and procures the speaker an irresistible power over the thoughts and purposes of his audience. It is this which hath been so justly celebrated as giving one man an ascendant over others, superior even to what despotism itself can bestow; since by the latter the more ignoble parts only, the body and its members, are enslaved; whereas from the dominion of the former nothing is exempted, neither judgment nor affection, not even the inmost recesses, the most latent movements of the soul. What opposition is he not prepared to conquer on whose arms reason hath conferred solidity and weight, and passion such a sharpness as enables them, in defiance of every obstruction, to open a speedy passage to the heart?

It is not, however, every kind of pathos which will give the orator so great an ascendency over the minds of his hearers. All passions are not alike capable of producing this effect. Some are naturally inert and torpid; they deject the mind, and indispose it for enterprise. Of this kind are sorrow, fear, shame, humility. Others, on the contrary, elevate the soul, and stimulate to action. Such are hope, patriotism, ambition, emulation, anger. These, with the greatest facility, are made to concur in direction with arguments exciting to resolution and activity; and are, consequently, the fittest for producing what, for want of a better term in our language, I shall henceforth denominate the vehement. There is, besides, an intermediate kind of passions, which do not so congenially and directly either restrain us from acting or incite us to act; but, by the art of the speaker, can, in an oblique manner, be made conducive to either. Such are joy, love, esteem, compassion. Nevertheless, all these kinds may find a place in suasory discourses, or such as are intended to operate on the will. The first is properest for dissuading; the second, as hath been already hinted, for persuading; the third is equally accommodated to both.

Guided by the above reflections, we may easily trace that connexion in the various forms of eloquence which was remarked on distinguishing them by their several objects. The imagination is charmed by a finished picture, wherein even drapery and ornament are not neglected; for here the end is pleasure. Would we penetrate farther, and agitate the soul, we must exhibit only some vivid strokes, some expressive features, not decorated as for show (all ostentation being orator; for as on the judiciary the lives and estates of private persons depended, on the deliberative hung the resolves of senates, the fate of kingdoms, nay, of the most renowned republics the world ever knew. Consequently, to excel in these must have been the direct road to riches, honours, and preferment. No wonder, then, that persuasion should almost wholly engross the rhetorician's notice

both despicable and hurtful here), but such as appear the natural exposition of those bright and deep impressions made by the subject upon the speaker's mind; for here the end is not pleasure, but emotion. Would we not only touch the heart, but win it entirely to co-operate with our views, those affecting lineaments must be so interwoven with our argument, as that, from the passion excited, our reasoning may derive importance, and so be fitted for commanding attention; and by the justness of the reasoning, the passion may be more deeply rooted and enforced; and that thus both may be made to conspire in effectuating that persuasion which is the end proposed. For here, if I may adopt the schoolmen's language, we do not argue to gain barely the assent of the understanding, but, which is infinitely more important, the consent of the will.*

To prevent mistakes, it will not be beside my purpose farther to remark, that several of the terms above explained are sometimes used by rhetoricians and critics in a much larger and more vague signification than has been given them here. Sublimity and vehemence, in particular, are often confounded, the latter being considered a species of the former. In this manner has this subject been treated by that great master, Longinus, whose acceptation of the term sublime is extremely indefinite, importing an eminent degree of almost any excellence of speech, of whatever kind. Doubtless, if things themselves be understood, it does not seem material what names are assigned them. Yet it is both more accurate, and proves no inconsiderable aid to the right understanding of things, to discriminate by different signs such as are truly different. And that the two qualities above mentioned are of this number is undeniable, since we can produce passages full of vehemence, wherein no image is presented which, with any propriety, can be termed great or sublime. In matters of

This subordination is beautifully and concisely expressed by Hersan in Rollin. "Je conclus que la véritable eloquence est celle qui persuade; qu'elle ne persuade ordinairement qu'en touchant; qu'elle ne touche que par des choses et par des idées palpables."

For an instance of this, let that of Cicero against Antony suffice. "Tu istis faucibus, istis lateribus, ista gladiatoria totius corporis firmitate, tartum vini in Hippiæ nuptiis exhauseras, ut tibi necesse esset in populi Romani conspectu vomere postridie. O rem non modo visu fœdam, sed etiam auditu! Si hoc tibi inter cœnam, in tuis immanibus illis poculis accidisset, quis non turpe duceret? In eætu vero populi Romani, negotium publicum gerens, magister equitum, cui ructare turpe esset, is vomens, frustis esculentis vinum redolentibus, gremium suum et totum tribunal implevit." Here the vivacity of the address, in turning from the audience to the person declaimed against, the energy of the expressions, the repetition, exclamation, interrogation, and climax of aggravating circumstances, accumulated with rapidity upon one another, display in the strongest light the turpitude of the action, and thus at once convince the judgment and fire the indig nation. It is, therefore, justly styled vehement. But what is the image it

criticism, as in the abstract sciences, it is of the utmost consequence to ascertain, with precision, the meanings of words, and, as nearly as the genius of the language in which one writes will permit, to make them correspond to the boundaries assigned by Nature to the things signified. That the lofty and the vehement, though still distinguishable, are sometimes combined, and act with united force, is not to be denied. It is then only that the orator can be said to fight with weapons which are at once sharp, massive, and refulgent, which, like Heaven's artillery, dazzle while they strike, which overpower the sight and the heart in the same instant. How admirably do the two forenamed qualities, when happily blended, correspond in the rational to the thunder and lightning in the natural world, which are not more awfully majestical in sound and aspect than irresistible in power!*

presents? The reverse in every respect of the sublime; what, instead of gazing on with admiration, we should avert our eyes from with abhorrence. For, however it might pass in a Roman Senate, I question whether Ciceronian eloquence itself uld excuse the uttering of such things in any modern assembly, not to say a polite one. With vernacular expressions answering to these, "vomere, ructare, frustis esculentis vinum redolentibus," our more delicate ears would be immoderately shocked. In a case of this kind, the more lively the picture is, so much the more abominable it is. * A noted passage in Cicero's oration for Cornelius Bulbus will serve as an example of the union of sublimity with vehemence. Speaking of Pompey, who had rewarded the valour and public services of our orator's client by making him a Roman citizen, he says, Utrum enim, inscientem vultis contra fœdera fecisse, an scientem? Si scientem, O nomen nostri imperii, O populi Romani excellens dignitas, O Cneii Pompeii sic laté longèque diffusa laus, ut ejus gloriæ domicilium communis imperii finibus terminetur: O nationes, urbes, populi, reges, tetrarchæ, tyranni testes, Cneii Pompeii non solum virtutis in bello, sed etiam religionis in pace: vos denique muta regiones imploro, et sola terrarum ultimarum vos maria, portus, insulæ, littoraque, quæ est enim ora, quæ sedes, qui locus, in quo non extent hujus cúm fortitudinis, tum vero humanitatis, tum animi, tum consilii, impressa vestigia? Hunc quisquam incredibili quadam atque inaudita gravitate, virtute, constantia præditum, fœdera scientem neglexisse, volasse, rupisse, dicere audebit." Here everything conspires to aggrandize the hero, and exalt him to something more than mortal in the minds of the auditory; at the same time, everything inspires the most perfect veneration for his character, and the most entire confidence in his integrity and judg ment. The whole world is exhibited as no more than a sufficient theatre for such a superior genius to act upon. How noble is the idea! All the nations and potentates of the earth are, in a manner, produced as witnesses of his valour and his truth. Thus the orator at once fills the imagination with the immensity of the object, kindles in the breast an ardour of affection and gratitude, and by so many accumulated evidences, convinces the understanding, and silences every doubt. Accordingly, the effect which the words above quoted, and some other things advanced in relation to the same personage, had upon the audience, as we learn from Quintilian, was quite extraordinary. They extorted from them such demonstrations of their applause and admiration as he acknowledges to have been but ill-suited to the place and the occasion. He excuses it, however, because he considers it, not as a voluntary, but as a necessary consequence of the impression made upon the minds of the people. His words are remarkable: "Atque

Thus much shall suffice for explaining the spirit, the intent, and the distinguishing qualities of each of the forementioned sorts of address; all which agree in this, an accommodation o affairs of a serious and important nature.

CHAPTER II.

OF WIT, HUMOUR, AND RIDICULE.

THIS article, concerning eloquence in its largest acceptation, I cannot properly dismiss without making some observations on another genus of oratory, in many things similar to the former, but which is naturally suited to light and trivial

matters.

This, also, may be branched into three sorts, corresponding to those already discussed, directed to the fancy, the passions, and the will; for that which illuminates the understanding serves as a common foundation to both, and has here nothing peculiar. This may be styled the eloquence of conversation, as the other is more strictly the eloquenee of declamation.* Not, indeed, but that wit, humour, ridicule, which are the essentials of the former, may often be successfully admitted into public harangues. And, on the other hand, sublimity, pathos, vehemence, may sometimes enter the precincts of familiar converse. To justify the use of such distinctive appellations, it is enough that they refer to those particulars which are predominant in each, though not peculiar to either.

SECTION I

OF WIT.

To consider the matter more nearly, it is the design of wit to excite in the mind an agreeable surprise, and that arising, not from anything marvellous in the subject, but solely from the imagery she employs, or the strange assemblage of related ideas presented to the mind. This end is effected in one or other of these three ways; first, in debasing things pompous or seemingly grave; I say seemingly grave, because ego illos credo qui aderant, nec sensisse quid facerent, nec sponte judicioque plausisse; sed velut mente captos, et quo essent in loco ignaros, erupisse in hunc voluntatis affectum," lib. viii., cap. 3. Without doubt a considerable share of the effect ought to be ascribed to the immense advantage which the action and pronunciation of the orator would give to his expression.

* In the latter of these the ancients excel; in the former, the moderns. Demosthenes and Cicero, not to say Homer and Virgil, to this day remain unrivalled, and in all antiquity, Lucian himself not excepted, we cannot find a match for Swift and Cervantes.

to vilify what is truly grave, has something shocking in it, which rarely fails to counteract the end: secondly, in aggrandizing things little and frivolous: thirdly, in setting ordi nary objects, by means not only remote, but apparently contrary, in a particular and uncommon point of view.* This will be better understood from the following observations and examples.

The materials employed by wit in the grotesque pieces she exhibits are partly derived from those common fountains of whatever is directed to the imaginative powers, the ornaments of elocution, and the oratorical figures, simile, apostrophe, antithesis, metaphor; partly from those she, in a manner, appropriates to herself, irony, hyperbole, allusion, parody, and (if the reader will pardon my descending so low) paronomasia, and pun. The limning of wit differs from the hetorical painting above described in two respects. One is, that in the latter there is not only a resemblance requisite in that particular on which the comparison is founded, but there must also be a general similitude in the nature and quality of that which is the basis of the imagery, to that which is the theme of discourse. In respect of dignity, or the impression they make upon the mind, they must be things homogeneous. What has magnificence must invariably be portrayed by what is magnificent; objects of importance, by objects important; such as have grace, by things graceful; whereas the witty, though requiring an exact likeness in the first particular, demands, in the second, a contrariety rather,

* I know no language which affords a name for this species of imagery but the English. The French esprit, or bel esprit, though on some occasions rightly translated wit, hath commonly a signification more extensive and generical. It must be owned, indeed, that in conformity to the style of French critics, the term wit, in English writings, hath been sometimes used with equal latitude. But this is certainly a perversion of the word from its ordinary sense, through an excessive deference to the manner and idiom of our ingenious neighbours. Indeed, when an author varies the meaning in the same work, he not only occasions perplexity to his reader, but falls himself into an apparent inconsistency. An error of this kind in Mr. Pope has been lately pointed out by a very ingenious and judicious critic. "In the essay on criticism it is said,

'True wit is nature to advantage dress'd.'

But immediately after this the poet adds,

'For works may have more wit than does 'em good.'

"Now let us substitute the definition in place of the thing, and it will stand thus: A work may have more of nature dress'd to advantage than will do i good. This is impossible; and it is evident that the confusion arises from the poet's having annexed two different ideas to the same word."- Webb's Remarks on the Beauties of Poetry, Dialogue ii.

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† Paronomasia is properly that figure which the French call jeu de mots. Such as "Inceptio est amentium, haud amantium."-Ter. Andr. Which tempted our attempt."-Milt., b. i. "To begird the Almighty's throne, be seeching or besieging."-B. v.