which is of frequent use among all public speakers, is Climax. It consists in an artful exaggeration of all the circumstances of some object or action, which we wish to place in a strong light. It operates by a gradual rise of one circumstance above another, till our idea is raised to the highest pitch. We shall give an instance of this figure from a printed pleading of a celebrated lawyer, in a charge to the jury in the case of a woman, who was accused of murdering her own child. "Gentlemen, if one man had any how slain another; if an adversary had killed his opposer; or a woman occasioned the death of her enemy; even these criminals would have been capitally punished by the Cornelian law. But, if this guiltless infant, who could make no enemy, had been murdered by its own nurse; what punishment would not the mother have demanded? With what cries and exclamations would she have stunned your ears? What shall we say, then, when a woman, guilty of homicide; a mother, of the murder of her innocent child, hath comprised all those misdeeds in one single crime; a crime in its own nature detestable; in a woman prodigous; in a mother incredible; and perpetrated against one, whose age called for compassion; whose near relation claimed affection; and whose innocence deserved the highest favour?" Such regular climaxes, however, though they have great beauty, yet at the same time have the appearance of art and study; and, therefore, though they may be admitted into formal harangues, yet they are not the language of passion, which seldom proceeds by steps so regular.

GENERAL CHARACTERS OF STYLE. DIFFUSE, CONCISE, FEEBLE, NERVOUS, DRY, PLAIN, NEAT, ELEGANT, FLOWERY.

THAT different subjects ought to be treated in different kinds of style, is a position so obvious, that it requires no illustration. Every one knows that treatises 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. Yet amid this variety, we still expect to find in the compositions of any one man some degree of uniformity in manner; we expect to find some prevailing character of style impressed on all his writings, which will mark his particular genius and turn of mind. The orations in Livy differ considerably in style, as they ought to do, from the rest of his history. The same may be observed in those of Tacitus. Yet in the orations of both these 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 genius, it prompts to one kind of style rather than to another. Where this is wanting; where there is no marked nor peculiar character in the compositions of an author; we are apt to conclude, and not without cause, that he is a vulgar and a trivial author, who writes from imitation, and not from the impulse of genius.

One of the first and most obvious distinctions in style arises from an author's expanding his thoughts more or less. This distinction forms what is 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 express.

A diffuse writer unfolds his idea fully. He places it in a variety of lights, and gives the reader every possible assistance for understanding 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 the same class.

In determining when to adopt the concise, and when the diffuse manner, we must be guided by the nature of the composition. Discourses that 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 thoughts. Description, when we wish to have it vivid and animated, should be concise. Any redundant words or circumstances encumber the fancy, and render the object we present to it, confused and indistinct. The strength and vivacity of description, whether in prose or poetry depend much more upon a 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 9 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. Indeed they 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 of a nervous or weak style is laid in an author's manner of thinking. If he conceive an object strongly, he will express it with energy; but, if he have an indistinct view of his subject, it 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 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 always expressive; every phrase and every figure renders the picture which he would set before us more striking and complete.

It must, however, be observed, that too great study of strength is apt to betray writers into a harsh manner. Harshness proceeds from uncommon words, from forced inversions in the construction of a sentence, and from neglect of smoothness and ease. This is reckoned the fault of some of our earliest classics; such as Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Bacon, Hooker, Harrington, Cudworth, and other writers of considerable reputation in the days of queen Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I. These writers had nerves and strength in a high degree; and are to this day distinguished by this quality in style. But the language in their hands was very different from what it is now, and was indeed entirely formed upon the idiom and construction of the Latin in the arrangement of sentences. The present form of our language has in some degree sacrificed the study of strength to that of ease and perspicuity. Our arrangement is less forcible, but more plain and natural; and this is now considered as the genius of our tongue.

Hitherto style has been considered under those characters which regard its expressiveness of an author's meaning. We shall now consider it with respect to the degree of ornament employ