HAVING treated, at considerable length, of the Figures of Speech, of their origin, of their nature, and of the management of such of them as are import­ant enough to require a particular discus­sion, before finally dismissing this subject, I think it incumbent on me, to make some observations concerning the proper use of Figurative Language in general. These, indeed, I have, in part, already anticipat­ed. But, as great errors are often commit­ted in this part of Style, especially by young writers, it may be of use that I bring together, under one view, the most mate­rial directions on this head.

[Page 2] I BEGIN with repeating an observation, formerly made, that neither all the beau­ties, nor even the chief beauties of compo­sition, depend upon Tropes and Figures. Some of the most sublime and most pathetic passages of the most admired authors, both in prose and poetry, are expressed in the most simple Style, without any figure at all; instances of which I have before given. On the other hand, a composition may abound with these studied ornaments; the language may be artful, splendid, and highly figured, and yet the composition be on the whole frigid and unaffecting. Not to speak of sentiment and thought, which constitute the real and lasting merit of any work, if the style be stiff and affected, if it be deficient in perspicuity or precision, or in ease and neatness, all the Figures that can be employed will never render it agree­able: they may dazzle a vulgar, but will never please a judicious, eye.

IN the second place, Figures, in order to be beautiful, must always rise naturally from the subject. I have shown that all of them are the language either of Imagina­tion, or of Passion; some of them suggest­ed by Imagination, when it is awakened and sprightly, such as Metaphors and Com­parisons; others by Passion or more heat­ed emotion, such as Personifications and Apostrophes. Of course they are beauti­ful then only, when they are prompted by [Page 3] fancy, or by passion. They must rise of their own accord; they must flow from a mind warmed by the object which it seeks to describe; we should never interrupt the course of thought to cast about for Figures. If they be fought after coolly, and fastened on as designed ornaments, they will have a miserable effect. It is a very erroneous idea, which many have of the ornaments of Style, as if they were things detached from the subject, and that could be stuck to it, like lace upon a coat: this is indeed,

And it is this false idea which has often brought attention to the beauties of writ­ing into disrepute. Whereas, the real and proper ornaments of Style are wrought into the substance of it. They flow in the same stream with the current of thought. A writer of genius conceives his subject strongly; his imagination is filled and im­pressed with it; and pours itself forth in that Figurative Language which Imagina­tion naturally speaks He puts on no emo­tion which his subject does not raise in him; he speaks as he feels; but his style will be beautiful, because his feelings are lively. On occasions, when fancy is lan­guid, [Page 4] or finds nothing to rouse it, we should never attempt to hunt for figures. We then work, as it is said, ‘"invitâ Minervâ;"’ supposing figures invented, they will have the appearance of being forced; and in this case, they had much better be wanted.

In the third place, even when Imagina­tion prompts, and the subject naturally gives rise to Figures, they must, however, not be employed too frequently. In all beauty, ‘"simplex munditiis;"’ is a capital quality. Nothing derogates more from the weight and dignity of any composition, than too great attention to ornament. When the ornaments cost labour, that la­bour always appears; though they should cost us none, still the reader or hearer may be surfeited with them; and when they come too thick, they give the impression of a light and frothy genius, that evapo­rates in shew, rather than brings forth what is solid. The directions of the ancient critics, on this head, are full of good sense, and deserve careful attention. ‘"Volup­tatibus maximis,"’ says Cicero, de Orat. L. iii. ‘"fastidium finitimum est in rebus omnibus; quo hoc minus in oratione miremur. In qua vel ex poëtis, vel oratoribus possumus judicare, concin­nam, ornatam, festivam sine intermis­sione, quamvis claris sit coloribus picta, vel poësis, vel oratio, non posse in de­lectatione esse diuturnâ. Quare, bene [Page 5] et praeclare, quamvis nobis saepe dica­tur, belie et festive nimium saepe no­lo ^*."’ To the same purpose, are the excellent directions with which Quinctilian concludes his discourse concerning Figures, L. ix. C. 3. ‘"Ego illud de iis figuris quae vere fiunt, adjiciam breviter, sicut or­nant orationem opportunae positae, ita ineptissimas esse cum immodice petuntur. Sunt, qui neglecto rerum pondere et viri­bus sententiarum, si vel inania verba in hos modos depravarunt, summos se ju­dicant artifices; ideoque non desinunt eas nectere; quas sine sententia sectare, tam est ridiculum quam quaerere habitum gestumque sine corpore. Ne hae quidem quae rectae fiunt, densandae sunt nimis. Sciendum imprimis quid quisque postu­let locus, quid persona, quid tempus. Major enim pars harum figurarum posita est in delectatione. Ubi verò, atrocitate, invidiâ, miseratione pugnandum est; quis ferat verbis contrapositis, et consi­milibus, & pariter cadentibus, irascen­tem, flentem, rogantem? Cum in his rebus, cura verborum deroget affectibus fidem; et ubicunque ars ostentatur, ve­ritas [Page 6] abesse videatur ^*."’ After these judicious and useful observations, I have no more to add, on this subject, except this admonition.

IN the fourth place, that without a ge­nius for Figurative Language, none should attempt it. Imagination is a power not to be acquired; it must be derived from na­ture. Its redundancies we may prune, its deviations we may correct, its sphere we may enlarge; but the faculty itself we cannot create: and all efforts towards a metaphorical ornamented style, if we are destitute of the proper genius for it, will prove awkward and disgusting. Let us satisfy ourselves, however, by consider­ing, that without this talent, or at least [Page 7] with a very small measure of it, we may both write and speak to advantage. Good sense, clear ideas, perspicuity of language, and proper arrangement of words and thoughts, will always command attention. These are indeed the foundations of all solid merit, both in speaking and writing. Many subjects require nothing more; and those which admit of ornament, admit it only as a secondary requisite. To study and to know our own genius well; to fol­low nature; to seek to improve, but not to force it, are directions which cannot be too often given to those who desire to excell in the liberal arts.

WHEN I entered on the consideration of Style, I observed that words being the co­pies of our ideas, there must 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 expression which belongs to him, there is a certain character imprinted on his Style, which may be denominated his manner; commonly expressed by such general terms, as strong, weak, dry, simple, affected, or the like. These distinctions carry, in ge­neral, some reference to an author's man­ner of thinking, but refer chiefly to his mode of expression. They arise from the whole tenour of his language; and com­prehend the effect produced by all those [Page 8] parts of Style which we have already con­sidered; the choice which he makes of single words; his arrangement of these in sentences; the degree of his precision; and his embellishment, by means of musical ca­dence, figures, or other arts of speech. Of such general Characters of Style, therefore, it remains now to speak, as the result of those underparts of which I have hitherto treated.

THAT different subjects require to be treated of in different sorts of Style, is a position so obvious, that I shall not stay to illustrate it. Every one sees that Treatises of Philosophy, for instance, ought not to be composed in the same style with ora­tions. Every one sees also, that different parts of the same composition require a va­riation in the style and manner. In a ser­mon, for instance, or any harangue, the application or peroration admits more or­nament, and requires more warmth, than the didactic part. But what I mean at present to remark is, that amidst this va­riety, we still expect to find, in the com­positions of any one man, some degree of uniformity or consistency with himself in manner; we expect to find some predomi­nant character of Style impressed on all his writings, which shall be suited to, and shall mark, his particular genius, and turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ much in Style, as they ought to do, from the rest [Page 9] of his history. The same is the case with those in Tacitus. Yet both in Livy's ora­tions, and in those of Tacitus, we are able clearly to trace the distinguishing manner of each historian; the magnificent fullness of the one, and the sententious conciseness of the other. The "Lettres Persanes," and "L'Esprit de Loix," are the works of the same author. They required very dif­ferent composition surely, and accordingly they differ widely; yet still we see the same hand. Wherever there is real and native ge­nius, it gives a determination to one kind of Style rather than another. Where no­thing of this appears; where there is no marked nor peculiar character in the com­positions of any author, we are apt to in­fer, not without reason, that he is a vul­gar and trivial author, who writes from imitation, and not from the impulse of original genius. As the most celebrated painters are known by their hand, so the best and most original writers are known and distinguished, throughout all their works, by their Style and peculiar man­ner. This will be found to hold almost without exception.

THE ancient Critics attended to these general characters of Style which we are now to consider. Dionysius of Halicarnas­sus divides them into three kinds; and calls them the Austere, the Florid, and the Middle. By the Austere, he means a Style [Page 10] distinguished for strength and firmness, with a neglect of smoothness and orna­ment; for examples of which, he gives Pindar and Aeschylus among the Poets, and Thucydides among the Prose writers. By the Florid, he means, as the name indi­cates, a Style ornamented, flowing, and sweet; resting more upon numbers and grace, than strength; he instances Hesiod, Sappho, Anacreon, Euripides, and princi­pally Isocrates. The Middle kind is the just mean between these, and comprehends the beauties of both; in which class he places Homer and Sophocles among the Poets; in Prose, Herodotus, Demosthenes, Plato, and (what seems strange) Aristotle. This must be a very wide class indeed, which comprehends Plato and Aristotle un­der one article as to Style ^*. Cicero and Quinctilian make also a threefold division of Style, though with respect to different qualities of it; in which they are followed by most of the modern writers on Rheto­ric; the Simplex, Tenue, or Subtile; the Grave or Vehemens; and the Medium, or, temperatum genus dicendi. But these divi­sions, and the illustrations they give of them, are so loose and general, that they cannot advance us much in our ideas of Style. I shall endeavour to be a little more particular in what I have to say on this subject.

[Page 11] ONE of the first and most obvious distinc­tions of the different kinds of Style, is what arises from an author's spreading out his thoughts more or less. This distinction forms, what are called the Diffuse and the Concise Styles. A concise writer com­presses his thought into the fewest possible words; he seeks to employ none but such as are most expressive; he lops off, as re­dundant, every expression which does not add something material to the sense. Or­nament he does not reject; he may be lively and figured; but his ornament is in­tended for the sake of force, rather than grace. He never gives you the same thought twice. He places it in the light which appears to him the most striking; but if you do not apprehend it well in that light, you need not expect to find it in any other. His sentences are arranged with compactness and strength, rather than with cadence and harmony. The utmost pre­cision is studied in them; and they are commonly designed to suggest more to the reader's imagination than they directly express.

A DIFFUSE writer unfolds his thought fully. He places it in a variety of lights, and gives the reader every possible assist­ance for understanding it completely. He is not very careful to express it at first in its full strength; because he is to repeat the impression; and what he wants in [Page 12] strength, he proposes to supply by copious­ness. Writers of this character generally love magnificence and amplification. Their periods naturally run out into some length, and having room for ornament of every kind, they admit it freely.

EACH of these manners has its peculiar advantages; and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. The extreme of conciseness becomes abrupt and obscure; it is apt also to lead into a Style too point­ed, and bordering on the epigrammatic. The extreme diffuseness becomes weak and languid, and tires the reader. However, to one or other of these two manners, a writer may lean according as his genius prompts him: and under the general cha­racter of a concise, or of a more open and diffuse Style, may possess much beauty in his composition.

FOR illustrations of these general cha­racters, I can only refer to the writers who are examples of them. It is not so much from detached passages, such as I was wont formerly to quote for instances, as from the current of an author's Style, that we are to collect the idea of a formed manner of writing. The two most remarkable ex­amples that I know, of conciseness carried as far as propriety will allow, perhaps in some cases farther, are Tacitus the Histo­rian, and the President Montesquieu in [Page 13] "L'Esprit de Loix." Aristotle too holds an eminent rank among didactic wri­ters for his brevity. Perhaps no writer in the world was ever so frugal of his words as Aristotle; but this frugality of expres­sion frequently darkens his meaning. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, Ci­cero is, beyond doubt, the most illustrious instance that can be given. Addison also, and Sir William Temple, come in some de­gree under this class.

IN judging when it is proper to lean to the concise, and when to the diffuse man­ner, we must be directed by the nature of the Composition. Discourses that are to be spoken, require a more copious Style, than books that are to be read. When the whole meaning must be catched from the mouth of the speaker, without the advantage which books afford of pausing at pleasure, and reviewing what appears obscure, great conciseness is always to be avoided. We should never presume too much on the quickness of our hearer's understanding; but our Style ought to be such, that the bulk of men can go along with us easily, and without effort. A flowing copious Style, therefore, is required in all public speakers; guarding, at the same time, against such a degree of diffusion, as ren­ders them languid and tiresome; which will always prove the case, when they [Page 14] inculcate too much, and present the same thought under too many different views.

IN written Compositions, a certain degree of conciseness possesses great advantages. It is more lively; keeps up attention; makes a brisker and stronger impression; and gratifies the mind by supplying more exercise to a reader's own thought. A sen­timent, which, expressed diffusely, will barely be admitted to be just, expressed concisely, will be admired as spirited. Description, when we want to have it vi­vid and animated, should be in a concise strain. This is different from the common opinion; most persons being ready to sup­pose, that upon description a writer may dwell more safely than upon other things, and that by a full and extended Style, it is rendered more rich and expressive. I ap­prehend, on the contrary, that a diffuse manner generally weakens it. Any redun­dant words or circumstances encumber the fancy, and make the object we present to it, appear confused and indistinct. Ac­cordingly, the most masterly describers, Homer, Tacitus, Milton, are almost always concise in their descriptions. They shew us more of an object at one glance, than a feeble diffuse writer can show, by turning it round and round in a variety of lights. The strength and vivacity of description, whether in prose or poetry, depend much more upon the happy choice of one or two [Page 15] striking circumstances, than upon the mul­tiplication of them.

ADDRESSES to the passions, likewise, ought to be in the concise, rather than the diffuse manner. In these, it is dangerous to be diffuse, because it is very difficult to support proper warmth for any length of time. When we become prolix, we are always in hazard of cooling the reader. The heart, too, and the fancy run fast; and if once we can put them in motion, they supply many particulars to greater advantage than an author can display them. The case is different, when we address our­selves to the understanding; as in all mat­ters of reasoning, explication, and instruc­tion. There I would prefer a more free and diffuse manner. When you are to strike the fancy, or to move the heart, be concise; when you are to inform the un­derstanding, which moves more slowly, and requires the assistance of a guide, it is bet­ter to be full. Historical narration may be beautiful, either in a concise or diffuse manner, according to the writer's genius. Livy and Herodotus are diffuse; Thucy­dides and Sallust are succinct; yet all of them agreeable.

I OBSERVED that a diffuse style inclines most to long periods; and a concise writer, it is certain, will often employ short sen­tences. It is not, however, to be inferred [Page 16] from this, that long or short sentences are fully characteristical of the one or the other manner. It is very possible for one to com­pose always in short sentences, and to be withal extremely diffuse, if a small measure of sentiment be spread through many of these sentences. Seneca is a remarkable example. By the shortness and quaintness of his sentences, he may appear at first view very concise; yet he is far from being so. He transfigures the same thought into many different forms. He makes it pass for a new one, only by giving it a new turn. So also, most of the French writers compose in short sentences; though their style, in general, is not concise; common­ly less so than the bulk of English writers, whose sentences are much longer. A French author breaks down into two or three sen­tences, that portion of thought which an English author crowds into one. The di­rect effect of short sentences, is to render the Style brisk and lively, but not always con­cise. By the quick successive impulses which they make on the mind, they keep it awake; and give to Composition more of a spirited character. Long periods, like Lord Clarendon's are grave and stately; but, like all grave things, they are in ha­zard of becoming dull. An intermixture of both long and short ones is requisite, when we would support solemnity, toge­ther with vivacity; leaning more to the one or the other, according as propriety [Page 17] requires, that the solemn or the sprightly should be predominant in our composition. But of long and short sentences, I had occasion, formerly, to treat under the head of the construction of periods.

THE Nervous and the Feeble, are gene­rally held to be characters of Style, of the same import with the Concise and the Dif­fuse. They do indeed very often coincide. Diffuse writers have for the most part some degree of feebleness; and nervous writers will generally be inclined to a concise ex­pression. This, however, does not always hold; and there are instances of writers, who, in the midst of a full and ample Style, have maintained a great degree of strength. Livy is an example; and in the English lan­guage, Dr. Barrow. Barrow's Style has many faults. It is unequal, incorrect and redundant; but withal, for force and ex­pressiveness uncommonly distinguished. On every subject, he multiplies words with an overflowing copiousness; but it is always a torrent of strong ideas and significant ex­pressions 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 strongly, he will express it with energy: but, if he has only an indistinct view of his subject; if his ideas be loose and wavering; if his ge­nius be such, or, at the time of his writ­ing, so carelessly exerted, that he has no [Page 18] 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 loose epithets will be found; his expressions will be vague and general; his arrangement indistinct and feeble; we shall conceive somewhat of his meaning, but our conception will be faint. Whereas a nervous writer, whether he em­ploys an extended or a concise Style, gives us always a strong impression of his mean­ing; his mind is full of his subject, and his words are all expressive; every phrase and every figure which he uses, tends to render the picture, which he would set be­fore us, more lively and complete.

I OBSERVED, under the head of Diffuse and Concise Style, that an author might lean either to the one or to the other, and yet be beautiful. This is not the case with respect to the nervous and the feeble. Eve­ry author, in every composition, ought to study to express himself with some strength, and, in proportion, as he approaches to the feeble, he becomes a bad writer. In all kinds of writing, however, the same de­gree of strength is not demanded. But the more grave and weighty any composition is, the more should a character of strength predominate in the Style. Hence in histo­ry, philosophy, and solemn discourses, it is expected most. One of the most com­plete [Page 19] models of a nervous Style, is Demost­henes in his orations.

AS every good quality in Style has an extreme, when pursued to which it be­comes faulty, this holds of the Nervous Style as well as others. Too great a study of strength, to the neglect of the other qualities of Style, is found to betray writers into a harsh manner. Harshness arises from unusual words, from forced inversions in the construction of a Sentence, and too much neglect of smoothness and ease. This is reckoned the fault of some of our earli­est classics in the English language; such as Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Bacon, Hooker, Chillingworth, Milton in his prose works, Harrington, Cudworth, and other writers of considerable note in the days of Queen Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I. These writers had nerves and strength in a high degree, and are to 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 construction of the Latin in the arrangement of Sentences. Hooker, for instance, begins the Preface to his celebrated work of Ecclesiastical Polity, with the following Sentence: ‘"Though for no other cause, yet for this, that poste­rity may know we have not loosely, through silence, permitted things to pass away as in dream, there shall be, for [Page 20] men's information, extant this much, concerning the present state of the church of God established amongst us, and their careful endeavours which would have upheld the same."’ Such a sentence now sounds harsh in our ears. Yet some ad­vantages certainly attended this sort of Style; and whether we have gained, or lost, upon the whole, by departing from it, may bear a question. By the freedom of arrangement, which it permitted, it ren­dered the Language susceptible of more strength, of more variety of collocation, and more harmony of period. But howe­ver this be, such a style is now obsolete; and no modern writer could adopt it with­out the censure of harshness and affecta­tion. The present form which the Lan­guage has assumed, has, in some measure, sacrificed the study of strength to that of perspicutiy and ease. Our arrangement of words has become less forcible, perhaps, but more plain and natural: and this is now understood to be the genius of our Language.

THE restoration of King Charles II. seems to be the aera of the formation of our present style. Lord Clarendon was one of the first who laid aside those fre­quent inversions which prevailed among writers of the former age. After him, Sir William Temple, polished the Language still more. But the author, who, by the [Page 21] number and reputation of his works, formed it more than any one, into its present state, is Dryden. Dryden began to write at the Restoration, and continued long an author both in poetry and prose. He had made the language his study; and though he wrote hastily, and often incorrectly, and his style is not free from faults, yet there is a richness in his diction, a copiousness, ease, and variety in his expression, which has not been surpassed by any who have come after him ^*. Since his time, conside­rable attention has been paid to Purity and Elegance of Style: But it is Elegance, ra­ther than Strength, that forms the distin­guishing quality of most of the good En­glish writers. Some of them compose in a more manly and nervous manner than others; but, whether it be from the genius of our Language, or from whatever other cause, it appears to me, that we are far from the strength of several of the Greek and Roman authors.

[Page 22] HITHERTO we have considered Style un­der those characters that respect its expres­siveness of an author's meaning. Let us now proceed to consider it in another view, with respect to the degree of ornament employed to beautify it. Here, the Style of different authors seems to raise, in the following gradation: a Dry, a Plain, a Neat, an Elegant, a Flowery manner. Of each of these in their order.

FIRST, a Dry manner. This excludes all ornament of every kind. Content with being understood, it has not the least aim to please, either the fancy or the ear. This is tolerable only in pure didactic writ­ing; and even there, to make us bear it, great weight and solidity of matter is re­quisite; and entire perspicuity of Lan­guage. Aristotle is the thorough example of a Dry Style. Never, perhaps, was there any author who adhered so rigidly to the strictness of a didactic manner, through­out all his writings, and conveyed so much instruction without the least approach to ornament. With the most profound geni­us, and extensive views, he writes like a pure intelligence, who addresses himself sole­ly to the understanding, without making any use of the channel of the imagination. But this is a manner which deserves not to be imitated. For, although the goodness of the matter may compensate the dryness or harshness of the Style, yet is that dryness a considerable defect; as it fatigues attenti­on, [Page 23] and conveys our sentiments, with disad­vantage, to the reader or hearer.

A PLAIN Style rises one degree above a Dry one. A writer of this character, em­ploys very little ornament of any kind, and rests, almost, entirely upon his sense. But, if he is at no pains to engage us by the em­ployment of figures, musical arrangement, or any other art of writing, he studies, how­ever, to avoid disgusting us like a dry and a harsh writer. Besides Perspicuity, he pur­sues Propriety, Purity, and Precision, in his Language; which form one degree, and no inconsiderable one, of beauty. Liveliness too, and force, may be consistent with a very Plain Style: and, therefore, such an author, if his sentiments be good, may be abun­dantly agreeable. The difference between a dry and plain writer, is, that the former is incapable of ornament, and seems not to know what it is; the latter seeks not after it. He gives us his meaning, in good lan­guage, distinct and pure; any further orna­ment he gives himself no trouble about; ei­ther, because he thinks it unnecessary to his subject; or, because his genius does not lead him to delight in it; or, because it leads him to despise it ^*.

[Page 24] THIS last was the case with Dean Swift, who may be placed at the head of those that have employed the Plain Style. Few writ­ers have discovered more capacity. He treats every subject which he handles, whether se­rious or ludicrous, in a masterly manner. He knew, almost, beyond any man, the Pu­rity, the Extent, the Precision of the En­glish Language; and, therefore, to such as wish to attain a pure and correct Style, he is one of the most useful models. But we must not look for much ornament and grace in his Language. His haughty and morose genius, made him despise any embellish­ment of this kind as beneath his dignity. He delivers his sentiments in a plain, down­right, positive manner, like one who is sure he is in the right; and is very indifferent whether you be pleased or not. His sentences are com­monly negligently arranged; distinctly e­nough as to the sense; but, without any regard to smoothness of sound; often without much regard to compactness, or elegance. If a metaphor, or any other figure, chanced to render his satire more poignant, he would, perhaps, vouchsafe to adopt it, when it came in his way; but if it tended only to embel­lish and illustrate, he would rather throw it aside. Hence, in his serious pieces, his style often borders upon the dry and unpleasing; in his humourous ones, the plainness of his [Page 25] manner gives his wit a singular edge, and sets it off to the highest advantage. There is no froth, nor affectation in it; it flows without any studied preparation; and while he hardly appears to smile himself, he makes his reader laugh heartily. To a writer of such a genius as Dean Swift, the Plain Style was most admirably fitted. Among our phi­losophical writers, Mr. Locke comes under this class; perspicuous and pure, but almost without any ornament whatever. In works which admit, or require, ever so much or­nament, there are parts where the plain manner ought to predominate. But we must remember, that when this is the cha­racter which a writer affects throughout his whole composition, great weight of matter, and great force of sentiment, 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 the highest or most sparkling kind. A writer of this character shows, that he does not despise the beauty of Language. It is an object of his attention. But his atten­tion is shown in the choice of his words, and in a graceful collocation of them; ra­ther than in any high efforts of imaginati­on, or eloquence. His sentences are al­ways clean, and free from the incumbrance of superfluous words; of a moderate [Page 26] length; rather inclining to brevity, than a swelling structure; closing with propriety; without any tails, or adjections dragging after the proper close. His cadence is va­ried; but not of the studied musical kind. His figures, if he uses any, are short 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 industry 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 composition, and carries a decent degree of ornament, which is not unsuitable to any subject whatever. A familiar letter, or a law paper, on the driest subject, may be written with neatness; and a sermon, or a philosophical treatise, in a Neat Style, will be read with pleasure.

AN Elegant Style is a character, expres­sing a higher degree of ornament than a neat one; and, indeed, is the term usually applied to Style, when possessing all the vir­tues of ornament, without any of its ex­cesses or defects. From what has been formerly delivered, it will easily be under­stood, that complete Elegance implies great perspicuity and propriety; purity in the choice of words, and care and dexterity in their harmonious and happy arrangement. It implies, farther, the grace and beauty of Imagination spread over Style, as far as the [Page 27] subject admits it; and all the illustration which Figurative Language adds, when properly employed. In a word, an elegant writer is one who pleases the fancy and the ear, while he informs the understanding; and who gives us his ideas clothed with all the beauty of expression, but not over­charged with any of its misplaced finery. In this class, therefore, we place only the first rate writers in the Language; such as, Addison, Dryden, Pope, Temple, Boling­broke, Atterbury, and a few more: writers who differ widely from one another in ma­ny of the attributes of Style, but whom we now class together, under the denomi­nation of Elegant, as in the scale of Or­nament, possessing nearly the same place.

WHEN the ornaments, applied to Style, are too rich and gaudy in proportion to the subject; when they return upon us too fast, and strike us either with a dazzling lustre, or a false brilliancy, this forms what is call­ed a Florid Style; a term commonly used to signify the excess of ornament. In a young composer this is very pardonable. Perhaps, it is even a promising symptom in young people, that their Style should in­cline to the Florid and Luxuriant: ‘"Volo se efferat in adolescente faecunditas,"’ says Quinctilian, ‘"multum inde decoquent an­ni, multum ratio limabit, aliquid velut usu ipso deteretur; sit modo unde excidi poffit quid et exculpi.—Audeat haec aetas [Page 28] plura, et inveniat et inventis gaudeat; sint licet illa non satis interim sicca et se­vera. Facile remedium est ubertatis: sterilia nullo labore vincuntur ^*."’ But, although the Florid Style may be allowed to youth, in their first essays, it must not receive the same indulgence from writers of maturer years. It is to be expected, that judgment, as it ripens, should chasten ima­gination, and reject, as juvenile, all such ornaments as are redundant, unsuitable to the subject, or not conducive to illustrate it. Nothing can be more contemptible than that tinsel splendor of Language, which some writers perpetually affect. It were well, if this could be ascribed to the real overflowing of a rich imagination. We should then have something to amuse us, at least, if we found little to instruct us. But the worst is, that with those frothy writers, it is a luxuriancy of words, not of fancy. We see a laboured attempt to rise to a splendour of composition, of which they have formed to themselves some loose idea; but having no strength of geni­us for attaining it, they endeavour to sup­ply [Page 29] the defect by poetical words, by cold exclamations, by common place figures, and every thing that has the appearance of pomp and magnificence. It has escaped these writers, that sobriety in ornament, is one great secret for rendering it pleasing; and that, without a foundation of good sense and solid thought, the most Florid Style is but a childish imposition on the Public. The Public, however, are but too apt to be so imposed on; at least, the mob of Readers, who are very ready to be caught, at first, with whatever is dazzling and gaudy.

I CANNOT help thinking, that it reflects more honour on the religious turn, and good dispositions of the present age, than on the public taste, that Mr. Harvey's Me­ditations have had so great a currency. The pious and benevolent heart, which is always displayed in them, and the lively fancy which, on some occasions, appears, justly merited applause: but the perpetual glitter of expression, the swoln imagery, and strained description which abound in them, are ornaments of a false kind. I would, therefore, advise students of ora­tory to imitate Mr. Harvey's piety, rather than his Style; and, in all compositions of a serious kind, to turn their attention, as Mr. Pope says, ‘"from sounds to things, from fancy to the heart."’ Admonitions of this kind, I have already had occasion [Page 30] to give, and may hereafter repeat them; as I conceive nothing more incumbent on me in this course of Lectures, than to take every opportunity of cautioning my Read­ers against the affected and frivolous use of ornament; and, instead of that slight and superficial taste in writing, which I appre­hend to be at present too fashionable, to introduce, as far as my endeavours can avail, a taste for more solid thought, and more manly simplicity in Style.

HAVING entered in the last Lec­ture on the consideration of the ge­neral Characters of Style, I treated of the concise and diffuse, the nervous and feeble manner. I considered Style also, with re­lation to the different degrees of ornament employed to beautify it; in which view, the manner of different authors rises 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 distinguished from Affec­tation. Simplicity, applied to writing, is [Page 32] a term very frequently used; but, like ma­ny other critical terms often used loosely, and without precision. This has been ow­ing chiefly to the different meanings given to the word Simplicity, which, therefore, it will be necessary here to distinguish; and to shew in what sense it is a proper attri­bute of Style. We may remark four dif­ferent acceptations in which it is taken.

THE first is, Simplicity of Composition, as opposed to too great a variety of parts. Horace's precept refers to this:

THIS is the Simplicity of plan in a tra­gedy, as distinguished from double plots, and crowded incidents; the Simplicity of the Iliad, or Aeneid, in opposition to the digressions of Lucan, and the scattered tales of Ariosto; the Simplicity of Grecian architecture, in opposition to the irregular variety of the Gothic. In this sense, Sim­plicity is the same with Unity.

THE second sense is, Simplicity of Thought, as opposed to Refinement. Sim­ple thoughts are what arise naturally; what [Page 33] the occasion, or the subject suggest un­sought; and what, when once suggested, are easily apprehended by all. Refinement in writing, expresses a less natural and ob­vious train of thought, and which it re­quired a peculiar turn of genius to pur­sue; within certain bounds very beautiful; but when carried too far, approaching to intricacy, and hurting us by the appear­ance of being recherchè, or far sought. Thus, we would naturally say, that Mr. Parnell is a poet of far greater Simplicity, in his turn of thought, than Mr. Cowley: Cicero's thoughts on moral subjects are na­tural; Seneca's too refined and laboured. In these two senses of Simplicity, when it is opposed, either to variety of parts, or to refinement of thought, it has no proper relation to Style.

THERE is a third sense of Simplicity, in which it has respect to Style; and stands opposed to too much ornament, or pomp of Language; as when we say, Mr. Locke is a simple, Mr. Harvey a florid, writer; and it is in this sense, that the ‘" simplex,"’ the ‘" tenue,"’ or ‘" subtile genus dicendi,"’ is understood by Cicero and Quinctilian. The Simple Style, in this sense, coincides with the Plain or the Neat Style, which I before mentioned; and, therefore, requires no farther illustration.

[Page 34] BUT there is a fourth sense of Simplici­ty, also respecting Style; but not respecting the degree of ornament employed, so much as the easy and natural manner in which our Language expresses our thoughts. This is quite different from the former sense of the word just now mentioned, in which Simplicity was equivalent to Plainness: whereas, in this sense, it is compatible with the highest ornament. Homer, for in­stance, possesses this Simplicity in the great­est perfection; and yet no writer has more Ornament and Beauty. This Simplicity, which is what we are now to consider, stands opposed, not to Ornament, but to Affectation of Ornament, or appearance of labour about our Style; and it is a distin­guishing excellency in writing.

A WRITER of Simplicity expresses him­self in such a manner, that every one thinks he could have written in the same way; Horace describes it,

[Page 35] There are no marks of art in his expressi­on; it seems the very language of nature; you see in the Style, not the writer and his labour, but the man, in his own natural character. He may be rich in his expressi­on; he may be full of figures, and of fan­cy; but these flow from him without ef­fort; and he appears to write in this man­ner, not because he has studied it, but be­cause it is the manner of expression most natural to him. A certain degree of neg­ligence, also, is not inconsistent with this character of Style, and even not ungrace­ful in it; for too minute an attention to words is foreign to it: ‘"Habeat ille,"’ says Cicero, (Orat. No. 77.) ‘"molle quiddam, et quod indicet non ingratam negligenti­am hominis, de re magis quàm de verbo laborantis. ^*"’ This is the great advan­tage of Simplicity of Style, that, like sim­plicity of manners, it shows us a man's sen­timents and turn of mind laid open with­out disguise. More studied and artificial manners of writing, however beautiful, have always this disadvantage, that they exhibit an author in form, like a man at court, where the splendour of dress, and the ceremonial of behaviour, conceal those peculiarities which distinguish one man from another. But reading an author of [Page 36] Simplicity, is like conversing with a person of distinction at home, and with ease, where we find natural manners, and a marked character.

THE highest degree of this Simplicity, is expressed by a French term, to which we have none that fully answers in our Lan­guage, naïveté. It is not easy to give a pre­cise idea of the import of this word. It always expresses a discovery of character. I believe the best account of it is given by a French critic, M. Marmontel, who ex­plains it thus: That sort of amiable inge­nuity, or undisguised openness, which seems to give us some degree of superiority over the person who shows it; a certain in­fantine Simplicity, which we love in our hearts, but which displays some features of the character that we think we could have art enough to hide; and which, there­fore; always leads us to smile at the person who discovers this character. La Fontaine, in his Fables, is given as the great exam­ple of such naïveté. This, however, is to be understood, as descriptive of a particu­cular species only of Simplicity.

WITH respect to Simplicity, in general, we may remark, that the antient original writers are always the most eminent for it. This happens from a plain reason, that they wrote from the dictates of natural genius, and were not formed upon the labours and [Page 37] writings of others, which is always in ha­zard of producing Affectation. Hence, among the Greek writers, we have more models of a beautiful Simplicity than among the Roman. Homer, Hesiod, Anacreon, Theocritus, Herodotus, and Xenophon, are all distinguished for it. Among the Ro­mans also, we have some writers of this character, particularly Terence, Lucreti­us, Phoedrus, and Julius Caesar. The fol­lowing passage of Terence's Andria, is a beautiful instance of Simplicity of man­ner in description:

[Page 38] All the words here are remarkably happy and elegant; and convey a most lively pic­ture of the scene described: while, at the same time, the Style appears wholly artless and unlaboured. Let us, next, consider some English writers who come under this class.

SIMPLICITY is the great beauty of Archbishop Tillotson's manner. Tillotson has long been admired as an eloquent writ­er, and a model for preaching. But his eloquence, if we can call it such, has been often misunderstood. For, if we include, in the idea of eloquence, vehemence and strength, picturesque description, glowing figures, or correct arrangement of sentenc­es, in all these parts of oratory the Arch­bishop is exceedingly deficient. His Style is always pure, indeed, and perspicuous, but careless and remiss, too often feeble and languid; little beauty in the construc­tion [Page 39] of his sentences, which are frequently suffered to drag unharmoniousy; seldom any attempt towards strength or sublimity. But, notwithstanding these defects, such a constant vein of good sense and piety runs through his works, such an earnest and se­rious manner, and so much useful instruc­tion conveyed in a Style so pure, natural, and unaffected, as will justly recommend him to high regard, as long as the English Language remains; not, indeed, as a mo­del of the highest eloquence, but as a sim­ple and amiable writer, whose manner is strongly expressive of great goodness and worth. I observed before, that Simplicity of manner may be consistent with some de­gree of negligence in Style; and it is only the beauty of that Simplicity which makes the negligence of such writers seem grace­ful. But, as appears in the Archbishop, negligence may sometimes be carried so far as to impair the beauty of Simplicity, and make it border on a flat and languid man­ner.

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE is another re­markable writer in the Style of Simplicity. In point of ornament and correctness, he rises a degree above Tillotson; though, for correctness, he is not in the highest rank. All is easy and flowing in him; he is ex­ceedingly harmonious; smoothness, and what may be called amaenity, are the dis­tinguishing characters of his manner; re­laxing, [Page 40] sometimes, as such a manner will naturally do, into a prolix and remiss Style. No writer whatever has stamped upon his Style a more lively impression of his own character. In reading his works, we seem engaged in conversation with him; we be­come thoroughly acquainted with him, not merely as an author, but as a man; and contract a friendship for him. He may be classed as standing in the middle, between a negligent Simplicity, and the highest de­gree of Ornament, which this character of Style admits.

OF the latter of these, the highest, most correct, and ornamented degree of the sim­ple manner, Mr. Addison, is, beyond doubt, in the English Language, the most perfect example: and, therefore, though not with­out some faults, he is, on the whole, the safest model for imitation, and the freest from considerable defects, which the Lan­guage affords. Perspicuous and pure he is in the highest degree; his precision, indeed, not very great; yet nearly as great as the subjects which he treats of require: the construction of his sentences easy, agreea­ble, and commonly very musical; carrying a character of smoothness, more than of strength. In Figurative Language, he is rich; particularly, in similies and meta­phors; which are so employed, as to ren­der his Style splendid without being gaudy. There is not the least Affectation in his [Page 41] manner; we see no marks of labour; no­thing forced or constrained; but great ele­gance joined with great ease and simplicity. He is, in particular, distinguished by a character of modesty, and of politeness, which appears in all his writings. No au­thor has a more popular and insinuating manner; and the great regard which he every where shews for virtue and religion, recommends him highly. If he fails in any thing, it is in want of strength and preci­sion, which renders his manner, though perfectly suited to such essays as he writes in the Spectator, not altogether a proper model for any of the higher and more ela­borate kinds of composition. Though the public have ever done much justice to his merit, yet the nature of his merit has not always been seen in its true light: for, though his poetry be elegant, he certainly bears a higher rank among the prose writ­ers, than he is intitled to among the poets; and, in prose, his humour is of a much higher, and more original strain, than his philosophy. The character of Sir Roger de Coverley discovers more genius than the critique on Milton.

SUCH authors as those, whose characters I have been giving, one never tires of read­ing. There is nothing in their manner that strains or fatigues our thoughts: we are pleased, without being dazzled by their lustre. So powerful is the charm of Sim­plicity [Page 42] in an author of real genius, that it attones for many defects, and reconciles us to many a careless expression. Hence, in all the most excellent authors, both in prose and verse, the simple and natural manner may be always remarked; although other beauties being predominant, this form not their peculiar and distinguishing cha­racter. Thus Milton is simple in the midst of all his grandeur; and Demosthenes in the midst of all his vehemence. To grave and solemn writings, Simplicity of man­ner adds the more venerable air. Accord­ingly, this has often been remarked as the prevailing character throughout all the sa­cred Scriptures: and indeed no other cha­racter of Style was so much suited to the dignity of inspiration.

OF authors, who, notwithstanding ma­ny excellencies, have rendered their Style much less beautiful by want of Simplicity, I cannot give a more remarkable example than Lord Shaftsbury. This is an author on whom I have made observations several times before, and shall now take leave of him, with giving his general character un­der this head. Considerable merit, doubt­less, he has. His works might be read with profit for the moral philosophy which they contain, had he not filled them with so many oblique and invidious insinuations against the Christian Religion; thrown out, too, with so much spleen and satire, as do [Page 43] no honour to his memory, either as an au­thor or a man. His language has many beauties. It is firm, and supported in an uncommon degree: it is rich and musical. No English author, as I formerly shewed, has attended so much to the regular con­struction of his sentences, both with res­pect to propriety, and with respect to ca­dence. All this gives so much elegance and pomp to his language, that there is no wonder it should have been sometimes high­ly admired. It is greatly hurt, however, by perpetual stiffness and affectation. This is its capital fault. His lordship can ex­press nothing with Simplicity. He seems to have considered it as vulgar, and beneath the dignity of a man of quality, to speak like other men. Hence he is ever in bus­kins; full of circumlocutions and artificial elegance. In every sentence, we see the marks of labour and art; nothing of that ease, which expresses a sentiment coming natural and warm from the heart. Of fi­gures and ornament of every kind, he is exceedingly fond; sometimes happy in them; but his fondness for them is too vi­sible; and having once laid hold of some metaphor or allusion that pleased him, he knows not how to part with it. What is most wonderful, he was a professed admirer of Simplicity; is always extolling it in the ancients, and censuring the moderns for the want of it; though he departs from it himself as far as any one modern whatever. [Page 44] Lord Shaftsbury possessed delicacy and re­finement of taste, to a degree that we may call excessive and sickly; but he had little warmth of passion; few strong or vigorous feelings: and the coldness of his character led him to that artificial and stately 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 aukward­ly; he is stiff, even in his pleasantry; and laughs in form, like an author, and not like a man ^*.

FROM the account which I have given of Lord Shaftsbury's manner, it may easily be imagined, that he would mislead many who blindly admired him. Nothing is more dangerous to the tribe of imitators, than an author, who, with many imposing beau­ties, has also some very considerable ble­mishes. This is fully exemplified in Mr. Blackwall of Aberdeen, the author of the Life of Homer, the Letters on Mytholo­gy, and the Court of Augustus; a writer of considerable learning, and of ingenuity [Page 45] also; but infected with an extravagant love of an artificial Style, and of that parade of language which distinguishes the Shaftsbu­rean manner.

HAVING now said so much to recom­mend Simplicity, or the easy and natural manner of writing, and having pointed out the defects of an opposite manner; in or­der to prevent mistakes on this subject, it is necessary for me to observe, that it is ve­ry possible for an author to write simply, and yet not beautifully. One may be free from affectation, and not have merit. The beautiful Simplicity supposes an author to possess real genius; to write with solidity, purity, and liveliness of imagination. In this case, the simplicity or unaffectedness of his manner, is the crowning ornament;" it heightens every other beauty; it is the dress of nature, without which, all beau­ties are imperfect. But if mere unaffect­edness were sufficient to constitute the beauty of Style, weak, trifling, and dull writers might often lay claim to this beau­ty. And, accordingly, we frequently meet with pretended critics, who extol the dull­est writers on account of what they call the ‘"Chaste Simplicity of their manner;"’ which, in truth, is no other than the ab­sence of every ornament, through the mere want of genius and imagination. We must distinguish, therefore, between that Sim­plicity which accompanies true genius, [Page 46] and which is perfectly compatible with every proper ornament of Style, and that which is no other than a careless and slo­venly manner. Indeed, the distinction is easily made from the effect produced. The one never fails to interest the Reader; the other is insipid and tiresome.

I PROCEED to mention one other manner or character of Style, different from any that I have yet spoken of; which may be distinguished by the name of the Vehe­ment. This always implies strength; and is not, by any means, inconsistent with Simplicity: but in its predominant charac­ter is distinguishable from either the strong or the simple manner. It has a peculiar ar­dour; it is a glowing Style; the language of a man, whose imagination and passions are heated, and strongly affected by what he writes; who is therefore negligent of lesser graces, but pours himself forth with the rapidity and fulness of a torrent. It belongs to the higher kinds of oratory; and indeed is rather expected from a man who is speaking, than from one who is writing in his closet. The orations of Demosthe­nes furnish the full and perfect example of this species of Style.

AMONG English writers, the one who has most of this character, though mixed, indeed, with several defects, is Lord Bo­lingbroke. Bolingbroke was formed by na­ture [Page 47] to be a factious leader; the demagogue of a popular assembly. 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 himself forth with great impe­tuosity. He is copious to a fault; places the same thought before us in many differ­ent views; but generally with life and ar­dour. He is bold, rather than correct; a torrent that flows strong, but often muddy. His sentences are varied as to length and shortness; inclining, however, most to long periods, sometimes including paren­theses, and frequently crowding and heap­ing a multitude of things upon one ano­ther, as naturally happens in the warmth of speaking. In the choice of his words, there is great felicity and precision. In ex­act construction of sentences, he is much inferior to Lord Shaftsbury; but greatly superior to him in life and ease. Upon the whole, his merit, as a writer, would have been very considerable, if his matter had equalled his Style. But whilst we 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, for most part, he is flimsy and false; in his political writings, factions; in what he calls his philosophical ones, ir­religious and sophistical in the highest de­gree.

[Page 48] I SHALL insist no longer on the different manners of Writers, or the general Charac­ters of Style. Some other, besides those which I have mentioned, might be pointed out; but I am sensible, that it is very diffi­cult to separate such general considerations of the Style of authors from their peculiar turn of sentiment, which it is not my bu­siness, at present, to criticise. Conceited Writers, for instance, discover their spirit so much in their composition, that it imprints on their Style a character of pertness; though I confess it is difficult to say, whether this can be classed among the attributes of Style, or rather is to be ascribed entirely to the thought. In whatever class we rank it, all appearances of it ought to be avoided with care, as a most disgusting blemish in writing. Under those general heads, which I have considered, I have taken an opportunity of giving the character of many of the eminent classics in the English language.

FROM what I have said on this subject, it may be inferred, that to determine among all those different manners of writing, what is precisely the best, is neither easy, nor ne­cessary. Style is a field that admits of great latitude. Its qualities in different authors may be very different; and yet in them all beautiful. Room must be left here for ge­nius; for that particular determination which every one receives from nature to one man­ner of expression more than another. Some [Page 49] general qualities, indeed, there are of such importance, as should always, in every kind of composition, be kept in view; and some defects we should always study to avoid. An ostentatious, a feeble, a harsh, or an obscure Style, for instance, are always faults; and Perspicuity, Strength, Neatness, 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 these good qualities, for forming our peculiar distin­guishing manner, no precise rules can be given; nor will I venture to point out any one model as absolutely perfect.

IT will be more to the purpose, that I con­clude these dissertations 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 subject on which we write, or prompted by the bent of genius.

THE first direction which I give for this purpose, is, to study clear ideas on the sub­ject concerning which we are to write or speak. This is a direction which may at first appear to have small relation to Style. Its relation to it, however, is extremely close. The foundation of all good Style, is good sense accompanied with a lively imagi­nation. The Style and thoughts of a wri­ter are so intimately connected, that, as I have several times hinted, it is frequently [Page 50] hard to distinguish them. Wherever the impressions of things upon our minds are faint and indistinct, or perplexed and con­fused, our Style in treating of such things will infallibly be so too. Whereas what we conceive clearly and feel strongly, we will naturally express with clearness and with strength. This, then, we may be as­sured, is a capital rule as to Style, to think closely of the subject, till we have attained a full and distinct view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become warm and interested in it; then and not till then, shall we find expression begin to flow. Generally speaking, the best and most proper expressions, are those which a clear view of the subject suggests, without much labour or enquiry after them. This is Quinctili­an's observation, Lib. viii. c. 1. ‘"Plerum­que optima verba rebus cohaerent, et cern­untur suo lumine. At nos quaerimus illa, tanquam lateant scque subducant. Ita nunquam putamus verba essa circa id de quo dicendum est; fed ex aliis locis peti­mus et inventis vim afferimus ^*."’

IN the second place, in order to form a good Style, the frequent practice of compos­ing [Page 51] is indispensibly necessary. Many rules concerning Style I have delivered; but no rules will answer the end without exercise and habit. At the same time, it is not every sort of composing that will improve Style. This is so far from being the case, that by frequent, careless, and hasty composition, we shall acquire certainly a very bad Style; we shall have more trouble afterwards in un­learning faults, and correcting negligences, than if we had not been accustomed to com­position at all. In the beginning therefore, we ought to write slowly, and with much care. Let the facility and speed of writing, be the fruit of longer practice. ‘"Moram et solicitudinem,"’ says Quinctilian with the greatest reason, L. x. c. 3, ‘initiis im­pero. Nam primum hoc constituendum ac obtinendum est, ut quam optime scri­bamus: celeritatem dabit consuetudo. Paulatim res facilius se ostendent, verba respondebunt, compositio prosequetur. Cuncta denique ut in famili [...] bene insti­tutâ in officio erunt. Summa haec est rei; cito scribendo non sit ut bene scribatur; bene scribendo, sit ut cito ^*."’

[Page 52] WE must observe, however, that there may be an extreme, in too great and anxious a care about words. We must not retard the course of thought, nor cool the heat of imagination, by pausing too long on every word we employ. There is, on certain oc­casions, a glow of composition which should be kept up, if we hope to express ourselves happily, though at the expence of allowing some inadvertencies to pass. A more severe examination of these must be left to be the work of correction. For, if the practice of composition be useful, the laborious work of correcting is no less so; is indeed abso­lutely necessary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of composition. What we have written, should be laid by for some little time, till the ardour of composition be past, till the fondness for the expressions we have used be worn off, and the expressions themselves be forgotten; and then review­ing our work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we shall discern many imperfections which at first escaped us. Then is the season for pruning redundancies; for weighing the ar­rangement of sentences; for attending to [Page 53] the juncture and connecting particles; and bringing Style into a regular, correct, and supported form. This ‘" Limae Labor,"’ must be submitted to by all who would commu­nicate their thoughts with proper advantage to others; and some practice in it will soon sharpen their eye to the most necessary ob­jects of attention, and render it a much more easy and practicable work than might atfirst be imagined.

IN the third place, with respect to the assistance that is to be gained from the writings of others, it is obvious, that we ought to render ourselves well acquainted with the Style of the best authors. This is requisite, both in order to form a just taste in Style, and to supply us with a full stock of words on every subject. In reading au­thors, with a view to Style, attention should be given to the peculiarities of their differ­ent manners; and in this, and former Lec­tures, I have endeavoured to suggest several things that may be useful in this view. I know no exercise that will be found more useful for acquiring a proper Style, than to translate some passage from an eminent Eng­lish author, into our own words. What I mean is, to take, for instance, some page of one of Mr. Addison'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 aside the book; to attempt to write out the passage from [Page 54] memory, in the best way we can; and hav­ing done so, next to open the book, and compare what we have written, with the Style of the author. Such an exercise will, by comparison, shew 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 same thought may be expressed, will make us perceive that which is the most beautiful. But,

IN the fourth place, I must caution, at the same time, against a servile imitation of any one author whatever. This is always dangerous. It hampers genius; it is likely to produce a stiff manner; and those who are given to close imitation, generally imi­tate an author's faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good writer, or speaker, who has not some degree of confi­dence to follow his own genius. We ought to beware, in particular, of adopting any author's noted phrases, or transcribing pas­sages from him. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine composition. Infinitely better it is to have something that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to affect to shine in borrowed ornaments, which will, at last, betray the utter poverty of our genius. On these heads of composing, cor­recting, reading, and imitating, I advise every student of oratory to consult what Quinctilian has delivered in the Xth book of his Institutions, where he will find a va­riety [Page 55] of excellent observations and directions, that well deserve attention.

IN the fifth place, it is an obvious, but material rule, with respect to Style, that we always study to adapt it to the subject, and also to the capacity of our hearers, if we are to speak in public. Nothing merits the name of eloquent or beautiful, which is not suited to the occasion, and to the persons to whom it is addressed. It is to the last de­gree awkward and absurd, to attempt a po­etical florid Style, on occasions, when it should be our business only to argue and rea­son; or to speak with elaborate pomp of ex­pression, before persons who comprehend nothing of it, and who can only stare at our unseasonable magnificence. These are de­fects not so much in point of Style, as, what is much worse, in point of common sense. When we begin to write or speak, we ought previously to fix in our minds a clear con­ception of the end to be aimed at; to keep this steadily in our view, and to suit our Style to it. If we do not sacrifice to this great object, every ill-timed ornament that may occur to our fancy, we are unpardon­able; and though children and fools may admire, men of sense will laugh at us and our Style.

IN the last place, I cannot conclude the subject without this admonition, that, in any case, and on any occasion, attention to [Page 56] Style must not engross us so much, as to detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts: ‘"Curam verborum,"’ says the great Roman Critic, ‘"rerum volo esse solicitudinem ^*."’ A direction the more necessary, that the present taste of the age in writing, seems to lean more to Style than to thought. It is much easier to dress up trivial and common sentiments with some beauty of expression, than to afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and useful thoughts. The latter, requires true genius; the for­mer, may be attained by industry, with the help of very superficial parts. Hence, we find so many writers frivolously rich in Style, but wretchedly poor in Sentiment. The public ear is now so much accustomed to a correct and ornamented Style, that no writer can, with safety, neglect the study of it. But he is a contemptible one who does not look to something beyond it; who does not lay the chief stress upon his mat­ter, and employ such ornaments of Style to recommend it, as are manly, not foppish: ‘"Majore animo,"’ says the writer whom I have so often quoted, ‘"aggredienda est eloquentia; quae si toto corpore valet, ungues polire et capillum componere, non existimabit ad curam suam pertinere. Or­natus et virilis et fortis, et sanctus sit; nec effeminatam levitatem, et fuco emen­titum [Page 57] titum colorem amet; sanguine et viribus niteat ^†."’

I HAVE insisted fully on the subject of Language and Style, both because it is, in itself, of great importance, and because it is more capable of being ascertained by precise rule, than several other parts of composition. A critical analysis of the Style of some good author will tend further to illustrate the subject; as it will suggest ob­servations which I have not had occasion to make, and will show, in the most practical light, the use of those which I have made.

Mr. ADDISON is the author whom I have chosen for this purpose. 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 praised too highly. The good sense, and good writing, [Page 59] the useful morality, and the admirable vein of humour which abound in it, render it one of those standard books which have done the greatest honour to the English na­tion. I have formerly given the general cha­racter of Mr. Addison's Style and manner, as natural and unaffected, easy and polite, and full of those graces which a flowery imagi­nation diffuses over writing. At the same time, though one of the most beautiful wri­ters in the Language, he is not the most correct; a circumstance which renders his composition the more proper to be the sub­ject of our present criticism. The free and flowing manner of this amiable writer sometimes led him into inaccuracies, which the more studied circumspection and care of far inferior writers have taught them to a­void. Remarking his beauties, therefore, which I shall have frequent occasion to do as I proceed, I must also point out his ne­gligences and defects. Without a free, im­partial discussion of both the faults and beauties which occur in his composition, it is evident, this piece of criticism would be of no service: and, from the freedom which I use in criticising Mr. Addison'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 so many, and the general cha­racter of his Style is so elegant and estima­ble, that the minute imperfections I shall [Page 60] have occasion to point out, are but like those spots in the sun, which may be dis­covered by the assistance of art, but which have no effect in obscuring its lustre. It is, indeed, my judgment, that what Quinctili­an applies to Cicero, ‘"Illese profecisse sciat, cui Cicero valde placebit,"’ may, with justice, be applied to Mr Addison; that to be highly pleased with his manner of writ­ing, is the criterion of one's having acquir­ed a good taste in English Style. The pa­per on which we are now to enter, is N ^o. 411. the first of his celebrated Essays on the Pleasures of the Imagination, in the Sixth Volume of the Spectator. It begins thus:

‘ Our sight is the most perfect, and most delightful of all our senses.’

THIS is an excellent introductory sen­tence. It is clear, precise, and simple. The author lays down, in a few plain words, the proposition which he is going to illustrate throughout the rest of the pa­ragraph. In this manner we should always set out. A first sentence should seldom be a long, and never an intricate one.

HE might have said, Our sight is the most perfect, and the most 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 speak, as distin­guished [Page 61] from, or contrasted with, each other; and when we want that the read­er's attention should rest on that distinction. For instance; had Mr. Addison intended to say, That our sight is at once the most de­lightful, and the most useful, of all our senses, the article might then have been repeated with propriety, as a clear and strong distinction would have been convey­ed. But as between perfect and delightful, there is less contrast, there was no occasion for such repetition, It would have had no other effect, but to add a word unnecessari­ly to the sentence. He proceeds:

‘ It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action, without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments.’

THIS sentence deserves attention, as re­markably harmonious, and well construct­ed. It possesses, indeed, almost all the properties of a perfect sentence. It is en­tirely perspicuous. It is loaded with no su­perfluous or unnecessary words. For, tired or satiated, towards the end of the sen­tence, are not used for synonymous terms. They convey distinct ideas, and refer to different members of the period; that this sense continues the longest in action without being tired, that is, without being fatigued with its action; and also, without being [Page 62] satiated with its proper enjoyments. That quality of a good sentence which I termed its unity, is here perfectly preserved. It is our sight of which he speaks. This is the object carried through the sentence, and presented to us, in every member of it, by those verbs, fills, converses, continues, to each of which, it is clearly the nominative. Those capital words are disposed of in the most proper places; and that uniformity is maintained in the construction of the sen­tence, which suits the unity of the object.

OBSERVE too, the music of the period; consisting of three members, each of which, agreeably to a rule I formerly men­tioned, grows, and rises above the other in sound, till the sentence is conducted, at last, to one of the most melodious closes which our Language admits; without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments. Enjoyments, is a word of length and digni­ty, exceedingly proper for a close which is designed to be a musical one. The harmo­ny is the more happy, that this disposition of the members of the period which suits the sound so well, is no less just and pro­per with respect to the sense. It follows the order of nature. First, we have the variety of objects mentioned, which sight furnishes to the mind; next, we have the action of sight on those objects; and lastly, we have time and continuance of its action. No order could be more natural or happy.

[Page 63] THIS sentence has still another beauty. It is figurative, without being too much so for the subject. A metaphor runs through it. The sense of sight is, in some degree, per­sonified. We are told of its conversing with its objects; and of its not being tired or satiat­ed with its enjoyments; all which expressions are plain allusions to the actions and feelings of men. This is that slight sort of Per­sonification, which, without any appear­ance of boldness, and without elevating the fancy much above its ordinary state, renders discourse picturesque, and leads us to conceive the author's meaning more dis­tinctly, by clothing abstract ideas, in some degree, with sensible colours. Mr. Addi­son abounds with this beauty of Style be­yond most authors; and the sentence which we have been considering, is very expres­sive of his manner of writing. There is no blemish in it whatever, unless that a strict Critic might perhaps object, that the epithet large, which he applies to variety,—the largest variety of ideas, is an epithet more commonly applied to extent than to number. It is plain, that he here employ­ed it to avoid the repetition of the word great, which occurs immediately after­wards.

‘ The sense of feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, except colours; but, at the same time, it is very much straitened and [Page 64] confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, and distance of its particular objects.’

THIS sentence is by no means so happy as the former. It is, indeed, neither clear nor elegant. Extension and shape can, with no propriety, be called ideas; they are pro­perties of matter. Neither is it accurate, even according to Mr. Locke's philosophy (with which our Author seems here to have puzzled himself), to speak of any sense giv­ing us a notion of ideas; our senses give us the ideas themselves. The meaning would have been much more clear, if the Author had expressed himself thus: ‘"The sense of feeling can indeed, give us the idea of extension, figure, and all the other pro­perties of matter which are perceived by the eye, except colours."’

THE latter part of the sentence is still more embarrassed. For what meaning can we make of sense of feeling, being confined, in its operations, to the number, bulk, and distance, of its particular objects? Surely, every sense is confined, as much as the sense of feeling, to the number, bulk, and distance of its own objects. Sight and feeling are, in this respect, perfectly on a level; neither of them can extend beyond their own objects. The turn of expression is so inaccurate here, that one would be apt to suspect two words to have been omit­ted in the printing, which were originally in Mr. Addison's manuscript; because the [Page 65] insertion would render the sense much more intelligible and clear. These two words are, with regard:—it is very much straitened, and confined, in its operations, with regard to the number, bulk, and distance of its particu­lar objects. The meaning then would be, that feeling is more limited than sight in this respect; that it is confined to a narrower circle, to a smaller number of objects.

THE epithet particular, applied to objects, in the conclusion of the sentence, is redun­dant, and conveys no meaning whatever. Mr. Addison seems to have used it in place of peculiar, as indeed he does often in other passages of his writings. But particular and peculiar, though they are too often confounded, are words of different import from each other. Particular stands opposed to general; peculiar stands opposed, to what is possessed in common with others. Particu­lar expresses what in the logical Style is called Species; peculiar, what is called diffe­rentia.—Its peculiar objects would have sig­nified in this place, the objects of the sense of feeling, as distinguished from the objects of any other sense; and would have had more meaning than its particular objects. Though, in truth, neither the one nor the other epithet was requisite. It was suffi­cient to have said simply, its objects.

‘ Our sight seems designed to supply all these defects, and may be considered as a more de­licate [Page 66] and diffusive kind of touch, that spreads itself over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the largest figures, and brings into our reach some of the most remote parts of the universe.’

HERE again the author's Style returns upon us in all its beauty. This is a sen­tence distinct, graceful, well arranged, and highly musical. In the latter part of it, it is constructed with three members, which are formed much in the same manner with those of the second sentence, on which I bestowed so much praise. The construction is so similar, that if it had followed imme­diately after it, we should have been sensi­ble of a faulty monotony. But the inter­position of another sentence between them, prevents this effect.

‘ It is this sense which furnishes the imagina­tion with its ideas; so that by the pleasures of the Imagination or Fancy (which I shall use promiscuously), I here mean such as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in our view; or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings, statues, descriptions, or any the like occasion.’

IN place of, It is this sense which furnishes—the author might have said more shortly, This sense furnishes. But the mode of expres­sion which he has used, is here more proper. This sort of full and ample assertion, it is [Page 67] this which, is fit to be used when a propo­sition of importance is laid down, to which we seek to call the reader's attention. It is like pointing with the hand at the object of which we speak. The parenthesis in the middle of the sentence, which I shall use promiscuously, is not clear. He ought to have said, terms which I shall use promiscu­ously; as the verb use relates not to the pleasures of the imagination, but to the terms of fancy and imagination, which he was to employ as synonymous. Any the like occasion—to call a painting or a statue an occasion is not a happy expression, nor is it very proper to speak of calling up ideas by occasions. The common phrase, any such means, would have been more natural.

‘ We cannot indeed have a single image in the fancy, that did not make its first entrance through the sight; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and compounding those images which we have once received, into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination; for by this fa­culty, a man in a dungeon is capable of enter­taining himself with senses and landscapes more beautiful than any that can be found in the whole compass of nature.’

IT may be of use to remark, that in one member of this sentence there is an inaccu­racy in syntax. It is very proper to say, altering and compounding those images which [Page 68] we have once received, into all varieties of picture and vision. But we can with no pro­priety say, retaining them into all the va­rieties; and yet, according to the manner in which the words are ranged, this con­struction is unavoidable. For retaining, al­tering, and compounding, are participles, each of which equally refers to, and go­verns the subsequent noun, those images; and that noun again is necessarily connect­ed with the following preposition, into. This instance shows the importance of care­fully attending to the rules of Grammar and Syntax; when so pure a writer as Mr. Addison could, through inadvertence, be guilty of such an error. The construction might easily have been rectified, by disjoin­ing the participle retaining from the other two participles in this way: ‘"We have the power of retaining those images which we have once received; and of altering and compounding them into all the varieties of picture and vision;"’ or better perhaps thus: ‘"We have the power of retaining, altering, and com­pounding those images which we have once received; and of forming them into all the varieties of picture and vision."’—The latter part of the sentence is clear and elegant.

‘ There are few words in the English Lan­guage, which are employed in a more loose and uncircumscribed sense than those of the Fancy and the Imagination.’

[Page 69] There are few words—which are employed.—It had been better, if our author here had said more simply— Few words in the English language are employed.—Mr. Addison, whose Style is of the free and full, rather than the nervous kind, deals, on all occasions, in this extended sort of phraseology. But it is proper only when some assertion of con­sequence is advanced, and which can bear an emphasis; such as that in the first sen­tence of the former paragraph. On other occasions, these little words it is, and there are, ought to be avoided as redundant and enfeebling— those 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 occasion for other two words, those of. Better, if the sentence had run thus: ‘"Few words in the English language are employed in a more loose and uncir­cumscribed sense, than Fancy and Ima­gination."’

‘ I therefore thought it necessary to fix and determine the notion of these two words, as I intend to make use of them in the thread of my following speculations, that the reader may conceive rightly what is the subject which I proceed upon.’

[Page 70] THOUGH fix and determine may appear synonymous words, yet a difference be­tween them may be remarked, and they may be viewed, as applied here, with pe­culiar delicacy. The author had just said, that the words of which he is speaking were loose and uncircumscribed. Fix relates to the first of these, determine to the last. We fix what is loose; that is, we confine the word to its proper place, that it may not fluctuate in our imagination, and pass from one idea to another; and we determine what is uncircumscribed, that is, we ascer­tain its termini or limits, we draw the circle round it, that we may see its boun­daries. For we cannot conceive the mean­ing of a word, nor indeed of any other thing clearly, till we see its limits, and know how far it extends. These two words, therefore, have grace and beauty as they are here applied; though a writer, more frugal of words than Mr. Addison, would have preferred the single word ascer­tain, which conveys, without any meta­phor, the import of them both.

THE notion of these words is somewhat of a harsh phrase, at least not so commonly used, as the meaning of these words—as I intend to make use of them in the thread of my speculations; this is plainly faulty. A sort of metaphor is improperly mixed with words in the literal sense. He might very well have said, as I intend to make use of [Page 71] them in my following speculations.—This was plain language; but if he chose to borrow an allusion from thread, that allu­sion ought to have been supported; for there is no consistency in making use of them in the thread of speculations; and, indeed, in expressing any thing so simple and fa­miliar as this is, plain language is always to be preferred to metaphorical— the subject which I proceed upon, is an ungraceful close of a sentence; better, the subject upon which I proceed.

‘ I must therefore desire him to remember, that by the pleasures of the Imagination, I mean only such pleasures as arise orginally from sight, and that I divide these pleasures into two kinds.’

AS the last sentence began with— I there­fore thought it necessary to fix, it is careless to begin this sentence in a manner so very similar, I must therefore desire him to remem­ber; especially, as the small variation of using, on this account, or, for this reason, in place of therefore, would have amended the Style.—When he says— I mean only such pleasures—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 such pleasures; and therefore should have been placed in as close connection as possible with the word which it limits or qualifies. The Style becomes more clear and neat, [Page 72] when the words are arranged thus: ‘"by the pleasures of the Imagination, I mean such pleasures only as arise from sight."’

‘ My design being, first of all, to discourse of those primary pleasures of the imagination, which entirely proceed from such objects as are before our eyes; and, in the next place, to speak of those secondary pleasures of the Imagi­nation, which flow from the ideas of visible objects, when the objects are not actually be­fore the eye, but are called up into our memo­ries, or formed into agreeable visions of things, that are either absent or fictitious.’

IT is a great rule in laying down the di­vision of a subject, to study neatness and brevity as much as possible. The divisions are then more distinctly apprehended, and more easily remembered. This sentence is not perfectly happy in that respect. It is somewhat clogged by a tedious phraseology. My design being first of all to discourse—in the next place to speak of—such objects as are before our eyes—things that are either absent or fictitious. Several words might have been spared here; and the Style made more neat and compact.

‘ The pleasures of the Imagination, taken in their full extent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as those of the under­standing.’

[Page 73] This sentence is distinct and elegant.

‘ The last are indeed more preferable, because they are founded on some new knowledge or im­provement in the mind of man: Yet it must be confessed, that those of the Imagination are as great and as transporting as the other.’

IN the beginning of this sentence, the phrase, more preferable, is such a plain in­accuracy, that one wonders how Mr. Ad­dison should have fallen into it; seeing pre­ferable of itself, expresses the comparative degree, and is the same with more eligible, or more excellent.

I MUST observe farther, that the propo­sition contained in the last member of this sentence, is neither clear nor neatly ex­pressed— it must be confessed, that those of the imagination are as great, and as transport­ing as the other.—In the former sentence, he had compared three things together; the pleasures of the Imagination, those of sense, and those of the understanding. In the be­ginning of this sentence, he had called the pleasures of the understanding the last: and he ends the sentence, with observing, that those of the Imagination are as great and transporting as the other. Now, besides that the other makes not a proper contrast with the last, he leaves it ambiguous, whe­ther, by the other, he meant the pleasures of the Understanding, or the pleasures of [Page 74] Sense; for it may refer to either by the con­struction; though, undoubtedly, he intend­ed that it should refer to the pleasures of the Understanding only. The proposition re­duced to perspicuous language, runs thus: ‘"Yet it must be confessed, that the plea­sures of the Imagination, when compared with those of the Understanding, are no less great and transporting."’

‘ A beautiful prospect delights the soul as much as a demonstration; and a description in Homer has charmed more readers than a chapter in Aristotle.’

THIS is a good illustration of what he had been asserting, and is expressed with that happy and elegant turn, for which our author is very remarkable.

‘ Besides, the pleasures of the Imagination have this advantage above those of the Under­standing, that they are more obvious, and more easy to be acquired.’

THIS is also an unexceptionable sen­tence.

‘ It is but opening the eye, and the scene en­ters.’

THIS sentence is lively and picturesque. By the gaiety and briskness which it gives the Style, it shows the advantage of inter­mixing [Page 75] such a short sentence as this amidst a run of longer ones, which never fails to have a happy effect. I must remark, how­ever, a small inaccuracy. A scene cannot be said to enter; an actor enters; but a scene appears, or presents itself.

‘ The colours paint themselves on the fancy, with very little attention of thought or appli­cation of mind in the beholder.’

THIS is still beautiful illustration; carri­ed on with that agreeable floweriness of fancy and style, which is so well suited to those pleasures of the Imagination, of which the author is treating.

‘ We are struck, we know not how, with the symmetry of any thing we see, and immediately assent to the beauty of an object, without en­quiring into the particular causes and occasions of it.’

THERE is a falling off here from the elegance of the former sentences. We assent to the truth of a proposition; but cannot so well be said to assent to the beau­ty of an object. Acknowledge would have expressed the sense with more propriety. The close of the sentence too is heavy and ungraceful— the particular causes and oc­casions of it—both particular, and occa­sions, are words quite superfluous; and the pronoun it is in some measure ambiguous, [Page 76] whether it refers to beauty or to object. It would have been some amendment to the Style to have run thus: ‘"we immediately acknowledge the beauty of an object, without enquiring into the cause of that beauty."’

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

Polite is a term more commonly applied to manners or behaviour, than to the mind or imagination. There is nothing farther to be observed on this sentence, unless the use of that for a relative pronoun, instead of which; an usage which is too frequent with Mr. Addison. Which is a much more defi­nite word than that, being never employed in any other way than as a relative; where­as that is a word of many senses; some­times a demonstrative pronoun, often a conjunction. In some cases we are indeed obliged to use that for a relative, in order to avoid the ungraceful repetition of which in the same sentence. But when we are laid under no necessity of this kind, which is always the preferable word, and certainly was so in this sentence— Pleasures which the vulgar are not capable of receiving, is much better than pleasures that the vulgar, &c.

[Page 77] ‘ He can converse with a picture, and find an agreea­ble companion in a statue. He meets with a secret re­freshment in a description; and often feels a greater sa­tisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows, than another does in the possession. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in every thing he sees; and makes the most rude uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasures: so that he looks upon the world, as it were, in another light, and discovers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind.’

ALL this is very beautiful. The illus­tration is happy; and the Style runs with the greatest ease and harmony. We see no labour, no stiffness, or affectation; but an author writing from the native flow of a gay and pleasing imagination. This pre­dominant character of Mr. Addison's man­ner, far more than compensates all those lit­tle negligences which we are now remark­ing. Two of these occur in this para­graph. The first, in the sentence 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 must look back as far as to the third sentence before, the first of the paragraph, which begins with, A man of a polite imagination. This phrase, polite imagination, is the only antecedent to which this it can refer; and even that is an improper antecedent, as it stands in the ge­nitive case, as the qualification only of a man.

[Page 78] THE other instance of negligence, is to­wards the end of the paragraph— So that he looks upon the world, as it were, in another light.—By another light, Mr. Addison means, a light different from that in which other men view the world. But though this ex­pression clearly conveyed this meaning to himself when writing, it conveys it very indistinctly to others; and is an instance of that sort of inaccuracy, into which, in the warmth of composition, every writer of a lively imagination is apt to fall; and which can only be remedied by a cool, subsequent review.— As it were—is upon most occasions no more than an ungraceful palliative, and here there was not the least occasion for it, as he was not about to say any thing which required a softening of this kind. To say the truth, this last sentence, so that he looks upon the world, and what follows, had bet­ter been wanting altogether. It is no more than an unnecessary recapitulation of what had gone before; a feeble adjection to the lively picture he had given of the pleasures of the imagination. The paragraph would have ended with more spirit at the words immediately preceding; the uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasures.

‘ There are, indeed, but very few who know how to be idle and innocent, or have a relish of any pleasures that are not criminal; every diversion they take, is at the ex­pence of some one virtue or another, and their very first step out of business is into vice or folly.’

[Page 79] NOTHING can be more elegant, or more finely turned, than this sentence. It is neat, clear, and musical. We could hardly alter one word, or disarrange one member, without spoiling it. Few sen­tences are to be found more finished, or more happy.

‘ A man should endeavour, therefore, to make the sphere of his innocent pleasures as wide as possible, that he may retire into them with safety, and find in them, such a satisfaction as a wise man would not blush to take.’

THIS also is a good sentence, and gives occasion to no material remark.

‘ Of this nature are those of the imagination, which do not require such a bent of thought as is necessary to our more serious employments, nor, at the same time, suffer the mind to sink into that indolence and remissness, which are apt to accompany our more sensual delights; but, like a gentle exercise to the faculties, awaken them from sloth and idleness, without putting them upon any labour or difficulty.’

THE beginning of this sentence is not correct, and affords an instance of a period too loosely connected with the preceding one. Of this nature, says he, are those of the imagination. We might ask of what nature? For it had not been the scope of the preceding sentence to describe the na­ture of any set of pleasures. He had said, that it was every man's duty to make the [Page 80] sphere of his innocent pleasures as wide as possible, in order that, within that sphere, he might find a safe retreat, and a laudable satisfaction. The transition is loosely made, by beginning the next sentence with saying, Of this nature are those of the ima­gination. It had been better, if, keeping in view the governing object of the preceding sentence, he had said, ‘"This advantage we gain,"’ or, ‘"This satisfaction we enjoy, by means of the pleasures of imaginati­on."’ The rest of the sentence is abun­dantly correct.

‘ We might here add, that the pleasures of the fancy are more conducive to health than those of the understand­ing, which are worked out by dint of thinking, and at­tended with too violent a labour of the brain.’

ON this sentence, nothing occurs de­serving of remark, except that worked out by dint of thinking, is a phrase which bor­ders too much on vulgar and colloquial language, to be proper for being employed in a polished composition.

‘ Delightful scenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the body, as well as the mind, and not only serve to clear and brighten the imagi­nation, but are able to disperse grief and melancholy, and to set the animal spirits in pleasing and agreeable motions. For this reason Sir Francis Bacon, in his Essay upon Health, has not thought it improper to prescribe to his reader a poem, or a prospect, where he particularly dis­suades [Page 81] him from knotty and subtile disquisitions, and ad­vises him to pursue studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contem­plations of nature.’

IN the latter of these two sentences, a member of the period is altogether out of its place; which gives the whole sentence a harsh and disjointed cast, and serves to illustrate the rules I formerly gave con­cerning arrangement. The wrong-placed member which I point at, is this; where he particularly dissuades him from knotty and sub­tile disquisitions;—these words should, un­doubtedly, have been placed not where they stand, but thus: Sir Francis Bacon, in his Essay upon Health, where he particularly dis­suades the reader from knotty and subtile specu­lations, has not thought it improper to prescribe to him, &c. This arrangement reduces every thing into its proper order.

‘ I have, in this Paper, by way of introduction, settled the notion of those pleasures of the imagination, which are the subject of my present undertaking, and endea­voured, by several considerations, to recommend to my readers the pursuit of those pleasures; I shall, in my next Paper examine the several sources from whence these pleasures are derived.’

THESE two concluding sentences afford examples of the proper collocation of cir­cumstances in a period. I formerly showed, that it is often a matter of difficulty to dis­pose [Page 82] of them in such a manner, as that they shall not embarrass the principal sub­ject of the sentence. In the sentences be­fore us, several of these incidental circum­stances necessarily come in— By way of in­troduction—by several considerations—in this Paper—in the next Paper. All which are, with great propriety, managed by our author. It will be found, upon trial, that there were no other parts of the sentence, in which they could have been placed to equal advantage. Had he said, for instance, ‘"I have settled the notion, (rather, the meaning)—of those pleasures of the imagination, which are the sub­ject of my present undertaking, by way of introduction, in this paper, and en­deavoured to recommend the pursuit of those pleasures to my readers by several considerations,"’ we must be sensible, that the sentence, thus clogged with circum­stances in the wrong place, would neither have been so neat nor so clear, as it is by the present construction.

THE observations which have occur­red in reviewing that paper of Mr. Addison's, which was the subject of the last Lecture, sufficiently show, that in the writings of an author of the most happy genius, and distinguished talents, inaccura­cies may sometimes be found. Though such inaccuracies may be overbalanced by so many beauties, as render Style highly pleasing and agreeable upon the whole, yet it must be desirable to every writer to avoid, as far as he can, inaccuracy of any kind. As the subject therefore is of importance, I have thought it might be useful to carry on this criticism through­out two or three subsequent Papers of the Spectator. At the same time I must inti­mate, that the Lectures on these Papers [Page 84] are solely intended for such as are apply­ing themselves to the study of English Style. I pretend not to give instruction to those who are already well acquainted with the powers of language. To them my re­marks may prove unedifying; to some they may seem tedious and minute: but to such as have not yet made all the proficiency which they desire in elegance of Style, strict attention to the composition and structure of sentences cannot fail to prove of considerable benefit: and though my remarks on Mr. Addison should, in any instance, be thought ill-founded, they will, at least, serve the purpose of lead­ing them into the train of making proper remarks for themselves ^*. I proceed, there­fore, to the examination of the subsequent paper N ^o. 412.

‘ I shall first consider those pleasures of the imagination, which arise from the actual view and survey of outward [Page 85] objects: and these, I think, all proceed from the sight of what is great, uncommon, or beautiful.’

THIS sentence gives occasion for no ma­terial remark. It is simple and distinct. The two words which he here uses, view and survey, are not altogether synonymous: as the former may be supposed to import mere inspection; the latter more deliberate examination. Yet they lie so near to one another in meaning, that, in the present case, any one of them, perhaps, would have been sufficient. The epithet actual, is introduced, in order to mark more strong­ly the distinction between what our author calls the primary pleasures of imagination, which arise from immediate view, and the secondary, which arise from remembrance or description.

‘ There may, indeed, be something so terrible or offen­sive, that the horror, or loathsomeness of an object, may overbear the pleasure which results from its novelty, greatness, or beauty; but still there will be such a mix­ture of delight in the very disgust it gives us, as any of these three qualifications are most conspicuous and pre­vailing.’

THIS sentence must be acknowledged to be an unfortunate one. The sense is ob­scure and embarrassed, and the expression loose and irregular. The beginning of it is perplexed by the wrong position of the words something and object. The natural [Page 86] arrangement would have been, There may, indeed, be something in an object so terrible or offensive, that the horror or loathsomeness of it may overbear.—These two epithets, horror or loathsomeness, are awkwardly joined to­gether. Loathsomeness is, indeed, a quality which may be ascribed to an object; but horror is not; it is a feeling excited in the mind. The Language would have been much more correct, had our Author said, There may, indeed, be something in an object so terrible or offensive, that the horror or disgust which it excites may overbear.—The first two epithets, terrible or offensive, would then have expressed the qualities of an object; the latter, horror or disgust, the correspond­ing sentiments which these qualities pro­duce in us. Loathsomeness was the most un­happy word he could have chosen: for to be loathsome, is to be odious, and seems to­tally to exclude any mixture of delight, which he afterwards supposes may be found in the object.

IN the latter part of the sentence there are several inaccuracies. When he says, there will be such a mixture of delight in the very disgust it gives us, as any of these three qualifications are most conspicuous. The con­struction is defective, and seems hardly grammatical. He meant assuredly to say, such a mixture of delight as is proportioned to the degree in which any of these three qualifi­cations are most conspicuous.—We know, that [Page 87] there may be a mixture of pleasant and of disagreeable feelings excited by the same object; yet it appears inaccurate to say, that there is any delight in the very disgust.—The plural verb are, is improperly joined to any of these three qualifications; for as any is here used distributively, and means any one of these three qualifications, the corres­ponding verb ought to have been singular. The order in which the two last words are placed, should have been reversed, and made to stand, prevailing and conspicuous. They are conspicuous, because they prevail.

‘ By greatness, I do not only mean the bulk of any single object, but the largeness of a whole view, considered as one entire piece.’

IN a former Lecture, when treating of the Structure of Sentences, I quoted this sentence as an instance of the careless man­ner in which adverbs are sometimes inter­jected in the midst of a period. Only, as it is here placed, appears to be a limitation of the following verb, mean. The question might be put, What more does he than only mean? as the author, undoubtedly, intend­ed it to refer to the bulk of a single object, it would have been placed, with more pro­priety, after these words:— I do not mean the bulk of any single object only, but the largeness of a whole view.—As the following phrase, considered as one entire piece, seems to be somewhat deficient, both in dignity and [Page 88] propriety, perhaps this adjection might have been altogether omitted, and the sentence have closed with fully as much advantage at the word view.

‘ Such are the prospects of an open champaign country, a vast uncultivated desert, of huge heaps of mountains, high rocks and precipices, or a wide expanse of waters, where we are not struck with the novelty, or beauty of the sight, but with that rude kind of magnificence which appears in many of these stupendous works of nature.’

THIS sentence, in the main, is beautiful. The objects presented are all of them noble, selected with judgment, arranged with pro­priety, and accompanied with proper epi­thets. We must, however, observe, that the sentence is too loosely, and not very gramatically, connected with the preceding one. He says,— such are the prospects;—such, signifies, of that nature or quality; which necessarily presupposes some adjec­tive, or word descriptive of a quality go­ing before, to which it refers. But, in the foregoing sentence, there is no such adjec­tive. He had spoken of greatness in the abstract only; and, therefore, such has no distinct antecedent to which we can refer it. The sentence would have been intro­duced with more grammatical propriety, by saying, To this class belong, or, under this head are ranged the prospects, &c.—The of, which is prefixed to huge heaps of mountains, is misplaced, and has, perhaps, [Page 89] been an error in the printing; as, either all the particulars here enumerated should have had this mark of the genitive, or it should have been prefixed to none but the first.—When, in the close of the sentence, the Author speaks of that rude magnificence, which appears in many of these stupendous works of nature, he had better have omitted the word many, which seems to except some of them. Whereas, in his general proposi­tion, he undoubtedly meant to include all the stupendous works he had enumerated; and there is no question that, in all of them, a rude magnificence appears.

‘ Our imagination loves to be filled with an object, or to grasp at any thing that is too big for its capacity. We are flung into a pleasing astonishment at such unbounded views; and feel a delightful stillness and amazement in the soul, at the apprehension of them.’

THE Language here is elegant, and se­veral of the expressions remarkably happy. There is nothing which requires any ani­madversion except the close, at the appre­hension of them. Not only is this a languid enfeebling conclusion of a sentence, other­wise beautiful, but the apprehension of views, is a phrase destitute of all propriety, and, indeed, scarcely intelligible. Had this ad­jection been entirely omitted, and the sen­tence been allowed to close with stillness and amazement in the soul, it would have been a great improvement. Nothing is [Page 90] frequently more hurtful to the grace or vi­vacity of a period, than superfluous dragg­ing words at the conclusion.

‘ The mind of man naturally hates every thing that looks like a restraint upon it, and is apt to fancy itself under a sort of confinement, when the sight is pent up in a nar­row compass, and shortened on every side by the neigh­bourhood of walls or mountains. On the contrary, a spa­cious horizon is an image of liberty, where the eye has room to range abroad, to expatiate at large on the im­mensity of its views, and to lose itself amidst the variety of objects that offer themselves to its observation. Such wide and undetermined prospects are as pleasing to the fancy, as the speculations of eternity, or infinitude, are to the understanding.’

OUR Author's Style appears, here, in all that native beauty which cannot be too much praised. The numbers flow smoothly, and with a graceful harmony. The words which he has chosen, carry a certain am­plitude and fulness, well suited to the na­ture of the subject; and the members of the periods rise in a gradation, accommodated to the rise of the thought. The eye first ranges abroad; then expatiates at large on the immensity of its views; and, at last, loses itself amidst the variety of objects that offer themselves to its observation. The fancy is elegantly contrasted with the understand­ing, prospects with speculations, and wide and undetermined prospect, with speculations of eternity and infinitude.

[Page 91] ‘ But if there be a beauty or uncommonness joined with this grandeur, as in a troubled ocean, a heaven adorned with stars and meteors, or a spacious landscape cut out into rivers, woods, rocks, and meadows, the pleasure still grows upon us, as it arises from more than a single principle.’

THE article prefixed to beauty, in the be­ginning of this sentence, might have been omitted, and the Style have run, perhaps, to more advantage thus: But if beauty, or uncommonness, be joined to this grandeur—A landscape cut out into rivers, woods, &c. seems unseasonably to imply an artificial formation, and had better have been expres­sed by, diversified with rivers, woods, &c.

‘ Every thing that is new or uncommon, raises a plea­sure in the imagination, because it fills the soul with an agreeable surprise, gratifies its curiosity, and gives it an idea of which it was not before possessed. We are, in­deed, so often conversant with one set of objects, and ti­red out with so many repeated shows of the same things, that whatever is new or uncommon contributes a little to vary human life, and to divert our minds, for a while, with the strangeness of its appearance. It serves us for a kind of refreshment, and takes off from that satiety we are apt to complain of in our usual and ordinary enter­tainments.’

THE Style in these Sentences flows in an easy and agreeable manner. A severe cri­tic might point out some expressions that would bear being retrenched. But this would alter the genius and character of Mr. [Page 92] Addison's Style. We must always remem­ber, that good composition admits of being carried on under many different forms. Style must not be reduced to one precise standard. One writer may be as agreeable, by a pleasing diffuseness, when the subject bears, and his genius prompts it, as ano­ther by a concise and forcible manner. It is fit, however, to observe, that, in the beginning of those Sentences which we have at present before us, the phrase, raises a pleasure in the imagination, is unquestion­ably too flat and feeble, and might easily be amended, by saying, affords pleasure to the imagination; and towards the end, there are two of's, which grate harshly on the ear, in that phrase, takes off from that sa­tiety we are apt to complain of; where the correction is as easily made as in the other case, by substituting, diminishes that satiety of which we are apt to complain. Such in­stances show the advantage of frequent re­views of what we have written, in order to give proper correctness and polish to our Language.

‘ It is this which bestows charms on a monster, and makes even the imperfections of nature please us. It is this that recommends variety where the mind is every instant called off to something new, and the attention not suffered to dwell too long, and waste itself, on any par­ticular object. It is this likewise, that improves what is great or beautiful, and makes it afford the mind a double entertainment.’

[Page 93] STILL the Style proceeds with perspicu­ity, grace, and harmony. The full and ample assertion, with which each of these Sentences is introduced, frequent, on many occasions, with our author, is here proper and seasonable; as it was his intention to magnify, as much as possible, the effects of novelty and variety, and to draw our at­tention to them. His frequent use of that, instead of which, is another peculiarity of his Style; but, on this occasion in particu­lar, cannot be much commended, as, it is this which, seems, in every view, to be better than, it is this that, three times re­peated. I must, likewise, take notice, that the antecedent to, it is this, when criti­cally considered, is not altogether proper. It refers, as we discover by the sense, to whatever is new or uncommon. But as it is not good language to say, whatever is new bestows charms on a monster, one cannot avoid thinking that our Author had done better to have begun the first of these three Sentences, with saying, It is novelty which bestows charms on a monster, &c.

‘ Groves, fields, and meadows, are at any season of the year pleasant to look upon; but never so much as in the opening of the Spring, when they are all new and fresh, with their first gloss upon them, and not yet too much accustomed and familiar to the eye.’

In this expression, never so much as in the opening of the Spring, there appears to be [Page 94] a small error in grammar; for when the construction is filled up, it must be read, never so much pleasant. Had he, to avoid this, said, never so much so, the grammatical error would have been prevented, but the language would have been awkward. Bet­ter to have said, but never so agreeable as in the opening of the Spring. We readily say, the eye is accustomed to objects, but to say, as our Author has done at the close of the Sentence, that objects are accustomed to the eye, can scarcely be allowed in a prose com­position.

‘ For this reason, there is nothing that more enlivens a prospect than rivers, jetteaus, or falls of water, where the scene is perpetually shifting and entertaining the sight, every moment, with something that is new. We are quickly tired with looking at hills and vallies, where every thing continues fixed and settled in the same place and posture, but find our thoughts a little agitated and relieved at the sight of such objects as are ever in mo­tion, and sliding away from beneath the eye of the beholder.’

THE first of these sentences is connected in too loose a manner with that which imme­diately preceded it. When he says, For this reason, there is nothing that more enlivens, &c. we are entitled to look for the reason in what he had just before said. But there we find no reason for what he is now going to assert, except that groves and meadows are most pleasant in the Spring. We know that he has been speaking of the pleasure [Page 95] produced by Novelty and Variety, and our minds naturally recur to this, as the reason here alluded to; but his language does not properly express it. It is, indeed, one of the defects of this amiable writer, that his sentences are often too negligently connec­ted with one another. His meaning, upon the whole, we gather with ease from the tenour of his discourse. Yet this negligence prevents his sense from striking us with that force and evidence, which a more accurate juncture of parts would have produced. Bating this inaccuracy, these two sentences, especially the latter, are remarkably elegant and beautiful. The close, in particular, is uncommonly fine, and carries as much ex­pressive harmony as the language can admit. It seems to paint, what he is describing, at once to the eye and the ear.— Such objects as are ever in motion, and sliding away from beneath the eye of the beholder.—Indeed, notwithstanding those small errors, which the strictness of critical examination obliges me to point out, it may be safely pronoun­ced, that the two paragraphs which we have now considered in this paper, the one concerning greatness, and the other con­cerning novelty, are extremely worthy of Mr. Addison, and exhibit a Style, which they who can successfully imitate, may esteem themselves happy.

‘ But there is nothing that makes its way more directly to the soul than Beauty, which immediately diffuses a se­cret [Page 96] satisfaction and complacency through the imagination, and gives a finishing to any thing that is great or uncom­mon. The very first discovery of it strikes the mind with an inward joy, and spread's a cheerfulness and de­light through all its faculties.’

SOME degree of verbosity may be here discovered, and phrases repeated, which are little more than the echo of one ano­ther; such as— diffusing satisfaction and complacency through the imagination—strik­ing the mind with inward joy—spreading cheerfulness and delight through all its facul­ties. At the same time, I readily admit that this full and flowing Style, even though it carry some redundancy, is not unsuitable to the gaiety of the subject on which the author is entering, and is more allowable here, than it would have been on some other occasions.

‘ There is not, perhaps, any real beauty or deformity more in one piece of matter than another; because we might have been so made; that whatever now appears loathsome to us, might have shewn itself agreeable; but we find, by experience, that there are several modifications of matter, which the mind, without any previous considerati­on, pronounces at first sight beautiful or deformed.’

IN this sentence there is nothing remark­able, in any view, to draw our attention. We may observe only, that the word more, towards the beginning, is not in its proper place, and that the preposition in, is want­ing [Page 97] before another. The phrase ought to have stood thus— Beauty or deformity in one piece of matter, more than in another.

‘ Thus we see, that every different species of sensible crea­tures has its different notions of Beauty, and that each of them is most affected with the beauties of its own kind. This is no where more remarkable, than in birds of the same shape and proportion, when we often see the male de­termined in his courtship by the single grain or tincture of a feather, and never discovering any charms but in the colour of its species.’

NEITHER is there here any particular ele­gance or felicity of language.— Different sense of Beauty would have been a more proper expression to have been applied to irrational creatures, than as it stands, differ­ent notions of Beauty. In the close of the second Sentence, when the Author says, colour of its species, he is guilty of a consi­derable inaccuracy in changing the gender, as he had said in the same Sentence, that the male was determined in his courtship.

‘ There is a second kind of Beauty, that we find in the several products of art and nature, which does not work in the imagination with that warmth and violence, as the beauty that appears in our proper species, but is apt, however, to raise in us a secret delight, and a kind of fondness for the places or objects in which we discover it.’

[Page 98] STILL, I am sorry to say, we find little to praise. As in his enunciation of the subject, when beginning the former para­graph, he appeared to have been treating of Beauty in general, in distinction from greatness or novelty; this second kind of Beauty of which he here speaks, comes up­on us in a sort of surprize, and it is only by degrees we learn, that formerly he had no more in view than the Beauty which the different species of sensible creatures find in one another. This second kind of Beauty, he says, we find in the several products of art and nature. He undoubtedly means, not in all, but in several of the products of art and nature; and ought so to have expressed himself; and in the place of products, to have used also the more proper word, pro­ductions. When he adds, that this kind of Beauty does not work in the imagination with that warmth and violence as the beauty that appears in our proper species; the language would certainly have been more pure and elegant, if he had said, that it does not work upon the imagination with such warmth and violence, as the beauty that appears in our own species.

‘ This consists either in the gaiety, or variety of co­lours, in the symmetry and proportion of parts, in the arrangement and disposition of bodies, or in a just mix­ture and concurrence of all together. Among these se­veral kinds of Beauty, the eye takes most delight in colours.’

[Page 99] To the language here, I see no objecti­on that can be made.

‘ We no where meet with a more glorious or pleasing show in nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of the Sun, which is wholly made up of those different sta [...]s of light, that show themselves in clouds of a different situation.’

THE chief ground of criticism on this Sentence, is the disjointed situation of the relative which. Grammatically, it refers to the rising and setting of the Sun. But the Author meant, that it should refer to the show which appears in the heavens at that time. It is too common among Au­thors, when they are writing without much care, to make such particles as this, and which, refer not to any particular antece­dent word, but to the tenour of some phrase, or perhaps the scope of some whole Sentence, which has gone before. This practice saves them trouble in marshaling their words, and arranging a period: but, though it may leave their meaning intelli­gible, yet it renders that meaning much less perspicuous, determined, and precise, than it might otherwise have been. The error I have pointed out, might have been avoid­ed by a small alternation in the construction of the Sentence, after some such manner as this: We no where meet with a more glo­rious and pleasing show in nature, than what is formed in the heavens at the rising [Page 100] and setting of the Sun, by the different stains of light which show themselves in clouds of different situations. Our Author writes, in clouds of a different situation, by which he means, clouds that differ in situation from each other. But, as this is neither the obvious nor grammatical meaning of his words, it was necessary to change the ex­pression, as I have done, into the plural number.

‘ For this reason, we find the poets, who are always addressing themselves to the imagination, borrowing more of their epithets from colours than from any other topic.’

On this Sentence nothing occurs, except a remark similar to what was made be­sore, of loose connection with the Sentence which precedes. For, though he begins with saying, For this reason, the foregoing Sentence, which was employed about the clouds and the Sun, gives no reason for the general proposition he now lays down. The reason to which he refers, was given two Sentences before, when he observed, that the eye takes more delight in colours than in any other beauty; and it was with that Sentence that the present one should have stood immediately connected.

‘ As the Fancy delights in every thing that is great, strange, or beautiful, and is still more pleased, the more it finds of these perfections in the same object, so it is ca­pable [Page 101] of receiving a new satisfaction by the assistance of another sense.’

Another sense here, means grammatically, another sense than Fancy. For there is no other thing in the period to which this ex­pression, another sense, can at all be opposed. He had not for some time made mention of any sense whatever. He forgot to add, what was undoubtedly in his thoughts, another sense than that of sight.

‘ Thus any continued sound, as the music of birds, or a fall of water, awakens every moment the mind of the be­holder, and makes him more attentive to the several beau­ties of the place which lie before him. Thus, if there arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasures of the imagination, and make even the co­lours and verdure of the landscape appear more agree­able; for the ideas of both senses recommend each other, and are pleasanter together, than when they enter the mind separately; as the different colours of a picture, when they are well-disposed, set off one another, and re­ceive an additional beauty from the advantage of their situation.’

WHETHER Mr. Addison's theory here be just or not, may be questioned. A conti­nued sound, such as that of a fall of water, is so far from awakening, every moment, the mind of the beholder, that nothing is more likely to lull him asleep. It may, indeed, please the imagination, and heighten the beauties of the scene; but it produces this [Page 102] effect, by a soothing, not by an awakening influence. With regard to the Style, no­thing appears exceptionable. The flow, both of language and of ideas, is very agree­able. The Author continues, to the end, the same pleasing train of thought, which had run through the rest of the Paper: and leaves us agreeably employed in comparing together different degrees of Beauty.

‘ THOUGH in yesterday's Paper we considered how every thing that is great, new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the imagination with pleasure, we must own, that it is impossible for us to assign the necessary cause of this pleasure, because we know neither the nature of an idea, nor the substance of a human soul, which might help us to discover the conformity or disagreeableness of the one to the other; and, therefore, for want of such a light, all that we can do in speculations of this kind, is, to re­flect on those operations of the soul that are most agree­able, and to range, under their proper heads, what is pleasing or displeasing to the mind, without being able to trace out the several necessary and efficient causes from whence the pleasure or displeasure arises.’

THIS Sentence, considered as an intro­ductory one, must be acknowledged to be very faulty. An introductory Sentence should never contain any thing that can in any degree fatigue or puzzle the reader. When an Author is entering on a new [Page 104] branch of his subject, informing us of what he has done, and what he purposes farther to do, we naturally expect that he should express himself in the simplest and most per­spicuous manner possible. But the Sentence now before us is crowded and indistinct; containing three separate propositions, which, as I shall afterwards show, required separate Sentences to have unfolded them. Mr. Ad­dison's chief excellency, as a writer, lay in describing and painting. There he is great; but in methodising and reasoning, he is not so eminent. As, besides the general fault of prolixity and indistinctness, this Sentence contains several inaccuracies, I will be obliged to enter into a minute discussion of its structure and parts; a discussion, which to many readers will appear tedious, and which therefore they will naturally pass over; but which, to those who are studying composition, I hope may prove of some benefit.

Though in yesterday's Paper we considered—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 some truth, that we are not to infer from it some other thing which we might perhaps have expected to follow: ‘"Though virtue be the only road to happiness, yet it does not permit the un­limited gratification of our desires."’ Now [Page 105] it is plain, that there was no such opposi­tion between the subject of yesterday's Pa­per, and what the Author is now going to say, between his asserting a fact, and his not being able to assign the cause of that fact, as rendered the use of this adversative particle though, either necessary or proper in the introduction.— We considered how eve­ry thing that is great, new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the imagination with pleasure.—The adverb how signifies, either the means by which, or the manner in which, some­thing is done. But, in truth, neither one nor other of these had been considered by our Author. He had illustrated the fact alone, that they do affect the imagination with pleasure; and, with respect to the quomodo, or the how, he is so far from hav­ing considered it, that he is just now going to show that it cannot be explained, and that we must rest contented with the know­ledge of the fact alone, and of its purpose or final cause.— We must own, that it is im­possible for us to assign the necessary cause (he means; what is more commonly called the efficient cause) of this pleasure, because we know neither the nature of an idea, nor the substance of a human soul.—The substance of a human soul is certainly a very uncouth ex­pression, and there appears no reason why he should have varied from the word nature, which would have equally applied to idea and to soul.

[Page 106] Which might help us, our Author pro­ceeds, to discover the conformity or disagreea­bleness of the one to the other.—The which, at the beginning of this member of the period, is surely ungrammatical, as it is a relative, without any antecedent in all the Sentence. It refers, by the construction, to the nature of an idea, or the substance of a human soul; 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 substance of a human soul, might help us to discover the conformity or disagreeableness of the one to the other: and therefore the syntax absolutely required the word know­ledge to have been inserted as the antecedent to which. I have before remarked, and the remark deserves to be repeated, that nothing is a more certain sign of careless composition than to make such relatives as which, not refer to any precise expression, but carry a loose and vague relation to the general strain of what had gone before. When our sen­tences run into this form, we may be assured there is something in the construction of them that requires alteration. The phrase of discovering the conformity or disagreeable­ness of the one to the other is likewise excep­tionable; for disagreeableness neither forms a proper contrast to the other word, confor­mity, nor expresses what the author meant here (as far as any meaning can be gathered from his words), that is, a certain unsuit­ableness or want of conformity to the na­ture [Page 107] of the soul. To say the truth, this member of the sentence had much better have been omitted altogether. The confor­mity or disagreeableness of an idea to the sub­stance of a human soul, is a phrase which conveys to the mind no distinct nor intel­ligent conception whatever. The author had before given a sufficient reason for his not assigning the efficient cause of those pleasures of the imagination, because we neither know the nature of our own ideas nor of the soul: and this farther discussion about the conformity or disagreeableness of the nature of the one, to the substance of the other, affords no clear nor useful illustration.

And therefore, the sentence goes on, for want of such a light, all that we can do in speculations of this kind, is to reflect on those operations of the soul that are most agreeable, and to range under their proper heads what is pleasing or displeasing to the mind.—The two expressions in the beginning of this member, therefore, and for want of such a light, evi­dently refer to the same thing, and are quite synonymous. One or other of them, there­fore, had better have been omitted. Instead of to range under their proper heads, the lan­guage would have been smoother, if their had been left out;— without being able to trace out the several necessary and efficient causes from whence the pleasure or displeasure arises. The expression, from whence, though [Page 108] seemingly justified by very frequent usage, is taxed by Dr. Johnson as a vicious mode of speech; seeing whence alone, has all the power of from whence, which therefore ap­pears an unnecessary reduplication. I am inclined to think, that the whole of this last member of the sentence had better have been dropped. The period might have closed with full propriety, at the words, pleasing or displeasing to the mind. All that follows, suggests no idea that had not been fully conveyed in the preceding part of the sentence. It is a mere expletive adjection which might be omitted, not only without injury to the meaning, but to the great re­lief of a sentence already labouring under the multitude of words.

HAVING now finished the analysis of this long sentence, I am inclined to be of opinion, that if, on any occasion, we can adventure to alter Mr. Addison's Style, it may be done to advantage here, by break­ing down this period in the following man­ner: ‘"In yesterday's paper, we have shown that every thing which is great, new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the imagination with pleasure. We must own, that it is impossible for us to assign the efficient cause of this pleasure, because we know not the nature either of an idea, or of the human soul. All that we can do, therefore, in speculations of this kind, is to reflect on the operations of the soul, [Page 109] which are most agreeable, and to range under proper heads, what is pleasing or displeasing to the mind."’—We proceed now to the examination of the following sentences.

‘ Final causes lie more bare and open to our observation, as there are often a great variety that belong to the same effect; and these, though they are not altogether so satis­factory, are generally more useful than the other, as they give us greater occasion of admiring the goodness and wis­dom of the first contriver.’

THOUGH some difference might be traced between the sense of bare and open, yet as they are here employed, they are so nearly synonymous, that one of them was suffi­cient. It would have been enough to have said, Final causes lie more open to observation.—One can scarcely help observing here, that the obviousness of final causes does not proceed, as Mr. Addison supposes, from a variety of them concurring in the same effect, which is often not the case; but from our being able to ascertain more clearly, from our own experience, the con­gruity of a final cause with the circum­stances of our condition; whereas the con­stituent parts of subjects, whence efficient causes proceed, lie for most part beyond the reach of our faculties. But as this remark respects the thought more than the style, it is sufficient for us to observe, that when he says, a great variety that belong to the [Page 110] same effect, the expression, strictly consider­ed, is not altogether proper. The acces­sory is properly said to belong to the prin­cipal; not the principal to the accessory. Now an effect is considered as the accessory or consequence of its cause; and therefore, though we might well say a variety of ef­fects belong to the same cause, it seems not so proper to say, that a variety of causes belong to the same effect.

‘ One of the final causes of our delight in any thing that is great may be this: The Supreme Author of our being has so formed the soul of man, that nothing but himself can be its last, adequate, and proper happiness. Be­cause, therefore, a great part of our happiness must arise from the contemplation of his being, that he might give our souls a just relish of such a contemplation, he has made them naturally delight in the apprehension of what is great or unlimited.’

THE concurrence of two conjunctions, because, therefore, forms rather a harsh and unpleasing beginning of the last of these Sentences; and, in the close, one would think, that the Author might have devised a happier word than apprehension, to be ap­plied to what is unlimited. But that I may not be thought hypercritical, I shall make no farther observation on these Sentences.

‘ Our admiration, which is a very pleasing motion of the mind, immediately rises at the consideration of any object that takes up a good deal of room in the fancy, and, [Page 111] by consequence, will improve into the highest pitch of astonishment and devotion, when we contemplate his na­ture, that is neither circumscribed by time nor place, nor to be comprehended by the largest capacity of a creat­ed being.’

HERE, our Author's Style rises beauti­fully along with the thought. However inaccurate he may sometimes be when coolly philosophising, yet, whenever his fancy is awakened by description, or his mind, as here, warmed with some glowing sentiment, he presently becomes great, and discovers, in his language, the hand of a master. Every one must observe, with what felicity this period is constructed. The words are long and majestic. The members rise one above another, and con­duct the sentence, at last, to that full and harmonious close, which leaves upon the mind such an impression, as the author in­tended to leave, of something uncommon­ly great, awful, and magnificent.

‘ He has annexed a secret pleasure to the idea of any thing that is new or uncommon, that he might encourage us in the pursuit of knowledge, and engage us to search into the wonders of creation; for every new idea brings such a pleasure along with it, as rewards the pains we have taken in its acquisition, and, consequently, serves as a motive to put us upon fresh discoveries.’

THE Language, in this Sentence, is clear and precise: only, we cannot but observe, [Page 112] in this, and the two following Sentences, which are constructed in the same manner, a strong proof of Mr. Addison's unreason­able partiality to the particle that, in pre­ference to which—annexed a secret pleasure to the idea of any thing that is new or un­common, that he might encourage us.—Here the first that, stands for a relative pronoun, and the next that, at the distance only of four words, is a conjunction. This con­fusion of sounds serves to embarrass Style. Much better, sure, to have said, the idea of any thing which is new or uncommon, that he might encourage.—The expression with which the sentence concludes— a mo­tive to put us upon fresh discoveries—is flat, and in some degree, improper. He should have said, put us upon making fresh discove­ris—or rather, serves as a motive inciting us to make fresh discoveries.

‘ He has made every thing that is beautiful in our own species, pleasant, that all creatures might be tempt­ed to multiply their kind, and fill the world with inha­bitants; for, 'tis very remarkable, that wherever nature is crost in the production of a monster (the result of any unnatural mixture) the breed is incapable of propa­gating its likeness, and of founding a new order of crea­tures; so that, unless all animals were allured by the beauty of their own species, generation would be at an end, and the earth unpeopled.’

HERE we must, however reluctantly, re­turn to the employment of censure: for [Page 113] this is among the worst Sentences our Au­thor ever wrote; and contains a variety of blemishes. Taken as a whole, it is ex­tremely deficient in unity. Instead of a complete proposition, it contains a sort of chain of reasoning, the links of which are so ill put together, that it is with difficul­ty we can trace the connection; and, unless we take the trouble of perusing it several times, it will leave nothing on the mind but an indistinct and obscure impres­sion.

BESIDES this general fault, respecting the meaning, it contains some great inaccu­racies in Language. First, God's having made every thing which is beautiful in our own species (that is in the human species) pleasant, is certainly no motive for all crea­tures, for beasts, and birds, and fishes, to multiply their kind. What the Author meant to say, though he has expressed him­self in so erroneous a manner, undoubted­ly was, ‘"In all the different orders of crea­tures, he has made every thing, which is beautiful, in their own species, pleasant, that all creatures might be tempted to multiply their kind."’ The second mem­ber of the Sentence is still worse. For, it is very remarkable, that wherever nature is crost in the production of a monster, &c. The reason which he here gives, for the preceding assertion, intimated by the casual particle for, is far from being obvious. [Page 114] The connection of thought is not readily apparent, and would have required an in­termediate step, to render it distinct. But, what does he mean, by nature being crost in the production of a monster? One might un­derstand him to mean, ‘"disappointed in its intention of producing a monster,"’ as when we say, one is crost in his pursuits, we mean, that he is disappointed in accom­plishing the end which he intended. Had he said, crost by the production of a monster, the sense would have been more intelligible. But the proper rectification of the expression would be to insert the adverb as, before the preposition in, after this manner— wherever nature is crost, as in the production of a mon­ster,—the insertion of this particle as, throws so much light on the construction of this member of the sentence, that I am very much inclined to believe, it had stood thus, originally, in our Author's manuscript; and that the present reading is a typographical error, which, having crept into the first edition of the Spectator, ran through all the subsequent ones.

‘ In the last place, he has made every thing that is beautiful, in all other objects, pleasant, or rather has made so many objects appear beautiful, that he might ren­der the whole creation more gay and delightful. He has given, almost, every thing about us the power of raising an agreeable idea in the imagination; so that it is impos­sible for us to behold his works with coldness or indiffe­rence, [Page 115] and to survey so many beauties without a secret sa­tisfaction and complacency.’

THE idea, here, is so just, and the Lan­guage so clear, flowing, and agreeable, that, to remark any diffuseness which may be attributed to these sentences, would be justly esteemed hypercritical.

‘ Things would make but a poor appearance to the eye, if we saw them only in their proper figures and motions: and what reason can we assign for their exciting, in us, many of those ideas which are different from any thing that exists in the objects themselves (for such are light and colours), were it not to add supernumerary ornaments to the universe, and make it more agreeable to the imagination?’

OUR Author is now entering on a theo­ry, which he is about to illustrare, if not with much philosophical accuracy, yet, with great beauty of fancy, and glow of expression. A strong instance of his want of accuracy, appears in the manner in which he opens the subject. For what meaning is there in things exciting in us many of those ideas which are different from any thing that exists in the objects? No one, sure, ever imagined, that our ideas exist in the objects. Ideas, it is agreed on all hands, can exist no where but in the mind. What Mr. Locke's philosophy teaches, and what our Author should have said, is, exciting in us many ideas of qualities which are different [Page 116] from any thing that exists in the objects. The ungraceful parenthesis which follows, for such are light and colours, had far bet­ter have been avoided, and incorporated with the rest of the Sentence, in this man­ner:— ‘"exciting in us many ideas of quali­ties, such as light and colours, which are different from any thing that exists in the objects."’

‘ We are every where entertained with pleasing shows, and apparitions. We discover imaginary glories in the heavens, and in the earth, and see some of this visiona­ry beauty poured out upon the whole creation; but what a rough unsightly sketch of nature should we be enter­tained with, did all her colouring disappear, and the se­veral distinctions of light and shade vanish? In short, our souls are delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleas­ing delusion; and we walk about like the enchanted hero of a romance, who sees beautiful castles, woods, and meadows; and, at the same time, hears the warbling of birds, and the purling of streams; but, upon the finishing of some secret spell, the fantastic scene breaks up, and the disconsolate knight finds himself on a bar­ren heath, or in a solitary desart.’

AFTER having been obliged to point out several inaccuracies, I return with much more pleasure to the display of beau­ties, for which we have now full scope; for these two Sentences are such as do the highest honour to Mr. Addison's ta­lents as a writer. Warmed with the idea he had laid hold of, his delicate sensibility [Page 117] to the beauty of nature, is finely displayed in the illustration of it. The Style is flow­ing and full, without being too diffuse. It is flowery, but not gaudy; elevated, but not ostentatious.

AMIDST this blaze of beauties, it is ne­cessary for us to remark one or two inac­curacies. When it is said, towards the close of the first of those Sentences, what a rough unsightly sketch of nature should we be entertained with, the preposition with, should have been placed at the beginning, rather than at the end of this member; and the word entertained, is both improperly applied here, and carelessly repeated from the former part of the Sentence. It was there employed according to its more com­mon use, as relating to agreeable objects. We are every where entertained with pleasing shows. Here, it would have been more proper to have changed the phrase, and said, with what a rough unsightly sketch of nature should we be presented.—At the close of the second Sentence, where it is said, the fantastic scene breaks up, the expression is lively, but not altogether justifiable. An assembly breaks up; a scene closes or disap­pears.

BATING these two slight inaccuracies, the Style, here, is not only correct, but perfectly elegant. The most striking beau­ty of the passage arises from the happy [Page 118] simile which the Author employs, and the fine illustration which it gives to the thought. The enchanted hero, the beauti­ful castles, the fantastic scene, the secret spell, the disconsolate knight, are terms chosen with the utmost felicity, and strongly recal all those romantic ideas with which he in­tended to amuse our imagination. Few authors are more successful in their image­ry than Mr. Addison; and few passages in his whrks, or in those of any author, are more beautiful and picturesque, than that on which we have been commenting.

‘ It is not improbable, that something like this may be the state of the soul after its first separation, in respect of the images it will receive from matter; though, in­deed, the ideas of colours are so pleasing and beautiful in the imagination, that it is possible the soul will not be deprived of them, but, perhaps, find them excited by some other occasional cause, as they are, at present, by the different impressions of the subtile matter on the organ of sight.’

As all human things, after having attain­ed the summit, begin to decline, we must acknowledge, that, in this Sentence, there is a sensible falling off from the beauty of what went before. It is broken, and defi­cient in unity. Its parts are not suffici­ently compacted. It contains, besides, some faulty expressions. When it is said, something like this may be the state of the soul, to the pronoun this, there is no de­termined antecedent; it refers to the gene­ral [Page 119] import of the preceding description, which, as I have several times remarked, always renders Style clumsy and inelegant, if not obscure— the state of the soul after its first separation, appears to be an incomplete phrase, and first, seems an useless, and even an improper word. More distinct if he had said,— state of the soul immediately on its separation from the body—the adverb per­haps, is redundant, after having just before said, it is possible.

‘ I have here supposed, that my reader is acquaint­ed with that great modern discovery, which is, at pre­sent, universally acknowledged by all the enquirers into natural philosophy; namely, that light and colours, as apprehended by the imagination, are only ideas in the mind, and not qualities that have any existence in mat­ter. As this is a truth which has been proved incon­testibly by many modern philosophers, and is, indeed, one of the finest speculations in that science, if the English Reader would see the notion explained at large, he may find it in the eight chapter of the second book of Mr. Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding.’

IN these two concluding Sentences, the Author, hastening to finish, appears to write rather carelessly. In the first of them, a manifest tautology occurs, when he speaks of what is universally acknowledged by all enquirers. In the second, when he calls a truth which has been incontestibly proved; first, a speculation, and afterwards, a notion, the Language surely is not very accurate. [Page 120] When he adds, one of the finest speculati­ons in that science, it does not, at first, ap­pear what science he means. One would imagine, he meant to refer to modern philo­sophers; for natural philosophy (to which, doubtless, he refers) stands at much too great a distance to be the proper or obvi­ous antecedent to the pronoun that. The circumstance towards the close, if the Eng­lish Reader would see the notion explained at large, he may find it, is properly taken notice of by the Author of the Elements of Criti­cism, as wrong arranged; and is rectified thus: the English Reader, if he would see the notion explained at large, may find it, &c.

IN concluding the Examination of this Paper, we may observe, that, though not a very long one, it exhibits a striking view both of the beauties, and the defects, of Mr. Addison's Style. It contains some of the best, and some of the worst Sentences, that are to be found in his works. But upon the whole, it is an agreeable and elegant Essay.

‘ IF we consider the works of Nature and Art, as they are qualified to entertain the imagination, we shall find the last very defective in comparison of the former; for though they may sometimes appear as beau­tiful or strange, they can have nothing in them of that vastness and immensity which afford so great an entertainment to the mind of the beholder.’

I HAD occasion formerly to observe, that an introductory Sentence should always be short and simple, and contain no more mat­ter than is necessary for opening the sub­ject. This sentence leads to a repetition of this observation, as it contains both an assertion and the proof of that assertion; two things which, for the most part, but [Page 122] especially at first setting out, are with more advantage kept separate. It would certainly have been better, if this Sen­tence had contained only the assertion, end­ing with the word former: and if a new one had then begun, entering on the proofs of Nature's superiority over Art, which is the subject continued to the end of the pa­ragraph. The proper division of the period I shall point out, after having first made a few observations which occur on different parts of it.

If we consider the works—Perhaps it might have been preferable, if our Author had begun, with saying, When we consider the works.—Discourse ought always to begin, when it is possible, with a clear proposition. The if, which is here em­ployed, converts the Sentence into a sup­position, which is always in some degree entangling, and proper to be used only when the course of reasoning renders it ne­cessary. As this observation however may, perhaps, be considered as over-refined, and as the sense would have remained the same in either form of expression, I do not mean to charge our Author with any error on this account. We cannot absolve him from inaccuracy in what immediately follows— the works of Nature and Art. It is the scope of the Author throughout this whole Paper, to compare Nature and Art together, and to oppose them in several views to each [Page 123] other. Certainly therefore, in the begin­ning, he ought to have kept them as dis­tinct as possible, by interposing the prepo­sition, and saying the works of Nature, and of Art. As the words stand at present, they would lead us to think that he is go­ing to treat of these works, not as contrast­ed, but as connected; as united in forming one whole. When I speak of Body and Soul as united in the Human Nature, I would interpose neither article nor prepo­sition between them; ‘"Man is compound­ed of Soul and Body."’ But the case is altered, if I mean to distinguish them from each other; then I represent them as sepa­rate; and say, ‘"I am to treat of the in­terests of the Soul, and of the Body."’

Though they may sometimes appear as beau­tiful or strange—I cannot help considering this as a loose member of the period. It does not clearly appear at first what the an­tecedent is to they. In reading onwards, we see the works of Art to be meant; but from the structure of the Sentence, they might be understood to refer to the former, as well as to the last. In what follows, there is a greater ambiguity— may sometimes ap­pear as beautiful or strange. It is very doubtful in what sense we are to under­stand as, in this passage. For, according as it is accented in reading, it may signify, that they appear equally beautiful or strange, to wit, with the works of Nature; and then [Page 124] it has the force of the Latin tam: or it may signify no more than that they appear in the light of beautiful and strange; and then it has the force of the Latin tanquam, with­out importing any comparison. An expres­sion so ambiguous, is always faulty; and it is doubly so here; because, if the Author intended the former sense, and meant (as seems most probable) to employ as for a mark of comparison, it was necessary to have mentioned both the compared objects; whereas only one member of the compari­son is here mentioned, viz. the works of Art; and if he intended the latter sense, as was in that case superfluous and encum­bering, and he had better have said simply, appear beautiful or strange.—The epithet strange, which Mr. Addison applies to the works of Art, cannot be praised. Strange works, appears not by any means a happy expression to signify what he here intends, which is new or uncommon.

THE sentence concludes with much har­mony and dignity— they can have nothing in them of that vastness and immensity which afford so great an entertainment to the mind of the beholder. There is here a fulness and grandeur of expression well suited to the subject; though, perhaps, entertainment is not quite the proper word for expressing the effect which vastness and immensity have upon the mind. Reviewing the observa­tions that have been made on this period, it [Page 125] might, I think, with advantage, be resolv­ed into two Sentences somewhat after this manner: ‘"When we consider the works of Nature and of Art, as they are qualified to entertain the imagination, we shall find the latter very defective in comparison of the former. The works of Art may sometimes appear no less beautiful or un­common than those of Nature; but they can have nothing of that vastness and immensity which so highly transport the mind of the beholder."’

‘ The one,’ proceeds our Author in the next Sentence, ‘ may be as polite and delicate as the other; but can never shew herself so august and magnificent in the design.’

THE one and the other, in the first part of this Sentence, must unquestionably re­fer to the works of Nature and of Art. For of these he had been speaking immediately before; and with reference to the plural word, works, had employed the plural pro­noun they. But in the course of the Sen­tence, he drops this construction; and passes very incongruously to the personification of Art— can never shew herself.—To render his style consistent, Art, and not the works of Art, should have been made the nomina­tive in this Sentence.— Art may be as polite and delicate as Nature, but can never shew herself—Polite is a term oftener applied to persons and to manners, than to things; [Page 126] and is employed to signify their being high­ly civilized. Polished, 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 must observe, that the concluding words, in the design, should either have been altogether omitted, or something should have been properly opposed to them in the preceding member of the period, thus: ‘"Art may, in the execution, be as polished and deli­cate as Nature; but, in the design, can never shew herself so august and mag­nificent."’

‘ There is something more bold and masterly in the rough, careless strokes of Nature, than in the nice touches and embellishments of Art.’

THIS Sentence is perfectly happy and ele­gant; and carries, in all the expressions, that curiosa felicitas, for which Mr. Addison is so often remarkable. Bold and masterly, are words applied with the utmost propriety. The strokes of Nature are finely oposed to the touches of art; and the rough strokes to the nice touches; the former painting the freedom and ease of Nature, and the other, the diminutive exactness of art; while both are introduced before us as different perfor­mers, and their respective merits in execu­tion very justly contrasted with each other.

[Page 127] ‘ The beauties of the most stately garden or palace lie in a narrow compass, the imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to gratify her; but in the wide fields of Nature, the sight wanders up and down with confinement, and is fed with an infinite variety of images, without any cer­tain stint or number.’

THIS Sentence is not altogether so cor­rect and elegant as the former. It carries, however, in the main, the character of our Author's style; not strictly accurate, but a­greeable, easy, and unaffected; enlivened too with a slight personification of the ima­gination, which gives a gaiety to the period. Perhaps it had been better, if this personi­fication of the imagination, with which the Sentence is introduced, had been continued throughout, and not changed unnecessarily, and even improperly, into sight, in the se­cond member, which is contrary both to unity and elegance. It might have stood thus— the imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to gratify her; but in the wide fields of Nature, she wanders up and down without confinement.—The e­pithet stately, which the author uses in the beginning of the sentence, applies with more propriety to palaces, than to gardens. The close of the sentence, without any cer­tain stint or number, may be objected to, as both superfluous and ungraceful. It might perhaps have terminated better in this man­ner [Page 128] — she is fed with an infinite variety of im­ages, and wanders up and down without con­finement.

‘ For this reason, we always find the Poet in love with a country life, where Nature appears in the greatest perfection, and furnishes out all those scenes that are most 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 should rest. A country life may, be productive of simpli­city of manners, and of other virtues; but it is to the country itself, that the properties here mentioned belong, of displaying the beauties of Nature, and furnishing those scenes which delight the imagination.

‘ But though there are several of these wild scenes that are more delightful than any artificial shows, yet we find the works of Nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of art; for in this case, our pleasure rises from a double principle; from the agreeableness of the objects to the eye, and from their similitude to other ob­jects: we are pleased, as well with comparing their beau­ties, as with surveying them, and can represent them to our minds either as copies or as originals. Hence it is, that we take delight in a prospect which is well laid out, and diversified with fields and meadows, woods and ri­vers; in those accidental landscapes of trees, clouds, and cities, that are sometimes found in the veins of marble, in the curious fretwork of rocks and grottos; and, in a [Page 129] word, in any thing that hath such a degree of variety and regularity as may seem the effect of design, in what we call the works of chance.’

THE Style in the two Sentences, which compose this paragraph, is smooth and per­spicuous. It lies open in some places to criticism; but lest the reader should tire of what he may consider as petty remarks, I shall pass over any which these Sentences suggest; the rather too, as the idea which they present to us, of Nature's resembling Art, of Art's being considered as an origi­nal, and Nature as a copy, seems not very distinct nor well brought out, nor indeed very material to our Author's purpose.

‘ If the products of Nature rise in value, according as they more or less resemble those of Art, we may be sure that artificial works receive a greater advantage from the resemblance of such as are natural; because here the si­militude is not only pleasant, but the pattern more per­fect.’

It is necessary to our present design, to point out two considerable inaccuracies which occur in this Sentence. If the pro­ducts (he had better have said the produc­tions) of Nature rise in value, according as they more or less resemble those of Art.—Does he mean, that these productions rise in va­lue, both according as they more resemble, and as they less resemble, those of Art? His meaning undoubtedly is, that they rise in [Page 130] value only, according as they more resemble them: and therefore, either these words, or less, must be struck out, or the Sentence must run thus— productions of Nature rise or sink in value, according as they more or less resemble.—The present construction of the Sentence has plainly been owing to hasty and careless writing.

THE other inaccuracy is towards the end of the Sentence, and serves to illustrate a rule which I formerly gave, concerning the position of adverbs. The Author says,— because here, the similitude is not only pleasant, but the pattern more perfect. Here, by the position of the adverb only, we are led to imagine that he is going to give some other property of the similitude, that it is not only pleasant, as he says, but more than pleasant; it is useful, or, on some account or other, valuable. Whereas, he is going to oppose another thing to the similitude itself, and not to this property of its being pleasant; and therefore, the right colloca­tion, beyond doubt, was, because here, not only the similitude is pleasant, but the pattern more perfect: the contrast lying, not be­tween pleasant and more perfect, but be­tween similitude and pattern.—Much of the clearness and neatness of Style depends on such attentions as these.

‘ The prettiest landscape I ever saw, was one drawn on the walls of a dark room, which stood opposite on one [Page 133] side to a navigable river, and, on the other, to a park. The experiment is very common in optics.’

IN the description of the landscape which follows, Mr. Addison is abundantly happy; but in this introduction to it, he is obscure and indistinct. One who had not seen the experiment of the Camera Obscura, could comprehend nothing of what he meant. And even, after we understand what he points at, we are at some loss, whether to understand his description as of one conti­nued landscape, or of two different ones, produced by the projection of two Camera Obscuras on opposite walls. The scene, which I am inclined to think Mr. Addison here refers to, is Greenwich Park, with the prospect of the Thames, as seen by a Camera Obscura, which is placed in a small room in the upper story of the Observatory; where I remember to have seen, many years ago, the whole scene here described, corresponding so much to Mr. Addison's account of it in this passage, that, at the time, it recalled it to my memory. As the Observatory stands in the middle of the Park, it overlooks, from one side, both the river and the park; and the objects after­wards mentioned, the ships, the trees, and the deer, are presented in one view, with­out needing any assistance from opposite walls. Put into plainer language, the Sen­tence might run thus: ‘"The prettiest landscape I ever saw, was one formed by [Page 132] a Camera Obscura, a common optical instrument, on the wall of a dark room, which overlooked a navigable river and a park."’

‘ Here you might discover the waves and fluctuations of the water in strong and proper colours, with the picture of a ship entering at one end, and sailing by degrees through the whole piece. On another, there appeared the green shadows of trees, waving to and fro with the wind, and herds of deer among them in miniature, leap­ing about upon the wall.’

BATING one or two small inaccuracies, this is beautiful and lively painting. The principal inaccuracy lies in the connection of the two Sentences, Here, and On another. I suppose the Author meant, on one side, and on another side. As it stands, another is ungrammatical, having nothing to which it refers. But the fluctuations of the wa­ter, the ship entering and sailing on by de­grees, the trees waving in the wind, and the herds of deer among them leaping about, is all very elegant, and gives a beau­tiful conception of the scene meant to be described.

‘ I must confess the novelty of such a sight, may be one occasion of its pleasantness to the imagination; but cer­tainly the chief reason, is its nearer resemblance to Na­ture; as it does not only, like other pictures, give the colour and figure, but the motions of the things it repre­sents.’

[Page 133] IN this Sentence there is nothing re­markable, either to be praised or blamed. In the conclusion, instead of the things it represents, the regularity of correct Style requires the things which it represents. In the beginning, as one occasion and the chief reason are opposed to one another, I should think it better to have repeated the same word— one reason of its pleasantness to the imagination, but certainly the chief reason is, &c.

‘ We have before observed, that there is generally, in Nature, something more grand and august than what we meet with in the curiosities of Art. When, there­fore, we see this imitated in any measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of pleasure, than what we receive from the nicer and more accurate productions of Art.’

It would have been better to have avoid­ed terminating these two Sentences in a manner so similar to each other; curiosities of Art—productions of Art.

‘ On this account, our English gardens are not so en­tertaining to the fancy as those in France and Italy, where we see a large extent of ground covered over with an agreeable mixture of garden and forest, which repre­sens every where an artificial rudeness, much more charm­ing than that neatness and elegance which we meet with in those of our own country.’

[Page 134] THE expression represent every where an artificial rudeness, is so inaccurate, that I am inclined to think, what stood in Mr. Addison's manuscript must have been— present every where.—For the mixture of garden and forest does not represent, but actually exhibits or presents, artificial rude­ness. That mixture represents indeed na­tural rudeness, that is, is designed to imi­tate it; but it in reality is, and presents, ar­tificial rudeness.

‘ It might indeed be of ill consequence to the public, as well as unprofitable to private persons, to alienate so much ground from pasturage and the plough, in many parts of a country that is so well peopled and cultivated to a far greater advantage. But why may not a whole estate be thrown into a kind of garden by frequent plantations, that may turn as much to the profit as the pleasure of the owner? A marsh overgrown with willows, or a mountain shaded with oaks, are not only more beautiful, but more beneficial, than when they lie bare and unadorned. Fields of corn make a pleasant prospect; 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 some small additions of art, and the several rows of hedges were set off by trees and flowers that the soil was capable of receiving, a man might make a pretty landscape of his own possessions.’

THE ideas here are just, and the Style is easy and perspicuous, though in some places bordering on the careless. In that passage, for instance, if the walks were a [Page 135] little taken care of that lie between them—one member is clearly out of its place, and the turn of the phrase, a little taken care of, is vulgar and colloquial. Much better, if it had run thus— if a little care were be­stowed 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; because, they say, any one may place trees in equal rows and uniform figures. They chuse rather to show a genius in works of this nature, and therefore al­ways conceal the art by which they direct themselves. They have a word, it seems, in their Language, by which they express the particular beauty of a plantation, that thus strikes the imagination at first sight, without discovering what it is that has so agreeable an effect.’

THESE Sentences furnish occasion for no remark, except that in the last of them, particular is improperly used instead of pe­culiar—the peculiar beauty of a plantation that thus strikes the imagination, was the phrase to have conveyed the idea which the Author meant; namely, the beauty which distinguishes it from plantations of another kind.

‘ Our British gardeners, on the contrary, instead of hu­mouring nature, love to deviate from it as much as pos­sible. Our trees rise in [...]cones, globes, and pyramids. We see the marks of the scissars on every plant and bush.’

[Page 136] THESE Sentences are lively and elegant. They make an agreeable diversity from the strain of those which went before; and are marked with the hand of Mr. Addison. I have to remark only, that, in the phrase, in­stead of humouring nature, love to deviate from it—humouring and deviating, are terms not properly opposed to each other; a sort of per­sonification of nature is begun in the first of them, which is not supported in the second.—To humouring, was to have been opposed, thwarting—or if deviating was kept, follow­ing, or going along with nature, was to have been used.

‘ I do not know whether I am singular in my opinion, but, for my own part, I would rather look upon a tree, in all its luxuriancy and diffusion of boughs and branches, than when it is thus cut and trimmed into a mathematical figure; and cannot but fancy that an orchard, in flower, looks infinitely more delightful, than all the little labyrinths of the most finished parterre.’

THIS Sentence is extremely harmonious, and every way beautiful. It carries all the characteristics of our Author's natural, graceful, and flowing Language.—A tree, in all its luxuriancy and diffusion of boughs and branches, is a remarkably happy expres­sion. The Author seems to become luxu­riant in describing an object which is so, and thereby renders the sound a perfect e­cho to the sense.

[Page 137] ‘ But as our great modellers of gardens have their ma­gazines of plants to dispose of, it is very natural in them, to tear up all the beautiful plantations of fruit trees, and contrive a plan that may most turn to their profit, in tak­ing off their evergreens, and the like moveable plants, with which their shops are plentifully stocked.’

AN author should always study to con­clude, when it is in his power, with grace and dignity. It is somewhat unfortunate, that this Paper did not end, as it might very well have done, with the former beautiful period. The impression 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 Sentence there is a great falling off; and we return with pain from those pleasing objects, to the insignificant contents of a nursery-man's shop.

MY design, in the four preceding Lec­tures, was not merely to appretiate the merit of Mr. Addison's Style, by point­ing out the faults and the beauties that are mingled in the writings of that great Au­thor. They were not composed with any view to gain the reputation of a Critic; but intended for the assistance of such as are desirous of studying the most proper and elegant construction of Sentences in the English Language. To such, it is hoped, they may be of advantage; as the proper application of rules respecting the Style, will always be best learned by means of the illustration which examples afford. I conceived that examples, taken from the writings of an Author so justly [Page 139] esteemed, would, on that account, not on­ly be more attended to, but would also pro­duce this good effect, of familiarising those who study composition with the Style of a writer, from whom they may, upon the whole, derive great benefit. With the same view, I shall, in this Lecture, give one critical exercise more of the same kind, upon the Style of an Author of a different character, Dean Swift; repeating the inti­mation I gave formerly, that such as stand in need of no assistance of this kind, and who, therefore, will naturally consider such minute discussions concerning the propriety of words, and structure of Sen­tences, as beneath their attention, had best pass over what will seem to them a tedious part of the work.

I FORMERLY gave the general charac­ter of Dean Swift's Style. He is esteemed one of our most correct writers. His Style is of the the plain and simple kind; free of all affectation, and all superfluity; per­spicuous, manly, and pure. These are its advantages. But we are not to look for much ornament and grace in it ^*. On the contra­ry, [Page 140] Dean Swift seems to have slighted and despised the ornaments of Language, rather than to have studied them. His arrange­ment is often loose and negligent. In ele­gant, musical, and figurative Language, he is much inferior to Mr. Addison. His man­ner of writing carries in it the character of one who rests altogether upon his sense, and aims at no more than giving his mean­ing in a clear and concise manner.

THAT part of his writings, which I shall now examine, is the beginning of his treatise, entitled, "A Proposal for cor­recting, improving, and ascertaining the English Tongue," in a Letter addressed to the Earl of Oxford, then Lord High Treasurer. I was led, by the nature of the subject, to choose this treatise: but, in justice to the Dean, I must observe, that, after having examined it, I do not esteem it one of his most correct productions; but am apt to think it has been more hastily composed than some other of them. It bears the title and form of a Letter; but it is, however, in truth, a Treatise design­ed for the Public: and, therefore, in examining it, we cannot proceed up­on the indulgence due to an epistolary correspondence. When a man address­es himself to a Friend only, it is sufficient if he makes himself fully under­stood [Page 141] by him; but when an Author writes for the Public, whether he assume the form of an Epistle or not, we are always en­titled to expect, that he shall express him­self with accuracy and care. Our Author begins thus:

‘ What I had the honour of mentioning to your Lord­ship, sometime ago, in conversation, was not a new thought, just then started by accident or occasion, but the result of long reflection; and I have been confirm­ed in my sentiments by the opinion of some very judici­ous persons with whom I consulted.’

THE disposition of circumstances in a Sentence, such as serve to limit or to quali­fy some assertion, or to denote time and place, I formerly showed to be a matter of nicety; and I observed, that it ought to be always held a rule, not to crowd such circumstances together, but rather to inter­mix them with more capital words, in such different parts of the Sentence as can admit them naturally. Here are two circum­stances of this kind placed together, which had better have been separated, Some time ago, in conversation—better thus:— What I had the honour, sometime ago, of mentioning to your Lordship in conversation—was not a new thought, proceeds our Author, started by accident or occasion: the dif­ferent meaning of these two words may not, at first, occur. They have, however, a distinct meaning, and are properly used: [Page 142] for it is one very laudable property of our Author's Style, that it is seldom incumbered with superfluous, synonymous words. Started by accident, is, fortuitously, or at random; started by occasion, is, by some incident, which at that time gave birth to it. His meaning is, that it was not a new thought which either casually sprung up in his mind, or was suggested to him, for the first time, by the train of the discourse: but, as he adds, was the result of long re­flection.—He proceeds:

‘ They all agreed, that nothing would be of greater use towards the improvement of knowledge and politeness, than some effectual method, for correcting, enlarging, and ascertaining our Language; and they think it a work very possible to be compassed under the protection of a prince, the countenance and encouragement of a ministry, and the care of proper persons chosen for such an under­taking.’

THIS is an excellent Sentence; clear, and elegant. The words are all simple, well chosen, and expressive; and are ar­ranged in the most proper order. It is a harmonious period too, which is a beauty not frequent in our Author. The last part of it consists of three members, which gra­dually rise and swell above one another, without any affected or unsuitable pomp;— under the protection of a prince, the coun­tenance and encouragement of a ministry, and the care of proper persons chosen for such an [Page 142] undertaking. We may remark, in the beginning of the Sentence, the proper use of the preposition towards—greater use to­wards the improvement of knowledge and po­liteness—importing the pointing or ten­dency of any thing to a certain end; which could not have been so well expressed by the preposition for, commonly employed in place of towards, by Authors who are less attentive, than Dean Swift was, to the force of words.

ONE fault might, perhaps, be found, both with this and the former Sentence, considered as introductory ones. We ex­pect, that an introduction is to unfold, clearly and directly, the subject that is to be treated of. In the first Sentence, our Author had told us, of a thought he men­tioned to his Lordship, in conversation, which had been the result of long reflecti­on, and concerning which he had consult­ed judicious persons. But what that thought was, we are never told directly. We gather it indeed from the second sen­tence, wherein he informs us, in what these judicious persons agreed; namely, that some method for improving the lan­guage was both useful and practicable. But this indirect method of opening the subject, would have been very faulty in a regular treatise; though the ease of the epistolary form, which our Author here [Page 144] assumes in addressing his patron, may ex­cuse it in the present case.

‘ I was glad to find your Lordship's answer in so differ­ent a style from what hath commonly been made use of, on the like occasions, for some years past; ‘"That all such thoughts must be deferred to a time of peace;"’ a topic which some have carried so far, that they would not have us, by any means, think of preserving our civil and religious constitution, because we are engaged in a war abroad.’

THIS Sentence also is clear and elegant; only there is one inaccuracy, when he speaks of his Lordship's answer being in so different a style from what had formerly been used. His answer to what? or to whom? For from any thing going before, it does not appear that any application or address had been made to his Lordship by those persons, whose opinion was mention­ed in the preceding Sentence; and to whom the answer, here spoken of, naturally re­fers. There is a little indistinctness, as I before observed, in our Author's manner of introducing his subject here.—We may observe too, that the phrase— glad to find your answer in so different a style—though abundantly suited to the language of con­versation, or of a familiar letter, yet, in regular composition, requires an additional word— glad to find your answer run in so different a style.

[Page 145] ‘ It will be among the distinguishing marks of your mini­stry, my Lord, that you have a genius above all such re­gards, and that no reasonable proposal, for the honour, the advantage, or ornament of your country, however foreign to your immediate office, was ever neglected by you.’

THE phrase— a genius above all such regards, both seems somewhat harsh, and does not clearly express what the Author means, namely, the confined views of those who neglected every thing that belonged to the arts of peace in the time of war.—B [...]ting this expression, there is nothing that can be subject to the least reprehension in this Sentence, nor in all that follows, to the end of the paragraph.

‘ I confess, the merit of this candor and condescension is very much lessened, because your Lordship hardly leaves us room to offer our good wishes; removing all our difficul­ties, and supplying our wants, faster than the most visiona­ry projector can adjust his schemes. And therefore, my Lord, the design of this paper is not so much to offer you ways and means, as to complain of a grievance, the re­dressing 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 such immediate benefit as either of these, or any other of your glorious actions, yet, perhaps, in future ages not less to your honour.’

THE compliments which the Dean here pays to his patron, are very high and strain­ed; and show, that, with all his surliness, [Page 146] he was as capable, on some occasions, of making his court to a great man by flat­tery, as other writers. However, with respect to the Style, which is the sole ob­ject of our present consideration, every thing here, as far as appears to me, is fault­less. In these Sentences, and, indeed, throughout this paragraph, in general, which we have now ended, our Author's Style appears to great advantage. We see that ease and simplicity, that correctness and distinctness, which particularly cha­racterise it. It is very remarkable, how few Latinised words Dean Swift employs. No writer, in our Language, is so purely English as he is, or borrows so little assist­ance from words of foreign derivation. From none can we take a better model of the choice and proper significancy of words. It is remarkable, in the Sentences we have now before us, how plain all the expres­sions are, and yet, at the same time, how significant; and, in the midst of that high strain of compliment into which he rises, how little there is of pomp, or glare of ex­pression. How very few writers can pre­serve this manly temperance of Style; or would think a compliment of this nature supported with sufficient dignity, unless they had embellished it with some of those high sounding words, whose chief effect is no other than to give their Language a stiff and forced appearance?

[Page 147] ‘ My Lord, I do here, in the name of all the learned and polite persons of the nation, complain to your Lord­ship, as First Minister, that our Language is extremely imperfect; that its daily improvements are by no means in proportion to its daily corruptions; that the pretenders to polish and refine it, have chiefly multiplied abuses and absurdities; and that, in many instances, it offends against every part of grammar.’

THE turn of this Sentence is extremely elegant. He had spoken before of a griev­ance for which he sought redress, and he carries on the allusion, by entering, here, directly on his subject, in the Style of a public representation presented to the Mi­nister of State. One imperfection, how­ever, there is in this Sentence, which, luckily for our purpose, serves to illustrate a rule before given, concerning the posi­tion of adverbs, so as to avoid ambiguity. It is in the middle of the Sentence;— that the pretenders to polish and refine it, have chiefly multiplied abuses and absurdities.—Now, concerning the import of this adverb, chiefly, I ask, whether it signifies that these pretenders to polish the Language, have been the chief persons who have multiplied its abuses, in distinction from others; or, that the chief thing which these pretenders have done, is to multiply the abuses of our Language, in opposition to their doing any thing to refine it? These two meanings are really different; and yet, by the position which the word chiefly has in the Sentence, [Page 148] we are left at a loss in which to understand it. The construction would lead us rather to the latter sense; that the chief thing which these pretenders have done, is to multiply the abuses of our Language. But it is more than probable, that the former sense was what the Dean intended, as it carries more of his usual satirical edge; ‘"that the pretended refiners of our Lan­guage were, in fact, its chief corruptors;"’ on which supposition, his words ought to have run thus: that the pretenders to polish and refine it, have been the chief persons to multiply its abuses and absurdities; which would have rendered the sense perfectly clear.

PERHAPS, too, there might be ground for observing farther upon this Sentence, that as Language is the object with which it sets out; that 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 scene; by making pretenders the ruling word, as is done in the second member of the enu­meration, and then, in the third, returning again to the former word, Language—That the pretenders to polish—and that, in many instances, it offends—I am persuaded, that the structure of the Sentence would have been more neat and happy, and its unity [Page 149] more complete, if the members of it had been arranged thus: ‘"That our Language is extremely imperfect; that its daily improvements are by no means in pro­portion to its daily corruptions; that, in many instances, it offends against eve­ry part of grammar; and that the pre­tenders to polish and refine it, have been the chief persons to multiply its abuses and absurdities."’—This degree of at­tention seemed proper to be bestowed on such a Sentence as this, in order to show how it might have been conducted after the most perfect manner. Our Author, after having said,

‘ Lest your Lordship should think my censure too severe, I shall take leave to be more par­ticular;’ proceeds in the following para­graph:

‘ I believe your Lordship will agree with me, in the reason why our Language is less refined than those of Italy, Spain, or France.’

I AM sorry to say, that now we shall have less 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 short Sentence, we may discern an inaccuracy— why our Language is less refined than those of Italy, Spain, and France; putting the pronoun those in the plural, when the antecedent [Page 150] substantive tow hich it refers is in the singu­lar, our Language. Instances of this kind may sometimes be found in English au­thors; but they sound harsh 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 less refined than the Italian, Spanish, or French."’

‘ It is plain, that the Latin Tongue, in its purity, was never in this island; towards the conquest of which, few or no attempts were made till the time of Claudius; neither was that Language ever so vulgar in Britain, as it is known to have been in Gaul and Spain.’

To say, that the Latin Tongue, in its pu­rity was never in this island, is very care­less Style; it ought to have been, was never spoken in this island. In the progress of the Sentence, he means to give a reason why the Latin was never spoken in its pu­rity amongst us, because our island was not conquered by the Romans till after the pu­rity of their Tongue began to decline. But this reason ought to have been brought out more clearly. This might easily have been done, and the relation of the several parts of the Sentence to each other much better pointed out by means of a small va­riation; thus: ‘"It is plain, that the Latin Tongue, in its purity, was never spoken [Page 151] in this island, as few or no attempts to­wards the conquest of it were made till the time of Claudius."’ He adds, Nei­ther was the Language ever so vulgar in Britain.—Vulgar was one of the worst words he could have chosen for expressing what he means here; namely, that the Latin Tongue was at no time so general, or so much in common use, in Britain, as it is known to have been in Gaul and Spain.— Vulgar, when applied to Language, com­monly signifies impure, or debased Lan­guage, such as is spoken by the low people, which is quite opposite to the Author's sense here; for, in place of meaning to say, that the Latin spoken in Britain was not so debased, as what was spoken in Gaul and Spain; he means just 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 against the Goths, and other barbarous invaders.’

THE chief scope of this Sentence is, to give a reason why the Latin Tongue did not strike any deep root in this island, on account of the short continuance of the Romans in it. He goes on:

‘ Meantime the Britons, left to shift for themselves, and daily harassed by cruel inroads from the Picts, were [Page 152] forced to call in the Saxons for their defence; who, con­sequently, reduced the greatest part of the island to their own power, drove the Britons into the most remote and mountainous parts, and the rest of the country, in cus­toms, religion, and language, became wholly Saxon.’

THIS is a very exceptionable sentence. Frst, the phrase left to shift for themselves, is rather a low phrase, and too much in the familiar Style to be proper in a grave treatise. Next, as the Sentence advances— forced to call in the Saxons for their defence, who, con­sequently, reduced the greatest part of the isl­and to their own power.—What is the mean­ing of consequently here? if it means ‘"af­terwards,"’ or ‘"in progress of time,"’ this, certianly, is not a sense in which consequent­ly is often taken; and therefore the expres­sion is chargeable with obscurity. The ad­verb, consequently, in its most common accep­tation, denotes one thing following from another, as an effect from a cause. If he uses it in this sense, and means that the Britons being subdued by the Saxons, was a necessary consequence of their having called in the these Saxons to their as­sistane, this consequence is drawn too ab­ruptly, and needed more explanation. For though it has often happened, that nations have been subdued by their own auxiliaries, yet this is not a consequence of such a na­ture that it can be assumed, as seems here to be done, for a first and self-evident prin­ciple.—But further, what shall we say to this phrase, reduced the greatest part of the [Page 153] island to their own power? we say reduce to rule, reduce to practice—we can say, that one nation reduces another to subjection—But when dominion or power is used, we always, as far as I know, say, reduce under their power. Re­duce to their power, is so harsh and uncom­mon an expression, that, though Dean Swift's authority in language be very great, yet, in the use of this phrase, I am of opi­nion, that it would not be safe to follow his example.

BESIDES these particular inaccuracies, this Sentence is chargeable with want of uni­ty in the composition of the whole. The persons and the scene are too often changed upon us—First, the Britons are mentioned, who are harrassed by inroads from the Picts; next, the Saxons appear, who subdue the greatest part of the island, and drive the Britons into the mountains; and, lastly, the rest of the country is introduced, and a description given of the change made up­on it. All this forms a groupe of various objects, presented in such quick succession, that the mind finds it difficult to compre­hend them under one view. Accordingly, it is quoted in the Elements of Criticism, as an instance of a sentence rendered faulty by the breach of unity.

‘ This I take to be the reason why there are more Latin words remaining in the British than the old Sax­on; which, excepting some few variations in the ortho­graphy, is the same in most original words with our pre­sent [Page 154] English, as well as with the German and other northern dialects.’

THIS Sentence is faulty, somewhat in the same manner with the last. It is loose in the connection of its parts; and, besides this, it is also too loosely connected with the preceding sentence. What he had there said, concerning the Saxons expelling the Britons, and changing the customs, the religi­on, and the language of the country, is a clear and good reason for our present language being Saxon rather than British. This is the inference which we would naturally ex­pect him to draw from the premises just be­fore laid down: But when he tells us, that this is the reason why there are more Latin words remaining in the British tongue than in the old Saxon, we are presently at a stand. No reason for this inference appears. If it can be gathered at all from the foreign de­duction, it is gathered only imperfectly. For, as he had told us, that the Britons had some conection with the Romans, he should have also told us, in order to make out his inference, that the Saxons never had any. The truth is, the whole of this paragraph concerning the influence of the Latin tongue upon ours, is careless, perplexed, and obscure. His argument required to have been more fully unfolded, in order to make it be distinctly apprehended, and to give it its due force. In the next para­graph, he proceeds to discourse concerning [Page 155] the influence of the French tongue upon our language. The Style becomes more clear, though not remarkable for great beauty or elegance.

‘ Edward the Confessor having lived long in France, appears to be the first who introduced any mixture of the French tongue with the Saxon; the court affecting what the Prince was fond of, and others taking it up for a fashion, as it is now with us. William the Conqueror proceeded much further, bringing over with him vast num­bers of that nation, scattering them in every monastery, giving them great quantities of land, directing all plead­ings to be in that language, and endeavouring to make it universal in the kingdom.’

ON these two Sentences, I have nothing of moment to observe. The sense is brought out clearly, and in simple, unaf­fected language.

‘ This, at least, is the opinion generally received; but your Lordship hath fully convinced me, that the French tongue made yet a greater progress here under Harry the Second, who had large territories on that continent both from his father and his wife; made frequent journeys and expeditions thither; and was always attended with a number of his countrymen, retainers at court.’

IN the beginning of this Sentence, our Author states an opposition between an opi, nion generally received, and that of his Lordship; and in compliment to his patron, he tells us, that his Lordship had convinced [Page 156] him of somewhat that differed from the ge­neral opinion. Thus one must naturally understand his words: This, at least, is the opinion generally received; but your Lordship hath fully convinced me—Now here there must be an inaccuracy of expression. For on examining what went before, there appears no sort of opposition 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 Confessor, in propagating the French language, and had endeavoured to make it universal. Lord Oxford's opinion was, that the French tongue had gone on to make a yet greater progress under Harry the Second, than it had done under his predecessor William: which two opinions are as entirely consis­tent with one another, as any can be; and therefore the opposition here affected to be stated between them, by the adversative particle but, was improper and ground­less.

‘ For some centuries after, there was a constant inter­course between France and England by the dominions we possessed there, and the conquests we made; so that our language, between two and three hundred years ago, seems to have had a greater mixture with French than at present; many words having been afterwards reject­ed, and same since the days of Spenser; although we have still retained not a few, which have been long anti­quated in France.’

[Page 157] THIS is a Sentence too long and intri­cate, and liable to the same objection that was made to a former one, of the want of unity. It consists of four members, each divided from the subsequent by a semico­lon. In going along, we naturally expect the Sentence is to end at the second of these, or, at farthest, at the third; when, to our surprise, a new member pops out upon us, and fatigues our attention in join­ing all the parts together. Such a struc­ture of a Sentence is always the mark of careless writing. In the first member of the Sentence, a constant intercourse between France and England, by the dominions we possessed there, and the conquests we made, the construction is not sufficiently filled up. In place of intercourse by the dominions we possessed, it should have been— by reason of the dominions we possessed—or— occasioned by the dominions we possessed—and in place of— the dominions we possessed there, and the conquests we made, the regular Style is— the dominions which we possessed there, and the conquests which we made. The relative pro­noun which, is indeed in phrases of this kind sometimes omitted: But, when it is omit­ted, the Style becomes elliptic; and though in conversation, or in the very light and easy kinds of writing, such elliptic Style may not be improper, yet in grave and re­gular writing, it is better to fill up the construction, and insert the relative pro­noun.—After having said— I could produce [Page 158] several instances of both kinds, if it were of any use or entertainment—our Author be­gins the next paragraph thus:

‘ To examine into the several circumstances 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 Sentence, unless that here occurs the first instance of a metaphor since the beginning of this treatise; entering into a wide field, be­ing put for beginning an extensive subject. Few writers deal less in figurative language than Swift. I before observed, that he ap­pears to despise ornaments of this kind; and though this renders his Style somewhat dry on serious subjects, yet his plainness and simplicity, I must not forbear to re­mind my readers, is far preferable to an estentatious and affected parade of orna­ment.

‘ I shall only observe, that the Latin, the French, and the English, seem to have undergone the same fortune. The first from the days of Romulus, to those of Julius Caesar, suffered perpetual changes; and by what we meet in those Authors who occasionally speak on that sub­ject, as well as from certain fragments of old laws, it is manifest that the Latin, three hundred years before Tully, was as unintelligible in his time, as the French and Eng­lish of the same period are now; and these two have changed as much since William the Conqueror (which is [Page 159] but little less 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 some instances have occured before; but none worse than this. It requires a very distinct head to comprehend the whole meaning of the period at first reading. In one part of it we find extreme carelessness of expression. He says, it is manifest that the Latin, 300 years before Tully, was as un­intelligible in his time, as the English and French of the same period are now. By the English and French of the same period, must naturally be understood, the English and French that were spoken three hundred years before Tully. This is the only grammatical meaning his words will bear; and yet as­suredly what he means, and what it would have been easy for him to have expressed with more precision, is, the English and French that were spoken 300 years ago; or at a period equally distant from our age, as the old Latin, which he had mentioned, was from the age of Tully. But when an author writes hastily, and does not review with proper care what he has written, many such inaccuracies will be apt to creep into his Style.

[Page 160] ‘ Whether our Language or the French will decline as fast as the Roman did, is a question that would perhaps admit more debate than it is worth. There were many reasons for the corruptions of the last; as the change of their government to a tyranny, which ruined the study of eloquence, there being no further use or encouragement for popular orators; their giving not only the freedom of the city, but capacity for employments, to several towns in Gaul, Spain, and Germany, and other distant parts, as far Asia, which brought a great number of foreign pretenders to Rome; the slavish disposition of the Senate and people, by which the wit and eloquence of the age were wholly turned into panegyric, the most barren of all subjects; the great corruption of manners, and intro­duction of foreign luxury, with foreign terms to express it, with several others that might be assigned; not to mention the invasion from the Goths and Vandals, which are too obvious to insist on.’

IN the enumeration here made of the causes contributing towards the corruption of the Roman Language, there are many in­accuracies— The change of their government to a tyranny—of whose government? He had indeed been speaking of the Roman language, and therefore we guess at his mean­ing; but the Style is ungrammatical; for he had not mentioned the Romans themselves; and therefore, when he says their govern­ment, there is no antecedent in the Sen­tence to which the pronoun, their, can refer with any propriety— Giving the capacity for employments to several towns in Gaul, is a questionable expression. For though towns [Page 161] are sometimes put for the people who inha­bit them, yet to give a town the capacity for employments, sounds harsh and uncouth.— The wit and eloquence of the age wholly turn­ed into panegyric, is a phrase which does not well express the meaning. Neither wit nor eloquence can be turned into panegyric; but they may be turned towards panegyric, or, employed in panegyric, which was the sense the Author had in view.

THE conclusion of the enumeration is visi­bly incorrect— The great corruption of man­ners, and introduction of foreign luxury, with foreign terms to express it, with several others that might be assigned—He means, with seve­ral other reasons. The word reasons, had indeed been mentioned before; but as it stands at the distance of thirteen lines back­ward, the repetition of it here became in­dispensable, in order to avoid ambiguity. Not to mention, he adds, the invasions front the Goths and Vandals, which are too obvious to insist on. One would imagine him to mean, that the invasions from the Goths and Vandals, are historical facts too well known and obvious to be insisted on. But he means quite a different thing, though he has not taken the proper [...] of ex­pressing it, through his haste, [...] finish the paragraph; namely, [...] invasions from the Goths and Vandals were causes of the corruption of the Ro­man [Page 162] Language too obvious to be insisted on.

I SHALL not pursue this criticism any further. I have been obliged to point out many inaccuracies in the passage which we have considered. But, in order that my observations may not be constructed as meant to depreciate the Style or the Writ­ings of Dean Swift below their just value, there are two remarks, which I judge it necessary to make before concluding this Lecture. One is, That it were unfair to estimate an Author's Style on the whole, by some passage in his writings, which chances to be composed in a careless man­ner. This is the case with respect to this treatise, which has much the appearance of a hasty production; though, as I before observed, it was by no means on that ac­count that I pitched upon it for the subject of this exercise. But after having examin­ed it, I am sensible that, in many other of his writings, the Dean is more accurate.

MY other observation, which applies equally to Dean Swift and Mr. Addison, is, that there may be writers much freer of such inaccuracies, as I have had occasion to point out in these two, whose Style, however, upon the whole, may not have half their merit. Refinement in Language has, of late years, begun to be much at­tended [Page 163] to. In several modern productions of very small value, I should find it diffi­cult to point out many errors in Language. The words might, probably, be all proper words, correctly and clearly arranged; and the turn of the sentence sonorous and mu­sical; whilst yet the Style, upon the whole, might deserve no praise. The fault often lies in what may be called the general cast, or complexion of the Style; which a per­son of a good taste discerns to be vicious; to be feeble, for instance, and diffuse; flimsy or affected; petulant or ostentatious; though the faults cannot be so easily point­ed out and particularised, as when they lie in some erroneous, or negligent construc­tion of a sentence. Whereas, such writers as Addison and Swift, carry always those general characters of good Style, which, in the midst of their occasional negligences, every person of good taste must discern and approve. We see their faults overbalanced by higher beauties. We see a writer of sense and reflection expressing his senti­ments without affectation, attentive to thoughts as well as to words; and, in the main current of his Language, elegant and beautiful; and, therefore, the only proper use to be made of the blemishes which oc­cur in the writings of such authors, is to point out to those who apply themselves to the study of composition, some of the rules which they ought to observe for avoiding such errors; and to render them sensible of [Page 164] the necessity of strict attention to Language and to Style. Let them imitate the ease and simplicity of those great authors; let them study to be always natural, and, as far as they can, always correct in their ex­pressions; let them endeavour to be, at some times, lively and striking; but care­fully avoid being at any time ostentatious and affected.

HAVING finished that part of the Course which relates to Language and Style, we are now to ascend a step higher, and to examine the subjects upon which Style is employed. I begin with what is properly called Eloquence, or Pub­lic Speaking. In treating of this, I am to consider the different kinds and subjects of Public Speaking; the manner suited to each; the proper distribution and manage­ment of all the parts of a discourse; and the proper pronunciation or delivery of it. But before entering on any of these heads, it may be proper to take a view of the na­ture of Eloquence in general, and of the state in which it has subsisted in different ages and countries. This will lead into [Page 166] some detail; but I hope an useful one; as in every art it is of great consequence to have a just idea of the perfection of the art, of the end at which it aims, and of the progress which it has made among man­kind.

OF Eloquence, in particular, it is the more necessary to ascertain the proper no­tion, because there is not any thing con­cerning which false notions have been more prevalent. Hence, it has been so often, and is still at this day, in disrepute with many. When you speak to a plain man of Eloquence, or in praise of it, he is apt to hear you with very little attention. He conceives Eloquence to signify a certain trick of Speech; the art of varnishing weak arguments plausibly; or of speaking so as to please and tickle the ear. ‘"Give me good sense,"’ says he, ‘"and keep your Eloquence for boys."’ He is in the right, if Eloquence were what he conceives it to be. It would be then a very contemptible art indeed, below the study of any wise or good man. But nothing can be more re­mote from truth. To be truly eloquent, is to speak to the purpose. For the best de­finition which, I think, can be given of Eloquence, is, the Art of Speaking in such a manner as to attain the end for which we speak. Whenever a man speaks or writes, he is supposed, as a rational being, to have some end in view; either to inform, or to [Page 167] amuse, or to persuade, or, in some way or other, to act upon his fellow-creatures. He who speaks, or writes, in such a manner as to adapt all his words most effectually to that end, is the most eloquent man. What­ever then the subject be, there is room for Eloquence; in history, or even in philoso­phy, as well as in orations. The definition which I have given of Eloquence, compre­hends all the different kinds of it; whether calculated to instruct, to persuade, or to please. But, as the most important subject of discourse is Action, or Conduct, the power of Eloquence chiefly appears when it is employed to influence Conduct, and persuade to Action. 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 Persuasion.

THIS being once established, certain consequences immediately follow, which point out the fundamental maxims of the Art. It follows clearly, that, in order to persuade, the most essential requisites are, solid argument, clear method, a character of probity appearing in the Speaker, joined with such graces of Style and utterance, as shall draw our attention to what he says. Good sense is the foundation of all. No man can be truly eloquent without it; for fools can persuade none but fools. In or­der to persuade a man of sense, you must [Page 168] first convince him; which is only to be done, by satisfying his understanding of the reasonableness of what you propose to him.

THIS leads me to observe, that convin­cing and persuading, though they are some­times confounded, import, notwithstand­ing, different things, which it is necessary for us, at present, to distinguish from each other. Conviction affects the understand­ing only; persuasion, the will and the practice. It is the business of the philoso­pher to convince me of truth; it is the bu­siness of the orator to persuade me to act agreeably to it, by engaging my affections on its side. Conviction, and persuasion, do not always go together. They ought, indeed, to go together; and would do so, if our inclination regularly followed the dic­tates of our understanding. But as our na­ture is constituted, I may be convinced, that virtue, justice, or public spirit, are laudable, while, at the same time, I am not persuaded to act according to them. The inclination may revolt, though the under­standing be satisfied: the passions may pre­vail against the judgment. Conviction is, however, always one avenue to the incli­nation, or heart; and it is that which an Orator must first bend his strength to gain: for no persuasion is likely to be stable, which is not founded on conviction. But, in order to persuade, the Orator must go [Page 169] farther than merely producing conviction; he must consider man as a creature moved by many different springs, and must act upon them all. He must address himself to the passions; he must paint to the fancy, and touch the heart; and, hence, besides solid argument, and clear method, all the conciliating and interesting arts, both of Composition and Pronunciation, enter into the idea of Eloquence.

AN objection may, perhaps, hence be formed against Eloquence; as an Art which may be employed for persuading to ill, as well as to good. There is no doubt that it may; and so reasoning may also be, and too often is employed, for leading men into er­ror. But who would think of forming an argument from this against the cultivation of our reasoning powers? Reason, Elo­quence, and every Art which ever has been studied among mankind, may be abused, and may prove dangerous in the hands of bad men; but it were perfectly childish to contend, that, upon this account, they ought to be abrogated. Give truth and vir­tue the same arms which you give vice and falsehood, and the former are likely to pre­vail. Eloquence is no invention of the schools. Nature teaches every man to be eloquent, when he is much in earnest. Place him in some critical situation; let him have some great interest at stake, and you will see him lay hold of the most effec­tual [Page 170] means of persuasion. The Art of Ora­tory proposes nothing more than to follow out that track which Nature has first point­ed out to men. And the more exactly that this track is pursued, the more that Elo­quence is properly studied, the more shall we be guarded against the abuse which bad men make of it, and enabled the better to distinguish between true Eloquence and the tricks of Sophistry.

WE may distinguish three kinds, or de­grees of Eloquence. The first, and lowest, is that which aims only at pleasing the hearers. Such, generally, is the Eloquence of panegyricks, inaugural orations, addres­ses to great men, and other harangues of this sort. This ornamental sort of eompo­sition is not altogether to be rejected. It may innocently amuse and entertain the mind; and it may be mixed, at the same time, with very useful sentiments. But it must be confessed, that where the Speak­er has no farther aim than merely to shine and to please, there is great danger of Art being strained into ostentation, and of the composition becoming tiresome and lan­guid.

A SECOND and a higher degree of lo­quence is, when the Speaker aims not me­rely to please, but also to inform, to instruct, to convince: when his Art is exerted, in re­moving prejudiees against himself and his [Page 171] cause, in chusing the most proper argu­ments, stating them with the greatest force, arranging them in the best order, expressing and delivering them with propriety and beauty; and thereby disposing us to pass that judgment, or embrace that side of the cause, to which he seeks to bring us. With­in this compass, chiefly, is employed the Eloquence of the bar.

BUT there is a third, and still higher de­gree of Eloquence, wherein a greater pow­er is exerted over the human mind; by which we are not only convinced, but are interested, agitated, and carried along with the Speaker; our passions are made to rise together with his; we enter into all his e­motions; we love, we detest, we resent, ac­cording as he inspires us; and are prompted to resolve, or to act, with vigour and warmth. Debate, in popular assemblies, opens the most illustrious field to this species of Elo­quence; and the pulpit, also, admits it.

I AM here to observe, and the observati­on is of consequence, that the high Elo­quence which I have last mentioned, is al­ways the offspring of passion. By passion, I mean that state of the mind in which it is agitated, and fired, by some object it has in view. A man may convince, and even per­suade others to act, by mere reason and argument. But that degree of Eloquence which gains the admiration of mankind, and [Page 172] properly denominates one an Orator, is ne­ver found without warmth or passion. Pas­sion, when in such a degree as to rouse and kindle the mind, without throwing it out of the possession of itself, is universally found to exalt all the human powers. It renders the mind infinitely more enlighten­ed, more penetrating, more vigorous and masterly, than it is in its calm moments. A man, actuated by a strong passion, becomes much greater than he is at other times. He is conscious of more strength and force; he utters greater sentiments, conceives higher designs, and executes them with a bold­ness and a felicity, of which, on other oc­casions, he could not think himself capable. But chiefly, with respect to persuasion, is the power of passion felt. Almost every man, in passion, is eloquent. Then, he is at no loss for words and arguments. He transmits to others, by a sort of contagious sympathy, the warm sentiments which he feels; his looks and gestures are all persua­sive; and Nature here shows herself infinite­ly more powerful than all art. This is the foundation of that just and noted rule: ‘"Si vis me flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi."’

THIS principle being once admitted, that all high Eloquence flows from passion, seve­ral consequences follow, which deserve to be attended to; and the mention of which will serve to confirm the principle itself. [Page 173] For hence, the universally acknowledged effect of enthusiasm, or warmth of any kind, in public Speakers, for affecting their audience. Hence all laboured declamation, and affected ornaments of Style, which shew the mind to be cool and unmoved, are so inconsistent with persuasive Eloquence. Hence all studied prettinessess, in gesture or pronunciation, detract so greatly from the weight of a Speaker. Hence a dis­course that is read, moves us less than one that is spoken, as having less the appear­ance of coming warm from the heart. Hence, to call a man cold, is the same thing as to say, that he is not eloquent. Hence a sceptical man, who is always in suspense, and feels nothing strongly; or a cunning mercenary man, who is suspected rather to assume the appearance of passion than to feel it; have so little power over men in Public Speaking. Hence, in fine, the necessity of being, and being believed to be, disinterested, and in earnest, in or­der to persuade.

THESE are some of the capital ideas which have occured to me, concerning Eloquence in general; and with which I have thought proper to begin, as the foun­dation of much of what I am afterwards to suggest. From what I have already said, it is evident that Eloquence is a high ta­lent, and of great importance in society; and that it requires both natural genius, [Page 174] and much improvement from Art. Viewed as the Art of Persuasion, it requires, in its lowest state, soundness of understanding, and considerable acquaintance with human nature; and, in its higher degrees, it re­quires, moreover, strong sensibility of mind, a warm and lively imagination, joined with correctness of judgment, and an extensive command of the power of Language; to which must also be added, the graces of Pronunciation and Delivery.—Let us next proceed, to consider in what state Elo­quence has subsisted in different ages and nations.

IT is an observation made by several writers, that Eloquence is to be looked for only in free states. Longinus, in particu­lar, at the end of his treatise on the Sub­lime, when assigning the reason why so little sublimity of genius appeared in the age wherein he lived, illustrates this obser­vation with a great deal of beauty. Liber­ty, he remarks, is the nurse of true genius; it animates the spirit, and invigorates the hopes of men; excites honourable emula­tion, and a desire of excelling in every Art. All other qualifications, he says, you may find among those who are deprived of li­berty; but never did a slave become an orator; he can only be a pompous flatterer. Now, though this reasoning be, in the main true; it must, however, be under­stood with some limitations. For, under [Page 175] arbitrary governments, if they be of the ci­vilised kind, and give encouragement to the arts, ornamental Eloquence may flourish remarkably. Witness France at this day, where, ever since the reign of Louis XIV., more of what may justly be called Eloquence, within a certain sphere, is to be found, than, perhaps, in any other nation of Europe; though free­dom be enjoyed by some of them in a much greater degree. Their sermons, and orations pronounced on publick occasions, are not only polite and elegant harangues, but several of them are uncommonly spirit­ed, animated with bold figures, and rise to a degree of the Sublime. Their Eloquence, however, in general, must be confessed to be of the flowery, rather than the vigorous kind; calculated more to please and soothe, than to convince and persuade. High, manly, and forcible Eloquence is, indeed, to be looked for only, or chiefly, in the re­gions of freedom. Under arbitrary govern­ments, besides the general turn of softness and effeminacy which such governments may be justly supposed to give to the spirit of a nation, the art of speaking cannot be such an instrument of ambition, business, and power, as it is in more democratical states. It is confifed within a narrower range; it can be exerted only in the pulpit, or at the bar; but is excluded from those great scenes of public business, where the spirits of men have the freest play; where [Page 176] important affairs are transacted, and per­suasion of course, is more seriously studied. Wherever man can acquire most power over man by means or reason and discourse, which certainly is under a free state of go­vernment, there we may naturally expect that true Eloquence will be best under­stood, and carried to the greatest height.

HENCE, in tracing the rise of Oratory, we need not attempt to go far back into the early ages of the world, or search for it among the monuments of Eastern or Egyp­tian antiquity. In those 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 reason to believe, as I formerly shewed, that the Language of the first ages was pas­sionate and metaphorical; owing partly to the scanty stock of words, of which Speech then consisted; and partly to the tincture which Language naturally takes from the savage and uncultivated state of men, agi­tated by unrestrained passions, and struck by events, which to them are strange and surprising. In this state, rapture and en­thusiasm, the parents of Poetry, had an ample field. But while the intercourse of men was as yet unfrequent, and force and strength were the chief means employed in deciding controversies, the arts of Oratory and Persuasion, of Reasoning and Debate, could be but little known. The first empires [Page 177] that arose, the Assyrian and Egyptian, were of the despotic kind. The whole power was in the hands of one, or at most of a few. The multitude were accustomed to a blind reverence: they were led, not persuaded; and none of those refinements of society, which make public speaking an object of importance, were as yet intro­duced.

IT is not till the rise of the Grecian Re­publics, that we find any remarkable ap­pearances of Eloquence as the art of per­suasion; and these gave it such a field as it never had before, and, perhaps, has never had again since that time. And, therefore, as the Grecian Eloquence has ever been the object of admiration to those who have studied the powers of Speech, it is neces­sary, that we fix our attention, for a little, on this period.

GREECE was divided into a multitude of petty states. These were governed, at first, by kings who were called Tyrants, and who being, in succession, expelled from all these states, there sprung up a great number of democratical governments, sounded near­ly on the same plan, animated by the same high spirit of freedom, mutually jealous, and rivals of each other. We may compute the flourishing period of those Grecian states, to have lasted from the battle of Ma­rathon, till the time of Alexander the [Page 178] Great, who subdued the liberties of Greece; a period which comprehends about 150 years, and within which are to be found most of their celebrated poets and philoso­phers, but chiefly their Orators: for though poetry and philosophy were not extinct among them after that period, yet Elo­quence hardly made any figure.

OF these Grecian Republics, the most noted, by far, for Eloquence, and, indeed, for arts of every kind, was that of Athens. The Athenians were an ingenious, quick, sprightly people; practised in business, and sharpened by frequent and sudden revolu­tions, which happened in their government. The genius of their government was en­tirely democratical; their legislature con­sisted 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 last resort; and af­fairs were conducted there, altogether, by reasoning, speaking, and a skilful applica­tion to the passions and interests of a popu­lar assembly. There, laws were made, peace and war decreed, and thence the magistrates were chosen. For the highest honours of the state were alike open to all; nor was the meanest tradesman excluded from a seat in their supreme courts. In such a state, Eloquence, it is obvious, would be much studied, as the surest means of rising to influence and power; and what [Page 179] sort of Eloquence? Not that which was brilliant merely, and showy, but that which was found, upon trial, to be most effectual for convincing, interesting, and persuad­ing the hearers. For there, public speak­ing was not a mere competition for empty applause, but a serious contention for that public leading, which was the great object both of the men of ambition, and the men of virtue.

AMONG a nation so enlightened and acute, and where the highest attention was paid to every thing elegant in the arts, we may naturally expect to find the public taste refined and judicious. Accordingly, it was improved to such a degree, that the Attic taste and Attic manner have passed into a proverb. It is true, that ambitious demagogues, and corrupt orators, did some­times dazzle and mislead the people, by a showy but false Eloquence; for the Athe­nians, with all their acuteness, were fac­tious and giddy, and great admirers of eve­ry novelty. But when some important in­terest drew their attention, when any great danger roused them, and put their judg­ment to a serious trial, they commonly dis­tinguished, very justly, between genuine and spurious Eloquence: and hence De­mosthenes triumphed over all his oppo­nents; because he spoke always to the pur­pose, affected no insignificant parade of words, used weighty arguments, and shew­ed [Page 180] them clearly where their interest lay. In critical conjunctures of the state, when the public was alarmed with some pressing danger, when the people were assembled, and proclamation was made by the crier, for any one to rise and deliver his opinion upon the present situation of affairs, empty declamation and sophistical reasoning would not only have been hissed, but resented and punished by an assembly so intelligent and accustomed to business. Their great­est Orators trembled on such occasions, when they rose to address the people, as they knew they were to be held answerable for the issue of the counsel which they gave. The most liberal endowments of the greatest princes never could found such a school for true oratory, as was formed by the nature of the Athenian Republic. Eloquence there sprung, native and vigo­rous, from amidst the contentions of fac­tion and freedom, of public business, and of active life; and not from that retire­ment and speculation, which we are apt sometimes to fancy more favourable to Eloquence than they are found to be.

PYSISTRATUS, who was cotemporary with Solon, and subverted his plan of go­vernment, is mentioned by Plutarch, as the first who distinguished himself among the Athenians by application to the Arts of Speech. His ability in these arts, he employed for raising himself to the sove­reign [Page 181] power; which, however, when he had attained, he exercised with moderation. Of the Orators who flourished between his time and the Peloponnesian war, no par­ticular mention is made in history. Peri­cles, who died about the beginning of that war, was properly the first who carried Eloquence to a great height; to such a height indeed, that it does not appear he was ever afterwards surpassed. He was more than an Orator; he was also a States­man and a General; expert in business, and of consummate address. For forty years, he governed Athens with absolute sway; and historians ascribe his influence, not more to his political talents than to his Eloquence, which was of that forcible and vehement kind, that bore every thing before it, and triumphed over the passions and affections of the people. Hence he had the surname of Olympias given him: and it was said, that, like Jupiter, he thundered when he spoke. Though his ambition be liable to censure, yet great virtues certainly he had; and it was the confidence which the people reposed in his integrity, that gave such power to his Eloquence; a circumstance, without which the influence of public speaking in a po­pular state can seldom go far. He appears to have been generous, magnanimous, and public spirited: he raised no fortune to himself; he expended indeed great sums of the public money, but chiefly on pub­lic [Page 182] works; and at his death is said to have valued himself principally on having ne­ver obliged any citizen to wear mourn­ing on his account, during his long admi­nistration. It is a remarkable particular recorded of Pericles by Suidas, that he was the first Athenian who composed, and put into writing, a discourse designed for the public.

POSTERIOR to Pericles, in the course of the Peloponnesian war, arose Cleon, Alcibiades, Critias, and Theramenes, emi­nent citizens of Athens, who were all dis­tinguished for their Eloquence. They were not Orators by profession; they were not formed by schools, but by a much more powerful education, that of business and debate; where man sharpened man, and civil affairs carried on by public speak­ing, called forth every exertion of the mind. The manner or style of Oratory which then prevailed, we learn from the Orations in the history of Thucydides, who also flourished in the same age. It was manly, vehement, and concise, even to some degree of obscurity. ‘"Grandes erant verbis,"’ says Cicero, ‘"crebri sen­tentiis, compressione rerum breves, et, ob eam ipsam causam, interdum subob­scuri ^*."’ A manner very different from [Page 183] what in modern times we would conceive to be the Style of popular Oratory; and which tends to give a high idea of the acuteness of thsoe audiences to which they spoke.

THE power of Eloquence having, after the days of Pericles, become an object of greater consequence than ever, this gave birth to a set of men till then unknown, called Rhetoricians, and sometimes Sophists, who arose in multitudes during the Pelopon­nesian war; such as Protagoras, Prodicas, Thrasymus, and one who was more emi­nent than all the rest, Gorgias of Leontium. These Sophists joined to their art of rheto­ric a subtile logic, and were generally a sort of metaphysical Sceptics. Gorgias, how­ever, was a professed master of Eloquence only. His reputation was prodigious. He was highly venerated in Leontium of Sicily, his native city; and money was coined with his name upon it. In the latter part of his life, he established himself at Athens, and lived till he had attained the age of 105 years. Hermogenes (de Ideis, l. ii. cap. 9.) has pre­served a fragment of his, from which we see his style and manner. It is extremely quaint and artificial; full of antithesis and pointed expression; and shows how far the Grecian subtilty had already carried the study of language. These Rhetoricians did not content themselves with delivering ge­neral instructions concerning Eloquence to [Page 184] their pupils, and endeavouring to form their taste; but they professed the art of giving them receipts for making all sorts of Orati­ons; and of teaching them how to speak for, and against, every cause whatever. Upon this plan, they were the first who treated of common places, and the artificial invention of arguments and topics for every subject. In the hands of such men, we may easily believe that Oratory would dege­nerate from the masculine strain it had hi­therto held, and become a trifling and so­phistical art: and we may justly deem them the first corrupters of true Eloquence. To them, the great Socrates opposed himself. By a profound, but simple reasoning pecu­liar to himself, he exploded their sophistry; and endeavoured to recall men's attention from that abuse of reasoning and discourse which began to be in vogue, to natural lan­guage, and sound and useful thought.

IN the same age, though somewhat later than the philosopher above-mentioned, flourished Isocrates, whose writings are still extant. He was a professed Rhetorician, and by teaching Eloquence, he acquired both a great fortune, and higher fame than any of his rivals in that profession. No con­temptible Orator he was. His orations are full of morality and good sentiments: they are flowing and smooth; but too destitute of vigour. He never engaged in public affairs, nor pleaded causes; and accordingly his [Page 185] orations are calculated only for the shade: ‘"Pompae,"’ Cicero allows, ‘"magis quam pugnae aptior; ad voluptatem aurium ac­commodatus potius quam ad judiciorum certamen ^*."’ The Style of Gorgias of Leontium was formed into short sentences, composed generally of two members balanc­ed against each other. The Style of Isocra­tes, on the contrary, is swelling and full; and he is said to be the first who introduc­ed the method of composing in regular pe­riods, which had a studied music and har­monious cadence; a manner which he has carried to a vicious excess. What shall we think of an orator, who employed ten years in composing one discourse, still extant, en­titled the Panegyric? How much frivolous care must have been bestowed on all the minute elegance of words and sentences? Dionysius of Halicarnassus has given us upon the orations of Isocrates, as also upon those of some other Greek orators, a full and re­gular treatise, which is, in my opinion, one of the most judicious pieces of ancient criticism extant, and very worthy of being consulted. He commends the splendor of Isocrates's Style, and the morality of his sen­timents; but severely censures his affecta­tion, and the uniform regular cadence of all his sentences. He holds him to be a florid declaimer; not a natural persuasive speak­er. [Page 186] Cicero, in his critical works, though he admits his failings, yet discovers a pro­pensity to be very favourable to that ‘"ple­na ac numerosa oratio,"’ that swelling and musical style, which Isocrates intro­duced; and with the love of which, Cice­ro himself was, perhaps, somewhat infect­ed. In one of his Treatise (Orat. 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 Isocrates. The manner of Isocrates gene­rally catches young people, when they be­gin to attend to composition; and it is very natural that it should do so. It gives them an idea of that regularity, cadence, and magnificence of style, which fills the ear: but when they come to write or speak for the world, they will find this ostentatious manner unfit, either for carrying on business, or commanding attention. It is said, that the high reputation of Isocrates prompted Aristotle, who was nearly his cotemporary, or lived but a little after him, to write his institutions of Rhetoric; which are indeed formed upon a plan of Eloquence very dif­ferent from that of Isocrates, and the Rhe­toricians of that time. He seems to have had it in view to direct the attention of ora­tors much more towards convincing and af­fecting their hearers, than towards the mu­sical cadence of periods.

[Page 187] IS AEUS and Lysias, some of whose orati­ons are preserved, belong also to this period. Lysias was somewhat earlier than Isocrates, and is the modle of that manner which the ancients call the ‘"Tenuis vel Subtilis."’ He has none of Isocrates's pomp. He is every where pure and attic in the highest de­gree; simple and unaffected; but wants force, and is sometimes frigid in his composi­tions ^*. Isaeus is chiefly remarkable for be­ing [Page 188] the master of the great Demosthenes, in whom, it must be acknowledged, Elo­quence shone forth with higher splendor, than perhaps in any that ever bore the name of an orator, and whose manner and character, therefore, must deserve our par­ticular attention.

I SHALL not spend any time upon the circumstances of Demosthenes's life; they are well known. The strong ambition which he discovered to excel in the art of speaking; the unsuccessfulness of his first attempts; his unwearied perseverance in surmounting all the disadvantages that arose from his person and address; his shutting himself up in a cave, that he might study with less distraction; his declaiming by the sea-shore, that he might accustom himself to the noise of a tumultuous assembly, and with pebbles in his mouth, that he might correct a defect in his speech; his practising [Page 189] at home with a naked sword hanging over his shoulder, that he might check an un­graceful motion, to which he was subject; all those circumstances which, we learn from Plutarch, are very encouraging to such as study Eloquence, as they show how far art and application may avail, for acquiring an excellence which nature seem­ed unwilling to grant us.

DESPISING the affected and florid man­ner which the Rhetoricians of that age fol­lowed, Demosthenes returned to the forcible and manly Eloquence of Pericles; and strength and vehemence form the principle characteristics of his Style. Never had ora­tor a finer field than Domesthenes in his Olynthiacs and Philippics, which are his capital Orations; and, no doubt, to the nobleness of the subject, and to that in­tegrity and public spirit which eminently breathe in them, they are indebted for much of their merit. The subject, is to rouze the indignation of his countrymen against Philip of Macedon, the public enemy of the liberties of Greece; and to guard them against the insidious measures, by which that crafty Prince endeavoured to lay them asleep to danger. In the prosecution of this end, we see him taking every proper method to animate a people, renowned for justice, humanity, and valour, but in many in­stances become corrupt and degenerate. He boldly taxes them with their venality, [Page 190] their indolence, and indifference to the public cause; while, at the same time, with all the art of an Orator, he recals the glory of their ancestors to their thoughts, shows them that they are still a flourishing and a powerful people, the natural protec­tors of the liberty of Greece, and who wanted only the inclination to exert them­selves, in order to make Philip tremble. With his cotemporary orators, who were in Philip's interest, and who persuaded the people to peace, he keeps no measures, 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 exact­ness, the measures of execution. This is the strain of these orations. They are strongly animated; and full of the impe­tuosity and fire of public spirit. They proceed in a continued train of inductions, consequences, and demonstrations, found­ed on sound reason. The figures which he uses, are never sought after; but always rise from the subject. He employs them sparingly indeed; for splendor and orna­ment are not the distinctions of this Orator's composition. It is an energy of thought peculiar to himself, which forms his cha­racter, and sets him above all others. He appears to attend much more to things than to words. We forget the orator, and think of the business. He warms the mind, and [Page 191] impels to action. He has no parade and os­tentation; no methods of insinuation; no laboured introductions; but is like a man full of his subject, who, after preparing his audience by a sentence or two for hear­ing plain truths, enters directly on business.

DEMOSTHENES appears to great advan­tage, when contrasted with Aeschines in the celebrated oration "pro Corona." Aes­chines was his rival in business, and per­sonal enemy; and one of the most distin­guished Orators of that age. But when we read the two orations, Aeschines is feeble in comparison of Domosthenes, and makes much less impression on the mind. His reasonings concerning the law that was in question, are indeed very subtile; but his invective against Demosthenes is general, and ill supported. Whereas Demosthenes is a torrent, that nothing can resist. He bears down his antagonist with violence; he draws his character in the strongest co­lours; and the particular merit of that oration is, that all the descriptions in it are highly picturesque. There runs through it a strain of magnanimity and high ho­nour: the Orator speaks with that strength and conscious dignity which great actions and public spirit alone inspire. Both Ora­tors use great liberties with one another; and in general, that unrestrained licence which ancient manners permitted, even to [Page 192] the length of abusive names and downright scurrility, as appears both here and in Ci­cero's Philippics, hurts and offends a mo­dern ear. What those ancient Orators gained by such a manner in point of free­dom and boldness, is more than compen­sated by want of dignity; which seems to give an advantage, in this respect, to the greater decency of modern speaking.

THE Style of Demosthenes is strong and concise, though sometimes, it must not be dissembled, harsh and abrupt. His words are very expressive; his arrangement is firm and manly; and, though far from being unmusical, yet it seems difficult to find in him that studied, but concealed number, and Rythmus, which some of the ancient critics are fond of attributing to him. Ne­gligent of those lesser graces, one would rather conceive him to have aimed at that Sublime which lies in sentiment. His acti­on and pronunciation are recorded to have been uncommonly vehement and ardent; which, from the manner of his composition, we are naturally led to believe. The cha­racter which one forms of him, from read­ing his works, is of the austere, rather than the gentle kind. He is, on every oc­casion, grave, serious, passionate; takes e­very thing on a high tone; never lets him­self down, nor attempts any thing like plea­santry. If any fault can be found to his [Page 193] admirable Eloquence, it is, that he some­times borders on the hard and dry. He may be thought to want smoothness and grace; which Dionysius of Halicarnassus attributes to his imitating too closely the manner of Thucydides, who was his great model for Style, and whose his­tory he is said to have written eight times over with his own hand. But these defects are far more than compen­sated, by that admirable and masterly force of masculine Eloquence, which, as it over­powered all who heard it, cannot, at this day, be read without emotion.

AFTER the days of Demosthenes, Greece lost her liberty, Eloquence of course lan­guished, and relapsed again into the feeble manner introduced by the Rhetoricians and Sophists. Demetrius Phalerius, who lived in the next age to Demosthenes, attained indeed some character, but he is represent­ed to us as a flowery, rather than a per­suasive speaker, who aimed at grace rather than substance. ‘"Delectabat Athenienses,"’ says Cicero, ‘"magis quam inflammabat."’ ‘"He amused the Athenians, rather than warmed them."’ And after his time, we hear of no more Grecian Orators of any note.

HAVING treated of the rise of Elo­quence, and of its state among the Greeks, we now proceed to consider its progress among the Romans, where we shall find one model, at least, of Eloquence, in its most splendid and illustrious form. The Romans were long a martial nation, altogether rude, and unskilled in arts of any kind. Arts were of late introduction among them; they were not known till after the conquest of Greece; and the Ro­mans always acknowledged the Grecians as their masters in every part of learn­ing.

AS the Romans derived their Eloquence, Poetry, and Learning from the Greeks, so they must be confessed to be far inferior to them in genius for all these accomplish­ments. They were a more grave and mag­nificent, but a less acute and sprightly peo­ple. They had neither the vivacity nor the sensibility of the Greeks; their passions were not so easily moved, nor their concep­tions so lively; in comparison of them, they were a phlegmatic nation. Their language resembled their character; it was regular, firm, and stately; but wanted that simple and expressive naïveté, and, in par­ticular, that flexibility to suit every diffe­rent mode and species of composition, for which the Greek tongue is distinguished above that of every other country.

[Page 196] And hence, when we compare together the various rival productions of Greece and Rome, we shall always find this distinction obtain, that in the Greek productions there is more native genius; in the Roman, more regularity and art. What the Greeks invented, the Romans polished; the one was the original, rough sometimes, and in­correct; the other, a finished 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 speaking became early an engine of government, and was em­ployed for gaining distinction and power. But in the rude unpolished times of the State, their speaking was hardly of that sort that could be called Eloquence. Though Cicero, in his Treatise "de Claris Oratoribus," endeavours to give some reputation to the elder Cato, and those who were his contemporaries, yet he ac­knowledges it to have been ‘"Asperum et horridum genus dicendi,"’ a rude and harsh strain of speech. It was not till a short time preceding Cicero's age, that the Roman Orators rose into any note. Crassus and Antonius, two of the Speakers in the dialogue De Oratore, appear to have been the most eminent, whose different man­ners Cicero describes with great beauty in that dialogue, and in his other rhe­torical works. But as none of their productions [Page 197] are extant, nor any of Horten­sius's, who was Cicero's cotemporary and rival at the bar, it is needless to transcribe from Cicero's writings the account which he gives of those great men, and of the character of their Eloquence ^*.

THE object in this period, most worthy to draw our attention, is Cicero himself; whose name alone suggests every thing that is splendid in Oratory. With the history of his life, and with his character, as a man and a politician, we have not at pre­sent any direct concern. We consider him only as an eloquent Speaker; and, in this view, it is our business to remark both his virtues, and his defects, if he has any. His virtues are, beyond controversy, emi­nently great. In all his Orations there is high art. He begins, generally, with a regular exordium; and with much prepa­ration and insinuation prepossesses the hear­ers, and studies to gain their affections. His method is clear, and his arguments are arranged with great propriety. His me­thod is indeed more clear than that of De­mosthenes; and this is one advantage which he has over him. We find every thing in [Page 198] its proper place; he never attempts to move, till he has endeavoured to convince; and in moving, especially the softer pas­sions, he is very successful. No man, that ever wrote, knew the power and force of words better than Cicero. He rolls them along with the greatest beauty and pomp; and, in the structure of his sentences, is curious and exact to the highest degree. He is always full and flowing, never ab­rupt. He is a great amplifier of every sub­ject; magnificent, and in his sentiments highly moral. His manner is on the whole diffuse, yet it is often happily varied, and suited to the subject. In his four orations, for instance, against Catiline, the tone and style of each of them, particularly the first and last, is very different, and accommo­dated with a great deal of judgment to the occasion, and the situation in which they were spoken. When a great public object roused his mind, and demanded indigna­tion and force, he departs considerably from that loose and declamatory man­ner to which he inclines at other times, and becomes exceedingly cogent and ve­hement. This is the case in his Orations against Anthony, and in those two against Verres and Catiline.

TOGETHER with those high qualities which Cicero possesses, he is not exempt from certain defects, of which it is necessary to take notice. For the Ciceronian Elo­quence [Page 199] is a pattern so dazzling by its beau­ties, that, if not examined with accuracy and judgment, it is apt to betray the un­wary into a faulty imitation; and I am of opinion, that it has sometimes produced this effect. In most of his Orations, espe­cially those composed in the earlier part of his life, there is too much art; even car­ried the length of ostentation. There is too visible a parade of Eloquence. He seems often to aim at obtaining admiration, rather than at operating conviction, by what he says. Hence, on some occasions, he is showy rather than solid; and diffuse, where he ought to have been pressing. His sentences are, at all times, round and so­norous; they cannot be accused of mono­tony, for they possess variety of cadence; but, from too great a study of magnificence, he is sometimes deficient in strength. On all occasions, where there is the least room for it, he is full of himself. His great ac­tions, and the real services which he had performed to his country, apologize for this in part; ancient manners, too, im­posed fewer restraints from the side of de­corum; but, even after these allowances made, Cicero's ostentation of himself can­not be wholly palliated; and his Orations, indeed all his works, leave on our minds the impression of a good man, but withal, of a vain man.

[Page 200] THE defects which we have now taken notice of in Cicero's Eloquence, were not unobserved by his own cotemporaries. This we learn from Quinctilian, and from the author of the dialogue, "de Causis Cor­ruptae Eloquentiae," Brutus, we are in­formed, called him, ‘"fractum et elum­bem,"’ broken and enervated. ‘"Suorum temporum homines,"’ says Quinctilian, ‘"in­cessere audebant eum ut tumidiorem & Asianum, et redundantem, et in repititi­onibus nimium, et in salibus aliquando fri­gidum, & in compositione fractum et exsul­tantem, & pene viro molliorem ^*."’ These censures were undoubtedly carried too far; and savour of malignity and personal enmi­ty. They saw his defects, but they aggrava­ted them; and theso urce of these aggravati­ons can be traced to the difference which prevailed in Rome, in Cicero's days, be­tween two great parties, with respect to Eloquence. The ‘"Attici,"’ and the ‘"Asiani."’ The former, who called them­selves the Attics, were the patrons of what they conceived to be the chaste, simple, and natural Style of Eloquence; from which they accused Cicero as having departed, and as leaning to the florid Asiatic manner. In several of his rhetorical works, particularly [Page 201] in his "Orator ad Brutum," Cicero, in his turn, endeavours to expose this sect, as substituting a frigid and jejune manner, in place of the true Attic Eloquence; and con­tends, that his own composition was form­ed upon the real Attic Style. In the 10th Chapter of the last Book of Quinctilian's Institutions, a full account is given of the disputes between these two parties; and of the Rhodian, or middle manner between the Attics and the Asiatics. Quinctilian himself declares on Cicero's side; and, whe­ther it be called Attic or Asiatic, prefers the full, the copious, and the amplifying Style. He concludes with this very just observati­on: ‘"Plures sunt eloquentiae facies; sed stultissimum est quaerere, ad quam rectu­rus se sit orator; cum omnis species, quae modo recta est, habeat usum.—Utetur enim, ut res exiget, omnibus; nec pro causâ modo, sed pro partibus causae ^*."’

On the subject of comparing Cicero and Demosthenes, much has been said by criti­cal writers. The different manners of these two Princes of Eloquence, and the [Page 202] distinguishing characters of each, are so strongly marked in their writings, that the comparison is, in many respects, obvious and easy. The character of Demosthenes is vigour and austerity; that of Cicero is gentleness and insinuation. In the one, you find more manliness, in the other, more ornament. The one is more harsh, but more spirited and cogent; the other more agreeable, but withal, looser and weaker.

To account for this difference, without any prejudice to Cicero, it has been said, that we must look to the nature of their different auditories; that the refined Athe­nians followed with ease the concise and convincing Eloquence of Demosthenes; but that a manner more popular, more flowery, and declamatory, was requisite in speak­ing to the Romans, a people less acute, and less acquainted with the arts of speech. But this is not satisfactory. For we must observe, that the Greek Orator spoke much oftener before a mixed multitude, than the Roman. Almost all the public business of Athens was transacted in popular Assem­blies. The common people were his hear­ers, and his judges. Whereas Cicero ge­nerally addressed himself to the ‘"Patres Conscripti,"’ or in criminal trials to the Praetor, and the Select Judges; and it can­not be imagined, that the persons of high­est rank, and best education in Rome, re­quired [Page 203] a more diffuse manner of pleading than the common citizens of Athens, in order to make them understand the cause, or relish the Speaker. Perhaps we shall come nearer the truth, by observing, that to unite together all the qualities, without the least exception, that form a perfect Orator, and to excel equally in each of those qualities, is not to be expected from the limited powers of human genius. The highest degree of strength is, I suspect, ne­ver found united with the highest degree of smoothness and ornament; equal atten­tions to both are incompatible; and the genius that carries ornament to its utmost length, is not of such a kind, as can excel as much in vigour. For there plainly lies the characteristical difference between these two celebrated Orators.

IT is a disadvantage to Demosthenes, that, besides his conciseness, which some­times produces obscurity, the language, in which he writes, is less familiar to most of us than the Latin, and that we are less ac­quainted with the Greek antiquities than we are with the Roman. We read Cicero with more ease, and of course with more pleasure. Independent of this circumstance too, he is no doubt, in himself, a more agreeable writer than the other. But not­withstanding this advantage, I am of opi­nion, that were the state in danger, or some great public interest at stake, which [Page 204] drew the serious attention of men, an Ora­tion in the spirit and strain of Demosthenes, would have more weight, and produce greater effects than one in the Ciceronian manner. Were Demosthenes's Philippics spoken in a British Assembly, in a similar conjuncture of affairs, they would convince and persuade at this day. The rapid Style, the vehement reasoning, the disdain, an­ger, boldness, freedom, which perpetually animate them, would render their success infallible over any modern Assembly. I question whether the same can be said of Cicero's Orations; whose Eloquence, how­ever beautiful, and however well suited to the Roman taste, yet borders oftener on de­clamation, and is more remote from the manner in which we now expect to hear real business and causes of importance treated ^*.

IN comparing Demosthenes and Cicero, most of the French Critics incline to give the preference to the latter. P. Rapin the Jesuit, in the Parallels which he has drawn between some of the most eminent Greek and Roman writers, uniformly de­cides in favour of the Roman. For the [Page 205] preference which he gives to Cicero, he as­signs, and lays stress on one reason of a pretty extraordinary nature; viz. that De­mosthenes could not possibly have so com­plete an insight as Cicero into the manners and passions of men; Why?—Because he had not the advantage of perusing Aristo­tle's treatise of Rhetoric, wherein, says our Critic, he has fully laid open that mystery: and, to support this weighty argument he enters into a controversy with A. Gellius, in order to prove that Aristotle's Rhetoric was not published till after Demosthenes had spoken, at least, his most considerable orations. Nothing can be more childish. Such Orators as Cicero and Demosthenes, derived their knowledge of the human pas­sions, and their power of moving them, from higher sources than any Treatise of Rhetoric. One French Critic has indeed departed from the common tract; and, af­ter bestowing on Cicero those just praises to which the consent of so many ages shows him to be entitled, concludes howe­ver, with giving the palm to Demosthenes. This is Fenelon, the famous Archbishop of Cambray, and Author of Telemachus; himself surely no enemy to all the graces and flowers of composition. It is in his Reflections on Rhetoric and Poetry, that he gives this judgment; a small tract, com­monly published along with his dialogues [Page 206] on Eloquence ^*. These dialogues and re­flections are particularly worthy of perusal, as containing, I think, the justest ideas on the subject, that are to be met with in any modern critical writer.

THE reign of Eloquence, among the Romans, was very short. After the age of Cicero, it languished, or rather expired; and we have no reason to wonder at this be­ing the case. For not only was liberty en­tirely extinguished, but arbitrary power felt in its heaviest and most oppressive weight: Providence having, in its wrath, delivered over the Roman Empire to a suc­cession [Page 207] of some of the most execrable tyrants that ever disgraced, and scourged, the hu­man race. Under their government, it was naturally to be expected that taste would be corrupted, and genius discouraged. Some of the ornamental arts, less intimately connected with liberty, continued, for a while, to prevail; but for that masculine Eloquence, which had exercised itself in the senate, 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 state of the public manners, is beautifully described in the Dialogue de Causis corruptae Eloquen­tiae, which is attributed, by some, to Taci­tus, by others, to Quinctilian. Luxury, effeminacy, and flattery, overwhelmed all. The Forum, where so many great affairs had been transacted, was now become a desert. Private causes were still pleaded; but the Public was no longer interested; nor any general attention drawn to what passed there: ‘"Unus inter haec, et alter, dicenti assistit; et res velut in solitudine agitur. Oratori autem clamore plau­suque opus est, et velut quodam thea­tro, qualia quotidie antiquis oratori­bus contingebant; [...]um tot ac tam no­biles forum coarctarent; cum clien­telae, & tribus, & municipiorum legati­ones, periclitantibus assisterent; cum in [Page 208] plerisque judiciis crederet populus Ro­manus sua interesse quid judicaretur ^*."’

IN the schools of the declaimers, the cor­ruption of Eloquence was completed. Imaginary and fantastic subjects, such as had no real life, or business, were made the themes of declamation; and all man­ner of false and affected ornaments were brought into vogue: ‘"Pace vestra liceat dixisse,"’ says Petronius Arbiter, to the declaimers of his time, ‘"primi omnem elo­quentiam perdidistis. Levibus enim ac inanibus sonis ludibria quaedam excitan­do, effecistis ut corpus orationis enervare­tur atque caderet. Et ideo ego existimo adolescentulos in scholis stultissimos fieri, quia nihil ex iis, quae in usu habemus, aut vident; sed piratas cum catenis in lit­tore stantes; et tyrannos edicta scriben­tes quibus imperent filiis ut patrum suo­rum capita praecidant; sed responsa, in pestilentia data, ut virgines tres aut plu­res immolentur; sed mellitos verborum globulos, & omnia quasi papavere, & sesamo sparsa. Qui inter haec nutriun­tur, [Page 209] non magis sapere possunt, quam be­ne olere qui in culina habitant ^*."’ In the hands of the Greek rhetoricians, the manly and sensible Eloquence of their first noted speakers, degenerated, as I formerly show­ed, into subtility and sophistry; in the hands of the Roman declaimers, it passed into the quaint and affected; into point and antithesis. This corrupt manner begins to appear in the writings of Seneca; and shows itself, also, in the famous panegyric of Pliny the Younger on Trajan, which may be considered as the last effort of Ro­man oratory. Though the author was a man of genius, yet it is deficient in na­ture and ease. We see, throughout the whole, a perpetual attempt to depart from the ordinary way of thinking, and to sup­port a forced elevation.

[Page 210] IN the decline of the Roman Empire, the introduction of Christianity gave rise to a new species of Eloquence, in the apolo­gies, sermons, and pastoral writings of the Fathers of the Church. Among the Latin Fathers, Lactantius and Minutius Felix, are the most remarkable for purity of Style; and, in a later age, the famous St. Augus­tine possesses a considerable share of sprightliness and strength. But none of the Fathers afford any just models of Elo­quence. Their Language, as soon as we descend to the third or fourth century, be­comes harsh; and they are, in general, in­fected with the taste of that age, a love of swoln and strained thoughts, and of the play of words. Among the Greek Fathers, the most distinguished, by far, for his ora­torial merit, is St. Chrysostome. His Lan­guage is pure; his Style highly figured. He is copious, smooth, and sometimes pa­thetic. But he retains, at the same time, much of that character which has been al­ways attributed to the Asiatic Eloquence, diffuse 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 false ornaments than the Latin Fa­thers.

AS there is nothing more that occurs to me, deserving particular attention in the middle age, I pass now to the state of Elo­quence in modern times. Here, it must [Page 211] be confessed, that, in no European nation, Public Speaking has been considered as so great an object, or been cultivated with so much care, as in Greece or Rome. Its reputation has never been so high; its effects have never been so consider­able; nor has that high and sub­lime kind of it, which prevailed in those antient states, been so much as aimed at: notwithstanding, too, that a new profes­sion has been established, which gives pe­culiar advantages to Oratory, and affords it the noblest field; I mean, that of the Church. The genius of the world seems, in this respect, to have undergone some alteration. The two countries where we might expect to find most of the spirit of Eloquence, are France and Great Britain: France, on account of the distinguished turn of the nation towards all the liberal arts, and of the encouragement which, for this century past, those 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. Yet, so it is, that, in neither of those countries, has the talent of Public Speak­ing risen near to the degree of its antient splendor. While, in other productions of genius, both in prose and in poetry, they have contended for the prize with Greece and Rome; nay, in some compositions, may be thought to have surpassed them: the names of Demosthenes and Cicero, stand, at this day, unrivalled in fame; and [Page 212] it would be held presumptuous and absurd, to pretend to place any modern whatever on the same, or even on a nearly equal, rank.

IT seems particularly surprising, that Great Britain should not have made a more conspicuous figure in Eloquence than it has hitherto attained; when we consider the enlightened, and, at the same time, the free and bold genius of the country, which seems not a little to favour Oratory; and when we consider that, of all the po­lite nations, it alone possesses a popular government, or admits into the legislature, such numerous assemblies as can be sup­posed to lie under the dominion of Elo­quence ^*. Notwithstanding this advantage, it must be confessed, that, in most parts of Eloquence, we are undoubtedly inferior, not only to the Greeks and Romans by many degrees, but also to the French. We have Philosophers, eminent and conspicu­ous, perhaps, beyond any nation, in all the parts of science. We have both taste and erudition, in a high degree. We have [Page 213] Historians, we have Poets of the greatest name; but of Orators, or Public Speakers, how little have we to boast? And where are the monuments of their genius to be found? in every period we have had some who made a figure, by managing the de­bates in Parliament; but that figure was commonly owing to their wisdom, or their experience in business, more than to their talents for Oratory; and unless, in some few instances, wherein the power of Ora­tory has appeared, indeed, with much lustre, the art of Parliamentary Speaking rather obtained to several a temporary ap­plause, than conferred upon any a lasting renown. At the bar, though, questionless, we have many able pleaders, yet few or none of their pleadings have been thought worthy to be transmitted to posterity; nor have commanded attention, any longer than the cause which was the subject of them interested the Public; while, in France, the pleadings of Patru, in the former age, and those of Cochin and D'Aguesseau, in later times, are read with pleasure, and are often quoted as examples of Eloquence by the French critics. In the same man­ner, in the pulpit, the British divines have distinguished themselves by the most accu­rate and rational compositions which, per­haps, any nation can boast of. Many printed sermons we have, full of good sense, and of sound divinity and morality; but the Eloquence to be found in them, [Page 214] the power of persuasion, of interesting and engaging the heart, which is, or ought to be, the great object of the pulpit, is far from bearing a suitable 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 reasons of which, I shall afterwards have occasion to discuss; in proof of the fact, it is sufficient to observe, that an English sermon, instead of being a persua­sive animated Oration, seldom rises beyond the strain of correct and dry reasoning. Whereas, in the sermons of Bossuet, Mas­sillon, Bourdaloue, and Flechier, among the French, we see a much higher species of Eloquence aimed at, and in a great mea­sure attained, than the British preachers have in view.

IN general, the characteristical difference between the state of Eloquence in France and in Great Britain is, that the French have adopted higher ideas both of pleasing and persuading by means of Oratory, though, sometimes, 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 expected, have been more correct. In France, the style of their Orators is ornamented with bolder figures; and their discourse carried on with more amplification, more warmth and elevation. The composition is often [Page 215] very beautiful; but sometimes, also, too diffuse, and deficient in that strength and cogency which renders Eloquence power­ful; a defect owing, perhaps, in part, to the genius of the people, which leads them to attend fully as much to ornament as to substance; 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 best opportunity for acquiring nerves and strength. Hence the pulpit is the principal field which is left for their Eloquence. The members, too, of the French academy give harangues at their admission, in which genius often appears; but labouring under the misfor­tune of having no subject to discourse up­on, they run commonly into flattery and panegyric, the most barren and insipid of all topics.

I OBSERVED before, that the Greeks and Romans aspired to a more sublime spe­cies of Eloquence, than is aimed at by the Moderns. Theirs was of the vehement and passionate kind, by which they endea­voured to inflame the minds of their hear­ers, and hurry their imaginations away: and, suitable to this vehemence of thought, was their vehemence of gesture and action; the ‘"supplosio pedis ^*,"’ the ‘"percussio frontis & femoris,"’ were, as we learn [Page 216] from Cicero's writings, usual gestures a­mong them at the bar; though now they would be reckoned extravagant any where, except upon the stage. Modern Eloquence is much more cool and temperate; and in Great Britain especially, has confined itself almost wholly to the argumentative and rational. It is much of that species which the antient critics called the ‘"Tenuis,"’ or ‘"Subtilis;"’ which aims at convincing and instructing, rather than affecting the passi­ons, and assumes a tone not much higher than common argument and discourse.

SEVERAL reasons may be given, why modern Eloquence has been so limited, and humble in its efforts. In the first place, I am of opinion, that this change must, in part, be ascribed to that correct turn of thinking, which has been so much studied in modern times. It can hardly be doubt­ed, that, in many efforts of mere genius, the antient Greeks and Romans excelled us; but, on the other hand, that, in accuracy and closeness of reasoning on many sub­jects, we have some advantage over them, ought, I think, to be admitted also: In proportion as the world has advanced, phi­losophy has made greater progress. A cer­tain strictness of good sense has, in this island particularly, been cultivated, and introduced into every subject. Hence we are more on our guard against the flowers of Elocution; we are on the watch; we are [Page 217] jealous of being deceived by Oratory. Our Public Speakers are obliged to be more re­served than the antients, in their attempts to elevate the imagination, and warm the passions; and, by the influence of prevail­ing taste, their own genius is sobered and chastened, perhaps, in too great a degree. It is likely too, I confess, that what we fondly ascribe to our correctness and good sense, is owing, in a great measure, to our phlegm and natural coldness. For the vi­vacity and sensibility of the Greeks and Ro­mans, more especially of the former, seem to have been much greater than ours, and to have given them a higher relish of all the beauties of Oratory.

BESIDES these national considerations, we must, in the next place, attend to pe­culiar circumstances in the three great scenes of Public Speaking, which have proved disadvantageous to the growth of Eloquence among us. Though the Parlia­ment of Great Britain be the noblest field which Europe, at this day, affords to a Public Speaker, yet Eloquence has never been so powerful an instrument there, as it was in the popular assemblies of Greece and Rome. Under some former reigns, the high hand of arbitrary power bore a vio­lent sway; and in later times, ministerial influence has generally prevailed. The power of Speaking, though always consi­derable, yet has been often found too feeble [Page 218] to counterbalance either of these; and, of course, has not been studied with so much zeal and fervour, as where its effect on bu­siness was irresistible and certain.

AT the Bar, our disadvantage, in com­parison of the antients, is great. Among them, the judges were generally numerous; the laws were few and simple; the decision of causes was left, in a great measure, to equity and the sense of mankind. Here was an ample field for what they termed Judicial Eloquence. But among the mo­derns, the case is quite altered. The sys­tem of law is become much more compli­cated. The knowledge of it is thereby rendered so laborious an attainment, as to be the chief object of a lawyer's education, and, in a manner, the study of his life. The Art of Speaking is but a secondary accomplishment, to which he can afford to devote much less of his time and labour. The bounds of Eloquence besides, are now much circumscribed at the Bar; and except, in a few cases, reduced to arguing from strict law, statute, or precedent; by which means knowledge, much more than Ora­tory, is become the principal requisite.

WITH regard to the Pulpit, it has cer­tainly been a great disadvantage, that the practice of reading Sermons, in stead of re­peating them from memory, has prevailed so universally in England. This may, in­deed, [Page 219] have introduced accuracy; but it has done great prejudice to Eloquence; for a Discourse read, is far inferior to an Oration spoken. It leads to a different sort of com­position, as well as of delivery; and can never have an equal effect upon any audi­ence. Another circumstance, too, has been unfortunate. The sectaries and fanatics, before the Restoration, adopted a warm, zealous, and popular manner of preaching; and those who adhered to them, in after­times, continued to distinguish themselves by somewhat of the same manner. The odium of these sects drove the established church from that warmth which they were judged to have carried too far, into the op­posite extreme of a studied coolness, and composure of manner. Hence, from the art of persuasion, which preaching ought always to be, it has passed, in England, into mere reasoning and instruction; which not only has brought down the Eloquence of the Pulpit to a lower tone than it might justly assume; but has produced this far­ther effect, that, by accustoming the Pub­lic ear to such cool and dispassionate Dis­courses, it has tended to fashion other kinds of Public Speaking upon the same model.

THUS I have given some view of the state of Eloquence in modern times, and endeavoured to account for it. It has, as we have seen, fallen below that splendor which it maintained in antient ages; [Page 220] and from being sublime and vehement, has come down to be temperate and cool. Yet, still in that region which it occu­pies, it admits great scope; and, to the defect of zeal and application, more than to the want of capacity and ge­nius, we may ascribe its not having hither­to risen higher. It is a field where there is much honour yet to be reaped; it is an instrument which may be employed for purposes of the highest importance. The antient models may still, with much advan­tage, be set before us for imitation; though, in that imitation, we must, doubtless, have some regard to what modern taste and mo­dern manners will bear; of which I shall afterwards have occasion to say more.

AFTER the preliminary views which have been given of the nature of Eloquence in general, and of the state in which it has subsisted in different ages and countries, I am now to enter on considering the different kinds of Public Speaking, the distinguishing characters of each, and the rules which relate to them. The ancients divided all Orations into three kinds; the Demonstrative, the Deliberative, and the Ju­dicial. The scope of the Demonstrative was to praise or to blame; that of the Delibe­rative to advise or to dissuade; that of the Judicial, to accuse or to defend. The chief subjects of Demonstrative Eloquence, were Panegyrics, Invectives, Gratulatory. and Funeral Orations. The Deliberative was [Page 222] employed in matters of public concern, agitated in the Senate, or before the Assem­blies of the People. The Judicial is the same with the Eloquence of the Bar, em­ployed in addressing Judges, who have power to absolve or condemn. This divisi­on runs through all the ancient Treatises on Rhetoric; and is followed by the moderns, who copy them. It is a division not inarti­ficial; and comprehends most, or all of the matters which can be the subject of Public Discourse. It will, however, suit our pur­pose better, and be found, I imagine, more useful, to follow that division which the train of Modern Speaking naturally points out to us, taken from the three great scenes of Eloquence, Popular Assemblies, the Bar, and the Pulpit; each of which has a dis­tinct character that particularly suits it. This division coincides in part with the an­cient one. The Eloquence of the Bar is precisely the same with what the ancients called the Judicial. The Eloquence of Po­pular Assemblies, though mostly of what they term the Deliberative Species, yet ad­mits also of the Demonstrative. The Elo­quence of the Pulpit is altogether of a dis­tinct nature, and cannot be properly re­duced under any of the heads of the anci­ent Rhetoricians.

To all the three, Pulpit, Bar, and Popu­lar Assemblies, belong, in common, the rules concerning the conduct of a discourse [Page 223] in all its parts. Of those rules I purpose afterwards to treat at large. But before proceeding to them, I intend to show, first, what is peculiar to each of these three kinds of Oratory, in their spirit, character, or manner. For every species of Public Speak­ing has a manner or character peculiarly suited to it; of which it is highly material to have a just idea, in order to direct 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 precise and proper idea of the distinguishing character which any kind of Public Speaking requires, is the foundation of what is called a just taste in that kind of Speaking.

LAYING aside any question concerning the pre-eminence in point of rank, which is due to any one of the three kinds before mentioned, I shall begin with that which tends to throw most light upon the rest, viz. the Eloquence of Popular Assemblies. The most august 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 less dig­nity, it may display itself. Wherever there is a popular court, or wherever any num­ber of men are assembled for debate or con­sulation, there, in different forms, this species of Eloquence may take place.

[Page 224] ITS object is, or ought always to be, Persuasion. There must be some end pro­posed; some point, most commonly of pub­lic utility or good, in favour of which we seek to determine the hearers. Now, in all attempts to persuade men, we must pro­ceed upon this principle, that it is necessa­ry to convince their understanding. No­thing can be more erroneous, than to ima­gine, that, because Speeches to Popular Assemblies admit more of a declamatory Style than some other discourses, they there­fore stand less in need of being supported by sound reasoning. When modelled upon this false idea, they may have the show, but never can produce the effect, of real Elo­quence. Even the show of Eloquence which they make, will please only the tri­fling and superficial. For, with all tolera­ble judges, indeed almost with all men, mere declamation soon becomes insipid. Of whatever rank the hearers be, a Speaker is never to presume, that by a frothy and os­tentatious harangue, without solid sense and argument, he can either make impres­sion on them, or acquire fame to himself. It is, at least, a dangerous experiment; for, where such an artifice succeeds once, it will fail ten times. Even the common people are better judges of argument and good sense, than we sometimes think them; and upon any question of business, a plain man, who speaks to the point without art, [Page 225] will generally prevail over the most artful Speaker who deals in flowers and orna­ment, rather than in reasoning. Much more, when Public Speakers address them­selves to any Assembly where there are persons of education and improved under­standing, they ought to be careful not to trifle with their hearers.

LET it be ever kept in view, that the foundation of all that can be called Elo­quence, is good sense, and solid thought. As popular as the Orations of Demosthenes were, spoken to all the citizens of Athens, every one who looks into them, must see how fraught they are with argument; and how important it appeared to him, to con­vince the understanding, in order to per­suade, or to work on the principles of ac­tion. Hence their influence in his own time; hence their fame at this day. Such a pattern as this, Public Speakers ought to set before them for imitation, rather than follow the tract of those loose and frothy Declaimers, who have brought discredit on Eloquence. Let it be their first study, in addressing any Popular Assembly, to be pre­viously masters of the business on which they are to speak; to be well provided with matter and argument; and to rest upon these the chief stress. This will always give to their discourse an air of manliness and strength, which is a powerful instru­ment of persuasion. Ornament, if they [Page 226] have genius for it, will follow of course; at any rate it demands only their secondary study: ‘"Cura sit verborum; solicitudo re­rum."—’ ‘"To your expression be atten­tive, but about your matter be solicitous,"’ is an advice of Quinctilian, which cannot be too often recollected by all who study Oratory.

IN the next place, in order to be persua­sive Speakers in a Popular Assembly, it is, in my opinion, a capital rule, that we be ourselves persuaded of whatever we re­commend to others. Never, when it can be avoided, ought we to espouse any side of the argument, but what we believe to be the true and the right one. Seldom or ne­ver will a man be eloquent, but when he is in earnest, and uttering his own senti­ments. They are only the ‘"verae voces ab imo pectore,"’ the unassumed language of the heart or head, that carry the force of conviction. In a former Lecture, when entering on this subject, I observed, that all high Eloquence must be the offspring of passion, or warm emotion. It is this which makes every man persuasive; and gives a force to his genius, which it poss­esses at no other time. Under what disad­vantage then is he placed, who, not feel­ing what he utters, must counterfeit a warmth to which he is a stranger?

[Page 227] I KNOW, that young people, on purpose to train themselves to the Art of Speaking, imagine it useful to adopt that side of the question under debate, which, to them­selves, appears the weakest, and to try what figure they can make upon it. But, I am afraid, this is not the most improving education for Public Speaking; and that it tends to form them to a habit of flimsy and trivial discourse. Such a liberty they should, at no time, allow themselves, un­less in meetings where no real business is carried on, but where declamation and im­provement in Speech is the sole aim. Nor even in such meetings, would I recommend it as the most useful exercise. They will improve themselves to more advantage, and acquit themselves with more honour, by choosing always that side of the debate to which, in their own judgment, they are most inclined, and supporting it by what seems to themselves most solid and persua­sive. They will acquire the habit of rea­soning closely, and expressing themselves with warmth and force, much more when they are adhering to their own sentiments, than when they are speaking in contradic­tion to them. In assemblies where any real business is carried on, whether that business be of much importance or not, it is always of dangerous consequence for young practitioners to make trial of this sort of play of Speech. It may fix an im­putation on their characters before they [Page 228] are aware; and what they intended merely as amusement, may be turned to the dis­credit, either of their principles or their understanding.

DEBATE, in Popular Courts, seldom al­lows the Speaker that full and accurate preparation before hand, which the Pulpit always, and the Bar sometimes, admits. The arguments must be suited to the course which the Debate takes; and as no man can exactly foresee this, one who trusts to a set Speech, composed in his closet, will, on many occasions, be thrown out of the ground which he had taken. He will find it pre-occupied by others, or his reasonings superseded by some new turn of the busi­ness; and, if he ventures to use 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 unjust one, against set Speeches in Public Meetings. The only occasion, when they have any propriety, is, at the opening of a debate, when the Speaker has it in his power to choose his field. But as the Debate advances, and parties warm, discourses of this kind be­come more unsuitable. They want the native air; the appearance of being suggest­ed by the business that is going on; study and ostentation are apt to be visible; and, of course, though applauded as elegant, [Page 229] they are seldom so persuasive as more free and unconstrained discourses.

THIS, however, does not by any means conclude against premeditation of what we are to say; the neglect of which, and the trusting wholly to extemporaneous efforts, will unavoidably produce the habit of speaking in a loose and undigested man­ner. But the premeditation which is of most advantage, in the case which we now consider, is of the subject or argument in general, rather than of nice composition on any particular branch of it. With re­gard to the matter, we cannot be too ac­curate in our preparation, so as to be fully masters of the business under consideration; but, with regard to words and expression, it is very possible so far to overdo, as to render our Speech stiff and precise. In­deed, till once persons acquire that firm­ness, that presence of mind, and command of expression, in a Public Meeting, which nothing but habit and practice can bestow, it may be proper for a young Speaker to commit to memory the whole of what he is to say. But, after some performances of this kind have given him boldness, he will find it the better method not to confine himself so strictly; but only to write, be­forehand, some Sentences with which he intends to set out, in order to put himself fairly in the train; and, for the rest, to set down short notes of the topics, or principal [Page 230] thoughts upon which he is to insist, in their order, leaving the words to be sug­gested by the warmth of discourse. Such short notes of the substance of the dis­course, will be found of considerable ser­vice, to those, especially, who are begin­ning to speak in public. They will ac­custom them to some degree of accuracy, which, if they speak frequently, they are in danger too soon of losing. They will even accustom them to think more closely on the subject in question; and will assist them greatly in arranging their thoughts with method and order.

THIS leads me next to observe, that in all kinds of Public Speaking, nothing is of greater consequence than a proper and clear method. I mean not that formal me­thod of laying down heads and subdivi­sions, which is commonly practised in the Pulpit; and which, in Popular Assemblies, unless the Speaker be a man of great au­thority and character, and the subject of great importance, and the preparation too very accurate, is rather in hazard of disgust­ing the hearers: such an introduction pre­senting always the melancholy prospect of along discourse. But though the method be not laid down in form, no discourse, of any length, should be without method; that is, every thing should be found in its proper place. Every one who speaks, will find it of the greatest advantage to himself [Page 231] to have previously arranged his thoughts, and classed under proper heads, in his own mind, what he is to deliver. This will assist his memory, and carry him through his discourse, without that confusion to which one is every moment subject, who has fixed no distinct plan of what he is to say. And with respect to the hearers, or­der in discourse is absolutely necessary for making any proper impression. It adds both force and light to what is said. It makes them accompany the Speaker easily and readily, as he goes along; and makes them feel the full effect of every argument which he employs. Few things, therefore, deserve more to be attended to than distinct arrangement: for Eloquence, however great, can never produce entire conviction without it. Of the rules of method, and the proper distribution of the several parts of a discourse, I am hereafter to treat.

LET us now consider of the Style and Expression suited to the Eloquence of Popu­lar Assemblies. Beyond doubt, these give scope for the most animated manner of Public Speaking. The very aspect of a large Assembly, engaged in some debate of moment, and attentive to the discourse of one man, is sufficient to inspire that man with such elevation and warmth, as both give rise to strong expressions, and gives them propriety. Passion easily rises in a great Assembly, where the movements [Page 232] are communicated by mutual sympathy between the Orator and the Audience. Those bold figures, of which I treated for­merly as the native Language of passion, then have their proper place. That ar­dour of Speech, that vehemence and glow of Sentiment, which arise from a mind animated and inspired by some great and public object, form the peculiar character­istics of Popular Eloquence, in its highest degree of perfection.

THE liberty, however, which we are now giving of the strong and passionate manner to this kind of Oratory, must be always understood with certain limitations and restraints, which, it will be necessary to point out distinctly, in order to guard against dangerous mistakes on this sub­ject.

As first, The warmth which we express must be suited to the occasion and the sub­ject: for nothing can be more preposterous, than an attempt to introduce great vehe­mence into a subject, which is either of slight importance, or which, by its nature, requires to be treated of calmly. A temperate tone of Speech, is that for which there is most frequent occasion; and he who is, on eve­ry subject, passionate and vehement, will be considered as a blusterer, and meet with little regard.

[Page 233] IN the second place, We must take care never to counterfeit warmth without feel­ing it. This always betrays persons into an unnatural manner, which exposes them to ridicule. For, as I have often suggested, to support the appearance, without the real feeling of passion, is one of the most difficult things in nature. The disguise can almost never be so perfect, but it is discovered. The heart can only answer to the heart. The great rule here, as indeed in every other case, is, to follow nature; never to attempt a strain of Eloquence which is not seconded by our own genius. One may be a Speaker, both of much reputation and much influence, in the calm argumentative manner. To attain the pathetic, and the sublime of Oratory, requires those strong sensibilities of mind, and that high power of expression, which are given to few.

IN the third place, Even when the sub­ject justifies the vehement manner, and when genius prompts it; when warmth is felt, not counterfeited; we must, how­ever, set a guard on ourselves, not to al­low impetuosity to transport us too far. Without emotion in the speaker, Elo­quence, as was before observed, will ne­ver produce its highest effects; but, at the same time, if the Speaker lose command of himself, he will soon lose command of his audience too. He must never kindle too soon: he must begin with moderation; [Page 234] and study to carry his hearers along with him, as he warms in the progress of his discourse. For, if he runs before in the course of passion, and leaves them behind; if they are not tuned, if we may speak so, unison to him, the discord will presently be felt, and be very grating. Let a Speak­er have never so good reason to be animat­ed and fired by his subject, it is always ex­pected of him, that the awe and regard due to his Audience should lay a decent restraint upon his warmth, and prevent it from carrying him beyond certain bounds. If, when most heated by the subject, he can be so far master of himself as to pre­serve close attention to argument, and even to some degree of correct expression, this self-command, this exertion of reason, in the midst of passion, has a wonderful effect both to please, and to persuade. It is in­deed the master-piece, the highest attain­ment of Eloquence; uniting the strength of reason, with the vehemence of passion; affording all the advantages of passion for the purpose of persuasion, without the confusion and disorder which are apt to accompany it.

IN the fourth place, in the highest and most animated strain of popular speaking, we must always preserve regard to what the public ear will bear. This direction I give, in order to guard against an inju­dicious imitation of ancient Orators, who, [Page 235] both in their pronunciation and gesture, and in their figures of expression, used a bolder manner than what the greater cool­ness of modern taste will readily suffer. This may perhaps, as I formerly observed, be a disadvantage to Modern Eloquence. It is no reason why we should be too severe in checking the impulse of genius, and conti­nue always creeping on the ground; but it is a reason, however, why we should avoid carrying the tone of declamation to a height that would now be reckoned extravagant. Demosthenes, to justify the unsuccessful action of Cheronaea, calls up the manes of those heroes who fell in the battle of Mara­thon and Plataea, and swears by them, that their fellow citizens had done well, in their endeavours to support the same cause. Ci­cero, in his oration for Milo, implores and attests the Alban hills and groves, and makes a long address to them: and both passages, in these Orators, have a fine effect ^*. But [Page 236] how few modern Orators could venture on such apostrophes? and what a power of ge­nius would it require to give such figures now their proper grace, or make them pro­duce a due effect upon the hearers?

IN the fifth and last place, in all kinds of Public Speaking, but especially in Popular Assemblies, it is a capital rule to attend to all the decorums of time, place, and charac­ter. No warmth of Eloquence can atone for the neglect of these. That vehemence, which is becoming in a person of character and authority, may be unsuitable to the modesty expected from a young Speaker. That sportive and witty manner which may suit one subject and on eAssembly, is alto­gether out of place in a grave cause, and a solemn meeting. ‘"Caput artis est,"’ says Quinctilian, ‘"decere."’ ‘"The first prin­ciple of art, is, to observe decorum."’ No one should ever rise to speak in pub­lic, without forming to himself a just and strict idea of what suits his own age and character; what suits the subject, the hear­ers the place, the occasion; and adjusting the whole train and manner of his speak­ing on this idea. All the ancients insist much on this. Consult the first chapter of the eleventh book of Quinctilian, which is employed wholly on this point, and is full [Page 237] of good sense. Cicero's admonitions in his Orator ad Brutum, I shall give in his own words, which should never be forgotten by any who speak in public. ‘"Est Eloquen­tiae, sicut reliquarum rerum, fundamen­tum, sapientia; ut enim in vita, sic in oratione nihil est difficilius quam quod deceat videre; hujus ignoratione saepissi­mè peccatur; non enim omnis fortuna, non omnis auctoritas, non omnis aetas, nec vero locus, aut tempus, aut auditor omnis, eodem aut verborum genere trac­tandus est, aut sententiarum. Semper­que in omni parte orationis, ut vitae, quid deceat considerandum; quod et in re de qua agitur positum est, et in per­sonis et eorum qui dicunt, et eorum qui audiunt ^*."’—So much for the considerati­ons that require to be attended to, with re­spect to the vehemence and warmth which is allowed in Popular Eloquence.

[Page 238] THE current of Style should in general be full, free, and natural. Quaint and ar­tificial expressions are out of place here; and always derogate from persuasion. It is a strong and manly Style which should chief­ly be studied; and metaphorical Language, when properly introduced, produces often a happy effect. When the metaphors are warm, glowing, and descriptive, some in­accuracy in them will be overlooked, which, in a written composition, would be remarked and censured. Amidst the torrent of de­clamation, the strength of the figure makes impression; the inaccuracy of it escapes.

WITH regard to the degree of conciseness or diffuseness, suited to Popular Eloquence, it is not easy to fix any exact bounds. I know that it is common to recommend a diffuse manner as the most proper. I am inclined, however, to think, that there is danger of erring in this respect; and that by indulging too much in the diffuse Style, public Speakers often lose more in point of strength, than they gain by the fulness of their illustration. There is no doubt, that in speaking to a multitude, we must not speak in sentences and apothegms; care must 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 soever we may be pleased with hearing ourselves speak, eve­ry Audience is very ready to tire; and the [Page 239] moment they begin to tire, all our Elo­quence goes for nothing. A loose and ver­bose manner never fails to create disgust; and, on most occasions, we had better run the risque of saying too little, than too much. Better place our thought in one strong point of view, and rest it there, than by turning it into every light, and pouring forth a profusion of words upon it, exhaust the attention of our hearers, and leave them flat and languid.

OF Pronounciation and Delivery, I am hereafter to treat apart. It is sufficient now to observe, that in speaking to mixt Assemblies, the best manner of delive­ry is the firm and the determined. An ar­rogant and overbearing manner is indeed always disagreeable; and the least appear­ance of it ought to be shunned: but there is a certain decisive tone, which may be as­sumed even by a modest man, who is tho­roughly persuaded of the sentiments he ut­ters; and which is the best calculated for making a general impression. A feeble and hesitating manner bespeaks always some distrust of a man's own opinion; which is, by no means, a favourable circumstance for his inducing others to embrace it.

THESE are the chief thoughts which have occurred to me from reflection and ob­servation, concerning the peculiar distin­guishing Characters of the Eloquence pro­per [Page 240] for Popular Assemblies. The sum of what has been said, is this: The end of Po­pular Speaking is persuasion; and this must be founded on conviction. Argument and reasoning must be the basis, if we would be Speakers of business, and not mere Declaim­ers. We should be engaged in earnest on the side which we espouse; and utter, as much as possible, our own, and not counter­feited Sentiments. The premeditation should be of things, rather than of words. Clear order and method should be studied: The manner and expression warm and ani­mated; though still, in the midst of that vehemence, which may at times be suita­ble, carried on under the proper restraints which regard to the audience, and to the decorum of character, ought to lay on every Public Speaker: the Style free and easy; strong and descriptive, rather than diffuse; and the delivery determined and firm. To conclude this head, let every Orator re­member, that the impression made by fine and artful speaking is momentary; that made by argument and good sense, is solid and lasting.

I SHALL now, that I may afford an ex­emplification of that species of Oratory of which I have been treating, insert some extracts from Demosthenes. Even under the great disadvantage of an English tran­slation, they will exhibit a small specimen [Page 241] of that vigorous and spirited eloquence which I have so often praised. I shall take my extracts mostly from the Philippics and Olynthiacs, which were entirely popular Orations spoken to the general convention of the citizens of Athens: and, as the sub­ject of both the Philippics, and the Olyn­thiacs, is the same, I shall not confine my­self to one Oration, but shall join together passages taken from two or three of them; such as may show his general strain of speaking, on some of the chief branches of the subject. The subject in general is, to rouze the Athenians to guard against Philip of Macedon, whose growing power and crafty policy had by that time endangered, and soon after overwhelmed the liberties of Greece. The Athenians began to be alarm­ed; but their deliberations were slow, and their measures feeble; several of their fa­vourite Orators having been gained by Philip's bribes to favour his cause. In this critical conjuncture of affairs Demosthenes arose. In the following manner he begins his first Philippic; which, like the exor­diums of all his Orations, is simple and art­less ^*.

THE Orator goes on to point out the number of forces which should be raised; the places of their destination; the season of the year in which they should set out; and then proposes in form his motion, as we would call it, or his decree, for the ne­cessary supply of money, and for ascertain­ing the funds from which it should be rais­ed. Having finished all that relates to the business under deliberation, he concludes these Orations on public affairs, common­ly with no longer peroration than the fol­lowing, [Page 255] which terminates the First Philip­pic: ‘'I, for my part, have never, upon any occasion, chosen to court your fa­vour, by speaking any thing but what I was convinced would serve you. And, on this occasion, you have heard my sen­ments freely declared, without art, and without reserve. I should have been pleased, indeed, that, as it is for your advantage to have your true interest laid before you, so I might have been assured, that he who layeth it before you would share the advantage. But, uncertain as I know the consequence to be with respect to myself, I yet determined to speak, be­cause, I was convinced, that these mea­sures if pursued, must prove beneficial to the Public. And, of all those opini­ons which shall be offered to your accept­ance, may the Gods determine that to be chosen which will best advance the gene­ral welfare!'’

THESE Extracts may serve to give some imperfect idea of the manner of Demosthe­nes. For a juster and more complete one, recourse must be had to the excellent ori­ginal.

I TREATED in the last Lecture, of what is peculiar to the Eloquence of Popular Assemblies. Much of what was said on that head is applicable to the Elo­quence of the Bar, the next great scene of Publick Speaking to which I now proceed, and my observations upon which, will therefore be the shorter. All, however, that was said in the former Lecture must not be applied to it; and it is of importance, that I begin with showing where the dis­tinction lies.

IN the first place, The ends of speaking at the Bar, and in Popular Assemblies, are commonly different. In Popular Assem­blies, the great object is persuasion; the Orator aims at determining the hearers to [Page 257] some choice or conduct, as good, fit, or use­ful. For accomplishing this end, it is in­cumbent on him to apply himself to all the principles of action in our nature; to the passions and to the heart, as well as to the understanding. But, at the Bar, convicti­on is the great object. There, it is not the Speaker's business to persuade the Judges to what is good or useful, but to show them what is just and true; and, of course, it is chiefly, or solely, to the understanding that his Eloquence is addressed. This is a characteristical difference which ought ever to be kept in view.

IN the next place, Speakers at the Bar address themselves to one, or to a few Judges, and these, too, persons generally of age, gravity, and authority of character. There, they have not those advantages which a mixed and numerous Assembly affords for employing all the arts of Speech, even supposing their subject to admit them. Passion does not rise so easily; the Speaker is heard more coolly; he is watched over more severely; and would expose himself to ridicule, by attempting that high vehe­ment tone, which is only proper in speak­ing to a multitude.

IN the last place, The nature and ma­nagement of the subject which belong to the Bar, require a very different species of Oratory from that of Popular Assemblies. [Page 258] In the latter, the Speaker has a much wider range. He is seldom confined to any precise rule; he can fetch his topics from a great variety of quarters; and em­ploy every illustration which his fancy or imagination suggest. But, at the Bar, the field of speaking is limited to precise law and statute. Imagination is not allowed to take its scope. The Advocate has always lying before him the line, the square, and the compass. These, it is his principal business to be continually applying to the subjects under debate.

FOR these reasons, it is clear, that the Eloquence of the Bar is of a much more limited, more sober and chastened kind, than that of Popular Assemblies; and, for similar reasons, we must beware of consi­dering even the judicial Orations of Cicero or Demosthenes, as exact models of the manner of speaking which is adapted to the present state of the Bar. It is necessary to warn young Lawyers of this; because, though these were Pleadings spoken in ci­vil or criminal causes, yet, in fact, the nature of the Bar antiently, both in Greece and Rome, allowed a much nearer ap­proach to Popular Eloquence, than what it now does. This was owing chiefly to two causes:

FIRST, Because in the ancient Judicial Orations, strict law was much less an object [Page 259] of attention than it is become among us. In the days of Demosthenes and Cice­ro, the municipal statutes were few, simple, and general; and the decision of causes was trusted, in a great measure, to the equity and common sense of the Judges. Eloquence, much more than Jurisprudence, was the study of those who were to plead causes. Cicero somewhere says, that three months study was sufficient to make any man a complete Civilian; nay, it was thought that one might be a good Pleader at the Bar, who had never studied law at all. For there were among the Romans a set of men called Pragmatici, whose office it was to give the Orator all the law knowledge which the cause he was to plead required, and which he put into that popular form, and dressed up with those colours of Elo­quence, that were most fitted for influenc­ing the Judges before whom he spoke.

WE may observe next, that the Civil and Criminal Judges, both in Greece and Rome, were commonly much more nume­rous than they are with us, and formed a sort of Popular Assembly. The renowned tribunal of the Areopagus at Athens con­sisted of fifty Judges at the least ^*. Some make it to consist of a great many more. When Socrates was condemned, by what court it is uncertain, we are informed that [Page 260] no fewer than 280 voted against him. In Rome, the Praetor, who was the proper Judge both in civil and criminal causes, named, for every cause of moment, the Judices Selecti, as they were called, who were always numerous, and had the office and power of both Judge and Jury. In the famous cause of Milo, Cicero spoke to fifty­one Judices Selecti, and so had the advan­tage of addressing his whole pleading, not to one or a few learned Judges of the point of law, as is the case with us, but to an Assembly of Roman citizens. Hence all those arts of Popular Eloquence, which we find the Roman Orator so frequently em­ploying, and probably with much success. Hence tears and commiseration are so often made use of as the instruments of gaining a cause. Hence certain practices, which would be reckoned theatrical among us, were common at the Roman Bar; such as introducing not only the accused person dressed in deep mourning, but presenting to the Judges his family, and his young children, endeavouring to move them by their cries and tears.

FOR these reasons, on account of the wide difference between the ancient and modern state of the Bar, to which we may add also the difference in the turn of ancient and modern Eloquence, which I formerly took notice of, too strict an imitation of Ci­cero's manner of pleading would now be [Page 261] extremely injudicious. To great advantage he may still be studied by every Speaker at the Bar. In the Address with which he o­pens his subject, and the insinuation he em­ploys for gaining the favour of the Judges; in the distinct arrangement of his facts; in the gracefulness of his narration; in the conduct and exposition of his arguments, he may and he ought to be imitated. A higher pattern cannot be set before us; but one who should imitate him also in his ex­aggeration and amplifications, in his diffuse and pompous declamation, and in his at­tempts to raise passion, would now make himself almost as ridiculous at the Bar, as if he should appear there in the Toga of a Roman Lawyer.

BEFORE I descend to more particular directions concerning the Eloquence of the Bar, I must be allowed to take notice, that the foundation of a Lawyer's reputation and success, must always be laid in a pro­found knowledge of his own profession. Nothing is of such consequence to him, or deserves more his deep and serious study. For whatever his abilities as a Speaker may be, if his knowledge of the law be reckoned superficial, few will chose to com­mit their cause to him. Besides previous study, and a proper stock of knowledge attained, another thing highly material to the success of every Pleader, is, a diligent and painful attention to every cause with [Page 262] which he is intrusted, so as to be thorough­ly master of all the facts and circumstances relating to it. On this the ancient Rheto­ricians insist with great earnestness, and justly represent it as a necessary basis to all the Eloquence that can be exerted in plead­ing. Cicero tells us (under the character of Antonius, in the second book De Oratore), that he always conversed at full length with every client who came to consult him; that he took care there should be no wit­ness to their conversation, in order that his client might explain himself more free­ly; that he was wont to start every objec­tion, and to plead the cause of the adverse party with him, that he might come at the whole truth, and be fully prepared on every point of the business; and that, after the client had retired, he used to balance all the facts with himself, under three dif­ferent characters, his own, that of the Judge, and that of the Advocate on the opposite side. He censures very severely those of the profession who decline taking so much trouble; taxing them not only with shameful negligence, but with disho­nesty and breach of trust ^*. To the same [Page 263] purpose Quinctilian, in the eighth chapter of his last book, delivers a great many ex­cellent rules concerning all the methods which a Lawyer should employ for attain­ing the most thorough knowledge of the cause he is to plead; again and again re­commending patience and attention in con­versation with clients, and observing very sensibly, ‘"Non tam obest audire surperva­cua, quam ignorare necessaria. Frequenter enim et vulnus, et remedium, in iis Orator inveniet quae litigatori in neutram par­tem, habere momentum videbantur ^*."’

SUPPOSING an Advocate to be thus pre­pared, with all the knowledge which the study of the law in general, and of that cause which he is to plead in particular, can furnish him, I must next observe, that Elo­quence in pleading is of the highest moment for giving support to a cause. It were alto­gether wrong to infer, that because the an­cient popular and vehement manner of [Page 264] pleading is now in a great measure super­seded, there is therefore no room for Elo­quence at the Bar, and that the study of it is become superfluous. Though the man­ner of speaking be changed, yet still there is a right and a proper manner, which de­serves to be studied as much as ever. Per­haps there is no scene of public speaking where Eloquence is more necessary. For on other occasions, the subject on which men speak in public, is frequently suffici­ent, by itself, to interest the hearers- But the dryness and subtilty of the subjects 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 passing unregarded. The effect of good speaking is always very great. There is as much dif­ference in the impression made upon the hearers, by a cold, dry, and confused Speaker, and that made by one who pleads the same cause with elegance, order, and strength, as there is between our concepti­on of an object, when it is presented to us in a dim light, and when we behold it in a full and clear one.

IT is no small encouragement to Elo­quence at the Bar, that of all the liberal professions, none gives fairer play to genius and abilities than that of the Advocate. [Page 265] He is less exposed than some others, to suf­fer by the arts of rivalry, by popular preju­dices, or secret intrigues. He is sure of coming forward according to his merit: For he stands forth every day to view; he en­ters the list boldly with his competitors; every appearance which he makes is an ap­peal to the Public, whose decision seldom fails of being just, because it is impartial. Interest and friends may set 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 resting on these assistances will soon fall. Spectators remark, Judges de­cide, Parties watch; and to him will the multitude of Clients never fail to resort, who gives the most approved specimens of his knowledge, eloquence, and indus­try.

IT must be laid down for a first principle, that the Eloquence suited to the Bar, whe­ther in speaking or in writing law papers, is of the calm and temperate kind, and con­nected with close reasoning. Sometimes a little play may be allowed to the Imaginati­on, in order to enliven a dry subject, and to give relief to the fatigue of attention; but this liberty must be taken with a sparing hand. For a Florid Style, and a sparkling manner, never fail to make the Speaker be heard with a jealous ear by the Judge. They detract from his weight, and always [Page 266] produce a suspicion of his failing in sound­ness and strength of argument. It is puri­ty and neatness of expression which is chief­ly to be studied; a Style perspicuous and proper, which shall not be needlessly over­charged with the pedantry of law terms, and where, at the same time, no affectation shall appear of avoiding these, when they are suitable and necessary.

VERBOSITY is a common fault, of which the gentlemen of this profession are accused; and into which the habit of speaking and writing so hastily, and with so little prepa­ration, as they are often obliged to do, al­most unavoidably betrays them. It cannot, therefore, be too much recommended to those who are beginning to practice at the Bar, that they should early study to guard against this, while as yet they have full lei­sure for preparation. Let them form them­selves, especially in the papers which they write, to the habit of a strong and a correct Style; which expresses the same thing much better in a few words, than is done by the ac­cumulation of intricate and endless periods. If this habit be once acquired, it will be­come natural to them afterwards, when the multiplicity of business shall force them to compose in a more precipitant manner. Whereas, if the practice of a loose and ne­gligent Style has been suffered to become familiar, it will not be in their power, even [Page 267] upon occasions when they wish to make an unusual effort, to express themselves with energy and grace.

DISTINCTNESS is a capital property in speaking at the Bar. This should be shown chiefly in two things; first, in stating the question; in showing clearly what is the point in debate; what we admit: what we deny; and where the line of division begins between us, and the adverse party. Next, it should be shown in the order and arrange­ment of all the parts of the pleading. In every sort of Oration, a clear method is of the utmost consequence; but in those em­broiled and difficult cases which belong to the Bar, it is almost all in all. Too much much pains, therefore, cannot be taken in previously studying the plan and method. If there be indistinctness and disorder there, we can have no success in convincing: we leave the whole cause in darkness.

WITH respect to the conduct of Narrati­on and Argumentation, I shall hereafter make several remarks, when I come to treat of the component parts of regular Oration. I shall at present only observe, that the Narration of facts at the Bar, should always be as concise as the nature of them will admit. Facts are always of the greatest consequence to be remembered during the course of the pleading; but, if the Pleader be tedious in his manner of re­lating [Page 268] them, and needlessly circumstantial, he lays too great a load upon the memory. Whereas, by cutting off all superfluous cir­cumstances in his recital, he adds strength to the material facts; he both gives a clear­er view of what he relates, and makes the impression of it more lasting. In Argumen­tation, again, I would incline to give scope to a more diffuse manner at the Bar, than on some other occasions. For in Popular Assemblies, where the subject of debate is often a plain question, Arguments, taken from known topics, gain strength by their conciseness. But the obscurity of law­points frequently requires the Arguments to be spread out, and placed in different lights, in order to be fully apprehended.

WHEN the the Pleader comes to refute the arguments employed by his adversary, he should be on his guard not to do them in­justice, by disguising, or placing them in a false light. The deceit is soon discovered: it will not fail of being exposed; and tends to impress the Judge and the Hearers with distrust of the Speaker, as one who either wants discernment to perceive, or wants fairness to admit, the strength of the reason­ing on the other side. Whereas, when they see that he states, with accuracy and can­dour, the Arguments which have been used against him, before he proceeds to combat them, a strong prejudice is created in his favour. They are naturally led to think, [Page 269] that he has a clear and full conception of all that can be said on both sides of the Ar­gument; that he has entire confidence in the goodness of his own cause; and does not attempt to support it by any artifice or concealment. The Judge is thereby inclin­ed to receive, much more readily, the im­pressions which are given by a Speaker, who appears both so fair and so penetrating. There is no part of the discourse, in which the Orator has greater oppoortunity of showing a masterly address, than when he sets himself to represent the reasonings of his antagonists, in order to refute them.

WIT may sometimes be of service at the Bar, especially in a lively reply, by which we may throw ridicule on something that has been said on the other side. But, though the reputation of wit be dazzling to a young Pleader, I woul never advise him to rest his strength upon this talent. It is not his business to make an Audience laugh, but to convince the Judge; and sel­dom, or never, did any one rise to eminence in his profession, by being a witty Law­yer.

A PROPER degree of warmth in plead­ing a cause is always of use. Though, in speaking to a multitude, greater vehe­mence be natural; yet, in addressing our­selves even to a single man, the warmth which arises from seriousness and earnest­ness, [Page 270] is one of the most powerful means of persuading him. An Advocate personates his client; he has taken upon him the whole charge of his interests; he stands in his place. It is improper, therefore, and has a bad effect upon the cause, if he ap­pears indifferent and unmoved; and few clients will be fond of trusting their inter­ests in the hands of a cold Speaker.

AT the same time, he must beware of prostituting his earnestness and sensibility so much, as to enter with equal warmth into every cause that is committed to him, whether it can be supposed really to excite his zeal or not. There is a dignity of cha­racter, which it is of the utmost importance for every one in this profession to sup­port. For it must never be forgotten, that there is no instrument of persuasion more powerful, than an opinion of probity and honour in the person who undertakes to persuade ^*. It is scarcely possible for any hearer to separate altogether the impression made by the character of him that speaks, from the things that he says. However secretly and imperceptibly, it will be al­ways lending its weight to one side or other; either detracting from, or adding to, [Page 271] the authority and influence of his Speech. This opinion of honour and probity must therefore be carefully preserved, both by some degree of delicacy in the choice of causes, and by the manner of conducting them. And though, perhaps, the nature of the profession may render it extremely difficult to carry this delicacy its utmost length, yet there are attentions to this point, which, as every good man for vir­tue's sake, so every prudent man for repu­tation's sake, will find to be necessary. He will always decline embarking in causes that are odious and manifestly unjust; and, when he supports a doubtful cause, he will lay the chief stress upon such argu­ments as appear to his own judgment the most tenable; reserving his zeal and his in­dignation for cases where injustice and ini­quity are flagrant. But of the personal qualities and virtues requisite in Public Speakers, I shall afterwards have occasion to discourse.

THESE are the chief directions which have occurred to me concerning the pecu­liar strain of Speaking at the Bar. In order to illustrate the subject farther, I shall give a short Analysis of one of Cicero's Pleadings, or judicial Orations. I have chosen that, pro Cluentio. The celebrated one pro Milone is more laboured and showy; but it is too declamatory. That, pro Cluentio comes nearer the strain of a Modern Pleading; [Page 272] and though it has the disadvantage of being very long, and complicated too in the sub­ject, yet it is one of the most chaste, correct and forcible of all Cicero's judicial Orations, and well deserves attention for its conduct.

AVITUS CLUENTIUS, a Roman Knight of splendid family and fortunes, had accu­sed his Stepfather Oppianicus of an attempt to poison him. He prevailed in the prose­cution; Oppianicus was condemned and banished. But as rumours arose of the Judges having been corrupted by money in this cause, these gave occasion to much po­pular clamour, and had thrown a heavy odium on Cluentius. Eight years afterwards Oppianicus died. An accusation was brought against Cluentius of having poison­ed him, together with a charge also of ha­ving bribed the Judges in the former trial to condemn him. In this action Cicero de­fends him. The accusers were Sassia, the mother of Cluentius, and widow of Oppi­anicus, and young Oppianicus, the son. Q. Naso, the Praetor, was Judge, together with a considerable number of Judices Se­lecti.

THE introduction of the Oration is sim­ple and proper, taken from no common­place topic, but from the nature of the cause. It begins with taking notice, that the whole Oration of the accuser was divided into two [Page 273] parts ^*. These two parts were, the charge of having poisoned Oppianicus; on which the accuser, conscious of having no proof, did not lay the stress of his cause; but rested it chiefly on the other charge of former­ly corrupting the Judges, which was capital in certain cases, by the Roman law. Ci­cero purposes to follow him in this method, and to apply himself chiefly to the vindica­tion of his client from the latter charge. He makes several proper observations on the danger of Judges suffering themselves to be swayed by a popular cry, which often is raised by faction, and directed against the innocent. He acknowledges, that Clu­entius had suffered much and long by re­proach, on account of what had passed at the former trial; but begs only a patient and attentive hearing, and assures the Judges, that he will state every thing re­lating to that matter so fairly and so clear­ly, as shall give them entire satisfaction. A great appearance of candour reigns throughout this Introduction.

[Page 274] THE crimes with which Cluentius were charged, were heinous. A mother accus­ing her son, and accusing him of such ac­tions, as having first bribed Judges to con­demn her husband, and having afterwards poisoned him, were circumstances that na­turally raised strong prejudices against Ci­cero's client. The first step, therefore, ne­cessary for the Orator, was to remove these prejudices; by shewing what sort of persons Cluentius's mother, and her hus­band Oppianicus, were; and thereby turn­ing the edge of public indignation against them. The nature of the cause rendered this plan altogether proper, and, in similar situations, it is fit to be imitated. He executes his plan with much eloquence and force; and, in doing it, lays open such a scene of infamy and complicated guilt, as gives a shocking picture of the manners of that age; and such as would seem incredi­ble, did not Cicero refer to the proof that was taken in the former trial, of the facts which he alleges.

SASSIA, the mother, appears to have been altogether of an abandoned character. Soon after the death of her first husband, the father of Cluentius, she fell in love with Aurius Melinus, a young man of illustrious birth and great fortune, who was married to her own daughter. She pre­vailed with him to divorce her daughter, [Page 275] and then she married him herself ^*. This Melinus being afterwards, by the means of Oppianicus, involved in Sylla's proscrip­tion, and put to death; and Sassia being left, for the second time, a widow, and in a very opulent situation, Oppianicus him­self made his addresses to her. She, not startled at the impudence of the proposal, nor at the thoughts of marrying one, whose hands had been imbrued in her former hus­band's blood, objected only, as Cicero says, to Oppianicus having two sons by his present wife. Oppianicus removed the objection, by having his sons privately dis­patched; and then, divorcing his wife, the infamous match was concluded between him and Sassia. These flagrant deeds are painted, as we may well believe, with the highest 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 herself and all her family with [Page 276] so much dishonour; and hence, the feud which had ever since subsisted between them, and had involved her unfortunate son in so much trouble and persecution. As for Oppianicus, Cicero gives a sort of history 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, insatiable in avarice and ambition; trained and hardened in all the crimes which those turbulent times of Ma­rius and Sylla's proscriptions produced: ‘"such a man,"’ says our Orator, ‘"as in place of being surprised that he was con­demned, you ought rather to wonder that he had escaped so long."’

AND now, having prepared the way by all this narration, which is clear and ele­gant, he enters on the history 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 contest about the rights of the freemen of that city, they had taken opposite sides, which embittered the mis­understanding already subsisting between them. Sassia, now the wife of Oppianicus, pushed him on to the destruction of her son, whom she had long hated, as one who was conscious of her crimes; and as Cluentius was known to have made no will, they expected, upon his death, to succeed to his fortune. The plan was formed, there­fore, [Page 277] to dispatch him by poison; which, considering their former conduct, is no incredible part of the story. Cluentius was at that time indisposed: the servant of his physician was to be bribed to give him poison, and one Fabricius, an inti­mate friend of Oppianicus, was employed in the negociation. The servant having made the discovery, Cluentius first prose­cuted Scamander, a freedman of Fabricius, in whose custody the poison was found; and afterwards Fabricius, for this attempt upon his life. He prevailed in both acti­ons: and both these persons were con­demned by the voices, almost unanimous, of the Judges.

OF both these Prejudicia, as our Au­thor calls them, or previous trials, he gives a very particular account; and rests upon them a great part of his argument, as, in neither of them, there was the least charge or suspicion of any attempt to corrupt the Judges. But in both these trials, Oppiani­cus was pointed at plainly; in both, Sca­mander and Fabricius were prosecuted as only the instruments and ministers of his cruel designs. As a natural consequence, therefore, Cluentius immediately after­wards raised a third prosecution against Op­pianicus himself, the contriver and author of the whole. It was in this prosecution, that money was said to have been given to the Judges; all Rome was filled with the [Page 278] report of it, and the alarm loudly raised, that no man's life or liberty was safe, if such dangerous practices were not checked: By the following arguments, Cicero defends his client against this heavy charge of the Crimen corrupti Judicii.

HE reasons first, that there was not the least reason to suspect it; seeing the con­demnation of Oppianicus was a direct and necessary consequence of the judgments given against Scamander and Fabricius, in the two former trials; trials, that were fair and uncorrupted, to the satisfaction of the whole world. Yet by these, the road was laid clearly open to the detection of Oppianicus's guilt. His instruments and ministers being once condemned, and by the very same Judges too, nothing could be more absurd than to raise a cry about an innocent person being circumvened by bribery, when it was evident, on the con­trary, that a guilty person was now brought into judgment, under such circumstances, that unless the Judges were altogether in­consistent with themselves, it was impossi­ble for him to be acquitted.

HE reasons next, that, if in this trial there was any corruption of the Judges by money, it was infinitely more probable, that corruption should have proceeded from Oppianicus than from Cluentius. For set­ting aside the difference of character be­tween [Page 279] the two men, the one fair, the other flagitious; what motive had Cluentius to try so odious and dangerous an experiment, as that of bribing Judges? Was it not much more likely that he should have had recourse to this last remedy, who saw and knew him­self, and his cause, to be in the utmost dan­ger; than the other, who had a cause clear in itself, and of the issue of which, in con­sequence of the two previous sentences given by the same Judges, he had full rea­son to be confident? Was it not much more likely that he should bribe, who had every thing to fear; whose life and liberty, and fortune were at stake; than he who had already prevailed in a material part of his charge, and who had no further interest in the issue of the prosecution, than as jus­tice was concerned?

IN the third place, he asserts it as a certain fact, that Oppianicus did attempt to bribe the Judges; that the corruption in this tri­al, so much complained of, was employed, not by Cluentius, but against him. He calls on Titus Attius, the Orator on the opposite side; he challenges him to deny, if he can, or if he dare, that Stalenus, one of the thirty-two Judices Selecti, did receive money from Oppianicus; he names the sum that was given; he names the persons that were present, when, after the trial was over, Stalenus was obliged to refund the bribe. This is a strong fact, and would seem quite decisive. But, unluckily, a very [Page 280] cross circumstance occurs here. For this very Stalenus gave his voice to condemn Oppianicus. For this strange incident, Ci­cero accounts in the following manner: Stalenus, says he, known to be a worthless man, and accustomed before to the like prac­tices, entered into a treaty with Oppianicus to bring him off, and demanded for that pur­pose a certain sum, which he undertook to dis­tribute among a competent number of the other Judges. When he was once in pos­session of the money; when he found a great­er treasure, than ever he had been master of, deposited in his empty and wretched ha­bitation, he became very unwilling to part with any of it to his colleagues; and be­thought himself of some means by which he could contrive to keep it all to himself. The scheme which he devised for this purpose, was, to promote the condemnation, instead of the acquittal of Oppianicus; as, from a condemned per­son, he did not apprehend much danger of being called to account, or being obliged to make restitution. In place, therefore, of endeavouring to gain any of his colleagues, he irritated such as he had influence with against Oppianicus, by first promising them money in his name, and afterwards telling them, that Oppianicus had cheated him ^*. [Page 281] When sentence was to be pronounced, he had taken measures for being absent him­self; but being brought by Oppianicus's Lawyers from another court, and obliged to give his voice, he found it necessary to lead the way, in condemning the man whose money he had taken, without ful­filling the bargain which he had made with him.

BY these plausible facts and reasonings, the character of Cluentius seems in a great measure cleared; and, what Cicero chiefly intended, the odium thrown upon the ad­verse party. But a difficult part of the Ora­tor's business still remained. There were several subsequent decisions of the Praetor, the Censors, and the Senate, against the Judges in this cause; which all proceeded, or seemed to proceed, upon this ground of bribery and corruption: for it is plain the suspicion prevailed, that if Oppianicus had given money to Stalenus, Cluentius had outbribed him. To all these decisions, however, Cicero replies with much distinct­ness and subtilty of argument; though it might be tedious to follow him through all [Page 282] his reasonings on these heads. He shows, that the facts were, at that time, very in­distinctly known; that the decisions appeal­ed to were hastily given; that not one of them concluded directly against his Client; and that such as they were, they were entirely brought about by the inflammatory and facti­ous harangues of Quinctius, the Tribune of the People, who had been the Agent and Advocate of Oppianicus; and who, enraged at the defeat he had sustained, had employ­ed all his tribunitial influence to raise a storm against the Judges who condemned his Client.

AT length, Cicero comes to reason con­cerning the point of law. The Crimen Corrupti Judicii, or the bribing of the Judges, was capital. In the famous Lex Cornelia de Sicariis, was contained this clause (which we find still extant, Pandect. lib. xlviii. Tit. 10. § 1.) ‘"Qui judicem corruperit, vel corrumpendum curaverit, hâc lege teneatur."’ This clause, however, we learn from Cicero, was restricted to Ma­gistrates and Senators; and as Cluentius was only of the Equestrain Order, he was not, even supposing him guilty, within the law. Of this Cicero avails himself doubly; and as he shows here the most masterly ad­dress, I shall give a summary of his plead­ing on this part of the cause: ‘"You,"’ says he to the Advocate for the prosecutor, ‘"you, T. Attius, I know, had every where [Page 283] given it out, that I was to defend my Client, not from facts, not upon the footing of innocence, but by taking ad­vantage merely of the law in his behalf. Have I done so? I appeal to yourself. Have I sought to cover him behind a le­gal defence only? On the contrary, have I not pleaded his cause as if he had been a Senator, liable, by the Cornelian law, to be capitally convicted; and shown, that neither proof nor probable presumption lies against his innocence? In doing so, I must acquaint you, that I have compli­ed with the desire of Cluentius himself. For when he first consulted me in this cause, and when I informed him that it was clear no action could be brought against him from the Cornelian Law, he instantly besought and obtested me, that I would not rest his defence upon that ground; saying, with tears in his eyes, That his reputation was as dear to him as his life; and that what he sought, as an innocent man, was not only to be absolv­ed from any penalty, but to be acquitted in the opinion of all his fellow-citizens."’

‘"HITHERTO, then, I have pleaded this cause upon his plan. But my Client must forgive me, if now I shall plead it upon my own. For I should be wanting to myself, and to that regard which my character and station require me to bear to the laws of the State, if I should al­low [Page 284] any person to be judged of by a law which does not bind him. You, Attius, indeed, have told us, that it was a scan­dal and reproach, that a Roman Knight should be exempted from those penalties to which a Senator, for corrupting Judges, is liable. But I must tell you, that it would be a much greater reproach, in a State that is regulated by law, to depart from the law. What safety have any of us in our persons, what security for our rights, if the law shall be set aside? By what title do you, Q. Naso, sit in that chair, and preside in this judgment? By what right, T. Attius, do you accuse, or do I desend? Whence all the solemni­ty and pomp of Judges, and Clerks, and Officers, of which this house is full? Does not all proceed from the law, which re­gulates the whole departments of the State; which, as a common bond, holds its mem­bers together; and, like the Soul within the Body, actuates and directs all public functions ^*? On what ground, then, dare [Page 285] you speak lightly of the law, or move that, in a criminal trial, Judges should advance one step beyond what it permits them to go? The wisdom of our ances­tors has found, that, as Senators and Magistrates enjoy higher dignities, and greater advantages than other members of the state, the law should also, with regard to them, be more strict, and the purity and uncorruptedness of their mo­rals be guarded by more severe sanctions. But if it be your pleasure that this insti­tution should be altered, if you wish to have the Cornelian Law, concerning bri­bery extended to all ranks, then let us join, not in violating the law, but in proposing to have this alteration made by a new law. My Client, Cluentius, will be the foremost in this measure, who now, while the old law subsists, rejected its defence, and required his cause to be pleaded, as if he had been bound by it. But, though he would not avail himself of the law, you are bound in justice not to stretch it beyond its proper limit."’

SUCH is the reasoning of Cicero on this head; eloquent, surely, and strong. As his manner is diffuse, I have greatly abridg­ed [Page 286] it from the original, but have endea­voured to detain its force.

IN the latter part of the Oration, Cicero treats of the other accusation that was brought against Cluentius, of having poi­soned Oppianicus. On this, it appears, his accusers themselves laid small stress; having placed their chief hope in over­whelming Cluentius with the odium of bribery in the former trial; and, therefore, on this part of the cause, Cicero does not dwell long. He shows the imbrobability of the whole tale, which they related con­cerning this pretended poisoning, and makes it appear to be altogether destitute of any shadow of proof.

NOTHING, therefore, remains but the Peroration, or Conclusion of the whole. In this, as indeed throughout the whole of this Oration, Cicero is uncommonly chaste, and, in the midst of much warmth and ear­nestness, keeps clear of turgid declamation. The Peroration turns on two points; the indignation which the character and con­duct of Sassia ought to excite, and the compassion due to a son, persecuted through his whole life by such a mother. He re­capitulates the crimes of Sassia; her lewd­ness, her violation of every decorum, her incestuous marriages, her violence and cru­elty. He places, in the most odious light, the eagerness and fury which she had shown [Page 287] in the suit she was carrying on against her son; describes her journey from Larinum to Rome, with a train of attendants, and a great store of money, that she might em­ploy every method for circumvening and oppressing him in this trial; while, in the whole course of her journey, she was so detested, as to make a solitude wherever she lodged; she was shunned and avoided by all; her company and her very looks, were reckoned contagious; the house was deemed polluted which was entered into by so abandoned a woman ^*. To this he op­poses the character of Cluentius, fair, un­spotted, and respectable. He produces the testimonies of the magistrates of Larinum in his favour, given in the most ample and ho­nourable manner by a public decree, and supported by a great concourse of the most noted inhabitants, who were now present, [Page 288] to second every thing that Cicero could say in favour of Cluentius.

‘"WHEREFORE, Judges,"’ he concludes, ‘"if you abominate crimes, stop the tri­umph of this impious woman, prevent this most unnatural mother from rejoic­ing in her son's blood. If you love virtue and worth, relieve this unfortunate man, who, for so many years, has been expos­ed to most unjust reproach through the calumnies raised against him by Sassia, Oppianicus, and all their adherents. Bet­ter far it had been for him to have ended his days at once by the poison which Op­pianicus had prepared for him, than to have escaped those snares, if he must still be oppressed by an odium which I have shown to be so unjust. But in you he trusts, in your clemency, and your equi­ty, that now, on a full and fair hearing of his cause, you will restore him to his honour; you will restore him to his friends and fellow-citizens, of whose zeal and high estimation of him you have seen such strong proofs; and will show, by your decision, that, though faction and calumny may reign for a while in populat meetings and harangues, in trial and judgment regard is paid to the truth only."’

I HAVE given only a skeleton of this Oration of Cicero. What I have princi­pally [Page 289] aimed at, was to show his disposition and method; his arrangement of facts, and the conduct and force of some of his main arguments. But, in order to have a full view of the subject, and of the art with which the Orator manages it, recourse must be had to the original. Few of Cice­ro's Orations contain a greater variety of facts and argumentations, which renders it difficult to analyse it fully. But for this reason I chose it, as an excellent exam­ple of managing at the Bar a complex and intricate cause, with order, elegance, and force.

BEFORE treating of the structure and component parts of a regular Oration, I purposed making some observations on the peculiar strain, the distinguishing cha­racters, of each of the three great kinds of Public Speaking. I have already treated of the Eloquence of Popular Assemblies, and of the Eloquence of the Bar. The subject which remains for this Lecture is, the strain and spirit of that Eloquence which is suited to the Pulpit.

LET us begin with considering the ad­vantages, and disadvantages, which belong to this field of Public Speaking. The Pul­pit has plainly several advantages peculiar to itself. The dignity and importance of its subjects must be acknowledged superior to any other. They are such as ought to [Page 291] interest every one, and can be brought home to every man's heart; and such as admit, at the same time, both the highest embellishment in describing, and the greatest vehemence and warmth in enforcing them. The Preacher has also great advantages in treating his subjects. He speaks not to one or a few Judges, but to a large Assembly. He is secure from all interruption. He is obliged to no replies, or extemporaneous efforts. He chuses his theme at leisure; and comes to the Public with all the assist­ance which the most accurate premeditation can give him.

BUT, together with these advantages, there are also peculiar difficulties that at­tend the Eloquence of the Pulpit. The Preacher, it is true, has no trouble in con­tending with an adversary; but then, De­bate and Contention enliven the genius of men, and procure attention. The Pulpit Orator is, perhaps, in too quiet possession of his field. His subjects of discourse are, in themselves, noble and important; but they are subjects trite and familiar. They have, for ages, employed so many Speak­ers, and so many pens; the public ear is so much accustomed 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 bestow, on what is common, the grace of novelty. No sort of composition whatever is such a [Page 292] trial of skill, 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 dressing truths which they knew, and of which they were before convinced, in such colours as may most forcibly affect their imagination and heart ^*. It is to be consi­dered too, that the subject of the Preacher generally confines him to abstract qualities, to virtues and vices; whereas, that of other popular Speakers leads them to treat of persons; which is a subject that commonly interests the hearers more, and takes faster [Page 293] hold of the imagination. The Preacher's business is solely to make you detest the crime. The Pleader's, to make you detest the criminal. He describes a living per­son; and with more facility rouses your indignation. From these causes, it comes to pass, that though we have a great num­ber of moderately good Preachers, we have, however, so few that are singularly emi­nent. We are still far from perfection in the art of Preaching; and perhaps there are few things, in which it is more difficult to excel ^*. The object, however, is noble, and worthy, upon many accounts, of be­ing pursued with zeal.

IT may perhaps occur to some, that preaching is no proper subject of the Art of Eloquence. This, it may be said, be­longs [Page 294] only to human studies and inven­tions: but for the truths of religion, with the greater simplicity, and the less mix­ture of art they are set forth, they are likely to prove the more successful. This objection would have weight, if Eloquence were, as the persons who make such an objection commonly take it to be, an osten­tatious and deceitful art, the study of words and of plausibility only, calculated to please, and to tickle the ear. But against this idea of Eloquence I have all along guarded. True Eloquence is the art of placing truth in the most advantageous light for conviction and persuasion. This is what every good man who preaches the Gospel not only may, but ought to have at heart. It is most intimately connected with the success of his ministry; and were it needful, as assuredly it is not, to reason any further on this head, we might refer to the Discourses of the Prophets and Apostles, as models of the most sublime and persuasive Eloquence, adapted both to the imagination and the passions of men.

AN essential requisite, in order to preach well, is, to have a just, and, at the same time, a fixed and habitual view of the end of preaching. For in no art can any man execute well, who has not a just idea of the end and object of that art. The end of all preaching is, to persuade men to become good. Every Sermon therefore should be [Page 295] a persuasive Oration. Not but that the Preacher is to instruct and to teach, to rea­son and argue. All persuasion, as I show­ed formerly, is to be founded on conviction. The understanding must always be applied to in the first place, in order to make a last­ing impression on the heart: and he who would work on men's passions, or in­influence their practice, without first giving them just principles, and enlightening their minds, is no better than a mere declaimer. He may raise transient emotions, or kindle a passing ardour; but can produce no solid or lasting effect. At the same time, it must be remembered, that all the Preachers in­structions are to be of the practical kind; and that persuasion must ever be his ulti­mate object. It is not to discuss some ab­struse point, that he ascends the Pulpit. It is not to illustrate some metaphysical truth, or to inform men of something which they never heard before; but it is to make them better men; it is to give them, at once, clear views, and persuasive impressions of religious truth. The Eloquence of the Pul­pit then, must be Popular Eloquence. One of the first qualities of preaching is to be po­pular; not in the sense of accommodation to the humours and prejudices of the people (which tends only to make a Preacher con­temptible), but, in the true sense of the word, calculated to make impression on the people; to strike and to seize their hearts. I scruple not therefore to assert, that the abstract and philosophical manner of preach­ing, [Page 296] however it may have sometimes been admired, is formed upon a very faulty idea, and deviates widely from the just plan of Pulpit Eloquence. Rational, indeed, a Preacher ought always to be; he must give his audience clear ideas on every subject, and entertain them with sense, not with sound; but to be an accurate reasoner will be small praise, if he be not a persuasive Speaker also.

NOW, if this be the proper idea of a Ser­mon, a persuasive Oration, one very mate­rial consequence follows, that the Preacher himself, in order to be successful, must be a good man. In a preceding Lecture, I en­deavoured to show, that on no subject can any man be truly eloquent, who does not utter the ‘"verae voces ab imo pectore,"’ who does not speak the language of his own conviction, and his own feelings. If this holds, as, in my opinion, it does in other kinds of Public Speaking, it certainly holds in the highest degree in preaching. There, it is of the utmost consequence that the Speaker firmly believe both the truth, and the importance of those principles which he inculcates on others; and, not only that he believe them speculatively, but have a lively and serious feeling of them. This will always give an earnestness and strength, a fervour of piety to his exhortations, supe­rior in its effects to all the arts of studied Eloquence; and, without it, the assistance of art will seldom be able to conceal the [Page 297] mere declaimer. A spirit of true piety would prove the most effectual guard against those errors which Preachers are apt to com­mit. It would make their Discourses solid, cogent, and useful; it would prevent those frivolous and ostentatious harangues, which have no other aim than merely to make a parade of Speech, or amuse an audience; and perhaps the difficulty of attaining that pitch of habitual piety and goodness, which the perfection of Pulpit Eloquence would require, and of uniting it with that tho­rough knowledge of the world, and those other talents which are requisite for excel­ling in the Pulpit, is one of the great causes why so few arrive at very high eminence in this sphere.

THE chief characteristics of the Eloquence suited to the Pulpit, as distinguished from the other kinds of Public Speaking, appear to me to be these two, Gravity and Warmth. The serious nature of the subjects belong­ing to the Pulpit, requires Gravity; their importance to mankind, requires Warmth. It is far from being either easy or common to unite these characters of Eloquence. The Grave, when it is predominant, is apt to run into a dull uniform solemnity. The Warm, when it wants gravity, borders on the theatrical and light. The uni­on of the two must be studied by all Preachers as of the utmost consequence, both in the composition of their dis­courses, and in their manner of delivery. [Page 298] Gravity and Warmth united, form that character of preaching which the French call Onction; the affecting, penetrating, in­teresting manner, flowing from a strong sen­sibility of heart in the Preacher to the im­portance of those truths which he delivers, and an earnest desire that they may make full impression on the hearts of his Hearers.

NEXT to a just idea of the nature and object of Pulpit Eloquence, the point of gre test importance to a Preacher, is a pro­per choice of the subjects on which he preaches. To give rules for the choice of subjects for Sermons, belongs to the theolo­gical more than to the rhetorical chair; on­ly in general, they should be such as appear to the Preacher to be the most useful, and the best accommodated to the circumstances of his Audience. No man can be called eloquent, who speaks to an Assembly on subjects, or in a strain, which none or few of them comprehend. The unmeaning ap­plause which the ignorant give to what is above their capacity, common sense, and common probity, must teach every man to despise. Usefulness and true Eloquence al­ways go together; and no man can long be reputed a good Preacher who is not acknow­ledged to be an useful one.

THE rules which relate to the conduct of the different parts of a Sermon, the Intro­duction, Division, argumentative and pa­thetic [Page 299] parts, I reserve to be afterwards de­livered, when treating of the conduct of a Discourse in general; but some rules and observations, which respect a Sermon as a particular species of composition, I shall now give, and I hope they may be of some use.

THE first which I shall mention is, to at­tend to the Unity of a Sermon. Unity in­deed is of great consequence in every com­position; but in other Discourses, where the choice and direction of the subject are not left to the Speaker, it may be less in his power to preserve it. In a Sermon, it must be always the Preacher's own fault if he transgress it. What I mean by unity is, that there should be some one main point to which the whole strain of the Sermon shall refer. It must not be a bundle of different subjects strung together, but one object must predominate throughout. This rule is founded on what we all experience, that the mind can attend fully only to one capital object at a time. By dividing, you always weaken the impression. Now this Unity, without which no Sermon can either have much beauty, or much force, does not re­quire that there should be no divisions or separate heads in the Discourse, or that one single thought only should be, again and again, turned up to the hearers in different lights. It is not to be understood in so nar­row a sense: it admits of some variety; it [Page 300] admits of underparts and appendages, pro­vided always that so much Union and Con­nection be preserved, as to make the whole concur in some one impression upon the mind. I may employ, for instance, several different arguments to enforce the love of God; I may also enquire, perhaps, into the causes of the decay of this virtue; still one great object is presented to the mind; but if, because my text says, ‘"He that loveth God, must love his brother also,"’ I should, therefore, mingle in one Discourse argu­ments for the love of God and for the love of our neighbour, I would offend unpardon­ably against Unity, and leave a very loose and confused impression on the Hearers minds.

IN the second place, Sermons are always the more striking, and commonly the more useful, the more precise and particular the subject of them be. This follows, in a great measure, from what I was just now illustra­ting. Though a general subject is capable of being conducted with a considerable de­gree of Unity, yet that Unity can never be so complete as in a particular one. The impression made must always be more un­determinate; and the instruction conveyed, will commonly too, be less direct and con­vincing. General subjects, indeed, such as the excellency or the pleasures of religion, are often chosen by young Preachers, as the most showy, and the easiest to be handled; [Page 301] and, doubtless, general views of religion are not to be neglected, as on several occa­sions they have great propriety. But these are not the subjects most favourable for pro­ducing the high effects of preaching. They fall in almost unavoidably with the beaten tract of common-place thought. Attention is much more commanded by seizing some particular view of a great subject, some sin­gle interesting topic, and directing to that point the whole force of Argument and Eloquence. To recommend some one grace or virtue, or to inveigh against a particular vice, furnishes a subject not deficient in unity or precision; but if we confine our­selves to that virtue or vice as assuming a particular aspect, and consider it as it ap­pears in certain characters, or affects certain situations in life, the subject becomes still more interesting. The execution is, I ad­mit, more difficult, but the merit and the effect are higher.

IN the third place, never study to say all that can be said upon a subject; no error is greater than this. Select the most useful, the most striking and persuasive topics which the text suggests, and rest the Discourse upon these. If the doctrines which Ministers of the Gospel preach were altogether new to their hearers, it might be requisite for them to be exceeding full on every particular, lest there should be any hazard of their not affording complete information. But it is [Page 302] much less for the sake of information than of persuasion, that Discourses are delivered from the Pulpit; and nothing is more op­posite to persuasion, than an unnecessary and tedious fulness. There are always some things which the Preacher may sup­pose to be known, and some things which he may only shortly touch. If he seek to omit nothing which his subject suggests, it will unavoidably happen that he will en­cumber it, and weaken its force.

IN studying a Sermon, he ought to place himself in the situation of a serious hearer. Let him suppose the subject addressed to himself: let him consider what views of it would strike him most; what arguments would be most likely to persuade him; what parts of it would dwell most upon his mind. Let these be employed as his principal ma­terials; and in these, it is most likely his genius will exert itself with the greatest vi­gour. The spinning and wire-drawing mode, which is not uncommon among Preachers, enervates the noblest truths. It may indeed be a consequence of observing the rule which I am now giving, that fewer Sermons will be preached upon one text than is sometimes done; but this will, in my opinion, be attended with no disadvantage. I know no benefit that arises from intro­ducing a whole system of religious truth under every text. The simplest and most natural method by far, is to chuse that view [Page 303] of a subject to which the text principally leads, and to dwell no longer on the text, than is sufficient for discussing the subject in that view, which can commonly be done, with sufficient profoundness and distinct­ness, in one or a few Discourses: for it is a very false notion to imagine, that they al­ways preach the most profoundly, or go the deepest into a subject, who dwell on it the longest. On the contrary, that tedious cir­cuit, which some are ready to take in all their illustrations, is very frequently owing, either to their want of discernment for per­ceiving what is most important in the sub­ject; or to their want of ability for placing it in the most proper point of view.

IN the fourth place, study above all things to render your instructions interesting to the Hearers. This is the great trial and mark of true genius for the Eloquence of the Pulpit: for nothing is so fatal to success in preaching, as a dry manner. A dry Ser­mon can never be a good one. In order to preach in an interesting manner, much will depend upon the delivery of a Discourse; for the manner in which a man speaks, is of the utmost consequence for affecting his Audience; but much will also depend on the composition of the Discourse. Correct language, and elegant description, are but the secondary instruments of preaching in an interesting manner. The great secret lies, in bringing home all that is spoken to [Page 304] the hearts of the Hearers, so as to make every man think that the Preacher is addres­sing him in particular. For this end, let him avoid all intricate reasonings; avoid expressing himself in general speculative propositions, or laying down practical truths in an abstract metaphysical manner. As much as possible, the Discourse ought to be carried on in the strain of direct ad­dress to the Audience; not in the strain of one writing an essay, but of one speaking to a multitude, and studying to mix what is called Application, or what has an im­mediate reference to practice, with the doctrinal and didactic parts of the Ser­mon.

IT will be of much advantage to keep always in view the different ages, charac­ters, and conditions of men, and to accom­modate directions and exhortations to these different classes of hearers. Whenever you bring forth what a man feels to touch his own character, or to suit his own circum­stances, you are sure of interesting him. No study is more necessary for this purpose, than the study of human life, and the human heart. To be able to unfold the heart, and to discover a man to himself, in a light in which he never saw his own character before, produces a wonderful ef­fect. As long as the Preacher hovers in a cloud of general observations, and descends not to trace the particular lines and fea­tures [Page 305] of manners, the Audience are apt to think themselves unconcerned in the description. It is the striking accuracy of moral characters that gives the chief power and effect to a preacher's discourse. Hence, examples founded on historical facts, and drawn from real life, of which kind the Scriptures afford many, always, when they are well chosen, command high attention. No favourable opportunity of introducing these should be omitted. They correct, in some degree, that disadvantage to which I before observed preaching is subject, of being confined to treat of qualities in the abstract, not of persons, and place the weight and reality of religious truths in the most convincing light. Perhaps the most beautiful, and among the most useful sermons of any, though, indeed the most difficult in composition, are such as are wholly characteristical, or founded on the illustration of some peculiar character, or remarkable piece of history, in the sacred writings; by pursuing which, one can trace, and lay open, some of the most se­cret windings of man's heart. Other to­pics of preaching have been much beaten; but this is a field, which, wide in itself, has hitherto been little explored by the composers of sermons, and possesses all the advantages of being curious, new, and highly useful. Bishop Butler's sermon on the character of Balaam, will give an idea [Page 306] of that sort of preaching which I have in my eye.

IN the fifth and last place, Let me add a caution against taking the model of preach­ing from particular fashions that chance to have the vogue. These are torrents that swell to day, and have spent themselves by to-morrow. Sometimes it is the taste of poetical preaching, sometimes of philoso­phical, that has the fashion on its side; at one time it must be all pathetic, at another time all argumentative, according as some celebrated Preacher has set the example. Each of these-modes, in the extreme, is very faulty; and he who conforms himself to it, will both cramp genius, and corrupt it. It is the universal taste of mankind which is subject to no such changing modes, that alone is entitled to possess any autho­rity; and this will never give its sanction to any strain of preaching, but what is founded on human nature, connected with usefulness, adapted to the proper idea of a Sermon, as a serious persuasive Oration, delivered to a multitude, in order to make them better men. Let a Preacher form himself upon this standard, and keep it close in his eye, and he will be in a much surer road to reputation, and success at last, than by a servile compliance with any popular taste, or transient humour of his Hearers. Truth and good sense are firm, and will establish themselves; mode [Page 307] and humour are feeble and fluctuating. Let him never follow, implicitly, any one example; or become a servile imitator of any Preacher, however much admired. From various examples, he may pick up much for his improvement; some he may prefer to the rest: but the servility of imi­tation extinguishes all genius, or rather is a proof of the entire want of genius.

WITH respect to Style, that which the Pulpit requires, must certainly, in the first place, be very perspicuous. As discourses spoken there, are calculated for the in­struction of all sorts of hearers, plainness and simplicity should reign in them. All unusual, swoln, or high sounding words, should be avoided; especially all words that are merely poetical, or merely philosophical. Young Preachers are apt to be caught with the glare of these; and in young Compo­sers the error may be excusable; but they may be assured that it is an error, and pro­ceeds from their not having yet acquired a correct Taste. Dignity of expression, in­deed, the Pulpit requires in a high degree; nothing that is mean or groveling, no low or vulgar phrases, ought on any account to be admitted. But this dignity is perfectly consistent with simplicity. The words em­ployed may be all plain words, easily un­derstood, and in common use; and yet the Style may be abundantly dignified, and, at the same time, very lively and animated. [Page 308] For a lively animated Style is extremely suited to the Pulpit. The earnestness which a Preacher ought to feel, and the grandeur and importance of his subjects, justify, and often require warm and glowing expres­sions. He not only may employ metaphors and comparisons, but, on proper occasions, may apostrophise the saint or the sinner; may personify inanimate objects, break out into bold exclamations, and, in general, has the command of the most passionate figures of Speech. But on this subject, of the proper use and management of figures, I have insisted so fully in former Lectures, that I have no occasion now to give parti­cular directions; unless it be only to recal to mind that most capital rule, never to employ strong figures, or a pathetic Style, except in cases where the subject leads to them, and where the Speaker is impelled to the use of them by native unaffected warmth.

THE language of Sacred Scripture, pro­perly employed, is a great ornament to Sermons. It may be employed, either in the way of quotation, or allusion. Direct quotations, brought from Scripture, in or­der to support what the Preacher incul­cates, both give authority to his doctrine, and render his discourse more solemn and venerable. Allusions to remarkable passa­ges, or expressions of Scripture, when in­troduced with propriety, have generally a [Page 309] pleasing effect. They afford the Preacher a fund of metaphorical expression which no other composition enjoys, and by means of which he can vary and enliven his Style. But he must take care that any such allu­sions be natural and easy; for if they seem forced, they approach to the nature of con­ceits ^*.

IN a Sermon, no points or conceits should appear, no affected smartness and quaintness of expression. These derogate much from the dignity of the Pulpit; and give to a Preacher that air of foppishness, which he ought, above all things, to shun. It is rather a strong expressive Style, than [Page 310] a sparkling one, that is to be studied. But we must beware of imagining, that we ren­der Style strong and expressive, by a con­stant and multiplied use of epithets. This is a great error. Epithets have often great beauty and force. But if we introduce them into every Sentence, and string many of them together to one object, in place of strengthening, we clog and enfeeble Style; in place of illustrating the image, we ren­der it confused and indistinct. He that tells me, ‘"of this perishing, mutable and tran­sitory world;"’ by all these three epithets, does not give me so strong an idea of what he would convey, as if he had used one of them with propriety. I conclude this head with an advice, never to have what may be called a favourite expression; for it shews affectation, and becomes disgusting. Let not any expression, which is remarkable for its lustre or beauty, occur twice in the same discourse. The repetition of it be­trays a fondness to shine, and, at the same time, carries the appearance of barren in­vention.

AS to the question, whether it be most proper to write Sermons fully, and commit them accurately to memory, or to study only the matter and thoughts, and trust the expression, in part at least, to the de­livery? I am of opinion, that no universal rule can here be given. The choice of ei­ther of these methods must be left to Preach­ers, [Page 311] according to their different genius. The expressions which come warm and glowing from the mind, during the fervour of pronunciation, will often have a supe­rior grace and energy, to those which are studied in the retirement of the closet. But then, this fluency and power of expression cannot, at all times, be depended upon, even by those of the readiest genius; and by many can at no time be commanded, when overawed by the presence of an Au­dience. It is proper therefore to begin, at least, the practice of preaching, with writ­ing as accurately as possible. This is ab­solutely necessary in the beginning, in or­der to acquire the power and habit of cor­rect speaking, nay also of correct thinking, upon religious subjects. I am inclined to go further, and to say, that it is proper not only to begin thus, but also to continue, as long as the habits of industry last, in the practice both of writing, and committing to memory. Relaxation in this particular is so common, and so ready to grow up­on most Speakers in the Pulpit, that there is little occasion for giving any cautions against the extreme of overdoing in ac­curacy.

OF pronunciation or delivery, I am here­after to treat apart. All that I shall now say upon this head is, that the practice of reading Sermons, is one of the greatest ob­stacles [Page 312] to the Eloquence of the Pulpit in Great Britain, where alone this practice prevails. No discourse, which is designed to be persuasive, can have the same force when read, as when spoken. The com­mon people all feel this, and their preju­dice against this practice is not without foundation in nature. What is gained here­by in point of correctness, is not equal, I apprehend, to what is lost in point of per­suasion and force. They, whose memories are not able to retain the whole of a dis­course, might aid themselves considerably by short notes lying before them, which would allow them to preserve, in a great measure, the freedom and ease of one who speaks.

THE French and English writers of Ser­mons proceed upon very different ideas of the Eloquence of the Pulpit; and seem in­deed to have split it betwixt them. A French Sermon, is for most part a warm animated exhortation; an English one, is a piece of cool instructive reasoning. The French Preachers address themselves chief­ly to the imagination and the passions; the English, almost solely to the understanding. It is the union of these two kinds of com­position, of the French earnestness and warmth, with the English accuracy and reason, that would form, according to my idea, the model of a perfect Sermon. A [Page 313] French Sermon woul sound in our ears as a florid, and, often, as an enthusiastic, ha­rangue. The censure which, in fact, the French critics pass on the English Preachers is, that they are Philosophers and Logici­ans, but not orators ^*. The defects of most of the French Sermons are these: from a mode that prevails among them of taking their texts from the lesson of the day, the connection of the text with the subject is often unnatural and forced ^†; their appli­cations of Scripture are fanciful rather than instructive; their method is stiff, and cramp­ed, by their practice of dividing their sub­ject always either into three, or two main points; and their composition is in general too diffuse, and consists rather of a very few thoughts spread out, and highly wrought up, than of a rich variety of sen­timents. Admitting, however, all these defects, it cannot be denied, that their Ser­mons are formed upon the idea of a persua­sive [Page 314] popular Oration; and therefore I am of opinion, they may be read with benefit.

AMONG the French Protestant divines, Saurin is the most distinguished: He is copi­ous, eloquent, and devout, though too os­tentatious in his manner. Among the Ro­man Catholics, the two most eminent, are Bourdaloue and Massillon. It is a subject of dispute among the French Critics, to which of these the preference is due, and each of them have their several partizans. To Bourdaloue, they attribute more solidi­ty and close reasoning; to Massillon, a more pleasing and engaging manner. Bourdaloue is indeed a great reasoner, and inculcates his doctrines with much zeal, piety, and earnestness; but his Style is verbose, he is disagreeably full of quotations from the Fa­thers, and he wants imagination. Massil­lon hae more grace, more sentiment, and, in my opinion, every way more genius. He discovers much knowledge both of the world and of the human heart; he is pathe­tic and persuasive; and, upon the whole, is perhaps, the most eloquent writer of Ser­mons which modern times have produced ^*.

[Page 315] DURING the period that preceded the re­storation of King Charles II. the Sermons of the English divines abounded with [Page 316] scholastic casuistical theology. They were full of minute divisions and subdivisions, and scraps of learning in the didactic part; but to these were joined very warm pathe­tic addresses to the consciences of the Hear­ers, in the applicatory part of the Sermon. Upon the Restoration, preaching assumed a more correct and polished form. It became disencumbered from the pedantry, and scholastic divisions of the sectaries; but it threw out also their warm and pathetic Ad­dresses, and established itself wholly up­on [Page 317] the modle of cool reasoning, and rati­onal instruction. As the Dissenters from the Church continued to preserve somewhat of the old strain of preaching, this led the established Clergy to depart the farther from it. Whatever was earnest and passionate, either in the composition or delivery of Ser­mons, was reckoned enthusiastic and fana­tical; and hence that argumentative man­ner, bordering on the dry and unper­suasive, which is too generally the cha­racter of English Sermons. Nothing can be more correct upon that model than many of them are; but the model itself on which they are formed, is a confined and imperfect one. Dr. Clark, for instance, every where abounds in good sense, and the most clear and accurate reasoning; his applications of Scripture are pertinent; his Style is always perspicuous, and often ele­gant; he instructs and he convinces; in what then is he deficient? In nothing, ex­cept in the power of interesting and seiz­ing the heart. He shows you what you ought to do; but he excites not the desire of doing it: he treats man as if he were a being of pure intellect, without imagina­tion or passions. Archbishop Tillotson's manner is more free and warm, and he ap­proaches nearer than most of the English divines to the character of Popular Speak­ing. Hence he is, to this day, one of the best models we have for preaching. We [Page 318] must not indeed consider him in the light of a perfect Orator: his composition is too loose and remiss; his style too feeble, and frequently too flat, to deserve that high character; but there is in some of his Ser­mons so much warmth and earnestness, and through them all there runs so much ease and perspicuity, such a vein of good sense and sincere piety, as justly intitle him to be held as eminent a Preacher as England has produced.

IN Dr. Barrow, one admires more the prodigious fecundity of his invention, and the uncommon strength and force of his conceptions, than the felicity of his execu­tion, or his talent in composition. We see a genius far surpassing the common, pecu­liar indeed almost to himself; but that genius often shooting wild, and unchas­tised by any Discipline or study of Elo­quence.

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 most respectable names. We find in their composition much that deserves praise; a great display of abilities of different kinds, much good sense and piety, sound divinity and useful instructi­on; though in general the degree of Elo­quence [Page 319] bears not, perhaps, equal propor­tion to the goodness of the matter. Bi­shop Atterbury deserves being particularly mentioned as a model of correct and beau­tiful Style, besides having the merit of a warmer and more eloquent strain of writ­ing, in some of his Sermons, than is com­monly met with. Had Bishop Butler, in place of abstract philosophical essays, given us more Sermons, in the strain of those two excellent ones which he has composed upon Self-deceit, and upon the character of Balaam, we would then have pointed him out as distinguished for that species of characteristical Sermons which I before re­commended.

THOUGH the writings of the English di­vines are very proper to be read by such as are designed for the Church, I must cau­tion them against making too much use of them, or transcribing large passages from them into the Sermons they compose. Such as once indulge themselves in this practice, will never have any fund of their own. Infinitely better it is, to venture into the public with thoughts and expressions which have occured to themselves, though of in­ferior beauty, than to disfigure their com­positions, by borrowed and ill-sorted orna­ments, which, to a judicious eye, will be al­ways in hazard of discovering their own po­verty. When a Preacher sits down to write on any subject, never let him begin with [Page 320] seeking to consult all who have written on the same text, or subject. This, if he con­sult many, will throw perplexity and con­fusion into his ideas; and, if he consults only one, will often warp him insensibly into his method, whether it be right or not. But let him begin with pondering the subject on his own thoughts; let him endeavour to fetch materials from within; to collect and arrange his ideas; and form some sort of plan to himself; which it is always proper to put down in writing. Then, and not till then, he may enquire how others have treated the same subject. By this means, the method, and the lead­ing thoughts in the Sermon are likely to be his own. These thoughts he may improve, by comparing them with the tract of senti­ment which others have pursued; some of their sense he may without blame, incor­porate into his composition; retaining al­ways his own words and style. This is fair assistance: all beyond is plagiarism.

ON the whole, never let the principle, with which we set out at first, be forgotten, to keep close in view, the great end for which a Preacher mounts the pulpit; even to infuse good dispositions into his hearers, to persuade them to serve God, and to be­come better men. Let this always dwell on his mind when he is composing, and it will diffuse through his compositions, that [Page 321] spirit which will render them at once es­teemed, and useful. The most useful Preacher is always the best, and will not fail of being esteemed so. Embellish truth only, with a view to gain it the more full and free admission into your hearers minds; and your ornaments will, in that case, be simple, masculine, natural. The best ap­plause by far, which a Preacher can receive, arises from the serious and deep impressions which his discourse leaves on those who hear it. The finest encomium, perhaps, ever bestowed on a Preacher, was given by Louis XIV. to the eloquent Bishop of Clermont, Father Massillon, whom I before mentioned with so much praise. After hearing him preach at Versailles, he said to him, ‘"Father, I have heard many great Orators in this Chapel; I have been high­ly pleased with them; but for you, whenever I hear you, I go away displeas­ed with myself; for I see more of my own character."’

THE last Lecture was employed in ob­servations on the peculiar and distin­guishing Characters of the Eloquence pro­per for the Pulpit. But as rules and di­rections, when delivered in the abstract, are never so useful as when they are illus­trated by particular instances, it may, per­haps, be of some benefit to those who are designed for the Church, that I should analyse an English Sermon, and consider the matter of it, together with the manner. For this purpose, I have chosen Bishop At­terbury as my example, who is deservedly accounted one of our most eloquent wri­ters of Sermons, and whom I mentioned as such in the last Lecture. At the same time, he is more distinguished for elegance and purity of expression, than for profoundness [Page 323] of thought. His Style, though sometimes careless, is, upon the whole, neat and chaste; and more beautiful than that of most writers of Sermons. In his sentiments he is not only rational; but pious and de­votional, which is a great excellency. The Sermon which I have singled out, is, that upon Praise and Thanksgiving, the first Sermon of the first Volume, which is reck­oned one of his best. In examining it, it is necessary that I should use full liberty, and, together with the beauties, point out any defects that occur to me in the matter, as well as in the Style.

PSALM l. 14. Offer unto God Thanksgiving.

‘"AMONG the many excellencies of this pious collection of hymns, for which so particular a value hath been set upon it by the Church of God in all ages, this is not the least, that the true price of duties is there justly stated; men are called off from resting in the outward shew of re­ligion, in ceremonies and ritual obser­vances; and taught, rather to practise (that which was shadowed out by these rites, and to which they are design­ed to lead) sound inward piety and vir­tue."’

‘"THE several composers of these Hymns were Prophets; persons, whose business it was not only to foretel events, for the [Page 324] benefit of the Church in succeeding times, but to correct and reform also what was amiss among that race of men, with whom they lived and conversed; to preserve a foolish people from idolatry, and false worship; to rescue the law from corrupt glosses, and superstitious abuses; and to put men in mind of (what they are so willing to forget) that eternal and invariable rule, which was before these positive duties, would continue after them, and was to be observed, even then, in preference to them."’

‘"THE discharge, I say, of this part of the prophetic office taking up so much room in the book of Psalms; this hath been one reason, among many others, why they have always been so highly esteemed; because we are from hence fur­nished with a proper reply to an argu­ment commonly made use of by unbe­lievers, who look upon all revealed reli­gions as pious frauds and impostures, on the account of the prejudices they have entertained in relation to that of the Jews; the whole of which they first sup­pose to lie in external performances, and then easily persuade themselves, that God could never be the Author of such a mere piece of pageantry and empty formality, nor delight in a worship which consisted purely in a number of odd unaccountable ceremonies. Which objection of theirs, [Page 325] we should not be able thoroughly to an­swer, unless we could prove (chiefly out of the Psalms, and other parts of the pro­phetic writings) that the Jewish religion was somewhat more than bare outside and shew; and that inward purity, and the devotion of the heart, was a duty then, as well as now."’

THIS appears to me an excellent Intro­duction. The thought on which it rests is solid and judicious; that in the book of Psalms, the attention of men is called to the moral and spiritual part of religion; and the Jewish dispensation thereby vindicated from the suspicion of requiring nothing more from its votaries, than the observance of the external rites and ceremonies of the law. Such views of religion are proper to be often displayed; and deserve to be insist­ed on, by all who wish to render preaching conductive to the great purpose of promoting righteousness and virtue. The Style, as far as we have gone, is not only free from faults, but elegant and happy.

IT is a great beauty in an introduction, when it can be made to turn on some one thought, fully brought out and illustrated; especially, if that thought has a close con­nection with the following discourse, and, at the same time, does not anticipate any thing that is afterwards to be introduced in a more proper place. This Introduction of [Page 326] Atterbury's has all these advantages. The encomium which he makes on the strain of David's Psalms, is not such as might as well have been prefixed to any other discourse, the text of which was taken from any of the Psalms. Had this been the case, the Intro­duction would have lost much of its beauty. We shall see from what follows, how natu­rally the introductory thought connects with his text, and how happily it ushers it in.

‘"ONE great instance of this proof, we have in the words now before us; which are taken from a Psalm of Asaph, written on purpose to set out the weakness and worthlessness of external performances, when compared with more substantial and vital duties. To enforce which doc­trine, God himself is brought in as deli­vering it. Hear O my people, and I will speak; O Israel, and I will testify against thee: I am God, even thy God. The Pre­face is very solemn, and therefore what it ushers in, we may be sure is of no com­mon importance; I will not reprove thee for thy sacrifices or thy burnt offerings, to have been continually before me. That is, I will not so reprove thee for any failures in thy sacrifices and burnt-offerings, as if these were the only, or the chief things I required of thee. I will take no bullock out of thy house, nor he-goat out of thy folds; I prescribed not sacrifices to thee for my own sake, because I needed them; [Page 327] For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills. Mine they are, and were, before I commanded thee to offer them to me; so that, as it follows, If I were hungry, yet would I not tell thee, for the world is mine, and the fullness thereof. But can ye be so gross and senseless, as to think me liable to hunger and thirst? as to imagine that wants of that kind can touch me? Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?—Thus doth he expostulate severely with them, after the most graceful manner of the Eastern Poetry. The issue of which is a plain and full resolution of the case, in those few words of the text.— Offer unto God thanksgiving. Would you do your homage the most agreeable way? would you render the most acceptable of services? offer unto God thanksgiving."’

IT is often a difficult matter to illustrate gracefully the text of a Sermon from the context, and to point out the connection between them. This is a part of the dis­course which is apt to become dry and te­dious, especially when pursued into a mi­nute commentary. And therefore, except as far as such illustration from the context is necessary for explaining the meaning, or in cases where it serves to give dignity and force to the text, I would advise it to be al­ways treated with brevity. Sometimes it may even be wholly omitted, and the text [Page 328] assumed merely as an independent propo­sition, if the connection with the context be obscure, and would require a laborious ex­planation. In the present case, the illus­tration from the context is singularly happy. The passage of the Psalm on which it is founded is noble and spirited, and connect­ed in such a manner with the text, as to introduce it with a very striking emphasis. On the language I have little to observe, except that the phrase, one great instance of this proof, is a clumsy expression. It was sufficient to have said, one great proof, or one great instance, of this. In the same sen­tence, when he speaks of setting out the weakness and worthlessness of external perfor­mances, we may observe, that the word worthlessness, as it is now commonly used, signifies more than the deficiency of worth, which is all that the Author means. It ge­nerally imports, a considerable degree of badness or blame. It would be more pro­per, therefore, to say, the imperfection, or the insignificancy, of external performances.

‘"THE use I intend to make of these words, is, from hence to raise some thoughts about that very excellent and important duty of Praise and Thanksgiv­ing, a subject not unfit to be discoursed of at this time; whether we consider, ei­ther the more than ordinary coldness that appears of late in men's tempers towards the practice of this (or any other) part of [Page 329] a warm and affecting devotion; the great occasion of setting aside this particular day in the calendar, some years ago; or the new instances of mercy and goodness, which God hath lately been pleased to bestow upon us; answering at last the many prayers and fastings, by which we have besought him so long for the estab­lishment of their Majesties Throne, and for the success of their arms; and giving us in his good time, an opportunity of appearing before him in the more delight­ful part of our duty, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that keep ho­lidays."’

IN this paragraph there is nothing remarkable; no particular beauty or neatness of expression; and the Sentence which it forms is long and tiresome— to raise some thoughts about that very excellent, &c. is ra­ther loose and awkward;—better— to recom­mend that very excellent, &c. and when he mentions setting aside a particular day in the calendar, one would imagine, that setting apart would have been more proper, as to set aside, seems rather to suggest a different idea.

‘" Offer unto God Thanksgiving.—Which that we may do, let us enquire first, how we are to understand this command of of­fering Praise and Thanksgiving unto [Page 330] God; and then, how reasonable it is that we should comply with it."’

THIS is the general division of the dis­course. An excellent one it is, and corres­ponds to many subjects of this kind, where particular duties are to be treated of; first to explain, and then to recommend or en­force them. A division should always be simple and natural; and much depends on the proper view which it gives of the sub­ject.

‘"OUR enquiry into what is meant here, will be very short; for who is there, that understands any thing of religion, but knows, that the offering praise and thanks to God, implies, our having a lively and devout sense of his excellencies, and of his benefits; our recollecting them with humility and thankfulness of heart; and our expressing these inward affecti­ons by suitable outward signs, by reve­rent and lowly postures of body, by songs and hymns, and spiritual ejacula­tions; either publicly or privately; either in the customary and daily service of the Church, or in its more solemn Assemblies, convened upon extraordinary occasions? This is the account which every Christan easily gives himself of it; and which, therefore, it would be needless to enlarge upon. I shall only take notice upon this head, that Praise and Thanksgiving do, [Page 331] in strictness of speech, signify things somewhat different. Our praise properly terminates in God, on account of his na­tural excellencies and perfections; and is that act of devotion, by which we confess and admire his several attributes: but Thanksgiving is a narrower duty, and im­ports only a grateful sense and acknow­ledgment of past mercies. We praise God for all his glorious acts of every kind, that regard either us or other men, for his very vengeance, and those judg­ments which he sometimes sends abroad in the earth; but we thank him, proper­ly speaking, for the instances of his good­ness alone; and for such only of these, as we ourselves are someway concerned in. This, I say, is what the two words strict­ly imply; but since the language of Scrip­ture is generally less exact, and useth ei­ther of them often to express the other by, I shall not think myself obliged, in what follows, thus nicely always to dis­tinguish them."’

THERE was room here for insisting more fully on the nature of the duty, than the Author has done under this head; in particular, this was the place for correcting the mistake, to which men are always prone, of making Thanksgiving to consist merely in outward expressions; and for shewing them, that the essence of the duty lies in the inward feelings of the heart. In gene­ral, [Page 332] it is of much use to give full and dis­tinct explications of religious duties. But, as our Author intended only one discourse on the subject, he could not enlarge with equal fullness on every part of it; and he has chosen to dwell on that part, on which indeed it is most necessary to enlarge, the motives enforcing the duty. For, as it is an easier matter to know, than to practice duty, the persuasive part of the discourse is that to which the Speaker should always bend his chief strength. The account given in this head, of the nature of Praise and Thanksgiving, though short, is yet compre­hensive and distinct, and the language is smooth and elegant.

‘"Now the great reasonableness of this duty of Praise or Thanksgiving, and our several obligations to it, will appear, if we either consider it absolutely in itself, as the debt of our natures; or compare it with other duties, and shew the rank it bears among them; or set out, in the last place, some of its peculiar properties and advantages, with regard to the devout performer of it."’

THE Author here enters upon the main part of his subject, the reasonableness of the duty, and mentions three arguments for proving it. These are well stated, and are in themselves proper and weighty con­siderations. How far he has handled each [Page 333] 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 shewn the obligations we are under to this duty, from the various subjects of Thanksgiving afforded us by the divine goodness. This would have led him to review the chief benefits of Creation, Providence, and Re­demption: and certainly, they are these which lay the foundation of the whole ar­gument for Thanksgiving. The heart must first be affected with a suitable sense of the divine benefits, before one can be excited to praise God. Iy you would persuade me to be thankful to a benefactor, you must not employ such considerations merely as those upon which the Author here rests, taken from gratitude's being the law of my nature, or bearing a high rank among mo­ral duties, or being attended with peculiar advantages. These are considerations but of a secondary nature. You must begin with setting 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 case is perfectly similar, when we are exhorted to give thanks to God; and, therefore, in giving a full view of the subject, the blessings conferred on us by divine goodness should have been taken into the argument.

[Page 334] IT may be said, however, in apology for our Author, that this would have led him into too wide a field for one discourse, and into a field also, which is difficult, because so beaten, the enumeration of the divine benefits. He therefore seems to take it for granted, that we have upon our minds a just sense of these benefits. He assumes them as known and acknowledg­ed; and setting aside what may be called the pathetic part of the subject, or what was calculated to warm the heart, he goes on to the reasoning part. In this manage­ment, I cannot altogether blame him. I do not by any means say, that it is necessary in every discourse to take in all that be­longs to the doctrine of which we treat. Many a discourse is spoiled, by attempting to render it too copious and comprehensive. The Preacher may, without reprehension, take up any part of a great subject to which his genius at the time leads him, and make that his theme. But when he omits any thing which may be thought essential, he ought to give notice, that this is a part, which for the time he lays aside. Some­thing of this sort, would perhaps have been proper here. Our Author might have be­gun, by saying, that the reasonableness of this duty must appear to every thinking be­ing, who reflects upon the infinite obliga­tions which are laid upon us, by creating, preserving, and redeeming love; and, after taking notice that the field which these [Page 335] open, was too wide for him to enter upon at that time, have proceeded to his other heads. Let us now consider these sepa­rately.

‘"THE duty of Praise and Thanksgiv­ing, considered absolutely in itself, is, I say, the debt and law of our nature. We had such faculties bestowed on us by our Creator, as made us capable of satis­fying 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 earliest instructions given us by philosophy, and which hath ever since been approved and inculcated by the wisest men of all ages, that the original design of making man was, that he might praise and honour him who made him. When God had finished this goodly frame of things we call the world, and put together the several parts of it, according to his infinite wisdom, in ex­act number, weight, and measure; there was still wanting a creature, in these lower regions, that could apprehend the beauty, order, and exquisite contrivance of it; that from contemplating the gift, might be able to raise itself to the great Giver, and do honour to all his attri­butes. Every thing indeed that God [Page 336] made, did, in some sense, glorify its Au­thor, inasmuch as it carried upon it the plain mark and impress of the Deity, and was an effect worthy of that first cause from whence it flowed; and thus might the Heavens be said, at the first moment in which they stood forth, to de­clare his glory, and the firmament to show his handy-work: But this was an imper­fect and defective glory; the sign was of no signification here below, whilst there was no one here as yet to take notice of it. Man, therefore, was formed to sup­ply this want, endowed with powers fit to find out, and to acknowledge these unlimited perfections; and then put into this Temple of God, this lower world, as the priest of nature, to offer up the incense of Thanks and Praise for the mute and insensible part of the Crea­tion."’

‘"THIS, I say, hath been the opinion all along of the most thoughtful men down from the most ancient times: and though it be not demonstrative, yet it is what we cannot but judge highly rea­sonable, if we do but allow, that man was made for some end or other; and that he is capable of perceiving that end. For, then, let us search and enquire ne­ver so much, we shall find no other ac­count of him that we can rest upon so [Page 337] well. If we say, that he was made pure­ly for the good pleasure of God; this is, in effect, to say, that he was made for no determinate end; or for none, at least, that we can discern. If we say, that he was designed as an instance of the wisdom, and power, and goodness of God; this, indeed, may be the reason of his being in general; for 'tis the common reason of the being of every thing be­sides. But it gives no account, why he was made such a being as he is, a reflec­ting, thoughtful, inquisitive being. The particular reason of this, seems most aptly to be drawn from the praise 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 passage, of man's being the Priest of Nature, and of his existence being calculat­ed chiefly for this end, that he might offer up the praises of the mute part of the crea­tion, is an ingenious thought, and well illustrated. It was a favourite idea among some of the antient philosophers; and it is not the worse on that account, as it there­by appears to have been a natural senti­ment of the human mind. In composing a Sermon, however, it might have been better to have introduced it as a sort of collateral argument, or an incidental illus­tration, than to have displayed it with so [Page 338] much pomp, and to have placed it in the front of the arguments for this duty. It does not seem to me, when placed in this station, to bear all the stress which the Au­thor lays upon it. When the divine good­ness brought man into existence, we can­not well conceive that its chief purpose was, to form a being who might sing praises to his Maker. Prompted by infinite benevolence, the Supreme Creator formed the human race, that they might rise to happiness, and to the enjoyment of him­self, through a course of virtue, or proper action. The sentiment on which our Au­thor dwells, however beautiful, appears too loose and rhetorical, to be a principal head of discourse.

‘"THIS duty, therefore, is the debt and law of our nature. And it will more distinctly appear to be such, if we con­sider the two ruling faculties of our mind, the Understanding and the Will apart, in both which it is deeply found­ed: in the Understanding, as in the prin­ciple of Reason, which owns and ac­knowledges it; in the Will, as in the fountain of gratitude and return, which prompts, and even constrains us to pay it."’

‘" Reason was given us as a rule and mea­sure, by the help of which we were to proportion our esteem of every thing, ac­cording [Page 339] to the degrees of perfection and goodness which we found therein. It cannot, therefore, if it doth its office at all, but apprehend God as the best and most perfect being; it must needs see, and own, and admire his infinite perfec­tions. And this is what is strictly meant by praise; which, therefore, is expressed in Scripture, by confessing to God, and acknowledging him; by ascribing to him what is his due; and as far as this sense of the words reaches, 'tis impossible to think of God without praising him; for it depends not on the understanding, how it shall apprehend things, any more than it doth on the eye, how visible objects shall appear to it."’

‘"THE duty takes the further and surer hold of us, by the means of the will, and that strong 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 surely that which deserves its utmost force; and should set all its springs a­work, is God; the great and universal Benefactor, from whom alone we re­ceived whatever we either have, or are, and to whom we can possibly repay no­thing but our Praises, or to speak more properly on this head, and according to the strict import of the word) our [Page 340] Thanksgiving. Who hath first given to God (saith the great Apostle, in his usual figure) and it shall be recompensed unto him again? A gift, it seems, always re­quires a recompence: nay, but of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: of him, as the Author; through him, as the Preserver 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 our Author places his argument in these paragraphs. There is something too metaphysical and refined, in his deducing, in this manner, the obligation to thanks­giving, from the two faculties of the mind, Understanding and Will. Though what he says be in itself just, yet the argument is not sufficiently plain and striking. Ar­guments in Sermons, especially on subjects that so naturally and easily suggest them, should be palpable and popular; should not be brought from topics that appear far sought, but should directly address the heart and feelings. The Preacher ought never to depart too far from the common ways of thinking, and expressing himself. I am in­clined to think, that this whole head might have been improved, if the Author had taken up more obvious ground; had stated Gratitude as one of the most natural prin­ciples [Page 341] in the human heart; had illustrated this, by showing how odious the opposite disposition is, and with what general con­sent men, in all ages, have agreed in hat­ing, and condemning the ungrateful; and then applying these reasonings to the pre­sent case, had placed, in a strong view, that entire corruption of moral sentiment which it discovers, to be destitute of thank­ful emotions towards the Supreme Bene­factor of Mankind. As the most natural method of giving vent to grateful senti­ments is, by external expressions of thanks­giving, he might then have answered the objection that is apt to occur, of the ex­pression of our praise being insignificant to the Almighty. But, by seeking to be too refined in his argument, he has omitted some of the most striking and obvious con­siderations, and which, properly displayed, would have afforded as great a field for Elo­quence, as the topics which he has chosen. He goes on,

‘"GRATITUDE consists in an equal re­turn of benefits, if we are able; of thanks, if we are not: which thanks, therefore, must rise always in proportion as the fa­vours received are great, and the receiver incapable of making any other sort of requital. Now, since no man hath bene­fited God at any time, and yet every man, in each moment of his life, is continually benefited by him, what strong obligations [Page 342] must we needs be under to thank him? 'Tis true, our thanks are really as insig­nificant to him, as any other kind of re­turn would be; in themselves, indeed, they are worthless; but his goodness hath put a value upon them: he hath declared, he will accept them in lieu of the vast debt we owe; and after that, which is fittest for us, to dispute how they came to be taken as an equivalent, or to pay them?"’

‘"IT is, therefore, the voice of nature (as far as gratitude itself is so) that the good things we receive from above, should be sent back again thither in thanks and praises; as the rivers run into the sea, to the place (the ocean of bene­ficence) from whence the rivers come, thi­ther should they return again."’

IN these paragraphs, he has, indeed, touched some of the considerations which I mentioned. But he has only touched them; whereas, with advantage, they might have formed the main body of his argument.

‘"WE have considered the duty abso­lutely; we are now to compare it with others, and to see what rank it bears among them. And here we shall find, that, among all the acts of religion im­mediately addressed to God, this is much [Page 343] the noblest and most excellent; as it must needs be, if what hath been laid down be allowed, that the end of man's crea­tion was to praise and glorify God. For that cannot but be the most noble and excellent act of any being, which best answers the end and design of it. Other parts of devotion, such as confession and prayer, seem not originally to have been designed for man, nor man for them. They imply guilt and want, with which the state of innocence was not acquainted. Had man continued in that estate, his worship (like the devotions of angels), had been paid to Heaven in pure acts of thanksgiving; and nothing had been left for him to do, beyond the enjoying the good things of life, as nature directed, and praising the God of nature who be­stowed them. But being fallen from in­nocence and abundance; having contrac­ted guilt, and forfeited his right to all sorts of mercies; prayer and consession became necessary, for a time, to retrieve the loss, and to restore him to that state wherein he should be able to live without them. These are fitted, therefore, for a lower dispensation; before which, in pa­radise, there was nothing but praise, and after which, there shall be nothing but that in Heaven. Our perfect state did at first, and will at last, consist in the per­formance of this duty; and herein, there­fore, [Page 344] lies the excellence, and the honour of our nature."’

‘"'TIS the same way of reasoning, by which the Apostle hath given the pre­ference to charity, beyond faith, and hope, and every spiritual gift. Charity never faileth, saith he; meaning, that it is not a virtue useful only in this life, but will accompany us also into the next: but whether there be prophesies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. These are gifts of a tem­porary advantage, and shall all perish in the using. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part: our present state is im­perfect, and, therefore, what belongs to that, and only that, must be imperfect too. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. The argument of St. Paul, we see, which sets charity above the rest of Christian graces, will give praise also the pre-eminence over all the parts of Christian worship; and we may conclude our reasoning, therefore, as he doth his: And now abideth confession, prayer, and praise, these three; but the greatest of these is praise."’

THE Author, here, enters on the second part of his argument, the high rank which thanksgiving holds, when compared with [Page 345] other duties of religion. This he handles, with much eloquence and beauty. His idea, that this was the original worship of man, before his fall rendered other duties requisite, and shall continue to be his worship in Heaven, when the duties which are oc­casioned by a consciousness of guilt shall have no place, is solid and just; his illus­tration of it is very happy; and the style extremely flowing and sweet. Seldom do we meet with any piece of composition in Sermons, that has more merit than this head.

‘"IT is so, certainly, on other accounts, as well as this; particularly, as it is the most disinterested branch of our re­ligous service; such as hath the most of God, and the least of ourselves in it, of any we pay; and therefore approaches the nearest of any to a pure, and free, and perfect act of homage. For though a good action doth not grow immediately worthless by being done with the pros­pect of advantage, as some have strangely imagined; yet it will be allowed, I sup­pose, that its being done, without the mixture of that end, or with as little of it as possible, recommends it so much the more, and raises the price of it. Doth Job fear God for nought? was an objection of Satan; which implied, that those du­ties were most valuable, where our own interest was least aimed at: and God [Page 346] seems, by the commission he then gave Satan, to try experiments upon Job, thus far to have allowed his plea. Now, our requests for future, and even our acknowledgments of past mercies, center purely in ourselves; our own interest is the direct aim of them. But praise is a generous and unmercenary principle, which proposes no other end to itself, but to do, as is fit for a creature endow­ed with such faculties to do, towards the most perfect and beneficent of beings; and to pay the willing tribute of honour there, where the voice of Reason directs us to pay it. God hath, indeed, annex­ed a blessing to the duty; and when we know this, we cannot choose, while we are performing the duty, but have some regard to the blessing which belongs to it. However, that is not the direct aim of our devotions, nor was it the first mo­tive that stirred us up to them. Had it been so, we should naturally have be­taken ourselves to Prayer, and breathed out our desires in that form wherein they are most properly conveyed."’

‘"IN short, Praise is our most excellent work, a work common to the church triumphant and militant, and which militant, and which lifts us up into communion and fellowship with Angels. The matter about which it is conversant, is always the perfections [Page 347] of God's nature; and the act itself, is the perfection of ours."’

OUR Author's second illustration, is taken from praise being the most disinterest­ed act of homage. This he explains justly and elegantly; though, perhaps, the conside­ration is rather too thin and refined for en­forcing religious duties: as creatures, such as we, in approaching to the divine pre­sence, can never be supposed to lay aside all consideration of our own wants and ne­cessities; and certainly are not required (as the Author admits) to divest ourselves of such regards. The concluding Sentence of this head is elegant and happily express­ed.

‘"I COME now, in the last place, to set out some of its peculiar properties and ad­vantages, which recommend it to the devout performer. And,"’

‘"1. IT is the most pleasing part of our devotions: it proceeds always from a lively cheerful temper of mind, and it cherishes and improves what it proceeds from. For it is good to sing praises unto our God (says one, whose experience, in this case, we may rely upon), for it is pleasant, and praise is comely. Petition and Confession are the language of the indigent and the guilty, the breathings of a sad and contrite spirit: Is any afflict­ed? [Page 348] let him pray; but, Is any merry? let him sing psalms. The most usual and natural way of men's expressing the mirth of their hearts is in a song, and songs are the very language of praise; to the ex­pressing of which they are in a peculiar manner appropriated, and are scarce of any other use in Religion. Indeed, the whole composition of this duty is such, as throughout speaks ease and delight to the mind. It proceeds from Love and from Thankfulness; from Love, the foun­tain of pleasure, the passion which gives every thing we do, or enjoy, its relish and agreeableness. From Thankfulness, which involves in it the memory of past benefits, the actual presence of them to the mind, and the repeated enjoyment of them. And as is its principle, such is its end also: for it procureth quiet and ease to the mind, by doing somewhat towards satisfying that debt which it labours un­der; by delivering it of those thoughts of praise and gratitude, those exultations it is so full of; and which would grow uneasy and troublesome to it, if they were kept in. If the thankful refrained, it would be pain and grief to them; but then, then is their soul satisfied as with marrow and fatness, when their mouth praiseth God with joyful lips."’

IN beginning this head of discourse, the expression which the Author uses, to set [Page 349] out some of its peculiar properties and advan­tages, would now be reckoned not so pro­per an expression, as to point out, or to show. The first subdivision concerning praise be­ing the most pleasant part of devotion, is very just and well expressed, as far as it goes; but seems to me rather defective. Much more might have been said, upon the pleasure that accompanies such exalted acts of devotion. It was a cold thought, to dwell upon its disburdening the mind of a debt. The Author should have insisted more upon the influence of Praise and Thanksgiving, in warming, gladdening, soothing the mind; lifting it above the world, to dwell among divine and eternal objects. He should have described the peace and joy which then expand the heart; the relief which this exercise procures from the cares and agitations of life; the encou­raging views of Providence to which it leads our attention; and the trust which it pro­motes in the divine mercy for the future, by the commemoration of benefits past. In short, this was the place for his pouring out a greater flow of devotional sentiments than what we here find.

‘"2. IT is another distinguishing proper­ty of divine praise, that it enlargeth the powers and capacities of our souls, turn­ing them from low and little things, up­on their greatest and noblest object, the divine nature, and employing them in [Page 350] the discovery and admiration of those se­veral perfections that adorn it. We see what difference there is between man and man, such as there is hardly greater be­tween man and beast; and this proceeds chiefly from the different sphere of thought which they act in, and the diffe­rent objects they converse with. The mind is essentially the same, in the pea­sant and the prince; the force of it natu­rally equal, in the untaught man, and the philosopher; only the one of these is busied in mean affairs, and within nar­rower bounds; the other exercises himself in things of weight and moment; and this it is, that puts the wide distance be­tween them. Noble objects are to the mind, what the sun-beams are to a bud or flower; they open and unfold, as it were, the leaves of it; put it upon exert­ing and spreading itself every way; and call forth all those powers that lie hid and locked up in it. The praise and admira­tion of God, therefore, brings this advan­tage along with it, that it sets our faculties upon their full stretch, and improves them to all the degrees of perfection of which they are capable."’

THIS head is just, well expressed, and to censure it might appear hypercritical. Some of the expressions, however, one would think, might be amended. The simile, for instance, about the effects of the sun-beams upon the bud or flower, is pretty, but not [Page 351] correctly expressed. They open and unfold, as it were, the leaves of it. If this is to be literally applied to the flower, the phrase, as it were, is needless; if it is to be meta­phorically understood (which appears to be the case), the leaves of the mind, is harsh lan­guage; besides that, put it upon exerting it­self, is rather a low expression. Nothing is more nice than to manage properly such similies and allusions, so as to preserve them perfectly correct, and at the same time to render the image lively: it might perhaps be amended in some such way as this: ‘"As the sun-beams open the bud, and unfold the leaves of a flower, noble objects have a like effect upon the mind: they expand and spread it, and call forth those powers that before lay hid and locked up in the soul."’

‘"3. IT farther promotes in us an exqui­site sense 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 slighted or abused. Our own praises, which we are constantly putting up, will be a spur to us toward procuring and pro­moting the divine glory in every other instance; and will make us set our faces against all open and avowed impieties; which, methinks, should be considered a little by such as would be thought not to be wanting in this duty, and yet are often [Page 352] silent under the foulest dishonours done to Religion, and its great Author: For tamely to hear God's name and worship vilified by others, is no very good argu­ment that we have been used to honour and reverence him, in good earnest, our­selves."’

THE thought here is well founded, though it is carelesly and loosely brought out. The Sentence, our own praises which we are con­stantly putting up, will be a spur to us toward procuring and promoting the divine glory in every other instance, is both negligent in lan­guage, and ambiguous in meaning; for our own praises, properly signifies the praises of ourselves. Much better if he had said, ‘"Those devout praises which we constantly offer up to the Almighty, will naturally prompt us to promote the divine glory in every other instance."’

‘"4. IT will, beyond all this, work in us a deep humility and consciousness of our own imperfections. Upon a frequent at­tention to God and his attributes, we shall easily discover our own weakness and emptiness; our swelling thoughts of ourselves will abate, and we shall see and feel that we are altogether lighter to be laid in the balance than vanity; and this is a lesson which, to the greatest part of man­kind is, I think, very well worth learn­ing. We are naturally presumptuous [Page 353] and vain; full of ourselves, and regard­less of every thing besides, especially when some little outward privileges dis­tinguish us from the rest of mankind; then, 'tis odds, but we look into ourselves with great degrees of complacency, and are wiser (and better every way) in our own conceit, than seven men that can render a reason. Now nothing will contribute so much to the cure of this vanity, as a due attention to God's excellencies and perfections. By comparing these with those which we imagine belong to us, we shall learn, not to think more highly of our­selves than we ought to think of ourselves, but to think soberly; we shall find more satisfaction in looking upwards, and humbling ourselves before our common Creator, than in casting our eyes down­ward with scorn upon our fellow crea­tures, and setting at nought any part of the work of his hands. The vast dis­tance we are at from real and infinite Worth, will astonish us so much, that we shall not be tempted to value ourselves upon these lesser degrees of pre-eminence, which custom or opinion, or some little accidental advantages have given us over other men."’

THOUGH the thought here also be just, yet alike deficiency in elegance and beauty appears. The phrase 'tis odds, but we look into ourselves with great degrees of compla­cency, [Page 354] is much too low and colloquial for a Sermon—he might have said, we are likely, or we are prone to look into ourselves.— Comparing these with those which we imagine to belong to us, is also very careless style.— By comparing these with the virtues and abili­ties which we ascribe to ourselves, we shall learn—would have been purer and more correct.

‘"5. I SHALL mention but one use of it more, and 'tis this; that a conscientious praise of God will keep us back from all false and mean praise, all fulsome and servile flatteries, such as are in use among men. Praising, as 'tis commonly manag­ed, is nothing else but a trial of skill upon a man, how many good things we can possibly say of him. All the treasures of Oratory are ransacked, and all the fine things that ever were said, are heaped together for his sake; and no matter whether it belongs to him or not; so there be enough on't. Which is one deplora­ble instance, among a thousand, of the baseness of human nature, of its small re­gard to truth and justice; to right or wrong; to what is, or is not to be prais­ed. But he who hath a deep sense of the excellencies of God upon his heart, will make a God of nothing besides. He will give every one his just encomium, honour where honour is due, and as much as is due, because it is his duty to do so; but [Page 355] the honour of God will suffer him to go no further. Which rule, if it had been observed, a neighbouring prince (who now, God be thanked, needs flattery a great deal more than ever he did), would have wanted a great deal of that incense which hath been offered up to him by his adorers."’

THIS head appears scarcely to deserve any place among the more important topics, that naturally presented themselves on this subject; at least, it had much better have wanted the application which the Author makes of his reasoning to the flatterers of Louis XIV.; and the thanks which he offers to God, for the affairs of that prince being in so low a state, that he now needed flat­tery more than ever. This Political Satire is altogether out of place, and unworthy of the subject.

ONE would be inclined to think, upon reviewing our Author's arguments, that he has overlooked some topics, respecting the happy consequences of this duty, of fully as much importance as any that he has inserted. Particularly, he ought not to have omitted the happy tendency of praise and thanks­giving, to strengthen good dispositions in the heart; to promote love to God, and imitation of those perfections which we adore; and to infuse a spirit of ardour and zeal into the whole of religion, as the ser­vice [Page 356] of our benefactor. These are conse­quences which naturally follow from the proper performance of this duty; and which ought not to have been omitted; as no op­portunity should be lost, of showing the good effect of devotion on practical religion and moral virtue; and pointing out the ne­cessary connection of the one with the other. For certainly the great end of Preaching is, to make men better in all the relations of life, and to promote that com­plete reformation of heart and conduct, in which true Christianity consists. Our Au­thor, however, upon the whole, is not de­ficient in such views of religion; for, in his general strain of preaching, as he is ex­tremely pious, so he is, at the same time, practical and moral.

HIS summing up the whole argument, in the next paragraph is elegant and beauti­ful; and such concluding views of the sub­ject are frequently very proper and useful: ‘"Upon these grounds doth the duty of praise stand, and these are the obligations that bind us to the performance of it. 'Tis the end of our being, and the very rule and law of our nature; flowing from the two great fountains of human action, the understanding and the will, natural­ly, and almost necessarily. It is the most excellent part of our religious worship; enduring to eternity, after the rest shall be done away; and paid, even now, in [Page 357] the frankest manner, with the least re­gard to our own interest. It recommends itself to us by several peculiar properties and advantages; as it carries more plea­sure in it, than all other kinds of devo­tion; as it enlarges and exalts the several powers of the mind; as it breeds in us an exquisite sense of God's honour, and a willingness to promote it in the world; as it teaches us to be humble and lowly ourselves, and yet preserves us from base and sordid flattery, from bestowing mean and undue praises upon others."’

AFTER this, our Author addresses him­self to two classes of men, the Careless and the Profane. His address to the Careless is beautiful, and pathetic; that to the Pro­fane, is not so well executed, and is liable to some objection. Such addresses appear to me to be, on several occasions, very useful parts of a discourse. They prevail­ed much in the strain of preaching before the Restoration; and, perhaps, since that period, have been too much neglected. They afford an opportunity of bringing home to the consciences of the audience, many things, which, in the course of the Sermon, were, perhaps, delivered in the abstract.

I SHALL not dwell on the Conclusion of the Sermon, which is chiefly employed in observations on the posture of public affairs [Page 358] at that time. Considered, upon the whole, this Discourse of Bishop Atterbury's is both useful and beautiful, though I have ven­tured to point out some defects in it. Sel­dom, or never, can we expect to meet with a composition of any kind, which is abso­lutely perfect in all its parts: and when we take into account the difficulties which I before showed to attend the Eloquence of the Pulpit, we have, perhaps, less reason to look for perfection in a Sermon, than in any other composition.

I HAVE, in the four preceding Lectures, considered what is peculiar to each of the three great fields of Public Speaking, Popular Assemblies, the Bar, and the Pul­pit. I am now to treat of what is common to them all; of the conduct of a Discourse or Oration, in general. The previous view which I have given of the distinguishing spirit and character of different kinds of Public Speaking, was necessary for the pro­per application of the rules which I am about to deliver; and as I proceed, I shall farther point out, how far any of these rules may have a particular respect to the Bar, to the Pulpit, or to Popular Courts.

[Page 360] ON whatever subject any one intends to discourse, he will most commonly begin with some introduction, in order to prepare the minds of his hearers; he will then state his subject, and explain the facts connect­ed with it; he will employ arguments for establishing his own opinion, and over­throwing that of his antagonist; he may perhaps, if there be room for it, endeavour to touch the passions of his Audience; and after having said all he thinks proper, he will bring his Discourse to a close, by some Peroration or Conclusion. This being the natural train of Speaking, the parts that compose a regular formal Oration, are these six; first, the Exordium or Introduction; secondly, the State, and the Division of the Subject; thirdly, Narration, or Explication; fourthly, the Reasoning or Arguments; fifthly, the Pathetic Part; and lastly, the Conclusion. I do not mean, that each of these must enter into every Public Dis­course, or that they must enter always in this order. There is no reason for being so formal on every occasion; nay, it would often be a fault, and would render a Dis­course pedantic and stiff. There may be many excellent Discourses in public, where several of these parts are altogether wanting; where the Speaker, for instance, uses no In­troduction, but enters directly on his subject; where he has no occasion either to divide or explain; but simply reasons on one side of the question, and then finishes. But as the [Page 361] parts, which I mentioned, are the natural constituent parts of a regular Oration; and as in every Discourse whatever, some of them must be found, it is necessary to our present purpose, that I should treat of each of them distinctly.

I BEGIN, of course, with the Exordium or Introduction. This is manifestly com­mon to all the three kinds of Public Speak­ing. It is not a rhetorical invention. It is founded upon nature, and suggested by common sense. When one is going to counsel another; when he takes upon him to instruct, or to reprove, prudence will ge­nerally direct him not to do it abruptly, but to use some preparation; to begin with somewhat that may incline the persons, to whom he addresses himself, to judge fa­vourably of what he is about to say; and may dispose them to such a train of thought, as will forward and assist the purpose which he has in view. This is, or ought to be, the main scope of an Introduction. Ac­cordingly Cicero and Quinctilian mention three ends, to one or other of which it should be subservient, ‘"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 sub­ject. Topics for this purpose may, in Causes at the Bar, be sometimes taken from the [Page 362] particular situation of the Speaker himself, or of his client, or from the character or behaviour of his antagonists contrasted with his own; on other occasions, from the na­ture of the subject, as closely connected with the interest of the hearers: and, in general, from the modesty and good inten­tion, with which the Speaker enters upon his subject. The second end of an Intro­duction, is, to raise the attention of the hearers; which may be effected, by giving them some hints of the importance, digni­ty, or novelty of the subject; or some fa­vourable view of the clearness and preci­sion with which we are to treat it; and of the brevity with which we are to discourse. The third end, is to render the hearers do­cile, or open to persuasion; for which end, we must begin with studying to remove any particular prepossessions they may have contracted against the cause, or side of the argument which we espouse.

SOME one of these ends should be pro­posed by every Introduction. When there is no occasion for aiming at any of them; when we are already secure of the good will, the attention, and the docility of the Audience, as may often be the case, formal Introductions can, without any prejudice, be omitted. And, indeed, when they serve for no purpose but mere ostentation, they had, for the most part, better be omitted; unless as far as respect to the Audience [Page 363] makes it decent, that a Speaker should not break in upon them too abruptly, but by a short exordium prepare them for what he is going to say. Demosthenes's Introducti­ons are always short and simple; Cicero's are fuller and more artful.

THE ancient Critics distinguish two kinds of Introductions, which they call ‘"Princi­pium,"’ and ‘"Insinuatio."’ ‘"Principi­um"’ is, where the Orator plainly and di­rectly professes his aim in speaking. ‘"In­sinuatio"’ is, where a larger compass must be taken; and where, presuming the disposi­tion of the Audience be to much against the Orator, he must gradually reconcile them to hearing him, before he plainly discovers the point which he has in view.

OF this latter sort of Introduction, we have an admirable instance in Cicero's second Oration against Rullus. This Rullus was Tribune of the People, and had proposed an Agrarian Law; the purpose of which was to create a Decemvirate, or ten commissioners, with absolute power for five years over all the lands conquered by the Republic, in order to divide them among the citizens. Such laws had often been proposed by factious magistrates, and were always greedily received by the people. Cicero is speaking to the people; he had newly been made Consul by their interest; and his first attempt is to make them reject [Page 364] this law. The subject was extremely deli­cate, and required much art. He begins with acknowledging all the favours which he had received from the people, in prefer­ence to the nobility. He professes himself the creature of their power, and of all men the most engaged to promote their interest. He declares, that he held himself to be the Consul of the People; and that he would always glory in preserving the character of a popular magistrate. But to be popular, he observes, is an ambiguous word. He understood it to import, a steady attachment to the real interest of the people, to their liberty, their ease, and their peace; but by some, he saw, it was abused, and made a cover to their own selfish and ambitious de­signs. In this manner, he begins to draw gradually nearer to his purpose of attacking the proposal of Rullus; but still with great management and reserve. He protests, that he is far from being an enemy to Agra­rian Laws; he gives the highest praises to the Gracchi, those zealous patrons of the people; and assures them, that when he first heard of Rullus's law, he had resolved to support it, if he found it for their inter­est; but that, upon examining it, he found it calculated to establish a dominion that was inconsistent 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 reasons for beging of this opinion; but that [Page 365] if his reasons shall not satisfy 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 these general views of the nature and end of an Introduction, I proceed to lay down some rules for the proper compo­sition of it. These are the more necessary, that this is a part of the Discourse which re­quires no small care. Itis always of importance to begin well; to make a favourable impressi­on at first setting out; when the minds of the hearers, vacant as yet and free, are most disposed to receive any impression easi­ly. I must add too, that a good Introducti­on is often found to be extremely difficult. Few parts of the Discourse give the Com­poser more trouble, or are attended with more nicety in the execution.

THE first rule is, that the Introduction should be easy and natural. The subject must always suggest it. It must appear, as Cicero beautifully expresses it: ‘"Effloruisse peni­tus ex re de qua tum agitur ^*."’ It is too common a fault in Introductions, that they are taken from some common-place topic, which has no peculiar relation to the sub­ject [Page 366] in hand; by which means they stand apart, like pieces detached from the rest of the Discourse. Of this kind are Sallust's Introductions, prefixed to his Catilinarian and Jugurthine wars. They might as well have been Introductions to any History, or to any other Treatise whatever: and, there­fore, though elegant in themselves, they must be considered as blemishes in the work, from want of due connection with it. Ci­cero, though abundantly correct in this par­ticular in his Orations, yet is not so in his other works. It appears from a letter of his to Atticus (L. xvi. 6.) that it was his custom to prepare, at his leisure, a collecti­on of different Introductions or Prefaces, ready to be prefixed to any work that he might afterwards publish. In consequence of this strange method of composing, it hap­pened to him, to employ the same Intro­duction twice without remembering it; pre­fixing it to two different works. Upon At­ticus informing him of this, he acknow­ledges the mistake, and sends him a new Introduction.

IN order to render Introductions natural and easy, it is, in my opinion, a good rule, that they should not be planned, till after one has meditated in his own mind the sub­stance of his Discourse. Then, and not till then, he should begin to think of some proper and natural Introduction. By taking a contrary course, and labouring in [Page 367] the first place on an Introduction, every one who is accustomed to composition will often find, that either he is led to lay hold of some common-place topic, or, that instead of the Introduction being accommo­dated to the Discourse, he is obliged to ac­commodate the whole Discourse to the In­troduction which he had previously writ­ten. Cicero makes this remark; though, as we have seen, his practice was not al­ways conformable to his own rule. ‘"Om­nibus rebus consideratis, tum denique id quod primum est dicendum, postremum soleo cogitare, quo utar exordio. Nam si quando id primum invenire volui, nul­lum mihi occurrit, nisi aut exile, aut nu­gatorium, aut vulgare ^*."’ After the mind has been once warmed and put in train, by close meditation on the subject, materials for the Preface will then suggest themselves much more readily.

IN the second place, In an Introduction, correctness should be carefully studied in the expression. This is requisite, on account of the situation of the hearers. They are then more disposed to criticise than at any other period; they are, as yet, unoccupied [Page 368] with the subject or the arguments; their attention is wholly directed to the Speaker's style and manner. Something must be done, therefore, to prepossess them in his favour; though for the same reasons, too much art must be avoided; for it will be more easily detected at that time, than afterwards; and will derogate from persuasion in all that fol­lows. A correct plainness, an elegant sim­plicity, is the proper character of an Intro­duction; ‘"ut videamur,"’ says Quinctilian, ‘"accuratè non callidè dicere."’

IN the third place, Modesty is another character which it must carry. All appear­ances of modesty are favourable, and pre­possessing. If the Orator set out with an air of arrogance and ostentation, the self­love and pride of the hearers will be pre­sently awakened, and will follow him with a very suspicious eye throughout all his progress. His modesty should discover itself not only in his expressions at the be­ginning, but in his whole manner; in his looks, in his gestures, in the tone of his voice. Every auditory take in good part those marks of respect and awe, which are paid to them by one who addresses them. Indeed the modesty of an Introduction should never betray any thing mean or abject. It is always of great use to an Orator, that together with modesty and deference to his hearers, he should show a certain sense of dignity, arising from a persuasion of the [Page 369] justice, or importance, of the subject on which he is to speak.

THE modesty of an Introduction requires, that it promise not too much. ‘"Non fu­mum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lu­cem ^*."’ This certainly is the general rule, that an Orator should not put forth all his strength at the beginning; but should rise and grow upon us, as his Discourse ad­vances. There are cases, however, in which it is allowable for him to set out from the first in a high and bold tone; as, for instance, when he rises to defend some cause which has been much run down, and decried by the Public. Too modest a beginning, might be then like a confession of guilt. By the boldness and strength of his Exor­dium, he must endeavour to stem the tide that is against him, and to remove prejudices, by encountering them with­out fear. In subjects too of a declama­tory nature, and in Sermons, where the subject is striking, a magnificent Intro­duction has sometimes a good effect, if it be properly supported in the sequel. Thus Bishop Atterbury, in beginning an eloquent Sermon, preached on the 30th of January, the Anniversary of what is called King [Page 370] Charles's Martyrdom, sets out in this pompous manner: ‘"This is a day of Trou­ble, of Rebuke, and of Blasphemy; dis­tinguished in the Calendar of our Church, and the annals of our Nation, by the suf­ferings of an excellent Prince, who fell a sacrifice to the rage of his rebellious sub­jects; and, by his fall, derived infamy, misery, and guilt on them, and their sin­ful posterity."’ Bossuet, Flechier, and the other celebrated French Preachers very of­ten begin their Discourseswith laboured and sublime Introductions. These raise atten­tion, and throw a lustre on the subject: but let every Speaker be much on his guard against striking a higher note at the begin­ning, than he is able to keep up in his pro­gress.

IN the fourth place, An Introduction should usually be carried on in the calm manner. This is seldom the place for vehe­mence and passion. Emotions must rise, as the Discourse advances. The minds of the hearers must be gradually prepared, be­fore the Speaker can venture on strong and passionate sentiments. The exceptions to this rule are, when the subject is such, that the very mention of it naturally awakens some passionate emotion; or when the un­expected presence of some person or object, in a Popular Assembly, inflames the Speak­er, and makes him break forth with unu­sual warmth. Either of these will justify [Page 371] what is called, the Exordium ab abrupto. Thus the appearance of Catiline in the Se­nate, renders the vehement beginning of Cicero's first Oration against him very natu­ral and proper. ‘"Quousque tandem, Cati­lina, abutere patientia nostra?"’ And thus Bishop Atterbury, in preaching from this text, ‘"Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me,"’ ventures on breaking forth with this bold Exordium; ‘"And can any man then be offended in thee, blessed Jesus?"’ which address to our Saviour, he continues for a page or two, till he en­ters on the division of his subject. But such Introductions as these should be ha­zarded by very few, as they promise so much vehemence and unction through the rest of the Discourse, that it is very diffi­cult to fulfil the expectations of the hearers.

AT the same time, though the Introduc­tion is not the place in which warm emo­tions are usually to be attempted, yet I must take notice, that it ought to prepare the way for such as are designed to be raised in subsequent parts of the Discourse. The Orator should, in the beginning, turn the minds of his hearers towards those senti­ments and feelings which he seeks to awak­en in the course of his Speech. According, for instance, as it is compassion, or indig­nation, or contempt, on which his Dis­course [Page 372] is to rest, he ought to sow the seeds of these in his Introduction; he ought to begin with breathing that spirit which he means to inspire. Much of the Orator's art and ability is shown, in thus striking properly at the commencement, the key note, if we may so express it, of the rest of his Oration.

IN the fifth place, It is a rule in Intro­ductions, not to anticipate any material part of the subject. When topics, or ar­guments, which are afterwards to be en­larged upon, are hinted at, and, in part, brought forth in the Introduction, they lose the grace of novelty upon their second ap­pearance. The impression intended to be made by any capital thought, is always made with the greatest advantage, when it is made entire, and in its proper place.

IN the last place, The Introduction ought to be proportioned, both in length and in kind, to the discourse that is to follow: in length, as nothing can be more absurd than to erect a very great portico before a small building; and in kind, as it is no less ab­surd to overcharge, with superb ornaments, the portico of a plain dwelling-house, or to make the entrance to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. Common sense di­rects, that every part of a Discourse should be suited to the strain and spirit of the whole.

[Page 373] THESE are the principal rules that relate to Introductions. They are adapted, in a great measure, equally, to Discourses of all kinds. In Pleadings at the Bar, or Speeches in Public Assemblies, particular care must be taken not to employ any Introduction of that kind, which the adverse party may lay hold of, and turn to his advantage. To this inconvenience, all those Introductions are exposed, which are taken from general and common-place topics; and it never fails to give an adversary a considerable triumph, if, by giving a small turn to some­thing we had said in our Exordium, he can appear to convert, to his own favour, the principles with which we had set out, in beginning our attack upon him. In the case of Replies, Quinctilian makes an ob­servation which is very worthy of notice; that Introductions, drawn from something that has been said in the course of the De­bate, have always a peculiar grace; and the reason he gives for it is just and sensible: ‘"Multum gratiae exordio est, quod ab ac­tione diversae partis materiam trahit; hoc ipso, quod non compositum domi, sed ibi atque e re natum; et facilitate famam ingenii auget; et facie simpli­cis, sumptique e proximo sermonis, fi­dem quoque acquirit; adeo, ut etiamsi reliqua scripta atque elaborara sint, ta­men videatur tota extemporalis oratio, [Page 374] cujus initium nihil preparatum habuisse, manifestum est ^*."’

IN Sermons, such a practice as this can­not take place; and, indeed, in composing Sermons, few things are more difficult than to remove an appearance of stiffness from an Introduction, when a formal one is used. The French Preachers, as I before observed, are often very splendid and lively in their Introductions; but, among us, attempts of this kind are not always so successful. When long Introductions are formed upon some common-place topic, as the desire of happiness being natural to man, or the like, they never fail of being tedious. Variety should be studied in this part of composition as much as possible; often it may be proper to begin without any Introduction at all, unless, perhaps, one or two Sentences. Ex­planatory Introductions from the context, are the most simple of any, and frequently the best that can be used: but as they are in hazard of becoming dry, they should ne­ver [Page 375] be long. A Historical Introduction has, generally, a happy effect to rouze attenti­on; when one can lay hold upon some no­ted fact that is connected with the Text or the Discourse, and, by a proper deduction of it, open the way to the subject that is to be treated of.

AFTER the Introduction, what com­monly comes next in order, is, the Propo­sition, or Enunciation of the Subject; con­cerning which there is nothing to be said, but that it should be as clear and distinct as possible, and expressed in few and plain words, without the least affectation. To this, generally succeeds the Division, or the laying down the method of the Dis­course; on which it is necessary to make some observations. I do not mean, that, in every Discourse, a formal Division, or Distribution of it into parts, is requisite. There are many occasions of Public Speak­ing, when this is neither requisite, nor would be proper; when the Discourse, per­haps, is to be short, or only one point is to be treated of; or when the Speaker does not chuse to warn his hearers of the method he is to follow, or of the conclusion to which he seeks to bring them. Order of one kind or other is, indeed, essential to every good Discourse; that is, every thing should be so arranged as that what goes before, may give light and force to what follows after. But this may be accomplish­ed [Page 376] by means of a concealed method. What we call Division, is, when the method is propounded in form to the hearers.

THE Discourse in which this sort of Di­vision most commonly takes place, is a Ser­mon; and a question has been moved, whe­ther this method of laying down heads, as it is called, be the best method of preach­ing. A very able Judge, the Archbishop of Cambray, in his Dialogues on Elo­quence, declares strongly against it. He observes, that it is a modern invention; that it was never practised by the Fathers of the Church; and, what is certainly true, that it took its rise from the schoolmen, when metaphysics began to be introduced into preaching. He is of opinion, that it renders a Sermon stiff, that it breaks the unity of the Discourse; and that, by the natural connection of one part with ano­ther, the attention of the hearers would be carried along the whole with more advan­tage.

BUT, notwithstanding his authority and his arguments, I cannot help being of opinion, that the present method of divid­ing a Sermon into heads, ought not to be laid aside. Established practice has now given it so much weight, that, were there nothing more in its favour, it would be dangerous for any Preacher to deviate so far from the common tract. But [Page 377] the practice itself has also, in my judgment, much reason on its side. If formal partiti­ons give a Sermon less of the oratorial ap­pearance, they render it, however, more clear, more easily apprehended, and, of course, more instructive to the bulk of hearers, which is always the main object to be kept in view. The heads of a Sermon are great assistances to the memory, and re­collection of a hearer. They serve also to fix his attention. They enable him more easily to keep pace with the progress of the Discourse; they give him pauses and rest­ing places, where he can reflect on what has been said, and look forward to what is to follow. They are attended with this ad­vantage too, that they give the audience the opportunity of knowing, before hand, when they are to be released from the fa­tigue of attention, and thereby make them follow the Speaker more patiently: ‘"Refi­cit audientem,"’ says Quinctilian, taking notice of this very advantage of Divisions in other Discourses, ‘"Reficit audientem certo singularium partium fine; non aliter quám facientibus iter, multum detrahunt fati­gationis notata spatia inscriptis lapidibus; nam et exhausti laboris nôsse mensuram voluptati est; et hortatur ad reliqua for­tius exequenda, scire quantum supersit ^*."’ [Page 378] With regard to breaking the Unity of a Dis­course, I cannot be of opinion that there arises, from that quarter, any argument against the method I am desending. 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-chosen, his marking them out, and distinguishing them, in place of impairing the Unity of the whole, ren­ders it more conspicuous and complete; by showing how all the parts of a Discourse hang upon one another, and tend to one point.

IN a Sermon, or in a Pleading, or any Discourse, where Division is proper to be used, the most material rules are,

FIRST, That the several parts into which the subject is divided, be really distinct from one another; that is, that no one include another. It were a very absurd Division, for instance, if one should propose to treat first, of the advantages of Virtue, and next, of those of Justice or Temperance; because, the first head evidently comprehends the second, as a Genus does the Species; which method of proceeding involves the subject in indistinctness and disorder.

[Page 379] SECONDLY, In Division, we must take care to follow the order of nature; begin­ning with the simplest points, such as are easiest apprehended, and necessary to be first discussed; and proceeding thence to those which are built upon the former, and which suppose them to be known. We must divide the subject into those parts, in­to which most easily and naturally it is re­solved; that the subject may seem to split itself, and not to be violently torn asunder: ‘"Dividere,"’ as is commonly said, ‘"non frangere."’

THIRDLY, The several members of a Division ought to exhaust the subject; otherwise we do not make a complete Divi­sion; we exhibit the subject by pieces and corners only, without giving any such plan as displays the whole.

FOURTHLY, The terms in which our partitions are expressed, should be as con­cise as possible. Avoid all circumlocution here. Admit not a single word but what is necessary. Precision is to be studied, above all things, in laying down a method. It is this which chiefly makes a Division ap­pear neat and elegant; when the several heads are propounded in the clearest, most expressive, and, at the same time, the few­est words possible. This never fails to strike the hearers agreeably; and is, at the [Page 380] same time, of great consequence towards making the Divisions be more easily remem­bered.

FIFTHLY, Avoid an unnecessary multi­plication of heads. To split a subject into a great many minute parts, by Divisions and Subdivisions without end, has always a bad effect in speaking. It may be proper in a logical treatise; but it makes an Oration appear hard and dry, and unnecessarily fa­tigues the memory. In a Sermon, there may be from three to five, or six heads, in­cluding Subdivisions; seldom should there be more.

IN a Sermon, or in a Pleading at the Bar, few things are of greater consequence, than a proper and happy Division. It should be studied with much accuracy and care; for if one take a wrong method at first set­ting out, it will lead him astray in all that follows. It will render the whole Discourse either perplexed or languid; and though the hearers may not be able to tell where the fault or disorder lies, they will be sensi­ble there is a disorder somewhere, and find themselves little affected by what is spoken. The French writers of Sermons study neat­ness and elegance in laying down their heads, much more than the English do; whose distributions, though sensible and just, yet are often inartificial and verbose. Among the French, however, too much [Page 381] quaintness appears in their Divisions, with an affectation of always setting out either with two, or with three, general heads of Discourse. A Division of Massillon's on this text, ‘"It is finished,"’ has been much extolled by the French Critics: ‘"This im­ports,"’ says the Preacher, ‘"the consum­mation, first, of justice on the part of God; secondly, of wickedness on the part of men; thirdly, of love on the part of Christ."’ This also of Bourdaloue's has been much praised, from these words." ‘"My peace I give unto you."’ ‘"Peace,"’ says he, ‘"first, to the understanding, by submission to faith; secondly, to the heart, by submission to the law."’

THE next constituent part of a Discourse, which I mentioned, was Narration or Ex­plication. I put these two together, both because they fall nearly under the same rules, and because they commonly answer the same purpose; serving to illustrate the cause, or the subject of which one treats, before proceeding to argue either on one side or other; or to make any attempt for interesting the passions of the hearers.

IN Pleadings at the Bar, Narration is of­ten a very important part of the Discourse, and requires to be particularly attended to. Besides, its being in any case no easy mat­ter to relate with grace and propriety, there is, in Narrations at the Bar, a peculiar dif­ficulty. [Page 382] The Pleader must say nothing but what is true; and, at the same time, he must avoid saying any thing that will hurt his cause. The facts which he relates, are to be the ground-work of all his future reasoning. To recount them so as to keep strictly within the bounds of truth, and yet to present them under the colours most favourable to his cause; to place, in the most striking light, every circumstance which is to his advantage, and to soften and weaken such as make against him, demands no small exertion of skill and dexterity. He must always re­member, that if he discovers too much art, he defeats his own purpose, and creates a distrust of his sincerity. Quinctilian very properly directs, ‘"Effugienda in hac praeci­puè parte, omnis calliditatis suspicio; ne­que enim se usquam magis custodit judex, quàm cùm narrat orator: nihil tum vide­atur fictum; nihil sollicitum; omnia potius a causa, quam ab oratore, profecta vide­antur ^*."’

TO be clear and distinct, to be probable, and to be concise, are the qualities which [Page 383] Critics chiefly require in Narration; each of which carries, sufficiently, the evidence of its importance. Distinctness belongs to the whole train of the Discourse, but is es­pecially requisite in Narration, which ought to throw light on all that follows. A fact, or a single circumstance left in ob­scurity, and misapprehended by the Judge, may destroy the effect of all the argument and reasoning which the Speaker employs. If his Narration be improbable, the Judge will not regard it; and if it be tedious and diffuse, he will tire of it, and forget it. In order to produce distinctness, besides the study of the general rules of perspicuity which were formerly given, Narration re­quires particular attention to ascertain clearly the names, the dates, the places, and every other material circumstance of the facts recounted. In order to be probable in Narration, it is material to enter into the characters of the persons of whom we speak, and to show, that their actions proceeded from such motives as are natural, and like­ly to gain belief. In order to be as concise as the subject will admit, it is necessary to throw out all superfluous circumstances; the rejection of which, will likewise tend to make our Narration more forcible, and more clear.

CICERO is very remarkable for his talent of Narration; and from the examples in his Orations much may be learned. The Nar­ration, [Page 384] for instance, in the celebrated Ora­tion pro Milone, has been often and justly admired. His scope is to show, that though in fact Clodius was killed by Milo or his servants, yet that it was only in self-de­fence; and that the design had been laid, not by Milo against Clodius, but by Clodius against Milo's life. All the circumstances for rendering this probable are painted with wonderful art. In relating the manner of Milo's setting out from Rome, he gives the most natural description of a family excursion to the country, under which it was impossible that any bloody design could be concealed. ‘"He remained,"’ says he, ‘"in the Senate-house that day, till all the business was over. He came home, changed his clothes deliberately, and waited for some time, till his wife had got all her things ready for going with him in his carriage to the country. He did not set out, till such time as Clodius might easily have been in Rome, if he had not been lying in wait for Milo by the way. By and by, Clodius met him on the road, on horseback, like a man prepared for action, no carriage, not his wife, as was usual, nor any family equi­page along with him: whilst Milo, who is supposed to be meditating slaughter and assassination, is travelling in a car­riage with his wife, wrapped up in his cloak, embarrassed with baggage, and attended by a great train of women ser­vants, [Page 385] and boys."’ He goes on, descri­bing the rencounter that followed, Clodius's servants attacking those of Milo, and killing the driver of his carriage; Milo jumping out, throwing off his cloak, and making the best defence he could, while Clodius's servants endeavoured to surround him; and then concludes his narration with a very delicate and happy stroke. He does not say in plain words, that Milo's servants killed Clodius, but that ‘"in the midst of the tu­mult, Milo's servants, without the or­ders, without the knowledge, without the presence of their master, did what every master would have wished his servants, in a like conjuncture, to have done ^*."’

[Page 386] IN Sermons, where there is seldom any occasion for Narration, explication of the subject to be discoursed on, comes in the place of narration at the bar, and is to be taken up much on the same tone; that is, it must be concise, clear, and distinct; 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 perspicuous account of the nature of that virtue or duty which forms the sub­ject of the Discourse, is properly the di­dactic part of preaching; on the right exe­cution of which much depends for all that comes afterward in the way of persuasion. The great art of succeeding in it, is, to meditate profoundly on the subject, so as to be able to place it in a clear and strong point of view. Consider what light other passages of Scripture throw upon it; con­sider whether it be a subject nearly related to some other from which it is proper to distinguish it; consider whether it can be illustrated to advantage by comparing it with, or opposing it to, some other thing; by enquiring into causes, or tracing ef­fects; by pointing out examples, or ap­pealing to the feelings of the hearers; that thus, a definite, precise, circumstan­tial view may be afforded of the doctrine to be inculcated. Let the Preacher be persuaded, that by such distinct and apt illustrations of the known truths of Re­ligion, he may both display great merit [Page 387] in the way of Composition, and, what he ought to consider as far more valuable, render his Discourses weighty, instructive, and useful.

IN treating of the constituent parts of a regular Discourse or Oration, I have al­ready considered the Introduction, the Di­vision, and the Narration or Explication. I proceed next to treat of the argumenta­tive or reasoning Part of a Discourse. In whatever place, or on whatever subject one speaks, this beyond doubt is of the great­est consequence. For the great end for which men speak on any serious occasion, is to convince their hearers of something being either true, or right, or good; and, by means of this conviction, to influence their practice. Reason and Argument make the foundation, as I have often in­culcated, of all manly and persuasive Elo­quence.

[Page 389] NOW, with respect to Arguments, three things are requisite. First, the invention of them; secondly, the proper disposition and arrangement of them; and thirdly, the expressing of them in such a style and manner, as to give them their full force.

THE first of these, Invention, is, with­out doubt, the most material, and the ground-work of the rest. But, with res­pect to this, I am afraid it is beyond the power of art to give any real assistance. Art cannot go so far, as to supply a Speak­er with arguments on every cause, and eve­ry subject; though it may be of consider­able use in assisting him to arrange, and ex­press those, which his knowledge of the subject has discovered. For it is one thing to discover the reasons that are most pro­per to convince men, and another, to ma­nage those reasons with most 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 system; and professed not only to assist Public Speakers in setting off their arguments to most advantage; but to supply the defect of their invention, and to teach them where to find arguments on every subject and cause. Hence their Doctrine of Topics, or ‘"Loci Communes,"’ [Page 390] and ‘"Sedes Argumentorum,"’ which makes so great a figure in the writings of Aristotle, Cicero, and Quinctilian. These Topics or Loci, were no other than general ideas ap­plicable to a great many different subjects, which the Orator was directed to consult, in order to find out materials for his Speech. They had their intrinsic and extrinsic Loci; some Loci, that were common to all the different kinds of Public Speaking, and some that were peculiar to each. The com­mon or general Loci, were such as Genus and Species, Cause and Effect, Antecedents and Consequents, Likeness and Contrariety, Definition, Circumstances of Time and Place; and a great many more of the same kind. For each of the different kinds of Public Speaking, they had their ‘"Loci Personarum,"’ and ‘"Loci Rerum:"’ As in demonstrative Orations, for instance, the heads from which any one could be decried or praised; his birth, his country, his edu­cation, his kindred, the qualities of his body, the qualities of his mind, the for­tune he enjoyed, the stations he had filled, &c. and in Deliberative Orations, the Topics that might be used in recom­mending any public measure, or dissuad­ing from it; such as, honesty, justice, facility, profit, pleasure, glory, assistance from friends, mortification to enemies, and the like.

[Page 391] THE Grecian Sophists were the first in­ventors of this artificial system of Oratory; and they showed a prodigious subtilty, and fertility in the contrivance of these Loci. Succeeding Rhetoricians, dazzled by the plan, wrought them up into so regular a system, that one would think they meant to teach how a person might mechanically become an Orator, without any genius at all. They gave him receipts for making Speeches, on all manner of subjects. At the same time, it is evident, that though this study of common places might produce very showy academical declamations, it could never produce useful discourses on real business. The Loci indeed supplied a most exuberant fecundity of matter. One who had no other aim, but to talk co­piously and plausibly, by consulting them on every subject, and laying hold of all that they suggested, might discourse with­out end; and that too, though he had none but the most superficial knowledge of his subject. But such Discourse, could be no other than trivial. What is truly solid and persuasive, must be drawn ‘"ex visceribus causae,"’ from a thorough knowledge of the subject, and profound meditation on it. They who would direct students of Oratory to any other sources of Argumentation, only delude them; and by attempting to render Rhetoric too perfect an art, they render it, in truth, a trifling and childish study.

[Page 392] On this doctrine, therefore, of the Rhe­torical Loci or Topics, I think it superflu­ous to insist. If any think that the know­ledge of them may contribute to improve their invention, and extend their views, they may consult Aristotle and Quinctilian, or what Cicero has written on this head, in his Treatise De Inventione, his Topica, and Second Book De Oratore. But when they are to prepare a Discourse, by which they purpose to convince a Judge, or to produce any considerable effect upon an Assembly, I would advise them to lay aside their common places, and to think closely of their subject. Demosthenes, I dare say, consulted none of the Loci, when he was inciting the Athenians to take arms against Philip; and where Cicero has had recourse to them, his Orations are so much the worse on that account.

I PROCEED to what is of more real use, to point out the assistance that can be given, not with respect to the invention, but with respect to the disposition, and conduct of Arguments.

TWO different methods may be used by Orators in the conduct of their reason­ing; the terms of art for which are, the Analytic, and the Synthetic method. The Analytic is, when the Orator conceals his in­tention [Page 393] concerning the point he is to prove, till he has gradually brought his hearers to the designed conclusion. They are led on step by step, from one known truth to ano­ther, till the conclusion be stolen upon them, as the natural consequence of a chain of propositions. As, for instance, when one intending to prove the being of a God, sets out with observing that every thing which we see in the world has had a beginning; that whatever has a beginning, must have had a prior cause; that in hu­man productions, art shown in the effect necessarily infers design in the cause; and proceeds leading you on from one cause to another, till you arrive at one supreme first cause, from whom is derived all the order and design visible in his works. This is much the same with the Socratic method, by which that Philosopher silenced the So­phists of his age. It is a very artful me­thod of reasoning; may be carried on with much beauty, and is proper to be used when the hearers are much prejudiced against any truth, and by imperceptible steps must be led to conviction.

BUT there are few subjects that will ad­mit this method, and not many occasions on which it is proper to be employed. The mode of reasoning most generally used, and most suited to the train of Popular Speak­ing, is what is called the Synthetic; when [Page 394] 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 allar guing, one of the first things to be attended to is, among the va­rious Arguments which may occur upon a cause, to make a proper selection of such as appear to one's self the most solid; and to employ these as the chief means of persua­sion. Every Speaker should place himself in the situation of a hearer. and think how he would be affected by those reasons, which he purposes to employ for persuading others. For he must not expect to impose on man­kind by mere arts of Speech. They are not so easily imposed on, as Public Speakers are sometimes apt to think. Shrewdness and sagacity are found among all ranks; and the Speaker may be praised for his fine Dis­course, while yet the hearers are not per­suaded of the truth of any one thing he has uttered.

SUPPOSING the Arguments properly chosen, it is evident that their effect will, in some measure, depend on the right arrange­ment of them; so as they shall not justle and embarrass one another, but give mutual aid; and bear with the fairest and fullest di­rection on the point in view. Concerning this, the following rules may be taken:

[Page 395] IN the first place, avoid blending Argu­ments confusedly together, that are of a se­parate nature. All Arguments whatever are directed to prove one or other of these three things; that something is true; that it is morally right or fit; or that it is pro­fitable and good. These make the three great subjects of discussion among mankind; Truth, Duty, and Interest. But the Argu­ments directed towards either of them are generically distinct; and he who blends them all under one Topic, which he calls his Argument, as, in Sermons, especially, is too often done, will render his reasoning indistinct, and inelegant. Suppose, for in­stance, that I am recommending to an Au­dience Benevolence, or the Love of our Neighbour; and that I take my first Argu­ment, from the inward satisfaction which a benevolent temper affords; my second, from the obligation which the example of Christ lays upon us to this duty; and my third, from its tendency to procure us the good­will of all around us; my arguments are good, but I have arranged them wrong: for my first and third Arguments are taken from considerations of interest, internal peace, and external advantages; and between these, I have introduced one, which rests wholly upon duty. I should have kept those class­es of Arguments, which are addressed to different principles in human nature, se­parate and distinct.

[Page 396] IN the second place, With regard to the different degrees of strength in Arguments, the general rule is, to advance in the way of climax, ‘"ut augeatur semper, et increscat oratio."’ This especially is to be the course, when the Speaker has a clear cause, and is confident that he can prove it fully. He may then adventure to begin with feebler arguments; rising gradually, and not put­ting forth his whole strength till the last, when he can trust to his making a success­ful impression on the minds of hearers, prepared by what has gone before. But this rule is not to be always followed. For, if he distrusts his cause, and has but one material Argument on which to lay the stress, putting less confidence in the rest, in this case, it is often proper for him to place this material Argument in the front; to preoccupy the hearers early, and make the strongest effort at first; that, having re­moved prejudices, and disposed them to be favourable, the rest of his reasoning may be listened to with more docility. When it happens, that amidst a variety of Argu­ments, there are one or two which we are sensible are more inconclusive than the rest, and yet proper to be used, Cicero advises to place these in the middle, as a station less conspicuous than either the beginning, or the end, of the train of reasoning.

[Page 397] IN the third place, When our Arguments are strong and satisfactory, the more they are distinguished and treated apart from each other, the better. Each can then bear to be brought out by itself, placed in its full light, amplified and rested upon. But when our Arguments are doubtful, and only of the presumptive kind, it is safer to throw them together in a crowd, and to run them into one another: ‘"ut quae sunt na­tura imbecilla,"’ as Quinctilian speaks, ‘"mutuo auxilio sustineantur;"’ that though infirm of themselves, they may serve mu­tually to prop each other. He gives a good example, in the case of one who was ac­cused of murdering a relation, to whom he was heir. Direct proof was wanting; but, ‘"you expected a succession, and a great succession; you was in distrest circum­stances; you was pushed to the utmost by your creditors; you had offended your relation, who had made you his heir; you knew that he was just then intend­ing to alter his will; no time was to be lost. Each of these particulars, by itself,"’ says the Author, ‘"is inconclusive; but when they were assembled in one groupe, they have effect."’

OF the distinct Amplification of one per­suasive Argument, we have a most beautiful example, in Cicero's Oration for Milo. The Argument is taken, from a circumstance of time. Milo was candidate for the Consul­ship; [Page 398] and Clodius was killed a few days be­fore the election. He asks, if any one could believe that Milo would be mad enough, at such a critical time, by a most odious assas­sination, to alienate from himself the favour of the people, whose suffrages he was so anxiously courting? This Argument, the moment it is suggested, appears to have con­siderable weight. But it was not enough, simply to suggest it; it could bear to be dwelt upon, and brought out into full light. The Orator, therefore, draws a just and striking picture of that solicitous attention with which candidates, at such a season, always found it necessary to cultivate the good opinion of the people. ‘"Quo tem­pore,"’ says he, ‘"(Scio enim quam timi­da sit ambitio, quantaque et quam sollici­ta, cupiditas consulatûs) omnia, non mo­do quae reprehendi palam, sed etiam quae obscure cogitari possunt, timemus. Ru­morem, fabulam fictam et falsam, per­horrescimus; ora omnium atque oculos intuemur. Nihil enim est tam tenerum, tam aut fragile aut flexibile, quam volun­tas erga nos sensusque civium, qui non modo improbitati irascuntur candidato­rum, sed etiam in recte factis saepe fasti­diunt."’ From all which he most justly concludes, ‘"Hunc diem igitur Campi, spe­ratum atque exoptatum; sibi proponens Milo, cruentis manibus, scelus atque fa­cinus prae se ferens, ad illa centuriarum auspicia veniebat? Quam hoc in illo mi­nimum [Page 399] credibile! ^*"’ But though such amplification as this be extremely beautiful, I must add a caution,

IN the fourth place, against extending Arguments too far, and multiplying them too much. This serves rather to render a cause suspected, than to give it weight. An unnecessary multiplicity of Arguments, both burdens the memory, and detracts from the weight of that conviction, which a few well chosen Arguments carry. It is to be observ­ed too, that in the Amplification of Argu­ments, a diffuse and spreading method, be­yond the bounds of reasonable illustration, is always enfeebling. It takes off greatly from that ‘"vis et acumen,"’ which should be the distinguishing character of the Argu­mentative Part of a Discourse. When a [Page 400] Speaker dwells long on a favourite Argu­ment, and seeks to turn it into every pos­sible light, it almost always happens, that, fatigued with the effort, he loses the spirit with which he set out; and concludes with feebleness, what he began with force. There is a proper temperance in reasoning, as there is in other parts of a Discourse.

AFTER due attention given to the proper arrangement of Arguments, what is next re­quisite for their success, is to express them in such a style, and to deliver them in such a manner, as shall give them full force. On these heads I must refer the Reader to the directions I have given in treating of Style, in former Lectures; and to the directions I am afterwards to give concerning Pronun­ciation and Delivery.

I PROCEED, therefore, next, to another essential part of Discourse which I mention­ed as the fifth in order, that is, the Pathe­tic; in which, if any where, Eloquence reigns, and exerts its power. I shall not, in beginning this head, take up time in combating the scruples of those who have moved a question, whether it be consistent with firmness and candor in a Public Speak­er, to address the passions of his Audience? This is a question about words alone, and which common sense easily determines. In enquiries after mere truth, in matters of sim­ple information and instruction, there is no [Page 401] question that the passions have no concern, and that all attempts to move them are ab­surd. Wherever conviction is the object, it is the understanding alone that is to be ap­plied to. It is by argument and reasoning, that one man attempts to satisfy another of what is true, or right, or just; but if per­suasion be the object, the case is changed. In all that relates to practice, there is no man who seriously means to persuade ano­ther, but addresses himself to his passions more or less; for this plain reason, that pas­sions are the great springs of human action. The most virtuous man, in treating of the most virtuous subject, seeks to touch the heart of him to whom he speaks; and makes no scruple to raise his indignation at injus­tice, or his pity to the distressed, though pity and indignation be passions.

IN treating of this part of Eloquence, the ancients made the same sort of attempt as they employed with respect to the argumen­tative part, in order to bring Rhetoric into a more perfect system. They enquired metaphysically into the nature of every passion; they gave a definition, and a de­scription of it; they treated of its causes, its effects, and its concomitants; and thence deduced rules for working upon it. Ari­stotle in particular has, in his Treatise upon Rhetoric, discussed the nature of the pas­sions with much profoundness and subtilty; and what he has written on that head, may [Page 402] be read with no small profit, as a valuable piece of Moral Philosophy; but whether it will have any effect in rendering an Orator more pathetic, is to me doubtful. It is not, I am afraid, any philosophical knowledge of the passions, that can confer this talent. We must be indebted for it to Nature, to a certain strong and happy sensibility of mind; and one may be a most thorough adept in all the speculative knowledge that can be acquired concerning the passions, and re­main at the same time a cold and dry Speak­er. The use of rules and instructions on this, or any other part of Oratory, is not to supply the want of genius, but to direct it where it is found, into its proper chan­nel; to assist it in exerting itself with most advantage, and to prevent the errors and extravagancies into which it is sometimes apt to run. On the head of the Pathetic, the following directions appear to me to be useful.

THE first is to consider carefully, whe­ther the subject admit the Pathetic, and ren­der it proper; and if it does, what part of the Discourse is the most proper for attempt­ing it. To determine these points belongs to good sense; for it is evident, that there are many subjects which admit not the Pa­thetic at all, and that even in those that are susceptible of it, an attempt to excite the passions in the wrong place, may expose an Orator to ridicule. All that can be said in [Page 403] general is, that if we expect any emotion which we raise to have a lasting effect, we must be careful to bring over to our side, in the first place, the understanding and judgment. The hearers must be convinced that there are good and sufficient grounds, for their entering with warmth into the cause. They must be able to justify to themselves the passion which they feel; and remain satisfied that they are not carried away by mere delusion. Unless their minds be brought into this state, although they may have been heated by the Orator's dis­course, yet, as soon as he ceases to speak, they will resume their ordinary tone of thought; and the emotion which he has raised will die entirely away. Hence most writers assign the Pathetic to the Peroration or Conclusion, as its natural place; and, no doubt, all other things being equal, this is the impression that one would chuse to make last, leaving the minds of the hearers warmed with the subject, after argument and reasoning had produced their full ef­fect: but wherever it is introduced, I must advise,

IN the second place, never to set apart a head of discourse in form, for raising any passion; never give warning that you are about to be pathetic; and call upon your hearers, as is sometimes done, to follow you in the attempt. This almost never fails to prove a refrigerant to passion. It puts the [Page 404] hearers immediately on their guard, and dis­poses them for criticizing, much more than for being moved. The indirect method of making an impression is likely to be more successful; when you seize the critical mo­ment that is favourable to emotion, in what­ever part of the discourse it occurs; and then, after due preparation, throw in such circumstances, and present such glowing images, as may kindle their passions before they are aware. This can often be done more happily, in a few sentences inspired by natural warmth, than in a long and studied Address.

IN the third place, It is necessary to ob­serve, that there is a great difference be­tween showing the hearers that they ought to be moved, and actually moving them. This distinction is not sufficiently attended to, especially by Preachers, who, if they have a head in their Sermon to show how much we are bound to be grateful to God, or to be compassionate to the distrest, are apt to imagine this to be a pathetic part. Now, all the Arguments you produce to show me, why it is my duty, why it is rea­sonable and fit, that I should be moved in a certain way, go no further than to dis­pose or prepare me for entering into such an emotion; but they do not actually excite it. To every emotion or passion, Nature has adapted a set of corresponding objects; and, without setting these before the mind, [Page 405] it is not in the power of any Orator to raise that emotion. I am warmed with grati­tude, I am touched with compassion, not when a Speaker shows me that these are noble dispositions, and that it is my duty to feel them; or when he exclaims against me for my indifference and coldness. All this time, he is speaking only to my reason or conscience. He must describe the kind­ness and tenderness of my friend; he must set before me the distress suffered by the person for whom he would interest me; then, and not till then, my heart begins to be touched, my gratitude or my compassion begin to flow. The foundation, therefore, of all successful execution in the way of Pathetic Oratory is, to paint the object of that passion which we wish to raise, in the most natural and striking manner; to de­scribe it with such circumstances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of others. Every passion is most strongly excited by sensation; as anger, by the feeling of an injury, or the presence of the injurer. Next to the influence of Sense, is that of Me­mory; and next to Memory is, the influ­ence of the Imagination. Of this power, therefore, the Orator must avail himself, so as to strike the imagination of the hearers with circumstances which, in lustre and steadiness, resemble those of Sensation and Remembrance. In order to accomplish this,

[Page 406] IN the fourth place, the only effectual method is, to be moved yourselves. There are a thousand interesting circumstances suggested by real passion, which no art can imitate, and no refinement can supply. There is obviously a contagion among the passions.

The internal emotion of the Speaker adds a pathos to his words, his looks, his gestures, and his whole manner, which exerts a pow­er almost irresistible over those who hear him ^*. But on this point, though the most material of all, I shall not now insist, as I have often had occasion before to show, that all attempts towards becoming Pathetic, when we are not moved ourselves, expose us to certain ridicule.

QUINCTILIAN, who discourses upon this subject with much good sense, takes pains to inform us of the method which he used, when he was a Public Speaker, for entering into those passions which he want­ed [Page 407] to excite in others; setting before his own imagination what he calls, ‘"Phanta­siae"’ or ‘"Visiones,"’ strong pictures of the distress or indignities which they had suffered, whose cause he was to plead, and for whom he was to interest his hearers; dwelling upon these, and putting himself in their situation, till he was affected by a passion similar to that which the persons themselves had felt ^*. To this method he attributes all the success he ever had in Public Speaking; and there can be no doubt, that whatever tends to increase an Orator's sensibility, will add greatly to his Pathetic Powers.

IN the fifth place, It is necessary to at­tend to the proper language of the passions. We should observe in what manner any one expresses himself who is under the power of a real and a strong passion; and we shall always find his Language unaffected and simple. It may be animated, indeed, with bold and strong figures, but it will have no [Page 408] ornament or finery. He is not at leisure to follow out the play of Imagination. His mind being wholly seized by one object which has heated it, he has no other aim, but to represent that, in all its circumstan­ces, as strongly as he feels it. This must be the Style of the Orator, when he would be pathetic; and this will be his Style, if he speaks from real feeling; bold, ardent, simple. No sort of description will then succeed, but what is written ‘"fervente calamo."’ If he stay till he can work up his Style, and polish and adorn it, he will infallibly cool his own ardor; and then he will touch the heart no more. His compo­sition will become frigid; it will be the Language of one who describes, but who does not feel. We must take notice, that there is a great difference between painting to the imagination, and painting to the heart. The one may be done coolly, and at leisure: the other, must always be rapid and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be suffered to appear; in the latter, no effect can follow, unless it seem to be the work of nature only.

IN the sixth place, Avoid interweaving anything of a foreign nature with the pathe­tic part of a Discourse. Beware of all digres­sions, which may interrupt or turn aside the natural course of the passion, when once it begins to rise and swell. Sacrifice all beau­ties, however bright and showy, which would divert the mind from the principal [Page 409] object, and which would amuse the imagi­nation, rather than touch the heart. Hence comparisons are always dangerous, and generally quite improper, in the midst of passion. Beware even of reasoning un­seasonably; or, at least, of carrying on a long and subtile train of reasoning, on occasions when the principal aim is to excite warm emotions.

IN the last place, Never attempt prolong­ing the Pathetic too much. Warm emoti­ons are too violent to be lasting ^*. Study the proper time of making a retreat; of making a transition from the passionate to the calm tone; in such a manner, however, as to descend without falling, by keeping up the same strain of Sentiment that was carried on before, though now expressing it with more moderation. Above all things, be­ware of straining passion too far; of attempt­ing to raise it to unnatural heights. Pre­serve always a due regard to what the hear­ers will bear; and remember, that he who stops not at the proper point; who attempts to carry them farther, in passion, than they will follow him, destroys his whole design. [Page 410] By endeavouring to warm them too much, he takes the most effectual method of freez­ing them completely.

HAVING given these rules concerning the Pathetic, I shall give one example from Ci­cero, which will serve to illustrate several of them, particularly the last. It shall be taken from his last Oration against Verres, wherein he describes the cruelty exercised by Verres, when Governor of Sicily, against one Gavius, a Roman citizen. This Gavi­us had made his escape from prison, into which he had been thrown by the Go­vernor; and when just embarking at Mes­sina, thinking himself now safe, had utter­ed some threats, that when he had once ar­rived at Rome, Verres should hear of him, and be brought to account for having put a Roman citizen in chains. The Chief Magistrate of Messina, a creature of Ver­res's, instantly apprehends him, and gives information of his threatnings. The be­haviour of Verres, on this ocasion, is de­scribed in the most picturesque manner, and with all the colours which were proper, in order to excite against him the public indig­nation. He thanks the Magistrate of Mes­sina for his diligence. Filled with rage, he comes into the Forum; orders Gavius to be brought forth, the executioners to attend, and against the laws, and contrary to the well-known privileges of a Roman citizen, commands him to be stripped naked, bound, [Page 411] and scourged publicly in a cruel manner. Cicero then proceeds thus; ‘"Caedebatur virgis, in medio foro Messanae, civis Ro­manus, Judices!"’ every word rises above another in describing this flagrant enormi­ty; and, ‘"Judices,"’ is brought out at the end with the greatest propriety: ‘"Caedeba­tur virgis, in medio foro Messanae, civis Romanus, Judices! cum interea, nullus gemitus, nulla vox alia istius miseri, inter dolorem crepitumque plagarum audieba­tur, nisi haec, Civis Romanus sum. Hâc se commemoratione civitatis, omnia ver­bera depulsurum a corpore arbitrabatur. Is non modo hoc non perfecit, ut virga­rum vim deprecaretur, sed cum implora­ret saepius usurparetque nomen civis, crux, crux inquam, infelici isto & aerum­noso, qui nunquam istam potestatem vi­derat, comparabatur. O nomen dulce libertatis! O jus eximium nostrae civita­tis! O Lex Porcia, legesque Semproniae!—Huccine omnia tandem reciderunt, ut civis Romanus, in provincia populi Ro­mani, in oppido foederatorum, ab eo qui beneficio populi Romani fasces et secures haberet, deligatus, in foro, virgis caede­retur ^*?"’

[Page 412] NOTHING can be finer, nor better con­ducted than this passage. The circum­stances are well chosen for exciting both the compassion of his hearers for Gavius, and their indignation against Verres. The style is simple; and the passionate Excla­mation, the Address to Liberty and the Laws, is well-timed, and in the proper Style of Passion. The Orator goes on to exaggerate Verres's cruelty still farther, by another very striking circumstance. He or­dered a gibbet to be erected for Gavius, not in the common place of execution, but just by the sea-shore, over against the coast of Italy. ‘"Let him,"’ said he, ‘"who boasts so much of his being a Roman citizen, take a view from his gibbet of his own country.—This base insult over a dying man is the least part of his guilt. It was not Gavius alone that Verres meant to insult; but it was you, O Romans! it was every citizen who now hears me; in the per­son of Gavius, he scoffed at your rights, [Page 413] and showed in what contempt he held the Roman name, and Roman liberties."’

HITHERTO all is beautiful, animated, pathetic; and the model would have been perfect, if Cicero had stopped at this point. But his redundant and florid genius carried him further. He must needs interest, not his hearers only, but the beasts, the moun­tains, and the stones, against Verres: ‘"Si haec non ad cives Romanos, non ad ami­cos nostrae civitatis, non ad eos qui populi Romani nomen audissent; denique si non ad homines, verum ad bestias; atque ut longius progrediar, si in aliqua desertissima solitudine, ad saxa et ad scopulos, haec conqueri et de­plorare vellem, tamen omnia muta atque inanima, tantâ et tam indignâ rerum atrocitate commoverentur ^*."’ This, with all the deference due to so eloquent an Ora­tor, we must pronounce to be Declamatory, not Pathetic. This is straining the Lan­guage of Passion too far. Every hearer sees this immediately to be a studied figure of Rhetoric; it may amuse him, but instead of inflaming him more, it, in truth, cools [Page 414] his passion. So dangerous it is to give scope to a flowery imagination, when one intends to make a strong and passionate im­pression.

NO other part of Discourse remains now to be treated of, except the Peroration, or Conclusion. Concerning this, it is need­less to say much, because it must vary so considerably, according to the strain of the preceding Discourse. Sometimes, the whole pathetic part comes in most properly at the Peroration. Sometimes, when the Dis­course has been entirely argumentative, it is fit to conclude with summing up the Arguments, placing them in one view, and leaving the impression of them, full and strong, on the mind of the Audience. For the great rule of a Conclusion, and what nature obviously suggests, is, to place that last on which we choose that the strength of our cause should rest.

IN Sermons, inferences from what has been said, make a common Conclusion. With regard to these, care should be taken, not only that they rise naturally, but (what is less commonly attended to), that they should so much agree with the strain of sen­timent throughout the Discourse, as not to break the Unity of the Sermon. For inferences, how justly soever they [Page 415] may be deduced from the doctrine of the Text, yet have a bad effect, if, at the Conclusion of a Discourse, they introduce some subject altogether new, and turn off our attention from the main object to which the Preacher had directed our thoughts. They appear, in this case, like excrescences jutting out from the body, which had bet­ter have been wanted; and tend to enfee­ble the impression, which the Composition, as a whole, is calculated to make.

THE most eloquent of the French, per­haps, indeed, of all modern Orators, Bous­suet, Bishop of Meaux, terminates in a very moving manner, his funeral Oration on the great Prince of Condé, with this return up­on himself, and his old age: ‘"Accept, O Prince! these last efforts of a voice which you once well knew. With you, all my funeral Discourses are now to end. In­stead of deploring the death of others, henceforth, it shall be my study to learn from you, how my own may be blessed. Happy, if warned by those grey heirs, of the account which I must soon give of my ministry, I reserve, solely, for that flock whom I ought to feed with the word of life, the feeble remains of a voice which now trembles, and of an ardor, which is now on the point of being ex­tinct ^*."’

[Page 416] IN all Discourses, it is a matter of im­portance to hit the precise time of conclud­ing, so as to bring our Discourse just to a point; neither ending abruptly and unex­pectedly; nor disappointing the expectation of the hearers, when they look for our be­ing done; and continuing to hover round and round the Conclusion, till they become hear­tily tired of us. We should endeavour to go off with a good grace; not to end with a languishing and drawling Sentence; but to close with dignity and spirit, that we may leave the minds of the hearers warm; and dismiss them with a favourable impres­sion of the Subject, and of the Speaker.

HAVING treated of several general heads relating to Eloquence, or Pub­lic Speaking, I now proceed to another ve­ry important part of the subject yet remain­ing, that is, Pronunciation, or Delivery of a Discourse. How much stress was laid upon this by the most eloquent of all Ora­tors, Demosthenes, appears from a noted saying of his, related both by Cicero and Quinctilian; when being asked, What was the first point in Oratory? he answered, Delivery; and being asked, What was the second? and afterwards, What was the third? he still answered, Delivery. There is no wonder, that he should have rated this so high, and that for improving him­self in it, he should have employed those assiduous and painful labours, which all the antients take so much notice of; for, be­yond doubt, nothing is of more importance. [Page 418] To superficial thinkers, the management of the voice and gesture, in Public Speaking, may appear to relate to Decoration only, and to be one of the inferior arts of catching an Audience. But this is far from being the case. It is intimately connected with what is, or ought to be, the end of all Pub­lic Speaking, Persuasion; and therefore de­serves the study of the most grave and se­rious Speakers, as much as of those, whose only aim it is to please.

FOR, let it be considered, whenever we address ourselves to others by words, our intention certainly is to make some impres­sion on those to whom we speak; it is to convey to them our own ideas and emoti­ons. Now the tone of our voice, our looks, and gestures, interpret our ideas and emoti­ons no less than words do; nay, the im­pression they make on others, is frequently much stronger than any that words can make. We often see that an expressive look, or a passionate cry, unaccompanied by words, convey to others more forcible ideas, and rouse within them stronger pas­sions, than can be communicated by the most eloquent Discourse. The signification of our sentiments, made by tones and ges­tures, 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 dictated to all, and which is understood by all; whereas, words are [Page 419] only arbitrary, conventional symbols of our ideas; and, by consequence, must make a more feeble impression. So true is this, that, to render words fully significant, they must, almost in every case, receive some aid from the manner of Pronunciation and De­livery; and he who, in speaking, should employ bare words, without enforcing them by proper tones and accents, would leave us with a faint and indistinct impression, often with a doubtful and ambiguous con­ception, of what he had delivered. Nay, so close is the connection between certain sen­timents and the proper manner of pronounc­ing them, that he who does not pronounce them after that manner, can never persuade us, that he believes, or feels, the senti­ments themselves. His Delivery may be such, as to give the lie to all that he asserts. When Marcus Callidius accused one of an attempt to poison him, but enforced his ac­cusation in a languid manner, and without any warmth or earnestness of Delivery, Ci­cero, who pleaded for the accused person, improved this into an argument of the fal­sity of the charge, ‘"An tu, M. Callidi nisi fingeres, sic ageres?"’ In Shakespeare's Richard II. the Duchess of York thus im­peaches the sincerity of her husband:

[Page 420] BUT, I believe it is needless to say any more, in order to show the high importance of a good Delivery. I proceed, therefore, to such observations as appear to me most useful to be made on this head.

THE great objects which every Public Speaker will naturally have in his eye in for­ming his Delivery, are, first, to speak so as to be fully and easily understood by all who hear him; and next, to speak with grace and force, so as to please and to move his Audience. Let us consider what is most important with respect to each of these ^*.

IN order to be fully and easily under­stood, the four chief requisites are a due degree of Loudness of Voice; Distinctness; Slowness; and Propriety of Pronunciation.

THE first attention of every Public Speaker, doubtless, must be, to make him­self be heard by all those to whom he speaks. He must endeavour to fill with his voice, the space occupied by the Assembly. This power of voice, it may be thought, is wholly a natural talent. It is so in a good measure; but, however, may receive con­siderable assistance from art. Much de­pends for this purpose on the proper pitch, and management of the voice. Every man [Page 421] has three pitches in his voice; the High, the Middle, and the Low one. The High, is that which he uses in calling aloud to some one at a distance. The Low is, when he approaches to a whisper. The Middle is, that which he employs in common conver­sation, and which he should use for ordi­nary in public Discourse. For it is a great mistake, to imagine that one must take the highest pitch of his voice, in order to be well heard by a great Assembly. This is confounding two things which are differ­ent, Loudness, or Strength of Sound, with the key, or note on which we speak. A Speaker may render his voice louder, with­out altering the key; and we will always be able to give most body, most persevering force of sound, to that pitch of voice, to which in conversation we are accustomed. Whereas, by setting out on our highest pitch or key, we certainly allow ourselves less compass, and are likely to strain and outrun our voice before we have done. We shall fatigue ourselves, and speak with pain; and whenever a man speaks with pain to himself, he is always heard with pain by his Audience. Give the voice there­fore full strength and swell of sound: but always pitch it on your ordinary speaking key. Make it a constant rule never to ut­ter a greater quantity of voice, than you can afford without pain to yourselves, and without any extraordinary effort. As long [Page 422] as you keep within these bounds, the other organs of speech will be at liberty to dis­charge their several offices with ease; and you will always have your voice under command. But whenever you transgress these bounds, you give up the reins, and have no longer any management of it. It is an useful rule too, in order to be well heard, to fix our eye on some of the most distant persons in the Assembly, and to con­sider ourselves as speaking to them. We naturally and mechanically utter our words with such a degree of strength, as to make ourselves be heard by one to whom we address ourselves, provided he be within the reach of our voice. As this is the case in common conversation, it will hold also in Public Speaking. But remember, that in public as well as in conversation, it is possible to offend by speaking too loud. This extreme hurts the ear, by making the voice come upon it in rumbling indis­tinct masses; besides its giving the Speaker the disagreeable appearance of one who en­deavours to compel assent, by mere vehe­mence and force of sound.

IN the next place, to being well heard, and clearly understood, distinctness of arti­culation contributes more, perhaps, than more loudness of sound. The quantity of sound necessary to fill even a large space, is smaller than is commonly imagined; and with distinct articulation, a man of a weak [Page 423] voice will make it reach farther, than the strongest voice can reach without it. To this, therefore, every Public Speaker ought to pay great attention. He must give eve­ry sound which he utters its due proportion, and make every syllable, and even every letter in the word which he pronounces, be heard distinctly; without slurring, whis­pering, or suppressing any of the proper sounds.

IN the third place, In order to articulate distinctly, moderation is requisite with re­gard to the speed of pronouncing. Preci­pitancy of Speech, confounds all articula­tion, and all meaning. I need scarcely observe, that there may be also an extreme on the opposite side. It is obvious, that a lifeless, drawling Pronunciation, which allows the minds of the hearers to be al­ways outrunning the Speaker, must render every Discourse insipid and fatiguing. But the extreme of speaking too fast is much more common, and requires the more to be guard edagainst, because, when it has grown up into a habit, few errors are more difficult to be corrected. To pronounce with a proper degree of slowness, and with full and clear Articulation, is the first thing to be studied by all who begin to speak in public; and cannot be too much recommended to them. Such a Pronunciation, gives weight and dignity to their Discourse. It is a great assistance to the [Page 424] voice, by the pauses and rests which it allows it more easily to make; and it enables the Speaker to swell all his sounds, both with more force, and more music. It assists him also in preserving a due command of him­self; whereas a rapid and hurried manner, is apt to excite that flutter of spirits, which is the greatest enemy to all right execution in the way of Oratory. ‘"Promptum sit os,"’ says Quinctilian, ‘"non praeceps, moderatum, non lentum."’

AFTER these fundamental attentions to the pitch and management of the voice, to distinct Articulation, and to a proper de­gree of slowness of speech, what a Public Speaker must, in the fourth place, study, is, propriety of Pronunciation; or the giv­ing to every word, which he utters, that sound which the most polite usage of the language appropriates to it; in opposition, to broad, vulgar, or provincial Pronuncia­tion. This is requisite, both for speaking intelligibly, and for speaking with grace or beauty. Instructions concerning this Arti­cle, can be given by the living voice only. But there is one observation, which it may not be improper here to make. In the Eng­lish Language, every word which consists of more syllables than one, has one accent­ed syllable. The accent rests sometimes on the vowel, sometimes on the consonant. Seldom, or never, is there more than one accented syllable in any English word, how­ever [Page 425] long; and the genius of the language requires the voice to mark that syllable by a stronger percussion, and to pass more slight­ly over the rest. Now, having once learn­ed the proper seats of these accents, it is an important rule, to give every word just the same accent in Public Speaking, as in com­mon Discourse. Many persons err in this respect. When they speak in public, and with solemnity, they pronounce the sylla­bles in a different manner from what they do at other times. They dwell upon them, and protract them; they multiply accents on the same word; from a mistaken notion, that it gives gravity and force to their Dis­course, and adds to the pomp of Public De­clamation. Whereas, this is one of the greatest faults that can be committed in Pro­nunciation; it makes what is called, a the­atrical, or mouthing manner; and gives an artificial affected air to Speech, which de­tracts greatly both from its agreeableness, and its impression.

I PROCEED to treat next of those higher parts of delivery, by studying which, a Speaker has something farther in view than merely to render himself intelligible, and seeks to give grace and force to what he ut­ters. These may be comprised under four heads, Emphasis, Pauses, Tones, and Ges­tures. Let me only premise, in general, to what I am to say concerning them, that at­tention to these articles of delivery is by no [Page 426] means to be confined, as some might be apt to imagine, to the more elaborate, and pa­thetic parts of a Discourse. There is, per­haps, as great attention requisite, and as much skill displayed, in adapting Emphases, Pauses, Tones, and Gestures, properly, to calm and plain Speaking; and the effect of a just and graceful delivery will, in every part of a subject, be found of high import­ance for commanding attention, and enforc­ing what is spoken.

FIRST, Let us consider Emphasis; by this, is meant a stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which we distinguish the accented syllable of some word, on which we design to lay particular stress, and to show how it affects the rest of the sentence. Sometimes the emphatic word must be distinguished by a particular tone of voice, as well as by a stronger accent. On the right management of the Emphasis, depends the whole life and spirit of every Discourse. If no emphasis be placed on any words, not only is Dis­course rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning left often ambiguous. If the Em­phasis be placed wrong, we pervert and con­found the meaning wholly. To give a com­mon instance; such a simple question as this: ‘"Do you ride to town to-day?"’ is capable, of no fewer than four different acceptations ac­cording as the Emphasis is differnetly placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus; do you ride to town to-day? the answer [Page 427] may naturally be, No; I send my servant in my stead. If thus; Do you ride to town to-day? Answer, No; I intend to walk. Do you ride to town to-day? No; I ride out into the fields. Do you ride to town to-day? No; but I shall to-morrow. In like man­ner, in solemn Discourse, the whole force and beauty of an expression often depends on the accented word; and we may present to the hearers quite different views of the same Sentiment, by placing the Emphasis differently. In the following words of our Saviour, observe in what different lights the thought is placed, according as the words are pronounced. ‘"Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?’ Betrayest thou—makes the reproach turn, on the in­famy of treachery. Betrayest thou—makes it rest, upon Judas's connection with his master. Betrayest thou the Son of Man—rests it, upon our Saviour's personal charac­ter and eminence. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss? turns it, upon his pro­stituting the signal of peace and friendship, to the purpose of a mark of destruction.

IN order to acquire the proper manage­ment of the Emphasis, the great rule, and indeed the only rule possible to be given is, that the Speaker study to attain a just con­ception, of the force and spirit of those sentiments which he is to pronounce. For to lay the Emphasis with exact propriety, is a constant exercise of good sense, and atten­tion [Page 428] It is far from being an inconsiderable attainment. It is one of the greatest trials of a true and just taste; and must arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately, of what is fittest to strike the feeling of others. There is as great a difference between a Chapter of the Bible, or any other piece of plain prose, read by one who places the several Emphases every where, with taste and judgment, and by one who neglects or mistakes them, as there is between the same tune played by the most masterly hand, or by the most bung­ling performer.

IN all prepared Discourses, it would be of great use, if they were read over or re­hearsed in private, with this particular view, to search for the proper Emphases be­fore they were pronounced in public; mark­ing, at the same time, with a pen, the em­phatical words in every Sentence, or at least in the most weighty and affecting parts of the Discourse, and fixing them well in me­mory. Were this attention oftener bestow­ed, were this part of Pronunciation studied with more exactness, and not left to the moment of delivery, as is commonly done, Public Speakers would find their care abun­dantly repaid, by the remarkable effects which it would produce upon their Audi­ence. Let me caution, at the same time, against one error, that of multiplying em­phatical words too much. It is only by a [Page 429] prudent reserve in the use of them, that we can give them any weight. If they re­cur too often; if a Speaker attempts to render every thing which he says of high importance, by a multitude of strong Empha­ses, we soon learn to pay little regard to them. To crowd every Sentence with em­phatical words, is like crowding all the pages of a Book with Italic Characters, which, as to the effect, is just the same with using no such distinctions at all.

NEXT to Emphasis, the pauses in Speak­ing demand attention. These are of two kinds; first, Emphatical Pauses; and next, such as mark the distinctions of Sense. An Emphatical Pause is made, after something has been said of peculiar moment, and on which we want to fix the hearer's attention. Sometimes, before such a thing is said, we usher it in with a pause of this nature. Such pauses have the same effect, as a strong Em­phasis; and are subject to the same rules; especially to the caution just now given, of not repeating them too frequently. For as they excite uncommon attention, and of course raise expectation, if the importance of the matter be not fully answerable to such expectation, they occasion disappointment and disgust.

BUT the most frequent and the principal use of pauses, is to mark the divisions of [Page 430] the sense, and at the same time to allow the Speaker to draw his breath; and the proper and graceful adjustment of such pau­ses, is one of the most nice and difficult ar­ticles in delivery. In all Public Speaking, the management of the breath requires a good deal of care, so as not to be obliged to divide words from one another, which have so intimate a connection, that they ought to be pronounced with the same breath, and without the least separation. Many a sentence is miserably mangled, and the force of the Emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is speak­ing, should be very careful to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake to imagine, that the breath must be drawn, only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It can easily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is only suspend­ed for a moment; and, by this management, one may have always a sufficient stock for carrying on the longest Sentences, without improper interruptions.

IF any one, in Public Speaking, shall have formed to himself a certain melody or tune, which requires rest and pauses of its own, distinct from those of the sense, he has, for certain contracted one of the worst habits into which a Public Speaker can fall. It is the sense which should always rule the [Page 431] pauses of the voice; for wherever there is any sensible suspension of the voice, the hearer is always led to expect somewhat cor­responding in the meaning. Pauses in Pub­lic Discourse, must be formed upon the manner in which we utter ourselves in or­dinary, sensible conversation; and not upon the stiff artificial manner which we acquire, from reading books according to the com­mon punctuation. The general run of punctuation is very arbitrary; often caprici­ous and false; and dictates an uniformity of tone in the pauses, which is extremely dis­agreeable: for we are to observe, that to render pauses graceful and expressive, they must not only be made in the right place, but also be accompanied with a proper tone of voice, by which the nature of these pauses is intimated; much more than by the length of them, which can never be ex­actly measured. Sometimes it is only a slight and simple suspension of voice that is proper; sometimes a degree of cadence in the voice is required; and sometimes that peculiar tone and cadence, which denotes the Sentence finished. In all these cases, we are to regulate ourselves, by attending to the manner in which Nature teaches us to speak, when engaged in real and earnest discourse with others.

WHEN we are reading or reciting verse, there is a peculiar difficulty in making the pauses justly. The difficulty arises from [Page 432] the melody of verse, which dictates to the ear pauses or rests of its own; and to adjust and compound these properly with the pauses of the sense, so as neither to hurt the ear, nor offend the understanding, is so very nice a matter, that it is no wonder we so seldom meet with good readers of poetry. There are two kinds of pauses that belong to the music of verse; one is, the pause at the end of the line; and the other, the cae­sural pause in the middle of it. With regard to the pause at the end of the line, which marks that Strain or Verse to be finished, Rhyme renders this always sensible, and in some measure compels us to observe it in our Pronunciation. In blank verse, where there is a greater liberty permitted of run­ning the lines into one another, sometimes without any suspension in the sense, it has been made a question, Whether in reading such verse with propriety, any regard at all should be paid to the close of a line? On the Stage, where the appearance of speaking in verse should always be avoided, there can, I think, be no doubt, that the close of such lines as make no pause in the sense, should not be rendered perceptible to the ear. But on other occasions, this were improper: for what is the use of melody, or for what end has the Poet composed in verse, if in reading his lines, we suppress his numbers; and degrade them, by our Pronunciation, into mere prose? We ought, therefore, certainly to read blank verse so, as to make [Page 433] every line sensible to the ear. At the same time in doing so, every appearance of sing­song and tone, must be carefully guarded against. The close of the line, where it makes no pause in the meaning, ought to be marked, not by such a tone as is used in finishing a sentence; but without either letting the voice fall, or elevating it, it should be marked only by such a slight sus­pension of sound, as may distinguish the passage from one line to another, without injuring the meaning.

THE other kind of musical pause, is that which falls somewhere about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemis­tichs; a pause, not so great as that which belongs to the close of the line, but still sensible to an ordinary ear. This, which is called the caesural pause, in the French heroic verse falls uniformly in the middle of the line. In the English, it may fall af­ter the 4th, 5th, 6th or 7th syllables in the line, and no other. Where the verse is so constructed, that this caesural pause coincides with the slightest pause or divi­sion in the sense, the line can be read easi­ly; as in the two first verses of Mr. Pope's Messiah,

[Page 434] But if it shall happen that words, which have such a strict and intimate connection, as not to bear even a momentary separa­tion, are divided from one another by this caesural pause, we then feel a sort of strug­gle between the sense and the sound, which renders it difficult to read such lines grace­fully. The rule of proper Pronunciation in such cases is, to regard only the pause which the sense forms; and to read the line accordingly. The neglect of the caesural pause, may make the line sound somewhat unharmoniously; but the effect would be much worse, if the sense were sacrificed to the sound. For instance, in the following line of Milton,

THE sense clearly dictates the pause af­ter "illumine," at the end of the third syl­lable, which, in reading, ought to be made accordingly; though, if the melody only were to be regarded, "illumine" should be connected with what follows, and the pause not made till the 4th or 6th syllable. So in the following line of Mr. Pope's (Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot):

The ear plainly paints out the caesural pause as salling after "sad," the 4th sylla­ble. [Page 435] But it would be very bad reading to make any pause there, so as to seperate "sad" and "civility." The sense admits of no other pause than after the second syllable "sit," which therefore must be the only pause made in the reading.

I PROCEED to treat next of Tones in Pro­nunciation, which are different both from emphasis and pauses; consisting in the modu­lation of the voice, the notes or variations of sound which we employ in Public Speaking. How much of the propriety, the force and grace of Discourse, must de­pend on these, will appear from this single consideration; that to almost every senti­ment we utter, more especially to every strong emotion, Nature hath adapted some peculiar tone of voice; insomuch, that he who should tell another that he was very angry, or very grieved, in a tone which did not suit such emotions, instead of being believed, would be laughed at. Sympathy is one of the most powerful principles by which Persuasive Discourse works its effect. The Speaker endeavours to transfuse into his hearers his own sentiments and emo­tions; which he can never be successful in doing, unless he utters them in such a man­ner as to convince the hearers that he feels them ^*. The proper language and expres­sion [Page 436] of tones, therefore, deserves to be at­tentively studied by every one who would be a successful Orator.

THE greatest and most material instruc­tion which can be given for this purpose is, to form the tones of Public Speaking upon the tones of sensible and animated conver­sation. We may observe that every man, when he is much in earnest in common Discourse, when he is engaged in speaking on some subject which interests him nearly, has an eloquent or persuasive tone and manner. What is the reason of our being often so frigid and unpersuasive in Public Discourse, but our departing from the na­tural tone of Speaking, and delivering our­selves in an affected artificial manner? No­thing can be more absurd than to imagine, that as soon as one mounts a Pulpit, or rises in a Public Assembly, he is instantly to lay aside the voice with which he ex­presses himself in private; to assume a new, [Page 437] studied tone, and a cadence altogether fo­reign to his natural manner. This has vitiated all delivery; this has given rise to cant and tedious monotony, in the different kinds of Modern Public Speaking, especially in the Pulpit. Men departed from Nature; and sought to give a beauty or force, as they imagined, to their Discourse, by sub­stituting certain studied musical tones, in the room of the genuine expressions of sen­timent, which the voice carries in natural Discourse. Let every Public Speaker guard against this error. Whether he speak in a private room, or in a great Assembly, let him remember that he still speaks. Follow Nature: consider how she teaches you to utter any sentiment or feeling of your heart. Imagine a subject of debate started in con­versation among grave and wise men, and yourself bearing a share in it. Think after what manner, with what tones and inflex­ions of voice, you would on such an occa­sion express yourself, when you was most in earnest, and sought most to be listened to. Carry these with you to the Bar, to the Pulpit, or to any Public Assembly; let these be the foundation of your manner of pronouncing there; and you will take the surest method of rendering your delivery both agreeable, and persuasive.

I HAVE said, Let these conversation tones be the foundation of Public Pronunci­ation; for, on some occasions, solemn Pub­lic [Page 438] Speaking requires them to be exalted beyond the strain of common Discourse. In a formal studied Oration, the elevation of the Style, and the harmony of the Sentences, prompt, almost necessarily, a modulation of voice more rounded, and bordering more upon music, than conversation admits. This gives rise to what is called, the Declai­ming Manner. But though this mode of Pronunciation runs considerably beyond or­dinary Discourse, yet still it must have, for its basis, the natural tones of grave and dig­nified conversation. I must observe, at the same time, that the constant indulgence of a declamatory manner, is not favourable ei­ther to good composition, or good delivery; and is in hazard of betraying Public Speak­ers into that monotony of tone and ca­dence, which is so generally complained of. Whereas, he who forms the general run of his delivery upon a speaking manner, is not likely ever to become disagreeable through monotony. He will have the same natural variety in his tones, which a person has in conversation. Indeed, the perfec­tion of delivery requires both these differ­ent manners, that of speaking with liveli­ness and ease, and that of declaiming with stateliness and dignity, to be possessed by one man; and to be employed by him, accord­ing as the different parts of his Discourse require either the one or the other. This is a perfection which not many attain; the greatest part of Public Speakers, allowing [Page 439] their delivery to be formed altogether acci­dentally; according as some turn of voice appears to them most beautiful, or some ar­tificial model has caught their fancy; and acquiring, by this means, a habit of Pro­nunciation, which they can never vary. But the capital direction, which ought ne­ver to be forgotten is, to copy the proper tones for expressing every sentiment from those which Nature dictates to us, in con­versation with others; to speak always with her voice; and not to form to our­selves a fantastic public manner, from an absurd fancy of its being more beautiful than a natural one ^*.

IT now remains to treat of gesture, or what is called action in public Discourse. Some nations animate their words in com­mon conversation, with many more motions of the body than others do. The French and the Italians are, in this respect, much more sprightly than we. But there is no nation, hardly any person so phlegmatic, as not to accompany their words with some actions and gesticulations, on all occasions, when they are much in earnest. It is there­fore [Page 440] unnatural in a Public Speaker, it is inconsistent with that earnestness and seri­ousness which he ought to show in all af­fairs of moment, to remain quite unmoved in his outward appearance; and to let the words drop from his mouth, without any expression of meaning, or warmth in his gesture.

THE fundamental rule as to propriety of action, is undoubtedly the same with what I gave as to propriety of tone. Attend to the looks and gestures, in which earnestness, indignation, compassion, or any other emo­tion, discovers itself to most advantage in the common intercourse of men; and let these be your model. Some of these looks and gestures are common to all men; and there are also certain peculiarities of manner which distinguish every individual. A Public Speaker must take that manner which is most natural to himself. For it is here, just as in tones. It is not the busi­ness of a Speaker to form to himself a cer­tain set of motions and gestures, which he thinks most becoming and agreeable, and to practise these in public, without their having any correspondence to the manner which is natural to him in private. His gestures and motions ought all to carry that kind of expression which nature has dictat­ed to him; and, unless this be the case, it is impossible, by means of any study, to avoid their appearing stiff and forced.

[Page 441] HOWEVER, although nature must be the groundwork, I admit that there is room in this matter for some study and art. For many persons are naturally ungraceful in the motions which they make; and this un­gracefulness might, in part at least, be re­formed by application and care. The study of action in Public Speaking, consists chief­ly in guarding against awkward and disa­greeable motions, and in learning to perform such as are natural to the Speaker, in the most becoming manner. For this end, it has been advised by Writers on this sub­ject, to practice before a mirror, where one may see, and judge of their own gestures. But I am afraid, persons are not always the best judges of the gracefulness of their own motions; and one may declaim long enough before a mirror, without correcting any of his faults. The judgment of a friend, whose good taste they can trust, will be found of much greater advantage to begin­ners, than any mirror they can use. With regard to particular rules concerning action and gesticulation, Quinctilian has delivered a great many, in the last Chapter of the 11th Book of his Institutions; and all the Modern Writers on this subject have done little else but translate them. I am not of opinion, that such rules, delivered either by the voice or on paper, can be of much use, [Page 442] unless persons saw them exemplified before their eyes ^*.

I SHALL only add further on this head, that in order to succeed well in delivery, no­thing is more necessary than for a Speaker to guard against a certain flutter of spirits, which is peculiarly incident to those who begin to speak in public. He must endea­vour [Page 443] above all things to be recollected, and master of himself. For this end, he will find nothing of more use to him, than to study to become wholly engaged in his sub­ject; to be possessed with a sense of its im­portance or seriousness; to be concerned much more to persuade, than to please. He will generally please most, when pleas­ing is not his sole nor chief aim. This is the only rational and proper method of rais­ing one's self above that timid and bashful regard to an Audience, which is so ready to disconcert a Speaker, both as to what he is to say, and as to his manner of saying it.

I CANNOT conclude, without an earnest admonition to guard against all affectation, which is the certain ruin of good delivery. Let your manner, whatever it is, be your own; neither imitated from another, nor assumed upon some imaginary model, which is unnatural to you. Whatever is native, even though accompanied with several de­fects, yet is likely to please; because it shows us a man; because it has the appear­ance of coming from the heart. Whereas a delivery, attended with several acquired graces and beauties, if it be not easy and free, if it betray the marks of art and affec­tation, never fails to disgust. To attain any extremely correct, and perfectly grace­ful delivery, is what few can expect; so many natural talents being requisite to con­cur in forming it. But to attain, what as [Page 444] to the effect is very little inferior, a forcible and persuasive manner, is within the pow­er of most persons; if they will only unlearn false and corrupt habits; if they will only unlearn false and corrupt habits; if they will allow themselves to follow nature, and will speak in public, as they do in private, when they speak in earnest, and from the heart. If one has naturally any gross defects in his voice or gestures, he begins at the wrong end, if he attempts at reforming them, on­ly when he is to speak in public. He should begin with rectifying them, 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 Discourse, he should not be then employing his attention about his manner, or thinking of his tones and his gestures. If he be so employed, study and affectation will appear. He ought to be then quite in earnest; wholly occupied with his subject and his sentiments; leaving Nature, and previously formed habits, to prompt and suggest his manner of Delivery.