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ion between music and dancing. The poet.can, consequently, give us a lively idea of the kind of motion he would describe, by the help of sound, which corresponds, in our imagination, with that motion. Long syllables naturally excite the idea of slow motion; as in this line of Pope:

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone

. A succession of short syllables gives the impression of quick motion: as, in Milton,While on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.

The works of Homer and Virgil abound with instances of this beauty, which are so often quoted, and so well known, that it is unnecessary to produce them.

The third set of objects, which we mentioned the sound of words as capable of representing, consists of the emotions and passions of the mind. Between sense and sound there appears, at first view, to be no natural resemblance. But if the arrangement of syllables, by the sound alone, calls forth one set of ideas more readily than another, and disposes the mind for entering into that affection which the poet intends to raise, such arrangement may, with propriety, be said to resemble the sense, or be similar and correspondent to it. Thus when pleasure, joy, and agreeable objects, are described by one who sensibly feels his subject, the language naturally runs into smooth, liquid, and flowing numbers:

years

O joy, thou welcome stranger! twice three
I have not felt thy vital beams; but now
It warms my veins and plays around my heart:
A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground,
And I could mount-

Young.

Brisk and lively sensations excite quicker and more animated numbers:

The offer likes not, and the nimble gunner

With linstock now the dev'lish cannon touches,
And down goes all before him.

Shakespear.

Melancholy and gloomy subjects are naturally connected with slow measures and long

words:

In those deep solitudes and awful cells,

Where heavenly pensive contemplation dwells. Pope. Abundant instances of this kind will be suggested by a moderate acquaintance with the good poets, either ancient or modern.

General Characters of Style.

Diffuse, Concise, Feeble, Nervous, Dry, Plain, Neat, Elegant, Flowery.

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THAT different subjects ought to be treated in different kinds of style, is a position so selfevident, that it requires not illustration. Every one is convinced, that treaties of philosophy should not be composed in the same style with orations. It is equally apparent, that different parts of the same composition require a variation in the style and manner. Yet amidst this variety, we still expect to find, in the composition of any one man, some degree of uniformity or consistency with himself, in manner; we expect to find some prevailing character of style impressed on all his writings, which shall be suited to, and shall distinguish, his particular genius and turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ conside

rably in style, as they ought to do, from the rest of his history. The same thing may be observed in those of Tacitus. Yet in the orations of both these elegant historians, the distinguishing manner of each may be clearly traced; the splendid fulness of the one, and the sententious brevity of the other. Wherever there is real and native ge nius, it prompts a disposition to one kind of style rather than to another, Where this is wanting, where there is no marked nor peculiar character which appears in the compositions of an author, we are apt to conclude, and not without cause, that he is a vulgar and trivial author, who writes from imitation, and not from the impulse of original genius.

One of the first and most obvious distinctions of the different sorts of style arises from an author's expanding his thoughts more or less. The distinction constitutes what are termed the diffuse and concise styles. A concise writer compresses his ideas into the fewest words; he employs none but the most expressive; he lops off all those which are not a material addition to the sense. Whatever ornament he admits is adopted for the sake of force, rather than of grace. The same thought is never repeated. The utmost precision is studied in his sentences; and they are generally designed to suggest more to the reader's imagination than they immediately express.

A diffuse writer unfolds his idea fully. He holds it out in a variety of lights, and assists the reader, as much as possible, in comprehending it completely. He is not very anxious to express it at first in its full strength, because he intends repeating the impression; and what he wants in

strength he endeavours to supply by copiousness. His periods naturally flow into some length; and having room for ornament of every kind, he gives it free admittance.

Each of these styles has its peculiar advantages, and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. Of conciseness carried as far as propriety will allow, perhaps in some cases farther, Tacitus the historian, and Montesquieu, in "l'Esprit de Loix," are remarkable examples. Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, Cicero is, undoubtedly, the noblest instance which can be given. Addison also, and Sir William Temple, may be ranked in some degree under the same class.

To determine when to adopt the concise, and when the diffuse manner, we must be guided by the nature of the composition. Discourses which are to be spoken require a more diffuse style than books which are to be read. In written compositions, a proper degree of conciseness has great advantages. It is more lively; keeps up attention; makes a stronger impression on the mind; and gratifies the reader by supplying more exercise to his conception, Descrip tion, when we wish to have it vivid and animated, should be in a concise strain, Any redundant words or circumstances encumber the fancy, and render the object we present to it con fused and indistinct. The strength and vivacity of description, whether in prose or poetry, depend much more upon the happy choice of one or two important circumstances than upon the multiplication of them. When we desire to strike the fancy, or to move the heart, we should be concise; when to inform the understanding,

which is more deliberate in its motions, and wants the assistance of a guide, it is better to be full. Historical narration may be beautiful, either in a concise or diffuse manner, according to the author's genius. Livy and Herodotus are diffuse; Thucydides and Sallust are concise; yet they are all agreeable.

The nervous and the feeble are generally considered as characters of style, of the same import with the concise and the diffuse. They do, indeed, very frequently coincide; yet this does not always hold; since there are instances of writers, who, in the midst of a full and ample style, have maintained a considerable degree of strength. Livy is an instance of the truth of this observation. The foundation, indeed, of a nervous or weak style is laid in an author's manner of thinking: If he conceives an object forcibly, he will express it with strength; but if he has an indistinct view of his "subject, this will clearly appear in his style. Unmeaning words and loose epithets will escape him; his expressions will be vague and general; his arrangement indistinct and weak; and our conception of his meaning will be faint and confused. But a nervous writer, be his style concise or extended, gives us always a strong idea of his meaning; his mind being full of his subject, his words are, consequently, all expressive; every phrase, and every figure which he uses, renders the picture which he would set before us more striking and complete.

It must, however, be observed, that too great a study of strength, to the neglect of the other qualities of style, is apt to betray writers into a harsh manner, Harshness proceeds from un

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