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 bedkin, pointed at one end, with which they cut their letters; and broad at the other, to erase anything 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 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 Elocution, 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 judgement, 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 swelling 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 judgement; 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 judgement. 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 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 Elocution. 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 or 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 infipid and jejune, by the frequent return of the same terms and manner of expression. But to both these solid judgements 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 impertinences, 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 failles 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 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 plentifully 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 every thing 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 chillness of their climate. "There is (says Mr Addison*) a certain * Spec. coldness and indifference in the phrasés of our European No. 495 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 palliages 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, 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, inimitating 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 to wholly as to lose it. The first received it from Æchines, 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 Latin 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 farther; 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 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 Hocrates, 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 splendour; 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 paffion; For the English language in particular, see n° 35; 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, υ and ξ; 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 v 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 obviefus and adyungo. Another advantage of the Greek tongue arises from the variety and different feet 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 subtile, 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 tenues and persons of verbs, hinder the run of a period, Elocution 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 as 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 him for his former crime. It seldom happens that the 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.

**Lord Bacon.**

The low style considered both as to thoughts and language.

**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.

I. And with respect to the former, as the subjects proper for this style are either common things, or such as should be treated in a plain and familiar way; so Elocution, 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 says, 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 Lanuvium upon a solemn and necessary occasion, he immediately hastened from Rome, the day before, to affright 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 assistance; 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; laid there some time till his wife was ready; and afterwards set forward so 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 scarcely 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 assaulted from a higher ground by many armed men, who killed the coachman. Upon which, Milo, throwing off his cloak, leaped out of the chariot, and bravely defended himself; and those who were with Clodius, having their swords drawn, some made up to the chariot to attack Milo; and others, who now thought he had been killed, began to fall upon his servants who were behind. And of these, such as had courage, and were faithful to their master, some were killed; and others when they saw the skirmish at the chariot, and could do their master no service (for they heard Clodius himself say that Milo was killed, and really thought it was so), did that, not by their master's order, nor with his knowledge, nor when he was present, which every one would have his own servants to do in the like circumstances. I do not say this to fix any crime upon them, but only to relate what happened." His meaning is, they killed Clodius; which he avoids mentioning, to render what he says less offensive. Can anything be told in a more plain and simple manner than this? Here is nothing said, but Elocution what in itself seems highly probable, and what one would imagine the fact might easily suggest to any ordinary spectator. But in this, both the art and skill of it consist. For in the whole account, as, on the one hand, Milo is so described as to render it highly improbable he could have any design at that time against Clodius; so on the other, no one circumstance is omitted which might seem proper to persuade the hearers that Clodius was the aggressor in that engagement. And yet, if we may believe Aelius, the quarrel was begun by some of Milo's retinue, and Clodius was afterwards killed by his express order. But as things are sometimes best illustrated by their opposites, we shall here produce a contrary instance of a very affected and unnatural way of relating a fact. Val. Maximus tells us of a learned man at Athens, who, by a blow which he received by a stone upon his head, entirely forgot all his learning, though he continued to remember everything else. And therefore, as he says, since this misfortune deprived him of the greatest enjoyment of his life, it had been happier for him never to have been learned, than afterwards to lose that pleasure. This is the plain sense of the story. But now let us hear him relate it, "A man (says he) of great learning at Athens, having received a blow upon his head by a stone, retained the memory of all other things very perfectly, and only forgot his learning, to which he had chiefly devoted himself. The direful and malignant wound invading his mind, and as it were designedly surveying the knowledge repose there, cruelly seized on that part of it in particular from which he received the greatest pleasure, and buried the singular learning of the man with an invidious funeral. Who since he was not permitted to enjoy his studies, had better never have obtained access to them, than afterwards to have been deprived of the delight they afforded him." What an unnatural way is this of relating such an accident, to talk of a wound invading the mind, and surveying the knowledge repose there, and cruelly seizing a particular part of it, and burying it with an invidious funeral? There is nothing in the story could lead him to this, but an over-fondness to refine upon it in a very affected manner. But there are two proprieties of plain thoughts, one of which ought constantly to attend them in common with all 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 Craffus 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 Craffus 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 to 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 dignified 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 further 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 persons, 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 appears to me too heavy and unseasonable, 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 unluckily, 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 Tarquinius' party, were ordered, among others, to be put to death; and their father not only pronounced the sentence, but prefixed 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 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, Elocution, case, from a celebrated English work, where the ingenious writer endeavours to show the disadvantages 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 affix 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 other-wise, 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 re-formed 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 advantages, accompanied with as strong a passion for this 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 dyes 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 navus crudelitatis, the blemish of cruelty; and another, applying the same word to ingratitude, says navus ingratiitudinis, 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 flatter 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 aggrandise it when they style her mistress of the world. But purity, both in the choice of words and expressions, is never more necessary than Elocution 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 anything 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 deceived, nor the sense obscured. Of this kind is that expression of a Greek orator, blamed by Demetrius: Ceres came readily to our assistance, but Ariadne did 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 thus, but Ariadne 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 contributes to this end. With regard to the collision of syllables in different words, for preventing either a 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 a 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 found 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 syneddoche, he has chosen 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 thrown 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 affluence 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.

I. 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 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 properties.

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. Amintas, 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 you 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, 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 was father of your country, before you was 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 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 frightfulness 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 with 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 whole 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 Trajan's entry into Rome, says, "Some declared, upon seeing you, they had lived long enough; others, that now they were more desirous to live." The compliment is fine either way, since both must esteem the sight of him the greatest happiness in life; and in that comeliness lies the delicacy of the thought. It was a fine character given of Grotius, when very young, on the account of his surprizing 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 Craufus, says of him, "Craufus 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 to-day 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, 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 by 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 the language of the middle style, 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. tion of the words, and flowing numbers, are the genuine ornaments, which greatly contribute to form this char- acter.

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 char- acter. 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 lolum et steriles nafcuntur 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 *nafcuntur*, grow, the au- thor substitutes a metaphor, *dominantur*, command, and says,

*Infelix lolum et steriles 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 ad- mits of the finest descriptions, most lively images, and brightest figures, that serve either for delight, or to in- fluence the passions without transport or ecstasy, which is the property of the sublime. This is indeed the pro- per 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 dif- ferent course, but represent things in a very lively and agree- able manner. In what a beautiful light has Cicero pla- ced the polite arts and sciences, when, describing them from their effects, he thus represents to us the great ad- vantages, 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, de-

light old age, adorn properly, afford a refuge and so- lace 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 col- ours, which he represents by "Flames spreading them- selves over the houses and temples, the cracking of fall- ing 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 fa- cred, the hurry and confusion in carrying off the booty, captives driven before their victors, mothers endeavour- ing to guard their infants, and quarrels among the con- querors where the plunder is largest." This seems to be a very natural, as well as moving, image of so dread- ful a calamity.

Propositions are another very strong and beautiful fig- ure, very proper for this character. Seneca has a fine piece well inflamed of it in his "Consolatory Letter to Marcia," fitted for this character.

Upon the death of her son. After many arguments he had made use of to alleviate her grief, he at last intro- duces her father, Cremutius Cordus, as thus addressing to her: "Imagine your father (says he) from the ce- lestial regions, speaking to you in this manner: Daugh- ter, 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 an- cestors? Are you not sensible what disorders fortune oc- casion everywhere? and that the is kindled 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 con- trary, 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 en- force 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 orna- ment of this style, and oftenest found here. Nothing both can be finer than the comparison between those two great orators, Demosthenes and Cicero, made by Quin- tilian, when he says, "Demosthenes and Cicero differ in their elocution; one is more close, 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 no- thing 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 expres- sed the force of Demosthenes, the fluency of Plato, and the pleasantry of Florentius." Similitudes, taken from natural things, serve very much to enliven the style, Part III.

ORATORY.

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 sentence, 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 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.

CHAP. VII. Of the Sublime Style.

The sublime is the most noble, as well as the most difficult part of an orator's province. It is this principally which Cicero requires in his perfect orator, whom he could not describe in words, but only conceive of in his mind. And indeed, the noblest genius 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.

§ I. 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 goddess, 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, benevolence, 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..." Elocution, nature than a will, to have many." He subjoins this compliment to what we just now cited from him; and applies that to Cæsar, 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 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 conjoined with the greatest plainness and simplicity of expression. And, generally speaking, the more plain and natural the images appear, the more they surprize 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 image from the divine writer, and the character here given of him by that excellent critic, is the more remarkable, as he was himself a Pagan. And certainly no laboured description could raise in the mind a higher conception of the infinite power of the Deity, than this plain and short narration. To command nature itself into being by a sword, 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 of much learning. 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 affluence 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 vacancy, 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, Infected with fire and nitre, hurried him As many miles aloft.

Those Elocution. 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 so 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. 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 grander 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 separated from each other, lose both that beauty and force, which they have when joined together in a complete body. In like manner, sublimity 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. "Dienceas (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 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 contiguity 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 unfitting 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 affluence it more especially affords to this character. For if, as has been observed from Longinus, compositions will sometimes create Elocution, a sort of sublimity; this much oftener happens from the force and efficacy of some lively tropes and strong figures.

And as to tropes, bright metaphors are peculiarly suited to raise and animate the style. This is manifest from the nature of them, as they consist of contracted families, 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, when they are styled by Virgil, the two thunderbolts of war. A number of those, well chosen, contributes no less to the grandeur than to the beauty of discourse. Hyperbole sometimes gives the same force to an expression, it 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 choice. 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 see 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 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 imprudently 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 therefore 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; and 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 imprestions, 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 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 its genius, which like the ocean ebbs, and defers 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 diffuse 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 Alcibiades, 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, and 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. 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. 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 suited 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 assistance 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 discussed 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 what particular parts of a discourse each of them is more especially to be applied.

I. 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 drefs 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 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 anything 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, prolepsis, apophysis, epiphanema, apophasis, 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 swell into bombast, and end barely 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 Elocution will best appear by considering his principal view in each part of his discourse. Now the parts of a justification (as we have formerly shown) are fix; 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 let 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 scarcely 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 discourses. 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 judgement, 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 cooly, and reasons with the fatigues 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 that has been advanced in favour of the opposite side of the question. But as the style is much the same here as in the former part, what has been said upon that may be sufficient for this likewise.

The last part abovementioned is the conclusion. This consists of two branches, recapitulation, and address. Recapitulation is a short recital of the several arguments, at the 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 falls 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 Cæcina, 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... 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 *Actio* 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 subject 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 Cato, 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 raising 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 been sufficient to discourage an inferior and less aspiring genius. And to how great a perfection he arrived in his action, under all these disadvantages, by his indefatigable diligence and application, is evident from the confession of his great adversary and rival in oratory, Aeschines. 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 judgement of Quintilian, who says, that "it is not of 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 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 Part IV.

ORATORY.

Pronunciation 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 consists 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 sensibly 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 only 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 everything 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 disfranchised 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 talent this way, and the Greeks a greater. The eastern 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 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 parts which shocked 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 lump 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. Oratory

Part IV.

Pronunciation, both in distinguishing the several parts of the same sentence, and in separating one sentence from another; likewise when to raise 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 phonisci, 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 Geminius 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 sides; 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 for 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, and by that means Pronunciation 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 Pamænæus; 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 yet 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 kind of from music. And certainly the harmony of a fine discourse, well and gracefully pronounced, is as capable to which always influence us, if not in a way to violent and ecstatic, yet not less powerful, and more agreeable to our rational faculties. As the business of this chapter is to offer some either by considerations for the just and decent management of raising or allaying 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 depressed 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 Part IV.

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Pronunciation.

This end, he must take care to fit 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 droning manner, that they can scarce be heard by their audience. Others again hurry on in too 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 lowness, sweetness or harshness, 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 clumsy 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 quality 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 a variety of inflections and changes within the same pitch. 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 to 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. Every thing, 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 barely 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 sweetness. That force expressions ought to be pronounced falter and twitter than others, is very manifest. Gay and sprightly ideas should not only be expressed louder, but also falter, 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 stopped 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 volubility of the speaker's tongue, they will be little the better for what he says. Besides, by not commanding his voice, and eating 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 difference. 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 Pronunciation 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 becomes; for when once it is become habitual to speak with justness and propriety, persons readily practice 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 break 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 continuing 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 full 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 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 disjunction 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 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 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 fireness or weakness, clearness or obscuration, falseness or truthfulness, 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 well carry him, without being obliged to sink again afterwards. Frequent inflections of the voice will likewise be of some assistance to him. But especially he should take care to speak deliberately, and raise 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 fitted 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 parts 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, Pronunciation 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 weakness 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 dull 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 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 without 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, 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 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 moving a manner as the softest language; and a different motion of it, resentment. Tearing the hands, tear the hair, or strike the breast, are all strong indications of sorrow. 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 fit discourse before an assembly, to do it standing. Thus we read, that Abraham stood up, and spoke 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 fitting itself to every expression; by which 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 unmanly 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 Ἀναργυρία, and by the Latins Veritcordia, 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 stir his wit up, thus he said. Hudibras.

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 for mankind to draw such conclusions from it: and some persons are so unhappy, as to render their countenance more disagreeable, than otherwise it would be, by ill habits.

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 endeavor 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 flinch 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 intensity 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,

Dissatisfactorily she looked; 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 solecism 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 contrast the eyes, gives suspicion of craft and design. A fixed look may be occasioned from intenseness 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 Part IV.

ORATORY.

Pronunciation 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 desire 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 demonstrations, 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 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 fidgety 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. Curius, 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 discussed, 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 doubted, 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 excess 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 wise and great 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 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 with one 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 impression 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 of them in their natural order. And here the view and design of the speaker in each of them will easily help us to see the proper manner of pronunciation.

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 too 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 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 Roelius Merinus, where the heat 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 masters 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 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 concede, or avoid the force of them, unless they appear trifling and Pronunciation and unworthy of a serious answer; and then a facetious manner, both of expression and gesture, may be the properest way to convey 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 kinman 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 tenor 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 drawing 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 deflate 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 abstained a bridge. And Nicias 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 pronunciations of these words will also require a peculiar pronunciation.

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 to 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 sentence, 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 removal, 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 base to discover fear when I enter upon the defence of a most courageous man, and it may appear very indecent, when Milo discovers 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 look: 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 base, and, to discover fear. In the second member he rose higher, in saying, when Milo discovers 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... 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 saying this, he cast his eyes round the assembly, and viewed the folders 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 affluence gives it strength and firmness. Admiration elevates the voice, and should be expressed with pomp and magnificence: O surprising clemency, worthy of the highest praise and greatest encomiums, and fit to be perpetuated in lasting monuments! This is Cicero's compliment to Caesar 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 affluence 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 too 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.

Orb, in Astronomy, denotes a hollow globe or sphere.

Orb, in tactics, is the disposing of a number of soldiers in circular form of defence. The orb has been thought of consequence enough to employ the attention of the famous Marshal de Puysegur in his Art of War, who prefers this position to throw a body of infantry in an open country, to resist cavalry, or even a superior force of infantry; because it is regular, and equally strong,