Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XIX — General Characters of Style — Simple, Affected, Vehement — Directions for Forming a Proper Style
Having entered, in the last lecture, on the consideration of the general characters of style, I treated of the concise and diffuse, the nervous and feeble manner. I considered style also, with relation to the different degrees of ornament employed to beautify it, in which view, the manner of different authors rises according to the following gradation: dry, plain, neat, elegant, flowery.
I am next to treat of style under another character, one of great importance in writing, and which requires to be accurately examined, that of simplicity, or a natural style, as distinguished from affectation. Simplicity, applied to writing, is a term very frequently used; but, like other critical terms, often used loosely and without precision. This has been owing chiefly to the different meanings given to the word simplicity, which, therefore, it will be necessary here to distinguish; and to show in what sense it is a proper attribute of style. We may remark four different acceptations in which it is taken.
The first is, simplicity of composition, as opposed to too great a variety of parts. Horace’s precept refers to this:
Denique sit quod vis simplex duntaxat et unum *
This is the simplicity of plan in a tragedy, as distinguished from double plots, and crowded incidents; the simplicity of the Iliad, or Æneid, in opposition to the digressions of Lucan, and the scattered tales of Ariosto; the simplicity of Grecian architecture, in opposition to the irregular variety of the Gothic. In this sense, simplicity is the same with unity.
The second sense is simplicity of thought, as opposed to refinement. Simple thoughts are what arise naturally; what the occasion or the subject suggest unsought; and what, when once suggested, are easily apprehended by all. Refinement in writing, expresses a less natural and obvious train of thought, and which it required a peculiar turn of genius to pursue; within certain bounds very beautiful; but when carried too far, approaching to intricacy, and hurting us by the appearance of being recherché, or far sought. Thus, we would naturally say, that Mr. Parnell is a poet of far greater simplicity, in his turn of thought, than Mr. Cowley; Cicero’s thoughts on moral subjects are natural; Seneca’s too refined and laboured. In these two senses of simplicity, when it is opposed, either to variety of parts, or to refinement of thought, it has no proper relation to style
* 1 Then learn the wandering humour to control,
And keep one equal tenour through the whole.’
Francis
There is a third sense of simplicity, in which it has respect to style; and stands opposed to too much ornament or pomp of language; as when we say, Mr. Locke is a simple, Mr. Hervey a florid writer; and it is in this sense, that the ‘simplex,’ the ‘tenue,’ or ‘subtile genus dicendi,’ is understood by Cicero and Quintilian. The simple style, in this sense, coincides with the plain or the neat style, which I before mentioned; and, therefore, requires no farther illustration.
But there is a fourth sense of simplicity, also, respecting style; but not respecting the degree of ornament employed, so much as the easy and natural manner in which our language expresses our thoughts. This is quite different from the former sense of the word just now mentioned, in which simplicity was equivalent to plainness: whereas, in this sense, it is compatible with the highest ornament. Homer, for instance, possesses this simplicity in the greatest perfection; and yet no writer has more ornament and beauty. This simplicity, which is what we are now to consider, stands opposed, not to ornament, but to affectation of ornament, or appearance of labour about our style; and it is a distinguishing excellency in writing.
A writer of simplicity expresses himself in such a manner, that every one thinks he could have written in the same way; Horace describes it,
- - - ut sibi quivis
Speret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret
Ausus idem.*
There are no marks of art in his expression: it seems the very language of nature; you see in the style, not the writer and his labour but the man in his own natural character. He may be rich in his expression; he may be full of figures, and of fancy; but these flow from him without effort; and he appears to write in this manner, not because he has studied it, but because it is the manner of expression most natural to him. A certain degree of negligence, also, is not inconsistent with this character of style, and even not ungraceful in it; for too minute an attention to words is foreign to it: ‘Habeat ille,’ says Cicero, (Orat. No. 77) ‘molle quiddam, et quod indicet non ingratam negligentiam hominis, de re magis quam de verbo laborantis.’t This is the great advantage of simplicity of style, that, like simplicity of manners, it shows us a man’s sentiments and turn of mind laid open without disguise. More studied and artificial manners of writing, however beautiful, have always this disadvantage, that they exhibit an author in form, like a man at court, where the splendour of dress, and the ceremonial of behaviour, conceal those peculiarities which distinguish one man from another. But reading an author of simplicity, is like conversing with a person of distinction
* ‘From well-known tales such fictions would I raise,
As all might hope to imitate with ease;
Yet while they strive the same success to gain,
Should find their labours, and their hopes in vain.’ Francis.
t ‘ Let this style have a certain softness and ease, which shall characterize a negligence, not unpleasing in an author, who appears to be more solicitous about the thought than the expression.
at home, and with ease, where we find natural manners, and a marked character.
The highest degree of this simplicity, is expressed by a French term, to which we have none that fully answers in our language, naivete. It is not easy to give a precise idea of the import of this word. It always expresses a discovery of character. I believe the best account of it is given by a French critic, M. Marmontel, who explains it thus: That sort of amiable ingenuity, or undisguised openness, which seems to give us some degree of superiority over the person who shows it; a certain infantine simplicity, which we love in our hearts, but which displays some features of the character that we think we could have art enough to hide; and which, therefore, always leads us to smile at the person who discovers this character. La Fontaine, in his Fables, is given as the great example of such naivete. This, however, is to be understood, as descriptive of a particular species only of simplicity.
With respect to simplicity in general, we may remark, that the ancient original writers are always the most eminent for it. This happens from a plain reason, that they wrote from the dictates of natural genius, and were not formed upon the labours and writings of others, which is always in hazard of producing affectation. Hence, among the Greek writers, we have more models of a beautiful simplicity than among the Roman. Homer, Hesiod, Anacreon, Theocritus, Herodotus, and Xenophon, are all distinguished for it. Among the Romans also, we have some writers of this character, particularly Terence, Lucretius, Phaedrus, and Julius Caesar. The following passage of Terence’s Andria, is a beautiful instance of simplicity of manner in description.
Funus interim
Procedit; sequimur; ad sepulchrum venimus;
In ignem imposita est; fletur. Interea haec soror,
Quam dixi, ad flammam accessit imprudentius
Satis cum periculo. Ibi tum exanimatus Pamphilus,
Bene dissimulatum amorem, et celatum indicat;
Occurrit praeceps, mulierem ab igne retrahit,
Mea Glycerium, inquit, quid agis? Cur tu is perditum? Tum illa, ut consuetum facile amorem cerneres,
Rejecit se in eum, flens quam familiariter.*
All the words here are remarkably happy and elegant; and convey a most lively picture of the scene described; while, at the same time,
* t Meanwhile the funeral proceeds; we follow;
Come to the sepulchre: the body’s place
Upon the pile; lamented; whereupon
This sister I was speaking of, all wild,
Ran to the flames with peril of her life.
There! there! the fright of Pamphilus betrays
His well-dissembled and long hidden love;
Runs up and takes her round the waist, and cries,
Oh! my Glycerium! what is it you do?
Why, why endeavour to destroy yourself?
Then she, in such a manner, that you thence
Might easily perceive their long, long love,
Threw herself back into his arms, and wept,
Oh! how familiarly ”
Colman.
the style appears wholly artless and unlaboured. Let us, next, consider some English writers who come under this class.
Simplicity is the great beauty of Archbishop Tillotson’s manner. Tillotson has long been admired as an eloquent writer, and a model for preaching. But his eloquence, if we can call it such, has been often misunderstood. For, if we include in the idea of eloquence, vehemence and strength, picturesque description, glowing figures, or correct arrangement of sentences, in all these parts of oratory the Archbishop is exceedingly deficient. His style is always pure, indeed, and perspicuous, but careless and remiss; too often feeble and languid; little beauty in the construction of his sentences, which are frequently suffered to drag unharmoniously; seldom any attempt towards strength or sublimity. But, notwithstanding these defects, such a constant vein of good sense and piety runs through his works, such an earnest and serious manner, and so much useful instruction conveyed in a style so pure, natural, and unaffected, as will justly recommend him to high regard, as long as the English language remains; not, indeed, as a model of the highest eloquence, but as a simple and amiable writer, whose manner is strongly expressive of great goodness and worth. I observed before, that simplicity of manner may be consistent with some degree of negligence in style, and it is only the beauty of that simplicity which makes the negligence of such writers seem graceful. But, as appears in the Archbishop, negligence may sometimes be carried so far as to impair the beauty of simplicity, and make it border on a flat and languid manner.
Sir William Temple is another remarkable writer in the style of simplicity. In point of ornament and correctness, he rises a degree above Tillotson; though, for correctness, he is not in the highest rank. All is easy and flowing in him; he is exceedingly harmonious; smoothness, and what may be called amenity, are the distinguishing characters of his manner; relaxing, sometimes, as such a manner will naturally do, into a prolix and remiss style. No writer whatever has stamped upon his style a more lively impression of his own character. In reading his works, we seem engaged in conversation with him; we become thoroughly acquainted with him, not merely as an author, but as a man; and contract a friendship for him. He may be classed as standing in the middle, between a negligent simplicity, and the highest degree of ornament, which this character of style admits.
Of the latter of these, the highest, most correct, and ornamented degree of the simple manner, Mr. Addison, is, beyond doubt, in the English language, the most perfect example: and, therefore, though not without some faults, he is, on the whole, the safest model for imitation, and the freest from considerable defects, which the language affords. Perspicuous and pure, he is in the highest degree: his precision, indeed, not very great, yet nearly as great as the subjects which he treats of require; the construction of his sentences easy, agreeable, and commonly very musical; carrying a character of smoothness more than of strength. In figurative language, he is rich particularly in similes and metaphors; which are so employed, as to render his style splendid, without being gaudy. There is not the least affectation in his manner; we see no marks of labour; nothing forced or constrained; but great elegance, joined with great ease and simplicity. He is, in particular, distinguished by a character of modesty, and of politeness, which appears in all his writings. No author has a more popular and insinuating manner; and the great regard which he every where shows for virtue and religion, recommends him highly. If he fails in any thing, it is in want of strength and precision, which renders his manner, though perfectly suited to such essays as he writes in the Spectator, not altogether a proper model for any of the higher and more elaborate kinds of composition. Though the public have ever done much justice to his merit, yet the nature of his merit has not always been seen in its true light; for, though his poetry be elegant, he certainly bears a higher rank among the prose writers, than he is entitled to among the poets; and, in prose, his humour is of a much higher, and more original strain, than his philosophy. The character of Sir Roger de Coverly discovers more genius than the critique on Milton.
Such authors as those, whose characters I have been giving, one is never tired of reading. There is nothing in their manner that strains or fatigues our thoughts; we are pleased, without being dazzled by their lustre. So powerful is the charm of simplicity, in an author of real genius, that it atones for many defects, and reconciles us to many a careless expression. Hence, in all the most excellent authors, both in prose and verse, the simple and natural manner may be always remarked; although other beauties being predominant, this forms not their peculiar and distinguishing character. Thus Milton is simple in the midst of all his grandeur; and Demosthenes in the midst of all his vehemence. To grave and solemn writings, simplicity of manner adds the more venerable air. Accordingly, this has often been remarked as the prevailing character throughout all the sacred scriptures; and, indeed, no other character of style was so much suited to the dignity of inspiration.
Of authors who, notwithstanding many excellencies, have rendered their style much less beautiful by want of simplicity, I cannot give a more remarkable example than Lord Shaftesbury. This is an author on whom I have made observations several times before, and shall now take leave of him, with giving his general character under this head. Considerable merit, doubtless, he has. His works might be read with profit for the moral philosophy which they contain, had he not filled them with so many oblique and invidious insinuations against the Christian religion; thrown out, too, with so much spleen and satire, as do no honour to his memory, either as an author or a man. His language has many beauties. It is firm, and supported in an uncommon degree; it is rich and musical. No English author, as I formerly showed, has attended so much to the regular construction of his sentences, both with respect to propriety, and with respect to cadence. All this gives so much elegance and pomp to his language, that there is no wonder it should have been highly admired by some. It is greatly hurt, however, by perpetual stiffness and affectation. This is its capital fault. His lordship can express nothing with simplicity. He seems to have considered it as vulgar, and beneath the dignity of a man of quality, to speak like other men. Hence he is ever in buskins; and dressed out with magnificent elegance. In every sentence, we see the marks of labour and art; nothing of that ease which expresses a sentiment coming natural and warm from the heart. Of figures and ornament of every kind, he is exceedingly fond; sometimes happy in them; but his fondness for them is too visible; and having once laid hold of some metaphor or allusion that pleased him, he knows not how to part with it. What is most wonderful, he was a professed admirer of simplicity; is always extolling it in the ancients, and censuring the moderns for the want of it; though he departs from it himself as far as any one modern whatever. Lord Shaftesbury possessed delicacy and refinement of taste, to a degree that we may call excessive and sickly; but he had little warmth of passion; few strong or vigorous feelings, and the coldness of his character, led him to that artificial and stately manner which appears in his writings. He was fonder of nothing than of wit and raillery; but he is far from being happy in it. He attempts it often, but always awkwardly; he is stiff, even in his pleasantry; and laughs in form, like an author, and not like a man.*
From the account which I have given of Lord Shaftesbury’s manner, it may easily be imagined, that he would mislead many who blindly admired him. Nothing is more dangerous to the tribe of imitators, than an author, who, with many imposing beauties, has also some very considerable blemishes. This is fully exemplified in Mr. Blackwall, of Aberdeen, the author of the Life of Homer, the Letters on Mythology, and the Court of Augustus; a writer of considerable learning, and of ingenuity also; but infected with an extravagant love of an artificial style, and of that parade of language which distinguishes the Shaftesburean manner.
Having now said so much to recommend simplicity, or the easy and natural manner of writing, and having pointed out the defects of an opposite manner; in order to prevent mistakes on this subject, it is necessary for me to observe, that it is very possible for an author to write simply, and yet not beautifully. One may be free from affectation, and not have merit. The beautiful simplicity supposes an author to possess real genius; to write with solidity, purity, and liveliness of imagination. In this case, the simplicity or unaffectedness of his manner, is the crowning ornament; it heightens every other beauty; it is the dress of nature, without which, all beauties are imperfect. But if mere unaffectedness were sufficient
* It may perhaps, he not unworthy of being mentioned, that the first edition of his Inquiry into Virtue, was published, surreptitiously, I believe, in a separate form, in the year 1699; and is sometimes to be met with: by comparing which, with the corrected edition of the same treatise, as it now stands among his works, we see one of the most curious and useful examples that I know, of what is called Limae labor: the art of polishing language, breaking long sentences, and working up an imperfect draught into a highly finished performance.
to constitute the beauty of style, weak, trifling, and dull writers might often lay claim to this beauty. And accordingly we frequently meet with pretended critics, who extol the dullest writers on account of what they call the ‘chaste simplicity of their manner;’ which, in truth, is no other than the absence of every ornament, through the mere want of genius and imagination. We must distinguish, therefore, between that simplicity which accompanies true genius, and which is perfectly compatible with every proper ornament of style, and that which is no other than a careless and a slovenly manner. Indeed, the distinction is easily made, from the effect produced. The one never fails to interest the reader; the other is insipid and tiresome.
I proceed to mention one other manner or character of style, different from any that I have yet spoken of; which may be distinguished by the name of the vehement. This always implies strength, and is not, by any means, inconsistent with simplicity; but, in its predominant character, is distinguishable from either the strong or the simple manner. It has a peculiar ardour; it is a glowing style; the language of a man, whose imagination and passions are heated, and strongly affected by what he writes; who is therefore negligent of lesser graces, but pours himself forth with the rapidity and fullness of a torrent. It belongs to the higher kinds of oratory; and indeed is rather expected from a man who is speaking, than from one who is writing in his closet. The orations of Demosthenes furnish the full and perfect example of this species of style.
Among English writers, the one who has most of this character, though mixed, indeed, with several defects, is Lord Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke was formed by nature to be a factious leader; the demagogue of a popular assembly. Accordingly, the style that runs through all his political writings, is that of one declaiming with heat, rather than writing with deliberation. He abounds in rhetorical figures; and pours himself forth with great impetuosity. He is copious to a fault; places the same thought before us in many different views; but generally with life and ardour. He is bold rather than correct; a torrent that flows strong, but often muddy. His sentences are varied as to length and shortness; inclining, however, most to long periods; sometimes including parentheses, and frequently crowding and heaping a multitude of things upon one another, as naturally happens in the warmth of speaking. In the choice of his words, there is great felicity and precision. In exact construction of sentences, he is much inferior to Lord Shaftesbury; but greatly superior to him in life and ease. Upon the whole, his merit as a writer would have been very considerable, if his matter had equalled his style. But while we find much to commend in the latter, in the former, as I before remarked, we can hardly find any thing to commend. In his reasonings, for the most part, he is flimsy and false; in his political writings, factious; in what he calls his philosophical ones, irreligious and sophistical in the highest degree.
I shall insist no longer on the different manners of writers, or the general characters of style. Some others, beside those which I have mentioned, might be pointed out; but I am sensible that it is very difficult to separate such general considerations of the style of authors from their peculiar turn of sentiment, which it is not my business, at present, to criticise. Conceited writers, for instance discover their spirit so much in their composition, that it imprints on their style a character of pertness; though I confess it is difficult to say, whether this can be classed among the attributes of style, or rather is to be ascribed entirely to the thought. In whatever class we rank it, all appearances of it ought to be avoided with care, as a most disgusting blemish in writing. Under the general heads which I have considered, I have taken an opportunity of giving the character of many of the eminent classics in the English language.
From what I have said on this subject, it may be inferred, that to determine among all these different manners of writing, what is precisely the best, is neither easy, nor necessary. Style is a field that admits great latitude. Its qualities in different authors may be very different; and yet in them all beautiful. Room must be left here for genius; for that particular determination which every one receives from nature to one manner of expression more than another. Some general qualities, indeed, there are, of such importance, as should always, in every kind of composition, be kept in view; and some defects we should always study to avoid. An ostentatious, a feeble, a harsh, or an obscure style, for instance, are always faults; and perspicuity, strength, neatness, and simplicity,' are beauties to be always aimed at. But as to the mixture of all, or the degree of predominancy of any one of these good qualities, for forming our peculiar distinguishing manner, no precise rules can be given; nor will I venture to point out any one model as absolutely perfect.
It will be more to the purpose, that I conclude these dissertations upon style, with a few directions concerning the proper method of attaining a good style, in general; leaving the particular character of that style to be either formed by the subject on which we write, or prompted by the bent of genius.'
The first direction which I give for this purpose, is, to study clear ideas on the subject concerning which we are to write or speak. This is a direction which may at first appear to have small relation to style. Its relation to it, however, is extremely close. The foundation of all good style, is good sense, accompanied with a lively imagination. The style and thoughts of a writer are so intimately connected, that, as I have several times hinted, it is frequently hard to distinguish them. Wherever the impressions of things upon our minds are faint and indistinct, or perplexed and confused, our style in treating of such things will infallibly be so too. Whereas, what we conceive clearly and feel strongly, we shall naturally express with clearness and with strength. This, then, we may be assured, is a capital rule as to style, to think closely of the subject, till we have attained a full and distinct view of the matter which we are to clothe in words, till we become warm and interested in it; then and not till then, shall we find expression begin to flow. Generally speaking, the best and most proper expressions, are those which a clear view of the subject suggests, without much labour or inquiry after them. This is Quintilian’s observation, lib. viii. c. 1. ‘Plerumque optima verba rebus coherent, et cernuntur suo lumine.
At nos quaerimus illa, tanquam lateant, seque subducant. Ita nunquam putamus verba esse circa id de quo dicendum est; sed ex aliis locis petimus, et inventis vim afferimus,’*
In the second place, in order to form a good style, the frequent practice of composing is indispensably necessary. Many rules concerning style I have delivered, but no rules will answer the end, without exercise and habit. At the same time, it is not every sort of composing that will improve style. This is so far from being the case, that by frequent, careless, and hasty composition, we shall acquire certainly a very bad style; we shall have more trouble afterwards in unlearning faults, and correcting negligences, than if we had not been accustomed to composition at all. In the beginning, therefore, we ought to write slowly and with much care. Let the facility and speed of writing, be the fruit of longer practice. ‘Moram et solicitudinem,’ says Quintilian, with the greatest reason, 1. x. c. 3. ‘initiis impero. Nam primum hoc constituendum ac obtinendum est, ut quam optime scribamus; celeritatem dabit consuetudo. Paulatim res facilius se ostendent, verba respondebunt, compositio prosequitur. Cuncta denique ut in familia bene institute in officio erunt. Summa haec est rei; cito scribendo non fit ut bene scribatur; bene scribendo, fit ut cito.’t
We must observe, however, that there may be an extreme, in too great and anxious care about words. We must not retard the course of thought, nor cool the heat of imagination, by pausing too long on every word we employ. There is, on certain occasions, a glow of composition which should be kept up, if we hope to express ourselves happily, though at the expense of allowing some inadvertencies to pass. A more severe examination of these must be left to be the work of correction. For, if the practice of composition be useful, the laborious work of correcting is no less so: it is indeed absolutely necessary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of composition. What we have written, should be laid by
* ‘The most proper words for the most part adhere to the thoughts which are to be expressed by them, and may be discovered as by their own light.' But we hunt after them, as if they were hidden, and only to be found in a corner. Hence instead of conceiving the words to lie near the subject, we go in quest of them to some other quarter, and endeavour to give force to the expressions we have found out.’
t ‘I enjoin, that such as are beginning the practice of composition, write slowly and with anxious deliberation. Their great object at first should be, to write as well as possible; practice will enable them to write speedily. By degrees, matter will offer itself still more readily; words will be at hand; composition will flow; every thing as in the arrangement of a well-ordered family, will present itself in its proper place. The sum of the whole is this; by hasty composition, we shall never acquire the art of composing well; by writing well, we shall come to write speedily.’
for some little time, till the ardour of composition be past, till the fondness for the expressions we have used be worn off, and the expressions themselves be forgotten; and then, reviewing our work with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another, we shall discern many imperfections which at first escaped us. Then is the season for pruning redundances; for weighing the arrangement of sentences; for attending to the juncture and connecting particles; and bringing style into a regular, correct, and supported form. This ‘Limae Labor’ must be submitted to by all who would communicate their thoughts with proper advantage to others; and some practice in it will soon sharpen their eye to the most necessary objects of attention, and render it a much more easy and practicable work than might at first be imagined.
In the third place, with respect to the assistance that is to be gained from the writings of others, it is obvious, that we ought to render ourselves well acquainted with the style of the best authors. This is requisite both in order to form a just taste in style, and to supply us with a full stock of words on every subject. In reading authors with a view to style, attention should be given to the peculiarities of their different manners; and in this, and former lectures, I have endeavoured to suggest several things that may be useful in this view.
I know no exercise that will be found more useful for acquiring a proper style, than to translate some passages from an eminent English author, into our own words. What I mean is, to take, for instance, some page of one of Mr. Addison’s Spectators, and read it carefully over two or three times, till we have got a firm hold of the thoughts contained in it; then to lay aside the book; to attempt to write out the passage from memory, in the best way we can; and having done so, next to open the book, and compare what we have written with the style of the author. Such an exercise will, by comparison, show us where the defects of our style lie; will lead us to the proper attentions for rectifying them; and, among the different ways in which the same thought may be expressed, will make us perceive that which is the most beautiful. But, in the fourth place, I must caution, at the same time, against a servile imitation of any author whatever. This is always dangerous.
It hampers genius; it is likely to produce a stiff manner; and those who are given to close imitation, generally imitate an author’s faults as well as his beauties. No man will ever become a good wTriter or speaker, who has not some degree of confidence to follow his own genius. We ought to beware, in particular, of adopting any author’s noted phrases, or transcribing passages from him. Such a habit will prove fatal to all genuine composition. Infinitely better it is to have something that is our own, though of moderate beauty, than to affect to shine in borrowed ornaments, which will, at last, betray the utter poverty of our genius. On these heads of composing, correcting, reading, and imitating, I advise every student of oratory to consult what Quintilian has delivered in the tenth book of his Institutions, where be will find a variety of excellent observations and directions, that well deserve attention.
In the fifth place, it is an obvious, but material rule, with respect to style, that we always study to adapt it to the subject, and also to the capacity of our hearers, if we are to speak public. Nothing merits the name of eloquent or beautiful, which is not suited to the occasion, and to the persons to whom it is addressed. It is to the last degree awkward and absurd, to attempt a poetical florid style, on occasions when it should be our business only to argue and reason; or to speak with elaborate pomp of expression, before persons who comprehend nothing of it, and who can only stare at our unseasonable magnificence. These are defects not so much in point of style, as, what is much worse, in point of common sense. When we begin to write or speak, we ought previously to fix in our minds a clear conception of the end to be aimed at; to keep this steadily in our view, and to suit our style to it. If we do not sacrifice to this great object every ill-timed ornament that may occur to our fancy, we are unpardonable; and though children and fools may admire, men of sense will laugh at us and our style.
In the last place, I cannot conclude the subject without this admonition, that in any case, and on any occasion, attention to style must not engross us so much, as to detract from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts. ‘ Curam verborum,’ says the great Roman critic, ‘rerum volo esse solicitudinem.’* A direction the more necessary, as the present taste of the age in writing, seems to lean more to style than to thought. It is much easier to dress up trivial and common sentiments with some beauty of expression, than to afford a fund of vigorous, ingenious, and useful thoughts. The latter, requires true genius; the former may be attained by industry, with the help of very superficial parts. Hence, we find so many writers frivolously rich in style, but wretchedly poor in sentiment. The public ear is now so much accustomed to a correct and ornamented style, that no writer can, with safety, neglect the study of it. But he is a contemptible one who does not look to something beyond it: who does not lay the chief stress upon his matter, and employ such ornaments of style to recommend it, as are manly, not foppish: ‘Majore animo,’ says the writer whom I have so often quoted, ‘aggredienda est eloquentia; quae si toto corpore valet, ungues polire, et capillum componere, non existimabit ad curam suam pertinere. Ornatus et virilis et fortis et sanctus sit; nec effeminatam levitatem, et fuco ementitum colorem amet; sanguine et viribus niteat.’
* ‘To your expression? be attentive: but about your matter be solicitous.’ f 4 A higher spirit ought to animate those who study eloquence. They ought to consult the health and soundness of the whole body, rather than bend their attention to such trifling objects as paring the nails, and dressing the hair. Let ornament be manly and chaste, without effeminate gayety, or artificial colouring; let it shine with the glow of health and strength.’