This idea or this affection caused by a word, which nothing but a word could annex to the others, raises a very great degree of the sublime; and this sublime is raised yet higher by what follows, a "universe of Death." Here are again two ideas not presentable but by language, and a union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they may properly be called ideas which present no distinct image to the mind, but still it will be difficult to conceive how words can move the passions which belong to real objects without representing these objects clearly. This is difficult to us, because we do not sufficiently dis tinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clear expression and a strong expression. These are frequently confounded with each other, though they are in reality extremely different. The former regards the understanding; the latter belongs to the passions. The one describes a thing as it is; the latter describes it as it is felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of the things about which they are exerted, so there are words, and certain dispositions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always used by those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and move us more than those which far more clearly and distinctly express the subject-matter. We yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. The truth is, all verbal description, merely as naked description, though never so exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing described, that it could scarcely have the smallest effect, if the speaker did not call in to his aid those modes of speech that mark a strong and lively feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our passions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probably might never have been struck out by the object described. Words, by strongly conveying the passions, by those means which we have already mentioned, fully compensate for their weakness in other respects. It may be observed that very polished languages, and such as are praised for their superior clearness and perspicuity, are generally deficient in strength. The French language has that perfection and that defect, whereas the Oriental tongues, and in general the languages of most unpolished peoples, have a great force and energy of expression; and this is but natural. Uncultivated people are but ordinary observers of things, and not critical in distinguishing them; but, for that reason, they admire more, and are more affected with what they see, and, therefore, express themselves in a warmer and more passionate manner. If the affection be well conveyed, it will work its effect without any clear idea, often without any idea at all, of the thing which has originally given rise to it.

It might be expected from the fertility of the subject that I should consider poetry, as it regards the sublime and beautiful, more at large; but it must be observed that in this light it has been often and well handled already. It was not my design to enter into the criticism of the sublime and beautiful in any art, but to attempt to lay down such principles as may tend to ascertain, to distinguish, and to form a sort of standard for them; which purposes I thought might be best effected by an inquiry into the properties of such things in nature as raise love and astonishment in us, and by showing in what manner they operated to produce these passions. Words were only so far to be considered as to show upon what principle they were capable of being the representatives of these natural things, and by what powers they were able to affect us often as strongly as the things they represent, and sometimes much more strongly.

Complete. Part V. of the essay "On the Sublime and Beautiful."

JAMES BEATTIE

(1735-1803)

AMES BEATTIE was born in Laurencekirk, Scotland, October 25th, 1735. He was educated at Aberdeen, and from 1760 to his death, August 18th, 1803, he was professor of Moral Philosophy in Marischal College, Aberdeen. He was a poet of very considerable natural ability, and his perception of the laws of melody underlying expressions in prose as well as in verse, led him to write an essay on expression which is of value to students of oratory. The extract here made is from his essay "On Poetry and Music » (1778).

GR

ON EXPRESSION

OOD language is determinate and absolute. We know it wherever we meet with it; we may learn to speak and write it from books alone. Whether pronounced by a clown or a hero, a wise man, or an idiot, language is still good, if it be according to rule. But natural language is something not absolute, but relative, and can be estimated by those only who have studied men as well as books, and who attend to the real or supposed character of the speaker as well as to the import of what is spoken.

There are several particulars relating to the speaker which we must attend to, before we can judge whether his expression be natural. It is obvious that his temper must be taken into the account. From the fiery and passionate we expect one sort of language, from the calm and moderate, another. That impetuosity which is natural in Achilles would in Sarpedon or Ulysses be quite the contrary, as the mellifluent copiousness of Nestor would ill become the blunt rusticity of Ajax. Those diversities of temper which make men think differently on the same occasion will also make them speak the same thoughts in a different manner. And as the temper of the same man is not always uniform, but is variously affected by youth and old age, and by the prevalence of temporary passions, so neither will that style which is most natural to him be always uniform, but may be energetic or languid, abrupt or equable, figurative or plain, according to the passions or sentiments that may happen to predominate in his mind. And hence, to judge whether his language be natural, we must attend not only to the habitual temper but also to the present passions, and even to the age of the speaker. Nor should we overlook his intellectual peculiarities. If his thoughts be confused or indistinct, his style must be unmethodical and obscure; if the former be much diversified, the latter will be equally copious. The external circumstances of the speaker, his rank and fortune, his education and company, particularly the two last, have no little influence in characterizing his style. A clown and a man of learning, a pedantic and a polite scholar, a husbandman and a soldier, a mechanic and a seaman, reciting

the same narrative, will each of them adopt a peculiar mode of expression, suitable to the ideas that occupy his mind and to the language he has been accustomed to speak and hear; and if a poet who had occasion to introduce these characters in a comedy were to give the same uniform color of language to them all, the style of that comedy, however elegant, would be unnatural. Our language is also affected by the very thoughts we utter. When these are lofty or groveling, there is a correspondent elevation or meanness in the language. The style of a great man is generally simple, but seldom fails to partake of the dignity and energy of his sentiments. In Greece and Rome, the corruption of literature was a consequence of the corruption of manners, and the manly simplicity of the old writers disappeared as the nation became effeminate and servile. Horace and Longinus scruple not to ascribe the decline of eloquence in their days to a littleness of mind, the effect of avarice and luxury. The words of Longinus are remarkable: "The truly eloquent," says he, "must possess an exalted and noble mind, for it is not possible for those who have all their lives been employed in servile pursuits to produce anything worthy of immortal renown or general admiration.» In fact, our words not only are the signs but may be considered as the pictures of our thoughts. The same glow or faintness of coloring, the same consistency or incoherence, the same proportions of great and little, the same degrees of elevation, the same light and shade that distinguish the one will be found to characterize the other; and from such a character as Achilles or Othello we as naturally expect a bold, nervous, and animated phraseology as a manly voice and commanding gesture

May we not infer from what has been said, that "Language is, then, according to nature, when it is suitable to the supposed condition of the speaker»?— meaning by the word "condition» not only the outward circumstances of fortune, rank, employment, sex, age, and nation, but also the internal temperature of the understanding and passions, as well as the peculiar nature of the thoughts that may happen to occupy the mind. Horace seems to have had this in view, when he said, that "if what is spoken on the stage shall be unsuitable to the fortunes of the speaker, both the learned and unlearned part of the audience will be sensible of the impropriety. For that it is of great importance to the poet to consider, whether the person speaking be a slave or a hero; a man of mature age, or warm with the passions of youth; a lady of rank, or a bustling nurse; a luxurious Assyrian, or a cruel native of Colchis; a mercantile traveler, or a stationary husbandman; an acute Argive, or a dull Boeotian.»

But Horace's remark, it may be said, refers more immediately to the style of the drama; whereas we would extend it to poetry, and even to composition in general. And it may be thought, that in those writings wherein the imitation of human life is less perfect, as in the epic poem, or wherein the style is uniformly elevated and pure, as in history and tragedy, this rule of language is not attended to. In what respect, for example, can the style of Livy or Homer be said to be suitable to the condition of the speaker? Have we not, in each author, a great variety of speeches, ascribed to men of different nations, ranks, and characters, who are all, notwithstanding, made to utter a language that is not only grammatical, but elegant and harmonious? Yet no reader is offended; and no critic ever said that the style of Homer and Livy is unnatural.

The objection is plausible. But a right examination of it will be found not to weaken, but to confirm and illustrate the present doctrine. I say, then, that language is natural, when it is suited to the supposed condition and circumstances of the speaker. Now, in history, the speaker is no other than the historian himself, who claims the privilege of telling his tale in his own way, and of expressing the thoughts of other men, where he has occasion to record them, in his own

language. All this we must allow to be natural, if we suppose him to be serious. For every man who speaks without affectation, has a style and a manner peculiar to himself. A person of learning and eloquence, recapitulating on any solemn occasion the speech of a clown, would not be thought in earnest if he did not express himself with his wonted propriety. It would be difficult, perhaps he would find it impossible, to imitate the hesitation, barbarisms, and broad accent of the poor man; and if he were to do so, he would affront his audience, and, instead of being thought a natural speaker, or capable of conducting important business, would prove himself a mere buffoon. Now, an historian is a person who assumes a character of great dignity, and addresses himself to a most respectable audience. He undertakes to communicate information, not to his equals only, or inferiors, but to the greatest and most learned men upon earth. He wishes them to listen to him, and to listen with pleasure; to believe his testimony, and treasure up his sayings as lessons of wisdom to direct them in the conduct of life, and in the government of kingdoms. In so awful a presence, and with views so elevated, what style is it natural for him to assume? A style uniformly serious and elegant, clear, orderly, and emphatical, set off with modest ornaments to render it pleasing, yet plain and simple, and such as becomes a man whose chief concern it is to know and deliver the truth. The moralist and the preacher are in familiar circumstances, and will naturally adopt a familiar style; only a more sublime and more pathetic energy, and language still plainer than that of the historian, though not less pure, will with reason be expected from those who pronounce the dictates of divine wisdom, and profess to instruct the meanest as well as the greatest of mankind in matters of everlasting importance. We may, therefore, repeat, and lay it down as a maxim, "That language is natural when it is suited to the speaker's condition, character, and circumstances.» And as, for the most part, the images and sentiments of serious poetry are copied from the images and sentiments, not of real, but of improved, nature; so the language of serious poetry must (as hinted already) be a transcript, not of the real language of nature, which is often dissonant and rude, but of natural language improved as far as may be consistent with probability, and with the supposed character of the speaker. If this be not the case, if the language of poetry be such only as we hear in conversation, or read in history, it will, instead of delight, bring disappointment; because it will fall short of what we expect from an art which is recommended rather by its pleasurable qualities, than by its intrinsic utility; and to which, in order to render it pleasing, we grant higher privileges than to any other kind of literary composition, or any other mode of human language.

From his "Essays." Dublin, 1778.

WILLIAM ENFIELD

(1741-1797)

He was

ILLIAM ENFIELD was born at Sudbury, England, March 29th, 1741, and educated for the ministry of the Unitarian Church. celebrated as a pulpit orator and teacher, and the University of Edinburgh gave him the honorary degree of LL.D. He wrote "Institutes of Natural Philosophy, Theoretical and Experimental" (1783), and published other works which added to his reputation. It is, however by virtue of his modest little "Speaker," published in 1775, that he survives his century. It passed through many editions, and is still bought by collectors of works on oratory and rhetoric. The taste it shows is of a high order, and in the essay on "Elocution," prefixed to it, Enfield may be said to have founded the modern science of voice culture. He died at Norwich, November 3d, 1797.

MR

AN ESSAY ON ELOCUTION

- «Id affert ratio, docent litera, confirmat consuetudo legendi et loquendi.»

- Cicero.

UCH declamation has been employed to convince the world of a very plain truth, that to be able to speak well is an ornamental and useful accomplishment. Without the labored panegyrics of ancient or modern orators, the importance of a good elocution is sufficiently obvious. Everyone will acknowledge it to be of some consequence, that what man has hourly occasion to do, should be done well. Every private company, and almost every public assembly, afford opportunities of remarking the difference between a just and graceful, and a faulty and unnatural, elocution; and there are few persons who do not daily experience the advantages of the former and the inconveniences of the latter. The great difficulty is, not to prove that it is a desirable thing to be able to read and speak with propriety, but to point out a practicable and easy method by which this accomplishment may be acquired.

Follow nature, is certainly the fundamental law of oratory, without regard to which all other rules will only produce affected declamation, not just elocution. And some accurate observers, judging, perhaps, from a few unlucky specimens of modern eloquence, have concluded that this is the only law which ought to be prescribed; that all artificial rules are useless; and that good sense and a culti vated taste are the only requisites to form a good public speaker. But it is true in the art of speaking, as well as in the art of living, that general precepts are of little use till they are unfolded and applied to particular cases. To discover and correct those tones and habits of speaking which are gross deviations from nature,