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LECTURES
O N
RHETORIC
AND
BELLES LETTRES.
By HUGH B_L AIR, D. D.
ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHURCH, AND PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.
IN THREE VOLU M E S.
VOL. I.
BASIL:
PRINTED FOR J. L. I.EGRAKD. M DCC L X X X I X.

VT3T
wi.n»iH>La e j g »iwa
PREFACE.
T^HE following Lectures Were read in the Univerfity of Edinburgh , for Twenty-four years. The publication of them, at prefent, was not altogether a matter of choice. Imperfect Copies of them, in Manufcript, from notes taken by Students who heard them read , Were firft privately handed about; and afterwards frequently expofed to public fale. When the Author faw them circulate fo currently, as even to be quoted in print *, and found himfelf often threatened with furreptitious publications of them , he judged it to be high time that they fhould proceed from his own hand , rather than come into public view under fome very defective and erroneous form.
They were originally defigned for the initiation of Youth into the fludy of Belles Lettres ,
* Eiographia Britannica. Article, Addison.
A 2-

JV
PREFACE.
and of Cornpofition. With the fame intention they are now publifhed; and therefore , the form of Ledtures , in which they were at firft com- pofed, is Hill retained. The Author gives them to the world, neither as a Work wholly original , nor as a Compilation from the Writings of others. On every fubjedt contained in them , he has thought for himfelf. He confulted his own ideas and refiedlions : and a great part of what will be found in thefe Ledtures is entirely his own. At the fame time, he availed himfelf of the ideas and reflections of others, as far as he thought them proper to be adopted. To proceed in this manner, was his duty as a Public Pro- feffor. It was incumbent on him, to convey to his Pupils all the knowledge that could improve them; to deliver not merely what was new, but what might be ufeful, from whatever quarter it came. He hopes, that to fuch as are fludying to cultivate their Tafle , to form their Style, or to prepare themfelves for Public Speaking or Cornpofition, his Ledtures will afford a more comprehenfive view of what relates to thefe fubjedts, than, as far as he knows, is to be received from any one Book in our Language.

PREFACE.
v
In order to render his Work of greater fervice, he has generally refer-ed to the Books which he confulted, as far as he remembers them; that the Readers might be directed to any farther illuftration which they afford. But, as fuch a length of time has elapfed fince the firft Com- poiition of his Lectures, he may, perhaps, have adopted the fentiments of fome Author into whole Writings he had then looked, without now remembering whence he derived them.
In the opinions which he has delivered concerning fuch a variety of Authors, and of literary matters, as come under his confideration, he cannot exped that all his Readers will concur with him. The fubjects are of fuch a nature , as allow room for much diverfity of tafte and fenti- ment: and the author will refpedtfully fubmit to the judgment of the Public.
Retaining the fimplicity of the Lecturing Style, as belt fitted for conveying inftruction , he has aimed, in his Language, at no more than perfpicuity. If, after the liberties which it Was neceffary for him to take, in' criticifing the

VI
P R E F A G E,
Style of the moll eminent Writers in our language , his own Style lhall be thought open to reprehenfion; all that he can fay, is, that his Book will add one to the many proofs already afforded to the world , of its being much eafier to give inftrnccion, than to fet example.
I

CONTENTS
OF THE
FIRST VOLUME.
LECT. Page
i Introduction. * . i
II. 1 Tafte. 17
III. Criticifm—Genius—Pleafures of Tafte—Sublimity
in Objedts. .... 41
IV. The Sublime in Writing. . . 69
V. Beauty, and other Pleafures of Tafte. . 91
VI. Rife and Progrefs of Language. . no
VII. Rife and Progrefs of Language, and of
Writing. 13?
VIII. Structure of Language. . , . 136
IX. Structure of Language—Englifh Tongue. 181
X. Style—Perfpicuity and Precifion. . 209
XI. Structure of Sentences. . . - 232
XII. Structure of Sentences. . . . 237
XIII. Structure of Sentences—Harmony. . 282
XIV. Origin and Nature of Figurative Language. 309
XV. Metaphor. . . . . . 334
XVI. Hyperbole—Perfonification—Apoftrophe. 360
XVII. Comparifon , Antithefis , Interrogation,
Exclamation, and other Figures of Speech. 387

LECTURE I.
INTRODUCTION.
O N E of the moil diftinguifhed privileges L which Providence has conferred upon mankind, is the power of communicating their thoughts to one another. Deftitute of this power, Reafon would be a folitary , and , in fome meafure , an unavailing principle. Speech is the great inltru- ment by which man becomes beneficial to man: and it is to the intercourfe and tranfmiffion of thought, by means of fpeech, that we are chiefly indebted for the improvement of thought itfelf. Small are the advances which a Angle unaflifted individual can make towards perfecting any of his powers. What we call human reafon, is not the effort or ability of one, fo much as it is the refult of the reafon of many, arifing from lights mutually communicated , in confequence of dif- courfe and writing.
It is obvious, then , that writing and difcourfe are objects intitled to the higheft attention. Whether the influence of the fpeaker, or the entertainment of the hearer , be confulted ; whether Vol. I. B
C T.
I.

I NvT RODUCTION.
£ E c T. utility or pleafure be the principal aim in view, I. we are prompted, by the ftrongeft motives , to ftudy how we may communicate our thoughts to one another with moll: advantage. Accordingly we find, that in almoft every nation, as foon as language had extended itfelf beyond that fcanty communication which was requifite for the fupply of men’s neceftities , the improvement of difcourfe began to attradl regard; In the'language even of rude uncultivated tribes, we can trace fome attention to the grace and force of thofe exprelfions which they ufed, when they fought to perfuade or to affect. They were early fen- fible of a beauty in difcourfe, and endeavoured to give it certain decorations which experience had taught them it was capable of receiving, long before the ftudy of thofe decorations was formed into a regular art.
But, among nations in a civilized ftate, no art lias been cultivated with more care, than that of language, ftyle, and compofition. The attention paid to it may, indeed, be affirmed as one mark of the progrefs of fociety towards its mod improved period. For, according as fociety improves and flourifhes, men acquire more influence over one another by means of reafoning and difcourfe ; and in proportion as that influence is felt to enlarge, it muft follow, as a natural con- fequence , that they will beftow more care upon the methods of expreffing their conceptions with propriety and eloquence. Hence we find, that in ail the polifhed nations of Europe , this

INTRODUCTION.
3
(ludy has been treated as highly important, and L E c t. has poffeffed a confrderable place in every plan L of liberal education.
Indeed, when the arts of fpeech and writing are mentioned , I am fenfible that prejudices againfl: them are apt to rife in the minds of many.
A fort of art is immediately thought of, that is oftentatious and deceitful; the minute and trifling ffyedy of words alone ; the pomp of expreffion; the ftudied fallacies of rhetoric; ornament fubftituted in the room of ufe. We need not wonder, that under fuch imputations, all ftudy of difcourfe as an art, fhould have fuffered in the opinion of men of underftanding: and I am far from denying , that rhetoric and criticifm have fometimes been fo managed as to tend to the corruption , rather than to the improvement, of good tafte and true eloquence. But fure it is equally poffible to apply the principles of reafon and good fenfe to this art, as to any other that is cultivated among men. If the following Ledures have any merit, it will confift in an endeavour to fubftitute the application of thefe principles in the place of artificial and fcholaftic rhetoric; in an endeavour to explode falfe ornament, to dired attention more towards fubftance than How, to recommend good fenfe as the foundation of all good compofition , and fimplicity as effential to all true ornament.
When entering on the fubjed, I maybe allowed , on this occafion, to fugged a few thoughts concerning the importance and advat>
B z

4
INTRODUCTION.
£ e c T. tages of fuch ftudies, and the rank they are in- I. titled to poffefs in academical education *. I am under no temptation, for this purpofe , of extolling their importance at the expence of any other department of fcience. On the contrary, the ftu- dy -of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres fuppofes and requires a proper acquaintance with the reft of the liberal arts. It embraces them all within its circle, and recommends them to the higheft regard. The firft care of all fuch as wifli either to write with reputation , or to fpeak in public fo as to command attention, muft be, to extend their knowledge; to lay in a rich ftore of ideas relating to thofe fubjedts of which the oc- cafions of life may call them to difcourfe or to write. Hence, among the ancients, it was a fundamental principle , and frequently inculcated ,
Quod omnibus difciplinis et artibus debet effe “ inftrftdlus orator;” that the orator ought to be an accomplifhed fcholar, and converfantm every part of learning. It is indeed impoffible to contrive an art, and very pernicious it were if it could be contrived , which fliould give the ftamp of merit to any compofition rich or fplen-
* The Author was the firft who read Ledtures on this fubjedt in the Univerfity of Edinburgh. He began with reading them in a private character in the year 1759. In the following year he was chofen Profeffor of Rhetoric by the Magiftrates and Town-council of Edinburgh : and, in 1762, his Majefty was pleated to eredt and endow a Pro- feffion of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in that Univerfity; and the Author was appointed the firft Regius Profeffor.

INTRODUCTION.
S'
did in expreffion , but barren or erroneous in L e c t. thought. They are the wretched attempts to- I, wards an art of this kind which have fo often dif- graced oratory, and debafed it below its true flandard. The graces of compofition have been employed to difguife or to fupply the want of matter; and the temporary applaufe of the ignorant has been courted, inftead of the lafting approbation of the difceming. But fuch impofture can never maintain its ground long. Knowledge and fcience muft fhrnifh the materials that- form the body and fubftance of any valuably compofition. Rhetoric ferves to add the polilh; and we know that none but firm and folid bodies can be polifhed well. ■.
Of thofe who perufe the following Ledtures, fome, by the profeffion to which they addidl themfelves, or in confequence of their prevailing inclination, may have the view of being employed in compofition, or in public fpeaking.
Others, without any profpect of this kind, may wifh only to improve their tafte with refpedt to writing and difcourfe , and to acquire principles which will enable them to judge for themfelves in that part of literature called the Belles Let- tres.
With refpecb to the former, fuch as may have occafion to communicate their fentiments to the Public, it is abundantly clear that fome preparation of ftudy is requifite for the end which they have in view. To fpeak or to write per- fpicuoufiy and agreeably, with purity , with grace
B 3

6
INTRODUCTION.
j, e c T. and flrength , are attainments of the utmoft I. corsfequence to all who purpofe, either by fpeech or writing, to addrefs the Public. For without being mailer of thofc attainments, no man can do juftice to his own conceptions ; but how rich foever he may be in knowledge and in good fenfe, will be able to avail himfelf lefs of thofe treafures, than fuch as poffefs not half his flore, but who can difplay what they poffefs with more propriety. Neither are thefe attainments of that kind for which we arfe 'indebted to nature ijierely. Nature has , indeed , conferred upon fome a very favourable diflindtion in this refpedl, beyond others. But in thefe, as in moll other- talents fhe bellows, fhe has left much to be wrought out by every man’s own induftry. So confpicuous have been the effects of ffcudy and improvement in every part of eloquence; fuch remarkable examples have appeared of perfons furmoimting , by their diligence , the difadvan- tages of the moll untoward nature, that among the learned it has long been a contelled, and remains frill an undecided point, whether nature or art confer moll towards excelling in writing and difeourfe.
With refpedl to the manner in which art can moll effedtually furnilh affillance for fuch a purpofe, there may be a diverfity of opinions. I by ro means pretend to fay that mere rhetorical rules, how jufl foever , are fufficient to form an orator. Suppofmg natural genius to be favourable , more by a great deal will depend upon

INTRODUCTION,
i
private application and ftudy, than upon any Lect, fyftem of inftruction that is capable of being pub- I, licly communicated. But at the fame time, though rules and ihftruCtions cannot do all that is requifite, they may, however, do much that is of real ufe. They cannot, it is true , infpire genius; but they can direct and aflift it. They cannot remedy barrennefs ; but they may correct redundancy. They point out proper models for imitation. They bring into view the chief beauties that ought to be ftudied, and the principal faults that ought to be avoided ; and thereby tend to enlighten talhe, and to lead genius from unnatural deviations , into its ptoper channel.
What would not avail for the production of great excellencies, may at leaft ferve to prevent the commiffion of confiderable errors.
All that regards the ftudy of eloquence and compofition, merits the higher attention upon this account, that it is intimately connected with the improvement of our intellectual powers. Fori muft be allowed to fay, that when we are employed, after a proper manner , in the ftudy of compofition, we are cultivating reafon itfelf. True rhetoric and found logic are very nearly allied. The ftudy of arranging and expreffing our thoughts with propriety, teaches to think, as well as to fpeak, accurately. By putting our fentiments into words, we always conceive them more dif- tindly. F,very one who has the flighted; acquaintance with compofition knows , that when he cxpreffes himfelf ill on any fubjcct, when his ar-
B 4
#

8
INTRODUCTION.
Lec t. rangement becomes loofe, and bis fentences turn I, feeble, the defeds of his ftylecan, almoft on every occafion, be traced back to his indiftind conception of thefubjed: fo clofe is the connection between thoughts and the words in which they are clothed.
The ftudy of compofition , important in itfelf at all times , has acquired additional importance from the tafte and manners of the prefent age. It is an age wherein improvements, in every part of fcience, have been profecuted with ardour. To all the. liberal arts much attention has been paid ; and to none more than to the beauty of language , and the grace and elegance of every kind of writing. The public ear is become refined. It will' not eafdv bear what is flovenly and incurred. Every author muff afpire to fome merit in exprefiion, as well as in fentiment, if he would not incur the danger of being negled- ed and defpifed.
I will not deny that the love of minute elegance, and attention to inferior ornaments of compofition, may at prefent have engroffed too great a degree of the public regard. It is indeed my opinion, that we lean to this extreme; often more careful of polifhing ftyle, than of floring it with thought. Yet hence arifes a new reafon for the ftudy of juft and proper compofition. If it be requifite not to be deficient in elegance or ornament in times when they are in fuch high efiimation, it is ftill more requifite to attain the power of diftinguilhing falfe ornament

INTRODUCTION.
9
rn from true, in order to prevent our being carried L e c t. )n away by that torrent of falfe and frivolous tafte, 1, cl which never fails, when it is prevalent, to fweep c- along with it the raw and the ignorant. They :h who have never ftudied eloquence in its principles, nor have been trained to attend to the ge- :lf nuine and manly beauties of good writing, are :e always ready to be caught by the mere glare of e. language ; and when they come to fpeak in
rt public, or to compofe , have no other ftandard
r. on which to form themfelves, except v’hat :n chances to be falhionable and popular , how if corrupted foever, or erroneous, that may be. y But as there are many who have no fuch ob- :■ jeds as either compofition or public fpeaking in ' view, let us next confider what advantages may be derived by them, from fuch ftudies as form the fubjed of thefe Ledures. To them , rhetoric is not fo much a pradical art as a fpeculative fcience; and the fame inftrudions which affift others in compofmg, will affift them in judging )f of, and reliftiing, the beauties of compofition.
io Whatever enables genius to execute well, will
n- enable tafte to criticife juftly.
When we name criticifmg, prejudices may of perhaps arife, of the fame kind v'ith thofe which
w I mentioned before with refped to rhetoric. As rhe~
ifi. toric has been fometimes thought to fignify nothing
in more than the fcholaftic ftudy of words,and phrafes,
in and tropes, fo criticifm has been confidered as
to merely the art of finding faults; as the frigid
;c t application of certain technical terms, by means

INTRODUCTION.
io
L E c t. of which perfons are taught to cavil and cenfure I. in a learned manner. But this is the criticifm of pedants only. True criticifm is a liberal and humane art. It is the offspring of good fenfe and refined tafte. It aims at acquiring a juft difcernment of the real merit of authors. It pro- motes a lively relifii of their beauties , while it preferves us from that blind and implicit veneration which would confound their beauties and faults in our efteem. It teaches us, in a word, to admire and to blame with judgment, and not to follow the crowd blindly.
In an age when works of genius and literature are fo frequently the fubje&s of difcourfe, when every one erects himfelf into a judge, and when we can hardly mingle in polite fociety without bearing fome fliare in fuch difcuffions; ftudies of this kind , it is not to be doubted, will appear to derive part of their importance from the ufe to which they may be applied in furnifliing materials for thofe fafhionable topics of difcourfe, and thereby enabling us to fupport a proper rank in focial life.
But Ilhould be forry if we could not reft the merit of fuch ftudies on fomewhat of folid and intrinfical ufe independent of appearance andfhow. The exercife of tafte and of found criticifm , is in truth one of the moft improving employments of the underftanding. To apply the principles of good fenfe to compofttion and difcourfe; to examine what is beautiful, and why it is fo ; to employ ourfel- ves in diftinguiffiing accurately between the

INTRODUCTION.
n
“fc fpecious and the folid, between affected and na- Ls o T, ®«l tural ornament, muft certainly improve us not I. a a little in the molt valuable part of all philofo- fent phy, the philofophy of human nature. For fuch jni difquifitions are very intimately connected with ■ j» the knowledge of ourfelves. They neceffarily lead lei' us to reflect on the operations of the imagination, eat- and the movements of the heart, and increafe d our acquaintance with fome of the moft refined ord, feelings which belong to our frame.
!cor Logical and Ethical difquifitions move in a higher fphere, and are converfant. with objects turt of a more fevere kind ; the progrefs of the unit! derftanding in its fearch after knowledge, and the lien direction of the will in the proper purfuit of out good. In thefe they point out to man the inr- of provement of his nature as an intelligent being; to and his duties as the fubjecit of moral obligation, to Belles Lettres and criticifm chiefly confider him eri- as a Being endowed with thofe powers of tafte and and imagination, which were intended to embel- tia lilli his mind, and to fupply him with rational and ufeful entertainment. They open a field of tk inveftigation peculiar to themfelves. All that and relates to beauty, harmony, grandeur, and ele- loff gance; all that can footh the mind , gratify the isa fancy, or move the affe&ions, belongs to their tsoi province. They prefent human nature under a dif- rood ferent afpedl from that which it affumes to the whs view of other fciences. They bring to light irfel various fprings of action which without their aid tk might have paffed unobferved; and which,

13
INTRODUCTION.
Le ct. though of a delicate nature, frequently exert a I. powerful influence on feveral departments, of human life.
Such ftudies have alfo this peculiar advantage, that they exercife our reafon without fatiguing it. They lead to enquiries acute , but not painful ; profound , but not dry nor abffrufe. They ftrew flowers in the path of fcience; and while they keep the mind bent, in fome degree, and active , they relieve it at the fame time from that more toilfome labour to which it mufl fub- mit in the acquifition of neceflary erudition, or the inveftigation of abftradt truth.
, The cultivation of tafte is farther recommended by the happy effects which it naturally tends to produce on human life. The mod bufy man, in the moft adtive fphere, cannot be always occupied by bufinefs. Men of ferious profeflions cannot always be on the ftretch of ferious thought. Neither can the moft gay and fiourilh- ing lituations of fortune afford any man the power of filling all his hours with pleafure. Life mufl always languilh in the hands of the idle. It will frequently languifh even in the hands of the bufy, if they have not fome employment fubfidiary to that which forms their main pur- fuit. How then fliall thefe vacant fpaces, thofe unemployed intervals, which, more or lefs, occur in the life of every one, be filled up ? How can we contrive to difpofe of them in any way that fliall be more agreeable in itfelf, or more confonant to the dignity of the human mind,

INTRODUCTION.
13
than in the entertainments of tafte, and the ftudy L e c t of polite literature? He who is fo happy as to I. have acquired a relilh for thefe, has always -at hand an innocent and irreproachable amufement lor his leifure hours, to fave him from the danger of many a pernicious paflion. He is not in hazard of being a burden to himfelf. He is not obliged to fly to low company, or to court the riot of loofe pleafures, in order to cure the te- dioufnefs of exiftence.
Providence feems plainly to have pointed out this ufeful purpofe to which the pleafures of tafte may be applied, by interpofing them in a middle ftation between the pleafures of fenfe, and thofe of pure intellect. We were not de- ftgned to grovel always among objeds fo low as Ae former; nor are we capable of dwelling conftantly in fo high a region as the latter. The pleafures of tafte refrefli the mind after the toils of the intellect, and the labours of abftrad ftudy ; and they gradually raife it above the attachments of fenfe , and prepare it for the enjoyments of virtue.
So confonant is this to experience , that in the education of youth, no object has in every age appeared more important to wife men, than to tincfture them early with a relilh for the entertainments of tafte. The tranfition is commonly made with eafe from thefe to the difcharge of the higher and more important duties of life.
Good hopes may be entertained of thofe whofe minds have this liberal and elegant turn. Many

*4
INTRODUCTION.
Lect.
I.
virtues may be grafted upon it. Whereas to be entirely devoid of relifh for eloquence, poetry, or any of the fine arts, is juftly conftructed to be an unpromifing fymptom of youth; and raifes fupicions of their being prone to low gratifications , or deftined to drudge in the more vulgar and illiberal purfuits of life.
There are indeed few good difpofitions of any kind with which the improvement of take is not more or lefs connected. A cultivated tafte increafes fenfibility to all the tender and humane paffions , by'giving them frequent exercife; while it tends to weaken the more violent and fierce emotions.
-Ingenuas didiciffe fideliter artes
Emollit mores, nec Unit effe feros. * 9
tie
f
sre
ie
n
cat
taf
in'
on
ev
O’
I
i
Ci
P
in
. < U.
The elevated fentiments and high examples (■ which poetry , eloquence and hiftory are often e | bringing under our view , naturally tend to nourifh in our minds public fpirit, the love of glory, contempt of external fortune, and the admiration of what is truly iliuftrious and great. |
I WILL not go fo far as to fay that the im- provement of tafte and of virtue is the fame; of that they may always be expected to coexift in an equal degree. More powerful correctives than tafte can apply, are neceffary for reforming
*■ There polifhed arts have humaniz’d mankind, 11
Soften’d the rude, and calm’d the boiit’rcus mind.

INTRODUCTION.
i5
sti the corrupt propenfities which too frequently Lect. doe; prevail among mankind. Elegant fpeculatious I. dc: are fometimes found to float on the furface of 1 e the mind, while bad pallions poflefs the interior rod regions of the heart. At the fame time this \i: cannot but be admitted , that the exercife of tafteis, in its native tendency, moral and purify - 0 !! ing. From reading the moll admired produdti- ife ons of genius , whether in poetry or profe , almoft Itr every one rifes with fome good impreflions left aim.- on his mind ; and though thefe may not always j£. be durable , they are at leaft to be ranked among t £ the means of difpofing the heart to virtue. One thing is certain , and I flhall hereafter have oc- cafion to illuftrate it more fully, that without poffelling the virtuous affedtions in a ftrong degree,
I iro man can attain eminence in the fublime parts of eloquence. He muff feel what a good man feels, if he expects greatly to move or to infcer- eft mankind. They are the ardent fentiments of ^ '• honour , virtue , magnanimity , and publick fpi- :e 1 rit, that only can kindle that fire of genius, and ^ callup into the mind thofe high ideas, which c attradt the admiration of ages; and if this fpirit be neceflary to produce the moft diftinguilhed lea efforts of eloquence, it muft be neceflary alfo to ^ our relifhing them with proper tafte and feeling.
:offi On thefe general topics I Ihall dwell no long- ea; er . but proceed dire&ly to the confideration )i£ 0 f the fubjecis which are to employ the following Lecftures. They divide themfelves into five ^ parts. Firft, fome introductory diflertations on

x6 INTRODUCTION.
e c t. the Rate of fcafte, and upon the fources of its I. pleafures. Secondly, the confideration of language. Thirdly, of ftyle : Fourthly, of eloquence properly fo called , or publick fpeaking in its different kinds. Laftly, a critical examination of the mofl diftinguifhed fpecies of compofition, both in profe and verfe.
L R C-

LECTURE II.
m
TASTE.
A HE nature of the prefent undertaking leads me- to begin with fome enquiries concerning Tafte, as it is this'faculty which is always appealed to in difquifitions concerning the merit of difcourfe and writing.
Theke are few fubjeds on which men talk more loofely and indiftindly than on Tafte ; few which it is more difficult to explain with pre- cifion ; and none which in this Courfe of Lectures will appear more dry or abftrad. What I have to fay on the fubjed fhall be in the following order. I fhall firft explain the Nature of Tafte as a power or faculty in the human mind. I fhall next conlider how far it is an improve- able faculty. I fhall fhew the fources of its improvement, and the characters of Tafte in its moft perfect ftate. I fhall then examine the various fluduations to which it is liable, and enquire whether there be any ftandard to which we can bring the different taftes of men, in order to diftinguifh the corrupted from the true.
Vol. I.
C
E C T
II.

TASTE.
L e c t. Taste may be defined “ The power of receiv- II. “ ing pleafure from the beauties of nature and “of art.” The firft queftion that occurs concerning it is, whether it is to be conftdered as an internal fenfe, or as an exertion of reafon ? Reafon is a very general term; but if we under- ftand by it, that power of the mind which in fpeculative matters difcovers truth, and in practical matters judges of the fitnefs of means to an end , I apprehend the queftion may be eafily an- fwered. For nothing can be more clear, than that tafte is not refolveable into any fuch operation of Reafon.* It is not merely through a dif- covery of the underftanding or a deduction of argument, that the mind receives pleafure from a beautiful profpedt or a fine poem. Such objects often ftrike us intuitively, and make a ftrong imprefiion when we are unable to aftlgn the rea r ons of-our being pleafed. They fometimes ftrike in the fame manner the philofopher and the peafant; the boy and the man. Hence the faculty by which we relifh fuch beauties, feems more a-kin to a feeling of fenfe, than to a pro- cafs of the underftanding : and accordingly from an external fenfe it has borrowed its name; that fenfe by which we receive and diftinguifh the pleafurcs of food having, in feveral languages, given rife to the word Tafte in the metaphorical meaning under which we now confider it. However , as in ail fubjects which regard the operations of the mind, the inaccurate ufe of words js to be carefully avoided, it raufl not be infer-

TASTE.
19
red from what I have faid, that reafon is exclude Leg ed from the exertions of Tafte. Though Tafte, II. beyond doubt, be ultimately founded on a certain natural and inftinftive fenfibility to beauty, yet reafon, as I fhall fhew hereafter, aflifts Tafte in many of its operations, and ferves to enlarge its power *.
Taste , in the fenfe in which I have explained it, is a faculty common in fome degree to all men. Nothing that belongs to human nature is more univerfal than the relilh of beauty of one kind or other 1 ; of what is orderly, proportioned, grand, harmonious, new, or fprightly. In children , the rudiments of Tafte difcover themfelves very early in a thoufand inftances; in their fondnefs for regular bodies, their admiration of pictures and ftatues, and imitations of all kinds; and their ftrong attachment to whatever is new or marvellous. The moft ignorant peafants are delighted "with ballads and tales, and are flruck with the beautiful appearances of nature in the earth and heavens. Even in the defarts of America, where human nature fhews itfelf in its moft uncultivated ftate , the lavages have their ornaments ofdrefs, their war and their death fon^s, their harangues, and their orators. We muft
* See Dr. Gerard’s Effay on Tafte.—D’Alembert’s Reflections on the ufe and abufe of philofophy in matters which relate to Tafte.—Reflexions Critiques lur la poefie et fur la peinture,
Tom II. ch. 22—51. Elements of Criticifin, chap. 2?.—Mr.
Hume’s Effay on the Standard of Tafte.—Indroduction to the Effay on the Sublime and Beautiful.
c

zo
TASTE.
L e c t. therefore conclude the principles of Talte to be II. deeply founded in the human mind. It is no lefs elfential to man to have fome difcernment of beauty, than it is to polfefs the attributes of reafon and of fpeech*.
But although none be wholly deyoid of this faculty, yet the degrees in which it is polfeffed are widely different. In fome men only the
* On the fubject of Tafte confidered as a power or faculty of the mind, much lefs is to be found among the ancient, than among the modern rhetorical and critical writers. The following remarkable paffage in Cicero ferves* however to fhew, that his ideas on this fubject agree perfectly with what has been faid above. He is fpeaking of the beauties of ftyle and numbers. “ lllud autem nequis admiretur quonam modo ,, hnec vulgus imperitorum in audiendo, notet; cum in omni ,, genere, turn in hoc ipfo, magna quaedam eft vis, incredi- „ bilifque naturae. Omnes enim tacito quodam fenfu, fine „ ulla arte aut ratione, quae fmt in artibus de rationibus recta w et prava dijudicant: idque cum faciunt in pidturis, et in „ fignis, et in aliis operibus, ad quorum intelligentiam a na- „ tura minus habent inftrumenti, turn multo oftendunt magis ,, in verborum, numerorum, vocumque judicio; quod ea funt 3, in communibus infixa fenfibus; neque earum rerum quen- „ quam funditus natura voluit effe expertem.” Cic. de Grat. lib. iii. cap. 50. Edit. Giuteri. - Quinctilian feenis to include Tafce (for which, in the fenfe which we now give to that word the ancients appear to have had no diftindt name ) under what he calls judicium. “ Locus de judicio, mea qui- 3, deni opinione adeo partibus hujus operis omnibus connec- 3, tus ac miitus eft, ut ne a fententiis quidem aut verbis fal- 3, tern linguiis poflit feparari, nec magis arte traditur quam
,3 gultus aut odor.-Ut contraria vitemus et communia, ne
3, quid in eloquendo corruptum obfcurumque fit, referatur 3, oportet ad fenfus qui non docentur.” Inftitut. lib vi cap. 3. Edit. Obrechti.
»

TASTE.
I
21
feeble glimmerings of Tafte appear ; the beauties L E c T. which they relifh are of the coarfeft kind; and II. of thefe they have but a weak and confuted impreflion : while in others, Tafte rifes to an acute difcernment and a lively enjoyment of the moft refined beauties. In general, we may ob- ferve, that in the powers and pleafures of Tafte, there is a more remarkable inequality among men than is ufually found in point of common fenfe, reafon, and judgment. The conftitution of our nature in this, as in all lother refpedls, difcovers admirable wifdom. In the diftribution of thofe talents which are neceffary for man’s well-being, Nature hath made lefs diftindlion among her children. But in the diftribution of thofe which belong only to the ornamental part of life, flie hath bellowed her favours with more frugality. She hath both fown the feeds more fparingly; and rendered a higher culture requifite for bringing them to perfection.
This inequality of Tafte among men is owing, without doubt, in part, to the different frame of their natures ; to nicer organs, and finer internal powers, with which fome are endowed beyond others. But, if it be owing in part to nature, it is owing to education and culture ftill more. The illuftration of this leads to my next remark on this fubjedt, that Tafte is a moft improveable faculty, if there be any fuch in human nature; a remark which gives great encouragement to fuch a courfe of ftudy as we are now propofing to purfue. Of the truth of
C 3

r>r>
TASTE,
L e c t. this afTertion we may eafily be convinced, by II. only reflecting on that inimenfe fuperiority which education and improvement give to civilized, above barbarous nations, in refinement of Tafte; and on the fuperiority which they give in the fame nation to thofe who have Iludied the liberal arts, above the rude and untaught vulgar. The difference is fo great, that there is perhaps no one particular in which thefe two claffes of men are fo far removed from each other, as in refpedt of the powers and the pleafures of Tafte: and affuredfy for this difference no other general caufe can be afligned , but culture and education. —I fhall now proceed to Ihew what the means are, by which Tafte becomes fo remarkably fufceptible of cultivation and progrefs.
Reflect firft upon that great law of our nature, that exercife is the chief fource of improvement in all our faculties. This holds both in our bodily, and in our mental powers. It holds even in our external fenfes; although thefe be lefs the fubjedl of cultivation than any of our other faculties. We fee how acute the fenfes become in perfons whofe trade or bufinefs leads to nice exertions of them. Touch, for inftance, becomes infinitely more exquiftte in men whofe employment requires them to examine the polifh of bodies, than it is in others. Ti hey who deal in microfcopical obfervations, or are accuftomed to engrave on precious ftones, acquire furprifing accuracy of fight in difeerning the minuteft objects ; and practice in attending

TASTE.
23
to different flavours and taftes of liquors, wonderfully improves the power ofdiftinguilhing them, and of tracing their compofition. Placing internal Talle therefore on the footing of a Ample fenfe, it cannot be doubted that frequent exercife, and curious attention to its proper objects, mull greatly heighten its power. Of this we have one clear proof in that part of Tafte, which is called an ear for mufic. Experience every day fhews , that nothing is more improveable. Only the fimpleft and plained compofxtions are reliflred at firft; ufe and practice extend our pleafure ; teach us to relifli finer melody , and by degrees enable us to enter into the intricate and compounded pleafures of harmony. So an eye for the beauties of painting is never all at once acquired. It is gradually formed by being converfant among pictures, and ftudying the works of the belt mailers.
Precisely in the fame manner, with refpedt to the beauty of compofition and difcourfe, attention to the molt approved models , ftudy of the belt authors, comparifons of lower and higher degrees, of the fame beauties, operate towards the refinement of Tafte. When one is only beginning his acquaintance with works of genius, the fentiment which attends them is obfcure and confuferl. He cannot point out the feveral excellencies or blemilhes of a performance which he perufes ; he is at a lofs on what to reft liis judgment; all that can be expected is, that he Ihould tell in general whether lie be pleafed
C 4
e e II.

24
TASTE.
L e c t. or not. But allow him more experience in II. works of this kind, and his Tafte becomes by- degrees more exact and enlightened. He begins to perceive not only the charadter of the whole, but the beauties and defects of each part; and is able to defcribe the peculiar qualities which he praifes or blames. The mill diffipates which feemed formerly to hang over the objedt; and he can at length pronounce firmly , and without hexitation, concerning it. Thus in Tafte, con- fidered as mere fenfibility, exercife opens a great fource of improvement.
But although Tafte be ultimately founded on fenfibility, it muft not be confidered as in- ftindlive fenfibility alone. Reafon and good fenfe, as I before hinted, have fo extenfive an influence on all the operations and decifions of Tafte, that a thorough good Tafte may well be confidered as a power compounded of natural fenfibility to beauty, and of improved under- ftanding. In order to be fatisfied of this, let us obferve, that the greater part of the productions of genius are no other than imitations of nature ; reprefentations of the charadters , actions, or manners of men. The pleafure we receive from fuch imitations or reprefentations is founded on mere 'I after but to judge whether they be properly executed, belongs to the underftand- ing, which compares the copy with the original.
In reading, for inftance, fuch a poem the JEneid, a great part of our pleafure arifes from the plan or ftory being tyell conducted, and all

TASTE.
25
11 the parts joined together with probability and Lict. f’)’ due connexion; from the characters being taken II. lns from nature, the fentiments being fuited to the 'k> characters, and the ftyle to the fentiments. The n( l pleafure which arifes from a poem fo conducted,.
^ is felt or enjoyed by Tafte as an internal fenfe; but the difcovery of this conduCt in the poem is owing to reafon; and- the more that reafon !t enables us to difcover fuch propriety in the conduCt, the greater will be our pleafure. We t are pleafed, through our natural fenfe of beauty. Reafon Ihews us why, and upon what ^ grounds, we are pleafed. Wherever in works of Tafte, any refemblance to nature is aimed at; wherever there is any reference of parts to iu- a whole, or of means to an ,end, as there is h indeed in almoft every writing and difcourfe, there the underftanding muft always have a ral great part to aft.
let- Here then is a wide field for reafon’s exerting let its powers in relation to the objects of Tafte, uc- particularly with refpeCl to compofition, and oi works of genius; and hence arifes a fecond and mi, a very confiderable fource of the improvement ive of Tafte, from the application of reafon and ni good fenfe to fuch productions of genius. Spu- b rious beauties, fuch as unnatural characters, for- af ced fentiments, affeCted ftyle, may pleafe for ni a little; but they pleafe only becaufe their tie oppofttion to nature and to good fenfe has not on been examined, or attended to. Once fiiew how ail nature might have been more juftly imitated

26
TASTE.
I E C T.
II.
or reprefentecl : how the writer might have managed his fubjed to greater advantage; the illufion will prefently be diffipated, and thole falfe beauties will pleafe no more.
From thefe two fources then, firft, the frequent exercife of Tafte, and next the application of good fenfe and reafon to the objeds of
15
ft:
Tafte, Tafte as a power of the mind receives its improvement. In its perfed ftate, it is undoubtedly the refult both of nature and of art. It fuppofes our natural fenfe of beauty to be refined by frequent attention to the rnoft beautiful objeds, and at the fame time to be guided and improved by the light of the underftandmg.
I must be allowed to add, that as a found head, fo likewife a good heart, is a very material requifite to juft Tafte. The moral beauties are not only in themfelves fuperior to all others, but they exert an influence , either more near or more remote, on a great variety of other objeds of Tafte. Wherever the affedions, charaders, or adions of men are concerned (and thefe certainly afford the nobleft fubjedb to genius) , there can be neither any juft or
affeding defcription of them, nor any thorough feeling of the beauty of that defcription, without our poffeffing the virtuous affedions. He whofe heart is indelicate or hard, he who has no admiration of what is truly noble or praife-
worthy, nor the proper fympathetic fenfe of what is foft and tender, muft have a very
E
Tt

TASTE.
2 7
k imperfed relifh of the higheft beauties of elo- ’ e quence and poetry.
^ The charaders of Tafte when brought to its moft perfed date are all reducible to two, e ^'Delicacy and Corrednefs.
:atl ° Delicacy of Tafte refpeds principally the ■ s c perfedion of that natural fenfibility on which eivt Tafte is founded. It implies thofe finer organs 1 UE or powers which enable us to difcover beauties 311 that lie hid from a vulgar eye. One may have 1 ^ftrong fenfibility, and yet be deficient in delicate ““Tafte. He may be deeply impreffed by fuch beauties as he perceives; but he perceives only what is in fome degree coarfe, what is bold 0Ui and palpable; while chafter and fimpler orna- "T-nents efcape his notice. In this ftate Tafte gene- beat rally exifts among rude and unrefined nations, to‘But a perfon of delicate Tafte both feels ftrong- n* ly, and feels accurately. He fees diftindions ty t and differences where others fee none; the moft lit® latent beauty does not efcape him , and he is cere fenfible of the fmalleft blemifh. Delicacy of abje; Tafte is judged of by the fame marks that we uft life in judging of the delicacy of an external jrot: fenfe. As the goodnefs of the palate is not it: tried by ftrong flavours, but by a mixture of ?. 1 ingredients, where, notwithftanding the con. ho.'fufion, we remain fenfible of each; in like man- pn ner delicacy of internal Tafte appears, by a nle quick and lively fenfibility to its fineft, moft t compounded, or moft latent objeds.
e c T, II.

2 g TASTE.
L e c t. Correctness of Tafte refpedts chiefly the II, improvement which that faculty receives through its connexion with the underftantling. A man of correct Tafte is one who is never im- pofed on by counterfeit beauties; who carries always in his mind that ftandard of good fenfe which he employs in judging of every thing. He eftimates with propriety the comparative merit of the feveral beauties which he meets with in any work of genius; refers them to their proper claffes; affigns the principles, as far as they can be traced, whence their powei of pleafing us flows; and is pleafed himfeli precifely in that degree in which he ought, and no more.
It is true that thefe two qualities of Take, Delicacy and Correctnefs, mutually imply each other. No Tafte can be exquifitely delicate without being correcft; nor can be thoroughly corredt without being delicate. But ftill a predominancy'' of one or other quality in the mixture is often vifible. The power of Delicacy is chiefly feen in difcerning the true merit of a work; the power of Correctnefs, in rejecting falfe pretenftons to merit. Delicacy leans more to feeling; Correctnefs more to reafon and judgment. The former is more the gift of nature; the latter, more the produdt of culture and art. Among the ancient critics, Longinus poffefled moft Delicacy; Ariftotle , moft Correct- nefs. Among the moderns, Mr. Addifon is a high example of delicate Tafte; Dean Swift,
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had he written on the fubjed of criticifm, L E c T. would perhaps have afforded the example of a n. corred one.
Having viewed Tafte in its mod improved and perfed ftate, I come next to confider its deviations from that ftate, the fiuduations and changes to which it is liable; and to enquire whether, in the midft of thefe, there be any means of diftinguifhing a true from a corrupted Tafte. This brings us to the mod difficult part of our talk. For it mud be acknowledged, that no principle of the human mind is, in its operations, more fluduating and capricious than Tafte. Its variations have been fo great and frequent, as to create a fufpicion with fome, of its being merely arbitrary; grounded on no foundation, afcertainable by no ftandard, but wholly dependent on changing fancy; the con- fequence of which would be , that all ftudies or regular enquiries concerning the objeds of Tafte were vain. In architedure, the Grecian models were long efteemed the moft perfed.
In fucceeding ages, the Gothic architedure alone prevailed, and afterwards the Grecian Tafte •
revived in all its vigour, and engrafted the public admiration. In eloquence and poetry, the Aftatics at no time relifhed any thing but what was full of ornament, and fplendid in a degree that we would denominate gawdy; whilft the Greeks admired only chafte and ftm- ple beauties, and defpifed the Afiatic oftentation.
In our own country, how many writings that

30
TASTE.
t E C T.
IL
were greatly extolled two or three centuries ago, are now fallen into entire difrepute and oblivion ? Without going back to remote inftan- ces, how very different is the tafte of poetry which prevails in Great Britain now, from what prevailed there no longer ago than the reign ol King Charles. II. which the authors too of that time deemed an Auguftan age: when nothing was in vogue but an affected brilliancy of wit; when the Ample majefty of Milton was overlooked, and Paradife Loft almoft entirely unknown ; when Cowley’s laboured and unnatural conceits were admired as the very quinteffence of genius; Waller’s gay fprighthnefs was mif- taken for the tender fpirit of Love poetry; and fuch writers as Suckling and Etheridge were held in efteem for dramatic compofition ?
The queftion is, what conclufion we are to form from fuch inftances as thefe ? Is there any thing that can be called a ftandard of Tafte, by appealing to which we may diftinguifh between a good and a bad Tafte? Or, is there in truth no fuch diftindtion; and are we to hold that, according to the proverb, there, is no difputing of Taftes; but that whatever pleafes is right, for that reafon that it does pleafe ? This is the queftion, and a very nice and fubtile one it is, which we are now to difcufs.
1 BEGIN by obferving, that if there be no fuch thing as any ftandard of Tafte , this confequence muft immediately follow, that all Tafies are equally good; a pofition, which though it may
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3r
Cer - pafs unnoticed in flight matters, and when we Lect. |IJt! fpeak of the leffer differences among the Tafies II. eic of men, yet when we apply it to the extremes,
F Cl its abfurdity prefently becomes glaring. For is lfflv there any one who will ferioufly maintain that ‘ £I F the Tafte of a Hottentot or a Laplander is as °h delicate and as correft as that of a Longinus or ^ an Addifon ? or, that he can be charged with fno defect or incapacity who thinks a- common ov news-writer as excellent an Lliftorian as Tacitus? ty ' As it would be held downright extravagance to talk in this manner, we are led unavoidably to ^ this conclufion, that there is fome foundation & rai ‘ for the preference of one man’s Tafte to that of -fv; another; or, that there is a good and a bad, a right and a wrong in Tafte, as in other things.
But to prevent miftakes on thisfubjecl, it is e e neceffary to obferve next , that the diverfity of here: Taftes which prevails among mankind does not afi;. in every cafe infer corruption of Tafte, cr oblige bes us to feek for fome ftandard in order to deter- ia: mine who are in the right. The Taftes of men ;H: may differ very confiderably as to their objedt, lift, and yet none of them be wrong. One man relifhes is* Poetry moPc; another takes pleafure in nothing ns;, but Hiftory. One prefers Comedy; another,
3;:. Tragedy. One admires the fimple ; another, the ornamented ftyle. The young are arnufed with :co: gay and lpnghtly compofitions. The elderly are f, :: more entertained with thofe of a graver caft.
. , Some nations delight in bold pidfures of manners c , : ; and ftrong reprefentations of pafiion. Others

32
TASTE.
Lict, incline to more correct and regular elegance both II. in defcription and fentiment. Though all differ, yet all pitch upon fome one beauty which peculiarly fuits their turn of mind; and therefore no one has a title to condemn the reft. It is not in matters of Tafte,as in queftions of mere reafon, where there is but one conclufion that can be true, and all the reft are erroneous. Truth , which is the objedt of reafon, is one ; Beauty , which is the objecf of Tafte, is manifold. Tafte therefore admits of latitude and diverfity of objects, in fufficient confiftency with goodnefs or juftnefs of Tafte.
But then, to explain this matter thoroughly, I muft obferve farther , that this admiffible diverfity of Taftes can only have place where the objedts of Tafte are different. Where it is with refpedf to the fame object that -men difagree, when one condemns that as ugly , which another admires as highly beautiful; then it is no longer diverfity, but diredt oppofition of Tafte that takes place; and therefore one muft be in the right, and another in the wrong, unlefs that abfurd paradox were allowed to hold, that all Taftes are equally good and true. One man prefers Virgil to Homer. Suppofe that I, on the other hand, admire Homer more than Virgil. I have as yet no reafon to fay that our Taftes are contradictory. The other perfon is moft ftruck with the elegance and tendernefs which are the charadteriftics of Virgil; I, with the ftmplicity and fire of Homer. As long as
neither

TASTE.
33
neither of us deny that both Homer and Virgil have^ great beauties, our difference falls within the compafs of that diverfity of Taftes, which I have fhewed to be natural and allowable. But if the other man lhall alfert that Homer has no beauties whatever; that he holds him to be a dull and fpiritlefs writer, and that he would as foon perufe any old legend of Knight-Errantry as the Iliad; then I exclaim , that my antagonift either is void of all Tafte, or that his Tafte is corrupted in a miferable degree; and L appeal to whatever I think the ftandard of Tafte , to Ihew him that he is in the wrong.
What that ftandard is, to which in fuch oppofi- tion of Taftes, we are obliged to have recourfe remains to be traced. A ftandard properly figni- fies , that which is of fuch undoubted authority as to be the teft of other things of the fame kind. Thus a ftandard weight or meafure , is that which is appointed by law to regulate all other mea- fures and weights Thus the court is faid to be the ftandard of good breeding; and the fcripture, of theological truth.
When we fay that nature is the ftandard of Tafte, we Jay down a principle very true and juft, as far as it can be applied. There . is no doubt, that in all cafes where an imita ion is intended of fome object that exifts in nature, as in reprefenting human characters or actions, conformity to nature affords a full and diftincft criterion of what is truly beautiful. Reafon hath in fuch cafes full fcope for exerting its authority; Vol. I. D
LE CT.
II.

34
TASTE.
t E c T. for approving or condemning ; by comparing the i II. co£>y with the original. But there are innumer- \ able cafes in which this rule cannot be at all ap- 11 plied; and conformity to nature, is an expreffion 1 frequently ufed, without any diftincft or determine \ ate meaning. We muft therefore fearch for ( fomewhat that can be rendered more clear and ] precife, to be the flandard of Tafte. i
Taste, as I before explained it, is ultimately founded on an internal fenfe of beauty, which is natural to men, and which, in its application to particular objects, is capable of being guided and enlightened by reafon. Now, were there any one peifon who pofteffed in full perfection all the powers of human nature, whofe internal fenfes were in every inftance exquifite and juft, and whofe reafon was unerring and fure, the determinations of fuch a perfon concerning beau* ty, would, beyond doubt, be a perfect ftand- ard for the Tafte of all others. Where-ever their Tafte differed from his, it could be imputed only to fome imperfection in their natural powers. But as there is no fuch living ftandard, no one perfon to whom all mankind will allow fuch fubmiffion to be due, what is there of fufticient authority to be the ftandard of the various and oppofite Taftes of men? Molt certainly there is nothing but the Tafte, as far as it can be gathered, of human nature. That which men concur the moft in admiring, mult be held to be beautiful. His Tafte muft be ■efteemed juft and true, which coincides with

TASTE. 35
'{i! the general fentiments of men. In this ftandard we muft reft. To the fenfe of mankind the ultimate appeal muft ever lie, in all works of Tafte. If any one fhould maintain that fugar 'nit was bitter and tobacco was fweet, no reafonings i fc could avail to prove it. The Tafte of fuch a at: perfon would infallibly be held to be difeafed, merely becaufe it differed fo widely from the tel]/ Tafte of the fpecies to which he belongs. In licit like manner, with regard to the objects of fenti- iron ment or internal Tafte, the common feelings wk of men carry the fame authority, and have a then title to regulate the Tafte of every individual.
:& But have we then, it will be faid, no other tens criterion of what is beautiful, than the appro- pi: bation of the majority? Muft we Collect the. ti: voices of others, before we form any judgment ;te for ourfelves , of what deferves applaufe in Elo- fc quence or Poetry ? By no means; there are rec: principles of reafon and found judgment which in:, can be applied to matters of Tafte, as Well as nac to the fubjetfts of fcience and philofophy. He ink who admires or cenfures any work of genius, Ik is always ready, if his Tafte be in any degree ice. improved, to affign fome reafons of his decilton. ok He appeals to principles, and points out the )!: grounds on which he proceeds* Tafte is a fort of compound power, in which the light of the , T: underftanding always mingles, more or lefs 4 r - with the feelings of fentiment.
IjJ, But, though reafon can carry us a certairt 5 * length in judging concerning works of Tafte, it
• D 2
E C T.
II.

TASTE,
L E c t. is not to be forgotten that the ultimate conclu- 11. fions to which our reafonings lead , refer at laft . to fenfe and perception. We may fpeculate and argue concerning propriety of conduct in a Tragedy, or an Epic Poem. Juft reafonings on the fubject will correct the caprice of unenlightened Tafte, and eftablilh principles- for judging of what deferves praife. But, at the fame time, thefe reafonings appeal always, in the laft refort, to feeling. The foundation upon ■which they reft, is what has been found from experience to pleafe mankind molt univerfally. Upon this ground we prefer a fimple and natural, to an artificial and afi'ected ftyle; a regular and well-connected ftory, to loofe and fcattered narratives; a cataftrophe which is tender and pathetic, to one which leaves us unmoved. It is from confulting our own imagination and heart, and from attending to the feelings of others, that any principles are formed which acquire authority in matters of Tafte*.
* The difference between the Authors who found the Hand- dard of Tafte upon the common feelings of human nature afcertained by general approbation, and thofe who found it upon eftablifhed principles which can be afcertained by reafon, is more an apparent than a real difference. Like many other literary controverlies , it turns chiefly on modes of expreffion. For they who lay die greateft ftrefs on fentiment and feeling, make no fcruple of applying argument and reafon to matters of Tafte. They appeal, like ocher writers, to eftablifhed principles, in judging of the excellencies of Eloquence or Poetry ; and plainly fhew, that the general approbation to which they ultimately recur, is an approbation refulting from difcrf •

TASTE
1 ?
When we refer to the concurring fentiments L E c of men as the ultimate tell of what is to be II. accounted beautiful in the arts, this is to be always underftood of men placed in fuch fitua- tions as are favourable to the proper exertions of Tafte. Every one muff perceive, that among rude and uncivilized nations, and during the ages of ignorance and darknefs, any loofe notions that are entertained concerning fuch fubjecfts carry no authority. In thofe ftates of fociety,
Tafte has no materials on which to operate. It is either totally fuppreffed, or appears in its loweft and moft imperfedt form. We refer to the fentiments of mankind in polifhed and flourifhing nations ; when arts are cultivated, and manners refined ; when works of genius ar,e fubjedted to free difcuffion , and Tafte is improved by Science and philofophy.
Even among nations, at fuch a period of fociety, I admit, that accidental caufes may
lion as well as from fentiment. They, on the other hard, who , in order to. vindicate Tafte from any fufpicion of being arbitrary, maintain that it is afcertainable by the -ftandard of reafon, admit neverthelefs, that what pleafes univerfallv, muft on that account be held to be truly beautiful; and that no rules or conclufions concerning objects of Tafte , can have any juft authority, if they be found to contradict the general fentiments of men. Thefe two fvftems, therefore, differ in reality very little from one another. Sentiment and Reafon enter into both; and by allowing to each of thefe pow ers its due place, both fyftems may be rendered confiftent Accordingly , it is in this light- that 1 have endeavoured to place the fubject.
D
3

38
TASTE.
%, E c t, occafionally' warp the proper operations of II. Tafte; fometimes the ftate of religion, fometimes the form of government, may for a while per- vert it; a licentious court may introduce a Tafte for falfe ornaments, and dilfolute writings. The ufage of one admired genius may procure approbation for his faults, and even render them fafhionable. Sometimes envy may have power to bear down, for a little, productions of great merit; while popular humour, or party fpirit, may, at other times, exalt to a high, though lhort-lived, reputation, what little deferved it. But though fuch cafual circumftances give the appearance of caprice to the judgments of Tafte, that appearance is eafdy corrected. In the eourfe of time, genuine the tafte of human nature never fails to difclofe itfelf, and to gain the afcendant over any fantaftic and corrupted modes • of Tafte which may chance to have been introduced. Thefe may have currency for a while, and miflead fuperficial judges; but being fub- jeCted to examination, by degrees they pafs away; while that alone remains which is founded on found reafon, and the native feelings of men.
I BY no means pretend, that there is any ftandard of Tafte, to which, in every particular inftance, we can refort for clear and immediate determination. Where, indeed, is fuch a ftandard to be found for deciding any of thofe great controverftes in reafon and philofophy, which perpetually divide mankind ? In the pre-

TASTE.
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Ifc tit bptr e parent cafe, there was plainly no occafion for any L E c fuch Uriel and abfolute provifion to be made. II. In order to judge of what is morally good or evil, of what main ought, or ought not in duty to do, it was fit that the means of clear and precife determination fhould be afforded us. But to afeertain in every cafe with the utmofl exadtnefs what is beautiful or elegant, was not at all neceffary to the happinefs of man. And therefore fome diverfity in feeling was here allowed to take place; and room was left for difeuffion and debate, concerning the degree of approbation to which any work of genius is entitled.
The conclufion, which it is fufficient for us to reft upon , is, that Tafte is far from being an arbitrary principle, which is fubjed to the fancy of every individual, and which admits of no criterion for determining whether it be falfe or true. Its foundation is the fame in all human minds. It is built upon fentiments and perceptions which belong to our nature; and which , in general, operate with the fame uniformity as our other intellectual principles. When thefe fentiments are perverted by ignorance and prejudice , they are capable of being rectified by reafon. Their found and natural ftate is ultimately determined, by comparing them with the general Tafte of mankind. Let men declaim as much as they pleafe, concerning the caprice and the uncertainty of Tafte, it is found, by experience, that there are beauties, which, if they be difplayed in a proper light, have power
D 4

40
TASTE.
Lect, to command lafling and general admiration. In II. every compofition, what interefls the imagination, and touches the heart. pleafes all ages and all nations. There is a certain firing, which, being properly flruck, the human heart is fo made as to anfwer to it.
Hence the univerfal teflimony which the moll improved nations of the earth have confpired, throughout a long tradl of ages, to give to fome few works ol genius; fuch as the Iliad of Homer, and the fEneid of Virgil. Hence the authority which fuch works have acquired, as flandards in fome degree of poetical compofition; fince from them we are enabled to collect what the fenfe of mankind is, concerning thofe beauties which give them the highefl pleafure , and which therefore poetry ought to exhibit. Authority or prejudice may, in one age or country, give a temporary reputation to an indifferent poet, or a bad artifl; but when foreigners, or when poflerity examine his works, his faults are difcerned, and the genuine Tafle of human nature appears. “ Opinionum commenta delet dies; naturae judicia confirmat.” Time overthrows the illufions of opinion, but eflablifhes the decifions of nature.

1. i
itio; id i beb
LECTURE III.
t ' Criticism. ,-Genius. — Pleasures of
Taste.-Sublimity in Objects.
> 13 JL ASTE, Criticifm, and Genius, are words Lect 10n i currently employed, without diftind ideas an- jjj_ nexed to them. In beginning a courfe of Ledures » w here fuch words mud often occur, it is necef-
anJfary to afcertain their meaning with fome preci- ^'fion Having in the laft Ledure treated of Tafte,
ntr l! I proceed to explain the nature and foundation erea c f Criticifm. True Criticifm is the application >t«of Tafte and of good fenfe to the feveral fine Mb arts. The objeeft which it propofes is, to dif- m tinguifh what is beautiful and what is faulty in dels every performance ; from particular inftances to over- afcend to general principles; and fo to form rules iiiii or conclufions concerning the feveral kinds of beauty in works of Genius.
The rules of Criticifm are not formed by any induction, a priori , as it is called; that is, they are not formed by a train of abftrad reafoning, independent of fads and obfervations. Criticifm is an art founded wholly on experience ; on the obfervation of fuch beauties as have come near-

4z
CRITICISM.
L E c III.
T.
eft to the ftandard which I before eftablifhed: that is, of fuch beauties as have been found to pleafe mankind moft generally. For example; Ariftotle’s rules concerning the unity of adion in dramatic and epic compofition, were not rules firft difcovered by logical reafoning, and then applied to poetry; but they were drawn from the pradice of Homer and Sophocles: they were founded upon obferving the fuperior pleafure which we receive from the relation of an adion which is one and entire, beyond what we receive from the relation of fcattered and unconnected fads. Such obfervations taking their rife at firft from feeling and experience, were found on examination to be fo confonant to reafon, and to the principles of human nature, as to pafs into eftablifhed rules, and to be conveniently applied for judging of the excellency of any performance. This is the moft natural account of the origin of Criticifm.
A masterly genius, it is true, will of him* felf, untaught, compofe in fuch a manner as fhall be agreeable to the moft material rules of Criticifm; for as thefe rules are founded in nature, nature will often fuggeft them in pradice. Homer, it is more than probable, was acquainted with no fyftems of the art of poetry. Guided by genius alone, he compofed in verfe a regular ftory, which all pofterity has admired. But this is no argument againft the ufefulnefs of Criticifm as an art. For as no human genius is perfect, there is no writer but may receive aftiftance
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CRITICISM.
43
® from critical obfervations upon the beauties and 0U!:; faults of thofe who have gone before him. No r slE: obfervatiors or rules can indeed fupply the defecft K of genius , or infpire it where it is wanting. But otlt they may often direcft it into its proper channel; l( f ® they may corredt its extravagancies , and point ! & out to it the moll juft and proper imitation of r ' Vi nature. Critical rules are defigned chiefly to ea ft fhew the faults that ought to be avoided. To J dit nature we muft be indebted for the production 1 " of eminent beauties.
mcc From what has been faid, we are enabled to :it 1 form a judgment concerning thofe complaints fot which it has long been falhionable for petty teat' authors to make againft Critics and Criticifm. as Critics have been reprefented as the great abridg- ffliet ers of the native liberty . of genius; as the of i impofers of unnatural lhackles and bonds upon act?: writers, from whofe cruel perfecution they muft fly to the Public, and implore its protection, ofh Such fupplicatory prefaces are not calculated to naa give very favourable ideas of the genius of the rale author. For every good writer will be pleafed din to have his work examined by the principles of pra; found underftanding, and true Tafte. The op declamations againft Criticifm commonly proceed Gsi upon this fuppofition, that Critics are fuch as re;* judge by rule, not by feeling; which is fo far Bn:: from being true, that they who judge after this iii manner are pedants, not Critics. For all the pec rules of genuine Criticifm I have fhewn to be |jj ultimately founded on feeling; and Tafte and
EOT,
III.

44
CRITICISM.
Ject. Feeling are neceffary to guide us in the applies. t , HI. tion of thefe rules to every particular inftance.
As there is nothing in which all forts of perfons ( a more readily affect to be judges than in works (0 of Tafte, there is no doubt that the number of ^ incompetent Critics will always be great. But jr this affords no more foundation for a general H invective againft Criticifm, than the number of c bad philofophers or reafoners affords againft rea- fon and philofophy. I
An objection more plaufible may be formed againft Criticifm, from the applaufe that fome performances have received from the Public, which, when accurately confidered, are found to contradict the rules eftablifhed by Criticifm, Now, according to the principles laid down in the laft LeCture , the Public is the fupreme judge to whom the laft appeal muft be made in every work of Tafte; as the ftandard of Tafte is founded on the fentiments that are natural and common to all men. But with refpect to this we are to obferve, that the fenfe of the Public is often too haftily judged of. The genuine public Tafte does not always appear in the flrlt applaufe given upon the publication of any new work. There are both a great vulgar and a fmall, apt to be catched and dazzled by very fuperficial beauties, the admiration of which in a little time paffes away: and fometimes a writer may acquire great temporary reputation merely by his compliance with the paffions or prejudices, with the party-fpirit or fuperftidous notions, that

CRITICISM.
45
juay chance to rule for a time almoft a whole Lect, ^ nation. In fuch cafes, though the Public may III.
P 4 ' feem to praife, true Criticifm may with reafon Mr condemn; and it will in progrefs of time gain ^ the afcendant: for the judgment of true Criticifm,
4 ; and the voice of the Public, when once become ? ea unprejudiced and difpaffionate, will ever coin- ! ^ e ‘ cide at laft.
ft' Instances, I admit, there are, of fome works that contain grofs tranfgreffions of the laws of Mmi Criticifm, acquiring, neverthelefs, a general,
1 and even a lading admiration. Such are the plays of Shakefpeare, which, confidered as dra- l® made poems, are irregular in the higheft degree.
F1K: But then we are to remark, that they have ^ gained the public admiration, not by their being fiipii irregular, not by their tranfgreffions of the rules ^ of art, but in fpite of fuch tranfgreffions. They of I' poffefs other beau ies which are conformable to uni: juft rules; and ihe force of thefe beauties has l® been fo great as to overpower all cenfure, and cPu to give the Public a degree of fatisfaction fupegs rior to the difguft arifing from their blemifhes. tfe' Shakefpeare pleafes, not by his bringing the aay tranfactions of many years into one play ; not by it t his grotefque mixtures of Tragedy and Comedy in br one piece,nor by the drained thoughts, and affected wk' witdcifms, which he fometimes employs. Thefe we it confider as blemifhes, and impute them to the 3 groffnefs of the age in which he lived. But he eij: pleafes by his animated and raafterly reprefent-
ojj, ations of characters, by the livelinefs of his

4 6
CRITICISM.
Lect. defcriptions, the force of his fentiments, and III. his poffefling, beyond all writers, the natural language of paffion : Beauties which true Criti- cifm no lefs teaches us to place in the higheft rank, than nature teaches us to feel.—Thus much it may fuffice to have faid concerning the origin, office, and importance of Criticifm.
I PROCEED next to explain the meaning of another term, which there will be frequent occafion to employ in thefe Lectures; that is, Genius.
Taste and Genius are two words frequently- joined together; and therefore, by ina.ccurate thinkers, confounded. They fignify however two quite different things. The difference between them can be clearly pointed out; and it is of importance to remember it. Take confifts in the power of judging: Genius , in the power of executing. One may have a confiderable degree of Tafte in Poetry, Eloquence , or any of the fine arts, who has little or hardly any Genius for compofition or execution in any of thefe arts: But Genius cannot be found without including Tafte alfo. Genius, therefore, deferves to be confidered as a higher power of the mind than Tafte. Genius always imports fomething inventive or creative; which does not reft in mere fenfibility to beauty where it is perceived, but which can, moreover, produce new beauties, and exhibit them in fuch a manner as ftrongly to imprefs the minds of others. Refined Tafte

GENIUS.
47
forms a good critic; but Genius is farther necef- L ect. Efary to form the poet, or the orator. 111.
■c C: It is proper aifo to obferve , that Genius is %a word, which, in common acceptation, ex- > attends much farther than to the objedts of Tafte. or-It is ufed to fignify that talent or aptitude which we receive from nature , for excelling in any ing one thing whatever. Thus we fpeak of a Ge- qutnius for mathematics, as well as of a Genius for at tpoetry; of a Geniu's for war, for politics, or for any mechanical employment, ten: This talent or aptitude for excelling in fome coin one particular, is, I have faid, what we ream ceive from nature. By art and ftudy , no doubt, ice i it may be greatly improved; but by them alone aad it cannot be acquired. As Genius is a higher coif faculty than Tafte, it is ever, according to the ipufual frugality of nature, more limited in the idee fphere of its operations. It is not uncommon to or: meet with perfons who have an excellent Tafte Ip in feveral of the polite arts , fuch as mufic,
12C) poetry, painting, and eloquence, altogether:
But, to find one who is an excellent performer d t [ c in all thefe arts , is much more rare ; or ieL rather, indeed, fuch an one is not to be looked uj- for. A fort of Univerfal Genius, or one who r[ ; is equally and indifferently turned toward feve- rc£ „ ral different profeffions and arts , is not likely je , j; to excel in any. Although there may be fome ^ few exceptions, yet in general it holds, that j j. when the bent of the mind is wholly directed towards fome one objedt, exclufive, in a man-

48
GENIUS.
L E C T.
III.
ner, of others, there is the faireft profpedt of eminence in that, whatever it be. The rays mull converge to a point, in order to glow intenfely. This remark 1 here chufe to make, on account of its great importance to young people; in leading them to examine with care, and to purfue with ardour, the current and pointing of nature towards thofe exertions of Genius in which they are moft likely to excel.
A Genius for any of the fine arts, as I before obferved, always fuppofes Tafte; and it is clear, that the improvement of Tafte will ferve both to forward and to correct the operations of Genius. In proportion as the Tafte of a poet, or orator, becomes more refined with refpedt to the beauties of compofition, it will certainly aflift him to produce the more finifhed beauties in his work. Genius, however, in a Poet or Orator, may fometimes exift in a higher degree than Tafte; that is, Genius may be bold and ftrong, when Tafte is neither very delicate, nor very correct. This is often the cafe in the infancy of arts; a period, when Genius frequently exerts itfelf with great vigour, and executes with much warmth; while Tafte, which requires experience, and improves by flower degrees, hath not yet attained its full growth. Homer and Shakefpeare are proofs of what I now affert; in whofe admirable writings are found
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PLEASURES OF TASTE. 49
ifpi them to avoid. As all human perfection is limit- lit: ed, this may very probably be the law of our to; nature, that it is not given to one man to exe- t cute with vigour and fire, and, at the fame v; time, to attend to all the leffer and more refined lie graces that belong to the exact perfection of his nt work: While, on the other hand, a thorough on; Tafte for thofe inferior graces, is, for the moft ex part, accompanied with a diminution of fubli- as mity and force.
■ a Having thus explained the nature of Tafte, [e v the nature and importance of Criticifm, and the he,- diftinCtion between Tafte and Genius; I am . j now to enter on confidering the fources of the : p Pleafures of Tafte. Here opens a very extenfive j t , field; no lefs than all the pleafures of the imagi- jjjj; nation, as they are commonly called, whether r ■ afforded us- by natural objects, or by the imita- p:- tions and deferiptions of them. But it is not ne- jjj. celfary to the purpofe of my Lectures, that all j £ (. thefe fhould be examined fully; the pleafure , E which we receive from difeourfe , or writing, being the main object of them. All that I pur- ffl( j pofe is, to give fome openings into the Plea- T fures of Tafte in general; and to infill, more ' particularly, upon Sublimity and Beauty. p .. We are far from having yet attained to any f|. fyftem concerning this fubject. Mr. Addifon 'j. was the firft who attempted a regular enquiry, ;1 in his Effay on the Pleafures of the Imagination, ^ publifiied in the ftxth volume of the Spectator.
, He has reduced thefe Pleafures under three
^ Vol. I. E
&
E C T
hi.

L E C
III.
50 PLEASURES OF TASTE.
T. heads; Beauty, Grandeur, and Novelty. His fpeculations on this fubjed, if not exceedingly profound, are, however, very beautiful and entertaining; and he has the merit of having opened a tract, which was before unbeaten. The advances made fince his time in this curious part of philofophical Criticifm , are not very cordi- derable; though feme ingenious writers have purfued the fubjed. This is owing, doubtlefs, to that thinnefs and fubtility which are found to be properties of all the feelings of Talle. They are engaging objeds; but when we would lay firm hold of them, and fubjed them to a regular difeuffion, they are always ready to elude our grafp. ft is difficult to make a full enumeration of the feveral objeds that give pleafure to Talle; it is more difficult to define all thofe which have been difeovered, and to reduce them under proper clafTes; and, when we would go farther, and inveftigate the efficient caufes of the pleafure which we receive from fuch objecls, here, above all, we find ourfelves at a lofs. For inllance; we all learn by experience , that certain figures of bodies appear to us more beautiful than others. On enquiring farther, we find that the regularity of fome figures , and the graceful variety of others, are the foundation of the beauty which we difeern in them; but when we attempt to go a ftep beyond this, and enquire what is the caufe of regularity and variety producing in our minds the fenfation of Beauty, any reafon v/e can affign is extremely

PLEASURES OF TASTE.
5i
. imperfect. Thofe firft principles of internal Lect.
% fenfation, nature feems to have covered with III.
an impenetrable veil.
“P It is fome comfort, however, that although ^ the efficient caufe be obfcure, the final caufe
S F of thofe fenfations lies in many cafes more open:
c °t And , in entering on this fubject , we cannot
avoid taking notice of the flrong impreflion tlet which the powers of Talle and Imagination are IUIK calculated to give us of the benignity of our
ilk Creator. By endowing us with fuch powers,
he hath widely enlarged the fphere of the plea-
toi fures of human life; and thofe, too, of a kind
due the moll pure and innocent. The neceffary pur-
m. pofes of life might have been abundantly an-
eafe fwered, though our fenfes of feeing and hearing
tfc had only ferved to diftinguilh external objeds,
without conveying to us any of thofe refined )lb and delicate finfations of Beauty and Grandeur,
ife with which we are now fo much delighted,
ibjc- This additional embellifhment and glory, which,
i- for promoting our entertainment, the Author of
,ii nature hath poured forth upon his works, is one
E flriking teftimony, among many others, of be*
er.’ nevolence and goodnefs. This thought, which a: IVTr. Addifon firft ftarted, Dr. Akenftde, in\ his
ifc Poem on the Pleafures of the Imagination, hag happily purfued.
Is, •
■J/ - : — Not content
jo: - "With every food of life to notirilh man, rc By kind illufions of tire wondering fenfe,
E s
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SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
E c T. Thou mak’ft all nature, Beauty to his eye,
III. Or Mufic to his ear.-
I SHALL begin with confidering the pleafure which arifes from Sublimity or Grandeur, of which I propofe to treat at fome length; both, as this has a character more precife and diftinctly marked, than any other, of the Pleafures of the Imagination, and as it coincides more directly with our main fubjedt. For the greater diftinclnefs I lhall, firft, treat of the Grandeur or Sublimity of external objects themfelves , which will employ the reft of this Ledture; and, afterwards, of the defcription of fuch objedts, or, of what is called the Sublime in Writing, which fhall be the fubjedt of a following Lecture. I diftinguilh thefe two things from one another, the Grandeur of the objedts themfelves when they are prefented to the eye, and $he defcription of that Grandeur in difcourfe or writing; though moft Critics, inaccurately I think, blend them together; and I confider Grandeur and Sublimity as terms fynonymous, or nearly fo. If there be any diftindtion between them, it arifes from Sublimity's expreffing Grandeur in its lugheft degree *.
It is not eafy to defcribe, in words, the precife impreffion which great and fublime ob-
* See a Philofophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Dr. Gerard on Take, Section H. Elements of Criticifm, Chap, IV.

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. $3
jefts make upon us, when we behold them; but L e c every one has a conception of it. It confifts in 111. a kind of admiration and expanfion of the mind; it raifes the mind much above its ordinary Bate; and fills it with a degree of wonder and afto- nifhment, which it cannot well exprefs. 'The emotion is certainly delightful; but is altogether of the ferious kind: a degree of awfulnefs and folemnity, even approaching to feverity, commonly attends it when at its height; (very diftinguifhable from the more gay and brifk emotion raifed by beautiful objects.
The fimpleft form of external Grandeur appears in thevaft and boundlefs profpects prefent- ed to us by nature; fuch as wide extended plains, to which the eye can fee no limits; the firmament of Heaven; or the boundlefs expanfc of the Ocean. All vaftnefs produces the im- preffion of Sublimity. It is to be remarked, however, that fpace, extended in length, makes not fo ftrong an impreffion as height or depth. Though a boundlefs plain be a grand objedf, ye^ a high mountain, to which we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look down on the objects which lie below, is ftili more fo. The exceffive Grandeur of the firmament arifes from its height, joined to its bound- lefs extent; and that of the ocean, not from its extent alone, but from the perpetual motion and irrefiflible force of that mafs of waters. Wherever fpace is concerned, it is clear, that amplitude or greatnefs of extent, in one dimen-
E 3

54
SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
j,e ct. fion or other, is neceffary to Grandeur. Remove JJI. all bounds from any objedl, and you prefently render it fublime. Hence infinite {pace, endlefs numbers , and eternal duration , fill the mind with great ideas.
From this fome have imagined, that vaft- nefs, or amplitude of extent, is the foundation of all Sublimity. But I cannot be of this opinion , becaufe many objedis appear fublime which have no relation to foace at all. Such
J _ 9
for inftnnce, is great loudnefs of found. The burft of thunder or of cannon, the roaring of winds, the Clouting of multitudes, the found of vaft cataracts of water, are all inconteftibly grand objects. “ I heard the voice of a great y, multitude, as the found of many waters, and „ of mighty thunderings , faying Allelujah. ” In general we may obferve, that great power and force exerted, always raife fublime ideas: and perhaps the molt copious fource of thefe is derived from this quarter. Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning mountains; of great conflagrations; of the ftormy ocean, and overflowing waters; of tempeRs of wind; of thunder and lightning; and of all the uncommon violence of the elements. Nothing is more fublime than mighty power and ftrength. A Cream that runs within its banks, is a beautiful object; but when it rulhes down with the impetuofity and noife of a torrent, it prefently becomes a fublime one. From lions, and other animals cf -ftrength, are drawn fublime comparifons in poets.

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
55
Arace-horfe is looked upon with pleafure; but it is the war-horfe, w whole neck is clothed „ with thunder,” that carries grandeur in its idea. The engagement of two great armies, as it is the liigheft exertion of human might, combines a variety of fources of the Sublime; and has accordingly been always, confidered as one of the molt ftriking and magnificent fpectacles that can be either prefented to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in defcription.
For the farther illuftration of this fubjedt, it is proper to remark , that all ideas of the folemn and awful kind , and even bordering on the terrible, tend greatly to affift the Sublime; fuch as darknefs, folitude, and fdence. What are the fcenes of nature that elevate the mind in the liigheft degree, and produce the fublime fenfation? Not the gay laudfcape, the flowery field, or the fiourifhing city; but the hoary mountain, and the folitary lake; the aged foreft, and the torrent falling over the rock. Hence too, night-fcenes are commonly the moft fublime. The firmament when filled with liars, fcattered in fuch vail numbers, and with fuch magnificent profufion, ftrikes the imagination with a more awful grandeur, than when we view it enlightened by all the fplendour of the Sun. The deep found of a great bell, or the ftriking of a great clock, are at any time grand; but, when heard amid the filence and ltillnefs of the night, they become doubly fo. Darknefs is very commonly applied for adding Sufi 4
E C T
HI.

5 6 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
u c t. blimity to all our ideas of the Deity. “ He III. „ maketh darknefs his pavilion; he dwelleth in the thick cloud. ” So Milton
-How oft, amidft
Thick clouds and dark', does Heav’ns all-ruling Sire Chufe to refide, his glory unobfcured,
And, with the Majefty of darknefs round
Covers his throne- Book II. z6].
•
Obferve , with how much art Virgil has introduced all thofe ideas of faience , vacuity, and darknefs, when he is going to introduce his Hero to the infernal regions , and to difclofe the fecrets of the great deep.
Dii quibus imperium eft animarum, umbraaque filentes,
Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte filentia late,
Sit mihi fas audita loqui; fit numine veftro Pandere res alta terra, & caligine merfas.
Ibant obfcuri, fola fub nocte , per umbram,
Perque domos Ditis vacuos, et inania regna;
Quale per incertam lunam, fub luce maligna Eft iter in fylvis- *.
' * Ye fubterranean Gods, whole awful Gray The gliding ghofts and filent fhades obey;
O Chaos, hear! and Phlegethon profound!
Yvhofe folemn empire ftretches wide around!
Give me, ye great tremendous powers! to tell Of feenes and wonders in the depths of Hell;

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 57
'to Thefe paffages I quote at prefent, not fo much L e c T-. bt as inftances of Sublime Writing, though in them- III. felves they truly are fo, as to lliew, by the effect of them, that the objedts which they prefent to us , belong to the clafs of fublime ones.
Obscurity, we are farther to remark, is not unfavourable to the Sublime. Though it render the object indiftinct, the impreffion, however, tf;, may be great; for, as an ingenious Author has well obferved, it is one thing to make an idea to- clear, and another to make it affecting to the and imagination; and the imagination may be ftrongly k affected; and , in fadt, often is fo , .by objects of thi which we have no clear conception. Thus we fee, that almoft all the defcriptions given us of the appearances of fupernatural Beings, carry fome Sublimity, though the conceptions which they afford us be confufed and indiftindt. Their Sublimity arifes from the ideas, which they always convey, of fuperior power and might, joined with an awful obfcurity. We may fee this fully exemplified in the following noble paffage of the book of Job. C( In thoughts from ,5 the vifions of the night, when deep fleep 35 falleth upon men, fear came upon me, and
Give me your mighty fecrets to difplay ,
From thofe black realms of darknefs to the day.
Pitt.
Obfcure they went; through dreary fhades, that led Along the wafte dominions of the dead As wander travellers in woods by night,
By the moon’s doubtful and malignant light.
Dryuejt.

5 g SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
E C T.
III.
35 trembling which made all my bones to fiiake. 33 Then a fpirit paffed before my face; the 33 hair of my flefh flood up: it flood ftill; but 33 I could not difcem the form thereof ; an a, image was before mine eyes; there was filence:
33 and I heard a voice-Shall mortal man be
3, more juft than God *? (Job , iv. 15.) No ideas , it is plain, are fo fublime as thofe taken from the Supreme Being; the moft unknown, but the greateft of all objedls; the infinity of whofe nature, and the eternity of whof; duration, joined with the omnipotence of hi; power, though they furpafs our conceptions, yet exalt them to the higheft. In general, all objeds that are greatly raifed above us, or far remover from us, either in fpace or in time , are apt to ftrike us as great. Our viewing them, as through the miff of diftance or antiquity, is favourable to the impreffions of their Sublimity.
As obfcurity, fo diforder too, is very compatible with grandeur; nay, frequently heightens
id
at
3E
is
SK
!ZI(
ire
trill
to
w
l
ap
an)
all
to
ful
* The picture which Lucretius has drawn of the dominion of fuperitition over mankind, reprefsnting it as a portentous fpedtre Ihowing its head from the clouds, and difmaying the whole human race with its countenance, together with the magnanimity of Epicurus in raifing him- felf up againft it, carries all the grandeur of a fublime, obfcure, and awful image.
P 1
in
dc
a
is
Humana ante oculos foede cum vita jaceret In terris, opprefla gravi fub religione,
Quae caput a coeli regionibus oftendebat,
Horribili fuper afpectu mortalibus inftans,
I’rimum Graius homo mortales tollere contra Eft oculos aufus.- Lie. I.

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 59
^ it. Few things that are ftridtly regular, and Lect. e; methodical, appear fublime. We fee the limits HI.
on every fide; we feel ourfelves confined; there [i is no room for the mind’s exerting any great '1® effort. Exact proportion of parts, though it
* enters often into the beautiful, is much difre- '• F garded in the Sublime. A great mafs of rocks,
’ ^ thrown together by the hand of nature with
wildnefs and confufion, {trike the mind with : ^ c more grandeur, than if they had been adjufted to each other with the moft accurate fymmetry.
1 In the feeble attempts, which human art can V make towards producing grand objects (feeble,
°bjs I mean, in comparifon with the powers of na-
* ture), greatnefs of dimenfxons always conftitutes f a principal part. No pile of building can convey broi any idea of Sublimity, unlefs it be ample and oc lofty. There is, too, in architecture, what is
called Greatnefs of manner; which feems clue % , yc: to arife, from prefenting the object to us in one ij& full point of view; fo that it {hall make its im- I £ preffion whole, entire, and undivided, upon the j. mind. A Gothic cathedral raifes ideas of gran- nds,; dear in our minds , by its fize, its height, its ke. awful obfcurity, its frrength, its antiquity, and its durability.
^ There {fill remains to be mentioned one clafs of Sublime Objects; what may be called the moral , or fentimental Sublime ; arifing from exertions of the human mind; from certain affections, and actions, of our fellow-creatures.
Thefe will be found to be all, or chiefly, of
IE. 1

L E c III.
60 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
t. that clafs , which comes under the name of| Magnanimity or Heroifm; and they produce an effed extremely fimilar to what is produced by I the view of grand objeds in nature; filling the mind with admiration, and elevating it above it- felf, A noted inflance of this, quoted by all the French Critics, is the celebrated Quil Mourut of Corneille, in the Tragedy of Horace. In the famous combat betwixt the Horatii and the Curiatii, the old Horatius, being informed, that two of his fons are llain, and that the third had betaken himfelf to flight, at firfb will not believe the report; but being thoroughly allured of the fad , is fired with all the fentiments of high honour and indignation at this fuppofed unworthy behaviour of his furviving fon. He is reminded, that this fon flood alone againfb three, and afked what he would have had him to have done?—“ To have died, —he anfwers. In the fame manner Porus, taken prifoner by Alexander, after a gallant defence, and afked in what man. ner he would be treated? anfwering, “ Like a „ King; ” and Caefar chiding the pilot who was afraid to fet out with him in a florm, “ Quid „ times ? Caefarem vehis; ” are good inftances of this fentimental Sublime. Wherever, in fome critical and high fituation, we behold a man uncommonly intrepid, and refting upon himfelf; fuperior to paffion and to fear; animated by fome great principle to the contempt of popular opinions, of felfifli interefl, of dangers, or of
oris ■
mir;

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 6r
death; there we are ftruck with a fenfe of the Le c Jit: Sublime *. Ill-
iue High virtue is the moft natural and fertile icehfource of this moral Sublimity. However, on n« fome occafions, where Virtue either has no place, w: or is but imperfectly difplayed, yet if extraordi- all nary vigour and force of mind be difcovered,
«we are not infenfible to a degree of grandeur in b the character; and from the fplendid conqueror, id ; or the daring confpirator , whom we are far , tfrom approving, we cannot with-hold our ad- d [miration **.
die * The Sublime, in natural and in moral objedts , is ){ [brought before us in one view, and compared together,
Ij.in the following beautiful paffage of Akeniide’s Pleafures of the Imagination :
y: Look then abroad through nature; to the range
Of planets, funs , and adamantine Ipheres,
Wheeling, unfhaken, thro’ the void immenfe ;
’ c And fpealt, 0 man ! does this capacious feene,
Li: With half that' kindling majefty , dilate
a: Thy ftrong conception , as when Brutus rofe,
tE Refulgent, from the ftroke of Ctefar’s fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm ^ Aloft extending , like eternal love,
18 " When guilt brings down the thunder, call’d aloud ; ft On Tully’s name , and fhook his crimfon Reel,
::g And bade the father of his country hail!
[•• For lo ! the tyrant proftrate on the dull;
^ _ And Rome again is free. Book I.
** Silius Italicus has ftudied to give an auguft idea of T Hannibal, by representing him as furrounded with all his victories, in the place of guards. One who had formed K a defign of affaflinating hjjn in the midft of a feaft, is c; thus addrefled: • . •

€% SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
£ e c t. I HAVE now enumerated a variety of inftances, .III. both in inanimate objects and in human life, wherein the Sublime appears. In all thefe in- fiances, the emotion railed in us is of the fame kind , although the objects that produce the emotion be of widely different kinds. A queftiou next arifes, whether we are able to difcover fome one fundamental quality in which all thefe different cbjefts agree, and which is the caufe oi their producing an emotion of the kune nature in our minds? Various hypothefes have been formed concerning this; but, as far as appears to me, hitherto unfatisfactory. Some have imagined that amplitude, or great extent, joined with fimplicity, is either immediately, or remotely , the fundamental quality of whatever is Sublime; but we have feen that amplitude is
Fallit te, menfas inter quod credis inermeni;
Tot bellis quEefita viro , tot caedibus , arrnat Majeftas sterna ducem. Si admoveris ora Cannas, & Trebiam ante ocutos, Trafymenaque bulb Et Pauli flare ingentem miraberis umbram.
A thought fomewhat of the fame nature occurs in a French author , “ II fe cache; mais fa reputation le decouvre : 11 cc marche fans fuite & fans equipage; mais chacun, dans a fon efprit, le met fur un char de triomphe. On compte cc en le voiant, les ennemis qu'il a vaincus, non pas les <c ferviteurs qui le fuivent. Tout feul qu’il eft , on fe ' c figure, autour de lui , fes vertus, & fes victoires qui w l’accompagnent. Moins il eft fuperbe, plus il devient Ct venerable. » Oraifon funebre de M. de Turenne , par E Flechier—both thefe paffages are fplendid, rather than fublime. In the ftrft there is a want of juftnefs in the . thought; in the fecond, of fimplicity in the expreflion.

SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS. 63
isfe confined to one fpecies of Sublime Objedts; and cannot, without violent Braining, be applied to k them all. The Author of cc a Philofophical Enquiry tfe , 3 into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime due 3, and Beautiful , ” to whom we are indebted for qiii feveral ingenious and original thoughts upon this dil; fubjedt, propofes a formal theory upon this ali; foundation, That terror is the fource of the Su- catblime, and that no objedts have this charadter, e 11: but fuch as produce impreffions of pain and -e 1 danger. It is indeed true, that many terrible app> pbjedls are highly fublime; and that grandeur re ii does not refufe an alliance with the idea of t jot danger. But though this is very properly illuf- teir trated by the Author (many of whofe fentiments ite\r on that head I have adopted), yet he feems to litiii ftretch his theory too far, when he reprefents the Sublime as confifting wholly in modes of danger, or of pain. For the proper fenfation of Sublimity, appears to be very diftinguifhable nap from the fenfation of either of thofe; and, on feveral occafions, to be entirely feparated from in a: them. In many grand objedts, there is no coincidence with terror at all; as in the mag- nificent profpedt of wide extended plains, and of the Barry firmament; or in the moral difpofiti- “? ons and fentiments, which we view with high .js;. admiration; and in many painful and terrible t i: objects alfo, it is clear, there is no fort of gram- 11 v deur. The amputation of a limb , or the bite of a fnake , are exceedingly terrible; but are defti- tute of all claim whatever to Sublimity. I am F
E C T
III.

64 SUBLIMITY IN OBJECTS.
inclined to think, that mighty force or power j whether accompanied with terror or not, whether employed in protecting, or in alarming us, has a better'title, than any thing that has yet been mentioned, to be the fundamental quality of the Sublime; as, after the review which we have taken, there does not occur to me any Sublime Object, into the idea of which, power, fhrength, and force, either enter not directly, or are not, at leaft, intimately affociated with the idea, by leading our thoughts to fome aftonilhing power , as concerned in the production of the object. However, I do not infill upon this as fufficient to found a general theory : It is enough, now, to have given this view of the nature and different kinds of Sublime Objects; by which I hope to have laid a proper foundation for difcuffing, with greater accuracy, the Sublime in Writing and Compofition.

LECTURE IV.
s,
p»'
<V
me;
%: itit:
THE SUBLIME ffr WRITING.
°L. JJ.AVING treated of Grandeur or Sublimity L 1 in external objects , the way feems now to be • f cleared, .for treating, with more advantage, of of' the defcription of fuch objects; or, of what is Jf)p called the Sublime in Writing. Though it may foe appear early to enter on the confideration of ' •cv,: this fubjed; yet, as the Sublime is a fpecies of Writing which depends lefs than any other on the artificial embellifhments of rhetoric, it may be examined with as much propriety here , as in any fubfequent part of thefe Ledtures.
Many critical terms have unfortunately been employed, in a fenfe too loofe and vague; none more fo, than that of the Sublime. Every, one is acquainted with the charader of Cot far’s Commentaries, and of the ftyle in which they are written; a ftyle remarkably pure, fimple, and elegant; but the moft remote from the Sublime,, of any of the claffical authors. Yet this author has a German critic, Johannes Guliel* mus Bergerus, who wrote no longer ago than L£t Vol. I. F
E C T
IV.

66
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
L e c t. the year 1720, pitched upon as the perfect model IV. of the Sublime, and has compofed a quarto volume, entitled, De nafurali pulch;itudinc Ora - tionis ; the exprefs intention of which, is to fiiew, that Ctefar’s Commentaries contain the s moft complete exemplification of all Longinus’s
rules relating to Sublime Writing. This I mention as a llrong proof of the confufed ideas which have prevailed, concerning this fubjedt. The true fenfe of Sublime Writing, undoubtedly , is fuch a defcription of objedts, or exhibition of fentiments, which are in themfelves of a Sublime nature, as fliall give us ftrong irn- preffions of them. But there is another very indefinite, and therefore very improper, fenfe, which has been too often put upon it; when it is applied to fignify any remarkable and diftinguiflring excellency of compofition; whether it raife in us the ideas of grandeur, or thofe of gentlenefs, elegance, or any other fort of beauty. In this fenfe, Csrfar’s Commentaries may, indeed, be termed Sublime, and fo may many Sonnets, Paftorals, and Love Elegies, as well as Homer’s Iliad. But this evidently confounds the ufe of words; and marks no one fpecies, or character, of compofition whatever.
• I am forry to be obliged to obferve, that the Sublime is too often ufed in this laft and improper fenfe, by the celebrated critic Longinus, in his treatife on this fubjedt. He fets out, indeed, with defcribmg it in its juft and proper meaning; as fomeihing that elevates the mind

SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
above itfelf, and fills it with high conceptions, L e c Ti and a noble pride. But from this view of it he IVs frequently departs ; and fuhftitutes in the place of it, whatever, in any ftrain of compofition, pleafes highly. Thus, many of the paffages Which he produces as inftances of the Sublime.; are merely elegant, without having, the moft diftant relation to proper Sublimity; witnefs Sappho’s famous Ode, on which he defcants at confiderable length. He points out five fources of the Sublime. The firft is, Boldnefs or Grandeur in the Thoughts; the fecond is, the Pathetic; the third, the proper application of Figures; the fourth, the ufe of Tropes and beautiful expreffions; the fifth, Muficai Structure and Arrangement of Words. This is the plan of one who was writing a treatife of rhetoric, or of the beauties of Writing in general; no: of the Sublime in particular. .For of thefe five heads, only the two firfl have any peculiar relation to the Sublime; Boldnefs and Grandeur in the Thoughts and. in fome inftances the Pathetic, or ftrong exertions of Paffion : The other three, Tropes, Figures, and Muficai Arrangement, have nb more relation to the Sublime, than to other kinds of good Writing; perhaps lefs to the Sublime than to any other fpecies whatever; becaufe it requires lefs the afiiftance of ornament. From this it appear- ^ that clear and precife ideas on this head are not to be expected from that writer. I would not, however, be underftood, as if I meant, by this
F 2

6'S
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
e c t. cenfure, to reprefent his treatife as of fmall value, IV. I know no critic, ancient or modern, that dif- covers a more lively relilh of the beauties of fine writing, than Longinus; and he has alfo the merit of being himfelf an excellent, and, in fe- veral paffages , a truly Sublime, writer. But, as his work has been generally confidered as a ftandard on this fubjed, it was incumbent on me to give my opinion concerning the benefit to be derived from it. Tt deferves to be con- fulted, not fo. much for diftind inftrudion concerning the Sublime, as for excellent general ideas concerning beauty in writing.
1 r-etuxn now to the proper and natural idea of the Sublime in compofition. The foundation of it muff always be laid in the nature of the objed defcribed. Unlefs it be fuch an objed as, if prefented to our eyes, if exhibited to us in reality, would raife ideas of that elevating, that awful, and magnificent kind, which we call Sublime; the defcription, however finely drawn, is not entitled to come under this clafs. This excludes all objeds that are merely beautiful, gay, or elegant. In the next place, the objed muft not only, in itfelf, be Sublime, but it muft be let before us in fuch a light as is molt proper to give us a clear and full impreffion of it; it mult be defcribed with ftrength, with concifenefs, and fimplicity. This depends, principally, upon the lively impreffion which the poet, or orator has of the objed which he exhibits; and upon his being deeply affeded, and warmed, by the Su-

69
©
vak at (j Dflb
fo tir ini 3ut,ji as, nt e ' enefi : cot- con neral
idea latir of ti ; ect s 3 lit: ;,tt; re c drffi
tee
il.F
ct t mult: roper:
it l
sM
ip 02 -
iiu* ■
ipo:
tk-
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
blime idea which he would convey. If his own Lect, feeling be languid, he can never infpire us with IV. any ftrong emotion. Inftances, which are extremely neceffary on this fubject, will clearly {how the importance of all thofe requilites which I have juft now mentioned.
It is, generally fpeaking, among the moft ancient authors, that we are to look for the moft {hiking inftances of the Sublime. 1 am inclined to think, that the early ages of the world, and the rude unimproved ftate of fociety , are peculiarly favourable to the ftrong emotions of Sublimity. The genius of men is then much turned to admiration and aftonifliment. Meeting with many, objects, to them new and ftrange, their imagination is kept glowing, and their paffions are often raifed to the utmoft. They think, and exprefs themfelves boldly, and without reftraint.
In the progrefs of fociety, the genius and manners of men undergo a change more favourable to accuracy, than to ftrength or Sublimity.
Of all writings, ancient or modern, the Sacred Scriptures afford us the higheft inftances of the Sublime. The defcriptions of the Deity, in them, are wonderfully noble; both from the grandeur of the object, and the manner of re- prefenting it. What an affemblage, for inftance, of awful and fublime ideas is prefented to us, in that paffage of the XVlIlth Pfalm, where an appearance of the Almighty is defcribed ? “ In 35 my diftrefs I called upon the Lord , he heard 3> my voice out of his temple, and my cry cam^
F 3

Q
-a SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
L e c T. 33 before him. Then, the earth fhook and trem- IV. 33 bled ; the foundations alfo of the hills were' „ moved; becaufe he was wroth. He bowed ,3 the heavens , and came down, and darknefs 33 was under his feet; and he did ride upon ,3 a Cherub, and did fly; yea, he did fly upon „ the wings of the wind. He made darknefs 33 his fecret place ; his pavilion round about 33 him were dark waters, and thick clouds of 33 the fky.” Here, agreeably td the principles eftabliflied in the laft Ledture, we fee, with what propriety and fuccefs the circumftances of darknefs and terror are applied for heightening the Sublime. So, aifo, the prophet Habakkuk, in a fimilar paffage: “He flood, and meafured 33 the earth; he beheld, and drove afunder the 33 nations. The everlafling mountains were 33 flattered; the perpetual hills did bow; his 33 ways are everlafling The mountains faw a, thee; and they trembled. The overflowing of 33 the water palled by. The deep uttered his 33 voice, and lifted up his hands on high.”
The noted inftance, given by Longinus, from Mofes, “ God faid, let there be light; and there 33 was light,” is not liable to the cenfure which I palled on fome of his inftances, of being, foreign to the fubjedt. It belongs to the true Sublime; and the Sublimity of it arifls from the ftrong conception it gives, of an exertion of power producing its effect with the utmoft fpeed and facility. A thought of the fame kind is magnificently amplified in the following paf-

<3
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING. ,?i
It® fage of Ifaiah (chap. xxiv. 24. 27. 28.): “Thus L e c t.
’"e 3, faith the Lord, thy Redeemer, and he that IV.
„ formed thee from the womb : I am the' Lord ■Arcii 3, that maketh all things , that flretcheth forth upor ,, the heavens alone, that fpreadeth abroad the tij® 33 earth by myfelf—that faith to the deep, Be
rtaei „ dry, and 1 will dry up thy rivers; that faith
aboc 3, of Cyrus, He is my fhepherd, and fliall peris oi form all my pleafure; even, faying to Jerufa- :ip!es „ lem, Thou flialt be built; and to the Tem-
witb 33 pie , Thy foundation fliall be laid.” There is
so/ a paffage in the Pfalms, which deferves to be
ing mentioned under this head: “ God,” fays
uk, the Pfalmift,. u flilleth the noife of the feas,
ared „ the noife of their waves, and the tumults of
• th 33 the people.” The joining together two fuch
wei: . grand objedts, as the ragings of the waters, and ; Is the tumults of the people, between which there
fot is fo much refemblance as to form a very natural/ al affociation in the fancy, and the reprefenting
;d tii th em both as fubjedt, at one moment, to the
command of God, produces a noble effect.
Homer is a poet., who, in all ages, and by tiff all critics, has been greatly admired for Subli-
gjg mity; and he owes much of his grandeur to that
native and unaffedted flmplicity which charadter- ifes his manner. His descriptions of hofts engag- uji. ing; the animation, the fire, and rapidity, which )5 , ; he throws into his battles, prefent to every jj,- reader of the Iliad , frequent inftances of Sublime jj.; Writing. His introduction of the Gods, tends r 0 . often to heighten, in a high degree, the majefty
F 4

©.
SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
L e c t. of his warlike fcenes. Hence Longinus beftows IV. fuch high and juft commendations on that paffage, in the XVth book of the Iliad, where Neptune, when preparing to iffue forth into the engagement, is defcribed as fhaking the mountains with his fteps, and driving his chariot along the ocean. Minerva, arming herfe ! f for fight in the Vth book; and Apollo in the XVth, leading on the Troians, and flalhing terror with his iEgis on the face .of the Greeks, are fimilar inftances of great Sublimity added to the defcription of battles , by the appearances of thofe celeftial beings. In the XXth book, where all the Gods take part in the engagement, according as they feverally favour either the Grecians, or the Trojans, the poet feems to put forth one of his higheft efforts , and the defcription rifes into the moll awful magnificence. All nature is reprefented as in commotion; Jupiter thunders in the heavens; Neptune ftrikes the earth with his Trident; the fhips, the city, and the mountains lhake; the earth trembles to its centre; Pluto ftarts from his throne, in dread left the fecrets of the infernal region fhould be laid open to the view of mortals. The paffage js worthy of being inferted.
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X'diohv ocvrcto svscfa Horsiccituv irivx^s
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SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
rha: '
f fa
IT«m? o’ hr^'ovro Tret);; oroXvTrtSxxy
Kxi xafvQxi, Tfwcov r; oro\t;, v.xi v?s; A%«jwv.
’TidWeV o' UTTXicXjtv txvx% evhc&jv, ’AtScovsJc,
A:<V»; o’ SK (Ijiva K> 3 o, %Xi iG;/:* //.« 01 V 71 i$h
IV.TciV «Vapp>)|£(H ITdTilclcAv evooij^wv ,
Oix/oo 05 hr,TQ~ 7 i y.x I dSx'Jxrot^t ®«v£i>j ^Lyx-fox'/J ’, s’-opcoEvr*, ra r: xvyivti hot ortf ToViroj «p« jeruoro; wfro Seoov ffib ivviovraiv *•
Iliad, 20. 47. &c.
L E C T, IV.
. The works of Offian (as I have elfewhere ln ° fhewn) abound with examples of the Sublime.
The fubjeots of that Author, and the manner ^ t0 in which he writes, are particularly favourable to it. He poffeffes all the plain and venerable itie manner of the ancient times. He deals in no ;nt > fuperfluous or gaudy ornaments; but throws ^ forth his images with a rapid concifenefs, which F enables them to ftrike the mind with the greateft cn ? force. Among poets of more polilhed times, ^ we are to look for the graces of corredt writing, P |[a for juft proportion of parts, and fkilfully con- ^ duded narration. In the midft of fmiling feenery and pleafurable themes, the gay and the beauti- 018 ful will appear, undoubtedly, to more advan- W tage. But amidft the rude feenes of nature and
* But when the powers defeending fwelled the fight, Then tumult rofe, fierce rage, and pale affright; Now through the trembling fhores Minerva calls, And now fhe thunders from the Grecian walls.
Mars, hov’ring o’er his Troy, his terror fhrouds In gloomy tempefts, and a night of clouds ;
Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours,
"With voice divine , from Ilion’s topmoft towers—-9$ Above, the Sire of Gods his thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles;

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L E C T.
IV.
/
of fociety, fuch as Offian defcribes ; amidft rocks, and torrents, and whirlwinds, and battles, dwells the Sublime; and naturally affociates itfelf with that grave and folemn fpirit which diftinguiibes the Author of Fingal. “ As autumn’s dark „ dorms pour from two echoing hills, fo toward „ each other approached the heroes. As two „ dark Breams from high rocks meet and mix, „ and roar on the plain; loud, rough, and dark, ,, in battle, met Lochlin and Inisfail: chief „ mixed his ftrokes with chief, and man witi 3, man. Steel clanging founded on fteeb Helmet; ,, are cleft on high; blood burfts, and fmokes „ around. As the troubled noife of the ocean „ when roll the waves on high; as the laft ,, peal of the thunder of heaven ; fuel ,, is the noife of battle. The groan of the „ people fpread over the hills. It was like tie 3, thunder of night, when the cloud burfts on
j !® ;isic It hi fici 1 ia o id real fun
Su
em
or
ord
■Ktl
!n:
Beneath, ftern Neptune fhakes the folid ground, The forefts wave, the mountains nod around; Through all her fummits tremble Ida’s woods y 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;
Deep in the difmal region of the dead, Th’infernal monarch rear’d his horrid head,
Leapt from his throne , left Neptune’s arm fhould laj His dark dominions open to the day;
And pour in light on Pluto’s drear abodes, Abhorr’d by men, and dreadful ev’n to Gods. Such wars th’immortals wage ; fuch horrors rend. The world’s vaft concave, when the Gods contend
Pope.
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75
no ,, Cona, and a thoufand ghofts fhriek at once I, e c T. k „ on the hollow wind.” Never were images of IV.
■ more awful Sublimity employed to heighten the K- terror - of battle.
I HAVE produced thefe inftances , in order to demonfhate how effential concifenefs and fim- : plicity are to Sublime Writing. Simplicity, I place tin oppofition to ftudied and profufe ornament; i and concifenefs, to fuperfluous expreffion. The d reafon why a defeat, either in concifenefs or t fimplicity, is hurtful in a peculiar manner to the ik Sublime, I fhall endeavour to explain. The '.0: emotion occafioned in the mind by fome great 0i: or noble objedt, raifes it confiderably above its e ordinary pitch. A fort of enthufiafm is produced, t extremely agreeable while it lafts ; but from )[■ which the mind is tending every moment to fall Is down into its ordinary fituation. Now, when ft an author has brought us, or is attempting to bring us) into this Rate; if he multiplies words unneceffarily, if he decks the Sublime object > f which he prefents to us, round and round, with r glittering ornaments; nay, if he throws in any one decoration that finks in the leaft below the capital image, that moment he alters the key; he relaxes the tenfion of the mind ; the ftrength ... of the feeling is emafculated; the Beautiful may remain, but the Sublime is gone.—When Julius Ctefar laid to the Pilot who was afraid to put to fea with him in a ftorm, “ Quid times ? Caefarem
■ „ vehis;” we are ftruck with the daring magna- minity of one relying with fuch confidence on

75 SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
t E c T. his caufe and his fortune. Thefe few words IV. convey every thing neceffary to give us the imprejjion full. Lucan refolved to amplify and adorn the thought. Obferve how every time he twills it round , it departs farther from the Sublime, till it end at laft in tumid declamation.
Sperne rninas , inquit, pelagi, ventoque furenti Trade ftnum : Italiam , fi , crelo audore , recufas ,
Me , pete. Sola tibi caufa h$c eft jufta timoris Vidorem non noffe tuum; quem numina nunquani Deftkuunt ; de quo male tunc Fortuna meretur Cum poll vota venit. Medias perrumpe procellas Tutela fecure mea. Coeli ifte fretique Non puppis noftrse labor eft. Hanc Crefare preflam A fluctu defendet onus ; nam proderit undis
Ifte ratis.-Quid tanta ftrage paratur
Ignoras ? quEerit pelagi coclique tumultu
Quid pracftet fortuna mihi. *- Phars. V.
On account of the great import^ice of
* But Ceefar ftill fuperiorto aiftrefs,
Fearlefs and confident of fure fuccefs ,
• Thus to the pilot loud:-The feas defpife,
And the vain threat’ning of the noify Ikies; Though Gods deny thee yon Aufonian ftrand,
Yet go, I charge you , go, at my command,
Thy ignorance alone can caufe thy fears,
Thou know’ft not what a freight thy veffel bears: Thou know’ft not I am he to whom’tis given, Never to want tire care of watchful heaven. Obedient fortune waits my humble thrall,
And always ready, comes before I call
Let winds , and feas , loud wars at freedom wage*
And wafte upon themfelves their empty rage,

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•
ny . fimplicity and concifenefs, I conceive rhyme , in , e c Englifh verfe , to be, if not inconfiftent with ,p]'[ the Sublime, at leaft very unfavourable to it. pWhe conftrained elegance of this kind of verfe, n and ftudied fmoothnefs of the founds, anfwering regularly to each other at the end of the line, though they be quite confident with gentle 1 emotions, yet weaken the native force of Su- s > blimity; befides, that the fuperfluous words ; which the poet is often obliged to introduce, in in order to fill up the rhyme, tend farther to enfeeble it. Homer's defcription of the nod of as Jupiter, as fhaking the heavens, has been admired, in all ages, as highly Sublime. Literally tranflat- ed, it runs thus : ‘‘ He fpoke, and bending his „ fable brows, gave the awful nod; while he ,, fhook the celeftial locks of his immortal head, „ all Olympus was fhaken.” Mr. Pope tranf-
lates it thus:
IRS."
He fpoke; and awftd bends his fable prows,
T Shakes his ambrofial curls, and gives the nod,
Tbe ftamp 1 of fate, and fandtion of a God. kP High Heaven with trembling the dread fignal took,
; s ; And all Olympus to its centre fhook. 0
^ A ftronger, mightier Daemon is thy friend,
Thou , and thy bark, on Csefar’s fate depend.
. Thou ftand’ft amaz’d to view this dreadful fcene ,
' Xl!r And wonder’ll: what the Gads and Fortune mean,
!!£!| But artfully-their bounties thus they raife,
v0 And from my danger arrogate new praife:
1 Amidft the fears of death they bid me live,
And Hill enhance what they are fure to give.
»'■' Rowe.
E C T
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Leg t. The image is fpread out, and attempted to IV. be beautified; but it is, in truth, weakened. The third line — “ The ftamp of fate , and fane- ct tion of a God,” is merely expletive; and introduced for no other reafon but to fill up the rhyme; for it interrupts the defeription, and clogs the image. For the fame reafon , out of mere compliance with the. rhyme, Jupiter is re- prefented as fiiaking his locks before he gives . the nod,—“Shakes his ambrofial curls, and gives ,,the nod, ” which is trifling, and without meaning. Whereas, in the original, the hair of his head fhaken, is the effect of his nod, and makes a happy picturefqUe circumftance in the defeription *.
The boldnefs, freedom, and variety of our blank verfe, is infinitely more favourable tliaii rhyme, to all kinds of Sublime poetry. The fnlleft proof of this is afforded by Milton; an author, whofe genius led hinj eminently to the Sublime. The whole firft and fecond books of Paradife Loft, are continued inftances of it. Take only, for an example, the following noted defeription of Satan, after his fall, appearing at the head of the infernal lrofts:
-Re, above tire reft,
In flrape and gefttfre protidly eminent,
Stood like a tower : his form had not yet loft
* See "Webb on the Beauties of Poetry,

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e ®‘ All her original .brightnefs, nor appeared K ' Lefs than archangel ruined; and the excefs ac - Of glory obfcured : As when the fun, new rifen,
* Looks through the horizontal mifty air,
^ ’i Shorn of his beams; or, from behind, the moon 3 m ' In dim eclipfe, difaftrous twilight fheds ‘ On half the nations , and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken’d fa, yet Ihone he■
Above them all tip Archangel.-■-
L
0
E C T.
XV.
[It II
r of 1
the
Here concur a variety of fources of the Sublime; The principal object eminently great; a high fuperior nature, fallen indeed, but erecting it- felf againft diffrefs; the grandeur of the principal object heightened, by affociating it with f@ noble an idea as that of the fun Differing an eclipfe; this picture fhaded with all thofe images of change and trouble, of darknefs and terror, which coincide fo finely with the Sublime emotion; and the whole expreffed in a ftyle and verfification, eafy, natural, and fimple, but magnificent.
I HAVE fpoken of fimplicity and concifenefs, as effential to Sublime Writing. In my general defcription of it, I mentioned Strength , as another neceffary requifite. The Strength of defcription arifes, in a great meafure , from a fimple concifenefs; but, it fuppofes alfo fomething more; namely, a proper choice of circumftati- ces in the defcription, fo as to exhibit the object in its full and moft ftriking point of view.

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t E c T. For every objedt has feveral faces , fo to fpeak, IV. by which it may be prefented to us, according • to the circumftances with which we furround it; and it will appear eminently Sublime, or not, in proportion as all thefe circumftances are happily chofen, and of a Sublime kind. Here lies the great art of the writer; and indeed, the great difficulty of Sublime defcription. If the defcription be too general, and diverted of circumftances, the objedt appears in a faint light; it makes a feeble impreflion, or no im- preflion at all, on the reader. At the fame time, if any trivial or improper circumftances are mingled, the whole is degraded.
A storm or tempeft, for inftance, is a Sublime objedf in nature. But, to render it Sublime in defcription, it is not enough, either to give us mere general expreffions concerning the violence of the tempeft, or to defcribe its common , vulgar effedts, in overthrowing trees and lioufes. It muft be painted with fuch circumftances as fill the mind with great and awful ideas. This is very happily done by Virgil in the following palfage:
Ipfe Pater, media nimborum in node , corn fed Fulmina molitur dextra, quo maxima motu Terra tremit; fugere ferae; & mortalia corda,
Per gentes humilis ftravit pavor: life, flagranti Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo Dejicit*. - Georg. L
* The Father of the Gods his glory fhrouds ,
Every

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8x
Every circumftance in this noble defcriptlon Lect. acffi is the production of an imagination heated and IV.
UIr aftonilhed with the grandeur of the objeCt. If there be any defect, it is in the words immedia- ante tely following thofe I have quoted; “Ingeminant ^ ; “ Auftri, et denfiffimus imber; ” where the tranfi*
;ee( l tion is made too haftily, I am afraid, from the pre- If ceding Sublime images, to a thick Ihower, and tiled the blowing of the fouth wind; and fhews how 3: difficult it frequently is , to defeend with grace, no without feeming to fall.
neti; The high importance of the rule which I have re it been now giving, concerning the proper choice of circumftances, when defcriptlon is meant to is a be Sublime, feems to me not to have been fuffi- er::i ciently attended to. It has, however, fuch a eitk foundation in nature, as renders the leaf! deflex- rning ion from it fatal. When a writer is aiming at the its: beautiful only, his descriptions may have impro- ties prieties in them, and yet be beautiful ftill. Some rent trivial, cr misjudged circumftances, can be over-
il ia
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G&
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Involv’d in tempefts, and a night of clouds;
And from the middle darknefs flafhing out,
By fits he deals his fiery bolts about.
Earth feels the motions of her angry God,
Her intrails tremble , and her mountains nod,
And flying beafts in forefts feek abode.
Deep horror feizes every human breaft;
Their pride is humbled, and their fears confeft; While he , from high his rolling thunders throws, And fires the mountains with repeated blows ;
The rocks are from their old foundations rent;
The winds redouble, and the rains augment.
DrydsN'
Vol. L
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L E c t. looked by tbe reader, they make only the differ* j IV. ence of more or lefs ; the gay, or pleafing emo. j tion, which he has railed, i'ubfifts Bill. But the p cafe is quite different with the Sublime. There, ] one trifling circumftance, one mean idea, is fuffi- tl cient to deftroy the whole charm. This is owing j to the nature of the emotion aimed at by Sublime e defcription, which admits of no mediocrity, and cannot fubfift in a middle Bate ; but muft either j highly tranfport us, or, if unfuccefsful in the execution, leave us greatly difgufted, and difpleaf- ed : We attempt to rife along with the writer; the imagination is awakened, and put upon the ftretch; but it requires to be fupported; and if, in the midft of its effort, you defert it unexpecl- ( edly, down it comes with a painful fhock. When Milton, in his battle of the angels, defcribes i them as tearing up the mountains, and throwing t them at one another; there are, in his defcrip- t tion, as Mr. Addifon has obferved , no circum- 1 fiances but what are properly Sublime: 1
From their foundations loos’ning to and fro, 1
They pluck'd the feated hills, with all their load.
Rocks, waters, woods; and by the fhaggy tops Up-lifting, bore them in their hands.- [
W’hereas Claudian, in a fragment upon the war of the giants, has contrived to render this idea of their throwing the mountains, which is in it- felf fo grand, burlefque and ridiculous; by this Angle circumftance, of one of his giants with the mountain Ida upon his fhoulders, and a river,

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kg injc fin: Tk i i’t .$ ov;
SuL
V- ft ei:
the a iifple witi on tl and .expe .V
which flowed from the mountain, running down along the giant’s back, as he held it up in that pofture. There is a defcription too in Virgil, which I think, is cenfurable though more flightly, in this refped. It is that of the burning mountain iEtna; afubjed certainly very proper to be work* ed up by a poet into a Sublime defcription ;
>—■—■—Horrificis juxta tonat iEtna ruinis.
Interdumque atram prorumpit ad icchera nubem,
Turbine fumantem piceo, & candente favilla;
Attollitque globos flammarum, & lidera lambit.
Interdum fcopulos, avulfaque vifcera montis Erigit erudans, liquefactaque faxa fub auras Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exteftuat imo *.
EEn. III. 971.
lefai Here, after feveral magnificent images, the Poet hroc concludes with perfonifying the mountain under det this figure, w erudans vifcera cum gemitu,” i ce belching up its bowels with a groan ; which , by likening the mountain to a fick, or drunk perfon, degrades the majefty of the defcription. It is to ^ no purpofe to tell us, that the Poet here alludes ’ to the fable of the giant Enceladus lying under mount jEtna; and that he fuppofes his motions and toffings to have occafioned the fiery erup* tlr tions. He intended the defcription of a Sublime diii. objed; and the natural ideas, railed by a burn*
, ing mountain, are infinitely more lofty, than > the belchings of any giant, how huge foever.
W- * The port capacious, and fecure from wind, a i Is to the foot of thundering IEtna joined,
G 3
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L e c t. The debating effedl of the idea which is here IV. prefented, will appear in a ftronger light, by feeing what figure it makes in a poem of Sir Richard Blackmore’s, who, through a monftrous perverfity of tafte, had chofen this for the capital circumftance in his defcription, and thereby (as Dr. Arbuthnot humouroufly obferves, in his Treatife on the Art of Sinking) had reprefented the mountain as in a fit of the eholic.
.Etna , and all the burning mountains find Their kindled ftores with inbred ftorms of wind Blown up to rage, and roaring out complain,
As torn with inward gripes and torturing pain;
Labouring, they cafe their dreadful vomit round,
And with their melted bowels fpread the ground.
Such inllances flaew how much the Sublime depends upon a juft felection of circumftances; and with how great care every circumftance muft be avoided, which, by bordering in the leaft upon the mean, or even upon the gay or the trifling, alters the tone of the emotion.
By turns a pitchy cloud fire rolls on high, j By turns hot embers from her entrails fly, r And flakes of mounting flames that lick the ilty. 1 Oft from her bowels maffy rocks are thrown,
And fliivered by the force, come piece-meal down. Oft liquid lakes of burning fulphur flow,
Fed from the fiery fprings that boil below.
Dkydev.
In this tranflation of Dryden's, the debafing circumftance to Which I object in the original, is, with propriety, omitted.

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i is t
;i»ti IF it iliall now be enquired, What are the L e c t. :mo[ proper fources of the Sublime? My anfwer is, IV. inonjr That they are to be looked for every where in liej,, nature. It is not by hunting after tropes, and iere [jy figures, and rhetorical afliftances, that we can s jj exped to produce it. No: it Hands clear, for ,p re [ e the moll part, of thefe laboured refinements of art. It mull come unfought, if it come at all; and be the natural offspring ; of a llrong imagination.
: M lmfc :cumi in? ;? iejr
’h
fiy,
aeii'
jrv, £
Eft Dens in nobis; agitante calefcinrus illo.
Wherever a great and awful objed is prefented in nature, or a very magnanimous and exalted affedion of the human mind is difplayed; thence, if you can catch the imprelfion llrongly, and exhibit it warm and glowing, you may draw the Sublime. Thefe are its only proper fources. In judging of any linking beauty in compofition, whether it is, or is not, to be referred to this clafs, we muft attend to the. nature of the emotion which it raifes ; and only , if it be of that elevating, folemn, and awful kind, which dif- tinguilhes this feeling , we can pronounce it Sublime.
From the account which I have given of the nature of the Sublime, it clearly follows, that it is an emotion which can never be long pro- traded. The mind, by no force of genius, can be kept, for any confiderable time, fo far raifed above its common tone; but will, of courfe, relax into its ordinary fituation. Neither are the
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I, e c T, abilities of any human writer fufficient to fupply IV, a continued run of unmixed Sublime conceptions. The utmoft we can expedl is, that this fire of imagination fhould fometimes flafh upon us like lightning from heaven, and then difappear. In Homer and Milton , this effulgence of genius breaks forth more frequently, and with greater luftre than in mod authors. Shakefpeare alfo rifes often into the true Sublime. But no author whatever is Sublime throughout. Some, indeed, there are, who, by a ftrength and dignity in their conceptions and a current of high ideas that runs through their whole compofition, preferve the reader’s mind always in a tone nearly allied to the Sublime; for which reafon they may, in a limited fenfe, merit the name of continued . Sublime writers; and, in this clafs, we may juftly
place Demoflhenes and Plato.
As for what is called the Sublime Ilyle, it is, for the moft part, a very bad one; and has no relation whatever to the real Sublime. Perfons are apt to imagine , that, magnificent words, accumulated epithets , and a certain dwelling land of expreflion, by rifing above what is ufual or vulgar, contributes to, or even forms ,• the Sublime. Nothing can be more falfe. In all the inftances of Sublime Writing, which I have given , nothing of this kind appears: “ God as faid, Let there be light, and there was light.” This is ftriking and Sublime. But put it into what is commonly called the Sublime ftyle:
The Sovereign Arbiter of nature , by the

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tot; „ potent energy of a fingle word, commanded L e c ’flttjK; 35 the light to exift; ” and, as Boileau has well IV.
his fc obferved, the ftyle indeed. is railed , but the m ns L thought is fallen. In general, in all good writing,- jpesr. the Sublime lies in the thought, not in the of ge words; and when the thought is truly noble, it lips will, for the moll part, clothe itfelf in a native tare; dignity of language. The Sublime, indeed, re- o ac jects mean, low, or trivial expreffions; but it is indie equally an enemy to fuch as are turgid. The £miy main fecret of being Sublime, is to fay great eas ti things in few and plain words. It will be found prefer to hold, without exception , that the moll iy jJ Sublime authors are the fimpleft in their ftyle; may, and wherever you find a writer, who affedls a ontio; more than ordinary pomp and parade of words, uyyr and is always endeavouring to magnify his fubjedt by epithets, there you may immediately ,] e j fufpecl, that, feeble in fentiment, he is ftudying nHg to fupport himfelf by mere expreffion.
fdj The fame unfavourable judgment we muft . pafs, on all that laboured apparatus with which fa fome writers introduce a palfage, or defcription f lt jj E which they intend fhall be Sublime; calling on their readers to attend, invoking their Mule, or j^; breaking forth into general, unmeaning exclama- II, tions, concerning the greatnefs, terriblenefs, or , majefty of the objedt, which they are to defcribe.
.y, Mr. Addifon, in his Campaign, has fallen into ; an error of this kind, when about to defcribe l the battle of Blenheim ;
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L E c T. But 0 ! my Mufe! what numbers wilt thou find IV. To fing the furious troops in battle joined?
Methinks, I hear the drum’s tumultuous found,
The victor's fhouts, and dying groans, confound; &c.
Introductions of this kind, are a forced attempt in a writer, to fpur up himfelf, and his reader> when he finds his imagination flagging in vigour. It is like taking artificial fpirits in order to fupply the want of fuch as are natural. By this obferv- ation, however, I do not mean to pafs a general cenfure on Mr. Addifon’s Campaign, which, in feveral places, is far from wanting merit; and in particular, the noted comparifon of his hero to the angel who rides in the whirlwind and diredts the ftorm, is a truly Sublime image.
The faults oppofite to the Sublime are chiefly two; the Frigid, and the Bombaft. The Frigid confifts, in degrading an object, or fentiment, which is Sublime in itfelf, by our mean concep. tion of it; or by our weak, low, and childifir defcription of it. This betrays entire abfence, or at leaft great poverty of genius. Of this, there are abundance of examples, and thefe commented upon with much humour, in the Treatife on the Art of Sinking, in Dean Swift’s works ; the in- ftances taken chiefly from Sir Richard Blackmore. One of thefe, 1 had occafion already to give, in relation to mount /Etna, and it were needlefs to produce any more. The Bombaft lies, in forcing an ordinary or trivial objeft out of its rank, and endeavouring to raife it into the Sublime;

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or, in attempting to exalt a Sublime objedt Le c beyond all natural and reafonable bounds. IV, Into this error , which is but too common, writers of genius may fometimes fall, by unluckily lofing fight of the true point of the Sublime. This is alfo called Fuftian , or Rant- & Shakefpeare, a great, but incorredt genius, is ® not unexceptionable here. Dryden and Lee, in ?[■ their tragedies, abound with it.
® Thus far of the Sublime; of which I have.-, iff. treated fully, becaufe it is fo capital an excel , i lency in fine writing , and becaufe clear anc 1: precife ideas on this head are, as far as I know » not to be met with in critical writers.
2i. BEFORE concluding this Ledture, there i< one obfervation which I chufe to make at this 'd time; I lhall make it once for all, and hope it will be afterwards remembered. It is with refpedt e: to the inftances of faults, or rather blemilhes :: and irnperfedtions, which, as I have done in this Ledture, I lhall hereafter continue to take , when I can, from writers of reputation. I have not the leafl intention thereby to difparage their :::: character in the general. I lhall have other c occafions of doing equal juftice to their beauties.
But it is no reflection on any human performance, that it is not abfolutely perfect. The talk would be much cafier for me , to colledt in- fiances of faults from bad writers. But they would draw no attention, when-quoted from ■ : books which nobody reads. And I conceive.

9 ev SUBLIMITY IN WRITING.
L e c T. that the method which I follow, will contribute IV. more to make the beft authors be read with pleafure, when one properly diftinguilhes their beauties from their faults; and is led to imitate and admire only what is worthy of imitation and admiration.

h
'cad;
to it
LECTURE V.
BEAUTY , AND OTHER PLEASURES OK TASTE.
A s Sublimity conflitutes a particular character L E c of compofition, and forms one of the higheft V, excellencies of eloquence and of poetry, it was proper to treat of it at fome length. It will not be neceffary to difcufs fo particularly all the other pleafures that arife from Tafte, as fome of them have lefs relation to our main fubjedt. On Beauty only I Uiall make feveral obfervations, both as the fubjedt is curious , and as it tends to improve Tafte, and to difcover the foundation of feveral of the graces of defcription and of poetry *.
Beauty next to Sublimity, affords, beyond doubt, the higheft - pleafure to the imagination.
* See Hutchinfon’s Enquiry concerning Beauty and Virtue —Gerard on Tafte , chap. iii..—Enquiry into the. Origin of the Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful.—Elements of Criticifm, chap, iii.—Spectator, vol. vi. EBay on the Pleafures of Tafte,

92
BEAUTY.
I t C T.
V.
The emotion which it raifes, is very diftinguilb able from that of Sublimity. It is of a calmer kind; more gentle and foothing; does not elevate the mind fo much, but produces an agreeable ferenity. Sublimity raifes a feeling, too violent, as I fhowed, to be lafting; the pleafure arifing from Beauty admits of longer continuance. It extends alfo to a much greater variety of objects than Sublimity; to a variety indeed fo great, that the feelings which Beautiful objects produce, differ confiderably, not in degree only, but alfo in kind, from one another. Hence, no word in the language is ufed in a more vague fignifi- cation than Beauty. It is applied to almoft every external objedt that pleafes the eye, or the car; to a great number of the graces of writing; to many difpofitions of the mind; nay, to feveral objedts of mere abftradt fcience. We talk currently of a beautiful tree or flower; a beautiful poem; a beautiful character; and a beautiful theorem in mathematics.
Hence we may eaflly perceive, that, among fo great a variety of objedts, to find out fome one quality in which they all agree , and which is the foundation of that agreeable fenfation they all raife, mud be a very difficult, if not, more probably, a vain attempt. Objects, denominated Beautiful, are fo different, as to pleafe, not in virtue of any one quality common to them alb but by means of feveral different principles in human nature. The agreeable emotion which they all raife, is fometyhat of the fame nature;
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,, and therefore, has the common name of Beauty L given to it; but it is raifed by different caufes. a ® Hypotheses, however, have been framed by 01K ingenious men, for affigning the fundamental Equality of Beauty in all objects. In particular,
5 '■* Uniformity amidft Variety, has been infilled rear - on as this fundamental quality. For the Beauty I3Dc: of many figures, I admit that this accounts in a )fo!' f a tisfying manner. But when we endeavour to 0 r apply this principle to Beautiful objedts of fome P r( d other kind, as to Colour for inftance, or Motion, we fhall foon find that it has no place. And
> w even in external figured objects, it does not hold,
; % that their Beauty is in proportion to their mix-
> at ture of Variety with Uniformity; feeing many w, pleafe us as highly beautiful, which have almofl pcs no variety at all; and others, which are various nd;r to a degree of intricacy. Laying fyftems of this ice. kind, therefore, afide, what I now propofe is, low to °rive an enumeration of feveral of thofe clafies
O
; - of objedts in which Beauty moft remarkably appears; and to point out, as far as I can, the , c feparate principles of Beauty in each of them, out: Colour affords, perhaps, the fimpleft inftance
idr of Beauty , and therefore the fitteft to begin tir with. Here, neither Variety, nor Uniformity, nor any other principle that I know, can be ns affigned, as the foundation of Beauty. We can . - refer it to no other caufe but the ftructure of the
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Jx; eye , which determines us to receive certain c - modifications of the rays of light with more j 5 pleafure than others. And we fee accordingly,
E c T. V.
. U"

94
BEAUTY.
t E C T. that, as the organ of fcnfation varies in different V. perfons, they have their different favourite colours. It is probable, that affociation of ideas has influence, in fome cafes, on the pleafure ■which we receive from colours. Green, for inftance, may appear more beautiful, by being connected in our ideas with rural profpeds and fcenes; white, with innocence; blue, with the ferenity of the fky. Independent of aflociations of this kind, all that we can farther obferve concerning colours is , that thofe chofen for Beauty are, generally, delicate, rather than glaring. Such are thofe paintings with which nature hath ornamented fome of her works , and which art drives in vain to imitate ; as the feathers of feveral kinds of birds, the leaves of flowers, and the fine variation of colours exhibited by the fky at the rifing and fetting of the fun. Thefe prefent to us the higheft inftances of the Beauty of colouring; and have accordingly been the favourite fubjects of poetical defcription in all countries.
From Colour we proceed to Figure, which opens to us forms of Beauty more complex and diverfified. Regularity firft occurs to be noticed as a fource of Beauty. By a regular figure, is meant, one which we perceive to be formed according to fome certain rule, and not left arbitrary, or loofe, in the conftrudion of its parts. Thus, a circle, a fquare, a triangle, or a hexagon, pleafe the eye, by their regularity, as beautiful figures. We muftnot, however, conclude,

BEAUTY.
95
di| that all figures pleafe in proportion to their regular- Lect, ktt: ity ; or that regularity is the foie, or the chief, V. i of: foundation of Beauty in figure. On the contrary, ft a certain graceful variety is found to be a much 'ecu, more powerful principle of Beauty; and is thereby : : fore ftudied a great deal more than regularity, iecfe. in all works that are defigned merely to pleafe ffiti the eye. I am, indeed, inclined to think, that o® regularity appears beautiful to us, chiefly, if not obfc only, on account of its fuggefting the ideas of rBe fitnefs, propriety, and ufe, which have always a • ffc greater conne&ion with orderly and proportioned e b forms, than with thofe which appear not con- hcb flructed according to any certain rule. It is clear, hers that nature, who is undoubtedly the moil grace- Bour ful artift, hath, in all her ornamental works, litel purfued variety, with an apparent negledt of lie i regularity. Cabinets, doors, and windows, are s of: made after a regular form, in cubes and paralle- ; l y j lograms, with exadt proportion of parts ; and by p 3£ being fo formed they pleafe the eye; for this good reafon, that, being works of ufe, they are, r by fuch figures, the better fuited to the ends for ,i fi; which they were defigned. But plants, flowers,
DO r and leaves are full of variety and diverfity. A r ~ ftraight canal is an infipid figure , in companion .Jg, of the mseanders of rivers. Cones and pyramids are beautiful; but trees g!%wing in their natural wildnefs, are infinitely more beautiful than when trimmed into pyramids and cones. The apart- ^ ments of a houfe muft be regular in their difpofi- tion for the conveniency of its inhabitants; but

g6
BEAUTY.
tECT.
V.
\
a garden , which is defigned merely for Beauty, would be exceedingly difgufting, if it had as much uniformity and order in its parts as a dwelling houfe.
Mr. Hogarth, in his Analyfis of Beauty, has obferved, that figures bounded by curve lines are , in general, more beautiful than thofe bounded by ftraight lines and angles. He pitches upon two lines, on which, according to him, the Beauty of figure principally depends; and he has illuftrated, and fupported his dodtrine, by a furprifing number of inftances. The one is the Waving Line, or a curve bending backwards and forwards, fomewhat in the form of the letter S. This he calls the Line of Beauty, and fhews how often it is found in fhells, flowers and fuch other ornamental works of nature; as it is common alfo in the figures defigned by painters and fculptors, for the purpofe of decoration. The other Line, which he calls the Line of Grace, is the former waving curve, twifted round fome folid body. The curling worm of a common jack is one of the inftances he gives of it. Twifted pillars, and twifted horns, alfo exhibit it. In all the inftances which he mentions, Variety plainly appears to be fo material a principle of Beauty , that he feems npt to err much when he defines the art of .drawing pleafing forms, to be the art of varying well. For the curve line, fo much the favourite of painters, derives, according to him, its chief advantage, from its perpetual
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BEAUTY.
97
fe petual bending and variation from the ftiff regu- L ■tb larity of the ftraight line.
Motion furnifhes another fource of Beauty, diftindt from Figure. Motion of itfelf is pleaf- Be ing; and bodies in motion are, “ creteris pari- yc “ bus preferred to thofe in reft. It is , however, r.- only gentle motion that belongs to the Beau- e p tiful; for when it is very fwift, or very forcible,
Jin; fuch as that of a torrent, it partakes of the Sublime.
:pe The motion of a bird gliding through the air, is od: extremely Beautiful ; the fwiftnefs with which i o: lightning darts through the heavens, is magnificent b: and aftonifhing. And here, it is proper to obferve, iorr that the fenfations of Sublime and Beautiful are not always diftinguilhed by very diftant boun* s®: daries; but are capable, in feveral inftances, of j. approaching towards each other. Thus , a p fmooth running ftream, is one of the moft beau* o: ; tiful objects in nature : as it fwells gradually [(x into a great river, the beautiful, by degrees* is •i-. loft in the Sublime. A young tree is a beautiful ... object; a fpreading ancient oak, is a venerable j ; and a grand one. The calmnefs of a fine morning is beautiful; the univerfal ftiilnefs of the even*
• lr ing is highly Sublime. But to return to the Beauty of motion, it will be found, I think,
^ to hold very generally, that motion in a ftraighc line is not fo beautiful as in an undulating wav- ing direction ; and motion upwards is, commonly too, more agreeable than motion downwards.
The eafy curling motion of flame and fmoke is to be inftanced, as an object Angularly agreeable:
Vol. I. H
E C T.
V.

9S
BEAUTY.
L e c t. and here Mr. Hogarth’s waving line recurs upon V. us as a principle of Beauty. T hat artift obferves very ingenioully, that all the common and necef- fary motions for the bufinefs of life , are performed by men in ftraight or plain lines; but that all the graceful and ornamental movements are made in waving lines: an obfervation not unworthy of being attended to , by all who ftudy the grace of gefture and action.
Though Colour, Figure, and Motion, be fe- parate principles of Beauty; yet in many beautiful objects they all meet, and thereby render the Beauty both greater, and more complex. Thus, an flowers, trees, animals, we are entertained at once with the delicacy of the colour, with the gracefulnefs of the figure, and fometimes * alfo with the motion of the objedt. Although each of thefe produce a feparate agreeable fenfation, yet they are of fuch a fimilar nature , as readily to mix and blend in one general perception of Beauty, which we afcribe to the whole objed as its caufe : For Beauty is always conceived by us fomething refiding in the objedt which raifes the pleafant fenfation ; a fort of glory which dwells upon, and invefts it. Perhaps the rooft complete aflemblage of beautiful objects that 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 graz- ing. If to thefe be joined , fome of the productions of art, which fuit fuch afcene; as a bridge

beauty.
99
\vith arches over a river, fmoke rifing from l tc c cottages in the midft of trees , and the diftant Y. view of a fine building feen by the riling fun;
We then enjoy, in the higheft perfection, that gay, cheerful, and placid fenfation which charac- terifes Beauty. To have an eye and a tafle formed for catching the peculiar Beauties of fuch fcenes as thefe, is a neceffary requifite for all who attempt poetical defcription.
The Beauty of the human countenance is md-> re complex than any that whe have yet confider- ed. It includes the Beauty of colour, arifing front the delicate fhades of the complexion ; and the Beauty of figure ,. arifing from the lines which form the different features of the face. But the chief Beauty of the countenance depends upon a myfterious expreffio*, which it conveys of the qualities of the mind; of good fenfe, or good humour ; of fprightlinefs, candour, benevo-* lence, fenfibility , or other amiable difpofitions*
How it comes to pafs, that a certain conforma* tion of features is connected in our idea with certain moral qualities; whether we are thought by itiftindt, or by experience, to form this connection, and to read the mind in the countenance ; belongs not to us now to enquire, nor is indeed eafy to refolve. The fadl is certain , and acknowledged , that what gives the human countenance its moll diftinguifhing Beauty, is what is called its expreffion; or an image , which it is conceived to fhew of internal moral difpoil* tions,
H a

3CQO
B E A U T Y.
L k c t. This leads to obferve , that there are certain V, qualities of the mind which , whether exprefied in the countenance, or by words, or by actions, always raife in us a feeling fimilar to that of Beauty. There are two great claffes of moral qualities; one is of the high and the great virtues , which require extraordinary efforts, and turn upon dangers and fufferings ; as heroifm, magnanimity, contempt of pleafures, and contempt of death. Thefe, as I have obferved in a former Lecture , excite in the fpedator an emotion of Sublimity and Grandeur. The other clafs is generally of the focial virtues, and fuch as are of a fofter and gentler kind; as compaf- fion , mildnefs, friendfhip, and generofity. Thefe raife in the beholder a fenfation of pleafure, fo much akin to that product by Beautiful external objeds, that, though of a more dignified nature, it may, without impropriety, be claffed under the fame head.
A species of Beauty , diftind from any I have yet mentioned, arifes from defign or art; or, in other words , from the perception of means being adapted to an end; or the parts of any thing being well fitted to anfwer the defign of the whole. When, in confidering the ftrudure of a tree or a plant, we obferve, how all the parts, the roots, the ftem, the bark, and the leaves, are fuited to the growth and nutriment of the whole : much more when we furvey all the parts and members of a living animal; or when we examine any of the curious works of

BEAUTY.
lot
etc
pi;.’ art; fuch as a clock, a fhip, or any nice machine; Lect.
the pleafure which we have in the furvey, is V.
h: wholly founded on this fenfe of Beauty. It is
cc ’ altogether different from the perception of Beauty att produced by colour, figure, variety, or any of
1, t the caufes formerly mentioned. When I look at . roil: a watch, for inftance, the cafe of it, if finely let engraved, and of curious workmanfhip, ftrikes
red me as beautiful in the former fenfe; bright
tor . colour, exquifite polifh, figures finely raifed oil and turned. But when I examine the conflrudtion 1 fa of the fpring and the wheels, and praife the mp: Beauty of the internal machinery; my pleafure Tt; then arifes wholly from the view of that admir- ire,• able art, with which fo many various and com- xtec plicated parts are made to unite for one purpofe. me This fenfe of Beauty, in fitnefs and defign, '
c has an extenfive influence over many of our ideas. It is the foundation of the Beauty which p we difeover in the proportion of doors, win- orr dows, arches, pillars, and all the orders of -oi; architecture. Let the ornaments of a building be ever fo fine and elegant in themfelves , yet j; if they interfere with this fenfe of fitnefs and jjjr defign, they lofe their Beauty, and hurt the eye,
2 . like difagreeable objeifts. Twifted columns, for [( j ; inftance, are undoubtedly ornamental; but as IlC they have an appearance of weaknefs, they v{5 always difpleafe when they are made ufe of to
fupport any part of a building that is malTy, and ^ that feemed to require a more fubftantial prop.
We cannot look upon any work whatever with-
H 3

103
BEAUTY.
L e c T. out being led, by a natural affociation of ideas, V. to think of its end and defign, and of courfe to examine the propriety of its parts, in relation to this defign and end. When their propriety is clearly difcerned, the work feerns always to have fame Beauty; but when there is a total want of propriety, it never fails of appearing deformed. Our fenfe of fitnefs and defign, therefore, is fo powerful, and holds fo high a rank among our perceptions, as to regulate, in a great meafure, our other ideas of Beauty : An obfervation which I the rather make, as it is of the utmoft importance, that all who ftudy compofition fhould carefully attend to it. For, in an epic poem, a hiftory, an oration, or any work of genius, we always require as we do in other works, a fitnefs, or adjuftment of means, to. the end which the author is fuppofed to have in view. Let his defcription be ever fo rich, or bis figures ever fo elegant, yet, if they are out of place, if they are not proper parts of that whole, if they fuit not the main defign, they lofe all their Beauty; nay, from Beauties they are converted into Deformities. Such power has pur fenfe of fitnefs and congruity, to produce a total transformation of an object whofe appearance otherwife would have been Beautiful.
Afub having mentioned fo many various fpecies of Beauty , it now' only remains to take notice of Beauty as it is applied to writing or difcourfe, a term commonly ufed in a fenfe altogether loofe and undetermined. For it is

BEAUTY.
103
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applied to all that pleafes, ekher in flyle or in L E c T. fentiment, from whatever principle that pleafure V. flows ; and a Beautiful poem or oration means, in common language, no other than a good one, or one well compofed. In this fenfe, it is plain, the word is altogether indefinite, and points at no particular fpecies or kind of Beauty. There is, however, another fenfe, fomewhat more definite, in which Beauty of writing characterifes a particular manner; when it is ufed to figtiify a certain grace and amcenity in the turn either of ftyle or fentiment, for which fome authors have been peculiarly diftinguilhed. In*this fenfe, it denotes a manner neither remarkably fublime» nor vehemently paffionate, nor uncommonly fparkling; but fuch as raifes in the reader an emotion of the gentle placid kind , fimilar to what is raifed by the contemplation of beautiful objects in nature ; which neither lifts the mind very high, nor agitates it very much , but diffufes over the imagination an agreeable and pleafing ferenity. l\Ir. Addifcm is a writer altogether of this character; and is one of the moffc proper and precifc examples that can be given of it. Fenelon , the author of the Adventures of Telemachus, may be given as another example.
Virgil too, though very capable of rifing on occafions into the Sublime, yet, in his general manner, is diftinguilhed ,by the character of Beauty and Grace rather than, of Sublimity.
Among orators, Cicero has more of the Beautiful
H 4

104
PLEASURES OF TASTE.
Lict, than Demofthenes, whofe genius led him wholly y. towards vehemence and ftrength.
Th u s much it is fuflScient to have faid upon the fubject of Beauty. We have traced it through a variety of forms ; as next to Sublimity, it is the moll copious fource of the Pleafures of Tafte; and as the confideration of the different appearances, and principles of Beauty, tends to the improvement of Tafte in many fubjecls.
But it is only by appearing under the forms of Sublime or Beautiful, that objedts delight the imagination. From feveral other principles alfo, they derive their power of giving it pleafure.
Novelty, for inftance, has been mentioned by Mr. Addifon, and by every writer on this fubjedt. An objedt which has no merit to recommend it, except its being uncommon or new , by means of this quality alone, produces in the mind a vivid and an agreeable emotion. Hence that paffion of curiofity, which prevails fo generally among mankind. Objects and ideas which have been long familiar, make too faint an impreffion to give an agreeable exercife to our faculties New and flrange objects roufe the mind from its dormant ftate, by giving it a quick and pleafing impulfe. Hence, in a great meafure, the entertainment afforded us by fiction and romance. The emotion raifed by Novelty is of a more lively and pungent nature, than that produced by Beauty; but much fborter in its continuance. For if the object have in itfelf no

PLEASURES OF TASTE.
105
charms to hold our attention , the {Lining glofs L E c T thrown upon it by Novelty foon wears off. V.
J( !c! Besides Novelty, Imitation is another fource fc of Pleafure to Tafte. This gives rife to what JitMr. Addifon terms, the Secondary Pleafures f® of Imagination; which form, doubtlefs, a very diieextenfive clafs. For all Imitation affords fome tend'pleafure; not only the Imitation of beautiful or xb. great objects, by recalling the original ideas of lefcrBeauty or Grandeur which fuch objects themfel- ighr.ves exhibited; but even objects which have es ineither Beauty nor Grandeur, nay, fome which ure. are terrible or deformed, pleafe us in a fecondary. motor reprefented view.
on d The Pleafures of Melody and Harmony belong ieri; alfo to Tafte. There is no agreeable fenfation moa >ve receive, either from Beauty or Sublimity,
.fodcbut what is capable of being heightened by the power of mufical found. Hence the delight p rr of poetical numbers; and even of the more ni U concealed and loofer meafures of profe. AVit, ^Humour, and Ridicule likewife open a variety r£ i| ( of pleafures to Tafte, quite diftkuft from any yfe- that we have yet conftdered. p. At prefent it is not neceffary to purfue any ,1 farther the fubject of the Pleafures of Tafte. I ..have opened fome of the general principles; it j.. is time now to make the application to our ‘ r chief fubjecl. If the queftion be put, To what clafs of thofe Pleafures of Tafte which I have ^ enumerated, that Pleafure is to be referred, which we receive from poetry, eloquence, or

106 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION.
UCT.
V.
fine writing ? Ely anfwer is , Not to any one, but to them all. This lingular advantage, writing and difcourfe poffefs, that they encompafs fo large and rich a field on all Tides, and have power to exhibit, in great perfection, net 2 Tingle fet of objedts only, but almoft the whole of thofe which give Pleafure to Tafte and Ima- gination; whether that Pleafure arife from Sublimity, from Beauty in its different forms, front Defign and Art, from Moral Sentiment, from Novelty, from Harmony, from Wit, Humour and Ridicule. To whichfoever of thefe the ■ peculiar bent of a perfon’s Tafte lies, from fome writer or other, he has it always in his power to receive the gratification of it.
Now this high power which eloquence and poetry poffefs, of fupplying Tafte and Imagination with fuch a wide circle of pleafures, they derive altogether from their having a greater capacity of Imitation and Defcription than is poffeffed by any other art. Of all the means which human ingenuity has contrived for recalling the images of real objedts, and awakening, by reprefentation, fimilar emotions to thole which are railed by the original, none is fo full and extenfive as that which is executed by words and writing. Through the afliftance of this happy invention, there is nothing, either in the natural or moral world, but what can be repre- fented and fet before the mind, in colours very ftrong and lively. Hence it is ufual among critical writers, to fpeak of Difcourfe as the
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a “l ! chief of all the imitative or mimetic arts; they L ’ e,v compare it with painting and with fculpture,
M P ;; ' and. in many refpects prefer it juftly before them, ac( ^ This ftyle was firft introduced by Ariflotle ID| - in his Poetics; and fince his time, has acquired ^ t; a general currency among modern authors. But,
^ as it is of confequence to introduce as much precifion as poffible into critical language, I rn N muft obferve, that this manner of fpeaking is :nt d not accurate. Neither difcourfe in general, nor poetry in particular, can be called altogether 'W imitative arts. We muft diftinguifh betwixt )m '■ Imitation and Defcription , which are ideas that 3 P- fliould not be confounded. Imitation is performed by means of fomewhat that has a natural >®e: likenefs and refemblance to the thing imitated,
■ !c and of confequence is underftood by all ; fuch res.: are ftatues and pictures. Defcription, again, is i g the raifing in the mind the conception of an 1 tit objedt by means of fome arbitrary or inftituted le e fymbols, underftood only by thofe who agree or“ in the inftitution of them; fuch are words and iau- writing. Words have no natural refemblance to l to the ideas or objects which they are employed id to fignify; but a ftatue or a picture has a natural jvE. likenefs to the original. And therefore Imitation is: and Defcription differ confiderably in their ;ra nature from each other.
i5»■ As far, indeed, as a poet or a hiftorian in- ufif troduces into his work perfons actually fpeak- jr; ing ; and by the words which he puts into their mouths, reprefents the difcourfe which they
e c T V.

io8 IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION.
t. might be fuppofed to hold ; fo far his art may more accurately be called Imitative: and this is the cafe in all dramatic compofition. But in Narrative or Defcriptive works, it can with no propriety be called fo. Who, for inftance, would call Virgil’s Defcription of a tgmpeft, in the firfb fEneid, an Imitation of a dorm ? If we heard of the Imitation of a battle, we might naturally think of fome mock fight, or reprefent- ation of a battle on the dage, but would never apprehend , that it meant one of Homer’s Defcriptions in the Iliad. I admit, at the fame time, that Imitation and Defcription agree in their principal effect, of recalling by external figns, the ideas of things which we do not fee, But though iu this they coincide, yet it fhould not be forgotten, that the terms themfelves are not fynonymous; that they import different means of effecting the fame end; and of courfe make different impreffions on the mind*.
* Though , in the execution of particular parts, Poetry is certainly Defcriptive rather than Imitative, yet there is a qualified fenfe in which Poetry, in the general, may be termed an Imitative art. The fubjeCt of the poet ( as Dr, Gerard has fhown in the Appendix to his Effay on Tafte) is intended to be an Imitation, not of tilings really existing , but of the courfe of nature; that is , a feigned re- prefentation of fuch events, or fuch fcenes, as though they never had a being, yet might have exifted; and which, therefore , by their probability , bear a refemblance to natjire. It was probably , in this fenfe , that Ariftotle termed Poetry a mimetic art. How far either the Imitation or the Defcription which Poetry employs, is fuperior to the imitative

IMITATION AND DESCRIPTION.
109
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Whether, we conflder Poetry in particular, and Difcourfe in general , as Imitative or Descriptive; it is evident, that their whole power, in recalling the impreffions of real objects , is derived from the fignificancy of words. As their excellency flows altogether from this Source, we mult, in order to make way for further enquiries, begin at this fountain head. I Shall, therefore, in the next Ledture , enter upon the consideration of Language : of the origin, the progrefs, and conftruc- tion of which , I purpofe to treat at fome length.
powers of Painting, and Mufic, is well Shown by Mr. Harris , in his Treatife on Muiic, Painting, and Poetry. The chief advantage which Poetry, or Difcourfe in general enjoys is,that whereas,by the nature of his art,the Painter is confined to the representation of a Single moment, writing and dif- courfe can trace a tranfadion through its whole progrefs. That moment, indeed, which the painter pitches upon for the fubjed of his picture, he may be laid to exhibit with more advantage than the poet or the orator; inaf- much as he Sets before us , in one view , all the minute concurrent circumftances of the event which happen in one individual point of time, as they appear in nature; while Difcourfe is obliged to exhibit them in fucceffion, and by means of a detail, which is in danger of becoming tedious, in order to be clear; or if not tedious, is in danger of being obfcure. But to that point of time which he has chofen, the painter being entirely confined , he cannot exhibit various ftuges of the fame adion or event; and he is fubjed to this farther defed , that he can only exhibit objeds as they appear to the eye, and can very imperfectly delineate charaders and Sentiments, which are the nobleft Subjects of Imitation or Description. The power of representing thefe with full advantage, gives a high Superiority to Difcourfe and Writing above all other imitative arts.
L E C T
V.

L E c VI.
T.
LECTURE VL
RISE and PROGRESS of LANGUAGE.
.AVING finilhed my obfefvations on tk Pleafures of Tafte , which were meant to be introductory to the principal fubjed of theft Ledures, I now begin to treat of Language; which is the foundation of the whole power of eloquence. This will lead to a confiderable dif. cuffion ; and there are few fubjeds belonging to polite literature, which more merit fuch a dif cuffion. I lhall firft give a Hiftory of the Rift and Progrefs of Language in feveral particulars, from its early to its more advanced periods; which lhall be followed by a fimilar Hiftory of the Rife and Progrefs of Writing. I fhall next give fome account of the Conftrudion of Lair guage, or the Principles of Univerfal Grammar and lhall, laftly. apply thefe obfervations mors particularly to the Englilh Tongue *.
Language, in general, fignifies the expreffioit of our ideas by certain articulate founds, -which are ufed as the figns of thofe ideas. By articulate
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RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. 111
founds, are meant thofe modulations of fimple L E c T. I, voice, or of found emitted from the thorax, VI. which are formed by means of the mouth and its feveral organs, the teeth, the tongue, the lips , and the palate. How far there is any natural connexion between the ideas of the mind and the founds emitted, will appear from what gQ,I am afterwards to offer. But as the natural con- ' nexion can , upon any fyftem, affedt only a fmall part of the fabric of Language; the con- '‘ J nexion between words and ideas may, in general, be conftdered as arbitrary and conventional,
0 owing to the agreement of men among them- 2n ‘felves; the clear proof of which is, that different ‘^nations have different Languages, or a different ^ eri fet of articulate founds, which they have chofen for communicating their ideas.
. H This artificial method of communicating thought, we now behold carried to the high- P E ' : eft perfection. Language isi^ecome a vehicle by e( ^ f which the moft delicate and refined emotions of
It guage, in 4 vols.—Harris’s Hermes, or, a Philofophical fjjj: Enquiry concerning Language and Univerfal Grammar —■
, r EfTai fur l’Origine des ConnailTances Humaines , par L’Abbe Condillac. — Principes de Grammaire, par du Marfais. —. ® Grammaire Generale & Raifonnee — Traite de la Formation Mechanique des Langues, par le Prelident de Broffes. —■ e (C Difcours fur l’inegalite parmi les Hommes, par Rouffeau.—■ jij.: Grammaire Generale , par Beauzee. — Principes de la Tra- , duction, par Batteux. — Warburton’s Divine Legation of v Mofes , vol. iii. — Sancti Minerva , cum notis Perizonii.— . Les vrais Principes de la Langue Francaife, par I’Abbs c " Girard,

112
RISE AND PROGRESS
I, e c T. one mind can be tranfmitted , or , if we may fo VI. fpeak, transfufed into another. Not only are names given to all objects around us , by which means an eafy and fpeedy intercourfe is carried on for providing the neceffaries of life, but all the relations and differences among thefe objects are minutely marked, the invifible fentiments of the mind are defcribed, the molt abftract notions and conceptions are rendered intelligible; and all the ideas which fcience can difcover, or imagination create, are known by their proper names. Nay, Language has been carried fo far, as to be made an inftrument of the molt refined luxury. Not refting in mere perfpicuity, we require ornament alfo; not fatisfied w’ith having the conceptions of others made known to us, we make a farther demand, to have them fo decked and adorned as to entertain our fancy; and this demand, it is found very poffible to gratify. In this ftafl| > we now find Language, In this flate, it has been found among many nations for fome thoufand years. The object is become familiar; and, like the expanfe of the firmament, and other great objects, which we are accuftomed to behold , we behold it without , wonder.
But carry your thoughts back to the firft dawn of Language among, men. Reflect upon the feeble beginnings from which it muft have arifen, and .upon the many and great obftacles which it muft have encountered in its.progrefs; and you wifi find reafon for the higheft aftonifn-
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ment, on viewing the height which it has now L e c attained. We admire feveral of the inventions of VI. art; we plume ourfelves on fome difcoveries which have been made in latter ages, ferving to advance knowledge, and to render life comfortable; we fpeak of them as the boaft of human reafon. But certainly no invention is entitled to any fuch degree of admiration as that of Language; which, too, muft have been the product of the firft and rudeft ages, if indeed it can be confidered as a human invention at all.
Think of the circumftances of mankind when Languages began to be formed. They were a wandering fcattered race; no fociety among them except families ; and the family-fociety too very imperfedt, as their method of living by hunting or pafturage muft have feparated them frequently from one another. In this fituation, when fo much divided, and their intercourfe fo rare, how could any one fet of founds, or words, be generally agreed on as the figns of their ideas ? Suppofmg that a few, whom chance or neceflity threw together , agreed by fome means upon certain figns, yet by what authority could thefe be propagated among other tribes or fami- lies, fo as to fpread and grow up into a Language? One would think, that in order to any Language fixing and extending itfelf, men muft have been previoufiy gathered together in confi- derable numbers ; fociety muft have been already far advanced ; and yet, on the other hand , there fccms to have been an ablolute neceflity for VOL. I. I
T.

ix4 RISE AND PROGRESS
Lect. Speech, previous to the formation of Society, VI. For, by what bond could any multitude of men be kept together , or be made to join in the profecution of any common intereft , until once, by the intervention of Speech, they could com. municate their wants and intentions to each other? So that, either how Society could form itfelf previoufly to Language; or how words could rife into a Language , previoufly to Society formed, feem to be points attended with equal difficulty. And when we confider farther, that curious analogy which prevails in the con- flrudtion- of almoft all Languages, and that deep and fubtile logic on which they are founded', difficulties increafe fo much upon us, on all hands, that there feems to be no fmall reafon for referring the firffc origin of all Language to divine teaching or infpiration.
But fuppofing Language to have a Divine original, we cannot, however, fuppofe, that a perfect fyftem of it was all at once given to man. It is much more natural to think, that God taught our firil parents only fuch Language as fuited their prefent occafions; leaving them, as he did in other things to enlarge and improve it as their future neceffities ffiould require. Con- fequently, thofe firft rudiments of Speech muft have been poor and narrow; and we are at full liberty to enquire in what manner , and by what fteps, Language advanced to the ftate in which we now find it. The liiftory which I ana to give of this progrefs, will fuggeft feveral

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If we flrould fuppofe a period before any words were invented or known, it is clear, that men could have no other method of communicating to others what they felt, than by the cries of paflion, accompanied with fuch motions and geftures as were farther expreffive of paffion. For thefe are the only figns which nature teaches all men, and which are underftood by all. One who faw another going into fome place where he himfelf had been frightened, or expofed to danger ■, and who fought to warn his neighbour of the danger, could contrive no other way of doing fo, than by uttering thofe cries, and making thofe geftures, which are the figns of fear: juft as two men, at this day* would endeavour to tnake themfelves be underftood by each other, who Ihould be thrown together on a defolate ifland , ignorant of one another’s Language. Thofe exclamations, therefore, which by Grammarians are called Inters jedtions^ uttered in a ftrong and paffionate manner* were, beyond doubt, the rirft elements or beginnings of Speech.
When more enlarged communication became neceffaty , and names began to be affigned to obiects, in what manner can we fuppofe men to have proceeded in this affignation of names, or invention of words? Undoubtedly, by imitating, as much as they could, the nature of the object which they named, by the found of ths
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Ibct. name which they gave to it. As a Painter, VI. who would reprefent grafs, muft employ a green colour; fo, in the beginnings of Language, one giving a name to any thing harlh or boilterous, would of courfe employ a ha^fh or boifterous found. He could not do otherwife, if he meant to excite in the hearer the idea of that thing which he fought to name. To fuppofe words invented , or names given , to things , in a. manner purely arbitrary, without any ground or reafon, is to fuppofe an effedt without a caufe. There muft have always been fome motive which led to the affignation of one name rather than another; and we can conceive no motive which would more univerfally operate upon men in their firft efforts towards Language, than a defire to paint by Speech, the objects which they named, in a manner more or lefs complete , according as the vocal organs had it in their power to effect this imitation.
Wherever objects were to be named, in which found, noife, or motion were concerned, the imitation by words was abundantly 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 made; and to form its name accordingly. Thus, in all Languages, we find a multitude of words that are evidently conftructed upon this principle. A certain bird is termed the Cuckoo, from the found which it emits. When one fort of wind

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is faid to tvhijlle , and another to roar ; when a L E c t. ferpent is faid to hifs ; a fly to buz , and falling VI. timber to crash ; when a ftream is . faid to flow , and hail to rattle ; the analogy between the word and the thing fignified is plainly difcernible.
In the names of objects which addrefc 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. Many learned men, however, have been of opinion, that though, in fuch cafes, it becomes more obfcure, yet it is not altogether loft; but that throughout the radical words of all Languages, there may be traced fome degree of corrtfpondence with the object fignified.
With regard to moral and intelledual ideas, they remark, that, in every Language, the terms fignificant of them, are derived from the names of fenfible objects to which they are conceived to be analogous; and with regard to fenfible objects pertaining merely to fight, they remark, that their molt diftinguifliing qualities have certain radical founds appropriated to the ex- preflion of them, in a great variety of Languages.
Stability, for inltance, fluidity, hollownefs, fmoothnefs, gentlenefs, violence, &c. they imagine to be painted by the found of certain letters or fyllables, which have fome relation to thofe different {fates of vifible objefts, on account of an obfcure refemblance which the organs of voice are capable of affuming to fuch external qualities.
By this natural mechanifm, they imagine all
1 3

ji8 RISE AND PROGRESS
Inc T, Languages to have been at firft conftructed, and VI. the roots of their capital words formed*.
As far as this fyftem is founded in truth, Language appears to be not altogether arbitrary in its origin. Among the ancient Stoic and Platonic Philofophers , it was a queftion tnuch agitated, “ Utrum nomina rerum fint natura, an impofitione ?’ Quirtt i] 6icru ; by which they meant, Whether words were merely conventional fymbols; of the rife of which no account could be given, except the pleafure of the firft inven-
* The Author , who has carried his fpeculations on this fubjeclthe farllheft, is the Prefident Des Erodes, in his “ Traite 3 , de ia Formation Mechanique des Langues.” Some of the radical letters or fyllables which he fuppofes to carry this expredive power in mod known Languages are , St , to fignify liability or reft; FI, to denote fluency; Cl, a gentle defeent; K., what relates to rapid motion ; C, to cavity or hollownefs., &c. A century before his time, Dr. Wallis, in his Grammar of theEnglifh Language, had taken notice of thefe fignificant roots, and reprefented it as a peculiar excellency of our Tongue, that, beyond all others, it expreded the nature of the objects which it names , by employing founds fharper , foft- er, weaker, ftronger, more obfeure, or more ftridulous, according as the idea which is to be fuggefted requires. He gives various examples. Thus, words formed upon St, always denote firmnefs and ftrength, analogous to the Latin Jh ; as, Hand, ftay , ftaff, flop, ftout , fteadv , flake , ftamp, ftallion, ftatelv , &c. Words beginning with Str, intimate violent force, and energy, analogous to the Greek fsunvu.it as, ftrive, ftrength, lirike, ftripe, ftrefs, ftruggle, ftride, ftretch, ftrip, &c. Thr, implies forcible motion; as , throw, throb, thruft, through, threaten, thraldom. Wr, obliquity or diftortion; as, wry, wreft, wreath, wreftle, w'ring, wrong, wrangle, wrath, wrack, &c. Sw, lilent agitation, or lateral motion;

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ideii tors of Language ? or , Whether there was L E c 1' forae principle in nature that led to the- affign- VI.
infc ation of particular names to particular objects; art and thofe of the platonic fchool favoured the Stoic: latter opinion *? ion p
as, fway, fwing, fwerve, fweep, fwim. SI, a gentle fall or lefs o'ofervable motion ; as , flide , Hip , fly , flit, flow , flack, fling. Sp, diffipation or expanfion; as, fpread, fprout, venc fprinlde, fplit, fpill, fpring. Terminations in Afh , indicate i n t C p fo me thing' acting nimbly and fharply ; as crafli, gafh,
U ^ rafli, flafh , lafli, flafh. Terminations in Ufli, fomething acting more obtufely and dully; as, crufh , brufh , liufh , gulh,
B blufli. The learned Author produces a great many more ' ci j. examples of the fame kind, which feem to leave no doubt,
^ that the analogies of found have had fome influence on m'tb f° rrna d orl °f "'ords. At the fame time , in all fpe- culations of this kind, there is fo much room for fancy to operate, that they ought to be adopted with much caution in forming any general theory.
* Vid. Plat, in Cratylo. “ Nomina verbaque non pofitu fortuito , fed quadam vi & ratione natural facta efle ,
P. Nigidius in Grammaticis Commentariis docet; rem fane
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multa argumenta dicit, cur videri poflint verba efle natu-
ralia , magis quam arbitraria. Vos , inquit, cum dicimus,
motu quodam oris conveniente , cum ipfius verbi demon- ftratione utimur, & labias fenfim primores emovemus, ac fpiritum atque animam porro verfum , & ad eos quibus- cum fermocinamur intendimus. At contra cum dicimus Nos , neque profufo intentoque flatu vocis', neque pro- jeCtis labiis pronunciamus; fed et fpiritum et labias quafi intra nofmet ipfos coercemus. Hoc idem fit et in eo quod dicimus , tu , & ego , & r.iihi , & tibi. Nam ficuti cum adnuimus & abnuimus,motus quidam ille vel capitis vel oculorum , a natura rei quam fignificat, non abhorret, ita in his vocibus uuafi geftus quidam oris & fpiritus natu-
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L e c t. This principle, however, of a natural relation VI. between words and objects, can only be applied to Language in its moft ftmple and primitive ftate. Though, in every Tongue, fome remains of it, as I have fhewn above, can - be traced, it were utterly in vain to fearch for it throughout the whole conftrudtion of any modern Language. As the multitude of terms increafe in every nation, and the immenfe field of Language is filled up, words, by a thoufand fanciful and irregular methods of derivation and compofition, come to deviate widely from the primitive character of their roots, and to lofe all analogy or refemblance in found to the things fignified. In this ftate we now find Language. Words, as we now employ them, taken in the general, may be confidered as fymbols, not as imitations; as arbitrary, or inftituted, not natural figns of ideas. But there can be no doubt, I think, that Language, the nearer we remount to its rife among men , will be fouad to partake more of a natural expreffion. As it could be originally formed on nothing but imitation, it would in its primitive ftate, be more picturef- que; much more barren indeed, and narrow in the circle of its terms, than now; but fo far as it went, more expreflive by found of the thing fignihed. This, then, may be affirmed as one
<c ralis eft. Eadem ratio eft in Gratis quoque vocibus quam eife in noftris aniinadvertimus. ”
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character of the firft ftate, or beginnings, of L E c T. Language, among every favage tribe. VI.
A second character of Language, in its early ‘ ffi ic ftate, is drawn from the manner in which words tat were at firft pronounced, or uttered, by men. boip Interjections I lb owed, or paffionate exclamations, bur. were the firft elements of Speech. Men laboured in r to communicate their feelings to one another, by injur thofe expreffive cries and geftures which nature nak, taught them. After words, or names of objects, rapfcbegan to be invented, this mode of fpeaking, prut by natural figns, could not be all at once difufed.
I ana. For Language, in its infancy, mult have been fignrextremely barren; and there certainly was a Voiiperiod, among all rude nations, when converge:: fat ion was carried on by a very few words,
[titatKintermixed with many exclamations and earned mil: geftures. The fmall ftock of words which men t It as yet poffeffed , rendered thofe helps abfolutely , D ( 3 neceffary for explaining their conceptions; and rude, uncultivated men, not having always at cctL; hand even the few words which they knew,
'uoj would naturally labour to make themfelv^s un- , pderftood, by varying their tones of voice,, and ^ accompanying their tones with the moft fignifi- p cant gefticulations they could make. At this j. £ . day, when perfons attempt to fpeak in any Language which they poffefs imperfedlly , they have recourfe to all thefe fupplemental methods,
„ r , in order to render themfelves more intelligible.
The plan too, according to which I have t® fiiown, that Language was originally conftructed,

122
RISE AN® PROGRESS
L E C T.
VI.
upon refemblance or analogy, as far as was poffible, to the thing fignified, would naturally lead men to utter their words with more empha- fis and force, as long as Language was a fort of painting by means of found. For all thoft reafons this may be aflumed as a principle, -that the pronunciation of the earliefl Languages was accompanied with more gefliculation, and with more and greater inflexions of voice, than what we now ufe; there was more adtion in it; and it was more upon a crying or fmging tone.
To this manner of {peaking, neceffity firft gave rife. But we muft obferve, that, after this neceffity had, in a great meafure, ceafed, by Language becoming, in procefs of time, more extenfive and copious, the ancient manner of Speech flill fublifted among many nations; and what had arifen from neceffity, continued to be ufed for ornament. Wherever there was much fire and vivacity in the genius of nations, they were naturally inclined to a mode of con- verfation which gratified the imagination fo much; for, an imagination which is warm, is always prone to throw both a great deal of adlion, and a variety of tones, into difcourfe. Upon this principle, Dr. Warburton accounts for fo much fpeaking by adlion, as we find among the Old Teflament Prophets; as when Jeremiah breaks the potter’s vellel, in light of the people; throws a book into the Euphrates; puts on bonds and yokes; and carries out his houfehold fluff; all which, he imagines, might
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OF LANGUAGE.
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be fignificant modes of expreflion, very natural L E c T* in thofe ages, when men were accuftomed to VI. explain themfelves fo much by adtions and geftures In like manner, among the Northern American tribes, certain motions and actions were found to be much ufed as explanatory of their meaning, on all their great occafions of intercourfe with each other; and by the belts and firings of wampum, which they gave and received, they were accuftomed to declare their meaning, as much as by their difcourfes.
With regard to inflexions of voice, thefe are fo natural, that, to fome nations, it has appeared eafier to exprefs different ideas, by varying the tone with which they pronounced the fame word, than to contrive words for all their ideas. This is the practice of the Chinefe in particular. The number of words in their 9 Language is faid not to be great; but, in fpeak- * ing, they vary each of their words on no lefs than five different tones, by which they make the fame word fignify five different things. This rauft give a great appearance of mufic or finging to their Speech. For thofe inflexions of voice which, in the infancy of Language, were no more than harlh or diffonant cries, muft, as Language gradually polifhes, pafs into more fmooth and mufical founds; and hence is formed, what we call- the Profody of a Language. <
Ir is remarkable, and deferves attention, that, both in the Greek and Roman Languages, this mufical and gefticulating pronunciation was

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L E C T.
VI.
o
retained in a very high degree. Without bavin* fe 1 attended to this, we will be at a lofs in under, t' 3 ' Handing feveral pafTages of the Claffics, which relate to the public fpeaking, and the theatrical h® entertainments, of the ancients. It appears, from, many circumftances, that the profody both of ® te the Greeks and Romans, was carried much I ®!' 1 farther than ours, or that they fpoke with more, Wh and ftronger, inflexions of voice than we ufe, ® The quantity of their fyllables was much more m fixed than in any of the modern Languages, and ‘ CM1 rendered much more fenfible to the ear in con pronouncing them. Befides quantities, or the isr difference of fliort and long, accents were placed ™ e upon mod of their fyllables, the acute, grave, ™ and circumflex ; the ufe of which accents we ™ have now entirely loft, but which, we know, 111 determined the fpeaker’s voice to rife or fall. ® Our modern pronunciation mull have appeared ™ to them a hfelefs. monotony. The declamation " vc of their orators, and the pronunciation of their F e ' actors upon the ftage, approached to the nature 01 of recitative in mufic; was capable of being “? marked in notes, and fupported with inftruments; as feveral learned men have fully proved. And ^ if this was the cafe, as they have fliown, among a the Romans, the Greeks, it is well known, were ftill a more mufical people than the Ro- !tl mans, and carried their attention to tone and l i pronunciation much farther in every public 1 exhibition. Ariftotle, in his Poetics, confiders *

OF LANGUAGE.
125
life the mufic of Tragedy as one of its chief and L e c t.
int moft effential parts. VI.
cy . The cafe was parallel with regard to geftures:
tie for ftrong tones, and animated geftures, we
eaii. may obferve, always go together. Adtion is
/l® treated of by all the ancient critics, as the chief
ied; quality in every public fpeaker. The adlion,
■itk- both of the orators and the players in Greece inland Rome, was far more vehement than what ucl we are accuftomed to. Rofcius would have 1335, feemed a madman to us. Gefture was of fuch e B confequence upon the ancient ftage, that there ( is reafon for believing, that, on fome occafions, te ■ the fpeaking and the adting part were divided,
. which , according to our ideas , would form a [CC ftrange exhibition; one player fpoke the words K [, in the proper tones, while another performapl . j the correfponding motions and geftures. We learn from Cicero, that it was a conteft be- k tween him and Rofcius , whether he could ex- ( prefs a fentiment in a greater variety of phrafes, j K . or Rofcius in a greater variety of intelligible ftgnificant geftures. At laft, gefture came to ^ engrofs the ftage wholly; for, under the reigns of Auguftus and Tiberius, the favourite entertainment of the Public was the pantomime,
^ which was carried on entirely by mute gefticul- ^ ation. The people were moved, and wept at it, as much as at tragedies ; and the paffion for it became fo ftrong , that laws were obliged to [i be made, for reftraining the Senators from ftu- dying the pantomime art. Now, though in

126 RISE AND PROGRESS
C T.
VI.
declamations and theatrical exhibitions, both tone and gefture were , doubtlefs , carried much farther than in common difcourfe; yet public fpeaking, of any kind, muff, in every country, bear fome proportion to the manner that is ufed in converfation; and fuch public entertainments as I have now mentioned, could never have been relilhed by a nation, whofe tones and geftures, in difcourfe , were as languid as ours.
When the Barbarians fpread themfelves over the Roman Empire, thefe more phlegmatic nations did not retain the accents, the tones and geftures, which neceflity at firft introduced, and cuftom and fancy afterwards fo long fupport- ed, in the Greek and Roman Languages. As the Latin Tongue was loft in their idioms, fo th| character of fpeech and pronunciation began to be changed throughout Europe. Nothing of the fame attention was paid to the mufic of Language, or to the pomp of declamation, and theatrical action. Both converfation and public fpeaking became more fimple and plain, fuch as we now find it; without that enthufiaftic mixture of tones and geftures, which diftinguifh- ed the ancient nations. At the reftoration of letters, the genius of Language was fo much altered , and the manners of the people become fo different, that it was no eafy matter to un- derftand what the Ancients had Lid , concerning their declamations and public fpedacles. Our plain manner of fpeaking, in thefe northern countries , expreffes the paffions witNfufficient energy,
Si
S5
at
an]
Ire
de
si
of
as
pit
tx
id
is
o
n
i
t
r

OF LANGUAGE.
127
Bi
31005 to move thofe who are not accuftomed to any Lect. c ®~-more vehement manner. But, undoubtedly, \I.
' F more varied tones , and more animated motions,
,er ?- carry a natural expreffion of warmer feelings.
DK Accordingly , in different modern Languages,
5 the profody of Speech partakes more of mufic,
“U in proportion to the livelinefs and fenfibility m dsitof the people. A Frenchman both varies his accents, and gefliculates while he fpeaks, fflfe!~much more than an Englishman. An Italian, a pit- great deal more than either. Mufical pronun- , tk ciation and expreffive gefture are, to this day, imp the diftindlion of Italy.
ong£ From the pronunciation of Language, let us tragi proceed , in the third place, to confider of the idio:Style of Language in its moll early Bate, and ation of its progrefs in this refpect alfo. As the man- ^o^ner in which men at firfb uttered their words, ie z and maintained converfation, was ftrong and juas: expreffive, enforcing their imperfectly expreffed 1 acl ideas by cries and geftures; fo the Language pin which they ufed could be no other than full ■ g t of figures and metaphors, not correal indeed, hit but forcible and piclurefque. dio" We are apt, upon a fuperficial view, to imagine, that thofe modes of expreffion which are called Figures of Speech, are among the chief nr , refinements of Speech, not invented till after £ .-_ Language had advanced to its later periods, and ^ mankind were brought into a polifhed flate;
^ and that, then, they were devifed by Orators • ... and Rhetoricians. The, quite contrary of this

128 RISE AND PROGRESS
% e c t. is the truth. Mankind never employed fd many VI. figures of Speech, as when they had hardly any words for exprelfing their meaning.
Foil firft, the want of proper names for every object, obliged them to ufe one name for many; and of courfeto exprefs themfelves by com- parifons, metaphors, allufions, and all thole fubftituted forms of Speech which render Lan. guage figurative. Next, as the objects with which they were molt converfant, were the fenfible, material objects around them, names would be given to thofe objects long before words were invented for fignifying the difpofi- tions of the mind, or any fort of moral and intellectual ideas. Hence, the early Language of men being entirely made up of words deferiptive of fenfible objects, it became, of neceffity, extremely metaphorical. For, to dignify any defire or paflion, or any aCt or feeling of the mind , they had no precife expreflion which was appropriated to that purpofe, but were under a neceffity of painting the emotion, or paflion, which they felt, by allufion to thofe fenfible objects which had mod relation to it, and which could render it, in fome fort, vifible to others. *
But it was not neceffity alone, that gave rife to this figured ftyle. Other circumftances alfo , at the commencement of Language, contributed to it. In the infancy of all focieties, men are much under the dominion of imagination and paflion. They live fcattered and difperfed;
they

OF LANGUAGE,
129
■ESS
they are unacquainted with the courfe of Lec 1, ■ things; they are, everyday, meeting with new VI, . and ftrange objeits, Fear and furprife, wonder ne k and aftonifhment, are their moft frequent paffions.
Their Language will neceffarily partake of this character of their minds. They will be prone to exaggeration and hyperbole. They will be rt - given to defcribe every thing with the ftrongeft colours, and moft vehement expreflions; infinitely h K more than men living in the advanced and cul- ttet. tivated periods of Society, when their imagfn- ■ation is more chaftened, their paffions are more • a - tamed, and a wider experience has rendered the es objects of life more familiar to them. F.ven the !y b manner in which I before fhowed that the firft p of tribes of men uttered their words, would have it it confiderable influence on their ftyle. Wherever aL f' ftrong exclamations, tones, and geftures, enter 12d: much into converfation, the imagination is al- iitof ways more exercifed; a greater effort of fancy nine anl paffion is excited. Confequently, the fancy liter kept awake, and rendered more fprightly by fioa; this mode of utterance, operates upon ftyle,
Ijtic! and enlivens it more.
fjjip These reafonings are confirmed by undoubted fails. The ftyle of all the moft early Languages,
, among nations who are in the firft and rude ^ periods of Society, is found, without exception, j...- to be full of figures ; hyperbolical and picturefque (ieW in a high degree. We have a ftriking inftance jujj; of this in the American Languages, which are jjfc known, by the moft authentic accounts, to be VOL. I. K

ISO
RISE AND PROGRESS
L e c t. figurative to excels. The Iroquois and Illinois,
■ VI. carry on their treaties and public tranfadions with bolder metaphors, and greater pomp of flyle, than we ufe in our poetical productions*.
Another remarkable inflance is, the fiyle of the Old Teftament, which is carried on by conftant allufions to fenfible objeds. Iniquity,
* Thus, to give an inflance of the lingular flyle of thefe nations, the Five Nations of Canada , when entering, on a treaty of peace with us, exprefled themfelres by their Chiefs , in the following Language: u V/e are “ happy in having buried under ground the red axe, ic that has fo often been dyed with the blood of our bre- “ thren, Nov/, in this fort, we inter the axe, and plant “ the tree of Peace. We plant a tree, whofe top will cc reach the Sun ; and its branches fpread abroad , fo cc that it fhall be ften afar off. May its growth never “ be ftifled and choked ; but may it fhade both your cc country and ours with its leaves! Let us make fall its “ roots, and extend them to the utmoft of your colonies, “ If the French fhould come to fhake this tree, wewould “ know it by the motion of its roots reaching into our “ country, May the Great Spirit allow us to reft in tran- “ quillity upon our mats, and never again dig lip the axe to ec cut down the tree of Peace ! Let the earth be trod “ hard over it, where it lies buried. Let a ftrong ftreant “ run under the pit, to wafih the evil away out of our u fight and remembrance.—The fire that had long burned “ in Albany is extinguifhed. The bloody bed is wafted “ clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. V' e “ now renew the covenant chain of friendfhip. Let it “ be kept bright and clean as filver, and not fuffered “ to contract any ruft. Let not any one pull away his arm front “ it.” Thefe paffages are extracted from Cadwalhder “ Golden’s Hiilory of the Five Indian Nations ; where it appears , from the authentic documents he produces, thacfuch is their genuine flyle.

OF LANGUAGE.
■ESS
131
or guilt, is exprefled by“ a fpotted garment; ” L E c T. : ^ mifery , by “ drinking the cup of aftonilh- VI. iKfpj ment;” vain purfuits, by “feeding on allies;”
!rcs ---' a finful life , by “ a crooked path ;” profperity,
‘Vi by “ the candle of the Lord Ihining on our head;” and the like, in innumerable inftances.
^ t Hence, we have been accuftomed to call this fort of ftyle , the Oriental Style; as fancying it la,!- to be peculiar to the nations of the Fall;: Where* iSJt as, from the American Style, and from many f”’ other inftances, it plainly appears not to have y 1 been peculiar to any one region or climate; but to have been common to ail nations, in certain ; y. periods of Society and Language. e: Hence, we may receive fome light concern*
up: ing that feeming paradox, that Poetry is more lids:: ancient than Profe. I lhall have occafton to difcufs this point fully hereafter, when I come to treat of the Nature and Origin of Poetry. At prefent, it is fufficient to obferve, that, from what ;r r has been faid , it plainly appears, that the ftyle of Ijr; all Language mull have been originally poetical;
:®i ftrongly tinctured with that enthufiafm, and that defcriptive, metaphorical exprelhon which diftinguilhes Poetry.
_.k As Language, in its progrefs , began to grcfw . c: - ; more copious, it gradually loft that ligurative ftyle, which was its early character. When : men were furnilhed with proper and familial*
names for every objedt, both fenfible and moral,
” U ' they were not obliged to ufe fo many circum- locutions. Style became more precife, and, of
K a

IBS
RISE AND PROGRESS
L e c T. courfc, more fimple. Imagination too , in pro- VI. portion as Society advanced, had lefs influence over mankind. The vehement manner of fpeak- ing by tones and geftures, became not fo uni- verfal. The underftanding was more exercifed; the fancy, lefs. Intercourfe among mankind becoming more extenfive and frequent, clearnefs of ftyle, in fignifying their meaning to each other, was the chief object of attention. In place of Poets , Philofophers became the inftruct- ors of men; and, in their reafonings on all different fubjects, introduced that plainer and Ampler ftyle of compofition, which we now call Profe. Among the Greeks, Pherecydes of Scyros , the malter of Pythagoras, is recorded to have been the firft, who, in this fenfe, cora- pofed any writing in profe. The ancient metaphorical and poetical drefs of Language, was now laid afide from the intercourfe of men, and referved for thofe occafions only, on which ornament was profeffedly ftudied.
Thus I have purfued the Hiftory of Language through fome of the variations it has undergone: I have confidered it, in the firft ftrudture , and compofition, of words ; in the manner of uttering or pronouncing words; and in the ftyle and character of Speech. I have yet to confider it in another view, refpecfting the order and arrangement of words ; when we fhall find a pro- grefs to have taken place, fimilar to what I have been now illuftrating.

.ss
0 , tt;
S ife
soil
LECTURE VII.
ext:
salt;
t,dc
ago:
entioi
heic
plaice
1 \K
Piers is res ■nfe, :ienti eagt: met on r
fbr;
mfc
id®, r of a e fty: coar ;
ier ?• zj ■
RISE and PROGRESS of LANGUAGE, and of WRITING.
"When we attend to the order in which- L E c words are arranged in a fentence, or fignilicant VII. proportion, we had a very remarkable difference between the ancient and the modern Tongues*
The confideration of this will ferve to unfold farther the genius of Language, and to fhow the caufes of thofe alterations, which it has undergone, in the pFogrefs of Society.
In order to conceive diftinctly the nature of that alteration of which I now fpeak, let us go- back, as we did formerly, to the moft early period of Language. Let us figure to ourfelves a Savage, who beholds fome object, fuch as . fruit, which raifes his defire, and who requefts another to give it to him. Suppofing our Savage to be unacquainted with words, he would, in that cafe, labour to make himfelf be under- ftood, by pointing earneftly at the object which lie defiled, and uttering at the fame time a paflfionate cry. Suppofing him to have acquired
K 3
T.

134
PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
t. words, the firft word which he uttered would, of courfe, be the name of that object. He would not exprefs himfelf, according to our Englifli order of conftrudion , “ Give me fruit;” but according to the Latin order, “ Fruit give me”; “ Frudtum da mihi: ” For this plain reafon, that his attention was wholly directed towards fruit, the defired object. This was the exciting idea; the object which moved him to fpeak; and, of courfe, would be the firft named. Such an arrangement is precifely putting into words the gefture which nature taught the Savage to make, before he w ^s acquainted with words; and therer fore it may- be depended upon as certain, that he would fall moft readily into this arrangement.
Accustomed now to a different method of ordering our words, we call this an inverfion, and confider it as a forced and unnatural order of Speech. But though not the moft logical, it is, however, in one view, the moft natural order; becaufe, it is the order fuggefted by imagination and defire, which always impel us to mention their objed in the firft place. We might therefore conclude, a priori, that this would be the order in which words were moft commonly arranged at the beginnings of Language; and accordingly we find, in fad, that, in this order, words are arranged in moft of the ancient Tongues; as in the Greek and the Latin ; and it is faid alfo, in the Ruffian, the

PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
i35
'sit;
t/fe
jivt;
reafr;
rah
ik| n . Sc 1 won less
, ,.j-
:ettn.
is n
mi?
1 nr
sen.
ijjffi
ysic?
place.
tnr
r, i
hi'-
mS* id di ife
Sclavonic, the Gaelic, and feveral of the Ameri- Lsct. can l ongues. • VII,
In the Latin Language, the arrangement which moffc commonly obtains, is, to place firft, in the fentence, that word which expreffes the principal object of the difeourfe, together with its circumftances; and afterwards, the perfon , or the thing, that adts upon it. Thus Salluft, comparing together the mind and the body;
“ Animi imperio, corporis fervitio, magis ntimur which order certainly renders the fentence more lively and ftriking, than wherf it is arranged according to our Englifh contraction;
“We make molt ufe of the diredtion of the “foul, and of the fervice of the body.” The Latin order gratifies more the rapidity of the imagination , which naturally runs firft to that which is its chief objedt; and having once named it, carries it in view throughout the reft of ths fentence. In the fame manner in poetry:
Juftum & tenacem propofiti virurn,
Non civium ardor prava jubentium,
Non vultus inftantis tyranni,
Mente quatit folida.-
Every perfon of tafte mult be fenfible, that here the words are arranged with a much greater regard to the figure which the feveral objects make in the fancy, than our Englifh conftrudtion admits; which would require the “ Juftum & tenacem propofiti virurn, ” though, undoubtedly,
K 4

i 3 6 PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
Lj C t. the capital object in the fentence, to be thrown VII, into the laid place.
I have faid , that, in the Greek and Roman ' Languages, the moll common arrangement is, to place that firft which ftrikes the imagination of the fpeaker molt. I do not, however, pre. tend , thlit this holds without exception. Sometimes regard to the harmony of the period requires a different order; and in Languages fufceptible of fo much mufical beauty, and pronounced with fo much tone and modulation ?ts were ufed by thofe nations, the harmony of periods was an object carefully fludied. Sometimes too, attention to the perfpicuity, to the force, or to the artful fufpenfion of the fpeaker’s meaning, alter this order; and produce fuch varieties in the arrangement, that it is not ealy to reduce them to any one principle. But, in general this was the genius and character of molt, of the ancient Languages, to give fuch lull liberty to the collocation of words , as allowed them to affumg whatever order was moll agr ee> able to the fpeaker’s imagination. The Hebrew js , indeed , an exception : which, though not altogether without inverlions, yet employs them lefs frequently, and approaches nearer to the Englilh conftrudtion, than either the Greek or the Latin.
All the modern Languages of Europe have adopted a different arrangement from the ancient. In their profe compofitions, very little variety is admitted in the collocation of words; they

PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE. i 37
:fc
\h
met:
i*Et ver. ■
.
e F ang ity, )duk mot &
, to fpei ftit: not B:
J 2 C
(tie
lit
it::
Hr
)U^ )Vi - ■ » Jts
pet
it
are moftly fixed to one order; and that order is, what may be called , the Order of the Under- handing. They place firft in the fentence, the perfon or thing which fpeaks or adts; next, its action; and laftly, the object of its action. So that the ideas are made to fucceed to one another not according to the degree of importance which the feveral objedts carry in the imagination , but according to the order of nature and of time.
An Englifh writer, paying a compliment to a great man, would fay thus : “ It is impcffible “ for me to pafs over, in filence, fuch remark- “ able mildnefs, fuch lingular and unheard of “ clemency, and fuch unufual moderation, in “ the exercife of fupreme power.” Here we have, firft prefented to us, the perfon who fpeaks. “It is impoffible for me ;” next, what that perfon is to do, Cl impoffible for him to pafs “ over in flencef and laftly, the object which moves him fo to do, “the mildnefs, clemency, “ and moderation of his patron.” Cicero, from whom I have tranflated thefe words , juft reverf- es this order; beginning with the object, placing that firft which was the exciting idea in the fpeaker’s mind, and ending with the fpeaker and his action. ” Tantam manfuetudinem, tam in- ^ ufitatam inauditamque clcrnentiam, tantumque “ in fumma poteftate rerum omnium .modum, “ tacitus nullo modo prseterire poffum.” (Orat. pro Marcell.)
The Latin order is more amended; the
L e c T VII.

138 progress of language.
L E C T.
VII.
Englifh, more clear and diftindb The Romanj generally arranged their words according to the order in which the ideas rofe in the fpeaker’s imagination. We arrange them according to the order in which the underftanding directs thole ideas to be exhibited, in fucceffion, to the view of another. Our arrangement, therefore, appears to be the confequence of greater refinement in the art of Speech; as far as clearnefs in communication is. underftood to be the end of Speech.
In poetry, where we are fuppofed to rife above the ordinary ftyle, and to fpeak the Language of fancy and paflion. our arrangement is not altogether fo limited; but fome greater liberty is allowed for tranfpofition, and inver- fion. Even there, however , that liberty is confined within narrow bounds, in comparifon of the Ancient Languages. The different modern Tongues vary from one another, in this refped. The French Language is, of them all, the moil determinate in the order of its words, and admits the leaft of inverfion, either in profe or poetry. The Englifh admits it more But the Italian retains the moll of the ancient tranfpofi- tive character . though one is apt to think, at the expence of a little obfcurity in the ftyle of fome of their authors, who deal moft in thefe tranf- pofitions.
It is proper , next, to obferve, that there is one circumftance in the ftrutfture of all the modem 'longues, which, of neceflity, limits their
*i(
firs
pint
Bid
rclati
differ
tent
Let
iav
101
mot
too
loir
res
h
fl
Bet
in
ad)
KC;
the
plat
I
a!
P

L
PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
i39
.arrangement, in a great meafure, to one fixed L e c T.
and determinate train. We have difufed thofe VII. .^differences of termination , which, in the Greek ln f and Latin, diftinguifhed the feveral cafes of ecti nouns, and tenfes of verbs; and which, thereby, '^pointed out the mutual relation of the feveral :, 5 words in a fentence to one another, though the re " J related words were disjoined, and placed in e ® different parts of the fentence. This is an alliteration in the ftrudure of Language, of which I Ihall have occafion to fay more in the next ^ Ledure. One obvious effect of it is, that we fc e: have now, for the moft part, no way left us to an c Low the clofe relation of any two words to one ie ;another in meaning, but by placing them clofe and to one another in the period. For inflance ; the rty Romans could, with propriety, exprels themfel- ipaaves thus: nt a
j£_ e Extinchim nymphs’ crudeli funere Daphnim > Flebant.-
iitBecaufe “ Extindum & Daphnim,” being both up in the accufative cafe, this fliowed, that the !: adjedive and the fubftantive were related to t c each other, though placed at the two extremities uci,: of the line; and that both were governed by :lea the active verb “Flebant,” to which “nymphse” it plainly appeared to be the nominative. The different terminations here reduced all into order, , and made the connedion of the feveral words jj|A perfectly clear. But let us tranfiate thefe words jjjj literally into Englilh , according to the Latin

14°
PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
L E c VII.
T. arrangement; “ Dead the nymphs bv a cruel fate „ Daphnis lamented; and they become a perfed riddle, in which it is impoffible to find any! meaning. j
It was by means of this contrivance , which obtained in almoft all the ancient Languages, o( varying the termination of nouns and verbs, and thereby pointing out the concordance and the government of the words, in a fentence, that they enjoyed fo much liberty of tranfpofition, and could marlhal and arrange their words in any way that gratified the imagination, or pleafed the ear. When Language came to be modelled by the northern nations who overran the empire, they dropped the cafes of nouns, and the different termination of verbs, with the more eafe , becaufe they placed no great value upon the advantages arifing from fuch a ftrudure of Language. 7 hey were attentive only to clearnefs, and copioufnefs of expreffion. They neither regarded much the harmony of found, nor fought to gratify the imagination by the collocation of words. They fitudied folely to £xprefs themfelves in fuch a manner as fliould exhibit their ideas to others in the moft diftinci and intelligible order. And hence, if our Language, by reafon of the fimple arrangement ol its words, pofleffes lefs harmony, lefs beauty, and lefs force , than the Greek or Latin ; it i-S however, in its meaning, more obvious and plain.
Thus I have fihown what the natural Progret of Language has been, in feveral material articles;
Isltl
;:ai
ps,
ka
iipf
am
item Style was all 1 und an I im.it lis
BE.
tO (
entl
cha
veh
and
lav
SOI
16

PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.
141
l ~ and this account of the Genius and Progrefs of L e c X.
Language, lays a foundation’ for many obferva- VII. lc ' tions, both curious and ufeful. From what has been faid, in this, and the preceding Ledure,
’’ it appears, that Language was, at firft, barren’ a .- : in words, but defcriptive by the found of thefe ‘‘ words; and expreffive in the manner of uttering them, by the aid of fignificant tones and geftures:
| Ci ; Style was figurative and poetical: arrangement F was fanciful and lively. It appears, that, in |VC: all the fucceffive changes which Language has IC - undergone, as the world advanced, the under- M Handing has gained ground on the fancy and p imagination. The Progrefs of Language, in f 1 this refpeft, refembles the progrefs of age in ' r man. The imagination is moft vigorous and '£* predominant in youth; with advancing years, ifc the imagination cools, and the underltanding ot ripens. Thus Language, proceeding from fterility a to copioufnefs, hath, at the fame time, proofs ceeded from vivacity to accuracy; from fire and a: enthufiafm, to coolnefs and precifion. Thofe fc characters of early Language, defcriptive found, ah vehement tones and geftures, figurative ftyle, ft; and inverted arrangement, all hang together, oc have a mutual influence on each other; and have p: all gradually given place, to arbitrary founds, j's calm pronunciation, Ample ftyle, plain arrange- 35 ment. Language is become, in modern times, jh more correct, indeed, and accurate, but, however,
|ft lefs ftriking and animated: In its ancient ftate,

143
RISE AND PROGRESS
Lect. more favourable to poetry and oratory;, in its VII. prefent, to reafon and philofophy.
. Having finifhed my account of the Progrefs of Speech. I proceed to give an account of the "Progrefs of Writing, which next demands out notice; though it will not require fo full a difeuffion as the former fubjeCt.
Next to Speech, Writing is, beyond doubt, the moll ufeful art of which men are poffeffed. It is plainly an improvement upon Speech, and therefore muff have been pofterior to it in order of time. At firft, men thought of nothing more than communicating their thoughts to one another, when prefent, by means of words, or founds, which they uttered. Afterwards, they devifed this further method, of mutual communication, with one another, when abfent, by means of marks or characters prefented to the eye, which we call Writing.
Written characters are of two forts. They are either figns for things, or figns for words, Of the former fort, figns of things, are the pictures , hieroglyphics , and fymbols , employed by the ancient nations; of the latter fort, figns for words, are the alphabetical characters, now employed by all Europeans. Thefe two kinds of Writing are generically , and effentially, diftinCt.
Pic i URES were, undoubtedly, the firft effay towards Writing. Imitation is fo natural to man, that, in all ages, and among all nations, fame methods have obtained, of copying or
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ln tracing the likenefs of fenfible objects. Thofe Leg methods would foon be employed by men for All, e ^ giving fome imperfedt information to others, at ra “ ; - a diltance, of what had happened; or, for ^ preferving the memory of facts which they fought to record. Thus, to fignify that one man had killed another, they drew the figure of one man ftretched upon the earth, and of F ; another {landing by him with a deadly weapon in his hand. AVe find, in fadt, that, when in: America was firft difcovered, this was the only die: fort of Writing known in the kingdom of ) a Mexico. By hiftorical pictures, the Mexicans ■vor. are faid to have tranfmitted the memory of the ird ; molt important tranfactions of their empire.
1 cc Thefe, however, mu ft have been extremely bid: imperfedt records; and the nations who had no ted: other, muft have been very grofs and rude.
Pictures could do no more than delineate - L ;, ’ external events. They could neither exhibit the connections of them, nor defcribe fuch r qualities as were not vifible to the eye, nor eE convey any idea of the dilpofitions, or words,
.>• of men.
To fupply, in fome degree, this defedt, j. there arofe, in procefs of time, the invention of what are called , Hieroglyphical Characters; which may be confidered as the fecond ftage of the Art of Writing. Hieroglyphics confill in certain fymbols, which are made to ftand For invifible objects, on account of an analogy or refemblance which fqch lymbols were fuppofed

144
RISE AND PROGRESS
L e c t. to bear to the objects. Thus, an eye, was VII. the hieroglyphical fymbol of knowledge; a circle, of eternity, which has neither beginning, nor end. Hieroglyphics, therefore, were a more refined and extenfive fpecies of painting. Pictures delineated the refemblance of external vifible objects. Hieroglyphics painted invifible objects, by analogies taken from the external world.
Among the Mexicans , were found fome traces of hieroglyphical characters, intermixed with their hiftorical pidures. But Egypt was the country where this fort of Writing was . moft ftudied, and brought into a regular art
In hieroglyphics, was conveyed all the boafted wifdom of their priefts. According to the properties which they afcribed to animals, or the qualities with which they fuppofed natural objects to be endowed, they pitched upon them to be the emblems, or hieroglyphics, of moral objeds; and employed them in their Writing for that end. Thus, ingratitude was denominated by a viper; imprudence , by a fly ; wifdom, by an ant; vidory, by a hawk; a dutiful child, by a ftork; a man univerfally fhunned, by an eel, which they fuppofed to be found in company with no other hfli. Sometimes they joined together two or more of thefe hieroglyphical charaders; as, a ferpent with a hawk’s head; to denote nature, with God prefiding over it. But, as many of thole properties of objects which they affirmed for the foundation of their hieroglyphics, were merely imaginary, and the
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i45
1 *!■ allufions drawn from them were forced and Leg ambiguous; as the conjunction of their characters VII. ^ rendered them ftill more obfcure, and muft have • e,f: expreffed very indiftindtly the connections and relations of things; this fort of Writing could be no other than ^enigmatical, and confufed, in ^3 the higheft degree; and muft have been a very imperfect vehicle of knowledge of any kind. kc Ir has been imagined, that hieroglyphics were intc an invention of the Egyptian priefts, for con- Em cealing their learning from common view ; and ■n’t; that, upon this account, it was preferred by • rcrc them to the alphabetical method of Writing.
:k: But this is certainly a miltake. Hieroglyphics to: were, undoubtedly, employed, at firft, from als, neceffity, not from choice or refinement; and natu would never have been thought of, if alphabetic ica! charadters had been known. The nature of i (>■ the invention plainly fliows it to have been one ir 1 of thofe grofs and rude eflays towards Writing,
; !1 which were adopted in the early ages of the world ; in order to extend farther the firft method which they had employed of fimple , £| | pictures, or reprefentations of vifible objedts. incS Indeed, in after-times, when alphabetical j, ff Writing was introduced into Egypt, and the hieroglyphical was , of courfe, fallen into difufe,
. j it is known, that the priefts ftill employed the ... hieroglyphical charadters, as a facred kind of 8 j Writing, now become peculiar to themfelves,
^ and ferving to give an air of myftery to their learning and religion. In this Rate, the Greeks
vol. 1 . l

i 4 6 rise: and progress
l E c t. found hieroglyphical Writing, when they began VII, to have intercourfe with Egypt; and fome of their writers miftook this ufe, to which they found it applied , for the caufe that had given rife to the invention.
As Writing advanced, from pictures of vifible objects, to hieroglyphics, or fymbols of things invifible; from thefe latter, it advanced, among fome nations, to fimple arbitrary marks which flood for objects, though without any refem- blance or analogy to the objects fignified. Of this nature was the method of Writing practifed among the Peruvians. -They made ufe of fmall cords, of different colours; and by knots upon thefe, of various fizes, and differently ranged, they contrived figns for giving information, and communicating their thoughts to one another.
Of this nature alfo, are the written characters, which are ufed to this day, throughout the great empire of China. The Chinefe have no alphabet of letters, or fimple founds, which compofe their words. But every Angle charader which they ufe in Writing, is fignificant of an idea; it is a mark which {lands for fome one thing, or ob'eCt. By confequence, the number of thefe characters mull be immenfe. It muft correfpond to the whole number of objects, or ideas, which they have occafion to exprefs; that is , to the whole number of words which they employ in Speech nay, it muft be greater than tire number ©£ words; one word, by varying

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the tone , with which it is fpoken, may be L E c T. made to fignify feveral different things. They YiL are laid to have feventy thoufand of thofe written characters. To read and write them to perfection , is the ftudy of a whole life; which fubjeCts learning, among them , to infinite difad- vantage; and muft have greatly retarded the progrefs of all fcience.
Concerning the origin of thefe Chinefe characters, there have, been different opinions, and much controverfy. According to the moft probable accounts, the Chinefe Writing began, like the Egyptian, with pictures, and hieroglyphical figures. Thefe figures being, in progrefs, abbreviated in their form , for the fake of writing them eafily, and greatly enlarged in their number , pahed, at length, into thofe marks or characters which they now ufe, and which have fpread themfelves through feveral nations of the Halt. For we are informed, that the Japanefe, the Tonquinefe, and the Conrans, who fpeak dij^prent languages from one another, and from the inhabitants of China, ufe, however, the fame written characters with them; and, by this means, correfpond in elligibiy with each other in Writing, though ignorant of the Language fpoken in their feveral countries; a plain proof, that the Chinefe characters, like hieroglyphics, independent of Language , are figns of things, not of words.
We have one inftance of this fort of Writing in Europe. Our cyphers, as they are called, or
L 3

e
148 RISE AND PROGRESS
Leg t. arithmetical figures, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. which we VII. have derived from the Arabians, are fignificant marks, precifely of the fame nature with the Chinefe characters. They have no dependence on words; but each figure reprefents an objed; reprefents the number for which it ftands; and, accordingly, on being prefented to the eye, is equally underftood by all the nations who have agreed in the ufe of thefe cyphers, by Italians, Spaniards, French , and Engliih, however different the Languages of thofe nations are from one another, and whatever different names they give, in their refpeCtive Languages, to each numerical cypher.
As far, then, as we have yet advanced, nothing has appeared which refembles our letters, or which can be called Writing, in the fenfe we now give to that term. What we have hitherto feen, were all direCt figns for things, and made no ufe of the medium of found, or words; either figns by representation, as the Mexican pictures; or ligns by analogy, as^lie Egyptian hieroglyphics; or figns by inftitution, as the Peruvian knots, the Chinefe characters, and the Arabian cyphers.
At length, in different nations, men became fenfible of the imperfection, the ambiguity, and the tedioufnefs of each of thefe methods of communication with one another. They began to confider, that by employing figns which fhould ftand not diredtly for things, but for the words which they ufed in Speech for naming

OF WRITING. r49
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thefe things, a eonfiderable advantage would L E c T be gained. For they reflected farther, that VII. though the number of words in every Language be, indeed, very great, yet the number of articulate founds, which are ufed in compofing thefe words, is comparatively fmall. The fame \ Ample founds are continually recurring and repeated ; and are combined together, in various ways, for forming all the variety of words which we utter. They bethought themfelves, therefore, of inventing flgns, not for each word; by itfelf, but for each of thofe Ample founds which we employ in forming our words ; and , by joining together a few of thofe Agns, they faw that it would be practicable to exprefs, in. Writing, the whole combination of founds which our words require.
The firft ftep, in this new progrefs, was the invention of an alphabet of fyllables, which probably preceded the invention of an alphabet of letters, among fome of the ancient nations; and which is faid to be retained, to this day, in Ethiopia, and fome countries of India. By fixing upon a particular mark, or character, for every fyllable in the Language, the number of characters, neceffary to be ufed in Writing, was reduced within a much fmaller compafs than the number of words in the Language. Still, however , the number of characters was great;- and mull have continued to render both reading * and writing very laborious arts.. Till, at laft,, fome happy genius arofe; and tracing the founds
L 3

igo RISE AND PROGRESS
Le c t, made by the human voice, to their mod fimple VII. elements, reduced them to a very few vowels and confonants, and, by affixing to each of thefe the figns which we now call Letters, taught men how, by their combinations, to put into Writing all the different words, or combinations of found, which they employed in Speech. By being reduced to this fimplicity, the art of Writing was brought to its higheft ftate of perfection; and, in this ftate, we now enjoy it in all the countries ot Europe.
To whom we are indebted for this fublime and refined difcovery, does not appear. Concealed by the darknefs of remote antiquity, the great inventor is deprived of thofe honours which would {till be paid to his memory, by all the lovers of knowledge and learning. It appears from the books which Mofes has written, that, among the Jews, and probably among the Egyptians, letters had been invented prior to his age . The univerfal traditio'n among the ancients is, that they were fir ft imported into Greece by Cadmus the Phoenician; who, according to the common fyftem of chronology, was contemporary with Jofhua; according to Sir Ifaac Newton’s fyftem , contemporary with King David. As the Phoenicians are not known to have been the inventors of any art or fcience, though, by means of their extenfive commerce, they propagated the difcoveries made by other nations, the moft probable and natural account of the origin of alphabetical characters is, that

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they took rife in Egypt, the firft civilized kingdom of which we have any authentic accounts , and the great fource of arts and polity among the ancients. In that country, the favourite ftudy of hieroglyphical characters, had directed much attention to the art of Writing. Their hieroglyphics are known to have been intermixed with abbreviated fymbols , and arbitrary marks; whence, at laft, they caught the idea of contriving marks, not for things merely, but for founds. Accordingly, Plato (in Phaedro) exprefsly attributes the invention of letters to Theuth, the Egyptian, who is fuppofed to have been the Hermes, or Mercury, of the Greeks. Cadmus himfelf, though he palled from Phoenicia to Greece, yet is affirmed, by feveral of the ancients , to have been originally of T hebes in Egypt. Moll probably, Mofes carried with him the Egyptian letters into the land of Canaan; and there being adopted by the Phoenicians, who inhabited part of that country, they were tranknitted into Greece.
The alphabet which Cadmus brought into Greece was imperfect, and is faid to have contained only fixteen letters. The reft were afterwards added, according as figns for proper founds were found to be wanting. It is curious to obferve, that the letters which we ufe at this day, can be traced back to this ve-ry alphabet of Cadmus. The Roman alphabet, which obtains •with us, and with moft of the European nations , is plainly formed on the Greek, with a
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L E C T YII.

RISE AND PROGRESS
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L E c T. few variation?. And all learned men obferve, VII. that the Greek characters, efpecially according to the manner in which they are formed in the oldeft infcriptions, have a remarkable conformity with the Hebrew or Samaritan characters, which, it is agreed, are the fame with the Phoenician, or the alphabet of Cadmus. Invert the Greek 9 characters from left to right, according to the
Phoenician and Hebrew manner of Writing, and they are nearly the fame. Befides the conformity of figure, the names or denominations of the letters, alpha, beta, gamma, &c. and the ' order in which the letters are arranged, in all the feveral alphabets, Phoenician, Hebrew, Greek, and Roman, agree fo much, as amounts to a demonftration, that they were all derived originally from the fame fource. An invention fo ufeful and fimple, was greedily received by mankind, and propagated with fpeed and facility through many different nations.
The letters were, originally, written from the right hand towards the left; that is, in a contrary order to what we now praCtife. This manner of Writing obtained among the Affy- rians, Phoenicians, Arabians, and Hebrews; and from fome very old infcriptions, appears to have obtained alfo among the Greeks, Afterwards, the Greeks adopted a new method, of writing their lines alternately from the-right to the left, and from the left to the right, which was called Boujlrophedon ; or, writing after the. manner in which oxen plow the ground. Of

OF WRITING. 153
this, feveral fpecimens dill remain ; particularly the infcription on the famous Sigxan monument; and 11: down to the days of Solon, the legiflator of Athens, this continued to be the common method ' tE: of Writing. At length, the motion from the left hand to the right being found more natural k and commodious, the practice of Writing, in t0: this diredion, prevailed throughout all the L countries of Europe.
cor Writing was long a kind of engraving.
Pillars, and tables of done, werefird employed tb for this purpofe, and afterwards, plates of the
■ - fofter metals, fuch as lead. In proportion as efe Whiting became more common, lighter and more me portable fubdances were employed. The leaves, fc and the bark of certain trees, were ufed in fome it: countries-; and in others, tablets of wood, ve: covered with a thin coat of foft wax, on which tiu the impreffion was made with a dylus of iron.
In later times, the hides of animals, properly 1 fc prepared and polilhed into parchment, were the i,: moft common materials. Our prefent method T: of writing on paper, is an invention of no great-* f er antiquity than the fourteenth century.
Thus I have given fome account of the Pro- iyj£ grefs of thefe two great arts, Speech and Wri- ting; by which men’s thoughts are communicat- :£ j,, ed, and the foundation laid for all knowledge
■ • and improvement. Let us conclude the fubject, .
with comparing, in a few words, fpoken Lan- Tt guage, and written Language; or words utterly 6 ed in our hearing, with words reprefented to
1 E C T.
VII.

154
RISE AND PROGRESS
lECT,
VIE
the eye ; where we fhall find feveral advantages and difadvantages to be balanced on both fides.
The advantages of Writing above 'Speech are, that Writing is both a more extenfive, and a more permanent method of communication. More extenfive ; as it is not confined within the narrow circle of thofe who hear our words, but, by means of written characters, we can fend our thoughts abroad, and propagate them through the world; we can lift our voice, fo as to fpeak to the mod diftant regions of the earth. More permanent alfo; as it prolongs this voice to the moft diftant ages; it gives us the means of recording our fentiments to futurity, and of perpetuating the inftructive memory of pafl tranfactions. It likewife affords this advantage to fuch as read, above fuch as hear, that, having the written characters before their eyes, they can arreft the fenfe of the writer. They can paufe, and revolve, and compare, at their leifure, one paftage with another; whereas, the voice is fugitive and palling; you muft catch the words the moment they are uttered, or yon lofe them for ever.
But, although thefe be fo great advantages of written Language, that Speech, without Writing, would have been very inadequate for the inftruction of mankind; yet we muft not forget to obferve, that fpoken Language has a great fuperiority over written Language, ni point of energy or force. The voice of the living Speaker, makes an imprelfion on the
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OF WRITING.
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^ mind, much ftronger than can be made by the ^ perufal of any Writing. The tones of voice, the 'P® looks and gefture , which accompany difcourfe, le ’ and which no Writing can convey, render dif- niEC courfe, when it is well managed, infinitely more clear, and more expreffive, than the moll accurate 3cn Writing. For tones, looks, and geftures, are natural i • interpreters of the fentiments of the mind. They ^ remove ambiguities; they enforce impreffions; voe they operate on us by means of fympathy, oe! which is one of the moft powerful inftruments ok of perfuafion. Our fympathy is always awakened its. more, by hearing the Speaker, than by reading :o fc his works in our clofet. Hence , though Writing is: may anfwer the purpofes of mere inftruction, tb: yet all the great and high efforts of eloquence her.' mull be made , by means of fpoken , not of the written, Language, ter.
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E C T.
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LECTURE VIII.
L E C T.
VIII.
STRUCTURE or LANGUAGE.
After having given an account of the Rife and Progrefs of Language, I proceed to treat of its Structure, or of General Grammar. The Structure of Language is extremely artificial; and there are few fciences, in which a deeper, or more refined logic, is employed, than in Grammar. It is apt to be flighted by fuperficial thinkers, as belonging to thofe rudiments of knowledge, which were inculcated upon us in our earlieft youth. But what was then inculcated before we could comprehend its principles, would abundantly repay our ftudy in maturer years ; and to the ignorance of it, mult be attributed many of thofe fundamental defects which appear in writing.
Few authors have written with philofophical accuracy on the principles of General Grammar; and , what is more to be regretted, fewer ftiii have thought of applying thofe principles to the Englifh Language. While the French Tongue has long been an objebt of attention to many able and ingenious writers of that nation, who

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 157
have confidered its conftrudtion, and determined .. its propriety with great accuracy, the Genius ^ and Grammar or the Englifh, to the reproach of the country, have not been ftudied with equal care, or afcertained with the fame precifion. Attempts have been made, indeed, of late, towards fupplying this defedt; and fome abl£ wri- ^ ters have entered on the fubjedt; but much ' 1 remains yet to be done.
I DO not propofe to give any fyftem, either of ti: of Grammar in general , or of Englifh Grammar |to:- in particular. A minute difcuffion of the niceties jib, of Language would carry us too much off j jr from other objects , which demand our attention •lui in this courfe of Lectures. But I propofe to d * give a general view of the chief principles relat- ing to this fubjedt, in obfervations on the feint vera l pares of which Speech or Language is upj, compofed ; remarking, as I go along, the pecu- jjuj liarities of our own Tongue. After which, I fhall make fome more particular remarks on the
■ c Genius of the Englifh Language.
The firft thing to be confidered, is, the di-
■ vilion of the feveral parts of Speech. The effen- tial parts of Speech are the fame in all Languages. There muft always be fome words which
“jV, denote the names of objedts, or mark the fub- j.j. ject of difeourfe; other words , which denote )a the qualities of thofe objects, and exprefs what j“ L j we affirm concerning them; and other words, which point out their connections and relations, 1 / Hence, fubftantives, pronouns, adjedtives , verbs,
Leci,
VIII.
«

i 5 8 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
Lect.
VIII.
prepofitioas, and conjunctions, mult neceflarily be found in all Languages. The molt Ample and comprehenfive divifion of the parts of Speech is, into fubftantives, attributives, and connectives *. Subftantives , are all the words which exprefs the names of objects, or the fubje&s of difcourfe; attributives, are all the words which exprefs any attribute, property, or aCtion of the former,- connectives, are what exprefs the connections, relations, and dependencies, which take place among them. The common grammatical divifion of Speech into eight parts; nouns, pronouns , verbs, participles, adverbs , prepofitions , interjections , and conjunctions , is not very logical, as might be eafily fhewn; as it comprehends, under the general term of nouns, both fubftantives aid adjedtives , which are parts of Speech genetically
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* Ouindilian informs .us, that this was the molt ancient divifion. “ Turn videbit quot & qure funt partes orationis. “ Quanquam de numero parurn convenit. Veteres enim, tc quorum fuer^nt Ariftoteles atquc Theodides, verba modo, c ‘ & nomina, & convindiones . tradiderunt. Videlicet, c ‘ quod in verbis vim fermonis, in nominibus materia “ ( quia alterum eft quod loquimur, alterum de quo loqui- “ mur ), in convindionibus autem complexum eorum etfe “ judicarunt; quas conjundiones a plerifque did ftio; fed c ‘ hsec videtur ex a-whT/j.u magis propria tranflatio. Paulatim “ a philofoplricis ac maxitne a ftoicis, audas eft Humerus; cc ac prirnum convindionibus articuli adjecci; poft pncpo- “ fitiones ; nominibus , appellatio , deinde pronomen ; tc deinde milium verbo participium; ipiis verbis, adver- “ bia. Lib. I. cap. iv.
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STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 159
IG&
‘ K: - and effentially diftincft; while it makes a feparate Lect 111115 part of fpeech of participles, which are no other VIII. k r than verbal adjectives. However, as thefe are the terms to which our ears have been moll te familiarifed , and, as an exadt logical divifion is of no great confequence to our prefent purpofe,
3t8 it will be better to make ufe of thefe known prep terms than of any other.
a k We are naturally led to begin with the con- ac: federation of fubftantive nouns, which are the tiffi foundation of all Grammar, and may be con- Spec fidered as the molt ancient part of Speech. For,
,p;-. affuredly, as foon as men had got beyond fimple i, j:, interjections, or exclamations of paffion, and s 1 ; began to communicate themfelves by difeourfe, i be they would be under a neceffity of affigning [*■ names to the objects they faw around them 5 iji; which, in Grammatical Language, is called, the Invention of fubftantive nouns *. And here,
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* I do not mean to afTert, that, among all nations, the firft invented words were fimple and regular fubftantive nouns. Nothing is more difficult and uncertainthan to afeertain the precife fteps by which men proceeded in the formation of Language. Names for objects muft, doubt- lefs , have arifen in the molt early ftages of Speech. But, it is probable, as the learned .author of the Treatife , On the Origin ami Progrcfs of Language , has fhown (vol. i. p. 371. 3 9S-), that, among fever. 1 favage tribes, fome of the firft articulate founds that were formed, denoted a whole fentence rather than the name of a particular object ; conveying fome information , or exprelling fome defires or fears , fuited to the circumftances in which that tribe was placed, or relating to the Bufinefs they had

i6o STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L E c T. at our firft fetting out, fomewhat curious occurs.
VIII. The individual objects which furround us, are' infinite in number. A lavage, wherever he looked, beheld forefts and trees. To give fepa- rate names to every one of thefe trees, would have been an endlefs and impracticable undertaking. His firft objedt was , to give a name to that particular tree , whofe fruit relieved his hunger, or whofe fhade protected him from the fun. But obferving, that though other trees were 1 diftinguifhed from this by peculiar qualities of fize or appearance, yet, that they alfo agreed and refembled one another , in certain common.
jnoft frequent occafion to carry on ; as , the lion is coming, the river is.fwelling, &c. Many of their firft words, it is like wife probable, were not limple fubftantive nouns, but fubftantives, accompanied with fume of thofe attri- butes, in conjunction with which they were moft frequently accuftomed to behold them ; as, the great bear, the little hut, the wound made by the hatchet, &c. Of all which, the Author produces inftances from feveral of the American Languages; and it is, undoubtedly, fuitabie to the natural courfe of the operations of the human mind,. thus to begin with particulars the moft obvious to fenfe, and to proceed, from thefe , to more general expreffions, He likewife obferves, that the words of thofe primitive tongues are far from being , as we might fuppofe them, rude and Ihort, and crowded with confonants ; but, on the contrary, are, for the moft part, long words, and full of vowels. This is the confequence of their being formed upon the natural founds which the voice utters with moft cafe, a litde varied and diftinguifhdU by articulation; and he fhows this to hold, in fadt, among moft of the barbarous Languages which are known.
qualities,

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 161
qualities , fuch as fpringing from a root , and L % c t. bearing branches and leaves * he formed , in his IV. mind, fome general idea of thofe common qualities , and ranging all that potfeffed them under one clafs of objects®, he called that whole clafs a tree. Longer experience taught him to fubdivids this genus into the feveral fpecies of oak, pine alh , and the reft , according as his obfervation extended to the feveral qualities in which thefe trees agreed or differed.
But , {fill , he made ufe only of general terms in Speech. For the oak, the pine , and the afh, were names of whole ciafTes of objeds ; each of which included an immenfe number of undiftin- guilhed individuals. Here then , it appears, that though the formation of abftrad , or general conceptions , is fuppofed to be a difficult operation of the mind ; fuch conceptions muft have entered into the very fir ft formation of Language. For , if we except only the proper names of perfons , fuch as Ctefar, John , Peter, all the other fub- ftantive nouns which we employ in difcourfe, are the names, not of individual objeds, but of very extenfive genera, or fpecies of objeds ; as, man, lion, houfe, river, &c. We are not, however , to imagine , that this invention of general , or abftrad terms , requires any great exertion of metaphyfical capacity : For, by whatever fteps the mind proceeds in it, it is certain , that, when men have once obferved refemblances among objects , they are naturally inclined to call all thofe which refemble one »
Vol. I. M

1 6 z STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
E c T. another, by one common name ; and of courfe, VIII. to clafs them under one fpecies. We may daily obferve this pradtifed by children , in their firft attempts towards acquiring Language.
But now , after Language had proceeded as far as I have dcfcribed, the notification which it made of objects was ftill very imperfedt: For, when one mentioned to another, in difcourfe, any fubftantive noun ; fuch as, man , lion , or tree , how was it to be known which man , which lion, or which tree he meant, among the many com. prehended under one name ? Here occurs a very curious , and a very ufeful contrivance for fpeci- fying the individual object intended, by means of that part of Speech called , the Article.
The fofce of the Article confifts , in pointing, or finghng out from the common mafs , the individual of which we mean to fpeak. In Englilh, we have two Articles, a and -the ; a is more general and nr,limited ; the more definite and fpecial. A is much the fame with one, and marks only any one individual of a fpecies ; that individual being either unknown, or left undetermined; as, a lion, a king. The, which polfeffes more properly the force of the Article, afeertains fome known cr determined individual of the fpecies ; as, the lion , the king.
Articles are words of great ufe in Speech. In fome Languages, however, they are not found. The Greeks have but one Article, o n «> which anfwers to our definite, or proper Article, m the. 1 hey have no word which apfwers to our

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erfed: idii i, it
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STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 163
Article a ; but they fupply its place by the Lie T abfence of their Article: Thus, 'RxciXt-jg fignilies, "VIII. a King; 0 Vcttritevg, the king. The Latins have no Article. In the room of it, they employ pronouns, as, hie* ille, ifte, for pointing out the cbjedts which they want to diftinguilh.
“ Nofter fermo,” fays ’Quindtiiian, C£ articu!os „ non defiderat, ideoque in alias partes orationis fparguntur.” This, however, appears to me a defedl in the Latin Tongue; as Articles contribute much to the clearnefs and precifion of Language.
In order to illuftratc this, remark, what difference there is in the meaning of the following expreffions in Englifh, depending wholly on the different employment of the Articles: “The fon 5, of a king.—The fon of the king—A fon of 3, the king’s.” Each of thefe three phrafes has an entirely different meaning, which I need not explain, becaufe any one who underftands the Language, conceives it clearly at frnff hearing, through the different application of the Articles, a and the. Whereas, in Latin,#'Filius regis,” is wholly undetermined; and to explain, in which of thefe three fenfes it is to be underflood, for it may bear any of them, a circumlocution of feveral words muff be ufed. In the fame manner, “Are you a king?” “Are you the „ king?” are queftions of quite feparate import; which, however, are confounded together in the Latin phrafe, “ es-ne tu • rex ?” “Thou art „ a man,” is a very general and harmlefs portion; but, “thou art the man,” is an afferticn,
1 YI a

164 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L e c t. capable, we know, of ftriking terror and remorfc VIII. Into the heart. Thefe obfervations illuftrate the force and importance of Articles: And, at the fame time, I gladly lay hold of any opportunity of Ill owing the advantages of .our own Language.
Besides this quality of being particularifed by the Article, three affedtions belong to fub. ftantive nouns, number, gender, and cafe., which require our confideration.
Number diflinguifhes them as one, or many, of the fame kind, called the Singular and Plural; a diftindtion found in all Languages, and which mud, indeed, have been coeval with the very infancy of Language ; as there were few things which men' had more frequent occafion to ex- prefs, than the difference between one and many. For the greater facility of expreffing it, it|has, in all Languages, been marked by fome variation made upon the fubliantive noun; as we fee in Eng- lifli, our plural is commonly formed by the addition of tlaeletter, S. In the Hebrew, Greek, and fome other ancient Languages, we find, not only a plural, but a dual number ; the rife of which may very naturally be accounted for, from feparate terms of numbering not being yet invented, and one, two, and many, being all, or, at leaf!, the chief numeral diftindtions which men, at firft, had any occafion to take notice of.
Gender , is an affection of fubftantive nouns, which will lead us into more difcuffion than number. Gender, being founded on the diltincli- on of the tw o fexes, it is plain, that, in a

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 165
proper fenfe, it can only find place in the names Le c 1 of living creatures, which admit the diftinclion VIII. of male and female; and, therefore, can be ranged under the mafculine or feminine genders.
All other fubftantive nouns ought to belong, to what grammarians call, the Neuter Gender, which is meant to imply the negation of either fex. But, with refpect to this diftribution, fome- what fingular hath obtained in the flrudture of Language. For, in correfpondence to that diftmction of male and female fex, which runs through all the dalles of animals, men have, in molt Languages, ranked a great number of inanimate objedts alfo, under the like diftindtions of mafculine and feminine. Thus we find it, both in the Greek and Latin Tongues. Gladiur, a fword , for inftance, is mafculine ; fagitta , an arrow, is feminine; and this affignation of fex to inanimate objects, this diflindtion of them into mafculine and feminine, appears often to be entirely capricious; derived from no other principle than the cafual Itrudture of the Language, which refers to a certain gender, words of a certain .termination. In the Greek and Latin, however, all inanimate objects are not diftributed into mafculine and feminine, but many of them are alfo claffed, where all of them ought to have been, under the neuter gender; as, templum, a church; fedile , a feat.
But the genius of the French and Italian Tongues differs, in this refpect, from the Greek and Latin. In the French and Italian, from

i66 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L e C t. whatever caufe it has happened, fo it is, that VHJ. the neuter gender is wholly unknown , and that all their names of inanimate objects are put upon the fame footing with living creatures; and diftributed, without exception, into mafculine and feminine. The French have two articles, the mafculine le, and the feminine /a; and one or other of thefe is prefixed to all fubftantive nouns in the Language, to denote their gender. The Italians make the fame univerfal ufe of their articles il and lo , for the mafculine; and la , for the feminine.
Is the Englilh Language, it is remarkable that there obtains a peculiarity quite oppofite. In the French and Italian, there is no neuter gender. In the Englilh, when we ufe common difcourfe , all fubftantive nouns, that are not names of living creatures, are neuter, without exception. He , she , and it, are the marks of the three genders; and we always ufe it, in fpcaking of any cbjedt where there is no fex, or where the fex is not known. The Englilh is, perhaps, the only Language in the known worid (except the Chinefe, which is faid to agree with it in this particular), where the diflindion of gender is properly and philo- fopbically applied in the ufe of words, and confined, as it ought to be, to mark the real diftinclions of male and female.
Hence arifes a very great and fignal advantage of the Englilh Tongue, which it is of confequence

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
AGE
167
it?
'a, r; .rep ite
0 n. ■jco r.
I.
ilfc leir _e • eitl: tit;
tte iji .< no: cfecs tk:£ □ . ■ K Du
lift:
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lift
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to remark*. Though in common difcourfe, Lect as I have already obferved , we employ only the- “VIIT. proper and literal diftindtion of fexes ; yet the genius of the Language permits us, whenever it will add beauty to our difcourfe , to make the names of inanimate objects mafculine or feminine in a metaphorical fenfe; and when we do fo, We are underftood to quit the literal ftyle, and to ufe one of, the figures of difcourfe.
For inflance; if I am fpeaking of virtue, in the courfe of ordinary converfation , or of ftrict reafoning, I refer the word to no fex or gender;
I fay, „ Virtue.is its own reward, ” or, “it is “ the law of our nature.” But if I chufe to rife into a higher tone; if I feek to embellifh and animate my difcourfe, I give a fex to virtue,
1 fay , “ She defcends from Heaven ; ” “ fhe alone “ confers true honour upon man,” “her gifts “ are the only durable rewards.” By this means, we have it in our power to vary our ftyle at pleafure. By making a very flight alteration, we can perfonify any object that we chufe to introduce with dignity; and by this change of manner, we give warning, that we are paffing from the ftridt and logical , to the ornamented and rhetorical ftyle.
This is an advantage which , not only every poet, but every good writer and fpeaker in prole, is, on many occafions, glad to lay hold of, and
* The following obfervations on the metaphorical ufe of genders, in the Englifh Language, are taken from Mr. Harris’s Hermes.
M 4

168 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
Lect, improve : and it is an advantage peculiar to our VUL Tongue; no other Language poffeffes it. For, in other Languages, every word has one fixed gender, mafculine, feminine, or neuter, which can , upon no occafion, be changed; for
inftance, in Greek, virtus in Latin, and la vertu in French , are uniformly feminine. She , muft always be the pronoun anfwering to the word, whether you be writing in poetry or profe, wire, ther you be ufing the ftyle of reafoning, or that of declamation: whereas, in Englifh, we can either exprefs ourfelves with the philofophical accuracy of giving no gender to things inanimate; or by giving them gender, and transforming them into perfons, we adapt them to the ftyle of poetry, and, when it is proper, we enliven profe.
It deferves to be further remarked on this fubjedt, that, when we employ that liberty which our Language allows , of afcnbing fex to any inanimate objedt, we have not, however, the liberty of making it of what gender we pleafe, mafculine or feminine ; but are , in general, fubjedt- ed to fome rule of gender which the currency of Language has fixed to that object. The foundation of that rule is imagined, by Mr. Harris, in his 1 “ Philofophical Enquiry into the Principles of Grammar,” to be laid in a certain dif- tant refemblance, or analogy, to the natural; dif: tindtion of the two fexes.
Thus, according to him, we commonly give the mafculine gender to thofe fubftantive nouns ufed figuratively, which are confpicuous for the attributes of imparting, or communicating; which

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. t69
B are by nature flrong and efficacious, either to good L e c ■ f ! or evil; or which have a claim to fome eminence, VIII e: whether laudable or not. Thofe again, he 5 imagines, to be generally made feminine, which P' are confpicuous for the attributes of containing, kf and of bringing forth ; which have more of the G paffive in their nature, than the adlive; which are peculiarly beautiful, or amiable; or which G have refpect to fuch exceffes as are rather femin- 01. ine than mafculine. Upon thefe principles he we. takes notice, that the fun is always put in the (op mafculine gender with us; the moon in the ic feminine, as being the receptacle of the fun’s nr: light. The earth is, univerfally, feminine, ftp A ffiip, a country, a city, are likewife made a: feminine, as receivers, or containers. God, in or all Languages, is mafculine. Time, we •vs: make mafculine, on account of its mieffitv to: efficacy; virtue, feminine, from its beauty, and te„ its being the object of love. Fortune is always y- feminine. Mr. Harris imagines, that the reafons kc which determine the gender of fuch capital words as thefe, hold in moll other Languages, i, as well as the Engliih. This, however, appears doubtful. A variety of circumftances, which kjfc feem cafual to us, becaufe we cannot reduce them to principles, muft, unqueftionably, have influenced the original formation of Languages; and in no article whatever does Language appear l r - to have been more capricious, and to have , proceeded lefs according to fixed rule, than in j.. the impofition of gender upon things inanimate; efpecially among fuch nations as have applied

i?o STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L E C T.
VIII.
the diftindion of mafculine and feminine to all fnbftantive nouns.
Having difcuffed gender, I proceed, next, to another remarkable peculiarity of fnbftantive nouns, which, in the ftyle of grammar, is called, their declenfion by cafes. Let us, firft, confider ■ what cafes fignify. In order to underhand this. It is neceffary to obferve , that, after men lead given names to external objeds, had partial, larii'ed them by means of the article, and diftin- gujftied them by number and gender, Hill their Language remained extremely impeded, till they had deviled fome method of expreffing the relations which thole objeds bore, one towards another. They would find it of little ufe to have a name for man, lion, tree, river, without being able, at the fame time, to fignify how thefe hood with refped to each other; whether, as approaching to, receding from, joined with, and the like. Indeed, the relations which ob ] eels bear to one another, are immenfely numerous; and therefore, to devife names for them all, muft have been among the laft and moll difficult refinements of Language. But, in its moft early periods, it was abfolutely neceffary to exprefs, in fome way or other , fuch relations as were moft important, and as occurred moft frequently in common Speech. Hence the genitive, dative, and ablative cafes of nouns, which exprefs the noun itfeif, together with thofe relations, of, to, jrom, •with, and by ; the relations which, of all others , we have the moft frequent occafion to mention. The proper idea, then of cafes b
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STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
a
^ declenfion, is no other than an expreffion of the ftate', or relation, which one object bears to another, denoted by fome variation made t upon the name of that object, molt commonly in the final letters, and by feme Languages, in M- the initial.
tfc All Languages however, do not agree in this ri; mode of expreffion. The Greek, Latin, and ad: feveral other Languages, ufe declenfion. The ic Englifh, French, and Italian, do not; or, at r,molt, ufe it very imperfectly. In place of the ect; variations of cafes, thefe modern Tongues ex- ;;eL prefs the relations of objects, by means of the me: words called Prepofitions, which are the names itt!: of thofe relations, prefixed to the name of the er,: object. Englifh nouns have no cafe whatever, i»if except a fort of genitive, commonly formed by :;;v, the addition of the letter S to the noun; as when oe we fay “ Dryden’s Poems, ” meaning the Poems J;- of Dryden. Our perfonal pronouns have alfo a tEJ cafe, which anfwers to the accufative of the rt r Latin, 7, me, — he, him, — -who, -whom. There is [0 jj £ nothing, then, or at lealt very little, in the Grammar of our Language, which correfponds t|) g to declenfion in the ancient Languages.
Two queftions, refpecting this fubjecl, may be put. Firft , Which of thefe methods of expreffing relations, whether that by declenfion, . or that by prepofitions, was the moft ancient ufage in Language? And next, Which of them has the beffc effect? Both methods, it is plain, c „„ are the fame as to the fenfe, and differ only in form. For the fignificancy of the Roman Lan-
j I C T,
VIII.

0
i72 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L e c T. guage would not have been altered, though the, -r VIII. nouns, like ours, had been without cafes,
provided they had employed prepofitions; and j ri though, to exprefs a difciple of Plato, they had - ; faid, “ Difcipulus de Plato,” like the modern { jj Italians, in place of “ Difcipulus Platonis. ” '
Now , with refpedt to the antiquity of cafes, ^ although they may , on firft view , feem to .pi conflitute a more artificial method than the ^ other , of denoting relations , yet there are ^ ftrong reafons for thinking that this was the m earlieft method practifed by men. We find, aK in fact, that declenfions and cafes are ufed in rf |. molt of what are called the IV 1 other Tongues, 5™ or Original Languages, as well as in the Greek 4 and Latin. And a very natural and fatisfying [ om account can be given why this ufage fhould (1 [ e have early obtained. Relations are the mod abftradt and metaphyfical ideas of any which a j men have occafion to form, when they are confidered by themfelves , and feparated from ^ the related object. It would puzzle any man> as has been well obferved by an Author on this y,, fubject, to give a diftinct account of what is a meant by fuch a word as of, or from ; when it ftands by itfelf, and to explain all that may be included under it. The firft rude inventors of „ Language, therefore, would be long of arriving (, at fuch general terms. In place of confidering any relation in the abftradt, and devifing a name $ for it, they would much more eafiJy conceive , it in conjunction with a particular object; and ;

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE,
i73
A£
10:
fc;
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tb:
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itya w , id ;;
they would exprefs their conceptions of it, by ] varying the name of that object through all the
different cafes; ho mini s , of a man; homini, to a man; homine , with a man, &c.
Rut, though this method of declenfion was , probably , the only method which men employed, at firft, for denoting relations, yet, in progrefs of time, many other relations being obferved, befides thofe which are fignified by the cafes of nouns, and men alfo becoming more capable of general and metaphyfical ideas, fepar- ate names were gradually invented for all the relations which occurred, forming that part of Speech which we now call Prepofitions. Pre- pofitions being once introduced , they were found to be capable .of fupplying the place of cafes, by being prefixed to the nominative of the noun. Hence, it came to pafs, that, as nations were intermixed by migrations and con- quefts, and were obliged to learn, and adopt the Languages of one another, prepofitions fup- planted the ufe of cafes and declenfions. When the Italian Tongue, for inftance, fprung out of the Roman, it was found more eafy and fimple, by the Gothic nations, to accommodate a few prepofitions to the nominative of every noun, and to fay, di Roma , al Roma , di Carthago , al Carthago , than to remember all the variety of terminations, Roma, Romam , Carthaginis, Cartha- ginem , which the ufe of declenfions required in the ancient nouns. By this progrefs .we can give a natural account how nouns, in our modem
e c T. VIII.

174 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
E c t. Tongues, come to be fo void of declenfion: A VIII. progrefs which is fully illuftrated in Dr. Adam Smith’s ingenious Differtation on the Formation of Languages.
With regard to the other queftion on this fubject, Which of thefe two methods is of the greateft utility and beauty? we fhall find advantages and difadvantages to be balanced on both fides. There is no doubt that , by abolishing cafes, we have rendered the ftruclure of modem Languages more fimple. We have difembarrafifed it of all the intricacy which arofe from the different forms of declenfion , of which the Romans had no fewer than five; and from all the irregularities in thefe feveral declenfion?. We have thereby rendered our Languages more eafy to be acquired, and lefs fubject to the perplexity of rules. But, though the fimplicity and eafe of Language be great and eftimable advantages, yet there are alfo fuch difadvantages attending the modern method , as leave the balance , on the whole, doubtful, or rather incline it to the fide of antiquity.
For in the f.rfh place, by our conftant ufe of prepofitions for . exprefling the relations of things, we have filled Language with a multitude of thofe little words, which are eternally occurring in every fentence, and may be thought thereby to have encumbered Speech, by an addition of terms ; and by rendering it more prolix , to have enervated its force. In the fecond place, we have certainly rendered the

•'•'k STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 175
fc:.:' found of Language lefs agreeable to tbe ear. by Lect, W depriving it of that variety and fweetnefs, which VIII. Htarofe fiom the length of words, and the change of terminations, occafioned by the cafes in the :iic Greek and Latin. But, in the third place, the iodsB mofb material difadvantage is, that, by this 11 fc abolition of cafes, and by a fimilar alteration, of nee: which I am to fpeak in the next Ledture, in iy the conjugation of verbs , we have deprived !rec: ourfclves of that liberty of tranfpofition in the lik arrangement of words, which the Ancient Lan- ■rfe : guages enjoyed.
[ •• In the Ancient Tongues, as I formerly ob- v' ferved, the different terminations, produced by l declenfion and conjugation , pointed out the reference of the feveral words of a fentence to one another, without the aid of juxtapofition, jjj ■ fuft’ered them to be placed, without ambiguity,
, in whatever order was mo ft fuited to give jjp emphafis to the meaning , or harmony to the found. But now, having none of thofe marks of relation incorporated with the words them- felves, we have no other way left us,of fhowing what words in a fentence are moft clofely connected in meaning, than that of placing them clofe by one another in the period. The meaning of the fentence is brought out in feparate mem- 11 .bers and portions; it is broken down and divided.
Whereas the ftructure of the Greek and Roman ,l fentences, by the government of their nouns and verbs, prefented the meaning fo interwoven and i . compounded in all its parts , as to make us

i 7 6 structure of language.
L e c t. perceive it in one united view. The doling VIII. words of the period afcertained the relation of each member to another; and all that ought to. be connected in our idea, appeared connected ia the expreflion. Hence, more brevity, more vivacity, - more force. That luggage of particles (as an ingenious Author happily expreiTes it), which we are obliged always to carry along with us, both clogs ftyle, and enfeebles fentiment *.
Pronouns are the clafs of words moll nearly related to fubftantive nouns; being, as the name
* “ The various terminations of the fame word, whether “ verb or noun, are always conceived to be more inti- ££ mately connected with the term which they ferve to length-; cc en, than the additional, detached , and in themfelver “ infignificant particles , which we are obliged to employ “ as connectives to our fignificant words. Our method “ gives almoft the fame expofure to the one as to the “ other , making the fignificant parts , and the infignificant “ equally confpicuous; theirs, much oftener finks, as it “ were, the former into the latter , at once preferring their “ ufe, and hiding their weaknefs. Our modern Languages “ may, in this refpect, be compared to the art of the “ carpenter in its rudeft ftate; when the union of the “ materials, employed by the artifan , could be effected only “ by the help of thofe external and coarfe implements, pins, “ nails , and cramps. The ancient Languages refemble the “ fame art in its moft improved Hate , after the inven- “ tion of dovetail joints, grooves , and mortices; when “ thus all the principal junctions are effected, by forming pro- “ perly , the extremities , or terminations , of the pieces “ to be joined. For , by means of thefe, the union of “ the parts is rendered clofer, while that by which that “ union is produced , is fcarcely perceivable.” The Philo- S£ fophy of Rhetoric, by Dr. Campbell, vol. ii. p. 412-
imports,
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I!'
if

^ STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 177
imports, reprefentatives, or fubftitutes, of nouns. I, thou, he, she, and it,' are no other than an abridged way of naming the perfon?, or objects, with which we have immediate in ercourfe, or to which we are obliged frequen ly to refer in ■ difcourfe. Accordingly, they are fubjecl to the ■: fame modifications with fubftantive nouns, of ff.:. number, gender, and cafe. Only, with refpect ■ to gender, we may obferve, that the pronouns rise of the firft and lecond perfon, as they are called, /and thou, do not appear to have had the diftincti- ons of gender given them in any language, for ~~ this plain reafon , that, as they always refer to perfons who are prefect to each other, when ”j"'. they fpeak, their lex muft appear, and therefore ^ needs not be marked by a mafeuline or feminine pronoun. But, as the third perfon may’ be abfent, or unknown , the diftinchon of gender there ■■It becomes necelfary; and accordingly, in Englifh , it hath all the three genders belonging to it; he, she , it. As to cafes; even thofe Languages Gj which have dropped them in fubflantive nouns, fometimes retain more of them in pronouns, for aii the fake of the greater readinefs in expreffing 'relations; as pronouns are words of fuch frequent —' occurrence in difcourfe. In Englifh, molt of E-, our grammarians hold the perfonal pronouns to /G have two cafes , befides the nominative; a genitive, and an accufative , — I, mine, me ; —. ... thou, thine, thee ; — he , his, him; -mho, -xchofe , ' -whom.
Vox.. I.
E C T,
VIII.
N

i 7 8 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
& e c t. In the firft ftage of Speech, it is probable that VIII. the places of thofe pronouns were fupplied, by- pointing to the objecft when prefent, and naming it when abfent. For one can hardly think that pronouns were of early invention; as they are words of fuch a particular and artificial nature. 1, thou, he, it, it is to be obferved, are not names peculiar to any fingle object, but fo very general, that they may be applied to all perfons, or objects, whatever, in certain circumftances. It, is the moft general term that can pofiibly be conceived, as it may ftand for any one thing in the univerfe, of which we fpeak. At the fame time, thefe pronouns have this quality, that , in the circumftances in which they are applied , they never denote more than one prccife individual; which they afcertain, and fpecify, mudh in the fame manner as is done by the article. So that pronouns are, at once, the moft general, and the moft particular words in Language. They are commonly the molt irregular and troublefome words to the learner, in the Grammar of all Tongues; as being the words moft in common ufe, and fubjeded thereby to the greateft varieties.
Adjectives, or terms of quality, fuch as, great, little, black, white, yours, ours, the are plained and limpleft of all that clafs of words which are termed attributive. They are found in all Languages, and, in all Languages, muft have been very early invented; as ob'eds could not be diftinguiflied from_ each other, nor any inter-

:agi
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 179
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courfe be carried on concerning them, till once names were given to their different qualities.
I have nothing to obferve in relation to them, except that fingularity which attends them in the Greek and Latin, of having the fame form given them with fubftantive nouns; being declined, like them, by cafes, and fubjected to the like diftinctions of number and gender. Whence it has happened, that grammarians have made them to belong to the fame part of Speech , and divided the noun into fubftantive and adjective; an arrangement, founded more on attention to the external form of words, than to their nature and force. For adje&ives, or terms of quality, have not, by their nature, the lealt refemblance to fubftantive nouns, as they never exprefs any thing which can poflibly fubfjft by itfelf; which is the very effence of the fubftantive noun. They are, indeed, more a-kin to verbs, which, like them, exprefs the attribute of fome fubftance.
It may, at firft view, appear fomewhat odd and fantaftic , that adjedives Ihould, in thefe ancient Languages, have affumed fo much the form of fubftantives; ftnce neither number, nor gender, nor cafes, nor relations have any thing to do, in a prope r^fenfe, with mere qualities, fuch as, good or great, foft or hard. And yet bonus , and manm s , and tener, have their fingular and plural, their mafculine and feminine, their genitives and datives , like any of the names of fubftances, or perfons. But this can be accounted for , from the genius of thofe
N 2
E C T.
VIII.

Jgc STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
I
1 e c t. Tongues. They avoided, as much as poffible, VIII. confxdering qualities feparately, or in the abftrad They made them a part, or appendage , of the fubftance which they ferved to diftinguilh; they made the adjedive depend on its fubftan- tive, and refemble it in termination, in number, and gender, in order that the two might coalefce the more intimately, and be joined in the form of expreffion, as they were in the nature of things. The liberty of tranfpofition, too, which thofe Languages indulged , required fuch a method as this to be followed. For, allowing the related words of a fentence to be placed at a diftance from each other, it required the relation of adjedives to their proper fubftantives to be pointed out, by fuch fimilar circumftances of form and termination , as , according to the grammatical Ryle, fhould (how their concordance. When I fay, in Englilh, the “ Beautiful wife ,, of a brave man,” the juxtapohtion of the words prevents all ambiguity. But when I fay, in Latin, “ F'ormofa fortis viri uxor; ” it is only the agreement, in gender, number , and cafe, of the adjedive “ forma fa, ” which is the firft word of the fentence , with the fubftantive “ uxor,” -Which is the Jafir word that declares the meanincr.

LECTURE IX.
STRUCTURE of LANGUAGE. ENGLISH TONGUE.
Of the whole clafs of words that are called L e c attributive, indeed, of all the parts of Speech, -IX. the moll complex , by far , is the verb. It is chiefly in this part of Speech, that*the fubtile and profound metaphyfic of Language appears; and , therefore , in examining the nature and different variations of the verb, there might be room for ample difcuffion. But as I am fenfible that fuch grammatical difcuffions, when they are purfued far , become intricate and obfcure , I Ihall avoid dwelling any longer on this fubjecl, than feems abfolutely neceffary.
The verb is fo far of the fame nature with the adjedlive , that it expreffes , like it, an attribute, or propriety, of fome perfon or thing.
But it does more than this. For, in all verbs, in every Language, there are no lefs than three things implied at once ; the attribute of fome fubftantive, an affirmation concerning that attribute, and time. Thus, when I fay, “ the fun m fhineth. ” Shining, is the attribute afcribed to
N 3

182 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L E c T. the fun; the prefent time is marked; and an IX. affirmation is included , that this property of fhining belongs, at that time, to the fun. The participle, “ Ihining, ” is merely an adjective, which denotes an attribute, or property, and alfo exprelfes time; but carries no affirmation. The infinitive mood, “ to llnne, ” may be called the name of the verb; it carries neither time nor affirmation; but fimply exprelfes that attribute, adtion , or Hate of things, which is to be the fubjedt of the other moods and tenfes. Hence the infinitive is often a-kin to a fubftantive noun; and, both in Fnglilh and Latin, is fometimes conflrudtecl as fuch. As, “ Scire tuum nihil eft.” “ Dulce & decorum ell pro patria mori. ” And, in Fnglilh in the fame manner. “To wrre cc well is difficult; to fpeak eloquently is ftill tc more difficult. ” But as, through all the other tenfes and moods, the affirmation runs, and is elfential to them; “ the fun Ihineth, was Ihining, 55 ffione, will fhine , would have Ihone,” &c. the affirmation feems to be that which chiefly diftinguilhes the verb from the other parts of Speech , and gives it its moll confpicuous power. Hence there can be no fentence or complete propofition, without a verb either expreffed or implied. For, whenever we fpeak, we always mean to afTert, that fomething is, or is not; and the word which carries this affertion, or affirmation , is a verb. From this fort of eminence belonging to it, this part of Speech hath received

AGE
STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 183
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Its name ; verb, from tire Latin, verbum, or the Lect. •word , by way of diftinction. IX,
Verbs, therefore, from their importance and neceffity in Speech, mult hatm been coeval with men’s fir ft attempts towards the formation of Language: Though, indeed, it mult have been the work of long time, to rear them up to that accurate and complex ftructure, which they now poffefs. It feems very probable, as Dr. Smith hath fuggefted , that the radical verb, or the firft form of it, in molt Languages,, would be, what we now call, the Imperfonal Verb. c ‘ It £c rains; it thunders; it is light; it is agreeable;” and the like; as this is the very fimpleft form of the verb, and merely affirms the exiftence of an event, or of a ftate of things. By degrees, after pronouns were invented , fuch verbs became perfonal, and were branched out into all the variety of tenfes and moods.
T he tenfes of the verb are contrived to imply the feveral diftindtions of time. Of thefe, I mull take fome notice, in order to fhow the admirable accuracy with which Language is conftrudted.
We think, commonly, of no more tl an the three great divifions of time, into the paft, the prefent, and be future: and we might imagine, that if verbs had been fo contrived, as fimply to exprefs thefe , no more was needful. But Language proceeds with much greater fubtilty.
It fplits time into its feveral moments. It conli- ders time as never Handing ftill , but always flowing; things paft, as more or lefs perfectly
N 4

184 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L E c T. completed ; and things future , as more or lefs IX. remote, by different gradations. Hence the great variety of tenfes in moft Tongues.
The prefent may, indeed, be always con- fidered as one indivifible point, fufceptible of no variety. u I write, or, I am writing; J'cribo,” But it is not fo with the paft. There is no Language fo poor, but it hath two or three tenfes to exp refs the varieties of it. Ours hath no fewer than four. i. A paft adtion may be confidered as left unfinifhed; which makes the imperfect tenfe, “ I was writing; fcribibam . ” %. As juft
now finifhed. This makes the proper perfect tenfe, which, in Knglifh, is always expreffed by the help of the auxiliary verb, “ 1 have “ written. ” 3. It may be confidered as finifhed
fome time ago; the particular time left indefinite. K I wrote ; I crip it ; ” which may either fignify, cc I wrote yefterday, or I wrote a twelvemonth “ ago. ” This is what grammarians call an adrift or indefinite paft. 4. It may be confidered as finifhed before fomething elfe, which is alfo paft. This is the plufquamperfect. “ I had c ‘ written; fcripfcram. I had written before I tc received his letter. “
H ere we obferve, with fome pleafure, that we have an advantage over the Latins, who have only three varieties upon the paft time. They have no proper perfect tenfe, or one which diftinguifhes an adtion juft now finifhed, from an action that was finifhed fome time ago. In both thefe cafes, they muft: fay, “ fcriplu"

1 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 185
Though there be a manifeft difference in the : tenfes, which our Language expreffes, by this variation, “ I have written,” meaning, I have 3 '' juft now finifhed writing; and, “1 wrote,” F meaning at fome former time, fince which, other ‘ things have intervened. This difference the re Romans have no tenfe to exprefs; and, there- :: fore, can only do it by a circumlocution. co? The chief varieties in the future time are 0:;: two; a ftmple or indefinite future: “ I fhall H r c ‘ write; fcriham And a future, relating to - f fomething elfe, which is alfo future. “ I fhall :r p have written ; J'cripfero, ” I fhall have written up before he arrives*.
h Besides tenfes, or the power of expreffing ist time, verbs admit the diftincftion of Voices, as indc they are called, the adlive and the paffive; r b according as the affirmation refpects Something :ivi that is done , or fomething that is fuffered ; “ I 5 a “ love, or I am loved.” They admit alfo the ,cc diftincfion of moo’ds, which are defigned to ic exprefs the affirmation, whether active or paffive, d: under different forms. The indicative mood, for inftance, fimply declares a propofftion , cc I “ write; I have written;” the imperative re- ■••• quires, commands, threatens, " write thou ; t “ let him write. ” The fnbjundtive expreffes • the propofftion under the form of a condition,
* On the tenfes of verbs, Mr. Harris’s Hermes may be k' confulted, by fuch as defire to fee them fcrutinized with t-' L metapbyfical accuracy; and alfo, the Treatife on the : jiF Origin and Progrefs of Language, Vol. ii. p. 129.
E C T
IX.

ig 6 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
or in fubordination to fome other thing, ts which a reference is made , “ I might write, I
ct could w r rite, I fhould write, if the cafe were cc fo and fo.” This manner of exprefling an affirmation, under £0 many different forms, together alfo with the diftincti'on of the three perfons, I, thou , and Ac, conftitutes what is called, the conjugation of verbs, which makes fo great a part of the grammar of all Languages, It now clearly appears , as I before obferv- ed, that, of all the parts of Speech, verbs are, by far, the moft artificial and complex. Con- fider only, how many things are denoted by this Angle Latin word “ amavijjem , I would “ have loved. ” Firft, The perfon who fpeaks, “I.” Secondly, An attribute, or action of that perfon , “ loving. ” Thirdly, An affirmation concerning that action. Fourthly, The paft time denoted in that affirmation, “ have loved. ” and , Fifthly , A condition on which the adtion is fufpended, “ would have “ loved. ” It appears curious and remarkable, that words of this complex import, and with more or lefs of this artificial ftructure, are to be found, as far as we know, in all Languages of the world.
Indeed, the form of conjugation, or the manner of exprefling all thefe varieties in the verb , differs greatly in different Tongues. Conjugation is efteemed moll perfect in thofe Languages,- which, by varying either the termination or the initial fyilable of the verb,

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 187
exprefs the greatefl number of important cir- cumftances , without the help of auxiliary- words. In the Oriental Tongues, the verbs are faid to have few tenfes, or expreffions of time; but then their moods are fo contrived, as to exprefs a great variety of circumftances and relations. In the Hebrew, for inftance, they fay, in one word, without the help of any auxiliary, not only “I have taught,” but “I “ have taught exactly, or often; I have been “ commanded to teach ; I have taught myfelf.” The Greek, which is the mod perfect of all the known Tongues, is very regular and complete in all the tenfes and moods. The Latin is formed on the fame model, but more imperfect; efpecially in the paffive voice, which forms, moft of the tenfes by the help of the auxiliary
ce r 55 fum.
In all the modern European Tongues, conjugation is very defective. They admit few varieties in the termination of the verb itfelf; but have almoft conftant recourfe to their auxiliary verbs , throughout all the moods and tenfes , both active and paffive. Language has undergone a change in conjugation, perfectly fimilar to that, which I ffiowed in the laft Lecture, it underwent with refpect to declenfion. As prepofitions, prefixed to the noun, fuper- feded the ufe of cafes; fo the two great auxiliary verbs, to have , and to be, with thofe ocher auxiliaries which we ufe in Englifh, do, shall, will, may, and can, prefixed to the parti-
E C T
IX.

188 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
L E c T. ciple, fnperfede, in a great meafure, the different rje; IX. terminations of moods and tenfes, which formed the ancient conjugations.
The alteration, in both cafes, was owing J to the fame caufe , and will be eafily under- , re flood, from reflecting on what was formerly obferved. The auxiliary verbs are like prepo- fitions, words of a very general and abftract j nature. They imply the different modifications of Ample exiftence, confiaered alone , and with- ^ out reference to any particular thing. In the ^ early Hate of Speech , the import of them would be incorporated, fo to fpeak, with every par- ticular verb in its tenfes and moods, long before , na words were invented for denoting fuch abftract ^ conceptions of exiftence, alone , and by them- ;w felves. But after thofe auxiliary verbs came, in r ,^ ( the progrefs of Language , to be invented and ^ known, and to have tenfes aiid moods given Efl! , to them like other verbs; it was found, that ?:t as they carried in their nature the force of that affirmation which diftinguifhes the- verb, they 0 j might, by being joined with the participle which gives the meaning of the verb, fupply s jj: the place of moft of the moods and tenfes. ;j - Hence, as the modern Tongues began to rife -j out of the ruins of the ancient, this method ^ eftablifhed itfelf in the new formation of Speech. a Such words , for inftance; as, am, mas, have, ^ shall, being once familiar, it appeared more eafy to apply thefe to any verb whatever; as,
I am loved ; I was loved; I have loved; than to

STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE. 189
^ remember that variety of terminations which L e c t were requifite in conjugating the ancient verbs, IX. amor, amabar, amavi, &c. Two or three varieties, only, in- the termination of the verb, were re- ■ tained; as, love, loved , loving; and all the reft “Y were dropt. The confequence, however, of this practice, was the fame as that of abolishing Y declenfions. It rendered Language more Simple and eafy in its ftrutfture; but withal, more prolix, and lefs graceful. This finilhes all that ’feemed moft neceffary to be obServed with : refpecft to verbs.
^ The remaining parts of Speech, which are eu called the indeclinable parts, or that admit of no k"! variations, will not detain us long. oe - Adverbs are the firft that occur. Thefe form life a very numerous clafs of words in every Lan- guage, reducible, in general, to the head of attri- - butives; as they ferv.e to modify, or to denote fome te circumftance of an adtion, or of a quality, relate tive to its time, place , order , degree, and the other properties of it, which we have occafion v: to Specify. They are, for the moft part, no ' more than an abridged mode of Speech, ex- preffing, by one word, what might, by a cin- it: cumlocution, be refolved into two or more c words belonging to the other parts of Speech.
■ • “ Exceedingly, ” for inftance , is the fame as, of: “in a high degree; “bravely,” the Same as,
:: “ with bravery or valour ; ” “ here , ” the fame ... as, “in this place,” “often, and Seldom,” the tevr fame as, “for many and for few times:” and

igo STRUCTURE OE LANGUAGE.
fo of the reft. Hence , adverbs may be conceived as of lefs neceftity , and of later intro- Ruction into the fyftem of Speech , than many other claffes of words; and, accordingly, the great body of them are derived from other words formerly eftablifhed in the Language,
Prepositions and conjunctions, are words more effential to difcourfe than the greated part of adverbs. They form that clafs of words, called Connectives , without which there could be no Language; ferving to exprefs the relations which things bear to one another, their mutual influence, dependencies, and coherence; thereby joining words together into intelligible and fig- nificant propofitions. Conjunctions are generally employed for connecting fentences , or members of fentences; as, and, hecaufe, although , and the like. Prepofitions are employed for connecting words, by fhowing the relation which one fubftantive noun bears to another; as, of, from, to , above , belojv , &c. Of the force of thefe I had occafion to fpeak before, when treating of the cafes and declenfions of fubftantive nouns.
It is abundantly evident, that all thefe connective particles mu ft be of the greateft ufe in Speech; feeing they point out the relations and tranfitions by which the mind paffes from one idea to another. They are the foundation of all reafoning, which is no other thing than the connection of thoughts. And, therefore, though among barbarous nations, and in the rude un-
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STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE.
191
j' civiiifed ages of the world , the flock of thefe words might be fmall, it muft always have in- E ' creafed, as mankind advanced in the arts of reafoning and refledion. The more any nation is improved by fcience , and the more perfed their Language becom es, we may naturally expect, that it will abound the more with connective particles; expreffing relations of things, and tranfitions of thought,which had efcaped agrofferview. Accord- itfc ingly, no Tongue is fo full of them as the Greek, in ^ confequence of the acute and fubtile genius of that refined people. In every Language , much n«, of the beauty and {Length of it depends on the w: proper ufe of conjundions, prepofitions , and arc: thofe relative pronouns, which alfo ferve the , or: fame purpofe of conneding the different parts fc of difcourfe. It is the right, or wrong manage- ,'ed: ment of thefe, which chiefly makes difcourfe hr: appear firm and compaded; or disjointed and ;k, loofe; -which caufes it to march with a fmooth tie: and even pace, or with gouty and hobbling fleps.
:5 I shall dwell no longer on the general ccn- flrudion of Language. Allow me, only, be- ii -- fore I difmifs the fubjed, to obferve , that dry ■0-;.: and intricate as it may feem to fome, it is, ■j];; however, of great importance, and very nearly , s |u conneded with the philofophy of the human ^ mind. For, if Speech be the vehicle, or inter- ,,2 1 preter of the conceptions of our minds, an exa- : 0J >: mination of its Strudure and Progrefs cannot gj, but unfold many things concerning the nature
L e e t. IX.

i 9 3 STRUCTURE OF LANGUAGE,
L e c t. and progrefs of our conceptions thcmfelves, and IX. the operations of our faculties; a fubject that is always inftructive to man, “Nequis,” fays Quinctilian, an author of excellent judgment, “ nequis tanquam parva faftidiat grammatices “ elementa. Non quia magnse fit opers con- cc fonantes a vocalibus difcernere, eafque in fe- “ mivocalium numerum, mutarumque partiri, “ fed quia interiora velut facri hujus. adeunti- “ bus, apparebit multa rerum fubtilitas, qiue “ non modo acuere ingenia puerilia, fed exercere. “ altiffimam quoque eruditionem ac fcientiam “ poffit *.”1.4.
Let us now come nearer to our own Language. In this, and the preceding Lecture, Lome obfervations have already been made on i its Structure. But it is proper, that we Jfliould be a little more particular in the examination of it.
The Language which is, at prefent, fpoken throughout Great Britain , is neither the ancient primitive Speech of the ifland , nor derived from it; but is altogether of foreign origin. The
* “ Let no man defpife, as inconliderable, the ele- “ ments of grammar, becaufe it may feem to him a “ matter of linall confequence, to fhow the difrinction “ between vowels and conibnants , and to divide the latter “ into liquids and mutes. But they who penetrate into the cc innermoft parts of this temple of fcience , will there dif- “ cover fucbj* refinement and fubtilty of matter , as is “ not only proper to fharpen the underffcmdings of “ young men, but fufficient to give exercife for the moll “ profound knowledge and erudition.”
Language

THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
i93
\‘Gl^
f Language of the firft inhabitants of our ifl'and, L e c T« beyond doubt, was the Celtic, or Gaelic, com- IX. mon to them with Gaul; from which country, it appears, by many circumftances, that Great ^ Britain was peopled. This Celtic Tongue,
’ ' which is faid to be very expreffive and. copious, re A- and is, probably, one of the moft ancient Lan- JrD1E v guages in the world, obtained once in moft of ^ the weftern regions of Europe. It was the Lam 'b guage of Gaul, of Great Britain, of Ireland,
Kb,-- and very probably, of Spain alfo; till, in the - courfe of thofe revolutions, which, by means of the conquefts, firft, of the Romans , and )o:: : afterwards, of the northern nations, changed :cei” the government, fpeech, and, in a manner, the r he. whole face of Europe, this Tongue v/as gra*
, tk dually obliterated; and now fubfifts only in the ticc mountains of Wales, in the Highlands of Scotland , and among the wild Irifh. For the Irifti, pt;:. the Welch, and the Erfe, are no ofher than different dialeds of the fame Tongue, the ancient Celtic.
This, then, was the Language of the pri- : mitive Britons, the firft inhabitants, that we
know of, in our ifland; and continued fo till the arrival of the Saxons in England, in the year of our Lord 450; who, having conquered the Britons, did not intermix with them, but • expelled them from their habitations, and drove K them, together with their Language, into the mountains of Wales, The Saxons were one of VOL. I. O
l;

*94
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
E C T
IX.
thofe northern nations that overran Europe; and their Tongue , a dialect of the Gothic or Teutonic, altogether diftinct from the Celtic, laid the foundation of the prefent Englilh Ton, gue. With fome intermixture of Danilh, a Language , probably, from the fame root with the Saxon, it continued to be fpoken throughout the fouthern part of the Illand , till the time of William the Conqueror. He introduced his Norman or French as the Language of the court, which made a confiderable change in the Speech of the nation ; and the Englifh , which was fpoken afterwards, and continues to be fpoken now, is a mixture of the ancient Saxon, and this Norman French , together with fuch new and foreign words as commerce and learning have, in progrefs of time, gradually introduced.
The hiftory of the Englilh Language can, in this manner, be clearly traced. The Language fpoken in the Low Countries of Scotland, is now , and has been for many centuries, no other than a dialed: of the Englilh. How, indeed , or by what fteps, the ancient Celtic Tongue came to be banifhed from the Low Countries in Scotland , and to make its retreat into tire Highlands and Iflands, cannot be fo well pointed out, as how the like revolution was brought about in England. Whether the fouthernmofb part of Scotland was once fubjecl to the Saxons, and formed a part of the kingdom of Northumberland; or, "whether the great
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THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
1
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number of Englifli exiles that retreated into Scotland, upon the Norman conqueft, and upon other occafions, introduced into that country their own Language , which afterwards, by the mutual intercourfe of the two nations , prevailed over the Celtic , are uncertain and contefted points, the difeuffion of which would lead us too far from our fubjed.
From what has been faid, it appears, that the Teutonic dialed is the bafis of our prefent Speech. It has been imported among us in three different forms, the Saxon, the Danifh, and the Norman; all which have mingled together in our Language. A very great number of our words too, are plainly derived from the Latin. Thefe, we had not directly from the Latin, but moffc of them, it is probable, entered into our Ton-* gue through the channel of that Nornlan french, which William the Conqueror introduced. For, as the Romans had long been in full poffeffion of Gaul, the Language fpoken in that country, when it was invaded by the Franks and Normans, was a fort of corrupted Latin, mingled with Celtic, to which was given the name of Romanlhe : and as the Franks and Normans did not, like the Saxons in England , expel the inhabitants, but, after their vidories , mingled with them; the Language of the country became a compound of theTeutonic dialed imported by thefe conquerors , and of the former corrupted Latin. Hence, the French Language has always continued
O 2
. E C
IX.

196 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
i E C T,
IX.
to have a very confiderable affinity with the Latin; and hence , a great number of words of Latin origin, which were in life among the Normans in France, were introduced into our Tongue at the conqueft; to which, indeed, many have fince been added, diredly from the Latin, in confequence of the great diffufron of Roman literature throughout all Europe.
From the influx of fo many ftreams, from the junction of fo many diffimilar parts, it naturally follows', that the Fnglifh, like every compounded Language , muft needs be fome- what irregular. \Le cannot expect from it that correfpondence of parts, that complete analogy in ftrubture , which may be found in thofe Ampler Languages , which have been formed in a manner within themfelves, and built on one foundation. Hence , as I before ffiowed, it has but fmall remains of conjugation or declenfion; 'and its fyntax is narrow, as there are few marks in the words themfelves that can Ihow their relation to each other, or, in the grammatical ftyle , point out either their concordance, or their government, in the fentence. Our words having been brought to us from feveral different regions, ftraggle, if we may fo fpeak, afunder from each other; and do not coalelce fo naturally in the ftructure of a fentence, as the words in the Greek and Roman Tongues.
But thefe difadvantages, if they be fuch, of a compound Language, are balanced by other
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advantages that attend it; particularly . by the number and variety of words with which fuch a Language is likely to be enriched. Few Languages are, in fadt, more copious than the English. In all grave fubjedts efpecially, hiftorical, critical, political, and moral, no writer has the leaft reafon to complain of the barrennefs of our Tongue. The ftudious refledling genius of the people, has brought together great ftore of ex- preftions, on fuch fubjects, from every quarter. We are rich too in the Language of poetry. Our poetical ftyle differs widely from profe, not in point of numbers only , but in the very words themfelves; which Ihows what a ftock and compafs of words we have it in our power to feledt and employ, fuited to thofe different occafions. Herein we are infinitely fuperior to the French, whofe poetical Language, if it were not diftinguilhed by rhyme , would not be known to differ from their ordinary profe.
It is chiefly, indeed, on grave fubjecfs, and with refpect to the ftronger emotions of the mind, that our Language difplays its power of expreffion. We are faid to have thirty words, at leaft, for denoting all the varieties of the paffion of anger *. But, in defcribing the more
* Anger, wrath, paffion, rage, fury, outrage, fierce- nefs, fharpnefs, animofity, choler, refentment, heat, heart - burning ; to fume , florin, inflame , be inccnfed; to vex, kindle, irritate, enrage, exafperate, provoke, fret; to befulien, hafty, hot, rough, four, peevifh, &c.
Preface to Greenwood’s Grammar.
O 3
lECf.
IX.

i 9 S THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
X, e c T, delicate fentiments and emotions, our Tongue is IX. not fo fertile. It mnft: be confeffed, that the French Language furpalTes ours, by far, in ex- prefling the nicer fhades of character; efpecially thofe varieties of manner temper, and behaviour, which are difplayed in our focial intercourfe with one another. Let any one attempt to tranflate, into Englifh , only a few pages of one of Marivaux’s Novels , and he will foon be fenfible. of our deficiency of expreffion on thefe fubjeds. Indeed, no Language is fo copious as the French for whatever is delicate, gay, and amufing. It is, perhaps , the happieft Language for converfa- tion in the known world; but, on the higher fubjects of compofition, the Englifh may be juftly efteemed to excel it confiderably.
Language is generally underftood to receive its predominant tinCture from the national character of the people who fpeak it. We muft not, indeed , ^expect, that it will carry an exad Und full impreffion of their genius and manners; for, among all nations, the original flock of words which they received from their anceftors, remain as the foundation of their Speech throughout many ages, while their manners undergo, perhaps, very great alterations. National character will, however, always have fome perceptible influence on the turn of Language; and the gaiety and vivacity of the French, and the gravity and though tfulnefs of the Englifh, are fufficiently imprefled on their refpective Tongues.

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From the genius of our Language, and tjhe Le c character of thofe who fpeak it, it may be ex- IX. peeled to have ftrength and energy. It is, indeed, naturally prolix: owing to the great number of particles and auxiliary verbs which we are obliged conftantly to employ; and this prolixity muft, in fome degree, enfeeble it. We feldom can exprefs fo much by one word as was done by the verbs, and by the nouns , in the Greek and Roman Languages. Our ftyle is lefs compacl; our conceptions being fpread out among more words, and fplit, as it were, into more parts, make a fainter impreffion when we utter them. Notwithftanding this defeat, by our abounding in terms for exprefling all the ftrong emotions of the mind, and by the liberty which we enjoy, in a greater degree than moll nations , of compounding \Vords , our Language may be efteemed to polfefs confiderable force of expreffion; comparatively, at leaft, with the other modem Tongues, though much below the •ancient. The Style of Milton alone, both in poetry and profe, is a fufficient proof, that the Englifh Tongue is far from being deflitute of nerves and energy.
The flexibility of a Language , or its power of accommodation to different ftyles and manners , fo as to be either grave and ftrong , or eafy and flowing, or tender and gentle, or pompous and magnificent, as occafions require, or as an author’s genius prompts, is a quality
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THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,'
L E C T.
IX.
o£ great importance in fpeaking and writing. It fee ms to depend upon three things; the copiouf- nefs of a Language; the different arrangements of which its words are fufceptible; and the variety aiifl beauty of the found of thofe words, fo as to correfpond to many different lubjects. Never did any Tongue pcrfTefs this quality fo eminently as the Greek, which every writer of genius could fo mould, as to make the ftyle perfectly expreflive of his own manner and peculiar turn. It had all the three requifites, •which I have mentioned, as neceffary for this purpofe. It joined to thefe the graceful variety of its different dialects; and thereby readilyalfum- ed every fort of character which an author could wiflr, from the moft fimple and mofl familiar, up to the moft majefhc. The Latin, though a very beautiful Language, is inferior, in this re- fpect, to the Greek. It has more of a fixed character of ftatelinefs and gravity. It is always firm and mafculine in the tenor of its found; and is fupported by a certain fenatorial dignity of which it is difficult for a writer to diveft it wholly, on anv occafion. Among the modem Tongues the Italian poffeffes a great deal more of this flexibility than the French. By its co- pioufnefs-, its freedom of arrangement, and the great beauty and harmony of its founds, it fuits itfelf very happily to moft fubjeds, either in profe or in poetry; is capable of the auguft and the ftrong, as -\vell as the tender; and feems to
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I™-' he, on the whole, the mofl perfect of all the L K c ee f modern dialetHfe which have arifen out of the IX» ruins of the ancient. Our own Language, though not equal to the Italian in flexibility, yet is not l °k' deftitute of a confiderable degree of this quality.
3t If any one will confider the diverfity of ftyle (fft.: _ which appears in fome of our claffics ; that great v»n difference of manner, for inftance, which is 5 L marked by the Style of Lord Shaftfbury , and ■ tvc that of Dean Swift; he will fee, in our Ton- rap gue, fuch a circle of expreffion, fuch a power ■nr fa of accommodation to the different tafte of wrb efclt ters, as redounds not a little to its honour, alii;: WHAT the Englifh has been mofl: taxed with,
ufc: is its deficiency in harmony of found. But though aftti every native is apt to be partial to the founds , tfc of his own Language , and may , therefore, be inii fufpeded of not being a fair judge in this point; of a: yet, I imagine , there are evident grounds on 'le: which lit may be ffiown, that this charge againft itik our Tongue has been carried too far. The me- jj Jody of our verification , its power of fupport- : ing poetical numbers, without any affiftance
luti from rhyme, is alone a fufficient proof that our (jg: Language is far from being unmufical. Our jv; verfe is, after the Italian, the mofLdiverfified . - and harmonious of any of the modern dialects; j.unqueftionably far beyond the French verfe , in ti! ; variety , fweetnefs, and melody. Mr. Sheridan c(r; ; has fhown , in his Ledures, that we abound !(£ more in vowel and diphthong founds, than moll

203 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
Lect.
IX.
Languages, and thefe too , fo divided into long and fhort, as to afford a proper diverfity in the quantity of our fyllables. Our confonants, he obferves , which appear fo crowded to the eye on paper , often form combinations not difa- greeable to the ear in pronouncing , and, in particular , the objection which has been mack to the frequent recurrence of the hiding confo- nant S in our Language , is unjuft and ill- founded. For , it has not been attended to, that very commonly, and in the final fyllables efpe- cially , this letter lofes altogether the hiding. found, and is transformed into a Z , which is one of the founds on which the ear reds with pleafure ; as in has , thefe , thofe , loves , hears , and innumerable more, where, though the letterS be retained in writing , it has really the power of Z , not of the common S.
After all, however, it mud be admitted, that fmoothnefs, or beauty of found, is none of the diftinguifhing properties of the Englifh Tongue. Though not incapable of being formed into melodious arrangements , yet ftrength and expreffive- nefs , more than grace , form its character. We incline , in general , to a fhort pronunciation of our words- , and have fhortened the quantity of mod of thofe which we borrow from the Latin, as orator , fpectacle , theatre , liberty , and fuch like. Agreeable to this, is a remarkable peculiarity of Englilh pronunciation , the throwing the accent farther back , that is , nearer the beginning of the word , than is done by any other nation. In
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^5 Greek and Latin , no word is accented farther back than the third fyllable from the end, or 03£: what is called the antepenult. But, in Englifh , ^ 0: we have many words accented on the fourth, 15 fome on the fifth fyllable from the end , as, b : memorable, convenience , ambulatory, prbfitablencfs, 'k The general effeft of this praftice of haftening % the accent , or placing it fo near the beginning "It of a word , is to give a brifk and a fpirited, but ttah at the fame time , a rapid and hurried , and not very mufical , tone to the whole pronunciation tlf of a people.
,■ The Englilh Tongue poffeffes , undoubtedly,
1 a: this property , of being the mold fimple in its ,fcform and conftruftion, of all the European dia- tb lefts. It is free from all intricacy of cafes , de- ■j a clenfions, moods and tenfes. Its words are fub- jeft to fewer variations from their original form 1 e:; than thofe of any other Language. Its fubftam no:; tives have no diftinftion of gender, except what "J. nature has made, and but one variation in cafe, ic Its adjectives admit of no change at all , except j E ' what exprelfes the degree of comparifon. Its j-- verbs, inftead of running through all the varieties ,, ;a of ancient conjugation, fuffer no more than four ^ or five changes in termination. By the help of . a #w prepofitions and auxiliary verbs , all the purpofes of fignificancy in meaning are accom- plifhed; while the words , for the moll part, pre- ... ferve their form unchanged. The difadvantages in point of elegance, brevity , and force, which ^ follow from this ftructure of our Language, I
E c T,
IX,

204 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE*
Lect.
IX.
/
have before pointed out. But, at the fame time, it muff be admitted , that fur.h a ftrucfture contributes to facility. It renders the acquifition of our Language lefs laborious , the arrangement of our words more plain and obvious, the rules of our fyntax fewer and more fimple.
I agree, indeed, with Dr. Lowth (preface to his Grammar ) , in thinking that this very fimplicity and facility of our Language proves a caufe of its being frequently written and fpoken with lefs accuracy. It'was neceffary to ftudy Languages , which were of a more complex and artificial form, with greater care. The marks of gender and cafe, the varieties of conjugation and declenlion, the multiplied rules of fyntax, were all to be attended to in Speech. Hence Language became more an objeft of art It was reduced into form ; a ftandard was eftabliffied; and any departures from the ftandard became confpicuous. Whereas, among us , Language is hardly conftdered as an objedt of grammatical rule. We take it for granted, that a competent {kill in it may be acquired without any ftudy; and that, in a fyntax fo narrow and confined as ours , there is nothing which demands attention. Hence arifes the habit of writing in a loofe and inaccurate manner. f
I admit , that no grammatical rules have fuf- ficient authority to control the firm and eftab- lifhed ufage of Language. Eftablifhed cuftom in fpeaking and writing, is the ftandard to which "we muft at laft refort for determining every com
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troverted point in l anguage and Style. But it L E c will not follow from this, that grammatical rules IX. are fuperfeded as ufelefs. In every Languaj^, which has been in any degree cultivated , tl*e prevails a certain ftrwfture and analogy of parts, which is underflood to give foundation to the moll reputable ufage of Speech ; and which , in all cafes , when ufage is loofe or dubious, pol- feffes confiderable authority. In every Language , there are rules of fyntax which mull be inviolably obferved by all who would either write or fpeak with any propriety. For fyntax is no other than that arrangement of words , in a fentence, which renders the meaning of each word, and the relation of all the words to one another, moll clear and intelligible.
All the rules of Latin fyntax, it is true, cannot be applied to our Language. Many of thofe rules arofe from the particular form of their Language , which occafioned verbs or prepolitions to govern,fome the genitive, fome the dative,fome the accufative or ablative cafe. But, abltra&ing from thefe peculiarities, it is to be always remembered, that the chief and fundamental rules of fyntax are common to the Englifh as well as the Latin Tongue ; and , indeed , belong equally to all Languages. For , in all Languages, the parts which compofe Speech are elfentially the fame ; fubftantives, adjectives, verbs', and connecting particles : And wherever thefe parts of Speech are found, there are certain necelTary relations among them, which regulate their fyntax , or
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2o6 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
L e c t. the place which they ought to poffefs in a fen.
IX. tence. Thus, in Englifh , juft as much as in La- tin, the adjective muft, by pofition , be made to ajiee with its fubftantive; and the verb muft agree with its nominative in perfon and number; becaufe, from the nature of things , a word which expreffes either a quality or an adlion, muft cor- refpond as clofely as poffible with the name of that thing whofe quality , or whofe action, it expreffes. Two or more fubftantives , joined by a copulative, muft always require the verbs or pronouns, to which they refer, to be placed in the plural number ; otherwife, their common relation to thefe verbs or pronouns is not pointed out. An adtive verb muft, in every Language ■, govern the accufative ; that is , clearly point out fome fubftantive noun , as the object to which its adtion is diredted. A relative pronoun muft, in every form of Speech, agree with its antecedent in gender, number, and perfon; and con- jundtions, or connedting particles, ought always to couple like cafes and moods ; that is, ought to join together words which are of the fame form and ftate with each other. I mention thefe as a few exemplifications of that fundamental regard to fyntax , which , even in fuch a Language as ours, is abfolutely requifite for writing or fpeaking with any propriety.
Whatever the advantages, or defedls of the Englifh Language be , as it is our own Language , it deferves a high degree of our ftudy and attention, both with regard to the choice of
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wards which we employ, and with regard to Lect. the fyntax, or the arrangement of thefe words IX.
^2 in a fentence. We know how much the Greeks v £ and the Romans , in their molt polifhed and “L. flourifhing times, cultivated their own Tongues. ff oi: We know how much ftudy both °the French, he and the Italians , have bellowed upon theirs, si: Whatever knowledge may be acquired by the iofci ftudy of other Languages , it can never be vs. communicated with advantage , unlefs by fuch eti: as can write and fpeak their own Language o be: well. Let the matter of an author be ever fo good coe and ufeful, his compofitions will always fuffer in poc: the public efteem, if his expreffion be deficient <je; : in purity and propriety. At the fame time, the r j; attainment of a correct and elegant ftyle , is an etui objebt which demands application and labour. If D(r any imagine they can catch it merely by the ear,
)1? or acquire it by a flight perufal of fome of our . c good authors, they will find themfdves much difappointed. The mafty errors , even in point of t “. grammar , the many offences againft purity of iljjj Language, which are committed by writers who are far from being contemptible , demonftrate, that a careful ftudy of the Language is pre- y vioufly requiftte, in all who aim at writing it properly*.
* On this fubjed, the Reader ought to perufe Dr. Lowth’s Short Intradudion to Englifh Grammar, with Critical jC Notes; which is the grammatical performance of higheft UU' authority that has appeared in our time, and in which i. he will fee, w'hat I have faid concerning the inaccuracies

208 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
in Language of’ fome of our bell writers, fully verified, In Dr. Campbell’s Philofophy of Rhetoriche will lfe. wife find many acute and ingenious obfervations, both on the Englifh Language, and on Style in general. And Dr. Prieftley’s Rudiments of Englifh Grammar will alfobe ufeful, by pointing out feveral of the errors into which; writers are apt to fall, ]

LECTURE X.
STYLE
PERSPICUITY AND
PRECISION.
Having finilhed the fubject of Language , I L e c now enter on the confideration of Style , and X, the rules that relate to iti
It is not eafy to give a precife idea of what is meant by Style. The bell definition I can give of it, is, the peculiar manner in which a man expreffes his conceptions , by means of Language. It is different from mere Language or words. The words, which an author employs, may be proper and faultlefs; and his Style may, neverthelefs, have great faults; it may be dry, or fluff, or feeble, or affedted. Style has always fome reference to an author’s manner of thinking.
It is a picture of the ideas which rife .in his mind, and of the manner in which they rife there ; and, hence, when we are examining an author’s compofition, it is, in many cafes, extremely difficult to feparate the Style from the fentiment. No wonder thefe two fhOuld be fo intimately connedied, as Style is nothine VOL. I P
T.

210
STYLE
L E c T. elfe , than that fort of expreffion which our X. thoughts mod readily affume. Hence, different countries have been noted for peculiarities of Style, fuited to their different temper and genius. The eaftern nations animated their Style with the moft ftrong and hyperbolical figures. The Athenians, a polifhed and acute people, formed a Style accurate, clear, and neat. The Afiatics, gay and loofe in their manners, affeCted a Style florid and diffufe. The like fort of charac- teriftical differences are commonly remarked in the Style of the French, the Englifli, and the Spaniards. In giving the general characters of Style, it is ufual to talk of a nervous, a feeble, or a fpirited Style ; which are plainly the characters of a writer’s manner of thinking, as well as of expreffing himfelf: So difficult is it to feparate thefe two things from one another. Of the general characters of Style, I am afterwards to difcourfe; but it will be neceffary to begin with examining the more fimple qualities of it; from the affemblage of which , its more complex denominations, in a great meafure, refult.
All the qualities of a good Style may be ranged under two heads, Perfpicuity and Ornament. For all that can poffibly be required of Language, is, to convey our ideas clearly to the minds of others, and, at the fame time, in fuch a drefs, as by pleating and interefting them, fliall moft effectually (Lengthen the impreffions >yhich \ye feek to make. When both thefe ends

PERSPICUITY.
311
r are anfwered , we certainly accomplish every LicTj ! purpofe for which we ufe Writing and Difcourfe. X.
1311 Perspicuity, it will be readily admitted, is ^ the fundamental quality of Style *; a quality fo ■ 5: ' elfential in every kind of writing, that, for the ltt; ’ want of it, nothing can atone. Without this, the richeft ornaments of Style only glimmer ,e ^ through the dark; and puzzle, inftead of pleaf- ing, the reader. This, therefore, mud be our firll objedt, to make our meaning clearly and rcc fully underftood, and underftood without the leall difficulty. “ Oratio, ” fays Quin&ilian, debet - ffiir “ negligenter quoque audientibus effe aperta;
’,n “ ut in animum audientis, fxcut fol in oculos, pfc “ etiamfi in eum non intendatur , occurrat; tiLckc “ Ouare, non folum ut intelligere poffit, fed ne icu,:. “ omnino poffit non intelligere curandum f. ” If i®k we are obliged to follow a writer with much ill' care, to paufe, and to read over his Sentences a ryt fecond time, in order to comprehend them fully, he will never pleafe us long. Mankind’are too jes indolent to relifh fo much labour. They may
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* “ Nobis prima fit virtus, perfpicuitasj propria Verba, “ rectus ordo , noninlongum dilata conclufio ; nihil neque “ delit, neque fuperfluat.” Quinctil. lib. viii.
f “ Difcourfe ought always to be obvious, even to “ the molt carelefs and negligent hearer; fo that the “ fenfe lhall fcrike his mind, as the light of the fun does “ our eyes , though they are not directed upwards to it. “ Y v /e mult ftudy, not only that every hearer may under- “ ltand us, but that it lhall be impoffible for him not to “ underhand us. ”
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213
P ERSP IC U I T Y.
H e c T. pretend to admire the authors depth, after they X. have difcovered his meaning ; but they will feldom be inclined to take up his work a fecond time.
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Perspicuity in writing, is not to be confidered as only a fort of negative virtue , or freedom from defedt. It has higher merit: It is 2 degree of pofitive beauty. We are pleafed with an author, we confider him as deferving praife, who frees us from all fatigue of fearching for his meaning ; who carries us through his fubjecl 'without any embarraffruein or confufion; whofe
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PERSPICUITY.
21
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fit,? ftyle flows always like a limpid ftream, where Lec t. k; we fee to the very bottom. X,
vo: s ; The ftudy of Perfpicuity requires attention, firft, to Angle words and phrafes, and then to . - the conftruction. of fentences. I begin with - treating of the firft, and fliall confine myfelf to it in this Ledure.
Perspicuity , confidered with refped to words and phrafes, requires thefe three qualities in them ; Purity , Propriety , and Prrcijion.
Purity and Propriety of Language, are often ufed indifcriminately for each other; and, indeed,
^ .. they are very nearly allied. A diftindion, however, obtains between them. Purity, is the ufe of fuch words, and fuch conftrudions, as belong to the idiom of the Language which we j, c fpeak; in oppofition to words and phrafes that are imported from other Languages , or that are : obfolete, or new coined, or ufed without proper "i authority. Propriety , is the feledion of fuch words in the Language, as the beft and moft V eftablifhed ufage has appropriated to thofe ideas which we intend to exprefs by them. It implies the correct and happy application of them , according to that ufage , in oppofition to • vulgarifms or low expreffions; and to words and : phrafes, which would be lefs fignificant of the
h ideas that we mean to convey. Style may be pure , that is , it may all be flridly Englifli, without Scotticifms or Gallicifms , or ungrammatical irregular expreffions of any kind, and may , neverthelefs-, be deficient in Propriety.
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2X4
PERSPICUITY.
%, e c T, The words may be ill cbofen ; not adapted to X the fubjed, nor fully expreffive of the author’s fenfe He has taken all his words and phrafes from the general mafs of Englifh Language; but he has made his feiedion among thefe words unhappily. Whereas, Style cannot be proper without being alfo pure; and where both Purity and Propriety meet, befides making Style per- fpicuous, they alfo render it graceful. There is no ftandard, either of Purity or of Propriety, but the practice of the beft writers and fpeakers in the country.
When I mentioned obfolete or new-coined words as incongruous with Purity of Style, it will be eafiiy underftood, that feme exceptions are to be made. On certain occafions, they may have grace. Poetry admits of greater latitude than profe, with refped to coining, or, at lead, new-compounding words; yet, even here, this liberty fhould be ufed with a fparing hand. In profe, fuch innovations are more hazardous, and have a worfe effed. They are apt to give Style an affeded and conceited air; and fhould never be ventured upon, except by fuch, whole eftablrfhed reputation gives them feme degree of didatorial power over Language.
The introdudion of foreign and learned words , unlefs where neceffity requires them, fhould always be avoided. Barren Languages may need fuch affiftances; but ours is not one of thefe. Dean Swift, one of our mod corred writers, valued himfelf much on ufmg no words

PRECISION IN STYLE.
215
but fuch as were of native growth : and his L E c t. Il:; Language may, indeed, be confidered as a ftand- X.
2: - ard of the ftridefl Purity and Propriety in the ! choice of words. At prefent, we feem to be
departing from this ftandard. A multitude of Latin words have, of late, been poured in upon t us. On fome occahons, they give an appearance • of elevation and dignity to Style. But often AT: alfo, they render it fliff and forced: And, in »k general , a plain native Style, as it is more arc: intelligible to all readers, fo, by a proper management of words , it can be made equally rftrong and expreffive with this Latinifed Englifli.
•d Let us now confider the import of Precifion cecs: in Language, which, as it is the higheft part a!,;: of the quality denoted by Perfpicuity, merits tjE a full explication; and the more, becaufe diftind or: ideas are, perhaps, not commonly formed about it.
The exad import of Precifion may be drawn n;.. from the etymology of the word. It comes from <c prxcidere,” to cutoff: It imports retrenching all fuperfluities, and pruning the exprellion fo, as to exhibit neither more nor lefs than an exad f... copy of his idea who ufes it. I obferved before,
„„ that it is often difficult to fcparate the qualities of Style from the qualities c$f Thought; and it y is found fo in this inftance. For, in order to write with Precifion , though this be properly a quality of Style , one muff poffefs a very 1 confiderable degree of diflindnefs and accuracy in his manner of thinking.
The words, which a man ufes to exprefs his
P 4

216 precision in style,
liCT< ideas , may be faulty in three refpedls: They X. may either not exprefs that idea which the author intends , but fome other which only relembles, or is a-kin to it; or, they may exprefs that idea. , but not quite fully and completely: or, they may exprefs it, together with fomething more than he intends. Precifion Hands oppofed to all thefe three faults; but chiefly to the laft. In an author’s writing with Propriety, his being free of the two former faults feems implied, The words which he ufes are .proper ; that is, they exprefs that idea which he intends, and they exprefs it fully; but to be Precife, fignifies, that they exprefs that idea, and no more. There is nothing in his words which introduces any foreign idea , any fuperfluous unfeafonable accef- fory, fo as to mix it confufedly with the principal objedt, and thereby to render our conception of that object loofe and indiftindt. This requires a writer to have, himfelf, a very clear apprehenfion of the objedt he means to prefent to us; to have laid fait hold of it in his mind; and never to waver in any one view he takes of it: a perfection to which, indeed, few writers attain.
The ufe and importance of Precifion, may be deduced from thefnature of the human mind. It never can view, clearly and diftindtly, above one objedt at a time. If it mud look at two or three together, efpecially objedts among which there is refemblance or connedtion, it finds itfelf confufed and embarrafifed. It cannot clearly perceive in what they agree, and in what they differ. Thus, were any object, fuppofe fome

PRECISION IN STYLE.
21 /
^ animal, to be prefented to me, of whofe ftruc- L e c t.
ture 1 wanted to form a diftinct notion, I would X.
I! ^ defire all its trappings to be taken off, 1 would ^ require it to be brought before me by itfelf, and c - : to Hand alone, that there might be nothing to ^ diffract my attention. The fame is the cafe with words. If, when you would inform me of 0; your meaning, you alfo tell me more than what f conveys it; if you join foreign circumftances to 5 the principal objedt; if, by unneceffarily varying i - the expreflion, you fhift the point of view, k.' and make me fee fometimes the object itfelf, and fometimes another thing that is connected lit with it; you thereby oblige me to look on t: feveral objects at once, and I lofe fight of the ifc principal. You load the animal, you are fhowing epme, with fo many trappings and collars, and err bring fo many of the fame fpecies before me, re:, fomewhat refembling, and yet fomewhat differing, p that I fee none of them clearly. i;e: This forms what is called a Loofe Style; and is the proper oppofite to Precifion. It generally ai'ifes from ufmg a fuperfluity of words. Feeble ujv writers employ a multitude of words to make - themfelves underftood, as they think, more diftinelly; and they only confound the reader.
.. They are ienfible of not having caught the ■. precife expreflion, to convey what they would fignify; they do not, indeed, conceive their ov/n meaning very precifely themfelves ; and,
.. therefore, help it out, as they can, by this and p the other word, which may, as they fuppofe,

218 PRECISION IN STYLE.
L E C T.
X.
fupply the defed, and bring you fomewhat nearer to their idea: They are always going about it, and about it , but never juft hit the thing. The image as they fet it before you, is always feen double; and no double image is diftind. When an author tells me of his hero’s couraac. in the day of battle, the expreffion is precife, and 1 underftand it fully. But if, from the defire of multiplying words, he will needs praife his courage and fortitude at the moment he joins thefe words together, my idea begins to waver. He means to exprefs one quality more ftrongly; but he is, in truth , exprefling two. Courage refills danger; fortitude fupports pain, The occafion of exerting each of thefe qualities is different; and being led to think of both together, when only one of them fihould be in my view, my view is rendered unfteady, and my conception of the objecft indiftind.
From what I have faid, it appears that an author may, in a qualified fenfe, be perfpicuous, while yet he is far from being precife. He ufes proper words, and a proper arrangement; he gives you the idea as clear as he conceives it himfelf; and fo far he is perfpicuous: but the ideas are not very clear in his own mind; they are loofe and general; and, therefore, cannot be expreffed with Precifion. All fubjeds do not equally require Precifion. It is fufficient, on many occafions, that we have a general view of the meaning. The fubjed, perhaps, is of the known and familiar kind; and we are in no
Me
tout
dea
r.
licit
Lot
note 1
iiigh
yea
fill
s®
fl
• tc

u
PRECISION IN STYLE.
srg
1 ‘'" hazard of miftaking the fenfe of the author, Lect. T; ’ though every word which he ufes be not precife X.
1^- and' exact.
Few authors, for inflance, in the Englifii >l -~ Language, are more clear and perfpicuous, on the whole, than Archbifhop Tillotfon, and Sir K-t William Temple; yet neither of them are B:. remarkable for Precifion. They are loofe and cet diffufe; and accuftomed to exprefs their meaning eby feveral words, which fhow you fully where- - !ei:c abouts it lies, rather than to fmgle out thofe q’j:: exprePfions, which would convey clearly the pttb idea they have in view, and no more. Neither, ppcr. indeed, is Precifion the prevailing character of fe Mr. Addifon’s Style; although he is not fo y- deficient in this refped as the other two authors.
Ua Lord Shaftsbury’s faults, in point of id;,; Precifion, are much greater than Air. Addifon’s;
and the more unpardonable, becaufe he is a i# profeffed philofophical writer; who, as fuch, p ought, above all things, to have fludied Preci- fion. His Style has both great beauties, and .- r great faults; and, on the whole, is by no means a fafe model for imitation. Lord Shaftfbury was ; well acquainted with the power of words;
thofe which he employs are generally proper ^ and well founding; he has great variety of . them; and his arrangement, as fhall be after- awards fliown, is commonly beautiful. His defect, in Precifion , is not owing fo much to indiftind .. or confided ideas, as to perpetual affedation.
"I He is fond , to excefs, of the pomp and parade
t

22© PRECISION IN STYLE.
Lkct.
X.
of Language; lie is never fatisfied with expref fing any thing clearly and limply; he mult always give it the drefs of Hate and majefty, Hence perpetual circumlocutions, and many words and phrafes employed to defcribe fome- what, that would have been defcribed much better by one of them. If he has occafion to mention any perfon or author, he very rarely mentions him by his proper name. In the treatife, entitled, Advice to an Author, he defcants for two or three pages together upon Ariftotle, without once naming him in any other way, than the Mailer Critic, the Mighty Genius and Judge of Art, the Prince of Critics, the Grand Mailer of Art, and Confummate Philologift. In the fame way, the Grand Poetic Sire, the Philofophical Patriarch, and his Difciple of Noble Birth, and lofty Genius, are the only names by which he condefcends to diftinguilh Homer, Socrates , and Plato , in another paffage of the fame treatife. This method of diftinguifb- ing perfons is extremely affedled; but it is not fo contrary to Precifion» as the frequent circuit locutions he employs for all moral ideas; attentive , on every cccafion, more to the pomp oi Language, than to the clearnefs which he ought to have fhidied as a philofopher. The moral fenfe, for inflance, after he had once defined it, was a clear term; but, how vague becomes the idea, when, in the next page, he calls it, C£ 1 hat natural affection , and anticipating fancy, u ' which makes the fenfe of right and wrong V
p
tie:
f
it
■h
ath
1
t lie Jio uin
'•it ii i! !)< »
» ’ 31 • 111 !!( 1! ’ 1) 1

PRECISION IN STYLE. aai
U
rL
■ Self examination, or Tefledtion on our own L E c x •',k conduct, is an idea conceived with eafe; but X, when it is wrought into all the forms of, “ A a „ man’s dividing himfelf into two parties,
„ becoming a felf-dialogilt, entering into part- ^ 5, nerfhip with himfelf, forming the dual number K: - j, practically within himfelf;” we hardly know what to make of it. On fome occafions, he fo ^ adorns, or rather loads with words the plaineft ^ and fimpleft propofitions, as, if not to obfcure,
3 ^ at leaft, to enfeeble them.
In’ the following paragraph, for example, of the Inquiry concerning Virtue, he means to s.E! fhow, that, by every ill action we hurt our mind, as much as one who fhould fwallow poifon, or give himfelf a wound, would hurt his body.
Dr Obferve what a redundancy of words he pours it: forth: “Now, if the fabrick of the mind or tcc “ temper appeared to us, fuch as it really is; ich if we faw it impoffible to remove hence any otci j, one good or orderly affection, or to introduce ]£■; , y any ill or diforderly one, without drawing ijcs: 33 on, in fome degree, that dilfolute (fate which, its 3, at its height, is confelfed to be fo miferable ;
£•: „ it would then, undoubtedly, be confeffed, m that fince no ill, immoral, or unjuft a&ion,
' ft can be committed, without either a nevt 33 inroad and breach on the temper and paffions,
33 or a further advancing of that execution 33 already done; whoever did ill, or adted in 33 prejudice of his integrity, good-nature, or j, 33 worth, would of neceffity, adt with greater

L E c
X.
222 PRECISION IN STYLE.
T.
35
cr
ruelty towards himfelf, than he who fcrupled
,3 not to fwallow what was poifonous, or who, 3, with his own hands, Ihould voluntarily
33 mangle or wound his outward form or con- 33 ftitution , natural limbs or body*.” Here, to
commit a bad adion, is, firft, “To remove a „ good and orderly affection, and to introduce 33 an ill or diforderly one;” next, it is, “To 33 commit an adion that is ill, immoral, and 33 unjuft;” and in the next line, it is, “To do 33 ill, or to ad in prejudice of integrity, good- 33 nature, and worth nay, fo very fimple a thing as a man’s wounding himfelf, is, “To ,3 mangle, or wound, his outward form and 33 conftitution , his natural limbs or body.” Such fuperfluity of words is difguftfui to every reader of correct tnfte; and ferves no purpofe but to embarrafs and perplex the fenfe. This fort of Style is elegantly defcribed by Quindilian, “Eft 33 in quibufdam turba inanium verborum, qui 33 dum communem loquendi morem reformidant, 33 dudi fpecie. nitons, circumeunt omnia copiofa „ loquacitate quae dicere volunt*.” Lib. vii, cap. 2.
feta
* Character!!!:. Vol. II. p. 8$.
* “ A crowd of unmeaning words is brought together, by feme authors, who, afraid of exprefiing themfelves
alter a common and ordinary manner, and allured by an appearance of fplendour, furround every thing which they mean to fay with a certain copious loquacity.”

PRECISION IN'STYLE, 223
to;
C,
The great fource of a loofe Style, In op- L E c T. pofition to Precilion, is the injudicious ufe of X. thofe words termed Synonymous. They are called Synonymous, becaufe they agree in ex- preffing one principal idea; but, for the mod part, if not always, they exprefs it with fome diverfity in the circumflances. They are varied by fome accelfory idea which every word introduces, and which forms the diftindion between them. Hardly, in any Language, are there two words that convey precifely the fame idea; a perfon thoroughly converfant in the propriety of the Language, will always be able to obferve fomething that diftinguilhes them. As they are like different fhades of the fame colour, an accurate writer can employ them to great advantage, by ufing them, fo as to heighten and to finifh the picture which he "ives us. He fupplies by one, what was wanting in the other, to the force, or to the luftre of the image which he means to exhibit. But, in order to this end, he muft be extremely attentive to the choice which he makes of them, for the bulk of writers are very apt to confound them with each other; and to employ them carelefsly, merely for the Take of filling up a period, or of rounding and diverfifying the Language, as if their fignification were exadly the fame, while, in truth, it is not. Hence a certain mift, and indiftinctnefs, is unwarily thrown over Style.
In the Latin Language there are no two Words we would more readily take to be fyn-

224 PRECISION IN STYLE.
L E c
X.
Wei
onymous, than amare and diligere. Cicero, however, has fhown us, that there is a very | 3 bit, clear diftindfion betwixt them, “ Quid ergoP Bt 11 fays he, in one of his epiftles, “tibi commendem®"' „ eum quem tu ipfe diligis ? Sed tamen ut fcires
iffi,
Si w
J3 eum non a me diligi folum, verum etiam „ amari , ob earn rem tibi haec fcribo In the fame manner tutus and fecurus , are words which we would readily ^confound ; yet their meaning is different. Tutus , fignifies out of danger; Jecurus , free from the dread of it. Seneca has elegantly marked this diftinction ; “ Tuta fcelera 33 effe poffunt, fecura non poilunt * ” In our'word own Language, very many inftances might be k/f
iSooifl
»ze(
given of a difference in meaning among words
reputed Synonymous; and, as the fubjecl is of
$ 01 .
;:coim
uporf
tad:
idifts
importance, I fhall now point out fome of thefe. The inftances^which I am to give , may them- felves be of ufe ; and they will ferve to fhew the neceflity of attending, with care and ftriclnefs, to the exadt import of words, if ever we would pprac write with Propriety or Precifion. sk
Auftcrity , Severity , Riyour. Auftcrity, relates to orfti the manner of living; Severity, of thinking; lace i Rigour, of punifhing. To Aufterity, is oppofediiit. Effeminacy; to Severity,, Relaxation; to Ri--hid gour, Clemency. A Hermit, is auftere in his-s;
life ; aCafuift, fevere in his application of religr
ion
or law ; a Judge, rigorous in his fentences.
* Ad Famil. 1 . 15. ep. 47.
I Epift. 97.
‘hers.
•U 1
lot
Cufiom,

PRECISION IN STYLE.
225
Tit
ifyst i tit: Q, ! G.
edc:;
E, V;
fe
air- ret i; <E; Of l : n; : i;
UK
in o E -
i tEL )llif)E
?>'V
II K : ■Oi l!3T'
&
Cufiom , Habit. Ctiftom , refpefts the action; Habit, the aftor. By Cuftom, we mean the frequent repetition of the fame aft ; by Habit, the effect which that repetition produces on the mind or body. By the Cuftom of walking often on the ftreets, one acquires a Habit of idlenefs.
Surprifed, afionish d , amazed , confounded. Iam furprifed with what is new or unexpected; Iam aftonifhed , at what is vaft or great ; I am amazed, with whatisincomprehenfible ; I am confounded , by what is fhocking or terrible.
Dejijt , renounce , quit , leave qf. Each of thefe words imply fome purfuit or objeft relinquilhed; but from different motives. We defift from the difficulty of accompliffiing. We renounce , on account of the ddagreeablenefs of the objeft, or purfuit. We quit, for the fake of fome other thing which interefts us m re; and we leave off, becaufe we are weary of the defign. A Politician deftfts from his defigns, when he finds they are impracticable ; he renounces the court, becaufe he has been affronted by it; he quits ambition for ftudy or retirement; and leaves off his attendance on the great, as he becomes old and weary of it.
Fride, Van'ty. Pride makes us efteem ouHelves ; Vanity , makes us defire the efteem of others. It is juft to fay, as Dean Swift has done, that a man is too proud to be vain.
Hawjhnnef, Difdam. Idaughtinefs, is founded on the high opinion we entertain of ourfelves ; Dif- dain, on the low opinion we have of others. Vol. I. Q.
L E c
X.
T.

225 PRECISION IN STYLE.
Iect.
X.
To dijlinguish, to fcparate. We diftinguifh, what we want not to confound'With another tiling'; we feparate , what we want to remove from it. Objeds are diftinguifhed from one another , by their qualities. They are feparated, by the dif- tance of time or place.
To -weary , to fatigue. The continuance of the fame thing wearies us; labour fatigues us. I am weary with {landing; I am fatigued with walking. A fuitor wearies us by his perfeverance; fatigues us by his importunity.
To abhor , to detefl. To abhor imports, Amply, ftrong diflike ; to deteft , imports alfo ftrong difapprobation. One abhors being in debt; he detefts treachery.
To invent, to difcover. We invent things that arc new ; we difcover what was before hidden. Galileo invented the telefcope ; Harvey difco- vered the circulation of the blood.
Only , alone. Only, imports that there is no other of the fame kind; alone , imports being accompanied by no other. An only child , is one who has neither brother nor After ; a child alone , is one who is left by itfelf. There is a difference, therefore, in precife Language, betwixt thefe two phrafes , “Virtue only makes us „ happy;” and, “Virtue alone makes us happy.” Virtue only makes us happy, imports, that nothing elfe can do it. Virtue alone makes us happy, imports, that virtue, by itfeif, or unaccom- ’panied with other advantages , is fufficient to do itd
J A sc o k api :M i ■ve o Im ate' bee :S
owir
the1
. AL
%;ai fie fo cxptefl
lirifing jaltv : of th moM
in
@d z
s fc
,aplo
del
Da
i v

ut PRECISION IN STYLE. 22? >
V Entire , complete. A thing is entire, by wanting L £ C IlC " none of its parts ; complete, by wanting none of X. ^ the appendages that belong to it. A man may Ihave an entire houfe to himfelf ; and yet not ’ ■ have one complete apartment.
Tranquillity , Peace , Calm. Tranquillity, refpedis ’ a fituation free from trouble, confidered initfelf;
"F Peace , the fame fituation with refpedt to any caufes that might interrupt it; Calm, with regard F to a difturbed fituation going before , or following it. A good man enjoys Tranquillity , in ! F himfelf; Peace, with others; and Calm, after r - the florin.
S c: A Difficulty , an ObJla.de. A difficulty, embarraf-
fes; an Obftacle j flops us. We remove the one; SES’we furmount the other. Generally, the firft ,
Ins expreffes fomewhat arifing from the nature and He circumftances of the affair; the fecond , fomewhat L arifing from a foreign caufe, Philip found Diffi- culty in managing the Athenians from the nature ijp of their difpofitions ; but the eloquence of Deri: mofthenes was the greateft obftacle to his is. aefigns.
£ Ts Wifdnm , Prudence^ Wifdom , leads us to fpeak h;:. and act what is mod proper. Prudence . prevents j:v: our fpeaking or ailing improperly. A Wife man, w . employs the mod proper means for fuccefs; a prudent man , the fafeil means for not being brought into danger.
Enough, Sufficient. Enough, relates to the quan- - tity which one wiffies to have of any thing. Sufficient, relates to the ufe that is to be made

22 8 PRECISION IN STYLE.
lECT,
X.
of it. Hence, Enough, generally imports a greater
quantity than Sufficient does. The covetous man never has enough; although he has what is fuf. ficient for nature.
To avoxv , to acknowledge , to confcfs. Each of thefe words imports the affirmation of a fact, but in very different circumftances. To avow, fuppofes the perfon to glory in it; to acknow- ledge , fuppofes a fmall degree of faultinefs, which the acknowledgment compenfates: to con- fefs , fuppofes a higher degree of crime. A patriot avows his oppofition to a bad minifter, and is applauded; a gentleman acknowledges his miftake , and is forgiven ; a prifoner confeffes the crime he is accufed of, and is punifhed.
To remark , to obferve. We remark , in the way of attention, in order to remember; we obferve, in the way of examination , in order to judge. A traveller remarks the moll; flriking objed he fees ; a general obferves all the motions of his enemy.
Equivocal , Ambiguous. An Equivocal Expreffion is, one which has one fenfe open, and defigned to be underftood; another fenfe concealed , and underflood only by the perfon who ufes it. An Ambiguous Expreffion is , one which has apparently two fenfes, and leaves us at a lofs which .of them to give it. An equivocal expreffion is ufed with an intention to deceive ; an ambiguous one , when it is ufed with defign , is, with an intention not to give full information. An honed
aw
cor.fi
lance
Jconnei
cleffe
a
'The tiom parti Robi uhe (
., anu ,, we ratio deed fi?m fwor fence Ti wind
'latlc
pci]
fen

329
>U PRECISION IN STYLE.
fen man will never employ an equivocal expreflion ; L e c t. a confufed man may often utter ambiguous ones, X. without any defign. I fhall give only one in- ftance more.
With , By. Both thefe particles exprefs the connexion between fome inftrument, or means s.I; of effedting an end, and the agent who employs , it : but vpith, expreffes a more clofe and imme- cti: diate connedtion ■, by , a more remote one. We sirs kill a man with a fword ; he dies by violence, otc The criminal is bound -with ropes by the execu- y : tioner. The proper diftindtion in the ufe of thefe w-; particles , is elegantly marked in a paffage of Dr.
U( , Robertfon’s Hiftory of Scotland When one of pjrj. the old Scottilh kings was making an enquiry .j .... into the tenure by which his nobles held their ... lands, they ftarted up, and drew their fwords : ct By thefe,” faid they, “ we acquired our lands,
. j, and -with thefe, we will defend them. By thefe .... „ we acquired our lands ; ” fignifies the more
remote means of acquifttion by force and martial deeds; and , “ -with thefe we will defend them ; ”
..ii fignifies the immediate direct inftrument, the fword , which they would employ in their de- fence. ,
These are inftances of words , in our Language, which , by carelefs writers , are apt to be employed as perfectly fynonymous, and yet are notfo. Their lignifications approach , but are not precifely the fame. The more the diftindtion in 7 the meaning of fuch words is weighed, and at*
£ 3

33 °
PRECISION IN STYLE.
J, e c T, tended to , the more clearly and forcibly fhall X, we fpeak or write
From all that has been faid on this head , it will now, appear, that, in order to write or fpeak with Precifion, two things are efpecially requifite; one, that an author’s own ideas be clear and diftind; and the other , that he have an exaft and full comprehenfion of the force of thofe words which he employs. Natural genius is here required ; labour and attention ftill more. Dean Swift is one of the authors, in our Language, moft diftinguilhed for Precifion of Style. In his writings , we feldom or never find vague ex- prefiions , and # fynonymous words , carelefly thrown together. His meaning is always clear, and ftrongly marked,
I h.iD occafion to obferve before , that though all fubjeds of writing or difcourfe demand Per- fpicuity. yet all do not require the fame degree of that exad Precifion, which I have endeavoured
* In French, there is a very ufeful treatife on this fubject, the Abbe Girard’s Synonymes Francois , in which he has made a large collection of fuch apparent Synonymes in the Language, and fhown, with much accuracy, the difference in their fignification. It were much to be Wifhed, that fome fucK work were undertaken for out tongue, and executed with equal tafte and judgment. Nothing would contribute more to precife and elegant writing. In the mean time, this French Treatife may be per-. ufed with confiderable profit. It will accuftom perfons to weigh, with attention, the force of words; and will fugged feveral diffractions betwixt fynonymous terms in our own language, analogous to thofe which he has pointed out in the French ; and, accordingly, feveral of the inftances above given were fuggefted by the work of this author,
rexpl
"ifur step ia o se t
fciiriy
iiisn ad b
* 8 1 oraat pah; wor 3 nd tinch tmk k tin
Hid t
Piecit the [ .of« •and kk 'plot
ton,
flop
we;
lines
] t'iii
tstti

PRECISION IN STYLE. 231
he
0i:; to explain. It is, indeed, in every fort of wri- Lect ting , a great beauty to have , at leaft , fome X, meafure of Precifion , in diftindtion from that 'G; loofe profufion of words which imprints no clear idea on the reader’s mind. But we mull, at the k - fame time , be on our guard, left too great a N": ftudy of Precifion , efpecially in fubjedts where ra )• it is not ftrictly requifite , betray us into a dry ; ■ and barren Style ; left, from the defire of prun.
Its ing too clofely, we retrench all copioufnefs and mli ornament. Some degree of this failing may,
Sty perhaps , be remarked in Dean Swift’s ferious ids works. Attentive only to exhibit his ideas clear ds, and exadt, refting wholly on his fenfe and difife tindlnefs, he appears to reject, difdainfully , all embellifhment which , on fome occafions, may ,1b: be thought to render his manner fomewhat hard dE and dry. To unite together Copioufnefs and (V;) Precifion, to be flowing and graceful, and , at jjjr the fame time , correct and exact in the choice of every word, is, no doubt, one of the higheft and moft difficult attainments in writing. Some kinds of compofition may require more of Co- pioufnefs and Ornament; others, more of Pre- . g cifion and Accuracy; nay, in the fame compofi- 32:: tion , the different parts of it may denr^nd a proper variation of manner. But we muft ftudy ^ never to facrifice, totally, any one of thefe qua- lities tothe other ; and , by a proper management, both of them may be made fully confiftent, if ■ s our own ideas be precife, and our knowledge and flock of words be , at the fame time 5 extenfive. Q, 4

ST
L E c XI.
LECTURE XI.
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
St®
dm
aem s to
lent 1
ma
iefan
fen
r. HAVING begun to treat of Style, in the laft Ledture I confidered its fundamental quality, Perfpicuity. What I have faid of this, relates chiefly to the choice of Words. From words 1 proceed to Sentences; and as, in all writing and difcourfe , the proper compofition and ftruc- ture of Sentences is of the higheft importance, I ftall treat of this fully. Though Perfpicuity be the general head under which I, at prefent, con- fider l anguage, I fhall not confine myfelf to this quality alone, in Sentences, but fhall enquire alfo, what is requifite for their Grace and Beau, ty: that I may bring together, under one view, all tl*at feems neceffary to be attended to in the confirmation and arrangement of words in a Sentence.
If is not eafy to give an exadl definition of a Sentence , or Period , farther, than as it always implies fome one complete propofition or enunciation of thought. Ariftotle’s definition is,
split ii JreacA The
an o:
is of It.
w c
: iia fo
t, rei

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 233
in the main, a good one: “ Ai^ig €%*(r «i v kbu L
“ TltevTrjV tca&’ ctvrqv jcai fliysBog tvcrvv07rT0V'. ”
L “ A form of Speech which hath a beginning and “ an end within itfelf, and is of fuch a length “ as to be eafily comprehended at once.
This, however , admits of great latitude. For ' a Sentence, or Period, confills always of com- * ponent parts, which are called its members; and as thefe members may be either few or many,
Ch and may be connected in feveral different ways, the fame thought, or mental propofuion, may often be either brought into one Sentence, or fit fpfft into two or three, without the material Bit breach of any rule.
ht\ The firft variety that occurs in the confider- ram ation of Sentences, is, the diftindtion of long alt and fhort ones. The precife length of Senten- u;;; ces, as to the number of words, or the number »E of members, which may enter into them, cannot fpc be afcertained by any definite meafure. Only, it is obvious , there may be an extreme on either ifc: fide. Sentences, immoderately long, and con- fifting of too many members , always tranfgrefs nil fome one or other of the rules which I flrall men - 1 c: r tion foon, as neceffary to be obferved in every good Sentence. In difcourfe? that are to be fpok- en, regard muff be had to the eafinefs of pronunciation , which is not confident with too ^ long periods. In compofitions where pronuncia- tion has no place, ftill , however, by ufing long periods too frequently, an author overloads the reader’s ear, and fatigues his attention.

Lec
XI.
234 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
t. For long Periods require, evidently, more at- tention than fhort ones, in order to perceive clearly the connexion of the feveral parts, and to take in the whole at one view. At the fame time, there may be an excefs in too many fhort Sentences alfo; by which the fenfe is fplit and • broken, the connexion of thought weakened, and the memory burdened, by prefenting to it a long fucceffion of minute objeds.
With regard to the length and conftrudion of Sentences , the French critics make a very a juft diftindion of Style , into Style Feriodiquc , I and Style Coupe. The Style Periodique is, where the fentences are compofed of feveral members linked together, and hanging upon one another, fo that the fenfe of the whole is not brought , out till the clofe. This is the moft pompous, mufical, and oratorical manner of compofing; as in the following fentence of Sir William Temple: “ If you look about you, and confider “ the lives of others as well as your own; if “ you think how few are born with honour, “ and how many die without name or children;
“ how little beauty we fee, and how few friends c ' we hear of; how many difeafes, and how “ much poverty there is in the world; you “ will fall down upon your knees, and, inftead “ of repining at one afflidion, will admire fo “ many bleffings which you have received from “ the hand of God.’’ (Letter to Lady Effex.) Cicero abounds with Sentences tonftruded after this manner.
is±
manner.

^ STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 235
■ The S'yle Coupe is, where the fenfe is formed 10 ■ into fhort independent propofitions, each com- ^ plete within itfelf; as in the following of Mr.
Pope : “ I confefs , it was want of confideration )E: “ that made me an author. I writ, becaufe it 15ct amufed , me. I corrected, becaufe it was as : ^ « pleafant to me to correct as to write. I pub- :fc: « lifted, becaufe, I was told, I might pleafe “ fuch as it was a credit to pleafe. ” ( Preface to
cc his works.) This is very much the French me- thod of writing; and always fuits gay and eafy >- fubjects. The Style Pe’riodique , gives an air of pr gravity and dignity to compofition. The Style d: Coupe, is more lively and linking. According e: to the nature of the compofition, therefore, and ns: the general character it ought to bear, the one J:: or other may be predominant. But, in almoft i cc? every kind of compofition, the great rule is to Ilk intermix them. For the ear tires of either of 21: them when too long continued : Whereas , by posr a proper mixture of long and ftort Periods, the (ill: ear is gratified, and a certain fprightlinefs. is l 0 i. joined with majefty in our ftyle. “ Non fem- “ per,” fays Cicero (deferibing very expref- j. fively, thefe two different kinds of Styles, of : which I have been fpeaking,).“ non Temper uten- jjt “ dum eft perpetuitate, et quafi converfione ver-< Ij ::: “ borum; fed fiepe carpenda membris minutio- t{f; “ ribus oratio eft *,
* “ It is not proper always to employ a continued train, 11 and a fort of regular compafs of phrafes; but ftyle “ ought to be often broken down into fmaller members.”
E C T,
XT.

2 3 6 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E C T
XI.
ST
This variety is of fo great confequence, that it muff be ftudied , not only in the fucceffion of long and Ihort Sentences , but in the ftructure U,
A train of Sentences, con- U,
rfj t
;Sei
of our Sentences alfo.
ifit
bv
•a to
rs
.•jane
The
adfai
ftrudted in the fame manner, and with the fame number of members, whether long or Ihort, fhould never be allowed to fucceed one another. However mufical each of them may be, it has a better effect to introduce even a difeord, than to cloy the ear with the repetition of fimilaroi founds: For, nothing is fo tirefome as perpetual |]fes, uniformity. In this article of the conftrudion : Thi and diftribution of his Sentences, Lord Shafts- ? enC e bury has fhown great art. In the Lift Ledure, 2) I obferved , that he is often guilty of facrificing f^o, precifion of ftyle to pomp of expreffion; and that there runs through his whole manner, a ftiffnefs and affeeffation , which render him very unfit to be confidered as a general model. But, as his ear was fine, and as he was extremely at- ■ tentive to every thing that is elegant, he has ! '0n ftudied the proper intermixture of long and fhort Sentences; with variety and harmony in ^ their ftructure , more than any other F.ngliih author; and for this part of compofition h& ^ deferves attention- As,j
From thefe general obfervations, let us now defeend to a more particular confideration of the ycf qualities that are required to make a Sentence "V perfedt. So much depends upon the proper con- ftruction of Sentences, that, in every fort of compofition, we cannot be too ftrict in our at- ifei

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 23?
it:
K~-
05 e: i 03;: ay!* & 02 ■
etc
;prii: )le l* iderb
tention to it. For , be the fubjedt what it will, L if the Sentences be conftrudted in a clumfy, perplexed, or feeble manner, it is impoflible that a work, compofed of fuch Sentences, can be read with pleafure , or even with profit. Whereas , by giving attention to the rules which relate to this part of ftyle , we acquire the habit of expreffing ourfelves with Perfpicuity and Elegance; and , if a diforder chance to arife in fome of our Sentences, we immediately fee where it lies, and are able to redify it *.
The properties molt effential to a perfetd Sentence , feem to me , the four following: 1. Clear- nefs and Prccifion. 2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony. Each of thefe I fhall dludrate fepar- ately, and at fome length.
The firft is, Clearnefs and Precifion. The lead failure here, the lead degree of ambiguity, which leaves the mind in any fort of fufpence as
art
ter:.
of:
db
od
a-
* On the Structure of Sentences, the Ancients appear to have bellowed a great deal of attention and care. The Treatife of Demetrius Phalereus , weji EougvEia;, abounds with obfervations upon the choice and collocation of words carried to fuch a degree of nicety, as would frequently feem to us minute. The Treatife of Dionyfius of Halicar- naffus,!r-e; g-uvSeo-em; ova,</.oer&v, is more mailerly ; but is chiefly confined to the mufical ftructure of Periods; a fubject, for which the Greek Language afforded much more affiitance to their writers, than our Tongue admits. On the arrangement of words , in Englifh Sentences , the xviiith chapter of Lord Kaim’s Elements of Criticifm ought to be confulted; and alfo, the 2d Volume of Dr. Campbell’s Philofophy of Rhetoric.
E C
XL

238 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
Lect,
XI.
to the meaning, ought to be avoided with the greateft care; nor is it fo eafv a matter to keep always clear of this, as one might, at firft, imagine. Ambiguity 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 , I treated fully in the laft Ledure. Of the collocation of them, I am now to treat. The firft thing to be ftudied here, is, to obferve exadly the rules of grammar ; as far as thefe can guide us. But as the grammar of our Language is not extenfive, there may often be an ambiguous collocation of words, where there is no tranfgreffion of any grammatical rule. The relations which the words, or members of a period, bear to one another, cannot be pointed out in Englifh , as in the Greek or Latin, by means of termination; it is afcer- tained only by the pofition in which they ftand. Hence a capital rule in the arrangement of Sentences is, that the words or members mod nearly related , fhould be placed in the Sentence, as near to each other as poflible; fo as to make their mutual relation clearly appear. This is a rule not always obferved, even by good writers, as ftridly as it ought to be. It will be neceffary to produce fome inftances, which will both fhow the importance of this rule, and make the application of it be underftood.
First, In the pofition of adverbs, which are ufed to qualify the fignification of fomething which either precedes or follows them, there is
ijec itre t! inti
tot
seed
ling
:oes
:olot
dace.
‘tog
Ac
Ihi
to
t to jbat ising
W
mon
;T1
I 1 ath

239
-'STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
^ often a good deal of nicety. C( By greatnefs, ” Lect. !E ~Tays IVIr. Addifon , in the Spectator, No. 412. Xf.
K- “ I do not only mean the bulk of any fmgle «)£:« object, but the largenefs of a whole view. ”
'it Here the place of the adverb only , renders it a c limitation of the following word, mean. “ I do ■ tret” not only mean.” The queltion may then be teat put, What does he more than mean? Had he RC:placed it after bulk, (till it would have been wrong. cc I do not mean the bulk only of any Ei;“ fmgle object. For we might then alk, What Hit-does he mean more than the bulk? Is it the xt:: colour ? Or any other property ? Its proper of3 place, undoubtedly, is, after the word objetf,
1 [is- “ By greatnefs, I do not mean the bulk of any ml e ‘ fmgle objedt only; ” for then , when we put jjj.the queftion, What more does he mean than the bulk of a fmgle objedt ? The anfwer comes out ^ exactly as the author intends, and gives it;
, K .. “ The largenefs of a whole view.” — “ I heifm,” jjjj,. fays Lord Shaftfbury, “ can only be oppofed ^ “ to polytheifm , or atheifm.” Does he mean .^.-that theifm is capable of nothing elfe , except - being oppofed to polytheifm or atheifm? T his ~ m is what his words literally import, through the wrong collocation of only, fie fhould have faid,
“ Theifm can be oppofed only to polytheifm or “ atheifm.” — In like manner, Dean Swift (Project for the advancement of Religion), “ The “ Romans underftood liberty, at leaft, as well “ as we. ” Thefe words are capable of two different fenfes, according as the emphafis, in

240 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. .
L E C T.
XL
reading them, is laid upon liberty , or'upon at Itaft. In the firft cafe, they will fignify, that whatever other things we may underhand better than the Romans, liberty, at leaft, was one thing which they underftood as well as we. In the fecond cafe, they will import, that liberty was underftood, at leajl as well by them as by us; meaning, that by them it was better underftood. If this laft, as I make no doubt, was Dean Swift’s own meaning, the ambiguity would have been avoided, and the fenfe rendered independent of the manner of pronouncing, by arranging the words thus: “ The Romans under- “ flood liberty as well, at leaft, as we.” The fact is, with refped to fuch adverbs, as, onli/, wholly , at leajl , and the reft of that tribe, that in common difcourfe, the tone and emphafis we ufein pronouncing them , generally ferves to fhow their reference , and to make the meaning clear; and hence , we acquire a habit of throwing them in loofely in the courfe of a period. But, in writing , where a man fpeaks to the eye , and not to the ear, he ought to be more accurate; and fo to conned; thofe adverbs with the words which they qualify, as to put his meaning out of doubt upon the firft infpedion.
Secondly, When a circumftance is inter- pofed in the middle of a Sentence, it fometimes requires attention how to place it, fo as to diveft it of all ambiguity. For inftance: “ Are „ thefe defigns ” (fays Lord Bolingbroke, Differt on Parties, Dedicat.) “ Are thefe defigns which
„ any
ar
r avc
Jitb
tende
lougl
11 th Br. anv
Thi
?F
F,i
i$ps
to; jay i
>.tc;
St®
Tfe
Hot

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 241
any man, who is born a Briton , in any cir- „ cumftances , in any fituation, ought to be. „ afhamed or afraid to avow ? ” Here we are 1 ‘ left at a lofs , whether thefe words, “ in any
“ drcumjfanccs, in any filiation,” are connected with , “ a man born in Britain , in any circum- ^ “ fiances, or fituation , ” or with that man’s !!t avowing his defigns, in any circumftances, or 10 - “ fituation , into which he may be brought ? ” ;: If the latter, as feems mod probable, was in- -■ tended to be the meaning, the arrangement ought to have been conducted thus: “ Are
“ thefe defigns, which any man who is born a “ Briton, ought to be afhamed or afraid, in '&>’■ “ any circumftances, in any fituation, to avow ?” But,
Thirdly, Still more attention is required to the proper difpofition of the relative pronouns,
. w/10, "which , ■w-haf , Wio/e, and of all thofe parti- v cles which exprefs the connection of the parts E;. of Speech with one another, As all reafoning r depends upon this connection, we cannot be too accurate and precife here. A fmall error 3. may overcloud the meaning of the whole Sen- . - tence; and even, where the meaning is intelli- .... gible, yet where thefe relative particles are out of their proper place, we always find fomething awkward and disjointed in the Structure of the Sentence. Thus, in the Spectator (No. $4) “ This kind of wit,” fays Air. Addifon, “was * very much in vogue among our countrymen,
“ about an age or t\yo ago, who did not Vol. I. R
ICT,
XL

242 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E c T. “ pracftife it for any oblique reafon, but purely XI. “ for the fake of being witty.” We are at no lofs about the meaning here; but the conftruction would evidently be mended by difpofmg of the circumftance, “ about an age or two ago,” in fuch a manner as not to feparate the relative 'who, from its antecedent our countrymen-, in this ,way : “ About an age or two ago, this kind “ of wit was very much in vogue among our “ countrymen, who did not pradife it for any “ oblique reafon, but purely for the fake of “ being witty. ” Spectator, No. 412. “ "We no “ where meet with a more glorious and pleafing “ Ihow in nature, than what appears in the “ heavens at the rifing and fetting of the fun, “ -which is wholly made up of thefe different u ftains of light, that fhow themfelves in clouds “ of a different fituation. ” Which is here de* figned to conned: with the word shorn, as its antecedent; but it Hands fo wide from it, that without a careful attention to the fenfe, we would be naturally led, by the rules of fyntax,’ to refer it to the rifing and fetting of the fun, or to the fun itfelf; and, hence, an indrftinctnefs is thrown over the whole Sentence. The following paffage in Bifhop Sherlock’s Sermons (Vol. II. Serm. i$.) is Hill more cenfurable : “ It is " folly to pretend to arm ourfelves againft die <c accidents of life, by heaping up treafures, <c which nothing can protect us againft, but the <c good providence of our Heavenly Father. Which, always refers grammatically to the an-

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
243
kg
‘''k mediately preceding fubftantive, which here is, Le c Wer : « treafures;” and this would make nonfenfe of XI, let® the whole Period. Every one feels this impro- U; priety. T.he Sentence ought to have ftood thus;
K ' J: ' “ It is folly to pretend, by heaping up treafures,
:: - “ to arm ourfelves againft the accidents of life,
^ “ which nothing can proteft us againft but the
Pi- “ good providence of our Heavenly Father.’’ ten Of the like nature is the following inaccu- difck- racy of Dean Swift’s. He is recommending to or h. young clergymen , to write their fermons fully 41:.' and diftinftly. “ Many,” fays he, “aft fo dins a; “ reftly contrary to this method, that, from a spptr. “ habit of faving time and paper, which they jj; “ acquired at the univerfity, they write in fo tii “ diminutive a manner, that they can hardly ifc: ” read what they have written. ” He certainly jig: does not mean, that they had acquired time and paper at the univerfity, but that they had ac*
.(p- quired this habit there ; and therefore his words it's ought to have run thus: “from a habit which “ they have acquired at the univerfity of faving “ time and paper, they write in fo diminutive “ a manner. ” In another paffage, the fame ia j. author has left his meaning altogether uncer- tain, by mifplacing a relative. It is in the con- clufion of his letter to a member of parliament, concerning; the Sacramental Teft: “ Thus I have “ fairly given you, Sir, my own opinion, as “ well as that of a great majority of both “ houfes here, relating to this weighty affair;
“ upon which I am confident you may fecurely
R 2

244 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
i, e c T. “ reckon. ’’ Now I afk, what it is he would XL have his correfpondent to reckon upon, fecurely? The natural conftruction leads to thefe words, '* this weighty affair.” But, as it .would be difficult to make any fenfe of this, it is more probable he meant that the majority of both houfes might be fecurely reckoned upon; though certainly this meaning, as the words are arranged, is obfcurely expreffcd. The fentence would be amended by arranging it thus: “ Thus, Sir, I “ have given you my own opinion, relating to “ this weighty affair , as well as that of a great “ majority of both houfes here; upon which I “ am confident you may fecurely reckon. ” Several other inflances might be given; but I reckon thofe which I have produced fufficient to make the rule underftood; that, in the con- ftrudtion ol fentences, one of the firft things to be attended to, is, the marlhalling of the words in fuch order as fhall moft clearly mark the re- lation of the feveral parts of the fentence to one another; particularly, that adverbs {hall always be made to adhere clofely to the words which they are intended to qualify; that, where a cir- cumftance is thrown in, it fhall never hang loofe in the midft of a period , but be determined by its place to one or other member of*it; and that every relative word which is ufed, fhall inftantly prefent its antecedent to the mind of the reader, without the leaft obfcurity. I have mentioned thefe three cafes ,, becaufe I think
\

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 24?
they are the raoft frequent occafions of ambi- Ls c f guity creeping into feiftences. XI.
With regard to Relatives, I muffc farther obferve, that obfeurity often arifes from the too frequent repetition of them , particularly of the pronouns -who , and they , and them , and theirs , when we have occafion to refer to different perfons; as, in the following fentcnce of arch- bifhop Tiliotfon (vol. I. ferm. 42.): “ Men look
“ with an evil eye upon the good that is in “ others; and think that their reputation obfeur- “ es them, and their commendable qualities “ ftand in their light; and therefore they do “ what they can to caft a cloud over them, that “ the bright fhining of their virtues may not “ obfeure them. ” This is altogether, carelefs writing. It renders ftyle often obfeure, 3 Tways embarraffed and inelegant. When we find ■ thefe perfonal pronouns crowding too fall upon us, we have often no method left , but to throw the whole fentence into fome other form , which may avoid thofe frequent references to perfons who have before been mentioned.
All languages are liable to ambiguities. Quindtilian gives us fome inftances in the Latin, arifing from faulty arrangement. A- man, he tells us, ordered , by his will, to have erected for him, after his death, “ Statuam auream ha- “ flam tenentemupon which arofe a difpute at law. whether the whole ftatue, or the fpear only, was to be of gold? The fame author obferves, very properly, that a fentence is always faulty,
R 3

246 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
Lect, when the collocation of the words is ambiguous, XI. though the fenfe can be gathered. If any one fhould fay, “ Chremetem audivi percufliffe De- “ meam, ” this is ambiguous both in fenfe and ftru&ure, whether Chremes or Demea gave the blow. But if this expreflion were ufed, “ Se vidiffe hominem librum fcribcntem, ” although the meaning be clear, yet QuinCtilian infills that the arrangement is wrong. “ Nam,” fays he , “ etiamfi librum ab homine fcribi pa- “ teat, non certe hominem a libfo, male tamen “ compofuerat, feceratque ambiguum quantum “ in ipfo fuit. ” Indeed, to have the relation of every word and member of a fentence marked in the moll proper and difhndl manner, gives not clearnefs only, but grace and beauty to a fentence, making the mind pafs fmoothly and agreeably along all the parts of it.
I proceed now to the fecond quality of a well-arranged fentence, which I termed its Unity. This is a capital property. In every compofition, of whatever kind, fome degree of Unity is required, in order to render it beautiful. There mull be always fome connecting principle among the parts. Some one objedt mult reign and be predominant. This, as I fhall hereafter fhow, holds in Hiltory, in Epic and Dramatic Poetry, and in all orations. But moft of all, in a fingie fentence, is required the Ptiicftefl Unity. For the very nature of a fentence implies one proportion to be expreffed. It may confift of parts, indeed j but thefe parts mull be fo clofcly

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 24?*
•Lj -
jin
rfC'
bound together, as to make the impreffion upon Lect the mind , of one objed, not of many. Now, XI. in order to preferve this Unity of a fentence, the following rules mull be obferved :
In the firft place, during the courfe of the fentence, the fcene fhould be changed as little as poffible. We fhould not be hurried by fudden tranfitions from perfon to perfon, nor' from fubject to fubjed. There is commonly, in every fentence, fome perfon or thing, which is the governing * word. This fhould be continued fo, if poffible, from the beginning to the end of it. Should I exprefs myfelf thus : “ After we came to anchor,
,, they put me on ffiore, where I was welcomed „ by all my friends, who received me with „ the greateft kindnefs.” In this fentence, though the objeds contained in it have a fufficient connedion with each other, yet, by this manner of reprcfenting them, by ffiifting fo often both the place and the perfon, w, and they, and /, and wAo, they appear in fuch a difunited view , that the fenfe of connedion is almoft loft.
The fentence is reftored to its proper unity, by turning it after the following manner: “ Having „ come to an anchor, I was put on fhore, where 3, I was welcomed by all my friends, and re- „ ceived with the greateft kindnefs.” Writers who tranfgrefs this rule, for the moft part tranf- grefs, at the fame time ,
A SECOND rule ; never to crowd into one fentence , things which have fo little connedion, that they could bear to be divided into t\yo or
R 4

248 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES,
L E C T.
XI.
three fentences. The violation of this rule never fails to hurt, and difpleafe a reader. Its effect, indeed, is fo bad, that, of the two, it is the fafeft extreme , to err rather by too many fhort fentences, than by one that is overloaded and embarraffed. Examples abound in authors. I fhall produce fome, to juftify what I now fay. “ Archbifhop Tillotfonfays an Author of the Hiftory of England, “ died in this year. He 3) was exceedingly beloved both by King Willi- 3, am and Queen Alary, who nominated Dr. ,5 Tennifon, Bifhop of Lincoln, to fucceed him.” Who would expect the latter part of this fentence to follow, in confequence of the former? “ He was exceedingly beloved by both King s, and Queen,” is the propofition of the fentence: we look for fome proof of this, or at lead fomething related to it, to follow; when we are on a fudden carried off to a new propofition, <c who nominated Dr. Tennifon to fucceed him.” The following is from JYliddleton’s Life of Cicero: “ In this uneafy ftate, both of his 3, public and private life, Cicero was oppreffed 3} by a new and cruel affliction, the death of 3 ) his beloved daughter Tullia; which happened 53 foon after her divorce from Dolabella ; whofe 3) manners and humours were entirely difagreeable 3, to her.” The principal objedt in this fentence is, the death of Tullia, which was the caufe of her father’s affliction; the date of it, as happening foon after her divorce from Dolabella, may enter into the fentence with propriety; but
fi
tot
l:o ( .flik jot t left
~:!ti
A
Ihi

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
'•249
E$,
jkf the fubjunction of Dolabella’s character is foreign L f: c t.
to the main objed; and breaks the unity and XI.
E ' compactnefs of the fentence totally,- by fetting Hv a new picture before the reader. The following fentence, from a tranflation of Plutarch, is ftill """ worfe : “ Their march,” fays the Author, fpeak- ing of the Greeks under Alexander, “ their
“march was through an uncultivated country,
„ whofe favage inhabitants fared hardly, having j, no other riches than a breed of lea.n fheep,
35 whofe flefh was rank and unfavoury, by reafon 33 of their continual feeding upon fea-fifh.” Here ! c: the fcene is changed upon us again and again.
The march of the Greeks, the defcription of the inhabitants through whofe country they fetttravelled, the account of their fheep, and the "" caufe of their fheep being ill-tafted food, form a wt jumble of objects, flightly related to each other,
Off which the reader cannot, without much difficulty, eah comprehend under one view, b. These examples have been taken from fen- ■ tences of no great length , yet over-crowded, op Authors who deal in long fentences , are very dta apt to be faulty in this article. One need only ; - open Lord Clarendon’s Hiftory , to find exam- ples every where. The long, involved, and intricate fentences of that Author, are the greateft [. blemifh of his compofition; though, in other refpects, as a Hiftorian, he has confiderable merit. In later, and more corredl writers than Lord Clarendon, we find a period fometimes running out fo far, and comprehending fo many particu-

250 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
Lect.
XL
lars, as to be more properly a difcourfe than a fentence. Take , for aa inftance, the following from Sir William Temple, in his Effay upon Poetry: “ The ufual acceptation takes Profit and “ Pleafure for two different things; and not only cc calls the followers or votaries of them by the : c< feveral names of Bufy and Idle Men ; but dif,
“ tinguifhes the faculties of the mind, that are cc converfant about them, calling the operations “ of the iirft, Wifdom; and of the other, Wit;
“ which is a Saxon word, ufed to exprefs what a the Spaniards and Italians call Ingenio , and the “ French, Efprit , both from the Latin; though “ I think Wit more particularly fignifies that of “ Poetry, as may occur in Remarks on the Runic “ Language. ” When one arrives at the end of fuch a puzzled fentence, he is furprifed to find lrimfelf got to fo great a diftance from the object j with which he at Iirft fet out. j|
Lord Shaftsbury, often betrayed into faults by his love of magnificence, fhall afford us the next example. It is in his Rhapfody, where he is deferibing the cold regions: “At length,” fays he, c ‘the Sun approaching , melts thelnow, fets “ longing men at liberty, and affords them means “ and time to make provifion againft the next “ return of Cold. ” This firft fentence is correct enough ; but he goes on : c ‘ It breaks the icy fet- c ‘ ters of the mam , where vaft fea-monfters pierce , Cl through floating iflands, with arms which can j “ withftand the cryftal rock; whilft others, who “ of tlremfelves feem great as iflands , are by their
a

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
25 *
S: « bulk alone armed againft all but Man, whole I ■ « fuperiority over creatures of fuch flupendous fize
“ and force, fhould make him mindful of his privi- “ lege of Reafon, aud force him humbly to adore “ the great Compofer of thefe wondrous frames, la; « anc j t be Author of his own fuperior wifdom. ”
:t ' ; Nothing can be more unhappy or embarraffed V- than this fentence; the worfe too, as it is intended ‘Ttobe defcriptive, where every thing Ihould be ^ clear. It forms no diftinct image whatever. The sp'Zt, at the beginning, is ambiguous, whether it ®- mean the Sun or the Cold. The object is changed lit- three times in the fentence; beginning with the lKiSun, which breaks the icy fetters of the main;
then the Sea-mOniters become the principal perfona- t c^ges; and laflly, by a very unexpected tranfition, iiila. Man is brought into view, and receives a long inti and ferious admonition before the fentence clofes.
I do not at prefent infill: on the impropriety of [J:. fuch expreflions as , God’s being the Compojer of air 1 Frames ■ and the Sea-monfters having arms that c • withjiand rocks. Shaitfbury’s flrength lay in reafon- It;- ing and fentiment , more than in defeription;
,([;• however much his deferiptions have been foments, times admired.
I- I shall only give one inflance more on this A., head, from Dean Si^ift; in hispropofal, too , for correcting the Englith Language: where, in place : of a fentence , he has given a loofe differtation .^•upon feveral fubjects. Speaking of the progrefs of our language, after the time of Cromwell: jjj; “ To this fucceeded, ” fays he, “ that licentiouf-
j E C T
XI.

I. E C
XI.
T.
252 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
ST
« nefs, which entered with the Refloration, and, ^ “ from infedting our religion and morals, fell to b’fa cc corrupt our langi. age; which laft was not like V cc to be much improved by thole , who at that i " time made up the court of King Charles theJlOl c< Second ; either fuch as had followed him intr of “ his banifhment, or who had been altogetherpn “ converfant in the dialedt of thefe fanatic times; or young men, who had been educated in the
e ‘ fame country: fo that the Court, which ufed “ to be the ftandard of correctnefs and propriety “ of fpeech , was then , and I think has ever finct'Ritf “ continued, the work fchool in England for thatieels “ accomplifhment; and fo will remain, till bettermlexi “ care be taken in the education of our nobility,Hi a “ that they may fet out into the world with*.;. ] “ fome foundation of literature, in order to qualify iey < “ them for patterns of politenefs: ” How many dll p different facts, reafonings , and obfervations, arel rapi here prefented to the mind at once! and yet foW linked together by the Author, that they all makejiis{ parts of a fentence, which admits of no greaterjif; divifion in pointing , than a femicolon between jam; any of its members? Having mentioned pointing, rfter 1 fhall here take notice , that it is in vain to pro- pofe , by arbitrary punctuation , to amend the defects of a Sentence , to correct its ambiguity ;
nan
or to prevent its confufion. For commas, colons, and points , do not make the proper divifions of
holt
thought ; but only ferve to mark thofe which
arife from the tenor of the Author’s expreflion:
tto
and therefore , they are proper or not, juft

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
253
cs.
cording as they correfpond to the natural divifions L E c of the fenfe. When they are inferted in wrong XI. !5; places, they deferve, and will meet with, no regard.
t I Proceed to a third rule, for preferring the Unity of Sentences; which is, to keep clear of all Parenthefes in the middle of them. On fome occaiions, thefe may have a fpirited appearance;
~~ as prompted by a certain vivacity of thought, which can glance happily afidc, as it is going J ' along. But, for the mod part , their effech is extremely bad; being a fort of wheels within »k. wheels ; fentences in the midft of fentences; the perplexed method of difpofing of fome thought, r which a writer wants art to introduce in its proper place. It were needlefs to give many inftances, fe as they occur fo often among incorrect writers.
E;: I lhall produce one from Lord Bolingbroke,
[jr the rapidity of whofe genius , and manner of ' writing, betrays him frequently into inaccuracies : ;, p . of this fort. It is in the Introduction to his Idea „ of a Patriot King, where he writes thus: “It • “ feems to me, that, in order to maintain the . fyftem of the world, at a certain point, far “ below that of ideal perfedtion (for we are made “ capable of conceiving what we are incapable of .. “ attaining), but however, fufficient, upon the . “ whole, to conftitute a ftate eafy and happy,
“ or at the worft, tolerable; I fay, it feems to “ me, that the Author of Nature has thought “ fit to mingle, from time to time, among the “ focieties of men, a fety , and but a fe\y, of

L E c XI.
254 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
“ thofe on whom he is gracioufly pleafed to be- “ flow a larger portion of the Ethereal Spirit, “ than is given, in the ordinary courfe of his “ government, to the fons of men. ” A very bad Sentence this; into which , by the help of a Par- enthefis, and other interjected circumftances, his Lordfhip had contrived to thru ft fo many things, that he is forced to begin the conftruction again with the phrafe I fay ; which , whenever it occurs, may be always affirmed as a fnre mark of a clumfy ill -conftructed Sentence; excufable in fpeaking, where the greateft accuracy is not expected, but in polifhed writing, unpardonable.
I shall add only one rule more for the Unity! of a Sentence, which is, to bring it always to a full and perfect clofe. Every thing that is one, flrould have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I need not take notice , that an unfinifhed Sentence is no Sentence at all , according to any grammatical rule. But very often we meet with Sentences that are , fo to fpeak , more than fimfhed. When we have arrived at what we expected was to be the conclufion, when we have come to the word on which the mind is naturally led , by what went before, to reft; unexpectedly, fome circumftance pops out, which ought to have been omitted, or to have been difpofed of elfewhere ; but which is left lagging' behind , like a tail adjected to the Sentence; fomewhat that , as Mr. Pope deferibes the Alexandrine line.
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31 S aten rne
Like a wounded {hake, drags its 11 ow length along.”
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4
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 25 -
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All thefe adjections to the proper clofe, disfigure a Sentence extremely. They give it a lame, ungraceful air , and, in particular, they break its Unity. Dean Swift, forinftance, in his Letter to a Young Clergyman , fpeaking of Cicero’s writings, expreffes himfelf thus : “ With thefe ., writings, young divines are more converfant, ., than with thofe of Demofthenes , who , by „ many degrees, excelled the other; at leaf!, as „ an orator. ” Here the natural clofe of the Sentence is at thefe words, “ excelled the other. ” Thefe words conclude the propofition; we look for no more; and the circumftance added, “ at „leaft , as an orator , ” comes in with a very halting pace. How much more compact would the Sentence have been , if turned thus: “ With „ thefe writings, young divines are more con- „ verfant , than with thofe of Demofthenes, „ who , by many degrees , as an orator at leaft, „ excelled the other.” In the following Sentence, from Sir William Temple , the adjedlion to the Sentence is altogether foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet’s Theory of the Earth , and Fontenelle’s Plurality of Worlds, “The firft ,” fays he, “ could not end his learned treatife, without a „ panegyric of modern learning, in comparifon „ of the ancient; and the other , falls fo grofsly „ into the cenfure of the old poetry, and pre- „ ference of the new , that I could not read „ either of thefe ftrains without fome indigna- „ tion; which no quality among men is fo apt
Lkci
XL.

256 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E c T. „ to raife in me as felf- fufficiency. ” The word XI. “ indignation,” concluded the Sentence; the laft member, which no quality among men is fo apt to raife in me as felf- fufficiency, ” is a propofi. tion altogether ne\y , added after the propet vlofe.
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A Th

LECTURE XII.
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
JTAVING treated of Perfpictlity and Unity, as neceffary to be ftudied in the%trudlure of Sentences , I proceed to the third quality of a corredt Sentence, which I termed Strength. By this, I mean, fuch a difpofition of the feveral words and members, as fhali bring out the fenfe to the belt advantage ; as fliall render the impreffion , which the Period is defigned to make , moft full and complete ; and give every word , and every member , its due Weight and force. The two former qualities of Perfpicuity and Unity, are , no doubt, abfolutely neceffary to the produdtion of this effect ; but more is ftill requifite. For a Sentence may be clear enough ; it may alfo be compact enough , in all its parts, or have the requifite Unity ; and yet, by i’ome unfavourable circumftance in the ftrudture, it may fail in that ftrcngth or livelinefs of impreffion * which a more happy arrangement would have produced.
The firft rule which I fliall give, for promoting the Strength of a Sentence, is, to prune it VOL. I. ' S
E C T,
XII.

258 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E c T. of all redundant words. Thefe may, fometimes, XII. be confident with a confiderable degree both of Clearnefs and Unity ; but they are always enfeebling. They make the Sentence move along tardy and encumbered j
Eft brevitate opus, ut currat fententia, neu fe Impecliat verbis, laffas onerantibus aures *.
It is a general maxim , that any words , which do not add fome importance to the meaning of a Sentence , always fpoil it. They cannot be fuperfluous, \vith®t being hurtful. ” Obftat,” fays Quintfiilian , “ quicquid non adjuvat. ” All that can be eafily fupplied in the mind, is better left out in the expreffion. Thus : “ Content ,, with deferving a triumph, he refufed the ho- „ nour of it,” is better Language than to fay, „ Being content with deferving a triumph, he „ refufed the honour of it. ” I confider it, therefore , as one of the mod ufeful exercifes of correction , upon reviewing what we have written or compofed , to contract that round-about method of expreffion, and to lop off thofe ufelefs excrefcences which are commonly found in a firft draught. Here a fevere eye ffiould be employed; and we fhall always find our. Sentences acquire more vigour and energy when thus retrenched; provided always , that we run not into the ex-
* “ Concife your diction, let your fenfe be clear,
. “ Nor, with a weight of w'ords, fatigue the ear.
Francis.
Ut
i

259
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
treme of pruning fo very clofe , as to give a hardnefs and drynefs to ftyle ; For here, as in all other things, there is a due medium. Some regard, though not the principal, mu ft be had to fulnefs and fwelling of found. Some leaves muft be left to Hie 1 ter and lurround the fruit.
As Sentences Ihould be cleared of redundant words, fo alfo of redundant members. As every word ought to prefent a new idea , fo every member ought to contain a new thought. Oppofed to this, Hands the fault we fometimes meet with, of the laft member of a period , being no other than the echo of the former , or the repetition of it in fomewhat a.different form. For example; fpeaking of Beauty, “ The very firft difeovery ,, of it, ” fays Mr. Addifon, “ ftrikes the mind „ with inward joy , and fpreads delight through ,, all its faculties. 3 ’ ( No. 412 ) And eifewhere , ,, It is impoffible for us to behold the divine ,, works with coldnefs or indifference , or to furvey „ fo many beauties, without a fecret fatisfadion „ and complacency.” (No. 41;) In both thefe inftances , little or nothing is added by the fecond member of the Sentence to what was already exprelfed m the firft: And though the free and flowing manner of fuch an author as Mr. Addifon , and the graceful harmony of his period, may palliate fuch negligences; yet, in general, it holds, that ftyle , freed from this prolixity, appears both more ftrong , and more beautiful. The attention becomes remifs, the mind falls into inadion, when words are mul-
S %
L E 0 T. XII.

2 6 o STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E C T.
XIJ.
tiplied without a correfponding multiplication of ideas.
After removing fuperfluities , the fecond direction I give, for promoting the Strength of a Sentence, is, to attend particularly to the ufe of copulatives , relatives , and all the particles employed for tranfition and connexion. Thefe little words , but, and, which , whofe, where, &c. are frequently the moft important words of any; they are the joints or hinges upon which all Sentences turn , and, of courfe , much , both of their gracefulnefs and ftrength , rauft depend upon fuch particles. The'varieties in ufmg them are, indeed, fo infinite, that no particular fyftem of rules, refpedling them , can be given. Attention to the practice of the moft accurate writers, f joined with frequent trials of the different effects , produced by a different ufage of thofe particles , rauft here diredi us *. Some obferva- tions, I (hall mention, which have occurred to me as ufeful , without pretending to exhauft the fubjedt.
What is called fplittingof particles, orfeparat- ing a prepofition from the noun which it governs, is always to be avoided. As if I fhould fay,
“ Though virtue borrows no affiftance from, yet „ it may often be accompanied by, the advan- 53 tages of fortune. ” In fuch inftances , we feel a
* On this head, Dr. Lowth’s Short Introduction to Engli/h Grammar deferves to be confulted; where feveral niceties of the Language are well pointed out.
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o
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i P ar i pro
it j<
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j the 1 fror ■ can
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©

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 261
SCE
fortofpain, from the revulfion, or violent reparation Lec of two things,which by their nature,fhould be clofely XII
united. We are put to a ftand in thought; being obliged to reft for a little on the prepofxtion by itfelf, which, aty the fame time, carries no fignificancy,
% till it is joined to its proper fubftantive noun.
CE SOME writers needlefly multiply demonftrative i'~ and relative particles , by the frequent ufe of Ei; fuch phrafeology as this : “ There is nothing
35 which difgufts us fooner than the empty pomp „ of Language.” In introducing a fubject , or rin ‘ laying down a proportion , to which we demand oc particular attention , this fort of ftyle is very xk proper; but, in the ordinary current ofdifcourfe,
;iva it is better to exprefs ourfelves more fxmply and nr' fhortly: “Nothing difgufts us fooner than the dr ,, empty pomp of Language. ” rr Other writers make a practice of omitting tt.‘\ the Relative, in a phrafe of a different kind ot from the former, where they think the meaning m: can be underftood without it. As, “ The man I
„ love. ” — “ The dominions we poffeffed , and „ the conquefts we made.” But though, this elliptical ftyle be intelligible, and is allowable kc in converfation and epiftolary writing , yet,, in all ..writings of a ferious or dignified kind , it is
- ungraceful. There, the Relative fhould always be
- inferted in its proper place , and the conftrudtion filled up : “ The man whom I love. ” —■ “ The ,, dominions which we poffeffed, and the conquefts which we made. ”
With regard to the Copulative particle, ends
S 3
5)

263 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
I, e c t. which occurs fo frequently in all kinds of com.
XII. pofition , feveral obfervations are to be made. Firft, It is evident, that the unneceffary repetition of it enfeebles ftyle. It has the fame fort of effect as the frequent ufe of the vulgar phrafe, and fo , when one is telling a Rory in common converfation. We fhall take a Sentence from Sir William Temple, for an inftance. He is fpeaking of the refinement of the French Language : “ The academy fet up by Cardinal Richelieu , to 53 amufe the wits of that age and country, and, „ divert them from raking into his politics and „ miniftry , brought this into vogue ; and the „ French wits have, for this laR age, been wholly ?, turned to the refinement of their Style and „ Language ; and , indeed , with fuch fuccefs, ,, that it can hardly be equalled , and runs „ equally through their verfe and their profe. ” Here are no fewer than eight ands in one fentence. This agreeable writer too often makes his fen- tences drag in this manner , by a carelefs multiplication of Copulatives. It is Rrange how a writer , fo accurate as Dean Swift, fhould have Rumbled on fo improper an application of this particle , as he has made in the following fentence; Effay on the Fates of Clergymen. “There „ is no talent fo ufeful towards rifing in the „ world , or which puts men more out of the „ reach of fortune , than that quality generally ,, poffefl by the dullefl fort of people , and is, 3, in common language , called Difcretion ; a 3, fpecies of lower prudence, by the affiRance of
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15

:\'G! STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 263
„ which, &c. n By the infertion of, and is , in tol( : place of, which is , he has not only clogged the it::' Sentence but even made it ungrammatical.
U But, in the next place , it is worthy of obferv- ation , that though the natural ufe of the conjunction, and , be to join objects together, and thereby, as one would think, to make their con- j eii „ nedtion more clofe ; yet , in fact , by dropping p. the conjunction , we often mark a clofe!' connec- [p tion, a quicker fucceflion of objects, than when [()r it. is inferted between them. Longinus makes this .p... remark; which from many inftances , appears to . be juft : Veni, vidi , vici * exprelfes with p.. more fpirit , the rapidity and quick fucceflion ' i: . v of conqueft, than if connecting particles had been ufed. So, in the following defcription cf a rout in Caefar’s Commentaries: ” Noftri, emiffis U „ pilis, gladiis rem gerunt; repente poft tergum „ equitatus cernitur; cohortes alire appropinquant. °"” „ Hoftes terga vertunt ; fugientibus equites
„ occurrunt; fit magna ctcdes. ” Bell. Gall. I. j.\. Hence, it follows, that when, on the other hand , we feek to prevent a quick tranfition from one objedt to another , when we are making fome enumeration , in which we with that the objects fiiould appear as diftindt from each other
'e- * “ I came, I faw, I conquered.”
o£ f “ Our men, after having difeharged their javelins, “ attack with fword in hand: of a hidden, the cavalry “ make their appearance behind; other bodies of men are “ feen drawing near: the enemies turn their backs; the p ' “ horfe meet them in their flight; a great Daughter enfues.”
S 4
E C T.
XII.

Lkct,
XU.
264 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
as poffible, and that the mind fhouldreft, fora moment, on each object by itfelf; in this cafe, Copulatives may be multiplied with peculiar advantage and grace. As when Lord Bolingbroke fays, “ Such a man might fall a victim to power; „ but truth, and reafon, and liberty , would falj „ with hirn. ” In the fame manner , Cxfar defcribes an engagement with the Nervii: “ His „ equitibus facile pullis ac perturbatis, incredibili ,, celeritate ad flumen decurrerunt; ut pene uno „ tempore, et ad fdvas, et in flumine, etjamiu ,, manibus noltris, holtes viderentur. ’’ Bell. Gal!. 1 . 2 *. Here , although he is defcribing a quick fucceffion of events, yet, as it is his intention to Ihow in how many places the enemy feemed to be at one time, the Copulative is very happily redoubled , in order to paint more ftrongly. the diftindtion of tbefe feveral places.
This attention to the feveral cafes, when it is proper to omit, and when to redouble the Copulative , is*of coufiderable importance to all who fludy eloquence. For, it is a remarkable particularity in Language , that the omiffion of a connecting particle Ihould fometimes ferve to make objects appear more clofely connected ; and that the repetition of it Ihould diltinguilh and feparate thenj, in fome meafure, from each other. Hence,
* “ The enemy, having eafdy beat off', and fcattered ^ this body of horfe, ran down with incredible celerity “ to the river, fo that, almoft at one moment of time, " they appeared to be in the woods, and in the river-, and “ in the midft of our troops.”

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 265
C£i
tet : the omiffion of it is ufed to denote rapidity; ^ - and the repetition of it is defigned to retard and H to aggravate. The reafon feems to be, that, in the former cafe, the mind is fuppofed to be hur- 61 ? ried fo fall through a quick fucceffion of objects, ^ that it has not leifure to point out their connec- :r ' tion ; it drops the Copulatives in its hurry; and ^ crowds the whole feries together , as if it were but one objed. Whereas, when we enumerate, ! f- with a view to aggravate, the mind is fuppofed to proceed with a more How and folemn pace; it marks fully the relation of each objed to that T which fucceeds it; and , by joining them torn gether with feveral Copulatives , makes you r- attend, that the objects, though connected, are : yet, in themfelves, diflind; that they are many, ir not one. Obferve , for infkmce, in the following enumeration , made by the Apoftle Paul, what ■; additional weight and diftindnefs is given to ih each particular, by the repetition of aeon jundion. ji I am perfuaded, that neither death, nor life, a: „ nor angels, nor' principalities , nor powers-, £ ,, nor things prefent, nor things to come , nor
- „ height, nor depth, nor any other creature, gj „ fliall be able to feparate us from the love of
- „ God. ” Rom. viii. 38, 39. So much with t regard to the ufe of Copulatives.
I proceed to a third rule, for promoting the ; ftrength of a Sentence, which is to difpofe of the capital word, or words , in that place of the Sentence , where they will make the fulleft impreffion. That fuch capital words there are in
Si,,;..
Lect,
XII.
\

2 66 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E C T.
XII.
every Sentence , on which the meaning principally refts, every one mu ft: fee ; and that tliefe words fhould poffefs a confpicuous and diftm. guifhed place , is equally plain. Indeed , that place of the Sentence where they will make the beft figure, whether the beginning, or the end, or fometimes , even the middle , cannot, as far
as I know , be afcertained by any precife rule.
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This mult vary with the nature of the Sentence. Perfpicuity muff ever be ftudied in the firft place; and the nature of our Language allows no great liberty in the choice of collocation. For the moll part, with us, the important words are placed in the beginning of the Sentence. So Mr. Ad- difon : “ The plcafures ofi the imagination, taken a, in their full extent, are not fo grofs as thofe of fenfe , nor fo refined as thofe of the under- „ ftanding. ” And this indeed , feems the moft plain and natural order , to place that in the front which is the chief objedt of the proportion we are laying down. Sometimes, however when we intend to give weight to a Sentence, it is of advantage to fufpend the meaning for a little, and then bring it out full at the clofe : “Thus,” fays Mr. Pope , “ on whatever fide we content plate Homer, what principally ftrikes us, is, s , his wonderful invention. ” (Pref. to Homer.).
The Greek and Latin writers had a confider- able advantage above us , in this part of Style. By the great liberty of inverfion, which their Languages permitted, they could cbufe the moft
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STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 267
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advantageous fituation for every word ; and had Lec t. it thereby in tlieir power to give their Sentences XII. more force. Milton , in his profe works, and fome other of our old Englifh writers, endeavoured to imitate them in this. But the forced conftrudtions s which they employed , produced obfcurity; and the genius of our Language , as it is now written and fpoken , will not admit fuch liberties. Mr. Gordon , who followed this inverted ftyle in his Tranllation of Tacitus, has, fometimes , done fuch violence to the Language, as even to appear ridiculous ; as in this expref- fion : “ Into this hole thruft themfelves three ,) Roman fenators ” He has tranflated fo fimple a phrafe as, “ Nullum ea tempeftate bellum , ” by,
“ War at that time there was none. ” However, within certain bounds , and to a limited degree, our Language does admit of inverfions ; and they are practifed with fuccefs by the beft writers. So Mr. Pope , fpeaking of Homer, “ The praife of judgment Virgil has juftly contefted with him, but his invention remains yet unrivalled. ” It is evident, that, in order to give the Sentence its due force , by contrafting properly the two capital words , “judgment and inven- “ tion,” this is a happier arrangement than if he had followed the natural order , which was,
“ Virgil has jufLly contefted with him the praife “ of judgment , but his invention remains yet “ unrivalled.”
Some writers pradlife this degree of inverfion,
Which our Language bears , much more than

268 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E C T.
XIX,
others ; Lord Shaftfbury , for inftance , much more than Mr. Addifon; and to this fort ofarrange- ment is owing , in a great meafure , that ap. pearance of flrength , dignity , and varied harmony , which Lord Shaftfbury s ftyle pot feftes. This will appear from the following Sentences of his Enquiry into Virtue; where all the words are placed, not.ftridly in the natural order, but with that artificial conftru&ion, which may give the period moll emphafis and grace. He is fpeaking of the mifery of vice : ” This, as to ,, the complete immoral ftate, is, what of their ,, own acc.ord , men readily remark. Where „ there is this abfolute degeneracy, this total „ apoftacy from all candor , truft, or equity, there „ are few who do not fee and acknowledge the ,, mifery which is confequent. Seldom is the cafe ,, mifconftrued, when at word. The misfortune ,, is , that we look not on this depravity, nor „ confider how it Hands, in lefs degrees. As if, „ to be abfolutely immoral, were, indeed, the „ greateft mifery ; but, to be fo in a little degree, „ fhould be no mifery or harm at all. Which, „ to allow , is juft as reafonable as to own, that ,, ’tis the greateft ill of a body to be in the ,, utmoft manner maimed or diftorted; but that, ,, to lofe the ufe only of one limb , or to be ,, impaired in fome fingle organ or member, is „ no ill worthy the leaft notice. ” ( Vol. ii. p. 82.} Here is no violence done to the Language , though there are many inverfions. All is ftately , and
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iniU arranged with art ; which is the great charac- l e c t.
teriftic of this author’s Style. XII,
:il® We need only open any page of Mr. Addifon, jnjp to fee quite a different order in the conftrudlion jy; . of Sentences. ‘ fc Our fight is the mod perfedt, and „ mod delightful of all our fenfes. It fills the K „ mind with the largeft variety of ideas, converfes )> with i ts objects at the greatefl: diflance, and .ju „ continues the longeft in adtion, without being „ tired , or fatiated with its proper enjoyments. i5 p, The fenfe of ^eling can , indeed , give us a : „ notion of extenfion, fliape, and all other ideas ‘ „ that enter at the eye, except colours ; but, at
’ „ the fame time , it is very much ftraitened and
„ confined in its operations ,” &c. ( Spectator,
,( f l " No. 411.) In this {train , he always proceeds,
^ following the moft natural and obvious order of the Language : and if, by this means, he has lefs pomp and majefly than Shaftfbury, he has,
/V in return, more nature , more eafe and fimplicity;
which are beauties of a higher order. te,c g UT w hether we pradtife inverfion or not, and in whatever part of the fentence we difpofe of 31L the capital words, it is always a point of great 35 ®‘ moment, that thefe capital words ft all Hand clear ! and difentangled from any other words that would clog them. Thus , when there are any circum- ’d>- fiances of time , place , or other limitations , oic ; which the principal objedt of our Sentence requires to have connedted with it, we miift take ■r*" efpecial care to difpofe of them , fo as not to sfc- cloud that principal object, nor to bury it under

L E CL T.
XII.
270
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
a load of circumRances. This will be made clearer by an example. Obfervc the arrangement of the following Sentence, in Lord Shaftfbury’s Advice to an Author. He is fpeaking of modern poets, as compared with the ancient : “If, whilft „ they profefs only to pleafe , they fecretly „ advife, and give inftrudtion , they may now, „ perhaps, as well as formerly, be efteemed, „ with juRice , the beft and moR honourable „ among authors. ” This is a well - conftructed Sentence. It contains a great qgny circumftances and adverbs , neceffary to qualify the meaning; only , fecretly , as well , perhaps • now , withjufliu, formerly; yet thefe are placed with fo much art, as neither to embarrafs , nor weaken the Sentence ; while that which is the capital o’ojed in it, viz. “ Poets being juftly eReemed the beft and ,, "moR honourable among authors,’’ comesoutin the concluRon clear and detached , and poffeffes its .proper place. See now , what would have been the effect of a different arrangement. Sup-- pofe him to have placed the members of the Sentence thus : “ If, whilR they profefs to pleafe „ only, they advife and give inRruction fecretly, ,, they may be eReemed the beR and moft ho- „ nourable among authors , with juftice , per- „ haps , now, as well as formerly. ” Here we have precifely the fame words , and the fame fenfe; but, by means of the circumRances being fo intermingled as to clog the capital words, the whole becomes perplexed , without grace , and without Rrength.
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tESt STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
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A fourth rule , for conftrudting Sentences L e c ' fen with proper ftrength, is, to make the members XII. ■pi:: of them go on rifing and growing in their im- L. portance above one another. This fort of area rangement is called a Climax, and is always con- s fidered as a beamy in compofition. From what *-• caufe it pleafes , is abundantly evident. In all things, we naturally love to afeend to what is ic,; : more and more beautiful, rather than to follow vref.- the retrograde order. Having had once fome By E: confiderabie object fet before us , it is , with m pain, we are pulled back to attend to an inferior „„ circumftance. “ Cavendum eft,” fays Qiiindtilian, whofe authority I always willingly quote , “ ne fes , „ dccrcfcat oratio , & fortiori fubjungatur aliquid Q „- „ infirmius ; ficut , facrilego, fur; autlatroni,
„ petulans. Augeri enim debent fententiae & in- „ furgere *. Of this beauty , in the conftrudtion j. of Sentences , the orations of Cicero furnifh 1 many examples. His pompous manner naturally ..... led him to ftudy it; and, generally, in order to jj. render the climax perfect, he makes both the fenfe and the found rife together , with a very magni- ficentfwell. So in his oration for Milo, fpeaking. of a defign of Clodius's for affaffinating Pompey :
“ Atqui fi res, fi vir , fi tempus ullurn dignum
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* “ Care malt be taken, that our compofidon fliall “ not rail off, and that a weaker expreiiion /hall not “ follow or.e af more ftrength; as if, after facrilege, we “ /hould bring in theft; or, having mentioned a robbery,
“ we fhould fubjoin petulance. Sentences ought always “ to rife and grow.”

L E C T.
XII.
272 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES,
„ fuit, certe hxc in ilia caufa fumma omnia fue- „ runt. Infidiator erat in Foro collocatus, atqut „ in Veftibulo ipfo Senatus ; ei viro autem mors „ parabatur, cujus in vita nitebatur falus civita- „ tis; eo porro reipublicx tempore, quo fi unus „ ille occrdiffet , non hxc folum civitas, fed „ gentes omnes concidilTent. ” The following in- fiance, from Lord Bolinccbroke, is alfo beautiful:
This decency , this grace , this propriety of
„ manners to character, is fo effential to princes ,, in particular, that, whenever it is neglected, „ their virtues lofe a great degree of luffre, „ and their defects acquire much aggravation. „ Nay more ; by neglecting this decency and 33 this grace, and for want of a fufficient regard 33 to appearances , even their virtues may betray 33 them into failings, their failings into vices, 33 and their vices into habits unworthy of 3, princes , and unworthy of men.” (Idea of a Patriot King.)
I must obferve , however , that this fort of full and oratorial climax, can neither be always obtained, nor ought to be always fought after. Only fome kinds of writing admit fuch fen* tences ; and , to ftudy them too frequently, efpecially, if the fubject require not fo much pomp, is affedted and difagreeable. But there is fomething approaching to a climax, which it is a general rule to ftudy , a ne decrefcat oratio,'’ as Quindfilian fpeaks, “ etne fortiori fubjungatur „ aliquid infirmius. ” A weaker affertion or proportion fhould never come after a ftronger one;
and
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STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
273
and when our fentence confifts of two members, the longeft fhould , generally , be the concluding one. There is a twofold reafon for this lafl: direction. Periods, thus divided, are pronounced more eafdy ; and the fhorteft member being placed firft , we carry it more readily in our memory as we proceed to the feconn , and fee the connection of the two more clearly. Thus, to fay, “ when our paffions have forfaken us, w we flatter ourfelves with the belief that we 3, have forfaken them, ” is both more graceful and more clear, than to begin with the longed: part of the propofition : “ We flatter ourfelves 3, with the belief that we have forfaken our paf- „ fions, when they have forfaken us.” In general, it is always agreeable to find a fentence rifmg upon us, and growing in its importance, to the very lafl: word , when this conftrudtion can be managed without affectation , or unfeafonable pomp. “If we rife yet higher,” fays Mr. Ad- difon very beautifully, “and confider the fixed “ ftars as fo many oceans of flame , that are each “ of them attended with a different fet of planets; “ and ftill difcovcr new firmaments and new lights, that are funk farther in thofe unfathom- “ able depths of aether ; we are loft in fuch a “ labyrinth of funs and worlds, and confounded “ with the magnificence and immenfity of Nature’ 3 (SpeCt. No. 420). Hence follows clearly,
A fifth rule for the ftrength of fentences ; which is , to avoid concluding them with an adverb , a prepofition , or any inconfiderabie Vol. 1 . T
F. C T.
XII.

27-4
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
Lect,
XII.
word. Such conclufions are always enfeebling and degrading. r \ here are fentences , indeed,
•where the ftrefs and fignificancy. reft chiefly upon fame words of this kind. In this cafe, they are not to be confidered as circumftances , but as the capital figures; and ought, in propriety, to have the principal place allotted them. No fault, for inftance, can be found with this fentence of Bolingbroke’s : “ In their profperity, my friends „ fhall never hear ofme; in their adverfity,always.” Where never , and always, being emphatical words, were to be fo placed, as tomake a ftrong impreflion. But I fpeak now of thofe inferior parts of fpeecb, when introduced as circumftances, or as qualifications of more important words. In fuch ' cafe , they fhould always be difpofed of in the leaft confpicuous parts of the period; and fo claf- fed with other words of greater dignity , as to be kept in their proper fecondary ftation.
Agreeably to this rule , we fhould always avoid concluding with any of thofe particles, which mark the cafes of nouns , — of , to, from, with, by. For inftance, it is a great deal 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 is a phrafeologv which all correct writers fhun; and with reafon. For, befides the want of dignity which arifes from tho e monofyllables at the end, the imagination cannot avoid refting, for a little, on the import of the word which dotes the fentence, And, as thofe prepofiUous
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STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES,
2 r5
have no import of their own , but only ferve to L E c T, point out the relations of other words, it is dif- XIL agreeable for the mind to be left paufmg on a word, which does not, by itfelf , produce any idea, nor form any pidure in the fancy.
For the fame reafon’, verbs which are ufed in a compound feni'e, with fome of thefe prepofi- tions, are , though # not fo bad, yet ftill not fo beautiful conclufions of a period; fuch as, bring about, lay hold of, come oner to, dear up , and many others of this kind: inftead of which, if we can employ a fimple verb, it always terminates the fentence with more ftrength. Even the pronoun , It , though it has the import of a fub- flantive noun , and indeed often forces itfelf upon us unavoidably , yet, when we want to give dignity to a fentence , fhould , if poffible , be avoided in the conclufion ; more efpecially, when it is joined with fome of the-prepofitions , as, t nth it, in it, to it. In the following fentence of the Spectator , which otherwife is abundantly noble , the bad effed of this clofe is fenfible:
“ There is not. in my opinion, a morepleafing and „ triumphantconfideration in religion, than this,
„ of the perpetual progrefs which the foul makes „ towards the perfection of its nature , without „ ever arriving at a period in it.” (No. in.)
How much more graceful were the fentence , if it had been fo conftruded as to clofe with the word, period !
Besides particles and pronouns, any phrafe, which exprelfes a circumftance only , always
T 3

2 7 6 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L e c T. brings up the rear of a fentence with a bad XII. grace. We may judge of this , by the following fentence from Lord Bolingbroke ( Letter on the State of Parties at the Acceflion of King George I.): “ Let me therefore conclude by repeating, ,, that divifion has caufed all the mifchief we ,, lament; that union alone can retrieve it; and ,, that a great advance towards this union, was „ the coalition of parties , fo happily begun, fo ,, fuccefsfully carried on , and of late fo unac- ,, countably neglecled ; to fay no worfe. ” T his laffc phrafe , to Jay no -pporfe , occafions a fad falling off at the end; fo much the more unhappy, as the reft of the period is conducted after the manner of a climax , which we expect to find growing to the laft.
The proper difpofition of fuch circumltances in a fentence, is often attended with confiderable trouble , in order to adjuft them fo , as lhall confift equally with the perfpicuity and the grace of the period. Though neceffary parts , they are, however, like unfhapely Hones in a building, which try the fkill of t an artift, where to place them with the leaft offence. “ Jungantur, ” fays Quindhlian, “ quo congruunt maxime; ficut „ in llructura faxorum rudium , etiam ip fa enor- „ nntas invenit cui applicari , et in quo poffii „ infiftere V’
* “ Let them be inferted wherever thehappieft place for “ them can be found; as , in a ftruchive compofed of “ rough (tones, there are always places where the moft

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 277
The clofe is always an undatable place for L them. When the fenfe admits it, the fooner they are difpatched , generally fpeaking, the better; that the more important and fignificant words may poffefs the laft place, quite difcncumbered.
It is a rule , top , never to crowd too many cir- cumdances together , but rather to interfperfc them in different parts of the fentence, joined with the capital words on which they depend ; provided that care be taken , as I before diredt- ed, not to clog thofe capital words with them- For inftance, when Dean Swift fays, “What „ I had the honour of mentioning to your „ Lordlhip-, 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 put together , would have had a better effect dif- joined , thus: “ What I had the honour , fome- „ time ago , of mentioning to your Lordlhip in ,, converfation. ” And in the following fentence of Lord Bolingbroke’s ( Remarks on the Hiftory of England: ) “ A monarchy, limited like ours,
„ may be placed , for aught I know , as it has „ been often reprefented , juft in the middle point , from whence a deviation leads , on ,, the one hand, to tyranny : and on the other,
,, to anarchy.” The arrangement would have
“ irregular and unfhnpely may iindfome adjacent one to “ which, it can be joined, and feme balls on which it

278 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E C T
XII.
been happier thus : “ A monarchy, limited like „ ours , may , for aught I know , be placed , as „ it has often been reprefented , juft in the „ middle point, &c.
I shall give only one rule more, relating to the ftrength of a fentence , which is, that in the members of a fentence, where ^t.wo things are compared or contrafted to one ’another ; where either a rcfemblance or an oppolition is intended to be exprelfed ; fome refemblance , in the language and conftruction , fhould be preferved. For when the things themfelves correfpond to each other , we naturally expect to find the words correfponding too. We are difappointed when it is otherwife ; and the comparifon , or contrail, appears more imperfect. Thus , when Lord Bolingbroke fays, “ The laughers will be „ for thofe who have molt wit; the ferious part „ of mankind , for thofe who have molt reafon „ on their fide;” (Differt. on Parties, Pref.) the oppofition would have been more complete , if he had faid , “ The laughers will be for thofe ,, who have molt wit ; the ferious, for thofe „ who have molt reafon on their fide,” The fol r lowing palfage from Mr. Pope’s Preface to his Homer , fully exemplifies the rule I am now giving: ‘'Homer was the greater genius; Virgil,
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STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
„ Virgil bellows with a careful magnificence. L e ,c t. „ Homer , like the Nile , pours out his riches XII.
„ with a i'udden overflow ; Virgil , like a river 3, in its banks, with a conflant ftream. — And „ when we look upon their machines , Homer M feems like his own Jupiter in his terrors, fhak- „ ing Olympus, fcattering the lightnings , and „ firing the heavens ; Virgil , like the fame ,, Power, in his benevolence, counfelling with 33 the gods, laying plans for empires, and order- 33 ing his whole creation. ” — Periods thus com flructed , when introduced with propriety , and not returning too o'ten, have a fenhble beauty.
But we mult beware of carrying our attention to this beauty too far. It ought only to be occa- fionally ftudied , when companion or oppofition of objects naturally leads to it. If fuch a con- ftrudion as this be aimed at in all our fentences, it betrays into a difagreeable uniformity; produces a regularly returning clink in the period, which tires the ear ; and plainly difcovers affectation;
Among the ancients , the ftyle of Ifocrates is faulty in this refpect; and , on that account, by fome of their bell critics , particularly by Dionyfius of Halicarnaflus , he is feverely cem fured.
This finilhes what I had to fay concerning- Sentences , confidered , with refpedl to their meaning, under the three heads of Perfpicuity,
Unity , and Strength. It is a fubject on which I have infilled fully, for two reafons: Firft becaufe it is a fubject , which , by its nature , can be

STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES.
L E c T.
XII.
280
rendered more didacftic , and fubjefted more to precife ride , than many other fubjects of cri- ticifm ; and next, becaufe it appears to me of confiderable importance and ufe.
For, though many of thofe attentions, which I have been recommending, may appear minute, yet their effect, upon writing and ftyle, is much greater than might, at firft, be imagined. A fen- timent which is expreffed in a period, clearly, neatly , and happily arranged , makes always a ftronger impreflion on the mind, than one that is any how feeble or embarralfed. Every one feels this upon a companion : and if the effect be fenfible in one fentence , how much more in a whole difcourfe , or compofition, that is made up of fuch Sentences?
The fundamental rule of the conftruclion of Sentences, and into which all others might be refolved, undoubtedly is, to communicate . in the cleareft and moft natural order , the ideas which we mean to transfufe into the minds of others. Every arrangement that does moftjuftice to the fenfe, and expreffes it to moft advantage, ftrikes us as beautiful. To this point have tended all the rules f have given. And, indeed, did men always think clearly , and were they, at the fame time , fully mailers of the Language m which they write, there would be occafton for few rules. Their Sentences would then, of courfe , acquire all thofe properties of Precifion, Unity, and Strength which I have recommended. For we may reft affured , that , whenever we
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STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. aSt
t: ' exp refs ourfelves ill , there is , befides the mif- management of Language , for the mod part, feme miftake in our manner of conceiving the fubjecl. Embarraffed , obfeure , and feeble Sen- tences, are generally , if not always, the refult of embarraffed , obfeure , and feeble thought. ' Thought and Language act and re-adt upon each other mutually. Logic and Rhetoric have here, as in many other cafes, a ftridt connection; ^ and he that is learning to arrange his fentences with accuracy and order, is learning, at the ' c <- fame time , to think with accuracy and order;
an- obfervation which alone will juftify all the ® care and attention we have befto.wed on this sc fubjecl.

L E C T.
XIII.
LECTURE XIll
, d ci
■&;t
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. — HARMONY.
aon
Ion
H aeun
ITHERTO we have confidererl Sentences ’ $£ ^ with refpedt to their meaning, under "the heads : to of Ferfpicuity, Unity, and Strength. We are ad< now to confider them, with refped to their i'd found their harmony, or agreeablenefs to the^coni ear; which was the laft quality belonging to them that J propofed to treat of.
Sound is a quality much inferior to fenfe; ® yet fuch as muff not be difregarded. For, as ;;co: long as founds are the vehicle of conveyance >;;ist for c-ur ideas, there .will be always a very con- M, fidcrable connection between the idea which is conveyed, and the nature of the found which ;tj conveys it. Pleafing ideas can hardly be tranf- :a mitted to the mind, by means of harlh anddif- cm agreeable founds. The imagination revolts as foon tt as it hears them uttered. “Nihil,” fays Ouinctilian, q “ poteft intrare in affectum quod in aure , velut !]j £c quodam veftibulo, ftatim offendit*.” Mufic has | naturally a great power over all men to prompt >;
* “ Nothing can enter into the affections which humbles y “ at the threfliold, by offending the ear.”
ace

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
283
. and facilitate certain emotions: infomuch, that L e c t. there are hardly any difpofitions which we wifti XIII. to raife in others, but certain founds may be found concordant to thofe difpofitions, and tending to promote them. Now, Language can, in fome degree, be rendered capable of this ftp power of mufic; a circumftance which muft needs heighten our idea of Language as a wonderful invention. Not content with fimply interpreting our ideas to others, it can give them E: thofe ideas enforced by correfponding founds; lerij and to the pleafure of communicated thought, i ' can add the new and feparate pleafure of melody, pjj; In the Harmony of Periods, two things may y. be coniidered. Firft, Agreeable found, or mo- 1)4* dulation in general, without any particular[ex- preffion : Next, The found fo ordered, as to DC become expreffive of the fenfe. The firftis the f L more common; thefecond, the higher beauty. *■
F: First, Let us confider agreeable found, in
r general, as the property of a well-conflructed | fl - Sentence: and, as it was of profe - Sentences we iv have hitherto treated, we lhall confine ourfelvcs . .
to them under this head. This beauty of mufical j; conftruction in profe, it is plain will depend upon two things; the choice of words, and the : arrangement of them.
I BEGIN with the choice of words; on which y, head, there is not much to be faid, unlefs I f|) . were to defcend into a tedious and frivolous detail concerning the powers of the feveral letters, or fimple founds, of which fpeech is

284 HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
Lect,
XIII.
compofed. It is evident, that words are moft agreeable to the ear which are compofed of fmooth and liquid founds, where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and confonants; without too many harfh confonants rubbing againft each other; or too many open vowels in fucceffion, to caufe a hiatus, or difagreeable aperture of the mouth. It may always be alfumed as a principle , that, whatever founds are difficult in pronunciation, are, in the fame proportion, harfh and painful to the ear. Vowels givefoftnefs; confonants, ftrength to the found of words. The mufic of Language requires a juft proportion of both; and will be hurt, will be rendered either grating or effeminate, by an excefs of either. Long words are commonly more agreeable to the e^y than monofyllables. They pleafe it by the compofttion, or fucceffion of founds which they prefent to k ; and, accordingly, the moft mufical Languages abound moft in them. Among words of any length, thcfe are the moft mufical, which do not run wholly either upon long or fhort fyllables, but are compofed of an intermixture of them ; fuch as , repent , produce, velocity, celerity , independent , impetuofity.
The next head, refpedting the Harmony which refults from a proper arrangement of 'the words and members of a period, is more complex, and of greater nicety,- For, let the words themfelves be ever . fo well chofen, and well founding, yet, if they be ill difpofed, the mulic of the Sentence is utterly loft. In the
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HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 2S5
SC
eda-
harmonious ftrudture and difpofition of periods, L e c no writer whatever, ancient or modern, equals XIII Cicero. He had ftudied this with care; and was fond, perhaps to excefs, of what he calls, the “Plena ac numerofa oratio.” We need only open his writings, to find inftances that will , render the effect of mufical Language fenfible to every ear. What, for example, can be more full, round, and fwelling, than the following fentence of the 4th Oration againfl Catiline ?
. “ Cogitate quantis laboribus fundatum imperium,
“ quanta virtute ftabilitam libertatem , quanta . jj Deorum benignitate auctas exaggeratafque „ fortunas , una nox pene delerit.” In Englj/h , we may take, for an inftance of a mufical Sentence, the following from Milton, in his Treatife on Education: “We lhall condudt you 3, to a hill-fide, laborious, indeed, at the firft „ afcent; butelfe, fo fmooth, fo green, fo full 33 of goodly profpedts - , and melodious founds on 33 every fide, that the harp of Orpheus was not ,, more charming.” Every thing in this fentence confpires to promote the harmony. The words are happily chofen; full of liquids and foft founds; laborious , fmooth, green, goodly , melodious , charming: and thefe words fo artfully arranged, that , were we to alter the collocation of any one of them, we fhould , prefently, be fenfible of the melody fuffering. For, let us obferve, how finely the members of the period fwell one above another. “ So fmooth, fo green,
— “ fo full of goodly profpeeSisand melodious

286 HARMONY OF SENTENCES,
H,
L e c T. ” founds on every fide;”—till the ear, prepared'k 01 XIII. by this gradual rife, is conducted to that full^ clofe on which it refts with pleafure“ that the 3 ® “ harp of Orpheus was not more charming.’’ ' The flructure of periods, then, being fufcep- F tible of a melody very fenfible to the ear, our ^ next enquiry Ihould be, How is this melodious dang ftrudure formed, what are the principles of ^ it, and by what laws is it regulated? And, upon ™ tes this fubjed, were I to follow the ancient rhe* ;l ’ v{ toricians , it would be eafy to give a great " 00 Variety of rules. For here they have entered into a minute and particular detail; more parti- ; ated cular, indeed, than - on any other head that b m regards Language. They hold, that to profe as Fd well as to verfe, there belong certain numbers, lefs ftrid, indeed, yet fuch as can be afcertained al ra by rule. They go fo far as to fpecify the feet > - b>' as they are called, that is, the fuccelfion of J boj long and fliort fyllables, which ftiould enter into ant i the different members of a Sentence, and to t it 1 fliow what the effed of each of thefe will be. Wherever they treat of the Structure of Senten- ffdn ces, it is always the mufic of them that makes ix th the principal object. Cicero and Quindilian are a tli full of this. The other qualities of Frecifion, a hi Unity, and Strength, which we confider as of Tttst chief importance, they handle flightly; but when Her they come to the “ junSura it numcrus ,” the 3 bn modulation and harmony, there they are copious, rag Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus, one of the molt tiuati judicious critics of antiquity, has -written a F;;t

HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 287
treatife on the Compojition of words in a Sentence , L E c c ^ : ' which is altogether confined to their muftcal XIII effect. Fie makes the excellency of a Sentence to confift in four things; firft, in the fvveetnefs : T. of fingie founds; fecondly, in the compofition ' of founds , that is, the numbers or feet; thirdly,
- ; k'~ in change or variety of found; and fourthly, he fr in found fuited to the fenfe. On all thefe points ■ Ji he writes with great accuracy and refinement; w : and is very worthy of being confulted; though, to - were one now to write a book on the Structure .v; of Sentences, we fhould expedl to find the fubjedi at.: treated of in a more extenfive manner.
T modern times, this whole; fubjedt of the mufical ftrudlure of difeourfe, it is plain , has been much lefs ftudied ; and , indeed, for fe- : veral reafons , can be much lefs fubjected to rule. The reafons, it will be neceffary to give, both to juftify my not following the tract of the ancient rhetoricians on this fubject, and to fihow how it- has come to pafs , that a part of compofition , which once made fo confpicuous a figure , now draws much lefs attention.
In the firft place, the ancient Languages , I mean the Greek and the Roman, were much more fufceptible than ours, of the graces and the . powers of melody. The quantities of their fylla- bles were more fixed and determined; their words ... were longer, and more fonorous; their method of Varying the terminations of nouns and verbs, both introduced a greater variety of liquid founds, and freed them from that multiplicity of little

288 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. i
L e c T. auxiliary words which we are obliged to employ; ipub XIII. and , what is of the greateft confequence, the torde inverfions which their Languages allowed, gave is. them the power of placing their words in whatever ini order was moll fuited to a mufical arrangement, a k All thefe were great advantages which they isat enjoyed above us, for Harmony'of Period.*
In the next place, the Greeks and Romans, Oainci the former efpecially , were , in truth , much more iido mufical nations than we; their genius was more .obf turned to delight in the melody of fpeech. IMufic Hence is known to have been a more extenfive art among them than it is with us ; more nniverfally Greel ftudied, and applied to a greater variety of ob- tbem, jects. Several learned men , particularly, the Abbe late du Bos, in his Reflections on Poetry and Paint- jng, have clearly proved, that the theatrical com- aktl pohtions of the ancients, both their tragedies and comedies, were fet to a kind of mufic. Whence, Qtion; the modos fecit , and the Tibiis dextris et f.nijiris , ’| B g ; prefixed to the editions of Terence’s Flays. All j iinu i fort of declamation and public fpeaking, was m carried on by tbem in a much more mufical tone :an j| than it is among us. It approached to a kind of ^ tl chanting or recitative. Among the Athenians, there was what was called the Ncmic Melody; or a particular meafure preferibed to the public raer officers , in which they were to promulgate the ^ laws to the people ; left by reading them with [ T •. improper tones, the laws might be expofed to ^ contempt. Among the Romans, there is a noted ^ ftory of C. Gracchus, when he was declaiming ^
in k

HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 289
in public, having a mufician Handing at his back, I, e c T. in order to give him the proper tones with a pipe or XIII. flute. Even when pronouncing thofe terrible tribunitial, harangues , by which he inflamed the one half of the citizens of Rome againit the other, this attention to the muftc of Speech was , in thofe times , itfeems, thought neceffary to fuccefs. Ouinciilian, though he condemns the excefs of this fort of pronunciation , yet allows a “ cantus obfcurior ” to be a beauty in a public fpeaker.
Hence, that variety of accents , acute , grave, and circumflex , which we find marked upon the Greek fyllables, to .exprefs, not the quantity of them , but the tone in which they were to be fpoken : the application of which is now wholly unknown to us. And though the Romans did not mark thofe accents in their writing, yet it appears from Quindtilian, that they ufed them in pronunciation: '"Quantum, quale , ” fays he , “ comparan- “ tes gravi, interrogantes acuto tenore concluduut. ”
As mufic then , was an object much more attended to in Speech , among the Greeks and Romans, than itis with us; as, in all kinds of public fpeak- ing, they employed a much greater variety of notes, of tones, or infiedtions of voice, than we ufe; this is one clear reafon of their paying a greater attention to that conftruction of Sentences, which might belt fuit this muficalpronunciation.
It is farther known , that , in confequ-ence of the genius of their Languages, and of their manner of pronouncing them, the mufical arrangement of Sentences, did, in fadt , produce a greater VOL. I. V

29 °
HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
L e c t. effect in publick fpeaking among them than ^pe
XIII. it could poffibly do in any modern oration; , ; er
another reafon why it deferved to be more fta- j^j,
died. Cicero, in his treatife, intitled , Orator, ,^,j t
tells us, cc Conciones fepe exclamare vidi,
“ cum verba apte cecidiffent. Id enim expectant ■ ^ aures*.” And he gives a remarkable inftance of ral the effedt of a harmonious period upon a whole ^ , affembly , from a Sentence of one of Carbo’s j| £ ( Orations, fpoken in his hearing. The Sentence H t j, was, “ Patris dictum fapiens temeritas filii com- “ probavit.” By means of the found of which, ^ alone, he tells us, “ Tantus clamor concionis <j “ excitatus eft, ut prorfus admirabile eiTet.’’ He makes us remark the feet of which thefe words ^ conftft, to which he afcribes the power of the : melody; and fhows how, by altering the collo- ^ cation, the whole effedt would be loft; as thus: j sno| “ Patris dictum fapiens comprobavit temeritas ^ “ filii.” Now, though it be true that Carbo’s Sen- ^ tence is extremely mufical, and would be agree- ^ able, at this day,to any audience,yet I cannot believe, that an Englifh Sentence , equally harmonious, would, by its harmony alone, produce any fuch effect on a Britifh audience, or excite any fuch ^ wonderful applaufe and admiration, as Cicero informs us this of Carbo produced. Our north- ,« ern ears are too coarfe and obtufe. The melody
>de
( ( *
* I have often been witnefs to burfts of exclamation “ in the public aflemblies , when Sentences clofed mufi- “ cally; for that is a pleafure which the ear expects.” E ®
'na

HARMONY OF SENTENCES. g 9 i
of Speech has lefs power over us , and by our L e c t , Ampler and plainer method of uttering words, X11L Speech is , in truth , accompanied with lefs melody than it was among the Greeks and Romans*.
For thefe reafons , I am of opinion, that it is in vain to think of bellowing the fame attention upon the harmonious ftrudture of our Sentence , that was beftowed by thefe ancient nations.
The dodtrine of the Greek and Roman critics , on this headj has milled fome to imagine, that it might be equally applied to our Tongue; and that our profe - writing might be regulated by Spondees and Trochees, and Iambus’s and Pceons and other metrical feet. But, firft, our words cannot be meaftired , or , at leaft, can be meafured very imperfectly by any feet of this kind. For, the quantity, the length and fhortnefs of our fyllables, is not, by any means , fo fixed and fubjeCted to rule, as in the Greek and Roman Tongues, but very often left arbitrary, and determined by the empbafis , and the fenfe. Next* though our profe could admit of fuch metrical regulation, yet, from our plainer method of pronouncing' all fort of difcourfe, the effect would not be at all fo fenfible to the ear, nor be relifihed with
* “ In verfu quidem, theatra tota exelamant fi ftjit “ una fyllaba aut brevior aut longior. Nec verd multitude u pedes novit, nec alios numeros tenet; nec illud quod “ offendit, aut cur , aut in quo ofFcndat, intelligit; e£
“ tamen omnium lcngitudinum et brevitatum In fonis,
“ ficut acutarum , graviumque vocum , judiciuiri ipfa nature “ in auribus noftris coilocavit.” Ciceko , Orator, c. 5 x.
V 2
••

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
292
Lect.
XIII.
fo much pleafure , as among the Greeks and Romans : And, laftly , This whole doctrine about the meafures and numbers of profe, even as it is delivered by the ancient rhetoricians them- felves, is, in truth , in a great meafure loofe and uncertain. It appears, indeed, that the melody of difcourfe was a matter of infinitely more attention to them , than ever it has been to the moderns. But, though they write a great deal about it, they have never been able to reduce it to any rules which could be of real ufe in practice. If we confult Cicero’s Orator , where this point is difcuffed with the mod minutenefs, we will fee how much thefe ancient critics differed from one another, about the feet proper for the conclufion, and other parts of a Sentence; and how much, after all, was left to the judgment of the ear. Nor, indeed, is it poffible to give precife rules concerning this matter, in any Lan* guage ; as all profe - compofition muft be allowed to run loofe in its numbers; and , according as the tenor of a .difcourfe varies , the modulation of Sentences muft vary infinitely.
But , although I apprehend that this mufical arrangement cannot be reduced into a fyftem, I am far from thinking , that it is a quality to be negleded in compofition. On the contrary , I hold its effect to be very confiderable ; and that every one who ftudies to write with grace, much more , who feeks to pronounce in public, with fuccefs , will be obliged to attend to it not a little. But it is his ear, cultivated by attention and practice, that muft chiefly dired him. fo r
t eat
ted,
»d,ai
tobe.
This

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
293
any rules that can be given, on this fubjecft, L e c t. are very general. Some rules, however, there XIII. are, which may be of ufe to form the ear to the proper harmony of difcourfe. I proceed to mention fuch as appear to me moft material.
There are two things on which the mufic of a Sentence chiefly depends. Thefe are, the proper diftribution of the feveral members of it; and, the clofe or cadence of the whole.
First, I fay, the diftribution of the feveral mem«- bers is to be carefully attended to. It is of importance to obferve,that, whatever is eafy and agreeable to the organs of Speech, always founds grateful to theear. While a period is going on, the termination of each of its members forms a paufe or reft, in pronouncing: and thefe refts fhould be fo diftribut- ted, as to make the eourfe of the breathing eafy , and,at the fame time,fhould fall at fuch diftances,as- to bear a certain muftcal proportion to each other.
This will be beft illuftrated by examples. The following Sentence is from Archbifthop Tillotfon;
“ This difcourfe concerning the eafinefs of God’s “ commands docs , all along , fuppofe and “ acknowledge the difficulties of the firft entrance “ upon a religious eourfe; except, only in thofe “ perfons who have had the happmefs to be trained “ up to religion by the eafy and infenfible degrees.
“ of a pious and virtuous education.,” Here there is no harmony ; nay , there is fome degree of harfhnefs and unpleafantnefs; owing principally to this, that there is, properly , no more than one paufe or reft in the Sentence, falling betwixt the t\yo members into yfhjch it is divided 5 each

294
'V
HARMONY OF SENTENCES,
f,tcT, of which is fo long as to occafion a confiderable XIII. ftretch of the breath in pronouncing k.
OBiEitVE, now, on the other hand, the eafe * with which the following Sentence , from Sir William Temple, glides along, and the graceful intervals at which the paufes are placed. He is fpeaking farcaftically of man: “ But God be
“ thanked, his pride is greater than his ignorance, “ and what he wants in knowledge, he fupplies “ 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, heis at the bottom of the ocean; when he has fhot his beft , he is fure none ever ^ did , or ever can , Ihoot better or beyond it.
His own reafon he holds to be the certain c ‘ meafure of truth; and his own knowledge , of ^ what is poffible in nature”.* Here everything
* Or this inftance.—He is addreffing himfelf to Lady Eflex, upon the death of her child: “ I was once in “ hope , that, what was fo violent could not be long; “ But, when I obferved your grief to grow ftronger “ with age , and to increafe, like a ftream, the farther it ran; when I fav: it draw out to fuch unhappy con- “ fequences , and to threaten, no lefs than your child, “ your health, and your life , I could no longer forbear “ this endeavour, nor end it, without hegging of you, “ for God’s fake, and for your own, for your children, u and your friends , your country, and your family, that “ you would no longer abandon yourfelf to a difeonfolate paffion ; but that you would, at length, awaken your c - piety, give way to your prudence , or, atleaft, roufe cc the invincible fpirit of the Percys , that never yet “ flirunk at any difafter.”
j,at is the ztafni :on o
lie. 1 ace' iiinte apt Tf or c; it k dem
Uli
" de be p ore! to tl and i be r oft] may “of
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II
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tilt
U

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
295
is , at once, eafy to the breath , and grateful L e c to the ear ; and , it is this fort of flowing XIII meafure , this regular and propordonaldivi- fion of the members of his Sentences , which renders Sir William Temple’s ftyle always agreeable. I muft obferve, at the fame time, that a Sentence , with too many refts, and thefe placed at intervals too apparently meafured and regular, is apt to favour of affedation.
The next thing to be attended to, is, the clofe or cadence of the whole Sentence, which, as it is always the part moft fe'nfible to the ear, demands the greateft care. So Quindilian: “Non “ igitur durum fit, neque abruptum , quo animi “ velut refpirant ac reficiuntur. Haec eft fedes “ orationis; hoc auditor expedat; hie laus omnis “ declamat*, ” The only important rule that can be given here, is, that when we aim at dignity or elevation, the found flrould be made to grow to the laft ; the longefl members of the period, and the fulleft and moft fonorous words, flrould be referved to the conclnfion. As an example of this , the following fentence of Mr. Addifon’s may be given: “It fills the mind (fpeaking “ of fight) with the largeft variety of ideas;
“ converfes with its objeds at the greateft diftance ;
“ and continues the longeft in adion, without
* K Let. there be nothing rafh or abrupt in the con- a clufion of the fentence, on which the mind paufes “ and refts. This is the moft material part in the ftruc- “ ture of difeourfe. Here every hearer expeds to be “ gratified ; here his applaufe breaks forth.”
V4 .

lECT,
XIII.
2 9 6 HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
“ being tired or fatiated with its proper enjoy- “ ments. ’ Every reader mud be fenfible of a beauty here, both in the proper divifiotr of the members and paufes and the manner in which the Sentence is rounded, and conducted to a full and harmonious clofe.
The fame holds in melody , that I obferved to take place- with refpedl to fignificancy; that a falling off at the end , always hurts greatly. For thisreafon , particles, pronouns, and little words, are as ungracious to the ear, at the condufion, as I formerly fhowed they were inco'nfiftent with ffrength of expreffion. It is more than probable, that the fenfe and the found have here a mutual influence on each other. That which hurts the ear feems to mar the ftrength of the meaning ; and that which really degrades the fenfe, in confequence of this primary effetff, appears alfo to have a bad found. How difagree- able is the following fentence of an Author, fpeaking of the Trinity! “ It is a myftery which “ we firmly believe the truth of, and humbly “ adore the depth of. ” And how eafily could it have been mended by this tranfpofition! “It is “ a myflery, the truth of which we (irmly be- “ lieve , and the depth of which we humbly “ adore.” In general it feems to hold, that a muhcal clofe, in our language, requires either the laft fyllable, or the penult, that is, the laft but one , to be a Jong fyllable. Words which confift moftly of Abort fyllables , as , contrary , particular , rctrofpccl , feldom conclude a fentence has-

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
29^
monioufly , unlefs a run of long fyllables, before, L f. c t. has rendered them agreeable to the ear. X1IT.
It is necefTary, however , to obferve, that Sentences, fo conftructed as to make the found always fwell and grow towards the end , and to reft either on a laftlong ora penult long fyllable, give a ddcourfe the tone of declamation. The ear foon becomes acquainted with the melody, and is apt to be cloyed with it. If we would keep up the attention of the reader or hearer, if we would preferve vivacity and ftrength in our compofition, we mud be very attentive to vary our meafures. This regards the diftribution of the members , as well as the cadence of the period.
Sentences conftruded in a fimilar manner, with the paufes falling at equal intervals, fhould never follow one another. Short Sentences Ihould be intermixed with long and fwelling ones, to render difcourfe fprightly, as well as magnificent.
Even difcords , properly introduced, abrupt founds, departures from regular cadence, have fometimes a good effedt. Monotony is the great fault into which writers are apt to fall, who are fond of harmonious arrangement: and to have only one tune, or meafure, is not much better than having none at all. A very vulgar ear will enable a writer to catch fome one melody, and to form the run of his Sentences according to it; which foon proves difgufting. But a juft and correct ear is requifite for varying and diverifying the melody: and hence we fo feldom meet

1
a 9 8 HARMONY OF SENTENCES. w
L E c t. with authors , who are remarkably happy in ;aain
XIII. this refpect. -' ;E * £
Though attention to the mufic of Sentences muff not be negleded , yet it mull alfo be kept :iemz within proper bounds: for all appearances of an '^ ei author’s affedting harmony , are difagreeable; efpe. : ? 0 ^ cially when the love of it betrays him fb far, as to facnfice, in any inftance, perfpicuity, pre- : ^ ,lt cifion, or ftrength of fentiment, to found. All ;al 111 unmeaning words, introduced merely to round a P 01 the period, or fill up the melody, compkmenta :ece nurntrorum as Cicero calls them,are great blemiffies ^ in writing. They are childifli and puerile orna- £ > ments,by which aSentence always lofes more in point EOn J of weight, than it can gain by fuch additionstothe fy a P beauty of its found. Senfe has its own harmony, as well as found; an d, where the fenfe of a period a S ul is expreffed with clearnefs, force, and dignity, :: ® c it will feldom happen but the words will ftrike F n0 the ear agreeably ; at leaft, a very moderate at- M tention is all that is requifite for making the ca- -' onei dence of fuch a period pleafmg: and the effect of greater attention is often no other, than to -by render compofition languid and enervated. After ^ all the labour which Quindtilian beftows on re- Eb gulating the meafures of profe , he comes at laft, 1,11 Uj with his ufual good fenfe, to this conclufion: Non “ In univerfum , fi fitneceffe, duram potiusatque “ afperam compofitionem malim effe, quam ef- ^ “ feminatam ac enervem , quafis apud muitos.
“ Ideoque, vincta quzedam de induftria fiint fol- fee venda, ne laborata videantur ; neque ullum -e

\
Ei HARMONY OF SENTENCES, 299
k; “ idoneum aut aptum verbum prsetermittamus , L e c t.
“ gratia lenitatis*. ”( Lib. ix. c. 4. ) XIII.
X Cicero, as I before obferved, is one of the for molt remarkable patterns of a harmonious ftyle, it- His love of it, however, is too vifible ; and the x- pomp of his numbers fometimes detracts from his ftrength, That noted clofe of his, ej]'e vidcatur, ce which, in the Oration Pro Lege Manilia, occurs oc?_ eleven times, expofed him to cenfure among his cotemporaries. We muft obferve, however, in, defence of this great Orator, that there is a remarkable union in his ftyle, of harmony with ,, eafe, which is always a great beauty; and if his.
. harmony be fometimes thought ftudied , that
р, ftudy appears to have coft him little trouble.
Among our Englifh claffics, not many are
с , „ diftinguilhed for mufical arrangement. Milton,
in fome of his profe works, has very finely turn- ... ed periods; but the writers of his age indulged .... a liberty of inverfion , which now would be ... reckoned contrary to purity of ftyle: and though this allowed their Sentences to be more ftately and fono- rous, yet it gave them too much of a Latinized \ conftrudtion and order. Of later writers, Shafts- A bury is, upon the whole, the moft corredt in his .
**“ Upon the whole, I would rather chufe, that com- “ pofition fhould appear rough and harfh, if that be ne-
“ ceffary, than that it fhould be enervated and effemi-
O'-- “ nate fuch as we find the ftyle of too many. Some
. v ' fentences, therefore , which we have fttidiouily formed
. into melody, fhould be thrown loofe, that they may not feem too much laboured; nor ought we ever to- omit any proper or expreffive word, for the fake of 1 fmoothing a period.”

3 oo HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 1
L e c t. numbers. As his ear was delicate, he has attend- £ tft XIII. ed to mufic in all his Sentences; and he is pe-^P 11 culiarly happy in this refpedt, that he has avoid- ed the monotony into which writers, who 2 "'^ 1 ftudy the grace of found, are very apt to fall, i £ V having divcrfiried his periods with great variety Mr. Addifon has alfo much harmony in his ftyle; ii £S more eafy and fmooth, but lefs varied, than Lord Shaftfbury. Sir William Temple is, in j,® 1 general, very flowing and agreeable. Archbifhop :i» £ Tillotfon is too often careiefs and languid; and is mgi much outdone by Bifhop Atterbury in the mufic .ad of his periods. Dean Swift defpifed. mufical ar* ti rangement al ogether, Mi;
Hitherto I have difcourfed of agreeable h found, or modulation, in general. It yet remains :wor to treat of a higher beauty of this kind; the found ifc adapted to the fenfe. The former was no more Obsei than a Ample accompaniment, to pleafe the ear; :tioi the latter fuppofes a peculiar exprefiion given to ieafe the mufic. We may remark two degrees of it; atm; lirft, the current of found, adapted to thetenorof :erpe a difcourfe ; next, a particular refemblance effect- iffen ed between fomeobjed;, and the founds that are iaca: employed in defcribing it. .
First , I fay, the current of found maybe aiiia adapted to the tenor of a difcourfe. Sounds smo have, in many refpects, a correfpondence with do our ideas; partly natural, partly the effect of :lav artificial afiociations. Hence it happens, that any 5®, one modulation of found continued , imprints on ©ur Style a certain character and expreffion. Sen*

B HARMONY OF SENTENCES. ? or
t tences conftructed with the Ciceronian fulnefs and L e c t E fwell, produce the impreffion of what is import- XIII. is: ant, magnificent, fedate. For this is the natural to. tone which fuch a courfe of fentiment atTumes.
F : But theyfuitno violent paffion, no eager reafon- Kt ing, no familiar addrefs. Thefe always require A meafures brifker, eafier , and often more abrupt.
K And, therefore, to fwell, or let down the peri- f- ods, as the fubjebt demands, is a very important E rule in oratory. No one tenor whatever, fup- E poling it to produce no bad effed from fatiety, a: will anfwer to all different compofitions; nor even e to all the parts of the fame compofition. It were as abfurd to write a panegyric, and an invec- E live, in a Style of the fame cadence, a,s to fet it:, the words of a tender love - fong to the air of a warlike march.
Observe how finely the following fen ten ce of Cicero is adapted, to reprefent the tranquillity and eafe of a fatisfied ffate : “ Htfi nomini nihil «• “ eft magis optandum quam profpera , aequabilis,
K perpetuaque fortuna , fecundo vitae fine ulla “ offenfione curfu ; tamen , ft mihi tranquilla &
“ placata omnia fuiffent , incredibili quadam &
“ pene divina , qua nunc veftro beneficio fruor,
^ “ laetitiae voluptate caruiffem Nothing was ever more perfed in its kind : it paints , if we may fo fpeak, to the ear. But , who would not have laughed , if Cicero had employed fuch periods, or fuch a cadence as this, in inveighing
if
jSci
* Orat, ad Quirites, poft Reditura,

, T;
3 o2 HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
*
L e c T. againft Mark' Antony , or Catiline ? What is XIII. requifite , therefore , is , that we previoufly fix, in our mind, a juft idea of the general tone of found which fuits our fubjed; that is, which the fentiments we are to exprefs , moft naturally affume , and in which they moft commonly vent themfelves ; whether round and fmooth, or {lately and folemn , or brilk and quick , or interrupted and abrupt. This general idea mud direft the run of our compofition ; to fpeak in the ftyle of mufic , muft give us the key-note, mull form the ground of the melody ; varied and diverfified in parts , according as either our fentiments are diverfified , or as is requifite for producing a fuitable variety to gratify the ear.
It may be proper to remark, that our tranf- lators of the Bible have often been happy in fuiting their numbers to the fubjed. Grave, folemn, and mnjeftic fubjeds undoubtedly require fuch an arrangement of words as runs much on long fyllables ; and, particularly, they require the clofe to reft upon fuch. The very firft verfes of the Bible , are remarkable for this melody : “In “ the beginning , God created the heavens and “the earth;and the earth was without form,and void; “ anddarknefs was upon the face of the deep; and “ the Spirit of God moved on the face of the “ waters.” Several other paffages , particularly fome of the Pfalms, afford finking examples of this fort of grave , melodious conftrudion. Any compofition that rifes confiderably above the ordinary tone of profe , fuch as monumental
unit
3rr,
<tfpoi p tc
i
:sb
k in yeck :;\vl ■J \vl ie
lifted Jus I :reac
The
::re]
1
ilrdly Fu e m Well
'Avat
:»of
il
■’IVt

SQ HARMONY OF SENTENCES. 303
i»>; infcriptions, and panegyrical chara&ers, naturally )i?,> runs into numbers of this kind.
;•* But, in the next place , befides the general : Si - correfpondence of the current of found with the t;- current of thought, there may be a more particular expreffion attempted , of certain objects , by means r of refembling founds. This can be, fometimes, accomplifhed in profe - compofition ; but: there 1(2- only in a more faint degree ; nor is it fo much jjg expected there. In poetry , chiefly, it is looked for; where attention to found is more demanded, and where the inverfions and liberties of poetical ■■ Ityle give us a greater command of found ;
aflifted , too , by the verfification , and that ^ cantus obfcurior , to which we are^ naturally led ■ in reading poetry. This requires a little more ' illuftration.
(C l
The founds of words may be employed for reprefenting , chiefly , three claffes of objects ; firft, other founds; fecondly, motion ; and thirdly, the emotions and paflions of the mind.
3 F1 it. s T , I fay, by a proper choice of words , we may produce a refemblance of other founds E "' which we mean to defcribe, fuch as, the noife of waters, the roaring of winds , or the murmur- ing of Breams. This is the flmpleft inftance of '■ this fort of beauty. For the medium through which we imitate here, is a natural one; founds reprefented by other founds; and between ideas ^ of the fame fenfe, it is eafy to form a connection. No very great art is required in a poet, when he is defcribing fweet and foft founds, to make ufc
E C T.'
XIII.

304
HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
L E C T.
XIII.
of fuch words as have mod liquids and vowels, and glide the fofteft; or, when he is defcnbing harfh founds , to throw together a number 0 f harfli fyllables which are of difficult pronunciation Id ere the common ftructure of Language affifts him; for , it will be found , that, in moll Languages , the names of many particular founds are fo formed, as to carry fome affinity to the found which they fignify; as with us , the whijiiing of winds , the buz and hum of infecfts, the hifs of ferpents, the crash of falling timber; and many other inftances, where the word has been plainly framed upon the found it reprefents. 1 fhall produce a remarkable example of this beauty from JVlilton, taken from two paffages in Paradife Loft, defcrib- ing 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, difplays, to great advantage, the poet's art. The firft is the opening of Hell’s gates;
Ijfiefi
Ob E ra Tkd I fa
Sf
He
Ott
Ti
ko
siti
thou
und
-On a fudden, open fly, Mgi
With impetuous recoil, and jarring found, om
Th’infernal doors; and on their hinges grate ln ^
Harfh thunder,--— B. II. v. 879 Ae 1
Joule
Obferve, now, the fmoothnefs of the other: jp 0n
--Heaven open’d wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious found On golden hinges moving.-B. VII. v. 2 o?
The following beautiful paftage from Taffo’s
Gierufalemme,

HARMONT OF SENTENCES. 305
s £. fjierufalemrrie i has been often admired, on account LicT. lf S; of the imitation effected by lound of the thing XIIL J: reprefented :
Chiama gli abitator dell’ ombre eternal I). rauco fuon della tartarea tromba: Treman le fpazlofe atre caverne ,
E l’aer cieco a quel romo.r rimbombai Ne ftridendo ir.ai dalle fuperne Regioni del cielo * 11 folgor piomba j Ne si fcoffa giammai trema la terra, Oxianda i vapori in fen gravida fetra;
clafs of objedts, \vhich the found
" ~ of words is often employed to imitate , is, Motion * as it is fwift or flow, violent or gentle , equable \ or interrupted, eafy or accompanied with effort. C Though there be no natural affinity between found , of any kind, and motion, yet, in the imagination , there is a ftrong one ; as appears : f rom the connection between mufic and dancing. u ' And, therefore, here it is in the poet’s power to P gi ve us a lively idea of the kind of motion he would defcribe, by means of founds which cor- for. refpond, in our imagination, with'that motion^ Long fyllables naturally give the imprefiion o£ flow motion; as in this line of Virgil:
b- Olli inter fefe magna vi brachia tollunt,-
®- : Vol. X,

L E C T.
XI1-L
306 HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
A facceffion of ffiort fyllables prefents quick motion to the mind; as,
Quadrupedante putrem fonitu quatit ungula campum.
Both Homer and Virgil are great matters of this beauty; and their works abound with inftances of it; mod of them, indeed, fo often quoted, and fo well known, that it is needlefs to produce them. I lhall give one inftance, in Englilh , which feems happy. It is the defcription of a fudden calm on the feas, in a Poem, entitled, The Fleece.
-—-'With eafy courfe
The velTeis glide; unlefs their fpeed be hopp’d By dead calms , that often lie on thefe fmooth feas ■When ev’ry zephyr Beeps; then the Ihrouds drop;
The downy feather on the cordage hung,
Moves not; the fiat fea fhines like yellow gold Fus’d in the fire, or like the marble floor Of fome old temple wide.-
The third fet of objeds, which I mentioned the found of words as capable of reprefenting, confifts of the paffions and emotions of the mind. Sound may , at firft view , appear foreign to thefe; but, that here, alfo, there is fome fort ofconnedion, is fufficiently proved by the power which mufic has to awaken, or to affift certain paffions, and, according as its {train is varied, to introduce one train of ideas, rather than another. This, indeed, logically fpeaking, cannot be called 1
! Itf
jfaill
,al(
uliic
mar.
difpl
to t to 1 ip: nvet emu own it 1
M 1
am Day it,i or n
igrei
k
lot

HARMONY OF SENTENCES.
&>?
a refemblance between the fenfe and the found, Lie feeing long or Ihort fyllables have no natural XIII. refemblance to any thought or paffion. But if the arrangement of fyllables , by their found alone , recal one fet of ideas more readily than another, and difpofe the mind for entering into that affection, which the poet means to raife, fudh arrangement may, juftly enough, be faid to refemble the fenfe, or be fimilar and correfpondent to it. I admit, that, in many inftances, which are fuppofed. to difplay this beauty of accommodation of found to the fenfe, there is much room for imagination to work; and, according as a reader is {truck by a paffage, he will often fancy a refemblance between the found and* the fenfe , which others cannot difeover. He modulates the numbers to his own difpofition of mind; and, in effedt, makes the mulic which he imagines himfelf to hear. However, that there are real inftances of this kind , and that poetry is capable of fome fuch expreffion, cannot be doubted. Dryden’s Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day, affords a very beautiful exemplification of it, in the Englilh Language. Without much ftudy or refledtion, a poet delcribingpleafure, joy, and agreeable objedts, from the feeling of hisfubjedt, naturally runs into fmooth, liquid, and flowing numbers.
— — . . 1 - Namque ipfa deeoran)
Cajfariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventte Purpureum, et lstos oculis afflarat honores.
X 2
iEx. I,

L E C T.
XliL
308 HARMONY OF SENTENCES,
Or,
Devenere locos lietos & amcena vireta,
Fortunatorum nemorum , fedefque beatas;
Largior hie campos tether, & luminc veftit Purpureo , i'olemque fuum, fua fidera norant.
jen. vi.
Brilk and lively fenfations , exact quicker and more animated numbers.
-Juvenum manus cmicat ardens
Littus in Hefperium. Ey. VIII,
Melancholy and gloomy fubjecls, naturally exprefc themfelves in flow meafures*, and long words:
In thofe deep fclitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly penfive contemplation dwells,
Et caligantem nigra formidine Iucimi,
I H A v E now given fufficient openings into this fubjedt: a moderate acquaintance with the good poets, either ancient or modern, willfuggeft many inftances of the fam'e kind. And with this, I finilh the difeuflion of the Structure of Sentences; having fully confidered them under all the heads I mentioned ; of Perfpicuity, Unity, Strength, and Mufical Arrangement.

•*
LECTURE XIV,
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE,
jLi-AVING now finiflied what related to the Leg eonftrudtion of fentences , I proceed to other rules XIV. concerning Style. My general divifion of the qualities of Style , was into Perfpicuity and Ornament. Perfpicuity, both in (ingle words and in fentences , I have confidered. Ornament, as far as it arifes from a graceful, ftrong, or melodious con- ftru&ibn of words , lias alfo been treated of. Another, and a great branch of the ornament of Style, is, Figurative Language; which is now to be the fubjedt of our confideration, and will require a full difcuffion.
Our firft enquiry mud be, What is meant by Figures of Speech * ?
* On the fu bjedt of .Figures of Speech, all the writers who treat of rhetoric or compofition, have incited largely.
To make references , therefoie, on this fubjedt, were enct- lefs. On the foundations of Figurative Language, in general, one of the moffc fenlible and inftrudtive writers , appears to me , to be M. Marfais , in his Traite des Tropes pour J'ervir dTntroduciion a la Rhetorique , a la Logique^
x 21

S io ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
Le ct. In general, they always imply fome departure ^
XlVi from fimplicity of expreffion ; the idea which we ^
intend to convey, not only enunciated to others, ' t] 7
but enunciated, in a particular manner, and with « Jt “
fome circumftance added, which is defigned to ®
render the impreffion more flrong and vivid. difci
When I fay, for inftance, “ That a good man ae:
“ enioys comfort in the midll of adverfity;” I . Bpt juft exprefs my thought in the fimpleft manner poftible. But when I fay, “To the upright there ^ “ arifeth light in darkncfs ; ” the fame fentiment me:
is expreffed in a figurative Style; anew circum- F
fiance is introduced ; light is put in the place of 1111
comfort, and darknefs is ufed to fuggeft the idea 1,0
of adveriity. In the fame manner, to fay, “ It is “ impoffible, by any fearch we can make, to ^ “ explore the divine nature fully, ” is, to make a fimple propofition. But when we fay, “ Canft ln ®
“ thou, by fearching, findoutGod? Canftthou ^ ori
41 find out the Almighty to perfection ? It is high Me
4C as Heaven, what canft thou do ? deeper than ^
“ Hell, what canft thou know ? ” This introduces a figure into Style ; the propofition being not att only expreffed , but admiration and aftonifhment being expreffed together with it.
But, though figures imply a deviation from ^
what may be reckoned the moft fimple form of ^
Speech , we are not thence to conclude , that m
tie
For obfervations on particular Figures , the Elements of p. Criticijm may be confulted,where the fubjedt is fully handled, tie
andjjlluftrated by a great variety of examples. ji

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
§it
they' imply any thing uncommon, or unnatural. L E c This is fo far from being the cafe, that, on XIY
very many occafions , they are both the moll natural, and the mod common method of uttering our fentiments. It is impoffible to compofe any difcourfe without ufing them often; nay, there are few Sentences of any length, in which fome expreffion or other, that maybe termed a Figure does not occur. From what caufes this happens fhall be afterwards explained. The fact, in the mean time, fhows , that they are to be accounted part of that Language which nature dictates to men. They are not the invention of the fchools , nor the mere product of ftudy: on the contrary, the molt illiterate fpeak in figures, as often as the moft learned. Whenever the imaginations of the vulgar are much awakened , or their paffions inflamed againft one another , they will pour forth a torrent of Figurative Language , as forcible as could be employed by the moft artificial Reclaimer.
W hat then is it , which has drawn the attention of critics and rhetoricians fo much to thefe forms of Speech ? It is this: They remarked, that in them confifts much of the beauty and the force of Language ; and found them always to bear fome characters, or diftinguilhing marks , by the help of which they could reduce them under feparate claffes and heads. To this, perhaps, they owe their name of Figures. As the figure, or fhape of one body , diftinguifhes it from another, fo thefe forms of Speech have,, i N 4

313
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
L e c t. each of them, a cad or turn peculiar to itfelf XIV. which both diftinguifhes it from the reft , and diftinguifhes it from Simple Expreffion. Simple Expreffion juft: makes our idea known to others; but Figurative Language, over and above, bellows a particular drefs upon that idea; a drefs, which both makes it be remarked , and adorns it. Hence, this fort of Language became early a capital object of attention to thofe who ftudied the powers of Speech.
Figures, in general, may be defcribed to be that Language, which is prompted either by the imagination, or by the paffions. The itiftnefs of this defcription will appear, from the more particular account I am afterwards to give of them. Rhetoricians commonly divide them into two great claffes; Figures of Words, and figures of Thought. The former, Figures of Words, are commonly called Tropes, and confift in a word’s being employed to fignify fomething that is different from its original and primitive meaning; fo that if you alter the word., you deflroy the Figure. Thus, in the inftance I gave before; cc Light arifeth to the upright , in darknefs.” The Trope confifls, in light and darknefs” being not meant literallyhut fubftituted for comfort and advernty, on account of I'ome refem- blance or analogy , which they are fuppofed to bear to thefe conditions of life. The otherclafs, termed Figures of Thought, fappofesthe words to be ufed in their proper and literalmeaning, and the ligure to confift in the turn of the thought;

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 313
A:
r!s , as is the cafe in exclamations, interrogations, Lec It “ apoftrophes , and companions; where, though XIV 11 you vary the words that are ufed, or tranflate them from one Language into another, you may, neverthelefs, flill preferve the fame Figure in the thought. This diftinction , however, is of no k- great ufe; as nothing can be built upon it in practice; neither is it always very clear. It is of little importance, whether we give to fome particular mode of expreffion the name of a Trope,
:!K: or of a Figure; provided we remember , that Figu- ■ rative Language always imports fome colouring of the imagination, or fome emotion of paffion, expreffed in our Style: And, perhaps, figures 19 ■ of imagination, and figures of paffion, might be a more ufeful diftribution of the fubjedt. Rut without infilling on any artificial divifions , ft of will be more ufeful, that 1 enquire into the : Origin and the Nature of Figures. Only, before ct, proceeding to this, there are two general obferva- tions which it may be proper to premiffe.
The firffc is , concerning the ufe of rules with refpedt to Figurative Language. I admit, t, that perfons may both fpeak and write with pro- icii. priety, who know not the names of any' of the \ Figures of-Speech, nor ever fludied any rules relating to them. Nature , as was before obferved t delates the ufe of Figures ; and, like Monf. Jourdain, in Moliere , who had fpoken for lorty years in profe , without ever knowing it, many : a one ufes metaphorical expreflions to good pun- &i . pofe, without any idea of what a metaphor is,

314
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
L e c t. It will not, however, f How thenCe, that rules XIV. are of no fervice. All fcience arifes from obferva- t ;E tions on practice. Practice has always gone before 1 method and rule ; but method and rule have i afterwards improved and perfected practice, in sit every art. We, every day, meet with perfons :bt who fing agreeably, without knowing one note at of the gamut. Yet, it has been found ofim- slti portance to reduce thefe notes to a fcale, and fttii to form an art of mufic; and it would be ridicu- sou lous to pretend, that the art is of no advantage, ie becaufe the practice is founded in nature. Pro- :at priety and beauty of Speech, are certainly as im- letc proveable as the ear or the voice; and to know ies the principles of this beauty , or the reafons h>I which render one Figure , or one manner of ave Speech preferable to another, cannot fail to affift ice and direcSt a proper choice,
But l muft obferve, in the next place, that 311 although this part of ftyle merit attention , ~ ul and be a very proper obied of fcience and rule; although much of the beauty of compofition ^ depends on figurative language • yet we mud: "e beware of imagining that it depends folely, or F even chiefly, upon fuch language It is not fo. The great place which the dodrine of tropes and ^ figures has occupied in fyftems of rhetoric; the over - anxious care which has been fhown in 1 giving names to a vaft variety of them, and in ranging them under differen-t claffes , has often led perfons to imagine, that, if their compofition ... was well befpangled \yith a number of thefe ^

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
3*5
it: ornaments of fpeech , it wanted no other beauty; whence has arifen much ftiffnefs and affectation. For it is, in truth , the fentiment or paffion, t:. which lies under the figured expreffion, that ft: gives it any merit. The figure is only the drefs;
the fentiment is the body and the fubftance. No tjoi figures will render a cold or an empty compofition H; intereftmg; whereas, if a fentiment be fublime or abj pathetic , it can fupport itfelf perfectly well , without any borrowed affiftance. Hence feveral jtfe* of the moft affedting and admired paffages of the axi beft authors, are expreffed in the fimplell language, nx;. The following fentiment from Virgil, for inftance, du makes its way at once to the heart, without the if. help of any figure whatever. He is defcribing an rfArgive , who falls in battle, in Italy, at a great [v;; diftance from his native country :
ft 1
Sternitur , infelix, alieno vulnere , coelumque.
Afpicit , et dulces moriens reminifcitur Argos *.
iEn. x. 781.
L E C T. XIV.
C5 1 A fingle ftroke of this kind , drawn as by the . 1 very pencil of Nature, is worth a thoufand figures.
* “ Anthares had from Argos travell’d far, i:' “ Alcides’ friend , and brother of the war ;
“ Now facing, by another’s wound, his eyes , irfj u He calls to Heaven, on Argos thinks, and dies. ”
■ i
- 1
" 1 In this tranflation , much of the beauty of the original is 1 “ [ loll. On Argos thinks and dies, ” is by no means equal :C- to ‘ dulces moriens reminifcitur Argos: ”As he dies, he • C : “ remembers his beloved Argos. ” .——It is indeed obferv-

%\6
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
L E C T.
XIV.
In the fame manner, the fimple ftyle of Scripture: (C He fpoke, and it was done; he commanded, and it {rood faft. ” — “ God faid , let there be cc light ; and there was light, 3 ’ imports a lofty conception to much greater advantage, than if it had been decorated by the moft pompous metaphors. The fadt is , that the ftrong pathetic, and the pure fublime, not only have little de- pendance on figures of fpeech , but , generally, rejedl them. The proper region of thefe ornaments is , where a moderate degree of elevation and paffion is predominant; and there they contribute to the embellifhment of difeourfe , only,
iibje
iltis
arc;
: 01 :<,v inf ki\ ydil
able , that in moil of thofe tender and pathetic paffages, which do fo much honour to Virgil, that great poet exprefe himfelf with the utmoffc fimplicity; as ,
e w :corc ;uafn mi
Te , dulcis Conjux, te folo in littore feernn,
Te veniente die , te decedcnte canebat.
Geof.g. IV,
101 )
And fo in that moving prayer of Evander , upon his parting with Iiis fon Pallas:
At vos, Q Superi! et Pljvum tu maxime rector Jupiter, Arcadii queefo miferefeite regis.
Et patrias audite preces. Si numina veitra incolumem Pallanta mihi, fi fata refervant,
Si vifurus eum vivo, et venturus in unum,
Vitam oro; patiar quemvis durare labSrtm!
Sin aliquem infandum cafum, Fortuna, minaris, Nunc, O nunc liceat crudelem abrumpere vitam! Dum curie ambiguae, dum fpes incerta futnri;
Dum te, chare puer ! mea fera et fola voluptas! Amplexu tenco; gravior ne nuncius aures Vulneret-- JEn. VIII 572.
A m 0 3 ti a on
joj. •' in i: ‘
hill
•lit,

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
3i?
when there is a bafis of folicl thought and natural •: fentiment; when they are inferted in their proper j ^place; and when they rife, of themfelves , from imp,' the fubjed, without being fought after.
, !1Jp Having premifed thefe obfervations, I proceed It to-1° S^ ve an account °f the Origin and nature of Figures 5 principally of fuch as have their depend* ance on language ; including that numerous ^ 'tribe, which the rhetoricians call Tropes.
”1 ■ At the firft rife of language , men would begin \ with giving names to the different objeds which , they difcerned , or thought of. This nomencla- lCc tore would, at the beginning , be very narrow. u ~ According as men’s ideas multiplied, and their acquaintance with objeds increafed , their dock p?” of names and words would increafe alfo. But to the infinite variety of objeds and ideas., no language is adequate. No language is fo copious, as to have a feparate word for every feparate idea. Men naturally fought to abridge this labour of multiplying words in infinitum; and, in .. order to lay lefs burden on their memories , made one word, which they had already appro* ^ priated to a certain idea or objed, ftand alfo for feme other idea or objed ; between which and the primary one, they found, or fancied, fome relation. Thus , the prepolition , in , was originally invented to exprefs the circumftance of place: “ The man was killed in the wood.” In progrefs of time, words were wanted to exprefs men’s being cc-nneded with certain conditions of ,, fortune, or certain filiations of mind; and fome
E c T, XIV.

318 origin and nature of
t e c t. refemblance, or analogy, being fancied between XIV. thefe , and the place of bodies, the word, in, 'f was employed to exprefs men’s being fo circura- f®' ftanced; as, one’s being in health, or in ficknefs, -l [C in profperity or in adverfity , in joy or in grief, in doubt , or in danger , or in fafety. Here we fee this prepofition, in , plainly affirming a tro- 31C pical fignification, or carried off from its original meaning, to fignify fomething elfe, which relates Aun to , or refembles it. lain
Tropes of this kind abound in all languages, it and are plainly owing to the want of proper tv'u words. The operations of the mind and affec- kps tions , in particular , are , in mod languages, ing; defcribed by words taken from fenfible objects, -cr The reafon is plain. The names of fenfible -ft! objehfs , were, in all languages, the words moft early introduced ; and were , by degrees , extend- ® ed to thofe mental objedls, of which men bad sltar more obfcure conceptions , and to which they atsi found it more difficult to affign diftincl names. ton( , They borrowed , therefore , the name of fome alh fenfible idea , where their imagination found udea fome affinity. Thus , we fpeak of , a piercing i id judgment , and a clear head ; a foft or a hard ttept heart; a rough or a fmooth behaviour. We fay, tier inflamed by anger, -warmed by love , fwclled with .raa pride, melted into grief; and thefe are almoft the :fe only fignificant words which we have for fuch ideas. ‘ Spi
But , although the barrennefs of language, and ie the ’vyant of words, be doubtlefs one caufe of the tp

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
3 19
e®
c «i; invention of Tropes ; yet it is not the only, nor, perhaps , even the principal fource of this form of fpeech. Tropes have arifen more frequently, ’ K - and fpread themfelves wider, from the influence >]<t: which Imagination poffeffes over all language, fc,: The train on which this has proceeded among ifc, all nations, I fhall endeavour to explain.
Da:: Every objedt which makes any impreffion on :,t the human mind, is conftantly accompanied with certain circumftances and relations , that ftrike il! us at the fame ' time. It never prefents itfelf to : our view, ifole , as the French exprefs it; that is nth independent on, and feparated from , every other olf thing; but always occurs as fome how related to other objects; going before them, or following if;; after them; their effedt or their caufe; refembling them , or oppofed to them ; diftinguifhed by certain qualities, or furrounded with certain cir- fD . ; cumftances. By this means , every idea or objedt d,. carries in its train fome other ideas, which may be confidered as its acceffories. Thefe acceffories D ,., often ftrike the imagination more than the princi- mi pal idea itfelf. They are , perhaps, more agreeable ideas ; or they are more familiar to our conceptions ; or they recal to our memory a , r greater variety of important circumftances. The imagination is more difpofed to reft upon fome id of them ; and therefore , inftead of ufing the “ proper name of the principal idea which it means to exprefs , it employs , in its place , the name of the acceffory or correfpondent idea ; although dj the principal have a proper and well-known
E C T
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320
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
r, e c t- name of its own. Hence a vad variety of tropical XIV, or figurative words obtain currency in all Ian- .311 guages, through choice, not neceffity; and men 'lik of lively imaginations are every day adding to gpr. their number. fflnf
Thus , when we defign to intimate the pe- j e fa riod, at which a date enjoyed moll reputation ft or glory , it were eafy to employ the proper words for expreffing this ; but as this readily iro( conneds , in our imagination, with the flourilli- torac ing period of a plant or a tree, we lay hold of t y this correfpondent idea, and fay, “The Roman n v( “ empire flourifhed mod under Auguftus.” The a g leader of a faction , is plain language; but, « j, becaufc the head is the principal part of the u Vf human body , and is fuppofed to dired all the ,p 0 animal operations, reding upon this refemblance, ip 0 we fay , “ Catiline was the head of the party.” s £ (p The word , Voice , was originally invented to fignify the articulate found , formed by the or- :. ff gans of the mouth; but, as by means of it men yj fignify their ideas and their intentions to each other , Voice foon afiumed a great many other ^ meanings , all derived from this primary effed ^ c ‘ To give our Voice” for any thing, fignilied, 1 • to give our fentiment in favour of it. Not only ^ fo; but Voice was transferred to fignry any inti- n mation of will or judgment , though given without the lead interpolation of Voice in its literal fenfe , or any found uttered at all. Thus fFe we fpeak of lidening to the Voice of Conference, the fence of nature, the Voice of Godi This ufag© ^
takes :•

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 3 at
takes place, not fo much from barrennefs of lan- l e c t guage , or want of a proper word , as from an XIV. alluiion which we clioofe to make to Voice , in its primary fenfe, in order to convey our idea, connected with a circumftance which appears to the fancy to give it more fprightlinefs and force.
The account which I have now given, and which feems to be a full and fair one, of the introduction of Tropes into all Languages , coincides with what Cicero fliort'y hints, in his third book De Oratore. “ Modus transfcrendi c ‘ verba late patet ; quam neceffitas primum “ genuit, coadta inopia et anguftiis; poll autem “ delectatio , jucunditafque celebravit. Nam lit ” veftis , frigoris depellendi caufa. reperta primo ,
K poft adhiberi csepta eft ad ornatum etiam cor- “ ports et dignitatem, fic verbi tranfiatio inftituta ” eft inopke caufa, frequentata, deledlationis *. v
From what has been faid, it clearly appears, how that rnuft come to pafs , which I had 1 occafion to mention in a former Ledture, that all Languages are moft figurative in their early ftate.
Both the caufes to which I afcribed the origin of Figures , concur in producing this effect at
* “ The figurative ufage of words is very extenfive ; an “ ufage to which necefiity firft gam rife, on account of “ the paucity of words, and barrennefs of Language, but “ which the pleafure that was found in it afterwards ren- “ dered frequent. For, as garments were firft contrived to “ defend our bodies from the cold, and afterwards were “ employed for the purpofe of ornament and dignity, fo “ Figures of Speech , introduced by want, were cultivated “ for the fake of entertainment. “
VOL. I, •
«
y

ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
Le c t, the beginnings of fociety. Language is then moft XIV. barren; the ftock of proper names, which have been invented for things, is imall, and at the fame time , imagination exerts great influence over the conceptions of men , and their method of uttering them ; fo that , both from neceffity and from choice, their Speech will, at thatperiod, abound in 1 ropes. 1 or the favage tribes of men are always much given to wonder and aftonifh- ment. Every new objecl furprifes , terrifies, and makes a flrong impreffion on their mind; they are governed by imagination and paffion , more than by reafon ; and , of courfe , their Speech mu ft be deeply tindured by their genius. In fact , we find , that this is the charader of the American and Indian Languages; bold, piduref* que , and metaphorical ; full of ftrong allufions to fenfible qualities, and to fuch objeds as flruck them moft in their wild and folitary life. An Indian chief makes a harangue to his tribe, in a ftyle full of ftronger metaphors than a European would ufe in an epic poem.
As Language makes gradual progrefs towards refinement, almoft every objed comes to have a proper name given to it , and Perfpicuity andPre- cifion are more ftudied. But ftill, for the reafons before given , borrowed words, eras rhetoricians call them, Tropes, muft continue to occupy a confiderable place. In every Language too, there are a multitude of words, which , though they were figurative in their firft application to certain objeds, yet, by long ufe, lofc that figurative power
o

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
3'3
wholly , and come to be considered as Simple and Ltd literal expreilions. In this cafe , are the terms XIV. which I remarked before, as transferred from fen- blefi qualities to the operations or qualitiesof the mind , a piercing judgment, a. clear head , a hard. heart, and the like. There are other words which remain in a fort of middle Hate ; which have neither loft wholly their figurative application, nor yet retain fo much of it, as to imprint any rema^cable character of figured Language on our flyle; fuch as thefe phrafes, “ apprehend one’s meaning; ,s “ enter on a fubjecl; ” “ follow out an argument; ”
“ ftir up Strifeand a great many more , of which our Language is full. In the ufe of fuch phrafes, correct writers will always preferve a regard to the figure or allufion on which they are founded, and will be careful not to apply them in any way that is inconfiftent with it. One maybe “ Sheltered “ under the patronage of a great man; ” but it were wrong to fay, “Sheltered under the mafque of “ diffiinitiation,” as a mafque conceals, but do£s not Ihelter. An object in defcription, maybe “ clothed, ” if you will, “ with epithets ; ” but it is not fo proper to Speak of its being “ clothed „ with circumfkances ; ” as the word “ circumftan- ces,” alludes to Standing round , not to clothing.
Such attentions as thefe are requifite in the common run of Style.
What has been faid on this fubjedt, tends to throw light on the nature of Language in general; and will lead to the reafons , Why Tropes or Figures contribute to the beauty and grace of Style,
Y 3

•f) E C T,
XI*
354 ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
First, They enrich Language, and render id more copious. By their means , words and phra- fes are multiplied for exprefling all forts of ideas; for defcribing even theminuleft differences; the ni- ceft fliades and colours of thought; which no Language could r poflibly do by proper words alone, without afliftance from-Tropes.
Secondly, They beftow dignity upon Style. Th e^lmiliarity of common words, to which our ears are much accuftomed , tends to degrade Style. When we want to adapt our Language to the tone of an elevated fubject, we would be greatly at a lofs, if we could not borrow afliftance from Figures; which properly employed , have a fimilar effedl on Language , with what is produced by the rich and fplendid drefs of a perfon of rank; to create refpecft, and to give an air of magnificence to him who wears it. Afliftance of this kind, is often needed in profe competitions; but poetry could not fubfift without it. Hence Figures form the conftant Language of poetry. Tofay, that “ the fun rifes , ” istrite and common ; but it becomes a magnificent image when expreffed, as Mr. Thomfon has done:
But yonder comes the powerful king of day Rejoicing in the eaft.-
Tofay, that C£ all men are fubjedt alike to death,” prefents only a vulgar idea ; but it rifes and fill? tire imagination when painted thus by Horace:

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
Mlida mors aequo puifat pede, pauperum tabernsw'
Lst
Regumque turres.
Or, .
Omnes eodem cogimur omnium Verfatur urna, ferius , ocyus ,
Sors exitura , et nos in aeternnm Exilium impofitura cynibae *.
In the third place, Figures give us the pleafure of enjoying two objects prefented together to our view, without confufion; the principal idea which is the fubject of the difcourfe, along with its acceffory, which gives it the figurative drefs. We fee one thing in another, as Ariftotle expref- fes it; which is always agreeable to the mind. For there it nothing with which the fancy is more delighted', than with -comparifons, and refemblan- ces ofobje&s; and all Tropes are founded upon fome relation or analogy between one thing and another. When , for inftance", in place of “ youth,” I fay, the “ morning of life the fancy is immediately entertained with all'the refembling circum-
" * With equal pace , impartial fate,
Knocks at the palace, and the cottage gate.
Or,
We all mu ft tread the paths of fate; And ever fhakes the mortal urn;
Whofe lot embarks us , foon or late, On Charon’s boat; ah! never to return.
Francis,
Y 3

326
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
£ T c t. ftances which prefently occur between thefe two Xiv. objects. At one moment, I have in my eye a certain period of human life , and a certain time of the day, fo related to ea r h other, that the imagination plays between them with pleafure, and contemplates two fimilar objects, in one view, without embarralfment or confufion. Not only fo, but,
In the fourth place, Figures are attended with this farther advantage , of giving us frequently a much clearer and more ftriking view of the principal object, than we could have if it were cxpref- fed in fimple terms, and. diverted of its acceffory idea. This is, indeed, their principal advantage, in virtue of which, they are very properly faid to illuftrate a fubject, or to throw light upon it. For they exhibit the objedt, on which they are employed , in a picturefque form ; they can render an abltradt conception, in fome degree, an object of fenfe ; they furround it with fuch circumltances as enable the mind to Jay hold of it fteadily, and to contemplate it fully. “ Thofe perfons, ” fays one, “who gain the hearts of moft people, who are “chofen as the companions of their fofter hours, “ and their relief^from anxiety and care, are feldom ‘‘perfons of finning qualities, or flrong virtues: “it is rather the foft green of the foil, on which “we reft our eyes, that are fatigued with behold- “ing more glaring objects.” Here, by a happy allufion to a colour , the whole conception is conveyed clear and flrong to the mind in one word. By a well chofen Figure, even conviction, is alfiftetl,

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
32 7
and the impreffion of a truth upon the mind made L E c more lively and forcible than it would otherwife XIV be. As in the fallowing illuftration of Dr. Young’s: “When we dip too deep in pleafure, we always “ ftir a fediment that renders it impure and noxi- “ ous ; ” or in this, “ A heart boiling with vio- “ lent paffions, will always fend up infatuating “fumes to the head.” An image that prcfents fjp much congruity between a moral and a fenfible idea , ferves like an argument from analogy , to enforce what the author afferts , and to induce belief.
Besides, whether we are endeavouring to raife fentiments of pleafure or averfion, we can always heighten the emotion by the figures which we introduce ; leading the imagination to a train , either of agreeable or difagreeable , of exalting or debaf- ing ideas , correfpondent to the impreffion which we feek to make. When we want to render an objebt beautiful, or magnificent, we borrow images from all the moft beautiful or fplendid feenes of nature; we thereby, naturally , throw a luftre over our object; we enliven the reader’s mind, and difpofe him to go along with us, in the gay and pleafing imprellions which we give him of the fubject This effect of Figures is happily touched in the following lines of Dr. Akenfide, and illuftrated by a very fublime figure:
-- Then the inexpreflive ftrain,
Dlffufes its enchantment. Fancy dreams Of facred fountains and Elyfian groves,
Y 4

3?S ORIGIN AND NATURE OR
And vales of fclifs. The intellectual power Lends from his awful throne a wond'ring ear,
And fmiles. —-
Pleaf. of Imaginat. I. 124.
What I have now explained , concerning the uG and effects of Figures , naturally leads us to fcefleft on the wonderful power of Language: and indeed , we cannot reflect on it without the higheft admiration. What a fine vehicle is it now become for all the Conceptions of the human mind; even for the moll fubtile and delicate workings of the imagination IjWhat a pliant and flexible inftrument in the hand of one who can employ it IkilfulJy; prepared to take every form which he chufes to give it! Not content with a Ample communication of ideas and thoughts, it paints thofe ideas to the eye; it gives colouring and relievo, even to the molt abftracT conceptions. In the figures which it ufes , it fets mirrors before us, where we may behold objects, a fecond time, in their likenefs. It entertains us , as with a fucceflion of the moft fplendid pictures; difpofes, in the moft artificial manner , of the light and fhade , for viewing every thing to the beft advantage; in fine , from being a rude and imperfect interpreter of men’s wants and neceflities , it has now palled into an inftrument of the moft delicate and refined luxury.
To make thefe effects of Figurative Language fenftble, there are few authors in the Englilh Language , whom I can refer to with more
Licr,
XIV.

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE,
329
advantage than Mr. Acldifon , whole imagination is, at once , remarkably rich , and remarkably correct and chafte. When he is treating, for inftance , of the effedt which light and colours have to entertain the fancy, confidered in Air. Locke’s view of them as fecondary qualities , which have no real exiftence in matter, but are only ideas in the mind, with what beautiful painting has he adorned this philofophic fpeculation ? “Things,” fays he, “would make but a poor appearance to the eye, if we faw them only in their “ proper figures and motions. Now, we are every “ where entertained with pleafingfhows and appar- “ itions; we difeover imaginary glories inthehea- “ vens, and in the earth, and fee fome of this vifio- “ nary beauty poured out upon the whole crea- “ tion. But what a rough unfightly fketch of nature “ Ihould we be entertained with , did all her co- “ louring difappear, and the feveral diftinctions of “ light and fihade vanilh ? In fhort, our fouls are, !t at prefent, delightfully loft, and bewildered in “ a pleafing delufion ; and we walk about, like “ the enchanted hero of a romance , who fees “beautiful caltles, woods, and meadows ; and, ‘‘ at the fame time, hears the warbling of birds, “ and the purling of ftreams: but , upon the fin- “ idling of fome fecret fpell, the fantaftic feene “ breaks up , and the difconfolate knight finds “ himfelf on a barren heath , or in a folitary de- “ fert. It is not improbable , that fomething like “ this may be the ftate of the foul after its firft
E C T
XIV.

33 °
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
L E c t. “ reparation, in refped of the images it will re* ;ltr;
XIV. “ ceive from matter.’’ No. 413. Spec.
Having thus explained, at fufficient length, jotter the Origin, the Nature, and the Effeds of Tro- iieid pes, I fhould proceed next to the feveral kinds sfere and divifions of them. But, in treating ofthefe, jail were I to follow the common trad of the fcho- !ito' laftic writers on Rhetoric , I fhonld foon dear become tedious, and, I apprehend, ufelefs, age, at the fame time. Their great bufinefs has been, with a moft patient and frivolous induftry, to branch them out under a vafl number of divifions, M
according to all the feveral modes in which a ; i n{ |
word may be carried from its literal meaning, into one that is Figurative, without doing any There Jmore;as if the mere knowledge of the names gaify and claffes of all the '1 ropes that can be formed , .ms of could be of any advantage towards the proper, id i or graceful ufe of Language. All that 1 purpofe : pen is, to give, in a few words, before finishing 1“{ this Ledure, a general view of the feveral four- bre ces whence the tiopical meaning of words is deri- tain ved: after winch 1 fhall, in fubfequent Lectures, aural, defcend to a more particular confideration of fome of the moft confiderable Figures of Speech, ■— and fucli as are in moft frequent ufe; by treating of which , I fhall give all the inftrudion l can, concerning the proper employment of figurative here Language, and point out the errors and abides ;pat which are apt to be committed in this part of ftyle. in
All Tropes, as 1 before obferved , are found- :;to; ed on the relation which one object bears to 43$
J

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
33 *
another; in virtue of which, the name of the one can be fubftituted inftead of the name of the other; and byfuch a fubftitution, the vivacity of the idea is commonly meant to be increafed. Thefe relations, fome more, fome lefs intimate , may all give rife to Tropes. One of the firffc and molt obvious relations is, that between a caufe and its effect. Hence, in Figurative Language, the caufe is, fometimes, put for the effeCt, Thus , Mr. Addifon, writing of Italy:
BloiToms, and fruits , and flowers , together rife,
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.
Where the “ whole year” is plainly inUmded, to fignify the effects or productions of all the fea- fons of the year. At other times, again, the effect is put for the caufe; as , “ grey hairs ” frequently for old age, which caufes grey hairs; and “ fhade, ” for trees that produce the fhade. The relation between the container and the thing contained, is alfo fo intimate and obvious, as naturally to give rife to Tropes :
--- Hie impiger haufit
Spumantem pateram et pleno fe proluit auro.
Where every one fees, that the cup and the gold are put for the liquor that was contained in the golden cup. In the fame manner, the name of any country, is often ufed to denote the inhabitants of that country ; and Heaven , very com-
ECT.
XIV.

533
ORIGIN AND NATURE OF.
i
E c t. monly employed to Agnify God, becaufe he is t^ ffl XIV. conceived as dwelling in Heaven.. To implore r!l1 ^ the affiftance of Heaven, is the fame as to implore A the affiftance of God. The relation betwixt any ■ eftabliffied fign and the thing Agnified, is a fur- 2t£ ^ ther fource of Tropes. Hence, ■ afflit
fcttt
Cedant arma tog<e; concedat laurea lingua;. 3
, jinfift
The “toga,” being the badge of the civil pro- feffions, and the “laurel,” of military honours,?™ the badge of each is put for the civil and mili- tary characters themfelves. To “a-ffume the fcep- ;
“ tre,”^s a common phrafe for entering on ad, royal authority. To Tropes, founded on thefe t-her feveral relations, of caufe and effect, container ifa, and contained, fign and thing Agnified, is given ton; the name of Ale tony my. A i
When the Trope is founded on the relation Th between an antecedent and a confequent, or it n what goes before, and immediately follows after, and it is then called a AletalepAs; as in the Roman ad 1 phrafe of “Fuit,” or “ Vixit,” to exprefs that -nllec one was dead. “ Fuit Ilium et ingens gloria It p Dardanidumfignifies, that the glory of aph Troy is now no more. :; "1
When the whole is put for a part^or a part are! for the whole; a genus for a fpecies, or afpecies see for a genus; the Angular for the plural, or the ti plural for the Angular number; in general, when 4 . any thing lefs, or any thing more, is put for kp the precife object meant; the figure is then called very a Synecdoche. It is very common, for inftance, ly}

-k FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 333
to defcribe a whole objedt by - fome remarkable L ec U part of.it; as when we fay, “A fleet of To many XIV “ failhr the place of ‘ Chipswhen we ufe v the “ head” for the “ perfon the “ pole” for the ‘ earth ” the “ waves” for the “ feaIn like manner, an attribute may be put for afubject; as,“Youth and “ Beauty for the young and beautiful;” and fome- :~i times a fubject for the attribute, But it is needlefs toinfift longeron this enumeration , which ferves little purpofe, I have faid enough, to give an opening into that great variety of relations between objects, by means of which, the mind I:: is affifted to pars ealfly from ane to another;
•: and, by the name of the one, underffcands the other to be meant. It is always fome acceffory idea, which recals the principal to the imagine- 1 o tion ; and commonly recals it with more force, than if the principal idea had been expreffed.
The relation which, of all others, is by far the mod fruitful of Tropes, I have not yet mentioned; that is, the. relation of Similitude and Refembiance. On this is founded what is called the Metaphor: when, in place of ufing ■the proper name of any objedt, we employ, in its place, the name of fome other which is like it; which is a fort of pidture of it, and which thereby awakens-the conception of it with more force or grace. This figure is more frequent than all the reft put together; and the language, both of profe and verfe, owes to it much of its elegance and grace. This, therefore, deferves very full and particular conlideration ; and fha.1.1 be the fubjedi of the next Lecture,

Leg
XV.
.fled
My
LECTURE XV.
METAPHOR.
T.
After the preliminary obfervations I have made, relating to Figurative Language in general , I come now to treat feparately of fuch Figures of Speech, as occur moft frequently, and require particular attention: and I begin with Metaphor. This is a figure founded en- tirely on the refemblance which one object bears to another. Hence, it is much allied to Simile, or Comparifon; and is indeed no other than a comparifon, exprefted in an abridged form. When I fay of fome great minifter“ that he “ upholds the ftate, like a pillar which fupports “ the weight of a whole edifice,” I fairly make a comparifon; but when I fay of fuch a minifter, “ that he is the Pillar of the ftate,” it is now become a Metaphor. The comparifon betwixt the Minifter and a Pillar, is made in the mind; but is expreOed without any of the words that denote comparifon. The comparifon is only inlinuated, not exprefted: the one object is

METAPHOR.
335
fuppofed to be fo like the other, that, without formally drawing the comparifon, the name of the one may be put in the place rf the name of ' i ' 1 die other. “ The minifter is the Pillar of the “ Hate.” This, therefore, is a more lively and animated manner of expreffing the refemblances which imagination traces among objeds. There is nothing which delights the fancy more, than this atb of comparing things together, difcovering ^ refemblances between them, and defcribing them by their likenefs. d he mind thus employed, is exercifed without being fatigued; and is gratified with the confcioufnefs of its own ingenuity. We need not be furprded, therefore, at finding all Language tindured ftrongly with Metaphor. It infmuates. itfelf even into familiar converfation; and, unfought, rifes up of its own accord in the mind. The very words which I have cafually employed in defcribing this, are a proof of what I fay; tintfured , injtnua’cs , rijes up, are all of them metaphorical expreflions , borrowed ofr from fome refemblance which fancy forms between fenfible objeds, and the internal operations of the mind; and yet the terms are no lefs clear, and, perhaps, more expreffive, than if words i had been ufed, which were to be taken in the dried and literal fenfe.
Though all Metaphor imports comparifon, B , ; ; and, therefore, is, in that refpedl, a figure of thought; yet, as the words in a Metaphor are f- not taken literally, but changed from their proper to a Figurative fenfe, the Metaphor is
E C T.
XV.

Le.ct.
XV.
I
I
33 6 METAPHOR. j
commonly ranked among Tropes or Figures of ! 01 words. But, provided the nature of it be well 0 tmderftoocT, it fignifies very little whether we j,to call it a Figure or a Trope. I have confined it mb to the expreflion of refemblance between two the < objects. Imuft remark, however, that the word ad Metaphor is fometimes ufed in a loofer and more tfcc extended fenfe; for the application of a term in by; any figurative fignification, whether the figure 0 fit be founded on refemblance, or on fome other Perl relation , which two objects bear to one another, firy For inftance ; when grey hairs are put for old of age , as, “ to bring one’s grey hairs with forrow 11 a to the gravefome writers would call this a ]\J Metaphor, though it is not properly one, but what rhetoricians call a Metonymythat is, ]] 0 j the effect put for the caufe; “grey hairs” being l an( the effedt of old age, but not bearing any fort fp e; of refemblance to it. Ariftotle, in his Poetics, ] 2 |p ufes Metaphor in this extended fenfe, for any “ a figurative meaning impofed upon a word; as a 11 j] whole put for the part, or a part for the whole; 11 \ a fpecies for the genus, or a genus for the fpecies. “ t But it would be unjuft to tax this moft acute “ v writer with any inaccuracy on this account; the minute fubdivifions, and various names of ^ Tropes, being unknown in his days, and the s t0 invention of later rhetoricians. Now, however, when thefe divifions are eftablifhed, it is inac- :(Bt curate to call every figurative ufe of terms, pro* bp, mifcuoufiy, a Metaphor, i ItJ
lj[
?

METAPHOR.
a» y J3{
OF all the figures of Speech , none comes fo near to painting as Metaphor. Its peculiar effecft is to give light and ftrength to defcriptioti; to make intellectual ideas, in fome fort, vifible to the eye, by giving them colour, and fubftance, and fenfible qualities. In order to produce this effect, however, a delicate hand is required; for, by a very little inaccuracy, we are in hazard of introducing confufton, in place of promoting Perfpicuity. Several rules , therefore, are necef- fary to be given for the proper management of Metaphors. But, before entering on thefe, I fhall give one inftance of a very beautiful Metaphor, that I may ffiow the figure to full advantage. I fhall take my inftance from Lord Bolingbroke’s Remarks on the Hiftory of England. Juft at the conclufion of his work , he is fpeaking of the behaviour of Charles I. to his laft parliament: “In a word,” fays he, “about “ a month after their meeting, he diffolved “ them ; and, as foon as he had diffolved them, “ he repented; but he repented too late of his “ rafhnefs. Well might he repent; for the veffel “ was now full, and this laft drop made the “ waters of bitternefs overflow.” “Here,” he adds, “ we draw the curtain, and put an end “ to our remarks.” Nothing could be more happily thrown off. The Metaphor, we fee, is continued through feveral exprelfions. The vrjjel is put for the ftate, or temper of the nation already full, that is, provoked to the higheft by former oppreflions and wrongs; this tajl drop , Vol. I. Z
E C T.
XV.

338
METAPHOR.
ftands for the provocation recently received by the abrupt diffolution of the parliament; and the overflowing of the waters of bitternefs , beautifully expreffes all the effe&s of refentment let loofe by an exafperated people.
On this paflage, we may ma.ke two remarks in palling. The one, that nothing forms a more fpirited and dignified conclufion of a fubjecl, than a figure of this kind happily placed at the clofe. We fee the effedl of it, in this inftance. The author goes olf with a good grace; and leaves a ftrong and full imprefifion of his fubjecl on the reader's mind. My other remark is, the advantage which a Metaphor frequently has above a formal comparifon. How much would the fentiment here have been enfeebled, if it had been expreffed in the ftyle of a regular fimile, thus: “Well might he repent; for the Hate of “ the nation, loaded with grievances and pro- “ vocations, refembled a velfel that was now “ full, and this fuperadded provocation, like “ the laft drop infufed, made their rage and “ refentment, as waters of bitternefs, overflow.” It has infinitely more fpirit and force as it now ftands, in the form of a Metaphor. “Well “ might he repent; for the vefifel was now full; “ and this laft drop made the waters of bitter- “ nefs overflow.
Having mentioned, with applaufe, this inftance from Lord Bolingbroke, I think it incumbent on me here to take notice, that, though I may have recourfe to this author, fometimes,
paffii
i

METAPHOR*
339
for examples of ftyle, it is his ftyle only, and not his fentiments, that deferve praife. It is, indeed , my opinion , that there are few writings in the Englilh Language , which , for the matter contained in them , can be read with lefs profit or fruit, than Lord Bolingbroke’s works. His political writings have the merit of a very lively and eloquent ftyle; but they have no other ; being, as to the fubftance, the mere temporary productions of faction and party ; no better, indeed, than pamphlets written for the day. His Pofthumous, or, as they are called, his Pliilo- fophical Works, wherein he attacks religion, have ftill lefs merit; for they are as loofe in the ftyle as they are flimfy in the reafoniug. An unhappy inftance, this author is, of parts and genius fo miferably perverted by faction and paflion, that, as his memory will defeend to pofterity with little honour, fo his produdious will foon pafs, and are, indeed, already palling into neglect and oblivion.
Returning from this digreflion to the fub^ jed before us, I proceed to lay down the rules to be obferved in the conduct of Metaphors; and which are much the fame for Tropes of every kind*
The firft which I ftiall mention, is, that they he fuited ro the nature of the fubjed of which we treat; neither too many, nor too gay, nor too elevated for it; that we neither attempt to force the fubjed, by means of them, into a degree of elevation which is not congruous to
Z a
e e Ti XV,

34 ©
METAPHOR!
L E c T, it; nor, on the other hand, allow it to fink XV. below its proper dignity. This is a diredion which belongs to all Figurative Language, and fhould be ever kept in view. Some Metaphors are allowable, nay beautiful, in poetry, which it would be abfurd and unnatural to employ in profe; fome may be graceful in orations, which would be very improper in hiftorical, or philo- fophical compofition. We mull remember, that figures are the drefs of our fentiments. As there is a natural congruity between drefs , and the character or rank of the perfon who wears it, a violation of which congruity never fails to hurt; the fame holds precifely as to the application of figures to fentiment. The exceffive, or unfeafonable employment of them, is mere foppery in writing. It gives a boyifih air to compofition ; and, inftead of raifing a fubjed, in fact, diminifhes its dignity. For, as in life, true dignity muft be founded on character, not on drefs and appearance, fo the dignity of compofition muft arife from fentiment and thought, not from ornament. The affe&ation and parade of ornament, detrad as much from an author, as they do from a man. Figures and Metaphors, therefore, fhould, on#no occafion, be ftuck on too profufely; and never fhould be fuch , as re- fufe to accord with the ftrain of our fentiment. Mothing can be more unnatural, than for a writer to carry on a train of reafoning, in the lame fort of Figurative Language, which he Would ufe in defcription. When he realons,

METAPHOR.
34i
we look only for perfpicuity; when he defcribes, Lm. we expect embellilhment; when he divides, or XV. relates, we defire plainnefs and fimplicity. One of the greatefl fecrets in compofition is, to know when to be fimple. This always gives a heightening to ornament, in its proper place.
The right difpofition of the fhade, makes the light and colouring ftrike the more: c ‘Is enim “ eft eloquens,” fays Cicero, “ qui et humilia “ fubtiliter, et magna graviter, et mediocria “ temperate poteft dicere.—Nam qui nihil poteft “ tranquille, nihil leniter, nihil definite, diftintfte,
“ poteft dicere, is , cum non praeparatis auribus “ inflammare rem ccepit, furere apud fanos, etquafi “ inter fobrios bacchari temulentus videtur This admonition Ihould be particularly attended to by young practitioners in the art of writing, who are apt to be carried away by an undiftinguifh- ing admiration of what is fliowy and florid, whether in its place or not*.
* “ He is truly eloquent, who can difcourfe of humble “ fubjects in a plain ftyle , who can treat important ones “ with dignity , and fpeak of things , which are of a middle “ nature, in a temperate drain. For one who , upon no “ occafion , can exprefs himfelf in a calm, orderly, diftindt “ manner , wh^ he begins to be on fire before his readers “ are prepared to kindle along with him , has the appearance “ of raving like a madman among perfons who are in their “ fenfes , or of reeling like a drunkard in the midft of “ fober company. ”
* What perfon of the lead tafte , can bear the following paffage, in a late hiftorian. He is giving an account of
Z 3

342
■Vi
METAPHOR.
J/ E c T. The fecond rule, which I give, refpects the JCV, choice of objedts, from whence Metaphors, and other Figures, are to be drawn. The field for Figurative Language is very wide. AH nature, to fpeak in the ftyle of figures, opens its ftores to us , and admits us to gather, from all fenfible objedts, whatever can illuftrate intelledlual or moral ideas. Not only the gay and fplendid objedts of fenfe, but the grave, the terrifying, and even the gloomy and difmal, can, on different occafions, be introduced into figures with propriety. But we muff beware of ever ufing fuch allufions as raife in the mind difagree- able , mean , vulgar, or dirty ideas. Even , when Metaphors are chofen in order to vilify and degrade any object, an author fhould ftudy never to be naufeous in his allufions. Cicero blames an orator of his time, for terming his enemy “Seercus Curiae;” quamvis fit fimile,"
the famous ad of parliament againft irregular Marriages in England :■ “ Thebill,” fays he, “ underwent a great number “ of alterations and amendments , which were not effected w without violent conteft. ”. This is plain Language, fuited to the fubjed; and we naturally exped,. that he fhould go on in the fame flrain, to tell us , that, after thefe contefts , it was carried by a great ngujority of voices, and obtained the royal affent. But how does he exprefs himfelf in finifhing the period? “Atlength, however, it v ' was floated through both houfes, on the tide of a great “ majority, and fleered into the fafe harbour of royal u approbation. ” Nothing can be more puerile than fuch Language. Smollet’s Lliftory of England, as quoted; in Critical Review for Od. 1761, p, 251,

fays he, “ tamen eft deformis cogitatio fimilitu- Luc “ dinis.” But, in fubjedts of dignity, it is an XV. unpardonable fault to introduce mean and vulgar Metaphors. In the treatife on the Art of Sinking, in Dean Swift’s works, there is a full and humorous colledtion of inhances of this kind, wherein authors, inftead of exalting, have contrived to degrade, their fubjedts by the figures they employed. Authors of greater note than thofe which, are there quoted , have, at times, fallen into this error. Archbilhop Tillotfon, for inftance, is fometimes negligent in his choice, of Metaphors; as, when fpeaking of the day of judgment, he defcribes the world, as “cracking “ about the Turners ears.” Shakefpeare, whofe imagination was rich and bold, in a much greater degree than it was delicate, often fails here.
The following, for example, is a grofs trank greffion; in his Henry Y. having mentioned a dunghill, he prefently raifes a Metaphor from the fleam of it; and on a fubjecl too, that naturally led to much nobler ideas:
And thofe that leave their valiant bones in France ,
Dying like men , though buried in your dunghills ,
They fhall be fam’d; for there the fun fhall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven.
* Act. IV. Sc.
In the third place, as Metaphors flrould be drawn from objedts of fome dignity, fo particular care fhould be taken that the refemblance,
Z 4

X
344
METAPHOR.
L e c t. which is the foundation of the Metaphor, he XV. clear and perfpicuous, not far-fetched, nor difficult to difcover. The tranfgreffion of this rule makes, what are called harfh or forced Metaphors, which are always difpleafing, be- caufe they puzzle the reader, and, inflead- of illuflrating the thought, render it perplexed and intricate. With Metaphors of this kind, Cowley abounds. He, and fome of the writers of his age, feem to have confidered it as the perfe&ion of wit, to hit upon likeneffes between obje&s which no other perfon could have difcovered; and, at the fame time, to purfue thofe Metaphors fo far, that it requires fome ingenuity to follow them out, and comprehend them. This makes a Metaphor refemble an aenigma ; and is the very reverfe of Cicero’s rule on this head: “Verecunda “ debet effie tranflatio ; ut dedudta effe in alienum “ locum , non irruiffe , atque ut voluntarie non vi “ venifle videatur*.” How forced and obfcure, for in fiance, are the following verfes of Cowley, fpeaking of his miftrefs :
Wo to her ftubborn heart, if once mine come Into the felf-fame room,
* “ Every Metaphor fhould be modeft, fo that it may “ carry the appearance of having been led, not of having “ forced itfelf into the place of that word whofe room it “ occupies; that it may feem to have come thither of its “ own accord, and not, by conitraint. ” De Oratore, L. 111. c. sj.

METAPHOR.
345
’Twill tear and blow up all within, Lect.
Like a Granada, fhot into a magazine. XV.
Then fhall love keep the afhes and tom parts Of both our broken hearts;
Shall out of both one new one make;
From her’s th’ 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 perifh in the fire.
In this manner he addreffes fleep:
In vain, thou drowfy God , I thee invoke,
For thou who doft from fumes arife,
Thou who man’s foul doft overfhade,
"With a thick cloud by vapours made;
Canft have no power to fhut his eyes,
Whofe flame’s fo pure, that it fends up no fmokc.
Yet how do tears but from fome vapours rife?
Tears that bewinter all my year;
The fate of Egypt I fuftain,
And never feel the dew of rain,
From clouds which in the head appear:
But all my too much moifture owe To overflowings of the heart below *.
Trite and common refemblances fhould indeed be avoided in our Metaphors. To be new , and
* See an excellent criticifm on this fort of metaphyfical poetry , in Dr. Johnfon’s Life of Cowley.

L E C T.
XV.
346
METAPHOR.
not vulgar , is a beauty. But when they are fetched from fome likenefs too remote, and lying too far out of the road of ordinary thought, then, befides their obfcurity, they have alfo the difadvantage of appearing laboured , and as the French call it, “ recherche. ” whereas Metaphor, like every other ornament, lofes its whole grace, when it does not feem natural and eafy.
It is but a bad and ungraceful foftening,' which writers fometimes ufe for a harfh metaphor, when they palliate it with the expreffion, as it -were. This is but an awkward parenthefis; and Metaphors, which need this apology of an as it -were, had, generally , be better omitted. Metaphors , too , borrowed from any of the fciences , efpecially fuch of them as belong to particular profeffions , are almoft always faulty by their obfcurity.
In the fourth place , it mufl be carefully attended to , in the conduct of Metaphors, never to jumble metaphorical and plain language together ; never to conftrud a period fo, that part of it muft be underflood metaphorically , part literally : which always produces a moft dif- agreeable confufion. Inflanceswhich are but too
till
;loa
st
id
A\ a :fcri :es
bi;
!ale,
;F
frequent, even in good authors , will make this
j;
rule, and the reafon of it, be clearly underflood. In Mr. Pope’s tranflation of the Odyffey, Penelope , bewailing the abrupt departure of her fon Telemachus , is made to fpeak thus :
Long to my joys my deareft Lord is loft,
His country’s buckler, and the Grecian boaft:
-It
14

M E T A P H O R.
347
Now from my fond embrace , by tempefts torn, L E C T.
Our other column of the ftate is borne: XV.
ry ’■
Nor took a kind adieu, nor fought confent * !
IV. 960.
©
1 ■ Her? in one line , her fon is figured as a column;
and in the next , he returns to be a perfon, to
whom it belongs to take adieu , and to afk con- lent. This is inconfiftent.. The Poet fhould either t have kept himfelf to the idea of a Man, in the literal fenfe; or, if he figured him by a Column, he fhould have afcribed nothing to him but what belonged to it. He was not at liberty to :E afcribe to that Column the actions and properties of a .Man. Such unnatural mixtures render
the image indiftintl; leaving it to waver, in our conception, between the figurative and the literal fenfe. Horace’s rule , which he applies to Characters, fhould be obferved by all writers who deal : in Figures:
--Sgrvetur ad irnum ,
Qyalis ab incepto procefferit, et fibi conftet.
, Mr. Pope , elfewhere, addreffing himfelf to the King , fays,
* In the original , there is no allufion to a Column, and the metaphor is rightly fupported:
'H 5 rfiv jtiEv '/TOG'tv IS-Aov ci7T6>Xz<rx. Svy.oA.'vtrcc 5
Tlxyroi'fiz ctfir>im xsxccr,iav;v b Axvxm ti
’E &}<.cv , m xAes; ivav xx r T 'EaaxJiz xxi [Jiitnv ’Acysj,
Uw 'zxid d.yX7rdlov xr/.^n-^xvlo SvzAAxi
’AxAzx lx fxzyx^m , aV ogix-yS-stltK; ctxuru. A. 7 J 4*

34 §
METAPHOR.
I, e C T. To thee the World its prefent homage pays,
XV. The harveft early, but mature the praife.
'ink
This, though not fo grofs, is a fault, however, of the fame kind. It is plain , that, had not the rhyme milled him to the choice of an improper phrafe , he would have faid ,
The harveft early, but mature the crop:
And fo would have continued the figure which he had begun. Whereas, by dropping it unfinifh- ed, and by employing the literal word, praife, when we were expecting fomething that related to the Harveft , the figure is broken , and the two members of the fentence have no proper correfpondent with each other :
: the 'roll .put
3ft0
i ot saw torn toje lan° I
Met is c; of t
The Harveft early, but mature the Praife.
. ‘fez
The Works of Oflian abound with beautiful and corredt Metaphors; fuch as that on a Hero: H mi “ In peace, thou art the Gate of Spring; in war, 6 Id cc the Mountain Storm.” Or this , on a Woman: “ cc “ She was covered with" the Light of Beauty; » cu <£ but her heart was the Houfe of Pride.” They s® afford , however , one inftance of the fault we dee are now cenfuring: “ Trothal went forth with ®ot “ the Stream of his people, butthey met aRock:
C£ for Fingal flood unmoved; broken they rolled j,
“ back from his fide. Nor did they roll in fafety; ji^ C£ the fpear of the King purfued their flight.” “ cor
EC

7
METAPHOR.
349
At the beginning , the Metaphor is very beautiful. The Stream , the unmoved Rock, the Waves rolling back broken, are expreflions employed in the proper and confiftentlanguage of Figure; but, in the end , when we are told, “ they did not “ roll in fafety , becaufe the fpear of the King n purfued their flight,” the literal meaning is improperly mixed with the Metaphor : they are at one and the fame time , prefented to us as •waves that roll , and men that may be purfued and wounded with a fpear. If it be faulty to jumble together, in this manner, metaphorical and plain language , it is bill more fo ,
In the fifth place , to make two different Metaphors meet on one object. This is what is called mixed Metaphor , and is indeed one of the groffeft abides of this figure ; filch as Shakefpeare’s expreffion, cc to take arms againfl: a “ fea of troubles. ” This makes a moft unnatural medley, and confounds the imagination entirely. Quincftilian has fufficiently guarded us againfl it; ” Id imprimis eft cuftodiendum, ut quo genere <c coeperis tranflationis , hoc finias. Multi autem „ cum initium a tempeftate fumferunt, incendio „ aut ruina finiunt; quse eft inconfequentia rerum 35 feediflima *. ” Obferve , for inftance, what an inconfiftent groupe of objects is brought together
L e c T. XV.
* “ We muft be particularly attentive to end with the “ fame kind of Metaphor with which we have begun. “ Some, when they begin the figure with a Tempeft, “ conclude it with a conflagration; which forms a fhameful" “ inconflftency. ”
/

350
M ETAPHOR.
L e c t. by Shakefpeare, in the following paflage of the XV. Tempeft ; fpeaking of perfons recovering their judgment after the enchantment , which held them , was diffolved :
--The charm diifolves apace,
And as the morning fteals upon the night ^
Melting the darknefs, fo their rifing fenfes Begin to chafe the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reafon.-■-
So many ill-Ported things are here joined , that the mind can fee nothing clearly ; the morning Jltalim 7 upon the darknefs, and at tlje fame time melting it; the fenfes of men chafing fumes ; ignorant fumes , and fumes that mantle. So again in Ro» meo and Juliet:
-“--—"-as glorious,
As is a winged mefienger from heaven,
Unto the white upturned wondering eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him»
■When he beftrides the lazy pacing ciouds,
And fails upon the bofom of the air.
Here , the Angel is reprefented , as* at one moment , heftriding the clouds , and failing upon the air; and upon the bofom of the air too ; which forms fuch a confuted pidture, that it is impof- fible for any imagination to comprehend it.
More correct writers than Shakefpeare, fome- times fall into this error of mixing Metaphors.

METAPHOR.
35i
It is furprifing bow the following inaccuracy L E C T. fiiould have efcaped Mr. Addifou , in his Letter XV. from Italy:
I bridle in my ftruggling mufe with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder ftrain *.
The mufe, figured as a horfe, may be bridled ; but when we fpeak of launching , we make it a fhip ; and, by no force of imagination , can it be fuppofed both a horfe and a fhip at one moment; bridled , to hinder it from launching. The fame Author , in one of his numbers in the Spectator, fays , “ There is not a fingle view c ‘ of human nature , which is not fufficient to cc extinguifh the feeds of pride.” Obferve the incoherence of the things here joined together, making “ a view extinguifh , and extinguifh “ feeds. ”
Horace alfo , is incorredt, in the following paffage :
Urit enim fulgore fuo qui pragravat artes
Infra fe pofitas.-
Urit qui pragravat. — He dazzles who bears down with his weight; makes plainly an incon- fiftent mixture of metaphorical ideas. Neither can this other paffage be altogether vindicated:
* In my obfervation on this paffage, I find, that I had coincided with Dr. Johnfon , who pafies a fimilar cenfure upon it, in his life of Addifon.

Ah! quanta laboras in Charybdi,
Digne puer, ineliore flamma!
Where a whirlpool of water , Charybdis, is faid to be a flame, not good enough for this young man; meaning, that he was unfortunate in the objedl of his paflion. Flame is , indeed, become almoft a literal word for the paflion of love; but as it ftill retains , in fome degree , its figurative power , it fhould never have been ufed as fyno- nymous with water , and mixed with it in the fame Metaphor. When Mr. Pope ( Eloifa to Abelard) fays ,
All then is full, pofleffing and pofTelt,
No craving void left aking in the bread:;
A void may, metaphorically , be faid to crave; but can a void be faid to akc ?
A GOOD rule has been given for examining the propriety of Metaphors , when we doubt whether or not they be of the mixed kind; namely , that we fhould try to •form a picture upon them, and confider how the parts would agree, and what fort of figure the whole would prefent, when delineated with a pencil. By this means, we fhould become fenfible, whether in- confiftent circumftances were mixed, and a mon- ftrous image thereby produced , as in all thofe faulty inftances , I have now been giving; or whether the object was, all along, prefented in one natural and confiftent point of view-
As

M E T A P H O R. •
353
ks Metaphors ought never to be mixed , fo, in the fixth place , we fhould avoid crowding them together on the fame objedt. Suppofmg each of the Metaphors to be preferved diftind, yet, if they be heaped on one another , they produce a confufion fomewhat of the fame kind with the mixed Metaphor. We may judge of this by the following paffage from Horace :
Motnm ex Metello confule civicum,
Beliique caufas , et vitia, et modes,
Ludumque fortunte, gravefque Principum amicitias , & arma Nondum expiatis un&a cruoribus,
Periculofe plenum opus ales ,
Tradta’, et incedis per ignes Suppofitos cineri dolofo *.
Lib. 2. x.
This paffage, though very poetical, is, however,
* Of warm commotions , wrathful jars,
The growing feeds of civil wars ; •
Of double fortune’s cruel games ,
The fpecious means , the private aims,
And fatal friendfhips of the guilty great,
Alas ! how fatal to the Roman Rate!
Of mighty legions late fubdued ,
And arms with Latian blood embru’d;
Yet unatoned ( a labour vaft !
Doubtful the die , and dire the cafe!)
Y’ou treat adventurous , and incautious tread On fires with faitblefs embers overfpread. Franck.
Vol. 1. A a
L E'C T XV.

354
METAPHOR.
I* e c t. harffi, and obfcure ; owing to no other caufe XV. but this, that three diftinct Metaphors are crowded together, to defcribe the difficulty of Pollio’s writing a hiftory of the civil wars. Firft , « Tradtas arma uncta cruoribus nondum ex- cc piatis;” next, “ Opus plenum periculofsealese;” and then ; cc Incedis per ignes fuppofitos dolofo “ cineri. ” The mind has difficulty in palling readily through fo many different views given it, in quick fucceffion , of the fame object.
The only other rule concerning Aletaphors which I fir all add, in the feventh place, is, that they be not too far purfued. If the refemblance, on which, the figure is founded , be long dwelt upon, and carried into all its minute circum- ftances, we make an allegory inftead of a metaphor; we tire the reader , who foon wearies of this play of fancy ; and we render our difcourfe obfcure. This is called , {training a Metaphor. Cowley deals in this to excels; and to this error is owing, in a great meafure, that intricacy and harfhnefs , in his figurative Language , which I before remarked. Lord'Shaftfbury, is fometimes guilty of purfuing his Metaphors too far. Fond, to a high degree, of every decoration of ftyk* when once he had hit upon a figure that pleafed him , he was extremely loth to part with it. Thus, in his advice to an author, having taken up foliloquy, or meditation, under the Metaphor of a proper method of evacuation for an author, he purlues this Metaphor through feveral pages, under all the forms “ of difcharging crudities,
*thr j'tak .‘to 13 a 1 Your ' merit Laos :«L? imag infi new his del \ loo tliei his. and alec on wit] ho\
T M If Fa TF TF - By j Fa
I

METAPHOR.
355
“ throwing off froth and fcum , bodily operation, L e c t, “ taking phyfic , curing indigeftion, giving vent XV.
“ to choler , bile , flatulencies , and tumours; ” till at laft , the idea becomes naufeous. Dr.
\ oung alfo often trefpafles in the fame way. The merit , however , of this writer , in figurative Language, is great, and deferves to be remarked. No writer, ancient or modern , had a ftronger imagination than Dr. Y oung, or one more fertile in figures of every kind. His Metaphors are often new , and often natural and beautiful. But, as his imagination was ffcrong and rich, rather than delicate and corredt, he fometimes gives it too loofe reins. Hence , in his Night Thoughts, there prevails an obfcurity , and a hardnefs in his ftyle. The Metaphors are frequently too bold, and frequently too far purfued; the reader is dazzled rather than enlightened; and kept conftantly on the ftretch to comprehend , and keep pace with, the author. We may obferve , for inftance, how the following Metaphor is fpun out:
Thy thoughts are vagabonds ; all outward bound,
IMidft fands and rocks, and ftorms to cruife for pleafure,
If gained, dear bought ; and better mifs’d than gain’d.
Fancy and fenfe, from an infected lhore,
Thy cargo brings ; and peftilence the prize;
Then fuch the third:, infatiable third,
By fond indulgence but inflam’d the more,
Fancy dill cruifes , when poor fenfe is tired.
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METAPHOR.
L e c t. Speaking of old age , he fays, it fhould XV-
Walk thoughtful on the fdent folemn fhore
o
Of that vaft ocean, it inuft fail fo foon;
And put good works on board; and wait the wind
That fliortly blows us into worlds unknown.
The two firft lines are uncommonly beautiful; “ walk thoughtful on the blent, &c.” but when he continues the Metaphor , to “ putting good cc works on board, and waiting the wind, ” it plainly becomes ftrained , and finks in dignity. Of all the Englilh authors, I know none fo happy in his Metaphors as Mr. Addifon. His imagination was neither fo rich nor fo ftrong as Dr. Young’s; but far more chafte and delicate. Per- fpicuity, natural grace and eafe, always diftinguilh bis figures. They are neither harfh nor brained; they nev r er appear to have been ftudied or fought after; but feem to rife of their own accord from the fubject, and conftantly embellifh it.
I HAVE now treated fully of the Metaphor, and the rules that fhould govern it , a part of the doctrine of ftyle fo important, that it required particular illubration. I have only to add a few words concerning Allegory.
An Allegory may be regarded as a continued Metaphor ; as it is the reprefentation of fame one thing by another that refembles it, and that is made to band for it. Thus in Prior’s Henry and Emma, ! J mma in the following allegorical manner defcribes her conftancy to Henry :

METAPHOR.
357
Did I but purpofe to embark with thee L E c T.
On the fmooth furfuce of a fummer’s lea, XV,
While gentle zephyrs play with profperous gales,
And fortune’s favour fills the fweliing fails.;
But would forfiike the fhip , and m ake the fiiore ,
When the winds whittle , and the tempefts roar ?
We may take alfo from the Scriptures a very fine example of an Allegory, in the Both Pfalm ; where the people of Ifrael are repiefented under the image of a vine, and the figure is fupported throughout with great correctnefs and beauty;
‘‘ Thou haft brought a vine out of Egypt, thou “ haft calf out the heathen, and planted it. Thou “ prepared!!: room before it, and didft caufe it “ to take deep root , and it filled the land. The “ hills were covered with the fihadow of it; and “ the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars.
“ She fent out her boughs into the fea, and her “ branches into the river. 'Why haft thou broken “ down her hedges, fo that all they which pafs “ by the way do pluck her ? The boar out of “ the wood doth wafte it; and the wild beaft “ of the field doth devour it. Return , we be- “ feech thee , O God of Holds , look down from “ Heaven, and behold, and vifit this vine!’'
Here there is no circumftance (except perhaps one phrafe at the beginning, “thou haft caft.
“ out the heathen,”) that does not ftridly agree to a vine, whilft, at the fame time, the whole quadrates happily with theJewilh ftate reprefent. ed by this figure. This is the firft and prinei-
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METAPHOR.
L e c t. pal requifite in the conduct of an Allegory, that 8,1
XV. the figurative and the literal meaning be not tl"
mixed inconfiftently together. For inftance, *tli
inftead of defcribing the vine, as wafted by the ^
boar from the wood, and devoured by the wild f or !
beaft of the field, had the Pfalmift faid, it was ^
afflicted by heathens , or overcome by enemies ®
(which is the real meaning), this would have ride
ruined the Allegory , and produced the fame confufion , of which I gave examples in Me- e J Ii taphors, when the figurative and literal fenfe are mixed and jumbled together. Indeed, the fame rules that were given for Metaphors, may ®
alfo be applied to Allegories, on account of the lit
affinity they bear to each other. The only ma- l 53
terial difference between them, befides the one mt
being fflort, and the other being prolonged, is, that ni(
a Metaphor always explains itfelf by the words in
that are connected with it in their proper and natu- ph
ral meaning; as when I fay, “ Achilles was aLi- In
on;” an “able Minifteristhe Pillar of the State.” ex
My Lion and my Pillar are fufficiently interpreted by the mention of Achilles and the Minifter, which I join to them; but an Allegory is, or may be , allowed to ftand more difconnected with the literal meaning ; the interpretation not fo diredly pointed out , but left to our own refled: ion.
Allegories were a favourite method of delivering inftructions in ancient times ; for what we call Fables or Parables are no other than Allegories; where, by words and adjons attributed

METAPHOR.
359
to beafts or inanimate objeds, the difpofitions Lec t, of men are figured ; and what we call the moral, XV. is the unfigured fenfe or meaning of the' Allegory.
An /Enigma or Riddle is alfo a fpecies of Allegory ; one thing reprefented or imaged by another; but purpofely wrapt up under fo many cir- cumftances , as to be rendered obfcure. Where a riddle is not intended, it is always a fault in Allegory to be too dark. The meaning Ihould be eafily feen through the figure employed to flradow it. However the proper mixture of light and fhade in fuch compofitions, the exad adjuft- .ment of all the figurative circumftances with the literal fenfe, fo as neither to lay the meaning too bare and open, nor to cover and wrap it up too much , has ever been found an affair of great nicety; and there are few fpecies of compofition in which it is more difficult to write fo as to pleafe and command attention, than in Allegories.
In fome of the vifions of the Spectator, we have examples of Allegories very happily executed.
A a 4

LECTURE XVI.
L E c T. XVI.
HYPERBOLE - PERSONIFICATION - APOS1KOPHE.
jL HE next figure concerning which I am to treat, is called Hyperbole , or Exaggeration. It confifts in magnifying an object beyond its natural bounds. It may be confidered, fometimes as a trope, andfome- times as a figure of thought: and here indeed the dif- tinclion between thefe two claffes begins not to be dear, nor is it of any importance that we fliould have recourfe to metaphyfical fubtilties, in order to keep them diftinct. Whether we call it trope or figure , it is plain that it is a mode of fpeech which hath forne foundation in nature, bor in all languages , even in common converfation, hyperbolical expreffions very frequently occur; as fwift as the wind; as white as the fnow, and the hkt; and our common forms of compliment are almoft all of them extravagant Hyperboles, If any thing be remarkably good or great in its kind, we are inftantly ready to add to it fotne exaggerating epithet; and to make it the greatefl: or befi; we ever fa\y. The imagination has always

HYPERBOLE.
36 r
a tendency to gratify itfelf , by magnifying its Leg t. prefent object, and carrying it to excefs. More XVI. or Jefs of this hyperbolical turn will prevail in language, according to the hvelinefs of imagina- ■ tion among the people who fpeak it. Hence young people deal always much in Idypefboles.
Hence the language of the Orientals was far more hyperbolical than that of the Europeans, who are of more phlegmatic , or , if you pleafe , of more correct imagination. Hence , among all writers in early times, and in the rude periods of fociety, we may expect this figure to abound.
Greater experience , and more cultivated fociety, abate the warmth of imagination, and chaften the manner of expreffion.
The exaggerated expreffions to which our ears are accuftomed in converfation, fcarcely flrike us as Hyperboles. In an inftant we make the proper abatement, and underftand them according to their juft value. But when there is fome- thing ftriking and unufual in the form of a hyperbolical expreffion, it then rifes into a figure of fpeech which draws our attention : and here it is neceffary to obferve, that unlefs the reader’s imagination be in fuel) a ftate as difpofes it to rife and fwell along with the hyperbolical expreffion , he is always hurt and offended by it. For a fort of difagreeable force is put upon him; he is required to ffrain and exert his fancy, when he feels no inclination to make any fuch effort.
Hence the Hyperbole is a figure of difficult management ; and, ought neither to be frequently

HYPERBOLE.
362
L e c t. ufed , nor long dwelt upon. On fome occafions, Tic XVI. it is undoubtedly proper; being, as was before jji obferved , the natural ftyle of a fprightly and g • heated imagination ; but when Hyperboles are unfeafonable , or too frequent, they render a comjlbfition frigid and unaffeding. They are the refource of an author of feeble imagination; of Hi: one, defcribing objeds which either want native jdud dignity in themfelves; or whofe dignity he can- ;n,; not fhow by defcribing them fimply, and in their ie juft proportions , and is therefore obliged to reft jibe upon tumid and exaggerated exprefiions. ie fi
HyeeRBOLES are of two kinds; either fuch as aeb are employed in defcription, or fuch as are fng- j tf gefted by the warmth of paffion. The beft by mcy far , are thofe which are the effed of paffion; for {th if the imagination has a tendency to magnify its tfJier objeds beyond their natural proportion, paffion i or(n poffelfes this tendency in a vaftly ftronger degree; j a l • and therefore not only excufes the moll daring ^ d figures, but very often renders them natural and , wo juft. All paffions, without exception, love, ter- n(J e ror, amazement, indignation, anger, and even jwh grief, throw the mind into confufion, aggravate their objeds , and of courfe prompt a hyperbolical ftyle. Hence the following fentiments of Satan in Milton, as ftrongly as they are de- fcribed , contain nothing but what is natural and bat proper ; exhibiting the pidure of a mind agitated The with rage and defpair:
Me miferable ! which way ftiall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair ? !
j

HYPERBOLE. 363
Which way I fly is Hell, myfelf am Hell; .
And in the loweft deep , a lower deep
Still threat’ning to devour me , opens wide,
To which the Hell I fuffer feems a Heaven.
B. iv. v. 73.
In fimple defcription, though Hyperboles are not excluded, yet they mull: be ufed with more caution, and require more preparation, in order to make the mind relilh them. Either the objedtde- fcribed mud be of that kind, which of itfelf feizes the fancy ftrongly, and difpofes it to run beyond the bounds ; fomething vaft , furprifmg, and new. or the writer’s art muft be exerted in heating the fancy gradually, and preparing it to think highly of the objedt which he intends to exaggerate. When a Poet is defcribing an earthquake or a ftorm, or when he has brought us into the midft of a battle, we can bear flrong Hyperboles without difpleafure. But when he is defcribing only a woman in grief, it is impoffible not to be dif- gufted with fuch wild exaggeration as the following, in one of our dramatic Poets:
-1 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
Lee.
This is mere bombaft. Theperfon herfelf who was under the diftra&mg agitations of grief,
e c T XVI.

3^4
hyperbole.
L e c t. might be permitted to hyperbolize ftronglv; but .fctt XVI. the fpectator defcribing her, cannot be allowed t,J!| an equal liberty : for this plain reafon , that : < ra the one is fuppofed to utter the fentiments of j^e paffion, the other fpeaks only the language of ' defcription, which is always, according to the didates of nature , on a lower tone: a diftinclion, f ^li which however obvious, has not been attended’ 1 '* ; to by many writers. Sed
How far a Hyperbole, fuppofing it properly . fo introduced, may be fafely carried without over- ^ ftretching it; what is the proper meafure and Se
boundary of this figure, cannot, as far as I know, q
be ascertained by any precife rule. Good fenfe and juft tafte muff determine the point beyond Sue! which, if we pafs , we become extravagant. Lu- t mre can may be pointed out as an author apt to be exceffive in his Hyperboles. Among the compli- tolli; ments paid by the Roman Poets to their Em- bein
perors, it had become fafh.ionable to afk them, led
what part of the heavens they would chufe for their habitation , after they Should have become h Gods? Virgil had already carried this Sufficiently S far in his addrefs*to Auguftust , ^
a • ' Fi
-Tibi brachia contrahit ingens
Scorpios, et Coeli jufta plus parte relinquit *. ” Sc
Georg. I. b Ha
j
* cc The Scorpion ready to receive thy laws,
“ Yields half his region, raid contracts Ids paws.” jy,
DkvdeS. ^

HYPERBOLE.
365
But this did not fuffice Lucan. Refolved to out- Lect, to all his predeceffors, in a like addrefs to Nero, XVI. lie very gravely befeeches him not to chufe his place near either of the poles, but to be fure to occupy juft the middle of the heavens , left, by going either to one fide or other, his weight lliould overfet the univerfe:
Sed neque in Aretoo fedem tibi legeris orbe Nec polus adverfi calidus qua mergilur auftri; dEtheris immenfi partem fi prefferis imam Sentiet axis onus. Librati pondera Cceli Orbe tene medio f. --■ FhARS. I.
Such thoughts as thefe, are what the French call outres, and always proceed from a falfe fire of genius. The Spanifh and African writers, asTer- tuilian, Cyprian, Auguftin, are remarked for being fond of them. As in that epitaph on Charles V. by a Spanifh writer:
Pro tumulo ponas orbem, pro tegmine coelurn,
Sidera pro facibus, pro lacrymis maria,
fi But, oh ! whatever be thy Godhead great,
Fix not in regions too remote thy feat ;
Nor deign thou near the frozen Bear to fhine Nor where the fultry fcuthern ftars decline.
Prefs not too much on any part the fphere, ^
Hard were the talk thy weight divine to bear;
Soon would the axis feel the unufual load,
And, groaning, bend beneath th’incumbent God;
O'er the mid orb more equal lhak thou rife,
And with a jufter balance fix the fkies. FiOWE,

3 66
HYPERBOLE.
L E C T.
XVI.
Sometimes they dazzle and impofe by their bold- nefs; but wherever reafon and good fenfe are fo much violated , there can be no true beauty. Epigrammatic writers are frequently guilty in this refpect ; refting the whole merit of their epigrams on fome extravagant hyperbolical turn; fuch as the following of Dr. Pitcairn’s , upon Holland’s being gained from the ocean:
Tellurem fecere Dii ; fua littora Belgte;
Immenfeque molis opus utrumque fuit; Dii vacuo fparfas glomerarunt aethere terras, Nil ibi quod operi poffit obeffe fuit.
At Belgis, maria & coeli naturaque reruin Obftitit; obftantes hi domuere Deos.
in
So much for the Elyperbole. We proceed now to thofe figures which lie altogether in the thought; where the words are taken in their common and literal fenfe.
Among thefe, the firft place is unqueftionably due to Perfonification , or that figure by which we attribute life and addon to inanimate objects. The technical term for this is Profopopmia; but as Perfonification is of the fame import, and more allied to our own language, it will be better to ufe this word.
1 It is a figure, the ufe of which is very exten- five, and its foundation laid deep in human nature. At firft view, and when confidered ab- ftradly, it would appear to be a figure of the ut- moft boldnefs, and to border on the extravagant

PERSONIFICATION. 367
and ridiculous. For what can feem more remote L e c T, from the trad of reafonable thought, than to x\ 7 I. fpeak of Hones and trees, and fields and rivers, as if they were living creatures, and to attribute to them thought and fenfation , affedions and adions ? One might imagine this to be no more than childilh conceit, which no perfon of talte could relilh. In fad, however, the cafe is very different. No fuch ridiculous effed is produced by perfonification , when properly employed; on the contrary, it is found to be natural and agreeable ; nor is any very uncommon degree of paf- fion required , in order to make us relilh it. All poetry, even in its molt gentle and humble forms, abounds with it. From profe , it is far from being excluded; nay, in common converfation, very frequent approaches are made to it. When we fay, the ground thirfts for rain , or the earth [miles with plenty; when we fpeak of ambition being reftlefs , or a difeafe being deceitful , fuch expref- fions fhow the facility with which the mind can accommodate the properties of living creatures to things that are inanimate, or to abltrad conceptions of its own forming.
Indeed , it is very remarkable, that there is a wonderful pronenefs in human nature to animate all objeds. Whether this arifes from a fort of affimilating principle, from a propenfion to fpread a refemblance of ourfelves over all other things, or from whatever other caufe it arifes, fo it is, that almoft every emotion, which in the leaft ■ agitates the mind, bellows upon its object a mo-

•I
368 personification. I
L F. c t. mentary idea of life. Let a man , by an unwary afe
XVI. ftep, fprain his ankle, or hurt his foot upon a tr i
ftone, and, in the ruffled difcompofed moment, -ba] he will, fometimes, feel himfelf difpofed to break if» the ftone in pieces, or to utter paftionate expref- wk ftons againft it, as if it had done him an injury, rerj
If one has been long accuftomed to a certain fet F
of objects, which have made a ftrong impreffion ito
on his imagination ; as to a houfe, where he has jre;
palled many agreeable years; or to fields, and ido
trees, and mountains, among which he has often ibl
walked with the greateft delight; when he is ob- gir
liged to part with them, efpecially if he has no be
profped of ever feeing them again, he can fcarce TJ
avoid having fomewhat of the fame feeling as ;yf
when he is leaving old friends. They feem j n
® endowed with life. They become objeds of his ft
affetftion; and, in the moment of his parting, (p;
it fcarce feems abfurd to him , to give .vent to ma
his feeling in words, and to take a formal adieu. obj So ftrong is that impreflion of life which is jjf c
made upon us , by the more magnificent and t ; t
ftriking objeds of nature efpecially, that I doubt w
not, in the leaft, of this having been one caufe of the multiplication of divinities in the Heathen con world. Dryads and Naiads , the Genius/ of the of t wood, and the God of the river , were , in men J 0n of lively imaginations, in the early ages of the or , world, eafily grafted upon this turn of mind. ^ When their favourite rural objects had often been , ] a animated in their fancy, it was an eafy tranfition j„, t to attribute to them fome real divinity , fome ^
unfeen '■ j

PERSONIFICATION. 3 6 9
unfeen power or genius which inhabited them, Lict. or in fome peculiar manner belonged to them. XVI. Imagination was highly gratified , by thus gaining fomewhat to reft upon with more liability ; and when belief coincided fo much with imagination, very flight caufes would be fufficient to eftablifh it.
F r o M this deduction, may be eafily feen how it comes to pafs, that perfonification makes fo great a figure in all compofitions , where imagine ation or paffion have any concern. On innumerable occafions, it is the very Language of imagination and paffion, and, therefore, deferves to be attended to, and examined with peculiar care.
There are three different degrees of this figure; which it is neceffary to remark and diftinguilh, in order to determine the propriety of its ufe.
The firft is, when fome of the properties or qualities of living creatures are afcribed to inanimate objedts; the fecond , when thofe inanimate objects are introduced as adting like fuch as have life; and the third, when they are reprefented, either as fpeaking to us , or as liftening to whaj; we fay to them.
The firft, and loweft degree of this figure, confifts in afcribing to inanimate objedts fom® of the qualities of living creatures. Where this is done , as is moft commonly the cafe, in a word, or two , and by way of an epithet added to the object, as, “ a raging ftorm , a deceitful difeafe,
,, a cruel difafter, ” &c. it raifes theftyle fo little, that the humbleft difcourfe will admit it without any force. This , indeed, is fuch an obfcure
Vol. I. Bb

37 °
PERSONIFICATION.
Lb ct. degree of Perfonification, that one may doubt XVI. whether it deferves the name, and might not be claffed with fimple Metaphors, which efcape in a manner unnoticed. Happily employed, however, it fometimes adds beauty and fprightlinefs to an exprelfion; as in this line of Virgil :
Aut conjurato defcendens Dacus ab Iftro.
Geor. II. 474.
Where the perfonal epithet, conjurato , applied to * the river IJtro , is infinitely more poetical than if
it had been applied to the perfon, thus:
Aut conjuratus defcendens Dacus ab Iftro.
A very little tafle will make any one feel the difference between thefe two lines.
Thl next degree of this figure is, when we introduce inanimate objects atffing like thofe that have life. Here we rife a ftep higher, and the Perfonification becomes fenfible. According to the nature of the a<ftion, which we attribute to thofe inanimate ob|ects, and the particularity with which we defcribe it, fuch is the ffrength of the figure. When purfued to any length , it belongs only to ftudied harangues , to highly figured and eloquent difcourfe ; when {lightly touched, it may be admitted into fubjects of lefs elevation. Cicero, for inftance, fpeaking of the cafes where killing another is lawful in felf-defence, ufes the following words: “ AJiquando nobis gladius ad „ occideudum hominemab ipfis porrigiturlegibus.’ (Qrat. pro Milone.) The expreflion is happy. The laws are perfonified, as reaching forth their

PERSONIFICATION.
37 1
hand to give us a fword for putting one to death. Le c t, Such ill or t perfonifications as thefe may be ad- XVI. mitted, even into moral treatifes, or works of cool reafoning; and, provided they be eafy and not ftrained, and that we be not cloyed with too frequent returns of them , they have a good effed on ftyle, and render it both ftrong and lively.
The genius of our Language gives us an advantage in the -ufe of this figure. As, with us, no fubftantive nouns have gender, or are mafculine and feminine, except the proper names of male and female creatures ; by giving a gender to any inanimate objed , or abftrad idea, that is, in place of the pronoun it , uling the perfonal pronouns, he or she, we prefently raife the ftyle, and begin perfonification. Jn folemn difeourfe, this can often be done to good purpofe, when fpeaking of religion, or virtue, or our country, or any fuch object of dignity. I {hall give a remarkably fine- example , from a i'ermon of Bilhop Sherlock’s , where we {hall fee natural religion beautifully perfonified, and be able to judge from it , of the fpirit and grace which this figure, when well conduded , beftows on a difeourfe.
I mult take notice, at the fame time, that it is an inftance of this figure, carried as far as profe, even in its higheft elevation, will admit; and, therefore , faked only to compofitions where the great efforts of eloquence are allowed The Author is comparing together our Saviour and Mahomet:
'* Go, ’’ fays he, “ to your natural Religion ; lay
B b 2

PERSONIFICATION,
J,ECT. “ before her Mahomet, and his difciples, arrayed XVI. “ in armour and blood , riding in triumph “ over the fpoils of thoufands who fell by “ his victorious fword. Show her. the cities “ which he fet in flames, the countries which he “ ravaged and defkroyed , and the miferable “ diflrefs of ail the inhabitants of the earth. “ When file has viewed him in this fcene, carry “ her into his retirement; fhow her the Prophet’s “ chamber; his concubines and his wives; and “ let her hear him allege revelation, and a divine “ commiffion , to juldify his adultery and lull. “ When Die is tired with this profpect, then Ihow “ her the 'oleffed Jefus, humble and meek, doing “ good to all the fons of men. Let her fee him in “ his mold retired privacies; let her follow him to “ the mount, and hear his devotions and fuppli- “ cations to God. Carry her to his table, to “ view his poor fare ; and hear his heavenly “ difcourfe. Let her attend him to the tribunal, “ and confider the patience with which Re endured “ the feoffs and reproaches of his enemies. Lead “ her to his crofs; let her view him in the agony “ of death , and hear his laid prayer for his per- “ fecutors; Father , forgive them , for they know not “ -what they do ! — When Natural Religion has “ thus viewed both, afk her, W'hich is the Fro- “ phet of God? But her anfwcr we have already “ had, when fhe faw part of this fcene, through “ the eyes of the Centurion , who attended at “ the crofs. By him fhe fpoke, and laid , Truly,

PERSONIFICATION.
373
this man ~was the Son oJ~ God ” * This is more than elegant ; it is truly fublime. The whole paffage is animated ; and the figure riles at the concluiion, when Natural Religion, who, before was only a fpedator , is introduced as fpeaking by the Centurion’s voice. It has the better effed too , that it occurs at the conclufion of a difeourfe, where we naturally look for moll: warmth and dignity. -Did Bifhop Sherlock’s fermons, or , indeed, any Englilh fermons whatever, afford us many paffages equal to this, we fhould oftner have recourfe to them for inftances of the beauty of Compofition.
Hitherto we have fpoken of profe ; in poetry, Perfonifications of this kind are extremely frequent, and are , indeed , the life and foul of it. We exped to find every thing animated in the deferiptions of a poet who has a lively fancy. Accordingly Homer , the father and prince of poets , is remarkable for the ufe of this figure. War, peace, darts, fpears, towns, rivers, every thing , in fhort , is alive in his writings. The fame is the cafe with Milton and Shakefpeare. No Perfonification , in any author, is more ftrik- ing, or introduced on a more proper occafion, than the following of Milton’s, on occafion of Eve’s eating the forbidden fruit:
So faying, her rafh hand , in evil hour
Forth reaching to the fruit, fne pluck’d, fhe eat *
* Bifhop Sherlocks’ Sermons, Val. I. Difc. ix.
P> b 3
E C T.
XVI.

574
PERSONIFICATION.
L E C T Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her feat,
XVI. Sighing through all her works, gave ligns of woe,
That all was loft.-- B. ix. 780,
All the circumftances and ages of men , poverty, riches , youth, old age , all the difpofitions and paffions , melancholy, love, grief, contentment, are capable of being perfonified in poetry, with great propriety. Of this, we meet with frequent examples in Milton’s Allegro and Penferofo, Parnell’s Hymn to Contentment , Thomfon’s Seafons , and all the good poets: nor, indeed, is it eafy to fet any bounds to Perfonilications of this kind, in poetry.
O N E of the greateft pleafures we receive from poetry, is, to find ourfelves always in the midft of our fellows, and to fee every thing thinking, feeling, and acting, as we ourfelves do. This is, perhaps, the principal charm of this fort of figured ftyle, that it introduces us into fociety with all nature, and interefts ns, even in inanimate objects , by forming a connection between them and us, through that fenfibility which it afcribes to them. This is exemplified in the following beautiful paffage of Thomfon’s Summer, wherein the life which he beftows upon all nature, when defcribing the effects of the rifing fun, renders the fcenery uncommonly gay and interefting:
But yonder comes the powerful king of day Rejoicing in the eaft. The leffening cloud,
The kindling azure and the mountain’s brim

PERSONIFICATION
Tipt with tetliereal gold, his near approach
Betoken glad.-
-By thee refined ,
In brifker meafures , the relucent ftream Frilks o’er the mead. The precipice abrupt,
Projecting horror on the blacken’d flood,
Softens at thy return. The defart joys Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep,
Seen from fome pointed promontory’s top.
P^efleCts from every fluctuating wave,
A glance extenfive as the day.-
The fame effedt is remarkable in that fine paffage of Milton:
- : -To the nuptial bower
I led her blufhing like the morn : all heaven And happy conftellations on that hour ,
Shed their feleCteft influence; the earth Gave figns of gratulation, and each hill;
Joyous the birds; frefh gales and gentle airs Whifpered it to the woods, and from their wfngs Flung rofe , flung odours from the fpicy fhrub, Difporting,-
B. VIII. v. 510.
The third and higheft degree of this figure remains to be mentioned, when inanimate objedls are introduced, not only as feeling and adting, but as fpeaking to us, or hearing and Kftening \yhen we addrefs ourfelves to them. This, though
B b 4
375
L E C T
XVI.

3? 6 PERSONIFICATION.
t e c t. on feveral occafions *far from being unnatural XVI. is, however, more difficult in the execution, than the other kinds of Perfonification. For this is plainly the boldeft of all rhetorical figures; it is the ftyle of a ftrong paffion only; and, therefore never to be attempted , unlefs when the mind is confiderably heated and agitated. A flight Perfonification of fome inanimate thing , acting as if it had life , can be reliffied by the mind , in the midft of cool defcription, and when its ideas are going on in the ordinary train. But it mu ft be in a ftate of violent emotion, and have departed confiderably from its common trad of thought, before it can fo far realife the Perfonification of an infenfible object, as to conceive it liftening to what wcfay, or making any return to us. All ftrongpaf- fions, however, have a tendency to ufe this figure; not only love, anger, and indignation, but even thofe which are feemingly more difpiriting, fuch as, grief, remorfe, and melancholy. For all paffions ftruggie for vent, and if they can find no other object, will, rather than befilent, pour themfblves forth to woods , and rocks , and the mod infenfible things; efpecially, if thefe be any how connected with the caufes and objects that have thrown the mind into this agitation. Hence , in poetry , where the grenteft liberty is allowed to the Language of paffion, it is eafy to produce many beautiful examples of this'figure. IVlilton affords us an extremely fine one , in that moving-and tender addrefs which Eve makes to Faradife, juft before ffie is compelled to leave it.

PERSONIFICATION
§77
Oh! unexpe&ed ftroke , worfe than of death > Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife ? thus leave
t 8 C T.
XVI.
Thee, native foil, thefe happy walks, and (hades, Fit haunt of Gods! where I had hope to fpend Quiet, though fad, the refpite of that day *
That muft he mortal to us both. O dowers!
That never will in other climate grow,
My early vilitation, and my laft At ev’n, which I bred up with tender hand From the firft opening bud, and gave you names! Who now (hall rear you to the fun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrofial fount?
B. XI. v. 268.
This is altogether the language of nature, and of female palfion. It is obfervabje, that all plaintive pallions are peculiarly prone to the ufe of
this figure. The complaints which Plnlodtetes, in Sophocles, pours out to the rocks and caves of Lemnos , amidft the excefs of his grief and defpair , are remarkably fine examples of it
* ’£1 A 1/U.SVSf , £0 5T-fC,8A!)T;C , cj ■'V'JOWIM 6; ifwv oesiuv , Oi y.urxppoiys; mTpxi 'Y fA.iv r«Y* a yxp mAAov oto’ stsj A sya' A'-'xy.Axioy.xi TrxpsstTs roi; itaS-ori , &V,
“ 0 mountains , rivers , rocks, and favage herds , 5 ‘ Toyoulfneak! to you alone, I now “ Muft breathe my forrows ! you are wont to hear
My fad complaints , and I will tell you all
“ That I have fullered from Achilles’ fon! ”
Franklin.

PERSONIFICATION.
37 %
Lec t. And there are frequent examples, not in poetry ] B
XVI. only, but in real life , of perfons, when juft about 11
to fuffer death, taking a paffionate farewell of Oil
the fun , moon , and Ears , or other fenfible ob- £,
jedt^ around them.
There are two great rules for the management ire e of this fort of Perfonification. The firft rule is, i)’\ never to attempt it, unlefs when prompted by don! flrong paffion, and never to continue it when St i the paffion begins to flag. It is one of thofe at! high ornaments , which can only find place in feel the moll warm and fpirited parts of compofition; rfo and there, too, mud be employed with modern- iggi tion. rati
The fecond rule is never to perfonify any ob- nk jedl in this way , but fuch as has fome dignity ape in itfelf, and can make a proper figure in this scJ elevation to which we raife it. The obfervance ®e of this rule is required, even in the lower degrees sal of Perfonification ; but ftill more, when an addrefs ah is made to the perfonified objedt. To addrefs ate the corpfe of a deceafed friend, is natural; but |l ; : to addrefs the clothes which he wore, introduces"*l e mean and degrading ideas. So alfo, addrelfmg or fe the feveral parts of one’s body, as if they were 3s animated , is not congruous to the dignity of Oh! paffion. For this reafon, I muft condemn the ; 0 jj following paffage , in a very beautiful Poem of s| Ve Mr. Pope’s, Eloifa to Abelard. ir
Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal’d, h |
Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence fealed., !tfj

PERSONIFICATION.
3?9
Hide it, my heart, within that clofe difguife, L E C T
Where , mixed with Gods, his lov’d idea lies : XVI.
Oh! write it not, my hand ! — his name appears Already written — Blot it out, my tears!
•
Here are feveral different objedls and parts of the body perfonified; and each of them are addreffed orfpoken to ; let ns confider with what propriety.
The firft is, the name of Abelard: “ .Dear fatal name! reft ever,” &c. To this, no reafonable objection can be made. For, as the name of a perfon often ftands for the perfon himfelf, and fuggefts the fame ideas, it can bear this Perfoni- lication with fufficient dignity. Next, Eloifa fpeaks to herfelf; and perfonifies her heart for this purpofe : “ Hide it, my heart , within that clofe &c. As the heart is a dignified part of the human frame , and is often put for the mind , or affedlions, this alfo may pafs without blame. But, when from her heart fire paffes to her hand , and tells her hand not to write his name,- this is forced and unnatural; a perfonified hand is low, and not in the ftyle of true paffion: and the figure becomes ftill worfe, when, in the laft place, fire exhorts her tears to blot out what her hand had written:
“ Oh! write it not ,” &c. There is, in thefe two lines , an air of epigrammatic conceit, which native paffion never fuggefts; and which is altogether unfuitable to the tendernefs which breathes through the reft of that excellent Poem.
In profe compofitions, this figure requires to be ufed with ftill greater moderation and deli-
/

PERSONIFICATION.
L E C T.
XVI.
380
cacy. The fame liberty is not allowed to the imagination there, as in poetry. The fame aflift- ances cannot be obtained for railing paffion to its proper height by the force of numbers, and .the glow of Ryle. However , addreffes to inanimate obje&s are not ex eluded from profe; but have their place only in the higher fpecies of oratory. A public Speaker may on fome occafions very properly addrefs religion or virtue; or his native country, or fome city or province, which has buffered perhaps great calamities , or been the fcenc of fome memorable action. But we muft remember, that, as fuch addreffes are among the higheft efforts of eloquence, they fhouldnever be attempted , unlefs by perfons of more than ordinary genius. For if the orator fails in his defign of moving our paffionsby them , he is fure of being laughed at. Of all frigid things , the moft frigid are, the awkward and unfeafonable attempts fome- times made towards fuch kinds of Perfonitication, efpecially if they be long continued. We fee the writer or fpeaker toiling and labouring, to exprefs the language of fome paffion, which he neither feels himfelf, nor can make us feel. We remain not only cold , but frozen ; and are at full leifure to criticife on the ridiculous figure which the perfonified object makes , when we ought to have been tranfported with a glow of enthnfiafm. Some of the French writers , particularly Boffuet and Flechier, in their fermons and funeral orations, have attempted and executed this figure', not without warmth and dignity. 1 heir works are
rgsil
ilsd Vilis s:orv tics *r/ 1
Mo[
'In
ipoftri occur ah'.: :Fm :tfcs in on ' faux 'in 1 ' cooct 'Fisc
' :i &
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is.,
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to a 'fee 'pa 'Lear
imp ai | into ■Spin,

PERSONIFICATION.
381
exceedingly worthy of being confulted,for inftances L e c t.
of this, and of feveral other ornaments of ftyle, XVI, Indeed the vivacity and ardour of the French genius is more fuited to this animated kind of oratory , than the more corredt but more phleg. made genius of the Britifh,who in their profe-works very rarely attempt any of the high figures of eloquence*. So much for Perfonifications or Frofopopceia , in all its different forms.
•
* In the “ Oraifons funebres de M. Bofluet, ” which I conlider as one of the mailer-pieces of modem eloquence, Apofhrophes and addrefles , to perfonified objects frequently occur, and are fupported with much fpirit. Thtis, for inftance , in the funeral oration of Mary of Auilria, Queen of France, the author addrefles Algiers, in the profpedt of the advantage which the arms of Louis XIV, were to gain over it : “ Avant lui la France, prefque fans vaif- “ feaux, tenait en vain aux deux mers. Maintenant,
“ on les voit couvertes depuis le Levant jufqu’au “ couchant de nos flottes viclorieufes; et la hardiefle “ Francaife porte par-tout la terreur avec le nom de Louis.
“ Tu cederas , tu tomberas Lous ce vainqueur, Alger!
“ riche des depouilles de la Chretiente. Tu difois en “ ton coeur avare, je tiens la mer fous ma loi, et les “ nations font ma proie. La legerete de tes vaifleaux ta “ donnait de la confiance. Mais tu te verras attaque dans “ tes murailies, comme un oifeau raviffant qu’on irait “ cbercher parmi fes rochers, et dans fon nid, ou il “ partage fon butin a fes petits. Tu rends deja tes efclaves.
“ Louis a brife les fers, dont tu accablais fes fujets,
“ &c. ” In another paflage of the fame oration, he thus apoftrophizes the Ifle of Phealants, which had been rendered famous b^ being the feene of thofe conferences, in which the treaty of the Pyrenees between France and Spain, and the manage of this Princefs with the King of France , were concluded. u Hie pacifique ou fe doivent

APOSTROPHE.
E C T.
XVI.
Apostrophe is a figure fo much of the fame kind, that it will not require many words. It is ] 3rcn ‘ an addrefs to a real perfon ; but one who is either abfent or dead, as if he were prefen t, and likening ip® to us. It is fo much allied to an addrefs to inani- , mate objects perfonined , that both thefe figures ] are fometimes called apoftrophes. However, the j W proper Apoftrophe is in boldnefs one degree lower J Lab* than the addrefs to perfonified objects ; for it j certainly requires a lefs effort of imagination to , Th fuppofe perfons prefent who are dead or abfent, jhfah than to animate infenfible beings, and direct our j“ difcourfe to them. Both figures are fubject to the 11 &
“ terminer les differends de deux grands empires a qui tu “ fers de limites: iile eternellement memorable par les con- “ ferences de deux grands miniftres. — Augufte jourjiee ou ‘‘ deux fieres nations, long-tems ennemies , etalors reconci- “ lines par Marie-Therefe, s’avancent fur leurs conSns, leurs “ rois a leur tete, non plus pour fe combattre, mais “ pour s’embraffer. — “ Fetes facrees, marriage fortune, “ voile nuptial, benediction , facrifice , puis - je meler “ aujourd'hui vos ceremonies, et vos pornper, avec ces “ pompes funebres, et le coinble des grandeurs avec leurs “ ruines! ” In the funeral oration of Henrietta, Queen of England ( which is perhaps the nobleft of all his com- politions ), after recounting all fhe had done to fupport her unfortunate husband, he concludes with this beautiful Apoftrophe: “0 mere! O femme! 0 reine admirable' “ et digne dune meilleure fortune, fi les fortunes de la “ terre ctaient quelque chofe! Enfin il faut ceder a votre “ fort. Vous avez affez foutenu letat, qui e;t attaque, “ par une force invincible et divine. II ne reile plus “ deformais, linon quo vous teniez ferine parmi fes
« • j,
ruines.
" at f fal ' fwi i vei innii ’ lath
*■ qua “ val “eft nof ' cirt Mpe
*X
(

APOSTROPHE.
383
fame rule of being prompted by paffion, in order Lect. to render them natural; for both are the language XVI. of paffion or ftrong emotions only. Among the poets Apoftrophe is frequent ; as in Virgil :
- fereunt Hypanifque Dymafque
Confkd a fociis; nec te, tua plurima , Pantheu
Labentem pietas , nec Apollinis infula texit *!
The poems of Offian are full of the moft beautiful inftances 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 funbeam cc at noon over the filence of Morven ! He is “ fallen! Thy youth is low; pale beneath the “ fword of Cuchullin ! *” Quindtilian affords us a very fine example in prole; when in the beginning of his fixth book, deploring,the untimely death of his fon , which had happened during the courfe of the work , he makes a very moving and tender Apoftrophe to him. “ Nam quo ille animo,
“ qua medicorum admiratione , menfium odto “ valetudinem tulit? ut me in fupremis confolatus “ eft ? quam etiam jam defiaens , jamque non ‘‘ nofter , infum ilium alienatae mentis errorem “ circa folas literas habuit ? Tuofneergo, O meae “ fpes inanes ! labentes oculos, tuum fugientem
* Not Pantheus! thee , thy mitre , nor the bands
Of awful Phoebus fav’d from impious hands. Dryden.
Fingal. B. I.

384
APOSTROPHE.
L E c T. “ fpiritum vidi ? Tuum corpus frigidum , exangue XVI. “ complexus , animam recipere, auramque cora- “ munem haurire amplius potui ? Tene, confulari “ nuper adoptione ad omnium fpes honorum “ patris admotum , te, avunculo practori generum “ deftinatum; te, omnium fpe Atticae eloquentne “ candidatum , parens fuperftes tantum ad puenas “ amifi t In this paifage , Quinctilian fliows the true genius of an orator, as much as he does elfewhere that of the critic.
For fuch bold figures of difcourfe as flrong Perfonifications, addrefles to perfonified objeds, ' and Apoftrophes , the glowing imagination of the ancient Oriental nations was particularly fitted. Hence , in the facred fcripturcs, we find forae very
f “ 'With what fpirit, and how much to the admira-* “ tion of the phyficians did he bear throughout eight months “ his lingering diltrefs ? With what tender attention did “ he ftudy, even in the laft extremity, to comfort me? “ And, when no longer himfelf, how affecting was it to “ behold the difordered efforts of his wandering mind, “ wholly employed on fubjeds of literature ? Ah! my “ fruftrated and fallen hopes ! Have I then beheld your “ clofing eyes, and heard the laff groan iffue from your “ lips ? After having embraced your cold and breathlefs “ body, how was it in my power to draw the vital air, “ or continue to drag a miferable life ? When I had juft “ beheld you raifed by confular adoption to the profpect “ of all your father's honours , ueftined to be fon-in-law “ to your uncle thePrietor, pointed out by general expect- “ ation as the fuccefsful candidate for the prize of Attic “ eloquence, in this moment of your opening honours, “ mull: I lofe you for ever, and remain an unhappy “ parent, furviving only to fuffer woe?”
remarkable

APOSTROPHE,
385
remarkable inftances: cc O thou fword of the Lord! •“ how long will it be ere thou be quiet? put “ thyfelf up into thy fcabbard, reft and be Pull! “ How can it be quiet, feeing the Lord hath cc given it a charge againft Alhkelon, and againft “ the fea-fhore ? there hath he appointed it. * ” There is one palfage in particular, which I muft not omit to mention, becaufe it contains a greater affemblage of fublimt ideas , of bold and daring figures, than is perhaps anywhere to be met with. It is in the fourteenth chapter of Ifaiah , where the prophet thus defcribes the fall of the Affyrian empire : “ Thou Ihalt take up this proverb againft “ the king of Babylon , and fay , how hath the “ oppreffor ceafed ! the golden city ceafed ! The “ Lord hath broken the ftaff of the wicked, and “ the fceptre of the rulers. He who fmote the “ people in wrath with a continual ftroke : he that ruled the nations in anger, is perfecuted, “ and none hindereth. The whole earth is at reft, u and is quiet : they break forth into Purging. <£ Yea, the fir-trees rejoice at thee, and the cedars “ of Lebanon, faying, fmce thou art laid down, “ no feller is come up againft us. Hell from be- “ neath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy rt coming: it ftirreth up the dead for thee, even “ all the chief ones of the earth : it hath raifed * up from their thrones all the kings of the na- “ tions. All they fhall fpeak,and fay unto thee, “ art thou alfo become weak as we ? art thou be- << come like unto us? Thy pomp is brought * Jer. xlvii 6 , 7 ,
VoL. I. C G
E C T.
XVI.

3 86
APOSTROPHE.
L E c XVI.
“ down to the grave, and the noife of thy viols: “ the worm is fpread under thee, and the worms “ cover thee. How art thou fallen from Heaven , “ O Lucifer, fon of the morning! how art thou “ cut down to the ground, which didft weaken “ the nations ! For thou haft faid in thine heart, “ I will afcend into Heaven, I will exalt my throne “ above the ftars of God : I will fit alfo upon “ the mount of the congregation , in the Tides “ of the north. I will afcend above the heights “ of the clouds, I will be like the Moft High. “ Yet thou flialt be brought down to Hell, to “ the fides of the pit. They that fee thee fhall narrowly look upon thee , and confider thee, “ faying : Is this the man that made the earth to “ tremble , that did fliake kingdoms ? That made “ the world as a wildernefs , and deftroyed the “ cities thereof ? that opened not the houfe of “ his prifoners ? All the Kings of the nations, “ even all of them lie in glory , every one in his “ own houfe. But thou art caft out of thy grave, “ like an abominable branch: and as the raiment t of thofe that are flain, thruft through with a ‘‘ fword , that go down to the ftones of the pit, “ as a carcafe trodden under feet.” This whole paffage is full of fublimity. Every object is animated ; a variety of perfonages are introduced: we hear the Jews, the fir-trees, and cedars of Lebanon , the ghofts of departed Kings, the King of Babylon himfelf , and thofe who look upon his body, all fpeaking in their order, and acting their different parts without confufion.
C(
£ th ar rei dir pn clii mi the ceri of I phc hr td Th lie ( of
Foi

LECTURE XVIL
COMPARISON, ANTITHESIS , INTERROGATION , EXCLAMATION, asd other FIGURES os? SPEECH.
We are Hill engaged in the confideration of figures of fpeech ; which , as they add much to the beauty of Ilyle when properly employed, and are at the fame time liable to be greatly abided ^ require a careful difcuffion. As it would be tedious to dwell on all the variety of figurative ex- preffions which rhetoricians have enumerated , I chofe to felecd the capital figures , fuch as occur mod frequently, and to make my remarks on thefe; the principles and rules laid down concerning them , will fufficiently direCt as to the ufe of the reft, either in profe or poetry. Of Metaphor , which is the moft common of them all, I treated fully ; and in the laft LeCture I difcourf- ed of Hyperbole, Perfonification, and Apoftrophe. This Lecture will nearly finilh what remains on the head of Figures.
Comparison, or Simile, is what I am to treat of firft: a Figure frequently employed both by Poets and Profe writers,- for the ornament of Com*.
C c 2
L E C T.
XVII.

!
388
COMPARISON.
I. e c T. pofition. In a former Ledure , I explained fully the XVII. difference betwixt this and Metaphor. A Metaphor is a Companion implied, but not expreffed as fuch; as when I fay , “ Achilles is a Lion,” meaning, that he refembles one in courage or ftrength. A Companion is, when the refemblance between two objects is expreffed in form , and generally purfued more fully than the nature of a Metaphor admits; as when I fay, “ The actions of princes are like “ tholes great rivers, the courfe of which eve- “ ry one beholds, but their fprings have been “ feen by few.” This flight inftance will fhow, that a happy Comparifon is a kind of fparkling ornament, which adds not a little luftre and beauty to difcourfe ; and hence fuch figures are termed by Cicero j ct Orationis lumina.”
The pleafure we take in comparifons is juft and natural. We may remark three different fources whence it arifes. Firft, from the pleafure which nature has annexed to that ad of the mind by which we compare any two objeds together, trace refemblances among thofethat are different, and differences among thofe that refemble each otfier; a pleafure, the final caufe of which is, to prompt us to remark and obferve, and thereby to make us advance in ufeful knowledge. This operation of the mind is naturally and univerfally agreeable ; as appears from the delight which even children have in comparing things together, asfoon as they are capable of attending to the objeds that fur- round them. Secondly, T he pleafure o£ Comparifon arifes from the illuftration which the fimile em-

COMPARISON.
3 St)
ployed gives to the principal object; from the clearer LecT view of it which it prefents; or the more ftrong XVII. impreffion of it which it ftamps upon the mind: and , Thirdly, It arifes from the introduction of a new , and commonly a fplendid objed, atiociated to the principal one of which we treat; and from the agreeable picture which that objedt prefents to the fancy; new fcenes being thereby brought into view, which, without the affiftance of this figure,
We could not have enjoyed.
All Comparifons whatever may be reduced under two heads , Explaining and Embellishing Com parifons. For when a writer likens the object of which he treats to any other thing, it always is, or at leaft always Ihould be , with a view either to make us underftand that object more diftinctly, or to drefs it up, and adorn it. All manner of fubjects admit of explaining Comparifons. Let an author be reafoningever fo ftrictly , or treating the molt abftrufe point in philofophy, he may very properly introduce a Comparifon, merely with a view to make his fubjedl be better underltood.
Of this nature, is the following in Mr. Harris’s Hermes , employed to explain a very abftract point, the diftinCtion between the powers of fenfe and imagination in the human mind. “ As wax,” fays he, “ would not be adequate to the purpofe of “ fignatures, if it had not the power to retain as “ well as to receive the impreffion , the fame “ holds of the foul with refpect to fenfe and ima- “ gination. Senfe is its■ receptive power; imagin- ‘ ation its retentive. Had it fenfe without ima-
C c 3

39 °
COMPARISON.
L e c t. “ gination, it would not be as wax , but as water, XVII. “ where, though all impreffions beinftantly made, “ yet as foon as they are made, they are inftant “ ly loft.” In Companions of this nature, the un- derftanding is concerned much more than the fancy: and therefore the only rules to be obferved, with refped to them, are, that they be clear, and that they be ufeful; that they tend to render our conception of the principal objed more diftind; and that they do not lead our view afide, and bewilder it with any falfe light.
But embellifhing Comparifons, introduced not do much with a view to inform and inftrud, as to adorn the fubjed of which we treat, are thofe with which we are chiefly concerned at prefent, as figures of Speech; and thofe, indeed which moft frequently occur. Refemblance , as I before mentioned , is the foundation of this Figure. Wemuft not, however, take Refemblance, in too Arid a fenfe , for adual fimilitude or likenefs of appearance. Two objeds may fometimes be very happily compared to one another, though they referable each other, ftridly fpeaking, in nothing; only , becaufe they agree in the sffeds which they produce upon the mind; becaufe they raife a train of flmilar, or, what may be called , concordant ideas; fo that the remembrance of the one, when recalled , ferves to ftrengthen the impreffion made by the other. For example, to deferibe the nature of foft and melancholy mufic, Olfian fays, “The (i mufic of Carryl was, like the memory of joys
that are paft, pleafar.t and mournful to the foul.”

COMPARISON.
39 1
This is happy and delicate. Yet, furely, no kind of mufic has any refemblance to a feeling of the mind, fuch as. the memory of palt joys. Had it been compared to the voice of the nightingale, or the murmur of the ftream , as it would have been by fome ordinary poet, the likenefs would have been morejftridt; but, by founding this Simile upon the effedt which Carryl’s mufic produced, the Poet, while he conveys a very tender image, gives us, at the fame time, a much ftronger im- preffion of the nature and ftrain of that mufic: “ Like the memory of joys that are paft, pleafant “ and mournful to the foul.”
In general, whether Comparifons be founded on the fimilitude of the two objects compared, or on fome analogy and agreement in their effedls, the fundamental requifite of a comparifon is, that it fhall ferve to illuflrate the object, for the fake of which it is introduced , and to give us a ftronger conception of it. Some little excurfions of Fancy may be permitted , in purfuing the Simile; but they muft never deviate far from the principal objedt. If it be a great and noble one, every circumftance in the comparifon muft tend to aggrandife it, if it be a beautiful one , to render it more amiable; if terrible, to fill us with more awe. But to be a little more particular: The rules to be given concerning Comparifons, refpedt chiefly two articles; the propriety of their introduction , and the nature of the objects whence they are taken,
e c T. XVII.
C c 4

392
COMPARISON.
L e g t. First, the propriety of their introduction.
XVII. From what has been already laid of Companions, it appears, that they are not, like the Figures of which I treated in the laft Ledture, the language of ftrong paffion. No; they are the language of imagination rather than of paffion; of an imagination fprightly, indeed, and warmed; but undifturbed by any violent or agitating emotion. Strong paffion is too fevere to admit this play of Fancy. It has no leifure to caft about for refembling objects; it dwells on that object which has feized and taken poffeffion c5f the foul. It is too much occupied and filled by it, to turn its view afide, or to fix its attention on any other thing. An author, therefore, can fcarcely commit a greater fault, than, in the midft of paffion, to introduce a Simile. Metaphorical expreffion may be allowable in fuch a fituation; though even this may be carried too far : but the pomp and folemnity of a formal Comparifon is altogether a ftranger to paffion. It changes the key in a moment; relaxes and brings down the mind; and fhows us a writer perfectly at his eafe, while he is perfonating fome other, who is fuppofed to be under the torment of agitation. Our writers of tragedies are very apt to err here. In fome of Mr. Rowe’s plays, thefe flowers of Similies have been ftrewed unfeafonably. Mr. Addifon’s Cato, too, is juftly cenfurable in this refpedf; as, when Fortius, juft after Lucia had bid him farewell for ever, and when he ffiould naturally

COMPARISON.
393
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have been reprefen ted as in the moll violent L r. c t. angmfh, makes his reply in a ftudied and affected XVII. companion:
Thus o’er the dying lamp th’ unfteady flame Hangs quiv’ring on a point, leaps off by fits,
And falls again, as loth to quit its hold.
Thou muft not go ; my foul ftill hovers o’er thee,
And can’t get loofe.
Every one mull be fenfxbl*, that this is quite remote from the language of Nature on fuch occafxons.
However, as Comparifon is not the ftyle of ftrong paffion, fo neither, when employed for embellifhment , is it the language of a mind wholly unmoved. It is a figure of dignity, and always requires fome elevation in the fubjedt, in order to make it proper: for it fuppofes the imagination to be uncommonly enlivened, though the heart be not agitated by paffion. In a word, the proper place of companions lies in the middle region, between the highly pathetic , and the very humble ftyle. This is a wide field, and gives ample range to the Figure. But even this field we muft take care not to overftock with It. For, as was before faid, it is a fparkling ornament; and all things that fparkle, dazzle and fatigue, if they recur too often. Similies ftjould, even in poetry, be ufed with moderation; but, in profe writings, much more: otherwife, the

^00^’
394 COMPARISON.
i, e c t. %le will become difguftingly lufcious, and the in XVII. ornament lofe its virtue and effect. v iol
I PROCEED, next, to the rules that relate to oh objedts, whence Companions fhould be drawn; oh fuppofing them introduced in their proper place. joi
In the firft place, they muft not be drawn plei
from things, which have too near and obvious vei a refemblance to the object with which we coi compare them. The great pleafure of the act of for comparing lies, in difcovering likeneffes among th< things of different fpecies, where we would not, fa
at the firft glance, expedt a refemblance. There fa
is little art or ingenuity in pointing out the ai
refemblance of two objedts, that are fo much a
a-kin, or lie fo near to one another in nature, ir
that every one fees they muft be like. When a
Milton compares Satan’s appearance, after his fa
fall, to that of the Sun fuffei'ing an eclipfe, and fo
affrighting the nations with portentous darknefs, fa we are ftruck with the happinefs and the dignity in of the fimilitude. But, when he compares Eve’s ve
bower in Paradife, to the arbour of Pomona, g 0
or Eve herfelf, to a Dryad, or Wood-nymph; vj
we receive little entertainment: as every one of
fees, that one arbour muft, of courfe, in feveral oi
refpedts, refemble another arbour, and one beauti* «
ful woman another beautiful woman. ft
Among Similies , faulty through too great m
obvioufnefs of the likenefs , we muft likewife 0 i
rank thofe which are taken from objedts become trite and familiar in poetical Language. Such 0 >
are the Similies of a hero to a lion, of a perfon jj

COMPARISON.
395
in forrow to a flower drooping its head, of violent paflion to a tempeft, of chaftity to fnow, of virtue to the fun or the ftars, and many more of this kind, with which we are fure to find modern writers, of fecond rate genius, abounding plentifully; handed down from every writer of verfes to another, as by hereditary right. Thefe comparifons were, at firft, perhaps, very proper for the purpofes to which they are applied. In the ancient original poets, who took them dire&ly from nature , not from their predeceffors, they had beauty. But they are now beaten; our ears are fo accuftomed to them, that they give no amufement to the fancy. There is, indeed , no mark by which we can more readily diftinguifh a poet of true genius, from one of a barren imagination, than by the ftrain of their comparifons. All who call themfelves poets affedl them: but, whereas a mere verfifier copies no new image from nature, which appears, to his uninventive genius, exhaufted by thofe who have gone before him, and, therefore, contents himfelf with humbly following their tradl; to an author of real fancy, nature feems to unlock, fpontane- oufly, her hidden ftores; and the eye “ quick “ glancing from earth to heaven, ” difcovers new ffiapes and forms, new likeneffes between objects unobferved before , which render his Similies original, expreffive , and lively.
But, in the fecond place, as Comparifons ought not to be founded on likeneffes too obvious, ftill lefs ought they to be founded on thofe which.
L e c T- XVII.

COMPARISON.
39 6
Lec t. are too faint and remote. For thefe, in place of ttin XVII. aflifting, ftrain the fancy to comprehend them, era
and throw no light upon the fubjed. It is aifo to ttai
be obferved, that a Comparifon which, in the thol
principal circumftances , carries a fufficiently near the
refemblance, may become unnatural and obfeure, con
if pulhed too far. Nothing is more oppofite to wh
the defign of this figure, than to hunt after a T1
great number of coincidences in minute points, nai
merely to fhow how far the poet’s wit can thi
ftretch the refemblance. This is Mr. Cowley's lie
common fault; whofe comparifons generally run ai
out fo far, as to become rather a ftudied exercife tl
of wit, than an illuftration of the principal ci
. objed. We need only open his works, his odes e<
efpecially, to find inftances every where. t h
In the third place, the objed from which a lol
Comparifon is drawn , fihould never be an un- fa
known objed, or one of which few people can , of
form clear ideas: cc Ad inferendam rebus lucem,” it
fays Quindilian , “ repertae funt fimilitudines. o’
“ Prsecipue, igitur, eft cuftodiendum ne id quod t
cc fimilitudinis gratia afeivimus, aut obfeurumjit, 1
cc autjignotum. Debet enim id quod illuftrandx c
" alterius rei gratia affumitur, ipfum efie clarius eo a
K quod illuminatur *. ** Comparifons, therefore, p
founded on philofophical difeoveries, or on any p
Comparifons have been introduced into difeourfe,
“ for the fake of throwing light on the fubject We muft, ( “ therefore, he much on our guard, not to employ,
as the ground of our Simile , any object which is either > (
obfeure or unknown. That, furely, which is ufed

COMPARISON.
39 7
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thing with which perfons of a certain trade only, Lie or a certain profeffion, are converfant, attain not XVII. their proper effed:. They fhould be taken from thofe illuftrious, noted objects, which molt of the readers either have feen, or can ftrongly conceive. This leads me to remark a fault of which modern poets are very apt to be guilty.
The ancients took their Similies from that face of nature, and that clafs of objects, with which they and their readers were acquainted. Hence lions , and wolves, and ferpents, were fruitful, and very proper fources of Similies amongft them; and thefe having become a fort of confe- crated, claflical images, are very commonly adopted by the moderns; injudicioufly however, for the propriety of them is now in a great meafure loft. It is only at fecond hand, and by de- feription, that we are acquainted with many of thofe objects ; and, to moft readers of poetry, it were more to the purpofe, to deferibe lions, or ferpents, by Similies taken from men, than to deferibe men by lions. Now-a-days, we can much eafter form the conception of a fierce combat between two men, than between a bull and a tyger. Every country has a feenery peculiar to itfelf; and the imagery of every good poet will exhibit it. The introdu&ion of unknown objects, or of a foreign feenery, betrays a
“ for the purpofe of iiluftrating fome other thing, ought “ to be more obvious and plain, than the thing intended * to be illuhrated. ”

39 8 COMPARISON.
L e c t. poet copying, not after nature, but from other "1
XVII. writers. I have only to obferve further, th>
In the fourth place, that, in compofitions of to a ferious or elevated kind, Similies fhould never fio be taken from low or mean objects. Thefe are m: degrading ; whereas Similies are commonly re]
intended to embellifh, and to dignify : and, a
therefore, unlefs in burlefque writings, or where ti:
Similies are introduced purpofely to vilify and tc
diminifh an object, mean ideas fhould never be 0 |
prefented to us. Some of Homer’s Comparifons tl
have been taxed without reafon, on this account. n
For it is to be remembered, that the meannefs t 1
or dignity of objects, depends, in a great degree, "
on the ideas and manners of the age wherein we “
live. Many Similies, therefore , drawn from the “
incidents of rural life, which appear low to us ! , “
had abundance of dignity in thofe fimpler ages 11
of antiquity. 11
, I have now confidered fuch of the figures A of Speech as feemed moft to merit a full and t
particular difcuffion: Metaphor, Hyperbole, Per- t fonification, Apoftrophe, and Comparifon. A t few more yet remain to be mentioned : the proper a ufe and condud of which will be eafily underftood from the principles already laid down. 11
As Comparifon is founded on the refemblance, “ fo Antithefis on the contrail or oppofition of two * objeds. Contraft has always this effed, to make „ each of the contrafted objeds appear in the «
ftronger light. White, for inftance, never appears 11
fo bright as when it is.oppofed to black; and ‘

ANTITHESIS.
399
when both are viewed together. Antithefis, L e c t therefore , may, on many occafions, be employed XVII. to advantage, in order to ftrengthen the impref- fion which we intend that any objedt fhould make. Thus Cicero, in his oration for Milo, reprefenting the improbability of Milo’s forming a defign to take away the life of Clodius, at a time when all circumftances were unfavourable to fuch a defign, and® after he had let other opportunities flip when he could have executed the fame defign, if he had formed it, with much more eafe and fafety, heightens our convidtion of this improbability by a fkilful ufe of this figure:
“ Quem igitur cum omnium gratia interficere “ noluit, hunc voluit cum aliquorum querela ?
“ Quem jure, quem loco, quem tempore, quem “ impune, non eft aufus , hunc injuria, iniqu’o “ loco , alieno tempore, periculo capitis, non “ dubitavit occidere * ?” In order to render an Antithefis more complete, it is always of advantage , that the words and members of the fen- tence, expreffing the contrafted objedts, be, as in this inftance of Cicero’s, fimilarly conftrudted, and made to correfpond to each other. This
* “ Is it credible that, when he declined putting Clo- “ dius to death with the confent of all, he would chufe “ to do it with the difapprobation of many ? Can you “ believe that the perfon whom he fcrupled to flay,
“ when he might have done fo with full juftice, in a “ convenient place, at a proper time , with fecure impu- “ nity, he made no fcruple to murder againft juftice,
“ in an unfavourable place, at an unfeafonable time, and “ at the rifque of capital condemnation?”
*

4oo
ANTITHESIS.
L E c T. leads us to remark the contraft more, by fetting XVII. the things which we oppofe more clearly over againft each other; in the fame manner as when we contraft a black and a white objedt, in order to perceive the full difference of their colour, we would chufe to have both objedts of the fame bulk, and placed in the fame light. Their refemblance to each other, in certain circum- ftances, makes their difagreement in others more palpable.
At the fame time, I muft obferve, that the frequent ufe of Antithefis, efpecially where the oppofition in the words is nice and quaint, is apt to render ftyle difagreeable. Such a fentence as the following, from Seneca, does very well, where it Hands alone : “ Si quem volueris e(Te “ divitem, non eft quod augeas divitias, fed “ rninuas cupiditates*.” Or this : “ Si ad na- “ turam vives, nunquam eris pauper; fi ad opi- “ nionem, nunquam dives f.”A maxim, or moral faying, properly enough receives this form; both becaufe it is fuppofed to be the fruit of meditation , and becaufe it is defigned to be engraven on the memory, which recalls it more eafily by the help of fuch contrafted expreffions. But where a firing of fuch fentences fucceed each
* “ If you feek to make one rich, ftudy not to increafe his ftores, but to diminifh his defires. ”
t ‘‘ If you regulate your defires according to the feand- “ ard of nature, you will never be poor; if according to the ftandard of opinion, you will never be rich. ”
other
«

ANTITHESIS.
401
other; where this becomes an author’s favourite and prevailing manner of expreffing himfelf, his ftyle is faulty; and it is upon this account Seneca has been often, and juftly, cenfured. Such a ftyle appears too ftudied and laboured; it gives us the impreflion of an author attending more to his manner of faying things, than to the things themfelves which he fays. Dr. Young, though a writer of real genius, was too fond of Antithefes. In his Eftimate of Human Life, we find whole pages that run in fuch a ftrain as this: “The peafant complains aloud; the courtier “ in fecret repines. In want, what diftrefs ? in “ affluence, what fatiety? The great are under “ as much difficulty to expend with pleafure, “ as the mean to labour with fuccefs. The “ ignorant, through ill-grounded hope, are dif- “ appointed; the knowing, through knowledge, “ defpond. Ignorance occafions miflake; miftake, “ difappointment; and difappointment is mifery. “ Knowledge, on the other hand, gives true “ judgment; and true judgment of human “ things, gives a demonftration of their infuf- “ ficiency to our peace.” There is too much glitter in fuch a ftyle as this to pleafe long. We are fatigued, by attending to fuch quaint and artificial fentences often repeated.
There is another fort of Antithefis, the beauty of which confifts, in furprifing us by the unexpected contrafts of things which it brings together. Much wit may be fhown in this ; bus it belongs wholly to pieces of prqfeffed \yit and Vol. I. D d
E C T
XVII.

404
ANTITHESIS.
L e c t. humour, and can find no place in grave compo- XVII. fitions. Mr. Pope, who is remarkably fond of Antithefis, is often happy in this ufe of the figure. So* in his Rape of the Lock:
Whether the nymph fihall break Diana’s law.
Or home frail china jar receive a flaw;
Or ftain her honour, or her new brocade;
Forget her prayers, or mifs a mafquerade;
Or lofe her heart, or necklace, at a ball,
Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock mud fall.
What is called the point of an epigram, confifts, for mod part, in fome Antithefis of this kind; furprifing us with the fmart and unexpected turn, which it gives to the thought ; and in the fewer words it is brought out, it is always the happier.
Comparisons and Antithefes are figures of a cool nature; the productions of imagination, not of paffion. Interrogations and Exclamations, of which I am next to fpeak, are paffionate figures. They are, indeed, on fo many occafions, the native language of palfion, that their ufe is extremely frequent; and, in ordinary converfa- tion , when men are heated , they prevail as much as in the moft fubfime oratory. The unfigured, literal ufe of Interrogation, is, to alka queftion; but when men are prompted by paffion , whatever they would affirm, or deny, with great vehemence , they naturally put in the form of a queftion; exprelfing thereby the ftrongeft confidence of the truth of their own fentiment, and

INTERROGATION
403
appealing to their hearers for the impoffibility of Lec t, the contrary. Thus, in Scripture : “ God is not XVII.
“ a man that he fliould lie, neither the fon of man that he fliould repent. Hath he faid it ?
“ And fliall he not do it? Hath he fpoken it?
“ and fliall he not make it good *?” So Demoft- henes, addreffing himfelf to the Athenians :
“ Tell me, will you ftill go about and alk one “ another, what news ? What can be more “ aftonifliing news than this, that the man of “ Macedon makes war upon the Athenians, and “ difpofes of the affairs of Greece?—Is Philip “ dead ? No, but he is fick. What fignifies it “ to you whether he be dead or alive? For, if “ any thing happens to this Philip, you will a immediately raife up another.” All this delivered without Interrogation, had been faint and ineffectual; but the warmth and eagernefs which this queftioning method expreffes, awakens the hearers, and ftrikes them with much greater force.
Interrogations may often be employed with propriety, in the courfe of no higher emotions than naturally arife in purfuing fome clofe and earneft reafoning. But Exclamations belong only to ftronger emotions of the mind ; to furprife, admiration, anger, joy, grief, and the like:
Heu pletas! hen prifea fides! invictaque bello,
Dextern!
* Numbers, chap, xxiii. v. 19.
D d 2

404
INTERROGATION
L e c t. Both Interrogation and Exclamation, and, indeed, XVII. all paffionate figures of fpeech, operate upon us by means of fympathy. Sympathy is a very powerful and extenfive principle in our nature, difpofing us to enter into every feeling and paffion, which we behold expreffed by others. Hence, a fingle perfon coming into company with ftrong marks, either of melancholy or joy, upon his countenance, will diffufe that paffion, in a moment, through the whole circle. Hence, in a great crowd, paffions are fo eafily caught, and fo faff fpread, by that powerful contagion which the animated looks, cries, and geltures of a multitude never fail to carry. Now, Interrogations and Exclamations, being natural figns of a moved and agitated mind, always, when they are properly ufed, difpofe us to fympathife with the dilpofitions of thofe who ufe them, and to feel as they feel.
From this it follows, that the great rule with regard to the condudt of fuch figures is, that the writer attend to the manner in which nature dictates to us to exprefs any emotion or paffion, and that he give his language that turn, and no other; above all, that he never affe<fl the flyle of a paffion which he does not feel. With Interrogations he may ufe a good deal of freedom; thefe, as above obferved, falling in fo much with the ordinary courfe of language and reafon- ing, even when no great vehemence is fuppofed to have place in the mind. But, with refpect to Exclamations, lie muft be more referved. No-

EXCLAMATION.
405
thing has a worfe effect than the frequent and unfeafonable ufe of them. Raw, juvenile writers imagine, that, by pouring them forth often, they render their compofitions warm and animated. Whereas quite the contrary follows. They render it frigid to excefs. When an author is always calling upon us to enter into tranfports which he has faid nothing to infpire, we are both difgufted and enraged at him. He raifes no fympathy , for he gives us no paffion of his own, in which we can take part. He gives us words, and not paffion ; and of courfe, can raife no paffion, unlefs that of indignation. Hence, I incline to think, he was not much miftaken, who faid, that when, on looking into a book , he found the pages thick befpangled with the point which is called, c ‘ Punctum admirationishe judged this to be a fufficient reafon for his laying it afide. And, indeed, were it not for the help of this cc pundtum admirationis,” with which many writers of the rapturous kind fo much abound, one would be often at a lofs to difcover, whether or not it was Exclamation which they aimed at. For, it has now become a fafliion, among thefe writers, to fubjoin points of admiration to fentences, which contain nothing but fimple affirmations, or propofitioiv, as if, by an affected method of pointing, they could transform them in the reader’s mind into high figures of eloquence. Much a-kin to this, is another contrivance pradtifed by fome writers, of fepar. ating, almoft all the members of their fentences
D d 3
L E C T.
XVII.

4 c6 EXCLAMATION,
L e c t. from each other, by blank lines; as if, by fetting XVII. them thus afunder, they beftowed fome fpecial importance upon them ; and required us, in going along, to make a paufe at every other word, and weigh it well. This, I think, maybe called a Typographical Figure of Speech. Neither, indeed, fince wc have been led to mention the arts of writers for increafing the importance of their words, does another cuftom, which prevailed very much fome time ago, feem worthy of imitation; I mean that of diflinguifhing the fignificant words, in every fentence, by Italick characters. On fome occafions, it is very proper to ufe fuch didinctions. But when we carry them fo far, as to mark with them every fup- pofed emphatical word, thefe words are apt to multiply fo fait in the author’s imagination, that every page is crowded with Italicks, which can produce no effect whatever, but to hurt the eye, and create confufion. Indeed, if the fenfe point out the molt emphatical expreffions , a variation in the type, efpecially when occurring fo frequently, will give fmall aid. And, accordingly, the molt malterly writers, of late, have, with good reafon, laid afide all thofe feeble props of figni- ficancy, and traded wholly to the weight of their fentimegts for commanding attention. But to return from this digreffion:
Another Figure of Speech, proper only to animated and warm Compofition, is what fome critical writers call Vifion ; when , in place of relating fome thing that is pad, \ye ufe the prefent

VISION,
407
tenfe, and defcribe it as actually paffing before Lect our eyes. Thus Cicero, in his fourth oration XVII. againft Catiline: “ Videor enim mihi hanc urbem “ videre , lucem orbis terrarum atque arcem Ci omnium gentium, fubito uno incendio conci- “ dentem; cerno animo fepulta in patria miferos “ atque infepultos acervos civium; verfatur mihi “ ante oculos afpedtus Cethegi, & furor in veftra “ coede bacchantis * ” This manner of defcrip- tion fuppofes a fort of enthufiafm, which carries the perfon who defcribes in fome meafure out of himfelf ; and, when well executed , mull needs imprefs the reader or hearer ftrongly, by the force of that fympathy which I have before explained. But in order to a fuccefsful execution, it requires an uncommonly warm imagination, and fuch a happy feledtion of circumftances, as fhall make us think we fee before our eyes the fcene that is defcribed. Otherwife, it /hares the fame fate with all feeble attempts towards paliionate figures ; that of throwing ridicule upon the author, and leaving the reader more cool and uninterefted than he was before. The fame obfer- vations are to be applied to Repetition, Sufpen- fion , Correction , and many more of thofe
* “ I feem to myfelf to behold this city, the orna- “ ment of the earth, and the capital of all nations, fud- “ denly involved in one conflagration. I fee before me “ the flaughtered heaps of citizens lying xmburied in the “ niidft of their ruined country. The furious countenance “ of Cethegus rife_s to my view, while with a favage “ joy he is triumphing in your miferies. ”

VISION.
408
I, E c T. figurative forms of Speech , which rhetoricians XVII. have enumerated among the Beauties of Eloquence. They are beautiful, or not, exactly in proportion as they are native expreffions of the fentiment or paffion intended to be heightened by them. Let nature and paffion always fpeak their'own language, and they will fuggeft figures in abundance. But when we feek to counterfeit a warmth which we do not feel , no figures will either fupply the defedt , or conceal the impofture.
There is one Figure (and I lhall mention no more ) of frequent ufe among all public fpeakers, particularly at the bar, which Quinctilian inlifts upon conliderably , and calls Amplification. It confifts in an artful exaggeration of all the circumftances of fome object or adtion which we want to place in a ftrong light, either a good or a bad one. It is not fo properly one Figure , as the fkilful management of feveral which we make to tend to one point. It may be carried on by a proper ufe of magnifying or extenuating terms, by a regular enumeration of particulars, or by throwing together, as into one mafs, a crowd of circumftances; by fuggefting companions alfo with things of a like nature. But the principal inftrument by which it works, is by a Climax, or a gradual rife of one circum- ftance above another, till our idea be railed to the utmoft. I fpoke formerly of a Climax in found; a Climax in fenfe, when well carried on, is a figure which never fails to amplify ftrongly.
/

CLIMAX.
•409
The common example of this , is that noted paflage in Cicero which every fchoolboy knows: te Facinus eft vincire civem Romanum ; fcelus “ verberare , prope parricidium , necare; quid “ dicam in crucem tollere *?” I ihall give an inftance from a printed pleading of a famous Scotch Lawyer, Sir George M’Kenzie. It is in a charge to the jury , in the cafe of A woman accufed of murdering her own child. “Gentlemen, “ if one man had any howflain another, if an “ adverfary had killed his oppofer, or a woman cc occafioned the death of her enemy, even thefe ct criminals would have been capitally punilhed “ by the Cornejian law : but, if this guiltlefs “ infant, who could make no enemy, had been “ murdered by its own nurfe, What punilhments “ would not then the mother have demanded? “ With what cries and exclamations would die “ have ftunned your ears ? What Ihall we fay cc then, when a woman, guilty of homicide, a cc mother, of the murder of her innocent child, “ hath comprifed all thofe mifdeeds in one fmgle “ crime; a crime, in its own nature, deteftable; “ in a woman, prodigious, in a mother, incre- “ dible ; and perpetrated againft one whofe “ age called for compaffion, whofe near relation “ claimed affection, and whofe innocence de- “ ferved the higheft favour ? I mult take notice, however, that fuch regular Climaxes as
* “ It is a crime to put a Roman citizen in bonds: “ it is the height of guilt to fcourge him: little lefs than “ parricide to put him to death. "What name then Ihall I “ give to crucifying him. ? ”
I CT.
XVII.

CLIMAX.
I, E C T,
XVIL
410
thefe, though they have confiderable beauty, have, at the fame time, no fmall appearance of art and ftudy; and, therefore, though they maybe admitted into formal harangues, yet they fpeak not the language of great earnefthefs and paffion, which feldom proceed by Heps fo regu- lar. Nor, indeed, for the purpofes of effectual perfuafion, are they likely to be fo fucccfsful, as an arrangement of circumftances in a lefs artificial order. For, when much art appears, we are always put on our guard againft the deceits of eloquence ; but when a fpeaker has reafoned flrongly, and, by force of argument, has made good his main point , he mayr then, taking advantage of the favourable bent of our minds, make ufe of fuch artificial figures to confirm our belief, and to warm our minds.
End of the first Volume.

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LECTURES
O N
RHETORIC
AND
BELLES LETTRES.
By HUGH BLAIR, D. D.
ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHURCH, AND PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BASIL
PRINTED FOR J. L. LEGRAND. MDCCLXXXIX.

& X
P.
?53
aS&Sf&i'
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contents
OF THE
SECOND VOLUME.
LECT.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII. XXIII. XXIV.
F IGURATIVE Language — General Characters of Style — Diffufe, Concife — Feeble , Nervous — Dry, Plain, Neat, Elegant, Flowery. General Characters, of Style — Simple, Affected, Vehement — Directions for forming a proper Style.
Critical Examination of the Style of Mr. Addifon , in N° 411 of Tbe Spectator. .
Gritical Examination of the Style in N* 412 of Tbe Spectator.
Critical Examination of the Style in N* 41 3 of Tbe Spectator.
Critical Examination of the Style in N° 4 r 4 of The Spectator.
Critical .Examination of the Style in a Paffage of Dean Swift's Writingr.
Page
1
39
si
7 «
9 ?
ii?
129

CONTENTS.
LECT. Page
XXV. Eloquence , or Public Speaking —
Hiftory of Eloquence — Grecian Eloquence — Demofthenes. . 155
XXVI. Hiftory of Eloquence continued —
Roman Eloquence — Cicero —
Modern Eloquence. . . . igj
XXVII. Different Kinds of Public Speaking —
* Eloquence of Popular Affemblies —
Extracts from Demofthenes. . 207
XXVIII. Eloquence of the Bar — Analyfis of
Cicero’s Oration for Cluentius. . 239
XXIX. Eloquence of the Pulpit . . 270
XXX. Critical Examination of a Sermon of
Bifhop Atterbury’s. . . . 300
XXXI. Conduit: of a Difcourfe in all its Parts
— Introducftiori—Divifton —Narration * and Explication. . . . 3 32
XXXII. Conduct of a Difcourfe — The Argumentative Part — The Pathetic Part — The Peroration. . . . 3 $ g
XXXIII. Pronunciation, or Delivery. . . 335
LECT

LECTURE XVIII.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE — GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE—DIFFUSE, CONCISE—FEEBLE , NERVOUS—DRY, PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, FLOWERY.
X1AVING treated, at confiderable length, of L e c t. the Figures of Speech , of their origin , of XVIII. their nature , and of the management of
fuch of them as are important enough to require a particular difcuflion , before finally difmiffing this fubjedt , I think it incumbent on me , to make fome obfervations concern* ing the proper ufe of Figurative Language in general. Thefe , indeed , I have, in part, already anticipated. But, as great errors are often committed in this part of Style , efpecially by young writers , it may be of ufe that I bring together, under one view , the moll material directions on this head.
I begin with repeating an obfervation formerly made, that neither all the beauties , nor even the chief beauties of compofition , depend upon
Vol. II. B

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
rp
Lec T. Tropes and Figures. Some of the moft fublime XVIII. and moft pathetic paffages of the moft admired authors , both in profe and poetry , are expreffed in the moft fimple Style , without any figure at all; inftances of which I have before given. On the other hand, a compofition may abound with thefe ftudied ornaments ; the language may be artful , fplendid , and highly figured , and yet the compofition be on the whole frigid and unaf* feding. Not to fpeak of fentiment and thought, which conftitute the real and lafting merit of any work, if the ftyle be {tiff and affeded, if it be deficient in perfpicuity or precifion , or in eafe and neatnefs , all the Figures that can be employed will never render it agreeable : they may dazzle a vulgar , but will never pleafe a judicious , eye.
In the fecond place, Figures , in order to be beautiful , muft always rife naturally from the fubjed. 1 have Ihown that all of them are the language either of imagination , or of Paffion; fome of them fuggefted by imagination , when it is awakened and fprightly, fuch as Metaphors and Comparifons ; others by Paffion or more heated emotion , fuch as Perfonifications and Apoftrophes. Of courfe they are beautiful then only, when they are prompted by fancy, or by paffion. They muft rife of their own accord; they muft flow from a mind warmed by the objed which it feeks to deferibe ; we ffiould never interrupt the courfe of thought to call about for Figures. If they be fought after coolly,

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FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE/ 3
and fattened on as defigned ornaments , they will have a miferable eftedt, It is a very erroneous idea , which many have of the ornaments of Style , as if they were things detached from the fubjedt, and that could be ftuck to it, like Jace upon a coat: this is indeed,
Purpureus late qui fplendeat unus ant alter
Afluitur pannus * —. Aes Poet.
Arid it is this falfe idea which has often brought attention to the beauties of writing into difre- pute. Whereas, the real and proper ornaments of Style are wrought into the fubftance of it. They flow in the fame ftream with the current of thought. A writer of genius conceives his fubjedt ftrongly; his imagination is filled and im- preffed with it , and pours itfelf forth in that Figurative Language which imagination naturally fpeaks. He puts on no emotion which his fubjedt does not raife in him ; he fpeaks as he feels ; but his ftyle will be beautiful , becaufe his feelings are lively. On occafions , when fancy is languid, or finds nothing to roufe it, we lliould never attempt to hunt for figures. We then work, as it is faid , “ invita Minerva;” fuppofing
figures invented , they will have the appearance of being forced ; and in this cafe, they had much better be wanted.
-* “ Shreds of purple with broad luftre lhine,
“ Sew’d on your poem,” Francis.
B 2
L e e t XVIII.
•4

4
' FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
L E c t. In the third place , even when Imagination XVIII. prompts , an * the fubjed naturally gives rife to Figures, they mull, h ’wever not be employed too frequently In allbeauty, u fimplex munditiis,” is a capita) quality. Nothing derogates more from the weight and dignity of any compofxtion, than too threat attention to ornament. When the ornaments coft labour , that labour always appears; though they Ihould coft us none, ftill the reader or hearer may be furfeited with them; and when they come too thick , they give the impreffion of a light and frothy genius , that evaporates in Ihow , rather than brings forth what is folid. The directions of the ancient critics , on this head, are full of good fenfe, and deferve careful attention. “ Voluptatibus maximis,’ fays Cicero, de Orat L. iii. a faftidium hnitimum eft in rebus “ omnibus; quo hoc minus in oratione miremur. <c In qua vel ex poetis, vel oratoribus poffumus “ judicare , concinnam , ornatara, feftivam fine in- cc termiflione , quamvis claris fit coloribus picta, “ vel poelis , vel oratio , non polfe in delecta- “ done elle diuturna. Quare , bene et prseclare, £ ‘ quamvis nobis fxpe dicatur , belle et feftive “ nimium fepe nolo*.’’ To the fame purpofe,
* cc In all hinnan things, difguft borders fo nearly on cc the moft lively pleafures, that v.e need not be furpmed 44 to find this hold in eloquence. From reading either “ poets or orators, we may eafily fiitisfy ourielves , that. c ‘ neither a poem nor an oration , which, without inter- “ milfion is fhowy and fparkling, can pleafe us long. 44 *— 1 -Wherefore, though we may wifli for the

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE.
5
nation are the excellent directions with which Quindlilian
file to concludes his difcourfe concerning Figures, L. ix.
?M C. 3. u Ego illud de iis figuris quae vere hunt,
litis.’ « adjiciam breviter, ficu: ornant orationem oppor-
efroat ct tunse politic ita ineptiifimas eife cum im-
i,tfcaa “ modice petuntur. Sunt, qui negledo rerum
:oa fc pondere et viribus fententiarum fi vel inania
tjearsi « verba in hos modos depravarunt , fummos fe
eds “ judicant artifices ; ideoque non definunt eas
rim “ neclere ; quas fine fententia feclare , tam eft
Im “ ridiculmn quam quterere habjtum geftumque
si “ fine corpore. Ne hoe quidem quas recite fiunt,
(d “ denfandae funt nines. Sciendum imprimis quid
1 i <c qriifque poftulet locus , quid perfona , quid
irefc “ tempus. Major enim pars harum figurarum
cm “ pofita eft in deledlatione. Ubi verb, atrocitate,
rebus a invidia, miferatione pugnandum eft; quis ferat
iiiiiir, ct verbis contrapolitis , et confimilibus , et pariter
hfflu; <c cadentibus , irafeentem , flentem , rogantem ?
ne in- “ Cum in his rebus , cura verborum deroget
picu, “ affedtibus fidern; et ubicunque ars oftentatur,
elect w veritas abelfe videatur*. ” After thefe judicious
rclffi.
{efb tC h' et l' u ent praife of having exprelfed ourfelves well and
, ^ properly , we fhould not covet repeated applaufe for
ir ? c ’ <c being bright and f^lendid.”
* “ I muft add, concerning thofe figures which are efts <c proper in themfelves , that as they beautify a compoficion
, e g; “ when they are feafonably introduced, fo they deform it
’ j “ greatly, if too frequently fought after. There are fome,
“ who, neglecting ftrength of fentiment and weight of JS jj.; <c matter , if they can only force their empty words into
F(J . g “a Figurative Style, imagine themfelves great writers;
B 3
L E C T. XVIII.

6
GEN. CHARACTERS OF STYLE
L e c t. and ufeful obfervations, I have no more to add* XVIII. on this fubject, except this admonition.
In the fourth place , that without a genius for Figurative Language , none fhould attempt it. Imagination is a power not to- be acquired ; it muft be derived from nature. Its redundancies we may prune, its deviations we may correct, its fphere we way enlarge; but the faculty itfelf wc cannot create: and all efforts towards a metaphorical ornamented ftyle, if we are deftitute of the- proper genius for it, will prove awkward and difgufting. Let us fatisfy ourfelves, however, by confidering, that without this talent, or at leaft with a very fmall meafure of it, we may both write and fpeak to advantage. Good fenfe, clear ideas, perfpicuity of language, and proper arrangement of words and thoughts, will always command attention. Thefe are indeed the founda-
“ and therefore continually firing together fucli ornaments;
“ which is juft as ridiculous, where -there is no fentiment “ to fupport them , as to contrive geftures and dreffes for “ what wants a body. Even thofe figures which a fubject “ admits, muft not come too thick. "We muft begin, u with confidering what the occafion, the time ., and the u perfon who fpeaks, render proper. t For the object aimed “ at by the greater part of thefe figures, is entertainment.
“ But when the fubject becomes deeply ferious and ftrong “ paflions are to be moved , who can bear the orator, “ who, in affected language and balanced phrafes, en- “ deavours to exprefs wrath, commiferation ,. or eame.fl ; “ intreaty ? On all fuch occafions , a folicitous attention to “ \vords weakens paffion ; and when fo. much art is “ lb own, there is fufpefted to be little iincerity.”

E
GEN CHARACTERS OF STYLE. ?
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tions of all folid merit, both in fpeaking and Lect, writing. Many fubjects require nothing more; XVIII. and thofe which admit of ornament , admit it only as a fecondary requifite. To ftudy and to know our own genius well; to iollow nature 5 to feek to improve , but not to force it, are directions which cannot be too often given to thofe who defire to excel in the liberal arts.
When I entered on the confideration of Style,
I obferved that words being the copies of our ideas , there mull always be a very intimate connection between the manner in which every writer employs words, and his manner of thinking ; and that, from the peculiarity of thought and expreffion which belongs to him, there is a certain character imprinted on his Style, which may be denominated his manner ; commonly expreffed by fuch general terms, as ftrong, weak, dry, fimple affeCted, or the like. Thefe diftmc- tions carry , in .general , fome reference to an author’s manner of thinking, but refer chiefly to his mode of expreffion. They arife from the whole tenour of his language ; and comprehend the effect produced by all thofe parts of Style which we have already confidered ; the choice which he makes of fingle words; his arrangement of thefe in fentences ; the degree of his precifion; and his embellishment, by means of mufical cadence, figures, or other arts of fpeecb. Of fuch general Characters* of Style, therefore, it remains now to fpeak, as the refult of thofe underparts of which I have hitherto treated.
B 4

S GEN. CHARACTERS OF STYLE.
L e c t. That different fubjedts require to be treated
-NVIII. of in different forts of Style , is a pofition fo obvious , that I flrall not ftay to illuftrate it. Every one fees that Treatifes of Phijofophy, for inftance, ought not to be compofed in the fame ftyle with orations. Every one fees alfo, that different parts of the fame compofition require a variation in the ftyle and manner. In a fermon , for inftance, or any harangue , the application or peroration admits more ornament, and requires more warmth, than the didadtic part. But what 1 mean at prefent to remark is , that amidft this variety , we ftill expedt to find, in the compofi- tions of any one man, fome degree of uniformity or confiftency with himfelfin manner; we expedt to find fome predominant charadter of Style im- preffed on all his writings, which fliall be fuited to , and fhall mark , his particular genius, and turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ much in Style, as they ought to do, from the reft of his hiftory. The fame is the cafe with thofe in Tacitus. Yet both in Livy’s orations, and in thofe of Tacitus, we are able clearly to trace the dif- tinguifhing manner of each hiftorian; the magnificent fulnefs of the one, and the fententious concifenefs of the other. The “ Lettres Perfanes,” and “L’Efprit des Loix,” are the works of the fame author. They required very different compofition furely , and accordingly they differ widely; yet ftill we fee the fame hand. Whenever there is real and native genius , it gives a determination to one kind of Style rather than to

GEN. CHARACTERS OF STYLE.
9
rated another. Where nothing of this appears ; where L e c t, 11 fo there is no marked nor peculiar character in the XVIII,
:e it compofitions of a'ny author, we are apt to infer, i fw not without reafon, that he is a vulgar and trivial ■we author , who writes from imitation , and not Af- from the impulfe of original genius.’ As the moll -a celebrated painters.are known by their hand,
,n t fo the beft and moft original writers are known and diftinguifhed, throughout all their works, ts by their Style and peculiar- manner. This will at be found to hold almoft without exception, ms The ancient Critics attended to thefe general
A- characters of Style which we are now to confider.
aity Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus divides them into
three kinds ; and calls them the Auftere, the im- Florid , and the Middle. By the Auftere , he
ited means a Style diftinguifhed for ftrength and
and firmnefs, with a neglect of fmoothnefs and orna-
aucli ment; for examples of which , he gives Pindar
ft of and iEfchylus among the Poets, and Thucydides
feia among the Profe writers. By the Florid , he
thofc means, as the name indicates, a Style ornament-
: dit ed ,flowing, and fweet; rePcingmore upon nufnbers
,a<ri and grace, than ftrength; he inftances Hefiod ,
ltioni Sappho, Anacreon, Euripides, and principally
nes," Ifocrates. The Middle kind is the juft mean
iftls between thefe, and comprehends the beauties of
com- both; in which clafs he places Homer and So-
Jiffj phocles among the Poets; in Profe, Herodotus,
j, er ;. Demofthenes , Plato, and ( what feems ftrange)
| v gi Ariftotle. This muft be a very wide clafs indeed,
which comprehends Plato and Ariftotle under

10
CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE.
L e c T. one arricle as to Style*. Cicero and Ouindtilian XVIII. make alfo a threefold divifion of Style , though with refpedt to different qualitie’s of it; in which they are followed by moft of the modern writers on Rhetoric; the Simplex, Tcnue , or Subtile ; the Qra’ie or Vehemens ; and the Medium, or, Tempera- tum genus rlieendi. But thefe divifions , and the illuftrations they give of them, are fo loofe and general, that they cannot advance us much in our ideas of Style. I.fhall endeavour to be a little more particular in'what I have to fay on this fubjedt.
One of the firft and moft obvious diftindtions of the different kinds of Style , is what arifesfrom an author’s fpreading out his thoughts more or lefs. This diftindtion forms , what are called the Diffufe and the Concife Styles. A concife writer compreffes his thought into the feweft poffible words; he feeks to employ none but fuch as are moft expreffive ; he lops off, as redundant, every expreffion which does not add fomething material to the fenfe. Ornament he does not rejedl; he may be lively and figured; but his ornament is intended for the fake of force, rather than grace. He never gives you the fame thought twice. He places it in the light which appears to him the moft ftriking; but if you do not apprehend it well in that light, you need not expedt to find it in any other. His fentences are arranged with compaclnefs and ftrength, rather
* De Compofitione Verborum, Cap. 2$.

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CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE, u
than with cadence and harmony. The utmoft precifion is'ftudied in them; and they are commonly defigned to fogged more to the reader’s imagination than they direftly exprefs.
A DIFFUSE writer unfolds his thought fully. He places it in a variety of lights, and gives the' reader every poffible affiftance for underftanding it completely. He is not very careful to exprefs it at firft in its full ftrength ; becaufe he is to repeat the imprefiion ; and what he wants in ftrength , he propofes to fupply by copioufnefs. Writers of this character generally love magnificence and amplification. Their periods naturally run out into fome length , and having room for ornament of every'kind, they admit it freely.
Each of thefe manners has its peculiar advantages ; and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. The extreme of concifenefs becomes abrupt and obfeure ; it is apt alfo to lead into a Style too pointed , and bordering on the epigrammatic. 1 he extreme diffufenefs becomes weak and languid, a#id tires the reader. However, to one or other of thefe two manners, a writer may lean according as his genius prompts him : and under the general character of a concife , or of a more open and diffufe Style, may poffefs much beauty in his compofition.
For illuftrations of thefe general characters, I can only refer to the writers who are examples of them. It is not fo much from detached palfages , fuch as I was wont formerly to quote for inftances, as from the current of an author's Style , that we
L e c T. XVIII.

12
CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE.
e c t. are to colled the idea of a formed manner of XVIII. writing The two' molt remarkable examples that I know, of concifenefs carried as far as propriety will allow , perhaps in fome cafes farther, are Tacitus the Hiftorian, and the prefident Montef- ■quieu in “ L’Efprit des Loix. ” Ariftotle, too, holds ' an eniment rank among didadic writers for his brevity. Perhaps no writer in the world was ever fo frugal of his words as Ariftotle; but this frugality of expreffion frequently darkens his meaning. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffufe- nefs , Cicero is, beyond doubt , the moft illuf. trious inftance hat can be given. Addifon alfo, and Sir William Temple , come in fome degree under this clafs.
In judging when it is proper to lean .to the concife , and when to the diffufe manner ; we muft be direded by the nature of the Compofi- tion. Difcourfes that are to be fpoken, require a more copious style, than books that are to be read. When the whole meaning muft be catched from the mouth of the fpeaker , without the advantage which books afford of pauling at plea- fure, and reviewing what appears obfeure, great concifenefs is always to be avoided. We fhould never prefume too much on the quicknefs of our hearer’s underftanding; but our Style ought to be fuch , that the bulk of men can go along with us eaiily, and without effort. A flowing copious Style, therefore, is required in all public fpeak- ers ; guarding, at the fame time, againft fuch a degree of diffufion , as renders them languid and

CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE. i 3
tirefome; which will always prove the cafe, when L f. c t. they inculcate too much , and prefent the fame XVIII. thought under too many different views.
In written Compofitions, a certain degree of concifenefs poffeffes great advantages. It is more lively, keeps up attention; makes a brilker and ftronger impreffion ; and gratifies the mind by fupplying more exercife to a reader’s own thought.
A fentiment , which , expreffed diffufely , will barely be admitted to be juft , expreffed con- . cifely , will be admired as fpirited. Defcription, when we want to have it vivid and animated ,
Ihould be in a concife drain. This is different from the common opinion ; mod perfons being ready to foppofe , that upon defcription a writer may dwell more fafely than upon other things, and that-by a full and extended Style, it is rendered more rich and expreffive. 1 apprehend , on the contrary, that a diffufe manner generally weHLens it. Any redundant words or circum- ftanees encumber the fancy, and make the objedl we prefent to it, appear corfufed and indiftineff. Accordingly, the moft maflerly deferibers, Homer, Tacitus, Milton, are almoft always concife in their deferiptions. They fhow us more of an object at one glance , than a feeble diffufe writer can fhow , by turning it round and round in a variety of lights. The ftrength and vivacity of defcription? whether in profe or poetry, depend much more upon the happy choice of one or two ftriking circumftances , than upon the multiplication of them.

4
14 CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE.
L e c t. Addresses to the paffions * likewife , ought XVIII. to be in the concife , rather than the diflufe manner. In thefe , it is dangerous to be diffufe , becaufe it is very difficult to fupport proper warmth for any length of time. When we become prolix, we are always ia hazard of cooling the reader. The heart, too, and the fancy run fall; and if once we can put them in motion ^ they fupply many particulars to greater advan- . tage than an author can difplay them. The cafe is different , when we addrefs ourfelves to the underftanding ; as in all matters of reafoning, explication , and inftrudtion. There I would prefer a more free and diflufe manner. When you are to ftrike the fancy, or to move the heart, be concife ; when you are to inform the under- ftanding, which moves more flowly , and re. quires the affiftance of a guide , it is better to be full. Hiftorical narration may be beautiful, either in a concife or diffufe manner, according to the writer’s genius. Livy and Herodotus are diffufe; Thucydides and Salluft are fuccinct ; yet all of them agreeable.
I observed that a diffufe ftyle inclines mod to long periods; and a concife writer, it is certain, will often employ fliort fentences. It is not, however, to be inferred from this, that long or ■fhort fentences are fully characleriftical of the one or the other manner. It is very po£ible for one to compofe always in Ihort fentences , and to be withal extremely diffufe , if a frnall meafure of fentiment be fpread through many of thefe fen-

CONCISE AND DIFFUSE STYLE.
15
tences. Seneca is a remarkable example. By the fhortnefs and quaintnefs of his fentences, he may appear at firffc view very concife ; yet he is far from being fo. He transfigures the fame thought into many different forms. He makes it pafs for a new one, only by giving it a new turn. So alfo, mod of the French writers compofe in fhort fentences ; though their ftyle, in general , is not concife ; commonly lefs fo than the bulk of Englilh writers, whofefentences are much longer. A French author breaks down into two or three fentences , that portion of thought which an Englilh author crowds into one. The dired effect of fhort fentences , is to render the Style brilk and lively, but not always concife. By the quick fucceffive impulfes which they make on the mind, they keep it awake; and give to Compofi- tion more of a fpirited character. Long periods , like Lord Clarendon’s, are grave and ftately , but, like all grave things , they are in hazard of becoming dull. An intermixture of both long and fhort ones is requifite, when we would fup- port folemnity , together with vivacity ; leaning more to the one or the other , according as propriety requires, that the folemn or the fprightiy Ihould be predominant in our compofition. But of long and fhort fentences, I had occalion , formerly, to treat under the head of the conflruclion of periods.
The Nervous and the Feeble, are generally held to be charadters of Style, of the fame import with the Concife and the diffufe. 'They do indeed
iECT.
XVIII.

16 NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE.
L e c t. very often coincide. Diffnfe writers have for the XVIII. moft part fome degree of feeblenefs; and nervous writers will generally be inclined to a concife expreffion. This , however , does not always hold; and there are inftances of writers, who, in the midft of a full and ample Style , have maintained a great degree of^flrength. Livy is an example ; and in the Englifh language , Dr. Barrow. Barrow’s Style has many faults. It is unequal, incorrect and redundant; but withal, for force and expreffivenefs uncommonly dif- tinguifhed. On every fnbjedt, he multiplies words with an overflowing copioufnefs; but it is always a torrent of ftrong ideas and fignilicant expref- fions which he pours forth. Indeed , the foundations of a nervous or a weak Style are laid in an author’s manner of thinking. If he conceives an object ftrongly, he will exprefs it with energy: but , if he has only an indiftindt view of his fubjedt; if his ideas be loofe and wavering; if his genius be fuch , or, at the time of his writing, fo carelefly exerted , that he has no firm hold of the conception which he would communicate to us ; the marks of this will clearly appear in his Style. Several unmeaning words, and loofe epithets will be found; 1:is expreffions will be vague and general ; his arrangement indiftindt and feeble; we fliall conceive fomewhat of his meaning , but our conception- will be faint. Whereas a nervous'writer , whether he employs an extended or a concife Style, gives us always a ftrong impreffion of his meaning; his mind is
full

NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE, i?
full of his fubjedt, and his words are all expref- L E c t. five; every phrafe and every figure which he XVIII. ufes i tends to render the picture , which he would fet before us, more lively and complete.
I OBSERVED , under the head of Diffufe and Concife Style, that an author might lean either to the one or to the other, and yet be beautiful.
This is not the cafe with refpect to the nervous and the feeble. Every author, in every compofi- tion, ought to ftudyto exprefs himfelfwith fome flrength, and, in proportion , as he approaches ' to the feeble , he becomes a bad writer. In all kinds of writing, however, the fame degree of ftrength is not demanded. But the more grave and weighty any compofition is, the more fhould a character of ftrength predominate in the Style.
Hence in hiftory , philofophy , and folemtr dif- courfes , it is expected molt. One of the mod complete models of a nervous Style , is Demoft- henes in his orations.
As every good quality in Style has an extreme, when purfued to which it becomes faulty, this holds of th'e Nervous Style as well as others.
Too great a ftudy of ftrength, to the neglect of the other qualities of Style , is found to betray writers into a harfh manner. Harlhnefs arifes from unufual words, from forced inverfions in the conftruction of a Sentence, and too much neglect of fmoothnefs and eafe. This is reckoned the fault of fome of our earlieft claflics in the Englifli language; fuch as £ir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Bacon, Hooker, Chiilingworth, Milton in his-
vol. ii. " c

i8 NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE
l e r. r. profe works, Harrington , Cud worth , and other XVill. writers of confiderable note in the days of Queen Elizabeth, James 1. and Charles I. Thefe writers had nerves and ftrength in a'high degree, and are t > this day eminent for that quality in Style. But the language in their hands was exceedingly different from what it is now, and was, indeed, entirely formed upon the idiom and conftrucftion of the Latin , in the arrangement of Sentences. Hooker, for inftance, begins the Preface to his celebrated work of Ecclefiafticaf Polity, with the following Sentence : “ Though for no other
caufe, yet for this, that pofterity may know “ we have not loofely, through filence, permitted “ things to pafs away as in dream, there fhall “ be , for men’s information , extant this much , “ concerning the prefent ftate of the church of “ God eftablifhed amongft us, and their careful “ endeavours which would have upheld the “ fame. ” Such a fentence now founds harfli in our ears. Yet fome advantages certainly attended this fort of Style; and whether we have gained, or loft, upon the whole, by departing from it, may bear a queftion. By the freedom of arrangement, which it permitted, it rendered the Language fufceptible of more ftrength, of more variety of collocation , and more harmony of period. But however this be, fuch a ftyle is now obfolete; and no modern writer could adopt it without the cenfure of harfhnefs and affectation. The prefent form which Ae Language has affumed, has, in fome meafure, facrificed the

NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE
19
ftudy of ftrength to that of perfpicuity and eafe. Leg t. Our arrangement of words has become lefs for- XVIII. cible, perhaps, but more plain and natural: and this is now underftood to be the genius of our Lan ornate.
O O
The reftoration of King Charles II. feems to be the aera of the formation of our prefent ftyle.
Lord Clarendon was one of the firft who laid afide thofe frequent inverfions which prevailed among writers of the former age. After him ,
Sir William Temple, poliftted the Language ftill more. But the author, who, by the number and reputation of his works , formed it more than any one, into its prefent Rate, is Dryden. Dryden began to write at the Reftoration, and continued long an author both in poetry and profe. He had made the language his ftudy; and though he wrote haftily, and often incorrectly, and his ftyle is not free from faults, yet there is a richnefs in his diction, a copioufnefs , eafe, and variety in his expreffion, which has not been fur- paffed by any who have come after him *. Since bis time, confiderable attention has been paid to
* Dr. Johnfon, in his life of Dryden, gives the following character of his profe ftyle: u His prefaces have not “ the formality of a fettled ftyle, in which the firft half “ of the fentence betrays the other. The claufes are never “ balanced, nor the periods modelled; every word feems “ to drop by chance, though it falls into its proper place.
“ Nothing is cold or languid; the whole is airy, anirnat- “ ed, and vigorous; what is little, is gay; what is great * is fplendid. Though ail is eafy, nothing is feeble;
C 4

20
DRY STYLE.
L E c T. Purity and Elegance of Style : But it is Elegance, XV11I. rather than Strength , that forms the diftinguilh- ing quality of mod of the good Englifh writers. Some of them compofe in a more manly and nervous manner than others; but, whether it be from the genius of our Language , or from whatever other caufe, it appears to me, that we are far from the ftrength of feveral of the Greek and Roman authors.
Hitherto we have confidered Style under thofe characters that refped its expreffivenefs of an author’s meaning. Let us now proceed to confider it in another view, with refpedl to the degree of ornament employed to beautify it. Here, the Style of different authors feems to rife , in the following gradation : a Dry, a Plain, a Neat, an Elegant, a Flowery manner. Of each of thefe in their order.
F'irst, a Dry ^manner. This excludes all ornament of every kind. Content with being underftood, it has not the lead; aim to pleafe , either the fancy or the ear. This is tolerable only in pure didadtic writing; and even there, to make us bear it, great weight and folidity of matter is requifite; and entire perfpicuity of Language. Ariftotle is the thorough example of a Dry Style. Never, perhaps, was there any author who adhered fo rigidly to the flridnefs
“ though all feems carelefs, there is nothing harfh; and “ though fince his earlier works, more than a century has “ palfed, they have nothing yet uncouth or obfolete. ”

P L A «I N STYLE.
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■21
of a didactic manner, throughout all his writings, and conveyed fo much inftru&ion without the leaft approach to ornament. With the molt profound genius, and extenfive views, he writes like a pure intelligence , who addreffes himfelf folely to the underftanding, without making any ufe of the channel of the imagination. But this is a manner which deferves not to be imitated. For, although the goodnefs of the matter may compenfate the drynefs or harlhnefs of the Style, yet is that drynefs a confiderable defedt; as it fatigues attention, and conveys our fentiments, with difadvantage, to the reader or hearer.
A PiaiN Style rifes one degree above a Dry one. A writer of this character, employs very little ornament of any kind, and refts, almoft, entirely upon his fenfe. But, if he is at no pains to engage us by the employment of figures, muhcal arrangement, or any other art of writing, he ftudies , however, to avoid difgufting us like a dry and a harlh writer. Befides Perfpicuity, he purfues Propriety, Purity, and Precilion, in his Language; which form one degree, and no inconfiderable one, of beatity. Livelinefs too, and force, may be confident with a very Plain Style: and, therefore, fuch an author, if his fentiments be good, may be abundantly agreeable. The difference between a dry and plain writer, is, that the former is incapable of ornament, and feems not to know what it is ; the latter feeks not after it. He gives us his meaning, in good language, diftincl and pure; any further orna-
C 3
, K C T.
XVIII.

PLAIN S T L E.
Lect, ment he gives himfelf no trouble about ; either, XVIIL becaufe he thinks it unne.ce'fary to his fubjecl;
or , becaufe his genius does not lead him to delight in it; or, becaufe it leads him to defpife it *.
This laft was the cafe with Dean Swift, who may be placed at the head of thofe that have employed the Plain Style. Few writers have difcovered more capacity. He treats every fubjedt which he handles, whether ferious or ludicrous, in a mafterly manner. He knew', almoft, beyond any man, the Purity, the Extent, the Precifion of the Eng]ifh. Language; and, therefore, to fuch as wilh to attain a pure and correct Style , he is one of the molt ufeful models. But we muft not look for much ornament and grace in his Language. His haughty and morofe genius, made him defpife any embellifhment of this kind as beneath his dignity. He delivers his fentiments in a plain, downright, pofitive manner, like one who is fare he is in the right; and is very indifferent whether you be pleafed or not. His fentences are commonly negligently arranged; diftinctly enough as to. the fenfe ; but, without
* On this head, of the General Characters of Style, particularly, the Plain and the Simple, and the characters of thofe Englifh authors who are chaffed under them, in this , and the following Lecture, feveral ideas have been taken from a manufcript treatife on rhetoric, part of which was fhown to me, many years ago, by the learned and ingenious author, Dr. Adam Smith; and which, it is hoped, will be given by him to the Public.
iflisfes

NEAT STYLE.
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any regard to fmoothnefs of found; often without much regard to compadtnefs, or elegance. If a metaphor, or any other figure, chanced to render his fatire more poignant, he would, perhaps, vouchfafe to adopt it, when it came in his way; but if it tended only to embellilh and illuftrate, he would rather throw it afide. Hence , in his ferious pieces, his ftyle often borders upon the dry and unpleafing, in his humorous ones, the plainnefs of his manner gives his wit a lingular edge, and lets it oft to the iugheft advantage. There is no froth, nor affectation in it; it flows without any Itudied preparation ; and while he hardly appears to fmile himfelf, he makes his reader laugh heartily. To a writer of fuch a genius as Dean Swift , the Plain Style was moll admirably fitted. Among our philofophical writers, Air. Locke comes under this clafs ; per- fpicuous and pure , but aJmofl without any ornament whatever. In works which admit, or require, ever fo much ornament, there are parts where the plain manner ought to predominate. But we mull; remember, that when this is the character which a writer affects throughout his whole compofition , great weight of matter , and great force of fentiment, are required, in order to keep up the reader’s attention, and prevent him from tiring of the author.
What is called a Neat Style comes next in order; and here we are got into the region of ornament; but that ornament not of die higheft or moll: fparkling kind. A writer of th s character
C 4
L K C T XVIII.

24
ELEGANT STYLE.
L e c t. fljQws , that he does not defpife the beauty of XVIII. Language. It is an objedl of his attention. But his attention is fhown in the choice of his words, and in a graceful collocation of them ; rather than in any high efforts of imagination , or eloquence. His fentences are always dean, and free from the incumbrance of fuperfluous words; qf a moderate length; rather inclining to brevity, than a fwelling ftrudture; clofmg with propriety; without any toils . or adjedtions dragging after the proper clofe. His cadence is varied ; but not- of the ftudied mufical kind. His figures, if he ufes any are Ihort and correct; rather than bold and glowing. Such a Style as this, may be attained by a writer who has no great powers of fancy or, genius; by induftry merely, and careful attention to the rules of writing; and it is a Style always agreeable. It imprints a character of moderate elevation on our compofition, and carries a decent degree of ornament, which is not un- l'uitable to any fubjedt whatever. A familiar letter, or a law paper, on the drieft fubject, may be written with neatnefs; and a fermon, or a philo- fophical treatife, in a Neat Style , will be read with pleafure.
An Elegant Style is a charadler, expreffing a higher degree of ornament than a neat one; and, indeed is the term ufually applied to Style, when poll effing all the virtues of ornament, without any of its exceffes or defects. From what has been formerly delivered, it will eafily be underftood, that complete Elegance .implies great perfpicuity
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tili;

FLORID STYLE.
25
ity i and propriety; purity ifi the choice of words,
■ ft: and care and dexterity in their harmonious and ’oni, happy arrangement. It implies, farther, the grace athet and beauty of Imagination fpread over Style, as , or far as the fubjedt admits it; and all the illuffration and which Figurative Language adds, when properly 'ds; employed. In a word, an elegant writer is one ity, who pleafes the fancy and the ear, while he ty; informs the underftanding, and who gives us his ter ideas clothed with all the beauty of expreffion, but not over-charged with any of its mifplaced ufes finery. In this clafs, therefore, we place only and the firft rate writers in the Language; fuch as , lined Addifon, Dryden, Pope, Temple, Bolingbroke , ancy Atterbury, and a few more: writers who differ itteii' widely from one another in many of the attribu- Stylt tes of Style , but whom we now clafs together,
[ im under the denomination of Elegant, as in the :arrie fcale of Ornament, poffeffing nearly the fame place, it ns When the ornaments applied to Style, are too lens rich and gaudy in proportion to the fubjedl; a y It when they return upon us too faff, and ftrike philf us either with a dazzling luftre , or a falfe bril- . m; iiancy, this forms what is called a Florid Style; a term commonly ufed to fignify the excels of .ornament. In a young compofer this is very pardonable. Perhaps , it is even a promifing ^ fymptom in young people, that their Style Ihould Ht a- incline to the Florid and Luxuriant: “Volofe . Ijg “ efferat in adolefcente foecunditas, ” fays Quinc- tilian, “multum inde decoquent anni, multum liens f at *° limabit, aliquid velut ufu ipfo deteretur;
L e c x. XVIII.

2,6
FLORID STYLE.
Lect.
XVIII.
“ fit modo unde excidi poffit quid et exculpi. — a Audeat haec aetas plura et inveniat et invcntis “ gaudeat; fint licet ilia non fatis interim ficcaet ft fevera. Facile remedium eft ubertatis: fterilia “ nullo labore vincuntur *. ” But although the Florid Style may be allowed to youth, in their firft effiiys, it muft not receive the fame indulgence from writers of maturer years. It is to be expected, that judgment, as it ripens, Ihould chaften imagination, and rejedt, as juvenile, all fuch ornaments as are redundant, unsuitable to the fubjedt , or not conducive to illuftrate it. Nothing can be more contemptible than that tin- fel fplendour of Language, which fome writers perpetually affect. It were well, if this could be afcribed to the real ov'erllowing of a rich imagination. We fhould then have fomething to amufe us, at leaft , if we found little to inftrudt us. But the worft is, that with thofe frothy writers, it is a luxuriancy of words, not of fancy. We fee a laboured attempt to rife to a fplendour of compofition, of which they have formed to them-
* “ In youth, I wifh to fee luxuriancy of fancy appear. “ Much of it will be diminifhed by years; much will be “ corrected by ripening judgment; fome of it, by the “ mere pradtice of compofition, will be worn away. Let “ there be -only fufficient matter, at firft, that can bear “ fome pruning and lopping off. At this time of life, let “ genius be bold and inventive, and pride itfelf in its “ efforts, though thefe fhould not, as yet be correct “ Luxuriancy can ealily be cured; but for barrennefs “ there is no remedy.”
fls*
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whid
fancy meii; expi fcri] of; deni ratln aftr,
do:
dreac
lipea

FLORID STYLE.
27
ilpi.. felves fome loofe idea; but having no ftrength ivet of genius for attaining it , they endeavour to liccii fupply the defedt by poetical words ,by cold fteri exclamations by, common-place figures , and ;h a every thing that has the appearance of pomp and ! tic magnificence. It has efcaped thefe writers, that indt fobriety in ornament , is one great fecret for is tc rendering it pleafing; and that, without a founda- louli tion of good fenfe and folid thought , the moft , al Florid Style is but a childilh 'impofition on the ktt Public. The Public, however, are but too apt ate it to be fo impofed on ; at leaft , the mob of atti: Readers, who are very ready to be caught, at kVtiteii firft , with whatever is dazzling and gaudy. ulM I CANNOT help thinking, that it reflects more naj; honour on the religious turn , and good difpofi- ana tions of the prefent age, than on the public tafte, iftis that Mr. Hervey’s Meditations have had fo great nte a currency. The pious and benevolent heart, f which is always difplayed in them , and the lively | 0!1 i; fancy which , on fome occafions , appears , juftly ,^5 merited applaufe: but the perpetual glitter of expreffion, the fwoln imagery, and ftrained de- •jjK feription which abound in them, are ornaments i*I: of a falfe kind. I would , therefore, advife fluky 3 dents of oratory to imitate Mr. Hervey’s piety, ^ rather than his Style; and, in all compofitions of “ a ferious kind, to turn their attention, as Mr. jT; Pope fays, “from founds to things, from fancy co g „ to the heart. ” Admonitions of this kind, 1 have rrcs already had occafion to give, and may hereafter repeat them ; as 1 conceive nothing more incum-
L E o T.
XVIII.

28
FLORID STYLE.
llCT.
XVIII.
bent on me in this courfe of ledtures , than to take every oppportunity of cautioning my Readers againft the affected and frivolous ufe of ornament; and, inltead of that flight and fuperficial tafte in writing, which I apprehend to be at prefent too fafhionable, to introduce, as far as my endeavours can avail, a tafte for more folid thought, and more manly fimplicity in Style.
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i tk
^ LECTURE XIX,
: oft uperf
to k _ , , _
as far
^'GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE-
SIMPLE, AFFECTED, VEHEMENT-
DIRECTIONS FOR FORMING A PROPER STYLE.
Having entered in the lafl LeCture on the ]
confideration of the general Characters of Style ,
I treated of the concife and diffufe, the nervous and feeble manner. I confidered Style alfo, with relation to the different degrees of ornament employed to beautify it; in which view, the manner of different authors rifes according to the following gradation: Dry , Plain, Neat, Elegant, Flowery.
I AM next to treat of Style under another character, one of great importance in writing, and which requires to be accurately examined, that of Simplicity, or a Natural Style, as diftinguilhed from Affectation. Simplicity, applied to writing, is a term very frequently ufed ; but, like many other critical terms often ufed loofely, and without precifion. This has been owing chiefly to the different meanings given to the word Simplicity,
, e c T. XIX.

30
SIMPLICITY AND
L e c t. which, therefore, it will be neceffary here to dif.
XIX. tinguilh; and to Qiow in what fenfe it is a proper attribute of Style. We may remark four different acceptations in which itls taken.
The- firft is, Simplicity of Compofition, as oppofed to too great a variety of parts. Horace’s precept refers to this;
Benique fit quod vis {implex duntaxat et unum *.
This is the Simplicity of plan in a tragedy, as diftinguifhed from double plots, and crowded incidents: the Simplicity of the Iliad, or fEneid, in oppofition to the digreffions of Lucan, and the fcattered tales of Ariofto; the Simplicity of Grecian architecture, in oppofition to the irregular variety of the Gothic. In this fenfe, Simplicity is the fame with Unity.
The fecond fenfe is, Simplicity of Thought, as oppofed to Refinement. Simple thoughts are what arife naturally; what the occafion , or the fubject fuggefl unfought; and what, when once fuggefted, are eafily apprehended by all. Refinement in writing, expreffes a lefs natural and obvious train of thought, and which it required a peculiar turn of genius to purfue; within certain bounds very beautiful, but when carried too far,
* “ Then learn the wand’ring humour to countrol,
“ And keep one equal tenour through die whole. ”
Tkaxcis.

D AFFECTATION IN STYLE. 3 i
ere to : approaching to intricacy, and hurting us by the sap,- c appearance of being recherche , or far fought. rdiff ei . Thus, we would naturaljy fay, that Mr. Parnell is a poet of far greater Simplicity, in his turn of Ition thought than Mr. Cowley: Cicero’s Thoughts JJojj, on moral fubjedls are natural; Seneca’s too refined and laboured. In thefe two fenfes of Simplicity , when it is oppofed either to variety of parts, or to refinement of thought, it has no proper relation to Style.
There is a third fenfe of Simplicity, in which rated) it has refpect to Style ,- arid Hands oppofed to rowi. too much ornament, or pomp of Language; as Em: when we fay, Mr. Locke is a fimple, Mr. Her- andvey a florid, writer, and it is in this fenfe, that of G: the "’fimpiex , ” the “ tenue ,” or “ fubtile genus di- irreeit cendi ,” is underftood by Cicero and Quinctilian. mplio The Simple Style, in this fenfe, coincides with the Plain or the Neat Style , which I before hon4 mentioned; and, therefore, requires no farther A;; illuftration.
or j But there is a fourth fenfe of Simplicity, alfo ien0:i refpecting Style; but not refpecting the degree f> e ; of ornament employed, fo much as the eafy and an( j f natural manner in which our language expreffes our thoughts. This is quite different from the former icerr f en f e °f die word juft now mentioned , in which l^jj Simplicity was equivalent to Plainnefs: whereas, in this fenfe, it is compatible with the highefc ornament.. Homer, for inftance, pofTelles this j’, Simplicity in the greateft perfection; and yet no frlSE writer has more Ornament and Beauty. This
L E C To.
XIX.-

82
SIMPLICITY AND
L e c T. Simplicity, which is what we are now to confi- XIX. der, ftands oppofed, not to Ornament * but to Affectation of Ornament., "or appearance of labour about our Style; and it is a diftinguilhed excellency in writing.
A writer of Simplicity expreffes himfelf in fuch a manner, that every one thinks he could have written in the fame way; Horace deferibes it,
-Ut fibi quivis
Speret idem , fudet multum, frultraque laboret
Aufus idem *.
There are no marks of art in his expreffion ; it feems the very language of nature; you fee in the Style, not the writer and his labour, but the man, in his own natural charadfer. He may be rich in his expreffion ; he may be full of figures, and of fancy ; but thefe flow from him without effort; and he appears to write in this manner, not becaufe he has ftudied it, but becaufe it is the manner of expreffion molt natural to him. A certain degree of negligence, alfo, is not in- confiftent with this character of Stvle and even not ungraceful in it; for too minute an attention
* “ From well-known tales fuch fidtions would I raife,
“ As all might hope to imitate with eafe ;
“ Yet, while they ftrive the fame fuccefs to gain,
1 ‘ Should find their labours, and their hopes in vain. ”
Fraxcis,
to

AFFECTATION IN STYLE 33
to words is foreign to it: “Ilabeat ille,” fays Cicero, (Orat. No. 77.) “ molle quiddam, et “ quod indicet non ingratara negiigentiam homi- “ nis, de re magis quam de verbo laborantis. *” This is the great advantage of Simplicity of Style, that, like funplicity of manners, it iliows us a man’s fentiments and turn of mind laid open without difguife. More ftudied and artificial manners of writing, however beautiful, have always this difadvantage, that they exhibit an author in form, like a man at court, where thefplendour ofdrefs, and the ceremonial of behaviour, conceal thofe peculiarities which diftinguifli one man from another. But reading an author of Simplicity, is like converfing with a perfon of diftinction at home,
and with eafe, where we find natural manners,
7
and a marked character.
The high eft degree of this Simplicity, is ex- preffed by a French term, to which we have none that fully anfw-ers in our Language, naivete. It is not eafy to give a precife idea of the import of this word. It always exprelfes a difeovery of character. 1 believe the belt account of it is given by a French critic, M. Marmontel, who explains it thus : That fort of amiable ingenuity, or undifguifed opennefs, which feems to give us fome degree of fuperiority over the perfon who fliows it; a certain infantine Simplicity, which
* “ Let this Style have a certain foftnefs and eafe, “ which fhn.ll charahterife a negligence , not unpleaiing in “ an author, who appears to be more.folicitous about the “ thought than the exprelfion. ”
Vm. If, D
E C T.
XIX.

34
SIMPLICITY AND
L E c T. we love in our hearts, but which difplays fome XIX. features of the charader that we think we could have art enough to hide; and which, therefore; always leads us to fmile at the perfon who dif- covers this charader. La Fontaine, in his Fables, is given as the great example of fuch naivete. This, however, is to be underftood, as deferip* tive of a particular fpecies only of Simplicity.
With refped to Simplicity, in general, we may remark, that the ancient original writers are always the molt eminent for it. T his happens from a plain reafon , that they wrote from the didates of natural genius, and were not formed upon the labours and writings of others, which is always in hazard of producing Affectation. Hence, among the Greek writers, we have more models of^i beautiful Simplicity than among the Roman. Homer, Idefiod, Anacreon, Theocritus, Herodotus, and Xenophon, are all diftin- guilhed for it. Among the. Romans alfo , we have fome writers of this charader, particularly Terence, Lucretius, Phsedrus, and Julius Cacfar. The following paffage of Terence’s Andria , is a beautiful inftance of Simplicity of manner in defeription;
funus interim
Procedit; fequimur; ad fepulchrum venimus;
In ignem impofita eft; fletur; interea hzec foror Quam dixi, ad flammam acceflit imprudentius Satis cum periculo. Ibi turn exanimatus PamphiluS, Bene diiiimulatum anrorenr, et celatum indicat;

AFFECTATION IN STYLE. 3 S
>
coc!l efore; io dj. ibles,
fwtti,
fcrip
/■
\vt i are
l^SIS ffilk ormed which tern e mos ■ng tk hem dills 'o, v. iculad iCik Irii, j nner s
Occurrit praceps , mulierem ab igne retrahit, L E c t.
Mea Glycerium, inquit, quid agis ? Cuf te is perditmn ? XIX. Turn ilia, ut confuetum facile amorem cerneres,
Rejecit fe in eum, flens quam familiariter *.
Act, I. Sc. L
All the words here, are remarkably happy and' elegant; and convey a moll lively picture of the fcene defcribed: while, at the fame time, the Style appears wholly artlefs and unlaboured. Let us, next, confider fome Englifh writers who come under this clals.
Simplicity is the great beauty of Archbilhop Tillotfon’s manner. Trllotfon has long been admired as an eloquent writer, and a model for preaching. But his eloquence, if we can call it fuch, has been often mifunderftood. For, if we include, in the idea of eloquence, vehemence and ftrength, pidurefque defcription , glowing
-* “ Meanwhile the funeral proceeds, we follow ;
“ Come to the Sepulchre: the body’s placed “ Upon the pile; lamented; whereupon u This fitter, I was fpeafdng of, all wild ,
“ Ran to the flames with peril of her life.
“ There! there! the frighted Pamphilus betrays “ His well diffemhled and long hidden love;
“ Runs up, and takes her round the waift, and cries, n 0 ! any Glycerium ! what is it you do ?
“ "Why, why, endeavour to deftroy yourfelf?
“ Then fhe in fuch a manner, that you thence “ Might ealily perceive their long long love,
“ Threw herfelf back into his arms, and wept,
Oh! how familiarly! Colman.
D *

36 SIMPLICITY AND
k c T, figures, or correcl arrangement of fentences, in XIX. all thefe parts of oratory the Archbifhop is exceedingly deficient. His Style is always pure, indeed, and perfpicuous, but carelefs and remifs, too often feeble and languid; little beauty in the conftrudion of his fentenc.es, which are frequently fuffered to drag unharmonioufly; feldom any attempt towards ftrength or l'ublimity. But, not- withftanding thefe defects, fuch a conftant vein of good fenfe and piety runs through his works, fuch an earnefl and lerious manner, and fo much ufeful inftrudion conveyed in a Style fo pure, natural, and unaffected, as will juftly recommend him to high regard , as long as the Englifh Language remains; not, indeed , as a model of the higheft eloquence, but as a fimple and amiable writer, whole manner is ftrongly expreffive of great goodnefs and worth. I obferved before, that Simplicity of manner may be confiftent with fome degree of negligence in Style; and it is only the beauty of that Simplicity which makes the negligence of fuch writers feem graceful. But, as appears in the Archbifhop, negligence may fometimes be carried fo far as to impair the beauty of Simplicity, and make it border on a fiat and languid manner.
Silt William Temple is another remarkable writer in the Style of Simplicity. In point of ornament and corrednefs,, he rifes a degree above Tillotfon ; though , for corrednefs, he is not in the higheft rank. All is eafy and flowing in him; he is exceedingly harmonious; fmoothnefs,

:s .ia > ex- sure, mils, i the ntly r at- rot- ein
i._
N' N )
id\
iure,
com-
c llui .el ol ami- effive lefore, ; with 1 itii nuke I.B:: :e ms lir tfe r ci
arlahi Of CD
afe: cot: ring:
AFFECTATION IN STYLE. 37
and what may be called amenity , are the dif- tinguifhing characters of his manner ; relaxing, fometimes, as fuch a manner will natnr ally do , into a prolix and remits Style. No writer whatever has ftamped upon his Style a more lively impreffion of his own character. In reading his works, we feem engaged in converfation with him ; we become thoroughly acquainted with him, not merely as an author, but as a man ; and contract a friendfiiip for him. He may be claffed as handing in the middle, between a negligent Simplicity , and the higheft degree of Ornament, which this character of ftyle admits.
Of the latter of thefe , the higheft, moft correct and ornamented degree of the fimple manner, Mr. Addifon, is beyond doubt, in the Englifh Language, the moft perfect example: and, therefore, though not without fome faults, he is, on the whole , the fafeft model for imitation, and the freeft from confiderable defects , which the Language affords. Perfpicuous and pure he is in the higheft degree ; his precifion, indeed , not very great; yet nearly as great as the fubjects which he treats of require: the conflrudtion of his fentences eafy, agreeable, and commonly a ery mufical; carrying a character of fmoothnefs, more than of ftrength. In Figurative Language , he is rich ; particularly, in fimilies and metaphors; which are fo employed , as to render his Style fplendid without being gaudy. There is not the leaft Affectation in his manner; we fee no marks of labour; nothing forced or
D 3
E C T.
XIX.

gg SIMPLICITY AND
Le ct, conftrained; but great elegance joined with great XIX. eafe and fimplicity. He is, in particular,, diffcin- guilhed by a character of modefty, and of polite- nefs, which appears in all his writings. No author has a rgore popular and infinuating manner; and the great regard which he every where fhows for virtue and religion , recommends him highly. If he fails in any thing, it is in want of {Length and precifion , which renders his manner , though perfectly fuited to fuch effays as he writes in the Spectator , not altogether a proper model for any of the higher and more elaborate kinds of com- pofition. Though the public have ever done much juftice to his merit,yet the nature of his merit has not always been feen in its true light: for , though his poetry be elegant, he certainly bears a higher rank among the profe writers than he is intitled to among the poets; and , in profe, his humour is of a much higher, and more original ftrain, than his philosophy. The character of Sir Roger de Coverley difcovers more genius than the critique on Milton.
SoCH authors as thofe , whofe characters I have been giving, one never tires of reading. There is nothing in their manner that {trains or fatigues our thoughts : we are pleafed , without being dazzled by their lultre. So powerful is the charm of Simplicity in an author of real genius , that it at tones for many defeats, and reconciles us to many acareleL exprefiion. Hence, in all the mod excellent authors, both in profe and verfe , the ■fimple and natural manner inay be always remarked ; although other beauties being predominant „ this forms not their peculiar and dlftinguifh-

AFFECTATION IN STYLE. «
nrad
philo-
atip
ing character. Thus Milton is fimple in themidffc of all his grandeur ; and Demofthenes in the midit of ail his vehemence. To grave and foiemn writings, Simplicity of manner adds the more venerable air. Accordingly, this has often been remarked as the prevailing character throughout all the facred Scriptures : and indeed no other character of Style was fo much fuited to the dignity of infpiratiom
Of authors, who, notwithfhnding many excellencies, have rendered their Style much left beautiful by want of Simplicity, I cannot give a more remarkable example than Lord Shaftfbury. This is an author on whom I have made obfer- vations feveral times before, and l'nall now take leave of him , with giving his general character under this head. Confiderable merit, doubtlefs, he has. His works might be read with profit for the moral philofophy which they contain, had he not filled them with fo many oblique and invidious infinuations againft the Chriftian Religion 5 thrown out, too, with fo muchfpleen andfatire* as do no honour to his memory , either as an author or a man. His language has many beauties; It is firm, andfupported in an uncommon degree: it is rich and mufical. No Englifh author, as I formerly fnowed , has attended fo much to the regular conftruclion of his fentences, both with refpedl to propriety, and with refpeht to cadence-. All this gives fo much elegance and pomp to his language, that there is no wonder it ihould have been fometimes highly admired. It is greatly hurt*
D 4
L T. C T. XIX.

40
SIMPLICITY AND
L e c t. however, by perpetual ftiffnefs and affectation.
XIX. This is its capital fault. His lordlhip can exprefs nothing with Simplicity. He feems to have con- fidered it as vulgar, and beneath the dignity of a man of quality, to fpeak like other men. Hence he is ever in bulkins; full of circumlocutions and artificial elegance. In every fentence, we fee the marks of labour and art; nothing of that eafe, which expreffes a fentiment coming natural and warm from the heart. Of figures and ornament of every kind , he is exceedingly fond; fometimes happy in them; but his fondnefs for them is too vifible } and having once laid hold of fome metaphor or allufion that pleafedhim, he knows not how to part with it. What is mod wonderful, he was a profeffed admirer of Simplicity ; is always extolling it in the ancients , and cenfuring the moderns for the want of it; though he departs from it himfelf as far as any one modern whatever. Lord Shaftfbury poffelTed delicacy and refinement of tafte, to a degree that we may call exceffive and fickly, but he had little warmth of paffion; few ftrong or vigorous feelings: and the coldnefs of his chara&er led him to that artificial and {lately manner which appears in his writings. He was fonder of nothing than of wit and raillery; but he is far from being happy in it. He attempts it often-, but always awkwardly; he is ftiff, even in his pYafantry; and laughs in form 3 liffe an author,
' and not like a man*.
* It may perhaps be not unworthy of being mentioned,

AFFECTATION IN STYLE. 4 i .
4 dc: From the account which I have given of Lord
ex P [ i Shaftfbury’s manner, it may eafily be imagined, >’ e ® that he would mifiead many who blindly admired 11f yt: him. Nothing is more dangerous to the tribe of imitators, than an author 1 , who, with many im- ls a« poling beauties, has alfo fome very confiderable seth blemilhes This is fully exemplified in Mr. Black- eafe, wall of Aberdeen , the author of the Life of Ho- and mer, the Letters on Mythology, and the Court tent of Auguftus; a writer of confiderable learning , mks and of ingenuity alfo; but infected with an extra- $ too vagant love of an artificial Style , and of that pa- ie me- rade of language which diftinguifhes the Shaftfbu- ivsno! rean manner.
Wi Having now faid fo much to recommendSim- ilwap plicity, or-the eafy and natural manner of wring tit ting, and having pointed out the defects of lepiri an oppofite manner; in order to prevent miftakes ateva on this fubject, it is neceiTary for me to obferve, leme: that it is very poffible for an author to write ccel: fimply, ar.d yet not beautifully. One may be laffioc free from affectation, and not have merit. The :oHe beautiful Simplicity fuppofes an author to poffefs 111 ®
He E that the firft edition of his enquiry into Virtue was publifhcd, {; furreptitioufly, I believe, in a feparate form, in the year ' 1699; and is fometinres to be met with; by comparing
' which, with the corrected edition of the fame treatife, as it now Hands among his works, we fee one of the mod aillfe curious and ufeful examples that I know, of what is called Lima labor ; the art of polilhing language, breaking long fentences,. and working up air imperfect draught into ^ a highly finilhed performance.
[j E C T.
XIX.

42 VEHEMENT STYLE
Ee c t, real genius; to write with folidity, purity, and XIX. livelinefs of. imagination. In this cafe , the fim- plicity or unaffedednefs of his manner, is the crowning ornament; it heightens every other beauty ; it is the drefs of nature , without which , all beauties are imperfect. But if mere unaffectednefs were fufficient to conftitute the beauty of S.yk, weak, trifling, and dull writers might ofeen lay claim to this beauty. And , accordingly, we frequently meet with pretended critics, who extol the dullelt writers on account of what they call the“Chaite Simplicity of their manner;” which in truth , is no other than the abfence of every ornament, through the mere want of genius and imagination. We mull diftinguifh , therefore, between that Simplicity which accompanies true genius, and which is perfedly compatible with every proper ornament of Style , and that which is no other than a carelefs and flovenly manner. Indeed, the aiftindion is eafily made from the effed produced. The one never fails to intereft the Reader; the other is infipid and tirefome.
I PaOCKitD to mention one other manner cr charader of Style , different from any that I have yet fpoken of; which may be diftinguifhed by the name of the Vehement. This always implies ftrength ; and is not, by any means , inconfiftent with Simplicity: but in its predominant charader is diflxnguifhable from cither the ftrong or the fimple manner. It has a peculiar ardour ; it is a glowing Style; the language of a man. whofe imagination and paffions are heated, andftrongly

VEHEMENT STYLE.
43
y, t bet is i>
cb,;
ednei
S.y!;.
ofre
VI
exta yeas wViicb even us a;: refoit es as e vn wk; nan.".: om r inter, line, nner
tlis
Lek
UK.
inlife
haras
or i
it i-
vfc
;ronr
•affected by what he writes; who is therefore negligent of leffer graces, but pours himfelf forthwith the rapidity and fulnefs of a torrent. It belongs to the higher kinds of oratory; and indeed is rather expedited from a man who is fpeaking, than from one who is writing in his clofet. The orations of Demofthenes furnifh the full and per- fedt example of this fpecies of Style.
Among Englilh writers, the one who has moll of this character, though mixed , indeed, with feveral defedts , is Lord Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke was formed by nature to be a factious leader ; the demagogue of a popular affembly. Accordingly, the Style that runs through all his political writings, is that of one declaiming with heat, rather than writing with deliberation. He abounds in rhetorical Figures; and pours himfelf forth with great impetuofity. He is copious to a fault; places the fame thought before us in many different views; but generally with life and ardour. He is bold, rather than correct; a torrent that flows ftrong, but often muddy. His fentences are varied as to length and Ihortnefs; inclining, however, moft to long periods , fometimes including parenthefes , and frequently crowding and heaping a multitude of things upon one another, as naturally happens in the warmth of fpeaking. In the choice of his words, there is great felicity and precifion. In exact conftrudtion of fentences he is much inferior to Lord Shaftfbury; but greatly fuperior to him in life and eafe. Upon the whole, his merit, as a writer, would have been very confiderable, if
Lm,
XIX.

44 GEN. CHARACTERS OF STYLE.
G
Lect.
XIX.
Ills matter had equalled his Style. Butwhilfttm find many things to commend in the latter, in the former , as I before remarked , we can hardly find any thing to commend. In his reasonings,fo: moft part, he is fiimfy and falfe; in his political writings factious; in what he calls his philofopU cal ones, irreligious and fophiftical in the highef: degree.
I shall infill no longer on the different mat ners of Writers, or the general Characters of Style Some other, befides thofe which I have mentioned, might be pointed out; but I am fenfible , that i: is very difficult to feparate fuch general confide rations of the Style of autjiors from their peculiar turn of fentiment , which it is not my bufineli, atprefent, to criticife. Conceited Writers, fo; inftance s difeover their fpiritfo much in their com pofition, that it imprints on their Style a eta racier of pertnefs; though I confefs it is difficult to fay, whether this can be claffed among the attributes of Style, or rather is to be aferibed entirely to the thought. In whatever clafs we rank it, all appearances of it ought to be avoided with care, as amofl difgufting blemifh in writing. Under thofe general heads, which I have confider- ed, I have taken an opportunity of giving the character of many of the e,minent dallies in the Englilh language.
■ From what I have faid on this fubjedt, it may be inferred, that to determine among all thofe different manners of writing, what is precifely the bell, is neither eafy, nor neceflary. Style is afield
tut ad” erent ai ikaaad
tr;aiin;
every c
otespi
bekep ainy 1 a hit! ahv'a’ and at, cfp ties, uer ,i tore perfec Ir thefe tions a go cular by t byt T.
purp,
coact
This
ho\V£

6
iLE.
GEN. CHARACTERS OF STYLE. 45
an hr aiim
C'
polk
ilofo;
■Jiigl
atm:
rfSty
itom , dm cod rpeci bill!; ters, seirc le a:
; di£ ion;
: alct claf avot
1 WE
con: ivini cs ia
ilen
is a#
that admits of great latitude. Its qualities in dif- Ltd ferent authors may be very different; and yet in XIX. them all beautiful. Room muff be left here for genius; for that particular determination which every one receives from nature to one manner of expreffion more than another. Some general qualities , indeed , there are of fuch importance, as fhould always, in every kind of compofition be kept in view'; and forne defeats we fhould always ftudy to avoid. An oflentatious , a feeble, a harfh , or an obfeure Style, for inftance, are always faults; and Perfpicuity, Strength , Neatnefs, and Simplicity, are beauties to be always aimed at. But as to the mixture of all, or the degree of predominancy of any one of thefe good qualities, for forming our peculiar difcinguifhing man- , ner, no precife rules can be given; nor will I venture to point out any one model as abfolutely perfect. ,
It will be more to the purpofe, that I conclude thefe differtations upon Style , with a few directions concerning- the proper method of attaining a good Style in general ; leaving the particular character of that Style to be either formed by the fubject on which we write, or prompted by the bent of genius.
The firft direction which I give for this purpofe, is, to ftudy clear ideas on the fubjedl concerning which we are to write or fpeak.
This is a direction which may at firft appear to hav^fmall relation to Style. Its relation to it, however , is extremely clofe. The foundation of

If E C T.
XIX.
46 DIRECTIONS FOR
all good Style, is good fenfe accompanied with a lively imagination. The Style and thoughts of a writer are fo intimately connedted, that, as 1 have feveral times hinted, it is frequently hard to diftinguifh them. Wherever the impreffions of things upon our minds are.faint and indiftincl, or perplexed and confufed, our Style in treating of fuch things will infallibly be fo too. Whereas what we conceive clearly and feel ftrongly, we will naturally exprefs with clearnefs and with ftrength. This, then, we may be allured, is a capital rule as to Style, to think clofely of the fubject, till we have attained a-full and diftincl view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become warm and interefted in It; then and not till then, lhall we find expreffion begin to flow. Generally fpeaking, the heft and moll proper expreflions, are thofe which a clear view of the fubjedl fuggefts , without much labour or enquiry after them. This is Quinctili- an’s obfervation, Lib. viii. c. 1 . “ Plerumque
<c . optima verba rebus coherent, et cernuntur fuo ct lumine. At nos quaerimus ilia, tanquam lateant c ‘ feque fubducant. Ita nunquam putamus verba “ effe circa id de quo dicendum eft; fed ex aliis w locis petimus et inventis vim afferimus •*. ”
* “ The moft proper words for the mod part adhere “ to the thoughts wich are to be expreffed by them, “ and may be difcovered as by their own light. Hut we “ hunt after them, as if they were hidden, and or^' to be found in a corner. Hence in Head of conceiving the
Iv the Style, tl isiipfl'l Style 11 the tad tint, it
cafe,
tompo
bad St
in un 1
than
poftt
ougl
Let
fruit
“m
a
c refpi ‘deni ‘etui “not “fit
"to! “ the
if « (l
com
*’ rak

FORMING STYLE.
47
ntlv; iprel: ndife te
irk
■
id v ed, ii ly of d dift clothe reftd xpreii bed; h ad ut c
Oui::
**
lenic
uctiit. ink; us it d es.
In the fecond place, in order to form a good Lect. Style, the frequent pradice of compofmg is XIX. indifpenlibly neceffary Many rules concerning Style I lvave delivered; but no rules will anfwer the end without exercife and habit. At the fame time, it is not every fort of compofmg that will, improve Style. This is fo far from being the cafe , that by frequent , carelefs , and hafty compohtion, we fhall acquire certainly a very bad Style; we fliall have more trouble afterwards in unlearning faults, and correding negligences, than if we had not been accuftomed to com- pofition at all. In the beginning therefore, we ought to write flowly , and with much care.
Let the facility and fpeed of writing, be the fruit of longer pradice. “ Moram & fohcitudi-
a
nem, fays Ouindilian with the greatelt reafon, L. x. c. 3, “ initiis impero. Nam prirnum “ hoc conftituendum ac obtinendum eft, ut quam “ optime feribamus : celeritatem dabit confue- c ‘ tudo. Paulatim res facilius fe oftendent, verba £ ‘ refpondebunt, compofitio profequetur. Cunda “ denique ut in familia bene inftituta in officio £ ‘ erunt. Summa hsec eft rei; cito feribendo “ non fit ut bene feribatur; bene feribendo, fit ut cito *. ”
bv r-
“ words to He near the fubjed., we go in queft of them. “ to Home other quarter, and endeavour to give force to “ the expreffions we have found out. ”
* “ I enjoin that fuch as are beginning the pradice of “ compolition, • write flowly, and with anxious delibe- “ ration. Their great objed at firft fhould be, to write “ as well as pofHble, practice will enable them to write

43
DIRECTIONS FOR
L e c T. We muil obferve, however, that there may XIX. be an extreme, in too great and anxious a care about words. We mull not retard the courfe of thought, nor cool the heat of imagination, by paufmg too long on every word we employ. There is, on certain occafions, a glow of com- pofition which fhould be kept up, if we hope to exprefs ourfelves happily, though at the expence of allowing fome inadvertencies to pafs. A more fevere examination of thefe muff be left to be the work of correction. For , if the practice of compolition be ufeful, the laborious work of correcting is no lefs fo; is indeed abfo- lutely neceffary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of compofition. What we have written, fhould be laid by for fome ^little time, till the ardour of compofition be paft, till the fondnefs for the expreffions we have ufed be worn off, and the expreffions themfelves be forgotten; and then reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we ffiall difcern many imperfections which at firit # # efcaped us. Then is the feafon for pruning redundancies; for weighing the arrangement of
“ fpeedily. Ey degrees matter will offer itfelf more readily; “ words will be at hand ; compofition will flow; every “ thing, as in the arrangement of a well-ordered family, w will prefent itfelf in its proper place. The fum of the “ whole is this; by hafty compolition,. we fhall never “ acquire the art of compoling well; by writing well, vc “ fhall come to write fpeedily. ”
fentences
frati
tom
rep
«li
von
ate
jma
1
tha
it
vvi
Ti
tafl of' !ritl to t and von lifef wit
err
W
K
tea we tarn atte in i T

FORMING STYLE
4ft
tlf[;
)UL
r eec: f of*: wt: li >t stop
late :edaS it fe wilt till
‘ii dm n ol '.a', a: 1 criti: atoll: chat: }rc: 5 BE
ORE
fe;.
eiife
IllS ! iui.-
n v ~
(fflSE
fentences ; for attending to the juncture and connecting particles ; and bringing Style into a regular, correct, and fupported form. This “ Lima Labor,” mull be fubmitted to by all who would communicate their thoughts with proper advantage to others; and fome practice in it will foon fharpen their eye to the moft neceffary objects of attention , and render it a much more eafy and practicable work than might at firft be imagined.
In the third place, with refpeCl to the affiftance that is to be gained from the writings of others, it is obvious, that we ought to render ourfelves well acquainted with the Style of the belt authors. This is tequifite, both in order to form a juft tafte in Style, and to fupply us with a full ftock of words on everyTubjeCt. In reading authors, with a view to Style, attention Ihould be given to the peculiarities of their different manners; and in this, and former Lectures, I have endeavoured to fuggeft feveral things that may be ufeful in this view. I know no exercife that will be found more ufeful for acquiring a proper Style, than to tranflate fome palfage from an eminent Englifh author, into our own words, What I mean is, to take, for inftancc, fome page of one of Mr. Addifon’s Spectators, and read it carefully over two or three times, till we have got a firm hold of the thoughts contained in it; then to lay afide the book, to attempt to write out the p a ff a ge from memory, in the beft way we can; and having done fo,
Vol. II. E
E e t. XIX.

50
DIRECTIONS FOR
V, C t. next to open the book, and compare what we XIX. have written , with the Style of the author. Such an exercife will, by companion, Ihow us where the defects of our Style lie; will lead us to the proper attentions for rectifying them; and among the different ways in which the fame thought may be expreffed, will make us perceive that which is the moll; beautiful. But,
In the fourth place , I rnuft caution , at the fame time, againft a fervile imitation of any one author whatever. This is always dangerous. It hampers genius; it is likely to produce a ftiff manner; and thofe who are given to clofe imitation, generally imitate an author’s faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good writer, or fpeaker , who has not fome degree of confidence to follow his own genius. We ought to beware, in particular, of adopting any author’s noted phrafes, or tranfcribing paf- fages from him. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine compofition. Infinitely better it is to have fomething that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to affect to fhine in borrowed ornaments, which will, at lafh. betray the utter poverty of our genius. On thefe heads of compofing, correcting, reading, and imitating, I advife every '{tudent of oratory to confuit what Ouinctilian has delivered in the Xth book of his Inflitutions , where he will find a variety of excellent obfervations and directions, that well deferve attention.
IN the fifth place , it is an obvious , but material rule, with refpect to Style, that vve

FORMING STYLE.
St
always ftudy to adapt it to the fubjedt, and alfo Lsc t« to the capacity of our hearers, if we are to fpeak XIX. in public. Nothing merits the name of eloquent or beautiful, which is not fuited to the occaiion , and to the perfons to whom it is addrelfed. It is to the laft degree awkward and abfurd, to attempt a poetical florid Style, on occafions, when it fhould be our bufmefs only to argue and reafon; or to fpeak with elaborate pomp of expreflion , before perfons who comprehend nothing of it, and who can only flare at our unleafonable magnificence. Thefe are defeats not fo much in point of Style, as, what is much worle, in point of common fenfe.' When we begin to write or fpeak, we ought previously to fix in our minds a clear conception of the end to be «imed at; to keep this fteadily in our view, and to fuitour Style to it. If we do not facrifice to this great objedt, every illtimed ornament that may occur to our fancy, we are unpardonable; and though children and fools may admire, men of fenfe will laugh at us and our Style.
In the laid place, I cannot conclude the fubjedt without this admpnition, that, in any cafe, and on any occafion , attention to Style mud not engrofs us fo much, as to detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts : “ Guram cc verborum,” fays the great Roman Critic, u rerum volo effe folicitudinem. * ” A direction.
*• “ To your expreffion be attentive ; but about your “ matter be felicitous. ”
E 2

52
DIRECT. FOR FORMING STYLE.
Lect.
XIX.
the more neceffary, that the prefent tafte of the age in writing, feems to lean more to Style than to thought. It is much eafier to drefs up trivial and common fentiments with fome beauty of expreffion, than to alford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and ufeful thoughts. The latter, requires true genius; the former, may be attained by induftry, with the help of very fuperficial parts. Hence, we find fo .many writers frivo- loufly rich in Style , but wretchedly poor in Sentiment. The public ear is now fo much accuftomed to a correct and ornamented Style, that no writer can , with fafety , negled the ftudy of it. But he is a contemptible one who does not look to fomething beyond it ; who does not lay the chief ftrefs upon his matter, and employ fucli ornaments of Style to recommend it, as are manly, not foppifh: “ Majore “ animo, ” fays the writer whom I have fo often quoted , “ aggredienda eft eloquentia ; quae l'l “ toto corpore valet, ungues polire & capillum c ‘ componere, non exiftimabit ad curam fuam “ pertinere. Ornatus et virilis & fortis, & fanctus “ fit; nec effcminatam levitatem , & fuco emeu- “ titum colorem amet; fanguine et viribus niteat f.
t “ A higher fpirit ought to animate thofe who ftudy “ eloquence. They ought to confult the health and found- “ nefs of the whole body , rather than bend their atten- “ tion to fuch trifling objects as paring the nails, and “ dreffing the hair. Let ornament be manly and chafte, “ without effeminate gaiety, or artificial colouring; let it “ fhine with the glow of health and ftrength.”

LECTURE XX.
E,
oft letk dir; m:?:
tot®
latte
ice:
oorc nut: Style cl tk wt: wit t ter, om- lyore okec
i
plk
k
hi
) GK
niter
ihoi
sis
airs
u£i. ;
sit
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE STYLE OF MR. ADDISON, IN*N°. 411. OF THE SPECTATOR.
I HAVE infilled fully 011 the fubject of Language and Style, both becaufe it is, in itfelf, of great importance, and becaufe it is more capable of being afeertained by precife rule, than feveral other parts of compofition. A critical analyfis of the Style of fome good author will tend further to illudrate the fubject; as it will fugged obfer- vations which I have not had occafion to make, and will fhow, in the mod practical light, the ufe of thofe which I have made.
Mr. Addison is the author whom I have chofen for this purpofe. The Spectator, of which his papers are the chief ornament, is a book which is in the hands of every one, and which cannot be praifed too highly. The good fenfe, and good writing, the ufeful morality, and the admirable vein of humour which abound in it, render it one of thofe dandard books which have done the greated honour to the Englilh nation. 1 have formerly given the general character of
E 3
1
e c r. XX.

54
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
e c T, Mr 'Addifon’s Style and manner, as natural and XX. unaffected , eafy and polite, and full of thofe graces which a flowery imagination diffufes over writing. At the fame time, though one of ths moft beautiful writers in the Language, he is not the moft corred; a circumftance which renders his compofition the more proper to be the fubjed of our prefent criticifm. The free and flowing manner of this amiable writer fometimes led him into inaccuracies, which the more ftudied circum- ipeciion and care of far inferior writers have taught them to avoid. Remarking his beauties, therefore, which V flrall have frequent occafion to do as I proceed, I muft alfo point out his negligences and defects. Without a free, impartial difcuffion of both the faults and beauties which occur in his compofition, it is evident, this piece of criticifm would be of no fervice: and , from the freedom which l life in criticiiing Mr.
’ Addifon’s Style, none can imagine, that I mean to depreciate his writings, after having repeatedly declared the high opinion which I entertain of them. The beauties of this author are fo many, and the general charader of his Style is fo elegant and eftimable, that the minute imperfections I flrall have occafion to point out, are but like thofe fpots in the fun, which may be difeovered by the affiftance of art, but which have no died: in obfeuring its luftre. It is, indeed, my judgment, that what Ouindilian applies to Cicero, „ 1 lie fe profecilfe fiat, cui Cicero valde place- “ bit,” may, with juftice, be applied to Mr.

ral c [ tbdr :>ov; of tb bhs tads fcbjec owe;
dk
ir» kt uties, alioa t lii irtial hich this ad, Mr. mean
an of cany. ■lejE ions I otfc ove': OCtS
i n
Cicer
to .' 1
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N" 411. 55
Addifon; that to be highly pleafed with his Lec T, manner of writing, is the criterion of one’s XX. having acquired a good tafte in EngliCh Style.
The paper on which we are now to enter, is N°. 411. thdfirftof his celebrated Effays on the Pleafures of the Imagination, in the Sixth Volume of the Spectator. It begins thus :
“ Our fight is the moft perfect , and mod <c delightful of all our fenfes.
This is an excellent introductorv fentence. It
j
is clear, precife,. and fimple. The author lays down, in a few plain words, the propofition which he is going to illuftrate throughout the reft of the paragraph. I11 this manner we fhould always fet out. A firft fentence fhould feldom be a long, and never an intricate one.
He might have faid, c ‘ Our fight is the moft “ perfect, and the moft delightful. ” — But he has judged better , in omitting to repeat. the article, the. For the repetition of it is proper, chiefly when we intend to point out the objects of which we fpeak, as diftinguilhed from, or contrafted with , each other; and when we want that the reader’s attention fhould reft on that diftinction. For inftance; had Mr. Addifon intended to fry, That our fight is at once the moft dcl'glvfa /, and the moft uftful, of all our fenfes, the article might then have been repeated with propriety, as a clear and ftrong diftinction would have been conveyed. But as between perfect and delightful, there is lefs contrail, there was no occafion for fuch repetition. It would
K 4

56 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Tfi
L E c t. have had no other effed, but to add a word XX. unneceflarily to the fentence. He proceeds:
“ It fills the mind with the largeft variety of “ ideas , converfes with its objeds at the greateft “ diftance, and continues the longeft in adion, “ without being tired or fatiated with its proper “ enjoyments.
This fentence deferves attention, as remarkably harmonious, and well 'conftruded. Itpoffeffes, indeed, almoft all the properties of a perfed fentence. It is entirely perfpicuous. It is loaded with no fuperfluous or unnecelTary words. For, tired or fatiated, towards the end of the fentence, are not ufed for fynonymous terms. They convey diftind ideas , and refer to different members of the period; that this fenfe “ continues the longeft “ in action without being tired, ” that is, without being fatigued with its adion; and alfo, without “ being fatiated with its proper enjoyments. ” That quality of a good fentence which I termed its unity, is here perfedly preferved. It is our Jitjht of which he fpeaks. This is the object carried through the fentence, and prefented to us, in every member of it, by thofe verbs, fills, converfes, continues, to each of which, it is clearly the nominative. Thofe capital words are difpofed of in the mod proper places; and that uniformity is maintained in the conftrudion of the fentence, which fuits the unity of the objed.
Observe too, the mufic of the period; confiding of three members, each of which, agreeably to a rule I formerly mentioned, grows, and rifes
isire grit (lofe ‘to * me:
lie r
metnl
well
the
we
¥
acti
T;
ligur:
notl
whii
and
Per
of
miic
Mr,
kjn

)F
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 ii. 5?
Jt - above the other in found, till the fentence is Le c T conducted, at laft, to one of the moll melodious XX, clofes which our Language admits; “ without “ being tired or fatiated with its proper enjoy- >Mr. “ ments. ” knjoyments , is a word of length and sprct; dignity, exceedingly proper for a clofe which is deligned to be a mufical one, The harmony is ratr the more happy , that this difpofition of the poffit members of the period which fuits the found fo peii well, is no lefs juft and proper with refped to i lo’i the fenfe. It follows the order of nature. Firft, k Fg we have the variety of objects mentioned, which ■ntenc fight furnilhes to the mind; next, we have the ;onvc adion of fight on thofe objects; and laftly, we ierso have time and continuance of its adion. No mo-el; order could be more natural or happy, ithoui This fentence has ftill another beauty. It is dura! figurative, without being too much fo for the tuts, fubjed. A metaphor runs through it. The fenfe term of fight is, in fome degree, perfonified. We are ; is a told of its cormcrfing with its objeds; and of its . oft not being tired or fatiated with its enjoyments all n tjd; which expreffions are plain allufions to the adions oft i and feelings of men. This is that flight fort of sc j E Perfonification, which, without any appearance of boldnefs, and without elevating the fancy much above its ordinary ftate, renders difeourfe bs pidurefque, and leads us to conceive the author’s meaning more diftindly, by clothing abftrad j. cc: ideas , in fome degree , with fenfible colours.
2J[{£ IVlr. Addifon abounds with this beauty of Style Eft h e y on d moft authors; and the fentence which

53
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Lect. we have been confidering, is very expreffive of XX. his manner of writing. There is no blemifh in it whatever, unlefs that a ftridt Critic might perhaps object, that* the epithet large , which he applies to variety, — “ the largeft variety of ideas . an epithet more commonly applied to extent is than to number. It is plain , that he here employed it to avoid^the repetition of the word great, which occurs immediately afterwards.
“ The fenfe of feeling can , indeed, give us a cc notion of extenfion, fhape, and all other ideas “ that enter at the eye, except colours; but, at “ the fame time, it is very much ftraitened and “ confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, “ and diftance of its particular objects.
This fentence is by no means fo happy as the former. It is, indeed, neither clear nor elegant. Extenfion and shape can, with no propriety, be called ideas-, they are properties of matter. Neither is it accurate, even according to Air. Locke's philofophy (with which our Author feems here to have puzzled himfelf) , to fpeak of any fenfe giving us a notion of ideas; our fenfes give us the ideas themfelves. The meaning would have been much more clear, if the Author had expreffed himfelf thus : “The fenfe of feeling can, indeed, “ give us the idea of extenfion, figure, and all “ the other properties of matter which are “ perceived by the eye, except colours.
The latter part of the fentence is fliil more embarraffed. For what meaning can we make of the fenfe of feeling, being “ confined, in its opera-
‘s|
icii acls Si on 1 ikir'
ECU
MV
{fief
fcript
fente
two
«
ID!
C Wi
“of
is lb circle, Tie tie co' cow feems indee writ! are ti
tOi/fS
tiati
I*®
fecald

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N 8 411 .' S9
■ffive; ill in; pert ippl as
tistb
loved :
, \?k
vet; :ridt bat,: ied:: r, be
as tt efan:
{, fc
ieitk Lock: is k ly tea
us L vek
xpreEl index and. iich:
I!
iflnc
make
tsop-
K tions, to the number , bulk, and diftance, of L e c “ its particular objects ? ” Surely , every fenfe is XX. confined, as much as the fenfe of feeling, to the number, bulk, and diftance of its own objects.
Sight and feeling are, in this refpedt, perfectly on a level; neither of them can extend beyond their own objects. The turn of expreftion is fo inaccurate here, that one would be apt to fufpect two words to have been omitted in the printing, which were originally in Mr. Addifon’s manu- feript; becaufe the infertion would render the fenfe much more intelligible and clear. Thefe two words are , c ‘ with regard : — It is very “ much ftraitened, and confined, in its operations,
“ with regard to the number, bulk, and diftance “ of its particular objects. ” The meaning then would be, that feeling is more limited than fight in this refpect ; that it is confined to a narrower circle, to a fmaller number of objects.
The epithet particular , applied to objects , in the conclufion of the fentence, is redundant, and conveys no meaning whatever. Mr. Addifon feems to have ufed it in place of peculiar , as indeed he does often in other patTages of his writings. But particular and peculiar , though they are too often confounded, are words of different import from each other. Particular ftands oppofed to general; peculiar ftands oppofed , to what is poffeffed in common with others. Particular expreffes what in the logical Style is called Species; peculiar , what is ‘called differentia. — Its peculiar objects Would have fignified in this place, the objects

<30 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
e c t. of the fenfe of feeling, as diftinguifhed from the XX. objeds of any other fenfe; and would have had more meaning than its particular objcEls. Though, in truth, neither the one nor the other epithet was requifite. It was fufficient to have faid fimply, its objects.
“ Our fight feems defigned to fupply all thefe “ defeds, and may be confidered as a more “ delicate and diffufive kind of touch , that “ fpreads itfelf over an infinite multitude of “ bodies , comprehends the largefl figures , and “ brings into our reach fome of the moft remote “ parts of the univerfe.
Here again the author’s Style returns upon us in all its beauty. This is a fentence diftind, graceful, well arranged, and highly mufical. In the latter part of it, it is conftruded with three members , which are formed much in the fame manner with thofe of the fecond fentence, on which I bellowed fo much praife. The coft flrudion is fo fimilar, that if it had followed immediately after it, we Ihould have been fenfible of a faulty monotony. But the interpofition of another fentence between them, prevents tliis effed.
“It is this fenfe which furnilhes the imagination “ with its ideas; fo that by the pleafures of the “ Imagination or Fancy (which I lhall ufe pro “ mifcuoufly ) , I here mean fuch as arife from “ vifible objeds , either when we have them “ adually in our view ; or when we call up
15
‘del
Isp
trior
futiiii
id’
down
ittent
the o
the
prom
tern
vfe I
tion,
wind
lilt K
mjh
prop:
comn
mote a'
“th
‘‘tl

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 4 ii. 61
“ their ideas into our minds by paintings* ftatues, L e c t 5 a defctiptions, or any the like occafion. ” XX.
^ Jn place of, It is this fenfe which furnishes — the ^author might have faid more Ihortly, This fenfe furnishes . But the mode of expreifion which he has ufed, is here more proper. This fort of full M i; and ample affection, it is this -which, is fit to be ai 11 ufed when a proportion of importance is laid down , to which we feek to call the reader’s ^attention. It is like pointing with the hand at ^ rei ' the objedt of which we fpeak. The parenthefis in dbt the middle of the fentence , -which I shall ufe promifcuously, is not clear. He ought to have faid, ins: terms -which I shall ufe promifcuously, as the verb ■ in ufe relates not to the pleafures of the imagina- u&aition, but to the terms of fancy and imagination, it h ti which he was to employ as fynonymous. Any the the f: like occafon — to call a painting or a ftatue an ence. occafon is not a happy expreffion, nor is it very The proper to fpeak of calling up ideas by occafions. The foil: common phrafe, any fuch means, w ould have been :enfe more natural.
30k “ We cannot indeed have a fingle image in
evens “ the fancy, that did not make its firft entrance ct through the fight; but we have the pow'er imatr cc of retaining, altering, and compounding thofe utsi “ images which we have once received, into all all li “ the varieties of pidfure and vifion that are molt 2ii i C£ agreeable to the imagination ; for by this fa- by: “ culty, a man in a dungeon is capable of enter- c “ taming himfelf with fenfes and landfcapes more

n
6z CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
e c t. “ beautiful than any that can be found in the XX. whole compafs of nature.
Ir may be of ufe to remark that in one member of this fentence there is an inaccuracy in fyntax. It is very proper to fay , altering and compounding thofe images -which we have once received into all varieties of picture and V’Jton. But we can with no propriety fay, retaining them into a 1 ! the varieties ; and yet , according to the manner in which the words are ranged, this conftrudionis unavoidable. For retaining , altering , and comoound. ing , are participles , each of which equally refers to , and governs the fubfequent noun , thofe images ; and that noun again is neceffarily connected with the following prepofition it to. This in- fiance fhows the importance of carefully attending to the rules of Grammar and Syntax; when fo pure a writer as Mr, Addifon could , through inadvertence , be guilty of fuch an error. The conltruchon might eafily have been redtified , by disjoining the participle retaining from the other two participles in this way: “ We have the “ power of retaining thofe images which we cc have once received; and of altering and com- cc pounding them into all the varieties of picture cc and vifion; ” or better perhaps thus : “ Wc c ‘ have the power of retaining , altering , and cc compounding thofe images which we have “ once received ; and of forming them into all “ the. varieties of pidture and viiion. ” — The latter part of the,fentence is clear and elegant.
Cl There are fe\y. words in the Endiih Lan-
h*
‘hi
fc
Bad
it ti
tltfi
deals
phial
alert
can
lent
cafn
ou»
tainly
tiers
“ wc “ in
“ F;
“ d(
“ in i
(C
it
ma

IDE THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 4 ii. 6 3
rai;
on* * iccurr dor a raj at v. iid i nuK ftnii
CC3IV
ally re in,: r coc
TE
' ate
; wit
throw
k.T
W,
k o:
hive
fhid
and:
off:
iag;
tve:
nit:
cc g ua § e ’ "which are employed in a more loofe “ and uncircumfcribed fenfe than thofe of the ct Fancy and the Imagination. ”
There arc few words —• -which are employed. —. It had been better , if our author here had faid more fimply — Few words in the English language are employed. Mr. Addifon , whofe Style is of the free and full, rather than the nervous kind, deals , on all occafions, in this extended fort of phrafeology. But it is proper only when fome affertion of confequence is advanced , and which can bear an e.mphafis ; fuch as that in the firft fentence of the former paragraph. On other occafions, thefe little words it is , and there are, ought to be avoided as redundant and enfeebling — thofe of the Fancy and the Imagination. The article ought to have been omitted here. As he does not mean the powers of the Fancy and the Imagination , but the words only, the article certainly had no proper place ; neither, indeed, was there any occafioti for other two words, thofe of. Better , if the fentence had run thus : “ Few “ words in the Englifh language are employed “ in a more loofe and uncircumfcribed fenfe, than “ Fancy and Imagination.”
“ I therefore thought it neceffary to fix and “ determine the notion of thefe two words, as I “ intend to make ufe of them in the thread of “ my following fpeculations , that the reader “ may conceive rightly what is the fubject which “ I proceed upon.
L E c T. XX.

64 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c T. Though fix and determine may appear fynony.
XX. mous words, yet a difference between them may be remarked , and they may be viewed, as applied here, with peculiar delicacy. The author had juft faid , that the words of which he is fpeaking were loojc and uticircunfcubed. Fix relates to the Hr ft of thefe , determine tb the laft. We fix what is loofe ; that is, we confine the word to its proper place, that it may not fluctuate in our imagination, and pafs from one idea to another ; and we determine what is uncircumfcribed, that is, we afcertain its termini or limits , we draw the circle round it, that we may fee its boundaries. For we cannot conceive the meaning of a word, nor indeed of any other thing clearly, till we fee its limits, and know how far it extends, Thefe two words , therefore , have grace and beauty as they are here applied ; though a writer, more frugal of words than Mr. Addifon , would have preferred the fingle word afcertain , which conveys, without any metaphor, the import of them both.
The notion of thefe -words is fomewhat of a liarlh phrafe, at leaft not fo commonly ufed , as the meaning of thefe words — as 1 intend to mat ufe of them in the thread of mg fpeculations * this is plainly faulty. A fort of metaphor is improperly mixed with words in the literal fenfc. He might very well have faid , as I intend to make ufe of them in my following fpeculations. — This was plain language; but if he chofe to borrow an allufion • from thread, that allufion ought to have been
fupported;

Ut
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 t r. 65
tirfc
' tli
fed,;
-nits: fit : li • : tk; iucfc bto: mi, w: is k cani; : fcl;; exte: ice i 1 writi , wo
', ' v -' impo:
ivkt : ufd
Jills snj;: imp" Her
Kit
jof
uric« ippoc
fupported ; for there is no confiftency in making L e c uje of them in the thread of Circulations ; and, XX. indeed , in expreffing any thing fo fimple and familiar as this is, plain language is always to be preferred to metaphorical — the fubject -which 1 proceed upon , is an ungraceful clofe of a fentenfce; better, the fubjett upon which I proceed.
“ I muff therefore defire him to remember, that cc by the pleafures of the Imagination, I mean “ only latch pleafures as arife original!)/© from cc fight , and that I divide thefe pleafures into w two kinds. ”
As the laft fentence began with — I therefore thought it neceffary to fix , it is carelefs to begin this fentence in a manner fo very fimilar, I rnu/i therefore defire him to remember ; efpecially, as the fmall variation of ufing, on this account , or, fc
or
this reafon , in place of therefore , would Imve amended the Style. — When he fays —. I mean only fuch pleafures — it may be remarked, that the adverb only is not in its proper place. It is not intended here to qualify the verb mean , but fuch pleafures ; and therefore fliould have been placed in as clofe connection as polfible with the word which it limits or qualifies. The Style becomes more clear and neat , when the words are arranged thus: “ by the pleafures of c ‘ the Imagination , I mean fuch pleafures only 44 as arife from fight.
44 My defign being, firff of all, to difeourfe K of thofe primary pleafures of the Imagination, 44 which entirely proceed from fuch objects as Vol. II. F
T.

66
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L E C T.
XX.
“ are before our eyes ; and, in the next place, “ to fpeak of thofe fecondary pleafures of the “ Imagination , which flow from the ideas of “ vifible objects, when the objects are not actually “ before the eye , but are called up into our “ memories , or formed into agreeable vifions “ of things , that are either abfent or fictitious.
It is a great rule in laying down the divi- fion of a fubject, to ftudy neatnefs and brevity as much as poffible. The divifions are fhen more diftinctly apprehended , and more eafily remembered. This fentence is not perfectly happy in that refped. It is fomewhat clogged by a tedious phrafeology. “ My defign being ,firft of all to “ difcourfe — in the next place to fpeak of — “ fuch tibjeds as are before our eyes — things “ that are either abfent or fiditious. Several words might have been fpared here; and .the Style made more neat and compad.
“ 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 under- “ Handing. ”
This fentence is diftind and elegant.
“ The laft are indeed more preferable, becaufe “ they are founded on fome new knowledge or “ improvement in the mind of man: Yet it mull: “ be confelfed , that thofe of the Imagination are “ as great and as tranfporting as the other.
In the beginning of this fentence , the phrafe, more preferable , is fuch a plain inaccuracy, that one wonders how Air. Addifon fliould have fallen

0 ?
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 4 ii. 67 ajk . *•
esoj; into it; feeing preferable of itfelf, exprelfes the Le c t. iJa comparative degree , and is the fame with more XX. ui eligible, or more excellent, iu). I must obferve farther, that the propofition j ev k contained in the laft: member of this fentence, is neither clear nor neatly expreffed — it muft be tk b confejjed , that thofe of the imagination are as great , iJIjjj. and as tranfporting as the other. — In the former fen- Ijju , tence, he had compared three things together ; r r the pleafures of the Imagination, thofe of fenfe, and |j thofe of the underftanding. In the beginning of lte( f, this fentence, he had called the pleafures of the j. underftanding the laft: and he ends the fentence, j, o l with obferving, that thofe of the Imagination are tiic as g reat and tranfporting as the other. Now, befides that the other makes not a proper contrail: with j the laft , he leaves it ambiguous , whether, by the other , he meant the pleafures of the Under- ^ {landing , or the pleafures of Senfe ; for i: y, may refer to either by the conftrudion; though,
^ undoubtedly , he intended that it Ihould refer to the pleafures of the Underftanding only. The propofition reduced to perfpicuous language, runs ^ thus: ■“ Yet it muft be confefted , that the plea- y “ fures of the Imagination, when compared -with “ thofe of the underftanding , are no lefs great Ctl '* “ and tranfporting. ”
“ A beautiful profpedt delights the foul as ' , “ much as a demonftration ; and a defeription i£ ‘ “ in Homer has charmed more readers than a lC l' ec chapter in Ariftotle. ”
This is a good illuftration of what he had
F
Jy -fcr

68 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
»
L e c x T. been afferting, and is excelled with that happy XX. and elegant turn , for which our author is very remarkable.
“ Befides , the pleafures of the Imagination ct have this advantage above thofe of the Under- ct handing , that they are more obvious , and cc more eafy to be acquired.
This is alfo an unexceptionable fentence.
a It is but opening the eye , and the fcene K enters. ”
This fentence is lively and pidturefque. By the gaiety and brilknefs which it gives the Style, it fhows the advantage of intermixing fuch a fhort fentence as this amidft a run of longer ones, which never fails to have a happy effect. I mull remark , howerer, a fmall inaccuracy. A /cent cannot be faid to enter ; an aclor enters; but a fcene appears , or presents itfelf.
“ The colours paint themfelves on the fancy, cc with very little attention of thought or appli- “ cation of mind in the beholder. ”
.Th:„ is ftill beautiful illuftration ; carried on with that agreeable flowerinefs of fancy and flyle , which is fo well fuited to thofe pleafures of the Imagination , of which the author is treating.
“ We are flruck , we know not how, with “ the fymmetry of any thing we fee, and im- “ mediately affent to the beauty of an object, “ without enquiring into the particular caufes and <c occafions of it.

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 ii. 6g
kk
its? There is a falling off here from the elegance L e c t of the former fentences. We afjent to the truth XX. of a propofition ; but cannot fo well be faid to afjent to the beauty of an ohjeft. Acknowledge would ®ii have expreffed the fenfe with more propriety.
The clofe of the fentence too is heavy and unto graceful — the particular caufes and occafons of it ; ctei.: — both particular , and occafons , are words quite fuperfluous ; and the pronoun it is in fomc fque.. meafure ambiguous, whether it refers to beauty tlefc or to objeft. It would have been fome aroend- lialh ment to the Style to have run thus: “ we imrae- r os w diately acknowledge the beauty of aii objedt,
. Ie k without enquiring into the caufe of that A ji “ beauty. ”
; but “ A man of a polite imagination is let into a “ vgreat many pleafures, that the vulgar are not :bc capable of receiving.”
oi ap: Polite is a term more commonly applied to
manners or behaviour , than to the mind or irried imagination. There is nothing farther to be ob- iacy. ferved on this fentence , unlefs the ufe of that for plea. :l relative pronoun , inftead of •which ; an ufage iaaa which is too frequent with Mr. Addifon. Which is a much more definite word than that , being w : never employed in any other way than as a rela- £ tive ; whereas that is a word of many fenfes;
[D[ i fometimes a demonftrative pronoun , often acon- P „jj junction. In fome cafes we are indeed obliged to ufe that for a relative , in order to avoid the ungraceful repetition of - which in the fame fentence. But when we are laid under no neceffity
F 3

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
70
L e c t. of this kind, -which is always the preferable word, XX. and certainly was fo in this fentence — Pleafurcs ■which the vulgar are net capable of receiving , is much better than pleafurcs that the vulgar , £s?c.
“ He can converfe with a pidture , and find C£ an agreeable companion in a ftatue. He meets “ with a fecret refrelhment in a defeription; and <c often feels a greater fatisfadlion in the profped cc of fields and meadows, than another does in a the poxTeffion. It gives him , indeed , a kind “ of property in every thing he fees; and makes “ the moll rude uncultivated parts of nature ad- “ minifter to his pleafures : fo that he looks “ upon the world, as it were, in another light, <c and difeovers in it a multitude of charms that “ conceal themfelves from the generality of man- “ kind. ”
All this is very beautiful. The illuftration is happy; and the Style runs with the greateft eafe and harmony. We fee no labour, no ftiffnefs, or affectation ; but an author writing from the native flow of a gay and pleafing imagination. This predominant character of Mr. Addifon’s manner, far more than compenfates all thofe little negligences which we are now remarking. Two of thefe occur in this paragraph. The firfi;, in the fentence which begins with, It gives him indeed a kind of property — To this it, there is no proper antecedent in the whole paragraph. In order to gather the meaning, we muft look back as far as to the third fentence before, the firft of the
• paragraph , which begins with, A man of apo’iu

0 ?
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 t r. 71
imagination. This phrafe, polite imagination , is the L E C only antecedent to which this it can refer ; and XX. even that is an improper antecedent, as it ftands ,S Y' ; in the genitive cafe, as the qualification only of ’ a man.
fiec; The other inftance of negligence, is towards p^OD;; the enc j 0 f the paragraph — So that he looks upon le F rcl ? the -world, as it -were, in another light. —By another lerdos* light, Mr. Addifon means, a light different from i that in which other men view the world. But
ndmi though this expreftion clearly conveyed this utuit, meaning to himfelf when writing , it conveys it he 1m very indiftindtly to others; and is an inftance of iff % that fort of inaccuracy , into which , in the rmstt warmth of compofition, every writer of a lively ofm imagination is apt to fail ; and which can only be remedied by a cool , fublequent review. — huoa jis it -were — is upon moft occafions no more atefte than an ungraceful palliative, and here there was Inefc, not the leaft occafion for it, as he was not about therm to fay any thing which required a foftening of ion. T: this kind. To fay the ..truth , this laft fentence,
5 iffl- jo that he looks upon the -world , and what follows, ittis K had better been wanting altogether. It is. no more Tv than an unneceffary recapitulation of what had rft,E: gone before ; a feeble adje&ion to the lively pic- m ic ture he had given of the pleafures of the iraagi- joft nation. The paragraph would have ended with B otir more fpirit at the words immediately preceding;
)JC |i£ the uncultivated parts of nature adminijler to his flrft« pleafures. ,

7z
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L E c T. « There are , indeed, but very few who know XX cc how to be idle and innocent, or have a relifli of c ‘ any pleafures that are not criminal ; every di- cc verfion they take , is at the expence of fome Cc one virtue or another, and their very firft ftep i( out of bufinefs is into vice or folly.
Nothing can be more elegant, or more finely turned, than this fentence. It is neat, clear, and mufical. We could hardly alter one word , or i difarrange one member , without fpoiling it. Few fentences are to be found more finifhed, or more happy.
“ A man fhould endeavour, therefore, to make “ the fphere of his innocent pleafures as wide as cc poffible, that he may retire into them with j “ fafety, and find in them, fuch a fatisfadtion as i| “ a wife man would not blufh to take. !
This alfo is a good fentence, and gives occa- fion to no material remark.
“ Of this nature are thofe of the imagination, t£ which,do not require fuch a bent of thought as ' c ‘ is necelfary to our more ferious employments , cc nor, at the fame time, fuffer the mind to fink i “ into that indolence and remilfnefs, which are “ apt to accompany our more fenfual delights;
K but, like a gentle exercife to the faculties,
5C awaken them from floth and idlenefs without “ putting them upon any labour or difficulty. ' !
The beginning of this fentence is not corredt, and affords an inflance of a period too loofely connected with the preceding one. Of this nature, fays he , are thofe of the imagination. We might

OF
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 t r. 73
™o to arelii
every;
are k far,::
tonsi wrdei q wii Hon i
;S 0CC3
.inatiffi .ougk: ymer.: : 1 tot
icuk : cot 0 loot
tit it It C;
afk of what nature ? For it had *iot been the fcope of the preceding fentence to defcribethe nature of any fet of pleafures. He had faid, that it was every man’s duty to make the fphere of his innocent pleafures as wide as poffible , in order that, within that fphere, he might find a Life retreat , and a laudable fatisfaction. 1 he : tranfition is loofely made, by beginning the next :feq,tence with faying , Of this nature are thofe of .the imagination. It had been better , if, keeping : in view the governing objed of the preceding fentence, he had faid , “ This advantage we “ gain ,” or , “ This fatisfadion we enjoy, by (C means of the pleafures of imagination, 1 he reft “ of the fentence is abundantly correct.
“ We might here add , that the pleafures of cc the fancy are more conducive to health than “ thofe of the underftanding , which are work- tc ed out by dint of thinking, and attended with K too violent a labour of the brain.
On this fentence , nothing occurs deferving of remark , except that ■worked out by dint of thinking , is a phrafe which borders too much on vulgar ajid colloquial language, to be proper for being employed in a polifhed compofition.
w Delightful fcenes , whether in nature, paint- “ ing, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the C£ body, as well as the mind, and not only ferve “ to clear and brighten the imagination , but are able to difperfe grief and melancholy, and “ to fet the animal fpirits in pleafing and agree- “ able motions. For this reafon Sir Francis Ba-
L E C T,
NX.

74 CRITICAL EXAMINATION, OF
L e c t. cc con, in his'Effay upon Health , has not thought XX. “ ^ improper, to prefcribe to his reader a poem, “ or a profpect, where he particularly diffuades cc him from knotty and fubtile difquifitions and “ advifes him to purfue ftudies that fill the mind cc with fplendid and illuftrious objects , as hilto- “ ries , fables , and contemplations of nature.
In the latter of thefe two fentences, a member of the period is altogether out of its plaee; which gives the whole fentence a harfh and disjointed call, and ferves to illuftrate the rules I formerly gave concerning arrangement. The wrong-placed member which I point at, is this; •where he particularly diffuades him from knotty ani fubtile djquiftiom —thefe words fhould , undoubtedly , have been placed not where they Hand, but thus: Sir Francis Bacon , in his Ejjay upon Health , -where he particularly diffuades tht reader from knotty and fubtile fpeculatior.s, has not thought it improper to prefcribe to him , &c. This arrangement reduces every thing into its proper order.
K I have, in this Paper, by way of introduction, <c fettled the notion of thefe pieafures of the a imagination, which are the fubject of my cc prefent undertaking, and endeavoured, by fever- c ‘ al confiderations , to recommend to my readers “ the purfuit of thofe pieafures; I fir all, in my a next Paper examine the feveral fources from cc whence thefe pieafures are derived.
These two concluding fentences alford examples of the proper collocation of circumftances

.Of THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 411 75
10t fc in a period. I formerly ffiowed, that it is often L e c t.
er >S a matter of difficulty to difpofe of them in fuch XX.
y ft a manner, as that they fhall not embartafs the
'tot principal fubject of the fentence. In the fentences
Utkt: before us, feveral of thefe incidental circum-
>as£ fiances necelTarily come in — By ■way of introduc-
nature, tion — by feveral conjiderations — in this Paper —.
a he in the next Paper. All which are, with great pro-
its p priety, managed by our author. It will be found,
bi upon trial, that there were no other parts of the
sthefentence, in which they could have been placed
ent. 1 to equal advantage. Had he faid , for inftance,
■, is ti “ I have fettled the notion, (rather , the mean~
•nottp sc ing) — of thofe pleafures of the imagination,
.lid, 1 “ which are the fubject of my prefent undertak- :re ti. “ ing, by way of introduction, in this paper,
his Ejj “ and endeavonred to recommend the purfuit
uaics “ of thofe pleafures to my readers by feveral
, b' cc confiderations, ” we nruft be fenfible , that
T the fentence , thus clogged with circumftances iajjr .in the wrong place, would neither have been fo neat nor fo clear, as it is by the prefent iO'Jk confh'uction. re! cl cl of 1, bvf
niyE
ill, i urcesi
aft!

•LECTURE XXI.
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE STYLE IN N\ 412 - OF THE SPECTATOR.
le c t. The obfervations which have occurred in XXI. reviewing that paper of Mr. Addifon’s, which was the fubjecl of the laft Lecture, fufficiently Flow, that in the writings of an author of the moft happy genius, and diffinguifhed talents, inaccuracies may fometimes be found. Though fuch inaccuracies may be overbalanced by fo many beauties, as render Style highly pleafxng and agreeable upon the whole, yet it mull be defir- able to every writer to avoid, as far as he can, inaccuracy of any kind. As the fubjedl therefore is of importance, I have thought it might be ufeful to carry on this criticifm throughout two or three fubfequent Papers of the Speculator. At the fame time I mufb intimate, that the Ledtures on thefe Papers are folely intended for fuch as are applying themfelves to the fludy of Englilh Style. I pretend not to give inftrudtion to thofe who are already well acquainted with the powers of lam

CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &c. 77
guage. To them my remarks may prove unedi-' fying; to fome they may feem tedious and] minute : but to Inch as have not yet made all the XI, proficiency which they defire in elegance of Style; ftridt attention to the compofition and ftruc- ture of fentences cannot fail to prove of confi-. derable benefit: and though my remarks on Mr. “““• Addifon fhould, in any inftance, be thought ill- founded, they will, at leaf!:, ferve the purpofe of leading them into the train of making proper )F I remarks for themfelves *. I proceed , therefore, TAIt to the examination of the fubfequent paper N y .
412.
“ I fhall firft confxder thofe pleafures of the rurred “ imagination, which arife from the actual view wt cc and furyey of outward objects: and thefe , I' Hick 11 *
xrof t taler Tk by fo: .dm’, tbe i as he: thertfr jtbea to or: It the: e oa:
; aits Uife
jfev:.
* If then be readers who think any farther apology requifite for my adventuring to criticife the fentences of fo eminent an author as Mr. Addifon, I mult take notice , that 1 was naturally led to it by the circumftances of that part of the kingdom where thefe Ledtures were read; where the ordinary fpoken language often differs much from what is ufed by good Englifh authors. Hence it occurred to me , as a proper method of correcting any peculiarities of dialed , to direct Undents of eloquence, to analyze and examine, with particular attention, the ftructure of Mr. Addifon’s fentences. Thofe Papers of the,Spectator , which are the fubjedt of the following Ledtures, were accordingly given out in exercife to ftudents , to be thus examined and analyzed ; and feveral of the obfervations which follow, both on the beauties and blemifhes of this Author, were fuggefted, by the obfervations given to me in con- fequence of the exercife prefcribed.
ECT.
XXI.

7 S CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c t. “ think, all proceed from the fight of what is XXI. “ great, uncommon, or beautiful.”
This fentence gives occafion for no material remark. It is fimple and diftinct. 1 he two words which he here ufes, vic-rv and furvcy , are not altogether fynonymous, as the former may be fup- pofed to import mere infpeclion; the latter more . deliberate examination. Yet they lie fo near to * one another in meaning, that, in the prefent cafe, any one of them, perhaps, would have been fufficient. The epithet actual, is introduced, in order to mark more ftrongly the diftinclion between what our author calls the primary pleafures of imagination, which arife from immediate view, and the fecondary, which arife from remembrance or defcription.
“ There may’, indeed, be.fomething fo ter- “ rible or offenfive , that the horror, or loatf,- “ fomenefs of an object, may overbear the plea- “ fure which refcdts from its novelty, greatnefs, “ or beauty; but Hill there will be fuch a mix- u ture of delight in the very difguft it gives us, “ as any of thefe three qualifications are moll “ c onfpicuous and prevailing.”
This fentence mud be acknowledged to be an unfortunate one. The fenfe is obfcure and t embarraffed , and the expreffion loofe and irregular. The beginning of it is perplexed by the wrong pofition of the words fomethng and object. The natural arrangement would have been , “ There may, indeed , be fomething in an “ objcc°c fo terrible or offenfive, that the horror

0 F THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 412 79
“ or loatlifomenefs of it may overbear. ” — Thefe Lect two epithets, horror or loatlifomenefs , are awk- XXL wardly joined together. Loatlifomenefs is, indeed,
0 a quality which may be afcribed to an objed;
" but horror is not; it is a feeling excited in the mind. The Language would have be^n much terir morecorred, had our Author faid, “ There may,
' “ indeed, be fomething in an objed fo terrible • “ or offenfive, that the horror or difguft which-
^ “ it excites may overbear.” — The firlt two epithets, terrible or offer*jive , would then have •jj exprcffed the qualities of an objed; the latter, ileaf ^ lo,ror or difjujt, the correfponding fentiments which thefe qualities produce in us. Loathfomenefs vnc Lhp mnft nnli^nnv wruvl Vip rnn1H liawp rlnn-
c In the latter part of the fentence there are fe- eitCc veral inaccuracies. When he lays,- “ there will '. JIC “ be fuch a mixture of delight in the very dif- ' m “ gult ^ gi ve s us, as any of thefe three qualifi- w E ' “ cations are moft confpicuous. ” The conftruc-
feems totally to exclude any mixture of delight , which he afterwards fuppofes may be found in the objed.
tion is defedive, and feems hardly grammatical.
He meant alfuredly to fay, a fuch a mixture of ufei “ delight as is proportioned to the degree in cc which any of thefe three qualifications are moft
ure r nd k ted ‘
confpicuous. ” — We know, that there may
'P be a mixture of pleafant and of difagreeable feel-
j: ings excited by the fame object, yet it appears c ! - inaccurate to fay, that there is any “delight, in
/

So' CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
v
L e c t. “ the very difguft. ” — The plural verb are , is XXI. improperly joined to “ any of thefe three qualifi. “ cations; ” for as any is here ufed diftnbutively, and means “ any one of thefe three qualifications,” the correfponding verb ought to have been fin- gular. Che order in which the two laft words are placed, fhould have been reverfed, and made to ftand, “prevailing and confpicuous. ” They are confpicuous , becaufe they prevail.
“ By greatnefs, l do not only mean the bulk “ of any fingle object, but the largenefs of a “ whole view , confidered as one entire piece.”
In a former Ledure, when treating of the Str.udure of Sentences , I quoted this fentence as an inftance of the carelefs manner in which ad verbs are fometimes interjected in the midft of a period. Only, as it is here placed, appears to be a limitation of the following verb , mean. Ik queftion might be put, What more does he than only mean? as the author, undoubtedly, intended it to refer to the “bulk of a fingle object," it would have been placed, with more propriety, after thefe words: ■— “ I do not mean the bulk “ of any Jingle object only, but the largenefs of “ a whole view. ” — As the following phrafe, confidered as one entire piece, feems to bt fomewhat deficient, both in dignity and propriety, perhaps this adjedion might have been altogether omitted, and the fentence have clofed with fully as much advantage at the word view.
“ Such are the profpeds of an open champaign “ country, a vaft .uncultivated defart, of huge
“ heaps

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N°412. Sr
unit « heaps of mountains , high jocks and precipi- Lect tb; “ C es, or a wide expanfe of waters, where we XXL ite; « are no t ftruck with the novelty, or beauty of site “ the fight, but with that rude kind of magni- ve t- “ ficence which appears in many of thefe ftupen- )lte “ dous works of nature.’’
l|te This fentence , in the main, is beautiful. The • 1:- objedls prefented are all of them noble, feledted with judgment, arranged with propriety, and mi: accompanied with proper epithets. We muft, however, obferve , that the fentence is too loofe- ■epie ly , and not very grammatically, connected with in® c the preceding one. He fays, — “ fuch are the feme “ profpecls;’’— fuch, fignifies, of that nature or wliia quality; which neceffarily prefuppofes fome ad- midft jective , or word defcriptive of a quality going arstt before, to which it refers. But, in the forego- •m, ing fentence, there is no fuch adjective. He had eslnel fpoken of grcatncfs in the abftradt only; and,
,y, in: therefore , fuch has no diftindt antecedent to which e objt we can refer it. The fentence would have been : prop introduced with more grammatical propriety, by jntl: faying, “To this clafs belong,” or, “under luge:; “ this head are ranged the profpecls, &c. ” — The in®pi °ft which is prefixed to “huge heaps of moun- jni : “ tains , ’’ is mifplaced , and has , perhaps , been
an( l ; an error in the printing; as, either all the par- ticulars here enumerated fhould have had this c [ 0 k mark of the genitive, or it fhould have been jp. prefixed to none but the firft. .— When, in the jjj- dole of the fentence, the Author fpeaks of that t (, “ rude magnificence, which appears iii many of Vol. II. G
*
~\

82 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L E c T. “ thefe ftupendous.works of nature, ” he had bet- XXI. ter have omitted the word many , which feems to except fome of them. Whereas, in his general proportion, he undoubtedly meant to include all the ftupendous works he had enumerated ; and therd is no queftion that, in all of them, a rude magnificence appears.
“ Our imagination loves to be filled with an “ cbjedt, or to grafp at any thing that is too big “ for its capacity. We are flung into a pleafmg “ aftonifliment at fuch unbounded views; and feel “ a delightful ftillnefs and amazement in the foul, “ at the apprehenfion of them. ”
The Language here is elegant, and feveral of the expreffions remarkably happy. There is nothing which requires any animadverfion except the clofe, “at the apprehenfion of them.” Not only is this a languid enfeebling conclufion of a fen- tence, otherwife beautiful, but “ the apprehenfion “ of views , ” is a phrafe deftitute of all propriety^ and, indeed, fcarcely intelligible. Had this adje&ion been entirely omitted, and the fen- tence been allowed to clofe. with “ ftillnefs and “ amazement in the foul, ’’ it would have been a great improvement. Nothing is frequently more hurtful to the grace or vivacity of a period , than fuperfluous dragging words at the conclufion.
“ The mind of man naturally hates every thing “ that looks like a reftraint upon it , and is apt “ to fancy itfelf under a fort of confinement, “ when the fight is pent up in a narrow compafe,

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 4 ia. 83
“ and Ihortened on every fide- by the neighbour- Lect, “ hood of walls or mountains. On the contrary, XXL “ a fpacious horizon is an image of liberty,
“ where the eye has room to range abroad, to ex- “ patiate at large on the immenfity of its views,
“ and to lofe itfelf amidft the variety of objects “ that offer themfelves to its obfervation. Such “ wide and undetermined profpedts are as pleafmg “ to the fancy, as the fpeculations of eternity,
“ or infinitude, are to the underftanding. ”
Our Author’s Style appears, here in all that native beauty whiclj cannot be too much praifed.
The numbers flow fmoothly, and with a graceful harmony. The words which he has chofen, carry a certain amplitude andfulnefs, well fuited to the nature of the fubjedt; and the members of the periods tife in a gradation, accommodated to the rife of the thought. The eye frrft ranges abroad-, then “ expatiates at large on the immen- “ fity of its views;” and, at laft, “ lofes itfelf “ amidft the variety of objedts that offer them- “ felves to its obfervation. ” The fancy is elegantly contralted with the underftanding , profpcils with fpeculations , and “ wide and undetermined “ profpedts , ” with “ fpeculations of eternity and “ infinitude. ”
“ But if there be a beauty or uncommonnefs “ joined with this grandeur, as in a troubled “ ocean, a heaven adorned with liars and meteors,
“ or a fpacious landfcape cut out into rivers,
“ woods, rocks, and meadows, the pleafure Hill
G *

84 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Iict. cc grows upon us, as it arifes from more than a XXI. “ Angle principle. ”
The article prefixed to beauty, in the beginning of this fentence, might have been omitted, and the Style have run, perhaps, to more advantage thus: “ But if beauty, or uncommonnefs, “ be joined to this grandeur — A landfcape cut “ out into rivers , woods, &c. ” feems unfeafon- ably to imply an artificial formation , and had better have been expreffed by, “diverfified with “ rivers, woods , &c. ”
“ Every thing that is lew or uncommon, <c raifes a pleafure in the imagination, becaufe it cc fills the foul with an agreeable furprife, gratifies “ its curiofity and gives it an idea of which it “ was not before poffefied. We are, indeed, fo “ often converfant with one fet of objecls, and Ci tired out with fo many repeated fliows of the fame things, that whatever is new or uncom- “ mon contributes a little to vary human life, and cc to divert our minds, for a while, with the c ‘ ftrangenefs of Its appearance. It ferves us for a cc kind of refrefhment, and takes off from that cc fatiety we are apt to complain of in our ufual t£ and ordinary entertainments. ”
The Style in thefe Sentences flows in an eafy and agreeable manner. A fevere critic might point out fome expreffions that would bear being retrenched. But this would alter the genius and character of Mr. Addifon’s Style. We muft always remember , that good compofition admits of being carried on under many different forms. Style

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N' 412. 85
mult not be reduced to one precife ftandard. One writer may be as agreeable, by a pleafing diffufenefs, when the fubject bears, and his genius prompts it, as another by a concife and forcible manner. It is fit, however, to obferve, that, in the beginning of thofe Sentences which we have at prefent before us, the phrafe, “ raifes “ a pleafure in the imagination,” is unqueltion- ably too flat and feeble, and might eafily be amended , by faying, “ affords pleafure to the imagina- “ tion;” and towards the end, there are two of s , which grate harfhly on the ear , in that phrafe , c ‘ takes off from that fatiety we are apt to “ complain of; ” where the correction is as eafily made as in the other cafe, by fubftituting, “ di- “ minilhes that fatiety of which we are apt to “ complain. ” Such inftances flrow the advantage of frequent reviews of what we have written , in order to give proper correclnefs and polifh to our Language.
6 ‘ It is this which bellows charms on a monfter, “ and makes even the imperfections of nature pleafe “ us. It is this that recommends variety where “ the mind is every inftant called off to fome- ' c thing new , and the attention not fuffered to “ dwell too long, and wafte itfelf on any par- cc ticular object. It is this likewife , that improv- “ es what is great or beautiful, and makes it cc afford the mind a double entertainment.
Still the Style proceeds with perfpicuity, grace, and harmony. The full and ample affertion , with which each of thefe Sentences is introduced , fre-
G 3
E C T.
XXI.

86 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c T. quent, on many occafions, with our author, is XXL here proper and feafonable; as it was his intention to magnify, as much as poffible, the effeds of novelty and variety, and to draw our attention to them. His frequent ufe of that , inftead of which, is another peculiarity of his Style; but, on this occafion in particular , cannot be much commended, as, it is this ■which , feems, in every view, to be better than it is this that , three times repeated. I muft, likewife , take notice , that the antecedent to, it is this , when critically confidered , is not altogether proper. It refers, as we difcover by the fenfe, to -whatever is new or uncommon. But as it is not good language to fay, whatever is new hcjiows charms on a monjier, one cannot avoid thinking that our Author had done* better to have begun the firft of thefe three Sentences, with faying, It is novelty which hejiowis charms on a monjier , He.
cc Groves, fields, and meadows, are at any tc feafon of the year pleafant to look upon ; but “ never fo much as in the opening of the Spring, “ when they are all new and frelh , with their “ firft glofs upon them , and not yet too much C£ accuftomed and familiar to the eye.”
In this expreffipn , “ never fo much as in the c ‘ opening of the Spring,” there appears to be a fmall error in grammar ; for when the confiruc- tion is filled up, it muft be read, never fo much pleafant. Had he, to avoid this, faid, never fo much fo, the grammatical error would have been prevented, but the language would have been awk; ward. Better to have faid , “ but never fo agrees

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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 4 t 2 . 87 •
“ able as in the opening of the Spring. We rea- L E c T dily fay, the eye is accuftomed to objects, but XXI. to fay, as our Author has done at the clofe of the Sentence , that objeds are aiMuftomed to the. eye , can fcarcely be allowed in a profe compo- fition.
" For this reafon , there is nothing that more “ enlivens a profpedthan rivers, jetteaus, or falls “ of water, where the feene is perpetually fhifting “ and entertaining the fight, every moment, with “ femething that is new. We are quickly tired “ with looking at hills and vallies, where every “ thing continues fixed and fettled in the fame
place and pofture, but find our thoughts a “ little agitated and relieved at the fight of’fuch “ objedrs as are ever in motion , and Aiding away “ from beneath the eye of the beholder.’'
The firft of thefe fentences is connected in too loofe a manner with that which immediately preceded it. When he fays, “For this reafon , there “ is nothing that more enlivens, &c.” we are
entitled to look for the reafon, in what he had juft before faid. But there we find no reafon for what he is now going to affert, except that groves and meadows are moft pleafant in the Spring.
We know that he has been fpeaking of the pleafure produced by Novelty and Variety , and our minds naturally recur to this, as the reafon here alluded to; but his language does not properly exprefs it. It is , indeed , one of the defeds of this amiable writer, that his fentences are often too negligently conneded with one another. His
G 4 4

88 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
LecT. meaning, upon the whole, we gather with eafe XXI. from the tenour of his difcourfe. Yet this negligence prevents his fenfe from flunking us with that force ai<Pd evidence, which a more accurate juncture of parts would have produced. Bating this inaccuracy, thele two fentences, efpecially the latter , are remarkably elegant and beautiful. The clofe, in particular, is uncommonly fine, and carries as much expreffive harmony as the language can admit. It feems to paint , what he is defcribing, at once to the eye and the ear.— u Such objeds as are ever in motion, and Aiding cc away from beneath the eye of the beholder.” — Indeed , notwithstanding thofe fmall errors , which, the 'ftrictnefs of critical examination obliges me to point out , it may be fafely pronounced , that the two paragraphs which we have now confi- dered in this paper , the one concerning greatnefs, and the other concerning novelty, are extremely worthy of Mr. Addifon , and exhibit a Style, which they who can fuccefsfully imitate, may efteem themfclves happy.
“ But there is nothing that makes its way more “ diredly to the foul than Beauty, which imme- “ diately diffufes a fecret fatisfadion and com- “ placeny through the imagination, and gives a tc finifhing to any thing that is great or uncom- “ mon. The very firfl; difcovery of it ftrikes the “ mind with an inward joy, and fpreadsacheer- “ fuinefs and delight through all its faculties.”
Some degree of verboflty may be here difcovered, and plirafes repeated, which are

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N’ 412. 89
itka
little more than the echo of one another; fuch L e c t.
ufmg fatisfadtion and complacency XXI. the imagination —- linking; the mind
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readily admit that this full and flowing Style, even though it carry fome redundancy, is not unfuitable to the gaiety of the fubjedt on which the author is entering, and is more allowable here, than it would have been on fome other occafions.
“.There is not, perhaps, any real beauty or “ deformity more in one piece of matter than ano- “ ther ; becaufe we might have been fo made; “ that whatever now appears loathfome to us , “ might have Ihcgvn itfelf agreeable; but we find, “ by experience , that there are feveral modifica- “ tions of matter , which the mind, without any “ previous conflderation , pronounces at firft fight “ beautiful or deformed.”
In this fentence there is nothing remarkable, in any view, to draw our attention. We may ob- ferve only, that the word more , towards the beginning , is not in its proper place , and that the prepofition in , is wanting before another. The phrafe ought to have flood thus — “ Beauty or “ deformity in one piece of matter, more than in “ another.
“Thus we fee, that every different fpecies of “ fenfible creatures has its different notions of “ Beauty, and that each of them is moft affedted “ with the beauties of its own kind. This is

HE
L E C T.
XXI.
90 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
9
“ no where more remarkable, than in birds of “ the fame fhape and proportion , when we often “ fee the male determined in his courtfhip by “ the fingle grain or tincture of a feather, and “ never difcovering any charms but in the colour “ of its fpecies.”
Neither is there here any particular elegance or felicity of language. — Different fenfe of Ikautj would have been a more proper expreffion to bare been applied to irrational creatures, than as it ftands , different notions of Beauty. In the clofe of the fecond Sentence , when the Author fays , colour of its fpecies, he is guilty of a confiderable inaccuracy in changing the gender, as he had faid in the'fame Sentence, that the male -was determined^ his courtship. ^
“There is a fecond kind of Beauty, that we “ find in the feveral produ&s of art and nature, “ which does not work in the imagination with dm “ warmth and violence , as the beauty that appears “ in our proper fpecies, but is apt, however, to “ raife in us a fecret delight, and a kind of fond-
“ nefs for the places or objects in which we dif-
< C •
cover it.
Still , I am forry to fay, we find little to praife, As in his enunciation of the fubjedt, when beginning the [former paragraph, he appeared to have been treating of Beauty in general , in dif- tincfion from greatnefs or novelty; this feconl kind of Beauty of which he here fpeaks, come; upon us in a fort of furprize, and it is only by degrees tye learn , that formerly he had 110 more
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OF THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 412. 91
ife in view than the beauty which the different fpecies 1 wef of fenfible creatures find in one another. This irtftij fecond kind of Beauty, he fays , we find in the fever al ither. produBs of art and nature. He undoubtedly means thecti not in all, but in jeveral of the produBs of art and nature-, and ought fo to have expreffed himfelf; r els and in the place of products , to have ufed alfo :oft the more proper word, produBions. When he onto! adds , that this kind of Beauty “ does not work in than; “ the imagination with that warmth and violence it dot “ as the beauty that appears in our proper fpecies ays^ the language would certainly have been more pure able and elegant, if he hadfaid, that it “does not work dfc“ upon the imagination with fitch warmth and 'mt . tc violence, as the beauty that appears in our own fpecies.
t j, al “This confifts either in the gaiety, or variety i ra; “ of colours, in the fymmetry and proportion of lwt l| “ parts, in the arrangement and difpofition of bout^ “ dies , or in a juft mixture and concurrence of ml “ all together. Among thefe feveral kinds of ,d 0 {: “ Beauty, the eye takes moft delight in colours, btt To the language here, I fee no objection that can be made.
etop ** no Av ^ cre meet with a more glorious or \vk tl P^ ea ^ ln g fhow in nature, than what appears in (( the heavens at the rifing and fetting of the Sun, j E “ which is wholly made up of thofe different ^ “ ftains of light, that fhoty themfelves in clouds ? of a different fituation.
h. The chief ground of criticifm on this Sentence, o£ i$ the disjointed fituation of the relative -which .
©
E C T
XXI.

L E C T.
XXI.
9
92 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Grammatically, it refers to the rijlng and Jetting of the Sun. But the Author meant, that it fliould refer to theJbene which appears in the heavens at that time. It is too common among Authors, when they are writing without much care, to make fuch particles as this, and -which , refer not to any particular antecedent word, but to the tenour of fome phrafe, or perhaps the fcope of fome whole Sentence, which has gone before. This practice faves them trouble in marfhallinj their words, and arranging a period: but, though it may leave their meaning intelligible, yet it renders that meaning much lefs perfpicuous, determined, and precife, than it might otherwifehave been. The error 1 have pointed out, might have been avoided by a fmall alteration in the conftructioi of the Sentence, after fome fuch manner as this: “We “ nowhere meet with a more glorious and pleafing “ fhow in nature, than what is formed in the heavens “ at the rifmg and fetting of the Sun , by tie “ different ftains of light which fhow themfelves “ in clouds of different fituations. Our author writes, in clouds of a different Jituafion , by which he means, clouds that differ in fituation from each other. But, as this is neither the obvious nor grammatical meaning of his words , it wasneceffa- ry to change the expreffion, as I have done,into the plural number. •
“ For this reafon, we find the poets, who are
always addreffing themfelves to the imagination, “ borrowing more of their epithets from colours ? than from any other topic.”
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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 413. 93
DF
■T* On this Sentence nothing occurs, except a re- L e c t. 11 mark fimilar to what was made before, of loofe XXI, eitt: connection with the Sentence which precedes. For though he begins with faying , Fr this reafon ,
IC ® the foregoing Sentence, which was employed rf k about the clouds and the Sun , gives no reafon for lut ® the general prcpofition he now lays down. The fop reafon to which he refers, was given twoSenten- ie k ces before, when he obferved that the eye takes Hr & more delight in colours than in any other beauty; hi and it was with that Sentence that the prefent > eti: one fhould have flood immediately connected, h : “ As the F'ancy delights in every thing that is
wi!;. “ great, flrange, or beautiful, and is flill more iigk. “ pleafed , the more it finds of thefe perfections nib “ in the fame objtCt, fo it is capable of receiving :his- “ a new fatisfaction by the affiftance of another dpk “ fenfe.”
bek Another fenfe here, means grammatically, another A fenfe than Fancy. For there is no other thing in the the period to which this expreffion , another fenfe , hi can at all be oppofed. He had not for fome time bv T made mention of any fenfe whatever. He- forgot fios to add, what was undoubtedly is his thoughts,
)Vi05 another fenfe than that of fight.
?2 sK “ Thus any continued found, as the mufic of Jos sc birds, or a fall of water, awakens every moment “ the mind of the beholder , and makes him more 5 t; “ attentive to the feveral beauties of the place 3 n ;S “ which lie before him. Thus, if there arifes a m ct “ fragrancy of fmells or perfumes, they heighten “ the pleafures of the imagination, and make

L E C T
XXL
94 CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &c.
“ even the colours and verdure of the landfcape “ appear more agreeable; for the ideas of both “ fenfes recommend each other, and are pleafantet a together, than when they enter the mindfepa. “ rately: as the different colours of a picture, “ when they are well-difpofed, fet off one another, £c and receive an additional beauty from the ad- cc vantage of their fituation.
Whether Mr. Addifon’s theory here be juft or not, may be queftioned. A continued found, fuch as that of a fall of water, is fo far from awakening, every moment, the mind of the beholder , that nothing is more likely to lull him afleep, It may , indeed , pleafe the imagination , and heighten the beauties of the feene; but it produces this effed, by a foothing, not«by an awakening influence. With regard to the Style, nothing appears exceptionable. The flow, both of lam guage and of ideas, is very agreeable. The Author continues, to the end, the fame pleafing train of thought, which had run through the reft of the Paper : and leaves us agreeably employed in comparing together different degrees of Beauty,
1
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LECTURE XXII
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CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE iere l; STYLE IN N\ 413. OF THE SPEC- uedfe TAT OR.
a fci:
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him . cc JL HOUGH in yeflerday’s Paper we confidered ado: “ how every thing that is great, new or beauti- itpn “ ful, is apt to affect the imagination with plea- ami “ fure, we muft own , that it is impoffible for : jj “ us to affign the neceffary caufe of this pleafure; jothe “ becaufe we know neither the nature of an aljk “ idea, nor the fubftance of a human foul, which ujp. “ might help us to difeover the conformity or jo},“ difagreeablenefs of the one to the other; and, pgj. “ therefore, for want of fuch alight, all that i (,{]], “ we can do in fpeculations of this kind, is, to “ reflect on thofe operations of the foul that <c are mod agreeable, and to range, under “ their proper heads, w'hatis pleafing or difpleaf- cc ing to the mind, without being able to trace a out the feveral neceffary and efficient caufes “ from whence the pleafure or difpleafure arifes. This Sentence, confidered as an introductory one, muff be acknowledged to be very faulty. An introductory Sentence ihould never contain
L e c T. XXII.

9 6 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L E c T. any thing that can in any degree fatigue or puzzle XXII. the reader. When an Author is entering on a new branch of his fubjedt, informing us of what he has done , and what he purpofes farther to do, we naturally expect that he Ihould exprefs himfelf in the fimpleft and mod perfpicuous manner poffible. But the Sentence now before us is crowded and indiftinct; containing three feparate proportions, which, as I lhall afterwards Ihow, required feparate Sentences to have unfolded them. Air. Addifon’s chief excellency, as a writer, lay in defcribing and painting. There he is great; but in methodifmg and reafoning, he is not fo eminent. As befides the general fault of prolixity and indiftindtnefs , this Sentence contains feveral inaccuracies, I will be obliged to enter into a minute difcuffion of its ftructure and parts; a difcuffion, which to many readers will appear tedious, and which therefore they will naturally pafs over; but which, to thofe who are ftudying compofition , I hope may prove of fome benefit.
Though in yejlcr day’s Paper ivc conf.dered — The import of though is, notwithstanding that. When it appears in the beginning of a Sentence, its relative generally is yet : and it is employed to warn us, after we have been informed of fome truth, that we are not' to infer from it fome other thing which we might perhaps have expect- ed to follow : as, cc Though virtue be the only ft road to liappinefs, yet it does not permit the (C unlimited gratification of pur defires. ” Now
it

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413. 97
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it is plain, that there was no fuch oppofition Lect, between the fubjedt of yefterday’s Paper, and XXII. what the author is now going to fay, between his averting a fact, and his not being able to affign the caufe of that fact, as rendered the ufe of this adverfative particle though , either necef- fary or proper in the introduction, — We < onfider- ed how everything that is great , new , nr beautiful, is apt to off-fl the imagination with pleafure, —
The adverb how fignifies , either the means by which , or the manner in which, fomething is done. But, in truth, neither one nor other of thefe had been confidered by our Author. He had illuftrated the fact alone, that they do affect the imagination with pleafure ; and , with refpedt to the quomodo, or the how , he is fo far from having confidered it, that he is juft now going to fhow that it cannot be explained, and that we muft reft contented with the knowledge of the fact alone, and of its purpofe or final caufe. — We muft own , that it is imnoffible for us to afftgn the neceffary caufe (he means , what is more commonly called the efficient caujc ) of this pleafure , becaufe we know neither the nature of an idea , nor the fubftance of a human foul. — The fubftance of a human foul is certainly a very uncouth expreffion, and there appears no reafon why he fhould have varied from the word nature , which would have equally applied to idea and to foul.
Which might help us, our Author proceeds , to difeover the conformity Or difagreeablenefs of the one to the other. —.The which, at the beginning of
Vol. II. H

■to*'-
93 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c t. this member of the period, is furely ungramma- XXII. tical, as it is a relative, without any antecedent in all the Sentence. It refers, by the conftruction, to the nature of an idea, or the JubJicnce of ahuman Joul; but this is by no means the reference which the Author intended. His meaning is, that our knowing the nature of an idea, and the fubftance cf a human foul, might help us to difcover the conformity or difagreeablenefs of the one to the other : and therefore the fyntax abfolutely required the word knowledge to have been inferted as the antecedent to which. I have before remarked, and the remark deferves to be repeated, that nothing is a more certain ftgn of carelefs compoft- tion than to make fuch relatives as which, not refer to any precife expreffion, but carry a loofe and vague relation to the general ftrain of what had gone before. When our fentences run into this form, we may be allured there is fomething in the conftrudlion of them that requires alteration. The phrafe of difcovering the conformity or difagreeablenefs of the one to the other is likewife exceptionable; for difagreeabienejs neither forms a proper contraft to the other word, conformity, nor ex- preffes what the author meant here (as far as any meaning can be gathered from his words ), that is, a certain unfuitablenefs or want of conformity to the nature of the foul. To fay the truth, this member of the fentence had much better have been omitted altogether. “ The conformity or “ difagreeablenefs of an idea to the fubftance “ of a human foul, ” is a phrafe 'which conveys

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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413. 99
to the mind no diftinct iror intelligent conception whatever. The author had before given a fuffi- cient reafon for his not affigning the efficient caufe of thofe pleafures of the imagination, becaufe we neither know the nature of our own ideas nor of the foul : and this farther difeuffion about the conformity or difagreeablenefs of the nature of the one, to the fubftance of the other, affords no clear nor ufeful illuftration.
And therefore , the fentence goes on, “for want “ of fuch a light, all that we can do in fpecula- “ tions of this kind, is to refled on thofe oper- “ ations of the foul that are mold agreeable, “ and to range under their proper heads what “ is pleafing or difpleafing to the mind.—” The two expreffions in the beginning of this member, therefore , and for voant of fuch a [light., evidently refer to the fame thing, and are quite fynonymous. One or other of them, therefore, had better have been omitted. Inftead of to range under their proper heads , the language would have been .fmoother, if their had been left out;— “without “ being able to trace out the feveral necelfary “ and efficient caufes from whence the pleafure “ or difpleafure arifes.” The expreffion, from rphence , though feemingly juftified by very frequent ufage , is taxed by Dr. Johnfon as a vicious mode of fpeech; feeing sAv-nce alone, has all the power of from -vrh-nce, which therefore appears an unneceffary reduplication. I am inclined to think, that the whole of this laid member of the fentence had better have been dropped. The
H 3
L E C T.
XXII.

100
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L E c t. period might have clofed with full propriety, XXII. at the words, pleafmg or difp leafing to the mind. All that follows, fuggefts no idea that had not been fully conveyed in the preceding part of the fentence. It is a mere expletive adjedion which might be omitted , not only without injury to the meaning, but to the great relief of a fentence already labouring under the multitude of words.
Having now finilhed the analyfis of this long fentence, I am inclined to be of opinion, that if, on any occafion, we can adventure to alter Mr. Addifon’s Style, it may be done to advantage here , by breaking down this period in the following manner: “In yefterday’s paper, we “ have fhown that every thing which is great, “ new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the ima- “ gination with pleafure. ‘We mult own, that it “ is impoffible for us to affign the efficient caufe “ of this pleafure, becaufe we know not the “ nature either of an idea, or of the human “ foul. All that we can do, therefore, in “ fpeculations of this kind, is to reflect on the “ operations of the foul, which are moll agreeable, “ and to range under proper heads , what is “ pleafing or difpleafxng to the mind.’’—We proceed now to the examination of the following fentences.
“ Final caufes lie more bare and open to our “ obfervation, as there are often a great variety “ that belong to the fame effed; and thefe, though “ they are not altogether fo fatisfadory , are “ generally more ufeful than the other, as they

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413. 101
prop
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ier,s ;
‘ e give ns greater occafion of admiring the good- Lect, “ nefs and wifdom of the firft contriver. XXII,
Though fome difference might be traced between the fenfe of hare and open, yet as they are here employed, they are fo nearly fynonym- ous. that one of them was fufficient. It would have been enough to have faid, . him l caufes lie more open to obfervation .—One can fcarcely help obferving here, that the obvioufnefs of final caufes does not proceed, as Mr. Addifon fuppofes, from a variety of them concurring in the fame effect, which is often not the cafe; but from our being able to afeertain more clearly, from our own experience, the congruity of a final caufe with the circumftances of our condition ; whereas the conftituent parts of fub|eds, whence efficient caufes proceed , lie for mold part beyond the reach of our faculties. But as this remark refpects the thought more than the ftyle, it is fufficient for us to obferve, that when he fays,
,s a great variety that belong to the fame effedt,” the expreffion, ftrictly confidered, is not altogether proper. The acceffory is properly faid to belong to the principal; not the principal to the acceffory. Now an effedt is confidered as the acceffory or confequence of its caufe; and therefore , though we might well fay a variety of effects belong to the fame caufe, it feems not fo proper to fay, that a variety of caufes belong to the fame effect.
“ One of the final caufes of our delight in,
“■ any thing that is great may be this: The
H 3

102
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Lect, “ Supreme Author of our being has fo formed XXII. “ the foul of man, that nothing but himfelf can “ be its Jaft, adequate, and proper happinefs. “ Becaufe, therefore, a great part of our happinefs “ mud arife from the contemplation of his being, “ that he might give our fouls a juft relilh of “ fuch a contemplation, he has made them natur- “ ally delight in the apprehenfion of what is “ great or unlimited.”
The concurrence of two conjunctions, bccaufe , therefore, forms rather a harfh and unpleafing beginning of the laft of thefe Sentences ; and, in the clofe, one would think, that the Author might have devifed a happier word than appreben- Jton, to be applied to what is unlimited. But that I may not be thought hypercritical, I fhall make no farther obfervation on thefe Sentences.
“ Our admiration, which is a very pleafmg “ motion of the mind, immediately rifes at the “ Confideration of any objedt that takes up a “ good deal of room in the fancy, and, by “ confequence, will improve into the higheft “ pitch of aftonifhment and devotion, when we “ contemplate his nature, that is neither circum- “ fcribed by time nor place, nor to be compre- “ hended by the largeft capacity of a created “ being.”
Ht re , our Author’s Style rifes beautifully along with the thought. However inaccurate he may fometimes be when coolly philofophifing, yet, whenever his fancy is awakened by defcrip- tioit, or his mind, as here , warmed with fome
•

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413.
103
glowing fentiment, he prefently becomes great, L and difcovers, in his language, the hand of a mafter. Every one mull obferve, with what felicity this period is conftructed. The words are long and majeftic. The members rife one above another, and conduct the fentence, at laft, to that full and harmonious clofe, which leaves upon the mind fuch an impreffion, as the author intended to leave, of fomething uncommonly great, awful, and magnificent.
“ He has annexed a fecret pleafure to the idea “ of any thing that is new or uncommon, that ‘ he might encourage us in the purfuit of know- “ ledge , and engage us to fearch into the “ wonders of creation; for every new idea brings “ fuch a pleafure along with it, as rewards the “ pains we have taken in its acquifition , and,
“ confequently, ferves as a motive to put us “ upon frefli difcoveries.
The Language, in this Sentence, is clear and precife : only, we cannot but obferve, in this , and the two following Sentences, which are conftrudted in the fame manner, a ftrong proof of Mr. Addifon’s unreafonable partiality to the particle that , in preference to which — “ annexed “ a fecret pleafure to the idea of any thing that “ is new or uncommon, that he might encourage “ us. ’’—Here the firft that , Hands for a relative pronoun, and the next that , at the diftance only of four words, is a conjunction. This confufion of founds ferves to embarrafs Style. JVluch better, Lure, to have faid, “ the idea of any thing which
'H 4

t-E G T.
XXII.
\
Io4 critical examination of
“ is new or uncommon, that he might encour.
age. The expreflion with which the fentence concludes—“a motive to put us upon frefli “ difcoveries” — is flat, and in forne degree, improper. He fhould have laid, “ put us upon ‘‘ making freflh difcoveries or rather, “ferves as “ a motive inciting us to make frefli difcoveries.” “ He has made every thing that is beautiful in our own fpecies, pleafant, that all creatures “ might be tempted to multiply their kind, and “ fill the world with inhabitants; for, ’tis very remarkable, that wherever nature is croft in “ the production of a monfter (the refult of any “ unnatural mixture) the breed is incapable of “ propagating its likenefs, and of founding a <<f new order of creatures; fo that, unlefs all “ animals were allured by the beauty of their own fpecies, generation would be at an end, and the earth unpeopled.”
Here we muft, however reluctantly, return to the employment of cenfure: for this is among the worft Sentences our Author ever wrote, and contains a variety of blemifhes. Taken as a whole, it is extremely deficient in unity. Inftead of a complete propofition, it contains a fort of chain of reafoning, the links of which are fo ill put together, that it is with difficulty we can trace the connection ; and, unlefs we take the trouble of perufing it feveral times, it will leave nothing on the mind but an indiftinCt and obfcure impreffion.
Bt SluES this general fault, refpeCting the meaning, it contains fome great inaccuracies in

)F
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413. 105
tcncc:. Language. Firft, God’s having made every thing which is beautiful in our own fpccies (that is in the 1011 human fpecies) pleafant, is certainly no motive : for nil oeatures, for beafts, and birds, and fifties,
tu?ll f' to multiply their kind. What the Author meant to fen-ti, f a y 5 though he has exprelfed himfelf in fo erro- toveris neous a manner, undoubtedly was, “ In all the iutilul. “ different orders of creatures , he has made creatr “ every thing, which is beautiful, in their own iind,!; « fpecies, pleafant, that all creatures might be » t!S vr cc tempted to multiply their kind. ” The fecond u etc.: member of the Sentence is ftill worfe. For, it flltoir is very remarkable, that ■wherever nature is croft in capable the production of a monfler, £«?c. The reafon which nmdffi! he here gives, for the preceding affertion , inti- unlefs: mated by the cafual particle for , is far from yofife being obvious. The connection of thought is cane not readily apparent, and would have required an intermediate ftep, to render it diftinct. But, :lv,ret what does he mean, by nature being croft in the si ;he production of a monfter? One might underftand note,i him to mean, ct difappointed in its intention of asm!; producing a monfter, ” as when we fay, one is nfteada croft in his purfuits, we mean , that he is difap- rt ofcL pointed in accomplifhing the end which he ■ foil: intended. Had he faid, croft by the production of ecinci a monfter, the fenfe would have been more intel- etrofi b'gible. But the proper rectification of the expreflion nothin; would be to infert the adverb as, before the lupief: prepolition in , after this manner —■wherever nature ; 15 croft , as in the production of a monfter, — the , cur , i . infertion of this particle as , throws fo much
L E C T. XXII.

xo6 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
THE:
L E C T. XXII.
light on the conftru&ion of this member of the fentenee, that I am very much inclined to believe, it had flood thus, originally , in our Author's manufeript; and that the prefent reading is a typographical error, which, having crept into the firfl edition of the Spectator, ran through all the fubfequent ones.
“ In the laft place, he has made every thing “ that is beautiful, in all other objects, pleafant, “ or rather has made fo many objects appear “ beautiful , that he might render the whole “ creation more gay and delightful. He has given, “ almoft, every thing about us the power of “ raifing an agreeable idea in the imagination; “ fo that it is impoffible for us to behold his “ works with coldnefs or indifference, and to “ furvey fo many beauties without a fecret fads- “ fadion and complacency ”.
The idea, here , is fo juft, and the Language, fo clear , flowing , and agreeable , that , to remark any diffufenefs which may be attributed to thefe Sentences , would be juftly efteemed hypercritical.
“ Things would make but a poor appearance “ to the eye, if we faw them only in their proper “ figures and motions: and what reafon can we “ aflign for their exciting in us, many of thofe “ ideas which are different from any thing that “ exifts in the objedts themfelves (for fuch are “ light and colours), were it not to add fuper- “ numerary ornaments to the univerfe , and make “ it more agreeable to the imagination ? ”
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OF THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 413. 107
croj, Our Author is now entering on a theory, )b e | ; , which he is about to illuftrate, if not \yith much Aui philofophical accuracy , yet,' with great beauty ing of fancy, and glow of expreffion. A ftrong rept inftance of his want of accuracy, appears in the th manner in which he opens the fubjecft. For what meaning is there in things exciting in us many of thofe ideas -which are different from any thing that exifts in the objects? No one, fure, ever imagined, that our ideas exift in the.objeds. Ideas, it is agreed on all hands, can exift no where but in the mind. What Mr. Locke’s pbilofophy teaches, p 0P and what our Author Ihould have laid ," is, jgjuj. exciting in us many ideas of qualities which are different )ehc f rom an y thing that exifis in the objects. The un- , graceful parenthefts which follows, for fuch are cret tight and colours, had far better have been avoided, and incorporated with the reft of the Sentence, ^ in this manner: —“ exciting in us many ideas of “ qualities, fuch as light and colours, which
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“ We are every where entertained with pleafing “ fhows, and apparitions. We difcover imaginary “ glories in the heavens, and in the earth, and “ fee fome.of this viftonary beauty poured out “ upon the whole creation : but what a rough “ unfightly fketch of nature fhould we be enter- “ tained with , did all her colouring difappear, and the feveral diftinctions of light and fliade “ vanifti ? In fhort, our fouls are delightfully “ loft and bewildered in a pleafing delufton; and
L e’ c t. XXII.

108 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
1 1
Lect.
XXII.
‘‘ we walk about like the enchanted hero of a “ romance, who fees beautiful cables, woods, “ and meadows; and, at the fame time, hears “ the warbling of birds , and the purling of ftreams; “ but-, upon the finifhing of fome fecret fpell, “ the fantaftic fcene breaks up , and the difcon- “ folate knight finds himfelf on a barren heath, “ or in a folitary defart. ”
After having been obliged to point out feveral inaccuracies,* I return with much more pleafure to the difplay of beauties , for which we have now full fcope; for thefe two Sentences are fuch as do the higheft honour to Mr. Ad- difon’s talents as a writer. Warmed with the idea he had laid hold of, his delicate fenfibilitjr to the beauty- of nature, is finely difplayedin the illuftration of it. The Style is flowing and full, without being too difrufe. It is flowery, but not gaudy; elevated, but not oftentatious.
Amidst this blaze of beauties, it is necedary for us to remark one or two inaccuracies.- When it is faid , towards the clofe of the firft of thole Sentences, “ what a rough unfightly (ketch al “ nature fhould we "be entertained with” the prepofition -coith , fhould have been placed at the beginning, rather than at the end of this member; and the word entertained , is both improperly applied here, and carelefly repeated from the former part of the Sentence. It was there employed according to its more common ufe, as relatin' to agreeable objects. “ We are every where “ entertained with pleafing fhows. ” -Here, it
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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 413. I09
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would have been more proper to have changed the phrafe , and faid, “ with what a rough “ unfightly fketch of nature fhould we be pre- fented. ”—-At the clofe of the fecond Sentence, where it is faid, “ the fantaftic fcene breaks up,” the expreffion is. lively , but not altogether juftifiable. An affembly breaks upi a fcene clcfes or dfappcars.
Bating thefe two flight inaccuracies, the Style, here, is not only corredt, but perfectly elegant. The molt ftriking beauty of the paffage arifes from the happy fimile which the Author employs, and the fin,e illuflration which it gives to the thought. The enchanted hero , the beautiful cajlles , the fantaJUc fcene, the fecret fpell, the difconfolate knight , are terms chofen with the utmoft felicity , and flrongly recal all thofe romantic ideas with which he intended to amufe our imagination. Few authors are more fuccefsful in their imagery than Air. Addifon; and few pallages in his works, or in thofe of any author, are more beautiful and pidlurefque, than that on which we have been commenting.
“ It is not improbable, that fomething like “ this may be the ftate of the foul after its firft “ feparation , in refpect of the images it will “ receive from matter; though, indeed, the “ ideas of colours are fo pleating and beautiful “ in the imagination, that it is poffible the foul “ will not be deprived of them, but, perhaps, “ find them excited by fome other occafional “ caufe, as they are, at prefent, by the different.
L e e t. XXII.

110
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c t. “ impreffions of the fubtile matter on the organ XXII. “ of fight. ”
As all human things, after having attained the fummit, begin to decline, we muft acknowledge, that, in this Sentence, there is a fenfible falling off from the beauty of what went before. It is broken, and deficient in unity. Its parts are not fufficiently compacted. It contains, befides, fome faulty exprefiions. When it is faid, “ fome- “ thing like this may be the Rate of the foul,” to the pronoun this , there is no determined antecedent; it refers to the general import of the preceding defcription , which , as I have feveral times remarked , always renders Style clumfy and inelegant, if not obfcure — “ the Rate of the “ foul after its firR feparation,” appears to bean incomplete phrafe , and firji , feems an ufelefs, and even an improper word. Adore diRind if he had faid,— “Rate of the foul immediately on “ its feparation from the body ”:— the adverb perhaps , is redundant, after having juR before faid, it is pojftbie.
“ I have here fuppofed, that my reader is “ acquainted with that great modern difeovery, “ which is, at prefent, univerfally acknowledged “ by all the enquirers into natural philofophy; “ namely, that light and colours, as apprehended “ by the imagination, are only ideas in the mind, “ and not qualities that have any exiRence in “ matter. As this is a truth which has been prov- * ed inconteRibly by many modern philofophers,
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Of
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N'413.
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“ and is, indeed, one of the fineft fpeculadons “ in that fcience, if the Englifh Reader would “ fee the notion explained at large, he may “ find it in the eighth chapter of the fecond book “ of Air. Locke’s Effay on the Human Under- “ ftanding. ”
In thefe two concluding Sentences, the Author, haftening to finifh , appears to write rather care- lefly. In the firft of them, a manifeft tautology occurs, when he fpeaks of what is “ univerfally “ acknowledged by all enquirers. ” In the fecond, when he calls “ a truth which has been incon- “ teftibly proved; ” firft , a [peculation , and afterwards, a notion , the Language furely is not very accurate. When he adds , “ one of the fineft “ fpeculadons in that fcience,” it does not, at firft, appear what fcience he means. One would imagine, he meant to refer to modern pbilofopbers ; for natu al pbtiofopby (to which, doubtlefs, he refers) Hands at much too great a diftance to be the proper or obvious antecedent to the pronoun that. The circumftance towards the clofe, “if “ the Englifh Reader would fee the notion “ explained at large, he may find it, ” is properly taken notice of by the Author of the Elements of Criticifm , as wrong arranged , and is rectibed thus : “ the Englifh Reader , if he “ would fee the notion explained at large, may “ find it, &c. ”
In concluding the Examination of this Paper, we may obferye, that, though not a very long
L e c T XXII.

xi2 CRITICAL EXAMINATION, & c .
Lect. one, it exhibits a ftriking view both of the XXII. beauties , and the defects , of Mr. Addifons Style. It contains fome of the beft, and fome of the worft Sentences, that are to be found in his works. But upon the whole, it is an agreeable and elegant Effay.

LECTURE XXIII.
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE STYLE IN N\ 4 !4- OF THE SPECTATOR.
« IF we confider the works of nature and Art, e ‘ as they are qualified to entertain the imagina- “ tion, we fhall find the' laft very defective in “ comparifon of the former; for though they “ may fometimes appear as beautiful or ftrange, “ they can have nothing in them of (hat vaftnefs “ and immenfity which afford fo great an enter- ^unment to the mind of the beholder.
I HAD occafion formerly to obferve , that an introductory Sentence fhould always be fhort and fimple , and contain no more matter than is neceffary for opening the fubject. This fentence leads to a repetition of this obfervation, as it contains both an affertion and the proof of that affertion ; two things which , for the mod part, butefpecially at firft fetting out, are with more advantage kept feparate. It would certainly have been better, if this Sentence had contained only the affertion, ending with the word former; and if a new one VOL. II. I
t E C T
XXIII.
/

u 4 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c t. had then begun, entering on the proofs of Na-
XXIII. ture’s fuperiority over Art, which is the fubjecl continued to the end of the paragraph. The pro- per divifion of the period I Ihail point out, after having firft made a few obfervations which occur on different parts of it.
If n>e conjiJcr the -works — Perhaps it might have been preferable, if our Author had begun, with faying, When -we confdcr the -works . _ Dif- courfe ought always to begin , when it is poffible, with a clear propofition. The if , which is here employed, converts the Sentence into a fuppofi- tion, which is always in fome degree entangling, and proper to be ufed only when the courfe of reafoning renders it neceffary. As this obferva- tion however may, perhaps , be confidered as over - refined , and as the fenfe would have remained the fame in either form of expreffion, I do not mean to charge our Author with any error on this account. We cannot abfolve him from inaccuracy in what immediately followj- the -works of Nature and Art. It is the fcope of the Author throughout this whole Paper, to compare Nature and Art together, and to oppofe them in feveral views to each other. Certainly therefore, in the' beginning , he ought to have kept them as diffinct as poffible, by interpofing the prepofition , and faying the works of Nature, and of Art. As the words Hand at prefent, they would lead us to think that JreWs going to treat of thefe works, not as contrafted , but as connected; as united in forming one whole. When

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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR,N° 414. 115
f
I fpeak of Body and Soul as united in the Hu- L e man Nature, I would interpofe neither article nor X>1 prepofition between them; cc Man is compound- “ ed of Soul and Body.” But the cafe is altered, if I mean to diftinguilh them from each other; then I reprefent them as feparate ; and fay,
“ I am to treat of the interefts of the Soul, and “ of the Body. ”
Though they may fometimes appear as beautiful or f range — I cannot help confidering this as a loofe member of the period. It does not clearly appear at firft what the antecedent is to they. In reading onwards, we fee the works of Art to be meant; but from the ftrudure of the Sentence , they might be underftood to refer to the former , as well as to the lajl. In what follows, there is a greater ambiguity — may fometimes appear as beautiful or Jlrange. It is very doubtful in what fenfe we are to underftand as , in this palTage.
For, according as it is accented in reading, it may fignify, that they appear equally beautiful or firanye, to wit, with the works of Nature; and then it has the force of the Latin tarn : or it may fignity no more than that they appear in the light of beautiful andJtrange ,- and then it has the force of the Latin tanquam, without importing any com- parifon. An expreffion fo ambiguous , is always faulty; and it is doubly fo here; becaufe, if the Author intended the former fenfe, and meant (as feems molt probable) to employ as for a mark of comparifon , it was necelfary to have mentioned both the compared objecls ; whereas only one
I 3
C T
III.

ji6 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
l e c t. member of the comparifon is here mentioned,' XXIII. viz. The works of Art; and if he intended the latter fenfe , as was in that cafe fuperfluous and encumbering, and he had better have faid Amply, appear beautiful or Jirange. ' — The epithet Jirange, which Air. Addifon applies to the works of Art, cannot be praifed. Strangc -works ,. appears not by any means a happy expreffion to fignify what he here intends, which is new or uncommon.
The fentence concludes with much harmony and dignity — Cl they can have nothing in them “ of that vaftnefs and immenfity which afford fo “ great an entertainment to the mind of the be- “ holder.” There is here a fulnefs and grandeur of expreffion well fuited to the fubject; though, perhaps entertainment is not quite the proper word for expreffing the effed which vaftnefs and immenfity have upon the mind. Reviewing the ob- fervations that have been made on this period, it might, I think, with advantage, be refolved into two Sentences fomewhat after this manner: “ When we confider the works of Nature and of “ Art, as they are qualified to entertain the ima- “ gination, we ftrall find the latter very defective “ in comparifon of the former. The works of “ Art. may fometimes appear no lefs beautiful or “ uncommon than thofe of Nature ; but they can “ have nothing of that vaftnefs and immenfity “ which fo highly tranfport the mind of the be- cc holder. ”
“ The one ”, proceeds our Author in the next Sentence, may be as polite and delicate as the

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THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, 414. 117
“ other; but can never fhow herfelf fo auguft “ and magnificent in the defign.
The one and the other , in the fir ft part of this Sentence , mu ft unqueftionably refer to the t porks of Mature and of Art. For of thefe he had been fpeaking immediately before; and with reference to the plural word , works , had employed the plural pronoun they. But in the courfe .of the Sentence , he drops this conftrudlion ; and paffes very incongruoufly to the perfonification of Art — can never fhow herfelf. — To render his ftyle con- fiftent, Art , and not the works of Art , fhould have been made the nominative in this Sentence. — “ Art may be as polite and delicate as Nature, “ but can never fhow herfelf”— Polite is a term oftener applied to perfons and to manners , than to things; and is employed to fignify their being highly civilized. Polilhed, or refined . was the idea which the Author had in view. Though the general turn of this Sentence be elegant, yet, in order to render it perfect , I rnuft obferve . that the concluding words, in the defign, fhould either have been altogether omitted , or fomething fhould have been properly oppofed to them in the preceding member of the period, thus: “Art may, “ in the execution, be as polilhed and delicate “ as Nature; but, in the defign, can never fhow “ herfelf fo auguft and magnificent. ”
“ 1 here is fomething more bold and mafterly “ in the rough, carekfs ftrokes of Nature, than “ in the nice touches and embellilhments of “ Art,”
I 3
L E C T.
XXIII.

IIS CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Lect, This Sentence is perfedly happy and elegant;
XXIII. and carries , in all the expreffions, that curiofu fclicitas , for which Mr. Addifon is fo often re- markable. Bold, and mafierhj , are words applied with the utmofl propriety. The Jhokcs of Nature are finely oppofed to the touches of art ; and the rough Jirokes to the nice touches ; the former painting the freedom and eafe of Nature, and the other, the diminutive exadtnefs of art; while both are introduced before us as different performers, and their refpe&ive merits in execution very juftly contrafted with each other.
“ The beauties of the moffc ftately garden or “ palace lie in a narrow compafs, the imagination ‘■ immediately runs them over , and requires fome- “ thing elfe to gratify her ; but in the wide “ fields of Nature, the fight wanders up and down “ with confinement, and is fed with an infinite “ variety of images , without any certain Hint “ or number.
This Sentence is not altogether fo correct and elegant as the former. It carries, however, in the main, the character of our Author’s.ftyle; not ftridUy accurate, but agreeable , eafy , and unaffected; enlivened too with a flight perfoni- fication of the imagination, which gives a gaiety to the period. Perhaps it had been better , if this perfonification of the imagination , with which the Sentence is introduced, had been continued throughout, and not changed unneceffa- rily , and even improperly, into fyht , in the fecund member , which is contrary both to unity

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N’ 414. 119
and elegance. It might have flood thus — “ the “ imagination immediately runs them over, and “ requires fomething elfe to gratify her; but in “ the wide fields of Nature, fhe wanders up and “ down without confinement.” — The epithet fic.tdy , which the author ufes in the beginning of the fentence, applies with more propriety to palaces , than to gardens. The clofe of the fentence, •without any certain flint or number , may the objected to, as both fuperfluous and ungraceful. It might perhaps have terminated better in this • manner — cc fhe is fed with an infinite variety of cc images, and wanders up and down without cc confinement. ” *
c ‘ For this reafon, we always find the Poet in t£ love with a country life , where Nature appears “ in the greateft perfection and furnifhes out all “ thole fcenes that are moft apt to delight the “ imagination. ”
There is nothing in this Sentence to attract particular attention. One would think it was rather the country , than a country life, on which the remark here 'made fliould reft. A country life may be productive of fimplicity of manners. and of other virtues ; but it is to the country itfelf, that the properties here mentioned belong, of difplaying the beauties of Nature, and furnifhing thofe fcenes which delight the imagination.
“ But though there are feveral of thefe wild “ fcenes that are more delightful than any arti- “ facial fhows, yet we find the works of Nature “ ftdl more pleafant, the more they refemble thofe
I 4
, E C T.
XXIII.

52 o CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
l e c T. tf of art; for in this cafe , our pleafure rifes from
XXIII. “ a double principle ; from' the agreeablenefs of “ the objects to the eye, and from their iimili- u iude to other objects : we are pleafed, as well “ with comparing their beauties, as with furvey- “ ing them, and can reprefent them to our minds “ either as copies or as originals. Hence it is, “ that we take delight in a profpedt which is “ well laid out , arid diverfified with fields and ^ meadows , woods and rivers ; in thofe acci- “ dental landfcapes of trees, clouds, and cities,
that are fometimes found in the veins of marble, « c in the curious fretwork of rocks and grottos; “ and , in a^word, in any thing that hath fuch “ a degree of variety and regularity as may “ feem the effect of defign , in what we call s ‘ the works of chance.
The Style in the two Sentences, which corns pofe this paragraph , is fmooth and perfpicuous. It lies open in fome places to criticifm; but left the reader fhould tire of what he may confider as petty remarks, 1 fhal 1 pafs over any which thefe Sentences fuggeft; the rather too, as the idea which they prefent to us, of Nature's refembling Art, of Arts being confidered as an original, and Nature as* a copy, feems not very diftind nor well brought out, nor indeed very material to our Author’s purpofe.
c ‘ If the products of Nature rife in value, ao " cording as they more or lefs refemble thofe of Art, c< we may be fore that artificial works receive a cc greater advantage from the refemblance of fuch

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value. ^ jofeoH s rets- ice of'
THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N° 4 i 4 - 121
cc as are natural; becaufe here the fimilitude is K - not only pleafant, but the pattern more per- « fed. ”
It is neceffary. to our prefent defign, to point out two confiderable inaccuracies'which occur in this Sentence, If the produfis (he had better have faid he “ productions) of Nature rife in value, “ according as they more or lefs referable thofe cc of Art. ” — Does he mean, that thefe productions rife in value, both according as they more refemble , and as they left refemble , thofe of Art? His meaning undoubtedly is., that they rife in value only, according as they more rcjcmble them: and therefore, either thefe words, or lefs , muft be ftruck out, or the Sentence muft run thus “ productions of Nature rile or fink in value, a according as they more or lefs refemble. ” —■ The prefent conftrudion of the fentence has plainly been owing to hafty and carelefs writing.
The other inaccuracy is towards the end of the Sentence, and ferves to illuftrate a rule which I formerly gave , concerning the pofition of adverbs. The Author fays, —- “ becaufe here, ” the fimilitude is not only pleafant, but the u pattern more perfect. ” Here, by the pofition of the adverb only, we are led to imagine that he is going to give fome other property of the fimilitude, that it is not only pleafant., as he fays, but more than pleafant; it is ufeful, or, on fome account or other, valuable. Whereas, he is going to oppofe another thing to the fmilitude itfdf, and not to this property of its being pleafant j and
L E C T.
XXIII.

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
j -7 ^
Lec t. therefore, the right collocation, beyond doubt,
XXIII. was, “ becaufe here, not only the fimilitude is • ‘ pleafant, but the pattern more perfed ”: the contrail lying , not between pleafant and man ' perfect, fat between fmilitude and pattern. — Much of the clearnefs and neatnefs of Style depends oil fuch attentions as thefe.
“ The prettieft landfcape I ever faw, was one cc drawn on the walls of a dark room, which cc flood oppofite on one fide to a navigable river, Nand, on the other, to a park. The experiment “ is very common in optics.
In the description . of the landfcape which follows, Mr. Addifon is abundantly happy; but in this introduction to it, he is obfeure and in- diflind. One who had not feen the experiment of ■the Camera Obfcnra, could comprehend nothing of what he meant. And even, after we underhand yvhat he points at, we are at feme lofs, whether to underfland his defeription as of one continued landfcape, or of two different .ones , produced by the projection of two Camera Obfcuras on oppofite walls. The feene, which 1 am inclined to think Mr. Addifon here refers to, is Greenwich Park, with the prof peel of the Thames, as feen by a Camera Obfcura, which is placed in a fmall room in the upper flory of the Obfervatory; where I remember to have feen, many years ago, the whole feene here deferibed, correfponding fo much to Air. Addifon’s account of it in this paffage , that, at the time, it recalled it to ray tnemory. As the Obfervatory Hands in the middle

ONffl THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N°4T4. 123
ie y«i: D f the Park, it overlooks, from one fide, both e the river and the Park, and the objects afterwards P er k* mentioned, the fhips, the trees, and the deer,.
ad are prefented in one view, without needing any ftmu afhftance from, oppofite walls. Put into plainer ttadep language, the Sentence might run thus: “ The “ prettieft landfcape I ever faw, was one formed fawn. « by a Camera Cbfcura, a common optical inftru- roon V .« ment, on the wall of a dark room, which lavish “ overlooked a navigable river and a park, heexjt “ Here yo,u might difcover the waves and “ fluduations of the water in ftrong and proper ldfcar “ colours, with the picture of a flaip entering at ly kff one end, and failing by degrees through the Mm. “ whole piece. On another, there appeared the expert: •“ green fhadows of trees, waving to and fro 'ehend: - 5 ‘ with the wind, and herds of deer among them we it: “ in miniature, leaping about upon the wall. ” e]ofc,r Bating one or two fmall inaccuracies, this 'one cc is beautiful and lively painting. The principal n es t p inaccuracy lies in the connection of the two ■jOM e Sentences, Here , and On another. I fuppofe the , 1 arts Author meant, on one Jtde, and on another Jtde .
5 to,ii'As it ftands, another is ungrammatical, having jeTlrr nothing to which it refers. But the fluduations hsplit °f the water, the Ihip entering and failing on by ieObfe degrees, the trees waving in the wind, and the omvyC herds of deer among them leaping about, is all orrefpoc ver y elegant, and gives a beautiful conception of p. tha fcene meant to be defcribed.
“ I mull confefs the novelty of fuch a fight, £J ma 7 one occa h° n of its pieafantnefs to the
Leg t.
XXIII.

124 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
Li c t. “ imagination; but certainly the chief reafon, is XXIII, “ its nearer refemblance to Nature ; as it does “ not only, like other pictures, give the colour “ and figure, but the motions of the things it “ reprefents.
In this Sentence there is nothing remarkable,, either to be praifed or blamed. In the conclufion, inflead of the things it rcprcjcn's , the regularity of correct Style requires the things 'which it remcfnts, In the beginning, as one occafon and the chief reafon are oppofed to one another, J fhould think it better to have repeated the fame word — “ one “ reafon of its pleafantnefs to the imagination; but “ certainly the chief reafon is, &c. ”
“ We have before obferved , that there is “ generally, in Nature, fomething more grand “ and auguft than what we meet with in the cc curiofities of Art. When , therefore, we fee “ this imitated in any meafure, it gives us a “ nobler and more exalted kind of pleafure, “ than what we receive from the nicer and mote “ accurate productions of Art.
It would have been better to have avoided terminating thefe two Sentences in a manner fo fimilar to each other; curiofities of Art — productions of Art.
“ On this account, our Englifh gardens are “ not fo entertaining to the fancy as tliofe in “ France and Italy, where we fee a large extent “ of ground covered over with an agreeable “ mixture of garden and foreft, which reprefents “ every where an artificial rudenefs, much more

ON r: THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, K 8 4 t 4 . 125
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“ charming than that neatnefs and elegance which L E c T. “ we meet with in thofe of our own country. ” XXIII, The expreffion “ reprefent every where an “ artificial rudenefs”, is fo inaccurate, that I am inclined to think, what flood in Mr. Addifon’s manufeript muft have been — prefent every •where. — For the mixture of garden and foreft does not reprefent , but adually exhibits or prefents, artificial rudenefs. That mixture reprefents indeed natural ruder, efs , that is, is defigned to imitate it; but it in reality is, and pre ferns , artificial rudenefs.
e ' It might indeed be of ill confequence to the “ public, as well as unprofitable to private per- “ fons, to alienate fo much ground from pafturage “ and the plough , in many parts of a country “ that is fo well peopled and cultivated to a far “ greater advantage. But why may not a whole “ eftate be thrown into a kind of garden by “ frequent plantations, that may turn as much to “ the profit as the pleafure of the owner ? A “ marlh overgrown with willows, or a mountain “ fhaded with oaks, are not only more beautiful,
“ but more beneficial, than when they lie bare “ and unadorned. Fields of corn make a pleafant “ profped; and’if the walks were a little taken “ care of that lie between them, and the natural “ embroidery of the meadows were helped and “ improved by fome fmall additions of art, and “ the feveral rows of hedges were fet off by “ trees and flowers that the foil was capable of “ receiving a man might make a pretty landfcapc “ of his own pofleffions.

126 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF
L e c t. The ideas here are juft, and the Style is eafy XXIII. and perfpicuous, though in fome places bordering on the carelefs. In that paffage, for inftance, “ if the walks were a little taken care of that lie “ between them ” — one member is clearly out of its place, and the turn of the phrafe, a little taken care of , is vulgar and colloquial. Much better, if it had run thus — “ if a little care “ were bellowed on the walks that lie between “ them. ”
“ Writers who have given us an account of “ China, tell us, the inhabitants of that country “ laugh at the plantations of our Europeans, “ which are laid out by the rule and the line; “ becaufe , they fay % any one may place trees in “ equal rows, and uniform figures. They chufe “ rather to fhow a genius in works of this nature, “ and therefore always conceal the art by which “ they dired themfelves. They have a word, it feems, in their Language, by which they ex- “ prefs the particular beauty ol a plantation, that “ thus ftrikes the imagination at firft fight, with- “ out difeovering what it is that .has fo agreeable “ an effed. ”
TheseS entences furnifih oCcafton for no remark , except that in the laft of them, particular is improperly ufed inftead of peculiar — “ the “ peculiar beauty of a plantation that thus ftrikes “ the imagination ”, was the phrafe to have conveyed the idea which the Author meant; namely, the beauty which diftinguilhes it from plantations of another kind,

THE STYLE IN SPECTATOR, N* 414. 127
:e Sr'-
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“ Our Britifh gardeners, on the contrary, “ inftead of humouring nature, love to deviate “ from it as much as poffible. Our trees rife in “ cones, globes, and pyramids. We fee the marks “ of the fciffars on every plant and bufh.
These Sentences are lively and elegant. They make an agreeable diverfity from the ftrain of thofe which went before ; and are marked with the hand of Mr. s Addifon. I have to remark only, that, in the phrafe, “ inftead of humouring “ nature, love to deviate from it — humouring “ and deviating ” , are terms not properly oppofed to each other; a fort of perfonification of nature is begun in the firft of them., which is not fup- ported in the fecond. — To humouring , was to have been oppofed, thwarting — or if deviating was kept, folio-wing , or going along with nature, was to have been ufed.
“ I do not know whether I am ftngular in cc my opinion, but, for my own part, I would “ rather look upon a tree, in all its luxuriancy “ and diffufion of boughs and branches, than “ when it is thus cut and trimmed into a mathe- “ matical figure; and cannot but fancy that an “ orchard , in flower, looks infinitely more “ delightful, than all the little labyrinths of the “ moll finifhed parterre.
This Sentence is extremely harmonious, and every way beautiful. It carries all the characterif- tics of our Author’s natural, graceful, and flowing Language. — A tree , in “ all its luxuriancy and “ diffufion of boughs and branches ”, is a re-
Lect.
XXIII.

128 CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &c.
L e c T. markably happy expreffion. The Author feems XXIII. to become luxuriant in defcribing an olDjecl which is fo, and thereby renders the found a perfect echo to the fenfe.
a Bu r as our great modeller's of gardens have cc their magazines of plants to difpofe of, it is c ‘ very natural in them, to tear up all the beauti- “ ful plantations of fruit trees, and contrive a “ plan that may mod turn to their profit, in cc taking off their evergreens, and the like move- “ able plants, with which their fiiops are plen- cs tifully flocked. ”
An author fliould always fludy to conclude, when it is in.his power, with grace and dignity. It is fomewhat unfortunate, that this Paper did not end, as it might very well have done, with the former beautiful period. The impreffion left on the mind by the beauties of nature, with which he had been entertaining us, would then have been more agreeable. But in this fentenee there is a great falling off; and we return with pain from thofe pleafmg objedts, to the infignifi* cant contents of a nurfery-mans fliop.
LEG-

Acini obj-
LECTURE# XXIV.
if ptij
Sifpof:; ) alii; cc
and
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE STYLE IN A PASSAGE OF DEAN SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
y tot ceacli this Fa ave de iraprei : nitm. is, TO n tV
WC KIT.
totbtn
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My
defign , in the fotir preceding Lectures* was not merely to appreciate the merit of Air. Addifon’s Style, by pointing out the faults and the beauties that are mingled in the writings of that great Author. They were not compofed with any view to gain the reputation of a Critic 5 but intended for the affiftance of fuch as are de- lirous of ftudying the mo ft proper and elegant conftruction of Sentences in the Englifh Language. To fuch, it is hoped, they may be of advantage ; as the proper application of rules refpedt- ing the Style, will always be beft learned by means of the illuftration which examples afford. 1 conceived that examples , taken, from the writings of an Authorfo juftly efteemed, would, on that account, not only be more attended to, but would alfo produce this good effect, of famili- arifmg thofe who ftudy compofition with the Style of a writer, from whom they may, upon the whole, derive great benefit. With the fame view,
Vol. II. K
IfiCT.
XXIV.

L E C T. XXIV.
i 3 o CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
I fhali, in this Le&ure , give one critical exercife more of the fame |ind, upon the Style of an Author of a different chara&er, Dean Swift; repeating the intimation I gave formerly , that fuch as ftand in need of no affiftance of this kind, and who , therefore , will naturally confider fuch minute difcufiions concerning the propriety of words, and ftru&ure of Sentences , as beneath their attention, had beft pafs over what will feem to them a tedious part of the work.
I formerly gave the general character of Dean Swift’s Style. He is efteemed one of our mold correct writers. His Style is of the plain and fimple kind ; free of all affectation, and ail fuper- fluity; perfpicuous, manly, and pure. Thefe are its advantages. But we are not to look for much ornament and grace in it*. On the contrary, D ean Swift feerns to have flighted and defpifed the ornaments of Language, rather than to have ftudiea them. His arrangement is often loofe and negligent. In elegant, mufical, and figurative
* I am glad to find , that, in mv jugdment concerning this Author’s compofition, 1 have coincided with the opinion of a very able critic : “ This eafy and fafe conveyance “ of meaning, it was Swift's defire to attain, and for “ having attained, he certainly defer ves praife , though, “ perhaps, not the higheft praife. For purpofes merely “ didactic , when fomething is to be told that was not “ known before, it is in the higheft degree proper: but “ againft that inattention by which known truths are fuf- “ fered to be neglected, it makes no provifion, it initructs, “ but does not perfuade." Johnfcn’s Lives of the Poets; in Swift.

IN D. SWIFTs WRITINGS.
nods Style; an WJ
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Language, he is much inferior to Mr. Addifon. His manner of Writing carries in it the character of one who refls altogether upon his fenfe, and aims at no more than giving his meaning in a clear and concife manner.
That part of his writings, which I fhall now examine, is the beginning of his treatife, entitled, “ A Propofal for correcting, improving, and “ afeertaining the Englifh Tongue,” in a Letter addreffed to the Earl of Oxford, then Lord High Treafurer. I was led, by the nature of the fub- ject, to choofe this treatife: but, in juftice to the Dean, I mull obferve, that, after having examined it, I do not efteera it one of his moft correCt productions; but am apt to think it has been more haftily compofed than fome other of them. It bears the title and form of a Letter; but it is, however, in truth, a Treatife defign- ed for the Public: and, therefore, in examining it, we cannot proceed upon the indulgence due to an epiftolary correfpondence. ' When a man addreffes himfelf to a Friend only, it is fufficient if he makes himfelf fully underftood by him ; but when an Author writes for the Public , whether he affume the form of an Epiftle or not, we are always entitled to expeCt, that he fhall exprefs himfelf with accuracy and care. Our Author begins thus:
« W HAT I had the honour of mentioning to “ your Lordfhip, fometime ago, in converfation,
“ was not a new thought, juft then ftarted by “ accident or occalicn, but the refult of long
K 9
Lect.
XXIV.

132
CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L e c t. “ refle&ion; and I have been confirmed in my XXIV. « fentiments by the opinion of fome very judi- a cious perfons with whom I confiilted. ”
The difpofition of circumftances in a Sentence, fuch as ferve to limit or to qualify fome affer- tion, or to denote time and place, I formerly fhowedtobe a matter of nicety; and I obferved, that it ought to be always held a rule, not to crowd fuch circumftances together, but rather to intermix them with more capital words, in fuch different parts of the fentence as can admit them naturally. Here are two circumftances of this kind placed together, which had better have been feparated , S< me time ago , in converfation — better thus: — “ What I had the honour , fome- “ time ago, of mentioning to your Lordfhip “ in converfation — was not a new thought,” proceeds our Author , “ ftarted by accident or “ occafion: ” the different meaning of thefe two words may not, atfirft, occur. They have, however, adiftinct rfteaning, and are properly ufed: for it is one very laudable property of our Author’s Style, that it is feldom incumbered with fuperflu- ous, fynonymous words. Started by accident, is, for- tuitoufly, or at random; ftarted by occafion, is, by fome incident, which at that time gave birth to it. His meaning is , that it was not a new thought which either cafually fprung up in Bis mind , or was fuggefted to him , for the firft time, by the tram of the clifcourfe: but, as he adds, •was the rcjult of long refection. — He proceeds:

IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
i33
cc They all agreed, that nothing would be of * greater ufe towards the improvement of know- a ledge and politenefs, than fome effectual mediod, “ for correcting, enlarging, and afcertaining our {C Language , and they think it a work very pof- “ fible to be compaffed under the protection of “ a prince, the countenance and encouragement cc of a miniftry, and the care of proper perfons “ chofen for fuch an undertaking.
This is an excellent Sentence; clear, and elegant. The words are all fimple, well chofen, and expreffive ; and are arranged in the molt proper order. It is a harmonious'-period too, which is a beauty not frequent in our Author. The laft part of it confifts of three members , which gradually rife and fwell above one another, without any affected or unfuitable pomp; — “ under the “ protection of a prince, the countenance and “ encouragement of a miniftry, and the care of “ proper perfons chofen for fuch an undertaking. ” We may remark, in the beginning of the Sentence, the proper ufe of the prepofition to. wards —- “ greater ufe towards the improvement “ of knowledge and politenefs”-— importing the pointing or tendency of any thing to a certain end ; which could not have been fo well expref- fed by the prepofition for , commonly employed in place of towards , by Authors who are lefs attentive , than Dean Swift was, to the force of words.
One fault might, perhaps, be found both with this and the former [Sentence, confidered as
K 3
Lect.
XXIV.

i 3 4 CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE.
f, E c T. mtrodudory ones. We expedl, that an introduc- XXI V, tion is to unfold, dearly and diredly, the tub- jedl that is to be treated of. In the firlf Sentence, our Author had told us, of a thought he men- tioned to his Lordlhip, in converfation, which had been the refult of long reflection, and con- cerning which he had confulted judicious perfons. But what that thought was, we are never told directly. We gather it indeed from the fecond fentence, wherein he informs us, in what thefe judicious perfons agreed ; namely , that fome method for improving the Language was both ufeful and practicable. But this indirect method of opening the fubjed, would have been very faulty in a regular treatiie; though the eafe of the epiflolary form , which our Author here at fumes in addreffing his patron, may excufe it in the prefent cafe.
“ 1 was glad to find your Lordfhip’s anfwer in “ fo different a ftyle from what hath commonly been made ufe of, on the like occaftons, for “ fome years paft; That all fuch thoughts mult bt “ deferred to a. time of peace ; a topic which fome “ have carried fo far, that they would not have ce us, by any means, think of preferving our ‘ c civil and religious conftitution , becaufe we are “ engaged in a war abroad. ”
This Sentence alfo is clear and elegant; only there is one inaccuracy, when he fpeaks of his Lordfhip’s anfvper being in fo different a ftyle from what had formerly been ufed. His anfwtr to whg„t? ox to \yhom ? For from any thing go*

IX D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
*35
ing before, it does not appear that any applica- L e c tion or addrefs had been made to his Lordfhip by XXI thofe perfons, whofe opinion was mentioned in the preceding Sentence; and to whom the an- fwer, here fpoken of, naturally refers. There is a little iudiftinctnefs, as I before obferved, in our Author’s manner of introducing his fubject here. — We may obferve too, that the phrafe —■ a glad to find your anfwer in fo different a 35 ftyle” — though abundantly fuited to the language of converfation, or of a familiar letter, yet, in regular compofition, requires an additional word — “ glad to find your anfwer run in ct fo different a ftyle.
c ‘ It will be among the diftinguifhing marks of cc your miniftry, my Lord, that you have a ge- “ nius above all fuch regards, and that no rea- “ fonable propofal, for the honour, the advan- “ tage, or ornament of your country, however “ foreign to your immediate office, -was ever C£ negledted by you.
The phrafe— “ a genius above all fuch regards ” both feems fomewhat harfh , and does not clearly exprefs what the Author means, namely, the confined views of thofe who neglected every thing that belonged to the arts of peace in the time of war. — Bating this expreftion, there is nothing that can be fubjedt to the leaft reprehenfion in this Sentence, nor in all that follows, to the end of the paragraph.
*■ I confefs , the merit of this candour and con-
defcenfion is very much leffened, becaufe your
K 4

1 3 5 GRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L e 6 T. “ Lordffiip hardly leaves us room to offer our XXIV. “ good wifhes; removing all our difficulties, “ and fupplying our wants, fafter than the moft “ vifionary projector can adjult his fchemes. And therefore, my Lord , the defign of this paper is not fo much to offer you ways and means, as to complain of a grievance, the redrcffing “ of which is to be your own work, as much “ as that of paying the nation’s debts, or opening “ a trade into the South Sea; and, though not “ of fuch immediate benefit as either of thefe, “ or any other of your glorious actions, yet,
■ “ perhaps , in future ages not lefs to your
“ honour.”
The compliments which the Dean here pays to his patron , are very high and {trained ; and Ihow , that, with all his furlinefs, he was as capable, on fome occafions , of making his- court to a . great man by flattery , as other writers. However, with refpedt to the Style, which is the foie objedt of our prefent confideration, every thing here , as far as appears to me, is fault- lefs. In thefe Sentences, and, indeed, throughout this paragraph , in general , which we have now ended, our Author’s Style appears to great advantage. We fee that eafe and fimplicity, that corredlnefs and dillindnels, which particularly charadlerife it. It is very remarkable, how few Latinifed words Dean Swift employs. No writer, in our Language, is fo purely Enghfli as he is, or borrows fo little affiftance from words of foreign derivation. From none can we

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IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
take a better model of the choice and proper L e c t.
fignificancy of words. It is remarkable, in the XXIV.
Sentences, we have now before us , how plain all
the expreffions are, and yet, at the fame time,
how fignificant; and, in the midft of that high
ftrain of compliment into which he rifes, how
little there is of pomp, or glare of expreffion.
How very few writers can preferve this manly temperance of Style; or would think a compliment of this nature fupported with fufficient dignity, unlefs they had embellilhed it with fome of thofe high founding words , whofe chief effed is no other than to give their Language a ftiff and forced appearance ?
“ My Lord, I do here, in the name of all the “ learned and polite perfons of the nation , com- “ plain to your Lordlhip 9 as Firft Minifter, that
our Language is extremely imperfed; that its “ daily improvements are by no means in' pro- “ portion to its daily corruptions; that the pre- “ tenders to polilh and refine it , have chiefly “ multiplied abufes and abfurdities; and that,
“ in many inllances, it offends againft every part “ of grammar. ”
The turn of this Sentence is extremely elegant.
He had fpoken before of a grievance for which he fought redrefs, and he carries on the allufion, by entering, here, directly on his fubjed, in the Style of a public reprefentation prefented to the Minifter of State. One imperfedion , however, there is in this Sentence, which, luckily for our purpofe, ferves to illuftrate a rule before given,

i 3 8 CR1T. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L e c t. concerning the pofition of adverbs, fo as to avoir XXIV. ambiguity. It is in the middle of the Sentence;-, “ that the pretenders to polifh and refine it, have “ chiefly multiplied abufes and abfurdities. ” _ Now , concerning the import of this adverb, chiefly , I afk, whether it fignifies that thefe pretenders to polifli the Language , have been the chief perfons who have multiplied its abufes, in diftindioti from othe s\ or, that the chief thing which thefe pretenders have done, is to multiply the abufes of our Language, in oppofition to their “doing any thing to refine it?” .Thefe two meanings are really different; and yet, by the pofition which the word chiefly has in the Sentence , we are left at a lofs in which to under- Hand it. The conftrudion would lead us rather to the latter fenfe; that the chief thing which thefe pretenders have done, is to multiply the abufes of our Language. But it is more than probable, that the former fenfe was what the Dean intended , as it carries more of his ufo.il fatirical edge , “ that the pretended refiners of “ our language were, in fad, its chief corrup- “ tors; ” on which fuppofition, his words ought to have run thus : “ that the pretenders to “ polifli and refine it, have been the chief per- C£ foils to multiply its abufes and abfurdities;” which would have rendered the fenfe perfectly dear.
Perhaps, too, there might be ground for ob- ferving farther upon this Sentence , that as Language is the object \yith which it fits out; “that

IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
139
nii
as tor
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it?’: andy’ ■, ha: ich to: ead r thin;•
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■ound that* IS 5“’i
f ‘ our Language is extremely imperfect;” and then follows an enumeration, concerning Language in three particulars it had been better if Language had been kept the ruling word , or the nominative to every verb , without changing the feene; by making pretenders the ruling word, as is done in the fecond member of the enumeration, and then, in the third, returning again to the former word , “ Language —That the pretenders “ to polifh —and that, in many inftances , it “ offends ” — I am perfuaded, that the ftrocture of the Sentence would have been more neat and happy, and its unity more complete, if the members of it had been arranged thus: “ 1 hat our “ Language is extremely imperfect; that its daily “ improvements are by no means in proportion “ to its daily corruptions; that, in many inftan- “ ces, it offends againft every part of grammar; “ and that the pretenders to polifh and refine it, “ have been the chief perfons to multiply its ab- “ ufes and abfurdities. ” — This degree of attention feemed proper to be beftowed on fuch a Sentence as this , in order to fhow bow it might have been conduced after the mofb perfect manner. Our Author, after having faid ,
“ Left your Lordfhip fhould think my cen- “ fure too fevere, I fhall take leave to be more “ particular; ” proceeds in the following paragraph :
“ I believe your Lordfhip will agree with me, “ in the reafon why our Language is lefs refined
than thole of Italy, Spain, or France.”
Lect,
XXIV.

i 4 o CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
iECT. I AM forry to fay, that now we {hall have XXIV. lefs to commend in our Author. For the whole of this paragraph, on which we are entering, is, in truth, perplexed and inaccurate. Even, in this Ihort Sentence, we may dtfcern an inaccuracy — “ why our Language is lefs refined “ than thofe of Italy, Spain, and France;” pot. ting the pronoun thofe in the plural , when the antecedent fubftantive to which it refers is in the fingular , our Language. Inftances of this kind may fometimes be found in Englifli authors; but they found harfh to the ear, and are certainly contrary to the purity of grammar. By a very little attention, this inaccuracy could have been remedied; and the Sentence have been made to run much better in this way ; “ why “ our Language is lefs refined than the Italian, “ Spanifh , or French. ”
“ It is plain , that the Latin Tongue, in its “ purity, was never in this lfland; towards the “ conqueft of which,- few or no attempts were “ made till the time of Claudius; neither was “ that Language ever fo vulgar in Britain, as it “ is known to have been in Gaul and Spain.”
To fay, that “the Latin Tongue, in its pu- “ rity was never in this ifiand,” is very carelefs Style; it ought to have been, “ was never fpoken “ in this i{land.” In the progrefs of the Sentence, he means to give a reafon why the Latin was never fpoken in its purity amongft us, becaufe our ifiand was not conquered by the Romans till after the purity of their Tongue began to

IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
IE SIT:
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V w e v
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decline. But this reafon ought to have been brought out more clearly. This might eafily have been done, and the relation of the feveral parts of the Sentence to each other much better pointed out by means of a fmall variation ; thus: “ It is plain, that the Latin Tongue, in its “ purity, was never fpoken in this ifland, as few “ or no attempts towards the conqueft of it were “made till the time of Claudius.” He adds: “ Neither was the Language ever fo vulgar in “ Britain. — ” Vulgar was one of the word words he could have chofen for expreffing what he means here; namely, that the Latin Tongue was at no time fo general , or fo much in common life, in Britain, as it is known to have been in Gaul and Spain. — Vulgar, when applied to Language, commonly fignifies impure, or debated Language, fuch as is fpoken by the low people , which is quite oppofite to the Author’s fenfe here; for, in place of meaning to fay, that the Latin fpoken in Britain was not fo debafed, as what was fpoken iir Gaul and Spain ; he means juft the contrary, and had been telling us, that we never were acquainted with the Latin at all , till its purity began to be corrupted.
“ Further', we find that the Roman legions “ here were at length all recalled to help their “ country againft the Goths, and other barbarous “ invaders.
The chief fcope of this Sentence is, to give a reafon why the Latin Tongue did not ftrike any
L E C T. XXIV.

GRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
143
It ct. deep root in this ifland, on account of the Abort XXIV continuance of the Romans in it. He goes on:
u Meantime the Britons, left to fliift for them- “ felves, and daily haraffed by cruel inroads from K the Fids, were forced to call in the Saxons u for their defence; who, confequently, reduced <c the greateft part of the ifland to their own cc power, drove the Britons into the moft remote c ‘ and mountainous parts , and the reft of the “ country in cuftoms, religion, and language, “ became wholly Saxon. ”
This is a very exceptionable fentence. Firft, the phrafe left to sbft for them!does , is rather a low phrafe, and too much in the familiar Style to be proper in a grave treatife. Next, as the Sentence advances — “ forced to call in the “ Saxons for their defence, who, confequently, <c reduced the greateft part of the ifland to their . a own power. ”—What is the meaning of cenfc- quently here ? if it means “ afterwards, ” or “ in cc progrcfs of time,” this, certainly, is not a fenfe in which confequently is often taken; and therefore the expreffion is chargeable with ob- fcurity. The adverb , consequently , in its mod common acceptation, denotes one thing following from another, as an effed from a caufe. If he ufes it in this fenfe, and means that the Britons being fubdued by the Saxons, was a neceffary confequence of their having called in the Saxons to their aftiftance , this confequence is drawn too abruptly, and needed more explanation. For though it has often happened, that

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nations have been fubdued by their own auxili- Lect, aries, yet this is not a confequence of fuch a XXIV. nature that it can be affumed, as feems here to be done, for a firft and felf-evident principle.—.
But further, what fhall we fay to this phrafe,
“ reduced the greateft part of the ifland to their “ own power ? we fay “reduce to rule, reduce to “ pradtice—we can fay, that” one nation reduces “ another to fubjeclion ” — But when dominion or power is ufed, we always, as far as I know, fay, “ reduce under their power.” “ Reduce to “ their power, is fo harfh and uncommon an expreffion, that, though Dean Swift’s authority in language be very great, yet, in the ufe of this phrafe, I am of opinion, that it would not be fafe to follow his example.
Besides thefe particular inaccuracies , this Sentence is chargeable with want of unity in the compofition of the whole. The perfons and the feene are too often changed upon us.—Firft, the Britons are mentioned , who are haraffedj by inroads from the Picds; next, the Saxons appear, who fubdue the greateft part of the ifland, and drive the Britons into the mountains; and, laftly, the reft of the country is introduced , and a defeription given of the change made upon it.
All this forms a groupe of various objefts, prefented in fuch quick fucceffion, that the mind finds it difficult to comprehend them under one view. Accordingly, it is quoted in the Elements of Criticifm , as an inftance of a fentence rendered faulty by the breach of unity.

144
CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L E C T.
XXIV.
“ This I take to be the reafon why there are cc more Latin words remaining in the Britifli than “ the old Saxon; which, excepting fome few “ variations in the orthography , is the fame “ in molt original words with our prefent En- “ glifh, as well as with the German and other “ northern dialects. ”
This Sentence is faulty, fomewhat in the fame manner with the laft. It is loofe in the connedtion of its parts; and, befides this, it is alfo too loofely connected with the preceding fentence. What he had there faid, concernin'* the Saxons expelling the Britons, and changing the cuftoms, the religion, and the language o[ the country ,' is a clear and good reafon for oat prefent language being Saxon rather than Britifli. This is the inference which we would naturally expedt him to draw from the premifes juft before laid down : But when he tells us that a this is cc the reafon why there are more Latin words “ remaining in the Britifli tongue than in the “ old Saxon, ” we are prefently at a hand. No reafon for this inference appears. If it can be gathered at all from the foreign dedudtion, it is gathered only imperfectly. For, as he had told us, that the Britons had fome connection with the Romans, he fhould have alfo told us, in order to make out his inference, that the Saxons never had any. The truth is, the whole of this para, graph concerning the influence of the Latin tongue upon ours, is carelefs, perplexed, and obfcure. His argument required to have been
more
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" £d 11 Fran 11 any “ Saw “ was “ a fc “ Cor * ore; "fat! " them “ plead " vouri Oxi moment dearly, “ II recei “ vine “agr 11 whe “ both 11 qitet “ was “ count
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145
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It ii I®
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US IE ore L: igue 4. ■ atn: r, li:
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L\ r D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
more fully unfolded , in order to make it be L e c t diftindlly apprehended, and to give it its due® XXIV. force. In the next paragraph , he proceeds to difeourfe concerning the influence of the French tongue upon our language. The Style becomes more clear , though not remarkable for great beauty or elegance.
“ Edward the Confeffor having lived long in “ France, appears to be the firft who introduced “ any mixture of the French tongue with the “ Saxon; the court affedling what the Prince w was fond of , and others taking it up for “ a falhion, as it is now with us. William the “ Conqueror proceeded much further , bringing “ over with him vafi: numbers of that nation ,
“ fcattering them in every monaftery, giving “ them great quantities of land, directing all “ pleadings to be in that language, and endea- “ vouring to make it univerfal in the kingdom,”
On thefe two Sentences, I have nothing of moment to obferve. The fenfe is brought out clearly, and in Ample, unaffected language.
“ This , at ieaft , is the opinion generally <l received; but your Lordfhip hath fully con- “ vinced me, that the French tongue made yet “ a greater progrefs here under Harry the Second,
5S who had large territories on that continent “ both from his father and his wife ; made fre- “ quent journeys and expeditions thither; and “ was always attended with a number of his “ countrymen, retainers at court. ”
Vox. II L

146 CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L e c T. In the beginning of this Sentence, our Author XXIY. rftates an oppofition between an opinion generally received , and that of his Lordfhip; and in compliment to his patron, he tells us, that his " Lordfhip had convinced him of fomewhat that differed from the general opinion. Thus one muff naturally underftand his words: “ This, at “ leafl, is the opinion generally received; but “ your Lordfhip hath fully convinced me”— Now here there muff be an inaccuracy of expref- fion. For on examining what went before, there appears no fort of oppofition betwixt the generally received opinion , and that of the Author’s patron. The general opinion was, that William the Conqueror had proceeded much farther than Edward the Confeffor, in propagating the French language, and had endeavoured to make it univerfal. Lord Oxford’s opinion was, that the French tongue had gone on to make a yet greater progrefs under Harry the Second , than it had done under his predeceffor William : which two opinions are as entirely confident with one another, as any can be; and therefore the oppofition here a deeded to be dated between them, by the adverfative particle but, was improper and groundlefs.
“ For fome centuries after , there was a “ conftant intercourfe between France and Eng- “ land by the dominions we poffeffed there, and “ the conquefts we made; fo that our language, “ between two and three hundred years ago, “ feems to have had a greater mixture with

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IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS. 147
" French than at prefen t; many words having “ been afterwards rejeded, and fome fince the “ days of Spenfer; although We have flill retained “ not a few, which have been long antiquated
ti * 17
in trance,
This is a Sentence too long and intricate j and liable to the fame objedion that was made to a former one, of the want of unity. It confifls of four members, each divided from the fubfequent by a femicolon In going along, we naturally exped the Sentence is to end at the fecond of thefe^or, at fartheftj at the third; when, to our furprife, a new member pops out upon 11s, and fatigues our attention in joining all the parts together. Such a ftrudure of a Sentence is always the mark of carelefs writing. In the firffc member of the Sentence, “ a conftant intercourfe “ between France and England, by the domini- “ ons we polfelfed there, and the conquelts we “ made, ” the conftrudion is not fufficiendy filled up. In place of “ intercourfe by the dominions “ we polfelfed ”, it fhould have been— C£ by reafon “ of the dominions we polfelfed—or occafioned “ by the dominions We polfelfed—’’and in place of “ the dominions we polfelfed there, and the “ coriquells We made, the regular Style is — “ the “ dominions which we polfelfed there, and the „ conquefts which we made. ” 1 he relative pronoun which , is indeed in phrafes of this kind fometimes omitted: But, when it is omitted, the Style becomes elliptic; and though in com verfation, or in the very light and eafy kinds of
L 3
L B C T» XXIV.
I

V
1 4 8 CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L f. c t. writing, fuch elliptic Style may not be improper, XXIV, yet in grave and regular writing, it is better to fill up the conftrudion, and infert the relative pronoun—After having faid—“ I could produce “ feveral inflances of both kinds, if it were of “ any life or entertainment”—our Author begins the next paragraph thus:
“ To examine into the feveral circumftances “ by which the language of a country may be “ altered, would force me to enter into a wide “ field. ”
There is nothing remarkable in this S^itence, unlefs that here occurs the firft inftance of a metaphor fmce the beginning of this treatife, entering into a -wide field, being put for beginning an extenfive fubjed. Few writers deal lefs in figurative language than Swift. I before obferv- ed, that he appears to defpife ornaments of this kind ; and though this renders his Style fomewhat dry on ferious fubjects , yet his plainnefs and fimplicity, I muff not forbear to remind my readers , is far preferable to an oftentatious and affected parade of ornament.
“ I fliall only obferve, that the Latin, t!ie cc French, and the Englifh, feem to have under- c ‘ gone the fame fortune. The firft from the “ days of Romulus, to thofe of Julius Ctefar, “ fuffered perpetual changes ; and by what we “ meet in thofe Authors who occafionally fpeak a on that fubject, as well as from certain frag- ments of old laws, it is manifeft that the Latin, “ three hundred years before Tuliy , was a.'

IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
149
x unintelligible in his time, as the French and Leo T. “ hnglilh of the fame period are now; and thefe XXIV. “ two have changed as much fince William the “ Conqueror (which is but little lefs than 700 “ years), as the Latin appears to have done in “ the like term. ”
The Dean plainly appears to be writing negligently here. This Sentence is one of that involved and intricate kind, of which fome inftances have occurred before; but none worfe than this. It requires a very diftincl head to comprehend the whole meaning of the period at firft reading. In one part of it we find extreme carelefnefs of expreffion. He fays, “ it is manifeft “ that the Latin , 300 years before T ully, was “ as unintelligible in his time, as the Englifh “ and French of the fame period are now.’’ By the Englifh and French of the fame period , mull naturally be underftood, “ the Englifh and french “ that were fpoken three hundred years before “ Tully.” '1 his is the only grammatical meaning his words will bear; and yet affuredly what he means and what it would have been eafy for him to have expreffed with more precifion , is,
“ the Englifh and French that were fpoken 300 “ years ago;” or at a period equally diftant from our age, as the old Latin, which he had mentioned, was from the age of Tully. But when an author writes lraftily, and does not review with proper care what he has written, many fueh inaccuracies will be apt to creep into hts Style. *
L 3

Lect
XXIV,
igo CRIT. EXAM, OF THE STYLE
‘‘ Whether our Language or the French will decline as fall as the Roman did, is a queftion “ that would perhaps admit more debate than it “ is worth. There were many reafons for the “ corruptions of the laft; as the change of their “ government to a tyranny, which ruined the lfudy of eloquence , there being no further ufe or encouragement for popular orators; their “ giving not only the freedom of the city, but “ capacity for employments, to feveral towns in ,c Gaul, Spain, and Germany, and other diftant ‘‘ parts, as far as Afia , which brought a great “ number of foreign pretenders to Rome, the flavifh difpofition of the Senate and people, “ by which the wit and eloquence of the age “ were wholly turned into panegyric, the moft <c barren of all fubjects; the great corruption of t( manners , and introdu&ion of foreign luxury, “ with foreign terms to exprefs it, with feveral “ others that might be affigned; not to mention “ the invafion from the Goths and Vandals, ‘‘ which are too obvious to infift on.
In the enumeration here made of the caufes contributing towards the corruption of the Roman Language , there are many inaccuracies—“ The “ change of their government to a tyranny—” of whofe government ? He had indeed been fpeaking of the Roman language, and therefore we guefs at his meaning; but the Style is ungrammatical ; for he had not mentioned the Romans thcmfelves; and therefore , when he fays their government , there is no antecedent in

IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS.
STT:
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the Sentence to which the pronoun, tbeir , can refer with any propriety—“ Giving the capacity “ for employments to feveral towns in Gaul is a queftionable expreffion. For though towns are fometimes put for the people who inhabit them, yet to give a town the capacity for employ - merits , founds harlh and uncouth.—“ The wit “ and eloquence of the age wholly turned into “ panegyric,” is a phrafe which does not well exprefs the meaning. Neither wit nor eloquence can be turned into panegyric; but they may be turned towards paneoyric , or, employed m panegyric , which was the fenfe the Author had in view.
The conclufion of the enumeration is vifibly incorrect—“ The great corruption of manners , “ and introduction of foreign luxury, with “ foreign terms to exprefs it, with feveral others “ that might be alligned—’’ He means, with Several other reafons. The word reafons , had indeed been mentioned before; but as it Hands at the diflance of thirteen lines backward, the repetition of it here became indifpenfable , in order to avoid ambiguity. “Not to mention,” he adds, “the “ invafions from the Goths and Vandals, which “ are too obvious to infill on.” One would imagine him to mean , that the invafions from the Goths and Vandals , • are hiflorical facts too well known and obvious to be infilled on. But he means quite a different thing, though he has not taken the proper method of expreffing it, through his halle , probably, to finifh the paragraph; namely, that thefe invafions from
L 4
L E C T.
XXIV.

152
CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE
L e c t. the Goths and Vandals “were caufes of the XXIV. “ corruption of the Roman Language too obvious “ to be infilled on. ■
I SHALL not purfue this criticifm any further, I have been obliged to point out many inaccuracies in the paffage which we have confidered. But, in order that my obfervations may not be conftructed as meant to depreciate the Style or the Writings of Dean Swift below their juft value, there are two remarks, which I judge it neceffary to make before concluding this Lecture, One is , That it were unfair to efirimate an Author’s Sty Ip on the whole, by fome paflage in his writings, which chances to be compofed in a carelefs manner. This is the cafe with raped to this treatife, which has much the appearance of a hafty production ; though, as I before obferv- ed, it was by no means 011 that account that I pitched upon it for the fubjed of this exercife. But after having examined it, I am fenfible that, in many other of his writings , the Dean is more accurate.
My other obfervation, which applies equally to Dean Swift and Mr. Addifon, is, that there may be writers much freer of fuch inaccuracies, as 1 have had oceafion to point out in thefe two, whofe Style, however, upon the whole, may not have half their merit. Refinement in Language has, of late years, begun to be much attended to. In feverai modem produdions of very fm?dl value, I Ihould find it difficult to point

ftE IN D. SWIFT’s WRITINGS. 153
ei out many errors in Language. The words might, wota- probably, be all proper words, corredtly and clearly arranged ; and the turn of the fentence y fonorous and mufical; whilft yet the Style , upon the whole, might deferve no praife. The fault ; oabt often lies in what may be called the general caft, my or complexion of the Style ; which a perfon of th' a good tafte difcerns to be vicious; to be feeble, ' thej. for inftance , # and diffufe ; flimfy or affected ; 1 plf petulant or oftcntatious; though the faults cannot :sL;: be fo eafily pointed out and particularifed, as ftina when they lie in fome erroneous, or negligent fflcp conftrudtion of a fentence. Whereas , fuch cot: writers as Addifon and Swift, carry always thofe ricEr general characters of good Style, which, in the apps midft of their occafional negligences, every per- ioreoh fon of good tafle mult difcern and approve. We coot: fee their faults overbalanced by higher beauties. ii?ev We f ee a writer of fenfe and reflection expreffing his fentiments without affectation , attentive to 1{ ])r thoughts as well as to words; and, in the main current of his Language, elegant and beautiful; r sr and, therefore, the only proper ufe to be made of the blemifhes which occur in the' writings of CC[E fuch authors, is to point out to thofe who apply jtjf- themfelves to the ftudy of compofition, fome of the rules which they ought to obferve for avoiding fuch errors; and to render them fenfible “ of the neceffity of ftricl attention to Language I v. ; and to Style. Let them imitate the eafe and ^ fimplicity of thofe great authors; let them fludy
L e c T. XXIV.

i54 CRIT. EXAM. OF THE STYLE. & c ;
1 . E c t. to be always natural, and, as far as they can, XXIV. always corred in their expreffions; let them endeavour to be, atfome times, lively andftriking; but carefully avoid being at any time oftentatious and affected.

ELOQUENCE, OR PUBLIC SPEAK, IN G—HISTORY OF ELOQUENCE. —GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. - DEMOSTHENES,
JlIAVING finished that part of the Courfe which relates to Language and Style, we are now to afcend a ftep higher, and to examine the fubjedts upon which Style is employed. I begin with what is properly called Eloquence, or Public Speaking. In treating of this, I am to con- fider the different kinds and fubjedts of Public Speaking ; the manner fuited to each ; the proper diftribution and management of all the parts of a difcourfe; and the proper pronunciation or delivery of it. But before entering on any of thefe heads, it may be proper to take a view of the nature of Eloquence in general, and of the Hate in which it has fubfifted in different ages and countries. This will lead into fome detail; but I hope an ufeful one , as in every art it is of great confequence to have a juft idea of the
L e c XXV

156
ELOQUENCE, OR
L e c t. perfection of the art, of the end at which it XXV. aims , and of the progrefs which it has made among mankind.
Of Eloquence, in particular, it is the more neceffary to afcertain the proper notion, becaufe there is not any thing concerning which falfe notions have been more prevalent. Hence, it has been fo often , and is ftill at this day, in difrepute with many. When you fpeak to a plain man of Eloquence, or in praife of it, lie is apt to hear you with very little attention. He conceives Eloquence to £gnify a certain trick of Speech; tffe art of varnilhing weak arguments plaufibly; or of fpeaking fo as to pleafe an! tickle the ear. “ Give me good fenfe ,” fays he, <c and keep your Eloquence for boys ” He is ia the right , if Eloquence were what he conceives it to be. It would be then a very contemptible art indeed , below the fludy of any wife or good man. But nothing can be more remote from truth. To be truly eloquent, is to fpeak to the purpofe. For the beft definition which, I think, can be given of Eloquence , is , the Art of Speaking in fnch a manner as to attain the end for which we fpeak. W henever a man fpeaks or writes, he is fuppofed , as a rational being, to have fome end in view; either to inform, or to amufe, or to perfuadey or, in fome way or other , to ad; upon his fellow-creatures. He who fpeaks, or writes, in fuch a manner as to adapt all his words moft effedually to that end, is the mod eloquent man. Whatever then the fubjeft

PUBLIC SPEAKING. 157
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be , there is room for Eloquence; in hiftory, or L e c t even in philofophy, as well as in orations. The XXV. definition which I have given of Eloquence, comp ehends all the different kinds of it; whether calculated to inftrudt, to perfuade, or to pleafe.
But, as the mod important fubjedt of difeourfe is ^dtion, or Conduct, the power of hloquence chiefly appears when it is employed to influence Condudt , and perfuade to Adtion. As it is principally, with reference to this end, that it becomes the object of Art, Eloquence may, under this view of it, be defined, The Art of Perfuaflon.
This being once eftabliflied , certain con- fequences immediately follow, which point out the fundamental maxims of the Art. It follows clearly, that , in order to perfuade , the molt effential requifites are , folid argument, clear method, a charadter of probity appearing in the Speaker, joined with fuch graces of Style and utterance, as fhall draw our attention to what he fays. Good fenfe is the foundation of all. No man can be truly eloquent Without it; for fools can perfuade none but fools. In order, to perfuade a man of fenfe , you muftfirfb convince him; which is only to be done, by fatisfying his underftanding of the reafonablenefs of what you propofe to him.
This leads me to obferve, that convincing and perfuading, though they are fometimes confounded , import , notwithftanding , different things, which it is neceffary for us , at prefent, to diftinguifh from each other. Conviction affects

i 5 8 ELOQUENCE, OR
L e c T. the underftanding only ; perfuafion, the will and XXV. the practice. It is the bufinefs of the philofopher to convince me of truth; it is the bufinefs of the orator to perfuade me to ad: agreeably to it, by engaging my affedions on its fide. Conviction, and perfuafion , do not always go together. They ought , indeed , to go together; and ■wow'd do fo, if our inclination regularly followed the didates of our underftanding. But as our nature is conftituted , 1 may be convinced, that virtue , juftice, or public fpirit, art laudable , while , at the fame time , I am not perfuaded to ad according to them. The inclination may revolt, though the underftanding be fatisfied: the paffions may prevail againft the judgment. Convidion is, however, always one avenue to the inclination , or heart ; and it is that which an Orator mull fir ft bend his ftremnh
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to gain : for no perfuafion is likely to be liable, which is not founded on conviction. But, in order to perfuade , the Orator muff go farther than merely producing convidion; he muft con- fider man as a creature moved by many different fprings, anjd muft: ad upon them all. He muft addrefs himfelf to the paffions ; he muft: paint to the fancy , and touch the heart; and, hence be- fides folid argument, and clear method, all the conciliating and interefting arts, both of Com- pofition and Pronunciation , enter into the idea of eloquence.
An objedion may, perhaps hence be formed agairft Eloquence ; as an Art which may be
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employed for perfuading to ill , as well as to L e c T. good. There is no doubt that it may ; and fo rea- XXV. foning may alfo be, and too often is employed, for leading men into error. But who would think of forming an argument from this againft the cultivation of our reafoning powers ? Reafon, Eloquence , and every Art which ever has been ftudied among mankind, may be abufed, and may prove dangerous in the hands of bad men; but it were perfectly childifh to contend, that, upon this account, they ought to be abrogated.
Give truth and virtue the fame arms which you give vice and falfehood , and the former are likely to prevail. Eloquence is no invention of the fchools. Nature teaches every man to be eloquent , when he is much in earned;. Place him in fome critical fituation; let him have fome great intereft at flake, and you will fee him lay hold of the mod; effectual means of perfuafion.
The Art of Oratory propofes nothing more than to follow out that track which Nature has firfl pointed out to men. And the more exactly that this track is purfued, the more that Eloquence is properly ftudied, the more fhall we be guarded againft the abufe which bad men make of it, and enabled the better to diftinguifh between true Eloquence and the tricks of Sophiftry.
We may diftinguifh three kinds, or degrees of Eloquence. The firft, and lowed;, is that which aims only at pleafing the hearers. Such, generally, is the Eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural orations , addreffes to great men, and other har-

* -5
ELOQUENCE; OR
L e c T. % * XXV.
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angues of this fort. This ornamental fort of com- pofition is not altogether to be reje&ed. It may innocently amufe and entertain the mind ; and it may be mixed, at the fame time, with very ufeful fentiments. But it muft be confeffed, that where the Speaker has no farther aim than merely to Chine and to pleafe, there is great danger of Art. being {trained into oftentation, and of the compofition becoming tirefome and languid.
A second and a higher degree of Eloquence is, when the Speaker aims not merely to pleafe, but alfo to inform , to inftrudt, to convince: •when his Art is exerted, in removing prejudices againft himfelf and his caufe, in chufing the mod proper arguments, Eating them with the greateft force, arranging them in the belt order, expref- fing and delivering them with propriety and beauty; and thereby difpofmg us to pah that judgment, or embrace that fide of the caufe, to which he feeks to bring us. Within this compafs chiefly, is employed the Eloquence of the bar.
But there is a third , and ftill higher degree of Eloquence, wherein a greater power is exerted over the human mind ; by which we are not only convinced, but are interefted, agitated, and carried along with the Speaker; our paffions are made to rife together with his; we enter into all his emotions ; we love, we deteft, we refent, according as he infpires us; and are prompted to refolve, or to act, with vigour and warmth.
Debate

PUBLIC SPEAKING. 161
Debate, in popular aflemblies . opens the moft illuftrious fie^d to this fpecies of Eloquence; and the pulpit, alfo, admits it. ,
I AM here to obferve , and the obfefvation is of confequence, that the high Eloquence which I have laft mentioned* is always the offspring of paffion. By paffion, I mean that ftate of the mind in which it is agitated, and fired, by fome object it has iri view. A man may convince, and even perfuade others to adt. by mere reafon and argument. But that degree of Eloquence which gains the admiration of mankind, and properly denominates one an Orator , is never found without warmth or paffion. Paffion , when in fuch a degree as to roufe and kindle the mind, without throwing it out of the polfeffion of it- felf, is univerfally found to exalt all the human powers. It renders the mind infinitely more enlightened , more penetrating, more vigorous and mafterly , than it is in its calm moments. A man , actuated by a ftrong paffion * becomes much greater than he is at other times. Fie is eonfcious of more firength and force ; he utters greater fentiments , conceives higher defigns, and executes them with a boldnefs and a felicity, of which, on other occafions, he could not think himfelf capable. But chiefly , with refpedt to per- fuafion , is the power of paffion felt. A1 moft: every man, in paffion, is eloquent. Then, he is. at no lofs for words and arguments. He tranfmits to others, by a fort of contagious fympathy , the warm fentiments which he feels ; his looks and
V oi. XL M
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j 6 z ELOfiUENCE.OR
L E c T. geftures are all perfuafive; and Nature here fhows XXV. herfelf infinitely more powerful than all art. This is the foundation of that juft and noted rule: “ Si vis me flere, dolendum eft primum “ ipfi tibi.
This principle being once admitted , that all high Eloquence flows from paffion, feveral con- . fequences follow, which deferve to be attended to ; and the mention of which will ferve to confirm the principle itfelf. For hence , the univer- fally acknowledged effect of enthufiafm, or warmth of any kind, in public fpeakers, for affefting their audience. Hence all laboured declamation, and affedted ornaments of S'yle, which fliow the mind to be cool and unmoved, are fo inconfiftent with perfuafive Eloquence. Hence all ftudied prettineffes , in gefture or pronunciation , detract fo greatly from the weight of a Speaker. Hence a difcourfe that is read, moves us lefs than one that is fpoken, as having lefs the appearance of coming warm from the heart. Hence, to call a man cold , is the fame thing as to fay , that he is not eloquent. Hence a fceptical man, who is always in fufpenfe , and feels nothing ftrongly; or a cunning mercenary man, who is fufpected rather to affume the appearance of paffion than to feel it ; have fo little power over men in Public Speaking. Hence, in fine, the neceflity of being , and being believed to be, difintereft- ed, and in earned, in order to perfuade.
These are fome of the capital ideas which have occurred to me, concerning Eloquence in

PUBLIC SPEAKING. 163
general ; and with which I have thought proper Lscf. to begin, as the foundation of much of what I XXV. am afterwards to fugged. From what I have already faid , it is evident that Eloquence is a high talent, and of great importance in fociety; and that it requires both natural genius , and much improvement from Art. Viewed as the Art of Perfuafion, it requires, in its lowed date, foundnefs of underdanding, and condderable acquaintance with human nature; and, in its higher degrees , it requires, moreover, drong fenfibility of mind, a warm and lively imagination, joined with correctnefs of judgment, and an extendve command of the power of Language; to which mud alfo be added, the graces of Pronunciation and Delivery. — Let us next proceed, to confider in what date Eloquence has fubfided irv different ages and nations.
It is an obfervation made by feveral writers, that Eloquence is to be looked for only in free dates. Longinus , in particular , at the end of his treatife on the Sublime, when affigning the reafon why fo little fubhmity of genius appeared in the age wherein he lived , illudrates this obfervation with a great deal of beauty. Liberty , he remarks, is the nurfe of true genius; it animates the fpirit, and invigorates the hopes of men; excites honourable emulation , and a defire of excelling in every Art. All other qualifications, he fays, you may find among thofe who are deprived of liberty; but never did a Have become an orator ; he can only be a pompous flatterer.
M 9

i(54 HISTORY OF ELOQENCE.
e c T. Now , though this reafoning be , in the main true;
XXV. it mud, however, be underftood with fome limitations. For , under arbitrary governments , if they be of the civilifed kind , and give encouragement to the arts, ornamental hloquence may flourifh remarkably. Witnefs France at this day, where, ever fince the reign of Louis XIV. more of what may juftly be called Eloquence, within a certain fphere, is to be found, than, perhaps, in any other nation of Europe; though freedom be enjoyed by fome of them in a much greater degree. Their fermons and orations pronounced on publick occafions , are not only polite and elegant harangues , but feveral of them are uncommonly fpirited, animated with bold figures, and rife to a degree of the Sublime. Their Eloquence , however, in general, muff be confeffed to be of the flowery , rather than the vigorous kind ; calculated more to pleafe and foothe, than to convince and perfuade. High, manly and forcible Eloquence is , indeed to be looked for only , or chiefly , in the regions of freedom. Under arbitrary governments, befides the general turn of foftnefs and effeminacy which fuch governments may be juftly fuppofed to give to the fpirit of a nation , the art of fpeaking cannot be fuch an inftrument of ambition, bufmefs, and power as it is in more democratical dates. It is confined within a narrower range ; it can be exerted only in the pulpit, or at the bar; but is excluded from thofe great f enes of public bufi- nefs , where the fpirits o*f men have the freed:

GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. 165
play; where important affairs are tranfacRed, and perfuafion of courfe , is more ferioufly Rudied. "Wherever man can acquire moR power over man by means of reafon and difcourfe, which certainly is under a free Rate of government, there we may naturally expert that true Eloquence will be beft underRood, and carried to the greateft height.
Hence , in tracing the rife of Oratory , we need not attempt to go far back into the early ages of the world , or fearch for it among the monuments of EaRern or Egyptian, antiquity. In thofe ages , there was , indeed, an Eloquence of a certain kind; but it approached nearer to Poetry, than to what we properly call Oratory. There is reafon to believe, as I formerly fhowed , that the Language of the lirll ages was pafiionate and metaphorical ; owing partly to the fcanty Rock of words , of which Speech then confiRed ; and partly to the tincture which Language naturally takes' from the favage and uncultivated Rate of men, agitated by unreRrained paffions , and Rruck by events , which to them are flrange and furprifing. In this Rate, rapture and enthu- fiaim , the parents of Poetry, had an ample field. But while the intercourfe of men was as yet unfrequent , and force and Rrength were the chief means employed in deciding controverfies , the arts of Oratory and Perfuafion , of Reafoning and Debate, could be but little known. The firR empires that arofe , the Affyrian and Egyptian , were of the defpotic kind. The whole power
M 3
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XXV.

166 GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.'
I E c t. was in the hands of one , or at raoft of a few.
XXV. The multitude were accuftomed to a blind reverence : they were led , not perfuaded ; and none of thofe refinements of fociety, which make public fpeaking an objesft of importance, were as yet introduced.
Ir is not till the rife of the Grecian Republics, that we find any remarkable appearances of . Eloquence as the art of perfuafion ; and thefe gave it fuch a field as it never had before , and, perhaps, has never had again fince that time.
A nd , therefore, as the Grecian Eloquence lias ever been the objedt of admiration to thofe who have ftudied the powers of Speech, it is necef- fary, that we fix our attention, for a little, on this period.
Gkejece was divided into a multitude of petty ftates. Thefe were governed, at firft, by kings who were called Tyrants, and who being, in fucceffion, expelled from all thefe ftates, there fprung up a great number of democratica! governments, founded nearly on the fame plan, animated by the fame high fpirit of freedom, mutually jealous , and rivals of each other. We may compute the fiounfliing period of thofe Grecian ftates, to have lafted from the battle of JVIarathon, till che time of Alexander the Great, who fubdued the liberties of Greece; a period which comprehends about 150 years, and within which are to be found mod of their celebrated poets and plnlofophers, but chiefly their Orators: for though poetry and philofophy were not

GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. 1 6 ?
extincft among them after that period, yet Elo- L quence hardly made any figure.
Of thefd^Grecian Republics, the moft noted, by far, for Eloquence , and, indeed , for arts of every kind, was that of Athens. The Athenians were an ingenious, quick, fprightly people; practiced in bufinefs, and fharpened by frequent and fudden revolutions , which happened in their government. The genius of their government was entirely democratical; their leglflature confifted' of the whole body of the people. They had, indeed, a Senate of five hundred; but in the general convention of the citizens was placed the laft refort; and~affairs were condudted there, altogether , by reafoning , fpeaking , and a fkilful application to the paffions and interefts of a popular affembly. There, laws were made, peace and war decreed, and thence the magiftrates were chofen. For the higheft honours of the hate were alike open to all; nor was the meaneft Iradefman excluded from a feat in their fupreme courts. In fuch a ftate, Eloquence, it is obvious, would be much ftudied, as the fureffc means of rifing to influence and power; and what fort of Eloquence? Not that which was brilliant merely, and Ihowy, but that which was found, upon trial, to be moft effectual for convincing , inter- efting, and perfuading the hearers. For there, public fpeaking was not a mere competition for empty applaufe, but a ferious contention for that public leading, which was the great object
M 4

i 63 GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
LICT. both of the men of ambition, and the men of XXV. virtue.
Among a na ion fo enlightened®and acute, and where the bigheft attention was paid to everything elegant in the arts, we may naturally expect to find the public tafte refined and judicious. Accordingly, it was improved to fuch a degree, that the Attic tafte and Attic manner have paffed into a proverb. It is true, that ambitious demagogues, and corrupt orators, did fometimes dazzle and mifiead the people, by a fhowy but falfe Eloquence; for the Athenians, with all their acutenefs, were factious and giddy, and great admirers of every novelty. But when fome important intereft drew their, attention, when any great danger roufed them, and put their judgment to a ferious trial, they commonly diftinguillied, very juftly, between genuine and fpurious Eloquence : and hence Demofthenes triumphed over all his opponents; becaufe he fpoke always to the purpofe, affedted no infigni- ficant parade of words, ufed weighty arguments, and fhowed them clearly where their intereft lay. In critical conjunctures of the ftate, when the public was alarmed with fome prefting danger, when the people were affembled, and proclamation was made by the crier, for any one to rife and deliver his opinion upon the prefent fituation of affairs, empty declamation and fophiftical reafoning would not only have been hiffed, but relented and punifaed by an affembiy fo intelligent and accuftomed to bufmefs. Their greateft

GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. 169
V-
e Et - Orators trembled oil filch occafions, when they LecT.
rofe to addrefs the people, as they knew they XXV.
1 l - were to be held anfwerable for the iffne of the
t * t0K ‘ counfel which they gave. T he moft liberal
endowments of the greateff princes never could found fuch a fchool for true oratory, as was t°h formed by the nature of the Athenian Republic, v rent: Eloquence there fprung, native and vigorous,
- from amidft the contentions of faction and free- 2t0[ -v dom, of public bufmefs, and of active life; and pk.k not from that retirement and fpeculation , which \thet; we are apt fometimes to fancy more favourable liidj-L to Eloquence than they are found to be.
Butv; Pysistratus, who was cotemporary with attece Solon, and fubverted his plan of government,
, and: is mentioned by Plutarch , as the firft who come diftinguilhed himfelf among the Athenians by eniMi. application to the Arts of Speech. His ability in etnoftk thefe arts, he employed for railing himfelf to the jeaui fovereign power; which, however, when he no inti Had attained, he exercifed with moderation. Of aretE the Orators who flourifhed between his time leirisand the Peloponnefian war, no particular mention ntep, is made in hiftory. Pericles , who died about the fcfc beginning of that war, was properly the firft jp^who carried Eloquence to a great height; to 0K j;;fuch a height indeed, that it does not appear , m ;h. he was ever afterwards furpalfed. He was more (jpp. than an Orator-; he was alfo a Statefman and a gr^r General ; expert in bufmefs , and of confummate ,yfot2 add refs. For forty years, he governed Athens c with abfolute fway; and hiftorians afcribe his
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ipo GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
a
L e c t. influence, not more to his political talents than XXV. to his Eloquence, which was of that forcible and vehement kind, that bore every thing before it, and triumphed over the paffions and affections of the people. Hence he had the furname of Olympias given him : and it was faid , that, like Jupiter, he thundered when he fpoke. Though his ambition be liable to cenfure, yet great virtues certainly he had; and it was the confidence which the people repofed in his integrity, that gave fuch power to his Eloquence; a cir- cumftance, without which the influence of public {peaking in a popular ftate can feldom go far, He appears to have been generous, magnanimous, and public fpirited : he raifed no fortune to himfelf; he expended indeed great fums of the public money, but chiefly on public works; and at his death is faid to have valued himfelf principally on having never obliged any citizen to wear mourning on his account, during his long adminiftration. It is a remarkable particular recorded of Pericles by Suidas, that he was the -firft Athenian who compofed , and put into writing , a difcourfe defigned for the public.
Posterior, to Pericles, in the courfe of the Peloponnefian war, arofe Cleon , Alcibiades, Critias, and Theramenes, eminent citizens of Athens., who were all diftinguifhed for their Eloquence. They were not Orators by profeffion; they were not formed by fchools, but by a much more powerful education , that of bufmefs and debate; where man lharpened man, and
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GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
171
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' t3 ^ ;: civil affairs carried on by public fpeaking, called L e c t. forth every exertion of the mind. The manner XXV. or ftyle of Oratory which then prevailed, we learn from the Orations in the hiftory of Thucy- f ^’3 dides, who alfo flourilhed in the fame age. It ^>k-\vas manly, vehement, and concife , even to °^T fome degree of obfcurity. “ Grandes erantver- M-“bis,” fays Cicero, crebri fententiis, com- ret “ preffione rerum breves, et , ob earn ipfam Ai:: “ caufam , interdum fubobfcuri *. ” A manner quetE very different from what in modern times we me;: would conceive to be the Style of popular Ora- feldom: tory; and which tends to give a high idea of due:: the acutenefs of thofe audiences to which they no fccfpoke.
it!* The power of Eloquence having, after the public days of Pericles , become an objebt of greater vakLconfequence than ever, this gave birth to a fet cedar; of men till then unknown, called Rhetoricians 1 nt, dc-and fometimes Sophifls,’who arofe in multitudes cable:; during the Peloponnefian war; fuch as Protagoras, hr.;r Prodicas, Thrafymus, and one who was more and p eminent than all the reft, Gorgias of Leontium. tie pi Thefe Sophifts joined to their art of rhetoric ccr } a fubtile logic, and were generally a fort of , t, metaphyfical Sceptics. Gorgias, however, was , c , a profeffed mafter of Eloquence only. His ^ t; reputation was prodigious. He was highly vene-
* “ They were magnificent in their expreffions ; they ! * 5 ' “ abounded in thought; they comprefFed their matter into
blit !-' 1 few words, and, by their brevity, were fometimes ,;J c> “ obfcure. ”

L E U T.
XXV.
172 GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
rated in Leontium of Sicily, his native city; and money was coined with his name upon it. J n the latter part of his life, he eftablilhed himfelf at Athens, and lived till he had attained the age of 105 years. Hermogenes (de fdeis, 1. ii. cap. 9.) has preferved a fragment of his , from which we fee his ftyle and manner. It is extremely quaint.and artificial; full of antithefis and pointed expreflion ; and Ihows how far the Grecian fubtilty had already carried the ftudy of language, Thefe Rhetoricians did not content themfelves with delivering general inftrudtions concerning Eloquence to their pupils, and endeavouring to form their tafte; but they profeffed the art of giving them receipts for making all forts of Orations; and of teaching them how to fpeak for, and againft, every caufe whatever. Upon this plan , they were the firft who treated of common places, and the artificial invention of arguments and topics for every fubject In the hands of fuch men, we may eafily believe that Oratory would degenerate from the mafeuline flrain it had hitherto held, and become a trifling and fophiftical art : and we may juftly deem them the firft corrupters of true Eloquence. To them, the great Socrates oppofed himfelf. By a profound, but fimpie reafoning peculiar to himfelf, he exploded their fophiftry; and endeavoured to recall men’s attention from that abide of reafoning ‘and difeourfe which began to be in vogue, to natural language, and found and ufeful thought.
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GRECIAN ELOQUENCE. 173
In the fame age, though fomewhat later than l e c t. the philofopher above - mentioned , flouriflied XXV. Ifocrates , whofe writings are ftill extant. He was a profeffed Rhetorician, and by teaching
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and higher fame than any of his rivals in that profeffion. No contemptible Orator he was. His orations are full of morality and good fentiments: they are fiowing and frnooth; but too deftitute of vigour. He never engaged in public affairs, nor pleaded caufes; and accordingly his orations are calculated only for the fhade : “ Pompae”, Cicero allows, magis quam pugnte aptior; ad ct voluptatem aurium accommodatus potius quam “ ad judiciorum certamen. *. ” The Style of Georgias of Leontium was formed into fhort fentences, compofed generally of two members balanced againft each other. 1 he Style of Ifocra- tes, on the contrary, is fwelling and full; and he is faid to be the firft who introduced the method of rompofmg in regular periods, which had a ftudied mufic and harmonious cadence; a manner which he has carried to a vicious excefs. What ihall we think of an orator, who employed ten years in compofmg one difeourfe, ftill extant, entitled the Panegyric ? How much frivolous care muft have been beftowed on all the minute elegance of words and fentences ? Dionyftus of
* “ More fitted for fhow than for debate ; better cal- “ culated for the amufement of an audience, than for
t “ judicial contefts.

174 GRECIAN ELOQUENCE.
L E C T.
XXV.
Halicarnaflus has given us upon the orations of Ifocrates, as alfo upon thofe of fome other Greek orators, a full and regular treatife , which is, in my opinion , one of the moft judicious pieces of ancient criticifm extant, and very worthy of being confulted. He commends the fplendour of Ifocrates’s Style , and the morality of his fenti- ments; but feverely cenfures his affectation, and the uniform regular cadence of all his fentences. He holds him to be a florid declaimer; not a natural perfuafive fpeaker. Cicero, in his critical works, though he admits his failings, yet difcoverj a propenfity to be very favourable to that e£ plena ac numerofa oratio , ” that fwelling and mufical ftyle, which Ifocrates introduced; and with the love of which , Cicero himfelf was, perhaps, fomewhat infeded. In one of his Treadles (O rat. ad M. Brut.) he informs us, that his friend Brutus and he differed in this particular, and that Brutus found fault with his partiality to Ifocrates. The manner of Ifocrates generally catches young people, when they begin to attend to compofition ; and it is very natural that it fhould do fo. It gives them an idea of that regularity, cadence, and magnificence of ftyle, which fills the ear : but when they come to write or fpeak for the world, they will find this oflentatious manner unfit, either for carrying on bufmefs , or commanding attention. It is hid, that the high reputation of Ifocrates prompted Arilfotle , who was nearly his cotemporary, or lived but a little after him, to write his inftitn
jjjs of
I® 0
Sit of
St He
Ui
limit
tos
fieferve ns Ion model tie “ focrat attic i: but a
S5KI,
‘El!
1 of Ifo till, 1!
does in »of Be ag fa esce title i tstiiti Eft bt

iXCE GRECIAN .ELOQUENCE. J75
lie oui' tions of Rhetoric ; which are indeed formed Mofe upon a plan of Eloquence very different from , that of Ifocrates, and the Rhetoricians of that icious: time. He feems to have had it in view to diredl ery v- the attention of orators much more towards con- leff!- vincing and affeding their hearers, than towards :y oEl the mufical cadence of periods, deck;.. Isjeus and Lyfias, fome of whofe orations are 11 is(f preferved , belong alfo to this period. Lyfias ichimti: was fomewhat earlier than Ifocrates, and is the i,iaf model of that manner which the ancients cal! 3 y !: . ; the “ Tenuis vel Subtilis. ” He has none of arable 1 Ifocrates’s pomp. He is every where pure and latfef attic in the higheft degree; fimple and unaffeded; ytfojr. but wants force, and is fomeumes frigid in his • 0 |g.. compofitions * Ifxus is chiefly remarkable for
eofk
. jp; * In the judicious comparifon , which Dionyfius of '' "" Halicarnaffus makes of the merits of Lyfias and Ifocrates T P 311 '-- he afcribes to Lyfias, as the diftinguifhing character of his c.' pi manner, a certain grace or elegance arifing from fimplicity :
i^KJl 44 'SfzZvxsfyxp 71 \vg-ix Xszi; ix SiV T0 XswisV* y <? (g-qxcqctxc , (outeTXt,”
c - “ The ftyle of Lyfias has gracefulnefs for its nature: that l{ c IJ - “ of Ifocrates, feeks to have it.” In the art of narra- tion, as diftinct , probable , and perfuafive, he holds in is Lyfias to be fuperior to all orators: at the fame time, ice;;; he admits that his compofition is more adapted to private jljjj. litigation than to great lubjecte. He convinces’, but he does not elevate nor animate. The magnificence-and fplen- d dour of Ifocrates is more fuited to great occafions. He is fori more agreeable than Lyfias; and, in dignity offentiment, ion, I: far excels him. "With regard to the affectation which is Hlible in Ifocrates’s manner, he concludes what he fays of it whith the following excellent obfervations, which fhould .“y never be forgotten by any who afpire to be true Orators.
L E C . T.
XXV.

176 DEMOSTHENES.
Lec r,. being the mafter of the great Demofthencs, in XXV. whom, it mud be acknowledged, Eloquence fl'.one forth with higher fplendour, than perhaps in any that ever bore the name of an orator, and whofe manner and character, therefore, mud deferve our particular attention.
I s H A i. L not fpend any • time upon the, circumftances of Demofthenes’s life ; they arc
Tv; //.evToi xyayit; rav TSz^toooot to y.vy.Kiot, xxi rxt tv; A itix; to f/.zipx .Ixiz ;, av. iioy.ii/.xifit' b&Ktvzi yxo y c<ty,:t. Xxxi; to) pvj/j.o) tv; a y.y.i rs v.o>j.-X/ti 'kztdztxi rs a\x)m, odxtis'ov t soTiryrizvv.x it oixKzy.roj ncO.iTivv , jtou Bxyomi, r ,
OJ/.OlOTXTOt TO) X.XTX 0-JTit. fiiiXZTX) CT V HlVTi; Til; VOVUXTl’l h'rfatl
Try A£?iv , h tv A rAzi toc vtyy.xlx' ovm0h?m tSf ov onpi niKzv.n ; lffl iifwv; Kzyoili xxi itiuirv r;v ttzci iLvyj-,; toz'/g'iti y.'.tbv'.ot It iivx:s i:i tx xou.i1/o i i xxi hxr(ixx i xx% i/nicxxiotov txvtx «■/, iHx fain ivvxiv at nxgxiTX'i'" cJ®£Aei«v. fi.xKK.ot s’ o.'cy. on xxi foXySiy: a xinx ymiTo' yjaputTiTfi.o; yxo Tra; it trtrub'v, v.xi xsOu: yws.us::, dotpov npxyp.x. kxi nohiu.ixTx.TOt ixzoji" Jtldic. de liberate ^8. “ His ftudied circu inflexion of periods, and juvenile affec. “ tation of the flowers of fpeech , I do not approve. “ The thought is frequently made fubfervient to the mnlie “ of the fentence ; and elegance is preferred to reafon. “ Whereas, in every difeourfe, where bulinefs and affairs “ are concerned , nature ought to be followed: and nature “ certainly dictates that the expreffion fhould be an object “ fubordinate to the fenfe, not the fenfe to the expref- “ lion. When one rifes to give public counfel concerning “ war ac.d peace, or takes the charge ot a private man,
“ who rs handing at the bar to be tried for his life,
“ thole ftudied decorations , thofe theatrical graces and “ juvenile flowers , are out of place. Inllead of being of
“ fervi'ce , they are detrimental to the caufe we efpoufe.
When the conteft is of a ferious kind , ornaments, “ which at another time would have beauty, then lofe their effect, and prove hoilile to the affections which “ we wifh to raife in our hearers, ”
well

DEMOSTHENES.
i??
tlier;: ■
I do:
lid.
well known. The ftrong ambition which he Lec t. difcovered to excel in the art of fpeaking ; XXV. the unfuccefsfulnefs of his firft attempts ; his unwearied perfeverance in furmounting all the difadvantages that arofe from his perfon and. addrefs ; his /hutting himfelf up in^a cave, that he might ftndy with lefs di/tradion; his declaiming by the fea-fhore, that,he might accuftom himfelf to the noife of a tumultuous afl'embly, and with pebbles in his mouth, that he might correct a defeat in his fpeech; his pradifing at home with a naked fword hanging over his fhoulder , that he might check an ungraceful motion , to which he was fubjed; all thofe circumfhmces which we learn from Plutarch, are very encouraging to fuch as ftudy Eloquence, as they /how how far art and application may avail, for acquiring an excellence which nature feemed unwilling to grant us.
Despising the affeded and florid mannet which the Rhetoricians of that age followed, DemoPthenes returned to the forcible and manly Eloquence of Pericles ; and ftrength and vehemence form the principal charaderiftics of his Style. Never had Orator a finer field than Demofthenes in his Olynthiacs and Philippics, which are his capital Orations; and, no doubt, to the noblenefs of the fubjed, and to that integrity and public fpirit which eminently breathe in them, they are indebted for much of their merit. The fubjed, is to roufe the indignation of his countrymen again//; Philip ofMacedon, the Voi., II. N

DEMOSTHENES.
L e c T public enemy of the liberties of Greece; and to XXV. guard them againft the infidious meafures, by which that crafty Prince endeavoured to lay them afleep to danger. In the profecution of this end, we fee him taking every proper method to animate a people, renowned for juftice, humanity, and valour, ifht in many inftances become corrupt and degenerate. He boldly taxes them with their venality, their indolence, and indifference to the public caufe; while, at the fame time, wirh all the art of an Orator, he recals the glory of their anceftors to their thoughts, fhows them that they are ftill a flourifhing and a powerful people, the natural protectors of the liberty of Greece, and who wanted only tlft inclination to exert themfelves , in order to make Philip tremble. With his cotemporary orators , who were in Philip’s intereft, and who perfuaded the people to peace, he keeps no meafures, but plainly reproaches them as the betrayers of their country. He not only prompts to vigorous conduct, but he lays down the plan of that conduct; he enters into particulars; and points out, with great exaftnefs, the meafures of execution. This is the (train of thefe orations. They are ftrongly animated; and full of the impetuofity and fire of public fpirit. They proceed in a continued train of inductions, confequences, and demonftrations, founded on found reafon. The figures which he ufes, are never fought after; but always rife from the fubject. He employs them fparingly indeed; for fplendour and ornament are not the diitinctions

DEMOSTHENES.
<Et
Srstt;
red to; lonoi; per ej iltice,h becoii: them s ■
fcs
: EE,: KE;:.
i tu-:~ “j r»\rwt! »
wrydi
Kl ? : , who r ided d;
us cc:'_
ese.~r
Ipc ir>'
coul:;:
i fa*-
y.T- e-
U 11 IVI (J b 1 H Ji Jv Jb, a. 179
of this Orator’s compofition. It is an energy of Lsct, thought peculiar to himfelf, which forms his XXV, character, ’and fets him above all others. He appears to attend much more to things than to ' words. We forget the orator, and think of the bufmefs. He warms the mind, and impels to adtion. He has no parade and oftentation; no methods of infinuation ; no laboured introductions; but is like a man full of his fiibject, who, after preparing his audience by a fentence of two for hearing plain truths, enters diredtly on bufmefs.
Demosthenes appears to great advantage, when contrafted with JEfchines in the celebrated oration “ pro Corona* ” JEfchines was his rival in bufmefs, and perfonal enemy; and one of the mofi diftinguifhed Orators of that age. But when We read the two orations, JEfchines is feeble in comparifon of Demofthenes, and makes much lefs impreffion on the mind. His reafonings concerning the law that was in queftion, are indeed very fubtile; but his invective againft Demofthenes is general, and ill fupported. Whereas Demofthenes is a torrent, that nothing can refill. He bears down his antagonift with violence ; he draws his character in the ftrongeft . colours; and the particular merit of that oration is, that all the defcriptions in it are highly pidturefque, There runs through it a ftrain of magnanimity and high honour: the Orator fpeaks with that ftrength and conscious dignity which great adtions and public fpirit alone infpire. Beth
N 2

DEMOSTHENES.
i So
L e c t. Orators ufe great liberties with one another; and XXV. in general, that unreftrained licence which ancient manners permitted, even to the length ’of abufive names and downright fcurrility, as appears both here and in Cicero’s Philippics, hurts and offends a modem ear. What thofe ancient Orators gained by fuch a manner in point of freedom and bold- nefs, is more than compenfated by want of dignity; which feems to give an advantage, in this refped, to the greater decency of modern fpeaking.
The Style of Demollhenes is ftrong and concife , though fometimes, it mu ft not be diffembled, harfli and abrupt. His words are very expreffive ; his arrangement is firm and manly; and, though far from being unmufical, yet it feems difficult to find in him that ftudied, but concealed number, and Rythmus, which fome of the ancient critics are fond of attributing to him. Negligent of thofe lefier graces, one would rather conceive him to have aimed at that Sublime which lies in fentiment. His action and pronunciation are recorded to have been uncommonly vehement and ardent; which, from the manner of his compofition, we are naturally led to believe. The character which one forms of him, from reading his works, is of the auftere, rather than the gentle kind. He is, on every occafion, grave, ferious, paffionate; takes every thing on a high tone; never lets himfelf down, nor attempts any thing like pleafantry. If any fault can be found to his admirable Eloq_uer.ee,

D E M O S T H E N E S,
i8r
it is, that he fometimes borders on the hard and dry. He may be thought to want hnootii- nefs and grace; which Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus attributes to his imitating too clofely the manner of Thucydides , who was his great model for Style, and whofe hiftory he is faid to have written eight times over with his own hand. But thefe defects are far more than com- penfated , by that admirable and mafterly force of mafculine Eloquence, which , as it overpowered all who heard it, cannot, at this day, be read without emotion.
After the days of Demofthenes , Greece loft her liberty, eloquence of courfe languiflred, and relapfed again into the feeble manner introduced by the Rhetoricians and Sophifts. Demetrius Phalereus , who lived in the next age to Demofthenes , attained indeed fome character, but he is reprefented to us as a flowery, rather than a per- fuafive fpeaker , who aimed at grace rather than fubftance. “ Dele&abat Athenienfes,” fays Cicero, “ magis quam inflammabat.” cc He amufed the “ Athenians, rather than warmed them.” And after his time , we hear of no more Grecian Orators of any note.
N
Lect.
XXV.

LECTURE XXVI
HISTORY OF F.LOOUENCE CONTI, NUED. - ROMAN ELOQUENCE. - CICERO,- MODERN ELOQUENCE,
\
l e c t. Having treated of the rife of Eloquence, and XXVI. 0 f its Hate among the Greeks , we now proceed to confider its progrefs among the Romans, where we fhall find one model, at leaf!;, of Eloquence, in its moll fplendid and illuftrious form. The Romans were long a martial nation, altogether rude, and unfikilled in arts of any kind. Arts were of late introduction among them ; they were not known till after the conqueft of Greece; and the Romans always acknowledged the Grecians as their mailers in every part of learning.
Grxcia capta ferum, vidtorem cepit, et artes Intulit agrefti Latio * -
Hok. Epift. ad Aug.
* 'When conquered Greece brought in her captive arts, She triumph’d o’er her favage conquerors’ hearts; Taught our rough verfe its numbers to refine,
And our rude Style with elegance to fhiiie.
Francis,

ROMAN ELOQUENCE. 183
As the Romans derived their Eloquence, Poetry, and Learning from the Greeks, fo they muft be confefled to be far inferior to them in genius for ail thefe accomplifhments. They were a more grave and magnificent, but a lefs acute and fprightly people. They had neither the vivacity nor the fenfibility of the Greeks ; their paffions were not fo eafdy moved , nor their conceptions fo lively; in comparifon of them , they were a phlegmatic nation. Their language re- feaibled their character: it was regular, firm, and Lately; but wanted that fimple and expreffive naivete, and, in particular, that flexibility to fuit every different mode and fpecies of compofi- tion , for which the Greek tongue is diftinguifh- ed above that of every other country.
Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo
Mufa loqui f- Ars Poet.,
And hence, when we compare together the various rival productions of Greece aud Rome , we fhall always find this diftinCtion obtain, that in the Greek productions there is more native genius ; in the Roman , more regularity and art. What the Greeks invented, the Romanspoliihed;
f Toher lov’d Greeks the Mufe indulgent gave, To her lov’d Greeks with greatnefs to conceive-; And in fublimer tone their language raife:
Her Greeks were only covetous of praife,
N 4
ft.
, E C T.
XXVI.
Francis,.

L E C T.
XXVI.
184 R O M A N ELO Q/U ENCE.
the one was the original, rough fometimes, and incorred; the other, a finifhed copy.
As the Roman government, during the republic was of the popular kind , there is no doubt but that, in the hands of the leading men, public fpeaking became early an engine of government, and was employed for gaining diftincfion and power. But in the rude unpolilhed times of the State , their fpeaking was hardly of that fort that could he called Eloquence. Though Cicero, in his Treatife “ de Claris Oratoribus,” endeavours to give fome reputation to the elder Cato, and thofe who were his cotemporaries, yet he acknow? ledges it to have been “ Afperum et horridura “ genus dicendi,” a rude and harfh drain of fpeech. It was not till a fhort time preceding Cicero’s age, that the Roman Orators rofe into any note. Craffus and Antonius, two of the fpeakers in the dialogue De Oratore, appear to have been the moft eminent , whole different manners Cicero deferibes with great beauty in that dialogue, and in his other rhetorical works. But as none of their productions are extant, nor any of Horten- fius’s, who was Cicero’s cotemporary and rival at the bar , it is needlefs to tranferibe from Cicero’s writings the account which he gives of thofe great men, and of the character of their Eloquence *.
* Such as are defirous of particular information on this head, had better have recourfe to the original, by reading kiegro s three books De Oratore, and his other two trea-
A

CICERO.
185
set
The object in this period, mofi worthy to draw Lect, ■ ' our attention , is Cicero himfelf; whole name XXVI.
alone fuggefts every thing that is fplendid in 10 d®:. Oratory. With the hiftory of his life, and with _ p his character , as a man and a politician, we have [Pvits not as prefent any direct concern. We confider tim only as an eloquent Speaker; and, in this ton®; view, it is our bufinefs to remark both his virtues,
' °flk and his defe&s, if he has any. His virtues are, boujlC; beyond controverfy, eminently great. In all his >, dcr Or itions there is high art. He begins, generally,
:r Ca;o with a regular exordium; and with much prepa- etkii ration and infxnuation prepoffelTes the hearers,
1 etW and ftudies to gain their affections. His method rainolb is clear, and lus arguments are arranged with I Cic;;;. great propriety. His method is indeed more clear to any: than that of Demofthenes; and this is one advan- pate; tage which he has over him. We find every thing jvek iu its proper place; he never attempts to move, inner if till he has endeavoured to convince ; and in mov- hat di. * n g > efpecially the fofter paffions , he is very ; ut - f.iccefsful. No man, that ever wrote, knew the iy uig- power and force of words better than Cicero. He jryjjd; rolls them along with the greateft beauty and fromk P om P 5 an d in the ftrudture of his fentences , is ivesd’ cur i° us an d exact to the higHefl: degree. He is always full and flowing, never abrupt;. He is a
tifes, entitled , the one, Brutus , five de Chris Oratoribus;
. t:e other Orator , ad M. Briitum ; which, on fever;;!
accounts well deferve peryfitL a!, (;■- .

i86
CICERO.
L E C T.
XXVI.
great amplifier of every fubjedl; magnificent and in his fentiments highly moral. Eis mannerison the whole diffufe, yet it is often happily varied, and fuited to the fubjedl. In his four orations, for inftance, againft: Catiline, the tone and ftyle of each of them, particularly the firfl and laft, is very different, and accommodated with a great deal of judgment to the occafion , and the fitua- tion in which they were fpoken. When a great public objedl roufed his mind, and demandedin. dignation and force , he departs confiderably from that loofe and declamatory manner to which he inclines at other times , and becomes exceedingly cogent and vehement. This is the cafe in his Orations againft Antony , and in thofe two againft Verres and Catiline.
Together with thofe high qualities which Cicero poffefTes, he is not exempt from certain defedts , of which it is neceffary to take notice. For the Ciceronian Eloquence is a pattern fo dazzling by its beauties, that, if not examined with accuracy and judgment, it is apt to betray theun- wary into a faulty imitation; and I am of opinion, that it has fometimes produced this effect In moft of his Orations, efpecially thofe compofed in the earlier part of his life, there is too much art; even carried the length of oftentation. There is too vilible a parade of Eloquence. He feems often to aim at obtaining admiration, rather than at operating convidlion , by what he fays. Hence on fome occafions, he is fhowy rather than fold;
jvpoft
f
sknt
ape*
hdperf
apart;
reftraint
fa th oi I'm Oiatio minds of a Vi This din C by his Qainclii “deC; :re inlo broken mines,
“tlttll
“ in r< * do £
s “ B k'&a '®s;i ‘ steel
t.
®tej

CICERO,
1S7
SItt,
and diffufe, where he ought to have been preffing. His fentences are , at all times, round and fono- rous; they cannot be accufed of monotony , for they poffefs variety of cadence; but, from too great a ftudy of magnificence , he is fometimes deficient in ftrength. On all occafions, where there is the leaf!; room for it, he is full of himfelf. His great actions, and the real fervices which he had performed to his country, apologize for this in part; ancient manners, too, impofed fewer reftraints from the fide of decorum; but, even after thefe allowances made , Cicero’s oftentation of himfelf cannot be wholly palliated; and his Orations, indeed all his works, leave on our minds the imprefiion of a good man , but withal, of a vain man.
Th£ defects which we have now taken notice of in Cicero’s Eloquence, were not unobferved by his own cotemporaries. This we learn from Quinclilian, and from the author of the dialogue “ de Caufis Corruptae Eloquentiae.” Brutus, we are informed, called him, a fradtum etelumbem,” broken and enervated. “ Suorum temporum ho^ mines ,” fays Quinclilian , “ inceffare audebant eum “ ut tumidiorem et Afianum, et redundantem, et “ in repetitionibus nimium , et in falibus aliquan- <£ do frigidum , et in compofitione fractum et ex- “fultantem, et pene viro molliorem*.” Thefe
L E C T.
XXVI.
* “ His cotemporaries ventured to reproach him as “ fwelling , redundant and Afiatic; too frequent in repeti- “ tions ; in his attempts towards wit fometimes cold; and, “ in the {train of his compofition, feeble , defultory , and more effeminate than became a man. ”

CICERO.
#
L E c t. cenfures were undoubtedly carried too far; and XXVI. favour of malignity and perfonal enmity. They faw his defects, but they aggravated them ; and the fource of thefe aggravations can be traced to the difference which prevailed in Rome, in Cicero’s days , between two great parties , with refped to Eloquence. The “ Atticiand the “ Afiani.” The former, who called themfelves the Attics, were the patrons of what they conceived to be the , chafte, fnrsple , and natural Style of Eloquence; from which they accufed Cicero as having departed , and as leaning to the florid Afiatic manner. In feveral of his rhetorical works*, particularly in his “Orator ad Brutum,” Cicero, in his turn, endeavours to expofc this feet, as fubllituting a frigid and jejune manner , in place of the true Attic Eloquence; and contends , that his own compofition was formed upon the real Attic Style. In the roth Chapter of the laftBookofQuinctilian’s lnftitutions, a full account is given of the difputes between thefe two parties ; and of the Rhodian, or middle manner between the Attics and the Afia- tics. Quinchlian himfelf declares on Cicero’s iide; and , whether it be called Attic or Afiatic, prefers the full, the copious, and the amplifying Style, lie concludes with this very juft obfervation: “ I'lures funt eloquentias facies ; fed ftultiffunum “ eft quterere , ad quam recturusfe fit orator; cum ct omnis fpecies , quae rnodo recta eft, habeat “ ufum.— E'tetur enim, ut res exiget, omnibus; cc nec pro caufa modo, fed pro partibus caufre*.’
* “ Eloquence admits of many different forms, and

COMPARISON OF, & c . 1S9
On the Object . of comparing Cicero and Demofthenes, muth has been Paid by critical : writers. The different manners of thefe two Princes of Eloquence, and the diftinguifhmg : characters of each, are fo ftrongly marked in their writings, that the companfon is, m many : refpects, obvious and eafy. The character of : Demofthenes is vigour and aufterity; that of . Cicero is gentlenefs and infmuation. In the one, you find more manlinefs, in the other, more : ornament. The one is more harfh , but more fpirited and cogent; the other more agreeable, but withal, loofer and weaker.
To account for this difference, without any .prejudice to Cicero, it has been faid , that we ipufb look to the nature of their different auditories; that the refined Athenians followed with eafe the concife and convincing Eloquence of Demcffthenes; but that a manner more popular, more flowery, and declamatory, was requifite in fpeaking to the Romans, a people lets acute, and lefs acquainted with the arts of fpeech. But this is not fatisfaeftory. For we mull obferve, that the Greek Orator fpoke much oftener before a mixed multitude, than the Roman. AlmQffc
Iect,
XXVI.
“ nothing can be more foolifh than to enquire, by which “ of them an Orator is to regulate his Compolition; fince tc every form, which is in itfelf juft, has it own place “ and ufe. The Orator, according as circumftances require, “ will employ them all; fuiting them not only to the caufe “ or fubject of which he treats, but to th? different “ parts of that fubject ”

T 9 o 1 COMPARISON OF
' L e c t. all the public bufmefs of Athens was tranfacled XXVI. in popular Aflemblies. The common people were his hearers, and his judges. Whereas Cicero generally addreffed himfelf to the “ Patres Con. “ fcripti ,” or in criminal trials to the Pnetor, and the Select Judges ; and it cannot be imagined, that the perfons of higheft rank, and bed education in Rome , required a more diffufe manner of pleading than the common citizens of Athens, in order to make them underhand the caufe, or relifh the Speaker. Perhaps we flull come nearer the truth, by obferving, that to unite together all the qualities , without the lead exception , that form a perfedt Orator, and to excel equally in each of thofe qualities, is not to be expedted from the limited powers of human genius. The higheft degree of ftrength is, I fufpedt, never found united with the highed degree of fmoothnefs and ornament; equal attentions to both are incompatible; and the genius that carries ornament to its utmoft length, is not of fuch a kind, as can excel as much in vigour. For there plainly lies the charadteriftical difference between thefe two celebrated Orators.
•It is a difadvantage to Demofthenes, that, befides his concifenefs, which fometimes produces obfcurity , the language, in which he writes, is lcfs familiar to moft of us than the Latin, and that we are lefs acquainted with the Greek antiquities than we are with the Roman. We read Cicero with more cafe, and of courfe with more pleafure. Independent of this circumftance

CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES.
191
^ too, he is no doubt, in himfelf, a more agreeable L e c T. ^ writer than the other. But notwithftanding this XXVI. "^advantage, I am of opinion, that were the ftate ^ in danger, or fome great public intereft at flake,
10:1 which drew the ferious attention of men, an Oration in the fpirit and ftrain of Demofthenes, r ’« . would have more weight, and produce greater lc ~ effects than one in the Ciceronian manner. Were Demofthenes’s Philippics fpoken in a Britilh Affembly, in a fimilar conjuncture of affairs, they c i would convince and perfuade at this day. The kt" rapid Style, the vehement reafonitig, the difdain,
' r '-t anger , boldnefs , freedom , which perpetually Cr animate them , would render *their fuccefs infalli- ipshble over any modern Affembly. I queftion whether ;o»s:the fame can be fa id of Cicero’s Orations; whofe f lire Eloquence , however' beautiful , and however fiiiwell fuited to the Roman tafte , yet borders k;;l oftener on declamation, and is more remote ;e;: from the manner in which we now expect to . . hear real buiinefs and caufes of importance treated *.
, In comparing Demofthenes and Cicero, molt _ of the French Critics incline to give the preference to the latter. P. Rapin the Jefuit. in the Parallels which he has drawn between fome of the moft eminent Greek and Roman writers,
* In this jugdment, I concur with Mr. David Hume, in his Effay upon Eloquence. He gives it as his opinion, that, of all human productions, the Orations of Demofthenes prefent to us the models which approach the neareft to perfection.

*
i 9 3 COMPARISON OF, & c .
L e c t. uniformly decides in favour of the Roman. For XXVI. the preference which he gives to Cicero, he af- ftgns, and lays ftrefs on one reafon of a pretty extraordinary nature ; viz. that Demofthenes could not poffibly have fo complete an infight as- Cicero into the manners and paftions of men ; Why ?—Becaufe he had not the advantage of perilling Ariftotle’s treatife of Rhetoric, wherein, fays our Critic , he has fully laid open that myftery: and, to fupport this weighty argument he enters into a controverfy with A. Gellius, in order to prove that Ariftotle’s Rhetoric was not published till after Demofthenes had fpoken, at leaft, his moil Qonfiderable orations. Nothing can be more childifh. Such Orators as Cicero and Demofthenes , derived their knowledge of the human paftions , and their power of moving them, from higher fources than any Treatife of Rhetoric. One French Critic has indeed departed from the common tract; and, after beftowing on Cicero thofe juft praifes to which the confent of fo many ages fhows him to be entitled, concludes however, with giving the palm to De-» mofthenes. This is Fenelon, the famous Arch- bifhop of Cambray, and Author of Telemachus; liimfelf furely no enemy to all the graces and flowers of compofition. It is in his Refiedions on Rhetoric and Poetry , that he gives tins judgment; a fmall tradl, commonly publifhed along with his dialogues on Eloquence*. Tliefe
* As his expreffions are remarkably happy and beautiful,
Dialogues

DECAY OF ROMAN ELOQUENCE. 193
dialogues and reflections are particularly worthy L e c T„ of perufal, as containing, I think, the juft eft XXVI. ideas on the Object, that are to be met with in any modern critical writer.
The reign oftEloquence, among the Romans, was very 111 or t. After the age of Cicero , it languished , or rather expired ; and we have no reafon to wonder at this being the cafe. For not only was liberty entirely extinguished , but arbitrary power felt in its hcavieft and moft oppreffive weight: Providence having , in its
the paffage here referred to defcrves to be inferted. “ Je “ ne crains pas dire, que Demofthene me parait fuperieur “ a Ciceron. Je protefte que perfonne n’admire plus Cice- “ ron que je fais. 11 embellit tout ce qu'il touche. II Eric “ honneur a la parole. II fait des mots ce qu’un autre “ n’en faurait fuire. 11 a, je ne fais conibien de fortes “ d’efprit. II eft meme court, & vehement , toutes les “ fois qu’il veut l'etre; contre Catiline, contre Verres,
“ contre Antoine. Mais on remarque quelque parure dans “ fon difcours. L’art y eft merveilleux; mais on l’entre- “ voit. L’orateur en penfant au falut de la republlque , ne “ s’oublie pas , et ne fe IaiiTe pas oublier. Demofthene “ parait fortir de foi, et ne voir que .la patrie. II ne “ cherche point le beau; il le fait, fans y penfer, T1 “ eft au-deffus de l’admiration. II fe fert de la parole,
“ comme un homme modeftc de fon habit, pour le con- “ vrir. II tonne; il foudroye. C’eft un torrent qui entrain?
“ tout. On ne peut le critiquer, parcequ’on eft fain. On “ penfe aux chofes qu’il dit, et non a fes paroles. On “ le perd de vue. On n’eft occupe que de Philippe qui u envahit tout. Je fuis charme de ces deux orateurs:
“ mais j’avoue. que je fuis moins touche de Part infini,
“ et de la magnifique eloquence de Ciceron, que de la “ rapide fimplicite de Demofthene. ”
Vox.. II.
o

i 9 4 DECAY OF ROMAN ELOQUENCE.
L E c t. wrath ,• delivered over the Roman Empire to a XXVI. fucceffion of fome of the mold execrable tyrants that ever difgraced, and fcourged , the human race. Under their government, it was naturally to be expecfted that tafte would be ojrrupted , and genius difcouraged. Some of the ornamental arts, lefs intimately connected with liberty , continued, for a while to prevail; but for that mafculine Eloquence, which , had exercifed itfelf in the fenate , and in the public affairs, there was no longer any place. The change which was produced on Eloquence, by the nature of the government, and the Rate of the public manners, is beautifully defcribed in the Dialogue de Caufxs corrupts Eloquentiae, which is attributed, by fome, to Tacitus, by others, to Quindtilian. Luxury, effeminacy, and flattery, overwhelmed all. The Forum, where fo many great affairs had been tranfacfed, was now become a defert. Private caufes were ftill pleaded; but the Public was no longer interefted; nor any general attention drawn to what palled there: “Unus inter haec , et alter, dicenti affiftit; a et res velut in folitudine agitur. Oratori autem “ clamore plaufuque opus eft, et velut quodam cc theatro , qualia quotidie antiquis oratoribus “ contingebant; cum tot ac tarn nobiles forum “ coardfarent ; cum clientele , & tribus , &
“ municipiorum legationes, periclitantibus aflifte- cc reirt; cum in plerifque judiciis crederet p<jpulus “ Romanus fua interelfe quid judicaretur*.”
* “ The Courts of Judicature are , at prefent, fo unfre- “ quented, that the Orator Lems to hand alone, aid

DECAY 0 £ ROMAN ELOQUENCE. 195
In the fchools of the declaimers, the corruption of Eloquence was completed. Imaginary and fantaftic fubjedts, fuch as had no real life, or bufmefs , were made the themes of declamation; and all manner of falfe and affedled ornaments were brought into vogue : “ Pace veftra liceat “ dixiffefays Petronius Arbiter, to the declaimers of his time , “ primi omnem eloquentiam “ perdidiftis. Levibus enim ac inanibus fonis “ ludibria quxdarn excitando, effeciflis ut corpus a orationis enervaretur atque caderet. Et ideo “ ego exiftimo adolefeentulos in fcholis ftultiffimos “ fieri, quia mini ex iis, quae in ufu habemus, “ aut vident; fed piratas cum catenis in littore a ftantes ; et tyrannos edicla fcribentes quibus ct imperent filiis ut patrum fuorum capita praeci- ct dant ; fed refponfa , in peftilentia data , ut cc virgines tres aut plures immolentur; fed mellitos “ verborum globulos, & omnia quafi papavere, “ & fefamo fparfa. Qui inter luce nutriuntur, “ non magis fapere poffunt, quam bene olere cc qui in culina habitant*.” In the hands of the
“ talk to bare walls. But eloquence rejoices in the burfts “ of loud applaufe, and exults in a full audience ; fuch “ as ufed to prefs round the ancient Orators, when the “ Forum flood crowded with nobles; when numerous reti- “ nues of clients , when foreign ambaffadors , when tribes, “ and whole cities affifted at the debate and when, in “ many trials, the Roman people underllood themfelves “ to be concerned in the event. ”
* “ With your permidion, I muft be allowed to fay, “ that you have been the full deltroyers of all true Eia-
O 2
L E C T«
XXVI.

i c)6 DECAY OF ROMAN ELOQUENCE.
Lec t. Greek rhetoricians , the manly and fenfible XXVI. Eloquence of their firft noted fpeakers degenerated, as I formerly fliowed, into fubtility and fophiftry; in the hands of the Roman declairaers, it pa (fed into the quaint and affected ; into point and antithefis. This corrupt manner begins to appear in the writings of Seneca; and fhows itfelf, alfo, in the famous panegyric of Pliny the Younger on Trajan, which may be confi- dered as thelaft effort of Roman oratory. Though the author was a man of genius, yet it is deficient in nature and eafe. We fee , throughout the whole, a perpetual attempt to depart from the ordinary v/ay of thinking , and to fupport a forced elevation.
In the decline of the Roman Empire, the introduction of Chriflianity gave rife to a new
“ quence. For, by thofe mock fubjects , on which you era- “ ploy your empty and unmeaning compofitions, you have “ enervated and overthrown all that is manly and fuhftar- “ tial in Oratory. I cannot but conclude, that the youth “ whom you educate, muft be totally perverted in your “ fchools, by hearing and feeing nothing which has any “ affinity to real life , or human affairs; but ftories of pirates “ Handing on the fhore, provided with chains for loading “ their captives , and of tyrants ifluing their edicts, by which “ childern are commanded to cut off the heads of their pa- “ rents; but refponfes given by oracles in the time of peililenee, “ that feveral virgins muft be facrificed ; but glittering orna- “ ments of phrafe , and a ffyle highly fpiced , if we may fiy “ fo , with affected conceits. They who are educated in the “ midft of fuch ftudies, can no more acquire a good take, “ than they can fmell fweet who dwell perpetually m a “ kitchen. ”

ELOQUENCE OF THE FATHERS. 197
fpecies of Eloquence . in the apologies, fermons , and paftoral writings of the Fathers of the Church. Among the Latin Fathers, Ladantius and Minu- tius Felix , are the raoft remarkable for purity of Style; and. in a later age, the famous St. Auguf- tine poffeffes a coufiderable Chare of fprightlinefs and ftrength. But none of the Fathers afford any juft models of Eloquence. Their Language, as fooir as we defcend to the third or fourth century, becomes haifb, and they are, in general, infed- ed with the tafte of that age, a love of fwoln am? drained thoughts, and of the play of words. Among the Greek Fathers, the moft diftinguiflied, by tar, for his oratorical merit, is St. Chryfo- ftome His Language is pure; his Style highly figured. He is copious , fmooth , and fometimes pathetic. But he retains, at the fame time, much of that character which has been always attributed to the Afiatic Eloquence, diffufe and redundant to a great degree, and often overwrought and tumid. He may be read, however, with advantage, for the Eloquence of the pulpit, as being freer of falfe ornaments than the Latin Fathers.
As there is nothing more that occurs to me, deferving particular attention in the middle age, I pafs now to the ftate of Eloquence in modern times. Here, it mult be confeffed, that, in no European nation, Public Speaking has ben con- fidered as fo great an objed, or been cultivated with fo much care , as in Greece or Rome. Its deputation has never been fo high ; its effeds have never been, fo confiderable ; nor has that
O 3
L E C T.
XXVI.

1 9 8 MODERN ELOQUENCE.
L e G T. high and fublime kind of it, which prevailed in XXYL thofe ancient ftates , been fo much as aimed at:
notwithftanding, too , that a new profeffion has been eftabiifhed , which gives peculiar advantages to Oratory, and affords it the nobleft field; I mean , that of the Church. The genius of the world feems, in this refpedt, to have undergone fome alteration. The two countries where we might expect to find moft of the fpirit of Eloquence , are France and Great Britain : France, on account of the diftinguifhed turn of the nation towards all the liberal arts, and of the encouragement which, for this century paft, thofe arts have received from the Public; Great Britain, on account both of the public capacity and genius , and of the free government which it enjoys. "Vet, fo it is, that, in neither of thofe countries, has the talent of Public Speaking rifen near to the degree of its ancient fplendour. While, in other productions of genius, both in profeand in poetry, they have contended for the prize with Greece and Rome; nay, in fome competitions, may be thought to have furpaffed them: the names of Demofthenes and Cicero , Hand, at this day , unrivalled in fame; and it would be held prefumptuous and abfurd, to pretend to place any modern whatever on the fame, or even on a nearly equal, rank.
It feems particularly furprifing , that Great Britain Ihould not have made a more confpicuotis figure in Eloquence than it has hitherto attained^ wherj we confide? the enlightened, and, at the

MODERN ELOQUENCE.
199
fame time, the free and bold genius of the country, which feems not a little to favour Oratory; and when we confider that, of all the polite nations , it alone poffeffes a popular government, or admits into the legillature, fuch numerous affem- blies as car; be fuppofed to lie under the dominion of Eloquence *. Notwithftanding this advantage, it mud be confeffed, that, in moll parts of Eloquence , we are undoubtedly inferior, not only to the Greeks and Romans by many degrees, but alfo to the French. We have Philofophers , eminent and confpicuous, perhaps, beyond any nation, in all the parts of fcience. We have both tafte and erudition, in a high degree. We have Hiftorians, we have Poets of the greateft name; but of Orators, or Public Speakers, how little have we to boaft? And where are the ftionuments of their genius to be found ? in every period we have had fome who made a figure, by managing the debates in Parliament; but that figure was commonly owing to their wifdom, or their experience in bufinefs , more than to their talents for Oratory; and unlefs in fome few inftances, wherein the power of Oratory has appeared, indeed, with
* Mr. Hume, in his Effay on Eloquence, makes this obfervation, and illuftrates it with his uftial elegance. He, indeed, fuppofes, that no fatisfactory reafons can be given to account for the inferiority of modern to ancient Eloquence. In this, I differ from him, and fhall endeavour, before the conclufion of this Lecture, to point out fome caufes to which, I think, it may, in a great meafure be afcribed, in the three great fcenes of Public Speaking.
O4
L E C T. XXVI.

200
MODERN ELOQUENCE.
Le c t. much luftre, the art of Parliamentary Speaking XXVI. rather obtained to feveral a temporary applaufe, than conferred upon any a lafting renown. At the bar, though, queflioniefs , we have many able pleaders , yet few or none of their pleadings have been thought worthy to be tranfmitted to Pofteri- ty; nor have commanded attention, any longer than the caufe which was the {abject of them interefted the Public; while, in France, the pleadings of Patru , in the former age, and thofe of Cochin and D’Agueffeau, in later times, are read with plea- lure , and are often quoted as examples of Eloquence by the French critics. In the fame manner, in the pulpit, the Britifh divines have diftinguilh- ed themfelves by the moffc accurate and rational compofitions which, perhaps, any nation can boall of. Many printed fermons we have, full of good fenfe , and of found divinity and morality ; but the Eloquence to be found in them, the power of perfuafion , of interefting and engaging the heart, which is , or ought to be, the great object of the pulpit, is far from bearing a fuitablc proportion to the excellence of the matter. There are few arts, in my opinion , farther from perfection, than that of preaching is among us; the reafons of which , I fhall afterwards have occafton to difcufs ; in proof of the fa (ft, it is jufficient to obferve, that an Englifh fermon, inftead of being a perfuafive animated Oration, i'eldom rifes beyond the {train of corredt and dry reafoning. Whereas, in the fermons of Boffuet, Maffillon, Bourdaloue, and Flechier, among

MODERN ELOQUENCE, s-oi
Mr:;
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toff
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tab; Cod:. • wh.
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roe nr dfe end r.:c na: tot., andc din:, njacc. to be.. klK if itr m.fc
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the French , we fee a much higher fpecies of Eloquence aimed at, and in a great meafure attained , than the Britifh preachers have in view.
In general, the characteriftical difference between the ftate of Eloquence in France and in Great Britain is, that the French have adopted higher ideas both of pleafing and perfuading by means of Oratory, though , fometimes , in the execution they fail. In Great Britain , we have taken up Eloquence on a lower key; but in our execution , as was naturally to be expedled , have been more correct. In France, the ftyle of their Orators is ornamented with bolder figures: and their difcourfe carried on with more amplification, more warmth and elevation. The compofition is often very beautiful; but fometimes, alfo , too diftufe, and deficient in that ftrcngth and cogency which renders Eloquence powerful ; a defedt owing, perhaps, in part, to the genius of the people , which leads them to attend fully as much to ornament as to fubftance ; and, in part, to the nature of their government, which, by excluding Public Speaking from having much influence on the conduct of Public Affairs, deprives Eloquence of its belt opportunity for acquiring nerves and ftrength. Plence the pulpit is the principal field which is left for their Eloquence. The members, too, of the French academy give harangues at their admiffion , in which genius often appears; but labouring under the misfortune of having no fubjedt to difcourfe upon, they run commonly
L e c'r.
XXVI.

-ox MODERN ELOQUENCE.
MOD
L E C T.
XXVI.
into flattery and panegyric, the mod bSrren and infipid of all topics.
I observed before, that the Greeks and Ro. mans afpired to a more fublime fpecies of Eloquence, than is aimed at. by the Moderns. Theirs was of the vehement and paffionate kind, by which they endeavoured to inflame the minds of their hearers, and hurry their imaginations away: and , fuitable to this vehemence of thought, was their vehemence of geflure and action; the e ‘ fupplofio pedis , ” the percuffio frontis & “ femoris, ” were, as we learn from Cicero’s writings *, ufual geflures among them at the bar; though now they would be reckoned extravagant any where, except upon the ftage. Modern Eloquence is much more cool and temperate; and in Great Britain efpecially, has confined itfelf almoR wholly to the argumentative and rational. It is much of that fpecies which the ancient critics called the “Tenuis, ” or “ Subtilis;” which aims at convincing and inflruding, rather than affeding the paffions, and affumes atone not much higher than common argument and difeourfe.
Several reafons may be given, why modern Eloquence has been fo limited, and humble in its efforts. In the firft place, I am of opinion, that this change mult, in part, be aferibed to that corred turn of thinking, which has been fo much ftudied in modern times. It can hardly be doubted, that, in many efforts of mere genius,
jjntage c -id alt
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* Vide, De Clar. Orator/
d tfhici
3 ^

^ MODERN ELOQUENCE. 203
°fttS the ancient Greeks and Romans excelled us; but, on the other hand, that, in accuracy and clofe- fKfej nefs ofreafoning on many fubjecls, we have fome fpttB: advantage over them, ought, I think, to be oders; admitted alfo. In proportion as the world has Bite e advanced, philofophy has made greater progrefs. ice::: A certain ftrictnefs of good fenfe has, in this ir illand particularly, been cultivated, and intro- inceci; duced into every fubjecb Hence we are more on uuh;; our guard againft the flowers of Elocution; we :uSb; are on the watch, we are jealous of being deceiv- fror ed by Oratory. Our 'Public Speakers are obliged hen::: to be more referved than the ancients, in their n{j) Br attempts to elevate the imagination, and warm • the paffions ; and, by the influence of prevailing tjup tafte, their own genius is foberecl and chaften- cocte > perhaps, in too great a degree. It is likely ver too, I confefs , that what we fondly afcribe to jjj,.... our corredtnefs and good fenfe, is owing, in a abi g reat meafure, to our phlegm and natural coldnefs. p . For the vivacity and fenfibility of the Greeks and Romans, more efpecially of the former, feem to have been much greater than ours, and to have given them a higher relilh of all the beau- h ties of Oratory.
Besides thefe national ‘conflderations , we mull, in the next place, attend to peculiar cir- . . cumftances in the three great fcenes of Public
“ Speaking, which have proved difadvantageous to the growth of Eloquence among us. Though Ili " the Parliament of Great Britain be the nobleft field which Europe, at this day, affords to a
L E C T.
XXVI.

204 MODERN ELOQUENCE.
ii
L E c T. Public Speaker , yet Eloquence has never been XXVI. fo powerful an inftrument there, as it was i n the popular affemblies of Greece and Home. Under fome former reigns, the high hand of arbitrary power bore a violent fway ; and in later times, miniflerial influence has generall prevailed, The power of Speaking, though always conii- derable, yet has been often found too feeble to counterbalance either of tbefe; and, of courfe, has not been ftudied with fo much zeal and fervour , as where its effect on bufmefs was irre- filtible and certain. •
At the Bar, our difadvantage, in comparifon of the ancients, is great. Among them the judges were generally numerous ; the laws were few and fimple ; the decifion of caufes was left in a great meafure, to equity and thefenfe of mankind. Here was an ample field for what they termed Judicial Eloquence. But among the moderns, the cafe is quite altered. The f/ftem of law is become much more complicated. The knowledge of it is thereby rendered fo laborious an attainment, as to be the chief objedt of a lawyer’s education, and, in a manner, the fludy of Ins life. The Art of Speaking is but a fecondary accomplifhment, to which he can afford to devote much lefs of his time and labour. The bounds of Eloquence behdes, are now much circuit- fcribed at the Bar; and except, in a. few cafes, reduced to arguing from firicl law, ftatute,or precedent; by which means knowledge, much more than Oratory , is become the principal requifite.
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MODERN ELOQUENCE. 205
XCE
a> ^ IV'ith regard to the Pulpit, it has certainly L e c T, 25 been a great difadvantage, that the practice of XXVI.
: ^ reading Sermons, inftead of repeating them from to?' 1 - memory, has prevailed fo univerfallyin England.
Vie- This may, indeed, have introduced accuracy;
p but it has done great prejudice to Eloquence;
L for a Difcourfe read, is far inferior to an Oration ; too! fpoken. It leads to a different fort of compofition , as d. «: well as of delivery . and can never have an equal b m. effect upon any audience. Another circumftance,
.neh ■ too , has been unfortunate. The fectaries an d fanatics, before the Reftoration, adopted a warm, inter zealous, and popular manner of preaching; and them t'nofe who adhered to them , in aftertimes, con- law tinued to diftinguifh themfelves by fomewhat of s k the fame manner. The odium of thefe feels drove : the eftablifhed church from that warmth which
vhaff they were judged to have carried to far, into at]:;- the oppofite extreme of a ftudied coolnefs*, and ■(ter compofure of manner. Hence, from the art of Eeb perfualion, which preaching ought always to be, ri0! ;~ it has palled, in England , into mere reafoning and . 0 f. inftruction; which not only has brought down £ the Eloquence of the Pulpit to a lower tone than it , might juftly affume ; but has produced this far- | c .j, ther effect, that, by accuftoming the Public ear ■p to fuch cool and difpaffionate Difcourfes, it has ’ • tended to falhion other kinds of Public Speaking . j, upon the fame model.
Thus I have given fome view of the date of Eloquence in modern times, and endeavoured to w ,' : . account for it. It has, as we have feen, fallen

■io6 MODERN ELOQUENCE.
L e c T. below that fplendour which it maintained in anci- XXVI, ent ages; and from being fublimie and vehement, has come down to be temperate and cool. Yet, ftill in that region which it occupies, it admits great fcope; and to the defedl of zeal and application , more than to the want of capacity and genius, we may afcribe its not having hitherto rifen higher. It is a field where there is much honour yet to be reaped; it is an inftrument which may be employed for purpofes of the high- eft importance. The ancient models may ftill, with much advantage, be fet before usforimita- tion; though, in that imitation, we mult, doubt- lefs , have fome regard to what modern tafte and modern manners will bear; of which I fhall after- yyards have occafion to fay more,
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LECTURE XXVII.
DIFFERENT KINDS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING. — ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. - EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
After the preliminary views which have been given of the nature of Eloquence in general, and of the ftate in which it has fubfifted in different ages and countries, I am now to enter on confidering the different kinds of Public Speaking, the diftinguifhing characters of each, and the rules which relate to them. The ancients divided all Orations into three kinds; the De- monftrative, the Deliberative, and the Judicial. The fcope of the Demonftrative was to praife or to blame; that of the Deliberative to advife or to diffuade; that of the Judicial, to accufe or to defend. The chief fubjedts of Demonftrative Eloquence , were Panegyrics , Invectives , Gra- tulatory and Funeral Orations. The Deliberative was employed in matters of public concern, agitated in the Senate, or before the Affemblies of the People. The Judicial is the fame with
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ELOOOUENCE OF
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the. Eloquence of the Bar, employed in addref- fing Judges , who have power to abfolve or condemn. This divifion runs through all the ancient Treatifes on Rhetoric; and is followed by the moderns, who copy them. It is a divifion not inartificial; and comprehends moft, or all of the matters which can be the fubjedt of Public Difcourfe. It will, however, fuit our purpofe better, and be found, I imagine, more ufeful, to follow that divifion which the train of Modem Speaking naturally points out to us, taken from the three great feenes of Eloquence, Popular Affemblies, the Bar, and the Pulpit; each of which has a diftindl character that particularly fuits it. This divifion coincides in part with the ancient one. The Eloquence of the Bar is precifely the fame with what the ancients called the Judicial. The Eloquence of Popular Affemblies,' though moftly of what they term the Deliberative ' Species, yet admits alfo of the Demonftrative. : The Eloquence of the Pulpit is altogether of a diftindt nature, and cannot be properly reduced under any of the heads of the ancient Rhetoricians.
To all the three, Pulpit, Bar, and Popular Affemblies , belong , in common , the rules concerning the conduct of a difcourfe in all its parts. Of thofe rules I purpofe afterwards to treat at large. But before proceeding to them,
I intend to fhow, firft, what is peculiar to each of thefe three kinds of Oratory, in their fpirit, character , or manner. For every fpecies of Public Speaking has a manner or character
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POPULAR ASSEMBLIES.
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peculiarly fuited to it; of which it is highly L E c T. material to have a juft idea, in order to dired XXVII. the application of general rules. The Eloquence of a Lawyer is fundamentally different from that of a Divine, 'or a Speaker in Parliament: and to have a precife and proper idea of the diftin- guifhing character which any kind of Public Speaking requires, is the foundation of what is called a juft tafte in that kind of Speaking.
Laying ande any quefhon concerning the pre-eminence in point of rank, which is due to any one of the three kinds before mentioned,
I fliall begin with that which tends to throw molt light upon the reft , viz. the Eloquence of Popular Affemblies. The molt auguft Theatre for this kind of Eloquence, to be found in any nation of Europe , is, beyond doubt, the Parliament of Great Britain. In meetings too, of lefs dignity, it may difplay itfelf. Wherever there is a popular court, or wherever any number of men are affembled for debate or confulca- tion, there, in different forms, ' this fpecies of Eloquence may take place.
Its objed is , or ought always to be , Perfuafion.
There muft be fome end propofed ; fome point, moft commonly -of public utility .or good,' in favour of which ’ we feek to determine the hearers. Now, in all attempts to perfuade men, we muft proceed upon this principle, that it is neceffary to convince their underftanding. Nothing can be more erroneous, than to imagine, that , becaufe Speeches to Popular Affemblies VOL. 11. P

210
ELOQUENCE OF
L e c t. admit more of a declamatory Style than fome XXVil. other difcourfes , they therefore {land lefs in need of being fupported by found reafoning. When modelled upon this falfe idea, they may have the fliow , but never can produce the .effect, of real Eloquence. Even the fliow of Eloquence which they ma’-e , will pleafe only the trifling and fuperticial. For, with all tolerable judges, indeed almoft with all men , mere declamation foon becomes infipid. Of whatever rank the hearers be , a Speaker is never to prefume, that by a frothy and oftentatious harangue, without folid fenfe and argument, he can either make impreflion on them , or ac pure fame to himfelf. It is, at lead, a dangerous experiment; for, where fuch an artifice fucceeds once , it will fail ten times. Even the common people are better judges of argument and good fenfe , than we fometimes think them ; and upon any queflion of bufinefs, a plain man, who fpeaks to the point without art, will generally prevail over the mod artful Speaker who deals in flowers and ornament, rather than in reafoning- Much more, when Public Speakers addrefs themfelves to any. Affembiy where there are perfons of education and improved undefftanding , they ought to be careful not to trifle with their hearers.
Le i it be ever kept in view , that the foundation of all that can be called Hoquence, is good fenfe, and folid thought. As popular as the Orations of Demoftlienes tvere , fpoken to

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all the citizens of Athens , every one who looks Lt c t. into them, muff fee how fraught they are with XXVil. argument; and how important; it appeared to him , to convince the underftanding, in order to perfuade , or to work on the principles of aftion. Hence their influence in his own time ; hence their fame at this day. Such a pattern as this , Public Speakers ought to fet before them for imitation , rather than follow the trad of thofe loofe and frothy Declaimers , who have brought difcredit on Eloquence. Let it be their firft ftudy , in addrefling any Popular Affembly, to be previoufly mafters of the bufinefs on which they are to fpeak ; to be well provided with matter and argument; and to reft upon thefe the chief ftrefs. This will always give to their difcourfe an air of manlinefs and ftrength, which is a powerful inftrument of perfuafion. Ornament , if they have genius for it , will foflow of courfe ; at any rate it demands only .their fecondary ftudy : “Cura fit verborum ;
“ folicitudo rerum. ”—“To your expreflion be “ attentive, 1W about your matter be felicitous,” is an advice of Quinctilian, which cannot be too often recolle&ed by all who ftudy Oratory.
In the next place, in order to be perfuafive Speakers in a Popular Affembly, it is, in my opinion, a capital rule, that we be ourfelves perfuaded of whatever we recommend to others. '
Never, when it can be avoided, ought we to efpoufe any fide of the argument, but what we believe to be the true and the rie;ht one. Seldom
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Isct. or never will a. man be eloquent, but when he XXVII. is in earned, and uttering his own fentiments. They are only the cc verae voces ab imo pecfoie,” “ the unafllimed language of the heart or head”, that cany the force of conviction. In a former Lecture , when entering on this fubjedt, I obferv- ed that all high Eloquence muft be the offspring of paffion or warm emotion. It is this which makes every man perfuafive ; and gives a force to his genius which it poffeffes at no other time. Under what difad vantage then is he placed, who , not feeling what he utters, muft counterfeit a warmth to which he is a ftranger ?
1 know, that young people, on purpofc to train themfelves to the Art of Speaking, imagine it ufeful to adopt that fide of the queftion under debate , which , to themfelves , appears the weak eft:, and to try what figure they can make upon it. But, 1 am afraid, this is not the moft improving education for Public Speaking ; and that it tends to form them to a habit of flimfy and trivial difeourfe. Such a liberty they lliould, at no time, allow themfelves, unlA in meetings where no real bufmefs is carried on, but where declamation and improvement in Speech is the foie aim. Nor even in fuch meetings, would I recommend it as the meft ufeful exercife. They will improve themfelves to more advantage, and ■ acquit themfelves with more honour, by choofmg always that fide of the debate to which, in their own judgment , they are moft inclined, and fupporting it by what feerns to themfelves moft
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folid and perfuafive. They will*acquire the habit of reafoning clofely , and expreffing themfelves with warmth and force , much more when they are adhering to their own fentiments , than when they are fpeaking in contradiction to them. In affemblies where any real bufmefs is carried on, whether that bufinefs be of much importance or not, it is always of dangerous confequence for young practitioners to make trial of this fort of play of Speech. It may fix an imputation on their characters before they are aware; and what they intended merely as amufement, may be turned to the difcredit, either of their principles or their underltanding.
Debate, in Popular Courts, feldom allows the Speaker that full and accurate preparation before hand , which the Pulpit always and the Bar fometimes, admits. 1 he arguments mult be fuited to the courfe which the Debate takes ; and as no man can exaCtly forefee this, one who trulls to a fet Speech, compofed in his clofet, will, on many occafions, be thfrown out of the ground which he had taken. He will find it pre-occupied by others, or his reafonings fuper- feded by fome new turn of the bufinefs; and , if he ventures to ufe his prepared Speech, it will be frequently at the hazard of making an awkward figure. There is a general prejudice with us , and not wholly an unjult one , againll fet Speeches in Public Meetings. The only occafion, when they have any propriety, is, at the bpening of a debate , when the Speaker has
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ELOQUENCE OF
Lkct, it in his power %o choofe Lis field. But as the XXVII. Debate advances, and parties warm , difcourfes of this kind become more unfuitable. They want the native air; the appearance of being fuggeft- ed by the bufinefs that is going on; ftudy and oftentation are apt to be vifible ; and , of courfe, though applauded as elegant, they are feldom fo perfuafive as more free and uncon {'trained difcourfes.
This, however, does not by any means conclude again ft premeditation of what we are to fay; the negledt of which , and the trufting wholly to extemporaneous efforts , will unavoidably produce the habit of fpeaking in a loofe and undi- gefted manner. But the premeditation which is of mod advantage, in the cafe which we now con- fider , is of the fubject or argument in general, rather than of nice compofition on any particular branch of it. With regard to the matter, we cannot be too accurate in our preparation, fo as to be fully matters of the bufinefs under confi- deration; but, with regard to words and expref- fion , it is very poffible fo far to overdo , as to render our Speech ftiff and precife. Indeed , till once perfons acquire that firmnefs, that prefence of mind, and command of expreffion , in a Public Meeting, which nothing but habit and pradice can beftow , it may be proper for a young Speaker to commit to memory the whole of what he is to fay. But, after fome performances of this kind have given him boldnefs, he will find it the better method not to confine himfelf fo ftridly;

POPULAR ASSEMBLIES.
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but only to write , beforehand . fome Sentences Lect. with which he intends to fet out , in order to XXVII. put himfelf fairly in the train; and, for the reft, to fet down fhbrt notes of the topics, or principal thoughts upon which he is to infift, in their order, leaving the words to be fuggefted by the warmth of difcourfe. Such fhort notes o r the fub- ftance of the difcourfe , will be found of con- fiderable fervice , to thofe , efpecially , who are beginning to fpeak in public. They will accultom them to fome degree of accuracy , which , if they fpeak frequently , they are in danger too foon of lofing. I hey will even accuftom them to think more clofely on the fubject in queftion; and will a {lift them greatly in arranging their thoughts with method and order.
This leads me next to obferve , that in all kinds of Public Speaking , nothing is of greater confequence than a proper and clear method. I mean not that formal method of laying down heads and fubdivifions, which is commonly prac- tifed in the Pulpit; and which, in Popular 4.f- femblies , unlefs the Speaker be a man of great authority and character . and the fubject of great importance, and the preparation too very accu- ^
rate , is rather in hazard of difgufting the hearers : fuch an introduction prefenting always the melancholy profpect of a long difcourfe. But though the method be not laid down in form, no difcourfe , of any length, fhould be without method; that is, every thing fliould be found in its proper place. Every one who fpeaks, will find it of
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ELOQUENCE OF
L E c T. the greateft advantage to himfelf to have previ- XXVII. oufly arranged his thoughts, and claffed under proper heads, in his own mind, what he is to deliver. This will affift his memory, and carry him through his difcourfe, 'without that confufion to which one is every moment fubjecl, who has fixed no diftincl plan of what he is to fay. And with refpecl to the hearers , order in difcourfe is abfolutely neceffary for making any proper impreffion. ft adds both force and light to what is faid. It makes them accompany the Speaker eafily and readily, as he goes along; and makes them feel the full effect of every argument which he employs. Few things, therefore, deferve more to be attended to than diflmcl arrangement: for Eloquence , however great , can never produce entire conviction without it. Of the rules of method, and the proper diftribution of the feveral parts of a difcourfe, I am hereafter to treat.
Let us now confider of the Style and Expref- fion fuited to the Eloquence of Popular Affem* blies. Beyond doubt , thefe give fcope for the rnoft animated manner .of Public Speaking. The very afpedt of a large Affembly , engaged in fome debate of moment, and attentive to the difcourfe of one man , is fufficient to infpire that man with fuch elevation and warmth , as both give rife to ftrong expreffions , and gives them propriety, Paffion eafily rifes in a great Affembly, where the movements are communicated by mutual fympathy between the Orator and the Audience. Thofe bold figures, of which I treated

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formerly, as tire native Language of paffion , then have their proper place. That ardour of Speech, that vehemence and glow of Sentiment , which arifefrom a mind animated and infpired by fome great and public object, form the peculiar char- adleriftics of Popular Eloquence , in its higheft degree of perfection.
The liberty , however , which we are now giving of the ftrong and paffionate manner to this kind of Oratory, mud be always underftood with certain limitations and reftraints , which, it will be neceffary to point out diftinctly , in in order to guard againft dangerous miftakes on this fubject.
At firft, the warmth which we ex*prefs mull be fuited to the occafion and the fubjeCt : for nothing can be more prepofterous , than an attempt to introduce great vehemence into a fub- ject, which is either of flight importance , or which, by its nature, requires to be treated of calmly. A temperate tone of Speech, is that for which there is moffc frequent occafion ; and he who is, on every fubjeeb , paffionate and vehement , will be confidered as a blufterer , and meet with little regard.
In the fecond place, We muff take care never to counterfeit warmth without feeling it. This always betrays perfons into an unnatural manner, which expofes them to ridicule. For, as I have often fuggefled , to fupport the appearance , without the real feeling of paffion, is one of the moft difficult things in nature. The difguife can
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2x8
ELOQUENCE OF
b E C T.
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almoft never be fo perfect , but it is difcovered, The heart can only anfwer to the heart. The great rule here, as indeed in every other cafe, is, to follow nature , never to attempt a {train of Eloquence which is not feconded by our own genius. One may be a Speaker , both of much reparation and much im uence in the calm argumentative manner. fo attain the pathetic, and the f iblime of Oratory , requires thofe ftrong fenfibx 1 ities of mind, and that high power of exprellion. which are given to few
In the third place , Even when the fubiect jultifies the vehement manner , and when genius prompts it ; when warmth is felt , not counterfeited; we muff, however , fet a guard on our- felves , not to allow impetuofity to tranfportus too far. Without emotion in the fpeaker, Ho- quence , as was before obferved, will never produce its higheft effecls but , at the fame time, if the Speaker lofe command of himfelf, he will foon lo!e command of his audience too. He mull never kindle too foon : he muft begin with moderation; and ftndy to carry his hearers along with him as he warms in the progrefs olihis difcourfe. For, if lie runs before in the courfe of paffion, and leaves them behind ; if they are not tuned, if we may fpeak fo, unifon to him, the difcord will prefently be felt , and be very grating. Let a Speaker have never fo good reafon to be animated and fired by his fubjecl, it is always expedfed of him , that the awe and regard due to his Audience fihould lay a decent
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reflraint upon his warmth , and prevent it from 'Lect carrying him beyond certain bounds. If, when XXVII. mod heated by the fubjebt , he can be fo far mafter of himfelf as to preferve clofe attention to argument, and even to fome degree of correct expreffion , this felf-command, this exertion of reafon , in the midft of paffion , has a wonderful effect both to pieafe , and to perfuade. It is indeed the mafter-piece, the higheft attainment of Eloquence ; uniting the ftrength of reafon, with the vehemence of paffion; affording all the advantages of paffion for the purpofe of perfua- fion, without the confufton and diforder which are apt to accompany it.
In the fourth place , in the higheft and mod animated {train of popular fpeaking , we muft always preferve regard to what the public ear will bear. This direction I give, in order to guard againft an injudicious imitation of ancient Orators , who , both in their pronunciation and. gefture , and in their figures of expreffion , ufed a bolder manner than what the greater coolnefs of modern tafte will readily fuffer. This may perhaps, as I formerly obferved, be a difadvan- tage to Modern Eloquence. It is no reafon why we fhould be too fevere in checking the im- pulfe of genius, and continue always creeping on the ground ; but it is a reafon , however, why we fhould avoid carrying the tone of declamation to a height that would now be reckoned extravagant. Demofthenes , to juftify the unfuccefsful a&ion of Cheronxa, calls up the manes of thofe

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heroes who fell in the battles of Marathon and Plataea , and fwears by them , that their fellow citizens had done well, in their endeavours to fupport the fame caufe. Cicero , in his oration for Milo, implores and attefts the Alban hills and groves, and makes a long addrefs to them: and both paffages , in thefe Orators have a tine effedt*. But how few modern Osators could venture on fuch apoftrophes ? and what a power of genius would it require to give fuch figures now their proper grace , or make them produce a due effect upon the hearers ?
In the fifth and lad place, in all kinds of Public Speaking , but efpecially in Popular Af- femblies, it is a capital rule to attend to all the decorums of time , place , and character. No
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* The paffage in Cicero is very beautiful , and adorned with the higheft colouring of his Eloquence. “ Non eft
“ humano confilio , ne mediocri quidem, Judices, deorum “ immortalium cura , res ilia perfecta. Religiones, meher- “ cule, ipfie arseque cum illam belluam cadere viderunt, “ commoviffc fc videntur, et jus in illo fuum retinuiffe. “ Vos enim jam Albani tumuli, atque luci, vos inquam “ imploro atque obteftor, vofque Albanorum obruts arm, “ facrorum populi Romani foci® et ®quulej, quas ills “ prscceps amentia caefis proftratifque fan&iffimis lucis, “ fubftru&ionurn infanis molibus opprefferat, veftrae turn “ ar® , veftrae religiones viguerunt, veftra vis valuit, quam “ ille omni fcelere polluerat. Tuque ex tuo edito monte “ Latiali, f.mcte Jupiter, cujus ille lacus, nemora, finef- “ que, ftepe omni nefario ftupro, fcelere macularat, ali- “ quando ad eum puniendum , oculos aperuifti; vobis ills, “ vobis veftro in confpedu, ferae, fed juft® tamen, et “ debit® poenffi folutae funt. ”
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'Hi? > varmt E °f Eloquence can atone for the negledf of thefe. That vehemence , which is becoming ir flyt i n a P er I° n of character and authority , may be unfuitable to the modefty expedted from a young ^ i Speaker. That fportive and witty manner which
aiiiirf f uat ° ne f u ki et "f an< ^ one Affembly , is alto- ' gether out of place in a grave caufe , and a folema meeting. “ Caput artis eft fays Quindtilian, ™ “ decere.” “ The firft principle of art, is. to ob- "V “ ferve decorum. ” No one fhonld ever rife to fpeak in public , without forming to himfelf a juft and ftrict idea of what fuits his own age and character; what fuits thefubject, the hearers, the place , the occafion ; and adjufting the L-- whole train and manner of his fpeaking on this idea. All the ancients infift much on this. Con- ^fait the firft chapter of the eleventh book of Ouindtilian , which is employed wholly on this 3E "-" point, and is' full of good fenfe. Cicero’s admo- 'j'nitions in his Orator ad Brutum, I fhall give in ' i.L his own words, which fhould never be forgotten by any who fpeak in public. “ Eft Eloquentiae , { ‘ficut reliquarum rerum, fundamentum , fapien- -k “ tia ; ut enim in vita, fic in oratione nihil eft K difficilius quam quod deceat videre ; hujus 1 “ ignoratione faepiffime peccatur ; non enim om- “ nis fortuna, non omnis auctoritas , non’omnis : st setas, nec vero locus , aut tempus , aut auditor as: ct omnis , eodem aut verborum genere tradtandus “ eft, aut fententiarum. Semperque in omni parte “ orationis , ut vitae,.quid deceat confiderandum; “ quod et in re de qua agitur pofitum eft ; et in
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fc perfonis et eorum qni dicunt , et eorum qui “ audiunt*. ” — So much for the confideratious that require to be attended to, with refpeft to the vehemence and warmth which is allowed in Popular Eloquence.
The current of Sty le fhould in general be full, free , and natural Quaint and artificial expreffions are out of place here ; and always derogate from perfuafion. It is a ftrong and manly Style which fhould chiefly be ftudied ; and metaphorical Language , when properly introduced , produces often a happy effect. When the metaphors are warm, glowing, and defcriptive, fome inaccuracy in them will be overlooked , which , in a written compofition , would be remarked and cenfured. A midft the torrent of declamation , the ftrength of the figure makes impreffion ; the inaccuracy oh it efcapes.
With regard to the degree of concifenefs or
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* “ Gpod fenfe is the foundation of Eloquence, as it is of all other things that are valuable. It happens in Oratory exactly as it does in life, that frequently nothing is more difficult than to difeern what is proper and becoming. In confequence of miftaking this, the grofleft faults are often committed. For to the different degrees of rank, fortune , and age among men , to all the varieties of time, place , and auditory, the fame ftyle of Language, and the fame ftrain of thought, cannot agree. In every part of a difeourfe, juft as in every part of life, we mull attend to what is fuitable and decent; whether that be determined by the nature of the fubject of which we treat, or by the charadters of thofe who fpeak, or of thofe who hear. ”
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POPULAR ASSEMBLIES.
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diffufenefs , fuite.d to Popular Eloquence , it is not eafy to fix any exadt bounds. I know that it is common to recommend a diffufe manner as the moft proper. I am inclined, however, to think, that there is danger of erring in this refpedf; and that by indulging too much in the diffufe Style, public Speakers often lofe more in point of ftrength , than they gain by the fulnefs of their illuftration. There is no doubt, that in fpeaking to a multitude , we muft not fpeak in fentences and apothegms care muft be taken to explain and to inculcate ; but this care may be, and frequently is, carried too far. We ought always to remember, that how much foever we may be pleafed with hearing ourfelves fpeak , every Audience is very ready to tire ; and the moment they begin to tire, all our Eloquence goes for nothing. A loofe and verbofe manner never fails to create difguft; and, on moft occafxons, we had better run the rifqu© of faying too little, than too much. Better place our thought in one ftrong point of view, and reft it there, than by turning it into every light, and pouring forth a profufion of words upon it, exhauft the attention of our hearers, and leave them flat and languid.
Of Pronunciation and Delivery, I am hereafter to treat apart. It is fufficient now to obferve, that in fpeaking to mixt Affemblies , the beffc manner of delivery is the firm and the determined. An arrogant and overbearing manner, is, indeed, always difagreeable ; and the leaft appearance of it ought to be fhunned : but there is a certain
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0
decifive tone , which may be affumed even by a modeft man , who is thoroughly perfuaded of the fentiments he utters; and which is the bell calculated for making a general impreffion. A feeble and hefitating manner befpeaks always fome diftruft of a man’s own opinion; which is, by no means, a favourable circumftance for his inducing others to embrace it.
These are the chief thoughts which have occurred to me from refledion and obfervation, concerning the peculiar diliinguifhing Characters of the Eloquence proper for Popular Affcmblies. The fum of what has been faid , is this : The end of Popular Speaking is perfuafion ; and this mu ft be founded on conviction. Argument and reafoning mult be the bafts , if we would be Speakers of bufmefs , and not mere Declaimers. We Ihould be engaged in earneft on the fide which we efpoufe; and utter, as much as pof- fxble, our own, and not counterfeited Sentiments. The premeditation fhould be of things , rather than of words. Clear order and method fliould be ftudied : The manner and expreffion warm and animated ; though ftill, in the midft of that vehemence , which may at times be fuitable, carried on under the proper reftraints, which regard to the audience and to the decorum of character, ought to lay on every Public Speaker; the Style free and eafy ; ftrong and defcriptive, rather than diffufe ; and the delivery determined and firm. To conclude this head, let every Orator remember , that the impreffion made by fine
and
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of Ath
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alarm leirim I* hai '^sorliis p> Den fulebej ti
1

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 2:
and artful fpeaking is momentary ; that made Lect. by argument and good fenfe , is foiid and XXVII. lading.
I shall now, that I may afford an exemplification of that fpecids of Oratory of which I have been treating , infert fome extra&s from Pemofthenes. Even under the great difadvantage of an Englifh tranflation , they will exhibit a fmall fpecimen of that vigorous and fpirited eloquence which I have fo often praifed. 1 fhall take my extracts moftly from the Philippics and Olynthiacs, which were entirely popular Orations fpoken to the general convention of the citizens of Athens ; and , as the fubject of both the Philippics , and the Olynthiacs , is the fame, I (hall not confine myfelf to one Oration, but fhall join together paffuges taken from two or three of them ; fuch as may fhow his general {train of fpeaking , 0P1 fome of the chief branches W’ the fubjedt. The fubject in general is, to roufe the Athenians to guard againft Philip of Macedon, whofe growing power and crafty policy had by that time endangered, and foon after overwhelmed the liberties of Greece. The Athenians began to be alarmed ; but their deliberations were flow, and their rneafures feeble; feveral of their favourite Orators having been gained by Philip’s bribes to favour his caufe. In this critical conjuncture of affairs Demoithenes arofe. In the following manner he begins his firlt Philippic; which, like the
Vol. IL O

I E C T.
XXVII.
226 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
exordiums of all his orations, is fimple and art- lefs. *
“ Had we been convened , Athenians! on “ fome new fubjecl of debate, 1 had waited till c<; mod of your ufual counfellors had declared “ their opinions. If I had approved of what was « propofed by them, I fhould have continued cc filent ; if not, I fhould then have attempted cc to fpeak my fentiments. But fince thofe very cc points on which thefe Speakers have oftentimes cc been heard already , are at this time to be cc confidered ; though I have arifen firft, I pre- “ fume I may expedt your pardon ; for if they “ on former occafions had advifed the proper “ meafures, you would not have found it needful “ to confult at prefent.
“ First then, Athenians! however wretched cc the fituation of our affairs at prefent feems, £C it mud not by any means be thought defperate. “ What I am now going to advance may poffibly “ appear a paradox; yet it is a certain truth, “ that our paft misfortunes afford a circumftance cc the mofl favourable of all others to our future “ hopesf. And what is that? even that our
prefent difficulties are owing entirely to our
* In the following extracts , Leland’s tranflation is moftly followed.
t This thought is only hinted in the firft Philippic, but brought out more fully in the third; as the fame thoughts, occaftoned by limilar fituations of affairs, fometimes occur in the different orations on this fubject.
stalis
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1
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j * con *’ He kne " L Ive

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 22?
“ total indolence, and utter difregard to our own lect, “ intereft. For were we thus fituated, in fpite XXVII, cc of every effort which our duty demanded,
“ then indeed we might regard our fortunes as “ abfolutely defperate. But now, Philip hath “ only conquered your fupinenefs and inactivity;
“ the Rate he hath not conquered. You cannot “ be faid to be defeated; your force hath never “ been exerted.
“If there is a man in this afiembly who “ thinks that we muffc find a formidable enemy “ in Philip, while he views on one hand the “ numerous armies which furround him, and on!
“ the other, the weaknefs of our Rate, defpoiled “ of fo much of its dominions, I cannot deny “ that he thinks juftly. Yet let him reflect on “ this; there was a time, Athenians! when we “ poifeffed Pydna, Potidoca , and Melthone, and “ all that country round,- when many of the “ Rates, now fubjectcd to him, were free and “ independent, and more inclined to our alliance “ than to his. If Philip , at that time weak in “ himfelf and without allies , had defponded of “ fuccefs againR you, he would never have “ engaged in thofe enterprizes which are now “ crowned with fuccefs , nor could have raifed “ himfelf to that pitch of grandeur at which you “ now behold him. But he knew well that the “ RrongeR places are only prizes laid between “ the combatants, and ready for the conqueror;
“ He knew that the dominions of the abfent,
“ devolve naturally to thofe who are in the
O 2
t

228 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
Lect. “ field ; the pofTeffions of the fupine , to the XXVII. “ active and intrepid. Animated by thefe fenti- “ ments he overturns whole nations. He either “ rules univerfally, as a conqueror, or governs “ as a protedor. For mankind naturally feek £C confederacy with fuch , as they fee refolved “ and preparing not to be wanting to themfelves.
“If you, my countrymen ! will now at length “ be perfuaded to entertain the like fentiments;
“ if each of you will be thfpofed to approve “ himfelf an ufeful citizen , to the utmoft that “ his ftation and abilities enable him ; if the rich j
“ will be ready to contribute, and the young :|
“ to take the field; in one word , if you will be ] “ yourfelves, and baniflr thefe vam hopes which j “ every fingle perfon entertains, that the active j “ part of public bufmefs may lie upon others ; “ and he remain at his eafe; you may then, by “ the affiftance of the Gods, rccal thofe oppor- “ trinities which your fupinenefs hath neglected,
“ regain your dominions, and chaidife the info- “ lence of this man.
“But when, O my countrymen! will you 1 “ begin to exert your vigour ? Do you wait till j “ roufed by fonie dire event ? till forced by “ fome necefiity ? When then are we to think “ of our prefent condition ? To free men, the cc difgrace attending on mifcondud is , in my “ opinion , the mold urgent neceffity. Or fay,
“ is it your foie ambition to wander through “ the public places, each enquiring of the other,"
04 W hat new advices ?” “ Can any thing be more

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
229
“ new , than that a man of Macedon fhould LtCT. “ conquer the Athenians , and give Jaw to XXVII. “ Greece? “Is Philip dead?”—-“No—but he is “ Tick.” Pray, what is it to you whetlrer Philip “ is fick or not ? Suppofmg he fhould die , you “ would raife, up another Philip, if you continue “ thus regardlefs of your intereft.
“ Many, I know , delight more in nothing “ than in circulating all the rumours they hear “ as articles of intelligence. Some cry, Philip “ hath joined with the Lacedaemonians , and “ they are concerting the deftrudtion of Thebes.
“ Others allure us, he hath fent an embaffy to “ the King of Perfia; others, that he is fortify- “ ing places in Illyria. Thus we all go about “ framing our feveral tales. I do believe indeed ,
“ Athenians ! that he is intoxicated with his “ greatnefs, and does entertain his imagination “ with many fuch vifionary projecls , as he fees “ no power rifing to oppofe him. But l cannot “ be perfuaded that he hath fo taken his mea- “ fures , that the weakeft among us (for the “ weakeft they are who fpread fuch rumours)
“ know what he is next to do. Let us difregard “ thefe tales. Let us only be perfuaded of this,
“ that he is our enemy ; that we have long “ been fubject to his infolence ; that whatever “ we expected to have been done for us by “ others , hath turned againft us ; that all the “ refources left, are in ourfelves; and that if we “ are not inclined to carry our arms abroad, wc “ fhall be forced to engage him at home. Let
0 3

2 3 o EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
L E c T. ££ us be perfuaded of thefe things, and then we XXVII. “ fhall come to a proper determination, and be “ no longer guided by rumours. We need not “ be folicitous to know what particular events are “ to happen. We may be well allured that “ nothing good can happen , unlefs we give due “ attention to our own affairs, and' aft as be- comes Athenians.
“ W ERE it a point generally acknowledged* “ that Philip is now at aftual war with the <c ftate, the only thing under deliberation would then be , how to oppofe him with moll fafety. “ But fmce there are perfons fo ftrangely infa- “ tuated, that although he has already poffelfed £< himfelf of a confiderable part of our dominions; “ although he is ftill extending his conquefts; “ although all Greece has buffered by his mjuftice; w yet they can hear it repeated in this Affembly, that it is fome of us who feek to embroil the
\
u State in war ., this fuggeffion muft firft.be v guarded againft. I readily admit, that were cc it in our power to determine whether we w fhoujd be at peace or war , peace, if it de- “ pended on our option , is moft definable to be K embraced. But if the other party hath drawn <c the fword and gathered his armies round him;
if he amufes us with the name of peace , “ while , in faft, he is proceeding to the greateft cS hoftihties, what is left for us but to oppofe -“f him ? If any man takes that for a peace,
^ Phil. iiL
0
•Itaft- >
- termei '■which
- which ‘ out v ‘to ca ' make
K H
“ mint “ wor “ ms “Me yk
“is not 11 during Alias “ navies 'fa lit ‘it: cel ’ton to ' fon tv; ‘fou.-I here at
I ices \ i«prt j’Eomea

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 23 r
“ which is only a preparation for his leading his “ forces directly upon us, after his other conquefts, “ 1 hold that man’s mind to be difordered. At “ lead, it is only our conduct towards Philip, “ not Philip’s condudt towards us, that is to be “ termed a peace ; and this is the peace for “ which Philip’s treafures are expended , for “ which his gold is fo liberally fcattered among “ our venal orators, that he may be at liberty “ to carry on the war againft you, while you “ make no war on him.
“ Heavens ! is there any man of a right “ mind who would judge of peace or war by “ words , and not by actions ? Is there any “ man fo weak as to imagine that it is for the “ fake of thofe paltry villages of Thrace, Di on- “ gylus, and Cabyle, and Maftira,. that Philip “ is now braving the utmoft dangers, and en- “ during the feverity of toils and feafons; and that “ he has no defigns upon the arfenals, and the “ navies, and the filver mines of Athens ? or “ that he will take up his winter quarters among “ the 1 cells and dungeons of Thrace, and leave “ you to enjoy all your revenues in peace ? But “ you wait, perhaps , till he declare war againft “ you.—He will never do fo—no , though he “ were at your gates. He will ftill be alluring “ you that he is not at war. Such were his “ profeffions to the people of Oreum, when his “ forces were in the heart of their country ; fuch “ his profeffions to thofe of Pherse , until the “ moment he attacked their walls: and thtfs he
£4
L E C T. XXVII.

132 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
SIR - 1
t E C T.
XXVII.
“ amufed the Olynthians till he came within a “ few miles of them , and then he fent them a f ‘ meffage, that either they mull' quit their city,
“ or he his kingdom. He would indeed be the “ abfurdeft of mankind, if, while you fuller his “ outrages to pafs unnoticed, and are wholly “ engaged in accufing and profecuting one an- “ other, he fhould , by declaring war, put an “ end to your private contefts, warn you to “ diredi all your zeal againft him, and deprive “ his penfioners of their moft fpecious pretence “ for fufpending your refolutions , that of his ■ ‘ not being at war with the State. I, for my “ part, hold and declare, that by his attack of - “ the Megarseans, by his attempts upon the “ liberty of Euboea, by his late incurfions into “ Thrace , by his practices in Peloponnefus ,
“ Philip has violated the treaty; he is in a Rate “ of hoftility with you; unlefs you fhall affirm,
“ that he who prepares to befiege a city, is Hill “ at peace, until the walls be actually inverted.'
“ The man whofe defigns , 'whofe whole conduct , “ tends to reduce me to fubjedtion, that man is “ at war with me , though not a blow hath yet “ been given , nor a fword drawn.
“ All Greece, all the barbarian world, is too <c narrow for this man’s ambition. And, though ‘‘ we Greeks fee and hear all this, we fend no ” embaffies to each other; we exprefs no refent- “ ment; but into fuch wretchednefs are we “ funk, that even, to this day, we neglect ^ what our intereft and duty demand. Without
danger
■(o it ate n : khei “ fax : ao ffl( ' opulent Greece,
p into

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 233
%
cant;- he ter laitfc. indi;;; Tout id ai;
cutinj;
C WI.' WE'
1, E :ciou= -
y^ :
mps inarc Peiop. ksr ’ou L'
tier
imiif"
: w
)g, IE -
1 kLir "
nn?!iE :
!. .kF i>, wefa iprife
*5 engaging in affociations, or forming confedera- L E C t. “ cies, we look with unconcern upon Philip’s JXXV 1 I. “ growing power; each fondly imagining, that “ the time in which another is deftroyed, is fo “ much time gained to him; although no man “ can be ignorant, that, like the regular periodic “ return of a fever, he is coming upon thofe “ who think themfelves the mod remote from <c danger.—And what is the caufe of our prefent “ paffive difpofxtion? For fome caufe fure there “ muff be, why the Greeks, who have been “ fo zealous heretofore in defence of liberty ,
“ are now fo prone to flavery. The caufe ,
K Athenians ! is , that a principle , which was “ formerly fixed in the minds of all, now exifts “ no more; a principle which conquered the “ opulence of Perfia; maintained the freedom of “ Greece, and triumphed over the powers of fea “ and land. That principle was, an unanimous K abhorrence of all thofe who accepted bribes “ from princes, that were enemies to the liberties “ of Greece. To be convi&ed of bribery, was “ then a crime altogether unpardonable. Neither “Orators, nor Generals, would then fell for c ‘ gold the favourable conjunctures which fortune “ put into their hands. No gold could impair “ our firm concord at home , our hatred and “ diffidence of tyrants and barbarians. But now “ all things are expofed to file, as in a public market. Corruption has introduced fuch man- ■’ ners, as have proved the bane and deflrudlion “ of our country. Is a man kno\yn to hav*

2 34 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 0k
L e c t, “ received foreign money ? People envy him. (iouM b XXVII. “ Does he own it? They laugh. Is he con- ■Wktio “ vided in form? They forgive him: fo univer. ifPtilip' “ Tally has this contagion diffufed itfelf among us. 'HtSCf “If there be any who, though not carried 'jroy w “ away by bribes, yet are ftruck with terror, tin, If “ as if Philip was fomething more than human, honour “ they may fee, upon a little confideration, that jot only “ he hath exhaufted all thofe artifices to which 'ofhis c “ he owes his prefent elevation; and that his of “ affairs are now ready to decline. Fori myfelf, 10 i m aj “ Athenians! Ihould think Philip really to be are the “ dreaded , if I faw him raifed by honourable ■ thufts “ means. — When forces join in harmony and ■ am biu'i “ affedion , and one common intereft unites kisei “ confederating powers , then they fhare the u toils with alacrity , and endure diftreffes with y; es “ perfeverance. But when extravagant ambition, ytk “ and lawlefs power, as in the cafe of Philipj 'wliehliav “ have aggrandized a fingle perfon, the firft lifted h. “ pretence, the flighted accident, overthrows : J ra{ j f “ him, and dallies his greatnefs to the ground. L g e; “ For, it is not poffible , Athenians! it is not “ poffible , to found a lafting power upon V ffli v “ injuftice, perjury, and treachery. Thefe may “ perhaps fucceed for once, and borrow for a “ while , from hope , a gay and a flourijhing “ appearance. But time betrays their weaknels, 4^
“ and they fall of themfelves to ruin. For, as “ in ftrudures of every kind, the lower parts “ fliouid have the firmeft {lability , fo the ^
“ grounds and principles of great enterprizes
t

EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 235
OSTBT
opte t jh. t :
' kite::
■ Itfili ^
®; •v& \>Z
Etkl
intderG inifice: n; e:. le. F llip n:
ib: in b:' l ia-E 1 tkv : mfc liast- e cafe ■:
r^’ ent, o
i to
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oite
ind 1 -
o rr- ifeto*
T*^ £
Ihould be juftice and truth. But this folid foundation is wanting to all the enterprizes of Philip.
“ Hence, among his confederates, there are many who hate , who diftruft , who envy him. If you will exert yourfelves , as your honour and your intereft require , you will not only difeover the weaknefs and infincerity of his confederates, but the ruinous condition alfo of his own kingdom. For you are not to imagine, that the inclinations of his fubjedis are the fame with thofe of their prince. He thirfts for glory ; but they have no part in this ambition. Flaraffed by thofe various excurfions he is ever making, they groan under perpetual calamity ; torn from their bufmefs and their families ; and beholding commerce excluded from their coafts. All thofe glaring exploits, which have given him his apparent greatnefs,have wafted his natural ftrength, his own kingdom, and rendered it much weaker than it originally was. Befides , his profligacy and bafenefs, and thofe troops of buffoons , and diffolute perfons, whom be carelfes and keeps conftantly about him, are, to men of juft difeernment^ great indications of the 'weaknefs of his mind. At prefent , his fucceffes caft a fhade over thefe things ; but let his arms meet with the leaft difgrace, his feeblenefs will appear, and his character be expofed. For , as in our bodies, while a man is in apparent health, the effect of xome inward debility, which has been
L e c T. XXVII,

2 3 6 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
L E C T.
XXVII.
“ growing upon him , may , for a time, be “ concealed; but, as foon as it comes the length cc of difeafe, all his fecret infirmities fhow them- cc felves in whatever part of his frame the diforder cc is lodged: fo ,-in Rates and monarchies, while “ they carry on a war abroad , many defeds ■ c efcape the general eye ; bat, as foon as war cc reaches their own territory , their infirmities “ come forth to general obfervation.
F ORTUNE has great influence in all human “ affairs; but I, for my part, Ihould prefer the C£ fortune of Athens , with the leaR degree of “ vigour in affcrting your caufe, to this man’s c ‘ fortune. For we have many better reafons to Cl depend upon the favour of Heaven than this “ man. But, indeed, he who will not exert his own ftrength, hath no title to depend either “ on his friends, or on the Gods. Is it at all “ furpriung that he, who is himfelf ever amidll “ the labours and dangers of the field; who is cc every where, whom no opportunity efcapes; cc to whom no feal’on is unfavourable; Ihould be “ fuperior to you, who are wholly engaged in £ ‘ contriving delays, and framing decrees, and “ enquiring after news? The contrary would be “ much more furprifing, if we, who have never cc hitherto aded as became a Rate engaged in “ war, fhould conquer one who ads, in every
|0 out ijeii fin
wblre
“ inRance with indefatigable vigilance.
It is
cc this , Athenians ! It is this which gives him “ all his advantage again ft you. Philip, conftanlly furrounded by his troops, and per.

3 SIB> EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 237
lot t - tiesr
Mi';;
) IE}
J5 for. tkiri tioi
:o t
xk t:
tfoifr. K fkl
K (?. ■SET’ skit-'
Eto? : ads, ■
“ petually engaged in proje&ing Iris defigns,
“ can, in a moment, flrike the blow where he “ pleafes. But we , when any accident alarms “ us, firft appoint our Trierarchs; then we allow “them the exchange by fubllitution: then the “ fupphes are confidered; next, we rei’olve to “ man our fleet with firangers and foreigners; “ then find it necefiary to fupply their place “ ourfelves. In the midft of thefe delays, what “ we are failing to defend, the enemy is already “ mailer of; for the time of action is fpent by “ us in preparing; and the iflues of war will not “ wait for our flow and irrefolute meafures.
“ Consider then your prefent fituation, and “ make fuel) provifion as the urgent danger “ requires. Talk not of your ten thoufand, or “ your twenty thoufand foreigners ; of thofe “ armies which appear fo magnificent on paper “ only; great and terrible in your decrees, in “ execution weak and contemptible. But let “ your army be made up chiefly of the native “ forces of the Hate ; let it be an Athenian “ ftrength to which yon are to trull; and whom- “ foever you appoint as general , let them be “ entirely under Ins guidance and authority. For, “ ever iince our armies have been formed of “ foreigners alone , their victories have been “ gained over our allies and confederates only, “ while our enemies have rifen to an extrava- “ gance of power. ” .
The Orator goes on to point out the number pf forces which fhould be ruifed ; the places of
L e c T XXVII.

/
2 3 8 EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES.
jj E c t. their defbination; the feafon of the year in which •XXVII. they Ihould fet out; and then propofes in form
his motion, as we would call it, or his decree, LE for the neceffary fupply of money, and for afcertaining the funds from which it Ihould be raifed. Having finifhed all that relates to the bunnefs under deliberation, he concludes thefe Orations on public affairs, commonly with no longer peroration than the following , which terminates the Firft Philippic: “ I, for my part, 10QE ■ “ have never, upon any occafion, chofen to LYSiS “ court your favour ,• by fpeaking any thing but CLl'f “ what I was convinced would ferve you. And,
“ on this occafion, you have heard my fend- .
“ ments freely declared, without art, and without | TRI “ referve. I Ihould have been pleafed, indeed, scvlk “ that, as it is for your advantage to have your Uol “ true interell laid before you, fo I might have -o the El “ been allured, that he who layeth it before you ;iPublic “ would Ihare the advantage. But, uncertain as hlmy c “ I know the confequence to be with refped to ethe Ih “ myfelf, I yet determined to fpeak, becaufe, I ; forme “ was convinced, that thefe meafures if purfued, iitis o “ mull prove beneficial to the Public. And, of here the “ all thofe opinions which Ilia] 1 be offered to jhthe j “ your acceptance, may the Gods determine ^aoj a that to be chofen which will beft advance the ;«. ] “ general welfare ! [ilk
These Extrads may ferve to give fome itnper- j-® to feel idea of the manner of Demofthenes. For a ,,or ufel jufter and more complete one, recourfe mull be had to the excellent original. - 4 |^

M : ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. — ANA- LYSiS OF CICEROs ORATION FOR
CLUENTIUS.
killed -
ir.“ TREATED in the laft Ledture, of what is P e -- peculiar to the Eloquence of Popular Affemblies. lgeOt- Much of what was faid on that head is applicable foI k to the Eloquence of the Bar, the next great fcene eiiii:k of Publick Speaking to which I now proceed, iui,:: and my obfervations upon which, will therefore be the fhorter. All, however, that was Hid in the former Lecture mud not be applied to it; and it is of importance, that I begin with fhowing PcL where the diltinction lies.
i, h In the firft place, The ends of fpeaking at the Gob Bar, and in Popular Affemblies, are commonly pa.; different. In Popular Affemblies, the great object is perfuafion; the Orator aims at determining the hearers to fome choice or conduct, as good, fit, or ufeful. For accomplifhing this end, it is incumbent on him to applv himfelf to all the principles of adtion m our nature; to the pailions
L E c T. XXVIII.

Lect.
XXVIII.
240 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
and to the heart, as well as to the underftanding. But, at the Bar, conviction is the great objeft. There, it is not the Speaker’s bufmefs to perfuade the Judges to what is good or ufeful, but to fhowthem what is juft and true; and, of courfe, it is chiefly, or folely, to the underflan dirig that his Eloquence is addreffed. This is a cbaracteriftical difference which ought ever to be kept in view.
In the next place, Speakers at the Bar addrefs themfelves to one, or to a few Judges, and thefe, too, perfons generally of age , gravity , and authority of character. There, they have not thofe advantages which a mixed and numerous Afiembly affords for employing all the arts of Speech, even fuppofmg their fubjedt to admit them. Paffion does not rife fo eafily; the Speaker is heard more coolly; he is watched over more feverely; and would expofe lumfelf to ridicule, by attempting that high vehement tone, which is. only proper in fpeaking to a multitude.
In the laft place, The nature and management of the fubjedts which belong to the Bar, require a very different fpecies of Oratory from that of Popular Affemblies. In the latter , the Speaker has a much wider range. He is feldom confined to any precife rule; he can fetch his topics from. a great variety of quarters; and employ every illuftration which his fancy or imagination fugged. But, at the Bar, the field of fpeaking is limited to precife law and ftatute. Imagination is not allowed to take its fcope. The Advocate
has
:iii to t uder de
t
■sore fo
is# b
jidapte
necefft becaul | civil c of tie
iticl lav in it
a lew
ttio fa ifnffi tilim; »joc
VOL

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. Mx
has always lying before him the line, the fquare, and the compafs. Thefe , it is his principal bufi- nefs to be continually applying to the fubjeds under debate.
For thefe reafons, it is clear, that the Eloquence of the Bar is of a much more limited, more fober and chaftened kind , than that of Popular Affemblies; and, for fxmilar reafons, we muft beware of confidering even the judicial Orations of Cicero or Demofthenes, as exad models of the manner of fpeaking which is adapted to the prefent ftate of the Bar. It is neceffary to warn young Lawyers of this ; becaufe, though thefe were Pleadings fpoken in civil or criminal caufes, yet, in fad, the nature of the Bar anciently, both in Greece and Rome, allowed a much nearer approach to Popular Eloquence, than what it now does. This was owing chiefly fo two caufes:
First, Becaufe in the ancient Judicial Orations, ftrid law was much lefs an object of attention than it is become among us. In the days of Demofthenes and Cicero, the municipal ffatutes were few, fimple, and general; and the deciiion of caufes was trufted , in a great meafure , to the equity and common fenfe of the Judges. Eloquence, much more than Jurifprudence, was the ftudy of thofe who were to plead caufes Cicero fomewhere fays, that three months ftudy was fufficient to make any man a complete Civilian; nay, it was thought that one might be a good Pleader at the Bar , who had never
Vol. II R
L E C T XXV HI

243 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
1 E
L e c t. ftudied law at all. For there were among the andp XXVIII. Romans a fet of men called Pragmatici , whofe ico®i
office it was to give the Orator all the law Jeinftrui
knowledge which the caufe he was to plead indices, required, and which he put into that popular u
form , and dreffed up with thofe colours of kb as it Lloquence, that were mod fitted for influencing lied i the Judges before whom he fpoke. k Judg
We may obferve next, that the Civil and odeavoi Criminal Judges, both in Greece and Rome, sars.
were commonly much more numerous than they ( For
are with us , and formed a fort of Popular fan' Aflembly. The renowned tribunal of the Areo- j[ the pagus at Athens confifted of fifty Judges at the differen Jeall *. Some make it to confift of a great many Eloquei more. When Socrates was condemned, by what. too.hi court it is uncertain, we are informed that no plea ding
fewer than 280 voted againft him. In Rome, the k peal
Praetor, who was the proper Judge both in civil every Spf
and criminal caufes, named, for every caufe of idy
moment, the Judices SelcBi , as they were called, leeinpJoy
who were always numerous, and had the office and power of both Judge and Jury. In the famous caufe of Milo , Cicero fpoke to fifty-one jpf lt j 011 Judices SelcBi , and fo had the advantage of add ref- ^tol fing his whole pleading, not to one or a few iky learned Judges of the point of law, as is the cafe , :i | ■ with us, but to an Affembly of Roman citizens.
Hence all thofe arts of Popular Eloquence, which 4^, we find the Roman Orator fo frequently employ- ala
* Vide Potter. Antiq. vol. i. p. 102.
t

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
243
iug, and probably with much fuccefs. Hence tears Lect and commiferation are fo often made ufe of as XXVITT the inftruments cf gaining a caufe. Hence certain practices , which would be reckoned theatrical among us, were common at the Roman Bar; fuch as introducing not only the accufed perfon drelfed in deep mourning, but prefenting to the Judges his family, and his young children, endeavouring to move them by their cries and tears.
For thefe reafons, on account of the wide difference between the ancient and modern ftate of the Bar , to which we may add alfo the difference in the turn of ancient and modern Eloquence, which I formerly took notice of,
• too ftridt an imitation of Cicero’s manner of pleading would now be extremely injudicious.
To great advantage he may {fill be ftudied by every Speaker at the Bar. in the Addrefs with which he opens his fubject, and the infinuation he employs for gaining the favour of the Judges; in the diftincl arrangement of his facts; in the gracefulnefs of his narration; in the conduct and expofition of his arguments , he may and he ought to be imitated. A higher pattern cannot be fet before us; but one who fhould imitate him alfo in his exaggeration and amplifications, in his diffufe and pompous declamation, and in his attempts to raife paflion, would now make himfelf almoft as ridiculous at the Bar, as if he fhould appear there in the Toga of a Roman Lawyer.
R 2

544 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
Lect, Before I defcend to more particular directions XXVIII. concerning the Eloquence ot the Bar, I muft be allowed to take notice, that the foundation of a Lawyer’s reputation and fuccefs, muft always be laid in a profound knowledge of his own profef- fion. Nothing is of fuch confequence to him, or deferves more his deep and ferious ftudy. For whatever his abilities as a Speaker may be, if his knowledge of the law be reckoned fuperficial, few will chufe to commit their caufe to him. Befides previous ftudy , and a proper ftock of knowledge attained, another thing highly material to the fuccefs of every Pleader, is, a diligent and painful attention to every caufe with which he is intrufted, fo as to be thoroughly mailer of all the fads and circumftances rel' ting to it. On this the ancient Rhetoricians infift with great earneftnefs , and juftly reprefent it as a neceffary bafts to all the Eloquence that can be exerted in pleading. Cicero tells us ( under the character of Antomus, in the fecond book De Oratore), that he always converfed at full length with every client wuo came to confult him ; that he took care there fhould be no witnefs to their couver- fation , in order that his client might explain himfelf more freely; that he was wont to hart every o^jehlion, and to plead the caufe of the adverfe party with him, that he might come at the whole truth, and be fully prepared on every point of the bufmefs ; and that, after the client had retired, he ufed to balance all the fads with himfelf, under three different characters, his own,

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 245
•
that of the Judge, and that of the \dvocate on the opposite fide. He cenfures very feverely thofe of the profefifion who decline taking fo much trouble ; taxing them not only with fhameful negligence, but with dilhonefiy and breach of trull: *. To the fame purpofe Quintftilian , in the eighth chapter of his laft book, delivers a great many excellent rules concerning all the methods which a Lawyer fhould employ for attaining the moft thorough knowledge of the caufe he is to plead; again and again recommending patience and attention in converfation with clients, and obferving very fenfibly, 14 Non tam obeft audire “ furpervacua , quam ignorare neceffaria. fre- 44 quenter enim & vulnus, et remedium, in iis 44 Orator inveniet quae litigatori in neutram par- 44 tem, habere momentum videbantur. f.
* “ Equidem foleo dare operam, ut de fua quifque re 44 me ipfe doceat; etne quis alius adfit, quo liberius loqua- 44 tur; et agere adverfarii caufam, ut ille agat fuam; et “ quicquid de fua re cogitaret, in medium proferat. Ita- 44 que cum ille deceflit, tres perfonas unus fuftineo , fumma “ animi equitate; meam, adverfarii, judicis. — Nonnulli 44 dum operam fuam multam exilh'mari volunt, ut toto foro 44 volitare, et a caufa ad caufam ire videantur, caufas 44 dicunt incognitas. In quo eft ilia quidem magna offenfio, 44 vel negligentise fufceptis rebus, vel perfidise receptis ; 44 fed etiam ilia, major opinione , quod nemo poteft de 44 ea re quam non novit, non turpifiime dicere. ”
f 44 To liften to fomething that is fuperfluous can do no “ hurt ; whereas, to be ignorant of fomething that is “ material, may be highly prejudicial. The advocate will 44 frequently difcover the weak fide of a caufe , and learn,
R 3
L E C T.
XXVIII.

24 6 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
L k c t. Supposing an Advocate to Jae thus prepared, XXV11I. with all the knowledge which the ftudy of the law in general , and of that caufe which he is to plead in particular, can furnifh him, I muft next obferve, that Eloquence in pleading is of the higheft moment for giving fupport to a caufe. It weie altogether wrong to infer , that becaufe the ancient popular and vehement manner of pleading is now in a great meafure, fuperfeded, there is therefore no room for Eloquence at the Bar , and that the ftudy of it is become fuper- fluous. Though the manner of fpeaking be changed , yet ftill there is a right and a proper manner, which deferves to be ftudied as much as ever. Perhaps there is no fcene of public fpeaking where Eloquence is more neceffary. For on other occafions, the fubjedt on which men fpeak in public, is frequently fufficient, by itfelf to intereft the hearers. But the drynefs and fubtilty of the fubjedts generally agitated at the Bar, require more than any other a certain kind of Eloquence in order to command attention; in order to give proper weight to the arguments that are employed, and to prevent any thing which the Pleader advances from palling unregarded. The effedt of good fpeaking is always very great. There is as much difference in the impreffion made upon the hearers,
“ at the fame time , what is the proper defence , from cir- “ cumftances which , to the party himfelf, appeared to be 44 of little or no moment. ”

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 24 7
by a cold , dry, and confufed Speaker, and that made by one who pleads the fame caufe with elegance, order , and ftrength , as there is between our conception of an object, when it is prefented to us in a dim light, and when we behoid it in a full and clear one.
It is no fmall encouragement to Eloquence at the Bar, that of all the liberal profeffions, none gives fairer play to genius and abilities than that of the Advocate. He is lefs expofed than fome others, to fuffer by the arts of rivalry, by popular prejudices, or fecret intrigues. Heisfureof coming forward according to his merit : For he Hands forth every day to view ; he enters the lift boldly with his competitors; every appearance which he makes is an appeal to the Public, whofe decifion feldom fails of being juft, bccaufe it is impartial. Intereft and friends may fet forward a young Pleader with peculiar advantages beyond others, at the beginning; but they can do no more than open the field to him. A reputation refting on thefe affifiances will foon fall. Spectators remark, Judges decide, parties watch; and to him will the multitude of Clients never fail to refort, who gives the moft approved fpe- cimens of his knowledge , eloquence , and induf-
tr y- .
It muft be laid down for a firft principle , that the Eloquence fuited to the Bar, whether in fpeak- ing or in writing law-papers , is of the calm and temperate kind, and connected with clofe reafoning. Sometimes a little play may be allowed to the
R 4
L E c T. XXV11I.

2 4 8 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
L e c t. imagination, in order to enliven a dry fubject,
XXV11I. and to give relief to the fatigue of attention; but this liberty mull be taken with a fparing hand. For a Florid Style, and a fparkling manner , never fail to make the Speaker be heard with a jealous car by the Judge. They detract from his weight, and always produce a fufpic.ion of his failing in foundnefs and flrength of argument. It is purity and neatnefs of expreffion which is chiefly to be ftudied , a Styleperfpicuous and proper, which fhall not be needle'fly overcharged with the pedantry of law terms, and where, at the fame time, no affedation fhall appear of avoiding thefe, when they are fuitable and neceffary.
Verbosity is a common fault , of which the gentlemen of this profeflion are accufed; and into which the habit of fpeaking and writing fo hafti- ]y , and with fo little preparation, as they are often obliged to do, almoft unavoidably betrays them. It cannot, therefore, be too much recommended to thofe who are beginning to practice * at the Bar, that they fhould early ftudy to guard againft this , while as yet they have full Ieifure for preparation. Let them form themfelves, efpe- cially in the papers which they write , to the habit of a ftrong and a corred Style; which expref- fes the fame thing much better in a few words, than is done, by the accumulation of intricate and endlefs periods. If this habit be once acquired , it will become natural to them afterwards, when the multiplicity of bufmefs fhall force them to compofe in a more precipitant manner. Whereas
1

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 249
B.\H
a if the practice of a loofe and negligent Style has Lect, 1 '" been fuffered to become familiar , it will not be in XXVIIL r : their power, even upon occahons when they wilh ^ to make an unufual effort , to exprefs thcmielves with energy and grace.
romk':; Distinctness is a capital property in fpeaking at the Bar. This fhould be lhown chiefly m two DL things; firlt, in Eating the queftion; in fliowing
. clearly what si the point in debate; what we admit;
iprope what we deny ; and where'the line of divifionbe- ^ gins between us , and the adverfe party. Next, it Uacb fhould be lhown in the order and arrangement of all the parts of the pleading. In every fort of Oration , a clear method is of the utmoft confe- ,ob: quence ; but in thofe embroiled and difficult cafes which belong to the Bar, 7 it is aim oft all in wic::: all. Too much pains , therefore , cannot be .00,S 3 taken in previoufly fludying the plan and method.
■ir" If there be indiftinctnefs and diforder there , we oe~- can have no fuccefs in convincing: we leave the uvas whole caufe in darknefs.
With refpedt to the conducft of Narration and m (a: Argumentation, I fhall hereafter make feveral re- marks , when I come to treat of the component P arts °f regular Oration. I fhall at prefent only obferve, that the Narration of facts at the Bar, j j *51 fliould always be as concife as the nature of them will admit. Facts are always of the greateft conker;: fequence to be remembered during the courfe of .gjjki the pleading; but, if the Pleader be tedious in his y:.; manner of relating them , and needlefly circum- ...... j: ftantial, he lays too great a load upon the memory.

250
ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
Lect, Whereas, by cutting off all fuperfluous circum- The XXVIII- fiances in his recital, he adds ftrength to the ma-
terialfadls; he both gives a clearer view of what ;raSpe; he relates , and makes the impreffion of it more tenetrati lafting. In Argumentation, again , I would incline riiicli tl to give fcope to a more diffufe manner at the Bar, jug a than on fome other occafions. For in Popular ill tor Aflemblies , where the fubjedl of debate is often Qioi a plain queftion, Arguments, taken from known fiTma topics, gain ftrength by their concifenefs. But illy the obfcurity of law-points frequently requires the ;o\v rid Arguments to be fpread out, and placed in dif- ;eother ferent lights, in order to be fully .apprehended, ftbe da:
When the Pleader comes to refute the Argu- jvile hit ments employed by his adverfary , he fliould be is not 1 on his guard not to do them injuftice, by dif- -to coa gulfing, or placing them inafalfe light. Thede- 1 anyoui ceit is foon difcovered : it will not fail of being ag a wit expofed ; and tends to imprefs the Judge and the ipsoPEl . Hearers with diftrufl of the Speaker , as one who ^ t either wants difcernment to perceive, or wants ujtuile, fairnefs to admit, the ftrength of the reafoning iijyj,,, on the other fide. Whereas , when they fee that he ftates , with accuracy and candour, the j ione Arguments which have been ufed againfl him, before he proceeds to combat them , aftrong pre- judice is created in his favour. They are natir ^ rally led to think, that he has a clear and full ^ a conception of all that can be faid on bothfidesof the Argument; that he has entire confidence in the goodnefs of his own caufe; and does not attempt to fupport it by any artifice or conceal-

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
251
t
^ ment. The Judge is thereby- inclined to receive, Iect. A much more readily, the impreflions which are giv- XXVIIX.
en by a Speaker , who appears both fo fair and 130 fo penetrating. There is no part of the difcourfe in which the Orator has greater opportunity of Allowing a mafterly addrefs , than wh%n he fets iri11 ^ himfelf to reprefent the reafonings of his antago- : ^ li: nifts, in order to refute them, fe Wit may fometimes be of fervice at the Bar,
:E: - efpecially in a lively reply, by which we may v:: - throw ridicule on fomething that has been faid on P“ : ” : the other fide. But, though the reputation of a iP wit be dazzling to a young Pleader , I would never !K '-“ advife him to reft his ftrength upon this talent. k- : It is not his buhnefs to make an audience laugh, to but to convince the Judge; and feldom, or never, did any one rife to eminence in his profeffion, by fek being a witty Lawyer.
oh' A proper degree of warmth in pleading a caufe is always of life. Though , in fpeaking to a v;.' ; multitude , greater vehemence be natural ; yet, ties in addrefling ourfelves even to a Angle man, the is: warmth which arifes from ferioufnefs and earneft- as. nefs, is one of the moft powerful means of per- i«c funding him. An Advocate perfonates his client; jji. he has taken upon him the whole charge of his :evinterefts; he ftands in his place. It is improper, jas therefore, and has a bad effedt upon the caufe,
1A if lie appears indifferent and unmoved; and few oniiA clients will be fond of trufting their interefts in c p the hands of a cold Speaker.
[;'■ At the fame time , he mu ft beware of proftitut-

2^2 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
iirhen 1
T. f. c t. ing his earneftnefs *and fenfibility fo much , as JtcW XXVlit. to enter with equal warmth into every caufe that gown] is committed to him, whether it can be fuppofed sal and really to excite his zeal or not. 1 here is a dignity gtandi of charader , which it is of the utmoft import, alqnali' ance for*very one in this profeffion to fupport. stirs, 1 For it mult never be forgotten , that there is no jotfe. inftrument of perfuafion more powerful, than an THESE opinion of probity.and honour in the perfonwho jred t undertakes to perfuade *. It is fcarcely polfible jSpeakii lor any hearer to feparate altogether the impreffion ijecl fa made by the charader of him thatfpeaks, from the it of C things that he fays. However fecretly and im- hve cl perceptibly, it will be always lending its weight ae pro to one fide or other ; either detracting from, or 1 1 it is adding to, the authority and influence of his ;«s nea Speech. This opinion of honour and probity mud j] thoug therefore be carefully preferved , both by fome % long, degree of delicacy in the choice of caufes, and on by the manner of conducting them. And though befall perhaps, the nature of the profeffion may render a^atti it extremely difficult to carry this delicacy its ut- dm molt length , yet there are attentions to this point -^adid far which, as every good man for virtue’s fake , fo ( every prudent man for reputation’s fake, will find - Jj e p r to be neceffary. He will always decline embark- w ingin caufes that are odious and maniieftly unjuft; a !iaro
■if mom
* u Plurimum ad omnia momenti eft in hoc pofitum, uch p u fi vir bonus creditur. Sic enim contingit, ut non ftudium jrjjc “ advocati, videatur afferre, fed pene teftis fidem. ” ^ q.
Quikct. L. iv. C. i. ^

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR.
253
iEBj!
lliiVf;- ) every tCB^
That:.;
lie UG; :
ielooj; , thatii; )0W;i IQ
S fc: -:
T
yiii L; " 7 -
' fe:
U-At
C 02 C-
J iif:; rand p d, k"
see of. hx i iic: bfc
•,L
ins;
and, when he fupports a doubtful canfe, he will lay the chief ftrefs upon fuch arguments as appear to his own judgment the moll tenable; referying his zeal and his indignation for cafes wherein juftice and iniquity are flagrant. But of the per- fonal qualities and virtues requifite in Public Speakers, I lhali afterwards have occafion to difcourfe.
These are the chief directions which have occurred to me concerning the peculiar ftrain of Speaking at the Bar. In order to illuftrate the fubject farther, I fhall give a fhort Analyfis of one of Cicero’s Pleadings, or judicial Orations. I have chofen that, pro Cluentio. The celebrated one pro Ah lone is more laboured and fhowy; but it is too declamatory. That, pro Cluentio comes nearer the ftrain of a Modern Pleading;
: and though it has the difadvantage of being very long, and complicated too, in the fubject, yet it is one of the mod chafte , correct and forcible of all Cicero’s judicial Orations, and well deferves attention for its conduct.
Avitus Cluentius , a Roman Knight of fplendid family and fortune, had accufed his Stepfather Oppianicus of an attempt to poifon him. He prevailed in the profecution ; Oppianicus was condemned and banifhed. But as rumours arofe of the Judges having been corrupted by money in this caufe, thefe gave occafion to much popular clamour , and had thrown a heavy odium on Cluentius. Eight years afterwards Oppianicus died. An acculation was
L e c T. XXVIII.

T
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’s
ORA
Lect. brought againft Cluentius of having poifoncd ^ XXVIII. him, together with a charge alfo of having bribed
the Judges in the former trial to condemn him. d ,r cr f In this adtion Cicero defends him. The accufers i (£C ® were Saffia , the mother of Cluentius, and ^ widow of Oppianicus , and young Oppianicus, .jty re t the fon. Q. Nafo , the Praetor, was Judge, itf 0I[r together with a confiderable number of Judm ®' e ^ Sekcli. :dl to 1
The introduction of the Oration is fimple :Hy al and proper, taken from no common-place topic, ictior but from the nature of the caufe. It begins with ^sthr taking notice , that the whole Oration of the The c: accufer was divided into two parts*. Thefe i, were two parts were, the charge of having poifoned id accd Oppianicus; on which the accufer, confciousof :H k having no proof, did not lay the ftrefs of his pngafti caufe; but refted it chiefly on the other charge ■ thatna of formerly corrupting the Judges, which was tiro's clii capital in certain cafes , by the Roman law. it Ora Cicero purpofes to follow him in this method, ■ lhowin and to apply himfelf chiefly to the vindication it,am of his client from the latter charge. He makes ik tui
* “ Animadvertite , Judices , omnem accufatoris orationem “ in duas divifam efle partes; quarum altera mihi nitiet “ nragnopere confidere videbatur, invidia jam inveterata “ judicii Juniani; altera tantummodo confuetudinis caufa, “ timide et diffidenter attingere rationem veneficii crimi- u num; qua de re lege eft hase qu'eftio conftituta. Itaque “ mihi certum eft hanc eandem diftributionem invidia et cri- “ minum fie in defenfione fervare, ut omnes intelligent, “ nihil me nec fubterfugere vduifle reticendo, nec obfeu- “ rare dicendo. ”
a tlier
Iras, till! \vi :li' it
at oft : slleem

ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS.
255
Iffiij.
'dfb,
tOCf--
®. T;- C;;
hta . mr::- e.i: ft;:
! F r/
ifer, ■: the N tie ode
in it -
) tie-
feveral proper obfervations on the danger of L e c T. Judges Offering themfelves to be fwayed by a XXVIII. popular cry, which often is railed by faction, and direded againft the innocent. He acknowledges , that Cluentius had Offered much and long by reproach , on account of what had palled at the former trial; but begs only a patient and attentive hearing, and allures the Judges, that he will ftate every thing relating to that matter fo fairly and fo clearly, as Ihall give them entire fatisfadion. A great appearance of candour reigns throughout this Introdudion.
The crimes with which Cluentius was charged , were heinous. A mother accufing her fon, and accufing him of fuch adions , as having firft bribed Judges to condemn her hufband , and having afterwards poifoned him, were circumftan- ccs that naturally raifed ftrong prejudices againft Cicero’s client. The firft ftep , therefore, necelfary for the Orator, was to remove thefe prejudices; by Ihowing what fort of perfons Cluentius’s mother, and her hufband Oppianicus , were ; and thereby turning the edge of public indignation againft them. The nature of the caufe rendered this plan altogether proper , and , in fimilar fituations, it is fit to be imitated. Fie executes his plan with much eloquence and force; and , in doing it, lays open fuch a feene of infamy and complicated guilt , as gives a Clocking pidure of the manners of that age; and fuch as would feem incredible, did not Cicero refer to

256
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’s
0
L E C T.
XXVIII.
the proof that was taken in the former trial, of jus ba 1 the fadts which he alleges. .jjpici
Sassia , the mother, appears to have been jfonsf altogether of an abandoned character. Soon after ;;wife the death of her firft hufband ,• the father of jnveen Cluentius, flie fell in love with Aurius Melinus, K paint a young man of illuftrious birth and great fortune, HeU who was married to her own daughter. She pre- fee h; vailed with him to divorce her daughter, and of then fire married him herfelf *. This Melinus iderabh being afterwards, by the means of Oppianicus, L the involved in Sylla’s profcription, and put to death; Iher fan and Saffia being left, for the fecond time, a blie fet widow , and in a very opulent fituation, Oppia- them, nicus himfelf made his addreffes to her. She, j on)UC not ftartled at the impudence of the propofal, B i cas nor at the thoughts of marrying one , whole !IK J i { i hands had been imbrued in her former hufband’s ',^5 blood, obje&ed only, as Cicero fays, to Oppia-
.ad amb
* “ Ledtum ilium genialem quem biennio ante fills fus times y “ nubenti ftraverat, in eadem dorno fibi ornari etfterniex- .afSyJJa', “ pulfa atque exturbata filia, jubet. Nubit genero focrus, '■ j “ nullis aufpicibus, fimeftis ominibus omnium. 0 jrmlieris ,
“ fcelus incredibile , et prater hanc unam, in omni vita “ £
“ inauditum ! 0 audaciam fmgularem! non timuiife, fi ; a minus vim Deorum , hominumque famam, at illam ipfara Ad j “ nodtem, facefque illas nuptiales? non limen cnbiculi ? ct non cubile filite ? non parietes denique ipfos fuperiorum “ teftes nuptiarum ? perfregit ac proftravit omnia cupidi- ,,,
“ fate et furore; vicit pudorem libido; timorem audacia; t " l! “ rationem amentia. ” — The warmth of Cicero’s Eloquence, * Judge: which this paflage beautifully exemplifies , is here fully itiitcit juftified by die fubject. * it rights
nicus lot, 1

ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS.
257
nicus having two fons by his prefent wife. L E c T. Oppianicus removed the objection , by having XXVIII. his fons privately difpatched; and then, divorcing his wife , the infamous match was concluded between him and Saffia. Thefe flagrant deeds are painted, as we may well believe, with the highefl: colours of Cicero’s Eloquence , which there has a very proper field. Cluentius, as a man of honour , could no longer live on any tolerable terms with a woman , a mother only in the name , who had loaded herfelf and all her family with fo much difhonour ; and hence, the feud which had ever fince fubfifted between them, and had involved her unfortunate fon in fo much trouble and perfecution. As for Oppia* nicus, Cicero gives a fort of hiftory of his life, and a full detail of his crimes; and by what he relates, Oppianicus appears to have been a man daring, fierce, and cruel, infatiable in avarice and ambition; trained and hardened in all the crimes which thofe turbulent times of Marius and Sylla’s profcriptions produced: cc fuch a mart, ’’ fays our Orator , “ as in place of being furprifed “ that he was condemned, you ought rather to cc wonder that he had efcaped fo long. ”
And now , having prepared the way by all this narration , which is clear and elegant, he enters on the hiftory of that famous trial in which his client was charged with corrupting the Judges. Both Cluentius and Oppianicus were of the city Larinum. In a public contefl about the rights of the freemen of that city , they had
Vol. II. S

258
ANALYSIS OF CICERO's
L e c t. taken oppofite fides, which embittered the mif- XXVIII. underflanding already fubfi fling between them.
Saflia, now the wife of Oppianicus, pufhed him on to the deflrudlion of her fon , whom lhe had long hated, as one who was confcious of her crimes; and as Cluentius was known to have made no will, they expected, upon his death, to fucceed to his fortune. The plan was formed, therefore, to difpatch him by poifon; which, confidering their former conduct, is no incredible part of the ftory. Cluentius was at that time indifpofed : the fervant of his phyfician was to be bribed to give him poifon, and one Fabricius, an intimate friend of Oppianicus, was employed in the negociation. The fervant having made the difcovery, Cluentius firft profecuted Scaman- der, a freedman of Fabricius, in whofe cuftody the poifon was found; and afterwards Fabricius, for this attempt upon his life. He prevailed in both adtions: and both thefe perfons were condemned by the voices , almoft unanimous, of the Judges.
Of both thefe Prajudicin , as our Author calls them, or previous trials, he gives a very particular account; and refts upon them a great part of his argument, as, in neither of them , there was the leaft charge or fufpicion of any attempt to corrupt the Judges. But in both thefe trials, Oppianicus was pointed at plainly ; in both, Scamander and Fabricius were profecuted as only the inftruments and minifters of his cruel clefigns. As. a natural confequence , therefore,

ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS.
259
Cluentius immediately afterwards railed a third profecution againft Oppianicus himfelf, the contriver and author of the whole. It was in this profecution , that money was faid to have been given to the Judges ; all Rome was filled with the report of it', and the alarm loudly raifed, that no man’s life or liberty was fafe, if fuch dangerous practices were not checked. By the following arguments, Cicero defends his client againft this heavy charge of the Crimen corrupti Jiididi.
He reafons firft , that there was not the leaft reafon to fulpect it; feeing the condemnation of Oppianicus was a diredt and neceffary confequence of the judgments given againft Scamander and Fabricius , in the two former trials; trials, that were fair and uncorrupted, to the fatisfaction of " the whole world. Yet by thefe , the road was laid clearly open to the detedlion of Oppianicus’s guilt. His inftruments and minifters being once condemned , and by the very fame Judges too, nothing could be more abfurd than to raife a cry about an innocent perfon being circumvened by bribery, when it was evident, on the contrary, that a guilty perfon was now brought into judgment, under fuch circumftances, that unlefs the Judges were altogether inconfiftent with themfelves , it was impoffible for him to be acquitted.
He reafons next , that, if in this trial there Was any corruption of the Judges by money, it Was infinitely more probable, that corruption
S %
L E C T.
XXVIII.

2 6o
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’S
L e c t. fhould have proceeded from Oppianicus than f* c
XXVIII. from Cluentius. For fetting aflde' the difference lircd
of character between the two men, the one fair, gave I the other flagitious ; what motive had Cluentius t ft
to try fo odious and dangerous an experiment, follow:
as that of bribing Judges? Was it not much to be
more likely that he fhould have had recourfe to to the
this laft remedy, who faw and knew himfelf Oppia
and his caufe, to be in the utmoft danger; than that j
the other , who had a caufe clear in itfelf, and to di
of the iffue of which , in confequence of the two other
previous fentences given by the fame Judges, the i
he had full reafon to be confident ?. Was it not than
much more likely that he fhould bribe , who his
had every thing to fear; whofe life and liberty, r erj
and fortune were at flake ; than he who had colls,
already prevailed in a material part of his charge, by «
and who had no further intereft in the iffue of ' Mel
the profecution , than as juftice was concerned? purpol
In the third place , he alferts it as a certain Mead
fact, that Oppianicus did attempt to bribe the uond
Judges ; that the corruption in this trial , fo . danger much complained of , was employed , not by obligee
Cluentius, but againft him. He calls on Titus .efend
Attius , the Orator on the oppoflte fide; he jleinit
challenges him to deny , if he can , or if he : Opp dare, that Stalenus, one of the thirty-two Judkcs fe na Sclecli , did receive money from Oppianicus; he Oppia names the fum that was given; he names the
O' > i ((,
perfons that were prefent, when, after the trial W
was over, Stalenus was oblived to refund the «/. 0 ^
bribe. This is a ftrong fabt, and \youId feera

ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS.
261
quite decifive. But , unluckily , a very crofs L e c t. circumftance occurs here. For this very Stalenus XXVIII, gave his voice to condemn Oppianicus. For this ftrange incident, Cicero accounts in the following manner : Stalenus , fays he , known to be a worthlefs man , and accuftomed before to the like practices, entered into a treaty with Oppianicus to bring him off and demanded for that purpofe a certain fum , which he undertook to diftribute among a competent number of the other Judges. When he was once in poffeffion of the money; when he found a greater treafure, than ever he had been maker of, depofited in his empty and wretched habitation , he became very unwilling to part with any of it to his colleagues ; and bethought himfelf of fome means by which he could contrive to keep it all to himfelf. The fcheme which he devifed for this purpofe, was, to promote the condemnation, inftead of the acquittal of Oppianicus; as, from a condemned perfon, he did not apprehend much danger of being called to account , or being obliged to make reftitution. In place , therefore, of endeavouring to gain any of his colleagues, he irritated fuch as he had influence with againfl Oppianicus, by firfh promifing them money in his name , and afterwards telling them , that Oppianicus had cheated him *. When fentence
* “ Cum elfet egens , fumptuofus, audax, callidus , per tc fidiofus , et cum domi fure, miferrimis in locis , et inanif- “ fimis, tantum nummorum poiitum videret, ad omnem “ malitiametfraudem verfare mentem fuamcoepit. “De-mne
s 3

z6i ' ANALYSIS OF CICERO’S
0
Li c T. was to. be pronounced , he had taken meafures sat) & XXVIII. for being abfent himfelf; but being brought by that the'
Oppianicus’s Lawyers from another court, and fat not obliged to give his voice , he found it neceffary iisCfa
to lead the way, in condemning the man whole wereent
money he ha,d taken , without fulfilling the id fad
bargain which he had made with him.
of the
By thefe plaufible facts and reafouings, the char- abler of Cluentius feems in a great meafure cleared; the de
and what Cicero chiefly intended, the odium liis tril
thrown upon the adverfe party. But a difficult the Ju
part of the Orator’s bufinefs Hill remained. There At
were feveral fubfequent decifions of the Prcetor, the pi the Cenfors, and the Senate, againlt the Judges or tb
in this caufe; which all proceeded, or feemed tkk
to proceed , upon this ground of bribery and this cl: corruption : for it is plain the fufpicion prevailed, sir
that if Oppianicus had given money to Stalenus, “ velcc
Cluentius had outbribed him. To all thefe decifi- This cl;
pns , however, Cicero replies with much diftind- ms reft: nefs and fubtilty of argument; though it might sfluen
be tedious to follow him through all his reafon- . hvasi ings on thefe heads. He fhows, that the fads 4claw.
cc Judicibus, mihi .igitur ipfi , pratter periculum et infa- 1 y < cc miam quid quatretur? Siquis eum forte cafus ex periculo pj
(e eripuerit, nonne, reddendum eft 2 prcecipitantem igitur y
“ impellamus, inquit, et perditum profternamus. ” Capit £C hoc confilium ut pecuniam quibufdam judicibus leviffi- '“O'
” mis polliceatur , deinde earn poftea fupprimat ; ut quo- 1 was
^ niam graves homines fua Iponte feverb judicatures puta- “not u
” has, lios qui leviores erant, deftitutione iratos Oppiar 11
W nico redderet.” ' ’ m. ir

ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS. 263
were, at that time, very indiftindly known ; that the decifions appealed to were liaftily given ; that not one of them concluded directly againft his Client; and that firch as they were, they were entirely brought about by the inflammatory and factious harangues of Quindtius, the Tribune of the People , who had been the Agent and Advocate of Oppianicus; and who, enraged at the defeat he had fuftained, had employed all his tribunitial influence to raife a ftorm againft the Judges who condemned his Client.
At length , Cicero comes to- reafon concerning the point of law. The Crimen Corrup.’i Judicii , or the bribing of the Judges , was capital. In the famous Lex Cornelia dc Sicariis , was contained this claufe (which we find ft ill extant, Pandect, lib. xlviii. Tit. 10. § 1.) “ Qui judicem corruperit, “ vel corrumpendum curaverit, liac lege teneatur.” This claufe, however, we learn from Cicero, was reftrided to Magiftrates and Senators ; and as. Cluentius was only of the Equeftrian Order, he was not, even fuppofing him guilty , within the law. Of this Cicero avails himfelf doubly; and as he fhows here the moft mafterly addrefs, 1 fliall give a fummary of his pleading on this part of the caufe : “ You ,” fays he to the Advocate for the profecutor, “you, T. Attius, “ I know, had every where given it out, that “ I was to defend my Client, not from fads, “ not upon the footing of innocence , but by “ taking advantage merely of the law in his “ behalf. Have I done fo ? I appeal to yourfelf.
S 4
L E C T.
XXV11I.

264
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’s
I, e c t. “ Have I fought to cover him behind a legal XXVIII. “ defence only ? On the contrary , have I not plead- “ ed his caufe as if he had been a Senator, liable, “ by the Cornelian law, to be capitally convicted; “ and Ihown , that neither proof nor probable “ prefumption lies againft his innocence ? In “ doing fo, I mud acquaint you, that I have “ complied with the defire of Cluentius himfelf. “ For -when he firft confulted me in this caufe, “ and when I informed him that it was clear “ no adtion could be brought againft him from “ the Cornelian Law, he inftantly befought and “ obtefted me , that I would not reft his defence “ upon that ground ; faying, with tears in his “ eyes, That his reputation was as dear to him “ as his life; and that what he fought, as an “ innocent man , was not only to be abfolved “ from any penalty, but to be acquitted in the “ opinion of all his fellow-citizens.
“ Hitherto , then, I have pleaded this caufe “ upon his plan. But my Client muft forgive Ci me , if now I fhall plead it upon my own.
For I fhould be wanting to myfelf, and to '• that regard which my character and ftation “ require me to bear to the laws of the State, “ if I fhould allow any perfon to be judged “ by a law which does not bind him. You, fC Attius, indeed, have told us, that it was a tc fcandal and reproach , that a Roman Knight cc fhould be exempted from thofe penalties to “ which a Senator, for corrupting Judges , is “ liable. But 1 muft tell you, that - it would be a
in do ' ■ad por ■of \vhii proceec idiole
•atidji •and dii
law, or:
'Mir Att apn I®* I
Edam i
i?! iigni .am lit
corpora ■Aas, i sf legi
-si eiie

Os
fell.
tBK.i Jlyttr; i not [ii moce ; : . tkil:
Ui
uir
\
HIlL :o beaffi
(jCi:
ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS.
26<
t: much greater reproach, in a State that is regu- a lated by law, to depart from the law. What a fafety have any of us in our perfons, what {1 fecurity for our rights, if the law fhall be fet “ afide ? By what title do you , Q. Nafo, fit “ in that chair, and prefide in this judgment ? “ By what right, T. .Attius, do you accufe , <! or do I defend ? Whence all the folemnity “ and pomp of Judges, and Clerks, and Officers, c ‘ of which this lioufe is full ? Does not all “ proceed from the law , which regulates the “ whole department of the State; which, as a “ common bond, holds its members together ; “ and, like the Soul within the Body, actuates C£ and directs all public functions * ? On what c ‘ ground, then, dare you fpeak lightly of the “ law, or move that.,,in a criminal trial, Judges “ fhould advance one ftep beyond what it permits
L E C T.
XXVIII.
s-d-- * “ Ait Attius , indignum efTe facinus, fi fenator judicio
cir. U quemquam circumvenerit, eum legibus teneri; fi Eques “ Romanus hoc idem fecerit, eum non teneri. Ut tibi “ concedam hoc indignum effe, tu mihi concedas neceffe . . “ eft multo effe indignius, in ea civitate qua: legibus
* “ contineatur , difcedi legibus. Hoc nam vinculum eft
of ai “ kujus dignitatis qua fruimur in republica; hoc funda- u “ mentum libertatis; hie fons equitatis: mens et animus,
r v “ et confilium, et fententia civitatis pofita eft in legibus. “ Ut corpora noftra fine mente, lie civitas fine lege , fuis “ partibus, ut nervis ac fanguine et membris, uti non .0!®- “ poteft. Legum miniftri, magiftratus ; legum interpretes, pen “ judices; legum denique idcirco omnes fumus fervi, ut ( “ liberi effe poifimus. Quid eft, Q. Nafo, cur tu in
• ' hoc loco fedeas ? &c. ”

266
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’s
L e c T. “ them to go ? The wifdom of our anceftors has ,i " l£!ra '
XXVIII. “ found, that, as Senators and Magiftrates enjoy i 1 ^'
“ higher dignities , and greater advantages than ^ ait
“ other members of the ftate, the law fbouJd ^°" ,c
“ alfo, with regard to them, be more Uriel, 'M 1 ® 0 '
“ and the purity and uncorruptednefs of their tc morals be guarded by more fevere fanflions, ^ ^ r01 “ But if it be your pleafure that this inllitution iI01SUI ’ “ Ihould be altered, if you wilh to have the ]5 ^' va “ Cornelian Law, concerning bribery extended “ to all ranks, then let us join, not in violating “ the law, but in propofmg to have this alteration “ made by a new law. My Client, Cluentius ( ^ i011 “'will be the foremoll in this meafure, who now,
“ while the old law fubfifts , rejected its defence, ;cn * il “ and required his caufe to be pleaded, as if he “ had been bound by it. But, though he would : 'k Keam “ not avail Bimfelf of the lav/ - , you are bound light “ in juftice not to ftretch it beyond, its proper '^wai “limit.” : Mef
•Such is the reafoning of Cicero on this head; :i > will eloquent, furely, and flrong. As his manner is : °fmoi diffufe, I have greatly abridged it from- the origin- *hor i al, but have endeavoured to retain its force. ’
In the latter part of the Oration, Cicero treats A he of the other accufation that was brought againft. 4 hrev Cluentius, of having poifoned Oppianicus. On ‘%a. this, it appears, his accufers themfelves laidfmall 'Sons flrefs ; having placed their chief hope in over- Awli whelming Cluentius with the odium of bribery '®a*. in the former trial ; and, therefore, on this part of the caufe, Cicero does not dwell long. He *2?

O'j
ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS. *67
fhows the improbability of the whole tale, which L » c T. they related concerning this pretended poifoning, XXVIII. nstts and ‘makes it appear to be altogether deftitute of ,
16 any lhadow of proof.
sic Nothing, therefore, remains but the Perora- htt; tion, or Conclufion of the whole. In this, as eeb indeed throughout the whole of this Oration, tbc Cicero is uncommonly chalte , and in the midlt ito’fc of much warmth and earneltnefs, keeps clear of Dents turgid declamation. The Peroration turns on two 10:;- points; the indignation which the character and eihd conduct of Saffia ought to excite , and the com- int.fc paffion due to a fon , perfecuted through his cr{ r whole life by fuch a mother. He recapitulates gP;-. the crimes of Saflia; her lewdnefs, her violation °f every decorum, her inceltuous marriages, her violence and cruelty. He places , in the moll wo; . odious light , the eagernels and fury which fire ^, had Ihown in the fuit fire was carrying on again ft her fon; deferibes her journey from Larinum to „ Rome, with a train of attendants, and a great ftore of money , that Ihe might employ every ^ method for circumvening and oppreffing him in . • this trial ; while, in the whole courfe of her p,. journey, Ihe was fo detefted-, as to make a foli- ' . tude wherever Ihe lodged ; Hie was Ihunned and
avoided by all; her company and her very looks, were .reckoned contagious; the houfewas deemed li# P°^ utec ^ which was entered into by fo abandoned
■ a woman*. To this he oppofes the character of
im<h ■
* “ Cum appropinquare hujus judicium ei nunciatum eft,

268
ANALYSIS OF CICERO’s
lECT,
XXVIII.
Cluentius, fair, unfpotted, and refpeclable. He produces the teftimonies or the magiilrates of Laricum in his favour, given in the mod ataple and honourable manner by a public decree, and fupported by a great concourfe of the moll noted inhabitants, who were now prefent, to fecond every thing that Cicero could fay in favour of Cluentius.
“ Therefore, Judges,” he concludes, “if cc you abominate crimes, Hop the triumph of cc this impious woman, prevent this moll unna- “ tural mother 'rom rejoicing in her fon’s blood. C£ Jf you love virtue and worth, relieve this “ unfortunate man, who, for fo many years, cc has been expofed to the moft unjull reproach “ through the calumnies railed again ft him by “ Saffia , Qppianicus , and all their adherents.
“ confeftim hie advolavit; ne aut accufatoribus diligentia, “ aut pecunia teftibus deeffet; aut ne forte mater hoc fibi
optatiffimum fpectaculum hujus fordium atque luctus, et t.inti fqualoris amitteret. Jam vero quod iter Romani hujus mulieris fuiffe exiitim'atis ? Ouod ego propter vici- “ nitatem Aquinatium et Venafranorum ex multis comperi: “ quos concurfus in his oppidis ? Quantos et virorum et “ mulierum gemitus effe factos? Mulierem quandam La- “ rino, atque illam ufque a mari fupero Romam pron- “ eifei cum magno comitatu et pecunia, quo facilius cit- “ cumvenire judicio capitis, atque opprimere filium poffit. “ Nemo erat illorum, pcene dicam, quin expiandumilium “ locum effe arbitraretur quacunque ilia iter feciffet; nemo, “ quin terrain ipfam violari, qua; mater eft omnium, vefti- u giis confceleratae matris putaret. Itaque nuilo in oppido “ confiftendi ei poteftas fuit; nemo ex tot hofpitibus inven- ‘ 4 tus eft qui non contagionem afpectus fugeret.”
fefhanc
\

to ORATION FOR CLUENTIUS. 269
l'petiA « Better far it had been for him to have ended Lxct.
c ‘ his days at once by the poifon which Op- XXVIII. 'c«j: « pianicus had prepared for him, than to have ic dice. “ efcaped thofe .fnares, if he muft ftill be op- ttc;: ; “ prefled by an odium which I have fhown to be by. “ fo unjuft. But in you he trufts , in your cle- vd: “ mency , and your equity, that now, on a full “ and fair hearing of his caufe, you will reflore toaia “ him to his honour ; you will reftore him to his be 12 “ friends and fellow-citizens, of whofe zeal and biisc “ high eftimation of him you have feen fuch 3er; “ ftrong proofs; and will Ihow , by your decifion,
:b,- “ that, though fadion and calumny may reign (ok “ for a while in popular meetings and harangues, u- : d “ in trial and judgment regard is paid to the Eli: “ truth only.’’
1 have given only a ftceleton of this Oration of Cicero. What I have principally aimed at,
.was to Ihow his difpofition and method ; his
arrangement of fads, and the condud and force offome of his main arguments. But, in order to have a full view of the fubjed, and of the art with which the Orator manages it, recourfemuft be had to the original. Few of Cicero’s Orations t:sz contain a greater variety of fads and argued 5 mentations , which renders it difficult to analyfe - it fully. But for this reafon I chofe it, as an excellent example of managing at the Bar a Li; complex and intricate caufe, with order, eleganae,
&0 and force.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT* *P ec
ace of
Lie T, XXIX.
BeFORE treating of the Rrudure and component parts of a regular Oration , I purpofed making fome obfervations on the peculiar ftrain, the diftinguilhing characters , of each of the three great kinds of Public Speaking. I have already treated of the Eloquence of Popular Af- femblies, and of the Eloquence of the Bar. The fubjed which remains for this Ledure is, the ftrain and fpirit of that Eloquence which is fuit- ed to the Pulpit.
LiiT us begin with confidering the advantages* and difadvantages , which belong to this field of Public Speaking. The Pulpit has plainly feveral advantages peculiar to itfelf. The dignity and importance of its fubjeds muff be acknowledged fuperior to any other. They are fuch as ought to intereft every one , and can be brought home to e\*ery man’s heart ; and fuch as admit , at the fame time , both the higheft embellifhment in deferibing , and the greateft vehemence and Warmth in enforcing them. The Preacher ha*
•no trot then, jius of n rator is
;S fiSd 1
Ives, ml is trite a
:plic e; j it requir
a to fix it is mo sis com (■politic ®re the i not in j •uconvi
Ssition; 'sfeltav

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
271
nn
ie pi:
Efc:
aiioc.;: ifcept.. , oft.
Sper:'
ice off;: :ec!:;. isLc;
TH : r
be
33 ft*-* K50®
fie f ® 5
alfo great advantages in treating his fubjecls. He {peaks not ta one or a few Judges , but to a large Affembly. He is fecure from all interruption. He is obliged to no replies, or extemporaneous efforts. He chufes his theme at leifure; and comes to the Public with all the affi fiance which the; moft accurate premeditation can give him.
But , together with thefe advantages , there, are alfo peculiar difficulties that attend the Eloquence of the Pulpit. The Preacher, it is true, has no trouble in contending with an adverfary; but then , Debate and Contention enliven the ■genius of men, and,procure attention. The Pulpit- Orator is , perhgps , in too quiet poffeffion of his field. His fubjedts of difeourfe are , in them- felves , noble and important; but they are fub- jedts trite and familiar. They have , for ages, employed fo many Speakers, and fo many peris; the public ear is fo much accuftomed to them, that it requires more than an ordinary power of genius to fix attention. Nothing within the reach of art is more difficult , than to bellow , on what is common, the grace of novelty. No fort of compofition whatever is fuch a trial of fkill, as where the merit of it lies wholly in the execution ; not in giving any information that is new , not in convincing men of what they did not believe; but in dreffing truths which they knew, and of which they wmre before convinced , in filch colours as may moft forcibly affedt their imagination and heart*. It is to be confidered
* What I have fair! on this fubjed:, coincides very much
L E C T. XXIX.

272 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
ELO
L'E C T.
XXIX.
too , that the fubject of the Preacher generally confines him to abftract qualities , to virtues and vices; whereas, that of other popular Speakers leads them to treat of perfons ; which is a fubjed that commonly interefts the hearers more, and takes fafter hold of the imagination. The Preacher’s bufinefs is folely to make you deleft the crime. The Pleader's , to make you deteft
si more decade
sea gre 3, we 1 lilsrly en :ie art
with the obfervations made by the famous M. Bruyere, in his Munirs de ce Siecle , when he is comparing the Eloquence of the Pulpit with that of the Bar. “ L’Eloquence de “ la chaire, en ce qui y entre d’humain, et du talent de “ l’orateur, eft cachee, connue de peu de perfonnes, et “ d’une difficile execution. II faut marcher par des che- “ mins battus, dirt ce qui a ete dit, et ce que Ton pre- “ voit que vous allez dire: les matieres font grandcs, “ rnais ufees ‘et triviales; les principes furs, mais dont les “ auditeurs penetrent les conclufions d’une feule vue; ily “ entre des fujets qui font fublimes, mais qui peut traiter “ le fublime ? — Le predicateur n’efr point foutenu corame “ l’avocat par des fairs toujours nouveaux, par de differens “ evenemens , par des aventures inouies; il ne s’exerce “ point fur les queftions douteufes; il ne fait point vaioir “ les violentes conjedtures, et les prefomptions; toutes “ les chofes, neanmoins , qui elevent le genie , lui donneat ‘ £ de la force, et de l’etendue, et contraignent bien “ moins 1’eloquence qu’elles ne la fixent, et la diligent. “ Il doit, au contraire, tirer fon difcours d’une fource “ commune, et oil tout le monde puife; et s’il s’ecarte “ de ces lieux communs, il n’eft plus populaire; il eft abftrait ou declamateur. ” — The inference which he draws from thefe reflections is very juft — “ il eft plus “ aife de precher que de plaider; mais plus difficile de “ bien precher que de bien plaider.” Les Caracteres, ou mocurs de ce liccle, p. 6oi.
the
He objf |0n ma
It m
i no p: fills, il
Mat: ; from pe. cf fen is AM ai :mis art, .its, evt eloque alle mea jft tile to fttllat s Rth a ■hi. io. test of
ay from ftti dut #t tier iEliracfi & fa

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 273
the criminal. He defcribes a living perfon ; and Iect, with more facility roufes your indignation. From XXIX. thefe caufes , it comes to pafs , that though we have a great number of moderately good Preachers , we have, however , fo few that are fin- gularly eminent. We are ftill far from perfection in the art of Preaching ; and perhaps there are few things , in which it is more difficult to excel 11 .
The object , however , is noble , and worthy, upon many accounts , of being purfued with zeal.
It may perhaps occur to fome, that preaching is no proper fubjecft of the Art of Eloquence.
This , it may be faid , belongs only to human ftudies and inventions : but for the truths of
* What I fay here , and in other paflages, of our being far from perfection in the Art of Preaching, and of there being few who are Angularly eminent in it, is to be always underflood as referring to an ideal view of the perfection of this art, which none, perhaps. fince the days of the Apoftles, ever did , or ever will, reach. But in that degree of the eloquence of the Pulpit, which promotes , in a con- fiderable meafure, the great end of edification, and gives a juft title to high reputation and efteem, there are many who hold a very honourable rank. I agree entirely in opinion with a candid Judge (Dr. Campbell on Rhetoric,
15. i. ch. 10 .) who obferves, that confidering how rare the talent of eloquence is among men, and confidering all the difadvantages under which Preachers labour, particularly from the frequency of this exercife, joined with the other duties of their office, to which fixed Pallors are obliged, there is more reafon to wonder that we hear fo nvany inftructive, and even eloquent Sermons, than that We hear fo few.
VOL. II.
T

274 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
L e c T. religion , with the greater fimplicity , and XXIX. the lefs mixture of art they are fet forth, they are likely to prove the more fuccefs- ful. This objection would have weight, if Eloquence were , as the perfons who make fuch an objection commonly take -it to be , an often- tatious and deceitful art, the ftudy of words and of plaufibility only , calculated to pleafe, and to tickle the ear. But againft this idea of Eloquence I have all along guarded. True Eloquence is the art of placing truth in* the moll advantageous light for conviction and perfuafion. This is what every good man who preaches the Gofpel not only may, but ought to have at heart. It is molt intimately connected with the fuccefs of his mi- niltry; and were it needful, as affuredly it is not, to reafon any further on this head , we might refer to the Difcourfes of the Prophets and Apoftles , a* models of the molt fublime and perfuafive Eloquence , adapted both to the imagination and the paffions of men.
An elfential requifite, in order to preach well, is , to have a juft , and , at the fame time, a « fixed and habitual view of the end of preaching. For in no art can -any man execute well, who has not a juft idea of the end and objeft of that art. The end of all preaching is., to perfuade men to become good. Every Sermon therefore fhould be a perfuafive Oration. Not but that the Preacher is to inftrucl and to teach , to reafon and argue. All perfuafion, as I fhowed formerly, is to be founded on conviclion.’The underhand-.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 275
ES-
Prop's:
m
las
Et>
ing mull always be applied to in the flrft place , in order to make a lading impreffion on the heart : and he who would work on men’s paf- fions, or influence their practice , without firft giving them juft principles , and enlightening their minds , is no better than a mere declaimer. He may raife tranfient emotions , or kindle a palling ardour ; but can produce no folid or lading effect. At the fame time , it muft be remembered , that all the Preacher’s inftrudions are to be of the pradical kind ; and that perfuafion muft ever be his ultimate objed. It is not to difcufs fome abftrufe point, that he afcends the Pulpit. It is not to illuftrate fome metaphyfxcal truth , or to inform men of fomething -which they never heard before ; but it is to make them better men ; it is to give them, at once , clear views , and perfuafive impreffions of religious truth. The Eloquence of the Pulpit then , muft: be Popular Eloquence. One of the firft qualities of preaching is to be popular ; not in the fenfe of accommodation to the humours and prejudices of the people (which tends only to make a Preacher contemptible ) , but , in the true fenfe of the word , calculated to make impreffion ori the people ; to ftrike and to feize their hearts.
I fcruple not therefore to affert, that the abftracft and philofophical manner of preaching, however it may have fometimes been admired , is formed upon a very faulty idea, and deviates widely from the juft plan of Pulpit Eloquence. Rational, indeed, a Preacher ought al\ynys to be; he muft
L E C T;
XXIX.

276 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
El
Lect.
XXIX.
give his audience clear ideas on every fubjedl, and entertain them with fenfe, not with found; but to be an accurate reafoner will be fmall praife, if he be not a perfuafive Speaker alfo.
Now, if this be the proper idea of a Sermon, a perfuafive Oration, one very material confe- quence follows , that the Preacher himfelf , in order to be fuccefsful, muft be a good man. In a preceding Lecture , I endeavoured to (how, that on no fubjedt can any man be truly eloquent, who does not utter the “ verae voces ab imo “ pedtore,” who does not fpeak the language of his own convidtion, and his own feelings. If this holds, as, in my opinion, it does in other kinds of Public Speaking , it certainly holds in the higheft degree in preaching. There , it is of the utmolt confequence that the Speaker firmly believe both the truth , and the importance of thofe principles which he inculcates on others; and , not only that he believe them fpeculatively, but have a lively and ferious feeling of them. This will always give an earneflnefs and ftrength, a fervour of piety to his exhortations , fuperior in its effedts to all the arts of fludied FJoquence; and, without it, the affiftance of art will feldom be able to conceal the mere declaimer. A fpirit of true piety would prove the mod effectual guard againfl thofe errors which Preachers are apt to commit. It would make their Difcourfes folid , cogent , and/ufeful ; it would prevent thofe frivolous and oftentatious harangues, which have no other aim than merely to make a parade.
'siSpeec
tt dft
i:\vith ad th (xcellin why f( fphere.
Ti
fuited other i to b< leriou Pulpit rndir either e I of Ek minant, Jy. Th ' oa the
two mul
Gravity
fron
kdelivi
tskc fnl
Xrt

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 2 77
of Speech, or amufe an audience ; and perhaps the difficulty of attaining that pitch of habitual piety and goodnefs , which the perfection of Pulpit Eloquence would require, and of uniting it with that thorough knowledge of the world , and thofe other talents which are requifite for excelling in the Pulpit, is one of the great caufes why fo few arrive at very high eminence in this fphere.
The chief charadteriftics of the Eloquence fuited to the Pulpit , as diftinguilhed from the other kinds of Public Speaking , appear to me to be thefe two , Gravity and "Warmth. The ferious nature of the fubjedis belonging to the Pulpit requires Gravity ; their importance to mankind , requires Warmth. It is far from being either eafy or common to unite thefe characters of Eloquence-. The grave , when it is predominant , is apt to run into a dull uniform folemn- ity. The Warm, when it wants gravity, borders on the theatrical and light. The union of the two muff be ftudied by all Preachers as of the utmoft confequence , both in the compofition of their difcourfes, and in their manner of delivery. Gravity and Warmth united, form that character of preaching which the French call Onclion the affecting, penetrating r interefting manner, flowing from a ftrong fenfibility of heart in the Preacher to the importance of thofe truths which he delivers, and an earneft defire that they may make full impreflion on the hearts of his Hearers.
Next to a juft idea of the nature and objedt
T 3
L E C T.
XXIX.

37$ ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
of Pulpit Eloquence , the point of greateft importance to a Preacher, is a proper choice of the fubjeds on which he preaches. To give rules for the choice of fubjeds for Sermons , belongs to the theological more than to the rhetorical chair ; only in general , they fhould be fuch as appear to the Preacher to be the moft ufeful, and the beft accommodated to the circumftances of his Audience. No man can be called eloquent, who fpeaks to an Affembly on fubjects, or in a ftrain, which none or few of them comprehend. The unmeaning applaufe which the ignorant give to what is above their capacity , common fenfe , and common probity , muft teach every man to defpife. Ufefulnefs and true Eloquence always go together ; and no man can long be reputed a good Preacher who is not acknowledged to be an ufeful one.
The rules which relate to the condud of the different parts of a Sermon , the Introduction, Divifion , argumentative and pathetic parts, I referve to be afterwards delivered , when treating of the conduct of a Difcourfe in general ; but fome rules and obfervations , which refped a Sermon as a particular fpecies of compofition, I fhall now give , and I hope they may be of fome ufe.
The firft which I fhall mention is, to attend to the Unity of a Sermon. Unity indeed is of great confequence in every compofition ; but in other Difcourfes , where the choice and direction of the fubjed are not left to the Speaker , it may

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 3 ?o
be lefs in his power to preferve it. In a Sermon, it mull be always the Preacher’s own fault if he tranf- grefs it. What I mean by unity is, that there fhould be fome one main point to which the whole ftrain of the Sermon fhall refer. It muft not be a bundle of different fubjeds ftrung together, but one objed muft predominate throughout. This rule is founded on what we call experience , that the mind can attend fully only to one capital object at a time. By dividing, you always weaken the impreffion. Now this Unity, without which no Sermon can either have much beauty , or much force, does not require that there fhould be no divifions or feparate heads in the Difcourfe, or that one fingle thought only fhould be, again and again, turned up to the hearers in different lights. It is not to be underftood in fo narrow a fenfe : it admits of fome variety; it admits of underparts and appendages , provided always that fo much Union and Connedion be preferved, as to make the whole concur in fome one impreffion upon the mind. I may employ , for inftance , feveral different arguments to enforce the love of God; I may alfo enquire, perhaps, into the caufes of the decay of this virtue; ftill one great objed is prefented to the mind; but if, becaufe my text fays , “ He that loveth God, muft love his £ ‘ brother alio,” I fhoul^, therefore, mingle in one Difcourfe arguments for the love of God and for the love of our neighbour , I would offend unpardonably againft Unity , and leave-, a
T 4
L E C T.
XXIX.

280 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
L E C T, XXIX.
very loofe and confufed impreflion on the Hearers minds.
In the fecond place , Sermons are always the more ftriking , and commonly the more ufeful, the more precife and particular the fubject of them be. This follows , in a great meafure, from Xvhat I was juft now illuftrating. Though a general fubjedt is capable of being conducted with a confiderable degree of Unity , yet that Unity can never be fo complete as in a particular one. The impreffion made muft always be more undeterminate ; and the inftruchon conveyed, will commonly too , be lefs direct and convincing. General fubjects , indeed , fuch as the excellency or the pleafures of religion , are often chofen by young Preachers , as the moft fhowy , and the eafieft to be handled ; and , doubtlefs, general views of religion are not to be neglected, as on feveral occafions they have great propriety, But thefe are not the fubjedts moft favourable for producing the high effects of preaching. They fall in almoft unavoidably with the beaten tradt of common-place thought. Attention is much more commanded by feizing fome particular view of ■ a great fubjedt, fome fingle interefting topic, and diredting to that point the whole force of Argument and Kloquence. To recommend fome one grace or virtue, or to jnveigh againft a particular vice . furnilhes a fubject not deficient in unity or precifion ; but if we confine ourfelves to that virtue or vice as affuming a particular afpedt, and confider it as it appears in certain charadters,
ace
>it, r
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t reft th it l\Vi tether n : for tl liar, It at afor inch kfc aWoa , :i Pulpit;
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rathe
a the
i\rh
isjtum
'what

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 281
'I’LPII
10l k ; or affects certain fitnations in life , the fubject becomes {till more interefting. The execution is, ? r ub j a( j m j t ^ more difficult, but the merit and the e effect are higher.
1 e kr lx the third place , never ftudy to fay all that can be faid upon a fubject ; no error is greater ‘ than this. Select the molt ufeful, the moft ftriking and perfuafive topics which the text fuggefts, and reft the Difcourfe upon thefe. If the doctrines which Minifters of the Gofpel preach were al- :f. c; together new to their hearers , it might be requi- fcctr fite for them to be exceeding full on every par- dcrr, ticular, left there ffiould be any hazard of their tbs.'-.': not affording complete information. But it is nen:;- much lefs for the fake of information than of :m,L- perfuafion , that Difcourfes are delivered from Wiethe Pulpit; and nothing is more oppofite to perked: 3 .:- fuafion, than an unneceffary and tedious fulnefs. prop There are always fome things which the Preacher hvoffi may fuppofe to be known , and fome things nciai- which he may only ffiortly touch. If he feek to berzra: omit nothing which his fubject fuggefts, it will N-srik unavoidably happen that he. will encumber it, ioih® an d weaken its force.
In ftudying a Sermon, he ought to place him- : 0( ’. felf in the fttuation of a ferious hearer. Let him fuppofe the fubject addrelfed to himfelf: let him confider what views of it would ftrike him moft; -•Q; what arguments would be moft likely to perfuade iy v3 him; what parts of it would dwell moft upon his mind. Let thefe be employed as his principal ■ materials ; and in thefe , it is moft likely his
L E C T.
XXIX.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
L E C T. XXIX.
to
slessct
genius will exert itfelf with the greateft vigour.
The fpinning and wire - drawing mode, which is jW 1 not uncommon among Preachers, enervates the nobleft truths. It may indeed be a confequence : ^ e of obferving the rule which I am now giving, ;se ’ that fewer Sermons will be preached upon one text than is fometimes done ; but this will, in my opinion, be attended with no difadvantage. 3:Dbl I know no benefit that arifes from introducing : ? C5t a whole fyftem of religious truth under every text. The fimpleft and moft natural method by Itever ! far, is to chufe that view of a fubjecl; to which ^ D ?^ : the text principally leads, and to dwell no longer on the text, than is fufficient for difcuffing the “ fubject in that view , which can commonly bejr?^ m done, with fufficient profoundnefs and dilhnct-T^ m “ nefs, in one or a few Difcourfes : for it is a very oa $ falfe notion to imagine , that they always preach
the moft profoundly , or go the deepeft into
:ce ratii
fubject:, who dwell on it the longeft. On the con-' trary, that tedious circuit, which fome are ready jr 12tira i to take in all their illuftrations, is very frequenly I?™.' owing , either to their want of difcernment for ;; krmc perceiving what is moft important in the fubject; : will b or to their want of ability for placing it in the fmviev moft proper point of view. f 3 ® o
In the fourth place, ftudy above all things to e; render your inftrutftions interefting to the Hear- Shearer: ers. This is the great trial and mark of true .2 feels genius for the Eloquence of the Pulpit: for no-
owr
thing is fo fatal to fuccefs in preaching , as a dry manner. A dry Sermon can never be a good one.
|
aaat

; K|Q ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 283
ie ?®£ In order to preach in an interefting manner, Lect much will depend upon the delivery of a Dif- XXIX. :rs i®nt; .courfe ; for the manner in which a man fpeaks, tait: is of the utmoft confequence for affecting his lauite- Audience ; but much will alfo depend on the Ui.. compofition of the Difcourfe. Correct language,
Ltd and elegant defcription , are but # the fecondary ■not inftruments of preaching in an interefting manner. froairJ The great fecret lies, in bringing home all that nii in?, is fpoken to the hearts of the Hearers, fo as to latuni: make every man think that the Preacher is ad- ik :; dreffing him in particular. For this end, let him tod'J:: avoid all intricate reafonings ; avoid expreffing fr Jiimfelf in general fpeculative propofitions , or aa: - laying down practical truths in an abftradt meta- Inefir: phyfical manner. As much as poftible , the Dif- courfe ought to be carried on in the (train of |j CVi | a direct addrefs to the Audience; not in the (train of one writing an effay , but of one fpeaking to a multitude, and ftudying to mix what is called Application, or what has an immediate reference to practice, with the doctrinal and didactic parts .t r,. of the Sermon.
it will be ot
much advantage to keep always in view the different ages, characters, and conditions of men , and to accommodate directions and exhortations to thefe different claf- fes of hearers. Whenever you bring forth what a man feels to touch his own character, or to fuit his own circumfiances , you are Eire of interefting him. hJo ftudy is more neceffary for this purpofe, than the ftudy of human life, and
the human heart. To be able to unfold the heart,

284 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
■;0ji
L e c t. and to difcover a man to himfelf, in a light in if tint
XXIX. which he never faw his own character before, pro- %
duces a wonderful effedl. As long as the Preach- iikf ® 1 er hovers in a cloud of general obfervations, isiofti and defcends not to trace the particular lines and jar fat features of manners , the Audience are apt to ; are t think themfelves unconcerned in the defcription. :themf It is the ftriking accuracy of moral characlers Jte ofi that gives the chief power and effect to aial,tl Preacher’s difcourfe. Hence, examples founded at mu! on hiftorical facts, and drawn from real life, of native which kind the Scriptures afford many, always, fettk when they are well chofen, command high at- jeire, tention. No favourable opportunity of introdu- mfelfto cing thefe fhould be omitted.. They correct, in. ; pu’tlt) fome degree, that disadvantage to which I before^fafajedn obferved preaching is fubject, of being confined to -Entitled t treat of qualities in the abftract, not of perfons, and'jtrgive; place the weight and reality of religious truths in the ibtij molt convincing light. Perhaps thejnoft beautiful,^afefiili and among the moll ufeful fermons of any, though,' 7 sanon; indeed the moll difficult in compofition, are fuch to a i as are wholly charadleriflical, or founded on the :m p, illuflration of fome peculiar character, or remark- ^ able piece of hiftory, in the facred writings; by ' K j na purfuing which, one can trace, and lay open, ^ at | 3 fome of the mod fecret windings of man’s heart. Other topics of preaching have been much beaten; ^ j but this is a field, which, wide in itfelf, has hitherto been little explored by the comjpofers of ;aa( j fermons, and poffeffes all the advantages of being .ty curious, new, and highly ufeful. Bifhop Butlers

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 285
epuh:
■eial it larucr, dfiHj :: : inde; f Mi: 32 li
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fermon on the chamber of Balaam, will give an idea of that fort of preaching which I have in my eye.
In the fifth and laft place, Let me add a caution againft taking the model of preaching from particular fafhions that chance to have the vogue. Tbefe are torrents that fwel'l to day, and have fpent themlelves by to-morrow. Sometimes it is the tafte of poetical preaching, fometimes of philo- fophical, that has the fafhion on its fide; at one time it muff be all pathetic, at another time all argumentative , according as fome celebrated Preacher has fet the example. Each of thefe modes, in the extreme, is very faulty; and he who conforms himfelf to it, will both cramp genius, and corrupt it. It is the univerfal tafte of mankind which is fubject to no fuch changing modes, that alone is entitled to poffefs any authority; and this will never give its fandtion to any ftrain of preaching, but what is founded on human nature, connected with ufefulnefs, adapted to the proper idea of a Sermon; as a ferious perfuafive Oration, delivered to a multitude, in order to make them better men. Let a Preacher form himfelf upon this Itandard, and keep it clofe in his eye, and he will be in a much furer road to reputation , and fuccefs at laft, than by a fervile compliance with any popular tafte, or tranfient humour of his Hearers. Truth and good fenfe are firm, and will eftablifh themfelves; mode and humour are feeble and fluctuating. Let him never follow, implicitly, any one example; or become a fer-
L E C T. XXIX.

a86 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT
L E C T.
XXIX.
vile imitator of any preacher, however much ad- •mired. From various examples, he may pick up much for his improvement; fome he may prefer to the reft: but the fervility of imitation extinguishes all genius, or rather is a proof of the entire want ; of genius.
With refpedl to'Style, that which the Pulpit requires; muft certainly, in the frrft place, be very perfpicuous. As difcourfes fpoken there, are i calculated for the inftrudtion of all forts of hear- : j ers, plainnefs and fimplicity Should reign in them. ’ All unufual, fwoln, or high founding words, 1 fhould be avoided ; efpecially all words that are merely poetical, or merely philofophical. : Young Preachers are apt to be caught with the glare of thefe; and in young Compofers the errof may be excufable; but they may be allured that it is an error, and proceeds from their not having yet acquired a corredt Tafte. Dignity o f
preflion, indeed, the Pulpit requites in a high degree; nothing that is mean or groveling, no j low or vulgar phrafes, ought on any account to 3 be admitted. But this dignity is perfedly confift-’*' ent with fimplicity. The words employed may ■ be all plain words, eafily underftood, and in ; common ufe; and yet the Style may be abundantly dignified, and, at the fame time, very ? lively and animated. For a lively animated Style is extremely fuited to the Pulpit. The earneft- nefs which a Preacher ought to feel, and the grandeur and importance of his fubjects, juftify, and often require warm and glowing expreffions. He not only may employ metaphors and compa-
Knitnn
ytss i)

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 387
^tvtv rifons, but, on proper occafions, may apoftro- Lect.
phife the faint or the fmner; may perfonify inani- XXIX 4 deo mate objects, break out into bold exclamations ,
Jtosgv and, in general, has the command of the moft of tie;:: paffionate figures of Speech. But on this fubjedt, cf the proper ufe and management of figures, I wl'e- have infilled fo fully in former Lectures, that I '■i have no occafion now to give particular direc-
ffcicc tions; unlefsit be only to recal to mind that moft ’iilb capital rule , never to employ ftrong figures , or a - pathetic Style, except in cafes where the fub- foo:c ject leads to them, and where the Speaker is oi 7- impelled to the ufe of them by native unaffected :lt si warmth,
c;:; up;:: ivbeii m tfer
e.Db
Of!!?'
; F i.
ic!:
ei:
L-
The language of Sacred Scripture, properly employed, is a great ornament to Sermons. It -may be employed , either in the way of quotation* lorallufion. Diredt quotations, brought from Scrip- ture, in order to fupport what the Preacher incul- icates, both give authority to his doctrine, and render his difcourfe more folemn and venerable, 'Allufions to remarkable paffages, or expreffions v of Scripture, when introduced with propriety, have generally a pleafing effedl. They afford the' Preacher a fund of metaphorical expreffion which no other compofition enjoys, and by means of which he can vary and enliven his Style. But he mull take care that any fuch allufions be natural and eafy ; for if they feem forced, they approach to the nature of conceits.*
* Bifliop Sherlock, when fhowing, that the views of rma? reafon have jbeen enlarged,, and the principles of natural

288 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. ED
L E C T.
XXIX.
In a Sermon, no points or conceits fhould appear, idogai no affedted fmartnefs and quaintnefs of expreffion. simp Thefe derogate much from the dignity of the Pul- aittllsi pit: and give to a Preacher that air of foppifhnefs, irywe which he ought, above all things, to fliun. It is rremefc rather a ftrong expreflive Style, than a fparkling one, that is to be lludied. But we mull beware of jlethis imagining, that we render Style ftrong and ex- avbet preftive, by a conftant and multiplied ufe of Sciatic epithets. This is a great error. Epithets have often -apreffic great beauty and force. But if we introduce them 'bty, into every Sentence, and firing many of them Spetifu together to one object, in place of ftrengthening, ijmhe
religion illuftrated, by the difcoveries of Chriftianity, attacks unbelievers for the abufe they make of thefe advantages, in the following manner: “ What a return do we make “ for thofe bleflings we have received ? How difrefpeclfully ' “ do we treat the Gofpel of Chrift, to which we owe “ that clear light both of reafon and nature, which we “ now enjoy, when we endeavour to fet up reafon and “ nature in oppofition to it? ought the -withered hand, “ which Chrift has reftored and made whole, to be lifted “ up againft him ? ” Vol. i. Difc. i. This allufion to a noted miracle of our Lord’s, appears to me happy and elegant. Dr. Seed is remarkably fond of allufions to Scripture Style ; but he fometimes employs fuch as are too {trained and fanciful. As when he fays. (Serm. iv.) “ No “ one great virtue will come fingle; the virtues that “ be her fellows -will bear her company -with joy and “ gladnefs." Alluding to a paffage in the XLVth. Pfalin, which relates to the virgins, the companions of the king’s daughter. And ( Serm. xiii.) having (kid , that the umverfi- ties have juftly been called the eyes of the nation, he adds , “ and if the eyes of the nation be evil , the -whole “ body of it mujl be full of darkuej's. ”
we
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k. ll,

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 289
we clog and enfeeble Style; in place of illnftrating the image, we render it confufed and indiftintft. He that tells me, “ of this periffiing, mutable and tranft- “ tory world;’' by all thefe three epithets, doesnot give me fo ftrong an idea of what he would convey, as if he had ufed one of them with propriety. I conclude this head with an advice, never to have what may be called a favourite expreffion ; for it Ihows affectation, and becomes difgufting. Let not any expreffion , which is remarkable for its Juftr'e or beauty, occur twice in the fame difcourfe. The repetition of it betrays a fondnefs to ftine, and , at the fame time , carries the appearance of barren invention;
As to the queftion, whether it be moffc proper to write Sermons fully, and commit them accurately to memory, or to ftudy only the matter and thoughts, and truft the expreffion, in part at leaft, to the delivery ? I am of opinion , that no univerfal rule can here be given. The choice of either of thefe methods mull be left to Preachers , according to their different genius^ The expref- fions which come warm and glowing from the mind, during the fervour of pronunciation , will often have a fuperior grace and energy, to thofe which are ftudied in the retirement of the clofet. But then, this fluency and power of expreffion cannot, at all times, be depended upon, even by thofe of the readied genius; and by many can at no time be commanded, when overawed by the prefence of an Audience. It is proper therefore to begin, at leaft, the practice of preaching, Voi. II. V
Lbct
XXIX;

29 o ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. E
L e c t. with writing as accurately as pollible. This is jftfcel
XXIX. abfolutely neceffary in the beginning, in order to Ktwixt
acquire the power and habit of correct fpeaking, jstav nay al o of correcl thinking upon religious fub- k a pi'
jects. I am inclined to go further, and to fay, french that it is proper not only to begin thus , but alfo k ira to continue, as long as the habits of induftry itaoft laft, in the practice both of writing, and com- on of mitting to memory. Relaxation in this particular French is fo common , and fo ready to grow upon molt accura Speakers in the Pulpit, that there is little occafion to m ) for giving any cautions againft the extreme of Frenc overdoing in accuracy. florid
Of pronunciation or delivery, I am hereafter The to treat apart. All that I fhall now fay upon this p 3 fc 0 head is, that the practice of reading Sermons, is fyoii one of the greateft obftacles to the Eloquence Thedi of the Pulpit in Great Britain, where alone this thefe:J practice prevails. No difcourfe , which is defigned ^g, to be perfuafive, can have the fame force when read, (J. m as when fpoken. 1 he common people all feel this, t f teniIn and their prejudice againft this practice is not without foundation in nature. What is gained hereby in point of correctnefs, is not equal, I apprehend, to what is loft in point of perfuafion and force.
They, whofe memories are notable to retain the whole of a difcourfe, might aid themfelves con- fiderably by fhort notes lying before them , which ‘udirif would allow them to prefervc, in a great meafure the ireedom and eafe of one who fpeaks.
The ‘French and Fnglifh writers of Sermons proceed upon very different ideas of the Eloquence B

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
291
•
of the Pulpit, and feem indeed to have fplit it betwixt them. A French Sermon, is for the moffc part a warm animated exhortation; an Englilh one, is a piece of cool inftructive reafoning. The French Preachers addrefs themfelves chiefly to the imagination and the paffions; the Englilh, aim oft folely to the underftanding. It is the union of thefe two kinds of compofition , of the French earneftnefs and warmth, with the Englilh accuracy and reafon, that would form , according to my idea, the model of a perfect Sermon. A French Sermon would found in our ears as a florid, and, often , as an enthufiaftic , harangue. The cenfure which, in fact, the French critics pafs on the Englilh Preachers is, that they are Philofophers and Logicians, but not Orators *. The defeats of moft of the French Sermons are thefe: from a mode that prevails among them of taking their texts from the leflon of the day, the connection of the text with the fubjed is often unnatural and forced f; their applications of
* “ Les fermons font fuivar.t notre methode, de vrais “ difcours oratoires; et non pas , comme chez les Anglais , “ des difcuflions mdtaphyfiques plus convenables a une “ academic , qu’anx affemblees populaires qui fe ferment “ dans nos temples, et qu’il s’agit d’inftruire des devoirs “ du cliriftianifme, d'encourager, de confoler, d’edifier. ”
Rhetorique franqaife, par M. Crevier, Tome I. p. 1? 4.
f One ofMa-ffillon’s bell Sermons, chat on the coldnels and languor with which Chriftians perform the duties of religion, is preached from Lube iv. 13. And be arofe out of the Sjmmogv.e, and entered into Simon’f bottje 5 •
V 2
L E C T. XXIX.

ELC
c 9 z ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
L E c t. Scripture are fanciful rather than inftructive; their XXIX. method is ftiff, and cramped, by their practice of dividing their fubjects always either into three, or two, main points; and their compofition is in general too diffufe, and confifts rather of a very few thoughts fpread out, and highly wrought up , than of a rich variety of fentiments. Admitting , however, all thefe defects, it cannot be denied, that their Sermons are formed upon the idea of a perfuafive popular Oration; and therefore I am of opinion, they may be read with benefit.
Among the French Proteftant divines, Saurin is the molt diftinguilhed: He is copious, eloquent, and devout, though too oflentatious in his manner. Among the Roman Catholics, the two rnofh eminent, are Bourdaloue and Maffil- lon. It is a fubject of difpute among the French Critics, to which of thefe the preference is due, and each of them have their feveral partizans. To Bourdaloue, they attribute more folidity and clofe reafoning; to Maffillon , a more pleating and engaging manner. Bourdaloue is indeed a great reafoner, and inculcates his doedrines with much zeal, piety, and earncftnefs ; but his Style is verbofe, he is difagreeably full of quotations from the Fathers, and he wants imagination. IVlaflillon has more grace, more fentiment, and, in my opinion , every way more genius.' He
and Simon's wife's mother was taken ill with a great fever.
iovers cJofth Snitve; joft eloc nes hi'
* In 01 liich is nfetc a p ie, (Ai ns the to any t boaft. 1 ofthofe is esre: came to hit ie kolma that fsch difconcert tf bis Dili
*' J: 0 'ties. Ji 6 Jegarde ‘liperfe s qne c'eft fie les pmiire "vans n’y as trim " K I® hr ton;
qui
‘lln®;
* fte vous (Bun

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.. 293
difcovers much knowledge both of the world and of the human heart; he is pathetic and per- fualive; and, upon the whole, is perhaps,, the mod eloquent writer of Sermons which modern times have produced *.
* In order to give an idea of that kind of Eloquence which is employed by the French Preachers , I fliall infert a paflage from Maffillon, which, in the Encyclopedic, (Article, Eloquence) is extolled by Voltaire, who was the Author of that Article, as a chef d’oeuvre, equal to any thing of which either, ancient or modern times can boaft. The Subject of the Sermon is, the fmall number of thofe who fliall be faved. The drain of the whole Difcourfe is extremely ferious and animated; but when the Orator came to the pafl’age which follows, Voltaire informs us, that the whole Afl'embly were moved ; that by a fort of involuntary motion, they ftarted up from their feats, and that fuch murmurs of furprife and acclamations arofe as difconcerted the Speaker, though they increafed the erfedt of his Difcourfe.
“ Je m’arrete a vous, mes freres, qui etes ici afleiii- “ bles. Je lie parle plus du refte des homines; j.e volis “ regarde comme fl vous etiez feuls fur la terre ; void “ la penfee qui m’occupe et qui m’epouvante. Je fuppofe “ que c’eft ici votre derniere heure , et la fin de 1’univers; “ que les cieux vont s’ouvrir fur vos tetes, Jefus Chrift “ paraitre dans fa gloire au milieu de ce temple, et que “ vous n’y etes aflembles que pour l’attendre, comme “ des criminels tremblans, a qui Fon va prononcer, ou “ une fentence de grace, ou un arret de mort eternelle. “ Car vous avez beau vous flatter; vous mourriez tels “ que vous etes aujourd’hui. Tous ces defirs de chaiige- “ ment qui vous ami:lent, vous amuferont jufqu’au lit de “ la mort; c’elt l’experience de tous les fieclcs Tout ce “ que vous trouverez alors en vous de nouveau , fcra peut- “ etre un compte plus grand que celui que vous auriez
V 3
L E C T. XXIX.

S94 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
I ect. During the period that preceded the reftora- XXIX. tion of King Charles II. the Sermons of the
•
“ aujourd’hui a rcndre ; et far ce que vous feriez, fi l’on “ venait vous juger dans ce moment, vous pouvez prefque “ decider de ce qui vous arrivera au fortir de la vie.
u Or, je vous le demande, et je vous le demande “ frappe de terreur, ne feparant pas en ce point mon fort “ du votre , et me mettant dans la meme difpofition, ou “ je fouhaite que vous entriez; je vous demande, done, “ fi Jefus-Chrifl paraiffait dans ce temple, au milieu de “ cette affemblee , la plus augufte de l’univers, pour nous “ juger, pour faire le terrible difeernement des boucs et des brebis, croyez-vous que le plus grand nombre de “ tous ceux qui nous fommes ici, fut place a la droite ?
Croyez-vous que les chofes du moins fuffent egales ? “ croyez-vous qu’il s’y trouvat feulement dix juftes, que “ le Seigneur ne put trouver autrefois en cinq villes tou- “ tes entieres? Je vous le demande? vous 1’ignorez, etje “ l’ignore moi-meme. Vous feul, 6 mon Dieu! connaiflez “ ceux qui vous appartiennent. — Mes freres, notreperte “ eft prefque afluree, et nous n’y penfons pas. Ouand “ meme dans cette terrible feparation qui fe fera un jour, a il ne devrait v avoir qu’un feul pecheur de cette affem- “ blee du cote des reprouves , et qu’une voix du ciel “ viendrait nous en affurer dans ce temple, fans le defi- “ gner; qui de nous ne craindrait d etre le malkeureux? “ qui de nous ne retomberait d’abord, fur fa confcience, “ pour examiner fi fes crimes n’ont pas merite ce chati- “ ment? qui de nous, laifi de frayeur, ne demanderait “ pas a Jefus-Chrifl:, commt autrefois les apotres: Seigneur, “ ne ferait-ce pas moi ? Sommes - nous fages, mes chers “ auditeurs ? peut-etre que panni tous ceux qui m’enten- “ dent, il ne fe trouvera pas dix juftes; peut - litre s’en “ trouvera-t-il encore moins. Q.ue fai-je, 6 mon Dieu! je “ n’ofe regarder d’un ceil fixe les abiines de vos juge- “ mens, et de votre juftice; peut-etre ne s’en trouvera-t-il qu’un feul; et ce danger ne vous touche point, mon
di
altkeolo d fubd
nmi pa Hearers, Upon tb correct bered ft o( the 1 and pa wholly rations Churci old fii
11 non ci “ dans if * fujet it “ feme ‘ connait
E Orator “;
lib! [. J
" but deli '‘ape f ‘tide ic “jerirost "Scobs. ‘ rofelie, ‘ g que 1’ " ert qne 'feeling ‘up i

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 295
Englilh divines abounded with fcholaftic cafuifti- cal theology. They were full of minute divihons and fuhdivifions , and fcraps of learning in the dida&ic part ; but to thefe were joined very warm pathetic addrefies to the confciences of the Hearers, in the apphcatory part of the Sermon. L T pon the Relloration, preaching affumed a more corredt and pohfhed form. It became difencum- bered from the pedantry, and fcholaftic divifions of the f.-uftaries , but it threw out alfo their warm and pathetic AddretTes , and eftaHifhed Itfelfc” wholly upon the model of cool reafoning, and rational inftrudbon. As the Diffenters from the Church continued to preferve fomewhat of the old ftrain of preaching, this led the eftablilhed
“ mon cher auditeur ? etvous croyez etre ce feul heureux “ dans le grand nombre qui perira ? vous qui-avez moins “ fujet de le croire qne tout autre; vous fur qui feul la “ fentence de mort devrait tomber. Grand Dieu! que l’on “ connait peu dar.s le monde les terreurs de votre loi, “ &c- ” — After his awakening and alarming exhortation, the Orator comes with propriety to this practical improvement: “ Mais que cor.clure de ces grandcs verites? qu’il u faut defefperer de fon falut ? a Dieu ne plaife; il n’y “ a que l’impie, qui, pour fe calmer fur fes defordres, “ tache ici de conclure en fecret que tous les hommes “ periront comrne lui; ce ne doit pas etre la le fruit de ce “ difcours. Mais de vous detromper de cette erreur fi uni- “ verfelle , qu’on peut faire ce que tous les autres font; “ et que l’ufage eft une voie fure ; mais de vous convain- “ ere que pour fe fauver, il faut fe diftinguer des autres; “ etre fmgulier, vivre a part au milieu du monde, et “ ne pas rdfembler a la foule. ”
Sermons de Massillon. Vol. IV,
V 4
Lect.
XXIX,

s96 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
L e c T, Clergy to depart the farther from it. Whatever XXIX. was earneft and paffionate, either in the coropo- • fition or delivery of Sermons , was reckoned enthufiaftic and fanatical; and hence that argumentative manner, bordering on the dry and unperfuafive, which is too generally the character ofEnglifh Sermons. Nothing can be more correct upon that model than many of them are; but the model itfelf on which they are formed, is a confined and imperfect one. Dr. Clark, for inftance, every where abounds in ’good fenfe, and the moft clear and accurate reafoning; his applications of Scripture are pertinent; his Style is always perfpicuous, and often elegant; he inflructs and he convinces; in what then is he deficient? In nothing, except in the power of interefting and feizing the heart. He fhows you what you ought to do; but he excites not the defire of doing it: he treats man as if he were a being of pure intellect, without imagination or paffions. Archbifhop Tillotfon’s manner is mare free and warm , and he approaches nearer than moft of the Englilh ’ divines to the character of Popular Speaking. Hence he is, to this day, one of the beft models we have for preaching. We muft not indeed confider. him in the light of a perfed Orator : his compofition is too loofe and remifs; his ftyle too feeble, and frequently too flat, to deferve that high character; but there is in fome of his Sermons fo. much warmth and earneftnefs, and through them all there-runs fo much eafe and perfpicuity, fuch a vein of good fenfe and
1LOOJ
piety jut a P: 1-Dr. Bar slity oi si am
of 1 lion. ^ non, p l genius
my Di
1 c.tf sc : that \ lick thi aong wl fpidibk rb tkt iities of 1 if, font till in«
C C
perhaps it matte ably n aiiil Sty a and 1

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
297
PIT,
^ fincere piety, as juftly entitle him to be held as L e c T eminent a Preacher as England has produced. XXIX.
'In Dr. Barrow, one admires more the prodigious ' I* fecundity of his invention, and the uncommon , y itrength and force of his conceptions, than the tlct ^ felicity of his execution, or his talent in com- pofition. We fee a genius far furpaffing the common, peculiar indeed almoft to himfelf; but CCi that genius often fhooting wild, and unchnftifed Lm by any Difcipline or ftudy of Eloquence.
"'•y-' I cannot attempt to give particular characters ■ : ' of that great number of Writers of Sermons which this, and the former age, have produced, among whom we meet with a variety of the moft • refpedtable names. We find in their compofition much that deferves praife; a great cfifplay of abilities of different kinds, much good fenfe and :::d_ piety , found divinity and ufeful inftruclion ;
;:c though in general the degree of Eloquence bears x not, perhaps, equal proportion to the goodnefs of the matter. Bifhop Atterbury deferves being t:::: particularly mentioned as a model of correct and rcift. beautiful Style, befides having the merit of a warmer and more eloquent ftrain of writing, in fome of his Sermons, than is commonly met with, oil" Had Bifhop Butler, in place of abftradt philofo- : phical effays, given us more Sermons, in the ftrain of thofe two excellent ones which he has . : compofed upon Self-deceit, and upon the character of Balaam, we would then have pointed.him ,,out as diftinguifhed for that fpecies of characterif* j tical Sermons which I before recommended.

298 ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.
ILOQ!
L E c t. Though the writings of the Englilh divines sr, ' T ‘' XXIX. are very proper to be read by fuch as are defigned rtiOtion; for the Church, I muft caution them againft ,|'k. ^ making too much ufe of them , or transcribing .aim. large paffages from them into the Sermons they the v? compofe. Such as once indulge themfelves in iiwef this practice, will never have any fund of their i: in vie’ own. Infinitely better it is, to venture into the sets the public with thoughts and expreffions which 3into! have occurred to themfelves, though of inferior -J, and - beauty, than to disfigure their compofitions, by rellonl borrowed, and ill-forced ornaments, which, to 11 diffuf a judicious eye, will be always in ha2ard of ih tvi difeovering their own poverty. When a Preacher jy. Ti fits down to write on any fobject , never let eft, 2nd him begin with feeking to confult all who have jbellifu 1 written on the fame text, or fubject. This, if he je M confult many, will throw perplexity, and confu- -Jj. ^ fion into his ideas; and, if he confults only one, pk,mafe will often warp him infenfibly into his method, fyovtii whether it be right -or not. But let him begin ; y 01]i;n; with pondering the fubject on his own thoughts; , 50n ( j let him endeavour to fetch materials from within; -3 ^^ to colledt and arrange his ideas; and form dome fort of plan to himfelf, which it is always proper to put down in writing. Then, and not till then, he may enquire how others have treated the fame fubject. By this means, the method, and the leading thoughts in the Sermon are likely to be his own. 1 hefe thoughts he may improve, by ,, ^ comparing them with the tradt of fentiment which others have purfued j fome of their fenfe

'lull.
ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 299
- he may, without blame, incorporate into his Lie T. 5 ^'' compofition ; retaining always his own words XXIX.
1 and ftyle. This is fair affiflance; all beyond is ortry; plagiarifm.
sfc On the whole, never led the punciple, with t j C: which we fet out atfirft,, be forgotten, to keep ■ clofe in view, the great end for which a Preacher geu mounts the pulpit; even to infufe good difpoft- tjons into his hearers, to perfuade them to ferve God, and to become better men. Let this always CE r : ' dwell on his mind when he is compofmg, and it will diffufe through his compofitions, that fpirit which will render them at once efteemed, and 'U. ufeful. The moft ufeful Preacher is always the beft, and will not fail of being efteemed fo. m 7 Embeliifti truth o-nly, with a view to gain it the '|idi more full and free admiffion into your hearers as; minds; and your ornaments will, in that .cafe, be cd- : fimple, mafeuline, and natural. The beft applaufe nrnb; by far,- which a Preacher can receive, arifes from r..t" the ferious and deep impreffions which his difeourfe sett leaves on thofe who hear it. The -fined: enco- mium , perhaps, ever beftowed on a Preacher,
. was given by Louis NIV. to the eloquent Bifhop jr of Clermont, Father JYIaffillon , whom I before a :- mentioned'with fo much praife. After hearing him preach at Verfailles, he faid to him, “ Father, I at;: : “ have heard many great Orators in this Chapel;
“ I have been highly pleafed with them; but for ,r“ you , whenever I hear you ,. I go away ; “ difpleafed with myfelf; for I fee more of my msa “ own character.

L E C T. XXX.
LECTURE XXX.
toe
i is reck
Eiinect!
EtojttiHei
CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A. SER. MON OF BISHOP ATTERRURY’s.
3i that I
fitU! 1 A)I05( idiot
Ti
HE laft Lecture was employed in obferva- tions on the peculiar and diftinguifhing Characters of the Eloquence proper for the Pulpit. But as rules and directions, when delivered in the abftrarft, are never fo ufeful as when they are illuftrated by particular inftances, it may, perhaps, be of fome benefit to thofe who are defigned for the Church, that I fhould analyfe an Englilh Sermon, and confider the matter of it, together with the manner. For this purpofe, I have chofen ' Bilhop Atterbury as my example, who is defer- vedly accounted one of our molt eloquent writers of Sermons, and whom I mentioned as fuch in the laft Le&ure. At the fame time, he is more diftinguilhed for elegance and purity of expref- fion, than for profoundnefs of thought. Bis Style, though fometimes carelefs , is, upon the whole, neat and chafte; and more beautiful than that of moll writers of Sermons. In his fentiments he is not only rational; but pious and devotional, which is a great excellency. The Sermon which I
We ha
God in
true pm are calls of refei
‘i
ces; and
was M tky are ad virtu 1 The fe- hyki; dy to fi GbcI in Am alt a, wit aprderv & worD
am nri ®?t| th ^before

CRITICAL EXAMINATION, &c. 301
have fmgled out,is, that upon Praife and Thanks- o-ivino - , the fird Sermon of the' frrffc Volume, which is reckoned one of his bed. In examining it, it is neceffary that I fhould ufe full liberty , and, together with the beauties, point out any defects that occur to me in the matter , as well as in the Style.
d( PSALM 1 . 14. Offer unto God Thank fg wing.
“ Among the many excellencies of this pious “ collection of Hymns, for which fo particular a “ value hath been fet upon it by the Church of ........ “ God in all ages, this is not the lead, that the
C! true price of duties is there judly dated; men e p; “ are called off from reding in the outward ihow “ of religion, in ceremonies and ritual obfervan- u “ ces; and taught, rather to pradtife (that which , ■ ct was Ihadowed out by thefe rites, and to which ’'‘ r “ they are defigned to lead) found inward piety “ and virtue.
“ The feveral compofers of thefe Hymns were “ n ‘ ct Prophets perfons, whofe bufmefs it was not : c ‘ only to foretel events, for the benefit of the ' ct Church in fucceeding times, but to correct and “ reform alfo what was amifs among that race of “ men, with whom they Tived and converfed; ■«. « t0 p re f erV e a foolifh people from idolatry, and -
F 1 . “ fade worlhip; to refcue the law from corrupt off- « gloffes, and fuperditious abides; and to put F* “ men in mind of (what they are fo willing to “ forget) that eternal and invariable rule, which “ was before thefe pojhivc duties, would continue
\i»'
L E C T. XXX.

OF
302 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
Lect, “ after them, and was to be obferved, even then, XXX. cc in preference to them. :F°®
a The difcharge, I fay, of this part of the ^ etetl “ prophetic office taking up fo much room in - vie ' vs “ the book of Pfalrm ; this hath been one reafon,
“ among many others, why they have always wl tc been fo highly efiteemed; becaufe we are from f Kt P cc hence furnilhed with a proper reply to au *■ Tl “ argument commonly made ufe of by unbe- ; on ty cc lievers , who look upon all revealed religions #
“ as pious frauds and impoftures , on account lf' sa u of the prejudices they have entertained in rela- :caa b 1 “ tion to that of the Jews ; the whole of which ly bn “ they firft fuppofe to lie in external performan- kt the “ ces, and then eafily perfuade themfelves, that lollowin <c God could never be the Author of fuch a mere te mt “ piece of pageantry and empty formality, nor i be inti ct delight in a worfhip which confiflted purely in taoikli “ a number of odd unaccountable ceremonies, s The “ Which objection of theirs, we fhould not be tan of 1 “ able thoroughly to anfwer, unlefs we could '’sellha “ prove (chiefly out of the Pfalms , and other next ( “ parts of the prophetic writings) that the Jewilh H; “ religion was fomewhat more than bare outfide ®ld hn “ and fliow; and that inward purity, and the 'i from v “ devotion of the heart, was a duty then, as % tl: cc well as now. ” r bp
This appears to me an excellent IntroducTion. 'Ose The thought on which it refits is folid and judi- attev cious; that in the book of Pfalms, the attention 'bna of men is called to the moral and fpiritual part ' 4 fete of religion ; and the Jewilli difpenfation thereby Sternal

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
SEfe
303
rv ‘v vindicated from the fufpicion of requiring nothing Lect. more from its votaries . than the obfervance XXX. of the external rites and ceremonies of the law.
’"■-I Such views of religion are proper to be often difplayed ; and deferve to be infilled on, by W all who wilh to render preaching conducive to the great purpofe of promoting righteoufnefs and err " virtue. The Style, as far as we have gone, is kci' not only free from faults , but elegant and ;Vii - happy.
s iG; It is a great beauty in an introduction , when ~ r -': it can be made to turn on fome one thought, - si:.:. fully brought out and illuftrated; efpecially , if C:c that thought has a clofe connection with the lie;: following difcourfe , and , at the fame time, itsz does not anticipate any thing that is afterwards rte to be introduced in a more.proper place. This ctfei:. Introduction of Atterbury’s has all thefe advanta- ges. The encomium which he makes on the ftrain of David’s Pfalms, is not fuch as might A: as well have been prefixed to any other difcourfe,
~ the text of which was taken from any of the ijir; Pfalms. Had this been the cafe, the Introduction would have loft much of its beauty. We fhall )IT , ; fee from what follows, how naturally the intro- ductory thought connects with his text , ' and how happily it ulliers it in.
“ One great inftance of this proof, we have , <c in the words now before us; which are taken “ from a Pfalm of Afaph , written on purpofe “ to fet out the weaknefs and worthlelfnefs of “ external performances, when compared with

0
304 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
L e c T. “ more fubftantial and vitrd duties. To enforce '# e P^ XXX. “ which doctrine , God bimfelf is brought in as
“ delivering it. Hear 0 my people, and I will It “ /peak ,■ 0 Ifracl, and 1 will tejlify againfl thee: illy the ‘ “ I am God, even thy God. The Preface is very spoint c ‘ folemn , and therefore what it ufhers in , we ;a part “ may 7 be fure is of no common importance; l hand “ will not reprove thee for thy facrifices or thy burnt ( “ offerings, to have been continually before me. That Sfvtch cc is, I will not fo reprove thee for any failures forexpl “ in thy facrifices and burnt-offerings, as if thefe it Serve “ were the only, or the chief things I required 1 wou “ of thee. I will take no bullock out of thy houfc, brevity “ nor he-yoat out of thy folds ; 1 preferibed not and th “ facrifices to thee, for my own fake , becaufe propoli “ I needed them; For every beajl of the forejl is be oM “ mine, and the cattle on a thoufand hills. Mine, phnatio “ they are, and we're, before I commanded thee {tomthe “ to offer them to me; fo that, as it follows, of the f “ If I -mere hungry, yet -would I not tell thee , for a) fpiri “ the -veorld is mine , and the fulnefs thereof, But »ith the “ can ye be fo grofs and fenfelefs, as to think diking f “ me liable to hunger and thirft? as to imagine &obfen “ that wants of that kind can touch me? IVill $mtoj “ I eat the flesh of hulls , or drink the blood of ® {uffic “goats? — Thus doth he expoftulate feverelv “ with them, after the mold graceful manner of cc the Eaftern Poetry. The iffue of which is a “ plain and full refolution of the cafe, in thofe vj ;ne “ few words of the text.— Offer unto God thur.ks.
“ giving. Would you do your homage the moll “ agreeable way ? would you render the moll j
Acceptable

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 3 o 5
“ acceptable of fervices? offer unto God thanks- c ‘ giving. ”
It is often a difficult matter to illuftrate gracefully the text of a Sermon from the context, and to point out the connedtiou between them. This is a part of the difcourfe which is apt to become dry and tedious , efpecially when purfued into a minute commentary. And therefore, except as far as fuch illuftration from the context is neceffary for explaining the meaning , or in cafes where it ferves to give dignity and force to the text, 1 would advife it to be always treated with brevity. Sometimes it may even be wholly omitted, and the text affumed merely as an independent propofition, if the connection with the context be obfcure, and would require a laborious explanation. In the prefent cafe, the illuftration from the context is ftngularly happy. The paffage of the Pfalm on which it is founded is noble and fpirited , and connected in fuch a manner with the text, as to introduce it with a very ftriking emphafis. On the language 1 have little to obferve , except that the phrafe , one great injiance of this pro f, is a clumfy expreffion. It was fufficient to have faid , one great proof , or one great injiance , of this. In the fame fentence, when he fpeaks of fetting out the -weaknefs and ■voorthlefjhefs of external performances , we may obferve , that the word morthleffnefs , as it is now commonly ufed , fignifies more than the deficiency of worth , which is all that the Author means. It generally imports , a conftderuble Vor„ II. X
L E C T.
XXX.

L E C T.
XXX.
306 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON 01
degree of badnefs or blame. It would be more proper , therefore , to fay, the imperfecUon , or the infynificancy , of external performances.
“ The ufe I intend to make of thefe words, cc is, from hence to .raife fome thoughts about “ that very excellent and important duty of “ Praife and Tbankfgiving, a fubject not unfit “ to be difcourfed of at this time; whether we “ confider, either the more than ordinary cold- “ nefs that appears of late in men’s tempers “ towards the pra&ice of this or any other “ part of a warm and affecting devotion; the “ great occafion of fetting afide this particular “ day in the calendar, fome years ago; or the “ new in fiances of mercy and goodnefs, which “ God hath lately been pleafed to beftow upon “ us ; anfwering at laft the many prayers and “ fjlings , by which we have befought him fo “ long for the eftablifhment of their Majelties “ Throne , and for the fuccefs of their arms; “ and giving us in his good time, an opportu- “ nity of appearing before him in the more “ delightful part of our duty, -with the voice of “ joy and praife , -voith a multitude that-keep holidays.
In this paragraph there is nothing remarkable; no particular beauty or neatnefs of expreffion; and the Sentence which it forms is long and tirefome — to raife fome thoughts about that very excellent , &c. is rather loofe and awkward; — better — to recommend that very excellent, &c. and when he mentions fetting afde a particular day in the calendar , one would imagine, that fetting
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OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 307
apart would have been more proper, as to fet q/ide, feems rather to fuggeft a different idea.
“ Offer unto G>d Thankjgiving. — Which that “ we may do, let us enquire fir ft, how we are “ to undeffand this command of offering Praife “ and Thankfgiving unto God; and then , how “ reaforwble it is that we fhould comply with it. ” This is the general divifion of the difcourfe. An excellent one it is, and correfponds to many fubjects of this kind, where particular duties are to be treated of; firffc to 'explain, and then to recommend or enforce them. A divifion fhould always be fimple and natural; and much depends on the proper view which it gives of the fubject.
“ Our. enquiry into what is meant here, will “ be very (hort; for who is there , that under- “ Hands any thing of religion , but knows, that “ the offering Praife and Thanks to God , implies, ^ our having a lively and devout feufe of his “ excellencies , and of his benefits ; our recolledt- “ ing them with humility and thankfulnefs of “ heart; and our expreffing thefe inward affec- “ tions by fuitable outward ligns , by reverent “ and lowly poftures of body, by fongs and “ hymns, and fpiritual ejaculations ; either publicly “ or privately; either in the cuftomary and daily “ fervice (ff the Church, or in its more folemn “ Alfemblies. convened upon extraordinary occa- “ fions ? This is the account which every ( hriftian “ eafily gives hiinfclf of it; and which therefore, “ it would be needlefs to enlarge upon. I ihall only take notice upon this head that Praife
X 3
L E C T, XXX.

L E C T. XXX.
308 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
(
cc and Thankfgiving do, in ftridnefs of ' r peech, “ fignify things fomewhat different. Our Praife “ properly terminates in God , on account of “ his natural excellencies and perfections ; and “ is that ad of devotion , by which we confefs “ and admire his feveral attributes : but Thanks - “ giving is a narrower duty, and imports only “ a grateful fenfe and acknowledgment of paft “ mercies. We praife God for all his glorious “ ads of every kind , that regard either us or “ other men, for his* very vengeance , and thofe “ judgments which he fometimes fends abroad in “ the earth ; but we thank him. properly fpeak- “ ing, for the inftances of his gooanefs alone; “ and for fuch only of thefe , as we ourfelves “ are fomeway concerned in. This, I fay, is what “ the two words floridly imply; but fince the “ language of Scripture is generally lefs exafi and “ ufeth either of them often to exprefs the othe^ “ by , I ihall not think myfelf obliged, in what “ follows, thus nicely always to diftinguifli them.”
There was room here for infilling more fully on the nature of the duty , than the Author has done under this head ; in particular, this was the place . for correding the miftake , to which men are always prone, of making Thanksgiving to confift merely in outward exprelfions; and for fhowmg them, that the effence of the duty lies in the inward feelings of the heart. In general, it is of much ufe to give full and diflind explications of religious duties. But, as our Author intended only one difeourfe 011 the
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OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 3 o 9
fubjedl, lie could not enlarge with equal fulnefs on every part of it; and he has chofen to dwell on that part, on which indeed it is moft necelfary to enlarge , the motives enforcing the duty. For, as it is an eafier matter to know than to practice duty, the perfuaftve part of the difcourfe is that to which the Speaker fliould always bend his chief ftrength. The account given in this head, of the nature of Praife and Thankfgiving, though fhort , is yet comprehenfive and dillinct , and the language is fmooth and elegant.
“ Now the great rcafonablencjs of this duty of *■ Praife or Thankfgiving , and our feveral obi!. “ nations to it, will appear, if we either confider “ it abfotutcly in itfelf as the debt of our natures; “ or compare it with other duties, and fhow the “ rank it bears among them; or fet out, in the “ laft place, fome of its peculiar properties and “ advantages , with regard to the devout per- “ former of it. ”
Thk author here enters upon the main part of his fubjedt the reafonablenefs of the duty, and mentions three arguments for provingit. Thefe are well ftated , and are in themfelves proper and weighty confiderations. How far he has handled each of them to advantage, will appear as we proceed. I cannot, however, but think that he has omitted one very material part of the argument , which was to have fhown the obligations we are under to this duty , from the various fubjects of Thanksgiving afforded us by the divine goodnefs. This would have led him to review the chief benefits
X 3
Lict.
XXX.

3 io EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
Lect. of Creation , Providence , and Redemption : and XXX. certainly, they are thefe which lay the foundation of the whole argument for Thankfgiving. The heart muft firft be affected with a fuitable fenfe of the divine benefits, before one can be excited to praife God. If you would perfuade me to be thankful to a benefactor, you muft not employ fuch confiderations merely as thofe upon which the Author here refts, taken from gratitude’s being the law of my nature , or bearing a high rank among moral duties , or being attended with peculiar advantages. Thefe are confiderations but of a fecondary nature. You muft begin with fetting before me all that my friend has done for me, if you mean to touch my heart, and to call forth the emotions of gratitude. The cafe is perfectly fimilar, when we are exhorted to give thanks to God; and, therefore , in giving a full view of the fubject, the bleffings conferred on us by divine goodneft ffiould have been taken into the argument.
It may be faid , however, in apology for our Author , that this would have led him into too wide a field for one difcourfe, and into a field alfo, which is difficult, becaufe fo beaten, the enumeration of the divine benefits. He therefore feems to take it for granted, that we have upon our minds a juft fenfe of thefe benefits. He affu- mes them as known and acknowledged; and fetting afide what may be called the pathetic part pf the fubject , or what was calculated to warm the heart, he goes on to the reafoning par t. In this management 3 I cannot altogether blame

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
311
him. I do not by any means fay, that it'is neceffa- ry in every difcourfe to take in ail that belongs to the do&rine of which we treat. Many a difcourfe is fpoiled, by attempting to render it too ’copious and comprehenfive. The Preacher may, without repreheufion, take up any part of a great fubjecl to which his genius at the time leads him, and make that his theme. But when he omits any thing which may be thought eflential , he ought to give notice, that this is a part, which for the time he lays afide. Something of this fort, would perhaps have been proper here. Our Author might have begun, byTaying, that the reafo- nablenefs of this duty muff appear to every thinking being, who reflects upon the infinite obligations which are laid upon us by creating, preferving, and redeeming love; and after taking notice that the field which thefe open , was too wide for him to enter upon at that time , have proceeded to his other heads. Let us now confider thefe feparately.
“ The duty of Praife and Thankfgiving, con- “ fidered abfolutely in itfelf, is , I fay, the debt and “ law of our nature. We had fuch faculties beftow- “ ed on us by our Creator , as made us capable “ of fadsfying this debt, and obeying this law; “ and they never, therefore, work more’naturally “ and freely, than when they are thus employed.
“ ’Tis one of the earlieft inftrucfiions given us “ by philofophy , and which hath ever fince been Ct approved and inculcated by the wifeft men “ of all ages, that the original defign of making “ man was, that he might praife and honour him
X 4
L e e XXX

313 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON OF
I, E c t. “ who made him. When God had finifhed this i3 £Cnt
XXX, “ goodly frame of things we call the ■world, and ;;rceivir
“ put together the feveral parts of it, according ad enq
“ to his infinite wifdom , in exact number, weight, if®
“ andmeafure; there was ftill wanting a creature,’ Tell. 0 “ in thefe lower regions, that could apprehend iegooi
“ the beauty, order, and exquifite contrivance tv,tha
“ of it; that from contemplating the gift, might or loti
“ be able to raife itfelf to the great Giver, and Ihvefa
“ do honour to all his attributes. Every thing in- of the
‘‘ deed that God made , did, in fome fenfe, glorify God; ‘
“ its author, inafmuch as it carried upon it the hinj v
“ plain mark and imprefs of the Deity, and was the bf
“ an effect worthy of that firft caufe from whence no aci
“ it flowed; and thus might the Heavens be fair!, 1 ?j he
“ at the firft moment in which they flood forth, Hang.
“ to declare his glory , and the firmament to {how his mod aj;
“ handy-work : But this was an imperfect and de- bonourt
‘‘ fcctive glory; the flgn was of no fignification jombin
“ here below, whilft there was no one here as Jgstho
“ yet to take notice of it. Alan , therefore , was , 0 f n “ formed to fupply this want , endowed with “■ powers fit to find out, and to acknowledge f . “ thefe unlimited perfections ; and then put into ; t pt 0 “ this Temple of God, this lower world, as the “ prieft o*f nature, to offer up the incenfe of : = c f
“ Thanks and Praife for the mute and infenfible , 0F [ fo “ part of the Creation. hi'e bee
“ This , I fay , hath been the opinion all along of s
“ the moft thoughtful men, dawn from the moft an- q Ea ]
“ cient times : and though it be not demonftrative,
“ yet it is what we cannotbut judge highly reafon- 3t0 jj “ able, if \ye do but allow, that man was made for
i

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 3 i 3
“ fome end or other; and that he is capable of “ perceiving that end. For, then, let us fearch “ and enquire never fo much, we fhall find no “ other account of him that we can reft upon fo “ well. If we fay, that he was made purely for “ the good pleafure of God ; this is , in effect, to “ fay, that he was made for no determinate end; “ or for none , at leaft, that we can difeern. “ If we fay, that he was defigned as an inftance “ of the wifdom , and power and goodnefs of “ God; this, indeed, may be the reafon of his “ being in general; for ’tis the common reafon of “ the being of every thin^ befides. But it gives “ no account , why he was made fuch a being “ as he is, a refle&ing 3 thoughtful, inquilitive “ being. The particular reafon of this, feems “ moft aptly to be drawn from the praife and “ honour that was not only to redound to God “ from him , but to be given to God by him.”
The thought which runs through all this paf- fage , of man’s being the Prieft of Nature, and of his exiftence being calculated chiefly for this end , that he might offer up the Praifes of the mute part of the creation , is an ingenious thought, and well illuftrated. It was a favourite idea among fome of the ancient philofophers; 'and it is not the worfe on that account, as it thereby appears to have been a natural fentiment of the human mind. In compofing a Sermon, however, it might have been better to have introduced it as a fort tf collateral argument, or an incidentalilluftration, than to have difplayed it with fo much pomp,
L E C T. XXX.

3 i4 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
01
E c t. and to have placed it in the front of the argument* ^ 1S XXX. for this duty. It does not feem to me, when *^ or£ placed in this ftation, to bear all the ftrefs which the Author lays upon it. When the divine good- nefs brought man into exiftence , we cannot well ' conceive that its chief purpofe was , to form a ^ 0< j being who might fxng Praifes to his Maker. ® ton Prompted by infinite benevolence, the Supreme Ndth Creator formed the human race, that they might Nwvi 1 rife to happinefs , and to the enjoyment of him- "The felf through a courfe of virtue, or proper action, '°fus,l The fentiment on which our Author dwells, how- Nnttc ever beautiful, appear# too loofe and rhetorical, *^ alur to be a princioal head of difcourfe. “ active
“ This duty , therefore , is the debt and law “ of our nature. And it will more diftinclly Sp- "Nuk “ pear to be fuch , if we confider the two ruling ? reat ‘ “ faculties of our mind, the Undemanding and the a ' one >’ “ Will apart, in both which it is deeply found- orare > tf ed : in the Underftanding, as in the principle “ of Reafon, which owns and acknowledges it; F‘7 or “ in the Will, as in the fountain of gratitude 'importt “ and return , which prompts , and even conllrains “ us to pay it.
“ Reafon was given us as a rule and meafure “ by the help of which we were to proportion ‘ftoaip “ our efteem of every thing, according to the -No hi “ degrees of perfection and goodnefs which we ' : mkk 1 “ found therein. It cannot, therefore, if it doth siketi
“ its office at all, but apprehend God as the bell: Effort, “ and mold perfect being ; it muft needs fee, Icisso “ and own, and admire hi^ infinite perfections, -Author

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 3 i 5
-p
,f And this is what is flridtly meant by praife-, which, L E c T. “ therefore is expreffed in Scripture , by confejjing XXX.
“ to Go!, and acknowledging him; by afcribing to “ him what is his due ; and as far as this fenfe “ of the words reaches, ’tis impoffible to think “ of God without praifing him ; for it depends “ not on the underltanding, how it fhall appre- “ hend things, any more than it doth on the eye,
“ how vifible objedts fhall appear to it.
“ The duty takes the further and furer hold “ of us , by the means of the will, and that ftrong “ bent towards gratitude , which the Author of our “ Nature hath implanted in it. There is not a more “ active principle than this in the mind of man ; and “ furely that which deferves its utmoft force, and “ fliould fet all its fprings awork , is God ; the “ great and univerfal Benefactor , from whom “ alone v/e received whatever we either have,
“ or are, and to whom we can poffibly repay “ nothing but our Praifes , or to fpeak more pro- “ perly on this head, and according to the ftridt “ import of the word, our Thankfgiving. JVho “ hath firft given to God (faith the great Apoftle,
“ in his ufual figure) and it fhall be reeompenfcd unto “ him again ? A gift, it feems, always requires “ a recompenfe : nay, but of him, and through him,
“ and to him, are all things: of him, as the Author;
“ through him, as the Preferver and Governor \to him,
“ as the end and perfection of all things: to whom,
“ therefore, (as it follows) be glory for ever, Amen.”
I cannot much approve of the light in which pur Author places his argument in thefe paragraphs.

3 16 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
OF
L E C T. XXX.
There i« fometliing too metaphyfical and refined, in his deducing, in this manner, the obligation to thankfgiving, from the two faculties of the mind Underfhnding and Will. 1 hough what he fays be in itfelf juft, yet the argument is not fuf- ficiently plain and ftriking Arguments in.Sermons, efpecially on fubjeCts that fo naturally and eafily fuggeft them , fhould be palpable and popular; fhould not be brought from topics that appear far fought, but fhould direCtly addrefs the heart and feelings. The Preacher ought never to depart too far from the common ways of thinking, and expreffing himfelf. 1 am inclined to think, that this whole head might have been improved. if the author had taken up more obvious ground; had ftated Gratitude as one of the rnoft natural principles in the human heart; had illuftrated this, by fhowing how odious the oppofite difpofition is, and with what general confent men, in all ages, have agreed in hating, and condemning the ungrateful; and then applying thefe reafonings to the prefenr cafe, had placed in a ftrong view, that entire corruption of moral fentiment which it difcovers, to be deftitute of thankful emotions towards the Supreme Benefactor of mankind. As the molt natural method of giving vent to grateful fentiments is, by external expreflions of Thanksgiving , he might then have , anfwered the objection that is apt to occur . of the expreffion of our Praife being infignificant to the Almighty. But, by feeking to be too refined in his argument, lie has omitted fome of the molt ftriking and ob-
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OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
317
vious confiderations , and which , properly dif- pla\ ed , would have afforded as great a field for Eloquence, as the topics which he has chofen. He goes on ,
“ GkAiITUDE confifts in an equal return of C£ benefits, if we are able; of thanks, if we are ££ not: which thanks, therefore, muft rife always c ‘ in proportion as the favours received are great, “ and the receiver incapable of making any other “ fort of requital. Now, fince no man hath bene- “ fited God at any time , and yet every man , in ££ each moment of'his life , E continually benefited “ by him, what ftrong obligations muft we needs ££ be under to thank him ? ’Tis true , our thanks « are really as infignificant to him, as any other “ kind of return would be ; in themfelves, indeed, “ they are worthlefs; but his goodnefs hath put cc a value upon them : he hath declared, he will “ accept them in lieu of the vaft debt we owe ; ct and after that, which is fitteft for us, to difpute “ how they came to-be taken as an equivalent, or “ to pay them ?
“ It is, therefore, the voice of nature (as far C£ as gratitude itfelf is fo) that the good things “ we receive from above, fhould be fent back ££ again thither in thanks and praifes; as the rivers ££ run into the fea, to the place (the ocean of bene- ££ licence) from -whence the rivers come, thither fhould C£ they return aqain.”
In thefe paragraphs, he has, indeed, touched fome of the confiderations which I mentioned. But he has only touched them; whereas, with ad-
L E C T. XXX.

3i8 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
OF
L e c t. vantage, they might have formed the main body XXX. of his argument.
“We have confidered the duty a’folutely ; we “ are now to compare it with others, and to fee “ what rank it bears among them. And here we “ fhall'find, that, among all the ads of religion “ immediately addreffed to God, this is much “ the nobleftand mod excellent; as it mu ft needs “ be, if what hath been laid down be allowed, “ that the end of man’s creation was to praife “ and glorify God. For that cannot but be (he “ mod noble, and excellent act of any being “ which beft anfwers the end and defign of it. “ Other parts of devotion, fuch as confejfion and “ prayer , feem not originally to have been defign- “ ed for man, nor man for them. They imply “ guilt and -veant, with which the fate of innocence “ was not acquainted. Had man continued in that “ date, his worfhip , like the devotions of angels, “ had been paid to Heaven in pure acts of Thanks- “ giving ; and nothing had been left for him to “ do, beyond the enjoying the good things “ of life, as nature directed, and praifmg the “ God of nature who beftowed them. But being “ fallen from innocence and abundance; having “ con radted guilt, and forfeited his right to all “ forts of mercies; prayer and confeffion became “ neceffary, for a time, to retrieve the lofs, and “ to reftore him to that Bate wherein he fhould “ be able to live without them. Thefe are fitted, “ therefore , for a lower difpenfation ; before “ which , in paradife , there was nothing but
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OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
319
«SIS
“ praife, and after which , there fliall be nothing “ but that in Heaven. Our perfect ftate did at “J< “ firft, and will at laft, confift in the performance “of this duty; and herein, therefore, lies the y.-; “ excellence, and the honour of our nature, iti; a ’Tis the fame way of reafoning, by which ib- “ the Apoftle hath given the preference to sri; “ charity, beyond faith, and hope, and every ibt- “ fpiritual gift. Charity never faileth , faith he ;
“ meaning, that it is not a virtue ufeful only 3tt “ in this life, but will accompany us alfo into “ the next: but whether there be prophefes , they shall “ fail f -whether there be tongues , they shall ceafe; ay “ whether there be knowledge , it shall vanish a~coay. lie “ Thefe are gifts of a temporary advantage, p.-. “ and fhall all perilh in the ufmg. For we know in. “ part, and we prophefy inpart: our prefent ftate is “ imperfedt, and, therefore, what belongs to “ that, and only that, muft be imperfect too. “ But -when that which is perfeii is come , then that “ which is in part shall be done away. The argument “ of St. Paul, we fee, which fets charity above “ the reft of Chriftian graces , will give Praile jL, “ alfo the pre-eminence over all the parts of “ Chriftian worihip; and we may conclude our ^ “ reafoning, therefore, as he doth his: An-1 notv
“ abideth confcjfion , prayer , and praife , thefe three; “ but the greatejl of thrfe is praife.”
The Author, here, entefs on the fecond part of his argument. the high ranjk which 1 hankfgiv- ing holds, when compared with other duties 7^, of religion. This he handles, with much elo-
L e c T. XXX.

320 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
(
L e c t. quence and b cavity. His idea , that this was the ! purely XXX. original worfhip of man, before his fall rendered W other duties requifite, and Avail continue to be 'and n his worfhip in Heaven, when the duties which 'no btl are occalioned by a confcioufnefs of guilt Avail 'acrea have no place, is folid and juft; his illuftration towar of it is very happy; and the ftyle extremely ‘being: flowing and fweet. Seldom do we meet with -there any piece of compofition in Sermons, that has •' to pa' more merit than this head. «fing t
“ It is fo, certainly, on other accounts, as “catmi “ well as this ; particularly , as it is the molV 11 duty “ dif.n'crejlcd branch of our religious fervice; fuch “ whi< “ as hath the moft of God, and the leaft of K dire: “ ourfelves in it, of any we pay; and therefore “ mod “ approaches the neareft of any to a pure, and “fo ,1 “ free, and perfect ad of homage. For though "toPr; “ a good addon doth not grow immediately " form \ “ worthlefs by being done with the profped of “hfl “ advantage, as fome have ftrangely imagined; * a worli “ yet it will be allowed , I fuppofe, that its “ militan “ being done, without the mixture of that end, 1 2n( jf ; j : “ or with as little of it as poffible, recommends which “ it fo much the more, and raifes the price of it. Q 0i “ Doth Job fear God for nought? was an objedion ‘ perfecli “ of Satan; which implied, that thofe dudes On “ were moft valuable , where our own intereft ;# p ra j| “ was leaft aimed at : and God feems, by the :aa(te t£ commiffion he then gave Satan, to try experi- “ ments upon Job , thus far to have allowed his ! a M( j “ plea. Now, our requefts for future, and even “ our acknowledgments of paft mercies, center ^
pureiy ^

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
3 at
“ purely in ourfelves; our own intereft is the L e c t “ dired aim of them. But praife is a generous XXX. “ and unmercenary principle, which propofes <c ho other end to itfelf, but to do, as is fit for “ a creature endowed with fuch faculties to do,
“ towards the mo ft peifed and beneficent of “ beings; and to pay the willing tribute of honour “ there , where the voice of Reafoti directs us <c to pay it. God hath , indeed, annexed a blef- “ fing to the duty ; and when we know this, we cc caianot chufe, while we are performing the “ duty, but have fome regard to the blelfing “ which belongs to it. However, that is not the “ direct aim of our devotions, nor was it thefirft “ motive that ftirred us up to them. Had it been tc fo , we Ihould naturally have betaken ourfelves “ to Prayer, and breathed out our defires in that “ form wherein they are moft properly conveyed.
“ In fhort, Praife is our moft excellent work,
“ a work common to the church triumphant and “ militant, and which lifts us up into communion “ and fello\Vfllip with Angels. The matter about “ which it is converfant, is always the perfection “ of God’s nature; and the Act itfelf, is the “ perfection of ours.’’ .
Ouk. Author's fecond illuftrAtioii, is taken from Praife being the moft difinterefted ad of homage. This he explains juftiy and elegantly; though s perhaps, the confideration is rather too thin aiid refined for enforcing religious duties j as creatures, fuch as we, in approaching to the divine prefence, can never be ftippofed to lay Vul. II. Y

322 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
afide all confideration of our own wants and ne- ceffities; and certainly are not required (as the Author admits) to diveft ourfelves of fuch regards. The concluding Sentence of this head is elegant and happily expreffed.
“ 1 come now, in the lafb place, to fet out <c fome of its peculiar properties and advantages , “ which recommend it to the devout performer. cc And ,
“ i. It is the moft pleafng part of our devo- tc tions : it proceeds always from a lively cheerful “ temper of mind, and it cheriihes and improves <£ what it proceeds from. For it is good to [mg cc praifes unto oui God (fays one, whofeexperience, “ in this cafe, we may rely upon), for it is pleafant, “ and p-aifc is comely. Petition and Confeffion are “ the language of the indigent and the guilty, “ the breathings of a fad and contrite fpirit: Is “ any affliHed P let him pray ; but, Is any merry ? “ let him Jing pfalms. The moft ufual and natural <c way of men’s expreffing the mirth of their “ hearts is in a fong, and fongs are the very “ language of praife; to the expreffing of which “ they are in a peculiar manner appropriated, c ‘ and are fcarce of any other ufe in Religion. “ Indeed the whole corif^ofition of this duty is “ fuch, as throughout fpeaks eafe and delight to c ‘ the mind. It proceeds from Love and from £ ‘ Thankf tnefs ; from Love , the fountain of pleafure, Cc the paffion which gives every thing we do, “ or enjoy, its rehffi and agreeablenefs: from “ Thanhfulncfs , which involves in it the memory

323
OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
“ of paft benefits, the adual prefence of them to “ the mind, and the repeated enjoyment of them. “ And as is its “principle, fuch is its end alfo : “ for it procureth quiet and eafe to the mind, “ by doing fomewhat towards fatisfying that “ debt which it labours under; by delivering it “ of thofe thoughts of praife and gratitude , thofe “ exultations it is fo full of; and which would “ grow uneafy and troublefome to it, if they “ were kept in. If the thankful refrained ,• it would “ be pain and grief to them ; but then, then is their “ foul fatisficd as -with marrcrm and fatncfs , -when their ‘‘ mouth praifeth God trith joyful lips.”
In beginning this head of difeourfe , the ex- preffion which the Author ufes, to fet out fame, of its peculiar properties and a ioantages , would now be reckoned not fo proper an expreffion as to point out, or to shots’.. The firft fubdivilion concerning Praife being the moll pleafant part of devotion, is very juft and well expreffed , as far as it goes; but feems to me rather defedive. Much more might have been faid, upon , the pleafure that accompanies fuch exalted ads of devotion. It was a cold thought, to dwell upon its difburdening the mind of a debt. The Author fliould have infifted more upon the influence of Praife and Thankfgiving, in warming, gladdening, fnothing the mind; lifting it above the world, to dwell among divine and eternal objeds. He fboifld have deferibed the peace and joy which then expand the heart; the relief which -this exercife procures from the cares and agitations of
L e c T XXX.

324 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
L e c t. life ; the encouraging views of Providence to XXX. which it leads our attention; and the truft which it promotes in the divine mercy for the future, by the commemoration of benefits paft. In fhort, this was the place for his pouring out a greater flow of devotional fentiments than what we here find.
“ 2. It is another diftinguifhing property of « divine praife, that it enlargeth the powers and “ capacities of our fouls , turning them from low cc and little things , upon their greateft and no- “ bleft object, the divine nature, and employing “ them in the difcovery and admiration of thofe “ feveral perfections that adorn it. We fee what “ difference there is between man and man, fuch “ as there is hardly greater between man and cc beaft; and this proceeds chiefly from the diffe- u rent fphere of thought which they adt in, and cc the different objedts they converfe with. The “ mind is effentially the fame, in the peafant and cc the prince; the force of it naturally equal, in “ the untaught man, and the philofopher ; only “ the one of thefe is bufied in mean affairs, and
within narrower bounds ; the other exercifes cc himfelf in things of weight and moment ; and cc this it is, that puts the wide diftance between cc them. Noble objects are to the mind , what “ the fun-beams are to a bud or flower ; they open “ and unfold , as it were , the leaves of it; put a it upon exerting and fpreading itfelfeveryway; “ and call forth all thofe powers that lie hid and “ locked up in it. The praife and admiration
8 off ‘ wit! “full 6 of J Th (me it expre be at effect ispre and i be ! it ir und 1m petit
Noth.
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OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s.
3*5
sc of God, therefore , brings this advantage along t e c T “ with it, that it fets our faculties upon their XXX. “ full ftretch, and improves them to all the degrees “ of perfection of which they are capable.”
This head is juft, well expreffed, and to cen- fure it might*appear hypercritical. Some of the expreflions , however, one would think, might be amended. The fimile , for inftance , about the effecfts of the fun-beams upon the bud or flower, is pretty , but not correctly expreffed. They open and unfold as it -mere , the leaves of it. If this is to be literally applied to the flower, the phrafe, as it Tpere , is needlefs ; if it is to be metaphorically underftood (which appears to be the cafe) , the haves of the mind , is harfh language; befides that, put it upon exerting itfelf , is rather a low expreffion.
Nothing is more nice than to manage properly fuch limilies and allufions, fo as to preferve them perfectly correct, and at the fame time to render the image lively: it might perhaps be amended in fome fuch way as this: “As the fun-beams u open the bud, and unfold the leaves of a fiow- “ er , noble objects have a like effect upon the “ mind ; they expand and fpread it, and call forth “ thofe powers that before lay hid and locked up “ in the foul.”
“ 3. It farther promotes in us an exquifite fenfe “ of God’s honour, and an high indignation of “ mind at every thing that openly profanes it.
“ For what we value and delight in , we cannot “• with patience hear flighted or abufed. Our “ own praifes, which we are ccnftantly putting
Y 3

326 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON
Lt ct, “ up , will be a fpur to us toward procuring and XXX. “ promoting the divine glory in every other “ inftance; and will make us fet our faces againft “ all open and avowed impieties ; which, “ methinks, fhould be confidered a little by “ fuch as would be thought not to be wanting “ in this duty, and yet are often filent under the “ foulefb dilhonours done to Religion, and its “ great Author: For tamely to hear God’s name “ and worfhip vilified by others, is no very good “ argument that we have been ufed to honour “ and reverence him , in good earneft, ourfelves.”
The thought here is well founded, though it is carelefly and loofely brought out. The Sentence , our own praijcs ■which wt art conftantly put. ting up , will be a fpur to us toward procuring and promoting the divine glory in every other inftance , is both negligent in language, and ambiguous in meaning; for our own praifes, properly fignifies the praifes of ourfelves. Much better if he had faid , “ Thofe “ devout praifes which we conffantly offer up to “ the Almighty, will naturally prompt us to pro- “ mote the divine glory in every other inftance.”
“ 4. It will , beyond all this, work in us a deep * “ humility and confcioufnefs of our own imper-
“ fe&ions. Upon a frequent attention toGodand “ his attributes, we fhall eafily difeover our own ; “ weaknefs and emptinefs, our fwelling thoughts
“ of ourfelves will abate , and we fhall fee and “ feel that we are altogether lighter to be laid in the “ balance than vanity ; and this is a leffon which, “ to the greateft part of mankind is, I think, very
tell w fumptU'
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;' l; ! i:fjn isiotjuial lij

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 32?
“ well worth learning. We are naturally pre- ] “ fumptuous and vain; full of ourfelves , and re- “ gardlefs of every thing befides, efpecially when “ fome little outward privileges diftinguifh us “ from the reft of mankind; then ’tis odds but “ we look into ourfelves with great degree.- of “ complacency , and are wifer ( and better every “ way) in our crrvn conceit , than fen n m n that cun “ render a reafon. Now nothing will contribute “ fo much to the cure of this vanity , as a due atten- “ tion to God’s excellencies and perfections. By “ comparing thefe with thofe which we imagine “ belong to us , we fhall learn, /■or to think more ‘‘ highly of ourfeloes than -me ought to think of our- il felves, but to think foberly; we fhall find more “ fatisfadion in looking upwards, and humbling “ ourfelves before our common Creator, than in “ cafting our eyes downward with fcorn upon “ our fellow creatures,' andfetting at nought any “ part of the work of his hands. The vaft dif- “ tance we are at from real and infinite Worth, “ will aftonifh us fo much , that we fhall not be “ tempted to value ourfelves upon thefe leffer de- “ grees of pre-eminence, which cuftom or opinion, “ or fome little accidental advantages have given “ us over other men.”
Though the thought here alfo be juft, yet a like deficiency in elegance and beauty appears. The phrafe ’ tis odds , but we look into ourfeloes "with great degrees of complacency , is much too low and colloquial for a Sermon — he might have faid, we are likely , or we are prone to look into our-
Y 4
E C T.
XXX.

.328 EXAMINATION OF A SERMON c
ICT, felves. — Comparing th jemith thofe which wc imagine XXX. IP belong to us, is alfo very carelefs ftyle. — By .^offered comparing thcfe ■voirh the virtues and abilities mh kh This 1
me afcribe to ourjelvcs , me shall learn — would have gfflig t
been purer and more correct. ;:elente<
“ 5. I sh all mention but one ufe of it more, j*l mu' Cc and ’tis this; that a confcientious praife of saich tl
“ God will keep us back from all falfe and mean itterer:
? l praife, all fulfome and fervile fiatterips, fuch teoffer
ct as are in ufe among men. Praifing , as ’tis king i
commonly managed, is nothing elfe but a trial flattery
of fkill upon a man , how many good things fltoget
“ we can podibly fay of him. All the treafures of fubjefi
“ Oratory are ranfacked , and all the fine things Ose
“ that ever were faid, are heaped together for mg on
“ his fake; and no matter whether it belongs to looked
“ him or not; though there be enough on’t. Which fequeaci
te is one deplorable inftance among a thoufand, «as
of the bafenefs of human nature, of its fmall leought
f ‘ regard to truth and juftice; to right or wrong; iacyof
“ to what is, or is not to be praifed. But he jooddifj;
“ who hatha deep fenfe of the excellencies of God ;■ God,
“ upon his heart, will make a God of nothing veadore:
befides. He will give every one his juft enco- aal into
“ mium , honour where honour is due, and as :;ouf bei
“ much as is due , becaufe it is his duty to do anally
“ fo; but the honour of God will fuffer him to 3 duty
“ go no further. Which rule , if it had been aitted;
“ obferved, a neighbouring prince (who now, Wiag t
“ God be thanked, needs flattery a great deal j>j onat
fC more than ever he did), would have wanted 3^

OF BISHOP ATTERBURY’s. 329
“ a great deal of that incenfe which hath been L e c t “ offered up to him by his adorers. ” XXX.
This head appears fcarcely todeferve any place among the more important topics, that naturally prefented themfelves on this fubject; at leafl, it had much better have wanted the application which the Author makes of his reafoning to the flatterers of Louis XIV ; and the thanks which he offers to God, for the affairs of that prince being in fo low a ftate, that he now needed flattery more than ever. This Political Satire is altogether out of place , and unworthy of the fubject.
One would be inclined to think, upon reviewing our Author’s arguments, that he has overlooked fome topics , refpedting the happy consequences of this duty, of fully as much importance as any that he has inferted. Particularly, he ought not to have omitted the happy tendency of praife and thankfgiving, to ftrengthen good difpofitions in the heart; to promote love to God , and imitation of thofe perfections which we adore; and to infufe a fpirit of ardour and zeal into the whole of religion, as the fervice of our benefa&or. Thefe are confequences. which naturally follow from the proper performance of this duty; and which ought not to have been omitted ; as no opportunity fhould be loft, of fhowing the good effect of devotion on practical religion and moral virtue; and pointing out the neceffary connection of the one with the other.
For certainly the great end of Preaching is, to

1
g 3 o EXAMINATION OF A SERMON 0r
L E c T. make men better in all the relations of life, and ^ ’ XXX. to promote that complete reformation of heart
and conduit, in which true Chriilianity confifts. ^ I£R ' Our Author, however, upon the whole , is not : ^ es deficient in fuch views of religion; for. in his general ftrain of preaching, as he is extremely P :I1C ' 1 pious, fo he is, at the fame time, practical and moral. c. r effes a
His fumming up the whole argument, in the ? u ^ 11 next paragraph is elegant and beautiful; and fuch :; ^ nt concluding views of the fubject are frequently very u > 1 proper and ufeful : “Upon thefe grounds doth Jnt0 ° “ the duty of praife ftand and thefe are the dty °f “ obligations that bind us to the performance of dience “ it. ’Tis the end of our being and the very ™on, “ rule and law of our nature ; flowing from the ^H.iu two great fountains of human aftion, the un- ™ on !" “ derftanding and the will, naturally, and almoft "■ thepof “ neceffarily. It is the moft excellent part of our ®1, uj “ religious worfhip; enduring to eternity after Ary: “ the reft fliall be done away, and paid, even now, -re ven “ in the frankeft manner , with the leaft regard to X oi “ our own intereft, It recommends itfelf to us spofitii “ by feveral peculiar properties and advantages; Min; “ as it* carries more pleafure in it, than all other ant the “ kinds of devotion ; as it enlarges and exalts d the “ the feveral powers of the mind ; as it breeds in t>ps 1 ] f “ us an exquiftte fenfe of God’s honour, and a ton,4, “ wilhngnefs to promote it in the world; as it “ teaches us to be humble and lowly ourfelves,
“ and yet preferves us from bafe and fordid

OF BISHOP ATTEREURY’s.
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" flattery, from beftowing mean and undue praifes “ upon others.”
After this, our Author addreffes himfelf to two claffes of men, the Carelefs and the Profane. His addrefs to the Carelefs is beautiful , and pathetic; that to the Profane, is not fo well executed , and is liable to fome objection. Such addreffes appear to me to be, on feveral occafions, very ufeful parts of a difcourfe. They prevailed much in the ftrain of preaching before the Refto- ration; and, perhaps, fince that period, have been too much neglected. They afford an opportunity of bringing home to the confciences of the audience, many things, which, in the courfe of the Sermon, were, perhaps, delivered in the abftradt.
I shall not dwell on the Conclufion of the Sermon, which is chiefly employed in obfervations on the pofture of public affairs at that time. Con- fidered , upon the whole , this Difcourfe ofBifhop Atterbury’s is both ufeful and beautiful, though 1 have ventured to point out fome defects in it. Seldom, or never, can we expedt to meet with a compofition of any kind , which is abfolutely perfect in all its parts: and when we take into account the difficulties which I before {bowed to attend the Eloquence of the Pulpit, we have, perhaps, lefs reafon to look for perfection in a Sermon, than in any other compofition.
L E c T. XXX.
wot::
lv ooE

L E C T, XXXI.
CONDUCT OF A DISCOURSE IN ALL ITS PARTS. - INTRODUCTION-DIVISION. NARRATION AND EXPLICATION.
Jrft,
11
is Stat
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1 HAVE, in the four preceding Lectures, con- fidered what is peculiar to each of the three great fields of Public Speaking, Popular Affem- blies, the Bar, and the Pulpit. I am now to treat of what is common to thejn all; of the conduct of a Difcourfe or Oration, in general. The previous view which I have given of the diltin- guilhing fpirit and character of different kinds of Public Speaking, was neceffary for the proper application of the rules which I am about to deliver; and as I proceed, I lhall farther point out, how far any of thefe rules may have a particular refpedt to the Bar, to the Pulpit, or to Popular Courts.
On whatever fubject any one intends to difcourfe, he will moll commonly begin with fome introduction, in order to prepare the minds of his hearers; he will then flate his fubjedt, and explain the fads connected with it; he will employ arguments
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INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 333
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for eftablilhing his own opinion, and overthrowing Lect. that of his antagonift ; he may perhaps , if there XXXI. be room for it, endeavour to touch the paffions of his Audience ; and after having faid all he thinks proper, he will bring his Difcourfe to a clofe , by fpme Peroration or Conclufion. This being the natural train of Speaking , the parts that compofe a regular formal Oration, are thefe fix; firft , the Exordium or Introduction, fecondly, the State , and the Divifion of the Subjedt; thirdly, Narration , or Explication ; fourthly , the Reafoning or Arguments; fifthly, the Pathetic Part; and laftly, the Conclufion. I do not mean, that each of thefe muft enter into every Public Difcourfe , or that they muft enter always in this order. There is no reafon for being fo formal on every occafion ; nay, it would often be a fault, and would render a Difcourfe pedantic and ftiff. There may be many excellent Difcourfes in public, where feveral of thefe parts are altogether wanting; where the Speaker , for inftance, ufes no Introdudlion, but enters directly on his fubject ; where he has no occafion either to divide or explain; but fimply reafons on one fide of the queftion , and then finifhes. But as the parts , which I mentioned , are the natural conftituent parts of a regular Oration ; and as in every Difcourfe whatever, fome of them muft be found, it is neceffary to our prefent purpofe, that I fhould treat of each of them diftin&ly.
I BEGIN, of courfe, with the Exordium or Introduction. This is manifeftly common to all *

334 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
0
L E C T.
XXXI.
the three kinds of Public Speaking. It is not a rhetorical invention. It is founded upon nature, and fuggefted by common fenfe. When one is going to counfel another; when he takes upon him to inftruCt , or to reprove, prudence will generally direct him not to do it abruptly, but to ufe fome preparation ; to begin with fome- what that may incline the perfons, to whom lie addrefles himfelf, to judge favourably of what he is about to fay; and may difpofe them to fuch a train of thought, as will forward and affift the purpofe which he has in view. This is, or ought to be, the main fcope of an Introduction. Accordingly Cicero and Ouindilian mention three ends , to one or other of which it fhould be fubfervient, “ Reddere auditores “ benevolos , attentos, dociles. ”
First, To conciliate the good will of the hearers; to render them benevolent, or well- affeCted to the Speaker and to the fubjed. Topics for this purpofe may, in Caufes at the Bar , be fometimes taken from the particular fituation of the Speaker himfelf, or of his client, or from the character or behaviour of his anta- gonifts contrafted with his own; on other occafi- ons, from the nature of the fubjeCt, as clofely connected with the intereft of the hearers: and, in general, from the modefty and good, intention, with which the Speaker enters upon his fubjed. The fecond end of an Introduction, is, to raife the attention of the hearers ; which may be effected, by giving them fome hints, of the
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INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 335
importance, dignity, or novelty of the fubjed; Lect. or fome favourable view of the clearnefs and XXXI. e - % precifion with which we are to treat it; and of the brevity with which we are to difcourfe. The f, ty third end, is to render the hearers docile, or itopen to perfuafion ; for which end, we muft Kjit; begin with ftudying to remove any '’particular s;,3r. prepoffeffions they may have contraded againft otyi . the caufe , or fide of the argument which we iip. efpoufe.
'iliii- Some one of thefe ends Ihould be propofed by 5C .. : every Introdudion. When there is no occafion for aiming at any of them; when we are already 2^it. fecure of the good will, the attention, and the tyf,. docility of the Audience, as may often be the pt,.. cafe, formal Introdudions can, without any pre- ■ judice, be omitted. And, indeed, when they ferve for no purpofe but mere oftentation, they c j. had, for the moll part, better be omitted; unlefs as 7 far as refped to the Audience makes it decent, that ^ ^ a Speaker fhould not break in upon them too abruptly, but by a fhort exordium prepare them for what he is going to fay. Demofidienes’s 0rC '; Introdudions are always fhort and Pimple* Cicero’s 10 are fuller and more artful.
The ancient Critics diftinguilh two kinds of Introdudions, which they call “ Principium, ”
• and “ Infinuatio. ” “ Principium” is, where the ?'■' Orator plainly and diredly profeffes his aim in ? jiI fpeaking w Infinuatio ” is , where a larger
compafs muft be taken; and where, prefuming the difpofition of the Audience be too much

336 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. iff
L e c t. again ft the Orator, he muft gradually reconcile janer XXXL them to hearing him, before he plainly difcovers j ;i pur the point which he has in view. ^ftil
Of this latter fort of Introduction, we have potefts an admirable inftance in Cicero’s fecond Oration jorari; againft Rullus. This Rullus was Tribune of the feGr, People, and had propofed an Agrarian Law; the a f purpofe of which was to create a Decemvirate, y| us or ten commiffioners , with abfolute power for | e f 0l five years over all the lands conquered by the Kam i Republic , in order to divide them among the a d or citizens. Such laws had often been propofed by t, factious magiftrates, and were always greedily t ^ e p received by the people. Cicero is fpeaking to w iih the people; he had newly been made Conful by Ie2 f 0i their intereft; and his firft attempt is to make Ta { 0B: them rejecft this law. The fubject was extremely (i,'$ ov delicate , and required much art. He begins t j with acknowledging all the favours which he had received from the people, in preference Kvo j to the nobility. He profefies himfelf the creature jj iT
of their power, and of all men the mod engaged ailrei
to promote their intereft. He declares, that he 2t( j 0m held himfelf to be the Conful of the People; and ^ ^ that he would alwavs glory in preferving the character of a popular magiftratc. But to be , 3Ci j t popular, he obferves, is an ambiguous word. ^
He underftood it to import, a fteady attachment ^
to the real intereft of the people , to their liberty, their eafe, and their peace; but by fome he faw, it was abiifed , and made a cover to their own feltifh and ambitious deiigns. In this tijj^
manner y n .
i
1

INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
337
manner, he begins to draw gradually nearer to his purpofe of attacking the propofal of Rullus; but Hill with great management and referve. He protefts, that he is far from being an enemy to Agrarian Laws; he gives the higheft praises to the Gracchi, thofe zealous patrons of the people; and allures them, that when he firft heard of Rullus’s law, he had refolved to fupport it, if he found it for their intereft; but that, upon examining it, he found it calculated to eftablifh a dominion that was inconfiftent with liberty, and to aggrandize a few men at the expence of the public: and then terminates his exordium, with telling them , that he is going to give his reafons for being of this opinion; but that if his reafons lhall not fatisfy them , he will give up his own opinion , and embrace theirs. In all this, there was great art. His Eloquence produced the intended effect; and the people, with one voice, rejected this Agrarian Law.
Having given thefe general views of the nature and end of an Introduction, I proceed to lay down fome rules for the proper compofition of it. Thefe are the more neceffary, that this is a part of the Difcourfe which requires no fmall care. It is always of importance to begin well; to make a favourable impreffion at firft fetting out; when the minds of the hearers , vacant as yet and free , are moft difpofed to receive any impreffion eafily. I muft add too, that a good Introduction is often found to be extremely difficult. Few parts of the Difcourfe give the Vol. II. Z
Lect.
XXXL

333 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. &TI
L E c t. Compofer more trouble, or are attended with riormii XXXI. more nicety in the execution. siftake
The firft rule is, that the Introduction Ihould Is o
be eafy and natural. The fubjeCt mull always aly, i
fugged it. It mud appear, as Cicero beautifully iky 11
expreffes it: “ EffloruilTe penitus ex re de qua asdita'
« turn agitur *. ” It is too common a fault in Difcou
Introductions , that they are taken from fome begin
common-place topic, which has no peculiar Introd
relation to the fubjeCt in hand; by which means labour
they dand apart, like pieces detached from the every
red of the Difcourfe. Of this kind arc Salluft’s will c
Introductions , prefixed to his Catilinafian and of for
Jugurthine wars. They might as well have been the 1
Introductions to any Hidory , or to any other Difco
Treatife whatever: and, thefefore, though ele- whole gant in themfelves, they mud be confidered as kdpr blemilhes in the work, from want of due connec- though tion with it. Cicero, though abundantly corret always in this particular in his Orations, yet is not fo 5 rebus in his other works. It appeals from a letter of 1 mum
his to Atticus (L. xvi. 6.) that it was his cultorn ‘quo i
to prepare, at his leifure, a collection of different ,*inven
Introductions or Prefaces, ready to be prefixed . c exile. to any work that he might afterwards publilh. temin In confequence of this drange method of compof- ing, it happened to him, to employ the fame *“tj I ntroduction twice without remembering it; pre- ‘rials o
fixing it to two different works. Upon Atticus i( felaf
’ k^ia
K . k
* “ To have fprung up, of its own accord, from the ” matter which is under eonfideration. ”
|

INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 339
informing him of this , he acknowledges the miftake, and fends him a new Introduction.
In order to render Introductions natural and eafy , it is , in my opinion, a good rule* that they Ihould not be planned, till after one.has meditated in his own mind the fubftance of his Difcourfe. Then, and not till then, he Ihould begin to think of fome proper and natural Introduction. By taking a contrary courfe, and labouring in the firft place on an Introduction, every one who is accuftomed to composition will often find , that either he is led to lay hold of fome common-place topic, or, that inltead of the Introduction being accommodated to the Difcourfe, he is obliged to accommodate the whole Difcourfe to the Introduction which he had previoufly written. Cicero make 1 - this remark; though , as. we have feen , his practice was not always conformable to his own rule “ Omnibus “ rebus confideratis, turn denique id quod pri- “ mum eft dicendurn poltremum foleo cogitare, “ quo utar exordio. Nam fi quando id primurn “ invenire volui, nullum mihi occurrit, nifi aut “ exile , aut nugatorium , aut vulgnre*. ” After the mind has been once warmed and put in
* “ When I have planned and digefted all the mate- “ rials of my Difcourfe, it is my cuftom to think, in “ the laft place, of the Introduction with vvl i'ch 1 am to “ begin. For if, at any time , 1 have endeavoured to “ invent an IntroducVon firft, nothing has ever occurred “ to me for that purpofe, but what was tailing, nugatory, “ and vulgar.”
Z 3 '
Ibct
XXXI,

0
34 o INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
L e c T. train, by clofe meditation on the fubjed, mate- diicii
XXXI, rials for the Preface will then fuggeft themfelves ie®-
much more readily. lliould
In the fecond place , In an Introdudion , It is ! corrednefs Ihould be carefully ftudied in the togeth expreffion. This is requifite , on account of the fearer ■ fituation of the hearers. They are then more dgnit
difpofed to criticife than at any other period; or iff
they are, as yet, unoccupied with the fubjed to fpi or the arguments ; their attention is wholly Ti direded to the Speaker’s ftyle and manner. it pri
Something mult be done, therefore, to prepoffefs “ fo them in his favour; though for the fame reafons, the
too much art mult be avoided; for it will be tort
more eafily detected at that time , than after- rife
wards ; and will derogate from perfuafion in Tk
all that follows. A corred plainnefs , an ele- able
gant fimplicity , is the proper charader of an and h
Introdudion; “ ut videamur, ’’ fays Ouindilian, defenc
“ accurate non callide dicere. ” down
In the third place, Modefty is another charac- abegi:
ter which it mull carry. All appearances of guilt,
modefty are favourable , and prepoffefling. If dium,
the Orator fet out with an air of arrogance and i; aga
oftentation, the felf-love and pride of the hearers encoui
will be prefently awakened, and, will follow ofadi
him with a very fufpicious eye throughout all the ful
his progrefs. His modefty Ihould difcover itfelf not only in his expreftions at the beginning, but in his whole manner; in his looks, in his geftures, |
in the tone of his voice. Every auditory take ^
in good part thofe marks of refped and awe>

INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 341
which are paid to them by one who addreffes Lect them. Indeed the modefty of an Introduction XXXI. fhould never betray any thing mean or abjedt.
It is always of great ufe to an Orator , that together with modefty and deference to his hearers , he fhould fhow a certain fenfe of dignity, arifing from a perfuafion of the juftice, or importance , of the fubject on which he is to fpeak.
The modefty of an Introduction requires, that it promife not too much. “ Non fumum ex fulgore,
“ fed ex fumo dare lucem *. ” This certainly is the general rule, that an Orator Ihould not put forth, all his ftrength at the beginning; but fhould rife and grow upon us, as his Difcourfe advances.
There are cafes , however, in which it is allowable for him to fet out from the firft in a high and bold tone ; as, for inftance, when he rifes to defend fome caufe which has been much fun down, and decried by the Public. Too modeft a beginning, might be then like a confefiion of guilt. By the boldnefs and ftrength of his Exordium, he muft endeavour to ftem the tide that is againft him , and to remove prejudices , by encountering them without fear. In fubjects too of a declamatory nature, and in Sermons, where the fubject is ftriking, a magnificent Introduction
* He does not lavifh at a blaze his fire,
Sudden to glare, and then in fmoke expire;
But rifes from a cloud of fmoke to light,
And pours his fpecious miracles to fight.
Hok. Aks Poet. Francis.
Z 3

342 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
ST!
L e c t. has fometimes a good effect, if it be properly ^
XXXI,, fupportefi in the fequel. 1 hus Bilhop Atterbury, tf"'
in beginning an eloquent Sermon , preached on ^ rt the 30 th of January , the Anniverfary of what is tk ^ called King Charles’s Martyrdom , fets out in . Cicero this pompous manner : “ 1'bis is a day of Trou- f ro P ei c ‘ ble, of Rebuke, and of Blafphemy, diftinguifhed “ pati
fc in the Calendar of our Church, and the Annals in P ri
“ of our Nation , by the fufferings of an excel- “ \vh
cc lent Prince , who fell a facrifice to the rage of tures
“ his rebellious fubjedts; an'd, by his fall, deri- “ Ai
“ ved infamy , mifery, and guilt on them, and “ bl
“ their finful poflerity. ” Boffuet, Flechier, and be <
the other celebrated French Preachers very oft- on en begin their Difcourfes with laboured and fub. tion. lime introductions. Thefe raife attention, and astA throw a luftre on the fubjedt : but let every throu
Speaker be much on his guard againfl ftriking a very
higher note at the beginning , than he is able to hearer
keep up in his progrefs. Ar
In he fourth place, An Introduction fliould is not
ufually be carried on in the calm manner. This ufuajly
is feldom the place for vehemence and paffion. kit
Emotions muff rife, as the Difcourfe advances. defigne
1 he minds of the hearers muft be gradually pre- Difcou
pared, before the Speaker can venture on Itrong . mcr,
and paffionate fentiments. The exceptions to kcl
this rule are, when the fubject is luch, that arak ei
the very mention of it naturally awakens fome .f 0I i a (
paffionate emotion; or when the unexpected pre- C[(:on
fence of fome perfon or objedt , in a Popular | e 0[]
AlTpmbly, inflames the Speaker, and makes hi® ^

INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 343
break forth with unufual warmth. Either of thefe will juftify what i^ called , the Exordium ab abrupto. Thus the appearance of Catiline in the Senate, renders the vehement beginning of Cicero’s firft Oration againft him very natural and proper. c ‘ Quoufque tandem , Catilina , abutere , “ patientia noftra ? ” And thus Bilhop Atterbury, in preaching from this text , “ Bleffed is he, c ‘ whofoever fhall not be offended in me,” ventures on breaking forth with this bold Exordium ; “ And can any man then be offended in thee, “ bleffed Jefus ? ” which addrefs to our Saviour, he continues for a page or two , till he enters on the divifion of his fubject. But fuch Introductions as thefe Ihould be hazarded by very few, as they promife fo much vehemence and unction through the reft of the Difcourfe , that it is very difficult to fulfil the expectations of the hearers.
Ax the fame time, though the Introduction is not the place in which warm emotions are ufually to be attempted, yet I muft take notice, that it ought to prepare the way for fuch as are defigned to be raifed in fubfequent parts of the Difcourfe. The Orator Ihould, in the beginning, turn the minds of his hearers towards thofe fentiments and feelings which he feeks to awaken in the courfe of his Speech. According, for inftance, as it is compaflion , or indignation , or contempt, on which his Difcourfe is to reft, he ought to fow the feeds of thefe in his Introduction; he ought to begin with breathing
Z 4
LECf.
XXXI.

344 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
L E c t. that fpirit which he means to infpire. Much of XXXI. the Orator’s art and ability is fhown, in thus ftriking properly at the commencement, the keynote , if we may fo exprefs it, of the reft of his Oration.
In the fifth place, It is a rule in Introductions, not to anticipate any material part of the fub- jecft. When topics, or arguments, which are afterwards to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, and, in part, brought forth in the Introduction, they lofe the grace of novelty upon their fecond appearance. The impreflfion intended to be made by any capital thought, is always made with the greatefl advantage, when it is made entire, and in its proper place.
In the laft place, The Introduction ought to be proportioned, both in length and in kind, to the difcourfe that is to follow: in length, as nothing can be more abfurd than to erect a very great portico before a frnall building; and in kind, as it is no lefs abfurd to overcharge, with fuperb ornaments, the portico of a plain dwelling-houfe, or to make the entrance to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. Common fenfe directs, that every part of a Difcourfe fliould be fuited to the ftrain and fpirit of the whole.
These are the principal rules that relate to Introductions. They are adapted, in a great mea- fure, equally, to Difcourfes of all kinds. In Pleadings at the Bar, or Speeches in^ublic Af- fembiies, particular care muft be taken not to employ any Introdudion of that kind, which the

INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 345
adverfe party may lay hold of, and turn to his advantage. To this inconvenience, all thofe Introductions are expofed, which are taken from general and common-place topics; and it never fails to give an adverfary a confiderable triumph, if, by giving a fmall turn to fomething we had faid in our Exordium, he can appear to convert, to his own favour, the principles with which we had fet out, in beginning our attack upon him. In the cafe of Replies, Ouimftilian makes an obfer- vation which is very worthy of notice; that Introductions, drawn from fomething that has been laid in the courfe of the Debate, have always a peculiar grace; and the reafon he gives for it is juft and fenfible: cc Multurn gratiae exordio eft, “ quod ab actione advcrfte partis materiam trail it; “ hoc ipfo , quod non compofitum domi, fed ibi K atque e re natum , et facilitate famam ingenii “ auget, et facie fimplicis, fumptique e proximo “ fermonis, fidem quoquc acquirit; adeo, ut “ etiamfi reliqua fcripta atque elaborata fint, ta- cc men videatur tota extemporalis oratio, cujus “ initium nihil praeparatum habuiffe, manifeftum * eft * ”
* “ An Introduction, which is founded upon the pleading “ of the oppolite party, is extremely graceful; for this “ reafon, that it appears not to have been meditated at “ home, but to have taken rife from the bufinefs, and “ to have been compofed on the fpot. Hence, it gives to “ the Speaker the reputation of a quick invention, and adds “ weight likewife to his Difcourfe, as artlefs and unla- “ boured; infomuch, that though all the reft of his Ora-
L E C T.
XXXI.

346 INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE.
D!
L e c t. In Sermons, fuch a practice as this cannot take tiinU
XXXI. place; and, indeed, in compofmg terrnons, few ridilfa
things are more difficult than to remove an ap- jiii wo
pearance of ftiffnefs from an Introduction, when jii,? en
a formal one is ufed. The French Preachers, as ;;dowr
I before obferved, are often very fplendid and :is neci
lively in their Introductions; but, among us, at- :::mea:
tempts of this kind are not always fo fuccefsful. Won
When long Introductions are formed upon fome squifite
common-place topic, as the defire of happinefs ipeakin
being natural to man, or the like, they never mould
fail of being tedious. Variety Ihould be ftudied istob'
in this part of compofition as much as poffible; of; or
often it may be proper to begin without any In- his he;
troduCtion at all, unlefs, perhaps, one or two the coj
Sentences. Explanatory Introductions from the Order <
context, are the molt fimple of any, and fre- to ever
quently the belt that can be ufed: but as they told I
are in hazard of becoming dry, they fhould ne- caygir
verbe long. A Fliflorical Introduction has, gene- k this
rally, a happy effeCt to roufe attention; when ttoaceai
one can lay hold upon fome noted faCt that is Cen tk
connected with the Text or the Difcourfe, and, brers.
by a proper deduction of it, open the way to • The D
the fnbjeCt that is to be treated of.
After, the Introduction , what commonly iqueftioi
comes next in order, is, the Propofition, orEnun- laying
ciation of the fubjeCt; concerning which there is dmetl
« - n-r
tion fhould be ftudied and written , yet the whole Dil- ?
“ courfe has the appearance of being extemporary, as it ■ J
“ is evident that the Introduction to it was unpremedb 'Vta
“ tated.” :; «rpr;
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DIVISION OF A DISCOURSE.
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nothing to be laid, but that it Ihould be as clear Lect. and diitincl as poffible, and expreffed in few and XXXI. plain words, without the leafb affe&ation. To this, generally fucceeds the Divifion , or the laying down the method of the Difcourfe; on which it is neceffary to make fome obfervations. I do not mean, that, in every Difcourfe, a formal Divifion, or Diftribution of it into parts , is requifite. There are many occafions of Public Speaking, when this is neither requifite, nor would be proper; when the Difcourfe, perhaps, is to be Ihort, or only one point is to be treated of; or when the Speaker does not chufe to warn his hearers of the method he is to follow, or of the conclufion to which he feeks to bring them.
Order of one kind or other is, indeed, eflential to every good Difcourfe; that is, every thing fhould be fo arranged as that what goes before, may give light and force to what follows after.
But this may be accomplilhed by means of a concealed method. What we call Divihon, is, when the method is propounded in form to the hearers.
Thu Difcourfe in which this fort of Divifion mod commonly takes place, is a Sermon; and a aueftion has been moved, whether this method of laying down heads , as it is called, be the bell: method of preaching. A very able judge, the Archbilhop of Cambray, in his Dialogues on Eloquence, declares ftrongly againft it. He obfer- ves, that it is a modern invention; that it was pever practifed by the Fathers of the Church;

34S DIVISION OF A DISCOURSE.
L e c T. and, what is certainly true, that it took its rife XXXI. Rom the fchoolmen, when metaphyfics began $ 1 to be introduced into preaching. He is of opini. on, that it renders a Sermon ftiff, that it breaks the unity of the Difcourfe; and that, by the na- : ^ ier tural connexion of one part with another, the ^ulai attention of the hearers would be carried along ctibus the whole with more advantage. Mtata
But , notwithftanding his authority and his hulti , arguments, I cannot help being of opinion, that l' ottatl the prefent method of dividing a Sermon into 'I™ 1 ' heads, ought not to be laid afide. Eftablifhed practice has now given it fo much weight, ihatthe that, were there nothing more in its favour, it againft would be dangerous for any Preacher to deviate bo bro fo far from the common tract. But the practice t0 [ lics 1 itfelf has alfo , in my judgment, much reafon on ^ ‘ m P its fide. If formal partitions give a Sermon lefs l® 1 ' 1 of the oratorical appearance, they render it, Wen, however, more clear, more eafily apprehended, Jl and, of courfe , more inftructive to the bulk of hearers, which is always the main object to be illow kept in view. The heads of a Sermon are great pom afliftances to the memory, and recolledion of Is a S a hearer. They ferve alfo to fix his attention. We, i They enable him more eafily to keep pace with £oftmai the progrefs of the Difcourfe; they give him paufes and refting places, where he can reflect "Tte on what has been faid, and look forward to what is to follow. They are attended with this advan-
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DIVISION OF A DISCOURSE. 349
to be releafed from the fatigue of attention, and thereby make them follow the Speaker more patiently: " Reficit audientem,” fays Quindlilian, taking notice of this very advantage of Divifions in other Difcourfes, “ Reficit audientem certo “ fingularium partium fine; non aliter quam faci- “ entibus iter , multum detrahunt fatigationis “ notata fpatia infcriptis lapidibus; nam et ex- “ haufti laboris node menfuram voluptati eft; et “ hortatur ad reliqua fortius exequenda, fcire “ quantum fuperfit*. ” With regard to breaking the Unity of a Difcourfe, I cannot be of opinion that there arifes, from that quarter, any argument againft the method I am defending. If the Unity be broken, it is to the nature of the heads, or topics of which the Speaker treats, that this is to be imputed; not to his laying them down in form. On the contrary, if his heads be well- chofen, his marking them out, and diftinguiftiing them, in place of impairing the Unity of the whole, renders it xnore confpicuous and complete ; by fhowing how all the parts of a Difcourfe hang upon one another, and tend to one point.
In a Sermon, or in a Pleading, or any Difcourfe, where Divifion is proper to be ufed, the- moft material rules are,
* “ The conclufion of each head is a relief to the hearers; “ juft as, upon a journey, the mile-ftones, which are fet “ up on the road, ferve to diminifh the traveller’s fatigue. “ For we are always pleafed with feeing our labour begin “ to leflen ; and, by calculating how much remains, are “ ftirred up to finifli our talk more cheerfully.”
L E c T.
XXXI.

350 DIVISION OF A DISCOURSE.
D1
L E c T. First, That the feveral parts into which the : ;i! " z
XXXI. fubject is divided, be really diftinct from one an- ;:p I0 P c other; that is, that no one include another. It eM u were a very abfurd Divifion , for inftance, if one 6 BIiev fhould propofe to treat firft, of the advantages i> 5 i of Virtue , and next, of thofe of juftice or Tem- sards perance; becaufe, the tirft head evidently com- acmbr prehends the fecond, as a Genus does the Species; Finn which method of proceeding involves the fubjeft if head: in indiftinctnefs and diforder. minute
Secondly , In Divifion , we mull take care without to follow the order of nature; beginning with It may the fimpleft points, fuch as are eafieft apprehended, makes and neceffary to be firft difcuffed , and proceeding uniteci thence to thofe which are built upon the former, there and which fuppofe them to be known. We muff inclai divide the fubjedt into thofe parts , mto which more, moft eafily and naturally it is refolved ; that the Lv a fubject may feern to fplit itfelf, and not to be few thir violently tom afunder : “ Dividere,” as is com- proper; monly faid , “ non frangere. ” rithmi
Thirdly, The feveral members of a Divifion vtongi ought to exhauft the fubjedt; otherwife we do himaftr. not make a complete Divifion; we exhibit the vrhok 1 fubjecl by pieces and corners only , without abhor giving any fuch plan as difplavs the whole. ire i
Fourthly , 1 lie terms in which our partitions tufible
are exprelfed, fhould be as concife as poffible. igjf e i,
Avoid all circumlocution here. Admit not a French fingle word but what is neceffary. Precifion is tl iEmc( to be ftudied, above all things, in laying down jbnh a method. It is this which chiehy makes a Divifion fajji

DIVISION OF A DISCOURSE. 351
appear neat and elegant; when the feveral heads are propounded in the cleareft, moft expreflive, and , at the fame time, the feweft words poffible. This never fails to ftrike the hearers agreeably ; and is , at the fame time , of great confequence towards making the Divifions be more eafily remembered.
Fifthly, Avoid an unneceffary multiplication of heads. To fplit a fubjedt into a great many minute parts , by Divifions and Subdivifions without end , has always a bad effedt in fpeaking. It may be proper in a logical treatife ; but it makes an Oration appear hard and dry , and unneceffarily fatigues the memory In a Sermon, there may be from three to five, or fix heads , including Subdivifions ; feldom fhould there be more.
In a Sermon, or in a Pleading at the Bar, few things are of greater confequence , than a proper and happy Divifion. It fhould be ftudied with much accuracy and care; for if one take a wrong method at firffc fetting out , it will lead him aftray in all that follows. It will render the whole Difcourfe either perplexed or languid; and though the hearers may not be able to tell where the fault or diforder lies, they will be fenfible there is a diforder fomewhere, and find themfelves little affected by what is fpoken. The Jrench writers of Sermons ftudy neatnefs and elegance in laying down their heads, much more than the Englilh do; whofe diftributions, though fenfible and juft , yet are often inartificial and
L e c T. XXXI.

35 2 NARRATION AND EXPLICATION.
L E C T.
XXXI.
>'AR
verbofe. Among the French , however , too much quaintnefs appears in their Divifions, with an affectation of always letting out either with two , or with three , general heads of Difcourfe. A Divifion of Maftillon’s on this text, “ It is “ finifhed, ” has been much extolled by the French Critics : “ This imports , ” fays the Preacher, “ the corifummation , firft, of juftice on the part “ of God; fecondly , of wickednels on the part “ of men; thirdly, of love on the part of Chrift.” This alfo of Bourdaloue’s has been much praifed, from thefe words. “IVIy peace I give unto you.” “ Peace,” fays he , “firft, to the underftanding, “ by fubmiftion to faith; fecondly, to the heart, “ by fubmilfion to the law. ”
The next conftituent part of a Difcourfe, which I mentioned , was Narration or Explication. 1 put thefe two together , both becaufe they fall nearly under the fame rules , and becaufe they-commonly anfwer the fame purpofe; fervirig to illuftrate the caufe , or the fubject of which one treats , before proceeding to argue either on one fide or other ; or to make any attempt for interefting the paflions of the hearers.
In Pleadings at the Bar, Narration is often a very important part of the Difcourfe, and requires to be particularly attended to. Befides, its being in any cafe no eafy matter to relate with grace and propriety , there is , in Narrations at the Bar, a peculiar difficulty. The Pleader mull fay nothing but what is true ; and , at the fame time , he mull avoid faying any thing that will
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NARRATION AND EXPLICATION. 353
)[% ^ Ulrt hi s cau R- The fads which he relates, are L t c T. K’-tij. to t ^ e ground-work of all his future reafoning. XXXI.
To recount them fo as to keep ftridly within ~.... the bounds of truth, and yet to prefent them ibvk under the colours moft favourable to his caule;
to place, in the moft ftriking light, eveiy cir- ^ ' cumftance which is to his advantage , and to foften and weaken fuch as make againft him, i demands no fmall exertion of (kill and dexterity.
3] V He muft always remember, that if he difcovers ^ ‘ too much art, he defeats his own purpofe, and • creates a diftruft of his fincerity. Quindilian very propefly direds, “ Effugienda in hac pnecipue*
^’ 32 " “ parte, omnis calliditatis fufpicio ; neque enim
j j. “ fe ufquam magis cuftodit judex , quam cum ~ “ narrat orator: nihil turn videatur fidum; nihil
•“ follicitum ; omnia potius a caufa , quam ab i ke. tf oratore } profeda videantur * ” s, tit To be clear and diftind, to be probable , and to be concife , are the qualities which Critics chiefly require in Narration ; each of which carries, fufficiently , the evidence of its import-* litty ance. Diftindnefs belongs to the whole train of the Difcourfe , but is efpecially requifite in , Narration , which ought to throw light on all
* “ In this part of Difcourfe, the Speaker muft be very
il s -r “ careful to fhun every appearance of art and cunning.
“ For there is no time at which the Judge is more upon
U his guard, than when the Pleader is relating fads. r ^: “ Let nothing then feem feigned; nothing anxioully con- “ cealed. Let all that is faid, appear to arife from the tb--' “ caufe itfelf, and not to be the work of the Orator.”
VOL. II.

354 NARRATION AND EXPLICATION.
Lect, that follows. A fad, or a fingle circumftance left XXXl. in obfcurity, and mifapprebended by the judge, may deftroy the effect of all the argument and reafoning which the Speaker employs. If his Narration be improbable , the Judge will not regard it; and if it be tedious and diffufe, he will tire of it, and forget it. In order to produce diftindnefs . befides the ftudy of the general rules of perfpicuity which were formerly given, Narration recjuires particular attention to afcertain clearly the names, the dates, the places, and every other material circumftance of the facts recounted. In order to be probable in Narration, it is material to enter into the characters of the perfons of whom we fpeak , and to fhow, that their actions proceeded from fuch motives as are natural, and likely to gain belief. In order to be as concife as the fubjed will admit , it is ' neceffary to throw out all fuperfluous. circum- flances ; the rejedion of which , will likewife tend to make our Narration more forcible, and mote clear.
CicekO is very remarkable for his talent of Narration; and from the examples in his Orations much may be learned. The Narration , for inftance, in the celebrated Oration pro Miiorc , has been often and juftly admired, fits fcope is to fhow, that though in fad Clodius w^as killed by Milo or his fervants, yet that it was only in felf-de- fence; and that the defign had been laid, not •by Milo againft Clodius, but by Clodius againft .Milo’s life. All the circumftances for rendering

NARRATION AND EXPLICATION. 355
this probable are painted with wonderful art. In relating the manner of Milo’s letting out from Rome , he gives the mod natural defcription of a family excursion to the country , under which it was impollible that any bloody deiiga could be concealed. “ He remained,” fays he, “ in the Senate-houfe that day, till all the bufmefs " was over. He came home, changed his clothe.? ct deliberately, and waited for fome time, till “ his wife had got all her things ready for going “ with him in his carriage to the country. He “ did not fet out , till fuch time as Clodius <c might eafily have been in Rome, if he had cc not been lying in wait for Milo by the way. “ By and by, Clodius met him on the road, “ on horfeback, like a man prepared for adtion, <c no carriage, not his wife , as was ufual, nor <c any family equipage along with him : whilft a Milo , who is fuppofed to be meditating “ (laughter and affaffination, is travelling in a w carriage with his wife , wrapped up in his “ cloak, embarralfed with baggage, and attended “ by a great train of women fervants, and boys.” He goes on , deferibing the rencounter that followed, Clodius’s fervants attacking thofe of Milo , and killing the driver of his carriage; Milo jumping out, throwing off his cloak, and making the belt defence he could ,. while Clodius’s fervants endeavoured to furround him; and then concludes his narration with a very delicate and happy ftroke. He does not fay in plain words , that Milo’s fervants killed Clodius , but that “ in
A a 3
L E C T.
XXXI.

35 6 NARRATION AND EXPLICATION.
L E c t. “ the roidft of the tumult , Milo’s fervants, NXXI. “ without the orders, without the knowledge, “ without the prefence of their mailer, did what “ every mailer would have wifhed his fervants, “ in a like conjuncture , to have done *. ”
In Sermons , where there is feldom-any occafion for Narration, explication of the fubject to be difcourfed on , comes in the place of narration
* “ Milo cum in Senatu fuiflet, eo die, quoad Senatus “ dimiffus eft, domum venit. Calceos et veftimenta muta- “ vit; paulifper, dum fe uxor ( ut fit) comparat, com- “ moratus eft ; deinde profedtus eft, id temporis cum jam “ Glodius, ft quidem eo die Romani venturus erat, redire “ potuiffet. Obviam fit ei Clodius expeditus, in equo, nulla “ rheda, nullis impedimentis, nullis Gratis coniitibus, ut “ folebat; fineuxore, quod nunquam fere. Cum hie infi- “ diator, qui iter illud ad cmdem faciendam apparaffet, “ cum uxore veheretur in rheda , penulatus, vulgi magno “ impedimento, ac muliebri et delicato ancillarum puero- “ rumque comitatu. Fit obviam Clodio ante fundum ejus, “ hora fere undecima, aut non multo fecus. Statim com- “ plures cum telis in hunc faciunt de loco fuperiore impe- “ turn : adverfi rhedarium occidunt; cum autem hie de “ rheda-, rejecta penula defiluiffet, feque acri animo defen-
deret, illi qui erant cum Clodio , gladiis edudtis , partirn “ recurrere ad rhedam, ut a tergo Milonem adorirentur; “ partirn, quod hunc jam interfedtum putarent, caedere “ incipiunt ejus fervos qui poll erant; ex quibus qui animo “ fideii in doininum et prafenti fuerunt, partirn occifi “ funt; partirn cum ad rhedam pugnare viderent, et do- “ mino fuccurrere prohiberentur , Milonemque occifum “ etiamex ipfo Clodio audirent , et ita elfe putarent, fece- “ runt id fervi Milords ( dicam enim non derivandi criminis “ caufa , fed ut fadum eft) neque imperante , neque “ feiente ^ neque prtefente domino , quod fuos quifque fer- “ vos in tali re facere voluiflet. ”
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NARRATION AND EXPLICATION. '35/
at the bar , and is to be taken up much on the Iect, fame tone; that is, it muft be concife, clear, XXXI. and diftindt; and in a Style correct and elegant, rather than highly adorned. To explain the doctrine of the text with propriety; to give a full and perfpicuous account of the nature of that virtue or duty which forms the fubjedb of the Difcourfe, is properly the didadtic part of preaching ; on the right execution of which much depends for all that comes afterward in the way of perfuafion. The great art of fucceeding in it, is, to meditate profoundly on the fubjedb, fo as to be able to place it in a clear and ftrong point of view. Conlider what light other paffages of Scripture throw upon it; confider whether it be a fubject nearly related to fome other from wdiich it is proper to diftinguilh it; confider whether it can be illuftrated to advantage by comparing it with, or oppofing it to , fome other thing; by enquiring into caufes, or tracing ef- fedls; by pointing out examples, or appealing to the feelings of the hearers; that thus, a definite, precife , circumftantial view may be afforded of the dodtrine to be inculcated. Let the Preacher be perfuaded, that by fuch diflindl and apt illufbra- tions of the known truths of Religion , he may both difplay great merit in the way of Compo- fition, and, what he ought to confider as far more valuable , render his Difcourfes weighty, inflructive, and ufeful.
A a 3

J.
fell 21 111 for! Thi
LECTURE XXXII,
1 of the
it is b'
--— MMwn-nr ...-.i.. ■— Jfian
Speake
every
CONDUCT OF A DISCOURSE. - THE llfein
ARGUMENTATIVE PART. - THE PA- ' ?kh
THET1C PART. - THE PERORATION. cov ; r(
ieiut and;
L e c t. In treating of the conftituent parts of a regular a “' a
XXXII. Difcourfe or Oration, I have already conlidered P Ktt
the Introduction, the Divifion , and the Nar- ^
ration or Explication. 1 proceed next to treat of 10 the argumentative ■ or reafoning Part of a Dif- courfe. In whatever place, or on whatever fubject P‘ ck
one fpeaks, this beyond doubt is of the greateft confequence. For the great end for which men ^ t0
fpeak on any ferious occafion , is to convince 10 tea(
their hearers of fomething being either true, or right, or good ; and , by means of this conviction, or f to influence their practice. Reafon and Argument t0rui
make the foundation, as I have often inculcated, of all manly and perfuafive Eloquence.
Now , with refpect to Arguments , three things are requilite. Firft, the invention of them; ^'ch fecondly, the proper difpofitiori and arrangement . “to t of them; and thirdly, the exprefling of them in h'Elit

I
THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART, &c. 359
fuch a dyle and manner, as to give them their full force.
The firft of thefe, Invention, is, without doubt, the mod material, and the ground-work of the red. But, with refpecd to this, I am afraid it is beyond the power of art to give any real affidance. A.rt cannot go fo far, as to fupply a Speaker with arguments on every caufe, and every fubject; though it may be of confiderable ufe in alliding him to arrange, and exprefi thofe, which his knowledge of the fubject has dif- covered. For it is one thing to difcover the reafons that are moft proper to convince men , and another , to manage thofe reafons with mod advantage. The latter is all that Rhetoric can pretend to.
The ancient Rhetoricians did indeed attempt to go much farther than this. They attempted to form Rhetoric into a more complete fydem; and profeffed not only to affid Public Speakers in fetting off their arguments to mod advantage ; but to fupply the defect of their invention , and to teach them where to find arguments on every fubject and caufe. Hence their Dodtrine of Topics, or “ Loci Communes, ” and “ Sedes Argumen- “ torum , ” which makes fo great a figure in the writings of Ariltotle , Cicero and Quinctilian. Thefe Topics or Loci, were no other than general ideas applicable to a great many different fubjects, which the Orator was directed to confult in order to find out materials for his Speech. H hey had their intrinfic and extrinfic Loci; fome Loci, ' A a 4
L B C T. XXXII.

3 6o the argumentative part
f; E c t, that were common to all the different kinds of XXXII. Public Speaking, and fome that were peculiar to each. The common or general Loci, were fuch as Genus and Species, Caufe and Effedt, Antecedents and Confequents, Likenefs and Contrariety, Definition, Circumftances of Time and Place; and a great many more of the fame kind. For each of the different kinds of Public Speaking, they had their “ Loci Perfonarum, ” and “Loci ic Rerum: ” As in demonftrative Orations, for inftance , the heads from which any one could be decried or praifed ; his birth, his country, liis education, his kindred , the qualities of his body, the qualities of his mind , the fortune he enjoyed, the ftations he had filled , &c. and in Deliberative Orations, the Topics that might be ttfed in recommending any public meafure, or difluading from it; fuch as, honefty, juflice, facility, profit, pleafure, glory, affiftanee from friends, mortification to enemies, and the like.
The G recian Sophifts were the firft inventors of this artificial fyftem of Oratory; and they fliowed a prodigious fubtilty , and fertility in the contrivance of thefe Loci. Succeeding Rhetoricians, dazzled by the plan, wrought them up into fo regular a fyftem, that one would'think they meant to teach how a perfon might mechanically become an Orator, without any genius at all. Thev gave him receipts for making Speeches, on all manner of fubjeds. At the fame time, it is evident , that though this ftudy of common places might produce very fihowy academical

OF A DISCOURSE. g6r
declamations, it could never produce ufeful dif- courfes on real bufinefs. The Loci indeed fupplied a moil exuberant fecundity of matter. One who had no other aim, but to talk copioufiy and plaufibly, by confulting them on every iubjedt, and laying hold of all that they fuggefted, might difeourfe without end; and that too, though he had none but the molt fuperficial knowledge of his fubject. But fuch Difeourfe, could be no other than trivial. What is truly folid and perfua- five, muft be drawn “ ex vifeeribus caufae, from a thorough knowledge of the fubject, and .profound meditation on it. They who would direct Undents of Oratory to any other fources . of Argumentation, only delude them; and' by attempting to render Rhetoric too perfedt an art, they render it, in truth, a trifling and childilh ftudy.
On this dodtrine, therefore, of the Rhetorical Loci or Topics, I think it fuperfluous to infill. If any think that the knowledge of them may contribute to improve their invention, and extend their views , they may confult Ariftotle and Quindulian , or what Cicero has written on this head, in his Treatife De Inventione, his Topica,
' and Second Book De Oratore. But when they are to prepare a Difeourfe, by which they purpofe to convince a Judge, or to produce # any confi- derabie effect upon an Affembly, I would advife them to lay afide their common places , and to think clofely of their fubject. Demofthenes I dare fay, confulted none of the Loci, ayhen he yyas
I. E G T.
XXXII.

V
3 5 2 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART 0
L e c t. inciting the Athenians to take arms againft Philip; ;i;pro
XXXII. and where Cicero has had recourfe to them, i pre his Orations are fo much the worfe on that ;jcepti account ' fcr tht
I proceed to what is of more real ufe, to iod,; point out the affiftance that can be given, not net to with r- fped to the invention, but with refpect to gent the difpofition , and conduct of Arguments. fopula
Two different methods may be ufed by ac; v Orators in the conduct of their reafoning; the jdowi terms of art for which are. the Analytic, and de to the Synthetic method. The Analytic is , when Bvincei the Orator conceals his intention concerning the Xa\f, point he is to prove till he has gradually brought o be at bis hearers to the defigned conclufion. They are r ,cntsv led on ft?p by ftep , from one known truth to prope. another , till the conclufion be ftoien upon them, ■jtmoll as the natural confequence of a chain of propo- ;e 2 ds of v fiti6ns. As, for inllance, when one intending to ddf ir prove the being of a God, fets out with obferving 5 -k that every thing which we fee in the world has di te
had a beginning; that whatever has a beginning, f.
muff have had a prior caufe; that in human [
productions , art fliown in the effed neceffarily ;
infers defign in the caufe; and proceeds leading yon on from one caufe to another, till you" arrive at one fupreme firft caufe, from whom is .pgjy derived ay the order and defign vifible in Ins works. This is much the fame with the Socratic p. ^ method , by which that Philofopher filenced the Sophifts of bis age. It is a very artful method of ^ reafoning; may be carried on with much beauty, ^

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OF' A DISCOURSE. 363
and is proper to be ufed when the hearers are much prejudiced againft any truth , and by imperceptible fteps muft be led to conviction.
Bur there are few fubjects that will admit this method, and not many occafions on which it is proper to be employed. The mode of reafoning rnoft generally ufed, and moft fuited to the train of Popular Speaking, is what is called the Synthetic when the point to be proved is fairly laid down , and one Argument after another is. made to bear upon it, till the hearers be fully convinced.
Now, in all arguing , one of the firft things to be attended to is , among the various Arguments which may occur upon a caufe, to make a proper feledtion of fuch as appear to one’s felf the moft folid; and to employ thefe as the chief means of perfuafion. Every Speaker ftrould place himfelr in the fituation of a hearer, and think how he would be affected by thofe reafons, which he purpofes to employ for perfuading others. For he muft not expedt to impofe on mankind by mere arts of Speech. They are not fo eafily impofed on , as Public Speakers are fometimes apt to think. Shrewdnefs and fagacity are found among all ranks ; and the Speaker may be praifed for his fine Difcourfe, while yet the hearers are not perfuaded of the truth of any one thing he has uttered.
Supposing the Arguments properly chofen, it 1. is evident that their effect will, in fome meafure,
; depend on the right arrangement of them; fo as
L E C T. XXXII.

364 THE-ARGUMENTATIVE PART
Of
Lict, they {hall not juftle and embarrafs one another; & a« XXXII. but give mutual aid; and bear with the fairefb snnati and fulleft direction on the point in view. Con- Is the cerning this, the following rules may be taken: jent d In the firft place, avoid blending Arguments jalrul confufedly together, that are of a feparate nature. auge All Arguments whatever are direded to prove dally one or other of thefe three things; that fomething a cle: is true; that* it is morally right or fit; or that it -;e it is profitable and good. Thefe make the three ifeeb great fubjeds of difcuffion among mankind; jting I Truth, Duty, and Intereft. But the Arguments jen h; direded towards either of them are generically :preffio diftind; and he who blends them all under one 4atk Topic, which he calls his Argument, as, in hvays Sermons , efpecially , is too often done , will 3( j fi a s render his reafoning indiftind , and inelegant, jy the Suppofe, for inftance, that I am recommending j this ( to an Audience Benevolence, or the Love of our ^ mat( Neighbour; and that I take my firft Argument, a ] ieari from the inward fatisfadion which a benevolent j r (j. temper affords ; my fecond, from the obligation which the example of Chrift lays upon us to this ^ on ; n g duty; and my third, from its tendency to procure f|. en .; t us the good-will of all around us; my arguments . iJts ^ are good , but I have arranged them wrong: for ^ a my firft and third Arguments are taken from , confiderations of intereft, internal peace, and ^ j n t external advantages; and between thefe, I have introduced one, which refts wholly upon duty. ^ I fhould have kept thofe claffes of Arguments,
'*1 an

OFADISCOURSE. 365
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which are addreffed to different principles in human nature, feparate and diftind.
In the fecond place, With regard to the j different degrees of ftrength in Arguments, the l general rule is, to advance in the way of climax,
1 “ ut augeatur Temper, & increfcat oratio. ” This efpecially is to be* the courfe, when the Speaker has a clear caufe, and is confident that he can prove it fully. He may then adventure to begin with feebler arguments; rifing gradually, and not putting forth his whole ftrength till the laft , when he can truft to his making a fuccefsful impreffion on the minds of hearers, prepared by what has gone before. But this rule is not to be always followed. For , if he diftrufts his caufe, and has but one material Argument on which to lay the ftrefs, putting lefs confidence in the reft., in this cafe, it is often proper for him to place this material Argument in the front; to preoccupy the hearers early, and make the ftrongeft effort at firft; that, having removed prejudices, and difpofed them to be favourable, the reft of his reafoning may be liftened to with more docility. When it happens, that amidft a variety of Arguments , there are one or two which we are fenfible are more inconclufive than the reft and ' yet proper to be ufed, Cicero advifes to place thefe in the middle, as a ftation lefs confpicuous than either the beginning, or the end, of the train of reafoning
In the third place When our Arguments are ftrong and fatisfadory, the more they are diftin-
L E C T.
XXXII.

366 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART
0
Lect. guifhed and treated apart from each other, the ^P ei XXXII. better. Each can then bear to be brought out by
itfelf, placed in its full light, amplified and relied 2^ upon. But when our Arguments are doubtful, 2it" and only of the prefumptive kind, it is fafer to throw them together in a crowd, and to run 3 M them into one another: U ut-quae font natura It and “ imbecilla , ” as* Quin&ilian fpeaks, “ mutuo :oa wi “ auxilio fuftineantur; ” that though infirm of uvays themfelves , they may ferve mutually to prop opinion each other. He gives a good example, in the cafe ‘(tie of one who was accufed of murdering a relation, ''Sc(p to whom he was heir. Direct proof was wanting; 5 no a but, “ you expected a fucceffion, 1 and a great “ qua “ fucceffion; you was in diftrelt circumftances; “ rm “ you was puffied to the utmollby your credit- “ora “ ors; you had offended jmur relation, who ■"eft C “ had made you his heir; you knew that he was .‘qnim “ juft then intending to alter his will; no time 11 non i cc was to be loft. Each of thefe particulars, by : fedei cc itfelf, ” fays the Author, “ is inconcluftve ; .Evhic but when they were affembled in one groupe, ; iptur they have effect. ” £bi p
Of the diftimfl Amplification of one perfuafivc ! atque Argument, we have a moft beautiful example, '‘"ram in Cicero’s Oration for Milo. The Argument is : minin taken, from a circumftance of time. Milo was candidate for the Confulfhip; and Clodius was f killed a few days before the election. He afks, if any one could believe that Milo would be mad enough, at fuch a critical time, by a moft odious affaffination, te alienate from himfelf the favour Sep®
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OF A DISCOURSE.
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of the people, whofe fuffrages he was fo anxioufly courting? 1 his Argument, the moment it is fuggefted , appears to have confxderable weight. But it was not enough , (imply to fugged; it, it could bear to be dweit upon, and brought out into full light. The Orator, therefore, draws a juft and ftriking pidture of that felicitous attention with which candidates, at fuch a feafon, always found it neceffary to cultivate the good opinion of the people. “ Quo tempore, ” fays he, “ ( fcio enim quarn timida fit jmbitio, quantaque “ & quarn follicita, cupiditas confulatus ) omnia, c ‘ non modo quae reprehendi palam , fed etiam cc quae obfeure cogitari pofTunt, timemus. Rumo- “ rem, fabulam fidtam & falfam, perhorrefeimus; “ ora omnium atque oculos intuemur. Nihil enim “ eft tarn tenerum , tarn aut fragile aut flexibile, “ quarn voluntas erga nos fenfufque civium , qui “ non modo improbitati irafeuntur candidatorum, “ fed etiam in recte fadtis faepe faftidiunt. ” 1-rom all which he moft juftly concludes, “ Idunc diem “ igitur Campi , fperatum atque exoptatum , “ fibi proponens Milo, cruentis manibus, fcelus K atque facinus pne fe ferens, ad ilia centuria- “ rum aufpicia veniebat ? Ouam hoc in illo “ minimum credibile!*” But though fuch ampli-
* “ Well do I know to what length the timidity goes of “ fuch as are Candidates for publick offices , and how many “ anxious cares and attentions, a canvafs for the Conful- “ f lip necelfarily carries along with it. On fuch an occa- “ fion, we are afraid not only of what we may openly be “ reproached with , but of what others may think of us in
L E C T.
XXXII.

368 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART, & c .
L E C T.
XXXII.
I
i
fication as this be extremely beautiful , I muft add a caution.
In the fourth place, againft extending Arguments too far, and multiplying them too much. This ferves rather to render a caufe fufpecled, than to give it weight. An unneceffary multiplicity of Arguments , both burdens the memory, and detracts from the weight of that conviction, which a few well chofen Arguments carry. It is to be obferved too, that in the Amplification of Arguments, a diff|[fe and fpreading method, beyond the bounds of reafonable illuftration, is always enfeebling. It takes off greatly from that “ vis et acumen, ” which fhould be the diftin- guifhing character of the Argumentative Part of a Difcourfe. When a Speaker dwells long on a favourite Argument, and feeks. to turn it into every poflible light, it almoft always happens, that, fatigued with the effort, he-lofes the fpirit with which he fet out; and concludes
“ fecret. The fligliteft rumour, the moft improbable tale “ that can be devifed to our prejudice , alarms and difcon- “ certs us. We ftudy the countenance, and the looks, of u all around us. For nothing is fo delicate, fo frail, and “ uncertain, as the publick favour. Our fellow citizens “ not only are juftly offended with the vices of candidates, “ but even on occafion of meritorious actions, are apt to “ conceive capricious difgttfts. Is there then the lesft cre- “ dibility, that Milo, after having fo long fixed his atten- “ tion on the important and wifhed for day of election, “ would dare to have any thoughts .of prefenting himfelf “ before the auguft Affembly of the People, as a murder- “ er and affaffin, with his hands embrued in blood ? “
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THE PATHETIC PART, &c. 369
•with feeblenefs , what he began with force. Lect. There is a proper temperance in reafoning , as XXXII. there is in other parts of a Difcourfe.
After due attention given to the proper arrangement of Arguments , what is next re- quifite for their fuccefs, is to exprefs them in fuch a ftyle , and to deliver them in fuch a manner, as fhall give them full force. On thefe heads I mull refer the Reader to the dire&ions I have given in treating of Style, in former Lectures ; and to the diretftions I am afterwards to give concerning Pronunciation and Delivery.
I proceed , therefore , next , to another effential part of Difcourfe which I mentioned as the fifth in order, that is , the Pathetic.; in which , if any where , Eloquence reigns, and exerts its power. I fhall not, in beginning this head , take up time in combating the fcruples of thofe who have moved a queftion, whether it be confiftent with firmnefs and candour in a Public Speaker, to addrefs the paffions of his Audience?
This is a queftion about words alone , and which common fenfe eafily determines. In enquiries after mere truth , in matters of fimple information and inftruction , there is no queftion that the paffions have no concern , and that all attempts to move them are abfurd. Wherever conviction is the object, it is the underftanding alone that is to be applied to. It is by argument and reafoning, that one man attempts to fatisfy another of what is true, or right, or juft; but if per- fuafion be the object, the cafe is changed. In all Vou II. B b

L e c t. that relates to practice , there is no man rvho XXXII. ferioufiy means to perfuade another, but addreffes himfelf to his paffions more or lefs ; for this plain reafon , that paffions are the great fprings of human adtion. The moll virtuous man, in treating of the moft virtuous fubject, feeks to touch the heart of him to whom he fpeaks; and makes no fcruple to raife his indignation at injuftice, or his pity to the diftreft, though pity and indignation be paffions.
In treating of this part of Eloquence, the ancients made the fame fort of attempt as they employed with refpect to the argumentative part, in order to bring Rhetoric into a more perfect: fyftem. They enquired metaphyfically into the nature of every paffion; they gave a definition, and a defcription of it; they treated of its caufes, its effedts , and its concomitants ; and thence deduced rules for working upon it. Ariftotle in particular has, in. his Treatrfe upon Rhetoric, difcuffed the nature of the paffions with much profoundnefs and fubtilty ; and what he has written on that head , may be read with no fmall profit, as a valuable piece of Moral Philo- lbphy; but whether it will have any effect in rendering an Orator more pathetic , is to me doubtful. It is not, I am afraid , any philofophical knowledge of the paffion', that can confer this talent. We muft be indebted for it to Nature, to a certain ftrong and happy fenfibihty of mind; and one may be a moft thorough adept in all the fpeculative knowledge that can be acquired

OF A DISCOURSE.
371
concerning the paffions , and remain at the fame Lict. time a cold and dry Speaker. The ufe of rules XXXII- and inftrucftions on this , or any other part of Oratory , is not to fupply the want of genius , but to direct it where It is found, into its proper channel ; to affift it in exerting itfelf with moft advantage, and to prevent the errors and extravagancies into whfch it is fometimes apt to run.
On the head of the Pathetic , the following directions appear to me to be ufeful.
The firffc is to coniider carefully , whether the fubjed admit the Pathetic , and render it proper; and if it does, what part of the Difcourfe is the moft proper for attempting it. To determine thefe points belongs to good fenfe - ; for it is evident , that there are many fubjeds which admit not the Pathetic at all, and that even in thofe that are fufceptible of it, an attempt to excite the paffions in the wrong place , may expofe an Orator to ridicule. All that can be faid in general is, that if we expect any emotion which we raife to have a lafting effect, we muft be careful to bring over to our fide , in the firft place , the underftanding and judgment. The hearers muft be convinced that there are good and fuffieient grounds, for their entering with warmth into the caufe. They muft be able to juftify to themfeives the paffion which they feel ; and remain fatisfied that they are not carried away by mere delufion. Unlefs their minds be brought into this ftate , although they may have been heated by the Orator’s difcourfe, yet, as
B b 2

373 THE PATHETIC PART
L f c T. foon as he ceafes to fpeak , they will refume ^
XXXII. their ordinary tone of thought; and the emotion t£ .
which he has railed will die entirely away. .
Hence moft writers affign the Pathetic to the J C! Peroration or Conclufion*, as its natural place; ' 1
and no doubt, all other things being equal, this tow
is the impreffion that one would chufe to make orto
laft , leaving the minds of the hearers warmed !,m £
with the fubjed , after argument and reafoning had produced their full effect : but wherever it is introduced , I muff advife , ®'°' :
In the fecond place, never to fet’apart a head of difcourfe in form, for railing any paffion; [ uc never give warning that you are about to be pathetic ; • and call upon your hearers, as is a< j‘
fometimes done, to follow you in the attempt. wlt
This almoft never fails to prove a refrigerant to ,n 1
paffion. It puts the hearers immediately on ^ am
their guard, and diipofes them for criticifing, m l
much more than for being moved. The indirect ^ at
method of making an impreffion is likely to be ® 7 (
more fuccefsful ; when you feize the critical a c iln
moment that is favourable to emotion, in what- ^ 1
ever part of the difcourfe it occurs; and then, con k
after due preparation , throw in fuch circumflau- tcn ^ e
ces , and prefent fuch glowing images, as may ^ d
kindle their paffions before they are aware. This ^l
can often be done more happily , in a few ^
fentences infpired by natural warmth, than in a ^1 long and ftudied Addrefs.
In the third place, It is necelTary to obferve, Oratt that there is a great difference between Ihowing
fifila

OF A DISCOURSE.
373
the hearers that they ought to be moved , and Lect. actually moving them. This diftindtion is not XXXII. fufficiently attended to efpecially by Preachers, who, if they have a head in their Sermon to fihow how much we are bound to be grateful to God, or to be compaflionate to the diflreft, are apt to imagine this to be a pathetic part. Now. all the Arguments you produce to fhow me, why it is my duty , why it is reafonabie and fit , that l fhould be moved in a certain way, go no further than to difpofe or prepare me for entering into fuch an emotion; but they do not actually excite it. To every emotion or paffion , Nature has adapted a fet of correfponding objects ; and , without fetting thefe before the mind, it is not in the power of any Orator to raife that emotion.
I am warmed with gratitude , I am touched with compaffion, not when a Speaker fhows me that thefe are noble difpofitions, and that it -is my duty to feel them ; or when he exclaims againft me for my indifference and coldnefs. All this time, he is fpeaking only to my reafon or confcience. He muff deferibe the kindnefs and tendernefs of my friend; he muft fet before me the diftrefs buffered by the perfon for whom he would intereft me; then, and not till then my heart begins to be touched, my gratitude or my compaf- fion begin to flow. The foundation, therefore, of all fuccefsful execution in the way of Pathetic Oratory is, to paint the object of that paflion which we with to raife, in the raoft natural and ftriking manner; to deferibe it with fuch circum-
B b 3

374 THE PATHETIC PART
L e c t. {lances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of XXXII. others. Eyery paffion is moll flrongly excited by fenfation; as anger, by the feeling of an injury, or the prefence of the injurer. Next to the influence of Senfe , is that of Memory;, and \ next to Memory is, the influence of the Imagination. Of this power , therefore, the Orator mull avail himfelf, fo as to ftrike the imagination of the hearers with circumftances which , in luftre and Ileadinefs, refemble thofe of Senfation and Remembrance. In order to accomplilh this, In the fourth place, the only effectual method js, to be moved yourfelves. There are a thou- fand interefting circumftances fuggefted by real paffion , which no art can imitate , and no refinement can fupply. There is obvicufly a contagion among the paffions.
Ut ridentibus arrident, fic fientibus adflent,
Humani vultus.
The internal emotion of the Speaker adds a Pathos to his words , his looks , his geftures, and his whole manner , which exerts a power almoft irrefiftible over thofe who hear him *,
* “ Quid enimaliud eft caufae ut lugentes, utique in recenti dolore, difertiffime quaedam exclamare videantur; et ira nonnunquam in indoctis quoque eloquentiam faciat; quam quod illis ineft vis mentis, et veritas ipfa morum? quare in iis quae verifimiiia effe volemus, fimus ipft ft miles eorum qui vere patiuntur, affectibus; et a tali animo proficifcatur oratio qualem facere judicem volet. — Afficiamur antequam afficere- conemur. ”
Quinct, Lib. 6 ,
But on ill.'f
occafio 1
toward
moved
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with t of the Public which before
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OF A DISCOURSE. 3W
But on this point, though the moll material of Lect. all, 1 fhall not now infill, as I have often had XXXII. occafion before to Ihow , that all attempts towards becoming Pathetic, when we are not moved ourfelves, expde us to certain ridicule.
Ouinctilian, who difcourfes upon the fubjedl with much good fenfe, takes pains to inform us of the method which he ufed, when he was a Public Speaker for entering into thofe paflfions which he wanted to excite in others ; fetting before his own imagination what he calls ,
“ Phantafiae” or “ Vifiones,” flrong pidtures of thediftrefs or indignities which they had fuffered, whole caufe he was to plead, and for whom he was to interell his hearers; dwelling upon thefe, and putting himfelf in their fituation, -till he was affebted by a paffion fimilar to that which the perfons themfelves had felt *. To this method he attributes all the fuccefs he ever had in Public Speaking; and there can be no doubt that whatever tends to increafe an Orator’s fenfibility, will add greatly to his Pathetic Powers.
* “ Ut hominem occifum querar; non omnia qute in re “ prefenti accidifle credibile eft, in oculis habebo ? Non “ percufior ille fubitus erumpet ? non expavefcet circum- “ ventus ? exclamabit, vel rogabit, vel fugiet ? non ferien- “ tern , non concidentem videbo ? non anirno fanguis, et “ pallor, et gemitus , extremus denique expirantis hiatus, *
“ infidet? — Ubi vero miferatione opus erit, nobis ea de “ quibus querimur accidifle credamus , atque id animo “ noftro perfuadeamus. Nos illi fimus, quos gravia, indi- “ gna, triftia, pafl’os queramur. Nec agamus rem quafi
S b 4
«

376 THE PATHETIC PART
0
i I
b k c t. In the fifth place , It is neceffary to attend ^ 1
XXXII. to the proper language of the paffions. We tiiow,
fhould obferve in what manner any one expreffes ulf.
himfelf who is under the power of a real and a Isthe
ftrong paffion ; and we fhall always find his of
Language unaffected and fimple. It may be ani- :;a Di'
mated, indeed, with bold and ftrong figures, ay int
but it will have no ornament or finery. He is not ie pa!
at leifure to follow out the play of Imagination. fell 5
H is mind being wholly feized by one object liowy.
which has heated it, he has no other aim , but princip
to reprefent that, in all its circumftances, as imagin
ftrongly as he feels it. This muft be the Style of compa
the Orator, when he would be pathetic; and quite
this will be his Style, if he fpeaks from real even c
feeling; bold, ardent, fimple. No fort ofdefcrip- -can-yin tion will then fucceed , but what is written on occ:
“ fervente calamo. ” If he ftay till he can work ram e
up his Style, and polifh and adorn it, he will Is tin infallibly cool his own ardour; and then he will tie Pad touch the heart no more. His compofition will violent t
become frigid ; it will be the Language of one Biking
who defcribes , but who does not feel. We muft piffionat take notice, that there is a great difference between painting to the imagination, and painting *“y to the heart. The one may be done coolly, and Seres i at leifure : the other, muft always be rapid and ■
ardent. In the former, art and labour may be A 1 ""®
J ' affio
•' mare
“ alienam; fed affumamus parumper ilium dolorenn Ita Wan
dicemus qua; in fimili noftro cafu dicturi effemus. ” ’ hie, i
* Lib. 6.

OF A DISCOURSE.
3?7
differed to appear ; in the latter, no effect can Lect, follow, unlefs it feem to be the work of nature XXXII. only.
In the fixth place , Avoid interweaving anything of a foreign nature with the pathetic part of a Difcourfe. Beware of all digreffions , which may interrupt or turn afide the natural courfe of the paffion , when once it begins to rife and fwell Sacrifice all beauties, however bright and fhowy, which would divert the mind from the principal o&ject , and which would amufe the imagination, rather than touch the heart. Hence companions are always dangerous, and generally quite improper, in the midft of paffion. Beware even of reafoning unfeafonably; or, at lead, of carrying on a long and fubtile train of reafo.ning, on occafions when the principal aim is to excite warm emotions.
In the lad place , Never attempt prolonging the Pathetic too much. Warm emotions are too violent to be lading*. Study the proper time of making a retreat; of making a tranfition from the paffionate to the calm tone; in £uch a manner,
* “ Nunquam debet effe longa miferatio; nam cum “ veros dolores midget tempus , citius evanefcat, necefle “ eft ilia, quam dicendo effinximus, imago : in qua, ft “ moramur, lacrymis fatigatur auditor, et requiefcit, et “ ab illo quern ceperat impetu, in rationem redit. Non “ patiamur igitur frigefcere hoc opus; et affectum, cum “ ad fummum perduxerimus, relinquamus; nec fperemus “ fore , ut aliena mala quifquam diu ploret. ”
Ouinct. L. 6.

(
378 THE PATHETIC PART
L E c t. however, as to defcend without falling, by keep.
XXXII. ing up the fame {drain of Sentiment that was let 1 ’ carried on before, though now expreffing it with iiintta more moderation. Above all things, beware of state {draining paffion too far; of attempting to r ife ije, h it to unnatural heights. Preferve always a due o'bet regard to what the hearers will bear; and remem- dv£< ber that he who flops not at the proper point; cown who attempts to carry them farther, in paffion, junto than they will follow him, dellroys his whole liclyir defign. By endeavouring to warm them too " C® much , he takes the mold effectual method of “ civ" freezing them completely. abovi
Having given thefe rules concerning the ty; ; Pathetic, I fhall give one example from Cicero, with 'which will ferve to llluflrate feveral of them, “in particularly the laid. It fhall be taken from his “ Jud laft Oration againfl Verres, wherein he deferibes “alia the cruelty exercifed by Verres. when Governor “plat of Sicily, againfl one Gavius, a Roman citizen. “fum Th is Gavius had made his efcape from prifon, “ verf into which he had been thrown by the Governor; “nen and when juf? embarking at Medina thinking “ depi himfeh now fafe , had uttered fome threats, that ll p are when he had once arrived at Rome. Verres “j n f e ] ihould heat of him., and be brought to account K p 0 te for having put a Roman citizen in chains. The ! diik ChiefMagiftrate of Medina, a creature of Verres’s, - "()[_ inflantly apprehends him, and gives inform- 1 a 0ina ation of his threatenings. The behaviour of “| n p Verres, on this occafion, is deferibed in the mofi 4“ IJt0
I
j

OF A DISCOURSE.
■ 379
I
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hfoisi
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i k:;. %ori
WjV'i;;
aod f“;, 'OfBit ill f®
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picturefque manner, and with all the colours which 1 were proper, in order to excite againft him the public indignation. Fie thanks the Ma- giftrate of Medina for his diligence. Filled with rage, he comes into the Forum; orders Gavins to be brought forth, the executioners to attend, and againft the laws, and contrary to the well- known privileges of a Roman citizen , commands him to be ftripped naked, bound, and fcourged publicly in a cruel manner. Cicero then proceeds thus ; “ Credebatur virgis , in medio foro Meffanae, “ civis Romanus, Judices!” every word rifes above another in deferibing this flagrant enormity; and, “Judices,” is brought out at the end with the greateft propriety : “ Caedebatur virgis , “ in medio foro Meffanse, civis Romanus, “ Judices! cum interea, nullus gemitus, nulla vox “ alia iftius miferi , inter dolorem crcpitumque “ plagarum audiebatur, nifi hsec, Civis Romanus “ fum. Hac fe commemoratione civitatis, omnia “ verbera depulfurum a corpore arbitrabatur. Is “ non modo hoc non perfecit, ut virgarum vim “ deprecaretur, fed cum imploraret fepius ufur- “ paretque nomen civis, crux, crux inquam , “ infelici ifto & aerumnofo, qui nunquam iftam “ poteftatem viderat , comparabatur. O nomen “ dulce libertatis ! O jus eximium noftrse civitatis ! “ O Lex Porcia , legefque Semproniae ! —Huccine “ omnia tandem reciderunt, ut civis Romanus, “ in provincia populi Romani, in oppido feede- “ ratorum, ab eo qui beneficio Populi Romani
L E c T. XXX11,

3 So THE PATHETIC PART
(
L e c t. “ fafces et fecures haberet, deligatus, in foro, XXXII. “ virgis oederetur *?”
Nothing can be finer, nor better conducted than this paflage. The circumftances are well chofen for exciting both the compaffion of his bearers for Gavius, and their indignation againlt Verres. The ftyle is fimple; and the paffionate Exclamation, the Addrefs to Liberty and the Laws, is well-timed, and in the proper Style of Paffion. The Orator goes on to exaggerate Verres’s cruelty Hill farther , by another very ftriking circumftance. He ordered a gibbet to be
* “ In the midft of the market-place of Medina a “ Roman Citizen, O Judges ! was cruelly fcourged with “ rods ; when, in the mean time, amidft the noife of “ the blows which he fuffered, no voice, no complaint “ of this unhappy man was heard, except this excla- “ mation, Remember that I am a Roman citizen! By “ pleading this privilege of his birthright, he hoped to have 4 ‘ flopped the ltrokes of the executioner. But his hopes “ were vain; for, fo far was he from being able to obtain “ thereby any mitigation of his torture, that when he “ continued to repeat this exclamation, and to plead the “ rights of a citizen, a crofs , acrofs, I fay, was preparing “ to be fet up for the execution of this unfortunate perfon , “ who never before had beheld that inftrument of cruel “ death. 0 facred and honoured name of liberty! 0 boafted “ and revered privilege of a Roman Citizen ! 0 ye Por- “ cian and Sempronian Laws ! to this iffue have ye all “ come , that a Citizen of Rome , in a province of theRo- “ man Empire, within an allied city , fiiould publicly, in .a “ market-place, be loaded with chains, and beaten with “ rods, at the command of one who, from the favour “ of the Roman people alone, derived all his authority 44 and enfigns of power i ”
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name

OF A DISCOURSE.
381
eredted for Gavius , not in the common place of L e c t. execution, but juft by the fea-fhore , over againft XXXII. the coaft of Italy. “ Let him,” faid he, “ who “ boafts fo much of his being a Roman citizen ,
“ take a view from his gibbet of his own country.
“ —This bafe infult over a dying man is the leaft “ part of his guilt. It was not Gavius alone that “ Verres meant to infult; but it was you, O “ Bftmans ! it was every citizen who now hears “ me , in the perfon of Gavius, he fcoffed at your “ rights, and fhowed in what contempt he held “ the Roman name, and Roman liberties.”
Hitherto all is beautiful, animated, pathetic; and the model would have been perfed, if Cicero had flopped at this point. But his redundant and florid genius carried him further. He muft needs intereft , not his hearers only, but the beafts, the mountains, and the ftones, againft Verres: “ Si haec non ad cives Romanos, non ad “ amicos noftrae civitatis, non ad eos qui populi “ Romani nomen audiffent ; denique ft non ad “ homines, verum ad beftias; atque ut longitis “ progrediar, ft in aliqua defertiflima folitudine,
“ ad faxa et ad fcopulos, hsec conqueri et de- “ plorare vellem, tamen omnia muta atque in- “ anima, tanta et tarn indigna rerum atrocitate “ commoverentur This, with all the deference
* “ "Were I employed in lamenting thofe inftances of an “ atrocious oppreliion and cruelty , not among an “ affembly of Roman citizens, not among the allies of “ our Rate , not among thofe who had ever heard the “ name of the Roman people, not even among human

382 CONCLUSION OF A DISCOURSE. C0)
L e c t. due to fo eloquent an Orator, we muft pronounce r ^ ;
XXXII. to be Declamatory, not Pathetic. This is ftrain- 3t F r ^ e ing the Language of Paffion too far. Every hearer fees this immediately to be a fludied figure '^ rai1 of Rhetoric; it may amufe him, but inftead of s " ott( inflaming him more , it, in truth , cools his paffion. : ^ renc
So dangerous it is to give fcope to a flowery 30,11 ^
imagination, when one intends to make a ftrong ^’
and paffion ate impreffion. ® ® 01 ^ 11
No other part of Difcourfe remains now to be ^ 0UI treated of, except the Peroration, or Conclufion. Concerning this , it is needlefs to fay much, J PP e11 becaufe it muft vary fo confiderably , according i tom to the ftrain of the preceding Difcourfe. Some- xvant ' times, the whole pathetic part comes in mod properly at the Peroration. Sometimes, when t0 m ~ the Difcourfe has been entirely argumentative, it Th is fit to conclude with fumming up the Argil- ments, placing them in one view, and leaving °fi\Ie
the impreffion of them , full and ftrong, on the ^ far
• mind of the Audience. For the great rule of a dth t Conclufion , and what nature obvioufly fuggefts, ‘Aon is, to place that laft on which we chufe that the C 'vhic flrength of our caufe fliould reft. “myf
In Sermons, inferences from what has been “ofde faid , make a common Conclufion. With regard 'itlb
! my (
“ creatures, but in the rnidft of the brute creation; and c thofe
“ to go farther, were I pouring forth my lamentations to q 00n
“ the ftones , and to the rocks, in fome remote and defert ^ , “ wildernefs, even thofe mute and inanimate beings would,
“ at the recital of fuch fhocking indignities , be thrown ™ “ into commotion.”
c

CONCLUSION OF A DISCOURSE. 383
to thefe, care flioulcl. be taken, not only that they rife naturally, but twhat is lefs commonly attended to , that they fliould fo much agree with the (train of fentiment throughout the Difcourfe, as not to break the Uni y of the Sermon. For inferences , how juflly foever they may be deduced from the dodrine of the Text, yet have a bad effed, if, at the Conclufion of a Difcourfe, they introduce fome fubjed altogether new , and turn off our attention from the main objed to which the Preacher had direded our thoughts. They appear, in this cafe, like excrefcences jutting out from the body , which haS better have been wanted; and tend to enfeeble the impreffion , which the Compofition, as a whole, is calculated to make.
The mod eloquent of the French, perhaps indeed, of all modern Orators, Boffuet, Biflhop of Meaux, terminates in a very moving manner his funeral Oration on the great Prince of Conde, with this return upon himfelf, and his old age: “ Accept, O Prince ! thefe laft efforts of a voice cc which you once well knew. With you, all “ my funeral Difcourfes are now to end. Infi.ead C J of deploring the death of others , henceforth, “ it fhall be my ftudy to learn from you, how “ my own maybe bleffed. Happy, if warned by “ thofe erey hairs of the account which I mull “ foon give of my miniftry, I referve, feldy , “ for that flock* whom 1 ought to feed with the “ word of life , the feeble remains of a voice
L e c T. XXXII.

384 CONCLUSION OF A DISCOURSE.
L e c t. “ which now trembles, and of an ardour, which XXXII. “ is now on the point of being extinct
In all Difcourfes , it is a Matter of importance to hit the precife time of concluding , fo as to bring our Difcourfe juft to a point; neither ending abruptly and unexpectedly; nor difappointing the expectation of the hearers , when they look for our having done; and continuing to hover round and round the Conclufion, till they become heartily tired of us. We fiiould endeavour to go off * with a good grace; not to end with a languilhing and drawling Sentence; but to clofe with dignity and fpirit , that we may leave the minds of the hearers warm ; and difmifs them with a favourable impreffion of the Subject , and of the Speaker.
* cc Agreez ces derniers efforts d’une voix qui vous fut “ connue. Vous mettrez fin a tous ces difcours. Au lieu de “ deplorer la mort des autres , Grand prince! dorenavant “ je veux apprendre de vous , a rendre la mienne fainte. u Heureux, fi averti par ces cheveux blancs du compte “ que je dois rendre de mon adminiftration, je referve an u troupeau que je dois nourrir de la parole de vie, les “ reftes dune voix qui tombe , et d’une ardeur qui s’e- “ teint.” — Thefe are the laft fentences of that Oration: but the whole of the Peroration from that paffage: “ Venez, “ peuples , venez maintenant, ” &c. though it is too long for infertion, is a great mafter-piece of Pathetic Eloquence.
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LEG-

LECTURE XXXIII.
PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY.
JlYAVING treated of feveral general heads re- Lec a lating to Eloquence, or Public Speaking, I now XXXII! proceed to another very important part of the fubjed yet remaining, that is, Pronunciation, or Delivery of a Difcourfe. How much flrefs was laid upon this by the moll eloquent of all Orators, Demofthenes, appears from a noted faying of his related both by Cicero and Quinctilian ; when being afked , What was the lirft point in Oratory. ? he anfwered , Delivery ; and being afked , What was the fecond ? and afterwards,
'What was the third ? he Hill anfwered, Delivery.
There is no wonder , that he fhould have rated this fo high , and that for improving himfelf in it, he fhould have employed thofe afliduous and painful labours , which all the ancients take fo much notice of; for, beyond doubt, nothing is of more importance. To fuperficial thinkers; the management of the voice and gefture , in Public Speaking , may appear to relate to Decoration only , and to be one of the inferior arts ofcatch- VoL. II. C C

386 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c t. ing an Audience. But this is far from being XXXIII. the cafe. It is intimately connedted with what is, or ought to be , the end of all Public Speaking, Perfuafion ; and therefore deferves the ftudy of the moft grave and ferious Speakers as much as of thofe, whofe only aim it is to pleafe.
For , let it be confidered, whenever we addrefs ourfelves to others by words , our intention certainly is to make fome impreffion on thofe to whom we fpeak ; it is to convey to them our own ideas and emotions. Now the tone of our voice, our looks, and geftures, interpret our ideas and emotions no lefs than words do ; nay, the impreffion they make on others, is frequently much ftronger than any that words can make. We often fee that an expreffive look, or a paf- fionate cry, unaccompanied by words, convey to others more forcible ideas , and roufe within them ftronger paffions, than can be communicated by the moft eloquent Difcourfe. The fignifi- cation of our fentiments , made by tones and geftures, has this advantage above that made by words , that it is the Language of nature. It is that method of interpreting our mind, which nature has didated to all, and which is underftood by all ; whereas , words are only arbitrary, conventional fymbols of our ideas : and, by confe- quence , muft make a more feeble impreffion. So true is this, that, to render words fully fignjficant, they muft, almoft in every cafe , receive fome aid Irom the manner of Pronunciation and Delivery ; and he who, in fpeaking, fhould employ

OF A DISCOURSE. 387
bare words, without enforcing them by proper Lect, tones and accents , would leave us with a faint XXXIII. t and indiftind impreffion, often with a doubtful and ambiguous conception , of what he had delivered. Nay, fo clofe is the connection between certain fentiments and the proper manner of pronouncing them , that he who does not pronounce them after that manner, can never per- fuade us , that he believes , or feels , the fentiments themfelves. His Delivery may be fuch, as to give the lie to all that he afferts. When Marcus Callidius accufed one of an attempt to poifon him , but enforced his accufation in a languid manner, and without any warmth or earneftnefs of Delivery , Cicero , who pleaded for the accufed perfon, improved this into an argument of the falfity of the charge, “ An tu M. Callidi nifi fingeres, fic ec ageres?” In Shakefpeare’s Richard II. the Du- chefs of York thus impeaches the Sincerity of her liufband :
Pleads he in earneft ? — Look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers areinjeft;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breaft;
He prays but faintly, and would be deny’d;
We pray with heart and foul. --
But , I believe it is needlefs to fay any more in order to fhow the high importance of a good Delivery. I proceed, therefore, to fuch obferva- tions as appear to me mod ufeful to be made* on this head.
The great objects which every Public Speaker
C C 3
/

? S8 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L E c t. will naturally have in his eye in forming his de- XXXIII. livery, are, firft, to fpeak fo as to be fully and eafily underftood by all who hear him ; and next, to fpeak with grace and force , fo as to jdeafe and to move his Audience. Let us confider what is raoft important with refped to each of thefe *.
' In order to be fully and eafily underftood, the four chief requifites are a due degree of Loudnefs of Voice; Diftin&nefs; Slownefs ; and Propriety of Pronunciation.
The firft attention of every Public Speaker, doubtlefs, muft be , to make himfelf be heard by all thofe to whom he fpeaks. He muft endeavour to fill with his voice, the fpace occupied by the Affembly. This power of voice, it may be thought, is wholly a natural talent. It is fo in a good meafure ; but, however, may receive confiderable afliftance from art. IVIuch depends for this purpofe on the proper pitch , and management of the voice. Every man has three pitches in his voice ; the High , the Middle , and the Low one. The High , is that which he ufes in calling aloud to fome one at a diftance. The Low is, when he approaches to a whifper. The Middle is, that which he employs in common converfation, and which he ftiould ufe for ordinary in public Difcourfe. For it is a great miftake,
% On this whole fubjedt, Mr. Sheridan’s Lectures on Elocution , are very worthy of being confulted; and feveral hints are here taken from them.

OF A DISCOURSE. 389
to imagine that one muft take the highefl pitch of his voice , in order to be well heard by a great Affembly. This is confounding two things which are different, Loudnefs, or Strength of Sound , with the key , or note on which we fpeak. A fpeaker may render his voice louder , without altering the key; and we will always be able to give moil body, moft perfevering force of found , to that pitch of voice, to which in converfation we are accuftomed. Whereas, by fetting out on our highefl; p.itch or key, we certainly allow ourfelves lefs compafs, and are likely to drain and outrun our voice before we have done. We fhall fatigue ourfelves , and fpeak with pain ; and whenever a man fpeaks with pain to himfelf, he is always heard with pain by his Audience. Give the voice therefore full ftrength and fwell of found : but always pitch it on your ordinary fpeaking key. Make it a conftant rule never to utter a greater quantity of voice, than you can afford without pain to yourfelves, and without any extraordinary effort. As long as you keep within thefe bounds, the other organs of fpeech will be at liberty to dif- charge their fcveral offices with eafe ; and you will always have your voice under command. But whenever you tranfgrefs thefe bounds, you give up the reins, and have no longer any management of it. It is an ufeful rule too, in order to be well heard, to fix our eye on fome of the moil diftant perfons in the Aflembly, and to confider ourfelves as fpeaking to them. We
C c 3
L E C T.
XXXIII.

390 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L E c T. naturally and mechanically utter our words with IneeiJ
XXX11I. fuch a degree of ftrength, as to make ourfelve* extrem
be heard by one to whom we addrefs ourfelves, alifel e
provided he be within the reach of our voice, the®
As this is the cafe in common converfation, it the will hold alfo in Public Speaking. But remember, and I
that in public as well as in converfation, it is lift
poflible to offend by fpeaking too loud. This more
extreme hurts the ear, by making the voice come has j
upon it in rumbling indiflinct malfes; befides its diffif
giving the Speaker the difagreeable appearance of prof
one who endeavours to compel affent, by mere clea
vehemence and force of found. bv;
In the next place , to being well heard, and be
clearly underftood , diftindtnefs of articulation Jr o:
contributes more , perhaps , than mere loudnefs Difc
of found. The quantity of found neceffary to fill by t even a large fpace, is fmaller than is commonly eafily imagined ; and with diftindt articulation , a man {well
of a weak voice will make it reach farther, than more
the ftrongefl voice can reach without it. To this, foe (
therefore , every Public Speaker ought to pay hurr'e
great attention. He muft.give every found which {pints he utters its due proportion, and make every e xecu fyliable, and even every letter in the word which he pronounces , be heard diftindtly ; without blurring, whilpering, or fuppreffing any of the fa
proper founds. ^
In the third place, In order to articulate dif- ti; ] at
tmclly , moderation is requifite with regard to f ieec
the fpeed of pronouncing. Precipitancy of pi Kt
> Speech , confounds all articulation, and all meaning. 0I t f
N

I need fcarcely obferve, that there may be alfo an L e c t. extreme on the oppofite fide. It is obvious, that X*.XdI. alifelefs, drawling Pronunciation, which allows the minds of the hearers to be always outrunning the Speaker, muft render eve ry Difcourfe infipid and fatiguing. But the extreme of fpeaking too faff is much more common , and requires the more to be guarded againft, becaufe , when it has grown up into a habit, few errors are more difficult to be corrected. To pronounce with a proper degree of flownefs , and with full and clear Articulation , is the firft thing to be ftudied by all who begin to fpeak in public; and cannot be too much recommended to them. Such a Pronunciation , gives weight and dignity to their Difcourfe. It is a great affiftance to the voice, by the paufes and refts which it allows it more eafily to make; and it enables the Speaker to fwell all his founds , both with more force, and more mufic. It affifts him alfo in preferving a due command of himfelf; whereas a rapid and hurried manner , is apt to excite that flutter of fpirits, which is the greateft enemy to all right execution in the way of Oratory. “ Promptum “ fit os , ” fays Ouinclilian , “ non prxeeps; tc moderatum , non lentum. ”
After thefe fundamental attentions to the pitch and management of the voice , to diHindi Articulation , and to a proper degree of flownefs of fpeech , what a Public Speaker muft, in the fourth place, ftudy, is, propriety of Pronunciation; or the giving to every word , which he utters,
C c 4

39 3 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY 1
L E c t that found which the moft polite ufage of the
XXXIII. language appropriates to it ; in- oppofition, to
broad , vulgar , or provincial Pronunciation. mf re ®
This is requifite, both for fpeaking intelligibly, and for fpeaking with grace or beauty. Inftruc- obeli'
tions concerning this Article , can be given by fometb
the living voice only. But there is one obferva- Mel 1
tion , which it may not be improper here to Lee t
make. In the Englifh Language , every word under
which confifts of more fyllables than one , has and G
one accented fyllable. The accent refts fometimes to v
on the vowel , fometimes on the confonant. atten 1
Seldom , or never, is there more than one accented mean
f)liable in any Englifli word , however long; imag
and the genius of the language requires the voice parts
to mark that fyllable by a ftronger percuffion, attent
and to pafs more flightly over the reft. Now, in ad
having once learned the proper feats of thefe Gelhir
accents, it is an important rule, to give every andth
word juft the fame accent in Public Speaking, in eve
as in common Difcourfe. Many perfons err in import
this refpect, When they fpeak in public, and trlorci
with folemnity , they pronounce the fyllables in Fits
a different manner from what they do at other meant
times. They dwell upon them, and protradl which
them; they multiply accents on the fame word; foraev
from a miftaken notion, that it gives gravity ftafe,
and force to their Difcourfe , and adds to the lenten
pomp of Public Declamation. Whereas, this is itinj
one of the greateft faults that can be committed Well a
in Pronunciation; it makes what is called, a nagn
theatrical, or mouthing manner; and gives an lifeai

OF A DISCOURSE.
393
IS Ecrj
petds, reft h. ti dii
JIVtRI
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esjon.
artificial affedted air to Speech , which detrardts greatly both from its agreeablenefs , and its impreffion.
I proceed to treat next of thofe higher parts of delivery, by ftudying which, a Speaker has fomething farther in view than merely to render himfelf intelligible, and feeks to give grace and force to what he utters, Thefe may be comprifed under four heads, Emphafis , Paufes, Tones, and Geftures. Let me only premife, in general, to what I am to fay concerning them , that attention to thefe artirles of delivery is by no means to be confined, as fome might be apt to imagine, to the more elaborate, and pathetic parts of a Difcourfe. There is, perhaps, as great attention requifite , and as much fkill difplayed, in adapting Emphafes , Paufes , Tones , and Geftures, properly, to calm and plain Speaking; and the effedt of a juft and graceful delivery will, in every part of a fubjedt, be found of high importance for commanding attention , and enforcing what is fpoken. .
First, Let us confider Emphafis; by this, is meant a ftronger and fuller found of voice, by which we diftinguifh the accented fyllable of fome word , on which we defign to lay particular ftrefs,. and to fhow how it affedts the reft of the fentence. Sometimes the emphatic word muft be diftinguifhed by a particular tone of voice, as well as by a ftronger accent. On the right management of the Emphafis , depends the whole life and fpirit of every Difcourfe. If no emphafis
L e c T. XXXIII.

394 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
be placed on any words, not only is Difcourfe rendered heavy and lifelefs, but the meaning left often ambiguous. If the Emphafis be placed wrong, we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. To give a common inftance ; fuch a ftmple queftion as this: “ Do you ride to town to day?” is capable, of no fewer than four different acceptations according as the Hmphafis is differently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus; do you ride to town to-day? the anfwer may naturally be, No; 1 fend my fervant in my Read. If thus ; Do you rd,- to town today? Anfwer, No; I intend to walk. Do you ride to t.o-ven to-day ? No; l ride out into the fields. Do you ride to town to-day? No; but I fhall to-morrow. In like manner , in folemn Difcourfe , the whole force and beauty of an expreffion often depends on the accented word; and we may prefent to the hearers quite different views of the fame Sentiment , by placing the Emphafis differently. In the following words of our Saviour, obferve in what different lights the thought is placed , according as the words are pronounced. “ Judas, betrayeffc thou the Son of Alan with a kifs 9 ” Betrayed thou — makes the reproach turn, on the infamy of treachery. Betrayeft thou — makes it reft, upon Judas’s con- ne&ion with his mafter. Betrayeft thou the Son of Man — refts it, upon our Saviour’s perfonal character and eminence. Betrayeft thou the Son of Man -voith a kifs ? turns it, upon his proftitut-

ing the fignal of peace and friendship, to the purpofe of a mark of deftrudlion.
In order to acquire the proper management of the Emphafis, the great rule , and indeed the only rule poffible to be given is , that the Speaker ftudy to attain a juft conception , of the force and fpirit of thofe fentiments which he is to pronounce. For to lay the Emphafis with exadt propriety , is a conftant exercife of good fenfe, and attention. It is far from being an incon- fiderable attainment. It is one of the greatefl trials of a true and juft tafte ; and muft arife from feeling delicately ourfelves, and from judging accurately , of what is fitted to ftrike the feeling of others. There is as great a difference between a Chapter of the Bible, or any other piece of plain profe , read by one who places the feveral Emphafes every where, with tafte and judgment , and by one who negledls or miftakes them , as there is between the fame tune played by the moft mafterly hand, or by the moft bungling performer.
In all prepared Difcourfes, it would be of great ufe, if they were read over or rehearfed in private , with this particular view, to fearch for the proper Emphafes before they were pronounced in public; marking, at the fame time, avith a pen , the emphatical words in every Sentence , or at leaft in the moft weighty and affecting parts of the Difcourfe , and fixing them, well in memory. Were this attention oftener bellowed, were this part of Pronunciation ftudied
L E C T.
XXXIII.

396 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
Lect, with more exadtnefs, and not left to the moment NXXI1I. of delivery , as is commonly done , Public point®
Speakers would find their care abundantly repaid, Bot
by the remarkable effedts which it would produce pau ( es
upon their Audience. Let me caution, at the acthe
fame time, againft one error, that of multiplying his bi emphatical words too much. It is only by a merit
prudent referve in the ufe of them , that we can diffit
give them any weight. If they recur too often; ing,
if a Speaker attempts to render every thing , good which he fays of high importance, by a multi- divu
tude of ftrong Emphafes, we foon learn to pay intit
little regard to them. To crowd every Sentence ptoi
with emphatical words , is like crowding all the the
pages of a Book with Italic Characters, which, man
as to the effect, is juft the fame with ufing no loft,
fuch diftinctions at all. To
Next to Emphafis , the paufes in Speaking flioui
demand attention. Thefe are of two kinds; firlt, ofbi
Emphatical Paufes; and next, fuch as mark the milta.
diftinctions of Senfe. An Emphatical Paufe is draw
made , after fomething has been faid of peculiar voice
moment, and on which we want to fix the hear- a£th<
er’s attention. Sometimes, before fuch a thing is only
faid , we ufher it in with a paufe of this nature. mans
Such paufes have the fame effect, as a ftrong Em- frock
phafis ; and are fubjedt to the fame rules ; efpecially with
to the caution juft now given, of not repeating If
them too frequently. For as they excite uncom- forir
mon attention, and of courfe raife expectation, requ
if the importance of the matter be not fully an- tM
one

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OF A DISCOURSE. 397
fwerable to fuch expectation, they occafion difap- pointment and difguft.
But the moft frequent and the principal ufe of paufes, is to mark the divitions of the fenfe, and at the fame time to allow the Speaker to draw his breath; and the proper and graceful adjuft- ment of fuch paufesis one of the mod nice and difficult articles in delivery. In all Public Speaking , the management of the breath requires a good deal of care , fo as not to be obliged to divide words from one another, which have fo intimate a connection , that they ought to be pronounced with the fame breath , and without the leaft feparation. Many a fentence is miferably mangled ' 4 and the force of the Emphafis totally loft, by divifions being made in the wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is fpeaking, fhould be very careful to provide a full fupply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great miftake to imagine, that the breath mult be drawn, only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It can eafily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is only fufpended for a moment; and, by this management, one may have always a fufficient frock for carrying on the longed Sentences, without improper interruptions.*'
If any one, in Public Speaking, lhall have formed to himfelf a certain melody or tune, which requires reft and paufes of its own, diftinCt from thofe of the fenfe , he has for certain contracted one of the worft habits into which a Public
f
L E C T.
XXXIII.

39 8 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c T. Speaker can fall. It is the fenfe which Ihould °"' n; *
XXXIII. always rule the paufes of the voice: for wherever wt 1
there is any fenfible fupenfion of the voice, the “ ;Ce3r
hearer is always led to expedt fomewhat corref- KCeal
ponding in the meaning. Paufes in Public Dif- ® ect ' courfe , muft be formed upon the manner in which wo we utter ourfelves in ordinary, fenfible converfa- ver ^ e ‘ tion; and not upon the ftiff artificial manner ^
which we acquire, from reading books according 0 ® 1 ” to the common punctuation. The general run of punctuation is very arbitrary ; often capricious ^ ie
and falfe; and dictates an uniformity of tone in an( ^ 11
the paufes, which is extremely difagreeable: for ^ Iom
we are to obferve, that to render paufes graceful ? eatt
and expreffive, they muft not only be made in ^ 31 the right place, but alfo be accompanied with a proper tone of voice, by which the nature of in
thefe paufes is intimated; much more than by the length of them, which can never be exacty .
meafured. Sometimes it is only a flight and fimple ^ in fufpenfion of voice that is proper; fometimes a ^ erec degree of cadence in the voice is required; and fometimes that peculiar tone and cadence, which ^ denotes the Sentence finifbed. In all thefe cafes, ^ 01 we are to regulate ourfelves , by attending to ^ Jt ‘
the manner in which Nature teaches us to fpeak, ^
when engaged in real and earneft difcourfe with '“d others. V 00
When we are reading or reciting verfe, there is a peculiar difficulty in making the paufes juftly. ^ The difficulty arifes from the melody of verfe, ^ which dictates to the ear paufes or refts of its
I

/
O F A D I S C O U R s E. 399
own; and to adjuft and compound thefe properly L e c t. with the paufes of the fenfe , fo as neither to hurt XXXIII. the ear, nor offend the underftanding, is fo very nice a matter, that it is no wonder we fo feldom meet with good readers of poetry. There are two kinds of paufes that belong to the mufic of verfe , one is, the paufe at the end of the line; and the other the caefural paufe in the middle of it. With regard to the paufe at the end of the line, which marks that Strain or Verfe to be finiflied , Rhyme renders this always fenfible, and in fome meafure compels to obferve it in our Pronunciation. In blank verfe, where there is a greater liberty permitted of running the lines into one another, fometimes without any fufpenfion in the fenfe, it has been made a queftion, Whether in reading fuch verfe with propriety, any regard at all fhould be paid to the clofe of a line? On the Stage, where the appearance of fpeaking in verfe fhould always be avoided, there can , I think, be no doubt, that the clofe of fuch lines as make no paufe in the fenfe, fhould not be rendered perceptible to the ear.
But on other occafions, this were improper: for what is the ufe of melody, or for what end has the Poet compofed in verfe , if in reading his lines, we fupprefs his numbers; and degrade them, by our Pronunciation, into mere profe ? Wc ought, therefore, certainly to read blank verfe fo, as to make every line fenfible to the ear. At the fame time in doing fo, every appearance of fing-fong and tone, muft be carefully guarded

4 oo PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c t. againft. The clofe of the line, where it makes XXXIII. no paufe in the meaning ought to be marked, not by fuch a tone as is ufed in finifhing a'fen- tence; but without either letting the voice fall, or elevating it, it fhould be marked only by fuch a flight fufpenfion of found, as may diftinguilh the paffage from one line to another, without injuring the meaning.
The other kind of mufical paufe, is that which falls fomewhere about the middle of the verfe, and divides it into two hemiftichs; a pau r e, not fo great as that which belongs to the clofe of the line, but ftill fenfible to an ordinary ear. This, which is called the ctefural paufe, in the French heroic verfe falls uniformly in the middle of the line. In the Englifh, it may fall after the 4th, 5th, 6th, or 7th fyllables in the line, and no other. Where the verfe is fo conftru&ed, that this csefural paufe coincides with the flighteft paufe or divifion in the fenfe the line can be read eafily; as in the two firft verfes of IYIr. Pope’s Meffiah,
. Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the fong:
To heav’nly themes fublimer foams belong.
But if it fhall happen that words, which have fuch a ftrid: and intimate connection, as not to V bear even a momentary feparation, are divided
from one another by this cscfural paufe, we then feel a fort of ftruggle between the fenfe and the found, [which renders it difficult to read fuch
lines
t»i
wh
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m\
ouf
the
ini
I
lib
ins
re«
11
vr
t!
T
tl
tl
c.

OF A DISCOURSE.
401
lines gracefully. The rule of proper Pronuncia- L e c t. tron in fuch cafes is, to regard only the paufe XXXill. which the fenfe forms; and to read the line accordingly. 1 he neglect of the csefural paufe may make the line found fomewhat unharmoni- oufly; but the effect would be much worfe, if the fenfe were facrificed to the found. For inftance, in the following line of Milton,
■-"What in me is dark
Illumine; what is low raife and fupport;
The fenfe clearly dictates the paufe after Cc il- “ lumine, ” at the end of the third fyllable, which, in reading, ought to be m^de accordingly ; though, if the melody only were to be regarded, “illumine,” fhould be connected with what follows; and the paufe not made till the 4th or 6th fyllable. So in the following line of Mr. Pope’s (Epiftle to Dr. Arbuthnot):
I fit, with fad civility I read.
The ear plainly points out the csefural paufe as falling after “ fad, ” the 4th fyllable. But it would be very bad reading to make any paufe there, fo as to feparate “ fad ” and “ civility. ”
The fenfe admits of no other paufe than after thefecond fyllable “ fit, ” which therefore muft be the only paufe made in the reading.
I proceed to treat next of tones in Pronunciation, which are different both from emphalis Vol. II. D d

402 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c t. and paufes; confiding in the modulation of the XXXIII. voice , the notes or variations of found which we employ in Public Speaking. How much of the propriety, the force and grace of Difcourfe, muft depend on thefe, will appear from this Angle confideration; that to almoft every fentiment we utter, more efpecially to every ftrong emotion, Nature hath adapted fome peculiar tone of voice; infomuch, that he who Ihould tell another that he was very angry, or very grieved, in a tone which did not fuitfuch emotions , inftead of being believed, would be laughed at. Sympathy is one of the moft powerful principles by which Per- fuafive Difcourfe works its effed. The Speaker endeavours to transfufe into his hearers his own fentiments and emotions; which he can never be fuccefsful in doing, unlefs he utters them in fuch a manner as to convince the hearers that he feels them *. The proper language and exprellion of tones , therefore , deferves to be attentively
* “ All that paffes in the mind of man may be reduced “ to two dalles, which I call Ideas and Emotions. By “ Ideas , I mean all thoughts which rife , and pafs in fuc- “ ceffion in the mind. By emotions, all exertions of the “ mind in arranging, combining, and feparating its ideas, “ as well as all the effects produced on the mind itfelf by “ thofe ideas, from the more violent agitation of the paf- “ Eons, to the calmer feelings produced by the operation “ of the intellect and the fancy. In Ilrort, thought is the “ object of the one, internal feeling of the other. That “ which ferves to exprefs the former, I call the Language “ of Ideas; and the latter, the Language of Emotions. “ ords are the figns of the one, tones of the other.

OF A DISCOURSE.
4°3
fludied by every one who would be a fuccefs- Lect. iul Orator. XXXI il.
The greateft and moll material inllrudtion which can be given for this purpofe is , to form the tones of Public Speaking upon the tones of fenfible and animated converfation. We may obferve that every man, when he is much in earneft in common Difcourfe, when he is engaged in fpeaking on fome fubject which interefts him nearly, has an eloquent or perfuafive tone and. manner. What is the reafon of our being often, fo frigid and unperfuafive in Public Difcourfe, but our departing from the natural tone of Speaking, and delivering ourfelves in an affedted artificial manner? Nothing can be more abfurd than to imagine, that as fotm as one mounts a Pulpit, or rifes in a Public Affembly, he is inflantly to lay afide the voice with which he expreffes himfelf in private ; to aflume a new, fludied tone, and a cadence altogether foreign to his natural manner. This has vitiated all delivery; this has given rife to cant and tedious monotony , in the different kinds of Modern Public Speaking, efpecially in the Pulpit. Men departed from Nature; and fought to give a beauty or force , as they imagined , to their Difcourfe, by fubftituting certain fludied mufical
“ Without the ufe of thefe two forts of Language, it is “ impofiible to communicate through the ear ail that paffes “ in tire mind of man. ”
Sheridan on the Art of Reading.
D d 3

4 o4 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
Lect. tones, in the room of the genuine expreffions of XXXiH, fentiment , which the voice carries in natural Difcourfe, Let every Public Speaker guard againft this error. Whether he fpeak in a private room, or in a great Affembly, let him remember that be ftill fpeaks. hollow Nature: confider how fhe teaches you to utter any fentiment or feeling of your heart. Imagine a fubject of debate ftarted in converfation among grave and wife men, and yourfelf bearing a fhare in it. Think after what manner, with what tones and inflexions of voice, you would on fuch an occafion exprefs yourfelf, when you was moft in earneft, and fought moft to be liftened to. Carry thefe with you to the Bar, to the Pulpit, or to any Public Affembly; let thefe be the foundation of your manner of pronouncing there; and you will take the fureft method of rendering your delivery both agreeable , and perfuaflve.
I have faid, let thefe converfation tones be the foundation of Public Pronunciation ; for, on fome occafions , folemn Public Speaking requites them to be exalted beyond the ftrain of common Difcourfe. In a formal ftudied Oration, the elevation of the Style, and the harmony of the Sentences, prompt, almoft neceffarily , a modulation of voice more rounded, and bordering more upon mufic, than converfation admits. This gives rife to what is called, the Declaiming Manner. But though this mode ot Pronunciation runs confidera- bly beyond ordinary Difcourfe, yet ftill it muft

OF A DISCOURSE.
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D d 3
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4 o 6 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c t. manner, from an abfurd fancy of its being more XXXIII. beautiful than a natural one *.
I r now remains to treat of gefture, or what is called adion in public Difcourfe. Some nations animate their words in common converfation with many more motions of the body than others do. The French and the Italians are, in this refped, much more fpnghtly than we. But there is no nation , hardly any perfon fo phlegmatic , as not to accompany their words with fome adions and gefticulations, on all occafions, when they are much in earned. It is therefore unnatural in a Public Speaker, it is inconliftent with that earncftnefs and ferioufnefs which he ought to Ihow in ah affairs of moment, to remain quite unmoved in his outward appearance ; and to let the words drop from his mouth , without any expreffion of meaning, or warmth in his gefture.
The fundamental rule as to propriety of adion, is undoubtedly the fame with what I gave as to propriety of tone. Attend to the looks and geftures, in which earneftnefs, indignation, compaffion , or any other emotion , dil'covers itfelf to moll advantage in the common intcr-
* “Loquere,” (fays an Author of the Iaft century, who has written a Treatife in verfe, de Geltu et Voce Oratoris) —“ Loquere ; hoc vitium commune, loquatur u Ut nemo; at tenfa declamitet omnia voce.
“ Tu loquere, ut mos eft hominum; Boat et latrat ille ;
{c llle ululat; rudit hie ; ( fari ft taiia dignurn eft) c ‘ Non hominem vox ulla fonat ratione loquentem, ” Joannes Lucas , de Geftu et Voce, Lib. II. Paris 167c

OF A DISCOURSE.
407
courfe of men; and let thefe be your model. L E c T. Some of thefe looks and geftures are common to XXXIII. all men; and there are alfo certain peculiarities of manner which diftinguifh every individual A Public Speaker muft take that manner which is moll natural to himfelf. For it is here, juft as in tones. It is not the butinefs of a Speaker to form to himfelf a certain fet of motions and geftures, which he thinks rnoft becoming and agreeable, and to pra&ife thefe in public, without their having any correfpondence to the manner which is natural to him in private. His geftures and motions ought all to carry that kind of expref- fion which nature, has di&ated to him ; and, unlefs this be the cafe, it is impoffible, by means of any ftudy, to avoid their appearing ftiff and forced.
However, although nature muft be the groundwork, I admit that there is room in this matter for fome ftudy and art. For many perfons are naturally ungraceful in the motions which they make; and this ungracefulnefs might, in part at leaft , be reformed by application and care. The ftudy of a&ion in Public Speaking, confifts chieflydn guarding againft awkward and difagreeable motions, and in learning to perform’ fuch as are natural to the Speaker, in the moft becoming manner. For this end, it has been advifed bv Writers on this fubjecft, to practice before a mirror, where one may fee, and judge of their own geftures. But I am afraid, perfons are not always the beft judges of the gracefulnefs
D d 4

4 o8 PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
Lect, of then own motions, and one may declaim long XXXIII. enough before a mirror, without correcting any of his faults. The judgment of a friend, whole good tafte they can truft, will be found of much greater advantage to beginners, than any mirror they can ufe. With regard to particular rules concerning action and gesticulation , Quinctilian has delivered a great many, in the laft Chapter of the iith Book of his InRitutions; and all the IVlodern Writers on this fubject have done little elfe but tranfiate them. I am not of opinion, that fuch rules, delivered either by the voice or on paper, can be of much ufe, unlefs perfons faw them exemplified before their eyes *.
* The few following hints only I fhall adventure to throw out, in cafe they may be of any fervice. When fpeaking in public, one Ihould ftudy to preferve as much dignity as poiiible in the whole attitude of the body. An erect poiture is generally to be chofen; handing firm, fo as to have the fulled and freeft command of all his motions ; any inclination which is ufed, Ihould be forwards towards the hearers, which is a natural expreflion of earnednefs. As for the countenance , the chief rule is, that it Ihould correfpond with the nature of the Difcourfe, and whcn.no particular emotion is exprelfed , a ferious and manly look, is always the bed. The eyes Ihould never be ' fixed clofe on any one objeft, but move eafily round the Audience. In the motions made with the hands , confifts die chief part of gefture in Speaking. The ancients condemned all motions performed by the left hand alone, but I am not fenfible, that the fie are always offenlive, though it is natural for the right hand to be more frequently employed. Warm emotions demand the motion of both hands correfponding together. But whether one gediculates with
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OF A DISCOURSE.
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I shall only add further on this head, that L e c t. in order to fucceed well in delivery, nothing is XXXIII. more neceflary than for a Speaker to guard again ft a certain flutter of fpirits, which is peculiarly incident to thofe who begin to fpeak in public.
He muft endeavour above all things to be recollected, and mailer of himfelf. For this end, he will find nothing of more ufe to him, than to ftudy to become wholly engaged in his fubject; to be pofTefled with a fenfe of its importance or ferioufnefs; to be concerned much more to per- fuade, than to pleafe. He will generally pleafe molt, when pleafing is not his foie nor chief aim. This is the only rational and proper method of raifing one’s felf above that timid and bafhful regard to an Audience, which is fo ready to dif- concert a Speaker, both as to what he is to fay, and as to his manner of faying it.
one or with both hands, it is an important rule, that all his motions fhould be free and eafy. Narrow and ftraiten- ed movements are generally ungraceful; for which reafon, motions made with the hands are directed to proceed from the fhoulder, rather than from the elbow. Perpendicular movements too with the hands, that is, in the {height line up and down , which Shakefpeare in Hamlet calls “ fawing the air with the hand," are feldoni good. Oblique motions are, in general, the mod graceful- Too fud- den and nimble motions fhould be likewife avoided. Earn-. eftnefs can be fully exprefled without them. Shake- fpeare’s directions on this head , are full of good fenfe; u ufe all gently, ” fays he , “ and in the very torrent and “ tempeft of paffion, acquire a temperance that may give <c it finoothnefs. ”

4io PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY
L e c t. I CANNOT conclude , without an earneft admo-
XXXIII. nition to guard againft all affectation , which is the certain ruin of good delivery. Let your manner, whatever it is, be your own; neither imitated from another, nor affumed upon fome imaginary model, which is unnatural to you. Whatever is native, even though accompanied with feveral defects , yet is likely to pleafe; becaufe it Ihows us a man; becaufe it has the appearance of coming from the heart. Whereas a delivery, attended with feveral acquired graces and beauties, if it be not eafy and free, if it betray the marks of art and affectation , never fails to difguft. To attain any extremely correct, and perfectly graceful delivery, is what few can expect ; fo many natural talents being requifite to concur in forming it. But to attain, what as to the effect is very little inferior, a forcible and perfuafive manner, is within the power of molt perfons ; if they will only unlearn falfe and corrupt habits; if they will allow themfelves to follow nature, and will fpeak in public, as they do in private, when they fpeak in earneft, and from the heart. If one has naturally any grofs defects in his voice or gefturcs , he begins at the wrong end, if he attempts at reforming them, only when he is to fpeak in public. He fhould begin with rectifying tfhem, in his private manner of Speaking ; and then carry to the Public the right habit he has formed. For when a Speaker is engaged in a Public Difcourfe, he fhould not be then employing his attention about his manner,

OF A DISCOURSE.
4Ti
or thinking of his tones and his gedures. If he be L e c t. fo employed, dudy and affectation will appear. XXXIII. He ought to be then quite in earned; wholly occupied with his fubject; and his fentiments; leaving Nature, and previoufly formed habits, to prompt and fugged his manner of Delivery.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME,.

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LECTURES
0 N '
RHETORIC
AND
BELLES LETTRES.
By HUGH BLAIR, D. D.
ONE OF THE MINISTERS OF THE HIGH CHURCH, AND PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
BASIL:
PRINTED FOR J. L. LEGRAND, MDCCLXXXIX.

I7.V.M
basiled

CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRD VOLUME.
LECT.
Page
XXXIV.
IVXeANS of Improving in Eloquence.
t
XXXV.
Comparative Merit of the Ancients and the
Moderns — Hiftorical Writing.
XXXVI.
Hiftorical Writing.
47
XXXVII.
Philofophical Writing — Dialogue —
Epiftolary Writing — Fictitious Hiftory.
73
XXXVIII. Nature of Poetry ■— Its Origin and Pro-
grefs •— Verification.
97
XXXIX.
Paftoral Poetry — Lyric Poetry.
12 +
XL.
Didactic Poetry — Defcriptive Poetry.
iy;
XLI.
The Poetry of the Hebrews.
18°
XLII.
Epic Poetry. .....
205
XLIII. Homer’s Iliad and Odyfley — Virgil’s JEneid.
£
2?0

S'
CONTENTS,
LECT Page
XLIV. Lucan’s Pharfalia — Taffo’s Jerulalem — Camoen’s Lufiad — Fenelon’s Telemachus — Voltaire’s Henriade —
Milton’s Paradife Loft. . . 256
XLV. Dramatic Poetry — Tragedy. . . 285
XLVI. Tragedy — Greek — French — Englilh
Tragedy.J14
XLVII. Comedy — Greek and Roman — French
— Englilh Comedy. , . . 344

LECTURE XXXIV.
MEANS OF IMPROVING IN ELOQUENCE*
J HAVE now treated fully of the different kinds L e e t. of Public Speaking, of the Compoiition , and of XXXI'V', the Delivery of a Difcourfe. Before finishing this fubject, it may be of ufe, that I fuggeft fome things concerning the propereft means of Improvement in the Art of Public Speaking, and the moft neceffary ftudies for that purpofe.
To be an Eloquent Speaker, in the proper fenfe of the wordis far from being either a common or an eafy attainment. Indeed, to com- pofe a florid harangue on fome popular topic , and to deliver it fo as to amufe an Audience, is a matter not very difficult. But though fome praife be due to this, yet the idea, which I have endeavoured to give of Eloquence, is much high- # er. It is a ereat exertion of the human mowers,
It is the Art of being perfuafive and commanding; the Art, not of pleafing the fancy merely, but of fpeaking both to the underftanding, and to the heart; of interefting the hearers in fuch a degree, as to feize and carry them along with
Vol. Ilf. ' B

means of improving
<■*
L e c t. us; and to leave them with a deep and fhong XXXIV. impreffion of what they have heard. How many talents, natural and acquired, muff concur for carrying this to perfection ? A ftrong, lively , and warm imagination; quick fenfibility of heart, joined with folid judgment, good funfe, and prefence of mind ; all improved by great and long attention to Style and Compofition; and fupported alfo by the exterior, yet important qualifications of a graceful manner, a prefence not ungainly, and a full and tunable voice. How lit le reafon to wonder, that a perfect and accomplifhed Orator, fhould be one of the characters that is moft rarely to be found ?
Let us not defpair however. Between mediocrity and peifedtion , there is a very wide interval. There are many intermediate fpaces, which may be filled up with honour; and the more rare and difficult that complete perfection is, the greater is the honour of approaching to it, though we do not fully attain it. The number of Orators who hand in the high eft clafs is , perhaps , fmaller than the number of Poets who are foremoft in poetic fame ; but the ftudy of Oratory has this advantage above that of Poetry, that, in Poetry, $one muft be an eminently good Performer, or he is not fupportable :
-Mediocribus efle Poetis
Non liomines, non D'i, non concefiere columns: *.
* For God and Man, and lettered poll denies,
That Poets ever are of middling fize.
Francis.

IN ELOQUENCE.
In Eloquence this does not hold. There , one may Lect, poffefs a moderate llation with dignity. Eloquence XXXIV. admits of a great many different forms ; plain and fimple, as well as high and pathetic; and a Genius that cannot reach the latter, may fhine with much reputation and ufefulnefs in the former.
Whether Nature or Art contribute mofl to form an Orator , is a trifling enquiry. In all attainments whatever, Nature mull be the prime agent. She muff bellow the original talents. She mull fow the feeds; but culture is requifite for bringing thofe feeds to perfection. Nature muft always have done fomewhat; but a great deal will always be left to be done by Art. This is certain , that Itudy and difcipline are more necef- fary for the improvement of natural genius, in Oratory , than they are in poetry. What I mean is, that though Poetry be capable of receiving afliflance from Critical Art, yet a Poet, without any aid from Art, by the force of genius alone, can rife higher than a Public Speaker can do. who has never given attention to the rules of Style, Compofition , and Delivery. Homer formed himfelf; Demolthenes and Cicero were formed by the help of much labour, and of many affill- ances derived from the labour of others. After thefe preliminary obfervations, let us proceed to the main defign of this Le&ure; to confider of the means to be ufcd for Improvement in Eloquence.
In the full place, What Hands High eft in the order of means , is perfonal character and difpofi-
B 3 ‘

means of improving
L e c t. tion. In order to be a truly eloquent or perfuafive XXXIV. Speaker, nothing is more neceffarv than to be a . virtuous man. This was a favourite pofition among the ancient Rhetoricians: “ Non poffe cc Oratorem effe nifi virum bonum.” To fin4 any fuch connection between virtue and one of the higheft liberal arts , mud give pleafure; and it can, I think, be clearly fhown, that this is not a mere topic of declamation , but that the connection here alleged, is undoubtedly founded in truth and reafon.
For, confider firft, Whether any thing be more elfential to perfuafion, than the opinion which we entertain of the probity, difinter- eftednefs, candour, and other good moral qualities ot the peri'on who endeavours to perfuade? 1 hefe give weight and force to every thing which he utters; nay, they add a beauty to it; they dilpofe us to liften with attention and pleafure; and create a fecret partiality in favour of that fide which he efpoufes. Whereas, if we entertain a fufpicion of craft and difingenuity, of a corrupt, or a bafe mind , in the Speaker, his Hoquence lofes all its real effect. It may entertain and amufe ; but it is viewed as artifice, as trick, as the play only of fpeech ; and, viewed in this light, Whom can it perfuade? We even read a book with more pleafure, when we think favourably of its Author; but when we have the living Speaker before our eyes, addreffingus perfonally on fome fubjeCt of importance, the

s
IN ELOQUENCE.
opinion we entertain of his character mull have a much more powerful effed.
But, left it Ihould- be faid, that this relates only to the character of Virtue , which one may maintain, without being at bottom a truly worthy man, I muft obferve farther, that, befides the weight which it adds to Character , real Virtue operates- alfo, in other ways, to the advantage of Eloquence.
FiRSr, Nothing is fo favourable as Virtue to the profecution of honourable ftudies. It prompts a generous emulation to excel; it inures to indnftry; it leaves the mind vacant and free , matter of itfelf, difencumbered of thofe bad paflions and difengaged from thofe mean purfuits , which have ever been found the greateft enemies to true proficiency. Quindilian has touched this con- fideration very properly : “ Quod ft agrorum
tc nimia cura , et follicitior rei familiaris diligentia, “ et venandi voluptas, & dati fpedaculis dies, <c multum ftudiis aufcrunt , quid pucamus fac- “ turas cupiditatem, avaritiam ■ invidiam? Nihil cc enim eft tarn occupation, tarn multirorme, tot “ ac tam variis affedibus concifum, atque lace- “ ratum , quam mala ac improba mens. Quis “ inter haec, Uteris, ant ulli bonae arti, locus? cc Non. hercle magis quam frugibus, in terra “ fcntibus ac rubis occupata*.”
* “ If the management of an effete, if anxious atten- “ tion to domeftic oeconomy, a pallion for hunting, or “ whole days given up to public places and amufements, “ confume fo much time that is due to ftudy, how
B 3
L E C T. XXXIV.

6 MEANS OF IMPROVING
Lect. But, befides this confideration, there is another XXXIV. of ftill higher importance, though I am not fure of its being attended to as much as it defcrves; namely, that from the fountain of real and genuine virtue, are drawn thofe fentiments which will ever be moft powerful in affecting the hearts of others. Bad as the world is, nothing has fo great and univerfal a command over the minds of men as virtue. No kind of Language is fo generally underftood, and fo powerfully felt, as the native Language of worthy and virtuous feelings. • He only, therefore , who polfelfes thefe full and ftrong , can fpeak properly , and in its own language, to the heart. On all great fubjedls and occafions, there is a dignity , there is an . energy in noble fentiments, which is overcoming and irrefiftible. They give an ardour and a flame to one’s Difcourfe, which feldom fails to kindle a like flame in thofe who hear; and which, more than any other caufe, beftows on Eloquence that power, for which it is famed, of feizingand tranfporting an Audience. Here, Art and Imitation will not avail. An aflumed character conveys nothing of this powerful warmth. It is only a
“ much greater wafte muft be occafioned by licentious “ defires , avarice, or envy ? Nothing is fo much hur- ried and agitated, fo contradictory to itfelf, or»fo vio- “ lently tom and fhattered by conflicting paffions, as a “ bad heart. Amidft the diftraifiions which it produces,
“ what room is left for the cultivation of letters, or the purfuit of any honourable art ? No more, afluredly ,
“ than there is for the growth of corn in a field that is “ overrun with thorns and brambles. ”

IN ELOQUENCE.
7
Native and unaffedted glow of feeling, which can L f. c T. tranfmit the emotion to oth'ers. Hence, the moft XXXIV. renowned Orators, fuch as Cicero and Demo- fthenes, were no lefs diftinguilhed for home of the high virtues, as Public Spirit and zeal for their country, than for Eloquence. Beyond doubt, to thefe virtues their Eloquence owed much of its effect; and thofe Orations of theirs , in w^ich there breathes moft of the virtuous and magnanimous fpirit, are thofe which have moft attracted the admiration of ages.
Nothing , therefore , is more neceffary for thofe who would excel in any of the higher kinds of Oratory , than to cultivate habits of the feveral virtues, and to refine and improve all their moral feelings. Whenever thefe become dead, or callous, they may be allured, that, on every great occafton, they will fpeak with lefs power, and lefs fuccefs The fentiments and difpofitions, particularly requifite for them to cultivate, are the following: The love of juftice and order, and indignation at infolcnce and oppreflion ; the love of honefty and truth, and deteftation of fraud, meannefs, and corruption; magnanimity of fpirit; the love of liberty, of their country and the public; zeal for all great and noble defigns, and reverence for all worthy and heroic characters.
A cold and fceptical turn of mind is extremely adverfe to Eloquence; and no lefs fo, is that cavilling difpofition which takes pleafure in depreciating what is great, and ridiculing what is generally admired. Such a difpofition befpeaks
B 4

g
means of improving
L e o t. one not very likely to excel in any thing ; but XXXIV. leaft of all in Oratory. A true Orator fliould be aperfon of generous fentiments , of warm feelings, and of a mind turned towards the admiration of all thofe great and high objects, which mankind are naturally formed to admire. Joined with the manly virtues , he fliould, at the fame time, poffefs ftrongand tender fenfibility to all the injuries , diftreffes , and forrows of his fellow-creatures; a heart that can eafily relent; that can readily enter into the circumftances of others , and can make their cafe his own. A proper mixture of courage, and of racdefty, muft alfo be ftndied by every Public Speaker. Modefty is effential ; it is always, and juftiy, fuppofed to be, a concomitant of merit; and every appearance of it is winning and prepotfeffing. But modefly ought not to run into exceffive timidity. Every Public Speaker fhould be able to reft fomewhat on him- felf; and to affume that air, not of felf-compla- cency, but of lirmnefs, which befpeaks a con- fcioufnefs of his being thoroughly perfuaded of the truth , or juftice . of what he delivers; a circumftance of no fmall confequence for making impreftion on thofe who hear.
Next to moral qu lifications , what , in the fecond place, is moft necefiary to an Orator , is a fund of knowledge. Much is this inculcated by Cicero and Ouinftilian: “Quod omnibus difcipli- “ nis et artibus debet effe inftrucfus Orator.” By which they mean , that he ought to have what we call, a Liberal Education; and to be formed

'IN ELOQUENCE.
9
3Bt by a regular ftudy of pbilofophy , and the polite
to arts. We mull never forget that,
es,
c 1
ol Scribendi retie, fapere eft & principium & fons.
ind .
Good fenfe and knowledge , are the foundation Ie > of all good fpeaking. There is no art that can J u ' teach one to be eloquent, in any fphere , without ei i a fufficient acquaintance with what belongs to 'ly that fphere ; #>r if there were an Art that made ai! fuch pretenfions, it would be mere quackery ,like °1 the pretenfions of the Sophifts of old , to teach their
■d difciples to fpeak for and again ft every fubjed ;
; and would be defervedly exploded, by all wife
ft- men. Attention to Style , to Compofition , and
is all the Arts of Speech , can only affift an
:ht Orator in fetting off, to advantage, the flock of
>lic materials which he poffeffes ; but the flock, the
ini' materials themfelves, muft be brought from other
)la- quarters than from Rhetoric. He who is to plead
on- at the Bar, muft make himfelf thoroughly mafter
of of the knowledge of the Law; of all the learning
; i and experience that can be ufefu! in his profeffion,
ing for- fupporting a caufe , or convincing a Judge.
He who is to fpeak from the Pulpit , muft apply tie himfelf clofely to the ftudy of divinity, of practical
, is religion , of morals , of human nature; that he
by may be rich in all the topics, both of inftrudion
p|j. and of perfuafion. He who would fit himfelf for
By being a member of the fupreme Council of the
hat Nation , or of any Public Affembly , muft be
ied thoroughly acquainted with the bufinefs that
L E C T. XXXIY.

IO MEANS OF IMPROVING
belongs to fuch an Affembly ; he muft ftudy the forms of Court , the courfe of procedure; and muff attend minutely to all the fadts that may be the fubject of queftion or deliberation.
Besides the knowledge that properly belongs to that profeffion to which he addidts himfelf, a Public Speaker, if ever he expects to be eminent, muft make himfelf acquainted, as far as his necef- fary occupations allow , with the general circle of polite literature. The ftudy of Boetry may be ufeful to him , on many occafions, for embelhlhing his Style , for fuggefting lively images, or agreeable allufions. The ftudy of Hittory may be ftill more ufeful to him; as the knowledge of facts of eminent characters, and of the courfe of human affairs, finds place on many occafions *. There are few great occafions of Public Speaking, in which one will not derive affiftance from cultivated tafte , and extenfive knowledge. They \yill often yield him materials for proper ornament ; fometimes , for argument and real ufe. A deficiency of knowledge , even in fubjects that belong not direcdy to his own profeffion, will expofe him to-many difadvantages , and give better qualified rivals a great fuperiority over him.
Allow me to. recommend, in the third place, not only the attainment of ufeful knowledge,
* “ Imprimis vero, abundare debet Orator exemplorum “ copia, cumveterum, turn etiam novorum; adeo ut non “ moclo quae confcripta funt hiltoriis, aut fermonibus velut
per manus tradita, quaeque quotidie aguntur , debeat
nolle; verum ne ea quidem quae a clarioribus poetis funt “ ficta negligere.QyiNCT. L. xii. Cap. 4.

IN ELOQUENCE.
it
^ but a babit of application and induftry. Without Lect. e ’ £ this, it is impoftible to excel in any thing. We XXXIV. ia >’ ; muft not imagine , that it is by a fort of mufhroom growth , that one can rife to be a diftinguifhed [N Pleader, or Preacher, or Speaker in any Aflembly.
It is not by ftarts of application , or by a few years 1M: preparation of ftudy afterwards difcontinued , that nec eminence can be attained. No; it can be attained c,rt only by means of regular induftry , grown up ^ ty'^into a habit, and ready to be exerted on every ^ lc i occafion that calls for induftry. This is the fixed ‘^1'law of our nature; and he muft have a very high DOri opinion of his own genius indeed, that can be- ' ine[ lieve himfelf an exception to it. A very wife law ' flO! 0 f our nature it is; for induftry is in truth , the grc great “ Condimentumthe feafoning of every « pleafure ; without which life is doomed to lan- :,s guifh. Nothing is fo great an enemy both to hold li nourable attainments , and to the real, to the s.: brifk, and fpirited enjoyment of life, as that relax- 1® ed ftate of mind which arifes from indolence lie and diffipation. One that is deftined to excel in ■c any art , efpecially in the arts of Speaking and iv. Writing, will be known by [this more than by any other mark whatever, an enthufiafm for that pli art; an enthufiafm , which, firing his mind with rite:- the objeift he has in view , will difpofe him to relifh every labour which the means require. It g. was this, that characterifed the great men of anti- 55 i quity; it is this, which muftdiftinguifh the Moderns 4 f who would tread in their fteps. This honourable w- enthufiafm , it is highly neceffary for fuch as are '%■>

1Z
MEANS OF IMPROVING
L e c T. ftudying Oratory to cultivate. If youth wants it, XXXIV. manhood will flag miferably.
In the fourth place, attention to the beft models will contribute greatly towards improvement. Every one who fpeaks,or writes, Ihould, indeed, endeavour to have fomewhat that is his own, that is peculiar to himfelf and that charaderifes . his Compofition and Style. Slavifh Imitation de- preffes Genius, or rather betrays the want of it. But withal, there is no genius fo original, but may be profited and affifted by the aid of proper examples, in Style, compofition , and Delivery. They always open fome new ideas; they ferve to enlarge and correCt our own 1 hey quicken the current of thought, and excite emulation.
Much , indeed , will depend upon the right choice of models which we purpofe to imitate; and fuppofing them rightly chofen , a farther care is requiftte, of not being feduced by a blind uni- verfal admiration. For u decipit exemplar, vitiis <c imitabile.” Even in the moft finifhed models we can feleCt, it muft not be forgotten , that there are always fome things improper for imitation. We firould ftudy to acquire a juft conception of the peculiar characteriftic beauties of any Writer , or Public Speaker , and imitate thefe only. One ought never to attach himfelf too clofdy to any fingle model . for he who does fo , is almoft fure of being feduced into a faulty and affeded imitation. His bufmefs fliould be, to draw from feveral the proper ideas of perfection. Living examples of Public Speaking, in any kind, it will
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IN ELOQUENCE.
13
® not be expedted that I fhould here point out.
As to the Writers ancient and modern, from whom © benefit may be derived in forming Compofition and Style, I have fpoken fo much of them i«! ; in former Ledures , that it is needlefs to repeat ot what I have faid of their virtues and defeds. I di own, it is to be regretted , that the Englilh Lan- 011 guage , in which there is much good writing, fur- tc niflies us, however, with but very few recorded ex- 1,. amples of eloquent public Speaking. Among the pro; French there are more. Saurin, Bourdaloue , Fle- livt chier, Maffillon . particularly the laft, are eminent •{; for the Eloquence of the Pulpit. But the moll rid nervous andfublime of ;• 11 their Orators is Boffuet, i Mi the famous Bifliop of [Vfeaux; in whofe Ouujnns »,j ; Funebres, there is a very high fpirit of Oratory*, niu Some of Fontenelle’s Harangues to the French e[a Academy, are elegant and agreeable. And at the jj. Bar, the printed Pleadings of Cochin and D’Aguef- , feau , are highly extolled by the late French jjj Critics.
1 t There is one obfervation which it is of import- rE ance to make , concerning imitation of the Style
* The criticifm which Air. Crevier , Author of Rheto- “■ rique Francaife, paffes upon tliefe Writers whom I have r" above named, is: “ boffuet eft grand, mais inegal; Flechier fo “ eft plus egal, mais moins eleve, et fouvent trop fleuri: .c. “ Bourdaloue eft folide et judicieux, mais il neglige les ... “ graces legeres: Maffillon eft plus riche en images, mais , “ moins fort en raifonnement. Je fouhaite done, que 1’ora-
“ teur ne fe contente de l’imitation d’un feul de ces Lt “ modeles, mais qu'il tache de reunir en lui toutes leurs jri differentes vertus. ” Vol. II. chap, dernier.
L E C T.
XXXIV.

14
MEANS OF IMPROVING
L e C t. of any favourite Author, when we would carry t' XXXIV. his Style into Public Speaking. We muft attend :
to a very material diftinclion , between written > and fpoken Language. Thefe are, in truth, two ®i different manners of communicating ideas. A Book to that is to be read, requires one fort of Style; a 'to man that is to fpeak , muft ufe another. In books i we look for corrednefs , precifion , all redundan- to cies pruned , all repetitions avoided , Language, to completely polilhed. Speaking admits a more eafy ffl copious Style , and lefs fettered by rule ; repeti- to tions may often be neceffary , parenthefes may i» fometimes be graceful, the fame thought muft oft- s en be placed in different views ; as the hearers o can catch it only from the mouth of the Speaker t and have not the advantage, as in reading a book, of turning back again, and of dwelling on what they do not fully comprehend. Hence the Style ; of many good authors, would appear ftiff, affect- i ed, and even obfcure , if, by too clofe an imi- c tation , we Ihould transfer it to a Popular Oration, c How awkward , for example, would Lord Shafts- t] bury’s Sentences found in the mouth of a Public 1 Speaker ? Some kinds of Public Difcourfe , it is n true, fuch as that of the Pulpit, where more ex- n ad: preparation, and more ftudied Style are ad- ti mitted, would bear fuch a manner better than 11 others, which are expeded to approach more to extemporaneous fpeaking. But fti.l there is , in, l general , fo much difference between Speaking, !: and Compofition defigned only to be read, as j

1 IN ELOQUENCE. 15
Mq fliould guard us againft a clofe and injudicious : & imitation.
' f :- Some Authors there are , whole manner of wri- k: ting approaches nearer to the Style of Speaking AH than others; and who, therefore, can be imitated tvie with more fafety. In this clafs , among the Eng- lift liflr authors, are Dean Swift , and Lord Boling- Iue broke. The Dean , throughout all his writings , in ]JE the midft of much corrednefs, maintains the eafy ire: natural manner of an unaffeded Speaker; and ref: this is one of his chief excellencies. Lord Boling- s e broke’s Style is morefplendid, and more declama- ulh tory than Dean Swift’s ; but hill it is the Style of tear one who fpeaks or rather who harangues. Indeed, pd all his political Writings (for it is to them only, ibor and not to his Philofophical ones, that this obfer- n t: vation can be applied) carry much more the appear- ieS: ance of one declaiming with warmth in a great i,]i AfTembly , than of one writing in a clofet , in am order to be read by others. They have all the 3m copioufnefs , the fervour , the inculcating method < u that is allowable, and graceful in an Orator ; per- ifd haps too much of it for a Writer: and it is to be e,i regretted, as I have formerly obferved , that the nos: matter contained in them , fhould have been fo s>: trivial or fo falfe ; for, from the manner and ter flyle, confiderable advantage might be reaped, j;:: In the fifth place, befides attention to the
beft models, frequent exercife both in compofing ^ andfpeaking, will be admitted to be a neeeflary 5 , mean of improvement. That fort of Compofition is, doubtkfs , mod ufeful, which relates to the
L E C T.
XXXIV.

t6 MEANS OF IMPROVING
L k c t. profeffion , or kind of Public Speaking, to -which XXXIV. perLns addict themfelves. This, they fhould keep ever in their eye, and be gradually inuring themfelves to it; But let me alfo advife them , not to allow themfelves in negligent compofitjon of any kind. He who has it for his aim to write • or to fpeak correftly , fhould , in the mod trivial kind of Compofition j m Writing a Letter, nay, even in common Difcourfe , ftudy to acquit himfelf with propriety. 1 do not at all mean , that he is never to write, or to fpeak a word, but in elaborate and artificial L anguage. This would form him to a ftiftnefs and affectation , worfe by ten thoufand degrees, than the greateftnegligence. But it is to be obferved , that there is , in every thing , a manner which is becoming, and has propriety; And oppofite to it, there is a c'umfy and faulty performance of the fame thing. The becoming manner is very often the molt light, and feemingly carelefs manner ; but it requires tafte and attention to feize the juft idea of it. That idea , when acquired, we fhould keep in our eye, and form upon it whatever we write or fay.
.Exercises of fpeaking have always been recommended to Students , in order that they may prepare themfelves for fpeaking in public, and on real huimefs. The meetings, or Societies, into which they fometimes form themfelves for this purpofe, are laudable inftitutions; and, under proper conduit , may ferve many valuable purpofes. They are favourable to knowledge
and

IN ELOQUENCE, x?
and Rudy , by giving occafion to enquiries, Lect, concerning thofe fubjeds which are made the XXXIV, ground of difcuffion. They produce emulation; and gradually inure thofe who are concerned in them , to fomewhat that refcmbles a public AlTembly. 1 hey accuRom them to know their own powers , # ind , to acquire a command of themfelves in fpeaking ; and what is , perhaps, the greateft advantage of all, they give them a facility and fluency of expreflion, and affifi. them in procuring that “ Copia verborum, ” which can be acquired by no other means but frequent exercife in fpeaking.
But the meetings which I have now in my eye , are to be underflood of thofe academical affociations, where a moderate number of young Gentlemen, who are carrying on their Rudies* and are conneded by fome affinity in the future purfuits which they have in view, affemble privately, in order to impfo\ r e one another, and to prepare themfelves for thofe public exhibitions which may afterwards fall to their lot. As for i thofe public and promifeuous Societies, in which multitudes are brought together, who are often of low Rations and occupations, who are joined by no common bond of union , except an ab- furd rage for Public Speaking , and have no other objedt in view^ but to make a flrow of their fuppofed talents, they are inRitutions not merely of an ufelefs , but of an hurtful nature.
They are in great hazard of proving feminnries of licentionfnefs , petulance, faction, and folly.
Voi. III. C

i8 ME ANS OF IMPROVING
L e c T. They miflead thofe who, m their own callings, XXXIV. might be ufeful members of fociety, into fantaftic plans of making a figure on fubjeds , which divert their attention from their proper bufinefs, and are widely remote from their fphere in life.
Even the allowable meetings into which Students of Oratory form themselves , ftand in need of direction in order to render them ufeful. If their fubjeds of Difcourfe be improperly chofen; if they maintain extravagant or indecent topics; if they indulge themfelves in loofe and flimfy declamation, which has no foundation in good fenfe ; or accuftom themfelves to fpeak pertly on all fubjeds without due preparation, they may improve one another in petulance, but in no other thing; and will infallibly iorm themfelves to a very faulty and vicious tafte in fpeaking. I would, therefore, advife all who are Members of fuch Societies, in the firffc place, to attend to the choice of their fubjeds; that they be ufeful and manly, either formed on the courfe of their fhidies, or on fomething that has relation to morals and tafte, to action and life. In the fecond place, I would advife them to be temperate in the pradice of Speaking; not to fpeak too often, nor on fubjeds where they are ignorant or unripe ; but only, when they have proper materials for a Difcourfe , and have digefted and thought of the fubjed beforehand. In the third place, When they do fpeak, theyfhould ftudy always to keep good fenfe and perfuafion in view, rather than an oftentation of Eloquence;

IN ELOQUENCE.
19
and for this end, I would, in the fourth place, Lect. repeat the advice which I gave in a former XXXIV. Ledure, that they Ihould always chufe that fide of the queftion to which, in their own judgment, they are moll inclined, as the right and the true fide; and defend it by fuch arguments as feem to them moft folid. By thefe means, they will take the bell method of forming themfelves gradually to a manly , corred, and perfuafive manner of Speaking, •
It now only remains to enquire, of what ufe may the ftudy of Critical and Rhetorical Writers be, for improving one in the practice of Eloquence ? Thefe are certainly not to be negleded ; and yet , I dare not fay that much is to be expeded from them. For profeffed Writers on Public Speaking , we muff look chiefiy amongft the ancients. In modern times, for reafons which were before given , Popular Eloquence, as an Art, has never been very much the objed of ftudy; it has not the fame powerful effeds now that it had in more democratical ftates; and therefore has not been cultivated with the fame care. Among the Moderns, though there has been a great deal of good criticifm On the different kinds of writing, yet much has not been attempted on the fubjed of Eloquence or Public Difcourfe; and what has been given us of that kind , has been drawn moftly from the Ancients. Such a writer a*
Joannes Gerardus Voffius, who has gathered into one heap of ponderous lumber, all the trifling,
C %

20
means of improving
Lect. as well as the ufeful things, that are to'be found XXXIV. in the Greek and Roman Writers, is enough to difgnft one with the lludy of Eloquence. Among the French, there has been more attempted, on this fubjed, than among the Engiilh. The Bifhop of Cambray’s Writings on Eloquence, I before mentioned with honour Rolhn , Batteux * Crevier, Gibert, and feveral other French Critics, have alfo written on Oratory ; but though fome of them may be ufeful , none of them are fo confiderable as to deferve particular recommendation.
It is to the original Ancient Writers that we muft chiefly have recourfe; and it is a reproach to any one, whofe profeffion calls him to fpealc in public, to be unacquainted with them. In all the Ancient Rhetorical Writers, there is, indeed, this defed, that they are too fyftematical, as I formerly fhowed ; they aim at doing too much; at reducing Rhetoric to a complete and perfect Art , w r hich may even fupply invention with materials on every fubjed; infomuch , that one would imagine they expeded to form an Orator by rule, in as mechanical a manner as one would form a Carpenter. Whereas , all that can , in truth, be done, is to give openings for affifting and enlightening Tafte, and for pointing out to Genius the courfe it ought to hold.
Aristotle laid the foundation for all that was afterwards written on the fubjed That amazing and comprehenfive Genius, which does honour to human nature, and which gave light

IN ELOQUENCE.
21
into fo many different Sciences, lias inveftigated the principles of Rhetoric with great penetration. Ariftotle appears to have been the firft who took Rhetoric out of the hands of the Sophifts , and introduced reafoning and good fenfe into the Art Some of the profoundeft things ‘ which have been written 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 brevity often renders him obfcure. Succeeding Greek Rhetoricians , moil of whom are now loll, improved on the foundation which Ariftotle had laid. Two of them ftill remain, Demetrius Phalereus, and Dionyhus of Halicar- rsaffus; both write on the Conftru&ion of Sentences , and deferve to be perufed ; efpecially Dionyhus, who is a very accurate and judicious Critic.
I need fcarcely recommend the rhetorical writings of Cicero. Whatever , on the fubject of Eloquence, comes from fo great an Orator, mu ft be worthy of attention. His moil con- fiderable work on this fubject is that De Oratore, in three books. None of Cicero’s writings are more highly fitiifhed than this Treatife. The dialogue is polite; the characters are well fup- ported, and the conduct of the whole is beautiful and agreeable. It is, indeed , full of digreffions , and his rules and obfervations may be thought fometimes too vague and general. Ufeful things, however, may be learned from it; and it is no fmall benefit to be made acquainted with Cicero’s
C 3
L E C T. XXXIV.

22 MEANS OF IMPROVING, &c.
L e c t, own idea-'of Eloquence. The cc Orator ad M.
XXXIV, “ Brutum,” is alfo a confiderable Treatife; and, in general , throughout ali Cicero’s rhetorical works there run thofe high and fublime ideas of Eloquence, which are fitted both for forming a juft tafte and for creating that enthufiafm for the Art, which is of the greateft confequence for excelling in it.
But, of all the Ancient Writers on the fubjed of Oratory, the moft inftrudive, and moft ufeful, is Quindilian. I know few books which abound, more with good fenfe, and difcover a greater degree of juft and accurate tafte, then Quindi- lian’s lnftitutions. Almoft all the principles of good Criticifm are to be found in them. He has digefted into excellent order all the ancient ideas concerning Rhetoric, and is, at the fame‘time, bimfelf an - eloquent Writer. Though fome parts of his work contain too much of the technical and artificial fyftem then # in vogue, and for that reafon may be thought dry and tedious, yet I would not advife the omitting to read any part of his lnftitutions. To Pleaders at the Bar, even thefe technical parts may prove of fome life. Seldom has any perfon, of more found and diftind judgment than Quindilian, applied hirqfelf to the ftudy of the Art of Oratory,

LECTURE XXXV,
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS.— HISTORICAL WRITING.
JL HAVE now finiflled that part of the Courfe which refpedted Oratory, or Public Speaking, and which , as far as the fubjedl allowed, I have endeavoured to form into fome fort of fyftem. It remains, that I enter on the confideration of the moffc diftinguilhed kinds of Compofition both in Profe and Verfe , and point out the principles of Criticifm relating to them. 1 Ins part of the work might eafily be drawn out to a great length ; but I am fenfible , that critical difcuffions , when they are purfued too far , become both trifling and tedious. I fhall ftudy, therefore, to avoid unnecelfary prolixity; and hope, at the fame time, to omit nothing that is very material under the feveral heads.
I shall follow the fame method here which 1 have all along purfued, and without which, ^ thefe Lectures could not be entitled to any attention ; that is , I fhall freely deliver my own
C 4
L E C T.
XXXV.

e
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
L e c t. opinion on every fubjcdt ; regarding authority XXXV* no farther, than as it appears to me founded on good fenfe and reafon. In former Le&ures, as I Jrave often quoted feveral of the ancient daffies for their beauties , fo I have alfo , fometimes, pointed out their defeats. Hereafter, I fhall have occafion to do the fame , when treating of their writings under more general heads. It may be ■fit, therefore, that,’ before proceeding farther, I make forne obfervations on the comparative merit of the Ancients and the Moderns : in order that we may be able to afeertain rationally, upon what foundation that deference refts, which has fo generally been paid to the Ancients. Thefe obfervations are the more ncceffary , as this fubjed has given rife to no fmall controverfy in the Republic of Letters; and they may, with propriety , be made now, as they will ferve to throw light on fome things I have afterwards to deliver, concerning different kinds of compofition.
It is a remarkable phenomenon , and one which has often employed the {peculations of curious men, that writers and artifis, moffc difi- tinguifhed for their parts and Genius , have generally appeared in confiderable numbers at a time. Some ages have been remarkably barren in them; while, at other periods, nature feems to have exerted herfelf with a more than ordinary effort, and to have poured them forth with a profufe fertility. Various reafons have been affigned for this. Some of the moral caufes lie obvious 5 fuch as favourable circumftances of

THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 25 .
government and of manners ; encouragement Lect from great men ; emulation excited among the XXXV. men of Genius. But as thefe have been thought inadequate to the whole effecft, phyfical caules have been alfo affigned, and the Abbe du Bos, in his Reflections on Poetry and Painting, has collected a great many obfervations on the influence which the air , the climate , and other ' fuch natural caufes , may be fuppofed to have upon Genius. But whatever the caufes be , the fact is certain, that there have been certain periods or ages of the world much more diftinguifhcd than others , for the extraordinary productions of genius.
* Learned men have marked out four of thefe i happy Ages. The fir ft is the Greci&i Age , which 1 commenced near the time of the Peloponnefum ) war, and extended till the time of Alexander ) the Great ; . within which period , we have . Herodotus ,^Thucydides , Xenophon, Socrates,
Plato, Anftotle , Demofthenes , iEfchines, Lyfias,
Ifocrates , Pindar, iEfchylus , Euripides, Sophoc- ■ les, Ariftophanes, Menander, Anacreon, Theo- : critus, Lyfippus, . Apelles , Phidias , Praxiteles, t The fecond, is the Romrm Age, included nearly 1 within the days of Julius Ctcfar and Auguftus; i affording us Catullus, Lucretius, Terence, Virgil, r Horace, Tibullus, Propertius, Ovid , Phxdrus,
1 Csefar, Cicero, Livy, Salluft, Varro, and Vi- 1 truvius. The third Age is, that of the reftoration of : , Learning, under the Popes Julius II. and LeoX; f when flourilhed Ariofto, Taffo, Sannazarius,

c*6
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
n
*
L E C T,
XXXV.
Vida, Machiavel, Guicciardini, Davila, Eraf- mus, Paul Jovius, Michael Angelo , Raphael, Titian. The fourth, comprehends the Age of Louis the XIV. and Oueen Anne, when flourifh- ed in France, Corneille, Racine, De Retz, Moliere, Boileau , Fontaine, Baptifte Rouffeau, Boffuet, Fenelon , Bourdaloue , Pafcal, Male- branche , Maflillon , Bruyere, Bayle , Fontenelle, Vertot; and in England, Dryden, Pope, Addif- on, Prior, Swift, Parnell, Congreve, Otway, Young , Rowe , Atterbury , Shaftfbury , Bo- lingbroke, Tillotfon, Temple, Boyle, Locke, Newton, Clark.
When we fpeak comparatively of the Ancients and the Moderns, we generally mean by the Ancients P fuch as lived in the two firft of thefe periods, including alfo one or two who lived more early , as Homer in particular; and by the Moderns, thofe who fiourifhed in the two laft of thefe ages, including alfo*the eminent W riters down to our own times. Any comparifon between thefe two claffes of Writers, cannot be other than vague and loofe , as they comprehend fo many, and of fuch different kinds and degrees of Genius. But the comparifon is generally made to turn , by thofe who are fond of making it, upon two or three of the mod diftinguiflied in each clafs. With much heat it was agitated in France, between Boileau and Mad. Dacier, on the one hand , for the Ancients, and Perrault and La Motte , on the other, for the Moderns; and it was carried to extremes on both fxdes.
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THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 27
Eg To this day.
we find a leaning to one or other fide.
among men of tafte and letters,
A few
l«(: reflections may throw light upon the fubjecl, oure and enable us to difcern upon what grounds we Rt: are to reft our judgment in this controverfy, lifer If any one, at this day, in the eighteenth Mr century, takes upon him to decry the ancient ene! claffics; if he pretends to have difcovered that 4(lc Homer and Virgil are Poets of -inconfiderable t\v a merit, and that Demofthenes and Cicero are not t E great Orators , we may boldly venture to tell ,odfuch a man, that he is come too late with his difcovery. The reputation of fuch Writers is u jeftablilhed upon a foundation too folid, to be an: now fhaken by any arguments whatever; for it jjdj is eftablilhed upon^ the almoft uqiverfal tafte of r01f mankind, proved and tried throughout the fuc- ir .jCeffion of fo many ages. Imperfections in their j r works he may indeed point out; palfages that jmiu are faulty he may fliow; for where is the human npjn’ vv °rk that is perfect? But, if he attempts to nno . difcredit their works in general, or to prove ^ that the reputation which they have gained is, j e on the whole , unjuft , there is an argument l|yj,againft him, which is equal to full demonftration.
He muft be in the wrong; for human nature is ^ again ft him. In matters of tafte, fuch as Poetry j iand Oratory, to whom does the appeal lie? ,j where is the ftandard ? and where the authority "p^ of the laft decifion ? where is it to be looked for, y,but, as I formerly fhowed , in thofe feelings and ^ fentiments that are found, on the moft extenfive
L E C T.
XXXV.

28
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
L E C T.
XXXV.
examination, to be the common fentiments and feelings of men? Thefe have been fully confulted on this head. The Public , the unprejudiced Public, has been tried and appealed to for many centuries , and throughout almoft all civilized nations. It has pronounced its verdiil ; it has given its fandtion to thofe writers; and from this Tribunal there lies no farther appeal.
In matters of mere reafoning, the world mayl be long in an error; and may be convinced oi the error by ftronger reafonings , when produced. Pofitions that depend upon fcience , upon knowledge, and matters of fact, may be overturned according as fcience and knowledge are enlarged, and new matters of fact are brought to light. For this reafon, a fyltem of Philofophy receives no fufficient fanbtion from its antiquity, or long currency. The world, as it grows older, may be juftly expected to become, if not wifer, a: leaft more knowing; and fuppofing it doubtfu. whether Ariftotle, or Newton, were the greater genius , yet Newton’s Philofophy may prevail over Ariftotle’s , by means of later difcoveries, to which Ariftotle was a ftranger. But nothing of this kind holds as to matters of tafte; wind depend not on the progrefs of knowledge and fcience, but upon fentiment and feeling. It is in vain to think of undeceiving mankind , with refpect to errors committed here, as in Philofophy, For the univerfal feeling of mankind is the natural feeling ; and becaufe it is the natural, it is, for that reafon, the right fe'eling. The reputation o!
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THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS 29
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the Iliad and the JEneid muffc therefore {land upon fure ground , becaufe it has flood fo long; though that of the Ariflotelian or Platonic philofo- phy, every one is at liberty to call in queflion.
Ir is in vain alfo to allege, that the reputation of the Ancient Poets , and Orators, is owing to authority, to pedantry, and to the prejudices of education, tranfnntted from age to age. T'hefe, it is true, are the Authors put into our hands at fchools and colleges , and by that means wc have now an early prepoffeffion in their favour; but how came they to gain the polfeflion of colleges and fchools? Plainly, by the high fame which thefe Authors had among their own cotemporaries. For the Greek and Latin were not always dead languages. There was a time, when Homer, and Virgil, and Horace , were viewed in the fame light as we now view Dryden, Pope, and Addifon. It is not to commentators and uni verities , that the claffics are indebted for their fame. They became claffics and fchool- books, in confequence of the high admiration which was paid them by the beft judges in their own country and nation. As early as the days of Juvenal, who wrote under the reign of Do- mitian, we find Virgil and Horace become the ftandard books in the education of youth.
^ . Quot ftabant pueri, cum totus decolor effet
jjujj- Flaccus, et ha;reret nigro fuligo Maroni.
it n£ Sat. 7*
ltt' Then thou art bound to fmell, on either hand,
bb®
IeCT.
XXXV.

COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
3Q
L E C T.
XXXV.
From this general principle , then , of the reputation of great ancient dailies being fo early, fo lading, fo univerfal, among all the moft polilf. ed nations , we may juftly and boldly infer that their reputation cannot be wholly unjuft, but mud have a folid foundation in the merit,of their writings.
Let us guard, however, againft a blind and implicit veneration for the Ancients , in every thing. I have opened the general principle, which mud go far in indituting a fair companion between them and the Moderns. Whatever fuperiority the Ancients may have had in point of Genius , yet in all arts , where the nature progrefs of knowledge has had room to produce any confiderable effedls , the Moderns cannot but have fome advantage. The world may, in certain refpetds, be confidered as a perfon, who mud needs gain fomewhat by advancing in years, Its improvements have not , I confefs , been always in proportion to the centuries that have paffed over it; for, during the courfe of fome ages, it has funk as into a total lethargy. Yet, when roufecl from that lethargy, it has generally been able to avail itfelf, more or lefs, of former difcoveries. At intervals, there arofe fome happy genius , who could both improve on what bad gone before, and invent fomething new. With
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“ As many ftinking lamps, as fchoolboys Hand,
“ When Horace could not read in his own fully’d book, “ And Virgil’s facredpage was all befmeared with fmoke.”
DsydEN.
lit
Hi
I

THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 31
of: the advantage of a proper flock of materials, Lect, be an inferior genius can make greater progrefs, XXXV, :po! than a much fuperior one , to whom thefe f t materials are wanting.
Mjt HhNCfc. , in Natural Philofophy, Aftronomy, m Chemiftry, and other Sciences that depend on an extenfive knowledge and obfervation of fads, md; Modern Philofophers have an unqueftionable 1 er< fuperiority over the Ancient. I am inclined alfo incip : to think, that in matters of pure reafoning, there ipanl is more precision among the Moderns , than in iatei fome inftances there was among the Ancients ; n p C: owing perhaps to a more extenfive literary innate tercourfe , which has improved and fharpened the prod: faculties of men. In fome ftudies too, that relate to tafte and fine writing, which is our object, m , Vi the progrefs of Society mult, in equity, be ad- ID ^ mitted to have given us fome advantages. For D V£I inftance in Hiftory, there is certainly more po- (u litical knowledge in feveral European nations at jjtJr prefent, than there was in ancient Greece and 0 ff c . Rome. We are better acquainted with the nature y y, of government, becaufe we have feen it under a „ Der greater variety of forms and revolutions. The : fa world is more laid open than it was in former , j^. times; commerce is greatly enlarged; more coun- | ]at |j tries are civilized; polls are every where efta- . yf blifhed; intercourfe is become more eafy; and the knowledge of fads , by confequence, more J, attainable. All thefe are great advantages to Hiftorians; of which, in fome meafure, as 1
iftifc; ffiall afterward fliow, they have availed them- DsrK

V
L K C T. XXXV.
COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
felves. In the more complex kinds of PoetryJ likewife, we may have gained fomewbat, per-l haps, in point of regularity and accuracy. In| Dramatic Performances, having the advantage oil the ancient models, we may be allowed to havel made fome improvements, in the variety of thej characlers , the conduct of the plot, attentions tol probability, and to decorums.
These feem to me the chief points of fuperio-l rity we can plead above the Ancients. Neither! do they extend as far, as might be imagined atl firft view. For if the ftrength of genius be on| one fide, it will go far, in works of tafte at leaft, to counterbalance all the artificial improvements which can be made by greater knowledge and correctnefs. To return to our comparifon of the age of the world with that of a man ; it may be faid , not altogether without, reafon , that if the advancing age of the world bring along with it more, fcience and more refinement, there belong, however, to its earlier periods, more vigour, more fire, more enthufiafm of genius. This appears indeed to form the characleriflical difference between the Ancient Poets , Orators, and Hifto- rians, compared with the Modern. Among the Ancients, we find higher conceptions, greater fimplicity, more original fancy. Among the Moderns, fometimes more art and correcfnefs, but feebler exertions of Genius. But. though this be in general a mark of diftinction between the Ancients and Moderns, yet, like all general obfervations, it muft be underftood with fome
exceptions;
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THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 33
exceptions; for in point of poetical fire and original genius, Milton and Shakefpeare are inferior to no Poets in any age.
It is proper to obferve, that there were fome circumftances in ancient times , very favourable to thofe uncommon efforts of genius which were then exerted. Learning was a much more rare and fingular attainment in the earlier ages, than it is at prefent. It was not to fchools and universities that the perfons applied, who fought to diftinguilh themfelves. They had not this eafy recourfe. They travelled for their improvement into diftant countries, to Egypt, and to the Eaft. They enquired after all the monuments of learning there. They converfed with Priefts, Philofophers, Poets, with all who had acquired any diftinguilhed fame. They returned to their own country full of the difeoveries which they had made, and fired by the new and uncommon objedts which they had feen. Their knowledge and improvements coft them more labour, railed in them more enthufiafm , were attended with higher rewards and honours , than in modern days. Fewer had the means and opportunities of diftinguifhing themfelves, than now; but fuch as did diftinguilh themfelves, were fure of acquiring that fame, and even veneration , which is , of all other rewards, the greateft incentive to genius. Herodotus read his hiftory to all Greece affembled at the Olympic games, and was publicly crowned. In the Peloponnefian war, when the Athenian army was defeated in Sicily, and the prifoners Vol. III. D
Lect.
XXXV.

o
34 COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
L e c T. were ordered to be put to death , fuch of them XXXV. as could repeat any verfes of Euripides were faved, from honour to that Poet, who was a citizen of Athens. Thefe were teftimonies of public regard, far beyond what modern manners confer upon Genius.
In our times, good writing is confidered as an attainment, neither fo difficult, nor fo high and meritorious.
Scribimus indeed, doctique , Poemata paffim *.
We write much more fupinely, and at our eafe, than the Ancients. To excel, is become a much lefs confiderable object. Lefs effort, lefs exertion is required, becaufe we have many- more inftanc.es than they. Printing has rendered all books common, and ea r y to be had. Education for any of the learned profeffions can be carried on without much trouble. Hence a mediocrity of Genius is fpread over all. But to rife beyond that, and to overtop the crowd, is given to few. The multitude of affiftances which we have for all kinds of compofition, in the opinion of Sir William Temple, a very competent judge, rather depreffes, than favours, the exertions of native Genius. “ It is very poffible, ” fays that ingenious Author, in his Effay on the Ancients and Moderns , “ that men may lofe
* “ Now every defperate blockhead dares to write;
“ Verfe is the trade of every living wight.”
Francis. -

THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 35
« rather than gain by thefe > may lefTen the force “ of their own genius, by forming it upon that cc of others; may have lefs knowledge of their <c own, for contenting themfelves with that of “ thofe before them. So a man that only trans- w lates, fhall never be a Poet; fo people that truft cc to others charity, rather than their own induf-
try, will be always poor. Who can tell,” he adds, “ whether learning may not even weaken inven- “ tion, in a man that has great advantages from “ nature? Whether the weight and number of “ fo many other men’s thoughts and notions may “ not fupprefs his own; as heaping on wood “ fometimes fupprefles a little fpark, that would <c otherwife have grown into a flame ? The “ ftrength of mind, as well as of body , grows <c more from the warmth of exercife, than of “ clothes ; nay , too much of this foreign cc heat, rather makes men faint, and their con- “ flitutions .weaker than they would be without “ them. ”
FkoM whatever caufe it happens, fo it is, that among fome of the Ancient Writers, we muft look for the higheft models in mod of the kinds of elegant Compofition. For accurate thinking and enlarged ideas, in feveral parts of Phi- lofophy, to the Moderns we ought chiefly to have recourfe. Of corredt and finifhed writing in fome works of tafte, they may afford ufeful patterns; but for all that belongs to original Genius, to fpirited, mafterly, and high execution, our beft and mod happy ideas are, generally fpeaking, drawn from
D 2
L E C T
XXXV.

3 6 COMPARATIVE MERIT OF
L e c T. the Ancients. In Epic Poetry, for inllancc, Ho> XXXV. mer and Virgil, to this day, Hand not within many degrees of any rival. Orators , fuch as Cicero and Demofthenes , we have none. In hifto- ry, notwithftanding fome defects, which I am afterwards to mention, in the Ancient Hillorical Plans , it may be fafely alferted, that we have no fuch hiftorical narration, fo elegant, fo piduref. que, fo animated, and interelling as that of Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, Tacitus , and Salluft. Although the condud of the drama may be admitted to have received fome improvements, yet for Poetry and Sentiment we • have nothing to equal Sophocles and Euripides; nor any dialogue in Comedy, that comes up to the corred, graceful, and elegant fimplicity of Terence. We have no fuch Love Elegies as thofe of Tibullus; no fuch Paftorals as fome of Theocritus’s: and for Lyric Poetry, Horace {lands quite unrivalled. The name of Horace cannot be mentioned without a particular encomium That c ‘ Curiofa Felicitas, ” which Petronius has remarked in his expreffion; the fweetnefs, elegance, and fpirit of many of his Odes, the thorough knowledge of the world, the excellentfentiments, and natural eafy manner which diltinguilh his Satyres and Epiftles , all contribute to render him one of thofe very few Authors whom one never tires of reading; and from whom alone, were every other monument deftroyed, we would be led to form a very high idea of the Talte and Genius of the Auguftan Age.

THE ANCIENTS AND THE MODERNS. 37
To all fuch then, as wilh to form their Tafte,
1 and nourifh their Genius, let me warmly recom- ’mend the afliduous ftudy of the Ancient Claffics,
both Greek and Roman, la
0K Nodturna yerfate manu, verfate diurna *.
rtj •
* Without a confiderable acquaintance with them, nt 1 no man can be reckoned a polite fcholar; and ,T: he will want many aftiftances for writing and
3ft fpeaking well, which the knowledge of fuch foe Authors would afford him. Any one has great 1 1 reafon to fufpect his own tafte, who receives ide little or no pleafure from the perufal of writings, up 1 which fo many ages and nations have confented ityi in holding up as objeefts of admiration. And I tM am perfuaded, it will be found, that in propor- Tb tion as the Ancients are generally ftudied and ftr: admired, or are unknown and difregarded in any
not) country, good tafte and good compofition will T:. flourilh, or decline, d hey are commonly none ns: but the ignorant or fuperficial, who undervalue
®ir them.
jtot; At the fame time, a juft and high regard for Inc the prime writers of antiquity is to be always id i diftinguifhed, from that contempt of every thing ;! l that is Modern, and that blind veneration for
all that has been written in Greek or Latin, which - belongs only to pedants. Among the Greek and jjji; Roman Authors, fome afluredly deferve much
Itei * “ Read them by day, and ftudy them by night.”
Francis.
, D 3
L E C T,
XXXV.

gg historical writing.
L e c t. higher regard than others; nay, fome are of no
XXXV. great value. Even the bed of them lie open occasionally to juft cenfure ; for to no human performance is it given, to be abfolutely perfect. We may, we ought therefore to read them with a diftinguilhing eye, fo as to propofe for imitation their beauties only; and it is perfectly confident with juft and candid criticifm , to find fault with parts , while, at the fame time , it admires the wdiole.
After, thefe reflections on the Ancients and Moderns, I proceed to a critical examination of the moft diftinguifhed kinds of Compofition, and the Characters of thofe Writers who have excelled in them , whether Modern or Ancient.
The moft general divifion of the different kinds of Compofition is, into thofe written in Profe, and thofe written in Verfe; which certainly require to be Separately confidered, becaufe fubjeCt to feparate laws. I begin, as is moft natural, with Writings in Profe. Of Orations, or Public Difcourfes of all kinds, I have already treated fully. The remaining fpecies of Profe Compofitions, which aflume any fuch regular form, as to fall under the cognizance of Criticifm , feem to be chiefly thefe: Hiftorical Writing, Philofophical Writing, Epistolary Writing, and Fictitious Hiftory. Hiftorical Compofition fhall be firft confidered; and , as it is an objeCt of dignity, I purpofe to treat of it at fome length.
As it is the office of an Orator to perfuade, it is that of an Hiftorian to record truth for the

HISTORICAL WRITING. 39
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inftrudion of mankind. This is the proper objed and end of hiftory, from which may be deduced many of the laws relating to it ; and if this objed were always kept in view , it would prevent many of the errors into which perfons are apt to fall, concerning this fpecies of Com portion. As the primary end of Hiftory is to record Truth, Impartiality, fidelity, and Accuracy, are the fundamental qualities of an Hiftorian. He muft neither be a Panegyrift, nor a Satyrift. He muft not enter into fadion, nor give fcope to affedion : but, contemplating paft events and charaders with a cool and difpaffionate eye. muft prefent to his Readers a faithful copy of human nature.
At the fame time, it is not every record of fads, however true, that is entitled to the name of Hiftory; but fuch a record as enables us to apply the tranfadions of former ages for our own inftrudion. The fads ought to be momentous and important; reprefented in connedion with their caufes; traced to their effeds; and unfolded in clear and diftind order. For wifdom is the great end of hiftory. It is defigned to fupply the want of experience. Though it enforce not its inftrudions with the fame authority , yet it furnifhes us with a greater variety of inftrudions, than it is poffible for experience to afford , in the courfe of the longeft life. Its objed is, to enlarge our views of the human charader, and to give full exercife to our judgment on human affairs. It muft not therefore be a tale, calculated to
d 4
lEC T.
XXXY.

40
HISTORICAL WRITING.
L F, c T. pleafe only, and addreffed to the fancy. Gravity XXXV, and dignity are effential character] ftics of Hiftory;
no light ornaments are to be employed, no flippancy of ftyle, no quaintnefs of wit. But the ■writer muff fuftain the character of a wife man, writing for the inftruction of pofterity ; one who has ftudied to inform himfelf well, who has pondered his fubject with care , and addrefies himfelf to our judgment, rather than to our imagination. Not that this is inconftftent with ornamented and fpirited narration. Hiftory admits of much high ornament and elegance; but the ornaments muft be always confiftent with dignity; they ftiould not appear to be fought after; but to rife naturally from a mind animated by the events which it records. •
Historical Compofition is underftood to comprehend under it, Annals, Memoirs, Lives. But thefe are its inferior fubordinate fpecies; on which I fhall hereafter make fome reflections, when I fhall have firft confidered what belongs to a regular and legitimate work of Hiftory. Such a work is chiefly of two kinds. Either the entire hiftory of fome ftate or kingdom through its different revolutions , fuch as Livy’s Roman Hiftory; or the Hiftory of fome one great event, or fome portion or period of time which may be confidered as making a whole by itfelf ; fuch as, Thucydides’s Hiftory of the Peloponne- flan war, Davila’s Hiftory of the Civil Wars of France, or Clarendon’s of thofe of England.
In the conduct and management of hisfubject,

HISTORICAL WRITING. 41
lt F the fir ft attention requifite in an Hiftorian, is to L E c T. r y: give it as much unity as poflible; that is, his XXXV. ty - hiftory fhould not confift of feparate unconneded ^ parts merely, but Ihould be bound together by ln i fome connecting principle, which fhall make the ’ho impreffion on the mind of fomethmg that is one,
^ whole and entire. It is inconceivable how great fe an effed this, when happily executed, has upon a 011t Reader, and it is furprizing that fome able nth Writers of Hiftory have not attended to it more, mts Whether pleafure or inftrudion be the end the fought by the ftudy of Hiftory , either of them :ty; is enjoyed to much greater advantage, when hut the mind has always before it the progrefs of the fome one great plan or fyftem of addons; when there is fome point or centre , to which we l to can refer the various fads related by the ivs. Hiftorian.
; on In general Hiftories, which record the affairs ow, of a whole nation or empire throughout fevenJ )n»s ages, this unity , I confefs, muft be more imper- ary. feet. Yet even there, fome degree of it can be the preferved by a fkilful Writer. For though the ugh whole, taken together, be very complex, yet mm the great conftituent parts of it, form fo many ent, fubordinate wholes, when 'taken by themfelves; may each of which can be treated both as complete elf; within itfelf, and as conneded with what goes nne- before and follows. In the Hiftory of a Mo- :s of narchy, for inftance, every reign fhould have its own unity; a beginning, a middle, and an end jefl, to the fyftem of affairs; while, at the fame time,

42
HISTORICAL WRITING.
1 E C T.
XXXV.
we are taught to difcern how that fyftem of affairs rofe from the preceding, and how it is inferted into what follows after. We fhould be able to trace all the fecret links of the chain, which binds together remote , and feemingly unconnected events. In fome kingdoms of Europe, it wAs the plan of many fucceeding princes to reduce the power of their nobles; and during feveral reigns, moll of the leading adtions had a reference # to this end. In other Hates , the rifing power of the Commons , influenced for a tract of time the courfe and connection of public affairs. Among the Romans, the leading principle was a gradual extenfion of conqueft, and the attainment of univeifal empire. The continual increafe of their power, advancing towards this end from fmall beginnings, and by a fort of regular progreffive plan, furnifhed to Livy a happy fubjed for hiftorical unity, in the midft of a great variety! of tranfadtions.
Of all the ancient general Hiftorians, the one who had the moft exadt idea of this quality of Hiftorical Compofltion, though, in other refpeds, not an elegant Writer, is Polybius. This appears from the account he gdves of his own plan in the beginning of his Third Book; obferving that the fubjedt of which he had undertaken to write, is, throughout the whole of it, one adtion , one great fpedtacle; how, and by what caufes , all the parts of the habitable world became fubjed to the Roman Empire. “ This adtion, ” fays he,| w is diftindt in its beginning, determined in its
'b

HISTORICAL WRITING.
43
a( > cc duration, and clear in its final accomplishment; Li c t. ■ ts “ therefore, I think it of ufe, to give a general XXXV. (Hx « view beforehand, of the chief conftituent parts )aii « which make up this whole. ” In another place,
I'ii- he congratulates himfelf on his good fortune, in ro[/. having a fubject for Hiftory, which allowed fuch e>:: variety of parts to be united under one view; tint; remarking, that before this period, the affairs of lai: the world were fcattered , and without connec- rifc tion; whereas, in the times of whi<;h he writes, tr: all the great tranfadtions of the world tended and iufc verged to one point, and were capable of being me: confidered as parts of one fyftem. Whereupon idi! he adds feveral very judicious obfervations,
&QE concerning the ufefulnefs of writing Hiftory ds4 upon fuch a comprehenfive and connedted plan; re»i comparing the imperfedt degree of knowledge, fob which is afforded by particular facts without varie general views, to the imperfect idea which one . would entertain of an animal, who had beheld
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44
HISTORICAL WRITING.
lECT.
XXXV.
Such as write the hiftory of fome particular great tranfadlion, as confine themfelves to one sera, or one portion of the hiftory of a nation, have fo great advantages for preferving hiftorical unity, that they are inexcufable if they fail in it. Salloft’s Hiftories of the Catilinarian and Jngurthine wars, Xenophon’s C.yropaedia and his Retreat of the Ten 1 honfand, are mftancesof particular Hiftories, where the unity of hiftorical objects is perfectly well maintained. ^ hucvcides, otherwife a Writer of great ftrength and dignity, has failed much, in this article, in his hiftory of the Peloponnefian war. No one great object is properly purfued, and kept in view; but his narration is cut down into fmall pieces ; his hiftory is divided by fummers and winters; and we are every now and then leaving tranfadions unfinifhed, and are hurried from place to place, from Athens to Sicily, from thence to Pelopon- nefus, to Corcyra, to Mitylene , that we may be told of what is going on in all thefe places. We have a great many disiointed parts and fcattered limbs, which with difficulty we collect into one body, and through this faulty diftribu- tion and management of his fubject, that judicious Hiftorian becomes more tirefome, and Iefs agreeable than he would otherwife be. For thefe reafons he is feverely cenfured by one of the beft Critics of antiquity, Dionyftus of Halicar- nafi'us *.
* The cenfure which Dionyfius pafles upon Thucydides,
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t ' i. The Hiftorian mull not indeed neglecfl chrono- " logical order, with a view to render his narration agreeable. He mufb give a diftinct account of the ■ tor dates, and of the coincidence of fads. But he is
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is in feveral articles, carried too far. He blames him for the choice of his fubject, as not fufficiently fplendid and agreeable , and as abounding too much in crimes and melancholy events, on which he obferves that Thucydides loves to dwell. He is partial to Herodotus, whom, both for the choice and the conduct of his fubject, he prefers to the other Hiltorian. It is true , that the fubject of Thucydides wants the gaiety and fplendour of that of Herodotus; but it is not deficient in dignity. The Peloponnefian war was the conteft. between two great rival powers, the Athenian and Lacedemonian ftates, for the empire of Greece. Herodotus loves to dwell on profperous incidents , and retains fomewhat ,of the amufing manner of the ancient poetical hiftorians. But Herodotus wrote to the Imagination. Thucydides writes to the Underftanding. He was a grave reflecting man , well acquainted -with human life; and the melancholy events and cataftrophes which he records, are often both the molt interefting parts of hiftory , and the moft improving to the heart.
The Critic’s obfervations on the faulty diftribution which Thucydides makes of his fubject are better founded , and his preference of Herodotus, in this refpedt, is not unjufi. —
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With regard to Style, Dionyfius gives Thucydides the juft praife of energy and brevity; but cenfures him, on many occafions, not without reafon, for harfh and obfeure expref. lion, deficient in finoothnefs and eafe.
L E C T.
XXXV.

46 HISTORICAL WRITING.
L E c T. not under the neceffity of breaking off always in
XXXV. the middle of tranfa&ions , in order to inform ns of what was happening elfewhere at the fame time. He difcovers no art, if he cannot form fome connection among the affairs which he relates, fo as to introduce them in a proper train. He will foon tire the Reader, if he goes on recording, in ftriCt chronological order , a multitude of feparate tranfa&icns, connected by nothing elfe, but their happening at the fame time.
Though the hiftoryof Herodotus be of greater compafs than that of Thucydides, and comprehend a much greater variety of diffimiiar parts ] he has been more fortunate in joining them together; and digefting them into order. Hence he is a more pleafing Writer, and gives a ftronger impreffion of his fubject; though in judgment and accuracy , much inferior to Thucydides. With digreffions and epifodes he abounds; but when thefe have any connexion with the main fubject, and are inferted profeffediy as Epifodes, the unity of the whole is lefs violated by them, than by a broken and fcattered narration of the principal ftory. Among the Moderns, the Pre- fident Thuanus has, by attempting to make the Hiltory of his own times too univerfal, fallen into the fame error, of loading the Reader with a great variety of unconnected faffs, going on together in different parts of the world : an Hifto- rian otherwife of great probity, candour, and excellent underftanding ; but through this want ol unity, more tedious, and lefs interelting than he ■\yould other\yife have been.

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After making fome obfervations on the L e c t controverfy which has been often carried on XXXVI concerning the comparative merit of the Ancients* . and the Moderns, I entered, in the laft Ledfure, on the confideration of Hiftorical Writing. The general idea of Idiftory is, a record of truth for the inftrudtion of mankind. Hence arife the primary qualities required in a good Hiftorian , impartiality, fidelity, gravity, and dignity. What I principally confidered, was the unity which belongs to this fort of Compofition ; the nature of which I have endeavoured to explain.
I proceed next to obferve, that in order to fulfil the end of Hiftory, the Author muff ftudy to trace to their fprings the adtions and events which he records. Two things are efpecially necelfary for his doing .this fuccefsfully ; a thorough acquaintance with human nature , and political knowledge, or acquaintance with government. The former is necelfary to account for the condudl of individuals, and to give juft views

4 8 HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c T. of their character ; the latter, to account for the f
XXXVI. revolutions of government, and the operation of t political caufes on public affairs. Both mull concur, in order to form a completely inftruc- tl tive Hiftorian. fc
With regard to the latter article, Political fe Knowledge, the Ancient Writers wanted fome «i advantages which the Moderns enjoy ; from ai whom, upon that account, we have a title to F expedt more accurate and precife information, b The world, as I formerly hinted, was more t fhut up in ancient times , than it is now; there ! was then lefs communication among neighbouring i Bates, and by confequence lefs knowledge, of one another’s affairs ; no intercourfe by eftablillied pofts , or by Ambaffadors refident at diftant courts. The knowledge, and materials of the Ancient Hiftorians , were thereby more limited and circum- fcribed; and it is to be obferved too, that they wrote for their own countrymen only; they had no idea of writing for the inftrudtion of foreign- j ers, whom they defpifed , or of the world iii ( general; and hence , they are lefs attentive to i convey all that knowledge with regard to do- 1 meftic policy, which we, in diftant times, would a defire to have learned from them. Perhaps alfo, l though in ancient ages men were abundantly a animated with the love, of liberty, yet the full t| extent of the influence of government, and of c political caufes , was not then fo thoroughly t fcrutinized, as it has been in modern times ; when \ a longer experience of all the different modes of 1
government

; G, HISTORICAL WRITING. 49
ttfc government has rendered men more enlightened Ie ®5 and intelligent, with refped to public affairs, ioi: To thefe reafons it is owing, that though
tyit the Ancient Hiftorians fet before us the particular fads which they relate, in a very diftind and 1 ft. beautiful manner, yet fometimes they do not give us a clear view of all the political caufes, whicti affeded the fituation of affairs of which they treat. From the Greek Hiftorians, we are able to form iforc but an impeded notion , of the ftrength, the ws: wealth, and the revenues of the different Grecian low;: ftates-; of the caufes of feveral of thofe revolu- ijlih tions that happened in their government; or of their feparate connedions and interfering interefts. ete In writing the Hiftory of the Romans, Livy had tasted furely the molt ample held for difplaying political keh knowledge, concerning the rife of their greatnefs, ale and the advantages or defeds of their govern- tk ment. Yet the inftrudion in thefe important ;fc articles, which he affords, is not conhderable. oil:: An elegant Writer he is, and a* beautiful relater ier of fads, if ever there was one; but by no means Met diftinguilhed for proloundnefs or penetration, iriai Salluft, when writing the hiftory of a confpiracy ,g : againfl the government , which ought to have jk? been altogether aPolitical Hiftory, has evidently jljjjt attended more to the elegance of narration , and the painting of charaders, than to the unfolding at r .of fecret caufes and fprings. Inftead of that com- jjdu,: plete information , which we would naturally ne(;t have expeefted from him of the ftate of parties in uni Rome , and of that particular conjundure of Vol. III. E
L E C T.
XXXVI.

5 °
HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c T. affairs, which enabled fo defperate a profligate as XXXVI. Catiline to become fo formidable to government, he has given us little more than a general declamatory account of the luxury and corruption of i manners in that age, compared with the fimplicity of former times.
# I BY no means, however, mean to cenfure all the Ancient Hiftorians as defective in political information. No Hiftorians can be more inftructive than Thucydides, Polybius, and Tacitus. Thucydides is grave , intelligent , and judicious ; alwavs attentive to give very exact information concerning every operation which he relates; and to fhow the advantages or difadvantages of every plan that was propofed, and every meafure that was purfued. Polybius excels in comprehenfive political views, in penetration into great fyftems, and in his profound and diftinct knowledge of all military affairs. Tacitus is eminent for his knowledge of the human heart; is fentimental and refined in a high degree ; conveys much inftrudtion with refpect to political matters, but more with refpect to human nature.
But when we demand from the Hiftorian profound and inftructive views of his fubject, it is not meant that he fhould be frequently'interrupting the courfe of his Hiftoiy, with his own reflections ar.d fpeculations. He fhould give us all the information that is neceflary for our fully under- ftanding the affairs which he records. He fhould make us acquainted with the political conllitution, the force, the revenues, die internal ftate of the

HISTORICAL WRITING.
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“P r: country of which he writes; and with itsinterefts Lect. £r ® and connections in refpedt of neighbouring coun- XXXVI. ^ tries. He fhould place us , as on an elevated P tlK ftation, whence we may have an extenfive pro- % fpect of all the caufes that cooperate in bringing forward the events which are related. But having put into our hands all the proper materials for pot: judgment, he fhould not be too prodigal of his ilk own opinions and reafonings. When an Hiftorian is much given to differtation , and is ready to ® ifc philofophife and fpeculate on all that he records, roc a fufpicion naturally arifes, that he will be in iffi. hazard of adapting his narrative of fads to favour iofa fome fyftem which he has formed to himfelf. lie: It is rather by fair and judicious narration that refc hiftory fhould inftrud us, than by delivering tfe inftrudion in an avowed and dired manner. On fell fome occafions, when doubtful points require to lift be ferutinized , or when fome great event is in :ati. agitation, concerning the caufes or circumftances efir: of which mankind have been much divided , the tor;- narrative may be allowed to Hand ftill for a little; the Hiftorian may appear , and may with propriety enter into fome weighty difeuffion. But he jtd,. muft take care not to cloy his Readers with fuch ,05 difeuftions, by repeating them too often. *
. When obfervations are to be made concerning human nature in general, or the peculiarities of jyU certain characters , if the Hiftorian ^can artfully jy incorporate fuch obfervations with his narrative, jjy they will have a better effeeft than when they K j are delivered as formal detached relledions. For

52
HISTORICAL WRITING.
L E C T.
XXXVL
inftance; in the life of Agricola, Tacitus, fpeaking of Domitian’s treatment of Agricola, makes this obfervation : “ Proprium liumani ingenii eft, odifTe “ quern keferis*.” The obfervation is juft and well applied; but the form in which it ftands, is abftradt and philofophical. A thought of the fame kind has a finer effecl elfewhere in the fame Hiftorian , when fpeaking of the jealoufies which Germanicus knew to be entertained againft him by Livia and Tiberius : “ Anxius faid he, “ occultis in fe patrui aviaeque odiis , quorum cc caufse acriores quia iniquae t-” Here a profound moral obfervation is made; but it is made, without appearing to make it in form ; it is introduced as a part of the narration , in affigning a reafon for the anxiety of Germanicus. We have another inftance of the fame kind, in the account which he gives of a mutiny raifed againft Rufus, who was a “ Praefecftus Caftrorum ,” on account of the fevere labour which he impofed on the foldiers. “ Quippe Rufus, diu manipularis, dein centurio, “ mox caftris praefeclus , antiquam duramque mili- “ tiam revocabat, vetus opcris & laboris, et eo ct immitior quia toleraverat**.” There was room
* “ It belongs to human nature , to hate the man whom “ you have injured. ”
t “ Uneafy in his mind, on account of the concealed “ hatred enteg:ained againft him by his uncle and grandmo- “ ther , which was the more bitter, becaufe the caufe of “ it was unjuft.”
** “ For Rufus, who had long been a common foldier, ' c afterwards a Centurion , and at length a general officer,

HISTORICAL WRITING. 53
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for turning this into a general obfervation , that L E c T. they who have been educated and hardened in XXXVI. toils, are commonly found to be the moft fevere in requiring the like toils from others. But the manner in which Tacitus introduces this fenti- ment, as a ftroke in the character of Rufus, gives it much more life and fpirit. This Hiftorian has a particular talent of intermixing after this manner with the courfe of his narrative, many ftriking fentiments and ufeful obfervations.
Let us next proceed to confider the proper qualities of Iliftorica] Narration. It is obvious, that on the manner of narration much muff depend, as the firft notion of Hiftory is the recital of paft fads; and how much one mode of recital may be preferable to another we fhall foon be convinced, by thinking of the different effeds, which the fame ftory, when told by two different perfons, is found to produce.
The firft virtue of Hiftorical Narration, is Clearnefs, Order, and due Connedion. To attain this, the Hiftorian muft be completely mafter of his fubjed; he muft fee the whole as at one view; and comprehend the chain and dependence of all its parts, that he may introduce every thing in its proper place ; that he may lead us fmoothly along the track of affairs which are recorded, and may always give us the fatisfadion of feeing
“ reftored the fevere military difcipline of ancient times.
“ Grown old amidft toils and labours, he was the more “ rigid in impofing them, becaufe he had been accufeomed “ to bear them.”

54
HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c t. how one event arifes out of another. Without XXXVI. this, there can be neither pleafure nor inftruction, in reading Hiftory. JVluch for this end will depend on the obfervance of that unity in the general plan and condudt, which, in the preceding Ledture, I recommended. IVluch too will depend on the proper management of traniitions, which forms one of the chief ornaments of this kind of writing, and is one of the mod difficult ( in execution. Nothing tries an Hifforian’s abilities more, than fo to lay his train beforehand, as to make us pafs naturally and agreeably from one part of his fubjecl to another; to employ no clumfy and awkward junctures ; and to contrive ways and means of forming fome union among tranfadtions, which feem to be moft widely fepar- ated from one another.
In the next place, as Hiftory is a very dignified fpecies of Compofitio'n , gravity muft always be maintained in the narration. There muft be no meannefs nor vulgarity in the ftyle; no quaint, nor colloquial phrafes; no affectation of pertnefs, or of wit. The fmart, or the fneering manner of telling a ftory, are inconfiftent with the hilto- rical charadter. I do not fay, that an Hiftorian is never to let himfelf down. He may fometimes do it with propriety, in order to diverfify the {train of his narration, which, if it be perfedtly uniform, is apt to become tirefome. But he flhould be careful never to defcend too far; and, on occa- fions where a light or ludicrous anecdote is proper to be recorded, it is generally better to

HISTORICAL WRITING. 55
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throw it into a note, than to hazard becoming Ibct, too familiar, by introducing it into the body of XXXVI. the work.
But an Hiftorian may poffefs thefe qualities of being perfpicuous, diftind, and grave, and may notwithHanding be a dull Writer; in which cafe, we fhall reap little benefit from his labours. We will read him without pleafure; or moll probably, we fhall foon give over to read him at all.
He mu ft therefore ftudy to render his narration interefting; which is the quality that chiefly diftinguifhes a Writer of genius and eloquence.
Two things are efpecially conducive to this ; the firft is, a juft medium in the conduct of narration, between a rapid or crowded recital of fads, and a prolix detail. The former embarraffes , and the latter tires us. An Hiftorian that would in- tereft us, mull know when to be concife, and where he ought to enlarge ; palling concifely over flight and unimportant events but, dwelling on fuch as are ftriking and confiderable in their nature, or pregnant with confequences; preparing beforehand our attention to them , and bringing them forth into the moft full and confpicuous light. The next thing he muff attend to, is a proper feledion of the circumftances belonging to thofe events , which he chufes «to relate fully.
General facts make a flight impreflion on the mind. It is by means of circumftances and particulars properly chofen, that a narration becomes interefting and affedmg to the Reader. Thefe give life, body , and colouring to the recital of
E 4

g<5 HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c t. facts, and enable us to behold them as prefent,
XXXVL and paffing before our eyes. It is this employment of circumllances, in Narration, that is properly termed Hiftorical Painting.
In all thefe virtues of Narration , particularly in this lafl, of pidurefque deferiptive Narration, feveral of the Ancient Hiftorians eminently excel. Hence, the pleafure that is found in reading Herodotus , Thucydides , Xenophon , Livy, Salluft, and Tacitus. They are all confpicnous for the Art of Narration. Herodotus is, at all times, an agreeable Writer, and relates every thing with that ndivete and fimplicity of manner, which never fails to intereft the Reader. Though the manner of Thucydides be more dry and harfh, yet, on great occafions , as when he is giving an account of the Plague of Athens, the Siege of Plataea, the Sedition in Corcyra, the Defeat of the Athenians in Sicily, he difplays a very ftrong and mafterly power of defeription. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia , and his Anabafis , or retreat of the Ten Thoufand , are extremely beautiful. The circumftanccs are finely felecfed, and the Narration is eafy and engaging; but his Hellenics , or Continuation of the Idiftory of 'I hucydides., is a much inferior work. Salluft’s Art of Hiftorical Painting in his Catilinarian, but, more efpecially, in his Jugurthine War, is well known; though his Style is liable to cenfure, as too ftudied and affected.
Livy is more unexceptionable in his manner, and is excelled by no Hiftorian whatever in the

HISTORIC AL WRITING. 57
k®' Art of Narration fevcral remarkable examples L e c t might be given from him. His account, for in- XXXVI. P^l fiance, of the famous defeat of the Roman army by the Samnites, at the Furcse Caudinae, in the % beginning of the ninth book, affords one of the tl0D > moft beautiful exemplifications of Hiftorical Paint- ing, that is any where to be met with. We ^”0 have firft, an exasfi defcription of the narrow pafs n 7 > between two mountains, into which the enemy had decoyed the Romans. When they find them- tailf e lves caught, and no hope of efcape left, we i-er y are made to fee, firft, their aftonifhment, next, ner i their indignation, and then , their dejection , ugh painted in the molt lively manner , by fuch arf circumftances and actions as were natural to per- ie u fons in their fituation. The reltlefs and unquiet , the manner in which they pafs the night; the con- the fultations of the Samnites; the various meafures yu propofed to be taken; the meffages between the ion two armies, all heighten the fcene. At length, in rathe morning, the Confuls return to the camp, lely and inform them that they could receive no other ed, terms but that of furrendering their arms, and his paffing under the yoke, which was confidered as of the laft mark of ignominy for a conquered army, ft's Part of what then follows, I fhall give in the n, Author’s own words. “ Redintegravit lti&um in is “ caftris confulum adventus; ut vix ab iis abfti- re, “ nerent manus, quorum temeritate in enm locum C£ deducti effent. Alii alios intueri, contemplari •, ct arma mox tradenda, & inermes futuras dextras; a K proponere fibimet ipfi ante oculos , jugum

L EC T.
XXXVI.
Jg' HISTORICAL WRITING.
11 to!
° hoflile , & ludibria victoris, & vultus fuperbo^ ferr' cc & per armatos inermium iter. Inde fcedi agmini era! £t miferabilem viam; per fociorum urbes reditun id; cc in patriam ac parentes quo faepe ipfi triumphao <c tes veniffent. Se folos fine vulnere , fine ferro <c fine acie vitftos; fibi non ftringere licuiffe glj tc dios, non manum cum hofte conferere; fib “ nequicquam arma, nequicquam vires, nequic cc quam animos datos. Haec frementibus, hoc cc fatalis ignominiae advenit. Jamprimum , cm “ fingulis veftimentis, inermes extra vallum abir “ juffi. Turn a confulibus abire licfores juft ® “ paludamentaque detracta. Tantam hoc intc cc ipfos, qui paulo ante eos dedendos, lacerandol cc que cenfuerant, miferationem fecit, ut fuse quil “ que conditionis oblitus, ab ilia deformation “ tantae majeflatis, velut ab nefando fpectaculo ec averteret oculos. Primi confides , prope femi cc nudi, fub jugum mifli * , ” &c. The reft of tk
* “ The arrival of the Confuls in the camp, wrought <c their paffions to fuch a degree, that they could fcaicdj “ abltain from laying violent hands on them, as by the “ rafhnefs they had been brought into this fituation. The 6 “ began to look on one another; to call a melancholrei f-'K “ on their arms, which were now to be furrendered, m ^ C| ct on their right hands, which were to become defect! Etli te lefs. The yoke under which they were to pafs; 4 u feoffs of the conquerors; and their haughty looks, wl©
difarmed and ftripped , they fhould be led through tb hoflile lines ; all rofe before their eyes. They then look forward to the fad journey which awaited them, d* they were to pafs as a vanquifhed and dilgraced affl ( ,k?
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often been beheld returning in triumph to their fan*

‘ HISTORICAL WRITING. 59
'P* {lory which it would be too long to infert, is ^carried on with the lime beauty, and full of re C picturefque circumftances *.
iefe
“ and native land. They alone, they muttered to one “ another, without an engagement, without a fingle blow “ had been conquered. To their hard fate it fell, never “ to have had it in their power to draw a fword, or to “ look an enemy in the face ; to them only , arms, “ ftrength, and courage, had been given in vain. "While “ they were thus giving vent to their indignation, the fatal “ moment of their ignominy arrived. Firft, they were all com- “ manded to come forth from the camp , without armour “ and in a fingle garment. Next, orders were given, that “ the Confuls fheuld be left without their Lictors, and “ that they fhould be {tripped of their robes. Such com- <e miferation did .this affront excite among them, who, “ but a little before, had been for delivering up thofe very “ Confuls to the enemy, and for putting them to death , “ that every one forgot his own condition, and turned his “ eyes abide from this infamous difgrace, fuffered by the “ confular dignity, as from a fpechtcle which was too “ deteftable to be beheld. The Confuls , almoft half naked “ were firlt made to pafs under the yoke, ” &c.
* The defcription which Ctefar gives of the confterna- tion occafioned in his camp, by the accounts which were yfpread among his troops , of the ferocity, the fize, and the courage of the Germans, affords an inftance of Hifto- rical Painting, executed in a fimple manner; and, at the fame time, exhibiting a natural and lively fcene: “ Dum paucos dies ad Vefontionem moratur, ex percundtatione noftrorum, vocibufque Gallorum ac Mercatorum, qui ingenti magnitudine corporum Germanos , incredibili virtute, atque exercitatione in armis effe praedicabant; fepe numero fefe cum iis congreffos, ne vultum qui- dem, atque aciem oculorum ferre potuiffe ; tantus fubito terror omnem exercitum occupavit, ut non mediocriter
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Lict.
XXXVI.

60 HISTORICAL WRITING.
L K C T.
XXXVI.
Tacitus is another Author eminent for Filfo rical Painting, though in a manner altogetherdif. ferent from that of Livy. Livy’s defcriptions an more full, more plain , and natural; thofe ol Tacitus confift in a few bold ftrokes. He felect one or two remarkable circumftances, and let them before us in a ftrong, and, generally, ini new and uncommon light. Such is the following pidture of the fituation of Rome, and of the Empe ror Galba, when Otho was advancing againflhim a Agebatur hucilluc Galba, vario turbae fludluanti cc impulfu, completis undique bafilicis & tempi cc lugubri profpediu. Neque populi aut plebisull; cc vox; fed attoniti vultus, et converfte ad orani ec aures. Non tumultus, non quies ; fed quale mago ct metus, et magnse irae, filentium eft*”, N(
“ omnium mentes animofque perturbaret. Hie primum otiii “ eft a tribunis militum, ac prafectis, reliquifque qui ti “ ur'oe, amicitiae caufa, Caefarem fecuti, fuum pericuk “ miferabantur, quod non magnum in re militari vk “ habebant : quorum alius, alia caufa illata quam fibi» “ proficifcendum neceflariam eife diceret, petebat ut eji “ voluntate difeedere liceret. Nonnulli pudore addudi,« “ timoris fufpicionem vitarent, remanebant. Hi neque til “ turn fingere, neque interdum lacrymas tenere potent “ Abditi in tabernaculis , aut fuum fatum querebantui, “ aut cum familiaribus fuis, commune periculum miles “ bantur. Vulgo , totis caftris teftamenta obftgnabantur,”
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1
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J,
HISTORICAL WRITING. 61
image, in any Poet, is more ftrong and expref. five than this laft ftroke of the defcripffon: “Non tumultus, non quies, fed quale,” &c. This is a conception of the fublime kind, and, difcovers high genius. Indeed . throughout all his work, Tacitus fhows the hand of a mafter. As he is profound in reflection , fo he is ftriking in defcription, and pathetic in fentiment. 1 he Philofopher, the Poet, and the Hiftorian, all meet in him. Though the period of which he writes may be reckoned unfortunate for a Hiftorian, he has made it afford us many interefting exhibitions of human nature. "I he relations which he gives of the deaths of feveral eminent perfonages, are as affecting as the deepeft tragedies. He paints with a glowing pencil; and poffeffes , beyond all Writers, the talent of painting, not to the imagination merely, but to the. heart. With many of the mod diltinguifhed beauties, he is , at the fame time, not a perfect model for Hiftory, and fuch as have formed themfelves upon him, have feldom been fuccefsful. He is to be admired, rather than imitated. In his reflections, hejjs too refined, in his ftyle, too concife , fometimes quaint and affected, often abrupt and obfcure. Hiftory feems to require a more natural, flowing, and popular manner.
The Ancients employed one embellifhment of Hiftory which the Moderns have laid afide, I
“ were filled with conflernation; their ears were employed “ in liftening with anxiety. It was not a tumult; it was “ not quietnefs ; it was the filence of terror, and of “ wrath. ”
L E C T.
XXXVk

63 HISTORICAL WRITING.
Lect.
XXXVI.
mean Orations, which, on weighty occafions, they put iito the mouths of fome of their chid perfonages. By. means of thefe , they diverfified their hiftory ; they conveyed bo;h moral and political inftruclion; and, by the oppofite arguments which were employed, they gave us a view of the fentiments of different parties. Thu- cydides was the firft who introduced this method, The Orations with which his hiftory abounds,and thofe too of fome other Greek and Latin Hiftori- ans, are among the moft valuable remains which we have of Ancient Eloquence. How beautiful foever they are, it may be much queftioned,! think, whether they find a proper place in Hiftory. I rather incline to think, that they are unfuitable to it. For they form a mixture which is unnatural in Hiftory, of ficftion with truth. We know, that thefe Orations are entirely o! the Author’s own compofition , and that he has introduced fome celebrated perfon haranguing in a public place, purely that he might have an opportunity of Flowing- his own eloquence, or delivering wn fentiments, under the name I of that perfon. This is a fort of poetical liberty which does not fuit the gravity of Hiftorv, throughout which, an air of the ftricteft truth fhould always reign. Orations may be an embei- lifhment to Hiftory?; fuch might alfo Poetical Compofitions be, introduced under the name of fome of the perfonages mentioned in the Narration, who were known to have poffeffed poetical talents. But neither the one, nor the other, find
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HISTORICAL WRITING. 63
<£& a proper place in Hiflory. Inftead of inferring L e c t.
Kite formal Orations, the method adopted by later XXXVI. liven: Writers, feems better and more natural; that of oral the Hiflorian, ou fome great occafion, delivering,
■k in his own perfon , the fentiments and reafonings ave. of the oppofite parties, or the fubflance of what aes. T was underflood to be fpoken in fome Public Af- rifembly; which he may do without the liberty uni., of fidion.
1 Hit
asw: The drawing ol charaders is one of the moft beat fplendid , and, at the fame time, one of the mofl; tior.;: difficult ornaments of Hilforical Compofition. For e in charaders are generally confidered, as profelfed tiro exhibitions of fine writing; and an Hillorian, iretr who feeks to fhine in them, is frequently in Ith tt danger of carrying refinement to excefs , from a ntirei; defire of appearing very profound and penetrating, atk He brings together fo many contrails, and fub- ]od;;: tde oppofitions of qualities, that we are rather hat dazzled with fparkling expreffions, than entered, tained with any clear conception of a human he; charader. A Writer who would charaderife in Q
,|[ir; an inflrudive and mafterly manner, fhould be [jjj; Ample in his ftyle, and fhould avoid all quaint- e (h nefs and affedation; at the fame time, not con- n {g tenting himfelf with givdng us general outlines p oS only , but defeending into thofe peculiarities naII; which mark a character, in its mofl ftrong and e \ diflinclive features. The Greek Hiflorians fome- p K: times give elogiums , but rarely draw full and a -_ profeffed charaders. The two Ancient Authors

64 HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c T. who have laboured this part of Hiftorical com.
XXXVI. pofition moft, are Salluft and Tacitus.
As Hiftory is a fpecies of Writing defigned for the inftrudlion of mankind, found morality Ihould always reign in it. Both in defcribirig character?, and in relating tranfactions, the Author Ihould always fliow himfelf to be on the fide of virtue. To deliver moral inftrudlion in a formal manner, falls not within his province; but both as a good man, and as a good Writer, we expect, that he Ihould difcover fentiments of refpect for virtue, and of indignation at flagrant vice. To appear neutral and indifferent with refpecT to good and bad characters , and to affect a crafty arid political, rather than a moral turn of thought, will, befides other bad effects, derogate greatly from the weight of Hiftorical Compofition, and will render the ftrain of it much more cold and uninterefting. We are always moft interefted in the tranfadlions which are going on, when our fympathy is awakened by the ftory, and whet we become engaged in the fate of the actor?. But this effedl can never be produced by i Writer, who is deficient in fenfibility and moral feeling.
As the obfervations which I have hitherto made, have moftly refpected the Ancient Hifto- • rians, it may naturally be expected, that 1 Ihould alfo take fome notice of the Moderns who have excelled in this kind of Writing
The country in Europe, where the Tliftorica Genius has, in latter ages , fhone forth with mol
luftre,

^ HISTORICAL WRITING. 6 $
otli; loftre, 'beyond doubt is Italy. The national '■ charader of the Italians feems favourable to it. % They were always diftinguilhed as an acute, penetrating, reflecting people, remarkable for political fagacity and wifdom, and who early ad-. ^ dieted therr.felves to the arts of Writing. Accord-, ingly , foon after the reftoration of letters, IVlachiavel , Guicciardini, Davila, Bentivoglio, te Father Paul , became highly confpicuous for hiftorical merit. They all appear to have com ire ceived very juft ideas of Hiftory; and are agree* it able, inftrudive, and interefting Writers. In their pet. manner of narration, they are much formed upon ierr the Ancients; fome of them, as Bentivoglio and of: Guicciardini, have, in imitation of them, intro- pi duced Orations into their Hiftory. In the profound- ole nefs and diftindnefs of their political views, they itti. may, perhaps, be efteemed to have furpaffed the ina: Ancients. Critics have, at the fame time, obferv- - ed fome imperfedions, in each of them. JVIa- ;; chiavel, in his Hiftory of Florence, is not alto- : c gether fo interefting as one would exped an Author of his abilities to be; either through his own defed, or through fome unhappinefs in his fubjed, which led him into a very minute ..,1 detail of the intrigues of one city. Guicciardini, icr at all times fenfible and profound , is taxed for j,., dwelling fo long on the Tufcan affairs as to be fometimes tedious; a defed which is alfo imputed, occafionally, to the judicious Father Paul. Benti- ^^.voglio, in his excellent Hiftory of the wars of r Flanders, is accufed of approaching to the florid 1 Vol. Ill F
L F C, T.
XXXVI.

L e c t. and pompous manner: and Davila, though one XXXVI. of the mold agreeable and entertaining Relaters, has manifeftly this defect of fpreading a fort of uniformity over all his characters, by reprefenting them as guided too regularly by political intereft. But, although fome fuch objections may be made • to thefe Authors, they deferve, upon the whole, to be placed in the firft rank of Modern Hifto- rical Writers. The wars of Flanders, written in Latin by Famianus Strada, is a book of fome note ; but is not entitled to the fame reputation as the works of the other Iliftorians I have named. Strada is too violently partial to the Spanifh caufe; and too open aPanegyrift of the Prince of Parma. He is florid, diffufe, and an afteded imitator of the-manner and ftyle of Livy.
Among the F'rench, as there has been much good Writing in many kinds , fo alfo in the Hiftorical. That ingenious nation, who have done fo much honour to Modern Literature, polfefs , in an eminent degree , the talent of Narration. Many of their later Hiftorical Writers are fpirited, lively, and agreeable; and fome of them not deficient in profoundnefs and penetration. They have not, however, produced any fuch capital Hiftorians as the Italians, whom I mentioned above.
Ouk. Ifland, till within thefe few years, was not eminent for its hiftorical productions. Early, indeed, Scotland made fome figure by means of the celebrated Buchanan. He is an elegant Writer, claffical in his Latinity, and agreeable both in narration and defcription. But one

HISTORICAL WRITING. 67
;g.
m i cannot but fufped him to be more attentive to elegance than to accuracy. Accuftomed to form ?1 ‘ his political notions wholly upon the plans of : P [ & ancient governments , the feudal fyftem feems :alc n ever to have entered into his thoughts; and as i yk this was the bafis of the Scottiih conftitution, ( h r his political views are, of courfe, inaccurate and irnperfed. When he comes to the tranfactions of to his own time, there is fuch a change in his ok if: manner of writing, and fuch an afperity in his ntf ftyle, that, on what fide foever the truth lies ht; with regard to thofe dubious and long contro- t'oei verted facts which make the fubjed of that part icfc of his work, it is impoffible to clear him from :di: being deeply tindured with the fpirit of party.
Among the older Englifh Hiftorians, the moft beai confiderable is Lord Clarendon. Though he alfo: writes-as the profelfed apologift of one fide, yet dm, there appears more impartiality in his relation of Le: fads, than might at firft be expected. A great e ci fpirit of virtue and probity runs through his jplf work. He maintains all the dignity of a Hiftorian. n d[3 His fentences, indeed, are often too long, and imlft his general manner is prolix ; but his ftyle, on .p)^: whole, is manly; and his merit, as a Hiftorian,
b is much beyond mediocrity. Bifhop Burnet is lively and perfpicuous; but he has hardly any va£ other hiftorical merit. His ftyle is too carelefs oc - ; and familiar for Hiflory; his charaders are, j,;. indeed, marked with a bold and ftrong hand; but ‘ju they are generally light and fatyrical ; and he ■ abounds fo much in little Lories concerning
i F ,
L E C T.
XXXVI.

68
HISTORICAL WRITING.
L E C T.
XXXVI.
himfelf, that he refembles more a Writer of Memoirs > than of Hiftory. During a long period , Englifh Hiftorical Authors were little more than dull Compilers ; till of late the diftin- gui/hed names of Hume, Robertfofi, and Gibbon, have raifed the Britilh charader, in this fpecies of Writing, to high reputation and dignity.
I observed, in the preceding Ledure, that Annals, Memoirs, and Lives , are the inferior kinds of Hiftorical Compofition, It will be proper, before difmiffing this fubjed, to make a few obfervations upon them. Annals are commonly underflood to flgnify a collection of fads, digefted according to chronological order; rather ferving for the materials of Hiftory, than afpiring to the name of Hiftory themfelves. All that is required, therefore, in a Writer of fuch Annals, is to be faithful, diftind, and complete. .
Memoirs denote a fort of Compofition, in which an Author does not pretend to give full information of all the*fads refpeding the period of which he writes, but only to relate what he himfelf bad accefs to know, or what he was concerned in , or what illuftrates the conduct of fome perfon, or the circumftances of fome tranfadion , which he chufes for his fubjecl From a Writer of Memoirs , therefore, is not exaded the fame profound refearch , or enlarged information, as from a Writer of Hiftory. He is not fubjecl to the fame laws of unvarying dignity and gravity. He may talk freely of liimfeif; he may defcend into the molt

HISTORICAL WRITING. 69
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familiar anecdotes. What is chiefly required of L e c t. him is-, that he be fprightly and interefting; and XXXVI. efpecially, that he inform us of things that are ufeful and curious; that he convey to us fome fort of knowledge worth the acquiring. This is a fpecies of Writing very bewitching to fuch as love to write concerning themfelves, and conceive every tranfaefrion, in which they had a fhare, to be of Angular importance. 1 here is no wonder, therefore , that a nation fo fprightly as the French , fhould , for two centuries part , have been pouring forth a whole flood of Memoirs; the greateft part of which are little more than agreeable trifles.
Some , however , mull be excepted from this general character ; two in particular : the Memoirs of the Cardinal v de Retz, and thofe of the Duke of Sully- From Retz's Memoirs, befides the pleafure of agreeable and lively narration, we may derive alfo much inftruction , and much knowledge of human nature. Though his politics be often too fine fpun, yet the Memoirs of a profefled factious leader , fuch as the Cardinal was, wherein he draws both his own character, and that of feveral great perfonages of his time fo fully, cannot be read by any perfon of good fenfe without benefit. The Memoirs of the Duke of Sully, in the ftate in which they are now given to the Public, have great merit, and deferve ‘ to be mentioned with particular praife. No Memoirs approach more near to the ufefulnefs, and the dignity of a full legitimate
F %
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• •

yo
• * I
HISTORICAL WRITING.*
L E c t. HiRory. They have this peculiar advantage,, of
XXXVI. giving us a beautiful difplay of two of the mod illuRrious characters which hiftory prefents: Sully himfelf, one of the ableft, and moft incorrupt miniRers, and Henry IV. one of the greateft and moR amiable princes of modern times. I know few books more full of. virtue; and of good fenfe , than Sully’s Memoirs; few, therefore, more proper to form both the heads and the hearts of Rich as are defigned for public bufipefs, and aCtion in the world.
Biography, or the Writing of Lives, is a very ufeful kind of Compofition ; lefs formal and Rately than HiRory ; but to the bulk of Readers, perhaps , no lefs inRructive ; as it affords them the opportunity of feeing the characters and tempers, the virtues and failings of eminent men fully difplayed ; and admits them into a more thorough and intimate acquaintance with fuch perfons, than HiRory generally allows. For a Writer of Lives may defeend, with propriety, to minute circumRances, and familiar incidents.
It is expedted of him , that he is to give the private, as well as the public life, of the perfon whofe adtions he records; nay, it is from private life , from familiar , domeRic , and feemingly trivial occurrences, that we often receive moft light into the real character. In this fpecies cf W riting, Plutarch has no fmall merit; a'nd to I him we Rand indebted for much ’of the knowledge that we poffefs, concerning feveral of the moR eminent perfonages of antiquity. His matter is, indeed, better than his manner; as he cannot
r
• •

HISTORICAL WRITING. 71
lay claim to any peculiar beauty or elegance. His Etta: judgment too, and his accuracy , have fometimes been taxed; but whatever defects of this kind mo:; he may be liable to, his Lives of Eminent Men ts'i will always be confidered as a valuable treafure ■ h of inftrudion. He is remarkable for being one of '■i: the moft humane Writers of all antiquity; lefs tls. dazzled than many of them are, with the exploits i e of valour and ambition; and fond of difplaying
.ctrii his great men to us, in the more gentle lights of retirement and private life, arts.. I cannot conclude the fubjed of Hiftory, font without taking notice of a very great improve- jfL rnent which has, of late years, begun to be in- iotii; troduced into Hiftorical Compofition; I mean, a jii; more particular attention than wasf-rmefly given jj nn; . to laws, cuftoms, commerce, religion, literature, t0J . and every other thing that tends to fhow the ^ fpirit and Genius of nations. It is now underftood ... : to be the bufmefs of an able Hiflorian to exhibit manners, as well as facts and events; and affur- edly , whatever difplays the Rate and life of ^ mankind, in different periods, and illuffrates the tie- progrefs of the human mind, is more uf ful and j jnterelbng than the detail of fieges and battles. ^ The perfon, to whom we are molt indebted for the introduction of this improvement into Hif-
■£jY: . r
j.. tory, is the celebrated AT. Voltaire, whofe Ge- r nius has Ihone with fuch furprifmg luftre, in fo many different parts of literature. His Age of Louis XIV. was one of the firft great produdions in this tafte; andfoon drew, throughout all Europe,
kc
F 4
Lect.
XXXVI.

jra HISTORICAL WRITING.
L e c t. that general attention , and received that high
XXXVI. approbation, which fo ingenious and eloquent a produdtion merited. His Effay on the general Hiftory of Europe, fince the days of Charlemagne, is not to be confidered either as a Hiftory, or the proper Plan of an Hiftorical Work; but only as aferies of obferv'ations on the chief events that have happened throughout feveral centuries, and on the changes that fucceflively took place in the fpirit and manners of different nations. Though, in fome dates and facts it may , perhaps, be inaccurate, and is tinged with thofe particularities which unhappily diftinguifhed Voltaire’s manner of thinking on religious fubjects, yet it contains fo many enlarged and inftrudtive views, as juftly to merit the attention of all who either read or write the hiftory of thofe ages.
to

bun philosophical WRITING.
DIALOGUE.-EPISTOLARY WRITING, lcub _ FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
)ltac
VK
AS Hiftory is both a very dignified fpecies of L F- c T. Compofition, and, by the regular form which it XXXVII. affumes , falls diredly under the laws of Criticifm,
I difcourfed of it fully in the two precedingLectures.
The remaining fpecies of Compofition, inProfe, afford lefs room for critical obfervation.
Philosophical Writing, for inftance , will not lead us into any long difcuffion. As theprofeffed object ofPhilofophy is to convey inftrudtion, and as they who ftudy it are fuppofed to do fo for inftrudion , not for entertainment, the Style, the form , and drefs , of fuch Writings , are lefs material objects. They are objeds , however, that mult not be wholly negleded. He who attempts to inftrud mankind , without ftudying, at the fame time, to engage their attention , and to in- , tereft them in his iubjed by his manner of exhibiting it, is not likely to prove fuccefsful, The

74
PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING.
1 ®
L e c t. fame truths, and reafonings, delivered in a dry 0 XXXVII. and cold manner , or with a proper meafure of ik:
elegance and beauty, will make very different -ift impreffions on the minds of men.
It ismanifeft, that every Phih.fophical Writer A irtuft ftudy the utmoft perfpicuity ; and, by re- Hefting on what was formerly delivered on the fubjeft of Perfpicuity , with refpect both to fingle aii words, and the conftruftion of Sentences, we may r be convinced that this is a ftudy which demands -f™ confiderable attention to the rules of Style and J i good Writing. Beyond mere perfpicuity, itridt accuracy and precifion are required in a Philofo- phical Writer. He muft employ no words of un- j. certain meaning, no loofe nor indeterminate ex- preflions; and fhould avoid ufing words which are feemingly fynonymous, without carefully at- d tending to the variation which they make upon the idea.
To be clear then and precife , is one requifite : which we have a title to demand from every phi- t lofophical Writer. He may poffefs this quality, and be at the fame time a very dry Writer. He fhould therefore ftudy fome degree of embellilh- jj ment, in order to render his Compofttion pleafing and graceful. One of the moft agreeable, and one ^ of the moft ufeful embellilhments which a Philo- d fopher can employ , confifts in illuftrations taken " l from hiftorical fafts, and the characters of men. ^ All moral and political fubjefts naturally afford ■'; 1 ' fcope for thefe; and wherever there is room for M1 ‘ employing them, they feldom fail of producing

PHILOSOPHICAL WRITING.
75
n
a.
mi: a happy effect. They diverfify the Compofition; L e c t. M “-- they relieve the mind from the fatigue of mere rea- XXXVII. I ^foiling, and at the fame time raife more fullcon- vidion than any reafonings produce : for they ^ take Philofophy out of the abftrad, and give ^' E : weight to Speculation, by fhowing its connexion- ' re ^ 0: with real life, and the actions of mankind.
^ to! Philosophical Writing admits befides of a polilhed, a neat, and elegant Style. It admits of ■^’Metaphors, Companions, and all the calm Fi- % gures ofSpeech , by which an Author may convey his fenfe to the underftanding with clearnefs and ^ force, at the fame time that he entertains the ima- 0I ^- gination. He mult take great care, however,
:raE that all his ornaments be* of the chafteft kind ,
0I| k' never partaking of the florid or the tumid ; which :arefti: j s f 0 unpardonable in a profelfed Philofopher, that it is much better for him to err on the fide of naked fimplicity, than on that of too much ornament.
Defy Some of the Ancients , as Plato and Cicero, have left us Fhilofophical Treatifes compofed with hif much elegance and beauty. Seneca has been long Into, and juflly cenfured for the affectation that appears in his Style. He is too fond of a certain brilliant and fparkling manner ; of antithefes and quaint le.att fentences. It cannot be denied , at the fame time,
W that he often expreffes himfelf with much livelinefs ■tioni- and force ; though his Style, upon the whole , is far from deferving imitation. In Englifh, P»Tr. fallp Locke’s celebrated Treatife on Human Underfland- ; root ing , may be pointed out as a model, on the preii one hand , of the greatefl clearnefs anddiftindlnefs of .

?6
DIALOGUE.
L e c t. Philofophical Style, with very little approach to XXXVII. ornament: Lord Shaftfbury’s Writings, on the other hand, exhibit Philofophy dreffed up with •all the ornament which it can admit; perhaps with more than is perfectly fuited to it.
Philosophical Compofition fometimes affu- mes a form, under which it mingles more with works of tafte, when carried on in the way of Dialogue and Converfation. Under this form the Ancients have given us fome of their chief Philofophical Works; and feveral of the Moderns have endeavoured to imitate them. Dialogue Writing may be executed in two ways, either as direCt Converfation, where none but the Speakers appear, which is the method that Plato ufes; or as the recital of a Converfation, where the Author himfelf appears, and gives an account of what paffed in difcourfe ; which is the method that Cicero generally follows. But though thofe different methods make fome variation in the form , yet the nature of the Compofition is at bottom the fame in both, and fubjeCt to the fame laws.
A Dialogwe , in one or other of thefe forms, on fome philofophical, moral, or critical fubjed, when it is well conducted , ftands in a high rank among the works of tafte; but is much more difficult in the execution than is commonly imagined. For it requires more, than merely the introduction of different perfons fpeaking in fuc- ceffion. It ought to be a natural and fpiritcd . reprefentation of real converfation; exhibiting the
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character, and manners of the feveral Speakers, L n c t. and faiting to the charadter of each, that peculiar- XXXVII. ityof thought and expreffion which didinguilhes him from another. A Dialogue, thus conducted , gives the Reader a very agreeable entertainment; as by means of the debate going on among the perfonages, he receives a fair and full view of both fides of the argument; and is, at the fame time , amufed with polite converfation , and with a difplay of confident and well fupported characters. An Author, therefore, who has Genius for executing fuch a Compofition after this manner, has it in his power both to indru<d and to pleafe.
But the greated part of Modern Dialogue Writers have no idea of any Compofition of this fort; and bating the outward forms of converfation, and that one fpeaks, and another anfwers, it is quite the fame as if the Author {poke in perfon throughout the whole. He fets up a Philotheos perhaps , and a Philatheos , or an A and a B; who, after mutual compliments , and after admiring the finenefs of the morning or evening , and the beauty of the profpe&s around them, enter into conference concerning fome grave matter; and all that we know farther of them is, that the one perfonates the Author, a man of learning, no doubt, and of good principles; and the other is a man of draw, fet up to propofe fome trivial objections ; over which the fird gains a mod entire triumph; and leaves his fceptical antagonid at the end much

78
DIALOGUE.
L E C T.
XXXVII.
humbled, and generally, convinced of his error. 1:111 This is a very frigid and infipid manner of writing; ^ the more fo, as it is an attempt toward fome- thing, which we fee the Author cannot fupport.
It is the form, without the fpirit of converfation. ^ The Dialogue ferves no purpofe, but to make awkward interruptions •, and we would with more r ^ patience hear the Author continuing always to reafon himfelf, and to remove the objections p 51 that are made to his principles, than be troubled ^ with the unmeaning appearance of two perfons, whom we fee to be in reality no more than one. uW Among the Ancients , Plato is eminent for b ' the beauty of his Dialogues. The fcenery , and the circumftances of many of them, are beauti- |le, fully painted. The characters of the Sophifts, pit with whom Socrates difputed, are well drawn; L a variety of perfonages are exhibited to us; we «it are introduced into a real converfation, often : :;;t fupported with much life and fpirit, after the .. Socratic manner. For richnefs and beauty of 1, imagination, no Philofophic Writer, Ancient or H Modern, is comparable to Plato. The only fault pi,: of his imagination is, fuch an excefs of fertility as allows it fometimes to obfcure his judgment. kj[ ( It frequently carries him into Allegory, Fiction, ^ Enthufiafm , and the airy regions of Mythical D., Theology. The Philofopher is , at times , loft in : t j the Poet. But whether we be edified with the ^
matter or not (and much edification he often affords), \ye are always entertained with the
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DIALOGUE.
79
manner; and left with a ftrong impreffion of the °h fubliimty of the Author’s Genius.
CictKo’s Dialogues, or thofe recitals of con- lo; l? verfation, which he has introduced into feveral Wei of his Philofophical and Critical Works, are not 0! ": fo fpirited, nor fo charaderiftical , as thofe of I*'- Plato. Yet fome, as tlaat “ De Oratore” efpecially, are agreeable and well fupported. They fhow us oh? converfation carried on among fome of the prints cipal perfons of ancient Rome, with freedom, rote good breeding, and dignity. The Author of the 'tfe elegant Dialogue, “ De Caufis Corrupts Elo- xc quentiae, ” which is annexed fometimes to the aer works of Quindilian, and fometimes to thofe , atilt of Tacitus, has happily imitated, perhaps has it Sc excelled Cicero, in this manner of writing, ivellt Lucian is a Dialogue Writer of much eminence; ftu : though his fubjeds are feldom fuch as can entitle too,; him to be ranked among Philofophical Authors, i He has given the model of the light and humo- te rous Dialogue, and has carried it to great per- .te fedion. A charader of levity, and at the fame leodt: time of wit and penetration , diftinguifh all his iofi. writings. His great objed was, to expofe the , r ;.. follies of fuperftition , and the pedantry of Philo- T,f. : fophy, which prevailed in his age; and he could )[V not have taken any more fuccefsful method for I®,! this end , than what he has employed in his ] r Dialogues, efpecially in thofe of the Gods and a fei of the Dead , which arc full of pleafantry and t fatire. In this invention of Dialogues of the Dead, he has been followed by feveral Modern Authors.
«
L E C T. XXXVII.

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EPISTOLARY WRITING.
in:
L e c t. Fontenelle, in particular , has given us Dialogues ■XXXVII. of this fort, which are fprighdy and agreeable;
but as for characters, whoever his perfonages be, they all become Frenchmen in his hands. Indeed few things in Gompofition are more difficult, than in the courfe of a Moral Dialogue to exhibit characters properly dillingui'fhed ; as calm conver- fation furniflies none of thofe affiftances for bringing characters into light, which the active fcenes, and interefting fituations of the Drama, afford. Hence few Authors are eminent for Characteriftical Dialogue on grave fubjedts. One of the moft remarkable in the Enghflr language, is a Writer of the laft age, Dr. Henry More, in his Divine Dialogues, relating to the foundations of Natural Religion, Though his Style be now in fome meafure obfolete , and his Speakers be marked with the academic ftiffnefs of thofe times, yet the Dialogue is animated by a variety of Character and a fprightlinefs of Converfation, beyond what are commonly met with in Writings of this kind. Bifhop Berkeley’s Dialogues concerning the exiftence of matter, do not attempt any difplay of Characters ; but furnifli an inftance of a very abftract fubjedt , rendered clear and intelligible by means of Converfation properly
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I PROCEED next to make fome obfervations on Epiftolary Writing; which pofTeffes a kind of middle place between the ferious and amufing fpecies of Gompofition. Epiftolary Writing appears, at firft view , to ftretch into a very
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wide field. For there is no fubjedl whatever, on L e c r. which one may not convey his thoughts to the XXXVII. Public, in the form of a Letter. Lord Shaftfbury, for inftance , Mr. Harris , and feveral o.ther Writers, have chofen to give this form to philofo- phical treatifes. But this is not fufficient to clafs fuch treatifes under the head of Epiltolary Com- polition. Though they bear, in the title page, a Letter to a Friend, after the firft addrefs, the friend difappears, and we fee , that it is, in truth, the Public with whom the Author corre- fponds. Seneca’s Epiftles are of this fort. There is no probability that they ever patted in corre- fpondence, as real letters. They are no other than mifcellaneous dilfertations on moral fubje&s, which the Author, for his convenience, chofe to put into the Epiftolary form. Even where one writes a real letter on fome formal topic , as of moral or religious confolation to a perfon under diftrefs, fuch as Sir William Temple has written to theCountefs of Eflex on the death of her daughter, he is at liberty, on fuch occafions , to write wholly as a Divine or as a Philofopher, and to affume the ftyle and manner of one, without reprehenfion. We confider the Author not as writing a letter, but as compofing a Difcourfe, fuited particularly to the circumllances of fome one perfon.
Epistolary Writing becomes a diftindt fpecies of Compofition , fubjecl to the cognizance of Criticifm, only or*chiefly, when it is of the eafy and familiar kind; when it is converfation
Vol. III. G

82 EPISTOLARY WRITING,
£F
L e c t. carried on upon paper, between two friends at XXXVIL a diftance. Such an intercourfe . when well conducted , may be rendered very agreeable to readers of tafte. If the fubjedt of the Letters be important, they will be the more valuable Even though there fhould be nothing very confiderable in the fubjedt, yet if the fpirit and turn of the correfpondence be agreeable; if they be written in a fprightly manner , and with native grace and eafe, they may {till be entertaining; more efpecially if there be any thing to intereft us, in the characters of thofe who write them. Hence the curiofity which the Public has always dif- covered, concerning the letters of eminent perfons. We expedt in them to difcover fomewhat of their real character. It is childifh indeed to expedt, that in Letters we are to find the whole heart of the Author unveiled. Concealment and difguife take place, more or lefs , in all human intercourfe. But ftill, as Letters from one friend to another make the nearelt approach to conver- fation , we may expect to fee more of a character difplayed in thefe than in other productions, which are ltudied for public view. We pleafe ourfelves with beholding the Writer in a fitua- tion which allows him to be at his eafe, and to give vent occafionally to the overflowings of his heart.
IVIuch , therefore, of the merit, and the agreeablenefs of Epiftolary Writing, will depend on its introducing us into fome acquaintance with the Writer. There, if any \yhere, \ye look for the
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fo nian, not for the Author. Its firft and funda- Lect.
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real- for a ftiff and laboured manner is as bad in a
her letter, as it is in converfation. This does not
iblsr banifli fprightlinefs and wit. Thefe are graceful
outer in Letters , juft as they are in converfation;
tint! when they flow ealily, and without being ftudied;
hr when employed fo as to feafon , not to cloy.
raver One who, either in Converfaticfn or in Letters,
m»;r affects to fhine and to fparkle always, will not
sefo pleafe long. The ftyle of Letters fhould not be
em E too highly polilhed. It ought to be neat and
alra corred, but no more. All nicety about words,
itntfs betrays ftudy; and hence mufical periods, and
intti: appearances of number and harmony in arrange-
torc ment, Ihould be carefully avoided in letters. The
wlioSt: belt letters are commonly fuch as the Authors
anddife have written with moft facility. What the heart
uniat or the imagination dictate , always flows readily;
]e fuu but where there is no fubject to warm or intereft t0 E thefe, conftraint appears; and hence, thofe facie Letters of mere compliment, congratulation, or pjodti affected condolence, which have coft the Authors \\i: moft labour in compoftng , and which, for that r c i; reafon, they perhaps conflder as their mafter- ; ^ pieces, never fail of being the moft difagreeable | oK ; and inhpid to the Readers.
It ought at the fame time to be remembered,
( £ that the eafe and fimplicity which I have recom- mended in Epiftolary Correfpondence, is not to Da!t! i be underftood as importing entire careleffnefs. In writing to the moft intimate friend, a certain
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84
EPISTOLARY WRITING.
L E C T. XXXVII.
degree of attention, both to the fubjecl and the ftyle, is requifite and becoming. It is no more, than what we owe both to ourfelves, and to the friend with whom we correfpond. A llovenly and negle&ed manner of Writing, is a difobliging mark of want of refpedl. The liberty, belldes, of writing Letters with too carelefs a hand, is apt to betray perfons into imprudence in what they write. THe firft requilite, both in conver- fation and correfpondence , is to attend to all the proper decorums which our own character, and that of others, demand. An imprudent expref- fion in converfation may be forgotten and pafs away; but when we take the pen into our hand, we mud remember, that cc Litera fcripta manet.”
Pliny’s Letters are one of the molt celebrated colledtions which the Ancients have given us, in the epiftolary way. They are elegant and polite ; and exhibit a very pleafmg and amiable view of the Author. But, according to the vulgar phrafe, they fmell too much of the lamp. They are too elegant and fine; and it is not eafy to
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eye towards the Public, when he is appearing to write only for his friends. Nothing indeed is more difficult , than for an Author , who publishes his own letters , to diveft himfelf altogether of attention to the opinion of the world in what he fays; by which means, he becomes much lefs agreeable than a man of parts would be, if. without any conftraint of this fort, he Were writing to his intimate friend.

G.
EPISTOLARY WRITING. 85
:t£: Cicero’s Epidles, though not fo fhowy as Lecv
103 thofe of Pliny, are, on feveral accounts, afar XXXV 1 L ,t: more valuable collection; indeed, the mod va- iai} luable collection of Letters extant in any language, iffc They are letters of real bulinefs, written to the t created men of the age , compofed with purity but and elegance, but without, the lead affedtation; in and, what adds greatly to their merit, written 3 CB without any intention of being publifhed to the cds. world. For it appears, that Cicero never kept dm: copies of his own letters; and we are wholly into indebted to the care of his freed-man Tyro, for r: the large collection that was made , after his (Hi: death , of thofe which are now extant, amount' am ing to near a thoufand *, They contain the mod celefc authentic materials of the hidory of that age ;
,ea]i and are the lad monuments which remain of ndp Rome in its free date; the greated part of them lUe;- being written during that important crifis, when le 15 the Republic was on the point of ruin ; the mod upj ; intereding fituation , perhaps, which is to be xcr found in the affairs of mankind. To his intimate jg;:- friends, efpeciaily to Atticus, Cicero lays open himfelf and his heart, with entire freedom. In jjju the courfe of his correfpondence with others, jjn; we are introduced into acqftaintance with feveral jjpp of the principal perfonages of Rome; and it is
* See his Letter to Atticus, which was written a year or two before his death, in which he tells him, in anfwer 1to fome enquiries concerning his Epiftles , that he had no fjii, collection of them, and that Tyro had only about feventy of them. Ad Att. 16.
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86 EPISTOLARY WRITING.
Lect.
XXXVII.
remarkable that mod of Cicero’s correfpondents, as well as himfelf, are elegant and polite Writers; which ferves to heighten our idea of the tafte and manners of that age.
The moll diftinguifhed collection of Letters in the Englilh Language , is that of Mr. Pope; D ean Swift, and their friends; partly publifhed in Mr. Pope’s Works , and partly in thofe of Dean Swift. This Collection is , on the whole, an entertaining and agreeable one; and contains much wit and ingenuity. It is not, however, altogether free of the fault which l imputed to Pliny’s Epiftles, of too much fludy and refinement. In the variety of Letters from different perfons, contained in that Collection, we find many that are written with eafe , and a beautiful fimplicity. Thofe of Dr. Arbuthnot, in particular, always deferve that praife. Dean Swift’s alfo are unaffected; and as a proof of their being fo, they exhibit his character fully, with all its defeds; though it were to be wilhed, for the honour of his memory , that his Epiftolary Correfpondence had not been drained to the dregs, by fo many fucceffive publications, as have been given to the world. Several of Lord Bolingbroke’s , and of Bifhop Atterbury’s Letters, are mafterly. The cenfure of writing Letters in too artificial a manner, falls heavieft on Mr. Pope himfelf. There is vifibly more fludy, and lefs of nature and the heart in his Letters , than in thofe of fome of his correfpondents. He had formed himfelf on the manner of Voiture , and is too fopd of writing
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like a wit. His Letters to Ladies are full of Lect, affectation. Even in writing to his friends, how XXXVII. forced an Introduction is the following of a Letter to Mr. Addifon : “lam more joyed at “ your return than I fhould be at that of the Sun,
« fo much as I wifh for him in this melancholy wet “ feafon; but it is his fate too, like yours, to be “ difpleafing to owls and obfcetie animals, who “ cannot bear his luftre.” How fliff a compliment is it, which he pays to Bifhop Atterbury ?
“ Though the noife and daily buftle for he “ Public be now over , I dare fay , you are ftill “ tendering its welfare; as the Sun in winter,
“ when feeming to retire from the world is “ preparing warmth and benedictions for a better “ feafon.” This fentence might be tolerated in a harangue; but is very unfuitable to the Style of one friend correfponding with another.
The gaiety and vivacity of the French genius appear to much advantage in their 1 etters, and have given birth to feveral agreeable publications.
In the laft age, Balzac andVoiture were the two molt celebrated Epiftolary Writers. Balzac’s reputation indeed foon declined , on account of his fwelling periods and pompous Style. But Voiture continued long a favourite Author. His Com- pofition is extremely fparkling; he fhows a great deal of wit, and can tride in the moll: entertaining manner. His only fault is, that he is too open and profelfed a wit , to be thoroughly, agreeable as a Letter Writer. The Letters of Madam de Sevigne, are now ePceemed the mofl
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S8 FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
L e c t. accomplished model of a familiar correspondence, XXXVII. They turn indeed very much upon trifles, the incidents of the day and the news of the town; and they are overloaded with extravagant compliments , and expreffions of fondnefs , to her favourite daughter; but withal, they Show fuch perpetual fprightlinefs , they contain fuch eafy and varied narration , and fo many ftrokes of the ; moft lively and beautiful painting, perfedly free from any affedation, that they are juftly intitled to high praife. The Letters of Lady IVlary Wordy Montague are not unworthy of being named after thofe of Mad. de Sevigne. They have much of the French eafe and vivacity; and retain more the character of agreeable Epiftolary Style , than perhaps any Letters which have appeared in the Englilh language.
There remains to be treated of another fpecies of Compofitiou inprofe, which comprehends a very numerous, though, in general, a very infignificant clafs of Writings, known by the name of Romances and Novels, Thefemay, at firft view, feem too infignificant, to deferve that any particular notice Should be taken of them. But I cannot be of this opinion, Mr. Fletcher of Salton , in one of his Trads, quotes it as the fayiug of a wife man, that give him the making of all the ballads of a nation, he would allow any one that pleafed to make their laws, The faying was founded on reflection and good fenfe, and applies to the fubjed now before us. For any kind of Writing, how trifling foever in
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^ appearance, that obtains a general currency, and L E c T. ^ especially that early preoccupies the imagination XXXVII- ^ of the youth of both fexes , mud demand parti- c « cular attention. Its influence is likely to be com 0 - jiderable, both on the morals , and tafte of a nation.
lti ! In fact, fictitious hiftories might be employed for very ufeful purpofes. They furnilh one of yfc the belt channels for conveying inftrueftion, for painting human life and manners , for fhowing the errors into which we are betrayed by our paflions, for rendering virtue amiable and vice ^ odious. The effect of well contrived ftories,
; i D towards accomplifhing thefe purpofes, is ftronger tok than any effect that can be produced by Ample k* and naked inftruction ; and hence we find , that the wifeft men in all ages , have more or lefs employed fables and fictions, as the vehicles of ®p knowledge. Thefe have ever been the bafis of cnl, both Epic and Dramatic Poetry. It is not, therein: fore, the nature of this fort of Writing confidered :©in itfelf, but the faulty manner of its execution, cbthat can expofe it to any contempt. Lord Bacon ii» takes notice of our tafte for fictitious hiftory, as a proof of the greatnefs and dignity of the human ; iti mind. He obferves very ingenioufly, that the mi objects of this world, and the common traits of josi affairs which we behold going on in it, do not li*s fill the mind, nor give it entire fatisfaction. We feek piifor fomething that fhall expand the mind in a greater er degree : we feek for more heroic and illuftrious ai deeds, for more diverfified and furprifing events,

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FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
L E c T for a more fplendid order of things , a more XXXVII. regular and juft d ; ftribution of rewards and punilhments than what we find here; becaufe we meet not with thefe in true hiftory, we have recourfe to fictitious. We create worlds according to our fancy , in order to gratify our capacious defires : “ Accommodando fays that great Philofopher, “ rerum fimulacra ad animi de-
“ fideria non fubmittendo animum rebus, quod cc ratio facit, et hiiloria*.” Let us then , fmce the fubject wants neither dignity nor ufe, make a few obfervations on the rife and progrefi of Fictitious Hiftory, and the different forms it has affumed in different countries.
In all countries we find its origin very ancient, The genius of the haftern nations, in particular, was from the earlieft times much turned towards invention , and the love of fiction. Their Divinity, their Philofophy , and their Politics, were cloathed in fables and parables. The Indians, the Perfians and Arabians , were all famous for their tales. The “ Arabian Night’s Entertainments” are the production of a romantic invention , but of a rich and amufing imagination ; exhibiting a fingular and curious difplay of manners and characters, and beautified with a very bujna ne morality. Among the ancient Greeks , we hear of the Ionian and Milefian Tales; but they are
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FICTITIOUS HISTORY, 9 t
J ' now periflied, and, from any account that we L E c T. ^ have of them, appear to have been of the loofe XXXVII. ^ and wanton kind. Some fi&itious hiftories yet * i: remain, that were compofed during the decline :t0,; of the Roman Empire, by Apuleius, Achilles J F : Tatius, and Heliodorus, bilhop of Trica, in the ■ 4th century ; but none of them are confiderable ® enough to merit particular criticifm.
V- During the dark ages , this fort of writing affumed a new and very fingular form, and for : a long while made a great figure in the world.
°r The martial fpirit of thofe nations, among whom E - the feudal government prevailed ; the eltablilh- ment of fingle combat, as an allowed method of deciding caufes both of juftice and honour; the appointment of champions in the caufe of women, who could not maintain their own rights by the Mi fword; together with the inRitution of military b tournaments, in which different kingdoms vied th with one another, gave rife, in thofe times, to fc that marvellous fyRem of chivalry, which is one of the moft fingular appearances in the hiftory te of mankind. Upon this were founded thofe it romances of knighterrantry, which carried an is? ideal chivalry, to a Rill more extravagant height ib than it had rifen in fact. There was difplayed V m them a new and very wonderful fort of world,
As hardly bearing any refemblance to the world in which we dwell. Not only knights fetting forth - to redrefs all manner of wrongs , but in every ^ page, magicians, dragons, and giants , invulnerable " men, winged horfes, enchanted armour, and

92
FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
Lect.
xxxvir.
enchanted caflles; adventures abfolutely incredible, yet fuited to the grofs ignorance of thefe ages, and to the legends, and fuperfhitious notions concerning magic and necromancy, which then prevailed. This merit they had, of being writings of the highly moral and heroic kind. Their knights were patterns, not of courage merely, but of religion, generofity, courtefy, and fidelity; and the heroines were no lefs diftinguifhed for modefty, delicacy, and the utmoft dignity of manners.
These were the firft compofitions that received the name of Romances. The origin of this name is traced, by Mr. Huet, the learned bifliop of Avranche, to the Provencal Troubadours, a fort of ftory-tellers and bards in the county of Provence, where there fublifted fome remains of literature and poetry. The language that prevailed in that country was a mixture of Latin and Gallic, called the Roman or Romance Language; and their ftories being written in that language, hence, it is faid, the name of Romance, which w now apply to all fictitious Compofition.
The earlieft of thofe Romances is that which goes under the name of Turpin, the archbifhop of Rheims, written in the 11 th century. The fubjedt is, the Atchievements of Charlemagne and his peers, or Paladins, in driving the Saracens out of France and part of Spain; the fame fub- jedt which Ariofto has taken for his celebrated poem of Orlando Furiofo, which is truly i Chivalry Romance, as extravagant as any of the
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93
^ reft, but partly heroic, and partly comic, embel- L E c i. N lifhed with the higheft graces of poetry. The XXXVIt c -' Romance of Turpin was followed by Amadis ^ de Gaul, and many more of the fame ftamp.
^ The Crufades both furniihed new matter, and ■ 1 increafed the fpirit for fuch Writings; the Chrifti- K ans againft the Saracens made the common ground-work of them; and from the nth to the i6di century, they continued to bewitch all 'S 1 ! Europe. In Spain, where the tafte for this fort of writing had been moft greedily caught, the trK ingenious Cervantes, in the beginning of the fe laft century, contributed greatly to explode it;
MS** and the abolition of tournaments, the prohibition lie: of Angle combat, the difbelief of magic and enow chantments, and the change in general of manners rat throughout Europe, began to give a new turn up to fictitious Compofition.
fit . THfcN appeared the Aftraea of D’urfe , the ja T- Grand Cyrus, the Clelia and Cleopatra of Mad. k'Scuderi, the Arcadia of Sir Philip Sidney,* and 5U other grave and ftately Compofitions in the fame i ftyle. Thefe may be confidered as forming the iw fecond ftage of Romance Writing. The heroifm aide and the gallantry, the moral and virtuous turn of it. the chivalry romance, were {till preferved; but mist the dragons, the necromancers, and the enchanted e Sj, caftles, were banilhed, and fome fmall refemblance feji to human nature was introduced. Still, however, cels there was too much of the marvellous in them s tr; to pleafe an age which now afpired to refinement. jiyS The characters were difeerned to be ftrained; the

FICTITIOUS HISTORY,
lECT.
XXXVII.
94
ftyle to be fwoln; the adventures incredible: the books themfelves were voluminous and tedious.
Hence , this fort of Compofition foon affumed a third form, and from magnificent Heroic Ro- mance , dwindled down to the Familiar Novel. Thefe Novels, both in France and England, during the age of Lewis XIV. and King Charles II. were in general of a trifling nature, without the appearance of moral tendency, or ufeful inftruction. Since that time , however, fomewhat better has been attempted, and a degree
of reformation introduced .into the fpirit of Novel
Writing. Imitations of life and character have
isi
Till
been made their principal object. Relations have been profeffed to be given of the behaviour of perfons in particular interefting fituations, fucii as may actually occur in life ; by mefms.of which, what is laudable or defective in character and in
jliev
:agin; ne ti
condudt, may be pointed out, and placed in a ufeful light. Upon this plan, the French have produced fome compofitions of confiderable
merit. Gil Bias, by Le Sage , is a book full of
n
tied
good fenfe, and inftrudtive knowledge of the world. The works of Marivaux, efpecially bis Marianne, difeover great refinement of thought, great penetration into human nature, and paint, with a very delicate pencil, fome of the niceit fliades and features in the diftinclion of characters. The Nouvelle Heloife of Roufleau is a production of a very Angular kind ; in many of the events which are related, improbable and unnatural; in fome of the details tedious, and for fome of
' 1,15
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FICTITIOUS HISTORY. 95
the fcenes which are defcribed juRly blameable; L e c t. ^ but withal, for the power of eloquence, for XXXVII.
tendernefs of fentiment, for ardour of paffion,
® entitled to rank among the higheft productions of Fictitious Hiftory.
^ In this kind of Writing we are , it mull be »?( confeffed, in Great Britain, inferior to the French.
® We neither relate fo agreeably, nor draw charac- ® ters with fo much delicacy ; yet we are not without w fome performances which difcover the ftrength h". of the Britilh genius. No fiction , in any lan- ofi guage , was ever better fupported than the ffi. Adventures of Robinfon Crufoe. While it is cos carried on with that appearance of truth and ura fimplicity , which takes a ftrong hold of the off. imagination of all Readers, it fuggefts, at the of' fame time, very ufeful inftru&ion; by fhowing at how much the native powers of man may be id exerted for furmounting the difficulties of any end: external fituation. Mr. Fielding’s Novels are on- highly diftinguifhed for their humour; a humour uU which, if not of the molt refined and delicate fa kind, is original and peculiar to himfelf. The iciu characters which he draws are lively and natural, jft and marked with the ftrokes of a bold pencil, and: The general fcope of his ftories is favourable to tit humanity and goodnefs of heart; and in Tom elm Jones, his greateft work, the artful condudt of prot the fable, and the fubferviency of all the incidents tit: to the winding up of the whole, deferve much iei> praife I he mod moral of all our Novel Writers is Richardfon , the Author of Clariffa, a Writer

9 0 FICTITIOUS HISTORY.
L E c T. XXXVII.
of excellent intentions, and of very confiderable capacity and genius; did he not poffefs the unfor- tunate talent of fpinning out pieces of amuferaent into an immenfurable length. The trivial performances which daily appear in public under the title of Lives, Adventures , and Hiftories, by anonymous Authors , if they be often innocent, yet are moft commonly infipid; and, though in the general it ought to be admitted that Charac- teriftical Novels, formed upon Nature and upon Life, without extravagance, and without licen- tioufnefs, might furnilh an agreeable and ufeful entertainment to the mind; yet according as thefe Writings have been, for the moft part, conduced, it muft alfo be confeffed, that they oftener tend to diffipation and idlenefs, than to any good purpofe. Let us now therefore make our retreat from thefe regions of fiction.
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LECTURE XXXVIII*
out
Ttu- ft J> iiiii
trivii.
&E;
Hfe fee ad,
4 ^ NATURE OF POETRY. — ITS ORIGIN
AND PROGRESS. — VERSIFICATION, wk
oni’!! J HAVE now Sniffled my obfervations on tlie ^ e c T.
different kinds of Writing in Profe. What remains xXXVIIf. 7 is, to treat of Poetical Compofition. Before enter- tonfing on the confideration of any of its particular iks® kinds, I defign this Lecfture as an Introduction to the fubjetft of Poetry in general; wherein I Iball treat of its nature, give an account of its rife and origin, and make fome obfervations on Verification, or Poetical Numbers.
Our firft: enquiry mud be, what is Poetry? and wherein does it differ from Profe ? The an- fwer to this queftion is not fo eafy as might at firft be imagined; and Critics have differed and difputed much , concerning the proper definition of Poetry. Some have made its effence to confift in fiction , and fupport their opinion by the authority of Ariftotle and Plato. But this is certainly too limited a definition; for though fiction may have a great lhare in many Poetical Compo" fitions, yet many l'ubjects of Poetry may not be £ Vol. III. H

9 8 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
L e c t. feigned ; as where the Poet defcribes objects
XXXVIII. which actually exift, or pours forth the real ^ fentiments of his own heart. Others have made the characteriltic of Poetry to lie in Imitation. But this is altogether loofe; for feveral other arts imitate as well as Poetry; and an imitation of human manners and charadters, may be carried on in the humbled: Profe , no lefs than in the moft lofty Poetic ftrain.
The moll juft and comprehenftve definition which, I think, can be given of Poetry, is, “ That “ it is the language of paffion, or of enlivened “ imagination, formed, molt commonly, into ct regular numbers. ” The Hiftorian, the Orator, the Philofopher, addrefs themfelves, for the moft part, primarily to the underftanding: their dired aim is to inform, to perfuade , or to inftrud. But the primary aim of a Poet is to pleafe, and to move; and, therefore, it is to the Imagination, and the Paffions, that he fpeaks. He may, and he ought to have it in his view, to inftrud, and to reform ; but it is indirectly, and by pleading and moving, that he accomplifhes this end. His mind is fuppofed to be animated by fome interefting ob]edt which fires his Imagination, or engages his Paffions, and which, of courfe, communicates to his Style a peculiar elevation fuited to his ideas, very different from that mode of expreffion, which is natural to the mind in its calm, ordinary Rate. I have added to my definition, that this language of Paffion, or Imagination, is formed, mojl commonly, into regular

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ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 99
numbers; becaufe, though Verification be, in Leo t. general, the exterior diftinction of Poetry, yet XXXVIII. there are fome forms of Verfe fo loofe and familiar , as to, be hardly diftinguilhable from__
Profe; fuch as the Verfe of Terence’s Comedies ; and there is alfo a fpecies of Profe, fo meafured in its cadence, and fo much raifed in its tone, as to approach very near to Poetical Numbers; fuch as the Telemaclius of Fenelon; and the Englifh Tranflation of Offian. The truth is, Verfe and Profe, on fome occafions, run into one another, like light and fhade. It is hardly poffible to determine the exatff limit where Eloquence ends , and Poetry begins; nor is there any occafion for being very precife about the boundaries , as long as the nature of each is underftood. Thefe are the minutiae of Criticifm , concerning which, frivolous Writers are always difpofed to fquabble; but which deferve not any -particular difcuffion. The truth and juftnefs of the definition, which I have given of Poetry , will appear more fully from the account which I am now to give of its origin; and which will tend to throw light on much of what 1 am afterwards to deliver, concerning its various kinds.
The Greeks, ever fond of attributing to their own nation the invention of all fcieuces and arts, have afcribed the origin of Poetry to Orpheus,
Linus, and Mufxus. There were, perhaps, fuch perfons as thefe, who were the firft diftinguifbed Bards in the Grecian countries. But long before fuch names were heard of, and among nations
H 2

100 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY
Leg t. where they were never known, Poetry exifted.
XXXVIII. It is a great error to imagine, that Poetry and xnufic are Arts which belong only to poliflbed nations. They have their foundation in the nature of man , and belong to all nations, and to all ages ; though , like other Arts founded in nature, they have been more cultivated, and, from a concurrence of favourable circumftances, carried to greater perfection in fome countries, than in others. In order to explore the rife of Poetry, we mull have recourfe to the deferts and the wilds; we muft go back to the age of hunters and of fhepherds; to the higheft antiquity ; and to the fimpleft form o*f manners among mankind.
It h as been often faid, and the concurring voice of all antiquity affirms , that Poetry is older thanProfe. But in what fenfe this feemingly ftrange paradox holds true, has not always been well underftood. There never, certainly, was any period of fociety, in which men converfed together in Poetical Numbers. It was in very humble and fcanty Profe, as we may eafily believe, that the firffc tribes carried on intercourfe among them* felves, relating to the wants and neceffities of life. But from the very beginning of Society, there were occafions on which they met together for feafts, facrifices, and Public Affemblies; and on all fuch occafions, it is well known, that mufic, fong, and dance, made their principal entertainment. It is chiefly in America, that we have had the opportunity of being made acquainted with men in their favage ftate. We

ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY, ici
nwrffi . verv^f' beu-:"
learn from the particular and concurring accounts Lect. of Travellers, that, among all the nations of XXXVIII. thatvaft continent, efpecially among the Northern Tribes, with whom we have had mold inter- courfe, mufic and fong are, at all their meetings, carried on with an incredible degree of enthu- fiafm ; that the Chiefs of the Tribe are thofe who fignalize themfelves moll on fuch occafions; that it is in Songs they celebrate their religious rites; that, by thefe they lajnent their public and private calamities, the death of friends, or the lofs of warriors; exprefs their joy on their victories; celebrate the great actions of their nation, and their heroes; excite each other to perform brave exploits in war, or to fuffer death and torments with unfhaken conftancy.
Heke then we fee the firft beginnings of Poetic Compofition , in thofe rude effufions; which the enthufiafm of fancy orpaffion fuggeft- ed to untaught men , when roufed by intereft- ‘ ing events, and by their meeting together in Public affemblies. Two particulars would early diftinguilh this language of fong, from that in which they converfed on the common oecurren-, ces of life; namely, an unufual arrangement of words, and the employment of bold figures of fpeech. It would invert words, or change them from that order in which they are commonly placed, to that which moft fuited the train in which they rofe in the Speaker’s imagination; or which was moft accommodated to the cadence of the paffion by# which he was moved. Under
H 3
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103 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
L f. c t, the influence too of any ftrong emotion, objects XXXVIII. do not appear to us fuch as they really are , but fuch as paffion makes us fee them. We magnify and exaggerate; we feek to intereft all others in what caufes our emotion; we compare the leaft things to the greateft; we call upon the abfent as well as the prefent, and even addrefs ourfelves to things inanimate. Hence, in congruity with thofe various movements of the mind, arife thofe turns of expreffion , which we now dillinguifh by the learned names of Plyperbole, Profopopreia, Simile, &c. but which are no other than the native original language of Poetry, among the molt barbarous nations.
Man is both a Poet, and a Mufician, by nature. The fame impulfe which prompted the enthufiaftic Poetic Style, prompted a certain melody , or modulation of found, fuited to the emotions of Joy or Grief, of Admiration, Love, or Anger. There is a power in found, which, partly from nature, partly from habit and affocia- tion , makes fuch pathetic impreffions on the fancy, as delight even the moft wild barbarians. Mulic and Poetry, therefore, had the fame rife; they were prompted by the fame occafions ; they v/ere united in fong; and, as long as they continued united, they tended without doubt, mutually to heighten and exalt each other’s power. The fir ft Poets fung their own verfes; and hence the beginning of what we call, Verfification, or words arranged in a more artful order than Profe, fo as to be fuited to fome tune^or melody. The

El? ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 103
• liberty of tranfpofition , or inverfion, which the L e c t. k- Poetic Style, as I obferved, would naturally af- XXXVIII. :mn fume, made it eafier to form the words into foine ode fort of numbers that fell in with the mufic of the :ib‘ fong. Very harfh and uncouth, we may eafdy ajfc believe, thefe numbers would be at Hrft. But out the pleafure was felt; it was ftudied; and Verfifi- iis t cation, by degrees, paffed into an Art. ink: It appears from what has been faid, that the
lifter firft Compofitions, which were either recorded fop by Writing, or tranfmitted by Tradition, could ik be no other than Poetical Compofitions. No jvv: other but thefe, could draw the attention of men in their rude uncivilized fta$e. Indeed they knew j f. no other. Cool reafoning. and plain difeourfe, had jpj.. no power to attract favage Tribes, addiefted only .jjjj, to hunting and war. There was nothing that jjjj. could either roufe the Speaker to pour hi r felf ^ forth, or draw the crowd to liften but the high powers of Paffion , of Mufic, and of Song. This vehicle, therefore, and no other, could be cm- ployed by Chiefs and legiflators, when they 'riir 1Tieant to ioft 1 ' 11 ^ '■> or to animate their Tribes, i There is, likewife , a farther reafon why Inch
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. Compofitions only could be tranfmitted to pofte- jJ. rity; becaufe , before Writing was invented,
Songs only could laft, and be renu mbered. The ear gave afliftance to the memory, by the help of 'Jl numbers; fathers repeated and fung then to their ",^ children; and by this oral tradition of national * Ballads, was conveyed all the hiftorical knowledge 5 f [ and all the inftrudiion , of the firft ages.
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1*4 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
L e c t. The earlieft accounts which Hiflory gives us
XXXVIII, concerning all nations, bear teftimony to thefe facts. In the firft ages of Greece, Priefts, Phi- lofophers , and Statefmen , all delivered their inftrudions in Poetry. Apollo, Orpheus, and Amphion, their moft ancient Bards, are repre- dented as the firft tamers of mankind, the firft founders of law and civilifation. Minos and Thales, fung to the Lyre the laws which they compofed*; and till the age immediately preceding that of Herodotus, Hiflory had appeared in no other form than that of Poetical Tales.
I.N the fame manner, among all other nations, Poets and Songs are- the firft objects that make their appearance. Among the Scythian or Gothic nations, many of their kings and leaders were Scalders, or Poets; and it is from their Runic Songs , that the moft early Writers of their Hiflory, fuch as Saxo-Grammadcus, acknowledge, that they had derived their chief information. Among the Celtic Tribes, in Gaul, Britain, and Ireland , we know , in what admiration their Bards were held , and how great influence they poffeffed over the people. They were both Poets And Muficians , as all the firft Poets, in every country , were. They were always near the perfon of the chief or fovereign; they recorded all his great exploits; they were employed as the ambaffadors between contending tribes, and their perfons were held facred,
*
Strabo ,1. i o.

ft ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 105
6: From this deduction it follows, that as we
^ have reafon to look for Poems and Songs among the ■antiquities of all countries, fo we rnay expedt, ^ . that in the ftrain of thefe there will be a remarkable refemblance , during the primitive periods of rt " every country. The occafions of their being e E compofed, are every where nearly the fame.
* - The praifes of Gods and Heroes, the celebration hi of famed anceftors , the recital of martial deeds, > tK: fongs of victory, and fongs of lamentation over r£| f the misfortunes and death of their countrymen, occur among all nations ; and the fame enthufiafm and fire, the fame wild and irregular, but ani- mated Compofition, concife apd glowing Style, bold and extravagant Figures of Speech , are the general diftinguilhing characters of all the moft Re ancient original Poetry. That ftrong hyperbolical ft manner which we have been long accuflomed to call the Oriental manner of poetry (becaufe ns fome of the earlieft poetical productions came to ag us from the Eaft), is in truth no more Oriental 12 than Occidental; it is characteriftical of an age :e& rather than of a country ; and belongs, in fome hb meafure, to all nations at that period which firft [tt? gives rife to Mufic and to Song. Mankind never refemble each other, fo much as they do in the sai beginnings of fociety. Its fubfequent revolutions, iyeJi give birth to the principal diftindtions of character a,, among nations, and divert into channels widely feparated , that current of human Genius and manners, which defcends originally from one fpring.
L E C T.
XXXVIII.

io6 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
JL E c t. D iVERSiTY of climate, and of manner of living,
XXXYIII. will, however, occafion fome diverfity in the drain of the firft Poetry of nations ; chiefly according as thofe nations are of a more ferocious,, or of a more gentle fpirit; and according as they advance fafter or flower , in the arts of civiii. zation. Thus we find ail the remains of the ancient Gothic Poetry remarkably fierce , and breathing nothing but flaughter and blood; while the Peruvian and the Chinefe fongs turned, from the earliefi: times , upon milder fubjects. The Celtic poetry in the days of Offian , though chiefly of the martial kind , yet had attained a confiderable mixture of tendernefs and refinement; in confequence of, the long cultivation of Poetry among the Cel tee , by means of a feries and fucceffion of Bards w'hich had been eftablilhed for ages. So Lucan informs us :
Vos quoqne qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos
Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis mvum
Plurima fecuri fudiftis carmina bardi *. [ L. 44. ]
Among the Grecian nations, their early Poetry appears to have foon received a philoiophical
* You too, ye bards, whom facred raptures Are To chaunt your heroes to your country’s lyre, ■Who confecrate in your immortal ftrain Brave patriot fouls in righteous battle llain; Securely now the ufeful talk renew,
And noblell themes in deathlefs fongs pur Cue.
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ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 107
^ caft , from what we are informed concerning Lect. F the fubjects of Orpheus, Linus, and Mufseus, XXXV 11 I. c ~ who treated of Creation and of Chaos, of the . Generation of the World, and of the Rife of Things; and we know that the Greeks advanced ftt fooner to philofophy , and proceeded with a quicker pace in all the arts of refinement than ce - mofl: other nations.
hr The Arabians and the Perfians have always ■I-- been the greateft Poets of the Eaft; and among s. ' them, as among other nations, Poetry was the to earlieft vehicle of all their learning and inftruc- ac. tion *. The ancient Arabs,'we are informed f,
[dse valued themfelves much on their metrical Cora- fPc pofitions, which were of two forts, the one JiS they compared to loofe pearls , and the other hit to pearls ftrung. In the former, the fentences or verfes were without connexion; and their beauty arofe from the elegance of the expreffion, and the acutenefs of the fentiment. The moral doctrines of the Perfians were generally comprehended in L;. fuch independent proverbial apothegms, formed into verfe. In this refpedt they bear a confiderable r?- refemblance to the Proverbs of Solomon ; a great part of which book confxfts of unconnected Poetry, like the loofe pearls of the Arabians.
The fame form of Compofition appears alfo in
* Vid. Voyages de Chardin , chap, de la Poefie des 1 Perfans.
;s t Vid. Preliminary Difcourfe to Safe's Tr3nflation of the Koran.

io8 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
Lect. the Book of Job. The Greeks feem to have been XXXVIII. the firft who introduced a more regular ftruclure, and clofer connexion of parts, into their Poetical Writings.
During the infancy of Poetry, all the different kinds of it lay confufed, and were mingled in the fame compofition , according as inclination, enthufiafm , or cafual incidents , directed the Poet’s ftrain. In the progrefs oi Society and Arts, they began to alfume thofe different regular forms, and to be diftinguilhed by thofe different names under which we now know them. But in the firft rude ftate of Poetical Effufions, we can eafily difcern the feeds and beginnings of all the kinds of regular Poetry. Odes and hymns of every fort, would naturally be among the M compofitions; according as the B.frds were moved by religious feelings, by exultation, refentment, love , or any other warm fentiment, to pour themfelves forth in Song. Plaintive or Elegiac Poetry , would as naturally arife from lamentations over their deceafed friends. The recital of tire achievements of their heroes, and their anceftors, gave birth to what we now call Epic Poetry; and as not content with fimply reciting thefe, they would infallibly be led, at fome of their public meetings , to reprefent them , by introducing different Bards fpeaking in the character of their heroes, and anfwering each other, we find in this the firft outlines of Tragedy or • Dramatic Writing.
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ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY. 109
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None of thefe kinds of Poetry, however, were Lect, in the firft ages of Society properly diftinguifihed XXXVIII. or feparated , as they are now, from each other.
Indeed, not only were the different kinds of Poetry then mixed together, but all that we now call Letters, or Compofition of any kind, was then blended in one mafs. At firft, Hiftory,
Eloquence , and Poetry , were all the fame.
Whoever wanted to move or to perfuade, to inform or to entertain his countrymen and neighbours, whatever was the fubjedt, accompanied his fentiments and tales with the melody of Song.
This was the cafe in that period of Society, when the character and occupations of the hufband- man and the builder, the warrior and the ftatefman, were united in one perfon. When the progrefs of Society brought on a reparation of the different Arts and Profeffions of Civil Life, it led alfo by degrees to a reparation of the different literary provinces from each other. v
The Art of Writing was in procefs of time invented; records of paft tranfadtions began to be kept; men , occupied with the fubjedls of policy and ufeful arts, wdflied now to be 'inftrudted and informed , as well as moved. They reafoned and refledted upon the affairs of life ; and were interefted by what was real, not fabulous, in paft tranfactions. The Hiftorian, therefore, now laid afide the bufkins of Poetry ; he wrote in Profe , and attempted to give a faithful and judicious relation of former events. The Philo- fopher addreffed himfelf chiefly to the underftand-

110 ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF POETRY.
L e c T. ing. The Orator ftudied to perfuade by reafoning XXXVIII. and retained more or Jefs of the ancient paffionate, and glowing Style, according as it was conducive to his purpofe. Poetry became now a feparate art, calculated chiefly to pleafe, and confined generally to fuch fubjects as related to the imagination and paffions. Even its earlieft companion, Mufic, was in a great meafure divided from it.
These reparations brought all the literary arts •into a more regular form , and contributed to the exact and accurate cultivation of each. Poetry, however , in its ancient original condition, was perhaps more vigorous than it is in its modem ftate. It included then , the whole burl! of the human mind; the‘whole exertion of "its imaginative faculties. It fpoke then the language of paffion, and no other ; for to paffion, it owed its birth. Prompted and infpired by objects, which • to him feemed great, by events which interefted his country or his friends, the early Bard arofe and fung. He fung indeed in wild and diforderly fti ains ; but they were the native effufions of his heart ; they were the ardent conceptions of admiration or refentment, of forrow or friendihip, which he poured forth. It is no wonder, therefore, that in the rude and artlefs (train of the firft Poetry of all nations, we fhould often find foine- what that captivates and tranfports the mind. In after ages, when Poetry became a regular art, ftudied for reputation and for gain , Authors began to affedt what they did not feel. Compolmg
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coolly in their clofets , they endeavoured to Lect. imitate paffion, rather than to exprefs it; they XXXVIII. tried to force their imagination into raptures, or to fupply the defedt of native warmtkv, by thofe artificial ornaments which might give Compolition a fplendid appearance.
The reparation of Mufic from Poetry , produced confequences not favourable in fome ref- pedts to Poetry, and in many refpedts hurtful to Mufic*. As long as they remained united, Mufic enlivened and animated Poetry, and Poetry gave force and expreffion to mufical found. The Mufic of that early period was beyond doubt, extremely fimple ; and mu ft have confifted chiefly of fuch pathetic notes, as the voice could adapt to the words of the Song. Mufical inftruments , fuch as flutes, and pipes, and a lyre with a very few fixings, appear to have been early invented among fome nations ; but no more was intended by thefe inftruments , than fimply to accompany the voice, and to heighten the melody of Song.
The Poet’s ftrain was always heard ; and, from many circumftances, it appears that among the ancient Greeks , as well as among other nations T the Bard fung his verfes, and played upon his harp or lyre at the fame time. In this ftate, the art of Mufic was, when it produced all thofe great effedls , of which we read fo much in an ancient ftory. And certain it is , that from fimple
* See Dr. Brown’s Diflertation on the Rife, Union, and. Separation of Poetry and Mu},

113
VERSIFICATION.
L e e t. Mufic only, and from Mufic accompanied with XXXVIII. Verfe or Song , we are to look for ftrong ex- preflion, and powerful influence over the human mind. W^en inftrumental Mufic came to be ftudied as a feparate art, diverted of the Poet’s Song, and formed into the artificial and intricate combinations of harmony, it loft all its ancient power of inflaming the hearers with ftrong emotions ; and funk into an art of mere amufement, among polilhed and luxurious nations.
Still , however, Poetry preferves , in all countries, lome remains of its firft and original connexion with Mufic. By being uttered in Song, it was formed into numbers, or into an artificial arrangement of words and fyllables, very different in different countries ; but fuch , as to the inhabitants of each , feemed moft melodious and agreeable in found. Whence arifes that great charaderiftrc of Poetry which we now call Verfe} afubjedl which comes next to be treated of.
It is a fubject of a curious nature ; but as I am fenftble, that were I to purfue it as far as my inclination leads, it would give rife to difcuflions, which the greater part of Readers would confider as minute , I flrall confine myfelf to a few obferv- ations upon Englifh Verfification.
Nations , whofe language and pronunciation were of a mufical kind , refted their Verfification chiefly upon the quantities, that is, the length or fhortnefs of their fyllables. Others, who did not make the quantities of their fyllables be fo diftin&Iy perceived in pronouncing them, refted
the
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im
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VERSIFICATION.
X
x
13
c; the melody of their Verfe upon the number of L e c r. k fyllables it contained , upon the proper difpofition XXXVilL of accents and paufes in it, and frequently upon ffi!; that return of correfponding founds, which we fe: call Rhyme. The former was the cafe with the ad s Greeks and Romans; the latter is the .cafe with h: us, and with mod modern nations. Among the ha Greeks and Romans , every fyllable , or the far aij greateft number at lead, was known to have a i. fixed and determined quantity ; and their manner s,: of pronouncing rendered this fo fenfible to the ir -b ear , that a long fyllable was counted precifely e equal in time to two fhort ones. Upon this ,c:. principle, the number of fyllables contained in jk their hexameter .verfe was allowed to vary. It fuel, may extend to 17; it can contain, when regular, lue no fewer than 13: but the mufical time was, esds notwithdanding , precifely the fame in every rtt hexameter verfe, and was always equal to that be; of t2 long fyllables. In order to afeertain the jb tegular time of every v 5 rfe , and the proper jsfe. mixture and fuccedion of long and fhort fyllables jftz which ought to compofe it, were invented , what )U g- ' the Grammarians call Metrical Feet, Daclvles ,
[ s; Spondees, Iambus, &c. By thefe meafures was tried the accuracy of Compofition in every line,
1(ik and whether it was fo condrufled as to fulfil j-jj its proper melody. It was requifite, for indance, jj;, that the hexameter verfe Ihould have the quantity . ; of its fyllables fo difpofed , that it could be {canned or meafured by fix metrical feet which u might be either Dadtyles or Spondees (as the Vol. IR I

I E C T.
XXXVIII.
n 4 VERSIFICATION.
mufic.al time of both thefe is the fame), with this refh'idlion only , that the fifth foot was regularly to be a Dactyle, and the laft a fpon- dee *.
* Some writers imagine , that the feet in latin Verfe were intended to correfpond to bars in Mufic, and to form mufical intervals or diltindions , fenfible to the ear in the pronunciation of the line. Had this been the cafe, every kind of Verfe muft have had a peculiar order of feet appropriated to it. But the common profodies lhotv, that there are feveral forms of Latin Verfe which are capable .of being meafured indifferently, by a feries of feet of very different kinds. For inftance, what is called the Afclepedtean Verfe (in which the fir ft Ode of Horace is written ) may be fcanned either by a Spondeus, two Cho- riambus , and a Pyrrichius; or by a Spondeus, a Dacty- lus fucceeded by a Caefura, and two Dactylus. The common Pentameter, and fome other forms of Verfe, admit the like varieties.; and yet the melody of the Verfe remains always the fame, though it be fcanned by different' feet. This proves , that the metrical feet were not fenfible in the pronunciation of the line, but were intended only to regulate its conftrueftion; or applied as meafu- res, to try whether the fucceffion of long and fliort fvlla- bles was fuch as fuited the melody of the Verfe: and as feet of different kinds could fometimes be applied for this purpofe, hence it happened that fome forms of Verfe were capable of being fcanned in different ways. For mea- furing the hexameter line, no other feet were found fo proper as Dactyles and Spondees, and therefore by thefe ic is uniformly fcanned. But no ear is fenfible of the termination of each foot, in reading an hexameter line. From a mifapprehenlion of this matter, I apprehend that confuflon has fometimes arifen among Writers , in treating of the profody both of Latin, and of Englifh Verfe.

t
v VERSIFICATION. 115
®' The introduction of thefe feet into Englilh t e c t. w Verfe, would be altogether out of place; for the XXXVI1L ^ genius of our language correfponds not in this refpecl. to the Greek or Latin. I fay not, that we have no regard to quantity , or to long it and fhort , in pronouncing. Many words we have, efpecially our words confifting of feveral fyllables, where the quantity, or the long and jC* fhort fyllables, are invariably fixed ; but great ^ 5 . numbers we have alfo, where the quantity is left ids altogether loofe. This is the cafe with a great fe part of our words confifting of two fyllables, and ““ with almoft all our nionofyllables. In general, the difference made between long and Ihort E ’. fyllables, in our manner of pronouncing them is fo very#inconliderable , and fo much liberty is ;VaS left us for making them either long or fhort at pleafure , that mere quantity is of very little ^•’effect in Englifh Verfification. The only per- ^ ceptible difference among our fyllables , arifes from fome of them being uttered with that jUk ftronger percuftion of voice , which we call iw Accent. This Accent, does not always make the fyllable longer, but gives it more force of 015 ‘ found only: and it is upon a certain order and ^ fucceffion of accented and unaccented fyllables,
2 -- infinitely more than upon their being long or fhort, that the melody of our Verfe depends. If ss we take any of Mr. Pope’s lines, and in reciting fP them alter the quantity of the fyllables, as far B- " as our quantities are fenfible, the Mufic of the Verfe wifi not be much injured; whereas, if yye
I a

u6 VERSIFICATION.
L e c t. do not accent the fyllables according as the verie XXXVIII. dictates, its melody will be totally deftroyed *.
Our Englifh Heroic Verfe is of what may be called an Iambic ftructure; that is, compofed of a fucceffion nearly alternate of fyllables, not fhort and long, but unaccented and accented. With regard to the place of thefe accents, however, fome liberty is adn itted, for the fake of variety. Very often, though not always, the line begins with an unaccented fyliable; and fometimes, in the courfe of it, two unaccented fyllables follow each other. But, in general, there are either five, or four, accented fyllables in each line. The number of fyllables is ten, unlefs where an Alexandrian Verfe is occaftonally admitted. In Verfes not Alexandrian , inftances occur where the line appears to have more than the limited number. But in fuch inftances, I apprehend it will be found, that fome of the liquid fyllables ' are fo flurred in pronouncing, as to bring the Verfe, with refpecl to its effect upon the ear, within the ufual bounds.
, * See this well illuflrated in Lord Monboddo’s Treatife of the Origin and Progrefs of Language , Vol. II. under the head of the Profody of language. He fhows that this is not only the conftkution of our own Verfe, but that by our manner of reading Latin Verfe, we make its' Mufic nearly the fame. For we certainly do not pronounce it according to the ancient quantitiesfo as to make the mufical time of one long fy liable equal to two Ihort ones; but according to a fucceffion of accented and unaccented fyllables, only mixed in a ratio different from that of our own Verfe. No Roman could poffibly underftand our pronunciation.

VERSIFICATION.
ii?
Another effential circumftance in the con- L e c t. ftitution of our Verfe, is the csefural paufe, which XXXVIII. falls towards the middle of each line. Some paufe of this kind, dictated by the melody, is found in the Verfe of moft nations. It is found , as might be fliown , in the Latin hexameter. In the French heroic Verfe, it is very fenfible That is a verfe of twelve fyllables. and in every line, juft after the ftxth fyllable ,. there falls regularly and indifpenfably, a ctefural paufe, dividing the . line into two equal hemiftichs. For example, in the firfl^ lines of Boileau’s Epiftle to the King :
Jeune et vaillant heros | dont la haute fageffe N’eft point le fruit tardif | dune lente vieilleffe, •
Qui feul fans miniflre j a l’exemple des dieux Soutiens tout par toi-meme | vois tout par tes yeux.'
In this train all their Verfes proceed; the one half of the line always anfwering to the other, and the fame chime returning inceffantly on the ear without intermiffion or change; which is certainly a defedt in their Verfe, and unfits it fo very much for the freedom and dignity of Heroic Poetry. On the other hand, it is a diftingutfhing advantage of our Englilh Verfe, that it allows the paufe to be varied through four different fyllables in the line. The paufe may fall after the 4th , the 5th , the 6th , or the 7th fyllable; and according as the paufe is placed after one or other of thefe fyllables, the melody of the Verfe is much changed, its air and cadence are
13

ug VERSIFICATION.
L e c t. diverfified. By this means, uncommon richnefs XXXVIII. and variety are added to Englilh Verfification.
When the paufe falls earlieft , that is, after the 4th fyllable, the brifkeft melody (is thereby formed, and the moft fpirited air given to the line. In the following lines of the Rape of the Lock, Mr. Pope has, with exquifite propriety, fuited the conftruction of the Verfe to the fubjecl.
# On her white breafl | a fparkling crofs Ihe wore *
Which Jews might kifs | and Infidels adore;
Her lively looks [ a fprightly mind difclofe, $
Quick as her eyes | and as unfix’d as thofe.
Favours to none | to all fhe frniles extends,
Oft fhe rejects | but never once offends.
When the paufe falls after the fith fyllable, which divides the line into two equal portions, the melody is fenfibly altered. The Verfe lofes that brilk and fprightly air, which it had with the former paufe, and becomes more fmooth, gentle and flowing.
Eternal funfhine f of the fpotlefs mind,
Each prayer accepted | and each wifh refign’d.
When the paufe proceeds to follow the 6th fyllable, the tenor of the Mufic becomes folemn and grave. The verfe marches now with a more flow and meafured pace, than in any of the two former cafes.

VERSIFICATION. tt<j
■ : ' k ' The wrath of Peleus’ fon | the direful fpring Of all the Grecian woes | O Goddefs fxng!
’life But the grave, folemn cadence becomes ftill to; more fenfible, when the paufe falls after the 7th o(; fyllable, which is the neareft place to the end of
ipia the line that it can occupy. This kind of Verfe
fe occurs the feldomeft, but has a happy effedt in diverfifying the melody. It produces that flow . Alexandrian air , which is finely fuited to a clofe ; and for this reafon , fuch lines almoft never occur together , but are ufed in finifhing 1 the couplet.
And in the fmooth defcription | murmur ftill.
Long loved adored ideas! | all adieu.
^ I HAVE taken my examples from Verfes in V rhyme; becaufe in thefe, our Verification is
^ fubjected to the ftricteft law. As Blank Verfe
^ is of a freer kind , and naturally is read with
lefs cadence or tone, the paufes in it, and the effedt of them, are not always fo fenfible to the ear. It is conftrudted, however, entirely upon the Lime principles, with refpedt to the place of the paufe. There are fome , who, in order to exalt the variety and the power of our Heroic it:: Verfe, have maintained that it admits of mufical
st paufes, not only after thofe four fyllables, where
pa; I afligned their place, but after any one fyllable
poj: in the Verfe indifferently, where the fenfe diredts
it to be placed. This, in my opinion, is the
14
L E C T. XXXVIII.
V

f
120
VERSIFICATION,
E c t, fame thing as to maintain that there is no paufe iXVIII, at all belonging to the natural melody of the Verfe; fince, according to this notion, the paufe is formed entirely by the meaning, not by the JV'Iufic. But this I apprehend to be contrary both to the nature of Verfification and to the experience of every good ear *. Thofe certainly are the happieffc lines , wherein the paufe, prompted by the melody , coincides in fome degree with that of the fenfe, or at leaft does not tend to fpod or interrupt the meaning, Wherever any oppofition between the mufic and the fenfe chances to take place , I obferved before, in treating of Pronunciation or Delivery, that the proper method of reading thefe lines, is to read them according as the fenfe dictates, neglecting or flurring the csefural paufe ; which renders the line lefs graceful indeed, but, ho\y« ever, does not entirely deftroy its found.
* In the Italian heroic Verfe employed by Taflfo in his Gierufalemme, and Adolfo in his Orlando, the paufes are of the fame varied nature with thofe which I have fhown to belong to Englifh Verfification, and fall after the fame four. fyllables in the line. Marmontel, in his Poetique Franqoile, Vol. I. p. 269, takes notice, that this con- ftruction of Verfe is common to the Italians and the Englifh ; and defends the uniformity of the French cjefural paufe upon this ground, that the alternation of mafculine and feminine rhymes, furnifhes fufficient variety to the French Poetry; whereas the change of movement, occa- fioned by the four different paufes in Englifh and Italian Verfe, produces, according to him. too great diverlity.
, On the head of paufes in Englifh Verfification, fee die Element, of Criticifm, Chap. iff. Sect. 4.

VERSIFICATION.
121
OUR Blank Verfe poffefies great advantages, Lect.
111 and is indeed a noble , bold, and difencumbered XXXVIII. ^ fpecies of Verification. The principal defedt in ^ rhyme, is the full clofe which it forces upon the 15 ear, at the end of every couplet. Blank Verfe ^ is freed from this; and allows the lines *to run ® into each other with as great liberty as the Latin ^ hexameter permits,, pei haps .with greater. Hence ^ it is particularly fuited to fubjects of dignity and fe force, which demand more free and manly num- ® bers than rhyme. The confiraint and Bridt regu- larity of rhyme are unfavourable to the fubliriie, m or to the highly pathetic Brain. An Epic Poem,
Vffl ora Tragedy, would be fettered and degraded by it. It is bed adapted to compofitions of a temperate.Brain, where no particular vehemence is required in the fentiments , nor great fublimity in the Style ; fuch as PaBorals, hlegies , EpiBles, Sa- tyres, &c. To thefe, it communicates that degree of elevation which is proper for them ; and without if ’j any other afliBance fufficiently diBinguifhes the lia Style from Profe. He who fliould write fuch he9 Poems in Blank Verfe, would render his work harfh and unpleafing. In order to fupport a ::!S poetical Style, he' would be obliged to affedt a L 3 pomp of language unfuitable to the fubjecl.
[S f t Though 1 join in opinion with thofe, who to: think that Rhyme finds its proper place in the ,«* middle, but not in the higher regions of Poetry,
I Ik 1 can by no means join in the invedtives which fome have poured out againB it, as if it were a mere barbarous gingling of founds, fit only for

122
VERSIFICATION.
L e c t. children , and owing to nothing but the corrup- XXXVIII. tion of tafte in the monkilh ages. Rhyme might indeed be barbarous in La in or Greek Verfe, becaufe thefe languages, by the fonoroufnefs of their words , by their liberty of tranfpofition and inverfion, by their fixed quantities and mufical pronunciation , could carry on the melody of Verfe without its aid. But it does not follow, that therefore it muft be barbarous in the Englilh language, which is deftitute of thefe advantages. Every language has powers ard graces, and mufic peculiar to itfelf ; and what is becoming in one, would be ridiculous in another. R.hyme was barbarous in Latin; and an attempt to conflrucl Englilh Verfes , after the form of hexameters, and pentameters , and Sapphics, is as barbarous among us. It is not true, that rhyme is merely a monkilh invention. On the contrary, it has obtained under different forms, in the Verfification of molt known nations. It is found in the Ancient Poetry of the northern nations of Europe; it is faid to be found among the Arabs , the i Perfians, the Indians , and the Americans. This-j fhows that there is fomething in the return of I fimilar founds , which is grateful to the ears of 1 moft part of mankind. And if any one, after reading Mr. Pope’s Rape of the Lock, or Eloifa to Abelard, fhall not admit our rhyme, with all its varieties of paufes, to carry both elegance, and fweetnefs of found, his ear muft be pronounced to be of a very peculiar kind.
The prefent form of our Englifh heroic rhyme

VERSIFICATION.
123
In t in couplets , is a modern fpecies of Verification. L e c t . *£ The meafure generally ufed in the days of Queen XXXVIII.
Elizabeth, King James, and King Charles I. was d 1 the ftanza of eight lines, fuch as Spencer em- *>» ploys, borrowed from the Italian ; a meafure "E very conftrained and artificial. Waller was the ^ firft who brought couplets into vogue ; and A Dryden afterwards eflablifhed the ufage. Waller h firft fmoothed our Verfe ; Dryden perfected it. ra ]\lr. Pope’s Verification has a peculiar character, i: It is flowing and fmooth , in the higheft degree ; me far more laboured and correct than that of any nit' who went before him. He introduced one con- oc ficlerable change into Heroic Verfe, by totally me throwing aide the triplets, or three lines rhym- jik ing together, in which Mr. Dryden abounded.
>g Dryden’s Verification, however, has very great , 1 merit ; and, like all his productions, has much iafpirit, mixed with careleffnefs. If not fo fmooth is and correct as Pope’s, it is however more varied is and eafy. He fubjects himfelf lefs to the rule of clof- ife, ing the fenfe with the couplet; and frequently is,'takes the liberty of making his couplets run into ,£one another, with fomewhat of the freedom of Blank Verfe.
ci:
K-
t!s
Olfi

LECTURE XXXIX.
r. E C T.
xxxix.
ikt
PASTORAL POETRY — LYRIC POETRY,
IN the laft Lecture, I gave an account of tie Rife and Progrefs of Poetry, and made fome obfervations on the nature of Englifh Verfifica- tion. I now proceed to treat of the chief kinds of Poetical Compofition; and of the critical rules that relate to them. 1 fhall follow that order, which is moft fimple and natural; beginning with the ieffer forms of Poetry, and afcending from them to the Epic and Dramatic, as the moft
foe:
stiy
wo
.jM
f frit
i in :ev d
Iran
dignified. This Ledfure fhall be employed on Paftoral, and Lyric Poetry. *
Though I begin with the confideration ofcsaj Paftoral Poetry, it is not becaufe I confider it as 5] fo one of the earlieft forms of Poetical Compofition a to On the contrary, T am of opinion that it was not cultivated as a diftinct fpecies, or fubject 0 Wri mg, until Society had advanced in refine' ment. Moft Authors have indeed indulged the fancy , that becaufe the life which mankind at firft led was rural , therefore , their firft Poeny ■tyas Paftoral, or employed in the celebrations
a
Stft

PASTORAL POETRY.
125
rural fcenes and objeds. I make no doubt, that L e c t. it would borrow many of its images and allufions, XXXIX. ^ from thofe natural objeds with which men were belt acquainted ; but I make as little doubt, that tire calm and tranquil fcenes of rural felicity were not, by any means, the firft objeds which infpir- ed that drain of Compofition , which we now call Poetry. It was infpired in the fird periods Ofl of every nation , by events and objeds which roufed men’s padions ; or, at lead, awakened their wonder and admiration. The adions of their lit!: Gods and Heroes, their own exploits in war , udi the fuccefies or misfortunes of their countrymen 1 Tt and friends , furniflied the' fird Themes to the iid Bards of every country. What was of a Padoral rita kind in their Compodtions, was incidental only, jut' They did not "think .of choofing for their Theme, jug! the tranquillity and the pleafures of the country, idiai^ as long as thefe were daily and familiar objeds j if to them. It was not till men had begun to be D p|o? affembled in great cities, after the didindions of rank and dation were formed , and the budle of Jdj Courts and large Societies was known, that Paf- Djjj toral Poetry affumed its prefent form. Men then Iouj. began to look back upon the more dmple and j;. innocent life , which their forefathers led , or jr i; which, at lead, they fancied them to have led: jj- they looked back upon it with pleafure; and in thofe rural fcenes, and padoral occupations, ima- uj gining a degree of felicity to take place , fupe- rior to what they now enjoyed , conceived the ^ idea of celebrating it in Poetry. It was in the

L E C T. XXXIX.
l2 6 pastoral poetry.
court of King Ptolomy, that Theocritus wrote the tirfl Paftorals with which we are acquainted; and, in the court of Auguftus , he was imitated by Virgil. *
But whatever may have been the origin of Paftoral Poetry, it.is, undoubtedly, a natural, and very agreeable form of Poetical Compofition, It recalls to our imagination, thofe gay fcenes, and pleafing views of nature, which commonly are the delight of our childhood and youth; and to which , in more advanced years, the greateli part of men recur with pleafure. It exhibits to us a life, with which we are accuftomed to alfociate the ideas of peace, of leifure, and of innocence; and, therefore, we readily fet open our heart to fuch reprefentations as promife to banifh from our thoughts the cares of the world, and to tranfport us into calm Elyfian regions. At the fame time, no fubjedt bids fairer for being favourable to Poetry. Amidft rural objedts, nature prefents, on all hands, the fineft field for defcrip- tion; and nothing appears to flow more, of its own accord, into Poetical Numbers, than rivers and mountains, meadows and hills , flocks and trees, and fhepherds void of care. Hence, this fpecies of Poetry has, at all times, allured many Readers , and excited many Writers. But, not- withftanding thofe advantages it poflefTes, it will appear, from what I have farther to obferve upon it, that there is hardly any fpecies.of Poetry which is more difficult to be carried
W
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tin,
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"l a T i
his! !ne iiocei
inner.
urn
Srt:
flow
aral
flar
? *8

PASTORAL POETRY.
12 ?
t to perfection, or in which fewer Writers have ic excelled.
lit Pastoral life may be confidered in three different views; either fuch as it now actually jr is; when the ftate of Shepherds is reduced to be ic a mean, fervile, and laborious ftate; when their iot employments are become difagreeable, and their [_ ideas grofs and low: or fuch as we may fuppofe E; it once to have been, in the more early and i fimple ages, when it was a life of eafe and im abundance; when the wealth of men confifted
C” ■*
i chiefly in flocks and herds, and the Shepherd , though unrefined in his manners, was refpeCtable e in his ftate: or, laftly, fuch as it never was, [ ( n and never can in reality be, when, to the eafe, 0IL innocence, and fimplicity of the early ages, we iev attempt to add the polifhed tafte, and cultivated ^ manners , of modern times. Of thefe three ftates, foll the firft is too grofs and mean, the laft too refined and unnatural, to be made the giound-work of Paftoral Poetry. Either of thefe extremes is a [t . rock upon which the Poet will fplit, if he approach too near it. We Ihall be difgufted if he give us too much of the fervile employments, and low ideas of actual peafants, as Theocritus is cenfured for having fometimes done; and if, ^ like fome of the French and Italian Writers of Paftorals, he makes his Shepherds difcourfe as if they were courtiers and fcholars he then retains , the name only , but wants the fpirit of Paftoral Poetry.
He muft, therefore, keep in the middle ftation
L E C T XXXIX

128
PASTORAL POETRY.
L E C T. XXXIX.
between thefe. He muff form to hirnfelf the idea of a rural flate, fuch as in certain periods of Society may have actually taken place, where, there was cafe, equality, and innocence; where Shepherds were gay and agreeable , without being learned or refined; and plain and artlefs, without being grofs and wretched. The great charm of Paftoral Poetry arifes, from the view which it exhibits of the tranquillity and happinefs of a rural life. This pleafing illufion, therefore,- the Poet muff carefully maintain. Pie muff difplay, to us, all that is agreeable in that ffate but hide whatever is difpleafmg *. Let him paint its fim*
•f
jit
Silt
pi
la
ii(|
liw
pJore
Hi
In the following beautiful lines of the Firft Eclogue,
Virgil has, in the true fpirit of a Paftoral Poet, together as agreeable an affemblage of images pieafure as can any where be found.
Fortunate fenex! hie inter flumina nota,
Et fontes facros frigus captabis opacum.
Hinc tibi, quse femper vicino ab liniite fepes, Hyblseis apibus, fiorem depafta falicti,
Srepe levi fomnuni fuadebit inire fufurro.
Hinc alta fub rupe canet frondator ad auras;
Nec tamen interea, raucre , tua cura , palumbes, Nec gemere aeria ceffabit turtur ab ulmo.
brought of rural
HUS.
aran
iftei
i,
:ra:
tiprel
! 2 rt:
Happy old man! here mid th’ accuftomed ftreams
And lacred fprings you’ll fhun the fcorching beams; While from yon willow fence, thy paftures bound, The bees that fuck their flowery ftores around,
Shall fweetly mingle with the whifpering boughs, Their lulling murmurs, and invite repofe.
While from fteep rocks the pruner’s Song is heard; Nor the foft cooing dove, thy fav’rite bird, Meanwhile fhall ceafe to breathe her melting ftrain, Nor turtles from the aeriai elms to plain. Wart os.
plicity
in
41
^lii f i: ii

PASTORAL POETRY.
129
^ plicity and innocence to the full; but cover its L e c t.
164 rudenefs and mifery. DiftrelTes , indeed , and XXXIX.
*•' anxieties he may attribute to it; for it would
I; - be perfectly unnatural to fuppofe any condition
\ of human life to be without them; but they muft
be of fuch a nature, as not to fliock the fancy with any thing peculiarly difgufting.in the paf- lc toral life. The Shepherd may well be afflicted for the difpleafure of his miftrefs, or for the lofs of a ^ favourite lamb. It is a fufficient recommendation *-•- of any ftate , to have only fuch evils as thefe to deplore. In fliort, it is the paftoral life fomewhat L;; embellifhed and beautified, at leaf!, feen on its r _ : faireft fide only, that the Poet ought to prefent . to us. But let him take care, that, in embellifhing nature, he does not altogether difguife her; or pretend to join with rural fimplicity and happi- nefs, fuch improvements as are unnatural and foreign to it. If it be not exactly real life which he prefents to us, it muft however, be fomewhat that refembles it. This, in my opinion, is the n: general idea of Paftoral Poetry. But, in order to examine it more particularly, let us confider, firft, the fcenery; next, the characters; and laftly,
'/' the fubje&s and actions, which this fort of com- pofition ftiould exhibit.
As to the Scene, it is clear, that it muft jy. always be laid in the country, and much of the Poet’s merit depends on defcribing it beautifully.
Virgil is, in this refpecft, excelled by Theocritus,
• , tvhofe defcriptions of natural beauties are richer,
“V Vol. III. K
r

I
PASTORAL POETRY.
130
L E c t. and more pidturefque than thofe of the other * XXXIX. In every Paftoral, a fcene y or rural profpect, Ihould be diftindly drawn, and fet before us. It
* What rural fcenery , for in fiance, can be painted In more lively colours than the following aefcription exhi-
bits ?
h Ti
'AS stag %ivoto xap.iv'ttviv ixfavGvi/iis$
T£ VzOTUQCTOlCt ytyxAoT£$ 0 ,VX^iQlTl»
HdXXsu eT elfXfJLtv V'XtpQt Jt xtk xpacro? mvhvto
Nv/xGaV if OLVTgOiQ XXTtt@OIU.tVW XSXUQVfUsV.
Toi cl's 5 t ort irxtspxts opobxju.vtrtv gc-3xXmvs$ Tsmysj 7\xXocysvvTi$ iyov crovov. oc S’ oXcXvyuv TwXflfrv iv irvxtvvirt Rxtojv Tfv^unczv ccxxv$xi$* *Aultv xo£v<$oi xxi serve rtvyw.
TT/jT£.jv-rft ru6/y.t *rcfu nr u\'YU.'/'‘ rt.ttfci LLtXt'Ttrw.l.
t
Theocrit. Idyll, vii. 132. on foft beds recline
Of lentifk, and young branches of the vine; Poplars and elms above, their foliage fpread, Lent a cool fhade , and waved the breezy head; Below a ftream, from the nymph’s facred cave, In free meanders led its murmuring wave;
In the warm funbeams, verdant {hades among, Shrill grafshoppers renewed their plaintive fong: At diitance far, concealed in fhades , alone , Sweet Philomela poured her tuneful moan:
The lark, the goldfinch, warbled lays of love,
*
And fweetly.penfive coo'd the turtle dove;
While honey bees, for ever on the wing,
Humm’d round the flowers, or fipt the filver fpring The rich, ripe feafon, gratified the fenfe With fummer's fweets, and autumn’s redolence. Appie; aid pears lay ftrewed in heaps around,
And the plum’s loaded branches Lifs’d the ground
Fawkes

is not enough , that we have'" thofe unmeaning groupes of violets and rofes, of birds, and brooks, and breezes, which our common Paftoral-mongers throw together, and which are perpetually recurring upon us without variation. A good Poet ought to give us fuch a landfcape, as a painter could copy after. His objects muft be particular- ifed ; the ftream , the rock , or the tree , muff, each of them , ftand forth , fo as to make a figure in the imagination , and to give us a pleafing conception of the place where we are. A fingle object, happily introduced , will fome- times diftinguilh and charadterife a whole fcene; fuch as the antique ruftic Sepulchre , a very beautiful object in a landfcape, which Virgil has fet before us, and which he has taken from Theocritus :
Hinc ideo media eft nobis via; jamque fepulchrutn Incipit apparere Bianoris; hie ubi denfas Agiicpl® ftringunt frondes -- Ecct. IX. *
Not only in profelfed deferiptions of the fccnery, but in the frequent allufions to natural objects, which occur, of courfe, in Paftorals, the Poet muft, above all things, ftudy variety. He muft diverfify his face of nature, by prefenting to us new images; or otherwife, he will foon become
*-To our mid journey are we come,
I fee the top of old Bianor’s tomb;
Here , Mseris, where the fwains thick branches prune, And ftrew their leaves, our voices let us tune.
War to;?.
K 3
L E C T.
XXXIX,
♦

PASTORAL POETRY.
132
Lk c t. infipid with thofe known topics of defcription, XXXIX. which were original, it is true, in the firft Poets, who copied them from nature, but which are now worn thread-bare by inceffant imitation. It is alfo incumbent on him, to fuit the fcenery to the fubjedt of the Paftoral; and, according as it is of a gay or a melancholy kind, to exhibit nature under fuch forms as may correfpond with the emotions or fentiments which he defcribes. Thus Virgil, in his fecond Eclogue, which con- tains the Lamentation of a defpairing Lover, gives, with propriety, a gloomy appearance to the fcene:
Tan turn inter denfas, umbrofa cacumina, fagos,
Affidue veniebat; ibi haec incondita folus
Montibus et fylvis ftudio jactabat inani *.
With regard to the characters, or perfons,’ which are proper to be introduced into Paftorals, it is not enough that they be perfons refiding in the country. The adventures, or the difcourfes of courtiers, or citizens, in the country, are not what we look for in fuch Writings; we expedt to be entertained by Shepherds , or perfons wholly engaged in rural occupations ; whofe innocence and freedom from the cares of the world may,
* Mid fliades of thickefl: beech he pined alone,
To the wild woods and mountains made his moan; Still day by day, in incoherent ftrains, fwas all he could, defpairing told his pains.-
WaRTOX.

PASTORAL POETRY.
i33
in our imagination, form an agreeable contrail, with the manners and characters of thofe who are engaged in the buftle of life.
One of the principal difficulties which here occurs has been already hinted; that of keeping the exact medium between too much rufticity on the one hand, and too much refinement on the other. The Shepherd, affuredly, muft be plain and unaffected in his manner of thinking, on all fubjects. An amiable fimplicity muft be the ground-work of his character. At the fame time, there is no neceffity for his being dull and in- fipid. He 'may have good fenfe and reflection; he may have fprightlinefs and vivacity, he may have very tender and delicate feelings; frnce thefe are, more or lefs , the portion of men in all ranks of life; and fince, undoubtedly, there was much Genius in the world, before there were learning, or arts to refine it. But then he muft not fubtilife; he muft not deal in general reflections , and abftract reafoning, and ftill lefs in the points and conceits of an affected gallantry, which furely belong not to his character and fituation. Some of thefe conceits are the chief blemilhes of the Italian Paftorals, which are otherwife beautiful. When Aminta, in Taffo, is difentangling his miftrefs’s hair from a tree to which a Savage had bound it, he is reprefented as faying; “Cruel “ tree! how couldft thou injure that lovely hair “ which did thee fo much honour ? thy rugged “ trunk was not worthy of fuch lovely knots. “ What advantage have the fervants of love, if
K 3
L E C T.
XXXIX.

PASTORAL POETRY.
Lect.
XXXIX.
*34
« thofe precious chains are common to them and “ to the trees*?” Such {trained fentiments as thefe, ill befit the woods. Rural perfonages are fuppofed to fpeak the language of plain fenfe, and natural feelings. When they defcribe, or relate, they do it with fimplicity, and naturally allude to rural circumftances; as in thefe beautiful lines of one of Virgil’s Eclogues:
Sepibus in noftris parvam te rofcida mala ( Dux ego vefter eram) vidi cum matre legentem; Alter ab undecimo turn me jam coeperat annus, lam fragiles poteram a terra contingere ramos.
Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abftulit error f!
In another paffage, he makes a Shepherdefs throw an apple at her lover:
* Gia di nodi si bei non era degno Cos! ruvido tronco; or che vantaggio Hanno i fervi d’amor, fe lor commune E colle piante il preziofo laccio ?
Pianta crudel! po'tefti quel bel crine Offender, tu, cli’a te feo tanto onore ?
Atto , III. Sc. I.
f Once with your mother to our fields you came For dewy apples; thence I date my flame;
The choiceft fruit 1 pointed to your view,
Tho’ young, my raptur’d foul was fix’d on you; The boughs I juft could reach with little arms;
But then, even then, could feel thy powerful charms.
O , how I gaz d , in pleufing tranfport loft !
How glow’d my heart in fweet deiufion loft!
W ASTON.

PASTORAL POETRY*
135
Turn fugit ad falices, et fe cupit ante videri *. L e c T.
XXXIX.
This is naioe, as the French exprefs it, and perfectly fuited to Paftoral Manners. Mr. Pope wanted to imitate this pafiage, and, as he thought, to improve upon it. He does it thus:
The fprightly Sylvia trips along the green,
She runs; but hopes fhe does not run unfeen;
While a kind glance at her purfuer flies,
How much, at variance are her feet, and eyes?
This falls far flrort of Virgil; the natural and pleafing fimplicity of the defcription is deftroy- ed, by the quaint and affedted turn in the laft line: “ How much at variance are her feet,
C£ and eyes. ”
Supposing the Poet to have formed corredt #
ideas concerning his Paftoral characters and per- fonages; the next enquiry is, about what is he to employ them ? and what are to be the fub- jedts of his Eclogues ? For it is not enough, that he gives us Shepherds difcourfmg together.
Every good Poem, of every kind, ought to have a fubject which would, in fome way, intereffc us. Now, here, I apprehend, lies the chief difficulty of Paftoral Writing. The active feenes of country life either are, or to molt deferibers ap-
* My Phillis me with pelted apples plies;
Then, tripping to the wood, the wanton hies,
And wii'hcs to be fecn before fhe flies.
Dr i DEN.
K 4

I 3 6 pastoral poetry.
L e c t. pear to be, too barren of incidents. The ftate XXXIX. of a Shepherd, or a perfon occupied in rural ' employments only, is expofed to few of thofe accidents and revolutions which render his fitna- tion interefbing, or produce curiofxty or furprife. The tenor of his life is uniform. His ambition is conceived to be without policy, aad his love ■without intrigue. Hence it is, that, of all Poems, the mofl meagre commonly in the fubjecl, and the leafl diverfified in the ftrain , is the Paftoral. From the firft lines, we can, generally, guefs at all that is to follow. It is either a Shepherd who fits down folitary by a brook, to lament the abfence, or cruelty of his miftrefs, and to tell us how the trees wither, and the flowers droop, now that [he is gone; or we have two fhepherds who challenge one another to fing, , rehearfing alternate verfes , which have little
either of meaning or fubjed, till the Judge rewards one with a ftudded crook, and another with a beechen bowl. To the frequent repetition of commonplace topics, of this fort, which have been thrummed over by all Eclogue Writers fince the days of Theocritus and Virgil, is owing much of that infipidity which prevails in Paftoral Compofitions.
I much queftion, however, whether this infipidity be not owing to the fault of the Poets, and to their barren and flavifh imitation of the ancient paftoral topics, rather than to the confined nature of the fubjecl. For why may not Paftoral Poetry take a wider range? Human na-

PASTORAL POETRY.
i37
f
5 turn, and human paffions, are much the fame in Lec T. 15-1 every rank of life; and wherever thefe paffions XXXIX.
operate on„objedts that are within the rural fphere,
^ there may be a proper fubjecft for paftoral.
^ One would indeed chufe to remove from this fort of Compofition the operations of violent and '' direful paffions, and to prefent fuch only as are ^ confident with innocence, fimplicity, and virtue.
But under this limitation , there will Hill be ^ abundant fcope for a careful obferver of nature ’e 3 to exert his Genius. The various adventures which give occafion to thofe engaged in country,
^ life to difplay their difpofition and temper; the p - : fcenes of domeftic felicity or difquiet; the attach- ment of friends and of brothers; the rivalffiip and lve ® competitions of lovers; the unexpected fuccelfes °k or misfortunes of families, might give occafion rt k to many a pleafing and tender incident ; and % were more of the narrative and fentimental in- h er ~ termixed with the defcriptive in this kind of Poetry, it would become much more interefling than it now generally is, to the bulk of readers*.
The two great fathers of Paftoral Poetry iovare, Theocritus, and Virgil. Theocritus was a Ft-Sicilian ; and as he has laid the fcenes of his Eclogues in his own country, Sicily became tii:
e Foe * The above obfervations on the barrennefs of the com- 3 mon Eclogues, were written before any tranflation from , the German had made us acquainted in this country with K Gefner's Idylls, in which the ideas that had occurred to HUT : me for the improvement of Paftoral Poetry, are fully ajr-realized.

j 3 8 pastoral poetry.
c t. ever afterwards a fort of confecrated ground for XXXIX. Paftoral Poetry. His Idyllia, as he has entitled them, are not all of equal merit, nor indeed are they all paftorals; but fome of them poems of a quite different nature. !n fuch, however, as are properly paftorals , there are many and great beauties. He is diftinguifhed for the fimplicity of his fentiments; for the great fweetnefs and harmony of his numbers, and for the richnefs of his fcenery and defcription. He is the original, of which Virgil is the imitator. For molt of Virgil’s higheft beauties in. his Fclogues are copied from Theocritus ; in many places he has done nothing more than tranflatc him. He mull be allowed , however , to have imitated him with great judgment, and in fome refpeds to have improved upon him. For Theocritus, it cannot be denied, defcends fometimes into ideas that are grofs and mean, and makes his fhepherds abufive and immodelt ; whereas Virgil is free from offenfive rufticity , and at the fame time preferves .the character of paftoral fimplicity. The fame diffcintftion obtains between Theocritus and Virgil, as between many other of the Greek and Roman Writers. The Greek led the way, followed nature more clofely, and fhowed more original Genius. The Roman difcovered more of the polifli, and corredtnefs of art. We have a few remains of other two Greek Poets in the Paftoral Style, Mofchus and Bion , which have very confiderable merit; and if they want the fimplicity of Theocritus, excel him in tendernefe and delicacy.
;e j ■lint
I
■ki
::if

PASTORAL POETRY.
i 39
he!
(t:
ids:
t,- ; si: Ik. ti id: or: r: 0® csk E;
iu:e
rcffc
m
lie
lit
rjl-
u
ts ilb if.tb- d tb W-
'V®:
. f Foe vrb ey'- iaiJ®
The Modern Writers of Paftorals have gene- L E c T. rally contented themfelves with copying, or imitat- XXXIX. ing, the defcriptions and fentiments of the ancient Poets. Sannazarius , indeed, a famous/
Latin Poet, in the age of Leo X. attempted a bold innovation. He compofed Pifcatory Eclogues; changing the fcene from "Woods to the Sea, and fro'm the life of Shepherds to that of Fifher- men. But the innovation was fo unhappy,'that he has gained no followers. For the life of Fifher- men is, obvioufiy, much more hard and toilfome than that of Shepherds, and prefents to the fancy much lefs agreeable images. Hocks, and trees, and flowers, are obje&s of greater beauty, and more generally relilhed by men , than fifties and marine productions. Of all the Moderns , M.
Gefner, a Poet, of Switzerland, has been the molt fuccefsful in his Paftoral Compofitions. He has introduced into his Idylls (as he entitles them) many new ideas. His rular feenery is often ftriking, and his deferiptions are lively.
He prefents paftoral life to us , with all the embellifhments of which it is fufceptible ; but without any excefs of' refinement. What forms the chief merit of this Poet, is , *that he writes to the heart; and has enriched the fubjeCts of his Idylls with incidents, which give rife to much tender fentiment. Scenes of domeftic felicity are beautifully painted. The mutual affection of hufbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and fillers , as well as j of levers, are difplayed in a pleafing and touching

PASTORAL POETRY.
140
Lec t. manner. From not underftanding the language XXXIX. in which M. Gefner writes, I can be no judge of the Poetry of his Style: but, in the fubject and conduct of his Paftorals, he appears to me, to have outdone all the Moderns.
Neither Mr. Pope's nor Mr. Philips’s Paf. torals, do any great honour to the Englilh Poetry. Mr. Pope’s were compofed in his youth; which may be an apology for other faults, but cannot well excufe the barrennefs that appears in them. They are written in remarkably fmooth and flowing numbers ; and this is their chief merit; for there is fcarcely any thought in them which can be called his own; fcarcely any defcription, or any image of nature , which has the marks of being original, or copied from nature herfelf; but a repetition of the common images that are to be found in Virgil, and in all Poets who write of rural themes. Philips attempted to be more Ample and natural than Pope ; but he wanted genius to fupport his attempt, or to write agreeably. He , too , runs on the common and beaten topics; and endeavouring to be Ample, he becomes flat and infipid. There was no fmall competition between thefe two Authors , at the time when their Paftorals were publifhed. In fome papers of the Guardian, great partiality was Ihown, to Philips, and high praife beftowed upon him. Mr. Pope, refenting this preference, under a feigned name procured a Paper to be inferted in the Guardian , wherein he feemingly carries on the plan of extolling
13
ba
is,
ima,
m
th
m
apt
ace
iu
die

PASTORAL POETRY.
lane Philips; but in reality fatirifes him moft feverely Lect, jo : with ironical praifes ; and in an artful covered XXXIX. e[ : manner, gives the palm to himfelf *. About the id; fame time, Mr. Gay published his Shepherd’s Week, in Six Paftorals, which are defigned to lipV; ridicule that fort of fimplicity which Philips and his partizans extolled , and are, indeed, an in- lisj* genious burlefque of Paftoral Writing, when it i U ! P rifes no higher than the manners of modem in-, clowns and ruftics. Mr. Shenftone’s Paftoral eCl Ballad, in four parts, may juftly be reckoned,
I,;,;. 1 think, one of the moft elegant Poems of this tlmgkind, which we have in Englilh.
^ I HAVE not yet mentioned one form in which Paftoral Writing has appeared in latter ages,
^ that is, when extended into a Play, or regular e(G Drama, where plot, characters, and paflions, j. are joined with the fimplicity and innocence of pi^rular manners. This is the chief improvement ,j which the Moderns have made on thisfpecies of
dCUIii . , *
f Compofttion; and of this nature, we have two ^ Italian Pieces which are much celebrated, Guari- ’j t ni’s Paftor Fido, and Taffo’s Aminta. Both of jfthefe poftefs great beauties, and are entitled to the reputation they have gained. To the latter, the ’^ preference feems due, as being lefs intricate in ^.the plot and conduct, and lefs {trained and affedt- ed in the fentiments; and though not wholly free of Italian refinement (of which I already
gave one inftance, the worft , indeed , that
is f ofiP
* See Guardian, No. 40.

142
PASTORAL POETRY.
L E C T.
XXXIX.
occurs in all the Poem), it is., on the whole a performance of high merit. The ftrain of the • Poetry is gentle and pleafing ; and the Italian Language contributes to add much of that foft- ;: nefs, which is peculiarly fuited to Paftoral f.
f It may by proper to take notice bee, that the charge againll Taffo for his points and conceits, has fometimes been carried too far. Mr. Addifon, for inftance, in a Paper of the Guardian, cenfuring his Aminta, gives this example, “ That Sylvia enters adorned with a garland of “ flowers, and after viewing herfelf in a fountain, breaks “ out in a fpeech to the flowers on her head, and tells “ them , that fhe did not wear them to adorn herfelf, “ but to make them afhamed. ” “ Whoever can bear “ this, ” he adds, “may be allured, that he has notafte “ for Paftoral.” Guard. Xo. ; 8- But Taffo’s Sylvia, in truth , makes no fuch ridiculous figure, and we are obliged to fufpedt that Mr. Addifon had not read the Aminta. Daphne a companion of Sylvia, appears in- converfation with Thyrfis , the confidant of Aminta, Sylvia's lover, and in order to fhow him, that Sylvia was not fo lirnple, or infenfible to her own charms, as (lie affected to be, gives him this inftance; that fire had caught her one day adjufting her arefs by a fountain, and applying now one flower, and now another to her neck; and after compar- ing their colours with her own, fire broke into a futile, as if fire had feemed to fay, I will wear you, not for my ornaments , but to fhow how much you yield to me: and when caught thus admiring herfelf, fhe threw away her flowers, and blufhed for fhanre. — This defeription of the vanity of a rural coquette, is no more than what is natural, and very different from what the Author of the Guardian reprefents it.
This cenfure of Tv (To was not originally i\Ir. Addifon’s. Bouhours, in his Manure de Men fenfer dans les oirst- ges d’ejprit , appears to have been the firft who gave tbs
_:S
A ’ jicha life
alar;
bis
Ora
Se
lie
Che

PASTORAL POETRY.
143
I MUST not omit the mention of another Paf- Lect, »t! toral Drama, which will bear being brought into XXXIX.
k'i.
mifreprefentation of Sylvia’s Speech , and founded a criti- ffli- cifm on it. Fontenelle, in his Difcourfe on Paltoral Poetry, followed him in this criticifm. Mr. Addifon, or whoever rjj. was the Author of that Paper in the Guardian , copied s f s from them both. Mr. "Warton, in the Prefatory Difcourfe ^ to his Tranflation of Virgil’s Eclogues , repeats the obferv- j_ r ation. Sylvia’s Speech to the flowers, with which file was a .-. adorned, is always quoted as the flagrant inftance of the iE, blfe tafte of the Italian Poet. "Whereas Talfo gives us a j . no fuch Speech of Sylvia’s , but only informs us of what her companion fuppofed her to be thinking, or faying to ve; herfelf, when fhe was privately admiring her own beauty. s i,j After charging fo many eminent Critics, for having fallen [Vj t” into this itrange inaccuracy „ from copying one another ,
,j r; . without looking into the Author whom they cenfure, it is neceffary for me to infert the palfage which has occaflon- ed this remark. Daphne fpeaks thus to Thyrfis:
Ora per dirti il ver, non mi rifolvo Se Sylvia e femplicetta, come pare Alle parole, agli atti. Jer vidi un fegno '
V„. Che me ne mette in dubbio. Io la trovai J.C. La prelfo la cittade in quei gran prad,
[Z Ove fra ftagni giace un’ ifoletta,
a V Sovra efla un lago limpido e tranquillo ,
Tutta pendente in atto, che parea "Vagheggiar fe medefma, e’ nfleme infleme jZ Chieder configlio all’ acque, in qual maniera
;y Dilpor doveffe in su la fronte i crini,
E fovra i crini il velo, e fovra’l velo Z’’ I fior, che tenea in grembo ; e fpeffo Ipefib 1 Or prendeva un liguftro , or una rofa,
„ E l’accoftava al bel candido collo,
1 Alle guance vermiglie, e de’ colori
Feu paragone ; e poi, become lieta
r.

144
PASTORAL POETRY.
L E C T.
XXXIX.
comparifon with any Compofition of this kind, in any language: that is, Allan Ramfay’s Gentle Shepherd. It is a great difadvantage to this beautiful Poem, that it is written in the old ruftic dialed of Scotland, which, in a Ihort time, will probably be entirely obfolete, and not intelligible ; and it is a farther difadvantage, that it is fo entirely formed on the rural manners of Scotland, that none but a native of that country can thoroughly underfhnd , or relifli it. But though fubjed to thofe ■ local difadvantages, which confine its reputation within narrow limits, it is full of fo much natural defcription, and tender fentiment, as would do honour to any Poet, The charaders are well .drawn, the incidents aft feding, the fcenery and manners lively and juft. It affords aflrong proof, both of the power which nature and fimplicity poffefs , to reach the heartin every fort of Writing ; and of the variety of pleafing charaders and fubjeds , with which Pat
Della vittoria, lampeggiava un rifo Che parea che dicefle: io pur vi vinco;
Ne porto voi per ornamento mio,
Ma porto voi i'ol per vergogna voftra ,
Pcrche fi veggia quanto mi cedete.
Ma mentre ella s’ornava, e vagheggiava Rivolfe gli occhi a cafo, e II fu accorta Ch’io di lei m’ era accorta , e vergognando , Rizzoffi tofto, e i fior lafcio cadere;
In tanro io pin ridea del fuo roiTore,
Ella piu s’arrollia del rifo mio.
Aminta. Atto II. Sc. ii.
toral -
k i
jut V arts iK, s not :ttry.
parat
ake
cited
ied(
V Is A
% iirate itui isle ilMt 3, am ay * :fefi

LYRIC POETRY.
145
toral Poetry, when properly managed, is capable Lec t ^ of being enlivened. XXXIX
I proceed next, to treat of Lyric Poetry, or the Ode; a fpecies of Poetical Compofition which po’ffeftes much dignity , and in which many ® Writers have diftingnilhed themfelves, in every S'- age. Its peculiar charader is , that it is intended E "i to be fung , or accompanied with mufic. Its - defignation implies this. Ode i^, in Greek, the lit fame with Song or Hymn; and Lyric Poetry fe imports, that the Verfes are accompanied with a lyre, or mufical inftrument. This diftindion ptie was not, at firft, peculiar to any one fpecies of or Poetry. For, as I obferved in the laft Ledurc, id Mufic and Poetry were coeval, and were, origin* lyr ally , always joined together. But after their ow reparation took place, afeer Bards had begun to tie; make Verfe Compofitions , which were to be vr recited or read, not to be fung, fuch Poems as nh were defigned to be ftill joined with Mufic or Song , were , by way of diftindion , called Odes.
In the Ode , therefore , Poetry retains its firft and moft ancient form; that form, under which the original Bards poured forth their enthufiaftic ftrains , praifed their Gods and their Heroes ,
5 celebrated their vidories , and lamented their E misfortunes. It is from this circumftance , of the fli. Ode’s being fuppofed to retain its original union with Mufic, that we are to deduce the proper idea, and the peculiar qualities of this kind of j. Poetry. It is not diftingniflied from other kinds, by the fubjeds on which it is employed ; for Vol. III. L

14 6
LYRIC POETRY.
L e c t. thefe may be extremely various. I know no XXXIX. diftindtion of fubjebt that belongs to it, except that other Poems are often employed in the recital of actions, whereas fentiments , of one kind or other, form , almoft always , the fubject of the Ode. But it is chiefly the fpirit, the manner of its execution , that marks and charadterifes it. Mu lie and Song naturally add to the warmth of Poetry. They* tend to tranfport, in a higher degree, both the perfon who lings, and the per- fons who hear. They juftify, therefore, a bolder and more paffionate {train, than can be fupported in Ample recitation On this is formed the peculiar character of the Ode. Hence , the enthufiafm that belongs to it, and the liberties it is allowed to take , beyond any other fpecies of Poetry Hence, that negledt of regularity, thofe digreffions, and that diforder which it is fuppofed to admit; and which , indeed, molt Lyric Poets have not failed fufficiently to exemplify in their pactice.
The effedts of Mufic upon the mind are chiefly two; to raife it above its ordinary flate, and fill it with high enthufiaftic emotions ; or to footh, and melt it into the gentle pleafurable feelings. Hence, the Ode may either afpire to the former chara&er of the fublime and noble, or it may defeend to the latter of the pleafant and the gay; and between thefe, there is, alfo, a middle region , of the mild and temperate emotions, which the Ode may often occupy to advantage.
All- Odes may be comprifed under four
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LYRIC POETRY.
147
b denominations. Firft, Sacred Odes; Hymns ad- L ect. it ; dreffed to God. or compofed on religious fub- XXX’X. fc jects. Of this nature are the Pfalms of David, otfe which exhibit to us this fpecies of Lyric Poetry,
Si: in its higheft degree of perfection. Secondly , e Heroic Odes , which are employed in the praife of si. heroes, and in the celebration of martial exploits he; and great aftions. Of this kind are all Pindar’s Odes, a: and fome few of Horace’s. Thefe two kinds m ought to have fublimity and elevation, for their r,e reigning character. Thirdly, moral and philo- ,;L f fophical Odes, where the fentiments are chiefly fc- infpired by virtue , friendfhip, and humanity, e Of this kind , are many of Horace’s Odes , and ip; feveral of our belt modern Lyric productions;
10 j; and here the Ode poffefles that middle region,
>(jj-r which, as I obferved, it fometimes occupies.
1( j E: Fourthly, Fetftive and Amorous Odes, calcu- .gl; lated merely for pleafure and amufement. Of this nature, are all Anacreon’s, fome of Horace’s,
;n ji- ' * •
and a great number of fongs and modern producer, tions , that claim to be of the Lyric fpecies. The reigning character of thefe, ought to be elegance , p fmoothnefs, and gayety.
One of the chief difficulties in compofing Odes uj: arifes from that enthufiafm which is underftood ^ to be a charadteriltic of Lyric Poetry. A profefled ^ Ode, even of the moral kind, but more efpecially if it attempt the fublime, is expected to be enli- vened and animated , in an uncommon degree,
Full of this idea, the Poet, when he begins to j, write an Ode , if he has any real warmth of
L 2

148
LYRIC POETRY.
L b c t. Genius , is apt to deliver himfelf up to it, 'without XXXIX. control or reftraint; if he has it not, he (trains after it, and thinks himfelf bound'to affume the appearance, of being all fervour, and all flame. In either cafe, he is in great hazard of becoming extravagant. The licentioufnefs of writing Without order, method , or connexion, has infected the Ode more than any other fpecies of Poetry. Hence , in the dafs of Pleroic Odes , we find fo few that one can read with pleafure. The Poet is out of fight, in a moment. He gets up into the clouds; becomes fo abrupt in his tranfitions; fo eccentric and irregular in his motions, and of courfe fo obfcure , that we effay in vain to follow him, or to partake of his raptures. I do not require, that an Ode fliould be as regular in the ftru&ure of its parts, as a Didadtic, or an Epic Poem. But ffill, in every Compofition , there ought to be a fubjedt;' there ought to be parts which make up a whole; there fliould be a connexion of thofe parts with one another. The tranfitions from thought to thought may be light and delicate, fuch as are prompted by a lively fancy; but {fill they fliould be fuch as preferve the connexion of ideas, and fliow the Author to be one who thinks, and not one who raves. Whatever authority may be pleaded for the incoherence and diforder of Lyric Poetry, nothing can be more certain, than that any compofition which is fo irregular in its method, as
ft

LYRIC POETRY.
149
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to become obfcure to the bulk of Readers , is fo much worfe upon that account*.
The extravagant liberty which feveral of the modern Lyric Writers aflume to themfelves_ in their Verification, increafes the diforder of this fpecies of Poetry. They prolong their periods to fuch a degree, they wander through fo many different meafures, and employ fuch a variety of
* “ La plupart de ceux qui parlent de l’enthoufiafme “ de l’Ode, en parlent comme s’ils etaient eux - memes “ dans le trouble qu’ils veulent definir. Ce ne font que 44 grands mots de fureur divine, de tranfports de fame, “ de mouvemens, de lumieres, qui, mis bout- a - bout “ dans des phrafes pompeufes , ne produifent poqrtant 44 aucune idee diftincte. Si on les en croit, 1’effence de “ l’enthoufiafme eft de ne pouvoir etre compris que “ par les elprits du premier ordre, a la tcte defquels ils “ fe fuppofent, et dont ils exeluent tous ceux qui ofent 44 ne les pas entendre. — Le beau defordre de l’Ode eft “ un efl’et de l’art; mais il faut prendre garde de donner “ trop d’etendue a ce terme. On autoriferait par-la tous “ les ecarts imaginables. Un poqte n’aurait plus qu’a eifpri- “ mer avec force toutes les penfees qui lui viendraient “ fuccelfivement; il fe tiendrait difpenfe d’an examiner le 44 rapport, et de fe fkire un plan, dont toutes les parties 44 fe pretaffent mutuellement des. beautes. Il n’y aurait ni “ commencement, ni milieu , ni fin r dans fon ouvrage; “ et cependant 1’auteur fe croirait d’autant plus fublime, “ qu’il lerait moins raifonnable. Mais que produirait une 44 pareille compofition dans l’efprit du lecteur'? Elle ne 4 ‘ laifferait qifun etourdilfement, caufe par la magnificence “ et fharmonie des paroles, fans y faire naitre que des “ idees confufes, qui chafferaient*l’une 1’autre, au lieu de “ qoncourir enfemble a fixer l’efprit. ”
Oeuvres de M. De La Motte , Tome I.
Difcours fur l’Ode.
L 3
Lect
XXXIX

L E e t. long and fhort lines, correfponding in rhyme at XXXIX fo great a diftance from each other , that all fenfe of melody is utterly loft. Whereas Lyric Com- pofition ought, beyond every other fpecies of Poetry, to pay attention to melody and beauty of found; and the Verfification of thofe Odes may be juftly accounted the beft, which renders the harmony of the meafure moft fenfible to every common ear.
Pindar , the great Father of Lyric Poetry, lias been the occafion of leading his imitators into fome of the defeds I have now mentioned, His Genius was fublime ; his expreflions are beautiful and happy ; his defcriptions, pidurefque. But finding it a very barren fubjed to fing the praifes of thofe who had gained the prize in the public games, he is perpetually digreflive , and fills up his Poems with Fables of the Gods and Heroes, that have little connexion either with his. fubjed, or with one another. The Ancients admired him greatly; but as many of the hiftories of particular families and cities, to which he alludes, are now unknown to us, he is fo obfcure, partly from his fubjeds, and partly from his rapid, abrupt manner of treating them , that notwith* Handing the beauty of his expreflion , our pleafure in reading him is much diminifiied. One would imagine , that many of his modeftr imitators thought the beft way to catch his fpirit, was to imitate his diforder and obfcurity. In feveral of the chorufes of Euripides and Sophocles , we have the fame kind of Lyric Poetry as in Pindar,

LYRIC POETRY.
151
[ b carried on with more clearnefs and connexion, :n|fe and at the fame time with much fublimity. nc[ ; Of all the writers of Odes, Ancient or Modern, tpeca there is none, that, in. point of correcftnefs, iik harmony, and happy expreflion, can vie with iot; Horace. He has defcended from the Pindaric :t;; : rapture to a more moderate degree of elevation; at and joins connected thought, and good fenfe, with the higheft beauties of Poetry. He does ;cP ;t not often afpire beyond that middle. region, which I mentioned as belonging to the Ode; k- and thofe Odes, in which he attempts the fublime, ell-- are perhaps not always his beft *. The peculiar Kr character , in which he excels , is grace and tofc elegance; and in this Style of Compofition, no Poet has ever attained to a greater perfection ,| ti than Horace. No Poet fupports a moral fentiment with more dignity , touches a gay one more jjjlj. happily , or poffelfes the art of trifling more ^ agreeably, when he chufes to trifle. His language tieltj f° rtunate , that with a Angle word or
y^:. epithet, he often conveys a whole description , c(( . to the fancy. Hence he ever has been, and ever jj.1 will continue to be, a favourite Author with all perfons of tafte.
osri * There is no Ode, whatever of Horace’s, without Oat great beauties. But though 1 may be Angular in my opi- p, ij rjon, I cannot help thinking that in fome of thofe Odes . which have been much admired for fublimity (fuel) as Ode ll1 '. 1 iv. Lib. 4 . “ Qualem miniftrum fulminis alitem,” &c._) there appears fomewhat of a {trained and forced effort to be lofty. The genius of this amiable Poet fhows itfelf, accordant ing to my judgment, to greater advantage, in themes of a more temperate kind.
I, E C T. XXXIX.

L E C T.
XXXIX.
1$2
LYRIC POETRY.
Among the Latin Poets of later ages, there have been many imitators of Horace. One of the mod diflinguifhed is Cafimir, a Polilh Poet of the la(t century, who wrote four books of Odes. In graceful eafe of expreffion, he is far inferior to the Roman. He oftener affects the fublime; and in the attempt, like other Lyric writers, frequently becomes harfh and unnatural. But . on feveral occafions , he difcovers a con- fiderable degree of original Genius, and poetical fire. Buchanan , in Lome of his Lyric Compofi- tions , is very elegant and claffical.
Among the French , the Odes of Jean Baptifte Rouffeau , have been much , and juftly , celebrated. They poffefs great beauty , both of fenti- ment and expreffion. They are animated, without being rhapfodical; and are not inferior to any poetical productions in the French language.
In our own Language, we have feveral Lyric Compofitions of confiderable merit. Dryden’s Ode on St. Cecilia, is well known. Mr. Gray is diflinguifhed in fome of his Odes, both for tendernefs and fublimity; and in Dodffey’s INlif- cellanies, feveral very beautiful Lyric Poems are to be found. As to profeffed Pindaric Odes, they are, with ^ few exceptions, fo incoherent, as feldom to be intelligible, Cowley, at all times harfh, is doubly fo in his Pindaric Compofitions. In his Anacreontic Odes , he is much happier. They are fmooth and elegant; and, indeed, the moft agreeable, and the moft perfed, in their kind, of all Mr. Cowley’s Poems.
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LECTURE XL.
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Ipe DIDACTIC POETRY. - DESCRIPTIVE Coe;. POETRY.
Ijv HAVING treated of Paftoral and Lyric Poetry, hoik I proceed next to Didadtic Poetry, under which !,t is included a numerous Clafs of Writings. The ors ultimate end of all Poetry, indeed, of every firs compofition , fhould be to make fome ufeful di'impreffion on the mind. This ufeful impreffion hr is molt commonly made in Poetry, by indirect Mri methods; as by fable , by narration, by repre- , fc fentation of characters ; but Didadtic Poetry (lev- openly profeffes its intention of conveying know- Poit ledge and inftruction. It differs, therefore, in nick the form only, not in the fcope and fubftance, itcofe from a philofophical , a moral , or a critical ati5: treatife in Profe. At the fame time, by means of imped its form, it has feveral advantages over Profe (hfcf! Inftruction. By the charm of Verfification and jjdei numbers, it renders inftrudtion more agreeable; g jj. by the deferiptions, epifodes, and other embel- lifirments, which it may interweave, it detains,
E c T. XL.

154
DIDACTIC POETRY.
L E C T.
XL.
*
35
* E’
4 ' '
and engages the fancy; it fixes alfo ufeftft cip. cumftances more deeply in the memory. Hence, it is a field , wherein a Poet may gain great honour , may difplay both much Genius , and much knowledge and judgment.
It may be executed in different manners. The Poet may chufe fome infi.rudive fubjed, 'and he may treat it regularly , and in form; or, without intending a great or regular work, he may only inveigh againlt particular vices , or make fome moral obfervations on human life and charaders, as is commonly done in fatires and epifUes. All thefe come under the denomination of Didadic Poetry. ia,,
The higheft fpecies of it, is a regular treatife on fome. philofophical, grave, or ufeful fulajed.
Of this nature we have feveral , both ancient and modern , of great merit and charader: fuch as Lucretius’s fix books De Rerum Natnra, • Virgil’s Georgies , Pope’s Elfay on Criticifm, Akenfide’s Pleafures of the Imagination , Arm- ftrong on Health, Horace’s, Vida's and Boileau’s Art of Poetry.
• In all fuch works, as inltrudion is the profeffed objed, the fundamental merit confilts in found thought, juft principles, clear and aptilluftrations. The Poet mult inltrud; but he mult ftudy, at the fame time, to enliven his inltrudions, by the introdudion of fuch figures, and fuch cir- cumftances, as may amufe the imagination, may conceal the drynefs of his fubjed, and embellifi it with poetical painting. Virgil, in his Georgies,
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DIDACTIC POETRY.
155
^ prefents us here with a perfect model. He has Lec “ ;i the art of railing and beautifying the moll trivial XL circumfiances in^ural life, When he is going to llk,; fay, that the labour <tf the country mull be in fpring, h£ expreffes himfelf thus: kg,!
Pi 1 Vere novo, gelidus canis cum montibus humor Liquitur , et Zephiro putris fe gleba refolvit;
Wl Depreffo incipiat jam turn mihi Taurus aratro
' E ; Ingemere, et fulco attritus fplendefcere vomer *.
ailf
htut Instead of telling his hufbandman in plaint-language, that his crops will fail through bad management, his language is, tilt:
tMl: Heu magnum alterius fruftra fpedtabis acervum, wit Concuffaque famem in fylvis folabere quercuf. imp
jnri Instead of ordering him to water his grounds, afche prefents us with a beautiful landfcape,
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* While yet the Spring is young, while Earth unbinds Her frozen bofom to the weftern winds;
While mountain fnows diffolve againft the Sun,
And ftreams yet new from precipices run;
Even in this early dawning of the year,
Produce the plough and yoke the fturdy freer,
And goad him till he groans beneath his toil,
Till the bright fhare is buried in the foil.
Drydenv
jib® | On other’s crops you may with envy look, jnJti And lhake for food the long abandon’d oak.
,]jsfe Dryden.

1S 6 DIDACTIC POETRY.
L E C T. Ecce fupercilio clivofi tramitis undam
XL. Elicit; ilia cadens, raucum per Imvia murmur
Saxa ciet; fcatebrifque arentia teiSperat arva f.
In all Didadic Works , method nnd order
is effentially requifite ; not fo Acrid and formal ft®
as in a profe treadle; yet fuch as may exhibit - clearly to the Reader a connected train of jnftruc- :? tion. Of the Didadic Poets, whom I before -II mentioned, Horace in his Art of Poetry, is the Mi one moft cenfured for want of method. Indeed, —to if Horace be deficient in any thing throughout dpi many of his Writings, it is in this, of not being pc fufficiently attentive to juncture and connexion Itsei of parts. He writes always with eafe and grace- :pro fulnefs ; often in a manner fomewhat loofe and ir, rambling. There is , however , in that work :unti much good fenfe, and excellent criticifm; and,dnj ' if it be confidered as intended for the regulation dav of the Roman drama , which feems to have been ci; the Author’s chief purpofe , it will be found to ;ed be a more complete and regular treatife, than bEvi under the common notion , of its being a Syftea of the whole Poetical Art.
f Behold when burning funs, or Syrius’ beams
Strike fiercely on the field , and with’ring ftems, Down from the fummit of the neighbouring hills O’er the fmooth ftones, he calls the bubbling rills;
Soon as he clears whate’er their paffage flay’d, 3
And marks their future current with his fpade, Before him fcattering they prevent his pains,
i£[
And roll with hollow murmurs o’er the plains.
Wartos.

157
DIDACTIC POETRY.
With regard to Epifodes and Embellilhments, ] great liberty is allowed to Writers of Didactic Poetry. We foon tire of a continued feries of inltructions, efpecially.jp a poetical work, where we look for entertainment. The great art of rendering a Didactic Poem interefiing , is to relieve and amufe the Reader, by connecting forae agreeable Epifodes with the principal fub- ject Thefe are always the parts of the work which are bell known, and which contribute molt to fupport the reputation of the Poet. The principal beauties of Virgil’s Georgies lit in digrelfions of this kind, in which the Author has exerted all the force of .his Genius; fuch as the prodigies that attended the death of Julius (hefar, the Praifes of Italy, the Happinefs of a Country Life, the Fable of Arifteus , and the moving Tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. So alfo the favourite paffages in Lucretius’s work, and which alone could render fuch a dry and abftradt fubjedt tolerable in Poetry, are the digreffions on the Evils of Superftition , the Praife of Epicurus and his philofophy, the Defcription of the Plague, and feveral other incident illuftrations, which are remarkably elegant, and adorned with a fweetnefs and harmony of Verfification peculiar to that Poet. There is indeed nothing in Poetry, fo entertaining or deferiptive, but what a Didactic AVriter of genius may be allowed to introduce in fome part of his work; provided always, that fuch Epifodes arife naturally from the main fub- jedt; that they be not difproportioned in length
E c T. XL.

L E c XL.
0
158
DIDACTIC POETRY.
T. to it; and that the Author know how to defcend
with propriety to the plain, as well as how to rife to the bold and figured Style.
Much art may be fliown by a DidacTic Poet, in conneding his EpifodeT happily with his fub. jed. Virgil is alfo diftinguifhed for his addrefs in this point. After feeming to have left his hulband- men, he again returns to them very naturally by laying] hold of fome rural circumftance , to terminate his digreffion. Thus , having fpoken of the battle of Pharfalia, he fubjoins immediately, witl^much art:
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Scilicet et tempus veniet, cum finibus illis, Agricola, incurvo terram molitus aratro, Exefa inveniet fcabr-a rubigine pila:
Ant gravibus xaftris galeas pulfabit inanes, Grandiaque eff'ofiis mirabitur ofla fepulchris *.
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In Englifh, Dr. Akenfide has attempted the £ . i;i moft rich and poetical form of Didadic Writing c fJ ,] in his Pleafures of the Imagination; and though, in the execution of the whole, he is not equal, j[ M he has, in feveral parts, fucceeded happily, and j,^ difplayed much genius. Dr. Armftrong, in his
* Then, after length of time, the lab’ring Grains Who turn the turf of thefe unhappy plains,
Shall rufty arms from the plough’d furrows take, And over empty helmets pafs the rake; Amufed at antique tides on the ftones,
And mighty relics of gigantic bones.
m
Dkydek.

DIDACTIC POETRY. 159,
?tl); Art of Preferving Health, lias not aimed at fo L e c t. high a ftrain as the other. But he is more XL. equal; and maintains throughout a chafte, and ® C: corred elegance.
,il -: Satires and Epiftles naturally run into a more
familiar Style, than folemn Philofophical Poetry, k- As the manners and charaders, which occur in ordinary life, are their fubjed, they require being treated with fomewhat of the eafe and freedom of converfation, and hence it is commonly the « mufa pedeftris, ” which reigns in fuch Com- pofitions.
Satire, in its firft ftate among the Romans, a ' had a form different from what it afterwards ’> affumed. Its origin is obfcure, and has given occafion to altercation among Critics. It feems to 3, have been at firft a relic of the Ancient Comedy, in' written partly in Profe, partly in Verfe, and abounding with fcurrility. Ennius and Lucilius igc corrected its groffnefs; and at laft, Horace fc brought it into that form, which now gives the 1- denomination to Satirical Writing. Reformation :ii- : of manners, is the end which it profelfes to have ilf in view; and in order to this end, it affumes ikj : the liberty of boldly cenfuring vice, and vicious charaders. It has been carried on in three different manners, by the three great Ancient Satirifts,
:e- Horace, Juvenal, and Perftus. Horace’s Style has not much elevation. He entitled his Satires,
“ Sermones , ” and feems not to have intended rifing much higher than Profe put into numbers, l His manner is eafy and graceful. They are rather

DIDACTIC POETRY.
L E c XL.
T.
i do
the follies and weakneffes of mankind, than their enormous vices, which he chufes for the object of his Satire. He reproves with a fmiling afped; and while he moralizes like a found Philofopher, difcovers, at the fame time, the politenefs of a courtier. Juvenal is much more ferious and declamatory. He has more ftrength and fire, and more elevation of Style , than Horace; but is greatly inferior to him in gracefulnefs and eafe. His Satire is more zealous, more fharp and pointed, as being generally directed againft more flagitious characters. As Scaliger fays of him, “ ardet, “ inftat, jugulat; ” whereas Horace’s character is, “ admiffus circum prtecordia ludit. ” Perfuu has a greater refemblance of the force and fire of Juvenal, than of the politenefs of Horace. He is diftinguifhed for fentiments of noble and fub- lime morality. He is a nervous and lively writer; but withal, often harlh and obfcure.
Poetical Epiftles, when employed on moral or critical fubjeds, feldom rife into a higher ftrain of Poetry than Satires. In the form of an Epiflle , indeed, many other fubjeds may be handled, and either Love Poetry, or Elegiac, may be carried on; as in Ovid’s Epiftolae Heroi- dum, and his Epiftolx de Ponto. Such works as thefe are defigned to be merely fentimental; and as their merit confifts in being proper exprelfions of the paflion or fentiment which forms the fub- jed, they may affume any tone of Poetry that is fuited to it. But Didadic Epiftles, of which I now fpeak , feldom admit of much elevation.
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DIDACTIC POETRY.
161
te They are commonly intended as obfervatidns on Lec t. *; Authors, or on Life and Charaders; in delivering XL.
“o which, the Poet does not purpofe to compofe a 1 .*® formal treadle , or to confine himfelf ftridly to tei regular method; but gives fcope to his genius on fome particular theme, which, at the time, has :,s; prompted him to write. In all Didadic Poetry of this kind, it is an important rule “ quicquid ^ “. prsecipies, efto brevis. ” Much of the grace,
^ both of Satirical and Epiftolary Writing,, confifts E in a fpirited concifenefs. This gives to fucli compofition an edge and a livelinefs, which ei! * ftrike the fancy , and keep attention awake.
Much of their merit depends alfo on juft and happy reprefentations of characters. As they are :n:: - not fupported by thofe high beauties of defcrip- 'He-t tive and poetical language which adorn other >'V ; compofitions, we exped, in return, to be entertained with lively paintings of men and manners, dE which are always pleating; and in thefe, a certain its a fprightlinefs and turn of wit finds its proper place, do® The higher fpecies of Poetry feldom admit it; to- but here it is feafonable and beautiful, or: In all thefe refpeds, Mr. Pope’s Ethical Epiftles
lito-’ deferve to be mentioned with fignal honour , as iclu a model, next to perfed, of this kind of Poetry, inf Here, perhaps, the ftrength of his genius appear- :r£ ed. In the mere fublime parts of Poetry, he is jut: not fo diftinguifhed. In the enthufiafro , the fire, f:: the force and copioufnefs of poetic Genius, Dry- den, though a much lefs corred Writer, appears Jief- to have been fuperior to him. One can fcarce Vol. ill. M

L E c XL.
T.
162
DIDACTIC POETRY.
think that he was capable of Epic or Tragic Poetry; but within a certain limited region, he has been outdone by no Poet. His tranflation of the Iliad will remain a Jailing monument to his honour, as the moft elegant and highly finiflied tranflation, that, perhaps, ever was given of any poetical work. That he was not incapable of tender Poetry, appears from the epiftle of Eloifa to Abelard, and from the verfes to the memory of an unfortunate Lady, which are almoft his only fentimental productions; and which indeed are excellent in their kind. But the qualities for which he is chiefly diftinguifhed are, judgment and wit, with a concife and happy expreffion, and a melodious verfification. Few Poets ever had more w r it, and at the fame time more judgment, to direct; the proper employment of that wit. This renders his Rape of the Lock the greateft mafter-piece that perhaps was ever com- pofed, in the gay and fprightly Style; and in his ferious works, fuch as his Eflay on Man, and his Ethic Epiftles, his wit juft difcovers itfelfas much, as to give a proper feafoning to grave reflections. His imitations of Horace are fo peculiarly happy, that one is at a Iofs, whether moft to admire the original or the copy; and they are among the few imitations extant, that have all the grace and eafe of an original. His paintings of characters are natural and lively in a high degree ; and never was any Writer fq happy in that concife fpirited Style, which gives animation to Satires and Epiftles. We are never fo
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DIDACTIC POETRY,
163
,: i" fenfible of the good effeds of rhyme in Engliih L e c Y verfe, as in reading thefe parts of his works. XL. ci© We fee it adding to the Style, and elevation Mj which otherwife it could not have poffefled; lyfa while at the fame time he manages it fo artfully,
'ft:: that it never appears in the lead; to encumber ^ him; but, on the contrary, ferves to increafe the sol; livelinefs of his manner. He tells us himfelf, that he could exprefs moral obfervations more con- fe cifely, and therefore more forcibly, in rhyme, than he could do in profe.
pi:r Among moral and Didadic Poets, Dr. Young :: is of too great eminence, to be paffed over with- esp out notice. In all his works, the marks of ftrong Fo; Genius appear. His Univerfal Paffion, poffeffes ei the full merit of that animated concifenefs of Style, j;*:; and lively defcription of charaders , which I : [■■ mentioned as particularly requifite in Satirical and istvr Didadic Compofitions. Though his wit may v ;:, often be thought too fparkling, and his Lenten- iW ces too pointed, yet the vivacity of his fancy is v: fo great, as to entertain every Reader. In his sjd: Night Thoughts, there is much energy of ex- jxi:. predion; in the three firft, there are feveral pathe- duie. tic paffages; and fcattered through them all, j.;- happy images and allufions, as well as pious re- . fledions, occur. But the fentiments are frequently [W over-ftrained, and turgid; and the Style is too D harlh and obfcure to be pleafing. Among French Authors, Boileau has undoubtedly much merit in Didadic Poetry. Their later Critics are un- Y-- willing to allow him any great lhare of original
M 2
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i6 4 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
L e c t. Genius, or poetic fire*. But his Art of Poetry, XL. his Satires and Epiftles, muft ever be efteemed eminent, not only for folid and judicious thought, but for correct and elegant poetical expreffion, and fortunate imitation of the Ancients.
From Didadtic, I proceed next to treat ofDe- fcriptive Poetry, where the higheft exertions of Genius may be difplayed. By Defcriptive Poetry, I do not mean any one particular fpecies or form of Compofition. There are few Compofitions of any length, that can be called purely defcriptive, or wherein the Poet propofes to himfelf no other objedt, but merely to defcribe, without employing narration, adtion, or moral fentiment, as the ground-work of his Piece. Defcription is generally introduced as an embellilhment, rather than made the fubjedt, of a regular work. But though it feldom form a.feparate fpecies of writing, yet into every fpecies of Poetical Compofition, Paf- toral, Lyric, Didadtic, Epic, and Dramatic, it both enters, and poflelfes in each of them a very confiderable place; fo that'in treating ofPoetry, it demands no fmall attention.
Description is the great teft of a Poet’s imagination ; and always diftinguifhes an original from a fecond-rate Genius. To a Writer of the inferior clafs, nature, when at any time he attempts to defcribe it, appears exhaufted by thofe who have gone before him in the fame tradt. He fees nothing new, or peculiar, in the objedt which
* Vid. Poetique Francaife de Marmontel.
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be would paint; his conceptions of it are loofe L e c t. and vague; and his expreffions, ofcourfe, feeble XL and general. He gives us words rather than ideas; we meet with the language indeed of poetical defcription, but we apprehend the objedt defcribed very indiftindtly. Whereas , a true Poet makes us imagine that we fee it before our eyes; he catches the diftinguifhing features; he gives it the colours of life and reality; he places it in fuch a light , that a Painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing to a ftrong imagination, which firft receives a lively impreffion of the objedt; and then, by employing a proper feleclion of circumftances in defcribing it, tranfmits that impreffion in'its full force to the imagination of others.
In this feledtion of circumftances, lies the great art of Pidturefque Defcription. In the firft place, they ought not to be vulgar, and common ones, fuch as are apt to pafs by without remark; but, as much as poffible, new and original, which may catch the fancy, and draw attention. In the next place, they ought to be fuch as particularize the objedt defcribed , and mark it ftrongly. No defcription, that refts in Generals , can be good.
For we can conceive nothing clearly in the ab- ftradt; all diftindt ideas are formed upon particulars. In the third place, all the circumftances employed ought to be uniform, and of a piece; that is, when defcribing a great objedl, every circumftance brought into view fliould tend, to aggrandize , or, when defcribing a gay and plea-
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j66 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
L r c T. fant one, fhould tend to beautify, that by this XL. means, the impreffion may reft upon the imagination complete and entire: and laltly, the cir- cumftances in defcription fhould be expreffcd ■with concifenefs, and with fimplicity; for, when either too much exaggerated, or too long dwelt upon and extended, they never fail to enfeeble the impreffion that is defigned to be made. Brevity , almoft always , contributes to vivacity. Thefe general rules will be belt underftood by illultrations, founded on particular infhances.
Of all profeffed Defcriptive Compofitions, the largeft and fullelt that I am acquainted with, in any language, is Mr. Thomfon’s Seafons; a work which poffefies very uncommon merit. The Style , in the midft of much fplendour and flrength, is fometimes harfh, and may be cenfur- ed as deficient in eafe and diltindtnefs. But , notwithftanding this defect, Thomfon is a ftrong and beautiful Defcriber; for he had a feeling heart, and a warm imagination. He had ftudied, and copied nature with care. Enamoured of her beauties, he not only defcribed them properly, but felt their impreffion with ftrong fenfbility. The impreffion which he felt, he tranfmits to his Readers; and no perfon of tafte can perufe any one of his Seafons , without having the ideas and feelings which belong to that feafon, recalled, and rendered prefent to his mind. Several inftances of moft beautiful defcription might be given from him; fuch as, the fliower in Spring, the morning in Summer, and the man perilhing
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^ in fnow in Winter. But, at prefent, I fhall Lect. 65 produce a palfage of another kind, to fhow the XL,
^ power of a fingle well chofen circumftance , to
t! K heighten a defcription. In his Summer-, relating the effeds of heat in the torrid zone, he is T led to take notice of the peftilence that deftroyed the Englifh fleet, at Carthagena, under Admiral Vernon; when he has the following lines: via:
Sii-you, gallant Vernon, faw
The miferable fcene; you pitying faw rr- To infant weaknefs funk the warrior’s arm;
Saw the deep racking pang; the ghaflly form; fife The lip pale quiv’ring; and the beamlefs eye ieri;: No more with ardour bright; you heard the groans
fc: Of agonizing fhips from fhore to fhore;
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it All the Circumftances here are properly cliof- idfct en , for fetting this difmal fcene in a ftrong
is!: light before our eyes. But what is mod ftriking
ff ■ in the picture, is, the laft image. We are coni'*"' eluded through all the feenes of diflrefs, till we zb come to the mortality prevailing in the fleet, which a vulgar Poet would have deferibed by ik* exaggerated expreflions, concerning the multi- oa"- plied trophies and vidories of death. But, how Ss much more is the imagination impreffed , by x'f this fingle circumftance, of dead bodies thrown overboard every night ; of the conftant found p, of their falling into the waters; and of the Ad-
M 4

168 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
L e c t. miral lillening to this melancholy found, fo often XL. finking his ear ?
Heard nightly plunged, amid the fullen waves,
The frequent corfe *.
* The elogium which Dr. Johnfon, in his Lives of the Poets , gives of Thomfon, is high, and, in my opinion, very juft. “ As a Writer, he is entitled to one praife of “ the higheft kind; his mode of thinking, and of expref- “ ling his thoughts, is Original. His Blank Verfe is no “ more the Blank Verfe of Milton, or of any other Poet, “ than the Rhymes of Prior are the Rhymes of Cowley. “ His numbers, his paufes, his diction, are of his own “ growth , without tranfeription, without imitation. He “ thinks in a peculiar train, and he thinks always as a “ man of genius. He looks round on nature and life, “ with the eye which nature bellows only on a Poet; the “ eye that diftinguifhes in every thing prefented to its “ view , whatever there is on which imagination can “ delight to be detained; and with a mind, that at once “ comprehends the vaft, and attends to the minute. The “ Reader of the Seafons wonders that he never faw before “ what Thomfon fhows him, and that he never yet has “ felt what Thomfon imprefl'cs. — His deferiptions of exter.d- “ ed feenes, and general efFeds, bring before us the “ whole magnificence of nature , whether pleating or “ dreadful. The gayety of Spring , the Splendour of Sura- “ mer , the tranquillity of Autumn , and the horror of “ Winter, take, in their turn, poffefiion of the mind. The “ Poet leads us through the appearances of things, as they “ are fucceffively varied by the viciffitudcs of the year, “ and imparts to us fo much of his own enthufiafm, that “ our thoughts expand with his imagery, and kindle with his fentiments. ” The cenfure which the fame eminent Critic palfes upon Thomfon’s diction, is no lefs juft and well founded, that, “ it is too exuberant, and may fome- tirnes be charged with filling the ear more than the mind.”

DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 169
^ Mr. Parnell’s Tale of the Hermit, is coil- Leg fpicuous, throughout the whole of it, for beauti- XL. ful Defcriptive Narration. The manner of the Hermit’s fetting forth to vifit the world ; his meeting with a companion, and the houfes ill of : - which they are fucceflively entertained , of the fa vain man , the covetous man, and the good man, are pieces of very fine painting, touched with a light and delicate pencil , overcharged with no jj f | fuperfiuous colouring, and conveying to us a Out lively idea of the objedts. But, of all the Englifb Is? Poems in the Defcriptive Style, the richeft and -- moft remarkable are, Milton’s Allegro and Pen- ferofo. The collection of gay images on the one hand, and of melancholy ones on the other, jjj. exhibited in thefe two fmall, but inimitably fine e: Poems, are as exquifite as can be conceived, is: They are indeed, the ftorehoufe whence many H y fucceeding Poets have enriched their defcriptions k" of fimilar fubjedts; and they alone are fufficient oftE ^ or iEuflra^ting the obfervations which I made,
K5: concerning the proper feledtion of circumftances t£i : in Defcriptive Writing. Take, for inftance, the :i«- following paffage from the Penferofo :
- : -I walk unfeen
On the dry, fmooth-lhaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her higheft noon ;
Like one that had been led aftray Through the Heav’n’s wide pathlefs way,
And oft, as if her head lhe bow’d,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
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DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
E C T.
XL.
Oft, on a plat of rifing ground ,
I hear the far-off curfew found,
Over fome wide water’d fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen 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 belman’s drowfy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm: Or let my lamp , at midnight hour ,
Be feen, in fome high lonely tow’r, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unfphere The fpirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds, or what vafl: regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forfook Her manfion in this flefhly nook:
And of thofe Demons that are found
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Here , there are no unmeaning general expref- {ions; all is particular; all is Piclurefque; nothing^' forced or exaggerated; but a fimple Style, and r® a collection of ftrong expreffive images, whichJ*®) are all of one clafs , and recall a number of fimilat ideas of the melancholy kind: particularly, the walk by moon-light ; the found of the curfew-r ! ’J bell heard diftant ; the dying embers in the -®J: chamber; the Bellman’s call; and the lamp feen -4

II DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
171
at midnight, in the high lonely tower. We may Iect. obferve, too, the concifenefs of the Poet’s manner. XL.
He does not reft long on one circumftance, or employ a great many words to defcribe it; which always makes the impreftion faint and languid; but placing it in one ftrong point of view, full and clear before the Reader, he there leaves it.
^ “Fttottf his Ihield and his helmet,” fays Homer, defcribing one of his heroes in battle , fC From “ his fhield and helmet, there fparkled an incef- “ fant blaze; like the autumnal ftar, when it “ appears in its brightnefs from the waters of :: “ the ocean.” This is fhort and lively; but when it comes into Mr. Pope’s hand, it evaporates in three pompous'lines, each of which repeats the i, fame image in different words; hm High on his helm celeftial lightnings play,
His beamy fhield emits a living ray; y| Tli’ unwearied blaze mediant ftreams fupplies,
§ji Like the red ftar that fires th’ autumnal fkies.
It is to be obferved, in general , that , in j defcribing folemn or great objects, the concife ^ manner is, almoft always , proper. Defcriptions of gav and fmiling feenes can bear to be more amplified and prolonged ; as ftrength is not the ^. predominant quality expected in thefe. But where a fnblime , or a pathetic impreftion is intended 'jP,t° be made, energy is above all things required. iDco- The imagination ought then to be feized at ®^once; and it is far more deeply imprefted by 1 ^ one ftrong and ardent image , than .by the anxious minutenefs of laboured illustration. — “ His face
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J 72 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. £SC
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XL.
was without form , and dark,” fays Oflian, ***' defcribing a ghoft , “ the liars dim twinkled si3ei “ through his form ; thrice he fighed over the ^ “ hero; and thrice the winds of the night roared ^ ^ “around.” * vi
It deferves attention too, that in defcribin? ;£ei
inanimate natural objects, the Poet, in order’" 10 to enliven his description , ought always to mix i!E1 ” living beings with them. The fcenes of dead and j? ®° ftill life are apt to pall upon us , if the Poet do : F raci not fuggeft fentiments , and introduce life and a&ion into his defcription. This is well known to every Painter who is a mafter in his art"""? Seldom has any beautiful landfcape been drawn, without fome human being reprefented on the canvas, as beholding it, or on fome account*^!' concerned in it: ! “^
:he fit
Hie gelicli fontes, hie mollia prata, Lycori,
Hie nemus, hie ipfo tecum confumerer revo. * 101116
:c,\ fi
The touching part of thefe fine lines of Virgil’s, ® is the laft, which fets before us the intereft of two lovers in this rural feene. A long defcription of the “fontes,” the “ nemus,” and the “pnita," in the moft poetical modern manner , would 2“*' have been infipid without this ftroke, which, ^
* Here cooling fountains roll thro’ flow’ry meads,
Here woods, Lycoris, lift their verdant heads, j- Here could 1 wear my carelefs life away,
And in thy arms infenfibly decay. ]
Virg. EccL X. WARTOS.

r&\ > ‘-
IT. DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 173
s0; in a few words, brings home to the heart all t<t the beauties of the place; “ hie ipfo tecum con- ov; furfierer sevo. ” It is a great beauty in Milton’s «k:. Allegro, that it is all alive , and full of perfons.
Every thing, as I before faid, in defeription, ddi Ihould be as marked and particular as poffible, ,n in order to imprint on the mind a diftindt and iv;. complete image. A hill, a river, or a lake, )fk rife up more confpicuous to the fancy, when Eh fome particular lake, or river, or hill, is fpecified, ce than when the terms are left general. Mod; of W tJ; the Ancient Writers have been fenfible of the r advantage which this gives to defeription. Thus, in that beautiful Paftoral Compofition, the Song nte J . of Solomon, the images are commonly particu- M - larifed by the objedts to which they allude. It is the “ Rofe of Sharon; the lily of the vallies; “ the flock which feeds on Mount Gilead; the . “ ftream which comes from Mount Lebanon.
* “Come with me, from Lebanon, myfpoufe;
“ look from the top Amana, from the top of :r. Shenir and Hermon , from the mountains of * ir .’’’ ct the Leopards. ” Ch. iv. 8, So Horace;
Quid dedicatum pofeit Apollinem,
Vates ? quid orat de patera novum Fundens liquorem ? non opimas Sardinia fegetes feracis;
Non adiuofae grata Calabria:
Armenca, non aurum aut ebur Indicum,
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Non rura, qua; Liris quiets Mordet aqua, tacituraus arr.rJs *
Lib. I. Ode ji.
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Both Homer and Virgil are remarkable for ^ tbe talent of Poetical Befcription. In Virgil’s p 5 fecond iEneid, where he defcribes the burning t’P and lacking of Troy, the particulars are I'o well :cryl felebfed and reprefented , that the Reader finds ^ himfelf in the midft of that fcene of horror. The death of Priam, efpecially, maybe fingled out Jclude as a mafferpiece of defcription. All the circura- ireloi fiances of the aged monarch arraying himfelf in :4e] armour, when he finds the enemy making am o themfelves mailers of the city ; his meeting with y the his family, who are taking fhelter at an altar in sere r the court of the palace, and their placing him hew in the midft of them; his indignation when he km beholds Pyrrhus flaughtenng one of his fons; ; the the feeble dart which he throws; with Pyrrhus’s xafec brutal behaviour, and his manner of putting the tad o
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When at Apollo’s hallowed fbrine The Poet hails the power divine,
And here his firft libation pours,
What is # the bleffing he implores?
He nor defires the fwelling grain,
That yellows o’er Sardinia's plain,
Nor the fair herds that lowing feed ttlaa
On warm Calabria’s flowery mead; siite
Nor ivory of fpotlefs fhine ;
Nor gold forth flaming from the mine; : ,
Nor the rich fields that Liris laves, f"®
And eats away with ffient waves. Pkaxcis. .-til
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^ DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 175 .
old man to death , are painted in the moft affedting Lec * manner, and with a mafterly hand. All Homer’s XL. H'. battles, and Milton’s account, both of Paradife, and of the Infernal Regions , furnilh many ^ beautiful inftances of Poetical Defcription. Offiaa L !■' too, paints in ftrong and lively colours, though ’fe:he employs few circumflances ; and his chief R ”’excellency lies in painting to the heart. One of Rea his fullelt Defcriptions is the following of the fe rains of Balclutha: “ I have feen the walls of >«fca« Balclutha, but they were defolate. The fire IItic“ had refounded within the halls; and the voice inj; “ of the people is now heard no more. The :er-“ ffream of Clutha was removed from its place, cc “ by the fall of the walls; the thilfle fhook there its lonely head; the mofs whiffled to the wind. The fox looked out of the window;
Don “ the rank grafs waved round his head. Defolate oil" is the dwelling of Moina. Silence is in the : “ houfe of her fathers. ” Shakefpeare cannot be ifomitted on this occafion, as fingularly eminent for painting with the pencil of nature. Though it be in manners and characters, that his chief excellency lies , yet his fcenery alfo is often exquifite , and happily defcribed by a fingle ftroke; as in that fine line of the “ Merchant of Venice, ” which conveys to the fancy as j natural and beautiful an image, as can poffibly be exibited in fo few words:
How fweet the moon-ligiit fleeps upon this bank!
' • Here v/ill we fit, &c.

176 DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
L f. c T. Much of the beauty of Defcriptive Poetry ^ XL. depends on a right choice of Epithets. Many Poets , it muff be confefied , are too carelefs in this particular. Epithets are frequently brought r in, merely to complete the verfe, or make the rhyme anfwer; and hence they are fo unmeaning :s ' and redundant; expletive words only, which, in place of adding any thing to the defcription, clog and enervate it. Virgil’s “ Liquidi fontes,” and Horace’s “ Prata canis albicant pruinis,” : ^ 0 muft, I am afraid, be afligned to this clafs: for, :!lia to denote by an epithet that water is liquid, or that fnow is white , is no better than mere Ti ® t( tautology. Every Epithet fhould either add anew :toni idea to the word which it qualifies, or at leaft^ t0 ferve to raife and heighten its known fignification. Bir So in Milton ,
—--Who fhall tempt with wand’ring feet
The dark, unbottom’d, infinite abyls,
And through the palpable obfcure, find out His uncouth way , or fpread his airy flight,
Upborn with indefatigable wings,
Over the vail abrupt?
b. 11. v. 404.
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The epithets employed here plainly add ftrength iig to the defcription, and afiift the fancy in con- ceivingit;—the wandering feet—the unbottomed abyfs—the palpable obfcure—the uncouth way— ^ the indefatigable wing—ferve to render the images more complete and diftinct. But there are a fort ^
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DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
i77
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ft} of general 7 epithets, which, though they appear Lect k to raife the fignification of the word to which XL.
0 CE; they are joined, yet leave it fo undetermined, lij; and are now become fo trite and beaten in poeti- or^ cal language, as to be perfectly infipid. Of this 3tc» kind are “ barbarous difcord—hateful envy— qIv.t “ mighty chiefs—bloody war—gloomy fhades :1c —direful feenes,” and a thoufand more of the fame kind which we meet with occafionally in at; good Poets; but with which , Poets of inferior asi genius abound every where, as the great props isfc of their affedtcd fublimity. They give a fort of ;t fwell to the language , and raife it above
the tone of Profe ; but they ferve not in the ii(r leaffc to illuftrate the object defcribed ; on the ifer contrary , they load the Style with a languid verbofity.
Sometimes it is in the power of a Poet of qa genius, by one well-chofen epithet, to accorn* plilh a defcription , and by means of a fingle word, to paint a whole fcene to the fancy. We may remark this effedt of an epithet in the following fine lines of Milton’s Lycidas :
Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorfelefs deep ^ Clos’d o'er the head of your lov’d Lycidas?
(1 y For neither were ye playing on the ileep,
jjjf, Where your old bards, the famous Druids , lie,
jtj Nor on the lhaggy top of Mona high,
ltd Nor yet where Deva fpreads her wizard firearm
Is?
Among thefe wild feenes, “ Deva’s wizard Vol. Ill, N

i r s DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.
E C T.
XL,
“ ftream” is admirably imagined ; by this one word, prefenting to the fancy all the romantic ideas , of a river flowing through a defolate country, with banks haunted by wizards and enchanters. Akin to this is an epithet which Horace gives to the river Hydafpes. A good man, fays he, {lands in need of no arms,
Sive per Syrtes iter asftuofas,
Sive facturus per inhofpitalem Caucafum; vel quse loca fabulofus Lanibit Hydafpes *.
This epithet “fabulofus” one. of the commentators on Horace has changed into “ fabulofus” or fandy; fubftituting , by a ftrange want of taftc , 'the common and trivial epithet of the fandy river , in place of that beautiful picture which the Poet gives us, by calling Hydafpes the Romantic River, or the feene of Adventures and Poetic Tales.
Virgil has employed an epithet with great beauty and propriety , when accounting for Daedalus not having engraved the fortune of his fon Icarus :
Bis conatus crat cafus effingere in auro
Bis patriae cecidere manus f. JEn. VI.
* Whether through Lybia’s burning fands Our journey leads, or Scythia’s lands ,
Amidft th’ unhofpitable wade of fnows,
Or where the fabulous Hydalpes flows.
Francis,
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f Here haplefs Icarus had found his part,

DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 179
These inftances, ana obfervations , may give fome juft idea of true poetical defcription. We have reafon always to djftruft an Authors de- fcriptive talents , when we find him laborious and turgid , amaffing common place epithets and ge^ fleral exprelfions , to Work up a high conception of fome objecft, of which, after all, we can form but an indiftinct idea. The beft defcribers are fimpie, and concife. They fet before us fuch features of an object, as, on the firit view , ftrike and warm the fancy: they give us ideas which a Statuary or a Painter could lay hold of,
and work after them ; which is one of the
. •
ftrongeft and molt decifive trials of the real merit of Defcription.
Had not the father’s grief reftrain’d his art;
He twice affayed to caft his fon in gold,
Twice from his hand he drop’d the forming mould.
Dkydex.
In this tranflation the thought is juftly given; but the beauty of the expreffion “ patri;c manus , ” which in the original conveys the thought with fo much tendernefs, is loft.
N 2
E C T.
XL.

LECTURE XL I.
L E C T. XLI.
;dl
THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
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A.MONG t^e various kinds of Poetry, which we are, at prefent, employed in examining, the Ancient Hebrew Poetry , or chat of the Scripture', juftly deferves a place. Viewing thofe facred books in no higher light, than as they prefent to us the molt ancient monuments of Poetry extant at this day, in the world, they afford a curious objedt of Criticifm. They difplay the tafte of a remote age and country. They exhibit a fpecies of Compofition, very different from any other with which we are acquainted, and, at the fame time, beautiful. Confidered as Infpired Writings, they give rife to difcuffions of another kind. But it is our bufinefs, at prefent, to confider them not in a theological, but in a critical view : and it muft needs give pleafure, if we (hall find the beauty and dignity of the Compofition , adequate to the weight and importance of the matter. Dr. Lowth’s learned Treatife , “ De Sacra Poefi “ Hebraeorum ,” ought to be perufed by all who defire to become thoroughly acquainted with this
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THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 181
fubjecl. It is a work exceedingly valuable, both '• for the elegance of its Compofition and for the juftnels of the criticifm which it contains. In this Ledure, as I cannot illuftrate the fubjed with more height to the Reader, than by following the track of that ingenious Author, I /hall make much ufe of his obfervations.
IE?i I need not fpend many words in Flowing, that among the books of the Old Teftament there is fuch an apparent diverfity in Style, as t.t fufficiently difcovers, which of them are to be confidered as poetical, and which, as profe com- fcc pofitions. While the hiftorical books, and legif- ictii lative writings of IYIofes , are evidently profaic tfc: in the compofition , the Book of Job , the Pfalms ; he of David, the Song of Solomon, the Lamenta- ac tions of Jeremiah, a great part of the Prophetical naif Writings, and feveral paffages fcattered occafion- auk ally through the hiftorical books , carry the pi nioft plain and diftinguifhi-ng marks of Poetical uiii Writing.
[t These is not the leaft reafon for doubting, tji' that originally thefe were written in verfe, or fome kind of meafured numbers ; though as the v;i - ancient pronunciation of the Hebrew Language jjjj is now loft, we are not able to afcertam the ( Jr nature of the Hebrew verfe , or at moft can s ,,, afcertain it but imperfedly. Concerning this point ^ there have been great controverfies among learned men, which it is immaterial to our prefent, pur- ^ pofe to difcuft. Taking the Old Teftament in our own tranflation , which is extremely literal,
N 3
E C T.
XLI.

183 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS,
l e e t. XLI,
we find plain marks of many parts of the original being written in a meafured Style ; and the “ disjecti membra poetae often fhow themfelves. Let any perfon read the Hiftarical Introduction to the book of Job, contained in the firft and fecond chapters, and then go on to Jons fpeech in the beginning of the third chapter, and he cannot avoid being fenfible that he paffes all at once from the region of Profe, to that of Poetry. Not only the poetical fentiments, and the figured Style , warn him of the change; but the cadence of the fentence , and the arrangement of the words are fenfibly al ered; the change is as great as when he paffes from reading Cafar's Commentaries , to read Virgil’s /Eneid. This is fufficient to fbow that the facred Scriptures contain, what muft be called Poetry in the ftridlefd fenfe of that word ; and I lhall afterwards lhow, that they contain inftances of mold of the different forms of Poetical Writing. It may be proper to remark, in paffing, that hence arifes a mold invincible argument in honour of Poetry. No perfon can imagine that to be a frivolous and contemptible art, which has been employed by Writers under divine infpiration ; and has been chofen as a proper channel, for conveying to the world the knowledge of divine truth.
From the earliefd times, Mufic and Poetry were cultivated among the Hebrews. In the days of tfye Judges, mention Is made of the Schools or Colleges of the Prophets; where one part of the employment of the perfons trained in fucb
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THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 183
ffl
ore fchools was, to fing the praifes of God, accom-
d- panied with various inftruments. In the fir ft
o£: Book of Samuel, (chap. x. 7.) we find on a
oii public occafion, a company of thofe. Prophets
fit; coming down from the hill were the fchool was,
'iljt “ prophefying, ” it is faid , “ with the pfaltery,
“ tabret, and harp before them. 5 But in the
fe; days of King David, Mafic and Poetry were
i[f.y carrier? to their greateft height. For the fervice of
itEE the Tabernacle , he appointed four thouland
i(2 Levites, divided into twenty-four cauife-, and
it m marfhalled under feveral leaders , whofe foie
j, : bufmefs it was to fmg Hymns, and to perform
[k. the inftrumental mufic in the public worftiip.
■,£ Afap'n, Heman, and Jeduthun , were the chief
M , directors of the mufic ; and, from the titles of
t y. fome Pfalms, it would appear that they were
du; alfo eminent compofers of Hymns or facred
jjj. Poems. In chapter xxv. of the firft Book of
oC Chronicles, an account is given of David’s infti-
tutions, relating to the facred Mufic and Poetry;
which were certainly more coftly, more fplendid
and magnificent, than ever obtained in the public
fervice of any other nation, iff- 7
The general conftrucuon of the Hebrew Poetry is of a fingular nature, and peculiar to itfelf. It confifts in dividing every period into ^ correfpondent , for the mod part into equal members, which anfwer to one another, both in ^ fenfe and found. In the firft member of the period a fentiment is exprelfed ; and in the "j fecond member, the fame fentiment is amplified,
N a.
E C T.
XLI.

Lect,
XLI.
j8 4 THE FOETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
or is repeated in different terms, or fometimes contrafted with its oppofite ; but in fuch a planner that the fame ftructure, and nearly the fame number of words is preferved. This, is the general drain of all the Hebrew Poetry. Inftances of it occur every where on' opening the Old Teftament. Thus, in jpfalm xcvi. “ Sing unto “ the Lord a new fong—Sing unto the Lord all cc the earth. Sing unto the Lord and bkfs his “ name—fhow forth his falvation from day to “ day. Declare his glor^ among the heathen—his “ wonders among all the people. For the Lord “ is great and greatly to be praifed—He is to be “ feared above all the gods. Honour and majefty “ are before him—Strength and beauty are in his “ fandluary. ” It is owing, in a great meafure, to this form of Compofition, that our veriion, though in Profe, retains fo much of a Poetical caft. For the verfiop being ftri&ly word for word after the original, the form and order of the original fentence is preferved; which, by this artificial ftrudture, this regular alternation and correfpondence of parts, makes the ear fenfn blc of a departure from the common Style and tone of Profe.
The origin of this form of Poetical Compofir tion among the Hebrews, is clearly to be deduced from the manner in which their Sacred Hymns were wont to be fjing. They were accompanied with mufic, and they were performed by choirs or bands of fingers and muficians, who anfwered alternately to each other. When, for inftance,
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ft THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 185
one band"began the Hymn thus: cc The Lord Lec 1 “ reigneth, let the earth rejoice;” the chorus, or XLI. 4 r femichorus, took up the correfponding verficle: if'. “ Let the multitudes of the ifles be glad there- nfc: « 0 f, ” —. « Clouds and darknefs are round if 4 , “about him,” fung the one; the other replied,
“ Judgment and righteoufnefs are the habitation bt “ of his throne. ” And in this manner their >*: Poetry, when fet to mufic, naturally divided t: itfelf into a fucceffion of ftrophes and anti- b- ftrophes correfpondent to each other; whence, fed it is probable, the origin of the Antiphon, or iv Refponfory, in the public religious fervice of let fo many Chriftian churches, ira We are exprefsly told, in the Book of Ezra, tin that the Levites fung in this manner; “ Alterna- vta “ tim, ” or by courfe (Ezra iii. x i.) and forne Poe of David’s Pfalms bear plain marks of their being rorir conipofed in order to be thus performed. The or!: 24th Pfalm , in particular, which is thought to lid have been compofed on the great and folemn K2 occafion of the Ark of the Covenant being off brought back to Mount Zion, muff have had [Y.;, a noble effect when performed after this manner, as. Dr. Lowth has illuftrated it. The whole people [ok are fuppofed to be attending the proceffion. The deL Levites and Singers, divided into their feveral |He courfes, and accompanied with all their mufical up inftvuments, lead the way. After the Introduction ip to the Pfalm. in the two firft verfes , when the proceffion begins to afeend the facred Mount, the queftion is put, as by a femichorus, “ Who

186 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. -J
Lec t “ fhall afcend unto the hill of the Lord, and d *
XLI. “ who fhall ftand in his holy place ? ” The ^
refponfe is made by the full chorus with the ‘d greateft dignity; “ He that hath clean hands and J 3 > cc a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his foul 20 Cl to vanity , nor fworn deceitfully. ” As the ‘M proceffion approaches to the doors of the Taber- Tnai nacle, the chorus, with all their inftruments, 2PI2 join in this exclamation: “ Lift up your heads,
“ ye gates, and be ye lifted up ye everlafting :.ij
cc doors, and the King of Glory fhall come in.'” ka
Here the femichorus plainly breaks in, as with a mi lower voice, “ Who is this King of Glory?" aple. and at the moment when the Ark is introduced j;»k into the Tabernacle, the refponfe is made by the kill burft of the whole chorus: “ The Lord, ftrong ,othe <c and mighty; the Lord, mighty in battle. ” I jiting take notice of this inftance the rather, as it kit ferves to fhow how much of the grace and a op magnificence of the facred Poems, as indeed of 3m J all Poems, depend upon our knowing the parti- hut cular occafions for which they were compofed, kdi and the particular circum(lances to which they fo' were adapted ; and how much of this beauty mud now be loft to^s, through our impeded acquaintance with many particulars of the He- brew hiftory, and Hebrew rites. ilim
The method of Compofition which has been 3i0 [ explained, by correfpondent verficles, being ^ univerfally introduced into the Hymns or muficat >s, r ] f Poetry of the Jews, eafily fpread itfelf through their other Poetical Writings, which were not ^

f
^ THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS, 1S7
^ defigned to be fung in alternate portions, and | which therefore did not fo much require this ®-' mode of Compofition. But the mode became familiar to tjpeir ears, and carried with it a certain folemn majefly of Style, particularly fuited to facred fubjedfs. Hence , throughout the Prophet- si- ical Writings, we find it prevailing as much as tot in the Pfalms of David; as, for inftance, in the c- Prophet Ifaiah (chap. lx. r.) cc Arife, fhine, for ^ “ thy light is come—and the glory of the Lord ran “is rifen upon thee; For lo ! darknefs fhall 1*' “ cover the earth, — and grofs darknefs the Gc “ people. But the Lord fhall rife upon thee—and iter “ his glory fhall be feen upon thee, and the iii: “ Gentiles fhall come to thy light — and kings id,: “ to the brightnefs of thy rifing. ” This form of Ira writing is one of the great characteriltics of the k, ancient Hebrew Poetry; very different from, and jit: even oppofite to, the Style of the Greek and >afc Roman Poets,
ft • Independent of this peculiar mode of cod conftruction, the facred Poetry is diftinguilhed 5 b by the higheft beauties of ftrong, concife, bold, tire and figurative expreffion.
iti a Conciseness and ftrength, are two of its of. moll remarkable characters. One might indeed at firft imagine, that the practice of the Hebrew lb Poets, of always amplifying the fame thought, ffc,. by repetition or contraft, might tend to enfeeble *orr their Style. But they conduct themfelves fo, as 0 not to produce •his effect. Their Sentences are If! always fhort. Few fuperfluous words are ufed.
E C T
XLL

s
188 the POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
lECT,
XLI.
The fame thought is never dwelt upon long. To their concifenefs and fobriety of expreflion, their Poetry is indebted for much of its fubli- inity; and all Writers who attempt tfce Sublime, might profit much, by imitating, in this refpect, the Style of the Old Teftament. For as 1 have formerly had occafion to fhow , nothing is fo great an enemy to the Sublime, as prolixity or diffufenefs. The mind is never fo much affected by any great idea that is prefented to it, as when it is ftruck all at once; by attempting to prolong the impreffion, we at the fame time weaken it. Molt of the ancient original Poets of all nations , are fimple and concife. The fuperfiuities and excrefcencies of Style, were the relu.lt of imitation in after times; when Cotnpofi- tiou palled into inferior hands, and flowed from art and ftudy, more than from native genius.
No Writings whatever abound fo much with the moft bold and animated figures, as the Sacred Books. It is proper to dwell a little upon this article; as through our early familiarity with thefe books , a familiarity too often with the found oi the words, rather than with their fenfe and meaning, beauties of Style efcape us in the Scripture , which , in any other book, would draw particular attention. Metaphors, Compari- fons, Allegories, and Perfonifications, are there particularly frequent. In order to do juftice to thefe, it is neceffary that we tranfport ourfelves as much as we can into the lanA of Judaea; and place before our eyes that fcenery , and thofe
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THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 189
Si
objeds , with which the Hebrew Writers were Lec 11 converfant. Some attention of this kind is requi- XLI.
fite, in order to relifh the writings of any Poet L - of a foreign country, and a different age. For ^ the imagery of every good Poet is copied from nature, and real life; if it were not fo, it could not be lively; and therefore, in order to enter 11 “’ into the propriety of his images, we mull endea- vour to place ourfelves in his fituation. Now ^ we fhall find, that the Metaphors and Compari- t0 - foils of the Hebrew Poets, prefent to us a \ ery ^ beautiful view of the natural objects of their k; own country, and of the arts and employments of their common life.
• !£ Natural objects are in fome meafure com- >'"■ mon to them with Poets of all ages and countries.
'k- Light and darknefs, trees and flowers, the foreft and the cultivated field, fuggeft to them many F beautiful figures. But, in order to relifh their ® E ' figures of this kind, we muff take notice, that feveral of them arife from the particular circum- ;i r fiances of the land of Judaea. During the fummer :::: months, little or no rain falls throughout all that lC region. While the heats continued, the country was intolerably parched; want of water was a cb great diftrefs; and a plentiful fhower falling, or oli r a rivulet breaking forth , altered the whole face of nature, and introduced much higher ideas of s refrefliment and pleafure, than the like caufes oji can fuggeft to us. Hence, to reprefent diftrefs, its fuch frequent allufions amongft them, “ to a dry tb “and thirfty land where no water is;” and

i 9 o THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. $
Lect, hence to defcribe a change from diftrefs to P XL1. profperity, their metaphors are founded on the
falling of fhowers , and the burfting out of ;!ffl fprings in the defert. Thus in Ifaiah , “ The u wildernefs and the folitary place fhall be glad, :3 “ and the defert fhall rejoice and bloffom as the “ rofe. For in the wildernefs fhall waters break j?* a out, and ftreams in the defert; and the parched r 22 i “ ground fhall become a pool ; and the thirfly *4 “ land, fprings of water; in the habitation of :ii > “ dragons there fhall be grafs , with ruffles and H “ reeds.” Chap. xxxv. i. 6, 7. Images of this -fp 1 4} nature are very familiar to Ifaiah, and occur in E b
many parts of his Book. ii®
Again, as Judaea was a hilly country, it tvas, ! i a during the rainy months, expofed to frequent h inundations by the ruffling of torrents, which*® came down fuddenly from the mountains, and'^v carried every thing before them ; and Jordan, ^ their only great river, annually overfknved its ; dei * banks. Hence the frequent allufions to “ the|Evl
“ noife, and to the ruffling of many waters;” ' & and hence great calamities fo often compared to the overflowing torrent, which, in fuch a cotra- T?. try, muft have been images particularly ftriking: ct Deep calleth unto deep at the noife of thy 5 ® “ water-fpouts ; all thy waves , and thy billows,*! 1 cc are gone over me. ” Pfalm xlii. 7.
The two tnofl remarkable mountains of the ► country, were Lebanon and Carmel: the former *0
noted for its height, and the woods of lofty ; &i cedars that covered it; the latter for its beauty Slis

fir THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. 191
>{; and fertility, the richnefs of its vines and olives. L e c t.
Hence, with the greateft propriety, Lebanon is XLI. t; employed as an image of whatever is great, fe. ftrong , or magnificent ; Carmel , of what is ££: fmiling and beautiful. “ The glory of Lebanon,” life fays Ifaiah, “ fhall be given to it, and the excel- Ire “ lcncy of Carmel. ” ( xxxv. 2.) Lebanon is often life put metaphorically for the whole Rate or people i : oflfrael, for the temple, for the king of Affyria; t Carmel, for the bleffings of peace and profperity. iiti “ His countenance is as Lebanon, ” fays Solo- b:. mon, fpeaking of the dignity of a man’s appear- |E ance : but when he defcribes female beauty,
“ Thine head is like mount Carmel.” Song,
® v. 15- and vii. 5.
tdc It- is farther to be remarked under this head,
)([(!; that in the images of the awful and terrible kind, or ywith which the Sacred Poets abound, they plain- ... !( ly draw their defcriptions from that violence of KC the elements, and thofe concuflions of nature,
- with which their climate rendered them acquaint- ..... ed. Earthquakes were not unfrequent; and the tempefts of hail, thunder, and lightning in Judaea ’j ;) . and Arabia, accompanied with whirlwinds and darknefs, far exceed any thing of that fort which ^ happens in more temperate regions. Ifaiah de- ^ fcribes, with great majefty , the earth “ reeling “ to and fro like a drunkard, and removed like ' “ a cottage. ” (xxiv. 20. ) And in thofe circum-
fiances of terror, with which an appearance of ,s ” the Almighty is defcribed in the igth Pfalm,
when his “ pavilion round about him was dark- •.

ujz THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS. ®
Lect. “ nefs ; when halftones and coals of fire were his XL1. “ voice; and when, at his rebuke, the channels '‘ a “ of the waters are faid to be feen, and the “ foundations of the hills difcovered;” though : P there may be fome reference, as Dr. Lowth thinks , to the hiftory of God’s defcent upon ^ Mount Sinai, yet it feems more probable, that ? e the figures were taken diredily from t'nofe com- motions of nature with which the Author was :;,£ acquainted, and which fuggefted flmonger and : ^ c nobler images than what now occurs to us. re Btsi DES the natural objects of their own coun- try, we find the rites of their religion, and the atei arts and employments of their.common life, fre- ^ quently employed as grounds of imagery among 1 the Hebrews. They were a people chiefly oc- cupied with agriculture and pafturage. Thefe were arts held in high honour among them; not F<> difdained by their patriarchs, kings, and prophets. ^ Little addicted to commerce; feparated from the -kit reft of the world by their laws and their religion; they were, during the better days of their Hate, ^ol fitrangers in a great meafure to the refinements of luxury. Hence flowed, of courfe, the many sw allufions to paftoral life, to the “ green pallures a: iC and the ftill waters, ” and to the care and its watchfulnefs of a fihepherd over his flock, which Hd) carry to this day fo much beauty and tendernefs ; c;v, in them, in the 23d Pfalm, and in many other Sil pafiages of the Poetical Writings of Scripture; -file Hence, all the images founded upon rural em- ’ss ployments, upon the wine prefs, the threfliing Si
• floor, '01

THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
i93
hri; 'mp flee; kaje ion»t, i, and: be: Ifc softie :c urie,-
1 tl:2 iifioiv aids be' e of!-' 1 jfflC
floor, the ftubble and the chaff To difrelifh all fuch images, is the effect of falfe delicacy. Homer is at leaf! as frequent, and much more minute and particular, in his fimilies, founded on what we now call low life ; but, in his management of them, far inferior to the Sacred Writers, who generally mix with their companions of this kind fomewhat of dignity and grandeur, to ennoble them. What inexpreffible grandeur does the following rural image in Ifaiah , for inftance, receive from the intervention of the Deity ; “ The ct nations fhall rufh like the rufhings of many “ waters; but God fhall rebuke them, and they “ Hi all fly far off; and they fhall be chafed as “ the chaff of the mountain before the wind , “ and like the down of the thiftle before the “ whirlwind.”
Figurative allufions too, we frequently find, to the rites and ceremonies of their religion; to the legal diftindions of things clean and unclean; to the mode of their Temple Service; to the drefs of their Priefts; and to the moll; noted incidents recorded in their Sacred Hiftory; as to the deffrudion of Sodom, the defcent of God upon Mount Sinai, and the miraculous paffage of the Ifraelites through the Red Sea. 'The religion of the Hebrews included the whole of their laws, and civil conftitutiom It was full of fplendid external rites, that occupied their fenfes; it was conneded with every part of their national hiftory and eftablilhment; and hence, all ideas founded on religion, poffelfed in this nation a VOL. Ill O
Legt.
XLL

THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
194
L e c t. dignity and importance peculiar to themfelves, XLI. and were uncommonly fitted to imprcfs the 31 imagination.
From all this it refults, that the imagery of ’’ the Sacred Poets is, in a high degree, expreffive l’ ,:i and natural ; it is copied diredly Lorn real ob- P jects, that were before their eyes; it has this ad- r a vantage, of being more complete within itfelf, more entirely founded on national ideas and man- ners, than that of moll other Poets. In reading their ' Ll works, we find ourfelves continually in the land rJ ^ of Judaea. The palm-trees, and the cedars of : ? Jie Lebanon, are ever rifing in our view. The face :a;r ' of their territory, the circumftance of their climate, the manners of the people, and the auguft cere- M monies of their religion, conftantly pafs under different forms before us. f r0 P
The comparifons employed by the Sacred Poets ^ omi are generally fhort, touching on one point only of refemblance, rather than branching out into , 10 ^ little Fipifodes. In this refpect, they have perhaps Plan advantage over the Greek and Roman An- :! F e ^ thors; whofe comparifons, by the length to which Br they are extended , fometimes interrupt the nar- ration too much, and carry too vilible marks of ‘f 1 Iludy and labour. Whereas, in the Hebrew Poets, they appear more like the glowings of a lively fancy, juft glancing afide to fome refembling 'S®; « objedl, and prefently returning to its trad. Such : rj; is the following fine comparifon, introduced to defcribe the happy influence of good government -d! upon a people, in what are called the laft words "aj

THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS,
i95
of David* recorded in the 2d Book of Samuel (xxiii. 3.): “He that ruleth over men mu ft be a juft, ruling in the fear of God; and he fhall “ be as the light of the morning, when the fun “ rifeth; even a morning without clouds; as the “ tender grafs fpringing out of the earth , by “ clear fhining after rain. ” This is one of the moft regular and formal comparifons in the Sa* cred Books.
Allegory, likewife, is a figure frequently found in them. When formerly treating of this figure, I gave, for an inftance of it, that remarkably fine and well fupported Allegory, which occurs in the 80th Pfalm, wherein the People of Ifrael are compared to a vine. Of Parables , which form a fpecies of Allegory, the Prophetical Writings are full: and if to its they fometimes appear obfcure, We mull remember, that in thefe early times, it was univerfally the mode throughout all the eaftern nations, to convey facred truths under myfterious figures and reprefentations,
But the Poetical Figure, which, beyond all others, elevates the Style of Scripture, and gives it a peculiar boldnefs and fublimity, is Profopo- pceia or Perfonitication. No perfonifications employed by any Poets, are fo magnificent and ftriking as thofe of the Infpired Writers. On great occafions, they animate every part of nature, efpecially, when any appearance of operation of the Almighty is concerned. “ Before him went “ the peftilence — the waters law thee, O God,
O 2
E C T.
XLI.
r

i 9 6 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
L E C T.
XLI.
K and were afraid — the mountains faw thee, “ and they trembled, — The overflowing of the “ water paffed by; — the deep uttered his voice, “ and lifted up his hands high. ” When enquiry is made about the place of wifdom , Job introduces the £ ‘ Deep, faying, it is not in me; and tl the fea faith , it is not in me. DeBruction and c ‘ death fay, we have heard the fame thereof “ with our ears.” That noted fublime pafTage in the Book of Ifaiah, which defcribes the fall of the King of Alfyria, is full of perfonified objects; the fir-trees and cedars of Lebanon breaking forth into exultation on the fall of the tyrant; Hell from beneath, Birring up all the dead to meet him at his coming; and the dead Kings introduced as fpeaking, and joining in the triumph. In the kune Brain , are thofe many lively and paf- Bonate apoBrophes to cities and countries. to perfons and things, with which the Prophetical Writings every where abound. “ O thou fwcrd “ of the Lord! how long will it be ere thou be tc quiet ? put thyfelf up into the fcabbard, reft cc and be Bill. How can it be quiet,” (as the reply is inBantly made ) “ feeing the Lord hath <c given it a charge againB Afkelon , and the lea- ct Ihore ? there hath he appointed it. ” Jerera. xlvii. 6
In general, for it would carry us too far to enlarge upon all the inBances, the Style of the Poetical Books of the Old TeBament is, beyond the Style of all other Poetical Works, fervid, bold and animated. It is extremely different from
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: that regular corred expreffion, to which our ears 65 '■ are accuftomed in Modern Poetry. It is the ^ burft of lnfpiration. The fcenes are not coolly . described, but reprefented as palling before our lEi : eyes. Every objed, and every perfon, is ad- ^ drelfed and fpoken to , as if prefent. The t ran ft- I: - tion is often abrupt; the connexion often ob- ^ fenre; the perfons are often changed; figures :Eii • crowded, and heaped upon one another. Bold fublimity, not corred elegance, is its charader. AC We fee the fpirit of the Writer raifed beyond himfelf, and labouring to find vent for ideas too mighty for his utterance.
After thefe remarks on the Poetry of the -t Scriptures in general, I (hall conclude this Differt- ation, with a (hurt account of the different Mods of Poetical Compofition in the Sacred Books ; and of the diftinguilhing characters of fome of it'- the chief Writers.
The feveral kinds of Poetical Compofition fc- which we find in Scripture , are chiefly the t, Didadic, Elegiac, Paftoral, and Lyric. Of the :Lu Didadic fpecies of Poetry, the Book of Proverbs e: is the principal inftance. The nine firft Chapters 1: ; of that Book are highly poetical, adorned with many diftinguilhed graces , and figures of exist- preflion. At the 10th Chapter , the Style is $nil fenfibly altered , and defeends into a lower ftrain,
; which is continued to the end ; retaining how- ever that fententious , pointed manner, and that if? artful conftrudion of period , which diftinguifhes all the Hebrew Poetry. The Book of Ecclefiaftes
O 3
E C T
XLI.

J9 g THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
J, e c t. comps likewife under this head ; and fome of the XLI. Pfalms, as the 119th in particular.
Of Elegiac Poetry , many very beautiful fpe, cimens occur in Scripture; fuch as the Lamentation of David over his friend Jonathan ; feveral paffages in the Prophetical Books; and feveral of David's Pfalms , compofed on occafions of diftrefs and mourning, The 42d Pfalm, in particular , is , in the highcft degree , tender and plaintive. But the moft regular and perfedf Elegiac Compofition in the Scripture , perhaps in the whole world , is the Book, entitled the Lamentations of Jeremiah. As the Prophet mourns in that book over the deftrmftion of the Temple, and the Holy City , and the overthrow of the whole State, he affembles all the affecting images which a fubjedl fo melancholy could fuggeft. The Compolition is uncommonly artificial. By turns the Prophet, and the City of Jerufalem, are introduced, as pouring forth their forrows; and, in the end, a chorus of the people fend up the moft earneft and plaintive ^applications to God. The lines of the original too, as may, in part, appear from our tranflation , are longer than is ufual in the other kinds of Hebrew Poetry; and the melody is rendered thereby more flowing, and better adapted to the querimonious ftrain of Elegy,
The Song of Solomon affords us a high exemplification of Paftoral Poetry. Confidered with refpedl to its fpiritual meaning, it is undoubtedly a myftical Allegory; in its form, it is a Dramatic

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Of Lyric Poetry, of that which is intended to be accompanied with Mufic, the Old Teftament is full. Befides a great number of Hymns and Songs, which we find fcattered in the Hiftorical and Prophetical Books , fuch as the Song of Mofes, the Song of Deborah, and many others of like nature, the whole Book of Pfalms is to be confideFed as a collection of Sacred Odes. In thefe , we find the Ode exhibited in all the varieties of its form , and fupported with the higheft fpirit of Lyric Poetry; fometimes rprightiy, cheerful, and triumphant; fometimes folemn and magnificent; fometimes tender and foft. From thefe inftances , it clearly appears, that there are contained in the Holy Scriptures , full exemplifications of feveral of the chief kinds of Poetical Writing.
Among the different Compofers of the Sacred . Books , there is an evident diverfity of Ryle and manner; and to trace their different characters in this view, will contribute not a little towaids.our reading their Writings with greater advantage. The mort eminent of the Sacred Poets are , the Author of the Book of Job, David, and Ifaiah. As the Compofitions of David are of the Lyric mkind, there is a greater variety of Ryle and man- ^nerio his works, than in thofe of the other two. The manner in which, confidered merely
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XLI.
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200
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Poet, David chiefly excels, is the pleafing, the foft, and the tender. In his Pfalms, there are many lofty and fublime paffages: but, in ftrength of defcripticn, he yields to Job; in fublimity, he yields to Ifaiah. It is a fort of temperate grandeur, for which David is chiefly diftinguilh- ed; and to this he always foon returns,, when, upon fome occafions , he rifes above it. The Pfalms in which he touches us moft, are thofe in which he defcribes the happinefs of the righteous, or the goodnefs of God; expreffes the tender
ing and affectionate fupplications to Heaven. Ifaiah is, without exception , the moft fublime of all Poets. This is abundantly vifible in our Tranflation ; and what is a material circumftance, none of the Books of Scripture appear to have been more happily tranflated thau the Writings of this Prophet. Majefty is his reigning character; a Majefty more commanding , and more uniformly fupported, than is to be found among the reft of the Old Teftament Poets. He poffeffes, indeed , a dignity and grandeur, both m his conceptions and expreflions, which is altogether unparalleled , and peculiar to himfelf. There is more clearnefs and order too, and a more vifible diftribution of parts, in his Book, than in any other of the Prophetical Writings.
When we compare him with the reft of the Poetical Prophets, we immediately fee in Jeremiah , a very different genius. Ifaiah employs himfelf generally on magnificent fubjecis. Jeremiah
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?■'- has little turn for the fublime, and inclines always L f. c ' to the tender and elegiac. Ezechiel, in poetical XLI. Ii; 3 grace and elegance, is much inferior to them 1 both; but he is diftinguilhed by a chara&er of ffi; uncommon force and ardour. To ufe the elegant f-i expreffions of Bifliop Lovvth , with regard to this Prophet: “ Eft atrox, vehemens , tragicus ; in “ fenfibus , fervidus, acerbus, indignabundus ; ta; CI in imaginibus foccundus, truculentus, et non- fe nunquam pene deformis ; in dictione grand i- ct c; loquus, gravis, aufterus , etinterdurn incultus;
>p: <( frequens in repetitionibus , non decoris aut He “ gratiae caufa, fed ex indignatione et violentia. tit: Quicquid fufeeperit tractandum id fedulo per- K fequitur; in eo unice haeret defixus; a propolito miin “ raro defleclens. In caeteris, a plerifque vatibus to: fortaffe fuperatus; fed in eo genere, ad quod tlna' K videtur a natura unice comparatus, nimirum , at “ vi, pondere, impetu, granditate , nemo unit :t quam eum fuperavit.” The fame learned Writer compares Ifaiah to Homer, Jeremiah to Simoni- ^ des, and Ezechiel to JEfchylus. Moft of the Book "•of Ifaiah is ftridtly poetical; of Jeremiah and Ezechiel, not above one half can be held to IL belong to Poetry. Among the Minor Prophets, tn Hofea , Joel, Michah , Habakkuk , and efpecially ia: Nahum, are diftinguifhed for poetical fpirit. In the Prophecies of Daniel and Jonah , there is Set no Poetry.
in a It only now remains to fpeak of the Book of c ^Job, with which I Ihall conclude. It is known to be extremely ancient; generally reputed the

202
THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
e c t. mofl ancient of all the Poetical Books ; the Au- XLI. thor uncertain. It is remarkable, that this book ^ has no connexion with the affairs, or manners -g of the Jews , or Hebrews. The fcene is laid in the land of Uz , or Idumaea , which is a part of Arabia; and the imagery employed is generally juj of a different kind , from what I before fhowed -jlj to be peculiar to the Hebrew Poets. We meet - 0 f with no allufions to the great events of Sacred Hiflory, to the religious rites of the Jews, to . Lebanon or to Carmel, or any of the peculiarities ^ of the climate of Judaea. We find few compari- ^ fons founded on rivers or torrents; thefe were : ,,y not familiar objedts in Arabia. But the longed companion that occurs in the Book, is toani, vv objedt frequent and well known in that region, a brook that fails in the feafon of heat, andy^' difappoints the. expectation of the traveller. -jfj,;, 1 HE Poetry, however, of the Book of Job, . Jn{ j is not only equal to that of any other of the ;e j r Sacred Writings , but is fuperior to them all, except thofe of Ifaiah alone. As Ifaiah is the mofl fublime , David the mofl pleafing and tender, fo Job is the mofl defcriptive, of all the ^ Infpired Poets. A peculiar glow of fancy, and a • flrength of defcription, charadterife the Author.. ;. toc No Whiter whatever abounds fo much in hie- |]j taphors. He may be faid, not to defcribe, but to render vifible, whatever he treats of. A va- riety of inflances might be given. Let us remark ; W| only thofe ftrong and lively colours, with which in the following paffages, taken from the 18th

THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
203
and 20th Chapters of his Book, he paints the Lec t. ' condition of the wicked; obferve how rapidly XLI.
E;: his figures rife before us ; and what a deep im- preffion, at the fame time, they leave on the F imagination. “ Knoweft thou not this of old ,
SF (t fince man was placed upon the earth, that the ''f “ triumphing of the wicked is Ihort , and the “ joy of the hypocrite , but for a moment ?
C( Though his excellency mount up to the hea- ^ “ vens, and his head reach the clouds, yet he 1 “ fhall perifla for ever. He (hall fiie away as a dream, and (hall not be found; yea, he (hall t “ be chafed away, as a vifion of the night. 1 he “ eye alfo which faw him, (hall fee him no more;
1 “ they which have feen him , (hall fay , where is
“he?—He (hall fuck the poifon of afps ; the k: « viper’s tongue (liall (lay him. In the fulnefs ivtc « 0 f fufficiency, he (hall be in (traits; every Hi « hand (hall come upon him. He fhall flee from k" “ the iron weapon, and the bow of (feel fhall t “ (trike h im through. All darknefs fiiall be hid ' “in his fecret places. A fire not blown (hall lac “ confume him. The Heaven (hall reveal his
:.fi- “ iniquity, and the Earth (hall rife up agai.nft
fc: “ him. The Increafe of his lioufe (liall depart.
It ■■■ “ His goods (liall flow away in the day of wrath. ik'd: “ The light of the wicked (hall be put out ; leftrlt C! the light (liall be dark in his tabernacle. The oi ■' “ fteps of his (trength (hall be ftraitened, and
cP’ “ his own counfel (hall caft him down. For he
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204 THE POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.
LtCT.
XLI.
cc on every fide; and the robber fhall prevail “ againffc him. Brimflone fhall be fcattered upon cc his habitation. His remembrance fhall pevilh a from the earth, and he fhall have no name in w the Erect. He fhall be driven from light into “ darkneP. They chat come after him fhall be “ aftonifhed at his day. He fhall drink of the c£ wrath of the Almighty.
L

LECTURE X L 11.
EPIC POETRY.
IT now remains to treat of the two higheft Lec t.
kinds of Poetical Writing , the Epic and the XLIl.
Dramatic. I begin with the Epic. This Ledture
fhall be employed upon the general principles of
that Species of Compofition : after which, I
fhall take a view of the character and Genius of
the molt celebrated t* pic Poets.
Thii Epic Poem is univerfally allowed to be, of all poetical works, the molt dignified, and, at the fame time, the moll difficult in execution.
To contrive a ftory which fhall pleafe and intereft all Readers , by being at once entertaining, important, and inflrudtive; to fill it with fuitable incidents ; to enliven it with a variety of characters, and of defcriptions; and, throughout a long work, to maintain that propriety of fentiment, and that elevation of Style, which the Epic Character requires, is unqueftionably the higheft effort of Poetical Genius. Hence fo very few have fucceeded in the attempt, that ftrict Critics will hardly allow any other Poems

206 EPIC POETRY,
L e c t.- to bear the name of Epic except the Iliad, and XLIL the TEneid. jt
There is no fubjed, it muft be confeffed, on which Critics have difplayed more pedantry, than on this. By tedious Difquifitions, founded •■obi on a fervile fubmiffion to authority , they have -non given fuch an air of myftery to a plain fubjed, as to render it difficult for an ordinary Reader u to conceive, what an Epic Poem is. By Bolfu’s of definition , it is a Difcourfe invented by art, ^ purely to form the manners of men, by means •,? of inftrudions difguifed under the allegory of M fome important adion , which is related inVerfe.L m This definition would fuit feveral of T fop’s Fa-l 0 j t bles , if they were fomewhat extended, and put^ into Verfe: and, accordingly, to illuftrate (iis. £ p 3 definition , the Critic draws a parallel, in form,L between the Conftrudion of one of JEfop’s Fables,! a and the plan of Homer’s Iliad. The firft thing,-., ^ fays he, which either a Writer of Fables, or of ^ Heroic Poems, does, is, to chufe fome maxim . on { or point of morality; to inculcate which, is to .; orv be the defign of his work. Next, he invents a'...jf general ftory , or a feries of facts, without any ^ names, fuch as he judges will be moft proper for ill Liftrating his intended Moral. Laftly lie ^ f particularifes his ftory; that is, if he be a F.:- bulift, be introduces his dog, his flieep, and ^ his wolf; or if he be an Epic Poet, he looks out in Ancient Fliftory for fome proper names ,i of heroes to srive to his adors; and then his ..
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EPIC POETRY.
207
This is one of the moft frigid, and abfurd L e c t.' . ideas, that ever entered into the mind of a Critic. XLII.
^ Homer, he fays, faw the Grecians divided into ■ ' a great number of independent States; but very often obliged to unite into one body againft their common enemies. The moft ufeful inftruction which he could give them in this fttuation, was,
.* that a mifunderftanding between princes is the 151 ’ ruin of the common caufe. In order to enforce ^ this inftru&ion, he contrived, in his own mind,
^ fuch a general ftory as this. Several princes join in a confederacy againft their enemy. The prince,
^ who was chofen as the leader of the reft, affronts 0: '' one of the moft valiant of the confederates , who ^ thereupon withdraws himfelf , and refufes to take part in the common enterprise. Great mif- mti fortunes are the confequence of this divifion ;
1111 till, at length, both parties having foffered by ^ the quarrel, the offended prince forgets his dif- d"‘ pleafure, and is reconciled to the leader; and union being once reftcred, there enfucs a complete victory over their enemies. Upon this general d- plan of his Fable, adds Bolfu, it was of no great h s: confequence, whether, in filling it up, Homer had employed the names of beads, like fEfop , v- or of men. Fie would have been equally inftrmfhve, i-- either way. But as he rather fancied to write of u- heroes, he pitched upon the war of Troy for PotV the fcene of his Fable; he feigned fuch an action :f to happen there; he gave the name of Agamem- ;i>• non, to the common leader; that of Achilles, to the offended prince ; and fo the Iliad arole.

Lect.
XLII.
20S
EPIC POETRY.
He that can believe Homer to have proceeded in this manner , may believe any thing. One may pronounce, with 'great certainty, that an Author who fhould compofe according to fuch a plan; who ihould arrange all the fubjed, in his own mind, with a view to the moral, before he had ever thought of the perfonages who were to be his Aciors , might write, perhaps, ufeful Fables for children ; but as to an Epic Poem, if he adventured to think of one , it would be fuch as would find few Readers. No perfon of any tafte can entertain a doubt, that the lirPc objects which'ftrike an Epic Poet are, the Hero whom he is to celebrate , and the Action , or Story , which is to be the ground-work of his Poem. He does not fit down , like a Philo- fopher, to form the plan of a Treatife of Morality. His Genius is fired by foine great enterprize, which, to him , appears noble and interefting; and which , therefore , lie pitches upon , as worthy of being celebrated in the higheft ftrain of Poetry. There is no fubjed of this kind, but will always afford fome general moral inftruction, arifing from it naturally. The inltrudion which Bolfu points out, is certainly fuggefted by the Iliad; and there is another which arifes as naturally, and may juft as well be afiigned for the moral of that Poem; namely, that Providence avenges thofe who have differed injuftice; but that when they allow their refentment to carry them too far, it brings misfortunes upon themfelves. The fumed of the Poem is the wrath of Achilles,
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EPIC POETRY.
209
caufed by the. injuftice of Agamemnon. Jupiter L e c t. avenges Achilles by giving fuccefs to the Trojans XLII. againft Agamemnon ; but by continuing obftinate in his refentment , Achilles lofes his beloved friend Patroclus.
The plain account of the nature of an Epic Poem is, the recital of fome illuftrious enterprifc ta; in a Poetical Form. This is as exadt a definition, as .there is any occafion for on this fubject. It L. comprehends feveral other Poems befides the Iliad of Homer, the jEneid of Virgil, and the •[> Jerufalem of Taffo ; which are , perhaps , the ^
2 three moft regular and complete Epic Works ;;; L . that ever were compofed. But to exclude all ■ Poems from the Epic Clafs , which arc not formed' exaclly upon the fame model as thefe,
>£_ is the pedantry of Criticifm. We can give exact j.... definitions, and deferiptions of minerals, plants,
1; r .. and animals; and can arrange them with precifion,
^ under the different claffes to which they belong,
; becaufe Nature affords a vifible unvarying ftand- „ aid, to which we refer them. But with Tegard to works of talle and imagination, where Nature has fixed no ftandard , but leaves fcope for beauties of many different kinds, it is abfurd to ®
attempt defining, and limiting them, with the .... lame precifion. Criticifm , when employed in fuch attempts , degenerates into trifling queftions about words and names only. I therefore have v no fcruple to clafs fuch Poems , as Milton’s Paradife Loft, Lucan’s Pharfalia, Statius’s Thebaid,
Offian’s Fingal and Temora, Camoen’s Lufiad,
VOL. IH. P

210
EPIC POETRY.
E C T.
XLII.
Voltaire’s Henriade , Cambray’s Telemachus, Glover’s Leonidas , AVilkie’s Epigoniad, under the fame fpecies of Compofition with the Iliad and the iEneid;. though fome of them approach much nearer than others, to the perfedtion of thefe celebrated Works. They are, undoubtedly, all Epic; that is, poetical recitals of great adventures ; which is all that is meant by this denomination of Poetry.
Though I cannot, by any means, allow, that it is the effence of an Epic Poem to be wholly an Allegory , or a Fable contrived to illuffrate fome moral truth , yet it is certain, that no Poetry is of a more moral nature than thi«. Its effect in promoting virtue, is not to be meafured by any one maxim , or inftru&ion, which refults from the whole ftory , like the moral of one of jEfop’s Fables. This is a poor and trivial view of the advantage to be derived from perufing a long Epic Work, that, at the end, we fhall be able to gather from it fome common place morality. Its effect arifes, from the impreffion which the parts of the Poem feparately, as well as the whole taken together, make upon the mind of the Reader; from the great examples which it fets before us, and the high fentiments with which it warms our hearts. The end which it propofes, is to extend our ideas of human perfedtion ; or, in other words , to excite admiration. Now this can be accomplilhed only, by proper reprefentations of heroic deeds, and virtuous characters. For hi?h virtue is the
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EPIC POETRY.
211
^ object, which all mankind are formed to admire;
-■ and, therefore, Epic Poems are, and mud: be, favourable to the caufe of virtue. Valour, Truth, Juftice, Fidelity, Friendfhip, Piety, Magnani- mity, are the objects which, in the courfe of fuch Compofidons , are prefented to our minds, it. under the moft fplendid and honourable colours, c:: In behalf of virtuous perfonages, our affections are engaged; in their deiigns, and their diftreffes, we &: are mterefted; the generous and public affedtions ?. are awakened; the mind is purified from fenfual coc. and mean purfuits, and accuftomed to take part is: in great, heroic enterprifes. It is, indeed, no Ise fmall teftimony in honour of virtue, that feveral iiar of the moft refined and elegant entertainments is. of mankind , fuch as that fpecies of Poetical i;,: Compofition which we now confider , muft .be tv: grounded on moral fentiments and impreffions. nit*. This is a teftimony of fuch weight, that, were Ej,; it in the power of fceptical Philofophers, to j~- weaken the force of thofe reafonings which rfc eftablifh the effential diftinction between Vice .[tii and Virtue , the Writings of Epic Poets alone j,. ; - were fulficient to refute their falfe Philofophy; fliowing, by that appeal which they conftantly make to the feelings of mankind in favour of jjj- virtue, that the foundations of it are laid, deep jjjg and ftrong, in human nature.
The general ftrain and fpirit of Epic Compo- ^ fition , fufficiently mark its diftinction from the other kinds of Poetry. In Paftoral Writing the reigning idea is , innocence and tranquillity. Com-
P ?.
E C T.
XLIL

mz
EPIC POETRY.
E C T.
ALII,
paffion , is the great objed of Tragedy; Ridicule, the province of Comedy. The predominant char- aderof the Epic, is admirations excited by heroic adion. It is fufffdientlydiftinguifhedfromHiftory, both by its poetical form, and the liberty of fidion which it affumes. It is a more calm com- pofition than Tragedy. It admits, nay requires, the pathetic and the violent, on particular occa- fions; but the pathetic is not expeded to be its general charader. It requires, more than any other fpecies of Poetry, a grave, equal, and fupported dignity. It takes in a greater compafs of .time and adion, than Dramatic writing admits; and thereby allows a more full difplay of characters. Dramatic writing , difplays characters chiefly by- means of fentiments and paffions; Epic Poetry, chiefly by means of adions. The emotions, therefore , which it raifes , are not fo violent , but they are more prolonged. — Thefe are the general charaderiftics of this fpecies of Compofition. But, in order to give a more particular and critical view of it, let us confider the Epic Poem under three heads; firft, with refped to the Sub- jed , or Adion ; fecondly with refped to the Adors, or Charaders; and laftly with refped to the Narration of the Poet.
The Adion, or Subjed of the Epic Poem, muff have three properties ; it mull be one; it mull be great; it muft be interefting.
FIRST , It mull be one Adion, or Enterprife, which the Poet chufes for his fubjed. I have frequently had occafion to remark the importance of unity , in many kinds of Compofition,, in order
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to make a full and ftrong imprellion upon the mind. With the higheft reafon, Ariftotle infills upon this, as effential to Epic Poetry; and it is, indeed, the moll material of all his rules refpedting it. For it is certain, that, in the recital of heroic adventures, feveral fcattered and independent facts can never affedt a Reader fo deeply, nor engage his attention fo llrongly , as a tale that is one and connected, where the feveral incidents hang upon one another, and are all made to confpire for the accomplilhment of one end. In a regular Epic Poem, the more that this unity is rendered fenfible to the imagination, the effect will be the better : and for this reafon, as Ariftotle has obferved , it is not fufficient for the Poet to confine himfelf to the actions of one man, or to thofe which happened during a certain period of time; but the unity mull lie in the fubject itfelf ; and arife from all the parts combinljhg into one whole.
In all the great Epic Poems, unity of adlion is fufficiently apparent. Virgil, for inllance , has chofenfor his fubject, the eltablilhment of .Eneas in Italy. From the beginning to the end of the Poem, this object is ever in our view , and links all the parts of it together with full connexion. The unity of the Odyffey is of the fame nature; the return and re-eftablilhment of UJylfes in his own country. The fubject of Talfo, is the recovery of Jerufalem from the Infidels; that of Mil- ton , the expulfion of our firft parents from Para- dife ; and both of them are unexceptionable in the unity of the Story. The profeffed fubjedt of the
P 3
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EPIC POETRY.
a 14
L e c t. Iliad , is the anger of AchilJes , with the confequen- XLII. ces which it produced. The Greeks carry on many unfuccefsful engagements againft the Trojans, as long as they are deprived of the affiflance of Achilles. Upon his being appealed and reconciled to Agamemnon, victory follows, and the Poem clofes. It mud be owned, however, that the unity, or connecting principle, is not quite fo fenfible to the imagination here , as in the iEneid. For, throughout many books of the Iliad, Achilles is out of fight; he is loft in inadtion, and the fancy terminates on no otherobjedt, than the fuccefsof the two armies whom we fee contending in war.
The unity of the Epic Action is not to be fo ftridtly interpreted, as if it excluded all Epifodes, or fubordinate actions. It is necelfary to obferve here, that the term Epifode is employed byArif- totle , in a different fenfe from what we now give to it. It was a term originally applied to Dramatic Poetry, and thence transferred to Epic; and by Epifodes , in an Epic Poem , id would feetn that Ariflotle underftood the extenfion of the general Fable, or plan of the Poem, into all its circumftances. What his meaning was, is indeed not very clear; and this obfcurity has occa- fioned much altercation among Critical Writers. Bolfu, in particular, is fo perplexed upon this fubjedt , as to be unintelligible. But, difmiffing fo fruitlefs a controverfy , what we now underhand by Epifodes, are certain actions, or incidents , introduced into the narration, connected with the principal action, yet not fo elfential to it, as
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to deftroy, if they had been omitted , the main fubject of the Poem. Of this nature are the interview of Hedtor with Andromache, in the Iliad; the ftory of Cacus, and that of Nifus and Eurya- lus in the iEneid ; the adventures of Tancred with Erminia and Clorinda , in the Jerufalem; and the profpect of his defccndants exhibited to Adam , in the laft books of Paradife Loft.
Such Epifodes as thefe , are not only permitted to an Epic Poet,- but provided they be properly executed ,'are great ornaments to his work. The rules regarding them are the following:
First , they muft be naturally introduced ; they muft have a fufficient connexion with the fubject of the Poem ; they muft feem inferior parts that belong to it; not mere appendages ftuck to it. The Epifode of Olindo and Sophronia in the fecond book of Taffo’s Jerufalem, is faulty, by trauf- greffing this rule. It is too detached from the reft of the work ; and being introduced fo near the opening of the Poem, mifleads the Reader into an expectation , that it is to be of fome future confequence ; whereas , it proves to be connected with nothing that follows. In proportion as any Epifode is llightly related to the mean fub- jeCt, it fhould always be the Ihorter. The paffion of Dido in the JEneid, and the fnares of Armida in the Jerufalem, which are expanded fo fully in thefe Poems, cannot, with propriety, be called Epifodes. They are conftituent parts of the work, and form a confiderable fhare of the intrigue of the Poem.
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In the next place, Epifodes ought to prefent to us, objects of a different kind, from thofe which go before, and thofe which follow, in the courfe of the Poem. For, it is principally for the fake of variety, that Epifodes are introduced into an Epic Compofition. In fo long a work, they tend to diverfify the fubject, and to relieve the Reader, by fhifting the fceue. In the midft of combats, therefore, an Epifode of the martial kind would be out of place; whereas , Hedlor-’s vifit to Andromache in the Iliad, and Erminia’s adventure with the Shepherd in the feventh book of the Jerufalem , afford us a well-judged and pleafing retreat from camps and battles.
Lastly, as an Epifode is a profeffed embellift- ment, it ought to be particularly elegant and well finifhed; and, accordingly, it is, for the mod part, in pieces, of this kind, that Poets put forth their {Length. The Epifodes of Teribazus and Ariana, in Leonidas, and of the death of Hercules, in the Epigoniad, are the two greatefl; beauties in thefe Poems.
The unity of the Epic Adtion neceffarily fuppofes, that the adtion be entire and complete; that is, as Ariftotle well expreffes it, that it have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Either by relating the whole, in his own perfon, or by introducing fome of his Adtors to relate what had palled before the opening of the Poem, the Author muft always contrive to give us full information of every thing that belongs to his fubjedt; he muft not leave our curiofity, in any
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’Ft article, ungratified; he mud; bring us precifely 11 i to the accomplifliment of his plan ; and then t < : - conclude.
lviti# The fecond property of the Epic Adtion is, that it be great; that it have fufficient fplendour ar < and importance, both to fix our attention, and t0! - to juftify the magnificent apparatus which the Poet bellows upon it. This is fo evidently require fite as not to require illuftration ; and, indeed, >He hardly any who have attempted Epic Poetry, ha have failed in chufing fome fubject fufficiently important, either by the nature of the action, or by the fame of the perfonages concerned in it.
cut It contributes to the grandeur of the Epic ejE. Subjedl, that it be not of a modern date , nor rlh: fall within any period of hiltory with which pink we are intimately acquainted. Both Lucan and bizs. Voltaire have , in the choice of their fubjedts, thof: tranfgreffed this rule, and they have, upon that ops account, fucceeded worfe. Antiquity is favourable to thofe high and auguft ideas, which Epic Poetry G': is defigned to raife. It tends to aggrandife, in our me; imagination, both perfons and events; and what t t a is Hill more material, it allows the Poet the jib liberty of adorning his fubj.edt by means of fic- r tion. Whereas, as foon as he comes within the .jiter verge of real and authenticated hiftory, this >(£.- liberty is abridged. He muft either confine him- e rj felf wholly, as Lucan has done, to ftricl hiftorical truth, at the expence of rendering his (lory jr jejune; or if he goes beyond it, like Voltaire in
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T. his Henriade, this difadvantage follows , that, , in well-known events, the true and the fictitious parts of the plan do not naturally mingle, and incorporate with each other. Thefe obfervations cannot be applied to Dramatic Writing; where < the perfonages are exhibited to us, not fo much that we may admire, as that we may love or pity them. Such paffions are much more confident with the familiar hiftorical knowledge of the perfons who are to be the objects of them; and even require them to be difplayed in the light, and with the failings, of ordinary men. Modern, and well-known luRory, therefore, may furnifli very proper materials for Tragedy. But for Epic Poetry, where Heroifm is the ground-work, and where the object in view, is to excite admiration, ancient or traditionary hiftory is affuredly the fafelt region. There, the Author may lay hold on names and characters, and events, not wholly unknown, on which to build his Story, while, at the fame time , by reafon of the diltance of the period, or of the remotenefs of the feene, fufficient licence is left him for fiction and invention.
The third property required in the Epic Poem, is, that it be interefting. It is not fufficient for this purpofe that it be great. For deeds of mere valour, how heroic foever, may prove cold and tirefome. Much will depend on the happy choice of fome fub)eCt, which flrall, by its nature, intereft the Public; as when the Poet feleCts for his Hero, one who is the founder, or
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the deliverer, or the favourite of his nation; or when he writes of atchievements that have been highly celebrated , or have been conne&ed with important confeqnences to any public caufe. Moft of the great Epic Poems are abundantly fortunate in this refpect, and muft have been very interefting to thofe ages and countries in which they were compofed.
But the chief circumftance which renders an Epic Poem interefting, and which tends to in- tereft, not one age or country alone, but all Readers, is the fkilful conducl of the Author in the management of his fubjecb He muff fo contrive his plan, as that it lhall comprehend many affecting incidents. He muft not dazzle us perpetually with valiant atchievements; for all Readers tire of conftant fighting and battles; but he muft ftudy to touch our hearts. He may fometimes be awful and auguft; he muft often be tender and pathetic; he muft give us gentle and pleating fcenes of love, friendfhip, and affedion. The more that an Epic Poem abound with fituations which awaken the feelings of humanity , it is the-more interefting; and thefe form, always, the favourite potTages of the work. I know no Epic Poets fo happy in this refpect, as Virgil and Taffo.
Much, too, depends on the characters of the Heroes, for rendering the Poem interefting; that they be fuch , as fliall ftrongly attach the Readers, and make them take part in the dangers ■which the Heroes encounter. Thefe dangers, or
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L e c t. obflacles, form what is called the Nodus, or the $,Li XLII. intrigue of the Epic Poem; in the judicious j;i condudl of which, confifts much of the Poet’s ;Rc art. He muft roufe our attention , by a profpeft f® of the difficulties which feem to threaten difap- im pointment to the enterprize of his favourite jiii' perfonages; he .muff make thefe difficulties grow J and thicken upon us by degrees ; till, after having is kept us, for fome time, in a ftate of agitation ;:p and fufpenfe , he paves the way, by a proper ill preparation of incidents, for the winding up of ylu the plot in a natural and probable manner. It is !K (y plain, that every tale which is defigned to en- fp gage attention, muff be conducted on a plan of -y this fort. ■„[
A question has been moved , whether the nature of the Epic Poem does not require that ;a j ( it fhould always end fuccefsfully? Moft Critics 3] incline to think, that a fuccefsful iffue is the moft no: proper; and they appear to have reafon on their , j 5 fide. An unhappy conclufion depreffes the mind, ; in and is oppofite to the elevating emotions which belong to this fpecies of Poetry. Terror and com- ^ paffion are the proper fubje&s of Tragedy; but ^ as the Epic Poem is of larger compafs and extent, it were too much,, if, after the difficulties and troubles which commonly abound in the progrefs ■of the Poem, the Author fhould bring them all ^ ^ at laff to an unfortunate iffue. Accordingly, the general practice of Epic Poets is on the fide of a profperous conclufion; not, however, without ^ fome exceptions. For two Authors of great :

EPIC POETRY.
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^ name, Lucan and Milton, have held a contrary ^ courfe; the one concluding with the fubverfion of the Roman Liberty'; the other, with the expul- ■F5 fion of man from Paradife.
10 - With regard to the time or duration of the ^ Epic action, no precife boundaries can be afcer- tained. A confiderable extent is always allowed to it, as it does not neceffarily depend on thofe ^ violent paffions which can be fuppofed to have 'S only a fhort continuance. The Iliad , which is c : : formed upon the anger of Achilles, has, with JK: propriety, the fhorteft duration of any of the ^ great Epic Poems. According to Boffu , the l! i- action lafts no longer than forty feven days. The action of the OdyfTey, computed from the taking k p " of Troy to the peace of Ithaca, extends to eight :(pn years anc j a . an d the action of the JEneid, ^ computed in the fame way, from the taking of ii!^ Troy to the death of Turnus, includes about fix on? years. But if we meafure the period only of the Poet’s own narration, or compute from the time i® 5 in which the Hero makes his firfl: appearance , Nth till the conclufian, the duration of both thefe ^ lad Poems is brought within a much fmaller compafs. The OdyfTey beginning with UlyfTes in the ifland of Calypfo, comprehends fifty-eight itp days only; and the /Eneid, beginning with the dorm, which throws ./Eneas upon the coaft of hr Africa, is reckoned to include, at the moft, a year and fome months.
i/' Having thus treated of the Epic A&ion, or the
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L e c t. fubject of the Poem, I proceed next to make fome -Efi XLII. obfervations on the Adtors or Perfonages. jir
As it is the bufinefs of an Epic Poet to copy ds after nature, and to form a probable interefting >pc tale, he mull ftudy to give all his Perfonages pro- a, per and well-fupported characters, fuch as difplay ate the features of human nature. This is what Arif- 3; 1 . totle calls, giving manners to the Poem. It is by b no means neceffary, that all his adtors be morally xit good ; imperfect, nay vicious characters may find ;jbo a proper place; though the nature of Epic Poetry d feems to require, that the principal figures exhi- qA bited fhould be fuch as to tend to raife admiration ->es. and love , rather than hatred or contempt. But i, whatever the character be which a Poet gives to i,a any of his adtors , he mu ft take care to preferve ntett it uniform , and confident with itfelf. Every ned< thing which that perfon fays, or does, mult be exert fuited to it , and mult ferve to diftinguifh him one from any other. a all
Poetic characters may be divided into two .H kinds, general and particular. General characters res;, are , fuch as wife, brave, virtuous , without any a] £a farther diftinction. Particular characters exprefs g u the fpecies of bravery , of wifdom , of virtue, - B] for which any one is eminent. They exhibit the s [( peculiar features which diftinguifh one individual : y, from another, which mark the difference of the 2 eBt fame moral quality in different men , according ^ as it is combined with other difpofitions in their - B| temper. In drawing fuch particular charadters, u genius is chiefly exerted. How far each’of the three

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0ti; great Epic Poets have diftinguifhed themfelves in this part of compofition , I fliall have occafion afterwards to fliow , when I come to make re- marks upon their works. It is fufficient now to 01,3 mention, that it is in this part Homer has princi- ^ pally excelled ; TalTo has come the neareft to a!: Homer ; and Virgil has been the moft deficient. 06 It has been the pradtice of all Epic Poets,
- to felecft feme one perfonage, whom they diftin- 3:: ' : gtiifli above all the reft, and make the hero of
; the tale. This is confidered as effential to Epic T Compofition , and is attended with feveral ad- a: - r vantages. It renders the unity of the fubjedt more 0:;: fenfible , when there is one principal figure , to it which , as to a centre , all the reft refer. It tends ntt. to interefl us more in the enterprize which is 10a. carried on; and it gives the Poet an opportunity of exerting his talents for adorning , and difplay- HGii- ing one character, with peculiar fplendour. It has been afked, Who then is the hero of Paradife Ida Loft? The Devil, it has been anfwered by fome si- Critics; and, in confcquence of this idea , much ■ ridicule and cenfure has been thrown upon Mil- dc ton. But they have miftaken that Author’s in- 1,a tendon, by proceeding upon a fuppofition, that, ef(E in the conclufion of the Poem , the hero muffc needs be triumphant. Whereas Milton followed ^ a different plan, and has given a tragic conclufion ; - to a Poem , otherwife Epic in its form. For Adam is undoubtedly his hero ; that is, the ca-
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BESIDES human adlors, there are perfonages of another kind , that ufually occupy no fmall place ;31 in Epic Poetry, I mean the gods, or fupernatu- ral beings. This brings us to the confideration of what is called the Machinery oi the Epic Poem; ^ the moft nice and difficult part of the fubject :aiC Critics appear to me to have gone to extremes, 3 on both fides. Almoft all the French Critics de- cide in favour of Machinery, as effential to the ^ conftitution of an Epic Poem. They quote that fentence of Petronius Arbiter , as if it were an oracle, “per ambages , Deortimque minilteria, ; ? e ‘ “ praecipitandus eft liber fpiritus,” and hold, that though a Poem had every other requifite that could ^ be demanded, yet it could not be ranked in the ; ,ej J Epic clafs , unlefs the main action was carried on by the intervention of the gods. This deci- offil fion feems to be founded on no principle or reafon % whatever, unlefs a fuperftitious reverence for the IJ ^ practice of Homer and Virgil. Thefe Poets very properly embelliffied their ftory by the tradition- ^ al tales and popular legends of their own coun- * try ; according to which , all the great tranfadions ; P Jn of the heroic times were intermixed with the fables of their deities. But does it thence follow, ar -l that in other countries, and other ages, where there is not the like advantage of current fuper- ftition, and popular credulity, Epic Poetry muft be wholly confined to antiquated fictions , and fairy tales ? Lucan has compofed a very fpirited Poem, certainly of the Epic kind , where neither gods nor fupernatural beings are at all employed.
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The Author of Leonidas has made an attempt of 1 the fame kind , not without fuccefs; and beyond doubt, wherever a Poet gives us a regular heroic ftory , well connected in its parts , adorned with characters, and fupported with proper dignity and elevation, though his agents be every one of them human , he has fulfilled the chief requifites of this fort of Compofition , and has a juft title to be claffed with Epic Writers.
But though I cannot admit that Machinery is necelfary or elfential to the Epic plan, neither can I agree with fome late Critics of confiderabls name, who are for excluding it totally, as in- eonfiftent with that probability and impreffion of reality , which, they think, fliould reign in this kind of Writing*. Mankind do not confider Poetical Writings with fo philofophical an eye. They feek entertainment from them ; and for the bulk of Readers, indeed for almoft all men , the marvellous has a great charm. It gratifies and fills the imagination; and gives room for many a ftriking and fublime defcription. In Epic Poetry, in particular , where admiration and lofty ideas are fuppofed to reign, the marvellous and fnper- natural find , if any where, their proper place. They both enable the Poet to aggrandize his fubject, by means of thofe auguft and folemn objects which Religion introduces into it; and they . allow him to enlarge and diverfify his plan, by comprehending within it heaven , and earth , and
e c T. XI.1I.
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L K C T.
XLII.
23 $ EPIC POETRY.
hell, men and invifible beings , and the whole Tu circle of the univerfe. i®
At the fame time , in the ufe of this fupernatu- g® ral Machinery, it becomes a Poet to be temperate .5. and prudent. He is not at liberty to invent what fyftemof the marvellous he pleafes. It muft al- yj ways have fome foundation in popular belief. He : ;ji mull avail himfelf in a decent manner, either of ^j the religious faith, or the fuperftitious credulity ^ of the country wherein he lives, or of which he ^ writes , fo as to give an air of probability to events ^ which are moft contrary to the common cou fe j] [ei of nature. Whatever Machinery he employs, he ^ muft take care not to overload us with it; not to withdraw human actions and manners too much a d t from view, nor to obfcure them under a cloud jjal of incredible ficftions. He muft always remember, IW[U that his chief bufinefs is to relate to men, the re adtions and exploits of men ; that it is , by thefe ,f et | principally he is to intereftus, and to touch our ;e 0 hearts ; and that if probability be altogether ba- ; q c nifiled from his work, it can never make a deep ;co or a lafting impreffion. Indeed, I know nothing ^ more difficult in Epic Poetry, than to adjuft pro- perly the mixture of the marvellous with the pro- bable ; fo as to gratify and amufe us with the ^ one , without facrific-ing the other. I need hardly ao f obferve, that thefe obfervations affedl not the conduct of Milton’s work; whole plan being al- ^ together theological, his fupernatural beings form ^ not the machinery, but are the principal actors in -j - the Poem.

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With regard to Allegorical Perfonages , Fame, L e e t D ifcord , Love , and the like , it may be fafely XL1I. pronounced, that they form the worft machinery of any. In description they are fometimes allowable , and may ferve for embellishment; but they Ihould never be permitted to bear any lhare in the action of the Poem. For being plain and declared fictions, mere names of general ideas, to which even fancy cannot attribute any existence , asperfons , if they are introduced as mingling with human actors, an intolerable confufion of Shadows and realities arifes , and all confiftency of actipn is utterly deltroyed.
In the narration of the Poet, which is the laft head that remains tp be confidered, it is not material , whether he relate the whole ftory in his own character, or introduce fome of his perfonages to relate any part of the action that had palled before the Poem opens. Homer follows • the one method in his Iliad, and the other in his Odyffey. Virgil has, in this refpedt, imitated the conduct of the Odyffey; Taflb that of the Iliad. The chief advantage which arifes from any of the Adors being employed to relate part of the ftory, is, that it allows the Poet, if he chufes it, to open with fome interefting fitua- tion of affairs, informing us afterwards of what had palled before that period ; and gives him the greater liberty of fpreading out fuch parts of the fubject as he inclines to dwell upon in perfon, and of comprehending the reft within a Ihorfc recital. Where the fubject is of great extent,
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EPIC POETRY,
t e c t. and comprehends the tranfadions of feveral years, XL11. as in the Odyffey and the iEneid, this method therefore feerr.s preferable. When the fubjecl is of a fmaller compafs, and Ihoner duration, as in the Iliad and the Jerufalem, the Poet may without difadvantage, relate the whole in his own perfon, according as is done in both thefe Poems.
In the propofition of the fubjecl, the invocation of the IVlufe, and other ceremonies of the introduction, Poets may vary at their plea- fure. It is perfectly trifling to make thefe little formalities the object of precife rule, any farther, than that the fubjed of the work fliould always be clearly propofed, and without affeded or unfui table pomp. For according to Horace’s noted rule, no introduflion fliould ever fet out too high, or promife too much, left the Author fliould not fulfil the expedations he has raifed.
Whivt is ot moft importance in the tenor of the narration is, that it be perfpicuous, animated, and enriched with all the beauties of Poetry. No fort of Compofition requires more ftrength, dignity, and fire, than the Epic Poem. It is the region within which we look for every thing that is fublime in defcription, tender in fentiment, and bold and lively in exprefiion; and therefore, though an Author’s plan fliould be faultlefs, and his ftory ever fo well concluded, yet if he be feeble, or flat in Style, deftitute of afFeding fcenes, and deficient in poetical colouring, he can have no fuccefs. The ornaments which Epic

EPIC POETRY.
229
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Poetry admits, muft all be of the grave and ^ chafte kind. Nothing that is loofe, ludicrous, or af- [ r ^ feded, finds any place there. All theobjedts which K ' it prefents ought to be either great, or tender, p orpleafing. Defcriptions of difgufting or fhocking objedts, fhould as much as poffible be avoided; j^i and therefore the fable of the Harpies, in the third book of the iEneid, and the allegory of l_ Sin and Death, in the fecond book of Faradife ^; Loft, had been better omitted in thefe celebrat* t j,;. ed Poems.
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L E C T.
XLII.

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LECTURE XLIII.
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HOMER’s ILIAD AND ODYSSEY. — 4 *
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- e c t. _c\.S the Epic Poem is univerfally allowed to XL1JI. polfefs the highefl rank among Poetical Works, *4’ it merits a particular difcuflion. Having treated ^ ol the nature of this Compofition, and the prin- a ^ ( cipal rules relating to it, I proceed to make forac 31 obfervations on' the moll diftinguilhed Epic- “V Poems, Ancient and Modern.
Homer claims, on every account, our firft '? an attention, as the father not only of Epic, but in * c { fome meafure, of Poetry in general. Whoever as fits down to read Homer, mull: confider that he i? pr is going to read the moll ancient book in the World, next to the Bible. Without making this ‘tb reflection, he cannot enter into the fpirit, nor Hi reliflr the Compofition of the Author. He is^iot 'p® to look for the correctnefs , and elegance of the st Augullan Age. He muff divert; himfelf of our mo- sad dcrn ideas of dignity and refinement; and tranfport -tv his imagination almoll three thoufand years back <e; ,in the hiftory of mankind. What he is to expect, ; -1

THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
231
is a pi&ure of the ancient world. He mull Lect. reckon upon finding characters and manners, that XLI1I. retain a confiderable tin&ure of the lavage ftate; moral ideas, as yet imperfectly formed; and the appetites and paffions of men brought under none of thofe reftraints; to which, in a more advanced State of Society, they are accuftomed. But bodily ftrength, prized as one of the chief heroic endowments ; the preparing of a meal , and the appealing of hunger, deferibed as very interefting objects; and the heroes boalling of themfelves openly, fcolding one another outrageoufly, and glorying, as we would now think very indecently , over their fallen enemies.
The opening of the Iliad, poffeffes none of that fort of dignity, which a modern looks for in a great Epic Poem. It turns on no higher fubject, than the quarrel of two Chieftains about a female flave. The priell of Apollo befeeches Agamemnon to reftore his daughter, who, in the plunder of a city, had fallen to Agamemnon’s lhare of booty. He refufes. Apollo, at the prayer of his Prieft, fends a plague into the Grecian camp. The Augur, when confulted, declares, that there is no way of appeafing Apollo, but by refloring the daughter of his Priell. / Agamemnon is enraged at the Augur; profeffes that he likes his fiave better than his wife Cly- temneflra; but fince he muft reftore her in order <
to fave the army, infills to have another in her place; and pitches upon Brifeis, the fiave of Achilles. Achilles, as was to be cxpeclcd, kindles into
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232
THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
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j, e c T. rage at this demand; reproaches him for his rapa- 'S r XL.III. city and infolence, and, after giving him many A hard names, folemnly fwears , that, if he is to spf be thus treated by the General, he will with- ut draw his troops and aflfifl the Grecians no more, sjf againft the Trojans. He withdraws accordingly. & H is Mother, the Goddefs Thetis, interefts Jupi- inter in his caufe; who, to revenge the wrong '» which Achilles had fuffered, takes part againft .esprt the Greeks, and fuffers them to fall into great i« and long diftrefs; until Achilles is pacified, and iya reconciliation brought about between him and kfco Agamemnon. dm
Such is the bafis of the whole action of the sol Iliad. Hence rife all thofe “fpeciofa miracula,” as two Horace terms them which fill that extraordinary Fin Poem; and which have had the power of inter- miki efting almoft all the nations of Europe, during : Ilia every age, fince the days of Homer. The general 1 Ac admiration commanded by a Poetical plan, fo very Poei different from what any one would have formed Ibe in our times , ought not, upon refledion , to be limit matter of furprife. For, befides that a fertile ieda Genius can enrich and beautify any fubjecft on did which it is employed, it is to be obferved, that sac ancient manners, how much foever they con- adi traditft our prefent notions of dignity and refine- :do ment, afford, neverthelefs, materials for Poetry, ndtl fuperior, in fome refpects, to thofe which are rated furnifhed by a more polifhed flate of Society. Hen They difcover human nature more open and un- iki difgiufed, without any of thofe fludied forms of ,f 0
I

THE ILIAD OF HOMER;
235
^ behaviour which now conceal men from one an- t other. They give free fcope to the ftrongeft and :E - mod impetuous emotions of the mind, which • make a better figure in defcription, than calm and temperate feelings. They fliow us our native prejudices, appetites, and defires, exerting them- felves without control. From this ftate of man- *3 ners, joined with the advantages of that ftrong is and expreffive Style, which, as I formerly ob- ®{ii ferved, commonly diftinguifhes the Compofitions H of early ages, we have ground to look for more rat of the boldnefs, eafe and freedom of rfative Genius, in compofitions of fuch a period, than in ns: thofe of more civilized times. And, accordingly, u; the two great characters of the Homeric Poetry or*r are, Fire and Simplicity'. Let us now proceed of™- to make fome more particular obfervations on ,fn the Iliad, under the three heads of the fubjedt **s and Action, the Characters, and Narration of d'ir the’Poet.
:fc The Subject of the Iliad muft unqueftionably 0,3! be admitted to be, in the main, happily chofen. ifc In the days of Homer, no object could bfe more ibjej: fplcndid and dignified than the Trojan war. So •dj,: great a confederacy of the Grecian States, under (■jy- one leader; and the ten years fiege which they ijis tarried on againft Troy, muft have fpread far -Pqt abroad the renown of many military exploits, and r tp interefted all Greece in the traditions concerning $£ the Heroes who had moft eminently fignalized !jJ; themfelves. Upon thefe traditions, Homer ground- jjjj: «d his Poem; and though he lived,, as is generally
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L E C T. XLI1I,

234
THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
[SE
L E c t. believed, only two or three centuries after the :- :J i XLI1I. Trojan war, yet, through the want of written i-.Bui records, tradition muff, by this time, have fallen •.#> into the degree of obfcurity moft proper for ' Hi; Poetry; and have left him at full liberty to mix Eei as much fable as he pleafed, with the remains cthtffl of true hiftory. He has not chofen, for his fubjedt, the whole Trojan war; but, with great :hact judgment, he has felected one part of it, the rat quarrel betwixt Achilles and Agamemnon. and ieir the events to which that quarrel gave rife; which , though they take up forty feven days only, ifett yet include the moff intereffing, and moft critical ale period of the war. By this management, he has given greater unity to what would have other- wife been an unconnected hiftory of battles. He ifin, has gained one Hero, or principal character, Achilles, who reigns throughout the work; and he has fliown the pernicious effect! of difcord among confederated princes. At the fame time, - ; 0 [j I admit that Homer is lefs fortunate in his fubject ^ than Virgil. The plan of the iEneid includes a Ja .j, greater compafs , and a more agreeable diverfity ^ of events ; whereas the Iliad is almoft entirely filled with battles, j.
The praife of high invention has in every age been given to Homer, with the greateff reafon, The prodigious numbgr of incidents , of fpeeches, of characters divine and human, with which lie ^ abounds ; the furprifing variety with which lie has diverfilied his battles, in the wounds and deaths, and little hiftory pieces of almoft all the , ^
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THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
-35
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(lain , difcover an invention next boundlefs. But the praife of judgment is, in my opinion, no lefs due to Homer, than that of invention. His ftory is all along conduded with great art. He rifes upon us gradually; his Heroes are brought out, one after another, to be objeds of our attention. The diftrefs thickens , as the Poem advances; and every thing is fo contrived as to aggrandize Achilles, and to render him , as the Poet intended he fhoukl be, the capital
L E c T. XLIIT-
F figure.
a| h But that wherein Homer excels all Writers, is the charaderiftical part. Here, he is without ie: V a rival. His lively and fpirited exhibition of k- 1 characters, is, in a great meafure, owing to his • being fo Dramatic a Writer, abounding every ilk where with dialogue and converfation. There is much more dialogue in Homer than in Virgil;
1L or, indeed, than in any other Poet. What Virgil : H informs us of by two words of Narration, Homer iat- brings about by a Speech. We may obferve here,
" that this method of Writing is more ancient than V the narrative manner. Of this we have a clear - proofin the Books of the Old Teftament, which , inftead of Narration , abound with fpeeches, art with anfwers and replies, upon the mod familiar fubjecls. Thus, in the Book of Genefis: c ‘ Jofeph “ laid unto his brethren, whence come ye? and K they anfwered , From the land of Canaan we it: “ come to buy food. And Jofeph faid , Ye are s: K fpies; to fee the nakednefs of the land are ye id- “ c ome. And they faid unto him, Nay, my

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2 3 <S THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
L E c t. tc Lord , but to buy food are tby fervants comcj XLIII. “ we are all one man’s fons, we are true men, cc thy fervants are no fpies. And he fard unto “ them, Nay, but to fee the nakednefs of the c ‘ land ye are come. And they faid , Thy fervants tl “ are twelve brethren, the fons of one man in ^ “ the land of Canaan, and behold the youngeft ] £c is this day with our father; and one is not ^ tc And Jofeph faid unto them, this it is that I w “ fpake unto you , faying ye are fpies. Hereby ^ ec ye lhall be proved; by the life of Pharoah, ^ tc ye lhall not go forth, except your youngeft Jj lV tc brother come hither, &c. ” Genefis xlii. 7—15. a [ Such a Style as this, is the moft fimple and :vcr • artlefs form of Writing; and muft, therefore, f, n undoubtedly have been the moft ancient. It is M f copying diredtly from nature ; giving a plain .fo, rehearfal of what palled , or was fuppofed to ^ pafs, in converfition between the perfons of a j;, whom the Author treats. In progrefs of time, when the Art of Writing was more ftudied, it jj n was thought more elegant to comprefs the fub- ftance of converfation into fhort diltindt narrative, ^ made by the Poet or Hiftorian in his own perfon; j| ( and to referve direct fpeeches.for folemn occafions , 0 jj only. a I
The Ancient Dramatic method which Homer ^ pradlifed, has fome advantages, balanced with ^ fome defedts. It renders Compofition more natural and animated , and more expreftive of manners j 0 and characters; but withal lefs grave and majelhc, [(| , and fometimes tirefome. Homer , it muft be

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admitted , has carried his propenfity to the making of Speeches too far; and if he be tedious anywhere , it is in thefe ; fome of them are trifling, and fome of them plainly unfeafonable. Together with the Greek vivacity , he leaves upon our minds, fome impreffion of the Greek loquacity alio. His Speeches , however , are upon the whole charaCteriftic . and lively ; and to them we owe, in a great meafure, that admirable difplay which he has given of human nature. Every one who reads him, becomes familiarly and intimately acquainted with his heroes. We feem to have lived among them , and to have converfed with them. Not only has he purfued the fingle virtue of courage, through all its different forms and features, in his different warriors;, but fome more delicate characters, into which courage either enters not at all, or but for an inconfiderable part, he has drawn with Angular art.
How finely, for inftance, has he painted the character of Helen , fo as , notwithftanding her frailty and her crimes, to prevent her from being an odious objeCt! The admiration with which the old generals behold her, in the Third Book, when fhe is coming towards them, prefents her to us with much dignity. Her veiling herfelf and fhedding tears, her confufion in the prefence of Priam, her grief and felf-accufations at the fight of Menelaus, her upbraiding of Paris for his cowardice , and , at the fame time , her returning fondnefs for him , exhibit the moll;
L E C T. XLIII.

* 3 S THE ILIAD OF HOMER. $
features of that mixed female character,^ we partly condemn , and partly nitv ^
XLI1I. which we partly condemn , and partly pity.
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her fay fomething to move our compaffion;
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trad her character with that of a virtuous matron,
in the challe and tender Andromache. P
Paris himfelf, the Author of all the mifchief, is charadterifed with the utmoft propriety. He ^ is , as we would expedt him , a mixture of- ljn gallantry and effeminacy. He retreats from Mene- laus, on his firft appearance; but immediately iso 2 afterwards, enters into fingle combat with him.
He is a great mafler of civility , remarkably 2? fc courteous in his fpeeches ; and receives all the reproofs of his brother Hector with modefty and ml < deference. He is defcribed as a perfon of elegance and tafte. He was the Architect of his own "ki Palace. He is , in the Sixth Book , found by ml PIcdtor, burnifhing and drefling up his armour; a, and ilfues forth to battle with a peculiar gaiety a in and oftentation of appearance , which is illultrated !4ii by one of the fineft companions in all the Iliad, :sicr that of the horfe prancing to the river. "s
Homer has been blamed for making his hero a Jo Achilles of too brutal and unamiable a character. toll But I am inclined to think, that injultice is-i] commonly done to Achilles , upon the credit i.lj of two lines of Horace, who has certainly [ overloaded his character, ‘ >: -
Inipiger, iracundus, inexorabilis , acer, , tpi,
Jura negat fibi nata; nihil non arrogat arm is.

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$ THE ILIAD OF HOMER. 239
Achilles is paffionate indeed, to a great Leg r. : degree; but he is far from being a contemner- XLIII.
of laws and juftice. In the conteft with A game m- •
^ non , though he carries it on with too much (S: heat, yet he has reafon on his fide. He was iOEs: notorioufly wronged; but he fubmits; and refigns c. Brifeis peaceably when the heralds come to da: demand her; only, he will fight no longer under T ~,the command of a leader who had affronted him. sn^Befides his wonderful bravery and contempt of fe: death, he has feveral other qualities of a Hero, as; He is open and fincere. He loves his fubjeCts,
.. and refpects the Gods. He is diftinguifhed by ftrong friendfhips and attachments; he is, throughout, high fpirited, gallant, and honour- e:. able; and allowing for . a degree of ferocity nd: which belonged to the times, and enters into ofr the characters of mod of Homer’s Heroes, he is, t,ii upon the whole, abundantly fitted to raife high is: admiration , though not pure efteem.
Under the head of Characters, Homer’s Gods or his Machinery , according to the critical term, ai 2 come under confideration. The Gods make a • ff , great figure in the Iliad; much greater indeed jj: than they do in the jEneid, or in any other Epic j^Poem; and hence Homer has become the ftandard of Poetic Theology. Concerning Machinery in , 3 j general, I delivered my fentiments in the former .. o Lecture. Concerning Elomer’s Machinery, in particular, we muft obferve, that it was not his own invention. Like every other good Poet,
. he unqueftionably followed the traditions of his

240
THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
I E c T. country. The age of the Trojan war approached :ife XLIII. to the age of the Gods , and Demigods, b jvi , Greece. Several of the Heroes concerned in that Je
war, were reputed to be the children of thofe dan Gods. Of courfe, the traditionary tales relating to to them, and to the exploits of that age, were all blended with the Fables of the Deities, Thefe :tk popular legends, Homer very properly adopted; mtii though it is perfectly abfurd to infer from it this , that therefore Poets arifmg in fucceedingitin ages, and writing on quite different fubjects, arefeter obliged to follow the fame fyRem of Machinery.*! v< In the hands of Homer, it produces, on the It the whole, a noble effect; it is always gay and Gad amufing; often, lofty and magnificent. It intro-He duces into his Poem a great number of perfonages; almoft as much diftinguifhed by characters as his jods; human aCtors. It diverfifies his battles greatly, nth by the intervention of the Gods; and by fre-iblb quently fliifting the feene from earth to heaven, ; th it gives an agreeable relief to the mind, in the Apollo midft of fo much blood and {laughter. Homer's ff ]T Gods, it muft be confeffed, though they be always lively and animated figures, yet fome- ^ times want dignity. The conjugal contentions jjj f2s between Juno and Jupiter, with which he enter-^ tains us, and the indecent fquabbles he deferibes ^ among the inferior Deities, according as they ^ take different fides with the contending parties, would be very unlucky models for any modern sy Poet to imitate. In apology for Homer, however, it muft be remembered , that according to the ..
Fables q 0l

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THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
241
Fables of thofe days , the Gods are but one L k c t. fE -' : remove above the condition of men. They have XLIIL • !t; all the human paffions They drink and feafb, and are vulnerable like men; they have children, and kinfmen, in the oppofite armies; and bating !t; * that they are immortal, that they have houfes EEi on the top of Olympus, and winged chariots, c ‘ > in which they are often flying down to earth,
0 .and then re - afcending, in order to feaft on Ne&ar and Ambrofia ; they are in truth no dodj higher beings than the human Heroes, and there- ol:i q, fore very fit to take part in their contentions.
I 1 ” At the fame time, though Homer fo frequently rai degrades his divinities , yet he knows how to — make them appear in fome conjunctures, with dp the moft awful Majefty. Jupiter, the Father of one Gods and Mep, is, for the moll part, introduced with great dignity ; and feveral of the moft ; ? fnblime conceptions in the Iliad , are founded ill: on the appearances of Neptune, Minerva, and cs Apollo , on great occafions.
IeJ- r With regard to Homer’s Style and manner of Mi Writing, it is eafy, natural, and, in the higheft s.-- degree, animated. It will be admired by fuch ic only as relifh ancient fimplicity, and can make allowance for certain negligencies and repetitions, isP which greater refinement in the Art of Writing £: has taught fucceeding, though far inferiof, 'Poets (jfer to avoid. For Homer is the moft firriple in his )t v Style of all the great Poets, and refembles moft c: : the Style of the poetical parts of the Old Telia* ment. They can have no conception of his VOL. Ill, R

THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
1
242
L E C T.
XL1II.
manner, who are acquainted with him by Mr. Pope’s Translation only. An excellent poetical performance that Translation is , and faithful in the main to the Original. In foroe places, it may be thought to have even improved Homer, It has certainly foftened fome of his rudenelfes, and added delicacy and grace to fome of his fentiments. But withal , it is no other than Homer modernifed In the midft of the elegance and luxuriancy of Mr. Pope’s language , we lofe fight of the old Bard’s fimplicity. 1 know Indeed no Author, to whom it is more difficult to do iuftice in a Tranflation, than Homer. As the plainnefs of his didtion , were it literally rendered, would often appear flat in any modem language; fo, in the midft of that plainnefs, and not a little heightened by it, thpre are every where breaking forth upon us flafhes of native fire, of fublimity and beauty, which hardly any language, except his own , could preferve. His Verfxfication has been univerfally acknowledged to be uncommonly melodious ; and to carry, beyond that of any Poet, a refemblance in the found to the fenfe and meaning.
In Narration, Homer is, at all times, remarkably concife , which renders him lively and agreeable; though in his Speeches, as I have before admitted, fometimes tedious. He is every where defcriptive; and defcriptive by means of thofe well chofen particulars, which form the excellency of defcription. Virgil gives us the nod of Jupiter with great magnificence.
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Annuit ; et totum nutu trcmefecit Olympum.
But Homer, in defcribing the fame thing, gives us the fable eye-brows of Jupiter bent, and his ambrofial curls fhaken, at the moment when he gives the nod ; and thereby renders the figure more natural and lively. Whenever he feeks to draw our attention to fome interefting object, he particularifes it fo happily, as to paint it in a manner to our fight. The lliot of Pandarus’ arrow, which broke the truce between the two armies» as related in the Fourth Book, may be given for an inllance; and above all, the admirable interview of Hector with Andromache, in the Sixth Book; where all the circumltances of conjugal and parental tendernefs , the child affrighted with the view of his Father’s Helmet and Chreft, and clinging to the nurfe ; Iledtor putting off his Helmet, taking the child into Ins arms, and offering up a prayer for him to the Gods; Andromache receiving back the child with a fmile of pleafure , and at the fame inftant, burlting into tears, S&Kovtuv yiAaa-caru, as it is finely exprelfed in the original, form the mod natural and affecting pidture that can poffibly be imagined.
In the defeription of Battles, Homer particularly excels. Fie works up the hurry, the terror, and confufron of them in fo mafterly a manner, as to. place the Reader in the very midfi: of the engagement. It is here , that the fire of his genius is molt highly difplayed ; infomuch, that Virgil’s
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L E C T
XLIII.

244 THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
i e c t. Battles, and indeed thofe of moft other Poets, are XLIII. cold and inanimated in comparifon of Homer’s. t Wl'iH regard to Similies, no Poet abounds fo
much with them. Several of them are beyond doubt extremely beautiful: fuch as thofe, of the fires in the Trojan, camp compared to the Moon and Stars by night; Paris going forth to Battle, to the war-horfe prancing to the river ; and Euphorbus flain , to the flowering fhrub cut down by a fudden blaft : all which are among the fineft poetical paflages that are any where to be found. I am not, however, of opinion, that Homer’s Comparifons, taken in general, are his greatell beauties. They come too thick upon us; and often interrupt the train of his narration or defcription. The refemblance on which they are founded, is fometimes not clear ; and the objects whence they are taken, are too uniform. His Lions, Bulls, Eagles, and herds of Iheep, recur too frequently; and the allufions infome of his Similies, even after the allowances that are to be made for ancient manners, muft be admitted to be debafing*.
* The fevered critic upon Homer in modern times, M. la Motte, admits all that his admirers urge for the fuperio- rity of his genius and talents as a Poet: “ C’etait un genie {c naturellement poetique, ami des fables et du merveil- .
leux, et porte en general a l'imitation, foit des objets cc de la nature, foit des fentimens et des adtions ! des hom- u mes. II avait 1’efprit vafte et fecond; plus eleve que K delicat, plus naturel qu’ingenieux, et plus amoureuxde w 1’abondance que du choix. — II a faifi, par une fupe-
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THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. 245
My obfervations, hitherto, have been made Iect, upon the Iliad only. It is neceffary to take fome XLIIf. notice of the Odyffey alfo. Longinus’s criticifm upon it is not without foundation, that Horner may in this Poem be compared to the fetti'ng fun, whofe grandeur Rill remains, without the heat of his meridian beams. It wants the vigour and fublimity of the Iliad; yet, at the fame time, poffelfes fo many beauties, as to be juRly entitled to high praife. It is a very amufing Poem, and has much greater variety than the Iliad ; it contains many interefting Rories, and beautiful de- fcriptions. We fee every where the fame de- fcriptive and dramatic genius , and the fame fertility of invention that appears in the other
“ riorite de gout, les premieres idees de 1’eloquence dans K tons les genres; il a parle le langage de toutes les paf- “ fions; et il a du moins ouvert aux ecrivains qui dement le fuivre une infinite de routes, qu'il ne reftait phis qu'a “.applanir. 11 y a apparence qu'en quelque terns que IIo- mere eut vecu, ileutete, du moins , le plus grand pcete cc de fon pays, et a ne le prendre que dans ce fens, on “ peut dire, qu’il eft le maitre de ceux-memes qui Font fur- t; pafte. ” — Difcours fur Homere. Oeuvres de la Motte,
Tome II. After thefe high praifes of the Author, he indeed endeavours to bring the merit of the Iliad very low. But his principal objections turn on the debafing ideas which are there given of the Gods, the grofs characters .and manners of the Heroes, and the imperfect morality of the fentiments, which, as Voltaire obferves, is like accufing a painter for having drawn his figures in tire drefs of the times. Homer painted his Gods, fuch as popular tradition then reprefented them; and defcribed fuch characters and fentiments, as he found among thofe with whom he lived.
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246 THE JENEID OF VIRGIL.
Lect, work, It defcends indeed from the dignity of XLIII. Gods, and Heroes, and warlike atchievements;
but in recompenfe , we have more pleafing pictures of ancient manners. Inftead of that ferocity which reigns in the Iliad, the OdylTey prefents us with the moft amiable images of hofpitality and humanity ; entertains us with many a' wonderful adventure, and many a landfcape of nature; and inftructs us by a conftant vein of morality and virtue, which runs through the Poem.
At the fame time, there are fomc defects which mull be acknowledged in the Odyffey. Many fcenes in it, fall below the Majefly which we naturally expect in an Epic Poem. The laft Twelve Books, after Ulylfes is landed in Ithaca, are, in feveral parts, tedious and languid; and though the difcovery which Ulyffes makes of himfelf to his Nurfe, Euryclea, and his interview with Penelope before lire knows him, in the Nineteenth Book, are tender and affecting, yet the Poet does not feem happy in the great ana- gnorifis, or the difcovery of Ulyffes to Penelope. She is too cautious and diffruftful, and we are difappointed of the furprife of joy, which we expected on that high occafion,
After having fa id fo much of the Father of Epic Poetry, it is now time to proceed to Virgil, who has a very marked character, quite diftinct from that of Homer. As the diftinguilhing excellencies of the Iliad are, Simplicity and hire; tnofe of the iEneid are, Elegance and Tender- nefs. Virgil is, beyond doubt, lefs animated

THE iENEID OF VIRGIL. 247
and lefs fublime than Homer; but to counterbalance this , he has fewer negligencies , greater variety, and fupports more of a correct and regular dignity, throughout his work.
When we begin to read the Iliad, we find ourfelves in the region of the molt remote, and even unrefined antiquity. When we open the jEneid, we difcover all the corrednefs, and the improvements of the Auguftan age. We meet with no contentions of heroes about a female Have; no violent fcolding, nor abufive language; but the Poem opens with the utmoft magnificence; with Juno, forming defigns for preventing jEneas’s eltablilhment in Italy, and /Eneas himfelf, prefented to us with all his fleet, in the middle of a ftorm , which is defcribed in the • higheft Style of Poetry.
The fubjed of the jEneid is extremely happy; fiill more fo, in my opinion, than either of Homer’s Poems. As nothing could be more noble, nor carry more of Epic dignity, fo nothing could be more flattering and interefling to the Roman people, than Virgil’s deriving the origin of their ftate from fo famous a hero as lEneas. The object was fplendid in itfelf; it gave the Poet a theme, taken from the ancient traditionary hiftory of his own country ; it allowed him to connect his fubjed with Homer’s ftories , and to adopt all his mythology; it afforded him the opportunity of frequently glancing at all the future great exploits of the Romans , and of defcribing Italy, and the very territory of Rome,
R 4
L E C T.
XL1II.

248 THE JENEID OF VIRGIL. %
L e c t. in its ancient and fabulous ffate. The eftablift. ^ XLIII. ment of iEneas conftantly traverfed by Juno, : . :l1 leads to a great diverfxty of events, of voyages, ' ^ and wars; and furnilhes a proper intermixture of ^ the incidents of peace with martial exploits. Upon 3$ the whole, I believe, there is no where to be found fo complete a model of an Epic Fable, or ■^ Story, as Virgil’s iEncid. I fee no foundation cs; for the opinion, entertained by fome Critics, that the iEneid is to be confidered as an Allegorical ‘S| Poem, which carries a conftant reference to the - Ti character and reign of Auguftus Cxfar; or, that Virgil’s main defign in compofing the iEneid, isi was to reconcile the Romans to the government -ii of that Prince, who is fuppofed to be fhadowed out under the character of iEneas. Virgil, indeed, .air like the other Poets of that age, takes every .iso! opportunity which his fubjecT; affords him, of «r;: paying court to Auguftus*. But, to imagine . .1; that he carried a political plan in his view, ifoi
through the whole Poem, appears to me, no rli; more than a fanciful refinement. He had fufficient -J motives, as a Poet, to determine him to the . choice of his lubject, from its being, in itfelf, -i£j both great and pleafing; from its being fuited to it±; his genius, and its being attended with the pe- culiar advantages, which I mentioned above, |,jjj for the full difplay of poetical talents.
* As particularly in that noted paffage of tire (5th book, *■ h . 1-791- "J&i
flic vir , hie eft, tibi quem promitti faepius audis, &c.

lL THE JENEID OF VIRGIL. 249
E ^ Unity of adion is perfedly preferved; as, from - beginning to end , one main object is always kept 11 "in view, the fettlement of iEneas , in Italy, by order of the Gods. As the ftory comprehends IS ». the tranfadions of feveral years , part of the tranf- actions are very properly thrown into a recital made by the Hero. The Epifodes are linked fet with fufficient connexion to the main fubjed; and
■ -. the Nodus, or Intrigue of the Poem, is, accord- •1. ing to the plan of ancient machinery , happily w.. formed. The wrath of Juno, who oppofes her- i;or. felf to the Trojan fettlement in Italy , gives rife the E to all the difficulties which obftrud iEneas’s un- govr7 dertaking, and connects the human with the ce- tislcftial operations , throughout the whole work. :jiL Hence anfe the tempeft which throws iEneas upon tis: the Ihore of Africa ; the paffion of Dido, who h h[endeavours to detain him at Carthage ; and the to 'd efforts of Turnus, who oppofes him in war. Till, tf atlaft, upon a compofition made with Jupiter, to a] that the Trojan name ffiall be for ever funk in al.'.-the Latin, Juno foregoes her refentment, and the [jb Hero becomes victorious.
■ b In thefe main points, Virgil has conduded his wti.pvork with great propriety, and ffiown his art and fijj; judgment. But the admiration due to fo eminent
a Poet, mult not prevent us from remarking fqme .. other particulars in which he has failed, full , there are almolt no charaders at all marked in the iEneid. In this refped , it is infipid , when compared to the Iliad , which is full of characters and
L E c T. XLIII.

250 THE JENEID OF VIRGIL.
II
L e c t. life. Achates, and Cloanthes , and Gyas, and the JiLIII. reft of the Trojan heroes , who accompanied in i tineas into Italy , are fo many undiftinguifted :ir: figures, who are in no way made known to us, ■$. either by any fentiments which they utter, or ofc any memorable exploits which they perform, r Even jEneas himfelf is not a very interefting Hero, -if He is defcribed, indeed , as pious and brave; but his character is not marked with any of thofe ftrokes that touch the heart; it is a fort of cold ■m and tame charadter; and throughout his behaviour p to Dido, in the Fourth Book, efpecially in the 4i fpeech which he makes after fire fufpected his in- ^ tention of leaving her, tljere appears a certain hardnefs, and want of relenting , which is far from rendering him amiable*. Dido’s own character is by much the beft fupported, in the whole ,]^ JEneid. The warmth of her paffions , the keen- i. H nefs of her indignation and refentment , and the , 3 a violence of her whole character, exhibit a figure iirf .| greatly more animated than any other which Virgil has drawn. .
Besides this defect of charadter in the JEneid, ^ the diftribution and management of thefubjedis, y in fome refpects , exceptionable. The iEneid, it jy is true, muft be confidered with the indulgence ; p due to a work not thoroughly completed. The fix laft books, are faid not to have received the finilhing hand of the Author; and for this reafon,
* Num fletu ingemuit noftro? Num lumina flexit? . 1 Nuni lacrvmas vidtus dedit ? Autmiferatus amantem eft? i
/En. iv;6g, a K(|l

THE iENEID OF VIRGIL.
251
«:
he ordered , by his will, the jEneid to be com- '1 tnitted to the flames. But though this may account for incorredtnefs of execution , it does not
1E - ipologize for a falling off in the fubjedl, which !£ ' feems to take place in the latter part of the work. The wars with the Latins are inferior, in point
Ik
E
t*
E ’^ of dignity , to the more interefting objcdts which had before been prefented to us, in the deftrudtion of Troy , the intrigue with Dido, and the de- fcent into Hell. And in thofe Italian wars, there is, perhaps, a'more material fault flill, in the condudt of the flory. The Reader , as Voltaire has obferved, is tempted to take part with Tur- 1 ‘ nus againfh iEneas. Turnus, a brave young prince, in love with Lavinia , his near relation, is de- lt “* (lined for her by general confent, and highly fa- k^voured by her mother. Lavinia herfelf difcovers ^ no reluctance to the match: when there arrives a 1 ftranger , a fugitive from a diftant region, who ’-7 had never feen her, and who founding a claim to ^ an eftablifhment in Italy upon oracles and prophecies, embroils the country in war, kills the ! ', lover of Lavinia, and proves the occafion of her * mother’s death. Such a plan is not fortunately & |laid, for difpofing us to be favourable to the Hero *Vof the Poem ; and the defect might have been eaftly remedied , by the Poet’s making iEneas, inftead of diflrefling Lavinia, deliver her from the perfecution of fome rival who was odious to . her, and to the whole country.
^ But , notwithftanding thofe defects , which jjj^itwas neceffary to remark , Virgil poffefies beau-
L E C T. XL1II.

252 THE jENEID OF VIRGIL 1
L e c t. ties which have juftly drawn the admiration of ^ XLIII. ages, and which, to this day, hold the balance ^ in equilibrium between his fame , and that of Homer. The principal and diftinguifhing excel- ' s lency of Virgil, and which, in my opinion, he poffeffes beyond all Poets, is Tendernefs. Nature 'f 1 had endowed him with exquifite fenfibility; he ^ felt every affe&ing circumftance in the feenes he ^ deferibes ; and , by a fingle ftroke, he knows ^ how to reach the heart. This, in an Epic Poem, :l ^ ri is the merit next to fublimity ; and puts it in an ^ Author’s power to render his Compofition ex- ^ tremely interefting to all Readers. ’>
The chief beauty, of this kind, in the Iliad, is , the interview of Hedtor with Andromache. :iGI But in the JEneid, there are many fuch. The Se- corn! Book is one of the greateft mafler-pieces that ever was executed by any hand; and Virgilfeems 2501 to have put forth there the whole ftrength of his K genius, as the fubject afforded a variety of feenes, both of the awful and tender kind. The images 'b of horror, prefented by a city burned and facked in the night, are finely mixed with pathetic and affecting incidents. Nothing, in any Poet, is more beautifully deferibed than the death of old 3a Priam ; and the family - pieces of ./Eneas, Anchifes, 3c and Creufa , are as tender as can be conceived, Ac In many paffages of the JEneid , the fame pathetic -“d fpirit fhines ; and they have been always the fa- vourite paffages in that work. The Fourth Book M for inftance, relating the unhappy paflion and death of Dido , has been always meft juftly
l

THE iENEID OF VIRGIL.
253
uL
kg, admired; and abounds with beauties of the higheft ^ kind. The interview of /Eneas with Andromache aaL' audHelenus, in the Third Book; theEpifodes of Pallas and Evander , of Nifus and Euryalus, of Laufus and Mezentius , in the Italian wars, are all :d; = finking inftances of the Poet’s power of raifing tir the tender emotions. For we muff obferve , that tit: though the jEneid be an unequal Poem , and, in fome places, languid , yet there are beauties feat- itered through it all ; and not a few, even in the p laft fix books. The befland moft finifhed books, rps upon the whole , are the firft, the fecond, the . fourth, the fixth , the feventh, the eighth, and u the twelfth.
A ;c .- , Virgil’s battles are far inferior to Homer’s, in point of fire and fublimity : but there is one im- jmjj portant Epifode, the defeent into Hell, in which dpi he has outdone Homer in the Odyffey, by many degrees. There is nothing in all antiquity equal, n£[V " v in its kind , to the Sixth Book of the JEneid. The p„. feenery , and the objects are great and flriking ^ and fill the mind with that folemn awe, which ( was to be expeded from a view of the invifible world. There runs through the whole defeription a certain philofophical fublime ; which Virgil’s . Platonic Genius, and the enlarged ideas of the kj^Auguftan Age , enabled him to fupport with a ^degree of majefty, far beyond what the rude ideas ^ - of Homer’s age differed him to attain. With re- ^igard to the fweetnefs and beauty ofVirgil’s num- throughout his whole works, they are fo
L E C T.
XLIII.

254 THE iENEID OF VIRGIL. Tf
L e c t. well known , that it were needlefs to enlarge in 'i® XL 1 I 1 . the praife of them. ' ,;sm)
Upon the whole , as to the comparative merit 1 of thefe two great princes of Epic Poetry, Homer " vei and Virgil; the former muft, undoubtedly, be'ht admitted to be the greater Genius; the latter, a.ffl to be the more correct Writer. Homer was an idon original in his art, and.dilcovers both the beau-shin ties, and the defects , which are to be expected i’Hc in an original Author, compared with thofe who hoot fucceed him; more boldnefs, more nature and ::agei eafe, more fublimity and force; but greater sol irregularities and negligencies in Compofition. ad, ti Virgil has, all along, kept his eye upon Homer; i in many places , he has not fo much imitated, as he has literally tranfiated him. The defcription of the Storm, for inftance, in the firlt iEneid, and fEneas’s Speech upon that occafion , are trailflations from the Fifth Book of the Odyffey; not to mention almoft all the fimilies of Virgil, which are" no other than copies of thofe of Homer. The pre-eminence in invention, there- fore, muff, beyond doubt, be aferibed to Homer.
As to the pre-eminence in judgment , though many Critics incline to give it to Virgil, yet, in my opinion, it hangs doubtful. In Homer, we difeern all the Greek vivacity; in Virgil, all the Roman ftatelinefs. Homer’s imagination is by much the moil rich and copious; Virgil’s the moll chafte and corredt. The ftrength of the former lies, in his power of warming the fancy; that of the latter, in his power of touching the

THE JENEID OF VIRGIL.
2 55
\
'i: heart. Homer's ftyle is more fimple and animated; L Virgil’s more elegant and uniform. The firft has,
’t "" 1 on many occafions , a fublimity to which the latter never attains; but the latter, in return, fe<! never finks below a certain degree of Epic V dignity-, which cannot fo clearly be pronounced •tt of the former. Not, however, to detradf from it. the admiration due to both thefe great Poets, bfaj moll of Homer’s defedts may reafonably be inis'-": puted, not to his genius, but to the manners a of the age in which he lived ; and for the feeble k: paffages of the iEneid, this excufe ought to be iota admitted, that the JEneid was left an unfiniflied p work.

L E C T.
XL1V.
LECTURE XL IV,
if
tipi
aJi
.Its
LUCAN’s PHARSAUA.-TASSO’s lh
JERUSALEM. - CAMOEN’s LUSIAD. - ;rf f
FENELON’s TELEMACHUS._ si
VOLTAIRE’s HENRI A DE. - MILTGNs PARADISE LOST;
Sl\
.A.FTER Homer and Virgil, the next great eK Epic Poet of ancient times, -who prefents himfelf, ijltio is Lucan. Fie is a Poet who deferves our atten- iH± tion, on account of a very peculiar mixture of great beauties, with great faults. Though his ; r , r | Pharfalia difcover too little invention, and be ^ conducted in too hiftorical a manner, to be ^ accounted a perfectly regular Epic Poem, yet it !; i0 were the mere fqueamilhnefs of Criticifm , to ;!i)0 exclude it from the Epic Clafs. The boundaries, . HC] as I formerly remarked, are far from being afcer- a; tained by any fuch precife limit, that tVe muft 16 ^ refufe the Epic name to a Poem, which treats of ^ great and heroic adventures, becaufe it is not gy, exactly conformable to the plans of Homer and Virgil. The fubject of the Pharfalia carries, un* .-y doubtedly, all the Epic Grandeur and Dignity; ^
neither ljL j
6

THE PHARSALIA OF LUCAN.
257
neither does it want unity of objedt, viz. the 'Y Triumph of Csefar over the Roman Liberty. As
it hands at prefent, it is, indeed , brought to
no proper cJofe. But either time has deprived us of the laft books, or it has been left by the ^ Author an incomplete work.
Though Lucan’s fubjedl be abundantly heroic, yet 1 cannot reckon him happy in the choice of . p. it. It has two defects. The one is, that civil
kt wars, efpecially when as fierce and cruel as thofe
[$ _ of the Romans , prefent too many Ihocking "7 objects to be fit for Epic Poetry , and give odious and difgufting views of human nature. •Gallant and honourable atchievements, furnifii a more proper theme for the Epic Mufe. But sat Lucan’s Genius, it mult be confelfed, feems to b: delight in favage fcenes; he dwells upon them a;. too much; and not content with thofe which it. iiis fubject naturally furnifhed, he goes out of Tr his way to introduce a long Epifode of Marius b. and Sydla’s profcriptions, which abounds with all IK, the forms of atrocious cruelty.
?oc. The other defedt of Lucan’s fubjedl is, its hit being too near the times in which he lived. This ek? is a circumftance, as I obferved in a former ife I.edture, always unlucky for a Poet; as it de- k. prives him of the affillance of fidlion and k machinery; and thereby renders his work lefs J: fplendid and amufing.' Lucan has fubmitted to
fife this difadvantage of his fubjedl; and in doing fo, in?* has adted with more propriety, than if he had k5r made an unfeafonable. attempt to embellifi-i it
£ Vo L. III. S
L E C T.
XLIV.

258 THE PHARSALIA OF LUCAN.
I, e c T. with machinery; for the fables of the Gods, XLIV. would have made a very unnatural mixture with the exploits of Caefar and Pompey; and inftead of raifing, would have diminilbed the dignity!of fuch recent, and well-known faCts.
With regard to characters, Lucan draws them with fpirit, and with force. But, though Pompey be his profefied Hero , he does not fucceed in interefbng us much in his favour. Pompey is not made to poffefs any high diffinCtion , either for magnanimity in fentiment, or bravery in aCtion; but, bn the contrary, is always eclipfed by the fuperior abilities of Ctefar. Cato, is in truth, Lucan’s favourite character; and wherever he introduces him , he appears to rife above himfelf. Some of the noblell, and mod confpicuous paffa- ges in the work, are fuch as relate to Cato; either fpeeches put into his mouth , or defcrip- tions of his behaviour. His fpeech , in particular, to Labienus, who urged him to enquire at the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon, concerning the iffue of the war { Book ix. 564 ) deferves to be remarked, as equal, for Moral Sublimity, to any thing that is to be found in all antiquity.
In the conduCt of the Ptory, our Author has attached himfelf too much to chronological order. This renders the thread of his narration broken and interrupted, and makes, him hurry us too often from place to place. lie is to digreffive a!fo; frequently turning alideTrom his fubjeCt, to give us , fometimes, geographical deferiptions of a country ; fometimes philofophical difquilkions

THE PHARSALIA OF LUCAN.
259
concerning natural objedls; as, concerning the L e c t. African Serpents in the Ninth book, and the XL1V. fources of the Nile in the Tenth.
There are, in the Pharfalia, feveral very- poetical , and fpirited defcriptions. But the Author’s chief ftrength does not lie, either in Narration or Defcription. His Narration is often dry and harlh; his Defcriptions are often overwrought, and employed too upon difagreeable objects. His principal merit confifts in his fenli- ments, which are generally noble and linking, and expreffed in that glowing and ardent manner, which peculiarly diftinguifhes him. Lucan is the moll philofophical, and the moll public-fpiritcd Poet, of all antiquity. He was the nephew of the famous Seneca, the Philofopher; was himfelf a Stoick ; and the fpirit of that Philofophy breathes throughout his Poem. We muff obferve too, that he is the only ancient Epic Poet whom the fubjedl of his Poem really and deeply inter- efted. Lucan recounted no fiction. He was a Roman and had felt all the direful effedls of the Roman civil wars , and of that fevere defpotifna which fucceeded the f.ofs of Liberty. His high and bold fpirit made him enter deeply into this fubjedt, and kindle on many occalions , into the moll real warmth. Hence, he abounds in exclamations and apoilrophes , which are, almoft always, well-timed, and fupported with a vivacity and lire that do him no fmall honour.
But it is the fate cf this Poet, that his beauties can never be mentioned, without their fug-
S 2

26 o THE PHARSALIA OF LUCAN.
L e c t. getting his blemifhes alfo. As his principal XLIV. excellency is a lively and glowing genius, which appears, fometimes, in his defcriptions, and very often in his fentiments, his great defect in both is, want of moderation. He carries every thing to an extreme. He knows not where to flop. From an effort to aggrandife his objects, he becomes tumid and unnatural: and it frequently happens, that where the fecond line of one of his defcriptions is fublime, the third , in which he meant to rife ftill higher, is perfectly bombaft. Lucan lived in an age, when the Schools of the Declaimers had begun to corrupt the Eloquence, and Tafte of Rome. He was not free from the infection ; and too often, inftead of fhowing the genius of the Poet, betrays the fpirit of the Declaim er.
On the whole, however, he is an Author of lively and original genius. His fentiments are fo high , and his fire, on occafxons, fo great, as to atone for many of his defeats; and paffages can be produced from him, which are inferior to none in any Poet whatever. The characters, for inftance, which he draws of Pompey and Cadar in the Firft Book, are mafterly; and die comparifon of Pompey to the aged decaying oak is highly poetical:
---totus popularities auris
Impelii, plaufnque fui gaudere theatri;
Nec reparare novas vires, multumque priori Credere fortunx; ftat magni nominis umbra.

THE PHARSALIA OF LUCAN. z6t
Qualis, frugifero quercus fublimis in agro,
Exuvias veteres populi, facrataque geftans Dona ducum; nec jam validis radicibus hatrens, Pondere fixa fuo eft; nudofque per aera ramos Effundens , trunco , non frondibus, efficit umbram.
At quamvis primo nutet cafura fub Euro,
Et circum filvaHfirmo fe robore tollant,
Sola tamen colitur. Sed non in Ciefare tantum Nomen erat, nec fama ducis; fed nefcia virtus Stare loco; folufque pudor non vincere bello;
Acer et indomitus *.- L, I. 5
* With gifts and liberal bounty fought for fame,
And lov’d to hear the vulgar fhoot his name;
In his own theatre rejoiced to fit,
Amidft the noify praifes of the pit.
Carelefs of future ills that might betide,
No aid he fought to prop his falling fide,
But on his former fortune much rely’d.
Still feem’d he to poffefs, and fill his place;
But ftood the shadow of what once he was.
So , in the field with Ceres’ bounty fpread,
Uprears fome ancient oak his rev’rend head: Chaplets and facred gifts his boughs adorn,
And fpoils of war by mighty heroes worn;
But the firft vigour of his root now gone ,
He Hands dependent on his weight alone ;
All bare his naked branches are difplayed,
And with his leaflefs trunk he forms a fhade.
Yet though the winds his ruin daily threat,
As every blaft would heave him from his feat, Though thoufand fairer trees the field fupplies, That rich in youthful verdure round him rife, Fix’d in his ancient feat, he yields to none,
And wears the honours of the grove alone.
s 3
C T.
XLIV.

THE JERUSALEM
s6z
I, ec«t. But when we conflder the whole execution XLiV. of his Poem, we are obliged to pronounce, that his Poetical hre was not under the government of either found judgment, or correct tafte. His genius had ftrength, but not tendernefs; nothing of what may be called amenity, or fweetnefs. In his Style, there is abundance of force; but a mixture ofharfhnefs, and frequently of obfcurity > occafioned by his defire of exprefling himfelf in a pointed and unufual manner. Compared with Virgil, he may be allowed to have more fare and higher fentiments, but in every thing elfe, falls infinitely below him, particularly in purity, elegance , and tendernefs.
As Statius and Silius Italicus, though they be Poets of the Epic Clafs, are too inconfiderable for particular criticifm, I proceed next to Taffo, the inoft diftinguilhed Epic Poet in Modem Ages.
HlS Jerufalem delivered, was ptibliflied in the year 1574. It is a Poem regularly and ftrictly Epic, in its whole conflruction; and adorned with all the beauties that belong to that fpecies of Com- polition. The fubject is, the Recovery of Jeru-
But Cre far’s greatnefs, and his ftrength was more, Than paft renown and antiquated power;
"Iwas not the fame of what he once had been;
Or tales in old records or annals Been;
But ’twas a valour , reftlefs, unconfin’d ,
Vhich no fuccefs could fate, nor limits bind;
' Twas fhame, a foldier’s fhame, untaught to yield, rhat blufhed for nothing but an ill-fought field.
^.OWE.

DELIVERED OF TASSO. 263
falem from the Infidels, by tbe united powers of Ltci. L Chriftendom; which, in itfelf, and more efpecially XLIV.
nst according to the ideas of Taffo’sage, was a
it fplendid , venerable, and heroic enterprife. The
oppofition of the Chriftians to the Saracens , forms ft an interefting contrail. The fubjed produces
lb none of thofe fierce and fhocking fcenes of civil
ife difcord, which hurt the mind in Lucan, but
it exhibits the efforts of zeal and bravery, infpiredby
edc an honourable object The fhare which religion
Hi potfeffes in the enterprife, both tends to render
1 it more auguft, and opens a natural field for
* . ' machinery, and fublime defcription. The adion too lies in a country, and at a period of time,
In: fufficiently remote to allow an intermixture of
fir fabulous tradition and fidion with true Hiftory.
ol In the condud of the ftory, Talfo has fhown a rich and fertile invention, which, in a Poet, is a capital quality. He is full of events ; and d: thofe too abundantly various, and diverfificd in
jr;: their kind. He never allows us to be tired by
c mere war and fighting. He frequently fhifts
dt the fcene ; and, from camps and battles, tranfports
us to more pleaung objeds. Sometimes the folem- nities of religion; fometimes the intrigues of love; c “ at other times, the adventures of a journey, or
even the incidents of paftoral life, relieve and entertain the Reader. At the fame time, the •
1 whole work is artfully conneded, and while there is much variety in the parts, there is perfed unity !»■ in the plan. The recovery of Jerufalem is the objed kept in view through the whole, and
P " S 4

s04 THE JERUSALE M Dl
lie t. with it the Poem clofes. All the Epifodes, if ^vLIV. we except that of Olindo and Sophronia, in the
Second Book, on which I formerly paffed a cenfure, ^ are fufficiently related to the main fubjedl of the Poem.
The Poem is enlivened with a variety of char- :!» adters, and thofe too both clearly marked and 22 well fupported. Godfrey, the leader of the enter- prife , pnident , moderate , brave; Tancred, 521 amorous, generous, and gallant, and well con- rol
trailed with the fierce and brutal Argantes; at; Rinaldo, (who is properly the Hero of the Poem, at and is in part copied after Homer's Achilles) 1 en paffionate and refentful, feduced by the allure- ; ,a ments of Armida; but a perfonage, on the whole, ;t|. : of much zeal, honour, and heroifm. The brave ;,iki and high-minded Solyman, the tender Erminia, akft the artful and violent Armida, the mafeuline 1 st Clorinda; are all of them well drawn and ani- npt mated figures. In the charadteriftical part, Taffo is indeed remarkably dihinguifhed ; he is, in this it, relpect , fuperior to Virgil; and yields to no Poet, except to Homer. dli;
He abounds very much with machinery; and ;.a t in this part of the work his merit is more dnbi- -fo, ous. Wherever celefhal beings are made to inter- ^ pofe, his machinery is noble. God looking down at; ^ upon the hofts , and , on different occafions,
fending an Angel to check the Pagans, and to ^ a rebuke the evil fpirits, produces a fublime effect. ^ The defeription of hell too, with the appearance and Speech of Satan, in the beginning of the teas

DELIVERED OF TASSO.
265
^ 4th book , is extremely Rriking; and plainly has Lec t. been imitated by Milton, though he mull be al- XL1V. lowed to have improved upon it. But the devils,
13 ’. the enchanters, and the conjurers, adt too great a part throughout Taffo's Poem; and form a fort of dark and gloomy machinery, not pleafmg to the imagination. The enchanted wood, on which the Nodus, or Intrigue of the Poem , is made in a great meafure to depend; the meffengers fent ■ f! - in quell: of Rinaldo, in order that he may break ■fe the charm; their being conducted by a Hermit to a cave in the centre of the earth; the won- •t derful voyage which they make to the fortunate iflands; and their recovering Rinaldo from the tha charms of Armida and voluptuoufnefs; are feenes Ik: which, though very amufing, and deferibed with Ee- the highefl beauty of Poetry , yet mull be Conti felfed to carry the marvellous to a degree of ti: extravagance.
iiy. In general, that for which Taffo is moll liable is,:, to cenfure, is a certain romantic vein, which it’ runs through many of the adventures and incidents of his Poem. The objects which he prefents bcT.: to us, are always great; but fometimes, too remote from probability. He retains fomewhat !;*;* of the taRe of his age, which was not reclaimed from an extravagant admiration of the ftories ocr of Knight-errantry; Rories which the wild, but . -, rich and agreeable imagination of ArioRo, had jjjj railed into frefh reputation. In apology, however, for Taffo, it may be faid , that he is not more •: marvellous and romantic than either Homer, or
A

266
TASSO’s JERUSALEM.
L E c t. Virgil. All the difference is, that in the one we J J, XLIV. find the Romance of Paganifm, in the other, its that of Chivalry. :ti
With all the beauties of defcription, and of Poetical ftyle, TalTo remarkably abounds. Both “ his defcriptions , and his Style, are much diverfi- :d fied, and well fuited to each other. In defcri- :;f bing magnificent objects, his Style is firm and ii majeflic; when he defcends to gay and pleafmg ;:I ones, fuch as Erminia’s Paftoral Retreat in the Vj Seventh Book, and the Arts and Beauty of Ar- mida in the Fourth Book, it is foft and infinuat- n ing. Both thofe defcriptions, which I have ii: mentioned , are exquifite in their kind. His bat- ties are animated, and very properly varied in -y the incidents ; inferior however to Homer’s in ;; ffi point of fpirit and fire. nj
In his fentiments, Taffo is not fo happy as ' Vl in his defcriptions. It is indeed rather by acli- ^ ons, characters , and defcriptions, that he inter- ^ efts us , than by the fentimental part of the ^ work. He is far inferior to Virgil in tendernefs. When he aims at being pathetic and fentimental in his fpeeches , he is apt to become artificial f s 'j, and ftrained. -
V/ith regard to points and conceits, with which he has often been reproached, the cenfure ■ has been carried too far. Affectation is by no means the general character of Taffo’s manner, which, upon the whole, is mafculine, ftrong, 1 ^ and corredt. On fome occafions, indeed, efpe- cially as I juft now obferved, when he feeks to , ^

ARIOSTO's ORLANDO
2 6 ?
: ‘ 5 be tender, he degenerates into forced and unna- Lect C i; tural ideas; but thefe are far from being fo fre- XLIV.
quent or common as has been fuppofed. Three- 6 ' ; fcore or fourfcorc lines retrenched from the Poem,
^ would fully clear it, I am perfuaded, of all fuclt K - exceptionable paffages.
k With Boilean, Dacier, and the other French s:: Critics of the laft age, the humour prevailed of ~ decrying Taffo; and palled from them to fome of the Eng’ifh Writers. But one would be apt to A’ imagine, they were not much acquainted with Taffo; or at lead they muft have read him, iilj under the influence of ftrong prejudices. For to H. me it appears clear, that theJerufalem is, in rank and dignity, the third regular Epic Poem in the Hs World; and comes next to the Iliad and JEneid.
Taffo may be juftly held inferior to Homer , in Ink fimplifiity and in fire; to Virgil, in tendernefs; tie: to Milton, in daring fublimity of Genius; but hr to no other he yields in any poetical talents; p. and for fertility of invention, variety of incidents, ate:' expreflion of characters, richnefs of defeription, lb and beauty of Style, I know no Poet, except ci:: the three juft named , that can be compared to him.
Ariosto, the great rival of Taffo, in Italian t c Poetry, cannot with any propriety, be claffed among the Epic Writers. T he fundamental rule of Epic Compofition is , to recount a heroic £: enterprife, and to form it into a regular ftory.
A Though there is a fort of unity and connexion b in the plan of Orlando Furiofo, yet, inftead of

268 THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS.
L E c T. rendering this apparent to the Reader, it feems :
XLIV. to have been the Author’s intention to keep it ^ out of view, by the defultory manner in which : the Poem is carried on, and the perpetual inter- «'( ruptions of the feveral ftories before they are finifhed. Ariollo appears to have defpifed all A regularity of plan, and to have chofcn to give tc loofe reins to a copious and rich, but extravagant 2 fancy. At the fame time, there is fo much Epic matter in the Orlando Furiofo , that it would be il] improper to pafs it by without fome notice. ItJM 1 unites indeed all forts of Poetry; fometimes Co- mic and Satiric; fometimes light and licentious; si at other times highly heroic , defcriptive, and 3 , tender. Whatever flrain the Poet affumes, he‘.ta excels in it. He is always mafter of his fubjed; tots feems to play himfelf with it; and leaves us fome- j»i times at a lofs to know whether he be fferious, iat or in jeft. He is feldom dramatic; fometimes, tjl but not often, fentimental; but in narration and defcription, perhaps no Poet ever went beyond c him. Pie makes every fcene which he defcribes, etoj and every event which he relates, pafs before a our eyes ; and in his felection of circumftances, it is eminently pidturefque. His Style is much tan varied, always fuited to the fubject, and adorn- A ed with a remarkably fmooth and melodious 3 \ Verfification. ' tpc
As the Italians make their boaft of Taffo, fo'Egn do the Portuguefe of Camoens; who was nearly jtregi cotemporary with Taffo, but whofe Poem was p; publifhed before the Jerufalem. The fubjed of

THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS.
269
as
n-
it?
it,, is the fir ft difcovery of the Eaft Indies by Vafco de Gama; an enterprife fplendid in its nature, and extremely interefting to the countrymen of Camoens, as it laid the foundation of their future wealth and confideration in Europe. The Poem opens with Vafco and his fleet appearing on the ocean, between the ifland Mada- gafcar, and the coaft of /Ethiopia. After various attempts to land on that coaft, they are at laft hoipitably received in the kingdom of Melinda. Vafco, at the defire of the King, gives him an account of Europe, recites a poetical hiftory of Portugal, and relates all the adventures of the voyage, which had preceded the opening of the Poem. This recital takes up three Cantos, for Books. It is well imagined, contains a great many poetical beauties; and has no defecft, except that Vafco makes an unfeafonable difplay of learning to the African Prince, in frequent allu- fions to the Greek and Roman hiftories. Vafco and his countrymen afterward fet forth to purfue their voyage. The ftorms and diftreffes which they encounter; their arrival at Calecut on the Malabar coaft ; their reception and adventures in that country, and at laft their return homewards, fill up the reft of the Poem.
The whole w r ork is conducted according to the Epic Plan. Both the fubjerft and the incidents are magnificent; and , joined with fome wildnefs and irregularity , there appears in the execution much poetic fpirit; ftrong fancy, and bold defcnp- tion; as far as I can judge from tranflations,
L e c T XLIV.

1
THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS.
t E c T. without afny knowledge of the original. There is XLIV. no attempt towards painting chara&ers in the Poem ; Vafco is the hero, and the only perfonagc * indeed that makes any figure.
The machinery of the Lufiad is perfectly extra, vagant; not only is it formed of a fingUlar mixture of Chriftian ideas, and Pagan mythology; but it is fo conducted , that the Pagan Gods appear to be the true Deities , and Chrift and the Bleffed Virgin, to be fubordinate agents. One great fcope of the Portuguefe expedition, our Author informs us, is to propagate the Chriftian faith , and to extirpate Mahometanifm. In this religious undertaking, the great protedor of the Portuguefe is Venus, and their great adverfary is Bacchus , whofe difpleafure is excited, by Valeo's attempting to rival his fame in the Indies. Councils of the Gods are held, in which Jupiter is introduced , as foretelling the downfal of Mahometanifm, and the propagation , of the Golpel. Vafco, in great diftrefs from a
ftorm, prays rnoft ferioully to God; implores the aid of Chrift and the Virgin, and begs for fudi affiftance as was given to the Ifraelites, when they were paffing through the R.ed Sea , and to the Apoftle Paul, when he was in hazard of ihipwreck. In return to this prayer, Venus appears, who difeerning the ftorm to be the work of Bacchus, complains to Jupiter, and procures the winds to be calmed. Such ftrange and prepofterous machinery, fhows how much Authors have been milled by the abfurcT opinion, that there could be no
; ie
ijsai
■ib

THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS
271
£.
Epic Poetry without the Gods of Homer. To- Lect. - wards the end of the work, indeed , the Author XLIV. gives us an awkward falvo for his whole Mythology, making the Goddefs Thetis inform Vafco, tri;- that Ihe , and the reft of the Heathen Deities, are no more than names to defcribe the operations _ of Providence.
f-s! There is, however, fome fine machinery, of ft a different kind, in the Lufiad. The genius of hj. the river Ganges appearing to Emanuel, King of itsjj Portugal, in a dream, inviting that Prince to difcover his fecret fprings, and acquainting him, that he was the deftined monarch for whom the ja:; treafures of the Eaft were referved, is a happy id4=1 idea. But the nobleft conception of this fort, is (feji.Tj pn the Fifth Canto, where Vafco is recounting I 5 J. to the King of Melinda, all the wonders which t™, he met with in his navigation. Fie tells him, that when the fleet arrived at the Cape of Good ; ,p Hope, which never before had been doubled by £ any navigator,there appeared to them , on a fudden, a huge and monftrous fan tom rifmg out of the fea, in the midft of tempefts and thunders, with ahead that reached the clouds , and a counten- „ . ance that filled them with terror. T his was the genius, or guardian, of that hitherto unknown ocean. It fpoke to them with a voice like thunder; menaced them , for invading thofe feas which he _ had fo long poflelfed undifturbed ; and for daring to explore thofe fecrets of the deep , which never Ahad been revealed to the eye of mortals; required them to proceed no farther ; if they fhould proceed,

■ZJZ THE TELEMACHUS OF FENELON. t
L E c t. foretold all the fucceffive calamities that were to fl XLIV. befal them; and then, with a mighty noife d difappeared. This is one of the moll folemn and Ac ftriking pieces of machinery that ever was em- :af ployed; and is fufficient to fhow that Camoens :“oc is a Poet, though of an irregular, yet of a bold and lofty imagination *. [jll
In reviewing the Epic Poets, it were unjuft to :Sii make no mention of the amiable Author of the jiv Adventures of Telemachus. His work, though ^ not compofed in verfe, is juflly entitled to be held a Poem. The meafured poetical Profe, in which ^ it was written , is remarkably harmonious; and gives the Style nearly as much elevation as the ^ French language is capable of fupporting, even in .A|[ regular Verfe. ^f, 0
The plan of the work is, in general, well ;i |j contrived; and is deficient neither in Epic gran- ii ffl deur, nor unity of objedt. The Author has entered ^ with much felicity into the fpirit and ideas of the ^ Ancient Poets, particularly into the Ancient Mythology, which retains more dignity, and ~ £ 0 i makes a better figure in his hands, than in thofe ^ of any other Modern Poet. His deferiptions are ^ rich and beautiful ; efpecially of the fofter and
*V;
s,L i
* I. have made no mention of the Araucana, an Epic ||j f( Poem, in Spanifh , compofed by Alonzo d’Ercilla, becauie ■
-J am unacquainted with the original language, and have ' not feen any tranflation of it. A full account of it is ' i - tl given by Mr. Hayley, in the notes upon his Eflay on Epic :<a\ Poetry.
c aImcr %n>

THE TELEMACHUS OF FENELON.
273
calmer fcenes > for which the genius of Fenelon L e c t was beft fuited; fucli as the incidents of paftoral XLIV 4 life, the pleafures of virtue, or a country flourifh* ing in peAce. There is an inimitable l'weetnefs and tenderiiefs in feveral of the pictures of this kind, which he has given.
The beft executed part of the work, are the iirft Six Books, in which Telemachus recounts his adventures to Calypfo. The narration ,- throughout them , is lively and interefting. Afterwards, efpecially in the laft Twelve Books^ it becomes more tedious and languid ; and in warlike adventures which are attempted , there is a great defeft of vigour. The chief objection againft this work being chaffed with Epic Poems* arifes from the minute detail of virtuous policy * into which the Author in fome places enters; and from the difcourfes and inftrutftions of Mentor, which recur upon us too often, and too much in the ftrain of common-place morality;
Though thefe were well fuited to the main defign of the Author * which was to form the mind of a young Prince , yet they feem not congruous to the nature of Epic Poetry; the objetfl of which is to improve us by means of actions, characters * and fentiments , rather than by delivering profeffed and formal inftruition.
Several of the Epic Poets have defcribed a defcent into Hell ; and in the profpeCts they have given us of the invifible world, we may obferve the gradual refinement of men’s notions * concerning a ftate of future rewards and punifh- Vol. III. T

274 THE telemachus of FENELON. 1
L e c T. ments. The defcent of Ulyffes into Hell , in :ir
XLIV. Homer’s Odyffey, prefents to us a very indiftinct
and dreary fort of objedt. The fcene is laid in ^ the country of the Cimmerians, which’is always s® covered with clouds and darknefs , at the extre- mity of the ocean. When the fpirits of the dead 9 s begin to appear , we fcarcely know whether d* 11 Ulyffes is above ground, or below it. None of ^ the ghofts , even of the heroes, appear fatisfied -/i with their condition in the other world; and -1* when UlyfTes endeavours to comfort Achilles, .it by reminding him of the illuftrious figure which ^
• he muff make in thofe regions, Achilles roundly tenl tells him, that all fuch fpeeches are idle] for he aii would rather be a day-labourer on earth, than real have the command of all the dead, 'is
In the Sixth Book of the iEneid, we difcern kit a much greater refinement of ideas, correfpond- :ain ing to the progrefs which the world had then ail made in philofophy. The objects there delineated, :■% are both more clear and diftinct and more grand „:c> and awful. The feparate manfions of good and ahp of bad fpirits, with the punifhments of the one, and the employments and happinefs of the others, Sue are finely defcribed ; and in confiftency with the as; moft pure morality. But the vifit which Fenelon serj- makes Telemachus pay to the fhades, is much :® c more philofophical {till than Virgil’s. He employs :~[|j the fame fables and the fame mythology; but sR e; we find the ancient mythology refined by the j|j, knowledge of the true religion , and adorned With that beautiful enthufiafm, for which Fene-

THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. 275
Ion was fo diftinguifhed. His account of the happinefs of the juft is an' excellent defcription in the myftic ftrain ; and very expreffive of the Genius and fpirit of the Author.
Voltaire has given us in his Henriade, a regular Epic Poem , in French verfe. In every performance of that celebrated Writer, we may expect to find marks of Genius; and, accordingly, that work difcovers , in feveral places, that boldnefs in the conceptions , and that Jivelinefs and felicity in the expreffion , for which the Author is fo remarkably diftinguifiiech Several of the comparifons, in particular, which occur in it, are both new and happy. But con- fidered upon the whole, I cannot efteem it one of his chief productions ; and am of opinion, that he has fucceeded infinitely better in Tragic, than in Epic Compofitlon French Verlification feems ill adapted to Epic Poetry. Befides it being always fettered by rhyme , the language never affumes afufficient degree of elevation or majefty; and appears to be more capable of expreffing the tender in Tragedy, than of fupp rting the fublime in Epic. Hence a feeblenefs, and forne- times a profaic flatnefs , in the Style of the Henriade ; and whether from this, or from fome other caufe, the Poem often languifhes. It does not feize the imagination; nor intereft and carry the Reader along, with that ardour which ought to be infpired by a fublime and fpirited Epic Poem.
T 2
, E C T.
XL1V.

276 THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE.
L e c T. The fubjedl of the HenriacJe, is the triumph XLIV. of Henry the Fourth over the Arms of the League. The adtion of the Poem, properly includes only the Siege of Paris. It is in action perfectly Epic in its nature; great, interelling, and conducted with a fufficient regard to unity and all the other critical rules. But it is liable to both the defects which I before remarked in Lucan’s Pharfalia. It is founded wholly on civil wars ; and prefents to us thofe odious and deteft- able objedts of maflacres and alfalfinations, which throw a gloom over the Poem. It is alfo, likd Lucan’s of too recent a date, and comes too much within the bounds of well known hiftory. To remedy this laft defedt , and to remove the appearance of being a mere hiftorian, Voltaire has chofen to mix fidtion with truth. The Poem, for inltance , opens with a voyage of Henry’s to England, and an interview between him and Queen Elizabeth; though every one knows that Henry never was in England, and that thefe two illuftrious perfonages never met. In facts of fuch public notoriety, a fidtion like this Ihocks the Reader, and forms an unnatural and ill forted mixture with hiftorical truth. The Epifode was contrived , in order to give Henry an opportunity of recounting the former tranfadtions of the civil wars , in imitation of the recital which JEneas makes to Dido in the JEneid. But the imitation was injudicious. iEneas might, with propriety , relate to Dido, tranfac- tions of which ilie was either entirely ignorant.
'H
:Sn
:k
:ttr. Is or jia liter i;(o iiti
bioj dr tti rail rrryto !r?li, 1,201 she art]
fe.
iarai
b,
m
be 2
{l
ftreti
■ares
bjn
&vt

THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE. 277
0
or had acquired only an imperfect knowledge by flying reports. But Queen Elizabeth could not but be fuppofed to be perfedly apprifed of all the facts, which the Poet makes Henry recite to her.
In order to embellilh his fubjedt, Voltaire has chofen to employ a great deal of machinery. But here alfo, I am obliged to cenfure his conduct; for the machinery which he chiefly employs, is of the worft kind , and the leaft fuited to an Epic Poem, that of allegorical beings. Difcord, Cunning, and Love, appear as perfonages, mix with the human adtors, and make a confiderable figure in the intrigue of the Poem. This is contrary to every rule of rational criticifm. Gholts, Angels, and Devils, have popular belief on their fide, and can be conceived as exilling. But every one knows, that allegorical beings are no more than reprefentations of human difpofitions and palfions. They may be employed like other Per- fonifications and Figures of Speech ; or in a Poem , that is wholly allegorical , they may occupy the chief place. They are there in their native and proper region; but in a Poem which relates to human tranfactions, as I had occafion before to remark , when fuch beings are defcribed as adting along with men, the imagination is confounded ; it is divided between phantafms and realities, and knows not on what to reft.
In juftice, however, to our Author, I mull obferve, that the machinery of St. Louis, which he alfo employs , is of a better kind, and poffelfes
T 3
Lect
XLIV.

378 THE HENRIADE OF VOLTAIRE,
L E c t. real dignity. The fined pafTage in the Henriade, XLIV. indeed one of the fined that occurs in any Poem, is the profpecd of the invifible world, which St. Louis gives to Henry in a dream , in the Seventh Canto. Death bringing the fouls of the departed in fucceffion before God ; their adonifhment when arriving from all different countries and religious feeds , they are brought into the Divine Prefence; when they find their fuperditions to be falfe , and have the truth unveiled to them; the palace of the Dedinies opened to Henry, and the profpecd of his fucceffors which is there given him; are drikiijg and magnificent objecds, and do honour to the Genius of Voltaire.
Though fome of the Epifodes in this Poem are properly extended, yet the narration is, on th e whole , too general ; the events are too much crowded, and fuperficially related; which is doubtlefs, one caufe of the Poem’s making a faint impredion. The drain of fentiment which runs through it, is high and noble. Religion appears , on every occafion, with great and proper luftre ; and the Author breathes that fpirit of humanity and toleration, which is confpicuous in all his works.
Milton , of whom it remains now to fpeak, has chalked out for himfelf a new, and very extraordinary road, in Poetry. As foon as we open his Paradife Lod, we find ourfelves introduced all at once into an invifible world, and furrounded with celedial and infernal beings. Angels and devils, are not the machinery, but
2J5ET
I &
‘ierj
T;

MILTON’s PARADISE LOST
279
f
principal Adors, in the Poem ; and what, in Lect. any other compofition , would be the marvellous, XLIV. is here only the natural courfe of events. A fubjed fo remote from the affairs of this world, may furnifli ground to thofe who think fuch difcuffions material, to bring it into doubt, whether Paradife Loft can properly be claffed among Epic Poems. By whatever name it is to be called, it is, undoubtedly, one of the higheft efforts of poetical genius ; and in one great characferillic of the Epic Poem, Majefty and Sublimity , it is fully equal to any that bear that name.
How far the Author was altogether happy in the choice of his fubjed, may be queftioned. It has led him into very difficult ground. Had he taken a fubjed that was more human, and Ufs theological ; that was more conneded with the occurrences of life , and afforded a greater difplay of the characters and paffxons of men , his Poem would, perhaps, have to the bulk of Readers, been more pleafing and attradive. But the fubjed which he has chofen, fuited the daring fub- limity of his genius*. It is a fubjed for which
* cc He feems to have been well acquainted with his “ own genius, and to know what it was that nature had “ bellowed upon him more bountifully than upon others ;
“ the power of difplaying the vaft, illuminating the fplendid,
“ enforcing the awful, darkening the gloomy, and aggra- “ vating the dreadful. He therefore chofe a fubjed, on “ which too much could not be faid; on which he might “ tire his fancy , without the cenfurc of extravagance. ”
Dr, Johnson’s Life of Milton.
T 4
L

280 MILTON’S PARADISE LOST.
I, i c t, Milton alone was fitted; and in the conduct of XLIV. it, he has fhown a ftretch both of imagination and invention, which is perfectly wonderful. It is aftonifhing how, from the few hints given us in the Sacred Scriptures, he was able to raife fo complete and regular a flructure ; and to fill his Poem with fuch a variety of incidents. Dry and harlh palfages fometimes occur. The Author appears, upon fome occafions, a Metaphyfician and a Divine, rather than a Poet. But the general tenor of his work is interefting; he feizes and fixes the imagination; engages, elevates, and affedts us as we proceed; which is always a fure tell of merit in an Epic Compofition. The artful change of his objedts; the feene laid now in Earth , now in Hell, and nowin Heaven, affords a fufficient diverfity; while unity of plan is, at the fame, time perfectly fupported. We have {till life, and calm feenes, in the employments of Adam and Eve in Paradife ; and we have bufy feenes and great actions , in the enterprife of Satan, and the wars of the Angels. The innocence, purity, and amiablenefs of our firft parents, oppofed to the pride and ambition of Satan, furnilhes a happy contrail, that reigns throughout the whole Poem; only the conclufion, as I before obferved, is too tragic for Epic Poetry.
. The nature of the fubjedt did not admit any great difplay of characters ; but filch as could be introduced, are fupported with much propriety. Satan , in particular, makes a linking figure, and is, indeed, the belt drawn character in the

I
MILTON’s PARADISE LOST,
j8x
Poem. Milton has not defcribed him, fuch as r® 3 * we fuppofe an infernal fpirit to be. He has, move ^ fuitably to his own purpofe, given him a human, " e ^ that is, a mixed character, not altogether void Gl ' of fame good qualities. He is brave and faithful to his troops. In the midft of his impiety,- he is V-! not without remorfe. He is even touched with k (: -| pity for our firft parents; and juftifies himfelf in his defign againft them-, from the neceffity of his S 2 * fituation, He is actuated by ambition and refent- 16 H' ment, rather than by pure malice. In fhort, Milton’s Satan is no worfe than many a confpi- 51 iii rator or factious chief, that makes a figure in hiltory. The different characters of Beelzebub, Moloch, Belial, are exceedingly well painted iE in thofe eloquent fpeeches which they make , in 3S. the Second Book. The good Angels, though always defcribed with dignity and propriety, its, have more uniformity than the infernal Spirits in :v their appearance; though among them , too, the xi: mild, condefcenfion of Raphael , and the tried ec- fidelity of Abdiel, form proper charaCteriftical rip diftinCtions. The attempt to defcribe God Ah IE mighty himfelf, and to recount dialogues be- twfe: tween the Father and the Son , was too bold and lilts arduous, and is that wherein our Poet, as was to have been expected, has been moft unfucccfs- cufal. With regard to his human characters, the xiii innocence of our firft parents, and their love, 0 are finely and delicately painted. In fome of his jr-i fpeeches to Raphael and to Eve, Adam is, D ? perhaps, too knowing and refined for Ins fitua-
Lect,
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282
MILTON’S PARADISE LOST
L e c f. tion. Eve is more diftin&ly characterifed. Her -Jt XLIV. gentlenefs, rr.odefty, and frailty, mark very ex- ji preffively a female character.
Milton’s great and diftinguifliing excellence, jfl is, his fnblimity In this, perhaps, he excels ^ Ilome'r; as there is no doubt of his leaving Virgil, and every other Poet, far behind him. jf. Almoft the whole of the Firft and Second books of Paradife Loft, are continued inftances of the at(l highcft fublime. The profpect of Hell and of the fallen Hoft, the appearance and behaviour of ^ Satan, the confultation of the infernal Chiefs, ^ and Satan’s flight through Chaos to the borders ;B of this world, difcover the molt lofty ideas that 4 1 ever entered into the conception of any Poet ~ 5; In the Sixth Book alfo, there is much grandeur, particularly in the appearance of the Meffiah; though fome parts of that book are cenfitfable; and the witticifms of the Devils upon the effedl : of their artillery, form an intolerable blemilh. 5B1 •Milton’s fublimity is of a different kind from ^ that of Homer. Homer’s is generally accompanied ,j. with fire and impetuofity; Milton’s poffeffes more of a calm and amazing grandeur. Homer warms and hurries us along; .Milton fixes us in a hate ;ac of aftoniilr ment and elevation. Homer’s fublimity appears moft in the defcription of adtions; Milton’s, in that of wonderful and ftupendous objects.
But though IVlilton is moft diftinguifhed for his fublimity, yet there is alfo much of the^ beautiful, the tender, and the pleafing, in many^ parts of his work. When the fcene is laid in ^
►

lT MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
r ^ : Paradife, the’imagery is always of themoft gay and Lect "■ {railing kind'. His defcriptions fhow an uncommon- XLIV.
ly fertile imagination; and in his ftmilies, he is, for ^ the molt part, remarkably happy. They are feldom , B; improperly introduced ;feldom either low, ortrite. i®* They generally preient to us images taken from ^ thefublime or the beautiful clafs of obje&s ; if they El have any faults, it is their alluding too frequently to matters of learning, and to fables of antiquity.
N' In the latter part of Paradife Loft, there muft ^ be confeffed to be a falling off. With the fall of our firft parents, Milton’s genius feems to decline.
Beauties, however, there are, in the concluding L;; Books, of the tragic kind. The remorfe and contrition of the guilty pair, and their lamenta- it- tioas over Paradife, when they are obliged to ik'- leave it, are very moving. The laft Epifode of ::E) the Angel’s Blowing Adam the fate of his pof- jmx terity , is happily imagined ; but, in many places, ib* the execution is languid.
sfcsi Milton’s language and verfification have high actS) merit Hisftyleis full of majefty, and wonderfully pci" adapted to his fubjecl. His blank verfe is har- fos monious and diverfified , and affords the moft ee complete example of the elevation , which our language is capable of attaining by the force of oi3’i numbers. It does not flow like the French verfe,
L;C b in tame, regular, uniform melody, which foon tires the ear; but is fometimes fmooth and flow- fometimes rough; varied in its qadence, and intermixed with difcords, fo as to fuit the ftrength ^ and freedom of Epic Compofition. Neglected

2 84 MILTON’s PARADISE LOST.
L E C T.
XLIV.
and profaic lines, indeed, we fometimes meet with j but, in a work fo long, and in the main fo harmonious, thefe may be forgiven.
On the whole, Paradife Loft is a Poem that abounds with beauties of every kind, and that juftly entitles its Author to a degree of fame not inferior to any Poet; though it muft be alfo admitted to have many inequalities. It is the lot of almoft every high and daring genius, not to be uniform and correcft. Milton is too frequently theological and metaphyfical ; fometimes harfh in his language ; often too technical in his words, and affectedly oftentatious of his learning. Many of his faults muft be attributed to the pedantry of the age in which he lived. He difcovers a vigour, a grafp of genius equal to every thing that is great ; fometimes he rifes above every Poet, at other times he falls much below himfelf.
W.
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LECTURE XLV.
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DRAMATIC POETRY _ TRAGEDY. Dramatic Poetry has, among all civilized
nations, been confidered as a rational and ufeful entertainment, and judged worthy of careful and ferious difcuffion. According as it is employed upon the light and the gay , or upon the grave and affecting incidents of human life, it divides itlelf into the two forms, of Comedy or Tragedy. Bat as great and ferious obje&s command more attention than little and ludicrous ones; as the fall of a Hero interefls the public more than the marriage of a private perfon; Tragedy has been always held a more dignified entertainment than Comedy. The one refts upon the high paffions, the virtues, crimes , and fufferings of mankind. The other on their humours, follies, and plea- fures. Terror and pity are the great inftruments of the former; ridicule is the foie inftrument of the latter. Tragedy fhall therefore be the object of our fulleft difcuffion. This and the following Lecture fhall be employed on itj after
L e c XLV

286
TRAGEDY.
L e c t. which I 0 iall treat of what is peculiar to Corned)?. & at XLV. Tragedy, confidered as an exhibition of the# 0011 characters and behaviour of men, in fome of the moft trying and critical fituations of life, isa^ el noble idea of Poetry- It is a direct imitation of® 101 human mannei'9 and addons. For it does not,* 0 ^ 1 like the Epic Poem, exhibit charadters by the® ^ narration and defcription of the Poet; but the-® Poet difappears; and the perfonages themfelvesip are fet before us, acting and fpeaking what is ■:rcprel fuitable to their characters. Hence, no kind of .v,in writing is fo great a trial of the Author’s profound aiad knowledge of the human heart. No kind of writing:: i> i has fo much power, when happily executed, to sol raife the ftrongeft emotions. It is, or ought to be, ..oitlibS a mirror in which we behold ourfelves, and theme® evils to which we are expoled; a faithful copy;injured of the human paffions , with all their direful it k effedts , when _ they are buffered to become ants extravagant. J,tb
As Tragedy is a high and diftinguifhed fpecies ■>* of Compofition, fo alfo, in its general ftrain and upti fpirit, it is favourable to virtue. Such power a p^ hath virtue happily over the human mind, by^fe the wife and gracious conftitution of our nature, that as admiration cannot be raifed in Epic^ Poetry, fo neither in Tragic Poetry can our{ lK : paffions be ftrongly moved , uniefs virtuous ; S ,y e emotions be awakened within us. Every Poet^ finds, that it is impoffible to intereft us in any 3^ character, without reprefenting that charadter as worthy and honourable, though it may not be^

TRAGEDY.
287
perfeA; and that the great fecret for raifing indignation, is to paint the perfon who is to be the object of it, in the colours of vice and depravity. He may, indeed, nay, he mud, reprefent the virtuous as fometimes unfortunate, becaufe this is often the cafe in real life; but he will always ftudy to engage our hearts in their behalf; and though they may be defcribed as unprofperous, yet there is no inftance of a Tragic Poet reprefenting vice as fully triumphant , and happy, in the cataftrophe of the Piece. Even when bad men fucce’ed in their defigns , punifh- ment is ma t de always to attend them ; _and mifery of one kind or other, is Ihown to be unavoidably connected with guilt. Love and admiration of virtuous characters, compaffion for the injured and the diftreffed , and indignation againft the Authors of their fufferings, are the fentiments molt generally excited by Tragedy. And, therefore, though Dramatic Writers may fometimes , like other Writers, be guilty of improprieties, though they may fail of placing virtue precifely in the due point of light, yet no reafonable perfon can refufc Tragedy to be a moral fpecies of compofition. Taking Tragedies, complexly, I am fully perfuaded , that the im- preffions left by them upon the mind, are, on the whole, favourable to virtue and good difpofi- tions. And, therefore, the zeal which fome pious men have fhown againft the entertainments of the Theatre, muft reft only upon the abufe of Comedy, which, indeed, has frequently been ft>
L e c T. XLV.

V
2 88 TRACED Y*
L e c t. great as to juftify very fevere cenfures againft it.
XLV. The account which Ariftotle gives of the-'' 1 defign of Tragedy, is, that it is intended to 3^ purge our paflions by means of pity and terror. This is fomewhat obfcure. Various fenfes have.3^ been put upon his words, and much altercation q:."' has followed among his commentators. Without entering into any controverfy upon this head, -v:, the intention of Tragedy may, I think, be more fhortly and clearly defined, To improve our dtu; virtuous fenfibility. If an Author interefts us in-:.;pa behalf of virtue, forms us to compaffion for the diftrefled , inipires us with proper fentiments , on beholding the viciflitudes of life, and, by.:.mi means of the [concern which he raifes for the to misfortunes of others, leads us to guard againft ■ y errors in our own condudl, he accomplifhes all the moral purpofes of Tragedy. y
In order to this end, the firlt requifite is, that ^ he pitch upon fome moving and interefting ftory , and that he conduct it in a natural and 1] probable manner. For We muft iobferve , that V j) h the natural and the probable muft always be the y bafts of Tragedy ; and are infinitely more elfential ■ there, than in Epic Poetry. The objetft of the T y, Epic Poet, is to excite our admiration by the recital of heroic adventures; and a much flighter i ;t| degree of probability is required when admiration it .^i is concerned, than when the tender paflions are y intended to be moved. The imagination, in the yj former cafe , is exalted , accommodates itfelf to ^ the Poet’s idea, and can admit the marvellous, ■ y
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without being fiiocked. But Tragedy demands L a ftricler imitation of the life and actions of men. For the end which it purfues is, not fo much to elevate the imagination, as to affect the heart; and the heart always judges more nicely than the imagination , of what is probable. Balboa can be raifed , only by making the impreffions of nature, and of truth upon the mmd. By introducing, therefore , any wild or romantic circumftances into his Story, the Poet never fails to check paffion in its growth, and of courfe, dilappoints the main effed of Tragedy.
This. principle, which is founded on the cleareft reafon, excludes from Tragedy all machinery, or fabulous intervention of the Gods. Ghofts have, indeed, maintained their place; as being ftrongly founded on popular belief, and peculiarly luited to heighten the terror of Tragic Scenes. But all unravcllings of the Plot, which turn upon the interpofition of Deities , fuch as Euripides employs in fevcral of his plays, are much to be condemned ; both as clumfy and inartificial , and as deftroying the probability of the Story. This mixture of machinery with the Tragic Adion, is undoubtedly a blemilh in the Ancient Theatre.
In order to promote that impreflion of probability which is fo neceffary to thefuccefs of Tragedy, fome critics have required, that the fub- ject fhould never be a pure fiction invented by the Poet, but built on real hiftory or known fads. Such, indeed, were generally, if not always, Vol. Ilf. ' ' V
E C T.
XLV.

290
TRAGEDY.
L e c t. the fubjeCts, of the Greek Tragedians. But I can- !slGE XLV. not hold this to be a matter of any great confe- *, ra quence. It is proved by experience, that a fiCti- yrk tious tale , if properly conduced , will .melt the ;.tk heart as much as any real hiltory. In order to k?' our being moved , it is neceffary , that the events :j|j; rela.ed did adually happen , provided they be ; rGo fuch , as might eafily have happened in the ordi- .mp3 nary courfe of nature. Even when Tragedy bor- grot rows its materials from Hiftory , it mixes many : ; |K a fictitious circumftance. The greateft part of Readers neither know, nor enquire, what is fa- ; [[!£ bulous or what is hiftorical, in the fubject. They attend only to what is probable , and are touched by events which referable nature. Accordingly, fome of the molt pathetic Tragedies are entirely fictitious in the fubjeCt; fuch as Voltaire’s Zaire and Alzire, the Orphan, Douglas, the Fair Pe- ,.]. nitent, and feveral others. . ^
W HETHER the fubjeCt be of the real or feigned y, j kind, that on which moft depends for rendering .1^ the incidents in a Tragedy probable , and, by .,.j means of their probability affecting , is the con- duct, or management of the Story, and the con- nexion of its feveral parts. To regulate this conduct, Critic’s have laid down the famous rule .,'j. of the three Unities; the importance of which, it will be neceffary to difcufs. But, in order to do this with more advantage, it will be neceffary, /.,P that we firft look backwards, and trace the rife and origin of Tragedy, which will give light to , ° feveral things relating to the fubieCt.

TRAGEDY.
291
Tragedy, like other arts, was, in its beginnings, rude and imperfect. Among the Greeks, from whom our Dramatic Entertainments, are derived , the origin of Tragedy was no other than the Song which was wont to be fung at the fef- tival of Bacchus. A goat was the facrifice offered to that God ; after the facrifice, the priefts, with the company that joined them , fung hymns in honour of Bacchus ; and from the name of the victim , rfaeysf a Goat, joined with uSvj a Song, undoubtedly arofe the Word , Tragedy.
These Hymns, or Lyric Poems, were fung fometimes by the whole company, fometimes by feparate bands, anfwering alternately to each other ; making what we call a Chorus,with its Strophes and Antiftrophes. In order to throw fome variety into this entertainment, and to relieve the Singers , it was thought proper to introduce a perfon who, between the fongs, fhould make a recitation in Verfe. Thefpis, who lived about 536 years before the Chriftian cera , made this innovation; and, as it was relifhed , iEfchylus, who came 50 years after him , and who is properly the father of Tragedy , went a ftep farther , introduced a Dialogue between two perfons , or aCtors, in which he contrived to interweave fome intereftmg llory, and brought his adors on a Stage, adorned with proper fcenery and' decorations. All that tbefe actors recited, was called Epifode , or additional Song; and the. Songs of the Chorus were made to relate n<? longer to Bacchus , their ori-
V 3
L E C T.
XLV.

292
TRAGEDY.
L e c T. ginal fubjecf, but to the Story in which the Adors XLV. "were concerned. This began to give the Drama a regular form, which was foon after brought to perfection , by Sophocles and Euripides. It is remarkable , in howfhort a fpace of time Tragedy grew up among the Greeks, from the rudeft beginnings to its mob; perfect ftate. For Sophocles, the greateft and molt correct of all the Tragic Poets, flourilhed only 22 years after iEfchylus, and was little more than 70 years pofterior to Thefpis.
From the account which I have now given, it appears, that the Chorus was the bafis or foundation of the ancient Tragedy. It was not an ornament added to it ; or a contrivance defign- ed to render it more perfect; but, in truth, the Dramatic Dialogue was an addition to the Chorus, which was the original entertainment. In procefs of time , the Chorus, from being the principal, became only the accelfary in Tragedy ; till at lalt, in Modern Tragedy, it has difappeared altogether ; which forms tire chief diltindion between the Ancient and the Modern Stage.
This has given rife to a queftion, much agitated between the partizans of the Ancients and the Moderns , whether the Drama has gained, or has buffered, by the abolition of the Chorus.. It muff be admitted , that the Chorus tended to render Tragedy both more magnificent, and more inftrudive and moral. It was always the mod: Sublime and Poetical part of the Work; and being carried on by fmging , and accompanied with Mufie , it muft no doubt, have diverfified the
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TRAGEDY.
293
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Entertainment greatly, and added to its fplendour. The Chorus , at the fame time , conveyed con- fan t leflons of Virtue. It was compofed of fuch perfons as might mod naturally be fnppofed present on the occafion ; inhabitants of the place where the fcene was laid, often the companion's of fome of the principal adors , and, therefore, in fome degree interefted in the iffue of the adion. This company, which, in the days of Sophocles, was reftrided to the number of fifteen perfons, was conllantly on the Stage, during the whole performance, mingled in difcourfe with the adors, entered into their concerns, fuggefled counfel and advice to them , moralifed on all the incidents that were going on ,• and , during the intervals of the adion, fung their O fes , or Songs, in which they addreffed the Gods, prayed for fuccefs to the virtuous, lamented their misfortunes , and delivered many religious and moral fentiments *.
But, notwithftanding the advantages which were obtained by means of the Chorus , the in- conveniencies on the other fide are fo great, as to render the modern practice of excluding the Chorus, far more eligible upon the whole.
* The office of the Chorus is thus defcrifced by Horace:
Actoris partes Chorus, officiumquc virile Befendat; neu quid metlios intercinat actus,
Quod non propofito conducat, et hiereat apte. llle bonis faveatque , et concilietur amic ; s,
Et regat iratos, et amet peccare timentes:
Iile dapes laudet menfar brevis; ille falubrem
v 3
E C T.
XLV.

294
TRAGEDY.
L e c t. For if a natural and probable imitation of hum ait XLV. a&ions be the chief end of the Drama, no other perfons ought to be brought on the Stage, than thofc who are neceffary to the Dramatic action. The introduction of an adventitious company of perfons , who have but a flight concern in the bufinefs of the play, is unnatural initfelf, embar- raffing to the Poet, and, though it may render the fpedtacle fplendid , tends , undoubtedly, to render it more cold and uninterefting, becaufe more unlike a real tranfaction. The mixture of Mufic , or Song, on the part of the Chorus with the Dialogue carried on by the Actors, is another unnatural circumftance , removing the reprefent- ation ftill farther from the refemblance of life. The Poet, befides , is fubjedted to innumerable difficulties , in fo contriving his plan , that the
Juftitiam, legelque, et apertis otia portis.
Hie tegat commiffa ; deofque precetur , et oret '■ Ut redeat miferis , abeat fortuna fuperbis.
De Art. Poet. 193.
The Chorus mult fupport an actor’s part,
Defend the virtuous and adv'ife with art;
Govern the choleric, and the proud appeafe,
And the short feafts of frugal tables praife;
Applaud the juftice of well-governed dates,
And peace triumphant with her open gates.
Intruded fecrets let them ne’er betray,
But to the righteous Gods with ardour pray,
That fortune, with returning fmiles , may bieCs Afflicted worth , and impious pride deprefs ;
Yet let their fongs with apt coherence join, Promote tbe plot , and aid the juil dsfign.
Francis.

TRAGEDY.
295
prefence of the Chorus , during all the incidents of the Play, fhall confift with any probability. The fcene muft be conftantly , and often abftird- ly, laid in fome public place , that the Chorus may be fuppofed to have free accefs to it. To many things that ought to be tranfacled in private, the Chorus muft ever be witneffes ; they muft be the confederates of both parties, who come fuc- ceffively upon the Stage, and who are, perhaps, confpiring againft each other. In fhort, the management ora Chorus is an unnatural confinement to a Poet; it requires too great a facrifice of probability in the conduct of the action ; it has too much the air of a theatrical decoration, to be confiftent with that appearance of reality, which a Poet muft ever preferve in order to move our paflions. The origin of Tragedy, among the Greeks we have feen , was a choral Song , or Hymn, to the Gods. There is no wonder , therefore , that on the Greek Stage it fo long maintained poffeffion. But it may confidently I think, be afferted , that if, inftead of the Dramatic Dialogue having been fuperadded to the Chorus, the Dialogue itfelf had been the firft invention, the Chorus would, in that cafe, never have been thought of.
One ufe , lam of opinion , might ftill be made of the Ancient Chorus, and would be a confider- able improvement of the Modern Theatre; if, inftead of that unmeaning, and often improperly chofen Mufic, with which the Audience is entertained in the intervals between the ads , a Chorus
V 4
L E C T.
XLV.

TRAGEDY.
29 6
L e c t. were then to be introduced , whofe Mufic and ^
XLV. Songs , though forming no part of the Play,
Ihould have a relation to the incidents of the pre- ;(
ceding ail, and to the difpofitions which thofe incidents are prefumed to have awakened in the Spedlators. By this means , the tone of paffion would be kept up without interruption ; and all tjK
the good effects of the ancient Chorus might be :Ei
preferved , for infpiring proper fentiments and for increafing the morality of the performance, cp
without thofe inconveniences which arofe from zi the Chorus forming aconftituent part of the Play, 33 and mingling unfeafonably, and unnaturally, with na! the perfonages of the Drama. dpt
After the view which we have taken of the nisi
rife of Tragedy, and of the nature of the Ancient 3b
Chorus , with the advantages and inconveniences arej
attending it , our way is cleared for examining, 3
with more advantage , the three Unities of Adtion, dsj
Place, apd Time, which have generally been 3, confidercd as elfential to the proper condudl of the Dramatic Fable.
Of thefe three the firft, Unity of Adlion, is, beyond doubt, far the moft important. In treating! of Epic Poetry, I have already explained j D the nature of it; as confuting in a relation which > n p all the incidents introduced bear to fome defign or effedt, fo as to combine naturally into one ;j[ whole. This unity of fubjedt is ltill more elfen- tial to Tragedy, than it is to Epic Poetry. For ^ a multiplicity of Plots, or Actions , crowded into ■*;, fo fhort a fpace as Tragedy allows 3 mull, of ne- ...

TRAGEDY.
297
eeffity, difiradt the attention, and preventpaffion from {rifing to any height. Nothing therefore is worfe conduct in a Tragic Poet, than to carry on two independent actions in the fame Play ; the effect of which, is, that the mind being fuf. pended and divided between them , cannot give itfelf up entirely either to the one, or the other.
.There may, indeed, be under-plots; that is, the perfons introduced , may have different purfuits and defigns; but the Poet’s art muft be fhown in managing thefe, fo as to render them fub- fervient to the main adtion. They ought to be connected with the cataftrophe of the Play , and to confpire in bringing it forward. If there be any intrigue which {lands feparate and independent, and which may be left out without affedting the unravelling of the Plot, we may always conclude this to be a faulty violation of Unity. Such Epifodes are not permitted here , as in Epic Poetry.
. We have a clear example of this defect in Mr.^Addifon’s Cato. The fubjedt of this Tragedy is, the death of Cato; and a very noble perfonage Cato is, and fupported by the Author with much dignity. But all the love feenes in the Play, the paffion of Cato’s two fons for Lucia, and that cf Juba for Cato’s daughterare mere Epifodes;
[have no connexion with the principal action, and 110 effect upon it. The Author thought his fubjedt too barren in incidents, and in order to diverlify it, he has given us, as it were, by the bye, a hiftory of the amours that -\yere going on
t
L E C T XLV.

298
TRAGEDY.
L E c t. in Cato’s family; by which he hath both broken :1
XLV. the Unity of his fubject ; and formed a very
unfeafonable junction of gallantry, with the high <t0 fentiments, and public fpirited paflions which ^ predominate in other parts, and which the Play 2. was chiefly defigned to difpiay.
We muft take care not to confound the Unity U 2 of the Adtion with the Simplicity of the Plot, -t Unity and Simplicity, import different things in ‘tit Dramatic Compofition. The Plot is faid to be .06 Simple , when a fmall number of incidents are :b introduced into it. But it may be implex, as the ::b C ritics term it, that is, it may include a confi- :a derable number of perfons and events, and yet ni not be deficient in Unity; provided all the inci- aid dents be made to tend towards the principal :::» objedt of the Play, and be properly connected pi with it. All the Greek Tragedies not only::it 1 maintain Unity in the Action, but are remarkably ai,; Simple in the Plot; to fuch a degree, indeed, ::dse as fometimes to appear to us too naked , and :iy deftitute of interefting events. In the CEdipus Coloneus, for inftance, of Sophocles, the whole : T] fubject is no more than this : CEdipus, blind and : S{[ .
, miferable, wanders to Athens, and wifhes to die — there; Creon, and his fon Polynices, arrive at ^ the fame time, arid endeavour, feparately, to v. perfuade the old man to return to Thebes, each;*;., with a view to his own interefl; he will not ...: go; Thefeus, the king of Athens, protects him 5^ • and the play ends with his death. In the Philoc- : ^ tetes of the fame Author, the Plot, or Fable, i> ;■-j

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TRAGEDY.
299
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more than Ulyffes , and the fon of 1 Achilles, ftudying to perfuade the difeafed Phi- locletes to leave his uninhabited ifland, and go with them to Troy, which he refufes to do, till Hercules , whofe arrows he poffeffed , defcends from Heaven and commands him. Yet thefe fimple , and feemingly barren fubjeds , are wrought up with fo much art by Sophocles, as to become very tender and affecting.
Among the Moderns, much greater variety of events has been admitted into Tragedy. It has become more the theatre of paffion than it was' among the Ancients. A greater difplay of char- afters is attempted ; more intrigue and adion are carried on ; our curiofity is more awakened, and more interefting fituations arife. This variety is, upon the whole, an improvement on Tragedy; it renders the entertainment both more animated, and more inftrudive; and when kept within due bounds, may be perfectly confident with unity of fubjed. But the Poet muff, at the fame time, beware of not deviating too far from Simplicity, in the conftrudion of his Fable. For if he over-charges it with Adion and Intrigue, it becomes perplexed and embarraffed; and, by confequence, lofes much of its effect. Congreve’s “Mourning Bride, ” a Tragedy, otherwife far ; from being void of merit, fails in this refped; and may be given as an inftance of one Handing in perfect oppofition to the fimplicity of the ancient ' Plots. The incidents fucceed one another too rapidly. The Play is too full of bufinefs. It is
e c T. XLV.

goo
TRAGEDY.
Le c t. difficult for the mind to follow and comprehend 0 XLV. the whole feries of events; and, what is the :i
greateft fault of all, the cataftrophe, which :i3 “‘ ought always to be plain and fimple, is brought ^ about in a manner too artificial and intricate. - : J £ Unity of Action muft not only be ftudied in '® r the general conftruction of the Fable, or Plot, ^ but muft regulate the feverai acts and fcenes, into which the Play is divided. -■ t ° l
The divifion of every Play, into Five Ads, has no other foundation than common practice, and the authority of Horace:
Neve minor, neu fit quinto prodr,dior actu Fabula. - De Arte Poet. *
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It is a divifion purely arbitrary. There is nothing in the nature of the Compofition which fixes -j this number rather than any other; and it had ■«[; been much better if no fuch number had been . t!1 § afcertained , but every Play had been allowed ^ to divide itfelf into as many parts, or intervals, as the fubjedt naturally pointed out. On the Greek Stage, whatever may have been the cafe on the Roman, the divifion by Acts was totally unknown. The word, Act, never once occurs % £ pj, in Ariftotle’s Poetics, in which he defines exadly 0 [ t every part of the Drama, and divides it into the , #J j beginning, the middle, and the end; or, in his
* If you would have your Play deferve fuccefs,
Give it five Ads complete, nor more, norlefs. 'si
Francis,

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own words, into the Prologue, the Epifode, Lec and the Exode. The Greek Tragedy was, indeed, XLV one continued reprefentation , from beginning to end. The Stage was never empty , nor the curtain let fall. But, at certain intervals, when the A&ors retired , the Chorus continued and fung. Neither do thefe Songs of the Chorus divide the Greek Tragedies into five portions , fimilar to our acts; though fome of the Comment* ators have endeavoured to force them into this office. But it is plain, that the intervals at which the Chorus fung, are extremely unequal and irregular, fuited to the occafion and the fubject; and would divide the Play fometimes into three, fometimes into feven or eight adts *.
* As practice has now eftablilhed a different plan on the Modern Stage, has divided. every Play into Five Acts, and made a total paufe in the reprefentation at the end of each Act, the Poet mull be careful that this Paufe fir all fall in a proper place; where there is a natural paufe in the Action; and where, if the imagination has any thing to fupply, that is not reprefented on the Stage, it may be fuppofed to have been tranfacted during the interval.
The Firft Act ought to contain a clear expo- fition of the fubject. It ought to be fo managed as to awaken the curiofity of the Spectators ; and, at the fame time, to furnifh them with materials
* See the Differtation prefixed to Franklin’s Tranfiation of Sophocles.

g03
TRAGEDY.
Lect.
XLV.
for underftanding the fcquel. It fhould make them acquainted with the perfonages who are to appear, with their feveral views and intereft, and with the fituation of affairs at the time when the Flay commences. A flriking introduction, fuch as the firffc fpeech of Almeria, in the Mourning Bride, and that of Lady Randolph, in Douglas, produces a happy effeCt; but this is what the fubjeCt will not always admit. In the ruder times of Dramatic AVriting, the expofition of the fub- ject was wont to be made by a Prologue, or by a fingle Actor appearing, and giving full and direct information to the Spectators. Some of jEfchylus’s and Euripides’s Flays are opened in this manner. But fuch an introduction is extremely inartificial, and, therefore, is now totally abo- lifhed, and the fubjedt made to open itfelf by converfation, among the firft ACtors who are brought upon the Stage.
Du ring the courfe of the Drama, in the Second,
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gradually thicken. The great objedt which the Poet ought here to have in view, is, by interefting us in his Story, to keep our paffions always awake. As foon as he allows us to languifh, there is no more Tragic merit. Pie fhould, therefore, introduce no perfonages but fuch as are neceffavy for carrying on the- action. He fhould contrive to place thofe, whom he finds it proper to introduce, m the moft interefting fituations. He fhould have no feenes of idle converfation , or mere declamation. The action of the Play ought to be
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always advancing; and as it advances, the fuf- Lect, pence, and the concern of the Spedators, to be XLV. railed more and more. This is the great excellency of Shakefpeare, that his feenes are full of feutiment and Adion, never of mere difeourfe; whereas, it is often a fault of the belt French Tragedians, that they allow the Adion to languish, for the fake of a long and artful Dialogue.
Sentiment, Paffion, Pity, and Terror, Should reign throughout a Tragedy. Every thing fhould be full of movements. An ufelefs incident, or an unneceffary converfation, weaken the intereffc which we take in the Adion, and render us * cold and inattentive.
The Fifth Ad is the feat of the cataftrophe, or the unravelling of the plot, in which we always exped the art and Genius of the Poet to be moft fully difplayed. The firft Rule concerning it, is, that it be brought about by probable and natural means. Hence all unravellings which turn upon difguifed habits, rencounters by night, miftakes of one perfon for another, and other fuch Theatrical and Romantic circumftan- ces, are to be condemned as faulty. In the next place, the Cataftrophe ought always to be Ample; to depend on few events, and to include but few perfons. Paffion never rifes fo high when it is divided among many objeds, as when it is direded towards one, or a few. And it is ftill more checked, if the incidents be fo complex and intricate, that the underftanding is put on the ftretch .to trace them, when the heart fhould be

3°4
TRAGEDY.
Lect. wholly delivered up to emotion. The cataflrophe XLY. of the Mourning Bride, as 1 formerly hinted, offends againft both thefe rules. In the laft place, the cataflrophe of a Tragedy ought to be the reign of pure fentiment and paffion. In proportion as it approaches, every thing fliould warm and glow. No long difcourfes; no cold rea- fonings; no parade of Genius , in the midft of thofe i'olemn and awful events, that clofe fome of the great Revolutions of human fortune. There, if any where, the Poet muft be fimple, ferious, pathetic ; and fpcak no language but that of nature.
The. Ancients were fond of unravellings, which turned upon what is’called, an “Anagno- “ rifis,” or, a difeovery of fome perfon to be different from what he was taken to be. When fuch difeoveries are artfully conducted, and produced in critical fltuations, they are extremely ftriking; fuch as that famous one in Sophocles, which makes the whole fubjedt of his CEdipus Tyrannus, and which is, undoubtedly, the ful- left of fufpenfe ? agitation, and terror, that ever was exhibited on any Stage. Among the Moderns, two of the rnoft diftinguifhed Anagnorifes, are thofe contained in Voltaire’s Merope, and Mr. Home’s Douglas: both of which, are great mafter-pieces of the kind.
It is not eflential to the Cataflrophe of a Tragedy, that it fliould end unhappily. In the courfe of the Play, there may be fufficieut agitation and drflrefs, and many tender emotions railed
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by the fufferings and dangers of the virtuous* though, in the end, good men are rendered fuccefs- ful. The Tragic. Spirit, therefore, does not want fcope upon this fyftem; and, accordingly, the Athalie of Racine, and fome of Voltaire’s fineft Plays, fuch as Alzire, Merope, and the Orphan of China , with fome few Englilh Tragedies likewife , have a fortunate conclufion. But in general , the fpirit of Tragedy , efpecially of Englilh Tragedy, leans more to the fide of leaving the impreffion of virtuous forrow full and ftrong upon the. heart.
A question, intimately connected with this fubject, and which has employed thefpeculations cf feveral Philofophical Critics, naturally occurs here; How it comes to pafs that thofe emotions of forrow which Tragedy excites, afford any gratification to the mind? For, is not forrow, in its nature,' a painful paffion? Is not real dif- trefs often occafioned to the Spectators , by the Dramatic reprefentations at which theyaflift? Do we not fee their tears flow ? and yet, while the impreffion of what they have fuffered remains upon their minds, they again affiemble in crowds, to renew the fame diftreffes. The queftion is not without difficulty, and various folutions of it have been propoled by ingenious men*. The mod: plain and fatisfactory account of the matter,
* See Dr. Campbell’s Philofophy of Rhetoric, hook I. ch. xi. where an account is given of the hypothefes of different Critics on this fubject; and where one is pro- pofed, with which , in the main, I agree. — See alfoLord
Vot. III. " X
L E C T
XLY.

306
TRAGEDY.
e c t. appears to me to be the following. By the wife k:
XLV. and gracious conffitution of onr nature, the exer-
cife of all the focial paffions is attended with plea- ^ fure. Nothing is more pleafmg and grateful, than a love and friendfhip. Wherever man takes a ftrong intereft in the concerns of his fellow-crea- : fi tures , an internal fatisfaction is made to accom- pany the feeling. Pity, or compaffion , in parti- G , cular , is, for wife ends, appointed to be one 3! ] of the ffrongeff inffin&s of our frame, and is at- tended with a peculiar attra&ive power. It is ,,jj an affectio'n which cannot but be productive of fome diffrefs , on account of the fympathy with . ■. the fufferers, which it necefiarily involves. But, as it includes benevolence and friendlhip, it par- takes, at the fame time, of the agreeable and pleafmg nature of thofe affections. The heart is warmed by kindnefs and humanity, at the fame ^ moment at which it is afflidted by the diftreffes of ^ thofe with whom it fympathifes: and the pleafure ^ arifing from thofe kind emotions, prevails fo Y much in the mixture, and fo far counterbalances the pain, as to render the Bate of the mind, upon the whole, agreeable. At the fame time, the 7 immediate pleafure , which always goes along with the operation of the benevolent and fympa- thetic affections , derives an addition from the approbation of our own minds. We are pleafed with ourfelves, for feeling as we ought, and for ^ entering, with proper forrow, into the concerns f®
Kaimes’s Effays on the Principles of Morality. Effay I. And ^ Mr. David Hume’s Effay on Tragedy.

TRAGEDY.
307
of the afflicted. In Tragedy, befides, other ad- L f. c t, ventidous circumftances concur to diminifh the XLY. painful part of Sympathy , and to increafe the fatisfaclion attending it. We are, in fome meafure, relieved, by thinking that the caufe of our diftrefs is feigned, not real; and we are alfo gratified by the charms of Poetry, the propriety of Sentiment and Language, and the beauty of Action.
From the concurrence of thefe caufes, the pleafure which we receive from Tragedy, notwithftand- ing the diftrefs it occafions , feems to me to be accounted for , in a fatisfadtory manner. At the fame time, it is to be obferved, that, as there is always a mixture of pain in the pleafure, that pain is capable of being fo much heightened . by the reprefentation of incidents extremely direful, as to Ihock our feelings, and to render us averle, either to the reading of fuch Tragedies, or to the beholding of them upon the Stage.
Having now fpoken of the condudt of the fubject throughout the Acts, it is alfo neceffary to take notice of the conduct of the feveral l'cencs which make up the Adts of a Play.
The entrance of a new perfonage upon the Stage, forms, what is called, a new Scene.
Thefe fcenes, or fucceffive converfations, fihould he clofely linked and connected with each other; and much of the Art of Dramatic Compofition is ftiown in maintaining this connexion. Two rules are neceffary to be obferved for this pur- ' pofe. **-
X 3

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TRAGEDY.
L F. C T. XLV.
The firft is, that, during the courfe of one Aft, the Stage fhould never be left vacant, though but for a ftngle moment; that is, all the perfons who have appeared in one fcene, or con- verfation , fhould never go off together, and be fucceeded by a new fet of perfons appearing in the next Scene, independent of the former. This makes a gap, or total interruption in the repre- fentation, which, in effeft, puts an end to that Act. For, wherever the Stage is evacuated, the Act is clofed. This rule is, very generally, obferved by the French Tragedians; but the Englilh Writers, both of Comedy and Tragedy, feldom pay any regard to it. T heir Perfonages fucceed one another upon the Stage with folittle connexion; the union of their Scenes is fo much broken , that with equal propriety , their Plays might be divided into ten or twelve Acts, as
into five.
The fecond rule which the Englifii Writers* alfo obferve little better than the former, is, that no perfon Ihould come upon the Stage, or leave it, without a reafon appearing to us, both for the one and the other. Nothing is more awkward, and contrary to art, than for an Actor to enter, without our feeing any caufe for his appearing in that Scene , except that it was for the Poet’s purpofe he fhould enter precifely at fuch a moment; or for an Aftor to go away, without any reafon for his retiring, farther than that the Poet had no more fpeeches to put into his mouth. This is managing the Perfonx Dramatis exactly

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like fo many puppets, who are moved by wires, to anfwer the call of the mafter of the fhow. Whereas the perfection of Dramatic Writing requires that every thing Ihould be conducted in imitation , as near as poflible, of fome real tranf- adion; where we are let into the fecret of all that is palling, where we behold perfons before us always bufy; fee them coming and going; and know perfectly whence they come , and whither they go , and about what they are employed.
All that I have hitherto faid, relates to the Unity of the Dramatic Adion. In order to render the Unity of Adion more complete, Critics have added the other two unities of Time and Place. The Itrict obfervance of thefe ( is more difficult, and, ■ perhaps , not fo neceffary. The Unity of Place requires, that the Scene fliotild never be Ihifted; but that the Adion of the Play fhould be continued to the end, in the fame place where it is fuppofed to begin. The Unity of Time, ftridly taken, requires , that the time of the Adion be no longer than the time that is allowed for the Reprefentation of the play; though Ariftotle feems to have given the Poet a little more liberty, and permitted the Adion to comprehend the whole time of one day.
The intention of both thefe rules is. to overcharge as little as poflible, the imagination of the Spedators with improbable circumftances in the ading of the Play , and to bring the imitation more clofe to reality. We mu ft obferve, that
Lect. XL 7 .

3 io TRAGEDY.
f, e c T. the nature of Dramatic Exhibitions upon the XLV. Greek Stage, fubjected the Ancient Tragedians to a more ftrict obfervance of thofe Unities than is necefiary in Modern Theatres. I fhowed, that a Greek Tragedy was one uninterrupted reprefentation, from beginning to end. There was no divifion of Adts; no paufes or interval between them; but the Stage was continually full; occupied either by the Actors, or the Chorus. Hence , no room was left for the imagination to go beyond the precife time and place of the reprefentation; any more than is allowed during the continuance of one Act, on the Modern Theatre.
But the practife of fufpending the fpedtacle totally for fome little time between the Acts, has made a great and material change ; gives more latitude to the imagination, and renders the ancient ftrict confinement to time and place lefs necefiary. While the acting of the Play is interrupted, the Spectator can, without any great or violent effort, fuppofe a few hours to pafs between every Ad}; or can fuppofe himfelf moved from one apartment of a palace, or one part of a city to another; and, therefore, too ftrict an obfervance of thefe Unities, ought not to be preferred to higher beauties of execution, nor to the introdudtion of more pathetic fituations, which fometimes cannot be accomplifhed in any other way , than by the tranfgreffion of thefe rules.
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On the Ancient Stage , we plainly fee the L e c t. Poets llruggling with many an inconvenience, XLV. in order to preferve thofe Unities which were then fo necefTary. As the Scene could never be Shifted. they were obliged to make it always lie in fome court of a palace, or fome public area, to which all the perfons concerned in the adtion might have equal accefs. This led to frequent improbabilities, by reprefenting things as tranfaded there, which naturally ought to have been tranfacted before few witneffes, and in private apa»tments. The like improbabilities arofe, from limiting themfelves fo much in point of time. Incidents were unnaturally crowded; and it is eafy to point out feveral inltances in the Greek Tragedies, where events are fuppofed to pafs during a Song of the Chorus , which mull neceflarily have employed many hours.
But though it feems necefTary to fet Modern Poets free from a Ibid observance of thefe Dramatic Unities, yet we muft remember, there are - certain bounds to this liberty. Frequent and wild changes of time and place; hurrying the Spectator from one diflant city, or country , to another ; or making feveral days or weeks, to pafs during the courfe of the Reprefentation, are liberties which fliock the imagination , which give to the performance a romantic and unnatural appearance, and, therefore, cannot be allowed in any Dramatic Writer who afpires to corrednefs. In particular, we mud remember, that it is only between the Ads, that any liberty can be given
X 4

31G
TRAGEDY.
1 e c t. for going beyond the Unities of Time and XLV. Place. During the courfe of each Adi, they ought to be ftriclly obferved ; that is, during each Act the Scene fhould continue the fame, and no more time fhould be fuppofed to pafs , than is employed in the reprefentation of that Adi. This is a rule which the French Tragedians regularly obferve. To violate this rule, as is too often done by the Englilh ; to change the place, and fhift the Scene in the midll of one Adi, fhows great incorredtnefs, and deflroys the whole intention of the divifion of a Play into Acls. Air. Addifon’s Cato, is remarkable beyond mofl Englilh Tragedies, for regularity of conducl. The author has limited himfelf, in time , to a fingle day; and in place, lias maintained the moll rigorous unity. The Scene is never changed; and the whole adtion paffes in the hall of Cato’s houfe, at Utica.
In general, the nearer that a Poet can bring the Dramatic Reprefentation , in all its circum- ftances, to an imitation of nature and real life, the impreffion which he makes on us will always be the more perfedt. Probability, as I obferved at the beginning of the Lecture, is highly effential to the condudl of the Tragic Action, and we are always hurt by the want of it. It is this that makes the obfervance of the Dramatic Unities to be of confequence , as far as they can be obferved, without facrificing more material beauties. It is not, as has been fometimes faid , that, by the prefervation of the Unities of Time and Place Spedlators, when they aflilt at the Theatre, are

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deceived into a belief of the reality of the objeds which are there fet before them ; and that, when thofe Unities are violated, the charm is broken, and they difcover the whole to be a ficdion. No facli deception as this can ever be accomplifhed. No one ever imagines liimfelf to be at Athens, or Rome, when a Greek or Roman fobjed is prefented on the Stage. He knows the whole to be an imitation only; but he requires that imitation to be conduded , with fkill and vcri- fimilitude. His pleafure, the entertainment which he expeds, the intereft which he is to take in the Story, all depend on its being fo conduded. His imagination, therefore, feeks to aid the imitation, and to reft on the probability; and the Poet, who lhocks him by improbable circumftan- ces, and by awkward , unfkilful imitation, deprives him of his pleafure, and leaves him hurt and difpleafed. This is the whole myftery of the theatrical illufion.
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XT A.VLNG treated of the Dramatic Action in Tragedy, I proceed next to treat of the Char- ^ alters moft proper to be exhibited. It has been thought, by feveral Critics, that the nature of , t j, £ Tragedy requires the principal perfonages to be , J! 2 . always of illuftrious character, and of high, or ;M princely rank; whofe misfortunes and fufferings, 2 it is faid, take fafter hold of the imagination, ^ and imprefs the heart more forcibly, than fimilar .j ;( j events happening to perfons in private life. But this is more fpecious, than folid. it is refuted by t0 fads. For the diflreffes ofDefdemona, Monimia, , c j| and-Belvidera, interefl us as deeply as if they had been princeffes or queens. The dignity of ^ Tragedy does , indeed, require, that there fliould ^ be nothing degrading, or mean, in the circura- fiances of the perfons which it exhibits; but it requires nothing more. Their high rank may ^ render the fpedacle more fplendid, and the fubjecl
XLVL

TRAGEDY.
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feemingly of more importance, but conduce very L e c t. little to its. being iuterefting or pathetic ; which XLVI. depends entirely on the nature of the Tale, on the art of the Poet in conducting it, and on the fentiments to which it gives occafion. In every rank of life, the relations of Father, Hufband ,
Son, Brother, Lover, or Friend, lay the foundation of thofe affedting fituations , which make man’s heart feel for man.
The moral characters of the perfons reprefent- ed, are of much greater confequence than the external circumltances in which the Poet places them. Nothing, indeed, in the conduct of Tragedy, demands a Poet’s attention more, than fo to defcribe his perfonages, and fo to order the incidents which relate to them, as fliall leave upon the Spectators, impreffions favourable to virtue, and to the adminiftration of Providence.
It is not neceffary, for this end, that poetical juftice, as it is called, ihould be obferved in the cataftrophe of the Piece. This has been long exploded from Tragedy; the end of which is, to affect us with pity for the virtuous in diftrefs, and to afford a probable reprefentation of the ftate of human life, where calamities often befal the belt, and a mixed portion of good and evil isappointed for all. But, withal, the Authormufl beware of Blocking our minds with fuch reprefen- tations of life as tend to raife horror, or to render virtue an object of averfion. Though innocent perfons fuffer, their bufferings ought to be attended with fuch circumftances, as {hall make virtue

TRAGEDY.
516
Lect. appear amiable and venerable; and fliall render «;f, XLVI. their condition, on the whole, preferable to that j|o, of bad men, who have prevailed againft them, a tl The flings, and the remorfe of guilt, muft -ever .jjo be reprefented as productive of greater miferies, ,’jfoil than any that the bad can bring upon the good. ^ Aristotle’s obfervations on the characters ui proper for Tragedy, are very judicious. He is -; t) i of opinion , that perfect unmixed characters, 3a lt either of good or ill men, are not the fitted to ,. B tl be introduced. The diftreffes of the one being z {’ w wholly unmerited, hurt and fhock us ; and the .yj fufferings of the other, occafion no pity. Mixed characters , fuch as in fad we meet with in the world , afford the mod proper field for difplaying, without any bad effed on morals, the viciffitudes of life; and they intereft us the more deeply,.,^ as they difplay emotions and paffions which we . a ,|j have all been confcious of. When fuch perfons am | fall into diftrefs through the vices of others, the fubjed may be very pathetic; but it is always more inflrudive, when a perfon has been himfelf .1 the caufe of his misfortune, and when his mis- fortune is occafioned by the violence of paffion, or by fome weaknefs incident to human nature. ^ Such fubjeds both difpofe us to the deeped fympathy, and adminifter ufeful warnings to us for our own condud.
Upon thefe principles , it furprifes me that the ^ {lory of CEdipus fhould have been fo much cele- ^ brated by all the Critics, as one of the fitted fubjeds for Tragedy ; and fo often brought upon

TRAGEDY.
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the Stage, not by Sophocles only, but by Corneille alfo , and Voltaire. An innocent perfon, one , in the mam , of a virtuous character, through no crime of his own, nay not by the vices of others, but through mere fatality and blind chance, is involved in the greateft of all human miferies. In a cafual rencounter, he kills his father, without knowing him; he afterwards is married to his own mother; and, difcovering himfelf in the end to have committed both parricide and inceft, he becomes frantic, and dies ia the utmoft mifery. Such a fubjed excites horror rather than pity. As it is conducted by Sophocles, it is indeed extremely affeding; but it conveys no inftrudion , it awakens in the mind no tender Empathy; it leaves no impreflion favourable to virtue or humanity.
It muft be acknowledged, that the fubjeds of the ancient Greek Tragedies were too often founded on mere deftiny, and inevitable misfortunes. They were too much mixed with their tales about oracles, and the vengeance of the Gods, which led to many an incident fufficiently melancholy and tragical; but rather purely tragical, than nfeful or moral. Hence both the CEdipus of Sophocles, the Tphigenia in Auhs, the Hecuba of Euripides, and feveral of the like kind. In the courfe of the drama , many moral fentiments occurred. But the inftrudion, which the Fable of the Play conveyed, feldom was any more ? than that reverence was owing to the Gods, and fubmiffion due to the decrees of Deftiny.
L E c T
XLVI.

TRAGEDY.
318
L E C T. XL VI.
Modern Tragedy has aimed at a higher object, by becoming more the theatre of paffion; pointing out to men the confequences of their own mifcondud ; fhowing the direful effects which ambition, jealoufy, love, refentment, and other fuch ftrong emotions, when mifguid^d, or left unreflrained , produce upon human life. An Othello, hurried by jealoufy to murder his innocent wife ; a Jaffier , enfnared by refentment and want, to engage in a confpiracy, and then flung with remorfe , and involved in ruin; a Siffredi, through the deceit which he employs for public- fpirited ends, bringing deftrudion on all whom he loved; a Califta, feduced into a criminal intrigue, which overwhelms herfelf, her father, and all her friends in mifery: thefe, and fuch as thefe, are the examples which Tragedy now difplays to public view; and by means of which, it inculcates on men the proper government of their paffions.
Of all the paffions which furniffi matter to Tragedy , that which has mod occupied the Modern Stage , is Love. To the Ancient Theatre., it was in a manner wholly unknown. In few of their Tragedies is it ever mentioned ; and I
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TRAGEDY.
319
V- Stage. But though no reafon appears for the total exclufion of Love from the Theatre, yet feu with what juftice or propriety it has ufurped fo is4 much place, as to be in a manner the foie hinge H4 of Modern Tragedy, may be much queftioned. i,ti Voltaire , who is no lefs eminent as a Critic
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This feems to be clear, that wherever Love is introduced into Tragedy, it ought to reign in it, and to give rife to the principal action. It ought to be that fort of Love which poffeffes all the force and majefty of paflion; and which occafions great and important confequences. For nothing can have a worfe effedt, or be more debafmg to Tragedy, than, together with the manly and heroic paffions , to mingle a trifling Love intrigue , as a fort of feafoning to the Play. The bad effects of this, are fufficiently confpicuous both in the Cato of Mr. Addifon,
. E C T.
XL VI,

320
TRAGEDY.
Lec't. as I had occafion before to remark, and in the XLVb Jphigenie of Racine.
After a Tragic Poet has arranged his fubject, and chofen his perfonages, the next thing he ^ 3 muft attend to, is tire propriety of fentiments; that they may be perfedly fuited to the characters ° et of thofe perfons to whom they are attributed, it! ^ and to the Situations in which they are placed. ; dl1 The neceffity of obferving this general rule is • ,jJ| fo obvious , that I need not infill upon it. It is r 0 ® principally in the pathetic parts , that both the :2: f difficulty and the importance of it are the greateft. ^P; Tragedy is the region of paffion. We come to ^ it, expeding to be moved; and let the Poet xra be ever fo judicious in his condud, moral in his intentions, and elegant in his Style, yet if :Ci he fails in the pathetic , he has no tragic merit! we return cold and difappointed from the per- formance; and never defire to meet with it more. ■
To paint Paffion fo truly and juftly as to h® flrike the hearts of the Hearers with full fym- ; ^ 1 pathy, is a prerogative of Genius given to few.
It requires flrong and ardent fenfibility of mind.
It requires the Author to have the power of entering deeply' unto the charaders which he tow draws ; of becoming for a moment the very perfon whom he exhibits, and of affuming all ^ his feelings. For as I have often had occafion & to obferve , there is no poffibility of fpeaking ^ properly the language of any paffion , without Id feeling it; and it is to the abfence or deadnefs of real emotion, that -we mult afcribe the want
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TRAGEDY*
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of fuccefs in fo many Tragic Writers, when Iect, they attempt being pathetic- XLVI*
No man, for inftance, when he is under the ffiong agitations of anger, or grief, or any fuch violent paffion , ever thinks of defcribing to another what his feelings at that time are; or of telling them what he refembles. This never \vas, and never will be, the language of any perfon, when he is deeply moved. It is the language of one who defcribes coolly the condition of that perfon to another; or it is the language of the paffionate perfon himfelf, after his emotion has fublided , relating what his lituation was in the moments of paffion. Yet this fort of fecond- ary defcription, is what Tragic Poets too oiteii give us , inftead of the native and primary language of paffion. Thus , in Mr. Addifon’s Cato, when Lucia confeffes to Fortius her love for him, but, at the fame time, fwears with the greateft folemnity, that in the prefent fi&ua* tion of their country ffie will never marry him ;
Portius receives this unexpected fentence with the utmoft aftonilhment and grief; at lead the Poet wants to make us believe that he fo received it. How does he exprefs thefe feelings ?
Fix’d in aitonifhment, I gaze upon thee,
Like one juft blafted by a ftroke from Heav’n, Who pants for breath, and ftiffens yet alive In dreadful looks; a monument of wrath.
This makes his whole VOL. III.
reply to Lucia. Now did Y

322
TRAGEDY.
L e c t. any perfon, who was of a fudden aftonilhed and XL VI. overwhelmed with forrow, ever, fince the creation of the world, exprefs himfeif in this manner? This is indeed an excellent defcription to be given us by another, of a perfon who was in fuch a fituation. Nothing would have been more proper for a byftander, recounting this conference, than to have laid,
Fix’d in aftonishment, lie gazed upon her,
Like one juft blafted by a ftroke from heaven,
Who pants for breath, &c.
But the perfou, who is himfeif concerned, fpeaks on fuch an occafion , in a very different manner. He gives vent to his feelings ; he pleads for pity; he dwells upon the caufe of his grief and aftoniih- ment; but never thinks of defcribing his own perfon and looks, and fhowing us, by a fimile, what he refembles. Such reprefentations of paffions are no better in Poetry , than it would be in painting, to make a label iffue from the mouth of a figure, bidding us remark, that this figure reprefen ts an aftonilhed, or a grieved perfon.
Ox fome other occafions, when Poets do not employ this fort of defcriptive language inpaflion, they are too apt to run into forced and unnatural thoughts, in order to exaggerate the feelings of perfons , whom they would paint as very ftrongly moved. When Ofmyn, in the Mourning Bride, after parting with Almeria, regrets, in a long foliloquy, that his eyes only fee objects that

TRAGEDY.
323
are prcfent, and cannot fee Almcria after ffie is Lec t gone; when Jane Shore, in Air. Rowe’s Tragedy, XLVL on meeting with her hufband in her extreme diftrefs, and finding that he had forgiven her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and the fprings to give her their ftreams, that fire may never want a fupply of tears; in fuch oaf- fages, we fee very plainly, that it is neither .
Ofmyn, nor Jane Shore, that fpeak; but the.
Poet himfelf in his own perfon , who, inftead of affuming the feelings of thofe whom he means to exhibit , and fpeaking as they would have done in fuch fituations , is ftraining his fancy, and fpurring up his Genius, to fay fomething that fhall be uncommonly ftrong and lively.
If we attend to the language that is fpoken by perfons under the influence of real paffion, we fhall find it always plain and fimple ; abounding indeed with thofe figures which exprefs a difturbed and impetuous flate of mind,fuch as interrogations, exclamations , and apoftrophes ; but never employing thofe which belong to the mere embei- lifhment and parade of Speech. We never meet with any fubtilty or refinement, in the fentiments of real paffion. The thoughts which paffion fuggefts, are always plain and obvious ones,ari- fing direclly from its objedt. Paffion never rea- fons nor fpeculates , till its ardour begins to cool.
It never leads to long difcourfe or declamation.
On the contrary, it expreffes itfelf moft commonly in fhort , broken and interrupted Speeches ; cor- refponding to the violent and defultofy emotions ©f the mind, Y 2

3-4
TRAGEDY.
L e c t. When we examine the French Tragedians XLVI. by thefe principles , which feem clearly founded in nature , we find them often deficient. Though in many parts of Tragic Com- pofition , they have great merit ; though in exciting foft and tender emotions , fome of them are very fuccebful; yet in the high and ftrong pathetic, they generally fail. 7 heir paffionate Speeches too ' ften run into long declamation. There is too much reafoning and refinement; too much pomp and ftudied beauty in them. They rather convey a feeble impreffion of paffion , than awaken any ftrong fympathy in the Reader’s mind.
Sophocles and Euripides are much more fuccefsful in this part of Compolition. In their pathetic fcenes , we find no unnatural refinement; no exaggerated thoughts. They fet before us the plain and direct feelings of nature, in Ample expreffive language; and therefore, on great oc- cafions, they feldom fail of touching the heart*. This too is Shakefpeare’s great excellency ; and
* Nothing , for inftance , can be more touching and pathetic than the addrefs which Medea , in Euripides, makes to her cliildren, when lire had formed the refolu- tion of putting them to death; and nothing more natural, than the conflict which is defcribed, as fufl’ering within herfelf on that occafion :
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to this it is principally owing, that his dramatic productions, notwithffanding their many imperfections, have been fo long the favourites of the Public. He is more faithful to the true language of Nature, in the midlt of paffion , than any Writer. Pie gives us this language , unadulterated by art; and more inftances of it can be quoted from him, than from all other Tragic Poets put together. I fhall refer only to that admirable fcene in Macbeth , where Macduff receives the account of his wife, and all his children being flaughtered in his abfence. The emotions , firft of grief, and then of the mcfl fierce refentment rifmg againft Macbeth , are painted in fuch a manner , that there is no heart but mull feel them, and no fancy can conceive any thing more expreffive of Nature.
With regard to moral fentiments and reflections in Tragedies, it is clear that they muff not recur too often. They lofe their effect, when unfeafonably crowded. They render the play pedantic and declamatory. This is remarkably the cafe with thofe Latin Tragedies which go under the name of Seneca , which are little more than a collection of declamations and moral fentiments, wrought up with a quaint brilliancy , which fuited the prevailing tafte of that age.
I Ain not, however , of opinion , that moral reflections ought to be altogether omitted in 1 ra- gedies. When properly introduced , they give dignity to the Compofition and,on many occaiions, they are extremely natural. When perfons are
L E C T.
XLYI.

TRAGEDY.
3*6
L K C T.
XLVI.
under any uncommon diftrefs , when they are beholding in others , or experiencing, in themfelves, the vicilhtudes of human fortune; indeed, when they are placed in any of the great and trying fi- tuations of life , ferious and moral reflections naturally occur in them , whether they be perfons of much virtue or not. Hardly is there any perfon, but who , on fuch occafions, is difpofed to be ferious. It is then the natural tone of the mind; and therefore no Tragic Poet fhould omit fuch proper opportunities, when they occur , for favouring the interefts of virtue. Cardinal Wol- fey’s foliloquy upon his fall, for inftance, in Shake- fpeare , when he bids a long farewell to all his greatnefs, and the advices which he afterwards gives to Cromwell, are , in his fitnation , extremely natural; touch and pleafe all Readers; and are at once inftructive and affedling. Much of the merit of Mr. Addifon’s Cato depends upon that moral turn of thought which diftinguifhes it. I have had occafion, both in this Ledture and in the preceding one, to take notice of fome of its defects; and certainly neither for warmth of paffion, nor proper conduct of the plot, is it at all eminent. It does not, however, follow, that it is deltitute of merit. For, by the purity and beauty of the language, by the dignity of Cato’s Character, by that ardour of public fpirit, and thofe virtuous fentiments of which it is full , it has always commanded high regard ; and has,both in our own country and among foreigners, acquired no final! reputation.
Fhk htyle and Verb fi cat; on of Tragedy, oughtto
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be free, eafy, and varied. Our blank verfe is happily fuited to this purpofe. It has fufficient majefty for raifing the Style; it can defeend to the Ample and familiar; it is fufceptible of great variety of cadence; and is quite free from the conftraint and monotony of Rhyme. For monotony is, above all things, to be avoided by a Tragic Poet. If he maintains every where the fame ftatelinefs of Style, if he uniformly keeps up the fame run of meafure and harmony in his Verfe, he cannot fail of becoming infipid. He fhould not indeed link into flat and carelefs lines ; his Style fhould always have force and dignity , but not the uniform dignity of Epic Poetry. It fhould aiTumc that brifknefs and eafe, which is fuited to the freedom of dialogue , and the fiucluations of paffion
One of the greateft misfortunes of the French Tragedy is , its being always written in fh'yme. The nature of the French language, indeed , requires this, in order to diftinguifh the Style from mere profe. But it fetters the freedom of the Tragic Dialogue, fills it with a languid monotony» and is, in a manner fatal to the high ftrengthand power of paffion. Voltaire maintains, that the difficulty of compofmg in French Rhyme, is one great caufe of the pleafure which the Audience receives from the Compofition. T ragedy would be ruined , fays he, if we were to write it in Blank Verfe; take away the difficulty , and you take away the whole merit. Aftrangeidea! as if the entertainment of the Audience arofe, not from the emotions which the Poet is fucccfsful in awa-
Y 4
L E C T.
XL VI.

? 28 GREEK TRAGEDY.
f, ect. kening , but from a reflection on the toil which XLVt, he endured in his clofet, from afforting male and female Rhymes. With regard to thofe fplendid Companions in Rhyme , and firings of couplets with which it was , fome time ago , fafhionable for our Englifh Poets to conclude, not only every act of a Tragedy , but fometimes alfo the molt interefting Scenes , nothing need be faid , but that they were the moll perfect barbarifms; child- ifh ornaments, introduced to pleafe a falfe tafte in the Audience; and now uni verbally laid afiae,
Having thus treated of all the different parts of Tragedy , I fhall conclude the fubjedt , with
fhort view of the Greek, the French , and the Englifh Stage, and with obfervations on the principal Writers.
Most of the diftinguilhed characters of the Greek* Tragedy have been already occafionally mentioned. It was embellifhed With the Lvric Poerry of the Chorus , of the origin of which, and of the advantages and difadvantages attending it, 1 treated fully in the preceding Ledture. The Plot was always exceedingly fimple. It admitted of few incidents. It was conducted for molt part, with a very exadt regard to the unities of adtion, time , and place. Machinery, or the intervention of the Gods , was employed ; and , which is very faulty, the final unravelling fometimes made to turn upon it. Love, except in one or two instances . was never admitted into the Greek Tragedy. Their fubjects were often founded on def- tiny, or inevitable misfortunes. A vein of reli-

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gious and moral fentiment always runs through them ; but they made lefs ufe than the .Moderns of the combat of the paffions, and of the diftreffes which our paffions bring upon us. Their plots were all taken from the ancient traditionary ftories of their own nation. Hercules furnilhes matter for two Tragedies. The hiftory of Gjidipus, king of Thebes, and his unfortunate family, for fix. Tlie war of Troy, with its confequences, for no fewer than feventeen. There is only one, of later date than this, which is the Perfte , or expedition of Xerxes , by iEfchylus.
iEscHYLUS, is the Father of Greek Tragedy, and exhibits both the beauties, and the defetfts, of an early orginal Writer. He is bold, nervous, and animated; but very obicure and difficult to be underflood; partly by reafon of the incorrect ftate in which we have his works (they having fuffered mote by time , than any of the Ancient Tragedians), and partly, on account of the nature of his Style , which is crowded with metaphors, often harffi and tumid. He abounds with martial ideas and defcriptions. Fie has much fire and elevation ; lefs of tendernefs , than of force. He delights in the marvellous. The Ghoft of Darius in the Perfae, the Infpiration of Caf- fandra in Agamemnon , and the Songs of the Furies in the Eumenides , are beautiful in their kind, and ltrongly expreffive of his genius.
Sophocles is the mofl maflerly of the three Greek Tragedians; the moll correct in the conduct of his fubjects; the moft juft and fublnne in
Lect.
XLVI.

33 °
GREEK TRAGEDY.
L E c t. bis fentiments. He is eminent for his defcriptive V XLVI. talent. The relation of the death of CEdipus, in 2® his CEdipus Coloneus , and of the death of Hse- rnon and Antigone, in his Antigone, are perfect ^ patterns of defeription to Tragic Poets. Euripides is efteemed more tender than Sophocles; and lie nd is fuller of moral fentiments. But, in the conduct of his plays, he is more incorrect and negligent; :S>' his expofitions, or openings of the fubject, .are Jo 1 made in a lefs artful manner; and the Songs of ;Col • his Chorus, though remarkably poetical, have, :ao: commonly, lefs connexion with the main action, ■s,'. than thofe of Sophocles. Both Euripides and dt Sophocles, however, have very high merit as iu Tragic Poets. They are elegant and beautiful ::vo • in their Style; juft, for the moft part, in their alt thoughts; they fpeak with the voice of nature; pi and making allowance for the difference of A; ancient and modern ideas, in the midft of all their fimplicity, they are touching and inter- ■ j,• effing. :to
The circumflances of theatrical reprefentation on the flages of Greece and Rome, were, in gg feveral refpects, very fxngular, and widely different ,| 0 ,
‘ from what obtains among us. Not only were the :; |f ;
Songs of the Chorus accompanied with inftru- 'll ti mental mufic , but the Abbe du Bos, in his sffQj Reflections on Poetry and Painting, has proved, ;a ,j with much curious erudition, that the dialogue :t ; ( part had alfo a modulation of its own, which ^ Was capable of being fet to notes; that it was Carried on in a fort of recitative between the ;io r
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GREEK TRAGEDY.
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^ actors, and was fupported by inftruments. He L e c .- j has farther attempted to prove, but the proof XLVI feems more dubious, that, on fome occafions,
"» on the Roman ftage, the pronouncing and gefti- E; culating parts were divided; that one adtor fpoke,
• 2 nd another performed the geftures and motions ; tcj correfponding to what the firft faid. The actors : f in Tragedy wore a long robe, called Smyrna, r : which flowed upon the Stage. They were raifed h upon Cothurni , which rendered their ftatur# uncommonly high ; and they always played in nr mafques. Thefe mafques were like helmets, which cr: covered the whole head ; the mouths of them were fo contrived, as to give an artificial found . :r to the voice ,• in order to make it be heard over ,-i their vaft theatres; and the vifage was fo formed of e and painted, as to fuit the age , characters , or krr difnofitions of the perfons reprefented. When, during the courfe of one Scene, different emotions r-i: were to appear in the fame perfon, the mafque is faid to have been fo painted, that the Actor, by turning one or other profile of his face to the ,*1 Spectators, expreffed the change of the fituation.
' This, however, was a, contrivance attended with ,r! many difad vantages. The mafque mu ft have de- prived the Spedfators of all the pleafure which os,: arifes from the natural animated expreffion of the mp eye and the countenance; and, joined with the ; j,p other circumftances which I have mentioned, is ~ri apt to give us but an unfavourable idea of the jy dramatic reprefentations of the Ancients. In defence of them, it muft, at the fame time*, be

33 2 FRENCH TRAGEDY.
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L e c t. remembered, that their theatres were vaftly more ^ XLVI. extenfive in the area than ours, and filled with
immenfe crowds. They were always uncovered, ' i:l1 and expofed tp the open air. The a&ors were ■" beheld at a much greater diftance, and of courfe J® much more imperfectly by the bulk of the Spec- 4 C ' tators, which both rendered their looks of lefs ;0 ^ confequence, and might make it in fome degree - neceffary that their features fihould be exagger- . *ated, the found of their voices enlarged, and their at whole appearance magnified beyond the life, in -"i* order to make the ftronger impreflion. It is cer- 3° r tain, that , as dramatic fpectacles were the favourite entertainments of the Greeks and Ro- mans, the attention given to their proper exhi- sve! bition, and the magnificence of the apparatus beflowed on their theatres, far exceeded any decor thing that has been attempted in modern ages, fay:
In the Compofitions of fome of the French fcl Dramatic AVriters, particularly Corneille, Racine, uT and Voltaire, Tragedy has appeared with much ri luftre, and dignity. They muft be allowed to dii have improved upon the Ancients , in introdu- ciy cing more incidents, a greater variety of paffions, jsdj i a fuller difplay of characters , and in rendering til, the fubjedl thereby more intereffing. They have aac ftudied to imitate the ancient models in regularity o of conduct. They are attentive to ail the unities, and to all the decorums of fentiment and moral- :k r ity; and their Style is, generally, very poetical ;t S and elegant. AA 7 hat an Englifh tafte is molt apt ;i a , to cenfure in them , is the want of fervour,
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ftrength, and the natural language of paffion. There is often too much conversation in their pieces, in (lead of action. They are too declamatory, as was before obferved, when they fhould be pjffionate; too relined, when they fhould be Simple. Voltaire freely acknowledges thofe defedts of the French Theatre. He admits, that their beft Tragedies make not a deep enough impreffion on the heart; that the gallantry which reigns in them , and the long fine fpun dialogue with which they over abound, frequently Spread a languor over them; that the Authors feemed to be afraid of being too tragic; and very candidly gives it as his judgment, that an union of the vehemence and the adtion, which characterise the Englilh Theatre, with the correctnefs and decorum of the French Theatre , would be neceSSary to form a perfedt Tragedy.
CORNfclLLE, who is properly the Father of French Tragedy, is diftinguifhed by the majefty and grandeur of his Sentiments, and the fruitful- nefs of his imagination His genius was unquestionably very rich , but feemed more turned towards the Epic than the Tragic vein; for, in general, he L> magnificent and Splendid, rather than tender and touching. He is the moft declamatory or all the French Tragedians. Pie united the copioufnefs of Dryden with the fire of Lucan, and he refembles them all’o in their faults; in their extravagance and impetuofity. He has com- pofed a great number of Tragedies, very unequal
L E c T, XLVI.

334 FRENCH TRAGEDY. **
Lect, in their merit. His belt and mod efteemed pieces, XLVL are the Cid , Horace, Polyeu&e, and Cinna. ;aI
Racine, as a Tragic Poet, is much fuperior to Corneille. He wanted the copioufnefs and grandeur of Corneille’s imagination; but is free of ^ his bomba ft, and excels him greatly in tendernefs. Few Poets indeed, are more tender and moving than Racine. His Phaedra, his Andromaque, his Athalie, and his IVlitbridate , are excellent dramatic performances, and do no fmall honour to the French Stage. His language and verification i« are uncommonly beautiful. Of all the French Authors, he appears to me to have molt excelled -j in Poetical Style; to have managed their Rhyme j ; u with the greateft advantage and facility, and to y have given it the moll complete harmony. Vol- fegs taire has, again and again, pronounced Racine’s &¥ Athalie to Le the “ Chef d’Oeuvre ” of the '; U F'rench Stage. It is altogether a facred drama, ^ and owes much of its elevation to the Majefty of Religion , but it is lefs tender and interefting k than Andromaque. Racine has formed two of his 1,. plays upon plans of Euripides. In the Phaedra 4" he is extremely fuccefsful , but not fo, in py opinion, in the Iphigenie; where he has degraded the ancient characters, by unfeafonable gallantry, v Achilles is a French Lover; and Eriphile, a kc modern Lady *. a
bar
fc
* The characters of Corneille and Racine are happily j e contrafted with one another, in the following beautiful lines of a French Poet, which will gratify feveral readers. ^

FRENCH TRAGEDY. 335
Voltaire , in feveral of his Tragedies , is inferior to none of his predeceffors. In one great
Corneille.
Ilium nobilibus majefta^evehit alis Venice tangentem nubes: ftant ordine longo Magnanimi circum heroes , fulgentibus omnes Induti trabeis; Polyeudus , Cinna , Seleucus,
Et Cidus, et tugis iignatus Horatius ora.
Racine.
Hunc circumvolitat penna alludente Cupido,
Varela triumphatis initernens florea feenis;
Colligit ha;c mollis genius, levibufque catenis Heroas ftringit dociles, Pyrrhofque, Titofque, Pelidafque, ac rlippolytos, qui fponte fequuntur Servitium, facilefque ferunt in vincula palmas. Ingentes nimirum animos Cornelius ingens,
Et quales habet ipfe, fuis heroibus afflat Sublimes ler.fus; vox olli mafcula, magnum os,
Nec mortale fonans. Rapido lluit impetu vena,
Vena Sophocleis non inficianda fluentis.
Racinius Gallis baud vifos ante theatris Mollior ingenio teneros induxit amores.
Magnanimos quamvis fenfus fub pectore verfet Agrippina, licet Romano robore Burrhus Polleat, et magni generofa fuperbia Pori Non femel eniteat, tamen efle ad mollia natum Credideris vatem; vox olli mellea, lenis Spiritus eft ; nonille animis vim concitus infert,
At crecos animorain aditus rimatur, et imis Mentibus occultos, fyren penetrabilis , idus Infmunns, palpando ferit, lreditque placendo.
Vena Unit facili non intermiffa nit ore,
Nec rapidos Temper volvit cum murmure fludus, Agmine fed leni fluitat. Seu gramina lambit Rivulus; et cceco pet prata virentia lapfu,
L E C T. XLVI.

33 6 FRENCH TRAGEDY.
L e c t. article, he has outdone them all, in the delicate ^ XLVI and intereding fituations which he has contrived
to introduce. In thefe, lies his chief: ftrength. ^ He is not, indeed, exempt from the defects of * the other French Tragedians, of wanting force, ^
and of being fomet'imes too long and declamatory ildu in his fpeeches ; but his characters are drawn Hltcnl with fpirit, his events are (hiking, and in Isis pti fentiments there is much elevation. Bis Zaire, ^Jp Alzire , Merope, and Orphan of China, are four lloaf capital Tragedies, and deface the higheft praife. ttedr What one might perhaps not expect, Voltaire ibkh is, in the drain of his fentiments , the mod :ib religious, and the mod moral, of all Tragic Poets. Into Though the mulical Dramas of lYletaftafio t!cp fulfil not the character of juft and regular Trage- arts dies, they approach however fo near to it, and il, polfefs fo much merit, that it would be unjud 'd ; to pafs them over without notice. For the elegance of Style, the charms of Lyric Poetry, adti and the beauties of fentiment, they are eminent, atli They abound in well-contrived and intereding 1st fituations. The dialogue, by its clofenefs and :Eas rapidity, carries a confiderable refemblance to that at of the Ancient Greek Tragedies; and is both more ~eof
■ Co
Aufugiens, tacita Unit indeprenfus arena;
Flore micant rips illiines; hue vulgus amantum 'Hi.
Convolat, et lacrymis auget rivalibus undas: a (
Singuljus undse referunt; geniitufque fonoros ■ Ij,
Ingeminaiit, modi gemitus imitante fufurro. ta
Templum Tragcedix, per Fit. Maesy * c Societate Jefu. dj
animated S’;

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
337
animated and more natural, than the long declama- L e c t. tion of the French theatre. But the Ihortnefs of the XLVI. feveral Dramas, and the intermixture of fo much Lyric Poetry as belongs to this fort of Compofi- tion, often occafions the courfe of the incidents to be hurried on too quickly, and prevents that confident difpiay of characters , and that full preparation of events, which are neceffary to give a proper verifimilitude to Tragedy.
It only now remains to fpeak of the Hate of Tragedy in Great Britain; the general charader of which is, that it is more animated and paffion- ate than French Tragedy, but more irregular and incorredt, and lefs attentive to decorum and to elegance. The pathetic , it mull always be »
remembered , is the foul of Tragedy. The Englilh,. therefore, muff be allowed to have aimed at the higheft fpecies of excellence - though, in the execution, they have not always joined the other beauties that ought to accompany the pathetic.
The firft object which prefents icfelf to us on the Englilh Theatre , is the great Shakefpeare.
Great he may be juftly called, as the extent and force of his natural genius, both for Tragedy and Comedy, is altogether unrivalled *, But,
* The character which Dryden has drawn of Shatelpeare is not only juft, but uncommonly elegant and happy.
“ He was the man , who of all modern, and perhaps n ancient Poets , had the largeft and nioft comprehenfive “ foul. All the images of Nature were ftill prefent to him ,
“ and he drew them not laboricufly. but luckily. Whea
Voi. III. %

33 8 ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
1 e c t. at the fame time , it is genius fhooting wild ;
XLVI. deficient in juft tafte, and altogether unaffifted
by knowledge or art. Long has he been idolifed by the Britilh nation ; much has been faid . and much has been written concerning him ; Criticifm has been drawn to the very dregs, in commentaries upon his words and witticifms; and yet it remains, to -this day , in doubt , whether his beauties , or his faults , be greateft. Admirable fcenes, and pafiages, without number, there are in his Plays , paffages beyond what are to be found in any other Dramatic Writer; but there is hardly any one of his Plays which can be called altogether a good one, or which can be read with uninterrupted pleafure from beginning to end. Befides extreme irregularities in conduct, and grotefque mixtures of ferious and comic in one piece, we are every now and then interrupted by unnatural thoughts, harfli expreffions, a certain obfcure bombaft, and a play upon words, which he A fond of puifuing: and thefe inter-
“ lie defcribes any thing, you more than fee it; you feel “ it too. They who accufe him of wanting learning, give “ him the greateft commendation. He was naturally learn- “ ed. He needed not the Spectacles of Books to read ‘‘ nature. He looked inward, and found her there. I can- “ not fay he is every where alike. Were he fo, I fliould “ do him injury, to compare him to the greateft of man- “ kind. He is many times flat and infipid; his comic wit “ degenerating into clenches ; his ferious fwelling into “ bombaft. But he is always great, when fome great, “ occafion is prel'ented to him.” DryDEN’s EBay ot Dramatic Poetry.

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
339
ruptions to our pleafure too frequently occur, on occafions, when we'would lead wilh to meet with them. All thofe faults, however, Shake- fpeare redeems, by two of the greateft excellencies which any Tragic Poet can poffefs; his lively and diverfified paintings of charader; his drong and natural expreflions of paffion. Thefe are his two chief virtues; on thefe his merit reds. Not- withdanding his many abfurdities , all the while we are reading his plays, we find ourfelves in the midd of our fellows ; we meet with men, vulgar perhaps in their manners, coarfe or hardi in their fentimcnts, but dill they are men; thev fpeak with human voices, and are actuated by human paffions; we are intereded in what they fay or do, becaufe we feel that they are of the fame nature with ourfelves. It is therefore no matter of wonder , that from the more polifhed and regular , but more cold and artificial performances of other Poets , the Public fhould return with pleafure to fuch warm and genuine reprefentations of human nature. Shakefpeare polfelfes likewife the merit of having created, for himfelf, a fort of world of preternatural beings. His witches , ghods , fairies, and fpirits of all kinds, are defcribed with fuch circumdances of awful and myderious folemnity , and fpeak a language fo peculiar to themfelves , as drongly to afted the imagination. His two mader-pieces, and in which, in my opinion, the drength of Ins genius chiefly appears, are, Othello and Macbeth. With regard to his hidorical plays,
Z x
L E C T.
XLYL

34 ©
ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
L E C T.
XLVI.
they are, properly fpeaking , neither Tragedies nor Comedies; but a peculiar fpecies of Dramatic Entertainment, calculated to defcribe the manners of the times of which he treats, to exhibit the principal characters , and to fix our imagination on the moll interefting events and revolutions of our own country *.
After the age of Shakefpeare , we can produce in the Englifh language feveral detached Tragedies of confiderable merit. But we have not many Dramatic Writers, whofe whole works are entitled either to particular criticifm , or very high praife. In the Tragedies of Dryden and Lee, there is much fire, but mixed with much fuftian and rant. Lee’s Theodofius , or the “ Force of Love,” is the belt of his pieces, and, in fome of the fcenes, does not want tendernefs and warmth; though romantic in the plan and extravagant in the fentiments. Otway was endowed with a high portion of the Tragic fpirit; which appears to great advantage in his two principal Tragedies , “ the Orphan,” and Venice Preferved. ” In thefe , he is perhaps too Tragic; the diftrelfes being fo deep, as to tear and overwhelm the mind. He is a Writer, doubtlefs, of genius and ftrong paffion; but, at the fame time, exceedingly grofs and indelicate. No Tragedies are lefs moral than thofe of Otway.
litre in; ill icon iy i
:;w
am aJti si p;
i
tae
tsni
inln
Tngf
l«inti
Ins
* See an excellent defence of Shakefpeare’s Hiftorical Plays, and feveral juft obfervations on his peculiar excel- Efflr lencies as a Tragic Poet, in Mrs. Montague’s Effav on the i® Writings and Genius of Shakefpeare.

ENGLISH TRAGEDY,
34i
There are no generous or noble fentiments in L e c t. them ; but a licentious fpirit often difcovers XLVI. itfelf. He is the very oppofite of the French decorum; and has contrived to introduce obfce- nity and indecent allufions , into the midft of deep Tragedy.
Rowe’s Tragedies make a contrail to thofe of Otway. He is full of elevated and moral fentiments. The Poetry is often good, and the language always pure and elegant: but, in moll of his plays, he is too cold and uninterelling; and flowery rather than tragic. Two, however, he has produced, which deferve to be exempted from this cenfure, Jane Shore and the Fair Penitent ; in both of which, there are fo many tender and truly pathetic fcenes , as to render them jullly favourites of the Public.
Dr. Young’s Revenge, is a play which difcovers Genius and lire; but wants tendernefs, and turns too much upon the Ihocking and direful paffions. In Congreve’s Mourning Bride, there are fome fine fituations, and much good Poetry. The two firfl Acts are admirable. The meeting of Almeria with her hufband Ofmyn, in the tomb of Anfelmo, is one of the moll folemn and ftriking fituations to be found in any Tragedy. The defects * in the cataftrophe, I pointed out in the laft Ledture. Mr. Tl homfon’s Tragedies are too full of a lliff morality, which renders them dull and formal. Tancred and Sigif- munda, far excels the reft; and for the plot, the characters, and fentiments, jullly deferves a
Z 3

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
342
L E c t. place among the belt Englilh Tragedies. Of later fefeit XLV1. pieces, and of living Authors, I have all along (kb* declined to fpeak. rf®
Upon the whole; reviewing the Tragic Com- tree, pofitions of different nations, the following con- ipjed clufions arife: A Greek Tragedy is the relation. ierivet of any diftrefsful or melancholy incident; fome- times the effedl of paflion or crime, oftener of the decree of the Gods, {imply expofed; without much variety of parts or events, but naturally and beautifully fet before us ; heightened by the Poetry of the Chorus. A French Tragedy, is a • feries of artful and refined conventions, founded upon a variety of tragical and interelting filiations; carried on with little action and vehemence ; but with much poetical beauty, and high propriety and decorum. An Englilh Tragedy is the combat of ftrong pafiions, fet before us in all their violence; producing deep difafters; often irregularly conducted; abounding in action; and filling the Spectators with grief. r I he Ancient Tragedies were more natural and fimple ; the Moderns are more artful and complex. Among the French, there is more corrednefs; among the Englilh , more fire. Andromaque and Zaire, {often; Othello and Venice Freferved, rend the heart. It deTerves remark, that three of the grcatefl mafler-pieces of the French Tragic Theatre, turn wholly upon religious fubjeds: the Athalie of Racine, the Polyeude of Corneille , and the Zaire of Voltaire. The firft is founded upon a hiftcrical paffage of the Old

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.
343
Teftament; in the other two, the diftrefs arifes Lect from the zeal and attachment of the principal XLVL perfonages to the Chriftian faith; and in all the three, the Authors have, with much propriety, availed themfelves of the Majefty >yhich may be derived from religious ideas.
Z 4

LECTURE XLVII.
;015)
-vict
COMEDY — GREEK AND ROMAN - FRENCPI — ENGLISH COMEDY.
YtiK
;'.oi in 3 nufc ■ stisf :k,2
iifi t(
iitt
L e c t. V-/OMEDY is fufficiently difcriminated from ’ft
XLVII.- Tragedy, by its general fpirit and ftrain. While a] am
pity and terror, and the other, ftrong paffions aim]
form the province of the latter, the chief or ire,
rather foie inftrument of the former, is ridicule. lit in Comedy propofes for its object, neither the great das fufferings nor the great crimes of men ; but their follies and flighter vices, thofe parts of their i.lm
character, which raife in beholders a fenfe of *o[it
impropriety, which expofe them to be cenlured, ~C 0I
and laughed at by others, or which render them y {(
troublefome in civil fociety.
This general idea of Comedy, as a fatirical ^] £
exhibition of the improprieties and follies of Jyj s
mankind , is an idea very moral and ufeful, iji There is nothing in the nature, or general plan ^
of this kind of compofition, that renders it liable Jj E
to cenfure. To polilh the manners of men, to
promote attention to the proper decorums of ^ focial behaviour, and above all to render vice ^

COMEDY.
345
l
\3L
1 b ft pie fc idles
ItE
ii! a' ila 'esi :efc:
.1 eiHW,
ic
:b
[ux ^
Jl!
ridiculous, is doing a real fervice to the world. Many vices might be more fuccefsfully exploded, by employing ridicule againfb them, than by fe- rious attacks and arguments. At the fame time, it mull be confeffed, that ridicule is an inftrument of luch a nature, that when managed by unfkil- ful, or improper hands, there is hazard of its doing mifehief, inftead of good, to fociety. For ridicule is far from being, as fome have maintained it to be, a proper tell of truth. On the contrary, it is apt to miflead, and feduce, by the colours which it throws upon its objedts; and it is often more difficult to judge, whether tlrefe colours be natural and proper, than it is to diftinguilh between fimple truth and error. Licentious Writers, therefore, of the Comic clafs, have too often had it in their power to call; a ridicule upon charadlers and objedts which did not deferve it. But this is a fault, not owing to the nature of Comedy, but to the Genius and turn of the Writers of it. In the hands of a loofe immoral Author, Comedy will miflead and corrupt; while, in thofe of a virtuous and well-intentioned one, it will be not only a gay and innocent, but a laudable and ufeful entertainment. French Comedy is an exellent fchool of manners; while Englilh Comedy has been too often the fchool of vice.
The rules refpecling the Dramatic Adfion, which I delivered in the firft Ledlure upon Tragedy, belong equally to Comedy; and hence, of courfe, our difquifitions concerning it are
•
, E C T
XLVIL

346
COMEDY.
lECT.
XLV1J.
fhortened. It is equally neceffary to bdth thefe ^ forms of Dramatic Compofition, that there be a proper unity of action and fubject: that the uni- ties of time and place be, as much aspoffible, - 1 - 1 preferved; that is, that the time of the action be brought within reafonable bounds; and the place of the action never changed, at lealt, not a " ! > during the courfe of each Adt; that the feveral nJOtl Scenes or fucceffive converfations be properly linked together; that the Stage be never totally ^ evacuated till the Act; clofes; and that the reafon fhould appear to us, why the perfonages, who nil : ^ a up the different Scenes, enter and go off the Stage, at the time when they are made to do fo. The -- fcope of all thefe rules, I {bowed, was to bring the ®i Si imitation as near as poffible to probability; which ^ is always neceffary, in order to any imitation tiers giving us pleafure. This reafon requires, per- •*; haps, a ftricter obfervance of the dramatic v rules .*!)' in Comedy, than in Tragedy. For the action toy, of Comedy being more familiar to us than that t\r of Tragedy, more like what we are accuftomed aso. to fee in common life, we judge more eafily of ca what is probable, and are more hurt by the want to; of it. The probable and the natural, both in the ia! conduct of the ftory , and in the characters and ph fentiments of the perfons who are introduced, are irco the great foundation, it muff always be remem- iff bered, of the whole beauty of Comedy. loi
THt fubjedts of Tragedy are not limited to any ;?»] country, or to any age. The Tragic Poet may ;=ii lay his Scene, in whatever region he pleafes. :jv;

COMEDY.
34 ?
He may form Ills fubjed: upon the hiftory, either of his own, o* of a foreign country; and he may take it from any period that is agreeable to him, however remote in time. The reverfe of this holds in Comedy, for a clear and obvious reafon. In the great vices, great virtues, and high paliions, men of all countries and ages refemble one another; and are therefore equally fubjedts for the Tragic IVTufe. But thofe decorums of behaviour , thofe leffer diferiminations of character, which afford fubject for Comedy, change with the differences of countries and times; and can never be fo well underftood by foreigners, as by natives. We weep for the heroes of Greece and Rome, as freely as w r e do for thofe of our own country: but we are touched with the ridicule of fuch manners and fuch characters only, as we fee and know ; and therefore the feene and fubjedt of Comedy , fhould always be laid in our own country, and in our own times. The Comic Poet, who aims at correcting improprieties and follies of behaviour, fhould ftudy “ to catch the manners living as they rife.” It is not his bufi- nefs to amufe us with a tale of the laft age, or with a Spanilh or a French intrigue; but to give us pictures taken from among ourfelves; to fati- rize reigning and prefent vices; to exhibit .to the age a faithful copy of itfelf, with its humours, its follies, and its extravagancies. It is only by laying his plan in this manner , that he can add weight and dignity to the entertainment which he gives us. Plautus, it is true, and Terence,
L U T.
XLVII.

348
COMEDY.
L e c T. did not follow this rule. They laid the fcene XLV1I. of their Comedies in Gree#e, and adopted the Greek laws and cuftoms. But it mull be remembered, that Comedy was, in their age, but a new entertainment in Rome ; and that then they contented themfelves with/imitating, often with tranflating merely, the Comedies of Menander, and other Greek Writers. In after times, it is known that the Romans had the “ Comcedia Togata,” or what was founded on their own manners, as well as the cc Comcedia Palliata,” or what was taken from the Greeks.
Comedy may be divided into two kinds: Comedy of Character, and Comedy of Intrigue. In the latter, the plot, or the adion of the Play, is made the principal objed. In the former, the difplay of fome peculiar character is chiefly aimed at; the action is contrived altogether with a view to this end, and is treated as fubordinate to it. The French abound moft in Comedies of Char- ader. All Moliere’s capital Pieces are of this fort, his Avare , for . inftance, Mifanthrope, Tartuffe; and fuch are Deftouches’s alfo, and thofe of the other chief French Comedians. The Englilh have inclined more to Comedies of intrigue. In the Plays of Congreye ,*and, in general , in all our Comedies, there is much more ftory , more buftle and adion , than on the French Theatre.
In order to give this fort of Compofition its proper advantage, thefe two kinds fliould be properly mixed together. Without fome intereft-
vlicll
;;ton
2,3
■'char 2 W
.as
a of
Ar
it,
j.0ti t
a by
dau
Coined
ad
tire
23»(
1st
toll
Bryii
dm'
3ct

COMEDY,
349
ing and well-conduCted flory, mere converfation is apt to become infipid. There fhould be always as much intrigue , as to give us fomething to wifh, and fomething to fear. The incidents ftiould fo fucceed one another, as to produce ftriking filiations, and to fix our attention; while they afford at the fame time a proper field for the exhibition of character. For the Poet mult never forget, that to exhibit characters and manners, is his principal objeCt. The aCtion in Comedy, though it demands his care, in order to render it animated and natural, is a lefs fignificant and important part of the performance, than the aCtion in Tragedy: as in Comedy, it is what men fay, and how they behave, that draws our attention , rather than what they perform, or what they fuffer. Hence it is a great fault to overcharge it with too much intrigue; and thofeintricate Spanifh plots that were fafhionable for a-while, carried on by perplexed apartments , dark entries, and difguifed habits , are now juftly condemned and laid afide: for by fuch conduCt, the main ufe of Comedy was loft. T he attention of the Spectators, inftead of being directed towards any difplay of characters, was fixed upon the furprifing turns and revolutions of the intrigue ; and Comedy was changed into a mere Novel.
In the management of Characters, one of the moft common faults of Comic Writers, is the carrying of them too'far beyond life. Wherever ridicule is concerned ., it is indeed extremely difficult to hit the precife point where true \yit
L E C T.
XLYII.

Leo t. ends, and buffoonery begins. When the Mifer, XLV1I. for inftance, in Plautus, fearching the perfort • whom he fufpects for having ftolen his cafket, after examining firfthis right hand, and then his left, cries out, “ oftende etiam tertiam ,” “fliow cc me your third hand ,” (a ftroke too which IVicliere has copied from him) there is no one but muff be fenfible of the extravagance. Certain degrees of exaggeration are allowed to the Comedian ; but there are limits fet to it by nature and good tafte; and fuppofing the Mifer to be ever fo much engrofled by his jealoufy and his fufpi- cions , it is impoffible to conceive any man in his wits fufpecting another of having more than two hands. •
Characters in Comedy ought to be clearly diftinguifhed from one another; but the artificial contrafting of Characters, and the introducing them always in pairs, and by oppofites, gives too theatrical and affeded an air to the Piece. This is become too common a refource of Comic Writers, in order to heighten their Characters, and difplay them to more advantage. As foon as the violent and impatient perfon arrives upon the Stage, the Spectator knows that, in the next fcene, he is to be contrafted with the mild and good-natured man ; or if one of the lovers introduced be remarkably gay and airy, we are fine that his companion is to be a grave and ferious lover; like Frankly and Bellamy, Clarinda and Jacintha, in Dr. Hoadly’s Sufpicious Hufband. Such productions of Characters by pairs, is like

COMEDY.
35i
the employment of the Antithefis in difcourfe , which, as I formerly obferved, gives brilliancy indeed upon occafions, but is too apparently a rhetorical artifice. In every fort of Compofition , the perfection of art is to conceal art. A mafterly Writer will therefore give us his characters , diftinguifhed rather by fuch fhades of diverfity as are commonly found in Society, than marked with fuch ftrong oppofitions, as are rarely brought into actual contrail, in any of the circumftances of life.
The Style of Comedy ought to be pure, elegant, and lively, very feldom rifing higher than the ordinary tone of polite converfation ; and, upon no occafion, defcending into vulgar, mean, and grofs expreffions. Here the French rhyme, which in many of their Comedies they have preferved, occurs as an unnatural bondage. Certainly', if Profe belongs to any compofition whatever, it is to that which imitates the com verfation of men in ordinary life. One of the mofl difficult circumftances in writing Comedy, and one too , upon which the fuccefs of it very much depends, is to maintain , throughout, a current of eafy, genteel unaffedled dialogue, without pertnefs and flippancy; without too much ftudied and unfeafonable wit; without dulnefs and formality. Too few of our Fnglifh Comedies are diftinguifhed for this happy turn of converfation; moft of them are liable to one or other of the exceptions I have mentioned. The Carelefs Huf- band, and, perhaps, we may add the Provoked
L e c T. XLV1L

V.
352
COMEDY.
t E C T.
XLVII.
Hufband, and the Sufpicious Hufband, feem to have more merit than moft of them, for eafy and natural dialogue.
These are the chief obfervations that occur to me, concerning the general principles of this fpecies of Dramatic Writing, as diftinguilhed from Tragedy. But its nature and fpirit will be ftill better underftood, by a fhort hiftory of its pro- grefs; and a view of the manner in which it has been carried on by Authors of different nations.
Tragedy is generally fuppofed to have been more ancient among the Greeks than Comedy. We have fewer lights concerning the origin and progrefs of the latter. What is moft probable, is, that, like the other, it took its rife accidentally from the diverfions peculiar to the feaft of Bacchus, and from Thefpis and his Cart; till,by degrees, it diverged into an entertainment of a quite different nature from folemn and Heroic Tragedy. Critics diftinguifh three ftages of Comedy among the Greeks; which they call, the Ancient, the Middle, and the New.
The Ancient Comedy confifted in direft and avowed fatire againft particular known perfons, who were brought upon the Stage by name. Of this nature are the Plays of Ariftophanes, eleven of which are ftill extant; Plays of a very fmgular nature, and wholly different from all Compofi- tions which have, lince that age, born the name of Comedy. They Ihow what a turbulent and licentious Republic that of Athens was, and what unreftrained lcope the Athenians gave to ridicule,
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ANCIENT COMEDY.
353
when they could fuffer the moll illuftrious per- l e c t. foliages of their (late, their generals, and their XLYII. magiftrates, Cleon, Lamachus, Nicias, Alcibiades, not to mention Socrates the Philofopher , and Euripides the Poet, to be publicly made the fubject of Comedy. Several of Ariftophanes’s Plays are wholly political fatires, upon public management, and the conduct of generals and ftatefmen, during the Feleponnefian war. They are fo full of political allegories and allufions, that it is impof- fible to underftand them without a confiderable knowledge of the hiftory of thofe times. They abound too with Parodies of the great Tragic Poets, particularly of Euripides; to whom the Author was a great enemy , and has written two Comedies, almoft wholly in order to ridicule him.
Vivacity, Satire, and Buffoonery, are the charaderillics of Ariflophanes. Genius and force he difplays upon many occasions; but his performances, upon the whole, are not calculated to give us any high opinion of the Attic tafte of wit, in this age. They feem , indeed, to have been compofed for the mob. The Ridicule employed in them is extravagant; the wit for the moft part, buffoonilh and farcical; the perfonal raillery, biting and cruel; and the obfeenity that reigns in them , is grofs and intolerable. The treatment given by this Comedian, to Socrates the Philofopher, in his Play of “ The Clouds,’** is well known; but however it might tend to difparage Socrates in the public efleem, P. Brumov VOL. III. A a ^

354
ANCIENT COMEDY.
L e c t. in his Theatre Grec, makes it appear, that it XLVIt. could not have been , as is commonly fuppofed the caufe of decreeing the death of that philo- fopher, which did not happen till twenty-three years after the reprefentation of Ariftophanes’s Clouds. There is a Chorus in Ariftophanes’s Plays ; but altogether of an irregular kind. It is partly ferious, partly comic; fometimes mingles in the Adion, fometimes addreffes the Spectators, defends the Author, and attacks his enemies.
Soon after the days of Ariftophanes , the liberty of attacking perfons on the Stage byname, being found of dangerous confequence to the public peace was prohibited by law. The Chorus alfo , was at this period , banilhed from the Comic Theatre, as having,been an inftrument of too much licence and abufe. 1 hen, what is called the Middle Comedy, took rife;* which was no other than an elufion of the law. Fiditious names, indeed, were employed; but living perfons were ftill attacked; and defcribed in fuch a manner as to be fufficiently known. Of thefe Comic Pieces, we have no remains. To them fucceeded the New Comedy; when the Stage being obliged to denft wholly from perfonal ridicule, became, what it is now, the pidure of manners and characters , but not of particular perfons. Menander was the molt diltinguiflied Author, of this kind, among the Greeks, and •both from the imitations of him by Terence, and the account given of him by Plutarch, we have much reafon to regret that his writings

ANCIENT COMEDY.
355
have perifhed; as he appears to have reformed, in a very high degree , the public tafle, and to have fet the model of correct , elegant, and moral Comedy.
The only remains which we now have of the New Comedy, among the Ancients, are the Flays of Plautus and Terence; both of whom were formed upon the Greek Writers. Plautus is diftinguiihed for very expreflive language, and a great degree of the Vis Comica. As he wrote in an early period , he bears feveral marks of the rudenefs of the Dramatic Art, among the Romans, in his time. He opens his plays with Prologues, which fometimes preoccupy the {abject of the whole Piece. The reprefentation too , and the action of the Comedy, are fometimes confounded ; ^le Adtor departing from his character , and addrefling the Audience. There is too much low -wit and fcurrility in Plautus ; too much of quaint conceit, and play upon words. But withal, he difplays more variety , and more forGe than Terence. His characters are always ftrongly marked , though fometimes coarfely. His Amphytrion has been copied both by Moliere and by Dryden ; and his Mifer alfo (in the Au- lularia), is the foundation of a capital Play of Moliere’s , which has been once and again imitated on the Englilh Stage. Than Terence, nothing can be more delicate , more polilbed and elegant. His Style is a model of the pureft and molt graceful I.atinity. His dialogue is always decent and correct ; and he pcflelfes, beyond
A a z
L F. C T.
XLVII.

SPANISH COMEDY.
356
Lect, mod Writers, the' art of relating with that- JCLVIL beautiful picturefque fimplicity , which never fails to pleafe. His morality is, in general, unexceptionable. The fituations which he introduces, are often tender and interefling; and many of his fentiments touch the heart. Hence, he may be confidered as the founder of that ferious Comedy, which has, of late years, been revived, and of which I fhall have occafion afterwards to fpeak. If he fails in any thing, it is in fprightlinefs and ftrength. Both in his Characters, and in his Plots, there is too much famenefs and uniformity throughout all his plays; he copied ATenander, and is faid not to have equalled him *. In order to form a perfect Comic Author, an union would be requifite of the fpirit and fire of Plautus, with the grace and correctnefs of Terence.
When we enter on the view of Modern Comedy, one of the firfh objects' which prefents itfelf, is , the Spanifh Theatre, which has been remarkably fertile in Dramatic Productions. Lopez de Vega, Guillin, and Calderon, are the chief Spanifh Comedians. Lopez de Vega, who *is by
* Julius Cceliir has given us his opinion of Terence, in the following lines, which are preferved in the life of Terence afcribed to Suetonius:
Tu quoque, tu in fummis, 6 dimidiate Menander, Poneris , et merito, puri fermonis amator;
Lenibus atque utinam fcriptis adjunda foret vis Comica, ut cequato virtus p oil e ret honore Cum Grcecis, neque in hac defpedus parte jaceres;
Unur.i hoc maceror, et doleo titii, deelfe, Terenci.

SPANISH C-OM. ED Y. 35?
much the moft famous of them, is faid to have Lect written above a thoufand Play's; and our furprife XLV1I, at the number of his Productions will be diminilh- ed, by being informed of their nature. Prom the account which M. Perron »de Caftera, a French Writer, gives of them , it would feem, that our Shakefpeare is perfectly a regular and methodical Author , in comparifon of Lopez. He throws afide all regard to the Three Unities, or to any of the eftablilhed forms of Dramatic Writing.
One Play often includes many years, nay, the whole life of a man. The Scene, during the ftift ACt, is laid in Spain , the next in Italy, and the third in Africa. His Plays are moftly of the hiftorical kind, founded on the annals of the country ; and they are, generally, a fort of Tragi-comedies; or a mixture of Heroic Speeches,
Serious ' Incidents , War and Slaughter, with much Ridicule and Buffoonery. Angels and Gods, . Virtues and Vices, Chriftian Religion and Pagan Mythology, are all frequently jumbled together.
In fhort, they are Plays like no other Dramatic Compofitions; full of the romantic and extravagant.
At the fame time, it is generally admitted,that in the works of Lopez de Vega, there are frequent marks of Genius, and much force of imagination; many well drawn characters, many happy fituati- ons; many ftriking and interefting furprifes; and, from the fource of his rich invention, the Dramatic Writers of other countries are faid to have frequently drawn their materials. He himfelf apologifes for the extreme irregularity of his Compofition,
A a 3

35 S FRENCH COMEDY.
L e c t. from the prevailing tafte of his countrymen,
XLVII. who delighted in a variety of events, in ftranse and furprifmg adventure? ,* and a labyrinth of intrigues , much more than in a natural and regularly conducted Story.
The general characters of the French Comic Theatre are , that it is corred , chafte , and decent. Several Writers of confiderable note it has produced , fucb as Regnard , Dufrefny, Dancaurt, and Marivaux; but the Dramatic Author, in whom the French glory moft, and whom they juftly place at the head of all their Comedians, is, the famous Moliere. There is, indeed, no Author, in all the fruitful and dif- tinguifhed age of Louis XIV. who has attained a higher reputation than Moliere; or who has more nearly reached the fummit of perfection in , his own art, according lo the judgment of all , the French Critics. Voltaire boldly pronounces him to be the moft eminent Comic Poet, of any ■age or country; nor, perhaps , is this the decifion of mere partiality ; for taking him , upon the whole, I know none who deferves to be preferred to him. Mohere, is always the Satirift only of vice or folly. He has feletfted a great variety of ridiculous characters peculiar to the times in which he lived , and he has generally placed the ridicule piftly. He pollened ftrong Comic powers; he is full of mirth and pleafantry; and his pleafantry is always innocent. His Comedies in Verfe, fuck as the Mifanthrope and Tavtuffe , are a kind of diguihed Comedy , in which vice is expofed,

359
ENGLISH COMEDY.
in the ftyle of elegant and polite Satire. In his Profe Comedies , though there is abundance of ridicule, yet there is never any thing found to offend a modeft ear, or to throw contempt on fobriety and virtue. Together with thofe high qualities , Moliere has alfo fome defects which Voltaire, though his profelTed Panegyrift, candidly admits. Pie is acknowledged not to be happy in the unravelling of his Plots. Attentive more to the ftrong exhibiti6n of characters, than to the conduCt of the intrigue, his unravelling is frequently brought on with too little preparation, and in an improbable manner. In his Vgrfe Comedies , he is fometimes not fuf- ficiently interefting, and too full of long fpeeches; and in his more rifible pieces in Profe , he is cenfured for being too farcical. Few Writers, however, if any, ever poffeffed the fpirit, or attained the true end of Comedy, fo per'eCtly, upon the whole, as Moliere. His Tartuffe , in the ftyle of Grave Comedy, and his Avnre , in the Gay, are accounted his two capital productions.
From the Englifli Theatre, we are naturally led to expect a great variety of original characters in Comedy , and bolder ftrokes of wit and humour , than are to be found on any other Modern Stage. Humour is, in a great meafure, the peculiar province of the Fmglifh nation. T he nature of fuch a free Government as ours ; and that unreftramed liberty which our manners allow to every man , of living entirely after his own tafte, afford full fcope to the ddplay of fmgu-
A a 4
Lect. XL VII,

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3 6o ENGLISH COMEDY.
I. B c t. larity of character , and to the indulgence of
XLVII. humour in all its forms. Whereas, in France, the influence of a defpotic court, the more eftab- lifbed fubordination of ranks , and the univerfal observance of the forms of polltenefs and decorum , fpread a much greater uniformity over the outward behaviour and charadters of men. Hence Comedy has a more ample held, and can flow with a much freer vein in Britain, than in France. But it is extremely unfortunate, that, together with the freedom and boldnefs of the Comic fpirit in Britain, there fhould have been joined fuch a fpirit of indecency and licentioufnefs, as has difgraced Englifh Comedy beyond .that of any nation, fince the days of Ariftophanes.
The firft age, however, of Englifh Comedy, was not infedted by this fpirit. Neither the Plays of Shakefpeare, nor thofe of Ben. Johnfon, can be accufed of immoral tendency. Shakefpeare's general charadter, which I gave in the laft Lecture , appears with as great advantage in his Comedies , as in his Tragedies ; a flrong, fertile,
• and creative genius, irregular in condudt, employed too often in amufing the mob , but fingu- larly rich and happy in the defcription of characters and manners. Johnfon is more regular in the conduct of his pieces, but fliff and pedantic; though not deflitute of Dramatic Genius. In the Plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, much fancy and invention appear , and ftveral beautiful paflages may be found. But, in general, they abound with romantic and improbable incidents , with

ENGLISH COMEDY. 3 6 i
lt! ^ overcharged and unnatural characters , and with Lict ® ; i : coarfe and grofs allufions. Thofe Comedies of XLVII. the laft age , by the change of public manners, and of the turn of converfation , fince their time, are now become too obfolete to be very agree- ■ able. For we mult obferve , that Comedy depend- ing much on the prevailing modes of external behaviour, becomes fooner antiquated than any ’ Iffi other fpecies of Writing; and,when antiquated, f!®: it feems harfh to us, and lofes its power of plea- fei fmg. This is efpecially the cafe with refpedt to the Comedies of our own country , where the “!= change of manners is more fenfible and linking , hi than in any foreign production. In our country, the prefent mode of behaviour is always the E Itandard of politenefs ; and whatever departs from t- it appears uncouth; whereas, in the Writings 3,E; of foreigners, we are lefs acquainted with any pi llandard of this kind , and of courfe , are lefs ik hurt by the want of it. Plautus appeared more id; antiquated to the Romans, in the age of Auguft- frii, us, than he does now to us. It is a high proof , c of Shakefpeare’s uncommon genius, that, notwith- fel Handing thefe difadvantages, his character ofFal- Iff ftaff is to this day admired, and his “Merry fe: Wives of Windfor,“ read with pleafure. a It was not till the sera of the Reftoration of a; King Charles II. that the licentioufnefs which was rd obferved , at that period, to infed the court, is* and the nation in general , feized, in a peculiar e; manner, upon Comedy as its province, and, for 0 almolt a whole century, retained poffeflion of it.

3 6a ENGLISH COMEDY.
L E c T. It was then firft, that the Rake became the pre- I®, XLVII. dominant character, and. with fome exceptions,
the Hero of every Comedy. The ridicule was .f‘ thrown , not upon vice and folly , but; much more .;.;c commonly upon chaftity and fobriety. At the 3(1 end of the Elay , indeed, the Rake is commonly qal in appearance, reformed, and profeffes that he is si to become a fober man; but throughout the play 3 . he is fet up as the model of a fine gentleman; :ivi and the agreeable impreffion made by a fort of ai ’ fprightly licentioufnefs , is left upon the imagina- ail tion , as a picture of the pleafurable en|oyment si of life ; while the reformation paffes flightiy away Sc, as a matter of form merely. To what fort of k moral conduct fuch public entertainments as thefe -So tend to form the youth of both fexes, may be eafily imagined. Yet this has been the fpirit A which has prevailed upon the comic Stage of tea Great Britain, not only during the reign of Char- d, les II. but throughout the reigns of King William 3 I and Oueen Anne, and down to the days of King utli George II. I,
Dryden was the firft confiderable Dramatic W riter after the Reiteration; in whole Comedies, ! as in all his works, there are found many ftrokes ^ of genius, mixed with great careleffnefs and vi- ^ fible marks of hafty compolition. As he fought to pleafe only , he went along with the manners t; of the times; and has carried through all his Co- medics that vein of diffolute licentioufnefs, which ^ was then fafhionable. In fome of them , the in-

ENGLISH COMEDY. 363
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Since his time, the Writers of Oomedy, of greateft note, have been Cibber , V anburg;h , Farquhar, and Congreve. Cibber has written a great many Comedies ; and though in feveral of them, there be much fprightlinefs, and a certain pert vivacity peculiar to him, yet they are fo forced and unnatural in the incidents, as to have generally funk into obfcurity, except two , which have always continued in high favour with the Public, “ The Carelefs Hulband and * The “ Provoked Hulband.” The former is remark-' able for the polite and eafy turn of the dialogue; and , with the exception of one indelicate Scene, is tolerably moral too in the conduct, and in the tendency. The latter, the “ Provoked Huf- band , ” (which was the joint production of Van- burgh and Cibber ), is, perhaps ; on the whole, the belt Comedy in the Englilh Language. It is liable, indeed, to one critical objection of having
L e c T. XLYII.-
, , * “ The mirth wljich he excites in Comedy will, per-
“ haps ■, be found not fo much to arife from any original V “ humour, or peculiarity of character , nicely diftinguifhed, • “ and diligently purfued, as from incidents and circum-
k: “ fiances, artifices and furprifes , from jefts of a&ion, “ rather than fenciment. What he had of humorous or jf “ paffionate , he feems to have had, not from nature, ^ 11 but from ocher Poets ; if not always a Plagiary, yet, at "■ “ leaf!, an imitator. ”
; Johnson’s Life of Dryden.
#

364 ENGLISH COMEDY.
L E C T. XL VII.
a double Plot; as the incidents of the Wrong-head family, and thofe of Lord Townly’s, are feparate, and independent, of each other. But this irregularity is compenfated by the natural characters, the fine painting, and happy ftrokes of humour with which it abounds. We are, indeed, fur- prifed to find fo unexceptionable a Comedy proceeding from two fuch loofe Authors; for, in its general ftrain , it is calculated to expofe hcentiouf- nefs and folly; and would do honour to any Stage.
Sir John Vanburgh has fpirit, wit, andeafe; but he is to the laft degree , grofs and indelicate. He is one of the molt immoral of all our Comedians. His “Provok’d Wife ,” is full of fuch indecent fentiments and allufions , as ought to explode it out of all reputable fociety. His “Relapfe,” is equally cenfurable; and thefe are his only two confiderable Pieces. Congreve is, unqueftionably, a Writer of genius. He is lively , witty , and fparkling ; full of character, and full of action. His chief fault as a Comic Writer , is , that he overflows with wit. It is often introduced un- feafonably; and almoft every where,there is too great a proportion of it for natural well - bred converfation *. Farquharis a light and gay Writer;
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ENGLISH COMEDY. 365
lcfs corredt, and lefs fparkling than Congreve ; but he has more eafe; and , perhaps fully as great a fli a re of the Vis Comica. The two beft and leaft exceptionable of his Plays, are the “Recruiting “ Officer,” and the “Beaux Stratagem.” I fay the leaft exceptionable; for, in general, the tendency of both Congreve and Farquhar’s Plays is immoral. 1 hroughout them all , the Rake , the loofe intrigue, and the life of licentioufnefs , are the objects continually held up to view; as if the aflemblies of a great and polifhed nation could be amufed with none but vicious objedts. The indelicacy of thefe Writers, in the female characters which they introduce, is particularly remarkable. Nothing can be more awkward than their repre- fentalions of a woman of virtue and honour. Indeed , there are hardly any female characters in their Plays except two ; women of loofe principles , or women of affected manners, when they attempt to draw a character of virtue.
The cehfure which I have now paffed upon thefe celebrated Comedians , is far from being overftrained or fevere. Accuftomed to the indelicacy of our own Comedy, and amufed with the wit and humour of it, its immorality too eafdy efcapes our obfervation. But all foreigners , the French efpecially, who are accuftomed to a better regulated, and more decent Stage, fpeak of it with furprife and aftonifhment. Voltaire, who is, affuredly, none of the moft auftere moralifts, plumes hiinfelf not a little upon the fuperior bienfeance
L e c T. XLY1I.

366 ENGLISH COMEDY.
L e c T. of the French Theatre ; and fays , that the Ian- ^ XLVII. gnage of Englifh Comedy is the language of de-
banchery, not of politenefs. M. Moralt in his d® Letters upon the French and Englifh Nations, afcribes the corruption of manners in London to 3 Comedy as its chief caufe. Their Comedy, he 2 * lays, is like that of no other country ; it is the ife fchool in which the youth of both fexes famiiiarife 'o' themfelves with vice, which is never reprefented there as vice, but as mere gaiety. As for Co- is pi medies, fays the ingenious 1\1. Diderot , in his aoci obfervations upon.Dramatic Poetry, the Englifh ft have none ; they have, in their place , fatires, full set indeed, of gaiety and force, but without morals, and ism without taPce; fans mwurs ct fans gout. There is no Je wonder, therelore, that Lord Kaims, in his Ele- tuts mentsof Criticifm, Ihould have expreffed himfelf, pvt upon this fubject, of the indelicacy of EnglilhCo- His medy, in terms much ftronger than any that I have Co® ufed; concluding his invective againft it in thefe [» words: “How odious ought thofe Writers to i:ver “ be, who thus fpread infection through their Elr “ native country; employing the talents which cJ: “ they have received from their Maker molt k] “ traiteroufly againft himfelf, by endeavouring loa “ to corrupt and disfigure his creatures. If the a “ Comedies of Congreve did not rack him with ■ zsi “ remorfe, in his laft moments, he mult have ;; “ been loft to all fenfe of virtue.” Vol. I. 5 7 . tos I AM happy, however, to have it in my power to obferve, that of late years, a feniible si;

ENGLISH COMEDY. 367
reformation has begun to take place in Englifh Comedy.. We have, at daft, become afhamed of makingrour public entertainments reft wholly upon profligate characters and fcenes; and our later Comedies, of any reputation , are much purified from the hcentioufnefs of former times. If they have not the fpirit, the eafe, and ihe wit of Congreve and Farquhar, in which refpect they muft be confe.ffed to be fomewhat deficient; this praife, however, they juftly merit, of being innocent and moral.
For this reformation, we are queftionlefs, much indebted to the French Theatre , which has not only been , at all times, more chafte and inoffenfive than ours, but has, within thefe few yea'rs, produced a fpecies of Comedy, of ftill a graver turn than any that I have yet mentioned. This which is called the Serious, or Tender Comedy, and was termed by its Oppofers , La Co me die Larmoyante , is not altogether a modem invention. Several of Terence’s Plays , as the Andria, in particular, partake of this character, and as we know that Terence copied Menander, we have fufficient reafon to believe that his Comedies, alfo, were of the fame kind. The nature of this Compofttion, does not -by any means exclude gaiety and ridicule ; but it lays the chief ftrefs upon tender and interefting fitua- tions; it aims at being fentimental, and touching the heart by means of the capital incidents ; it makes our pleafure arife, not fo much from the
L E c T. XLYII.

L e c t. laughter which it excites, as from the tears of XLV1I. affedtion aruj joy which it draws forth.
In Englilh, Steele’s Confcious Loi^s, is a Comedy which approaches to this character, and it has always been favourably received by the Public. In French, there are feveral Dramatic Compofitions of this kind, which poffefs confi- derable merit and reputation ; fuch as the “ Melanide, ” and “ Prejuge a la Mode, ” of La Chaufle; the “ Pere de Famille, ” of Diderot; the “ Cenie ” of Mad, Graffigny ; and the “ Na- nine , ” and “ L’Enfant Prcftigue, ” of Voltaire.
When this form of Comedy firft appeared in France, it excited a great controverfy among the Critics. It was objedled to, as a dangerous and unjuftifiable innovation in Compofition. It is not Comedy, faid they, for it is not founded on laughter and ridicule. It is not Tragedy, for it does not involve us in forrow. By what name then tan it be called ? or what pretenfions hath * it to be comprehended under Dramatic Writing?
But this was trifling , in the mod egregious manner, with, critical names and diftinctions, as if thefe had invariably fixed the eflence, and afeertained the limits, of every fort of Compofition. Alluredly it is not neceffary that all Comedies flionld be formed on one precife model. Some may be entirely light and gay; others may incline more to the ferious; forne may partake of both ; and all of them , properly executed, may furnifh agreeable and ufeful entertainment to the
Public,

ENGLISH COMEDY. 369
Public, by fuiting the different tartes of men * *• 4 Serious and tender Coiriedy has no tide to claim to itfelf the poffeflion of the ftage, to the exclu- fion'of ridicule and gaiety. But when it retains only its proper place , without ufurping the province of any other; when it is carried oil with refemblance to real life, and without introducing romantic and unnatural fituations, it may certainly prove both an interefting and an agreeable fpecies of Dramatic Writing. If it become in lipid and drawling, this mull be imputed to the fault of the Author, not to the nature of the Compofition, which may admit much livelinefs and vivacity.
In general, whatever form Comedy affumes * whether gay or ferious , it may always be elleemed a mark of Society advancing in true politenefs , when thofe theatrical exhibitions, which are defigned for public amufement, arc cleared from indelicate fentiment , or immoral tendency. Though the licentious buffoonery of Ariftophanes amufed the Greeks for a while, they advanced , by degrees, to a charter and jufter tafte; and the like progrefs of refinement may be
* “ II y a beaucoup de tres - bonnes pieces, ou il ne regne que de la gaiete; d’autres toutes ferieufes, d’au- “ tres melangees ; d’autres, ou 1’attendriffement va juf- “ qu’aux larmes. II ne faut donner exelufion a aucun “ genre ; et fi l’on me demandait, quel genre eft le meil-
*• leur? Je repondrais, celui qui eft le mieux traite.”
VOLTAIKE..
VOL. III. Bb
Lect.
XLVII.

370 ENGLISH COMEDY.
L E c T. concluded to tal e place among us, -when the XLV1I. Public receive with, favour , Dramatic Compofi- tions of fuch a ftrain and fpirit, as entertained the Greeks and Romans, in the days of Menander and Terence.

N D
E
TO THE
THREE VOLUMES,
lloe Numeral Letters refer to the Volume; and the Figures to the Pages.
Accents , thrown Farther bach from the termination in the Englifli, than in any other language, i. 202, Seldom more than one in Englifh words, ii, 392, Govern the meafure of Englifh verfe , iii. 11
Acbiller, his character in the Iliad, examined, iii. 2; 9.
Ail ion, much ufed to allift language in an imperfetft hate, i. i2t. And by ancient orators and players, 125, Fundamental rule of propriety in, ii. 406. Cautions with rofpect to, 409* In epic poetry, the requifites of, iii. 2x2,
Acls, the divifion of a piay into five, an arbitrary limitation, iii. 500. Thefe paufes in reprefentation ought to fall properly, 3ot.
Adam , his character in Milton’s Paradife Loft -, iii. 281,
Addifon, general view of his Effay on the Fkafures of the Imagination, i. 49. His invocation of the mufe in his Campaign cenfured, 87. Elemilhes in his ftyle, 259. 241. 258- Eafe and perfpicuity of ^ 266. 269. 27;. His beautiful defcription of light and colours, 329. Initance of his ufe of mixed metaphor, 351.
B b 2

INDEX.
Improper ufe of limilies, 392- His general character' as a writer, ii. 37. Character of his Spectator, 93. Critical examination of fome of thofe papers , 99. Re- marks on his criticifni of Taffo’s Aminta, iii. 142. note. His tragedy of Cato critically examined, 297. 312. 321. 326.
Adjectives , common to all languages , i. 179. How .they came to be claffed with nouns, 18°.
Adverbs , their nature and ufe defined, i. 189. Importance of their pofition in a fentence illuftrated, 238.
JEneid of Virgil, critical examination of that poem, iii. 246. The fubject, 247. Action, 249. Is deficient in. characters, ibid. Diftribution and Management of the fubject, 290. Abounds with awful and tender feenes, 231. The defeent of /Eneas into hell, 253. The poem left unfinifhed by Virgil, 233.
/Eff bines , a comparifon between him and Demofthenes, ii. 179. ....
Mfchylus , his charadter as a tragic writer, iii. 329.
uEtita , remarks on Virgil’s defeription of that mountain, i. 83. And on that by Sir Richard Blackmore, 84-
Affectation, the difadvantages of in public fpeaking, ii. 410.
Ages , four, peculiarly fruitful in learned men, pointed out, iii. 23.
Akenjide , his comparifon between fublimity in natural and moral objects, i. 61. note. Inftance of *his happy allufion to figures, 327. Character of his Pleafures of the Imagination, iii. 13S.
Alphabet of letters, the confiderations which led to the invention of, i. 149. Remote obfeurity of this invention , 130. The alphabets of different nations derived from one common fource , 191.
Allegory , explained, i. 336. Anciently a favourite method of conveying inftructions , 338. Allegorical perfon- ages , improper agents in epic poetry, iii. 227. 277.
Ambiguity in ftyle, from whence it proceeds, i. 238.

Amplification in fpeech, what, i. 408. Its principal inftru- ment, ib.'
American languages, the figurative ftyle of, i. 150. 322.
A11 a? nor ifs , in ancient tragedy, explained, iii. 304.
Annals , and hiftory , the diftinction between, iii. 6g.
Ancients and moderns diftinguifhed, iii. 25. The merits of ancient writers are now finally afcertained, 2 5. The progrefs of knowledge favourable to the moderns, in •forming a comparifon between them ,31. In philofo- phy and hiftory, ibid. The efforts of genius greater among the ancients ,33. A mediocrity of genius now more dilfufed, 34.
Anti thefts in language explained, i. 3 9 S- The too frequent ufe of cenfured , 400.
Apofropbe , the nature of this figure explained, i. 382. Fine one from Cicero, ii. 220. note.
Arabian Nights Entertainments, a character of thofe talcs, iii. 90.
—-Poetry, its character, iii. 107.
Arbutbnot , character of his epiftolary writing, iii. 85 .
Architecture , fublimity in , whence it arifes, i. 3 9. The fources of beauty in, iot.
Arguments , the proper management of in a difeourfe, ii. 339. Analytic and fynthetic methods, 362. Arrangement of, 363. Are not to be too much multiplied, 353.
Arioflo , character of his Orlando Furiofo , iii. 92. 267.
Arijlopbanes , character of his comedies, iii. 333.
Arif one , his rules for dramatic and epic compofition, whence derived, i. 42. His definition of a fentence , 233. His extended fenfe of the term metaphor, 335. Character of his ftyle, ii. 12. 20. His inftitutions of rhetoric, 174. His definition of tragedy confidered, iii. 288- His obfervations on tragic characters, 333.
Arithmetical figures, univerfal characters, i. 147.
Ark of the covenant, choral fervice performed in the proceffion of bringing it back to Mount Zion, iii. 183.
Annfirong , character of his Art of preferving Health, iii. 138.
Art, works of, confidered as a fource ol beauty, i. 100.
Bb 3

Articles, in language, the ufe of, i. 162. Their import, anee in the Knglilh language illuftrated, '163.
Articulation , clearnefs of, neceilary in public fpeaking, ii. 390,
AJjociations , academical, recommended, iii. 17. Inftruc- tions for the regulation of, ig.
Athenians, ancient, character of, ii. 167. Eloquenceof, ib.
Atterbury , a more harmonious writer than Tillotfun , i. joo. Critical examination of one of his fermons ,* i;. 300. His exordium to a 3 oth of January fermon , 342.
Attici and Afiani, parties at Rome, account of, ii. r88-
Autbors , petty, why no friends to criticifm, i. 43. Why the molt ancient afford the moft ftriking inftances of fubli- mity, 69. Mult write with purity, to gain efteem, '207.
B
Bacon, his obfervations on romances, iii. 89.
Ballads, have great influence over the manners of a people, iii. 8g. Were the firft vehicles of hiftorical knowledge and inltrudtion , 103.
Bar, the eloquence of, defined, ii. 160. Why more confined than the pleadings before ancient tribunals, 204. Diftinction between the motives of pleading at the bar, and fpeaking in popular affemblies , 239. In what refpects ancient pleadings differ from thofe of modem times, 240. I nftruCtiora for pleaders, 241. 332.
Bards, ancient, the firft founders of law and civilization, iii 104. *’
Barro-vr , Dr. character of his ftyle , ii. 1 6. Character of his fermons , ii. 297.
Beaumont and . Fletcher , their • characters as dramatic poets, iii. 360.
Be inty , the emotion raifed by, diftinguifhed from that of fublimity, i. 92. Is a term of vague application, ibid. Colours, 93 Figure, 94. Hogarth’s line of beauty, and line of grace confidered, 96. Motion, 97. A Iandfcape the moft complete affemblage of beautiful oh- jeCts, 9g. The human countenance 99. Works; of

INDEX.
art, ioo. The influence of fifcnefs and defign in our ideas of beauty, ioi. Beauty in literary compofition, 102. Novelty, 104. Imitation, 10;.
Bergerus , a German critic, writes a treatife on the fub- limity of Ctefar’s Commentaries, i. 6 $.
Berkeley, bilhop, character of his Dialogues on the Ex- iftenee of Matter, iii. So.
Biography , as a clafs of hiftorical compofition, charadter- ifed , iii. 70.
Blackmove , Sir Richard ,. remarks on his defcription of Mount ./Etna , i S4- »
Blackman, his charadter as a v.riter, ii. 41.
Boilean , his character, as a didactic poet, iii. 163.
Bdingbroke, inltances of inaccuracy in his ftyle, i. 2‘ 3. 277. A beautiful climax from, 272. A beautiful metaphor from , 357. His general charadter as a politician and philolopher, 339. His general charadter as a writer, ii. 43. iii. 13. Bombajl in writing defcribed, i. 88-
Bojfu , his definition of an epic poem, iii. 206. His account of the compofition of the Iliad, 207.
Bajfuet , M. inltances of apoltrophes to perfonified objedts, in his funeral orations, i. 381. note. Conclulion of his funeral oration on the prince of Conde, ii. 384. Britain, Great, not eminent for the itudy of eloquence,
ii. 198/ Compared with France in this refpedt, 201. Eruyere, his parallel between the eloquence of tile pulpit
and the bar, ii- 272. note.
Buchanan, his character as an hiftorianiii. 66 .
Building, how rendered fublime, i. $ 9.
C
Cadmus, account of his alphabet, i. 131.
Cafar’s Commentaries, the ftyle of, charadterifed , i. 63. Is conlidered by Bergerus, as a fiandard of fublime writing, 66 . Inftance’or his happy talent in hiftorical painting,
iii. 3 9. note. His character of Terence the dramatitt, 336. Camoeus, critical examination of . his Lufiad, iii. 2 , 68 .
Confufed machinery of, 270.
Bb 4

i N D E X-
Campbell , Dr. his obfervations on Englifh particles, i. i 3
174. note. p
Carmel , Mount, metaphorical ailufions to, in Hebrew ::
poetry, iii. 190. e
Cajimir, his character as a lyric poet, iii. 132. Ah
Catajlrophe , the proper conduct of, in dramatic repre T 6
fentations, iii. 304. foi
Catidine Forks, Livy’s happy defcription of the. difgrace la of the Roman army there, iii. 97. &i
Celtic language, its antiquity and character, i. 193. The if
remains of it, where to fye found, ib. Poetry, its te
character, iii. 106. His
Characters , the danger of labouring them too much in hifto- Cra rical works, iii. 63. The due requifites of, in tragedy, •&
iii. 314. fot
Chinefe language, character of, i. 123. And writing, 146. [kfi
Chivalry , origin of, iii. 91. to
Chorus , ancient, defcribed , iii. 291 Was the origin of la
tragedy, 292. Inconveniencies of, ibid. How it might in
properly be introduced on the modem theatre, 29?. fa
Chronology , a due attention to, neceffary in hiitorical cn
compofitions , iii. 43. m
Chryfojiom, St. his oratorical character, ii. 197. fa
Cibber , his character as a dramatic writer, iii. 363. fa
Cicero , his ideas of tafte , i. 20. note. His diftinction be- Fit
tween amare and diligere, 224. His obfervation on to
ftyle, 233. Very attentive to the beauties of climax, T>
271. Is the moil harmonious of all writers, 284. His p
remarks on the power of mufic in orations , 290. His e
attention to harmony, too viiible, 299. Inilance of his )
happy talent of adapting found to fenfe, 301. His ac- tt
count of the origin of figurative language, 321. His 1
obfervations on fuiting language to the fubject ,341. f:i
His rule for the ufe of metaphor, 342. Inilance of anti- 5
thefts in, 399. The figure of fpeech called vifion, 407. fa
His caution againit bellowing profufe ornament on an ora- fa
tion , ii. 4. His diilinctions of ilyle, 1 o. His own :
oharadter as a writer, 12. His character of the Grecian

X H D E X.
orators , iTi. His own character as an orator,183. Compared with Dcmoflhenes, 189- Mafterly apoftrophe in, 2Zo. note. His method of ftu dying the judicial caufes he undertook to plead, 245. State of the profecution of Avitus Cluentius, 255. Analyfis of Cicero’s oration for him, 2 s 4. The exordium to his fecond oration againft Rullus, 3 3 6 . fIis method of preparing introductions to his orations, 539. Excelled in narration, 333. His defence of Milo, 334, 363. Inftance of the pathetic, in his laft oration againft Verres, 378. Character of his treatife de Oratore , iii. 21. Character o’f his Dialogues ,79. His Epiftles, 83-
Clarendon ^ lord, remarks on his ftyle, i. 249. His character as an hiftorian, iii. 67.
Clarke , Dr. tire ftyle of his fermons characterifed , ii. 29 6 .
Clajjlcs , ancient, their merits now finally fettled beyond con- troverfy , Tii. 27. The fuxly of them recommended, 37.
Climax , a great beauty in compofition, i. 271. In what it confifts, 408.
Cluentius Avitus, hiftory of his profecutio'n, ii. 253. His caufe undertaken by Cicero, 234. Analyfis of Cicero’s oration for him, ibid.
Colours , confidered as the foundation of beauty, i. 95.
Comedy , how diftinguifhed , from tragedy , iii. 286. 344. Rules for the conduct of, 343. The characters in, ought to be of our own country, and of our own time, 346. Two kinds of, 348. Characters ought to be diftinguifhed, 330. Style, 331. Rife and progrefs of Comedy , 332. Spanifh comedy, 336. French comedy, 3 3g. Englifh comedy, 339. Licentioufnefs of, from the atra of the refcoration, 361. The reformation of, to what owing, 366: General remarks , 368.
Compayij'on , diftinguifhed from metaphor, i. 334. The nature of this figure, explained, 387—
Compojltion. See Literary compofition.
Congreve , the plot of his Mourning Bride embarrafled, iii. 299. General character of this tragedy, 341. His comedies , 3 64.

INDEX.
Conjugation of verbs, the.varieties of, i. 183.
Conviction , diftinguifhed from perfu.ifion, ii. 137. ,
Copulatives , cautions for the ufe of them, i. 260.
Corneille , his character as a tragic writer, iii. 333.
Couplets , the firft introduction of, into Englif'h poetry, iii. 12;.
Cowley, inftances of forced metaphors in his poems, i. 344. His ufe of fimilies cenfured, 39 6. His general character as a poet, iii. 132.
Crevier, His character of feveral eminent French writers, iii. 1;. note.
Criticism,' true, and pedantic, diftinguifhed, i. 10. Its object, 41. It origin, ib. "Why complained of by petty authors, 43. May fometimes decide againft the voice of the public, 43. ■
Cyphers, or arithmetical figures, a kind of univerfal character , i. 147. *
D
David, king, his magnificent inftitutions for the cultivation of fiicred* mufic and poetry, iii. 18 3 • His character as a poet 200.
Debate in popular aftemblies , the eloquence of, defined , ii. 160. More particularly confidered , 209. Rules for, 213.
Declamation, unfupported by found reafoning, falfe eloquence , ii. 209.
Declenjion of nouns confidered in various languages, i. 170. Whether cafes or prepofitions were moft anciently ufed, 171. Which of them are moft ufeful and beautiful, 176.
Deities, heathen, probable caufe of the number of, i. 368.
Deliberative orations, what, ii. 207.
Delivery, the importance of, in public fpeaking, ii. 223. 383. The four chief requifites in', 386. The powers of vo : ce, ibid. Articulation, 390. Pronunciation, 391. Emphafis, 393. Paufes, 39 6. Declamatory delivery, 404. ACtion, 406. Affectation, 410.
Demetrius Phalereus , the rhetorician , his character, ii. i8*>
Lemo'ijlrativc orations, what, ii. 207.
Lemojlbenes , his eloquence characterifed, ii. 16S* Hit

I N H E X.
expedients to furmount the difad vantages of his perfon and addrefs ,177. His oppofition to Philip of Macedon* ib. His rivaUhip with JEfchines, 179. His ftyle and action, 1 So. Compared with Cicero , 189. Why his orations ft ill. pleafe in perufal, 210, Extracts from his Philippics, 225. His definition of the feveral points of oratory, 383.
Defcription , the great teft of a poet’s imagination, iii. 164. Selection of circumitances , 163. Inanimate objects fhould be enlivened, 172. Choice of epithets, 17 6.
Description and imitation , the diftinCtion between, i. 107.
Des Brajjer , His fpeculations on the exprellive power of radical letters and fyllables, i. 118. note.
Dialogue writing , the properties of, iii. 76. Is very difficult to execute, ibid. Modern dialogues charaCterifed .77.
Didactic poetry, its nature explained, iii. 133. The molt celebrated productions in this clafs fpecified, 134. Rules for compolitions of this kind , ibid. Proper embel- lilhments of, 1 33.
Diderot , M. his character ofEnglifh Comedy, iii. ] 66 .
Ditto, her character in the lEneid examined, iii. 230.
Dionyjlus gf Halicarnaffus, his ideas of excellency in a fentence, i. 287. His diftinCtions of ftyle, ii. 9. Character of his treatife on Grecian oratory, '175. His comparifon between Lyfias and Ifocrates, 176. note. His criticifm on Thucydides, iii. 44.
Difeourfe. See Oration.
Dramatic poetry, the origin of, iii. 108. Diftinguifhed by its objects, 286. See Tragedy and Comedy ^'
Dryden , one of the firft reformers of our ftyle', ii. 19. Johnfon’s character of his profe ftyle, ib. note. His character as a poet, iii. 125. His character of Shake- fpeare, 337. note. Elis own character as a dramatic writer, 340. 362.
Du Bor, abbe, his remark on the theatrical compofitions of the ancients, i. 288-
E
Education , liberal, an elfential requisite for-eloquence , iii. 9.
Egypt, the ftyle of the hierogly pineal writing of, i. 144-

I
I N D E X.
This an early ftage of the art of writing, 145. The alphabet probably invented in that country, 1 3o.
TZmphafis , its importance in public fpeaking, ii. 595. Rule for, 393.
Eloquence , the feveral objefts of confideration under this head, ii. 155. Definition of the term, 136. iii. 1. Fundamental maxims of the art, ii. 137. Defended againft. the objection of the abufe of the art of perfuafion,138. Three kinds of eloquence diffinguilhed, 139. Oratory, the higheft degree of, the offspring of paffion, 160. Requifites for eloquence, 162. French eloquence, 164. Grecian, x6g. Rife and character of the rhetoricians of Greece, 171. Roman, igj. TheAtticiand Aliani-, xgg. Comparifon between Cicero and Demofthenes , 189. The fchools of the declaimers , 193. The eloquence of the primitive fathers of the church, 197. General remarks on. modern eloquence, 198- Parliament, 203. The bar and pulpit, 204. The three lands of orations diftin- guifhed by the ancients, 207. Thefe difunctions how far correfpondent with thofe made at prefent, 209. Eloquence of popular afTemblies confidered, ib*. The foundation of eloquence, 210. The danger of trading to prepared fpeeches at public meetings, 212. Necefiary premeditation pointed out, 214. Method, 213. Style and expreffion, 216. Impetuofity, 217. Attention to decorums, 220. Delivery, 223. 384- Summary, 224. S’ee Qicero , Demqflbenes , Oration , and Pulpit.
Ewg/fr^fanguage, the arrangement of words in, more refined than that of ancient languages, i. 137. But more liriiited, 138. The principles of general grammar fel- dom applied to it, 137. The important ufe of articles in, 162. All fubftantive nouns of inanimate objects of the neuter gender, 166. The place of declenfion in, fupplied by prepofitions, 170. The various tenfes of Enelifh verbs, 184. Hiltorical view of the Englifh language, 192. The Celtic the primitive language of Britain , 193. The Teutonic tongue the balis of our prefent fpeech, 193. Its irregularities accounted for, ibid.
be
:sd.
;il.
cb
P
to
fe
ki
KOI
bj*
it
hi
ts
toil
:ii
The
ito
rf k
li
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hr,
0
61
hi
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I .N D E X.
Its copioufnefs, I96. Compared with the French law guage, 197. Itsflvle characterifed, 198. Its flexibility,
200. Is more harmonious than is generally allowed,
201. Is rather ftrong than graceful, 202. Accent thrown ' farther back in Engliih words , than in thofe of any
other language, 203. General properties of the Engliih tongue , ib. Why fo loofely and inaccurately written, 204. The fundamental rules of. fyntax, common both to the Engliih and Latin, 205. No author can gain elteem if he does not write with purity, 207. Grammatical authors recommended, ih. note.
,Epic poetry, the ftandards of, iii. 3 6. Is the higheft effort of poetical genius, 203. The characters of, obfcured by critics, 20 6. Examination of Boffu’s account of the formation of the Iliad, ibid. Epic poetry confidered as to its moral tendency, 210. Predominant character of, 211. Adtionof, 212. Epifodes, 2x4. Thefubject lhoulcl be of remote date, 217. Modern hiftory more proper for dramatic writing than for epic poetry, 218. The ftory mult be interefting and flcilfully managed, ibid. The intrigue, 220. The queftion confidered, whether it ought to end fuccefsfully, ibid. Duration of the action, 221. Characters of the perfonages, 222. The principal hero, 223. The machinery, 224. Narration, 227. Loofe Obfervations, 228.
Epifode , defined with reference to epic poetry, iii. 214.
Rules for the conduct of, 213.
Epijlolary writing, general remarks on, iii. 82.
Eve , her charadter in Milton’s Paradife Loll, iii. 282. Euripides , inltance of his excellence in the pathetic, iii.
324. note. His charadter as a tragic writer, 330. Exclamations , the proper ufe of, i. 402. Mode of their operation, 404. Rule for the employment of, ibid. Exercife improves both bodily and mental powers, i. 22. Exordium of a Difcourfe the objedts of, ii. 333. Rules for the compofidon of, 337.
■Explication of the fubjedt of a fermon, obfervation on, ii. 3 57 -

I N D E X,
F go
Face , human, the beauty of, complex, i. 99. fa
Farqubar , his character as a dramatic writer, iii. 3S4, fa Fathers , Latin, character of their ityle of eloquence, ii. 197, - J Fmelon , atchbifhop , his parallel between Demofthenes ®
and Cicero,, ii. 192. His remarks on the compofirion ^
of a fermon , 546; Critical examination of his Advert- 1 !
tures of^Telemachus, iii. 272. £3*
Fielding , a character of his novels, iii. 99. ft 3
Figurative ityle of language defined, i. 3 id. Is not a fcholaftic invention, but a natural effufion of imagina- Gw
tion , 511. How deferibed by rhetoricians, 512.
Will not render a cold or empty compofition interefting, fo
319. The pathetic and fublime reject figures offpeech, i ibid. Origin of, 317. How they contribute to the ftfj beauty of ityle, 323. lllultrace defeription , 326. M Heighten emotion, .327. The rhetorical names and'claf- ft*
fes of figures frivolous, 330. The beauties of compofi- i tion not dependent oil tropes and figures, ii. 1. Figm ■< fti res muit always rife naturally from the fubjedt, 2. Are ’ ' not to be profufely ufed, 4. The talent of ufing derived from nature , and not to be created , 6. If improperly | introduced , are a deformity , note , ibid. See Metaphor,. 1 Figure , conlidered as a fource of beauty, i. 94. 1
Figures of fpeech, the Origin of, i. 128.
Figures of thought, among rhetoricians , defined, i. 312, Fituefs and ddign , confidered as fources of beauty, i. 101. ft Fleece , a poem , harmonious pafl’age from, i. 306. ft
Fontenelle , character of his dialogues, iii. go.
French , Norman, when introduced into England, i. 194. French writers, general remarks on their Ityle, ii. 13. Eloquence, 164. 198. French and Englifh oratory com' j G pared, 201. j
Frigidity in writing charadterifed, i. 88' 1
G *
Gay , a character of his paftorais, iii. 141. ,
Gender , of nouns, foundation of, i. 164-

INDEX.
Genii'.;, diftinguifhed from tafte, i. 46. Its import, 47. Includes tafte ,48. The pleafures of the imagination, a ftriking teftimony of Divine benevolence, '51, True, is nurfed by liberty, ii. 163. In arts and writing, why difplayed more in one age than in another, iii. 24. Was more vigorous in the ancients than in the moderns, 33. A generrd mediocrity of, now diffufed, 34.
Gej'uer, a charadter of his Idylls, iii. 139.
Gejhires , in public oratory. See Action.
Gil Bias , of Le Sage, character of that novel, iii. 94.
Girard , abbe, charadter of his Synonymes Francois, i. 230. note.
Gordon , inilances of his unnatural difpofition of words, i. 267.
Gorgius , of Leontium , the rhetorician , his character, ii. 17 r.
Gothic poetry , its charadter, iii. 106.
Gracchus , C. his declamations regulated by mufical rules, i. 288.
Grammar , general, the principles of, little attended to by writers, i. 1 3 6 . The diviiion of the feveral parts of fpeech, 137. Nouns fubftantive , 139. Articles, 162. Number, gender, and cafe of nouns , 164. Prepofitions , 171. Pronouns, 174. Adjedtives, 179. Verbs, 1Sr„ Verbs the molt artificial and complex of all the parts of Speech, 186. Adverbs, 189. Prepofitions and conjunctions, 190. Importance of the ftudy of grammar, 191.
Grandeur. See Sublimity.
Greece , Ihort account of the ancient republics of, ii. 166. Eloquence carefully ltudied there, 168- Charadters of the diftinguifhed orators of, ibid. Rife and character of the rhetoricians , i7r. •
Greek , a mufical* language, i. 123. 288- Its flexibility, 200. Writers, diftinguifhed for fimplicity, ii. 34.
Guar ini , charadter of his Pajior Fido , iii. 141.
Guicciardini. his charadter as an hiftorian, iii. 63.
II
Habakkuk , fublime reprefentation of the Deity in, i. 70.
Harris, explanatory iimile cited from, i. 389.

INDEX*
Hebrew poetry, in what points of view to be eonfideredj iii. 180. The ancient pronunciation of, loft, 18r- Mufic and poetry,' early cultivated among the Hebrews, 182, ConftruCtion of Hebrew poetry, 185. Is diltinguifhed by a concile, llrong, figurative expreffion, 187! The metaphors employed in, fuggefted by the climate and • nature of the land of Judea , 189. 194* Bold and fublime inftances of perfoniftcation in, 193. Book of proverbs, 197. Lamentations of Jeremiah, 198. Book of Job, 202.
Helen , her character in the Iliad examined, iii. 237.
Hell , the various defcents into, given by epic poets, fhow the gradual improvement of'notions concerning a future. State, iii. 27;.
Henriade. See Voltaire.
Herodotus, his character as an hiftorian, iii. 4 6.
Heroifni , fublime inftances of, pointed out, i. 60.
Hervcy , character of his fcyle, ii. 27. 31.
Hieroglyphics , the fecond ftage of the art of writing, i. 143* Of Egypt, 144-
Hiftorians , modern, their advantages over the ancient, iii. 32. Ancient models of, 34. The objects of their duty, 38. Character of Polybius, 42. Of Thucydides, 44. Of Herodotus and Thuanus, 46. Primary qualities necef- fary in a hiftorian, 47. Character of Livy and Salluft, 49. Of Tacitus , ib. InftruCtions and cautions to hiftorians , 30. Howto preferve the dignity of narration, 34. How to render it interefting , ib. Danger of refining too much in drawing characters, 6 3. Character of the Italian hiftorians, 63. The French and Englilh, 66.
Hijlory , the proper objeCt and end of, iii. 38. True, the characters of, 39. The different claffes of, 40. General Hiftory, the proper conduct of* 41. The necef- fary qualities ofhiftorical narration, 33. The propriety of introducing orations in hiftory examined, 61. And characters, 63. The Italians the belt modem hiftorians, 65. See Annals ,■ Biography , Memoirs ,' and Novels ,
Hogarth , his analyfis of beauty conlidered , i. 9 6.
Homer , not acquainted with poetry as a fyHematic art, i. 42*
Did

INDEX.
•
Did not poITefs a refined tafte , 48. Inflances of iublimity in , 71. Is remarkable for the life of perfoni- fication, 3 71 - Story of the Iliad, iii. 230. Remarks on, 23ii His invention and judgment in the conduct of the poem, 234. Advantages and defects arifing from his* narrative fpeeches , 236. His characters, 237. His machinery, 239. His Ryle, 241. His fa ill in narrative defcription , 242. His liniili.es , 244. General character of his Odyfley, 243. Defeds of the Odyfiey , 245. Compared with Virgil ,234.
Hooker , a fpecimen of his ltyle, ii. ig.
Horace, figurative paffages cited from. i. 324. Infiarice of mixed metaphor in, 331. Crowded metaphors, 333. His charader as a poet, iii. 36. 131, Was the reformer of fatire, 139.
Humour , why the Englifh pofiefs this quality more eminently than other nations, iii. 339.
jjyperboie , an explanation of that figure, i. 3 69. Cautions for the life of, 361* Two kinds of, 362;
I
ideas, abftrad, entered into the fifft formation of language , i, 161.
Jeremiah, his poetical charader, iii. 200. See Lamentations.
Iliads Rory of, iii. 230. Remarks on, 231. The principal characters, 237. Machinery of, 239.
Imagination , the pleasures of, as fpecified by MR Addi- fon , i. 49. The powers of, to enlarge the fpbere of, our pleafures , a linking inRance of divine benevolence , 31. Is the fource of figurative language, 311, 319.
Imitation , confidered as a fource of pleafure to tafle, i. 103. And defcription, difiinguifhed, 107.
Inference^ from a fermonj the proper management of, ii. 382. _
Infinity of fpace , numbers , or duration , afled the mind with fublime ideas , i. 3 4.
Interjections the firR elements of fpeech, i. 1 13<
VOL. Ill, C e

INDEX.
Interrogation , inftances of the happy ufe and effect of, i. 405. Mode of their operation , 404. Rule for ufing, ibid.
Job , exemplification of the fublimity of obfcurity in the book of, i. 37. Remarks on the ftyle of, iii. 182. The fubjedt and poetry of, 201. Fine paffage from, £02.
Johnfun, his character of Dryden’s profe ftyle, ii. 19. note. His remarks on the ftyle of Swift, 150. note. His character of Thomfon, iii. 168. note. His character of Dryden’s comedies, 363. note. His charadter of Congreve , 3 64. note.
Johnfon , Ben, his charadter as a dramatic poet, iii. 360.
IJ'aus, the rhetorician, his character, ii. 179.
Jfaiah , fublime reprefentation of the Deity in, i. 71. His defcription of the fall of the Aflyrian empire, 385. His metaphors fuited to the climate of Judea, iii. 190. 191. 193. His character as a poet, 199.
Ifocrates , the rhetorician, his charadter, ii. 173.
Judea, remarks on the climate and natural circumftances of that country, iii. 189.
Judicial orations, what, ii. 207.
Juvenal, a charadter of his fatires, iii, 160.
K
Kahns, lord, his fevere cenfures of Englifh. comedies, iii. 366.
llnigbt errantry, foundation of the Romances concerning, iii. 91.
Kno-rvledge an eflential requifite for eloquence , iii. 9. The progrefs of, in favour of the moderns , upon a companion with the ancients, 31. The acquifition of, difficult in former ages , 33.
L
Lamentations of Jeremiah, the molt perfedt elegiac com- pofition in the facred fcriptures, iii. 198.
Landfcaye, coniidered as an aflemblage of beautiful ob- jedts, k 98.

INDEX.
Language , the improvement of , fiuuied even by rode . nations, i. 2. In what the true improvement of language coniifts , 3. Importance of the ftudy of language, ibid. Defined, 1x0. The prefent refinements of, 111. Origin and progrefs of, 114. The firft elements of, 11$. Analogy between words and things, 117. The great affiftance afforded by geffures, 121. The chinefe language, 125. The Greek and Roman languages, ibid , Action much ufed by ancient orators and players, 129- Roman pantomimes , ibid. Great difference between ' ancient and modern pronunciation, 126. Figures of fpeech, the origin of, 127. Figurative ftyle of American languages, no. Caufe of the decline of figurative language,! 5 1. The natural and original arrangement of words in fpeech, 134. The arrangement of words in modern languages, different from that of the ancients, 15 6 , Art exemplification, 137. Summary of the foregoing obfer- # vations , 140. Its wonderful powers, 3281 All language ftrongiy tinctured with metaphor, 599. In modern productions , often better than the fubjeCts of.them, in 19;. "Written and oral, diftinction between, iii. 14* See Grammar , Style and Writing.
Latin language, the pronunciation of, mufical and gefti- culating, i. 123. 287. The natural arrangement of words in, 139. The want of articles a defect in , 163, Remarks on words deemed fynonymous in, 224;
Lear-,ling, an effential requifite for eloquence, iii. 10. Lebanon, metaphorical allufions to, in Hebrew poetry, iii. 191, Lee, extravagant hyperbole quoted from, i. 363* His character as a tragic poet, iii. 34°- Liberty, the nurfe of true genius, ii. 163.
Literary compofition, importance of the ftudy of language , preparatory to, i. 9. The beauties of, indefinite, 102. To what clafs the pleafures received from eloquence, poetry, and fine writing, are to be referred, 109. The beauties of, not dependent on tropes and figures, ii. 2. The different kinds of, diftinguifhed, iii, 38, See Hijiory , Poetry , &c.
C c 2

INDEX,
Livy, his character as an hiftorian, iii. 49. 3 6 .
Locke , general character of his ftyle , ii. 23. The ftyle of . his Treatife on human underftanding, compared with the writings of Lord Shaftesbury, iii. 73.
Longinus , ftriCtures on his Treatife on the Sublime, i. 66 . His account of the confequences of liberty , ii. 163. His fententious opinion of Homer’s Odyffey, iii. 2 is.
Lopez 1ie la Vega , his character as a dramatic poet, iii. 356.
Love , too much importance and frequency allowed too , on the modern ftage , iii. 3 18.
Losvtb’s Englifh Grammar recommended, i. 207, note.. 260. note. His character of the prophet Ezekiel, iii. 201.
Lv.can , inftance of his deftroying a fublime expreffion of Ctefar-, by amplification, i. 76. Extravagant hyperbole
« from , 363. Critical examination of his Pharfalia, iii. 236. The fu’bjeCt, 237. Characters and conduct of the ftory, 238.
Lucian , Character of his Dialogues, iii. 79.
Lucretius , his fublime reprefentation of the dominion of fuperftirion ever mankind, i. 38. note. The molt admired paffages in his Treatife Be Reruns Natura , iii. 137.
Lnjiad. See Camoens.
Jjyric poetry, the peculiar charadter of, iii. 143. Four clafles of odes, 147. Characters of the moft eminent lyric poets, 130.
Ly/ias , the rhetorician, his character, ii. 173.
M
Macbiavel, his character as an hiftorian, iii. 63.
Machinery , the great ufe of, in epic poetry, iii. 224. Cautions for the ufe of, 226. 239.
Mackenzie , Sir George, inftance of regular climax in his pleadings, i. 409.
Man , by nature both a poet and mufician, iii. 102.
Marivaux , a character of his novels, iii. 94.
Marmontel , his comparative remarks on French, Englilh, and Italian poetry, iii. 120. note.

INDEX,
Marfy , his contrail between the characters of Corneille and Racine, iii. 333. note.
MaJJillcn , extract from a celebrated fermon of his, ii, 295. note. Encomium on, by Louis XIV. 299. His artful divifion of a text, 3 $2.
Memoirs , their clafs in hiftorical compofition afligned, iii. 6g. Why the French are fond of this kind of writing, 69,
Metalepjls , in figurative language , explained , i. 332.
Metaphor , in figurative ftyle, explained, i. 333. 334. All language ftrongly tinctured with, 333. Approaches the neareft to painting of all the figures of fpeech, 337. Rules to be obferved in the conduct of, 339. See AUegory.
Metajlajlo , his character as a dramatic writer, iii. 336.
Metonomy, in figurative ftyle, explained, i. 336.
Mexico , hiftorical pictures the records of that empire, i. 143.
Milo , narrative of the rencounter between him and Clo- dius , by Cicero, ii. 33s.
Milton , inftances of fublimity in, i. 36. 78. Of harmony, 304. Hyperbolical fentiments. of Satan in, 362. Striking inftances of perfonification in, 373. 373. 377. Excellence of his defcriptive poetry, iii. 169. Who the proper hero of his Paradife Loft, 223. Critical examination of this poem, 278. His fublimity chara&er- ifed, 282. His language and verfification, 283.
Moderns. See Ancients,
Mali ere , his character as. a dramatic poet, iii. 338.
Monboddo , lord, his obfervations on Englifh and Latin verfe, iii. 11 6 . note.
Monotony in language, often the refult of too great attention to mufical arrangement, i. 297,
Montague , Lady Mary'Wortley, a character of her epif- tolary ftyle, iii. 88.
Montesquieu, character of his ftyle, ii. 12
Monumental inferiptions , the numbers fuited to the ftyle, i. 302.
Moralt , M. his fevere cenfure of Englifh comedy, iii, 366.
C c 3

INDEX,
More . Dr. Henry, character of his. divine dialogues, iii. go.
Motion, considered as a fource of beauty, i. 97,
Motte , M. de la, his observations on lyric poetry, iii, 149. note. Remarks on his criticifni on Homer, 244. note.
Mujic , its influence on the pafiions , iii. 102. Its union with poetry, 103. Their reparation injurious to each, iu,
N
"Naivete , import of that French term, ii. 33.
i Narration , an important point in pleadings at the bar ii. 332.
"Night Scenes , commonly fublime , i. 33.
Nomic melody of the Athenians, what, i. 28 8-
Novels , a fpecies of writing, not fo iniigniiicant as may be imagined, iii, 89. Might be employed for very' ufeful purpofes, 90. Rife and progrefs of fidlitious hiitorv, ibid. Charadters of the moll celebrated romances and novels, 93.
Novelty confidered as a fource of beauty , i. 104.
faults, fubflantives , the foundation of all grammar, i. 139, Number, gender, and cafes of, 164,
0
Obfcur ity , not unfavourable to Sublimity, i. 53. Offtyle, owing to indiftindt conceptions, 2x2.
Ode, the nature of, defined, iii. 143. Four diftindlions of, 146. Obfcurity and irregularity, the great faults in ^ 147 -
Odylfey , general character of, iii. 243. Defects of, 246.
Oedipus, an improper charadter for the Itage, iii. 316.
Orators, ancient, declaimed in recitative, i. 124.
Orations, the three kinds of, diftinguifhed by the ancients, ji. 207. The prefent diftindlions of, 208. Thcfe in popular alfemblies confidered, 200. Prepared Speeches not to be trulted to, 213. Necelfary degrees^of pre-

INDEX.
meditation, 214.. Method, 214. Style and expreffion, 216. Impefcuofity, 219. Attention to decorums, 220. Delivery, 223. 417. The feveral parts of a regular oration, 333. Introduction, ib. Introduction to replies, 343. Introduction to Sermons, 346. Divifion of a dif- courfe, 347. Rules for dividing it, ib. Explication, 332. The argumentative part, 338. The pathetic, 369. The peroration, 382. Virtue neceflary to the perfection of eloquence, iii. 4. Defcription of a true orator , 8. Qualifications for, ib. The belt ancient writers on oratory, 19. 3< 5 . The ufe made of orations by the ancient hiftorians., 6 s. See Eloquence.
Oriental poetry , more charabteriltical of an age than of a country, iii. 103.
■-Ryle of fcripture language , i. 131.
Orlando Fnriofo. See Ariojlo.
OJJtan , inftances of fublimity in his works, i. 74. Correct metaphors, 3 49. Confufed mixture of metaphorical and plain language in, ib. Fine apoltrophe in, 38;. Delicate fimile , 390. Lively defcriptions in, iii. 173.
0 tor ay , his character as a tragic poet, iii. 340.
Pantomime , an entertainment of Roman crigin. 1. 126.
Parables , Eaftern, their general vehicle for the conveyance of truth , iii. 192.
Paradife LoJ}, critical review of that poem, iii. 278. The characters in, 280. Sublimity of, 282. Language and verfification, 283-
Pare nth efts , cautions for the ufe of them, i. 233.
Paris , his character in the Iliad, examined, iii. 238.
Parliament of great Britain, why eloquence has never been fo powerful an iuftrument in, as in the ancient popular alfeinblies of Greece and Rome, ii. 203.
Pf.rnel. his character as a deferiptive poet, iii. 169.
C c 4

INDEX.
Particles , cautions for the ufe of them, i. 260. Ought never to clofe fentences, 274.
Pajjion , ii. the fource of Oratory, ii. 161.
Pa.jp.ons , when and how to be addrefled by orators , ii. 36 9. The orator muft feel emotions before he ean communicate them to others, 374. The language of, 57 6. Poets addrefs themfelves to the pafiions, iii. 98.
Paftoral poetry, enquiry into its origin, iii. 124. A threefold view of paftoral life, 127. Rules for paftoral writing, ib. Its fcenery , 129, Characters, 132. Subjects, 139, Comparative merits of ancient paftoral writers, 137. And of moderns, 139.
Pathetic , the proper management of, in a difeourfe , ii. 369. Fine inftance of, from Cicero, 379.
Paufes , the due ufes of, in public fpeaking, ii. 396. In poetry, 399. iii. 117.
Pericles , the firft who brought eloquence to any degree of perfection, ii. 169. His general character, 170.
Period. See Sentence.
Perjbnificatiou , the peculiar advantages of the Englifh language in, 167. Limitations of gender in, 168. Objections againft the practice of, anfwered , 366. The difpofition to animate the objects about us , natural to mankind, 367. This'difpofition may account for the number of heathen divinities, 368. Three degres of this figure, 369. Rules for the management of the higheft degree of, 378. Caution for the ufe of, in profe compofitions , 379. S ee Apoftrophe.
Perjms , a character of his Satires, iii. 160.
Perfpiciiity , effential to a good ftyle, i. 211. Not merely a negative virtue, 212. The three qualities of, 2x3.
Perfuajion , diftinguifhed from conviction, ii. 13 8. Objection brought from the abule of this art, anfwered, 139. Rules for, 210.
Peruvians , their method of tranfinitting their thoughts to each other, i. 146.
Petronius Arbiter , his addrefs to the declaimers of his time, ii. 193.

\
INDEX.
Pbarjalia. See Lite an.
Pberecydes of Scyros, the firft profe writer, i. 13 3.
Philips , character of his paftorals, iii. 140.
Pbilofopbers , modern, their fuperiority over the ancient, unqueftiona'ole , iii. 3 r.
Pbilofopby , the proper ftyle of writing adapted to, iii. 7 3. Proper embellifhments for, 74.
Pictures , the firft eflay toward writing, i. 142.
Pindar , his character as a lyric poet, iii. 130.
Pitcairn , Dr. extravagant hyperbole cited from, i. 3 66.
Plato , character of his dialogues, iii. 78.
Plautus , his character as a dramatic poet, iii. 333.
Pleaders at the bar, inftructions to, ii. 244. 333.
Pliny s Letters, general character of, iii. 84.
Plutarch , bis character as a biographer, iii. 70.
Poetry , in what fenfe deferiptive, and in what imitative, i. 108. Is more ancient than profe, 131. Source of the pleafure we receive from the figurative ftyle of, 374. Teft of the merit of, 395. Whence the difficulty of reading poetry arifes, ii. 398. Compared with oratory, iii. 2. Epic, the ftandards of, 36. Definition of poetry, 98. Is addreffed to the imagination and the
■ paffions , ibid. Its origin, Too. In what fenfe older than profe, ibid. Its union with mufio, 103. Ancient hiftory and inftruction firft conveyed in poetry, 104. Oriental, more charaCteriftical of an age than of a country, 103. Gothic, Celtic, and Grecian, 106. Origin of the different kinds of, 108. Was more vigorous in its firft rude ellays than under refinement, 109. Was injured by the feparationof malic from it, iii. Metrical feet, invention of, 113. Thefe meafures not applicable to Englifh poetry, 113. Englifh heroic verfe, the ftruCture of, 116. French poetry, 117. Rhyme and blank verfe compared, 119. Progrefs of Englifh verfification, 121. Paftorals, 124. Lyrics, 143- Didactic poetry, 133. Deferiptive poetry, 164. Hebrew poetry, i8°- Epic poetry, 203. Poetic characters, two kinds of, 222- Dramatic poetry, 2 85 .

INDEX.
Pointing, cannot correct a confufed fentence, i. 232.
Politics , the fcience of, why ill underftood among the ancients, iii. 48.
Polybius , his character as an hiftorian, iii. 42.
Pope , criticifin on a paffage in his Homer , i. 77. Profe fpecimen from, confiftingof fhort fentences, 25?. Other fpecimens of hisftyle, 267. 278. Confufed mixtures of metaphorical and plain language in , 34 6 . Mixed metaphor in, 552. Confufed perfonification, 378. In- ftance of his fondnefs for antithefes, 402. Character of his epiftolary writings, iii. 8< 5 . Criticifin on, 87. Con-, ftruction of his verfe , 118. Peculiar character of his verfification, 123, The paftorals, 15s, 140. His ethic epiftles, 161. The merits of his various poems examined, 162. Character of his tranfiation of Homer 242.
Precijion in language, in what it confiits, i. 219. The importance of, 216. 237. Requiiites to, 250,
PrepoRtions , whether more ancient than the declenfion of nouns by cafes, i. 171. "Whether more ufeful aud beautiful, 176. Dr. Campbell’s obfervations on, 174. note. Their great ufe in fpeech , 190.
Prior , aliegory cited from , i. 3 5 7.
Pronouns , their ufe, varieties, and cafes, i. 174. Relative , inftances illuftrating the importance of their proper pofition in a fentence, 241.
Pronunciation , diftinctnefs of, neceffary in public fpeak- ing , ii. 590. Tones of, 401.
Proverbs, book of, a didactic poem, iii, 197.
Pfalm xviii. fublime reprefentation of the Deity in, i. 69. Ixxxth, a fine aWegory from, 397. Remarks on the poetic conftrudtion of the Pfalms, iii. 183. J 91.
Pulpit , the eloquence of defined, ii. 161. Englifh and French fermons compared, 20 r. The practice of reading fermons in England difavantageous to oratory, 20?. The art of perfuafion refigned to the puritans, ibid. Advantages and difadvantages of pulpit-eloquence, 270. Rules for preaching, 274. The chief charadteriltics of pulpit eloquence, 277. Whether it is belt to read fer-

INDEX.
/
mons, or deliver them extempore, 289. Pronuncia- • tion, 290. Remarks on French Sermons, 291. Caufe of the dry argumentative ftyle of Engiilh fermons, 294. General obfervatfons, 297.
VyJiftratns , the firft who cultivated the arts of fpeech, ii, 169.
O
Qjiinflilian , his ideas of tafte, i. 20. note. His account ' of the ancient divifion of the feveral parts of fpeech , J38. note. His remarks on the importance of the ftudy of Grammar, 191. On perfpicuity of ftyle, 211. 221. On climax, 283• On the ftructure of fentences, 272. "Which ought not to offend the ear, 282. 29?. His caution againft too great an attention to harmony, 298- His caution againft mixed metaphor, 349. His fine apoftrophe on the death of his fon, 383. His rule for the ufe of fimilies, 396. ilis direction for the ufe of figures of ftyle, ii. 3. His diftinctions of ftyle, 10. 25. His inftructions for good writing, 4 6. 47. His charadter of Cicero’s oratory, 187. His inftructions to public fpeakers for preferving decorums, 221. His inftructions to judicial pleaders, 245. His obfervations on exordiums to replies in debate. 343. On the proper divifion of an oration, 349. His mode of addrefling the paflions , 373. His lively reprefentation of the effects of depravity, iii. f. Is the belt ancient writer on oratory, 22.
R
✓
Racine , his character as a tragic poet iii. 334.
Ramfay , Allan, charadter of his Gentle Shepherd iii. 144.
Rapin , P. remarks on his parallels between Greek and Roman writers, ii. 191.
Rets, cardinal de, charadter, of his Memoirs, iii. 69,
Rhetoricians , Grecian, rife and character of, ii. 171.
Rhyme, in Engiilh verfe, unfavourable to fublimity, 1. 77. And blank verfe comparediii. 121. The former, why

INDEX.
improper in the Greek and Latin languages, 122. The flrft introduction of couplets in Englifh poetry, 123.
Rlchardfon , a character of his novels, iii. 9,-.
Ridicule , an inftrument often mifapplied, iii. 343.
Robinfon Crufoe , a character of that novel, iii. 99.
Romance , derivation of the term, iii. 92. See Novels.
Romans , derived their learning from Greece, ii. 182. Com- parifon between them and the Greeks, 184. Hiftorical view of their eloquence, 18 3 • Oratorical character of Cicero, 18 6. JEra of the decline of eloquence among, 193 -
Rouljeau , Jean Baptifte, his character as a lyric poet, iii. is2.
Rpsve , his character as a tragic poet, iii. 341.
S
Salhifi , his character as an hiftorian, iii. 49.
Sanazarius , Iris pifcatory eclogues, iii. 139.
Satan , examination of his character in Milton’s Paradife Loft, iii. 280.
Satire , poetical, general remarks on the ftyle of, iii. 159.
Saxon language, how eftablifhed in England, i. 193.
Scenes , dramatic , what, and the proper conduct of, iii. 307.
Scriptures , facred, the figurative ftyle of, remarked, i. 130. The tranflators of, happy in fuiting their numbers to the fubject, 302. Fine apoftrophe in, 38?. Prefent us with the moft ancient monuments of poetry extant, iii. 180. The diverlity of ftyle in the feveral books of, 181. The Pfalms of David, 182. No other writings abound with, fuch bold and animated figures 188. Parables, 193. Bold and fublime inftances of perfonifi- cation in , ibid. Book of Proverbs, 197. Lamentations of.Jeremiah, 198.
Scuderi , macltm, her romances, iii. 93.
Seneca , his frequent antithefes cenfured, i. 400. Character of his general ftyle, ii. 13. iii. 75. His epiftolary Writings, 81.

INDEX.
Sente-ace in language, definition of, i. 252. Diftinguilhed into long and fhort, 233 A variety in , to be liudied, 2 3 6 . The properties elfential to a perfect fentence ,257. A principal rule for arranging the members of, 2?8. Pofition of adverbs , ib. And relative pronouns, 241. Unity of a fentence, rules for preferving, 246. Pointing, 292. Parenthefes, 25?. Should always be brought to a perfect clofe, 234. Strength, 257. Should be cleared of redundancies, 298- Due attention to particles recommended, 260. The omilfion of particles fomer times connects objects clofer together, 265. Directions for placing the important words, 263. Climax, 271. A like order neceffary to be obferved in all alfertions or propofitions, 272. Sentences ought not to conclude with a feeble word, 273. Fundamental rule in the con- ftruction of, 280. Sound not to be difregarded, 282. Two circumftances to be attended to for producing harmony in, 283. 293. Rules of the ancient rhetoricians for this purpofe, 2 8 < 5 . -Why harmony much lefs ftudied now than formerly, 287*. Englilh words cannot be fo exactly meafured by metrical feet, as thole of Greek and Latin, 291. What is required for the mulical clofe of a fentence, 298- Unmeaning words introduced merely to round a fentence, a great blemilh, ibid. Sounds ought to be adapted to fenfe , 300.
Sermons , Englilh, compared with French, ii. 201. Unity an indifpenfable requifite in, 278. The fubjedt ought to be precife and particular, 28°. The fubject not to be exhaufted, 281. Cautions againft drynefs, 282. And again!! conforming to falhionable modes of preaching, 283 - Style , 286. Quaint exprelfions, 288. Whether belt to be written or delivered extempore, 289- Delivery, 290. Remarks on French Sermons, 291. Caufe of the dry argumentative Style of Englilh Sermons, 294. General obfervations, 297. Remarks on the proper divifion of, 347. Cotclufion; 382. Delivery, 383.
Sevigne, Madame de, character of her letters, iii. 87-
‘Shaftesbury , (lord, obfervations on his Ryle, i. 219. 236.

INDEX.
230. 268. 269. 299. 354. His general character as a writer, ii. 3 9.
Shakefpeare , the merit of his plays examined, i. 49. \c r as not poffeffed of a refined tafte, 48. Inltance of his improper rife of metaphor, 343. 330. ib. Exhibits pailions in the language of nature, iii. 324. His character as a tragic poet, 337. As a comic poet, 360.
Shenjtone , his paftoral ballad, iii. 141.
Shepherd , the proper character of, in paftoral defeription, iii. 133.
Sheridan, his diltiriction between ideas and emotioris, ii. 402. note.
Sherlock , bilhop , fine inltance of perfonification cited from his fermons, i. 571. A happy allufion cited from his ferfflons, ii. 287. note.
Silius Italicus , his fublime reprefentation of Harinibal , i.
6 1. 7 iote.
Simile diltinguifhed from metaphor, i. 334, 387. Sources of the pleafme they afford, ibid. Two kinds of, 388- Requifites in, 391. Rules for, 394. Local propriety to be adhered to in, 398.
Simplicity , applied toftyle, different fenfes of the term,
ii. 30.
Smollet , improper life of figurative Ityle, cited from, i. 341. note.
Salomon's fong* deferiptive beauties of, iii. 173.
Songs , Runic, the origin of Gothic hiftory, iii. 104, Sopbijls of Greece, rife and character of, ii. 171. Sophocles , the plots of his tragedies remarkably fimple,
iii. 298. Excelled in the pathetic, 324. His character as a tragic poet, 329.
Sorrow , why the emotions of, excited by tragedy, communicate pleafure, iii. .303.
Sounds, of an awful nature, affect us With fublimity, i.
3 4- Iniluence of, in the formation of words, 116. Speaker , public, mull be directed more by his ear than by rules, i. 292.
Spectator, general charader of that publication, ii. 33.

INDEX.
Critical examination of tliofe papers that treat of the pleafures of imagination , 33.
Speech, the power of, the diftinguifhing privilege of man- hind , i. j. The grammatical diviiion of, into eight parts not logical, 15S. Of the ancients, regulated by mufical rules, 288.
Sir ad a , his chnrader as an hiftovian", iii. 66.
Style in language defined, i. 209. The difference of, in different countries ,210. The qualities of a good ftyle, ibid. Perfpicuity, hi. Obfcurity, owing to indiftind conceptions, 212. Three requifite qualities in perfpicuity, 215. Precifion, 21 3. Aloofeflyle, from what it proceeds, 217. Too great an attention to precifion renders a ftyle dry and barren, 251. French diftindion of ftyle, 2? 4. The characters of, flow from peculiar modes of thinking , ii. 7. Different fubjeds require a different ftyle, 8- Ancient diftindions of, 9 The different kinds of, 1 o. Concife and diffufive, on what occa- fions, proper, 11. Nervous and feeble, 13. A harfh ftyle, from what it proceeds, 17. fEra of the formation of our prefent ftyle , 19. Dry manner defcribed , 20. A plain ftyle , 21. Neat ftyle, 2;. Elegant ftyle , 24. Florid ftyle, 23. Natural ftyle , 29. Different fenfes of the term fimplicity, 30. The Greek writers diftinguifhed for fimplicity, 34. Vehement ftyle, 42. General directions how to attain a good ftyle, 43. Imitation dangerous, 30. Style not to be ftudied to the negled of thoughts , 32. Critical examination of thofe papers in the Spedator that treat of the pleafures of imagination, 33 Critical examination of a paffage in Swift’s writings, 129. General obfervations , 132. See Eloquence.
Sublimity of external objects , and fuSlimity in writing diftinguifhed; i. 32. Itsimprefilons, ibid. Offpace, 33. Of founds, ibid. Violence of the elements, 54. Solemnity bordering on the terrible, 3 6. Obfcurity, not unfavourable to, 37. In buildings, 39. Heroifm, 60. Great virtue, 61. Whether there is any one fundamental quality in the fources of fublime, 62.

INDEX.
Sublimity in writing defined , i. 63. Errors in Longinus pointed out, 66. The moft ancient writers afford the moft ftriking inftances of fublimity, 69. Sublime repre- fentution of the Deity in Pfalm xviii. ibid. And in the prophet Habakkuk, 70. In Mofes and Ifaiah, ibid. Initances of fublimity in Homer , 72. InOffian, 74. Amplification injurious to fublimity, 7$; Rhyme in Englilli verfe, unfavourable to , 76. Strength elfential to fublime V/riting, 79. A proper choice of Gircumlhn- ces elfential to fublime defeription , 81 • Strictures on Virgil’s defeription of Mount JEtna, 8 3- The proper fources of the fublime , 8 3. Sublimity confifts in the thought, not in the words, g6. The faults oppofed t« the fublime, 88.
SitUy , duke de , character of his memoirs, iii. 69.
Superftition , Sublime reprefentation of its dominion over mankind, from Lucretius, i. 58. note.
Swift, o'bfervations on his ityle, i. 214. 251. 243. 231. 277, 300. General character of his ftyle, ii. 22. Critic cal examination of the beginning of his propofal for correcting , &c. the Englifh tongue, 129. Concluding obfervations, i^r. His language, iii. 15, Character of his epiftolary writing, 86.
Syllables , Englifh, cannot be fo exactly meafured by metrical feet, as thofe of Greek and Latin, i. 292.1
Synecdoche , in figurative ftyle, explained , i. 332.
Synonymous words, obfervations on, i. 223.
T
Tacitus , character of his ftyle, ii. 12. His character as an hiitorian, * iii. 30. His happy manner of introducing incidental obfervations , 32. Inftancc of his fuccefsful talent in hiftorical painting , 60. His defects as a writer, 6r.
Tajfo , a paflage from his Gierufalenune diftinguifhed by the harmony of numbers , i. 305. Strained fenti- ments in his paftorals, iii, 133. Character of his
Aminta,

INDEX,
Aminta, 142. Critical examination of his poem, 262*
Tajie , true, the ufes of, in common life, i. 12. Definition of, 18. Is more or lefs common to all men, 19. Is an improveable faculty, 22. How to. be refined, 23. Is affifted by reafon, 2 5. A good heart requifite to a juft tafte, 2 6. Delicacy and correctnefs the characters of perfect tafte, 28. "Whether there be any ftandard of tafte, 3 o. The diverfity of, in different men, no evidence of their taftes being corrupted, 31. The teft of, referred to the concurring voice of the polilhed part of mankind, 37. Diftinguifhed from genius , 4 6. The four- ces of pleafure in, 49. The powers of, enlarge the fphere of our pleafurcs, 51. Imitation, as a fource of plea* fure, 103. Mufic, ibid. To what clafs the pleafures received from eloquence, poetry, and fine writing are to be referred, ibid.
Telemacbus. See Fenelon.
Temple , Sir'William, obferVations on his ftyle, i. 219. Specimens, 234. 230. 253. 262. 294. His general character as a writer, ii. 36.
Terence , beautiful inftance of fimplicity from, ii. 34. His character as a dramatic writer , iii. 333.
Terminations of words , the variations of, in the Greek and Latin languages, favourable to the liberty of tranf- pofition, i. 138-
Tbeocritus , the earlieft known writer of paftorals , iii. 126. His talent in painting rural feenery, 130. Character of his paftorals, 137.
Tbomfon , fine paffage from , where he animates all nature, i. 374. Character of his feafons, iii. 166. His elogium by Dr. Johnfon, 168. note.
Thuaniis , his character as an hiftorian, iii. 4 6.
Thucydides , his character as an hiftorian, iii. 44. Was the firft who introduced orations in hiftorical narration, < 52 . . ,
Tillotfon , archbifhop, obferVations on his ftyle, 1. 219. 243. 293, 343. General character of, as a writer,
ii- 15 - ~ ,
Vol. III. D d

INDEX.
Tones , the due management of, in public {peaking, ii.-4.01.
Topics , among the ancient rhetoricians* explained, ii. 339.
Tragedy , how diftinguifhed from comedy, iii. 28*. More particular definition of, 286. Subject and conduct of, 288. Rife and progrefs of, 291. The three dramatic unities, 296. Divilion of the reprefentation into ads, 500. The cataftrophe, 305. Why the forrow excited by tragedy communicates pleafure, 30*. The proper- idea of feenes , and how to be conducted, 307. Char- aders, 314. Higher degrees of morality inculcated by modern, than by ancient tragedy, 317. Too great ufe made of the paffioa of love, on the modern Rages, 318- All tragedies expected, to be pathetic* 320. The proper ufe of moral reflections in, 323. The proper ftyle and verification of, 326. Brief view of the Greek Rage, 328. French tragedy, 332. Englifh tragedy, 337. Concluding obfervations, 342.
Tropes , a definition of, i. 312. Origin of, 317. The rhetorical diflindions among . frivolous, 330.
Turnits , the charader of, not favourably treated in the iEneid, iii. 231.
Turpin , archbifhop of Rheims, a romance writer, iii. 92.
Typographical figures of fpeech , what, i. 406.
V
Vanbrugh , his charader as a dramatic writer, iii. 364.
Verbs , their nature and office explained, i. 18x. No fen- tence complete without a verb exprelled or implied, 182. The tenfes, 18 3- The advantage of Englifh over the Latin, in the variety of tenfes, 184. Active and paffive , ibid. Are the molt artificial and complex of all the parts of fpeech , 186.
Verfe , blank, more favourable to fublimity than rhyme, i. 78. Inftrudions for the reading of, ii. 399. Con- Itrudionof, iii. 119.
Virgil , inltances of fublimity in, i. 36. go. 83 - Of harmony, 305. 307. Simplicity of language, 315.

INDEX.
Figurative language, 5 31. 3 70. 553. .Specimens of his paftoral defcriptions, iii. 128. 134. Character of
his paftorals, 137. His Georgies , a perfect model of didactic poetry, 134. The principal beauties in the Georgies, 198. Beautiful defcriptions in his TEneid, 174. Critical examination of that poem, 246. Compared with Homer, 234.
Virtue , high degrees of, a fource of the fublime, i. 61. A necellary ingredient to form an eloquent orator, iii. 4.
Vifion , the figure of fpeech fo termed, in what it con- lilts, i. 406.
Unities , dramatic, the advantages of adhering to , iii. 296. Why the moderns are lefs reftrifted to the unities of time and place than the ancients, 310.
Voice , the powers of, to be ftudied in public fpeaking, ii- 3 88.
Voiture^ character of his epiftolary writings, iii. 87-
Voltaire , his character as an hiftorian, iii. 71. . Critical examination of his Henriade, 273. His argument for the ufe of rhyme in dramatic compofitions , 327. His character as a tragic poet, 33?.
Vojjius , Joannes Gerardus, character of his writings on eloquence , iii. 19.
W
Waller, the firft Englifh poet who brought couplets into vogue, iii. 123.
Wit is to be very fparinglyufed at the bar, ii. 2; 1.
Words , obfolete , and new coined , incongruous with purity of ftyle, i. 213. Bad confequences of their being ill chofen, 216. Obfervations on thofe termed fynonymous, 223. Confidered with reference to found, 282.
Words and things , infiances of the analogy between, i. 117.
Dd 2

INDEX.
Writers of genius, why they have been more numerous in one age than another, iii. 25. Four happy ages of, pointed out, ibid.
Writing , two kinds of, diftinguifhed, i. 142. Pidtures the firft eifay in, ibid. Hieroglyphic, the fecond, 143. Chinefe Charadters, 146. Arithmetical figures, 147. The confiderations which led to the invention of an alphabet, 148. Cadmus’s alphabet the origin of that now ufed, 151. Hiftorical account of the materials ufed to • receive writing, 153. General remarks, ibid. See Grammar.
Y
Toung , Dr. his poetical character, i. 3 5Too fond of antithefes, 401. The merit of his works examined 4 iii. 163. His character as a tragic poet, 341.
THE END.

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