipp'd ; and with a careful loving hand. 
Transplanted her into ypurown fair garden, 
Where the sun always shines: there (oqg she Qourish'd^ 
Grew sweet to sense and lovely to the eye, 
Till at the last a cruel spoiler came, 
Cropt this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness, 
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away. 

Orphan f Act IV. 

The following speech, full of imagery, is not natu- 
ral in grief and dejection of mind : 

Gonsalez, O my son ! from the blind dotage 
Of a father's fondness these ills arose. 
For thee I've been anihitioiis,base and bloody; 
For thee I've plung'd into the sea of sin ; 
Stemming the tide with ooly one iVeak hand, 
While t*other bore the cro^n (to wreathe thy brow,) 
Whose weight has sunk me e'er f reacb'd the shore. 

Movrninf^ Bride, Act V. Sc. 6. 

There is an enchanting picture of deep distres? in 
Macbeth,* where Macduif is represented lament- 
ing his wife and children, inhumanly murdered by 
the tyrant. Stung to the heart with the news, he 
questions the messenger over and Over : not that 
he doubted the fact, but that his heart revolte4 
against so cruel a misfortune. After struggling 

• Act IV. Sc. 6. 



f 

i 

I 

ajstecT VI.] FigureSi. ' 217 

* .some time with his grief, he turns from his wife 
1 a.nd children to their savage butcher; and then 
gives vent to his resentment, but still with nianli- 
) ness and dignity : 

O, I could play the womao with mine eyes, 
,gi. And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Hear'n I 

Cut short all intermission; front to front 
P^ Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 

'60. Within my sword's length set him.*— If he 'scajie, 

Then Heav'n forgire him too. 

The whole scene is a delicious picture of human 
nature. One expression only seems doubtful; in 
examining the messenger, MacduflF expresses him- 
self thus : 

He hath no childrep^-all my pretty ones ! 
Did yqu say all ? what, all ? Oh, hell-kite, all ? 
What ! all my pretty little chickens and their dam, 
At one fell swoop ! 

^ Metaphorical expression, I am sensible, may some^ 
times be used with grace, where a regular simile 
would be intolerable : but there are situations so 
severe and dispiriting, as not to admit even the 
slightest metapnor. It requires great delicacy of 
taste to determine with firmness, whether the pre- 
sent case be of that kind : I incline to think it is ; 
and yet I would not willingly alter a single word of 
this admirable scene. 

But metaphorical language is proper when a 
man struggles to bear with dignity or decency a 
misfortune however great: the struggle agitates 
and animates the mind : 

Wolaey, Fafewel, alongfarewel, to all my greatness I 
This is the state of man { to-day he puts forth ' 

The tender leaves of hope ; to-raorrow blossoms, 
And hesLta his blushing honours thick upon him *, 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 



2ll Figured* tcHAF. 20; 

And v/^tn be thinki, good eaiy man, fuU surely 
His greatoess » a ripeoing, oips bis root* 
Aodtbeo he falls as I do. 

Henry VIIL Act III; Sc. 6. 



SECTION VM. 



Figure qf Speech. 

• 

In the section immediately foregoing^ a figute 
of speech is defined, *' The using a word in a sense 
" different from what is proper to it;" and the new 
or uncommon sense of tne word is termed the figu- 
rative sense. The figurative sfense must have a 
relation to that which is proper ; and the more in- 
timate the relation is^ the figure is the more feappv. 
How ornamental this figure is to language, will 
not be readily imagined by any one who hath not 
given peculiar attention ; and therefore I shall en- 
aeavour to unfold its capital beauties and advau-" 
tag^es. In the fit-st place, a wor4 used figuratively 
or m a new sense, suggests at the same time the 
senae it commonly bears ; and thus it has the effect 
topresenttwo objects: one signified by the figurative 
sense, which may be termed, the principal object ; 
and one signified by the proper sense, which may 
be termed accessory ; the principal makfes a part 
of the thought : the accessory is merely ornamen- 
tal. In this .respect, a figure of speech is precisely 
similarto concordant sounds in music, which witter 
out contributing to the itielody, makes it harmoni' 
ous. I explain myself by examples. Ymth^ by a 
figure of speech, is termed the morning of lifcir^ 
This expression signifies ybuth^ the principal ob- 
ject, which enters into the thought ; it suggests, at 
the same time, the proper sense of morning ; and 
this accessory object, being in itself beautiful, and 



^aacT. vif.] Figures'. gl0 

connected by resemblance to. the principal olnect, 
is not a little oraametital* Imperious ocean la a,a 
exaniple of a different kind, where ,an attribute is 
"Expressed figur«ytively : together . with stormyy the 
figurative tneaning of the epithet imperious^ there 
is suggested its proper tneanij^, viz. the stem au- 
thority of a despotic prince ; and these two are 
strongly connected by resemblance. Upon this 
figurative power of words, Vida descants with ele- 
gaild^ : 

NoDQe vides, verbis ut Terjis sttpe relictisi 

Accersant aimulata, allui]de<][ue nomina porro 

TraDsportent, aptentque aliis ea rebus; ut ipsse, 

£xuviasqu6 novas, res^ insolitolque colores 

Indut», s^pe externi miretitur amictbs 

Unde iHi, Itetaeqae aliena luce fruaotur, i 

Mutatoque babitu, nee jam sua nomina mallent ? 

Ssepe ideo, cum bella canunt, incendia credas 

Ceruere, diluTiumquf ingens surgentibus undis. 

Contra etiam Martis pugnus imitabitur ignis, 

Cum furit accensis acies Vulcania campit. 

Kec turbato oritur quondam miner sqoore pligoa . 

Confligunt animosi Euri certamine vasto 

Inter se, pugnantque adVersis molibus unde. 

Usque adeo passim sua res insignia Isets 

Permutantque, juf antque vicissim ; et mutua sese 

Altera in atteriiis traosformat protinus ora. 

Tum specie capti gaudent spectare legentes: 

Nam diversa simul datur e re cemere eadeni 

Mtiltarum simulacra abiizib ^ubeuntia reriiml . 

' Poef. lib. ill. I. 44. 

In the next plac^^ this figure possesses ^, signal 
power of aggrandising an object,, by the following 
means. Words which have no original beauty but 
what arises ifrom their sound, acquirie an adventi- 
tious beauty from their meanidg : a word signify- 
ing any thing that is agreeable, b^comed by that 
means agreeable ; for the agreeableness of the ob- 
ject is communicated to its name> This acquired 

* See chapter U. part i. sect. 0. 

Vol. 11. 28a 



5S0 Figures. [chaf. 36. 

beauty bjr the force of custom, adheres to the wotd 
even when tised figuratively ; and the beau^ le- 
ceived from the thing it property dignifies, is ^eom" 
iminicated to the thing which it is made to sigmfy 
figuratively. Consider the foregoing expressioa. 
Imperious ocean^ how much more elevated it is thtt& 
Stormy ocean. 

ThirJily, this figure hath a happy effect by pre- 
venting the famiharity of proper names. The fa- 
miliarity of a proper name, is communicated to the 
thing it signifies by means of their intimate connex- 
ion ; and the thing is thereby brought down in our 
feeling.* This bad effect is prevented by using a 
figurative word instead of one that is proper ; as, 
for example^ when we express the sky fay terming 
it the blue vatdt of heaven ; for though no work rf 
art can compare With the sky in grandeur, the ex- 

firession however is relished, because it prevents 
he object from being brought down by the fami- 
liarity of its proper »ame. With respect to the 
degrading familiarity of proper names, ¥ida has 
the following passage : 

Hincsi dara mibi p&^sus dicendus Ulysses, 
Nod ilium vero memorabo nominfe, sed qui 
£t mores' homhium muttorum Tiditi et urbes, 
Naufragus everSie post ssera incendia Trojte. 

PoeMib. ii. U 4^. 

Lastly, By this fi^re language is enriched, and 
't6hi4ered tnbre copiptis ; in which respect, w«e 
^ttiefre no ftther,' a figure 6f speech is a happv* thven- 
*tlbn. ^is pi^perty^ is finely touched by Vida : 

- • * I I 

vQuinetiam agricolas ea fandi ilota voluptas 
^Exercet, dum Ista aeges, dum triidere gemmas 

' * I have often legt^tted, that a factious spiHtof Oppbsitfon tO (berefg)^ 
iSunily makes it necessary in public worship to dtstiegoish the>Kiii^' by hm 
proper name. One will scarce imagine who has not made the tnalilKyw 
much belter it sounds to (vay for our Sovereign Lord the King, witfaoif 
any addition. 



SECT, vn.] , Figures, ^l 

lAeipiunt TUes« BitieDtiaque »tberis ip;ibrem 
Prata bibunt, ridentque satis surgentibus agri. 
Hanc Tulgo speciem propria penuria Yocis 
Intuiiti indie tisque urgens io rebus egeetas. 
Quippe ttbi se v^ra ostendebant nomiDa ausquain^ 
Fa^ erat bine atque bine transferre simillima verU. 

Poet, lib. ill. 1. 90. 

The beauties I have mentioned belong to every 
figure of speech. Several other beauties peculiar 
to one or other sort, I shall have occasion to remark 
afterward- 

Not only subjects, but (Qualities, actions, effects, 
may be expressed figuratively. Thus as to sub- 
ject, the gates of breath for the lips, the-watery king- 
dom £or the ocean. As to qualities, fierce for stormy, 
in the expression Fierce winter : AUus for profun- 
dus ; Alius puteus^ Altum mare : Breathing for per- 
firing ; Breathing plants. Agaiq, as to actions, 
the sea rc^esy Time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
Time kills grief* An effect is put for the cause, a$ 
lux for the sun ; and a cause for the effect, as bourn 
labor es for corn. The relation of resemblance is 
one plentiful source of figures of speeah ; and np- 
thing is more common than to apjply to one object 
the liiame of another that resembles it in any re- 
spect ; height, size, and worldly greatness, resem^ 
ble not each other : but the emotions they produce 
resemble each other, and prompted by this resem- 
blance, we naturally express worldly greatness by 
height or size : one feels a certain uneasiness m 
seeing a great depth : and hence depth is made to 
express any thing disagreeable by excess, as depth 
. of grief, depth of despair : again, height qf place^ 
and time long past, produce similar feelings ; and 
hence the expression, Ut aUiViS repetarn : yisX^nce 
in past time, producing a strong feeling, is put foj^^ 
mj strong feeling, Nihil mihi antiquius nostra amia- 
tia : shortness with relation to space, for Shortness 



222 F^res. [chap. 2a 

with relation to time, Brevis esse^ laboro^ obscurus 
jio: suffering a punishmeat retsembles paying a 
debt ; hence pendere pcmas. In the same manner, 
light may be put for ^ory, sunshine for prosperity, 
and weight for importance. 

Many words, originally figurative, having by 
long and constant use, Ip^jt their figurative. power» 
are degraded to the inferior rank pf pi:oper terpi;^ 
Thus the words that expreas^. th? operations of the 
mind, have in all languages been originally figura-? 
tive : the reason holds in ajl, that when these ope- 
rations came first under consideration, there was no 
other way of describing them but by what they re- 
sembled : it was not practicable to ^ve them pro^ 
per names, as may be done to objects that can be 
ascertained by sight and touch. A soji nature, 
jarring tempers, weight of wo, panwms^ phrase, be- 
get compassion, assuage grief, ureak a vow, bend the 
eye downward, shower down curgea, droivh^d in 
tears, wrapt ip joy, warmed with eloquence, loaded 
with spoils, and a thousand other expressions of the 
like nature, have lost their figurative sense. _ Some 
tiprms there are that cannot be said to be either ^- 
together' figurative or altogether proper : origjinaHy 
figurative^ they are tending to simplicity, without; 
having lost altogether their figurative power. Vir- 
gil's Regina saucia cura^is perhaps one of these ex- 
pressions : with ordinary readers, saucia will be con- 
fifidier^d as e\^ ressing simply .the efiect of grief; but 
One of a lively imagination wiU exalt the phrased 
into a figure: 

For epitomisipg this subject, and at the same 
time for giving a clear view of it, I cannot think of 
abetter method, than to present to the reader a list 
' of the several relations upon which figures of speech 
are commonly founded. This list 1 divide into two 
fables : one of subjects expressed figuratively, and 
one of attributes. . ' ' 



SEtJT- yii.] ' Figures^ ^13S 



FIRST TABLE. 



Subjects expressed figuratively. 

1; A word proper to ooe subject employed figti- 
pi^vely to express a resembling subject. 

There is no figure of speech so frequent, as what 
is derived from the relation of resemblance. Youth, 
for example, is signified figuratively by the morn- 
ing of life. The life of a man resembles a natural 
day in several particulars : the morning is the be- 
ginning of day, youth the beginning of life ; the 
niorning is. cheerful, jso is youth, &c. By another 
resemblance, a bold warrior is termed the thunder- 
bolt of war ; a, multitude of troubles, a sea of trou- 
bles. 

This figure, above all others, affords pleasure to 
the mind by a variety of beauties. Reside the 
beauties above mentioned, common to all sorts, it 
po3&esses in particular the beautyof a metaphor or 
of a simile : a figure of speech built upon resem- 
blance, sugg€^sts always a comparison between the 
principal subject and the accessory ; whereby every 
goodefiect of a metaphor orsiqule, reiay in a very 
short and lively manner^ be produced by this figure 
d'speech. 

^ 2. A word proper to the effect employed figura- 
tiviely to express the cause. 

Lmx for the sun. Shadow for cloud. A helmet 
is signified by the expression glittering terror. A 
Jr ee by shadtiU) or umbrage. Hence the^expression : 

■ ■ ■ T 

Nec habet Pelion umbras, Opjrf. 



234 Figures. [chap. 20, 

Where the dun umbrag'e hangs. 

Springy 1. lots, 

A wound is made to signify an arrow : 

* 

Vuloere non pedibui te contequar. 

OvU. 

There is a peculiar force and beauty in this 
figure : the word which signifies figuratively the 
principal subject, denotes it to be a cause by sug- 
gesting the effect 

3. A word proper to the cause, employed figura- 
tively to express the effect. 

Boumque labores^ for corn. Sorrow or grief , for 
tears. 

Again, Ulysses veil'd his penaire head ; 
Again, unmann'd, a show r of sorrow shed. 

Streaming Grief his faded cheejc bedew'd. 

BUndnessfoTdsLxknesB: 

Caecis erramus in undis. 

JEntidf iii. 249^ 

There is a peculiar energy in this figure, similar 
to that in the former: the figurative name denotes 
the subject to be an effect, by suggesting its cause. 

4 Two things being intimately connected, the 
proper name of the one employed figuratively to 
signify the other. 

Day for light. Night for darkness : and hence, A 
sudden night. Winter (ca a storm at sea : 

Interea magnomisc^ri murmure pontum, 
Emissamque Hyemem sensit Neptunus. 



sscT. vii.| Figures. 23B 

This last figure would be too bold ^r a Bntish 
writer, as a storm at sea is not inseparablj con- 
nected with winter in this climate. 

6. A word proper to an attribute, employed 
figuratively to denote the subject. 

Youth and beauty for those who are young, and 
beautiful : 

Youth and beauty shall be laid in dust. 

Majesty for the King : 

What artthoM, that usurp'st this time of night 
Together with that fair and warlike form, 
In which the Majesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometime march ? 

HamUtikei I. Scl. 

•Or have ye chosen this place 



After the toils of battle, to repose 
Your weary 'd isiriue. 

Paradise host* 

Verdure for a green field. Summer^ L 301. 
speaking of cranes, 

fthe pigmy nations wounds and death they bring, 
And all the war descendsupon the wing. 

Hiad, iih 10. 

Cool €^t advances venerably wise. 

IUad\\uU9. 

The peculiar beauty of this figure arises fi'om sug- 
gesting an attribute that embellishes the subject, or 
puts it in a stronger light. , 

6. A complex term employed figuratively to de- 
note one of the component parts« 

Funus for a dead body. Burial fdr a grave. 



JPigurii. 



{chap. 28. 



7. The Datde of one of the component ports in- 
stead of the complex term. 

Tada for a marriage. The East for a country 
situated east from us. Jovis vestigia servatj for im- 
itating Jupiter in general. 

8. A word signifying time or {)lace, employed 
figuratively to denote what is connected tvith it. 

Clime for a nation, or for a constitution of go-' 
vernment: hence the expression Msrc^^ cfttie. 
Fleecy winter for snow, SeculumfeKx. 

9. A part of the whole. 

The Pole for the earth. The head for the person: 



Triginta mioas pro capite tuo dedi. 



Tergum for the man : 

Fugiens targam. 

Vultus for the man : 

Jam fulgor armorum fugaces 
Terret equos, equitumque vultus. 

Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modiis 
Tarn chari capitis ? 

Dumque virent g'enua ? 

Thy growing Tirtues justify^ my cares^ 
And promis'd comfort to my silver hairs. 



Plavitt^ 



(kid. 



-Forthwith from the pool be rears 



His mighty siaiwe. 



HoraL 

Borate 
Borah 

niad, \x. 6l6. 
Paradise LosU 



r 



The silent heart with grief assails. 

The pleculiar beauty of this figure consists in tiiatk- 
ing that part which makes the greatest figure. 

10. The ndme of the container, eiliployed figu* 

Grove for the birds in it, Vocal grovei ^ips for 
the seamen, agonizing $hips. Mountfiins for Ae 
ekeep pastjiring upoii theui, Ble^tiqg wowwtoinA 
ZacynthuSy Ithaca^ kc. for the mhabitaojts. Ex 
mcestis domibus^ Livj. 

ili The namectth^HiHaftuinetjmnpltiyeii^^ 
lively to signify tthat is smikineA. 

Altar {ox the Sacrifice. Field for ih^ battle fou^t 
upoii it, Well-fought /eZrfi 

12. The aame of the materials einplk^yecl jSgii- 
toAivdy to signify the thingd made of themi 

Ferruin MgiadiuSi 

is. The liames of the Heathetl deities, employ- 
fed figuratively to signify what they patronise^ 

Jkm for the air. Mars (tir Wai^i VkhUsitdr hemtf, 
iSupid for lovcj Ceres for corn, JVq>te»e for ^se&^ 
Vukdth for fire; 

The figure bestows ereat delation upbn the sub- 
ject; and therefore ou^t to b^ confined to thehiifh- 
er strains of .jioetry. 



Vol. II. ^rt 



2S8 figures. [cttxp. 2©. 



SECOND TABLE. 

Attributes expressed figuratively. ' 

When two attributes are connected, the name of 
the one may be employed 6g;uratively to express 
the other. 

Purity and virjginity are attributes of the same 
■ person: hence the expression, Virgin snow, for 
pure snow. 

2. A word signifying properly an attribute of one 
subject, employed figureuively to express a resem- 
bling attribute of another subject 

Tottering state. Imperious ocean. Angry flood. 
tiaging tempest. Shallow fears. 

Hy sure divmity shall bear the shield, 

And ed|e Uty sword to reap the gloriobs field. 

Odyssty^ xz. 61. 

» 

Bkuk omen^ for an omen that portends bad for- 
tune. 

Ater odor. 

VxrgU. 

The peculiar beai(ty of this figure arises from sug- 
gesting a ccmiparison. 

3. A word proper to the subject, employed to 
express one of its tributes. 

Mens for intelkctus. ifens fot a resolution : 

Iitaniy oro, ezue tnentem. 



SBiCT. VII.] Figuref. 223 

4. When two subjects have a resemblanee by a 
common qualitj, the n^me of the one subject may 
be employed jBguratively to denote that quality in 
^he other. 

Summer life for agreeable life. 

5. The name of the instrument made to signify 
the power of employing it. 



•MelpomenD, cui liquidaia pater 



Yoceip cum cithara, dedit. 

The ample field of figuratiye expression display- 
ed in these tables, affords great scope for reasoning. 
Several of the observations relating to metaphor, 
are applicable to figures of speech : these I shall 
slightly retouch, with somiD additions pecuUarlj^ 
adapted to the present subject, 

In the first place, as the figure under considera- 
ti6n is built upon relation, we find from experience, 
and it must be obvious from reason, that the beauty 
of the figure depends on the intimacy of the rela- 
tion between the figurative and proper sense of the 
word. A slight resemblance, m particular, will 
never make this figure agreeable; the^ expression, 
for e^Bmpley Drink down a secret^ for listening to a 
secret wiui attention, is harsh and uncouth, because, 
there is scarce any resemblance between listening 
and drinking. The expression weighty cracky used 
by Ben Johnson for loud crack, is worse if possible : 
a loud sound has not the slightest resemblance to 
a piece of matter that is weighty. The following 
expression of Lucretius is not less faulty. " Et 
*' lepido quae sunt /wca<a sonore.'^ i. 645. 



990 Figure- [cuap. 

Pugp^a et exaptos tyraoDOS 
Densum hunieris Ubit Aure vulgus. 

HoratCarm, I, ii. od« 13, 

PhemittB 1 let acts of gods and (leroes old. 
What ancient bards in iiall and bowV have told, 
Atteinper'd to the lyre, jour voice employ, 
Such the pleas'd tar will drink with silent joy. 

Qdyafe^f i. 433. 

I 

^trepitqmque exteritus hausit 

y ■ ■ Write, niy Queen, 

And with mine eyes Fll drink the words you s^nd. 

fymhelinef Act I« S^, 2^ 

As thus th' effulgence tremulous I drink. 

Summer,]. 1084. 

Neque a^^ii currus habenas. 

Georg, u 514. 

O Prince ! (Lycaon's valiant son reply'd,) 
As thine the steeds, t^e thine the ta^ to guide. 
T&e horses practis'd tp their lord's command, 
^'alj he^r the rein, and answer to thy hand. 

lliad.x. 288. 

Th^ foUowiDg figuces of speech seem altog^cr 
wUd and extravagant^ the figucative smd proper 
IBeaning having no comiexiQii whatever. Moving 
softness, Freshness breaihesj Breathing prospect, 
Flawing spring, l)ewv light, Ludd cpolness, and 
many others of this u^lse qoin, may be found in 
Thomson's Seasons, 

Secondly, The praper ^ense of^the word ought tP 
bej^r ^oqpie proportipn to the figurative sense, an^ 
not soar much above it^ nor sink much below it 
This nile, as well as the foregoing, is finely illustra- 
ted by Vida: 

Hec adeo cum sinf , com fas aodera poetis 
|il0)ta fpodis multi)| ; ^meq <}t>8ervare memento 



picrr. vii.J Fig%ms. 2^1 

Si quando baud propriia rem mavis dteere vfsrbis, 
Translatisque aliunde notis, longeqoe petiUs, 

I N(e nimiam ostendas, quserendo talia, curam. 

} Nainque aliqui exercent vim' durucD, et rebus iniqqe 
Nativam eripiuot formam, indignantibus ipsis 
Invitasqqe jubent alienps sum ere vultus 
Haudmagts imprudens mihi erit, et lomiois expers, 
Qui puero iogeutes habitus det ferre gigantis, 
Quani siquis stabula alta lares appellet equinos. 
Aut criaes magnte genitricis gramina dicat. 

Poe^, ill. 148. 

Thirdly, In a figure pf speech, every circumstance 
pught to he avoided th^t agrees with the proper 
8*nse only, not the figuratiye sense ; for it is the 
latter that expresses the thought, and the former 
serves for no other purpose but to make harmony : 

ZacyDtbus green lyith ever-shady groves, 
And Ithaca, presumptuous boast their loves -, . 
Pbtruding on Qiy choice a second lord, 
They press the Hymeiiean rite abhorr'd. 

Odyssey, xix. 152. 

Zacynthus here standing figuratively for the inhabi- 
tants, th^ description of the island is quite out of 
place ; it puzzles the reader, by making him doubt 
whether the word ought to * be takeA in its proper 
or figurative sense. . 



-Write^my (^^een, 



And with mine eyes Til drink the words you send, 
Though ink be made of gall.. 

The disgust one has to drink ink in reality, is not 
to the purpose wheye the subject is drinkipg ink , 
figuratively. 

In the fourth place, To draw consequences from 
a figure of speech, as if the word were to be under- . 
stood literally, is a gross absurdity, for it is con- 
fouijding truth with fiction. 




233 fkgur§9i [chap. % 

Be Moubray'i sim bo heavy in bit botoaii 
That they may break hit foaming courser's back, 
And thro IT the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford. 

Richard 11. Act L Sc. 3. 

Sin may be imagined heavy ip a figurative sense; 
but weight in a propei* sense bielongs to the acces- 
sory only ; ^nd therefore to describe the effects of 
weight, is to desert the principal subject, and tfli 
convert the accessory into a principal : 

CramweU, How does your Grace ? 

fFoUey. Why, well ; 
If ever so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now, and I feel within me 
A peace ab#Te all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has eur'd me^ 
I humbly thank his Grace ; and from these shoulders, 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honour. 

Henry VIIL Act III. Sc. 6, 

Ulysses speaking of Hector : 

I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
Whep we have hep tke base and pillar by us. 

Trgilut and Creasida, Act IV. Sc. 9, 

Othello, No ; my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and it 
hurts my hand. 

Othello. Act IV. Sc. 5. 

Not less, even in this despicable now. 

Than when my name fill'd Afric with affrights, 

And froze your hearts beneath your torrid zone. 

jQon SehoiHan^ King ofPoriugpA^ Act 1. 

How long a space, since first I lov'd, it is ! 

To look into a glan I fear. 
And am surprised with wonder wheh I miss 

Gray hairs and wrinkles there. 

Cotolttfj vol. L p^ J6. 

I chose the flourishing'st tree in all the park, 
With freshest boughs and fairest head ; 



J 



F 



^fecT. Vii.J Figures. 233 

I cut my love into his gentle bark, 

And in three days behold 'tis dead : 
My very written flames so violent be, 

They've burnt and wither'd up the ti'ee. 

Cowley f vol. p. 166. 

Ah, mighty Love, that it were inward beat 
Which made this precious limbeck sweat ! 

But what, alas ! ah what does it avail, 
That she weeps tears so wondrous cold, 
As scarce the ass's hoof can hold. 

So cold, that I admire they fall not hail. 

Cowley, vol- 1* p* 132. 

Such a play of words is pleasant in a ludicrous 
poem. 

Mmeria. O Alphonso, Alphonso ! 
Devouring seas have wash'd thee from my sight. 
No time shall rase thee from my memory ; 
No, I will live to be thy nionument : 
The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb ; 
But in my heart thou artinterr'd. 

Mourning Bride^ Actl- Sc 1. 

This would be very right, if there were any incon- 
sistence, in being interred in one place really^ and 
in another place figuratively. 

Je crains que cette saison 
Ne nous amene la peste ; 
La gueule du chien celeste 
Vomit feu sur Thorison. 
AAn que je m'en delivre, 
Je veux lire ton gros livre 
Josques au dernier feiiillet : 
Tout ce que ta plume trace, . 
Robinet, a de la glace 
A faire trembler Juillet. 



Maynard^ 



in me tota ruens Venus 
Cyplrum deseruit. 



Horat Cam. I. i. ode 19. 



From considering that a word used in a figurative 
Beose suggests at the same time its proper meaning, 



1 



S84 Fantrts. [chap.^ m, 

we discover St fifth rule, That we ought crot to em- 
ploy a word in a figurative sense, the proper sense 
of which is inconsistent or incongruous with the 
subject : for every inconsistency^ and even incon- 
gruity, though in the expressioci only and not real,- 
is unpleasant : 

Interea genitor Tyberint ad fluminis undam 
Vulaera Hccahat lymphis ■ « 

MneiSf t. 833. 

Ti^9 4doo inoertos emeu cal^infe soles 
Erramus pelago, totidem sine sidere Doctrs. 

JEneid, iii. 293, 

The foregoing rule may be extended to form st 
sixth, That no epithet ought to be giveh to the 
^gurative sense of a wordthat E^rees not also with 
its proper sense : 



-Dicat Opuntis 



'Frater Ii6gi)t», quo beatus 
Ytilnere. 

Horat, Ccu-ni, Ub. u 6c{e 27. 

Parciis deorum ctiltor, et infrequetis, 
Insanientis dum sapientlee 
CoDsuItus erro* 

Horat, CarMi lib. i. ode 34. 

Seventhly, The crowding into one period or 
thought difierent figures (rf spe^dh, is not less faulty 
than crowding metadhoi^i in that manner ; the 
mind is distracted in the qiiidk traiBSitionJrom one 
image to another, and is puzzled instfeai of being 
pleased : 

I ain of ladies most deject and wretchedt 
That suek'd the bfohey of his music-tows. 

HatM, 

My bleeding bosom sickens dt the soiind. 

Od9$sty, l 4$^' 



mu] F^lbtei. agl 



•Al^ miMr, 



i^fMitft laboras in Char^Mi / 
Digoe ptier meViore Jlamma, 
(^tie saga, quis te solvere Thessalis ' 

Magas venents, qufs poterit deus? 
Vit illigatum le* triformi 
Pegaasits expediet Chimtta^ 

Horat. Cam, lib. i. ode 27. 

Eighthly, If crowding figured b^ badj it is still 
\¥t>rse to graft one figure upon another: For instance, 

lYhile his keen falchioii drinks the warriors* lives. 

Iliad, xi. All. 

A fi^chioQ drinking the warriors' blood is a figure 
built upon resemblance, which is pai$&able. But 
thieii in the expression, lives is again put {or blood; 
and by thus grafting one figure upon another, the 
expression is rendered ot3Scure and unpleasant. 

Ninthly, Intricate and involved figures that can 
scarce be analysed, or reduced to plain ianiP<&g^9 
are least of all tolerable : 

VoUs iiicondimus aras* ^ 

ii:neid,m.2T9* 



•Onerant^Ue *^nistris 



fiona laBoratJ^ cr^rens. 

Mndd, viil. 180. 

Vulcan to the Cyclopes : 

Arma acH facienda vlro : nunc virlbus usiis. 
Nunc manibus rapides, omni nunc arte magistra : 
PrecipitaU moras. 



-Hiiie ghdiOt P!^<|u<^ ^r^a suta 



l?er tunicana squaientena aurd, latus haurit aperttim. 

J^neidf z. 313. 

^motique purls tarda necessitas 
Lvthi, corripoit gradam. 

Horn. c^^. fU). i. o4» a* 
V^h. It 30a 



1 



236 ftgmti. [CH*r. ae» 

Serib6ris Vario foktis, et HoBtfaim 

Victor, MvoDii canniiut dUu. . . ^ -:- 

Horai, Comw lib. i. ode o. 

£!•• shall our fiites be numbered with the dead. 

Iliad, ▼. ^9^. 

CoBmutaal death the iTate of War coDfound*. 

ilMuT, Till. 86. and xi. 117^ 

Speaking of Proteus : 

kftstant he we&fB, elitsire of tHe rapte, 
The mimic force of erery savage shape. 

lloliing convulsiTe on the floor, is seen 
The piteous object of a prostrate Queen. 

. iWrf. iv. 952. 

The miDgliEig tempest waves iis glooni. 

wfttfttmn, 337* 

A vairious sweetness swells the gentle farce. 

llUd. 640; 

A sober calm fleeces linboihided ether. 

IbU. 738. 

^^V^distant waterfall bwells ib the bNeze. 

JFinier, 738; . 

In the tenth place, ;Mq[ien a subject is introdticed 
by its proper name, it is bfo^urd to attribute to it 
the properties of a different stntA^t to. which the 
woira is sometimes applied in a ngura^e sense : 

Hear me, oh Neptune ! thou If h<>8e arms are hhii'd 
From shdre to shore, and gird the solid world. 

Odysi^ ix. 6l7. 

Keptune is here introduced personally, and not 
figuratively for the oceani the descliption there- 
fore, which is only apjplicable to the latter, is alto- 
gether improper. 

It is not sufficient, that a figure of speech be re- 
gularly constructed, dbd be &ee from blemish : it 



requires tsat^ to discern when it is proper, irfaen 
iniproper ; and taste, I suspect, is 6ur 00I7 guide, 
QniB however may gather from reflection and expe-^ 
rience, that (ornaments and graces suit not any of 
the cBspuritiBg pa3sions, nor are proper for expre9&T 
ingany thing grave and important In &miliar 
conversation^ thev are* in some measure ridiculoiui. 
Pro^ero, in the Tempest^ speaking to his ^ugbter 
Miranda, sajiB, 

7he fringed c^rtaips of thine eyes advance,^ 
And say what thQU seest yond. 

No exception can be taken to the' jiBtness of the 
figure; and circumsiances mav m imagined to 
make it proper ; but it is certainly not proper in far 
miliar conversfation. 

In the last place, Thoii^ figures of speech have 
9 charming (sflect when accurately constructed an4 
properly introduced, they ought however to be scat- 
tered with a ^)aring hand ; nothing is more lusci- 
ous^ and nothing consequentlv more satiatin|^, th^ 
i^fiupdi^nt ornaments 01 apy kind- 



AQg 



CHAPTER XXI. 
Narration and De$enpti<m, 

< 

HORACE, and many critics after hjm, ex- 
hort writers to choose a subject adapted to their 
genius. Such observations would multiply rules 
of criticism withoot end.; ^tiid at any mte belong 
not 1)0 the present woik, tl^ object of which is hs? 
man nature in general, and what fe common to the 
species. But though the choice of a snibject comes 
not under such a plan, the manner of execatioD 
comes under it ; because the manner of execution 
id subjected to general rules, derived from princi* 
pies common to the species. These rules as they 
concern the things expressed as well as the lan- 
guage or expression, require a dinsion of this chap- 
ter mto two parts ; first of thoughts, and next of 
words. I pretend not to justify this division as en- 
tirely accurate : for in discoursing of thoughts, it is 
difficult to abstract altogether from the words ; and 
sjill more dificult, in discoursing of words, to ab- 
stract altogether from the thought. 

The first rule is, That in history, the reflections 
ought to be chaste and solid ; for while the mind 
is intent upon truth, it is little disposed to the ope- 
rations of the imagination. Strada's Belgic his- 
tory is fuH of poetical images, which discording 
with the subject, are Unpleasant ; and they have a 
still worse effect, by giving an air pf fiction to a 
genuine history. Such ffowera ought to be scatter- 
i4 with ^ sparing h^nd, even in epip poetry ; and 



J 



i 



c»AP. ^y N(m(aim,i^. 239 

at DO rftte are tfaej proper, till the reader be warai- 
edj and by an eelivened imaginatioii be prepared 
to relish them ; in that state of mind they are agree- 
able ; but while we are sedate and attentive to an 
historical chain of facts, we reject with disdain ev- 
ery fiction. This Bejgic bistoiy is indeed wofUUy 
vicious both in matter and in form ; it is stuffed with 
frigid and unmeaning reflections ; and its poetical 
flashes, even laying aside their impropriety, are 
Hiere tinsel. 

Second, Vida,* following Horace, recommends a 
mpdest commencement of an epic poem ; giving 
for a reason, That the writer ought to husband his 
fire* This reason has weight ; but what is said 
above suggests a reason still more weighty : bold 
thoaghts and figures are never relished till the mind 
be heated and thoroughly engaged, which is not the 
reader's case at the commencement Homer in- 
troduces not a single simile in the first book of the 
lUiad, nor in the first book of the Odyssey. On the 
other hand, Shakspeare begins one of his plays 
with a sentiment too bo)d for the most heatea im- 
agination: 

Bedford. Hung b« the l^av'ns ^itb black, yield day tonight ! 
Comets, iropoPting cbaitge of limes and states, 
Brandish yoair pry 8tat tresses in tlie sicy, 
And with them scourge the bad revoking stars. 
That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! 
England ne'er tost a king of'so much worth. 

First Part Htflry VJ. 

The passage with which Strada begints his history, 
is too poetical for a subject of that kiqd ; and at 
any rate too high for the beginning of a grave per- 

» PoeUib.ii.1.39. 



241 Nanatimand [ceat^ Sit 

(brmance. A third reason ought to have ik> less 
influence than either of the former, That a man, 
who, upon his first appearance, strains to make a 
figure, is too ostentatious to be relished. Heace 
the first sentences of a work ought to be short, na- 
tural and simple. Cicero, in his oration pro At- 
ckia poeta, errs against this rule : his reader is out of 
breath at the very first period : which seems nerer 
to end. Burnet begins the history of his Own Times 
with a period long and intricate. 

A third rule or observation is. That where the 
subject is intended for entertainment solely, not for 
instruction, a thing ought to be dlsscribed as it ap- 
pears, not as it is in reality. In running, for exam- 
ple, the impulse upon the ground is proportioned in 
some degree to the celerity of motion : though iqi 
appearance it is otherwise ; for a person in swift mo- 
tion seems to skim the ground, and scarcely to touch 
it Virgil, with great taste, describes quick running 
according to appearance ; and raises an image far 
more lively tnan by adhering scrupulously to 
tnith; 

^os super advenit Volsen de gente Camilla^ 
Agmen ageos equitum et florentes »re catervas, 
Beliatrix : non ilia ^colo calathisve Mitiefre 
Fffimioseas antieta maou& ; sed prslia virgo 
Dura pati, eunuque pednm pr»vertere ventos.. 
I Ha vel intacts segetis per auinma volaret 
Gramina ; nee tener as cursu Ittsiaset aristas ; 
Vel mare per medium, fluclu suspeosatuinenti. 
Ferret iter ; eeleres nee tingeret asquore plantas. 

iCffiettf, ¥11. 803. 

This example is copied by th^ author of Tekma^ 
chus: 

Les Brutiens sont legeres a la eourse comme les cerfs, et 
comme les daims. On croirojt que Therbe meme la plus tendre 
n'est point foul^e sous leurs pieds ; ll peine laissentils dans le ta- 
ble quelques traces de leurs pas. 



r^ 



QUkF.m.J Description,' 241 

D^jailavoit abattu Eusilas si l^ger a la course, qu'a peine ii 
imprimoit la trace de sea pas dans \e sable, et qui de?ancoit dans 
son fayales plus rapides flots de I Eurotas et de I'Alpb^e. 

Liv, XX, 

Fourth, In narration as well as in description, ob- 
jects ought to be painted so accurately as to form 
in the mind of the reader distinct and lively images. 
E\^dry tiseless circumstance ought indeed to be sup- 
pressed, because every such circumstance loads 
the narration ; but if a circumstance be necessary, 
however slight, it cannot be described too minute- 
ly. The force of language consists in raising com- 
plete images ;* which have the effect to transport 
the reader as by magic into the very place or the 
important action, and to convert him as it were into 
a spectator, beholding every thing that passes.^- 
The narrative in an epic poem ought to rival a pic- 
tui'e in the liveliness and accuracy of its represen- 
tations .* no circumstance must be omitted that 
tends to tiiaike a complete image ; because an im- 
perfect image, as well ad any other imperfect con- 
ception, Jis cold and uninteresting. I shall illustrate 
this rule by several exaihples, giving the first place 
to a beautiful passage from Virgil : 

QjaaWs popuka moBrens Philomela sub umbra 
Amisaos queritur foetus, quo.s durus arcUor 
Obaervans nido implufMS detraxit. 

Georg. lib. iv. 1. 511. 

The Doplar, ploughmdn, and unfledged young, 
though not essential in the description, tendj to 
make a complete image, and upon that account are 
an embelUshment 

* Chapter H. Part L Sect. 7, 



^ 



2^42 Narration afid ' £ch4p. 21 » 

Again : 

Htc viM^m M^^^ fr^^denii tx illUe me tarn 
CoDstituit, signum nautis. 

Horace, addressing to Fortune : 

Te pauper ambit sollicita prece 
Ruris colonus : te domioara squoris, 

Quicumque Bythina lacessit 

Carpathium pelagus carina* 

Cctrm, lib. i. ode 35^4 

lltum ex nacenibus hostitis 
Metrooa bellaotia tyranni 
Prospiciens, et adulta tirgo, 
Suspiret : Eheu, ne rudiftagminum 
Sponsus lacessat regius asporum 
Tactu leonem, quern crut*nU 
Per medias rapit ira cccdujs. 

Carm, lib. iii. ode ^« 

Shakspeare says,* " You may as well go about td 
*' turn the sun to ice by fanning in his face with a 
^' peacockh feather* The peacock's feather, not to 
mention the beauty of the object, completes the im- 
age: an accurate image cannot be formed of that 
fanciful operation, without conceiving a particular 
feather ; and one is at a loss when this is neglected 
in the description^ Again, ** the rogues slighted me 
'' into the river with as little remorse, as they would 
^^ have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen Fth* 
« litter.^t 

Old Lady, Tdu would nbt be a queen ? 
•Snne* No, not for all the richeff under heav'n. 
Old Lady* *Th strange : a threepence bow'd \96\M hire tat:^ 
old as I am, to queen it. 

Henry VIIL Act IL Sc, 5. 

In the following passage, the action, with all its 
material circumstances, is represented so much to 

« Henry v. Act iv. Sc. 4. 
t Merry Wives of Windsor, ActiiL Sc. 15. 



MiAP. 121.] D^mptiM. S^ 

the life^ that Woidd scarce appear more diHtiiict 
to a ^eal apectator ; and it is the manner of de- 
sdHption that cotitributes greatly to the sublimitf 
of the passage. 

He ftpake ; and to confirm his words, out flew 
Millions of flamiog swords, drawn from the thighs 
Of mighty cherubim ; the sudden blaze 
Far round iilumin'd hell ; highly they rag*d 
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms 
Clash'd on their sounding shields the diu of war, , 
HurKng defisBte toward the vault of beavta. 

A passage I ain to cite from Shakspeare, falls not 
much short of that now mentioned in partici^larity 
•f description : 

O yon hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! 
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a timfe AnJH oft 
Have you climM up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney •tops, 
Your infants in your arms ; and there have sat 
The Jlve-igng day with patient expectation 
To see great Pompey pass the Meeeis of Rome; 
And i^hen you saw his chariot but aj^ear, 
Have you not made an universal shootj 
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks, 
*to hear the repIicatiSn of your sounds. 
Made in his concavb shores? 

Julius Cesar, Act t ^c. U 

The following J3assage k i^aree inferior to either 
of those mentioned : 

Far before the rest the son of Ossi^n. ckimes ; bright In >the 
smiles of youth* fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair 
waves on his back : his dark brow is half beneath his helmet. 
Tiic sword hangs loose on the hero's side ; and his spear glittem 
as he moves. I fled from his terrible eye, King <(f high Temota. 

Fingal* 

The tienriade of Voltaire errs greatly against the 
foregoing rule : every incident is touched in a sum- 
Vot. IL S\a 



jM Narration anii [cau'^ ^:^ 



maiy y^ff without ever descending to drCim^ 
stances. This manner is good in a general histoiTi 
the purpose of which is to record important transac- 
tions : out in a fable it is cold and uninteresting ; 
because it is impracticable to form distinct images 
of persons ot things represented in a manner so su- 
peftcial. 

It is observed above, that evetr useless circum- 
stance ought to be suppressed^ Ine crowding such 
circumstances, is, on the one hand,no less to be avoid- 
ed, dian the conciseness for which Voltaire isblanied, 
on the other. In the MneiSi* Barce, the nurse of 
Sichaeus, whom we never hear of before nor after, 
is introduced for a purpose not more important than 
to ciatll Anna to her sister Dido : and that it mi^t 
not be thought unjust in Dido, even in this trivial 
circumstance, to prefer her husband's nuirse before 
her own, the poet takes care to inform his reader, ~ 
that Dido's nurse was dead. To this I must oppose 
a beautiful passage in the same book, where, after 
Dido's last speech, the poet, without detaimng his 
readers by describing the manner of her deatb^ 
hastens to the lamentation of her attendants : 

Dixerat ; atqtie iUam media inter tajia ferro 
Collapsam aspiciunt coniites, ensemque cruore 
Spumantem, sparsasqoe manus^ It clamor ad alta 
Atria, cbobussam bacchatur fama per urbem ; 
Lamentis gemituque et foeinineo ululatu 
Tetta fremuDt} resonat magnis plaDgoribus ether. 

Lib. iv. 1. 663. 

As an appendix to the foregoing rule, I add the 
foUowiifig oD^etvation, ^hat to m^e a sudden ani 
strong impression^ some single circumstance hap- 
pUir selected, has more power than the most la- 
Doured description; Macbeth, mentioning to hid 
ladj some voices he heard while he was. murdering 
the King, says, 

Lib. It 1.682. 



€Aa^. 21.} Description. 2^^ 

nere*9 one did laugh id's sleep, and one ery'd Marder ! 
Tbey wak*d each other ; and I stood and heard them ; 
]kut they did say their prayers, and address them 
Again to sleep. 

Itady. There are two lodgM together. 

Jlia^ih. One cry'd, God bless us ! and Amen the other ; 
At they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
Listening th#ir fear, I could not say Amen, 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Isady, Consider it not so deeply. 

Machtih. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen ? 
I had moat need of blessing, and Amen 
Stuck in my throat 

Ijady. These deeds must not be thought 
After these ways; so, it will make us mad. 

JUac&e^. Methought I heard a Toice cry, 
Sleep no more ! 
Slacbeth doth murder sleep, &c. 

Act IK Be. 8. 

Alphonso, in the Mourning Bride, shut up in 
the same prison where his mther had been con- 
fipi^d; 

In a dark corner of my cell I found 
This paper, what it is this light will shew. 

« If my Alphonso*. Ha ! [Rtading, 

^If my Aiphonso Hve, restore him Heav*n ; 

< Give nae more weight, crush .my declining years 

* With bolts, with chains^ imprispnmeqt and ^ant ; 
*]Put bless my son, visit not him, for inef.' 

It is his hand ; this was his pray'r— Yet moire : 

* Let e?>y hair, which sorrow by the roots [Reading, 

* Tears from my hoary and devoted head, 

* Be doubled in thy ^nercies to my son ; 

*Not for myself, but him« hear me, all-gracious'— 

*5Rs w^ntlDg what should follo w . H eav n should follow, 

But 'tis torn off— Why should that word alone 

Be torn from his petition ? 'Tw^s to Heay'n, 

9nt Heav'n was deaf, Ueav*n heard him npt ; but thus, 

Thus as the name of Heava from this is torn, 

8o did it tear the ears of mercy from 

8is voice, shuUing the gates of prayr agalnsthim. 

If piety be thus debarrd access 

On high, and of good men the very best 

\9 9iDgled out to bleed, aqd bear the scourgei 



i^.> 



V 

316 Narraiontmi [chaf. 31 

What ii reward ? or what ti punishment ? 
Bat 1? ho shall dare to ta« eternal justice ? 

Mourning Bride, Act III. Sc. 1 . 

Thi3 incident is a happy invention, and a mark c^ 
uncommon genhid. 

Describing Prince Hefiry : 

I saw young Harry with his beaver oi^, 

flis cuisses Oft hit thif^hs, gallantly arm'd, 

Rise from the ground like feathisr'd Mercury i 

And Yaulted with such ease into his seat, 

As if an angel droptdoivn froih the clouds, 

To turn and wind a fiery PfegaBUS, 

And witch the world with noble horsemanships 

Fiesi Part, iknry VL Act I V. Sc. 2. 

Sing fhnry. Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's blifs 
|Iold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
He dies, and drakes no sign ! 

Second Part, Henry VL Act III. Sc. 10. 

The same author, speaking ludicrously of aq army 
debilitated with diseases, $ay4, 

Half of them dare not shake thie snow from off theif cassocks, 
le^ they )ihake themselves to pieces. 

I have seen the waHs of Balclutfaa, bt!it they were desolate. — 
The flames had resounded in the halts ; and the voice of the peo- 
pie is heard no more. The iBtream of Clutha was removed from 
its place by the fall of the walls. Th« thistle shook there its 
lonely head: t^e moss whistled to the i^i^. Th6 fox looked out 
from the windows : and the rank ]gra8s of the wall Wared round 
his head. Desolate is the dUf elting tif MV)tna ; silence is in the 
house of her fathers. 

^ngd. . 

To draw a charatei^ is the masti^r-strbke of Ae- 
scription. lii this Tacitus excels : his portrajte 
are natural and lively, not a feature wanting iior 
misplaced. Shdcspeare, however^ exceeds Tmr 
tus in liveliness, some characteristical cireu W^itattce 
pein^ generally invented or laid liqld of, whicli 



peante more te the life than many words, The fol- 
lowing instances will explain my meaning, and at 
the same time prove my observation to be just : 

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 

Sit liice his grandsire cut in atabtster ? 

Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice, 

By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, 

(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,) 

There are a sort of men, whose visages 

Do cream and mantle like a standing pond ; 

And do a wilful stillness entertain. 

With purpose to be dressed in an opinion 

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 

As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 

And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark \ 

O my Antonio, I do know of those. 

That therefore only are reputed wise, 

For saying nothing. 

Mvrtkant of Venice^ Act 1. Sc. 2. 

JJLgain : 

Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man 
lo all Venice : his reasons are two grains of wheat hid in twft 
bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you jRnd them, and 
when you have them they are not worth the search. 

Ibid. 

In the following passage a character is completed 
}py a single stroke. 

SMlaw. O the mad days that I have spent ; and to see how 
many of mine old a<»^alntaiiec are dead* 

SOtM^ We ahull all follow, Couaiu. 

SkMovD. Certain, 'tis certain, very sure, very sure ; Death, (as 
the Psalmist saith) is certain to all: all shall die. How a good 
joke pf bullocks at Stamford fair .^ 

Slender, Truly, Cousin, I was not there. 
. SkaBom, Death is certain. la »ld Doubk of your iawn thr- 
iogyet? 

JSkknee, Dead, Sir. 

ShoHowp Dead ! ee«,' mm ; be drew a good bow : and dead. Um - 
y^t a fine-sl^^et. £Fow.fi «cove of ewfe now? 



M4 Ncrratian n^nii [ciUP« #b 

msxj y^ff wiihoot ever descending to cifeiim'^ 
stances. This manner is good in a general historfi 
tiie purpose of which b to record important transac- 
tions : but in a fable it is cold and uninteresting ; 
because it is impracticable to form distinct images 
of persons ot things represented in a manner sosu- 
peracial. 

It is observed above, that evety useless circum- 
stance ought to be suppressed. The crowding such 
circumstances, is, on uie one hand^no less to be avoid- 
ed, than the conciseness for which Voltaire is blamed, 
on the other. In the ^ndS* Barce, the nurse of 
Sichaeus, whom we never hear of before nor after, 
IS introduced for a purpose not more important than 
to call Anna to her sister Dido : and that it might 
not be thought unjust in Dido, even in this trivial 
circumstance, to prefer her husband's nurse before 
her own, the poet takes care to inform his reader,, 
that Dido's nurse was dead. T6 thiis I must oppose 
a beautiful passage in the same book, where, after 
Dido's last speech, the poet, without detaining his 
readers by describing the manner of her deaths 
hastens to the lamentation of her attendants : 

Dixerat ; atque iUam media inter ta]ia ferro 
CoUapsam aspiciunt cbroites, ensemqae cruore 
Spitmantem, sparsasqae manusi It clamor ad aita 
Atria, conbbssam bacchatur fama per urbem ; 
Lamentis gemituque et fcemineo ululatu 
Tecta fremuDt, resonat magnis plangoribus sther. 

Lib. iv. 1. 663. 

As an S4>pendix to the foregoing rule, I add the 
following observation, 1?hat to mSke a sudden ani 
strong impression^ some single circumstance hap- 
pily selected, has more power than the most la- 
Doured description; Macbeth, mentioning to hid 
lady some voices he heard while he was. murdering 
the King, says, 

Lib.iTl.68a. . 



c^^p. 21 .} Description. 

Iftere^s one did laugh in's sle^p, and od« ery'd Marder ! 
Tbey wak'd each other ; and I stood and heard them ; 
]kut they did say their prayers, and address them 
A^ain to sleep. 

JLady. There are two lodgM together. 

Macbeth. One cry'd, God bless us ! and Amen the other ; 
Af they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
Listening th#ir fear, I could not say Amen, 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Lady. Consider it not so deeply. ^ 

Ma^eth. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen ? 
I had most need of blessingi and Amen 
Stuck In my throat; 

Ladjf. These deeds must not be thought 
After these ways; so, it will make its mad. 

Mcicbeth, Methought I heard a voice cry, 
Sleep no more ! 
Slacheth doth murder sleep, &c. 

ActlLSe. 8. 

AlphonsO) in the Mourning Bride j shut up in 
the same prison where his mther had been con- 
fijxed ; 

In a dark corner of my cell I found 
This paper, what it is this light will shew. 

«Ifmy Alphonso*- Ha! [Reading, 

^If my Alpl^onso Htc, restore him Heav*n ; 

< Give me more weight, crush .qay declining years 

* With bolts, with chains, imprisonment and want ; 
'Put bleas my son, visit not him for pief.' 

It is his hand ; this was his pray'r— Yet more : ' 

* Let cv'ry hair, which sorrow by the roots [Reading. 
' Tears from qiy hoary and devoted head, 

' B^ doubled in thy ^nercies to my son ; 

'Not for myself, but him, hear me, all-gracious'— 

^s wanting what should follow ^Heav n should follow, 

But 'tis torn off—Why should that word alone 

Be torn from his petition ? 'Twas to Heav'n, 

^ut Heav'n was deaf, Heav'n heard him npt ; bat thus. 

Thus as the name of Heavn from this is torn, 

80 did it tear the eairs of mercy from 

His voice, shut^Ag the gatep. of pray*r against him- 

if piety be thus debarrd access 

On high, and of good men the very best 

\i 9ingled out to bleed, aud bear the scourge^ - . 



— J 



260 Nmtatwnaml [chap, ^i^ 

Again : 

When first young Maro, in his boundless miody 
A work t* outlast immortal Rome destgn*d. 

Eisay on Crittcitm^ 1. ISO. 

The following examples are of absurdities : 

Alii pulsis e tormento catenis discerpti sectique, dimidiato cor- 
pore pugitabant sibi superstiles, ac perempts parfia ultores. 

Strada, Dee. h« 1. S. 

It pov4r huomo, che non ten^ era aceorto, 
ModmttL com'battendo, ed era morto. 

Bemi. 

He fled ,' but flying, left bis life behind. 

Iliad, xu 435* 

Full through bis neck the weighty falchion sped 
Along the pavement roll'd the tnutt'ringhead. 

Odyssey, xtliL 36^. 

The last article is of raving like one mad. CleoM*- 
patra speaking to the aspic. 



-Welcome, thou kind deceiver, 



Thou best of thieves ; who, with an easy key. 
Dost open life, and unperceiv'd by us, 
Ev'n steal us from ourselves ; discharging so 
Death's dreadful office, bettertban himself; 
Touching our limbs so gently into slumber. 
That Death stands by, deceiv'd by his' own image, 
And thinke himself but sleep. 

JOrycfcn, Mfor £ove. Act v. 

Reasons that are common and known to ever/ 
one, ought to be taken for granted ; to express them 
is childish, and interrupts the narration. Quintus 
Curtius, relating the battle of Issus, 

* ■ * « 

Jam in coospectu, sed extra teli jactum, utraque acies erat ; 
quum priores Perss inconditum et trucem sustulere clamorejB. 
Keddiiur et a Siacedonibus major, exercitus irapar numefo^ sM 



jugis Baontium irastisque saltibai neptrcmivfi : ^}pp9 $fmp€r ^n 
caio 3ono reftrunU 

Having discussed what observations occurred 
uppn the theughts of things expressed, I proceed to 
what more peculiarly concern the language or ver- 
bal dress. The language proper for expressing pas- 
sion being baodled in a former chapter, several ob- 
servations there made are applicable to the present 
subject ; particularly, That as words are inti- 
mately connected with tjbe ideas th^ej refu^ent, 
the emotions raised by the soiind asd by tbe sense 
ought to hk concordant. An elevated subject re- 
quires an elevated style ; what is famfliar, ought to 
be familiarly expressed : a subject that is serious 
and important, ought to be clothed in plain nervous 
language : a description, on the other hand, ad- 
dressed to the imagination, is susceptible ot the 
highest ornaments tnat sotmding words and figura- 
tive expression can bestow upon it. 

I shall give a few examples of the foregoii^ rules. 
A poet of any genius is not apt to dress a high sub- 
ject in low words ; and yet blemishes of that kiad 
are found even in classical works. Homce, ob- 
serving that men s^re satisfied with theinselves, but 
seldom with their condition, introduces Jupiter in- 
dulging to each his own choice : 

Jam (iiciam quod vultia; eris tu, qui modo miles, 
Mercator : tu, consultus modo, rusticus ; hinc voSi 
Vo9 hine mutatis dlsoedtte partibus : jeia, 
Quid statis ? nolitit : atqui lioet ease beati$. 
Quid causes est, mefito quin illis Jupiter ambos 
Jraias buccas inflet ? neque se fore pos .th^c 
Turn facilem dicat, votis ut prabeat aurei^ ? 

Sat lib.' 1. Sat, i. L 16. 

Jupher in wrath putting \xp both c}i|i0ks, is a low 
and even ludicrous es^resdion, £ar from auitabk to 
tbe ,amW and BBportance of the subject : every 
Vol. IL SSta. 



04 Naihr0HM0md (c^UF.dl. 

Xhe followii^ tMMaee, intended, one nfotfd iia»- 
gine, as a receipe to boU ivater, is altogether bijjr- 
tosque by the laboured elevation of the dictioa : 

A nany caldron of fftapendous frame 
They brought, and plac'd it o'er the ritiog flame : 
Then heap the lighted wood; the flame divide* 
Beneath the vase, and climbs around the ilfdes : 
In its wide womb they poqr the rushing stream: 
The boiling water bubbles to the brim* 

Iliad, XTiii. 405. 

In a passage at the beginning of the 4th book of 
Telemachus, one feels a sudden baund upward 
t^ithout preparation, which accords not with the 
subject : 

Calypso, qui avoit €t€ justu* a ce moment immobile et trans- 
port€e de plaisir en ^coutant les avanturea de T6l6maque, Tinter- 
rompit pour Ini faire pendre quelque repAs. U est tems, lui dit- 
elle, qui tous allies goOter la douceur du sommeil apr€s tant de 
traraux. Vous n'arez rien a craindre ici ; tout vous est favora- 
ble. Abandonnet vous done a la joye. Goutez la paix, et tous 
les anttres don* des dieux dent voub allet ^re cotnbll. Dvmaln, 
quand VAwn^rt tmc U9 doigU de ro$f* mtr^owmra ki poiie$ d$- 
ftes dt VOrient, et que le Chwau9 rftt. SokU $aHank de Vonde 
^mere repwndront les flames du jbur, pour thcwer devani eu^: huU* 
U$4ioik0 du del, nous reprendroos, mon cher T6l6maquey Pbts- 
toire de vos malheurs. 

Tins obviously is copied ftom a similar passage in 
^e ^neid, which ought to have been copied, be- 
cause it lies open to the same censure ; but the 
force d* authority is great : 

At Te%m9^ gravi jamduduim saueia cura 
Tulmia altt rienis, et c«co carpltur igoi* 
9fulta rirt virtus anitno, miiltusque reic^rsat 
ISIeillis hoDOs; liferent inflxt pectore vttltu% 
Yerbaque ;.Bee plaeidam membris dat eura quMlen^. 
Fosfef» P^«^ea kiuitrahail lampaie terras, 
Mumsntentque Swrora polo dimoverat umhram ; 
Cum sic iij^animem alloqnttur malecana sororein. 

Lib. iy, 1. 



ciiAP* 21 •} Deaeriplim^ ' 255 

TabB aai^faei 4$s»i»ple Vihift the woids rise jtboye 
the subjeet: 

Ainsi les peuplesyaceoururentbientoten foule de toutes partes; 
le commerce de cctte vitle etoit semblable au flux et au reflux 
de la mer. Les tr^sors y entroient comme lea flots vienoept Tun 
8ur Tautre. Tout y etoit apport^ et en sortoit librement : tout 
ce qui y entfoit, etoit utile ; tout ce qui eq sorloit, laissoit eo 
sortant d'autr«B ricbeases en aa plaee* La ju8tic6 le^^Fe presi- 
doit dans le port au mjlieu de tant de nations. La franchise, la^ 
bourse foi, la candeur, sembloient du haut de ces superbs tours 
appeller les marchands des terres le plus eioignees : chactin de 
ces marchands, sott qu^U vint dts rivta iyrxeniaks ou le soltil sort 
chaque jour du stin dea ondes, soet qu^ilfut parii de cette grande 
fne ou le soleil lasBt de aon coura va eteindre ees/eux, vivoit paisi- 
ble et surety daos Sulante comme dans sa patrie ! 

Tdefnaque^ 1. xii. 

The language of Homer is suited to his subject, 
no less accurately than the actions and sentiments 
of his heroes are to their characters, Vir^l, in 
that particular, falls short of perfection : his lan- 
guage is stately throughout; and though he de- 
scends at times to the simplest branches of cookery, 
Toasting and boiling for example, yet he never re- 
laxes a moment from the high tone.*^ In adjusting 
his language to his subject, no writer equ^s Swift. 
I can recollect but one exception, which at the same 
time is far from being gross : The journal of a mo- 
dem lady is composed iq a style blending spright- 
liness with famiharity, perfectly suited to the sub- 
ject : in one passage, however, the poet deviating 
from that style, takes a tone above his subject. The 
passage I have in view begins, /• 116. But let me 
now a while survey ^ &c. and ends at /. 135. 

It is proper to be observed upon this head, that 
writers of inferior yank are continually upon the 
stretch to enliven and enforce their subject by ex- . 
uggeration and superlatives. This unluckily ha^ 

. * Sae -ffin^d, lib. i. 189— 219. 



256 ^ofTofjoffi and [chap. 21« 

an effect contmy to what is intended ; the reader, 
disgusted with language that swells above the sub- 
ject, is led by contrast to think more meanly of the 
subject than it maj possibly deserve. A man of 
prudence, beside, will be no less careful to hus- 
band his strength in writing than in walking : a 
Vriter too liberal of superlatives, exhausts his 
whole stock upon ordinary incidents, and reserves 
no share to express, with greater energy, matters 
of importance,* 

Many writers of that kind abound so in epithets, 
as if poetry consisted entirely in high-sounding 
words. Tske the following instance : 

When black-brow'd Night her dusky mantle spread, 

And wrapt in solemn gloom the sable sky : 
When soothing Sleep her opiate dews had shed. 

And sealM in sflken slumbers evVy eye : 
My wakeful thoughts admit no balmy rest, 

Nor the sweet bliss of* so ft oblivion share : 
But watchful wo distracts my aching breast, 

My heart the subject of corroding care : 
From haunts of men with wandVing steps apd sipw 

I solitary steal, and sooth my pensive wo. 

Here every substantive is faithAiUy attended by 
some tumid epithet ; like young master, who can- 
not walk abroad without having a lac'd livery-man 
at his heels. Thus in reading without taste, an 
emphasis is laid on every word ; and in singing 
without taste, every note is graced. Such redun- 
dancy of epithets, instn^d of pleasing, produce 
satiety and disgust. 

* Montaigne, reflectin^^nponthe then present modes, obsenres^ thai tiieie 
never was at any other time, so abject and servile prostitution of words ip 
the addresses made by people of fasnion to one another; the humblest ten- 
ders of life and soul, no professions under that of devotion and adoration ; 
the writer constantly declaring himself a vassal, nay a slave : 90 that whef 
any more serious occasion of triendship or gratitude, requires more genoine 
professions, words are wanting to express them. 



■ 
I 



QfiAP. 21.] Description. . 257 

. The power of language to imitate thought, is not 
confined to the capital circumstances above men- 
tioned ; it reacheth even the slighter modifications. 
Slow action, for example, is imitated by words pro- 
nounced slow : labour or toil, by words harsh ot 
rough in their sound. But this subject has been 
already handled,* 

In dialogue-writing, the condition of the speaker 
is chiefly to be regarded in framing the expression^ 
The sentinel in Hamlet^ interrogated with relation 
to the ghost whether his watch had been quiet, an- 
swers with great propriety for a man in his station, 
" Not a mouse stirring."! 

I proceed to a second remark, no less important 
than the fof'men No person of reflection but must 
b^ sensible, that an incident makes ja, stronger im- 
pression on an eye-witness> than when heard at 
second hand. Writers of genius, sensible that the 
eye is the best avenue to the heart, represent every 
thing as passing in our sight ; and, from» readers or 
hearers, transform us as it were into spectators : a 
skilful writer conceals himself, and presents his 
personages : in a word, every thing becomes dra- 
matic as much as possible. Plutarch de gloria 
Alheniermum^ observes, that Thucydides makes his 
reader a spectator, and inspires him with the same 
passions as if he were an eye-witness ; and the same 
observation is applicable to our countryman Swift. 
From this happy talent arises that energy of style 
which is peculiar to him ; be cannot always avoid 
narration ; but the pencil is his choice, by which 
he bestows life and colouring upon his objects. 
Pope is richer in ornament, but possesseth not in 

* Chapter XVIII. Sect. iii. 

, t One can scarce avaid smiling at the blindness of a certain critiC) whO) 
With an air of self- sufficiency; condemns tbis expression as low and vulgar. 
A French poet* says he, would express the same thought in a more sablime 
panner : << Mais tOut dort, et I'armee, et les vents, et Neptune." And he adds 
** The £D|^i8h poet may please at Loddoni hut the French every where else/' 



266 Narration and [chap. "911 « 

the same degree the taleht of drawing from the life. 
A translation of the sixth satire of Horace, begon 
hy the former and finished by the latter, affords the 
fairest opportiinitj for a comparison. Pope obvi- 
ously imitates the.picturesque manner of his friend ; 
yet every one of taste must be sensible, that the 
imitation, though fine, falls short of the original. In 
other instances, where Pope writes in his own ^yle, 
the difference of manner is still more conspicuous* 
Abstract or general terms have no good effect in 
any composition for amusement ; because it is only 
of particular objects that images can be formed.* 
Shakspearc's style in that respect is excellent : eve- 
ry article in his descriptions is particular, as in na- 
ture ; and if accidentally a vague expression slip ia, 
the blemish is discerniWe by the bluntness of its im- 
pression. Take the following example : Falstaff» 
excusing himself for running away at a robbery, 
says, 

• • - 

By tbc Lord, 1 knew ye, as well as he that icade ye. Wfay, 
bear ye, my masters ; was it for me to kill the heirsap(>areiit ? 
should i turn u|ian the true prince ? Why, thou koowestj I am 
as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct, the lion will no^ 
touch the true prince : instinct is a great matter. I was a cow« 
ard on instinct ; I shall think the better of myself, aiMl thee, du- 
ring my life ; 1 for a violent lion, and thon for a tru« fmaoe. 
But, by ik« Lord, lad«,J am glad you have the money. Hoateas, 
clap to the doors, watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, 
lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of fellowship come to you! 
What I shall we be merry ? shall we have a play exUtnport f 

First Part Henry IV. Act H. 8c. 9- 

The sentence I object to is, instinct is agreatrnMer^ 
which makes but a poor figare, compared with, the 
liveliness of the rest of the speech. It was one of 
Homer's advantages, that he wrote before general 
terms were multiplied: the superior genius of 
Shakspeare displays itself in avoiding them after 



• <5 



ee Chaptor IV. 



CHAP. 21.] Descrwiion. ^ 

they were multipKed. Addison describes the fam- 
ily of Sir Roger de Coverly in the following words: 

You would take his Valet dt^ chanibre for bis brother, hid but- 
ler is grey-headed, h\i groom is ohe of the gravest men that I 
have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks ot a privy 
couDseudr. 

i^jpeaiafor^No. 106*' 

The description of the grooto is less livdy thap of 
the others ; plainly because the expression, being 
vague and ^eral, tends not to form any image. 
** Dives opum variarum^^'* is an expression still' 
hiore vague ; and So are the following : 

■ — Mecenas, mtarum 

Grande decui^ columenque rerum. 

Borate darm^ lib. ii. ode 17. 

^ — et fide^eta 

Bices /o&oranletfn un6 
Fenelopen, vitreamque Circen. 

lUd^ lib. i. ode If. 

— — •—— ^-^ — Ridiculutn acri 

Fortius et melius magnas plerumque $ecat res. 

Hbrai^Satir, lib. Lsat 10* 

In the fine arts it is a rule, to put th^ ciapital ob- 
jects in the strongest point df view ; and 6ven to 
present them oftener than once, where it can be 
done. In history-j^kiting, the principal figure is 
placed in the front, and in the best light: an eques-^ 
triad statue is placed in the centre oi streets, that it 
may be seen from many places, at once^ In no 
Composition is there greater opportunity for this rule 
than in writing: 

I rin -— — Seqtiitur puteherriniius Asiur, 

Astur equo Mens et versicoloribus ariais. 

JEneid, x. 190. 

MIL Full many a lady 

Fve ey'd with bestregtird^ and,m&ny a time 
Th' harmony of tbfeir tongues hath into bondage 
Brought mjf tOD diligent ear; for several virtnefl 

Vol. II. SSrt 



^ Narraiwn mi [cma^* ^^ • 

Have 1 likM seterAl women, irevef any 

With so full jioul, but some defect In her 

Did quarrel with the noblest grace she own d, 

And put it to the foil. But you, O you, 

So perfect, and so peerless, are created 

OfcTery creature's best. . * * tit g- i 

Tht TtmjptH^ Act IIL Sc. 1. 

Orlando. ^TVhate'er you are 

That in this desert inaccessible, 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 

If ever you have look'd on better days : 

If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; 

If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 

Ifcver from your eye^lidswip'd a tear, 

And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied ; 

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be, 

In the which hope I blush and hide my sword. 

Ihiktatn. True is it that we have seen better days^ 

And have with holy bell been knoU'd to church ; 

And sat at good men's feasts ; |ind wip'd oar eyes 

Of drops that sacred pity had engcnder'd : 

And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 

And take upon command what help we have, 

That to your wanting may be ministred. 

Asytmliktxi, 

With thee conversing I forget all time ; 
All seasons and their change, all please alike. 
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
tVith charm of earliest birds , pleasant the sun 
When first on this delightfUlland he spreads 
His orient beams»oo herbs, tree, fruit and flow'r, 
GKst'mng with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
After soft show'rs ; and sweet the coming on 
Of grateful evening mild, the silent night 
With this her solemn bird, and thi^ fair moon, 
And these the gems of heair'n, her starry trdte* 
But neither breath of mom, when she ascends 
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun 
On this delighful land, nor herb, fruit, flowV, 
GlistVing with dew, nor fragrance after showers, 
^or grateful evening mild, nor silent night, 
With this h«r solemn bird, nor walk- by moon 
Or glittering star tight, without thee is sweet. 

^ParadUe Lo&t, b. Ir. I. ^S4. 
What mean ye, that ye use this proveH>, Tba fathers h&ve 
eaten tour grapest and the driktren's ttfth are wt on edge ?— « 



CHAP. 21 «] Descrij^um. 261 

As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall n«t hare oeeasiflia U> us^ 
this proverb io Israel. If a man keep my judgments to deal truly, 
he is jyst, he shall surely live. But if he be a robber, a shea- 
der of blood ; if he hav^ eaten upon the mountains, and defied 
his neighbour's wife; if he have oppressed the poor and needy, 
have spoiled by violenee, have not restored the pledge, have lift 
up his eyes to idols, have given forth upon usury, and baVe taken 
increase : shall he live? he shall not lire ; he shall surely die : and 
his blood shall be upon him. Now, lo, if he beget a son, that 
seeth all his fathers sins, and considereth, and doefh not such 
like ; that hath not eat^n upon the mountains, hath not lift up 
his eyes to idols, nor defiled his neighbour's wife, hath not op- 
pressed any, nor withheld the pledge, neither hath spoiled by vi- 
olence, but hath given his bread to the hungry, and covered the 
naked with a garment; that hath not received usury nor increase, 
that hath executed my judgn^eots, and walked in my statutes ; he 
shall not die for the iniquity of his father; he shall surely live. 
The soul that 8iniicth,it shall die ; the son shall not bear (he Id- 
iquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity Qf 
the SOD ; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, 
and the wickedness ot the wicked shall be upon him. H^ve I 
any pleasi^re that the wicked should die, saith the Lord God ; 
and not that he should return from his ways and live ? 

EzekieL xviii. 



The rjepetitions in Homer, which are frequent, hav^ 
been the occasion of much criticism. Suppose we 
were at a loss about the reason, might not taste be 
sufficient to Justify them ? At the same time, we arp 
at no loss about the reason : they evidently make 
the narration dramatic, and have an air of truth, hf 
making things appear as j)assing in our sight. But 
such repetitions are unpardonable in a didactic po- 
em. In one of Hesiod^s poems of that kind, a long 
passage accurs twice in the same chapter. 

A concise comprehensive style is a great orna- 
ment in narration ; and a superfluity of unnecessa- 
ry words, lio less than of circumstances, a great 
auisance. A judicious selection of the striking cir- 
cumstances clothed in a nervous style is delightful. 
In this style, Tacitus excels all writer, ancient and 



)62 NamUwnand [ghaf. 21. 

modern iutences are numberlipss : take the icAr 
|,owing specimen. 

Crebra hioQ prslia, etsvpias m mo^um latrocbinfii : per bt.Uq?, 
per paludeB ; ut cuique fors aut virtus : tem^re, proviso, ob inun, 
ob predam, jqss^, et a}iqiiQndQ igparjs ducibus. 

Jinnal. lib* xii. sect, S9. 

After Tacitus, Ossian in that respect justly me- 
rits the place of distinction. One cannot go wrong 
for examples in any part of th^ book ; and at the 
first opemng the following instance meets th^ eye : 

Natbos clotbed his limbs in sbinin^ ste^l. The stri^ of the 
chief is lovely : the joy of bis eye terrible. The wiod rustles ia 
his hair. Dalthula is silent at bis side : her look is fixed on the 
chief. Striving to hide the rising sigh, two tears swell in her eye. 

I add one other instance, which, beside the pro* 
perty under conslidemtion^ Raises delicately otir 
most tender sympathy. 

Son of Fingal ! dost thou not behold the darkness of Crothars 
}iall of shells? My soql was not dark at the feast, when ipy 
people lived. 1 rejoiced in the prei>ence of strangers, when my 
ton 'shone in the hall. But, Ossian, he is a beam that is depait- 
0d, and left no streak pf light behind, H^ is fallen, son of Fingal, 
|n the battles of his father.— —Rothmar,. the. chief of grassy 
Tromlo, heard that my eyes had failecj ; he heard that my amiis 
were fixed in the ball, and the pride of his soiil arose. He came 
towards Croma : my people fell before him. I took my arms in 
the hall but what could sightless Crothar do ? My steps wew 
unequal; my grief was great, t wished for the days that wet:e 
past; (days ! wherein ] fought and won in the field of blood. Mj 
son returned from the chace ; the fair-haired Fovar-gormo. He 
bad not lifted his sword in battle, fir his ariyi was young. But the 
•oul of the youth was great ; the fire of valour burnt in his eye. 
fle saw the disordered steps of hi^ father, and his sigh arose- 
King of Croma he said, is \t because thou hast np son? is it for 
the weakness of Fovar-gormo's arm that thy sighs arise : I be- 
gin, my father, to feel the strength of my arm ; I have drawn the 
4word of my youth, and I have bent the bow. Let me meet thisi 
P«U|iiiar, with the youths pf Promjn )et m^ ipe^t hipi, O m h" 
|l|t|-, for I (eel |Dy burning |iQu)t 



f 



CHAP. 21.] Desciiptim. 2^ 

And thou Shalt m«et Mm, I saiiJ, soir of the 9lcbtWs& Crotbar 1 
Btttlet others advance before thee^ that I may heav ikut tread of 
thj feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fsjr-haired 

Fovar-gopmo ! He went ; he met the foe ; he fei. The 

foe advances towards Croma. He who slew my son is neirj wiUi 
All his pointed spears* 

If a concise or nervous style be a beauty, tetu* 
jtology must he a blemish ; and yet writers, fettered 
J>y verse, are not sufficiently careful to avoid this 
slovenly practice : they may be pitied, but they 
cannot be justified. Take for a specimen the fol- 
lowing instances, from the best poet, for versifics^- 
tjon at least^ that England has to boast of. 

High on his helm celestial lightnings play. 
His beamy shield emits a living ray, 
Th'un weary blaze incessant streams supplies, 
Like the red star that fires th* autumnal s](ies. 

Strength and omnipotence invent thy throire. 

lUad^ \\\\. 576, 

So silent fountains, from a rock's tall head, 
' Insa&le streams soft trickling waters shed. 

V Uukit ix. 19t 

His clanging srmour rung. . ' 

Iliad, xil, 94. 

FeaJ^otalheir eheeky.^ndj^orror in their eye. . 

Riad^ XV. 4. 

The blaze of armour flashM against the day. 

Uiad, xvii. T36. 

As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow, 

Iliad, xix. 380, 

. And like the moon, the broad refulgent shield 
Blas'd with lo^g i'ays, and gleaim*d athwart the field. 

/itflrf, xix. 40.7. 

]No — could ouf swiftaess o'er the winds prevail, 
Or heat the pinions of the, western gale, 
AlVwere in vala. — ' 

Uiad, xix. 460: 
IBbe humid iir^at from every p^e descends. 

Iliad, xxiii. 829. 



264 NamUumand Icukr. 21 

Redundant epithets, such as humid in the last cita- 
tion, are by (^uintiiian disallowed to orators ; but 
indulged to poets,* because his favourite poets, in 
a fev instances, are reduced to such epithets for 
the sake of versification ; for instance, Praia canis 
alhkant pruinis of Horace, and liquidos fontes of 
Virgil. 

As an apology for such careless expressions, it 
may well suffice, that Pope, in submitting to ht a 
translator, acts below his genius. In a translation, 
it is hard to reauire the same spirit or accuracy, 
that is cheerfully bestowed on an original worfc. 
And to support the reputation of that author, I sbaH 

fjive some instances trom Virgil and Horace, more 
aulty by redundancy than any of those abovQ 
mentioned : 

Sepe etiam imnoensum cttio venit agmen a<|uarttm, 
£t Foedam glomerant tempestatem imbribus atrt^ 
Collects ex alto nubes : ruit arduus etber, 
Et pluviil iogenti sata laeta, boumque labores 
Diluit. 

Gearjf. lfb« i. 9f 2, 

Fottquam altum tenuere rates, nee jam ompliuii ulle 
Apparent terrc ; ccelum undique et undique pontua : 
Tummihi ccBruleus supra caput astitit tmber, 
Noctem hyetnemque fcrens ; et iohorrutt ttmia4en«biriv. 

Mneid, lib. Hi. 192. 



Hioc tibi copia 



Manabit ad plenum benigno 
Kuris honorum opulenta cornu. 

HoraL Carm, lib. i. ode 17* 

Videre fessos vomerem inversum boTea 
CoIIo trahentes languido, 

HoraU epod. ii. 63« 

Here I can luckily apply Hcsrace's rule against him- 
.sejf: 

* L. viii. cap. vi. feet. ^ 






CHAP. 2l.} DescripUm. . 265 

Est brevitate opus, ut curratsentcmiaft^ti se 
Impediat rerbis lassas onerantibus aure?. 

S^tir, lib. I. sat. x. 9* 

I close this chapter with a curious enquiry. An 
object, however ugly to the sight, is far from being 
so when represented hy colours or by wor^s. What 
is the cause of this difference? With respect to 
painting, the cause is obvious: a good pi^turej 
whatever the subject be, is agreeable by the pllea- 
sur^ we take in imitation ; and this pleasure over- 
balancing the disagreeableness of the subject, makes 
the picture upon the whole agreeable. With re- 
spect to the description of an ugly object, the cause 
follows. To connect individuals in the social taste, 
no particular contributes more than language, hy 
the power it possesses of an expeditious communi- 
cation of thought, and a lively representation of 
transactions. Sut nature hath not been satisfied to 
recommend language by its utility mferely ; inde- 
pendent of utility, it is made susceptible of many 
beauties, which are directly felt, without any inter- 
vening reflection.* And this unfolds the mystery •, 
for the pleasure of language is so great, as in a lively 
description to overbalance the disagreeableness of 
the image raised by it.t This, however, is no en- 
couragement to choose a disagreeable subject ; for 
the pleasure is incomparably greater where the 
subject and the description are both of them agree- 
able. 

The following description is upon the whole 
a^eeable, though the subject described is in itself 
dismal : 

Nine times the space that measures day and night 
1*0 piortal men, hp with his horrid crew 
Lay vanquished rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded though immortal ! but bis doom 

'^ See C^i))l»r XVIII. t See Chiqpter O. pm iv. 



266 Narration and (chap. 21 . 

ReterrM him tcmorf wrftth ; for now the thought 

Both oflosthappio«Ma»d lastiog paio 

^ormeDts him ; refund he throws hit baleful eyes 

That witnest'd Auge affliction and dismay, 

Mix'd with d^nrate pride and steadfast hate ; 

AtoDce as^'a' as angels ken be views 

The diso^^l situation waste and wild ; 

A dun/^un horrible, on all sides round 

As fT*e great furnace ilam'd; yet from those flames 

No'iglit, but rather darkness Tisrible 

S^rv'd only to discover sights of wo, 
itegions of sorrow, doleful shades, where pence 
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 
That comes to all : but torture without end 
Still urges, and fiery deluge, fed 
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed ! 
Such place eternal justice hath prepar'd 
For those rebellious. 

Parodist tjust^ book i. I. 5(/. 

An unmanly depression of spirits in. time of danget 
is not an agreeaole sight ; and yet a fine description 
or representation of it will be relished: 

K.Riehard. What must the king do now ^ musthe submit? 
The king shall do it ; must he be depos'd ? 
The king shall be contented ; must he lose 
The name of king ? i' God's name let it go i 
ril give my jewels for a set of beads ; 
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage ; 
My gay apparel, for an almsman's gownf 
My flgur'd goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; 
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ; 
And my large kingdom for a little grave ; 
A little, little gfave ; ■ " an obscure grave* 
Or, I'll be bury*d in tha king's highway { 
Some way of common tread, where subjects* feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
For on my heart they tread now, whilst I live ; 
And bury^d once, why not upon my head P 

Richard 11. Act ITI. Sc. 6. 

Objects that strike terrdr in a spectator, have iU 
poetry and paintiDg a fine effect. The {dcture by 



€ilAr. &I.3 Desariptim. 2lBi 

raising a alight emotion of terror, a^tatesthe 
inind ; and in that condition every beauty makes a 
deep impression. May not contrast heighten tKe 
pleasure, by opposing our present security to the 
danger of encountering the object represented ? 

' — ^The either shajM^ 

If ah^pe it laight be calJ'd, tfaftt shape had none^ 

Disthij^uishable in member, joint or limb ; 

Or substance might be caird that shadow seem'd^ 

For each seem'd either ; black it stood as night, 

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 

And shook a dreadful dart* 

i^arttdiee Lost, h, iu 1. 666« 



•Now storming fury ruse, 



And clamour such as heard in heaven fill now 
Was never ; armd on armour clashing brayd 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
Of braien chariots ragM; dire was the ttoiie 
Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss 
Of fiery darts in flaming vollies flew. 
And flying vaulted either hoft with Are. 
So under fiery cope together rush'd 
Both battles mahi, with ruinous assault 
And inextiQguish&hle rage ; all heaven 
Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth 
Had to her centre shook. 

Paradue Lu^ book tL L f07* 

Ghoti ' ■ — ^ But that I am forbid 

To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 

I could a tale uafbld, whose lightest word 

Weuld harrow up thy soul, freese thy young blood. 

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their sphereii, 

Thy knotty and combined locks to part^ 

And each particular hair to stand on end, 

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 

But this eternal blason must not be 

To ears of fleth and blood. ^ 

HamUiy Act I. Sc. 8. 

Greiianoi Poor Desdemona ! Pm glad thy father*s dead t 
Thy match was mortal to him ; and pure grief'^ 
Shore his old thread in twain. Did he live now^ 

Vol. IL 34a 



'•V. 



2Bff iVtfmw(to» and [c«af. 21: 

This tigbt would make him do a desperate tutn : 

Tea, curse kis better angel from his side, 

And fall to reprobation. _ 

• Othello, Act V. Sc, 8. 

CMbjects of horror must be expected from the fore- 
going theory ; for no description, however lively, 
M sufficient to overbalance the disgust raised even 

by the idea of such objects. Everv thing hornblc 
oudit therefore to be avoided in a description- Nor 
is this a Severe law : the poet vi^ill avoidsuch scenes 
for his own sake, as well as for that of his reader; 
and to vary his descriptions, nature afibrds jdenty 
of objects that disgust us in some degree without 
raising horror. I am obliged therefore to condemn 
the picture of Sin m the second book of Paradm 
Lost, though a masterly performance : the original 
would be a horrid spectacle ; and the horror ia not 
much softened in the copy : 



-Pensive here I sat 



Alone ; but long I sat not, till tiiy womb. 
Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown> 
Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. 
At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, 
Thine own begotten, breaking violent way, 
Tore through my entrails, ihat with fear and pain 
Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew 
TransformM ; but he my inbred enemy 
Forth issu'd , brandishing his fatal dart. 
Made to destroys I fled, and cry'd out Death i> 
Helltrembl'd at the hideous name, and sigh'd 
Frofl» all her caves, and back resounded Death. 
'I fled i but he pursu'd, (though more, it seemc^, 
Inflam'd with lust than rage,) and swifter fsr, 
Me overtook, his mother all dismay'd, 
And in embraces forcible andfoul 
Ingendring with me, of ftel?ape begot 
These yelling monsters that with ceaseless cry 
SorrouMd me, as thou saw'st, hourly conceiv'd 
And hourly born, with sorrow infinite 
To me ; for when they list, into the womb 
trhat bred them they return, and howl and gnaw 
My bowels, their repast ; then^ bursting forth, 



CKAv. 21] Descriftum, 269 

Afresh with coakeHMw terrors ▼•« ne roiiBfl, 
That r«at or tatwmmf^n none I diicL 
Before nine eyes In ofiposltion sits ' 
Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on^ 
And me his parent would full soon devoyr 
For want of other prey, but that he knows, 
His end wkh mine iaretv'd ; and knows that I 
Should prore a hitter morsel, and his bane., 
Wlienever^hai shall be. 

Book-ii. h T77. 

lago's character in the tragedy of OtheUoj is insuf- 
ferably monstrous and satanical: not even Shak- 
spear's masterly hand can make the picture agree- 
able. 

Though ithe QBjects introduced in the fq^lowing 
:8cenes are nott'idtogether so horrible as Sin is in 
Milton's Tdescriplteii ; yet with every person of de- 
licacy, disgust will be the prevailing emotion: 

Strophades -Graio stant nomine djcte 
Insula lonio in magno ; quas dira Ce^nQ, 
Harpyieque colunt alls : Phineia postquam 
t^Iausa domus, mensasque metu liquere priores. 
TriLtiufthaud illis monstrum, nee sKvior uHa 
Pestis e|t ira Deiim Stygiis sese extulit undis. 
Virginel i;olucrum vuitus, fosdissima ventris 
Prolnvies, unc»que naanus, et pallida 4iempcir 
Ora fame. 

Hue ubi delati portus intravimus : ecce 
I«ieta bourn passim campis armenta ridemus, 
Caprigenumque pecos, nullo cusiode, per herbas. 
Irruimus ferfo, atDivos ipsumque rocamus 
In prvdam partemque Jovem '• tunc littore curro 
fixtrulmusque toros, dapihusque epulamur opimis. 
At subits hocrifico lapsn de montfbus adsunt 
Harpyi» : et magnis quatiunt clangoribus alas : 
Ij^ripiuntque dapes, contactuque omnia fcedant 
Immundo : turn vox tetrum dira inter odorem. 

JEneid, lib. iil. 210. 

Sam43atria ex Ithaca, comes infelicis Ulyssei, 
Komen Achemenides } Trojam, genitore Adamasto 
Paupere (mansissetque utinam fortuna !) profectus. . 

flie me, 4am trepidi crudeljia limioa linquunt^ 



Immevortt ••eii vtito CTelopk io aotro 
Deseraere. , Donius saoie dapibas<|u» enieiitl% 
lotos opuca, iDgeoi : ipie ^rdttu, alta^oe pnltat 
Sider : (Oil, taJem term areitite pettem) 
Nee vitu facilis, nes dteto nffabilis uW. 
ViteeribuB misearam, et sanguine Tescitor atra. 
Tidi egotnetf dvo de oimero ciran eorpcwa noatro, 
Frenfa maou magna, medio resnspinof In aatro, 
Fraogeret ad sazum, sanieque aaperaa natarent 
Llniioa: ridlatro cum membra fluentia tabo 
Ifand^ret, et tepida tremerept sub dentibgs artua. 
Baud impune quidem: nee talia paaausUijrsses, 
Oblitosye sui est Ithacus discrimine taoto. 
Nam simul expletus dapibus, vinoque sepultus 
CerTicem inflexam posuit,Jaeuitque per antrum 
^Immensus, lanieip cructaps, ac firusta cruento 
Per somnum commixta mero ; nos nuigno precati 
Nomina, sortiliqoe Tices, uni undiqoe cireum 
Fondlmur, et telo lameirterabramuflljiciito 
IqgenSi quod torra solum sub Iroqte biCebat, 

^netd, lib. iii. 6i5, 






^71 






CHAPTER XXir 



JBpic and Dramatic Composition, 



Tragedy differs not from the epic in sob- 
stance : m both the same ends are pursued, name-' 
ly, instruction and amusement ; and in both the 
same mean is employed, namely, imitation of hu- 
man actions. They differ only in the manner of 
imitating: epic poetry employs narmtion ; trsfgedy 
represents its facts as passing in our sight : in the 
former, the poet introduces himself as an historian: 
in the latter, he presents his actors, and neve* him* 
$elf.* 

This difference regarding form only, may be 
thought slight : but the effects it occasions, are by 
no means so ; for what we see makes a deeper im- 

* The dialogue in a dramatic corapositiofi distinguislies it so clearly from 
other compositioDSy that no writer has thought it nt^ccssanr to search for 
tsxy other distinguishing mark. But much useless labour has been bestowed, 
to distingubh an epic poem by some peculiar mark. Bossu defines it to be, 
*' A composition in verse, intended to form the manners by instructions dis- 
*' guised under the allegories of an important action ;" which excludes every 
epie poem founded upon {.eal facts, and perhaps includes several of JEsop's 
fables. Voltaire reckons verse so essentialf ps for that single reason to ex- 
elude the advenbitesdr 7eieillachus. SeeKifEii^iip^n^EpicToetn/.-- 
Other»» sSect6d with substance mo«<e than with form, hesitate not to pro- 
t3«atlce that poem tobc epic. — ft is not a little diverting to see so many pro> 
found critics nuntingfor what is not : ^ey take for gmnled, without the least 
foundatio&^ that there must be some precise criterion to distinguish epic poe- 
try from every other species of writing. Literary compositions run into 
each other, preoltely like colours : in fbehr strong tiots they are easily iik* 
tiaguifllttd ; but are susceptible of so much variety, and of so many difrercnt 
forms, diatwe never can say where one species ends and anotlicr begins. — 
■As to the general taste, there is little reason to doubt, that a work where he- 
roic iM9|ioBs are related ii| an elevated style, iifil], wStiiout furf|ior recjuisite^ ' 
^ ^ejBed an epio poem . 



272 Epic and Dramatic [chap. 22L 

pression than what we learn from others. A nar- 
rative poem is a story told by another : facts and 
incidents passing upon the stage, come under our 
owo observation ; and are beside much enlivened 
by action and gesture, expressive of many senti- 
ments beyond the readi of words. 

A dramatic composition has another property, 
independent altogether of action ; which is, tnat it 
makes a deeper impression than narration : in the 
former, persons express their own sentiments ; in 
the latter, sentiments arc related at second hand. 
For that rcasoB, Aristotlo, the father of critics, 
« lays it down as a rule, That in an epic poem, the 
author ought to take every opportunity of intro- 
ducing his actors, and of connning the narrative 
part within the narrowest bounds.* Homer un- 
Ilerstood perfectly the advantage of this method ; 
and his two {>oems abound in dialogue* Lucan 
runs to the opposite extreme, even so far as to stuff 
liis Shiirsalia with cold and languid reflections^* 
the merit of which he assumes to himself, and 
xleigns not to share with his actors. Nothing can 
be more injudiciou^y timed, than a chain of such 
xeflectiops, which suspend tne battle of Pharsalia 
after the leaders had made their speeches, and the 
two armies are ready to en^ge.f 

Aristotle, regarding ithe jfable onl^, divides trar 
gedy into simple and complex: but it is of greater 
moment, with respect to aromatic as well as epic 
poetr}', to found a distinction upon the different 
•ecds attained hy such compositions. A poem, whe- 
ther dramatic or epic, that has nothing in view but 
to move Ihe passiom and to exhibit pictures of vir- 
tue and vice, may be distinguished by the name of 
jmthetic c b^t where a story is purposely contrived 

* tVwtiCbHiterXXV. Seotvi. . . 

^ Ub. Titfrom line 885 to tilte ^4fiO. 



daxf. 22.} Composition. 273 

to illustrate some moral truth, by showing that $s-* 
orderly passions naturally lead to external misfor- 
tunes ; such composition may be denominated mo- 
raL* Beside making a deeper impression than 
caa be done by cooi reasoning, a moral poem does' 
not fall short of reasoning in a£fo/ding conviction : 
the natural connesjron of vice v«^ith misery, and of 
yirtoe with happiness^ may be tllastrated by stating 
a fact as well as by urging an argument. Let us 
assume, for example, the following moral truths; 
that discord among tlie cbiels renders in^ectual 
sdl common measures ; and that the consequences 
of a slightly-founded quarrel, fostered by pride and 
arro^nce, are no less fatal than those of the gros- 
sest injury : these tmths may be inculcated, by the 
(|uarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles at the 
siege of Troy. If feicts or circumstances be want- 
ing^ such as tend to rouse the turbulent passions^ 
. they mustl>e invented; but no accidental nor un- 
acccHintable eveoEt ou^t to be admitted : for the 
necessary ca fNrobable connexion between vice and 
misery is not learned firom any events but what sure 
naturally occasioned by the characters and passions 
of Ihe persons represented, acting in such and such 
ttrcumaitances. A real event of which we see not 
the cause, may afford a lesson upon the presump* 
tion that what hath happened msy again happen r 
but this cannot be inferred from a story that is 
known to be a fiction. 
Many are the good effects of such compositions. 



* The same distinction is applicable to that sort of fable which is said to 
be the invention of iEsop. A moral, it is truer, is by all critics considered as 
enential to such a fable. But nothing is more common than to be led 
hkindiv by authority ; for of the numerous collections I have seen, the fables 
that cfearly incidcate a mors], make a very small part. In many fables, in^ 
-deed, proper pictures of virtue and vice are exhibited : but the bulk of these 
collections convey no instruction, nor afford any amujjement bt^yond whtit a 
c|tlld receives in reading. a» ordinary story. 



Kpic and Dramatic [cHap. ^ 

A pathetic composition, whether epic or dnknatic, 
tends to a habit of viituey hy exciting us to do 
what is right, .and restraining us from what- is 
wrong.^ Its frequent pictures of human woes, pro-* 
duce, beside two effects extremely sahitary : thej 
improve our sympathy, and fortify us to bear diaf 
own misfortunes. A moral composition obvious!/ 
produces the same good effects, because by bei^ 
moral it ceaseth not to be pathetic ; it enjoys beside 
an excellence peculiar to itself; for it not only imr 
proves the heart as above mentioned, but instructs 
the head by the moral it contains. I cannot imagine 
any entertainment more suited to a rational beings 
than a work thus happily illustrating some moral 
tnith : where a number of persons of different cha- 
actcrs are engaged in an important ajtion^ some re* 
tarding, others promoting the great catastrophe ; 
and where there is dignity of style as well as of 
matter. A work of that kind has our sympathy at 
command ; and can put in motion the whole train 
of the social affections : our curiosity in some scenes 
is excited, in others gratified ; and our delight is 
consummated at the close, upon finding, firoim the 
characters atid situations exhibited at the c<xn- 
mencement, that every incident doivn to the final 
catastrophe is natural, and that the whole in con** 
iunction make a resiilar chain of causes and effects. 
Considering that an epic and a dramatic poem 
are the same in substance, and have the same aim 
or end, one will readily imagine, that subjects pro- 
per for the one must be equally proper for the 
other. But considering their difference as to form, 
(here will be found reason to correct that conjec- 
ture at least iii some degree. Many subjects may 
indeed be treated with equal advantage in either 

i 

J * See chapter II. part i. sect. 4, 



cnkT. 22.3 Compokitwm. 276 

form ; but the subjects are still more numerous for 
which th^jr ar^ ^^^ equally qualified ; and there are 

• sirf>jccts proper for the one, and not for the other. 
To give some slight notion of the difference, as 
there is no room here for enlarging upon eveiy ar- 
ticle, I observe, that dialogue is better qualified for 
expressing sentiments, and narrative for displaying 
facts. Heroism, magnanimity, undaunted courage, 
and othel^ elevated virtues, figure best in action : 
tender passions, and the whole tribe of sympathetic 
affections figure best in sentiment. It clearly fol- 
lows, that tender passions are more peculiarly the 
province of tragedy, grand and heroic actions of 
epic poetry** I have no occasion to say niore upon 
the epic, considered as peculiarly ad^ted to cer- 
tain subjects. But as dramatic subjects are more 
complex, I must take a narrower view of them ; 
which I do the more willingly, in order to clear a 
point involved in great obscurity by critics. 

In the chapter of Emotions and Passionsf it is 
occasionally shown, that the subject best fitted for 
tragedy is where a man has himself been the cause 
of his misfortune ; not 50 as to be deeply guilty, nor 
alt6gether innocent : th^ misfortune must be occa- 
sioned by a fault incident to human nature, and 
thereforiB in some degree venial. Such misfortunes 
'call forth the social affections, and warmly interest 
the spectator. An accidental misfortune, if not 
extremely singular, doth not greatly move our pity : 
the person who suffers, being innocent, is freed from 
the greatest of all torments, that anguish of mind 

, which is occasioned by remorse : 

* In i^cine tender sentiments pi^vail ; in Cottaeillc, arand and lierf^o 
naimen. Hence clearly the preference of ithe former before tke lati$f» *i 
clramatic poets. Comeille >vould have figured bstter in an heroic poem. 

t Tui iv. 

VoT. 11. SSn 



27tt Epic and Dramdiic ^chaP^ 22. 

Food i funeita , 

L'sUrui forluna 
Quando Don resta 
Hagione alCinia 
Na di pantin), ni darrour. 

An atrocious criminal, on the other hand, who 
brings misfortunes upon himself, excites little pitj-^ 
for a different reason : his remorse, it is true, aggra- 
vates his distress, and swells the first emotions of 
pitr; but these are immediatetj blunted bj our ha- 
tred of him as a crimijial. Misfortunes that are not 
innocent, ngr highly criminal, partake the adranta- 
gesof each extreme : they are attended with remorse! 
to embittenthe distress, which raises our pity to a 
height : andf the slight indignation we have at a 
venial fault, detracts not sensibly from our pity. — 
The happiest of all subjects accordingly for rtusiug 
pity, is where a man of integrity falls into a great 
fflistortune by doing an action that is innocent, but 
which, by some singular means is conceived by him 
tobe criminal ; hts remorse aggravates his distress; 
and our compassion, unrcstramed by indignation, 
Icnows no bounds. Pity coffles thus to be the rid- 
ing passion of a pathetic tragedy ; and by propci 
representation, may be raised to a height scarce ex- 
ceeded by any thing felt in reaHife. A moral tra- 
gedy takes in a lai^er field ; as it not only exercises 
niir nity, but raises another passion, which, thoudi 
, deserves to be cherished eqbf^y with tSe 
affectioti. The passion Ihave inviewisfear 
or; tbr when a m^fortune is the natural cod- 
Qce of some wrong bias in the temper, ereiy 
itor who is conscious of such a bias id hisasdf, 
^e alarm, and dreads his falling into the 
misfortune : and by the emotion of feai or 
, frequently reiterated in a variety of moral 
lies, the spectators are put upon their guaid 
it the diaorders of paanon^ 



\ 



.y- 



uMAP. 22.] Compositions: 277 

The commentators upon Aristotle, and other cri- 
tics, have been much gravelled about the account 
given of tragedy by that author : " That, by means 
^' of pity and terror, it refines or purifies Jn us all 
" sorts of passion." But no one who has a clear 
conception of the end and^effects of a eood tragedy, 
can have any difficulty about Aristotle's meaning: 
our pity is engaged for the persons represented; 
and our terror is upon our own account. Pity 
indeed is here made to, stand for all the sympa- 
thetic emotions, because of these it is the capital. 
There can be no doubt that our sympathetic emo- 
tions are refined or improved by daily exerci^ ; 
and in what manner our other passions are y^n^ 
by terror, I have just^ now. said. One thiqg;" ^®'' 
tain, that no other meaning can justly V give« to 
the foregoing doctrine than that now .menti^Ded ; 
and that it was really Aristotle's meaning ^PP^ais 
from his 13th chapter, where he deliv'^ several 
propositions conformable to the Aofl^^ ^u !5® 
explained. These, at the same tir;'; * ^^^ ^^berty 
to mention: because as far a^"*?f^*7/a»^ 
they confirm the foregoing r^-^^^^S^^^^^ 

Dlained • a s ^^^* ^^ **^^* "^*^^ "^^^ *^^®®^ ®^" 
cite nitv an/^" "^^^ ' ^^^ ^^ **^^ former in an infe- 
nor deff ^^ ^^^ ^® latter no decree for moral in- 
rtract •'^ The second proposition is, That the 
^jgj ? of a wicked person in a change from misery 
f^ rappiness ought not to be represented. It ex- 
cites neither terror nor compassion, nor is agree- 
able in any respect. The third is, That the mis- 
fortunes of a wicked person ought not to be repre- 



278 £pic and Dramatic [chap* 22. 

s^Qted- Such representation ipaj be agreeable in 
3pme mea$yre upon a pripciple of justice : but it 
will not move our pity : nor wy degree of terror, 
0x.cept in those of the same vicious disposition with 
Uie person represented. The last proposition is> 
That the only character fit %r representation lies in 
the middle, neither eminently good nor eminently 
bad ; >vhere the misfortune is not the effect of de- 
Uberate vice, but of some involuntary fault as out 
apthor expresses it.* The only objection I find to 
Aristotle's account of tragedy, is, that he confines 
it within too narrow bounds, by refusing admit- 
t^tee to the pathetic kind: for iif terror be essential 
^ ttigedy, no representation deserves that name 
Dui tht moral kind, wherp the misfortunes exhibit- 
ea ^re oiused by a wropg balance of mind, or 
^•Trt i!^^^ in the internal constitution ; such 
Kn?h^.^^^y® ^^^^^ «»^^^1 instruction ; and 
SSpr J^^^^ ^"'^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^it^d fo^ 

tioSfrelattl^^ pi:opositions above men- 
S .n naiow C ^^^ '^^t ^^'^fi^^d with- 

misfortunes, whichrouse o^ ^^.^^J^? 'T?u''^ 
inculcate no moral With x^l^^'^^^^ *^f 
jeqts of that kind, it may be do^^ ^^J V ^T 
conclusion ought not always tp be fo^xj!^^^^^^ 
a person of integrity i3 represented al^. y"^J^ 
the en4 under misfortunes purely acc^.^*?^ 
depart discontented, and with some obsc^ ' ^^ 
of injustice: for seldom is man sQsubmislf°f 
Providence, as not to revolt against the tyraaj 



* If any one can be amused with a grave discourse which promiseth much 
and performs nothing, I refer to Bfumoy in his Theatre Grtc, PrclimiBarv 
aiscourae on the origin of Tragcfdy. ' 



CHAP. 22, j Composilions, 279 

and veipstlions of blind chance ; he will be tempt- 
ed to say, Thjs ought not to be. Chance, giving 
3n impressioa of anarchy and misrule, produces 
always a damp upon the mind. I give for an ex* 
ample the Romeo and Juliet of Sha&peare, where 
the fatal catastrophe is occasioned by Friar Lau* 
ranee's coming to the monument a minute too late : 
we are vexed at the unlucky chance, and go away 
dissatisfied. Such impressions, which ought not 
to be cherish,edi are a sufficient reason for exclud- 
ing stories of that kind from the theatre. The mis- 
fortunes of a virtuous person, dxising from oecessa^ 
ry causes or from a chain of unavoidable circum- 
stances, are considered in a different light. A re- 
gular chq.in of causes and effects directed by the 
general laws of nature, never fails to suggest the 
Ijy^d of PfTovidence ; to which we submit without 
resentment, being conscious that submission is our 
duty.* For that, reason, we are not disgusted with 
the distresses of Voltaire's Mariamne^ though, re- 
doubled on her till her death, without the least 
fault or failing on her part; her misfortunes are 
owiqg tp^ cause extremely natural, and notunfre* 
quent^ the jealousy of a barbarous husband. The 
fate of Desdemona^ in the Moor of Venice, affects 
\js in the same manner. We are not so easily re- 
conciled to the fate of Cordelia in King Lear : the 
causes of her misfortune are by no means so evi- 
dent, as to exclude the gloomy notion of chance. 
In short, a perfect character suffering under rqisfor- 
tunes, is quaUfied for being the subject of a pathe- 
tic tragedy, provided chance be excluded. jNTor is 
a perfect character altogether inconsistent with a 
moral tragedy : 'it may successfully be introduced 
in an under-part, if the chief place be occupied by 
an imperfect character, from which a moral can he 

* See Essays on the Frtnciples of MoraJity, edit. ii. p. 29i. 



28d Epic and Dramatic [chaf. 23- 

drawn. This is the case of Desdemona and Ma-r 
namiie just mentioned ; and it is the case of Mo- 
nimia and Belvidera^ in Otway'stwo tragedies, the 
Orphan^ and Venice Preserved. 

1 had an early opportunity to unfold a curious 
doctrine, That fable operates on our passions, by 
representing its events as passing in our sight, and 
by deluding us into & conviction of reality.* Hence, 
in epic and dramatic compositions, every circum- 
stance ought to be employed that may promote the 
delusion ; such as the norrowing from history some 
noted event, with the addition of circumstances 
that may answer the author's purpose : the princi- 
pal facts are known to be true ; and we are aispos- 
ed to extend our belief to every circumstance,— 
But in choosing a subject that makes a figure in 
history, greater precaution is necessary than whent 
the whole is a fiction. In the latter case there is 
full scope for invention : the author is under no re- 
straint other than that the characters and incidents 
be just copies of nature. But where the story ist 
founded on truth, no circumstances must be added, 
but such as connect naturally with what are known 
to be true ; history may be .supplied, but must not 
be contradicted : further, the subject chosen must 
be distant in time, or at least in place ; for the fa- 
miliarity of recent persons and events ought to be 
avoided. Familiarity ought more especially to be 
avoided in an epic poem, the peculiar character of 
which is dignity and elevation : modern manner^ 
make no figure in such a poem.t 

• Chapter II. Part i. Sect. 7. 

t I would not from this obsen^ation be thought to undervalue modern 
manners. The rongbness and impetuosity of ancient manners, may be b«t- 
ter fitted for an epic poem* without being better fitted for society. But 
without recard (o that circumstance, it is the familiarity of modem manneif 
that unanalifies them for a lofty subject. The dignity of our jwesent man- 
ners, will be better understood in future agm, when they «r» no Jooger 
familiar. 



CdAi^. 22. Compassions; 281 

After Voltaire, no writer, it is probable, witl 
think oi rearing an epic poem upon a recent event 
in the history of his own country ^ But an event of 
that kind is perhaps not altogether unqualified for 
tragedy : it was admitted in Greece ; and Shaks- 

Eeare has employed it successfully in several of 
is pieces. One advantage it possesses above fic- 
tion, that of more readily engaging out belief, which 
tends above any other circumstance to raise ojur 
sympathy. The scene of comedy is generally laidi 
at home ; familiarity is no objection ; and we are 
peculiarly sensible of the ridicule of our own man- 
ners. 

AjKer a proper subject is chosen, the dividing it 
into parts requires some art. The conclusion of a 
book in an epic poem, or of an act in a play^ can- 
not be altogether arbitrary ; nor be intended for so 
slight a purpose as to make the parts of equal 
length. The supposed pause at the end of every 
book, and the real pause at the end of every actj 
ought always to coincide with soilie pause in the 
action. In this respect, a dramatic or epic poem 
ought to resemble a sentence or period in language, 
divided mto niehibers that ate distinguished from 
each othCT by proper pauses ; or it ought to resem- 
ble a piece of music, having a full close a!t the end, 
^preceded by imperfect closes that contribute to the 
melody. Every act in a dramatic poem ought 
therefore to close with some incident that makes a 
pause in the action ; for otherwise there can be no 
pretext for interrupting the representation : it would 
be absurd to break off in the very heat of action ; 
against which every one would exclaim : the ab- 
surdity still remains where the action relents, if 
it be not actually suspended for some time. This 
rule is also applicable to an epic poem : though in 
it a deviation, from the rule Is less remarkable ; be- 
cause it is ift the reader's power to bide the absur- 



282 Epic and Dramatic [ciiup. ^ 

ditj^ hy proceeding instantly to another book. The 
first book of Paracnse Los$ ends without any close, 
perfect or imperfect : it breaks off abruptly, whei^ 
Satan, seated on his throne, is prepared to har« 
an^e the convocated hosts of the lallen angek;. 
and the second book begins with the speech. Mil- 
ton seems to have copied the JCnefrf, of which the 
two first books are divided much in the same man- 
ner. Neither is there any proper pause at the end 
of the fifth book of the ^neid. There is no pro- 
per pause at the end of the seventh book of Para- 
dise Lostj nor at the end of the eleventh. In the 
Iliad, little attention is given to this rule. 

This branch of the subject shall be closed with 
a general rule, That action being the fundamental 
part of every composition whether epic or drama- 
tic, the sentiments and tone of language ought to 
be subservient to the action, so as to appear natu- 
ral, and proper for the occasion The application 
of this rule to our modern plays, would reduce the 
bulk of them to a skeleton.* 



* " En general, »I y a beaucoup fe discours et peu d'action sur la sceM 
Francoise. Quelqu'un disoit en sortant d'une piece de r>^K| le Tiran, Je 
n'ai rien vu, mais j'ai entendu force paroles. Voila ce qu wi p«ut dire en 
sortant des pieces Francoises. Racine et Corneille) avec toi^t leur g^nie^De 
sont eux-memes que des piarieurs; et leur successeur est le premier qui, I , 
rimitation des Anglois, ait os6 mettre quel(|uefois.la scene en repr^entation.' 
Commno^meiit tout se passe en beaux, dialogues bien agenc^s, bien ronflans; 
oa Ton voit d'abord que le premier soin de coaque hitenocuteur est toujours 
celui de briller. Presquetout s'eoQnce en nfaximes g6n€rales. Quelque agi< 
t^s qulls puissentitre, Us songent toujours plus au public qu'ft eux mgmes ; 
une sentence leur coute raoins qu*un sentiment ; les pieces de Racine et de 
Moliere except^es, le je est presque aussi scnipuleuscment banni de la seese 
Francoise que des Merits de Fort Royal : et les passions bumaines, aussi mo? 
destes que i1iumilit6 ChrStienne, n'y parlent jamais que par on, II y a en' 
core une certaine <lignit€ manierSe dans la geste propos, qui ne permit ja- 
maiff I la passion de parler exactment son language, ni I I'auteur de revetir 
son personage, et de se transporter au lieu de la scene; mats le tient tou- 
jours enchain^ sur le theatre, et sous les yeux des spectateyrs. Aussi les si* 
tuations les pitis vives ne lui font-ellcs jamais oublier un bel arrangeioent 
de phrases, ni des attitudes gl^cantes ; etsi ledesespoir luiplonge un poigii- 
ard dansle cteur, non content d'observer la d^cence en tombant comme Po 
iixene, ilnetorabe point; la decence le maintient debout apr^s sn. raort, et 



oliAP. 2S.] Cmpositicm. 283 

Aft^r^canyii^ ou together epic MA dramatic 
compositions) I shaU merition circunoislances pecu- 
jmr to each ; beginoiiig with tbe epic kind. In a 
theatrical Ciitertaiiiment, which employs both the 
ejre and the ear, it would be a gross, absurdity, to 
introduce ojion the stage superior beings in a visi- 
ble shape. There is noplace for such dbjection 
in an epic poem ; and Boiieau^* with many other 
critics, declares atongty for that sort of machinery 
in an epic poem. But waving authority, which is 
apt to impose upon the judgment, let us draw what 
tight we can from reason. I begin with a preUtni^ 
nary remark^ That thk matter is bqt indistinctly 
handled by critics : the poetical privilege of ani- 
mating insensible objects for enlivening a descrip-- 
tion^ is very different from what is termed machi- 
nertf^ where deities^ angels^ devils, or other super- 
natural powers, sure introduced as red personages^ 
mixing in the a#tion$ and contributing to the catas- 

! trophe ; and yet these are constantly jumbled tpge^ 
ther in the reasoning, '^he former is founded on 

I a natural principle ;t but can the latter claim the 
3ame authority ? far from it ; nothing is more mi- 

I naturaL Its effects, at the same time, are dciplor-^ 

I able. First, it gives an air of fiction to thc^ whple ; 
and prevents that impressioa of realftfi whith is 

I requisite to interest our affections, and to move our 
passi<»s.| Thijt of itself js^ sufficient to exj^od^ 
tnachinery, whatever eotertainraetit It may afford 
to readers of a fantastic ta^te or irregular ima^ipa- 
tion. And^ next, were it possible, by disguisii^ 
the fictii;^, to delude ud into a notion o( reality^ 
Which I thiijk can hardly be ; an ii^tiperable ob- 

toot ceux ^ viennent d'expker s'en ntouineiit riostant d'aptgs sur lean 
jumbes.^ 

■ * TMrdPMi of Jiis Art bC Poetry.. 

! . * Chapter Xt. Sect. 1 . % S«e Cliiq)t»r II. VM? KSec*: 7, 

I • Vol. IT. ma ' u. ^ ^^^ 



. • I- 



^ 



284 Epic Md ikmuHit £cbap;.^ 

jection would still remain, Aat the wm 6)r cftd of 
Mt epic poem can never be attaised in any p^rfec- 
«on, where machineyis intraiiiiced; for an evi- 
dent reason, that rktuous emotions caiuiot be rahwd 
Suci^eissfuUj, but bj the actions of those who axe 
^tfdtaed with passions and affections lifce cm own^ 
that is, by human actions : and as for moral ia- 
struetiotf, it b- dear, that non^' can be drawn from 
beings who ak^f not upon the same principles with 
us. A fable in jiEsop's manner is no objection to 
this reasoning: his lions, bulls, and goats., aie 
truly men in dikgusse : they aet and feel in every 
respect to human beings ; and tfie moral we disav 
is founded on that suppositibn. Homer, it is true, 
introduces the gofl» fnto his fable : but the^ reli^on 
of his country sMlhc^roed that libeity ; it being an 
article in the Grecian creed, that the gods often iisr- 
terpose visibly and IkmSIv in bnman alairs* I must, 
however, observe, that Homer's deities do no ho- 
nour to his poems : Octioas tl»^ transgressh the 
bounds of nature, seldom have a good ^fect ; thmf 
may inflame the knagibaUon for a moiaeitf,but wiu 
hot be relished by any peraon of a correct taate* 
They may be of some iShe to the lower rank of wii- 
lers : but an author of genius has much finer m^- 
rials of Na*bre'» production, for elevatii^ his sub- 
ject, and making it interesting^. 

One would be apt to think, that Boileau, ^ 
t:laring for the Heatbeh deities aft ahove^- intended 
fiiem only fat embettishing the Action : but m- 
luckily he banishes an^eb and devils^ who »- 
dbubtedly make » figure m poetic laAgimge, eq^nal 
to the Heathen deities. Boileari, tharefcre, by 
pleading for the totter in opposition to the former, 
Certainly nieant, if he had arty distinct meafling, 
that the Heathen deities may be introduced as ac-- 
tors,^ And, in fact, he himself is guilty of that 
glaring ah^drdity, where it is ndt so pardoxiabte mf 



in an epic potnu In his ode upon the takiog of 
Namur he demands with a most serious cpuirteT 
fiance^ whether the walb were built by Apollo or 
/Neptune ? siadin relatiiig the passage of tbe Rhiiiei 
emno 1672, he describes the god of that river a|i 
^hting with all his-^ might to oppose the JF>ei]c4 
monarch ; which is^onfoundtng fiction with reaUtjjr 
at a strange mte. The Freiich writers in geoers^ 
^un into tnis eiriH' ; wmiderful the ^ect of custom, 
to hide ftom ^m how ridicttliQiis suich fictjioiis 
ai^ ! 

That this is a capital en^j in the Qierusakmme 
It&efta, Tasso^s greatest adesfir^s must acknc^^ 
ledge: a situation can never be intricate^ nor the 
mader ever in pain abovt tbs catastrophe, as long 
.as there is an angel, «devil, or mtmician, to lend^a 
helping hand. Voltaire, in his essay upon epic 
poetry, talking of the Mharsaiia^ obse^es judi- 
ciously, '* That Mie pmsiniity qf time^ ithe noto- 
« riety of events, the i^li^racter .of tins age, en- 
<» lirfitened and poti^al, joined with the solidity 
<* of JLtican's subjects, deprived Urn of poetics^ 
^ fiction." Is it not a»i^Biog, that a <?ritic who rea- 
sons so justly with j»e»ect to oth^s, ca|i Jl^ so 
Wind with r^speqt lo himself ? Vdtaire^ ^s^ 
tIsAed to enrich ffcSs tenguage with images drawn 
ifWi invisible and superior bangs, iirt«>duces t^m 
into the action : in the sixth canto of the Henrwde^ 
St Louis appears in p^fsq^ and terrifies the sd- 
*ers ; in the seventh canto, St Louis sends the 
god of Sleep to Henry ; and, in the tenth, the de- 
mons of Discord, Fanaticism, War, &c, assist Au- 
male in a single combat with Turenne, and are 
driven away by a good angel brandishing the 
sword of God. To blend such fictitious persofl- 
^ages in the same action with mortals, niakes a had 
tfigmje at ftny rate ; fuid is intolcKitjle ip a histoiqr 



28S £jptc and Ikomaiic [gsap. 2a« 

so recent as that pf Heniy IV. B«t pf^rfectioii is 
iiot the lot of man,* 

I ha^e tried serious reasoniiies uposi this stib* 
ject ; but ridicule, I suppose, wiu be fbund a more 
successful weapon, which Addison has s^piied iti 
an elegant manner : ^< 3Vbere» the time o( a ge.- 
^^ neral peace is, in all appearance, dramc^ near ; 
<^ being informed that there are several ingenious 
1< persons who intend to show their talents on sf> 
^^ happy an occasion, and being wilUng, as miK^ 
f^as in me lies, to pmsvent that effusipn of non- 
f^ sense, which we have good cause to apprehend ; 
^^ I do bereby strictly require every person whd 
" shall write on this subject, to remember that be 
^^ is a Christian, and not to sacrifice his catechism 
'' to his poetry, In order to it, I do expect of him, 
*^in the first place, to make bk own poem, without 
*/ appending upon Pbo&bus for any part of it, or 
♦* calhng out for aid upon mxy oi the mus^ by 
*« name. I do likewise positively fiM-bid the send^ 
** ing of Mercury with any particular message or 
" despatch relating to the peace ; and shall by no 
fj means sufier Minerva to take upon her the shape 

of any Dlcnipotentwy concerned in this great 
f wofk. f do further declare, that I «baU not al- 
^Mqw the destines to h^ve had an hand in the 

il Y^^^ commenced evithor, my aim was to amuse, and ncrhflns to in- 
jUJict, but never to give j«„. i accordingly avoided every living antJw, 
Jill the Hennade occuTre^ to me as the b^rt instanc. I couW find Tor SS 

4!:;i'"iJwi1^lTiJ-'"*^*^,^^^ ^"^ ' J^Wedtort^cte^^aTron/judrk 
ihat my sli^ ccitusisips would never reach M. de Vohaire. They haieh^- 

f ?' "i« 'J!^ '"fii *" / ^^^^' < '."* inf^me^ stirred up some Veise^toS. 
I ajn afflicted »t this informa ibn ; for wl^at title have I to wSmd i&md 
todre than the body It would b«ide 6hi>w ingratittfde to a celebrS^ ^ 
telr, who IS bgWy entertamrog, and who has bestowed on me many a deU- 

S!S'S.'!i?f^ ;k ^^"""^^ *:""^ ^P'' ^^'"§ ^«'®»<^« J«' ^^^t it was undesigned^: 
;^i?uP **** ^^ censurew lust, » no excuse. As the <^Qce was pullicii 
&\^'^SS^^^^^ the apology equally so. Ihop: U w&Tc%l 

^isiaciory . pertiaps not.^ o w« it bcrwisver to my own character. ' 



^f deaths of the serial thousands n^ho have been 

^* slain in the late war; being of opinion that all 

^^ such deaths may be well accounted for hj the 

^t ChiisSan system of powder and ball. I do 

^* therefore strictly forbid the fates to cut the thread 

*# of man's life upon any pretence whatsoever, un* 

^^ less it foe for the sdce of the rhyme. And whereas 

^^ I have good reason to fear tha^ Neptune will have 

^f a great deal of bu^ness on his hands in several 

^^ poems i^ich we may now suppose are upon the 

^^ anvil, I do also profaibtt his appearance, unless it 

^ be done in metaphor^ simile, or any very short 

^* allusion ; and that even here he may not be per^ 

'^ raitted to enter, but with great caution and cir- 

f^ cumspectian> i desire that the same rule may be 

^ extenctedtobis whole fraternity:of Heathen gods 5 

f' it being my design to condemn every poem to 

f' the flames in which Jupiter thunders, or exercises 

** any other act of authority which does not belong 

f^ to him. In short, I expect that no Pagan ageqt 

H shall be introduced, or any fact related which a 

•* man cannot give credit to with a good conscience. 

f^ Provided alwayis, that nothing herein contained 

" shall extend, or be construed to extend, to several 

f^ of tbie female poets in this nation, who shall still 

M be left in full possession of their gods and god-t 

^ desses, in the same manner as if this paper bad 

'^ never been written."* 

The marvellous b indeed so mudi promoted by 
machinery, that it is not wonderful to find it emr 
braced by the pklrality of writers, and perhaps tjf 
readers. If indulged at all, it is generally indulged 
to excess. Homer introduceth hti^ deities with no 
greater ceremony than as mortals ; iand Virgil has 
St til Idss moderation: a pilot spei^ mth watching 
cannot fall asleep and drop ixrto the sea by natui^} 

• •' J 1. ' 1* Speotatot, 5^0*538. 



238 EpicrndDnrntOit icmnT.^B^ 

neaos: ime bed oumot recme ^ two l0v«^ 
£neas and Dido, without the immediate interpoa- 
tion of superior powers. The ridiciiloas in suek 
fictions, must appear even tiaov^ tlte tUdkeat v^ 
of grarity and solemmtj. 

Angels and devils serve eqtudlj with Heatheitt 
deities as materials for %urative laaguage; per^ 
haps better among Cinastians, becaiKSe we iMiere 
in them, and not in Heathen deities. But evcay 
one is sensible,as wett as Botleau, timt the invisHiie 
powers in our creed make a much worse figure at 
actors in a modern poem, than theinyiJiiUe powers 
in the Heathen creed did in ancient poems ; the 
cause of which is not far to seek. The Heathea 
deities, in the opinion of their Tj>teaes, were betngs 
elevated one step only above mankind subj^irt to thm 
same passions and directed bj the same motives^; 
therefore not altogether improper to mix with men 
in an important action. In our creed, superior he- 
ings are placed at such a mighty distance from «i«j 
aim are of a nature so different, that with no pro- 
priety can we appear with them upon the same 
«tage; man, a creditiire much inferior, loses all &g^ 
aity in the comparison. 

There can be no doubt, that an faistcnjical poem 
admits the embeliishment of allegory, as well as- at 
metaphor, simile, or other figure. Moral truth, lA 
particular, is finely illustrated f^ the all€;gorica|i 
manner ; it amuses the fancy to find abstmct term$, 
by a sort of magic, metamorphosed into active be- 
ings ; and it is highly pleasing to ^cover a gjBue; 
ral proposition in a pictured evefrt. But aHegori- 
cal bemgs should be confined within their own 
Inhere; and never be admitted to mts:int^e|)riiH9- 
pal action, nor to co*opemte in retarding or advaa- 
cing tibe catastrophe. This ^wbuld have a stitt 
worse effect than invisible powers ; and I am ready 
to assign the reason* Tk& impression of real e:i^- 



«HAF.22:} €ongM)siti0us. 289 

istoace, ^neit^l to an epic poeni, is iocoosistent 
with thsit %urative existence which is essential to 
Ml allegorf :^ and therefore no means can more 
cfiiectually prevent the impression of reality, than 
to introdoe^' aIlegori<?al beings co-operating with 
#iose whom we conceive to be reallj existing. The 
tove-cpisode, in the Henriadej^ insufferable by the 
diicordantr mixture (^allegory with real life, is co- 
pied from' that of Rinietldo and.Armida, in the Gie- 
rusalemme Uberata^ which hath no merit to entitle it 
to be copied. An allegorical object, such as Fame 
in the J^iket^, ftnid the temple of Love in the JSen- 
riadej may find place in a description : But to in^ 
tK>duc6 Discord as a real personage^ imploring the 
^istance of Love, as another real personage, to 
^enervate the com^ge of the hero» is naaking these 
^^rative beings aet beyond their sphere, and crea- 
tifigf a strange juntible of truth and fiction. The al- 
legory of Sin an^ Death in the Paradise Lostj is, I 
presumer, not generahy refehed, thoush it is not 
entirely of the same nature with what Thave been 
tondernvtin^i in a work comprehending the achieve- 
itieats of sttperk>r beingsy there is mdie room for 
fancy than wbere it is confined to human actions. ' 
y\hBt is the true notion of an episode ? or how 
is it to be distinguished from the prin^pal action .^ 
£veiy incident Uiat prom<>tes or retards the catas- 
tri^be, must be part of the principal action. This 
dears the nature of an episode ; which may be defin- 
ed, " An incident' connected with the princilpal ac- 
^^ tion, ^ut contributing neither to advance nor to 
^^ retard it*'' The descent of iEneas into hell doth 
not advance nor retard the catastrophe, and there- 
fore is an episode. The story of Nisus and Euryalus, 



•SeeChapterXX.S«rt,vi + Canto TX. 



280 Epic tmd Dtwndtk [cttiF« ^. 

preducmg, aoaltamtioninthe afekss ctftbe eon- 
tending parties, is a part of the fmncipai action.*-* 
The familj scene in the sixth baokof the Hiad is <^ 
the same nature ; for by Hector'^ retiring from the 
field of battle to visit his tvife, the Grecians bad opr 
portunityto breathe, and even to turn upon the Tro- 
jans. The u navoidable effect of episode, according 
to this definition, must be, to breaK the unity of ac- 
tion ; and therefore it ought never ,to be indalged^ 
unless to unbend the mind after the fatigue of a 
long narration. An epbode, when such is its pur- 

Eose, requires the fello wine conditions : it ought to 
e well connected with the princ^)al action ; it 
ought to be lively and intiejfesttng : it oc^ht to be 
short: and a time ought to be chosen when the 
principal action relents.* 

In tne following beautiful episode, which closes 
the second book of Fingal, all these conditions are 
united : 

• . . 

: Cumal tras a soo of A^lbfoo ; tli« chief of an hundred hills. Hl£ 
.de«r draDkof a thousand streams ; and a tjiousand rocks replied to- 
the voice of his^ogs. His face was the hiildness of youth ; but his 
band the death of heroes. One was hi^ love, and fair Was shc^ ! 
the daughter of mighty C'Onloch. She appeared like a' suo-biia^ 
among women, and her hair wiia like the wing of the rave i^w Her 
soul was fixed on Comal, and she was his companion in the chace. 
Often met their eyes of love, and happy were their words in Se- 
cret. But Gorraal loveci the maid, the thief of gloomy Ardt^en. 
He watched her lone steps on the heath, the foe of iiQba|i|ii^ 
ComaL 

Qiie day tired of the chace^ when the mist had concealed their 
friends, Comal and the daugjiter of Conloch mei in the cave ^f 
llonan. It was the wonted haunt of Coma(. Its sid^s were 
hung with hta arms \ a hundred shields of tb6ngtf w^re there, a 



* Homer's description of the shield of Achilles Is properly introduced at a 
tune when the action relents, and the reader can bear an intemipUeo.-^ 
But the author of Telemachus describes the shield of that young hero intb^ 
heat of battle: a very improper lime for aninterfopllon. *« 



kimdred helms oY soandtng steel. Rest hen, wAA h«, tnj ]ot« 
Galvina, thou Ifghtof the cave of ftonan: adeer appears on Mo- 
rals brow ; I go but soon will fetUrij. I feai-, said she, dark GoN 
tttal my f^e : I will ^eat here ; bi*t noon rfttuhti, itoj lote. 

He w«tit to the deer of Mork. Tlie 4tmi^ter of Gbntoch, td 
trjr his love, clothed her white side With her arjnour« tfnd strodft 
from the cave of RoDan. l^hinkiog her his foe, ^isheait bpat 
high and His corlbur changed. He drew the; bb^ ; (he arrow flew ; 
Galvina fell in blood. He fka to the car^ wi« ha*i$^ steps, aiiA 
dalledrihe cUughtei* of GojhiocU. Wh^ jiH thou i^^ love? biA 
^o answer,' ■ He miirked, ai leiigtb, her heaving Itifan bto*l* 
ing against the mortal arrow. O Cooloch's daulhter, is it thou! 
he sunk upion her breast. 

The honters fontid tiffe hapless pair, ftlaby and iileht Wef e KU 
stepti round t^e dark dwelling of his love. Th^ fleet df tfee ocelffi 
came : he fought and the strangers fell ; he searched for deatll 
over the field ; but who cojild kill the mighty Comal ? Throw- 
ing away his shield, an arrow found his inanly breast. He sleeps 
with his Galvina; their green tombs are seen hf th% thatin^f^ 
When he bounds on tHe i^av^s of the nurthi 

. Next, tipoft the pciduliairities of d dfanls[tiG pb6ihi 
And thiB fif^t I dhall mentioti is a dotibte pldt ', 5till 
bf which musrt resemble an episode id an epic ptH 
etn ; fc^ it would distract the ^pectatoi*, instead of 
entertaining him, if he were forced to attend, at the 
same time, to twd eapitstl plots equally interesting. 
And everi supposing it an under-pldt like an epi- 
sode, it seldom hath A good effect in tragedy, of 
wlttch simplicity is a chief property : for an interest- 
ing subject that engages pur affections^ occupiia'S 
bur whole attention, and leaves no rooni for aiif 
Separate concern.* Variety is tiibte tolerablfe M 

* Racine in his preface tp the tragedy of Berenice, is senuble th'at simpli'; 
<^ity b a great beauty in tragedy, but mistsJces the cause. '< Nothing (sayis ueli 
''but verisiinilitude pleases -in tragedy: but where is the Terbimilitude tha| 
"within the compass of a:day, events should be crowed! which commonly 
" are extended through months ?'^ This is mistaking the accuracy of imitation 
Cor the probability or improbability of future events. I explain myself.-^ 
The yerisimilitude re^^uircd in tragedy is, that the actions coriispona (9 the 

Vor.. II. Sin 



ate Epic and DrankUic [ciiAi^i 22; 

tomedy, which pretends only to amuse, mdionf 
tbtally occupying the mihd«^ But even there, to 
make a double plot agreeable^ is no slight effort of 
art*: the under-plot ought not to vary greatly in its 
tone fioDb the principal : for discordant emotitms 
are iinpleasatit ivhen juthbled together ; which, by 
the way, is afi insuperable objection to tfasi-come- 
dy. Upon that account tte Provoked liusband de- 
serves censure i all the scenes that bring the family 
of the Wrongheads into action, being ludicrous land 
fktcical, are lii a ve^ different tone from the prin- 
cipal scenes, displaying severe and bitter expostu- 
lations between Lord Townley and his lady. The 
same objection touches not the double plot of the 
Careless Husband; the different subjects being 
swefetly connected, atid having only so much variety 
as to resetnble shades of colours harmoniously mix- 
ed. But this is not all. The under-plot ought to 
be connected with that which is princig^l, so much 
at jeast as to employ the same persons : the under- 
plot ought to occupy the intervals or pauses of the 
principaJ action ; and both ought to be concluded 
together. This is the case ofthe Jferry Wives ^ 
WnndsoTi 



manners, and the manners to nature. When ihis resemblance is preserved, 
the imitation is just, because it is a true copy of nature. But I deny that Ab 
verisimilitude of future events, meaning the probability of future events^, la 
any rule in tragedv. A number 6f ei^traordinary events, ar^, it is truci ^1- 
dom crowded within the compass of ft dav ; but what seldom faappeifi ttay 
happen ; and when such events fall outy tney appear no less natural than the 
inost ordinary afecidcMs. To make verisictiilituae in the sense of probaMUtf 
a governing rule in tragedy, would annihilate that sort of writing altogether: 
for it would exclude all extraordinary events, in which^the life of tragedy coa- 
sists. It is very improbable or unlikely, pitching upon any mim at nodom 
that he will sacrifice his life and fortune for his mTstrc;ss 6r for his-coimtiy i^ 
yet when that event happens, supposing it conformablie to the character, we 
recognise the verisunilitude as to nature, whatever want bf verilumUitiide or 
of probability there was a priori th'aS suchwoiddbe tfa6 event. 



4iHAB. 9@.3 Compostiims^ 289 

Violent action ought never to be re{»r^3€^ted on 
tlie stagje. While the djalogne ^oes on, a thousand 
paHicudars concur to ddiude us ii^ an impression 
of reality ; genuine sentiments, passionate language, 
and pefsuasiYe gesture: the spectator once engaged, 
is willing to be deceived, loses eight of himself, 
aad without scruple enjojs the spectacle as a rear 
lity. From this absent state, he is roused by vior 
lent action: he awakes as from a pleasing dream, 
and gathering 4iis senses about him, finds all td be 
a fiction. Horace drivers the same rule, an4 
founds it upon the same reasoni 

Ne pueros coram populo Medea trupidet ; 
Aut hutnana palapa coquat exta nefarius Atreus; 
Aut in avem Progne Tertalur, Cadmus in anguem : 
Quodcumqufe ostendismihi sic, incredulus odi. 

The FrencU ctitiGs join with Horace in excluding 
blood from the. stage ; but orerlooking the most 
Bubatantial otdectioq, they urge only, tiiat it is bar- 
barous, and allocking to a polite audience. The 
Greeks had no notion of such delicacy, or rather 
effeminacy: witness the murder of CJytpnqipe^tra by 
her son Orestes, passing behind the scene as r^w- 
sentedby Sophocles ; her voice js hear^ callmg out 
for mercy, bitter expostulations qn his part, loud 
shrieks upon her being stabbejJ, and then a depp 
silence. I appeal to eycry person of feeling, whe- 
ther this scene be not more homble thaa it the 
deed had been committed in sight of the spectatora 
ppon a sudden gust of passion. If CorneiUe, m 
rSresenting the affair between ?*>/?*"« ^nd h^s 
Sister, upon which murder ensues behmd the scene, 
had no other view but to remove from the specta- 
W a shocking, action, he was g"ilty <>f a capital 
mbtake : for murder in cold blood, which m some 
peasure was the case as represented, is more 



994f ^pi^ ^»mI Dramatic [chap« 3S. 

flioelEii^ to a polile audienee, even where (he con- 
idu.^ive stab k aet seen, than tne same act p^iDfm^ 
id in Iheii prasemte by videat and ilnpreiaedit^^tQd 
jftdssion, as sodden) j repented of as committed. I 
^e^tily i^ee with Addkion,^ that no part oif tlds 
incident ought to hai^e been represented, but re- 
served for a narrative, with everjr alieviatu^ cir^ 

^umstance in favour of the liero» ^ 

• .' ... ., ■ . 

A few words upon the dialogue ; which <m^tA to 
1^ so eofiduded as to be a true representatioa ^f 
hature. 'I talk not here of the sentiments, nor of 
the language; for these come tinder different heads: 
I talk of what properly belongs to dialogue-Writr 
ing; where eveiy single speech, short or long, 
ought to vise from what is said by the former 
Speaker, and furnish matter for what comes after^ 
till the end of tbe scene. In thj^ view, all the 
speeches, from first to last, represent so mhny links 
cmF one continued chain. No author, ancient o^ 
modern, possesses tlie aft of dialogue eqpial to 
Bhakspeare^ Pryden, in that particular, may ju^- 
ly be placed as his opposite: he frequently intro* 
l^ces three or four persons speaking upon the same 
subject, each throwing put his own notions sepa- 
rately without regardmg what is said by the rest 5 
take for ^n example the first scene of Aurenz^. 
Sometimes he ^alfees a number chib in relating an 
event, not to ^, stranger, supposed ignorant of it ; 
but to one apother, for the sake merely of speak- 
ing : of which notable sort of dialogue, we hav^ a 
specimen in the first scene of the first part of t|i0 
Cxm^mt of Grenada. In the second part of tte 
same tragedy, scene second, the King, Abenamar, 
aqd Zulema, toake their separate observations, like 

* Spectator, No. 44. 



fio maity ^ofilaquies, nptm the fluetamtfaif temper of 
tbe mob. A dialogue so uneootfa^pirts one in miad 
of two shepherds in a ps^oral, excited by a prizt 
to prcmomil^e . rar^es ^Hcrnately, ^ich in praise c^* 
hie awB mistfess. 

This manner of dtalogue^vmtiag^ beerideanuDr 
natural air, has anotber bad effect : it stays the 
course of the action, because it is not^^ductive of 
any consequence. InCongreve's comedies, the ac^ 
tion is ofjten suspended to make way for €' play of 
wit. But of this more particularly in the chapter 
immediately following. 

No faiilt is more commpn among writers, than to 
prolong a speeph after the impatience of the per- 
son to whom it is addressed ought to prompt him 
or her to break in. Consider only how the impa- 
tient actpr is to behave in the mean time. To ex- 
press his impatience in violent action without inter- 
rupting, would be unnatural ; and yet to dissemble 
bis impatience, by appearing cool where he ought 
to be highly inflamed, would be no less so. 

Rhyme being unnatural and disgustful in dia- 
logue, is happily banished from our theatre : the 
only wonder is tnat it ever found admittance, espe- 
jcially among a people accustomed to the more man- 
ly freedom of Shakspeare's dialogue. By banish- 
ing rhyme, we have gained so much, as never once 
to dream of any further improvement. And yet, 
however suitable blank verse may be to elevated 
pharacters and warm passions, it must appear irn- 
pioper and afflicted in the mouths of the lower sort. 
Why then should it be a rule, That every scene in 
tragedy must be in Hank verse ? Shakspeare, with 
great judgment, has followed a different rule; 
which is, to intermix prose with verse, and only to 
employ the latter where it is required by the import- 



i-^ 



296 



Epic €md Dhm^iiCf i€. [chap. 83. 



aace or dignity of the subject FamiUar dioughts 
and ordinary tacts ought to be expressed in plain 
language : to hear, far example, a footman deliver 
a simple message in bli^nk Terse, must appear ridi- 
culous to ereiy cme who is not biassed by custom* 
In short, that varietj of chamcters and of situa- 
tions, which is the life df a play, requires not only 
a suitable variety in the sentiments, but also in the 
ijiction. 



^tsf 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



The three Unities. 

In the first chapter is explained the pleasure 
Vie have in a chain of connected facts. In histo- 
ries of the worlds of a country, of a people, this 
pleasure is faint, because the connexions are slight 
or obscure; We find moie entertainment in bio- 
graphy ; because the incidents are connected by 
their relation to a person who .makes a figtir^, and 
commands our attention. But the greatest enter- 
tainment is in the history of a single event, suppose 
ing it interesting; and the reason is^ that the mcts 
and drcumstances are connected hy the strongest 
of all reliations, that c^ cause and effect : a number 
of facts that give birth to each other form a de- 
lightful train ; and we have ^eat mental enjoy- 
ment in our progress* from the beginning to the 
end. 

But this subject merits a more |>articular discus- 
sion. When we consider the chain of causes and 
effects in the material world^ independent of pur- 
po^e^ design, or thou^t, we find, a number of in- 
cidents in succession^ without beginninK^ middle, 
or end: ev^ thing that happens is bom a cause 
and an efiect ; being the effect of what goes before^ 
and the cause of wb^ follows : one incident may 
affect us more, another less ; but all of them are 
links in the universal chaia: the mind, in viewing 
these incidents, cannot rest or settle ultimately up-^ 
on any one ; but is carried along in the train Witn- 
out an v closet- 



^ f^ 



iT.^> ■' 



'to: 






♦ . •. ;/ 



WS fke three Unities. [chap. ^. 

But when the intdlectual world is taken und^ 
view, in conjunction with the mateiialy the sceo^ 
is vsuried. Man acts with deliberation, will, and 
clM>ice : he aims at some end, glory, for eiainple,^ 
or riches, or con(|uest, the procuring happinesd to 
individuals^ or to bis country in general : he pro- 
poses means, and lays plans to attain the end pur- 
posed. Here are a number of facts or incidents 
leading to the end in view, the whole composing 
one chain by the relation of cause and effect In 
running over a series of such facts or incidents, y^e 
cannot rest upon any cune ; because they are pre- 
sented to va as means only, leading to some eiid : 
but we rest with satisfaction upon the end or idti^ 
mate event ; because there the purpose or aim of 
the chief person or pe^son» is accomplished This 
indicates the beginning, the liiiddle, and the end, 
of what AristoUe calls cm evMre mlmtJ^ The 
story naturally begins with describing those cir- 
euraatances winch move the prineipai perscm tQ 
form' a plan, in order to coiii{ia»9B some dels&red 
event : the prosecution of that plan and the ob- 
structions, cairy the retder into the heat of action : 
the middle is properly where the action is the most 
involved ; and the end is where the event is broilgbt 
about, and th^ plan accomplished. 

A pAan thus Mppily accomplished ailer many ob-, 
structtods^ a&mia wodderfiA dcj^t to the reader ; 
\o product which, a prtnciple mentioned abovei 
ihainlf cpntributea, the same that di;^>€Ksies (he vc^m 
to complete every work commenced, and in general 
to ciirry every tlnng to a conclusion. 

I have given the foregdiug example of a: pto 
crowned with success, becaii^e it affords the dev- 
est cbnceptibn of a begiiifnng, a middle, and nil 
end, in which eodskts umty o( action i and indeed 

• Poet. cap. vi. See ctiso cap. t\\, t ChapCdi* Vlff. 



duju*. 23.] The three Vnkkg^ J9d 

dieter unilycaiinot be imagined tibaii ia that case. 
But an action may have unity , or a beginning, mid- 
dle, and end, without so intimate a relation of 
parts ; as where the catastrophe is different from 
what is intended or desired, which irequehUy hap- 
pens in our best tragedies. In tlie Mnkdy the hero, 
after many obstructions, makes his plan effeetual. 
The Iliad is formed upon a different model : it be*- 
gins with the quarrel between Achilles and Ai^* 
inemon ; goes on to describe the several effed^ 
produced by that cause f an4 ends in a reconcilia* 
tion. Here is unity of action, ho doulrit, a be- 
ginning, a middle, and an end ; but inferior to that 
of the Mneidj which will thus appear. The mind 
hath a (iropensity to go forward in the chain of 
history: it keeps always in view the expectied 
event : and when the incidents or under-parts are 
connected by their relation to the events the mind 
runs sweetly and easily along them. This plea- 
sure we have in the Mneid. It is not dilt^gether 
so pleasant, as in the Iliads to connect effects by 
their common cause ; for such conjuexidn forces the 
mind to a continual retrospect : looking back is 
like walking backward. 

Homer's plan is still more defective, upon ano- 
ther account. That the events described are but 
imperfectly connected with the wrath of Adiilles^ 
their cause : his vPrath did not exert itself in actkm ; 
and thjB misfortunes of his countrymen were but 
negatively the effects of bis wrath, by depriving 
them of bis assistance. 

If unity of action be a capital beauty in a fable 
imitative of human affairs, a plurality of uncon- 
nected fables must be a frapital deformity. Forthe 
sake of variety, Ave indulge an under-plot that is 
connected v.^i;.;i the piincipal : but too unconnected 
events are extremely unpleasant, even where the 
same actors are engaged in both* Ajristo is <j[uite 

Vol. IL 38a 



$00 The Three tniiies. Tcbaf.^ 



ticeiitioas in that rarticiilar : he carries on af the 
isame time a piurautjri^ unconnected stories. His 
only excuse is, that hb plan is perfectly well ad- 
justed to his subject ; for eveiy tlui^ in the Orlan- 
do ,f\triaso is wild and extravagant 

Though to state facts in the order of time is na- 
tural, yet that order may be varied for the sake is€ 
conspicuous beauties.* If, for example, a n^ted 
story, c^ and simple in its fir^ movements, be 
made the subject of an e^^c poem, the raider may 
be hurried into the heatrof action; reserving the 
preliminaries for a conversation-piece, if tbou^ 
necessary ; and that method, at the same time, hath 
a peculiar beauty from being dmmatic.f But a 
privilege that deviates from nature ou^t to be 
sparingly indulged ; and yet romance-writers make 
no difficulty or presenting to ^e reader, without 
the least preparation^ unknown persons engag^i^ 
some ardous adventure equally unknown. In Cos- 
sandra^ two personages, who afterward are disco- 
vered to be the heroes of the fable, start up com- 
pletely armed upon the banks of the Euphrates, 
and engage in a single combat4 

A play analysed, is a chain of connected facts, 
of which each scene makes a link. Each scene, 
accordingly, ought to produce some incident relsr 
tive to the catastrophe or ultimate event, by ad- 
vancing or . retarding it. A scene that producetii 
no incident, and for that reason may be term^ 
darren, ought not to be indulged, because it breaks 
the unity of action ; a barren scene can n^ver be 

• See Chapter J. t See Chapter XXI. 

X I am sensible that a cdmroencement of this sort is tmic^ relished by 
IvBaden disposed to the milrvelious. Their eario^y is raised, andxhef oe 
puch tickled in its gratification. But curiosity is at an end with the first re«d- 
mg, because the personages are no longer unknown ; and' tnerefore at iBe 
second readings a commeDceoient so artificial loses itspower^ even oter th^ 
vulgar. A writer ofgenius|)refers lasting beauties. 



ca4P, 2a] Tb$ three Unities* SOU 

entitled to a ptace^ because the chain is complete 
without it In the Old Bachekfj the Sd scene of 
act ii. and all that follow to the end of that act, are 
mere conversation-pieces^ productive of no conse- 
ouence. The 10th and 1 Itb sceq^s, aQt iii. DauUi 
Healerj the 10th, Uth, lath, ISth and I4th scenes, 
act i. LmefoT Lxxoe^ are of the same kind. Neilliei: 
is The Way of the World entirely guiltless of such 
scenes. It will be no justification, that they help 
to dkplay characters : it were better, like Dryden, 
in his dramatis persofuSj to describe characters be-i 
forehand, which would npt break tfaQ pbain of ac^ 
tion. But a writer of genius has no occasion fo^ 
such artifice : he can display th^ chapracters of his 
perscmages much more to the life \a sentiment and 
action. How successfully is this done by Shaksh 
peare ! in whose works there is Rpt to be found a 
single barren scene. 

Upon the whole, it appears, that all the facts in 
an historical fable, ought to have a mutual connex- 
ion, by their cpmmon relation to the fflrand event or 
catastrophe. And this relation, in which the unity 
of action consists, is equally essential \o epic and 
dramatic composition^. 

In handling unity of action, it ought not tQ escape 
observation, that th^ mind is satisfied with slighter 
unity in a picture than in a poem ; because the 
per<^ptions of the former are more lively than the 
ideas of the latter. In HogartV^ Enraged Musician^ 
we have a collection of every grafting sound in na- 
ture, without any mutual cqnpexion except that of 
place. But the honor they give to the delicate ear 
of an Italian fidler, who is represented almost in 
convulsions, bestows unity upon the piece, with 
which the mind is satisfied. 

How far the unities of time and of place are es- 
sential, is a question of greater intricacjr. J^"®^^ 
iinities Sf^xe strictly observed in the iJreek and 



/ 



ao& P»<&rM Unities^ [citAP.as. 

Roimftfl 4ieatri»^'; and'tbej a«e inculcated fey the 
Fi^cll aiid EtfgKsli critics, as essential to everjr 
^ammatfe Gofhpositioo. .They aarealso aekaowledg- 
ed by oui^best poets, though ia practice llfef nmke 
frfeqiJeBt demtion, which Uiey pretend not to jos- 
tify^; agaiastthe pmctic^ of the Greeks addRofimiis, 
aiid against the sotennn decisioii of theiir own coiia- 
trymeo. But in the course of this enquiry it will 
b^ made evident^ that in this article we are udd^ 
no necessity to (^py the ancients ; and thait our 
critics af€^ l^ll^ of a^ mMake/ in admitting no 
grfesrt;ep latitude of place and lime th^xt was admit- 
tedii) Greece aiid Rome. 

^ifer me only to premise, that the unities of 
plkce and ti^tte, are not, by the nio^ ri^d cr^cs, 
Required in a- narrative poem, (n such a composi- 
ttttn, if it pretebd to copy nature, these unitK^s would 
beabsura; because real events are seldom conined 
v^ithih narrow linitts either of place or of time. And 
yet we can follow history, or an historical table, 
thtottgh ail its changes, with the greatest facility ; 
We ftev^r once thitik of measuring the real time by 
l^his^ is" lateen in rekding ; nor of forining any con- 
nexion between the place of action and that which 
#e occupy. 

I am sensible thaf the d^ama differs so far frpm 
the epic ai* to admit different rules. It will be ob- 
feiervedj f^ Th^ ai* hfetorical feble, intende^for 
^^ reading sol^y, is under no limitation' of time nor 
^^ of plac«, m6ife'th«ft a geiiume history ; but that a 
*^ dramatfc cbnappsStibn cannot be accurately re- 
f * pire^^ted^ unli^ it be limited, as its representa- 
" tion is, to one platce and to a few hours; and 
*^ therefore Ihatt it can admit no fable but what feas 
*| these properties ; because it #ould be absurd to 
** compcfse apiec^forrepr^sentatiori that cannot be 

ili^^^ VP'^'^^^^^ This argum^t,' I adtftow- 

jfedge, life ^t teaet a j^tea^ble appfea^atice ; ^i 



i 



CHAP. 2&] Thethmet^m^. sm 

jBt one IS apt to suspect some fallaof, cp^sideriag 
tfaat no critic, however strict, has yentured to con* 
fine tlie ufnilies^ of place and of time within so nar- 
row bmmds.* 

A view of the Greeian disama, compafed with 
our own, may perhaps relieve us. from wis. dilem- 
ma : if they be diffeienMy constructed^ as shall be 
made evident, il is possible that the «fGi^^|oing rea- 
3oning may not be equally appbcaUe to boUi« 
This is an article that, with relation to the pre- 
sent subject, has net been examined by any wri^ 
ter. 

^U autbors a^ee, that tragedy in Greece was 
derived from tl^iliymiis inpraise of Bacchus, which 
were sung in par^ by a chorus. Thespis, to re- 
lieve the singers, and for the sake of variety, intro- 
dufjed one actor ; whose provii^ce it was to explain 
faist^ically the suliject ot the song, and who occa- 
sionally represented one or other personage. Eschy- 
lus, introducing a second iactor, formed the dia- 
logue, by wbidi thfs performance became drama- 
tic ; and the actors were multiplied when the sub^ 
ject represented made it necessary. But still, the 
chorus, which gave a beginning to tragedy, was 
considered as an essential part. The first scene, 
generally, unfolds the preliminary circutnstances 
that lead to the grand event : and this^ scene is by 
Aristotle terntied the prologue^ In the second 
scene, where tiie action properiy begins, the chorus 
is introduced, which, as originally, continues upon 
the stage during the w)iol^ performance: the cno- 



* B068U, afterobserviBg, with wondrous critical saiacit^r, that wii^ter b au 
improper season for an epic poen), and night no less improper for tragedy ; 
admftsy h0wever» that an epie poem may be spread through the whole smn- 
mer months^and a tragedy through the whole sunshine hours of tiie longest 
^ummer'day. Iht poeme epiqueil. liS. cap 12. At thet rate an English tra- 
gedy may be logger than aFronch tragedy , aiidhiKofva aSeiid>]athe tibue of 
a tragedy aiijcl cfifn epic po,ciri inay be the same. 



abO The Three VniUes. [<^ap. 26. 

IkeatHMis in that particular : he carries on af the 
isame time a plurality cf unconnected stories* His 
only excuse is, that his plan is perfectly well ad- 
justed to his subject ; for every thii^ in the Orlan- 
do ^Furiaso is wild and extraragant 

Though to state facts in the order of time is na- 
tural, yet that cwrder may be varied for the sake itf 
conspicuous beauties.* If> for example^ a mAed 
story, cold and simple in its first movements, be 
made the subject of an ejpic poem, the reader m^ 
be hurried into the heatr^of action; reserving the 
preliminaries for a conversation-piece, if thought 
necessary ; and tixst method, at the same time, hatfa 
a peculiar beauty from being dramatic.f But a 
privilege that deviates from nature oi^ht to be 
sparingly indulged ; and yet romance-writers make 
no difficulty of presenting to the reader, withotll; 
the least preparation^ unknown persons engaged ie 
some ardous adventure equally unknown. In Cm- 
sandrUy two personages, who afterward ar« disco- 
vered to be the heroes of the fable, start up com- 
pletely armed upon the banks of the Euphrates, 
and engage in a sifigle combat4 

A play analysed, is a chain of connected facts, 
of which each scene makes a link. Each scene, 
accordingly, ought to produce some incident rdar 
tive to the catastrophe or ultunate event, by ad- 
vancing or ; retarding it. A scene that produceth 
no incident, and for that reason may be termed 
barrenj ought not to be indulged, because it breaks 
the unity of action ; a barren scene can n#ver be 
■ * ''," ' '"•■- " ■"' 

.» See Chapter J. t See Chapter XXI. 

t I am sensible that a cbmroeDcement of this sort is muc^ relished by 
t««dttB disposed to the miiryeUous. Their cariosity is raised, awdJtfaejr ^^ 
pach ticlcled in itsgratificatian. But curiosity is at an end ^ith the first ref^- ' 
ing, because the personages are no longer unknown ; and' inerefore at tfie 
8(scond reading) a comme&cement so actificial loses itspower^ even over the 
vulgar. A writer of genius prefers lasting beauties. 



CHAP, 23.3 The three Uni^^i 3dl 

entitled to a ptace^ because the chain is cdmjrfete 
without it. In the Old Bachelor^ the 8d scene of 
act ii. and all that follow to the end of that act, axe 
mere conveisation'-pieces^ productive of no conse- . 
quence. The 10th and 1 lib sceqes, aQt lit. DofuMe ^ 
l>ea2er, the 10th, 11th, lath, ISth and I4th scenes, 
act i. Love for Lme^ are of the saine kind- Neiflier 
is The Way of the World entirely guiltless of such 
scenes. It wUl be no justification, that they help 
to dUplay characters : it were better, like Dry den, 
in his dramatis persotuBj to describe characters be-i , 
forehand, which would uQt break tfaQ pbain of ac* 
tion. But a writer of genius has no occasion fo|i 
sych artifice: he can display th^ chajracters of his 
perscmages much more to the life \n sentiment anc| 
action. How successfully is this done by Shaksh 
peare ! in whose works there is not to be found a . 
single barren scene. 

Upon the whole, it appears, that all (he facts in 
an historical fable, ought to have a mutual connex- 
ion, by their cpmmon relation to the mrand event or 
catastrophe. And this relation, in which the unity 
of action consists, is equally essential to epic an4 
4ramatic compo$ition£i. 

In handling unity of action, it ought not t9 escape 
observation, that th^ mind is satisfied with slighter 
unity in a picture than in a poem ; because the 
percji^ptions of the former are more lively than the 
ideas of the latter. In Hogartl\^^ Enraged Musician j 
we have a collection of every grs^ting souqd in na- 
ture, without any mutual cqnflexion ei^cept that of 
place. But the horror they give to the delicate ear 
of an Italian fidler, who is represented almost in 
convulsions, bestows unity upon the piece, with 
which the mind is satisfied. 

How far the unities of time and of place are es- 
sential, is a question of greater intricacj^- -y ^^ 
unities were strictly observed in the fireek ana 



SOS, 7%e i&fM Unities^ [chap.: 9S. 

Rofnav tileatrieto ; mAihey aw iocoleated by the 
French and Eifglisli critics, as essetitid to ^fveiy 
fjramatfe coiiipositioo. .They aveako aelCBOwledg- 
ed by oui^best peets, though ia practice they nmfce 
frequent dei^iation, which they pretend not to jus- 
tify; i^nstthe pmcticip of the Greeks and Romans, 
alid against tiii^ soiemn decision of theiir own coqb- 
trymen. But in the course of this enquiry it toU 
be made evideot^ that in this article we a^e under 
no i^cessity to copy the ancients ; and that our 
critics arcf guilty of a mistafce, in admitting no 
greater latitude df ptece and 1imeth»[i was admit- 
ted in Greece aiid Rx>me. 

^ifer me only to premise, that thfe unities of 
pliace and tijtte, are not, by the raort rigid critics, 
Required in a- narrative poem. In such a composi- 
tibri, if it prettehd to copy nature, these unities would 
beabsura; because real events are seldom conined 
if^ithih narrow limits either of place or of time. And 
yet ^^ can follow history, or an histcwical fable, 
through ail its changes, with the greatest facility ; 
i*e nev^r once think of measuring the real time by 
yi^his^ is- taleen in r^kding ; new* of foinming any con- 
nexion between the place of action and that which 
we occupy. 

F am sensible thaf the drama differs so far frpm 
the epic ak to admit different rules. It will be bb- 
feiervedj ^ Th^ ati hfetorical feble, intended* (or 
*^ reading sol^y, is under ne limitation* of time lior 
*^ of plac^, mbre'thait a genukm history ; but that a 
*f dramatis comppsfitiofr cannot b^ aceumtefy re- 
^\ j>ire^^ted^ unless it h^ limited, as ife representa- 
"tionisj to oh€ plaice and to a few hours; and 
*^ tJifereftire Ihait it can admit no fable but what bas 
*^ these properties ; beca^ise it vTould be absurd to 
"Vp'^^'^P^^ a piece for representation that cannot be 
l^iu^tly rf»pfesented.>^ This arguflfi«!it,' I aokftow- 
Jedge, hfe ^t j^a^ ^ gteu&ible app^a^iSftce ; ind 



CHAP. 2&] Thethnet^mtk^. sm 

yet one is apt to suspect some lattacy, caoindmBg 
tfeat no critic, however sttict, has rentured to con- 
fine the Unities of place and of time within so nar- 
row bounds.^ 

A view of the ixrecian dcama, compared witb 
our own, may perhaps relieve 119 from ttiis dilem- 
ma : if they be diifeiendy constructed, as shall be 
toade evident, itis possilale that the •^forsgpoing rea- 
soning may not be equally a{:^eahfe to boUi« 
7his is an article that, with rdation ta the pre- 
sent subject, has not l>een examined by any wri- 
ter. 

AH authfors aj^ee, that tragedy in Greece was 
derived from theVnifiS in praise of Bacchus, which 
were sung in parte by a chorus* Th^spis, to re- 
lieve the singei», and for the sake of variety, intro- 
dufied one actor ; whose provii^ce it was to explain 
historically the si^ject ot the song, and who occa- 
sionally representea one or other peMKHiage. Eschy- 
lus, introttucini a second iaotor, formed Ihe dia- 
logue, by which tbp performance became drama- 
tic ; and the actors were multiplied when the sub- 
ject represented made it necesssuy. But still, the 
t^horus, which gave a begini^ng to tragedy, ^as 
considered as an essential part. The first scene, 
generally, unfolds the preliminary circutnstances 
that lead to the gmnd event : and thi^ scene is by 
Aristotle termed the prologue^ In the second 
scene, where the action propedy begins, the chorus 
is introduced, which, as originally, continues upon 
the stage duriilg the Vi\io\e performance: the ciio- 



* Bo6Stt, after x)bserviiigy with vrondrous critical sa}i;acily, tbat winter is an 
improper season for an epic poem, and night no less improper for tragedy ; 
admits^ however* that an epic poem may be ^e«d through the whole smn- 
m^r months, And a tragedy through the whole snnshijaii hours of tiie longest 
summer-day. thi poeme epiqueil iii. cap 12. At th$t rate an English tra- 
gedy may be longer than a French fragjpdy -, aiiihi Noiva 2iemblathe titaae of 
a tragedy ai)4 cf(m epic pqem; may be the same. 



1 



306 tkt three UMiies. (tkn^. 2S. 

With what are emplojred in thcf representation ; but 
tfai&is a woxk of reflection : and by the {same reflec- 
tion he may also be conscious, that Garrick is not 
King Lear, that the play-house is not Dover Cliffs, 
nor the noise he hears thunder and lightnii^. lii 
a word, after ^n interruption of the representation, 
it is no more difficult for a spectator to imagine a 
new place, or a different time, than at the com- 
mencement of the play^ to imagine himself at 
Rome, or in a period of time two thousand yedrs 
back. And indeed, it is abundantly ridiculous, 
that a critic, who is willing to hold candle-light for 
sun-shtne, and some painted caovassesfor a palace 
or a prison, should be so scrupulous about admit- 
ting any latitude of place or of time in the fable, 
beyond what is necessary in the representation. 

There are, I acknowledge, sorrie effects of great 
latitude in time that ought never to be indulged in 
a composition for thd theatre : nothing can be more 
absurd, than at the close to exhibit a full-growri 
person who appears a child at the beginning : the 
minds rejects, as contrary to all probability, such 
latitude of tiole as is requisite for a change so 
remarkable. The greatest change from place to 
place hath not altogether the same bad effect. In 
the bulk of human affairs place is not material ; 
and the mind, when occupied with an interesting 
eyent, is little regardful ofminute circumsiances : 
these may be varied at will, because they scarce 
make any impression. 

Butthou^ I have taken arms^ to rescue modem' 
poets from the despotism of modern critics, I wmid 
not be understood (o justifjrliberty without an^ re- 
swerve. An uiibounded Hcense with relation to 
place and time, is faulty, for a reason that seems to 
have been overlooked, which is, that it seldom 
fails to break the unity of action* In the ordinaty 



cfTAi^. ^.3 The three Unities. 307 

course of human affairs, single events, such as ai^ 
fit to be represented on the stage, are confined to a 
riarrow spot, and commonly employ no great ex- 
tent of time: we accordingly seldom find strict 
unity of action in a dramatic composition^ where 
any remarkablelatiiude is indulged in these parti- 
culars. I say further, tjiaf a compbsitiori whicfe 
employs but ofre place^ and requires not a greater 
length of time than is necessary for the representa- 
tion, is so much the mbre perfect •*' becaxise the^con-^' 
fining an event Within so Iharrow bounds, cDntri- 
bute$j to the uriity of action ; and also prevents that 
labour, however slight, which ithe mmd must un- 
dergo in imagining irequent changes of place and 
mady intervals of time. But still I must insist, 
that such linfitaition of plac^ and tirhe &s was ne- 
cessary in the Grecian drama, is no rule to us ; and 
therefore, that though such limitation adds one 
beauty more toi the composition, it is at best but ^ 
iiefinemeht, which may jtistly give place to a thou- 
sand beauties more substantial And I may addj 
that it is extremfely difficult, I was about to say 
itnpraciicable, to conti:act within the Grecian li- 
mits, any fabte so fruitful of incidents in number 
imd variety, as to give fiiH scope tor the fluctuation 
of passion.' 

It may now appear, that critics who put the uni- 
ties of place^ and of time upon the same footing 
with the unity of actk)n, making them all equally 
essential, have not attended to the patiireand con- 
stitution of the modern drama. If they admits an 
interrupted reprfesentatiori, viith which no writer 
finds fdfftlt, it is absurd to reject its greatest advan- 
tage, (hat oV representing many interesting sub-- 
jects excluded fronti the Grecian stage. If there 
needs niust be a reformation, why not restore the 
ancient chorus and the ancient continuity of ac- 
tion ? ^here is certainly no medium : for te ad- 

VoLvII. 39r< 



SOB The three Unities. [chap«^ 

mit an interruption without relaxing from the strict 
unities of place and of time, is in effect to load us 
with all the inconveniencies of the ancient drama, 
and at the same time to withhold from us its ad- 
Vantages. 

I'he onl^ proper question, therefore^ is, Whe- 
ther our model be or be not a real improvement ? 
This indeed may fairly be called in question ; and 
in order to a. comparative trial, some particulais 
ihtist be premised. When a play begins, we have 
no difficulty to adjust our imagination to the scene 
of action, however distant it be in time or in place ; 
because we know that the play is a representation 
only. The case is veijr different after we are en- 
gaged : it is the perfection of representation to hide 
itself^ to impose on the spectator, and to ]:»-oduce 
m him an impression of reality, as if he were a 
spectator of a real event;* but any interruption 
annihilates that impression, by rousing him out of 
his waking dream, and unhappily restoring him to 
his sentes. So difficult it is to support the impres- 

^^^ ?l ^^^^^y^ **^at "^^ch slighter interraptions 
Ujan the interval between two acts, are suffij^nt to 
dissolve the charm: in the 6th act of the Mourn- 
tng Bride, the three first scenes are in a room of 
state, the fourth in a prison ; and the change is 
operated by shifting the scene, which is done in a 
trice ; but however quick the transition may be, it 
IS impracticable to impose upon the spectator, so 
as to make them conceive that they are actuallv 
earned from the palace to the prison ; they imme- 
diately reflect, that the palace and prison are ima- 
ginary, afid that the whole is a fiction. 

From these premises, one will naturally be led- 
Jt first view, to pronounce the frequent intcaruptidns 
m the modern drama to be an imperfection? It will 



Chapter H. Part i. Sect. 7. 



CHAP. 2S.] The three Unities. 909 

Qccur, ** That eveiy interruption must have the t^t- 
^* feet to banish the dream of realitj, and with it 
^* to banish our concern, which cannot subsist while 
<* we are conscious that all is a fiction ; and there- 
^ fore, that in the modern drama sufficient time is 
*^ not afforded for fluctuation and swelling of pas- 
*f sion, like what is afforded in that of Greece^^ 
** where there is no interruption." This reasoning, 
it must be owned, has a specious appearance : but 
we must not become faint-hearted upon the first re- 
pulse ; let us rally our troops for a second engage- 
nient 

Considering attentively the ancient drama, we 
find, that though the representation ^s never inter- 
rupted, the principal action is suspended not less 
firequentlj than \n the modern drama : there are 
five acts in each ; and the only difference is, thaf 
in the former, when the action is suspended as it 
is at the end of ever^ act^ opportunity is taken of 
the interval to employ the chorus in singings Hence 
it appears, that the Grecian continuity of represen- 
tation canno^ have the effect. to prolong the impres- 
sion of reality : to baqbh that impression, a pause 
in the action while the chorus is emploj^ed in sing- 
ing, is no less effectual than a total suspensiop of 
the representation- 

But to open a larger view, I am ready to show, 
that a representation with proper pauses, is better 
qualified for making a deep impression, than a con- 
tmued representation without a payse. This will 
be evident from the following considerations. Re- 
presentation cannot very long support an impression 
of reality ; for when the spirits are exhausted bjr 
dose attention and by the agitation of passion, an 
uneasiness ensues, which never fails to banish the 
waking dream. Now supposing the time that a 
man can employ with strict attention without wan- 
dering, to be no greater than is requisite for a sinr. 



3] A The Hurw Unities. [chap. ^S. 

I 

gle act, a supposition that cannot be far from truth ; 
tt follows, that a continued representation of lon- 
ger endurance than an act, instead of givipg scope 
to fluctuation and swelling of pa3sion5 wpuld over- 
Strain the attention, and produce a total absence of 
mind. In that resMct, the four pauses have a fine 
efiect ; for by afforaing to the audience a seasonable 
respite when the impression of reality is gone, and 
while nothing material is in agitation, they relieve 
the mind from its fatigue ; and consequently pre- 
vent a wandering of tboyght at the very time pos- 
sibly of the most interesting scenes. ^ 

In one article, indeed, the Grecian model has 
greatly the advantage : its chorus during an inter- 
val not onlj preserves alive the impressions madq, 
upon the auaience, bu£ also prepares their hearts 
finely for new impressions. In our theatres, on 
the contrary, the audience, at the pjid of every act, 
being left to trifle time away, lose every >varm im- 
pression ; and they begin the next act cool and un-^ 
cerned, as at the commencement of the repre- 
sentation. This is a gross malady in our theatrical 
representations ; but a malady that luckily is not 
incurable. To revive the Grecian chorus, would 
be to revive the Grecian slavery of place and time ; 
but I can figure a detached chorus coinciding with 
a pause in the representation, as the ancient ch(»rus 
did with fi pause in the principal action. What 
' objection, for exampl<^, can there lie against music 
between the acts, vocal and instrumental, adapted 
to the subject? Such detached chorus, without 
putting us under any limitation of time or place, 
would recruit the spirits^ apd would preserve en- 
tire the tone, if not the tide of passion : the niusic, 
after an act, should commence in the tone of the pre- 
ceding passion, and be gradually varied till it ac- 
cord with the tone of the passion, that is to succeed 
jl) the next act. The rnusic and the representation 



CHAP.. 23.] The three Unities. 



311 



would both of tham be gainers by th^ir conjunc- 
tion ; which will thus appear* Mu^c that accords 
with the present tone of mind, is, on that account, 
doubl/ agreeable ; and accordingly, though music 
singly hath n6t power to raise a passion, it tends 
greatly to support a passion already raised. Fur- 
ther, music prepares us for the passion (hat follows, 
by making cheerful, tender, melancholy, or animat- 
ed impressions, as the subject requires. Take for 
an example the ^t scene of thd Mourning Bride^ 
where soft music, in a melancholy strain, prepares 
us for Almeria's deep distress. In this manner, 
music and representation support each other de- 
lightfully : the impression made upon the audience 
by the representation, is a iSne preparation for the 
music that succeeds ; and the impression made by 
the music, is a fine preparation for the representa* 
lion that succeeds* It appears to me evident, that, 
by some such contrivance, the modern dranla may 
be improved, m as to enjoy the advantage of the 
ancient chorus without its slp-vish limitation of place 
and time. And as to music in particular, I cannot 
figure any means th^t would tend more to its im- 
provement: composers, those for the stage atjeast. 
Would be reduced to, the happj?^ necessity of study- 
ii^ and imitating nature ; instead of deviating, ac- 
cording to the present mode, into wild, fai^stic, 
and unnatural conceits. But we must return to our 
subject, and finish the comparison between the an- 
cient and the modern drama. 

The numberless improprieties, forced upon the 
Greek dramatic poets by the constitution of their 
drama, may be sufficient, one should think, to make 
us prefer the modern dmma, even abstracting from 
the improvement proposed. To prepare the reader 
for this article, it must be premised, that as in the 
ancient drama the place of action never varies, a 
place necpssarily must be chosen, to which everj 



S12 The three Unities. [chap. i8. 

person may hare access without any improbability. 
This confines the scene to some open place, gene- 
rally the court or area before a palace ; which ex- 
cludes from the Grecian theatre transactions within 
doors, though these commonly are the most impor- 
tant Such cruel restraint is of itself sufficient to 
cramp the most pregnant invention ; and accord^ 
ingly Greek writers, in order to preserve unity of 
place, are reduced to woful improprieties. In the 
Hippohjtus of Euripides,* Phedra distressed in 
mind and body, is carried without any pretext from 
her palace to the place of action : is there laid up- 
on a couch, unable to support herself upon her 
limbs, and made to utter many things improper to^ 
be heard by a number of women who fotm the (Ao-. 
rus: and what is still more improper, her ifemale 
attendant uses the strongest entreaties to ma^eher 
reveal the secret cause of her anguish ; whieh at 
last Phedra, contrary to decency and probability, 
is prevailed upon to do in presence of that very 
chorus.t Alcestes^ in Euripides, at the point of 
death, is brought from the palace to the place of 
action, groaning, and lamenting her untimely fate.| 
In the Trachiniens of Sophocles,l| a secret is im- 
parted to Dejanifa, the wife of Herculefs, in pre- 
sence of the chorus. In the tragedy of Ipkigeniay 
the messenger employed to inform Clitemnestra 
that Iphigenia was sacrificed, stops short at the 
place of action, and with a loud voice calls the 
Queen from her palace to hear the news. Again, 
in the Iphigenia in Tauris^ the necessary presence 
of the chorus forces Euripides into a gross absurd- 
ity, which is to form a secret in their hearing;? 
and to disguise the absurdity, much court is pai^ 
to the chorus^ not one woman but a number, to en^ 

* Act I. sc. vL f Act n. 8C. ii. t Act H. 5Q. I. 

II Act U. § Ar4 ly. at the close. 



tuxT. 23»] The three Unitiesi 318 

r 

^tge them to secrecy* In tiie Medea of Euripided, 
uiat princess make no difficulty, in presence of the 
chorus, to plot the death of her husband, of his mk- 
tress, and of her father the King of Corinth, all by 
poison. It was necessary to bring Medea upon tha 
stage, and there is but one place of action, which 
is gdways occupied by the cnorus. This scene clo- 
*ses the second act ; and in the end of the third, she 
frankly makes the chorus her confidants in plotting 
the murder of her own children, Terence, by 
identity of place, is often forced to make a conver- 
sation within doors be heaid in the open street ; the 
cries of a . woman in labour are there heard dis- 
tinctly « 

The Greek poets are not less hampered by unity 
of time than by that of place. In th6 Hippoh/ius of 
Euripides, that prince is banished at the> end of the 
fourth act ; and in the first scene of the following 
act, a messenger relates to Theseus the whole par- 
ticulars of the death of Hippoly tus by the sea-mon- 
ster: that remarkable event must have occupied 
many hours ; and yet in the representation, it is 
confined to the time employed by the chorus upon 
the song at the end of the fourth act. The incon- 
sistency i$ still greater in the Iphigenia in Tauris :^ 
the song could not exhaust half an hour ; and yet 
the incident supposed to have happened during 
that time, could not naturally have been transacted 
in less than half a day • 

The Greek artiste are forced, no less frequently, 
to trani^ess another rule, derived also from a con- 
tinued representation. The rule is, that as a va- 
cuity, however momentary, interrupts the represen- 
tation, it is necessary that the place of action be 
constantly occupied. Sophocles, with regard to 
that rule as well as to others, is genemlly correct.— 

» 

" A|5tV.|«.iv. 



3 14 '/%€ three Vhuies. [cfeAP. SS. 

But Euripides cannot bear such restraint : he oAen 
evacuates the stagey and leaves it empty for others.' 
Iphigenut m Tauris^ after ph>ribuncing a scJibquy 
in the first scene, leaves the place of action, and is 
succeeded by Orestes and Pylades; they, aftetsome 
conversation, walk off; and Iphigenia re-enters^, 
accompanied with the chohis. In the AkesteSj 
which is of thd same author, the place of action is 
void at the end of the third act. It is true, that to 
cover the irregularity, and to preserve the represen- 
tation in motion^ Euripides is careful to fill tile stage 
without loss of time : but this still is an interruption,' 
and a link of the chain broken ; for during the 
change of the actors, there must be a space of time; 
during which the stage is occupied by neither Set. 
It makes indeed a more remarkable intentiption, to* 
change the place of action as well as the aCtors ; 
but that Was not pmcticabletipon the Grecr^n stage; 

It is hard to say upon what model Tetfenee has* 
fiirmed his plays. Having no chorus, there is a 

giuee in the representation at the end of every act; 
ut advantage is not taken of the cessation, even to' 
viiry the place of action : for the street is always 
chiDsen, M'here every thing passing may be seen by 
every person ; and by that choice, the most spright- 
ly and interesting parts of the action, which com- 
monly pass within doors, are excluded ; \A'itne£s 
the last act of the Eunuch. He hath submitted to 
the like slavery with respect to time. In a word, a 
play with a regular chorus, is not more confined in 
place and time than his plays are. Thu^ a zealous 
sectary follows implicitly ancient forms and cere- 
monies, without once considering whether their in- 
troductive cai^se be still sibsisting. Plautas, of a 
bolder genius than Terence, makes good use of the 
liberty afforded by an inierrupted representation: 



CHkp. ^3.] T%€ three Unties. SlB 

he YEiies the place of action upon all bcc^siofld, 
i^hen the variation suits his purpose; 

The intelligent reader will b^ this time undef<- 
stand, that I plead for no change of place in out 
plays but aftdr an interval, nor for auj latitude in 
poiiit of time but what falls in with an intertal.-^ 
The unities of place and time ou^ht to be strictty 
observed during each act ; for dunng th^ represen- 
tation, there is no opportunity for the smallest devi- 
ation from either: Hedce it is an essential requis- 
jte, that during an act the stage be always occu- 
pied ; for even a mondehtary Vacuity makes an in- 
terval or interruption: Another rule is no less es- 
sential : it would be a gross breach of the unity of 
action, to exhibit ufion the stage two sepamte ac- 
tions at the same time ; and therefore to preservlB 
that unity, it is necessary that each personage in- 
troduced during an act, b^e linked to those id pos^ 
session of the stage^ so as to join all in one action. 
These things folloit from the vety conception of an 
tot, which admits not the slightest interruption ; 
the moment the representation is intermitted, there 
is an end of that act : and we have no notion of a 
new act, but where, after a pause or interval, thci 
representation is again put in motion. Freiich wri- 
ters, generally speaking, are correct in this particu- 
lar. The English, on the contrary, are so irregular^ 
as scarce to deserve a criticism. Actors, during 
the same act, not only succeed each other in the 
same place without connexion : but what is still 
less excusable, thfey frequently succeed each other 
in different places. This change of place in the 
same act, ought never to be indulged ; for, beside 
breaking the unitjr of the act, it ha^ a disagreeable 
effect. After an interval, the imagination readily 
adapts itself to any place that is necessary, as rea- 
dily as at the commencement of the play : but du- 
ring the representation^ we rejfect change of plftc^. 
Vol. IL \f)a 



1 



S16 The three VrntiA. [6haf. 2Su 

Fiom the fofegoiiig censure must be excepted the 
Mourning Bride of Conereve, where regulari^ con- 
curs with the beautjofsentiment and of language, 
to make it one of the most complete pieces £ng^ 
land has to boast ot I must acknowledge, howev* 
er, that in point of regularity, this elegant perfor- 
mance 18 not altogether unexceptionable. In the 
four first acts, the unities of place and time are 
strictly observed : but in the last act, there b a cap- 
kal error with respect to unity of place ; for in the 
three first scenes of that act, the place of action is 
a room of state, which is changed to a prison in the 
fourth scene : tne chain also of the actors is broken ; 
as the persons introduced in the prison, are different 
from those who made their appeamnce in the room 
of state. This remarkable interruption of the re- 
presentation, makes in effect two acts instead of 
One : and therefore, if it be a rule that a play ought 
not to conisist of more acts than five, this perfor- 
mance is so far jdefectivc in point of regulanty. I 
may add, that even admitting six acts, the irregu- 
larity would not be altogether removed without a 
loneer pause in the representation than is allowed 
in me acting ; for more than a momentary interrup- 
tion is requisite for enabling the imagination read- 
ily to fall in with a new place, or with a wide space 
ot time. In The Way of the World^ of the same 
author, uni^ of place is preserved during every act, 
and a stricter unity of time during the whole play, 
than is necessary. 



Illy 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



Gardening and Architecture. 

THE books we have upon architecture an4 
upon embellishing ground, abound in practical in- 
struction, necessaij for a mechanic : but in vain 
should we rummage them for rational principle? to 
improve our taste. In a general svstem, it might 
be diought sufficient to have unfolded the princi- 
{des that govern these and other fine arts, leaving 
the application to the reader : but as I would ne- 

f' lect no opportunity of showing the exjensiv« iur 
uence of these princijdes, the purpose of the pre- 
sent chapter is to apply them to gardening and ar- 
chitecture ; hut without intending any regular plan 
of these favourite arts, which would be unsuitable 
not only to the nature of this work, hut Jto the ex- 
perience of its author. 

Gardening was at first an useful art: in the gar- 
den of Alcinous, described by Homer, we find no^ 
thing done for pleasure merely. But g^dening is 
now improv-ed into a fine art ; and when we talk of 
a garden mthout »any epithet, ji pleasure garden, 
by way of eminence, is understood : The gardjea 
i^ Alcinous, in modern language, was but a kitchen- 
garden. Architecture has run the sam e course : it 
continued many ages an useful art merely, without 
aspiring to be classed with, the fine arts. Archi- 
tecture, therefore, and gardening, being useful art* 
as well as fine arts, aflbrd two different views. 
The reader, however, will not here expect rules 



318 Gardening ani [cbaf • 24. 

for improving any work of art in point of utility ; 
it being no part of my plan to treat of any useful 
art as such : but there is a beauty in utility ; and 
in discoursingof beauty that of utility must not be 
necrlected This leads us to consider wardens and 
buildings in different views ; they may be destined 
for use solely, for beauty solely, or for both. Such 
variety of destination, bestows upon these arts a 
great command of beauties, complex no less than 
various. Hence the difficulty of forming anaccu- 
l&te taste in gardening and architecture ; and hence 
that diffei«nce and wavering of taste in these arts, 
greater than in any art that has but a ^gle destina^ 

tion. 

Architecture and gardening cannot otherwise en-- 
tertain the mind, but by raising certain agreeably 
emotions or feeling ; with which we must begin, 
as the true foundation of all the rules of criticism 
that govern these arts. Poetry, as to its power cif 
raising emotions, possesses justly the first plact 
among the fine arts; for scarce any p^e emotion o£ 
human nature is beyond its refLcb, Fainting and 
sculpture are more circumscribed, having the com- 
mand of no emotions but of what are raised bj^ 
sight : they are peculiarly successful in expressing 
pjainful passions, which are displayed by external 
si|:>n3 extremely legible.* Garaening, beside the 
lemotioDS of beauty from regularity, order, propor- 
tion, colour, and utility, can raise ^motions of gran^ 
deur, of sweetness, of gaiety, of melancholy, of 
wildness, aiid even of surprise or wonder. In 
architecture, the beauties of regularity, order, and 
|M:oportion, are still more conspicuous than in gar*: 
dening ; but as to the beaqty of colour, architect 
iure is far inferior* Grandeur can be expressed in 
^ building, perhaps more successfully than i^i a gar-r 

* l^cjB Chapt«p Xy. 



CHAP. 24*] 4^'<Me^rc., 319 

den ; but as to the otb^er emotions above mentioned, 
architecture hitherto has not been brought lo the 
perfection of expressing them distinctly. To ba- 
lance that defect, architecture can display the beau- 
ty of utility in the highest perfection. 

Gardening indeed possesses one advantage, ne^ 
ver to be equalled m the other art: in various 
scenes, it pan raise successively all the different 
eniotions above inentioned, But to produce that 
delicious effect, the gardep must be extensive, so 
as to admit a slow succession : for a srnall garden^ 
comprehended at one view, oi»ght to be confined to 
one expression;* it may be gay, it may be sweet, 
it may be gloomy ; but an attempt to mix thes^e 
would create a jumble of emotions not a little un- 
pleasaiit.t For the same reason, a building, even 
the most magnificeqt, is neceasarily confined to on^ 
expression* 

, Architecture, considered as a fine art, instead of 
))eing a rival to gardening in its progress, seems 
not far advanced beyond its infant state. To bring 
it to maturity, two things mainly are wanted. Firs^ 
a greater variety of parts and ornaments than at 
present it seems provided with. Gardening here 
has greatly the advantage : it is provided with 
plenty of materials for raising scenes without end^ 
affecting the spectator with variety of emotions. In 
architecture, on the contrary, materials are so scan- 
ty, that artists hitherto have not been successful iq 
raising any emotions but of beauty and grandeur i. 
with respect to the former, there are indeed plenty 
(rf means, regularity, order, symmetry, simplicity, 
utility; and with respect to the latter, the addition 

* See Chapter Vm. 

f ** The citizen, who ia his villa has hut an acre for a garden, most have it 
^^ Versified with every object that is suited to an extensive garden. There 
^* must be woods, streams; lawn^^ statues^ and temples to every goddess as 
^* well as to Cloacina/" 



320 Gardening a$i4 {cbap. 24ir 

of size is sufficient. But though it is evident, that 
every building ought to have a certain character (mt 
expression suited to its destination ; yet this refine- 
ment has scarce been attempted by any artist. A 
death's head and bones employed in monumental 
buildings, will indeed produce an emotion of gloom 
and melancholy ; but such ornaments, if these can 
be termed so, ought to be rejected, because they are 
in themselves disagreeable! The other thing waul- 
ed to bring the art to perfection, is, to asoertwi the 
precise impression made by every single part jand 
ornament, cupolas, spires, cohimns, carvings, sta- 
tues, vases, &c. : for m vain will an artist attempt 
rules for employing these, either singly or in com- 
bination, until the different emotions they produce 
be distinctly explained. Gardening in that particu- 
lar also, hath the advantage : the seveA'al eraottons 
raised by trees, rivers, cascades, plains, eminence^ 
and its other materials, are tmderstood ; and each 
emotion can be described with some degree of pre^ 
cision, vvhidiis attemptedoecasionally in the forer 
going parts of this work. 

In gardening aB wcH as in architecture, simpli-< 
city ought to be a ruling principle. Profuse ornar 
ment hath no better effect than to confound the eye, 
and to prevent the object from making an impres- 
sion as one entire whole. An artist destitute of 
genius for capital beauties, is naturally pronjpted 
to supply the defect by crovrdifig his plan with 
slight embellishments : hence in a garden, trium- 
phal arches, Chinese houses, temples^ obelisks, , 
cascades, fountains, without end ; and in a build* 
rng, pillars, vases, statues, and a profusion of carv- 
ed work. Thus some women defective in taste, 
are apt to overcharge every part of their dress with 
ornament. Superfluity of decoration hath another ^ 
bad effect: it gives the abject a diijiinutive look: 
an island in a wide extended lake n^es it appear 



f^AF. 24.] Arefdtectpre. 32! 

larger ; but an artificial lake, which is always lit- 
tle, appears still less by making an island ki it.^ 

In forming plans for embellishing a field, an ar- 
tist without taste employs straight lines, circles, 
squares j because these look best upon paper. He 
perceivm not, that to humour and adorn nature, is 
the perfection of his art ; and that nature neglect- 
ing regularity, distributes her objects in great va* 
riety with a bold hand. A large field laid out 
with strict regularity, is stiff and artificial.f Na- 
ture, indeed, in organised bodies comprehended 
under one view, studies regularity,- which, for the 
same reason, ought to be studied in architecture : 
but in large objects, which cannot otherwise be 
surveyed bat in parts and by succession, regularity 
and uniformity would be useless properties, be- 
cause they Cannot be discovered by the eye. J Na- 
ture therefore, in her large works, neglects these 
properties ; and in copying nature, the artist ought 
to neglect them. 

Having thus far carried on a comparison be- 
tween gardening and architecture ; rules peculiar 
to each come niext in order, beginning with gar- 
dening. The simpleBt plan of a garden, is that of 
a spdt embellished with a number of natural ob- 
jects, trees, walks, polished parterres, flowers, 
streanis, &c. One more complex comprehends sta- 
tues and buildings, that nature and art maybe mu- 
tually ornamental. A third, approaching nearefr 
perfection, ii? of objects assembled together in or- 



* Se'e.Appendkto Part v. Chapter II. 

f In France and Italy, a garden is disposed like the human body, alleys, 
Kke legs and arms, answering each other ; the great walk in the middle re- 
presenting the trunk of the body Thuis an artist void of taste carries self j 
along into every operation . ' 

* A square field appears not such to the eye when viewed from any part 
of it ; and (be centre is the only place v/herc a drcular fietd preserves in 
^pearanee its w^urar fi^re. i 



322 (joriemng and [chap. 24f. 

der to produce, not only an emotidn of beautj, but 
also some other particular emotion, grandeur, for 
example, gaiety, or anj other above mentioned. 
The completest plan of a garden is an improve-^ 
ment upon the third, requiring the several parts to 
be so arranged, as to inspire all the difiepNit emo^ 
tions that can be raised hy gardening.' In ttits 
plan, the arrangement is an important circ^om- 
stance ; for it has been shown, thatsome emotions 
figure best in conjunction, and that others ought al- 
ways to appear in succession, and ilever in cojor 
junction, it is mentioned above,* that when tbe 
most opposite emotions, such as glooominess and 
gaiety, stillness and activity, follow each other in 
succession, the pleasure, on the whole, will be tbe 
greatest ; but that such emotions ought not to be 
united, because they produce an unpleasant mixr 
ture.f For this reason, a ruin affording a sort of 
melancholy pleasure, ought not to be seen from a 
flower-parterre which is gay and cheerful.} But 
to pass from an exhilarating object to a ruin, has a 
fine effect ; for each of the emotions is the n^ore 
^nsibly felt by being contrasted with the other. 
Similar emotions, on the other hand, such as gaiety 
and sweetness, stillness and gloominess, motion 
and grandeur, ought to be raised together ; for thek 
effects upon the mind are greatly heightened by 
their conjunction. 

Kent's method of embellishing a field i^ admira- 
ble ; which is to replenish it with beautiful objects/ 
natural and artificial, disposed as they ought to he 
upon a canvas in painting. It requires indeed 
more genius to paint in the gardening way : in 
forming a landscape upon a canvass, no more is re- 
quired but to adjust the figures to each other : all 



» Chapter VUI. t ChaDtcr II. Part ir 

i Seef the place immediately above cited. 



w 



CHAP. 24. j Architecture. 523 

artists who would form a garden in Keht^s maniier, 
has an adcJitioiial ta$k ; whreh isj to adjust hiaf 
figures to the several varieties of the field . 

A single garden must be distinguished frdm ft 
plurality ; and yet it is not obvious in what the uni- 
ty of a garden consists. We have indeed some no- 
tion of unity in a garden surrounding a palace, with 
views from each window, and walks leading to eve- 
ry corner ; but there may be a garden without a 
house ; in which case, it is the unity of design that 
makes it one garden ; as where a spot of ground is 
so artfully dressed as to make the several portions 
appear to be parts of one whole. The gardens of 
Versailles, properly expressed in the plural number, 
being no fewer than sixteen, are indeed all erf therii 
connected with the palace^ but have sdarce any 
mutual connexion : they appear not like parts of 
one whole, but rather like small gardens in conti- 
guity. A greater distance between these gardens 
would produce a better effect ; theirjunction bveeds 
confusion of ideas, and Ujpon the whole gives less 
pleasure than would be felt in a slower succession. 

Regularity is required in that part of a garden 
which is ad^cenl to the dwelling-house ; because 
an immediate accessory ought to pattake the regu- 
larity of the principal object :* but in proportion 

* The in^uence of this conDeiidn sarpta^sing all bounds^ « still visible 
In m«ny gardens^ formed of borizontal plfrims forced wHh great l^bdur and 
expense, perpendicular fac68 of earth supported by massy stone wall^. ter- 
race -walks in stages one above another, regular pOnd^- and canals^ withoot 
the least motion, and the whole sutfronnded, li^e a prison, With hi^ ^alls 
excluding every external object. At first view it may puzzle one to account 
!bratastesoOptK>sitetonefture in every particular. Bnt notlhing happens 
ivkhout a cause. Perfect regularity and uAiforioity are requR^ in a house ; 
and this idea is extended to its accessory the gai^en, especially if it be a 
sanll spot incapable of grandeur or of much variety ; the? house i» regulal^ 
to mast the garoen be ; the floors of the house are horizontal, and the garden 
must have the same position; in the house we are protected from every in- 
truing eye j so must we be in the garden. This, it must be confessed, i^ 
carrying the notion Of resemblance very faSr : but where reason and taste are 
laid asleep, nothing is more common than to carry r«Jsemblwce beyopa 
proper bounds. 

Vol. Hi 41a 



\ 



<24 Gardening and [chap*. 24. 

to the distance from the house considered as the 
centre, regularity ought less and less to be studied : 
for in an extensive plan, it hath a fine effect to leao 
the mind insensibly from re^Iaritj to a bold varie- 
ty. Such arrangement tends to make an impres* 
8ion of grandeur : and grandeur ought to be studied 
as miicfa as possible, even io a more confined plan^ 
by avoiding a multiplicity of small parts.^ A small 

garden, on the other hand, which admits not gran* 
eur, ought to be strictly regular. 
Milton, describing the garden of Eden, prefers 
justly* grandeur before regularity : 

Flowers worthy of paradise, which not nice aH 
In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 
Pbur'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain ; 
Both where the morning-sun jfirst warmly smote 
The open field, and where the unpiercM shade 
Imbrown*d the noon-tide bow'rs. 

Paradise Lost^ b. if- 

A hill covered with trees, a|>pfears more beautiful 
SUEi well as more lofty than when naked. To dis- 
tribute trees in a plain requires moi<e aft: near the 
dwelliiig-hduse ihej ought to be scattered so distant 
from each other, as tidt to break the unity of the 
field ; and even at the greatest distance of distinct 
vision, they ought never to be so crowded as to 
hide any beautiful object. 

In the manner of planting a wood or thicket, 
touch art mat be displayed. A common centre of 
walk3, tertned a star, from whence are seen remark*, 
able obj^cts^ appears too artificial, and consequent- 
iy too stitf and formal, to b^ agreeable : the crowds 
ing withal so many objects together, lessens the 
jpleasure that would be felt in a slower su€€essioa« 

* See Chapter IV. 



J 



qHAP. 24.] Architecture. S25 

^bandonin^ therefore the star, let us try to substitute 
some form more natural, that will display all thq 
remarkable objects in the neighbourhood. Tbisf 
may be done by various apertures in the wood, pur- 
posely contrived to lay 6pen successively every 
such object ; sometimes a single object, sometimes 
a plurality in a line, and sometimes a rapid succes- 
sion of them : the mind at intervals is rouaed and 
< .1 - 

cheered by agreeable objects ; and by surprise) up-^ 
on viewing objects of which it had no expectation^. 

Attending to the influence of contrast, explained 
in the eighth chapter, we discover why the lowness 
of the ceiling increases in appearance the si:^e of a 
large room, an^ why a long room appears still 
longer by being very narrow, as is remartable in a 
gallery : by the same means, an object terminating 
a narrow opening in a wood, appears at a double 
distance. This suggests another nde for distribu- 
ting trees in some quarter near the dwelling-house ; 
which is to place a number of thickets in a linci^ 
with an opening in ^ach, directing the eye from one 
id another ; which will make them appear more 
distant from each other than they are in reality, 
and in appearan^^e enlarge the size of the whole 
field. To give this plan its utmost effect, the space 
betwee n the thickets ojught to \>e considerable ; and 
in order that each may be seen distinctiv, the can- 
ing nearest the eye ought to be wider than the se- 
cond, the second wider than the thirds and so on to 
the end.* 

By a judicious distribution of trees, other beau- 
ties may be produced. A landscape sp r^ch as to 

* An object will appear more distant than it really is, if different coloured 
wergreens be planted between it and the eye. Suppose holly and laurel, and 
the holly which is of the deeper colour, nearer the eye: the degradation of 
colour^ infthe laurel, makes it appear at a great distance from the holly, and 
consequently removes the object, in appearance, to a greater distance tha^ 
it really is. 



526 Gardening and {;chap. 24, 

^ngros9 tbe whole attention, and. so limited as 
9\veet1y to be comprehended under a single view, 
has a much finer effect than the most extensive land- 
scape that requires a wandering of the eje througU 
successive scenes. This observation suggests a 
capital rul^ in laying out a fiel4 ; which is, never 
at any one station to admit a larger prospect thaa 
<can easily be taken in at once. A field so happily 
situated as to command a great extent of prospect, 
is a delightful subject for applying this rule : let 
the prospect be split into proper parts by means of 
trees; studying at the same time to introduce all 
the variety possible, A plan of this kind executed 
with tiste will produce charming effects : thebeau^ 
tiful prospects are multiplied: eachoftheoiismuch 
more agreeable than the entire prospect was origi- 
nally : and, to crown the whole, the scenery is great- 
ly diversified. 

As gardening is not an inventive art, but an imi- 
^tion of nature, or rather nature itself ornament- 
ed ; it follows necessarily, that every thing unnatq- 
ral ought to be rejected with disdain. Statues of 
wild beasts vomiting water, fi common ornapient 
in gardens, prevail \n thpse of Versailles, Is that 
ornament in a good taste ? A jet d^€(iUj being pure- 
ly artificial, may, without disgust, be tortured into 
a thousand shapes ; but a representation of what 
really exists in nature, admits not any unnatural 
circumstance. In the statues of Versailles tbe artist 
has displayed his vicious taste without the least cor 
lour or disguise. A lifeless statue of an animal 
pouring out water, may be endured without much. 
(Jisffust : but here the lions and wolves are put irj 
violent action, each has seized its prey, a deer or a 
lamb, in act to devour; andyetj as hy hocus-pocus, 
the whole is converted into a different scene: thelion, 
forgetting his prey, pours out water plentifully ; and 
^^ deer, forgejtting its danger, performs the same 



^AP. 24] Architecture. 327 

work : a represeDtatipn no less absurd than that in 
the opeta, where Alexander the Great, after mount- 
ing the wall of a town besieged^ turns his back to 
the enemy, and entertains his army with a song,* 

In gardening, every lively exhibition of what is 
beautiful in nature has a fine effect : on the other 
hand, distant and faint imitations are displeasing 
to every one of taste. The cutting evergreens in the 
shape of anunals, is very ancient ; as appears from 
the epistles of Pliny, who seems to be a great ad- 
mirer of the conceit. The propensity to imitation 
gave birth to that practice ; and has supported it 
wonderfully long, considering how faint and insi- 
pid the imitation is. But tqe vulgar, great and 
small, are entertained with the oddness and singu- 
larity of a resemblance, however distant, between 
a tree and an animal. An attempt in the gardens 
of Versailles to imitate a grove of trees by a group 
of jets d^eau^ appears, for the same reason, no less 
childish. 

In designing a garden, every thing trivial or 
whimsical ought to be avoided. Is a labyrinth then 
to be justified ? It is a ipere conceit, like that of 
composing verse in the shape of an axe or an egg : 
the walks and hedges may be agreeable ; but in 
the form of a labyrinth, they serve to no end but to 
puzzle : a riddle is a conceit not so mean ; because 
the solution is proof of sagacity, which affords no 
aid in tracing a labyrinth. 

The gardens of Versailles, executed with bound- 
less expense by the best artists of that age, are a 
lasting monument of a taste the most depraved : 

* Ulloa, a Spanish writer, describing the city of liimii, says, that the great 
8<}uafe is finelty ornamented. " In the centre is a fountain, equally reinark- 
^*able for its grandeur and capacity. Raised above the lountain is a 
'*bronze statue of Fame, and four small basons on the angles. The water 
''* issues from the trumpet of the statue, and from the mouths of eight lions 
" surrounding it, which** in hM opinicn <^greatly heidht^ n the beauty of the 
" whole." 



328 Gardening and [chap. 24h 

the faults above mentioned, instead of beti^ avoid- 
ed, are chosen ^ beauties, and multiplied without 
end. Nature, it would seem, was deemed too v\4- 
gaj to be imitated in the works of a magnificent 
monarch : and for that reason preference was given 
to things unnatural, which probably were mistaken 
for supernatutral.- I have otten amused myself with 
a fanciful resemblance between these gardens and 
the Arabian tales: each of them is a performance 
intended for the amusement of a great king : in the 
sixteen gardens of Versailles there is no unity of 
design, more than in the thousand and one Arabian 
tales: and, lastly, they are equally unnatural; 
groves ofjets d^eau^ statues of animals conversing 
in the manner of JEsop, water issuing out of the 
mouths of wild beasts, give an impression of fairy- 
land and witchcraft, no less than diamond-palaces, 
invisible rings, spells and incantations. 

A straight road is the most agreeable, because 
it shortens the journey. But in an embellished 
field, a straight walk has an air of formality and 
confinement : and at any rate is less agreeable than 
a winding or waving Walk; for in surveying the 
beauties of an ornamented field, we love to roam 
from place to place at freedom. Winding walks 
have another advantages at every step they open 
new viev^s. In short, the walks in pleasure-ground . 
ought not to have any appearance of a road : my 
intention is not to make a jo».rney, but to feast my 
eye on the beauties of art and nature. This rule 
excludes not openings directing the eye to distant 
objects. Such openings, beside variety, are agree* 
able in various respects: first, as observed above, 
they extend in appearance the^ size of the field : 
next, an object, at whatever distance, continiiesthe 
opening, and deludes the spectator into a convic- 
tion, that the trees which confine the view are con- 
tinued tilll thcjy join the object. Straight walks la 



OHAP. 24.] Architecture. 329 

recesses do well ; they vary the scenery, and are 
favourable to meditation. 

Avoid a straight avenue directed upon a dwell- 
ing-house: better far an oblique approach in a 
waving line, with single trees and other scattered 
objects interposed. In a direct approach, the first 
appearance is continued to the end : we see a house 
at a distance, and we see it all along in the same 
spot without any variety. In an oblique approach, 
the interposed objects put the house seemingly/ in 
motion: it moves with the passenger, and appears 
to direct its course so as hospitably to intercept 
him. An oblique approach contributes also to va- 
riety : the house, seen successively in different di- 
rections, assumes at each step a new figure. 

A garden on a flat ought to be highly and va- 
liously ornamented, in order to occupy the mind, 
and prevent our regretting the insipidity of an uni- 
form plain. Artificial mounts in that view are com; 
mon : but no person has thought of an artificial 
walk elevated high above the plain. Such a walk 
is airy, and tends to elevate the mind : it extends 
and varies *the prospect ; and it makes the plain, 
seen from a height, appear more agreeable. 

Whether should a ruin be in the Gothic or Gre- 
cian form? In the former, I think; because it ex- 
hibits the triumph of tim^ over strength ; a melan- 
choly, but not unpleasant thought : a Grecian ruin 
suggcrsts rather the triumph of barbarity over taste ; 
a gloomy and discouraging thought. 

There are not many fountains in a good taste. 
Statues of animab vomiting water, which prevail 
every where, stand condemned as unnaturaK A 
itfatue of a whale spouting water upward from its 
head is in one sense natural, as certain whales have 
that power ; but it is a sufiicient objection, that its 
singularity would make it appear unnatural ; there 
is knoth^ reasoa against ft, that the figure of a 



330 Gurdening and [chapI^; 

whale is in itself not agreeable. In many Roman 
fountains, statues of fishes are employed to support 
d large basin of water. This unnatural conceit is 
not accountable, unless from the connexion that 
water hath with the fish that swim in it ; which by 
the way shows the influence of even the slighter re- 
lations. The best design for a fountain I have met 
with, is what follows. In an artificial rock, rugged 
and abrupt, there is a cavity out of sight at the top : 
the water, conveyed to it by a pipe, pours or trick- 
les down the broken parts of the rock, and is col- 
lected into a basin at the foot : it is so contrived, as 
to make the water fall in sheets or in rills at plea- 
sure. 

Hitherto a garden has been treated as a work in- 
tended solely for pleasure, of, in other words, fot" 
giving impfcssinns of intrinsic beauty. What corner 
n&xt in order, is the beauty of a garden destined 
for use, termed relative beauty ;* and ibis branch 
shall be despatched in a few words. In gardening, 
luckily, relative beauty need never stand^ in oppo- 
sition to intrinsic beauty: all the ground that c^n 
be requisite for use, makes but a small proportion 
of aii ornamented field : and may be put^ in any 
corner without obstructing the disposition of the 
capital parts. At the same time, a kitchen -garden 
or an orchard is susceptible of intrinsic beauty ; and 
may be so artfully disposed among the other parts, 
as by variety and contrast to contribute to the beau* 
ty of the tvhole. Jn this respect, architecture re- 
quires a greater stretch of art, as will be seen im- 
mediately ; for as intrinsic and relative beauty ttimt 
often be blended in the same building, k becomesf 
a difficult task to attain both in any perfection^ 



Sec these teisfs defined, Cbs^terHI. 



CHAP. 24.] ArchUecture. 331 

In a hot countrjrit is a capital object id have 
what may be termed a iummef-gdrden ; that is, a 
spot of ground disposed by art arid by nature to 
exclude the siin, but to give free access to the 
air. In a cold country, the capital object should 
be a winUr-garden, open to the sunj sheltered 
from wind, dry under foot, and taking on thie ap- 
pearance of summer by variety of evergreens. The 
relish of a country-life, totally extinct in France^ 
fe decaying fast in Britain, but ais idtill many peo- 
ple of fashion, and some of taste, pass the winter* 
or part of it, in the country, it is amazing that win* 
ter-gardens should be overlooked. During Sum- 
mer, every field is a gardeii ; but during half of the 
year, the weather is seldom So good in Britain as 
to afford comfort in the open air without shelter; 
smd yei seldom so bad as not to afford comfort with 
shelter. I say iuore, that besidi^ proriding for 6i- 
fercise and health, a winter-garden may be tnadig 
Subservient to education, by introducing a habit of^ 
thinking. Ih youth, lively spirits give too great a 
))r6pensity tp pleasure and aniusement, making us 
avdrse to serious occu{iation. That untoward bias 
Tamf be corrett^d in some degre^ by a winter-gar- 
den, ivhich produces in the mind a calm satisfac- 
tion, frde frdm agitation of passion, whether gay ojr 
gloomy ; a fin^ tone of mind for meditation and 
Veasoningi* ' 

* A cdrrespbncleiiti whdse name >t hitherto have concealed, that I might 
iiot be thoaeht vatii^ and which I can no longer conceftl^t i^tes to.me as 
follows : " In life we generally lay our account with pro^rity^andseldoIn> 
'* very seldom, prepare for adversity. We carry that propensity even intb 
"thestructure of our gai^ens : we cultivate the gay ornaments of summftr, 
"relishing no pUnts but what flourish by mild dews and gracious sunshhie : 
" we banish firom our thoughts ghastly winter, when the benign Influc^nces of 
"the sun cheering us no more,are doubty regretted bv yielding to the pierc- 
** ing north wind and nippit^ frost. Sftge is the gardener, in the metapho- 
"ricai as well as literal seqie, who pirocures afriendly shelter to protect w« 

f Mrs. Montagu. 

Vol. n. 4^a 



^Qjl Gardening md [citab* .2^ 

Gardeniog being in China brought to greater per- 
fection than in any other known country, we sha^ 
close our present subject with a slight view ot Chi- 
nese gardens, which are found entirely obsequious 
to the principles that govern every one of the fine 
arts. In general, it is an indispensable law there, 
never to deviate from nature : but in order to pro- 
duce that degree of variety which is pleasing, every 
method consistent with nature is put m practice- 
Nature is strictly imitated in the banks of their ar- 
tificial lakes and rivers ; which sometimes are bar? 
and gravelly, sometimes covered with wood quite 
to the brink of the water. To fls^t spots adorned 
with flowers and shrubs, are opposed others, steep 
and rocky. We see meadows covered with cattle ^ 
rice-grounds that run into lakes ; groves into which 
enter navigiable creeks and rivulets : these geiae- 
rally conduct tn some interesting object, a m^nifir 
cent building, terraces cut in a mountain, a eascad^ 
a grotto, an artificial rock. Their artificial, rivers 
are generally serpentine ; sometimes narrow, noisj^ 
and rapid ;^ometimes deep, broad, and slow : ana 
jto make the scene still more active, mills and other 
moving machines are often erected. In the lakes 
are interspersed islands ; some barren, surrounded 
with rocks and shoals : others enriched with every 
tiling that art and nature can furnish. Even m 
their cascades they avoid regufarilty, as forcing na- 
ture out of its course : the waters are seen burst- 
ing from the caverns and windings of the artificial 
rocks, here a roaring cataract, there man}^ gei^ 
falls ; and the stream ofteii impeded by trees . ana 
stones, Ihat seem brought down by the violenc^ pf 



*. 



it fromDficeinbelr stonns, and cultivates the plants thaladom mtA ^fiv«ii 
« (hat dreary season. He is no philosopher who cannot retire into the Stoio^ 
" walk) when the gardens of Epicurus are out of bloom : he is. too mipcfa a 
« philosopher who wiU^rigidly proscribe the flowers and aromatlcs of-sOR^ 
^' n6r,.to sit constantly under Uie cypress-shade." , • ^^ 



CHAP. 28^] Arehdteciure. 383 

the current. Straight lines are sometimes indulged, 
in order to keep in view some interesting object at 
a distance. 

' Sensible of the influence of ^ontrast, the Chinese 
artists deal in sudden transitions, and in opposing 
to each other forms^ colours, and shades. Tlie 
eye is conducted, from limited to extensive views, 
and from lakes and rivers to plains, hills, and 
Woods : to dark afwl gloomy colours, are opposed 
tiie more brilliant : the different masses of light 
and shade are disposed in such a manner, as to ren- 
der the coinposition distinct in its parts, and strik- 
ing on the Vybole^ lo plantation^, the trees are 
amally mixed according to their shape and colour ; 
those of spreading branches with the pyramidal, 
and the light green with the deep green. They 
even introduce decayed trees, some erect, and some 
half out of the ground;* In order to heighten con- 
tmst, much bolder strokes are risked : they some- 
times introduce rough rocks, dark caverns, trees ill 
formed, and seemingly rent by tempests, or blasted 
by lightning ; a building in ruins, or half consumed 
bv fire. But to relieve the mind from the harshness 
of svich objects, the sweetest and most beautifu| 
scenes always succeed. 

The Chinese study to give play to the ima^na- 
tion : they hide the termination of their lakes ; and 
commonly interrupt the view of a cascade by trees, 
through which are seen obscurely the wa.lei:s as 
they mil. The imagination once roused, is dispos- 
ed to magnify every plbject. 

Nothing is more studied in Chinese gardens than 
to raise wonder or surprise. In scenes calculated 
for that end^ every thing appears like fairy-land; 
% torrent, fox example, conveyed under ground 

* Taste has suggested to Kent the same artifice. A decayed tree placed 
1^perly> cODtribiites to contrast ; and also in a pensive or sedate state of 
l^nd prodttces a sort of pity » grounited on an imiiLginary personification . ' - 



994 Gardening and E<=hap. 24- 

dazzles a stranger by its uncpramon sound to guess 
what it may be ; and to multiply such uncommon 
sounds, the rocks and buildings are'contriyed v/'iib, 
cavities and interstices. Sometimes one is led in- 
sensibly into a darit cavern, terminating unexpect- 
edly id a landscape enriched with all that nature 
affords the most delicious. Mother times, beauti- 
iul walks insensibly conduct to a rough uncultiv^r 
«d field, where bushes, briers, and stones interrupt 
the passage : Jookfaig about for an outlet, some ridj 
prospect unexpectedly opens to view. Auother Mr 
tifice is, to obscure some capital part by trees, ob 
other interposed objects : our curiosity is raised to, 
know what ties beyond ; and after a few steps, we 
are greatly surprised with sonae scene totally dif- 
j^rent from what was expected. 

Thi)se cursory observations upon gardening, shal^ 
be closed wit)) some reflections that must touch ere-, 
ry reader. Rough uncultivated ground dbmal to> 
ttte eye, inspires peevishness and discontent : may 
not this be one cause of the hMsh manners of sa- 
Tages ? A field richly ornamented, containing beau- 
tiful objects of various kinds, displays in full lus- 
tre the goodness of the Deity, and the ample pro- 
vision he has made for our happiness. Ought not 
the spectator to be filled vrith gratitude to his Ma- 
^er, and with benevolence to his fellow-creatures ?■ 
Other fine arts may be pen^erted to excite irregular, 
and even vjciou^ emotions : but gardening, which 
pires (he purest and mpst refined pleasures, can- 
; fail to promote every good affection. The gaiety 
i harmony of miaq it produceth, inclining die 
;ctator to communicate his satisfaction to pthas, 
i to make them happy as be is himself, tend na- 
ally to establish in nim a h^tiit of hum^nityand; 
nevolence.* 




U is "oot easy to suppress a.degr^ .ofl^Iljt^^qi2ism 
when we relQect on the advantageB oC; gardenii^ 
mth respect to virtuous education. In the begin* 
mug of life the deepest impressioos are made; and 
His a sad truth, that the young student, famitiaris!^ 
to the dirtiness and disorder of many colleges peiit 
within narrow bounds in populous cities, is ^end^r- 
ed in a measure insensible to the elegant beauties 
o£ art and nature. Is there i}o man of fortune suffi- 
ciently patriotic, to think of reforming this evil? It 
seems to me fjar from an. exaggeration^ that good 
professors ariB not more essential to a college^ than 
a spacious garden, sweetly ornamented, but without 
any thing glaring or phantastic,.so as upon the 
whole to inspire our youth with a t^te no less for 
isimplicity than for elegance. In^ that respect, th$ 
university of Okford may justly be deemed a 
model. 

Havii]^ finished what occunrjed on gardening, I 
proceed to rules and observations that more pecu- 
liarly concern architecture* Architecture, being 
an useful as well as a fine art, leads us to distin-, 
guish buildings anil parts of buildings mto three 
kinds, namely, what are intended for utility solely, 
what for ornament solely, and what for both. Birild- 
ings intended for utility solely, such as detached 
pmces^ ought in every part to correspond precisely 
to that intention ; the ^lightest deviation from' the 
^lend in view will by every person of taste be thought 
ft blemish. In general it is the |>erfection of every 
yvorkpf art, that it fulfils the purpose for which it 
Is intended; and every other; bea^y, in opposition, 
]^ improper. But in things intended for ornament, 
.«g(^ as pillars, obelisks,^ triumphal arches, beatity 



fine arts : l)ecause their productions in dress and in furoHur^ i^ispir'ei like* 
4h^nh gay find kindly emotions favoral^le to morality. ? . 



3X Gitrdehing and [eHAF. SI. 

ought alone to be reganded* A Hffathen temple 
must be considered as merely ornamental ; for he^ 
ing dedicated to some deity, and not intended for 
habitation, it is susceptible of any figure and any 
embellishment that fancy can surest and beauty 
admit. The great difficwty of contrivance, resects 
buildings that are intended to be usefol as well as 
ori^amental. These ends, employing different an^ 
often opposite me^ns, are seldom united in perfec* 
tion; and the only practicable method )n such 
buildings is, to favour ornament less or more ac- 
cording to the character of the building ; in palaces 
and other edifices sufficiently extensive to admit a 
rariety of useful contrivance, regularity justly takes 
the lead : but in dwelling-houses that are too small 
- for variety of contrivance, utility ought to prevail, 
neglecting regularity's far as it stands in opposition 
to convenience.* 

Intrinsic and rePative beauty being founded on 
different principles, must be handled separately. I 
begin vi^ith relative beauty, as of the greater import- 
ance. 

The proportions of a door are determined by the 
use to vi^hich it is destined. The door of a dwells 
ing-house, which ought to correspond to the human 
size, isconfined to sever) or eight feet in height, and 
three or four in breadth. The proportions proper 
for the door of a barn or coach-house, are widely 
different. Another consideration enters. To study 
witrihsic beauty in a coach-bouse or barn, intended 
merely for use, is <3bvioi|sly improper. But a dwell- 
ing-house may admit ornaments; and the principal 
door of a palace demands all the grandeur that is 
consistent with the foregoing proportions dictated 
by utility : it ought to be elevated, and approached 

* A building must be large to produce any sensible emotion of regalanty* 
proportion or b»autv ; which is an additional reason for minding convem-. 
ence only in a dwelling-house 0f»mall size. 



r 



r 



bf steps ; and it tat^y be adorned with pillars sup- 
porting aa architrave^ or in any other beautiiul 
manner. The door of a church ought to be wide, 
in order to afibrd an easy passage for a multitude : 
the width, at the s&me tiine, regulates the height, 
as will appear by and by. The size of windows 
ought ta be proportioned to that of the room they 
illuminate ; for ix the appertures be not sufficiently 
large to cbnvey light to every corner, the room is 
unequally lighted, which is a great deformity. The 
steps of a stair ought to be accommodated to 4he 
human figure, without regarding any other ^opor- 
tion: they are accordingly the same in large and 
in small buildings, because both are inhabited by 
men of the same size. 

I proceed to consider intrinsic beauty blended 
with that which is. relative. Though a cube in it- 
self is more agreeable than a parallelopipedon, yet 
a large parallelopipedon set on its smaller base, is 
by its elevation more agreeable ; and hence the 
beauty of a Gpthic tower. But supposing this figure 
to be destined for a dwelling-house, to make way 
for relative beaiity, we immediately perceive that 
utility ought chiefly to be regarded, and that the 
figure, inconvenient by its height, ought to be set 
upon its larger base : the loftiness is gone ; hnt 
that loss is more than comi^ensated by additional 
convenience; for which reason, a figure spread 
more upon the ground than raised in height, is al- 
ways preferred for a dwellingrhouse, without exy- 
eeptingeven the most superb palace. 

As to the divisions within,, utility requires that 
the rooins be rectangular ; for otherwise void spaces 
will be left, which are of no use. A hexagonal 
figui;e leaves no void spaces ; but it determines the 
rooms to be all of one size, which is inconvenient. 
A room of a moderate size may be a square ; but 
in very large rooms this figure must, for the most 
part, give place to a parallelogram, which can more 



ii 





330 Gadeniiig 4iiUk [cnxf.ik 

easBy be aii^ted, ikain a square, to the stnalleir 
rooms contrired entirely for conventence. A paral- 
lelogram, at the same time, is the best calculated 
for receiving light; because, to avoid cross lights^ 
all the windows ought to be in one wall ; and the 
opposite #all must be so near as to be ftilly light- 
ed, otherwise the room will be obscure. The height 
of a room exceeding nine or ten feet, has little ot 
no relation to utility ; and therefore proportion is 
the only rule for determining a greater height. 

As all artists who love what is beautiful, are 
p^one to entertain the eye, they have opportunity 
to exert their taste upon palaces and sumptuous 
buildings, where, as above observed, intrinsic beau- 
ty ought to have the ascendant over that which is 
relative. But such propensity is unhappy with re- 
spect to dwelling-houses of moderate size ; because 
in these, intrinsic beauty cannot be displayed ih 
any ^perfection, without Wounding relative beauty J 
a small house admits not much variety of form; 
and in such houses there is iio instance of internal 
convenience being accurately adjusted to external 
regularity : I am apt to believe that it is beyond 
the reach of art. And yet architects never give over 
attempting to reconcile these two incompatibles 5 
how otherwise should it happen, that of the end- 
less variety of private dwelling-houses, there is 
scarce an instance of any one being chosen for a 

Eattem ? The unwearied propensity tb make a 
ouse regular as well as convenient, forces the 
architect, in some articles, to sacrifice convenience - 
to regularit V, and in others, regularity to conve* 
nience ; and the house, which turns^ out neither re- 
gular nor convenient, never fails to displease : tho 
faults are obvious : and the difficulty of doing bet- ' 
ter is known to the artist only.* 

* << Houses are built to lire in, and hot to look on ; theref<jre let use bc 
<< preferted before ttnUbrmily} except where both may he had." 



cilAP. 24i} Archtkoture* 08$ 

Nothing can be more evident, ihaii that the fbrm 
of a dwelling-house ought to be suited to the cli^ 
mate : and yet no error is more common, than to 
copy in Britain the form of Italian houses ; not for- 

rtmg even those parts that are puiposely contrived 
air, and fdr excluding the sun. I shall give 
one or two instances. A colonnade along the front 
of a building^ bath a fine effect in Greece aild Ita-^ 
ly, hy producirig coolness and obscurity^ agreeable 
properties in wairm and luminous climates; but the 
cold climate of Britain is altogether averse to that 
ornament ; and therefore a colonnade can nei^er.be 
proper in this country, unless for a portico, or to 
communicate with a detached building. Again, a 
logio laying the house open to the nortu, contrive 
in Italy for gathering^ cool air, is, if possible,^ still 
more improper for this climate : scarce endurable 
in summer, it, in winter, exposes the house to the 
bitter blasts of the north, and to every shdii^er of 
Snow and rain. 

Having said what appear(^ necessiary upon re* 
lative beauty^ the next step is, to view architecture 
as one of the fine arts ; which will lead us to the 
examination of such buildings^ and parts of build^ 
ings, as are calculated solely to please the eye. la 
the works of Nature, rich arid magnificent) variety 
prevails ; and in works of Art that are contrived 
to imitate Nature, thd great art is to hide every ap^- 

i)earance of art ; which is done by avoiding regu* 
arity, and indulging variety; But in work^ of art 
that are original, and not inlitative, the tiidid haml 
is guided by rule and compass ; aTid according in 
architecture strict regularity and uniformity are stu* 
died, .^te^ar as consistent with utility. 

Proportion is no less agreeable than regulari^ 
arid Wfotmity ; and therefore in buildings intended 
to pl^a^e the eye, they are all equally essential. 
By many writers it is taken for granted, that io 

VoL^n. 43a 



L. 



340 Gardening and [chap. 24. 

buildings there are certain proportions that please 
the eje, as in sounds there are certain prc^rtions 
that please the ear ; and that in both equadly thje 
slightest deviation from the precise prbpoition is 
di^greeable. Others seem to relish more a com- 
parison between proportion in numbers and propor^ 
tion in quantity ; and hold that the same propor- 
tions are agreeable in both. The proportions, for 
eicaraple, of the numbers 16, 24, ana 36, are agree- 
able ; and so, say they, are the proportions of a 
room, the height of which is 16 feet, the breadth 
24, and the length 36. May I hope from the 
reader, that he will patiently accompany me in ex- 
amining this point, which is useful as well as cu- 
rious. To refute the notion of a resemblance be- 
tween musical proportions and those of architec- 
ture, it might be sufficient to observe in general, 
that the one is addressed to the ear, the other td 
the eye ; and that objects of different senses have 
no resemblance, nor indeed any relation to each 
other. But more particularly, what pleases the ear 
in harmony, is not proportion among the strings of 
the instrument, but among the sounds that these 
strines produce. In architecture, on the contraiy^ 
it is the proportion of different quantities that please 
the ejre, without the least relation to sound. Were 
quantity to be the ground of comparison, we have 
no reason to presume, that there is any natural an- 
alogy between -the proportions that please in a 
bunding^ and the proportions of strings that pm- 
duce concordant sounds. Let u? take for example 
an octave, prodiA^ed by two similar strings, the oae 
double of the other in length : this is the most per-' 
feet of all concords : and yet I know not that the 
proportion of one to two is agreeable in any two 
parts of a building. I add, that concordant notes 
are produced by wind-instruments, which, as to 



ajskAV. 24.] Architecture^ 341 

jpfopordoD, a{^ar not to have even the slightest re- 
semblance to a building. 

With respect to the otner notion, nan^ly^a cont-:^ 
parison between- proportion in numbers and pro- 
^jtion in quantity ; 1 urge, that mimber and quan- 
tity are so different, as to afford no probability of 
any natural relation between them. Quantity is a 
xeal quality of every body ; number is not a • real 
quality, but merely an idea that arises upon view- 
i^ a plurality of things, whether conjunctly or in^ 
succession. An arithmetical proportion is agreea- 
ble in numbers ; but have we any reason to infer 
tiiat it must also be agreeable in quantity P At that 
rate, a geometrical proportion, and many others 
which are agreeable in numbers, ought ^o to be 
agreeable in quantity. In an endle^sa variety of pro- 

Eortions, it would be wond^ftjl, if there never should 
appen a coincidence of any one agreeable proporr 
tipn in botW Qne example is given in the numbers 
16, '24, and 36; but to be convinced that this agree- 
able coincidence is merely accidental, we need on- 
ly reflect, that the same proportions are not appli- 
cable to the external figure of a house, and far less 
to a columq. 

That we arp frapaed by nature to relish propor- 
tion as well as regularity, is indisputable ; but that 
agreeable proportion should, like cuncorji in sounds, 
be confined to t^ertain priecise measures, is not war- 
ranted by experience : on the contrary, we learn 
from experience, that proportion admits more and 
less; that several proportions are each of them 
agreeable : and that we are not sensible of dispro- 
portion^ till the difference between the quantities 
compared become the most striking circumstance. 
Columns evidently admit different proportions equal- 
ly agreeable ; and so do houses, rooms, and other 
parts of a building. This leads to an interesting 
reflection : the foregoing difference between co»r: 



3de Chrdemngand [eHii>. 

• 

cord «|d piopottion, ie an ad^iopal iastapce of 
that admirable harmony which aub^sts among tke 
fieveral branches of the human frame. The ear is 
an accurate judge of sounds, and of theif dmaHaat 
differences ; and that concord in sounds should be 
Regulated by accurate measures, is perfectly well 
3iiited to this accuracy of perception ; the eye is 
inore uncertain about the size of a large object thaai 
of one that is small ; and at a distance ah object 
appears less than at hand. Delicacy of perc^tic»i, 
therefore, with respect to proportion \n quahtites, 
would be an useless quality ; and it is much bettei! 
ordered, that there should be such a latitude with 
wti^ot to a^eeable proportioni^, as to corr espox^ 
to the uoG^rtainty of the ey^ with respect to qumi- 
tity.; ■ ■ ' 

But all "(he beauties of this subject are not yet 
displayed : and it is too interesting to be passed 
over in a cursory view. I proceed to observe, tbat 
to make the eye as delicate with respect to propor- 
tion as the ear is with respegt to concord, would 
notoriVy be an useless quality, but be the source of 
continual pain and uneasiness. I need go no fur- 
ther for a proof than the very room I occupy at pre- 
sent : for every step I take varies to me, m appear- 
ance, the proportion of length to breadth; at that 
rate,! should not be happy but in one precise spot, 
where the proportion appears agreeable. Let me fur- 
ther obsierve, that it would be singular indeed to find, 
in the nature of man, any two principles in perpet- 
ual opposition to each other: and yet this would 
be the case, if proportion were circlimscribed like 
concord; for it would iexclade all but one of those 
proportions that utility requires in different build- 
in^., sttiij in different parts of the same building. 

^ ^l* iWovokes a smile to find writers acknowledg-* 
^g; toe nee^sity of accurate prpportiQps, and yet 



CHAP. St4«] AsoM/eetwe. 343 

i£fferii)g widely Alyiut them. Laying snide reason* 
ing philosophy, one fact universally allowed, ought 
to have undeceived them, thiA the same proportionisi 
wfaicli are agreeable in a model, are not agreeable 
in a large building; a room 40 feet in length and 
24 in breadth and height, is well proportioned ; but 
a room 12 feet wide and high and 24 long ap* 
proaches to a gallery. 

Perault, in his comparison of the ancients and 
moderns,^ is the only author who runs to the oppo- 
site extreme : maintaining, that the different pro- 
portions assigned to each order of columns are ar- 
bitrary, and that the beauty of these proportion's is 
entirely the effect of custom. This betrays igno- 
rance of human nature, which evidently delights in 
proportion as well as in regularity, order and pro- 
priety. B ut without any acquaintance with human 
nature, a single reflection might have convinced 
him of his error. That if these proportions had not 
originaUy been agreeable, they could not have been 
established by custom. 

To iftustrate the present point, I shall add a few 
examples of the agreeableness of different propor- 
tions. In a mimptuoos edifice, the capital rooms 
ought to be large, for otherwise they will not be 
proportioned to the size of the building : and for the 
same reason, a very large room is improper in a 
small house. But in things thus related, the mind 
requires not a precise or single proportion, rejecting 
all others ; on the contrary, many different propor- 
tions are made equally welcome. In all buildings 
accordingly, we nnd rooms of different proportions 
equally agreeable, eveti where the proportion 
is not Influenced by utility. With respect to the 
height of a room, the proportion it ought to bear to 
the length and breadth, is arbitrary ; and it cannot 



I' 



S44 Gardening and [chap. 24 ^ 

beotherwiise, considering the uncertainty of the eye 
as to the height of a room, when it exceeds 17 or 
18 feet. In columns again, even architects must 
confess, that the proportion of height and thickness 
varies betwixt 8 diameters and 10, and that every 
roportion between these extremes is agreeable. — 
ut this is not all. There must certainly be a fur- 
ther variation of proportion, depending on the size 
of the column: a row of columns 10 feet high, and 
a row twice that height, require different proportions: 
the iotercolumniations must also differ according to 
the height of the row. 

Proportion of parts is not only itself a beauty, 
but is inseparably connected with a beauty of the 
highest relish, that of concord or harmony ; which 
will be plain from what follows. A room of which 
the parts are all finely adjusted to each other, strikes 
us with the beauty of proportion. It strikes us at 
the same time with a pleasure far superior : the 
length, the breadth, the height^ the windows, raise 
each of them separately an emotion ; these emo- 
tions are similar: and though faint when fdtt sepa- 
rately, they produce in conjunction the emotion of 
concord or harmony, which is extrecaely pleasant,*^ 
On the other hand, where the length of a room fax 
exceeds the breadth, the mind, comparing together 
parts so intimately connected, immediately per- 
ceives a disagreement or disproportion which dis- 
gusts. But this is not all: viewing them separately, 
different emotions are produced, that of grandeur 
from the great length, and that oif UGueannes or lit^ 
tleness from the small breadth, which in union are 
disagreeable. by their discordance. Hence it is, 
that a long gallery, however convenient for, exer- 
cise, is not an agreeable figure of a room: we con- 
sider it, like a stable, as destined for use, and ejc-r 

* See Chaptfir II. Part W., 



cfpAP. 44.] Architecture. - 345 

pect not that in any other respect it should be agree- 
able.* ( 

Regularity and proportion are essential in build- ' 
ings destined chiefly or solely to please the eye, 
because they produce intrinsic beauty. But a skil- 
ful artist will not confine his view to regularity and 
proportion : he will also study congruity, which is 
perceived when the form and ornaments of a struc- 
ture are suited to the purpose for which it is intend- 
ed. The sense of congruity dictates the following 
rulcj That every building have an expression cor- 
responding to its destination : A palace ought to be 
sumptuous and grand ; activate dwelling, neat and 
modest ; a play-house, gay and splendid ; and a 
monument, gloomy and melancholy .f A Heathen 
temple has a double destination : It is considered 
chiefly as a house dedicated to some divinity ; and 
in that respect it ought to be grand, elevated, and 
.magnificent : it is considered also as a place of 
worship ; and in that respect it ought to be some- 
what dark or gloomy, because dimness produces 
that tone of mind which is suited to humility and 
devotion. A Christian church is not considered to 
be a bouse for the Deity, but merely a place of wor- 
ship : it ought therefore to be decent and plain, 
without much ornament : a situation ought to be 



* A covered passage connec6ng a winter-garden with the dwelling-housoi 
would answer the purpose of walking in bad weather much better than a 
gallery. A slight roof supported by slender piilarS) whether of wood or stone > 
would be sufficient ; filling up the spaces between the pillars with ever- 
greilns) so as to give verdure aitd exclude wind. 

t A house for the poor ought to. have an appearance suited to its destina- 
tion. The new hospital in Paris for foundlings, errs against this rule ; for 
it has more the air of a palace than of an hospital. Propriety aAd conve- 
nience ought to be studied in lodging the indigent ; but in sucC houses splen^ 
dour and magnificence are out of all rule. For the same reason, a nakea sta- 
tue or picturei scarce decent any where, is in a church intolerable. A sump^ 
tuous charity-school, beside its impropriety) giv«s the children an unhappy 
taste for high living. 



1 



S4£r Gardening and [cha^. 24/ 

chosen low and retired : because the congregatioii 
during worship, ought to be humble and disengaged 
from the world. Columns, beside their chief ser- 
vice of being supports, may contribute to that pe-^ 
culiar expression which the destination of a build- 
ing requires: columns of different proportions,- 
serve to express loftiness, lightness, &c as well 
as strength. Situation also may contribute to ex-^ 
pression: conveniency regulates the situation of a 
private dwelling-house ; but as I have had occa- 
sion to observe,* the situation of a palace ought to 
be lofty. 

And this leads to a question, Whether the situa- 
tion, where there happens to be no choice, ought 
in any measure, to regulate the form of the edifice ? 
The connexion between a large house and the 
neighbouring fields, though not intimate, denrands 
however some congruity. It v;ould, for example^^ 
displease us to find an elegant building throwrt 
away upon a wild uncuhivated country : congrdity 
requires a polished field for such a building ; and 
beside the pleasure of congruity, the spectator i^ 
sensible of the pleasure of concordance from the 
similarity of the emotionis produced by the two ob- 
jects. The old Gothic form of building, seem» 
well suited to the rough uncultivated regions where ^ 
it was invented : the only mistake was the trans- 
ferring this form to the fine plains of France and ' 
Italy, better fitted for buildings in the Grecian taste J 
but by refining upon the Gothic form, every thing 
possible has be6n done to reconcile it to its new- 
situation. The profuse variety of wild and granid; 
objects about Inveraiy, demanded a house in the' 
Gothic form ; and every one must approve th^ tifctte^ 
of the proprietor, in adjusting so finely the appestf- 
ance of his house to that of the country where it is 
placed. • 

*' Chapter X. 



CHAP* 24] ArchUeiEture: SVt 

. The external structure of, a great house, leads 
paturallj to its internal structure. A spacious room, 
which is the first that commonly receives us, seems 
a bad contrivance in several respecti^. Iii the first 
place, when immediately from the open air we step 
into such a room, its size in appearance is dimi- 
nished by contrast : it looks little compared with 
Jbat great canopy the sky. In the next place, when 
it recovers its grandeur, as it soon doth, it rives a 
diminutive appearance to the rest of the house : 
passing from it, every apartment looks little. Thid 
room therefore rtiay oe aptly compared to the swoln 
commencement of an epic poem; 

•' ; •,■••' ■. ,. • 

Bella per Ematbios plusquam civilia campps. 

in the third place, by its situation it serves onlj? 
for a waiting-room, and a passage to the principal 
apartments ; instead of being reserved, as it ought 
to be, for entertaining company: a great room, 
tvhich enlarges the liiind and gives a certain, eleva.- 
tion to the spirits, is destined by nature for conver- 
sation. Rejecting therefore this.foriti, I take a hirlt 
from the climax in writing for another form that 
appears more suitable : a handsome portico, pro- 
portioned to the size and fashion of the fronit, leads 
idto a waiting-room of a larger size, and that to 
the great ^ oom ; all by a progression from small to 
great. If thie house be very large, there may be 
space for the foUdwirig ?uit of rooms : first, a por- 
tico ; second, a passage within the house*, boitnded 
by a double row of columns coniiected by arcades ; 
third, an octagon room^ or of anyiother figure, 
aboiit the centre of the building ; and, lastly, the 
great room. 

A double row of windows must be disagreeable 
by distributing the light uneqiJ^Uy : the space in 
particular between the rows is always gloomy. For 

Vol. II. 44(2 



N ...» « - . H » 

^ 548 Gardening and [chap. 24. 

that reasoD, a room of greater height than can be 
conveniently served by a singly row, ought regu- 
larly to he lighted from the root. Artists have ge- 
nerally an inclination to form the great room info 
a dpuble cube, e^en with tho' inconvenience of a 
.d6ub|e row of windows : they are pleased with the 
regularity, overlooking that it is mental only, and 
hot visible to the eye, which seldom can distinguisb 
'between the height of 24 feet and that of 30.* 

Of all the emptions that can be raised by archi^ 
Hpcture, grandeur is that which has the greatest in- 
fluence on the mind ; and it ought therefore to be 
the chief study of the artist, to raise this emotion 
in great buildings destined to please the eye. But 
as grandeur depends partly on size, it seems so fstf 
^unluQJ^yJbx architercture, that it is governed by re- 
iguladty^s^nd proportion, which never deceive the 
.eye by mak;iQg objects appear larger than they are 
in reality :^ such deception, as above observed, is 
UQvej fpund but with some remarkable dispropor- 
tion of, paqrt^. But though regularity and propor- 
.tiQn.cpntribule nothing to grandeur as far as that 
emoUou Aepends on size, they in a different re^ 
speci cpnt^nbute greatly to ity as has been explain- 
ed, above-f, . . , , 
^ Next; of ornaments, which contribute to give 
^buildings a peculiar expression. It ha§ been doubts 
, ed^ whetj),e,r a building can regularly admit any pr- 
nsunent but^what is useful, or at least has tEat ap- 
pearance* But considerii^ the different purposes^ 
of architecture, a fine a» well as. an useful art, there 
is no good reason why ornaments may not be adde^ 



, S V . 



* One whp has not ^ven peculiar attention, will scarce imanhe how im- 
perfect t>ur judgment is about distances) without experience. . Oar looks be* 
,m^ genendly^ directed to objectsrupODtbe ground around us> we jud^e tole- 
vaBly of horizontal distances : Imt seldom baving occasion to look upward 
«tQ a perpendicular Imei we scarce can form any judgment of diatauces |n 
ffait directioD. . ^ 

tdiaptcrtV. 



<;pAP. 24.] Jirchitectiim 9148 

to please the ef e without ^nJ relation to us$. This 
Jiberty is allowed in poetry, painting, an4 garden- 
ing, and whj not in architecture considered as a 
fine art ? A private dyrellihg-hpuse, it is' true, and 
other edifices where us^ is the chief aim, admit not 
rp^lar|7 aiiy ornament but vifhat h^ .t)ie appear* 
apjt:^, at least, of use : but temples ^liumpjia) 
arches, and other bnijdipgs intei|ded cfaiej^f pr 
solely for show, admit every sort of ornapfient 

A thing intended merely as ^n ornaipent, may be 
of any figure and of any feind that fancy can sug- 
gest ; if it please jthe spectator, the arjtist gains his 
end. Statues, vases, sculpturi? upon stone, whether 
hasso or alto relievo, are beautiful ornaments re- 
lished in all civilised countries. The placing such 
ornaments so ^$ to produce the best effect, is the 
only nicety. A istatue in perfection is an enchant- 
ing work ; ayad we naturally require that it should 
t>e seen in every directioiii, and 2^t differeqt ^s- 
tances ; for which reason, statues employed as or- 
naments are proper to adorn the great staircase that 
leqids t9 the principal door of a palace, or to oc- 
cupy the void between pillars. But a niche in the 
external front is not a proper place for a statue ; 
and statues upon the roqf, or upoii the ,top of a 
wall, would give pain by seeming to be in clanger 
<^f tumbling. To adorn the top of a yvBll withia 
row of vases is £^n unhappy concqit, by placing 
things apparently of use where they cannot be of 
j^y u^e. As to basso and alto relievo, I observe, 
that in architecture as well as in gardening, contra- 
dictory depressions ou^ht tobeavoided: for which 
reason, the lightness and delicacy of carved wpi|c 
^uits ill with the firmness and solidity pf a pedes- 
tal: upon the pedestal,^ Whether of a $t^tti€f or ^a 
Qplump, the ancients never ventured any bold^^ 
pm^ment than the basso. relievo. 



9fi9 Gardenifig uni [cha?. SMk. 

One^t first view will naturally take it for grant-r 
cd that in the ornaments under consideration beau- 
ty IS indispensable. It goes a great way undoubt- 
edly ; but, upon trial, we find manjr things esteemed 
as highly ornamental that have little or no beauty* 
There are various circumstances, beside beauty,' 
that tend to make an agreeable impression. For 
instance, the reverence we have for the ancients ia 
a fruitful source of ornaments. Amalthea's horn 
has always been a favourite ornament, because of 
its connexion with a lady who was honoured witli 
the care of Jupiter in his infancy. A fat old fel- 
low and a goat are suriely not graceftil forms; and 
yet Selinus and his companions are every wheret 
fashionable ornaments. What else but our fond- 
ness for antiquity can make the horrid form of a 
sphinx so much as endurable ? Ori^al destina- 
tion is another circuriistance that Has influ^ee te 
add dignity to things in themselves abundantly trH 
vial. In the sculpture of a marble chimney-piece, 
instruments of a Grecian or Roman sacrifice are 
beheld with pleasure.; original destination render- 
ing them venerable as well as their antiquity. Let 
some modern cutlery ware substituted, though 
not less beautiful ; th6 artist will be thouj^ht whiia>^ 
siqal, if not absurd. Triumphal arches, pyramids, 
obelisks, are beautiftil forms ; but the nobleness of 
theiir original destination has greatly enhanced the 
pleasure we take in them. A statue, supposed to 
be an Apollo, will with an antiquary lose much rf 
its grace when discovered to have been done for a 
barber's apprentice. Long robes appear noble, i^ 
singly for their flowing lines, but for their being 
the habit of niagistrates ; and a scarf acquires -aa 
air of dignity by being the badge of a superior or^ 
der of churchmen. These examples may be thought 
sufficient for a speclrlqen : a diligent inquiry iato 
}]fuman nature will discover other influencing prin- 



CHAP. 34.] Arddteciure. 361 

ciples*; and hence it is, that of all subject?, orna- 
ments admit the greatest variety in point of taste. 

Things merely ornamental appear more gay and 
showy than things that take on the appearance of 
use. A knot of diamonds m the hair is splendid ; 
\>ut diamonds have a more modest appeeirance 
when used as clasps or buttons. The former are 
more proper for a young beauty, the latter after 
liiarriage. 

And this leads to ornaments having relation to 
use. Ornaments of that kind are governed by a 
different principle, which is, That they ought to be 
of a form suited to their real or apparent destina- 
tion. This rule is applicable as well to ornaments 
that make a component part of the subject, as to or- 
naments that are only accessory. With relation to 
the former, it never can proceed from a good taste 
to make a tea-spoon resemble the leaf of a tree ; 
for such a form is inconsistent with the destination 
of a teai-spoon. An eaglets paw is an ornament no 
less improper for the foot of a chair or table : be- 
cause it gives it the appearance of weakness, incon- 
sistent with its destination of bearing weight. Blind 
windows are sometimes introduced to preserve the 
appearance of regularity : in which case the deceit 
otight carefully to be concealed : if visible, it marks 
the irregularity in the clearest manner, signifying, 
that real windows ought to have been there, could 
they have been made consistent with the internal 
structure. A pilaster is another example of the 
same sort of ornament ; and the greatest error 
against its seeming destination of a support, is to 
sink it so far into the wall is to make it lose that 
seeming. A composition representing leaves and 
branches, with by-ds perching upon them, has been 
loQg in fashion foFa candlestick; but none pf these 
particulars is in any degree suited to that destina- 
tion. 



352 Gardening and [chap. S|^ 

A large marble ba$on supported \>j fi^hes^ is a 
eonceit much relished ia fountains. This is an ex* 
ample of accessory ornaments in a bad taste: for 
fiishes bere are unsuitable to tbeir apparent destina^ 
tion. No less so are the supports ol a coach, carveid 
in the figure of Dolphins or Tritons : for what have 
these marine beings tq do on dir land ? and what 
•support can they be to a coach r 

. In a column wp have an example of both kinds 
of ornament. Where columns are employed in the 
front of a building to support an entablature, they 
belong to the first kind ; where employed to con? 
uect with detached offices, they are rather of the 
other kind. As a column is a capital ornaipent in 
Grecian architecture, it well deserves to be handled 
at large. 

With respect to the form of this ornament, I ob? 
serve, that a circle is a more agreeable figure thap 
a square, a globe than a cube, and a cylinder thai| 
a parallelopipedon. This last, in the language of 
architecture, is saying that a column is a more 
agreeable figure than a pilaster ; and for that reay 
son, it ought to be prieferred, all other circum- 
stances being equal. . Another reason concurs, that 
a column connected with a wall, which is a plaiQ 
surface, makes a greater ^ variety thap a piljistcr. 
There is^ an additional reason for rejecting pilasr 
ters in the external front of a building, arising from 
a principle unfolded above,*namely, a tendency 
in man, to advance every thing to its perfection, 
£^nd to its conclusion. If, for example,! see a thing 
obscurely in a dim light and by disjointed partsu 
that tendency prompts me to connect the disjoin|;ea 
parts into a whole : I supposed it to be, for examr 
pie, a horse ; and my eye-sight being obedient to 
the conjecture, I immediately perceive a hora^e, al- 

Chafiteriy. " . 



I ' 



<Mkr. ^3 Achitecture. 553 

most as distiflctly as in datyJight. This principle 
is applicable to the case in hand. The most su- 
perb front, at a grep^t distance, appears a plain sur- 
face : approaching gradually, we begin first to per- 
ceive inequalities, and then pillars ; but whether 
round or square, we are uncertain : our curiosity 
anticipating otir progress, cannot rest in suspense! 
being prompted, by the tendency mentioned, to 
suppose the most coipplete pillar^ or that which is 
the most agreeable to tne eye, we immediately per- 
ceive or seem to perceive, a number of columns ; 
if upon a near approach we find pilasters only, the 
disappointment makes these pilasters appear dis- 
agreeable ; when abstracted from that circumstance, 
they would only have appeared somewhat less 
agreeable. But as this deception cannot happen 
in the inner front, inclosing a court, I see no reason 
for excluding pilasters from Such a front, when 
there is any cause for preferring them before co- 
lumns. 

With respect now to the parts of a column, a 
bare uniform cvlinder without a capital, appears 
naked; and without a base, appears too ticklishly 
placed to stand firm :* it ought therefore to have 
^me finishing at the top and at the bottom. Hence 
the three chief parts of a column, the shaft, the 
base, and the capital. Natufe undoubtedly requires 
proportion among these parts, but it admits variety 
of proportion. I suspect that the proportions in 
use have been influenced in some degree by the 
human figure ; the capital being conceived as the 
head, the base as the feet. With respect to the base 
indeed, the principle of utility interposes to vary it 
from the human figured the base must be so pro- 

* A column without a base is disagreeable^ because it seems in a tottering 
condition ; yet a tree without abase iis agreeable ; and the reason is, that we 
know it to be firmly rooted. . TOs obeenration shfi^ws how nrach taste is iii'- 
wtene^a by rell«^oa. • 



334 Gardening and [ckxp. 24. 

portioned to the whole, as to give the column the 
appearance of stability. 

We find three orders of columns among the 
Greeks, the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian, 
distinguished from each other by their destination 
as well as by their ornaments. It has been warmly 
disputed, whether any new order can be added to 
these : some hold the affirmative, and give for in- 
stances the Tuscan and Composite ; others deny, 
and maintain that these properly are not distinct 
orders, but only the original orders with some slight 
variations. Among writers who do not agree upon 
any standard for distinguishing the different orders 
from each other, the dispute can never have an 
end. What occurs to me on this subject is what 
follows. 

The only circumstances that can serve to distin- 
guish one order from another, are the form of the 
column, and its destination. To make the first a 
distingubhing mark, without regard to the other, 
would multiply these orders without end; for a 
colour is not more susceptible of difierent shades, 
than a column is of different forms. Destination 
is more limited, as it leads to distinguish columns 
into three kinds or orders : one plain and strong, for 
the purpose of supporting plain and massy build- 
ings; one delicate and graceful, for supporting 
buildings of that character 5 and between these, one 
for supporting buildings of a middle character — 
This distinction, which regards the difierent purpon 
ses of a column, is not naturally liable to any ob- 
jection, considering that it tends also to regulate 
the form, and in some measure the ornaments, of a 
column. To enlarge the division by taking in 'a 
greater variety of purposes, would be of little ]use,' ' 
and, if admitted, would have no end; for from the 
very nature of the foregoing division, there can he 
no good reason for adding^ a fourth order, more tha^ 



crfAP.-24.], Architecture, 355 

a fifth, a sixth, &c. without any possible circum- 
scription. 

To illustrate this doctrine^ I mrSiQ the following 
observation. If we regard destination orfly, the 
1 iiscan IS of the same order with the Doric, and 
the Composite with the Corinthian ; but if we re- 
gai^ form merely, they are of different orders. 

The ornaments of these three orders ought to be 
so tJontrived as to make them look like what they 
are intended for. Plain and rustic ornaments would 
he not a little discordant with the elegance of the 
Corinthian order ; and ornaments sweet and deli- 
cate no less so, with the strength of the Doric. For 
that reason, I am not altogether satisfied with the 
ornaments of the last mentioned order: if they be 
not too delicate, they are at least too numerous for 
a pillar in which the character of utility prevails 
over that of beauty; The crowdiiig of ornaments 
would be more suffefable in a column of an oppo- 
sftd character. But this is a slight objection, and 
I wish I could think the same of what follows. 
The Corinthian order has been the favourite of two 
thousand years, and yet I cannot force myself Xo 
reKsh its capital; The invention of this florid ca- 
pital is ascribed to the sculptor CalHmachus, whd 
took a hint from the plant Acanthus^ growing round 
a basket placed accidentally upon it; and in fact 
the capital under consideration represents pretty 
accurately a basket so . ornamented. This object, 
or its imitation in stone, placed upon a pillar, may 
look well ; but to make it the capital of a piflar in- 
tended to support a building, must give the pillar 
an appearancfe incon^Jstent with its destination : 
an Acanthus, or anj^ tender plant, may requires sup- 
port^ but is altogether insufficient to support any 
thing heavier than a bee or a butterfly. This ca- 
pital must also bear the weight of another objec- 
tion : to represent a virie wreathing round a columjoi 

Vol. n. 46a 



S66 hardening and [cukt. 24. 

with its root seemingly in the ^ound, is natural ; 
but to represent an Acalithus, or any plant, as 
growing on the top of a column, is unnatural. The 
ele^nce of this capital did probably at first draw 
aveiroverits impropriety; and now by long use 
it has gained an establishment, respected by every 
artist Such is tiie force of custom, even in con- 
tradiction to nature ! 

it will not be gaining much ground to urge that 
the basket, or Vase, is understood to be the capital^ 
and that the stdms and leaves of the plant are to 
be considered as ornaments merely ; for, excepting 
a plant, nothing can be a more improper stq)port 
for a great building than a basket or vase even of 
the firmest texture. 

With respect tobuildings of every sort, one nikry 
dictated by. utility, is, that they be firm and stable^ 
Another rule, dictated by beauty, is, that they also 
s^pear so : lor tvhat appears tottering and in ha- 
zard, of tUQibliog^ produceth in the spectator the 
painful emojlion, or fear, instead of the pleasant 
emotion.of beauty ; and, accordingly, it is the great 
care of the artist, that every part of hb edifice ap- 
pear to be ivelisupported, Proeopius, describing 
the church of St* Sophia in Constantinople, one of 
the wonders of the world, mentions with applause 
a. part of the fabric placed above the east front in 
form of a half^moon, so contrivedf as to. inspire both 
fear and admiration : for though^ says he, it is per* 
fe^tly well supported, yet it is suspended in sucti 
a manner as if it were to tumble down the next 
moment This conceit is a sort of false wit in ar- 
chitecture^ which men were fond of in the infancy 
of \ the fine arts* A turtet jutting out from an an* 
gle in the uppermost story of a Gothic tower, is a 
witticism of tne same kind. 

To stcceed in allegorical or emblematic orna- 
tiients, is no slight, effiofrt of genius; for it is ex- 



CHAT, 24.] Architecture. 867 

tremely difficult to dispose them so in a building £id 
to produce any good effect* The mixing them with 
realities, makes a miserable jumble of truth and 
fiction.* In a basso-relievo on Antonine's pilla)!) 
rain obtained by the prayers of a Christian legion, 
is expressed by joining to the group of soldiers a 
rainy Jupiter, with waterin abundance falling from 
his head and beard. De Piles, fond of the conceit, 
carefully informs his reader, that he must not take 
this for a real Jupiter, but for a symbol which ampng 
the Pagans sigmfied rain : he never once consideril 
that a symbol or emblem ought not to make part 
of a group representing real objects or real events; 
but be so detached, as even at first view to appear 
fin emblem. But this is not all, nor the chief point: 
every emblem ought to be rejected that is not 
clearly expressive of its meaning ; for if it be in 
any degree obscure, it puzzles, and doth not please. 
I'he temples ojf Ancient and Modern Virtue in the 
gardens of Stow, appear not at first view emblenir 
atical ; and when we are inforoied that they are so, 
it is not easy to gather their meaning : the specta- 
tor sees one temple entire, another in ruins ; bu| 
without an explanatory inscription, hei may guess, 
but cannot be certayj, that the former being, dedi- 
cated to Ancient Virtue, the latte^ tct Modern Vir- 
tue, are intended 9» ^ satire upon the present times. 
On the other haqd, a tritp emblem, like a trite 
simile, is disgustful.f Nor ought au emblem more 
than a simile to be founded on low or familiar ob- 
jects ; for if these be not agreeable as well as their 
ineaning, the emblem upon the whole will not be 
relished. A room in a dwelling-house containing 
a monument to a deceased friend, is dedicated to 
Melancholy : it has a dock that strikes every min* 
lite, to signify how swiftly time passes — ^upon thip 

* See Chapter XX. Sect. v. ' t See Chfgptcr Vm, 



358 Gardening and [chap. 24:. 

monument, >veeping figures and other hackneyed 
prnaaients conittionly found upon tomb-stones, 
with a stuffed raven in a corner— vqrses on death, 
and other serious subjects, inscribed all around.-r- 
The objects are too familiar, and the artifice too 
apparent to produce the intended effect,? 

Tbei statue of Moses striking a rock from which 
pirate: actually issues, is also in a false taste ; for it 
is m^ixiqg reality with representation. Moses him- 
self may bring water out of the rock, but this mira- 
cle is too much for his statue. The same objectioh 
lies against ^ cascade where the statue of a water- 
god pours out of his urn real water, 

I am more doyhtful whether the same objection 
]ikes against the employing statues of animaJs as 
supports, that of a Negro, for example, supporting a 
dial, statues of fish supporting a basin of water, 
Termes supporting a chimney-piece ; for when a 
9tone is used £^s a support, where is the incongruity, 
it will be said, tq cut it into the form of an animal ? 
But leaving this doubtful, another objiaction occurs, 
That suqh designs must in some measure be disa- 
greeable, by the appearance of giving pain to a sen- 
sitive being. 

It is observed above of gardening, that it contri- 
butes to rectitude of manners, by inspiring gaiety 
smd benevolence. I add another observation, That 
both gardening and architecture contribute to the 
9ame end, by inapiring a taste for neatness and ele-t 
ganc^. In iBcotland, the regularity and polish even 
of a turnpike-road has some influence of this kincl 
ypon the low people in th^ neighbourhood. They 

4 , 

* In the city of Mexico, there was a palace termed Uie house ofaffiiclwrtt 
where Montesriima retired updn losing any of his fficnds, or upon any public 
calan]|ity. This bouse was better adjusted to its, destination : it inspii«d *j 
sort of horror : all was blaek and dismal : small windows shut up with grate?, 
jcwce allowing passage to the light- 



I 

« 



r 



CHAP^ 24}*} Jtrchitectufie. 359 

become fond of regularity and neatness; which is 
displayed, first upon their yards arid little enclosures 
^nd ^lext within doors. A taste for regularity and 
neatness, thus acquired, is extended by degrees to 
dress, and even to behaviour and manners. The 
author of a history of Switzerland, describing the 
fierce manners of the Plebeians of Bern three or four 
centuries ago, continually inured to success in war, 
which made them insolently aim at a change of gov- 
ernment in order to establish a pure democracy, 
observes that no circumstance tended more to sweet- 
en their manners, and to make them fond of peace, 
than the public buildings carried on by the senate 
for ornar][ienting their capital : particularly a fine 
town-house, q,nd a magnificent church, which to 
this day, says our author^ stands its ground as one 
q{ the finest in Eurppc. 



360 



CHAPTER XXV. 



Standard of Taste. 

*' THAT there is no disputing about taste,'' 
meaning taste in its figurative as well as proper 
sense, is a saving so generally received as to have 
become a proverb. One thing even at first view is 
evident, that if the proverb holds true with respect 
to taste in its prope^ meaning, it must hold equally 
true with respect to our other external senses : if 
the pleasures; of the palate disdain a comparative 
trial; and reject all criticism, the pleasures of touch, 
of smell, of Qound^and even of sight, must be equal- 
ly privileged. At that r^te, a man is not within the 
reach of censure, even where he prefers the Sara- 
cen's head upon a sign-post before the best tabla- 
ture of Raphael, or a rude Gothic tower before the 
finest Grecian building : or where he prefers the 
smelt of a rotten carcass before that of the most 
odoriferous flower, or discords 'before the most ex- 
quisite harmony. 

But we cannot stop hqre. If the pleasures of 
external sense be exempted from criticism, why not 
every one of our pleasures, from whatever source 
derived ? if taste in its proper sense cannot be 
disputed, there is little room for disputing it in its 
figurative sense. The proverb accordingly com- 
prehends both; and in that large sense may be re- 
solved into the following general proposition. That 
with respect to the perceptions oi sense, by which 
some objects appear agreeable, some disiigreeable, 



CHAP. 25.] Standard of Tdste. 3&1 

there is not such a thing as a good or a bad, a right, ' 
or a lorong; that every man's taste is to himself ' 
an ultimate standard without appeal ; and conse* 
quently that there is no ground of censure against 
any one, if such a one there be, who prefers Black- 
more before Homer, selfishness before benevolence, 
or cowardice befoie magnanimity. 

The proverb in the foregoing examples is indeed 
carried very far : it seems difficult, however, to sap 
its foundation, or with success to attack it from any 
quarter: for is not every man equally a judge of 
what ought to be agreeable or disagreed&le td him- 
self P doUi it not seem whimsical, and perhaps ab- 
surd, to assert, that a man oUgkt not to be pleased 
when he is, or that he ought to be) pleased when ho 
is not ? ^ 

This reasoning may perplex, but will never af- 
ford conviction : every one of taste will reject it as 
false, however unqualified to detect the fallacy. At 
the same time, though no man of taste will assent 
to the proverb as holding tnle in every- case, no 
man will affirm that it holds true in no case : ob- 
jects there are, undoubtedly, that we may like or 
dislike indiiferently, without any imputation upon 
our taste. Were a philosopher to make a scale 
for human pleasures, ne Would not think of making 
divisions without end; but would rank together 
many pleasures arising perhaps from different ob- 
jects, either as ec^ually conducing to happiness, ot 
differing so imperceptibly as to make a separation- 
unnecessary. Nature hath taken this course, at 
least it appears so to the generality of mankind. 
There may be subdivisions without end ; but w6 
are only sensible of the grosser divisions, compre- 
hending each 'of them various pleasures equally 
affectiiig ; to^these the proverb is applicable in the 
strictest sense ; for with respect to pleasures of the 
same rank, what ground can there be for preferring 



$B2 'Standard of Task. [chap. iS; 

one before another? if a preference in fact be ^- 
ven by any individual, it cannot proceed from 
taste, but fiom custom, imitation, or some peculi- 
aritj of mind. 

Nature in her scale of pleasures, has been spac- 
ing of divisions : she hath wisely and benevolent- 
ly filled every division with many pleasures, in 
order that individuals may be contented with their 
own lotj without envying that of others: Many 
hands must be employed to procure us the conve- 
niences of life ; and it is necessaiiy that the differ- 
ent l»Mches of business, whether more or less 
agreeable^ be filled with hands : a taste too refined 
would obstruct that plan ; for it would crowd some 
employments, leaving others, no less useful, to- 
tally neglected. In our present cohdition, lucky it 
is that the plurality are not delicate in their choice, 
but fall in readily with the occupations, pleasures^ 
food and company, that fortune throws in their 
way ; and if at first there be any displeasing circum- 
stance, custom soon m^kes it easy. 

The proverb will hold true . as to the particulars 
now explained; but when applied in general to 
every subject of taste, the difficulties to be encoun- 
tered are insuperable. We need only to mention 
the difficulty that arises from human nature itself ; 
do we not talk of a good and a bad taste ? of a 
right and a wrong taste ? and upon that supposi- 
tion, do we notj with great confidence, censure 
writers^ painters, architects, and every one who 
deals in the fine arts ? Are such criticisms absurd, 
and void of common sense ? have the foregoing ex- 
pressions, familiar in all languages and among all 
people, no sort of meaning ? This can hardly be ; 
for what is universal, must have a foundation in" 
nature.. If we can reach that foundation, the stand- 
ard of taste will no longer be a secret. 



r 



^0Aii.2B.i Stfinthird of Ttisie. 06S 



r 

' We have a sense or conviction of a coslmbn ha* 
ture, not only in our own species, but in every spe* 
ci€3 of animaU : and our tonviction is verified by 
experience ; for there appesurs a remait6.bj[e unifor:^ 
inity among creatutes of the same kind, and a de- 
formity no less remarfcablf^ among creatures of dH^« 
£&rent kinds* This common nature is conceived to 
be a model or standard for each individual that be^ 
longs to the kind. Hence it is a wonder to £nd an 
individual deviating from the common nature of 
Ihe species, whether in its internal or ext^nal 
construction : a child born with aversion to its mo^ 
therms milk, is a wonder, no less than if born with^ 
but a mouth, or with more than one.* This con- 
viction of a common nature in every species^ paved 
the way finely foi" distributing things into genera 
and spwies ; to which We are extremely pmne, not 
only with regard to animals and vegetables, where 
nature has led the way ; bilt sdlH> with regard to 
many other things^ where there is no ground for 
such distribution, but fancy merely* ^, 

With respect to the common nature of man iii 
particular^ we have a conviction that it is invaria- 
Ue not less than universal ; that it will be the dam^ 
hereafter as at present, and as it wsisin-time past; 
the same among all nations €md in all corners of 
the eartk Nor are we deceived ; because, giving 
allowance for the difference of culture and gradual 
refinement of manners, the fact corresponds to our 
eonvietion. 

We are so coridtitut^d, as to Conceive this com- 
mon nature, to be not only invariable, but also/ier- 
fect or right; and consequently that individuals 
ought to be made conformable to it* Every re- 
markable deviation from the standard makes ac-* 
fiordingly an impression upon us of imperfection^ 

* Sm Essays on Morality aatUStatural Beii^o, part I. .way ii. eh- 1 

Vol. IT. 46o 



3^ Standard of Tasti. [tkkP. 2^. 

kregulfitity, or disorder : it is disa^eeable, raises in 
us a paimnl emotion : monstrous births, exciting 
the curiosity of a philosopher, fail not at the same 
time to excite a sort of horror. 

This conviction of a com mem nature' or standard 
and of its perfection, accounts clearly for that re*-' 
markable conception we have of a right and a 
wrong sense or taste in morals. It accounts not 
less clearly for the cmicciption we have o^ a righ^ 
akid a wrong sense or taste in-the fine artSi^ A manr 
who, avoiding objects geirerally agreeable, delights 
in ofcr^cts generally disagreeable^ is condemned asr 
a monster: we disapprove his taste as bad or wrong, 
because we have a clear conception that he devi- 
ates from the common standard. If man were so 
framed as not to have any notion of » common 
standard, the proverb mentioned in the b^inniiig 
would hold univer^Uy, not only in the fine artSy 
but in morals : upon that supposition, the taste of 
every man, with respect to both, would to himself 
be an ultimate standard But as the conviction of a 
common standard is universal and a branch of our 
nature, we intuitively conceive a taste to be right 
or good, ^f conformable to the common standard,- 
and wrong or bad if disconformable. . 

No particular in human nature is mKHre univer- 
sal, than the uneasiness a man f^els when in mat- 
ters of importance his opinions are rejected by 
Others : why should difTerente in opinion create 
uneasiness, more than difference in stature, in coun^ 
tenance/or in dress? The conviction of a common 
standard explains the mystery: every man, gene- 
rally speaking, taking it for granted that his opi- 
nions agree with the common sense of mankind, is 
therefore disgusted with those who think i^erent-^ 
hr, not as differing from him, but as differing from 
the common standard : hence in all disputes, we 
find the parties^ eaah of them equally appealing 



/ 



r 



CHAP. 26;] Standard of TasH. 365 

. i^oastantly to the commcm sense of mankind aa tbe 
ultimate rule or standard. With respect to points 
^surbitraiy or indifferent, which are not supposed to 
]be regulated by any standard, individuals are per- 
mitted to think for themselves vi^ith impiimty: the 
same liberty is not indulged with respect to points 
that are reckoned of moment: for what reason, 
4Dther than that the standard by which these are 
regulated, ought as we judge, to produce an uni- 
formity of opinion in all men? In a word, to this 
conviction of a comm^^n standard must be wholly 
attributed, the pleasure we take in those who 
espouse the same principles and opinions with our- 
is^eivijes, as weU a3 the ' aversion we have at those 
who differ from us. In matters left indifferent by 
the standj^d, we find nothing of the same pleasure 
or pain : a l^QoJpsh man, unless swayed by conver 
nience^ reUsheth mi the contemplative man more 
than the active; his friends and companions are 
chosen in^ffe^ently x^Vit of either class : a painter 
consorts with a poet or musiciiLn, as readily as with 
those of his owa art ; and one is not the more 
^agreeable to me for loving beef, as I do^ qqj the 
Jess agreeable for pr^femng muttoq. 

I have ventured to say, that my disgust is raised, 
j^ot by differing from me, but by diffiering from 
what I judge tp be the CQmmon ^ndard. This 
point being of importance, ought to be firmly 
established. Men, it is true^ a^re prone to flatter 
themselves^ by taking it Sox granted that their opi- 
nions and their taste, are in all respects conform- 
able to the common standard ; but there may be 
exceptions, and experience shews there are some: 
there are instances without number, of persons who 
addicted to the grosser amusements of gaming, 
gating, drinking, without having any relish for 
more elegant pleasures, such, for example, as are 
f^orded by tne fine arts ; yet these very persons,^ 



966 Standard of Taste. [chap. 2ft. 

talking the same language with the rest of matt- 
kind, pronounce in favour of the more elegant plea- 
sures, and they invariably approve tho^e who have 
m more refinedf taste, being ashamed of their own 
as low and sensual. It is in vain to think of giving 
a reason for this singular impartiality, other than 
the authority 0f the common standard with resf^iect 
to the dignity of human nature :* and from the i«^ 
stance^ now given, we discover that the authority 
of that standard, even upon the most grovellilig 
souls, is so vigorous, as to prevail over self-par^ 
tiality, and to make them despise their own taste 
compared with the more elevated taste of others. 

Uniformity of taste and sentiment resulting frorti 
our conviction of a common standard, leads to twti 
important final causes ; the one respecting our duty, 
the other our pastime. Barely to mentionf the first 
shall be sufficient, because it does not properly be- 
ionff to the present undertakings Unhappy it would 
be tor u$f did not uniformity prevail in morals: that 
our actions should uniformly be directed to what 
is good and against what is ill, is the greatest bless- 
ing in society ; and in order to uniformity of ac- 
tion, uniformity of opinion and sentiment is indis- 
pensable. 

With respect to pastime in general, and the fine 
arts in particular, the final cause of uniformity is 
illustrious. Uniformity of taste gives opportunity 
for sumptuous and elegant buildings, for fine gar^ 
dens, and extensive embellishments, which please 
imiversaliy; and the reason, is, that withtmf uni- 
formity of taste, there could not be any Suitable re- 
ward, either of profit or honour, to encourage men 
of genius to labour in such woits, and to advance 
them toward perfection. The same uniformity of^ 
taste \s equally necessary to petfect the art of mvif* 

^ See CEftpter XT. 



fiUAV. 25,] SHandeard of Taste. 361 

# 

$ic, sculpture, and painting, and to support the 
expense they require after they are brought to per- 
fection. Nature is in every p^trticular consistent 
with herself: we are framed by Nature to have a 
high relish for the fine arts, which are a great source 
of happiness, and friendly in a high degree to vir- 
tue: we are, at the same time, framed vi^ith unifor* 
mity of taste, to furnish proper objects for that high 
relish ; and if uniformity did not prevail, the fine 
arts could never have made any figure. 

And this suggests another final cause no less il- 
lustrious. The separation of men into diiOferent 
classes, by birth, office, or occupation, however 
necessary, tends to relas the connexion that ought 
to be among members of the same state ; which bad 
effect is in some measure prevented by the access 
all ranks of people have to public spectacles, and 
to amusements that are best enjoyed in company. 
Such meetings, where every one partakes of the 
same pleasures in common, are no slight support 
to the social affections. 

Thus, upon a conviction common to the species 
is erected a standard of taste, which without hesi- 
tation is applied to the taste of eveiy individual.--^ 
That standard, ascertaining what actions are right, 
what wrong, what proper, what improper, hath en- 
abled moralists to establish rules tor our conduct, 
from which no person is permitted to swerve. We 
have the same standard for ascertaining in all the 
fine arts, what is beautiful or uely, high or low, 
proper or improper, proportioned or disproportion- 
ed ; and here, as in morals, we justly condemn eve- 
ry taste that deviates from what is thus ascertained 
by the common standard. 

That there exists a rule or standard in nature for 
trying the taste of individuals, in the fine arts as well 
^A in morals, is a discovery ; but is not sufiicient to 
(jQmplete the task undertaken. A branch still more 



^8 StdHdard of Task. [euAP. &b. 

important remains upon hand : whidi is, to aacer- 
tain what b truly the standard of nature, that we 
may not lie open to have a false standard impeded 
on us. But what means shall be. employed for 
bringing to light this natural standard ? This is not 
obvious : for when we have recourse to g^ieral 
opinion and general practke, we aie betrayed in- 
to endless perplexities. History informs us, that 
nothing is more variable than taste in the fine arts ; 
judging by numbers, the Gothic tgiste of archit^:^ 
ture must be preferred before that of Greece, and 
the Chinese taste probably before either. It would 
be endless to recount the wious tastes that have 
prevailed in different ages with respect lot gardenr 
in^, and still prevail in different eountiiea. Der 
spising the modest colouring of nature, women of 
fashion ui France daub their cheeks with a red pow- 
der; nay, an unnatural swelling in the neck, pecu- 
liar to the inhabitants of the Alps, is relished by 
that people. But we (Might not to be discouraged 
by such untoward instances, when we find as great 
variety in nK>ral opinion ; was it not amopg some 
nations held lawful for a man to sell his children for 
slaves, to expose them in their infancy to. wild- 
beasts, and to punish them for the crimes of their 
parents ? was any thing more common than to 
murder an enemy in cold blood ? nay more, did not 
law once authorise the abominable practice of hur 
man sacrifices, no less impious than immoral ?— *- 
Such aberrations from the rules of morality prove 
only, that men, originally savage and brutal, ac- 
quire not rationality . nor delicacy of taste till 
they be long disciplined in society. To ascertain 
the rules oi morality we appeal not to the comr 
mon 5ense of savages, but of men in their more 
perfect state ; and we make the same appeal m 
forming the rules that ought to govern the fine 
arts : in neither can we safely rely on a local oj 



<aiAF.26.y Standard of Taste. 3€9 

■ 

transitory taste; but on what is the most general 
and the most lasting among polite nations. 

In this very manner, a standard for morals has 
been ascertained with a good deal of accuracy, 
and is daily applied by able judges with general 
^s^islaction. The standard of taste in the fine arts, 
is not yet brought to such perfection ; and we can 
account for its slower progress : the sense of right 
and wrong in actions is vivid and distinct, because 
its objects are clearly distinguishable firom each 
other; whereas the sense of right and wrong in 
the fine arts is faint and wavering, because its ob- 
jects are commonly not so clearly distinguishable 
from each other^ and there appears to me a striking 
final cause in thus distingmshing the moral sense 
from the sense of right and wrong in the fine arts. 
The former, as a rule of conduct, and as a law we 
ought to obey, must be clear and authoritative. 
The latter is not entitled to the same privilege, 
because it contributes to our pleasure and amuse- 
ment only: were it strong and lively, it would 
usurp upon our duty, and call c^ the attention 
from matters of greater moment : were it clear and 
authoritative, it would banish all diflference of taste, 
leaving no distinction between a refined taste and 
one that is not so : which would put an end to rival- 
ship, and consequently to all improvement. 

But to return to our subject. However languid 
Md cloudy the common sense of mankind may be 
as to the fine arts, it is notwithstanding the only 
standard in these as well as in morals. True it is 
indeed, tbatingathering the common sense of man- 
kind,, more circumspection is requisite with respect 
to the fine arts than with respect to morals : upon 
the latter, any person may be consulted : but in 
the former, a wary choice is necessary, for to col- 
lect votes indifferently would certainly mislead us. 
Thase who depend for food on bodily labour, are 



$10 Standard of Taste. [chap. #; 

totally void of taste ; of such a taste at leaat a^ 
cab be of use in*the fine arts. This coBsideratioa 
bars the greater part of maDkind : and of the re- 
maining part many, by a corrupted tasAe, aie un- 
qualified for voting* The commpB sense of mjon- 
kind must then be confined to the few that fall not 
under these exceptions. But as such sdecticm 
seems to throw matters again into unceiiainifcj, wi& 
most be more explicit upon this branch of our sub^ 
ject. 

Nothing tends more than voluptuousness tp cor-^ 
rupt the whole internal frame, and to vitiate om" 
teste, not only in the find art^ but even in morals : 
Voluptuousness never fails, in course of time to ex-* 
tinguish all the sympathetic affections, and to bring 
on a beastly selfishness, which leav^ nothing bf a 
man but the shape : about excluding sudi persons 
there will be no dispute. Let us next bring undex* 
^ial, the opulent who delight in expense : the ap- 
petite for superiority and respect, inflamed by riches^ 
IS vented upon costly furniture, numerous attend-^ 
ants, a princely dwelling, sumptuous feasts, every 
thing superb and gorgeous, to amaze and humUe 
all beholders : simplicity, elegance, propriety, and 
things natural, sweet, or amiable, are despised Qt 
neglected ; for these are not appropriated to (he 
rich, nor make a figure in the public eye ; in a 
word, nothing is relished but what serves to gmtify 
pride, by an imaginary exaltation of the possessor 
above those who surround him. Such sentiments 
contract the heart and make every principle give 
way to self-love : benevolence and public spirit, 
with all their refined emotions, are little felt, and 
less regarded : and if these be excluded, there can 
be no place for the faint and delicate emotions of 
the fine arts. 

The exclusion of classes so many and numer- 
ous, reduces within a narrow compass tbo^e wh(y 



CBAP. 25.] Skmdard of Taste. 911 

are qualified to be judges in the fine arts. Many 
€:ircunistaQce$ are necessary to forni such a jud^e : 
Therci must be a good natural tast^ ; that is, a 
taste s^Eiproaching, at least in some degree, to the 
delicacy of taste above described :* that taste must 
be impvoired bj education, n^flebtion, and e?n^eri- 
ence rj- it must be pi^eservedin vigour by Mirm^ re- 
gularly, by usins the goods of fortune with mode- 
ration, and by following the dictates of improved 
nature, which give welcome to every rational plea* 
sure without indulging any excess. This is the 
tenor of life which of all cddtrtbutes the most to 
refinement of taste; and the same tenor of life 
contributes the most to happiness in^en^ak 



\ 



If there appear much uncertainty in a standard 
that requires so painful and intricate si selection, 
Ive may possibly be reconciled to it by the follow*- 
ing consideration : That with respect to the finei 
arts, there is less difference of taste than is com^ 



» Chapter n. Part u. . 

i That these particalars site asefuli it may be said necessarVy for acquir- 
ing a discerning taste in the fine artSy will appear from the following facts^ 
which show the influence of experience singly .Those who live in the world and 
In good company, are quick-sighted with respect to every defect or irregu* 
larity in behavioiur : the very, slightest sineidarity in motion, in speechi or ia 
Alness, which to a peasant would be invisible, escapes not their observation. 
The most minute aifferences in the human countenance) lid minute as to be 
far beyond the reach of words, are distinctly perceived by the plainest per- 
son: while at the same time » the generality have very little discernment 
in the faces of other animals td wmcH they are less kccanUkiked : Sheep, 
iof exan^plef appear to have all the same face) except to the shephery!, who 
knows every individual in his flock as he does his relations and neighbours. 
The very '^}0{A]la6e in Athens wete Critics ill langnage, in pronrnfciation, 
and even in eloquence, harangue being their daily entertainment. In Rome^. 
at present, the inost illiterate i^opkeeper is a better judge of statues and of 
pictures, than .pevsdns of n^ned edufSeftiott in London. These facts afford 
cdnvincingeviaence,thatadiscernin^ta3te depends still more on experience 
than on nature. But these iaCts nlent peculiar rega^ for another reasoui 




icupation 
ftil id enbellish iMr ittanaers} and to sweeten apeiety. 

Vol. rt. 47o 



51$ Staftdari ^ fttak. [cdAt*. 95. 

montjr iiQagkied . Nature hath marked all her 
works tvith indeiible characters of high or low^ 
plain or elegant^ strdeg or weak : these, if at all 
perceived, are selddm misapprehended; and the 
same maiks are cfqually perceptible in works of 
art. A defective taste is jaeurahle; and it hurts 
none but the possesaor^ because it carries no avitho* 
rity to impose upoif others. I know not if there 
hi such a thkig as a taste tiaturallj bad or wrong ; 
a taste for example, that prefers a travelling plea- 
si^e before one that is high and elegant : grovel* 
ling pleasures are never preferred ; they are oidy 
made welcome by those who know no better. Dif-^ 
ferences about objects of taste, it is true, are end- 
less ; but they generally concern trifles, or possibly 
iii^atters of equal rank, where preference may be 
given either way with impunity ? if, on any oc- 
casion, persons differ where they ought not, a de- 
praved taste will readily be discovered on one or 
other side, occasioned by imitation, custom, or cor- 
rupted manners, such as are described above. And 
considering that every individual partakes of a 
common nature, what is there that should occasion 
any wide difference in. taste or sentiment ? B v the 
principles that constitute the sensitive part or our 
nature, a wonderful uniformity is preserved in the 
emotions and feelings of the different races of men ; 
' the same object making oponevery perscm the same 
impressiqu, the same in kind, if not in degree. 
There have l;)een, as above observed, aberrations 
from these principles ; but soon or kte^ they pre- 
vail, and restore the wanderer to the ri^t track. 

I know but of one other means for ascertaining 
the common sense of mankind ; which I mention, 
not in despair, but in great confidence of success. 
As the taste of every individual ou^ht to be go- 
verned by the priaeiples above mentioned, an ap- 



CHAP. 26.] Standard of Taste. 



873 



peal to these principles must necessarily be deci- 
sire of eveiy conti;oversy that can arise upon mat- 
ters of taste. In general, every doubt with relation 
to the common sense of man, or standard of taste, 
may be cleared by the same appeal ; and to unfol4 
these principles is the declared purpose of the pi:eT 
9eQt undertaking. 



374 



APPENDIX 



Terms Defined or Explained. 

1. EVERY thing w© perceive or are con- 
8<;ious of, whether a being or a quality, a passion 
or ai: action, is with respect to the percipient term- 
ed an object. Some objects appear to be interna], 
or within the mind ; passion, for example, think- 
ing, volition : Some external ; such as every ob- 
|ect of sight, of hearing, of smell, of touch, of taste. 
2. That act of the mind which makes known to 
me an external object, is termed perception. That 
act of the mind wliich makes known tb me an in- 
ternal object, is termed consciousness. The powei:; 
or faculty from which consciousness proceeds, is 
termed an internal sense. The power or faculty 
from which perception proceeds, is termed an ex- 
ternal sense. This distinction refers to the objects 
of our knowledge ; for the Senses, whether external 
or internal, are all of theni powers or faculties of 
the mind.* 



* I have complied with all >vho have gone before me in describing the 
senses internal and external to be powers or faculties; and yet, after much 
attention, I have not discovered any thing active in their operations to en<* 
title them to that character. The following chain of thought'has led me to 
hesitate. On^ being operates on another : the first is active, the other pas- 
. isive. If the first act, it must hi^ve a power to act : if an effect be produced 
on the other, it must have a capacity to have that effect produced upon it. — 
Fire melts wax, ergo fire has a power to produce that effect ; and wax must 
be capable to have that effect produced in it. Now as to the senses. A tree 
in flourish makes an impression on me, and by that means I see the tree. — 
But in this operation I do not find that the mind is active •, seeing the tree is 
only an effect produced On it by intervention of the rays of light. What 
feems to h&ve led us into an error is the word seeing, which, under the form 
of an active verb, has a passive signification. lfee\ is a similar example ; 



Terms Defined or Es^lained. 375 

3. But as self is an object that cannot be termed 
either external or internal, the faculty by which I 
have knowledge of myself, is a sense that cannot 
properly be termed either internal or external 

4. By the eye we perceive figure, colour, motion, 
&c. : by the ear we perceive th^ different qualities 
of soimd, high, low, loud, soft : by touch we per- 
ceive rough, smooth) hot, cold, &c. : by taste we 
perceive sweet, sour, bitter, &c. i by smell we per- 
ceive fragrant, fetid, &c. These qualities partake 
the common nature of all qualities, that they are 
not capable of an independent existence, but must 
belong to some being of which they are properties 
or attributes. A being with respect to its proper- 
ties or attributes is termed a subject or substratum. 
Every substratum of visible qualities, is termed 
substance ; and of tangible qualities, bodjf* 

^. Substance and sound are perceived as exist- 
ing at a distance froip the organ ; pften at a con- 
siderable distance. But smell, touch and taste, are 
perceived as existing at the organ of sense. 

6. The objects of external sense are various. — 
Substances are perceived by the eye: bodies by the 
touch. Sounds, tastes, and smells, passing com- . 
monly under the name of secondary qualities, re- 
quire niore explanation than there is room for here. 
All the objects of internal sense are attributes : wit- 
ness deliberation, reasoning, resolution, willing, 
consenting, which are internal actions. Passions 
and emotioqs? which are internal agitations, are also 
attributes. With regard to the former, 1 am con- 
scious of being active ; with regard to the latter, I 
amt conscious of being passive. 



for to feel is certainly not to act, but the effect of being acted apon ; the 
feeling pleasure is the effect produced in my mind when a be&uliful object 
is presented. Perception accordingly is not an' action, but an eltect produced 
in the mind. Sensation is another effect : it is the pleasure I fbel upon 
ppceiving what is agreeable. 



376 Terms J)efined 

7. Again, we are conscious of internal action as 
in the head : of passions and emotions as in the 
heart. 

8. Many actions may be exerted internally, anfl 
many effects produced of which we arc uncon- 
scious : when we investigate the ultimate cause of 
the motion of the blood, and of other internal mo- 
tions upon which life depends, it is the most proba- 
ble opinion that some internal power is the cause: 
and if so, we are unconscious of the operations of 
that power. But consciousness being implied in 
the very meaning of deliberating, reasoning, resolv- 
ing, willing, consenting, such operations cannot es- 
cape our knowledge. The same is the case of 
passions and emotions ; for no intei^nal a^tation is 
denominated a passion or emotion, imX what we are 
conscious of. 

9. The mind is not always the same ; by turns it 
is cheerful, melancholy, calm, peevish, &c. These 
differences may not improperly be denominated 
tones. 

10. Perception and sensation are commonly 
reckoned synonimous terms, signifying that internal 
act by which external objects are made known to us 
But they ought (o be distinguished. Perceiving is a 
general term for hearing, seeing, tasting, touching, 
smelling; and therefore perception signifies every 
internal act by which we are made acquainted 
with external objects : thus we are said to perceive 
a certain animal, a certain colour, sound, taste, 
smell, &c. Sensation properly signifies that inter- 
nal act by which we are made conscious of plea- 
sure or pain felt at the organ of sense : thus we . 
have a sensation of the pleasure arising from 
warmth, from a fragrant smell, from a sweet tdste : 
and of the pain arising from a wound, from a fetid 
smell, from a disagreeable taste. In perception, 
my attention is directed to the external objept ; in 



ot E^mnedf 377 

sensation^ it is jdtrected to the pleasure or paia 1 
feel. 

The terms perception and sensation are sometimes 
ewiployed to signify the objects of perception and 
seni^tion. Perception in that sense is a general 
term for every external thing we perceive ; and sen- 
sation a general term for everv pleasure and pain 
felt at the organ of sense. 

IK Conception is different from perception. The 
latter includes a conviction of the reality of its ob- 
ject; the former does not ; fori can conceive the 
most extravagant stories told in a romance, without 
havii^ any conviction of their reality. Conception 
differs also from imagination. By the power of 
fancy I can imagine a golden mountain, or an ebony 
ship with sails and ropes of silk. When I describe 
a picture of that kind to another, the idea he forms 
of it is termed a conception. Imagination is active, 
tonception is passive. 

12. Feeling, beside denoting one of the external 
senses, is a general term, signifying that internal act 
by which we are made conscious of our pleasures 
and our pains ; for it is not limited^ as sensation is, 
to any one sort* Thus feeling being the genus of 
which sensation is a species^ their meaning is the 
same when applied to pleasure and pain felt at the 
organ of sense : and accordingly we say indifferent- 
ly, '' 1 feel pleasure from heat, and pain from cold,'' 
or, " I have a sensation of pleasure from heat, and 
'^ of pain from cold." But the meaning of "feeling, 
as is said, is much niore extensive : It is proper to 
say, I feel pleasure in a sumptuous building, in love, 
in friendship ; and pain in losing a child, in revenge, 
in envy : sensation is not properly applied to any 
of these. 

The term feeling is frequently used in a less pro- 
per sense, to signify what we feel or are conscious 
of; and in that sense it is a general term for all 



37d rentes Defined 

our passkms and emotions, and for all oUt other 
pleasures and pains. 

13. That we cannot perceive an external object 
till an impression is made upon our body^ is proba- 
ble from reason, and is ascertained by experience. 
But it is not necessary that we be made ^len^le o{ 
the impression: in touching, in tasting, and in 
smelling, we are sensible of the impression : but 
not in seeing and hearing* We know indeed from 
experiments, that before we perceive a visible ob- 
ject, its image is spread upon the retina tunica ; and 
that before we perceive a sounds an impression is 
made upon the drum of the ear : but we are not 
conscious either of the organic image or Of the or- 
ganic impression ; nor are we conscious of any 
other operation preparatory to the act of perception f 
all we can say is, that we see that river, or hear 
that trumpet.* 

14. Objects once perceived may be recalled tor 
the mind by the power of memoryi When I recsd 
an object of- sight in that manner, it appears to me 
precisely the same as in the original survey, only 
less distinct. For example, having seen yesterday 
a spreading oak growing on the bnnk of a river, I 
endeavour to recal these objects to my mind. How 
is this operation performed ? Do I endeavour to 
form in rny mind a picture of them or a representa« 
tive image ? Not so. I tr^sport myself ideally to 
the place where I saw the tree and river yesterday : 
upon which 1 have a perception of these objects^ 



. * Yet a singular opinion that impres^ons are the only objects of percetj- 
tion^ has been espoused by some philosophers of no mean rank ; not attend- 
ing to the foregoing peculiarity in the senses of seeing And bearing) that we 
perceive objects without being conscious of an organic impnission, or of any 
impression. See the Treatise upon Human Nature: where we find thef 
following passage, book 1. p. iv. S6ct.2. <<Plroperly speaking, it in not oar 
«< body we perceive when we regard our limbs and members ; so that the 
a ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these impresdont) or to tiMfIr ob^ 
<i Jects, is an act of the mind as difficult to ej^laioy ' &c. 



or Explained. 379 

Similar in all respects to the perception I had 
when 1 viewed them with my eyes, only less 
dfetinct And in this recollection, I am not 
conscious of a picture or representative image, 
more than in the original survey ; the perception 
is of the tree and river themselves, ias at first. I 
confirm this 1^ another experiment. After atten- 
tively surveying a fine statue, I close my eyes. 
What follows ? The same object continues, with- 
out any difference but that it is less distinct than 
formerly.*; This indistinct secondary perception 
6f an object, is termed an idea. And therefore the 



i } 



* Tbi9 experint^nty which ^irery one tnay reiterate tltl entiiie satisfaiBtioii 
be obtfiined^is of greater importance than at first view may appear; for it 
strikes at thie root of a celebrated doctrine, which for more than two thou- 
sand ye&r3 j^as misled many philosophers. This doctrine, as delivered by 
Aristotle is in substance, '< That of every object of thought theriB must be in 
*'^ the mind some form, phantasm, ot sparcies ; that things sensible are per- 
<< ceived lund remembered by mtoos ot sensible phantasms, and things inlel- 
'■*■ lidble by intelligible phantasms ; and that these phantasms have; me forra 
'* (H the object without the mattery as the impression of a seal upon wax hasi . 
'^ th0 f<Nrm of a seal without its matter." The followers of Aiistotle add^ 
** That the sensible and intelU^ble forms of things, are sent forth from the 
<* tiiitfgs themselves, and make impiressions upon the passive intellect, which 
** iBipressions are perceived by the active intellect " This notion differs very 
little from that of Epicurus, which is, <* That all things send forth constant- 
" ly and in every diieetioii, slender ghosts, or films oi themsehres, {Uwml 
'^ nmtdaera, as expressed by his commentator Xmbretius ;) which striking 
upon the mind, are the means of perception, dFeaming>'* Lc. V*es Cartes^ 
bent t0 oppose Aristotle, Tejpcts the CK)ctrine of sensible and intelligible 
phantasms;, maintaining, however, the saqie doctrine in effect^ uaalel^. 
That we perceive nothing external but by means of some image either in the 
brain jor in the mind i and tiiesr ima^s he teraur ideas. Accetdins to tbeser 
philosophers, we perceive nothing immediately but phantasms or ideas : and 
fiom these we infer, by reasoning, the existence of external objects. Locke^ 
adontiBg this doctrine, empkiys fliinoat the whole of his hook alKMi^ ideaa* 
He nolds, that we cannot perceive, remember, nor imagine), any thing, bat 
hy having an idea or image of it in the mind. He agi-eesi with Des Cartes^ 
that we can have no knowledge of thiiigs external) but what we acquire by 
reasoning lipon their ideas dr images in I^H mittd| taking it for granted, that 
we are eonscious of theste ideas or images^ and of nothing else. Those who 
tidk the most intellif;ihly explain the aocstrine thiiS4 Whcin I tee in a mirror 
a man standing behmd me, the itnmediate object of my sight is his image^ 
without which I dould not see him : in like manner, when I see a tree or a 
bouse, there must be an image of these objects in my brain or in my mind: 
which image it the immediate object of my perception ; and by means of 
that im^e I perceive the external ob^^ect. 

Vol. II. 48o 



380 Tem$ Defined 

precise and accurate defioition of an idea in coii-^ 
tradistinction to an original perception, is^ '^ That 
<^ perception of a real object whidb is raised in the 
" mind by the power of memory." Every thipg 
we have any knowledge of, whether kiternal or 



One would not readflj suspect any faiuni in this ideal a^sti^, otker than the 
leading us into a labyrinth of metaphysical «rrors, in order to account for our 
knowledge of external objects, which is more truly aiid \awe simply ac- 
counted tor by direct.perception. And yet some late writer) haire been able 
to extract from it death and destriiction to the' whole worid, levelliDg all 
down to a mere chaos of Ideas. Dr. Berkeley, up«n authoritybf the philoso- 
phers named, taking for granted that we cannot perceive any object but 
what b in the mind, discovered, that the reasoning employed by Des Cartes 
and Locke to infer the existence of external objects, is mcoikslusive ; and 
upon that discovery ventured, against common sense, to annihilate totally 
the material world. And a later writer, discovering that Berkeley's argu- 
ments might with equal success be applied against imrnaterial brings, ven- 
tuires still more boldly to reject by the lump the immaterial world as well as. 
the material ; leaving nothing in nature but images or ideas floating in va^tOf 
without affording them a single mind for shelter or support. 

When such wiW and ettraVagant consequences can be draWn from the 
ideal system, it might liave been expected, that no man who b not crazy, 
would have ventured to erect such a superstructure, till he should first be 
certain beyond all doubt of a solid foundation. And yet upon enquiry, we 
find the foundation of this terrible doctrine to be no better than a shallow 
mfetapbysical argument, namely^ ^< T^t no being can act but where it is ; and 
** consequently, that it cannot act upon any subject at a distance." This 
argument possesses indeed one eminent advantage, that itsr obscurity, like 
that of an oracle, is apt to impose upon the reader, who is willing to consider 
it as a demonstration, because he does not clearly see the fallacy. The bes^ 
way to give ft m fairtrial, is to draw it out of its obscurity, and to state it in 
c^ clear lights as follows. " No subject can be perceived unless it act upon 
" the mind, but no distafot subject can act upon the mind, because no being 
'< can act but where it is ; and, thereforb, the immediate object of perception 
" must be something united to the mind, so as to be able to act upon it." — 
Hertf the ailment is completed in all its parts ; and from it is derived the 
supposed necessity of phantasms or ideas united to' the mind, as the only 
objects 6f perception. It is singularly unlucky, that this argument concludes 




things at a mstance cannot act upon the mind ? I say 
a proposition as true, without evidence, namdy, That no distant subject can 
aet upon the mind. This proposition undoubtedly requires evidence, for 
it is not intuitively certain. And, thei-efore, till the proposition be demon- 
strated,' eVery man without scni{de may rely upon the conviction of his sen- 
ses, that he hears and sees things at a instance. 

But i venture a bolder step, which is,^ to show that the proposition is false- 
Admitting that no being can act but wl^ere It is, is there any thing more sim- 
ple or more common, than the acting upon subjects at a distance by inter- 
IBecSbie means ? This holds in fact with respect both to seeing and heariitg.^ 



9- 

w Explained. 'Sftl 

external, passions, emotions, tlii«lrftrg, resolving, 
willing, heat, cold, fec-^ls well as external ob- 
jectSj may be recalled as above, by the po#er of 

Itl^naaoiy.* 

15. External objects are distinguishable into 
eimple and complex. Certain sounds are so sim- 
ple as not to be resolvable into parts ; and so ar^ 
certain tastes aqd smells. Objects of touch are for 
the most part complex : they are not only hard or 
soft, but also smooth or rou^h, hot or cold. Of all 
external objects, visible objects are commonly the 
n^Q^t complex; a tree is ^composed of 0, trunk, 



When I see a -tree, for example, rays of light are reflected from the tree to 
my eye, forming a picture upon the retina tunica ; but the object perceived is 
4he tree itself, not the rays of light, nor the picture. In this manner distant 
objects are perceived, without any action of the obiect upon the mind, or of 
the miad upon the object. Hearing is in a similar case ; tlie air, put in 
motion by thunder, makes an imi)ression upon the drum of the ear ; but thi$ 
impression is not what I hear, it is the thunder itself by means of that im- 
pression. 

With respect to vision in particular, we are profoundly ignorant by wJlat 
means and in what manner the picture on the retina tunica contribu^s to 
produce a sight of the object. One thing only is clear, that as we hive no 
knowledge of that picture, it is asnatural to conceive that it should ke made 
the instrument of discovering the ej^terpal ol^cQt, and not itself, a^ of disco- 
vering itself only, and not the external object. 

Upon tlie chimerical consequences drawn from the jdeal System, I shall 
make but a single reflection. Nature determines us necessarily to rely on 
the veracity of our senses; and upon their evidence the existence of exter- 
nal objects is to us a matter of intuitive knowledge anif absolute certainty. 
Vain therefore is the attempt of Dr. Berkeley and of his followers, to de- 
ceive us, by a metaphyseal sufatilty, into a disbelief of what we pannot en- 
tertain even the sligjitest doubt. 

* From this definition of ps idea, the followfng proposition must be evi- 
dent, That there can be no such thing as an innate idea. If the original per* 
ception of an object be not innate, which \p obvious ; it is not less obvioqi^, 
that the idea or secondary perception of that object cannot be innate.. >nd 
yet, to prove this self-evident proposition > Locke has bestowed a wholp^ook 
of his treatise upon Human Understanding. So necessarjr it is to gi^e ac- 
curate definitions, and so preventive of dispute are definitions. when^ccur- 
ate. Dr. Berkeley has taken great pains to prqve another proposition equally 
evident, That there can be no ^ch thing as a general idea: all 01^ original 
perceptions are 'of particular o);{fects, and our secondary perceptions oridea§, 
niust re equally so. 



^ TermDefaud 

hrancbefl, Uavw : it has colour, figure, sow. But 
as an action is not resokahb into parts, a percep- 
tion, being, an act of sense, is always simple. Tbe 
colour, figure, umbrage of a spreading oak* ms^ 
not different perceptions: the percepHoii is one, 
that <^ a tree, coloured, figured, &c. A quality is 
never perceived separately from tbe subject ; nor a 
part from the whofe. There is a mental power of 
abstraction, of which afterward ; but the eye nev er 
abstracts, nor any other external sense. 

16. Many particulars beside those mentioned 
enter into the perception of visiHe objects, motion, 
rest, place, space, time, number, &c. These, all 
of them, denote simple ideas^ and for that reason 
admit not of a definition. All that can be done is 
to point out l^ow they are acquired. The ideas of 
motion and of rest, are familiar even to a child, 
from seeing its nurse sometimes walking, some- 
times sitting : the former it is taught to can motion ; 
I1ae latter, rest. Place enters into every perception 
of a visible object : tbe object is perceived to exist^ 
and V> exist somewhere, on the right hand or on 
the lefi, and where it exists is termed place. Ask 
a child where its mother is, pr in what place: it 
will answer readily, she is in the garden. Space 
is ' connected, with d?e pr bulk: every piece of 
matter occud^s room or space in proportion to its 
bulk. A child perceives that when its little box is 
filled with playtfengs, there is no room or space 
for more. Space is also applied to signify the dis- 
tance of visible object^ from each other ; and such 
9p\ce aocordingly can be measured. Dinner comes 
afte^-breakfast, and supper after dinner: a child 
perc^ves an interval, and tl^at interval it learns to 
call tit/ie. A chjld sometimes, is alone with its 
nurse : its mother is sometimeK in the room ; aud 



-1 



'v. 



soiQetimes also Usbrotkers and siBtciB* It perceives 
a diffcirence between many and few ; and that di&- 
ierence it is taugbt to call number. 

17. Theprimarj perception of a visible object, 
is more complete, lively, and <^istinct, than that of 
any other object And for that reason, an idea, o|r 
secondary perception of a visible object, is also 
2uore complete, lively, and distinct, than that of 
any other object. A fine passage in music, may 
ifor a moment be recalled to the mind with tolera* 
ble accuracy; but, after the shortest interval, it be* 
comes no less obscure than the ideas of the other 
objects meptioned* 

18. As the range of an individual is commonly 
ivithin a narrow space, it rarely happens, that every 
thing necessary to be known comes under our own 
perceptions. Language is an admirable contri- 
vance for supplying that deficiency ; for by lan- 
guage everv man's perceptions may be communi- 
cated to all : and the same may be done by paint- 

,:ib^ and other imitative arts. The facility of com- 
:. >1&iunication depends on the liveliness of the ideas ; 
\-i^^sp€cially in language, w^hich hitherto has not ar- 
..;*^3[ived at greater perfection than to express clear 
..'•{dea^ : hence it is, that poets and orators, who are 
r^i^^ in describing objects of sight, 

• "^ find dtyects of the other senses too faint and obscure 
for language. An idea thus acquired, of an object 
at second hand, ought to be distinguished from an 
idea of memory, though their resemblance has oc- 
casioned the same terra idea to be applied to both ; 
which is to be regretted, because ambiguity in the 
signification of words is a great obstruction to accu- 
racy of conception. Thus Nature hath furnished 
the niearis of multiplying ideas without end, and of 
jprovidlng every individual with a sufficient stock 



384 Terms Defimd 

♦ 

to answer, not only tiie necessities, but even th$ 
elegancies of life. 

Jl9. Further, man is endued with a sort of crea- 
tive power : hq can fabricate images of things that 
have no existence* The materials employed in this 
operation are idei|ts of sight, which he can take to 
pieces and combftite into new forms at pleasure: 
their complexity ^ncl vivacity make them fit mate- 
rials: But a man hath no such power over any of 
his other ideas, whether of the external or internal 
senses : he canno^ after the utmost effort, combine 
these into new forms, being too obscure for that ope- 
ration. An image thus fabricated cannot he called 
a secondary perception, not being derived from 
an original perception : the poverty of language, 
however, las in the case immediately above men^ 
tioned, has occasioned the same term idea to be ap- 
plied to all. This singular power of fabricating 
images without any foundation in reality, is distin^ 
guished by the name imagination. 

20. As ideas are tbe chief materials employed 
in reasoning and reflecting, it is of consequence 
that their nature and differences be understood. It 
appears now that ideas may be distinguished into 
three kinds : first Ideas derived from original per- 
ceptions, properly termed ideas of memory ; se- 
cond, Ideas communicated by language or other 
signs; and third. Ideas of imagination. These 
ideas differ from each other in many respects ; but 
chiefly in respect of their proceeding from different 
causes ; The first kind is derived from real exist- 
ences that have been objects of our senses: lan- 
fi guage is the cause of the second, or any other sign 

''•H that has the same power with language; and a 

man's imagination is to himself the cause of the 
third. It is scarce necessary to add, that an idea, 
originally of imagination, being conveyed to others 



L 



or Explained. ^ 3BS . 

hj language or any other vehicle, becomes in their 
mind an idea of the second kind ; and again, that 
an idea of this kind, being afterwards recalled to 
the mind, becomes in that circumstance an idea of 
memory. 

21. We are not so constituted as to perceive ob- 
jects with indifference : these with very few ex- 
ceptions appear agreeable or disagreeable; and 
at the same time raise in us pleasant or painful 
ei^otions. VVitl;^ respect to external objects in par- 
ticular, we distinguish those which produce organic 
impressions, from those which affect us from a dis- 
tance. When we touch a soft and smooth body, 
we have a pleasant feeling as at the place of con- 
tact ; which feeling we distinguish not, at least not 
accurately, from the agreeableness of the body it- 
self ; and the same holds in general with regard ta 
all organic impressions. It is otherwise in hearing 
and seeing : a sound is perceived as in itself agree- 
able, and raises in the hearer a pleasant emotion ; 
an object of sight appears injtself agreeable, and 
raises in the spectator a pleasant emotidn. These 
are accurately distinguished : the pleasant emotion 
is felt as within the mind ; the agreeableness of the 
object is placed upon the object, and is perceived 
as one of its qualities or properties. The agreeable 
appearance of an object of sight is termed beauty ; 
and the disagreeable appearance of such an object 
is termed ugliness. 

22. But though beauty and ugliness, in their 
proper and genuine signification, are confined to 
objects of sight ; yet in a more lax and figurative 
signification, they are applied to objects of the other 
senses : they are sometimes applied even to ab- 
stract terms : for it is not unusual to say, a beau- 
tiful theorem^ a beautiful constitution of govern- 
ment. 



38G Terms Defined 

23. A line composed by a single rule, is per- 
ceived and said to be regular : a straight line, a 
parabola, a hyperbola, the circumference of a cir- 
cle, and of an ellipse, are all of them regular linesi^ 
A figure composed by a single rule, is perceived 
and said to be regular : a circle, a square, a hexa- 
gon, an equilateral triangle, are regiuar figures, be- 
ing composed by a single rule, that determines the 
form of each. V/hen the form of a line or of a 
figure is ascertained by a single rule that leaves 
nothing arbitrary, the line and the figure are said 
to be perfectly regular ; which is the case of the 
figures now mentioned, and the case of a straight 
line and of the circumference of a circle. A figure 
and a line that require more than one rule for their 
construction, or that have any of their parts left ar- 
bitrary, arc not perfectly regular : a parallelogram 
and a rhomb are less regular than a square ; the 

f parallelogram being subjected to no rule as to the 
ength of sides, other than that the opposite sides 
be equal ; the rhomb being subjected to no rule as 
to its angles, other than that the opposite angles be 
equal r for the same reason, the circumference of 
an ellipse,' the form of which is susceptible of much 
variety, is less regular than that of a circle. 

24. Regularity, properly speaking, belongs, like 
beauty, to objects of sight ; and, like beauty, it is 
also applied figuratively to other objects : thus we 
say, a regular government^ a regular composition of 
musicj and, regular discipline. 

25. When two figures are composed of similar 
parts, they are said to be uniform. Perfect unifor- 
mity is where the constituent parts of two figures 
are equal : thus two cubes of the same dimensions 
are perfectly uniform in all their parts. Uniformity 
less perfect is, where the parts mutually corresponds 
but without being equal : the uniformity is imper4 
feet between two squares or cubes of unequal dinien* 



or Eaiplained. 3ti1* 

dions ; and sitill iridre do betvreed a square and a 
parallelogram. 

26. Uniformity is also sipplicable to the consti- 
tuent parts of the same figare. The Constituent 
parts of a square are perfectly Uniform ; its sides 
are equal ahd its angles are equal. Wherein then 
differs regularity from uniformity ? for a figure 
composed of uniform pB.tts must undoubtedly be 
regular. Regularity is predicated of a iSgure coa- 
sidered as a whole doriipoSiBd of uniform parts: 
uniformity is predicated of these parts ks related to 
i^ach other by resemblance : we say, a squ^ire is d 
regukar, riot an uniform figure ) but with respectto 
the constituent. parts of a squaref, we say not, that 
Ihey are regular, but that they are uniform. 

^7. In things destined for the saibe use, as legs, 
arms, dyes, windows, spoons^ we expect uniform- 
ity. Proportion ought to gotern parts intended 
for different uses : we require a certain proportion 
between a leg and an arm \ in the base, the shafts 
the capital of a pillar; and iii the length,^ the 
breadth, the height of a room ! some proportion is 
also required in different things intimately connect- 
ed, as between a dwelling-house, the garden, and 
the stables ; but We require no proportion among 
things slightly connected, as between the table a 
tnan writes on and the dog that follows him. Pro- 
portion arid uniformity never coincide: things 
equal are uniform ; but proportion is never applied 
to them : the four sides and angles of a square are 
equal and perfectly uniform ; but we say not that 
they are propdrtiohal. Thtis^ proportion always 
'mplies inequality or difference ; but then it im- 

Elies it to a certain degree only i the niost agreea- 
le proportion resembles a maximum in mathema- 
tics ; a greater or less ioequality or difference is les6 
agreeable. v. 

Vol.. 11. 49a 



388 Terms Defined 

28. Order regards various particulars. First, irf 
tracing or surveying objects^ we are directed by a 
sense of order: we perceive it to be more orderly, 
that we should pass from a principle to its accesso- 
ries, and from a whole to its parts, than in the con-^ 
trary direction. Next, with respect to the position 
of tnings, a sense of order directs us to place toge- 
ther things intimately connected. Thirdly, in 
placing things that have no naturd connexion, that 
Qrder appears the most perfect, where the particu- 
lars are made to bear the strongest relation to each 
other that position can give them. Thus paraUelism 
is the strongest relation that position can bestow 
upon straight lines : if they be so placed as by pro- 
duction to intersect, the relation is less perfect. A 
large body in the middle, and two equal bodies of 
le^s size, one on each side, is an order that pro- 
duces the strongest relation the bodies are suscepti* 
t|le of by position : the relation between the two 
e^qual bodies would be stronger by juxtaposition ; 
but they would not both have the same relation tQ 
the third. 

29. The beauty or agreeableness of a visible 
object, is perceived as one of its qualities ; which 
holds, not only in the primary perception, but also 
in the secondary perception or idea : and hence the 
pleasure that anses from the idea of a beautiful 
object. An idea of imagination is also pleasant, 
though in a lower degree than an ide^ of memory, 
where the objects are of the same kind ; for an evi- 
dent reason, that the former is more distinct and 
lively than the latter. But this inferiority in ideas 
of imagination, is more than compensated by their 
^eatness and variety, which are boundless ; foi 
by^ the imagination, exerted without contrcJ, we 
can fabricate ideas of finer visible objects, of more 
noble and heroic actions, of greater wickedness, o^ 
more surprising events, than ever in fact existed 



or Explained. 389 

and in communicating such ideas by^^ords, paint* 
ing, sculpture, &c. the influence of tjae imagination 
13 no less extensive than great. 

30. In the nature of every man, there is some« 
-what original, which distinguishes him from others, 
i^vhich tends to form his character, and to make 
him meek or fiery, candid or deceitful, resolute or 
timorous, cheerful or morose. This original bent, 
termed disposition y must be distinguished from a 
principle: the latter signifying a law of human na- 
ture, makes part of the common nature of man ; 
the former makes part of the nature of this or that 
man. Propensity is a name common to bot^ ; for 
it signifies a principle as well as a disposition. 

31. Affection^ signifying a settled Dent of mind 
toward a particular being or thing, occupies a mid- 
dle place between disposition on the one hand, and 
passion on the other. It is clearly distinguishable 
from disposition, which, being a branch of one^s • 
nature originally, must exist before there can be 
an opportunity to exert it upon any particular ob- 
ject ; whereas afiection can never be original, be- 
cause, having a special relation to a particular ob« 
ject, it cannot exist till the object have once at least 
been presented. It is no less clearly distinguishable 
from passion, which, depending on the real or ideal 
presence of its object, vanishes with its object : 
whereas affection is a lasting connexion ; and, like 
other connexions, subsists even when we do not 
think of the person. A familiar example will clear 
the whole. I have from natvire a disposition Uk 
gratitude, which, through want of an object, hap- 
pens never to be exerted ; and which therefore is 
unknown even to myself. Another who has the 
same disposition, meets with a kindly ofiice which 
makes him grateful to his benefactor ; an intimate 
connexion is formed between them, termed o^ecs 
t^on; which, like other connexions, has a perma«! 



\ 



390 Terms Defined 

nent eiqsteiijH, though not always in view. The 
affection, ^o^ip most part, lies dormant, till an op- 
portunity^ offer lor exerting it : in that pircumstance. 
It is converted into the passion of gratitude ; ana 
the opportunity is greedily seized of testifying gra- 
titude in the warmest manner. 

32. Aversianj I think, is opposed to affection v not 
to desire, as it commonly is. We have an affec- 
tion to one person : we have an aversion to anothefr: 
the former disposes us to do good to its object, the 
latter to dp ill? 

33. What is a sentiment ? It is not a i)erception ; 
for a perception signifi^s the act by which we ber 
come conscious of external objects. It is not con- 
sciousness of an internal action, such as thinking, 
^uspqnrlingthought, inclining, resolving,willing, &c. 
Neither is it the conception of a relation among ob- 
jects ; a conception of that kind being termed p/Tm- 
ton. The term sentiment is appropriated to such 
thoughts ^s are prompted by passion. 

34. Attention is that state of mind which pre*^ 
pares one to receive impressions* According ta 
the degree of attention, objects make a strong or 
weak impression.^ Attention is requisite even tp 
the simple act of seeing ; the eye can take in a con- 
siderahle field at one look ; but no object in the 
field is 3een distinctly, but that singly which fixes 
the attention ; in $i profound reverie that totally oc- 
cupies the attention, we scarce spewhatis directly 
before us. In a train of perceptions, the attention 
being divided ^mong various oojects, no particulaur 



* BacQOf if) his Natural History^ makes the following observations. — 
Sounds are meliorated by the intension of the sense, where the con. 
aanse is collected Qiost to the particular sense of hearing, and the sieht 
pended. Therefore sounds are sweeter, as. well as greater, in the night 1 
In the day ; and I suppose they are sweeter to blind mim than toothers . 
|t Is manifest, that betweef^ sreeping aqd waking, when all the sense: 
l)^nd and sua|>ended, mu^ic is far sweeter than when one is fully waking 



J 



or Explained. 391 

object makes $uch a figure as it would do single 
and apart Hence, the stillness of night contribute* 
to terror, there being nothing to divert the atten^ 
tion : 

Horror ubique animos, sinjul ip«a silentU torrent 
« 

Zara, Silence and solitude arc ev'ry where ! '^ 
Through all the gloomy ways and iron doors 
Thai hither lead, nor human face nor voice 
Is seen or heard. A dreadful din was wont 
To grate the seqse, when ente^'d here from groans 
And howls of slaves condemn*d, from clink of chains, • 
Ai^d crash of rusty bars and creaking hinges ; 
And ever and anon the sight was dash'd 
"With frightful faces and the meagre looks 
Pf grim and ghastly expcutioners. 
Yet more this stillness terrifies my soul 
Than did that scene of complicated horrors.. 

Mourning Bridi} Act V. Sc. 8. 

And hence it is, that an object seen at the termina- 
tion of a confined view, is more agreeable than 
when seen in a group with the surrounding ob- 
jects : 

The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
When neither is attended ; and I thibk, 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
"When ev'ry goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician then the wren. 

Merchant ofl^enict, 

35* In matters of slight importance, attention is 
mostly directed by will; and for that reason, it is 
our own fault if trifling objects make any deep im- 
pression. Had we power equally to withhold our 
attention from matters of importance, we might be 
proof against any deep impression. But our power 
fails us here : an interesting object seizes and fixes 
Jthe attention beyond the possibility of controiil ; 
and while our attention is thus forcibly attached to 



392 Terms Defaced- . 

one object, others may solicit for admittance : but 
in vain, for they will not be regarded. Thus a 
small misfortune is scarce felt in presence of a 
greater : 

Lear. Thou think*st 'tis much, that this contentious storm 
Invades us to the skin ;. so 'tis to thee ; 
But frhere tbe greater malady isfix'd, 
The lesser is scarce felt. , Thoud*st shun a bear ; 
But if thy flight lay towrM the roaring sea^ 
TboiJ'dst meet the bear i' th* mouth. When the mind's free, 
The body's delicate ; tbe tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else. 
Save what beats there. 

King Lear, A tilll.Sc, 5. 

36. Gemi^j species^ modification^ are terms in- 
yejnted to distinguish beings from each other. In- 
dividuals are distinguished by their qualities : a 
number of individuals considered with respect to 
qualities that distinguish them from others, is term^ 
ed a species : a plurality of species considered 
with respect to their distinguishing qualities, is 
termed a genus. That quality which distinguish- 
eth one genus, one species, or even one individual, 
from another, is termed a modification : thus the 
same particular that is icrmed b. property or quality, 
when considered as belonging to an individual, or 
a class of individuals, is termed a modification 
when considered as distinguishing the individual 
or the class from another : a black skin and soft 
curled hair, are properties of a Negro : the same 
circumstances considered as marks that distin- 
guish a Negro from a man of a different species, 
are denominated modifications. 

37. Objects of sight, being complex, are distin- 
guishable into the several particulars that enter 
into the composition: these objects are all of them 
coloured ; and they all have length, breadth, and 
thickness.^ When I behold a spreading oak, I 



I 



or Explained. 895 

distinguish in that object, size, figure, colour, and 
sometimes motion : in a flowing river, I distinguish 
colour, figure, and constant motion ; a dje has co- 
lour, black spots, six plain surfaces, all equal and 
uniform. Objects of touch have all of them exten- 
sion : some of them are felt roughs some smooth : 
some of them are hard, some soft. With respect 
to the other senses, some of their objects are sim- 
le, some complex : a sound, a taste, a smell, may 
e so simple as not to be distinguishable into parts : 
others are perceived to be compounded of dinerenf 
sounds, different tastes, and dinercnt smells. 

38. The eye at one look can grasp a number of 
objects, as of trees in a field, or men in a crowd: 
these objects having each a separate and indepen- 
dent existence, are distinguishable in the mind, 
as well as in reality ; and there is nothing more 
easy than to abstract from some and to confine our 
contemplation to others. A large oak with its 
spreading branches fixes our attention upon itself, 
and abstracts us from the shrubs that surroimd it. 
In the same manner, with respect to compound 
sounds^ tastes, or smells, we can fix our thoughts 
upon any one of the component parts, abstracting 
our attention from the rest. The power of abstrac- 
tion is not confined to objects tl^at are separable in 
reality as well as mentally ; but also takes place 
where there can be no real separation : the size, 
the figure, the colour, of a tree, are inseparably 
connected, and have no independent existence ; 
the same of length, breadth, and thickness : and yet 
we can mentally confine our observations to one of 
these, abstracting from the rest. Here abstraction 
takes place where there cannot be a real separation/ 

39. Space and time have occasioned much me- 
taphysical jargon ; but after the power of abstrac- 
tion is explained as above, there remains no difii- 



394 Terms . Defined 

culty about them. It is mentioned above, th^ 
-space as well as place enter into the perception of 
every visible obje^ct : a tree is perceived as exist-^ 
ing in a certain place, ^nd as occupying a certain 
space. Now, by the powei* of abstraction, space 
may be considered abstractedly from the body that 
occupies it; and hence the abstract term space. In 
^ the same manner, existence maybe considered ab- 
stractedly from any particular thing that exists ; 
and place may be considered abstractedly from any 
particular thing that may be iii it. Every series or 
succession of things, suggests the idea of time ; 
and time may be considered abstractedly fronj any 
series of succession. In the same' manher j we ac- 
quire the abstract term motion, rest, number, and a 
thousand other abstract terms ; an excellent contri- 
vance for improving speech, as without it speech . 
would be wofully imperfect. Brute animals may 
have some obscure notion of these circumstances, 
as connected with particular objects : an ox pro- 
bably perceives that he takeb longer time to go 
round a long ridge in the plough, than a short one ; 
and he probably perceives v^hen he is one of fouj . 
in the yoke, or only one of two. But the power 
of abstraction is not bestowed on brute animals ; 
because to them it would be altogether useless, as 
they are incapable of speech. 

40. This power of abstraction is of great utility, 
A carpenter considers a log of wood with regard to 
hardness, firmness, colour, and texture : a philoso- 
pher, neglecting these properties, makes the log 
undergo a chemical analysis ; and examines its 
taste, its smell, and its component principles : the 
geometrician confines his reasoning to tne figure, 
the length, breadth, and thickness. In general^, 
every artis( abstracting from all other properties, 
confines his observations to those which have a 
more immediate connexion with his profession. 



1 - • *- 

Jbr Explained. 395 

. 4l. it is ob^rved above, p. 381, that there can 
be nd such thing as a general idea; that all our 
perceptions are of particular objects, and that our 
secondary perceptions or ideas miist be equally so. 
Precisely, for the same reason; there can be no 
such thing as an abstract idea. . We cannot form 
an idea of a part without taking in the whole ; nor 
of motion, colour, figure, independent, of a body* 
No man will say that he can forni any idea of beau- 
ty, till he think of a person endued with that qu2f-^ 
lity ; nor that he can forni an idesL 6i weight, till 
he takes under consideration a body that is weighty- 
And when he takes under consideration a body en- 
dued with one or other of the properties mention- 
ed, the idea he forms is not an abstract or general 
idea, but the idea of a particular body with its pro- 
perties. . But though a part atid the whole, a sub- 
ject and its attributes, an effect and itsJ cau^e, are 
so intimately connected, as that an idea cannot be 
formed of the one independent of the other ; yet 
we can reason upon the one abstracting from the 
other. 

This is done by words signifying the thing to 
tvhich the reasoning is confined ; and such words 
are denominatfed abstract terms. The meaning 
and use of an abstract term is well understood, 
though of itself, unless other particulars be taken 
in, it raises no imagef nor idea in the mind. In lan- 
guage it serves excellent purpose ; by it different 
figures, different colours, can be compared, with- 
out the trouble of conceiving them as belonging to 
any particular subject ; and they contribute with 
words significant to raise images or ideas in the 
mind* 

42. The power of abstraction is bestowed oo 
man, for the purpose solely of reasoning. It tends . 
greatly to the facility as well as clearness of any 
process of reasoning, that laying aside every oth«r 

Vol. If. 60e« 



S9B Term Defined 

* drcuitidtance, we can confine our attention to the' 
single property we desire to investigate. 

43. Abstract terms may be separated into three 
different Mnds, all e(][uall7 subservient to the rea- 
soning faculty. Individuals appear to have no 

« end ; and did we not possess the faculty of distri* 
butingthem into classes, the mind would 1)6 lost la 
an endless maze, and naprogress be made in know- 
ledge. It is by the faculty of abstraction that we dis- 
tribute beings into genera and species : finding a 
number of individuals connected by certain qualities, 
common to all, we ^ve a name to these individuals 
considered as thus connected, which name, by ga- 
thering them together into one class, serves to ex- 
press the whole of these individuals as distinct 
from others. Thus the word animal serves to de- 
note every being that can move voluntarily ; and 
the words man^ horse^ lion^ &c. answer similar 
purposes. This is the fii^t and most common sort 
of abstraction ; and it is of the most extensive use, 
by enabling us to comprehend in our reasoning 
whole kinds and sorts, instead of individuals with- 
out end. The next sort of abstract terms compre- 
hends a number of individual objects, considered 
as connected by some occasional relation. A great 
number of persons collected in one place, without 
any other relation but merely that of contiguity, 
are denominated a crowd : in forming this term, we 
abstract ixpm sex, from age, from condition, from 
dress, &c." A number of persons connected by the 
same laws and by the same government, are term- 
ed a nation : and a number of men under the same 
military command, are termed an army. A third 
sort of abstraction is, where a single property or 
part, which may be common to many individuals, 
is selected to be the subject of our contemplation ; 
for example, whiteness, heat, beauty, length^ 
jroundness, head, arm# 



or Explained. 997 

44. Abstract terras are a happy invantion : it U 
by their means chiefly, that the particulars which 
make the subject of our reasoning, are brought in- 
to close union, and separated from aU othiers howr 
ever naturally connected. Without the aid of such 
terms, the mind could never be kept steady to its 
proper subject, bqt be perpetually in hazard of as- 
suming foreign circumstances, or qeglecting what 
are essential. We can without the aid of language, 
compare real objects by intuition, when these ob- 
jects are present ; and when absent, we can com- 
pare them in idea^ But when we advance farther, 
and attempt to make inferences and dmw conclu- 
sions, we always employ abstract termi?, eveq in 
{thinking : it wpuld be as difficult to reason without 
them, as to perform operations in algebra without 
signs ; for there is scarce any reasoning without 
some degree of abstraction, and we cannot easily 
abstract without qsing abstract terms- Hence i( 
follows, that without language man would scarce 
be a rational being. 

45. The same thing, iq different respects, has 
different names. With respect to certain qualities, 
it is termed s^ suhstatfM ; with respect to other'Oua- 
lities, a body ; and with respect to qualities of all 
sorts, a subject . It is termed a passive subject with 
respect to an action exerted upon it : an object with 
respect to a percipient : a cause with respect to the 
effect it produces : and an effect with respect to ita 
cause. 



THE EWP. 



( 






3192!) IS 29 



fThe volumes are denoted by numeral letters^ the pages bjf 

figures.'] 



ABSTRACTION, power of, ii. 394. Its use, ii. 994. 

jLbstract terms, ought to be avoided in poetry, i. 203. ii. 258. Cannot be 
compared but by being personified, ii. 138. Personified, ii. 173. Defined, 
ii. 393. The use of abstract terms, ii- 394, 

Accents, defined, ii. 78. The musical accents that are necessary in an hex- 
ameter line, ii. 87. A low word must not be accented, ii. 106. Rules for 
accenting English heroic verse, ii. 107. How farafiected by the pause, ii. 
111. Accent and pause l|ave a mntual influence, ii. 1 12. 

Action, what feelings are raised by liumap actions, i. 45, 46. 190. 290. We 
are impelled to action by desire, i. 60. Some actions are instinctive, some 
intended as means to a cej^ain end, i. 52. Actions great and ehevatedy 
low and ^veiling, i- 191. Slowness and quickness in acting, to what 
causes owing, i. 253. 262. Emotions occasioned by propriety of action, i. 
281. Occasioned by impropriety of action, i. 282. Human actions con- 
sidered with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 294, Actions the inter- 
preters of the heart, i. 353. Action U the futdamental part of epic and 
dramatic compositions, ii. 282. Unity of action^ ii. 298. We are con- 
scious of internal action as in the head, li. 375. Internal action may pro- 
ceed without our being conscious of it, ii. 376. 

Action and reaction betwixt a passion and its object, 1. 111. 

Actor, bombast actor, i. 209. The chief talents of an actor, i. 349. An ac- 
tor should feel the passion he represents, i. 368. Difference as to pronun- 
ciation betwixt the French and English actors, i.371. note. 

Admiration, i. 110; 218. 

iEneid. See Virgil- 
Affectation, i. 2^. 

Affection to children accounted for, i. 72. To blood relations, i. 72. AfiTec- 
tion for what belongs to us, i. 72. Social affections more refined than 

' selfish, i. 104. Affection, in what manner inflamed into a passion, i. 110. 
Opposed to propensity, i. 113. Affection to children endures longer than 
any other affection, i. 113. Opinion and belief influenced by affection, i. 
145. Affection defined, i. 329. ii. 388. 

Agamemnon, of Seneca censured, i. 391. 

Agreeable emotions and passions, i. 98, &c. Things neither agreeable nor 
disagreeable. See Qbject. 

Alcestes, of Euripides censurefl, i. 409. ii. 312. 

Alexandre, of Racine censured, i. 381 . 

Alexandrine line, ii. 89. 

Allegory, defined, ii. 202. More difficult in painting than in poetry, ii. 213 
In aa historical poem, ii. 288. 

All for love, of Dryden censured, i. 397. 
4lto Relievo, ii. 349. 



n 



4M INDEX. 



Ambignify, occationed lijr « wrong cboiee of words, ii. 17. 

a wrong arrangement, li. 41. 
Amynta, of Tasso censured, i. 375. 
AmorpatriiBy accounted for, i. 75. 
Amphibrachys, ii. 133. 
. Amphimacer, ii. 132. 
Analytic, and synthetic methods of reaatfmiog cpinpared, i. 35. 
Anapestos, ii. 132. 

Anger, explained, i. 79, he. Frequently comes to its height instantaneoa^* 
]y, I. 109. Decays suddenly, i. 112. Sometimes exerted against the inr 
nocent, i. 140, and even against things inanimate, i. 141. ?Iot infeictioi:;|S| 
i. 158. Has no dignity in it, i. 203. 
AiKle, largest and smallest angle of vision, i. 153. 
Animals, distributed by iiature into classes, ii. 3(93, 
Antibacchius, ii. 132. 
Anticlimax, ii. 69. 
Antispastus, ii. 133. 

Antithesb, ii. 24. Verbal antithesis, i. 317. ii. 24. 
Apostrophe, ii. 187, &c. 
Appeaiance, things oagfat to be desc|iM>ed in ppetry, as they fippear^ not at 

tney are in reality, ii. 240. 
Appetite, defined, i. 51 . Appetites of hunger, thir^, animal love, arise with- 
out an object, i- 66. Appetite for fame or esteem, i. )66. 
Apprehension^ dulness and quickness of apprehension, tp what causes 

owing, i 254. 
Architecture, ch. XXIV. Grandeur of manner in architecture, i. |98. The 
situation of a great house oueht to be lofty, i. 277. A play-house or a m'u? 
sic room susceptible of much ornament, i. 279- What emotions can be 
raised by architecture, ii. 318. Its emotions compared witii those of 
; gardening, ii. S18. Every building ought to have an expression suited to 
Its destination, ii. 319. ^16. Simplicity ought to be the governing tflCste, 
ii. 32Q. Rc^larity to be studied, ii. 323. 340. External form of dwell- 
ing-boiises, 11. 337. Divisions within, ii. 337. 347. A palace ousht to be 
legular, but in a small house convenience ought to be preferred, ii. 336. 
A dwelling-house ought to be suited to the cUmaie, ii. 339. Congrai^ 
o^ht to pe stodged, ii. 345. Architecture governed by principles that 
produce opposite effects, ii. ^48. Different ornaments employed in it, ii. 
349. Witticisms in architecture, ii. 356. Allegorical or emblematic or- 
naments, ii. 357. Architecture inspire^ a taste for neatness and regularity. 
U.359. 
Ariosto, censured, i. 267. ii. 300. 

Aristffius, the e^^sode of Aristeus in the Georgics ifensurad, ii. 131. 
Aristotle, censured, ii. 379. nofe. 
Army defined, ii. 396. 

ArrifigeQient, tlie best anrangement of words Is to plape tfa^m if possible in 
an inereasiof series^ ii. 15. Arrangement of memliers in a period, it 16. 
pf periods in a discpifise, ii. 16. Ambiguity frpm wrong arrangement^ ii. 
41. Arrangement natural and inverted, ii 61. 
Articulate sounds, Ii^^fY lar agreeable, ii. 7 — 10. 
Artificial mount, ii. 329. . 
Arts. See Fine Arts. 

Ascent, pleasant, but descent not painful, i. 189. 
Athalie, of Racine censured, i. 391. 
Attention, defined, ii. 390 Impression made by objects depends on the 

degree of attention, ii. 391 . Attention not always voluntary, ii, 392. 
Attractive passions, i. 356. 
Attractive objects, i. 160. 
Attractive signs of passion, i. 356. 

Attributes, transferred by a figure of speech from OAe subject to an- 
other, ii. 196, &c. 



INDEX. 4&1 

Jivmee, defined, i. 49. 
AV^ue, to a house, ii.329. 
Aversion; defined, i. 110. 329. u. 390. 

Baccfaius, ii. 182. 

Bajazet, of Racine censured, i. 40& 

Barren scene, defined, ii. 300. 

Base, of a column, ii. 353. 

Basso-relievo, ii. 349.- 

Batrachomuonwchia, censured, i. 301. 

Beauty,, ch. LIT. Intrinsic and relative, 1. 171. ii. 329. Beauty of simplicity, 
i. 173. of figure, i. 174. of the circle, i 175, of the square, i. 175. of a re- 
gular polygon, i. 175. of a parallelogram) i. 176. of an equilateral triangle, 
i. 176. Whether beauty be a primary or secondary quality of objects, i. 
179. Beauty distinguished from grandeur, i. 183. Beauty of natural 
colours, i. 270. Beauty distinguished from congruity, i. 278. Consum- 
mate beauty seldom produces a constant lover, i. 3i37. Wherein consbts 
the beauty of the human visage, i. 346. Beauty, proper and figurative, ii. 
385. 

Behaviour, gross and refined, i. 105. 

Belief, of the reality of external objects, i. 85. Enforced by a lively narra- 
tive, or a good historical painting, i. 95, 96. Influenced by passion, i. 143, 
144. ii. 167, 189. Influenced by propensity, i. 145. Influenced by af- 
fection, i. 145. 

Benevolence operates in conjunction ^vith self-love to make us happy, i. 
161. Benevolence inspired oy gardening, ii. 334. 

B^^rkcSey, censured, ii. 380. note. 

Blank verse, ii. 88, 118. Its aptitude for inversion, ii: 120. Its melody, ik 
121. How far proper in tragedy, ii. 295. 

Body, defined, ii. 375. 

Boileau, censured, ii. 186, 284. 

Bombast, i. 207. Bombast in action, i. 209. 

Bossu, censured, ii. 303. note. 

Burlesque, machinery does well in a burlesque poem, i. 97. Burlesque dis*" 
tinguished into two kinds, i. 300. 

Business, men of middle age best qualified for i^ i. 254. 

Cadence, ii. 71, 78. 

Cubital, of a column, ii. 353: 

Careless Husband, its double pfot w4) contrived, ii. 292^ 

Cascade, i. 213. 

Cause, resembling causes may produce effects that have no resemblancjft ; 

and causes that have no'i^setnUlaiice may produce resembling effects, ii. 

65. Causes defined, ii 397. 
Chance, the mind revolts fikgainst misfortunes that happen by chance, ii. 279. 
Character, to draw a character is the" master-stroke ofdescription, ii. 246. 
Characteristics, of Shaftsbury criticised, i 279. note. 
Children, love to'Uiem accounted for, i. 72. A child can discover a passion 

from its extermd signs, i. 357. Hides none of its emotions, i. 364. 
Chinese gardens, ii. 332. Wonder and surprise studied in them, ii. 833. 
Chorens, ii, I32f. 
Choriambus, ii, 133. 

Chorus, and essential part of the Grecian tragedy, ii, 303. 
Church, what ought to he its fonrf and situation, ii, 345. 
Cicero censured, ii, 60, 72, 74. • 

Cid, of Copneille censured, i. 374, 395. 
Cinfia, of Corneille censured, i, 280, 372, 392. 
Cirole, its beauty, i, 174. 
Cfa-eumstaaces, in a period, where Aey should be placed, u, 46, 61'. 



^ INDEX. 

Class, all Uying cnaatnret distributed into classes, ii, 363. 

Climax, in sense, i, 194, 373, ii, 55. In sound, 11, 15. When theses afe 

joined, the sentence is delightful, ii, 69. 
Coephores, of Eschylus censured, i, 344. 
Coexistent emotions and passions, i, 1 14, &&c. 

Colonnade, where proper, ii, 339. 

Colour, gold and silver esteemed for their beautiful colours, i, 172. A se- 
condary quality, i, 100. Natural colours, i, 270. Colouring of the human 
face, exquisite, i, 270. 

Columns, every column ought to have a base, i, 156. The base ought to be 
square, i, 156. Columns admit different proportions, ii, 343, 345. What 
emotions they nuse, ii, 346. Column more beautiful than a pilaster, ii. - 
352. Its form, ii, 362. Five orders of columns, ii, 353. Capital, of the 
Corinthian order censured, ii, 355. 

Comedy, double plot in a Comedy, ii,- 293. Modem manners do best in 
comedy, ii, 280. Immorality of English comedy, i, 60. 

Comet, motion of the comets and planets compared with respect to beauty, 
i,213. 

Commencement of a vrork ought to foe modest and simfde, ii, 239. 

Common nature in every speci^fs of animals, i, 101, Ji, 36^. We have a. 
conviction that this common nature is invariable, ii, 363. Also that it is 
perfect or right, i, 101 , ii, 363. 

Common sense, ii, 365, 372. 

Communication of passion to related objects. See Passion. 

Communication of qualities to related objects See Propensity. 

Comparison, i. 233, &c. ch. XIX. In the early composition of all nattoDs, 
comparisons are carried beyond proper bounds, ii. 136. Comparisons 
that resolve into a play of lyords, ii. 161. 

Complex emotion, i. 114^ &c. 

Complex object, its power to generate passion, i. 75. 203. 

Complex perception, ii. 382. 

Complexion, what colour of dress is the most suitable to different complex- 
ions, i. 246. 

Conception, defined, ii. 377. 

Concord , or harmony in objects of sight, i. 1 1 7. 

Concor(^t. sounds, defined, i- 115. 

Congreve, censured, i. 61. 302. 850. note. ii. 295. 301. 

Congruity and propriety, ch. X. A secondary relation, i. 276. note. Con- 
gruity distinguished uom beauty, i. 278. Distinguished from propriety, i. 
278. As to quantity, congruity coincides with proportion, i. 285. 

Connexion, essential in all compositions, i. 67. 

Conquest cf Grenada, of Dryden censured, i. 396. 

Consonants, ii. 8. 

Constancy, consummate beauty the cause of inconstancy, i. 387. 

Construction of language explained, ii. 34, izc. 

Contemplation, when painfull i. 260. 

Contempt, rabed by improper action, i. 230. ^ ^ 

Contrast, ch. VIII. Its effect in language, ii. 12. In a series of objects, iu 
14. Contrast in the thought requires contrast in the members oi the ex,* 
pression, ii. 30. The effect of contrast in gardening, ii. 332. 

Conviction, intuitive. See Intuitive conviction. 

Copulative, to drop the copulative enlivens the expression, ii. 32, &c. 

Coriolanus, of Shakspeare censured, i. 396. 

Corneille censured, i. 371. 387. 405. 400. 

Coporeal pleasure, i. 17. Low and sometimes mean, i. 292. 

Couplet, ii. 89. Rules for its composition, ii 118. 

Courage, of greater dignity than justice, i. 391. 

Creticus, ii. i32. 

Criminal, the hour of execution seems to him to approach with a swift pace, 
i. 147. ; 



Criticldoi, its adveiAtages, i. SI, &e. iU terms not ftedanitefy de&ied,l 

Crowd, defined, K. 896. 

QuriosHy, i. 218. 232, &c. 

Custom and babk, ch. XIV. Renders objects familiar, i.ai9. Custom distin- 
guished from habit, i. 325. Custom puts the rich and poor upon a lerti. 
i. 340. Taste in the fine aits improved by enstom, ii.«7a. fuMe, 

bactyle, ii. 132. , 

Pavila, censured, 1.267. 

Declensions, e&piaihed, ii. 36. , 

Dedications. See Epistles Dedicatory. 
* Delicacy, of taste, i. l04. ii. 371. 

Derision, i. 283. 300. 

Des Cartes, censured, ii. 880. note. 

Descent, not painful, i. 189. 

Description, it animates a descriptidn to represent things pstst as present, i. 
93. The rules that ought to govern it, ii. 236. Alivel^ description is agree* 
able, though the subject described be disagreeable^ ii. 265. NO object but 
those of sight can be well described, ii. 383. 

Descriptive personifications, ii. 173. 

Descriptive tragedy, i. 368. 

Desire, defined, i. 48. It impels us to action, i.51. It detenhines the wijU, i. 
158. Desire in a criminal to be {iuniflhed, i. 163. Desire tendi the most 

. to happiiijess when moderate, i 180. 

Dsalogue, dialogue-writing requires great genius, i. 367. In dialogue eveiy 
expression ought to be suited to the character of the speaker, ii. 257. Di- 
alogue makes a deeper impression than narration, ii. 272. Qqalifted ^ot 

. expresising sentiments, ii. 275. Rules for it, ii. 294 kc. 

Dignity and grace, ch. XI. Dignity of human nature/ii. 3^^. 

Diiambus, ii. 133. 

Dipthongs, ii. 9. ^ 

Disagreeable emotions' and passions, i. 99. 

Discordant sounds, defined, i, 116. 

Dispond^us, ii. l33. . 

Disposition, defined, ii. 389. 

Dissimilar eniotions, i. 115. Their effects when co-existent, i. 119. ii. 322. 844. 

Dissimilar passions, their effects, i. 128. 

^^^iof' ^^®*^°^' '*' ^' ^" ^^ ^^^^ painful, i. 100, and also disagreeable, 

jbtstance, the natural method of computing the distanpe pfotjiects, i. 161. 
&c. Errors to which this computation is liable, ii. Mi.wki 

DitrochSBUs^ ii. 133. 

Door, its proportion^ ii. 336. 

Double action, in an epic poem, ii. 299. 

Double dealer, of Congreve censured, i. 302. il. 301. 

Double plot, in a dramatic composition, il. 291. 

Drama, ancient and modern compared, ii. 303. 

Dramatic poetry, ch. XXII. 

Drapery, ought to hang loose, i. 156.' 

Dress, rules about dress, i. 279. ii. 320. 

Dryden, censured, ii. 213. 294. 301. 

Duties, moral duties distinguished into those which respect ourselves an^ 
those which respect others, i. 285. Foundation of duties that respect our- 
selves, 1. 286. of those that respect others, i. 286. Duty of acting up to tb«* 
dignity ofournature,i. 391. ^ ^ 

Dwelling-house, its external form, ii. 238. Internal form, ii. 287. 347. 

Vol. IL 6U 



4o4 Index. 



Edaeaiitfn, prbmoted by the fine arts, i. 22. ii. 834. Meaits to promte HI 

young persons a habit of virtue, i. 67. 
EffectSi resembling eftects may be produced by causes that have no resem* 

blance, ii. 65. Eifect defined, ii. 'S&7, 
Efficient cause, of less imftorttoce than the final cause, i. 294. 

flectra, of Sophocles censured, i. 345. 
levation, i..l80,iie. B^al and figurative intimately connected, i. 190. Fi- 
gurative elevation distinguished from figurative grandeur, ii. 149. 

Amotion, what feelings are termed emotions, i. 42. Emotions defined, i. 4^ 
&c. And their causes assigned^ i. 45. Distinguished from passions,!. 48. 
Emotion generated by relations^ i. 68. &c. Emotions expanded upon re- 
lated objects, i. eS.ht. ii. 50. 64. 83. 107. 17i; ^. £moti<»is distinguished 
Into primary and secondary, i. 71. Raised by fiction j i. 85. &c. Raised b^ 
painting, i. 92. Emotions divided into pleasant and painful, agreeable and 
disagreeable, i.99,&c.ii. 384. The interrupted ei^istence of emotions, i. 
106. he. Their growth and decay, i. IC^, &c. Their identity; i. 108. Co- 
existent emotions, \. 114. Ike. Emotions similar and dbsiteilar, i. 115. 
Complex emotions, i. T15. Effects of similar co existent emotions, i. 116. 
li. 344. Effects of dissimilar co-existept eitiotions, i. 119. ii 322. Influence 
of er.ioiions upon our perceptions, opinions and belief, i 135, &Le. 154 239. 
242. ii. 168. 187. 190. 195, he. Emotions resemble their causes, i 156. &c. 
En. •♦ions of grandeur, i. 181, &c. of sublimity, 1. 182. Alow emotion, J.' 
191. > 'notion of .laughter, ch. VII. of ridicule, i. 280. Emotions when 
oontrejsted should not be too slow nor too quick in their succession, i. 248: 
Emoiiofis raised by the fine arts ought to be contrasted in succession, i. 
249. Emotion o/ congruity, i. 280. of propriety, i. 281. Emotions produ* 
ced b^^ human actions, i. 290: Kflnked according to their dignity, i.299^. 
External rigns of emotions^ ch. XV. Attractive and repulsive emotions, i. 
856. What emotions do best fn succession, what in conjunction, ii. 322. 
What emotions are raised by the productions of manufactures, ii. 334. note. 
Man is passive with rCfgard to his emotions, ii. 375. We are conscious ot 
emotions as in the heart, ii. 376. 

Emphasis, defined, ii. 107. note. Ought never to be put upon words of hn- 

. portance, ii. 70. 109. 

t^neid, its unity of action ii. 299. 

English plays, generally irregular, ii. 315. English comedies generally licen* 
tious, i. 60. 

j^nglish; tongue too rough, ii. 12. In English words the long syllaibTe is put 
early, ii. 10. note. English tongue more grave and sedate tn its tone than 
the French, ii.lll.7to/e. Peculiarly qualified fot personification^ ii. 173. note. 

Entablature, ii. 352. 

£nvy, defined, i. 49. Hc^ generated, i: 109. Why it is perpetual, i. llS^. 
It magnifies every bad quality in its object, i. 138. 

Epic poem, no improbable fact ought to be admitted, i. 96. Machinery id 
it has a bad effect, i. 97. It doth not always reject liTdicrous images, i. 251. 
Its commencement ought to be modest and simple, ii. 239. In what respect 
it differs from a tragedy; ii. 271. Distinguished into pathetic and moral, 
ii.272. Its good effects, ii. 274. Compared with tragedy as to the subjects 
proper for each, li. 274. How far it may borrow ffom history, ii. 280. RuW 
tor dividing it into parts, ii. 281. 

Epid poetry^ ch. XXII. 

Epicurus, censured, ii. 378. note. 

Episode, in an historical poem, ii. 289. Requisites, ii. 289. 

Epistles dedicatoryj censured, i. 276. note. 

Epithets redundant, ii. 263. 

Epitritust ii. 134. 

Essays on man, criticised, ii. 130. 

Esteem, Ipve of, i. 166. 197. .^ 

Esthdf) of Racine censured^ i. 9^1. 395. 



INDEX. ^ 

• - ' 

}^nacb| of Terence censured, i. 409. 

jCuripldes, censured^ i. 409. ii. 314. 

evergreens, cut in the shape of animals, ii, 8QH. 

£ffect of experience with respect id taste in the*^ fine arts, ii, 911, note. 

depression, elevated, low, i. 191. Expression that has no distinct meaning, 
i. 416. Members of a sentence expressing a resemblance betwixt two ob 
jects ought to resemble each other, ii- 27, &c. Force of expression by sus- 
pending the thought tili the ciose , ii. 57. 

£xtemal objects, their reality, i. 85. ' ' - ^ 

£xtemal senses, distinguished into two kinds, i. 17. External sense, ii. 374. 

SlLternal signs of .emotions ahd passions, ch. XV. Extemttl signs of passion, 
what emotions they raise in a Spectator, i. 100: &c.^ 

£ye-sight, influenced by passion, i. 154. 240. 242. 

Vj^ccy though uniformity prevail in the human face, yet every face is dbtin* 
guishable from another, i. 273. 

Faculty, by which we know passion from Hs external signs, i. 857. 

Kaiiy Queen, criticised, ii. 208., 

False quantity, painful to the ear, ii. 91. 

Fame, love of, 1. 166. 

familiarity, its effect, i. 109. 218. ii. 220. it wears off hj absence, i. 224. 

Fashion, its influence accounted for, i. 70. Fasiiionis in a continual flux, i. 
178. 

l^eoTy explained, i. 79. kc. Rises often to its utmost pitch in an instant, i. 109., 
Fear arising from affection or aversion, i. 110. Fear is infectious, i. 157. 

Feeling, its different significations, ii. 377. 

j^iction^ emotions raised by fiction, i. 8^.&c. 

figure, beauty of, i. 174. Definition o/ a regular Sgnre, ii. 385. 

Figures, some passions favorable to fi'^urative expression, i. 400. ii. 151. 

^i^res, ch. XX. Figu^ of speech, i|. 176. 203. 218. &.c. Figures were of 
b.^ oid much strained, li. I3>i. ^07. 

Pinal cause, defined, i. 294. Final cause of our sense of order and connexf 
ion, i. 41. of .the sympathetic emotion of vjrtue, i. 66. of tlje instinctive 
passion' of fear, i. 80. of the instinctive passion of anger, i. 84. of ideal 
presence, i. 94, &&c.of the power that fiction has over t|(p mind, \. St?.. ojT 
emotions and passions, i. 158, &c.'6i the communication of passion to re- 
lated objects, i. 167. of regularity, uniformity, ofde'r and simplicity, i. 174. 
of proportion, i. 175. of beauty, i. 17d. ' Why certain objects are neither 
pleasant nor painful, i, 188. 212. of the picture we have in motion and 
force, i. 217, of curiosity, i. 2i\T. of wonder, i. '226. of surprise, i. 227. of tht; 
principle that prompts us to'perfect every work, i. 245. of the pleasure or 
pain that results from thoflifferent circun)stances of a train of perceptions, 
1. 262. kc. of cohgruity and propriety, i. 285, &lc. of dignity and meannes^, 
i. 294, &,c. of habit, i. 340^ &c. of the external signs of passion and emotion, 
i. 352. 358 &,c Wh^ articulate sounds singly agreeaole are always agre^- 
l^ble in conjunction, li. % of the pleasure we nave in laneuase, i|. ^65. of o^r 
relish for various proportions \n quantity, ii. 341. Why uelicapj pf taste 
is withheld from the bulk of mankind, ii. 362. of our conviction of a com- 
mon standard in every species of beiqgs, ii. ^65. of unifofmity of taste in 
the fine arts, ii.366. Why the sense of ^ right and o. wrong in the fine arts 
is less clear than the use of a right and a wron^ in actions, ii. 369. Final 
cause of greater importance the eflicient cause, i. 293. 
Fine arts, defined, i. 20. 26. A subject of reasoning, i. 21. Education pro- 
moted by the fine arts, i. 22. ii. 334. The fine arts a great support to mo- 
rality, i. 23, &c. ii. 335. 358, &c. Their emotions ought to be contrasted 
in succession, i 249. Uniformity and variety in the fine arts, i. 265. Con- 
sidered with respect to dignity, i. 294. How far they may be regulated bv 
custom, i. 341. None of them are imitative but punting and sculpture, ii. 
5. Aberrations from a true taste in these arts, ii. 368. Who qualified (P be 
judges in the fine arts, ii. 371. 



406 INPEJ^, 

Fluid, motion of fluidsy i. 213. 

Foot, the effect that syllables collected into feet have upon the ear» ii* ^-^ 
Musical feet defined, U. 80. note. A list of verae-feet, ii. 132. 

Force, produces afeeling that resembles it, i. 155. 

Forco, ch. V. Moving torce, i. 2)3. Force gives a pleasure di^eriog irom 
that of motion, i. 214. It contributes to grandeur, i. 215. T 

Forei ..a, preference aven to foreign curiositie9,«i* ^^* 

Fountains, in what form they ought to be, ii. 329. 

French dramatic writers, criticised, i. 371. no/e. 392. ii. 315. 

French verse, requires rh^-me, ii. 128. 

French language, more lively to the ear than the Englishi ii. U 1. note. In 
French woros the last syllwle generally long and acc^^nted, iL 1 11. noU. ' 

Friendship! considered with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 293. 

Gallery, why it appears loftger than it is in reality, ii. 325. Is not an agreea- 
ble figure of a room, ii. 9^. 
pames, public games of the Greektr, i. 2)5. 

Gardening, a fine garden gives lustre to the owner, i- 7).nofe. Grandeur of 

manner in gardening, i. 203. Its emotions ought to be contrasted in suc^ 

cession, i> ^9. A small garden should be confined to a single expression, 

i. 250. ii. 318. A garden near a gr^at city should have an air of solitude, i: 

250. A garden in 9, wild country should be ^y and splendid, i. 249. Gar- 

<lening, ch. XXIV. What emotions can be raised by it, ii. 319. Its emotion^ 

compared with those of architecture, ii. 319. Simplicity ought to be the 

governing taste, i\. 320. Wherein the unity of a garden consists, ii.323. 

How tar shquld regularity be studied in it, li. 323. Resemblance carried! 

too far in it, ii. 32^. no$e. Grandeur in gardening, ii. 324. Every unnatural 

object ought to be rejected} ii. 326. Dutant f^nd faiiit imitations displease, 

ii. 327. Winter garden, ti. 331. The effect of giving play to the imagina- ^ 

tion, ii. 333. Gardening inspires benevolence, ii 334. And contributes to 

rectitude of manners, ii. 358. 

General idea, there cannot be such thing, ii. 38). note. 

Oeneral terms, should be avoided in compositions fpr amusement, i. 203. il. 

258 * 

General theorems, why agreeable, i. 177. 
Generic habit, defined, i. 333. 

Generosity, why of greater dignity than justice, 291. 
Genus, defined, ii 3§2. 

Gestures, that accompany the different passions^ i. 347. 350. 
Gieriisnlemme liberate, censured, ii. 285. 289. 
Globe, a beautiful figure, i. 268. 

Good -nature, whv of less dignity than courage or generosity, i.291. 
Crothic tower, its beauty, ii. 337. Gothic form of buildings, ii. 346. 
Government, natural foundation of submission to government, i. 166. 
Grace, ch. XI. Grace of motion, i. 217. Grace analysed, i. 296, &c. 
(jlrandeur and suUimity, ch. IV. Distinguished from beauty, i. 183. Gran- 
deui demands not strict regularity, i. 184. Rogularity, order, and propor- 
tion, contribute to grandeur, i. 185 Real and figurative grandeur intimate- 
ly connected, i. 1s3. Grandeur of manner, i. 198. Grandeur may be em- 
ployed indirectly to humble the mind, i. 205. Suits ill with wit and ridi- 
cale, i. 251. Fixes the attention, i.254. Figurative grandeur distinguished 
from figurative elevation, ii. 14^. Grandeur in gardening, ii. 324. Irre- 
gularity and disproportion increase in appearance the size of abuildihg, ii. 
848. 
Pratification of passion, i. 52. 61. 133. 237. ii. 167. &c. 187. 189. Obstacles to 

gratification inflame a passion, i. 1 1 1. 
Gr&titude, considered with respect to its gratification, i. 1 12. Exerted upon 
^ ^he children of the benefactor, i. 137. Punishment of ingratitude, i. 288 
GoLtHude considered with respect to dignity and meanness, i. 293. 



INDEX. 407 

Preek WQvds* finely composed of long aod short syUaUes^ ii. 125. 

Qrief, magnifies its cause, i. 139. Occasions a false reckoning of time, i. 152. 

Is infectious, i. 157. When immoderate is silent^ i. 398. 
pross* pleasure, i. 104. 

iGrroup, natural objects readily form themselves into groups, 1. 274. 
Guido, censured, ii. 214. 

l^abit, ch. XIV. Prevails in old age, i. 254. Habit of application to business, 
i. 259. 262. 264. Converts pain into pleasure, i. 266. Distinguished front 
custom, i. 325. Puts the rich and poor upon a leve],i. 340. 
Harmony, or concord in objects oi sight, i. 117. Harmony distinguished 
frooi melody, ii. 76. note. 

Hatred, how produced, i. 109. Signifies more commonly affection than pas* 
sion,i. 110. Its endurance,!. 113> 

Hearing, in hearing we feel no impression, ii. 378. 

Henriade, censured, ii. 281. 285. 289. 

j^exa meter, Virgil's hexameters extremely melodious, those of Horace sel- 
dom so, ii. 76. And the reason why they are not, ii. 88. Structure of aa 
hexameter line, ii. 79. Rules for its structure, ii. 81. Musical pauses ia 
an hexameter line, if. 81. note. Wherein its melody consbts, ii. 88. 

Hiatus, defined, ii. 10. 

Hippolytus of Euripides censured} i. 394. ii. 813. 

history, why the history of heroes and conquerors is singularly agreeablcy 
i. 65. 195. By what means does histpry raise our passions, i. 91. It rejects 
poetical images, ii. 239. 

History-paintiug. See Painting, 

Homer, defective iu order and connexion, i. 37. His language finely suitetd 
to his subject, ii. 2^. His repetitions defended| ii. 261. His poems in a 
great measure dramatic, ii. 272. Censured, ii. ^88. 

Hope, i. IIQ. 

Horace, defective in connexion, i. 37. His hexameters not melodious, ii. 76. 
Their defects pointed out, ii. 88. 

Horror, objects of horror should be banished from poetry and painting, ii. 266. 

House, a fine house gives lustre to the owner, i. 71. note. 

Human nature a complicated machine, i. 43. 

Humanity, the finest temper of mind, i. 104. 

Humour, defined, i. 302. Humour in writing distinguished from humour iu 
character, i. 302. 

Hyperbole, i. 207. ii. 189, &c, 

Hippobacfaius, ii. 132. 

Iambic verse, its modulation faint, ii. 76. 

Iambus, ii. 132. 

Jane Shore, censured, i. 376. 386. 

Idea, not so easily remembered as a perception is, i. 150. Succession of 
ideas, i. 253. Pleasure and pain of ideas in a train, 259. &c. Idea of me* 
mory defined, ii. 379. Cannot be innate, ii. 381. note. There are no ge^ 
neral ideas, ii. 381. note. Idea of an object of sight more distinct than of 
any other object, ii. 383. Ideas distinguished into three kinds, ii. 884. — 
Ideas of imagination not so pleasant as ideas of memorv, ii. 385. 

Ideal presence, i. 87, &c. raised by theatrical representation, i. 92. raised by 
painting, i. 92. 

Ideal system, ii. 379. note. 

Identity of a passion or of an emotion ; i. 107. 

Jet (Peauy i. 215. ii. 326, 327, 328. 

Jingle of words, ii. 118. 125. 

|Uad, criticised, ii. 299. 

images the life of poetry ^d rhetorioi i. 89. 94. ^02.. 



408 INDEX. 

f Imagination) the gnat instroment cvf reereation, i. 228. To give play to it 
/ has a good elfeet in gardening, ii. 333. Its power in fabricating' images, ii^ 
383. 388. Agreeablenesfl of ideas of imagination, ii. 888. 

Imitation, we naturally imitate virtuous actions, i. 157. Not those that are 
vicious, LI 68. Inarticulate sounds imitated in words, ii. 62. None of the 
fine arts imitate nature except painting and sculpture, ii. 5. The agreea- 
bleness of imitation overtmlances the disagreeableness of the subject, ii. 
965. IMstant and faint imitations displease, ii. 327. 

Impression, made on the organ of sense, i. 17. ii. 377. ' Successive irapres- 

* ■> sions, ii. 14. 

Impropriety in action raises contempt, i. .230. Its punishment, i. 283. 

Impulse, a strong impulse succeeding a weak, makes a doable impression : 
a weak impulse succeeding a strong, makes scarce any impression, ii. 14. 

Infinite series, becomes disagreeable when prolonged, i. 2^. note. 

Innate idea, there cannot be such a thing, 381. note. 

Instinct, we act sometimes by instinct, i. 52. 80, &r. 

Instrument, the means or instrument conceived to be the agent, ii. 195. 

Intellectual pleasure, i. 18. 

Internal sense, ii. 374. 

Intrinsic beauty, i. 170. 

Intuitive conviction, of the veracity of our senses, i. 85. of the dignity of 
human nature, i. 391. ii. 366. of a common nature or standard in every spe- 
cies of beings, ii. 362. of this standard being invariable, ii. 363. and of its 
being pepfect or right, ii. 363. Intuitive conviction that the external signs 
of passion are natural, and also that they are the same in all men, i. 357. 

Intuitive knowledge of external objects, i. 85. 

Inversion, and inverted style described, ii. 38, &c. Inversion gives force 
an^ liveliness to the expression by suspending the thought till the close, 
ii. 57. Inversion how regulated, ii. 60. Beauties of inversion, ii. 61. — 
Inversion favourable to pauses, ii. 100. Full scope for it in blank verse, 
ii. 120. ' 

Involuntary signs, of passion, i. 347. 351, 352. 

lonicns, ii. 133. ' 

Joy, its cause,!. 61. 110. Infectious, i. 157. Considered with respect to 
dignity and meanness, i. 293. 

Iphigenia of Racine, censured, i. 343. 

Iphigenia in Tauris, censured, i. 409. ii. 312. 

Irony, defined, i. 306. ^ 

Italian tongue, too smooth, ii. 12. note. Italian words finely diversified by 
long and short syllables, ii. 10 note. 

Judgment and memory in perfection, seldom, unitedy i. 33. Judgment sel- 
dom united with wit, i. 33. ' * 

Julius Caesar of Shakspeare censured, i. 396. 

Justice, of less dignity than generosity or courage, i. 291. 

Kent, his skill in gardening, ii. 322. 
Key-note, ti. 71. 78. 
Kitchen-garden, ii. 317. 

Knowledge, intuitive knowledge of external objects, i. 85. Its pleasures^ 
never decay, i. 339. 

Labyrinth, in a garden, ii. 327. 

Landscape, why so agreeable, i. 117. 274. More agreeable when compre- 
hended under one view, ii. 325. A landscape in painting ought to be con- 
fined to a single expression, i. 248. Contrast ought to prevail in it, 1. 264. 

Language, power of language to raise emotions, whence derived, i. 89. 95. 
Language of passion, ch. XVII. Ought to be suitied to the sentiments, i. 
365. 400. 402. broken and interrupted, i. 401. of impetuous' passion, i. 402. 
of languid passion? i-403. of calm emotions, i. 403. of turbulent passions, i. 



INDEX. 409 

4(^' Eiamples of laiig:aag« elevated above the tcflie of the sentiment, i. 
410. of language too artificial or too figurative, i. 41 1. too light or airy, i. 
412. Language how far imitative, ii. 5. Its beauty with respect to signi- 
ficfbtion, ii. 6. 16, kc. Its beauty Avith respect to sounds, ii. 7. &c. It ought 
to correspond to the subject, ii. 20. 251. Its structure explained, ii. 34, uc. 
Beauty of language from a resemblance betwixt sound and signification, 
ii. 5. 62, &Lc. The character of a language depends on the character of the ' 
nation whose language it is, ii. 111. note. The force of language consists 
in raising complete images, i. 76. ii. 241. Its power of producing pleasant 
emotions, ii. 266. Without language man would scarce be a rational be- 
ing, ii. 397. 

Latin tongue, finely diversified with long and short syllables, ir. 126. 

L'Avare, of Moliere censured, i. 394. 

Iliaugbter, i. 228. 

Laugh of derision or scorn, i. 283. 

Law, defined, i. 286^ 

Laws of human nature, necessary succession of perceptions, i. 29. 253. We 
heVer act but throu^ the impulse of desire, i. 51. 158. An object loses its 
relish by familiarity, i. 109. Passions sudden in their growth are equally- 
sudden in their decay, i. 112. 331. Every passion ceases upon obtaining 
its ultimate end, i. 1 10. An agreeable cause produceth always a pleasant 

■ emotion, and a disagreeable cause a painful emotion, i. 159. 

Laws of motion, agreeable, i. 17t. 

Les Freres ennemis, of Racine censured, i. 9^1. 

Lewis Xiy. of France, censured, i. 276. note. 

Lei talioiiis, upon, what principle founded, i. 246. 

Line, definition of a regular line, ii. 386. 

Littleness, is neither pleasant nor painful, i. 188. Is connected wilk respect 
and humility, i. 848. note. 

Livy , censured, ii. 18^ .. 

Locke, censured, ii. ^59. nott 

fiOgic, cause of its obscurity and intricacy, i. 359. 

iiOgio, improper in this climate, ii. 339. 

Love, to chilorea accounted for, i. 72. The love a man bears to his country 
explained, i. 75. Lbve produced by pity, i- 78. Lo\ e gradual, i. 109. It sig- 
nifies more commonly aifection than passion, i.^ 1 10. Love inflamed by 
the caprices of a, mistress, i. 1 1 1 . Its endurance, i. 1 12. To a lover absence 
appears long, i. 146. i;#ove assumes the qualities of its object, i. 157. when 
exciessive beconSes selfish, i. 180. considered Avith respect tp dignitjr and , 
meanness, i. 292. seldom constant when founded on exquisite beauty, i. 337. 
ill represented in French plays, i. 392. when immoderate. is silent, i. 399. 

Love for Love, censured, ii. SOL 

Lowness, is neither pjeasknt nor painful, 189. 

Lucan, too minute in his descriptions, i. 202. Censured, ii. 27$. 

Ludicrous, i. 228. may be introduced into an epic poem, i. 25l. 

Lutrin, censured for incongruity, i. 378. characterised, i. 000. 

Luxury, corrupts our taste, ii. ^0. 

Machinery, ought to be excluded from an epc poem, i. 96, ii. 386. does well 

in a burlesque poem, i. 97. 
Malice,, how generated,!. 109. Why it is perj)etual, i, 112. 
Man, a benevolent as well is a selfish being, i. 161. fitted for society, i. 167. . 

Conformity of the nature of man to his external circumstances, i. 189, 212, 

217, 273, 361. Man intended to be more active than contemplative, i. 

129^. The different branches of his internal constitution finely suited to 

each other, ii. 342. 367. 
Manners, gross and refined, i. 104. The bad tendency of rough and blunt 

manners, i. 360. noU, 104. Mod«m muanerd malce a peor figure in an epie 

poem, ii. 280. 



410 INMX. 

> 

Manofaetiiresy the effect of thetr productions widi respect to morality, tli 
884. note. 

Marvellous, in epic poetry, li. 287. 

Means, the means or instrument conceived to be the agent, ii. 195, &c. 

Measure, natural measure of time^i. 146, &c. of space, i. 162, &Ci 

Meanx, bishop of, censured, ii. 219. 

Medea, of Euripides censored, ii. 311. 

Melody or mooalation defined, ii. 74. distmgnished from harmony, ii. 75. 
note. In English heroic verse are four diffei*ent sorts of melody, ii. 92. 110. 
Melody of blank verse superior to that of rhyme, and even to that of hex.- 
ameter, ii. 120. 

Members of a period have a fine effect placed in an increasing series, ii. 15. 

Memory, and judgment in perfection seldom united, i. 33 Memory and wit 
often united, i. 33. greater with respect to perceptions than ideas, i. IdO. 
Memory, ii 378. « 

Merry Wives of Windsor, its dduble plot well contrived, ii. 292. 

Metaphor, ii. 200. ^. In early compositions of nations we find metaphors 
much strained, ii. 207. 

Metre, ii. 88. 

Mile, the computed miles are longer in a barren than in a populous country,' 
i. 160. 

Milton, his style much Inverted, ii. 120. The defect of his versification is the 
want of coincidence betwixt the pauses of the sense and sound, ii. 123. 
The beau^ of Milton's comparisons, ii. 146. 

Moderation m Our desires contributes the most to happiness, i. 180. 

Modern manners, make a poor figure in an epic poem, ii. 260. 

Modification, defined, ii. 392. 

Modulation, defined, ii. 74. 

Molossus, ii. 132. 

Monosyllables, English, arbitrfilry as to quantity, ii. 90. 

Moral duties. See Duties. 

Morality, a right and a wrong taste in morals, ii. 364. Aberrations from its' 
true standard, ii. 369. 

Moral sense, i. 46. Our passions as well as actions are governed by it, i. 102. 

Moral tragedy, ii. 278. 

Motion, requires the constant exertion of an operating cause, i. 106. produc- 
tive of feelings that resemble it, i. 165. Its laws agreeable, i. 177. Mo- 
tion and force, ch. V. What motions are the most agreeable, i. 212. — 
Regular motion, i. 213. Accelerated motion, i. 213. Upward motion, i. 213. 
Undulating motion, 1.213. Motion of fluids, i. 2.13. A body moved neither 
a|reeable nor disagreeable, i. 214, The pleasure of motion differs from that 
offorce,i.2l4. Grace ofradtion^i. 217. Motions Of the human body, i. 217; 
Motion explamed, ii. 382. 

Motive, defined, i.52. A selfish motive arising frdm a social principle, i. 53. 
note. 

Movement, applied figuratively td melody, ii. 66. 

Mount, artificial, ii. 329. 

Mourning Bride, censured, i. 383. 394. 411. ii, 308. 316. 

Music, emotions raised by instrumental music have not an object, i. 65. Mu- 
sic disposes the heart to various passions, ii. 310. refined pleasures of mu- 
sic, i. 68. Vocal distinguished fiifm instrumental,' i. 124. What subjects 
proper for vocal music, i. 126, &tc. Sentimental music, i. 124. note. Sounds 
nt to accompany disagreeable passions cannot be musical, i. 124. note. 
What variety piiper, i. 266. Music betwixt the acts of a play, the advan- 
tages that may be drawn from it, ii. 310. It refines our nature, i. 68. 

Musical instruments, their different effects upon the mind, i. 196. 

Musical measure, defined, ii. 74. 

Narration, it animates a narrative to represent things past as present, 1.9^. 
Narration and description, cb. XXI. It animated a narrative to mak^ it 
^-tmatic,U.268.271; 



I 



INDEX. 411 

!^ation; d^aned^ ii: 906. ^ 

^ote, a high note and a low note in inusic, i. 192. 

NountiL34, 

Novelty soon degenerates, into familiarity, i. 112. Novelty and the unex- 
pected. appearance of objects, ch. VI. ^Nov^lty.a pleasant emotion, i, 220, 
&c. distinguished from variety, i. 224, its different degr^ejSi i 224, &c. fixes 
the attention, i. 254. 

Number, defined, ii. 341. explained, ii. 383. 

Numerus, defined, ii. 74. 

Object^ of a passion defined) i. 61. distinguished into general and particular, 
i, 51. An agreeable object produceth a pleasant emotion, and a disa^e- 
able object a painful emotion, i. 159. Attractive object, i. 160. RepulsivA 

• object, i. 160. Objects of sight the most complex, i. 170. Objects that are 
neither agreeable nor disagreeable, i, 188. 212. 214. Natural objects rea- 
dily form themselves into groups, i. 274. An object terminating an open- 
ing in a wood, appears doubly distant) ii. 324. Objecta defined, ii. 374. — 
Objects of external sense in what place perceived, ii. 375. Objects of in- 
ternal sense, ii. 376. All objects of sight are complex, ii. 382. 392. Ob- 
jects simple and complex, ii. 393. 

Obstacles, to gratification inflame a passion,!. 111. 

Old Bachelor, censured, ii. 301. 

Opera, censured, i. 271. 

Opinion, influenced by passion, 1. 135, &c. ii. 167. influenced by prdpensity, 
i. 145. influenced by affection, i. 145^ Why differing from me in opinion 
is disagreeable, ii. 364. Opinion defined* ii- 389. 

Oration, of Cicero pro Archia poeta censured, ii. 60. 

Orchard, ii. 330; 

Order, i. 133. &c. 176.<ii. 387. Pleasure we have in order, i. 35. hecesskry 
in all compositions, il 36i Sense of order has an influence upon our pas- 
sions, i. 76. Order and proportion contribute to grandeur, i. 182. When 
a list of many particulars is brought into a period, in what order should 

. they be placed .' ii. 55. &.€. Order in stating facts, ii. 299. 

Organ of sense, i. 17. 

Organic pleasure, i. 17, &c. 

Orlando Furioso, censured, ii. 300. 

Ornament, ought to be suited to the subject, i. 278, &c. Redundant orna- 
ments ought to be avoided, ii. 237. Ornaments distinguished into what are 
merely such, and what have relation to use, ii. 349. Allegorical or embl#- 

^ matic ornaments, ii. 356. 

Ossian, excels in drawing characters, il. 248. 

Othello, censured, ii. 268. 

Ovid, censured, i. 236; 

Fseon,!!. 133. 

Pain, cessation of pain extremely pleasant, i. 63.. P&in, voluntary or involun- 
tary, i, 104. Different effects of pain upon the temper, i. 105. Social pain 
less severe than selfish, i. i05. Pain of a train of perceptions in certain 
circumstances, i. 250. Pain lessens by customj i. 338. iii 362. Pain of 
want, i. 339. 

Painful emotions and passions, i. 99, &c. 

Painting, power of painting to move our passions; i. 92. Its power to engage 
our belief, i. 95. What degree of variety is requisite, i. 26i5. A pictiini 
ought to be so simple ds to be seen at one view^ i. 266. In grotesque paint- 
ing the figures ought to be small, in historical painting as great as the life, 
i. 192. Grandeur of manner in painting, i. 202. A lan^i^chpe admits not 
variety of expression, i. 250. Painting is an ii^ttation of nature, ii. 5. In 
hisfory-painting the principal figure ought to be in the best light, ii. 259. — 
A gdod picture agi^eable, though th^ subject be disagreeable, ii. 965. Ob- 

VOL. II. 52a 



4i2f imtt. 

lects that strike terror have a fine effect in paintiug, u. 266. Objects 4f 
norror onght not to be represented/!!. 268. Unity of action In a picture^' 
ii. 301. What emotions can be raised by painting, ii 318. 

Panic, cause of it, i. 157. 

Paradise Lost, the richness of its melody, ii. 120. censured, ii. 281. 

Parallelogram, its beauty, i. 176. 

Parody, defined, i. 907. 371. note. 

Particles, ii. 101. not capable of an accent, ii. 107. 

Passion, no pleasure of external sense denominated a passion, except of see- 
ing and hearing, 1. 42. Passion distinguished frOm emotion, i. 48, &c. Ob 
jecfs of passion, i. 61. Passions distinguished into instinctive and delibe- 
rative, i. 52. 80, &c. what are selfish, what social, i. 53. what dissocial, i. 54. 
Passioti communicated to related objects, i. 69, &v. ii. 50. 64. 84. 107. 171. 
220. Generated by a complex object, i. 75. A passion paves the way to- 
others of a similar tone, i. 78.' A passion paves the w€y to others in the 
same tone, i. 78. Passion railed by painting, i. 92. Passions considered 
as pleasant or painful, agreeable or disagreeable, i. 102,'&,c. Our passions 
governed by the moral sense, i. 102ri Social passions more pleasant and 
tess painful than the selfish, i. 104. Passio&sare infectious, i. 102. 157. are 
refined or gross, i. 104. Their interrupted existence, i. i06, &Dc. Their 
growth and decay, i. 108, &c. the identity (rf a passion, i. 107. The bulk 
qf our passions are the affections of love or hatred inflamed into a passion, 
i. 1 10. Passions have a tendency to^xcess, i. 110. Passions swell by opr 
position, i 110. A passion sudden in growth is sudden in decay, i. 111. 
A passion founded on an original propensity endures for life, i. 113. founds 
td on affection or aversion is subject to decay, i. 113. A '^passion 
ceases upon attaining itr ultimate end, i. 1 13. Co-existent passions, r. 
114, he. Passions similar and dissimilar, i. 128. Fluctuation of passion, 

- 1.-128. &c 373. Its influence upon our perceptions j opinions, and belief, i. 
135, &c. 147. 154. 239. 242. ii. 168. 187. 190. 195, &m5. Passions attractive 
and repulsive, i. 160. 356. Prone to their gratification, i. 167. • Passions 
Hanked according to their dignity, i. 291 . Social passions of greater digni- 
ty than selfish,!. 295. External signs of passions, ch. XV. Our passions 
should be governed by reason, i. 377. Language of passion ch. XVII. A 
passion when immoderate is silent, i. 398. Language of passion broken 
and interrupted, i. 399. What passions admit of figurative expression, U 
400. ii. 151 153. Languageproper for impetuous passion,!. 401. for mel- 
ancholy, i. 401. for calm emotions, i. 402 for turbulent passion, i. 402. In- 
certain passions the mind is prone to bestow sensibility upon things inan- 
mate, ii. 151. 167. With regard to passion man is passive, ii. 375; We are' 
. conscious of passions as in tne heart, ii. 375. 

Passionate personification, ii. 173. 

Passive subject, defined, ii. 397. 

Pathetic tragedy, ii. 272. 

Pause, pauses necessary for three different purposes, ii. 77. Musical pauses 

in an hexameter line, ii. 81. Musical pauses ought to coincide with those 

in the sense, ii. 83. 85. What musical pauses are essential in English hero« 

Ic verse, ii. 92. Rules concerning them, ii. 93. Pause that includes a cou- 

^ plet, ii. 102. Pause and accent have a mutual influence, ii. IKL 

Pedestal, ought to be sparingly ornamented, ii. 349. / 

Perceptions, more easily remembered than ideas, i. 150. Succession of per- 
ceptions, i. 29. 253. Unconnected perceptions find not easy admittance 

• to the mind, i. 255. 260. Pleasure and' pain of perceptions in a train, i. 
959, &c. Perception defined, ii. 376. described, ii. 395. Original and 
, secondary, ii. 380,' &c Simple and coinplex, ii. 378. .. 

Period, has a fine effect when its members proceed in the form ofan increas- 
ing series, ii. 15. In the periods of a discourse variety ought to be studied 
ii, 15. Different thoughts ought not to be crowded into one period, ii. 25. 
The scene ought not to be changed in a period, ii. 30. A perioa so arranged 
as to express the sense dearly; seems more magical than where thc'sen^ 



iis kft doubtfaly ii. 47. lo what part of the period doth a word make the 
greatest figure, ii. 63. A period ought to be closed with that word which 
makes the greatest figure, ii. 54. When there is occasion to mention many 
particulars, in what order ought they to be placed .^ ii. 65, &.c. A sho^ 
period is lively and familiar, a long period grave and solemn, ii. 59. A di^- - 
course ought not to commence wuh a long period, ii. 60. 

i*ersonification,ii. 167, &.c. Passionate aiid descriptive} ii. 173. 

Perspicuity, a capital requisite in writing, ii. 17. Perspicuity in arran^ 
ment, ii.41. 

Phantasm, it 379. no^e. 

Pharsalia, censured^ ii. 272. 

Phaedra, of Racine censured, i 344. 40^. 

Picture. See Painting. 

Pilaster, less beautiful than.a column, ii. 352. 

Pindar, defective in order and connexion, i. 37. ' ^ 

Pity, defined, i. 49. apt to produce love, i. 78. always painful, yet always 
agreeable, i. J102. resembles its cause, i. 158. Wh^t are the proper objects 
. Cor raising pity, ii. 275, &.C. 

place, explained, ii 894. 

Plain, a large plain a beautiful object,!. 154. 

JPlanetary systejaa, its beauty, i. 210. 3^7. 

^iautus, the lil;)erty he takes as to place and time, 11. 315. 

Play, is a chain of connected facts, each scene making a link, ii. 301. 

^Play of words, i 319. 413, &c. gone into disrepute, i. 320. Comparisons tha^ 
resolve into a play of words, ii. 187, &c. 

I^leas^t emotions and passions, i. 99. &x. Social passions more pleasant 
than the selfish, i. 104. Pleasant pain explained, i. 117. 

Pleasure, pleasures of seeing and hearing distinguished from those of the 
other sensesj 1.17, &ic. pleasure of order, i, 35. of connexion, i 35. Plea- 

. sures of taste^ touchy and smell, not termed emotions or pasnons, 1 42. — 
Pleasui'O of reverie, i. 89. 260. Pleasures refined and gross, i 104.— 
Pleasiire of a train of perceptions in certain circumstances, i. 259, &c. 
Corporeal pleasure low, and sometimes mean, i. 2^. Pleasures of the 
eye and ear never low or mean^ i. 2&2. Pleasure of the under- 
standing are high in point of dignity, i. 293. Custom augments mode- 
rate pleasures, but dinunishes those that are intense, i. 338 Some pleasures 
felt internally-; some externally, ii. 384. 

Poet, the chief talent of a poet who deals in the pathetic, i. 347. 

{'oetical flights, in what state of mind they are most relished, ii. 151 . 

I'oetry, grandeur of manner in poetry, i. 298, &c. How far variety is proper, 
i. 266. Objects that strike terror have a fine effect in it, ii. 266. Object^ 
of, horror oudbt to bo banished from it,.ii. 268. Poetry has power over all 
the human affections, ii. 318. The mo^t successful in describing objects 
ofsieht,ii.384. 

polite behaviour, i. 105. 

Polygon, regular its beauty, i. 175. 

Polysyllables^ how far agreeable to the ear, il. 9. seldom have place in the 
construction of £ngl}sh verse, ii. 91. 110. 

Pompey, of Comeille censured, i. 381. 390. 392. 

Poor, habit puts them on a level with the rich,i. 340. 

Pope, excels in the variety of his melody, ii. 104. censured, ii, 184. 186. 254. 
His style compared with that of Swift, ii. 258. 

Posture, constrained posture disagreeable to the spectator, i. 156. 

Power of Abstraction, ii. 293. its use, ii. 294. 

Prepositions explained, ii. 37. 

]Pride, how generated, i. 109. why it is perpetual, i. 112. incites us to ridicule 
the blunders and absurdities of others, i. 284. a pleasant passion, i. 285. 
355. considered with respect to dignity a^d meanaess, i. 293. Its exter- 
nal expressions or signs aisagreeable, i. 3€^. 

primary and secondary qualities of matter, i. I7j. Primary and secondary 
felatipos; i. 277. note. 



414 INDEX. 

THnclple, of order, i. 33. of morality, i. 46. 66. 286, 8ic. of setf-prescrvation, 

' 1.80. of selfishoess, i. 160. of benevolence, i. 160, fcc. of punishment,!. 163; 
S87. Principle that makes us fond of esteem, i. 167. 197. of curiosity, i. 
218. 232. of habiti i. 338. Principle that makes us wish others to be of our 
opinion, ii. 364. Principle defined, ii. 388. sometimes so enlivened as to 
become an emotion, i. 66. See Propensity. 

Principles of the fine arts, i. 20. 

Froceleusmaticus, ii. 183. • 

Prodigies, find ready credit with the vulgar, i. 145. 

Prologue of the ancient tragedy, ii. 303. 

Pronoun, defined, ii 49. 

Pronunf;iatiott> rules for it, ii. 63. 70, Iw. distioguiihed from singing, ii. 79- 
Singing and pronouncing c<mipared, ii. 72. 

Propensity, sometimes so enliveiked ai to become an emotion, i. 66. 108. op» 

. posed to aflf^ction, i. 113. ' Opinion and belief influenced by it, i. 145.— j 
Propensity to justUV our passions and actions, i 136. Propensity te pun4 
id» guilt and reward virtue, i. 163, &c. Propensity to carry along Ae good 
or bad properties of one subject to another, i. 68. 154. 172. ii. 6. 47. 60. 
64. 84. 107. 197. 220. Propensity to complete every work that is begun# 
and to carry things to perfection, i. 243. if. 352: • Propensity to communis 
cate to others every thing that affects us, i. 3&8. • Propensity to place to- 
gether things mutually connected, ii. 47. Propensity defined, ii. 389. Sec 

Principle. . .. ^ ^J 

Properties transferred from one subject to another, i. 68. 154. 172. u, 5. 47, 

50.64.83.107.197.220. * - >•♦ 

Prbperty, the ^affection man bears to his property, i. 72. A secondary relation, 

i. 277. note. ' . 

Prophecy, those who believe in prophecies wish the accomplishment^ i. 168L 
Propriety, ch. X. a secondary relation, i. 277 i. note, distinguished from con- 

gruity, i. 277. distilaguished from proportion, i.285. Propriety in buildings, 

U.346. . . i 

Proportion, contributes to grandeur, i 183. distinguished from propriety, i. 
' 285. As to quantity coincides with congruity, i^ 285. examined as applied 

to architecture, ii. 340. Proportion defihed,' ii.387. " 
Prose, distinguished from verse, ii. 73, &c. 
Prospect, an unbounded prospect disagreeable, i. 244. note. By what means 

a prospect may be improved, ii.326. 
Provoked Husband, censured, ii. 292. 
Pun, defined, i 322. 
Punishment^ in the place where the crime was committed, i. 247. Punisk^; 

mentof>mpropriety,i.283, &M5. 287. ' • 

Public gamed, of the Greeks, i. 216. 
Phynrhichiusy-ii. 132. 

Qualities, primary and secondary, i. 178. A quality cannot be conceived in- 
dependent of the subject to which it belongs, li. 39. Difier&nt qutditiels 
perceived by different senses, ii. 374. Communicated to related objepts. 
See propensity. 

Quantity, with respect to melody, ii. 79. Quantity with respect to English 
. yerse, ii. 89. False quantity, ii. 91. 

Qi]^ntllian, censured, ii. 191. 

Quintius Curtius, censured; i. 375. 

> . . . • 

Bacine, criticised, i. 405. Censured, i. 409. 
Bape of the Lock, characterised, i. 301 . Its verse admirable, iV. 78. 
lleading, chief talent of a fine reader, 1. 347. Plaintive passions require a 
• slow pronunciation, i. 371. note. Rules for reading, ii. Tp, &c. compared 
with singing, ii. 72. • ' 

lity of external objects, i. 85. 




INDEX. . 415 

■ - 

j^eason, reasons to justify a favourite opinion are always at hitnd, ^nd much 

relished, i. 137. 
Becitative, ii. 75. 
Refined pleasure, i. 103. 

Ilegularity, not so essential in great objects as in small, i. 184. not in a small 
work so much as in one that is extensive, i. 184. How far to be studied in 
architecture, ii. 320, 336, 340. How far to be studied in a garden, ii. 323. 
Regular line defined, ii. 386. Regulelr figure defined, ii. 386. Regularity 
proper and figurative, ii. 387. 
Relations, i. 30. Have an influence in generating emotions and passions, i. 
' ' 68, &c. Are the foundation of congruity and propriety, i. 276. Primary 
and secondary relations, i. 277. no/e. In what manner are relations ex- 
pressed in Words, i). 35, &e. The effect that even the slighter relations 
have on the mind, ii. 331. 
Relative beauty, i. 171. ii. 330. 

Remorse, anguish of remorse, i. 158. its gratification, i. 164. is not mean, i. 293. 
Repartee, i. 324. 
Repetitions, ii. 261. 

Representations, \K.% perfection lies in hiding itself and producing an impres- 
sion of reality, ii. 308. 
Repulsive object, i. 160. Repulsive passions, i. 356. 
tflesemblance, and dissimilitude, ch. VIII. Resemblance in a series of ob- 
jects, ii. 14. The members of ia sentence signifying a resemblance betwixt 
objects ought to resemble each other, ii. ^, «lc. Resemblance betwixt 
sound and signification, ii. 62. 65. No resemblance betwixt objects of dif- 
ferent senses, ii. 65. Resembling causes may produce effects that have no 
iresemblance, and causes that have no resemblance may produce resem- 
bling effects, ii. 65) &.c. The faintest resemblance betwixt sound and signifi- 
cation gives the greatest pleasure, ii. 69. &c. Resemblahee carried too far 
in some gardens, ii. 323. mjotn. 
Resentment, explained, i. 81, ^c. Disagreeable in excess, i. 102.- Extended 
against relations of the offender, i. 140, Its gratification, i. 163. When im- 
moderate is silent, i. 399. 
Rest, neither agreeable nor disagreeable, i. 212. explained, ii. 396. 
Revenge, animates but doth not elevate the mind, i. 196. Has no dignity in 

ity i. 293. When immoderate is silent, i. 399. 
Reverie, cause of the pleasure we have in it, i. 89. 260. 
Rhyme, for what subjects it is proper, ii. 125, ^. Melody of rhyme, ii. 1^6. 
Rhythraus, defined, ii. 74. 
Rich and poor put upon a level by habit, i. 340. 
Riches, love of, corrupts the taste, ii. 370. 
Riddle, ii. 327. 

Ridicule, a^oss pleasure, i. 105. Is losing ground in England, i. 106. Emo- 
tion of ridicule, i. 230. Not concordant with grandeur, i. 251. Ridicule, i. 
283. ch. XII. Whether it be atcst of truth, i. 309. 
Ridiculous, distinguished from risible, i. 230. 
Right and wrong as to actions, i. 46. 

Risible objects, th. VII. Risible distinguished from ridiculous, i 230. 
.Room, its form, ii. 337. 
Rubens, censured, ii. 214. 

Ruin, ought not to be seen ff om a flower-parterre, ii. 322. In what form It 
ought to be, u. 329. 

Sallust, censured for want of connexion, 1. 38. 

Sapphic verse, hiasa very agreeable modulation, ii. 75. 

Savage knows little of soeial aifection, i. 104. 

Scorn, i. 283. 300. 

Sculpture, imitates nature, ii. 5. What emotions ca9 be raised by it, ii. 31S. 

Secchia RapitOj characterised, i,. 300. 



416 INDEX. 

S^condaiy qualities »f matter, i. 178. Secondary relationsy 1 27Y. note. 

Seeing, in seeing we feel no impression, ii 278. Objects of sight are all of 
them complex, ii. 382. 

Self-deceit, 1. 139. 390.* 

Selfish passions, i. 53. Are pleasant, i. 103. I«es8 refined and less pleasant 
than the social, i. 104. liie pain of selfish passions more severe than of 
flocial passions, i. 104. Inferior in dignity to the social, i. 295. A selfish 
emotion arising from a social principle, i. 53. A selfish motive arising 
from a social principle, i. 53. note^ 

Selfishness, promoted by luxoty, ii. 370. and also by love of riches, ii. 370. 

Self'love, its prevalence accoanted for, i^ 55. In excess disagreeable, i. 102. 
Not inconsistent with benevolence, i. 161. 

8emi-}iause, in an hexameter l^^ii.. 82. What semi-pauses are found in an 
English heroic line, ii. 94. 

Sensation, defined, ii. 376. descrihc^^ ii. 382- ^ 

Sense, of order, i. 33, Lc. contributes to generate jemotions, i. 71. note, and 
passions, i. 76. Senste of right and wrong, i. '46. Hie veracity pf our J»ense^ 
1. 85. ii.379. note. Sense of congruity or propriety, i. 275. of the dignity 
pf human nature, i. 291 ii. 365. Sense of ridicule, i. 309. Sense by which 
we discover a passion from its external signs, i. 356.' Sen^e of a common 
nature in every species of beings, i. 101. ii. 362. '^e.iijse internal and ex^ 
temai, ii. 374. In touching, tasting, and smelling, we feel the impression 
at the organ of senses not in seeing and hearing, i. 17. ii. 378. 

Senses, whether active or passive, ii. 396. 

Sentence, it detracts from neatness to vary the scene in the same sentence^ 
ii. dO> A sentence so arranged as to express the sense clearly, seems al- 
ways more musical than where the sense is left in any degree doubtful^ 
ii.47. 

Sentiment, elevated, low, i. 191. Sentiments, ch. XVI. ought to be suited 
to the passion, i. 365. Sentiments expressing swelling of passion, i. 373. 
expressing the different stages of passion, i. 374. dictated by co-existent 
passions, i. 377. Sentiments of strong passions are hid or dissembled, i. 
377. Sentiments above the tone of the passion, i. 380. below the tone of 
the passion, i. 381. Sentiments too gay for a serious passion, i. 382. too 
artificial for a serious passion, i. 383. fanciful or finical, i. 385. discordant 
with character, 1. 387. misplaced, i. 389. Immoral sentiments expressed 
without disguise, i. 389. unnatural, i. 394. Sentiments both in dramatic 
and epic compositions ought to be subservient to the action, ii. 282. Sen^ 
timent defined, ii. 390. 

Sentimental music, i. 124. note. 

Series, from small to great agreeable, i. 189. Ascending series, i. 189. Der 
scending series, i. 190. The effect of a number of objects placed in an in- 
creasing and decreasing series, ii. 14. 

Serpentine river, its beauty, i. 214. ii. 3^2. 

Serlorious, of Comcille censured, i. 372. 

Shaft, of a column, ii. 353. 

Shakspeare, his sentiments just representations of nature, i. 371. is superior 
to all other writers in delineating passions and sentimeAts, i. 403. excels 
in the knowledge of human najture, i. 404. note, deals little in inversion, ii^ 
120. excels in drawing characters, ii. 24^. his style, in what respect excel- 
lent, ii. 258. his dialogue finely conducted, ii. 294. deals not in barren 
scenes, ii. 301. 

Shame, arising from affectation or aversion, i. 111. is not mean, i. 293. 

Sight, influenced by pa^sipn, i. 154. 240, &c. 

Similar emotions, i. 115. their effects when co-existent, i. 117. ii. d44. 

Similar passions, i. 128. Effects of co-existent similar passions, i. 128. 

3Imple perception, ii. 382. 

simplicity, tasfjte for simplicity has produced many ptopian systems of h^r 



INDEX. 417 

man natui^C} i. 43. Beauty of Bimplicity, i. 173. abandoned in the fine arts, 
i 178. a great beauty in tragedy, ii. 291. ought to be the governing taste in 
gardening and architecture, ii. 320. 

Singing, distinguished from pronouncing or reading, ii. 70. Singing and pro- 
nouncing Compared, ii. 72. 

I^ituation, different situations suited to dilTerent buildings, ii. 846. 

Sky, the relish of it lost by familiarity, i. 108. 

Smelling, in smelling we feel an impression upon the organ of sense|1i. 378. 

Smoke, the pleasure of ascending smoke accounted for, i. 35. 214. 

Social passions, i. 53. more refined and more pleasant than the selfish, i. 104. 
The pain of social passions more mild than of selfish passions, i. 105. So- 
cial passions are of greater dignity, i. 295: 

Society, advantages of i. 166. 168. 

Soliloquy, has a foundation ki nature, i. 250. Soliloquies, i. 407, &c. 

Sophocles, generally correct in the dramatic rules, ii. 312. 

Sounds, power of sounds to raSse emotions, i. 57. concordant, 114. discor- 
dant i. 114. disagreeable sounds, u 124. fit for accompanying certain pas-' 
sions, i. 124. Sounds produce emotions that resemble them, i. 155. arti- 
culate how far agreeable to the ear, ii. 8. A smooth sound soothes the 
mind, &nd a rough sound animates, if. 11. A continued sound tends to 

. lay us asleep, an interrupted seund rouses and anhnates,ii. 32. 

apace, natural computation of space,- i. 152, &c. Space explained, ii. 393. 

Species, defined,' ii. 392 

Specific habit, defined, i. 334. 

Speech, power of speech to-raise emotions, whence derived, i. 89. 94. 

Spondee, ii. 79. he. 132. 

l^qaare, its beauty, i. 175. 269. 

Stairs, their proportion, ii. 337. 

Standard of taste, ch. XXV. Standiard of morals, ii. 364. 367. 369. 

^tar, in gardening, ii. 324. 

Statue, tne reason why a statue is not coloured, i. 248. The limbs of a sta-' 
tue ought to be contrasted, i. 266. An equestrian statue is placed in a cen- 
tre of streets, that it ma^ be seen from many places at once, ii. 259. Sta- 
tues for adorning a building, where to be placed, ii. 349. Statue of an ani^ 
mal pouring out water, ih 326. of a water-god pouring water out of his urn,; 
ii. 358. Statues of animals Employed as supports condemned, ii. 358.Naked^ 

. statues condemned, ii, 345. note. 

Steeple, ought to-be pyramidal, i. 266. 

dtrada, censured, H. 239.- 

$tyle, natural and inverted, ii. 38, &«. The beautiesof a natural style, ii. 61r. 
of an inverted style, ii. 62. Concise style a great ornament, ii. 261. 

Subject may be conceived independent of any particular Quality, li. 39. Sub- 
ject with respect to its qualities, ii. 375. 395. Subject defined, ii. 397. 

Soblimity, ch. IV. Sublime in poetry, i. 192. General tei>ms ought to be avoid- 
ed where sublimity is intended, i. 202. Sublimity may be employed indi- 
rectly to sink the mind, i. 205. False sublime, i. 206. 209. 

Submission, natural foundation of submission to government, i.l66. &c. 

Substance, defined, ii. 375. 

Substratum, defined, ii. 375. 

Succession of perceptions and ideas, i. 29, he, 253, kc. In a quick succession 
of the most beautiful objects we are scarce sensible of any emotion, i. 90. 
Succession of syllables in a word, ii. 9. of objects, ii. 14. 

Superlatives, inferior wiiters deal in superlatives, ii. 256. 

Surprise, the essence of wit, i. 33. 311. Instantaneous, i. 108. 109. 220. de- 
cays suddenly, i. 109. 220. pleasant or painful according to circumstances, 
1.221. ^c. Surprise the cause of contrast, i. 240. has an influence upon 
our oninione, and even upon our eye sight, i. 242. Surprise a silent passien, 
ii. 399. . Studied in Chinese gardens, ii- 33 3. 

S^uspense, an uneasy state, i. 14^. 



418 INDEX. 

Sweet diatreaty explaiiied» i. 116. > i 

Swift, his language always suited to his subject, ii. 255. has a peculiar energ^ 
of style, ii. 257 compared with Pope, ii. 258. 

Syttable, ii. 8. Syllables considered as composing words, ii. 9. Syllableil 
long and short, ii. 10. 79. Many syllables in English are arbitrary, ii. 89. 

Sympathy, sympathetic emotion of virtue, i. 64. &,c. The pain of sympathy 
is volantary, i. 105. It improves the temper, i. 105. 

Sympathy, i. 162. attractive, i. 162. 362. never low nor mean, i, 292. the ce- 
ment oi society, i. 361. 

Synthetic, and analytic methods of reasoning compared, i. 35. 

Tacitns excels in drawing characters, ii,246. his style comprehensive, ii.-26L 

Tasso, censured, ii. 285. i282. 

Taste, in tasting we feel an impressidn upon the organ of sense, i. 17. ii. 377. 
Tas^c in the fine arts though natural requires culture^ i. 20. ii. 371. noU. — 
Taste in the fine arts compared with the nloral sense, i. 21. its advantages^ 
t; 2*3, &,c. Delicacv of taste, i. 104. alow taste, i. 191 ; Taste in some 
measure influenced by reflection, ii.353.note. The foundationof a right and 
wroa^ in taste, ii. 364. Taste in the fine arts as well as in morals corrupted 
by voluptuousness, ii. 370. corrupted by love of richess, ii. 370. Taste nev- 
er naturally bad or wrongi ii. 372. Aberrations from a true taste in the 

. fine arts, ii. 367. 

Taulology, a blemish in writing, ii. 2^3. 

Telemachus, an epic poem, ii. 271. note: Censilr^d, ii. 290. note. 

Tem))les, of ancient and modem virtue in the gardens of Stow, ii. 357. 

Terence, censured, i. 409, &,c. ii. 313. 

Terror, arises sometimes to its utmost height instantaneously, i. 108, &,c. a 
silent passion, i. 399. Objects that strike terror have a fine effect in poeti*;^ 
and painting, ii. 265. The terror raised by tragedy explained, ii. 276. 

Theorem, general theorems agreeable, i. 177. 

Time, past time expressed as present, i/94, &6. Natural computation of time, 
i. 146, ^. time explained, ii. 393. 

Titus Livius. See Livy. 

Tone, of mind, ii. 376. 

Touch, in touching we feel an impression upon the organ of sense, ii. 377. 

Trachiniens, of Sophocles censured, ii.312. 

Tragedy, the deepest tragedies are the most crowded, i. 362. note. The later 
English tragedies censured, i. 369. French tragedy censured,!. 371. notd. 
392. The Greek tragedy accompanied with musiscal notes to ascertain 
the pronunciation, it. 72. Tragedy, ch. XXILin what respect it differs from 
an epic poem, ii. 271 . distinguished into pathetic and moral, ii. 272. its good 
effects, ii. 273. compared with the epic as to the subject proper for each, i?. 
274. how far it may borrow from history, ii. 280. rule for dividing it into 
acts, ii. 281. double plot in it, ii. 291. admits not violent action or supema- 
taral events, ii. 293. its origin, ii. 303 Ancient tragedy, a continued re- 
presentation without interruption, ii. 304 Constitution of the modern 
drama, ii. 304. 

Tragi-comedy, ii. 292. 

Trees, the best manner of placing them, ii. 325. 

Triangle, equilateral, its beauty, i. 176. 

THbrachys, ii. i:)2. 

Trochseus, ii. 132. 

Tropes, ch. XX. 

Ugliness, proper and lignrative, ii. 385. 

Unbounded prospect disagreeable, i. 244. noU; 

Uniformity of the operations of nature, i. 269, &c. Uniformity apt to disgust 
by excess, i. 176. Uniformity and variety, ch. IX. conspicuous in the works 
of nature, i. 273. The melody of the verse ought to be uniform where thi 
the things described are uniform, ii. 105. UniforAiity defined^ ii. 386. 



mmJL 419 

tfiat^j thfe thre« ubides, oh. XXm. of actions, ii. 296, &c.' Uni^ of Action in 
• a pieture, ii. 301. of time and of place, ii.301, kc. Unities of time and of 
' place not required in an epic poem, ii. 302. Strictly observed in the Greek 

tragedy, ii; ^. Unity of place in the ancient drama, ii. 311 . Unities of 
' ])lace and time ought to be strictly observed in each act of a modern play, 

ii. 315. Wherein the unit^ of a garden consists, ii. 322. 
Umanquodque eockm modo dtsiolmtur cjuo colligaium est, i. 246. 

Vanity, a distagreeable passion, i. 102. always appears mean, i. 293. 

Variety, distinguished irom novelty, i. 223. Variety, ch. IX. Variety in pic- 
' tnres, i. 265. conspicuous in the works of nature, i. 273. in gardenmg, ii. 
331, 

Veracity of our senses, i. 85. 

Verb, active and passive, ii. 35. 

Verbal antithesis, defined, i. 320. ii. 24. 

Versailles, gardens of, ii. 328. 

Verse, distinguished from prose, ii. 73. Sapphic verse extremely melodious^ 
ii. 76. Iambic less so, ii. 76. Structure oi an hexameter line, li. 79. Struc- 
ture of English heroic verse, ii. 80. note. 89, &c. 118. English monosylla- 
bles arbitrary as to quality, ii. 90. English heroic lines distinguished into 
four sorts, ii. 92. 110. they have a due mixture of uniformity and variety, ii^ 
118. Englishrhyme compared with blank verse, ii. 118. Rules for com- 
posing each, ii. 119. Latin hexameter compared with English riiyme, ii. 
122. compared with blank verse, ii. 122. French heroic verse compare^ 
with hexameter and rhyme, ii. 122. The English language incapable of 
the melody of hexameter verse, ii. 124. For what subject is rhyme proper, 
ii. 127, &c. Melody of rhyme, ii. 127. Rhyme necessary to French verse, 
ii. 128. Melody of verse is so enchanting as to draw a veil over gross imper- 
fections, ii. 130. Verses composed in the shape of an axe or an egg, ii. 327. 

Violent action ought to be excluded from the stage, ii. 293. 

Virgil, censured for want of connexion, i. 37. his verse extremely melodious, 
ii 76. his versification criticised, ii. 86. censured, ii. 131. 249. 255. 259. 282. 

Virgil triwtstief characterised, i. 300. 

Vhrtue, the pleasures of virtue never decay, i. 339. 

Vision, the largest and smallest angle of vision, i. 153. 

Voltaire, censured, ii. 243. 281 . 285. 

Voluntary signs of passion, i 347. 

Voluptuousness tends to vitiate our taste, ii. 370. 

Vowels, ii. 7, &c. 

Walk, in a gardei^ whether it ought to be straight or waving, ii. 328. Aiiifi'- 

cial walk elevated above the plain, ii.329. 
Wall, that is not perpendicular, occasions an uneasy feeling,!. 156. 
Waterfall, i. 156.215. 

Water-god, statue of, pouring out water, ii. 358. 
Way of the World, censured, ii. 301. the unities of place and time strictly 

observed in it, ii. 316. 
Will, how far our train of perceptions can be regulated by it, i. 30. 253. 267^ 

determined by desire, i. 158. 
Windows, their proportion, ii. 337. double row, ii. 347. 
Winter garden, ii. 330. 
Wish, distinguished froni desire, i. 48. 
Wit, defined, i. 33. 311. seldom united with judgment, i. 33. but generally 

with memory, i. 33. not concordant With grapdeur, i. 250. Wit, ch. XIIT. 

Wit in sounds, i. 325. Wit in architecture, ii. 356. 
Wonder, instantaneous, i. 109. decays suddenly, i. 112.. Wonders and prodi- 

fies find ready credit with the vulgar, i. 144. Wonder defined, i. 218. sta- 
led in Chinese gardens, ii. 333. 

Vol. II. 53a 



4S0 



INDEX 



WoHi»ralii|oreoiiHi^;vordi,L6(kiiof0. Plirf ofvordi»i419»&«. Jm^. 
cf wordsy i. 416. Words coofidered with respect to their somid, li. 9. 
Wordf of differrat laof^agM cpmpBred, li. 10.- What are their best nr- 
raftgement In a period, li. 16. A co^jusction or cBsjtmctioB in the mem- 
ban of the thoogat on^t to he imitated hi the expp^ssioii, it SI. 27. Words 
expressing things connected ought to he placed fw near together as possi- 
ble, ii. 47» &c. In what part of a sentencfi doth a word mace (be greatest 
figure, ii.68. Words acquire a beauty from their meaning, ii. 64 5S20. Some 
words mato an iiprcssion resembluig that of their ineaniog, it 66. The 
W9tdB mujki to accord with the sentiment, i 966^ ;^. 402. S. 31. 261. A. 
wmd is often ivdoobled to add force to tha egression, i. 4jD@, ii. 269. See 
Language. 

Writing, a subject Intended for amusement may be highly ornaraeiiled, i. 219* 
A grand subject a^^iears best in a plain dressj i. 279. 

Tonthf requires more varl^ of amusement than old age» i. 864 



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