Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XI — Structure of Sentences
Having begun to treat of style, in the last lecture I considered its fundamental quality, perspicuity. What I have said of this, relates chiefly to the choice of words. From words I proceed to sentences; and as, in all writing and discourse, the proper composition and structure of sentences is of the highest importance, I shall treat of this fully. Though perspicuity be the general head under which I, at present, consider language, I shall not confine myself to this quality alone, in sentences, but shall inquire also, what is requisite for their grace and beauty: that I may bring together, under one view, all that seems necessary to be attended to in the construction and arrangement of words in a sentence.
It is not easy to give an exact definition of a sentence, or period, farther, than as it always implies some one complete proposition or enunciation of thought. Aristotle’s definition is, in the main, a good one: Λέξις ἔχουσα ἀρχὴν καὶ τελευτὴν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν, καὶ μέγεθος εὐσύνοπτον: “A form of speech which hath a beginning and an end within itself, and is of such a length as to be easily comprehended at once.” This, however, admits of great latitude. For a sentence, or period, consists always of component parts, which are called its members; and as these members may be either few or many, and may be connected in several different ways, the same thought, or mental proposition, may often be either brought into one sentence, or split into two or three, without the material breach of any rule.
The first variety that occurs in the consideration of sentences, is, the distinction of long and short ones. The precise length of sentences, as to the number of words, or the number of members, which may enter into them, cannot be ascertained by any definite measure. At the same time it is obvious, there may be an extreme on either side. Sentences immoderately long, and consisting of too many members, always transgress some one or other of the rules which I shall mention soon, as necessary to be observed in every good sentence. In discourses that are to be spoken, regard must be had to the easiness of pronunciation, which is not consistent with too long periods. In compositions where pronunciation has no place, still however, by using long periods too frequently, an author overloads the reader’s ear, and fatigues his attention. For long periods require, evidently, more attention than short ones, in order to perceive clearly the connexion of the several parts, and to take in the whole at one view. At the same time, there may be an excess in too many short sentences also; by which the sense is split and broken, the connexion of thought weakened, and the memory burdened by presenting to it a long succession of minute objects.
With regard to the length and construction of sentences, the French critics make a very just distinction of style, into style periodique and style coupe. The style periodique is where the sentences are composed of several members linked together, and hanging upon one another; so that the sense of the whole is not brought out till the close. This is the most pompous, musical, and oratorical manner of composing; as in the following sentence of Sir William Temple: ‘If you look about you, and consider the lives of others as well as your own; if you think how few are born with honour, and how many die without name or children; how little beauty we see, and how few friends we hear of; how many diseases, and how much poverty there is in the world; you will fall down upon your knees, and, instead of repining at one affliction, will admire so many blessings which you have received from the hand of God.’ (Letter to Lady Essex.) Cicero abounds with sentences constructed after this manner.
The style coupe is, where the sense is formed into short independent propositions, each complete within itself; as in the following of Mr. Pope: ‘ I confess it was want of consideration that made me an author. I writ, because it amused me. I corrected, because it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write. I published, because I was told, I might please such as it was a credit to please.’ (Preface to his works.) This is very much the French method of writing; and always suits gay and easy subjects. The style periodique, gives an air of gravity and dignity to composition. The style coupe, is more lively and striking. According to the nature of the composition, therefore, and the general character it ought to bear, the one or other may be predominant. But in almost every kind of composition, the great rule is to intermix them. For the ear tires of either of them when too long continued: whereas, by a proper mixture of long and short periods, the ear is gratified, and a certain sprightliness is joined with majesty in our style. ‘ Non semper,’ says Cicero, (describing very expressively, these two different kinds of styles, of which I have been speaking,) ‘ non semper utendum est perpetuitate, et quasi conversione verborum; sed saepe carpenda membris minutioribus oratio est.’*
This variety is of so great consequence, that it must be studied not only in the succession of long and short sentences, but in the. structure of our sentences also. A train of sentences, constructed
* It is not proper always to employ a continued train, and a sort of regular com pass of phrases; but style ought to be often broken down into small members.”
in the same manner, and with the same number of members, whe ther long or short, should never be allowed to succeed one another. However musical each of them may be, it has a better effect to introduce even a discord, than to cloy the ear with the repetition of similiar sounds: for, nothing is so tiresome as perpetual uniformity. In this article of the construction and distribution of his sentences, Lord Shaftesbury has shown great art. In the last lecture, I observed, that he is often guilty of sacrificing precision of style to pomp of expression; and that there runs through his whole manner, a stiffness and affectation, which render him very unfit to be considered as a general model. But as his ear was fine, and as he was extremely attentive to every thing that is elegant, he has studied the proper intermixture of long and short sentences, with variety and harmony in their structure, more than any other English author; and for this part of composition he deserves attention.
From these general observations, let us now descend to a more particular consideration of the qualities that are required to make a sentence perfect. So much depends upon the proper construction of sentences, that, in every sort of composition, we cannot be too strict in our attentions to it. For, be the subject what it will, if the sentences be constructed in a clumsy, perplexed, or feeble manner, it is impossible that a work, composed of such sentences, can be read with pleasure, or even with profit. Whereas, by giving attention to the rules which relate to this part of style, we acquire the habit of expressing ourselves with perspicuity and elegance; and, if a disorder chance to arise in some of our sentences, we immediately see where it lies, and are able to rectify it.*
The properties most essential to a perfect sentence, seem to me the four following: 1. Clearness and precision. 2. Unity. 3. Strength. 4. Harmony. Each of these I shall illustrate separately, and at some length.
The first is, clearness and precision. The least failure here, the least degree of ambiguity, which leaves the mind in any sort of suspense as to the meaning, ought to be avoided with the greatest care; nor is it so easy a matter to keep always clear of this, as one might, at first, imagine. Ambiguity arises from two causes: either from a wrong choice of words, or a wrong collocation of them. Of the choice of words, as far as regards perspicuity, I treated fully in the last lecture. Of the collocation of them, I am now to treat. The first thing to be studied here, is, to observe exactly the rules of grammar, as far as these can guide us. But as the grammar of our language is not extensive, there may often be an ambiguous colloca-
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* On the structure of sentences, the ancients appear to have bestowed a great deal of attention and care. The Treatise of Demetrius Phalereus, abounds with observations upon the choice and collocation of words, carried to such a degree of nicety, as would frequently seem to us minute. The Treatise of Dyonysius of Halicarnassus, περὶ συνθέσεως ὀνομάτων, is more masterly; but is chiefly confined to the musical structure of periods; a subject for which the Greek language afforded much more assistance to their writers, than our tongue admits. On the arrangement of words in English sentences, the xviiith chapt. of Lord Kaims’s Elements of Criticism, ought to be consulted; and also the 2d volume of Dr. Campbell’s Philosophy of Rhetoric.
tion of words, where there is no transgression of .any grammatical rule. The relations which the words, or members of a period, bear to one another, cannot be pointed out in English, as in the Greek or Latin, by means of termination; it is ascertained only by the position in which they stand. Hence a capital rule in the arrangement of sentences is, that the words or members most nearly related, should be placed in the sentence, as near to each other as possible; so as to make their mutual relation clearly appear. This is a rule not always observed, even by good writers, as strictly as it ought to be. It will be necessary to produce some instances, which will both show the importance of this rule, and make the application of it understood.
First, in the position of adverbs, which are used to qualify the signification of something which either precedes or follows them, there is often a good deal of nicety. ‘By greatness,’ says Mr. Addison, in the Spectator, No. 412, ‘I do not only mean the bulk of any single object, but the largeness of a whole view.’ Here the place of the adverb only, renders it a limitation of the following word mean. ‘I do not only mean.’ The question may then be put, What does be more than mean? Had he placed it after bulk, still it would have been wrong. ‘ I do not mean the bulk only of any single object.’ For we might then ask, What does he mean more than the bulk? Is it the colour? Or any other property? Its proper place, undoubtedly, is, after the word object. ‘By greatness, I do not mean the bulk of any single object only;’ for then, when we put the question, What more does he mean than the bulk of a single object? The answer comes out exactly as the author intends, and gives it; ‘The largeness of a whole view.’ ‘Theism,’ says Lord Shaftesbury, ‘can only be opposed to polytheism, or atheism.’ Does he mean that theism is capable of nothing else, except being opposed to polytheism or atheism? This is what his words literally import, through the wrong collocation of only. He should have said, ‘ Theism can be opposed only to polytheism or atheism.’ In like manner, Dean Swift, (Project for the advancement of Religion,) ‘The Romans understood liberty, at least, as well as we.’ These words are capable of two different senses, according as the emphasis, in reading them, is laid upon liberty, or upon at least. In the first case, they will signify, that whatever other things we may understand better than the Romans, liberty, at least, was one thing, which they understood as well as we. In the second case, they will import, that liberty was understood, at least as well by them as by us; meaning that by them it was better understood. If this last, as I make no doubt, was Dean Swift’s own meaning, the ambiguity would have been avoided, and the sense rendered independent of the manner of pronouncing, by arranging the words thus: ‘ The Romans understood liberty as well, at least, as we.’ The fact is, with respect to such adverbs, as only, wholly, at least, and the rest of that tribe, that in common discourse, the tone and emphasis we use in pronouncing them, generally serves to show their reference, and to make the meaning clear; and hence we acquire a habit of throwing them in loosely in the course of a period. But, in writing, where a man speaks to the eye, and not to the ear, he ought to be more accurate; and so to connect those adverbs with the words which they qualify, as to put his meaning out of doubt, upon the first inspection.
Secondly, when a circumstance is interposed in the middle of a sentence, it sometimes requires attention how to place it, so as to divest it of all ambiguity. For instance; ‘ Are these designs/ says Lord Bolingbroke, Dissert. on Parties, Dedicat. ‘ Are these designs, which any man, who is born a Briton, in any circumstances, in any situation, ought to be ashamed or afraid to avow?’ Here we are left at a loss, whether these words, ‘in any circumstances, in any situation,’ are connected with, ‘a man born in Briton, in any circumstances, or situation,’ or with that man’s ‘avowing his designs, in any circumstances, or situation, into which he may be brought?’ If the latter, as seems most probable, was intended to be the meaning, the arrangement ought to have been conducted thus; ‘ Are these designs, which any man who is born a Briton, ought to be ashamed or afraid, in any circumstances, in any situation, to avow?’
Thirdly, still more attention is required to the proper disposition of the relative pronouns, who, which, what, whose, and of all those particles which express the connexion of the parts of speech with one another. As all reasoning depends upon this connexion, we cannot be too accurate and precise here. A small error may overcloud the meaning of the whole sentence; and even where the meaning is intelligible, yet where these relative particles are out of their proper place, we always find something awkward and disjointed in the structure of the sentence. Thus, in the Spectator, (No. 54.) ‘This kind of wit,’ says Mr. Addison, ‘was very much in vogue among our countrymen, about an age or two ago, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, but purely for the sake of being witty.’ We are at no loss about the meaning here; but the construction would evidently be mended by disposing of the circumstance, ‘about an age or two ago,’ in such a manner as not to separate the relative who, from its antecedent our countrymen; in this way: ‘ About an age or two ago, this kind of wit was very much in vogue among our countrymen, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, but purely for the sake of being witty.’ Spectator, No.
412. ‘ We no where meet with a more glorious and pleasing show in nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light, that show themselves in clouds of a different situation.’ Which is here designed to connect with the word show, as its antecedent; but it stands so wide from it, that without a careful attention to the sense, we would be naturally led, by the rules of syntax, to refer it to the rising and setting of the sun, or to the sun itself; and, hence, an indistinctness is thrown over the whole sentence. The following passage in Bishop Sherlock’s sermons, (vol. ii. serm. 15.) is still more censurable: ‘It is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against ‸the accidents of life, by heaping up treasures, which nothing can protect us against, but the good providence of our heavenly Father.’ Which, always refers grammatically to the immediately preceding substantive, which is here 4 treasures;’ and this would make nonsense of the whole period. Every one feels this impropriety. The sentence ought to have stood thus: ‘ It is folly to pretend, by heaping up treasures, to arm ourselves against the accidents of life, which nothing can protect us against but the good providence of our heavenly Father.’
Of the like nature is the following inaccuracy of Dean Swift's. He is recommending to young clergymen, to write their sermons fully and distinctly. ‘ Many/ says he, ‘ act so directly contrary to this method, that, from a habit of saving time and paper, which they acquired at the university, they write in so diminutive a manner, that they can hardly read what they have written.’ He certainly does not mean, that they had acquired time and paper at the university, but that they had acquired this habit there; and therefore his words ought to have run thus: ‘ From a habit, which they have acquired at the university, of saving time and paper, they write in so diminutive a manner.’ In another passage, the same author has left his meaning altogether uncertain, by misplacing a relative. It is in the conclusion of his letter to a member of parliament, concerning the sacramental test: ‘ Thus I have fairly given you, Sir, my own opinion, as well as that of a great majority of both houses here, relating to this weighty affair; upon which I am confident you may securely reckon.’ Now I ask, what it is he would have his correspondent to reckon upon, securely? The natural construction leads to these words, ‘ this weighty affair.’ But, as it would be difficult to make any sense of this, it is more probable he meant that the majority of both houses might be securely reckoned upon; though certainly this meaning, as the words are arranged, is obscurely expressed. The sentence would be amended by arranging it thus: ‘ Thus, Sir, I have given you my own opinion, relating to this weighty affair, as well as that of a great majority of both houses here; upon which I am confident you may securely reckon.’
Several other instances might be given; but I reckon those which I have produced sufficient to make the rule understood; that, in the construction of sentences, one of the first things to be attended to, is the marshalling of the words in such order as shall most clearly mark the relation of the several parts of the sentence to one another; particularly, that adverbs shall always be made to adhere closely to the words which they are intended to qualify; that, where a circumstance is thrown in, it shall never hang loose in the midst of a period, but be determined by its place to one or other member of it; and that every relative word which is used, shall instantly present its antecedent to the mind of the reader, without the least obscurity.
I have mentioned these three cases, because I think they are the most frequent occasions of ambiguity creeping into sentences.
With regard to relatives, I must further observe, that obscurity often arises from the too frequent repetition of them, particularly of the pronouns ivho, and they, and them, and theirs, when we have occasion to refer to different persons; as, in the following sentence of Archbishop Tillotson; (vol. 1. serm. 42.) ‘ Men look with an evil eye upon the good that is in others; and think that their reputation obscures them, and their commendable qualities stand in their light: and therefore they do what they can to cast a cloud over them, that the bright shining of their virtues may not obscure them.’ This is altogether careless writing. It renders style often obscure, always embarrassed and inelegant. When we find these personal pronouns crowding too fast upon us, we have often no method left, but to throw the whole sentence into some other form, which may avoid those frequent references to persons who have before been mentioned.
All languages are liable to ambiguities. Quintilian gives us some instances in the Latin, arising from faulty arrangement. A man, he tells us, ordered by his will, to have erected for him, after his death, ‘ Statuam auream hastam tenentem;’ upon which arose a dispute at law, whether the whole statue, or the spear only, was to be of gold? The same author observes, very properly, that a sentence is always faulty, when the collocation of the words is ambiguous, though the sense can be gathered. If any one should say, ‘ Chremetem audivi percussisse Demeam,’ this is ambiguous, both in sense and structure, whether Chremes or Demea gave the blow. But if this expression were used, ‘ Se vidisse hominem librum scribentem,’ although the meaning be clear, yet Quintilian insists that the arrangement is wrong. ‘Nam,’ says he, ‘etiamsi librum ab homine scribi pateat, non certe hominem a libro, male tamen composuerat, feceratque ambiguum quantum in ipso fuit.’ Indeed, to have the relation of every word and member of a sentence marked in the most proper and distinct manner, gives not clearness only, but grace and beauty to a sentence, making the mind pass smoothly and agreeably along all the parts of it.
I proceed now to the second quality of a well-arranged sentence, which I termed its unity. This is a capital property. In every composition, of whatever kind, some degree of unity is required, in order to render it beautiful. There must be always some connecting principle among the parts. Some one object must reign and be predominant. This, as I shall hereafter show, holds in history, in epic and dramatic poetry, and in all orations. But most of all, in a single sentence, is required the strictest unity. For the very nature of a sentence implies one proposition to be expressed. It may consist of parts, indeed; but these parts must be so closely bound together, as to make the impression upon the mind, of one object, not of many. Now, in order to preserve this unity of a sentence, the following rules must be observed:
In the first place, during the course of the sentence, the scene should be changed as little as possible. We should not be hurried by sudden transitions from person to person, nor from subject to subject. There is commonly, in every sentence, some person or thing, which is the governing word. This should be continued so, if possible, from the beginning to the end of it. Should I express myself thus: ‘After we came to anchor, they put me on shore, where I was welcomed by all my friends, who received me with the greatest kindness.’ In this sentence, though the objects contained in it have a sufficient connexion with each other, yet, by this manner of representing them, by shifting so often both the place and the person, we, and they, and /, and who, they appear in such a disunited view, that the sense of connexion is almost lost. The sentence is restored to its proper unity, by turning it after the following manner: ‘ Having come to an anchor, I was put on shore, where I was welcomed by all my friends, and received with the greatest kindness.’ Writers who transgress this rule, for the most part transgress, at the same time,
A second rule; never to crowd into one sentence, things which have so little connexion, that they could bear to be divided into two or three sentences. The violation of this rule never fails to hurt and displease a reader. Its effect, indeed, is so bad, that of the two, it is the safer extreme, to err rather by too many short sentences, than by one that is overloaded and embarrassed. Examples abound in authors. I shall produce some to justify what I now say. ‘ Archbishop Tillotson,’ says an author of the History of England, ‘ died in this year. He was exceedingly beloved both by king William and queen Mary, who nominated Dr. Tennison, Bishop of Lincoln, to succeed him.’ Who would expect the latter part of this sentence to follow, in consequence of the former? ‘He was exceedingly beloved by both king and queen,’ is the proposition of the sentence: we look for some proof of this, or at least something related to it to follow; when we are on a sudden carried off to a new proposition, ‘who nominated Dr. Tennison to succeed him.’ The following is from Middleton’s Life of Cicero: ‘In this uneasy state, both of his public and private life, Cicero was oppressed by a new and cruel affliction, the death of his beloved daughter Tullia; which happened soon after her divorce from Dolabella; whose manners and humours were entirely disagreeable to her.’ The principal object in this sentence is, the death of Tullia, which was the cause of her father’s affliction; the date of it, as happening soon after her divorce from Dolabella, may enter into the sentence with propriety; but the subjunction of Dolabella’s character is foreign to the main object; and breaks the unity and compactness of the sentence totally, by setting a new picture before the reader. The following sentence, from a translation of Plutarch, is still worse: ‘ Their march,’ says the author, speaking of the Greeks under Alexander, ‘their march was through an uncultivated country, whose savage inhabitants fared hardly, having no other riches than a breed of lean sheep, whose flesh was rank and unsavoury, by reason of their continual feeding upon sea-fish.’ Here the scene is changed upon us again and again. The march of the Greeks, the description of the inhabitants through whose country they travelled, the account of their sheep, and the cause of their sheep being ill-tasted food, form a jumble of objects, slightly related to each other, which the reader cannot, without much difficulty, comprehend under one view.
These examples have been taken from sentences of no great
length, yet over-crowded. Authors who deal in long sentences, are very apt to be faulty in this article. One need only open Lord Clarendon’s history, to find examples every where. The long, involved, and intricate sentences of that author, are the greatest blemish of his composition; though, in other respects, as a historian, he has considerable merit. In later, and more correct writers than Lord Clarendon, we find a period sometimes running out so far, and comprehending so many particulars, as to be more properly a discourse than a sentence. Take, for an instance, the following, from Sir William Temple, in his Essay upon Poetry: ‘The usual acceptation takes profit and pleasure for two different things; and not only calls the followers or votaries of them by the several names of busy and idle men; but distinguishes the faculties of the mind, that are conversant about them, calling the operations of the first, wisdom; and of the other, wit; which is a Saxon word, used to express what the Spaniards and Italians call ingenio, and the French, esprit, both from the Latin; though I think wit more particularly signifies that of poetry, as may occur in remarks on the Runic language.’ When one arrives at the end of such a puzzled sentence, he is surprised to find himself got to so great a distance from the object with which he at first set out.
Lord Shaftesbury, often betrayed into faults by his love of magnificence, shall afford us the next example. It is in his rhapsody where he is describing the cold regions: ‘ At length,’ says he, ‘the sun approaching, melts the snow, sets longing men at liberty, and affords them means and time to make provision against the next return of cold;’ This first sentence is correct enough; but he goes on: ‘It breaks the icy fetters of the main, where vast sea-monsters pierce through floating islands, with arms which can withstand the crystal rock; whilst others who of themselves seem great as islands, are by their bulk alone armed against all but man, whose superiority over creatures of such stupendous size and force, should make him mindful of his privilege of reason, and force him humbly to adore the great composer of these wondrous frames, and the author of his own superior wisdom.’ Nothing can be more unhappy or embarrassed than this sentence; the worse, too, as it is intended to be descriptive, where every thing should be clear. It forms no distinct image whatever. The it, at the beginning, is ambiguous, whether it mean the sun or the cold. The object is changed three times in the sentence; beginning with the sun, which breaks the icy fetters of the main; then the sea-monsters become the principal personages; and lastly, by a very unexpected transition, man is brought into view, and receives a long and serious admonition, before the sentence closes. I do not at present insist on the impropriety of such expressions as, God’s being the composer of frames; and the sea-monsters having arms that withstand rocks. Shaftesbury’s strength lay in reasoning and sentiment, more than in description, however much his descriptions have been sometimes admired.
I shall only give one instance more on this head, from Dean Swift, in his proposal, too, for correcting the English language. There, in place of a sentence, he has given a loose dissertation upon several subjects. Speaking of the progress of our language, after the time of Cromwell: ‘To this succeeded,’ says he, ‘that licentiousness which entered with the restoration, and from infecting our religion and morals, fell to corrupt our language; which last was not likely to be much improved by those, who at that time made up the court of king Charles the Second; either such as had followed him in his banishment, or who had been altogether conversant in the dialect of these fanatic times; or young men who had been educated in the same country; so that the court, which used to be the standard of correctness and propriety of speech, was then, and I think has ever since continued, the worst school in England for that accomplishment: and so will remain, till better care be taken in the education of our nobility, that they may set out into the world with some foundation of literature, in order to qualify them for patterns of politeness.’ — -How many different facts, reasonings, and observations, are here presented to the mind at once! and yet so linked together by the author, that they all make parts of a sentence, which admits of no greater division in pointing, than a semicolon between any of its members. Having mentioned pointing, I shall here take notice, that it is in vain to propose, by arbitrary punctuation, to amend the defects of a sentence, to correct its ambiguity, or to prevent its confusion. For commas, colons, and points, do not make the proper divisions of thought; but only serve to mark those which arise from the tenour of the author’s expression; and, therefore, they are proper or not, just according as they correspond to the natural division of the sense. When they are inserted in wrong places, they deserve, and will meet with, no regard.
I proceed to a third rule, for preserving the unity of sentences, which is, to keep clear of all parentheses in the middle of them. On some occasions, these may have a spirited appearance; as prompted by a certain vivacity of thought, which can glance happily aside, as it is going along. But, for the most part, their effect is extremely bad; being a sort of wheels within wheels; sentences in the midst of sentences; the perplexed method of disposing of some thought, which a writer wants art to introduce in its proper place. It were needless to give many instances, as they occur so often among incorrect writers. I shall produce one from Lord Bolingbroke; the rapidity of whose genius, and manner of writing, betrays him frequently into inaccuracies of this sort. It is in the introduction to his idea of a patriot king, where he writes thus: ‘ It seems to me, that, in order to maintain the system of the world, at a certain point, far below that of ideal perfection, (for we are made capable of conceiving what we are incapable of attaining) but, however, sufficient, upon the whole, to constitute a state easy and happy, or, at the worst, tolerable; I say, it seems to me, that the Author of Nature has thought fit to mingle, from time to time, among the societies of men, a few, and but a few, of those on whom he is graciously pleased to bestow a larger portion of the ethereal spirit, than is given, in the ordinary course of his government, to the sons of men.’ A very bad sentence this; into which, by the help of a parenthesis, and other interjected circumstances, his lordship had contrived to thrust so many things, that he is forced to begin the construction again with the phrase, I say: which, whenever it occurs, may be always assumed as a sure mark of a clumsy, ill-constructed sentence; excusable in speaking, where the greatest accuracy is not expected, but in polished writing, unpardonable.
I shall add only one rule more for the unity of a sentence, which is, to bring it always to a full and perfect close. Every thing that is one, should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I need not take notice, that an unfinished sentence is no sentence at all, according to any grammatical rule. But very often we meet with sentences that are, so to speak, more than finished. When we have arrived at what we expected was to be the conclusion, when we have come to the word on which the mind is naturally led, by what went before, to rest; unexpectedly, some circumstance pops out which ought to have been omitted, or to have been disposed of elsewhere; but which is left lagging behind, like a tail adjected to the sentence; somewhat that, as Mr. Pope describes the Alexandrian line,
‘ Like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.’*
All these adjections to the proper close, disfigure a sentence extremely. They give it a lame, ungraceful air, and, in particular, they break its unity. Dean Swift, for instance, in his Letter to a Young Clergyman, speaking of Cicero’s writings, expresses himself thus: ‘ With these writings, young divines are more conversant than with those of Demosthenes, who, by many degrees, excelled the other; at least as an orator.’ Here the natural close of the sentence is at these words, ‘ Excelled the other.’ These words conclude the proposition; we look for no more; and the circumstance added, ‘at least as an orator,’ comes in with a very halting pace. How much more compact would the sentence have been, if turned thus: ‘With these writings, young divines are more conversant than with those of Demosthenes, who, by many degrees, as an orator at least, excelled the other.’ In the following sentence, from Sir William Temple, the adjection to the sentence is altogether foreign to it. Speaking of Burnet’s Theory of the Earth, and Fontenello’s Plurality of Worlds: ‘The first,’ says he, ‘ could not end his learned treatise without a panegyric of modern learning, in comparison of the ancient; and the other, falls so grossly into the censure of the old poetry, and preference of the new, that I could not read either of these strains without some indignation; which no quality among men is so apt to raise in me as self-sufficiency.’ The word ‘ indignation,’ concluded the sentence; the last member, ‘which no quality among men is so apt to raise in me as self-sufficiency,’ is a proposition altogether new, added after the proper close.