Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XXXI — Conduct of a Discourse in All Its Parts — Introduction — Division — Narration — and Explication
I have, in the four preceding lectures, considered what is peculiar to each of the three great fields of public speaking, popular Assemblies, the bar, and the pulpit. I am now to treat of what is common to them all; of the conduct of a discourse or oration, in general. The previous view which I have given of the distinguishing spirit and character of different kinds of public speaking, was necessary for the proper application of the rules which I am about to deliver; and as I proceed, I shall further point out, how far any of these rules may have a particular respect to the bar, to the pulpit, or to popular courts.
On whatever subject any one intends to discourse, he will most commonly begin with some introduction, in order to prepare the minds of his hearers; he will then state his subject, and explain the facts connected with it: he will employ arguments for establishing his own opinion, and overthrowing that of his antagonist; he may perhaps, if there be room for it, endeavour to touch the passions of his audience; and after having said all he thinks proper, he will bring his discourse to a close by some peroration or conclusion. This being the natural train of speaking, the parts that compose a regular formal oration, are these six; first, the exordium or introduction; secondly, the state, and the division of the subject; thirdly, narration or explication; fourthly, the reasoning or arguments; fifthly, the pathetic part; and lastly, the conclusion. I do not mean that each of these must enter into every public discourse, or that they must enter always in this order. There is no reason for being so formal on every occasion; nay, it would often be a fault, and would render a discourse pedantic and stiff. There may be many excellent discourses in public, where several of these parts are altogether wanting; where the speaker, for instance, uses no introduction, but enters directly on his subject; where he has no occasion either to divide or explain; but simply reasons on one side of the question, and then finishes. But as the parts which I have mentioned are the natural constituent parts of a regular oration; and as in every discourse whatever, some of them must be found, it is necessary to our present purpose, that I should treat of each of them distinctly.
I begin, of course, with the exordium or introduction. This is manifestly common to all the three kinds of public speaking. It is not a rhetorical invention. It is founded upon nature, and suggested by common sense. When one is going to counsel another; when he takes upon him to instruct, or to reprove, prudence will generally direct him not to do it abruptly, but to use some preparation; to begin with somewhat that may incline the persons to whom he addresses himself, to judge favourably of what he is about to say, and may dispose them to such a train of thought as will forward and assist the purpose which he has in view. This is, or ought to be, the main scope of an introduction. Accordingly, Cicero and Quintilian mention three ends, to one or other of which it should be subservient: ‘Reddere auditores benevolos, attentos, dociles.’
First, to conciliate the good will of the hearers; to render them benevolent, or well-affected to the speaker and to the subject. Topics for this purpose may, in causes at the bar, be sometimes taken from the particular situation of the speaker himself, or of his client, or from the character or behaviour of his antagonists, contrasted with his own; on other occasions, from the nature of the subject, as closely connected with the interest of the hearers: and, in general, from the modesty and good intention with which the speaker enters upon his subject. The second end of an introduction is, to raise the attention of the hearers; which may be effected, by giving them some hints of the importance, dignity, or novelty of the subject; or some favourable view of the clearness and precision with which we are to treat it; and of the brevity with which we are to discourse. The third end, is to render the hearers docile, or open to persuasion; for which end, we must begin with studying to remove any particular prepossessions they may have contracted against the cause, or side of the argument, which we espouse.
Some one of these ends should be proposed by every introduction. When there is no occasion for aiming at any of them; when we are already secure of the good will, the attention, and the docility of the audience, as may often be the case, formal introductions may, without any prejudice, be omitted. And indeed, when they serve for no purpose but mere ostentation, they had, for the most part, better be omitted; unless as far as respect to the audience makes it decent, that a speaker should not break in upon them too abruptly, but by a short exordium prepare them for what he is going to say. Demosthenes’ introductions are always short and simple; Cicero’s are fuller and more artful.
The ancient critics distinguished two kinds of introductions, which they call ‘ principium,’ and ‘insinuatio.’ ‘Principium’ is, where the orator plainly and directly professes his aim in speaking. ‘Insinuatio’ is, where a larger compass must be taken; and where, presuming the disposition of the audience to be much against the orator, he must gradually reconcile them to hearing him, before he plainly discovers the point which he has in view.
Of this latter sort of introduction, we have an admirable instance in Cicero’s second oration against Rullus. This Rullus was tribune of the people, and had proposed an Agrarian law; the purpose of which was to create a decemvirate, or ten commissioners, with absolute power for five years, over all the lands conquered by the republic, in order to divide them among the citizens. Such laws had often been proposed by factious magistrates, and were always greedily received by the people. Cicero is speaking to the people; he had lately been made consul by their interest; and his first attempt is to make them reject this law. The subject was extremely delicate, and required much art. He begins with acknowledging all the favours which he had received from the people, in preference to the nobility. He professes himself the creature of their power, and of all men the most engaged to promote their interest. He declares, that he held himself to be the consul of the people; and that he would always glory in preserving the character of a popular magistrate. But to be popular, he observes, is an ambiguous word. He understood it to import a steady attachment to the real interest of the people, to their liberty, their ease, and their peace; but by some, he saw it was abused, and made a cover to their own selfish and ambitious designs. In this manner, he begins to draw gradually nearer to his purpose of attacking the proposal of Rullus; but still with great management and reserve. He protests, that he is far from being an enemy to Agrarian laws; he gives the highest praises to the Gracchi, those zealous patrons of the people; and assures them, that when he first heard of Rullus’s law, he had resolved to support it if he found it for their interest; but that, upon examining it, he found it calculated to establish a dominion that was inconsistent with liberty, and to aggrandize a few men at the expense of the public: and then terminates his exordium, with telling them that he is going to give his reasons for being of this opinion; but that if his reasons shall not satisfy them, he will give up his own opinion and embrace theirs. In all this there was great art. His eloquence produced the intended effect; and the people, with one voice, rejected this Agrarian law.
Having given these general views of the nature and end of an introduction, I proceed to lay down some rules for the proper composition of it. These are the more necessary, as this is a part of the discourse which requires no small care. It is always of importance to begin well; to make a favourable impression at first setting out; when the minds of the hearers, vacant as yet and free, are most disposed to receive any impression easily. I must add, too, that a good introduction is often found to be extremely difficult. Few parts of the discourse give the composer more trouble, or are attended with more nicety in the execution.
The first rule is, that the introduction should be easy and natural. The subject must always suggest it. It must appear, as Cicero beautifully expresses it, ‘Effloruisse penitus ex re de qua tum agitur.’*
* ‘ To have sprung up, of its own accord, from the matter which is under consideration.’
It is too common a fault in introductions, that they are taken from some common-place topic, which has no peculiar relation to the subject in hand; by which means they stand apart, like pieces detached from the rest of the discourse. Of this kind are Sallust’s introductions, prefixed to his Catilinarian and Jugurthine wars. They might as well have been introductions to any other history, or to any other treatise whatever: and, therefore, though elegant in themselves, they must be considered as blemishes in the work, from want of due connexion with it. Cicero, though abundantly correct in this particular in his orations, yet is not so in his other works. It appears from a letter of his to Atticus, (L. xvi. 6.) that it was his custom to prepare, at his leisure, a collection of different introductions or prefaces, ready to be prefixed to any work that he might afterwards publish. In consequence of this strange method of composing, it happened to him, to employ the same introduction twice without remembering it; prefixing it to two different works. Upon Atticus informing him of this, he acknowledges the mistake, and sends him a new introduction.
In order to render introductions natural and easy, it is, in my opinion, a good rule, that they should not be planned till after one has meditated in his own mind the substance of his discourse. Then, and not till then, he should begin to think of some proper and natural introduction. By taking a contrary course, and labouring in the first place on an introduction, every one who is accustomed to composition will often find, that either he is led to lay hold of some common-place topic, or that, instead of the introduction being accommodated to the discourse, he is obliged to accommodate the whole discourse to the introduction which he had previously written. Cicero makes this remark; though, as we have seen, his practice was not always conformable to his own rule. ‘Omnibus rebus consideratis, turn denique id, quod primum est dicendum, postremum soleo cogitare, quo utar exordio. Nam si quando id primum invenire volui, nullum mihi occurrit nisi aut exile, aut nugatorium, aut vulgare.’* After the mind has been once warmed and put in train, by close meditation on the subject, materials for the preface will then suggest themselves much more readily.
In the second place, in an introduction, correctness should be carefully studied in the expression. This is requisite on account of the situation of the hearers. They are then more disposed to criticise than at any other period; they are, as yet, unoccupied with the subject or the arguments; their attention is wholly directed to the speaker’s style and manner. Something must be done, therefore, to prepossess them in his favour; though, for the same reasons, too much art must be avoided; for it will be more easily detected at that time than afterwards, and will derogate from persua-
* ‘When I have planned and digested all the materials of my discourse, it is my custom to think, in the last place, of the introduction with which I am to begin. For if at any time I have endeavoured to invent an introduction first, nothing has ever occurred to me for that purpose, but what was trifling, nugatory, and vulgar.’
sion in all that follows. A correct plainness, and elegant simplicity, is the proper character of an introduction: ‘Ut videamur,’ says Quintilian, ‘accurate non callide dicere.’
In the third place, modesty is another character which it must carry. All appearances of modesty are favourable and prepossessing. If the orator set out with an air of arrogance and ostentation, the self-love and pride of the hearers will be presently awakened, and will follow him with a very suspicious eye throughout all his progress. His modesty should discover itself not only in his expressions at the beginning, but in his whole manner; in his looks, in his gestures, in the tone of his voice. Every auditory take in good part those marks of respect and awe, which are paid to them by one who addresses them. Indeed, the modesty of an introduction should never betray any thing mean or abject. It is always of great use to an orator, that together with modesty and deference to his hearers, he should show a certain sense of dignity, arising from a persuasion of the justice or importance of the subject on which he is to speak.
The modesty of an introduction requires, that it promise not too much. ‘Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem.’* This certainly is the general rule, that an orator should not put forth all his strength at the beginning, but should rise and grow upon us, as his discourse advances. There are cases, however, in which it is allowable for him to set out from the first in a high and bold tone: as, for instance, when he rises to defend some cause which has been much run down, and decried by the public. Too modest a beginning might be then like a confession of guilt. By the boldness and strength of his exordium, he must endeavour to stem the tide that is against him, and to remove prejudices, by encountering them without fear. In subjects, too, of a declamatory nature, and in sermons, where the subject is striking, a magnificent introduction has sometimes a good effect, if it be properly supported in the sequel. Thus Bishop Atterbury, in beginning an eloquent sermon, preached on the 30th of January, the anniversary of what is called King Charles’s Martyrdom, sets out in this pompous manner: ‘This is a day of trouble, of rebuke, and of blasphemy; distinguished in the calendar of our church, and the annals of our nation, by the sufferings of an excellent prince, who fell a sacrifice to the rage of his rebellious subjects; and, by his fall, derived infamy, misery, and guilt on them, and their sinful posterity.’ Bossuet, Flechier, and the other celebrated French preachers, very often begin their discourses with laboured and sublime introductions. These raise attention, and throw a lustre on the subject; but let every speaker be much on his guard against striking a higher note at the beginning, than he is able to keep up in his progress.
* He does not lavish at a blaze his fire,
Sudden to glare, and then in smoke expire;
But rises from a cloud of smoke to light,
And pours his specious miracles to sight.
Hor. Ars Poet. Francis.
In the fourth place, an introduction should usually be carried on in the calm manner. This is seldom the place for vehemence and passion. Emotions must rise as the discourse advances. The minds of the hearers must be gradually prepared, before the speaker can venture on strong and passionate sentiments. The exceptions to this rule are, when the subject is such, that the very mention of it naturally awakens some passionate emotion; or when the unexpected presence of some person or object, in a popular assembly, inflames the speaker, and makes him break forth with unusual warmth. Either of these will justify what is called the Exordium ab abrupto. Thus the appearance of Catiline in the senate renders the vehement beginning of Cicero’s first oration against him very natural and proper: ‘Quousque tandem, Catilina, abutere patientia nostra?’ And thus Bishop Atterbury, in preaching from this text, ‘Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me,’ ventures on breaking forth with this bold exordium: ‘ And can any man then be offended in thee, blessed Jesus?’ which address to our Saviour he continues for a page or two, till he enters on the division of his subject. But such introductions as these should be hazarded by very few, as they promise so much vehemence and unction through the rest of the discourse, that it is very difficult to fulfil the expectations of the hearers.
At the same time, though the introduction is not the place in which warm emotions are usually to be attempted, yet I must take notice, that it ought to prepare the way for such as are designed to be raised in subsequent parts of the discourse. The orator should, in the beginning, turn the minds of his hearers towards those sentiments and feelings which he seeks to awaken in the course of his speech. According, for instance, as it is compassion, or indignation, or contempt, on which his discourse is to rest, he ought to sow the seeds of these in his introduction; he ought to begin with breathing that spirit which he means to inspire. Much of the orator’s art and ability is shown, in thus striking properly at the commencement, the key note, if we may so express it, of the rest of his oration.
In the fifth place, it is a rule in introductions, not to anticipate any material part of the subject. When topics, or arguments, which are afterwards to be enlarged upon, are hinted at, and, in part, brought forth in the introduction, they lose the grace of novelty upon their second appearance. The impression intended to be made by any capital thought, is always made with the greatest advantage, when it is made entire, and in its proper place.
In the last place, the introduction ought to be proportioned, both in length and in kind, to the discourse that is to follow: in length, as nothing can be more absurd than to erect a very great portico before a small building; and in kind, as it is no less absurd to overcharge, with superb ornaments, the portico of a plain dwelling-house, or to make the entrance to a monument as gay as that to an arbour. Common sense directs that every part of a discourse should be suited to the strain and spirit of the whole.
These are the principal rules that relate to introductions. They are adapted, in a great measure, equally, to discourses of all kinds. In pleadings at the bar, or speeches in public assemblies, particular care must be taken not to employ any introduction of that kind, which the adverse party may lay hold of, and turn to his advantage. To this inconvenience all those introductions are exposed, which are taken from general and common-place topics; and it never fails to give an adversary a considerable triumph, if, by giving a small turn to something we had said in our exordium, he can appear to convert, to his own favour, the principles with which we had set out, in beginning our attack upon him. In the case of replies, Quintilian makes an observation which is very worthy of notice; that introductions, drawn from something that has been said in the course of the debate, have always a peculiar grace; and the reason he gives for it is just and sensible: ‘Multum gratiae exordio est, quod ab actione diversae partis materiam trahit; hoc ipso, quod non compositum domi, sed ibi atque e re natum; et facilitate famam ingenii auget; et facie simplicis, sumptique e proximo sermonis, fidem quoque acquirit; adeo, ut etiamsi relique scripta atque elaborata sint, tamen videatur tota extemporalis oratio, cujus initium nihil preparatum habuisse manifestum est.’*
In sermons, such a practice as this cannot take place; and, indeed, in composing sermons, few things are more difficult than to remove an appearance of stiffness from an introduction, when a formal one is used. The French preachers, as I before observed, are often very splendid and lively in their introductions; but, among us, attempts of this kind are not always so successful. When long introductions are formed upon some common-place topic, as the desire of happiness being natural to man, or the like, they never fail of being tedious. Variety should be studied in this part of composition as much as possible; often it may be proper to begin without any introduction at all, unless, perhaps, one or two sentences. Explanatory introductions from the context, are the most simple of any, and frequently the best that can be used; but as they are in hazard of becoming dry, they should never be long. A historical introduction has, generally, a happy effect to rouse attention, when one can lay hold upon some noted fact that is connected with the text or the discourse, and, by a proper illustration of it, open the way to the subject that is to be treated of.
After the introduction, what commonly comes next in order, is the proposition, or enunciation of the subject; concerning which there is nothing to be said, but that it should be as clear and
* ‘ An introduction, which is founded upon the pleading of the opposite party, is extremely graceful; for this reason, that it appears not to have been meditated at home, but to have taken rise from the business, and to have been composed on the spot. Hence, it gives to the speaker the reputation of a quick invention, and adds weight likewise to his discourse, as artless and unlaboured: insomuch, that though all the rest of his oration should be studied and written, yet the whole discourse has the appearance of being extemporary, as it is evident that the introduction to it was unpremeditated.’ distinct as possible, and expressed in few and plain words, without the least affectation. To this generally succeeds the division, or the laying down the method of the discourse; on which it is necessary to make some observations. I do not mean, that in every discourse, a formal division, or distribution of it into parts, is requisite. There are many occasions of public speaking, when this is neither requisite nor would be proper; when the discourse, perhaps, is to be short, or only one point is to be treated of; or when the speaker does not choose to warn his hearers of the method he is to follow, or of the conclusion to which he seeks to bring them. Order of one kind or other is, indeed, essential to every good discourse; that is, every thing should be so arranged, as that what goes before may give light and force to what follows. But this may be accomplished by means of a concealed method. What we call division is, when the method is propounded in form to the hearers.
The discourse in which this sort of division most commonly takes place, is a sermon; and a question has been moved, whether this method of laying down heads, as it is called, be the best method of preaching. A very able judge, the Archbishop of Cambray, in his Dialogues on Eloquence, declares strongly against it. He observes, that it is a modern invention; that it was never practised by the Fathers of the church: and, what is certainly true, that it took its rise from the schoolmen, when metaphysics began to be introduced into preaching. He is of opinion, that it renders a sermon stiff; that it breaks the unity of the discourse; and that, by the natural connexion of one part with another, the attention of the hearers would be carried along the whole with more advantage.
But notwithstanding his authority and his arguments, I cannot help being of opinion, that the present method of dividing a sermon into heads, ought not to be laid aside. Established practice has now given it so much weight, that, were there nothing more in its favour, it would be dangerous for any preacher to deviate so far from the common track. But the practice itself has also, in my judgment, much reason on its side. If formal partitions give a sermon less of the oratorical appearance, they render it, however, more clear, more easily apprehended, and, of course, more instructive to the bulk of hearers, which is always the main object to be kept in view. The heads of a sermon are great assistances to the memory and recollection of a hearer. They serve also to fix his attention. They enable him more easily to keep pace with the progress of the discourse; they give him pauses and resting places, where he can reflect on what has been said, and look forward to what is to follow. They are attended with this advantage too, that they give the audience the opportunity of knowing, beforehand, when they are to be released from the fatigue of attention, and thereby make them follow the speaker more patiently. ‘ Deficit audientem,’ says Quintilian, taking notice of this very advantage of divisions in other discourses, ‘ Reficit audientem certo sin gularum partium fine; non aliter quam facientibus iter, multum detrahunt fatigationis notata spatia inscriptis lapidibus: nam et exhausti laboris nosse mensuram voluptati est; et hortatur ad reliqua fortius exequenda, scire quantum supersit.’* With regard to breaking the unity of a discourse, I cannot be of opinion that there arises, from that quarter, any argument against the method I am defending. If the unity be broken, it is to the nature of the heads, or topics of which the speaker treats, that this is to be imputed; not to his laying them down in form. On the contrary, if his heads be well chosen, his marking them out, and distinguishing them, in place of impairing the unity of the whole, renders it more conspicuous and complete; by showing how all the parts of a discourse hang upon one another, and tend to one point.
In a sermon, or in a pleading, or any discourse, where division is proper to be used, the most material rules are,
First, That the several parts into which the subject is divided be really distinct from one another; that is, that no one include another. It were a very absurd division, for instance, if one should propose to treat, first, of the advantages of virtue, and next, of those of justice or temperance; because, the first head evidently comprehends the second, as a genus does the species; which method of proceeding involves the subject in indistinctness and disorder.
Secondly, In division, we must take care to follow the order of nature; beginning with the simplest points, such as are easiest apprehended, and necessary to be first discussed; and proceeding thence to those which are built upon the former, and which suppose them to be known. We must divide the subject into those parts, into which most easily and naturally it is resolved; that it may seem to split itself, and not to be violently torn asunder: ‘Dividere,’ as is commonly said, ‘non frangere.’
Thirdly, The several members of a division ought to exhaust the subject; otherwise we do not make a complete division; we exhibit the subject by pieces and corners only, without giving any such plan as displays the whole.
Fourthly, The terms in which our partitions are expressed, should be as concise as possible. Avoid all circumlocution here. Admit not a single word but what is necessary. Precision is to be studied, above all things, in laying down a method. It is this which chiefly makes a division appear neat and elegant; when the several heads are propounded in the clearest, most expressive, and, at the same time, the fewest words possible. This never fails to strike the hearers agreeably; and is, at the same time, of great consequence towards making the divisions be more easily remembered.
Fifthly, Avoid an unnecessary multiplication of heads. To split a subject into a great many minute parts, by divisions and subdivi
* ‘The conclusion of each head is a relief to the hearers; just as, upon a journey, the mile-stones which are set up on the road, serve to diminish the traveller’s fatigue. For we are always pleased with seeing our labour begin to lessen; and, by calculating how much remains, are stirred up to finish our task more cheerfully.’
sions without end, has always a bad effect in speaking. It may be proper in a logical treatise; but it makes an oration appear hard and dry, and unnecessarily fatigues the memory. In a sermon, there may be from three to five or six heads, including subdivisions; seldom should there be more.
In a sermon, or in pleading at the bar, few things are of greater consequence, than a proper or happy division. It should be studied with much accuracy and care; for if one take a wrong method at first setting out, it will lead him astray in all that follows. It will render the whole discourse either perplexed or languid; and though the hearers may not be able to tell where the fault or disorder lies, they will be sensible there is a disorder somewhere, and find themselves little affected by what is spoken. The French writers of sermons study neatness and elegance in laying down their heads, much more than the English do; whose distributions, though sensible and just, yet are often inartificial and verbose. Among the French, however, too much quaintness appears in their divisions, with an affectation of always setting out either with two, or with three, general heads of discourse. A division of Massillon’s on this text, ‘It is finished,’ has been much extolled by the French critics: — -4 This imports,’ says the preacher, £the consummation, first, of justice on the part of God; secondly, of wickedness on the part of men; thirdly, of love on the part of Christ.’ This also of Bourdaloue ’s has been much praised, from these words: ‘My peace I give unto you.’ ‘Peace,’ says he, ‘first to the understanding, by submission to faith; secondly, to the heart, by submission to the law.’
The next constituent part of a discourse, which I mentioned, was narration or explication. I put these two together, both because they fall nearly under the same rules, and because they commonly answer the same purpose; serving to illustrate the cause or the subject of which the orator treats, before he proceeds to argue either on one side or other; or to make any attempt for interesting the passions of the hearers.
In pleadings at the bar, narration is often a very important part of the discourse, and requires to be particularly attended to. Besides its being in any case no easy matter to relate with grace and propriety; there is in narrations at the bar, a peculiar difficulty. The pleader must say nothing but what is true; and, at the same time, lie must avoid saying any thing that will hurt his cause. The facts which he relates are to be the ground-work of all his future reasoning. To recount them so as to keep strictly within the bounds of truth, and yet to present them under the colours most favourable to his cause; to place, in the most striking light, every circumstance which is to his advantage, and to soften and weaken such as make against him, demand no small exertion of skill and dexterity. He must always remember, that if he discovers too much art, he defeats his own purpose, and creates a distrust of his sincerity. Quintilian very properly directs, ‘Effugienda in hac prsecipue parte, omnis calliditatis suspicio; neque enim se usquam magis custodit judex quam cum narrat orator: nihil tum videatur fictum; nihil sollicitum; omnia potius a causa, quam ab oratore, profecta videantur.’*
To be clear and distinct, to be probable, and to be concise, are the qualities which critics chiefly require in narration; each of which carries sufficiently the evidence of its importance. Distinctness belongs to the whole train of the discourse, but is especially requisite in narration, which ought to throw light on all that follows. A fact, or a single circumstance left in obscurity, and misapprehended by the judge, may destroy the effect of all the argument and reasoning which the speaker employs. If his narration be improbable, the judge will not regard it; and if it be tedious and diffuse, he will be tired of it, and forget it. In order to produce distinctness, besides the study of the general rules of perspicuity which were formerly given, narration requires a particular attention to ascertain clearly the names, the dates, the places, and every other material circumstance of the facts recounted. In order to be probable in narration, it is material to enter into the characters of the persons of whom we speak, and to show, that their actions proceeded from such motives as are natural, and likely to gain belief. In order to be as concise as the subject will admit, it is necessary to throw out all superfluous circumstances; the rejection of which will likewise tend to make our narration more forcible, and more clear.
Cicero is very remarkable for his talent of narration; and from the examples in his orations much may be learned. The narration, for instance, in the celebrated oration pro Milone, has been often and justly admired. His scope is to show, that though in fact Clodius was killed by Milo or his servants, yet that it was only in self-defence; and that the design had been laid, not by Milo against
Clodius, but by Clodius against Milo’s life. All the circumstances for rendering this probable are painted with wonderful art. In relating the manner of Milo’s setting out from Rome, he gives the most natural description of a family excursion to the country, under which it was impossible that any bloody design could be concealed. ‘He remained,’ says he, £ in the senate house that day, till all the business was over. He came home, changed his clothes deliberately, and waited for some time, till his wife had got all her things ready for going with him in his carriage to the country. He did not set out, till such time as Clodius might, easily have been in Rome, if he had not been lying in wait for Milo by the way. By and by, Clodius met him on the road, on horse-back, like a man prepared for action; no carriage, not his wife, as was usual, nor any family equipage along with him: whilst Milo, who is supposed to be meditating slaughter and assassination, is travelling in a carriage with his wife, wrapped up in his cloak, embarrassed with baggage, and attended
* ‘In this part of discourse, the speaker must be very careful to shun every appearance of art and cunning. For there is no time at which the judge is more upon his guard than when the pleader is relating facts. Let nothing then seem feigned: nothing anxiously concealed. Let all that is said, appear to arise from the cause itself, and not to be the work of the orator.’
by a great train of women-servants, and boys.’ He goes on describing the rencounter that followed; Clodius’s servants attacking those of Milo, and killing the driver of his carriage; Milo jumping out, throwing off his cloak, and making the best defence he could, while Clodius’s servants endeavoured to surround him; and then concludes his narration with a very delicate and happy stroke. He does not say in plain words, that Milo’s servants killed Clodius, but that ‘in the midst of the tumult, Milo’s servants, without the orders, without the knowledge, without the presence of their master, did what every master would have wished his servants, in like conjuncture, to have done.’*
In sermons, where there is seldom any occasion for narration, explication of the subject to be discoursed on, comes in the place of narration at the bar, and is to be taken up much on the same tone; that is, it must be concise, clear, and distinct: and in a style correct and elegant, rather than highly adorned. To explain the doctrine of the text with propriety; to give a full and perspicuous account of the nature of that virtue or duty which forms the subject of the discourse, is properly the didactic part of preaching; on the right execution of which much depends for all that comes afterwards in the way of persuasion. The great art of succeeding in it, is to meditate profoundly on the subject, so as to be able to place it in a clear and strong point of view. Consider what light other passages of scripture throw upon it; consider whether it be a subject nearly related to some other from which it is proper to distinguish it; consider whether it can be illustrated to advantage by comparing it with, or opposing it to some other thing; by inquiring into causes, or tracing effects; by pointing out examples, or appealing to the feelings of the hearers; that thus, a definite, precise, circumstantial view may be afforded of the doctrine to be inculcated. Let the preacher be persuaded, that by such distinct and apt illustrations of the known truths of religion, he may both display great merit in the way of composition, and, what he ought to consider as far more valuable, render his discourses weighty, instructive, and useful.
‘ Milo, cum in senatu fuisset eo die, quoad senatus dimissus est, domum venit. Calceos et vestimenta mutavit; paulisper, dum se uxor (ut fit) comparat, commoratus est; deinde profectus est, id temporis cum jam Clodius, si quidem eo die Romani venturus erat, redire potuisset. Obviam fit ei Clodius expeditus, in equo, nulla rheda, nullis impedimentis, nullis Graecis comitibus, ut solebat; sine uxore, quod nunquam fere* Cum hie insidiator, qui iter illud ad csedem faciendam apparasset, cum uxore veheretur in rheda, penulatus. vulgi magno impedimento, ac muliebri et delicato ancillarum puerorumque comitatu. Fit obviam Clodio ante fundum ejus, hora fere undecima, aut non multo secus. Statim complures cum telis in hunc faciunt de loco superiore impetum; adversi rhedarium occidunt; enim autem hic de rheda, rejecta penula desiluisset, seque acri animo defenderet, illi qui erant cum Clodio, gladiis eductis, partim recurrere ad rhedam, ut a tergo Milonem adorirentur; partim, quod hunc jam interfectum putarent, caedere incipiunt ejus servos qui post erant; ex quibus qui animo fideli in dominum et praesenti fuerunt, partim occisi sunt; partim cum ad rhedam pugnare viderent et domino succurrere prohiberentur, Milonemque occisum etiam ex ipso Clodio audirent, et ita esse putarent, fecerunt id servi Milonis, (dicam enim non derivandi criminis causa, sed ut factum est) neque imperante, neque sciente, neque praesente domino quod suos quisque servos in tali re facere voluisset’