our language, requires either the last syllable, or the last but one, to be a long syllable. Words which consist mostly of short syllables, as, contrary, particular, retrospect, seldom conclude a sentence harmoniously, unless a run of long syllables, before, has rendered them agreeable to the ear.

It is necessary, however, to observe, that sentences, so constructed as to make the sound always swell and grow towards the end, and to rest either on a long or a penult long syllable, give a discourse the tone of declamation. The ear soon becomes acquainted with the melody, and is apt to be cloyed with it. If we would keep up the attention of the reader or hearer, if we would preserve vivacity and strength in our composition, we must be very attentive to vary our measures. This regards the distribution of the members, as well as the cadence of the period. Sentences constructed in a similar manner, with the pauses falling at equal intervals, should never follow one another. Short sentences should be intermixed with long and swelling ones, to render discourse sprightly, as well as magnificent. Even discords, properly introduced, abrupt sounds, departures from regular cadence, have sometimes a good effect. Monotony is the great fault into which writers are apt to fall, who are fond of harmonious arrangement: and to have only one tune, or measure, is not much better than having none at all. A very vulgar ear will enable a writer to catch some one melody, and to form the run of his sentences according to it, which soon proves disgusting. But a just and correct ear is requisite for varying and diversifying the melody, and hence we so seldom meet with authors who are remarkably happy in this respect.

Though attention to the music of sentences must not be neglected, yet it must also be kept within proper bounds: for all appearances of an author's affecting harmony are disagreeable ; especially when the love of it betrays him so far, as to sacrifice, in any instance, perspicuity, precision, or strength of sentiment, to sound. All unmeaning words, introduced merely to round the period, or fill up the melody, complementa numerorum, as Cicero calls them, are great blemishes in writing. They are childish and puerile ornaments, by which a sentence always loses more in point of weight, than it can gain by such additions to the beauty of its souud. Sense has its own harmony, as well as sound; and, where the sense of a period is expressed with clearness, force, and dignity, it will seldom happen but the words will strike the ear agreeably; at least, a very moderate

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attention is all that is requisite for making the cadence of such a period pleasing: and the effect of greater attention is often no other, than to render composition languid and enervated. After all the labour which Quintilian bestows on regulating the measures of prose, he comes at last, with his usual good sense, to this conclusion: In universum, si sit necesse, duram potiùs atque asperam compositionem malim esse, quam effeminatam ac enervem, qualis apud multos. Ideòque, vincta quædam de industriâ sunt solvenda, ne laborata videantur; neque ullum idoneum aut aptum verbum prætermittamus, gratiâ lenitatis."" Lib. ix. c. 4, 142.

Cicero, as I before observed, is one of the most remarkable patterns of a harmonious style. His love of it, however, is too visible; and the pomp of his numbers sometimes detracts from his strength. That noted close of his, esse videatur, which, in the oration Pro Lege Manilia, occurs eleven times, exposed him to censure among his contemporaries. We must observe, however, in defence of this great orator, that there is a remarkable union, in his style, of harmony with ease, which is always a great beauty; and if his harmony be studied, that study appears to have cost him little trouble.

Among our English classics, not many are distinguished for musical arrangement. Milton, in some of his prose works, has very finely turned periods; but the writers of his age indulged a liberty of inversion, which now would be reckoned contrary to purity of style and though this allowed their sentences to be more stately and sonorous, yet it gave them too much of a Latinised construction and order. Of later writers, Shaftesbury is, upon the whole, the most correct in his numbers. As his ear was delicate, he has attended to music in all his sentences; and he is peculiarly happy in this respect, that he has avoided the monotony into which writers, who study the grace of sound, are very apt to fall, having diversified his periods with great variety. Mr. Addison has also much harmony in his style; more easy and smooth, but less varied, than Lord Shaftesbury. Sir William Temple is, in general, very flowing and agreeable. Archbishop Tillotson is too often careless and languid; and is much outdone by Bishop Atterbury in the music of his periods. Dean Swift despised musical arrangement altogether.

"Upon the whole, I would rather choose, that composition should appear rough and harsh, if that be necessary, than that it should be enervated and effeminate, such as we find the style of too many. Some sentences, therefore, which we have studiously formed into melody, should be thrown loose, that they may not seem too much laboured; nor ought we ever to omit any proper or expressive word, for the sake of smoothing a period."

Hitherto I have discoursed of agreeable sound, or modulation, in general. It yet remains to treat of a higher beauty of this kind; the sound adapted to the sense. The former was no more than a simple accompaniment, to please the ear; the latter supposes a peculiar expression given to the music. We may remark two degrees of it: first, the current of sound, adapted to the tenour of a discourse: next, a particular resemblance effected between some object, and the sounds that are employed in describing it.

First, I say, the current of sound may be adapted to the tenour of a discourse. Sounds have, in many respects, a correspondence with our ideas; partly natural, partly the effect of artificial associations. Hence it happens, that any one modulation of sound continued, imprints on our style a certain character and expression. Sentences constructed with the Ciceronian fulness and swell, produce the impression of what is important, magnificent, sedate; for this is the natural tone which such a course of sentiment assumes. But they suit no violent passion, no eager reasoning, no familiar address. These always require measures brisker, easier, and often more abrupt. And, therefore, to swell, or to let down the periods, as the subject demands, is a very important rule in oratory. No one tenour whatever, supposing it to produce no bad effect from satiety, will answer to all different compositions; nor even to all the parts of the same composition. It were as absurd to write a panegyric, and an invective, in a style of the same cadence, as to set the words. of a tender love-song to the air of a warlike march.

Observe how finely the following sentence of Cicero is adapted, to represent the tranquillity and ease of a satisfied state: "Etsi homini nihil est magis optandum, quam prospera, æquabilis, perpetuaque fortuna, secundo vitæ sine ulla offensione cursu; tamen, si mihi tranquilla et placata omnia fuissent, incredibili quadam et pæne divina, qua nunc vestro beneficio fruor, lætitiæ voluptate caruissem." Nothing was ever more perfect in its kind: it paints, if we may so speak, to the ear. But who would not have laughed, if Cicero had employed such periods, or such a cadence as this, in inveighing against Mark Antony, or Catiline? What is requisite, therefore, is, that we previously fix in our mind a just idea of the general tone of sound which suits our subject; that is, which the sentiments we are to express, most naturally assume, and in which they most

• Orat. ad Quirites, post Reditum.

commonly vent themselves; whether round and smooth, or stately and solemn, or brisk and quick, or interrupted and abrupt. This general idea must direct the modulation of our periods: to speak in the style of music, must give us the key note, must form the ground of the melody; varied and diversified in parts, according as either our sentiments are diversified, or as is requisite for producing a suitable variety to gratify the ear.

It may be proper to remark, that our translators of the Bible have often been happy in suiting their numbers to the subject. Grave, solemn, and majestic subjects undoubtedly require such an arrangement of words as runs much on long syllables; and, particularly, they require the close to rest upon such. The very first verses of the Bible are remarkable for this melody: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth and the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." Several other passages, particularly some of the Psalms, afford striking examples of this sort of grave, melodious construction. Any composition that rises considerably above the ordinary tone of prose, such as monumental inscriptions, and panegyrical characters, naturally runs into numbers of this kind.

But, in the next place, besides the general correspondence of the current of sound with the current of thought, there may be a more particular expression attempted, of certain objects. by means of resembling sounds. This can be, sometimes, accomplished in prose composition; but there only in a more faint degree; nor is it so much expected there. In poetry, chiefly, it is looked for; where attention to sound is more demanded, and where the inversions and liberties of poetical style give us a greater command of sound; assisted, too, by the versification, and that cantus obscurior, to which we are naturally led in reading poetry. This requires a little more illustration.

The sounds of words may be employed for representing. chiefly, three classes of objects; first, other sounds; secondly, motion; and, thirdly, the emotions and passions of the mind.

First, I say, by a proper choice of words, we may produce a resemblance of other sounds which we mean to describe; such as, the noise of waters, the roaring of winds, or the murmuring of streams. This is the simplest instance of this sort of beauty. For the medium through which we imitate, here, is a natural one; sounds represented by other sounds; and between ideas

of the same sense, it is easy to form a connection. No very great art is required in a poet, when he is describing sweet and soft sounds, to make use of such words as have most liquids and vowels, and glide the softest; or, when he is describing harsh sounds, to throw together a number of harsh syllables which are of difficult pronunciation. Here the common structure of language assists him; for, it will be found, that, in most languages, the names of many particular sounds are so formed, as to carry some affinity to the sound which they signify, as with us, the whistling of winds, the buz and hum of insects, the hiss of serpents, the crash of falling timber; and many other instances, where the word has been plainly framed upon the sound it represents. I shall produce a remarkable example of this beauty from Milton, taken from two passages in Paradise Lost, describing the sound made, in the one, by the opening of the gates of hell; in the other, by the opening of those of heaven. The contrast between the two, displays, to great advantage, the poet's art. The first is the opening of hell's gates:

-On a suddeu, open fly,

With impetuous recoil, and jarring sound,
Th' infernal doors; and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder.-

Book i.

Observe, now, the smoothness of the other:

-Heaven opened wide

Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound,
On golden hinges turning.-

Book ii.

The following beautiful passage from Tasso's Gierusalemme, has been often admired, on account of the imitation effected by sound of the thing represented:

Chiama gli habitator de l'ombre eterne

Il rauco suon de la Tartarea tromba:
Treman le spaciose atre caverne,

Et l'aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba;

Ni stridendo cosi de la superne

Regioni dele cielo, il folgor piomba ;

Ne si scossa giammai la terra,

Quand i vapori in sen gravida serra.- -Cant. iv. Stanz. 4.

The second class of objects, which the sound of words is often employed to imitate, is motion; as it is swift or slow, violent or gentle, equable or interrupted, easy or accompanied with effort. Though there be no natural affinity between sound, of any kind, and motion, yet, in the imagination, there is a strong one as appears from the connection between music and