ion. These little words, but, and, which, whose, where, &c. are frequently the most important words of any; they are the joints or hinges upon which all sentences turn, and of course, much both of their gracefulness and strength must depend upon such particles. The varieties in using them are indeed, so infinite, that no particular system of rules, respecting them, can be given. Attention to the practice of the most accurate writers, joined with frequent trials of the different effects produced by a different usage of those particles, must here direct us. Some observations, I shall mention, which have occurred to me as useful, without pretending to exhaust the subject.

What is called splitting of particles, or separating a preposition from the noun which it governs, is always to be avoided. As if I should say, "Though virtue borrows no assistance from, yet it may often be accompanied by the advantages of fortune." In such instances, we feel a sort of pain, from the revulsion, or violent separation of two things, which, by their nature, should be closely united. We are put to a stand in thought; being obliged to rest for a little on the preposition by itself, which at the same time, carries no significancy, till it is joined to its proper substantive noun.

Some writers needlessly multiply demonstrative and relative particles, by the frequent use of such phraseology as this: "There is nothing which disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language." In introducing a subject, or laying down a proposition, to which we demand particular attention, this sort of style is very proper; but in the ordinary current of discourse, it is better to express ourselves more simply and shortly; "Nothing disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language."

Other writers make a practice of omitting the relative, in a phrase of a different kind from the former, where they think the meaning can be understood without it. As, "The man I love." "The dominions we possessed, and the conquests we made." But though this elliptical style be intelligible, and is allowable in conversation and epistolary writing, yet in all writings of a serious or dignified kind, it is ungraceful. There, the relative should always be inserted in its proper place, and the construction filled up: "The man whom I love." "The dominions which we possessed, and the conquests which we made."

With regard to the copulative particle, and, which occurs so frequently in all kinds of composition, several observations are to be made. First, it is evident, that the unnecessary repetition of it enfeebles style. It has the same sort of effect, as the frequent use of the vulgar phrase, and so, when one is telling a story in common conversation. We shall take a sentence from Sir William Temple, for an instance. He is speaking of the refinement of the French language: "The academy set up by Cardinal Richelieu, to amuse the wits of that age and country, and divert them from raking into his politics and ministry, brought this into vogue; and the French wits have, for this last age, been wholly turned to the refinement of their style and language; and, indeed, with such success, that it can hardly be equalled, and runs equally through their verse and their prose." Here are no fewer than eight ands in one sentence. This agreeable writer too often makes his sentences drag in this manner, by a careless multiplication of copulatives. It is strange how a

On this head, Dr. Lowth's Short Introduction to English Grammar deserves to be consulted; where several niceties of the language are well pointed out.

writer, so accurate as Dean Swift, should have stumbled on so improper an application of this particle, as he has made in the following sentence; Essay on the Fates of Clergymen. "There is no talent so useful towards rising in the world, or which puts men more out of the reach of fortune, than that quality generally possessed by the dullest sort of people, and is, in common language, called discretion; a species of lower prudence, by the assistance of which, &c." By the insertion of and is, in place of which is, he has not only clogged the sentence, but even made it ungrammatical.

But, in the next place, it is worthy of observation, that though the natural use of the conjunction and, be to join objects together, and thereby, as one would think, to make their connexion more close; yet, in fact, by dropping the conjunction, we often mark a closer connexion, a quicker succession of objects, than when it is inserted between them. Longinus makes this remark; which from many instances, appears to be just: “Veni, vidi, vici,"* expresses, with more spirit, the rapidity and quick succession of conquest, than if connecting particles had been used. So, in the following description of a route, in Cæsar's Commentaries: "Nostri, emissis pilis, gladiis rem gerunt; repente post tergum equitatus cernitur; cohortes aliæ appropinquant. Hostes terga vertunt; fugientibus equites occurrunt; fit magna cædes." Bell. Gall. lib. 7.

Hence it follows, that when, on the other hand, we seek to prevent a quick transition, from one object to another, when we are making some enumeration, in which we wish that the objects should appear as distinct from each other as possible, and that the mind should rest for a moment on each object by itself; in this case, copulatives may be multiplied with peculiar advantage and grace. As when Lord Bolingbroke says, "Such a man might fall a victim to power; but truth, and reason, and liberty,would fall with him." In the same manner, Cesar describes an engagement with the Nervii: "His equitibus facile pulsis ac proturbatis, incredibili celeritate ad flumen decurrerunt; ut pene uno tempore, et ad silvas, et in flumine, et jam in manibus nostris, hostes viderentur." Bell. Gall. lib. 2. Here, although he is describing a quick succession of events, yet as it is his intention to show in how many places the enemy seemed to be at one time, the copulative is very happily redoubled, in order to paint more strongly the distinction of these several places.

This attention to the several cases, when it is proper to omit and when to redouble the copulative, is of considerable importance to all who study eloquence. For it is a remarkable particularity in language, that the omission of a connecting particle should sometimes serve to make objects appear more closely connected; and that the repetition of it should distinguish and separate them, in some measure, from each other. Hence, the omission of it is used to denote rapidity: and the repetition of it is designed to retard and to aggravate. The reason seems to be, that, in the former case, the mind is supposed to be hurried so fast through a quick succession of objects, that it has not leisure to point out their connexion;

"I came, I saw, I conquered."

"Our men, after having discharged their javelins, attack with sword in hand; of a sudden, the cavalry make their appearance behind; other bodies of men are seen drawing near; the enemies turn their backs; the horse meet them in their flight; a great slaughter ensues."

"The enemy having easily beat off, and scattered this body of horse, ran down with incredible celerity to the river; so that, almost at one moment of time, they appeared to be in the woods, and in the river, and in the midst of our troops,"

P

it drops the copulatives in its hurry; and crowds the whole series to gether, as if it were but one object. Whereas, when we enumerate, with a view to aggravate, the mind is supposed to proceed with a more slow and solemn pace; it marks fully the relation of each object to that which succeeds it; and, by joining them together with several copulatives, makes you perceive, that the objects, though connected, are yet, in themselves, distinct; that they are many, not one. Observe, for instance, in the following enumeration, made by the apostle Paul, what additional weight and distinctness is given to each particular, by the repetition of a conjunction, "I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God." Rom. viii. 38, 39. So much with regard to the use of copulatives.

I proceed to a third rule for promoting the strength of a sentence, which is, to dispose of the capital word or words, in that place of the sentence, where they will make the fullest impression. That such capital words there are in every sentence, on which the meaning principally rests, every one must see; and that these words should possess a conspicuous and distinguished place, is equally plain. Indeed, that place of the sentence where they will make the best figure, whether the beginning, or the end, or sometimes, even in the middle, cannot, as far as I know, be ascertained by any precise rule. This must vary with the nature of the sentence. Perspicuity must ever be studied in the first place; and the nature of our language allows no great liberty in the choice of collocation. For the most part, with us, the important words are placed in the beginning of the sentence. So Mr. Addison: "The pleasures of the imagination, taken in their full extent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as those of the understanding," And this, indeed, seems the most plain and natural order, to place that in the front which is the chief object of the proposition we are laying down. Sometimes, however, when we intend to give weight to a sentence, it is of advantage to suspend the meaning for a little, and then bring it out full at the close: "Thus," says Mr. Pope, "on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us, is, his wonderful invention." (Pref. to Homer.)

The Greek and Latin writers had a considerable advantage above us, in this part of style. By the great liberty of inversion, which their languages permitted, they could choose the most advantageous situation for every word; and had it thereby in their power to give their sentences more force. Milton, in his prose works, and some other of our old English writers, endeavoured to imitate them in this. But the forced constructions which they employed, produced obscurity; and the genius of our language, as it is now written and spoken, will not admit such liberties. Mr. Gordon, who followed this inverted style, in bis translation of Tacitus, has sometimes done such violence to the language, as even to appear ridiculous; as in this expression: "Into this hole thrust themselves, three Roman senators." He has translated so simple a phrase as, "Nullum ea tempestate bellum," by, "War at that time there was none. However, within certain bounds, and to a limited degree, our language does not admit of inversions; and they are practised with success by the best writers. So Mr. Pope, speaking of Homer, The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, but his

invention remains yet unrivalled." It is evident, that in order to give the sentence its due force, by contrasting properly the two capital words, "judgment and invention," this is a happier arrangement than if he had followed the natural order, which was, "Virgil has justly contested with him the praise of judgment, but his invention remains yet unrivalled."

Some writers practise this degree of inversion, which our language bears, much more than others; Lord Shaftesbury, for instance, much more than Mr. Addison; and to this sort of arrangement, is owing, in a great measure, that appearance of strength, dignity, and varied harmony, which Lord Shaftesbury's style possesses. This will appear from the following sentences of his Inquiry into Virtue; where all the words are placed, not strictly in the natural order, but with that artificial construction, which may give the period most emphasis and grace. He is speaking of the misery of vice. "This, as to the complete immoral state, is, what of their own accord, men readily remark. Where there is this absolute degeneracy, this total apostacy from all candour, trust, or equity, there are few who do not see and acknowledge the misery which is consequent. Seldom is the case misconstrued, when at worst. The misfortune is, that we look not on this depravity, nor consider how it stands, in less degrees. As if, to be absolutely immoral, were, indeed, the greatest misery; but, to be so in a little degree, should be no misery or harm at all. Which to allow, is just as reasonable as to own, that 'tis the greatest ill of a body to be in the utmost manner maimed or distorted; but that to lose the use only of one limb, or to be impaired in some single organ or member, is no ill worthy the least notice." (Vol. ii. p. 82.) Here is no violence done to the language, though there are many inversions. All is stately, and arranged with art; which is the great characteristic of this author's style.

We need only open any page of Mr. Addison, to see quite a different order in the construction of sentences. "Our sight is the most perfect, and most delightful of all our senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action, without being tired, or satiated with its proper enjoyments. The sense of feeling can, indeed, give us a notion of extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, except colours; but at the same time, it is very much straitened and confined in its operations, &c." (Spectator, No. 411.) In this strain, he always proceeds, following the most natural and obvious order of the language and if, by this means, he has less pomp and majesty than Shaftesbury, he has in return more nature, more ease and simplicity; which are beauties of a higher order.

But whether we practise inversion or not, and in whatever part of the sentence we dispose of the capital words, it is always a point of great moment that these capital words shall stand clear and disentangled from any other words that would clog them. Thus, when there are any circumstances of time, place, or other limitations, which the principal object of our sentence requires to have connected with it, we must take especial care to dispose of them, so as not to cloud that principal object, nor to bury it under a load of circumstances. This will be made clearer by an example. Observe the arrangement of the following sentence in Lord Shaftesbury's Advice to an Author. He is speaking of modern poets, as compared with the ancient: "If, whilst they profess only to please, they secretly advise, and give instruction.

"they may now, perhaps, as well as formerly, be esteemed, with justice, the best and most honourable among authors.' This is a well-constructed sentence. It contains a great many circumstances and adverbs, necessary to qualify the meaning: only, secretly, as well, perhaps, now, with justice, formerly yet these are placed with so much art, as neither to embarrass, nor weaken the sentence; while that which is the capital object in it, viz. "Poets being justly esteemed the best and most honourable among authors," comes out in the conclusion clear and detached, and possesses its proper place. See, now, what would have been the effect of a different arrangement. Suppose him to have placed the members of the sentence thus: "If, whilst they profess to please only, they advise and give instruction secretly, they may be esteemed the best and most honourable among authors, with justice, perhaps, now, as well as formerly." Here we have precisely the same words and the same sense: but, by means of the circumstances being so intermingled as to clog the capital words, the whole becomes perplexed, without grace, and without strength.

A fourth rule, for constructing sentences with proper strength, is, to make the members of them go on rising and growing in their importance above one another. This sort of arrangement is called a climax, and is always considered as a beauty in composition. From what cause it pleases, is abundantly evident. In all things, we naturally love to ascend to what is more and more beautiful, rather than to follow the retrograde order. Having had once some considerable object set before us, it is with pain, we are pulled back to attend to an inferior circumstance. "Cavendum est," says Quintilian, whose authority I always willingly quote, "ne decrescat oratio, et fortiori subjungatur aliquid infirmius; sicut, sacrilegio, fur; aut latroni petulans. Augeri enim debent sententiæ et insurgere.' Of this beauty, in the construction of sentences, the orations of Cicero furnish many examples. His pompous manner naturally led him to study it; and, generally, in order to render the climax perfect, he makes both the sense and the sound rise together, with a very magnificent swell. So, in his oration for Milo, speaking of a design of Clodius's for assassinating Pompey: "Atque si res, si vir, si tempus ullum dignum fuit, certe hæc illa causâ summa omnia fuerunt. Insidiator erat in Foro collocatus, atque in vestibulo ipso Senatûs ei viro autem mors parabatur cujus in vita nitebatur salus civitatis; eo parrò reipublicæ tempore, quo si unus ille occidisset, non hæc solùm civitas, sed gentes omnes concidissent." The following instance, from Lord Bolingbroke, is also beautiful: "This decency, this grace, this propriety of manners to character, is so essential to princes in particular, that, whenever it is neglected, their virtues lose a great degree of lustre, and their defects acquire much aggravation. Nay, more; by neglecting this decency and this grace, and for want of a sufficient regard to appearances, even their virtues may betray them into failings, their failings into vices, and their vices into habits unworthy of princes, and unworthy of men." (Idea of a Patriot King.)

I must observe, however, that this sort of full and oratorial climax, can neither be always obtained, nor ought to be always sought after.

*"Care must be taken, that our composition shall not fall off, and that a weaker expression shall not follow one of more strength: as if, after sacrilege we should bring in theft; or, having mentioned a robbery, we should subjoin petulance. Sentences ought always to rise and grow."