The art of speaking well upon any subject, in order to persuade.

INTRODUCTION.

§ 1. Of the Rise and Progress of Oratory.

THE invention of oratory is by the Egyptians, and the fables of the poets, ascribed to Mercury. And it is well known, that the Greeks made their deities the authors likewise of other arts, and supposed the origin of the art of oratory.

Hence they gave Mercury the titles of Αγων and Ερως, both which names come from words that signify "to speak." And Ari- stides calls eloquence the gift of Mercury; and for the same reason anciently the tongue was consecrated to him. He was likewise said to be the interpreter or messenger of the gods; which office very well suited him, as he excelled in eloquence. Hence we read in the Sacred Writings, that when the people of Lystra took Barnabas and Paul for gods in human shape, because of that sudden and surprising cure which was wrought upon the lame man, they called Barnabas Jupiter, and Paul Mercury; for this reason, as the inspired writer tells us, "because he was the chief speaker," that is (as the spectators then thought), the interpreter or spokesman of Barnabas.

But to pass over these fictions of the heathen deities, let us hear what Quintilian says of the origin of this art; who seems to give a very probable account of it in the following passage. "The faculty of speech (says he) we derive from nature (A); but the art from observation. For as in physic, men, by seeing that some things promote health and others destroy it, formed the art upon those observations; in like manner, by perceiving that some things in discourse are said to advantage, and others not, they accordingly marked those things, in order to imitate the one and avoid the other. They also added some things from their own reason and judgment, which being confirmed by use, they began to teach others what they knew themselves." But no certain account can be given when, or by whom, this method of observation first began to take place. And Aristotle supposes, not without reason, that the first lineaments of the art were very rude and imperfect. Pausanias, indeed, in his Description of Greece, tells us, that Pittheus, the uncle of Theseus, taught it at Trezena a city of Peloponnesus, and wrote a book concerning it; which he read himself, as it was published by one of Epidaurus. But as Pittheus lived about 1000 years before Pausanias, who flourished in the time of the emperor Hadrian, some are of opinion he might be imposed upon by the Epidaurean, who published this book under the name of Pittheus. But be that as it will, it is very reasonable to believe, that the Greeks had the principles of this art so early as the time of Pittheus. For Theseus his nephew lived not long before the taking of Troy, which, according to Sir Isaac Newton, happened 904 years before the birth of Christ; at which time Cicero thought it was in much esteem among them. "Homer (says he) would never have given Ulysses and Nestor in the Trojan wars so great commendations on account of their speeches (to one of whom he attributes force, and to the other sweetness of expression), if eloquence had not in those times been in great repute." And let any one should imagine, that in those days they made use only of such helps as nature and practice could afford them, the same poet informs us, that Peleus sent Phoenix with his son Achilles to the Trojan war, to instruct him not only in the art of war, but likewise of eloquence. But who were the professors of this art for some ages following is not known. For Quintilian says, that afterwards Empedocles is the first upon record who attempted anything concerning it. And he, by Sir Isaac Newton's account, flourished about 500 years after Troy was taken. At which time, as Cicero observes, men being now sensible of the powerful charms of oratory, and the influence it had upon the mind, there immediately arose several matters of it; the chief of whom are mentioned by Quintilian, who tells us, that 'the oldest writers upon this art are Corax and Tisias, both of Sicily. After them came Gorgias of Leontium in the same island, who is said to have been the scholar of Empedocles, and by reason of his great age (for he lived to be 109 years old) had many contemporaries. Thrasyllus of Chalcedon, Prodicus of Cea, Protagoras of Abdera, Hippocrates of Elia, and Alcidamus of Elea, lived in his time; as likewise Antiphon, who first wrote orations, and also upon the art, and is said to have spoken admirably well in his own defense; and besides these, Polycrates, and Theodore of Byzantium.' These persons contributed different ways towards the improvement of the art. Corax and Tisias gave rules for methodizing a discourse, and adjusting its particular parts; as may be conjectured from Cicero's account of them, who says, "Though some have spoke well before their time, yet none with order and method." But Gorgias seems to have excelled all the rest in fame and reputation: for he was so highly applauded by all Greece, that a golden statue was erected to him at Delphi, which was a distinguishing honour conferred upon him only. And he is said to have been so great a master of oratory, that in a public assembly he would undertake to declaim immediately upon any subject proposed to him. He wrote, as Cicero informs us, in the demonstrative or laudatory way; which requires most of the sublime, and makes what Diodorus Siculus says of him the more probable, that "he first introduced the strongest figures, members of periods opposite in sense, of an equal length, or ending with a like sound, and other ornaments of that nature." And hence those figures, which give the greatest force and lustre to a discourse, were anciently called by his name. Cicero tells us further, that Thrasyllus and Gorgias were the first who introduced numbers into prose, which Isocrates afterwards brought to perfection. Quintilian likewise mentions Protagoras, Gorgias, Prodicus, and Thrasyllus, as the first who treated of common places, and showed the use of them for the invention of arguments. Nor must we omit Plato, whose elegant dialogue upon this subject is still extant, which he intitles Gorgias. For though he does not lay down the common rules of the art; yet he very well explains the nature of it, and maintains its true end and use against the generality of its professors, who had greatly perverted the original design of it. Thus by the study and industry of so many ingenious and great men, the art of oratory was then carried to a considerable height among the Grecians. Though many of those who professed it in those times employed their skill rather to promote their own reputation and applause, than to serve the real interests of truth and virtue. "For they proposed in an arrogant manner (as Cicero says) to teach how a bad cause might be so managed, as to get the better of a good one?" That is, they would undertake to charm the ears and strike the passions of their hearers in so powerful a manner, by sophistical reasonings, turns of wit, and fine language, as to impose false good upon them for truth; than which nothing could be either more disingenuous in itself, or prejudicial to society.

But those who succeeded them seem to have consulted better, both for their own honour and that of their profession. Isocrates was the most renowned of

(A) If Quintilian meant that the human race speak an articulate language by nature or instinct, he certainly deceived himself (see Language); but if his meaning was only that men have from nature a capability of speech, the observation is true, but not of much value. Parrots and other birds have a capability of uttering articulate sounds. all Gorgias's scholars, whom Cicero frequently extols with the highest commendations, as the greatest master and teacher of oratory; "whole school (as he says) like the Trojan horse, sent forth abundance of great men." Aristotle was chiefly induced to engage in this province from an emulation of his glory; and would often say in a verse of Sophocles, somewhat varied to his purpose,

"To be silent it is a shame; While Iocrates gets such fame."

Quintilian says they both wrote upon the art, though there is no system of the former now extant. But that of Aristotle is esteemed the best and most complete of any in the Greek language. In this age the Grecian eloquence appeared in its highest perfection. Demosthenes was an hearer both of Iocrates and Plato, as also of Isocrates (ten of whose orations are yet extant); and by the assistance of a surprising genius, joined with indefatigable industry, made that advantage of their precepts, that he has been always esteemed by the best judges the prince of Grecian orators. His great adversary and rival Æschines, after his banishment, is said to have gone to Rhodes, and employed his time there in teaching of rhetoric. Theodectes and Theophrastus, both of them scholars of Aristotle, imitated their master in writing upon the art. And from that time the philosophers, especially the Stoics and Peripatetics, applied themselves to lay down the rules of oratory; which Socrates had before separated from the province of a philosopher. And there is yet preserved a treatise upon this subject, which some have ascribed to Demetrius Phalereus the Peripatetic, and scholar of Theophrastus, though others more probably to Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Quintilian mentions several other famous rhetoricians in the following ages, who were likewise writers; as Hermagoras, Athenaeus, Apollonius Molon, Areus Caecilius, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Apollonius of Pergamus, and Titus Livius. But of these nothing now remains upon the subject of oratory, except some tracts of Dionysius, who flourished in the reign of Augustus Caesar. Nor have there been wanting some eminent writers of this kind among the Greeks since the time of Quintilian; two of whom we cannot omit to mention, Hermogenes, and Longinus the author of the incomparable treatise Of the Sublime, a book which can scarce be too much commended or too often read.

It was long before Rome received this art, and not without difficulty at first. The reason was, because the Romans were for several ages wholly addicted to military affairs, and to enlarge their territories; so that they not only neglected to cultivate learning, but thought the pursuit of it a thing of ill tendency, by diverting the minds of their youth from the cares and toils of war, to a more soft and indolent kind of life. Therefore so late as the year of their city 592, when by the industry of some Grecians the liberal arts began to flourish in Italy, a decree passed the senate, by which all philosophers and rhetoricians were ordered to depart out of Rome. But in a few years after, when Cnædeus, Critolaus, and Diogenes, who were not only philosophers but orators, came ambassadors from Athens to Rome, the Roman youth were so charmed with the eloquence of their harangues, that they could no longer be kept from pursuing the study of oratory. And by a further acquaintance with the Greeks, it soon gained such esteem, that persons of the first quality employed their time and pains to acquire it. And a young gentleman, who was ambitious to advance himself in the service of his country, could have little hopes of success, unless he had laid the foundation of his future prospects in that study.

Seneca tells us, that Lucius Plotius, a Gaul, was the first who taught the art of oratory at Rome in Latin; which Cicero says, was while he was a boy; and when the most studious persons went to hear him, he lamented that he could not go with them; being prevented by the regard he paid to the opinion of some of his friends, who thought that greater improvements were made by exercises in the Greek language under Grecian masters. Seneca adds, that this profession continued for some time in the hands of freedmen; and that the first Roman who engaged in it was Blan-

dus of the equestrian order, who was succeeded by others; some of whose lives are yet extant, written by Suetonius, as many of the Grecians are by Philostratus and Eunapius. Quintilian likewise gives us the names of those among the Romans, who wrote upon the art. "The first (says he), as far as I can learn, who composed anything upon this argument, was M. Cato the censor. After him Anthony the orator began upon the subject, which is the only work he has left, and that imperfect. Then followed some of his note. But he who carried eloquence to its highest pitch among us, was Cicero; who has likewise by his rules given the best plan both to practise and teach the art. After whom modesty would require us to mention no more, had he not told us himself, that his books of rhetoric slipt out of his hands, while he was but a youth. And those lesser things, which many persons want, he has purposely omitted in his discourses of oratory. Cornificius wrote largely upon the same subject; Stertinus and Gallicus the father, each of them something. But Celsus and Lepidus were more accurate than Gallicus; and in our times Virginius, Pliny, and Rotilius. And there are at this day some celebrated authors of the same kind, who, if they had taken in every thing, might have saved my pains." Time has since deprived us of most of the writers mentioned here by Quintilian. But we have the less reason to regret this loss, since it has preserved to us Cicero's treatises upon this subject; which we may well suppose to have been chiefly owing to their own excellency, and the great esteem they have always had in the world. Besides his Two Books of Invention, which Quintilian here calls his Books of Rhetoric, there are extant of his, Three Books of an Orator; one Of famous Orators; and another, which is called The Orator; as also his Topics, a preface Concerning the best sort of Orators, and a treatise Of the parts of Oratory. Each of which treatises, whether we regard the justness and delicacy of the thoughts, the usefulness of the rules, or the elegance and beauty of the style, deserves to be frequently perused by all who are lovers of eloquence. For who can be thought so well qualified to give the rules of any art, as he who excelled all mankind in the practice of them? But those Four books to Herennius, which are published among Cicero's works, seem with good reason to be attributed to Cornificius, whom... Quintilian here mentions. And Celsus is by some affirmed to have taught oratory, whom he also places among the rhetoricians, and whose Eight Books of Medicine are extant, written in so beautiful a style as plainly shows him to be a master of eloquence. But Quintilian himself outdid all who went before him in diligence and accuracy as a writer. His Institutions are so comprehensive, and written with such great exactness and judgment, that they are generally allowed to be the most perfect work of the kind. With this excellent author we shall finish the account of the Latin rhetoricians.

There were indeed some others in the following ages, whose works are yet extant; but as they contain nothing of moment which is not to be found in those already mentioned, we shall forbear to name them. Much less shall we descend to that numerous body of writers, who since the revival of learning have treated upon this subject, for the same reason. And a very good judge* has not long since given it as his opinion, that the method of forming the best system of oratory, is to collect it from the finest precepts of Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, Longinus, and other celebrated authors; with proper examples taken from the choicest parts of the purest antiquity. And this is the method attempted to be pursued in the following treatise.

§ 2. Of the Nature of Oratory.

The terms rhetoric and oratory, having no other difference but that one is taken from the Greek language and the other from the Latin, may be used promiscuously; but the case is not the same with respect to the words rhetorician and orator. For although the Greeks used the former, both to express those who taught the art, and those who practised it; yet the Romans afterward, when they took that word into their language, confined it to the teachers of the art, and called the rest orators. And there seems to have been a sufficient reason for this distinction, since the art was the same in both, and might therefore go by either name: but the different province of rhetoricians and orators made it not improper that they should be called by different names. Besides, anciently, before rhetoric was made a separate and distinct art from philosophy, the same persons taught both. And then they were called not only rhetoricians but sophists. But because they often employed their art rather to vindicate what was false and unjust, than to support truth and virtue; this disingenuous conduct, by which they frequently imposed upon weak minds, brought a discredit both upon themselves and their profession. And therefore the name sophist, or sophister, has been more generally used in an ill sense, to signify one skilled rather in the arts of cavilling, than qualified to speak well and accurately upon any subject.

It is not necessary to use many words, to prove that oratory is an art. For it is comprised under certain rules, agreeable to reason, delivered in a regular method, and suited to attain the end it proposes; which are characters sufficient to denominate it an art. Indeed the case is the same here as in most other things, that a good genius is of itself more serviceable than the most exact acquaintance with all the rules of art, where that is wanting. But it is sufficient that art help nature, and carry it farther than it can otherwise advance without it. And he who is desirous to gain the reputation of a good orator, will find the assistance of art very necessary. Some persons have thought, that many of the common systems written upon the subject of oratory have been attended with this inconvenience, that, by burdening the mind with too great a number of rules about things of less importance, they have oftentimes rather discouraged than promoted the study of eloquence. This undoubtedly is an extreme which should be always carefully avoided. But, however, an indifferent guide in a strange road is better than none at all. It may be worth while to hear Quintilian's opinion upon this head. "I would not (says he) have young persons think they are sufficiently instructed, if they have learned one of those compends which are commonly handed about, and fancy themselves safe in the decrees, as it were, of these technical writers. The art of speaking requires much labour, constant study, a variety of exercise, many trials, the greatest prudence, and readiness of thought. However, these treatises are useful, when they set you in a plain and open way, and do not confine you to one narrow tract, from which he who thinks it a crime to depart must move as slowly as one that walks upon a rope." We see he is not for having us confine ourselves too closely to systems, though he thinks they are of service at first, till use and experience render them less necessary.

The business of oratory is to teach us to speak well; the object which, as Cicero explains it, is to speak justly, methodically, floridly, and copiously.

Now, in order to speak justly, or pertinently, a person must be master of his subject, that he may be able to say all that is proper, and avoid whatever may appear foreign and trifling. And he must clothe his thoughts with such words and expressions as are most suited to the nature of the argument, and will give it the greatest force and evidence.

And as it teaches to speak justly, so likewise methodically. This requires, that all the parts of a discourse be placed in their proper order, and with such just connection, as to reflect a light upon each other, and thereby to render the whole both clear in itself, and easy to be retained. But the same method is not proper for all discourses. And very frequently a different manner is convenient in handling the same subject. For it is plain, that art, as well as nature, loves variety; and it discovers the speaker's judgment, when the disposition of his discourse is so framed, as to appear easy and natural, rather than the effect of industry and labour.

To speak floridly, is so peculiar a property of this art, that some have wholly confined it to the pomp and ornaments of language. But that it extends farther, and respects things as well as words, we shall have occasion to show hereafter. It contains indeed the whole subject of elocution, but does not wholly consist in it. True and solid eloquence requires not only the beauties and flowers of language, but likewise the best sense and clearest reasoning. Besides rhetoric gives rules for the several sorts of style, and directs the use of them agreeably to the nature of the subject.

But the force of oratory appears in nothing more than a copiousness of expression, or a proper manner of enlargement, suited to the nature of the subject; which is of great use in persuasion, and forms the last property, required by Cicero, of speaking well. A short and concise account of things is often attended with obscurity, from an omission of some necessary circumstances relating to them. Or, however, where that is not the case, yet for want of proper embellishments to enliven the discourse, and thereby to excite and fix the hearers attention, it is apt to slip through their minds without leaving any impression. But where the images of things are drawn in their full proportion, painted in their proper colours, set in a clear light, and represented in different views, with all the strength and beauties of eloquence, they captivate the minds of the audience with the highest pleasure, engage their attention, and by an irresistible force move and bend them to the design of the speaker.

The principal end and design of oratory is to persuade: for which reason it is frequently called the art of persuasion. Indeed the orator has often other subordinate views; as when he endeavours either to delight his hearers with what is pleasant and agreeable, or to conciliate their good opinion by a smooth and artful address: but still both these are in order to persuade and excite them to action.

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 abolished.

While the orator employs his art in pursuing only those ends for which it was at first designed, the persuading men to good and virtuous actions, and diffusing them from every thing that is ill and vicious; nothing can be more commendable in itself, or useful to human societies.

§ 3. Of the Division of Oratory.

Oratory consists of four parts; invention, disposition, elocution, and pronunciation. This will appear by considering the nature of each of them, and what it contributes in forming an orator. Every one who aims to speak well and accurately upon any subject, does naturally in the first place inquire after and pursue such thoughts as may seem most proper to explain and illustrate the thing upon which he designs to discourse. And if the nature of it requires that he should bring reasons to confirm what he says, he not only seeks the strongest, and such as are like to be best received; but also prepares to answer any thing which may be offered to the contrary. This is invention.—After this he deliberates with himself in what method to dispose of those things which have occurred to his mind, that they may appear in the plainest light, and not lose their force by disorder and confusion. This is the business of disposition.—His next concern is to give his thoughts an agreeable dress; by making choice of the fittest words, clearest expressions, smooth and harmonious periods, with other ornaments of style, as may best suit the nature of his subject, brighten his discourse, and render it most entertaining to his hearers. And this is called elocution.—The last thing he attends to, is to deliver what he has thus composed, with a just and agreeable pronunciation. And daily experience convinces us, how much this contributes both to engage the attention and impress what is spoken upon the mind. This then is the method to which nature directs, in order to qualify ourselves for discoursing to the best advantage: though by custom and habit these things become so familiar to us, that we do not always attend to them separately in their natural order. However, it is the business of art to follow nature, and to treat of things in that manner which she dictates.

Part I. Of Invention.

Chap. I. Of Invention in general; and particularly of Common Places, and State of a Cause.

Invention, considered in general, is the discovery of such things as are proper to persuade. And in order to attain this end, the orator proposes to himself three things: To prove or illustrate the subject upon which he treats; to conciliate the minds of his hearers; and to engage their passions in his favour. And as these require different kinds of arguments or motives, invention furnishes him with a supply for each of them, as will be shown in their order.

An argument, as defined by Cicero, is a reason which induces us to believe what before we doubted of.

And as different kinds of discourses require different arguments, rhetoricians have considered them two ways; in general, under certain heads, as a common fund for all subjects; and in a more particular manner, as they are suited to demonstrative, deliberative, or juridical discourses. At present we shall treat only upon the former of these. And now, that one thing may receive proof and confirmation from another, it is necessary that there be some relation between them; for all things are not equally adapted to prove one another. Thus, in measuring the quantity of two things which we would show to be either equal or unequal, if they are of such a nature that one cannot be applied to the other, then we take a third thing, which may be applied to them both; and that must be equal at least to one of the two, which if applied to the other, and found equal to that also, we presently conclude that these two things are equal; but if it be unequal to the other, we say that these two things are unequal. Because it is the certain and known property of all quantities, that whatsoever two things are equal to a third, are equal to one another; and where one of any two things is equal to a third, and the other unequal, those two things are unequal to one another. What has been said of quantities, will hold true in all other cases, that so far as any two things or ideas agree Invention agree to a third, so far they agree to one another.

So likewise, on the contrary, as far as one of any two things or ideas does agree to a third, and the other does not, so far they disagree with one another; in which respect, one of them cannot be truly affirmed of the other. Since, therefore, in every proposition, one thing is spoken of another, if we would find out whether the two ideas agree to each other or not, where this is not evident of itself, we must find out some third thing, the idea of which agrees to one of them; and then that being applied to the other, as it does agree or disagree with it, so we may conclude, that the two things proposed do agree or disagree with one another. This will be made more clear by an example or two. Should it be inquired, Whether virtue is to be loved; the agreement between virtue and love might be found by comparing them separately with happiness, as a common measure to both. For since the idea of happiness agrees to that of love, and the idea of virtue to that of happiness; it follows, that the ideas of virtue and love agree to one another; and therefore it may be affirmed, That virtue is to be loved. But on the contrary, because the idea of misery disagrees with that of love, but the idea of vice agrees to that of misery, the two ideas of vice and love must consequently disagree with one another; and therefore it would be false to assert, That vice is to be loved. Now, this third thing logicians call the medium, or middle term, because it does as it were connect two extremes; that is, both parts of a proposition. But rhetoricians call it an argument, because it is so applied to what was before proposed, as to become the instrument of procuring our afflent to it. Thus far as to the nature and use of arguments. We shall next explain by what methods they are to be sought.

A lively imagination, and readiness of thought, are undoubtedly a very great help to invention. Some persons are naturally endowed with that quickness of fancy, and penetration of mind, that they are seldom at a loss for arguments either to defend their own opinions, or to attack their adversaries. However, these things being the gift of nature, and not to be gained by art, do not properly fall under our present consideration.

It will be readily granted, that great learning and extensive knowledge are a noble fund for invention. An orator therefore should be furnished with a stock of important truths, solid maxims of reason, and a variety of knowledge, collected and treasured up both from observation and a large acquaintance with the liberal arts; that he may not only be qualified to express himself in the most agreeable manner, but likewise to support what he says with the strongest and clearest arguments.

But because all are not born with a like happy genius, and have not the same opportunity to cultivate their minds with learning and knowledge; and because nothing is more difficult than to dwell long upon the consideration of one thing, in order to find out the strongest arguments which may be offered for and against it; upon these accounts, art has prescribed a method to lessen, in some measure, these difficulties, and help every one to a supply of arguments upon any subject. And this is done by the contrivance of common places, which Cicero calls the seats or heads of arguments, and by a Greek name topics. They are of two sorts, internal and external.

I. Internal topics. Though things, with regard to their nature and properties, are exceedingly various, yet they have certain common relations, by means whereof the truth of what is either affirmed or denied concerning them in any respect may be evinced. The acute ancient Greek rhetoricians therefore reduced these relations to some general heads, which are termed loci or common places; because the reasons or arguments suited to prove any proposition are repolished in them, as a common fund or receptacle. And they are called internal heads, because they arise from the subject upon which the orator treats; and are therefore distinguished from others named external, which he fetches from without, and applies to his present purpose, as will be shown hereafter. Cicero and Quintilian make them 16; three of which comprehend the whole thing they are brought to prove, namely, definition, enumeration, and notation: of the remaining 13, some contain a part of it, and the rest its various properties and circumstances, with other considerations relating to it; and these are, genus, species, antecedents, consequents, adjuncts, conjugates, cause, effect, contraries, opposites, similitudes, dissimilitudes, and comparison.

Definition explains the nature of the thing defined, and shows what it is. And to whatsoever the definition agrees, the thing defined does so likewise. If therefore Socrates be a rational creature, he is a man; because it is the definition of a man, that he is a rational creature.

Enumeration takes in all the parts of a thing. And from this we prove, that what agrees to all the parts agrees to the whole; and what does not agree to any one or more parts, does not agree to the whole: As when Cicero proves to Piso that all the Roman state hated him, by enumerating the several ranks and orders of Roman citizens who all did so.

Notation, or etymology, explains the meaning or signification of a word. From which we reason thus: "If he cannot pay his debts, he is insolvent;" for that is the meaning of the word insolvent.

Genus is what contains under it two or more sorts of things, differing in nature. From this head logicians reason thus: "Because every animal is mortal, and man is an animal, therefore man is mortal." But orators make a further use of this argument, which they call ascending from the hypothesis to the thesis; that is, from a particular to a general: As should a person, when speaking in praise of justice, take occasion from thence to commend and show the excellency of virtue in general, with a view to render that particular virtue more amiable. For since every species contains in it the whole nature of the genus to which it relates, besides what is peculiar to itself, whereby it is distinguished from it; what is affirmed of the genus, must of necessity be applicable to the species.

Species is that which comprehends under it all the individuals of the same nature. From hence we may argue, "He is a man, therefore he has a rational soul." And orators sometimes take occasion from this head to descend from the thesis to the hypothesis; that that is, in treating upon what is more general, to introduce some particular contained under it, for the greater illustration of the general.

Antecedents are such things as, being once allowed, others necessarily, or very probably, follow. From this head an inseparable property is proved from its subject: as, It is material, and therefore corruptible.

Consequents are such things as, being allowed, necessarily or very probably infer their antecedents. Hence the subject is proved from an inseparable property, in this manner: It is corruptible, and therefore material.

Adjuncts are separable properties of things, or circumstances that attend them. These are very numerous, and afford a great variety of arguments, some of which usually occur in every discourse. They do not necessarily infer their subject; but, if fitly chosen, render a thing credible, and are a sufficient ground for assent. The way of reasoning from them we shall show presently.

Conjugates are words deduced from the same origin with that of our subject. By these the habit is proved from its acts: as, He who does justly is just. He does not act wisely, therefore he is not wise. But this inference will not hold, unless the actions appear continued and constant.

A cause is that, by the force of which a thing does exist. There are four kinds of causes, matter form, efficient, and end, which afford a great variety of arguments. The way of reasoning from them is to infer the effect from the cause: as, Man is endowed with reason, therefore he is capable of knowledge.

An effect is that which arises from a cause, therefore the cause is proved by it: as, He is endowed with knowledge, therefore he is capable of reason.

Contraries are things, which, under the same genus, are at the utmost distance from each other: so that what we grant to the one, we utterly deny the other: as, Virtue ought to be embraced, therefore vice should be avoided.

Opposites are such things, which, though repugnant to each other, yet are not directly contradictory: as, To love and to injure, to hate and to commend. They differ from contraries in this, that they do not absolutely exclude one another. An argument is drawn from things repugnant, thus: He will do a man mischief, therefore he does not love him. He loves a man, therefore he will not reproach him.

Similitude is an agreement of things in quality. Thus Cicero proves, that pernicious citizens ought to be taken out of the state; by the likeness they bear to corrupted members, which are cut off to prevent further damage to the body.

Diffinitude is a disagreement of things in quality. From this head Cicero shows the preference of his own exile to Piso's government of Macedonia; by the difference between their conduct, and the people's esteem of them.

Comparison is made three ways: for either a thing is compared with a greater, with a less, or with its equal. This place, therefore, differs from that of similitude on this account, that the quality was considered in that, but here the quantity. An argument from the greater is thus drawn: If five legions could not conquer the enemy, much less will two.

We shall just give one example of the manner of No. 250.

reasoning from these heads, whereby the use of them may further appear. If any one, therefore, should have endeavoured to persuade Cicero not to accept of his life upon the condition offered him by Antony, that he would burn his Philippic orations which had been spoken against him, he might be supposed to use such arguments as these; partly taken from the adjuncts of Cicero, partly from those of Antony, and partly from the thing itself. And first with regard to Cicero, it might be said, That so great a man ought not to purchase his life at so dear a price as the loss of that immortal honour which by so great pains and labour he had acquired. And this might be confirmed by another argument, That now he was grown old, and could not expect to live much longer. And from the character of Antony he might argue thus: That he was very crafty and deceitful, and only designed, by giving him hopes of life, to have the Philippics burnt, which otherwise he knew would transmit to posterity an eternal brand of infamy upon him; and then he would take off the author. And this might be shown by comparison. For since he would not spare others, who had not so highly exasperated him, and from whom he had not so much to fear; certainly he would not forgive Cicero, since he knew well enough, that so long as he lived, himself could never be in safety. And, lastly, an argument might also be fetched from the nature of the thing itself, in the following manner: That Cicero by this action would shamefully betray the state, and the cause of liberty, which he had through his whole life most courageously defended, with so great honour to himself, and advantage to the public. Upon such an account, a person might have used these or the like arguments with Cicero, which arise from the aforementioned heads.

From this account of common places, it is easy to conceive what a large field of discourse they open to the mind upon every subject. At the same time, though we have mentioned them from our respect for the orators of Greece and Rome, we heartily subscribe to the opinion of a celebrated modern, who gives them the following account.

"The Grecian sophists were the first inventors of this artificial system of Oratory; and they showed a profound genius, dexterity, subtlety and fertility in the contrivance of these loci. Succeeding rhetoricians, dazzled by the plan, wrought them 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 pleasantly, 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 officio, from a thorough knowledge of the subject, and profound meditation on it. They II. Of external topics. When the orator reasons from such topics as do not arise from his subject, but from things of a different nature, these are called external. They are all taken from authorities, and are by one general name called Testimonies.

Now a testimony may be expressed by writing, speech, or any other sign proper to declare a person's mind. And all testimonies may be distinguished into two sorts, divine and human. A divine testimony, when certainly known to be such, is incontestable, and admits of no debate, but should be acquiesced in without hesitation. Indeed the ancient Greeks and Romans esteemed the pretended oracles of their deities, the answers of their augurs, and the like fallacies, divine testimonies; but with us no one can be ignorant of their true notion, though they do not so directly come under our present consideration. Human testimonies, considered as furnishing the orator with arguments, may be reduced to three heads; writings, witness, and contracts.

1. By Writings, here, are to be understood written laws, wills, or other legal instruments, expressed and conveyed in that manner. And it is not so much the force and validity of such testimonies, considered in themselves, that is here intended, as the occasion of dispute which may at any time arise concerning their true design and import, when produced in proof upon either side of a controversy. And these are five; Ambiguity, Disagreement between the words and intention, Contrariety, Reasoning, and Interpretation.

A writing is then said to be ambiguous, when it is capable of two or more senses, which makes the writer's design uncertain. Now ambiguity may arise either from single words, or the construction of sentences. From single words; as when either the sense of a word, or the application of it, is doubtful. As, should it be questioned, whether ready money ought to be included under the appellation of chattels left by a will; or, if a testator bequeath a certain legacy to his nephew Thomas, and he has two nephews of that name. But ambiguity is also sometimes occasioned from the construction of a sentence; as when several things or persons having been already mentioned, it is doubtful to which of them that which follows ought to be referred. For example, a person writes thus in his will: 'Let my heir give as a legacy to Titus an horse out of my stable, which he pleases.' Here it may be questioned, whether the word he refers to the heir or to Titus; and consequently, whether the heir be allowed to give Titus which horse he pleases, or Titus may choose which he likes best. Now as to controversies of this kind, in the first case above-mentioned, the party who claims the chattels may plead, that all moveable goods come under that name, and therefore that he has a right to the money. This he will endeavour to prove from some instances where the word has been so used. The burden of the opposite party is to refute this, by showing that money is not there included. And if either side produce precedents in his favour, the other may endeavour to show that the cases are not parallel. As to the second case, arising from an ambiguity in the name, if any other invention words or expressions in the will seem to countenance either of the claimants, he will not fail to interpret them to his advantage. So likewise, if anything said by the testator, in his lifetime, or any regard shown to either of these nephews more than the other, may help to determine which of them was intended, a proper use may be made of it. And the same may be said with regard to the third case. In which the legatee may reason likewise from the common use of language, and show that in such expressions it is usual to make the reference to the last or next antecedent; and from thence plead, that it was the design of the testator to give him the option. But in answer to this, it may be said, that allowing it to be very often so, yet in this instance it seems more easy and natural to repeat the verb give after pleases, and so to supply the sentence, which he pleases to give him, referring it to the heir, than to bring in the verb chooses, which was not in the sentence before; and so, by supplying the sense, which he pleases to choose, to give the option to Titus. But where controversies of this kind arise from a law, recourse may be had to other laws where the same thing has been expressed with greater clearness; which may help to determine the sense of the passage in dispute.

A second controversy from writings is, when one party adheres to the words, and the other to what he affirms was the writer's intention. Now he who opposes the literal sense, either contends, that what he himself offers is the simple and plain meaning of the writing, or that it must be so understood in the particular case in dispute. An instance of the former is this, as we find it in Cicero. A person who died without children, but left a widow, had made this provision in his will: "If I have a son born to me, he shall be my heir." And a little after: "If my son die before he comes of age, let Curius be my heir." There is no son born: Curius therefore sues for the estate, and pleads the intention of the testator, who designed him for his heir, if he should have no son who arrived at age; and says, there can be no reason to suppose he did not intend the same person for his heir if he had no son, as if he should have one who afterwards died in his minority. But the heir at law insists upon the words of the will; which, as he says, require, that first a son should be born, and afterwards die under age, before Curius can succeed to the inheritance; and there being no son, a substituted heir, as Curius was, can have no claim where the first heir does not exist, from whom he derives his pretension, and was to succeed by the appointment of the will.

Of the latter case, rhetoricians give this example: "It was forbidden by a law to open the city gates in the night. A certain person notwithstanding, in time of war, did open them in the night, and let in some auxiliary troops, to prevent their being cut off by the enemy, who was posted near the town." Afterwards, when the war was over, this person is arraigned, and tried for his life on account of this action. Now, in such a case, the prosecutor founds his charge upon the express words of the law; and pleads, that no sufficient reason can be assigned for going contrary to the letter of it, which would be to make a new law, and not to execute one already made. The defendant, on the other hand, alleges, That the fact he is charged Invention, with cannot, however, come within the intention of the law; since he either could not, or ought not, to have complied with the letter of it in that particular case, which must therefore necessarily be supposed to have been excepted in the design of that law when it was made. But to this the prosecutor may reply, That all such exceptions as are intended by any law, are usually expressed in it: and instances may be brought of particular exceptions expressed in some laws; and if there be any such exception in the law under debate, it should especially be mentioned. He may further add, That to admit of exceptions not expressed in the law itself, is to enervate the force of all laws, by explaining them away, and in effect to render them useless. And this he may further corroborate, by comparing the law under debate with others, and considering its nature and importance, and how far the public interest of the state is concerned in the due and regular execution of it; from whence he may infer, that should exceptions be admitted in other laws of less consequence, yet, however, they ought not in this. Lastly, he may consider the reason alleged by the defendant, on which he founds his plea, and show there was not that necessity of violating the law in the present case, as is pretended. And this is often the more requisite, because the party who disputes against the words of the law, always endeavours to support his allegations from the equity of the case. If, therefore, this plea can be enervated, the main support of the defendant's cause is removed. For as the former arguments are designed to prevail with the judge, to determine the matter on this side the question from the nature of the case; so the intention of this argument is to induce him to it, from the weakness of the defence made by the opposite party. But the defendant will, on the contrary, use such arguments as may best demonstrate the equity of his cause, and endeavour to vindicate the fact from his good design and intention in doing it. He will say, That the laws have allotted punishments for the commission of such facts as are evil in themselves, or prejudicial to others; neither of which can be charged upon the action for which he is accused: That no law can be rightly executed, if more regard be had to the words and syllables of the writing, than to the intention of the legislator. To which purpose, he may allege that direction of the law itself, which says, "The law ought not to be too rigidly interpreted, nor the words of it strained; but the true intention and design of each part of it duly considered." As also that saying of Cicero, "What law may not be weakened and destroyed, if we bend the sense to the words, and do not regard the design and view of the legislator?" Hence he may take occasion to complain of the hardship of such a procedure, that no difference should be made between an audacious and wilful crime, and an honest or necessary action, which might happen to disagree with the letter of the law, though not with the intent of it. And as it was observed before to be of considerable service to the accuser, if he could remove the defendant's plea of equity; so it will be of equal advantage to the defendant, if he can fix upon any words in the law, which may in the least seem to countenance his case, since this will take off the main force of the charge.

The third controversy of this kind is, when two writings happen to clash with each other, or at least seem to do so. Of this Hermogenes gives the following instance. One law enjoins: "He who continues alone in a ship during a tempest, shall have the property of the ship." Another law says, "A disinherited son shall enjoy no part of his father's estate." Now a son, who had been disinherited by his father, happens to be in his father's ship in a tempest, and continues there alone, when every one else had deserted it. He claims the ship by the former of these laws, and his brother tries his right with him by the latter. In such cases, therefore, it may first be considered, "Whether the two laws can be reconciled. And if that cannot be done, then, Which of them appears more equitable." Also, Whether one be positive, and the other negative: because prohibitions are a sort of exceptions to positive injunctions. Or, If one be a general law, and the other more particular, and come nearer to the matter in question. Likewise, Which was last made: since former laws are often abrogated, either wholly or in part, by subsequent laws; or at least were designed to be so. Lastly, it may be observed, Whether one of the laws be not plain and express; and the other more dubious, or has any ambiguity in it. All, or any of which things, that party will not omit to improve for his advantage whose interest is concerned in it.

The fourth controversy is reasoning. As when something, not expressly provided for by a law, is inferred by a similitude, or parity of reason, from what is contained in it. Quintilian mentions this instance of it. "There was a law made at Tarentum, to prohibit the exportation of wool; but a certain person exports sheep." In this case, the prosecutor may first compare the thing which occasions the charge, with the words of the law, and show their agreement, and how unnecessary it was that particular thing should have been expressly mentioned in the law, since it is plainly contained in it, or at least an evident consequence from it. He may then plead, that many things of a like nature are omitted in other laws for the same reason. And, lastly, he may urge the reasonableness and equity of the procedure. The defendant, on the other hand, will endeavour to show the deficiency of the reasoning, and the difference between the two cases. He will insist upon the plain and express words of the law, and set forth the ill tendency of such inferences and conclusions drawn from similitudes and comparisons, since there is scarce anything but in some respect may bear a resemblance to another.

The last controversy under this head is interpretation, in which the dispute turns upon the true meaning and explication of the law in reference to that particular case. We have the following instance of this in the Pandects: "A man who had two sons, both under age, substitutes Titius as heir to him who should die last, provided both of them died in their minority. They both perish together at sea before they came to age. Here arises a doubt, whether the substitution can take place, or whether the inheritance devolves to the heir at law." The latter pleads, That as neither of them can be said to have died last, the substitution cannot take place; which was suspended, upon the condition that one died after the other. But to this it may be said, It was the intention of the testator, that if both died in their nonage, Titius should... Invention should succeed to the inheritance; and therefore it makes no difference whether they died together, or one after the other: and so the law determines it.

2. The second head of external arguments are Witnesses. These may either give their evidence, when absent, in writing subscribed with their name; or present, by word of mouth. And what both of them testify, may either be from hearsay; or what they saw themselves, and were present at the time it was done. As the weight of the evidence may be thought greater or less on each of these accounts, either party will make such use of it as he finds for his advantage. The characters of the witnesses are also to be considered; and if any thing be found in their lives or behaviour that is justly exceptionable, to invalidate their evidence, it ought not to be omitted. And how they are affected to the contending parties, or either of them, may deserve consideration; for some allowances may be judged reasonable in case of friendship, or enmity, where there is no room for any other exception. But regard should chiefly be had to what they testify, and how far the cause is affected by it. Cicero is very large upon most of these heads in his defense of Marcus Fonteius, with a design to weaken the evidence of the Gauls against him. And where witnesses are produced on one side only, as orators sometimes attempt to lessen the credit of this kind of proof, by pleading that witnesses are liable to be corrupted, or baffled by some prevailing interest or passion, to which arguments taken from the nature and circumstances of things are not subject; it may be answered on the other hand, that sophistical arguments and false colourings are not exposed to infamy or punishment, whereas witnesses are restrained by shame and penalties, nor would the law require them if they were not necessary.

3. The third and last head of external arguments are Contracts; which may be either public or private. By public are meant the transactions between different states, as leagues, alliances, and the like; which depend on the laws of nations, and come more properly under deliberative discourses, to which we shall refer them. Those are called private, which relate to lesser bodies or societies of men, and single persons; and may be either written or verbal. And it is not so much the true meaning and purport of them that is here considered, as their force and obligation. And, as the Roman law declares, "Nothing can be more agreeable to human faith, than that persons should stand to their agreements." Therefore, in controversies of this kind, the party whose interest it is that the contract should be maintained, will plead, that such covenants have the force of private laws, and ought religiously to be observed, since the common affairs of mankind are transacted in that manner; and therefore to violate them, is to destroy all commerce and society among men. On the other side it may be said, that justice and equity are chiefly to be regarded, which are immutable; and besides, that the public laws are the common rule to determine such differences, which are designed to redress those who are aggrieved. And, indeed, where a compact has been obtained by force or fraud, it is in itself void, and has no effect either in law or reason. But on the other hand, the Roman lawyers seem to have very rightly determined, that all such obligations as are founded on natural equity, though not binding by national laws, and are therefore called nuda poena, ought, however, in honour and conscience to be performed.

III. Of the State of a Controversy. The ancients observing that the principal question or point of dispute in all controversies might be referred to some particular head, reduced those heads to a certain number, of referring that both the nature of the question might by that principle be better known, and the arguments fitted to it be discovered with greater ease. And these heads they call States.

By the state of a controversy, then, we are to understand the principal point in dispute between contending parties, upon the proof of which the whole cause of action or controversy depends. We find it expressed by several other names in ancient writers: as, the constitution of the cause, the general head, and the chief question. And as this is the principal thing to be attended to in every such discourse; so it is what first requires the consideration of the speaker, and should be well fixed and digested in his mind, before he proceeds to look for arguments proper to support it. Thus Anthony, the Roman orator, speaking of his own method in his pleading, says: "When I understand the nature of the cause, and begin to consider it, the first thing I endeavour to do is, to settle with myself what that is to which all my discourse relating to the matter in dispute ought to be referred; then I diligently attend to these other two things, How to recommend myself, or those for whom I plead, to the good esteem of my hearers; and how to influence their minds, as may best suit my design." This way of proceeding appears very agreeable to reason and prudence. For what can be more absurd, than for a person to attempt the proof of any thing, before he has well settled in his own mind a clear and distinct notion what the thing is which he would endeavour to prove? Quintilian describes it to be, "That kind of question which arises from the first conflict of causes." In judicial cases, it immediately follows upon the charge of the plaintiff, and plea of the defendant. Our common law expresses it by one word, namely the issue. Which interpreters explain, by describing it to be, "That point of matter depending in suit, whereupon the parties join, and put their cause to the trial." Examples will further help to illustrate this, and render it more evident. In the cause of Milo, the charge of the Clodian party is, Milo killed Clodius, Milo's plea or defense, I killed him, but justly. From hence arises this grand question, or state of the cause, Whether it was lawful for Milo to kill Clodius? And that Clodius was lawfully killed by Milo, is what Cicero in his defense of Milo principally endeavours to prove. This is the main subject of that fine and beautiful oration. The whole of his discourse is to be considered as centering at last in this one point. Whatever different matters are occasionally mentioned, will, if closely attended to, be found to have been introduced some way or other the better to support and carry on this design. Now in such cases, where the fact is not denied, but something is offered in its defense, the state of the cause is taken from the defendant's plea, who is obliged to make it good: As in the instance here given, the chief point in dispute was the lawfulness of Milo's action, which it was Cicero's business to demonstrate. But when the defendant denies the fact, the state of the cause arises from the accusation; the proof of which then lies upon the plaintiff, and not, as in the former case, upon the defendant. So in the cause of Roscius, the charge made against him is, *That he killed his father.* But he denies the fact. The grand question therefore to be argued is, *Whether or not he killed his father?* The proof of this lay upon his accusers. And Cicero's design in his defence of him is to show, that they had not made good their charge. But it sometimes happens, that the defendant neither absolutely denies the fact, nor attempts to justify it; but only endeavours to qualify it, by denying that it is a crime of that nature, or deserves that name, by which it is expressed in the charge. We have an example of this proposed by Cicero: "*A person is accused of sacrilege, for taking a thing, that was sacred, out of a private house. He owns the fact, but denies it to be sacrilege; since it was committed in a private house, and not in a temple.*" Hence this question arises, *Whether to take a sacred thing out of a private house, is to be deemed sacrilege, or only simple theft?* It lies upon the accuser to prove what the other denies; and therefore the state of the cause is here also, as well as in the preceding case, taken from the indictment.

But besides the principal question, there are other subordinate questions, which follow upon it in the course of a dispute, and should be carefully distinguished from it. Particularly that which arises from the reason, or argument, which is brought in proof of the principal question. For the principal question itself proves nothing, but is the thing to be proved, and becomes at last the conclusion of the discourse. Thus, in the cause of Milo, his argument is, *I killed Clodius justly, because he assassinated me.* Unless the Clodian party be supposed to deny this, they give up their cause. From hence therefore this subordinate question follows, *Whether Clodius assassinated Milo?* Now Cicero spends much time in the proof of this, as the hinge on which the first question, and consequently the whole cause, depended. For if this was once made to appear, the lawfulness of Milo's killing Clodius, which was the grand question or thing to be proved, might be inferred as an allowed consequence from it. This will be evident, by throwing Milo's argument, as used by Cicero, into the form of a syllogism:

An assassin is lawfully killed: Clodius was an assassin: Therefore he was lawfully killed by Milo, whom he assassinated.

If the minor proposition of this syllogism was granted, no one would deny the conclusion: for the Roman law allowed of self-defence. But as Cicero was very sensible this would not be admitted, so he takes much pains to bring the court into the belief of it. Now where the argument brought in defence of the second question is contested, or the orator supposes that it may be so, and therefore supports that with another argument, this occasions a third question consequent upon the former; and in like manner he may proceed to a fourth. But be they more or fewer, they are to be considered but as one chain of subordinate questions dependent upon the first. And though each of them has its particular state, yet none of these is what rhetoricians call *The state of the Cause,* which is to be understood only of the principal question. And if, as it frequently happens, the first or principal question is itself directly proved from more than one argument; this makes no other difference, but that each of these arguments, so far as they are followed by others to support them, become a distinct series of subordinate questions, all dependent upon the first. As when Cicero endeavours to prove, that Roscius did not kill his father, from two reasons or arguments: *Because he had neither any cause to move him to such a barbarous action, nor any opportunity for it.*

Moreover, besides these subordinate questions, there are also incidental ones often introduced, which have some reference to the principal question, and contribute towards the proof of it, though they are not necessarily connected with it, or dependent upon it. And each of these also has its state, though different from that of the cause. For every question, or point of controversy, must be stated, before it can be made the subject of disputation. And it is for this reason, that every new argument advanced by an orator is called a question; because it is considered as a fresh matter of controversy. In Cicero's defence of Milo, we meet with several of this sort of questions, occasioned by some aspersions which had been thrown out by the Clodian party to the prejudice of Milo. As, "*That he was unworthy to see the light, who owned he had killed a man:*" For Milo before his trial had openly confessed he killed Clodius. So likewise, "*That the senate had declared the killing of Clodius was an illegal action.*" And further, "*That Pompey, by making a new law to settle the manner of Milo's trial, had given his judgment against Milo.*" Now to each of these Cicero replies, before he proceeds to the principal question. And therefore, though the question, in which the state of a controversy consists, is said by Quintilian to arise from "*the first conflict of causes,*" yet we find by this instance of Cicero, that it is not always the first question in order, upon which the orator treats.

But it sometimes happens, that the same cause or controversy contains in it more than one state. Thus in judicial causes, every distinct charge occasions a new state. All Cicero's orations against Verres relate to one cause, founded upon a law of the Romans against unjust exactions made by their governors of provinces upon the inhabitants; but as that prosecution is made up of as many charges as there are orations, every charge, or indictment, has its different state. So likewise his oration in defence of Cælius has two states, in answer to a double charge made against him by his adversaries: one, "*for borrowing money of Clodia, in order to bribe certain slaves to kill a foreign ambassador;*" and the other, "*for an attempt afterward to poison Clodia herself.*" Besides which, there were several other matters of a less heinous nature, which had been thrown upon him by his accusers, with a design, very likely, to render the two principal charges more credible; to which Cicero first replies, in the same manner as in his defence of Milo.

Though all the examples we have hitherto brought to illustrate this subject have been taken from judicial cases; Invention cases; yet not only these, but very frequently discourses of the deliberative kind, and sometimes those of the demonstrative, are managed in a controversial way. And all controversies have their state. And therefore Quintilian very justly observes, that "states belong both to general and particular questions; and to all sorts of causes, demonstrative, deliberative, and judicial." In Cicero's oration for the Manilian law, this is the main point in dispute between him and those who opposed that law: "Whether Pompey was the fittest person to be intrusted with the management of the war against Mithridates?" This is a subject of the deliberative kind. And of the same nature was that debate in the senate concerning the demolition of Carthage. For the matter in dispute between Cato, who argued for it, and those who were of the contrary opinion, seems to have been this: "Whether it was for the interest of the Romans to demolish Carthage?" And to likewise in those two fine orations of Cato and Caesar, given us by Sallust, relating to the conspirators with Catiline, who were then in custody, the controversy turns upon this: "Whether those prisoners should be punished with death, or perpetual imprisonment?" Examples of the demonstrative kind are not so common; but Cicero's oration concerning the "Answers of the footsloggers," may afford us an instance of it. Several prodigies had lately happened at Rome; upon which the footsloggers being consulted, assigned this as the reason of them, because some places consecrated to the gods had been afterwards converted to civil uses. Clodius charged this upon Cicero; whose house was rebuilt at the public expense, after it had been demolished by Clodius, and the ground consecrated to the goddess Liberty. Cicero in this oration retorts the charge; and shows that the prodigies did not respect him, but Clodius. So that the question in dispute was, "To which of the two those prodigies related?" This oration does not appear to have been spoken in a judicial way, and must therefore belong to the demonstrative kind. His invective against Piso is likewise much of the same nature, wherein he compares his own behaviour and conduct with that of Piso.

As to the number of these states, both Cicero and Quintilian reduce them to three. "We must (says Quintilian) agree with those, whose authority Cicero follows, who tells us, that three things may be inquired into in all disputes: Whether a thing is; what it is; and how it is. And this is the method which nature prefers. For in the first place, it is necessary the thing should exist about which the dispute is: because no judgment can be made either of its nature or quality till its existence be manifest; which is therefore the first question. But though it be manifest that a thing is, it does not presently appear what it is; and when this is known, the quality yet remains: and after these three are settled, no further inquiry is necessary." Now the first of these three states is called the conjectural state; as if it be inquired, "Whether one person killed another?" This always follows upon the denial of a fact, by one of the parties; as was the case of Roelius. And it receives its name from hence, that the judge is left, as it were, to conjecture, whether the fact was really committed or not, from the evidence produced on the other side. The second is called the definitive state, when the fact is not denied; but invention. The dispute turns upon the nature of it, and what name it is proper to give it: as in that example of Cicero, "Whether to take a sacred thing out of a private house be theft, or sacrilege?" For in this case it is necessary to settle the distinct notion of those two crimes, and show their difference. The third is called the state of quality; when the contending parties are agreed both as to the fact, and the nature of it; but the dispute is, "Whether it be just or unjust, profitable or unprofitable, and the like?" as in the cause of Milo.

From what has been said upon this subject, the use of it may in a good measure appear. For whoever engages in a controversy, ought in the first place to consider with himself the main question in dispute, to fix it well in his mind, and keep it constantly in his view; without which he will be very liable to ramble from the point, and bewilder both himself and his hearers. And it is no less the business of the hearers principally to attend to this; by which means they will be helped to distinguish and separate from the principal question what is only incidental, and to observe how far the principal question is affected by it; to perceive what is offered in proof, and what is only brought in for illustration; not to be misled by digressions, but to discern when the speaker goes off from his subject, and when he returns to it again; and, in a word, to accompany him through the whole discourse, and carry with them the principal chain of reasoning upon which the cause depends, so as to judge upon the whole, whether he has made out his point, and the conclusion follows from the premises.

**CHAP. II. Of Arguments suited to Demonstrative Discourses.**

These consist either in praise or dispraise; and, agreeably to the nature of all contraries, one of them will serve to illustrate the other.

Now we either praise persons or things.

1. In praising or dispraising persons, rhetoricians prescribe two methods. One is, to follow the order in which every thing happened that is mentioned in the discourse; the other is, to reduce what is said under certain general heads, without a strict regard to the order of time.

1. In pursuing the former method, the discourse may be very conveniently divided into three periods. The first of which will contain what preceded the person's birth; the second, the whole course of his life; and the third what followed upon his death.

Under the first of these may be comprehended what is proper to be said concerning his country or family. And therefore, if these were honourable, it may be said to his advantage, that he nowise disgraced them, but acted suitably to such a descent. But if they were not so, they may be either wholly omitted; or it may be said, that, instead of deriving thence any advantage to his character, he has conferred a lasting honour upon them; and that it is not of so much moment where, or from whom, a person derives his birth, as how he lives.

In the second period, which is that of his life, the qualities both of his mind and body, with his circumstances in the world, may be separately considered. Invention. Though, as Quintilian rightly observes, "All external advantages are not praises for themselves, but according to the use that is made of them. For riches, and power, and interest, as they have great influence, and may be applied either to good or bad purposes, are a proof of the temper of our minds; and therefore we are either made better or worse by them." But these things are a just ground for commendation, when they are the reward of virtue or industry. Bodily endowments are health, strength, beauty, activity, and the like; which are more or less commendable, according as they are employed. And where these, or any of them, are wanting, it may be shown, that they are abundantly compensated by the more valuable endowments of the mind. Nay, sometimes a defect in these may give an advantageous turn to a person's character; for any virtue appears greater, in proportion to the disadvantages the person laboured under in exerting it. But the chief topics of praise are taken from the virtues and qualifications of the mind. And here the orator may consider the disposition, education, learning, and several virtues, which shone through the whole course of the person's life. In doing which, the preference should always be given to virtue above knowledge or any other accomplishment. And in actions, those are most commendable, and will be heard with greatest approbation, which a person either did alone, or first, or wherein he had fewest associates; as likewise those which exceeded expectation, or were done for the advantage of others rather than his own. And further, as the last scene of a man's life generally commands the greatest regard, if anything remarkable at that time was either said or done, it ought particularly to be mentioned. Nor should the manner of his death, or cause of it, if accompanied with any commendable circumstances, be omitted; as if he died in the service of his country, or in the pursuit of any other laudable design.

The third and last period relates to what followed after the death of the person. And here the public loss, and public honours conferred upon the deceased, are proper to be mentioned. Sepulchres, statues, and other monuments to perpetuate the memory of the dead, at the expense of the public, were in common use both among the Greeks and Romans. But in the earliest times, as these honours were more rare, so they were less costly. For as in one age it was thought a sufficient reward for him who died in the defence of his country, to have his name cut in a marble inscription, with the cause of his death; so in others it was very common to see the statues of gladiators, and persons of the meanest rank, erected in public places. And therefore a judgment is to be formed of these things from the time, custom, and circumstances, of different nations; since the frequency of them renders them less honourable, and takes off from their evidence as the rewards of virtue. But, as Quintilian says, "Children are an honour to their parents, cities to their founders, laws to those who compiled them, arts to their inventors, and useful customs to the authors of them."

And this may suffice for the method of praising persons, when we propose to follow the order of time, as Isocrates has done in his funeral oration upon Evagoras king of Salamis, and Pliny in his panegyric upon the emperor Trajan. But as this method is very plain and obvious, so it requires the more agreeable drefs to render it delightful; lest otherwise it seem rather like an history than an oration: For which reason, we find, that epic poets, as Homer, Virgil, and others, begin with the middle of their story, and afterwards take a proper occasion to introduce what preceded, to diversify the subject, and give the greater pleasure and entertainment to their readers.

2. The other method above hinted was, to reduce the discourse to certain general heads without regarding the order of time. As if any one, in praising the elder Cato, should propose to do it, by showing that he was a most prudent senator, an excellent orator, and most valiant general; all which commendations are given him by Pliny. In like manner, the character of a good general may be comprised under four heads; skill in military affairs, courage, authority, and success: from all which Cicero commends Pompey. And agreeably to this method Suetonius has written the lives of the first twelve Caesars.

But in the praising of persons, care should always be taken to say nothing that may seem fictitious or out of character, which may call the orator's judgment or integrity in question. It was not without cause, therefore, that Lyssipus the statuary, as Plutarch tells us, blamed Apelles for painting Alexander the Great with thunder in his hand; which could never suit his character as a man, however he might boast of his divine descent: for which reason Lyssipus himself made an image of him holding a spear, as the sign of a warrior. Light and trivial things in commendations are likewise to be avoided, and nothing mentioned but what may carry in it the idea of something truly valuable, and which the hearers may be supposed to wish for, and is proper to excite their emulation. These are the principal heads of praise with relation to men. In dispraises, the heads contrary to these are requisite; which being sufficiently clear from what has been said, need not particularly be insisted on.

II We proceed therefore to the other part of the division, which reflects things, as distinguished from persons. By which we are to understand all beings inferior to man, whether animate or inanimate; as likewise the habits and dispositions of men, either good or bad, when considered separately, and apart from their subjects, as arts and sciences, virtues and vices, with whatever else may be a proper subject for praise or dispraise. Some writers, indeed, have, for their own amusement and the diversion of others, displayed their eloquence in a jocose manner upon subjects of this kind. So Lucian has written in praise of a fly, and Synesius an elegant encomium upon baldness. Others, on the contrary, have done the like in a satirical way. Such is Seneca's apotheosis or consecration of the emperor Claudius; and the Myopogon or beard-hater, written by Julian the emperor. Not to mention several modern authors, who have imitated them in such ludicrous compositions. But as to these things, and all of the like nature, the observation of Antony in Cicero seems very just: "That it is not necessary to reduce every subject we discourse upon to rules of art." For many are so trivial, as not to deserve it; and others so plain and evident of themselves, Invention as not to require it. But since it frequently comes in the way both of orators and historians to describe countries, cities, and facts, we shall briefly mention the principal heads of invention proper to illustrate each of these.

Countries, then, may be celebrated from the pleasantness of their situation, the clemency and wholesomeness of the air, and goodness of the soil; to which last may be referred the springs, rivers, woods, plains, mountains, and minerals. And to all these may be added their extent, cities, the number and antiquity of the inhabitants; their policy, laws, customs, wealth, character for cultivating the arts both of peace and war; their princes, and other eminent men they have produced. Thus Pacatus has given us a very elegant description of Spain, in his panegyric upon the emperor Theodosius, who was born there.

Cities are praised from much the same topics as countries. And here, whatever contributes either to their defence or ornament ought particularly to be mentioned; as the strength of the walls and fortifications, the beauty and splendor of the buildings, whether sacred or civil, public or private. We have in Herodotus a very fine description of Babylon, which was once the strongest, largest, and most regular city in the world. And Cicero has accurately described the city of Syracuse, in the island Sicily, in one of his orations against Verres.

But facts come much oftener under the cognizance of an orator. And these receive their commendation from their honour, justice, or advantage. But in describing them, all the circumstances should be related in their proper order; and that in the most lively and affecting manner, suited to their different nature. Livy has represented the demolition of Alba by the Roman army, which was sent thither to destroy it, through the whole course of that melancholy scene, in a style so moving and pathetic, that one can hardly forbear condoling with the inhabitants, upon reading his account.

But in discourses of this kind, whether of praise or dispraise, the orator should (as he ought indeed upon all occasions) well consider where, and to whom, he speaks. For wise men often think very differently both of persons and things from the common people. And we find that learned and judicious men are frequently divided in their sentiments, from the several ways of thinking to which they have been accustomed. Besides, different opinions prevail, and gain the ascendant, at different times. While the Romans continued a free nation, love of their country, liberty, and public spirit, were principles in the highest esteem among them. And therefore, when Cato killed himself, that he might not fall into the hands of Caesar, and survive the liberty of his country, it was thought an instance of the greatest heroic virtue; but afterwards, when they had been accustomed to an arbitrary government, and the spirit of liberty was now lost, the poet Martial could venture to say,

Death to avoid 'tis madness sure to die.

A prudent orator therefore will be cautious of opposing any fettered and prevailing notions of those to whom he addresses; unless it be necessary, and then he will do it in the softest and most gentle manner.

This kind of discourses must certainly have been of the very ancient; since, doubtless, from the first beginning of men converging together, they deliberated upon counsels, and their common interest, and offered their advice to each other. But neither those of the laudatory nor judicial social kind could have been introduced, till mankind themselves were settled in communities, and found it necessary to encourage virtue by public rewards, and bring vice under the restraint of laws. The early practice of laudatory discourses appears from sacred writ, where we find, that when Moses was ordered upon an embassy into Egypt, he would have excused himself for want of eloquence. And Homer represents the Greeks at the siege of Troy, as flocking like a swarm of bees to hear their generals harangue them. Nor is this part of oratory less conspicuous for its usefulness to mankind, than for its antiquity; being highly beneficial either in councils, camps, or any societies of men. How many instances have we upon record, where the fury of an enraged multitude has been checked and appeased by the prudent and artful persuasion of some particular person? The story of Agrippa Menenius, when the commons of Rome withdrew from the senators, and retired out of the city, is too well known to need reciting. And how often have armies been animated and fired to the most dangerous exploits, or recalled to their duty, when ready to mutiny, by a moving speech of their general? many instances of which we find in history.

All deliberation respects something future, for it is in vain to consult about what is already past. The subject-matter of it is, either things public or private, sacred or civil; indeed all the valuable concerns of mankind, both present and future, come under its regard. And the end proposed by this kind of discourse is chiefly profit or interest. But since nothing is truly profitable, but what is in some respect good; and every thing which is good in itself may not in all circumstances be for our advantage; properly speaking, what is both good and profitable, or beneficial good, is the end here designed. And therefore, as it sometimes happens, that what appears profitable may seem to interfere with that which is strictly just and honourable; in such cases it is certainly most advisable to determine on the safer side of honour and justice, notwithstanding some plausible things may be offered to the contrary. But where the dispute lies apparently between what is truly honest, and some external advantage proposed in opposition to it, all good men cannot but agree in favour of honesty. Such was the case of Regulus, who, being taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was permitted to go to Rome upon giving his oath, that unless he could persuade the senate to set at liberty some young Carthaginian noblemen, then prisoners at Rome, in exchange for him, he should return again to Carthage. But Regulus, when he came to Rome, was so far from endeavouring to prevail with the senate to comply with the desire of the Carthaginians, that he used all his interest to dissuade them from hearkening to the proposal. Nor could the most earnest intreates of his nearest relations and friends, nor any arguments they were able to offer, engage him to continue at Rome, and not return again. to Carthage. He had then plainly in his view, on the one side, ease, security, affluence, honour, and the enjoyment of his friends; and on the other, certain death, attended with cruel torments. However, thinking the former not consistent with truth and justice, he chose the latter. And he certainly acted as became an honest and brave man, in choosing death, rather than to violate his oath. Though whether he did prudently in persuading the senate not to make the exchange, or they in complying with him, we shall leave others to determine. Now, when it proves to be a matter of debate, whether a thing upon the whole be really beneficial or not; as here arise two parts, advice and diffusion, they will each require proper heads of argument. But as they are contrary to each other, he who is acquainted with one, cannot well be ignorant of the other. We shall therefore chiefly mention those proper for advice, from whence such as are suited to diffusion will easily be perceived. Now the principal heads of this kind are these following, which are taken from the nature and properties of the thing itself under consideration.

1. Pleasure often affords a very cogent argument in discourses of this nature. Every one knows what an influence this has upon the generality of mankind. Though as Quintilian remarks, pleasure ought not of itself to be proposed as a fit motive for action in serious discourses, but when it is designed to recommend something useful, which is the case here. So, would any one advise another to the pursuit of polite literature, Cicero has furnished him with a very strong inducement to it from the pleasure which attends that study, when he says, "If pleasure only was proposed by these studies, you would think them an entertainment becoming a man of sense and a gentleman. For other pursuits neither agree with all times, all ages, nor all places; but these studies improve youth, delight old age, adorn prosperity, afford a refuge and comfort in adversity, divert us at home, are no hindrance abroad, sleep, travel, and retire with us into the country."

2. Profit, or advantage. This has no less influence upon many persons than the former; and when it respects things truly valuable, it is a very just and laudable motive. Thus Cicero, when he sends his books of offices to his son, which he wrote in Latin for his use, advises him to make the best advantage both of his tutor's instructions, and the conversation at Athens, where he then was; but withal to peruse his philosophical treatises, which would be doubly useful to him, not only upon account of the subjects, but likewise of the language, as they would enable him to express himself upon those arguments in Latin, which before had only been treated of in Greek.

3. Honour; than which no argument will sooner prevail with generous minds, or inspire them with greater ardour. Virgil has very beautifully described Hector's ghost appearing to Æneas the night Troy was taken, and advising him to depart, from this motive of honour:

O goddefs-born, escape by timely flight The flames and horrors of this fatal night. The foes already have possess'd the wall; Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.

Enough is paid to Priam's royal name; More than enough to duty and to fame. If by a mortal hand my father's throne Could be defended, 'twas by mine alone.

The argument here made use of to persuade Æneas to leave Troy immediately, is, that he had done all that could be expected from him, either as a good subject or brave soldier, both for his king and country; which were sufficient to secure his honour: and now there was nothing more to be expected from him when the city was falling, and impossible to be saved; which could it have been preserved by human power, he himself had done it.

But although a thing considered in itself appear beneficial if it could be attained, yet the expediency of undertaking it may still be questionable: in which case the following heads, taken from the circumstances which attend it, will afford proper arguments to engage in it.

(1.) The possibility of succeeding may sometimes be argued, as one motive to this end. So Hannibal endeavoured to convince king Antiochus, that it was possible for him to conquer the Romans, if he made Italy the seat of the war; by observing to him, not only that the Gauls had formerly destroyed their city, but that he had himself defeated them in every battle he fought with them in that country.

(2.) But an argument founded upon probability will be much more likely to prevail. For in many affairs of human life, men are determined either to prosecute them or not, as the prospect of success appears more or less probable. Hence Cicero, after the fatal battle at Pharsalia, dissuades those of Pompey's party, with whom he was engaged, from continuing the war any longer against Caesar; because it was highly improbable, after such a defeat, by which their main strength was broken, that they should be able to stand their ground, or meet with better success than they had before.

(3.) But further, since probability is not a motive strong enough with many persons to engage in the prosecution of a thing which is attended with considerable difficulties, it is often necessary to represent the facility of doing it, as a further reason to induce them to it. And therefore Cicero makes use of this argument to encourage the Roman citizens in opposing Mark Anthony (who upon the death of Caesar had assumed an arbitrary power), by representing to them, that his circumstances were then desperate, and that he might easily be vanquished.

(4.) Again, if the thing advised can be shown to be in any respect necessary, this will render the motive still much stronger for undertaking it. And therefore Cicero joins this argument with the former, to prevail with the Roman citizens to oppose Anthony, by telling them, that "The consideration before them was, not in what circumstances they should live, but whether they should live at all, or die with ignominy and disgrace." This way of reasoning will sometimes prevail when all others prove ineffectual. For some persons are not to be moved, till things are brought to an extremity, and they find themselves reduced to the utmost danger.

(5.) To these heads may be added the considera- Invention of the event, which in some cases carries great weight with it. As when we advise to the doing of a thing from this motive, That whether it succeed or not, it will yet be of service to undertake it. So after the great victory gained by Themistocles over the Persian fleet at the straits of Salamis, Mardonius advised Xerxes to return into Asia himself, lest the report of his defeat should occasion an insurrection in his absence; but to leave behind him an army of 300,000 men under his command; with which, if he should conquer Greece, the chief glory of the conquest would redound to Xerxes; but if the design miscarried, the disgrace would fall upon his generals.

These are the principal heads which furnish the orator with proper arguments in giving advice. Cicero, in his oration for the Manilian law, where he endeavours to persuade the Roman people to choose Pompey for their general in the Mithridatic war, reasons from three of these topics, into which he divides his whole discourse; namely, the necessity of the war, the greatness of it, and the choice of a proper general. Under the first of these he shows, that the war was necessary, from four considerations; the honour of the Roman state, the safety of their allies, their own revenues, and the fortunes of many of their fellow-citizens, which were all highly concerned in it, and called upon them to put a stop to the growing power of King Mithridates, by which they were all greatly endangered. So that this argument is taken from the head of necessity. The second, in which he treats of the greatness of the war, is founded upon the topic of possibility. For though he shows the power of Mithridates to be very great, yet not so formidable, but that he might be subdued; as was evident from the many advantages Lucullus had gained over him and his associates. In the third head, he endeavours to prevail with them to intrust the management of the war in the hands of Pompey, whom he describes as a consummate general, for his skill in military affairs, courage, authority, and success; in all which qualities he represents him as superior to any other of their generals whom they could at that time make choice of. The design of all which was, to persuade them, that they had very good reason to hope for success, and a happy event of the war, under his conduct. So that the whole force of his reasoning under this head is drawn from probability. These are the three general topics which make up that fine discourse. Each of which is indeed supported by divers other arguments and considerations, which will be obvious in perusing the oration itself, and therefore need not be here enumerated. On the contrary, in another oration he endeavours to dissuade the senate from consenting to a peace with Mark Antony, because it was base, dangerous, and impracticable.

But no small skill and address are required in giving advice. For since the tempers and sentiments of mankind, as well as their circumstances, are very different and various; it is often necessary to accommodate the discourse to their inclinations and opinions of things. And therefore the weightiest arguments are not always the most proper and fitted to be used on all occasions. Cicero, who was an admirable master of this art, and knew perfectly well how to suit what he said to the taste and relish of his hearers, in treating upon invention, this subject, distinguishes mankind into two sorts; the ignorant and unpolished, who always prefer profit to honour; and such as are more civilized and polite, who prefer honour and reputation to all other things. Wherefore they are to be moved by these different views: Praise, glory, and virtue, influence the one; while the other is only to be engaged by a prospect of gain and pleasure. Besides, it is plain, that the generality are much more inclined to avoid evils than to pursue what is good; and to keep clear of scandal and disgrace, than to practise what is truly generous and noble. Persons likewise of a different age act from different principles; young men for the most part view things in another light from those who are older and have had more experience, and consequently are not to be influenced by the same motives.

**Chap. IV. Of Arguments suited to Judicial Discourses.**

In judicial controversies there are two parties; the plaintiff or prosecutor, and the defendant or person charged. The subject of them is always something in dispute. And the end proposed by them Cicero calls suited to equity, or right and equity; the former of which arises from the laws of the country, and the latter from reason and the nature of things. For at Rome the praetors had a court of equity, and were empowered, in many cases relating to property, to relax the rigour of the written laws. But as this subject is very copious, and causes may arise from a great variety of things, writers have reduced them to three heads, which they call *flatae*, to some one of which all judicial proceedings may be referred; namely, whether a thing is, what it is, or how it is. By the *flata* of a cause therefore is meant the principal question in dispute, upon which the whole affair depends. Which, if it stops in the first inquiry, and the defendant denies the fact, the flata is called *conjectural*; but if the fact be acknowledged, and yet denied to be what the adversary calls it, it is termed *definitive*; but if there is no dispute either about the fact or its name, but only the justice of it, it is called the *flata* of quality: as was shown more largely before (see n° 15). But we there considered these flatae only in a general view, and deferred the particular heads of argument proper for each of them to this judicial kind of discourses; where they most frequently occur, and from which examples may easily be accommodated to other subjects.

All judicial causes are either *private* or *public*. Those are called *private*, which relate to the right of particular persons; and they are likewise called *civil* causes, as they are concerned about matters of property. *Public* causes are those which relate to public justice and the government of the state; which are also called *criminal*, because by them crimes are prosecuted, whether capital, or those of a less heinous nature. We shall take the heads of the arguments only from this latter kind, because they are more copious, and easy to be illustrated by examples; from which such as agree to the former, namely, civil causes, will sufficiently appear.

1. The *conjectural* flata. When the accused person denies Invention denies the fact; there are three things which the prosecutor has to consider; whether he would have done it, whether he could, and whether he did it. And hence arise three topics; from the will, the power, and the signs or circumstances which attended the action. The affections of the mind discover the will; as, passion, an old grudge, a desire of revenge, a resentment of an injury, and the like. Therefore Cicero argues from Clodius's hatred of Milo, that he designed his death; and from thence infers, that he was the aggressor in the combat between them, wherein Clodius was killed. This is what he principally endeavours to prove, and comes properly under this state: for Milo owned that he killed him, but alleged that he did it in his own defence. So that in regard to this point, Which of them assaulted the other? the charge was mutual. The prospect of advantage may also be alleged to the same purpose. Hence it is said of L. Cassius, that whenever he sat as judge in a case of murder, he used to advise and move the court to examine to whom the advantage arose from the death of the deceased. And Cicero puts this to Anthony concerning the death of Caesar. "If any one (says he) should bring you upon trial, and use that saying of Cassius, Cui bono? Who got by it?" look to it, I beseech you, that you are not confounded." To these arguments may be added, hope of impunity, taken either from the circumstances of the accused person, or of him who suffered the injury. For persons, who have the advantage of interest, friends, power, or money, are apt to think they may easily escape; as likewise such who have formerly committed other crimes with impunity. Thus Cicero represents Clodius as hardened in vice, and above all the restraint of laws, from having so often escaped punishment upon committing the highest crimes. On the contrary, such a confidence is sometimes raised from the condition of the injured party, if he is indigent, obscure, timorous, or destitute of friends; much more if he has an ill reputation, or is loaded with popular hatred and resentment.

It was this presumption of the obscurity of Roceius, who lived in the country, and his want of interest at Rome, which encouraged his accusers to charge him with killing his father, as Cicero shows in his defence of him. Lastly, the temper of a person, his views, and manner of life, are considerations of great moment in this matter. For persons of bad morals, and such as are addicted to vice, are easily thought capable of committing any wickedness. Hence Sallust argues from the evil disposition and vicious life of Catiline, that he affected to raise himself upon the ruins of his country.—The second head is the power of doing a thing; and there are three things which relate to this, the place, the time, and opportunity. As if a crime is said to have been committed in a private place, where no other person was present; or in the night; or when the injured person was unable to provide for his defence. Under this head may likewise be brought in the circumstances of the person; as if the accused person was stronger, and so able to overpower the other; or more active, and so could easily make his escape. Cicero makes great use of this topic in the case of Milo, and shows, that Clodius had all the advantages of place, time, and opportunity, to execute his design of killing him. The third head comprehends invention, the signs and circumstances which either preceded, accompanied, or followed, the commission of the fact. So threats, or the accused person being seen at or near the place before the fact was committed, are circumstances that may probably precede murder; fighting, crying out, bloodshed, are such as accompany it; paleness, trembling, inconsistent answers, hesitation, or faltering of the speech, something found upon the person accused which belonged to the deceased, are such as follow it. Thus Cicero proves, that Clodius had threatened the death of Milo, and given out that he should not live above three days at the farthest.—These arguments, taken from conjectures, are called presumptions, which, though they do not directly prove that the accused person committed the fact with which he is charged; yet when laid together, they appeared very strong, sentence by the Roman law might sometimes be given upon them, to convict him.

These are the topics from which the prosecutor takes his arguments. Now the business of the defendant is to invalidate these. Therefore such as are brought from the will, he either endeavours to show are not true, or so weak as to merit very little regard. And he refutes those taken from the power, by proving that he wanted either opportunity or ability: as, if he can show, that neither the place nor time inflicted on was at all proper; or that he was then in another place. In like manner he will endeavour to confute the circumstances, if they cannot be directly denied, by showing that they are not such as do necessarily accompany the fact, but might have proceeded from other causes, though nothing of what is alleged had been committed; and it will be of great service to assign some other probable cause. But sometimes the defendant does not only deny that he did the fact, but charges it upon another. Thus Cicero, in his oration for Roceius, not only defends him from each of these three heads, but likewise charges the fact upon his accusers.

2. The definitive state, which is principally concerned in defining and fixing the name proper to the fact: though orators seldom make use of exact definitions, but commonly choose larger descriptions, taken from various properties of the subject or thing described.

The heads of argument in this state are much the same to both parties. For each of them defines the fact his own way, and endeavours to refute the other's definition. We may illustrate this by an example from Quintilian: "A person is accused of sacrilege, for stealing money out of a temple, which belonged to a private person." The fact is owned; but the question is, Whether it be properly sacrilege? The prosecutor calls it so, because it was taken out of a temple. But since the money belonged to a private person, the defendant denies it to be sacrilege, and says it is only simple theft. Now the reason why the defendant uses this plea, and insists upon the distinction, is, because by the Roman law the penalty of theft was only four times the value of what was stolen; whereas sacrilege was punished with death. The prosecutor then forms his definition agreeable to his charge, and says, "To steal anything out of a sacred place is sacrilege." But the defendant excepts against this definition, Invention; definition, as defective; and urges, that it does not amount to sacrilege, unless the thing stolen was likewise sacred. And this case might once, perhaps, have been a matter of controversy, since we find it expressly determined in the Pandects, that "An action of sacrilege should not lie, but only of theft, against any one who should steal the goods of private persons deposited in a temple."

The second thing is the proof brought by each party to support his definition; as in the example given us by Cicero, of one "who carried his cause by bribery, and was afterwards prosecuted again upon an action of prevarication." Now, if the defendant was cast upon this action, he was, by the Roman law, subjected to the penalty of the former prosecution. Here the prosecutor defines prevarication to be, Any bribery or corruption in the defendant, with a design to pervert justice. The defendant, therefore, on the other hand, restrains it to bribing only the prosecutor.

And if this latter sense agrees better with the common acceptation of the word, the prosecutor in the third place pleads the intention of the law, which was to comprehend all bribery in judicial matters under the term of prevarication. In answer to which the defendant endeavours to show, either from the head of contraries, that a real prosecutor and a prevaricator are used as opposite terms in the law; or from the etymology of the word, that a prevaricator denotes one who pretends to appear in the prosecution of a cause, while in reality he favours the contrary side; and consequently, that money given for this end only can, in the sense of the law, be called prevarication.

Lastly, the prosecutor pleads, that it is unreasonable that he who does not deny the fact should escape by a cavil about a word. But the defendant inflicts upon his explication as agreeable to the law; and says, the fact is misrepresented and blackened, by affixing to it a wrong name.

3. The third state is that of quality, in which the dispute turns upon the justice of an action. And here the defendant does not deny he did the thing he is charged with; but asserts it to be right and equitable, from the circumstances of the case, and the motives which induced him to it.

And, first, he sometimes alleges, the reason of doing it was in order to prevent some other thing of worse consequence, which would otherwise have happened. We have an instance of this in the life of Epaminondas, who, with two other generals joined in the command with him, marched the Theban army into Peloponnesus against the Lacedemonians; but by the influence of a contrary faction at home, their commissions were superseded, and other generals sent to command the army. But Epaminondas, being sensible that, if he obeyed this order at that time, it would be attended with the loss of the whole army, and consequently the ruin of the state, refused to do it; and having persuaded the other generals to do the like, they happily finished the war in which they were engaged; and upon their return home, Epaminondas taking the whole matter upon himself, on his trial was acquitted. The arguments proper in this case are taken from the justice, usefulness, or necessity, of the action. The accuser therefore will plead, that the fact was not just, profitable, nor necessary, considered either in itself or comparatively with that for the sake of which it is said to have been done; and he will endeavour to show, that what the defendant affirms for the reason of what he did might not have happened as he pretends. Besides, he will represent of what ill consequence it must be, if such crimes go unpunished. The defendant, on the other hand, will argue from the same heads, and endeavour to prove the fact was just, useful, or necessary. And he will further urge, that no just estimate can be made of any action, but from the circumstances which attend it; as the design, occasion, and motives for doing it: which he will represent in the most favourable light to his own cause, and endeavour to set them in such a view, as to induce others to think they could not but have done the same in the like circumstances.

Again, the cause of an action is sometimes charged by the defendant upon the party who received the damage, or some other person, who either made it necessary, or enjoined him to do it. The first of these was Milo's plea for killing Clodius, because he assaulted him with a design to take away his life. Here the fact is not denied, as in the case of Rufius above-mentioned, under the conjectural state; but justified from the reason of doing it. For that an assassin might be justly killed, Cicero shows both from law and reason. The accuser, therefore, in such a case, will, if there be room for it, deny the truth of this allegation. So the friends of Clodius affirmed that Milo was the aggressor, and not Clodius; which Cicero, in his defence of Milo, principally labours to refute. In the second case, the prosecutor will say, No one ought to offend because another has offended first; which defeats the course of public justice, renders the laws useless, and destroys the authority of the magistrate. The defendant, on the other hand, will endeavour to represent the danger and necessity of the case, which required an immediate remedy, and in that manner; and urges, that it was vain and impracticable to wait for redress in the ordinary way, and therefore no ill consequence can arise to the public. Thus Cicero, in defending Sextius, who was prosecuted for a riot in bringing armed men into the forum, shows that his design was only to repel force with force; which was then necessary, there being no other means left for the people to assemble, who were excluded by a mob of the contrary party. Of the third case we have also an example in Cicero, who tells us, that, "in making a league between the Romans and Samnites, a certain young nobleman was ordered by the Roman general to hold the swine (designated for a sacrifice); but the senate afterwards disapproving the terms, and delivering up their general to the Samnites, it was moved, Whether this young man ought not likewise to be given up?" Those who were for it might say, that, to allege the command of another, is not a sufficient plea for doing an ill action; and this is what the Roman law now expressly declares. But in answer to that, it might be replied, that it was his duty to obey the command of his general, who was antecedent to his own orders, and not those who were obliged to execute them; and therefore, to give up this young nobleman would be to punish one person for the fault of another.

Lastly, a fact is sometimes rather excused than defended, by pleading that it was not done deignedly, or with any ill intent. This is called concession; and consists of two parts, apology and intreaty. The former represents the matter as the effect of inadvertency, chance, or necessity. Aristotle gives us an example of inadvertency or imprudence in a woman at Athens, who gave a young man a love-potion, which killed him; for which she was tried, but acquitted: though afterwards this was made criminal by the Roman law. The case of Adrastus, as related by Herodotus, is an instance of chance; who being intrusted by Croesus with the care of his son, as they were hunting, killed him accidentally with a javelin which he threw at a boar. It is necessity, when a person excuses his making a default, from stress of weather, sickness, or the like. Thus Cicero pleaded his illness, contracted by the fatigue of a long journey, as an excuse for not appearing in the senate upon the summons of Mark Antony, who threatened to oblige him to it by pulling his house down. But what the defendant here attributes to inadvertency, chance, or necessity, the opposite party will attribute to design, negligence, or some other culpable reason; and represent it as a matter injurious to the public to introduce such precedents; and also produce instances, if that can be done, where the like excuses have not been admitted. On the other hand, the defendant will insist on his innocence, and show the hardship and severity of judging men's actions rather by the event, than from the intention: that such a procedure makes no difference between the innocent and the guilty; but must necessarily involve many honest men in ruin and destruction, discourage all virtuous and generous designs, and turn greatly to the prejudice of human society. He will also consider the instances alleged by the accuser, and show the difference between them and his own case. And, lastly, he will have recourse to intreaty, or a submissive address to the equity and clemency of the court, or party offended, for pardon; as Cicero has done in his oration to Caesar, in favour of Ligarius.

CHAP. V. Of the Character and Address of an Orator.

Having considered and explained the first part of invention, which furnishes the orator with such arguments as are necessary for the proof of his subject, we are next to show what are the proper means to conciliate the minds of his hearers; to gain their affection; and to recommend both himself, and what he says, to their good opinion and esteem. For the parts of invention are commonly thus distinguished; that the first respects the subject of the discourse, the second the speaker, and the third the hearers. Now the second of these, what we have at present to explain, is by Quintilian called a propriety of manners. And in order to express this, it is necessary, as he tells us, "that every thing appear easy and natural, and the disposition of the speaker be discovered by his words." We may form an easy conception of this from the conduct of such persons as are most nearly concerned in each others welfare. As when relations or friends converse together upon any affairs of importance, the temper and disposition of the speaker plainly flows itself by his words and manner of address. And what nature here directs to without colouring or disguise, the orator is to endeavour to perform by his art. Though indeed, if what a person says be inconsistent with his usual conduct and behaviour at other times, he cannot expect it should gain much credit, or make any deep impression upon his hearers: which may be one reason why the ancient rhetoricians make it so necessary a qualification in an orator, that he be a good man; since he should always be consistent with himself, and, as we say, talk in character. And therefore it is highly requisite, that he should not only gain the skill of assuming those qualities which the nature and circumstances of his discourse require him to express; but likewise, that he should use his utmost endeavours to get the real habits implanted in his mind. For as by this means they will be always expressed with greater ease and facility; so, by appearing constantly in the course of his life, they will have more weight and influence upon particular occasions.

Now there are four qualities, more especially suited to the character of an orator, which should always appear in his discourses, in order to render what he says acceptable to his hearers; and these are, wisdom, integrity, benevolence, and modesty.

1. Wisdom is necessary; because we easily give into those whom we esteem wiser and more knowing than ourselves. Knowledge is very agreeable and pleasant to all, but few make very great improvements in it; either by reason they are employed in other necessary affairs, and the mind of man cannot attend to many things at once; or because the way to knowledge at first is hard and difficult, so that persons either do not care to enter upon the pursuit of it, or, if they do, they are many times soon discouraged, and drop it, for want of sufficient resolution to surmount its difficulties. Such, therefore, as either cannot, or do not care to give themselves the trouble of examining into things themselves, must take up with the representation of others; and it is an ease to them to hear the opinion of persons whom they esteem wiser than themselves. No one loves to be deceived; and those who are fearful of being misled, are pleased to meet with a person, in whose wisdom, as they think, they can safely trust. The character of wisdom therefore is of great service to an orator, since the greater part of mankind are swayed by authority rather than arguments.

2. But this of itself is not sufficient, unless the opinion of integrity be joined with it. Nay, so far from it, that the greater knowledge and understanding a man is supposed to have, unless he likewise have the character of an honest man, he is often the more suspected. For knowledge without honesty, is generally thought to dispose a person, as well as qualify him, to deceive.

3. And to both these qualities the appearance of kindness and benevolence should likewise be added. For though a person have the reputation of wisdom and honesty, yet if we apprehend he is either not well affected to us, or at least regardless of our interest, we are in many cases apt to be jealous of him. Mankind are naturally swayed by their affections, and much influenced Invention, fluenced through love or friendship; and therefore nothing has a greater tendency to induce persons to credit what is said, than intimations of affection and kindness. The best orators have been always sensible of what great influence the expressions of kindness and benevolence have upon the minds of others, to induce them to believe the truth of what they say; and therefore they frequently endeavour to impress them with the opinion of it. Thus Demosthenes begins his celebrated oration for Ctesiphon. "It is my hearty prayer (says he) to all the deities, that this my defence may be received by you with the same affection which I have always expressed for you and your city." And it is a very fine image of it which we have in Cicero, where, in order to influence the judges in favour of Milo, he introduces him speaking thus, as became a brave man, and a patriot, even upon the supposition he should be condemned by them: "I bid my fellow citizens adieu: may they continue flourishing and prosperous; may this famous city be preserved, my most dear country, however it has treated me; may my fellow citizens enjoy peace and tranquillity without me, since I am not to enjoy it with them, though I have procured it for them: I will withdraw, I will be gone."

4. Modify. It is certain, that what is modestly spoken is generally better received than what carries in it an air of boldness and confidence. Most persons, though ignorant of a thing, do not care to be thought so; and would have some deference paid to their understanding. But he who delivers himself in an arrogant and affuming way seems to uphold his hearers with ignorance; while he does not leave them to judge for themselves, but dictates to them, and as it were demands their assent to what he says; which is certainly a very improper method to win upon them. For not a few, when convinced of an error in such a way, will not own it; but will rather adhere to their former opinion, than seem forced to think right, when it gives another the opportunity of a triumph. A prudent orator therefore will behave himself with modesty, that he may not seem to insult his hearers; and will set things before them in such an engaging manner, as may remove all prejudice either from his person or what he affirms. This is particularly necessary in the exordium of a discourse. If the orator set out with an air of arrogance and ostentation, the self-love 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 obscure. 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 justice or importance of the subject on which he is to speak. For to speak timorously, and with hesitation, destroys the credit of what is offered; and so far as the speaker seems to distrust what he says himself, he often induces others to do the like.

But, as has been said already, great care is to be taken that these characters do not appear feigned and counterfeit. For what is fictitious can seldom be long concealed. And if this be once discovered, it makes all that is said suspected, how specious soever it may otherwise appear.

It is further necessary, that the orator should know the world, and be well acquainted with the different tempers and dispositions of mankind. Nor indeed can any one reasonably hope to succeed in this province, without well considering the circumstances of time and place, with the sentiments and dispositions of those to whom he speaks; which, according to Aristotle, may be distinguished four ways, as they discover themselves by the several affections, habits, ages, and fortunes of mankind. And each of these require a different conduct and manner of address.

The affections denote certain emotions of the mind, which, during their continuance, give a great turn to the disposition. For love prompts to one thing, and hatred to another. The like may be said of anger, lenity, and the rest of them.

Persons differ likewise according to the various habits of their mind. So a just man is inclined one way, and an unjust man another; a temperate man to this, and an intemperate man to the contrary.

And as to the several ages of men, Aristotle has described them very accurately; and how persons are differently affected in each of them. He divides the lives of men, considered as hearers, into three stages; youth, middle age, and old age.—Young men, he says, have generally strong passions, and are very eager to obtain what they desire; but are likewise very mutable, so that the same thing does not please them long. They are ambitious of praise, and quick in their resentments; lavish of their money, as not having experienced the want of it; frank and open, because they have not often been deceived; and credulous for the same reason. They readily hope the best, because they have not suffered much, and are therefore not so sensible of the uncertainty of human affairs; for which reason they are likewise more easily deceived. They are modest, from their little acquaintance with the world. They love company and cheerfulness, from the briskness of their spirits. In a word, they generally exceed in what they do; love violently, hate violently, and act in the same manner through the rest of their conduct.—The disposition of old men is generally contrary to the former. They are cautious, and enter upon nothing hastily; having in the course of many years been often imposed upon; having often erred, and experienced the prevailing corruption of human affairs; for which reason they are likewise suspicious, and moderate in their affections either of love or hatred. They pursue nothing great and noble, and regard only the necessaries of life. They love money; having learnt by experience the difficulty of getting it, and how easily it is lost. They are fearful, which makes them provident. Commonly full of complaints, from bodily infirmities, and a deficiency of spirits. They please themselves rather with the memory of what is past, than with any future prospect; having so short a view of life before them, in comparison of what is already gone; for which reason also, they love to talk of things past; and prefer them to what is present, of which they have but little relish, and know they must shortly leave them. They are soon angry, but not to excess. Lastly, they are compassionate, from a sense of their own infirmities, which makes them think themselves of all persons most exposed.—Persons of a middle age, between these two extremes, as they are freed from the rashness and temerity of youth, so they have not yet suffered the decays of old age. Hence in everything they generally observe a better conduct. They are neither so hasty in their affect as the one, nor so minutely scrupulous as the other, but weigh the reasons of things. They regard a decency in their actions; are careful and industrious; and as they undertake what appears just and laudable upon better and more deliberate consideration than young persons, so they pursue them with more vigour and resolution than those who are older.

As to the different fortunes of mankind, they may be considered as noble, rich, or powerful; and the contrary to these.—Those of high birth, and noble extraction, are generally very tender of their honour, and ambitious to increase it; it being natural for all persons to desire an addition to those advantages of which they find themselves already possessed. And they are apt to consider all others as much their inferiors, and therefore expect great regard and deference should be shown them.—Riches, when accompanied with a generous temper, command respect from the opportunities they give of being useful to others; but they usually elate the mind, and occasion pride. For as money is commonly said to command all things, those who are possessed of a large share of it, expect others should be at their beck; since they enjoy that which all desire, and which most persons make the main pursuit of their lives to obtain.—But nothing is more apt to swell the mind than power. This is what all men naturally covet, even when perhaps they would not use it. But the views of such persons are generally more noble and generous than of those who only pursue riches and the heaping up of money. A state contrary to these gives a contrary turn of mind; and in lower life, persons dispositions usually differ according to their station and circumstances. A citizen and a courtier, a merchant and a soldier, a scholar and a peasant, as their pursuits are different, so is generally their turn and disposition of mind.

It is the orator's business, therefore, to consider these several characters and circumstances of life, with the different bias and way of thinking they give to the mind; that he may so conduct himself in his behaviour and manner of speaking, as will render him most acceptable, and gain him the good esteem of those whom he addresses.

**CHAP. VI. Of the Passions.**

As it is often highly necessary for the orator, so it requires his greatest skill, to engage the passions in his interest. Quintilian calls this the soul and spirit of his art. And, doubtless, nothing more discovers its empire over the minds of men, than this power to excite, appease, and sway their passions, agreeably to the design of the speaker. Hence we meet with the characters of admirable, divine, and other splendid titles, ascribed to eloquence by ancient writers. It has indeed been objected by some, that whatever high encomiums may be given of this art by the admirers of it, it is however diligenious to deceive and impose upon mankind, as those seem to do, who, by engaging their passions, give a bias to their minds, and take them off from the consideration of the truth; whereas every thing should be judged of from the reasons brought to support it, by the evidence of which it ought to stand or fall. But in answer to this, it may be considered that all fallacy is not culpable. We often deceive children for their good; and physicians sometimes impose on their patients, to come at a cure. And why, therefore, when persons will not be prevailed with by reason and argument, may not an orator endeavour, by engaging their passions, to persuade them to that which is for their advantage? Besides, Quintilian makes it a necessary qualification of an orator, that he be an honest man, and one who will not abuse his art. But since those of a contrary character will leave no methods untried in order to carry their point, it is requisite for those who design well to be acquainted with all their arts, without which they will not be a match for them; as in military affairs it is highly advantageous for the general of an army to get himself informed of all the designs and stratagems of the enemy, in order to counteract them. Indeed this part of oratory is not necessary at all times, nor in all places. The better prepared persons are to consider truth, and act upon the evidence of it, the less occasion there appears for it. But the greater part of mankind, either do not duly weigh the force of arguments, or refuse to act agreeably to their evidence. And where this is the case, that persons will neither be convinced by reason, nor moved by the authority of the speaker, the only way left to put them upon action, is to engage their passions. For the passions are to the mind, what the wind is to a ship: they move, and carry it forward; and he who is without them, is in a manner without action, dull and lifeless. There is nothing great or noble to be performed in life, wherein the passions are not concerned. The Stoics, therefore, who were for eradicating the passions, both maintained a thing in itself impossible, and which, if it was possible, would be of the greatest prejudice to mankind. For while they appeared such zealous assertors of the government of reason, they scarce left it any thing to govern; for the authority of reason is principally exercised in ruling and moderating the passions, which, when kept in a due regulation, are the springs and motives to virtue. Thus hope produces patience, and fear industry; and the like might be shown of the rest. The passions therefore are not to be extirpated, as the Stoics asserted, but put under the direction and conduct of reason. Indeed where they are ungovernable, and resist the control of reason, they are, as some have fitly called them, dyseases of the mind; and frequently hurry men into vice, and the greatest misfortunes of life: just as the wind, when it blows moderately, carries on the ship; but if it be too boisterous and violent may overturn her. The charge therefore brought against this art, for giving rules to influence the passions, appears groundless and unjust; since the proper use of the passions is, not to hinder the exercise. Invention, exercise of reason, but to engage men to act agreeably to reason. And if an ill use be sometimes made of this, it is not the fault of the art, but of the artist.

We shall here consider the passions, as they may be separately referred, either to demonstrative, deliberative, or judicial discourses; though they are not wholly confined to them.

1. To the demonstrative kind, we may refer joy and sorrow, love and hate, emulation and contempt.

Joy is an elation of the mind, arising from a sense of some present good. Such a reflection naturally creates a pleasant and agreeable sensation, which ends in a delightful calm and serenity. This is heightened by a description of former evils, and a comparison between them and the present felicity. Thus Cicero endeavours to excite in the minds of his fellow citizens the highest sense of joy and delight at Catiline's departure from Rome, by representing to them the imminent danger which threatened both them and the city while he continued among them.

Sorrow, on the contrary, is an uneasiness of mind arising from a sense of some present evil. This passion has generally a place in funeral discourses. And it may be heightened, like the former, by comparison, when any past happiness is set in opposition to a present calamity. Hence Cicero aggravates the sorrow at Rome occasioned by the death of Metellus, from his character, and great services to the public, while living.

Love excites us to esteem any person for some excellency, and to do him all the good in our power. It is distinguished from friendship, which is mutual; and therefore love may continue where friendship is lost; that is, the affection may remain on one side. And when we assist a person from no other motive but to do him a kindness, Aristotle calls this good-will. Love takes its rise from a variety of causes. Generosity, benevolence, integrity, gratitude, courtesy, and other social virtues, are great incitements to love any one endowed with such qualities. And persons generally love those who are of a like disposition with themselves and pursue the same views. It is therefore the chief art of a flatterer to suit himself in every thing to the inclination of the person whose good graces he courts. When the orator would excite this affection towards any person, it is proper to show, that he is possessed of at least some, if not all, of these agreeable qualities. When the conspirators with Catiline were to be brought to justice, Cicero was very sensible of the envy he should contract on that account, and how necessary it was for him to secure the love of the Roman senate for his support and protection in that critical juncture. And this he endeavours to do in his fourth oration against Catiline, by representing to them in the most pathetic manner, that all the labours he underwent, the difficulties he contended with, and the dangers to which he was exposed on that account, were not for his own sake, but for their safety, quiet, and happiness.

Hate is opposed to love, and produced by the contrary dispositions. And therefore perhaps hate those who never did them any injury, from the ill opinion they have of their base and vicious inclinations. So that the way to excite this passion is, by showing that any one has committed some heinous fact with an ill intent. And the more nearly affected invention, persons are by such actions, in what they account of the greatest concern, the higher in proportion their hatred rises. Since life therefore is esteemed the most valuable good, Cicero endeavours to render Mark Antony odious to the citizens of Rome, by describing his cruelty.

Emulation is a disquiet, occasioned by the felicity of another, not because he enjoys it, but because we desire the like for ourselves. So that this passion is in itself good and laudable, as it engages men to pursue those things which are so. For the proper objects of emulation are any advantages of mind, body, or fortune, acquired by study or labour.

Emulation therefore is excited by a lively representation of any desirable advantages which appear to be attainable, from the example of others who are or have been possessed of them. But where the felicity of another occasions an uneasiness, not from the want of it, but because he enjoys it, this passion is called envy, which the ancients describe as an hideous monster, feeding upon itself, and being its own tormentor. Aristotle justly observes, that it most usually affects such persons as were once upon a level with those they envy. For most men naturally think so well of themselves, that they are uneasy to see those who were formerly their equals advanced above them. But, as this is a base and vicious passion, the orator is not to be informed how to excite it, but how to lessen or remove it. And the method prescribed by Cicero for this purpose is, to show that the things which occasioned it have not happened to the envied person undeservedly, but are the just reward of his industry or virtue; that he does not so much convert them to his own profit or pleasure, as to the benefit of others; and that the same pains and difficulties are necessary to preserve them with which they were at first acquired.

Contempt is opposed to emulation, and arises from misconduct in things not of themselves vicious: As where a person either acts below his station and character, or affects to do that for which he is not qualified. Thus Cicero endeavours to expose Caecilius, and bring him into contempt of the court, for pretending to rival him in the accusation of Verres, for which he was altogether unfit.

2. To deliberative discourses may be referred fear, hope, and shame.

Fear arises from the apprehension of some great and impending evil. For the greatest evils, while they deliberative appear at a distance, do not much affect us. Such discourses, persons occasion fear, who are possessed of power, especially if they have been injured, or apprehend so likewise those who are addicted to do injuries, or who bear us an ill will. And the examples of others, who have suffered in a like case, or from the same persons, help to excite fear. From the circumstances therefore either of the thing or person, it will not be difficult for the orator to offer such arguments as may be proper to awaken this passion. So Demosthenes, when he would persuade the Athenians to put themselves in a condition of defence against king Philip, enumerates the several acts of hostility already committed by him against the neighbouring states. And because mens private concerns generally more affect them than what relates to the public, it is proper sometimes to show the necessary connection these have with each other, and how the ruin of one draws the other after it.

The contrary passion to fear is hope; which arises either from a prospect of some future good, or the apprehension of safety from those things which occasion our fear. Young persons are easily induced to hope the best, from the vigour of their spirits. And those who have escaped former dangers are encouraged to hope for the like success for the future. The examples of others also, especially of wise and considerate men, have often the same good effect. To find them calm and steady when exposed to the like dangers, naturally creates confidence and the hopes of safety. But nothing gives persons such firmness and steadiness of mind, under the apprehension of any difficulties, as a consciousness of their own integrity and innocence. Let dangers come from what quarter they will, they are best prepared to receive them. They can calmly view an impending tempest, observe the way of its approach, and prepare themselves in the best manner to avoid it. In Cicero's oration for the Manilian law, he encourages the Roman citizens to hope for success against Mithridates, if they choose Pompey for their general, from the many instances of his former successes, which he there enumerates.

Shame arises from the apprehension of those things that hurt a person's character. Modesty has been wisely implanted in mankind by the great Author of nature, as a guardian of virtue, which ought for this reason to be cherished with the greatest care; because, as Seneca has well observed, "if it be once lost, it is scarce ever to be recovered." Therefore the true cause or foundation of shame is anything base or vicious; for this wounds the character, and will not bear reflection. And he must arrive at no small degree of infirmity, who can stand against such a charge, if he be conscious to himself that it is just. Therefore, to deter persons from vicious actions, or to expose them for the commission of them, the orator endeavours to set them in such a light as may most awaken this passion, and give them the greatest uneasiness by the reflection. And because the bare representation of the thing itself is not always sufficient for this purpose, he sometimes enforces it by enlarging the view, and introducing those persons as witnesses of the fact for whom they are supposed to have the greatest regard. Thus, when some of the Athenians, in an arbitration about certain lands which had been referred to them by the contending parties, proposed it as the shortest way of deciding the controversy, to take the possession of them into their own hands; Cydias, a member of the assembly, to dissuade them from such an unjust action, desired them to imagine themselves at that time in the general assembly of the states of Greece (who would all hear of it shortly), and then consider how it was proper to act. But where persons labour under an excess of modesty, which prevents them from exerting themselves in things fit and laudable, it may sometimes be necessary to show that it is faulty and ill-grounded. On the other hand, immodesty, or impudence, which consists in a contempt of such things as affect the reputation, can never be too much discouraged and exposed. And the way of doing this is to make use of such arguments as are most proper to

excite shame. We have a very remarkable instance of invention, it in Cicero's second Philippic, wherein he affixes this character upon Mark Antony through every scene of his life.

3. To judicial discourses, may be referred anger and of the patience, pity, and indignation.

Anger is a resentment, occasioned by some affront, or injury, done without any just reason. Now men are more inclined to resent such a conduct, as they think they least deserve it. Therefore persons of distinction and figure, who expect a regard should be paid to their character, can the least bear any indications of contempt. And those who are eminent in any profession or faculty, are apt to be offended if reflections are cast either upon their reputation or art. Magistrates also, and persons in public stations, sometimes think it incumbent on them to resent indignities, for the support of their office. But nothing sooner inflames this passion, than if good services are rewarded with flattery and neglect. The instance of Narses, the Roman general, is remarkable in this kind; who, after he had been successful in his wars with the Goths, falling under the displeasure of the emperor Justin, was removed from the government of Italy, and received by the empress with this taunt, "That he must be sent to weave among the girls;" which provoked him, that he said he would weave such a web as they should never be able to unravel. And accordingly, he soon after brought down the Longobards, a people of Germany, into Italy; where they settled themselves in that part of the country, which from them is now called Lombardy. (See Narses). The time and place in which an injury was done, and other circumstances that attended it, may likewise contribute very much to heighten the fact. Hence Demosthenes, in his oration against Midias, endeavours to aggravate the injury of being struck by him, both as he was then a magistrate, and because it was done at a public festival. From hence it appears, that the persons who most usually occasion this passion are such as neglect the rules of decency, condemn and insult others, or oppose their inclinations; as likewise the ungrateful, and those who violate the ties of friendship, or requite favours with injuries. But when the orator endeavours to excite anger, he should be careful not to exceed due bounds in aggravating the charge, lest what he says appear rather to proceed from prejudice, than a strict regard to the merit of the action.

Lenity is the remission of anger. The designs of mens actions are principally to be regarded; and therefore what is done ignorantly, or through inadvertency, is sooner forgiven. Also to acknowledge a fault, submit, and ask pardon, are the ready means to take off resentment. For a generous mind is soon cooled by submission. Besides, he who repents of his fault, does really give the injured party some satisfaction, by punishing himself; as all repentance is attended with grief and uneasiness of mind, and this is apt very much to abate the desire of revenge. As, on the contrary, nothing is more provoking, than when the offender either audaciously justifies the fact, or confidently denies it. Men are likewise wont to lay aside their resentment, when their adversaries happen by some other means to suffer what they think a sufficient satisfaction. Lastly, easy circumstances, a lucky inci-

N° 250. Invention, or any thing which gives the mind a turn to mirth and pleasure, has a natural tendency to remove anger. For anger is accompanied with pain and uneasiness, which very ill suit joy and cheerfulness. The orator, therefore, in order to assuage and pacify the minds of his auditors, will endeavour to lessen their opinion of the fault, and by that means to take off the edge of their resentment. And to this purpose, it will be proper either to represent that the thing was not designed, or that the party is sorry for it; or to mention his former services; as also to show the credit and reputation which will be gained by a generous forgiveness. And this last topic is very artfully wrought up by Cicero, in his address to Caesar, in favour of Ligarius.

Pity arises from the calamities of others, by reflecting, that we ourselves are liable to the like misfortunes. So that evils, considered as the common lot of human nature, are principally the cause of pity. And this makes the difference between pity and good-will, which arises merely from a regard to the circumstances of those who want our assistance. But considering the uncertainty of every thing about us, he must seem in a manner divested of humanity, who has no compassion for the calamities of others; since there is no affliction which happens to any man, but either that, or some other so great, may fall upon himself. But these persons are generally soonest touched with this passion, who have met with misfortunes themselves. And by how much greater the distress is, or by how much the person appears less deserving it, the higher pity does it excite: for which reason, persons are generally most moved at the misfortunes of their relations and friends, or those of the best figure and character. The orator, therefore, in order to excite the greater pity, will endeavour to heighten the idea of the calamity, from the several circumstances both of the thing itself and the person who labours under it. A fine example of this may be seen in Cicero's defence of Murena, cap. 40. &c.

Indignation, as opposed to pity, is an uneasiness at the felicity of another who does not seem to deserve it. But this respects only external advantages, such as riches, honours, and the like; for virtues cannot be the object of this passion. Aristotle therefore says, "that pity and indignation are generally to be found in the same persons, and are both evidences of a good disposition." Now the orator excites this passion, by showing the person to be unworthy of that felicity which he enjoys. And as, in order to move compassion, it is sometimes of use to compare the former happy state of the person with his present calamity; so here, the greater indignation is raised, by comparing his former mean circumstances with his present advancement: as Cicero does in the case of Vatinus.

These are the passions with which an orator is principally concerned. In addressing to which, not only the greatest warmth and force of expression is often necessary; but he must likewise first endeavour to impress his own mind with the same passion he would excite in others.

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 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 art. This is the foundation of that just and noted rule, Si vis me flere, dolendum est primum ipsa tibi.

The warmth, however, 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.

**Part II. Of Disposition.**

As Invention supplies the orator with necessary materials, so Disposition directs him how to place them in the most proper and suitable order. Disposition therefore, considered as a part of oratory, naturally follows invention. And what is here chiefly intended by it is, the placing the several parts of a discourse in a just method and dependence upon one another.

Writers are not all agreed in determining the parts of an oration; though the difference is rather in the manner of considering them, than in the things themselves. But Cicero, whom we shall here follow, mentions six, namely, Introduction, Narration, Proposition, Confirmation, Confutation, and Conclusion.

**Chap. I. Of the Introduction.**

The design of this is to prepare the minds of the hearers for a suitable reception of the remaining parts that are to follow. And for this end, three things are requisite; that the orator gain the good opinion of his hearers, that he secure their attention, and give them audience, some general notion of his subject.

1. Good opinion. When the orator introduces his discourse subject... Discourse with his own person, he will be careful to do it with modesty, and seem rather to extenuate his virtues and abilities, than to magnify them. And where the nature of the subject may seem to require it, he will endeavour to show, that some just and good reason induced him to engage in it. We have a very fine example of this in Cicero's oration for the poet Aulus Licinius Archias, which begins thus: "If I have any natural genius, which I am sensible is very small, or any ability in speaking, wherein I own I have been very conversant; or any skill acquired from the study and precepts of the best arts, to which my whole life has been devoted; this Aulus Licinius has, in a particular manner, a right to demand of me the fruit of all these things. For as far back as I can remember, and call to mind what passed in my youth to the present time, he has been my chief adviser and encourager both to undertake and pursue this course of studies." When the orator sets out with the persons of those to whom the discourse is made, it is not unusual to commend them for their virtues, and those especially which have a more immediate relation to the present subject. Thus Cicero begins his oration of thanks for the pardon of Marcellus, with an encomium upon the mildness, clemency, and wisdom of Caesar, to whom it was addressed. But sometimes the orator expresses his gratitude for past favours; as Cicero has done in his orations, both to the people and senate of Rome, after his return from banishment.—And at other times he declares his concern for them and their interest; in which manner Cicero begins his fourth oration against Catiline, which was made in the senate. "I perceive (says he) that all your countenances and eyes are turned on me; I perceive that you are solicitous, not only for your own danger, and that of the state, but for mine likewise, if that should be removed. Your affection for me is pleasant in misfortunes, and grateful in sorrow; but I adjure you to lay it aside, and, forgetting my safety, consider yourselves and your children." But in judicial cases, both the character of the person whose cause he espouses, and that of the adverse party likewise, furnish the orator with arguments for exciting the good will of his hearers: The former, by commemorating his virtues, dignity, or merits, and sometimes his misfortunes and calamities. So Cicero, in his defence of Flaccus, begins his oration in commending him on the account of his services done to the public, the dignity of his family, and his love to his country. And Demosthenes, in his oration against Midias, sets out with a recital of his vices, in order to recommend his own cause to the favourable opinion of the court.

2. Attention. On this head, Cicero says, "We shall be heard attentively on one of these three things; if we propose what is great, necessary, or for the interest of those to whom the discourse is addressed." So that, according to him, the topics of attention are much the same with those of good opinion, when taken from the subject. And indeed, people are naturally led to attend either to those things or persons of which they have entertained a favourable opinion. But in order to gain this point, the orator sometimes thinks it proper to request the attention of his audience. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Cluentius, after having shown the heinousness of the charge against him, concludes his introduction in the following manner, speaking to the judges: "Wherefore I intreat, that while I briefly and clearly reply to a charge of many years standing, you will, according to your usual custom, give me a kind and attentive hearing." And again, in his second Philippics, addressing himself to the senate: "But as I must say something for myself, and many things against Mark Antony; one of these I beg of you, that you will hear me kindly, while I speak for myself; and the other I will undertake for, that when I speak against him, you shall hear me with attention." But though the introduction be the most usual and proper place for gaining attention, yet the orator finds it convenient sometimes to quicken and excite his hearers in other parts of his discourse, when he observes they flag, or has something of moment to offer.

3. Some general account of the subject of the discourse. This is always necessary, which the two others are not. And therefore it must be left to the prudence of the orator when to use or omit them as he shall judge proper, from the nature of his discourse, the circumstance of his hearers, and how he stands with them. But some account of the subject is what cannot be neglected. For every one expects to be soon informed of the design of the speaker, and what he proposes to treat of. Nor when they are all made use of, is it necessary they should always stand in the order we have here placed them. Cicero sometimes enters immediately upon his subject, and introduces the other heads afterwards. As in his third oration against Catiline, made to the body of the Roman people, which begins thus: "You see that the state, all your lives, estates, fortunes, wives and children, and this seat of the greatest empire, the most flourishing and beautiful city, having by the favour of heaven towards you, and my labours, counsels, and dangers, been this day rescued from fire and sword and the very jaws of destruction, are preserved and restored to you." And then he proceeds to recommend himself to their esteem and benevolence, from the consideration of these benefits.

There are the heads which commonly furnish matter for this part of a discourse. But orators often take occasion from the time, place, largeness of the assembly, or some other proper circumstance, to compliment their hearers, recommend themselves, or introduce the subject upon which they are about to treat. Instances of each of these may be met with in several of Cicero's furnished orations. And sometimes they set out with some comparison, similitude, or other ornament, which they accommodate to the occasion of their discourse. Thus Isocrates enters upon his celebrated panegyric in praise of his countrymen the Athenians with the following comparison: "I have often wondered what could be their design who brought together these assemblies, and instituted the gymnastic sports, to propose so great rewards for bodily strength; and to vouchsafe no honour to those who applied their private labours to serve the public, and so cultivated their minds as to be serviceable to others, to whom they ought to have shown greater regard. For although the strength of a champion was doubled, no benefit would from thence accrue to others; but all enjoy the prudence of one man, who will hearken to his advice." In some cases, Part II.

Disposition. Orators have recourse to a more covert and artful way of opening their subject, endeavour to remove jealousies, apologize for what they are about to say, and seem to refer it to the candour of the hearers to judge of it as they please. Cicero appears to have been a perfect master of this art, and used it with great success. Thus in his seventh Philippic, where he seems to express the greatest concern, lest what he was about to say should give any offence to the senate to whom he was speaking: "I (says he) who always declared for peace, and to whom peace among ourselves, as it is wished for by all good men, was in a particular manner desirable; who have employed all my industry in the forum, in the senate, and in the defence of my friends, whence I have arrived to the highest honours, a moderate fortune, and what reputation I enjoy; I therefore, who owe what I am to peace, and without it could not have been the person I am, be that what it will, for I would arrogate nothing to myself; I speak with concern and fear, how you will receive what I am going to say; but I beg and intreat you, from the great regard I have always expressed for the support and advancement of your honour, that if anything said by me should at first appear harsh or unfit to be received, you will notwithstanding please to hear it without offence, and not reject it till I have explained myself: I then, for I must repeat it again, who have always approved of peace, and promoted it, am against a peace with Mark Antony." This is called insinuation; and may be necessary, where a cause is in itself doubtful, or may be thought so from the received notions of the hearers, or the impressions already made upon them by the contrary side. An honest man would not knowingly engage in a bad cause; and yet, through prevailing prejudice, that may be esteemed which is not so in itself. In these cases, therefore, great caution and prudence are necessary to give such a turn to things, and place them in that view as may be least liable to offence. And because it sometimes happens that the hearers are not so much displeased at the subject as the person, Quintilian's rule seems very proper, when he says, "if the subject displeases, the character of the person should support it; and when the person gives offence, he should be helped by the cause."

Chap. II. Of Narration.

The orator having prepared his hearers to receive his discourse with candour and attention, and acquainted them with his general design in the introduction, before he proceeds directly to his subject, often finds it necessary to give some account of what has preceded, accompanied, or followed upon it. And this he does in order to enlarge the view of the particular point in dispute, and place it in a clearer light. This is called narration; which is a recital of something done, in the order and manner in which it was done. Hence it is easy to perceive what those things are which properly enter into a narration. And such are the cause, manner, time, place, and consequences of an action; with the temper, fortune, views, ability, associates, and other circumstances of those concerned in it. Not that each of these particulars is necessary in every narration; but so many of them at least as are requisite to set the matter in a just light, and make it appear credible. Besides, in relating a fact, the orator does not content himself with such an account of it as is barely sufficient to render what he says intelligible to his hearers; but describes it in so strong and lively a manner, as may give the greatest evidence to his relation, and make the deepest impression upon their minds. And if any part of it appears at present less probable, he promises to clear up and remove any remaining doubts in the progress of his discourse. For the foundation of his reasoning afterwards is laid in the narration, from whence he takes his arguments for the confirmation. And therefore it is a matter of no small importance that this part be well managed, since the success of the whole discourse too much depends upon it. See Narration.

There are four properties required in a good narration; that it be short, clear, probable, and pleasant.

1. The brevity of a narration is not to be judged of merely from its length: for that may be too long, which contains but a little; and that too short, which comprehends a great deal. Wherefore this depends upon the nature of the subject, since some things require more words to give a just representation of them, and others fewer. That may properly therefore be called a short narration, which contains nothing that could well have been omitted, nor omits any thing which was necessary to be said. Now, in order to avoid both these extremes, care should be taken not to go farther back in the account of things, nor to trace them down lower, than the subject requires; to say that only in the general, which does not need a more particular explication; not to assign the causes of things, when it is enough to show they were done; and to omit such things as are sufficiently understood, from what either preceded, or was consequent upon them. But the orator should be careful, lest, while he endeavours to avoid prolixity, he run into obscurity. Horace was very sensible of this danger, when he said:

By striving to be short, I grow obscure.

2. Perspicuity. This may justly be esteemed the chief excellency of language. For as the design of speech is to communicate our thoughts to others, that must be its greatest excellence which contributes most to this end; and that, doubtless, is perspicuity. As perspicuity therefore is requisite in all discourse, so it is particularly serviceable in a narration, which contains the substance of all that is to be said afterwards. Therefore, if this be not sufficiently understood, much less can those things which receive their light from it. Now the following things render a narration clear and plain: Proper and significant words, whose meaning is well known and determined; short sentences, though full and explicit, whose parts are not perplexed, but placed in their just order; proper particles to join the sentences, and show their connection and dependence on each other; a due regard to the order of time, and other circumstances necessary to be expressed; and, lastly, suitable transitions.

3. Probability. Things appear probable when the causes assigned for them appear natural; the manner in which they are described is easy to be conceived; the consequences are such as might be expected; the characters of the persons are justly represented; Disposition, and the whole account is well attested, consistent with itself, and agreeable to the general opinion. Simplicity likewise in the manner of relating a fact, as well as in the style, without any reserve or appearance of art, contributes very much to its credibility. For truth loves to appear naked and open, stript of all colouring or disguise. The conspiracy of Catiline was so daring and extravagant, that no one but such a desperado could ever have undertaken it with any hopes of success. However, Cicero's account of it to the senate was so full and exact, and so well suited to the character of the person, that it presently gained credit. And therefore, when, upon the conclusion of Cicero's speech, Catiline, who was present, immediately stood up, and desired they would not entertain such hard thoughts of him, but consider how much his family had always been attached to the public interest, and the great services they had done the state; their resentments rose so high, that he could not be heard: upon which he immediately left the city, and went to his associates.

4. The last thing required in a narration is, that it be pleasant and entertaining. And this is more difficult, because it does not admit of that accurate composition and pompous drefs which delight the ear, and recommend some other parts of a discourse. For it certainly requires no small skill in the speaker, while he endeavours to express every thing in the most natural, plain, and easy manner, not to grow flat and tiresome. For Quintilian's remark is very just, that "the most experienced orators find nothing in eloquence more difficult, than what all who hear it fancy they could have said themselves." And the reason of this seems very obvious. For as all art is an imitation of nature, the nearer it resembles that, the more perfect it is in its kind. Hence unexperienced persons often imagine that to be easiest which suits best with those natural ideas to which they have been accustomed; till, upon trial, they are convinced of their mistake. Therefore, to render this part of a discourse pleasant and agreeable, recourse must be had to variety both in the choice of words and turns of the expression. And therefore questions, admirations, interlocutions, imagery, and other familiar figures, help very much to diversify and enliven a narration, and prevent it from becoming dull and tedious, especially when it is carried on to any considerable length.

Having given a brief account of the nature and properties of a narration, we shall now proceed to consider the uses of it.

Laudatory orations are usually as it were a sort of continued narration, set off and adorned with florid language and fine images proper to grace the subject, which is naturally so well fitted to afford pleasure and entertainment. Wherefore a separate narration is more suited to deliberative and judicial discourses. In Cicero's oration for the Manilian law (which is of the former kind), the design of the narration is to show the Roman people the necessity of giving Pompey the command of the army against king Mithridates, by representing the nature of that war, which is done in the following manner: "A great and dangerous war (says he) threatens your revenues and allies from two very powerful kings, Mithridates and Tigranes: one of whom not being pursued after his defeat, and the other provoked, they think they have an opportunity to seize Asia. Letters are daily brought from those parts to worthy gentlemen of the equestrian order, who have large concerns there in farming your revenues: they acquaint me, as friends, with the state of the public affairs, and danger of their own; that many villages in Bithynia, which is now your province, are burnt down; that the kingdom of Ariobarzanes, which borders upon your revenues, is entirely in the enemy's power; that Lucullus, after several great victories, is withdrawn from the war; that he who succeeds him is not able to manage it; that all the allies and Roman citizens with and under the command of that war may be given to one particular person; and that he alone, and no other, is dreaded by the enemies. You see the state of the case; now consider what ought to be done." Here is an unhappy scene of affairs, which seemed to call for immediate remedies. The causes and reasons of it are assigned in a very probable manner, and the account well attested by persons of character and figure. And what the consequences would be, if not timely prevented, no one could well be ignorant. The only probable remedy suggested in general is, the committing that affair to one certain person, which he afterwards shows at large could be no other than Pompey. But in Cicero's defence of Milo (which is of the judicial kind), the design of the narration, which is greatly commended by Quintilian, is to prove that, in the combat between Clodius and Milo, the former was the aggressor. And in order to make this appear, he gives a summary account of the conduct of Clodius the preceding year; and from the course of his actions and behaviour, shows the inveterate hatred he bore to Milo, who obstructed him in his wicked designs. For which cause he had often threatened to kill him, and given out that he should not live beyond such a time: and accordingly he went from Rome without any other apparent reason, but that he might have an opportunity to attack him in a convenient place near his own house, by which he knew Milo was then obliged to pass. Milo was in the senate that day, where he staid till they broke up, then went home, and afterwards set forward on his journey. When he came to the place in which he was to be assaulted, Clodius appeared every way prepared for such a design, being on horseback, and attended with a company of desperate ruffians ready to execute his commands; whereas Milo was with his wife in a chariot, wrapped up in his cloak, and attended with servants of both sexes. These were all circumstances which preceded the fact. And as to the action itself, with the event of it, the attack, as Cicero says, was begun by the attendants of Clodius from an higher ground, who killed Milo's coachman; upon which Milo, throwing off his cloak, leaped out, and made a brave defence against Clodius's men, who were got about the chariot. But Clodius, in the heat of the skirmish, giving out that Milo was killed, was himself slain by the servants of Milo, to avenge, as they thought, the death of their master. Here seems to be all the requisites proper to make this account credible. Clodius's open and avowed hatred of Milo, which proceeded so far as to threaten his life; the time of his leaving Rome; the convenience of the place; his habit and company so different from those Part II.

Disposition of Milo; joined with his known character of a most profligate and audacious wretch, could not but render it very probable that he had formed that design to kill Milo. And which of them began the attack might very reasonably be credited from the advanced ground on which Clodius and his men were placed; the death of Milo's coachman at the beginning of the combat; the skirmish afterward's at the chariot; and the reason of Clodius's own death at last, which does not appear to have been intended, till he had given out that Milo was killed.

But a distinct and separate narration is not always necessary in any kind of discourse. For if the matter be well known before, a set and formal narrative will be tedious to the hearers. Or if one party has done it already, it is needless for the other to repeat it. But there are three occasions especially, in which it may seem very requisite when it will bring light to the subject; when different accounts have already been given out concerning it; or when it has been misrepresented by the adverse party. If the point in controversy be of a dubious nature, or not sufficiently known to the hearers, a distinct account of the matter, with the particular circumstances attending it, must be very serviceable, in order to let them into a true state of the case, and enable them to judge of it with greater certainty.

Moreover, where the opposite party has set the matter in a false light by some artful and injurious turn, or loaded it with any odious circumstances, it seems no less necessary that endeavours should be used to remove any ill impressions, which otherwise might remain upon the minds of the hearers, by a different and more favourable representation. And if anything can be fixed upon to make the contrary account appear absurd or incredible, it ought particularly to be remarked. Thus Cicero, in his defense of Sextus Roscius, shows that he was many miles distant from Rome at the time he was charged with having killed his father there. "Now (says he), while Sextus Roscius was at America, and this Titus Roscius [his accuser] at Rome, Sextus Roscius [the father] was killed at the baths on Mount Palatine, returning from supper. From whence I hope there can be no doubt who ought to be suspected of the murder. And, were not the thing plain of itself, there is this farther suspicion to fix it upon the prosecutor; that, after the fact was committed, one Manlius Glaucia, an obscure fellow, the freedman, client, and familiar, of this Titus Roscius, first carried the account of it to America, not to the son of the deceased, but to the house of Titus Capito his enemy;" with more to the same purpose. But what we bring it for is, to show the use which Cicero makes of this narration for retorting the crime upon the prosecutors.

But the orator should be very careful, in conducting this part, to avoid everything which may prejudice the cause he espouses. Falseness, and a misrepresentation of facts, are not to be justified; but no one is obliged to say those things which may hurt himself. We shall just mention one instance of this from Cicero, where he has shown great skill in this respect, in pleading before Caesar for the pardon of Ligarius, who had joined with Pompey in the civil war. For Ligarius, having been represented by the adverse party as an enemy to Caesar, and so esteemed by Caesar himself; disposition. Cicero very artfully endeavours in his narration to take off the force of this charge, by showing, that, when the war first broke out, he refused to engage in it; which he would not have done, had he borne any personal hatred to Caesar. "Quintus Ligarius (says he), before there was any suspicion of a war, went into Africa as a legate to the proconsul Caius Confinius; in which he so approved himself, both to the Roman citizens and allies, that, when Confinius left the province, the inhabitants would not be satisfied he should leave the government in the hands of any other person. Therefore Quintus Ligarius having excused himself in vain for some time, accepted of the government against his will; which he so managed during the peace, that both the citizens and allies were greatly pleased with his integrity and justice. The war broke out on a sudden, which those in Africa did not hear of till it was begun: but upon the news of it, partly through inconsiderate haste, and partly from blind fear, they looked out for a leader, first for their own safety, and then as they were affected; when Ligarius, thinking of home, and desirous to return to his friends, would not be prevailed on to engage in any affairs. In the mean time, Publius Accius Varus, the praetor, who was formerly governor of Africa, coming to Utica, recourse was immediately had to him, who very eagerly took upon himself the government; if that can be called a government, which was conferred on a private man by the clamour of the ignorant multitude, without any public authority. Ligarius, therefore, who endeavoured to avoid every thing of that kind, ceased at once after the arrival of Varus." Here Cicero ends his narrative. For though Ligarius afterwards joined with Pompey's party, yet to have mentioned that, which was nothing more than what many others had done, whom Caesar had already pardoned, could have served only to increase his displeasure against him. And therefore he doubtless showed great skill in so managing his account, as to take off the main force of the accusation, and by that means make way for his pardon, which he accordingly obtained.

Chap. III. Of the Proposition.

In every just and regular discourse, the speaker's intention is to prove or illustrate something. And when he lays down the subject upon which he designs to treat, in a distinct and express manner, this is called the proposition. Orators use several ways in laying down the subject of their discourses. Sometimes they do it in one general proposition. We have an instance of this in Cicero's speech to the senate, the day after Caesar was slain (as it is given us by Dion Cassius), in which he says, his design was to persuade them to peace and unanimity. "This (says he) being the state of our affairs, I think it necessary that we lay aside all the discord and enmity which have been among us, and return again to our former peace and agreement." And then he proceeds to offer his reasons for this advice.

At other times, to give a clearer and more distinct view of their discourse, they subjoin to the proposition the general heads of argument by which they endeavour to support it. This method Cicero uses in his seventh Philippic, where he says, "I who have always commended and advised to peace, am against a peace with Mark Antony. But why am I averse to peace? Because it is safe, because it is dangerous, and because it is impracticable. And I beseech you to hear me with your usual candour, while I make out these three things."

But when the subject relates to several different things, which require each of them to be separately laid down in distinct propositions, it is called a partition; though some have made two kinds of partition, one of which they call separation, and the other enumeration. By the former of these, the orator shows in what he agrees with his adversary, and wherein he differs from him. So, in the case formerly mentioned, of a person accused of sacrilege for stealing private money out of a temple, he who pleads for the defendant says, "He owns the fact; but it being private money, the point in question is, Whether this be sacrilege?" And in the cause of Milo, Cicero speaking of Clodius, says, "The point which now comes before the court, is not, Whether he was killed or not; that we confess; but, Whether justly or unjustly." Now in reality here is no partition, since the former branch of the proposition is what is agreed upon, and given up; and consequently it is only the latter that remains to be disputed. It is called enumeration, when the orator acquaints his hearers with the several parts of his discourse upon which he designs to treat. And this alone, properly speaking, is a partition. Thus Cicero states his plea in his defence of Murcia: "I perceive the accusation consists of three parts: the first respects the conduct of his life; the second his dignity; and the third contains a charge of bribery."

There are three things requisite in a good partition; that it be short, complete, and consist but of a few members.

A partition is said to be short, when each proposition contains in it nothing more than what is necessary. So that the brevity here required is different from that of a narration; for that consists chiefly in things, this in words. And, as Quintilian justly observes, brevity seems very proper here, where the orator does not show what he is then speaking of, but what he designs to discourse upon.

Again, it ought to be complete and perfect. And for this end, care must be taken to omit no necessary part in the enumeration.

But, however, there should be as few heads as is consistent with the nature of the subject. The ancient rhetoricians prescribe three or four at the most. And we do not remember that Cicero ever exceeds that number. But it is certain, the fewer they are, the better, provided nothing necessary be omitted. For too large a number is both difficult of retention, and apt to introduce that confusion which partition is designed to prevent.

Hitherto we have been speaking only of those heads into which the subject or general argument of the discourse is at first divided. For it is sometimes convenient to divide these again, or at least some of them, into several parts or members. And when this happens, it is best done, as the speaker comes to each of them in the order at first laid down; by which means the memory of the hearers will be less burdened than by a multitude of particulars at one and the same time. Thus Cicero, in his oration for the Manilian law, comprises what he designs to say under three general heads. "First (says he) I shall speak of the nature of the war, then of its greatness, and lastly about the choice of a general." And when he comes to the first of these, he divides it again into four branches; and shows, "how much the glory of the Romans, the safety of their allies, their greatest revenues, and the fortunes of many of their citizens, were all concerned in that war." The second head, in which he considers the greatness of the war, has no division. But when he comes to the third head, concerning the choice of a general, he divides that likewise into four parts; and shows, that so many virtues are necessary in a consummate general, such an one as was proper to have the management of that war, namely, skill in military affairs, courage, authority, and success; all which he attributes to Pompey. And this is the scheme of that celebrated oration.

This subdividing, however, should never have place but when it is absolutely necessary. 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.

Further, some divide their subject into two parts, negative and propose to treat upon it negatively and positively; by showing first what it is not, and then what it is. But while they are employed to prove what it is not, they are not properly treating upon that, but something else; which seems as irregular as it is unnecessary. For he who proves what a thing is, does at the same time show what it is not. However, in fact, there is a sort of division by affirmation and negation, which may sometimes be conveniently used. As if a person, charged with killing another, should thus state his defence: I had done right if I had killed him, but I did not kill him. Here indeed, if the latter can be plainly made to appear, it may seem needless to insist upon the former. But if that cannot be so fully proved, but there may be room left for suspicion, it may be proper to make use of both: for all persons do not see things in the same light, and he who believes the fact, may likewise think it just; while he who thinks it unjust, may not believe it, but rather suppose, had it really been committed by the party, he would not have denied it, since he looked upon it as defensible. And this method of proceeding, Quintilian compares to a custom often used in traffic, when persons make a large demand at first, in order to gain a reasonable price. Cicero uses this way of reasoning in his defence of Milo; but in the contrary order: that is, he first answers the charge; and then justifies the fact, upon the supposition that the charge was true. For he proves, first, that Clodius was the aggressor; and not Milo, as the contrary party had inferred: and then to give the greater advantage to his cause, he proceeds to show, that if Milo had been the aggressor, it would however have been a glorious ac- Disposition to take off such an abandoned wretch, who was not only a common enemy to mankind, but had likewise often threatened his life.

A good and just partition is attended with considerable advantages. For it gives both light and ornament to a discourse. And it is also a great relief to the hearers, who, by means of these stops and rests, are much better enabled to keep pace with the speaker without confusion, and by casting their thoughts either way, from what has been said, both know and are prepared for what is to follow. And as persons, in travelling a road with which they are acquainted, go on with greater pleasure and less fatigue, because they know how far it is to their journey's end; so to be apprised of the speaker's design, and the several parts of his discourse which he proposes to treat on, contributes very much to relieve the hearer, and keep up his attention. This must appear very evident to all who consider how difficult it is to attend long and closely to one thing, especially when we do not know how long it may be before we are like to be released. Whereas, when we are before-hand acquainted with the scheme, and the speaker proceeds regularly from one thing to another, opportunity is given to ease the mind, by relaxing the attention, and recalling it again when necessary. In a sermon, or in a pleading at the bar, few things are of greater consequence than a proper or 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 them 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 the division of their subjects much more than the English do; whose distributions, though sensible and just, yet are often inartificial and verbose.

**CHAP. IV. Of Confirmation.**

The orator having acquainted his hearers, in the proposition, with the subject on which he designs to discourse, usually proceeds either to prove or illustrate what he has there laid down. For some discourses require nothing more than an enlargement or illustration, to set them in a proper light, and recommend them to the hearers; for which reason, likewise, they have often no distinct proposition. But where arguments are brought in defence of the subject, this is properly confirmation. For, as Cicero defines it, "confirmation is that which gives proof, authority, and support to a cause, by reasoning." And for this end, if any thing in the proposition seems obscure, or liable to be misunderstood, the orator first takes care to explain it, and then goes on to offer such arguments for the proof of it, and represent them in such a light, as may be most proper to gain the assent of his hearers.

But here it is proper to observe, that there are different ways of reasoning suited to different arts. The mathematician treats his subject after another manner than the logician, and the orator in a method different from them both. Two methods of reasoning are employed by orators, the synthetic and analytic.

1. Every piece of synthetic reasoning may be resolved into a syllogism or series of syllogisms, (see Logic.) Thus we may reduce Cicero's argument, by resolving which he endeavours to prove that Clodius assaulted into Milo, and not Milo Clodius, to a syllogism in this manner:

He was the aggressor, whose advantage it was to kill the other. But it was the advantage of Clodius to kill Milo, and not Milo to kill him. Therefore Clodius was the aggressor, or he assaulted Milo.

The thing to be proved was, that Clodius assaulted Milo, which therefore comes in the conclusion: and the argument, by which it is proved, is taken from the head of profit or advantage. Thus the logician would treat this argument; and if either of the premises were questioned, he would support it with another syllogism. But this short and dry way of reasoning does not at all suit the orator: who not only for variety changes the order of the parts, beginning sometimes with the minor, and at other times with the conclusion, and ending with the major; but likewise clothes each part with such ornaments of expression as are proper to enliven the subject, and render it more agreeable and entertaining. And he frequently subjoins, either to the major proposition, or minor, and sometimes to both, one or more arguments to support them; and perhaps others to confirm or illustrate them as he thinks it requisite. Therefore, as a logical syllogism consists of three parts or propositions, a rhetorical syllogism frequently contains four, and many times five parts. And Cicero reckons this last the most complete. But all that is said in confirmation of either of the premises is accounted but as one part. This will appear more evident by examples. By a short syllogism Cicero thus proves, that the Carthaginians were not to be trusted: "Those who have often deceived us, by violating their engagements, ought not to be trusted. For if we receive any damage by their treachery, we can blame nobody but ourselves. But the Carthaginians have often deceived us. Therefore it is madness to trust them."

Here the major proposition is supported by a reason. The minor needed none; because the treachery of the Carthaginians was well known. So that this syllogism consists of four parts. But by a syllogism of five parts, he proves somewhat more largely and elegantly, that the world is under the direction of a wise governor. The major is this: "Those things are better governed which are under the direction of wisdom, than those which are not." This he proves by several instances: "A house managed with prudence has every thing in better order, and more convenient, than that which is under no regulation. An army commanded by a wise and skilful general is in all respects better governed than one which has a fool or a madman at the head of it. And the like is to be said of a ship, which performs her course best under the direction of a skilful pilot." Then he proceeds to the minor thus: "But nothing is better governed than the universe." Which he proves in this manner: "The rising and setting of the heavenly bodies keep a certain determined order; and the several seasons of the year do not only necessarily return in the same manner, but are suited to the advantage of the whole; nor did the vicissitudes of night and day ever yet become prejudicial, by altering their course." From all which he concludes, "That the world must be under the direction of a wise governor." In both these examples, the regular order of the parts is observed. We shall therefore produce another, in which the order is directly contrary; for beginning with the conclusion, he proceeds next to the minor proposition, and so ends with the major. In his defence of Cælius, his design is to prove that Cælius had not led a loose and vicious life, with which his enemies had charged him. And this he does, by showing he had closely followed his studies, and was a good orator. This may probably at first sight appear but a weak argument; though to him who considers what Cicero everywhere declares necessary to gain that character, it may perhaps be thought otherwise. The sense of what he lays here may be reduced to this syllogism:

Those who have pursued the study of oratory, so as to excel in it, cannot have led a loose and vicious life.

But Cælius has done this.

Therefore his enemies charge him wrongfully.

But let us hear Cicero himself. He begins with the conclusion, thus: "Cælius is not chargeable with profuseness, extravagancy, contracting of debts, or intemperance, a vice which age is so far from abating, that it rather increases it. Nay, he never engaged in amours, and those pleasures of youth, as they are called, which are soon thrown off, as reason prevails." Then he proceeds to the minor, and shows from the effects, that Cælius had closely applied himself to the best arts, by which he means those necessary for an orator: "You have now heard him make his own defence, and you formerly heard him engaged in a prosecution (I speak this to vindicate, not to applaud him), you could not but perceive his manner of speaking, his ability, his good sense, and command of language. Nor did he only discover a good genius, which will oftentimes do much of itself when it is not improved by industry; but what he said (if my affection for him did not bias my judgment) appeared to be the effect of learning, application, and study." And then he comes to the major: "But be assured, that those vices charged upon Cælius, and the studies upon which I am now disconfining, cannot meet in the same person. For it is not possible that a mind, disturbed by such irregular passions, should be able to go through what we orators do, I do not mean only in speaking, but even in thinking." And this he proves by an argument taken from the scarcity of good orators.

"Can any other reason be imagined, why so few, both now, and at all times, have engaged in this province, when the rewards of eloquence are so magnificent, and it is attended with so great delight, applause, glory, and honour? All pleasures must be neglected; diversions, recreations, and entertainments omitted; and even the conversation of all our friends must in a manner be laid aside. This it is which de-

ters persons from the labour and study of oratory; not disposition, their want of genius or education."

2. By Enthymem. But orators do not often use Orators do complete syllogisms, but most commonly enthymemes, not often. An enthymeme, as is shown elsewhere, is an imperfect syllo- syllogism, consisting of two parts; the conclusion, plete syllo- and one of the premises. And in this kind of syllo- gism, that proposition is omitted, whether it be the mostly im- major or minor, which is sufficiently manifest of it perfect self, and may easily be supplied by the hearers. But ones, called the proposition that is expressed is usually called the enthymeme, antecedent, and the conclusion the consequent. So if the major of that syllogism be omitted, by which Cicero endeavours to prove that Clodius assaulted Milo, it will make this enthymeme:

The death of Milo would have been an advantage to Clodius.

Therefore Clodius was the aggressor; or, therefore he assaulted Milo.

In like manner that other syllogism above-mentioned, by which he shows that the Carthaginians ought not to be trusted, by omitting the minor, may be reduced to the following enthymeme:

Those who have often broken their faiths ought not to be trusted.

For which reason the Carthaginians ought not to be trusted.

Every one would readily supply the minor, since the perfidiousness of the Carthaginians was known to a proverb. But it is reckoned a beauty in enthymemes, when they consist of contrary parts: because the turn of them is most acute and pungent. Such is that of Micipsa in Sallust: "What stranger will be faithful to you who are an enemy to your friends?" And to likewise that of Cicero for Milo, speaking of Clodius: "You fit as avengers of his death; whose life you would not restore, did you think it in your power." Orators manage enthymemes in the same manner they do syllogisms; that is, they invert the order of the parts, and confirm the proposition by one or more reasons; and therefore a rhetorical enthymeme frequently consists of three parts, as a syllogism does of five. Though, strictly speaking, a syllogism can consist of no more than three parts, and an enthymeme but of two; and the arguments brought to support either of the propositions constitute so many new enthymemes, of which the part they are designed to prove is the conclusion. To illustrate this by an example:

An honest man thinks himself under the highest obligation to his country.

Therefore he should shun no danger to serve it.

In this enthymeme the major is wanting, which would run thus: "He who is under the highest obligations to another, should shun no danger in order to serve him." This last proposition is founded upon the common principle of gratitude; which requires that, to the utmost of our power, a return should be made in proportion to the kindness received. And this being a maxim generally allowed, it is omitted by the orator. But now this enthymeme, consisting of the minor and conclusion, might be managed in some such manner. Disposition as this, beginning with the conclusion: "An honest man ought to shun no danger, but readily expose his life for the safety and preservation of his country." Then the reason of this conduct might be added, which is the antecedent of the enthymem, or minor of the syllogism: "For he is sensible, that his obligations to his country are so many, and so great, that he can never fully requite them." And this again might be confirmed by an enumeration of particulars: "He looks upon himself as indebted to his country for every thing he enjoys; for his friends, relations, all the pleasures of life, and even for life itself." Now the orator calls this one enthymem, though in reality there are two: For the second reason, or argument, added to the first, becomes the antecedent of a new enthymem, of which the first reason is the consequent. And if these two enthymems were expressed separately in the natural order of the parts, the former would stand thus: "An honest man thinks himself under the highest obligations to his country; therefore he ought to shun no danger for its preservation." The latter thus: "An honest man esteems himself indebted to his country for every thing he enjoys; therefore he thinks he is under the highest obligations to it." The same thing might be proved in the like way of reasoning, by arguments of a different kind. From comparison, thus: "As it would be thought safe and ungrateful in a son not to hazard himself for the preservation of his father; an honest man must certainly esteem it so when his country is in danger." Or from an example, in this manner: "An honest man in like circumstances would propose to himself the example of Decius, who freely gave up his life for the service of his country. He gave up his life indeed, but did not lose it; for he cannot be said to have lost his life, who lives in immortal honour." Orators frequently intermix such arguments to adorn and illustrate their subject with others taken from the nature and circumstances of things. And now, if we consider a little this method of reasoning, we shall find it the most plain and easy imaginable. For when any proposition is laid down, and one or more reasons subjoined to prove it, each reason joined with the proposition makes a distinct enthymem, of which the proposition is the conclusion. Thus Cicero, in his seventh Philippic, lays down this as the foundation of his discourse, "That he is against a peace with Mark Antony;" for which he gives three reasons: "Because it is safe, because it is dangerous, and because it is impracticable." These severally joined with the proposition, form three enthymems; and upon each of these he discourses separately, which make up that oration. And this method is what persons for the most part naturally fall into, who know nothing of the terms syllogism or enthymem. They advance something, and think of a reason to prove it, and another perhaps to support that; and, so far as their invention will assist them, or they are masters of language, they endeavour to set what they say in the plainest light, give it the best dress, embellish it with proper figures and different turns of expression; and, as they think convenient, illustrate it with similitudes, comparisons, and the like ornaments, to render it most agreeable, till they think what they have advanced sufficiently proved. As this method of arguing therefore is the most plain, easy, and natural; so it is what is most commonly used in oratory. Whereas a strict syllogistical way of discoursing is dry and jejune, cramps the mind, and does not admit of those embellishments of language which are a great advantage to the orator: for which reason he seldom uses complete syllogisms; and when he does, it is with great latitude. In every discourse care should be taken not to blend arguments confusedly together that are of a separate nature. "All arguments (says the elegant Dr Blair) 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 any one 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 good-will 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."

II. The other method of reasoning is the analytic, in which the orator conceals his intention concerning the point he is to prove, till he has gradually brought his hearers to the designed conclusion. They are led the same on, step by step, from one known truth to another, with the 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 had 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.

He proceeded by several questions, which being separately granted, the thing designed to be inferred was afterwards put, which, by reason of its similitude with several cases allowed before, could not be denied. But this is a captious way of reasoning; for while the respondent is not aware of what is designed to be inferred, he is easily induced to make those conceptions, which otherwise he would not: Besides, it is not so well suited to continued discourses, as to those which are interlocutory; and therefore we meet with it oftentimes in the Socratic dialogues both of Plato and Xenophon. However, it may be made use of in oratory by a figure called substitution, when the same person Disposition, son first puts the question, and then makes the answer.

So in the famous cause of Epaminondas, general of the Thebans, who was accused for refusing to surrender his command to his successor appointed by the state, till after he had engaged the enemy, and given them a total defeat, Cicero thus represents his accuser pleading for the words of the law against Epaminondas, who alleged the intention of it in his defence:

"Should Epaminondas add that exception to the law, which, he says, was the intention of the writer, namely, 'Except any one refuse to give up his command when it is for the interest of the public he should not; would you admit of it?' I believe not. Should you yourselves, which is a thing most remote from your justice and wisdom, in order to screen him, order this exception to be added to the law, without the command of the people; would the Thebans suffer it to be done? No certainly. Can it be right then to come into that, as if it was written, which it would be a crime to write? I know it cannot be agreeable to your wisdom to think so."

Under the analytic method may be comprehended reasoning by example. Rhetoricians use this word in a different sense from the common acceptation. For that is usually called an example, which is brought either to prove or illustrate some general assertion: As if any one should say, that human bodies may be brought to sustain the greatest labours by use and exercise; and in order to prove this should relate what is said of Milo of Croton, that "by the constant practice of carrying a calf several furlongs every day, he could carry it as far after it had grown to its full size." But in oratory the word example is used for any kind of similitude; or, as Velleius defines it, "When one thing is inferred from another, by reason of the likenesses which appears between them." Hence it is called an imperfect induction, which infers something from several others of a like nature, and has always the greatest force when the examples are taken from facts. Now facts may be compared with respect to some agreement or similitude between them, which in themselves are either equal or unequal. Of the former kind this is an instance: "Cato acted as became a patriot and a lover of his country's liberty, in opposing the arms of Caesar; and therefore so did Cicero." The reason of the inference is founded in the parity of the case, which equally concerned all good subjects of the Roman government at that time. For all were alike obliged to oppose a common enemy, who endeavoured to subvert the constitution, and subject them to his own arbitrary power. But though an example consists in the comparison of two single facts, yet several persons may be concerned in each fact. Of this kind is that which follows: "As Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, acted illegally in the first triumvirate, by engrossing the sole power into their own hands, and by that means violating the public liberty; so likewise did Augustus, Mark Antony, and Lepidus, in the second triumvirate, by pursuing the same measures." But when Cicero defends Milo for killing Clodius, from the like instances of Ahala Servilius, Scipio Nasica, Lucius Opimius, and others; that is not an example, but an induction: because one thing is there inferred from its similitude to several others. But when a comparison is made between two facts that are unequal, the inference may be either from the greater to the less, or from the less to the greater. From the greater to the less in this manner: "Caesar had no just pretensions to the Roman government, and therefore much less had Antony." The reason lies in the difference between the two persons. Caesar had very much enlarged the bounds of the Roman empire by his conquests, and greatly obliged the populace by his generosity; but as he had always acted by an authority from the senate and people of Rome, these things gave him no claim to a power over them. Much less then had Antony any such pretence, who always acted under Caesar, and had never performed any signal services himself. Cicero has described the difference between them in a very beautiful manner in his second Philippic, thus speaking to Antony: "Are you in anything to be compared to him? He had a genius, sagacity, memory, learning, care, thought, diligence; he had performed great things in war, though detrimental to the state; he had for many years designed to get the government into his hands, and obtained his end by much labour and many dangers; he gained over the ignorant multitude by public shows, buildings, congiaries, and feasts; obliged his friends by rewards, and his enemies by a show of clemency. In a word, he subjected a free state to slavery, partly through fear, and partly compliance. I can liken you to him for ambition of power; but in other things you are in no respect to be compared with him." By a comparison from the less to the greater, Cicero thus argues against Catiline: "Did the brave Scipio, when a private man, kill Tiberius Gracchus, for attempting to weaken the state; and shall we consuls bear with Catiline endeavouring to destroy the world by fire and sword?" The circumstances of these two cases were very different; and the comparison runs between a private man, and a consul intrusted with the highest authority; between a design only to raise a tumult, and a plot to destroy the government: whence the orator justly infers, that what was esteemed lawful in one case, was much more so in the other. The like way of reasoning is sometimes used from other similitudes, which may be taken from things of all kinds, whether animate or inanimate. Of the former sort is that of Cicero speaking of Murana, when candidate for the consulship, after he had himself gone through that office: "If it is usual (says he) for such persons as are safely arrived in port, to give those who are going out the best account they can with relation to the weather, pirates, and coasts; because thus nature directs us to assist those who are entering upon the same dangers which we ourselves have escaped: how ought I, who now after a great storm am brought within a near prospect of land, to be affected towards him, who, I perceive, must be exposed to the greatest tempests of the state?" He alludes to the late disturbances and tumults occasioned by the conspiracy of Catiline, which had been so happily suppressed by him in the time of his consulship. Of the latter kind is that of Quintilian: "As the ground is made better and more fruitful by culture, so is the mind by instruction." There is both a beauty and justness in this simile.

But comparisons are sometimes made between facts and Disposition and other things, in order to infer some difference or opposition between them. In comparing two facts, on account of some disagreement and unlikeness, the inference is made from the difference between one and the other in that particular respect only. As thus:

"Though it was not esteemed cruelty in Brutus to put his two sons to death, for endeavouring to betray their country; it might be so in Manlius, who put his son to death, only for engaging the enemy without orders, though he gained the victory." The difference between the two facts lies in the different nature of the crime. The sons of Brutus entered into a conspiracy to betray their country; and though they miscarried in it, yet the intention and endeavours they used to accomplish it were criminal in the highest degree. But young Manlius could only be charged with rashness. His design was honourable, and intended for the interest of his country; only it was irregular, and might have proved of ill consequence to military discipline. Now in all such cases, the force of the argument is the stronger the greater the difference appears. But the same facts which differ in one respect may agree in many others; as in the example here mentioned. Brutus and Manlius were both magistrates as well as fathers; they both killed their sons, and that for a capital crime by the Roman law. In any of which respects they may be compared in a way of similitude: as, "If Brutus might lawfully put his son to death for a capital crime, so might Manlius." But now contrary facts do not only differ in some certain respect, but are wholly opposite to each other; so that what is affirmed of the one must be denied of the other; and if one be a virtue, the other is a vice. Thus Cicero compares the conduct of Marcellus and Verres in a way of opposition.

"Marcellus (says he), who had engaged, if he took Syracuse, to erect two temples at Rome, would not beautify them with the spoils he had taken: Verres, who had made no vows to Honour and Virtue, but to Venus and Cupid, endeavoured to plunder the temple of Minerva. The former would not adorn the gods with the spoils of other deities: the latter carried the ornaments of Minerva, a virgin, into the house of a strumpet." If therefore the conduct of Marcellus was laudable and virtuous, that of Verres must bear the contrary character. But this way of reasoning has likewise place in other respects. Thus Cicero, in the quarrel between Caesar and Pompey, advised to peace from the difference between a foreign and domestic war: "That the former might prove beneficial to the state; but in the latter, whichever side conquered, the public must suffer." And thus the ill effects of intemperance may be shown in a way of opposition: "That as temperance preserves the health of the body, keeps up the vigour of the mind, and prolongs life; so excess must necessarily have the contrary effects."

Thus we have given a brief account of the principal ways of reasoning commonly made use of by orators. As to the disposition of arguments, or the order of placing them, some advise to put the weaker, which cannot wholly be omitted, in the middle: and such as are stronger, partly in the beginning, to gain the esteem of the hearers and render them more attentive; and partly at the end, because what is last heard is likely to be retained longest: But if there are but two arguments, to place the stronger first, and then the weaker; and after that to return again to the former, and insist principally upon that. But this must be left to the prudence of the speaker, and the nature of the subject. Though to begin with the strongest, and so gradually descend to the weakest, can never be proper, for the reason last mentioned. Nor ought arguments to be crowded too close upon one another; for that takes off from their force, as it breaks in upon the attention of the hearers, and does not leave them sufficient time duly to consider them. Nor indeed should more be used than are necessary; because the fewer they are, the more easily they are remembered. And the observation of a great matter of eloquence upon this subject is certainly very just, that arguments ought rather to be weighed than numbered.

CHAP. V. Of Confutation.

The forms of reasoning here are the same as have been already explained under confirmation. Confutation, however, is often the more difficult task; because he who is to prove a thing comes usually prepared; but he who is to confute it is frequently left motionless, but to a sudden answer. For which reason, in judicial causes, Quintilian says, "It is as much easier to accuse, as defend, as it is to make a wound than to heal it." Therefore, not only a good judgment, but a readiness of thought also, seems necessary for this province. But, in all disputes, it is of the greatest consequence to observe where the fires of the controversy lies. For without attending to this, persons may cavil about different matters without understanding each other, or deciding any thing. And in confutation, what the adversary has advanced ought carefully to be considered, and in what manner he has expressed himself. As to the things themselves, whether they immediately relate to the matter in dispute, or are foreign to it. Those things that are foreign to the subject may either be passed over in silence, or in a very few words shown to be insignificant. And there ought likewise to be a distinction made between such things as relate to the subject, according to their importance. Those that appear to have no great weight should be slightly remarked. For to insist largely upon such matters is both tiresome to the hearers, and apt to bring the judgment of the speaker into question. And therefore things of that nature are generally better turned off with an air of neglect, a pungent question, or an agreeable jest, than confused by a serious and laboured answer. But those things, which relate to the merits of the cause, may be confuted either by contradicting them, or by showing some mistake in the reasoning, or their invalidity when granted.

Things may be contradicted several ways. What is apparently false may be expressly denied. Thus Cicero in his defence of Cluentius: "When the accuser had said, that the man fell down dead after he had drunk off his cup, denies that he died that day." And things which the adversary cannot prove, may likewise be denied. Of which we have also an instance in Cicero, who first upbraids Mark Antony as guilty of a breach not only of good breeding, but likewise of friendship, for reading publicly a private letter he had sent him. Disposition. And then adds, "But what will you say now, if I should deny that ever I sent you that letter? How will you prove it? By the hand-writing? In which I confess you have a peculiar skill, and have found the benefit of it. But how can you make it out? For it is in my secretary's hand. I cannot but envy your master who had so great a reward for teaching you to understand just nothing. For what can be more unbecoming not only an orator, but even a man, than for any one to offer such things, which if the adversary denies, he has nothing more to say?" It is an handsome way of contradicting a thing, by showing that the adversary himself maintained the contrary. So when Oppius was charged with defrauding the soldiers of their provisions, Cicero refutes it, by proving, that the same persons charged Oppius with a design to corrupt the army by his liberality. An adversary is never more effectually silenced than when you can fasten contradictions upon him; for this is stabbing him with his own weapon. Sometimes a thing is not in express terms denied, but represented to be utterly incredible. And this method exposes the adversary more than a bare denial. So when some persons reproached Cicero with cowardice, and a shameful fear of death, he recites their reasons in such a manner, that any one would be inclined to think the charge entirely false. "Was it becoming me (says he) to expect death with that compoedness of mind as some have imagined? Well, and did I then avoid it? Nay, was there any thing in the world that I could apprehend more desirable? Or when I had done the greatest things in such a crowd of ill minded persons about me, do you think banishment and death were not always in my view, and continually sounding in my ears as my certain fate, while I was so employed? Was life desirable when all my friends were in such sorrow, and myself in so great distress, deprived of all the gifts both of nature and fortune? Was I so inexperienced, so ignorant, so void of reason and prudence? Had I never seen nor heard anything in my whole life? Did all I had read and studied avail nothing? What! did not I know that life is short, but the glory of generous actions permanent? When death is appointed for all, does it not seem eligible, that life, which must be wrested from us, should rather be freely devoted to the service of our country, than referred to be worn out by the decays of nature? Was not I sensible, there has been this controversy among the wisest men, that some say, the minds of men and their consciences utterly perish at death; and others, that the minds of wise and brave men are then in their greatest strength and vigour, when they are set free from the body? The first state is not greatly to be dreaded, to be void of sense: but the other, of enjoying larger capacities, is greatly to be desired. Therefore, since I always aimed at dignity, and thought nothing was worth living for without it; how should I, who am past the confusibility, and did so great things in it, be afraid to die?"

Thus far Cicero. There is likewise an ironical way of contradicting a thing, by retorting that and other things of the like nature upon the adverse party. Thus Cicero, in his oration against Vatinus, says: "You have objected to me, that I defended Cornelius, my old friend, and your acquaintance. But pray why should I not have defended him? Has Cornelius carried any law contrary to the omens? Has he violated any law? Has he assaulted the consul? Did he take possession of a temple by force of arms? Did he drive away the tribune, who opposed the passing a law? Has he thrown contempt upon religion? Has he plundered the treasury? Has he pillaged the state? No, these, all these, are your doings." Such an unexpected return is sometimes of great service to abate the confidence of an adversary.

A second way of confutation is, by observing some flaw in the reasoning of the adverse party. We shall endeavour to illustrate this from the several kinds of reasoning treated of before under confirmation. And first, as to syllogisms; they may be refuted, either by showing some mistake in the premises, or that the conclusion is not justly deduced from them. So when the Clodian party contended, that Milo ought to suffer death for this reason, because he had confessed that he had killed Clodius; that argument, reduced to a syllogism, would stand thus:

He who confesses he has killed another, ought not to be allowed to see the light. But Milo confesses this. Therefore he ought not to live.

Now the force of this argument lies in the major or first proposition; which Cicero refutes, by proving, that the Roman people had already determined contrary to what is there asserted: "In what city (says he) do these men dispute after this weak manner? In that wherein the first capital trial was in the case of the brave Horatius, who, before the city enjoyed perfect freedom, was saved by the suffrages of the Roman people, though he confessed that he killed his sister with his own hand." But when Cicero accused Verres for mal-administration in his government of Sicily, Hortensius, who defended him, being sensible the allegations brought against him could not be denied, had no other way left to bring him off, but by pleading his military virtues in abatement, which at that time were much wanted, and very serviceable to the state. The form of the argument was this:

That the Romans then wanted good generals. That Verres was such. And consequently, that it was for the interest of the public that he should not be condemned.

But Cicero, who knew his design, states the argument for him in his charge; and then answers it by denying the consequence, since the crimes of Verres were of so heinous a nature, that he ought by no means to be pardoned on the account of any other qualifications: Though indeed he afterwards refutes the minor or second proposition, and shows that he had not merited the character of a good general. Enthymems may be refuted, either by showing that the antecedent is false, or the consequent not justly inferred from it.

As thus, with respect to the former case:

A strict adherence to virtue has often proved detrimental. Therefore virtue ought not constantly to be embraced.

Here the antecedent may be denied. For virtue is always beneficial to those who strictly adhere to it, both in the present satisfaction it affords them, and the future... She is a mother.

Therefore she loves her children.

Now as the certainty of that inference depends upon this general assertion, That all mothers love their children, which is not true, the mistake of the reasoning may be shown from the instance of Medea and others who destroyed their own children. As to induction and example, by which the truth or equity of a thing is proved from its likeness to one or more other things; the reasoning in either is invalid, if the things so compared can be shown not to have that similitude, or agreement on which the inference is founded. One instance therefore may serve for both. As when Cicero, after the death of Caesar, pleaded for the continuance of his laws, but not of those which were made afterwards by Mark Antony: Because, though both were in themselves invalid, and impositions upon the public liberty; yet some of Caesar's were useful, and others could not be set aside without disturbance to the state, and injuring particular persons; but those of Antony were all detrimental to the public.

The last method of confutation before-mentioned was, when the orator does in some sense grant the adversary his argument, and at the same time shows its invalidity. And this is done by a variety of ways, according to the different nature of the subject. Sometimes he allows what was said may be true; but pleads, that what he contends for is necessary. This was the method by which Hortensius propounded to bring off Verres, as we have already shown from Cicero, whose words are these, addressing himself to the judges:

"What shall I do? which way shall I bring in my accusation? where shall I turn myself? for the character of a brave general is placed like a wall against all the attacks I can make. I know the place, I perceive where Hortensius intends to display himself. He will recount the hazards of war, the necessities of the state, the scarcity of commanders; and then he will intreat you, and do his utmost to persuade you, not to suffer the Roman people to be deprived of such a commander upon the testimony of the Sicilians, nor the glory of his arms to be falsified by a charge of avarice." At other times the orator pleads, that although the contrary opinion may seem to be attended with advantage, yet that his own is more just or honourable. Such was the case of Regulus, when his friends endeavoured to prevail with him to continue at Rome, and not return to Carthage, where he knew he must undergo a cruel death. But as this could not be done without violating his oath, he refused to hearken to their persuasions. Another way of confutation is, by retorting upon the adversary his own argument. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Ligarius, says: "You have, Tubero, that which is most desirable to an accuser, the confession of the accused party; but yet such a confession, that he was on the same side that you, Tubero, chose yourself, and your father too, a man worthy of the highest praise. Wherefore, if there was any crime in this, you ought first to confess your own before you attempt to fall upon Ligarius." The orator takes this advantage where an argument proves too much, that is, more than the person designed it for, who made use of it. Not much unlike this is what they call inversion, by which the orator shows, that the reasons offered by the opposite party make for him. So when Cæcilius urged, that the province of accusing Verres ought to be granted to him, and not to Cicero, because he had been his treasurer in Sicily at the time those crimes were committed with which he was charged, and consequently knew most of that affair; Cicero turns the argument upon him, and shows, for that very reason he was the most unfit of any man to be intrusted with his prosecution; since having been concerned with him in his crimes, he would certainly do all in his power to conceal or lessen them. Again, sometimes the charge is acknowledged, but the crime shifted off to another. Thus, when Sextius was accused of sedition, because he had got together a body of gladiators, and brought them into the forum, where a warm engagement happened between them and Clodius's faction; Cicero owns the fact, but charges the crime of sedition upon Clodius's party in being the aggressors. Another method made use of for the same purpose is, to alleviate the charge, and take off the force of it, by showing, that the thing was not done with that intention which the adversary intimates. Thus Cicero, in his defence of king Deiotarus, owns he had raised some forces, though not to invade the Roman territories, as had been alleged, but only to defend his own borders, and send aid to the Roman generals.

We have hitherto been speaking of the methods of confutation used by orators, in answering those arguments which are brought by the contrary party. But sometimes they raise such objections themselves to what they have said, as they imagine may be made by others; which they afterwards answer, the better to induce their hearers to think, that nothing considerable can be offered against what they have advanced, but what will admit of an easy reply. Thus, when Cicero, at the request of the Sicilians, had undertaken the accusation of Verres, it came under debate, whether he, or Cæcilius, who had been Verres's quaestor in Sicily, should be admitted to that province. Cicero, therefore, in order to set him aside, among other arguments, shows his incapacity for such an undertaking, and for that end recounts at large the qualifications necessary for an orator. Which he represents to be so many and great, that he thought it necessary to start the following objection to what he had himself said upon that subject. "But you will say perhaps, Have you all these qualifications?" To which he thus replies: "I wish I had; but it has been my constant study from my youth to gain them. And if, from their greatness and difficulty, I have not been able to attain them, who have done nothing else through my whole life; how far, do you imagine, you must be from it, who never thought of them before; and even now, when you are entering upon them, have no apprehension, what, and how great, they are?" This is an effectual way of defeating an adversary, when the objection is well founded, and clearly answered. But we shall have occasion to consider this matter more largely hereafter, under the figure proper, to which it properly relates. CHAP. VI. Of the Conclusion.

Rhetoricians make the conclusion of a discourse to consist of two parts: recapitulation, and an address to the passions.

1. Recapitulation is a summary account of what the speaker has before offered in maintenance of his subject; and is designed both to refresh the memory of the hearers, and to bring the principal arguments together into a narrow compass, that they may appear in a stronger light. Now there are several things necessary to a good repetition.

And first, it must be short and concise; since it is designed to refresh the memory, and not to burden it. For this end, therefore, the chief things only are to be touched upon; those on which the cause principally depends, and which the orator is most desirous should be regarded by his hearers. Now these are, The general heads of the discourse, with the main arguments brought to support them. But either to insist particularly upon every minute circumstance, or to enlarge upon those heads which it may be thought proper to mention, carries in it not so much the appearance of a repetition, as of a new discourse.

Again, it is convenient in a repetition to recite things in the same order in which they were at first laid down. By this means the hearers will be enabled much better to keep pace with the speaker as he goes along; and if they happen to have forgot any thing, they will the more readily recall it. And besides, this method appears most simple and open, when the speaker reviews what he has said in the same manner it was before delivered, and sets it in the clearest light for others to judge of it. But though a repetition contains only the same things which had been more largely treated of before; yet it is not necessary they should be expressed in the same words. Nay, this would many times be tiresome and unpleasing to the hearers; whereas a variety of expression is grateful, provided the sense be the same. Besides, everything ought now to be represented in the strongest terms, and in so lively a manner, as may at the same time both entertain the audience, and make the deepest impression upon their minds. We have a very exact and accurate example of repetition in Cicero's oration for Quintius. Cicero was then a young man, and seems to have kept more closely to the rules of art, than afterwards, when by use and practice he had gained a greater freedom of speaking. We formerly cited the partition of this speech, upon another occasion, which runs thus: "We deny, Sextus Nevius, that you were put into the possession of the estate of P. Quintius, by the praetor's edict. This is the dispute between us. I will therefore show, first, that you had no just cause to apply to the praetor for the possession of the estate of P. Quintius; then, that you could not possess it by the edict; and lastly, that you did not possess it. When I have proved these three things, I will conclude." Now Cicero begins his conclusion with a repetition of those three heads, and a summary account of the several arguments he made use of under each of them. But they are too long to be here exhibited. In his oration for the Manilian law, his repetition is very short. He proposed in the partition to speak to three things: The nature of the war against king Mithridates, the greatness of it, and what sort of general was proper to be intrusted with it. And when he has gone through each of these heads, and treated upon them very largely, he reduces the substance of what he has said to this general and short account: "Since therefore the war is so necessary, that it cannot be neglected; and so great, that it requires a very careful management; and you can intrust it with a general of admirable skill in military affairs, of singular courage, the greatest authority, and eminent success: do you doubt to make use of this so great a blessing, conferred and bestowed upon you by heaven, for the preservation and enlargement of the Roman state?" Indeed this repetition is made by Cicero, before he proceeds to the conclusion; and not at the end of his discourse, where it is usually longer and more particular: however, this may serve to show the nature of such a recital.

But sometimes a repetition is made, by running a comparison between the speaker's own arguments and those of the adverse party; and placing them in opposition to each other. And this method Cicero takes in the conclusion of his third oration upon the Agrarian law. And here sometimes the orator takes occasion to find fault with his adversary's management, in these and such like expressions: "This part he has entirely dropt. To that he has given an invidious turn, or a false colouring. He leaves arguments, and flies to intrigues; and not without good reason, if we consider the weakness of his cause."

But when the discourse is very long, and the arguments inflicted on have been many, to prevent the hearers growing out of patience by a more particular recital, the orator sometimes only just mentions such things, which he thinks of least consequence, by saying, that he omits or passes over them, till he comes to what is of greater moment, which he represents more fully. This method Cicero has taken in his defence of Cluentius; where, having run over several lesser heads in the manner now described, he then alters his expression, and introduces what was of more importance, by saying, "What I first complain of, is that wickedness, which is now discovered." And so he proceeds more particularly to recite those things which immediately related to Cluentius. And this is what the writers upon this art call proterition. But this much may serve for repetition or recapitulation.

2. We now proceed to the other part of the conclusion, which consists in an address to the passions. Indeed the orator sometimes endeavours occasionally to work upon the passions of his hearers in other parts of his discourse, but more especially in the conclusion, where he is warmest himself, and labours to make them so. For the main design of the introduction is to conciliate the hearers, and gain their attention; of the narration, proposition, and confirmation, to inform them; and of the conclusion, to move them. And therefore, to use Quintilian's words, "Here all the springs of eloquence are to be opened. It is here we secure the minds of the hearers, if what went before was well managed. Now we are past the rocks and shallows, all the sails may be hoisted. And as the greatest part of the conclusion consists in illustration, the most pompous language and strongest figures have place..." Now the passions, to which the orator more particularly addresses, differ according to the nature of the discourse. In demonstrative orations, when laudatory,—love, admiration, and emulation—are usually excited; but in invectives,—hatred, envy, and contempt. In deliberative subjects, either the hope of gratifying some desire is set in view, or the fear of some impending evil. And in judicial discourses, almost all the passions have place, but more especially resentment and pity; insomuch that most of the ancient rhetoricians mention only these two. But having treated upon the nature of the passions, and the methods suited both to excite and allay them, in a former chapter, we shall at present only add a few general observations, which may not be improper in this place, where the skill of the orator in addressing them is more especially required.

The orator will observe what circumstances either of things, or persons, or both, will furnish him with motives proper to apply to those passions he desires to excite in the minds of his hearers. Thus Cicero, in his orations for Plancus and Sylla, moves his hearers from the circumstances of the men; but in his accusation of Verres, very frequently from the barbarity and horrid nature of his crimes; and from both, in his defense of Quintius.

But the same passion may be excited by very different methods. This is plain from the writings of those Roman stylists which are yet extant; for they have all the same design, and that is to engage men to a love of virtue, and hatred of vice; but their manner is very different, suited to the genius of each writer. Horace endeavors to recommend virtue, by laughing vice out of countenance; Persius moves us to an abhorrence and detestation of vice, with the gravity and severity of a philosopher; and Juvenal, by open and vehement invectives. So orators make use of all these methods in exciting the passions; as may be seen by their discourses, and particularly those of Cicero. But it is not convenient to dwell long upon the same passion. For the image thus wrought up in the minds of the hearers does not last a great while, but they soon return to reflection. When the emotion, therefore, is once carried as high as it well can be, they should be left under its influence, and the speaker proceed to some new matter, before it declines again.

Moreover, orators sometimes endeavor to raise contrary passions to each other, as they are concerned for opposite parties. So the accuser excites anger and resentment, but the defendant pity and compassion. At other times, one thinks it sufficient to allay and take off that passion which the other has raised, and bring the hearers to a calm and sedate consideration of the matter before them.

But this especially is to be regarded, that the orator expresses the same passion himself with which he endeavors to affect others; and that not only in his action and voice, but likewise in his language; and therefore his words, and manner of expression, should be suited to that perturbation and disorder of mind which he designs to represent. However, a decency and propriety of character is always carefully to be observed; for, as Cicero very well remarks, "A neglect of this is not only very culpable in life, but likewise in discourse. Nor do the same things equally become every speaker, or every audience; nor every time, and every place." And therefore he greatly commends that painter, who, designing to represent in a picture the sacrifice of Iphigenia, Agamemnon's daughter, drew Calchas the priest with a sad countenance; Ulysses, her father's great friend, more dejected; and her uncle Menelaus, most disconsolate; but threw a veil over the face of Agamemnon himself, as being unable to express that excess of sorrow which he thought was proper to appear in his countenance. And this justness of character is admirably well observed by Cicero himself, in his defense of Milo; for as Milo was always known to be a man of the greatest resolution, and most undaunted courage, it was very improper to introduce him (as the usual method then was in capital cases) moving pity, and begging for mercy. Cicero therefore takes this part upon himself; and what he could not do with any propriety in the person of Milo, he performs in his own, and thus addresses the judges: "What remains, but that I intreat and beseech you, that you would show that compassion to this brave man, for which he himself does not solicit, but I, against his inclination, earnestly implore and request. Do not be less inclined to acquit him, if in this our common sorrow, you see no tear fall from Milo's eyes; but perceive in him the same countenance, voice, and language, as at other times, steady and unmoved. Nay, I know not whether for this reason you ought not much sooner to favor him: For if, in the contests of gladiators (persons of the lowest condition and fortune in life), we are wont to be displeased with the timorous and suppliant, and those who beg for their life; but interpose in favor of the brave and courageous, and such as expose themselves to death; and we show more compassion to those who do not sue for it, than to those who do: with how much greater reason ought we to act in the same manner towards the bravest of our fellow-citizens?" And as these words were agreeable to his own character, while soliciting in behalf of another; so, immediately after, he introduces Milo speaking like himself, with a generous and undaunted air: "The words of Milo (says he) quite sink and dispirit me, which I daily hear from him. Farewell, farewell, my fellow-citizens, farewell! may you be happy, flourish, and prosper; may this renowned city be preserved, my most dear country, however it has treated me; may it continue in peace, though I cannot continue in it, to whom it owes its peace. I will retire; I will be gone."

But as persons are commonly more affected with what they see than with what they hear, orators sometimes call in the affluence of that sense in moving the passions. For this reason it was usual among the Romans, in judicial cases, for accused persons to appear with a dejected air and a forlorn garb, attended by their parents, children, or other relations and friends, with the like dress and aspect; as likewise to show their scars, wounds, bloody garments, and other things of the like nature, in open court. So when, upon the death of Caesar, Mark Antony harangued the populace, he at the same time exposed to their view the garment Disposition, garment in which he was stabbed, fixed upon a pole; at which sight they were so enraged, that immediately they ran with lighted torches to set fire to the houses of the conspirators. But this custom at last became so common, and was sometimes so ill conducted, that the force of it was greatly abated, as we learn from Quintilian. However, if the Romans proceeded to an excess on the one hand, the strictness of the Areopagites at Athens may perhaps be thought too rigid on the other; for in that court, if the orator began to say anything which was moving, an officer immediately stood up, and bade him be silent. There is certainly a medium between these two extremes, which is sometimes not only useful, but even necessary: for, as Quintilian very justly says, "It is necessary to apply to the passions, when those things which are true, just, and of common benefit, cannot be come at any other way."

CHAP. VII. Of Digression, Transition, and Amplification.

The number, order, and nature of the parts which constitute a complete and regular oration, we have endeavoured to explain in several preceding chapters. But there are two or three things yet remaining, very defined and necessary to be known by an orator, which seem most properly to come under the second branch of his art.—And these are, Digression, Transition, and Amplification.

I. Digression, as defined by Quintilian, is, "A going off from the subject we are upon to some different thing, which may however be of service to it." We have a very beautiful instance of this in Cicero's defence of Cælius, who was accused of having first borrowed money of Clodia, and then engaging her servants to poison her. Now, as the proof of the fact depended upon several circumstances, the orator examines them separately; and shows them to be all highly improbable. "How (says he) was the design of this poison laid? Whence came it? how did they get it? by whose assistance, to whom, or where, was it delivered?" Now to the first of these queries he makes the accuser give this answer: "They say Cælius had it at home, and tried the force of it upon a slave provided on purpose, whose sudden death proved the strength of the poison." Now as Cicero represents the whole charge against Cælius as a fiction of Clodia, invented out of revenge for some flights he had put upon her; to make this the more probable, he intimates that she had poisoned her husband, and takes this opportunity to hint it, that he might show how easy it was for her to charge another with poisoning a servant, who had done the same to her own husband. But not contented with this, he steps out of his way, and introduces some of the last words of her husband Metellus, to render the fact more barbarous and shocking, from the admirable character of the man. "O immortal gods! why do you sometimes wink at the greatest crimes of mankind, or delay the punishment of them to futurity? For I saw, I myself saw (and it was the most doleful scene of my whole life) when Q. Metellus was taken from the bosom of his country; and when he, who thought himself born to be serviceable to this state, within three days after he had appeared with such advantage

No 251. Disposition, that consists of a series of facts, and a long continued narrative without variety, is apt to grow dull and tedious; it is necessary at proper distances to throw in something entertaining, in order to enliven it, and keep up the attention. And accordingly we find the best historians often embellish their writings with descriptions of cities, rivers, and countries, as likewise with the speeches of eminent persons upon important occasions, and other ornaments, to render them the more pleasing and delightful. Poets take a still greater liberty in this respect: for as their principal view is most commonly to please, they do not attend so closely to connection; but as an image offers itself, which may be agreeably wrought upon, they bring it in, and go off more frequently to different things, than other writers.

Another property of a digression is, that it ought not to be too long, lest the hearers forget what preceded, before the speaker returns again to his subject.

For a digression being no principal part of a discourse, nor of any further use than as it serves some way or other to enforce or illustrate the main subject; it cannot answer this end, if it be carried to such a length, as to cause that either to be forgotten or neglected. And every one's memory will not serve him to connect together two parts of a discourse, which lie at a wide distance from each other. The better therefore to guard against this, it is not unusual with orators, before they enter upon a digression of any considerable length, to prepare their hearers, by giving them notice of it, and sometimes defining leave to divert a little from the subject. And to likewise at the conclusion they introduce the subject again by a short transition. Thus Cicero in the example cited above, when he has finished his digression concerning the death of Metellus, proceeds to his subject again with these words: "But I return to the accusation."

Indeed we find orators sometimes, when once pressed, and the cause will not bear a close scrutiny, artfully run into digressions with a design to divert the attention of the hearers from the subject, and turn them to a different view. And in such cases, as they endeavour to be unobserved, so they do it tacitly without any transition or intimation of their design; their business being only to get clear of a difficulty, till they have an opportunity of entering upon some fresh topic.

11. Transitions are often used not only after a digression, but likewise upon other occasions. A transition is, "A form of speech, by which the speaker in a few words tells his hearers both what he has said already, and what he next designs to say." Where a discourse consists of several parts, this is often very proper in passing from one to another, especially when the parts are of a considerable length; for it assists the hearers to carry on the series of the discourse in their mind, which is a great advantage to the memory. It is likewise a great relief to the attention, to be told when an argument is finished, and what is to be expected next. And therefore we meet with it very frequently in history. But we consider it at present only as made use of by orators. Cicero, in his second oration against Catiline, who had then left Rome, having at large described his conduct and designs, he adds: "But why do I talk so long concerning one enemy, and such an one? who owns himself an enemy, and whom I do not fear, since, what I always desired, there is now a wall between us; and say nothing of those, who conceal themselves, who remain at Rome, and among us." And then he proceeds to give an account of the other conspirators.

But sometimes, in passing from one thing to another, a general hint of it is thought sufficient to prepare the hearers, without particularly specifying what has been said, or is next to follow. Thus Cicero in his second Philippic says, "But those things are old, this is yet fresh." And again: "But I have insisted too long upon trifles, let us come to things of greater moment." And at other times, for greater brevity, the transition is imperfect, and mention made only of the following head, without any intimation of what has been said already. As in Cicero's defence of Murena, where he says: "I must now proceed to the third part of my oration concerning the charge of bribery." And soon after: "I come now to Cato, who is the support and strength of this charge."

III. The third and last head is, Amplification. Now amplification is meant, not barely a method of enlarging upon a thing; but so to represent it in the fullest and most comprehensive view, as that it may in the liveliest manner strike the mind, and influence the passions. Cicero, speaking of this, calls it the greatest commendation of eloquence; and observes, "that it consists not only in magnifying and heightening a thing, but likewise in extenuating and lessening it." But though it consists of these two parts, and may be applied either way; yet to amplify, is not to set things in a false light, but to paint them in their just proportion and proper colours, suitable to their nature and qualities. Rhetoricians have observed several ways of doing this.

One is to ascend from a particular thing to a general. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Archias, having commended him as an excellent poet, and likewise observed, that all the liberal arts have a connection with each other, and a mutual relation between them, in order to raise a just esteem of him in the minds of his hearers, takes occasion to say many things in praise of polite literature in general, and the great advantages that may be received from it. "You will ask me," (says he), "why we are so delighted with this man? Because he supplies us with those things, which both refresh our minds after the noise of the forum, and delight our ears when wearied with contention. Do you think we could either be furnished with matter for such a variety of subjects, if we did not cultivate our minds with learning; or bear such a constant fatigue, without affording them that refreshment? I own I have always pursued these studies; let those be ashamed, who have so given up themselves to learning, as neither to be able to convert it to any common benefit, nor discover it in public. But why should it shame me, who have so lived for many years, that no advantage or case has ever diverted me, no pleasure allured me, nor sleep retarded me, from this pursuit. Who then can blame me, or who can justly be displeased with me, if I have employed that time in reviewing these studies, which has been spent by others in managing their affairs, in the celebration of festivals, or other diversions, in refreshments of mind and body." And this ought the rather to be allowed me, because my ability as an orator has been improved by those pursuits, which, such as it is, was never wanting to assist my friends. And if it be esteemed but small, yet I am sensible from what spring I must draw those things which are of the greatest importance." With more to the same purpose; from which he draws this inference: "Shall I not therefore love this man? shall I not admire him? shall I not by all means defend him?"

A contrary method to the former is, to descend from a general to a particular. As if any one, while speaking in commendation of eloquence, should illustrate what he says from the example of Cicero, and show the great services he did his country, and the honours he gained to himself, by his admirable skill in oratory. Our common way of judging of the nature of things is from what we observe in particular instances, by which we form general notions concerning them. When therefore we consider the character of Cicero, and the figure he made in the world, it leads us to conclude, there must be something very admirable in that art by which he became so celebrated. And this method he has taken himself in his oration for the Manilian law, where having first intimated the scarcity of good generals at that time among the Romans, he then describes the virtues of a complete commander as a proof of it, and shows how many and great qualifications are necessary to form such a character, as courage, prudence, experience, and success: all which he afterwards applies to Pompey.

A third method is by an enumeration of parts. So when Cicero, upon the defeat of Mark Antony before Mutina, proposed that a funeral monument should be erected in honour of the soldiers who were killed in that battle, as a comfort to their surviving relations; he does it in this way, to give it the greater weight: "Since (says he) the tribute of glory is paid to the best and most valiant citizens by the honour of a monument, let us thus comfort their relations, who will receive the greatest consolation in this manner: their parents, who produced such brave defenders of the state; their children, who will enjoy these domestic examples of fortitude; their wives, for the loss of such husbands, whom it will be more fitting to extol than lament; their brethren, who will hope to resemble them no less in their virtues than their aspect. And I wish we may be able to remove the grief of all these by our resolutions." Such representations greatly enlarge the image of a thing, and afford the mind a much clearer view of it than if it were contracted into one single proposition.

Again, another method not much unlike the former is, when any thing is illustrated from a variety of causes. Thus Cicero justifies his behaviour in retiring, and not opposing his enemies, when they spirited up the mob in order to banish him, from the following reasons, which at that time determined him to such a conduct: "When (says he) unless I was given up, so many armed fleets seemed ready to attack this single ship of the state, toiled with the tempests of seditions and discords, and the senate was now removed from the helm; when banishment, murder, and outrage, were threatened; when some, from an apprehension of their own danger, would not defend me; others were incited by an inveterate hatred to all good men, others thought I stood in the way, others took this opportunity to express their resentment, others envied the peace and tranquillity of the state; and upon all these accounts I was particularly struck at: should I have chosen rather to oppose them (I will not say to my own certain destruction, but to the greatest danger both of you and your children), than alone to submit to and undergo what threatened us all in common?" Such a number of reasons brought together, must set a thing in a very strong and clear light.

The like may be said of a number and variety of effects. Thus Cicero describes the force and excellence of oratory from its great and surprising effects, when he says, "Nothing seems to be more excellent, than by discourse to draw the attention of a whole assembly, delight them, and sway their inclinations different ways at pleasure. This, in every free state, and especially in times of peace and tranquillity, has been always in the highest esteem and reputation. For what is either so admirable, as for one only, or a very few, out of a vast multitude, to be able to do that which all have a natural power of doing? or so delightful to hear, as a judicious and solid discourse in florid and polite language? or so powerful and grand, as to influence the populace, the judges, the senate, by the charms of eloquence? Nay, what is so noble, so generous, so munificent, as to afford aid to supplicants, to support the afflicted, give safety, deliver from dangers, and preserve from exile? Or what is so necessary as to be always furnished with arms to guard yourself, assert your right, or repel injuries? And, not to confine our thoughts wholly to the courts of justice or the senate, what is there in the arts of peace more agreeable and entertaining than good language and a fine way of speaking? For it is this especially wherein we excel other animals, that we can discourse together, and convey our thoughts to each other by words. Who therefore would not esteem, and in a particular manner endeavour to surpass others in that wherein mankind principally excels brute beasts? But to proceed to its chief advantages: What else would have drawn men into societies, or taken them off from a wild and savage life, and soften them into a polite and civilized behaviour; or, when settled in communities, have restrained them by laws?" Who but, after such a description, must conceive the strongest passion for an art attended with so many great and good effects?

A thing may likewise be illustrated by its opposite. So the blessings and advantages of peace may be recommended from the miseries and calamities of war; and thus Cicero endeavours to throw contempt upon Catiline and his party, by comparing them with the contrary side: "But if, omitting all these things with which we abound, and they want, the senate, the knights, the populace, the city, treasuries, revenues, all Italy, the provinces, and foreign nations; if, I say, omitting these things, we compare the causes themselves in which each side is engaged, we may learn from thence how despicable they are.—For on this side modesty is engaged, on that impudence; on this chastity, on that lewdness; on this integrity, on that fraud; on this piety, on that profaneness; on this con- Elocution, constancy, on that fury; on this honour, on that baseness; on this moderation, on that unbridled passion:

In a word, equity, temperance, fortitude, prudence, and all virtues, contend with injustice, luxury, cowardice, rashness, and all vices; plenty with want; reason with folly; sobriety with madness; and, lastly, good hope with despair. In such a contest, did men desert us, would not heaven ordain that so many and so great vices should be defeated by these most excellent virtues?

Gradation is another beautiful way of doing this. So when Cicero would aggravate the cruelty and barbarity of Verres for crucifying a Roman citizen, which was a sort of punishment only inflicted upon slaves, he chooses this way of doing it. "It is a crime (says he) to bind a Roman citizen, wickedness to whip him, and a sort of parricide to kill him; what then must I call it to crucify him? No name can sufficiently express such a villany." And the images of thin may be thus heightened, either by ascending, as in this instance; or descending, as in that which follows, relating to the same action of Verres: "Was I not to complain of or bewail these things to Roman citizens, nor the friends of our state, nor those who had heard of the Roman name; nay, if not to men, but beasts; or, to go yet further, if in the most deserted wilderness, to stones and rocks; even all mute and inanimate creatures would be moved by so great and heinous cruelty."

And, to name no more, facts may be amplified from their circumstances; as time, place, manner, event, and the like. But instances of this would carry us too far; and therefore we shall only add, that, as the design of amplification is not merely to prove or evince the truth of things, but also to adorn and illustrate them, it requires a florid and beautiful style, consisting of strong and emphatic words, flowing periods, harmonious numbers, lively tropes, and bright figures. But the consideration of these things come under the third part of oratory, upon which we are now to enter.

PART III. OF ELOCUTION.

Elocution directs us to suit both the words and expressions of a discourse to the nature of the subject, or to speak with propriety and decency. This faculty is in one word called eloquence; and those persons who are possessed of it are therefore styled eloquent.

Elocution is twofold, general and particular. The former treats of the several properties and ornaments of language in common; the latter considers them as they are made use of to form different sorts of style.

I. GENERAL ELOCUTION.

This, according to rhetoricians, consists of three parts; Elegance, Composition, and Dignity. A discourse which has all these properties suitably adjusted, must, with respect to the language, be perfect in its kind, and delightful to the hearers.

CHAP. I. Of Elegance.

Elegance consists in two things, Purity and Perspicuity: And both these, as well with respect to single words, as their construction in sentences. These properties in language give it the name of elegant, for a like reason that we call other things so which are clean and neat in their kind. But in the common use of our tongue, we are apt to confound elegance with eloquence; and say, a discourse is elegant, when we mean by the expression, that it has all the properties of fine language.

§ I. Purity.

By this we are to understand the choice of such words and phrases as are suited and agreeable to the use of the language in which we speak: And so grammarians reduce the faults they oppose to it to two sorts, which they call barbarism and solecism; the former of which respects single words, and the latter their construction. But we shall consider them jointly, and in a manner different from grammarians; for with them all words are esteemed pure which are once adopted into a language, and authorized by use. And as to phrases, or forms of expression, they allow them all the same claim, which are agreeable to the analogy of the tongue. But in oratory, neither all words nor all expressions are so called which occur in language; but such only as come recommended by the authority of those who speak or write with accuracy and politeness. Indeed it is a common saying, that we should think with the learned, and speak with the vulgar. But the meaning of that expression is no more than that we should speak agreeably to the common usage of the tongue, that every one may understand us; and not choose such words or expressions as are either difficult to be understood, or may carry in them an appearance of affectation and singularity. But in order to set this matter in a clearer light, we shall here recount the principal things which vitiate the purity of language.

And first, it often happens, that such words and forms of speaking as were introduced by the learned are afterwards dropped by them as mean and foolish, from a seeming baseness contracted by vulgar use. For polite and elegant speakers distinguish themselves by their discourse, as persons of figure do by their garb; one being the dress of the mind, as the other is of the body. And hence it comes to pass, that both have their different fashions, which are often changed; and as the vulgar affect to imitate those above them in both, this frequently occasions an alteration when either becomes too trite and common. But beside these foolish words and expressions, which are rendered so by the use of the vulgar, there is another sort first introduced by them, which is carefully to be avoided by all those who are desirous to speak well. For the vulgar have their peculiar words and phrases, suited to their circumstances, and taken from such things as usually occur in their way of life. Thus in the old comedians, many things are spoken by servants, agreeable to their character, which would be very Elocution very unbecoming from the mouth of a gentleman.

And we cannot but daily observe the like instances among ourselves.

Again, this is common to language with all other human productions, that it is in its own nature liable to a constant change and alteration. For, as Horace has justly observed,

All human works shall waste; Then how can feeble words pretend to last.

Nothing could ever please all persons, or at least for any length of time. And there is nothing from which this can less be expected than language. For as the thoughts of men are exceedingly various, and words are the signs of their thoughts, they will be constantly inventing new signs to express them by, in order to convey their ideas with more clearness or greater beauty. If we look into the different ages of the Latin writers, what great alterations and changes do we find in their language? How few now understand the remaining fragments of the twelve tables? Nay, how many words do we meet with even in Plautus, the meaning of which has not yet been fixed with certainty by the skill of the best critics? And if we consider our own language, it will appear to have been in a manner entirely changed from what it was a few ages since. To mention no others, our celebrated Chaucer is to most persons now almost unintelligible, and wants an expositor. And even since our own memory, we cannot but have observed, that many words and expressions, which a few years ago were in common use, are now in a manner laid aside and antiquated; and that others have constantly succeeded, and daily do succeed, in their room. So true is that observation of the same poet:

Some words that have or else will feel decay Shall be restored, and come again in play; And words now fam'd shall not be fancied long; They shall not leave the ear, nor move the tongue: As use shall these approve, and those condemn; Use, the sole rule of speech, and judge supreme.

We must therefore no less abstain from antiquated or obsolete words and phrases, than from forlorn ones. Though all old words are not to be thought antiquated. By the former we mean such as, though of an ancient standing, are not yet entirely disused nor their signification lost. And from the use of these we are not to be wholly debarred, especially when they appear more significant than any others we can fix upon. But as to phrases or expressions, greater caution seems still necessary: and such as are old should doubtless, if at all, be used more sparingly. The Latin tongue was brought to its greatest perfection in the reign of Augustus, or somewhat sooner; and he himself studied it very carefully. For, as Suetonius tells us, "He applied himself to eloquence, and the study of the liberal arts, from his childhood, with great diligence and labour. He chose a manner of speaking which was smooth and elegant: he avoided the ill favour, as he used to call it, of antiquated words; and he was wont to blame Tiberius for his affectation of them." In our own language, such words are to be esteemed antiquated, which the most polite persons have dropped, both in their discourse and writings; whose example we should follow, unless we would be thought to con-

But further: As on the one hand we must avoid obsolete words and phrases; so, on the other, we should refrain from new ones, or such whose use has not yet been sufficiently established, at least among those of the best taste. Words may be considered as new in two respects; either when they are first brought into a language, or when they are used in a new sense. As the former of these may sometimes leave us in the dark by not being understood, so the latter are most apt to mislead us; for when we hear a word that has been familiar to us, we are presently led to fix that idea to it with which it has usually been attended. And therefore, in both cases, some previous intimation may be necessary. Cicero, who perhaps enlarged the furniture of the Roman tongue more than any one person besides, appears always very cautious how he introduces anything new, and generally gives notice of it when he attempts it, as appears in many instances scattered through his works. What bounds we are now to fix to the purity of the Latin tongue in the use of it, the learned are not well agreed. It is certain, our furniture is much less than when it was a living language, and therefore the greater liberty must of necessity be sometimes taken. So that their opinion seems not unadvisable, who direct us to make choice principally of what we are furnished with from the writers of the Augustan age; and, where we cannot be supplied from them, to make use of such authors as lived nearest to them, either before or since. And as to our own tongue, it is certainly prudent to be as careful how we admit any thing into it that is unseemly or disagreeable to its genius, as the ancient Romans were into theirs; for the perfection of a language does in a great measure consist in a certain analogy and harmony running through the whole, by which it may be capable of being brought to a standard.

But besides those things already mentioned, any mistake in the sense of words, or their construction, is opposed to purity. For to speak purely, is to speak correctly. And such is the nature of these faults in elocution, that they are often not so easy to be observed by hearing as by reading. Whence it is, that many persons are thought to speak better than they write; for while they are speaking, many slips and inaccuracies escape disregarded, which in reading would plentifully appear. And this is more especially the case of persons unacquainted with arts and literature; who, by the assistance of a lively fancy and flow of words, often speak with great ease and freedom, and by that means leave the ear; when, at the same time, what they say, would not to well bear reading.

We shall only add, that a distinction ought likewise to be made between a poetical diction and that of prose writers. For poets in all languages have a sort of peculiar dialect, and take greater liberties, not only in their figures, but also in their choice and disposition of words; so that what is a beauty in them would often appear unnatural and affected in prose.

§ 2. Of Perspicuity.

Perspicuity, as well as purity, consists partly in perspicuity explained single words, and partly in their construction.

1. As stated. I. As to single words, those are generally clearest and best understood which are used in their proper sense. But it requires no small attention and skill to be well acquainted with the force and propriety of words; which ought to be duly regarded, since the perspicuity of a discourse depends so much upon it. Caesar seems plainly to have been of this mind, when he tells us, "The foundation of eloquence consists in the choice of words." It may not be amiss, therefore, to lay down some few observations, by which the distinct notions of words and their peculiar force may more easily be perceived. All words may be divided into proper words and tropes. Those are called proper words, which are expressed in their proper and usual sense. And tropes are such words as are applied to some other thing than what they properly denote, by reason of some similitude, relation, or contrariety between the two things. So, when a subtle artful man is called a fox, the reason of the name is founded in a similitude of qualities. If we say, Cicero will always live, meaning his works, the cause is transferred to the effect. And when we are told, Caesar conquered the Gauls, we understand that he did it with the assistance of his army; where a part is put for the whole, from the relation between them. And when Cicero calls Antony a fine guardian of the state, every one perceives he means the contrary. But the nature and use of tropes will be explained more fully hereafter in their proper place. All words must at first have had one original and primary signification, which, strictly speaking, may be called their proper sense. But it sometimes happens through length of time, that words lose their original signification, and assume a new one, which then becomes their proper sense. So bohls in the Latin tongue at first signified a stranger; but afterwards that sense of the word was entirely laid aside, and it was used to denote a public enemy. And in our language, it is well known, that the word knave anciently signified a servant. The reason of the change seems to be much the same, as in that of the Latin word lato; which first signified a soldier, but afterwards a robber. Besides, in all languages it has frequently happened, that many words have gradually varied from their first sense to others somewhat different; which may, notwithstanding, all of them, when rightly applied, be looked upon as proper. Nay, in processes of time, it is often difficult to say which is the original, or most proper sense. Again, sometimes two or more words may appear to have the same signification with each other, and may therefore be used indifferently; unless the beauty of the period, or some other particular reason, determine to the choice of one rather than another. Of this kind are the words ensis and gladius in the Latin tongue; and in ours, pity and compassion. And there are other words of so near an affinity to each other, or at least appear so from vulgar use, that they are commonly thought to be synonymous. Such are the words mercy and pity; though mercy in its strict sense is exercised towards an offender, and pity respects one in distress. In this peculiar force and distinction of words is carefully to be attended to, so it may be known several ways. Thus the proper signification of substantives may be seen by their application to other substantives. As in the instance just now given, a person is said to show mercy to a criminal, and pity to one in distress. And in the Elocution, like manner, verbs are distinguished, by being joined to some certain nouns, and not to others. So a person is said to command an inferior, to treat a superior, and to desire an equal. Adjectives also, which denote the properties of things, have their signification determined by those subjects to which they most properly relate. Thus we say, an honest mind, and a healthy body; a wise man, and a fine house. Another way of distinguishing the propriety of words, is by their use in gradations. As if one should say, hatreds, grudges, quarrels, tumults, seditions, wars, spring from unbridled passions. The proper sense of words may likewise be known by observing to what other words they are either opposed, or used as equivalent. So in that passage of Cicero, where he says, "I cannot perceive why you should be angry with me: If it be because I defend him whom you accuse, why may not I be displeased with you for accusing him whom I defend? You say, I accuse my enemy; and I say, I defend my friend." Here the words accuse and defend, friend and enemy, are opposed; and to be angry and displeased, are used as terms equivalent. Lastly, the derivation of words contributes very much to determine their true meaning. Thus because the word manners comes from the word man, it may properly be applied either to that or any other put for it. And therefore we say, the manners of men, and the manners of the age, because the word age is there used for the men of the age. But if we apply the word manners to any other animal, it is a trope. By these and such like observations we may perceive the proper sense and peculiar force of words, either by their connection with other words, distinction from them, opposition to them, equivalency with them, or derivation. And by thus fixing their true and genuine signification, we shall easily see when they become tropes. But though words, when taken in their proper signification, generally convey the plainest and clearest sense; yet some are more forcible, sonorous, or beautiful, than others. And by these considerations we must often be determined in our choice of them. So whether we say, he got, or he obtained, the victory, the sense is the same; but the latter is more full and sonorous. In Latin, timo signifies I fear; pertimo is more full and significant; and pertimeo more sonorous than either of the former. The Latin and Greek languages have much the advantage of ours in this respect, by reason of their compositions; by the help of which they can often express that in one word, for which we are obliged to put two words, and sometimes more. So pertimo cannot be fully expressed in our language by one word; but we are forced to join one or two particles to the verb, to convey its just idea, and say, I greatly, or very much fear: and yet even then we scarce seem to reach its full force. As to tropes, though generally speaking they are not to be chosen where plainness and perspicuity of expression is only desired, and proper words may be found; yet through the penury of all languages, the use of them is often made necessary. And some of them, especially metaphors, which are taken from the similitude of things, may, when custom has rendered them familiar, be considered as proper words, and used in their stead. Thus, whether we say, I see your meaning, or, I understand your meaning, the sense is equally clear, though... the latter expression is proper, and the former metaphorical, by which the action of seeing is transferred from the eyes to the mind.

II. But perspicuity arises not only from a choice of single words, but likewise from the construction of them in sentences. For the meaning of all the words in a sentence, considered by themselves, may be very plain and evident; and yet, by reason of a disorderly placing them, or confusion of the parts, the sense of the whole may be very dark and obscure. Now it is certain, that the most natural order is the plainest; that is, when both the words and parts of a sentence are so disposed, as best agrees with their mutual relation and dependence upon each other. And where this is changed, as is usually done, especially in the ancient languages, for the greater beauty and harmony of the periods; yet due regard is had by the best writers to the evidence and perspicuity of the expression.

But to set this subject in a clearer light, on which the perfection of language so much depends, we shall mention some few things which chiefly occasion obscurity; and this either with respect to single words, or their construction.

And first, all ambiguity of expression is one cause of obscurity. This sometimes arises from the different senses in which a word is capable of being taken. So we are told, that upon Cicero's addressing himself to Octavius Caesar, when he thought himself in danger from his resentment, and reminding him of the many services he had done him, Octavius replied, He came the last of his friends. But there was a designed ambiguity in the word last, as it might either respect the time of his coming, or the opinion he had of his friendship. And this use of ambiguous words we sometimes meet with, not only in poetry, where the turn and wit of an epigram often rests upon it; but likewise in prose, either for pleasantry or ridicule. Thus Cicero calls Sextus Clodius the light of the senate; which is a compliment he pays to several great men, who had distinguished themselves by their public services to their country. But Sextus, who had a contrary character, was a relation of P. Clodius, whose dead body, after he had been killed by Milo, he carried in a tumultuous manner into the senate-house, and there burnt it with the senators' benches, in order to inflame the populace against Milo. And it is in allusion to that riotous action, that Cicero, using this ambiguous expression, calls him the light of the senate. In such instances, therefore, it is a beauty, and not the fault we are cautioning against; as the same thing may be either good or bad, as it is differently applied.—Though even in such designed ambiguities, where one sense is aimed at, it ought to be sufficiently plain, otherwise they lose their intention. And in all serious discourses they ought carefully to be avoided. But obscurity more frequently arises from the ambiguous construction of words, which renders it difficult to determine in what sense they are to be taken. Quintilian gives us this example of it: "A certain man ordered in his will, that his heir should erect for him a statue holding a spear made of gold." A question arises here, of great consequence to the heir from the ambiguity of the expression, whether the words made of gold are to be applied to the statue or the spear; that is, whether it was the design of the testator by this appointment, that the whole statue, or only the spear, should be made of gold. A small note of distinction, differently placed between the parts of this sentence, would clear up the doubt, and determine the sense either way. For if one comma be put after the word statue, and another after spear, the words made of gold must be referred to the statue, as if it had been said, a statue made of gold, holding a spear. But if there be only the first comma placed after statue, it will limit the words made of gold to the spear only; in the same sense as if it had been said, A statue holding a golden spear. And either of these ways of expression would in this case have been preferable, for avoiding the ambiguity, according to the intention of the testator. The ancient heathen oracles were generally delivered in such ambiguous terms. Which, without doubt, were so contrived on purpose, that those who gave out the answers might have room left for an evasion. See Oracle.

Again, obscurity is occasioned either by too short and concise a manner of speaking, or by sentences too long and prolix; either of these extremes have sometimes this bad consequence. We find an instance of the former in Pliny the elder, where speaking of heliobore, he says, "They forbid it to be given to aged persons and children, and less to women than men." The verb is wanting in the latter part of the sentence, and less to women than men: which in such cases being usually supplied from what went before, would stand thus; and they forbid it to be given less to women than men. But this is directly contrary to the sense of the writer, whose meaning is, either that it is ordered to be given in a less quantity to women than men, or not so frequently to women as men. And therefore the word order is here to be supplied, which being of a contrary signification to forbid, expressed in the former part of the sentence, occasions the obscurity. That long periods are often attended with the same ill effect, must be so obvious to every one's experience, that it would be entirely needless to produce any examples in order to evince the truth of it. And therefore we shall only observe, that the best way of preventing this seems to be by dividing such sentences as exceed a proper length into two or more; which may generally be done without much trouble.

Another cause of obscurity, not inferior to any yet mentioned, is parentheses, when it is either too long or too frequent. This of Cicero, in his oration on Sylla, is longer than we usually find in him: "O immortal gods! (for I must attribute to you what is your own; nor indeed can I claim so much to my own abilities, as to have been able of myself to go through so many, so great, such different affairs, with that expedition, in that boisterous tempest of the state), you inflamed my mind with a desire to save my country." But where any obscurity arises from such sentences, they may frequently be remedied by much the same means as was just now hinted concerning long and prolix periods; that is, by separating the parenthesis from the rest of the sentence, and placing it either before or after. So in this sentence of Cicero, the parenthesis may stand last, in the following manner:— "O immortal gods! you inflamed my mind with a desire to save my country: for I must attribute to you what is your own; nor indeed can I claim so much to my..." my own abilities, as to have been able of myself to go through so many, so great, such different affairs, with that expedition, in that boisterous tempest of the state." This order of the sentence is very plain, and less involved than the former.

Chap. II. Of Composition.

Composition, in the sense it is here used, gives rules for the structure of sentences, with the several members, words, and syllables, of which they consist, in such a manner as may best contribute to the force, beauty, and evidence of the whole.

Composition consists of four parts, which rhetoricians call period, order, juncture, and number. The first of these treats of the structure of sentences; the second, of the parts of sentences, which are words and members; and the two last, of the parts of words, which are letters and syllables. For all articulate sounds, and even the most minute parts of language, come under the cognizance of oratory.

§ I. Of Period.

In every sentence or proposition, something is said of something. That of which something is said, logicians call the subject, and that which is said of it, the predicate: but in grammatical terms, the former is a noun substantive of the nominative case, and the latter a finite verb, denoting affirmation, and some state of being, acting, or suffering. These two parts may of themselves constitute a sentence: As when we say, "The sun shines," or "The clock strikes," the word sun and clock are the subject of these expressions, shines and strikes imply each the copula and predicate. Most commonly, however, the noun and the verb are accompanied with other words, which in grammatical construction are said either to be connected with or to depend upon them; but in a logical consideration they denote some property or circumstance relating to them. As in the following sentence: A good man loves virtue for itself. The subject of this sentence is a good man; and the predicate, or thing affirmed of him, that he loves virtue for itself. But the two principal or necessary words, on which all the rest depend, are man and loves. Now a simple sentence consists of one such noun and verb, with whatever else is joined to either or both of them. And a compound sentence contains two or more of them; and may be divided into so many distinct propositions, as there are such nouns and verbs, either expressed or understood. So in the following sentence, Compliance gains friends, but truth procures hatred, there are two members, each of which contains in it an entire proposition. For, Compliance gains friends is one complete sentence, and Truth procures hatred is another; which are connected into one compound sentence by the particle but. Moreover, it frequently happens, that compound sentences are made up of such parts or members, some if not all of which are themselves compounded, and contain in them two or more simple members. Such is that of Sallust: "Ambition has betrayed many persons into deceit; to say one thing, and to mean another; to found friendship and enmity, not upon reason, but interest; and to be more careful to appear honest, than really to be so." This sentence consists of four members; the last of which three, consisting of opposite parts, are all compound-ed, as will appear by expressing them at length in the following manner: Ambition has betrayed many persons into deceit; [that is, ambition] has betrayed them to say one thing, and to mean another; it has betrayed them to found friendship and enmity, not upon reason, but interest; and it has betrayed them to be more careful to appear honest, than really to be so. The three last of these members, beginning with the words it betrays, are all of them compounded, and consist of two opposite members; which might each of them be expressed at length in the same manner, by supplying the ellipsis. As, Ambition has betrayed many persons to say one thing, and it has betrayed them to mean another. And so of the rest. From this instance we see how much is left to be supplied by the mind in all discourse, which if expressed would both destroy its harmony and render it exceedingly tedious. But still regard must be had to that which is omitted, so as to render what is said consistent with it; otherwise there can be no propriety in what is spoken. Nor can the members of a sentence be distinguished and duly ranged in their proper order, without this. But to proceed: Some sentences consist either wholly, or in part, of such members as contain in them two or more compound ones, which may therefore, for distinction's sake, be called decomposed members.—Of this kind is that of Cicero, in his defence of Milo: "Great is the force of conscience, great either way: that those persons are not afraid who have committed no offence; and those who have offended always think punishment present before their eyes." The latter member of this sentence, which begins with the word that, contains in it two compound members, which represent the different state of mind between innocent and guilty persons. And it is in the proper distinction and separation of the members in such complex sentences, that the art of pointing chiefly consists. For the principal use of a comma is to divide the simple members, a semicolon the compound ones, a colon such as are decomposed, and a period the whole from the following sentence. We mention this rather, to show the different acceptation of these terms by grammarians, from that of the ancient writers upon oratory. For these latter apply them to the sense, and not to any points of distinction. A very short member, whether simple or compound, with them is a comma, and a longer a colon; for they have no such term as a semicolon. Besides, they call a very short sentence, whether simple or compound, a comma, and one of somewhat a greater length, a colon. And therefore, if a person expressed himself either of these ways in any considerable number of sentences together, he was said to speak by commas or colons. But a sentence containing more words than will consist with either of these terms, they call a simple period; the least compound period with them requiring the length of two colons. However, this way of denominating sentences, and the parts of them, rather from their length than the nature of them, appearing not so suitable, we have chosen rather to make use of the terms simple and compound members; and to call all those compound periods, which contain two or more members, whether simple or compound.

But to proceed: Sentences, with respect to their form or composition, are distinguished into two sorts, called called by Cicero *traida*, "straight or direct;" and *contorta*, "bent or winding." By the former are meant those whose members follow each other in a direct order, without any inflection; and by the latter, those which strictly speaking are called periods. For *περίστατος* in Greek signifies a circuit or circle. And so the Latins call it *circuitus* and *ambitus*. By which both of them mean a sentence consisting of correspondent parts, so framed, that the voice in pronouncing them may have a proper elevation and cadency, and distinguish them by its inflection; and as the latter part returns back, and unites with the former, the period, like a circle, surrounds and incloses the whole sentence. This elevation of the voice in the former part of the period, is by the Greeks called *προπραγμένος*, and by the Latins *propositio*; and the depression of it in the latter part, by the one *ἀναβολή*, and by the other *reductio*.

Now as simple sentences have not these correspondent parts, which require any inflection of the voice; nor a circular form, by reason of their brevity; they are not properly periods, in the strict sense of the word: though in common speech, the words *sentence* and *period* are often used as equivalent terms. Thus, if we say, *Generous minds are incited to the performance of noble exploits from motives of glory*; here is no distinction of parts, nor inflection of the voice in this sentence. And indeed there is not anything which relates to the structure of these sentences, but what will more properly be taken notice of in the second part of composition, which is order.

And as to those compound sentences, whose members follow each other in a direct order, without any inflection, there is little art required in their composition. We shall produce one example of this kind from Cicero: "Natural reason inclines men to mutual converse and society; and implants in them a strong affection for those who spring from them; and excites them to form communities, and join in public assemblies; and, for these ends, to endeavour to procure both the necessaries and conveniences of life; and that not for themselves only, but likewise for their wives, children, and others who are dear to them, and have a right to their assistance." Here are five short members in this sentence, placed in a series, without any inflection of the parts, or orbit of the whole. And as such sentences have no other boundary but the conclusion of the sentence, suited to the breath of the speaker, he may either contract or lengthen them at pleasure, without offending the ear. So, should the sentence last mentioned conclude with the first member in this manner, *Natural reason inclines men to mutual converse and society*; the sentence would be perfect, and the ear satisfied. The case would be the same at the end of the second member, thus: *Natural reason inclines men to mutual converse and society, and implants in them a strong affection for those who spring from them.* And the like may be said of the rest. Since such sentences therefore may be thus limited at pleasure, it seems more convenient both for the speaker and hearers to confine them to a moderate length.

But because the principal art relating to this part of composition lies in the frame and structure of such compound sentences as are properly called periods, we shall treat upon these somewhat more largely. In the formation of these periods, two things are chiefly to be regarded; their length, and cadency. As the length ought to be suited to the breath of the speaker, the ancient rhetoricians scarce admit of more than four colonos; by which we may here understand compound members of a moderate size, which will be generally found a suitable and proportionate length. For to extend them farther than the voice can well manage must be painful to the speaker, and of consequence unpleasant to the hearers. As to the cadency, what Cicero has observed, is found true by experience, that the ears judge what is full and what is deficient; and direct us to fill up our periods, that nothing be wanting of what they expect. When the voice is raised at the beginning of a sentence, they are in suspense till it be finished; and are pleased with a full and just cadency, but are sensible of any defect, and are displeased with redundancy. Therefore care must be taken that periods be neither deficient, and as it were maimed, that is, that they do not drop before their time, and deafen the ears of what seemed to be promised them; nor, on the other hand, offend them by too long and immoderate excursions. This rise and cadency of the voice in pronunciation, depend on the nature and situation of the members, as we shall endeavour to show by particular instances; in the explication of which, by the word members, are to be understood such as are uncompounded. In a period of two members, the turn of the voice begins with the latter member. Of this kind is the following sentence of Cicero: "If impudence prevailed as much in the forum and courts of justice, as insolence does in the country and places of less resort; Aulus Caecina would submit as much to the impudence of Sextus Eubutius in this cause, as he did before to his insolence when assaulted by him." Here the cadency begins at the words *Aulus Caecina*. If a sentence consist of three members, the inflection is best made at the end of the second member; for if it begin immediately after the first, the voice will be either apt to sink too low, and not to be heard, before it reach the end; or else be precipitated, in order to prevent it. Cicero begins his oration for Milo with a sentence of this form: "Although I fear, it may be a shame to be dismayed at the entrance of my discourse in defence of a most valiant man; and that it nowise becomes me, while Milo is more concerned for the safety of the state than for himself, not to show the same greatness of mind in his behalf; yet this new form of prosecution terrifies my eyes, which, whatever way they turn, want the ancient custom of the forum, and former manner of trials." Here the cadency beginning at the third member with the word *yet*, makes a proper division of the sentence, and easy for the speaker. But a period of four members is reckoned the most complete and perfect, where the inflection begins at the middle, that is, with the third member. Nor is it the same case here, as if, in a sentence of three members, the cadency be made at the second. For in proportion to the time of raising the voice may the space be allowed for its sinking. The following sentence of Cicero gives us an instance of this, where he speaks to his son: "Although, son Mark, having now been an hearer of Cratippus for a year, and this at Athens, you ought to abound in the precepts and doctrines of philosophy," philosophy, by reason of the great character both of your instructor and the city; one of which can furnish you with knowledge, and the other with examples: yet, as I always to my advantage joined the Latin tongue with the Greek, and have done it not only in oratory, but likewise in philosophy; I think you ought to do the same, that you may be equally conversant in both languages." The turn in this period begins at the word yet; which, standing near the middle, the voice is raised to that pitch in pronouncing the former part, as to admit of a gradual cadency, without being lost before the conclusion of the sentence. But where the sense does not suit with this division at the entrance upon the third member, it is best made at the fourth. Such is the following sentence of Cicero: "If I have any genius, which I am sensible is very small; or any readiness in speaking, wherein I do not deny but I have been much conversant; or any skill in oratory, from an acquaintance with the best arts, to which I confess I have been always inclined: no one has a better right to demand of me the fruit of all these things, than this Aulus Læcinus." The cadency of this sentence does not begin till the words no one; yet it ends handsomely, and without disappointing the ear. Though indeed the three first members having each of them an inflection, check the elevation of the voice, and by that variety in the pronunciation add to the harmony of the sentence. An equality of the members should likewise be attended to in the composition of a period, the better to adjust their rise and cadency. And for this reason, in sentences of three members, where the cadency begins with the third; or in those of four members, where it begins at the fourth; it promotes the harmony to make the last member longest. This is properly the nature of rhetorical periods, which when rightly formed have both an equal beauty and dignity in their composition.

But as all discourse is made up of distinct sentences, and whenever we express our thoughts it is in some of the forms above-mentioned; so the use of them is not promiscuous, but suited to answer different designs in speaking. And in this view they are considered and made use of by the orator, as will be shown hereafter.

§ 2. Of Order.

By order, rhetoricians mean the placing each word and member of a sentence in such a manner as will most contribute to the force, beauty, or evidence of the whole.

s of two kinds, natural and artificial. And each of these may be considered with respect to the parts either of simple or compound sentences.

As to simple sentences, we may call that order natural, when all the words in a sentence are so placed, as they are connected with or follow each other in a grammatical construction. And it may properly enough admit of this name, as it is founded in the nature of a proposition, and the relation of the several words of which it consists to each other. This we explained in the last chapter, and illustrated by proper examples; and shall therefore only give one instance of it here, to introduce the subject we are now upon. And it is this: The fame of Socrates excited Aristotle to the profession of oratory. Here these words, the fame of Socrates, contain the subject of this sentence, with Elocution what relates to it; and all those which follow, excited Aristotle to the profession of oratory, make up the predicate and its dependants. And in both parts each word grammatically considered stands in its proper order of construction. And this seems agreeable to the natural way of conveying our thoughts, which leads us first to express the subject or thing of which some other thing is said, before the predicate or that which is said concerning it; and with respect to both, as every idea succeeds another in the order of our conceptions, to range it in the same order when we communicate them to others. Our language in the general keeps pretty much to this method. But in one thing particularly it recedes from it; and that is, in placing adjectives, which denote the properties of things, before their substantives or subjects, whose properties they are: As when it is said, Evil communication corrupts good manners. And this we always do, except something follows which depends upon the adjective. So we say, He was a man eminent for his virtue: not an eminent man.

Artificial order, as it respects simple sentences, has little or no regard to the natural construction of words; but disposes them in such a manner as will be most agreeable to the ear, and best answer the design of the speaker. The Latins take a much greater liberty in this respect than we do, or than the nature of our language will permit. Quintilian says, it is best for the verb to stand last, when there is no particular reason to the contrary. And he gives this reason for it, because the force of the sentence lies in the verb. So that, according to him, they seem to have had this view in putting the verb at the end; that as the whole sentence is imperfect without the verb, the mind being thus held in suspense might receive the deeper impression from it at last. They likewise separate such words as have an immediate relation between them or dependence one upon another, and place any of them first or last as they please. In short, their order seems in a manner arbitrary, if it does not break in upon perspicuity, to which they usually attend. But most of these things are unsuitable to the genius of our language. One might say indeed, Convince him you cannot; instead of saying, You cannot convince him: Or, With my own eyes I saw it; for, I saw it with my own eyes. And again: In proportion to the increase of luxury the Roman state declined; for, The Roman state declined in proportion to the increase of luxury. But this inversion of words is proper in English composition only when it gives force to the expression; as in the higher style it often does. It serves to impress known truths upon the mind, but is unfit for communicating the first principles of knowledge.

As to compound sentences, that is, such as consist of two or more members, either simple or compound; what relates to the words in each member separately is the same as in simple sentences. But with regard to the disposition of the several members, that may be called the natural order, which so places them as they mutually depend on each other. Thus the antecedent member naturally precedes the relative; as in this expression, Men are apt to forgive themselves what they blame in others. In hypothetical sentences the conditional member naturally stands first. Thus: If Socrates be a rational creature, he is a man. That Elocution. member which expresses the effect of an action naturally comes last; as, *Though you offer ever so good reasons, you will not prevail with him.* The like may be said of time, with regard to things done in it; as, *The Roman eloquence soon declined, when Cicero was dead.* And to name no more, the reason of a thing naturally follows that of which it is the reason; as thus: *All the pleasures of life must be uncertain, since life itself is not secure.*

When this order is inverted, it may be styled artificial. So to keep to the instances already given, the two members in the first sentence may be thus inverted: *What they blame in others men are apt to forgive themselves.* In the second, in this manner: *Socrates is a man, if he be a rational creature.* In the third, thus: *You will not prevail with him, though you offer ever so good reasons.* And so in the rest: As, *When Cicero was dead, the Roman eloquence soon declined,* and, *Since life itself is not secure, all the pleasures of life must be uncertain.*

The variety of inversions in a sentence may generally be greater or less in proportion to the number of its members. In the following sentence of Cicero, the natural order seems to be this: *If that greatness of mind be void of justice, which shows itself in dangers and labours, it is blamable.* Which may be varied by changing the place of the first and third member, in the following manner: *That greatness of mind is blamable which shows itself in dangers and labours, if it want justice.* Or by altering the place of all the three members thus: *That greatness of mind is blamable, if it be void of justice, which shows itself in dangers and labours.* But oftentimes one member may be included in another, as in the instance here given: *If that greatness of mind, which shows itself in dangers and labours, be void of justice, it is blamable.* Here the relative member is included in the conditional, which is placed first, and the antecedent member follows both. But in Cicero it stands thus: *That greatness of mind, which shows itself in dangers and labours, if it want justice, is blamable,* where the relative and conditional members are both included in the antecedent member.

The Latin tongue commonly admits of a much greater variety in the transposition of members, as well as in that of single words, than suits with our idiom. In the following sentence the natural order is much preferable, as it best suits with the proper elevation and cadency of the voice in its pronunciation: *I am willing to remit all that is past, provided it may be done with safety.* But should we invert the members, and say, *Provided it may be done with safety, I am willing to remit all that is past,* the harmony of the cadency would be lost. And if the latter member be included in the former, the alteration will still be worse; as, *I am willing, provided it may be done with safety, to forgive all that is past.* Here the inflection of the voice falls upon the same member as before, and destroys the beauty of the period by its elevation afterwards. Some sentences admit of no involution of their members. Such are those whose members are connected by conjunctive or disjunctive particles. As, *Virtue furnishes the mind with the truest pleasure in prosperity,* and affords it the greatest comfort in adversity. And, *A wise man is neither elated by prosperity, nor depressed by adversity.* And the like may be said of those where the latter member begins with some illative or redditive particle.

As in these instances: *The chief thing to be regarded in life is virtue,* for all other things are vain and uncertain. And, *Though fortune is always inconsistent, yet she has many votaries.* Neither of the members in any of these ways of expression, and some others which might be named, can be included one in the other. In all the examples hitherto given, the sentences consist only of simple members; and indeed compound members are not so often inverted, nor included one in another, by reason of their length. However, we shall here produce one instance of each: *Whoever considers the uncertainty of human affairs, and how frequently the greatest hopes are frustrated; he will see just reason to be always on his guard,* and not place too much dependence upon things so precarious. This sentence consists of two compound members, which here stand in their natural order, but may be thus inverted: *He will see just reason to be always on his guard,* and not place too much dependence on things so precarious; whoever considers the uncertainty of human affairs, and how often the greatest hopes are frustrated. In the following sentence one compound member is included in another: *Let us not conclude, noble dangers are at a distance,* and do not immediately approach us; that we are secure; unless we use all necessary precaution to prevent them. Here the natural order would be: *While dangers are at a distance,* and do not immediately approach us; let us not conclude, that we are secure, unless we use all necessary precaution to prevent them.

But there are some other considerations relating to order, which, being taken from the nature of things, equally suit all languages. So, in amplifying, there should be a constant gradation from a least to a greater; as when Cicero says, *Ambition creates hatred, feigns, disorders, seditions,* and *wars.* On the contrary, in extenuating, we should descend from a greater to a least; as if, speaking of the ancient laws of Rome, one should say, *They were so far from suffering a Roman citizen to be put to death, that they would not allow him to be wished, or even to be bound.* In constituting any whole, we put the parts first; as, *Invention, disposition, elocution,* and pronunciation, make up the art of oratory. But in separating any whole, the parts follow: as, *The art of oratory may be divided into these four parts; invention, disposition, elocution,* and pronunciation. In every enumeration care must be taken not to mix the whole with the parts; but if it be mentioned at all, it must either be put first or last. So it would be wrong to say, *He owns a man of the greatest prudence, virtue, justice,* and *modesty:* for the word *virtue* here contains in it the other three, and therefore should not be inserted among them. See Language, No. 17.

§ 3. Of Juncture and Number.

Quintilian, speaking of composition, represents a discourse as very happy in that respect, when the order, juncture, and number, are all just and proper. The first of these, which gives rules for the due placing of the words and members of a sentence, has been already explained. We now proceed to the other two, which relate to letters and syllables; the former treating of their connection, and the latter of their quantity. I. As to juncture. A due attention is to be paid to the nature of the vowels, consonants, and syllables in the connection of words, with regard to the nature and use found.

As to the first, when a word ends with a vowel, and the next begins either with a different vowel, or the same repeated, it usually renders the pronunciation hollow and unpleasing. For, as Quintilian has justly observed, "This makes a chasm in the sentence, and flops the course of it." For there must be some pause, in order to pronounce them both, otherwise the sound of one will be lost. So, for instance, in pronouncing these words, the other day, unless you stop a little after the word the, the sound of e will not be heard; and if it is dropped, it will occasion a rougher sound, from the aspiration of th twice repeated so near together, as the other day. Therefore to prevent both these inconveniences, we usually say, the other day. But the different consonants, which together with the vowels make up those syllables, often cause a considerable difference in the pronunciation, so as to render it more or less agreeable. As, if we say, he overdid it, the words he over have not so harsh a sound, as the other; though still they require some pause to keep them distinct. Besides, some vowels meet more amicably, and admit of a softer pronunciation, than others. Those which have the weakest and smallest sound, follow best; because they occasion the least alteration of the organ in forming the two sounds. Such are e and i; and therefore, without any chasm in the sound or hesitation of the voice, we say, he is. But where the action of the organs is greater, and the sound stronger, the pronunciation is more difficult: as when we say, tho' all. For here is a contrary motion of the lips, which are first put forward in sounding the o, and then drawn backward to pronounce the a; and therefore the sound is much softer to say, tho' every, where their action is less. And the like ill effect commonly happens from the repetition of the same vowel: as if we say, go on; or, you usually act thus. There is a considerable difference between these two expressions, in repeating the sound of the vowel, and where either of them is doubled in a single word. For then the same sound only is protracted by one continued motion of the organ; as in the words good, and deem. But here the sound is repeated again by a new action of the organ; which, if precipitated, obscures the sound of one of the vowels; and, if too much retarded, makes a chasm in the pronunciation; either of which is unpleasant to the ear.

But as the coalition of two vowels occasions an hollow and obscure sound, so the meeting of some consonants renders it very harsh and rough. Thus the words king Xerxes, and public good, when so placed have not only a roughness, but likewise a difficulty in their pronunciation, from the contrary action of the lips; which in the former are first drawn back and then forward, but in the latter the contrary way, and in both of them with some considerable force. But this may very easily be avoided, by saying, with a little alteration in the words, Xerxes the king, and the good of the public. So likewise the words ill company, have a softer sound than bad company, for the same reason. To multiply instances of this kind seems unnecessary, which so frequently occur in all discourses.

The repetition of the same syllable, at the end and beginning of words, is the last thing to be considered. And a little observation will convince us, that where this happens, it generally renders the sound either confused or unpleasing. Cicero was often rallied on account of this verse:

O fortunatam natam me confule Romam.

Every one will easily perceive a disagreeable sound in the following expression: "A man many times does that unadvisedly, of which he afterwards repents." The chime of the words man many both seems affected, and displeases the ear. But this will soon be remedied, if we separate those two words, and say, "A man does that many times unadvisedly."

From the short account here given of this part of composition, it is easy to perceive what things are necessary to render it most complete and accurate; which are these following. If a word end with a vowel, the next ought to begin with a consonant, or such a vowel whose sound may agree well with the former. But if a word conclude with a consonant, either a vowel should follow, or such a consonant whose pronunciation will suit with it. And lastly, the same syllable ought not to be repeated at the end of one word, and the beginning of the next. It has been observed by some critics, that the following verse at the beginning of Virgil's Aeneid has all these properties:

Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris.

Where any word in this verse ends with a vowel, the next begins with a consonant; and where any one ends with a consonant, the next begins with a vowel; and there is no repetition of the same sound throughout the whole. But this is what rarely happens, especially in our language, which abounds with consonants. And what Quintilian says of the coalition of vowels, in treating upon this subject, seems applicable to the whole. "This (says he) is a thing not much to be dreaded; and I know not whether the neglect of it, or too great a concern about it, be worse. It necessarily checks the vigour of the mind, and diverts it from matters of greater importance. And therefore, as it shows negligence to permit it, so to be in constant fear of it discovers a low genius." This was the opinion of that judicious writer. And as these things cannot always be attended to, it may be sufficient to avoid them, where they prove very offensive to the ear, and it may be done without some greater inconvenience. So in this sentence, Honesty is the best policy, the coalition of t and p in the two last words best policy produces a roughness in their pronunciation; but as the expression is strong, and cannot perhaps be well altered for the better, the sound here ought to give way to the sense.

II. Number. This respects the quantity of syllables, as juncture does their quality. In the Greek and Roman languages every syllable has its distinct use and quantity; and is either long, short, or common: two or more of which joined together in a certain order make a foot, and a determinate number of these in a different order constitute their several sorts of metre. This variety of sounds gives a much greater harmony to their poetry, than what can arise only from the Elocution, feet of the accent, and the similitude of sound at the end of two verses, which chiefly regulate our metre. And although their prose was not so confined with regard to the feet, either as to the kind or place of them, as their metrical compositions; yet it had a sort of measure, more especially in the rise and cadency of their periods. This they call rhetorical number. And accordingly the ancient writers upon this art acquaint us what feet are best suited to the beginning, middle, or conclusion of a sentence. Such rules are not applicable to our language, which has not that accurate distinction of quantity in its syllables. For we are apt to confound accent with quantity, and pronounce those syllables longest on which we lay the accent, though in their nature they are not so. As in the word admirable, where none but the first syllable ad is pronounced long; though that is only rendered so by position, and the two following are so by nature. And again, in the word aviarice, we found the first a long for the same reason, and the second short; contrary to the nature of both those vowels. However, we shall offer a few things that may be of some use to modulate our periods and adjust their cadency.

A great number of monosyllables do not stand well together. For as there ought to be a greater distance in the pronunciation between one word and another, than between the syllables of the same word; such pauses, though short, yet, when too frequent, make the sound rough and uneven, and by that means spoil its harmony. And this may seem more necessary to be attended to, because the English language abounds so much with monosyllables. On the contrary, a continuation of many long words makes a sentence move too slow and heavily. And therefore such periods generally run best, which have a proper mixture of words of a different length. Besides, as every word has its accent, which with us stands for quantity, a number either of monosyllables, or long words, coming together, so far abates the harmony, as it lessens the variety.

Again, several words of the same ending do not stand well together, especially where the accent falls upon the same syllable in each of them. For this creates too great a jingle by the similitude of sound; and is apt to displease, from an appearance of affectation. Of this kind is the following sentence: Nothing is more welcome, delightful, or wholesome, than rest to a wearied man. In such expressions therefore, if the order of the words cannot well be altered, some other word should be substituted in the room of one of them at least, to diversify the sound. So in the example here given, the sound might be varied by saying, Nothing is more welcome, pleasant, or wholesome.

But to add no more, if a sentence end with a monosyllable, it is apt to hurt the cadency, and disappoint the ear; whereas words of a moderate length carry a greater force with them, by the fulness of their sound, and afford the ear what it expected. And there is one sort of monosyllables more especially, which never stand well at the conclusion of a period, though we frequently find them there; and these are the signs of cases. Thus we say, Avarice is a crime, which wise men are too often guilty of. But the cadency would doubtless be more agreeable if it was altered thus: Avarice is a crime, of which wise men are too often guilty. Every one must perceive, when the accent falls upon the last syllable in the sentence, as it does if it end with of, the sound is not so pleasant as when it rests upon the preceding syllable in the word guilty. Nor are very long words well suited either to the beginning or conclusion of a period; for they retard the pronunciation at first, and fall too heavy at the end.

Chap. III. Of Dignity.

Dignity consists in the right use of tropes and the necessary figures. It is not sufficient for an orator to express dignity in himself with propriety and clearness, or in smooth and harmonious periods; but his language must likewise be suited to the nature and importance of the subject. And therefore, as elegance gives rules for the first of these, and composition for the second; so does dignity for the last of them. It is very evident, that different subjects require a different style and manner of expression; since, as Quintilian says, "What is magnificent in one discourse would be turgid in another; and those expressions which appear low upon a sublime subject, would suit lesser matters: and as in a florid harangue a mean word is remarkable, and like a blemish; so any thing lofty and bright upon a trivial argument is disproportionate, and like a tumour upon an even surface." Now this variety in the manner of expression arises in a great measure from tropes and figures, which not only enliven and beautify a discourse, but give it likewise force and grandeur; for which reason this part of elocution seems to have been called dignity.

Tropes and figures are distinguished from each other in several respects. Tropes mostly affect single words, but figures whole sentences. A trope conveys two ideas to the mind by means of one word; but a figure throws the sentence into a different form from the common and usual manner of expression. Besides, tropes are chiefly designed to represent our thoughts, but figures our passions.

§ I. Tropes.

A trope, which is a figure of words, has been usually defined to be the change of a word from its proper signification to some other with advantage, either as to beauty or strength. The words, with advantage, are added in the definition, because a trope ought not to be chosen, unless there is some good reason for using it rather than the proper word. But in what manner, or how far, it can be said of all tropes in general, that they change the proper signification of words, will best appear by considering the nature of each kind of them separately. Now in every trope a reference is had to two things, which occasions two ideas; one of the thing expressed, and another of that thing to which it has a respect, and is supplied by the mind. For all tropes are taken either from things internally related, as the whole and a part; or externally, as cause and effect, subject and adjunct; or from some similitude that is found between them; or from a contrariety. The first of these is called synecdoche, the second metonymy, Elocution the third metaphor, and the last irony. We shall endeavour to illustrate this by examples. When we say, Hannibal beat the Romans; the meaning is, that Hannibal and his army did this. So that although in some sense a part may here be said to stand for the whole, which makes it a synecdoche; yet, strictly speaking, the word Hannibal does not alter its sense, but there is an ellipsis in the expression, Hannibal being put for himself and his army. But if we say, Cicero should be read by all lovers of eloquence; here indeed the word Cicero appears to be changed from its proper sense, and to signify the books of Cicero; which is a metonymy, the author being put for his works; and therefore such expressions need not be deemed elliptical. Again, if any one speaking of a subtle and crafty man, should say he is a fox; the meaning is, he is like a fox; which is a metaphor; where the word fox retains its proper sense, and denotes that animal, to which the man is compared on account of his craft.

Lastly, if a person say to another, Well done; meaning that the thing was ill done, the word well keeps its own sense; but from the manner of its pronunciation, or some other circumstance attending the expression, it will be evident that the contrary is intended: which is called an irony. From these instances it may appear in what latitude we must understand the common definition of a trope, which makes it to consist in the change of a word from its proper sense into some other. But though in reality there are but four kinds of tropes, which are distinguished by so many different respects which things bear one to another; yet as these several respects are found in a variety of subjects, and attended with different circumstances, the names of tropes have from hence been greatly multiplied; which, however, may all be referred to some or other of those already mentioned, as will be shown when we come to treat of them in their order. And for distinction's sake we shall call the former primary, and the latter secondary, tropes.

We now proceed to consider the reasons which have occasioned the introduction of tropes. And these, as Quintilian observes, are three; necessity, emphasis, and beauty.

1. Tropes were first introduced from necessity, deriving their origin unquestionably in a considerable degree from the barrenness of language, because no language which we know contains a sufficient number of proper words to express all the different conceptions of our minds: but the principal cause of their introduction seems to be that extensive influence which imagination possesses over every kind of speech. The mind considers the same thing various ways; views it in different lights; compares it with other things; and observes their several relations and affections; wherein they agree, and in what they differ. From all which reflections, it is furnished with almost an infinite number of ideas; which cannot all of them be distinguished and expressed by proper words, since new ones occur daily. And were this possible, yet would it be impracticable; because the multitude of words must be so vastly great, that the memory could not retain them, nor be able to recall them as occasion required. Tropes have in a good measure redressed both these inconveniences; for by means of them the mind is not burdened with a numberless stock of elocution, different words, and yet nothing seems to want a name. Thus sometimes, where a word is wanting to express any particular thing, it is clearly enough represented by the name of some other thing, by reason of the similitude between them. At other times, the cause is signified by the effect; the subject by the adjunct; or the contrary. And the whole is often understood by a part, or a part by the whole. And thus by the use of tropes, the mind is helped to conceive of something not expressed, from that which is expressed. It is much the same case, as when we have occasion to speak of a person, whose name we are either unacquainted with, or have forgot; or by describing his person, abode, or some other circumstances relating to him, those we converse with as well understand whom we mean, as if we mentioned his name. So the shepherd in Virgil, when he could not think of the name of Archimedes, describes him by his works:

And what's his name who form'd the sphere, And show'd the seasons of the sliding year?

Besides, it sometimes happens in a discourse, that those things are necessary to be said, which, if expressed in their proper terms, would be offensive; but being clothed with metaphors, may be conveyed to the mind with decency. Thus then the imagination never contemplates any one idea single and alone, but always along with other ideas, which may be called its accessories, and which often operate more forcibly upon the mind than the principal idea itself does. In their nature, they are often more agreeable, and frequently also more familiar, to our conceptions; or perhaps they remind us of a greater variety of important circumstances. Hence the name of the accessory is often preferred, as, e.g. when we want to point out the time in which a state enjoyed its chief reputation, &c. the proper words might do, but the imagination suggests the flourishing period of a plant or tree; and we say "the Roman empire flourished most under Augustus." Catiline, we say, was the head instead of the leader of his party, because the head is the principal part of the human figure."

2. A second reason above-mentioned for the use of tropes was, emphasis. Tropes do many times express things with greater force and evidence than can be done by proper words. We receive much the greater part of our knowledge by our senses. And similitudes taken from sensible things, as in metaphors, very much assist the mind in its reflections upon those things which do not come under the cognizance of the senses. For it is certain, that we are sooner and more strongly affected with sensible objects, than with things of which we can have no ideas but from the internal operations of our own minds. Nay, sometimes one bright and lively trope shall convey a fuller and more just idea of a thing than a large periphrasis. So when Virgil calls the Scipios two thunderbolts of war, he gives a more lively image of the rapid force and speedy success of their arms, than could have been conveyed by a long description in plain words. And in many cases the tropical use of words is so emphatical, and suited to the idea we design to excite, that in this respect it may may be justly esteemed the most proper. So, incensed with anger, inflamed with desire, fallen into an error, are all metaphorical expressions used in a way of familiarity; and yet perhaps no proper words can be made use of, which will convey a more lively image of the thing we design to represent by them.

But beauty and ornament, as was observed before, have been another cause of the use of tropes. Some subjects require a more florid and elegant dress than others. When we describe or applaud, ornaments of speech and a gaiety of expression are requisite. And it is the business of an orator to entertain his hearers at the same time that he instructs them. Now Cicero, who was an admirable judge of the force and power of eloquence, has observed, that tropical expressions give the mind the greatest delight and entertainment. "I have often wondered (says he) why tropes should give greater pleasure than proper words. I imagine the reason must be, either that there is an appearance of wit in neglecting what is at hand, and making choice of something at a distance; or that the hearer is furnished with a different thought, without being led into a mistake, which affords a very agreeable pleasure; or that a whole similitude is conveyed to the mind by a single word; or that, particularly in the best and most lively metaphor, the image is presented to our sight, which is the quickest of our senses." And therefore he supposes, that "as garments were first invented from necessity, to secure us from the injuries of the weather, but improved afterwards for ornament and distinction; so the poverty of language first introduced tropes, which were afterwards increased for delight." Besides, a variety of expression is pleasing in a discourse. It is many times necessary that the same thing should be repeated; and if this be done in the same words, it will grow tiresome to the hearers, and sink their esteem of the speaker's ability. Therefore, to prevent this, it is proper the expression should be varied, that although the sense be the same, it may give the mind a new pleasure by its different dresses.

We come now, in the last place, to lay down some directions proper to be observed in the choice of tropes.

And first, as every trope gives us two ideas; one, of the word expressed; and another, which, by means of that, the mind connects with it; it is necessary, that the relation between these two appear very plain and evident. For an obscure trope is always faulty, unless where some particular reason makes it necessary. And therefore tropes ought not to be too far-fetched, lest that should render them dark. For which reason Cicero says, he should not choose to call any thing destructive to a person's fortune, the Syrtis of his patrimony, but rather the rock of it; nor the Charybdis of his estate, but the gulph of it. For those who either did not know that the Syrtes were two quicksands upon the coast of Africa, or that Charybdis was a gulph in the strait of Sicily, both of them very destructive to mariners, would be at a loss to understand the meaning of the metaphor. Besides, metaphors taken from things we have seen, affect the mind more forcibly than those which are taken from such things as we have only heard of. Now there is scarce any one who has not seen a rock or a gulph; but there are very few persons, comparatively, who have been either at Charybdis or the Syrtes. It is necessary therefore in Elocution, a good trope, not only that there be a near affinity between the two ideas, but likewise that this affinity be very obvious and generally known, so that the word be no sooner pronounced but both images do immediately present themselves to the mind.

Again, as a trope ought to be very plain and evident, so likewise should it bear a due proportion to the thing it is designed to represent, so as neither to heighten nor diminish the just idea of it. Indeed, sometimes when we speak of things indefinitely, we say too much, lest we should seem to say too little. And this manner of speaking is called an hyperbole; which is not uncommon in the sacred writings. So, for instance, Saul and Jonathan are said to be swifter than eagles, and stronger than lions. But even in this way of expression a proportion is to be observed. For some very considerable and unusual excess of the thing in its kind is at least designed by it; which, perhaps, cannot, or however is not necessary to be defined. And therefore Quintilian blames Cato for calling the top of an hill a wart; because the proportion between the two ideas is nowise adequate. And so, on the contrary, Aristotle censures Euripides for calling rowing the empire of the ear. Poets indeed are allowed a greater liberty in this respect; but an orator should be modest in his expressions, and take care that he neither so heighten nor diminish the natural ideas of things by tropes, as to lead his hearers into mistakes.

But further: As a moderate use of tropes, justly applied, beautifies and enlivens a discourse; so an excess of them causes obscurity, by running it into abstruse allegories and riddles. Tropes are not the common and ordinary dress of our thoughts, but a foreign habit; and therefore he who fills his discourse with a continued series of them, seems to act like one who appears in public in a strange dress; which no man of character would choose to do.

Moreover, as one use of tropes is pleasure and entertainment, we should endeavour to make choice of such as are smooth and easy. But if at any time we think it necessary to use a harsh trope, it is proper to soften it by some precaution. For, as Cicero very handsomely says, a trope should be modest, since it stands in a place which does not belong to it; for which reason it should seem to come thither by permission, and not by force. And therefore, when he thought it harsh to say, The death of Cato made the senate an orphan; he guards the expression by saying, The death of Cato has (if I may be allowed to say so) rendered the senate an orphan.

And, to add no more, care should be taken how we transfer tropes from one language into another. For as they are frequently taken not only from natural things, or such notions as are common to the generality of mankind, but likewise from the manners, customs, and occurrences of particular nations; so they may be very plain and obvious to those among whom they took their rise, but altogether unintelligible to others who are unacquainted with the reason of them. It was customary for the Roman soldiers to carry their money in their girdles; hence it was the same thing with them to say, a person had lost his girdle, as that he had lost his money. And because the Romans wore the toga, which was a long gown, in time of peace, and a different garb when engaged in war, their wrig- Elocutioners sometimes use the word *toga* to signify peace. But as neither of these customs is in use among us, so neither would the tropes suit our language, or be generally understood by us. And even in such tropes as are taken from the common nature of things, languages very much differ. There is a very beautiful trope in the account of St Paul's shipwreck, where it is said, *The ship was caught, and could not bear up into the wind.* The original word, that we translate *bear up*, is *αναπορεύομαι*; and properly signifies, to look or keep its eyes against it; which is a very strong and lively image, taken from animate beings, and when applied to men often signifies to withstand or resist; as, *αναπορεύομαι* to resist an enemy; and Plutarch says of Demosthenes, that he could not *αναπορεύομαι* to *αγωγή*, look against or resist the power of money. Nothing is more common with Latin writers, than to call men of a public spirit and true patriots, *lumina et ornamenta reipublicae*, that is, the lights and ornaments of the state. And we have borrowed from them the use of both these metaphors. But because tropes and figures illustrate and heighten the style, they call them also, *lumina orationis*, or the lights of a discourse. It sometimes happens, that only the tropical sense of a word is taken from one language into another, and not the proper signification of the same word. So *seropulus* in Latin properly signifies a little stone, which getting into the shoe hurts a person as he walks; hence it is applied to the mind, and used to express a doubt, or uneasy thought that gives it pain. We have borrowed this latter sense of the word, but not the former.

Art. I. Primary Tropes.

I. Metaphor. A metaphor, as usually defined, is, a trope, which changes words from their proper signification to another different from it, by reason of some similitude between them. But that a word, when used metaphorically, does not alter its signification, but retains its proper sense, was shown above. However, it may not be unfit to explain this matter more fully, and set it in a clearer light. Every metaphor, then, is nothing else but a short similitude. Cicero calls it, *a similitudo reducida ad unum verbum*. And Quintilian to the same purpose says, that "a metaphor is a short similitude, and differs from it only in this, that the former is compared to the thing we design to express, and the latter is put for it." It is a similitude, when I say of a man, he has acted like a lion; and a metaphor, when I say, he is a lion." Thus far Quintilian. Now in every similitude three things are requisite; two things that are compared together; and a third, in which the similitude or likeness between them consists. And therefore, to keep to this example, when Horace calls a Roman soldier a lion, if the word *lion* did not retain its proper sense, there could be no similitude; because there would not be two things to be compared together with respect to a third, which is necessary in every similitude, and was designed by this expression. The sense of which is plainly this: *That as a lion seizes his prey with the greatest fierceness, so a Roman soldier with like rage and fury attacked his enemies.* In the same manner, when Cicero calls Piso the vulture of the province, his meaning is, that he was like a vulture, or acted in such a manner as a vulture acts, that is, rapaciously. So that the real difference between a metaphor and a similitude consists in this; that a metaphor Elocution has not those signs of comparison which are expressed in a similitude. But some persons have run into mistakes in reasoning from tropes of this kind. For they have so argued from metaphorical words, as if all the affections and properties of the things expressed by them might be attributed to those other things to which they are applied, and by that means have strained the comparison (which has usually but one particular view), in order to make it tally in other respects, where there is not that similitude of ideas. We will endeavour to make this evident by another example from Cicero, where he calls M. Antony the torch of the state. The similitude between Antony and a torch lay in this: *That as a torch burns and destroys everything within its reach, so Antony brought devastation and ruin wherever he came.* Now a torch has not only a property to burn, but also to give light; but the similitude would not hold in this respect, nor was it at all designed. For Cicero never calls a wicked profligate man, as Antony was, the light of the state; though he often gives that character to good and virtuous men, who by their examples do as it were enlighten others, and show them the way to be happy themselves and useful to others. But though metaphors are usually taken from a similitude between two things, as in the instances here mentioned; yet sometimes they are founded in the similitude which two things bear to two others in some particular respect, by means whereof what properly belongs to one of them is transferred to the other: the former of which are called simple metaphors, and the latter analogues. Hence the rudder of a ship may be called its reins; for what the reins are to a horse, that the rudder is to a ship in guiding and directing it. So that here is a double similitude, one between a ship and a horse, and another between the rudder of the former and the reins of the latter; and from the analogy between the use of the rudder to the one and reins to the other, the reins, which belong properly to the horse, are applied to the ship. Again, some metaphors are reciprocal, in which the similitude holds either way. Thus to steer and to govern are used reciprocally both of a ship and a state: the proper expressions being, *to steer a ship*, and *govern a state*; and the contrary metaphorical. But though we say, *the feet of a mountain*, borrowing the similitude from animals; yet we do not say, on the contrary, *the bottom of an animal*, meaning his feet; and therefore that metaphor is not reciprocal. From this account therefore of the nature of a metaphor, it may be said to be, *The application of a word by way of similitude to some other thing than what it properly signifies.* And the plainer this similitude appears, the greater beauty there is in the trope.

The use of metaphors is very extensive, as large as universal nature. For there are scarce any two things which have not some similitude between them. However, they may all be reduced to four kinds; which was the second thing proposed to be considered.

The first kind of metaphors therefore may be taken from similitudes between animate beings. As where those things, which properly relate to brutes, are accommodated to men; or those which belong to men are applied to brutes. Of the former sort is that joke of Cicero: *My brother being asked by Philip, why he barked!* barked so? answered, Because he saw a thief. Here barking, the property of a dog, is applied to a man: And the reply does not seem to carry more severity or harshness with it than the question. By the latter fort we say, a crafty fox, and a generous horse; which are affections that properly relate to men. And to this kind of metaphors may those likewise be referred, when that which properly belongs to the senses is applied to the mind. Thus we often say that we see a thing, when we mean that we understand or apprehend it. And in the same sense we say, that we hear such a thing, or person. And by the like manner of expression, a person is said to smell out a thing. And those who have a genius or disposition for any art or science, are said to have a taste for it; and such as have entered upon the study of it, are said to have a touch of it. These are common ways of speaking in most languages, and very expressive of what is intended by them. And we may also bring these metaphors under this head, by which the properties and affections of men are attributed to the Deity: as, when God is said to hear, see, be angry, repent, and the like; which are forms of expressions very frequent in the sacred writings.

A second kind of metaphors lies between inanimate things, whether natural or artificial, which bear some similitude to each other. And this head is very extensive. Thus we say, floods of fire, and clouds of smoke, for large quantities. And so likewise, to inflame an account, that is, to heighten or increase it; with innumerable others of the like sort. In the two first of these instances, the terms proper to one element are applied to another; and as those elements of fire and water are opposite to each other, they show the extensiveness of this trope, that there are no things in nature so contrary, but may come within the limits of it, and be accommodated to each other in a way of similarity. In the last example, a natural action is applied to what is artificial.

A third sort of metaphors is, when inanimate things are applied to animals, on account of some like properties between them. Thus Homer calls Ajax, the bulwark of the Greeks, on account of his valour, which like a wall defended them from the Trojans. And nothing is more common with Cicero, than to brand ill men with the character of being the pest of the state, by reason of the mischief which they bring to the public. So likewise he calls Zeno the philosopher an acute man, for his great discernment and quick perception of things; fetching the allusion from metals when brought to an edge or a point. As, on the contrary, old Chremes in Terence calls himself a stone, for want of apprehension. And we say, a gay person, and a bright genius, by this kind of metaphor.

The fourth and last kind of metaphors is that by which the actions and other attributes of animals are accommodated to inanimate things. Thus Cicero, speaking of Clodius, says: "The very altars, when they saw that monster fall, seemed to move themselves and affect their right against him." Here the words saw, move, and affect, are all metaphors taken from the properties of animals. And Virgil, when he would represent the impetuous force and rapidity of the river Araxes, says, it dashed a bridge. And it is a very usual epithet, which Homer gives to words, to call them επιστατα, or winged, to intimate the swiftness of Elocution, speech.

Lastly, as to the choice of metaphors, those are esteemed the finest and strongest, which give life and action to inanimate things. The reason of which is, because they do as it were invigorate all nature, introduce new forms of beings, and represent their images to the sight, which of all the senses is the quickest, most active, and yet most unwearyed. What can be more moving, or in stronger terms express the villany of Clodius, than when Cicero says, "The very altars of the gods seemed to exult at his death." And the same great orator particularly commends those metaphors, for their sprightliness and vivacity, which are taken from the sense of seeing; as when we say a bright thought or a gay expression.

However, care must be taken not to venture upon too bold and daring metaphors. Poets indeed claim greater liberty in this respect, whose view is often to amuse, terrify, or delight, by heightening the just and natural images of things. But it is expected the orator should reason coolly, though strongly and forcibly; and not by theatrical representations to transport the mind, as to take it off from reflection, unless perhaps on some particular occasion. And yet, on the other hand, metaphors ought not to sink below the dignity of what they are designed to express; but the idea they convey should at least be equal to the proper word in the place of which they are substituted.

But there is a very great difference in the choice of metaphors, as they are designed either to praise or dispraise. One thing may be compared to another in a great variety of respects. And the same thing may be made to appear either noble or base, virtuous or vicious, by considering it in a different light. Such metaphors, therefore, as are chosen to commend, must be taken from great and laudable things; and on the contrary, those which are designed to discommend, from things vile and contemptible. Aristotle gives us a very pleasant example of this in the poet Simonides. A certain person, who had carried the prize at a race of mules, offered him a reward to write a poem in honour of that action. Simonides thought he did not bid high enough; and therefore put him off with saying, the subject was too mean to write in praise of mules, which were the offspring of asses. But upon his being offered a larger sum, he undertook the task; and, as Aristotle observes, when he has occasion to speak of the mules in that poem, he does not mention them by that name, but calls them the daughters of fleet and generous horses, though he might with as much propriety have called them the daughters of dull asses. But it was the poet's business, in praising, to take the most advantageous part of the character. Where things are capable of such different turns, metaphorical expressions are generally most beautiful. And sometimes the same metaphor may be applied contrary ways, both in praise and dispraise, as it will suit different properties of the thing to which it refers. So a dove, in a metaphorical sense, may represent either innocence or fear; and an iron heart may denote either courage or cruelty; as an hard head, strength or weakness of thought. And this ambiguity in the application of metaphorical words often affords occasion for Elocution, jests and concise wit. We observed before, that Cicero never calls ill men, lights of the state. But he once in this manner calls Sextius Clodius the light of the senate. For when his kinsman Publius Clodius had been killed by Milo, and his corpse was brought to Rome, Sextius raised the mob, and in a tumultuous manner carried it into the senate-house, where they burnt it, and by that means set the building on fire: For which factious action Cicero passes that joke upon him, under the metaphor of light, which elsewhere he always uses in a good sense.

But to proceed: All forced and harsh metaphors should be avoided; the one being no less disagreeable to the mind than the other to the ear. Nor should they come too thick in a discourse. In a word, they ought not to be used, but either where a proper word is wanting, or they are more significant or beautiful than the proper word.

II. Metonymy. This, as defined by Quintilian, is, defined and the putting one word for another. But Vossius describes it more fully, when he calls it, "A trope, which changes the name of things that are naturally united, but in such a manner as that one is not of the essence of the other." That a metonymy is thus distinguished from the other tropes, has been sufficiently shown already in the two last chapters. When it is said, to put one word for another, or, to change the names of things, the meaning is, that the word so used changes its sense, and denotes something different from its proper signification. Thus, when Mars is put for war, and Ceres for corn, they lose their personal sense, and stand for the effects of which those deities were said to be the cause. So likewise, when Virgil says,

He drank the frothing bowl, the word bowl must necessarily signify the liquor in the bowl. And when in another place, describing the temple of Juno at Carthage, in which the actions of the Trojan war were represented, and the images of the heroes, he makes Æneas, upon discovering that of Priam among the rest, cry out,

Lo here is Priam; it is plain the word Priam there must stand not for his person, but his image or figure. And this property of changing the sense of the word appears peculiar to metonymy. In treating upon a metaphor, we observed the mistake of those who teach, that a word used metaphorically loses its proper signification; whereas it only changes its place, but not its sense; being applied to a thing to which it does not naturally belong, by way of similitude. And as the not attending to this has run some persons into very great absurdities, in treating upon metaphorical expressions, and reasoning from them in the tropical sense; so the like has happened to others in some instances of a metonymy, where, by misapprehending their true nature, they have reasoned from them in the literal sense, as we shall show presently. A metonymy is not so extensive as a metaphor, nor altogether so necessary: because nothing is said by a metonymy, which cannot be expressed in proper words; whereas metaphors are often used for want of proper words to express some ideas. However, metonymies are very useful in languages; for they enrich a discourse with an agreeable variety, and give both force and beauty to an expression. And what Elocution, we observed with relation to a metaphor, is true also of this trope; that some metonymies, even in common discourse, are more frequently made use of than the proper words in whose room they are put. So, pale death, a blind way, and a happy state, are very common expressions with us. And it is more usual to say, This is such a person's hand, or I know his hand, than his writing, when we intend this latter sense of the word.

We now proceed to the division of metonymies; which are commonly distinguished into four kinds, from the different manner in which things are naturally, but externally, united to one another. Now things are thus united, or one thing depends upon another, either with respect to its production, or in the manner of its existence when produced. In the former way the effect depends upon its cause, and in the latter the adjunct upon its subject. And hence arise four sorts of metonymies, which receive their names from the cause and effect, the subject and the adjunct.

It is called a metonymy of the cause, when the external cause is put for the effect. The external cause is twofold, the agent and end, which are usually called the efficient and final cause. Of the former kind are such metonymies, where the inventor or author is put for what was invented or effected by him. Thus, as we said before, Ceres is sometimes put for corn, the use of which she was said first to have introduced; and Mars for war, over which he was thought to preside. And by this way of speaking, any artist or writer is put for his work. So Juvenal, blaming the luxury and profuseness of the Romans, says, There are few tables without Mentor; that is, which were not made by him, or after his manner. And our Saviour says, in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, They have Moses and the prophets, meaning the books of Moses and the prophets. But under this sort of metonymy is included not only the agent, strictly so called, but also any means or instruments made use of in the doing of things, when put for the thing done. Thus, polite literature is called humanity, because it cultivates and improves the human mind. And in that expression of Cicero, Words move nobody but him who understands the tongue; the word tongue, which is the instrument of speech, is put for speech or language. And in the like sense, arms are sometimes put for war, and the sword for slaughter. By the same kind of metonymy likewise any affection or quality is put for its effect. As when it is said, the end of government is to maintain justice; that is, such mutual offices among men as are the effects of justice. And so likewise in that of Cicero, It is the business of magistrates to check the levity of the multitude, by which he means tumults occasioned by their levity. Moreover, as human affections are attributed to the Deity in a metaphorical sense, so several parts of the human body are likewise ascribed to him by this kind of metonymy. Thus, his hand and his arm are used to express his power, as his ear and eye, his care and providence, these being the instruments of such effects in mankind. Metonymies of the final cause are those by which the end in doing a thing is put for the thing done. As when we say, The watch is set, meaning the watchmen, who are appointed for that purpose. And so likewise that expression, to make an example, as it signifies to put nish, in order to deter others from the like crimes by such an example. As also that of Virgil,

Philiss should garlands crop;

by which are meant flowers to make garlands.

The second kind of metonymy puts the effect for the efficient cause, whether the agent, or only the means and instrument. So Virgil calls the two Scipios the destruction of Libya, because they were the agents who effected it. And Horace compliments his patron Maecenas with the titles of being his guard and honour; that is, his guardian, and the author of his honour. But when Cicero tells the citizens of Rome, that the death of Clodius was their safety, he means the occasion only of their safety. And elsewhere he calls that a dark hope and blind expectation, the effect of which was dubious and uncertain to those who entertained it. And in like manner, the sons of the prophets, when they were eating the pottage which Elisha had ordered to be set before them, cried out,

There is death in the pot; that is, some deadly thing, as is presently after explained. And thus sweat, which is the effect of labour, is sometimes put for labour. As in the threat denounced against Adam, In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, that is, by labour in cultivating the ground. And, in allusion to this way of speaking, Antony the orator tells Cassius, "the improvement of the style by constant exercise, as he prescribed, was a thing of much sweat." And virtue is said to be gained by sweat, that is, continued care and exercise in subduing the passions, and bringing them to a proper regulation. But in these two expressions there is likewise a metaphor, the effect of bodily labour being applied to that of the mind. In all these instances, the effect is put for the efficient cause.

The third kind of metonymy is, when the subject is put for the adjunct. By subject here, in a large sense of the word, may be understood that wherein some other thing is contained, or about which it is conversant; as likewise the possessor with respect to the thing he possesses; and the thing signified, when put for the sign of it. Now, by the first of these ways of speaking, the seat of any faculty or affection is used for the faculty or affection itself. So it is usual to say,

a man of a clear head, when we mean a clear mind or understanding; the seat of the mind being supposed to be in the head. And a person is said to have a warm heart, because the heart has been thought the seat of the affections. In like manner, the place where any actions are performed is put for the actions done in it. As when Cicero says, "Do not always think of the forum, the benches, the rostra, and the senate;" meaning the discourses which were usually made in those places. So likewise the country, or place of residence, is put for the inhabitants, as in that passage of Cicero: "And to omit Greece, which always claimed the pre-eminence for eloquence, and Athens, the inventress of all sciences, where the art of speaking was invented and perfected; in this city of ours, (meaning Rome), no studies have prevailed more than that of eloquence;" where the words Greece and Athens stand to denote the inhabitants of those places. And hither may also be referred those expressions in which the time is put for the persons living in it; as,

the degeneracy of the present age, the virtue of former times.

In the second way above-mentioned, the object is used for the person or thing employed about it: As when Cicero says, "In time of battle the laws are silent;" where by laws he intends the judges, who pronounce sentence according to law. By the third of these ways, in which the possessor is put for the thing he possesses, we say, to devour, destroy, or ruin a man, meaning not his person but his estate. And mythologists explain the fable of Actæon by this trope, who is said to have been devoured by his dogs: for by dogs they understand flatterers and parasites, who consumed his estate, and brought him to beggary. By the last way before recited, which puts the thing signified for the sign, statues and pictures are called by the names of the persons which they represent; as in that jest of Cicero upon his brother Quintus, when, as Macrobius relates, "being in the province which his brother had governed, and seeing a large portrait of part of his body, holding a shield, though Quintus was but a little man, he said, My half-brother is bigger than my whole brother." The Popish doctrine of transubstantiation is founded upon an abuse of this trope. For when our Saviour, speaking of the bread and wine at that time before him, says, "This is my body, and this is my blood," his plain meaning is, they were the signs of his body and blood, the thing signified being put for the sign by this sort of metonymy. But the Papists take the expression literally, which must doubtless be very absurd; since the words relate to the time then present, while Christ was yet living, and spoke them; when it was impossible for the bread and wine to be converted into his body and blood, it being evident to all who were present, that those elements, and his body, existed separately at the same time. But if the words are explained by this trope, the sense is plain and easy, and the way of speaking familiar to all writers. Whereas they who plead for the literal sense might with equal reason assert, that those expressions above-mentioned are to be taken literally, in which several parts of the human body, as the hand, the arm, the ear, and the eye, are ascribed to the Deity; or that, when our Saviour in a metaphorical sense calls himself a vine, and a door, these words were designed to be applied to him strictly and properly, and not by way of similitude only, as is the case in all metaphors.

The fourth kind of metonymy is that wherein the adjunct is put for the subject, which is done in the same variety of ways as the former. It is therefore a metonymy of the adjunct, when the thing contained is put for that which contains it. As when Virgil says, "They lie down upon purple;" that is, upon couches dyed with purple. And again, "They crown the wine;" meaning the bowl which contained the wine, it being the custom of the ancients to deck their bowls with garlands at their entertainments. By these tropes likewise virtues and vices are put for the persons in whom they are found. As in that beautiful passage of Cicero, where, comparing the profligate army of Catiline with the forces of the state, he says, "On this side modesty is engaged, on that impudence; on this chastity, on that lewdness; on this integrity, on that deceit; on this piety, on that profaneness; on this constancy, on that fury; on this honour, on that baseness; on this moderation, on that unbridled passion; in Elocution, in a word, equity, temperance, fortitude, prudence, and all virtues, engage with injustice, luxury, cowardice, rashness, and all vices?" And to this trope those expressions are to be referred, in which any thing is put for the object about which it is conversant. As in that saying of the wife man, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick;" where hope is put for the thing hoped for. And thus Suetonius calls the emperor Titus the love and delight of mankind, whose mild and obliging temper rendered him the object of those agreeable affections to all persons under his government. A third use of this trope is by putting a thing for the time in which it was done. Thus we say of a person, he has served so many campaigns, meaning so many summers, that being the usual time in which armies are drawn out into the field. Lastly, by this metonymy, the sign is put for the thing it signifies; as, the sceptre for the regal dignity, and the sword for the authority of the magistrate.

III. Synecdoche. This is a trope by which either the whole of a thing is put for a part of it, or a part for the whole; so that the two things, whose ideas are presented to the mind in this trope, are internally related to each other: by which, as has been shown already, it is distinguished from all the other tropes. In a synecdoche the word retains its proper sense, and the expression is elliptical, as will appear by the several species of it, wherein the ellipsis in most of the examples is very obvious, and may with no great difficulty be supplied. Now a thing may be considered as a whole in three different respects, which logicians call an universal, essential, and integral whole. An universal whole is any genus with regard to its several species; as, an animal with respect to mankind and brutes, or philosophy with respect to the several arts and sciences comprised under it. An essential whole consists of matter and form; as, a man of body and soul. And an integral whole is any body or quantity, with respect to the several parts of which the matter of it is composed, and into which it may be divided: as, an human body with respect to its several members; or a year, as divisible into months, weeks, and days. And thus rhetoric is an integral whole in respect to the four parts that compose it; namely, invention, disposition, elocution, and pronunciation. So likewise any aggregate body, as a civil community, which is divisible into those who govern and are governed; or any army, consisting of the general and his soldiers. As a whole therefore, in each of these acceptations of the word, is frequently put for a part, and a part for the whole; hence arise six species or sorts of synecdoche.

The first of these puts the genus for the species.—Thus, virtue in general is sometimes used to denote some particular sort of virtue. As when Cicero mentions virtue as one of the four qualifications necessary in a general, he means greatness of mind. And so persons are often commended for instances of virtue shown in their conduct, which respect only some single virtue, as justice, temperance, or the like: And in this sense Cicero calls Clodius a deadly animal. So when our Saviour commissions his apostles to preach the gospel to every creature, the meaning is, every rational creature. And thus likewise, to talk to a person some-

times denotes the same thing as to blame him, which is one way of talking.

The second kind of synecdoche puts the species for the genus. Thus bread denotes any kind of food; as when a person is said to get his bread by his labour. In the same way of speaking, money is put for any kind of wealth in general. And it is an usual expression to say, that wine destroys more than the sword; that is, than any hostile arms. And the legal form of banishment among the Romans was, to prohibit persons the use of fire and water; that is, the most common and ordinary necessaries of life, in which all others were included.

The third species of this trope is, when the essential whole is put for one of its parts; that is, either for the matter or form. Thus, in the evangelist, Mary Magdalen says, They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him, meaning his body.—So it is usual to say of a deceased person, He was buried at such a time. And in the inscriptions of sepulchral monuments we frequently meet with this expression, Here lies such an one; that is, his corpse. Nor are instances uncommon in which the whole being is put for the form. Thus when Cicero says, Those persons live, who have fled from the confinement of the body, as from a prison; by persons must necessarily be understood their souls, which are here distinguished from and set in opposition to their bodies. And so Virgil represents Æneas as meeting with Dido and some of his Trojan friends in the infernal regions; by which are meant their ghosts.

The fourth kind of synecdoche is, when either the matter or form is put for the whole being. Thus silver and gold are used to signify money made of those metals; as when we say, I have so much silver, or so much gold. And the word soul, both in our own and other languages, is put for the whole person. So with us, a merry soul, and a dull soul; in Cicero, dear souls; and in Horace, candid souls, are all used in this topical sense. But this way of speaking occurs nowhere more frequently than in the sacred writings. Thus, for instance, it is said, All the souls which came with Jacob into Egypt, meaning the persons. And again, The soul that sinneth it shall die; from which expression, and others of the like import, some persons, by not attending to the nature of this trope, have been erroneously led to infer that the soul is naturally mortal. But sometimes only part of the matter stands to express the whole essence or being. So we imitate the Latins in using the word caput or head to denote either a person or thing. For, as with them lepidum caput, so with us a witty head, signifies the same as a man of wit. And in the same sense, so many head of cattle means so many entire cattle.

By the fifth sort of synecdoche, the whole of any material thing or quantity, whether continued or discrete, is put for a part of it. So when Cicero says, A war is kindled through the whole world, in compliment to his country, he calls the Roman empire the world. And this expression is also used by historians. Thus Cornelius Nepos, speaking of the quarrel between Mark Antony and Augustus, tells us, that each of them desired to be lord of the world. And in like manner St Luke says, There went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. So in St Paul's shipwreck, it is said, They ran the ship aground, that is, the head of her, for it is plain by what follows, that the stern was loose. And as to discrete quantity, our Saviour, using this trope, said he should be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth. Though he did not continue three whole days and nights in the grave, but only part of the first and third day, and the whole second day, with the two whole nights between the first and third day, according to our way of reckoning. For he was buried on Friday in the afternoon, and raised in the grave that night, with the following day, which was the Jewish Sabbath, and was risen on the morning of the next day. So that we must necessarily have recourse to this synecdoche, which puts the whole for the part, to clear up that event.

By this kind of synecdoche, also, the plural number is sometimes put for the singular. Thus St Matthew says, The thieves who were crucified with our Saviour reviled him; though it is plain from St Luke, that only one of them did so. It may also be referred to this trope, when a certain number is put for an uncertain one. So it is an usual way of expression to say, I have seen or done such a thing an hundred or a thousand times; when perhaps so many are not really intended, but only in general some considerable number.

The sixth and last kind of synecdoche puts a part of any material thing or quantity for the whole of it. So we say of a man, He shelters himself under such an one's roof; that is, in his house. And of a fleet, that it consists of so many sail; meaning, so many ships. And by this trope, that is ascribed to a single person which was done by the assistance of others, and in conjunction with them: As when it is said, that Hannibal killed forty thousand Romans at the battle of Cannae: For an army is an aggregate body, of which the general is the head, and consequently the chief part of it. And to this kind of synecdoche may also be referred such expressions in which the singular number is put for the plural: as if one should say, A man is liable to be misled by the influence of irregular passions; meaning all men, or mankind in general. Or when less than the real number is put for any round number: Thus some ancient writers, when they speak of the Grecian armada that came against Troy, call it a fleet of a thousand ships; though, according to Homer's list, it contained 1186. And so likewise the Greek interpreters of the Old Testament are usually called the Seventy; whereas, in reality, they were seventy-two.

IV. Irony. This is a trope in which one contrary is signified by another: As if any one should say, Well done; when at the same time his design is to intimate that the thing was ill done. So that, by this manner of expression, the speaker appears to mean something contrary to the sense of the word he makes use of. Not that the word is changed from its usual signification; but by the circumstances attending the expression, we perceive the contrary to what is spoken is intended. Quintilian observes, that an irony may be known one of these three ways: "By the manner of pronunciation, or from the nature of the person or the thing. For (as he adds) where any of these do not suit with the words, it is plain the speaker intends the contrary." The irony is very plain from the manner of pronunciatiou in that passage of Terence, where Simo, speaking to his servant by way of reproof, says, "You have taken great care indeed." From the circumstances of the person, when Cicero, addressing to Catiline, says, "He went to your companion, that excellent man, Marcus Marcellus." When he calls him an excellent man, it is evident he means the contrary; because no good man would be a companion of Catiline. And when he begins his oration for Ligarius with saying, "Caesar, this is a new crime, and never heard of till now," the thing he is speaking of shows it to be an irony; for it was not new, as all who were present very well understood.

The subjects of irony are vices and follies of all kinds. And this way of exposing them is often more effectual than serious reasoning: For many persons, who, either from temper or want of reflection, cannot be moved by the force of an argument, are not proof against the poignancy of wit and raillery. And therefore we find the most grave and serious persons have not declined the use of this trope upon proper occasions. Socrates, whom the oracle pronounced the wisest man of his age, gave so much into it, that he got the name of *s*; that is, the droll. In the sacred writings we have a remarkable instance of it in the prophet Elijah, where he challenges the priests of Baal to prove the truth of their deity: For it is said expressly, "He mocked them, and said, Cry aloud, for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is purfuing, or he is on a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked." And Solomon takes the like method to expose the follies of youth by this ironical apostrophe, "Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth," with what follows, which is all ironical. Nay, our Saviour himself thought fit thus to reprove the Jewish doctors, when he says, "Full well ye reject the commandment of God, that ye may keep your own tradition:" Where, by the words full well, or, as it is in the original, *s*, it is very evident that a severe reprimand was intended.

An irony is used on a variety of occasions, as we shall show from some instances in Cicero. Sometimes he applies it in a way of jest and banter: As when he says, "We have much reason to believe the modest man would not ask him for his debt, when he pursues his life." At other times by way of insult and derision: Thus when he would represent the forces of Catiline as mean and contemptible, "O terrible war, (says he), in which this band of rakes are to march under Catiline! Draw out all your garrisons against this formidable body." Again, at other times, to give the greater force to his argument, he would seem as it were by this trope to recant and correct what he had said before; as in his oration for Milo: "But it is foolish in us to compare Drufus, Africanus, Pompey, and ourselves, with Clodius; all our calamities were tolerable, but no one can patiently bear the death of Clodius." Now the character of Clodius was so well known, that all who were present must be sensible he meant the contrary. And, to name no more, an irony is never used to greater advantage, than when it is followed immediately by something very stinging. Thus speaking of Piso, he says, "You have heard this philosopher; he denies that he was ever desirous of a triumph." And then addressing himself to him, he immediately adds, "O wretch! when you destroyed the senate, sold its authority, subjected your consulate to the tribune, overturned the state, betrayed my life and safety for the reward of a province; if you did not desire a triumph, what can you pretend you did not desire?" This must effectually confound the false gravity at that time assumed by Piso.

Art. II. Secondary Tropes.

Secondary tropes are so called, because they are all of the same nature with the former, and may be referred to some or other of them, though they have received different names.

They are chiefly eight in number; Antonomasia, Litotes, Euphemism, Catachresis, Hyperbole, Metalepsis, and Allegory. The three first of these are simple tropes, and may all be referred to a Synecdoche. But the five last are of a mixed or complex nature, and not confined to any one of the primary tropes; as will appear in treating upon them in order.

I. A common or general word is sometimes used for the proper name of some particular thing or person which upon any account is eminent and remarkable. So we say, He is gone to the city, or he came from the city, that is, London. And by the Scriptures we mean the Bible. So likewise, in speaking of persons, the orator is used for Cicero, the poet for Homer or Virgil, and the philosopher for Aristotle; and it is not unusual to say the apostle, when we mean St Paul. On the contrary, the proper names of things or persons are sometimes applied to any other of the same character. Thus we use the word gospel for any certain and undoubted truth. And Carthaginian faith proverbially stood for the greatest falsehood and deceit among the Romans. With the Greeks, Hercules signified a strong man, Nefor a wise man, and Irus a beggar; and the names of Samson, Solomon, and Job, now answer the like characters. Both these ways of expression are often very emphatical, and heighten the idea more than where things are expressed by their own name. To call a good orator Cicero, or an excellent poet a second Virgil, includes not only an encomium upon the arts themselves, but leads the mind to what is most perfect in them, and was peculiar to those persons. These forms of speech are called antonomasia, and come properly under a synecdoche; for in the former the whole is put for a part, and in the latter a part for the whole.

II. Nothing is more common with orators, than a change of persons. Sometimes, to avoid envy, and prevent the imputation of pride, in assuming to themselves the praise of any laudable action, they ascribe it to their hearers, and do not say, we, but ye did so and so. At other times, when it is necessary to remind them of something which they have done amiss, or to caution them against some wrong step for the future; to prevent giving offence, they take it upon themselves, or at least join themselves with them, and do not say, you have done this, or do not you do this; but, we have done it, or let us not do it. And again, at other times, in compliment to their hearers, they join them as partners in the commendable actions or virtues of other persons; as when the whole body of the people is brought in to share the praise arising from the success of wise counsels or victorious arms. Such ways of speaking often occur both in Demosthenes and Cicero. They are called communication, and come properly under a synecdoche of the whole.

III. On the contrary, there is a mode of speech in which, by denying the contrary, more is intended than the words express. This way of speaking is called litotes; and is often used for sake of modesty where a person is led to say anything in his own praise, or meant than is expressed. As if one should say, I do not commend you for that; meaning, I greatly discommend or blame you for it: where more being understood than the words expressly denote, it is properly a synecdoche of the part. Not that this manner of speaking is always to be so interpreted; but where it is not, there is no trope; which must be judged of by the circumstances of the discourse. But that it frequently is so used, might be easily shown from many instances; though it will be sufficient to mention two or three. Cicero speaking of Cotta, calls him no mean orator, whom he had just called a very great orator. And he says of Varro, that, "he pursued his studies not without industry; and afterwards gives him the character of a man of the greatest application." Which passages, compared together, plainly show the import of those negative expressions. And a friend of Cicero, writing to him, begins his letter thus: "Although I am sensible the news I send you will not be very pleasant." This news was concerning the death of another friend of Cicero's; and there by the words not very pleasant, must, to be sure, be meant very unpleasant and melancholy; but he chose that expression in the beginning of his letter, as the softest and least shocking, the better to prepare him for the following account of what news was. And in this way interpreters explain that passage in St Matthew: And thou Bethlehem in the land of Judah are not the least among the princes of Judah; where, by not the least, they understand the greatest, or very great, upon account of the honour it received by the birth of our Saviour, as the words immediately following plainly intimate.

IV. When any displeasing or ungrateful thing is expressed by a more soft and agreeable word, it is called things softened euphemism. And as the word made use of is either contrary to the proper word, or only different from it, it may be referred to different tropes. The Latins have a soft way of expressing their disregard to a person, by saying valeat; which we have borrowed from them, and say, fare him well. When the contrary being intended to what is expressed, it comes properly under an irony. And as the word death carries in it an idea that is disagreeable to human nature, instead of saying a person is dead, we often say he is deceased, or departed; which we have also taken from the Latins, who use the words decepit and obit in the same sense. So that in both languages it comes under a synecdoche of the whole; to depart out of life being one sort of departure. But when the evangelist speaking of Stephen, who was stoned to death, expresses it. Elocution: by saying that he fell asleep; this is a beautiful metaphor, taken from the similitude between the death of a good man and sleep.

V. Catachresis signifies in general any harsh trope, though it is most commonly found in metaphors. It is principally used by poets, who make choice of it for novelty, or to enforce an expression, where the proper word does not seem strong enough. As when Milton, in describing the angel Raphael's descent from heaven, says, he

Sails between worlds and worlds;

where the novelty of the word enlivens the image more than if he had said flies. But it is sometimes found in the grave authors, and even in the sacred writings. So we read of the blood of the grape. And Solomon says, the horse-leech hath two daughters. In all these instances the trope is a metaphor. But when St John says in the Revelations, I turned to see the voice that spoke to me, it is here a metonymy of the adjunct; the word voice being put for the person who uttered it. In St Matthew we read of Simon the leper; not that he was then a leper, but had been so, and was cured; which is a synecdoche of the part. And when a criminal is said to have had his reward, that is, his punishment, it is an irony.

VI. Hyperbole is the boldest of all tropes; for it exceeds the strict bounds of truth, and represents things either greater or less, better or worse, than they really are. But the representation is made in such a manner as not to impose on the hearers. For an hyperbole is not used to define or describe anything accurately, but only to magnify or depress it in a considerable degree, when we either cannot or do not choose to represent it exactly. The excess in this trope is called excess; as when we say of any thing that is very high, it reaches to the skies. The defect, or contrary extreme, is termed meiosis: So we say of a very lean person, he is nothing but skin and bones, or a mere skeleton. It is principally metaphorical, but sometimes taken from other tropes. When Saul and Jonathan are said to have been swifter than eagles, and stronger than lions, the expression is founded in similitude, and is therefore a metaphor. When, instead of saying Cato was a very virtuous man, the historian calls him the image of virtue; it is an hyperbolical metonymy of the adjunct for the subject. And when we read in the Mosiac history of cities fenced up to heaven, there is a synecdoche. But if a man of weak sight be said to be eagle-eyed, it is an irony. Those hyperboles which are expressed comparatively, are commonly most emphatical, because they show a peculiarity in the excess. To say a thing is as light as a feather, carries the idea very far; but to say it is lighter, not only carries it still farther, but also heightens it, by leaving the mind at an uncertainty where to fix the limits.

VII. Sometimes two or more tropes, and those of a different kind, are contained under one word; so that several gradations, or intervening senses, come between the word that is expressed, and the thing designed by it. And this is called a metalepsis. The contests between Sylla and Marius proved very fatal to the Roman state. Julius Caesar was then a young man. But Sylla observing his aspiring genius, said of him, "In one Caesar there are many Mariuses." Now in this expression there is a metalepsis. For the word Elocution, Marius, by a synecdoche, or antonomasia, is put for any ambitious and turbulent person; and this again, by a metonymy of the cause, for the ill effects of such a temper to the public. So that Sylla's meaning, divested of these tropes, was, that Caesar would prove the most dangerous person to the Roman state that ever was bred in it: which afterwards proved true in the event. So when Virgil, describing that part of the African coast where Æneas arrived with his ships, says, A dark cloud hung over it; the word dark, by a metonymy of the effect, is put for cloudy, and that again by the same trope for thick; for his meaning is, a thick cloud. But the words of Dido, in the same poet, contain a larger gradation, when he says,

Happy, oh truly happy, had I been, If Trojan ships our coasts had never seen.

In which expression, first by a metonymy of the adjunct, the ships are put for the Trojans in the ships; and these, by a synecdoche of the whole, for Æneas, who was one of them; and again his arriving on the coast, by a metonymy of the cause, for her seeing him; and lastly, her seeing him, by the same trope, for the passion she had for him. So that her meaning is, she had been happy, if she had never entertained a passion for Æneas. This trope is more frequently to be met with in poets than in orators, as they take greater liberty in using distant allusions than is suited to that perspicuity of expression which is required in oratory. But as Quintilian has well observed, all the intermediate links of the chain in this trope are of no further use than to lead the mind gradually from the first to the last, the better to perceive their connection. As in the example last mentioned, relating to Dido, if we drop all the intervening steps, and connect the words expressed with what is directly intended, they will be found to contain a very remote cause put for the effect, which comes under a metonymy. On the contrary, in the second example, where dark stands for thick, the effect is put for a remote cause. And the first, which is founded in a similitude of temper between Caesar and Marius, belongs to a metaphor.

VIII. Allegory. As a metalepsis comprises several allegories, &c., tropes in one word, so this is a continuation of several continuatropes in one or more sentences. Thus Cicero says, "Fortune provided you no field, in which your virtues could run and display itself;" where the words rence, field and run are metaphors taken from corporeal things, and applied to the mind. And in another passage, speaking of himself, he says, "Nor was I formidable, that after I had steered the ship of the state through the greatest storms and waves, and brought her safe into port, I should fear the cloud of your forehead, or your colleague's pestilent breath. I saw other winds, I perceived other storms, I did not withdraw from other impending tempests; but exposed myself singly to them for the common safety." Here the state is compared to a ship, and all the things said of it under that image are expressed in metaphors made use of to signify the dangers with which it had been threatened. And indeed allegories generally consist of metaphors; which being the most beautiful trope, a number of them well chosen and put together is one of the finest and brightest ornaments in language, and exceeds Elocution exceeds a single metaphor in lustre, as a constellation does a separate star. It is true, that allegories are sometimes found in other tropes; but this is very rare.

In that known expression of Terence, the tropes are all metonymies: *Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus grows cold*; that is, divested of the tropes, *Without meat and drink, love dies*. And Samson’s riddle is made up of synecdoches: “Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.” But there is no small skill required in the right management of allegories. For care should be taken, that the same kind of trope be carried through the whole, so as to compose one uniform and consistent set of ideas: otherwise they dress up a chimera, a thing that has no existence, and of which the mind can form no perception. And, as Quintilian says very justly, “to begin with a tempest and end with a fire, would be very ridiculous and unnatural.” It is likewise very necessary that the allusions be all plain and evident, especially where the name of the thing alluded to is not expressed. These are called pure allegories. As that of Cicero: “So it happens, that I, whose business it is to repel the darts, and heal the wounds, am obliged to appear before the adversaries have thrown any dart; and they are allowed a time to attack us, when it will not be in our power to avoid the assault; and if they throw a poisonous dart, which they seem prepared to do, we shall have no opportunity to apply a remedy.”

The tropes here are all taken from military affairs, without any intimation what they are applied to. But that is plain from the context of the discourse. For he is speaking of the disadvantages he laboured under in defending his client against those of the opposite side, and so applies to the bar those terms which were proper to the field. But where the reference is not evident, it becomes a riddle: which is nothing else but an obscure allegory. To avoid this, therefore, the best writers generally use what they call mixed allegories; that is, such wherein the proper name of the thing is expressed, which the whole similitude respects. Of this kind is that in the speech of king Philip of Macedon, given by us Justin, where he says, “I perceive that cloud of a dreadful and bloody war arising in Italy, and a thunder-storm from the west, which will fill all places with a large shower of blood, wherever the tempest of victory shall carry it.”

The proper words *war*, *blood*, and *victory*, being joined to the tropes *cloud*, *shower*, and *tempest*, in this sentence, render the several parts of the similitude plain and evident. Quintilian thinks those allegories most beautiful, where the whole similitude is expressed, and those words, which in their proper sense relate to one of the two things between which the comparison is made, are allegorically applied to the other: As when Cornelius Nepos says of Atticus, “If that pilot gains the greatest reputation who preserves his ship in a boisterous and rocky sea; ought not he to be thought a man of singular prudence, who arrived in safety through so many and so great civil tempests?”

These are the allegories with which orators are chiefly concerned.

§ 2. Of Figures.

This term seems to have been borrowed from the stage, where the different habits and gestures of the actors, suitable to the several characters they sustained, were by the Greeks called *παράστασις*, and by the Latins *figura*: And it is not unusual with us to say of a person, both with respect to his dress and action, that he figure appears a very bad, or a very graceful, figure. And as newly born language is the dress, as it were, of our thoughts, in rows from which they appear and are represented to others; so any particular manner of speaking, may, in a large sense of the word, be called its *figura*, in which latitude writers sometimes use it. But rhetoricians have refrained the sense of the word to such forms of speech as differ from the more common and ordinary ways of expression; as the theatrical habits of actors, and their deportment on the stage, are different from their usual garb and behaviour at other times. A *figura* therefore, in the sense it is used by rhetoricians, is a mode of speaking different from, and more beautiful and emphatical than, the ordinary and usual way of expressing the same sense; or, in other words, That language which is suggested either by the imagination or the passions. Now as the habits and gestures of our bodies are in a manner infinitely variable, so it is plain that the different forms of speech are almost innumerable. But every alteration from the common manner ought not to be effected a figure, nor deserves that character. It must contain some beauty, or express some passion, to merit a place among rhetorical figures, and be marked out for imitation.

The subject of *figures* seems to have been one of the last things which was brought into the art of oratory, in order to complete it. Aristotle, who treats so accurately upon other parts, says very little of this. But the Greek writers who came after him have abundantly supplied that deficiency. It is to them we owe the chief observations that have been made on this subject. They took notice of the several modes and turns of expression, observed their force and beauty, and gave them particular names by which they might be known and distinguished from each other. And indeed they have treated the matter with such minuteness and subtlety, that Quintilian seems, not without reason, to think they have multiplied figures to an excess. But though it was so late before they were taken notice of, and introduced into the art of speaking; yet the use of them in discourse was doubtless very ancient. The author of Homer’s life, which some have ascribed to Plutarch, has shown, by examples taken out of him, that there is scarce a figure mentioned by rhetoricians, but is to be met with in that most ancient poet. And, if we consider the nature of speech, we shall easily perceive that mankind must have been under a necessity very early to introduce the use of *tropes* for supplying the want of proper words to express their simple ideas: so the like necessity must have put them upon the use of figures to represent their different passions. Though both of them were afterwards increased, and improved in such a manner as to become the chief ornaments of language. The passions of men have been always the same; they are implanted in us by nature, and we are all taught to discover them by the same ways. When the mind is disturbed, we show it by our countenance, by our actions, and by our words. Fear, joy, anger, alter the countenance, and occasion different emotions and gestures of the whole body. And we know with what what passion a man is affected, by hearing his words, though we do not see him. He does not express himself as he usually does at other times when cool and sedate. Objects appear to him in a different view, and therefore he cannot but speak of them in a different way. He interrogates, he exclaims, he admires, he appeals, he invokes, he threatens, he recalls his words, repeats them, and by many other different turns of expression varies his speech no less than his countenance, from his common and ordinary manner. Now as nature seems to teach us by these figurative expressions how to represent the different commotions of our minds, hence some have thought fit to call figures the language of the passions. And as these are given us, among other wise ends, to excite us the better to provide for our preservation and safety, this is done sometimes by force of arms, and at other times by discourse. And therefore Cicero very handsomely compares the conduct of an orator to the exercises of the palestra; in which, as each combatant endeavours not only to defend himself, and attack his adversary, but likewise to do both with decency; so the principal weapons of an orator, as he represents them, are figures, which being no less the ornaments of language than images of our passions, answer all these purposes. Besides, figures chiefly distinguish the different kinds of style, furnish it with an agreeable variety, and often serve to represent things in a clear and forcible manner.

From this short account of the nature of figures, the advantage of them to an orator is very evident. They are a sort of natural eloquence, which every one falls into without attending to it, suitably to that temper of mind with which he is affected himself, and is disposed to affect others. In a cool and sedate discourse, such figures as convey our sentiments with the greatest strength and evidence are most proper. And there are others, which are suited to brighten and enliven more gay and sprightly subjects. Others again are more peculiarly adapted to express the disorders and perturbations of the mind. To repeat the same thing again would many times be deemed a tautology and impertinence; but to do this when the mind is ruffled, is not only allowable, but the repetition renders it more strong and affecting. So likewise to interrogate, exclaim, or admire, under the influence of a passion, impresses the hearers, and disposes them to attention; whereas at another time perhaps such ways of speaking would scarce be consistent with prudence. There is a natural sympathy in mens minds, which disposes them to receive impressions from those with whom they converse. Thus one gay and pleasant companion gives a cheerfulness and vivacity to a whole company; whereas, on the contrary, one who is dull and phlegmatic damps the spirits of all about him, and affects them with the same gloomy temper. Figures are peculiarly serviceable to an orator for answering these different intentions. And as he finds them in life, from thence he must copy them; as a painter does the features of the countenance, and the several parts of the body; figures being to the one what lines and colours are to the other. The design of Catiline to destroy the Roman state and burn the city, is a story well known. There was an army drawn together at a proper distance to favour the undertaking; and others were left in Rome, who had their parts assigned them for burning the city, and destroying those who should escape the flames. And in a word, every thing was ready for putting in execution this horrid and barbarous scheme. So that nothing retarded it but the taking off Cicero, who was then consul, which was thought necessary to be done first. Cicero, upon information of the design against his life, finds means to prevent it, and the same day calls together the senate. And Catiline, who was a man of consummate boldness, had the confidence to appear in that assembly. Upon their meeting, Cicero opens to them the whole affair of the conspiracy, and the design against himself, in a most warm and pathetic harangue. In which he had two things in view; to raise the indignation of the senate against the conspirators, and particularly against Catiline; and, either by terrifying or exasperating him, to oblige him to leave the city. Now he does not begin this speech in his usual manner at other times, by addressing to his audience, bespeaking their favour and attention, or letting them gradually into the design of what he was about to say; but as Catiline was present, he immediately falls upon him with vehemence, in the following manner: "How far, Catiline, will you abuse our patience? How long will your fury insult us? What bounds will you set to your unbridled rage? Does neither the night-guard of the palace, nor the city-watch, nor the peoples fear, nor the agreement of all good men, nor the meeting of the senate in this fortified place, nor the countenances and looks of this assembly, at all move you? Do not you perceive your designs are discovered, and that all who are present know of your conspiracy? Who of us, do you think, is ignorant of what you did the last night, and the night before, where you was, who were with you, and what you resolved on? O times, O manners! The senate knows this, the consul feels it; and yet this man lives—lives? nay, comes into the senate, joins in the public councils, observes and marks out each of us for destruction!" And in the same impetuous strain he proceeds through his whole speech, interspersing a great variety of the like strong and moving figures. And the discourse had its desired effect; for when Catiline stood up afterwards to make his defence, the whole senate was so inflamed, and their resentments against him rose so high, from what Cicero had said, that they had not patience to hear him speak; upon which he left both them and the city. Had Cicero, instead of venting his just indignation against the author of so barbarous and inhuman a design, in the manner he did, by figures suited to strike the passions of his hearers; had he, instead of this, attempted to reason with him, and told the story in a cold and lifeless manner, he would have exposed himself to the contempt of Catiline; and by leaving the senate little or nothing moved at what he said, prevented perhaps their coming to those speedy and vigorous resolutions which were necessary at so critical a juncture. Let us suppose him to have expostulated with Catiline in much the same words as before, but thrown into a different form, and divested of those pathetic figures. As thus: "Catiline, you have really abused our patience to a great degree. You have insulted us with your furious proceedings a long while. You seem to have fixed no bounds to Neither the night guard of the palace, nor the city-watch, nor the people's fear, nor the agreement among good men, nor the calling together of the senate in this fortified place, nor the countenances and looks of this assembly, appear to move you in the least. I assure you we are all of us apprised of what you did the last night, and the night before, where you was, and who were with you, and what resolutions you came to. There are bad times, the age is very degenerate; that the senate should know all this, the consuls see it; and yet that this man should live, come into the senate, hear all our debates, and mark us out to destroy us." You see the sense is entirely the same, and the words too in a great measure; so that there is little more than an alteration in the form of them. And yet who does not perceive how flat and languid such a way of talking must have appeared at that time? and how much it loses of that spirit and energy, which shows itself in Cicero's manner of expression? Had he delivered himself thus, it might indeed have made the senate look upon Catiline as an abandoned wretch, loit to all virtue and goodness, and perhaps have moved some to pity him on that account; as we are easily induced to compassionate persons in such circumstances, especially when descended from noble and virtuous ancestors, which was his case. But sure it would have been ill suited to fire their minds with that generous regard for their country, and the necessary precautions for its security, which the circumstances of the state then required. Nor would Catiline have been at all deterred by it, but rather encouraged in the prosecution of his designs, from the little effect a speech so managed must probably have had upon the minds of the senators. But Cicero knew very well that the passions of mankind are the springs of action: that it is many times not sufficient for an orator to convince their minds, by setting the truth in a clear light; but he must also raise their hopes, alarm their fears, inflame their anger, or excite some other suitable passion, before they will be brought to act with that zeal and fervour which the case may require. And as he was admirably well skilled in this art of touching the passions, he seldom fails to fix upon the proper methods of doing it, and makes choice of such figures and modes of speaking as in the strongest manner represent the emotions of his own mind. For every passion is not to be expressed by the same figures, any more than it is drawn by the same lines, or painted with the same colours. When Dido finds that Aeneas is about to leave her, she uses all her arts to detain him. And as persons in great distresses seldom take a lof to express their condition in the most affecting way; she discovers her fear, anger, revenge, with the whole crowd of disorders which then possessed her mind, in a variety of moving figures, suited to raise the counter passions in his breast, as is finely represented by Virgil in that artful speech he has made for her, which we forbear to recite for no other reason but the length of it. But what particular figures are most accommodated to answer the several ends proposed by them, will best appear when we come to treat of them separately.

We shall therefore now proceed to lay down a few directions for the proper use of figures. And first they should always be accommodated to the sentiments, and rise in proportion to the images designed to be conveyed by them. So far as they are founded in reason, they are suited to impress the mind; but where the language outstrips the thought, though it may please the ear, and some weak persons may be carried away with a pomp of words, yet an intelligent hearer will soon see through the thin and airy drefs. It is the sense which gives weight to the figure, as that by striking the imagination awakens the mind, and excites it to act in conformity to reason. Again, in the use of pathetic figures, it is generally better to be nervous than copious, that the images, by their closer union, may impress the mind with greater force and energy; though in such figures as are designed for ornament or illustration, a more diffusive way of painting is sometimes agreeable. But farther, the too frequent use of figures ought to be avoided. For what was observed in relation to tropes, is also true with respect to these; that a great number of them is apt to darken and obscure the style. And besides, Cicero's reflection in this case is very just, That "it is hard to say, what should be the reason, that those things, which most affect us with a sensible pleasure, and at first sight soonest move us, do likewise soonest cloy and satiate us." But that it is so, we find by common experience. Lastly, figures should be so interwoven in a discourse, as not to render the style rough and uneven, sometimes high and at other times low; now dry and jejune, then pompous and florid. In a word, they should rather seem to arise from nature than art; to offer themselves, than to be the effect of study; and to appear not like patches upon a face, but the agreeable beauty of a sound and healthful complexion. But of this we shall have occasion to speak more at large hereafter, in treating upon the different kinds or characters of style.

As to the division of figures, which is what remains to be considered, they are usually divided into two sorts, figures of words, and figures of sentences. The difference between them consists in this; that in the former, if you alter the words, or sometimes only the situation of them, you destroy the figure; but in the latter the figure remains, whatever words are made use of, or in what manner soever the order of them is changed. Thus when the name of a person or thing is repeated, to intimate some known property or quality belonging thereto, it is a verbal figure called place. Cicero was a true patriot and hearty lover of his country. And therefore we shall use this figure in saying, that at the time of Catiline's conspiracy Cicero appeared like Cicero. The sense would remain the same, but the figure would be lost, if we should alter the words, and say, at that time Cicero appeared like himself. So when two or more sentences, or members of a sentence, end with the same word, it is called epistrophe; as when we say, To lose all reliefs of life, is in effect to lose life. But if only the order of the words be changed in the latter clause thus, To lose all reliefs of life, is to lose life in effect; the figure vanishes. And this is the nature of the verbal figures. But it is not so in figures of sentences; they continue the same, whatever alterations are made in An orator sometimes thinks it proper to change the form of his discourse, and address himself to his audience, or an absent person, or else perhaps to introduce some other person as speaking to them whose words may be supposed to carry greater weight and authority with them than his own. The former of these is called *apostrophe*, and the latter *prosopopeia* or *imagery*; which require no certain words or order of expression.

**Art. I. Verbal Figures.**

These may be distinguished into three sorts, as they consist in a deficiency of words, a redundancy, or a repetition.

1. Of the first sort are *ellipsis* and *asyndeton*.

*Ellipsis*, is when one or more words are wanting in a sentence to complete the construction, and fully express the sense. This figure is often used in proverbial speeches: as when we say, *Many men, many minds*; that is, *have many minds*; and, *The more danger, the more honour*; that is, *gains more honour*. But where more is intended by such expressions than mere brevity, and especially when they are the effect of some passion, the figure receives another name, and is called *aposiopesis*, which is placed among the figures of sentences, where we shall consider it.

*Asyndeton*, is when the particles that connect the members of a sentence one with another are left out, to represent either the celerity of an action, or the haste and eagerness of the speaker. Thus Caesar expresses his speedy conquest of Pharnaces: *I came, I saw, I conquered*. If he had inserted the copulatives, and said, *I came, and I saw, and I conquered*, it would have retarded the expression, and not given so full and just an idea of the swiftness of the action. In the last article we took notice of the vehement and impetuous manner in which Cicero attacked Catiline in his first oration, where his design was to fire the minds of the senate against him, and oblige him to leave the city, both which points he gained by that speech. The next day, therefore, when Catiline was gone, he calls together the body of the citizens, and makes a speech to them, which in a sort of rapture or transport of mind he thus begins, by acquainting them with the departure of Catiline, *He is gone, departed, escaped, broke out*; intimating at the same time both the excessive rage in which Catiline left Rome, and the great pleasure with which he was himself affected on that account. This concise way of speaking adds likewise a considerable emphasis to an expression, and by bringing the several parts of a thing nearer together affects the mind with greater force. Thus Cicero sets Cato’s character in a very strong and beautiful light by the use of this figure. “Nature itself (says he) has made you a great and excellent man for integrity, gravity, temperance, magnanimity, justice, in a word, for all virtues.”

II. The second sort of verbal figures is contrary to these, and consists in a redundancy or multiplicity of words; which are likewise two, *pleonasmus* and *polyndeton*.

When we use more words than are necessary to express a thing, it is called *pleonasmus*. This is done sometimes for greater emphasis, as when we say, *Where in the world is he?* At other times it is designed to affect the truth of what is said: So the servant in Terence, when the truth of what he had related was called in question, replies, *It is certainly so; I saw it with these very eyes*.

When the several parts of a sentence are united by proper particles, it is called *polyndeton*. This adds a weight and gravity to an expression, and makes what is said to appear with an air of solemnity; and by retarding the course of the sentence, gives the mind an opportunity to consider and reflect upon every part distinctly. We often meet with this figure in Demosthenes, which very well suits with the gravity of his style. So he encourages the Athenians to prosecute the war against King Philip of Macedon, from this consideration, that now “they had ships, and men, and money, and stores, and all other things which might contribute to the strength of the city, in greater number and plenty than in former times.” Every article here has its weight, and carries in it a proper motive to animate them to the war. But if you remove the copulatives, the sentence will lose much of its force.

III. The third kind of verbal figures consists in a repetition. And either the same word in sound or sense, is repeated; or one of a like sound, or signification, or both.

Of the former sort there are ten, called *antanaclasis*, *place*, *epizeuxis*, *climax*, *anaphora*, *epistrophè*, *synecdoche*, *epanalepsis*, *anadiplosis*, and *epanodos*. The two first of these agree in sound, but differ in sense; the eight following agree in both.

When the same word in sound but not in sense is repeated, it is called *antanaclasis*. This figure sometimes carries a poignancy in it; and when it appears natural and easy, discovers a ready turn of thought. As when a son, to clear himself of suspicion, assured his father he did not wait for his death; his father replied, *But I defy you would wait for it*. Here the word *wait* is taken in two different senses. It is likewise used on serious occasions, as in grave and moral precepts, which are apt to affect the mind with greater pleasure when delivered in an agreeable dress. As this; *Care for those things in your youth, which in old age may free you from care*: Where the word *care* in the former place signifies to provide, and in the latter anxiety of mind. And even our Saviour himself once uses this figure, when he says to one of his disciples, who desired to be dismissed from attending him that he might go and bury his father; *Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead*: Where *dead* in one place denotes a natural death, and in the other a moral or spiritual death.

Sometimes the name of some person or thing is repeated again, to denote some particular character or property designed to be expressed by it; and then it is called *place*. Thus Cicero says, *Young Cato wants experience, but yet he is Cato*; meaning he had the steady temper of the family. And so in the proverbial expression, *An ape is an ape*, *dress him ever so fine*.

When a word is repeated again with vehemence in the same sense, it is called *epizeuxis*. This figure shows the earnestness of the speaker, and his great concern of mind about what he says; and therefore has a natural tendency to excite the attention of the audience. Elocution. It is suited to express anger, surprise, sorrow, and several other passions. As when Cicero would express his indignation against Antony for having been the chief instrument in bringing on the civil war, he says to him: "You, you, Antony, pushed Cæsar upon the civil war." And thus he tells Catiline in his first incendiary against him: "You live; and live, not to lay aside, but to pursue, your wicked design." And when our Saviour would express his great concern and sorrow for the wickedness of the Jews, he does it in this pathetic manner: "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who killest the prophets!"

Climax is a beautiful kind of repetition, when the word, which ends the first member of a period, begins the second, and so through each member, till the whole is finished. There is a great deal of strength as well as beauty in this figure, where the several steps rise naturally, and are closely connected with each other. As in this example: "There is no enjoyment of property without government, no government without a magistrate, no magistrate without obedience, and no obedience where every one acts as he pleases." But, as Quintilian observes, this figure lies so open, that it is apt to look too much like art; for which reason he advises not to use it often. To prevent this, therefore, orators sometimes disguise it, by not repeating the same word which stood in the former member, but some other equivalent to it. As in the following instance of Cicero for Milo: "Nor did he commit himself only to the people, but also to the senate; nor to the senate only, but likewise to the public forces; nor to these only, but also to his power with whom the senate had entrusted the whole commonwealth."

When several sentences, or members of a sentence, begin with the same word, it is called anaphora. This is a lively and elegant figure, and serves very much to engage the attention. For by the frequent return of the same word the mind of the hearer is held in an agreeable suspense, till the whole is finished. "You do nothing (says Cicero to Catiline), you attempt nothing, you think nothing, but what I not only hear, but also see, and plainly perceive." It is frequently used by way of question; which renders it not only beautiful, but likewise strong and nervous. As at the beginning of the same speech: "Does neither the night-guard of the palace, nor the city-watch, nor the peoples fear, nor the agreement of all good men, nor the meeting of the senate in this fortified place, nor the countenances and looks of this assembly, at all move you?" And in another of his orations: "What is so popular as peace, which seems to afford a pleasure, not only to beings endowed with sense, but even to inanimate nature? What is so popular as liberty, which even beasts as well as men seem to covet and prefer above all things? What is so popular as ease and leisure, for the enjoyment of which you and your ancestors have undergone the greatest labours?"

Epistrophè is contrary to the former, and makes the repetition at the end of each member or sentence. As thus: "Since concord was lost; friendship was lost; fidelity was lost; liberty was lost; all was lost." And Cicero, in the charge which he brings against Mark Antony before the senate, makes use of this figure, when he says, "Do you lament the destruction of three Roman armies? the author of that destruction was Antony. Do you bewail the loss of most eminent citizens? They have been taken from you by Antony. Is the authority of this order weakened? It is weakened by Antony."

Symplecè takes in both these last figures. As in that of Cicero: "You would pardon and acquit him, whom the senate hath condemned, whom the people of Rome have condemned, whom all mankind have condemned." Here the several members both begin and end with the same word. We have a beautiful instance of it in St Paul, when he says, "Are they Hebrews? so am I. Are they Israelites? so am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? so am I."

When a sentence concludes with the word with which it began, it is called epanalepsis. As in that expression of Plautus, "Virtue contains all things, she wants no good thing who has virtue." The figure is the same, but the principle not so honest, in the advice which we find given by the miser in Horace, when he says, "Get money, if you can, honestly; but however, get money." This figure adds a force to an expression, when the principal thing designed to be conveyed is thus repeated, by leaving it last upon the mind. And it heightens the beauty of it, when the sentence has an agreeable turn arising from two opposite parts. As in Cicero's compliment to Cæsar: "We have seen your victory terminated by the war; your drawn sword in the city we have not seen." Hermogenes calls this a circle, because the sentence returns again to the same word, as that geometrical figure is formed by the orbicular motion of a line to the same point.

When the following sentence begins with the same word with which the former concluded, it is termed anadiplosis. As in the following instance: "Let us think no price too great for truth; truth cannot be bought too dear." So in that passage of St John: "He came to his own, and his own received him not." This figure generally suits best with grave and solemn discourses.

Epanodos is the inversion of a sentence, or repeating it backwards, so that it takes in the two last figures; for it both begins and ends with the same word, and the same word is likewise repeated in the middle. This turn of expression has a beauty in it, and shows a readiness of thought. We have the following example of it in Minutius Felix, where he is exposing the folly of the Egyptian superstition: "Iris (says he), with Cynocephalus and her priests, laments, bemoans, and feeks her lost son; her attendants beat their breasts, and imitate the grief of the unhappy mother; in a little time the son is found, upon which they all rejoice. Nor do they cease every year to lole what they find, or to find what they lole. And is it not ridiculous to lament what you worship, or to worship what you lament?" It serves likewise to illustrate and enforce the sense, by setting it in two opposite views. As in that expression of the prophet: "Wo unto them who call good evil, and evil good; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness!"

Those figures which consist in a repetition of words of a like sound or signification, or both, are four: Elocution, paronomasia, homoiotetton, synonymia, and derivatio; the two first of which respect words that are similar in found only, the third in sense, and the last in both.

When two words very near in found, but different in sense, respect each other in the same sentence, it is called paronomasia. As when we say, "After a feast comes a fast;" and, "A friend in need is a friend indeed." We usually call it a pun, which when new, and appropriately used, passes for wit, and serves to enliven conversation. Nor is it wholly to be excluded from grave and serious discourses: for a witty jest has many times had a better effect than a solid argument, and prevailed with those who could not be moved by close reasoning. And therefore Cicero and the best speakers have sometimes recourse to it upon weighty and solemn occasions, as will be shown hereafter in its proper place.

When the several parts of a sentence end with the same case, or tense of a like sound, this also is considered as a figure, and named homoiotetton. As thus:

"No marvel though wisdom complain that she is either wilfully despised, or carelessly neglected; either openly scorned, or secretly abhorred." This figure is esteemed most beautiful when the parts are all of the same length, or pretty near it; as it adds to the harmony of the period, and renders the cadency of the several members more musical from the just proportion between them. The Greek rhetoricians were much addicted to this figure, and Isocrates is particularly celebrated for it. But some of the best orators seem to have industriously avoided it, as carrying in it too much the appearance of art. And it is remarkable, that this figure appears nowhere so much in all the works of Demosthenes, as in an oration which he did not speak himself, but wrote for his friend Diodorus, a man of that taste, who was to pronounce it as his own.

The next figure above-mentioned is synonymia. Now strictly speaking, synonymous words are those which have exactly the same sense. But there being few such, the use of the term is so far extended as to comprehend words of a near affinity in their signification, which in discourse are frequently put for one another. So, to desire, and intreat, are sometimes used as equivalent terms; whereas to desire is no more than to wish for a thing, and to intreat is to express that inclination in words. In like manner, esteem and honour are often taken for synonymous words, though they have not precisely the same sense, but one is the usual consequence of the other; for esteem is the good opinion we entertain of a person in our mind, and honour the outward expression of that opinion. When two or more such words come together, they constitute this figure. As when Cicero, speaking of Piso, says, "His whole countenance, which is the tacit language of the mind, has drawn men into a mistake, and deceived, cheated, imposed on those who did not know him." This figure sometimes adds force to an expression, by enlivening the idea; and it often promotes the harmony and just cadency of a sentence, which otherwise would drop too soon, and disappoint the ear.

When such words as spring from the same root, as justice, just, injustice, unjust, and the like, come together in the same sentence, they make the figure called derivatio. Cicero, observing the vanity of the philosophers who affected praise at the same time that they decried it, uses this figure, when he says of them,

"The philosophers set their names to those very books which they write for the contempt of glory; and are detested to be honoured and applauded, even for what they say in contempt of honour and applause." This figure receives an additional beauty when repeated, especially in two opposite members; as, "He wished rather to die a present death, than to live a miserable life."

Art. II. Figures of Sentences.

Of these, some are principally adapted for reasonings, and others to move the passions.

I. Those suited for proof. Which are six: Prolepsis, hypolepsis, anaconoeisis, epistrophes, parabole, and antithesis.

Prolepsis, or anticipation, is so called, when the orator first starts an objection, which he foresees may be made against his conduct or cause, and then answers it. Its use is to forestall an adversary, and prevent his exceptions, which cannot afterwards be introduced with so good a grace. Though it has like the palliatus, a farther advantage, as it serves to conciliate the audience, while the speaker appears furious to represent matters fairly, and not to conceal any objection which may be made against him. The occasions of this figure are various; and the manner of introducing it very different. Sometimes the orator thinks it necessary to begin with it, in order to justify his conduct, and remove any exceptions which may be made against his design. Cicero, for several years together, after he first began to plead, had always been for the defendant in criminal cases. And therefore, when he was prevailed with to undertake the accusation of Verres, he begins his oration with this apology for himself: "If any one present should wonder, that when for several years past I have so conducted myself as to defend many and accuse none, I now on a sudden alter my custom, and undertake an accusation; when he shall have heard the occasion and reason of my design, he will both approve of it, and think no person so proper to manage this affair as myself." And then he proceeds to give an account of the reasons which moved him to engage in it. At other times the objection is admitted as an exception to what has been said, but not so as to affect it in general. Thus, when Cicero has represented the advantages of literature and the polite arts, he starts this objection to what himself had laid, "But some will ask, whether those great men, the memory of whose glorious actions is delivered down to posterity, were acquainted with that sort of learning I so applaud?" To which he replies, "Indeed this can scarce be said of them all. However, the answer is easy. I have known several persons of excellent abilities, who, without learning, by the force of an extraordinary genius have been men of great virtue and solidity. Nay I will add, that nature without learning, has oftener produced these qualifications, than learning without a genius. But yet it must still be owned, that where both these meet, they form something very excellent and singular." Again, at other times, the orator artfully represents the objection as something considerable and important, to give the greater weight to his answer when he has confuted it. Cicero, in his celebrated oration for the Manilian law, could not omit Elocution, to take notice, that Lucullus had already gained several very considerable advantages over Mithridates. And therefore, having before described the war as very great and dangerous, apprehending these two accounts might appear somewhat insufficient, and be liable to an objection, he puts it thus artfully himself:

"But now, after what I have said of Lucullus, it may probably be asked, How then can the war be so great? I'm pleased to hear, for there seems to be very just reason for this question." And then he proceeds to show, from the power of king Mithridates at that time, his great abilities, long experience in military affairs, and fresh alliances, that the war was yet very great and dangerous. But sometimes, when the orator is sensible that what he has advanced lies open to an objection, he omits to make it in express terms; and yet proceeds to vindicate what he had said, as if it had been made. Thus, when Cicero had charged Verres with having plundered the inhabitants of Sicily of all their plate, jewels, and other valuable moveables, which he thought worth while to carry away; as the audience might imagine this to be scarce credible, he takes it for granted they thought so, and therefore immediately adds, "As strange as this is, I affirm it positively, without any intention to aggravate the crime." And so he goes on to the proof of his assertion. But this figure is likewise made use of to guard against some objection, which the speaker apprehends may be made against what he designs to lay. And thus Cicero uses it in his oration for Sextius. "My province (says he), as I speak last, seems to call for affection to my friend, rather than his defence; complaint, rather than eloquence; expressions of grief, rather than art. And therefore, if I shall express myself with more warmth, or greater freedom, than those who have spoke before me, I hope you will grant me all that liberty of speech which you judge reasonable to be allowed to an affectionate sorrow and just resentment."

This figure requires great prudence and discretion in the management of it. The speaker must consider well the temper, bias, and other circumstances of his hearers, in order to form a right judgment what parts of his discourse may be most liable to exception. For to object such things, which the hearers would never have thought of themselves, is to give himself a needless trouble; and to start such difficulties, which he cannot afterwards fairly remove, will expose both himself and his cause. But as nothing gives an audience greater pleasure and satisfaction, than to have their scruples fully answered as they rise in their thoughts; so on the contrary, be a discourse otherwise ever so entertaining and agreeable, if there be any doubt left upon the minds of the hearers, it gives them a pain that continues with them till it be removed.

The figure hypotaxis or jurisdiction, is not much unlike the former; and is, when several things are mentioned that seem to make for the contrary side, and each of them refuted in order. It consists of three parts, when complete: a proposition, an enumeration of particulars with their answers, and a conclusion.—Thus Cicero, upon his return from banishment, vindicates his conduct in withdrawing so quietly, and not opposing the faction that ejected him. "My departure (says he) is objected to me, which charge I cannot answer without commending myself. For what must I say? That I fled from a consciousness of guilt? Elocution. But what is charged upon me as a crime, was so far from being a fault, that it is the most glorious action since the memory of man, (he means his punishing the associates of Catiline.) That I feared being called to an account by the people? That was never talked of; and if it had been done, I should have come off with double honour. That I wanted the support of good and honest men? That is false. That I was afraid of death? That is a calumny. I must therefore say, what I would not, unless compelled to it, that I withdrew to preserve the city." When the objections are put by way of question, as in the example here given, they add a briskness and poignancy to the figure. All the parts of it are not constantly expressed. For thus Cicero in his defence of Plancius introduces his adversary objecting, and himself answering, "The people judged ill, but they did judge; they should not have done it, but they had a power; I cannot submit to it, but many very great and wise men have."

Both the proposition and conclusion are here omitted.

The next figure in order is anacoenesis, or communication; by which the speaker deliberates either with the judges, the hearers, or the adversary himself. Thus Cicero addresses the judges in his accusation of Verres: "Now I desire your opinion what you think I ought to do. And I know your advice will be, though you do not declare it, what appears to me necessary to be done." In another place we find him reasoning in this manner with the adverse party: "What could you have done in such a case, and at such a time; when to have sat still, or withdrawn, would have been cowardice? When the wickedness and fury of Saturninus the tribune had called you into the capitol; and the confuls, to defend the safety and liberty of your country; whose authority, whose voice, which party would you have followed, and whose command would you have chosen to obey?" This figure carries in it an air of modesty and condescension, when the speaker seems unwilling to determine in his own cause, but refers it to the opinion of others. It likewise shows a persuasion of the equity of his cause, that he can leave it to their arbitration; and serves very much to conciliate their minds, while he joins them, as it were, with himself, and makes them of his party. And when the appeal is made to the adverse party, it is of considerable advantage, either to extort a confession, or at least to silence him. And therefore the sacred writers sometimes very beautifully introduce God himself thus expostulating with mankind; as the prophet Malachi, A son honoureth his father, and a servant his master. If then I be a father, where is mine honour? and if I be a master, where is my fear?

Another figure that comes under this head, is epitrope or concession; which grants one thing, to obtain another more advantageous. It is either real or feigned; and either the whole of a thing, or a part only, is granted. We shall consider each of these separately, and illustrate them with proper examples. Nothing more confounds an adversary, than to grant him his whole argument; and at the same time either to show that it is nothing to the purpose, or to offer something else which may invalidate it. Allow, says the claimant by will against the heir at law that no body was more nearly related to the deceased than you; that he was under some obligations to you; that you were in the army together: but what is all this to the will? And thus Cicero in his defence of Ligarius, who was accused by Tubero for having joined with Pompey in the civil war between him and Caesar: "You have, Tubero, what an accuser would most desire, the accused person confessing the charge; but so as to affirm, that he was of the same party with you and your excellent father. Therefore own first that it was a crime in yourself, before you charge it as such upon Ligarius." Sometimes the orator gives up some particular point that would well admit of a dispute, to gain something more considerable, which he thinks cannot fairly be denied him. In the affair of Roscius, where the proof depended upon circumstances, Cicero, who defended him, inquires what reason could be alleged for his committing so black a crime, as to kill his father. And after he has shown there was no probable reason to be assigned for it, he adds, "Well, since you can offer no reason, although this might be sufficient for me, yet I will recede from my right; and upon the assurance I have of his innocence, I will grant you in this cause what I would not in another. I do not therefore insist upon your telling me why he killed his father, but ask how he did it?" This appearance of candour and ingenuity in such concessions removes the suspicion of art, and gives greater credit to what is denied. We have an example of a feigned or ironical concession, in Cicero's defence of Flaccus; where, interceding for him on the account of his former good services in the time of Catiline's conspiracy, he says in a way of irony, If such things are to be overlooked, "let us appease the ghosts of Lentulus and Cethegus; let us recall those who are in exile; and let us be punished for our too great affection and love for our country." By this artful insinuation, the orator, after he has used all his arguments to persuade his hearers, does as it were set them at liberty, and leave them to their own election; it being the nature of man to adhere more steadfastly to what is not violently imposed, but referred to his own free and deliberative choice. And to these feigned concessions may be referred such ways of reasoning, by which the orator both justifies a charge brought against him upon the supposition of its being true, and also proves that the charge itself is false. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Milo, represents the taking off Clodius, with which Milo was accused, as a glorious action; after he has shown that Milo's servants did it without the knowledge of their matter.

Parable or similitude, illustrates a thing by comparing it with some other, to which it bears a resemblance. Similitudes are indeed generally but weak arguments, though often beautiful and fine ornaments. And where the design of them is not so much to prove what is doubtful, as to set things in a clear and agreeable light, they come properly under the notion of figures. They are of two sorts; simple and compound. Those are called simple, in which one thing only is likened or compared to another, in this manner: As swallows appear in summer, but in winter retreat; so false friends show themselves in prosperity, but all fly away when adversity approaches. Compound similitudes are such, wherein one thing is likened or compared to several others; as thus: What light is to the world, physic to the sick, water to the thirsty, and rest to the weary; Elocution, that is knowledge to the mind. The more exact the agreement is between the things thus compared, they give the greater beauty and grace to the figure.

Antithesis or opposition, by which things contrary or different are compared, to render them more evident. Thus Cicero says, "The Roman people hate private luxury, but love public grandeur." This is a very florid figure; and suited no less for amplification than proof. As in the following instance of Cicero, where, speaking of Pompey, he says, "He waged more wars than others had read; conquered more provinces than others had governed; and had been trained up from his youth to the art of war, not by the precepts of others, but by his own commands; not by miscarriages in the field, but by victories; not by campaigns, but triumphs." It is esteemed a beauty in this figure when any of the members are inverted, which some call antimetaphasis. As where Cicero, opposing the conduct of Verres when governor of Sicily, to that of Marcellus who took Syracuse the capital city of that island, says, "Compare this peace with that war, the arrival of this governor with the victory of that general, his profligate troops with the invincible army of the other, the luxury of the former with the temperance of the latter; you will say, that Syracuse was founded by him who took it, and taken by him who held it when founded." To this figure may also be referred oxymoron, or seeming contradiction; that is, when the parts of a sentence disagree in sound, but are consistent in sense. As when Ovid says of Althea, that she was impiously pious. And so Cato used to say of Scipio Africanus, that "he was never less at leisure, than when he was at leisure; nor less alone than when alone." By which he meant, as Cicero tells us, that "Scipio was wont to think of business in his retirement, and in his solitude to converse with himself." This is a strong and bold figure, which awakens the mind, and affords it an agreeable pleasure to find upon reflection, that what at first seemed contradictory, is not only consistent with good sense, but very beautiful.—The celebrated Dr Blair, whom we have more than once quoted in this article, has these observations on antithesis, or the contrast of two objects. "Contrast has always this effect, to make each of the contrasted objects appear in the stronger light. White, for instance, never appears so bright as when it is opposed to black, and when both are viewed together. Antithesis, therefore, may, on many occasions, be employed to advantage, in order to strengthen the impression which we intend that any object should make. In order to render an antithesis more complete, it is always of advantage, that the words and members of the sentence, expressing the contrasted objects, be similarly constructed, and made to correspond to each other. This leads us to remark the contrast more, by setting the things which we oppose more clearly over against each other; in the same manner as when we contrast a black and a white object, in order to perceive the full difference of their colour, we would choose to have both objects of the same bulk, and placed in the same light. Their resemblance to each other, in certain circumstances, makes their disagreement in others more palpable. At the same time, I must observe, that the frequent use of antithesis, especially where the opposition in the words is nice and quaint, is apt to render Elocution, the style disagreeable. A maxim, or moral saying, properly enough receives this form; both because it is supposed to be the fruit of meditation, and because it is designed to be engraven on the memory, which recalls it more easily by the help of such contrasted expressions. But where a string of such sentences succeed each other, where this becomes an author's favourite and prevailing manner of expressing himself, his style is faulty; and it is upon this account Seneca has been often and justly censured. Such a style appears too studied and laboured; it gives us the impression of an author attending more to his manner of saying things, than to the things themselves which he says.

There is still another kind of antithesis, which confuses us in surprising us by the unexpected contrasts of things which it brings together; but it is such as is wholly beneath the dignity of an orator, or of grave compositions of any sort, and is fit only for pieces of professed wit and humour, calculated only to excite laughter or create ridicule.

II. Those suited to move the passions. Which are:

1. Epanorthosis, paralepsis, parrahesia, aparithmosis, exergaphia, hypotyphlosis, aporia, polyphesis, erotefis, ephophonos, epiphonema, apotheose, and prolepsis.

Epanorthosis, or correction, is a figure, by which the speaker either recalls or amends what he had last said. It is used different ways. For sometimes one or more words are recalled by him, and others subjoined in their room; at other times, without recalling what has been said, something else is substituted as more suitable. This is a very extensive figure, and made use of in addressing to different passions. We have an instance of it in Terence's Self-tormentor, where the old man, whose extraordinary concern for the absence of his son gave occasion to the name of the play, thus bewails his condition to his neighbour, "I have an only son, Chremes. Alas! did I say that I have; I had indeed; but it is now uncertain whether I have or not." Here, to aggravate his misfortune, he recalls a pleasing word, and substitutes another more affecting in its place. And Cicero, in his defence of Milo, speaking to the judges concerning Clodius, says, "Are you only ignorant what laws, if they may be called laws, and not rather torches and plagues of the state, he was about to impose and force upon us?" Again, in his defence of Plancius, he says, "What greater blow could those judges, if they are to be called judges, and not parodies of their country, have given to the state, than when they dismissed him, who when praetor freed the republic from a neighbouring war, and when consul from a civil one?" He is speaking there of Opimius. But in commending the moderation of Lucius Mummius, who did not enrich himself, but his country, by demolishing the wealthy city of Corinth, he thus recalls his whole expression, and by giving it a new turn heightens the compliment he designed it: "He chose rather (says he) to adorn Italy than his own house; though by adorning Italy his house seems to have received the greatest ornament." And sometimes the correction is made by substituting something contrary to what had been said before; as in the following passage of Cicero: "Cæsar (meaning Augustus), though but a youth, by an incredible and surprising resolution and courage, when Antony was most enraged, and we dreaded his cruel and pernicious return from Brundusium, at a time when we neither asked, nor expected, nor desired it (because it was thought impossible), raised a very powerful army of invincible veterans; to effect which he threw away his whole estate: Though I have used an improper word; for he did not throw it away, but employed it for the safety of the government." At other times, as has been said, the correction is made by adding a more suitable word, without any repetition of the former. Thus Cicero, after he has inveighed against the crimes of Verres, breaks out into this pathetic exclamation: "O the clemency, or rather wonderful and singular patience, of the Roman people! He did not think the word clemency strong enough, and therefore adds patience, as better answering his design. The sudden and unexpected turn of this figure gives a surprise to the mind, and by that means renders it the more pathetic.

Paralepsis, or omission, is another of these figures, when the speaker pretends to omit, or pass by, what at the same time he declares. It is used either in praise or dispraise. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Sextius, introduces his character in this manner, with a design to recommend him to the favour of the court: "I might say many things of his liberality, kindness to his domestics, his command in the army, and moderation during his office in the province; but the honour of the state prefers itself to my view; and calling me to it, advises me to omit these lesser matters." But in his oration to the senate against Rullus the tribune, who had proposed a law to sell the public lands, he makes use of this figure to represent the pernicious effects of such a law, particularly with respect to the lands in Italy. "I do not complain (says he) of the diminution of our revenues, and the woful effects of this loss and damage. I omit what may give every one occasion for a very grievous and just complaint, that we could not preserve the principal estate of the public, the finest possession of the Roman people, the fund of our provisions, the granary of our wants, a revenue entrusted with the state; but that we must give up those lands to Rullus, which, after the power of Sylla, and the largesses of the Gracchi, are yet left us. I do not say, this is now the only revenue of the state, which continues when others cease, is an ornament in peace, fails us not in war, supports the army, and does not fear an enemy. I pass over all these things, and reserve them for my discourse to the people, and only speak at present of the danger of our peace and liberties." His view here was to raise the indignation of the senate against Rullus, and excite them to oppose the law. There is a beautiful instance of this figure in St Paul's epistle to Philemon, where, after he has earnestly intreated him to receive again Onesimus his servant, who had run from him, and promised that if he had wronged him, or owed him anything, he would repay it, he adds, "That I may not say, you owe even yourself to me. Nothing could be a stronger motive to soften his displeasure against his servant, from a sense of gratitude to the apostle. Hermogenes has observed, that the design of this figure is to possess the minds of the audience with more than the words express, and that it is principally made use of on three occasions: either when things are small, but yet necessary to be mentioned; tioned; or well known, and need not be enlarged on; or ungrateful, and therefore should be introduced with caution, and not set in too strong a light.

The next figure above-mentioned was *Parabasia*, or reprehension: Not that whenever a person admonishes or reproves another it is to be esteemed a figure; but when it is done with art and address, and in such circumstances as render it difficult not to displace. — The orator therefore sometimes prepares his hearers for this by commending them first, urging the necessity of it, representing his great concern for them as his motive, or joining himself with them. Thus Cicero charges the Senate with the death of Servius Sulpicius, for sending him to Mark Antony under a very ill state of health. And his design in it was to bring them more readily into a motion he was about to make, that both a statue and a sepulchral monument might be erected to his memory at the public expense. "You (says he), it is a very severe expression, but I cannot help saying it; you, I say, have deprived Servius Sulpicius of his life. It was not from cruelty indeed, (for what is there with which this assembly is less chargeable?) but when his distemper pleaded his excuse more than his words, from the hopes you conceived that there was nothing which his authority and wisdom might not be able to effect, you vehemently opposed his excuse, and obliged him, who always had the greatest regard for your commands, to recede from his resolution." Sometimes, indeed, the orator affumes an air of reproof, with a view only to pass a compliment with a better grace. As Cicero in his address to Caesar, when he says, "I hear that excellent and wise saying from you with concern, That you have lived long enough, either for the purposes of nature, or glory: for nature perhaps, if you think so; and, if you please, for glory; but, what is principally to be regarded, not for your country." It adds both a beauty and force to this figure, when it is expressed in a way of comparison. As in the following instance of Cicero: "But since my discourse leads me to this, consider how you ought to be affected for the dignity and glory of your empire. Your ancestors often engaged in war to redress the injuries of their merchants or sailors: how ought you then to resent it, that so many thousand Roman citizens were murdered by one treachery, and at one time? Your forefathers destroyed Corinth, the principal city in Greece, for the haughty treatment of their ambassadors; and will you suffer that king to go unpunished who has put to death a Roman legate, of consular dignity, in the most ignominious as well as most cruel manner? See, lest, as it was their honour to leave you the glory of so great an empire, it should prove your disgrace not to be able to maintain and defend what you have received from them." By this figure an address is made to the more tender passions, modesty, shame, and emulation, the attendants of an ingenious temper, which is soonest touched, and most affected, by a just reproof.

Another of these pathetic figures is *Aparithmos*, or enumeration, when that which might be expressed in general by a few words, is branched out into several particulars, to enlarge the idea, and render it the more affecting. Cicero, in pleading for the Marian law, where his design is to conciliate the love and esteem of the people to Pompey, thus enlarges upon his character: "Now, what language can equal the Elocution, virtue of Caius Pompey? What can be said either worthy of him, or new to you, or which every one has not heard? For those are not the only virtues of a general which are commonly thought to; labour in affairs, courage in dangers, industry in acting, dispatch in performing, design in contriving; which are greater in him than in all other generals we have ever seen or heard of." And so likewise, when he endeavours to dispossess Pompey of the apprehension that Milo designed to assimilate him: "If (says he) you fear Milo; if you imagine that either formerly, or at present, any ill design has been formed by him against your life; if the soldiers raised through Italy (as some of your officers give out), if these arms, if these cohorts in the Capitol, if the centurions, if the watch, if the guards which defend your person and house, are armed to prevent any attempt of Milo, and all of them appointed, prepared, and stationed on his account; he must be thought a person of great power, and incredible resolution, above the reach and capacity of a single man, that the most consummate general, and the whole republic are in arms against him only. But who does not perceive, that all the disordered and sinking parts of the state are committed to you, to rectify and support them by these forces?" This might have been said in a few words, that such vast preparations could never be intended for so low a purpose. But the orator's view was to expose that groundless report, and shame it out of countenance. And soon after he endeavours to raise compassion for Milo under those prejudices by the same figure: "See how various and changeable is the state of human life, how unsteady and volatile is fortune, what infidelity in friends, what disguises suited to the times, what flights, what fears, even of the nearest acquaintance, at the approach of dangers." Had no address to the passions been designed here, fewer of these reflections might have been sufficient. The use of this figure in amplification is very evident from the nature of it, which consists in unfolding of things, and by that means enlarging the conception of them.

*Exerguia*, or exposition, has an affinity with the former figure: but it differs from it in this, that it consists of several equivalent expressions, or nearly such, in order to represent the same thing in a stronger manner; whereas the other enlarges the idea by an enumeration of different particulars. So that this figure has a near relation to synonymia, of which we have treated before under *Verbal figures*. We have an instance of it in Cicero's defence of Sextius, where he says, "Those who at any time have incited the populace to sedition, or blinded the minds of the ignorant by corruption, or traduced brave and excellent men, and such as deserved well of the public, have with us always been esteemed vain, bold, bad, and pernicious citizens. But those who repressed the attempts and endeavours of such as, by their authority, integrity, constancy, resolution, and prudence, withstood their insolence, have been always accounted men of solidity, the chiefs, the leaders, and supporters of our dignity and government." Nothing more is intended by this passage, but to set the opposite characters of factious persons and true patriots in the strongest light, with a view to recommend the one, and create a just hatred and detestation of the other. So elsewhere he represents the justice of self-defence in no less different terms: "If reason (says he) prescribes this to the learned, and necessity to barbarians, custom to nations, and nature itself to brutes, always to ward off all manner of violence, by all possible ways, from their body, from their head, from their life; you cannot judge this to be a criminal and wicked action, without judging at the same time that all persons who fall among robbers and assassins must either perish by their weapons, or your sentence."

He is addressing here to the judges in favour of Milo.

The warmth and vehemence of the speaker often runs him into this figure, when he is affected with his subject, and thinks no words, no expressions, forcible enough to convey his sentiments; and therefore repeats one after another, as his fancy suggests them.

This flow of expression, under the conduct of a good judgment, is often attended with advantage; as it warms the hearers, and impresses their minds, excites their passions, and helps them to see things in a stronger light.

Hypotyposes, or imagery, is a description of things painted in such strong and bright colours, as may help the imagination of the hearers to conceive of them rather as present to their view, than described in words. It is peculiarly suited for drawing characters; and often affords the finest ornaments in poetry and history, as well as oratory. Nor is it less moving, but suited to strike different passions, according to the nature of the subject, and artful management of the speaker. Cicero has thus drawn the picture of Catiline, consisting of an unaccountable mixture of contrary qualities. "He had (says he) the appearance of the greatest virtues: he made use of many ill men to carry on his designs, and pretended to be in the interest of the best men; he had a very engaging behaviour, and did not want industry nor application; he gave into the greatest looseness, but was a good soldier. Nor do I believe there was ever the like monster in the world, made of such jarring and repugnant qualities and inclinations. Who at one time was more acceptable to the best men, and who more intimate with the worst? Who was once a better patriot, and who a greater enemy to this state? Who more devoted to pleasures, who more patient in labours? Who more rapacious, and yet more profuse? He suited himself to the humours of all he conversed with; was serious with the reserved, and pleasant with the jocose; grave with the aged, and facetious with the young; bold with the daring, and extravagant with the profligate." Such a character of a man, when accompanied with power and interest, must render him no less the object of fear than detestation, which was the design of Cicero in this description.

And elsewhere, in order to prevail with the senate to direct the execution of those conspirators with Catiline who were then in prison, he paints the most dismal scene of that horrid deform in the strongest colours. "I think (says he) I see this city, the light of the world, and citadel of all nations, suddenly falling into one fire; I perceive heaps of miserable citizens buried in their ruined country; the countenance and fury of Cethegus raging in your slaughter, presents itself to my view." This figure is very serviceable in amplification, as we have formerly shown in treating upon that subject. But no small judgment is required in the management of descriptions. Lesser circumstances should either be wholly omitted, or but slightly touched; and those which are more material drawn in their due proportion. Nature is as much the rule of the orator as of the painter, and what they both propose to imitate. And therefore, let a thought be ever so pleasing and beautiful in itself, it must not be introduced when foreign to the purpose, or out of its place, any more than a painter should attempt to alter nature, when he proposes to copy it. This figure requires likewise a vigorous and lively genius. For the images in description can rise no higher than the conception of the speaker, since the idea must first be formed in his own mind before he can convey it to others; and agreeably to the clearness with which he conceives it himself, he will be able to express it in words.

Aporia, or doubt, expresses the debate of the mind with itself upon a pressing difficulty. A person in such a state is apt to hesitate, or start several things successively, without coming to any fixed resolution. The uneasiness arising from such a disorder of thought is naturally very moving. Of this kind is that of Cicero for Cluentius, when he says, "I know not which way to turn myself. Shall I deny the scandal thrown upon him of bribing the judges? Can I say the people were not told of it? that it was not talked of in the court? mentioned in the senate? Can I remove an opinion so deeply and long rooted in the minds of men? It is not in my power. You, judges, must support his innocence, and rescue him from this calamity." Orators sometimes choose to begin their discourse with this figure. A diffidence of mind at first is not unbecoming, but graceful. It carries in it an air of modesty, and tends very much to conciliate the affections of the hearers. Livy gives us a very elegant example of this in a speech of Scipio Africanus to his soldiers, when, calling them together after a sedition, he thus bespeaks them: "I never thought I should have been at a loss in what manner to address my army. Not that I have applied myself more to words—haa things; but because I have been accustomed to the genius of soldiers, having been trained up in the camp almost from my childhood. But I am in doubt what or how to speak to you, not knowing what name to give you. Shall I call you citizens, who have revolted from your country? Soldiers, who have disowned the authority of your general, and broke your military oath? Enemies? I perceive the mien, the aspect, and habit of citizens; but discern the actions, words, designs, and dispositions of enemies."

Sometimes a passion has that effect, not so much to render a person doubtful what to say, as to stop him in the midst of a sentence, and prevent his expressing the whole of what he designed; and then it is called Apotheosis, or concealment. It denotes different passions; as anger, which, by reason of its heat and vehemence, causes persons to break off abruptly in their discourse. So the old man in Terence, when he was jealous that his servant obstructed his designs, uses this imperfect, but threatening expression, Whom, if I find. And Neptune, when described by Virgil as very angry that the winds should presume to disturb the sea without his permission, after he has called them to him to know the reason of it, threatens them in this abrupt manner:

"Whom I—but first I'll lay the storm."

But Cicero, in writing to Atticus, applies it to express press grief; where he says, "I know nothing of Pompey, and believe he must be taken, if he is not got on shipboard. O incredible swiftness! But of our friend—Though I cannot accuse him without grief, for whom I am in so much concern and trouble." And in a letter to Cassius he uses it to express fear, when he says to him, "Brutus could scarce support himself at Mutina; if he's safe, we have carried the day. But if—heaven avert the omen! all must have recourse to you." His meaning is, "If Brutus should be defeated."

The next figure is *erotefia*, or interrogation. But every interrogation or question is not figurative. When we inquire about a thing that is doubtful, in order to be informed, this is no figure, but the natural form of such expressions. As if I ask a person, *Where he is going?* or *What he is doing?* But then it becomes figurative when the same thing may be expressed in a direct manner; but the putting it by way of question gives it a much greater life and spirit. As when Cicero says, "Catiline, how long will you abuse our patience? do not you perceive your designs are discovered?" He might indeed have said, *You abuse our patience a long while.* You must be sensible your designs are discovered. But it is easy to perceive how much this latter way of expression falls short of the force and vehemence of the former. And so when Medea says, *I could save; and do you ask if I can destroy?* Had she said, *I could save,* and *I can destroy,* the sentence had been flat, and very unfit to express the rage and fury in which the poet there represents her. This figure is suited to express most passions and emotions of the mind, as anger, disdain, fear, desire, and others. It serves also to press and bear down an adversary. Cicero frequently makes this use of it. As in his defence of Plancius: "I will make you this offer (says he), choose any tribe you please, and show, as you ought, by whom it was bribed; and if you cannot, as I believe you will not undertake it, I will prove how he gained it. Is this a fair contest? Will you engage on this foot? I cannot give you fairer play. Why are you silent? Why do you dissemble? Why do you hesitate? I insist upon it, urge you to it, press it, require, and even demand it of you." Such a way of pushing an antagonist shows the speaker has great confidence in his cause; otherwise he would never lay himself so open, if he was not assured the other party had nothing to reply. This figure likewise diversifies a discourse, and gives it a beautiful variety, by altering the form of expression, provided it be neither too frequent, nor continued too long at once. And besides, the warmth and eager manner in which it is expressed, enlivens the hearers, and quickens their attention.

*Epiphonema*, or exclamation, is a vehement extension of the voice, occasioned by a commotion of mind, naturally venting itself by this figure, which is used by Cicero to express a variety of passions. It often denotes resentment or indignation. Thus, after his return from banishment, reflecting on those who had occasioned it, he breaks out into this moving exclamation: "O mournful day to the senate, and all good men, calamitous to the state, afflictive to me and my family, but glorious in the view of posterity!" His design was to excite an odium against the authors of his exile, when recalled in so honourable a manner.

And again, in his defence of Cælius: "O the great Elocution, force of truth; which easily supports itself against the wit, craft, subtilty, and artful designs of men!" He had been just showing the absurdity of the charge against Cælius, and now endeavours to expose his accusers to the indignation of the court. At other times it is used to express disdain or contempt. As when speaking of Pompey's house, which was bought by Mark Antony, he says: "O consummate impudence! dare you go within that house! dare you enter that venerable threshold, and show your audacious countenance to the tutelar deities which reside there?" Nor is it less suited to indicate grief, as when he says of Milo: "O that happy country, which shall receive this man! ungrateful this, if it banish him! miserable, if it lose him!" And sometimes it serves to express admiration; as when, in compliment to Cæsar, he says, "O admirable clemency! worthy of the greatest praise, the highest encomiums, and most lasting monuments!" It has its use also in ridicule and irony. As in his oration for Balbus, where he derides his accuser, by saying, "O excellent interpreter of the law! master of antiquity! corrector and amender of our constitution!" The sacred writers sometimes use it by way of intreaty or wish. As the royal Psalmist: "O that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away, and be at rest!" And at other times in triumph and exultation, as in that of St Paul: "O death, where is thy sting! O grave, where is thy victory!" It is frequently joined with the preceding figure interrogation; as appears in some of the instances here brought from Cicero. And it generally follows the representation of the thing which occasions it. Though sometimes it is made use of to introduce it, and then it serves to prepare the mind by exciting its attention. Thus Cicero, in his defence of Cælius, to render the character of Clodia more odious, at whose instigation he was accused, intimates that she had before poisoned her husband; and to heighten the barbarity of the fact, and make it appear the more shocking, he introduces the account of it, with this moving exclamation: "O heavens, why do you sometimes wink at the greatest crimes of mankind, or delay the punishment of them to futurity!"

Epiphonema, or acclamation, has a great affinity with the former figure. And it is so called, when the speaker, at the conclusion of his argument, makes some lively and just remark upon what he has been saying, to give it the greater force, and render it the more affecting to his hearers. It is not so vehement and impetuous as exclamation, being usually expressive of the milder and more gentle passions. And the reflection ought not only to contain some plain and obvious truth, but likewise to arise naturally from the discourse which occasioned it, otherwise it loses its end. When Cicero has shown, that recourse is never to be had to force and violence, but in cases of the utmost necessity, he concludes with the following remark: "Thus to think, is prudence; to act, fortitude; both to think and act, perfect and consummate virtue." And elsewhere, after he has described a singular instance of cruelty and breach of friendship: "Hence (says he) we may learn, that no duties are so sacred and solemn, which covetousness will not violate." This figure is frequently expressed in a way of admiration. As when Cicero has observed, that all men are desirous to live Elocution. to an advanced age, but uneasy under it when attained, he makes this just reflection upon such a conduct: "So great is their inconstancy, folly, and perfidiousness!"

The next figure in order is *apostrophe*, or address, when the speaker breaks off from the series of his discourse, and addresses himself to some particular person present or absent, living or dead; or to inanimate nature, as endowed with sense and reason. By this means he has an opportunity of saying many things with greater freedom than perhaps would be consistent with decency if immediately directed to the persons themselves. He can admonish, chide, or censure, without giving offence. Nor is there any passion, but may be very advantageously expressed by this figure. When an orator has been speaking of any particular person, on a sudden to turn upon him, and apply the discourse to that person himself, is very moving; it is like attacking an adversary by surprise, when he is off his guard, and where he least expects it. Thus Cicero: "I desire, senators, to be merciful, but not to appear negligent in so great dangers of the state; though at present I cannot but condemn myself of remissness. There is a camp formed in Italy, at the entrance of Etruria, against the state; our enemies increase daily; but we see the commander of the camp, and general of the enemies, within our walls, in the very senate, contriving some intestine ruin to the state. If now, Catiline, I should order you to be seized and put to death, I have reason to fear, that all good men would rather think I had deferred it too long, than charge me with cruelty. But I am prevailed with for a certain reason not to do that yet, which ought to have been done long since." This sudden turn of the discourse to Catiline himself, and the address to him in that unexpected manner, must have touched him very sensibly. So, in his defence of Milo, expressing his concern if he should not succeed in it, he says, "And how shall I answer it to you, my brother Quintus, the partner of my misfortunes, who art now absent?" And elsewhere addressing to the soldiers of the Martian legion, who had been killed in an engagement with Mark Antony, he thus bespeaks them: "O happy death, which due to nature, was paid to your country! I may esteem you truly born for your country, who likewise received your name from Mars; so that the same deity seems to have produced this city for the world, and you for this city." And in his oration for Balbus he thus calls upon dumb nature to witness to Pompey's virtues: "I invoke you, mute regions; you, most distant countries; you seas, havens, islands, and shores. For what coast, what land, what place is there, in which the marks of his courage, humanity, wisdom, and prudence, are not extant?" An appeal to heaven, or any part of inanimate nature, has something very sublime and solemn in it, which we often meet with in sacred writ. So the divine prophet: "Hear, O heavens! and give ear, O earth! for the Lord hath spoken." And in like manner, the prophet Jeremy: "Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this." See APOSTROPHE.

*Propopoeia*, or the fiction of a person: by which, either an absent person is introduced speaking; or one who is dead, as if he were alive and present; or speech attributed to some inanimate being. There is no figure, perhaps, which serves more or better purposes to an orator than this. For by this means he is enabled to call in all nature to his assistance, and can assign to every thing such parts as he thinks convenient. There is scarce anything fit to be said, but may be introduced this way. When he thinks his own character is not of sufficient weight to affect his audience in the manner he desires, he substitutes a person of greater authority than himself to engage their attention. When he has severe things to say, and which may give offence as coming from himself; he avoids this, by putting them into the mouth of some other person from whom they will be better taken; or makes inanimate nature bring a charge, or express a resentment, to render it the more affecting. And by the same method he sometimes chooses to secure himself from a suspicion of flattery, in carrying a compliment too high. We meet with several very beautiful instances of this figure in Cicero; but an example of each sort may here suffice, beginning with that of an absent person, from his defence of Milo, whom he thus introduces as speaking to the citizens of Rome: "Should he, holding the bloody sword, cry out, Attend, I pray, hearken, O citizens, I have killed Publius Clodius; by this sword, and by this right hand, I have kept off his rage from your necks, which no laws, no courts of judicature, could restrain; it is by my means, that justice, equity, laws, liberty, shame, and modesty, remain in the city. Is it to be feared how the city would bear this action? Is there any one now, who would not approve and commend it." And in his oration for Balbus, he introduces Marius, who was then dead, to plead in his defence: "Can Balbus (says he) be condemned, without condemning Marius for a like fact? Let him be present a little to your thoughts, since he cannot be so in person; that you may view him in your minds, though you cannot with your eyes. Let him tell you, he was not unacquainted with leagues, void of examples, or ignorant of war." And again, in his first invective against Catiline, he reproves his country as thus expostulating with himself, and upbraiding him for suffering such a criminal as Catiline to live: "Should my country (says he), which is much dearer to me than my life, shroud all Italy, all the state, thus address me, Mark Tully what do you do? Do you suffer him, whom you have found to be an enemy, who you see is to be at the head of the war, whom you perceive your enemies wait for in their camp as their general, who has been the contriver of this wickedness, the chief of the conspiracy, the exciter of slaves and profligate citizens, to leave the city, which is rather to bring him in, than let him out? Will not you order him to be imprisoned, condemned, and executed? What prevents you? The custom of our ancestors? But private persons have often punished pernicious citizens in this state. The laws relating to the punishment of Roman citizens? But traitors never had the rights of citizens. Do you fear the censure of posterity? Truly you make a very handsome return to the people of Rome, who have advanced you from an obscure condition to early to the highest dignity; if you neglect their safety to avoid envy, or from the apprehension of any danger. And if you fear censure; which is most to be dreaded, that which may arise from justice and fortitude, or from cowardice. Elocution," cowardice and treachery? When Italy shall be wasted by a war, cities plundered, and houses burnt, do you think then to escape the severest censure." In the management of this figure, care should be taken that what is said be always consistent with the character introduced, in which both the force and beauty of it consist.

In treating upon figures, we have hitherto considered them separately; but it may not be amiss to observe, that some expressions consist of a complication of them, and may come under the denomination of several figures, as well verbal as those of sentences, differently considered. Thus when Cicero says, "What, Tubero, did your drawn sword do in the Pharallian battle? at whose side was its point directed? what was the intention of your arms?" As he speaks to Tubero, it is an apostrophe; as the expressions have much the same import, and are designed to heighten and aggravate the fact, it is exergasia; and as they are put by question, it is interrogation. So likewise, in his second Philippic, where he says, "What can I think? that I am contemned? I see nothing in my life, interest, actions, or abilities, as moderate as they are, which Antony can despise. Did he think he could easily lessen me in the senate? But they, who have commended many famous citizens for their good government of the state, never thanked any but me for preserving it. Would he contend with me for eloquence? This would be a favour indeed. For what could be a larger and more copious subject, that for me to speak for myself against Antony? His design was really this: he thought he could not convince his associates, that he was truly an enemy to his country, unless he was so first to me." There are three figures in this passage; doubt, interrogation, and subjection. And again, when he introduces Sicily thus addressing Verres in a way of complaint: "Whatever gold, whatever silver, whatever ornaments in my cities, dwellings, temples, whatever right of any kind I possessed by the favour of the senate and people of Rome; you, Verres, have plundered and taken from me." Here is a profopopeia, joined with the verbal figure anaphora, as several members of the sentence begin with the same word. The like instances of complex figures frequently occur, and therefore we need not multiply examples of them here.

PARTICULAR ELOCUTION,

Or that part of Elocution which considers the several Properties and Ornaments of Language, as they are made use of to form different sorts of Style.

CHAP. IV. Of Style, and its different Characters.

The word style, properly signifies the instrument which the ancients used in writing. For as they commonly wrote upon thin boards covered over with wax, and sometimes upon the barks of trees, they made use of a long instrument like a bodkin, pointed at one end, with which they cut their letters; and broad at the other, to erase any thing they chose to alter. And this the Latins called stylus. But though this be the first sense of the word, yet afterwards it came to denote the manner of expression. In which sense Elocution, we likewise use it, by the same kind of trope that we call any one's writing his hand. Style, then, in the common acceptation of the word at present, is the peculiar manner in which a man expresses his conceptions by means of language. It is a picture of the ideas which rise in his mind, and of the order in which they are there produced. As to the reasons which occasion a variety of style, they are principally these.

Since both speech and writing are only sensible expressions of our thoughts, by which we communicate them to others; as all men think more or less differently, so consequently they in some measure differ in their style. No two persons, who were to write upon one subject, would make use of all the same words. And were this possible, yet they would as certainly differ in their order and connection, as two painters, who used the same colours in painting the same picture, would necessarily vary their mixtures and disposition of them, in the several gradations of lights and shades. As every painter therefore has something peculiar in his manner, so has every writer in his style. It is from these internal characters, in a good measure, that critics undertake to discover the true authors of anonymous writings; and to show that others are spurious, and not the genuine productions of those whose names they bear; as they judge of the age of such writings from the words and manner of expression which have been in use at different times. And we may often observe in persons a fondness for some particular words or phrases; and a peculiarity in the turn or connection of their sentences, or in their transitions from one thing to another; by which their style may be known, even when they design to conceal it. For these things, through custom and habit, will sometimes drop from them, notwithstanding the greatest caution to prevent it.

There is likewise very often a considerable difference in the style of the same person, in several parts of his life. Young persons, whose invention is quick and lively, commonly run into a pompous and luxuriant style. Their fancy represents the images of things to their mind in a gay and sprightly manner, clothed with a variety of circumstances; and while they endeavour to set off each of these in the brightest and most glittering colours, this renders their style verbose and florid, but weakens the force and strength of it. And therefore, as their imagination gradually cools, and comes under the conduct of a more mature judgment, they find it proper to cut off many superfluities; so that by omitting unnecessary words and circumstances, and by a closer connection of things placed in a stronger light, if their style becomes less dwelling and pompous, it is, however, more correct and nervous. But as old age sinks the powers of the mind, chills the imagination, and weakens the judgment; the style, too, in proportion usually grows dry and languid. Critics have observed something of this difference in the writings even of Cicero himself. To be master of a good style, therefore, it seems necessary that a person should be endowed with a vigorous mind and lively fancy, a strong memory, and a good judgment. It is by the imagination that the mind conceives the images of things. If the impressions of those images be clear and distinct, the style will be so Oratory

Elocution too; since language is nothing but a copy of those images first conceived by the mind. But if the images are faint and imperfect, the style will accordingly be flat and languid. This is evident from the difference between such objects as are represented to our sight, and things of which we have only read or heard. For as the former generally make a deeper impression upon our minds, so we can describe them in a more strong and lively manner. And we commonly find, that, according as persons are affected themselves when they speak, they are able to affect others with what they say. Now persons are more or less affected with things in proportion to the impressions which the images of those things make upon the mind. For the same reason also, if the imagination be dull, and indisposed to receive the ideas of things, the style will be stiff and heavy; or if the images are irregular and disordered, the style will likewise be perplexed and confused.

When things lie straight (as we say) in the mind, we express them with ease, and in their just connection and dependence; but when they are warped and crooked, we deliver them with pain and difficulty, as well as disorder. A good fancy should likewise be accompanied with a happy memory. This helps us to retain the names of those things the ideas whereof are presented to the mind by the imagination, together with proper and suitable phrases to express them in their several connections and relations to each other. When the images of things offer themselves to the mind, unless the names of them present themselves at the same time, we are at a loss to express them, or at least are in danger of doing it by wrong and improper terms. Besides, variety is necessary in discourse to render it agreeable; and therefore, without a large furniture of words and phrases, the style will necessarily become insipid and jejune, by the frequent return of the same terms and manner of expression. But to both these a solid judgment is highly requisite to form a just and accurate style. A fruitful imagination will furnish the mind with plenty of ideas, and a good memory will help to clothe them in proper language; but unless they are both under the conduct of reason, they are apt to hurry persons into many inconveniences. Such are generally great talkers, but far from good orators. Fresh images continually crowd in upon them, faster than the tongue can well express them. This runs them into long and tedious discourses, abounding with words, but void of sense. Many impertinencies, if not improprieties, necessarily mix themselves with what they say; and they are frequently carried off from their point, by not having their fancies under a proper regulation. So that such discourses, though composed perhaps of pretty expressions, rhetorical flowers, and sprightly tallies of wit, yet fall very much short of a strong and manly eloquence. But where reason presides and holds the reins, every thing is weighed before it is spoken. The properest words are made choice of, which best suit the ideas they are designed to convey; rather than the most gay and pompous. All things are not said which offer themselves to the mind, and fancy dictates; but such only as are fit and proper, and the rest are dropped. Some things are but slightly mentioned, and others discoursed on more largely and fully, according to their different importance. And every thing is placed in that order, and clothed in such a dress, as may represent it to the Elocution greatest advantage. So that, in a word, the foundation of a good style is chiefly good sense. Where these qualities all meet in a considerable degree, such persons have the happiness to excel, either in speaking or writing. But this is not generally the case. Many persons of a vigorous and sprightly imagination, have but a weak judgment; and others much more judicious can think but slowly. And it is this, in a great measure, which makes the difference between speaking and writing well, as one or the other of these qualities is predominant. A person of a lively fancy, ready wit, and voluble tongue, will deliver himself off hand much better and more acceptably, than one who is capable upon due premeditation, to discern farther into the subject, but cannot command his thoughts with the same ease and freedom. And this latter would have the same advantage of the other, were they both coolly to offer their sentiments in writing. Many things appear well in speaking, which will not bear a strict scrutiny. While the hearer's attention is obliged to keep pace with the speaker, he is not at leisure to observe every impropriety or incoherence, but many slips easily escape him, which in reading are presently discovered. Hence it is often found, that discourses, which were thought very fine when heard, appear to have much less beauty, as well as strength, when they come to be read. And therefore it is not without reason, that Cicero recommends to all those who are candidates for eloquence, and desirous to become masters of a good style, to write much. This affords them an opportunity to digest their thoughts, weigh their words and expressions, and give everything its proper force and evidence; as likewise, by reviewing a discourse when composed, to correct its errors, or supply its defects; till by practice they gain a readiness both to think justly, and to speak with propriety and eloquence. But it is time to proceed to some other causes of the diversity of style.

Different countries have not only a different language, but likewise a peculiarity of style suited to their temper and genius. The eastern nations had a lofty and majestic way of speaking. Their words are full and sonorous, their expressions strong and forcible, and warmed with the most lively and moving figures. This is very evident from the Jewish writings in the Old Testament, in which we find a most agreeable mixture of simplicity and dignity. On the contrary, the style of the more northern languages generally partakes of the chills of their climate. "There is (says Mr Addison*) a certain coldness and indif-ference in the phrases of our European languages, when they are compared with the oriental forms of speech. And it happens very luckily, that the Hebrew idioms run into the English tongue with a peculiar grace and beauty. Our language has received innumerable elegancies and improvements from that infusion of Hebraisms, which are derived to it out of the poetical psalms in holy writ. They give a force and energy to our expressions, warm and animate our language, and convey our thoughts in more ardent and intense phrases than any that are to be met with in our own tongue. There is something so pathetic in this kind of diction, that it often sets the mind in a flame, and makes our hearts burn within us."

Again, Again, people of different nations vary in their customs and manners, which occasions a diversity in their style. This was very remarkable in the Attics, Asiatics, and Rhodians, and is often taken notice of by ancient writers. The Athenians, while they continued a free state, were an active, industrious, and frugal people; very polite indeed, and cultivated arts and sciences beyond any other nation: but as they had powerful enemies, and were exceedingly jealous of their liberties, this preserved them from wantonness and luxury. And their way of speaking was agreeable to their conduct; accurate and close, but very full and expressive. The Asiatics, on the other hand, were more gay, and loose in their manners, devoted to luxury and pleasure; and accordingly they affected a florid and swelling style, filled with redundancies and superfluities of expression. Indeed, some of the ancients have attributed this looseness of style to their way of pursuing eloquence at first. For as they were put upon it by conversing with the Greek colonies who settled among them, they suppose, that, in imitating them, before they were masters of the language, they were often obliged to make use of circumlocutions, which afterwards became habitual, and very much weakened the force of their expressions, as it naturally would do. But one would think, if they were put to this necessity at first, when they found its ill effect, they might easily have amended it afterwards, as they grew better acquainted with the Greek language, had they been inclined so to do. The Rhodian style was a medium between the other two; not so concise and expressive as the Attic, nor yet so loose and redundant as the Asiatic. Quintilian says, it had a mixture of its author, and the humour of the people; and, like plants set in a foreign soil, degenerated from the Attic purity, but not so wholly as to lose it. They first received it from Æschines, who being worsted in his famous contest with Demosthenes, retired thither, and taught rhetoric, which put them upon the study of eloquence.

The style of the same country likewise very much alters in different ages. Cicero tells us, that the first Latia historians aimed at nothing more than barely to make themselves intelligible, and that with as much brevity as they could. Those who succeeded them advanced a step further; and gave somewhat a better turn and cadency to their sentences, though still without any drefs or ornament. But afterwards, when the Greek language became fashionable at Rome, by copying after their writers, such as Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and others, they endeavoured to introduce all their beauties into their own tongue, which in Cicero's time was brought to its highest perfection. But it did not long continue in that state. A degeneracy of manners soon altered their taste, and corrupted their language, which Quintilian very much complains of in his time. The case was the same with respect to the Greek tongue; though that had the good fortune to continue its purity much longer than the Latin. Nor can any language be exempt from the common fate of all human productions; which have their beginning, perfection, and decay. Besides, there is a sort of fashion in language, as well as other things; and the generality of people are always fond of running into the mode. Perhaps some one, or a Elocution few persons, fall into a manner which happens to please. This gives them a reputation; and others immediately copy after them, till it generally prevail. Cicero tells us, that the most ancient Greek orators whose writings were extant in his time, such as Pericles, Alcibiades, and others, were subtle, acute, concise, and abounded in sense rather than words. But another set that followed them, of which were Critias, Theramenes, and Lyrias, retained the good sense of the former, and at the same time took more care of their style; not leaving it so bare as the former had done, but furnishing it with a better drefs. After these came Ælocrates, who added all the flowers and beauties of eloquence. And as he had abundance of followers, they applied these ornaments and decorations according to their different genius; some for pomp and splendor; and others to invigorate their style, and give it the greater force and energy. And in this latter way Demosthenes principally excelled. Now as each of these manners had its peculiar beauties, and generally prevailed in different ages, Cicero thinks this could not have happened otherwise than from imitation. And he attributes it to the same cause, that afterwards they sunk into a softer and smoother manner, not less exact and florid, but more cold and lifeless. If we take a view of our own tongue, Chaucer seems to have been the first who made any considerable attempts to cultivate it. And whoever looks into his writings, will perceive the difference to be so great from what it is at present, that it scarce appears to be the same language. The gradual improvements it has since received, are very evident in the writers almost of every succeeding age since that time; and how much farther it may still be carried, time only can discover. See Language pafium: For the English language in particular, see n° 38. for the other European languages, as well as the Greek and Latin, see n° 27, &c.

Another cause of the variety of style arises from the different nature and properties of language. A difference in the letters, the make of the words, and the order of them, do all affect the style. So Quintilian observes, that the Latin tongue cannot equal the Greek in pronunciation, because it is harsher. The Latins want two of the softest Greek letters, v and z; and use others of a very hard sound, which the Greeks have not, as f and q. Again, many Latin words end in m; a letter of a broad and hollow sound, which never terminates any Greek word; but does frequently, whose sound is much softer and sweeter. Besides, in the combination of syllables, the letters b and d are often so situated, as to require too strong and unequal a force to be laid upon them, as in the words obsequus and adunco. Another advantage of the Greek tongue arises from the variety and different seat of the accents: for the Greeks often accent the last syllable, which both enlivens the pronunciation and renders it more musical; whereas the Latins never do this. But the greatest advantage of the Greeks lies in their plenty and variety of words; for which reason they have less occasion for tropes or circumlocutions, which, when used from necessity, have generally less force, and weaken the style. But under these disadvantages, Quintilian seems to give his countrymen the best advice the case will admit of: That what they cannot do in words, they should make up in sense. If their expressions are not so soft and tender, they should exceed in strength; if they are less subtle, they should be more sublime; and if they have fewer proper words, they should excel in the beauty as well as number of their figures. If this account of Quintilian be just, that the Greek tongue does surpass the Latin in all these instances, it is certain that both of them have much greater advantages over some modern languages. The varying all their declinable words, both nouns and verbs, by terminations, and not by signs, contributes very much to the smoothness and harmony of their periods. Whereas in the modern languages, those small particles and pronouns which distinguish the cases of nouns and the tenses and persons of verbs, hinder the run of a period, and render the sound much more rough and uneven. Besides, the ancient languages seem to have a better and more equal mixture of vowels and consonants, which makes their pronunciation more easy and musical.

But the chief distinction of style arises from the different subjects or matter of discourse. The same way of speaking no more suits all subjects, than the same garment would all persons. A prince and a peasant ought not to have the same dress; and another different from both becomes those of a middle station in life. The style therefore should always be adapted to the nature of the subject, which rhetoricians have reduced to three ranks or degrees; the low or plain style, the middle or temperate, and the lofty or sublime. Which are likewise called characters, because they denote the quality of the subject upon which they treat. This division of style into three characters, was taken notice of very early by ancient writers. Some have observed it even in Homer, who seems to assign the sublime or magnificent to Ulysses, when he represents him so copious and vehement an orator, that his words came from him like winter snow. On the contrary, he describes Menelaus as a polite speaker, but concise and moderate. And when he mentions Nestor, he represents his manner as between these two, not so high and lofty as the one, nor yet so low and depressed as the other; but smooth, even, and pleasant, or, as he expresses it, more sweet than honey. Quintilian observes, that although accuracy and politeness were general characters of the Attic writers; yet among their orators, Lytias excelled in the low and familiar way; Ifocrates for his elegance, smoothness, and the fine turn of his periods; and Demosthenes for his flame and rapidity, by which he carried all before him. And Gellius tells us, that the like difference was found in the three philosophers who were sent from the Athenians to Rome (before the Romans had any relish for the polite arts) to solicit the remittance of a fine laid upon them for an injury done to a neighbouring state. Carneades, one of those ambassadors, was vehement and rapid in his harangues; Critolaus, neat and smooth; and Diogenes, modest and sober. The eloquence of these orators, and the agreeable variety of their different manner, so captivated the Roman youth, and inflamed them with a love of the Grecian arts, that old Cato, who did all he could to check it by hurrying away the ambassadors, could not prevent their vigorous pursuit of them, till the study became in a manner universal. And the old gentleman afterwards learned the Greek language himself, when it became more fashionable. Which a noble writer of ours * represents as a punishment upon Lord Ba- him for his former crime. It seldom happens that the con- same person excels in each of these characters. They seem to require a different genius, and most people are naturally led to one of them more than another; though all of them are requisite for an orator upon different occasions, as we shall show hereafter.

Chap. V. Of the Low Style.

This we shall consider under two heads, thoughts and language; in each of which the several characters are distinguished from one another.

1. And with respect to the former, as the subjects proper for this style are either common things, or such and as should be treated in a plain and familiar way; for plain thoughts are most suitable to it, and distinguish it from the other characters.

Now, by plain thoughts, are meant such as are simple and obvious, and seem to rise naturally from the subject, when duly considered; so that any one, upon first hearing them, would be apt to imagine they must have occurred to himself. Not that this is really the case, but because the more natural a thing is, the more easy it seems to be; though in reality it is often otherwise; and the perfection of art lies in its nearest resemblance to nature. And therefore, in order to speak plainly and clearly upon any subject, it must first be duly considered, well understood, and thoroughly digested in the mind; which, though it require labour and study, yet the more a person is master of what he lays, the less that labour will appear in his discourse. This natural plainness and simplicity, without any disguise or affectation, very much contributes to give credit to what is said. Nor is anything more apt to impose on us, than the appearance of this, when artfully assumed. Cicero's account of the fight between Milo and Clodius, in which Clodius was killed, is a remarkable instance of this. "When Clodius knew (says he) that Milo was obliged to go to Lavinium upon a solemn and necessary occasion, he immediately hastened from Rome, the day before, to affixate him before Clodius's own house, as appeared afterwards by the event. And this he did at a time, when his turbulent mob in the city wanted his affiance; whom he would not have left, but for the advantage of that place and season to execute his wicked design. But the next day Milo was in the senate, where he continued till they broke up; then went home; changed his dress; staid there some time till his wife was ready; and afterwards set forward too late, that if Clodius had designed to return to Rome that day, he might have been here by that time. Clodius, prepared for his design, met him on horseback, having no chariot, no equipage, no Greek attendants as usual; and without his wife, which was scarce ever known: whereas Milo was in a chariot with his wife, wrapped up in a cloak, and attended by a large retinue of maid servants, pages, and other persons unfit for an engagement. He met with Clodius before his house, about five o'clock in the evening; and was presently assault- ought constantly to attend them in common with all Elocution, thoughts, and the other is often necessary to animate and enliven this character.

The former of these is justness and propriety, which is what reason dictates in all cases. What Cicero says of the death of Crassus the orator, seems very just, as well as natural. "It was (says he) an affliction to his friends, a loss to his country, and a concern to all good men; but such public calamities followed upon it, that heaven seemed rather to have favoured him with death, than to have deprived him of life." This thought seems very just, and agreeable to the sentiments of a good man, as Crassus was; to choose death rather than to outlive the happiness of his country, to which he himself had so much contributed. Quintilian has a reflection upon a like occasion, which is not so just and becoming. It is upon the death of his only son, a youth of very uncommon parts, as he represents him; and for whose sake he had designed his Institutions of Oratory; but he died before they were finished. The passage is this: "I have lost him of whom I had formed the greatest hopes, and in whom I had repose the greatest comfort of my old age. What can I do now? or of what farther use can I think myself to be, thus disappointed by heaven? What good parent will pardon me, if I can any longer study? and not condemn such resolution, if, thus surviving all my family, I can make any other use of my voice, than to accuse the gods, and declare that providence does not govern the world?" Allowance may be made for the follies of passion, even in wise men, upon some shocking occasions; but when it proceeds to such a degree as to become impious, it is very indecent, as well as unjust. And all indecency is unnatural, as it is disagreeable to reason, which always directs to a decorum. That seems to be a very natural as well as just thought of Pliny the Younger, when he says, "The death of those persons always appear to me too hasty and unreasonable, who are preparing some lasting work. For persons wholly devoted to pleasures, live, as it were, from day to day, and daily finish the end for which they live; but those who have a view to posterity, and preserve their memory by their labours, always die untimely, because they leave something unfinished." We shall mention but one more instance; and that in a comparative view, to make it the more evident. The two sons of Junius Brutus, the first Roman consul, having been convicted of treason in associating with Tarquin's party, were ordered, among others, to be put to death; and their father not only pronounced the sentence, but presided at the execution. This fact is mentioned by several of the Roman historians; and, as it carries in it not only the appearance of rigorous justice, but likewise of cruelty in Brutus, to have been present at the execution of his sons, they endeavour to vindicate him different ways. What Florus says, seems rather an affectation of wit, than a just defence of the fact. "He beheaded them (says he), that being a public parent, he might appear to have adopted the whole body of the people." Nor does Val Maximus come up to the case, who says, "He put off the father to act the consul; and chose rather to lose the sons, than be wanting to public justice." This might be a reason for condemning them; and would have been equally true, had he not Elocution been present at their execution. But Livy, whose thoughts are generally very just and natural, affirms the best reason which perhaps can be given for his vindication, when he says, "Fortune made him the executioner of the sentence, who ought not to have been a spectator." By saying fortune made him so, he represents it not as a matter of choice, like the other historians, but of necessity, from the nature of his office, which then obliged him to see the execution of that sentence he had himself before pronounced; as is the custom at present, in some popular governments.

The other property, which should often accompany plain and simple thoughts, is, that they be gay and sprightly. This, as has been said, is necessary to animate and enliven such discourses as require the low style. The fewer ornaments it admits of, the greater spirit and vivacity is requisite to prevent its being dry and jejune. A thought may be very brisk and lively, and at the same time appear very natural, as the effect of a ready and flowing wit. Such thoughts, attended with agreeable turns, are very suitable to this style; but care should be taken, lest, while fancy is too much indulged, the justness of them be overlooked. We shall give one instance, in which this seems to have been the case, from a celebrated English work, where the ingenious writer endeavours to show the advantages of persons not attending to their natural genius, but affecting to imitate others in those things for which they were not formed. "The great misfortune (says he) of this affectation is, that men not only lose a good quality, but also contract a bad one; they not only are unfit for what they are designed, but they assign themselves to what they are unfit for; and instead of making a very good figure one way, make a very ridiculous one another. Could the world be reformed to the obedience of that famed dictate, Follow nature, which the oracle of Delphos pronounced to Cicero when he consulted what course of studies he should pursue, we should see almost every man as eminent in his proper sphere as Tully was in his. For my part, I could never consider this preposterous repugnancy to nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest folly, but also one of the most heinous crimes; since it is a direct opposition to the disposition of providence, and (as Tully expresses it) like the sin of the giants, an actual rebellion against heaven."

The advantages that arise from persons attending to their own genius, and pursuing its dictates, are here represented in a very lively and agreeable manner. But there is one thing affected, which we fear will not hold; which is, that, Could the world be reformed to that dictate, "Follow nature," we should see almost every man as eminent in his proper sphere as Tully was in his. For though doubtless persons would generally succeed best if they kept to this rule; yet different degrees of ability are often found, where the bias and inclination is the same, and that accompanied with equal labour and diligence. If this was not so, how happened it that no one came up to Tully in the art of oratory; especially in his own age, when there were the greatest opportunities for that study, and the highest encouragements were given to it, as it paved the way to riches, honours, and all the grand offices of the state? It cannot well be questioned, but that there were other gentlemen, who had all the same ad-

vantages, accompanied with as strong a passion for this Elocution art, as Tully had, who yet fell much short of him in point of success. And experience shows, that the case has been the same in all other pursuits.

III. But it is time to proceed to the other head, The language proper for this style. And here it may be observed in general, that the drefs ought to be agreeable to the thoughts, plain, simple, and unaffected.

But the first thing that comes under consideration is elegance, or a proper choice of words and expressions; which ought always to suit the idea they are designed to convey. And therefore when an ancient writer, speaking of cruelty, calls it nevus crudelitatis, the blemish of cruelty; and another, applying the same word to ingratitude, nevus ingratitude, the blemish of ingratitude; that term does not sufficiently convey to us the odious nature of either of those vices, as indeed it was not their design it should. But otherwise, where the speaker has not some particular view in doing it, to sink too low is as much a fault as to rise too high. So to call ancient Rome the mistress of Italy, would as much lessen the just notion of the extent of her power, as the Roman writers aggravate it when they style her mistress of the world. But purity, both in the choice of words and expressions, is never more necessary than it is here. This may be called neatness in language. And to be plain and neat at the same time, is not only very consistent, but the former can no other way recommend itself, than as joined with the latter. Besides, the fewer advantages any thing has to set it off, the more carefully they ought to be observed. Periphrasis is always to be regarded; and serves very much to keep up the attention, where other ornaments are wanting. Epithets should be sparingly used, since they enlarge the images of things, and contribute very much to heighten the style. Indeed they are sometimes necessary to set a thing in its just light; and then they should not be dropped. Thus, in speaking of Xerxes, it would be too low and flat to say, He descended with his army into Greece. Here is no intimation given of their vast and unparalleled numbers, which ought to be done. Herodotus says, his whole army, of sea and land forces, amounted to 2,317,000 and upwards. Therefore, unless the number be mentioned, the least that can be said is, that he descended with a vast army.

The next thing to be regarded is composition, which here does not require the greatest accuracy and exactness. A seeming negligence is sometimes a beauty in this style, as it appears more natural. Short sentences, or those of a moderate length, are likewise upon the whole best suited to this character. Long and accurate periods, finely wrought up with a gradual rise, harmonious numbers, a due proportion of the several parts, and a just cadency, are therefore improper, as they are plainly the effect of art. But yet some proportion should be observed in the members, that neither the ears be too much defrauded, nor the sense obscured. Of this kind is that expression of a Greek orator, blamed by Demetrius: Ceres came readily to our assistance, but Arjades not. The latter member of this sentence is too short; and by dropping so suddenly, both disappoints the ears, and is somewhat obscure. It would have been plainer and more agreeable. agreeable thus, but Ariftides did not come. As to order, the plainest and clearest disposition, both of the words and members of sentences, and what is most agreeable to the natural construction, best suits with this character. For one of its principal beauties is perspicuity. And a proper connection likewise of sentences, with a regular order in the dependence of things one upon another, very much contribute to this end. With regard to the collision of syllables in different words, for preventing either an hollowness or asperity of sound, greater liberty may be taken in this style than in the other characters. Here it may be allowed to say, Virtue is amiable to all, though all do not pursue it. But in an higher character, perhaps, in order to prevent the hollow sound of the words though all, a person would choose to vary the expression a little, and say, though few pursue it. So, Xerxes' expedition, may be tolerable here; but in the florid style, the expedition of Xerxes would sound much better.

The last thing to be considered, with respect to the language, is dignity, or the use of tropes and figures. And as to tropes, they ought to be used cautiously; unless such as are very common, and by time have either come into the place of proper words, or at least are equally plain and clear. So in the instance mentioned above, Diodorus Siculus, speaking of the forces of Xerxes, calls them an innumerable company. Where, by a synecdoche, he has chose to make use of an uncertain number for a certain, as less liable perhaps to exception. Other examples might be given if necessary. And with regard to figures, as most of those which consist in words, and are therefore called verbal figures, serve chiefly to enliven an expression, and give an agreeable turn, they are often not improper for this character. Nor are figures of sentences wholly to be excluded, especially such as are chiefly used in reasoning or demonstration. But those which are more peculiarly adapted to touch the passions, or paint things in the strongest colours, are the more proper ornaments of the higher styles, as will be shown hereafter.

Upon the whole, therefore, pure nature, without any colouring, or appearance of art, is the distinguishing mark of the low style. The design of it is to make things plain and intelligible, and to set them in an easy light. And therefore the proper subjects of it are epistles, dialogues, philosophical dissertations, or any other discourses, that ought to be treated in a plain and familiar manner, without much ornament, or address to the passions. A freedom and ease both of thought and expression, attended with an agreeable humour and pleasantry, are its peculiar beauties that engage us. As we see persons of fashion and good breeding, though in the plainest habit, have yet something in their air and manner of behaviour that is very taking and amiable. Somewhat of the like nature attends this style. It has its difficulties, which are not so easily discerned but from experience. For it requires no small skill to treat a common subject in such a manner as to make it entertaining. The fewer ornaments it admits of, the greater art is necessary to attain this end. Lofty subjects often engage and captivate the mind by the sublimity of the ideas. And the florid style calls in all the assistance of language and eloquence. But the plain style is in a great measure stripped of those advantages; and has little more to recommend it, than its own native beauty and simplicity.

CHAP. VI. Of the Middle Style.

This we shall treat in the same manner as we did the former, by considering first the matter, and then the language proper for it.

1. And as the subjects proper for this style are things of weight and importance, which require both a gravity and accuracy of expression; so fine thoughts matter and are its distinguishing mark, as plain thoughts are of the low character, and lofty thoughts of the sublime. Now a fine thought may deserve that character from some or other of the following proprieties.

And the first property we shall mention is gravity and dignity. Thus Cicero, in a speech to Caesar, says, "It has been often told me, that you have frequently said, you have lived long enough for yourself. I believe it, if you either lived, or was born for yourself only." Nothing could either be more fit and proper, than this was, when it was spoken; or at the same time a finer compliment upon Caesar. For the civil war was now over, and the whole power of the Roman government in the hands of Caesar; so that he might venture to say, he had lived long enough for himself, there being no higher pitch of glory to which his ambition could aspire. But then there were many things in the state that wanted redressing, after those times of disorder and confusion, which he had not yet been able to effect, and of which Cicero here takes an opportunity to remind him. We shall produce another example from Curtius. Philotas, one of Alexander's captains, having formed a conspiracy against him, was convicted of it, and put to death. Aminas, who was suspected of the same crime, by reason of his great intimacy with Philotas, when he comes to make his defence, among other things speaks thus: "I am so far from denying my intimacy with Philotas, that I own I courted his friendship. Do you wonder that we showed a regard to the son of Parmenio, whom you would have to be next to yourself, giving him the preference to all your other friends? You, Sir, if I may be allowed to speak the truth, have brought me into this danger. For to whom else is it owing, that those who endeavoured to please you, addressed themselves to Philotas? By his recommendation we have been raised to this share of your friendship. Such was his interest with you, that we courted his favour, and feared his displeasure. Did we not all in a manner engage ourselves by oath, to have the same friends, and the same enemies, which you had? Should we have refused to take this, which you as it were proposed to us? Therefore, if this be a crime, you have few innocent persons about you; nay, indeed none. For all desired to be the friends of Philotas; though all could not be so who desired it. Therefore, if you make no difference between his friends and accomplices, neither ought you to make any between those who desired to be his friends, and those who really were so." Could anything be finer spoken, more proper, and becoming the character of a soldier, Elocution, dear, than this defence; especially to a prince of so great and generous a spirit as Alexander? There is something which appears like this in Tacitus with relation to the emperor Tiberius, but falls vastly short of it in the justness and dignity of the sentiment. Sejanus, his great favourite, and partner in his crimes, falling under his displeasure, was, like Philotas, put to death for a conspiracy. Now a Roman knight, who apprehended himself in danger on account of his friendship with Sejanus, thus apologizes for himself to the emperor, in the manner of Amintas: "It is not for us to examine the merit of a person whom you raise above others, nor your reasons for doing it. The gods have given you the sovereign power of all things, to us the glory of obeying. Let conspiracies formed against the state, or the life of the emperor, be punished; but as to friendships and private regards, the same reason that justifies you, Caesar, renders us innocent." The turn of the expressions is not much different from that in the case of Amintas; but the beauty of the thought is spoiled by the flattery of complimenting Tiberius upon an excess of power, which he employed to the destruction of many excellent men. There is not that impropriety in the defence of Amintas, which is equally brave and just.

Another property of a fine thought is beauty and elegance. It is a fine compliment which Pliny pays to the emperor Trajan, when he says, "It has happened to you alone, that you were father of your country, before you were made so." Some of the Roman emperors had been complimented with the title of father of their country, who little deserved it. But Trajan had a long time refused it, though he was really so, both by his good government, and in the esteem of his subjects, before he thought fit to accept of it. And Pliny, among other instances of the generosity of that prince, which he mentions in the same discourse, speaking of the liberty that he gave the Romans to purchase estates which had belonged to the emperors, and the peaceable possession they had of them, does it by a turn of thought no less beautiful than the former. "Such (says he) is the prince's bounty, such the security of the times, that he thinks us worthy to enjoy what has been possessed by emperors; and we are not afraid to be thought so."

There is a sprightliness in this image, which gives it a beauty; as there is likewise in the following passage of the same discourse, where he says to Trajan, "Your life is displeasing to you, if it be not joined with the public safety; and you suffer us to wish you nothing but what is for the good of those who wish it." And of the same kind is that of Cicero to Caesar, when he says, "You, Caesar, are wont to forget nothing but injuries." It is a very handsome, as well as just reflection, made by Tacitus upon Galba's government, that, "He seemed too great for a private man, while he was but a private man; and all would have thought him worthy of the empire, had he never been emperor." The beauty of a thought may give us delight, though the subject be sorrowful; and the images of things in themselves unpleasant may be so represented as to become agreeable. Sisygambis, the mother of Darius, after the death of her son, had been treated by Alexander with the greatest regard and tenderness, in whose Elocution power she then was. So soon as she heard therefore that he was dead, she grew weary of life, and could not bear to outlive him. Upon which Q. Curtius makes this fine reflection: "Though she had courage to survive Darius, yet she was ashamed to outlive Alexander."

The next property of a fine thought, which we shall mention, is delicacy. As, in the objects of our senses, those things are said to be delicate which affect us gradually in a soft and agreeable manner; so a delicate thought is that which is not wholly discovered at once, but by degrees opening and unfolding itself to the mind, discloses more than was at first perceived. Quintilian seems to refer to this, when he says, "Those things are grateful to the hearers, which when they apprehend, they are delighted with their own sagacity; and please themselves, as though they had not heard, but discovered them." Such thoughts are not unlike the sketches of some pictures, which let us into the design of the artist, and help us to discern more than the lines themselves express. Of this kind is that of Sallust: "In the greatest fortunes, there is the least liberty." This is not often so in fact, but ought to be; both to guard against an abuse of power, and to prevent the effects of a bad example to inferiors. Pliny, speaking of the emperor Trojan's entry into Rome, says, "Some declared, upon seeing you, they had lived long enough; others, that now they were more disposed to live." The compliment is fine either way, since both must esteem the sight of him the greatest happiness in life; and in that constancy lies the delicacy of the thought. It was a fine character given of Grotius, when very young, on the account of his surprising genius and uncommon proficiency in learning, that he was born a man: As if nature, at his coming into the world, had at once furnished him with those endowments which others gradually acquire by study and application.

The last property of a fine thought, which we shall take notice of, is novelty. Mankind is naturally pleased with new things; and when at the same time they are set in an agreeable light, this very much heightens the pleasure. Indeed there are few subjects, but what have been so often considered, that it is not to be expected they should afford many thoughts entirely new; but the same thought set in a different light, or applied to a different occasion, has in some degree a claim of novelty. And even where a thing hath been so well said already, that it cannot easily be mended, the revival of a fine thought often affords a pleasure and entertainment to the mind, though it can have no longer the claim of novelty. Cicero, in his treatise of an orator, among several other encomiums which he there gives to Crassus, says of him, "Crassus always excelled every other person, but that day he excelled himself." He means as an orator. But elsewhere he applies the same thought to Caesar, upon another account; and with some addition to it. "You had (says he) before conquered all other conquerors by your equity and clemency, but today you have conquered yourself; you seem to have vanquished even victory herself; therefore you alone are truly invincible." This thought, with a little variation of the phrase, Elocution phrase, has since appeared in several later writers; and it is now grown common to say of a person, who excels in any way, upon his doing better than he did before, that he has outdone himself. The like has happened to another thought, which, with a little alteration, has been variously applied. It was said by Varro, *That if the Muses were to talk Latin, they would talk like Plautus.* The younger Pliny, applying this compliment to a friend of his, says, *His letters are so finely written, that you would think the Muses themselves talked Latin.* And Cicero tells us, *It was said of Xenophon, that the Muses themselves seemed to speak Greek with his voice.* And elsewhere, that Philosophers say, *if Jupiter speaks Greek, he must speak like Plato.* The thought is much the same in all these instances, and has been since revived by some modern writers.

II. We shall now consider the language proper for the middle style. And in general it may be observed, that as the proper subjects of it are things of weight and importance, though not of that exalted nature as wholly to captivate the mind and divert it from attending to the diction; so all the ornaments of speech, and beauties of eloquence, have place here.

And first with regard to elegance, it is plain that a different choice of words makes a very great difference in the style, where the sense is the same. Sometimes one single word adds a grace and weight to an expression, which, if removed, the sense becomes flat and lifeless. Now such words as are most full and expressive suit best with his character. Epithets also, which are proper and well chosen, serve very much to beautify and enliven it, as they enlarge the ideas of things, and set them in a fuller light.

The most accurate composition, in all the parts of it, has place here. Periods, the most beautiful and harmonious, of a due length, and wrought up with the most exact order, just cadency, easy and smooth connection of the words, and flowing numbers, are the genuine ornaments, which greatly contribute to form this character.

But the principal distinction of style arises from tropes and figures. By these it is chiefly animated and raised to its different degrees or characters, as it receives a lesser or greater number of them; and those either more mild, or strong and powerful.

As to tropes, those which afford the most lively and pleasing ideas, especially metaphors, suit the middle character. It is a pretty remark, which has been made by some critics upon two verses of Virgil; one in his Eclogues, and the other in his Georgics. The former of these works is for the most part written in the low style, as the language of shepherds ought to be; but the latter in the middle style, suitable to the nature of the subject, and the persons for whom it was designed, the greatest men in Rome not thinking it below them to entertain themselves with rural affairs. Now in the Eclogue, as some copies read the verse, the shepherd, complaining of the barrenness of his land, says,

*Infelix loliurn et fleriles ncjunctur avenae.*

In English thus:

Wild oats and darnel grow instead of corn.

But in the Georgic, where the same sense is intended, instead of the proper word *ncjunctur,* grow, the author substitutes a metaphor, *dominantur,* command, and says,

*Infelix loliurn et fleriles dominantur avenae.*

That is in English:

Where corn is sown, darnel and oats command.

It was fit and natural for the shepherd to express his sense in the plainest terms; and it would have been wrong to represent him going so far out of his way, as to fetch a metaphor from government, in talking upon his own affairs. But in the Georgic, where the poet speaks in his own person, the metaphor is much more beautiful, and agreeable to the dignity of the work. This instance may show in some measure how the style is heightened by tropes, and the same thought may be accommodated to the several characters of style by the different manner of expression.

The like may also be said of figures either of words or sentences, in reference to this character; which admits of the finest descriptions, most lively images, and brightest figures, that serve either for delight, or to influence the passions without transport or ecstasy, which is the property of the sublime. This is indeed the proper seat of such embellishments, which support and make up a principal part of the middle or florid style. Having treated largely upon these in several preceding chapters, we shall here only briefly mention some of the most considerable.

Descriptions are not only a great ornament to a discourse, but represent things in a very lively and agreeable manner. In what a beautiful light has Cicero placed the polite arts and sciences, when, describing them from their effects, he thus represents to us the great advantages, as well as pleasure, which they afford to the mind? "Other studies neither suit with all times, nor all ages, nor all places; but these improve youth, delight old age, adorn prosperity, afford a refuge and solace in adversity; please at home, are no hinderance abroad; sleep, travel, and retire with us." And they often affect us very powerfully, when they are addressed to the senses. Quintilian has painted the calamities of a city taken by storm in the brightest and strongest colours, which he represents by "Flames spreading themselves over the houses and temples, the cracking of falling buildings, and a confused noise from a variety of cries and shouts; some running they know not where, others in the last embraces of their friends, the shrieks of children, women, and old men unhappily referred to such distress; the plundering of all places civil and sacred, the hurry and confusion in carrying off the booty, captives driven before their victors, mothers endeavouring to guard their infants, and quarrels among the conquerors where the plunder is largest." This seems to be a very natural, as well as moving, image of so dreadful a calamity.

Prosepeia is another very strong and beautiful figure, very proper for this character. Seneca has a fine instance of it in his Consolatory letter to Marcia, upon the death of her son. After many arguments, he had made use of to alleviate her grief, he at last introduces her father, Cremutius Cordus, as thus addressing Elocution dressing to her: "Imagine your father (says he) from the celestial regions, speaking to you in this manner: Daughter, why do you so long indulge your grief? why are you so ignorant, as to think it unhappy for your son, that, weary of life, he has withdrawn himself to his ancestors? Are you not sensible what disorders fortune occasions everywhere? and that she is kindest to those who have least concern with her? Need I mention to you princes who had been extremely happy, had a more timely death secured them from impending evils? or Roman generals, who wanted nothing to consummate their glory, but that they lived too long? Why then is he bewailed longest in our family who died most happily? There is nothing, as you imagine, desirable among you, nothing great, nothing noble; but, on the contrary, all things are mean, full of trouble and anxiety, and partake very little of the light which we enjoy." This advice was very suitable for a philosopher; and he seems to have chosen this way of introducing it, to enforce the argument drawn from the happiness of good men in a future state, from the testimony of a person who was actually in the possession of it.

Similitudes and comparisons are another great ornament of this style, and oftenest found here. Nothing can be finer than the comparison between those two great orators, Demosthenes and Cicero, made by Quintilian, when he says, "Demosthenes and Cicero differ in their elocution; one is more eloquent, and the other more copious; the former concludes more concisely, and the latter takes a larger compass; the one always with pungency, and the other generally with weight; one can have nothing taken from him, and the other nothing added to him; the latter has more of art, and the former more of nature. But this must be allowed to Demosthenes, that he made Cicero in a great measure what he was. For as Tully gave himself wholly to an imitation of the Greeks, he seems to me to have expressed the force of Demosthenes, the fluency of Plato, and the pleasantry of Horace." Similitudes, taken from natural things, serve very much to enliven the style, and give it a cheerfulness; which is a thing so common and well known, that we need not stay to give any instances of it.

Antithesis, or opposition, both in the words and sense, has often the like beautiful effect. There is an agreeable contrast in that passage of Seneca: "Caesar does not allow himself many things, because he can do all things; his watching defends all others' sleep, his labour their quiet, his industry their pleasure, his business their ease; since he has governed the world, he has deprived himself of it." Had he said no more than only in general, that Caesar does not allow himself many things, because he can do all things, it might have passed for a fine thought; but, by adding so many particulars, all in the same form of expression, and beginning each member with the same word, he has both enlarged the idea, and beautified the antithesis, by a bright verbal figure.

These, and such like florid figures, are sometimes found in historians, but oftener in orators; and indeed this middle character, in the whole of it, is best accommodated to the subjects of history and oratory.

The sublime is the most noble, as well as the most difficult, part of an orator's province. It is this principle which Cicero requires in his perfect orator, of whom he could not describe in words, but only conceive in his mind. And indeed, the noblest genius province is and greatest art are both requisite to form this character. For where nature has been most liberal in furnishing the mind with lofty thoughts, bright images, and strong expressions; yet without the affluence of art there will sometimes be found a mixture of what is low, improper, or misplaced. And a great genius, like a too rich soil, must produce flowers and weeds promiscuously, without cultivation. But the justest propriety, joined with the greatest strength and highest elevation of thought, are required to complete the true sublime. Art therefore is necessary to regulate and perfect the taste of those who are desirous to excel in this character.

In explaining the nature and properties of this character, we shall, as in the two former, consider first the thoughts, and then the language, in each of which it is distinguished from them.

§ 1. Sublime, as it relates to Thoughts.

Lofty and grand sentiments are the basis and foundation of the true sublime. Longinus therefore advises those who aspire at this excellence, to accustom themselves to think upon the noblest subjects. A mind that always dwells upon low and common subjects, can never raise itself sufficiently to represent things great and magnificent in their full extent and proper light. But he who inures himself to conceive the highest and most exalted ideas, and renders them familiar to his thoughts, will not often be at a loss how to express them; for where proper words are wanting, by metaphors and images taken from other things he will be able to convey them in a just and adequate manner. What is more common than for two persons to conceive very differently of the same thing from the different manner of thinking to which they have been accustomed? After the great battle in Cilicia, between Alexander and Darius, in which the latter was routed, he sent ambassadors to Alexander with proposals of peace, offering him half his kingdom with his daughter in marriage. Parmenio, one of Alexander's chief captains, says to him upon this occasion, "For my part, was I Alexander, I would accept of these conditions." And so would I (replies that aspiring monarch), was I Parmenio." The half of so vast a kingdom at present, and a right of succession to the whole by marriage, was the highest ambition to which the thoughts of Parmenio could rise. But Alexander had vastly higher views; he aimed at nothing less than universal monarchy; and therefore such a proposal seemed much beneath his regard. Noble and lofty thoughts are principally those which either relate to divine objects, or such things as among men are generally esteemed the greatest and most illustrious.

Of the former sort is that of Homer, when describing the goddess Discord, he says, that she

Walks on the ground, and hides her head in clouds. This stretch of thought, says Longinus, as great as the distance between heaven and earth, does not more represent the stature of the goddefs, than the measure of the poet's genius and capacity. But such images, however beautiful in poetry, are not so proper for an orator, whose business it is to make choice of those which are suited to the nature of things and the common reason of mankind. When Numa the second king of Rome was settled in his government, and at peace with his neighbours, in order to soften the fierce and martial temper of his subjects, who had been always accustomed to wars during the reign of his predecessor Romulus, he endeavoured to impress their minds with an awe of the Deity; and for that end introduced a number of religious ceremonies, which he pretended to have received from the goddess Egeria.

This must be esteemed an artful piece of policy at that time. But that sentiment is far more just and noble, with which Cicero endeavours to inspire the members of a community, in his treatise Of Laws, when he says, that "Citizens ought first to be persuaded, that all things are under the rule and government of the gods; that every affair is directed by their wisdom and power; that the highest regard is due to them from men, since they observe every one's conduct, how he acts and behaves himself, and with what temper and devotion he worships them; and that they make a difference between the pious and impious." Persons under the influence of such a persuasion, could not fail of behaving well in society. And what he says to Caesar is no less in this style, when, interceding for Ligarius, he tells him, that "men in nothing approach nearer to deity, than in giving life to men." And Velleius Paterculus, speaking of Cato, gives him this sublime character, "That he was more like the gods than men; who never did a good thing, that he might seem to do it."

The other kind of lofty thoughts mentioned above, are those which relate to power, wisdom, courage, beneficence, and such other things as are of the highest esteem among mankind. "Your fortune (says Tully to Caesar) has nothing greater than a power, nor your nature than a will, to save many." He joins this compliment to what we just now cited from him; and applies it to Caesar, which was before only expressed in general, leaving him to draw the inference of his similitude to deity from the clemency of his nature. And elsewhere, as in a sort of transport for his success in defeating the conspiracy of Catiline, he thus be-speaks the Roman senate: "You have always decreed public thanks to others for their good government of the state, but to me alone for its preservation. Let that Scipio shine, by whose conduct and valour Hannibal was forced to leave Italy, and retire to Africa; let the other Scipio be greatly honoured, who destroyed Carthage and Numantia, two cities the most dangerous to this empire; let Lucius Paulus be in high esteem, whose triumphal chariot was adorned with Perseus, once a most powerful and noble prince; let Marius be in eternal honour, who twice delivered Italy from an invasion and the dread of servitude; let Pompey's name excel all these, whose actions and virtues are terminated by no other bounds but the course of the sun:—yet, among all their praises, there will still some place be left for my glory; unless indeed it be Eloquence, a greater thing to open for us new provinces to which we may resort, than to secure a place for our victorious generals to return in triumph." And Velleius Paterculus, as if he thought no encomium too high for this great orator, laments his unhappy fate in these lofty strains, addressed to M. Antony, by whose order he was put to death: "You have taken from Cicero old age, and a life more miserable than death under your government; but his fame, and the glory of his actions and words, you have been so far from destroying, that you have increased them. He lives, and will live in the memory of all ages; and while this system of nature, however constituted, shall remain (which scarce any Roman but himself conceived in his mind, comprehended by his genius, and illustrated with his eloquence), the praise of Cicero shall accompany it; and all posterity, while it admires his writings against you, will curse your treatment of him; and sooner shall mankind be lost to the world than his name." It was a noble reply of Porus the Indian king, when, after his defeat by Alexander, being brought before him, and asked, How he expected to be treated? he answered, Like a king. And Valerius Maximus, speaking of Pompey's treatment of Tigranes king of Armenia after he had vanquished him, expresses it in a manner suited to the dignity and beneficence of the action, when he says, "He restored him to his former fortune, esteeming it as glorious to make kings as to conquer them."

But the true sublime is consistent with the greatest plainness and simplicity of expression. And, generally speaking, the more plain and natural the images appear, the more they surprise us. How succinct, and yet how majestic, is that expression of Cæsar upon his victory over Pharnaces? I came, I saw, I conquered. But there cannot be a greater or more beautiful example of this, than what Longinus has taken notice of from Moses. "The legislator of the Jews (says he), no ordinary person, having a just notion of the power and majesty of the Deity, has expressed it in the beginning of his laws in the following words: And God said—what? Let there be light; and there was light. Let the earth be made; and it was made." This instance from the divine writer, and the character here given of him by that excellent critic, is the more remarkable, as he was himself a Palestinian. And certainly no laboured description could raise in the mind an higher conception of the infinite power of the Deity, than this plain and short narration. To command nature itself into being by a word, represents it at once altogether boundless and unlimited.

It sometimes very much contributes to heighten the image of a thing, when it is expressed in so undetermined a manner, as to leave the mind in suspense what bounds to fix to the thought. Of this kind is that of Cicero, when he first raises an objection against the necessity of an acquaintance with polite literature in order to form a great man, and then answers it. The objection is founded upon the examples of several great and excellent persons among the Romans, who had raised themselves to the highest pitch of honour and dignity, and been very serviceable to their country, by the help of a good genius, without the advantage In reply to which, he allows, that, where these are not united, nature or genius is of itself much preferable, and will carry a person further in the pursuit of great and noble designs, than learning without a genius; but that both are necessary to complete and perfect a truly great man. But we shall give what he says himself on this head, by which that property of a sublime thought we are now endeavouring to explain, will appear from his manner of expression: "I acknowledge (says he) that many persons of an exalted mind and virtue have, from a divine temper, without instruction, become moderate and grave; and I add likewise, that nature, without the assistance of learning, has frequently more contributed to honour and virtue, than learning where a genius has been wanting: But yet I must say, that where the direction and improvement of learning is added to a great and excellent genius, it is wont to produce something admirable and singular, which I know not how to describe." He knew very well, that, by leaving the minds of his hearers thus in suspense, they would form to themselves higher conceptions of what he intended, than from any idea he could convey to them in words. We may add to this another example from the same great orator, where he says, "Truly, if the mind had no views to posterity, and all its thoughts were terminated by those bounds in which the space of life is confined, it would neither fatigue itself with so great labours, nor be disquieted with so many cares and watchings, nor so often expose itself to death. But there is a certain active principle in every good man, which constantly excites his mind by motives of glory; and reminds him, that the remembrance of his name is not to end with his life, but extend itself to all posterity." Of the like nature is that of Milton, when he describes Satan as flying from hell in quest of our earth, then newly formed. For, having represented that his wings failed him in the vast vacuity, he thus describes his fall:

Down he drops Ten thousand fathom deep; and to this hour Down had been falling, had not by ill chance The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud, Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him As many miles aloft.

Those words, by which his fall is expressed,

And to this hour

Down had been falling,

leave the mind in suspense, and unable to fix any bounds to the vacuity; and by that means raise a greater and more surprising idea of its space than any direct expression could have done. This image is very beautiful where it stands; but too much out of the common way of thinking, as to suit better with an epic poem than the discourse of an orator.

§ 2. The Sublime, with regard to Language.

What we have to offer upon this subject will come under the three heads of Elegance, Composition, and Dignity; which comprehend all the properties of style.

I. Elegance. Those words and expressions chiefly contribute to form the sublime, which are most sonorous, and have the greatest splendor, force, and dignity. Elocution. And they are principally such as these. Long words, when equally expressive, are rather to be chosen than short ones, and especially monosyllables. So to conquer or vanquish an enemy, carries in it a fuller and more grand sound, than to beat an enemy. For which reason, likewise, compound words are often preferable to simple ones. So if we say, Cæsar's army, when he was present, was always invincible; this manner of expression has more of sublimity in it, than should we say, Cæsar's army, when he was present, could never be conquered. But the ancient languages have much the advantage of ours in both these respects; for their words are generally longer, and they are abundantly more happy in their compositions. The use of proper epithets does also in a particular manner contribute to this character. For as they denote the qualities and modes of things, they are as it were short descriptions; so that being joined to their subjects, they often greatly enlarge and heighten their image. Thus when the character of divine poet is given to Homer or Virgil, or prince of orators to Demosthenes or Cicero; it conveys to the mind a more sublime idea of them, than the bare mention of their name.

II. Composition: The force of which, as Longinus observes, is so great, that sometimes it creates a kind of sublime where the thoughts themselves are but mean, and gives a certain appearance of grandeur to that which otherwise would seem but common. But composition consists of several parts; the first of which, in the order we have hitherto considered them, is period. And here the case is much the same as with animal bodies, which owe their chief excellency to the union and just proportion of their parts. The several members, when separate from each other, lose both that beauty and force, which they have when joined together in a complete body. In like manner, fulness arises from the several parts of a period so connected, as to give force, as well as beauty, to the whole. The periods therefore in this character should be of a proper length. If they are too short, they lose their just weight and grandeur, and are gone almost before they reach the ear; as on the contrary, when they are too prolix, they become heavy and unwieldy, and by that means lose their force. But more especially, nothing superfluous ought to be admitted, which very much enervates the force of a sentence. We shall exemplify this in a passage from Herodotus, where he is giving an account of the famous battle at Thermopylae between the Persians and Lacedemonians. "Dienges (says he) the Spartan, being told by a Trachinian, before the engagement with the Medes, that when the barbarians came to shoot their arrows, they would fly so thick as to obscure the light of the sun; he was so far from being terrified at this, that despising their number, he replied, he 'was pleased with what his friend told him, since if the sun was obscured, they should fight in the shade, and not in the sun.'" The sense here is great and noble, but the sublimity of expression is spoiled in a great measure by those last words, and not in the sun, which are wholly superfluous. Cicero was sensible of this, and therefore he omits that member in relating the same story, and says only: "A Spartan, hearing that one of the Persians should say in an insulting manner, that when..." Elocution they came to engage, they should not be able to see the sun, for the multitude of their darts and arrows, replies, Then we shall fight in the shade." By stopping here, he gives the sentence much more life and emphasis. The next thing to be considered in composition, is the order and disposition of the several words and members of a sentence. The different placing but of one or two words will sometimes wholly destroy the grandeur of a sentence, and make it extremely flat. "This public act (says Demosthenes) dispelled the danger which at that time, like a cloud, hung over the city." Let us vary the order a little, and read it thus: "This public act dispelled the danger, which like a cloud hung over the city at that time." What a different turn does the expression receive for the worse! The spirit and majesty of it are entirely lost. And, in placing the several parts or members, they ought to be so disposed, that what is most weighty and important should stand last. So Tully says of Catiline, "We ought to return thanks to heaven, that we have so often escaped so odious, so frightful, so dangerous a plague of the state." A thing may be odious and frightful, and yet not dangerous; therefore he puts this in the last place, to give it the greater force, and make the deeper impression. Another thing to be attended to in composition, is the connection of the words with regard to the sound; that the pronunciation, in passing from one to another, may be most agreeable to the ear, and best suited to the nature of the subject. And as this is generally something grand and magnificent, such a contexture of them as will give the greatest force and energy to the expression is most proper for the sublime. Soft and languid sounds are very unsuitable to this character. They soothe and please the ear; but rather sink and depress the mind, than excite it to things great and noble. In this respect, therefore, our tongue, by its multitude of consonants, is more suitable for sublime discourses than some other modern languages, which abound with vowels.

III. The last head to be considered, is the proper use of tropes and figures; which is here so necessary, that the title of dignity seems to have been given to this part of elocution, from the assistance it more especially affords to this character. For if, as has been observed from Longinus, compositions will sometimes create a sort of sublimity; this much oftener happens from the force and efficacy of some lively tropes and strong figures.

And as to trope, bright metaphors are peculiarly suited to raise and animate the style. This is manifest from the nature of them, as they consist of contracted similes, reduced to a single word; which, if taken from things lofty and grand, must of consequence give a sublimity to the style. What can suggest to us a greater idea of the valour of Ajax, than Homer's calling him the bulwark of the Greeks; or of the Scipios, than when they are styled by Virgil, the two thunderbolts of war. A number of those, well chosen, contribute no less to the grandeur than to the beauty of discourse. Hyperbole sometimes gives the same force to an expression, if cautiously used, and so as not to exceed all appearance of truth. But the chief use of it is, where proper words will not express the just idea of the thing designed to be conveyed; and it may seem rather the offspring of necessity than Elocution. Of this nature is that of Herodotus, when speaking of the Lacedemonians at Thermopylae, he says, "They defended themselves with the swords they had left, and even with their hands and teeth, till the barbarians buried them under their arrows." It cannot be supposed strictly true, that so many arrows were thrown at them as to bury them; but having in the former part of the sentence represented their resolute defence in the strongest terms, by saying, that, naked and without arms, they engaged armed men with their hands and teeth, the following hyperbole seems not unnatural, and to intimate nothing more than what was necessary to quell such obstinate resolution and courage.

As to figures, whether verbal or those which consist in the sense, the nature of this character will easily direct to such as are most proper. But with respect to the latter, poets take greater liberties in the use of them than would be allowed in an orator. As their images are often formed for pleasure and delight, so they carry in them more of rapture and transport. But the orator's use of them being to set things in a stronger and clearer light, they are more sedate and moderate. Besides, an orator scarce ever has occasion for such fictitious images as we often meet with in poetry; though his ought to appear as natural, and its painting as strong and lively. We shall just mention some of the chief of those figures which seem best suited for this purpose; though they are no less suited to the middle style, as has been shown already, when taken from subjects of an inferior nature.

1. Description. Of this Justin gives us a fine instance, in a speech of king Philip the fifth of Macedon, wherein he represents the necessity of falling upon the Romans, who at that time were engaged in a war with Hannibal. "I behold (says he) a cloud of a most dreadful and bloody war rising in Italy. I see a storm of thunder and lightning from the west, which will overspread all places with a vast shower of blood, into whatever country the tempest of victory shall drive it. Greece has undergone many violent shocks in the Persian, Gallic, and Macedonian wars; but these would all be found unworthy of regard, if the armies now engaged in Italy should march out of that country. I view the terrible and cruel wars which involve those nations through the courage of their forces, and skill of their generals. This rage and fury cannot cease by the destruction of one party, without the ruin of their neighbours. Indeed, Macedon has less reason to dread the savage conquerors than Greece; because more prepared, and better able to defend itself; but I am sensible, those who attack each other so impetuously will not confine their victories within those bounds, and that it will be our lot to engage the conquerors." So lively a picture of imminent and threatening danger must needs alarm the most timorous, and excite them to a resolution to defend their country, and all that was dear to them. Such images give life and vigour to a discourse, and being artfully interwoven with proper arguments, influence the mind, and carry it away by an irresistible force, so that the hearer is not barely left to conclude the certainty of the thing, but moved by it, as it were, from ocular demonstration. The images there- fore of the orator ought to be drawn from real things, or at least such as are probable; for if they are wholly fictitious and incredible, as many poetical images are, they may give pleasure, but will not convince the mind, nor sway the passions.

2. Enumeration has some affinity with the former figure; by which, if the several parts have each something grand in them, the whole, when brought together, and disposed in a just order, very much contributes to the sublimity. We shall produce an example of this from an English writer, containing a description of our globe, upon a survey of it after the general conflagration, which he represents in this strong light: "Such is the vanity and transient glory of this habitable world! By the force of one element breaking loose upon the rest, all the varieties of nature, all the works of art, all the labours of man, are reduced to nothing; all that we admired and loved before, as great and magnificent, is obliterated, and vanished, and another form and face of things, plain, simple, and everywhere the same, overspreads the whole earth. Where are now the great empires of the world, and their great imperial cities? their pillars, trophies, and monuments of glory? Show me where they stood, read the inscription, tell me the victor's name. What remains, what impressions, what difference or distinction, do you see in this mass of fire? Rome itself, eternal Rome, the great city, the empress of the world, whose domination or superstition, ancient or modern, make a great part of the history of the earth, what is become of her now? She laid her foundations deep, and her palaces were strong and sumptuous; she glorified herself, and lived deliciously, and said in her heart I sit a queen, and shall see no sorrow; but her hour is come, she is wiped away from the face of the earth, and buried in everlasting oblivion. But it is not cities only, and the works of men's hands; the everlasting hills, the mountains and rocks of the earth, are melted as wax before the sun, and their place is nowhere found. Here stood the Alps, the load of the earth, that covered many countries, and reached their arms from the ocean to the Black sea. This huge mass of stone is softened and dissolved, as a tender cloud into rain. Here stood the African mountains, and Atlas with his top above the clouds. There was frozen Caucasus, and Taurus, and Imaus, and the mountains of Asia; and yonder, towards the north, stood the Riphean hills, clothed in ice and snow; all these are vanished, dropped away, as the snow upon their heads." These particulars considered separately are all truly great and noble, and every way suited to the nature of the subject; but as they are here disposed, and rise in order, they both enlarge the idea, and heighten the image, of that grand catastrophe.

3. Similitude: Which serves very much for beauty and ornament; and, when taken from great and sublime objects, adds a grandeur and magnificence to the things illustrated by it. We need go no farther for an example of this, than to the great critic so often mentioned already, who has treated upon the sublime, in a style every way equal to the subject. He, then, comparing those two great works of Homer, his Iliad and Odyssey, thus describes them: "Homer composed his Iliad when his mind was in its full strength and vigour; the whole body of the poem is dramatic, and full of action: whereas the best part of the Odyssey is taken up in narrations, which seem to be the genius of old age. So that one may compare him in this latter work to the setting sun, which still appears with the same magnificence, but has no longer the same heat and force." And soon after, speaking of the Odyssey, he says, "That piece may be called the reflux of his genius, which like the ocean ebbs, and deserts its shores." What nobler idea could possibly have been given of that great poet, than by those two similitudes of the sun and the ocean? And elsewhere, comparing those two great orators Demosthenes and Cicero, he shows the like sublimity of thought. "Demosthenes (says he) is sublime, in that he is close and concise; Cicero, in that he is diffused and extensive. The former, by reason of the violence, rapidity, strength, and fury, with which he rages and bears all before him, may be compared to a tempest and thunder; but the latter, like a great conflagration, devours and consumes all he meets, with a fire that is never extinguished, but wherever it advances continually gathers new strength."

4. Antithesis, or a sentence consisting of opposite parts, has often the same effect; as in the following instance of Cicero, where his view is to represent Pompey as a most consummate general. "Who," says he, "ever was, or need be more knowing, than this man? who from his childhood, and instruction at school, went into the army of his father, and learned the military art, in a very great war against the fiercest enemies: who, while yet a boy, became a soldier under the greatest general; and when but a youth was himself commander of a very great army: who has oftener engaged with the enemy in battle, than any other person with his adversary in private contests; has waged more wars than others have read, and conquered more provinces than others have wished to govern: whose youth has been spent in acquiring the art of war, not by the precepts of others, but his own commands; not by defeats, but victories; not by campaigns, but triumphs."

5. Apophthegm. Among the articles charged against Demosthenes by his great adversary and rival Aeschines, one was, that he had advised the Athenians to engage in a war against king Philip, wherein they had received a very great defeat. When Demosthenes comes to answer that part of the charge, he does not say as he might, "You have not been misled, my fellow-citizens, in exposing your lives for the liberties and safety of Greece; you are not without the most illustrious examples of such conduct: for who can say these great men were misled, who fought for the same cause in the plains of Marathon?" But instead of expressing himself thus, he gives the matter quite a different turn; and in a sort of rapture, appealing to those brave defenders of their country, says, "No, my fellow-citizens, you have not done wrong, you have not; I protest by the ghosts of those great men who fought for the same cause in the plains of Marathon." By this appeal to those ancient worthies whose memories were in the highest esteem at Athens, that it was the cause, and not the success, which rendered their actions... so glorious, he artfully corroborates his assertion in a way which he knew must have the greatest weight with his audience.

As the proper subjects of this character are either divine things, or such as are in the highest esteem and regard among mankind, which often require laudatory discourses, or panegyric; these naturally admit of all the ornaments and affluence of eloquence. Which, however, must be used with discretion: for when the mind is wrapt up in thought, and stretched to the utmost of its powers in the pursuit of some noble and sublime idea, it cannot attend to all the lesser fineries and niceties of language; but from its own vigour, and lively conception of things, will be led to express them in terms the most emphatical, and best suited to their nature. In such cases, therefore, the sublimity must appear rather from the elevation of the thought, attended with a simplicity of expression, than from the ornaments and dress of the language. These things seem more natural when the mind is relaxed, and employed upon lower objects. Though, upon the whole, grandeur and majesty of expression is the proper mark of this character with relation to the language, as beauty and splendor is of the middle style.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Style of an Orator.

The style of an orator comprehends all the characters already explained, of low, middle, and sublime, as they are applied by him in the different parts of his province. For that the language must be suited to the nature of the subject, we have had occasion often to observe already; and the different view of the speaker or writer necessarily occasions a variety in the manner of expression. Now an orator has three things in his view; to prove what he affirms, to represent it in an agreeable light, and to move the passions. These are all necessary, we do not mean in the order wherein we have now mentioned them, but that the discourse may upon the whole have its desired effect upon the audience. For unless the mind be convinced of the truth of what is offered by solid and cogent arguments, neither will the most eloquent discourse afford a lasting pleasure, nor the most pathetic long influence the affections. Though, on the other hand, the hearers expect to be entertained at the same time they are informed; and therefore, unless the language be agreeable to their taste, they will soon call off their attention, and think but meanly of the speaker. And unless both these are warmed and animated by a becoming pathos, the speaker may very probably miss of his end in bringing his audience over to his sentiments. For bare conviction is not sufficient with many persons to excite them to action. They will acquiesce in the truth of a thing which they cannot contradict, or will not give themselves the trouble to examine; and at the same time remain unconcerned to prosecute it. And the pleasure of a florid discourse will of itself soon vanish, like the harmony of music, or the charms of a fine poem. And therefore to captivate his audience, secure them in his interest, and push them upon action, it is necessary for the orator to engage their affections; these are, as it were, the springs of the soul, which, managed by a skilful hand, move and direct it at pleasure. Elocution. Now each of these parts of an orator's province requires a different style. The low style is most proper for proof and information; because he has no other view here but to represent things to the mind in the plainest light, as they really are in themselves, without colouring or ornament. The middle style is most fitted for pleasure and entertainment, because it consists of smooth and well-turned periods, harmonious numbers, with florid and bright figures. But the sublime is necessary in order to sway and influence the passions. Here the orator calls in all the affluence both of nature and art; the most raised and lofty thoughts, clothed with the brightest and strongest colouring, enter into this character.

But as an orator has frequently each of these views, in the same discourse, we shall first give a summary description of the several characters of style, which we have formerly discoursed on more at large; that, by placing them together in one view, the difference between them may be more plain and obvious: and then we shall proceed to show to what particular parts of a discourse each of them is more especially to be applied.

1. First, then, as shorter periods are proper in the low style, so less care is necessary in their turn and cadency. If a sentence now and then drop unexpectedly, and disappoint the ear, or has something rough and harsh in its composition, it is no blemish in this character. For as it is suited to the manner of common discourse, an appearance of regard to the subject, rather than the form of expression, is more becoming than any beauties of art. But the words should be well chosen and proper, suited to the ideas they are designed to convey; the expressions plain and clear, and the artificial ornaments few and modest. By artificial ornaments are here meant tropes and figures; and they are called artificial, because they vary from the natural dress of language, either in the words or manner of expression: though they are often used by those who are wholly unacquainted with the rules of art; and particularly metaphors, which persons who have the least command of language frequently run into through mere necessity, for want of a sufficient stock of proper words to convey their ideas. The low style therefore admits of these: but care should be taken to choose such as have been rendered familiar by use, or at least where the similitude is very plain and evident. Bold or lofty metaphors, or where the allusion is dark and remote, ought to be avoided. Nor is the moderate use of the other tropes wholly disagreeable to this style. And the same thing is to be said with respect to verbal figures, or such as consist in the particular disposition of the sentence, so that if the form of it be changed, the figure is lost. Of these, such as come nearest to the natural way of expression are most proper for this style; and therefore those which consist in a jingle of words, arising from the same or a like sound, are to be avoided, as carrying in them too much the appearance of art. Those likewise which consist in a repetition of the same word, have often too great a force and vehemence for this mild and gentle character. And as to figures of sentences, which do not depend on the construction of words, but lie in the sense, many of them are too gay Part III.

Oratory.

Elocution, and sprightly, and others too rapid and impetuous, for the simplicity of the low style; so that only the more moderate and sedate ones are to be allowed a place here. It is therefore no wonder if persons are often mistaken in their notions of this character; the beauty of which consisting in a certain plainness and simplicity, without any thing in it but what seems natural and common, every one is apt to imagine he can readily be master of it, till by experience he finds the contrary. For the case is much the same here, as in persons of fashion and good breeding, whose behaviour and address is attended with that agreeable freedom and seeming negligence, which in appearance is very easy to express, but in reality is scarce imitable by others.

As the middle style is more adapted for pleasure and delight, it admits of all those beauties and ornaments which soothe and entertain the mind. It has more force and energy than the low style, but less than the sublime. Smooth and harmonious numbers, well-turned periods, of a just length, delightful cadency, and accurate disposition of the words, are suited to this style. The most beautiful and shining tropes, which strike the fancy, and all those verbal figures which, by a repetition, similitude, or proportion of sounds, please and gratify the ear, help to form this character. The like is to be said as to figures of sentences: The most florid and beautiful, such as enumeration, description, similitude, and the like, are here the most proper.

But it is the sublime style which perfects the orator. This requires the most forcible and emphatical words, the boldest metaphors, and strongest figures. In verbal figures, repetitions, synonyms, gradations, contraries, with others of a like force and energy, are chiefly employed here. But figures of sentences are the most considerable, and principally contribute to make up this character. Among these are similes taken from lofty subjects, propopoeia, apophthegm, exclamation, epiphonema, apotheosis, and others of a like nature. But due care must likewise be taken of the form, construction, and harmony of the periods; which seem best disposed, when long and short ones are intermixed. For though round and swelling periods carry in them something grand and majestic, yet many times they move too slow to strike the passions; whereas short ones are more acute and pungent, and by returning quick, awaken the mind, and raise the passions. But to render it complete, it must be supported with strong reason, grandeur of thought, and sentiments every way equal to the expression; without which it will be very liable to fall into bombast, and end largely in amusement.

II. Having given a short sketch of this part of the orator's furniture, we shall now go on to show where, and in what manner, he is to make use of it. This will best appear by considering his principal view in each part of his discourse. Now the parts of a just oration (as we have formerly shown) are six; Introduction, Narration, Proposition, Confirmation, Confutation, and Conclusion. Not that all these are necessary in every discourse, but it is proper they should all be mentioned, that we may consider what style is fittest for them when they are necessary.

In the Introduction, the orator has three things before him; to gain the esteem of his hearers, to secure their attention, and to give them some general notion of his subject. To set out modestly is undoubtedly the most likely way to recommend himself. For to attempt to inflame an audience, before they are prepared for it, or see the reason of much warmth, is highly improper. A prudent speaker will, like Demosthenes, begin with temper, and rise gradually, till he has insensibly warmed his hearers, and in some degree engaged their affections in his favour. So that this part scarce rises above the middle style. And if it carry in it an air of pleasantry and good-humour, it is generally the more apt to engage the attention.

The introduction is usually followed by the narration, or a recital of such things as either preceded, accompanied, or followed upon the subject under consideration. Now, as the qualities that recommend a narration are clearness, brevity, and probability; these sufficiently point out the style. Perspicuity arises from the choice of proper words, and such tropes as have been rendered most familiar by use; brevity requires moderate periods, whose parts are but little transposed; and a plain and simple diction, without ornament or colouring, is best suited to represent things probable: all which are the properties of the low style. And therefore Cicero says, narrations come pretty near to our ordinary discourse. Indeed, sometimes it is necessary not only to relate the facts themselves, but likewise to describe the manner in which they were performed. And then a further degree of art may be requisite to represent them with all their circumstances, and paint them to the mind in their proper colours.

The next part in order is the proposition, or subject of the discourse, in which there can be no room for ornament. But as it is the basis and foundation of the orator's whole design, it ought to be laid down in the plainest and clearest terms, so as to leave no room for doubt or uncertainty what it is which he intends to discourse upon.

The next thing is confirmation, wherein the orator endeavours to maintain and defend his own cause, and to convince his hearers of the truth of it by reason and argument. Now the low style is certainly fittest for cool reasoning and debate. But the orator's method of reasoning often very much differs from that of the philosopher. The latter contents himself with the most plain and familiar manner of representing the truth, and thinks it sufficient if what he says be clearly understood. But the former, at the same time that he convinces the judgment, endeavours likewise to affect the passions, and that in a great variety of ways. So that in this part of the discourse the style is very different, according to the nature and circumstances of the case. Sometimes, while he is dwelling upon the proof of a thing, he talks coolly, and reasons with the sedateness of a philosopher; and where any part of his argument appears doubtful or obscure, he endeavours with the same even temper to explain and clear it up. But frequently he intermixes with his proofs all the arts of persuasion, and embellishes his reasons with the greatest ornaments and beauties of eloquence.

Confirmation is usually followed by confutation, in which the orator endeavours to enervate and overthrow all The last part above-mentioned is the conclusion. This consists of two branches, recapitulation and ad-

drefs. Recapitulation is a short recital of the several arguments, or at least the chief of them, which were before advanced in support of the cause; that, being brought together into a narrow compass, they may appear in a stronger light. Wherefore the language here ought rather to be forcible and strong than florid, because brevity and conciseness is a necessary quality. The other branch of the conclusion consists in an address to the passions, and is wholly persuasive; for which the speaker is now entirely at leisure. Indeed, this is often done occasionally in other parts of the discourse, particularly in the introduction and confirmation: But as in the former of these, his view is principally to secure the good opinion of the hearers, and excite their attention; and in the latter to defend his own side of the question by reason and argument; when these two points are gained, he has nothing left but to prevail with them to fall in with his design, and declare for him. And the best way to attain this is, by engaging their passions in his interest. Hence, then, to use Quintilian's words, "All the springs of eloquence are to be opened. Now we are past the rocks and shallows, all the sails may be hoisted. And as the greatest part of the conclusion consists in illustration, the most pompous language and strongest figures have place here."

All the variety above mentioned, however, is not always necessary. Regard must be had to the nature of the subject, the time, place, persons, and other circumstances; by all which the style is to be regulated.

To discourse in a lofty and grand way upon a common topic, or in a low and flat manner upon a sublime argument, are both equally injudicious. Cicero refers us to some discourses of his own, as instances of each kind. His oration for Caecina, he says, is written in the low style, that for the Manilian law in the middle style, and that for Rabirius in the sublime; and his actions against Verres, with some others, are patterns of the variety here mentioned. And he gives us a very comprehensive description of a perfect orator in very few words, when he says: "He is one who can speak upon a low subject acutely, upon a lofty subject with sublimity, and upon a moderate subject temperately." By which he means no more, than one who is master of the three characters here described, and knows when and how to use them. But although he mentions several among the Greeks, and some few among the Romans, who excelled in one or other of these different kinds; yet one who excelled in them all, he supposes never to have existed, except in the imagination. The reason perhaps may be, because each of them seems to require a very different genius, so that it is scarce possible for the same person to succeed in them all. Since therefore it is so rare and difficult a matter to gain the command of each in any good degree, it is better perhaps for every one to pursue that which nature seems most inclined to, and to excel in it, than to strive against their genius. For every kind has its perfections; and it is more commendable to be master of one thing, than to do several but indifferently.

PART IV. OF PRONUNCIATION.

CHAP. I. Of Pronunciation in general.

Pronunciation is also called Athion by some of the ancients. Though, if we attend to the proper signification of each of these words, the former respects the voice, and the latter the gestures and motions of the body. But if we consider them as synonymous terms, in this large sense pronunciation or action may be said to be a suitable conformity of the voice, and the several motions of the body, in speaking, to the fullest matter of the discourse.

The best judges among the ancients have represented this as the principal part of an orator's province, from whence he is chiefly to expect success in the art of persuasion. When Cicero, in the person of Craffus, has largely and elegantly discoursed upon all the other parts of oratory, coming at last to speak of this, he says: "All the former have their effect as they are pronounced. It is the action alone that governs in speaking; without which the best orator is of no value, and is often defeated by one in other respects much his inferior." And he lets us know, that Demosthenes was of the same opinion, who, when he was asked what was the principal thing in oratory, replied, Action; and being asked again a second and a third time, what was next considerable, he still made the same answer. By which he seemed to intimate, that he thought the whole art did in a manner consist in it. And indeed, if he had not judged this highly necessary for an orator, he would scarce have taken so much pains in correcting those natural defects, under which he laboured at first, in order to acquire it. For he had both a weak voice, and likewise an impediment in his speech, so that he could not pronounce distinctly some particular letters. The former of which defects he conquered, partly by speaking as loud as he could upon the shore, when the sea roared and was boisterous; and partly, by pronouncing long periods as he walked up hill; both of which methods contributed to the strengthening of his voice. And he found means to render his pronunciation more clear and articulate, by the help of some little stones put under his tongue. Nor was he less careful in endeavouring to gain the habit of a becoming and decent gesture; for which purpose he used to pronounce his discourses alone before a large glass. And because he had got an ill custom of drawing up his shoulders when he spoke; to amend that, he used to place them under a sword, which hung over him with the point downward. Such pains did this prince of the Grecian orators take to remove those difficulties, which would have Part IV.

Oratory.

Pronunciation have been sufficient to discourage an inferior and less aspiring genius. And to how great a perfection he arrived in his actions, under all these difficulties, by his indefatigable diligence and application, is evident from the confession of his great adversary and rival in oratory, Æschines. Who, when he could not bear the disgrace of being worsted by Demosthenes in the cause of Ctesiphon, retired to Rhodes. And being desired by the inhabitants to recite to them his own oration upon that occasion, which accordingly he did; the next day they requested of him to let them hear that of Demosthenes; which having pronounced in a most graceful manner, to the admiration of all who were present, "How much more (says he) would you have wondered if you had heard him speak it himself?" By which he plainly gave Demosthenes the preference in that respect. We might add to these authorities the judgment of Quintilian, who says, that "it is not so much moment what our compositions are, as how they are pronounced; since it is the manner of the delivery, by which the audience is moved." And therefore he ventures to assert, that "an indifferent discourse, assisted by a lively and graceful action, will have greater efficacy than the finest harangue which wants that advantage."

The truth of this sentiment of the ancients concerning the power and efficacy of pronunciation, might be proved from many instances; but one or two may here suffice. Hortensius, a contemporary with Cicero, and while living next to him in reputation as an orator, was highly applauded for his action. But his orations after his death, as Quintilian tells us (for we have none of them now remaining), did not appear answerable to his character; from whence he justly concludes, there must have been something pleasing when he spoke by which he gained his character, which was lost in reading them. But perhaps there is scarce a more considerable instance of this than in Cicero himself. After the death of Pompey, when Caesar had got the government into his own hands, many of his acquaintance interceded with him in behalf of their relations and friends, who had been of the contrary party in the late wars. Among others, Cicero solicited for his friend Ligarius; which Tubero understanding, who owed Ligarius a grudge, he opposed it, and undertook to represent him to Caesar as unworthy of his mercy. Caesar himself was prejudiced against Ligarius; and therefore, when the cause was to come before him, he said, "We may venture to hear Cicero display his eloquence; for I know the person he pleads for to be an ill man, and my enemy." But, however, in the course of his oration, Cicero so worked upon his passions, that by the frequent alteration of his countenance, the emotions of his mind were very conspicuous. And when he came to touch upon the battle of Pharsalia, which had given Caesar the empire of the world, he represented it in that moving and lively manner, that Caesar could no longer contain himself, but was thrown into such a fit of shivering, that he dropped the papers which he held in his hand. This was the more remarkable, because Caesar was himself one of the greatest orators of that age, knew all the arts of address, and avenues to the passions, and consequently was better prepared to guard against them. But neither his skill, nor resolution of mind, was of sufficient force against the power of oratory; but the conqueror of the world became a conquest to the charms of Cicero's eloquence; so that, contrary to his intention, he gave into his plea, and pardoned Ligarius. Now that oration is still extant, and appears exceedingly well calculated to touch the soft and tender passions and springs of the soul; but we believe it can scarce be discernible to any in reading it, how it should have had so surprising an effect; which must therefore have been chiefly owing to the wonderful address and conduct of the speaker.

The more natural the pronunciation is, it will of consequence be the more moving, since the perfection of art consits in its nearest resemblance to nature. And therefore it is not without good reason, that the ancients make it one qualification of an orator, that he be a good man; because a person of this character will make the cause he espouses his own, and the more forcibly he is touched with it himself, his action will be the more natural, and by that means the more easily affect others in the same manner. Cicero, speaking upon this subject, says, "It is certain that truth (by which he means nature) in every thing excels imitation; but if that was sufficient of itself in action, we should have no occasion for art." In his opinion therefore (and who was ever a better judge), art, in this case as well as in many others, if well managed, will assist and improve nature. But that is not all; for sometimes we find the force of it so great and powerful, that, where it is wholly counterfeit, it will for the time work the same effect as if it was founded in truth. This is well known to those who have been conversant with the representations of the theatre. In tragedies, though we are sensible that every thing we see and hear is feigned and counterfeit, yet such is the power of action, that we are oftentimes affected by it in the same manner as if they were all realities. Anger and resentment at the appearance of cruelty, concern and solicitude for disfrelled virtue, rise in our breasts; and tears are extorted from us for oppressed innocence: though at the same time, perhaps, we are ready to laugh at ourselves for being thus decoyed. If art then has so great an influence upon us, when supported only by fancy and imagination, how powerful must be the effect of a just and lively representation of what we know to be true and real?

How agreeable it is both to nature and reason, that a warmth of expression and vehemency of motion should rise in proportion to the importance of the subject and concern of the speaker, will further appear, by looking back a little into the more early and simple ages of the world. For the higher we go, the more we shall find of both. We shall give the observation of a very great man upon this head, in his own words. "The Romans (says he) had a very great Eloquence talent this way, and the Greeks a greater." The ea. p. 94. stern nations excelled in it, and particularly the Hebrews. Nothing can equal the strength and vivacity of the figures they employed in their discourse; and the very actions they used to express their sentiments; such as putting ashes on their heads, and tearing their garments, and covering themselves with sackcloth under any deep distress and sorrow of mind. I do not speak of what the prophets did to give a more lively representation of the things they foretold, because such such figurative actions were the effect of divine inspiration. But even in other cases we find those people understood much better than we do how to express their grief, and fear, and other passions. And hence, no doubt, arose those surprising effects of eloquence, which we never experience now." Thus far this excellent writer. And what he says here with respect to the actions of the eastern nations, was in a good measure customary among the Greeks and Romans; if not entirely of the same kind, yet perhaps as vehement and expressive. They did not think language of itself sufficient to express the height of their passions, unless enforced by uncommon motions and gestures. Thus, when Achilles had driven the Trojans into their city with the greatest precipitation and terror, and only Hector ventured to tarry without the gates to engage him; Homer represents both king Priam and his queen under the highest consternation for the danger of their son. And therefore, in order to prevail with him to come into the city, and not fight with Achilles, they not only intreat him from the walls in the most tender and moving language imaginable; but he tears off his grey locks with his hands; and she in a flood of tears exposes her breasts, and adjures him by those paps which suckled him, to comply with their request. The poet knew very well, that no words of themselves could represent those agonies of mind he endeavoured to convey, unless heightened by the idea of such actions as were expressive of the deepest sorrow. And indeed this was anciently esteemed so requisite in an orator, that in matters of importance he was scarce thought to be in earnest who wanted it. In one of Cicero's orations, he does not stick to argue in that manner with his adversary. "Would you talk thus (says he) if you was serious? Would you, who are wont to display your eloquence so warmly in the danger of others, act so coldly in your own?" Where is that concern, that ardour, which used to extort pity even from children? Here is no emotion either of mind or body; neither the forehead struck, nor the thigh, nor so much as a stamp of the foot. Therefore, you have been so far from inflaming our minds, that you have scarce kept us awake."

As action therefore was judged so necessary a qualification in an orator among the ancients, so they made use of several methods and expedients for the better attaining it. The principal of which we shall briefly mention.

Decency of pronunciation is an habit. And as all habits are gained by time, so the sooner they are learned, they are generally acquired with greater ease. For while persons are young, they are not only more flexible, and capable of any particular bent, but they are likewise free from the trouble of encountering and subduing contrary habits, which doubles the labour, and increases the difficulty of attaining any laudable quality. Quintilian was very sensible of this in the case here before us; and therefore, in order to have persons trained up to it, he begins with them in their childhood, and descends so low as even to give directions how they should be taught to pronounce when they first learn to read. And he advises, that they should then be instructed where to suspend their voice, and make the proper pauses, both in distinguishing the several parts of the same sentence, and in separating one sentence from another: likewise when to pronounce or sink their voice, or give it a proper inflection; to be slower or faster, more vehement or sedate, as the nature of the things may require; and that the tone of their voice be always manly and grave, but at the same time mixed with an agreeable sweetness. These things may perhaps appear in themselves small; but if duly attended to, they will be found of considerable service to bring us to a just and proper pronunciation. For in every thing that is to be attained by practice, it is a great advantage to set out right at first.

The ancients likewise had persons whom they called phonasi, whose proper business it was to teach them how to regulate and manage their voice; and others, who instructed them in the whole art of pronunciation, both as to their voice and gestures. These latter were generally taken from the theatre, being some eminent experienced actors. So Quintilian, treating of the province of these persons, says, "The comedian ought to teach them how to relate facts, with what authority to advise, with what vehemence to express anger, and with what softness compassion." And speaking of gestures, he says, "He should admonish them to raise their countenance, not distort their lips, or stretch their mouths." With several other directions of the like kind. And we are told concerning the emperor M. Antoninus, usually called the philosopher, that his first masters were Euphorius the grammarian, and Geminus the comedian.

But though they made use of actors to instruct their youth in forming their speech and gestures, yet the action of an orator was much different from that of the theatre. Cicero very plainly represents this distinction, in the words of Crassus, when speaking of orators, he says, "The motions of the body ought to be suited to the expressions, not in a theatrical way, mimicking the words by particular gesticulations, but in a manner expressive of the general sense, with a sedate and manly inflection of the voice; not taken from the stage and actors, but from the exercise of arms and the palestra." And Quintilian says to the same purpose, "Every gesture and motion of the comedians is not to be imitated, nor to the same degree." They thought the action of the theatre too light and extravagant for the imitation of an orator; and therefore, though they employed actors to inform young persons in the first rudiments, yet they were afterwards sent to the palestra, or schools designed on purpose to teach them a decent and graceful management of their bodies. And such schools, as Quintilian informs us, were in use both among the Greeks and Romans: Just as of later ages children learn to dance, in some measure with the same intention.

Being thus far prepared, they were afterwards sent to the schools of the rhetoricians. And here, as their business was to cultivate their style, and gain the whole art of eloquence; so particularly to acquire a just and accurate pronunciation by those exercises, in which for that end they were constantly employed. And as the Greeks were most celebrated for their skill in all the polite arts, and especially oratory; the Roman gentry and nobility generally sent their sons abroad, and placed them under the tuition of some Grecian master, to instruct them in the art of speaking, Part IV.

ORATORY.

Pronunciation; and by that means to fit them for the service of their country, either in the courts of judicature or the senate. Thus Cicero was sent to Rhodes, to study under the famous Molo, and Brutus under Punnenses; Caesar was going to the same place when taken by pirates; and Augustus afterwards studied there under Apollodorus.

Nor, after all this pains and industry, did they think themselves sufficiently qualified to take upon them the character of orators. But it was their constant custom to get together some of their friends and acquaintance who were proper judges of such performances, and declaim before them in private. The business of these persons was to make observations both on their language and pronunciation. And they were allowed the greatest freedom to take notice of anything they thought amiss, either as to inaccuracy of method, impropriety of style, or indecency of their voice or actions. This gave them an opportunity to correct any such defects at first, before they became habitual. What effects might not justly be expected from such an institution? Persons trained up in this manner, with all those advantages, joined to a good natural genius, could not fail of making very complete orators. Though even after they came to appear in public, they did not lay aside the custom of declaiming. For Quintilian tells us, that C. Carbo used to practise it daily in his tent. And Augustus is reported to have continued it during the war of Mutina against M. Antony. Nor is it to be supposed, that so constant an attendance to this practice was only servile to them in their public performances; but it must necessarily affect their whole conduct, give them a freedom of speech, easiness of address and behaviour, and render them in all respects fine gentlemen, as well as excellent orators. And from hence perhaps we may see less reason to wonder at the surprising effects of some of their discourses, when we consider what pains they took to arrive at those abilities.

Having thus far treated on pronunciation in general, we shall now proceed to consider the parts of it separately; which are voice and gesture.

CHAP. II. Of the Voice.

Voice is one kind of sound. Now the influence of sounds, either to raise or allay our passions, is evident from music. And certainly the harmony of a fine discourse, well and gracefully pronounced, is as capable to move us, if not in a way so violent and ecstatic, yet not less powerful, and more agreeable to our rational faculties. As the business of this chapter is to offer some considerations for the just and decent management of the voice, it may not be improper in the first place to observe in general what nature does when free and unconstrained. As persons are differently affected when they speak; so they naturally alter the tone of their voice, though they do not attend to it. It rises, sinks, and has various inflections given it, according to the present state and disposition of the mind. When the mind is calm and sedate, the voice is moderate and even; when the former is rejected with sorrow, the latter is languid; and when that is inflamed by passion, this is raised and elevated. It is the orator's business, therefore, to follow nature, and to endeavour that the tone of his voice appear natural and unaffected. And for this end, he must take care to suit it to the nature of the subject; but still so as to be always grave and decent. Some persons continue a discourse in such a low and dawdling manner, that they can scarce be heard by their audience. Others again hurry on in so loud and boisterous a manner as if they imagined their hearers were deaf. But all the music and harmony of speech lies in the proper temperament of the voice between these extremes. In order to set this matter in a just light, it will be necessary to consider the principal affections or properties of the voice, and how they are to be regulated by an orator. Now these may all be referred either to quantity or quality.

The quantity of the voice consists in its height or loudness, sweetness or sweetness, and the intermediate degrees between them.

Every person who speaks in public, should endeavour, if he can, to fill the place where he speaks. But still he ought to be careful not to exceed the natural key of his voice. If he does, it will neither be soft nor agreeable; but either harsh and rough, or too shrill and squeaking. Besides, he will not be able to give every syllable its full and distinct sound; which will render what he says obscure, and difficult to be understood. He should therefore take care to keep his voice within reach, so as to have it under management, that he may raise or sink it, or give it any inflection he thinks proper: Which it will not be in his power to do, if he put a force upon it, and strain it beyond its natural tone.

The like caution is to be used against the contrary extreme, that the voice be not dropped, and suffered to sink too low. This will give the speaker pain in raising it again to its proper pitch, and be no less offensive to the hearers. For though the music of speech consists in the variations of the voice, yet they must be gradual to render them pleasant. Such sudden and great changes at once are rather to be esteemed chasms in speaking, than variations. Besides, as they often prevent the hearers from taking in the sense of what is said, it gives them no small uneasiness that they are obliged to stretch their attention. Many persons are too apt to be guilty of this, especially at the end of a sentence, by dropping the last word; which ought in a particular manner to be expressed distinctly, because the meaning of the whole sentence often depends upon it.

The medium between these two is a moderate and even voice. But this is not the same in all; that which is moderate in one would be high in another. Every person therefore must regulate it by the natural key of his own voice. A calm and sedate voice is generally best; as a moderate sound is most pleasing to the ear, if it be clear and distinct. But this equality of the voice must also be accompanied with a variety, otherwise there can be no harmony; since all harmony consists in variety. Nothing is less pleasing than a discourse pronounced throughout in one continued tone of the voice, without any change or alteration. Besides, a variation of the voice is an ease to the speaker, as the body is relieved by shifting its posture. The equality therefore we are here speaking of admits of variety, of inflections and changes within the same pitch. Pronunciation. And when that is altered, the gradations, whether higher or lower, should be so gentle and regular as to preserve a due proportion of the parts and harmony of the whole; which cannot be done, when the voice is suddenly varied with too great a distinction. And therefore it should move from one key to another, so as rather to glide like a gentle stream, than pour down like a rapid torrent, as an ingenious writer has well expressed it. An even voice is best fitted to keep the mind in close attention. And therefore, in subjects designed only for instruction, without any address to the passions, there is little room for a variety of voice. For the voice ought to agree with the style; and as upon such subjects this should be equal, moderate, and smooth, so should the other. Everything, as we say, is beautiful in its season; and there is a certain propriety in things which ought always to be regarded. And therefore, an affected variety, ill placed, is as disagreeable to a judicious audience, as the want of it, where the subject requires it. We may find some persons, in pronouncing a grave and plain discourse, affect as many different tones, changes, and variations of their voice, as if they were acting a comedy; which is doubtless a very great impropriety. But the orator's province is not merely to apply to the mind, but likewise to the passions; which require a great variety of the voice, high or low, vehement or languid, according to the nature of the passions he designs to affect. So that for an orator always to use the same tone or degree of his voice, and expect to answer all his views by it, would be much the same thing as if a physician should propose to cure all distempers by one medicine. From hence it is evident, that although various inflections and tones of the voice are requisite to make it harmonious and pleasing to the ear; yet the degree of it should differ according to the nature of the subject and design of the speaker. And, as a perfect monotony is always unpleasant, so it can never be necessary in any discourse.

The next property of the voice above-mentioned was swiftness. That some expressions ought to be pronounced faster and swifter than others, is very manifest. Gay and sprightly ideas should not only be expressed louder, but also faster, than such as are sad and melancholy. And when we press an adversary, the voice should be brisk and quick. But to hurry on in a precipitant manner without pausing, till flopped for want of breath, is certainly a very great fault. This destroys not only the necessary distinction between sentence and sentence, but likewise between the several words of the same sentence; nay, and often occasions us to express our words by halves, while one is thrown so fast upon another, that we are not able to give each its full and just sound. By this means all the grace of speaking is lost, and in a great measure the advantage of hearing. For when the ears of the hearers cannot keep pace with the volatility of the speaker's tongue, they will be little the better for what he says. Besides, by not commanding his voice, and raising his breath at the proper pauses and points of distinction, he is often obliged to stop in the middle of a sentence; and so divides what should be continued, and joins what should be separated; which must necessarily destroy the sense, and confound his discourse. Young persons are very liable to this, especially at first setting out. And it often arises from diffidence. They are jealous of their performances, and the success they may have in speaking, which gives them a pain till it is over; and this puts them into a hurry of mind, which incapacitates them from governing their voice, and keeping it under that due regulation which perhaps they proposed to themselves before they began to speak. And the greater degree such persons have of a native and ingenious modesty, accompanied with a laudable ambition to excel, they are commonly more exposed to this. For while on the one hand they are fired with an ardent desire to recommend themselves, and on the other are fearful of the event, this dubious state of mind is very apt to throw them off their guard, and run them into this excess. From which we may see the great advantage of having the voice well formed betimes; for when once it is become habitual to speak with justness and propriety, persons readily practise it without much attention or concern.

And as a precipitant and hasty pronunciation is culpable, so likewise on the other hand, it is a fault to speak too slow. This seems to argue a heaviness in the speaker. And as he appears cool himself, he can never expect to warm his hearers, and excite their affections. When not only every word, but every syllable is drawn out to too great a length, the ideas do not come fast enough to keep up the attention without much uneasiness. For till the sense is completed, the mind is in suspense; and, if it be held long in that situation, it will of course flag and grow tired. Indeed, in some cases, it is requisite the pronunciation should be slower than in others; as in representing things great and difficult; or in expressing some particular passions, as admiration or grief. But the extreme we are now speaking of, is a slowness equally continued through a whole discourse, which must necessarily render it flat and lifeless.

Now, to avoid either of the two extremes last mentioned, the voice ought to be sedate and distinct. And in order to render it distinct, it is necessary, not only that each word and syllable should have its just and full sound, both as to time and accent; but likewise that every sentence, and part of a sentence, should be separated by its proper pause and interval. This is more easy to be done in reading, from the assistance of the points; but it is no less to be attended to in speaking, if we would pronounce in a distinct and graceful manner. For every one should speak in the same manner as he ought to read, if he could arrive at that exactness. Now the common rule given in pausing is, that we stop our voice at a comma till we can tell one, at a semicolon two, at a colon three, and at a full period four. And as these points are either accommodated to the several parts of the same sentence, as the first three; or different sentences, as the last; this occasions the different length of the pause, by which either the dependence of what precedes upon that which follows, or its distinction from it, is represented. And therefore, in the first three stops, the voice is rather to be suspended in different degrees or measures of time, than entirely dropt, to show that the sense is not yet completed. But between sentence and sentence we respire, and begin anew. So that Part IV.

Pronunciation that in long periods, the voice should be favoured by beginning low and sedately, that it may hold to the end without respiration; or if it will not, the breath ought to be recovered without sinking the voice. For if once the voice drop for want of breath before the period be finished, not only the beauty, but likewise the sense of it will be lost. Quintilian lays a great stress upon a due attention to these pauses; and says, "Though it may appear not so considerable in itself, yet all the other virtues of a good pronunciation are deficient without it."

Hitherto we have considered such properties of the voice as respect quantity, we come now to speak of its qualities. And the chief of these are strength or weakness, clearness or obscureness, fulness or smallness, smoothness or roughness. Now, one half of these is what every one would willingly choose, as he would wish to be free from the others. But it is not in our power to give ourselves what qualities of the voice we please; but only to make the best use we can of what nature has bestowed upon us. However, several defects of the voice are capable of being helped by care and proper means; as, on the other hand, the best voice may be greatly hurt by ill management and indiscipline. Temperance is a great preservative of the voice, and all excess is highly prejudicial to it. The voice must necessarily suffer, if the organs of speech have not their proper tone. And in order to their having this, they must be kept in a due temperature; that is, they must neither be too moist nor too dry. If they abound with fluids, these will obstruct the clearness of the voice, and render it obscure and confused; and if they are parched with drought, the voice will be harsh and rough. Now all excesses, as well as some bodily indispositions, are apt to affect the organs one or other of these ways.

A strong voice is very serviceable to an orator, because, if it want some other advantages, he is, however, capable to make himself heard. And if at any time he is forced to strain it, he is in less danger of its failing him before he has finished his discourse. But he who has a weak voice, should be very careful not to strain it, especially at first. He ought to begin low, and rise gradually to such a pitch as the key of his voice will still carry him, without being obliged to sink again afterwards. Frequent inflections of the voice will likewise be some assistance to him. But especially he should take care to speak deliberately, and ease his voice, by allowing due time for respiration at all the proper pauses. It is an extreme much less inconvenient for such a person rather to speak too slow, than too fast. But this defect of a weak voice is sometimes capable of being helped by the use of proper methods; as is evident from the instance of Demosthenes, before-mentioned.

A voice is said to be clear, when the organs of speech are suited to give every single letter, and all the combinations of them in syllables and words, their proper and distinct sound. Such a voice is very pleasing and agreeable to the hearers; and no less an happiness to the speaker, as it saves him a great expense of spirits. For a moderate voice, if clear, will be as distinctly heard, as one much louder, if thick and obscure. Which is a great advantage to the speaker, because he can better keep his voice under command, and modulate it at pleasure, as the several pronunciations and circumstances of his discourse may require.

On the contrary, an obscure and confused voice is not always occasioned from a deficiency in the organ; but many times is the effect of custom and a bad habit. Some persons, either from want of due care in their education at first, or from inadvertency and negligence afterwards, run into a very irregular and confused manner of expressing their words; either by misplacing the accent, confounding the sound of the letters, or huddling the syllables one upon another, so as to render what they say often unintelligible. Indeed, sometimes this arises from a natural defect, as in the case of Demosthenes; who found a method to rectify that, as well as the weaknesses of his voice. But in faults of this kind, which proceed from habit, doubtless the most likely way to mend them is to speak deliberately.

A full voice is not the same as a strong or a loud voice. It fills the ear, but it is often not pleasant. And therefore to render it so, as well as audible, it should be frequently varied. However, this seems better suited to the character of an orator, than a small and shrill voice; because it has something in it more grave and manly. And those who have the misfortune of a very small voice, should be cautious of raising it to too high a pitch, especially at once; because the sudden compression of the organ is apt to occasion a squeaking and very disagreeable sound.

A soft and smooth voice is of all the most musical, especially if it be flexible. And on the contrary, nothing is less harmonious than a voice that is harsh and rough. For the one grates as disagreeably upon the ear, as the other gives it pleasure and delight.

From the consideration of these several properties of the voice, we may conclude that to be the best, and fittest for an orator, which is moderate, distinct, firm, clear, and smooth, and withal easily flexible to the several degrees and variations of sound which every part of the discourse may require.

Chap. III. Of Gesture.

By this is meant, a suitable conformity of the motions of the countenance, and several parts of the body he conforms in speaking, to the subject-matter of the discourse. The word gesture is here used in a larger sense than is ordinarily done in common language. For we rarely make use of that word to denote the motions of the countenance, or any parts of it; but as these make up a considerable part of our present subject, they must here be comprehended under this term.

It is not agreed among the learned, whether voice or gesture has the greater influence upon us. But as the latter affects us by the eye, as the former does by the ear, gesture in the nature of it seems to have this advantage, that it conveys the impression more speedily to the mind; for the sight is the quickest of all our senses. Nor is its influence less upon our passions; nay, in some instances it appears to act more powerfully. A cast of the eye shall express desire in as moving a manner as the softest language; and a different motion of it, resentment. To wring the hands, tear the hair, or strike the breast, are all strong indications. And he who claps his hand to his sword, throws us into a greater panic than one who only threatens to kill us. Nor is it in some respects less various and extensive than language. Cicero tells us, he often diverted himself by trying this with Roscius the comedian; who could express a sentence as many ways by his gestures, as he himself by words.

And some dramas, called pantomimes, have been carried on wholly by mutes, who have performed every part by gestures only, without words, in a way very intelligent, as well as entertaining to the spectators. Well therefore might Cicero call action (or gesture) the language of the body, since it is capable in so lively a manner to convey both our ideas and passions. But with respect to oratory, gesture may very properly be called the second part of pronunciation; in which, as the voice should be suited to the impressions it receives from the mind, so the several motions of the body ought to be accommodated to the various tones and inflections of the voice. When the voice is even and moderate, little gesture is required; and nothing is more unnatural than violent motion, in discoursing upon ordinary and familiar subjects. The motions of the body should rise therefore in proportion to the vehemence and energy of the expression, as the natural and genuine effect of it.

But as gesture is very different and various as to the manner of it, which depends upon the decent conduct of several parts of the body; it will not be amiss to consider more particularly the proper management of each of those parts. Now all gesture is either natural, or from imitation. By natural gesture we mean such actions and motions of the body, as naturally accompany our words, as these do the impressions of our minds. And these either respect the whole body, or some particular part of it. But before we enter upon this, give us leave just to observe, that it has been customary in all ages and countries, in making a discourse before an assembly, to do it standing. Thus we read, that Abraham stood up, and spake unto the children of Heth. And it seems as if he sat down, when he had ended his speech; because, immediately after the account of their answer, it is said again, that Abraham stood up and bowed himself to the people of the land, the children of Heth. In like manner Homer represents the Grecian princes, as standing up, when they made a speech, either to the army, or in their councils. So when Achilles has assembled the army, to inquire into the reason of the great plague which at that time raged among them, he rises up before he begins to speak, and sits down again when he has done. After him the prophet Calchas rises, and charges it upon Agamemnon; who rising up in a passion, does not refuse to comply with what Calchas proposed, but expresses his resentment at him for saying it. And upon another occasion, both Agamemnon and Nestor do the same in council. And Cicero acquaints us, that when Lentulus had been charged in the senate as an associate with Catiline, he stood up to make his defence. Nor does the advantage of being better heard, seem to have been the only reason for so general an agreement in this posture; but it appears likewise to have been chosen, as the most decent and respectful. Sitting carries in it an air of authority, and is therefore a posture scarce used upon such occasions, unless perhaps where that is designed to be expressed by it. Wherefore it was a thing very much resented, that when Caesar, after he had got the power into his hands, once addressed the senate, either refused to rise, as some say, or as others, one of his friends held him down by his gown.

But though standing appears to be the most proper posture for speaking in public, yet it is very unbecoming for the body to be entirely without any motion like a statue. It should not long continue in the same position, but be constantly changing, though the motion be very moderate. There ought to be no appearance of stiffness, but a certain ease and pliability, naturally suiting itself to every expression; by which means, when a greater degree of motion is necessary, it will appear less sudden and vehement. For as the raising, sinking, and various inflections of the voice must be gradual; so likewise should the motions of the body. It is only on some particular occasions that an hasty vehemence and impetuosity is proper in either case.

As to the several parts of the body, the head is the most considerable. To lift it up too high has the air of arrogance and pride; to stretch it out too far, or throw it back, looks clownish and unmannerly; to hang it downwards on the breast, shows an unmannerly bashfulness and want of spirit; and to suffer it to lean on either shoulder, argues both sloth and indolence. Wherefore in calm and sedate discourse it ought to keep its natural state, an upright posture. However, it should not be long without motion, nor yet always moving; but gently turn sometimes on one side, and sometimes on the other, as occasion requires, that the voice may be heard by all who are present; and then return again to its natural position. It should always accompany the other actions of the body, and turn on the same side with them; except when aversion to anything is expressed, which is done by stretching out the right hand, and turning the head to the left. The ancients erected a statue of Venus in this posture, who was called by the Greeks ἀναπολική, and by the Latins Verticordia, and in English may be termed the forbidding Venus. But nothing is more indecent than violent motions and agitations of the head. And therefore, when a witty writer, who is well known among us, would convey the most ridiculous idea of a pretender to knowledge, he expresses it thus:

For having three times shook his head To flit his wit up, thus he said. Hudib.

But it is the countenance, that chiefly represents both the passions and disposition of the mind. By this we express love, hatred, joy, sorrow, modesty, and confidence; by this we supplicate, threaten, soothe, invite, forbid, consent, or refuse; and all this without speaking. Nay, from hence we form a judgment not only of a person's present temper, but of his capacity and natural disposition. And therefore it is common to say, such an one has a promising countenance, or that he promises little by his countenance. It is true, this is no certain rule of judging; nor is it in the power of any one to alter the natural make of his countenance; however, it may put us upon endeavouring to gain the most pleasing aspect we can; since it is so natural But the several parts of the face bear their part, and contribute to the proper and decent motion of the whole. In a calm and sedate discourse, all the features retain their natural state and situation. In sorrow, the forehead and eyebrows lower, and the cheeks hang down. But in expressions of joy and cheerfulness, the forehead and eyebrows are expanded, the cheeks contracted, and the corners of the mouth drawn upwards. Anger and resentment contract the forehead, draw the brows together, and thrust out the lips. And terror elevates both the brows and forehead. As these are the natural signs of such passions, the orator should endeavour to conform to them.

But as the eyes are most active and significant, it is the advice of Cicero that the greatest care should be taken in their management. And he gives this reason for it, "Because other parts of the countenance have but few motions; whereas all the passions of the soul are expressed in the eyes, by so many different actions, which cannot possibly be represented by any gestures of the body, if the eyes are kept in a fixed posture." Common experience does in a great measure confirm the truth of this observation. We readily guess at a person's intention, or how he is affected to us, by his eyes. And any sudden change or emotion of the mind is presently followed by an alteration in the look. In speaking therefore upon pleasant and delightful subjects, the eyes are brisk and cheerful; as, on the contrary, they sink and are languid in delivering anything melancholy and sorrowful. This is so agreeable to nature, that before a person speaks, we are prepared with the expectation of one or the other from his different aspect. So likewise in anger, a certain vehemence and intrepidity appears in the eyes, which, for want of proper words to express it by, we endeavour to represent by metaphors taken from fire, the most violent and rapid element, and say in such cases, the eyes sparkle, burn, or are inflamed. In expressions of hatred or detestation, it is natural to alter the look, either by turning the eyes aside, or downwards. Virgil has very justly observed this: for when he describes Aeneas meeting with Dido in the Elysian shades, and addressing her, he represents her disregard of him, by saying,

"Distractedly she look'd; then turning round, Still fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground."

She showed her resentment for his former treatment of her, by not vouchsafing to look on him. Indeed, the eyes are sometimes turned downwards upon other occasions, as to express modesty. And if at any time a particular object be addressed to, whatever it be, the eyes should be turned that way. And therefore Philostratus very deservedly ridicules a certain rhetorician as guilty of a foolishness in gesture, who, upon saying, "O Jupiter!" turned his eyes downward; and when he said, "O earth!" looked upward. A staring look has the appearance of giddiness and want of thought; and to contract the eyes, gives suspicion of craft and design. A fixed look may be occasioned from intensities of thought, but at the same time shows a disregard to the audience; and a too quick and wandering motion of the eyes denotes levity and wantonness. A gentle and moderate motion of the eyes is therefore in common most suitable, always directed to some of the audience, and gradually turning from side to side with an air of respect and modesty, and looking them decently in the face, as in common discourse: Such a behaviour will of course draw an attention. As in conversation, when a person addresses us in an handsome and becoming manner, we presently put ourselves in a posture to give what he says a proper reception. But as all the passions are in the most lively manner expressed in the eyes, their motions ought to vary according to the different nature of those passions they are suited both to discover in the speaker, and convey to his hearers; since, as the quickest access to the mind is by the sight, a proper well-timed look will sometimes sooner effect this than it can be done by words; as in discharging a cannon, we are struck with the light before we hear the sound.

As to the other parts of the body distinct from the head, the shoulders ought not to be elevated; for this is not only in itself indecent, but it likewise contracts the neck, and hinders the proper motion of the head. Nor, on the other hand, should they be drawn down, and depressed; because this occasions a stiffness both to the neck and the whole body. Their natural posture therefore is best, as being most easy and graceful. To shrug the shoulders has an abject and servile air; and frequently to heave them upwards and downwards is a very disagreeable sight.

A continued motion of the arms any way, is by all means to be avoided. Their action should generally be very moderate, and follow that of the hands, unless in very pathetic expressions, where it may be proper to give them a more lively spring.

The hands need never be idle. Quintilian seems to think them as necessary and powerful in action, as Cicero does the eyes. "The hands (says he), without which all gesture is lame and weak, have a greater variety of motions than can well be expressed; for they are almost equal to our words. Do not we define with them, promise, call, dismiss, threaten, beseech, detest, fear, inquire, deny? Do not they express joy, sorrow, doubt, confession, penitence, measure, plenty, number, and time? Do not they excite, restrain, prove, admire, and shame? That in so great a variety of speech among all nations and countries, this seems to me the common language of all mankind." Thus far Quintilian. Now, all bodily motion is either upward or downward, to the right or left, forward or backward, or else circular. The hands are employed by the orator in all these, except the last. And as they ought to correspond with our expressions, so they ought to begin and end with them. In admiration, and addresses to heaven, they must be elevated, but never raised above the eyes; and in speaking of things below us, they are directed downwards. Side motion should generally begin from the left, and terminate gently on the right. In demonstrating, addressing, and on several other occasions, they are moved forward; and in threatening, sometimes thrown back. But when the orator speaks of himself, his right-hand should be gently laid on his breast. When no other motion is necessary, the hands should be kept about as high as Pronunciation: the breast so as to make near a right angle with the arm. This is not only graceful, but likewise the most easy posture, and gives the least strain to the muscles. They should never be suffered to hang down, nor to loll upon the cushion or bar. The left hand should never move alone, but accommodate itself to the motions of the right. In motions to the left side, the right hand should not be carried beyond the left shoulder. In promises, and expressions of compliment, the motion of the hands should be gentle and slow; but in exhortations and applause more swift. The hands should generally be open; but in expressions of compunction and anger they may be closed. All finical and trifling actions of the fingers ought to be avoided; nor should they be stretched out and expanded in a stiff and rigid posture, but kept easy and pliable.

Neither the breast nor the belly should be thrust out: which in itself looks ungainly, and hinders the free motion of the trunk; which ought not to be kept too stiff and upright, but easy and flexible, always suiting itself to the motions of the head and hands. The feet should continue steady, and not give the body a wavering and giddy motion by frequently shifting; though some persons fall into that habit without moving their feet. Curio, a Roman orator, as Cicero tells us, was addicted to this; which occasioned a friend of his once to pass a joke upon him, by asking, "Who that was talking out of a boat?" The jest is too plain to need explication; for every one knows the waving of a boat will give the body such a motion.

The gestures we have hitherto discoursed of, are such as naturally accompany our expressions. And we believe those we have mentioned, if duly attended to, will be found sufficient to answer all the purposes of our modern pronunciation. The ancients, indeed, used several more vehement actions and gestures than we are accustomed to; as we have formerly shown. Philip the Roman orator, as Cicero informs us, did not use to prepare his discourses; but spoke, as we say, off-hand. And he was wont to tell his friends, "he was never fit to talk till he had warmed his arm." He doubtless, therefore, used a more violent motion with his arms and hands than is common with us. And Cicero calls the arm projected the orator's weapon. Indeed, to extend or brandish the arm, carries in it an air of command and authority, which was not unbecoming the character of Philip, who was a person of the highest rank and quality. And therefore young orators, both among the Greeks and Romans, for a time used no motion of the arm, but kept it confined in their garment, as an argument of modesty, till age and experience allowed them to use greater freedom. Nor was it uncommon for the ancient orators to express the excesses of their passions by tears. They thought nothing unbecoming that was natural; and judged it agreeable to the characters even of the bravest men, to be touched with a sense of humanity in great calamities: And therefore we find both Homer and Virgil make their greatest heroes shed tears on some occasions.

The other sort of gestures above-mentioned are such as arise from imitation; as where the orator describes some action, or personates another speaking. But here great care is to be taken not to overact his part, by running into any ludicrous or theatrical mimicry. It is sufficient for him so to represent things of this nature, as may best convey the image of them in a lively manner to the minds of the hearers; without any such change either of his actions or voice as are not suitable to his own character.

CHAP. IV. Some particular rules for the Voice and Gesture.

The subject of pronunciation is of so great importance to an orator, that it can neither be too clearly laid down, nor too strongly inculcated. If we inquire into the causes of that surprising power it has over us, and by what means it so strongly affects us, this may in some measure appear by reflecting on the frame and constitution of human nature. For our infinitely great and wise Maker has so formed us, that not only the actions of the body are subject to the direction of the mind, but we are likewise endowed with various passions and affections, that excite us to pursue those things which make for our happiness, and avoid others which are hurtful to us. And as we are made for society, we are also furnished with speech, which enables us to converse one with another. And such is the contrivance of our make, and influence of our minds upon the mechanism of our bodies, that we can not only communicate our thoughts to each other, but likewise our passions. For, as Cicero well observes, "Every motion of the mind has naturally its peculiar countenance, voice, and gesture; and the whole body, every position of the face, and sound of the voice, like the strings of an instrument, act agreeably to the impressions they receive from the mind."

Nor is this all: but as every one is differently affected himself, he is capable to make the like impressions upon others, and excite them to the same motions which he feels in himself. As when two instruments are set to the same pitch, the strings of the one being touched, produce in the other the like sound. This common sympathy in the human frame shows how necessary it is that an orator should not only in general be well acquainted with the rules of pronunciation, but likewise know how to use them as occasion requires. For a general knowledge of the rules of art is not of itself sufficient to perfect an artist, without a further acquaintance with the particular application of them to their several cases and circumstances. Thus, for instance, it is not enough for an orator to understand all the beauties and ornaments of language, and which of them are suited to form the several kinds of style, unless he can likewise accommodate each of those characters to their proper subject. And so likewise in pronunciation, he ought not only to know the several qualities of the voice, and proper gestures of the body, but also when and where to make use of them. For not only different subjects, but also different parts of the same discourse, and even particular expressions, often require a difference in the manner of pronunciation, both as to the voice and gesture. Having therefore treated on both these parts of pronunciation in general, it may not be amiss now to consider how they are to be applied in each of the two respects last mentioned.

We shall begin with the parts of a discourse, and treat Let us suppose then a person presenting himself before an assembly, in order to make a discourse to them. It cannot be decent immediately to begin to speak so soon as ever he makes his appearance. He will first settle himself, compose his countenance, and take a respectful view of his audience. This prepares them for silence and attention. To begin presently, and hurry on, without first allowing either himself or his hearers time to compose themselves, looks as if he was rather performing a task than had any design to please them; which will be very apt to make them as uneasy till he has done, as he seems to be himself. Persons commonly form some opinion of a speaker from their first view of him, which prejudices them either in his favour, or otherwise, as to what he says afterwards. A grave and sedate aspect inclines them to think him serious; that he has considered his subject, and may have something to offer worth their attention. A haughty and forbidding air occasions dislike, as it looks like disrespect. A wandering giddy countenance argues levity. A dejected drooping appearance is apt to raise contempt, unless where the subject is melancholy. And a cheerful aspect is a proper prelude to a pleasant and agreeable argument.

To speak low at first has the appearance of modesty, and is best for the voice; which, by rising gradually, will with more ease be carried to any pitch that may be afterwards necessary, without straining it. However, some variation of the voice is always proper to give it an harmony. Nay, and sometimes it is not improper for an orator to set out with a considerable degree of warmth, expressed by such an elevation of the voice, and gestures of the body, as are suited to represent the emotions of his mind. But this is not ordinarily the case. We have some few instances of this in Cicero; as in his oration for Roscius Amerinus, where the heaviness of the charge could not but excite his indignation against the accusers. And so likewise in that against Piso, and the two first against Catiline, which begin in the same manner, from the resentment he had conceived against their persons and conduct.

In the narration, the voice ought to be raised to somewhat an higher pitch. Matters of fact should be related in a very plain and distinct manner, with a proper stress and emphasis laid upon each circumstance, accompanied with a suitable address and motions of the body, to engage the attention of the hearers. For there is a certain grace in telling a story, by which those who are matters of it seldom fail to recommend themselves in conversation. The beauty of it consists in an easy and familiar manner of expression, attended with such actions and gestures as are suited to the nature of the things related, and help to enliven each particular circumstance and part of the discourse.

The proposition, or subject of the discourse, should be delivered with a very clear and audible voice. For if this be not plainly heard, all that follows in proof of it cannot well be understood. And for the same reason, if it be divided into several parts or branches, they should each be expressed very deliberately and distinctly. But as the design here is only information, there can be little room for gesture.

The confirmation admits of great variety both of the voice and gestures. In reasoning, the voice is quick and pungent, and should be enforced with suitable actions. And as descriptions likewise have often a place here, in painting out the images of things, the orator should so endeavour to adapt both his voice, and the motions of his body, particularly the turn of his eyes, and action of his hands, as may best help the imagination of his hearers. Where he introduces another person speaking, or addresses to an absent person, it should be with some degree of imitation. And in dialogue the voice should alter with the parts. When he diverts from his subject by any digression, his voice should be lively and cheerful; since that is rather designed for entertainment than instruction.

In confutation, the arguments of the adverse party ought first to be repeated in a plain and distinct manner, that the speaker may not seem to conceal, or avoid the force of them. Unless they appear trifling and unworthy of a serious answer; and then a facetious manner, both of expression and gesture, may be the properest way to confute them. For to attempt to answer in a grave and serious manner, what is in itself empty and ludicrous, is apt to create a suspicion of its having more in it than it really has. So when Tubero, in his accusation of Ligarius before Caesar, had made it part of his charge, that Ligarius was in Africa during some part of the civil war between Caesar and Pompey; Cicero in his answer, not thinking it deserved a serious reply, contents himself with barely mentioning it ironically. For thus he begins his defence of Ligarius: "Caesar, my kinsman Tubero has laid before you a new crime, and till this day unheard of, that Q. Ligarius was in Africa." Everyone must easily perceive, by the manner in which these words were pronounced, that the design of them was to make the charge appear ridiculous. But caution should be used not to represent any argument of weight in a ludicrous way, lest by so doing the speaker should more expose himself than his adversary.

In the conclusion, both the voice and gesture should be brisk and sprightly, which may seem to arise from a sense of the speaker's opinion of the goodness of his cause, and that he has offered nothing but what is agreeable to reason and truth; as likewise from his assurance that the audience agree with him in the same sentiments. In every undertaking that requires care and thought, persons are apt at first to be sedate and moderate; but when it is drawn to an end, and is near finished, it is very natural to appear more gay. If an enumeration of the principal arguments of the discourse be convenient, as it sometimes is, where they are pretty numerous, or the discourse is long, they ought to be expressed in the most clear and forcible manner. And if there be an address to the passions, both the voice and gesture must be suited to the nature of them, of which more will be said presently.

We proceed now to the consideration of particular expressions. And what we shall offer here, will be first in relation to single words, then sentences, and lastly, the passions.

I. Even in those sentences which are expressed in the most even and sedate manner, there is often one or more words which require an emphasis and distinction of the voice. Pronouns are often of this kind; as, *This is the man.* And such are many words that denote the circumstances and qualities of things. Such as heighten or magnify the idea of the thing to which they are joined, elevate the voice; as noble, admirable, majestic, greatly, and the like. On the contrary, those which lessen the idea, or debase it, depress the voice, or at least protract the tone; of which sort are the words little, mean, poorly, contemptible, with many others. Some tropes likewise, as metaphors and verbal figures, which consist in the repetition of a single word, should have a particular emphasis. As when Virgil says of the river Araxes, *It disdained a bridge.* And Nifus of himself, in the same poet, *I, I am the man,* where the repeated word is loudest. This distinction of words, and giving them their proper emphasis, does not only render the expression more clear and intelligible, but very much contributes to the variation of the voice, and the preventing a monotony. And the different pronunciation of these words will also require a peculiar gesture.

II. In sentences, regard should be had to their length, and the number of their parts, in order to distinguish them by proper pauses. The frame and structure of the period ought likewise to be considered, that the voice may be so managed as to give it the most musical accent. Unless there be some special reason for the contrary, it should end louder than it begins. And this difference of tone between the end of the former sentence and the beginning of the next, not only helps to distinguish the sense, but aids to the harmony of the voice. And that the last syllables of a sentence might become more audible and distinct, was doubtless one reason why the ancient rhetoricians dislike short feet at the end of a period. In an antithesis, or a sentence consisting of opposite parts, one contrary must be louder than the other. As, "*He is gone, but by a painful remove, from painful labour to quiet rest; from unquiet desires to happy contentment: from sorrow to joy; and from transitory time to immortality.*" In a climax or gradation, the voice should rise with it. So, "*There is no enjoyment of property without government; no government without a magistrate; no magistrate without obedience; no obedience where every one acts as he pleases.*" And so in other gradations of a different form. As, "*Since concord was lost, friendship was lost, fidelity was lost, liberty was lost, all was lost.*" And again, "*You would pardon him whom the senate hath condemned, whom the people of Rome have condemned, whom all mankind have condemned.*" We might mention several other figurative expressions, which require a particular conformation and management of the voice; but these, we presume, with some others we shall have occasion to name presently when we come to the passions, may be sufficient to guide us in the rest. But that it may appear more evidently how necessary a different inflection and variation of the voice is in most sentences, give us leave to show how Quintilian illustrates it, by a passage which he takes from Cicero. The place is the beginning of Cicero's defence for Milo, and the words are these: "*Although I am apprehensive it may seem safe to discover fear when I enter upon the defence of a most courageous man, and it may appear very indecent, when Milo discoursers more concern for the public safety than for his own, not to show a greatness of mind equal to his cause; yet this new form of the court terrifies my eyes, which cannot discern the ancient manner of the forum, and former custom of trials, whatever way they took; your bench is not surrounded with its usual attendants.*" This sentence consists of four members. And Quintilian supposes, that though these words are the beginning of a speech, and were accordingly expressed in a calm and submissive manner, yet that the orator used a great deal of variety in the pronunciation of their several parts. In the first member (as he imagines) his voice was more elevated in expressing the words, *a most courageous man,* than in those other parts of it, *I am apprehensive it may seem safe,* and, to discover fear. In the second member he rose higher, in saying when Milo discourses more concern for the public safety than for his own; and then again, as it were, checked himself in what follows, not to show a greatness of mind equal to his cause. The beginning of the third member, carrying a reflection in it, was spoke with a different tone of the voice, *this new form of the court terrifies my eyes,* and the other part of it more loud and distinctly, *which cannot discern the ancient manner of the forum, and former custom of trials.* And the last member was still more raised and audible, *your bench is not surrounded with its usual attendants.* And it must be supposed, that while he was laying this, he cast his eyes round the assembly, and viewed the soldiers whom Pompey had placed there, which renders the expression still more grave and solemn. If this was the manner of the ancient orators, and they were so exact and accurate in expressing their periods, and the several parts of them, as we have reason to believe they were, it must have given a very great force, as well as beauty, to their pronunciation.

III. That the passions have each of them both a different voice and action, is evident from hence; that we know in what manner a person is affected, by the tone of his voice, though we do not understand the sense of what he says, or many times so much as see him; and we can often make the same judgment from his countenance and gestures. Love and esteem are expressed in a smooth and cheerful tone; but anger and resentment, with a rough, harsh, and interrupted voice; for when the spirits are disturbed and ruffled, the organs are moved unequally. Joy raises and dilates the voice, as sorrow sinks and contracts it. Cicero takes notice of a passage in an oration of Gracchus, wherein he bewails the death of his brother, who was killed by Scipio, which in his time was thought very moving: "*Unhappy man (says he), whither shall I betake myself? where shall I go? Into the capitol? that flows with my brother's blood. Shall I go home? and behold my unhappy mother all in tears and despair?*" Though Gracchus had a very ill design in that speech, and his view was to excite the populace against their governors, yet (as Cicero tells us) when he came to this passage, he expressed himself in such moving accents and gestures, that he extorted tears even from his enemies. Fear occasions a tremor and hesitation of the voice, and assurance gives it strength and firmness. Admiration elevates the voice, and should be expressed with pomp and magnificence: *O surprising* This is Cicero's compliment to Cæsar, when he thought it for his purpose. And oftentimes this passion is accompanied with an elevation both of the eyes and hands. On the contrary, contempt sinks and protracts the voice. In the dispute between Cicero and Cecilius, which of them should accuse Verres, Cicero puts this contemptuous question to him: "How are you qualified, Cecilius, for such an undertaking? I will not ask, when you ever gave a proof of it; but when you so much as attempted it? Do you consider the difficulty of managing a public cause?" with much more to the same purpose. Though such kind of expressions require little gesture, yet sometimes a motion of the hand may not be improper, to signify disdain or aversion. We may suppose Cicero to have acted thus in his defence of Rabirius. For to show his assurance of his client's cause, having used this expression in a very audible manner, "I wish I had it to say, that Rabirius had with his own hand killed Saturninus, who was an enemy to the Roman state," some persons in the crowd began to raise a clamour, just as of later times hissing has been practised on the like occasions. Upon which Cicero immediately replies, "This noise does not disturb me, but please me, since it shows, though there are some weak persons, yet they are but few." Then presently after follows the expression we refer to: "Why do not you cease your clamour, since it only discovers your folly, and the smallness of your number?" All exclamations should be violent. When we address to inanimate things, the voice should be higher than when to animated beings; and appeals to heaven must be made in a loftier tone than those to men.

These few hints for expressing the principal passions may, if duly attended to, suffice to direct our practice in others. Though, after all, it is impossible to gain a just and decent pronunciation of voice and gesture merely from rules, without practice and an imitation of the best examples. Which shows the wisdom of the ancients, in training up their youth to it, by the assistance of masters, to form both their speech and actions.

But there is one thing which ought always to be attended to; namely, that persons should well consider their own make and genius, especially with respect to the passions. We seldom find, that any actor can excel in all characters; but if he performs one well, he is deficient in another: And therefore they are commonly so prudent as to confine themselves to such as best suit them. The case is the same in an orator; who should therefore keep within those bounds which nature seems to have prescribed for him. Some are better fitted for action than others, and most for some particular actions rather than others; and what fits well upon one would appear very awkward in another. Every one, therefore, should first endeavour to know himself, and manage accordingly. Though in most cases, nature may be much assisted and improved by art and exercise. See Professor Ward's System of Oratory.

Oratory, among the Romans, a closet or like apartment near a bed-chamber, furnished with an altar, crucifix, &c. for private devotions.

ORDER, in architecture, is a system of the several members, ornaments, and proportions of columns and pilasters; or a regular arrangement of the projecting parts of a building, especially the column, so as to form one beautiful whole. See Architecture, Chap. I. Part 1. page 237, &c.

Order is also used for a division or class of anything; thus the tribe of animals called birds, is subdivided into six orders. See Ornithology, Zoology, &c.

Order, in rhetoric, is the placing of each word and member of a sentence in such a manner, as will most contribute to the force, beauty, or evidence of the whole; according to the genius and custom of different languages. With regard to order, we may observe in general, that, in English, the nearer we keep to the natural or grammatical order, it is generally Order is also used for a class or division of the members of the body of a state; with regard to assemblies, precedence, &c.

In this sense, order is a kind of dignity, which, under the same name, is common to several persons; and which, of itself, does not give them any particular public authority, but only rank, and a capacity of arriving at honours and employments.

To arrange this definition, order may be said to be a dignity attended with an aptitude for public employ. By which it is distinguished from an office, which is the exercise of a public trust.

In this sense, nobility is an order, &c. The celerate is also an order, &c.

Order is also the title of certain ancient books, containing the divine office, with the order and manner of its performance.

Roman order is that wherein are laid down the ceremonies which obtain in the Roman church. See Ritual.

Order, in botany, is a name given to a subdivision of plants in the Linnaean system. See Botany, p. 431, &c.