Essays on rhetoric. Abridged chiefly from Dr. Blair's lectures on that science. 4th ed., with additions and improvements

HlUGH BlLAIR JD.:

ESSAYS

ON

RHETORIC,

X

ABRIDGED CHIEFLY FHOM

Dr. BLAlKs LECTURES

ON THAT

SCIENCE.

ADDITIONS and IMPROVEMENTS.

LOXDON:

PRINTED FOR VERNOR AND HOOD, IN THE POULTRY ; CROSBY
AND LETTERMAN, ST AT ION ER's-COU R.T ; AND LACKING-
TON, ALLEN, AND CO.

1801.

Tewkejbury : Printed by W. Dydc.

ADVERTISEMENT.

'

T

JL HE want of a fyflem of Rhetoric upon
a concife plan, and at an eafy price, will,
it is prefumed, render this little Volume not
unacceptable to the public. To collect
knowledge, which is fcattered over a wide ex-
tent, into a fmall compafs ; if it has not the
merit of originality, has at lead the advan-
tage of being ufeful. Many who are terri-
fied at the idea of travelling over a ponderous
volume in fearch of information, will yet fet
out on a fhort journey, in purfuit of fcience,
with alacrity and profit. Thofe for whom
the following Eflays are principally intended,
will derive a peculiar benefit from the bre-
vity with which they are conveyed. To
A 2

IV ADVERTISEMENT'.

youth, who are engaged in the. rudiments
of learning, and whofe time and attention
mud be occupied with a variety of fubjecls,
every branch of feience fhould be rendered
as concife as poiJible. Hence tne atten-
tion is not fatigued, nor the memory over-
loaded.

That a knowledge of Rhetoric forms a. very
material part of the education of a polite
fcholar, muft be univerfalJy allowed. Any
attempt, therefore, however imperfecl, to
make fo tifeful a feience more generally
known, has a claim to that praife which is
the reward of a good intention. With this
the Editor will be fufficiently fatrsfled; finec
beinc: ferviceable to others, is the moft agree-

O O

able mclhod of becoming contented with
ourfeJves.

CONTENTS.

Page.

INTRODUCTION

On Tajle 1

Criticifm — Genius — Pleafures of Tajle — Sublimity

in Objetfs 7

Sublimity in Writing 17

Beauty, and other Pleafures of Tajle 28

Origin and Progrefe of Language 38

Rife and Progrtfr of Language and of Writing . . 48

Structure of Language 55

Strufiure of Language. Engii/b Tongue .... 62

StyL' — Perfpicuity and Prccijion 72

Strutture of Sentences 78

The fame fubjefl. .' 85

Structure of Sentences. Harmony (K>

Origin and Nature of Figurative Language .. 101

Metaphor 107

Hyperbole — Perfonijication — Apojlropbe 114

Perjenif cation 1 16

A 3

VI CONTENTS.

Page.
Apojlrople - ]2i

Comparifon, Antitbejis,, Interrogation, Exclamation,

and otb'er Figures of Speech 122

Ant 'it be/is 127

Interrogation and Exclamation 12<J

Vifion .. ]3i

Climax 132

General Cbar afters of Style— diffuje ; concife; fee-
lie ; nervous ; dry ; plain ; neat ; elegant ;

flowery 134

Style— -fimple ; affefled ; vehement— Directions for

forming a proper Style 142

Critical Examination of Mr. Addifons Style in No.

41 1 of tie Spectator 153

Eloquence. Origin of Eloquence; Grecian Eloquence ,

Demojlbenes 164

Roman Eloquence — Cicero. Modern Eloquence .. 171

Eloquence of- Popular Ajfemblies 179

Eloquence of tbe Bar 1&4

Eloquence of tbe Pulpit Ipl

Condufi of a Difcourfe in. all its Parts — Introduction

—Drvi/ion — Narration and Explication . . IQS
Tbe Argumentative Part of a Difcourfe — tbe Patbe-

iic Part— tie Peroration .' 207

Pronunciation or Delivery 213

Means of improving in Eloquence 225

Comparative Merit of tie Antients and tie Moderns 23 4 ,

CONTENTS. Vtt

Page.

Hiftorical Writing 238

Pbibfopbical Writing 2-14

Epiflolary Writing 24(5

Fittitious Hi/lory- , 247

Nature of Poetry. Its Origin and Progrefs; Verfi-

fcation 250

JLngKJb Verification 25S

Pajloral Poetry 256

Lyric Poetry 263

Didaflic Poetry 266

Defcriptive Poetry 2JO

The Poetry of tbe Hebrews 275

Epic Poetry 280

Homer s Iliad and Oayffey 286

Tbe Mneid of Virgil 201

Lncaris Pbarfalia 2Q4

Ta/os Jentfalem 207

Tbe Lujiad of Camocns 300

Tbe Telemacbus of Fenelon 303

Tbe Henriade of Voltaire 305

Milton s Paradife Lojl 308

Dramatic Poetry. Tragedy 312

Greek Tragedy 327

French Tragedy 330

Englijb Tragedy 332

Comedy 335

yiii CONTENTS.

Page.

Ani'ient Comedy •. . . . 339

Spamjb Comedy 341

French Comedy 342

Comedy 344

INTRODUCTION".

A

PROPER acquaintance with the circle
of Liberal Arts is requifite to the ftudy of
Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. To extend
their knowledge muft be the firft care of thofe
who wifh either to write with reputation, or
to exprefs themfelves in public fo as to com-
mand attention. Among the antients it was
an effential principle, that the orator ought
to be converfant in every, department of
learning. No art, indeed, can be contrived,
which could ftamp merit on a compofition
for richnefs or fplendour of expreffion, when
it poflefles barren or erroneous fentiments.
Oratory, it is true, has often been drfgraced
by attempts to eftabiiih afalfe criterion of its
value. Writers have endeavored to fupply
the want of matter by the graces of compo-
fition ; and to court the temporary applaufe
of the ignorant, inttead of the latting ap-
probation of the difcerning. But the pre-

INTRODUCTION.

valence of fuch impoftor muft be fhort and
tranfitory. The body and fubftance of any
valuable compofiiion muft be formed by
knowledge and fcience. Rhetoric completes
the ftruclure, and adds the polifh ; but firm
and folid bodies are able to receive it.

Among the learned it has long been a
contefted, and remains ftill an undecided
queftion, whether Nature or Art contributes
moft towards excellence in writing and dif-
courfe. Various may be the opinions, with
refpecl to the manner in which Art can moft
effectually furnifh her aid for fuch a pur-
.pofe ; and it were prefumption to advance,
that mere rhetorical rules, how juft foever,
are fufficient to form an orator. Private ap-
plication-and 'ft udy, fuppofing natural geni-
us to be favourable,, are certainly fuperirur
to any fyftem of public inft ruction. But
though rules and inftruclions cannot com-
prehend every thing which is requifite, they
may afford considerable ufe and advantage.
If they cannot infpire genius, they can give
it direction and affiftance. If they cannot

INTRODUCTION.

make barrennefs fruitful, they can con-eft re-
dundancy. They difcover the proper models
for imitation: they point out the principal
beauties which ought to be ftudied, and the
chief faults which ought to be avoided ; and
confequently tend to enlighten Tafte, and
to conduct Genius from unnatural devia-
tions, into its proper channel. Though
they are incapable, perhaps, of producing
great excellencies, they may at lead be fub-
fervient, to prevent the commiffion of con-
fiderable miflakes.

In the education of youth, no object has
appeared more important to wife men, in
every age, than to furnifh them early with
a relifh for the entertainments of Tafte.
From thefe, to the difcharge of the higher
and more important duties of life, the tranfi-
tion is natural and eafy. Of thole minds
which have this elegant and -liberal turn,
the mofl pleating hopes may be entertained.
It affords the promife of many virtues. On
the contrary, an entire infenfibility of elo-
quence, poetry, or any of the fine arts, may

INTRODUCTION.

juftly be confklered as a perverfe fymp-
tom of youth ; and fuppofes them inclined
to inferior gratifications, or capable of being
engaged only in the more common and me-
chanical purfuits of life.

The improvement of Tafte feems to be
more or lefs connected with every good and
virtuous difpofition. By giving frequent cx-
ercife to all the tender and humane paffions,
a cultivated tafte increafes fenfibility ; yet, at
the fame time, it tends to foften the more
violent and angry emotions.

-Ingennas didicjjfe jideliter arJes,
Emollit mows nee fmlt ej/eferos-

Thefe_polifh'd arts have humanized mankind,
Soften'd the rude, and calm'd the boift'rous mind,

Poetry, Eloquence, and Hiftory, are con-
tinually holding forward to our view thofc
elevated fentiments and high examples which
tend to nourifh'in our minds public fpirit,
the love of glory, contempt of external for-
tune, and the admiration of every thing; that
is truly great, noble, and illuHrious.

ON

TASTE.

ASTE is " the power of receiving pleafuro n-J.
" pain from the beauties and deformities of Nature
" and of Art." It is a faculty common in fome de-
gree to all mankind. Throughout the circle of human
nature nothing is more univerfal than the relifh of
Beauty, of on€ kind or other ; of what is orderly,
proportioned, grand, harmonious, new, or fprightly.
Nor does there prevail lefs generally a difrelilh of what-
ever is grofs, difproportioned, diforderly, and difcordant.
In children the rudiments of Tafte appear very early,
in a thoufand inftances ; in their partiality for regular
bodies, their fondnefs for pictures and ftatues, and their
warm attachment to whatever is new or aftonifliing1.
The moft ftupid peafants receive pleafure from tales
and ballads, and are delighted with the beautiful ap-
B

2 ON TASTE.

pearances of nature, in the earth, and the heavens.
Even in the wild defarts of America, where human
nature appears in its ftate of greateft nakednefs, the
favages have yet their ornaments of drefs, their war
and their death longs, their harangues and their orators.
Tne principles of Tafte muft, therefore, he deeply founded
in the human mind. To have fome difcernment of
Beauty, is no lefs eflential to man, than to poflefs the
attributes of fpeech and of reafon.

Though no human being can be entirely devoid of this
faculty, yet it is poflefled in very different degrees. In
fome men only the faint glimmerings of Tafte are
vifiblej the beauties which they relifh are of the coarfeft
kind ; and of thefe they have only a weak and confufed
impreffion : while in others, Tafte rifes to an acute dif-
cernment, and a lively enjoyment of the moft refined
beauties.

This inequality of Tafte amongft mankind is to be
afcribed, undoubtedly, in fome degree, to the different
frame of their natures ; to nicer organs, and more deli-
cate internal powers, with which fome are endowed be-
yond others : yet it is owing ftill more to culture and
education. Tafte is certainly one of the moft improve-
able faculties which adorns our nature. We may eafily
be convinced of the truth of this affertion, by only re-
flecting on that immenfe fuperiority which education
and improvement give to civilized, above barbarous na-
tions, in refinement of Tafte j and on the advantage

ON TASTE.

which they give, in the fame nalion, to thofe who have
ftudied the liberal arts, above the rude and illiterate
vulgar.

Reafon and good fenfe have fo extenfive an influence
en all the operations and decifions of Tafte, that a com-
pletely good Tafte may well be confidered as a power
compounded of natural fenfibility to beauty, and of im-
proved understanding. To be convinced of the truth
of this petition we may obferve, that the greater part
of the productions of Genius are no other than imita-
tions of nature ; reprefentations of the characters,
actions, or manners of men. Now the pleafure we
experience from fuch imitations, or reprefentations, is
founded on mere Tafte : but to judge whether they be
properly executed, ueiungs to tne unaerltanding, which
compares the copy with the original.

In reading, for inftance, the JEneid of Virgil, a great
part of our pleafure arifes from the proper conduct of
the plan or flory ; from the union of all the parts to-
gether with probability and due connection j from the
adoption of the characters from nature, the correfpon-
dence of the fentiments to the characters, and of the
ftyle to the fentiments. The pleafure which is derived
from a poem fo conducted, is felt or enjoyed by Tafle
as an internal fenfe ; but the difcovery of this conduct
in the poem is owing to reafonj and the more that
B2

4 OX TASTE.

reafon enables us to dilcover fuch propriety in the con-
duct, the greater will be our pleafure.

The chara&ers or conftituents of Tafte, when brought
to its moft perfect ftate, may be reduced to twoj Deli-
cacy and Correctnefs.

Delicacy of Tafte refers principally to the perfeftion
of that natural fenfibility on which Tafte is founded.
It implies thofe finer organs or powers which enable us
to difcover beauties that are concealed from a vulgar eye.
It is judged of by the fame marks that we employ in
judging of the delicacy of an external fenfe. As the
goodnefs of the palate is not tried by ftrong flavours,
but by a mixture of ingredients, where, notwithftand-
incr the confulion, we remain fenfible of each j in like
manner, delicacy of internal Tafte is vifible, by a quick
and lively fenfibility to its fineft, moft compounded, or
moft latent objects.

Correctnefs of Tafte refpecls the improvement which
that faculty receives through its connection with the
understanding. A man of correct Tafte is one who is
never impoied on by counterfeit beauties ; who carries
always in his own mind that ftandard of good fcnfe
which he employs in judging of every thing. He elti-
mates with propriety the relative merit of the feveral
beauties which he meets with in any work of genius ;
refers them to their proper clafles ; affigns the princi-
ples, as far as they can be traced, whence their power of

OX TASTE. ;>

pleafing us is derived ; and is pleafed himfelf precifely
in that degree in which he ought, and no more.

Tafte is certainly not an arbitrary principle, which is
fubjed to the fancy of every individual, and which ad-
mits of no criterion for determining whether it be true
or falfe. Its foundation is the fame in every human
mind. It is built upon fentiments and perceptions
which are infeparable from our nature ; aud which ge-
nerally operate with the fame uniformity as our other
intellectual principles. When thefe fentiments are per-
verted by ignorance, or deformed by prejudice, they
may be rectified by reafon. Their found and natural
ftate is finally determined, by comparing them with the
general Tafte of mankind. Let men declaim, as much
as they pleafe, concerning the caprice and the uncer-
tainty of Tafte : it is found by experience, that there
are beauties, which, if difplayed in a proper light, have
power to command lafting and univerfal admiration.
In every compofition, what interefts the imagination,
and touches the heart, gives pleafure to all ages and to
all nations. There is a certain ftring, which being
properly ftrack, the human heart is fo made as to ac-
cord to it.

Hence the general and decided teftimony which the

moft improved nations of the earth, throughout a long

feries of ages, have concurred to beftow on fome few

works of genius j fuch as the Iliad of Homer, and the

B3

6 ON TASTE.

./Eneid of Virgil. Hence the authority which fuch
works have obtained, as flandards in fome degree of
poetical compofition ; fince from them we are enabled
to colled what the fenfe of mankind is, with refpeft
to thofe beauties which give them the higheft pleafure,
and which therefore poetry ought to exhibit. Autho-
rity or prejudice may, in one age or country, give a
fliort-lived reputation to an infipid poet, or a bad artiftj
but when foreigners, or when pofterity examine his
works, his faults are difcovered, and the genuine Taile
of human nature is feen. Time, which overthrows the
illulions of opinion, and the whimfies of caprice, con-
firms and eltabliflies the decilions of nature.

CRITICISM— GENIUS— PLEASURES OF TASTE
—SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.

RUE CRITICISM is the application of Tafte and
of good fenfe to the feveral fine arts. Its defign is to
dillinguifh what is beautiful and what is faulty in every
performance. From particular inftances it afcends to
general principles ; and gradually forms rules or con-
clufions concerning the feveral kinds of Beauty in the
works of Genius.

Criticifm is an art founded entirely on experience j
on the obfervation of fuch beauties as have been found
to pleafe mankind moft generally. For example j
Ariftotle's rules concerning the unity of aftion in dra-
matic and epic competition, were not firft difcovered by
logical reafoning, and theni applied to poetry ; but
they were deduced from the practice of Homer and So-
phocles. They were founded upon obferving the fupe-
rior pleafure which we derive from the relation of an
acYion which is one and entire, beyond what we receive
from the relation of fcattered and unconnected fads.

A fuperior Genius, indeed, will of himfelf, unin-
ftruded, compofe in fuch a manner as mail be agree-
able to the moft important rules of Criticifm ; for fince
thefe rules are founded in nature, nature will frequently
fuggeft them in pradice. Homer, it is certain, was
acquainted .with no fyftems of the art of poetry.

8 GEXIUS.

Guided by Genius alone, he compofed in verfe a regular
ftory, which all fucceeding ages have admired. This,
however is no argument againft the ufefulnefs of Criti-
cifm. For, fince no human genius is perfect, there is
no writer who may not receive afliftance from critical
obfervations upon the beauties and defe6ts of thofe who
have gone before him. No rules can, indeed, fupply
the defeats of genius, or infpire it where it is wanting ;
but they may often guide it into its proper channel j
they may correct its extravagancies, and teach it the
moft juft and proper imitation of nature. Critical
rules are intended chiefly to point out the faults which
ought to be avodied. We muft be indebted to nature
for the production of fuperlative beauties.

GENIUS is a word which, in common acceptation,
extends much farther than to the objects of Tafte. It
Signifies that talent or aptitude which we receive from
nature, in order to excel in any one thing whatever.
A man is faid to have a genius for mathematics, as well
as a, genius for poetry j a genius for war, for politics,
or for any mechanical employment.

Genius may be greatly improved and cultivated by
art and ftudy ; but by them alone it cannot be ac-
quired. As it is a higher faculty than Tafte, it is ever,
according to the common frugality of nature, more li-
mited in the fphere of its operations. There are per-
fons, not unfrequently to be met with, who have an
excellent Tafte in feveral of the polite arts; fuch as

PLEASURES OP TASTE. 9

mufic, poetry, painting, and eloquence, altogether : but
an excellent execution in all thefe arts is very feldorn
found in any individual ; or rather, indeed, is not to be
looked for. An univerfal Genius, or one who is equally
and indifferently inclined towards feveral different pro-
feffions and arts, is not likely to excel in any. Although
there may be fome few exceptions, yet in general it is
true, that when the bent of the mind is wholly directed
towards fome one object, exclufively, as It were, of
others, there is the faireft profpect of eminence in that,
whatever it may be. Extreme heat can be produced
only when the rays converge to a tingle point. Young
people are highly intereitea i» this remark 3 fmce it
may teach them to examine with caic, mid to purfue
with ardour, that path which nature has marked out
for their peculiar exertions.

The nature of Tafte, the importance of Criticlfm,
and the diftinction between Tafte and Genius, being
thus explained ; the fources of the Pleafures of Tafte
fhall next be confidered. Here a very extenfive field is
opened ; no lefs than all the Pleafures of the Imagina-
tion, as they are generally called, whether afforded us bj
natural objects, or by imitations and defcriptions of
them. It is not, however, neceffary to the purpofe of
the prefent work, that all of them mould be examined
Tally ; the pleafure which we receive from difcourfe, or
writing, being the principal object of them. Our deliga
is, to give fomc openings into the Pleafures of Tafte hi

1O PLEASURES OP TASTE.

general ; and to infill, more particularly, upon Subli-
mity and Beauty.

As yet, we are far from having attained to any fyftem
concerning this fubjeft. A regular enquiry into it was
firft attempted by Mr. Addifon, in his Eflay on the Plea-
fures of the Imagination. By him thefe Pleafures are
reduced under three heads: Beauty, Grandeur, and
Novelty. His fpeculations on tin's fubject, if not re-
markably profound, are, however, very beautiful and
entertaining j and he has the merit of having difco-
vered a tra6t which was before untrod. Since his time,
the advances which have bee" «««««i^ i«» this part of
philofophical rr\rir>',faa, are not coniiderable j which is
owing, doubtlefs, to that thinnefs and fubtilty, which
are difcovered to be properties of all the feelings of
Tafte. It is difficult to enumerate the feveral objeds
which give pleafure to Tafte j it is more difficult to
define all thofe which have been difcovered, and to
range them under proper clafTes ; and when we would
proceed farther, and inveftigate the efficient caufes of
the pleafure which we receive from fuch objects, here
we find ourfelves at the greateft lofs. For example j
we all learn by experience, that fome figures of bodies
appear to us more beautiful than others j on farther en-
. quiry, we difcover that the regularity of fome figures,
and the graceful variety of others, are the foundation
of the beauty which we difcern in them : but when
we endeavour to go a fte.p beyond this, and enquire

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 11

what is the caufe of regularity and variety producing in
our minds the fenfation of beauty, any reafon \ve can
produce is extremely imperfect. Thole firft principles
of internal fenfation, nature appears to have ftudioufly
concealed.

It is fome confolation, however, that although the
efficient caufe be obfcure, the final caufe of thofe fenfa-
tions lies commonly more open : and here we muft ob-
ferve, the ftrong impreffion which the powers ofTafte
and Imagination are calculated to give us of the bene-
volence of our Creator. By thefe endowments, he hath
widely enlarged the fphere of the pleafures of human
life ; and thofe, too, of a kind the moft pure and inno-
cent. The neceflary purpofes of life might have been
amply anfwered, though our fenfes of feeing and hearing
had only ferved to diftinguiih external objects, without
giving us any of thofe refined and delicate fenfations of
beauty and grandeur, with which we are now fo much
delighted.

The pleafure which arifes from fublimity or grandeur
deferves to be fully confidered j becaufe it has a charac-
ter more precife and diftin6Uy marked, than any other
of the pleafures of the imagination 3 and becaufe it coin-
cides more diredtly with our main fubjeft. The fimpleft
form of external grandeur is feen in the vaft and bound-
lefs profpe&s prefented to us by nature; fuch as wide
extended plains, to which the eye can find no limits ;
the firmament of heaven ; or the boundlefs expanfe of

12 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.

the ocean. All vaftnefs produces an idea of fublimity.
Space, however extended in length, makes not fo ftrong
an impreffion as height or depth. Though a boundlefs
plain be a grand object, yet a lofty mountain, to "which
we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence
we look down on the objects below, is Hill more fo.
The exceffive grandeur of the firmament arifes from its
height, added to its boundlefs extent; and that of the
ocean, not from its extent alone, but from the continual
motion and irrefiftible impetuofity of that mafs of wa-
ters. Wherever fpace is concerned, it is evident, that
amplitude or greatnefs of extent, in one dimenfion or
other, is infeparable frrom grandeur. Take away all
bounds from any object, and you immediately render it
fublime. Hence infinite fpace, endlefs numbers, and
everlafting duration, fill the mind with great ideas.

The moft copious fource of {Jublime ideas feems to be
derived from the exertion of great power and force.
Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning moun-
tains ; of great conflagrations j of the boifterous ocean ;
of the tempeftuous ftorm ; of thunder and lightning ;
and of all the unufual violence of the elements. A
ftream which glides along gently within its banks is a
beautiful object, but when it precipitates itfelf with the
impetuofity and noife of a torrent, it immediately be-
comes a fublime one. A race-horfe is beheld with plea-
fure j but it is the war-horfe, " whofe neck is cloth' J
with thunder," that conveys grandeur in its idea. The

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 13

engagement of two powerful 'armies, as it is the higheft
exertion of human ftrength, combines a variety of iburces
of the lliblime ; and has conlequently been ever con-
fidered as one of the mod ftriking and magnificient fpec-
tacles which can be either prefented to the eye, or ex-
hibited to the imagination in deicription.

All ideas of the folemn and awful kind, and even bor-
dering on the terrible, tend greatly to affift the fublime ;
iuch as darknefs, foKtude, and lilence. The firmament,
•when filled with ftars, fcattered in fuch infinite numbers
and with fuch fplendid profufion, ftrikes the imagina-
tion \vith a more awful grandeur than when we behold
it enlightened by all the fplendour of the fun. The
deep found of a great bell, or the ftriking of a great
clock, are at any time grand and awful: but, when
heard amid ft the filence and ftillnefs of the night, they
become doubly ftriking. Darknefs is very generally ap-
plied for adding fublimity to all our ideas of the Deity.
" He raaketh darknefs his pavilion ; he dwelleth in the
" thick cloud." Thus Milton —

. How oft, amiJft

Thick clouds and dark, does Heaven's all-ruling Sire
Chufe to refide, his glory imobfcuied ;
And, with the majefty of darknefs, round
Circles his throne m

Obfcurity, we may further remark, is favourable to
the fub'im,?. The defcriptions givenms of the appe'ar-
C

14 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.

ance of fupernatural beings carry fome fublimity, though
the conceptions which they afford us be confuted and
indiftinft. Their fublimity arifes from the ideas which
they always convey of fuperiour power and might, con-
nected with an awful obfcurity. No ideas, it is evident,
are fo fublime as thofe derived from the Supreme Being :
the moil unknown, yet the greateft of all objects ; the
infinity of whofe nature, and the eternity of whofe du-
ration, added to the omnipotence of his power, though
they furpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them to the
higheft.

Diforder is alfo very compatible with grandeur,- nay,
frequently heightens it. -Few things which are exaftly
regular and methodical, appear fublime. We difcover
the limits on every fide 5 we perceive ourfelves confined ;
. there is no room for any considerable exertion of the
mind. Though exaft proportion of parts enters often
into the beautiful, it is much difregarded in the fublime.
An immenfe mafs of rocks, thrown together by the
hand of nature with wildnefs and confufion, flrike the
mind with more grandeur, than if they had been joined
to each other with the moft accurate fymmetry.

There yet remains one clafs of Sublime Obje6ls to be
mentioned ; which may be termed the Moral or Senti-
mental Sublime ; ariling from certain exertions of the
mind ; from certain affe£tions and actions of our fellow-
creatures. Thefe wilt be found to be chiefly of that
clafs which comes under the n^ime of Magnanimity or

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 15

Heroifmj and they produce an. effect very funilar to
what is produced by the view of grand objects in nature ;
filling the mind with admiration, and- raifing it above
itfelf. Wherever,, in fome critical and dangerous fixa-
tion, we behold a man uncommonly intrepid, and rett-
ing foldy upon himfelfj fuperiour to paflion and to fear ;
animated by ibme great principle to the contempt of
popular opinion, of felfifli intereft, of dangers, or of
death ; we are there {truck with a fenfe of the fublime.
Thus Poms, when taken by Alexander, after a gallant
defence, and aikcd in what manner he would be treated ?
anfweringj " Like a King!" and Caefar chiding (he pilot
who was afraid to fet out with him in a ftorm, " Quid
times? Caefarem vehis;" are good inftances of the Senti-
mental Sublime.

The Sublime, in natural and in moral obje&s, is pre •
iVnted to us in one view, and compared together, in the
following beautiful pafiage of Akenfide's Pleafures of the
Imagination.

Look then abroad through nature ; to the range
Of planets, funs, and adamantine Ipheres,
Wheeling, unfhakcn, thro* the void immenfe;
And fpjak, O Man ! docs this capacious fcene,
With half that kindling majefty, dilate
Thy ftrong conception, as when Brutus lofe,
Refulgent from the ftroke of Cxfar's fate,
Amid the croud of Patriots ; and his arm,
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove,
C 2

16 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud
On Tally's name, and (hook his crimfon ilccl,
And bad the father of his country hail !
For lo! the tyiant proftrate on the duft ;
And Rome again is free,— — —

It has been imagined by an ingenious Author, that
terror is the fource of the fublime ; and that no objects
have this character, but fuch as produce impreffions of
pain and danger. Many terrible objects are indeed highly
fublime} nor does grandeur refufe an alliance with the
.idea of danger. But the fublime does not confilt wholly
in modes of danger, or of pain. In many grand objects
there is not the lead coincidence with terror : as in die
inagnificient profpect of wide extended plains, and of
the ftarry firmament ; or in the moral difpofilions and
fcntiments which -we contemplate with high admiration.
In many painful and terrible objects alib, it is evident,
there is no fort of grandeur. The amputation of a limb,
or the bile of a fnake, are, in the higheft degree, ter-
rible ; but are deftitute of all claim whatever to fubli-
rnity. It feems juft to allow, that mighty force or
power, whether attended by terror or not, whether era-
ployed in protecting or in alarming us, has a better title,
than any thing which has yet been mentioned, lo be the
fundamental quality of the fublime. There appears to
be no fublime object, into the idea of which, lirength,
and force, either enter not directly, or are not, at leaft,
intimately aflbciated, by conducting our thoughts to
fome aftoniiliing power, as concerned in the production
of the object.

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.

JL HE foundation of the Sublime in Compofition mull
always be laid in the nature of the object defcribed.
We muft except, however, fuch an objeft as, if pre-
fented to our fight, if exhibited to us in reality, would
excite ideas of that elevating, that awful and magnifi-
cent kind, which we call Sublime: the defcription how-
ever finely drawn, is not entitled to be placed under this
clafs. This excludes all objefts which are merely beau-
tiful, gay, or elegant. Betides, the objec\ muft not
only in itfelf be fublime, but it muft be placed before
us in fuch a light as is beft calculated to give us a clear
and full impreffion of it : it muft be defcribed with
ftrength, with concifenefs, and fimplicity. This depends
chiefly upon the lively impreffion which the poet or
orator has of the object which he exhibits ; and upon
his being deeply affefted and animated by the fublime
idea which he would convey. If his own feeling be
languid, he can never infpire his reader with any ftrong
emotion. Inftances, which on this fubjecl: are extremely
neceflary, will clearly (how the importance of all thefe
requilites.

It is chiefly amongft the ancient authors that we are
to look for the moft ftriking inftances of the fublipe.
C 3

18 SUBLIMITY IX WRITING.

The early ages of the world, and the rude uncultivated
ftate of fociety, appear to have been peculiarly favourable
to the ftrong emotions of fublimity. The genius of
mankind was then very prone to admiration and aftomfli-
ment. Meeting continually with new and ilrange ob-
jefts, their imagination was kept glowing, and their
pailions were often under a high agitation. They
thought and expreffed themfelves boldly, and without
reftraint. In [the progrefs of fociety, the genius and
manners of men have undergone a change more favour-
able to accuracy than to flrength or fublimity.

Of all writings, whether ancient or modern, the Sa-
cred Scriptures a fiord as the moft ftriking inftances of
the fublime. There the defcriptions of the Supreme
Being are wonderfully noble ; both from the grandeur of
the object, and the manner of reprefenting it. "What a
collection of awful and fublime ideas is prefented to us in
that paflage of the eighteenth pfalm, where an appear-
ance of the Deity is defcribed ! " In my diftrefs I called
" upon the Lord; he heard my voice out of his temple,
" and my cry came before him. Then the earth ihook
" and trembled ; the foundations 'of the hLlls were.
" moved ; becaufe he was wroth. He bowed the hea-
" yens and came down, and darknefs was under his
^ feet ; and he did ride upon a cherub, and did fly j
" yea, he did fly upon the wings of the -winds. He
"• made darknefs his fecret place : his pavilion round
" about him \srere dark waters, and thick clouds of

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. IQ

" the Iky." The circumftances of darknefs and ter-
ror are here applied with propriety and fuccefs, for
heightening the fublime.

The celebrated inftance given by Longinus, from
Mofes, " God faid, let there be light 5 and there was
" light," belongs to the true fublime ; and its fublimity
arifes from the ftrong conception it conveys, of an effort
of power producing its effect with the utmoft expedi-
tion and eafe. A fimilar thought is magnificently ex-
panded in the following pafiage of Ifaiah (chap. xxiv.
24, 27, 28.) " Thus faith the Lord, thy Redeemer,
" and he that formed thee from the womb : I am the
" Lord that maketh all things ; that ftretcheth forth the
" heavens alone j that fpreadeth abroad the earth by
'•" myfelf ; that faith to the deep, be dry, and I will
" dry up thy rivers ; that faith to Cyrus, he is my
" Ihepherd, and fhall perform all my pleafure ; even,
" faying to Jerufalem, thou fhalt be built j and to the
" Temple, thy foundation fhall be laid."

Homer has, during all ages, been univerfally admired
for fublimity ; and he is indebted for much of his gran-
deur to that native and unaffected fimplicity which cha-
racterizes his manner. His defcriptions of conflicting
armies ; the fpirit, the fire, the rapidity which he throws
into his battles, prefent to every reader of the Illiad, fre-
quent inftances of fublime writing. The majefty of
his warlike fcenes are often heightened, in a high de-
gree, by the introduction of the Gods. In the twen-

20 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.

tieth book, where all thefe fuperior beings take part in
the engagement, according as they feverally favour
either the Grecians or the Trojans, the poet appears to
put forth one of his higheft efforts ; ' and the defcrip-
tion rifes into the molt awful magnificence. AJ1 nature
feems to be in commotion. Jupiter thunders through
the fky ; Neptune fmites the earth with his trident ;
the {hips, the city, and the mountains tremble : the
earth {hakes to its centre ; Pinto leaps from his throne,
fearing left the fecrets of the infernal regions {hould be
laid open to the view of mortals. We {hall tranfcribe
Mr. Pope's tranflation of this paflage ; which, though
perhaps inferior to the original, is yet highly animated
and fublime.

But when the Powers defcending fwell'd the fight,
Then tumult rofe, fierce rage, and pale affright :
Now thro' the trembling fhores Minerva calls,
And now fhe thunders from the Grecian walls ;
Mars, hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror ftnouds
In gloomy tempefts, and a night of clouds ;
Now thro' each Trojan heart he fury pours
With voice divine, from Ilion's topmoft tow'rs ;
Above, the Sire of Gods his thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles ;
Beneath, ftern Neptune makes the folid ground,
The forefts wave, the mountains nod around ;
Thro' all her fummits tremble Ida's woods,
And from their fources boil her hundred floods;
Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain,
And the tofs'd navies beat the heaving main ;

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 21

D-ep in th* difmal region of the dead,
The infernal Monarch reai'd his horrid head,
Leap: from his throne, left Neptune's arm Ihould lay
His dark dominions open to the day;
And pour in light on Pluto's diear abodes,
Ahhoi'd by men, and dreadful e'en to Gods !
Such wars the Immortals wage ; fuch horrors rend
The world's vaft concave, when the Gods contend.

Concifenefs and limplicity will ever be found eflentiul
to fublime writing. Simplicity is properly oppofed to
ftudied and profule ornament ; and concifenefs to fu-
pcrfluiiy of u-proo^n it will eafily appear, why a
defeft either in concifenefs or

y s

hurtful to the fublime. The emotion exciteu v. ^g
mind by fome great or noble objeft, raifes it confiderably
above its common pitch. A fpecies of enthufiafm is
produced, extremely pleafing while it lafts. j but from
which the mind is tending every moment to fink into
its ordinary tone or fituation. When an author, there-
fore, has brought us, or is endeavouring to bring us into
this ftate, if he multiplies words unneceffarily, if he decks
the fublime object, on all fides, with glittering orna-
ments ; nay, if he throws in any one decoration which
falls in the leaft below the principal image, that moment
he changes the key; he relaxes the tenfion of the mind;
the ftrength of the feeling is emafculated ; the Beau-
tiful may remain, but the Sublime is extinguifhed.
Homer's defcription of the nod of Jupiter, as (haking
the heavens, has been admired,, in all ages, as wonder-

22 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.

fully fublime. Literally tranflated, it runs thus : " He
" fpoke, and bending his fable brows, gave the awful
" nod ; while he ihook the celeftial locks of his im-
" mortal head, all Olympus was fhaken." Mr. Pope
tranflates it in this manner.

He fpoke ; and awful bends his fable browj,
Shakes his ambroilal curls, and gives the ncdf
The ftzmp of fate, and fanaion of a god :
High heaven with trembling the drf-ad fsgnal took,
And all Olympus to its centre fhook.

The image is expanded, and attempted to be beau-
tified j but in realitv \t « ~~i«-~i. TUC tmrd line—
" The &*—& ol fate' an(^ fan6tion of a God," is entirely
^pletive, and introduced only to fill up the rhyme ; for
it interrupts the defcription, and clogs the image. For
the fame reafon, Jupiter is reprefented as lhaking his
locks before he gives the nod : " Shakes his ambrofial
" curls, and gives the nod/' which is trifling and
infignificant : whereas, in the original, the hair of his
head fhaken is the confequence of his nod, and makes
a happy pi6turefque circumftance in the defcription.

The boldnefs, freedom, and variety of our blank
verfe, is infinitely more propitious than rhyme, to all
kinds of fublime poetry. The fulled evidence of this
is afforded by Milton; an author whofe genius led him
peculiarly to the fublime. The whole firft and fecond
books of Paradife Loft are continued examples of it.
Take only, for inftance, the following noted defcription

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 23

of Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of his in-
fernal hofts :

He, above the reft,

. In fhapc and gefture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower : his form had not yet loft
All her os iginal brightnefs, nor appeared
Lefs than Arch-angel ruined ; and the excefs
Of glory obfcured : as when the fun new rifen,
Looks through the horizontal mifty air,
Shorn of his beams ; or, from behind, the moon,
In dim eclipfe, difaftrous twilight (heds
On half the nations, an<l with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs, Darkened fo, yet fhone
Above them all th" Arch-angel.

Here a variety of fources of the fublime are joined
together: the principal obje£t fuperlatively great ; a
high fuperiour nature, fallen indeed, but railing itfelf
againft diftrefs j the grandeur of the principal objed
heightened, by connecting it with fo noble an idea as
that of the fun fuffering an eclipfe 5 this pi&ure, fhaded
with all thofe images of change and trouble, of dark-
nefs and terror, -which coincide fo exquifitely with the
fublime emotion ; and the whole exprefled in a ftyle
and verification familiar, natural, and fimple, but
magnificent.

Befides fimplicity and concifenefs, ftrength is efTen-
tially neceflary to fublime writing. The ftrength of
defcription proceeds, in a great meafure, from a fimple
concifenefs ; but it implies fomething more, namely, a

24 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.

judicious choice of circumftances in the defcription, fo
as to exhibit the object in its full and moft advantageous
point of view. For every object has feveral faces, if the
exprefiion be allowed, by which it may be prefented to
us, according to the circumftances with which we fur-
round it j and it will appear fuperlatively fublime, or
otherwife, in proportion as all thefe circumftances are
happily choien, and of a fublime kind. In this the
great art of the writer confifts ; and it is, indeed, the
principal difficulty of fublime defcription. If the
defcription be too general, and divefted of circum-
ftances, the object is fhewn in a faint light ; and makes
either a feeble impreffion, or no impreflion at all,
on the reader. At the fame time, if any insignificant
or improper circnmitances are mingled, the whole is
degraded.

The nature of that emotion which is aimed at by fub-
lime defcription, admits of no mediocrity, and cannot
fubfift in a middle ftate ; but muft either highly tranf-
port us, or, if unfuccefsful in the execution, leave us
exceedingly difappointed anddifpleafed. We endeavour
to rife along with the writer : the imagination is
awakened, and put upon the ftretch ; but it ought to
be fupported ; and if, in the midft of its effort, it be
deferted. unexpectedly, it muft deicend with a rapid and
painful fhock. When Milton, in his battle of the An-
gels, reprefents them as tearing up the mountains, and
throwing them at one another ; there are in his de-

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. '25

Jcription, as Mr. Addilbn has remarked, no circum-
riances but what are truly fublhne :

From their foundations loos'ning to and fro,
They pluck'd the featcd hills, wkh all their load,
Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the ftiaggy tops
Uplifting, bore them in their hands.

This idea of the giants throwing the mountains,
which is in itfelf fo grand, is rendered by Claudian
burlefque and ridiculous ; by the fingle circumflauce,
of one of his giants with the mountain Ida upon his
{boulders, and a river which flowed from the mountain,
running down the giant's back, as he held it up in that
pofture. Virgil, in his defcription of Mount TEtna,
has been guilty of a flight inaccuracy of this kind.
After leveral magnificent images, the poet concludes
with perfonifying the mountain under this figure,

i. •' Eruftans vifcera cum gemitu" —

•' belched up its bowels with a groan •" which, by
making the mountain refemble a lick or drunken
perfon, degrades the mnjefty of the de-icription. The
debating efFe6t of this idea will appear in a ftronger
light, by observing what figure it makrs in a poem of
Sir Richard Blackmore ; who, through an extravagant
perverfity of tafte, had felefted it for the principal cir-
cumftance in his defcription; and thertby (as Dr. Ar-
bathnot humouroufly oblerves) had reprefentcd the
mountain as in a lit of the cholic.
D

SUBLIMITY IX WRITING.

a-, and all the burning mountains, find
Their kindled (lores, with inbied itotms of wind,
Blown up to rage, and roaring out, complain,
As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain ;
Labouring, they caft their dreadful vomit remnH,
And with their incited bowels fpread the ground.

Such inftances fhow how much the fublime depends
upon a proper feledion of circumftances; and with how
great care every circumftance mult be avoided, which,
by approaching in the fmalleft degree to the mean, or
even to the gay or the trifling, changes the tone of the
emotion.

What is commonly called the fublime ftyle, is, for the
molt part, a very bad one ; and has no relation what-
ever to the true Sublime. Writers are apt to imagine
that fplendid words, accumulated epithets, and a certain
fwelling kind of expreffion, by riling above what is
caftomary or vulgar, contributes to, or even confii-
tates the fublime : yet nothing is, in reality, more
falfe. In genuine inftances of fublime writing, nothing
of this kind appears. " God faid, let there be light ;
"and there was light." This is truly (hiking and fub-
Ifme ; but put into what is vulgarly called the fublime
ftyle ; " The Sovereign Arbiter of Nature, by the po-
" tent energy of a fingle word, commanded the light to
" exift;" and, as Boileau has jufdy obferved, the ilyle
is indeed raifed, but the thought is humbled. In ge-
neral it may be obferved, that the fublime lies in the
thought, not in the expreffion ; and when the thought

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. 27

is really noble, it will generally clothe itlelf in a native
majefty of language.

The faults oppofite to the Sublime are principally
two ; the Frigid and the Bombaft. The Frigid confifts
in degrading an object, or fentiment, which is fublime
in itfdf, by a mean or inadequate conception of it; cr
by a weak, low, or puerile defcriplion of it. This be-
trays entire abfence, or at leaft extreme poverty of
genius. The Bombaft lies in forcing a common or tri-
vial obje£t out of its rank, and endeavouring to raiie it
into the fublime; or, in attempting to exalt a fublime
•bje& beyond all bounds of nature and propriety.

D2

BEAUTY, AND OTHER PLEASURES ov TASTE

-OEAUTY, next to Sublimity, affords, undoubtedly,
the higheft pleafure to the imagination. The emotion
\vhich it raifes, is eafily dim'nguimed from that of fub-
limity. It is of a more gentle kind ; it is more calm
anri Toothing •, it does not elevate the mind fo much,
but produces a pleating ferenity. Sublimity «?vrifes a
feeling, too violent to be lafting j the pleafure proceed-
ing from Beauty admits of longer duration. It extends
alib to a much greater variety of objects than Sublimity :
to a variety indeed fo great, that the fenfations which
beautiful objects excite, differ exceedingly, not in degree
only, but alfo in kind, from each other. Hence, no
word is ufed in a more undetermined fignification than
Beauty. It is applied to almoft every external obje6l
which pleafes the eye or the ear; to many of the
graces of writing ; to feveral difpofi lions of the mind :
nay, to fome objects of mere abftract fcience. We
fpeak frequently of a beautiful tree or flower ; a beau-
tiful poem ; a beautiful character j and a beautifuj
theorem in mathematics.

Colour feems to afford the iirapleft inftance of Beauty.
Aflbciation of ideas, it is probable, has fome influence on
the pleafure which we receive from colours. Green,
for example, may appear more beautiful, by being con-

BEAUTY. 2Q

netted in our ideas with rural fcenes and profpc-cts ;
white, with innocence ; blue, with the ferenity of the
iky. Independant of affociations of this fort, all that
we can farther obferve refpccting colours is, that thofe
chofen for Beauty are commonly delicate, rather than
glaring. Such are the feathers of feveral kinds of birds,
the leaves of flowers, and the tine variation of colours
fliown by the Iky at the riling and letting of the fun.

Figure opens to us forms of Beauty more complex and
diverliried. Regularity firft oilers itfelf to obfervation
as a fource of Beauty. By a regular figure is under-
ftood, one which we perceive to be formed according to
fome certain rule, and not left arbitrary or loofe, in th-
conftruclion of its parts. Thus a circle, a fqua :.•.-. ?•
triangle, or a hexagon, give pleafure to the eye, by tlu-ir
regularity, as beautiful figures : yet a certain graceful
variety is perceived to be a much more powerful piirj-
ciple of Beauty. Regularity teems to appear beautiful
to us, chiefly, if not entirely, on account of its fuggeft-
ing the ideas of fitnefs, propriety and ufe, which have
always a more intimate connection with orderly and
proportioned forms, than with thofe which appear not
conftrufted according to any certain rule. Nature, who
is the moft graceful art ill, hath, in all her ornamental
v/orks, purfued variety, with an apparent difregard of
regularity. Cabinets, doors, and windows, are made
.-ifr«v n regular form, in cubes and parallelograms, with
D3

30 BEAUTY AND OTHER

an exa6t proportion of parts; and thus formed, they
pleafe the eye for this juft reafonj that being works of
ufe, they are, by fuch figures, the better adapted to the
ends for which they were defigned. Yet plants, flowers,
and leaves, are full of variety and diverfity. A ftraight
canal is an infipid figure, when compared with the
meanders of rivers. Cones and pyramids have their
degree of beauty ; but trees growing in their natural
wildnefs, have infinitely more beauty than when trim-
med into pyramids and cones. The apartments of a
lioufe muft be diipofed with regularity, for the conveni-
ence of its inhabitants; but a garden, which is intended
merely for beauty, would be extremely difgufting, if it
had as much uniformity and order as a dwelling-houfe.

Motion affords another fburce of Beauty, diftlnft from
figure. Motion of itfelf is pleafing ; and bodies in
motion are, " caeteris paribus," univerfally preferred to
thofe at reft. Gentle motion, however only belongs to
the Beautiful ; for when it is fwift, or very powerful,
fuch as that of a torrent, it partakes of the Sublime.
The motion of a bird gliding through the air, is exqui-
fitely beautiful ; but the fwirtnefs with which lightning
darts through the iky, is magnificent and aftonifliing.
And here it is neceffary to obferve, that the fenfations
of fublime and beautiful are not always diftinguifhed by
very diftant boundaries ; but are capable, in many in-
ftafices, of approaching towards each other. Thus, a
gently running ftream is one of the moft beautiful ob-

PLEASURES OP TASTE. 31

jedts in nature : hut as it fwells gradually into a great
river, the beautiful, by degrees, is loft in the fublime.
A young tree is a beautiful object ; a fpreading ancient
oak is a venerable and fublime one. To return, how-
ever to the beauty of motion : it will be found to hold
very generally, that motion in a ftraight line is not fo
beautiful as in a waving dire&ion ; and motion upwards
is commonly alfo more pleafing than motion downwards.
The eafy curling motion of flame and fmoke, is an ob-
ject fingularly agreeable. Mr. Hogarth oblerves very
ingenioufly, that all the common and necefTary motions
for the purpofes of life, are performed by men in ftraight
or plain lines j but that all the graceful and ornamental
movements are made in curve lines ; an obfervation
worthy of the attention of thofe who ftudy the grace of
gefture and action.

Colour, figure, and motion, though they are feparate
principles of Beauty; yet in many beautiful objects they
meet together, and thereby render the beauty both
greater and more complex. Thus in flowers, trees, and
animals, we are entertained at the fame time with the
delicacy of the colour, with the graceful nefs of the figure,
and fometimes likewife with the motion of the object.
The moft complete aflembl age of beautiful objects which
can any where be found, is prefented by a rich natural
landfcape, where there is a fufficient variety of objects :
fields in verdure, fcattered trees and flowers, running
water, and animals grazing. If to thefe be added, fome

32 BEAUTY AND OTHER

of the productions of art, which are proper for fuch a
fcene ; as a bridge with arches, over a river, fmoke
riling from cottages in the inidfl of trees, and the diftant
view of a fine building difcovered by the rifing fun ; we
then enjoy, in the higheft perfection, that gay, chearful,
and placid fenfation which charecterizes Beauty.

The Beauty of the human countenance is more vari-
ous and complex than any that we have yet examined.
It comprehends the Beauty of colour, anting from the
delicate {hades of the complexion ; and the Beauty of
figure ariling from the lines which conftitute the dif-
ferent features of the face. But the principal Beauty of
the countenance depends upon a myfterious expreffion
which it conveys of the qualities of the mind ; of good
fenfe, or good humour ; of candour, benevolence, fenfi-
bility, or other amiable difpbfitions. It may be ob-
ferved, that there are certain qualities of the mind
which, whether exprefTed in the countenance, or by
words, or by a6tions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar
lo that of Beauty. There are two great clafles of moral
qualities ; one is of the high and the great virtues, which
require extraordinary efforts, and is founded on dangers
andfufferingsj asheroifm, magnanimity, a fcorn of plea-
lures, and the contempt of death. Thefe, produce in
the fpectator an idea of fublimity and grandeur. The
other clafs is chiefly of the focial virtues, and fuch as
are of a fofter and gentler kind 3 as compaflion, mild-
aefs, and generofity. Thefe excite in the beholder a

PLEASURES OP TASTE. 33

fen fation of pleafure fo nearly allied to that excited by
beautiful external objects, that, though of a more ex-
alted nature, it may without impropriety be clalTed un-
der the fame head.

Beauty of Writing, ufed in its more definite fcnfe,
characterizes a particular, manner -} when it is to fignify
a certain grace and amenity in the turn either of ftyle
or fentiment, for which fome authors have been parti-
cularly difiinguifhed. In this fenfe, it comprehends a
manner neither remarkably fublime, nor extravagantly
paffionate, nor uncommonly fparkling j but fuch as
excites in the reader an emotiuu uf the gently pleating
kind, refembling that which is raifed by trie, contem-
plation of beautiful objects in nature; which neithti
lifts the mind very high, nor agitates it to excefs j but
fpreads over the imagination an agreeable and compla-
cent ferenity. Mr. Addifon is a writer entirely of this
character j and is "one of the moft proper examples
which can be given of it. Fenelon, the 'author of Tele-
machus, may be considered as another example. Virgil
alfo, though very capable of riling occafionally into the
fublime, yet generally is diftinguifhed by the character
of beauty and grace, rather than of fublimity. Among
orators, Cicero has more of the beautiful than Demoft-
henes, whofe genius carried him ftrongly towards ve-
hemence and pathos.

This much it is neceflary to have faid upon the fub-
ject of Beauty j fince, next to Sublimity, it is the moil

34 BEAUTY AND OTHER

copious fource of the Pleafures of Tafte. But obje&s
do not only delight the imagination by appearing under
the forms of fublime or beautiful. They likewife derive
their power of giving it pleafure from feveral other
principles.

Novelty, for example, has been mentioned by Mr.
Addifon, and by every writer on this fubjeft. An ob-
jed which has no other merit than being uncommon
or new, by means of this quality alone, raifes in the
mind a vivid and an agreeable emotion. Hence that
paffion of curiofity, which prevails ib univerfally among
mankind. Objects ar>J tJ^«^ iu wmcn \ve have oeen
lono1 accnftoilied» make too faint an impreflion to give
an agreeable exercife to our faculties. New and flrange
objects roufe the mind from its dormant ftate, by giving
it a fudden and pleafing impulfe. Hence, in a great
meafure, the entertainment \ve receive from fiction
and romance. The emotion raifed by Novelty is of a
more lively and awakening nature than that produced
by Beauty ; but much fhorter in its duration. For if
the object has in itfelf no charms to retain our attention,
the finning glofs fpread over it by Novelty foon wears
away.

Imitation is alfo another fource of pleafure to Tafte.
This gives rife to what Mr. Addifon calls, the Secon-
dary Pleafures of Imagination ; which form, undoubt-
edly, a very extenfive clafs. For all imitation conveys
fome pleafure to the mind ; not only the imitation ef

PLEASURES OF TASTE. 35

beautiful or fublime objects, by recalling the original
ideas of beauty or grandeur which fuch objects them-
felves exhibited ; but even objects which have neither
beauty nor grandeur ; nay, fome which are terrible or
deformed, give us pleafure in a fecondary, or rcpre-
fented view.

The pleafures of melody and harmony appertain
likewife to Tafte. There is no delightful fenfation we
receive either from beauty or fublimity, but what is
capable of being heightened by the power of mufical
found. Hence the charm of poetical numbers; and
even of the more concealed and loofer meafures of
prole. Wit, humour, and ridicule, open likewife a
variety of pleafures to Tafte, altogether different from
any that have yet been considered.

At prefent, it is not necefiary to purfue any farther
the fubject: of the Pleafures of Tafte. We have opened
fome of the general principles : it is time now to apply
them to our chief fubject. If it be afked, to what clafs of
thofe Pleafures of Tafte which have been enumerated,
that pleafure is to be referred, which we receive from
poetry, eloquence, or fine writing? ^jTlie anfwer is, not
to any one, but to them all. This peculiar advantage
writing and difcourfe poflefs, that they encompafs fo
Urge and fruitful a field on all fides, and have power to
exhibit, in great perfection, not a fingle fet of objects
only, but almoft the whole of thofe which give pleafure
to tafte and imagination; whether that pleafure ariie

36 BEAUTY AND OTHER

from fublimity, from beauty in its various forms, from
defign and art, from moral fentiment, from novelty,
from harmony, from wit, humour, and ridicule. To
which ever of thefe the peculiar inclination of a perfon's
tafle is directed, from fome writer or other he has it
always in his power to receive the gratification of it.

It has been ufual among critical writers, to treat of
difcourfe as the chief of all the imitative or mimetic
arts. They compare it with painting and with fculp-
ture, and in many refpe&s prefer it juftly before them.
But it muft be obferved, that imitation and delcription
differ confiderably in their nature from each other.
Words have no natural refemblance to the ideas or ob-
jects which they are employed to rignify j but a ftatue
or a picture has a natural likenefs to the original.

As far, however, as a poet or an hiftorian introduces
into his work perfons really fpeaking, and by the words
which he puts into their mouths, reprefents the con-
verfation which they might be fuppofed to hold ; fo far
his art may more juftly be called imitative : and this is
the cafe in every dramatic compofition. But in narrative
or defcriptive works it cannot with propriety be called
fo. Who, for example, would call Virgil's defcription
of a tempeft, in the firft JEneid, an imitation of a
ftorm ? If we heard of the imitation of a battle, we
might naturally think of fome mock-fight, or reprefen-
tation of a battle on the ftage ; but would never ima-
gine, that it meant one of Homer's deicriptimw in the

PLEASURES OF T-ASTE. 37

Iliad. It muft be allowed, at the fame time, that
imitation and defcription agree in their principal effe£t,
of recalling, by external figns, the ideas of tilings which
we do not fee. But, though in this they coincide, yet
it Ihould be remembered, that the terms themlelves are
not iynonimous ; that they import different means of
producing the fame end ; and coaiequently make dif-
ferent inipreffionc) on the mind.

ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.

T

JL O form an adequate idea of the Rife and Origin of

Language, it i.s necelfary to contemplate the circumftan-
ces of mankind in their earlier! and rudeft ftate. They
were then a wandering, fcattered race ; no fociety
among them except families ; and the family fociety alfo
very imported, as their mode of living, by hunting or
paflurage, muit have fepa rated them frequently from
each other. In fnch a condition, how could any one
fet of founds or words be univerfally agreed on as the
figns of their ideas ? Supposing that a few, whom
chance or neceffity threw together, agreed, by fome
means, upon certain figns; yet by what authority could
thefe be propagated among other tribes or families, fo as
to fpread and grow up into a language? One would
imagine, that men muft have been previouily gathered
together in confiderable numbers, before language could
be fixed and extended ; and yet, on the other hand,
there feems to have been an abfolute neceffity of fpeech,
previous to the formation of fociety : for, by what bond
could any multitude of men be kept together, or be
connected in the profecution of any common intereft,
until, by the affiftance of fpeech, they could commu-
nicate their wants and intentions to each other ': So that
either how fociety could fubfift previous to language, or

OF LANGUAGE. 3Q

how words could rite into a language, previous to the
formation of ibciety, feem to be points attended with
equal difficulty. And when we confider farther, that
curious analogy which prevails in the coniiruiStion of
almoft all languages, and that deep and fubtile logic on
which they are founded, difficulties iucreaie fo much
upon us, on all fides, that there ieems to be no finall
reafon for referring the nrll origin of all language to
divine infpiration.

But fnppofing language to have a divine original, we
cannot, however, imagine that a perfect fyftem of it
was all at once given to man. It is much more natural
to fuppofe, that God taught our firft parents only fuch
language as fuited their prefent occafions; leaving them,
as he did in other refpects, to enlarge and improve it as
their future neceflities fhould require : confeq-uently
thofe firft rudiments of fpeech mufl have been poor and
.narrow j and we are at full liberty to enquire in what
manner, .and by what fteps, language advanced to the
ilate in which we now find it.

Should we fuppofe a period to exift'before any words
were invented or known, it is evident that men could
have no other method of communicating their feelings to
others, than by the cries of paflion, accompanied by
by fuch motions and gelhires as were farther expreflivc
of emotion : Thefe, indeed, are the only figns which
nature teaches all men, and which are underftood by
E 2

4O ORIGIN AND PROGRESS

all. One who fa\v another going into fome place where
he himfelf had been frightened, or expofed to danger,
and who withed to warn his neighbour of the danger,
could contrive no other method of doing it than by ut-
tering thole cries, andmakingthofegeftures, which are
the %ns of fear : juft as two men, at this day, would
endeavour to make themfelves underftood by each
other, who fhould be thrown together on a defolate
iiland, ignorant of each other's language. Thofe excla-
mations, therefoic, by grammarians called interjections,
uttered in a lirong and paffionate manner, were, un-
doubtedly, the firft elements or beginnings of fpeech.

When more enlarged communication became requi-
fite, and names began to be applied to objects, how can
we fuppofe men to have proceeded in this application
of names, or invention of words? Certainly, by affimi-
lating, as much as they could, the nature of the ob-
ject which they named, to the found of the name
which they gave to it. As a painter, who would re-
prefent grafs, muft mskeyufe of a green colour; fo in
the infancy of language, one giving a name to any
tiling haiih or boifterous, would of courfe employ a
harfh and boifterous found. He .could not act other-
wife, if he defired to excite in the hearer the idea of
that object which he wifhed to name. To imagine
words invented, or names given to things, in a manner
purely arbitrary, without any ground or realbn, is to
.fuppofe an effect without a caufe. There muft always

Or LANGUAGE. 41

have been feme motive, which led to one name rather
than another ; and we can fuppofe no motive which
would more generally operate upon men in their firft
efforts towards language, than a defire to paint by
fpeech the objects which they named, in a manner
more or lefs compleat, according as it was in the power
of the human voice to effect this imitation.

Wherever objects were to he diftinguiflied, in which
found, noife, or motion were concerned, the imitation
by words was fufficiently obvious. Nothing was more
natural than to imitate, by the found of the voice, the
quality of the found or noife which any external object
produced ; and to form its name accordingly. Thus,
in all languages, we difcover a multitude of words
which are evidently contracted upon this principle. A
certain bird is called the Cuckoo, from the found
which it emits. When one fort of wind is faid to
ivhljUe, and another to roar ; when a ferpent is faid to
life ; a fly to luzz, and falling timber to crajb ; when
a ftream is faid to flow, and hail to rattle; the rcfcui-
blance betwixt the word and the thing fignificd is
plainly difcernible. But in the names of objects which
addrefs the fight only, where neither noife nor motion are
concerned, and ftill more in the terms appropriated to
moral ideas, this analogy appears to fail. Yet many
learned men have imagined, that, though in fuch cafes
it becomes more obfcure, it is not altogether loflj but
E 3

42, ORIGIN AND PROGRESS

that throughout the radical words of all languages, there
in sy be traced fome degree of correfpondence with the
object Signified.

This principle, however, of a natural relation be-
tween words and objects, can only be applied to lan-
guage in its moft Simple and early State. Though in
every tongue fome remains of it can be traced, it were
utterly vain to fearch for it throughout the whole con-
traction of any modern language. As the multitude of
terms increafe in every nation, and the vaft field of
language is filled up, words, by a thoufand fanciful
;md irregular methods of derivation and compofition,
deviate widely from the primitive character of their
roots, and lofe all refemblance in found to the things
Signified. This is the prefent ftate of language. Words,
as we now ufe them, taken in the general, may be
considered as fymbcls, not as imitations ; as arbitrary or
instituted, not natural Signs of ideas. But there feems
to be no doubt, that language, the nearer we approach
to its rife among men, will be found to partake more of
a natural expression.

Interjections, it has been Shown, or paffionate excla-
mations, were the firft elements of fpeecli. Men la-
boured to communicate their feelings to each other, by
expreffive cries and geSlures which nature taught them.
After words, or names of objects began to be intro-
duced, this mode of fpeaking by natural figns couH
not be all at once difufed : for language, in its infancy,

OF LANGUAGE. 43

mnft have been extremely barren : and there undoubt-
edly was a period, among all rude nations, when con-
verfation was carried on by a very few words, inter-
mixed with many exclamations and earned gefturcs.
The inconfiderable (lock of words which men as yet
poffetfcd, rendered thofe helps entirely neceffary for ex-
plaining their conceptions ; and rude, uncultivated indi-
viduals, not having always ready even the few words
which they knew, would naturally labour to make
themfelves underftood, by changing their tones of voice,
and accompanying their tones with the moft cxpreflive
gefliculations they could make.

To this mode of fpeaking neceflity firft gave rife.
But we mull obferve, that alter this necelh'ty had, in a
great degree, ceafed, by language becoming, in procefs
of time, more extenfive and copious, the ancient man-
ner of fpeech m'll fubfifted among many nations ; and
what had ariien from neceflity, continued to be ufed for
ornament. In the Greek and Roman languages, a mu-
fical and gefticulating pronunciation was retained in a
very high degree. Without having attended to this, we
lhall be at a lofs in underita tiding ieveral paflages of the
Claffics, which relate to the public fpeaking and the
theatrical entertainments of the ancients. Our modern
pronunciation would have feemcd to them a lifelefs mo-
notony. The declamation of their orators, and the pro-
nunciation of their a6tors upon the flage, approached to
the nature of recitative in mulic j was capable of being

44 ORIGIX AND PROGRESS

marked in notes, and fupported with inftrumcnts ; as
feveral learned men have fully demouft:

With regard to gcftures, tlie cafe was parallel ; for
ftrong tones and animated geftures, we may obferve,
always go together. The action both of the orators and
the players in Greece and Rome, was far more vehement
than that to which we are accuftomed. To us, Rofcius
would have appeared a madman. Gefture was of fuch
confequence upon- the ancient ftage, that there is reafon
for believing, that on fome occasions the fpeaking and
the adling part were divided j which, according to our
ideas, would form a ftrange exhibition : one player fpoke
the words in the proper tones, while another expreffed
the correfponding motions and geftures. Cicero tells us,
that it was a conteft between him and Rofcius, whether
he could exprefs a fentiment in a greater variety of
phrafes, or Rofcius in a greater variety of intelligible
fignifieant geftures. At laft geiture engrafted the Itage
entirely ; for under the reigns of Auguftus and Tibe-
rius, the favourite entertainment of the Public was the
Pantomime, which was carried on by gefticulation only.
The people were moved, and wept at it as much as at
tragedies j and the paffion for it became fo violent, tlfat
laws were iuftituted for reftraining the fenators from
ftudying the pantomime art. Now, though in decla-
mations and theatrical exhibitions, both tone and gefture
were, undoubtedly, carried much farther than in com-
mon difcourfe ; yet public fpeaking of any kind muft,

OF LANGUAGE. 45

in every country, bear forae proportion to the mannei
v Inch is ufed in converfation ; and fuch public enter-
tainments could never have been relilhed by a nation,
\vbofe tones and geftures in diicourie, wrro as languid
as ours.

The early language of mankind being entirely com-
pofed of words defcriptive of fenfible objects, became,
of neceffity, extremely metaphorical. For/ to fignify
any defire or paffion, or any act or feeling of the mind,
they had ho fixed expreflion which was appropriated to
tW purpofe : but were. obliged to paint the emotion or
paffion which they felt, by a)imm,b ^ thofc fenfible
objects which had moft connection with it, aue. ,vu:cj,
could render it, in fome degree, vifible to others.

It was not, however, treceffity alone which gave rife
to this pictured ftyle. In the infancy of all focieties,
fear and furprife, wonder and aftonifhment, are the moft
frequent paffions of mankind. Their language will
neceflarily be affected by this character of their minds-.
They will be diipofed to paint every thing in the ftrong-
eft and moft glowing colours. Even die manner in
which the firft tribes of men uttered their words, would
have confiderable influence on their ftyle. Wherever
ftrong exclamations, tones, and geftures, are connected
with converfation, the imagination is always more ex-
crcilcd ; a greater effort of fancy and paffion is excited.
Thus the fancy being kept awake, and rendered more

46 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS

fprightly by this mode of utterance, operates uport
ftyle, and gives it additional life and fpirit.

As one proof, among many others which might be
produced, of the truth of thefe obfervations, we lhall
tranfcribe a fpeech from Colden's Hiftory of the Five
Indian Nations, which was delivered by their Chiefs,
when entering on a treaty of peace with us, in the
following language. " We are happy in having buried
" under ground the red axe, that has fb often been dyed
" with the blood of our brethren. Now, in this fort,
" we enter the axe, and plant the tree of peace. We
" nlant a trr~ >v 1JOie toP w^ reach the fun ; and its
tl ^..jcnes fpread abroad, fo that it mall be feen afar
" off. May its growth never be ftifled and choaked ;
" but may it made both your country and ours with its
" leaves ! Let us make fa ft its roots, and extend them
" to the utmoft of your colonies. If the French iliould
" come to lhake this tree, we would know it by the
" morion of its roots, reaching into our country. May
" the 'Great Spirit allow us to reft in tranquillity upon
<e onr mats, and never again dig up the axe to cut down
" the tree of peace ! Let the earth be trod hard over
" it, where it lies buried. Let a ftrong fiream run
" under the pit, to wafli the evil away out of our fight
" and remembrance. The fire that had long burned
" in Albany is extinguiflied. The bloody bed is warned
'* clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. We
" now renew the covenant chain of friendlhip. Let it

OF LANGUAGE. 47

" be kept bright, and clean as filver, and not fuffered
" to contract any ruft. Let not any one pull away his
" arm from it."

As Language, in its progrefs, began to grow more co-
pious, it gradually loft that figurative ftyle which was
its original characteriflic. The vehement manner of
fpeaking by tones and geftures became lefs univerfal.
Inftead of Poets, Philofophers became the inftructors of
mankind ; and in their reafoning on all fubje&s, intro-
duced that plainer and more fimple ftyle of competition,
which we now call Profe. Thus the ancient metapho-
rical and poetical drefs of Language was, at length,
laid afide from the intercourfe of men, and reierved for
thofe occafions only on which ornament was profefledly
fludied.

RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE
AND OF WRITING.

F we examine the order in which words are arranged
in a fentence, we find a very remarkable difference be-
tween the ancient and modern tongues. The confi-
deration of this will ferve to unfold farther the genius
of Language, and to dilcover the caufes of thole alter-
ations which it has undergone, in the progrefs of fo-
ciety.

To conceive diftinctly the nature of this alteration,
we muft go back, as before, to the moft early period of
Language. Let us figure to ourfelves a Savage, behold-
ing fome object, fuch as fruit, which he earnefily de-
fires, and requefts another to give it to him. Suppofe
him unacquainted with words ; he would then ftrive
to make himfelf understood by pointing eagerly at the
object vrhich he defired, and uttering at the fame time
a paflionate cry. Suppofing him to have acquired
words, the firft word which he uttered would, confe-
quently, be the nan:e of that object. He would not
exprefs himfelf according to our order of contraction,
" Give me fruit j" but according to the Latin order,
" Fruit give me," — " Fructum da mihi :" for this evi-
dent reafon, that his attention was wholly directed
towards fruit, the object of his defire. From hence we

LANGUAGE AND OF WRITING. 40

might conclude, a priori, that this would be the order
in which words were moll commonly arranged in the
infancy of Language ; and accordingly we find, in
reality, that in this order words are arranged in moll of
the ancient tongues, as in the Greek and die Latin ;
and it is faid likewife, in the Rufiian, the Sclavonic,
the Gaelic, and feveral of the American tongues.

The modern languages of Europe have adopted a
different arrangement from the ancient. In their profe
cotnpofitions, very little variety is admitted in the collo-
cation of words : they are chiefly fixed to one order,
which may be called the Order of the Underftanding.
They place firft in the fentence the perfon or thing
which fpeaks or acts, next, its action, and finally, the
object of its action. Thus an Englifli Writer, paying
a compliment to a great man, would fay, " It is ini-
" poflible for me to pafs over in filence fuch dirlin-
" guiihed mildnefs, fuch unuftui! and unheard of cle-
" mcncy, and fuch uncommon moderation, in the
" exercife of fupreme power." Here is firlt prelentcd
to us the perfon who fpeaks, " It is impofllble for me ;"
next, what the fame perfon is to do, " impoifible for
" him to pafe over in filcnce ; aiid Inlily, the objert
which excites him to action, "• the mildneis, clemency,
" nnd moderation of hi.s patron." Cicero, from whom
thefe words are tranflated, exactly changes this order ;
he begins with the object, places that firft, which was
F

5O BISE AXD PROGRESS OF

the exciting idea in the fpeaker's mind, and ends with
the fpeakerand his action. " Tantam manfuetudinem,
" tarn inulitatam innuditamque clementiam, tantumque
" in fimima poteftate rerum omnium inodum, tacitus
" nullo rnodo pra'terire pofium." Here, it mult be
obferved, the Latin order is more animated ; the Englilh
more clear and diftindt.

Onr language naturally allows a greater liberty for
trsnfpofition and inverfion in poetry than in profe.
Fven there, however, that liberty is confined within
narrow limits, in companion of the ancient languages.
In this refpedt the modern tongues vary from each
other. The Italian approaches the neareft in its cha-
racter to the ancient tranfpofition ; the Engliih has
more inverfion than the reft ; and the French has the
lealt of all. t

Writing is an improvement upon Speed), and con-
fequently was pofterior to it in the order of time. Its
characters are of two kinds ; either figns for things, or
iigns for words. Thus the pictures, hieroglyphics, and
fymbols, employed by the Antients, were of the former
fort ; the alphabetical characters, now employed by
Kuropeans, of the latter.

Pi&ures were, certainly, the firft attempt towards
writing. Mankind, in all ages and in all nations, have
been prone to imitation. This would foonbe employed
for giving impelled descriptions of events, and for re-

LANGUAGE AND OP WRITING. 51

cording their remembrance. Thus, to fignify that one
man had killed another, they painted the figure of a
dead man lying on the ground, and of another ftanding
over him, with a hoftile weapon in his hand. When
America was firft dilcovered, this was the only kind of '
writing with which the Mexicans were acquainted. It
was, however, a very imperfect mode of recording fa6ts j
fince, by pictures, external events could only be deli-
neated.

Hieroglyphical characters may be confidered as the
fecond ftage of the Art of Writing. They confift in
certain fymbols, which are made to reprefent invifible
objects, on account of a refemblance which fuch fym-
bols were fuppofed to bear to the objects themfelves.
Thus, an eye reprefented knowledge ; and a circle,
having jieither beginning nor end, was the fymbol of
eternity. Egypt was the country where this kind of
writing was mod ftudied, and brought into a regular
art. In thefe characters all the boafted wifdom of their
Friefts was conveyed. They pitched upon animals to
be the emblems of moral objects, according to the qua-
lities with which they fuppofed them to be endowed.
Thus, imprudence was denominated by a fly ; wifdom
by an ant : and victory by a hawk. But this fort of
writing was in the higheft degree aenigmatical and con-
fufed ; and confequentlr a very imperfetil vehicle of
knowledge,

F •>

RISE AXD PROGRESS OP

From hieroglyphics mankind gradually advanced to
fimple arbitrary marks, which flood for objects, though
without any refemblance or analogy to the objects iig-
nified. Of this nature was the manner of writing
among the Peruvians. They ufed fmall cords of dif-
ferent colours ; and by knots upon thefe, of different
fizes, and varioufly ranged, they invented figns for giv-
ing information, and communicating their thoughts to
one another. The Clunefc, at this day, ufe written
characters of this nature. They have no alphabet of
letters, or fimple founds, of which their words are com-
pofed ; but every fingle character which they ufe is ex-
preffiveofan idea; it is a mark which fignifies fomc
one thing or object. The number of thefe characters
muft, confequently, be immenfe. They are faid, indeed,
to amount to leventy thoufand. To be perfectly ac-
quainted with them is the bufinefs of a whoft: life ;
which muft have greatly retarded, among them, the
progrefs of every kind of fcience.

It is evident, that the Chinefe characters are, like
Ineroglyphics, independent of Language : are ligns of
things, and not of words. For we are told, that the
Japanefe, the Tonquinefe, and the Coroeans, who fpeak
different languages from each other, and from the inha-
bitants of China, employ, however, the fame written
characters with them, and thus correfpond intelligibly
with one another in writing, though ignorant of the lan-
guage fpoken in their refpe£Uve countries. Our arith-

AND OF \VRITIXG.

metieal ngures, 1, 2, 3, -i, &c. are an example of thin
fort of writing. They have no dependence on words ;
each figure reprefents the number for which it fiand* :
and confequently, is equally unde.rftood by all the nation*
who have agreed in the ule. of thefe figures.

The firft ftep to remedy the imperfection, the ambi-
guity, and the tedioufnefs of each of thefe methods of
communication which have been mentioned, was th<°.
invention of figns, which ihould ftand not directly fot
tilings, but for the words by which things were named
and diftinguilhed. An alphabet of fyllables fecms to
have been invented previous to an alphabet of letters.
Such an one is faid to be retained, at this _ clay, in ./Ethio-
pia, and fome countries of India. But it mull have
been, at belt, imperfect and ineffectual ; fince the num-
ber of characters, being very confiderable. muft have
rendered both reading and writing very complex and
laborious.

To whom we are indebted for the. fublime and refined
difcovery of Letters, is not determined. They were
brought into Greece by Cadmus the Phoenician, who,
according to Sir Jfaac .Newton's Chronology, was con-
temporary A'ith King David. His alphabet confiftcd
only of fixteen letters. The reft were afterwards added,
according as iigns for proper founds were found to be
wanting. The Phoenician, Hebrew, Greek, and Koman
alphabets, agree fo much in the figure, the names, and
F 3

54 RISE AND PROGRESS OP

the arrangement of the letters, as amounts to a demon-
ftration, that they were derived originally from the fame
fource.

The ancient order of writing was from the right hand
to the left. This method, as appears from fome very-
old infcriptions, prevailed even among the Greeks.
They afterwards ufed to write their lines alternately from
the right to the left, and from the left to the right. The
infcription on the famous Sigaean Monument is a tefH-
mony of this mode of writing, which continued till the
days of Solon, the celebrated Legiflator of Athens. At
length, the motion from the left hand to the right being
found more natural and convenient, this order of wri-
ting was adopted throughout all the nations of Europe.

Writing was firft exhibited on pillars, and tables of
ftone, afterwards on plates of the fofter metals, fuch as
lead. As it became pra6tifed more extenfively, the
leaves, and the bark of certain trees, were ufed in fome
countries ; and in others tablets of wood, covered with
a thin coat of foft was, on which the impreffion was
made with a flylus of iron. Parchment, made of the
hides of animals, was an invention of later times. Pa-
per was not invented till the fourteenth century.

STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.

JL HE ufual divifion of Speech into eight parts,
nouns, pronouns, verbs, participles, adverbs, prepofi-
tions, interjections, and conjunctions, might eafily be
proved not to be very accurate ; fince, under the gene-
ral term of nouns, it comprehends both fubftantives and
adjeclives, which are parts of fpeech entirely diftind j
while it makes a feparate part of fpeech of participles,
which are only verbal adje&ives. Yet as we are mod
accuftomed to this divifion, and as logical exa&nefs is
not neceflary to our prefent defign, we Ihall adopt thofe
terms which habit has made familiar to us.

Subflantive nouns are the foundation of Grammar,
and are the moft ancient part of fpeech. When men
had got beyond limple interjections or exclamations of
paflion, and had begun to communicate their ideas to
each other, they would be obliged to aflign names to
the objects by which they were furrounded. Whichever
way he looked, forefts and trees would meet the eye of
the beholder. To diftinguifh the trees by feparate
names would have been endlefs. Their common quali-
ties, fuch as fpringing from a root, and bearing branches
and leaves, would fuggeft a general idea, and a gene-
ral name. The genus, a tree, would afterwards be

56 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.

fubdivided into its feveral fpecies of oak, elm, am, &c»
by experience and obfervation.

Still, however, only general terms of fpeech were
adopted. For the oak, the elm, and the afh, were
names of whole clafles of objects, each of which com-
prehended an immenfe number of undiftinguimed indi-
viduals. Thus when the terms man, lion, or tree, were
mentioned in com erfation, it could not be known which
man, lion, or tree, was meant, among the multitude
comprehended under one name. Hence arofe a very
ufeful and curious contrivance for determining the indi-
vidual object intended, by means of that part of fpeech
called the Article. In our language we have two arti-
cles, a and the; a is more general, the more definite.
The Greeks have but one, o •n n, which agrees with our
definite article tie. They fupply the place of our article
a, by the abfence of their article : Thus, Avdpu-rros figni-
fies a man ; o AvOpvirof, tie man. The Latins have no
article, but fupply its place with the pronouns hie, ille,
ifte. This, however, feems to be a defect in their lan-
guage, fince articles certainly contribute much lo accu-
racy and precifion.

To illuflrate this remark, we may obferve the differ-
ent imports of the following expreffions : " The friend
" of a king — the friend of the king — a friend of the
" king's." Each of thefe three phrafes has a feparate
meaning, too obvious to be mifunderftood. In Latin,
" amicus regis" is entirely undetermined : it may bear

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 57

any of the three fenfes which have been mentioned ;
and requires other words to afcertain its meaning.

Befides this quality of being diftinguifhed by the
article, three affections belong to fubftantive nouns 5
number, gender, and cafe, which deferve to be con-
fidered.

NUMBER diftinguiflies nouns as one, or many, of the
fame kind, called the fingular and plural ; a diftin&ion
found in all tongues, and \vhich mufl, indeed, have
been coevaJ with trie full origin of language; fince there
were few things which men had more fre^p.nt necef-
fity of expreffing than the diftin&ion between one cmA
many. In the Hebrew, Greek, and fome other ancient
languages, we find not only a plural, but a dual num-
ber; the origin of which may very naturally be accounted
for, from feparate terms of numbering being yet undif-
covered, and one, two, and many, being all, or at leaft
the principal numeral diftin&ions which mankind, -at
firft, had any occafion to make ufe of.

GENDER, which is founded on the diftin<5tion of the
two fexes, can, with propriety, be applied to the names
of living creatures only. All other fubftantive nouns
ought to belong to what is called by Grammarians the
neuter gender. Yet in moft langunge.o> a great number
of inanimate objeds have been ranked under the like
diftinclions of mafculine and feminine. Thus, for in-
ftance, in the Latin tongue, evfis, a fword, is mafcu-

58 STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.

line; fagitta, an arrow, is feminine ; and this afiignation
of fex to inanimate obje&s feems to be entirely cafual
and capricious. In the Greek and Latin, however, all
inanimate objects are not ranked among the mafculine
and feminine ; but many of them are likewife claffed
where all of them ought to have been, under the neu-
ter gender, as faxum, a rock ; mare, the fea. But in
the French and Italian tongues, the neuter gender is
entirely unknown, and all their names of inanimate ob-
jects are put upon the fame footing with thofe of living
creatures j and diflributed wit-linn t rofcr> c into mafcu-
line and fer»"iine. In the Englifh language, when we
ufr common difcourfe, all fubftantive nouns that are
not names of living creatures, are neuter without ex-
ception. And ours is, perhaps, the only tongue in the
known world (except the Chinefe, which is faid to rc-
fernble it in this particular) in which the distinction of
gender is properly and philofophically attended to.

CASE, in declenfion, declares the ftate or relation
which one object bears to another, denoted by fome va-
riation made upon the name of that object ; generally
in the final letters, and by fome languages, in the ini-
tial. All tongues, however, do not agree in this mode
of exprefiion. Declenfion is ufed by the Greek and
Latin, but in the Englifh, French, and Italian, it is
not found; or at moft it exifts in a very imperfect fiate.
Tbefe languages exprefs the relations of objects, by
means of the words call.d prepofitions, which are the

STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE. 5Q

names of thofe relations, prefixed to the name of the
object. Engliih nouns have no cafe whatever, except
a fort of a genitive, ufually formed by the addition of
the letter S to the noun ; as when we fay " Pope's Dun-
" ciad," meaning the Dunciad of Pope. Our perfonal
pronouns have likewile a cafe, which correfponds with
the accufative of the Latin ; I, me — he, him — who,
whom. This, however, is but a diminutive refemblance
of that declenfion which is ufed in the ancient lan-
guages.

Whether the moderns have given beauty or utility to
language, by the abolition of cafes, may perhaps be
doubted: they have, however, certainly rendered it
more fimple, by removing that intricacy which arofc
from the different forms of declenfion, of which the
Romans had no lefs than fivej and from all the irregu-
larities of the feveral declenfions. By obtaining this
fimplicity, it muft be confefled, we have filled language
with a multitude of thofe little words called prepofi-
tions, which are perpetually recurring in every feutence,
and feem to have encumbered fpeech by an addition of
terms; and by rendering it more prolix, to have ener-
vated its force. The found of modern language has
alfo become lefs agreeable to the ear, by being deprived
of that variety and fweetnefs which arofe from the
length of words, and the change of terminations, occa-
fioned by the cafes in the Greek and Latin. But per-
haps, the greateft difadvantagc we fuftain by the aboli-

60 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.

tion of cafes, is the lofs of that liberty of tranfpofition
in the arrangement of words, which the ancient lan-
guages enjoyed.

PRONOUNS are the representatives of the fubftantive
nouns, and are fubjedt to the fame modifications with
them of number, gender, and cafe. We may obferve,
however, that the pronouns of the firft and fecond per-
fon, / and tbou, have had no diftinftion of gender in
any language) for lince they always refer to perfons
who are prefent to each other when they fpeak, their
fex muft be vifible, and therefore needs not to be dif-
tinguifhed by a mafculine or feminine pronoun. But as
the third perfon may be abfent, or unknown, the dif-
tinftion of gender there becomes requifitc, and conle-
quently in our language, it hath all the three genders
belonging to it ; tie, Jbe, it. With reipeft to cafes ;
even (hofe languages which do not admit them in fub-
ftantive nouns, fometimes retain more of them in pro-
nouns, for the greater readinefs in expreHing relations ;
iince pronouns occur fo frequently in difcourfe. The
perfonal pronouns, in Englifli,, are allowed by gramma-
rians to poflefs two cafes befides the nominative ; a
genitive, and an accufative : 7, mine, me ; tbou, tbine,
tbee j le, Us, him; who, zuhofe, ivrom,

ADJECTIVES, or terms of quality, fuch as Jircng,
weak, bandfome, ugly, are the plaineft and moft fimple
of all that clafs of words which are colled attributive.

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. l

They arc common to all languages, and muft have
been very early invented ; iince objects could neither
be diftinguifhed nor treated of in difcourfe, till names
were alligned to their different qualities.

G

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
ENGLISH TONGUE.

'F all the parts of fpeech, VERBS are by far the
moil complex and ufeful. From their importance we
may juftly conclude, that they were coeval with the
origin of language ; though a long time muft have been
requisite to rear them up to that accuracy in which they
now are found. It is highly probable, as Dr. Smith
has obferved, that the radical verb, or the earlieft form
of it, in moft languages, would be what we now call
the imperfonal verb: "It rains; it thunders ; it is
" light j" and the like; as this is the moft fimple form
of the verb, and merely declaratory of the exiftence of
an event, or of a ftate of things. After pronouns were
firft invented, fuch verbs became gradually perfonal,
and were extended through all the variety of tenfes and
moods.

The tenfes are contrived to imply the feveral diftinc-
tions of time. "We think, in general, of no more than
its three great divifions, the paft, the prefent, and the
future ; and we might fuppofe, that if verbs had been
fo contrived as merely to exprefs thefe, no more was
neceflary. But language proceeds with much greater
art and fubtilty : It divides time into feveral moments ;

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. Do

it regards time as never landing ftill, but always flow-
ing; things paft, as more or lels perfectly cornpleated ;
and things future, as more or Ids diftant, by different
gradations. Hence the variety of tenfes which are
found in almoft every language.

The prefent may, indeed, be always regarded as one
indivifible point, which admits of no variety. " I
" walk, or I am walking, anibulo" But it is very
different with the paft. Even the pooreft language has
two or thr«? tenfca to cxprefs its varieties. Ours has no
lels than four: 1. A paft a&ion maybe regarded as left
unfinished j which forms the imperfecl tenfe, " I was
"walking, amlulabam.'" 2. As juft now finifhed : this
conftitutes the proper perfect tenie, which, in Englilh,
is always exprefled by the help of the auxilary verb, " I
" have walked." 3. It may be confidered as finiflied
fome time mice ; the particular time left undetermined.
" I walked; ambula-vi ;" which may either fignify, " I
" walked yefterday, or I walked a twelvemonth ago."
This is what Grammarians call an aorift, or indefinite path
4. It may be confidered as finifhed before fomething
elfe which is alfo paft. This is the plufquamperfecl.
" I had walked ; ambulayeratn. I had walked before
" you did me the favour of calh'ng upon me," Our
language, we muft perceive with pleafure, has here an
advantage over the Latin, which has only three varia-
tions upon the paft time.

G 2

64 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.

The varieties in the future time are chiefly two ; a
fimple or indefinite future : " I (hall walk, ambulabo-"
and a fnture having reference to fomething elfe, which
is likewife future. " I (hall have walked; ambulavero;"
I lhall have walked before he pays me a vifit.

Befide tenfes, verbs admit the diftin6tion of voices,
viz. the a<5tive and paffive ; according as the affirmation
regards fomething that is done, or fomething that is
fuffered : " I love, or I am loved." They admit
Jikewife the diftiuction of mouds, which are intended
to exprefs the affirmation, whether a6tive or paffive,
under different forms. The indicative mood fimply
declares a proportion: " I write; I have written."
The imperative requires, commands, threatens : " Write
" thou; let him write." The fubjundive exprefles the
proportion under the form of a condition, or as fubor-
dinate to fome other thing, to which a reference is
made: " I might write; I could write; I ftiould write,
" if the matter were fo and fo." This mode of ex-
preffing an affirmation, under fo many various forms,
together alfo with the diftincticn of the three perfons,
7, tbou, and be, conftitutes what is called the conjuga-
tion of verbs, which comprehends fo extenfive a propor-
tion of the grammar of all languages.

Conjugation is reckoned moft perfect in thofe langua-
ges which, by changing either the termination or the
initial fyllable of the verb, exprefles the greateft number
of important circumftances, without the affiftance of

ENGLISH TONGUE. 65

auxiliary verbs. In the Eaftern tongues, the verbs
have few tenfes ; but their moods are fo conftru&ed, as
to exprefs an extenfive variety of circumftances and
relations. In the Hebrew, they fay in one word, with-
out the aid of an auxiliary, not only, " I have taught,"
but, " I have taught exactly, or frequently ; I have
" been commanded to teach ; I have taught myfelf."
The Greek, which is the moft perfect of nil language?,
is very regular and complete in all the moods and tenfes.
The Latin, though formed on the fame model, is not fo
perfect ; particularly in the paflive voice, which forms
moft of the tenfes ; by the aid of the auxiliary "fum."
In the modern European tongues conjugation is very de-
fective. The two great auxiliary verbs, to bave, and
to be, with thofe other auxiliaries which we ufe in
Englifh, Jo, Jball, will, may, and can, perfix;ed to the
participle, fuperiede, in a great incafnre, the different
terminations of moods and tenfes, which formed the
ancient conjugations.

The other parts of fpeech, as they admit of no vari-
ations, will require only a ihort difcuffion.

Adverbs are an abridged mode of fpeech, cxprefiing,
by one word, what might, by a circumlocution, be re-
folved into two or more words belonging to the >
parts of fpeech : " Valiantly," for inftance, is the fame
as " with valour or courage." Hence, adverbs feem to
be lefs necefiary, and of later introduction into fpeech
G 3

66 STRUCTURE OF LAXGUAGE.

than many other clafies of words ; and confequently the
generality of them are derived from other words, pre-
vioufly invented and eitabliihed in the language.

Prepofitions and conjunctions ferve to exprefs the
relations which things bear to one another, their mutual
influence, dependencies, and coherence ; and join words
together into intelligible and fignificant proportions.
Conjunctions are commonly employed for connecting
fentences, or members of fentences; as, and, becaufe,
and the like. Prepofitions are ufed for connecting
words, by fhowing the relation which one fubftantive
noun bears to another j as of, from, to, &c. The beauty
and ftrength of every language depends in a great mea-
fure, on the proper ufe of conjunctions, prepofhions,
and allb thofe relative pronouns, which ferve the fame
purpofe of connecting the different parts of difcourfe.

Having thus briefly considered the Structure of Lan-
guage in general, we will now enter more particularly
into an examination of our own Language.

The Englifli which was fpoken after the Norman
Conqueft, and continues to be fpoken now, is a mix-
ture of the ancient Saxon and the Norman French,
together with fuch new and foreign words, as commerce
and learning have, in a fuccefiion of ages, gradually
introduced. From the influx of fo many flreams, from
the connection of fo many diffimilar parts, it naturally
follows, that the Englifli, like every compounded Ian
guage, muft be fomewhat irregular. We cannot expect

ENGLISH TONGUE, /

from it, that compleat analogy in ftruirture, which may
be found in thofe fimpler languages which have been
conftrufted, in a manner, within themfelves, and built
on one foundation. Hence, our fyntax is confined,
fince there are few marks in the words themfelves,
which can {how their relation to each other, or point
out either their concordance or their government in the
fentence. But if thefe be difadvantages in a compound
language, they are balanced by other advantages which
attend it; particularly by the number and variety of
words with which fuch a language is commonly enriched.
Few languages are, in reality, more copious than the
Englifh. In all grave fubjects, particularly hiftorical,
critical, political, and moral, no complaint can juftly
be made of the barrennefs-of our tongue. We are rich
likewife in the language of poetry : our poetical ftyle
differs connderably from profe, not with refpecl: to
numbers only, but in the very words themfelves j which
proves, what a compafsand variety of words we can felect
and employ, fuited to thofe different occafions. In this
we have an infinite fuperiority over the French, whofe
poetical language, if it were not diftinguiflied by rhyme,
would not appear to differ much, or confiderably, from
their ordinary profe. Their language, however fur-
pafles ours in exprefling whatever is delicate, gay, and
amufing. It is, certainly, the happieft language for
converfation in the known world ; but, on the higher
fubje6ts of composition, the Englifh is juftly confidered
as far fuperior to it.

68 STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.

The flexibility of a language, or its power of becom-
ing either grave and ftrong, or eafy and flowing, or
tender and gentle, or pompous and magnificent, as oc-
cafions require, is a quality of great confideration in
fpeaking and writing. This Teems to depend on die
copioufnefs of a language ; the different arrangements
of which its words are fufceptible : and the variety and
beauty of the found of thofe words, fo as to correfpond
to many different fubje&s. The Greek pofTefled thefe
requilites in a higher degree than any other language.
It fuperadded the graceful variety of its different dia-
lects ; and thereby readily afTumed every kind of cha-
racter which an author could wifh, from the moft fimple
and familiar, to the moft formal and majeflic. The
Latin, though exceedingly beautiful, is inferior, in this
relpe<5t, to the Greek : It has more of a fettled character
of ftatelinefs and gravity ; and is fupported by a certain
fenatorial dignity, of which it is difficult for a writer
uniformly to diveft it. Among the modern tongues,
the Italian poffefles much more flexibility than the
French j and feems to be, on the whole, the moft perfect
of all the modern dialects which have arifen on the
ruins of the ancient. Our language, though unequal
to the Italian in flexibility, yet is not deftitute of a con-
fiderable degree of this quality. Whoever coniiders
the diverfity of ftyle which appears in feme of cur bell
writers, will diicover, in our tongue, fuch a circle of
exprefliou, fuch a power of accommodation to the va-

ENGLISH TONGUE. 6()

rious taftes of men, as redounds, in the higheft degree,
to its reputation.

Our language has been thought to be very deficient
in harmony of found : yet the melody of its verfifica-
tion, its power of fupporting poetical numbers without
the affiftance of rhyme, is a fufficient proof, that it is
far from being unharmonious. Even the hiffing found
of which it has been accufecl, obtains lefs frequently
than has been fufpected j in the final fyllables efpe-
cially, where the letter s is transformed into a z, which
is one of the founds on which the ear refls with plea-
fure ; as in has, tbefe, loves, bears, ace.

It muft, indeed, be admitted, that fmoothnefs is iio*
the diftinguifhing chara&eriftic of the Englifh tongue.
Strength and expreflivenefs, rather than grace and me-
lody, conftitute its character. It profefTes, however,
this property, of being the mod fimple, in its form and
conftru&ion, of all the European diale&s. It is free
from the intricacy of cafes, declenfions, moods, and
tenfes. Its words are fubjeft to fewer variations from
their original form, than thofe of any other language.
Its fubftantives have no diftindion of gender, except
what is made by nature; and but one variation in ca/e.
Its adjectives admit not of any change, except what
exprefies the degree of comparifon. Its verbs, inftead
of the varieties of ancient conjugation, admit no more
than four or five changes in termination. A few prr-
pofitions and auxiliary verbs fupply all the purpofes of

7O STRUCTURE OP LANGUAGE.

fignificancy in meaning ; whilft the words, in general",
preferve their form unaltered. Hence our language
acquires a limplicity and facility, which is the caufe of
its being frequently written and Ipoken with inaccuracy.
"Vv*e imagine that a competent Ikill in it may be ac-
quired without any ftudy ; and that in a fyntax fo nar-
row and limited as ours, there is nothing which re-
quires attention. But the fundamental rules of fyntax
are common to the Englifh as well as to the ancient
tongues ; and a regard to them is abfolutely requifite
for writing or fpeaking with any degree of purity, ele-
gance, or propriety.

Be the advantages or defeats of our language what
they may, it certainly deferves, in the higheft degree,
our ftudy and attention. The Greeks and Romans, in
the meridian of their glory, beftowed the higheft cul-
tivation on their refpe&ive languages. The French and
Italians have employed considerable induftry upon
theirs j . and their example is, indeed, highly laudable,
and worthy of imitation. For, whatever knowledge
may be gained by the ftudy of other languages, it can
never be communicated with advantage, unlefs by thofe
who can write and fpeak their own language with pro-
priety and Ikill. If the matter of an author be ever fo
good and ufeful, his compofitions will always fuffer in
the public efleem, if his expreflion be deficient in purity
and elegance. At the fame time, the attainment of a
correct and polifhed ftyle, is an object which demands

ENGLISH TONGUE. /I

application and labour. If any one fuppofes he can
catch it merely by the ear, or acquire it by a hafty
perufal of fome of our good authors, he will find him-
felf much difappointed. The many grammatical errors,
the many impure expreffions, which are to be found in
authors who are far from being contemptible, demon-
ftrate, that an attentive ftudy of the language is pre-
vioufly requifite to the writing of it with propriety
and elegance.

STYLE— PERSPICUITY AND PRECISION.

OTYI

rLE is the peculiar manner in which a man ex-
prefies his conceptions, by means of language. It is a
picture of the ideas which rife in his mind, and of the
order in which they are there produced.

The qualities of a good ftyle may be ranked under
two heads ; perfpicuity and ornament. It will readily
be admitted, that perfpicuity ought to be effentially con-
nected with every kind of writing. Without this, the
brighteft ornaments of ftyle only glimmer through the
dark ; and perplex, inflead of pleafmg the reader. If
we are forced to follow a writer with much care, to
paufe, and to read over his fentences a fecond time, in
order to underftand them fully, he will never pleafe us
long. Mankind are too indolent to be fond of fo much
labour. Though they may pretend to admire the au-
thor's depth, after having difcovered his meaning, they
will feldom be inclined to look a fecond time into his
book.

The ftudy of perfpicuity claims attention, firft, to
iingle words and phrafes, and then to the contraction of
fentences. When confidered with refpect to words and
phrafes, it requires thefe three qualities ; purity, pro-
priety, and precifion.

STYLE, PERSPICUITY,, tkc. 7;*

Purity and propriety of language are often ufed in-
diicriminately for each other; and, indeed, they are
very nearly allied. A diftinclion, however, Should be
made between them : Purity confifls in the ufe of fuch
words and fucli constructions as belong to the idiom of
the language which we fpeak ; in opposition to thofe
words and phrafes which are imported from other lan-
guages, or which are obfolete, or new coined, or em-
ployed without proper authority. Propriety is the.
choice of fuch words as the beft and mod eftablifhed
ufage has appropriated to thofe ideas which we intend
to exprefs by them. It implies their corred and judi-
cious application, in oppofition to vulgar or low expref-
fions ; and to words and phrafes, which would be lefs
Significant of the ideas that we intend to convey. Style
may be pure, that is, it may be entirely Englifh, with-
out Scotticifms or Gallicifms, or ungrammatical ex-
preflions of any kind, and may, notwithstanding, be
deficient in propriety. The words may be ill felefted;
not adapted to the lubjecT:, nor fully expreffive of the
author's meaning. He has taken them, indeed, from
the general mats of Englifh language ; but his choice
has been made without happinefs or Ikill. Style, how-
ever, cannot be proper without being pure : it is the
union of purity and propriety which renders it graceful
and perfpicuous.

The exa£l meaning of precision may be understood
H

74 STYLE, PERSPICUITY

from the etymology of the word. It is derived from
" pracidere" to cut off: It fignifies retrenching all
fuperfluities, and pruning the exprdiion in fuch a man-
ner, as to exhibit neither more nor lefs than an exact
copy of his idea who ufes it.

The words, which are employed to exprefs ideas, may
be faulty in three refpe<5ts. They inaj either not ex-
prefs that idea which the author means, but fome other
which only refembles, or is related to it ; or, they may
exprefs that idea., but not fully and completely ; or
they may exprefs it, together with fomething more
than he defigns. Precifion is oppofed to thefe three
faults, but particularly to the laft, into this, feeble wri-
ters are very apt to fall. They employ a multitude of
words to make themfelves underftood, as they think,
more diftin&ly ; and they only confound the reader.
The image, as they place it before you, is always feen
double ; and no double image is difiin£t. When an
author tells us of his hero's courage in the day of battle,
the expreflion is precife, and we underftand it fully.
But if, from a defire of multiplying words, he willpraife
his courage and fortitude, at the moment he joins thefe
words together, our idea begins to waver. He intends
to exprefs one quality more ftrongly ; but he is, in fact,
expre (ling two. Courage refifts danger; fortitude fup-
ports pain. The occafion of exerting each of thefe
qualities is different ; and being induced to think of both
together, when only one of them mould engage our

AND PRECISION. 75

attention, our view is rendered unfteady, and our con-
ception of the objeft indiftinft.

The great fource of a loofe ftyle in oppofition to
precifion, is the inaccurate and unhappy ufe of thole
words called fynonymous. Scarcely, in any language,
are there two words which exprefs precifely the fame
idea ; and a perfon perfectly acquainted with the pro-
priety of the language, will always he able to obferve
fomething by which they are diftinguifhed. In our
language, very many inftances might be given, of a
difference in meaning, among words which are thought
to be fynonymous ; and as the fubje6t is of importance,
we ihall point out a few of them.

Surprized, aftoni/bed, amazed, confounded. We are
furprized with what is new or unexpected ; we are
aftonifhed at what is vaft or great : we are amazed
with what we cannot comprehend ; we are confounded
by what is (hocking or terrible.

Pride, vanity. Pride makes us efteem ourfelves;
vanity makes us defire the efteem of others.

Haugbtinefs, difdain. Kaughtinefs is founded on the
high opinion we have of ourfelves ; difdain on the low
opinion we entertain of others.

To ivcary, to fitigve. The continuance of the fame
thing wearies us j labour fatigues us. A man is weary
with {landing, he is fatigued with walking.
H2

7. STYLE, PERSPICUITY

To abhor, to detejl. To abhor, imports, firaply, firong
diflike; to deleft, imports likewife ftrong difapproba-
tion. I abhor being in debt j I deleft treachery.

To invent, to d'tfcover. We invent things which are
new j we difcover what has been hidden. Galilseo in-
vented the telefcope ; Harvey difcovered the circulation
of the blood.

Entire, complete. A thing is entire, when it wants
none of its p^rts ; complete, when it wanls none' of the
appendages which belong to it. A man may occupy
an entire hoaie j though he has not one complete
apartment.

Tranquillity, peace, calm. Tranquillity Cgnifies a fitu-
ation free from trouble, confidered iu itfelf : peace, ihe
fame fituation, with refpe& to any caufes which might
interrupt it j calm, with refpeft to a difturbed fitua-
tion going before, or following it. A good man enjoys
tranquillity in himfeif \ peace with others j and calm
after the ftorm.

Enough, ftifficient. Enough relates to the quantity
which we wifli to have of any thing. Sufficient
relates to the ufe that is to be made of it. Hence,
enough commonly iigaifies a greater quantity than
fufficient does. The covetous man never has enough ;
though he has what is fuiliuent for nature.

Thefe, are a few, among many, inftances of words in
our language, which, by carelefs writers, are apt to be

AND PRECISION. 77

mirtaken for fynonymous. The more the diftinftion in
the meaning of fuch words is weighed and attended to,
the more accurately and forcibly (hall we fpc; k and.
write.

H3

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

A

Proper construction of fentences is of fuch impor-
tance in every fpecies of compofition, that we cannot
l>e too ftriiSt or minute in our attention to it. For,
whatever be the fubjecl, if the fentences be constructed
in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble manner, it is impofiible
that a work, compofed of fuch periods, can be read with
pleafure, or even with profit. But, by an attention to
the rules which relate to this part of ftyle, we acquire
the habit of exprefling ourfelves with perfpicuity and
elegance; and if a diibrder happen to ariie in fome of
oar feutences, we immediately difcover where it lies,
and are able to correct it.

The properties moft eflential to a perfect fentence feem
to be the four following: 1. Clearnefs and precifion.
2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony.

Ambiguity is oppofed to clearnefs and precifion, and
arifes from two caufes ; either from a wrong choice of
words, or a wrong collocation of them. Of the choice
of words, as far as regards perfpicuity, we have already
fpoken. Of the collocation of them we are now to
treat. From the nature of our language, a leading rule
in the arrangement of our fentences is, that the words
or members moft nearly related, fhould be placed in the

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 70

ientence as near to each other as poflible ; foas to make
their mutual relation clearly appear. This rule is too
frequently negle&ed even by good writers. A few
instances will mow both its importance and its applica-
tion.

In the petition of adverbs, which are ufed to qualify
the fignification of fomething which either precedes or
follows them, a good deal of nicety is to be obferved.
" By greatnefs," fays Mr. Addifon, " I do not only
" mean the bulk of any tingle objeft, but the largenefs
" of a whole view." Here the fituation of the adverb
only renders it a limitation of the following word,
mean. " I do not only mean." — The queftion may
then be aflted, What, does he more than mean ? Had
it been placed after bulk, ftill it would have been im-
properly fituated ; for it might then be afked, What is
meant betides the bulk ? Is it the colour, or any other
property ? Its proper place is, certainly, after the word
objt'ff : " By greatnefs I do not mean the bulk of any
" fingle obje£t only j" for then, when it is afked, What
does he mean more than the bulk of a fingle object ?
The anfwer comes out precifely as the author intends,
" the largenefs of a whole view." " Theifm," fays
Lord Shaftelbury, " can only be oppofed to polytheifm,
n or atheifm." It maybe alked then, is theifm capable
of nothing elfe, except being oppofed to polytheifm, or
atheifm ? This is what the words literally mean, through
the improper collocation of only. He ought to have

80 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

faid, '•' Theifm can be oppofed only to polytheifm, or
" atheifm." Thefe kind of inaccuracies may have no
material inconvenience in converfation, becaufe the tone
and eraphafis ufed in pronuncing them generally fervc
to mow their reference, and to make the meaning per-
fpicuous : but in writing, where a perfon fpeaks to the
eye, and not to the ear, he ought to be more accurate j
and fhould fo connect thefe adverbs with the words
which they qualify, that his meaning cannot be mif-
taken on the firftinfpedion.

When a circumftance is interpofed in the middle of
a fentence, it fometimes requires art to place it in fuch a
manner as to diveft it of all ambiguity. For inflance,
" Are thefe defigns," fays Lord Bolingbroke, Difiert. on
Parties, Ded. " which any man, who is born a Briton,
" in any circumftances, in any lituation, ought to be
" afhamed or afraid to avow ?" Here we are hi doubt,
whether the words, " in anycircurnftances, in anyfituation"
are connected with " a man born in Britain, in any
" circumftances, or fituation," or with that man's
" avowing his defigus, in any circumftances, or iitu-
" ation, into which he may be brought ?" If the latter,
as feems moft likely, was intended to be the meaning,
the arrangement ought to have been in this form :
" Are thefe defignSj which any man who is born a
" Briton ought to be afhamed or afraid, in any circum-
*' fiances, in any fituation, to avow ?"

Still more attentive care is requilite to the proper

STRUCTURE OP SEXTEXCES. 81

difpofition of the relative pronouns, <wbot wbicb, •what,
ivbfl/e ; r.nd of all thofe particles, which exprefs the
connexion of the parts of fpeech with one another.
Since all reafoning depends upon this connection, we
cannot be too accurate with regard to it. A trifling
error may obfcure the meaning of the whole fentence j
and even where the meaning is apparent, yet where
thefe relative particles are mifplaced, we always find
Ibmething awkward and disjointed in the ftructure of
the period. The following paffage in Biftiop Sherlock's
Sermons (vol. 2. ferm. 15) will exemplify thefe obfer-
yations : " It is folly to pretend to arm ourfelves againft
" the accidents of life, by heaping up treafures, which
" nothing can protect us againft, but the good provi-
'* dence of our Heavenly Father." Wbicb always refers
grammatically to the immediately preceding fubftantive,
which here is, " treafures," and this would convert the
whole period into nonfenfe. The fentence ihould have
been thus constructed : " It is folly to pretend, by
" heaping up treafures, to arm ourfelves againft the
" accidents of life, which nothing can protect us againft
" but the good providence of our Heavenly Father."

We now proceed to the fecond quality of a well
arranged fentence, which we termed its Unity. This
is an indifpenfible property. The very nature of a
fentence implies one proposition to be exprefled. It
nwy confift, indeed, of parts j but thefe parts muft be

82 STfiUCTURE OP SENTENCES.

fo intimately knit together, as to make the impreffiori
upon the mind of one object, not of many.

To preferve this unity, we muft firft obferve,that during
the courfe of the fentence, the fcene fhould be changed
as little as pofiible. There is generally, in even- fen-
tence, fome perfon or thing which is the governing
word. This fhould be continued fo, if pofiible, from
the beginning to the end of it. Should a man exprefs
himfelf in this manner : " After we came to anchor they
" put me on fhore, where I was faluted by all my
" friends, who received me with the greateft kindnefs."
Here, though the objects are fufficiently connected, yet
by this mode of reprefentation, by fhifting fo often the
place and the perfon, ive, and they, and' 7, and ivbo,
they appear in fuch a difunited view, that the fenfe and
connection is nearly loft. The fentence is reftored to its
proper unity, by conftru&ing it after the following man-
ner : " Having come to an anchor, I was put on fhore,
" where I was faluted by all my friends, who received
" me with the gresteft kindaefs."

Another rule is, never to crowd into one fentence,
things which have fo little connection, that they might
bear to be divided into two or more fentences. The
tranfgreffion of this rule never fails to hurt and difpleafe
a reader, its effect, indeed, is fo difgufling, that, of
the two, it is the fafeft extreme, to err, rather by too
many fhort fentences, than by one that is overloaded

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 83

aud confuied. The following fentence, from a tranf-
lation of Plutarch, will juiVify this opinion : " Their
" march," fays the author, fpcaking of the Greeks
under Alexander, " was through an uncultivated coun-
" try, whole favage inhabitants fared hardly, having no
" other riches than a breed of lean flieep, whofe flefh
'•' was rank and unfavoury, by realbn of their continual
" feeding upon fea-fim." Here the fcene is repeatedly
changed. The march of the Greeks, the defcription of
the inhabitants through whole country they paffed, the
account of their flieep, and the reafon of their iheep
being dilagreeable food, make a jumble of objects,
I flightly related to each other, which the reader cannot,
without confiderable difficulty, comprehend under one
[view.

Another rule for preferving the unity of fentences is,
Ito keep clear of all parenthefis in the middle of them.
IThefe may, on fome occafions, have a fpirited appear-
ance, as prompted by a certain vivacity of thought,
Iwlrich can glance happily afide, as it is going along.
jBut, in general, their effect is extremely bad ; being a
irplexed metliod of dilpofing of fome thought, which
writer has not art enough to introduce in its proper
[place. It is needleis to produce any inftances, fince
tiny occur fo frequently among incorrect writers.

We fliall add only one rule more for the unity of a
jfentence j which is, to bring it always to a full and per-
dole. It nt-ed hardly be obferved, that an un-

84 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

finifhed fentence is no fentence at all, with refj-ect to
any of the rules of grammar. But fentences often oc-
cur, which are more than finiihed. When we have
arrived at what we expected to be the conclulion; when
we are come to the word, on which the mind is natu-
rally led to reft, by what went before; unexpeftedly
fome circuntlftance arife«, which ought to have been left
out, or to have been difpofed of after another manner.
Thus, for inftance, in the following fentence, from Sir
William Temple, the adjection to the fentence is entirely
foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet's Theory of the
Earth, and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds : " The
" firuY' fays he, " could not end his learned treatife
" without a panegyric of modern learning, in compari-
" fon of the ancient ; and the other falls fo groflly into
" the cenfure of the old poetry, and preference of the
" new, that I could not read either of thefe ftrains
" without fome indignation ; which no quality among
" men is fo apt to raife in me as felf fufficiency." The
word " indignation" ought to have concluded the fen-
tence ; for what follows is altogether new, and is added
after the proper clofe.

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

E proceed now to the third quality of a correct
fentence, which we called Strength. By this is meant
Inch a difpofition of the feveral words and members as
fliall exhibit the fenfe to the beft advantage ; as {hall
render the impreflion which the period is intended to
make, moft full and complete ; and give every word
and every member its due weight and importance. To
the production of this effect, perfpicuity and unity are,
no doubt, absolutely necefTary ; but they are not of
themfelves fufficient. For a fentence may be obvioufly
clear; it may alfo be fufficiently compact, or have the
required unity ; and yet, by fome unfavourable circum-
flance in the ftructure, it may be deficient in that
ftrength or livelinefs of impreflion, which a more happy
collocation would have produced.

The firft rule which we fliall give for promoting the
ftrength of a fentence, is, to take from it all redundant
words. Whatever can be eafily fupplied in the mind,
is better omitted in the exprellion : Thus; " Content
" with deferving a triumph, he refilled the honour of
" it," is better than to fay, " Being content with de-
" iln ing a triumph, he refufed the honour of it." It
I

86 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

is certainly, therefore, one of the moft ufeful exerciies
of corre&ion, on a view of what we have written or
compofed, to contract that round-about mode of expref-
fion, and to cut oft" thore ufeleis excrefcences which are
ufually found in a firft draught. But we am ft be care-
ful not to run into the oppolite extreme, of pruning
fo clofely, as to give a hardnefs and drynefs to the
ftyle. Some leaves muft be left to ilielter and adorn the
fruit.

As fentences fhould be divefted of fuperfluous words,
fo allb they fhould appear without fuperfluous members.
In oppofition to this, is the fault we fo frequently meet
with, of the laft member of a period being no other than
the repetition of the former, in a different drefs. For
example; fpeaking of beauty, " The very firft difcovery
" of it, ' fays Mr. Addifon, " ftrikes the mind with
" inward joy, and fpreads delight through all its facul-
" ties." In this inftance, fcarcely any thing is added by
the fecond member of the fentence to what was already
cxprefled in the firft : And though the elegant ftyle of
Mr. Addifon may palliate fuch negligence; yet it is ge-
nerally true, that language, divefted of this prolixity, be-
comes more ftrong, as well as more beautiful.

The fecond direction we (hall give for promoting the
ftrength of a fentence is,- to pay a particular attention
to the ufe of copulatives, relatives, and all the particles
employed for tranfition and connection. Some obfer-

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 87

vations on this fubjeft, which appear to be worthy of
particular remembrance, {hall here be noticed.

What is termed fplitting of particles, or feparating a
prepofition from the noun which it governs, is ever to be
avoided : As if we fhould fay, " Though virtue borrows
" no affiftance from, yet it may often be accompanied
" by, the advantages of fortune." In fuch inftances,
a degree of dilTatisfacVion arifes, from the violent fepa-
ration of two things, which, from their nature, ought
to be intimately united.

The fimplicity of ftyle is much injured by the unne-
ceflary multiplication of relative and demonftrative par-
ticles : Thus if a writer fhould fay, " there is nothing
" which difgufts me fooner than the empty pomp of
" language ;" he would exprefs himfelf lefs fimply than
if he had faid, " Nothing difgurts me fooner than the
" empty pomp of language." The former mode of ex-
preffion, in the introduction of a fubjecl:, or in laying
down a propofition to which particular attention is de-
manded, is exceedingly proper ; but", in the ordinary
current of difcourfe, the latter is to be preferred.

With regard to the omiffion or infertion of the rela-
tive, we {hall only obferve, that in converfation and
epiftolary writing, it may be often omitted with pro-
priety j but in compofitions pf a ferious or dignified
kind, it mould conflantly be inferted.

I 2

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

On the copulative particle and, which occurs fo often
in all kinds of composition, feveral obfervations are to
be made. It is evident, that the unnecefiary repetition
of it enfeebles ftyle. By omitting it entirely, we often
mark a clofer connection, a quicker fucceffion of objecls,
than when it is inferted between them. " Vent, vidi,
" <v\ci-" — " I came, I faw, I conquered j" exprelTes
with more fpirit the rapidity of conqueft, than if con-
necting particles had been ufed. When, however, we
defire to prevent a quick tranfhion from one object to
another, and when we are enumerating objects which we
wifh to appear as diftinft from each other as poffible,
copulatives may be multiplied with peculiar advantage.
Thus Lord Bolingbroke fays, with elegance and propri-
ety, " Such a man might fall a victim to power; but
" truth, and reafon, and liberty, would fall with
" him."

A third rule for promoting the ftrength of a fehtence
is, to dilpofe of the principal word, or words, in that
place of the fentence where they will make the moft
finking impreffion. Perfpicuity ought firft to be ftudi-
ed j and the nature of our language allows no extenfive
liberty in the choice of collocation. In general, the
important words are placed at the beginning of the fen-
tence. Thus Mr. Addifon : " The pleafures of the
" imagination, taken in their full extent, are not fo
" grofs as thofe of fenfe, nor fo refined as thofe of the
" underflanding." This order feems to be the moft

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 89

plain and natural. Sometimes, however, when we
propofc giving weight to a fentence, it is proper to
1'ufpend the meaning for awhile, and then to bring it
out full at the dole : '* Thus," fays Mr. Pope, " on
" whatever fide we contemplate Homer, what princi-
" pally flukes us is his wonderful invention."

A fourth rule for the ftrength of fentences is, to
make the members of them go on rHing in their impor-
tance above one another. This kind of arrangement is
called a climax, and is ever regarded as a beauty in com-
pofition. Why it pleafes, is fufSciently evident. In
all things, we naturally love to advance to what is more
and more beautiful, rather than to follow the retrograde
order. Having viewed fome confiderable object, we
cannot, without pain, be pulled back to attend to an
inferior circumftance. " Cavendum elt" lays Quinti-
lian, " ne dccrefcat orath, ft fortiori fubjungatur aliquid
" infirmms" " We mult take care that our compofition
" iliall not fall off, and that a weaker exprcflion fhall
" not follow one of greater ftrength." When a fen-
tence confifts of two members, the longeft fhould in
general, be the concluding one. Hence the pronunci-
ation is rendered more eafy ; and the fhorteft member
of the period being placed firft, we carry it more readily
in our memory r.s we proceed to the fecond, and fee the
connection of the two more clearly. Thus, to fay,
" When our paflions have forlakcn u~, we flatter our-
I 3

gO STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

" felves with the belief that \ve have forfakcn them," is
both more graceful and more pcrfpicuous, than to begin
with the longeft part of the propofition : " We flatter
" ourfelves with the belief, that we have forfaken our
'' paffions, when they have forfaken us."

A fifth rule for conftrucUng fentences with proper
ftrength, is to avoid concluding them with an adverb,
a prepofition, or any infignificant word. By fuch con-
el uiions ftyle is always weakened and degraded. Some-
times, indeed, where the ftrefs and fignificancy reft
chiefly upon words of this kind, they may, with pro-
priety, have the principal place allotted them. No fault,
for example can be found with this fentence of Boling-
broke : " In their profperity, my friends fliall never
" hear of me ; in their adverlity, always j" where never
and always, being emphatical words, are fo placed, as
to make a ftrong impreflion. But when thofe inferior
parts of fpeech are introduced as circumftances, or as
qualifications of more important words, they fhould in-
variably be difpofed of in the leaft confpicuous parts of

the period.

/

We lliould always avoid with care, the concluding
with any of thofe particles which diftinguifh the cafes of
nouns ; of, to, from, ivitb, by. Thus it is much better
to fay, " Avarice is a crime of which wife men are
" often guilty," than to fay, " Avarice is a crime which
" wife men are often guilty of." This kind of phrafe-
ology all correct writers endeavour feduloufly to avoid.

STRUCTURE OP SENTENCES. Ql

Verbs ufed in a compound fenfe, with forae of thefe
prepofitions, are likexvife ungraceful conclufions of a
period ; fuch as, bring about, lay bold of, come over to,
clear up, and many others of the fame kind : initead of
which, if a fimple verb can be employed, the fentence
is always terminated with more ftrength. Even the pro-
noun it, efpecially when joined with fome of the pre-
pofitions, as, iuitb it, in it, to it, cannot, without a vio-
lation of grace, be the conclusion of a fentence. Any
phrafe which exprefTes a circumliance only, cannot
conclude a fentence without great imperfection and
inelegance. Circumftances are, indeed, like unmapely
ftones in a building, which try the Ikill of an artift,
where to place them with the leaft offence. We
fhould carefully avoid crouding to many of them to-
gether, but rather interfperfe them in different parts
of the fentence, joined with the principal words on
which they depend. Thus, for inftance, when Dean
Swift fays, " What I had the honour of mentioning
" to your Lordfhip, fometime ago, in converfation,
" was not a new thought." — (Letter to the Earl of
Oxford.) Thefe two circumftances, fometime ago, and
in converfation, which are here joined, would have
been better feparated thus : " What I had the honour,
" fometime ago, of mentioning to your Lordfhip in
" converfation."

The laft rule which we fliall mention concerning
the ftrength of a fentence is, that in the members

92 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

of it, where two things are compared or contrafied to
one another 5 where either a refemblance or an oppo-
fition is defigned to be exprefled ; fome refemblance
in the language and conftru<Stion ought to be obferved.
The following paffage from Pope's preface to his
Homer, beautifully exemplifies the rule we are now-
giving. " Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the
" better artift : in the one, we admire the man ; in
" the other, the work. Homer hurries us with a com-
" manding impetuofity ; Virgil leads us with an attrac-
" tive majefty. Homer fcatters with a generous pro-
" fufion j Virgil beftows with a carelefs magnifi-
" cence. Homer, like the Nile, pours out his riches
" with a fudden overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its
" banks, with a conftant ftream. And when we look
" upon their machines, Homer feems like his own
" Jupiter in his terrors, fhaking Olympus, fcattering
" the lightnings, and firing the heavens. Virgil,
" like the fame power, in his benevolence, counfelling
" with the Gods, laying plans for empires, and order-
" ins: his whole creation." Periods of this kind when,

D

introduced with propriety, and not too frequently re-
peated, have a fenfible and attractive beauty : but if
fuch a eonftruclion be aimed at in all our fentences, it
betrays into a difagreeable uniformity; and produces a
regular jingle in the period, which tires the ear, and
plainly difcovers affectation.

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
HARMONY.

HAVI

rING treated of fentences, with regard to their
meaning, under the heads of Perfpicuity, Unity, and
Strength} we will now confider them with refpeft to
their found, their harmony, or agreeablenefs to the ear.

In the harmony of periods two things are to be con-
fidered : Firft, agreeable found, or modulation in gene-
ral, without any particular exprefiion : Next, the found
fo ordered, as to become expreffive of the fenfe. The
firft is the more common ; the fecond, the fuperior
beauty.

The beauty of mufical conftruction, it is evident,
will depend upon the choice of words, and the arrange-
ment of them. Thofe words are moft pleafing to the
ear, which are compofed of fmooth and liquid founds,
where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and con-
fonants, without too many harfh confonants rubbing
againft each other, or too many open vowels in fuccef-
fion, to produce a hiatus, or unpleafing aperture of the
mouth. Long words are generally more pleafing to the
ear* than monofyllables j and thole are the moft mu-
fical, which are not wholly compoied of long or fliort

9'i STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

fyllables, but of an intermixture of them} fuch as>
delight, amufe, 'velocity, celerity j beautiful, 'vnpeluojity.
If the words, however, wliich compofe a fentence, be
ever fo well chofen and harmonious, yet, if they be
unskilfully arranged, its mulic is entirely loft. As an
inftance of a mufical fentence, we may take the follow-
ing from Milton, in his Treatife on Education. " We
" lhall conduft you to a hill-fide, laborious, indeed, at
" the firft afcent ; but elfe fo fmooth, fo green, fo full
" of goodly profpefts and melodious founds on every
" fide, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charm-
" ing/' Every thing in this fentence confpires to ren-
der it harmonious. The words are well chofen ; labo-
rious, fmootb, green, goodly, melodious, charming ; and
befides, they are fb happily arranged, that no alteration
could be made, without injuring the melody.

There are two things on which the mufic of a fen-
tence principally depends : thefe are, the proper diftri-
bution of the feveral members of it, and the clofe or
cadence of the whole.

Firft, we obferve, that the diftribution of the feveral
members fhould be carefully attended to. Whatever is
eafy and pleafing to the organs of i"; eech, always founds
grateful to the ear. While a period is going on, the
termination of each of its members forms a paufe in
the pronunciation ; and thefe paufes mould be fo dif-
tributed as to bear a certain rnuiical proportion to each
other. This will be beft illuiti ated by examples. The

HARMOXY. Q5

following patfage is taken from Archbifliop Tillotfon.
" This difcoune concerning the cafinefs of God's com-
" mands does, all along, luppofe and acknowledge the
" difficulties of the iirft entrance upon a religious
" courfe ; except, only in thofe perfons who have had
" the happineis to be trained up to religion by the eafy
" and infennblc degrees of a pious and virtuous edu-
" cation." This fen fence is far from being harmonious j
owing chiefly to this, that there is, properly, no more
than one paufe in it, falling between the two members
into which it is divided ; each of which is fo long as to
require a considerable ftretch of the breath in pro-
nouncing it. Let us obferve now, on the contrary, the
grace of the following paflage, from Sir William Tem-
ple, in which he fpeaks farcaftically of man. tc But,
" God be thanked, his pride is greater than his igno-
" ranee ; and what he wants in knowledge, he fup-
" plies by fufficiency. When he has looked about him,
" as far as he can, he concludes there is no more to
" be feen ; when he is at the end of his line, he is at
" the bottom of the ocean ; when he has fliot his beft,
•" he is fure none ever did, or ever can, moot better,
" or beyond it. His own reafon he holds to be the
" certain meafure of truth ; and his own knowledge
" of what is poffible in nature." Here every thing is,
at the fame time, eafy to the breath, and grateful to
the ear. We muft, however, obferve, that if compofi-
ticn abounds with fentences which have too many refls,

9(3 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

and thefe placed at intervals too apparently meafured
and regular, it is apt to favour of affectation.

The next tiling which demands our attention is, the
clofe or cadence of the whole fentence. The only im-
portant rule which can here be given, is, that when we
aim at dignity or elevation, the found fhould increafe to
the lad ; the longeft members of the period, and the
fulleft and moft fonorous words, fhould be employed
in the conclufion. As an inftance of this, the following
fentence of Mr. Addifon may be given. " It fills the
" mind," fpeaking of fight, " with the largeft variety
" of ideas ; couverfes with its obje&s at the greateft
" diftance ; and continues the longeft in acVion without
" being tired or fatiated with its proper enjoyments."
Here every reader muft be fenfible of a beauty, both iu
the juft divifion of the members and paufes, and the
manner in which the fentence is rounded, and brought
to a full and harmonious termination.

It may be remarked, that little words, in the conclu-
fion of a fentence ; are as injurious to melody, as they
are inconfiftent with ftrength of expreffion. A mufical
clofe in our language feems, in general, to require either
the laft fyllable, or the laft but one, to be along fyllable.
"Words which confift chiefly of ihort fyllables, as con-
trary, particular, retrofpeff, feldom terminate a fentence
harmonioufly, unlefs a run of long fyllables, before, has
rendered them pleafing to the ear.

HARMONY. 97

Sentences, however, which are Ib conftruded as to
make the found always fwell and grow towards the end,
and to reft either on a long or penult long fyllable, give
a difcourfe the tone of declamation. If melody be not
varied, the ear foon becomes acquainted and cloyed with
it. Sentences conftrufted in the fame manner, with the
paufes at equal intervals, mould never fucceed each
other. Short fcntences muft be blended with long and
fwelling ones, to render difcourfe fprightly, as well as
magnificent.

We now proceed to treat of a higher fpecies of har-
mony ; the found adapted to the fenfe. Of this we
may remark two degrees : Firft, the current of found
fuited to the tenor of a difcourfe : Next, a peculiar re-
femblance effected between fome object and the founds
that are employed in defcribing it.

Sounds have, in many refpects, an intimate corref-
pondence with our ideas ; partly natural, partly pro-
duced by artificial aflbciations. Hence, any one modu-
lation of found continued, ftamps on our ilyle a certain
character and expreflion. Sentences conftructed with
the Ciceronian fuluefs and fwell, excite an idea of what
is important, magnificent, and fedate. They fuit, how-
ever, no violent paflion, no eager reafoning, no familiar
addrefs. Thefe require meafures brisker, eafier, and
more concife. It were as ridiculous to write a familiar
epiftle and a funeral oration in a flyle of the fame ca-
K

93 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

dence, as to fet the words of a tender love-fong to the
tune of a warlike march.

Beildes that general correfpondence which the cur-
rent of found has with the current of thought, a more
particular expreflion may be attempted, of certain ob-
jects, by refembling founds. In poetry this refemblance
is chiefly to be looked for. It obtains fometimes, in-
deed, in prole compofition ; but there in a more faint
and inferior degree.

The founds of words may be employed to defcribe
chiefly three clalTes of objects ; firft, other founds }
fecondly, motion j and thirdly, the emotions and paf-
fious of the mind.

In moft languages it will be found, that the names of
many particular founds are fo formed as to bear fome
refemblance to the found which they fignifyj as with
us, the vjbiftling of winds, the buzz and bum of infects,
the bifs of ferpents, and the crajb of falling timber ; and
many other inftances, where the word has been plainly
conltructed from the found it reprefents. A remark-
able example of this beauty we fhall produce from Mil-
ton, taken from two pafiages in his Paradife Loft, def-
cribing the found made in the one, by the opening of
the gates of hell ; in the other, by the opening of thofe
of heaven. The contraft between the two, exhibits, to
great advantage, the art of the poet. The firft is the
opening of hell's gates :

HARMONY. 99

On a fudden, op<

\Vith impetuous recoil, and jarring found,
, Th' infernal doors ! and on their hinges giatc
Haifh thunder.

Obferve the fmootlmefs of the other :

Hf fl""" opened wide

Her ever»duiingg,Ufs, hatmonious found !
O-i golden lii;)^* turning. •

The fecond claf* of obje&s, which the found of word*
is frequently employed to imitate, is motion ; as it is
fwift or flow, violent or gentle, uniform or interrupted,
eafy or accompanied with effort. Between found and
motion there is no natural affinity; yet in the imagi-
nation there is a ftrong one j as is evident from the con-
nection between mufic and dancing. The poet can,
confequcntly, give us a lively idea of the kind of motion
he would defcribe, by the help of found, which corref-
pond, in our imagination, with that motion. Long
fyllables naturally excite the idea of flow motion ; as
in this line of Virgil :

Olli inter fcfe magna vi brachia tollunt.

A fucceffion of fhort fyllables gives the imprefiion of
quick motion : as,

Scd fugit interea, fugit irreparabile temptis.

The works of Homer and Virgil abound with in-
ftances of this beauty ; which are fo often quoted, and
ib well known, that it is unneceiTary to produce them.
K2

10O STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.

The third fet of objects, which we mentioned the
found of words as capable of reprefenting, conlifts of
the emotions and paffions of the mind. Between fenfe
and found there appears, at firft view, to be no natural
refemblance. But if the arrangement of fyllables, by
the found alone, calls forth one fet of ideas more readily
than another, and difpofes the mind for entering into
that affection which the poet intends to raife, fuch
arrangement may, with propriety, be faid to referable
the fenfe, or be fimilar and correfpondent to it. Thus
when pleafure, joy, and agreeable objects, are defcribed
by one who fenfibly feels his fubject, the language na-
turally runs into fmooth, liquid, and flowing numbers.

——__—— NTamque ipfa decoram

Caefariera nato geneti ix, lumenque juventae
Purpurcum, et Ictos oculis afflarat honores. An. I.

Brifk and lively fenfations excite quicker and more
animated numbers.

_— —— Juvennm rnanus emicat ardens
Littus in Hefperium. JE-n- VII.

Melancholy and gloomy fubje&s are naturally con-
nected with flow meafures and long words.

In thofe deep folitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells.

Abundant inflances of this kind will be fuggefted by
a moderate acquaintance wilh the good poets, either
ancient or modern.

ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURAT1Y!
LANGUAGE.

E

I CURES may be defined to be that language
which is fuggefted either by the imagination or by
the paffions. They are commonly divided by rhetori-
cians into two great clafles, figures of words, and
figures of thought. The former are generally called
tropes', and confifl in a word's being ufed to fignify
fomething that is different from its original meaning.
Hence, if the word be altered, the figure is dcftroyed :
Thus, for inftance, " Light arifeth to the upright in
" darknefs." Here the trope confilts in " light and
" darknefs" not being taken literally, but intended to
exprefs comfort and adverfity : to which conditions of
life they are fuppofed to bear fome analogy or refem-
blance. The other clafs, called figures of thought,
fuppofes the figure to confift in the fentiment only,
whilft the words are ufed in their literal fignification :
as in exclamations, interrogations, apoftrophes, andcom-
parifons ; where, though the words be varied, or tran-
flated from one language into another, the fame figure,
notwithftanding, is ftill preferved. This diftincliori,
however, is of fmall importance, fince practice cannot
K 3

102 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF

be affifted by it ; nor is it in itfelf always fufficiently
perfpicuous.

Tropes derive their origin, in fome degree, from the
barrennefs of language, but more extenfively from the
influence which the imagination poffeffes over every
kind of fpeech. The imagination never contemplates
any one idea, as fmgle and alone, but as accompanied
by other ideas, which may be confidered as its accefla-
ries. Thefe acceffaries often operate more forcibly upon
the mind than the principal idea itfelf. They are, per-
haps, in their nature more agreeable j or more familiar
to our conceptions : or remind us of a greater variety
of important circumftances. Hence the name of the
acceftary or correfpondent idea is employed ; although
the principal has a proper and well known name of its
own. Thus, for example, when we defign to point out
the period at which a ftate enjoyed moft reputation and
glory, we might eafily employ the proper words for ex-
preffing this; but as this, in our imagination, is readily
connected with the flourifhing period of a plant or tree,
we prefer this correfpondent idea, and fay, " The Ho-
" man Empire flourished moft under Auguftus." The
leader of a faction, is a plain expreflion ; but, becaufe
the head is the principal part of the human figure, and
is confidered as directing all the animal operations ;
from this refemblaiice we figuratively fay, " Catiline
" was the head of his party."

\Ve will now examine, why tropes or figures con-

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 103

tribute to the beauty and grace of ftyle. By them lan-
guage is enriched, and becomes more copious. Hence
words and phrafes are multiplied for expreffing every
fpecies of ideas : for defcribing even the fmalleft differ-
ences; the moft delicate (hades and colours of thought;
which by proper words alone could not poflibly have
been exprefied. They alfo give dignity to ftyle, which
is degraded by the familiarity of vulgar expreffions.
Figurative language has the fame connection with an
elevated fubje£, that a rich and fplendid apparel has
with a perfon of rank and dignity. In profe compe-
titions, afiiftance of this kind is often requifite ; from
poetry it is infeparable : To fay, " the fun rifes," is
trite and common : but it becomes a magnificient image,
when exprefled as Mr. Thomfon has done :

But yonder comes the powerful king of day
Rejoicing in the eaft.— — —

Figures furnifli the pleafure of enjoying two objects
prefented at the fame time, to our view, without con-
fufion ; the principal idea, together with its acceflary,
which gives it the figurative appearance. When, for
example, inftead of " youth," we fay, " the morning of
" life;" the fancy is inftantly entertained with all the
eorrefponding circumftances which occur between thefe
two objects. At the fame inftant, we behold a certain
period of human life, and a certain time of the day, fo
connected with each other, that the imagination plays
between them with delight, and views at once two fimi-
lar objects^ without embarraffment erconfufion.

104 ORIGIN AND NATURE OP

Befides, figures are attended with this additional ad-
vantage j of affording a more clear and Unking view of
the principal object, than could be had if it were ex-
preffed in fimple terms, and freed from its acceffary
idea. They communicate to the object on which they
are employed, a picturefque appearance ; they can
transform an abftraft conception, in feme degree, into
an object of fenfej they furround it with circumftances,
which enable the mind to lay hold of it fieadily, and to
contemplate it fully. By a well adapted figure, even
conviction is aflifted, and a truth is impreffed upon the
mind with additional livelinefs and force. Thus, in the
following paffage of Dr. Young : " When we dip too
" deep in pleafure, we always ftir a fediment that ren-
" ders it impure and noxious." When an image pre-
fents fuch a refemblance between a moral and a fenfible
idea, it ferves, like an argument from analogy, to en-
force what the author advances, and to produce con-
viction.

All tropes being founded on the relation which one
object bears to another, the name of the one can be fub-
ftituted for that of the other ; and by this, the vivacity
of the idea is generally intended to be increafed. The
relation between a caufe and its effect, is one of the firft
and moft obvious. Hence the caufe is fometimes figu-
ratively put for the effect. For inflance, Mr. Addifon,
writing of Italy, fays,

Bloflbms, and fruits, and flowers, together rife,

And the whole year in gay confufion lies.

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 105

Here the " whole year" is plainly meant to fignify
the erlefts or produce of all the feafons of the year.
The effect is allb often put for the caufe; as "grey
" hairs" tor " old age," which produces grey hairs j
and " fhade" for the " trees," which caufe the {hade.
The relation which fubfilts between the container and
the thing contained, is fo intimate and apparent, a»
naturally to give rife to^tropes.

I lie impiger haufit

Spumamem pateram, ct plcr.o fe proluit auro.

Where it is obvious, that the cup and gold, are put
for the liquor that was contained in the golden cup.
The name of a country is alfo ufed to lignify its inha-
bitants. To pray for the afiiftance of Heaven is the
fame as to pray for the affiftance of God, who is thought
to refide in Heaven. The relation between a fign and
the thing fignified, is another fource of tropes. Thus :

Ccdant arma togae ; coucedat. laurea lingus.

Here the " toga," which is the badge of the civil pro-
feflions, and the " laurel," that of military honours,
are each of them put for the civil and military characters
themfelves. Tropes, which are founded on thefe feve-
ral relations of caufe and effect, container and con-
tained, fign and thing fignified, are called by the name
of metonomy.

When the trope is founded on the relation betwixt ai>
antecedent and its confequcnt, it is called a metalepfis 3

106 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF, &C.

as when the Romans ufed to fay, " fuit," or " vixit'*

to fignify that one was dead. " Fuit Ilium et ingons

" gloria Teucrum," exprefles, that the glory of Troy is
no more.

If the whole is put for a part, or a part for the
whole 5 a genus for a fpecies, or a fpecies for a genus ;
the fingular number for the plural, or the plural for the
fingular ; in general, if any thing lefs, or any thing
more, is fubftituted for the precife object meant, the
figure is then termed a fynecdoche. We fay, for inftance,
" A fleet of fo many fail," in the place of " fhipsj" we
frequently ufe the " head" for the " perfon," the " pole"
for the " earth^" the " waves" for the " fea." An at-
tribute is often ufed for its fubjeft ; as " youth and
" beauty," for the " young and beautiful •" and fome-
times, & fubje£t for its attribute. But it is unnecefTary
to infift longer on this enumeration. The Metaphor,
which is founded on the relation of (imilitude and re-
femblance, which is by far the moft fruitful of tropes,
ftiall be confidered in the next chapter.

METAPHOR.

-

.

.ETAPHOR is fottmled entirely on the refem-
blance which one objecl bears to another. It is, there-
fore, nearly alhea To nfnile or comparifon ; and differs
only from it in being expreifed in a {horter form.
When we fay of a great minifter, " that he upholds
" the ftate, like a pillar which fupports the weight of a
" mafly edifice," we evidently make a comparifon ;
but when we lay of fuch 'a man, that he is " the pillar
" of the ftate," it becomes a metaphor.

Of all the figures of fpeech, none approaches fo near
to painting as the metaphor. It gives light and tfrength
to defcription ; makes intellectual ideas, in fome degree,
vifible to the eye, by giving them colour, and fubftance,
and fenfible qualities. To produce this effeft, how-
ever, a delicate care is requifitej for, by a little inaccu-
racy, we may introduce confufion, inftead of promoting
perfpicuity. Several rules, therefore, muil be given for
the proper management of metaphors.

The firft which we (hall mention is, that they be
fuited to the nature of the fubjedt j neither too nume-
rous, nor too gay, nor too elevated for it ; that we nei-
ther endeavour to force the fubjeft, by the ufe of them,

108 METAPHOR.

into a degree of elevation which is not natural to it, nor,
on the contrary, fuffer it to fall below its proper dig-
nity. Some metaphors are beautiful in poetry, which
would be abfurd and unnatural in profe; fome are
graceful in orations, which would be highly improper
in hiftorical or philofophical compositions. Figures are,
indeed, the drefs of fentiment. They mould confe-
quently, be adapted to the character of that ftyle which
they are intended to adorn.

The fecond rule refpecls the choice "or objeds, from
whence metaphors are to be drawn. The field for
figurative language is very extenfive. All nature opens
its ftores to us, and allows us to gather them without
reftraint. But care muft be taken not to ufe fuch alla-
fions as raife in the mind difagreeable, mean, low, or
unclean ideas. To render a metaphor perfecl:, it mult
not only be apt, but pleating; it muft entertain as well
as enlighten. Mr. Dryden, therefore, can hardly el-
cape the imputation of a very unpardonable breach of
delicacy, when, in the dedication of his Juvenal, he ob-
ferves to the Earl of Dorfet, that " fome bad poems
" carry their owners' marks about them — fome brand
" or other on this buttock, or that ear ; that it is noto-
" rious who are the owners of the cattle." The moft
pleafing metaphors are thofe which are derived from the
more frequent occurrences of art or nature, or the civil
tranfadions and cuftoms of mankind. Thus how ex-
preflive, . yet at the fame time how familiar, is that

METAPHOR. 109

image which Otway has put into the mouth of Metellus,
in his play of CaiuS Marius, where he calls Sulpicius

That mad wild bull, whom Maiius lets loofe

On each occafion, when he'd make Rome feel him,

To tofs our laws and liberties i" th' air !

In the third place, a metaphor mould be founded pa
a refemblance which is clear and perfpicuous, and not
on one which is far-fetched, or difficult to be difcovered.
Harfli or forced metaphors are always difpleafing, be- ,
caufe they perplex the reader; and inftead of illuftrat-
ing the thought, render it intricate and confufed. Thus,
for inftance, Cowley, fpeaking of his miftrefs, exprellTes
himfelf in the following forced and obfcure verfes.

Wo to her ftubborn heart, if once mine come

Into the felf-Ia:ne room,
'Twill tear and blow up all within,
/ Like a gianada, fhot into a magazine.
Then (hall love keep the afhes anil torn parts

Of both our bioken hearts ;
Shall out of both one new one make;
From her'sth* alloy, from mine the metal take;
For of her heart, he from the flames will find

But little left behind ;
Mine only will remain entire;
No drofs was there to perifli in the fire.

Metaphors borrowed from any of the fciences, efpe-
cially fuch of them as belong to particular profeffions,
are almoft continually faulty by their obfiurity.
L

HO METAPHOR.

In the fourth place, we muft be careful never to jum-
ble metaphorical and plain language together ; never
to conftrucl: a period in fuch a manner, that part of it
muft be underftood metaphorically, part literally ; which
always introduces a moft difagreeable confufion. Though
the works of Offian abound with beautiful and correct
metaphors, yet they afford an inftance of the fault we
are now cenfuring. " Trothal went forth with the
" ftream of his people, but they met a rock ; for Fingal
" flood unmoved ; broken they rolled back from his
" fide : Nor did they roll in fafety ; the fpear of the
" king purfued their flight." The metaphor, at the
beginning, is exceedingly beautiful ; the " ftreairj," the
" unmoved rock," the " waves rolling back broken,"
are expreffions perfectly agreeable to the proper and
confiftent language of figure; but in the conclusion,
when we are told, " they did not roll in fafety, becaufe
" the fpear of the king purfued their flight," the literal
meaning is injudicioufly mixed with' the metaphor;
they are, at the fame moment, reprefented as waves that
roll, and as men that may be purfued and wounded luitb
'a fpear.

In the fifth place, we muft take care not to make
two different metaphors meet on the fame fubject.
This, which is called mixed metaphor, is one of the
grofleft abufes of this figure. Shakefpeare's exprefiion,
for example, " to take arms againft a fea of troubles,''
makes a moft unnatural medley, and entirely confounds

METAPHOll. HI

(he imagination. More correct writers thnn Shakefpeare
are Ibmetimes guilty of this error. Mr. Addiiou, in
one of his numbers in the Spectator, fays, " There is
" not a fingle view of human nature, which is not fuf-
" ficient to extinguifli the feeds of pride." Here a
vie-w is made to extingwjb, and to extinguijb feeds.

In examining the propriety «of metaphors, it fesms to
be a good rule, to form a picture upon them, and con-
fider how tlic parts would agree, and what kind of
figure the whole would prefent, when delineated with
a pencil.

Metaphors, in the fixth place, ihould not be crowded
together on the fame object. Though each of them be
diftinct, yet if they be heaped on one another, they
produce confufion. The following paflage from Horace
will exemplify this obfervation,

Motum ex Mctcllo confule civicum
Bellique caufas, et vitiar et modus,

Ludumquc fortunac, gravefque

Principum amicitias, et arma
Nondum cxpiatis unfta cruoribuj|
Peiiculofae plenum opus alcac,

Traftas, ct inctdis per ignes

Suppofitos cineri dolofo. L. a. 1*

This paflage, though highly poetical, is rendered harlh
and obfcure by three diftinct metaphors being crowded
together: Firfr, " arma untta cruoribus nondum
L2

112 METAPHOR.

next, " opus plenum pcriculofte alece j" and then, '•' incedis
" fer ignes fuppojitos cinori dolofo."

The laft rule which we iliall fuggeft concerning me-
taphors, is, that they fhould not be too far purfued.
For when the refemblance, which is the foundation of
the figure, is long dwelt upon, and carried into all its
minute circumftancss, an -allegory is produced in flead
of a metaphor; the reader is wearied, and the difcourfe
becomes obfcure. This is termed draining a metaphor.
Doctor Young, whofe imagination was more difiin-
guiihed by ftrength than delicacy, is often guilty of
running down his metaphors. Thus, fpeaking of old
age, he fays it fhould

Walk thoughtful on the Client folemn fliore

Of that vaft ocean it mud fail fo Toon ;

And put good works on board ; and wait the wind

That thortly blows us into worlds unknown.

The two firft lines are extremely beautiful ; but
when he continues the metaphor, by " putting good
" works on board, and waiting the wind," it becomes
ftrained, and finks in dignity.

Having treated thus fully of the metaphor, we iliali
conclude this chapter with a few words concerning alle-
gory.

An allegory is a continued metaphor ; it is the re-
prefentation of one thing, by another which has a re-
fcrablance to it. Thus Prior, in his Henry and Emmai

METAPHOR. 113

makes Emma, in the following allegorical manner,
defcribe her conftancy to Henry :

Did I but purpofe to embark with thee
On the fmooth furface of a fummei's fea,
While gentle zephyrs play with profp'rous gales,
And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ;
But would forfake the fhip, and make the fliore,
When the winds whiftle, and the tempefls roar ?

The fame rules that were given for metaphors/ may
be alfo applied to allegories, on account of the affinity
which fubfifts between them. The only material dif-
ference, befide the one being fhort, and the other pro-
longed, is, that a metaphor always explains itfelf by the
words that are connected with it, in their proper and
natural fignification : As when we fay, " Achilles was
" a lion;" " an able minifter is the pillar of the ftate."
The lion and the pillar are here fufficiently interpreted
by the mention of Achilles and the minifter, which are
joined to them ; but an allegory may be allowed to ftand
left connected with the literal meaning ; the interpre-
tation not being fo plainly pointed out, but left to our
own refle&ion.

L3

HYPERBOLE— PERSONIFICATION-
APOSTROPHE.

JLJlYPERBOLE confifts in magnifying an objeft be-
yond its natural bounds. This figure occurs very fre-
quently in all languages, and makes a part even of
common converfation : As fwift as the wind ; as white
as the fnow ; and the like ; and our ufual forms of
compliment are, in general, only extravagant hyperboles.
Thefe exaggerated expreffions, however, from habit,
are feldom confidered as hyperbolical.

Hyperboles are of two kinds ; either fuch as are
employed in defcription, or fuch as are fuggefted by the
ardour of paffion. Thofe are the beft which are the
effect: of paflion ; fince it not only gives rife to the
moft daring figures, but often, at the fame time,
renders them natural and juft. Hence the following
paflage in Milton, though extremely hyperbolical,
contains nothing but what is natural and proper. It
exhibits the mind of Satan agitated with rage and
defpair.

Me miferablc ! which way fhall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ?
Which way I fly is Hell; myfelf am Hell ;
And in the loweft depth, a lower deep
Siill threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the Hell I fuller feems a Heaven.

HYPERBOLE. 115

In fimple defcription hyperboles muft be employed
with greater caution. When an earthquake or a florm
is defcribed, or when our imagination is carried into the
midft of a battle, we can bear flrong hyperboles without
difpleafure. But when only a woman in grief is pre-
fented to our view, it is impoflible not to be dilgufted
with fuch wild exaggeration as the following in one of
our dramatic poets :

_ — — I found her on the floor,

In all the ftorm of grief, yet beautiful;

Pouring forth tears at fuch a lavifh rate,

That, were the world on fire, they might have drown'd

The wrath of Heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin.

This is the genuine bpmbaft. The perfon herfelf
who laboured under the diftra&ing agitations of grief,
might be permitted to exprefs herfelf in ftrong hyper-
bole j but the fpeftator, who only fpeaks the language
of defcription, cannot be permitted an equal liberty.
The juft boundary of this figure cannot be afcertained
by any precife rule. Good fenfe and an accurate tafte
muft afcertain the limit, beyond which, if it pafs, it be-
comes extravagant.

PERSONIFICATION.

proceed now to the examination of thofe
figures which lie altogether in the thought ; where the
words are taken in their common and literal fenfe. "We
fhall begin with perfonification, by which life and ac-
tion are attributed to inanimate objects. All poetry,
even in its moft gentle and humble forrns, is much in-
debted to this figure. From profe it is by no means
excluded ; nay, even in common converfation frequent
approaches are made to it. When we fay, the earth
tbirfts for rain, or the fields fmile with plenty j \vhen
ambition is faid to be reftlefs, or a difeafe to be deceitful,
fuch expreffions fhew the facility with which the mind
can accommodate the properties of living creatures to
things that are inanimate,, or to abftraft conceptions.

There are three different degrees of this figure j
which it is requifite to remark and diftinguifli, in order
to determine the propriety of its ufe. The firft is,
when fome of the properties or qualities of living crea-
tures are afcribed to inanimate objects ; the fecond,\vhen
thofe inanimate objefts are defcribed as afting like fuch
as have life j and the third, when they are exhibited
cither as fpeaking to us, or as liftening to what we fay
to them.

PERSONIFICATION. 117

The iirft and loweft degree of this figure, which con-
lifts in communicating to inanimate objects fome of the
qualities of living creatures, raifes the ftyle fo little,
that the humbled difcourfe will admit it without any
force. Thus, " a raging ftonn, a deceitful difeafe, a
" cruel difafler," are familiar and fimple expreffions.
This, indeed, is luch an obfcure degree of perfonifica-
tion, as might not, perhaps, be improperly claffed with
plain metephors, which almoft efcape our obfervation.

The fecond degree of this figure is, when we repre-
fent inanimate objects a&ing like thofe that have life.
Here we advance a ftep higher, and the perfonification
becomes fenfible. According to the nature of the ac-
tion which we afcribe to thofe inanimate obje&s, and
the particularity with which we defcribe it, fuch is the
ftrength.of the figure. When purfued. to a confiderable
length, it belongs only to laboured harangues ; when
flightly touched, it may be admitted into lefs elevated
competitions. Cicero, for example, fpeaking of the
cafes where killing a man is lawful in felf-defence, ufes
the following expreffions : " ATiquando nobis gladius ad
" occidcndum bom'mem ab ipfis forrigitur legibus." Here
the laws are beautifully perfonified, as ftretching fortli
their hand to give us a fword for putting a man to-
death.

In poetry, perfonifications of this kind are extremely
frequent, and, indeed, conftitute its eflence. In the
defcriptions of a poet who has a lively fancy, every

118 PERSONIFICATION.

thing becomes animated. Homer, the father of pet try,
is remarkable for the ufe of this figure. War, peace,
darts, rivers, every thing, in fliort, is alive in his writ-
ings. Milton and Shakefpeare referable him in this
particular. No perionification is more ftriking, or in-
troduced on a more proper occalion, than the following
of Milton, upon Eve's eating the forbidden fruit :

So faying, her rafh hand, in evil hour,
Forth reaching to the fruit, flie pluck'd, fhe eat;
Earth felt the wound, and nature, from hcrjcat
Sighing, thro' all her woiks gave figns of woe,

That all was loft.

B. ix. 1. 780.

The third and higheft degree of this figure, is yet to
be mentioned} when inanimate objects are reprefented
not only as feeling and a&ing, but as fpeaking to us,
or hearing and attending when we addrefs ourfelves to
them. This is the boldeft of all rhetorical figures ; it is
the ftyle of ftrong paflion only; and, confequently,
fhould never be attempted, except when the mind is
very much heated and agitated. Milton affords us a
very beautiful example of this figure, in that moving
and tender addrefs which Eve makes to Paradife imme-
diately before me is compelled to leave it :

Oh ! unexppfted ftroke, worfe than of death.
Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife ! thus leave
Thee, native foil, thcfe happy walks and fhades,
Fit haunt of Gods \ where I had hopes to fpend
Quiet, though fad, the icfpite of that day

PERSONIFICATION. 11Q

Which muft be mortal to us both. O flowers !
That never will in other climate grow,
My early vifiution, and my lalt
At ev'n, which I bred up with tender hand,
From your firft op'ning buds, and gave you names!
Who now (hall rear you, to the fun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrofial fount!

B. ii. 1. 268.

This is the real language of nature, and of female
pa (lion.

In the management of this fort of per fonifi cation two
rules are to be obferved. Firft, never to attempt it un-
lefs prompted by ilrong pafiion, and never to continue
it when the pafiion begins to fuWkle. The fecond rule
is, never to perfonify an obje6l which has not fome dig-
nity in itfelf, and which is incapable of making a proper
figure in the elevation to which we raife it. To addrefs
the body of a deceafed friend, is natural ; but to ad-
drefs the cloaths which he wore, introduces low and
degrading ideas. So likewife, addreffing the feveral
parts of one's body, as if they were animated, is not
agreeable to the dignity of paffion. For this reafon, the
following paffage in Mr. Pope's Eloifa to Abelard is lia-
ble to ccnfure :

Dear fatal name ! reft ever unreveal'd
Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feal'd.
Hide it, my heart, within that clofe diguife,
Where, mix'd with Gods, his lov'd idea lies;
O ! write it not, my hand ! — his name appears
Already written— blot it out, my tears !

120 PERSONIFICATION.

»

Here the name of Abelard is firft perfonified ; which
as the name of a perfon often Hands for the perfon him-
felf, is expofed to no objection : Next, Eloifa perfoni-
fies her own heart ; and as the heart is a dignified part
of the human frame, and is often put for the mind or
affections, this alfo may pafs without ceniure. But
\vhen fhe addreffes her hand, and tells it not to write
his name, this is ftrained and unnatural. Yet the
figure becomes ftill worfe, when fhe exhorts her tears
to blot out what her hand had written. The two laft
lines are, indeed, altogether unfuitable to the native
paflion and tendernefs which breathe through the reft of
that inimitable poem.

APOSTROPHE.

.POSTROPHE is an addrefs to a real perlbn ; but
one who is either abfent or dead, as if he were prefent,
and attentive to us. This figure is, in boldnefs, a de-
gree lower than the addrefs to perfonified obje&s ; fince
it requires a lefs effort of imagination to fuppofe perfons
prefent who are dead or abfent, than to animate infcn-
lible beings, and direft our difcourfe to them. The
poems of Offian abound with the moft beautiful inftan-
ces of this figure. " Weep on the rocks of roaring
" winds, O Maid of Iniftore ! Bend thy fair head over
" the waves, thou fairer than the ghoft of the hills, when
" it moves in a fun -beam at noon over the filence of
" Morven ! He is fallen ! Tliy youth is low ; pale be-
" neath the fword of Cuchullin !"

M

COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS, INTEROGATION,

EXCLAMATION, AND OTHER FIGURES

OF SPEECH.

A

Competition or fimile is, when the refemblance
between two obje&s is expreiled in form, and ufually
purfued more fully than the nature of a metaphor ad-
mits : As when we fay, " The actions of princes are
" like thofe great rivers, the courle of which every one
" beholds, but their fprings have been feen by few."
This ihort inftance will lliew, that a fortunate eompari-
fbn is a fort of fparkling ornament, which adds luilre
and beauty to language.

All comparifons may be reduced under two heads ;
txplaining and embeUiJbing comparifons. For when a
writer compares the object of which he treats with any
other thing, it always is, or at leaft ought to be, with a
view either to make us underfland that object more
clearly, or to render it more pleating and engaging.
Even the moft abftracl: reafoning admits of explaining
companions. For iuftance, the diftin&ion between the
powers of fenfe and imagination in the human mind,
are, in Mr. Harris's Hermes, illuftrared by a fimile, in
the following manner : " As wax," fays he, " would

COMPARISON. 123

" not be adequate to the purpofe of Signature, if it had
" not the power to retain as well as to receive the
" impreffion ; the fame holds of the foul with refjv
" to fenfe and imagination. Senfe is its receptive
" power, and imagination its retentive. Had it fenfe
" without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as
" water ; where, though all impreflions be inftantly
" made, yet as foon as they are made, they are inftantly
" loft." In comparifons of this kind, perfpicuity and
ufefulnefa are chiefly to be ftudied.

But enabelliftiing comparifons, which are introduced
to adorn the fubjeft of which we treat, are thofe which
moft frequently occur. Refemblance, it has been ob-
ferved, is the foundation of this figure. Yet refem-
blance muft not be taken in too ftrict a fenfe, for ac-
tual fimilitude or likenefs of appearance. Two obje&s
may raife a train of fimilar or concordant ideas in the
mind, though they referable each other, ftri&ly fpeak-
ing, in nothing. For example, to defcribe the nature
of foft and melancholy mufic, Offian fays, " The mufic
" of Carryl was, like the memory of joys that are part,
" pleafant and mournful to the foul." This is juft and
beautiful ; yet no kind of mufic bears any refemblance
to a feeling of the mind, fuch as the memory of pad
joys.

We will now confider when comparifons may be in-
troduced with propriety. Since they are the language
M 2

1'24 COMPARISON.

of imagination rather than of pafiion, an author carv
hardly commit a greater fault, than in the niidft of
paffion to introduce a fimile. Our writers of tragedies
are often culpable in this refpeft. Thus Mr. Addifon,
in his Cato, makes Portius, juft after Lucia had bid him
farewell for ever, exprefs- himfelf in a itudied and
attected comparifon.

Thus, o'er the dying lamp th' unfteady flame
Hangs quiv'riug on a point, leaps off by fits,
And falls again, as loth to quit its hold.
Thou muft not go ; my foul {till hovers o'er thee,
And can't get loofc.

Tliough comparifon be not the ftyle of flrong paffion,
ib neither, uhen defigned as an embellilhment, is it
the language of a mind totally unmoved. Being a figure
of dignity, it always demands foroe elevation in the
fubject, to make it proper. It fuppofes the imagination
to be uncommonly enlivened, though the heart be
not agitated by paflion. The language of fimile feems
to lie between the highly pathetic and the very hum-
ble ftyle, at the fame diftance from each. It is, how-
ever, a fparkling ornament 5 and muft confequeutly
dazzle and fatigue, if it fliould recur too often.
Similies fliould,. even in poetry, be employed with mo-
deration ; but in profe much more j otherwile the ftyle
will grow difguftiugly luicious, and the ornament lofe
its beauty and errecl.

We will now con fide r the nature of thofe objects from

COMPARISON. 125

which companions ihould be drawn ; fuppofing them
introduced in their proper order.

In the firft place they muft not be drawn from things
which have too intimate and obvious a reiemblance to
the objed with which they are compared. The plea-
fure which we receive from the aft of comparing, arifes
from the difcovery of likencfles among) things of dif- '
ferent fpecies, where we ihould not, at fir It fight ex-
pe6t a reiemblance.

But, in the fecond place, as companions ought not
to be founded on likenetTes too apparent, much lefs
ought they to be founded on thofe which are too faint
and diftant. Thefe, inftead of aflifiing, ftrain the
fancy to comprehend them, and throw no light upon
the fubjeft.

In the third place, the object from which a comparifon
is drawn ought never to be an unknown obje6t, or one
of which few people can have a clear idea. Similes
therefore, founded on philofophical difco\ tries, or ou
any thing with which perfons of a particular trade
only, or a particular profeffion, are acquainted, pro-
duce not their proper effeft. The Ihould be drawn
from thofe illuftrious and noted objects, which the
generality of readers have either feen, or can ftrongly
conceive.

In the fourth place, we muft obferve, that in com-
M 3

126 COMPARISON.

petitions of a grave or elevated kind, fimiles fhould ne-
ver be drawn from low or mean objects. Thefe have
a tendency to degrade and vilify ; whereas limilies are
generally intended toembellim and to dignify; and, there-
fore, except inburlefque writings, or where an object is
meant to be diminifhed, mean ideas fhould never be
fubmitted to our obfervation.

ANTITHESIS:

A;

.NTTTHESIS is founded on the contrail or oppb-
fition of two objeds. By con t raft, objefts oppofed to
each other appear in a ftronger light. Beauty, for in-
fiance, never appears fo charming as when contrafted
with uglinefs and deformity. Antithefis, therefore,
may, on many occafions, be ufed advantageoufly, to
ftrengthen the impreflion which we propofe that ,any
objeft mould make. Thus Cicero, in his defence of
Milo, representing the improbability of Milo's attempt-
ing to take away the life of Clodius, when every thing
was unfavourable to fuch a defign, after he had omitted
many opportunities of effecting fuch a purpofe, heightens
our convidion of this improbability, by a judicious ufe
of this figure : " Quern igitur cum omnium gratia inter-
" Jlcere noluit, bunc : l.nt cum aliquorum qucrela ? Quern
" jure, quern loco, quern temfore, quern impune, non eft
" art/us, bunc injuria, iniquo loco, alieno tempore, periculo
" capitis, non dubitavit occ'idere ?n Here the antithefis
is rendered complete, by the words and members of the
fentence, exprefling the contrafted objects, being fimi-
tarly conftrucled, and made to correfpond with each
other.

We muft, however, acknowledge, that the frequent
ufe of antithefis, paticularly where the oppofition in the

123 ANTITHESIS.

words is nice and quaint, is apt to make ftyle unpleaf-
ing. A maxim or moral faying, very properly receives
this form ; both becaufe it is fuppofed to be the effect
of meditation, and is defigned to be engraven on the
memory, which recalls it more eafily by the aid of fuch
contraffed exprefiions. But where a number of fuch
fentences fucceed each other ; where this is an author's
favourite and prevailing mode of exprefiion, his ftyle is
expofed to cenfure.

INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION.

NTERROGATIONS and Exclamations are paflio-
nate figures. The literal ufe of interrogation is to alk
a queftion ; but when men are prompted by pafiion,
whatever they would affirm or deny with great earneft-
nefs, they naturally put in the form of a queftion j ex-
preffing thereby the firmeft confidence of the truth of
their own opinion ; and appealing to their hearers for
the impoffibility of the contrary. Thus, in fcripture :
" God is not a man, that he fhould lie ; neither the
" fon of man, that he ihould repent. Hath he faid it ?
" And (hall he not clo it ? Hath he fpoken it ? And
" fhall he not make it good ?"

Interrogations may be employed in the profecution of
fome clofe and earneft reafoning"; but exclamations
belong only to ftronger emotions of the mind ; to fur-
prife, anger, joy, grief, and the like. Thefe being na-
tural figns of a moved and agitated mind, always, when
they are properly employed, make us fympathife with,
thofc who ufe them, and enter into their feelings.
Nothing, however, has a worfe effe6t than the frequent
and unfeafonable ufe of exclamations. Young, unex-
perienced writers fuppofe, that by pouring them fartlv

13O INTERROGATION, &C.

plenteoufly, they render their competitions warm and
animated. But quite the contrary is the caie. They
render them frigid to excefs. When an author is al-
ways calling upon us to enter into tranfports which he
has faid nothing to infpire, he excites our dilguft and
indignation.

VISION.

.NOTHER figure of fpeech, fit only for animated
competition, is what fome writers call Vifion ; when,
inftead of relating fomething that is paft, we ufe the
p relent tenie, and defcribe it as if paffing immediately
•before our eyes. Thus Cicero, in his fourth oration
againll Catiline : " Videor enim mibi ba?ic urbem^viderc,
" lucetn orbis terrarum atque arcem omnium gentium,
" Jubito uno. incendio concidentem cerno animo fepulta in
" f atria miferos atque infepultos acervos civium ; verfatur
" mibi ante oculos afpettus Cetbegi, et furor, in <vejlrci
" c<ede baccbantis" This figure has great beauty when
it is well executed, and when it flows from the true
fpirit of genuine enthufiafm. If it be fuggefted by
affeftion, it {hares the fame fate with all feeble attempts
towards paffionate figures ; that of throwing ridicule
upon the author, and leaving the reader more cool and
uninterefted than he was before.

CLIMAX.

T

A HE Lift figure which we fiia.ll mention, and which
is of frequent ufe among all public fpeakcrs, is called
a Climax. It confifts in an artful exaggeration of all
the circuinftances of fome object or action which we
with to place in a itrong light. It operates by a gra-
dual rife of one circumftance f.bove another, till our
idea be raited to the highefl pitch. "VYe fliall give an
inftance of this figure, from a printed pleading of a cele-
brated Scotch Lawyer, Sir George Mackenzie. It is in
a charge to the jury, in the cafe of a woman who was
accufed of murdering her own child. " Gentlemen, if
" one man had any how flain another 5 if an adverfary
" had killed his oppofer ; or a woman occafioned the
" death of her enemy 5 even thefe criminals would
" have been capitally puniftied by the Cornelian law :
" But, if this guiltlefs infant, who could -make no
" enemy, had been murdered by its own nurfe, what
" punifbments would riot then the mother have de-
" manded ? With what cries and exclamations would
" fiie have flunned your ears ? What fhall we fay
" then, when a woman, guilty of homicide, a mother,
" of the murder of her innocent child, hath coraprifed
" all thofe mifdeeds in one fingle crime ; a crime, in

CLIMAX. 133

*f its own nature, deteftable ; in a woman, prodigious;
" in a mother, incredible ; and perpetrated againft one
" whofe age called for companion, whofe near relation
" claimed affection, and whofe innocence deferved the
" higheft favour?" Such regular climaxes as thefe,
though they have great beauty, yet, at the fame time,
have the appearance of art and ftudy ; and, confe-
quently, though they may be admitted into formal
harangues, yet they are not the language of paflion,
which feldom proceeds by fuch .regular and meafured
fteps.

N

GENERAL CHARACTERS OP STYLE.

DIFFUSE, CONCISE, FEEBLE, NERVOUS, DRY,

PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, FLOWERY.

T

A HAT different fubje&s ought to be treated in
different kinds of ftyle, is a politico fo felf-evident,
that it requires not illuftration. Every one is con-
vinced, that treatifes of philofophy fliould not be com-
pofed in the fame ftyle with orations. It is equally ap-
parent, that different parts of the fame compofition
require a variation in the ftyle and manner. Yet amidft
this variety, we ftill expecl: to find, in the compofition
of any one man, fome degree of uniformity or confif-
tency with himfelf, in manner ; we expect to find fome
prevailing character of ftyle impreffed on all his writ-
ings, which lhall be fuited to, and ihall diftinguilh, his
particular genius and turn of mind. The orations in
Livy differ confiderably in ftyle, as they ought to do,
from the reft of his hiftory. The fame thing may be
obferved in thofe of Tacitus. Yet in the orations of
both thefe elegant hiftorians, the diftinguifhing manner
of each may be clearly traced ; the fplendid fulnefs of
the one, and the fententious brevity of the other.
Wherever there is real and native genius, it prompts a
difpofition to one kind of ftyle rather than to another.
Where this is wanting ; where there is no marked nor

DIFFUSE AND CONCISE. 135

peculiar character which appears in the compofitions of
an author, \ve are apt to conclude, and not without
caufe, that he is a vulgar and trivial author, who writes
from imitation, and not from the impulfe of original
genius.

One of the firfl and mod obvious diftin&ions of the
different forts of ityle, arifes from an author's expand-
ing his thoughts more or lefs. The diftin&ion conili-
tutes what are termed the diffufe and concife ftyles.
A concife writer coniprefles his ideas into the feweft
•words ; he employs none but the mod expreilive ; he
lops off all thofe which are not a material addition to
the fenfe. Whatever ornament he admits, is adopted
for the fake of force, rather than of grace, The fame
thought is never repeated. The utmoft precilion is
ftudied in his leniences ; and they are generally de-
ligned to fugged more to the reader's imagination than
they immediately exprefs.

A diffufe writer unfolds his idea fully. He holds it
out in a variety of lights, and aflifts the reader, as much
as poflible, in comprehending it completely. He is not
very anxious to exprefs it at firft in its full ftrength,
becaufe he intends repeating the impreffion ; and what
he wants in ftrength, he endeavours to fupply by copi-
oufnefs. His periods naturally flow into fome length ;
and having room for ornament of every kind, he gives
it free admittance.

N2

136 DIFFUSE AXD CONCISE.

Each of thefe ftyles has its peculiar advantages; and
each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. Of
concifenefs carried as far as propriety will allow, per-
haps in feme cafes farther, Tacitus the hiftorian, and
Montefquieu, in " TEfprit de Loix," are remarkable
examples. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffufenefs,
Cicero is, undoubtedly, the ncbleft inftance which can
be given. Addifon alfo, and Sir William Temple, may
be ranked in fome degree under the fame clafs.

To determine when to adopt the concife, and when
the diflfufe manner, we muft be guided by the nature
of the compofition. Difcourfes which are to be fpoken,
require a more diffufe ftyle than books which are to be
read. In written compofitions, a proper degree of con-
cifenefs has great, advantages. It is more lively ; keeps
up attention ; makes a ftronger imprefiion on the mind ;
and gratifies the reader by fupplying more exercife to
his conception. Defcription, when we wifli to have it
vivid and animated, fhould be in a concife ftrain. Any
redundant words or circumftances encumber the fancy,
and render the object we prefent to it confufed and in-
diftinft. The ftrength and vivacity of defcription, whe-
ther in prpfe or poetry, depend much more upon the
happy choice of one or two important circumftances,
than upon the multiplication of them. When we defire
to ftrike the fancy, or to move the heart, we fliould be
concife; when to inform the understanding, which is
more deliberate in its motions, and wants the afiiftancc

NERVOUS AND FEEBLE. 13/

of a guide, it is better to be full. Hiftorical narration
ma}' be beautiful, either in a concife or difTufe manner,
according to the author's genius. Livy and Herodotus
are diffufe ; Thucydides and Salluft are coucife ; yet
they are all agreeable.

The nervous and the feeble are generally confidered
as characters of ftyle, of the fame import with the
concife and the diftufe. They do, indeed, very fre-
quently coincide 5 yet this does not always hold ;
fince there are inftances of writers, who, in the midft
of a full and ample ftyle, have maintained- a confider-
able degree of ftrength. Livy is an inftance of the
truth of this obfervation. The foundation, indeed, of
a nervous or weak ftyle, is laid in an author's manner
of thinking : If he conceives an . object forcibly, he
will expreis it \\ith ftrength ; but if lie has an indiltin6t
view of his fubjeCl, this will clearly appear in his ftyle.
Unmeaning words and loofe epithets will eicape him j
his exprellions will be vague and general ; his arrange-
ment indi!tin6t and weak j and our conception of his
meaning will be faint and confufed. But a nervous
writer, be his ftyle concife or extended, gives us always
a ftrong idea of his meaning ; his mind being full of
his fubjed, his words are, confequently, all exprcflive ;
every phrafe and every figure which he ufes, renders
the pifture which he would fet before us, more ftrik-
ing and compleat.

N3

138 NERVOUS AND FEEBLE.

It muft, however, be obferved, that two great a ftudy
of ftrength, to the negledl of the other qualities of ftyle,
is apt to betray writers into a harfli manner. Harfh-
nefs proceeds from uncommon words, from forced in-
verfions in the conftruction of a fentence, and too great
a neglect of fmoothnefs and eafe. This is imputed as-
a fault to fome of our earlieft daffies in the Engliih
language ; fuch as Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Ba-
con, Hooker, Harrington, Cudworth, and other writers
of conliderable reputation in the days of Queen Eliza-
beth, James I. and Charles I. Thefe writers had nerves
and ftrengrh in a conliderable degree ; and are to this
day diftinguifhed by that quality in ftyle. But the
language, in their hands, was very different from what
it is at prefent, and was, indeed, entirely formed upon
the idiom and conftruftion of the Latin, in the arrange-
ment of fentences. The prefent form which the lan-
guage has aflumed, has, in fome degree, facrificed the
ftudy of ftrength to that of eafe and perfpicuitv. Our
arrangement has become lefs forcible, perhaps, but
more plain and natural ; and this is now confidered as
the genius of our tongue.

Hitherto ftyle has been confidered under thofe cha-
racters which regard its exprellivenefs of an author's
meaning : We will now confider it in another view,,
with refpeft to the degree of ornament employed to
embellim it. Here the ftyle of different authors feems
to rife in the following gradation : A dry, a plain, a

DRY — PLAIN — NEAT. 13Q

neat, an elegant, a flowery, manner. Of thefe we will
treat briefly, in the order in which they ftand.

A dry manner excludes every kind of ornament.
Satisfied with being underftood, it aims not to pleafe,
in the leaft degree, either the fancy or the ear. This is
tolerable only in pure didactic writing j and even there
to make us bear it, great folidity of matter is neceflary,
and entire perfpicuiry of language.

A plain ftyle advances one degree above a dry one.
A writer of this character employs very little ornament
of any kind, and refts almotl entirely upon his fenfe.
But, though he does not engage us by the arts of com-
pofition, he avoids difgufting us like a dry and a harfli
writer. Befides perfpicuity, he obferves propriety, pu-
rity, and precifion in his language j which form no in-
confiderable degree of beauty. Liveliness and force are
alfo compatible with a plain ftyle ; and confequeutly,
fuch an author, if his fentiments be good, may be fuf-
ficiently agreeable. The difference between a dry and
a plain writer is, that the former is incapable of orna-
ment ; the latter goes not in purfuit of it. Of thofe
who have employed the plain ftyle, Dean Swift is an
eminent example.

A neat ftyle is next in order ; and here we are ad-
vanced into the region of ornament j but that ornament
is not of the moft fparkling kind. A writer of this
character (hews that he does not defpife the beauty of.

140 ELEGAXT.

language, by his attention to the choice of his words,
and to their graceful collocation. His fentences are
always free from the incumbrance of fuperfluous words;
are of a moderate length ; rather inclining to brevity
than a fvvelling ltru£turc ; and clofing with propriety.
There is variety in his cadence ; but no appearance of
ftudied harmony. His figures, if any, are fliort and
accurate, rather than bold and glowing. Such a ftyle
may be attained by a writer whofe powers of fancy or
genius are not extenfive, by induftry and attention.
This fort of flyle is not unfuitable to any fubject what-
ever. A familiar epiftle, or a law paper, on the drieft
fubjecl: may be compofed with neatnefsj and a fermon,
or a philoibphicai treatifc, in a neat ftyle, will be read
•with fatisfadtion.

An elegant ftyle admits a higher degree of ornament
than a neat one ; and poffefles all the virtues of orna-
ment, without any of its exceffes or defects. Com-
plete elegance implies great perfpicuity and propriety ;
purity in the choice of words ; and carefulnefs and
ikill in their harmonious and happy arrangement. It
implies farther, the beauty of imagination fpread over
ftyle, as far as the fubjcft allows it ; and all the illuftra-
tion which figurative language affords when properly
employed. An elegant writer, in fliort, is one 'who de-
lights the fancy and the ear, while he informs the un-
derftanding 5 and who clothes his ideas with all the
beauty of expreffion, but does net overload them with
any of its mifplaced finery.

FLOWERY. 141

A florid Ityle comprehends the excefs of ornament.
This, in a young compofer, is not only pardonable,
but is often a fymptom of a bold and inventive genius.
But, although it may be allowed to youth, in their firft
attempts, it muft not receive the fame indulgence from
writers of more experience, In them, judgment fliould
chaften imagination, and rejeft every ornament which
is unfuitable or redundant. That tinfel fplendour of
language, which fome writers perpetually affeft, is truly
contemptible. With thefe it is a luxuriancy of words,
not of fancy. They forget that, unlefs it be founded
on fenfe and folid thought, the moft florid ftyle, is
but a childifli impofition on ignorant and unthinking
readers.

STYLE— SIMPLE j AFFECTED ;. VEHEMENT-

DIRECTIONS FOR FORMIXO A PROPER

STYLE.

JMPLICITY, applied to writing, is a term very
commonly ufed ; but, like many other critical terms,
it is often ufed vaguely, and without precifion. The
different meanings given to the word Simplicity, have
been the chief caufe of this inaccuracy. It will not,
therefore, be improper to make a diflinction between
them ; and fliew in what fenfe fimplicity is a proper
attribute of ftyle. There are four different acceptations
in which this term is taken.

The firft is fimplicity of composition, which is op-
pofed to too great a variety of parts. This is the fim-
plicity of plan in a tragedy, as diftinguimed from dou-
ble plots and crowded incidents ; the fimplicity of the
Iliad, in oppofition to the digreffions of Lucan j the
fimplicity of Grecian architecture, in oppofition to the
irregularity of the Gothic. Simplicity, in this fenfe,
is the fame as unity.

The fecond fenfe, is fimplicity of thought, in oppo-
fition to refinement. Simple thoughts are thofe which

SIMPLICITY. 143

flow naturally ; which are eafily fuggefted by the fub-
ject or occafion ; and which, when once fuggefted, are
univerfally underftood. Refinement in writing, means
a lefs obvious and natural turn of thought, which,
when carried too far, approaches to intricacy, and is
unpleafing, by the appearance of being far fought.
1'h us we fhould fay, that Mr. Parnell is a Poet of much
greater fimplicity, in his turn of thought, than Mr.
Cowley.

A third fenfe of fimplicity, is that in which it regards
ftyle ; is oppoicd to too much ornament,, or pomp of
language. Thus we fay, Mr. Locke is a fimple, Mr.
licrvey a florid writer.

There is a fourth fenfe of fimplicity, which alfo
refpe6ls ftyle : but it regards not fo much the degree of
ornament employed, as the eafy and natural manner in
which language is expreffive of our thoughts. In this
fenfe, fimplicity is compatible with the higheft ornament.
Homer, for example, has this fimplicity in the greateft
perfection ; and yet no writer porlefTes more ornament
and beauty. This fimplicity, which is now the object
of our confederation, ftands oppofed, not to ornament,
but to affectation of ornament ; and is a fuperior ex-
cellency in compofition.

A writer who has attained fimplicity, has no marks
of art in his expreflion; it appears the very language
of nature. We fee not the writer and his labour, but

144 SIMPLICITY. AFFECTATION.

the man in his o\vn natural character. He may pofTefs
richnefs of expreflion ; he may be full of figures and of
fancy ; but thefe flow from him without difficulty ; and
he feems to write in this manner, not becaufe he has
ftudied it but becaufe it is the mode of expreffion moft
familiar and eafy to him. With this character of ftyle,
a certain degree of negligence is not inccnfiftent, nor
even ungraceful -} for too accurate an attention to words
is foreign to it. Simplicity of ftyle pofiefTes this con-
liderable advantage, that, like fimplicity of manners,
it ftiews us a man's fentiments and turn of mind laid
open without difguife. A more ftudied and artificial
mode of writing, however beautiful, has always this
difadvantage, that it exhibits an author in form, like a
man at court, where the fplendour of drefs, and the
ceremonial of behaviour, conceal thofe peculiarities
which diftinguim one individual from another. But
reading an author of fimplicity, is like converfing with
a peribn of rank at home, and with eafe, where we fee
his natural manners and his real character.

With regard to limplicity, in general, we may ob-
ferve, that the ancient original writers are always the
moft eminent for it, This proceeds from a very obvi-
ous caufe, thet they wrote from the dictates of natu-
ral genius, and were not formed upon the labours and
writings of others.

Of affectation in ftyle, which is oppofed to fimpli-
city, we have a remarkable in fiance in our language.

SIMPLICITY — AFFECTATION. 145

Lord Shafteflbury, though an author of confiderable
merit, can exprefs nothing with fimplicity. He feeras
to have coniidered it as vulgar, and beneath the dignity
of a man of faihion, to fpeak like other men. Hence,
he is perpetually in bufkins; replete with circumlocu-
tions and artificial elegance. In every fentence, the
marks of labour are vifible ; no appearance of that eale,
which expreffes a fentiment coming natural and warm
from the heart. He abounds with figures and orna-
ment of every kind; is fometimes happy in them ; but
his fondnefs for them is too confpicuous ; and having
once feized fome metaphor or allufion that pleafed him,
he knows not how to part with it. He pofieffed deli-
cacy and refinement oftafte, to a degree that may be
called excellive and fickly ; but he had little warmth
of paflion ; and the coldnefs of his chara&er fuggefted
that artificial and (lately manner which appears in his
writings. No author is more dangerous to the tribe of
imitators than Shaftelbury, who, amidil leveral very
confiderable blemifhes, has, at the fame time, many
dazzling and impofing beauties.

It is very poflible, however, for an author to write
with fimplicity, and yet to be deftitute of beauty. He
may be free from afle&ation, and not have merit. The
beautiful fimplicity fuppoles an author in pofleffion of
real genius ; and capable of writing with folidity, pu-
rit\r, and brilliancy of imagination. In this cafe, the
O

SIMPLICITY — AFFECTATION, &CC.

Simplicity of his manner is the crowning ornament : it
gives luftre to every other beauty ; it is the drefs of
nature, without which all beauties are but imperfect.
But if die mere abfence of affectation were fufficient to
conftitute the beauty of ftyle, weak and dull writers
might often have preventions to it. A diftinction, there-
fore, muft be made, between that fimplicity which ac-
companies true genius, and which is entirely compa-
tible with every proper ornament of ftyle, and that
which is the effect only of careleiTnefs and inattention.

Another character of ftyle, different from thole which
have been already mentioned, is the vehement. This
always fuppofes ftrength : and is not, in any refpecl,
incompatible with fimplicity. It is diftinguifhed by a
peculiar ardour ; it is the language of a man whofe
imagination and paffions are glowing and impetuous.
With a negligence of leffer graces, he pours himfelf
forth with the rapidity and plentitude of a torrent. The
vehement belongs to the higher kinds of oratory ; and
is rather expefted from a man who is fpeaking, than
from one who is writing in his clofet. Demofthenes is
the moft full and perfect example of this fpecies of
ftyle.

Having determined and explained the different cha-
racters of ftyle, we mall conclude our obfervations with
a few directions for the attainment of excellence in
writing.

PROPER SfYLE.

The firft direction proper to be obfcrved, is. to fiudy
clear ideas on the ftibjecl concerning which we are to
write; or to fpeak. What we conceive cK-arly and feel
ftrongly, we fhn.ll naturally exprefs with clearnefs and
with flrength. We lliould, therefore, think clofely on
the fubje6t, lil! we have attained a fall and di(un£l
view of the matter which we are to clothe in woirs j
till we become warm aud interelted in it ; then, and
then only, lhall we find a proper expreilion begin to
flow.

•

In the fecond place, to the acquifition of a good
ftyle, the frequency of compofing is indifpenfibly re-
quifite/ But it is not every kind of compofing which
will improve ftyle. By a carelefs and hafty habit of
writing, a bad ftyle will be acquired ; more trouble will
afterwards be neceiTary to unlearn faults, and correct
negligence, than to endeavour, from a ftate of entire
ignorance, to become acquainted with the firft rudi-
ments of compofition. In the beginning, therefore, we
ought to write with deliberation and with care. Faci-
lity and fpeed are the fruit of practice and experience.
We muft be cautious, however, not to retard the courfe
of thought, nor cool the ardour of imagination, by pauf-
ing too long on every word we employ. On certain
occafions, there is a glow of compofition which muft be
kept up, if we expect to exprefs ourfelves happily,
though at the expenfe of fome inaccuracies. A more
O2

148 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING

fevere examination muft be the work of correction.
What we have written, fhould be laid by for fume
time, till the ardour of competition be fubfided ; till
the partiality for our expreflions be weakened, and the
expreflions themfelves be forgotten ; and then examin-
ing oar work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were
the performance of another, we fliall difcovermany im-
perfections which at firft efcaped our notice.

In the third place, an acquaintance with the ftyle of
the beft authors is peculiarly requisite. Hence a juft
taile will be formed ; and a copious fund be fupplied
of words on every fubject. No exerciie, perhaps, will
be found more ufeful for acquiring a proper ftyle, than
to tranflate fome pafTage from an elegant author, into
our own words. Thus, to take for inftauce, a p;
one of Mr, Addifon's Spectators, and read it attentively
two or three times, till we are in full poffeffion of the
thoughts it contains} then to lay afide the book] to en-
deavour to write out the pallage from memory, as well
as we can ; and then to compare what we have written
with the ftyle of the author. Such an exercife will, by
companion, lliew us our own defects ; will teach us to
correct them ; and, from the variety of expreffion which
it will exhibit, will conduct us to that which is molt .
beautiful and perfect.

In the fourth place, a caution muft be given againft
a fenile imitation of any one author whatever. A de-
fire of imitating hampers genius; and generally pro-

A PROPER STYLE.

duces a ftiffnefs of expreflion. They who follow an
author minutely, commonly copy his faults as well as
his beauties. No one will ever become an accomplished
writer or fpeaker, who has not fome confidence in his
own genius. We ought carefully to avoid ufmg any
author's particular phrafes, or transcribing paflages from
him : Such an habit will be fatal to all genuine c
ntjon. It is much better to poflefs fomething of our
own, though of inferior beauty, than to endeavour to
fhine ill borrowed ornaments, which will, at laft, betray
the utter barrennefs of our genius.

In the fifth place, it is a plain but important rule,
with regard to ftyle, that we always endeavour to adapt
it to the fubje<St, and likewife to the capacity of our
hearers, if we are to fpeak in public. To attempt a
poetical florid ftyle, when it fhould be our bufinefs only
to argue and reafon, is in the highefl degree awkward
and abfurd. To fpeak with elaborate pomp of words,
before thofe who cannot comprehend them, is equally
ridiculous and ufelels. "When we bpgin to write or
fpeak, we fhould previoufly impress on our minds a
complete idea of the end to be aimed at; keep this
fteadily in view, and adapt our ftyle to it.

We muft, in the la ft place, recommend, that an at-
tentive regard to ftyle do not occupy us fo much, as to
detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts.
This rule is the more neafTiry, fince the prefcnt tafte of
O3

150 DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING, &C.

the age feems to be direfied more to ftyle than to thought.

It is much more eafy to drefs up trifling and common

thoughts with fome ornament of exprefllon, than to

afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and ufeful ftnti-

ments. The latter requires genius j the former may

be attained by induftry, with the aid of very fuperficial

parts. Hence the crowd of writers who are rich in

words, but poor in fentiments. Cuftom obliges us not

to be inattentive to the ornaments of ftyle, if we wifli

that oar labours mould be read and admired. But he

is a contemptible writer, who looks not beyond the drefs

of language j who lays not the chief ftrefs upon his

matter j and who does not regard ornament as a

fecondary and inferior recommendation.

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF MR. ADDISON'*
SCYLE, IN No. 411 OF THE SPECTATOR.

H,

.AVING infifted rather copioufly on the fubject of
language in general, we will now enter on a critical
analyfis of the ftyle of fome good author. This will
fuggeft obfervations which we have not hitherto had an
opportunity of making, and will fliew in a proper
light, fome of thole which have been made.

Mr. Addiibn, though one of the moft beautiful writers
in our language, is not the moft correct; a circum-
ftance which makes his competition the more proper
fabjedfc of our prefent criticifm. We proceed, there-
fore, to examine No. 411, the firft of his admired
ell ays on the pleafures of the imagination, in the fixth
volume of the Spectator. It begins thus :

Our figbt is tie moft ferfctl, and mqfl delightful of all
eitrfcnfes.

This fentence is clear, precife, and fimple. The
author, in a few plain words, exprefies the proportion
which he is going to illuftrate. A firft fentence ihould
feldom be long, and fliould never be difficult to be
under flood.

152 CRITICAL EXAMINATION

He might have faid, our ji^lt is tie rnoft pcrficl, and
tbe mojl delightful. But in omitting to repeat the parti-
cle the, he has been more judicious ; fince between
perfect and delightful, in the prefent cafe, there being
no contraft, fuch a repetition was unneceflary. He
proceeds :

It Jllh tbe mind <witb the largejl variety of ideas, con-
verfes 'ivitb its objeffs at ibe great eft diftance, and conti-
nues tbe longcft in aflion, witbout being tired or fatiatcd
its proper enjoyments.

This fentence is remarkably harmonious, and \vell
conftru6led. It is compleatly confpicuous. It is not
loaded with unneceflary words. That quality of a good
fentence which we termed its unity, is here entirely
preferved. The members of it grow, and rife above
each other in found, till it is conducted to one of the
moft harmonious clofes which our language admits. It
is figurative, without being too much fo for the fubjecl;.
There is no fault whatever, except that a fevere critic
might perhaps object, that the epithet large, which he
applies to variety, is more commonly applied to extent
than to number. It is evident, that he employed it
to avoid the repetition of the word great, which occurs
immediately afterwards.

Tbe fenfe (f feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of
extenfion, Jbape, and all otter ideas that enter at tbe eyr,
except colours; but, at tbe fame time, it is very muck

OP MR. ADDISON'S STYLE, 153

Jlraittncl and confined in its operations, to the number,
bulk, and dijianoe of its particular o-'jcfls. But is not every
fenfe confined, as- much as thq fenfe of feeling, to the
number, balk, and diftance of its own objects ? The
turn of rxpreiliou is alib here very inaccurate 3 and it
requires the two words ivitb regard, to be inferted after
the word operations, in order that the fenfe mould be
rendered, at all, clear and intelligible. The epithet
particular feems to be ufed inftead of peculiar; but
thefe words, though often confounded, are of very dif-
ferent import. Particular is oppofed \.o general ; peculiar
{lands oppofed to what is poflefled in common iuitb
others.

Our Jigbtfcems defigned to fupply all thtfe defetts, and
and may be confidered as a more delicate and diffufive
kind of touch, tbat fpreads It/elf over an infinite multi-
tude of bodies, comprehends the largeft Jigures, and
brings into our reach fame of the mojl remote parts of the
unwerfc.

This fentence is peripicuous, graceful, well arranged,
and highly harmonious. Its conftruclion is fo fimilar to
that of the fecond fentence, that, had it immediately
fucceeded it, the ear would have been fenfible of a
faulty monotony. Another fentence being interpofed,
however, prevents this unpleafing effect.

It is this fenfe ivbicb furnijbes the imagination *u)itb
its ideas ; fo tbat by the fltafures of the imagination or

154 CRITICAL EXAMINATION

fancy, (winch I Jhall ufe promifcuovjly) 1 here mean fuels
as arifefrom vifible objeffs, either wbeti we have them ac-
tually in vie-w, or when we call up their ideas into ottr
minds by paintings, Jlatues, dtfcriptions , or any tic like
occafion.

The parenthefis in the middle of this fentence, is not
fufficiently dear: It fliould have been, terms which I
Jhall ufe frornifcuovjly 5 fince the verb ufe does not relate
to the pleafures of the imagination, but to the terms of
fancy and imagination, which were meant to be fyno-
nymous. To call a painting or a ftatue an occajion, is
not an accurate exprefiion ; nor is it very jult to fpeak
of calling up ideas by occajions. The common phrafe,
any fucb means, would have been more natural and
proper.

We cannot indeed have a Jingle image in tie fancy,
tbat did not make its firjt entrance through the fight ; but
we have the power of retaining, altering, and confound-
ing thofe images ivbicb iiue ba-ve once received, into all the
•varieties of picture and vijion tbat are mojl agreeable to the
imagination ; for, by this faculty, a man in a dungeon is
capable of entertaining b-imfelf with fcenes and landf capes
more beautiful than any tbat can le found in the whole
compafs of nature.

In one member of this fentence there is an inaccuracy
in fyntax. It is proper to fay, altering and compounding
tbufe images which we ba-ve once received, into all the va-

OF MR. AD BISON'S STYLE. 15."»

rictics of plfiurc and infion : Eat we cannot with pro-
priety fay, retaining them into all the varieties ; and yet
the arrangement requires this conftrucTion. This errcr
would have been avoided by arranging the paffage in
the following manner : " We have the power of re-
taining, altering, and compounding thofe images which
v.-e have once received ; and of forming them into all the
the varieties of pifture and vifion.— The latter part of
the fentence is perfpicuous and elegant.

There are few words in tie Englijb language, wbicb
are employed in a more loofe and uncircumfcribcdfenfe, than
tcofe of the fancy and tbe imagination.

Except when fome aflertion of confequence is ad-
vanced, thefe little words, it is, and there arc, ought
to be avoided as redundant and enfeebling. The two
firfl words of this fentence, therefore, would have been
much better omitted. The article prefixed to fancy and
imagination, Ihould allb have been left out, fince he does
not mean the power of tbe fancy and tbe imagination,
but the words only. It had better been thus exprefled :
'•' Few words in the Englilh language are employed in
" a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe, than fancy
" and imagination."

I therefore thought it necejjary to fix and determine tbe
notion of theft t<wo ivords, as I intend to make ufe of them
in tbe thread of my following fpeculations, that tbe reader
may conceive rightly what is the Jubjett '•jjlncb I proceed
upon.

156 CRITICAL EXAMINATION

The words Jlx and determine, though they may ap-
pear fo at firft fight, are not fynonymous. We Jlx what
is loofe ; we determine what is uncircumfcribed. They
may be viewed, therefore, as applied here, with peculiar
delicacy. .

The notion of tbefe words, is rather harfh, and is not
fo commonly tiled as the meaning of tbcfe words — as I
intend to make ufe cf flcm in tbe thread of my /peculations
—this is evidently faulty. A metaphor is improperly
mixed with the words in the literal fenfe. Thefubjcff
•wbicb I proceed upon, is an ungraceful clofe of a fen-
tence ; it fhould have been, tbe fvljeci upon nubicb I
proceed.

I mujl therefore drfiri". bim to remember, tbat ly tbe pha-
fures of tbe imagination, I mean only fucb pleafures as
arife originally fromjtgbt, and tbat I divide tbefe pleafures
into two kinds.

This fentence begins in a manner too fimilar to the
preceding — I mean only fucb pleafures — the adverb only
is not here in its proper place: It is not defigned to qua-
lify the verb mean, but fucb pleafures, and ought con-
fequently to have been placed immediately after the
latter.

My dejign being, f.rft cf all, to difcourfe cf tbofc pri-
mary pleafures of tbe imagination, lubicb entirely proceed
from fucb oljetts as are before our eyes ; and in tbe next
place, to fpeak of tbofe fecondary pleafures of tbe imagina-

OF MR. ADDISON'S STYLE. 157

tion, which flow frym the ideas of viftble objc&s, when
tbe otyei&s are not actually before tie eve, but are called
uf> into our memories, or formed into agreeablt •vifiom
things, tbat are either alfint or Jiflitious.

This fentence is fomewhat closrged by a tedious
phrafeology— My dfjign being frjl of all to ttifccurfe—
in tie nevt place tofpeak of—fueb okjetis as are before ovr
eyes— things tbat are eitber abfcht or JicTilioiis . Several
words might have been here omitted> and the fty'e ren-
dered more neat and compact.

The pleaftiris of the imagination, taken in their full
extent, are not fo grofs as tbofe of ' Jenje, ner fa rejined us
tbofe of the under/landing.

This fcntence is clear and elegant.

The lafi are indeed more preferable, lecaufe tb<y are
founded on fome neiv knowledge or improvement in the
mind of man : Yet it muft be confejfid, tbat tbofe of
imagination arc as great and as tranf porting at tbe. oiler.

The phrafe. more preferable, is fo palpable an inaccu-
racy, that one is fnrprized how it could have eicaped
the obfervation of Mr. Addilbn. The propofition .con-
tained in the latf member of this fentence, is neither
clearly nor elegantly ex; relied — It muft be cvnfeffed,
tbat tbofe of tbe imagination are as great, and as tranf-
fcrting as tbe other. In the beginning of this lenience,
P

158 CRITICAL EXAMINATION

he had called the pleafures of the understanding the
la/I; and he concludes with obferving, that thole of
the imagination are as great and tranfpoiting as the
itler. Befides that the other makes not a proper con-
traft with the laft, it is lels doubtful ; whether by the
ttber, are meant the pleafures of the underftanding or
the pleafures of fenfe ; though no doubt it was intended
to refer to the pleafures of the underftanding only.

A beautiful frofpefl deliglts tie foul as mud as a de-
nonflraiion; and a definition in Homer las cbarmed more
rcc..lers titan a chapter in driftotle.

This is a good illuftration of what had been aflerted,
and is expreffed with that elegance for which Mr. Ad-
difon is ditunguifhed.

Befijes, tbe phafures of tie imagination lave tin ad-
vantage abcve tbofe of tie underjlanding, that they art
obvious, and more eafy to be acquired.

This fentence is unexceptionable.

/.' is but opening tie eye, and tie fcene enters.

Though this is lively and pi&urefque, yet we mnft
remark a fmall inaccuracy — A fcene cannot be faid to
enter ; an attor enters ; but a fcene appears, or frefents

Tie colours paint tbemfelves on tie fancy, iviib •very
little attention of tbougbt or application of mind in tie
beholder.

ep MR. ADDISON'S STYLE. 15()

This is beautiful and elegant, and well fuited to thofe
pleafures of the imagination, of which the author is
treating.

We. art ftruck, we know not bout, with toe fymmetry of
any thing <we fee j and immediately afftnt to tie. beauty of
an obj-:tf, 'without enquiring into the particular caufes and
occafions tf if.

We ajfent to the truth of a propofition ; but cannot,
without impropriety, be faid to ajfent to the beauty of an
objetf. In the conclulion, both particular and occajiom
are fuperfluous words ; and the pronoun it, is in feme
mealure doubtful, whether as referring to beauty or to
objed.

A man of polite imagination is let into a great many
pleafures, that the vulgar are not capable of receiving.

It may here, perhaps, be objected, that the word
polite, is oftener applied to manners than to the imagi-
nation.— The ufe of that inftead of <wbicb is too com-
mon with Mr. Addifon. Except in cafes where it is
neceffary to avoid an ungraceful repetition, ivbicb is
efleemed preferable to tbat, and was undoubtedly fo in
the prefent inftance.

He can convcrfe <whb a pitlurc, and Jind an agreeable

companion in ajlatue. He meets ivitb a fecret refrfjbment

in a description ; and often feeh a greater fatisfaftion in

tbe profpett of fclds and meadows, tban anotber does in

P2

l6() CRITICAL EXAMINATION

••

tie pojftjjlon. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in

ivcry. tb'nig be fees ; and makes tie moft rude unciJ:

•

farts of nature adrmnifter to bis 'pleasures : So that be
looks upon the world, as it 'were, in another ligbt, and-dif-
ccvers in it a iniiititude of cbarms tbat conceal tbemfshcs
from the generality of mankind.

This fentence is eafy, flowing, and harmonious. We
muft, however, obferve a flight inaccuracy — It gives
bim a kind of property — to this it there is no antecedent
in the whole paragraph. To diieover its connexion,
we mull look back to the third fentence preceding1,
which begins with, a man rf a polite imagination* This
phrafe, polite imagination, is the only antecedent to which
it can refer) and even that is not a proper antecedent,
fmcc it ftands in the genitive cafe, as the qualification
only of a man.

Tbere are, indeed, but very few- wlo k?.t>TV bow io be
idle and innocent, or bave a relijb of any pleafures tbat an
not criminal\ every diverfion tbey take is at tbe experje of
Jome one virtue or another j a-;d their very jirft Jlej> out of
bujinefs is into vice and folly.

This fentence is truly elegant, mufical, and corrcft,

A man Jbould endeavour, tbercfore, to make tbe fpbere
of Us innocent fleaftires as wide as poffible, tbat be may
retire into tben witbfafcty, and fnd in them, fucba falis^
faflion as a ivife man would not blujb to take.

This is a proper fentence, and expofed to no objection.

OP MR. ADDISON'S STYLE.

Of tils nature are tbofe of tie imagination, wind do
not require fuel a bent of tbougbt as is necejjfary to our
more ferious employments ; nor, at tbe fame time , fttjfer tie
mind to Jink into that indolence and retniffhefs, which are
apt to accompany our more fenfual delights ; but like a,
gentle exercife to tbe faculties, a<wak,'n them from Jlotb
and idlenefs, tvitbout putting ibexi upon a?y labour tr
difficulty.

The beginning of this fentence is incorrect — Of tbis
nature, fays he, are tbofe of tbe imagination. It might
be afked, of what nature ? For the preceding fentence
had not defcribed the nature of any clafs of pleafures.
He had faid, that it was every man's duty to make the
fphere of his innocent pleafures as extenfive as poffible,
in order that, within that fphere, he might find a fafe
retreat and a laudable fatisfaflion. The tranfition
therefore, is made loofely. It would have been better
if he had faid, " This advantage we gain," or " This
" fatisfa&ion we enjoy," by means of the pleafures of
the imagination. The reft of the fentence is beautiful
and unexceptionable.

We migbt bere add, tbat tbe pleafures of tbe fancy are
wore conducive to bealtb than tbofe cf tbe under/landing,
•wbicb are worked out by dint of tbinking, and attended
ivitb 4oo violent a labour of tbe brain.

A minute critic might here obferve, that worked out
P 3

]62 CRITICAL EXAMINATION

by dint of thinking, is a phrafe which borders too much

on the ftyle of common converfation, to be admitted,
j . «

with propriety, in.to a polifhed competition.

Delightful fee nes, whether in nature, fainting, or poetry,
have a kindly influence on the body, as 'well as the mind,
and not only ferve to char and brighten the imagination^
tut are able to difpcrfe grief and melancholy, and to fct
ibe animal fpirits in pleajing and agreeable motions. For
ibis reafon, Sir Francis Bacon, in bis FJJay upon Healtb,
las not thought it improper to prefcribe to bis reader a poem,
or a profpecJ, ivbere be particularly dijjuades bim from
knotty and fubtile dijquifitions, and advifes bim to purfue
Jludies tbat fill tie mind ivitb fphndid and illujlrious ob-
jects, as biftories, fables, and contemplations of nature.

In the latter of thefc two fentences, a member of the
period is improperly placed — Where be particularly dif-
fuades bim from knotty and fubtile difquijitions, bas not
ibougbt it improper, &c.

/ bave, in tbis paper-, by way of introduction, fettled
ibe notion of tbofe pleafures of ibe imagination, wbicb arc
tbe fubjefl of my prejent undertaking 5 and endeavoured,
fy feveral confederations, to recommend to my readers tbe
purfuit of tbofe pleafures; I Jball, in my next paper, exa-
mine tbe federal fources from wbence tbefe pleafures art
derived.

Thefe two concluding fentences furnifti examples of
the proper collocation of circumftances in a period. We

OF MR. ADDTSON'S STYLE. 1(33

have formerly fhewed, that a judicious collocation of

them is a mutter of dilliruity. II;-:d the following in-

'

cidental circumftances— by way of iatroduflion—by fe-

. . ' J

•veral coj;fideratiom — in tbi< paper — in tec next paper

been placed in any other fituution, the lentence would
neither have been fo neat nor fo clear as it is by the
prefent conflru&ion.

ELOQUENCE.

ORIGIN OF ELOQUENCE.

GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.

DEMOSTHENES.

ELOQUENCE is the art of periuafion. Its moil
eflcntia! requifites are, folid argument, clear method,
and nn appearance of fincerity in the fpeaker, with
fuch graces of ftyle and utterance, as ihall invite and
command attention. Good fenfe muft be its foundation.
V. itiiout this, no mail can be truly eloquent ; iince
fools can perfuade none but fools. Before we can per-
r.:p.(!e a man of fen'V, we mull convince him. Con-
vincing and perfuading, though fometimes confounded,
are of very different im ort. Conviction afie&s the un-
derftanding only ; perfnafi< n, the will ai.d the practice.
It is the bufinef« of the phi!n(b> her to convince us of
truth ; it is that of the orator 10 perfuade us to a 61
comformabh to it, by engaging our affections in its fa-
vour. Con vision is, however, one avenue to the heart -,
and it is that which an orator inuftfirtt attempt to gain j
for no perfuafim can be flable, which is not founded
on convitf ion. But the orator muft not be fatisfied with
convincing; he muft addrefs himfelf to the paffions ; he
muft paint to the fancy, and touch, the heart) and

ELOQUENCE.

165

hepce, befide folid argument and clear method, all the

0

captivating and interefting arts, both of compoiitlon and
'.nriation, enter into the idea of eloquence.

Elortueiice may be confidered as confifting of three
kinds, or degrees. The fir ft, and mbft inferior, is that
v.aich endeavours only to pleate the hearers. Such, in
general, 'L the eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural
orations, adclreflks to great men, an i other harangues
of this k\ad. This orna-nental fortW compofition may
innocently ainufe and entertain the mind ; and may be
connected, at the fame time, wnh very ufeful fenti-
roents. But it muft be acknowledged, that where the
fpeaker Intends, only to fliine and to pleafe, there is no
fmall danger of art being ftrained into oftentation, and
of the compofition becoming tirefome and infii id.

A fecond arid a fuperior degree of eloquence is, when
the fpeaker propofes, not merely to pleafe, but like-
wife to inform, to inftruft, to convince} when his art
is employed in removing prejudices againft hirnfelf and
his caufe ; in fe'leflting the moft proper arguments, fta-
ting them with the greateO: force, difpofing of them in
the belt order, exprefling and delivering them with pro-
priety and beauty ; and thereby preparing us to paf*
that judgment, or favour that fide of the caufe, to
which he defires to bring ns. v ithin this degi^ee,
chietly, is employed the eloquence of the bar.

Yet there remains a third, and ftill higher degree of

£?/-

ORIGIN OP ELOQUENCE.

eloquence, by which we are not only convinced, but
are interefte-.l, agitated, and carried along with tfre
fpeaker: our pailions arire vMth his: we ihare all hh
emotions; we love, we hate, we ref-ut, as he inspires
us ; and are prepared to refolve, or to aft, vviih vigour
and warmth. Debate, in popular aifemblies, opens
the moft ex ten five field for the exercile of this fpecies of
eloquence ; and the pulpit likewise admits it.

It is neceifary to remark, that this high fpecies of
eloquence is always the offspring of pafiion. By paf-
fion, we mem that ftate of the mind in -which it Is agi-
tated and fired by Tome oMrft it has in view. Hencs
the univerfally acknowledged power of emhu£'!m in
publick fpeakers, affe6ting their anc'.ienve Hence all
ftudied declamation/ and laboured ''ornaments of ftyle,
which {hew the nund to be con] and unmoved, are fo
incompatible with pf-rfusfive eloqut-nce. Hence every
kind of affedtarion in gefture ahr pronunciation, dimi-
nifli fo much the merits ut a fpeaker. Hence, in fine,
the nc.ceffity of being, and of being believed to be, dif-
interefted and in earnelt, in order to perfuade.

In tracing the origin of eloquence, it is not neceflary
to go far back into the ea:ly ages oi the world, or to
fearch for it among the monuments of Eaftern or
Egyptian antiquity. In thole ages, it is true, there was
a certain kind of eloquence ; but it was more nearly
allied to poetry than to what we properly call oratory.
Whilft the intercourfe among men was unfrequent, and

GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. l(>7

force and ftrength were the principal means emplo) ed
in deciding con trover fies, the arts of oratory ;.n-i prrlua-
fion, of reafoning and debate, could be little known.
The firft empires thai arofe, the Attyrian and Egyptian,
were of the defpotic kind. A (ingle perlbn, or at moft
a few, held the rdns of government. The multitude
were accuftomcd to a blind obedience ; they were
driven, not perluaded ; and confequcntly, none of
thofe refinements of fociety, wi.ich make \ ublic fpeak-
ing an obje6l of importance, were as yet introduced.

It is not till the origin of the Grecian Republics, that
we perceive any remarkable appearances of eloquence
as the art of perfuafion ; and thet'e opened to it iuch a
field as it never had before, and, perhaps, has never
again, fince that time, experienced. Greece was di-
vided into a number of little ftates. Thefe were go-
verned, at firft, by kings, wo were, not unmeaningly,
termed tyrants, and who being fucceffively, by the wif-
dom of the people, expelled from their dominions, there
fprung up a multitude of democratical governments,
founded nearly upon the fame plan, animated by the
fame glorious fpirit of freedom, mutually jealous, and
rivals of each other. Among thefe, Athens drone forth
with a fu erior Inftre. In this ftate, arts of every
kind, but elpecially, eloquence was brought to the high-
eft perfection. We fhi.ll pafs over the orators who
fkmrilhed in the early period of this Republic, and take
a view of the great Demofthenes, in whom eloquence

168 DEMOSTHENES.

fhone forth with the higheft and moft unrivaled fylen-
dour. Not formed by nature either to pleaie o: to per-
faade. he ftruggled with, and furmounted, the moft
formidable impediments. He ihut hirplelf up in a cave,
that he might ttudy with lef- diftracVion. He declaimed
by the fea fhore, that he might be uied to the noife of
a tumultuous aflembly ; and with pebbles in his mouth,
that he might correft a defeat in hi.s fpeech. He prac-
tifed at home with a n:iked fword hanging over his
fhoulder, that he might check an ungraceful nfotion to
which he was fubje/t. Hence, the example of this
great man affoids the higheft encou^uiunt to every
ftudent of eloquence, fince it fl;ew.s hay far art ai:d
application could avail, for acc.r.iiing an excellence
•which nature apj;ea;ed willing to iuv.e denied.

No orator had ever a finer field than Demofthenes,
in his Olynthiacs and Philippics, \\hich nre his capital
orations; and undoubtedly, to the greotnefs of the fub-
jeft, and to that integrity and public f; irit wl;ich breathe
in them, they owe a large portion of their merit. The
fubjeft is, to excite the indignation of his countrymen
againft Philip the Macedon, the public enemy of the
liberties of Greece; and to guard them againft the trea-
cherous meafures, by which that crafty 'yrant endea-
voured to lull them into a neg!e6t of their danger. To
attain this end, we fee him ufe every proper. means to
animate a people, diftinguifhed by julticf, humanity,
and valour ; but in many inftances become corri^ t and

DEMOSTHENES. l6l)

degenerate. He boldly accufes them of venality, indo-
lence, and indifference to the public good ; while, at
the fame time, he reminds them of their former glory,
and of their prefent refources. His contemporary ora-
tors, who were bribed by Philip, and who perfuaded the
people to peace, he openly reproaches as traitors to their
country. He not only prompts to vigorous meafures,
but teaches how they are to be carried into execution.
His orations are (trongly animated, and full of the im-
petuofity and ardour of public fpirit. His compofition
is not diftinguilhed by ornament and fplendour. It is
an energy of thought, peculiarly his own, which forms
his character, and raifes him above his fpecies. He
feems not to attend to words, but to things. We forget
the orator, and think of the fubjeft. He has no parade
and oftentation j no ftudied introductions j but is like a
man full of his fubjecl:, who, after preparing his audi-
ence by a fentence or two, for the reception of plain
truths, enters dire&ly on bufinefs.

The ftyle of Demofthenes is ftrong and concife ;
though fometimes, it muft be confefled, harm and
abrupt. His words are highly expreflive, and his ar-
rangement firm and manly. Negligent of leffer gra-
ces, he feems to have aimed at that fublime which lies
in fentiment. His a6lion and pronunciation are faid to
have been uncommonly vehement and ardent ; which,
from the manner of his writings, we fliould readily be-

a

/ DEMOSTHENES.

lieve. Hh cha rafter appears to have been of the auflere,
rather than of the gentle kind. He is always grave,
ferious, paffionate ; never degrading hinifelf, nor at-
tempting any thing like pleafantry. If his Admirable
eloquence be in any refpeft faulty, it is that he ibme-
times borders on the hard and dry. He may be thought
to want fcnoothnefs and grace ; which is attributed to
his imitating too clofely the minner of Thucydides,
•who was his great model for ftyle, and whole hiitory
he is faid to have tranfcribed eight times with his own
hand. But thefe defefts are more than attoned for, by
the mafterly force of mafcnline eloquence, which, as it
overpowered all who heard it, cannot, in the prefent
dav, be rt?.d without emotion.

ROMAN ELOQUENCE-CICERO.
MODERN ELOQUENCE.

.AVING treated of the flate of eloquence among
the Greeks, we now proceed to confider its progrefs
among the Romans $ where we (hall find one model,
at leaft, of eloquence, in its moft fplendid and culti-
vated form. The Romans derived their eloquence,
poetry, and learning from the Greeks, and were, con-
fequently, far inferior to them in genius for all thefe
accomplimments. They had neither their vivacity nor
fenfibility ; their paffions were not fo eafily moved, nor
their conceptions fo vigorous ; in comparifon of them
they were a phlegmetic people. Their language bore
a refemblance to their character j it was regular, firm,
and flately j but wanted that exprefiive fimplicity, that
flexibility to fuit every different fpecies of competition,
for which the Greek tongue is peculiarly diftinguimed.
And hence, by comparifon, we (hall always find, that
in the Greek productions there is more native genius ;
in the Roman, more regularity and art.

Since the Roman government, during the Republic,
was of the popular kind, public fpeaking, no doubt,
became early the menus of acquiring power, honcur,
Q 2

ROMAN ELOQUENCE.

and diftinction. But in the rude, unpolifhed times of
the ftate, their fpeaking could hardly deferve the name
of eloquence. It was not till a fhort time preceding
the age of Cicero, that the Roman orators rofe into
any reputation. Craflus and Antonius feem to have
been the moft eminent ; but as none of their produc-
tions are extant, nor any of Hortenfius's, who was
Cicero's rival at the bar, it is not neceflary to tranfcribe
what Cicero has faid of them, and of the character of
their eloquence.

The object moft worthy of our attention is Cicero
himfelf, whofe name alone fuggefts to us whatever is
fplendid in oratory. With his life and character, in
other refpects, we are not at prefent concerned. We
{hall view him only as an eloquent fpeaker, and endea-
vour to remark both his virtues and his defects. His
virtues are, beyond doubt, fuperlatively great. In all
his orations his art is confpicuous. He begins com-
monly, with a regular exordium, and with much ad-
drefs prepoflefles the hearers, and fludies to gain their
affections. His method is clear, and his arguments are
arranged with exact propriety. In a fuperiour clearnefs
of method, he has an advantage over Demofthenes.
Every thing appears in its proper place ; he never tries
to move till he has attempted to convince; and in
moving, particularly the Ibfter paffions, he is highly
fuccefsful. No one ever knew the force of words bet-
ter than Cicero. He rolls them along with the greateft

CICERO. 173

beauty and magnificence ; and in the ftruchire of his
fentences, is eminently curious and exact. Me is al-
ways full and flowing; never abrupt. lie amplifies
every thing ; yet though his manner is generally dilFufe
it is often happily varied, and accommodated to the
fubject. When an important public object roulVd hi*
mind, and demanded indignation and force, he d..-p.irts
confiderably from that loofe and declamatory manne.r
to which he at other times is addicted,- and becomes
very forcible and vehement.

This great orator, however, is not without his de-
fects. In moft of his orations there is too much art,
even carried to a degree of oftcntation. He feenls often
defirous of obtaining admiration, rather than of oper-
ating conviction. He is fometimes, therefore, fhowy
rather than folid ; and diffufe where he ought to have
been urgent. His fentences are always round and ibno-
rous; they cannot be accu fed of monotony, fi nee they
poiTes variety of cadence ; but from too great a fond-
nefs for magnificence, he is on fome occafions deficient
in ftrength. Though the fervices which he had per-
formed to his country were very considerable, yet he is
too much his own panegyrift. Ancient manners, which
impofed fewer reftraints on the fide of decorum, may
in fome degree excufe, but cannot entirely juftify his
vanity.

Whether Demoithenes or Cicero be the moft perfcft
Q3

174 ROMAN ELOQUENCE.

orator, is a queftion on which critics are by no means
agreed. Fenelon, the celebrated Archbifliop of Cambray,
and author of Telemachus, Teems, in our opinion, to
have ftated their merits with great juftice and peripicu-
ity. His judgment is given in his Reflexions on Rhe-
toric and Poetry. We lhall tranflate the paflage,
though not, it is to be feared, without lofing much of
the fpirit of the original. " I do not hefitate to de-
" clare," fays he, " that I think Demofthenes fuperior
" to Cicero. I am perfuaded no one can admire
" Cicero more than I do. He adorns whatever he at-
" tempts. He does honour to language. He difpofes
" of words in a manner peculiar to himfelf. His ftyle
" has great variety of character. Whenever he pleafes,
«' he is even concife and vehement ; for inftance, againft
"Catiline, againft Verres, againft Anthony. But or-
" nament is too vifible in his writings. His art is won-
" derful, but it is perceived. When the orator is pro-
" viding for the fafety of the Republic, he forgets not
" himlelf, nor permits others to forget him. Demoft-
" henes feems to efcape from himfelf, and to fee nothing
" but his country. He feeks not elegance of expreflionj
" unfought for he poflefles it. He is fuperior to admi-
" ration. He makes ufe of language, as a modeft man
" does of drefs, only to cover him. He thunders, he
" lightens. He is a torrent which carries every thing
" before it. We cannot criticife, becaufe we are not
" ourfelves. His fubje£t enchains our attention, and
" makes us forget his language. We lofe him from

MODERN ELOQUENCE. 175

" our fight : Philip alone occupies our minds. I am
" delicti .! with both thefV orators j but I confefs that
" I am lef-- affected by tlie infinite art and magnificent
rt eloquence of Cicero, than by the rapid fimplicity of
" Demofthenes."

The empire of plopuence, among the Romans, was
exceedingly fhort. It expired with Cicero. Nor can
we wonder at this being the cafe, fince liberty was no
more ; and fince the government of Rome was deli-
vered over to a fucceilion of the moft execrable ty-
rants that ever difgraced and fcourged the human
race.

Jn the decline of the Roman Empire, the introduction
of Chriitianity gave rife to a new kind of eloquence, in
the apologies, fermons and paftoral writings of the fa-
But none of them afforded very juft models of
eloquence. Their language, as foon as we defcend to
the third or f;» tu becomes harfh ; and they

are, generally, infected with the tafte of that age, a
love of fwoln and drained thoughts, and of the play of
words.

As nothing occurs that deferves attention in the mid-
dle ages, we pafs now to the ftate of eloquence in mo-
dern times. Here it muft be acknowledged, that in no
European nation, public fpeaking has been valued fo
highly, or cultivated with fo much care, as in Greece
and Rome. The genius of the world appears, in this

MODERN ELOQUENCE.

refpeft, to have undergone fomc. alteration. The two
nations where we might ex>e£t to find raoft of the
f.-int of eloquence, are France and Great Bri'ain :
France, on account of the diftinguifhed turn of its
inhabitants towards ail the liberal arts, and of the en-
couragement which, for more than a century paft, thofe
arts have received from the public : Great Britain, on
account of its free government, and the liberal fpirit
and genius of its people. Yet in neither of thefe
countries has the talent of oratory rifen near to the de-
gree of its ancient fplendour.

Several reafons may be given, why modern eloquence
has been fo confined, and humble in its efforts. In the
firft place, it feems, that this change muft, in part, be
afcribe'l to that accurate turn of thinking, which has
been fo much cultivated in modern times. Our public
fpeakers are obliged to be more referved than the an-
cients, in their endeavours to elevate the imagination
and warm the paffions ; and, by the influence of pre-
vailing tafte, their own genius is, perhaps, in too great
a degree, rendered chafte and delicate. It is probable
alfo, that we afcribe to our corre&nefs and good fenfe,
what is chiefly owing to the phlegm and natural cold-
nefs of our difpofition. For the vivacity and fenfibi-
lity of the Greeks and Romans, more particularly of the
former, feem to have been much fuperior to ours, and
to have communicated to them a higher relifh for all
the beauties of oratory.

MODERN ELOQUENCE. 177

Though the Parliament of our own nation be the
nobleft field winch Europe at prefent affords to a public
fpeaker, yet eloquence has ever been there a more
feeble inftmment than in the popular affembues of
Greece and Rome. Under fome foreign reigns, the
iron hand of arbitrary power checked its efforts ; and,
in later times, minifterial influence has generally ren-
dered it of fmall importance: At the bar, our difad-
vantage, in comparifon of the ancients, is confiderable.
Among them, the. judges were commonly numerous j
the laws were few and fimple ; the decifi^n of caufes
was left, in a great meafure, to equity, and the fenfe of
mankind. Hence the field for judicial eloquence was
large and am, le. But at prefent, the fyftem of law is
become much more complicated. The knowledge of it
is rendered fo laborious an attainment, as to constitute
the bufinefs of a man's life. Speaking is, therefore,
only a fecondary accomplishment, for which he has little
leifure.

With refpeft to the pulpit, it has been highly difad-
vantageous, that the habit of reading fermons, inftead
of repeating them, has prevailed fo univerfally in Eng-
land. By this habit, indeed, accuracy may have been
introduced, but eloquence has been much enfeebled.
Another circumftance too, has been prejtidi- Sal. The
feftaries and fanatics, before the Restoration, ufed a
warm, zealous, and popular manner of prenching; and
their adherents afterwards continued to diftinguilh

178 MODERN ELOQUENCE.

themfelves by a fimilar ardour. A hatred of thefe fedts
drove the eftablifhed church into the oppofite extreme,
of a ftudied coolnefs of expreffion. Hence, from the
art of perfuafton, which preaching ought ever to be, it
has patted, with m, into mere reafoning and inftrvuStion.

ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES.

T
JL FIE foundation of every fpccics of eloquence, 1$

good fenfe, and loiid thought. It lliould be the firft
fiudy of him \vho means to addrefs any popular afiem-
bly, to be prcvioufly mafter of the butinefs on which
he is tofpeak; to be well provided with matter and
argument ; and to reft upon thefe the chief ftrefs. This
Jwill give to language an air of manlinefs and itrength,
which is a principal inftrument of perfuafion. Orna-
ment, if there be a genius for it, will fucceed of courle j
and at any rate, it deferves only a fecondary regard.

To become a perfuafive fpeaker in a popular aflembly,
it feems to be a capital rule, that a man fhould always
be perfuaded of whatever he recommends to others.
Never, if it can be avoided, fliould he efpoufe any Mde
of the argument, but what he believes to be the juft
one. All high eloquence muft be the offspring of real,
unaffected paili'm. This makes every man perfuafne,
and gives a force to his genius, which it cannot other-
wife poflefs.

Debate, in popular aflemblies, feldom allows the
fpeaker that previous preparation, which the pulpit al-
way3, and the bar fometimes, admits. A general pre-

180 ELOQUENCE OF

judice prevails, and not an unjuft one, againft fet
fpeeches in public meetings. At the opening of a de-
bate, they may, indeed, fometimes be introduced with
propriety ; but as the debate advances, they become
improper ; they commonly lofe the appearance of being
fuggefted by the bufinels that is going on. Study and
oftentation are apt to be too con fpic nous ; and, con-
fequently, though atlmired as elegant, they are feldom
fo perluafive as more free and uncoultrained difcourfes.

This, however, does not by any means prohibit the
premeditation of the fubjecl on which we intend to
fpeak. With refpecl to the matter, we cannot be too ac-
curate in our preparation ; but will) regard to words and
expreliion, it is very poliible to be fo afliduous, as to
render our fpeech ftiffand precife. A few fhort notes
of the fubftance of the difcouvfe, are, however, not
only allowable, but of coniiderable Service, to thofe,
cfpecially, who are beginning to fpeak in pub'ic. They
will teach them a degree of accuracy, which, if they
fpeak frequently, they are in danger too loon of lofing.
They will accuftom them to a diftinft arrangement,
without which, eloquence, however great, cannot pro-
duce entire conviction.

Po ular aflemHies afford frope for the moft animated
manner oi public f, caking. P flion is eafily ext'ittd in
a great alfembly, where the n)o\ements arc communi-
cated by mutual fympalhy between the orator an 'l;e
audience. That ardour of fpeech, that vehemence and

POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 181

\\armth of fentiment, which proceed from a mind ani-
mated and infpired by fome great and public object, con-
ftitute the peculiar character of popular eloquence, in its
higheft degree of perfection.

The warmth, however, which we exprefs, nmft be
always fuited to the fubject ; fince it would be ridicu-
lous to introduce great vehemence concerning a matter
which is either of fmall importance, or which, by its na-
ture requires to be treated of with calmnefs. We muft
alfo be careful -not to counterfeit warmth without feel-
ing it. The beft rule is, to follow nature ; and never
to attempt a ftrain of eloquence which is not prompted
by our own genius. A fpeaker may acquire both repu-
tation and influence, by a calm argumentative manner,
To reach the pathetic and fublime of oratory, requires
thofe ftrong fenfibilities of mind, and that high power of
exprefiion, which are the lot of a very fmall portion of
mankind.

Even when vehemence is juftified by the fubjetf, and
prompted by genius ; when warmth is felt, not feigned j
we muft, however, be cautious, left impetuofity cany
us beyond the bounds of pi udence and propriety. If the
fpeaker lofe the command of 1 iinfelf, he will foon ceafe
to influence his hearers. He ihould begin with moder-
ation ; and endeavour to warm his audience gradually
and equally with himfelf. For if their paflfions be not
in unifon with his, the difcord will foon become difa-
II

ELOQUENCE OF

greeable and offenfive. Refpeft for his hearers fhould
always. fey a decent reftraint upon his warmth, and pre-
vent it from carrying him beyond proper limits. When
this is the cafe, when a i],eaker is fo far matter of him-
felf as to prefcrve cloie attention to argument, and even
to fome degree of accurate expreflion, this felf-com-
mand, this effort of reafon, in the mid ft of paflion, con-
tributes in the higheft degree, both to pleafe and to
perfuade. The advantages of pallion are afforded for
the purpofes of perfuafion, without that confufion and
diforder which are its ufual attendants.

In the moft animated ftrain of popular fpeaking, we
inuft always preferve a due regard to what the public
ear will receive without difguft. Without an attention
to this, an injudicious imitation of ancient orators might
betray a fpeaker into a boldnefs of manner, with which
the coolnefs of modern tafte would be diifatisfied and dif-
pleafed. It is alfo neceflary, to attend with care to all
the decorums of time, place, and character. No ardour
of eloquence can atone for the neglect of thefe. No
one fhould attempt to fpeak in public, without forming
to himfelf a juft and Uriel: idea of what is fuitable to his
age and character; what is fuitable to the fubjecl, the
hearers, the place, and the occafion. On this idea he
fhould adjuft the whole train and manner of his elo-
cution.

What degree of concifenefs or diffufenefs is fuited to
popular eloquence, it is not eafy to determine with pre-

POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 183

cilion. A diffufe manner is generally confidered as the
moft proper. It feems, however, that there is danger of
erring in this refpeft; and that, by too diffufe a ftyle,
public fpeakers often loie more in point of ftrengtb,
than they gain by the fulnels of their illuftration. Ex-
celfive concifenefs, indeed, muft be cautioufly avoided.
We muft explain and inculcate ; but confine ourfelves
within certain limits. We never forget, that however
we may be delighted with hearing ourfelves fpeak, every
audience is apt to tire ; and the moment they grow
weary, our eloquence becomes ufelefs. It is better, in,
general, to fay too little than too much ; to place our
thought in one firong point of view, and reft it there,
than by fhewing it in every light, and pouring forth a
profufion of words upon it, exhauft the attention of our
hearers, and leave them languid and fatigued.

n

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAIL

T

A HE objects of eloquence at the bar, and in popu-
lar nlfemblies, are commonly different. In the latter,
the orator endeavours principally to perfuade ; to deter-
mine his hearers to fome choice, or conduct, as good,
fit, or ufeful. He confequently applies himfelf to every
principle of action in our nature ; to the pafiions, and to
the heart, as well as to the underftanding. At the bar,
however, conviction is the principal object. There the
fpeaker's duty is not to perfuade the judges to what is
good or ufeful, but to exhibit what is juft and true ; and
confequently, it is to the underftanding that his eloquence
is chiefly to be addrefled.

At the bar, fpeakers addrefs themfelves to one, or to
a few judges, who are generally perfons of age, gra-
vity, and dignity of character. There, thofe advantages
which a mixed and numerous aflembly affords for the
rxcrcife of all the arts of eloquence, are not admiffible.
Paflion does not rife fo eafily ; the fpeaker is heard with
great coolnefs ; he is watched with more feverity ; and
would expofe himfelf to ridicule, fliould he adopt that
high and animated tone which is fuited only to a crowd-
ed and mixed aiTembly. Eefide-, at the bar, the field

ELOQUENCE OP THE BAR.

of fpeaking is very limited and confined. Law and fta-
tiue are the ramparts, beyond which it is not allowed
to pafs. Imagination is fettered. The advocate fees
before him the line, the fquare, and the compafs.
Thefe, it is his chief bufinefs to be conftantly applying
to the fubjeds under debate.

Hence the eloquence of the bar is of a much more
limited, morefober, and chaftifed kind, than that of po-
pular aflemblies ; and confequently the judicial orations
of the ancients, muft not be confidered as exact models of
that kind of fpeaking which is adapted to the prefent
ftate of the bar. With them, ftricl law was much Icfs
an object of attention than it is at prefent. In the times
of Demofthenes and^Cicero, the municipal ftatutes were
few, fimple, and general • 'and the decifiou of caufes
was left, in a great meafure, to the equity and common
fenfe of the judges. Eloquence, rather than jurifpru-
dence, was the ftudy of the pleaders. Cicero informs
us, that, three months ftudy would make a complete ci-
vilian ; nay, it was even thought that a man might be a
good pleader without any previous application. Among
the Romans, there was a fet of men called Pragmatic!,
whofe office it was to fupply the orator with all the law
knowledge which his caufe required, and which he dii-
pofed of in that popular form, and ornamented with thofe
colours of eloquence, which were moft fitted for influ-
encing the judges.

R 3

ELOQUENCE OF THE EAR.

It may alfo be obferved, that the civil and criminal
judges, both in Greece and Rome, were ufually much
more numerous than with us, and formed a kind of po-
pular aflembly. The celebrated tribunal of the Areopa-
gus at Athens, confifted of fifty judges at the lead.
In Rome, the Judices Selefii, as they were called, were
always numerous, and had the office and power of both
judge and jury. In the noted caufe of Milo, Cicero
fpoke to fifty one Judices Selifli ; and thus had the ad-
vantage of addrrfling his whole pleading, not to one,
or to a few learned judges, of the point of law, as at
prefent, but to an aflembly of Roman citizens. Hence
thofe arts of popular eloquence which he employed with
fuch fuccefs. Hence certain practices, which would be
confidered as theatrical by us, were common at the
HoHiatr bar"; fuch as introducing not only the accufed
perfon, drefled in deep mourning, but prefenting to the
judges his family, and Ms young children, endeavour-
ing to excite pity by their cries and tears.

The foundation of a lawyer's reputation and fuccefs,
muft, in the prefent times, be always laid in a profound
knowledge of his profeffion, If his abilities as a fpeaker
be ever fo eminent, yet if his knowledge of the law be
reckoned fuperficial, few will choofe to engage him in
their defence. Befides previous ftudy, and an ample
itock of acquired knowledge, another thing infeparable
from the fuccefs of every pleader is, a diligent and pain-
ful attention to every caufe with which he is entrufted,,

ELOQUENCE OB1 THE BAR. 187

fo as to be compleatly matter of all the fads and cir-
cumttances with which it is comie&ed. By this mean:?,
he will, in a great meafure, be prepared for the argu-
ments of his opponents ; and being previoufly acquainted
with the weak parts of his own caufe, he will be able
to fortify them in the beft manner, againft the attacks
of his adverfaries.

Though the antient popular and vehement manner of
pleading be now in a great meafure fuperleded, we muft
not conclude, that there is no room for eloquence at
the bar, and that the ftudy of it is become fuperflnous.
There is, perlvips, no fcene of public fpeaking where
eloquence is more requifite The drynefs and fubtilty
of the fubj<vSts ufually agitated at the bar, require, more
than any other, a certain kind of expreflion, in order
to command attention ; to give proper weight to the ar-
guments that are employed ; and to prevent whatever
the pleader advances from paffing unregarded. The
«ffe6l of good fpeaking is always highly confpicuous.
There is as much difference in the hnpreflion we receive
from a cold, dry, and confufed fpeaker, and that made
upon us by one who pleads the fame caufe with ele-
gance, oider, and ftrength, as there is between our con-
ception of an objeft, when viewed by the glimmering of
twilight, and when bchejd by the wide effulgence of
•a fummer's noon.

Purity and neatnefs of expreflion is, in this fpecies of
eloquence, chiefly to be ftudied ; a ftyle perfpicuous

188 ELOGUENCE OF THE BAR.

and proper, not needleflly overcharged with the pedantry
of la v terms, nor afft-r&edly avoiding thefe, when they
are fuitable and requifite. Verbofity is a fault of which
men of this profeflion are frequently accufed ; and into
which the habit of f, eaking and writing fo hnftily, and
with fo little preparation as they are often obliged to do,
almoft unavoidably betrays them. It cannot, therefore,
be too earneftly recommended to thofe who are begin-
ning to pra&ife at the bar, that they fliould early endea-
vour to guard againft this, whilft they have full leifure
for preparation. Let them form themfelves to the ha-
bit of a flrong and correct ftyle j which will become
natural to them afterwards, when compelled by a multi-
plicity of bufinefs to compofe with more precipitation.
Whereas, if a loofe and negligent ftyle has been fuf-
fered to become familiar, they will not be able, even
upon occafions when they wifli to make an unufual ef-
fort, to exprefs themfelves with force and elegance.

Diftindlnefs, in fpeaking at the bar, is peculiarly ne-
eeflary. It fhould be fliewn, firft, in ftating the quef-
tion ; in exhibiting clearly the point in debate ; in (hew-
ing what we admit; what we deny j and where the
line of divifion begins between us and the adverfe party.
Next it fhould appear in the order and arrangement of
all the parts of pleading. A clear method is of the
higheft confequence in every fpecies of oration ; but
in tbofe intricate cafes which belong to the bar, it be-
comes infinitely eflential.

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 1SQ

The narration of fafts Should always be as concife as
the nature of them will admit. They are always very
neceflary to be remembered, and, confequently, tedi-
oufneis in relating them, and an unnecetfary minutenefs,
clogs and overloads the memory. Whereas, if a pleader
omit all Superfluous circumftances in his recital, he
adds Strength to the material fa&s ; he gives a clearer
view of what he relates, and makes the impreflion of
it more lafting. In argumentation, however, a more
diffufe manner feems requifite at the bar, than on fome
other occafions. For, in popular atremblies, where the
lubjeft of debate is commonly plain and obvious, argu-
ments gain Strength by their concifenefs. But the in-
tricacy of law points frequently require the arguments
to be expanded, and expofed in different lights, in
order to be completely apprehended.

Candour in Stating the arguments of his adverfarj
cannot be too much recommended to every pleader.
Should he difguife them, or place them in a falfe light,
the artifice will be foon difcovered ; and the judge and
the hearers will conclude, that he either wants difcern-
ment to perceive, or fairnefs to admit, the Strength of
his opponent's reafoning. But if he State with accu-
racy and candour, the arguments ufed againft him,
before he endeavours to confute them, a Strong preju-
dice will prevail in his favour. He will appear to
have an entire confidence in his own caufe, Since he
does not attempt to fupport it by artifice and conceal-

ELOaUENCE OP THE BAR.

ment. The judge will confequently be inclined to re-
ceive more readily, the impreflions made upon him by
a fpeaker who appears, at the lame time, both candid
and intelligent.

Wit may fometimes be ferviceable at the bar, particu-
larly in a lively reply, by which ridicule may be thrown on
what an adverfary has advanced. But a young pleader
fhould be cautious how he admits too freely the indul-
gence of this dazzling talent. His office is not to excite
laughter, but to produce conviction ; nor, perhaps, ever
did any one rife to eminence in his profeflion, by being
a witty lawyer.

Since an advocate perforates his client, he nauft plead
his caufe with a proper degree of warmth. He muft
be cautious, however, of proftituting his earneftnefs
and fenfibility, by an equal degree of ardour on every
fubject. There is a dignity of character which it is highly
important for every one of this profeflion to fupport.
An opinion of probity and honour in the pleader, is his
mod powerful inftrument of perfuafion. He fhould
always, therefore, decline embarking in caufes which
are odious and manifeftly unjuft ; and, when he fup-
pbrts a doubtful caufe, he Ihould lay the chief ftrefs
upon the arguments which appear to his judgment the
mvft. forcible ; referving his zenl and indignation for
'cafes where rnjuftice and iniquity are notorious.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.

H.

-AVING already treated of the eloquence of popu-
lar afiemblies, and of that of the bar, we fliall now
consider the ftrain and fpirit of that eloquence which is
fuited to the pulpit. This field of public fpcaking has,
evidently feveral advantages peculiar to itfelf. The
dignity and importance of its fubjecls mud be allowed to
be fuperior to any other. They admit of the higheft
embellithments in defcription, and the greateft warmth
and vehemence of expreffion. In treating his lubjeft,
the preacher has alfo peculiar advantages. He fpeaks
not to one or a few judges, but to a numerous aflembly.
He is not afraid of interruption. He chufes his fubject
at leifure ; and has all the affiftance which the moft
accurate premeditation can afford him. The difadvan-
tages, however, which attend the eloquence of the
pulpit, are by no means inconfiderable. The preacher,
it is true, has no contention with an adverfary ; but de-
bate awakens genius, and excites attention. His fub-
jecls, though noble, are trite and common. They are
become fo familiar to the public ear, that it requires no
ordinary genius in the preacher, to fix the attention of
his heaters. Nothing is more difficult, than to beftow
fen what is common, the grace of novelty. Be/ides,

3Q2 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.

the fubjed of the preacher ufually confines him to ab-
ftract qualities, to virtues and vices j whereas, tliat of
other popular fpeakers leads them to treat of perfons j
which is a fubjecl: generally more interefting to the
hearers, and which occupies more powerfully the ima-
gination. We are taught by the preacher to deteft
only the crime; by the pleader to deteft the criminal.
Hence it happens, that though the number of mode-
rately good preachers is great, there are fo few who
have arrived at eminence. Perfection is very diftant
indeed, from modern preaching. The object, however, is
truly noble and illuftrious ; and worthy of being purfued
with attention, ardour, and perfeverance.

To excel in preaching, it is neceffary to have a fixed
and habitual view of its end and objecl. This, un-
doubtedly, is to perfuade men to become good. Every
fermon ought, confequently, to be a peri'uafive oration.
It is not to diicufs fome abftrufe point, that the preacher
afcends the pulpit. It is not to teach his hearers fome-
thing new, but to make them better ; to give them at
the fame time, clear views, and perfuafive impreiTions
of religious truth.

The principal characteriftics of pulpit eloquence, as
diftinguifhed from the other kinds of public fpeaking,
appear to be thefe two — gravity and warmth. It is
neither eafy nor common to unite thefe characters of
eloquence. The grave, when it is too predominant,
becomes a dull, uniform folemnity. The warm, when

BLOatENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1Q3

it wants gravity, approaches too near the theatrical and
light. A proper union of the two, forms that character
of preaching which the French call Qnfi'ion; that affect-
ing, penetrating, and intercfling manner, flowing from
a ftrong fenfe in the preacher, of the importance of
thofe truths which he delivers, and an earn eft defire
that they may make full impreffion on the hearts of hi*
hearers.

With regard to the competition of a fermon, a prin-
cipal circumfiance which muft be attended to, is i's
unity. By this we mean, that there fliould be fome
main-point to which the whole tenonr of the fennon
mall refer. It muft not be a pile of different fubjects
heaped upon each other, but one object mull predomi-
nate through the whole. Hence, however, it muft not
be underftood, that there mould be no divifions or fe-
parate heads in the difeourfe ; or that one fingle thought
only fhould be exhibited in different points of view.
Unity is not confined to fuch narrow limits ; it admits
of fome variety ; it requires only that union and con
nection be fo far preferved, a- to make the whole con-
cur in fome one impreffion on the mind. Thus, for
inftance, a preacher may employ frvrral different argu-
ments to enforce the love of" Goc! ; he may alfo enquire
into the caufes of the decay of this virtue; ftill one great
object is prefented to the mind : But, if becaufe his text
lays, " He that loveth God, muft love his brother alfo,"
S

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.

he iliould therefore mix in the lame dilcourfe argu-
ments for the love of God, and for the love of our
neighbour, he would offend very much aga-nft unity,
and leave a very confuied impreffion on the minds of
hia hearers.

Sermons arc always the more ftriking, and generally
the more ufeful, in proportion as the fubjeft of them is
more precife and particular. Unity can never be fo com-
plete in a general, as in a particular fubje&. General
fubjeCls, indeed, Inch as the excellencies or the plea-
fures of religion, are often chofen by young preachers
as rl:r. moft ihowy, and the ealieft to be handled ; and
no doubt general views of religion fhoulct not be neg-
lected, fince on feveral occaficns they have great pro-
priety. But thefe fubjecls produce not the high effe&s
of preaching. Attention is much more commanded, by
taking fome particular view of a great object, and em-
ploying on that the whole force of argument and elo-
quence. To recommend fome one virtue, or inveigh
againft a particular vice, affords a fubjedl not deficient
in unity or precifion ; but if that virtue or vice be con-
fidered as affuming a particular afpeft, as it appears in
certain characters, or affeSs certain fituations in life, the
fubjeth becomes flill more interefting. The execution
is certainly lefs ealy, but the merit and the effeft are
higher.

A preacher mould be cautious not to exhauft his fub-
je£t j fince nothing is more oppofite to perfuafion than

ELOQUENCE OF THE "PULPIT.

an unneceifary and tedious fulnefs. There are always
fome things which he may fuppofe to be known, and
fome which require only n brief attention. If he en-
deavour to omit nothing which his fubjeft fuggefts, he
muft unavoidably encnrnl)er it, and debilitate its force.

To render his inftru&ious iiiterefting to his hearers,
fhould be the grand objedt bf every preacher. He fhould
bring home to their hearts the truths which he incul-
cates, and make each fuppofe that himfelf is particu-
larly addrefled. He fhould, confequently, avoid all in-
tricate reafonings ; avoid exprefiing himfelf in general
fpeculative propositions ; or laying down practical
truths in an abftraft, metaphyfical manner. A dif-
courfe ought to be carried on in the ftrain of direct
addrefs to the audience : not in the ftrain of one writing
an cflay, but of one fpeaking to a multitude, and ftudy-
ing to connect what is called application, or what im-
mediately refers to practice, with the do6lrinal and di-
da&ic parts of the fcrmon.

It is always highly advantageous to keep in view the
different ages, characters, and conditions of men, and
to accommodate directions and exhortations to each of
thele different clafles. Whenever you advance what
a man feels to touch his own character, or to be appli-
cable to his own circumftances, you are fure of his at-
tention. No ftudy, therefore, is more necefiary for a
preacher, than the ftudy of human life, and of the hu-
S 2

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.

man heart. To be able to difcover a man to himfelf,
in a light in which he never law his own character be-
fore, produces a wonderful e fifed. Thole fermons,.
though the moft difficult in composition, are not only
the moft beautiful, but allb the rnoft ufeful, which
are founded on the illuftration of. fome peculiar cha-
racter, or remarkable piece of hiftory, in the facred
writings j by the purfuit of which, we may trace, and
lay open, fome of the moft fecret windings of the hu-
man heart. Other topics of preaching have become
trite and common ; but this is an ex ten five field, which
has hitherto been little explored, and poffefles, all
the advantages of being curious, new, and in the
higheft degree ufeful. Bifhop Butler's fermon on the
cbara&er of Balaam, is an example of this kind of
preaching.

Fafliion, which operates fo extenfively on human
manners, has given to preaching, at different times, a
change of character. This, however, is a torrent, which
fwells to-day and lubfides to-morrow. Sometimes po-
etical preaching is fafhionable j fometimes philofophi-
cal: At one time it muft be all pathetic j at another all
argumentative j according a^ fome celebrated preacher
has afforded the example. Each of thefe modes in the
extreme, is very defective j and he who conforms him-
lelf to it, will both confine his genius, and corrupt it.
Truth and good fenfe are the only bafis on which he
can build with fafety. Mode and humour are feeble and.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 1 Q7

tmfteady. No example, however admired, fhould be
fervilely imitated. From various examples, the preacher
nny colleft materials for improvement ; but the fervi-
lity of imitation will extinguifh his genius, and expof«
its poverty to his hearers.

s s

i OXDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL ITS PARTS
— INTRODUCTION-DIVISION— NARRA-
TION AND EXPLICATION.

JLAAVING already confidered what is peculiar to the
three great fields of public fpeaking; popular afTem-
blies, the bar, and the pulpit ; we fhall now treat of
what is common to them all; and explain the condu6l
of a difcourfe, or oration, in general.

The parts which compofe a regular formal oration,
are thefe fix ; the exordium or introdu&ion ; the iiate
and the divifion of the fubjecT: j narration or explica-
tion ; the reafoning or arguments ; the pathetic part;
the conclusion. It is not neceflary that thefe muft en-
ter into every public difcourle, or that they muft always
be admitted in the order which we have mentioned.
There are many excellent difcourfes, in which fome of
thefe parts are altogether omitted. But as they are the
natural and constituent parts of a regular oration, and
as, in every difcourfe, fome, of them muft occur, it is
agreeable to our prefent purpofe, to examine each of
them diftinclly.

The defign of the introduction is to conciliate the
good opinion of the hearers ; to excite their attention 3

INTRODUCTION-.

and" lo render them open to perfuafion. When a
Speaker is previouilv iVrure of the good will, the atten-
tion, and the docility of his audience, a formal introduc-
tion may, without an/ impropriety, be omitted. Ref-
pect for his hearers will, in that cafe, only require a
ihort exordium, to prepare them for the other parts of
his difcourfe.

The introduction, where it is necefTary, is that part
ef a difcourfe which requires no inferior care. It is al-
ways important to begin well ; to make a favourable
impreflion at firft fetting out, when the minds of the
hearers, as, yet vacant and free, are more eafily preju-
diced in favour of the fpeaker. We muft add alfo, that
a good introduction is frequently found to be extremely
difficult. Few parts of a difcourfe give more trouble
to the compofer, or require more delicacy in the
execution.

An introduction fhould be eafy and natural. It
jfliould always be fuggefted by the fubjecT:. The writer
mould not plan it till after he has meditated in his own
mind the fubftance of his difcourfe. By taking an op*
polite courfe, and compofing in the firft place au intro-
duction, the writer will often find, that he is either led
to lay hold of fome common-place topic, or that, in-
ftead of the introduction being accomodated to the dif-
courfe, he is under the necefiity of accomodating the
whole difcourfe to the introduction which he bad pre-
vioufly written.

200 INTRODUCTION.

In this part of a difconrfe, correftnefs of expreflion
fhould be carefully ftudied This is peculiarly requi-
fite on account of the fituation of the hearers. At the
beginning, they are more difpofed to criticife than at
any other period ; they are then unoccupied with the
fubje6t or the arguments ; their attention is entirely di-
refted to the fpeaker's ftyle and manner. Care, there-
fore, is requifite, to prepoflefs them in his favour j
though too much art muft be cautioufly avoided, fince
it will then be more eafily detedted, and will derogate
from that perfuafion which the other parts of the dif-
courfe are intended to produce.

Modefty is alfo an indifpenfible chara&eriftic.of every
judicious introdu&ion. If the fpeaker begins with an air
of arrogance and oflentation, the felf-love and pride of
his hearers will be prefently awakened, and will follow
him with a very fufpicious eye through the reft of his
difcourfe. His modefly fliould appear not only in his
expreflions, but in his whole manner ; in his looks, in
his geftures, and in the modulation of his voice. Every
audience k flattered by thofe marks of refpecl: and awe
which are paid them by the perfon who addr-eiles them.
The modefty, however, of an introduction, fliould be-
tray nothing mean or abjeft. Together with modefty
and deference to his hearers, the orator fliould fhew a
certain fenfe of dignity, arifing from a perfuafion of the
juftice or importance of the fubjecl; on which he is to
fpeak.

INTRODUCTION'. 2Oi

Except in particular cafes, the orator fhould not put
forth all his ftrength at the beginning; but fhould rife
an.l s>r>w upon bis hearers as his difcourfe advances.
The introduction is feldom the place for vehemence and
pafiion. The audience .mnfr be gradually prepared;,
before the fpeaker can venture on ftrong and empaffioned
fentiments. Yet when the f inject is of fucb a nature,
that the very mention of it naturally awakens fome paf-
fionate emotion; or when the unexpected prefence of
fome perfon or object, in a popular afiembly, inflames
the fpeaker; either of thefe will juftify an abrupt and
vehement exordium. Thus the appearance of Catiline
in the Roman Senate', renders the violent opening of
Cicero's firft oration againft him very natural and pro-
per. " Quoufque tandem, Catilina, abutere patientia
" noftra ?" And Bifhop Atterbury, in preaching' from
this text, " Blefied is he whofoever {hall not be offended
" in me,rt ventures on thi-, bold exordium : " And can
" any man then, he offended in thee, blefled Jefus ?'*
Which addrefs to our Saviour he continues for fome
time, till he enters on the divifion of his fubjed. But
thefe introductions ihould be attempted by very few,
iincc they promife fo much vehemence and ardour
through the reft of the dif. ourfe, that it is extremely diffi-
cult tofatisfythe expectation of the hearers.

An introdu6Hon fhou'.-J not anticipate any material
part of the fubject. When topics or arguments which
are afterwards to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, and in

202 DIVISION-.

part exMHted in the introduclion, they Ibfe upon their
fecond ap -earance, the grace of novelty. The impref-
Jfion intended to be made by any principal idea, is
always made with the greateft advantage, when it is
made entire, and in its proper place.

The laft circumftance which we fhall obferve with re-
gard to an introdu&ioD, is, that it be proportioned
both in length and in kind to the difcourfe which fol-
lows it : In length, fince nothing would be more ab-
furd than to erecl; an extenfive portico before a diminu-
tive building} and in kind, fince it would be no lefs
ridiculous to load with glittering ornaments the veftibule
of a plain dwelling-houfe ; or to make the approach to a
monument as gay and lively as that to an arbour.

After the introduclion, what generally fucceeds next
in order, is, the propofition or enunciation of the fubject ;
concerning which we {hall only obferve, that it fhouldbe
as clear and diftin6t as poflible, and exprefied without
aflfeftation, in the moft concife and fimple manner. To
this commonly fucceeds the diviflon, or the laying down
the method of the difconrfe ; in the management of
vhich, the following rules (houldbe carefully attended to.

Firft, That the parts into which the fubject is divided,
be really diftin<5t from each other j that is, that no one
include another. It were a ridiculous divifion, for ex-
ample, if a fpeaker (hould propofe to explain firft the
advantages of virtue,, and next, thole of juftice or terr.-<

DIVISION. 203

pcrance ; bccaufe the fit ft head plainly comprehends
the fecund, as a genus dots the fpecies Such a me-
thod of proceeding will, therefore, involve the fubjecl
in indiiVmclnefs and ditbrder.

Secondly, We muft be careful always to follow the or-
der of nature; beginning with the moft finable points,
fuch as are moft eafily under ft ood, and uece.llary to be
firft diicufled; and proceeding thence to thofc wl.ich
are built xipon the former, and which fuppofe them to
be known. The fubje£t, in fine, muft be divided into
thofe parts into which it is moft eafily and naturally
refolved.

Thirdly, The members of adivifion ought to exhauft
the fubjecl:, othenvife the divifion is incomplete; the
fubje& is exhibited by pieces and corners only, without
any plan being offered by which the whole may be dif-
played.

Fourthly, Let concifenefs and precifion be peculiarly
ftudied. A divifion will always appear to the moft ad-
vantage, when the feveral ru-ads are expreifed in the
cleareft, moft forcible, and at the fame time, the feweft
words poilible. This never fails to make an ;igree.;!ble
impreflion on the hearers ; and contributes alfo to make
the diviiions more eafily remembered.

Hfthly, An unneceflary multiplication of heads
fhould be cautioufly avoided. To divide a fuhjeft into
a great many minute p.rts, by cndlefs divifions and

204 NARRATION OR EXPLICATION.

and fabdivrfibns, produces always a bad effecl in fpeak-
ing. In a logical treatile this may not be impro er;
but it renders an oration hard and dry, and unneceflarily
fatigues the memory. A fermon may admit from three
to five, or fix beads, including fubdivifions; feldom arc
more allowable.

The next conftituent part of a difcourfe, which we
mentioned, was narration or explication. Thefe two
are joined together, both becaufe they fall nearly under
me fame rules, and becaufe they generally anfwer the
fame purpofe ; ferving to ilkiftrate the caufe, or the
fubjecl: of which one treats, before proceeding to argue
either on one fide or the other, 01 to entlcaiour to in-
tereft the paflions of the hearers.

To be clear and diftinct, to be probable, and to be
concife, are the qualities which critics chiefly confider
as efiential to narration. Diftinclnefs is reqnifite to
the whole of the difcourfe, but belongs efpecially to
narration, which ought to throw a light on all that
follows. At the bar, a fact, or a fingle circumftance,
left in obfcurity, or mifundi-:rftood by the judge, may
deftroy the efFecl: oi all the argument and reafoning
which the pleader em loys. If his narration be im-
probable, it will be difregardecl ; if it be ttdious <nnd
diffufe^ it will fatigue, and be forgotten. To render
narration diftinft, a particular attention is requifite in
afcertainiug clearly the names, the dates, the places,
and every other important circumftance of the fadls re-

NARRATION OR EXPLICATION. 2O5

counted. In order to be probable in narration, it is ne-
ceilary to exhibit the characters of thofe perfons of
whom we fpeak, and to (hew that their actions proceed
from fuch motives as are natural, and likely to gain
belief. To be as concife as the fubject will admit, all
fuperfluous circumftances mull be rejected, by which
the narration will be rendered bo'Ji more forcible and
more clear.

In fermons, explication of the fubject to be difcourfed
on, occupies the place of narration at the bar, and is
to be conducted in a fimilar manner. It muft be con-
cife, clear, and diftinct ; in a ftyle correct and elegant,
rather than abounding with ornament. To explain the
doctrine of the text with propriety ; to give a full and
clear account of the nature of that virtue or duty which
forms the fubject of the difcourfe, is properly the di-
dactic part of preaching ; on the right execution of
which much depends, for what comes afterwards in the
way of perfuafion. In order to fucceed, the preacher
muft meditate profoundly on the fubjeft, fo as to place
it in a clear and ftriking point of view. He mull con-
fider what light it may derive from other paffages of
fcripture ; oblerve whether it be a fubjecl nearly allied
to fome other from which it ought to be diiiinguiihed ;
whether it can be advantageously illullrated by com-
paring, or oppoting it to fome other thing ; by fearch-
i:ig into caufes, or tracing effects j by pointing out ex-
T

20(5 NARRATION OH EXPLICATION.

amples, or appealing to the hearts of the hearers ;
that thus a determined, precife, and circumftantial view,
may be afforded of the doctrine to be inculcated. By
fuch diftin6t and apt illuflrations of the known truths
of religion, a preacher may both difplay great merit as
a compofer, and, what is infinitely more valuable, render
his difconrfes weighty, iuftru&ive, and beneficial.

THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DISCOURSE
—THE PATHETIC PART— THE PERORATION.

s

IXCE the great end for winch men fpeak on any
fcrious occanon, is to convince their hearers that fome-
thing is either true, or right, or good; and confequently
to influence their practice ; reafon and argument muft
constitute the foundation of all manly and perfuafive
eloquence.

With regard to arguments, three things are neceffary
te be obferved: Firft, the invention of them ; fecondly,
their proper difpofition and arrangement; and thirdly,
the exprelfing them in the moft forcible ftyle and man-
ner. Invention is, undoubtedly, the mofl material, and
the bails of the reft. But in this, art can afford only
fmall affiflance. It can aid a fpeaker, however, in
arranging and exprefling thofe arguments which his
knowledge of the fubject has difcovered.

Supposing the arguments properly chofen, we muft
avoid blending thofe confufedly together, that are of a
feparate nature. All arguments whatever, are intended
to prove one of thefe three things; that fomething is
true ; that it is right or fit ; or that it is profitable and
12

208 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART

good. Truth, duty and intereft, are the three great
fubjects of difcuflion among mankind. But the argu-
ments employed upon either of them are generic-ally
diftinft; and he who mixes them all under one topic,
which he calls his argument, as in fermons is too fre-
quently done, \vilJ render his reafoning indiftinft and
inelegant.

"With refpecl to the different degrees of ftrength in
arguments, the common rule is to advance in the way
of climax, from the weakeft to the moft forcible. This
method is to be recommended, when the fpeaker is
convinced that his cauie is clear, and eafy to be proved.
Eut this rule muft not be univerfally obferved, If he
be apprehenfive of his caufe, and has but one material
argument on which to lay the ftrefs, putting lefs con-
fidence in the reft, in this cafe it is often proper to
place his moft forcible argument in the front ; to pre-
judice his hearers as early as poflible in his favour,
and difpofe them to pay attention to the weaker reafon-
ing which he may afterwards introduce. When, cimidft
a variety of arguments, there is one or two more feeble
than the reft, though proper to be ufed, Cicero advifes
that they be placed in the middle, as a fituatio'n lefs
confpicuous than either the beginning or the end of
the train of reafoning.

"When arguments are ftrong and falisfaftory, the more
diftant they are feparated, the better. Each can then
bear to be introduced alcne, placed in its full light.,

OP A DISCOURSE.

amplified and contemplated. But when they are of a
doubtful or prefumptive nature, it isfafer to crowd them
together, to form them into a phalanx, that though, in-
dividually weak, they may mutually fupport each other.

Arguments fhould never be extended too far, or
multiplied too much. This ferves rather to render a
en ufe fufpicious, than to increafe its ttrength. A need-
lefs multiplicity of arguments, both opprefies the me-
mory and diminifhes the weight of that conviction,
which a few well-chofen arguments might not fail to
produce. To expand them alfo, beyond the bounds
of reafonable illuftration, is always enfeebling. When
a fpeaker endeavours to expofe a favourable argument
in every pofiible point of view, it generally happens,
that, fatigued with the effort, he lofes the fpirit with
which he fet out, and ends with feeblenefs what he
began with force.

Having attended thus far to the proper arrangement
of arguments, we proceed to another efiential part of
a difcourfe, the pathetic ; in which, if any where, elo-
quence reigns, and exerts its power. On this head
we {hall offer the following directions, which appear
worthy of being remembered.

To confider carefully, whether the fubject admit the
pathetic, and render it proper ; and if it does, what part
of the difcourfe is the moft fit for its admiffion. In de-

T 3

21O THE PATHETIC PART

termining thele points, good fenfe is the only juft crite-
rion. Many fubje&s admit not the pathetic at all, ami
even in thofe tliat are fufceptible of it, an attempt to
excite the paffions in the wrong place, may expofe the
orator to ridicule, ft may in general be obferved, that
if we expect any emotion which we raife to have a
lafting effect, we mull fecure in our favour the under-
ftanding and judgment. The hearers mud be fatisfied,.
that there are fufficient grounds for their engaging in
the caufe with zeal and ardour. When argument and
reafoning have produced their full effect, the pathetic
is admitted with the greateft force and propriety.

A fpeaker mould cautioufly avoid giving his hearers
warning that he intends to excite their paffions. Every
previous preparation of this kind chills their fenfibility.
There is alfo a material difference between lliewing
mankind that they ought to be moved, and actually ex-
citing their paffions. To every enaction or paffien, na-
ture has adapted certain correfponding objects ; and
without fetting thefe before the mind, it is impoffible
for an orator to excite that emotion. We are warmed
with gratitude, we are touched with compaffion, not
when a fpeaker {hews us that thefe are noble diipofi-
tions, and that it is our duty to feel them, or when he
exclaims againft us for our indifference and coldnefs.
He is hitherto addreffing only our realbn or conscience.
He muft paint to us the kindnefs and tendernefs of our
friend j he muft exhibit the diftrefs fuffered by the

OF A DISCOURSE. 211

perfon- for whom- he would intercft us ; then, and not
till then, our hearts begin to be touched, our gratitude
or our compaffion begin to flow. The bafis, therefore,
of all fuccefsful execution in pathetic oratory, is, to
paint the objed of that paflion which we defive to raifc,
in (.he moft natural and ftriking manner ; to defcribe it
with fuch circumftances as are likely to awaken it in
the minds of others.

To fucceed in the pathetic, it is neceffary to attend1
to the proper language of the paffions. This, if we
confult nature, we fhdl ever find is unaffected and
fimple. It may be animated with bold and ftrong
figures, but it will have no ornament of finery. There
is a material difference between painting to the imagi-
nation, and to the heart. The one may be done with
deliberation and coolnefs ; the other muft always be
rapid and ardent. In the former, art and labour may
be fuffered to appear ; in the latter, no proper effect
can be produced, unlefs it feem to be the work of
nature only. Hence all digreffions fhould be avoided,
which may interrupt or turn afide the fwell of paflion.
Hence comparifons are always dangerous, and commonly
quite improper in the midft of the pathetic. It is alfo to
be obferved, that emotions which are violent cannot be
lafting. The pathetic, therefore, mould not be pro-
longed and extended too much. A due regard fhould
always be preserved to what the audience will bearj
for he that attempts to carry them farther in paffiorj.

212 THE PERORATION.

than th^y will follow him, annihilates his purpofe. Ey.
endea\ouring to warm them in the extreme, he takes
the fureft method of freezing them completely.

Concerning the peroration or conclufion of a difcourfe ,
a fevv' words will be fufficient. Sometimes the whole
pathetic part comes in moft properly at the conclufion.
Sometimes, when the difcourfe has been altogether ar-
gumentative, it is proper to conclude with fumming up
the arguments, placing them in one point of view, and
leaving the impreflion of them, full and ftrong, on the
minds of the hearers. For the principal rule of a con-
clufion, and what nature obvioully fuggefts, is, to place
that laft, on which we chufe that the ftrength of our
caufe ihould reft.

In every kind of public fpeaking, it is important to hit
the precife time of concluding, fo as to bring the dif-
courfe juft to a point ; neither ending abruptly and un-
expectedly, nor difappointing the expectation of the
hearers, when they look for the difcourfe being finifhed.
The clofe fliould always be concluded with dignity and
fpirit, that the minds of the hearers may be left warm,
and that they may depart with a favourable impreflion of
the fubjed and of the fpeaker.

PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.

TT

JL HE great obje&s to which every public fpeaker
fiiould direft his attention, in forming his delivery, are,
Firlt, to fpeak Ib as to be fully and eanly underftoodby
his hearers ; and next, to exprefs himfelf with fuch
grace and energy, as to pleate and to move them.

To be fully and eafily underflood, the chief requisites
are, a due degree of loudnefs of voice, diftindnefs,
flownefs, and propriety of pronunciation.

To be heard is undoubtedly thejirft requifite. The
fpeaker muft endeavour to fill with his voice, the fpace
occupied by the aflembly. Though this power of voice
is, in a great meafure, a natural talent, it may receive
confiderable afllftance from art. Much depends on the
proper pitch and management of the voice. This maj
be diftinguii'hed by three gradations ; the high, the mid-
dle, and the low one. The high is ufedin calling aloud
to fome one at a di fiance : The low approaches to a
whifper. The middle is that which is employed in
common converfation, and which fiiould generally be
ufed in public fpeaking : For it is erroneous to fuppoie,
that the higheft pitch of the voice is requifite to be well
heard by a great aflembly. This is confounding two

214 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERT,

things materially different, loudnefs, or ftrength of
found, with the key or note of which we fpeak. The
voice may be rendered louder without altering the key ;
and the fpeaker will always be able to give moft body,
moft perfevering force of found, to that pitch of voice
to which in converfation he is aecuftomed. Whereas,
if he begin on the higheft pitch of his voice, he will
fatigue himfelf, and fpeak with pain ; and whenever a
man fpeaks with pain to himfelf, he is always heard
with pain by his audience. To the voice, therefore,
may be given full ftrength and fwell of found ; but It
fhould always be pitched on the ordinary fpeaking key;
a greater quantity of voice fliould never be uttered than
can be afforded without pain, and without any extraor-
dinary effort. To be well heard, it is ufeful for a
fpeaker to fix his eye on forne of the moft diftant per-
ibns in the affembly, and to coniider himfelf as fpeak-
ing to them. We naturally and mechanically exprefs
our words with fuch a degree of ftrength, as to be heard
by one to whom we addrefs ourfelves, provided he be
fituated within the reach of our voice. This will be the
cafe in public fpeaking, as well as in common conver-
fation. But it muft be remembered, .that fpeaking too
loud is peculiarly offenfive. The ear is wounded when
the voice comes upon it in rumbling, indiftin6t maffes ;
belides, it appears as if aifent were demanded by mere
vehemence and force of found.

To being well heard and clearly underftood, diftinft-

PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 215

nefs of articulation is more conducive, perhaps, than
mere loudnefs of found. The quantity of found requi-
fite to fill even a large fpace, is lefs than is generally
fuppofedj and with diftinft articulation, a man of a
weak voice will make it extend farther than the ftrong-
cft voice can reach without it. This, therefore, de-
mands peculiar attention. The fpeaker muft give every
found which he utters its due proportion, and make
every fyllable, and even every letter, be heard diftinctly.
To fucceed in this, a rapidity of pronunciation muft be
avoided. A lifelefs, drawling method is, however, by
no means to be adopted. To pronounce with a proper
degree of flownefs, and with full and clear articulation,
cannot be too induftrioufly ftudied, or too earneftly re-
commended. Such a pronunciation gives weight and
dignity to language. It aflifts the voice, by the paufes
and refts which it permits it more eafily to make ; and
enables the fpeaker to fwell all his founds, both with
more energy and more mufic. He may, by this means,
preferve a due command over himfelf, and avoid that
flutter of fpirits produced by a rapid and hurried
manner, which is deftru&ive to all jufl and finifhed
oratory.

To propriety of pronunciation, nothing is more con-
ducive than an attentive care in giving to every word
which we utter, that found which themoft polite ufage
of the language appropriates to it, in opposition to broad,
vulgar, or provincial pronunciation. On this fubje<5t.

2l6 PRONUNCIATION OR. DELIVERY.

however, written inftrutlions will avail nothing. But
there is one obfervation which it may be ufeful to make :
In our language, every word of more fyllables than one,
has one accented fyllable. The genius of the languages
requires the voice to mark that fyllable by a ftronger
percuilion, and to pafs more flightly over the reft. The
fame accent fhould be given to every word in public
fpeaking as in common difcourfe. In this refpecl many
perfons are apt to err. When they fpeak in public, and
with folemnity, they pronounce differently from what
they do at other times. They dwell upon fyllables, and
protract them ; they multiply accents on the fame word,
from a falfe idea, that it gives gravity and ftrength to
their difcourfe, and increafes the pomp of public decla-
mation. But this is one of the greater! faults which can
be committed in pronunciation ; it constitutes what is
termed a theatrical or mouthing manner, and gives an
artificial, affeded air to fpeech, which detracts, in
a great degree, from its agreeablenefs and its im-
prefiion.

We fhall now mention thofe higher parts of delivery,
by ftudying which, a fpeaker endeavours not merely to
render himfelf intelligible, but to give grace and force to
what he utters. Thefe may be comprehended under
four heads ; emphafis, paufes, tones and geftures.

By emphafis is meant, a fuller and ftronger found of
voice, by which we diftinguilh the accented fyllable of
forae word on which we intend to lay a particular

PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 21/

tfrefs, and to fliew how it affeds the reft of the icn-
tenee. To acquire the proper management of the em-
phafis, the principal, and indeed the only rule which
can be given is, that the fpeaker rtudy to acquire a juii
conception of the force and fpirit of thofe fentiments
which he intends to deliver. In all prepared difcourfes,
it would be extremely ufeful, if they were read over or
repeated in private, with a view of fearching tor the
proper emphafis, before they were pronounced in public ;
marking, at the fame time, the emphatical words ia
every fentence, or at leafl in the moft important parts
of the difcourfe, and fixing them well in memory. A
caution, however, muft at the fame time be given,
againft multiplying the emphatical words too much.
They only become ftriking, when ufed with a prudent
referve. If they recur too frequently ; if a fpeaker en-
deavours to render every thing which he fays of high
importance, by a multitude of ilrong emphafes, they
will foon fail to excite the attention of his hearers.

Next to emphafis, paufcs demand attention : They
are of two kinds ; firft, emphatical panics 5 and fecondly^
fuch as mark the ciiftincuoas of fenfe. An emphatical
paufe is made, after fomeihing has been laid of peculiar
moment, and on which we want to ilx the hearer's at-
tention. Sometimes a matter of importance is preceded
by a paule of this nature. Such panics have; t!:c f.n.c
ciiecl: as ftrong emphafes, and are fubject lo the fame

u

218 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.

rules; particularly to the caution juft now given, of net
repeating them too frequently. For lince they excite
particular attention, and confequemly raile expectation,
if this be not fully anfwered, they will occasion difap-
pointment and difguft.

But the mofr common, and the principal ufe of
paufes, is to mark the divisions of the fenfe, and at the
lame time to permit the fpeaker to draw his breath :
and the jv.it and graceful management of fuch paufes, is
one of the moft delicate and difficult articles in deli-
A proper command of the breath is peculiarly
requifite to be acquired. To obtain this, every fpeaker
fnould be very careful to provide a full fupply of breath
lor what he is to utter. It is a great miftake to fup-
pofe, that the breath muft be drawn only at the end of a
period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may be
gathered at the intervals of a fentence, when the voice
luffers only a momentary fufpenfionj and hence afuff.ci-
cnt fupply may be obtained for carrying on the longeft
period, without improper interruptions.

Paufes in public difcourfe, muft be formed upon the
manner in which we exprefs ourfelves in common, fen-
iible converfation, and not upon the ftiff artificial man-
ner which \ve acquire from perufing books, according
to the common punctuation. The general method of
punctuation is very arbitrary ; often ca riciou* and falfe;
and dictates an uniformity of tone in the paufes, which
is extremely un^'enfing : For it muft be obferved, that

PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. '

to make paufes graceful and expretfive, they nmft not
only fall in the right places, but he accompanied by a
proper tone of voice ; by which the nature of thefe
paufes is intimated, much more than by their length,
which can never be predfely meafured. Sometimes it
is only a flight and fimple fufpenfion of the voice which
is proper ; ibmetimes, a degree of cadence is requithe ;
and fometimes that peculiar tone and cadence, which
marks the conclusion of the fentence. In all thefe cafes,
a fpeaker is to regulate himfelf by attending to the man-
ner in which nature teaches him tofpeak, when engaged
in real and earned difcourfe with others.

In reading or reciting verfes, there is a difficulty in
making the paufes with propriety. There are two
kinds of paufes which belong to the mafic of verfe j one.
at the end of the line, and the other in the middle of
it. Rhyme always renders the former fenfible, and
compels an obfervance of it in the pronunciation. In
blank verfe it is lefs perceivable ; and when there is no
fufpenfion in the fenfe, it has been doubted, whether
in reading it with propriety, any regard mould be paid
to the clofe of a line ? On the ftage, indeed, where
the appearance of freaking in verfe ihould be avoided,
the clofe of fuch lines as make no paufe in the fenfe,
{hould not be rendered perceptible to the ear. On other
occ fions, it were better for the fake of melody, to read
blank verfe hj'fuch a manner as to make each line fcn-
U 2

220 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.

tibly diftinci. In attempting this, however, every ap-
pearance of fmg-ibrg and tone muft be cautioully
a voided. The dole of the line, where there i
panic in the meaning, ihould be marked only by fuch
a flight fufpcnfiou of found, as may diftinguifli the
•_c from one line to anoilier, without injuring the
kerne.

The paufe in the middle of the line falls after the
4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th fyllables, and no other. When
it happens that this paufe coincides with the flighted
diufioa in the fenfe, the line can be read with eafej a&
in the two firft verfes of Pope's Mefliah ;

Ye nymph'i of Solymal begin the Cong;

To heavenly themes, lubiimar ftvains belong.

But if it happen' that word? which have fuch an in-
timate connexion as not to admit even a momentary fe-
paration, be di\ ided from each other by this paufe in the
middle of the verfe,, we then perceive a conflict between
the fenfe aud the found, which renders it difficult to
read fuch lines with grace and harmony. In fuch cafe*
it is always better to lacrifice found to fenfe. Thus, for
inftance,. in the following line of Milton ;

i ,, u*!iat m m; is dark,

l!l..;in!.ic ; what is low, raifc ar:d fuppoit.

The fenfe evidently diSates the paufe after " illumine^
•which ought to be obferved ; though if the melody
only were to. be regarded, " illumine" ihould be con-

PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY. 22J

nefted with what follows, and no paufe made till after
the 4th or 6th fyllable. So alfo in the following line of
Pope's Epiille to Arbuthnot :

I fit ; with fad civility I lead.

The ear points out the paufe as falling after " fad, "
the fourth fyllable. But to feparate " fad" and " civi-
" lity," would be very injudicious reading. The fenfe
allows no other paufe than after the fecond fyllable,
" fit," which therefore is the only one that ought to
be obferved.

We proceed next to treat of tones in pronunciation,
which are different both from emphafis and pauies ;
confirming in the modulation of the voice, the notes
or variation of found which are employed in public
fpeaking. The moft material inftruftion which can be
given on this fubject is, to form the tones of public
fpeaking upon the tones of fenlible and animated con-
verfation. Every one who is engaged in fpeaking on a
fubject which interefts him nearly, has an eloquent and
perfuafive tone and manner. But when a fpeaker de-
parts from his natural tone of expreffion, he is fure to
render his difcourfe frigid and unperfuafive. Nothing is
more abfurd than to fuppofe, that as foon as a fpeaker
afcends a pulpit, or rifes in a public affembly, he is im-
mediately to lay afide the voice with which he exprefies
himfelf in private, and to aflame a new, ftudied tone,
and a cadence altogether different from his natural
U 3

PKOXUXCIATIO.NT OR DELIVERY".

manner. This has vitiated all deliver)'-, and has given
rile to cant and tedious monotony. Let every public
fpeaker be prepared againft this error. Whether he
fpeak in private or in a great aflembly, let him not for-
get that he ftill fpeaks. Let him take nature for hia
guide, and flie will teach him toexprefs his fcatiments
and feelings in fuch a manner, as to make the moft
forcible and pleafing imprefllon upon the minds of his
hearers.

It now remains for us to treat of gefture, or what is
called a&ion, in public difcourfe. The beft rule is, to
recommend attention to the looks and gefture, in which
earneftnefs, indignation, compaflion, or any other emo-
tion, difcovers itfelf to moft advantage in the common
mtercourfe of men ; and let tliefe be the model for imita-
tion. A public fpeaker muft, however, adopt that
manner which is moft natural to himfelf. His motions
and geftures ought all to exhibit that kind of exprellion
which nature has dictated to him j and mil els this be
the cafe, no ftudy can prevent their appearing ftifi'and
ungraceful. But though nature be the bafis on -which
every grace in gefture and action muft be founded, yet
the ornamental improvements which art can fupply,
muft not be neglected. The ftudy of a&ion confifts
chiefly in guarding againft awkward and difagrecable
motions, and in learning to perform fuch as are natural
to the fpeaker, in the moft graceful manner. Nume-
rous are the rules which writers have laid down for the

PROKUNCIATIOX Oil DELIVERY. 223

attainment of a proper gefticulation. But ir is to be-
feared, that written inftrudions on this fubjed can be
of Tittle fervice. To become ufeful, they mutt be well
exemplified. A few of the fimpleft precepts, however,
may be attended to with advantage. Thus, every
ipeaker fhould ftudy to preferve as much dignity as
poftible in the whole attitude of his body. He fhould
generally prefer an erecl poilure ; his pofition fhould be
firm, fo as to have the fulleft and freeil command of all
his motions; If any inclination be ufed, it fhould be
forward towards the hearers, which is a natural expref-
lion of earneilnefs. The countenance fhould correfpond
with the nature of the difcourfe ; and when no particular
emotion is exprefled, a ferious and manly look is always
to be preferred. The eyes fhouki never be fixed entirely
on any one objecT:, but move eafily round die audience.
In the motions made with the hands, confifts the prin-
cipal part of gefturein fpeaking. It is natural that the
right hand fhould be employed more frequently than
the left. Warm emotions require the exerciie of them
both together. But whether a fpeaker gesticulates with
one or with both his hands, it is an important rule,
that all his motions fliould be eafy and unreflrained.
Narrow and confined movements are ufually ungrace-
ful ; and confequently motions made with the hands,
fhould proceed from the flioulder rather than from the
elbow. Perpendicular movements, in a ftraight line up
and down, which Shakfpeare calls, " Sawing the air
" with the hand," are to be avoided. Oblique motions

224 PRONUNCIATION OR DELIVERY.

are th? moil pleating and graceful. Too fud !en and
rapid motions are feklom good. Earnefmefs can be
fully exprelfcd without their affiftance.

We cannot conclude our obfervations on this fubjecl,
without earneftly admonhhing every fpeaker to guard
againft all affe&ation, which is the deftru&ion of good
delivery. Let his manner, whatever it be, be his own;
neither imitated from another, nor u.ken from fome
imaginary model which is unnatural to him. What-
ever is native, though attended by feveral defects, is
likely to pleafe ; becaufe it fhows us a man : and be-
caufe it has the appearance of proceeding from the
heart. To attain a delivery extremely correft and
graceful, is what few can expe6t ; fince fo many natu-
ral talents muft concur in its formation. But to acquire
a forcible and perfuafive manner, is within the power
of the generality of mankind. They muft only unlearn
falfe and corrupt habits; they muft follow nature;
and they will fpeak in public as they do in private,
when they fpeak in earneft and from the heart.

MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE.

T<

O thofe who are anxious to excel in any of the
higher kinds of oratory, iiotliing .is more neceffary than
to cultivate habits of the feveral virtues, and to refine
and improve all their moral feelings. A true orator
muft pnifefs generous lentiments, and a mind turned
towards the admiration of all thofe great and high ob-
jects, which mankind are, by nature, prone to venerate.
Connected with the manly virtues, he dihould have a
ftrong and tender lenfibility to all the injuries, diftrefies,
and farrows, of his fellow creatures.

Next io moral qualifications, what is moft requifite
for an orator is a fund of knowledge. There is no art
by which eloquence can be taught, in any fphere,
without a fufh'cient acquaintance with what belongs to
that fphere, Attention to the ornaments of ftyle, can
only affift the orator in fetting off to advantage the
ftock of materials which he pofiefles ; but the materials
themfelves muft be derived from other fources than
from rhetoric. The pleader muft make himfelf com-
pletely acquainted with the law; he muft poflefs all
that learning and experience which can be ufeful in his
profeflion, for fupporting a caufe, or convincing a judge.
The preacher muft apply himfdf clofely to the ftudy of

226 MEANS OF IMPROVING

divinity, of practical religion, of morals, of human na-
ture j that he may be rich in all the fubje&s both of
mftruction and of perfuafion. He who wifhes to excel
as a member of the fupreme council of the nation, or of
any public aflembly, fhould be minutely acquainted
with the bufinefs which belongs to fuch affemblv, and
ihould attend \vith accuracy to all the fafts which may
be the fubjeS of queflion or deliberation.

Betides the knowledge which is more peculiarly con-
nected with his profeffion, a public fpeaker fhould make
himfelf acquainted wkh the general circle of polite li-
terature. Poetry he will find ufeful for the embellifh-
ment of flyle, for afibrding lively images, or pleafing
iilufions. Hiftory may be flill more advantageous j
fince the knowledge of facls, of eminent characters,
and of the courfe of human affairs, muft find place
on many occafions. A deficiency of knowledge, even
in fubje6rs not immediately connected with his profef1
fion, will expofe a public fpeaker to many difadvant-
ages, and give his rivals, who are better qualified, a
decided fuperiority.

To every one who wiih.es to excel as a public fpeaker,
a habit of application and induftry cannot be too much
recommended. This is infeparably conne&ed with the
attainment of every fpecies of excellence. No one
ever became a diftinguiihed pleader, or preacher, or
fpeaker in any aflembly, without previous labour and
application. Induftry, indeed, is not only necetlary to

IN ELOQUENCE.

«very valuable acqtiifition. but i :< deflgned by Provi-
dence as the 'ca'o v nr of eVei /lire, witliout which
life would become fin and !nfrt>i.!. No enemy is fo
deltruc-iive b«>th t.-> h :md to the
real and anitm:ed er. liu-, as that relaxed
flate of mind which pr. ti >!cnce and difli-
pation. He who is dei ' \ . el in any art, will
be diftinguiihed by an rnf'.ii.rtf.iim for that art; which
firing his mind with the object in view, will difpofe him
to endure every necniary degree of, induftry and per-
feverance. This was the characieriftic of the great men
of antiquity ; and it muit diftinguilh the moderns who
would imitate their bright examples. By thofe who are
ftudying oratory, this honourable enthufiafm iliould be
cultivated with the moft lively attention. If it be
wanting to youth ; manhood will flag exceedingly.

An attention to the beft models contributes greatly
towards improvement in the arts of fpeaking or writ-
ing. Every one, indeed, mould endeavour to have
fomething that is his own, that is peculiar to himfelf,
and that diftinguiflies his competition and ftyle. Ge-
nius is Certainly deprefled, and its poverty betrayed, by
a flavifh i.nitation. But yet, there is no genius fo ori-
ginal, but may receive improvement from proper ex-
amples, in ftyle, composition, and delivery. They al-
ways afford fome new ideas, and contribute to enlarge
and correct our own. They accelerate the current of
thought, and excite the ardour of emulation.

'-!28 MEANS OF IMPROVING

In imitating the ftyle of any favourite author, a ma-
terial diftintlion fhould be ohferved betwe
and fpoken language. Thefe are, in reality, t\v<
rent modes of communicating ideas. In books, -we
ex^ecl correclnefs, precifion, all redundancies prt.ned,
all repetitions avoided, language completely poiilhed.
Speaking allows a more eafy, copious ftyle, and lefs
confined by rule ; repetitions may often be requifite,
parentbefes may fometimes be ornamental ; the faruc
thought mutt often be exhibited in diiterent points of
view ; fince the hearers can catth it cnly from the
mouth of the fpeaker, and have not the opportunity, as
in reading, of turning back, again, and of contemplat-
ing what they do not entirely comprehend. Hence
the ftyle of fume good authors would feem ftiff, afftcted,
and even obfcure, if transferred into a popular oration.
How unnatural, for irtftance, would Lord Shaftfbury's
fentences found in the mouth of a public fpeaker ?
Some kinds of public difcourfe, indeed, fuch as that
of the pulpit, where a more accurate preparation and a
more ftudied ftyle are allowable, would admit fuch a
manner better than others, which are expected to ap-
proach nearer to extemporaneous fpeaking. But yet
there is, generally, fo great a difference between fpeak-
ing, and a competition intended only to be read, as
fhould caution us againft a clofe and improper imitation.

The compofition of fome authors approaches nearer
to the ftyie of fpeaking than others ; and they can,

IN ELOQUENCE. 22Q

therefore, be imitated with more propriety. In our
own language, Swift and Bolingbroke are of this de-
fcription. The former, though correct, preserves the
eafy and natural manner of an unaffected fpeaker ;
and this is an excellence by which he is peculiarly dil-
tinguiflied. The ftyle of the latter is more fplendid ;
but ftill it is the ftyle of Ipeaking, or rather of decla-
mation. Bolingbroke, indeed, may be ftudied with
fingular advantage by thofe who are defirous of attain-
ing the natural elegance and the graces of compofition.

Frequent exercife both in compofing and /peaking
muft be recommended as a neceilary mean of improve-
ment. That kind of compofition is, undoubtedly,
moft ufeful, which is connected with the profellion, or
ibrt of public fpeaking, to which perfons devote them-
felves. This they mould ever keep in view, and be
gradually habituating themfelves to it. At the fame
time they fliould be cautious not to allow themfelves
to compoie negligently on any occafion. He who
wimes to write, or to fpeak correctly, fliould, in the
moft trifling kind of compofition, in writing a letter, or
even in common converfation, endeavour to exprefs
himielf with propriety. By this we do not meaii, that
he is never to write, or to fpeak, but in ftudied and
artificial language. This would introduce a ftiffnefs
and affectation, infinitely worfe than the greateft negli-
gence. But we muft obferve, that there is in every
X

MEANS OF IMPROVING

thing a proper and becoming manner; and, on the con-
trary, there is alfo an awkward performance of the
fame thing. That manner which is becoming, is often
the moft light, and apparently the moft cartrlels ; but
tafte and attention are requifite to pofTefs the juft idea
of it. That idea, when once acquired, mould be kept
conflantly in view, and upon it mould be formed what-
ever we write or fpeak.

Exerciies of fpeaking have always been recommended
to ftudents in elocution ; and, when under proper re-
gulation, mud, undoubtedly, be of the greateft ufe.
Thofe public and promifcuous focieties, in which num-
bers are brought together, who are frequently of low
Nations and occupations, who are connected by no
common bond of union, except a ridiculous rage for
public fpeaking, and have no other object in view, than
to exhibit their fuppofed talents, are inftitutions not
only of an ufelefs, but of an injurious nature. They
are calculated to become feminaries of licentioufnefs,
petulance, and faction. Even the allowable meetings,
into which ftudents of oratory may form themfelves,
muft be under proper direction, in order to be rendered
ufeful. If their fubjects of debate be improperly fe-
lected 5 if they fupport extravagant or indecent topics ;
if they indulge themfelves in loofe and flimfy declama-
tion ; or accuftom themfelves, without preparation, to
fpeak pertly on all fubjefts ; they will unavoidably ac-
quire a very faulty and vicious taite in fpeaking. It

IN ELOQUENCE. 231

ihould, therefore, be recommended to all thofe who are
members of fuch ibcietics, to attend to the choice of
their fubjetfts ; to take care that iheie be uieful and
manly, eitlier connected with the courie of their lludies,
or related to morals and tulle, to action and life. They
ihould be temperate in the practice of fpeakingj not
to fpeak too frequently, nor on fabjedts of which they
are ignorant ; but only when they have laid up proper
materials for a difcourfe, and have previoufly confidered
and digefted the fubject. In fpeaking, they mould be
cautious always to keep good fenfe and perfuafion in
view, rather than a mew of eloquence. By thefe means,
they will adopt the belt method of forming themfelves
gradually to a manly, correct, and perfuafive elocution,

It may now be aiked, of what ufe will the ftady of
critical and rhetorical writers be, /or the improvement
of thofe who \vifh to excel in eloquence ? They ought
certainly not to be neglected j and yet, perhaps, very-
much cannot be expected from them. It is, however,
from the original ancient writers that the greateft ad-
vantage can be derived ; and it is a difgrace to any one,
whofe profeffion calls him to fpeak in 'public, to be
unacquainted with them. In all the rhetorical writers
among the ancients, there i=, indeed, one defeft ; they
are too fyftematical; they endeavour to perform too
much ; they aim at reducing rhetoric to a perfcft art,
which may fupply invention with materials on every
X2

MEAXS OF IMPROVING

Jubjecr.} ib that one would luppofe they expected to
make an orator by rule, in the fame manner as a me-
chanic would learn his bufinefs. But, in reality,, all
that can be done, is to affift and enlighten tafte, and to
;H int out to genius the path in which it ought to
tread.

Ariflotle feems to have been the firft who took
rhetoric out of the hands of the fophifts, and founded
it on reafon and folid fenfe. Some of the moft fubtle
obfervations which have been made on the paffions and
manners of men, are to be found in his Treatife on
Rhetoric ; though in this, as in all his writings, his great
concifenefs often renders him obfcure. The Greek
rhetoricians who fucceeded him, moftof whom are now
lofr, improved on the foundation which he had laid.
Two of them are ftill cxifting, Demetrius Phalereus, and
Dionyfius of HalicarnafTus : Both have written on the
conftru&ion of fentences, and deferve to be confulted;
particularly Dionyfius who is a very accurate and able
critic.

To recommend the rhetorical writings of Cicero,
would be fuperfluous. Whatever, on the fubjeft of
eloquence, is fuggefled by fo great an orator, muft be
worthy of attention. His moft extenfive work on this
fubjett is that De Oratore, in three books. None cf
his writings are more highly finiflied than this treatife,
The dialogue is politely conducted, the characters are
well fupported, and the management of the whole is

IN ELOQUENCE. 233

beautiful and pleating. The Orator ad AL Erutum is
alib a valuable treatife: and, indeed, throughout all
Cicero's rhetorical works, there are fecn thole elevated
and fublime ideas of eloquence, which are well calcu-
lated to form a juft tafle, and to inlpire that enthufi-
afm for the art, which is highly conducive to the at-
tainment of excellence.

Among all the ancient writers on the fubjcd of ora-
tory, none, perhaps, is more inftruclive, and more ufe-
ful, than Quintilian. His Jnftitutions abound with
valuable knowledge, and difcover a tafte in the higheft
degree juft and accurate. He has well digctfed the
ancient ideas concerning rhetoric, and has delivered his
inftruc"lions in elegant and polifhed language.

COMPARATIVE MERIT OF THE ANTI1. - | .
AND THE MODERNS.

Very curious queftion has been agitated, with
regard to the comparative perfedion of the antients and
the moderns. In France this difpute was carried on
with great heat, between Boileau and Madame Dacier
for the antients, and Perrault and La Motte for the
moderns. Even at this day men of letters are divided
on the fubjecl ; and it is fomewhat difficult to difcern,
r.pon what grounds the controveriy is to be determined.

To decry the anlient Clallics is a vain attempt.
Their reputation is eflabliihed upon too folid a founda-
tion to be fhaken. At the fame time, it is obvious
that imperfections may be traced in their writings.
But to dilcredit their works in general, can only belong
to peeviihnefs or prejudice. The approbation of the
public, for fo many centuries, eftablifh.es a verdict in
their favour, from which there is no appeal.

In matters of mere reafoning the world may be long5
miftaken ; and fyilems pf philofophy have often a cur-
rency for a time, and then die. But in objects of tafte
there is no fuch fallibility; as they depend not on
knowledge and fcience, but upon fentiraent and feeling.
Now the univerial feeling of mankind muft be right ;

ANT1ENTS AND MODERNS. 235

and Homer mid Virgil muft continue to (land upon the
lame ground which they have occupied fo long.

It is true, at the fame time, that a blind veneration
ought not to be paid to the antients; and it is proper to
inllitute a fair companion between them and the mo-
derns. If the antients are allowed to have the pre-
eminence in genius, it is obfervable, that the moderns
cannot but have fome advantage, in all arts of which
the knowledge is progrellive.

Hence in natural philolbphy, aftronomy, chemiftry,
and other fciences, which reft upon the obfervation of
fads, it is undoubtedly certain, that the moderns have
the fuperiority over the antients. Perhaps too, in pre-
cile reafoning, the philofophers of the modern ages
have the advantage over thofe of antient times; as a
more extenlive literary intercourfe has contributed to
fharpen the faculties of men. Perhaps alfo the moderns
have the fuperiority in hiftory, as political knowledge
is certainly" more perfect now than of old, from the ex-
tenfion of commerce, the difcovery of different coun-
tries, the fuperior facility of intercourfe, and the mul-
tiplicity of events and revolutions which have taken
place in the world. In poetry likewife fome advantages
have been gained on the fide of regularity and accuracy.
In dramatic performances, improvements have certainly
been made upon the antient models. The variety of the
characters is greater ; a greater ikill has been difplayed
in the conduct of the plot ; and a happier attention to

'236 COMPARISON OF THE

probability and decorum. Among the antients we find
higher conceptions, greater .originality, and a more for-
tunate fimplicity. Among the moderns there is more
art and more correctnefs, but a genius lefs forcible and
flriking. It is notwithstanding obfervable, that though
this rule may be juft in general, there are doubtlefs ex-
ceptions from it. Thus it may be fatd, that Milton
and Shakfpeare are not inferior to any poet in any age.

Among the antients there were many circumftances
which were favourable to the exertions of genius. They
travelled much in fearch of learning, and converfed
with priefts, poets, and philofophers. They returned
home fired with the difcoveries andacquifitions which
they had made. Their enthufiafm was great; and
there being few who were Stimulated to excel as au-
thors, the fame they procured was more intenfe and
flattering. In modern times competition is lefs prized
as an art. Every boby have pretenfions to it. We
wiite with lefs effoit and more at eafe. Printing has
multiplied books fo prodigally, that afliftances are com-
mon and eafy, and a mediocrity of genius prevails.
To rife beyond this, and to pafs beyond the crowd, is
the happy pre-eminence of a cholen few.

With refpecl to epic poetry, Homer and Virgil are
ftili unrivalled; and modern times have produced no
orator, who can be compared with Demoflhenes and
Cicero. In hiftory we have no modern narration that
is fo elegant, fo pidurefque and fo animated as thofe of

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 237

Herodotus, Thueydides, Xenophon, Livy, Tacitus, and
Salluft. Our dramas, with all the improvements they
bau- received, are inferior, in poetry and fentiment,
to thole of Sophocles and Euripides. We have no comic
dialogue fo gracefully fimple as that of Terence. Ti-
bullus, Theocritus, and Horace have no counterparts in
modern times. By thofe therefore who would improve
their tafte, and feed their genius, the utmoft attention
muft be paid to the ancient claffics, both Greek and
Roman.

After having made thefe obfervations on the antients
and the moderns, it may be proper to treat critically of
the more diftinguiflied kinds of compofition, and of the
characters of thofe writers, whether ancient or modern,
who have excelled in them. Of orations and public
difcourfes much has already been faid. The remaining
profe compolitions may be divided into hiftorical writing,
philofophical writing, epiftolary writing, and fictitious
hiftory.

HISTORICAL WRITING .

JSTORY may be defined to be a record of truth,
for the inftrudion of mankind. Hence it follows, that
the great requifites of an hiftorian are impartiality, fide-
lity, gravity, and dignity.

In the conduct of an hiftorical detail, the attention
of the hiitoriau fhould be applied, moft anxioufly, to
beftow upon his work as much unity as poflible. His
hiftory fhould not confift of feparate and unconnected
parts. Its portions £hould be linked together by a
connecting principle, which fhould produce in the mind
the impreflion of Ibmething that is one, whole and en- .
tire. Polybius, though not an elegant writer, is remark-
able for poflefling this quality.

An hiftorian mould trace actions and events to their
iburces. He fhould, therefore, be acquainted with hu-
man nature, and with political knowledge. His fkill
in the former will enable him to defcribe the characters
of individuals; and his proficiency in the latter would
prepare him for the talk of recording revolutions of go-
vernment, and for accounting for the operation of po-
litical caufes on public affairs. With regard to po-
litical knowledge, the antients wanted fome advantages
which are enjoyed by the moderns. There was not, in.

HISTORICAL WRITING. 23Q

antient periods, fo free a communication among neigh-
bouring dates, as in the modern ages. There prevailed
vno regular intercourfe by eftabliflied pofts ; and there
were no ambaffadors residing at diftant courts. A larger
experience too, of the different modes of government,
has improved the modern hiftorian beyond the hiftorian
of antiquity.

It is, however, in the form of the narrative, and not
by the atfecled mode of dilfertation, that the hiftorian is
to impart his political knowledge. Formal difcuflions
expofe the hiftorian to the "fafpicion of being willing to
accommodate his facts to his theory. They have alfo
an air of pedantry, and are an evident refult of his want
of art. For reflexions, whether moral, political or
philofophical, may be infinuated in the ftream and bo-
dy of a narrative.

Clearnefs, order, and due connection, a re great virtues
in hiltorical narration. They are attained when the hif-
torian is fo completely mafter of his fubjeft, as that he
can fee it at one view, and comprehend its dependence
of parts. Hiftory being a dignified fpecies of compofi-
tion, it fhould alfo be confpicuous for gravity. There
fhould be nothing mean or vulgar in the hiftoric ftyle ;
no quaintnefs, no fmartnefs, n%o alienation, no wit, A
hiftory fhould likewife be interelting; and this is the
circumftance which diftinguifhes chiefly the genius and
eloquence of the writer.

HISTORICAL WRITING.

In order that an hiftorian be intereftingv it is neceiTary
that he preferve a proper medium between a rapid re-
cita], and a detailed prolixity. He fhould know when
to be concife, and when to enlarge. He fliould attend
to a proper feledion of circumftances. Thefe give life,
body, and colouring to his narration. They confiitutr
•what is termed hiftorical painting.

In all thefe qualities of hiftory, and particularly in
pitSturefque defcription, the antients eminently excel.
Hence the pleafure of reading ThucydTues, Livy, Salluft,
and Tacitus. In the talent of hiftorical painting, there
are great varieties. Livy, for example, and Tacitus,
pf.int in very different ways. The dcfcripticns of Livy
are full, plain, and natural ; but thofe of Tacitus are
fliort and bold.

One embellifhment which the moderns have laid alidc
was praftifed by the antients. This is the putting of
orations into the mouths of celebrated peribnages.
Thefe ferve to diverfify hiftory, and were conveyances
for moral and political inftrudion. Thucydides was the
firft hi dorian who followed this practice ; sncl the ora-
tions with which his hiftory abounds, are valuable re-
mains of antiquity. It is doubtful, however, whether
this embellifhment fhould be allowed to the hiftorian : for
they form a mixture that is unnatural, joining together
truth and fiction. The moderns are, peihaps, mere
chafte, when, on great occanons, the hiftprjan delivers.

HISTORICAL WRITING. 241

in his ownperfon, the fentiments and reafonings of op-
pofite and contending factions.

Another fplendid embellimment of hiftory is, the de-
lineation of charaders. Thefe are confidered as exhi-
bitions of fine writing ; and hence the difficulty of ex-
celling in this province. For charafters may be too
mining and laboured. The accomplilhed hiftorian
avoids here to dazzle too much. He is folicitous to
give the refemblance in a ftyle equally removed from
meannefs and affectation. He ftudies the grandeur of
fimplicity.

A found morality fhould alfo be chara&eriftic of the
perfect hiftorian. He mould perpetually mow himlelf
upon the fide of virtue. It is not, however, his pro-
vince to preach ; and his morality mould not ocqupy too
large a proportion of his work. He fliould excite indig-
nation againtt the defigning and the vitious ; and by ap-
peals to the paflions, he will not only improve his reader,
but take-away from the natural coolnefs of hiftorical
narration.

In modern times, the hiftorical genius has fhone moft
in Italy. Acutenefs, political fagacity and wifdom,
are all confpicuous in Maclu'avel, Guicciardin, Davila,
Bentivoglio, and Father Paul. In Great-Britain hiftory
has only been faftiionable for a few years. For though
Lord Clarendon andBurnct are very confiderable hiftori-
ans, they are inferior to Hurne, Gibbon, and Robert fon.
Y

'2-l'2 HISTORICAL WRJTIXG.

The inferior kinds of hiftorical cumj.'oiitiou are annals,
memoirs, and lives. Anna], are a collection of tacts,
according to chronological order ; and the properties of
an annalitl are fidelity and diftinftnefs. Memoirs are a
compofition which pretends not to hold out a complete
detail of the period to which it relates, but only to record
what the author knows in his own perfon, or from parti-
cular information concerning any certain object, tranf-
adion, or event. It is not, therefore, expected of fuch
a writer, that he mould poifefs that profound refearch,
and thofe fuperior talents, which are requifite in an hif-
torian. It is chiefly required of him, that he fhould be
iively and interefting. The French have put forth a
flood of memoirs ; the greateft part of which are to be
regarded as agreeable trifles. We muft, however, ex-
cept from this cenfure the memoirs of the Cardinal
de Retz, and thofe of the Duke of Sully. The former
join to a lively narrative, great knowledge of human na-
ture. The latter deferve very particular praife. They
approach to the dignity of legitimate hiftory. They are
full of virtue and good fenfe ; and are well calculated to
form both the heads and the hearts of thofe, who are de-
iigued for high ftations in affairs, and the world.

The writing of lives, or biography, is a fort of com-
pofition lefs ftately than hiftory ; bnt it is, perhaps, more
inftructive. For it affords the full opportunities of dif-
playing the characters of eminent men, and of entering
into a thorough acquaintance with them. In this

HISTORICAL WRITING. '243

kind of writing Plutarch excels; but his matter is better
than his manner j and he has no peculiar beauty or
elegance. His judgment too, and accuracy, are not to
be highly commended. But he is a very humane writer,
and fond of displaying great men in the gentle lights of
retirement.

It is now right to oblerve, that of late years a great
improvement has been introduced into hiftorical writing.
A more particular attention than formerly, has been
Ihown to laws, commerce, religion, literature, and to
the fpirit and genius of nations. It is now conceived,
that an hiftorian fliould illuftrate manners as well as fads.
The perfon who introduced this improvement into luf-
tory is Voltaire ; who, as an hiftorian, has very enlarged
and inftructive views.

Y2

PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING.

F philofophy, the profefled object is to inftruft.
With the philofopher, accordingly, ftyle, form, and
drefs, are inferior purfuits. But they muft not wholly
be neglected. For the fame reafoniugs delivered in an
elegant fafliion, will ftrike more than in a dull and dry
manner.

In a philofophical writer, the ftricteft precision and
accuracy are required j and thefe qualities may be pof-
feffed without drynefs. For there are examples of phi-
lofophical writings that are polifhed, neat, and elegant.
It admits of the calmer figures of fpeech, but rejects
whatever is florid and tumid. Plato and Cicero have left
philofophical treatifes, compofed with much elegance
and beauty. Seneca is too fond of an affected, a bril-
liant, and fparkling manner. In Englifh, Mr. Locke's
Treatife on the Human Underftanding is a model of a
clear and diftinct philofophical ftyle. The writings of
Lord Shaftlbury, on the other hand, are dreifcd out
with too much ornament and finery.

Among the antients, philofophical writing aflumed
often the form of dialogue. Plato is eminent for the
beauty of his dialogues. In richnefs of imagination, no
philofophic writer, either antient or modern, is equal

PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING. 2-13

to him. His only fault is the exceifive fertility of his
imagination, which carries him into allegory, fi&ion,
enthufiafm, and the airy regions of myftical theology.
Cicero has allo diftinguiQied himfelfbyhis dialogues;
but they are not fo fpirited and chara&eriftical as thofe
of Plato. They are yet agreeable and well fupported ;
and fliow us how convrrfations were carried on among
the princinil perfons of antient Rome. Of the light and
humorous dialogue, Lucian is a model ; and he has been
imitated by modern writers. Fontenelle has written
dialogues which are fprightly and agreeable : but as for
characters, whoever his perfonages be, they all become
Frenchmen. The divine dialogues of Dr. Henry More,
amidft academic ftiffnefs, are often remarkable for cha-
rader and vivacity. Bifhop Berkley's dialogues are ab-
ftraft and yet perfpicuous.

Y 3

EPISTOLARY WRITING.

X epifto'ary writing \ve expect familiarity and cafe ;
and much of its charm depends on its introducing us in-
to fome acquaintance with the writer. Its fundamental
requifites are nature and fiinplicity, fprightlinefs and wit.
The ftyle of letters, like that of converfation, fhould
flow eafily, and mould indicate no mark of ftudy. The
letters of Lord Bolingbroke and of Biihop Atterbury
are mafterly. In thofe of Mr. Pope, there is, in gene-
ral, too much lludy : and his letters in particular to
ladies, are too full of aftedation. In French, Balz?.c
and Voiture are celebrated epiftolary writers. The for-
mer is fuelling and pompous : the latter fparkling and
witty. Of a familiar correfpondence, the moft accom-
pliilied model are the letters of Madame de SevJgne.
They are eafy, varied, lively, and beautiful. The let-
ters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, though not fo
perfect are perhaps more agreeable to the epiftolary
liyle, than any that have ever appeared in England.

FICTITIOUS HISTORY.

TT

JL HIS fpecies of competition includes a very nume-
rous, and, in general, an infignificant clafs of writings,
called romances and novels. Of thefe, however, the
influence is known to be great; and, indeed, notwitb-
Handing the bad ends to which this mode of writing
may be applied, it is very poffible to employ it for the
moft ufefal purpofes. Romances and novels defcribe
human life and manners, and difcover the diforders, as
well as the perfections, of the paflions. Even wife
men, in different nations, have ufed fables and fictions
for the propagation of knowledge ; and it is an obfer-
vation of Lord Bacon, that the common affairs of the
world are inefficient to engage the' mind of man. He
mufl create worlds of his own, and wander in the r^-
gions of imagination.

All nations whatfoever have difcovered talents for
invention, and the love of fidion. Among the Greeks
we hear of the Ionian and Milefian tales. During the
dark ages, fidion's affumed an unufual form from the
prevalence of chivalry, Romances arofe, and carried
the marvellous to. its highefl fummit. They exhibited
knights as patterns not only of the moft heroic courage,
.but as fuperlativejy eminent for religion, generofaty,

248 FICTITIOUS HISTORY.

eourtefy, and fidelity; and ladies, who were diftin-
guifhed, lii ;'.£gree, for mod-fr/, delicacy,

and dignity of manners. Of thefe romances the raoft
perfect model is the Orljndo Furiofo. But as tragic
and enchantment came to be disbelieved and ridiculed,
the chivalerian romances were difcontiuued, and were
fucceeded by a new fpecies of fictitious

Of the fecond ftage of romance writing, the Cleopatra
of Madame Scuderi, and the Arcadia of Sir Philip Syd-
ney, are good examples. In theie, however, there
was ftill too large a proportion of the marvellous'; and
the books were too voluminous and unwieldy. Ro-
mance writing appeared, therefore, in a new form. It
dwindled down to the familiar novel. Interefting
ii tuctions in real life are the ground work of novel
writing. Upon this plan the French have produced
works of great merit. Such is the Gil Bias of Le Sage,
the Marianne of Marivaux, and the Nouvelle Heloife
of Rouffeau.

In this mode of writing, the Englifh are inferior to
the French ; yet in this way we have performances
which difcover the ftrength of the Britim genius. Ro-
binfon Crufoe is a well- conducted fidion. Mr. Field-
ing novels are diftinguiihed for their humour, and for
a boldnefs of character. Mr, Richardlbn, the author of
Clariffa, is the moft moral of all our writers j but he
polfefle-s the unfortunate talent of fpinning out his
books into an imraeafurable length. As to the com-

FICTITIOUS HISTORY.

nion run of performances, under the titles of lives,
adventures, and hiftories, they are moft inrlpid; and
it is too often their tendency to deprave the morals,
and to encourage diffipation and idlenels.

NATURE OF POETRY.
Its ORIGIN and PROGRESS; "VERSIFICATION.

TAT, it may be aflced, is poetry ? and how does-
it differ from profe ? Many difputes have been main-
tained among the critics upon thefe queftions. The
offence of poetry is fuppofed by Ariftotle, Plato, and
others, to coniift in ficlion. This defcription, however,
has been efteemed to be imperfect, and limited. Many
account the chara£teriftic of poetry, to be imitation.
But an imitation of human manners and characters may
be carried on in profe.

Perhaps it is the beft definition of poetry, " that it
u is the language of paflion, or of enlivened imagi-
" nation, formed moft commonly into regular num-
**• bers." As the primary aid of the poet is to pleafe
and to move, it is to the imagination and the paffions
that he addreffes himfelf. With him, inftru6tion and
reformation are fecondary considerations.

It has been faid, that poetry, is older than profe ; and
the pofition is certainly true. In the very beginning of
fociety, there were occafions upon which men met to-

NATURE OF POETRY. 251

gather at feafts nnd facrifices, when mafic, dance, and
fong, were the chief entertainment. The meetings of
the northern tribes of America, are diftinguilhed by
mafic and fong. By fongs they celebrate their religi-
ous ceremonies, and their martial atchievements. And
it is in fuch fongs which characterize the infancy of all
nations, that there may be traced the beginnings of
poetic composition.

Man is by nature both a poet and a mufician. The
fame impulfe which produces an enthufiaftic poetic
ftyle, produces a high modulation of found. Mufic
and poetry are united in fong; and they mutually
afiift and exalt each other. The firll poets fung their
own verfes ; and hence the origin of what is called
verfification, or the arrangement of words to fome
tune or melody.

Poets and fongs are the firft objects that make their
appearance in any nation. Apollo, Orpheus, and Am-
phion, were the firft tamers of mankind among the
Greeks. The Gothic nations had their fcalders, or
poets. The Celtic tribes had their bards. Poems and
fongs are among the antiquities of all countries ; and
the occafions of their being compofed are nearly the
fame. They comprize the celebration of goo's, and
heroes, and victories. They abound in fire and en-
thufialin ; and they- are wild, irregular and glowing.

252 NATURE OF POETRY.

It is in the progrefs of fociety that poems atfume
different forms. Time feparates into claffes the diffe-
rent kinds of poetic compofuion A peculiar merit,
and certain rules, are affigned to each. The ode and
the elegy, the epic poem, and dramatic competitions,
are all reduced to regulations, and exercife the acute-
nefs of criticifm.

ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.

MERE

quantity is of very Kttle effeft in Englifh
verfificatiou. For the difference made between long
and lliort fyllables, in our manner of pronouncing them,
is very inconsiderable. The only perceptible difference
among our fyllables, is occafioned by fome of them,
being pronounced with that ftronger percuflion of voice,
which is termed accent. Tins accent, however, does
not always make the fyllable longer. It communicates
only more force of found ; and it is upon a certain
order and fuccerlion of accented and unaccented fylla-
bles, more than upon their being Ihort or long, that
the melody of our verfe depends.

In the conftitution of our verfe there is another effen •
tial circumftance. This is the caefural pauie which falU
towards the middle of each line. This pnnfe may fall
after the fourth, the fifth, the fixth, or the fevcnth
fyllable ; and by this means uncommon variety and
richnefs are added to Engiifli verfiiicatiou.

When the pauie falls earlieft, it is upon the fourth
fyllable ; and in this cafe, a fpirited air is ghen to the

Z

'254 ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.

line. Of this, the following lines from Mr. Pope, are a

proper illuftration :

On her white breaft | a fparkling crofs (he wore,
Which Jews might kifs, | and Infidels adoie:
Her lively looks | a fprightly mind difclofe,
Quick as her eyes, | and as unfix'd as thofe.
Favours to none, | to all fhe i'miles extends,
Oft (lie rejects, [ but never once offends.

"When the paufe falls after the fifth fyllable, which
divides equally the line, the melody is fenfibly altered.
The verfe lofing the brilk air of the former paufe, be-
comes more fmooth and flowing.

Eternal funfhine | of the fuot'efs mind,

Each prayer accepted, j and each wifli refign'd.

When the paufe follows the fixth fyllable, the me-
lody grows grave. The march of the verfe is more fo-
lemn and meafurcd.

The wrath of Peleus' Ton, j the direful fpring

Of all the Grecian woes, | O Goddefs fmg !

•
The grave cadence becomes ftill more fenfible, when

the paufe follows the ieventh fyllable. This kind of
verfe, however, occurs the moft feldom. Its effect is
to diverfify the melody of long poems.

And in the fmooth defcriptive | murmur ftill.
Long loved, adored ideas, | all adieu.

Our blank verfe is a bold and difencumbered mode
of verification. It is free from the full clofe vbich

ENGLISH VERSIFICATION. 255

rhyme forces upon the ear at the termination of every
couplet. Hence it is peculiarly fuited to fubje&s of
dignity and force. It is more favourable than rhyme
to the fublime, and the highly pa-thetic. It is the moft •
proper for an epic poem, and for tragedy. Rhyme
finds a proper place in the middle regions of poetry 5
and blank verfe in the higheft.

The prefeut form of our Englifh heroic rhyme in
couplets is modern. For the meafure of verification
in ufe in the days of Elizabeth, King James, and
Charles I. was the ilanza of eight lines. Waller was
the firft who gave the faihion to couplets ; and Dryden
eftablifhed the ufage. Waller harmonized our verfe ;
and Dryden carried it to perfection. The verfificatioa
of Pope is peculiar. It is flowing and fmooth, correct
and laboured, in the higheft degree. He has thrown
totally afide the triplets, which are fo common in Dry-
den, and the older poets. As to eaie and variety.
Dryden excels Pope. He makes his couplets to run
into one another, and has fomewhat of the freedom
of blank verfe.

Z 2

PASTORAL POETRY.

T was not till men had begun to aflemble in great
cities, aud the buftle of courts and large focieties was
kno\vn, that pafloral poetry affumed its prefcnt form.
From the tumult of a city life, men looked back with
oomplacency to the innocence of a country retirement.
In the court of King Ptolemy, Theocritus wrote the
firft paftorals with which we are acquainted ; and in
the court of Auguftus, Virgil imitated him.

The patforal is a very agreeable fpecies of poetry.
It lays before us the gay and pleating fcenes of nature.
It recalls the objects which commonly are the delight
of our childhood and youth. It gives us the image of
a life, to which we join the id?as of innocence, peace,
virtue, and Icifure. It tranfports us into the calm Ely-
fian regions. It holds out many objecls favourable to
poetry ; rivers and mountains, meadows aud hills,
rocks, trees, and fhepherds.

The paftoral poet is careful to exhibit whatever is
moft pleafing in the psftoral ftate. He paints its fim-
plicity, its tranquil ity, and happinefs; but conceals its
rudenefs and miiery. His pictures are not thofe of real
life. It is fufncieot that they referable It. He has oc-

PASTOKAL POETRY. 257

cafion, accordingly, for great art. And to have a pro-
per idea of paftoral poetry, we muft confider, 1. llic
fcenery. 2. The characters; and laftly, the fubjeds
•which it exhibits.

The fcene muft be ever in the country ; and the
poet muft have a talent for defcription. In this ref-
pe£t Virgil is outdone by Theocritus, whofe paintings
are richer and more piclurelque. In every pattoral, a
rural profpe6t Ihould be drawn with diltin£hiei"s. It is
infipid to have unmeaning groups of rofes and violets,
of birds, breezes, and brooks. A good poet gives a
landfcape that would figure on canvas. His obje&s
are particularifed. They cannot be miftaken, and afford
to the mind clear and plcaling conceptions.

In his allufions to natural objects, as well as in pro-
feiled defcriptions of the fcenery, die poet fliould alfo
be clear and various. „ He muft diverfify his face of
nature. It is likewife a rule with him, to fnit his foe-
nery to the fubje6t of the paftoral ; and to fliow nature
under the forms that moft accurately correfpond with

the emotions and fentiments he defcribe?. Thus Vimil

o *

when he gives the lamentation of a defpairing lover,
communicates a gloomy fadnefs to the fcene.

fantem inter den/as, umbrafa cacumina, fajos,
Ajjidue <veniebat ; ibi bac incondita fotus
Montibuf & fylvis fnidlo jaftablt inani.

Z 3

258 PASTORAL POETRY"..

As to the. characters in paftorals, it is not fufficient that
they are peribns who refide conftautly in the country.
Courtiers and citizens, who refort occasionally to re-
tirements, would not figure in paftorals. The perfons
in fuch poems muft be actually fliepherds, and wholly
engaged in rural occupations. The fliepherd muft be
plain and unaffected, without being dull or infipid. He
muft have good fenfe, and even vivacity. He muft be
tender and delicate in his feelings. He ihould never
(kr.i in general reflections or in conceits, for thefe arc
confequences of refinement. When Aminta, in Tafib,
is difentangling his miftrefs's hair from the tree to which
a iavage had bound it, he is made to fay, '•' Cruel
" tree! how ceuldft thou injure that lovely hair, which
" did thee fo much honour ? Thy rugged trunk was
" not worthy of fuch lovely knots. "What have the
"• fervants of love, if thofe precious chains are common
" to them, and to the trees." Strained and forced
fentiments like thefe, iuit not the woods. The language
of rural perfonages is that of plain good fenfe, and
natural feeling. Hence the charm of the following
lines in Virgil :

Sepibusin tio/lris parvam te rojcida mala,
(Dux ego *vejlereram) <v'idi cum matre legentem ;
Alter ab undedmo turn me jam ceperat annus .
Jam fragiles poteram a terra contingere ramcs-
Ut vidi, ut peril, ut me mains abjlulit errzr-

Once with your mother to our fields you came
For dewy apples: thence I date my flame;

PASTORAL POETRY. 15Q:

The choicelt fiuit I pointed to your view,

ThV young my raptur'd foul was fix'd on you ;

T e hough I jud could reach with little arms :

But then, even then, could feel thy powerful charms.

O liow I gaz'd in plrafing tranfport toft !

How glow'd my heart, in fweet delufion loft !

With refpeft to the fubjedls of paftorals, there is *
nicety which is abiblutely necefiary. For it is not
enough, that the poet mould give us fhepherds difcourf-
ing together. Every good poem muft have a topic that
fhould be interefting in fome way. In this lies the dif-
ficulty of paftoral poetry. The aclive fcenes of country
life are too barren of incidents. The condition of a
fliepherd has few things in it that produce curiofity and
furprize. Hence the generality of paftorals are common
place, and impertinently infipid. Yet this infipidity is
not folely to be afcribed to the barrennefs of topicks.
It is in a great meafure, the fault alib of the poet.
For human pa (lions are much the fame* in every fitua-
tion and rank of life. And what an infinite variety of
objects within the rural fphere do the paffions prefent !
The ftruggles and ambition of fliepherds ; their adven-
tures j their difquiets and felicity ; the rivalihip of lovers;
unexpected fucceffes and difafters are all proper topics
for the paftoral mule..

Theocritus and Virgil are at the head of this mode of
writing. For the fimplicity of his fentiments, the har-
mony of his numbers, and the richnefs of his fcenery,

'26O PASTORAL POETRY.

the former is diftinguiihed. But he defcends fometime*
into ideas that are mean, abunve, and immodeft.
Virgil, on the contrary, has all the paftoral fimpliciry
and grace, without any offensive rufticity.

The modern writers of paftorals have, in general,
imitated Theocritus and Virgil. Snunazariu , however,
a Latin poet, in the age of Leo X. attempted a bold in-
novation, by compofing pifcatory eclogues, and chang-
ing the fcene from woods to the fea, and from fhep-
herds to fifhermen. But this attempt was unhappy, and
he has had no imitators. The toilfome life of the fimer-
man had nothing agreeable to prefent to the imagina-
tion. Fifh and marine productions had nothing ]
in them. Of all the moderns, Gefner, a poet of Switzer-
land, has been the raoft happy. There are many new
ideas in his Idyls. His fcenery is ftriking, and his def-
criptions are lively. He is pathetic, and writes to the
heart. Neither the paftorals of Mr. Pope, nor Mr.
Philips, are a great acquifition to Engliih poetry. The
paftorals of Pope are wonderfully barren ; and their
chief merit is the fmoothnefs of their veriTncation.
Philips attempted to be more natural 'than Pope; but
wanted genius to fupport his attempt. His tbpicks,
like thofe of Pope, are beaten ; and inftead of being na-
tural or fimple, he is infipid and flat. Between thefe
authors there was a ftrong competition ; and in fonie
papers of the Guardian a partiality was (hown to Philips.
This offended Pope, who procured a paper to be inferted

PASTORAL POETKY. 26l

in that work*, in which he afte&ed to carry on the
plan of extolling Philips, but in which he fatirized him
moll leverely with ironical compliments, and pointed to
his own fuperiority over that poet. The Shepherd's
Week of Mr. Gay was defigaed as a ridicule on Philips;
and is an ingenious burleique of paftoral writing, when
it copies too completely the manners of clowns and
ruftics. As to Mr. Shenftone's paftoral ballad, it is one
of the moil elegant Poems in the Engliih language.

In latter times, the paftoral writing has been extended
into a play, or drama ; and this is one of the chief im-
provements that have been made upon it. Two pieces
of this kind are highly celebrated ; Guarini's Paftor
Fido, and Taflb's Amuita, Both pofiefs great beauties;
but the latter is the preferable poem, as being lels intri-
cate, and lefs affected. It is yet not wholly free from
Italian refinement. As a poem it has however, great
merit. The poetry is plealuig aud gentle, and the
Italian language has communicated to it that foftnefs,
which is fo fuited to the ;iAlt^ral.

The Gentle Shepherd of Allan Ramfay is a paftoral
composition which muft not be omitted. To this admi-
rable poem it is perhaps' a difadv antage, that it is writ-
ten in the old ruftic dialc6l of Scotland, which muft be
foon obfolete : and it is further to be objected to it, that

* Guardian,'' No. 40,

262 PASTORAL POETRY,

it is formed fo accurately on the rural manners of
Scotland, that a native alone of that country can tho-
roughly enter into, and relifh it. Of natural defcrip-
tion it is full; and it excels hi tendernefs of fentiment.
The characters are drawn with a ikilful pencil, the in-
cidents are affecting, and the icenery and manners are
lively and juft.

LYRIC POETRY.

T

JL HE ode is a fpecies of poetry which preferves dig-
nity, and in which many poets in every age have exer-
ciled themfelves. Ode is, in Greek, equivalent with
fong or hymn ; and lyric poetry implies, that the vcries
are accompanied with a lyre, or with a mufical inltru-
raent. The ode retains its firrt and moil antient form j
and fcntiments of fome kind or other conftitute its fub-
je6t. It recites not actions. Its fyirit, and the manner
of its execution, give it its chief value. It admits of a
bolder and more pailionate ftrain, than is allowed in
limple recitations. Hence the enthufiafm that belongs
to it. Hence that neglect cf regularity, and that difor-
der it is fuppofed to admit.

There are four denominations under which all odes
may be clafled. 1. Hymns addreifed to the Supreme
Being, and relating to religious fubje£ts. 2. Heroic
odes, which concern the celebration of heroes, and great
actions. 3. Moral and philotbphical odes, \vhich refer
chiefly to virtue, friendship, and humanity. 4. Fertive
and amorous odes, which are calculated for pleafure and
amufement.

As enthufiafm is confidered as the characteriftic of the
ode, it has too much degenerated into licentioulnefs j

264 LYRIC POETRY.

and this fpecies of writing has, above all others, beck
infected with the want of order, method, and connexion.
The poet is out of fight in a moment. He is fo abrupt
and eccentric, fo irregular and obfcure, that we cannot
partake of his raptures. It is not indeed neecffary, that
the ftrudnre of the ode fhould be ib perfectly exaft and
formal as a didactic poem. But in every work of genius
there ought to be a whole, and this whole fhouJd confift
of parts. Thefe parts too fhould have a bond of con-
nexion. In the ode, the tranfition from thought to
thought may be briik and lapid, but the connexion of
ideas thould be preferred ; a.ud the author fhould think
and not rave.

Pindar, the father of lyric poetry, has led his imitators
into wildnefs and r.mhufiaftic fury. They imitate his
diforder without catching his fpirit. In Horace every-
thing is correct, harmonious, and happy. His eleva-
tion is moderate and not rapturous. Grace and ele-
gance are his chara&eri fries. He fupports a mcral fen-
timent with dignity, touches a gay one with felicity,
and has the art to trifle moft agreeably. His language
too is molt fortunate.

The Latin poets, of later ages, have imitated him;
.and fome limes happily. Cafimir, a Polilh poet of the
laft century, is of die number of his imitators ; and dif-
covers a coufiderable degree of original genius, and poe-
Cical fire. He is, however, far inferior to the Roman.

LYRIC POETRY. 265

Buchanan, in his lyric compofitions, is greater, and
more claflical.

In the French, the odes of Jean Baptifte Roufleau
are jurtly celebrated for great beauty of fentimcnt and
expreflion. In our own language, Dryden's ode on St.
Cecilia is well known. Mr. Gray, in fome of his odes,
is celebrated for tendernefs and fublimity ; and in Dod-
fley's Mifcellanies, there are feveral very beautiful lyric
poems. As to profefled Pindaric odes, they are feldorn
intelligible. Cowley is doubly harlh in his Pindaric
compofitions. His Anacreontic odes are better j and
perhaps the moft agreeable and perfe& in their kind, of
all his work .

DIDACTIC POETRY.

dida&ic poetry, it is the exprefs intention t«
convey ioftru£Hon and knowledge. A dida&ic poem
may be executed in different ways. The poet may
treat fome inltructive fubje& in a regular for<m> or with-
out intending a great or regular work, he may inveigh
againft particular vices, or prefs Ibnae moral obfervations
on human life and characters.

The higheft fpecies of didactic compofition, is a for-
mal treat! fe on fome philofophical or grave fubje<5t.
Such are the books of Lucretius de Rerum Natura, the
Georgics of Virgil, the Effay on Criticifm by Mr. Pope,
the Pleafures.of the Imagination by Akenfide, Arm-
ftrong on Health, and the Art of Poetry by Horace,
Vida, and Boileau.

In all thefe works inftru&ion is the profefled obje6t.
It is neceflary, however, that the poet enliven his leffons
by figures, and incidents, and poetical painting. In his
Georgics, Virgil has the moft common circumftances in
rural life. When he is to fay that the labour of the
farmer rauft begin in fpring. he exprefles himfelf in the
following manner :

Vere no<vo, gelidus cants cum montlbuf humor
-Llqttitur, & Zffbyro puirisfe gleba refol<v it ;

DIDACTIC POETRY. '207

Dfpreffo inclpidt jam tarn mibl Taurus aratra
IngemerC) Qfulco attritusfplendcfcert uvm.-r,

While yet thefpring is youn.^, while earth unbinds
Her frozen boiwin to the weftem winds ;
While mouutaia fuows di.Tolvc a ;;unti the fun,
And dreams yet new from prccipieces run :
Even in this early dawning of the year,
Produce the plough, and yoke the fturdy fleer,
And goad him till he groans beneath his toil,
Till the bright Ihaie is buried in the foil.

In all dida&ic works, fuch a method and order are re-
quifite, as fhall exhibit clearly a connected train of in-»
ftru6tioa. With regard to epifodes and embellishments,
the writers of dida&ic poetry may indulge in great li-
berties. For in a poetical performance, a continued fe-
ries of inftruc~lion, without entertaining embellifhments,
would fatigue, and even diiguft. The digreflions in
the Georgics of Virgil are all admirable. The happi-
nefs of a country life, the fable of Arifteus, and the
tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, cannot be praifed too
much.

A dida&ic poet ought alfo to exert his fldll in con-
ne&ing his epifodes with his fubje&s. In this addrefs
Virgil is eminent. Among modern didactic poetry,
Dr. Akenfide and Dr. Armftrong are defervedly illuf-.
tvious. The former is very rich and poetical } but the
latter maintains a greater equality, and is throughout
remarkable for a chafte and correft elegance.
A a 2

268 DIDACTIC POETHY.

Of dida&ic poetry, fatires and epiftles run into the
mult familiar ftyle. It is probable, that the fatire is a relic
of the ancient comedy, the groffnefs of which was cor-
refted by Ennius and Lucilius. It was Horace who
brought it to the perfection in which we now behold it.
Vice and vitious characters are its objects, and it pro-
fefles the reformation of manners. There arc three dif-
ferent modes in which it appears in the writings of
Horace, Juvenal, and Perfius.

The fatires of Horace have not much elevation. They
exhibit a meafured profe. Eafe and grace characterize
him j and he glances rather at the follies and weakneflei
of mankind, than their vices. He fmiles while he re-
proves. He moralizes like a found philolbpher, with
the politenefs of a courtier. Juvenal is more de-
elamatory and ferious; and has greater ftrength and
fire. Perfius has diftinguifhed himfelf by a noble and
iublime morality.

Poetical epiftles, when employed on moral and cri-
tical topics, have a refemblance in the ftrain of their
poetry to fatires. But in the epiftolary form many other
fubjcfts may be treated. Love poetry, or elegiac, may,
for example, be carried on in this mode. The ethical
epifiles of Pope are a model : and he fhews in them the
flrength of his genius. Here he had a full opportunity
for difplaying his judgment and wit, his concife and
happy eXpreflion, together with the harmony of his
numbers. His imitations of Horace are fo happy, that

DIDACTIC POETRY. 2(X)

it is difficult to fay whether the original or the copy is
the moft to be admired.

Among moral and didaftic writers, Do6tor Young
ought not to be paffed over in filence. Genius appears
in all his works ; but his Univerfal Paflion may be con-
fidered as pofiefling the full merit of that concifenefs
which is particularly requifite in fatirical and didaclic
productions. At the fame time it is to be obferved,,
that his wit is often too fparkling, and that his fenten-
ces are fometimes too concife. In his Night Thoughts
there is great energy of expreffion, feveral pathetic paf-
fages, many happy images, and many pious fefledtions.
But it muft be allowed, that he is frequently overftrained.
and turgid, harfh and obfcure.

A a 3

DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

T is in defcriptive poetry, that the higheft exertions
of genius may be difplayed. In genera], indeed, de-
icription is introduced as an embellifhmen.t, and confti-
tutes not, properly any particular fpecies or mode of
compolition. It is the teft of a poet's imagination, and
never fails todiftinguiih the original from the fecond rate
genius. A writer of an inferior clafs, fees nothing new
or peculiar in the object he would paint: he is loofeand
vague j feeble and general. A true poet, on the con-
trary, places an object before our eyes. He gives it the
colouring of life, and the painter might copy from
him.

The great art of picturefque defcription lies in the
felection of circum fiances. Thefe ought never to be
vulgar or common. They fhould mark ftrongly^the
object. For all diftinct ideas are formed upon particu-
lars. There fhould alfo be a uniformity in the circum-
ftances which are felected. In defcribing a great object,
all the circumftances brought forward fhould lift and
aggrandize; and in holding out a gay object, all the
circumftances Ihould tend to beautify.

The largeft and fulleft defcriptive performance, in

DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

our language, is the Seafons of Thomfon ; a work which
poflcffes very uncommon merit. The ftyle is fplendid
and ftrong, but fometimes harfli and indiftin6t. He ii
an animated and beautiful defcriber, and poflcffed a feel-
ing heart, and a warm imagination. He had ftudied
nature with great care 5 was enamoured of her beau-
ties ; and had the happy talent of painting them like a
mafter. To fliew the power of a fingle well-chofen cir-
cumftance to heighten a description, the following paf-
fagc may be appealed to, in his Summer, where, relating
the effeiSb of heat in the torid zone, he is led to take
notice of the peftilence that deftroyed the Englifh fleet
at Carthagena, under Admiral Vernon.

You gallant Vernon, faw
The miferable fcene ? you pitying faw,
To infant weakrwfs funk the warrior's arm ;
Saw the deep racking pang; the ghaftly form ;
The lip pale quivMng ; and the beamlefs eye
No more with ardour bright ; you heard the groans
Of agonizing (hip* from ftiore to fhore ;
Heard nightly plunged, <»mid the fullcn waves,
The frequent corfe. '•

All the circumftances felefted here contribute to aug-
ment the difmal fcene, But the laft image is the moft
ftriking in the pifture.

Of defcriptive narration, there are beautiful examples
in Parnell's Tale of the Hermit. The fetting forth of
the hermit to vifit the world, his meeting with a com-
panion, the houfes in which they are entertained, of

272 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man,
are pieces of highly finiihed painting. But the richeft
and the moft remarkable of ail the defcriptive poems in
the Englifh language, are the Allegro and the Penferofo
of Milton. They are the ftorehoufe from whence fuc-
ceeding poets have enriched their defcriptions, and are
to be considered as inimitably fine poems. Take, for
inftance, the following lines from the Penferofo :

I walk unfeen

On the dry, Imooih-fhaven green,

To behold the wandering moon

Riding near her higheft noon ;

And oft, as if her head fhebow'd,

Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft on a plat of tifing ground,

I hear the far-off curfew found,

Over fome wide watered fhore,

Swinging flow with folemn roar :

Or, if the air will not permit,

Some ftill removed place will fit,

Where glowing embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ;

Far from all refort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,

Or the bellman's drowfy charm,

To blefs the doors from nightly harm;

Or let my lamp at midnight hour

Be feen in fome high lonely tower,

Exploring Plato to unfold

What worlds, or what vafl regions hold

BESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 273

Th' immortal mind that hath forfook
Her inanfion in this flcfhy nook ;
And of tliefc daemons that are found
In fire, in air, flood, or under ground.

All here is particularly pi&urefque, exprellivc, and
concife. One ftrong point of view is exhibited to the
readerj and the impreflion made is lively and interefting.

Both Homer and Virgil excel in poetical defcription.
In the fecond JEneid, the facking of Troy is fo parti-
cularly defcribed, that the reader finds himfelf in the
midft of the fcene. The death of Priam is a mafter-
piece of defcription. Homer's battles are wonderful,
and univerfally known. Offian too paints in ftrong co-
lours, and is remarkable for touching the heart. He
thus pourtrays the ruins of Balclutha : " I have feen
" the walls of Balclutha, but they were defolate. The
" fire had refounded within the halls ; and the-
" voice of the people is now heard no more. The
" ftream of Clutha, was removed from its place, by the
" fall of the walls ; the thiftle fhook there its lonely
" head j the mofs whiftled to the wind. The fox looked
" out of the window; the rank grafs waved round his
" head. Defolate is the dwelling of Moina ; filence is
" in the houfe of her fathers."

Upon a proper choice of epithets, there depends much
of the beauty of defcriptive poetry. With regard to
this, poets are too often carelefs; and hence the multi-
tude of unmeaning and redundant epithets. Hence the

27-1 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

" Liquid! Fontes" of Virgil, and the " Prat a Cams
" Albicant Pruinis" of Horace. Every epithet fhould
add a new idea to the word which it qualities. To ob-
fcrve that water is liquid, and that fnow is white, is
little better than mere tautology. But the propriety and
advantage of an ingenious fele&ion of epithets, will ap-
pear beft from an example ; and the fallowing lines
from Milton will afford one :

— - \VhoftjIl tempt with vvand'iing feet
Tht daik, unbottom'd, infinite abyfs,
And through the palpable o!>fcure, find out
This uncouth way ? Or fpread his airy flight,
Uoborn with indefatigable wings,
Over the vaft abrupt ?

It is obvious, that the defcription here is very confi-
derably afiifted by the epithets. The wandering feet,
the unbottome.d abyfs, the palpable obfcure, the un-
couth way, the indefatigable wing, are all very happy
expreflions.

TUB POETRY OF THE HEBREWS,

N treating of the different kinds of poetry, that of
the Scriptures deferves a place. In this talk, Dr. Lowth
on the poetry of the Hebrews is an excellent guide ;
and it may be proper, that we benefit by the obferva-
tions of a writer fo ingenious.

•

.Among the Hebrews poetry was cultivated from the

earlieft times. Its general conftru&ion muft not be
judged of by the poems of other nations. It is fingular
and peculiar. It con ti its in dividing every period into
correfpondent, for the moft part into equal numbers,
which an'fwer to one another, both in fenfe and found.
A frntiment -is exprdTed in the fir ft member of the pe-
riod ; and in the fecond member the fame fentiment
is amplified, o- fometimes cohtrafted with its oppofite.
Thus, rt Sing nmo the Lord a new long— Sing unto the
" Lord all the earth. Sing unfo the Lord, and blefs
" hi« nine — fhew (ortli his falvation from day to day.
" Dtclare iiic ^iorv among the heathen — his wonders
" auvmg all people."

This form of poetical compofnion is to be deduced
-from the manner in which the Hebrews lung their facred
hymns. Ihefe were accompanied with mufic, and were

276 THE POETRY OP

performed by bands of fingers and muficians, who an-
fwered alternately to each other. One band began the
hymn thus : " The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice;"
and the chorus, or ferni chorus, took up the correfpond-
ing verficle : " Let the multitudes of the iiles be glad
thereof."

But independent of its peculiar mode of conftru&ion,
the facred poetry is diftinguillied by the higheft beauties
of figure and expreflion. Concifenefs and ftrength are
two of its moft remarkable characters. The fentences
are always fhort. The fame thought is never dwelt
•upon long. Hence the fublimity of the poetry of the
Hebrews.

To understand the defcription of natural objects in

the Scriptures, it is neceffary to attend to particular ch>

cumftances of the land of Judaea. Throughout all

that region, little or no rain falls during the fummer

months. Hence to reprefent diftrefs, there are frequent

allufions to a dry and thirfty land, where no water is 5

and hence to defcribe a change from diftrefs to profpe-

rity, their metaphors are founded on the falling of iliow-

ers, and the burfting out of fprings. Thus in Ifaiah

" The wildernefs and the folitary place ihall be glad, and

" the defertfhall rejoice and blottom, as the rote. For in

" thewildernei's {ball waters break out, and ftreams in the

" defert ; and the parched ground ihall become a pool ;

" and the thirfty land, fpnngs of water 5 in the habita-

THE HEBREWS. '277

" tion of dragons there fhall be grafs, with ruihes
" and reeds."

The comparifons employed by the facred poets arc
generally fhort. They are, of confequence, the more
linking. Of this the follow ing is a good example: " He
" that ruleth over man muft be juft, ruling in the fear
" of God : and he ihall be as the light of the morning,
" when the fun rifeth, even a morning without clouds j
" as the tender grafs fpsinging out of the earth, by
" clear fhining after rain." 2 Sam. xxiii. 3.

Allegory likewife is a figure employed by the He-
brews ; and a fine inffonce of this occurs in the Ixxxth
Pfalm, wherein the people of Ifrael are compared to a
vine. Of parables the prophetical writings are full ; and
if it fliould be objected to thefe that they are obicure, it
fhould be remembered, that in old times, in the Eaflern
world, it was univerfally the faihion to convey truth
under myfterious reprefen tat ions.

The figure, however, which elevates beyond all others
the poetical flyle of the Scriptures, is the profopopaeia,
or perfonification. The perfonifications of the Scrip-
tures exceed, ui boldnefs and fublimity, every thing that
can be found in other poems. This is more particularly
the cafe when any appearance or operation of the Al-
mighty is concerned. " Before him went the peftt-
" lence—The waters faw thee, O God, and were
Bb

278 THE POETRY OF

" afraid — The mountains faw tbee, and they trembled
" — The overflowings of the waters pa fled by — 1 he ncep
" uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands on high."
The poetry of the Scriptures is very different frc>m mo-
dern poetry. It is the burft of infpiration. Bold fub-
limity, and not corred elegance, is its character.

The feveral kinds of poetry found in Scripture, are
chiefly the didaflic, elegiac, paftoral, and lyric. The
book of proverbs is a principal inftance of the didadic
fpecies of poetry. Of elegiac poetry, there is a very
beautiful inftance in the lamentation of David over Jona-
than. Of paftoral poetry, the Song of Solomon is a
high exemplification j and of lyric poetry, the Old
Teftament is full.

With regard to the compofers of the Sacred Books, it
is obvious that there is a ftrong diverfity in ftyle and
manner. Of the facred Poets, the moft eminent are,
die author of the book of Job, David, and Jfaiah. In
the compofitions of David there is a great variety of ftyle
and manner. In the foft and tender he excels ; and
there are many lofty paflages in his Pfalms. But ia
ftrength of defcription he yields to Job ; and in fubli-
mity he is inferior to Ifaiah. The moft fublime of all
poets, without exception, is Ifaiah. Dr. Lowth com-
pares Ifaiah to Homer, Jeremiah to Simonides, and Eze-
kicl to ^Efchylus. Among the minor prophets, Hofea,
Joel, Micah, Habakkuk, and efpecially Nahum, are

THE HEBREWS.

eminent for poetical fpirit. In the prophecies of Daniel
and Jonah, there is no poetry.

The book of Job is extremely antient ; but the author
is uncertain ; and it is remarkable that it has no con-
nection with the affairs or manners of the Jews and He-
brews. The poetry of it is highly defcriptive. It
abounds in a peculiar glow of fancy, and in metaphor,
The author renders vilible whatever he treats. The
fccne is laid in the land of Uz, or Idumaea, which 'a &
part of Arabia ; and the imagery employed in it differ*
from that which is peculiar to the Hebrews.

EPIC POETRY.

"F all poetical works, the epic poem is allowed to
be the moft dignified. To contrive a ftory which is
entertaining, important, and inftractive, to enrich it
with happy incidents, to enliven it with defcriptions and
characters, and to maintain an uniform propriety of fen-
tlment, and a due elevation of ftyle, are efforts of high
genius. An Epic poem may be defined to be the recital
of fome illuftrious enterprize in a poetical form. The
epic mule is of a moral nature ; and the tendency of
this kind of poetry is the promotion of virtue. To this
purpofe, it acts by extending our ideas of perfection, and
by exciting admiration. Naw this is accomplifhed by
adequate reprefentations of heroic deeds, and virtuous
characters. Valour, truth, juftice, fidelity, friendlhip,
piety, magnanimity, are the objects which the epic
mufe prefents to our minds, in the moft fhining and ho-
nourable colours.

Epic competition is diitinguilhed from hi ftory by its
poetical form, and its liberty of fiction. It is a more
calm competition than tragedy. It requires a grave,
equal, anl fupported dignity. On fome occafions it

EPIC POETRY, 281

demands the pathetic and the violent, and it admits a
great compafs of time and a&ion.

The aftion or fubject of the epic mart pofiefs three
qualifications or proper! ie. It mud be one; it muft be
great ; it muft be interefting. One aftion or enterprize
muft constitute its fubjeft. Ariftotle infills on unity as
efTential to the epic ; becaufe feparate fa«5ts never affect
fo deeply, as a tale that is one and connected. Virgil
and Homer are careful to uphold the unity of adion.
Virgil, for example, has chofen for his fubjecl: the
eftablilhment of ./Eneas in Italy ; and the anger of
Achilles, with its coniequences, is the fubjed of the
Iliad.

1
It is not, however to be underftood, that the epic

unity, or aftion, is to exclude epifodes. On the con-
trary, the epic poem would be cold without them; and
the critics consider them as its greateft embelliflmients.
They arc introduced for the fake of variety; and they
relieve the reader by fluffing the fcene. Thus He&or's
vifit to Andromache in the Iliad, and Erminia's adven-
ture with the ihepherd, in the feventh book of the Je-
rufalem, afford us a well-judged and pleafing retreat
from camps and buftles.

The next property of an epic after unity, is, that the
aftion reprcfented be great, to a degree that is fuffici-
ent to fix attention, and to juftify the fplendour of po-
B b 3

282 EPIC POETRY.

etic elevation. Both Lucan and Voltaire have tranf-
greffed this rule. The former does not pleafe, by con-
lining himfelf too ftri&ly to hiftorical truth; and the
latter has mingled, improperly, well-known events with
fictitious parts. Hence they exhibit not that greatnefs
which the epic requires.

The third property of the epic is, that it be intereft-
ing. This depends, in a great meafure, upon the
choice of the ftory. It depends, however, a great deal
more upon the artful management of die poet. He muft
frame his plan foas to comprehend many affecting inci-
dents. He muft dazzle with valiant atchievements,
He muft be awful and auguft ; tender and pathetic ;
gentle and pleafing.

To render the epic interefling, great care rnuft alfo be
employed with refpeft to the characters of the heroes.
It is by the management of the characters that the poet
is to excite the paffions, and to hold up the fufpenfe and
the agitation of his reader.

It is generally fuppofed by the critics, that an epic
poem fliould conclude fuccefsfully; as an unhappy con-
clufion deprefies the mind. And, indeed, it is on the
profperous fide generally that epic poets conclude. But
two authors, of great name, are an exception to this
practice. Lucan and Milton held the contrary courfe.
The one concludes with the fubverfion of the Roman
liberty j and the other with the expulfion of man from
Paradife.

EPIC POETRY. 283

No precife boundaries are fixed for the time, or du-
ration of the epic action. Of the Iliad, the action lafts,
according to Boffu, no longer than forty- (even days.
The action of the Odyffey extends to eight years and a
half; and that of the /Eneid includes about fix years.

The perfonages in an epic poem fhould be proper,
and well fupported. They ihould diiplay the features
of human nature ; and admit of different degrees of vir-
tue and turpitude. Poetic characters are of two forts,
general and particular. General characters are fuch as
are wife, brave, and virtuous, without any further dif-
tinclion. Particular characters exprefs the fpecies of
\villlom, of braver^', and of virtue, for which any one
is remarkable. In this diicrimination of characters,
Homer excels. Tallb approaches the neareft to him in
this refpect : and Virgil is here greatly deficient.

Among epic poets it is the practice to felect fome
particular perfonage as the hero. This renders the uni-
ty more perfect, and contributes highly to the intereft
and perfection of this fpecies of writing. It has been
aflted, Who then is the hero of Paradife Loll ? The
devil, fay a number of critics, who affect to be pleafant
againft Milton for fo violent an abfurdity. But their
conclusion is falfe. For it is Adam who is Milton's
hero ; and it is obvious, that he is the moil capital and
intereflfng figure in the poem.

In the epic poetry, belide human characters, there

284 EPIC POETRY".

are gods and fupernatural beings. This forms what is
called the machinery of the epic ; and the French fup-
pofe it eiiential to this fpecies of poetry. They con-
ceive, that in every epic the main aftion ought to be
curried on by the intervention of the gods. But there
feems to be no folid reafon for their opinion, Lucanhas
no gods, or fupernatural agents. The author of Leo-
nidas has alfo no machinery.

But if machinery be not abfolutely neceffbry to the
epic poem, it ought not to be totally excluded from it.
The marvelous has a great charm for the generality of
readers. It leads to fublime defcription, and fills the
imagination. At the fame time it becomes the poet
to be temperate in the ufe of fupernatural beings ; and
to employ the religious faith or fuperftition of his coun-
try, in fuch a way as to give an air of probability to
events that are moft contrary to the ordinary courfe of
nature.

As to allegorical perfonages, fuch as Fame, Difcord,
Love, and fuch like, they form the worft machinery of
any. In defcription they may be allowed ; but they
fliould never bear any part in the action of the poem.
As they are only mere names of general ideas, they
ought not to be confidered as perfons, and cannot mingle
with human aftors, without an unieemly confufion of
fliadows with realities.

As to the narration of the epic poem, it is of little

EPIC POETRY. 285

coniequence whether it proceeds in the chara&er of the
poet, or in the perfon of fome of the perlbnages. It is
to be obferved, however, that if the narrative is given
by any of the a&ors, it affords the poet the advantage
of fpreading out fuch parts of the fubje& as he incline*
to dwell upon in perfon, and of comprehending the reft
within a fliort recital.

HOMEIVs ILIAD AND ODYSSEY.

A HE father of epic poetry is Homer ; and in order
to relifh him, we muft diveft ourfelves of the modern
ideas of dignity, and tranfport back our imagination
almoft three thoufand years in the hiftory of mankind.
The reader Is to expect a picture of the antient world.
The two great characters of the Homeric poetry are, fire
and fimplicity. But in order to have a clear idea of
his merit, it may be right to confider the Iliad under
the three heads of the iubject and action, the charac-
ters, and the narration.

It is undoubtedly certain, that the fubjeft of the Iliad
is happily chofen. For no object could be more fplendid
than the Trojan war. A ten years liege againft Troy,
and a great confederacy of the Grecian dates, muft have
Ipread far the renown of many military exploits, and
given an extenfive intereft to the heroes who were con-
cerned in them. Upon thefe trndi ns Homer built his
poem j and as he lived two or three centuries after the
Trojan war, he had a full liberty to intermingle fable
•with hiftory. He chofe not, however, the whole Trojan
war for his fubject ; and in this he was right. He fe-
lected, with judgment, the quarrel between. Achilles

HOMER'S ILIAD, Sec. 287

and Agamemnon, which includes the moft interefting
period of the war. He has thus communicated the
greater unity to h:s performance. He gained one hero,
or principal character, that is Achilles ; and he Ihows
the pernicious effects of difcord among confederated
princes.

The praife of high invention has been uniformly be-
ftowed on Homer. His incidents, his fpeeches, his cha-
~ rafters, divine and human, his battles, his little hiftory
pieces of the perfons {lain, difcover a boundlefs imagi-
nnlion. Nor is his judgment lefs worthy of commenda-
tion. . His tfory is every where conducted with art.
He rites upon us gradually. He introduces his heroes
with exquifite ikilfulnefs into our acquaintance. The
diftrefs thickens ; and every thing leads to aggrandize
Achilles, and to give the moft complete intereft to his
work.

In his characters, Homer is without a rival. He
abounds in dialogue and converfation, and this produces
a fpirited exhibition of his peribnages. It mutt at the
fame time be acknowledged, that if this dramatic me-
thod is often exprellive and animated, it takes away oc-
cafionally from the gravity and majefty of the epic. For
example, it may be obterved, that fome of the fpeeches
of Homer are unfeafonable, and others trifling. With
the Greek vivacity, he has alfo the Greek loquacity.

Terhaps in no character he difplays greater art than

288 HOMER'S ILIAD

in that of Helen. Notwithstanding her frailty and
crimes, he contrives to make her interelting. Ihe ad-
mirati m with which the old generals behold her when
fl»e is coming towards them ; her veiling henelf, and
fhedding tears in the prefence of Priam ; her grief at
the fight of Menelaus ; her upbraiding of Paris for his
cowardice, and her returning fondnefs for him ; thcfe
ftrokes are exquifite, and worthy of a great matter.

It has been reproached to Homer, that he has been
unhappy in his portrait of Achilles ; and the critics feem
to have adopted this cenfure, from the following lines
of Horace :

Imprgfr, rracundus, ir.fxcrabilis, acer,
Jura negat Jibl tiata ; nibil ncn arrogat annis.

It appears that Horace was miftaken, and went be-
yond the truth. Achilles, no doubt, was paflionate,
but he was no contemner of laws. He had reafon on
his fide ; and if he difcovcrs heat, it ihould be allowed
that he had been notorioufly wronged. Befide bravery
and contempt of death, he had alfo the qualities of open-
nefs and fincerity. He loved his fubjedts, and refpected
the gods. He was Itrong in his friendlliips ; and
throughout he was high-fpirited, gallant, and ho-
nourable.

Homer's gods make a great figure ; but his machinery
was not his own. He followed the traditions of his
country. But though his machinery is often lofty and

AND ODYSSEY. 25$

magnificent, it is yet true that his gods arc often defi-
cient in dignity. They have all human pailiotis ; they
drink and feaft and arc vulnerable like men. "While,
however, he at times degrades his divinities, he knows
how to make them appear with the moft awful majefty.
Jupiter, for the moft part, is introduced with great dig-
nity 5 and feveral fublime conceptions are founded on
the appearances of Neptune, Minerva, and Apollo.

As to the flyleor manner of Homer, it is ealy, natural,
and animated. He refembles in (implicit)- the poetical
parts of the Old Teftament. Mr. Pope, in his tranflation
of him, affords no idea of his manner. His verifica-
tion is allowed to be uncommonly melodious.

With regard to narration, Homer is conciie and de-
fcriptive. He paints his objects, in) a manner, to our
fight. His battles are admirable. We fee them in all
their hurry, terror, and confufion. His fimilies are
thrown out in the greateft abundance ; and many of
them are extremely beautiful. His companions have alfo
great merit ; but they come upon us in too quick a fuc-
cellion. They even ferve, at times, to difturb the train
of narration. His lions, bulls, eagles, and herds of
fheep, recur too frequently.

Upon the fubjeft of the Odyfley, the criticifm of
Longinus is not without foundation ; that in this poem,
Homer may be likened to the fetting fun, whole grandeur
C c

HOMER'S ILIAD.

remains without the heat of his meridinn beams. la
vigour and fublimity, it is inferior to the liiad. It
has, however, great beauties, and is confelledly a
very amufing poem. It poffefles much greater variety
than the Iliad, and exhibits very pleafing pictures of
antient manners. Inftead of the ferocity which per-
vades the Iliad, it prefents us with amiable images of hof-
pitality and humanity. It entertains us with many a
wonderful adventure, and many a landfcape of nature;
and there is a rich vein of morality and virtue running
through every part of the poem.

It is not, however, without ftriking faults. Many of
its fcenes are evidently below the level of die epic poem.
The laft twelve books, after Ulyfles is landed in Ithaca,
are, in many places, tedious and languid ; and perhaps
the poet is not happy in the difcovery of Ulyfles to Pe-
nelope. She is too cautious and diftruftful; and we
meet not that furprize of joy which was to have been
expccied on fuch an occafion.

THE vEXEID OF VIRGIL.

JL HE /Eneid has all the corre&nefs and refinement
of the Auguftan age. We meet no contentions of heroes
about a female flave, no violent fcoldiugs, no abufivc
language. There reigns through the poem an uniform
magnificence.

The fubjeft of the ^Eneid, which is the eftablimme-nt
of ./Eneas in Italy, is extremely happy. Nothing could
be more interefting to the Romans than to look back to
their origin from fo famous a hero. While the objeft
was fplendid itfelf, the traditionary hiftory of his country
opened interefting fields to the poet ; and he could
glance at all the future great exploits of the Romans, in
its antient and fabulous ftatti.

As to the unity of action, it is perfectly well preferred
in the ^Eneid. The fettlement of ./Eneas, by the order
of the gods, is conftantly kept in view. The epiibdes
are linked properly with the main fubject. The nodus,
or intrigue of the poem, is happily managed. The
wrath of Juno, who oppofes ^Eneas, gives rife to all
his difficulties, and connecls the human with the celef-
tial operations throughout the whole poem.

C c 2

THE ;EXEID OF VIKG1L.

There are great art and judgment in the ^Eueid ; but
it is not to be fuppofed that Virgil is without his faults.
One great imperfe&ion of the ^Eneid is, that there are
almoft no marked characters in it. Achates, Cloanthes,
Gyas, and other Trojan heroes who accompanied ./Eneas
into Italy, are infipid figures. Even ./Eneas himfelf is
without intereft. The character of Dido is the beft
fupported in the whole ^Eneid.

Perhaps, in the ^Eneid, the management of the fub-
je£t has leveral defects. The fix laft books received not
die finifhing hand of die author ; and for this reafon he
ordered his poem to be committed to the flames. The
wars with the Latins are unimportant and uninterefting ;
and the reader is tempted to take part with Turnus
againfl:

The principal excellency of Virgil is tendernefs. His
foul was full of fenfibility. He muft have felt himfelf all
the affecting circumftances in the fcenes he defcribes j
and lie knew how to touch the heart by a fingle ftroke.
In an epic poem this merit is the next to fublimity. The
fccond book of the ^Eneid is one of the greateft mafter-
pieces that ever was executed. The death of old Priam,
and the family pieces of ./Eneas, Anchifes, and Creufa
are as tender as can be conceived. In the fourth book,
the unhappy paflion and death of Dido are admirable.
The epifodes of Pallas and Evander, of Nifus and Eu-
$yalus, of Laulus and Mezentiu?, are all fuperlatively
fine.

THE jGNEID OP VIRGIL. 1Q3

In his battles Virgil is far inferior to Homer. But in
the important ejjilbde, thedefcent into hell, he has out-
done Homer by many degrees. There is nothing in
antiquity to equal the fixth book of the ^Eneid. The
fcenery, the objefts, the defcription, are great, folemn,
and f'blime. With regard to their comparative merit,
it mull be allowed, that Homer was the greater genius,
and Virgil the more cofreft writer. Homer is more ori-
ginal, more bold, more fublime, and more forcible. In
judgment they are both eminent. Homer has all the
Greek vivacity. Virgil all the Roman ftatelinefs. The
imagination of Homer is moft copious, that of Virgil the
moft correct. The ftrength of the former lies in warm-
ing the fancy, that of the latter in touching the heart.
Homer is more fimple ; Virgil more elegant.

C c 3

LUCAN's PHARSALIA.

L,

=(UCAN is inferior to Homer and Virgil. He yet
eleferves attention. There is little invention in his Phar-
falia; and it is conducted in too hiftorical a manner to
be ftrictly epic. It may be arranged, however, under
the epic clafs, as it treats of great and heroic adventures.
The fubjedt of the Pharlalia has fufficiently the epic dig-
nity and grandeur 5 and it poflefles unity of object : for
it points to the triumph of Caefar over 'the Roman
liberty.

But though thefubjeft of Lucan is confeffedlr heroic,
it is not happy ; and a penetrating reader may remark
two defects in it. Civil wars prefent fhocking objects
to obfervation, and furnifh melancholy pictures of hu-
man nature. Thele are not fit topics for the heroic
rnufe. It was the unhappinefs of Lucan's genius to delight
in favage fcenes, and to depict the moft horrid forms of
atrocious cruelty.

It is another defeft of Lucan's fubjeft, that it was too
near the times in which he lived. This deprived him
of the affiftance he might have derived from fiction and
machinery. The facts upon which he founds were too
well known, and too recent to admit of fables, and the
iateipofition of gods.

LUCAN'S PHAKSALIA.

The chnra, e1-.- oi Luoan are drawn with fire and
force. Biu ;M ' i Hoinpey is his hero, he has not
able t> him fuHieiently interefling. He

marks not Poinpey by any high ditfin&ion, either for
magnanimity or valour. He is always^ furpafled by
Caelar. Cato is a favourite character with him j and he
is very careful in making him always a; pear with aa
advantageous luftre.

In mnnging his ftory, Lucan confines himfelf too
much to chronological order. This breaks the thread of
his narratioa, and hurries him from place to place. He
is, at the fame time, too digreflive. He indulges pre-
pofterouily in geographical defcriptions, and in philo-
fophical difquifitions.

It muft, notwithftanding, be allowed, that there are
fplendid paffages in the Pharfalia ; but the ilrength of
this poet does not lie either in narration or defcription.
His narration is often dry and harm, and his defcrip-
tions are often overwrought. His chief merit confifts
in his fentiments. They are noble, fh iking, glowing,
and ardent. He is the mod philofophical, and the moft
patriotic peet of antient times. He was a Stoick ; and
the fpirit of that philofophy pervades his work. He is
elevated and boldj and his feelings were keen and
warm.

As his vivacity and fire are great, he is apt to be car-
ried away by them. His great defeft is the want of mo«

2€)(5 LUCAN'S PHARSALIA.

deration. He never knows how to ftop. When he
would aggrandize hisobjefts, he is unnatural and tumid.
There is a great deal of bombaft in his poem. His tafte
is marked with the corruption of his age; and infttad of
poetry, he often exhibits declamation.

On the whole, however, he muft be allowed the
praife of h'velinefs and originality. His high fenthnents
and his fire ferve to atone for his various defects. His
genius had llrength, but was without tendernefs or
amcenity.

As to S-tatius and Silius Italicus, they cannot be re-
ftifed to belong to the epic clafs ; but they are too in-
ccmfiderable for minute or particular critkifm.

TASSO's JERUSALEM,

T

JL HE Jerufalcm Delivered is a ftrictly regular poem
of the epic kind, and abounds with beauties. The fub-
ject is the recovery of Jerufalem from the Infidels, bjr
the muted powers of Chriftendom. The enterprize was
fplendid, venerable, and heroic ; and an interefting cou-
traft is exhibited between theChriftiansand the Saracens.
Religion renders the fubject auguft, and opens a field
for fublirae description and machinery. The action too
lies in a country, and at a period of time fufficiently re-
mote, to admit the intermixture of fable with hiftory.

A rich invention is a capital quality in Taflb. His
events are finely divertified. He never fatigues his
reader by famenefs or repetition. His fcenes have an
endlefs variety; and from camps and battles, he tranf-
ports us to more pleating objects. The work, at the
lame time, is artfully connected ; and in the midft of
variety, the author preferves, perfectly the unity of his
plan.

"A great many characters enliven the poem; and thefe
are fupported with a ftriking propriety. Godfrey is
prudent, moderate, and brave; Tancrcd is amorous

208 TASSc's JERUSALEM.

and g.dlant; Rinnld^ is paflionate and refentful. but
full of honour and heroifm. Solyinan, is high winded ;
Er.j.mia is tender ; Arrnic'^ i a/tful and violent. la
the drawing of chara&ers, Taifo is iuperior to Virgil,
and yields to no poet but Homer.

There is a great d^al of machinery in this poet.
When celeftial beings interfere, Taffo is noble, But
devils, enchanters, and conjurers, ad too great ? part
throughout his poem. And in general, the marvellous
is carried to an extravagance, that fnotls the iutereft of
the work. The poet had conceived too great an adini^-
ration of the romantic fpirit of knight errantry.

In defcribing magnificent obje&s, The ftyle of Taffo
is firm and majeftic. In gay and pleating deicription,
it is foft and infmuating. Erminia's pafloral retreat. in
the feventh book, and the arts and beauty of Armida in
the fourth book, are exquifitely beautiful. His battles
are full of fire, and varied in the incidents. It is
chiefly by adions, cha rafters, and defcriptions, that he
interefts us. For be excels not in the fentimental part of
his performance. He is by far inferior to Virgil in ten-
dernefs ; and, in general, when he aims at fentiment,
he is artificial.

It has often been objected to Taffo, that he abounds
in point and conceit ; but this is an error. For in his,
general character he is mafculinc The humour of de-*
crying him has palled from the French critics to thofe of

TASSO'S JERUSALEM. '2Q9

England. But their cenfures are founded either in igno-
rance or prejudice. For the Jcrufalfm is the third epic
poem in the world ; and Taflb takes his ftation after
Homer and Virgil. Pie is eminent for the fertility
of his invention, the exprefiion of his characters,
the richnefs of his defcription. and the beauty of his
fijk.

THE LUSIAD OF CAMOLXS.

T
A HE Portuguefe boaft of Camoens, as much as the

Italians do of Taflb. The dilcovery of the Eaft-Indies
by Vafco de Gama, is the fubjecl of the poem of Camo-
ens ; and the enterprize is alike Iplendid and interefting.
The adventures, diftrefies, and a&ions of Vafco, and
his countrymen, are well fancied and defcribedj and
the Lufiad is conducted on the epic plan. The incidents
of the poem are magnificent; .and if an allowance is
made for fome wildnefs and irregularity, there will be
found in it 'much poetic fpirit, much fancy, and much
bold defcription. In the poem, however, there is no
attempt towards painting characters ; and the machinery
of the Lufiad is altogether extravagant. There pre-
vails in it an odd mixture of Chriftian ideas and Pagan
mythology. The true deities appear to be Pagan divi-
nities ; and what is ftrange, Chrifl and the holy Virgin
are made to be inferior agents. The great purpofe,
notwithstanding, of the Portnguefe expedition, is to ex-
tend the empire of Chriftianity, and to extirpate Maho-
metanifm.

In thk religious undertaking, the chief protector of
the Portuguefe is Venus, and their great adverfary is

THE LU5IAD OF CAMOENS. 301

Bacchus. Jupiter is introduced as foretelling the down-
fall of Mahomet. Vafco, during a ftorm, implores the
aid of Chrilt and the Virgin; and, in return to this
proyer, Venus appears, and difcovering the liorni to be
the work of Bacchus, complains to Jupiter, and pro-
cures the winds to be humed. All this is molt prepoi-
terous ; but towards the end the poet makes an apology
for his mythology. His apology, however, is not fatit-
faclory. For his falvo is, that the goddefs Thetis in-
forms Vafco, that fhe and the other heathen divinities
are nothing more than names to defcribe the operations
of providence.

In the Lufiad, notwithstanding, there is fome fine
machinery of a different kind. The appearance of the
genius of the river Ganges, in a dream to Emanucl,
King of Portugal, inviting him to difcover its fecrct
fprings, and acquainting him that he was deftined to
enjoy the treafures of the Eaft, is a fine idea. But it is
in the fifth canto that the poet difplays his nobleii con-
ception of this fort. Vafco is there recounting the won-
ders of his navigation. And when the fleet arrived at
the Cape of Good Hope, which never had been doubled
before by any navigator, he relates, that there appeared
to them fuddenly a huge phantom, rifing out of the lea
in the midft of tempefts and thunder, with a head that
advanced to the Ikies, and a countenance the moft tcr-

D d

THE LUSIAD OP CAMOENS.

rific. This was the genius of that hitherto unknown
ocean ; and he menaced them, in a voice of thunder,
not to invade thofe undifturbed feas, and foretelling the
calamities that were to befal them, retired from their
view. This is a yery folema and ftriking piece of
machinery.

THE TELEMACHUS OF ffENELON.

T would be unpardonable in a review of epic poets,
to forget the amiable Fenelon. His work, though in
profe, is a pt^m ; and the plan in general, is well con-
trived, having epic grandeur and unity of action. He
employs the antient mythology ; and excels in its appli-
cation. There is great richnefs, as well as beauty, Ufc---..
hi s defcriptions. To foft and calm icenes his genius
is more peculiarly fuited. He delights in painting the
incidents of paftoral life, the pleafures of virtue, and the
profperity and tranquillity of peace.

His firft fix books are eminently excellent. The ad-
ventures of Calypfo are the chief beauty of his work.
<~ivacity and intereft join in the narration. In the books
which follow, there is lefs happiuefs in the execution,
and an apparent languor. The author, in warlike ad-
ventures, is moft unfortunate.

Some critics have refufed to rank Tie Telemacbus
among epic poems. This delicacy arifes from the mi-
nute details it exhibits of virtuous policy, and from the
cHlcourles of Mentor, which recur too frequently, and
in which there is doubtlefs too much of a common-
place morality. To thefe peculiarities, however, the
D d 2

304 THE TELEMACHUS OP FEXELON.

author was led from the defign with which he wrote, of
forming a young prince to the cares and duties of a
virtuous monarch.

Several poets of the epic clais, have diftinguifhed
themfelves by defcribing a defcent into hell ; and in all
of them there is a diverfity. It is even curious to oblerve,
that from examining the notions they convey of an iu-
vifible world, we may perceive with eaie the improve-
ments which the progrefs of refinement had gradually
produced in the opinions of men, with regard to a fu-
ture ftate of rewards and punifhments. In Homer, the
defcent of Utyffes into hell is indiftinc~t and dreary. The
fcene is in the country of the Cimmerkms, who inhabit
a region covered with clouds and darknefs ; and when
the dead appear, we hardly know whether UlylTes is
above or below ground. The ghofcs too, even of the
heroes, appear to be lad and dhTatisfied.

t

In Virgil, the defcent into hell diicpvers greater re-
finement, and indicates a higher advancement in philo-
fophy. The ol>je6ts are diftincl, awful, and grand.
There is a fine diferlmination of the feparate manfions.
of the good and the bad fpirits. Feuelon, in Lis ttu-n,
improves upon Virgil. The vifit of Telemacbus to the
fhades is in a higher ft vie of philofophy. He refines
tli a antient philofophy by his knowledge of the true
religion, and that beautiful enthufiafm for which he is
fo remarkable. His relation of the happineis of the juft,
is an admirable effort in the niyfiic itrain.

THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE.

HE Henriade is, without doubt, a regular epic
poem. To deny genius to Voltaire would be abfmd ;
and in the prefent work, accordingly, he difcovers, in
feveral places, that boldneis of conception, that vivacity,
and that livelinefs of expreflion, for which he has been
fo much diftinguifhed. A few of his comparifons are
new, and remarkably happy. But perhaps, the Henri-
ade is not the mafter-piece of this writer. In the tragic
line, he has certainly been more fuccefsful than in the
epic. It may be obferved too, that French versification
is by no means fuited to epic compofition. Its want of
elevation is againft it, as well as its being fettered with
rhyme. There is thence not only a feeblenefs in the
Henriade, but even a profaic flatnefs. The poem, of
confequence, languifties; and the imagination of the
reader is not animated with any of that fpirit and inter-
eft, which ought to be infpired by a fublime and fpi-
rited performance of the epic kind.

The triumph of Henry IV. over the arms of the

League, is the fubjeft of the Henriade But the action

of the poem includes, properly, only the (iege of Paris.

It is fufficientlrepic; and the poem, in general, is con-

D d 3

306 THE HEXRIADE OP VOLTAIRE.

ducted according to the critical rules. But it has great
defects. It is founded on civil wars; and it prefents to

-\

the mind the odious objects of aflaffinations. The pe-
riod which it contains is alfo too recent, and too much
within the circle of well-known incidents. The author
has farther erred, by mixing fiction improperly with
truth. For example, he makes Henry IV. to travel
into England, and to hold an interview with Queen
Elizabeth. Now Henry never faw England, and never
converfed with Elizabeth ; and fuch unnatural and ill
ibrted fables are fo wild, that they fhock every intelli-
gent reader.

A great deal of machinery is employed by Voltaire,
for the purpofe of embellilliing his poem. But it is re-
markable, that his machineay is of the worfl kind. It
confifls of allegorical beings. Difcord, Cunning, and
Love, are with him perfonages and actors. This i»
againft rational criticifm. It is poffible to go along
with the belief of ghofts, angels, and devils ; but it
fhould be confidered, that allegorical beings are nothing
better than reprefentations of human paffions and difpo-
fitions; and they ought not to have a place as actors in
any poem.

It is, notwithitanding, to be remarked, to the honour
of Voltaire, that the machinery of Saint Louis, which
he alfo employs, is poflefled of a real dignity. The prof-
peel of the invifible world, which St. Louis gives to Henry
in a dream, is a very fine paflage in the Henriade.

THE HEXRIADE OF VOLTAIRE.

The introduction, by Death, of the fouls of the dead in
fucceffion before God, and the palace of the Deftinies,
are alib patfhges which are ftriking and magnificent.

Notwithftanding the epifodes of Voltaire, his narra-
tion is by far too general. At the fame time, the events
are too much crowded together. The ftrain of fenti-
ment, however, which pervades the Henriade, is noble.
Religion appears always with the greateft luftre; and
the poem has that fpirit of humanity and toleration,
which is the conftant diftinction of men, who rife far
above the level of the fpecies.

MILTOX's PARADISE LOST.

•iVJLILTON runs a new and very extraordinary career.
In Paradife Loft, he introduces his reader, at once into
an invifible world, and furrounds him with celeftial and
infernal beings. Angels and devils are not his machinery
but his a&ors. As the natural courfe of his events is
marvellous, doubts may arife, whether his poem be
.tfriftly an epic compofition. But whether it be fo or
not, it is certainly a high effort of poetical genius ; and
in majefty and fublimity, is equal to any performance of
antient or modern times.

The fubjeft of his poem led Milton into difficult
ground. If his matter had been more human and lefs
theological ; if his occurrences had been connected with
real life; and if he had afforded a greater difplay of the
characters and paffions of men, his poem, to the gene-
rality of readers, would have been more alluring. His
fubjeft, however, was certainly fuited, in a peculiar
manner, to the daring fublimity of his genius. As he
alone, perhaps, was fitted for his fubje6t, fo he has
fhown, in the conduct of it, a wonderful ftretch of ima-
gination and invention. From a few hints afforded by
the facred Scriptures, he has ftupendoufly railed a regu-
lar ftrudlure, and filled his poem 'with a variety of inci-

WILTON'S PARADISE LOST. 309

dents. No doubt, he is at times dry and harflb; and
too often the metaphyficbn and the divine. But in the
general flow of his narration, he is engaging, elevated,
and affecting. His objects are changed with art ; his
fcene is now in heaven, and now on earth ; and amidll
this variety he fupports the unity of his plan. Still and
calm fcenes are exhibited in the employments of Adam
and Eve when in Paradife; and there arebufy fcenes, and
great adions, in the enterprises of Satan, and the wars
of the Angels. The amiable innocence of our Firft Pa-
rents, and the proud ambition of Satan, afford a con-
tra ft throughout the whole poem, which gives it an un-
common charm. But perhaps the conclufion is too tra-
gic for epic compofition.

In the Paradife Loft there is no great difplay of cha-
pters ; but the perfonag^s which appear are properly
fupported. Sutan- is a figure particularly linking; and
Hilton has artfully given him a mixed character, not
al together void of fome good qualities. He is brave; and
to his own troops he is faithful. He is impious, but not
without remorfe. He even feels a fentiment of compaf-
= fion for our Firft Parents, and appeals to the necefiity of
his fituaiion, as an apology for his machinations againft
them. His malice is not full and unbounded; and while
he is refentful, he is ambitious. The characters of
Beelzebub, Moloch, and Belial, are well painted. The
good angels, though dignified, have too much unifor-
mity. They have their diftin&ions, however ; and it is

310 MILTON'S PARADISE IOST.

impoflible not to remark, the mild condefcenfion of
Raphael, and the tried fidelity of AbdieJ, The attempt
of the poet to delcribe God Almighty himfelf, was too
bold, and accordingly is unfuccefsful. Our Firft Parents
are finely pourtrayed. Yet, perhaps Adam is repre-
fented as too knowing and refined for his fituation
Eve is hit off more happily. Her gentlenefs, modefty,
and frailty, are expreffively chara6teriilic of the female
character.

The great ftrength of Milton confifts in fublimity.
Here, perhaps, he is fuperior to every poet. But it is
to be obferved, that his fublimity is of a peculiar fort.
It differs from that of Homer, which is always accom-
panied with imj etuofity and fire. The fublime of Mil-
ton is a calm and amazing grandeur. Homer warms
us and hurries us along. By Milton we are fixed in a
ftate of elevation and aftonifhment. The fublime of the
former is to be found, moft commonly, in his defcrip-
tion of actions ; that of the latter, in the reprefentatiou
of ftupendous and wonderful objects.

But while Milton muft be allowed to be highly fub-
lime, it is likewife true, that bis work abounds in the
beautiful, the pleafing, and the (ender. When the
fcene is in Paradife, the imagery is gay and fmiling. His
defcriptions mark a fertile imagination ; and his fimi-
lies have uncommon happinels. His faults, for what
writer is without them, refer chiefly to his learned al-
lufions, and to ancient fables. It mafl alfo be confeffed,

MILTON'S PARADISE LOST. 311

that there is a falling off in the latter part of Taradife
Loft.

The language and verification of Milton have high
merit. His blank verfe is harmonious and diverfified j
and his ftyle has great force and majefty. There may
be found, indeed, profaic lines in his poem. But thefe
are eafily pardoned in a long work, where the poetry is
in general fo fmooth, fo varied and fo flowing.

In theParadife Loft, amidft beauties of every kind, it
is not furprifing to meet inequalities. No high genius
was ever uniformly correct. Theology and metaphyfic,
appear too abundantly in Milton ; his words are often
technical : and he is too affe&edly oftentatious of his
learning. Thefe faults are a great blemiih to his work ;
but in extenuation of them, it is to be obferved, that
Jhey are to be imputed to the pedantry of his age.

DRAMATIC POETRY.
TRAGEDY.

I

N all civilized nation-, dramatic poetry has been a
favourite amufement ; and it divides itfelf into the two
forms of Tragedy and Comedy. Of the two, tragedy
Is the moft dignified ; as great and ferious objects inter-
eft more than little and ludicrous ones. The one has
a reference to the paffions, the virtues, the crimes, and
the fufierings of mankind ; the other refts on the hu-
mours, follies, and pleafures. Of the latter the in-
flrument is ridicule.

Tragedy is a direct imitation of human manners and
a&ions. It does not exhibit characters by defcription
or narration : it lets the perfonages before us, and
makeo them a6t and fpeak with propriety. This fpecies
of writing re* nires, of confequence, a deep knowledge
of the human heart; and \yhen happily executed, it
ha a commanding power in raiting the firongeft
emotions.

In thi (train and Spirit, tragedy -r fnvnurable to the
pi u otion of virtue. It is clrirfh by excitinr virtuous
eniotions that it operates. Characters of honour claim

TRAGEDY, 313

our refpeft and approbation ; and to raife indignation,
\ve muft paint a perfon in the odious^colours of depravity
and vice. Virtuous men, indeed, are often reprefented
by the tragic poet as unfortunate ; for this happens in
nature : but he never fails to engage our hearts in their
behalf; and in the end, he conduces them to triumph
and profperity. Upon the fame principle, if bad men
are reprefented as fuccefsful, they are yet finally con-
ducted to punilhment. It may, therefore, be concluded,
that tragedies are moral competitions ; and that pious
men have often prepofteronfly exclaimed againft them.

It is affirmed by Ariftotle, that the defign of tragedy
is to purge our paflions by the means of pity and terror.
But perhaps it would have been more accurate to have
faid, that the object of this Ipeeies of competition is to
improve our virtuous fenfibility ; and if a writer excites
our pity for the afflicted, infpires us with becoming fen-
timents on beholding the viciflitudes of life, and fiimu-
lates us to avoid the misfortunes of others by exhibiting

* O

their errors, he has attained all the moral purpofes of
the tragic mufe.

In the compofitiou of a tragedy, it is neceflary to have
an interefting (lory upon which to build ; and in the
conduft of the piece, nature and probability are chiefly
to be confulted. For the end of tragedy is not fo much
to elevate the imagination, as to afied the heart. This
principle, which is founded on the clearefl reafon, ex-
E c

314 DRAMATIC TOETRY.

eludes from tragedy all machinery, and all fabulous in-
terventions whatfoever. Ghofts alone, from their foun-
dation in popular belief, have maintained their place up-
on the ftage ; but the ufe of them is not to be com-
mended, and mutt be managed with <jreat art.

o o

To fupport the imprrfiion of probability, the ftory of
a tragedy according to fome critics, mould never be a
pure fidion, but ought to be built on real hiftory.
This, however, is furely carrying the matter too far.
For a fictitious tale, if properly conducted, will melt
the heart as much as any real hiftory. It is fufficient
that nature and probability are not wounded ; and thus
it is not objected to the tragic poet that he mixes many
a fjditious circum fiance with real and well-known
fads. The great majority of readers, never think of
feparating the hitforical from the fabulous. They are
only attentive to, and couched by, the events that re-
femble nature. Accordingly, the moft affecting trage-
dies are entirely fictitious in their fubject. Such arc
the Zaire and Alzire of Voltaire, the Fair Penitent, and
Douglas.

In its origin, tragedy was very rude and imperfect.
Among the Greeks, it was firft nothing more than the
fong which was fung at the feftival of Bacchus. Thefe
fongs were fometimes fung by the whole company, and
fometimes by feparate bands, anfwering alternately to
each other, and making a chorus. To give this enter-
tainment the greater variety, Thefpis, who flouriihed

TRAGEDY. 315

above five hundred years before the Chriftian cera, con-
trived, that between the fongs there fhould be a recita-
tion in verfej and ^Efchylu , \vho lived fifty years after
him, introduced a dialogue between two perlbn?, or
a&ors, comprehending fome intereftingitory, and placed
them upon a ftage ndorned with fcenery. The drama
began now to have a regular form ; and was loon after
brought 10 perfection by Sophocles and Euripides.

It thus appears that the chorus was the foundation of
tragedy. But what is remarkable, the dramatic dia-
logue, which was only an addition to it, grew to be the
principal part of the entertainment. The chorus lofing
its dignity, came to be accounted only an acccflbry in
tragedy. At length, in modern tragedy, it difappeared
altogether ; and its abfence from the ftage, in modern
times, is the chief diftin&ion between our drama and
that of the antients.

With regard to the chorus, it mint be allowed, that
it gave a fplendour to the ftage j and that it was a vehi-
cle for moral leflbns, and high poetic flights. But, on
the other hand, it was unnatural, and took away from
the intereft of the piece. It removed the reprefentation
from the refemblance of life. It has, accordingly, been
excluded, with propriety, from thejtage.

In the conduct of a drama, the unities of aftion,
E e 2

3lQ DRAMATIC POETRY.

place, and time^ have been confidered as very capital
circuraftances, and it is proper to treat of them.

The unity of adion is undoubtedly very important.
It refers to the relation which all the incidents introduced
bear to fomedefignor effed, fo as to combine them na-
turally into a whole or totality. This unity of fubjeft
is expreffly effential to tragedy. For a multiplicity of
plots, by diftrading the attention, prevent the paflions
from rifing to any height. Hence the abfurdity of two
independent actions in the fame play. There may in-
deed, be under-plots j but the poet fliould be careful to
make thefefubfervient to the main adion. It is the bu-
iinefs of thefe to contribute to the bringing forward the
cataftrophe of the play.

Of the defed of a feparate and independent intrigue,
which has no connexion with the real objed of the
piece, there is a clear example in the Cato of Addifon.
Cato is, no doubt, a noble perfonage, and the author
iupports his character with fuccefs. But all the love
fcenes in the play have no connexion with the principal
adion. The pnfllon of Cato's fons for Lucia, and of
Juba for Cato's daughter, are merely epifodical. They
break the unity of the fubject ; and join, ruoft unfea-
fonably, the fopperies of gallantry, with high fentiments
of patriotifm and public virtue.

The unity of adion muft not, however, be confounded

TRAGEDY. 317

with the fimplicity of the plot. The plot is fimple,
when a fmall number of incidents are introduced into
it. With refpe& to plots, the antients were more lim-
ple than the moderns. The Greek tragedies appear, in-
deed, to be even too naked, and deftitute of interelting
events. The moderns admit of a greater extent of inci-
dents ; and this variety is certainly ah improvement, as
it renders the entertainment not only more inftruclive,
but more animated. It may, however, be carried too
far 5 for an overcharge of a6tion and intrigue, produce
perplexity and embarraflment. Of this the Mourning
Bride of Congreve is an example. Its events are too
many, and too rapidly exhibited. The bulinefs of the
play is too complex j and the cataftrophe is intricate and
artificial.

But it is not only in the general conftruftion of the fa-
ble, that the unity of aftion is to be attended to. It
muft be iludied in all the ads and fcenes of the play.
By an arbitrary divifion, there are five afts in every play.
This is founded on the authority of Horace,

Neve minor t neu Jit quinto produfiior a flu
Fabula.

There is nothing, however, in nature or reafon for this
rule. On the Greek ftage, the divifion by a&s was un-
known. The word aft never occurs once in the Poetics
E e 3

318 DRAMATIC POETRY.

of Ariftotle. Practice, however, has eftabliihed this di-
vifion ; and it will not be eafily overthrown.

A clear expofition of the fubjeft fhould appear in the
firflaft. Itfhould introduce the perfonages to the ac-
quaintance of the fpeftator, and fhould excite curiofity.
During the fecond, third, and fourth acts, the plot
fhould advance and thicken. The paflions fhould be
kept perpetually awake. There fhould be no fcenes of
idle converfation, or vain declamation. The fufpenfe
and agitation of the fpe&ator fhould be excited more
and more. Such is the great excellency of Shakefpeare.
Sentiment and paflion, pity and terror, fhould reign and
pervade every tragedy.

In the fifth aft, which is the feat of the cataftrophe,
the author fhould difplay his fullefl art and genius. The
unravelling of the plot fhould be brought. about by na-
tural and probable means. It fhould be fimple, depend
on a few events, and include a few perfons. A paflio-
nate fenfibility languiihes, when divided among a num-
ber of objefts. It is only ftrong and vehement when di-
re£led to a few. In thecataftrophe, every thing ihould
be warm and glowing ; and the poet fhould be fimple,
ferious, and pathetic.

To the cataftrophe of a tragedy, it is not necefTary that
it fhould terminate unfortunately. It is fufficienr, that
diftrefs, agitation, and tender emotions are raifed, in
the courfe of the play. Accordingly, Voltaire's firjef?

TRAGEDY. 3 I Q

fragulies have a happy conclufion. But with regard to
the fpirit of Englim tragedy, it leans more to the other
fide.

It is curious to enquire, how it mould happen that
the emotions of forrow in tragedy, fhould afford a pleat-
ing gratification to the mind. It feetm to be the con-
ftitution of our nature, that all the focial paflions mould
be attended with pleafure. Hence there is nothing more
agreeable than love and friendmip. Pity, for wife ends,
is appointed to be a ftrong inftinctj and it is an affec-
tion which is neceffarily accompanied with forae diftrefs,
on account of the fympathy with the fuflferers which it
involves. The heart, at the fame moment, is warmed
with kindnefs, and afflifted with diftrefs. Yet, upon the
whole, the condition or ftate of the mind is agreeable.
We are plea fed with ourfelves, not only for our bene-
volence, but for our feulibility. Hence the foundation
of the charm of tragedy. The pleafure of tragedy is alib
heightened by the recollection that the diftrefs is not real;
and by the power of action and lentiment, poetry and
language.

After treating of the ads of a play, it is proper to at-
tend to the fcenes. The entrance of a new perfon upon
the ftage conftitutes what is called a new fcene. Thefe
fcenes, or fucceffive converfations, iliould be cnnne&ed
clofely together ; and a great deal of the art of drama-
tic compofition confifts in the management of them.
There are, upon this lubjeft, two rules which deferve

32O DRAMATIC POETBY.

coiifideration. 1. During the courfe of one act, the
flage fliould never be left empty for one moment, for
this would make a gap in the reprefentation; and when-
ever the ftage is evacuated, the act is clofed. This rule
is uniformly preferved by the French poets ; but it has
been much neglected by the Englifh tragedians. 2. The
other rule is, that no perfon fliould come upon the flage,
or leave it, without a reafon appearing for the one and
the other. If this rule is neglected, the dramatis perfo-
nae are little better than fo many puppets ; and the na-
ture of dramatic writing is contradicted and wounded.
For the drama profefles an imitation of real tranfactions.

To the unity of action, the critics have added the uni-
ties of time and place. It is required, by the unity of
place, that the fcene fliould never be fluffed; but that the
action of the play fliould continue in the fame place
where it had begun. It is required, by the unity of time,
that the time of the action be no longer than the time
that is allowed for the reprefentation of the play. Arif-
totle, however, is not fo fevere in this particular, and
permits the action to comprehend the whole time of one
day. Thefe rules are intended to bring the imitation
as clofe as poflible to reality.

Among the Greeks there was no divifion of acts.
In modern times, the practice has prevailed of fufpending
thefpectacle for. feme little time between the acts. This
practice gives a latitude to the imagination, and renders
the ilrict confmement to tin^e and place lefs neceffary.

fRAGEDY.

Upon this account, therefore, too ftrift an adherence
to tliefe unities fhould not be preferred to high beauties
of execution, nor to the introdu£tion of pathetic fcenes.
But tranfgreffions of thefe unities, though they may be
often advantageous, ought not to be too wild and violent.
The hurrying the fpectator from one diftant city to ano«
ther, and the making feveral weeks and months pafs during
the reprefentation, would {hock the imagination too
much, and could not be reliflied.

Having examined dramatic action, it is now fit to at-
tend to the characters moft proper to be exhibited in tra-
gedy. Many critics affirm, that the nature of tragedy
demands, that the principal perfonages fhould be con-
ftantly of illuftrious character, and of high or princely
ranks. For they affirm, that the fufferings of fuch per-
fonsfeize the heart the moft forcibly. But this is but a
fpecious way of reafoning. For the diftreffes and agi-
tations of private life are affe&ing in a high degree.
Defdemona, Monimia, and Belvidera, intereft us as
much as if they had been Queens and Princetfes. It is
fufficient, that in tragedy there be nothing degrading or
noean in the perfonages exhibited. Illuftrious rank may
give greater fplendour to the fpectacle ; but it is the tale
itfelf, and the art of the poet, that alone can give its full
influence to the piece.

In defcribing the characters of the perfons reprefented,
the poet fhould be careful ib to order the incidents which
telato to them, as to impreis the fpeftators with favour-

322 DRAMATIC POETRY.

able ideas of virtue, and the adminiitration of provi-
dence. Pity fhoukl be raifed for the virtuous in diftrefs ;
and the author fhould ftudionlly bsware of making fuch
exhibitions of life, as would render virtue an obje£t of
averfion.

Perfed unmixed characters, either of good or ill men,
arc not, in the opinion of Aritfotle, the fitteft for tra-
gedy. For the diureiies of the former, as unmerited,
hurt us } and the afflidions of the latter excite no coin-
paflion. Mixed charatlers, like thole we meet with in
the world, are the beft field for difplaying, without any
bad confequences to morals, the viciHitudes of life.
They intereft us the moft deeply; and while all their dil-
trefies are pathetic, they are the more inftruftive, when
their misfortunes are reprefented as fpringing out of their
own paflions, or as originating in fome weaknefs inci-
dent to human nature.

The Greek tragedies are too often founded on mere
deftiny, and inevitable misfortunes. Modern tragedy
aims at a higher objeft, and takes a wider range; as if
ihows the direful effecrs of ambition, jealoufy, love, re-
fentment, and every ftrong emotion. But of all the
paffions which have engaged the modern ftage, love has
had the greateft triumph. To the antient theatre, love,
was, in a manner, unknown. This proceeded from
the national manners of the'Greeks, which encouraged
a greater feparation of the fexes, than takes place in mo-
dern times. Neither did female aftors appear upon the

TRAGEDY. 323

antient ftage; a circumftance which operated againft the
introduction of love ftories. It is clear, however, that
no iblid reafon can be ailigned for the predominancy of
love upon the ftage; and it is, doubtlefs, moft impro-
per, that the limits of tragedy Ihould be confined. Ra-
cine in the Athalie, Voltaire in the Merope, and Home
in Douglas, have afforded fufficient proofs, that the
drama, without any afliftance from love, may produce
the higheft effefts upon the mind.

Befides the arrangement of his fubjeft, and the con-
dud of his perfonages, the tragic poet mull attend to
the propriety of his fentiments. Thefe muft correfpond
with the perfons who are reprefented, and with the
fituations in which they are placed. This rule is fo ob-
vious, that it requires not to be infifted upon j and it is
chiefly in the pathetic parts, that the difficulty of fol-
lowing it is the greateft. We go to a tragedy in order
to be moved and agitated ; and if the poet cannot reach
the heart, he can have no tragic merit ; and we mull
leave his play not only with coldnefs, but under an un-
cafy difappointment.

To paint and to excite paffion are the prerogatives of
genius. They require not only high fenfibility, but the
art of entering deeply into fituations and eharacters. It '
is here that the candidates for the drama are the leaft
fuu.efsful. A man under high paffion, makes known
his leeangs KI ihe glowing language of ftnfibility. He
does not coolly defcnbe what his feelings are; yet it is

324 DRAMATIC POETRY.

to this fort of defcription that tragic poets have recourfe,
when they are unable to attain the native language of
paffion. Thus it is even in Addifon's Cato, when Lucia
having confefled to Portius her love for him, fwears that
flie will never marry him : for Portius, inftead of giving
way to the language of grief and aftonifhrnent, deicribes
only his feelings.

Fix'd in aftonifhment, I gaze upon thee,
Like one juft blafted by a ftroke fiotn heav'n,
Wlio pants for breath, and ftiffens yet alive
In dreadful looks; a monument of vuath.

Thefe lines might have proceeded from a by-ftander,
or an indifferent perfon, but are altogether improper in
the mouth of Portius. Similar to this defcriptive lan-
guage, are the unnatural and forced thoughts which
tragic poets fometimes employ to exaggerate the feelings
of perfons, whom they wifli to defcribe under high agi-
tation. Thus when Jane Shore, in meeting with her
hufband in her diftrefs, and on finding that he had for-
given her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and
to the fprings to lend her their !trea«is, that (lie may
poflefs a conftant fupply of tears, the poet ftrainshis fan-
cy, and fpurs up his genius to be abfurd.

The language of real paffion is always plain anJ 15m-
ple. It abounds, indeed, in figures ; but thefe exprels
a difturbed and impetuous ftate of mind, and ..re not for
mere para Je and embellifhment. The thoughts ;'!ggefted
,by paffion are natural and obvious, and net exaggerations

TRAGEDY.

of refinement, fubtilty, and wit. Paffion neither rea-
fons, nor fpeculates, nor declaims, The language is
(hort, broken, and interrupted. The French tragedians
deal too much in refinement and declamations. The
Greek tragedians adhere mod to nature. They are natu-
ral and pathetic. This too is the great excellency of
Shakefpeare. He exhibits the true language of nature
and paifion.

As to moral fentiments and reflexions, they ought
not to recur too frequently in tragedy. When unlealbu-
ably ufed, they lofe their efte6t, and convey an air of
pedantry. "When introduced with propriety, they have
an alluring dignity. Cardinal Wolfey's ibliloquy on his
fall, is a fine in fiance of the felicity with which they
may be employed. There is allb a high moral turn of
thought, in many places of Addilbn's Cato.

The llyle and verification of tragedy fliouU be free,
eafy, and various j and the Englilh blank verfe appears
to be peculiarly fuited to this fpecies of composition. It
is capable of great majcfty, and may yet defcend to the
familiar ; it admits of a happy variety of cadence, and
is free from the monotony of rhyme. Of the French
tragedies, it is a great misfortune that they are conftantly
in rhyme. For it fetters the freedom of the tragic dia-
logue, debafes it with languor, and is fatal to the pow-
er of paffion.

F f

32(5 DRAMATIC POETRY.

As to the fplendid companions in vogue, and to the
ftrings of couplets with which it was fome time ago
the falhion to conclude the a<5ls of a tragedy, and even
the more interefting fcenes, they are now laid afide :
and they are to be regarded not only as childifti orna-
ments, but as difgufting barbarifms.

GREEK TRAGEDY,

%««*««L.>Vl"""'' <•""(
»*',,>«„,.«•%„,*

E have formerly obferved, that in the Greek
tragedy there was much fimplicity. The plot was na-
tural and unincumbered ; the incidents few ; and the
conduct very exact, with refpect to the unities of action,
time, and place. Machinery and the intervention of
fhe gods were employed ; and what was prepofterous,
the final unravelling was not unfrequently made to turn
upon them. Love, if one or two inftances are excepted,
was never admitted into the tragedy of the Greeks. A
vein of morality and religion is made to run through it ;
but they employed lefs than the moderns, the combat of
the paflions. For their plots they were indebted to the
ancient hereditary ftories of their own nation.

^Efchylus, who is the father of the Greek tragedy,
exhibits both the beauties and defects of an early origi-
nal writer. He has boldnefs and animation, but is often
difficult and obfcure. His ftyle is highly metaphorical,
and often tumid and harlh. His ideas are martial ; and

F f 2

328 DEAMAT1C FOET&Y.

he pofleffes more force than tenderuefs. He alfo de-
lights in the marvellous.

The moil maflerly of the Greek tragedians is Sopho-
cles. He is the mofE correct in the management of his
fubjects, and the moftjuftand fublime in his fentiments.
In defcriptive talents he is alfo eminent. Euripides is
accounted more tender than Sophocles j and in moral
fentiments he is more abundant. But he is lefs careful
in the conduct of his plays; his expofitions of his fub-
jects are lefs artful j and the fongs of his chorus, though
finely poetic, are lefs connected with the principal ac-
tion. Both of them, however, have high merit as
tragic poets. Their ftyle is beautiful : and their fenti-
ments, for the moft part, juft. They fpeak with the
tones of nature j and though fimple, they are touching
and interefting.

The theatrical reprefentation on the ftages of Greece
and Rome, was, in many refpects, very lingular, and
widely different from that of modern times. The fongs
of the chorus were accompanied with inftrumental
mufic; and the dialogue part had a modulation of its
own, and might be fct te notes. It has alfo been
thought, that fometimes, on the Roman ftage, the
pronouncing and gesticulating parts were divided, and
performed by different actors. In tragedy, the actors
wore a long robe ; they were raifed upon cothurni,
and played in malks. Thefe malks were painted ;

GREEK TRAGEDY. 32Q

and the aftor, by turning the different profiles, exhi-
bited different emotions to the auditors ; a contrivance
this, which wasfurely very imperfeft. In the dramatic
fpeclacles, notwithstanding, of Greece and Rome, the
attention given to their exhibition and magnificence,
far exceeded the attempts of modern ages.

F f 3

FRENCH TRAGEDY.

RAGEDY has appeared with great luflre in France ;
and the principal dramatic writers of this nation are,
Corneille, Racine and Voltaire. It muft be acknow-
ledged that they have improved upon antiquity ; and are
more interefting than the old tragedians, from their ex-
hibition of more incidents, greater variety of paflion?,
and the fuller difplay of characters. Like the antients,
they excel in regularity of couduft ; and their ftyle is
poetical and elegant. But, perhaps, to an Englifh tafle,
they want ftrength and paflion, and are too declamatory,
and too refined. They feem afraid of being too tragic ;
and it was the opinion of Voltaire, that there is necef-
fary to the perfection of tragedy, the union of the
Englifh vehemence and action, with the correctness
and decorum of the French theatre.

Corneille, who raifed to eminence the French tra-
gedy, unites majefty of fentiment, and a fruitful imagi-
nation. His genius was rich, but had rather a turn to
the epic than the tragic. He is magnificent and fplen-
«ftd, rather than touching and tender. He is too full of
declamation, and often too extravagant. His produc-
tions are numerous ; and the moft celebrated of his dra-
mas are the Cirma, the Cid., Horace, and Polyeu&e..

FRENCH TRAGEDY. 331

In the tragic line, Racine is fuperior to Corneille. He
poflelles not, indeed, the copionfnefs of Corneille, but
be is free from his bombaft, and is remarkable for ten-
dernefs. His Phaedra, his Athalie, and his Mithidrate,
,are a great honour to the French ftage. The beauty of
his language and verfificationis uncommon; and he hits
managed his rhymes with a fuperior advantage. Voltaire
has repeatedly obferved, that the Athalie of Racine is the
" Chef d'Oeuvre" of the French theatre. It is a facred
drama, and owes much to the majefty of religion.
Perhaps, however, it is lefs interefting than the Andro*
maque. He is alib infinitely fortunate in his Phsedra.

Voltaire is not inferior to his predeceflbrs in the dra-
ma j and there is one circumftance in which he has far
outdone them. This is in the delicacy and intereft of
his fituations. Here he is peculiarly great. Like his
predeceflbrs, however, he is fometimes deficient in force,
and fometimes too declamatory. His characters, not-
withftanding, are depicted with fpirit, his events ftrike,
and his fentiments abound in animation. Zaire, Me-
rope, Alzire, and the Orphan of China, are moft excel-
lent tragedies.

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.

T has often been remarked of tragedy in Great
Britain, that it is more ardent than that of France, but
more irregular and incorrect. It therefore has excelled
in what is the foul of tragedy. For the paflionate and
the pathetic muft be allowed to be. the chief excellence
of the tragic mufe.

Shakefpeare is the firft of all the Englim dramatifts.
In extent and force of genius, he is unrivalled. But at
the fame, time it muft be owned, that his genius is lome-
times wild, that his tafte is not always chafte, and that
he was too little afiifted by art and knowledge. Criti-
cifm has been lavifhed with the utmoft prodigality in
commentaries upon him ; yet it is undecided, whether
his beauties or defects are the greateft. There are in his
writings fcenes that are admirable, andpaflages that are
fuperlatively touching ; but there is not one of his plays
which can be pronounced to be a good one. His irre-
gularities are extreme, his mixtures of the ferious and the
comic are grotefque, and he has often a difgufting play
of words, harm expreffions, and a certain obfcure bom-
baft. Thefe faults are, however, extenuated or redeemed
by two of the greateft perfections that a tragic poet can
difplay, by lively and diverfified paintings of character,

ENGLISH TRAGEDY. 333

and by ftrong and happy expreffions of paffion. Upon
thcfe pillars his merit refts. In the midit of his abfur-
dities he intereils and moves u« ; fo great is his iltill in-
human nature, and fo lively his reprefentations of it.

He has another high advantage. He has created for
himfelf a world of preternatural beings. His witches
and ghofts, fairies and fpirits, are fo awful, myfterious,
and peculiar, that they ftrongly affeft the imagination.
Of the dramas of this fingular writer, the greateft are
his Othello and Macbeth. With regard to his historical
plays, they are not tragedies or comedies, but a fpecies
of dramatic entertainment, in which he defcribes the
perfonages, the events, and the manners of the times of
which he treats.

After Shakefpeare there are few dramatic writers,
whofe whole works are entitled to high praife. There
are feveral tragedies, however, which have great value.
Lee's Theodofius has warmth and tendernefs, but is
fomewhat romantic in the plan, and extravagant in
the fendraents. Oiway is excellent in the Orphan and
Venice Preferved. Perhaps, however, he is too tragic
in thefe pieces. He had genius and ftrong paflions,
but is difpofed to be too indelicate.

The tragedies of Rowe abound in morality and in ele-
vated fentiments. His poetry is good, and his language
is elegant. He is, notwithftanding, cold, andlefs tragic

DRAMATIC POETRY.

than flowery. His beft dramas are Jane Shore and the
Fair Penitent, which excel in the tender and pathe:ic.

In the Revenge of Dr. Young, there are fire and ge-
nius ; but it is deiicieht in tendernefs, and exhibit too
ftrong a conflict of direful paffions. In the Mourning
Bride of Congreve, there are fine fituations, and a great
flow of poetry. The tragedies of Mr. Thomfon are dull
and formal, from too inordinate an intermixture of (tiff
morality. His Tancred and Sigifmunda is by far his
beft piece.

A Greek tragedy may be denominated a fimple rela-
tion of an interefting incident. A French tragedy is a
fucceffion of refined conventions. In an Englifh tra-
gedy, vehemence predominates ; and it may be defcribed
to be a reprefentation of the combat of ftrong pafiions.

COMEDY.

T

A. HE ftrain and fcope of comedy discriminate it Suf-
ficiently from tragedy. The greater pailions are the pro-
vince of the latter; and the inftrunient of the former is
ridicule. Follies and vices, and whatever in the human
character is the object of cenfure and impropriety, are
the objefts of the comic mufe. It is a fatyrical exhibi-
tion, and includes an idea that is ufeful and moral. It
is commendable, by this fpecies of compofition, to correct
and to punim the manners of men. There are many
vices which are more fucceflively exploded by ridicule,
than by ferious argumentation. It is poflible, however,
to employ ridicule improperly ; and by its operation to
do mifchief inftead of good. For it is not right to confi-
der it as the proper left of truth ; and licentious wri.ers
of the comic fort, may caft a ridicule on objecls which
are not deferving of it. But this is not 'he fault of co-
medy, but of the i urn and genius of certain individuals.
In the management of Icofe men, comedy may corrupt -,
but in i hat of well-intentioned writers, it is a gay enter-
tainment, an<* may lead to reformation, and the ad-
vancement of virtue.

The rules of dramatic adion, that are prefcribed for

336 DRAMATIC POETRY.

tragedy, belong alfo to comedy. The comic writer mud
alfo obferve the unities of action, time, and place. It
is ever requifite to attend to nature and probability. The
imitation of manners ought even to be more exact in
comedy than in tragedy. For the fubjects of comedy
are more familiar and better known.

The fubjects of tragedy are confined to no age or
country ; but It is otherwife in comedy. For the deco-
rums of behaviour, and the nice difcriminations of cha-
racter, which are the objects of comedy, are not to be
underftood, but by the natives of the country where
the author refides. We may weep for the heroes of
Greece and Rome, but we can only be touched with
the ridicule of the manners and characters that come un-
der our own obiervation. The Icene. therefore, of
comedy, fliould conftantly be laid in the arthor's own
country, and in his own age. The comic poet catches
the manners living as they rife.

It is, indeed, true, that Plautus and Terence did not
adopt this rule. The let ne ct" their comedies is laid in
Greece, and they adopted the Greek laws and cuftoms.
It is to be ccnhdeied, however, that comedy was, in
their age, a new entertainment j and that they were
.contented with the pnufe of being tranilators from Me-
nander, and other comic vriters of Greece. In poflc-
rior times, too, the Romans had the " Cceniedia Togata,"
or what was eftablKhed on their gwn manners, as well

COMEDY. 33?

as the " Cosmedia Palliata," which was founded oa
thole of the Greeks.

There are two kinds of comedy, that of character and
that of intrigue. In the laft, the plot of the play is
the principal object. In the firft, thedifplay of a pecu-
liar character is the chief point ; and to this the a6tion is
fubortlinate. It is in comedies of character that the
French abound mod. Such are the capital pieces of
Moliere ; the Avare, Mifanthrope, and Tartutfe. It is
to comedies of intrigue that the Englifh have leaned
moft. Such are the plays of Congreve j and, in gene-
ral, there are more flory and action on the Englifh,
than on the French theatre.

The perfection of comedy is, perhaps, to be found in the
mixture of thefe two kinds of entertainments. A mere
converfation, without an interesting ftory, is infipid.
There Ihould ever be fo much of Intrigue, as to give a
foundation for wrihes and fears. The incidents fhould
be ftriking, and in nature ; and fliould afford a full field
for the exhibition of character. The piece, however,
fliould not be overcharged with intrigue. For this
would be to convert a comedy into a novel.

With refpeft to characters, it is a common. -error of
comic writers, to carry them much beyond real life ; and,
indeed, it is very difficult to hit the precife point, where
wit ends, and buffoonery commences. The comedian

38 DRAMATIC POETRY.

exaggerate ; but good fenfe muft teach him where
to fet bounds to his fatire and ridicule. Plautus, for in-
ftance, is extravagant, when his Mifer, after examining
the right and the left hands of the perfon whom he fuf-
pe6ts of having purloined his caiket, cries out. " ojlende
" etiam tertiam."

"There ought, in comedy, to be a clear diftin£tton in
characters. The contraft of characters, however, by
their introduction in pairs, and by oppofites, is too the-
atrical and affe&ed. It is the perfection of art to con-
ceal art. The mafterly difcrimination of characters is,
by the ufe of fuch {hades of diversity as are commonly
found in fociety; and it is obvious, that ftrong oppofi-
tions are feldom brought into a6tual contrail in any of
the circumftances of life.

As to the fiyle of comedy, it ought to be elegant,
lively, and pure; and mould generally imitate the tone
of polite converfation. It ihculd not defcend into grofs
expreflions. Rhyme is not fuitable to comic compofi-
tion. For what has poetry to do with the converfations
. of men in common life ? The flow of the dialogue
fhould be eafy without pertnefs, and genteel without
flippancy. The wit fhould never be fludied or unfea-
fonable.

ANTIENT COMEDY.

JL HE comedy of the antients was an avowed fatire
*gainft particular perfons, who were brought upon the
ftage by name. Such were the plays of Ariftophanes j
and competitions of fo fingular a nature illuftrate well
the turbulent licentioufnefs of Athens. The moft illuf-
trious perfonages, generals and magiftrates, were then
cxpofed to the unreftrained fcope of the comic mufe.
Vivacity, fatire, and buffoonery, are the charafteriftics
of Ariftophanes. His ftrength and genius are not to be
doubted; but his performances do not farely afford any
High idea of the attic tafte of wit in his age. His ridicule
is pufhed to extremity ; his wit is farcical ; his perfonal
raillery is cruel and biting; and his obfcenity is intole-
rable.

After the age of Ariftophanes, the laws prohibited
the liberty of attacking perfons by name on the ftage.
The middle comedy took its rife. Living characters
were ftill affailed, but under fictitious names. Of
thefe pieces there are no remains. They were fncceeded
by the new comedy. It was then, as it is now, the
bufinefs of the ftage, to exhibit manners and characters,
but not thofe of particular men. The author the moft
celebrated of this kind among the Greeks was Menander^
but hts writings have perillied.
G g 2

340 DRAMATIC POETRY.

Of the new comedy of the antients, the only exam-
ples which exift are the plays of Plautus and Terence,
The firft is eminent for the vis comica, and for an ex-
preffive phrafeology. He bears, however, manymarRs
of the rudeneis of the dramatic art in his time. He has
too much low wit and fcurrility j and is by far too
quaint and too full of conceit. He has variety, not-
withftanding, and force} and his characters are well
marked, though fomewhat coarfe. Dry den and Moliere
have done him the honour to imitate himi

Terence is polifhed, delicate, and elegant. Nothing
can be more pure and graceful than his latinity. Cor-
re&nefs and decency reign in his dialogue ; and his re-
lations have a pi&urefque and beautiful fimplicity. The
morality he inculcates cannot be objefted to ; his fitu-
atious are interelling ; and many of his fentiments find
their way to the heart. He may be confidered as the
founder of the ferious comedy. In fprightlinefs and in
ftrength he is deficient. There is a famenefs and unifor-
mity in his characters and plots ; and he is faid to have
been inferior to Menander, whom he copied.

SPANISH COMEDY.

T.

HE earlier! objeft in modern comedy is the Spanifti
theatre. The chief comedians of Spain are Lopez d«
Vega, Guillin, and Calderon. The firft, who is the
moft famous of them, was the author of not lefs than a
thoufand plays ; and was infinitely more irregular than
our Shakfpeare. He difregarded, altogether, the three
unities, and every eftablifhed rule of dramatic compofi-
tion. In one play he is not afraid to include whole years,
and even the life of a man. His fcene in one a6l is in
Spain j in another in Italy ; and in a third in Africa.

His dramas are chiefly hiftorical j and are a mixture
of heroic fpeeches, ferious incidents, war, ridicule, and
buffoonery. He jumbles together chriftianity, paganifm,
virtues, vices, angels, and Gods, Notwithftnnding his
faults, he was in pofleflion of genius, and of great
force of imagination. Many of his characters are well
painted j many of his fituations are happy ; and from
the fourceof his- rich invention, the dramatic writers of
other nation? have drawn many advantages. He was
confcic-is hi-nfelf of his extreme irregularities, and apo-
logized for them, from the want of taftc of bis country-
men.

G g 3

FRENCH COMEDY.

*TT«

JL HE comic theatre of France is allowed to be cor-
reft, chafte, and decent, Regnard, Dufrefnoy, Dan-
court and Marieux, are comic writers of coniiderable
merit. But the author of this clafs, in whom the French
glory moft, is Moliere. According to the judgment of
the French critics, lie has nearly reached the fummit of
perfection in his art. Nor, perhaps, is their decifion
fallacious. Moliere is the fatirift only of vice and folly.
His characters were peculiar to his own times 3 and, in
general, his ridicule is exaft. His comic powers were
very great j and there is an innocence in his pleafantry.
His Mifanthrope and Tartuffe are in verfe, and confti-
tute a kind of dignified comedy, in a ftyle politely fati-
rical. In his profe comedies there is a profufion of ridi-
cule ; but the poet never gives the alarm to modefty, or
is defirous to caft a contempt againft virtue. Thefe are
great perfections ; but it is to be allowed that they are
mingled with confiderable defe&s. The unravelling of
his plots is by no means happy. In this he is often im-
probable, and without preparation. Perhaps his atten-
tion to the full exhibition of characters, took away from
his care of the conduft of the intrigue. In his verfe co-
medies, he does not always afford a complete intereft 5
and his fpeeches run not unfrequently into prolixity.

FRENCH COMEDY. 343.

Iii his piecrs in profe he is often too farcical, But, upon
the whole, it may be affirmed,, that few writers ever
attained fo perfectly the true end of comedy. With re-
gard to grave comedy, it is underftood that his Tartuffe
is his chief produft ion;- and with refpeft to gay comedy,,
the preference has been given to his Avare,

ENGLISH COMEDY,

HE Englifh comic theatre excres high expe&ations.
A variety of original characters, and bold ftrokes of wit
and humour, belong to it. It has been pronounced that
humour is, in fome degree, peculiar to England. The
freedom of our government, and the nnreftrained liber-
ty of manners which prevail, tend to the produflion of
Angularity. In France, the influence of a defpotic court
fpreads an uniformity over the nation. Comedy, ac-
cordingly, has a freer vein in England than in France.
But it is to be regretted, that the comic fpirit of Britain
is too ofien difgraced by indecency and licentioufnefs.

It is remarkable, however, that thefirftage of Englifh
comedy was free from this fpirit. Shr.kfpeare and Ben
Jonfon have no immoral tendency in their plays. The
comedies of the former have a high invention, but are
irregular in their conduct. They are fingularly rich in
characters and manners ; but they defcend too often to
pleafe the mob. Jonfon is more regular, but more pe-
dr.nti •. He yet was poflrifed of dramatic genius. There
are much fancy, and many fine paflages, in the plays of
Beaumont and Fletcher. But, in general, they are dc-

ENGLISH COMEDY. 345

formed with romantic improbabilities, with unnatural
characters, and with coarfe allufions.

The changes which have taken place in manners, have
rendered the old comedies rather obfolete. For it is the
exhibition of prevailing characters and modes, that
gives its charm to comedy. Thus Plautus was antiquated
to the Romans in the days of Auguftus. But to the
great honour of Shakfpeare. it is obfervable, that his
Falftaft" is m'll admired, and that his Merry Wives of
"Windfor may yet be read with real pleafure.

After the restoration of Charles II. the licentioufnefs
\vhich polluted the court and the nation feized upon co-
medy. The rake became the predominant character. '
A ridicule was thrown upon chaftity and fobriety. In-
deed, in the end of the piece, the rake becomes a fober
man ; but throughout the performance he was a fine
gentleman, and exhibits a piclure of the pleafurable en-
joyment of life. This fpirit of comedy had the worft
effefts in forming the youth of both fexes; and it con-
tinued down to. the days of George II.

In the comedies of Drydcn then* are may ftrokes of
genius ; but he is frequently liafty and carrlefs As his
objeft was to pleafe, he followed the current of the
times, and gave into a vei;> of corruption nnd licentiouf-
nefs. His want of decency was, at times, fo grofs, a*
to occafion the prohibition of his pieces.

After Dryden, flouriftied Gibber, Vanbrugh, Farqu-

34() DRAMATIC POETRY.

bar, and Congreve. Cibber has fprigbtlinefs, and a pert
vivacity ; but is forced and unnatural in his incidents.
His performances have all funk into obfcurity, excepting
The Carelefs Hufband and The Provoked Hufband.
Of thefe, the firft is remarkable for the eafy politenefs
of the dialogue ; and it is. tolerably moral in its conducT.
The latter, in which Cibber was aflifted by Vanbrugh,
is perhaps the belt comedy in the Englifli language. It
may yet be objefted to it, that it has a double plot. It's
characters, however, are natural and it abounds with
fine painting, and happy ftrokes of humour.

Wit, fpirit, and ea(e, characterize Sir John Vanbrugh;
but he is the moft indelicate and immoral of all our come-
dians. Congreve poifefled, undoubtedly,, a happy ge-
nius. He is witty and fparkling, and attentive to cha-
racter and aclion. Indeed it may be laid., that he over-
flows with wit. It is often introduced without propri-
ety ; and, in general, it is too pointed and apparent for
well-bred converfation. Farquhar is a light and gay
writer ; lefs correcl than Congreve, and lefs brilliant ;
but more eafy, and nearer to real life. Like Congreve
teo, he is foully licentious ; and modefly muft turn frora
them with abhorrence. The French boaft, with juftice,
of the fuperior decency of their ftage, and fpeak of the
English theatre with aftonifliment. Their j.hilolophical
writers have even afcribed the profligate manners of.
London, to the indelicacy and corruption of the
comedy.

ENGLISH COMEDY. 347

Of late years, a reformation has gradually taken place
in Englifh comedy. Our \viitersofcomedy now appear
afhamcd of the indecency of their predeceflbrs. They
may be inferior to Farquhar and Congreve in fpirit,
cafe, and wit j but virtue has gained fomething by their
being by far more innocent and moral.

It is to the French ftagethat we arc indebted for this
improvement. The introduction there of a graver co-
medy, of what has been called La Coraedie Larmoyante,
has attracted the attention and the approbation of our
•writers. This invention is not altogether a modern one.
For the Andria of Terence is of this defcription. Gaiety
and ridicule are not excluded from thi> graver comedy,
but it feeks to merit praife by tender and interesting fi-
tuations. It is fentimental, and touches the heart. It
pleafes not fo much by the laughter it excites, as by
the tears of affection which it draws forth.

This form of comedy has been oppofed in France as
an unjuftifiable innovation. Its not being founded on
laughter and ridicule, has been objected to it with har{h-
nefs. For it does not follow, that all comedies fliould
be formed on one precife model. Some may be light,
and fome may be ferious ; and others may partake of
both thefe defcriptions. It is fufficient, that human life
and manners are defcribed with precision and know-
ledge. It is not to be fuppofed, that this new fpeciea
of comedy is to fuperfede, altogether, the comedy that
is founded in ridicule. There are materials for both;

T

348

DRAMATIC POETRY.

and the ftage is the richer for the innovation. At any
•rate it may be confidered as a mark of true politenefs,
and refinement of manners, that theatrical exhibitions
fhould become fafhionable, which are free from indeli-
cate fentiment, and an immoral tendency.

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