tion, that if temptations to vice be in the social state of many, the opportunities for virtue in a solitary one are few." Sometimes an artificial antithesis sets forth a sentiment strongly and strikingly; as in the following of Seneca: "Non quia difficilia sunt non audemus, sed, quia non audemus, difficilia sunt." Such neat and compact sentences are occasionally well introduced in a sermon; especially when you sum up an argument, and wish to give the pith of it in a portable shape. But it is not well in general to aim at an antithetical form of speech, as its artificial appearance is unfavourable to persuasion; and writers are sometimes led by it into stronger statements than can be warranted.

LETTER XIX.

ON STYLE-THE CONNECTIVES.

It is necessary that we make a few remarks on the use of connectives.

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"The connectives," says Dr. Campbell, are all those terms and phrases which are not themselves the signs of things, of operations, or of attributes, but by which, nevertheless, the words in the same clause, the clauses in the same members, the members in the same sentence, and even the sentences in the same discourse, are linked together, and the relations between them are suggested." I should rather say marked, for in truth the connectives often govern the sense, and give the entire force and character to the clause or sentence. This definition of connectives, with the slight alteration which I have suggested, may do very well; but he goes on to speak of them in a manner (as it appears to me) highly derogatory

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to their just claims. Calling them "the most ignoble parts of speech," "the most unfriendly to vivacity," "in their nature the least considerable parts, as their value is merely secondary," and "as being but the taches which serve to unite the constituent parts in a sentence or paragraph." We might as well call the hinges and latch the most unimportant parts of a door, or the knees and ankles the most ignoble parts of the leg.

Mr. Irving speaks very differently of these parts of speech. "The connective parts of a sentence," he says, "are the most important of all, and require the greatest care and attention; for it is by these chiefly that the train of thought, the course of reasoning, and the whole progress of the mind, in continued discourse of all kinds, is laid open; and on the right use of them depends perspicuity, the greatest beauty of style." "A close reasoner," says Coleridge, "and a good writer in general may be known by the pertinent use of connectives.... In your modern books for the most part the sentences in a page have the same connexion with each other as marbles in a bag: they touch without adhering.”

When we consider that in spite of its inflections and compounds, the Greek language has more connectives than our own, that the acute and subtle genius of that refined people found a separate word for every connexion, modification, and transition of thought, and that their language is, beyond dispute,

the most perfect that has ever existed, we must, I think, confess that the connectives do not deserve to be rashly condemned as inelegant.

Connectives are especially useful in sermon-writing. Nothing contributes more to render a sermon impressive, interesting, and easy to be followed, understood, and remembered, than the obvious and well marked connexion of its parts; and nothing is more apt to make the hearers drop their attention in despair, than any difficulty or painfulness in pursuing the connexion.

It was laid down in a former letter that the style of a sermon should not only be such as might be understood with fixed attention, but such as could not be misunderstood with ordinary attention; as a corollary to which, I would add, that not only should the connexion of the sentences and parts of the discourse be such as may be perceived, but such as cannot but be perceived. It is true that skilful arrangement goes a good way towards making a sermon intelligible; yet of itself it is insufficient,—at least in popular addresses before a mixed audience,-without the liberal aid of connectives. The preacher should remember that the bearings of the subject which are familiar to his own mind are not, perhaps, thought of by the hearers. I have heard a preacher deliver a good and well-arranged sermon, but for want of proper connectives-the matter being a string of propositions, and the manner and tone not sufficiently forcible to make up the defect-it required a most painful degree of

attention to follow him. The consequence of this unpleasant sensation would be, in most cases, that ninetenths of the congregation would cease to listen; or, if they did listen, would catch only detached sentences. After such a discourse the hearers depart with the feeling of the Lacedæmonian senator, who, after hearing the speech of the Athenian ambassador, declared that he had forgotten the first part, and did not understand the last.

I shall not follow Dr. Campbell in the plans which he proposes for the suppression of the connectives, because I do not perceive any advantage likely to be gained by endeavouring after this elliptical form of expression. In sermon writing it is certainly not worth while to run any risk of being mistaken, or even imperfectly understood, for the sake of a little more point and conciseness. Indeed, I would adopt altogether a different course, especially with regard to the connectives which join together paragraphs, and form the transition from one argument to another. My notion is as follows.

Connectives are stated by the author of "Diversions of Purley," to be by origin verbs or nouns, or the abbreviations of sentences. For the sake of brevity in conversation, or in other sorts of language where conciseness is thought desirable, these connectives have come to be packed in the smallest possible compass, or sometimes even omitted entirely. I deny, however, the invariable tendency in conversa