forty years past, yet still remains in several remote parts of Germany, Sweden, and some other countries.— Temple on Poetry, p. 234.

Of the concise style, I shall likewise subjoin an example.

A man, while awake, is conscious of a continued train of perceptions and ideas passing in his mind. It requires no activity on his part to carry on the train ; nor can he at will add to the train any idea that has no connexion with it. At the same time we learn from daily experience, that the train of our thoughts is not regulated by chance; and if it depend not upon will, nor upon chance, by what law is it governed ? The question is of importance in the science of human nature ; and I promise beforehand, that it will be found of great importance in the fine arts. It appears that the relations by which things are linked together, have a great influence in directing the train of thought. Taking a view of external objects, we see that their inherent properties are not more remarkable than their various relations which connect them together : one thing, perceived to be a cause, is connected with its several effects; some things are connected by contiguity in time, others by contiguity in space; some are connected by resemblance, some by contrast ; some go before, some follow: not a single thing appears solitary and altogether devoid of connexion ; the only difference is, that some are ultimately connected, some more slightly, some near, some at a distance.—Experience will satisfy us of what reason makes probable, that the train of our thoughts is in a great measure regulated by the foregoing connexions : an external object is no sooner présented to us in idea, than it suggests to the mind other objects with wbich it is connected ; and in this manner is a train of thoughts composed. Such is the law of succession : whether an original law, or whether directed by some latent principle, is doubtful; and probably will for ever remain so. This law, however, is not inviolable : it sometimes happens, that an idea arises in the mind without that connexion ; as for example, after a profound sleep.-Kames's Elements of Criticism.

a

:

In this passage nothing is vague or redundant : every word and expression are appropriate.

Of all writers, ancient and modern, Aristotle, Taci. tus, and Montesquieu, afford the most remarkable instances of conciseness in style. The language of Locke and Clarke, though far from being highly polished, is also concise, and, upon the whole, not badly adapted to the profound speculations of those authors. The style of Dr. Reid is entitled to no small praise on account of the same quality: he always expresses himself with clearness, and seldom makes use of a word that could be changed for another more suited to his purpose.

Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, the works of Plato and Cicero exhibit, beyond doubt, the most illustrious instances that can be given. And, among our own countrymen, Temple, Addison, and Burke, afford examples of the same species of excellence.

CHAP. XIX.

OF THE NERVOUS AND THE FEEBLE STYLE.

It is generally imagined that the terms nervous and feeble, when applied to style, are synonymous with concise and diffuse. This however is not the case. It is indeed true that diffuse writers have, for the most part, some degree of feebleness, and that nervous writers will generally incline to conciseness of expression ; but this is by no means a universal rule. There are instances of writers who, in the midst of a full and copious style, have maintained a great degree of strength ; and, on the other hand, an author may be parsimonious of his words, without attaining to any remarkable vigour of diction.

The foundations of a nervous or a weak style are laid in an author's manner of thinking. If his conceptions are strong, his expressions will generally be energetic. But if he have only an indistinct view of his subject, if his ideas be loose and wavering, if his genius be such, or, at the time of his writing, so carelessly exerted, that he has no firm hold of the conception which he would communicate to us, the marks of all this will plainly appear in his style. Several unmeaning words and loose epithets will be found ; his expressions will be vague and general, his arrangement indistinct and feeble; we shall be able to conceive somewhat of his meaning, but our conceptions will be faint. Whereas a nervous writer, whether he employ an extended or a concise style, gives us always a strong impression of his meaning : his mind is full of his subject, and his words are all expressive; every phrase and every figure which he uses, tend to render more lively and complete the pleasure which he aims at communicating

Every author, in every composition, ought to study to express himself with some degree of strength ; for in proportion as he approaches the feeble, he becomes a bad writer. In all kinds of writing, however, the same degree of strength is not required. But the more grave and weighty any composition is, the more should this quality predominate in the style : history, philosophy, and some species of oratory require it in an emi

nent degree ; while in romances, epistles, and essays of a lighter cast, it is not so absolutely requisite.

Too great a study of strength, to the neglect of other desirable qualities of style, is apt to betray writers into a harshness of manner. Harshness arises from the use of unauthorized words, from forced inversions in the construction of sentences, and from the neglect of smoothness or harmony. This is reckoned the general fault of some of the earlier of our English classics ; such as Hooker, Raleigh, Bacon, Milton, and other writers of the same period. The style of these writers is, for the most part, nervous and energetic in an eminent degree; but the language in their hands was very different from what it is at present. They were too fond of Latin idioms; and in the structure of their sentences, inversion is often carried to an unwarrantable length. Of that species of diction to which I here allude, it may be

proper to produce one or two examples. Though for no other cause, yet for this, that posterity may know we have not loosely, through silence, permitted things to pass away as in a dream, there shall be for men's information, extant thus much concerning the present state of the church of God established amongst us, and their careful endeavour which would have upheld the same. --Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity.

We see scholars many, more than others ordinarily, subject to melancholy, because their retired courses of life, and privacy of study, is a great means to feed that humour where it is naturally found ; yet neither followeth it therefore, that all scholars live uncomfortable lives, because some do so, that are possessed and oppressed with that humour ; nor may that rightly be ascribed to study and learning, which not it, but the constitution of some stu. dents, produceth.-- Gutaker's Joy of the Just.

With regard to the transposition of words and members out of what we are apt to call their natural order, critics have entered into much discussion. It is agreed on all hands, that such transposition or inversion bestows upon a period a very sensible degree of force and elevation ; and yet writers seem to be at a loss in what manner to account for this effect. Whether,

upon

the whole, we have gained or lost by departing from this mode of arrangement, has by some been doubted. It however appears sufficiently evident that the genius of the English language does not naturally admit of much inversion ; and that such instances of transposition as occur in the passages lately quoted, are altogether obsolete: no modern writer could adopt them without the censure of harshness and affectation.

Among those who first laid aside the frequent inversions which prevailed among writers of the former age, we may reckon Cowley and Clarendon. The writings of Temple also contributed much to advance the language to its present state ; but to those of Dryden it is chiefly indebted for its smoothness and elegance. Dryden began to write about the time of the Restoration, and continued long in his literary career. He brought to the study of his native tongue, a vigorous mind fraught with various knowledge. There is a richness in his diction, a copiousness, ease, and variety in his expression, which have never been surpassed by any of those who have succeeded him. His clauses are never balanced, nor his periods modelled ; every word seems to drop by chance, though it falls into its proper place. Nothing is cold, or languid ; the whole is airy, animated, and vigorous: what is little, is gay; what is great, is splendid. Though all

,